#HIS FIRST DEATH WAS AN ACCIDENT! AND THEN HE WAS SADDLED WITH ALL SORTS OF POWERS AND RESPONSIBILITY HE DIDNT FUCKIN WAANT

[luck-of-the-drawings]

two wrongs WILL make a right! ive got another lease on life, and im using it well, who cares if this is all fucked up cause we're all GOING TO HELL! IM JUST WILLIAM WHO SHOULD BE DEAD, HAD TO FOLLOW THE THREAD, thought he was just chillin! now he is a villain! HES ALWAYS SUCH A BUMMER, HE WANTS TO TRUST HIS BROTHER WILLIAM IN A HALLWAY BY HIMSEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

#jrwi fanart #jrwi show #jrwi prime defenders #jrwi pd spoilers #william wisp #RRAAHHHHGH I KNOW THEIR LIL PARODY OF MICHEAL IN A BATHROOM OR WHATEV WAS SLIGHTLY COMEDIC. LIKE WIWI IN A HALLWAY #HAHAAA HIS NAME IS WIWI ISNT THAT FUNNY. ISNT THAT FUCKIN FUNNY. AND YYYEEEEEEEEEEETTTTT!!! #WILLIAM IS SO FUCKIN SAD DUDE... ESPECIALLY DURING THE GRAYSCALE ARC. HE REALLY THINKS HES BETTER OFF DEAD. #HIS FIRST DEATH WAS AN ACCIDENT! AND THEN HE WAS SADDLED WITH ALL SORTS OF POWERS AND RESPONSIBILITY HE DIDNT FUCKIN WAANT #AND IT TURNS OUT HES STILL DEAD! HIS BODY IS ROTTING AND FALLING APART AS WE SPEAK!! THATS SO FUCKING SCARY!!! #BUT THEN. OOOHH BUT THEN HIS WONDERFUL FRIEND DAKOTA TELLS HIM. ILL GIVE YOU MY HEART SO YOU CAN LIVE AGAIN. AND IT WORKS!!! #WILLIAM ACCEPTS LIFE AND REJECTS THE WISP POWERS AND FEELS SO SO THANKFUL TO HIS WONDERFUL BEST FRIEND DAKOTA. #A DEBT TO REPAY EVEN IF DAKOTA WILL NEVER CASH IN ON IT. HES JUST A PERFECT HERO LIKE THAT.. BUT WILLIAM.. OHH ROTTING LIL WILLIAM.. #EVEN WITH NEW BLOOD RUNNING THROUGH HIM HES STILL DEAD INSIDE. HES STILL USELESS. POWERLESS. SELFISH AND IMPULSIVE AND STUPID AND JUST. #NOT A HERO. WHICH IS FINE! IF ONLY HE WAS A GOOD ENOUGH PERSON TO RETURN THE FAVOR TO DAKOTA THOUGH. BUT HES NOT. HE DOESNT THINK SO. #WILIAM REALLY BELIEVES THAT HE IS FORSAKING EVERY GIFT OF LIFE HE HAS BEEN GIVEN. HE THINKS HE SHOULD BE DEAD BUT HES TOO SCARED TO DIE #JUST FAR TOO SCARED.. OF EVERYTHING.... WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT BRINGS US HERE. I GUESS THE GOOD NEWS IS THEYLL FORGET. #HE JUST WANTED TO TRUST HIS BROTHER. HE WANTED TO HAVE A BROTHER AND FIX THE RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM AND HONESTLY? #I THINK I WOULD DO THE SAME THING IN HIS SITUATION. MAYBE USE MY WORDS BETTER BUT YKNOW. THATS HIS BROTHER!!! #OKAy okay william makes me sooo EMOTIONAL but now ill mention the ART #THIS WAS Aboutthe time i actually figured out how to draw the white streak in williams hair. IT PISSED ME OFF SO MUCH ORIGINALLY but imPROU #AND THE SHARP SPIRALS!! I LOVE THE SHARP SPIRALS. I LOVE DRAWING HIS HAIR JUST IN GENERAL... I JUS LOVE DRAWIN WIWI... #OHH And xavior... poor xavior... theyre still looking for cantrip arent they? they have no idea where she is..and DAVID YOU BIIITCH #david bell is such a good fucking antagonist. he COMPLETELY believes himself to be in the right and bizly plays him SO WELLL!! #BECAUSE HES SMART!! AND SMART PEOPLE CAN LOGIC THEIR WAY THROUGH ANYTHING! THATS WHY SMART PPL FALL INTO CULTS TOO! #BC A SMART PERSON CAN FIND A GOOD WAY TO JUSTIFY ALMOST ANYTHING TO THEMSELF. DAVID IS SMART AND THATS SCAARRYYYY... #IM So excited to see the consequences of williams actions carry on into season 3. i hope they contact allen and exavior and do. idk. someth

[nordleuchten]

do we have any records on how lafayette reacted to the treason of benedic arnold?? I've read a while ago saying that he and bemedict arnold did not like each other very much while he was on the american army but i couldn't find anything else.

and also, how much acurate are those scenes of laf conforting georfe washington after he learns of the treason??

I know is a long ask, srry, but thank you so much <3

Hello Anon,

thank you for your question and don’t you worry about the length.

Yes, we have plenty of record about La Fayette’s reaction to Arnold’s treason … and the best thing is, La Fayette’s reaction alone even brought Arnold in a pretty awkward and embarrassing situation at one point in time.

From the get-go La Fayette was very involved in the whole Arnold-affair. He was with Washington and a group of other officers in West Point when Arnold’s treason was discovered on September 25, 1780 and he also sat on the court-martial for Major John André on September 29 and September 30, 1780. He later went on to say that he pitied André.

On September 26 (a day after Arnold’s betrayal and flight) La Fayette wrote the first lengthy account of the events from his point of view. He wrote the Chevalier de La Luzerne:

Robinson's house, across from West Point

September 26, 1780

When I left you yesterday morning, Monsieur le Chevalier, to come here to breakfast with General Arnold, we were far from imagining the event that I am going to relate to you. You will shudder at the danger we have run. You will wonder at the miraculous chain of accidents and unforeseen events that has saved us; but you will be even more astonished to know the instruments through which this conspiracy has been carried out.

West Point has been betrayed, and by Arnold. The same man who had covered himself with glory in rendering conspicuous service to his country had lately formed an appalling pact with the enemy. Were it not for the chance that brought us here at a certain hour and the chance that, through a combination of mishaps, caused the adjutant general [Major André] of the British army to fall into the hands of a few pejlsants outside all our posts, West Point and the North River would now perhaps be in the possession of the enemy. When we left Fishkill yesterday we were preceded by one of my aides-de-camp and the aide of General Knox, who found General and Mrs. Arnold at table and joined them for breakfast. While they were there, two letters were brought to General Arnold informing him of the capture of a spy. He ordered a horse to be saddled, then went upstairs to his wife to tell her he was ruined, and commanded his aide-de-camp to tell General Washington that he was going to West Point and would return within an hour. On our arrival here we crossed the river and went to inspect the defenses. You can imagine our astonishment when upon our return we learned that the arrested spy was Major Andre, adjutant general of the British army, and when, among documents found on him, we recognized a transcript of a very important council of war, a description of the garrison and fortifications, and remarks about methods of attack and defense, all of which were written in General Arnold's hand. The British adjutant general also wrote to the general disclosing his name and situation. We sent a person in pursuit of Arnold; but he had escaped by boat to board the English frigate Vulture, and since no one suspected his flight, no one from the posts could have thought to arrest him. Colonel Hamilton, who had pursued him, shortly thereafter received a flag of truce with a letter from Arnold for the general, in 180 Light Camp Commander which he gives no details to justify his treason, and a letter from the British commander Robinson, who, in an extremely insolent manner, demanded the release of the adjutant general, on the grounds that he had acted entirely under General Arnold's permission. The general's first concern has been to reassemble at West Point the troops Arnold had dispersed under various pretexts. We have remained here to look after the security of a post that the British will fear the less for being more familiar with it. We are bringing in Continental troops, and since Arnold's advice may determine Clinton to move suddenly, the army has orders to be ready to march at any moment.

He wrote several of these letters where he described what had happened. I am not going to quote any more letters because they are quite repetitive. There is however one passage in a letter to the Vicomte de Noailles that stands out. La Fayette wrote on October 3, 1780:

Arnold's baseness and villainy surpass in their details all that I have ever read about that sort of thing. The anger I felt over it did not extend to his wife, with whom formerly I had been somewhat taken. But what has truly afflicted me is the necessity of hanging the adjutant general of the British army, a charming man who conducted himself throughout, and died, like a hero. This severity was necessary; the enemy acted very stupidly on this occasion, and since they lost that unfortunate man, the soul of their army, they have not written one letter that had common sense. Andre was executed yesterday. General Clinton's anger does not frighten us, but this man's death, although inevitable in my opinion, left me with a feeling of sadness and respect for his character. I truly suffered in condemning him; but he was an officer under disguised clothing and name, passing within our posts with papers full of intelligence for the enemy, and he himself did not hesitate to recognize himself as a spy. The knave who hid him is, I hope, going to be hanged too.

We see in this excerpt very clearly what he fought about Arnold, but also what his thoughts were concerning Mrs Arnold (better known perhaps as Peggy Shippen) and Major André. The mentioned “knave” was a certain Joshua H. Smith who assisted Arnold and André in their affairs but who was ultimately acquitted and fled the country.

La Fayette furthermore wrote to the Comte de Vergennes (probably in an attempt to play the whole business down for the French court) on October 4, 1780:

This whole affair proves only the greed of Arnold and has no other consequences than the abhorrence inspired by his sordid conduct.

The tone is the same in all of La Fayette’s letters, whether they were written directly after everything went down or many months, years or even decades later. At first though, there was not much that La Fayette could do, because the army went into the winter encampment. On February 20, 1781 however, La Fayette was named commander of an expedition against Arnold in Virginia (where the latter had just received a command of his own) and left the next day for Maryland. La Fayette was hell bend on capturing Arnold and even received pretty clear instructions from Washington on what to do with Arnold. Washington wrote in his instructions for the Marquis on February 20, 1780:

You are to do no act whatever with Arnold that directly or by implication may skreen him from the punishment due to his treason and desertion, which if he should fall into your hands, you will execute in the most summary way.

Despite all of his efforts, La Fayette could not apprehend Arnold. There was a new development with the British ranks though, that afforded La Fayette a little bit of pay back. The British send reinforcement down to Virginia to aide Arnold. A Major-General William Phillips commanded these troops. I have written about Phillips before, he was the man who commanded the artillery battery that fired the shot that killed La Fayette’s father in the battle of Minden in the Seven Years’ War - and La Fayette was very well aware of the fact. Phillips was now in command and Arnold second in command. So far, so good. The war and the campaign in Virginia continued like before. It was commonplace for two opposing Generals to have rather extensive correspondence. They spoke about war crimes committed by one of the two sides, about a potential exchange of prisoner of war, about a temporary truce, surrender - all the military and civil matters that needed to be discussed. These correspondences were most of the time rather civil. The two Generals understood each other as “Officers and Gentleman” and were fully aware that each man had their orders to follow. Phillips and La Fayette started a correspondence as well. La Fayette complained about the tone in Phillips letters and the demands he made (I have read Phillips letters; they are indeed a bit odd) but their correspondece was soon cut short when Phillips contracted a fever and died within a few days. Now Arnold was again first in command and it would have been his place to pick up Phillips correspondece with La Fayette. La Fayette wrote to Washington on May 17, 1781:

Genl. Phillips being dead of a fever, an Officer was sent with a passport & letters from Genl. Arnold. I requested the Gentleman to come to my Qrs. and having asked if Genl. Phillips was dead to which He answered in the negative, I made it a pretence not to receive a letter from Gl. Arnold, which being dated Head Quarters, and directed to the Commanding Officer of the American troops, ought to come from the British General Chief in Command. I did however observe that shou'd any other officer have written to me I wou'd have been happy to receive their Letters.

La Fayette made it clear to the British flag officer that he had no problem with corresponding with the British army in general, but that he would not cooperate with Arnold, a man that he did not perceive to be a gentleman and man of honour. La Fayette later wrote in his memoirs:

After the death of General Phillips, who died that same day, Arnold wrote, by a flag of truce, to Lafayette, who refused to receive his letter. He sent for the English officer, and, with many expressions of respect for the British army, told him that he could not consent to hold any correspondence with its present general. This refusal gave great pleasure to General Washington and the public, and placed Arnold in an awkward situation with his own army.

It may not sound like much for us today, but La Fayette reaction was a massive slap for Arnold. He was now in a position where he either had to correspond with an American officer that was junior in rank or he had to order a British officer who was junior in rank to himself to continue the correspondence with La Fayette. Arnold was so angry indeed that he wanted to retaliate by sending the American prisoner of war to prisoner colonies in the West Indies if La Fayette would not correspond with him.

As to the second question - I think you are playing at this lovely (and deleted, if I am not mistaken) scene from the TV series TURN: Washington’s Spies were La Fayette comforts Washington after Arnolds betrayal. There is no direct evidence that such a scene took place. We have now written account à la “today I comforted Washington because Arnold betrayed us.” Several sources however state, that Washington indeed uttered “Whom can we trust now?”, just like in the scene and just as I stated earlier, La Fayette was with Washington when all of this took place. I think it is therefore very likely that something similar as depicted in TURN may have taken place. Washington and La Fayette were incredibly close and they trusted each other. Washington could open up toward La Fayette because La Fayette was person who, unlike some other officers and generals at the time, had no ambition to usurp his position as Commander in Chief. La Fayette, due to his French background, would not be able to do so anyway, even if he would had such ambition. This was one of the many reasons why Washington could let his guard down in front of La Fayette without having to fear that he would be seen as weak.

I hope you have/had a fantastic day!

#ask me anything #anon #marquis de lafayette #lafayette #general lafayette #historical lafayette #turn #turn amc #turn washington's spies #benedict arnold #peggy shippen #george washington #1780 #1781 #letter #american revolution #american history #french history #william phillips #seven years war #battle of minden #virginia campaign #virginia #america #west point

[freebooter4ever]

Living in close quarters for months on end with a bunch of men his own age doesn't bother Snafu a bit. It's the one part of the Marines Corps he actually enjoys. Like living on an island full of eye candy. Snafu became mostly numb to the sheer number of naked butts by the end of his second day on Pavuvu. With the heat and the sun, the men need very little provocation to strip their clothing off. It was distracting for about an hour and then it became commonplace.

Later, after Gloucester, after living for three straight weeks in rain and misery, under the constant threat of violent death, and then returning once more to Pavuvu, Snafu becomes numb to everything....

He's never been one for carousing - a trait his peers in high school picked up on pretty quick. He's been compensating ever since. Packing on the innuendo and flirtation, and studying how other men act towards women and amplifying it in his own behavior.

So even before the numbness set in, Snafu isn't sure he ever actually felt anything like what others seem to describe. Even though Snafu admires his daily fill of half dressed fellow Marines wandering around camp, he does it in a detached sort of way that makes him feel more like an observer than participant. And it's good, because while there are whispers and rumors about certain guys who will take a man into the woods and show him a good time, Snafu doesn't need to get involved. He gets himself into enough trouble without adding a court martial onto it.

A few days after Gloucester an envelope arrives. There's no letter, simply a newspaper clipping slipped inside and stamped. The clipping is from his hometown newspaper and the article is about their hometown hero - brave Merriell Shelton - who shot up the enemy with his 'mortar gun'.

It's truly amazing how in a small town such as his, one can go from being the delinquent orphan son of impoverished half crazed parents easily forgotten by polite society, to being a hometown hero in the span of one battle.

Everyone in K company teases him about the article, especially about the 'mortar gun' bit. Snafu enjoys it immensely. He takes pride in his notoriety. It adds to his carefully cultivated mystique. No one wants to fuck with the fast talking, mean Merriell Shelton, war hero.

In actuality, Snafu is no hero. He fights for one reason, and that's the fifty dollars a month being sent home to his kid sister. He doesn't want her saddled with being a burden to her adopted family. Not like Snafu was with their own parents.

Overall, aside from the numbness, everything about Snafu's time in the Marine Corps is going well. He has respect, he has the looming potential of death and relief, and he has a steady diet of filling if questionable food. He thinks he's got a handle on things.

Till his downfall arrives a few days after the envelope.

Eugene Sledge looks like a fool from the minute he steps into Snafu's tent. Something about him irritates the hell out of Snafu. To try and figure out what about Sledge bothers him so much, Snafu goes out of his way to run into the guy. But no dice. Nothing works.

It doesn't click until Snafu accidentally runs into Sledge in the showers. Normally Snafu showers on off times to avoid any accidents. But after one particularly disgusting round of coconut duty, Snafu is stuck washing the gritty stickiness off in the middle of the day.

At first there's just him and Pops in the showers. A typical sight - Gunney Haney is obsessively clean. Snafu ignores him, and ignores the new Boots who join them halfway through. Snafu requires single minded focus to fish out all the coconut pieces that mysteriously found their way into his hair.

Once finished, Snafu turns around and bends his head back under the stream of water to rinse. He opens his eyes after the worst of the suds are gone, and spots Eugene Sledge in the group of new recruits. They are huddled around the shower heads in the opposite corner as far away from Snafu and Pops as they can get. Snafu smirks at them as a greeting.

It's kinda fun being intimidating.

Except they aren't paying attention to him. Sledge's eyes are transfixed on Haney as the man scrubs his dick.

Admittedly, for the uninitiated, seeing Haney shower is quite a sight. The man uses a bristly GI brush. The working theory is that he's been doing it so long and he's so old that his skin is pickled enough to be as thick and tough as leather. Everyone stares and winces in pain when they first witness Haney washing his junk.

However, Sledge is unusually engrossed. Snafu feels a strange prickle at the back of his neck and a spike of annoyance over this.

Jealousy - a word Snafu's never related to before.

Once he recognizes the feeling, though, he starts seeing it everywhere. Sledge is genuinely kind, and cares about everyone in a way that would stretch Snafu thin enough to break. Sledge is the best sharpshooter in the company, beating Snafu's considerable score by almost an entire point. Sledge takes every work duty thrown at him without complaint and with stubborn pride. Sledge takes everything thrown at him without complaint, including Snafu's own malice.

And all Snafu wants is for Sledge to just fucking look at him.

The tipping point comes after Sledge's little buddy Philips rotates home without warning. The despondency Sledge sinks into for a few days makes Snafu ache with frustration. Sledge starts disappearing whenever the replacements get an hour or two off. Snafu makes it his mission to find him.

He eventually does. Turns out Sledge is running off to a secluded beach, but he never goes in the water. Instead he sits crosslegged in the sand and stares at crabs. Snafu shimmies up a palm tree and scoots across the rough bark until he's nearly hanging over the oblivious Sledge.

In Sledge's lap is a dog-eared notebook, probably a moonlight requisition from the officer's tents. Sledge hunches over the page, his hand scribbling furiously and Snafu cranes his neck till he can see what Sledge is working on.

It's drawings of crabs. Countless pages of them. Snafu straddles the uncomfortable palm tree for almost an hour, watching in disbelief as Sledge makes study after study of crab anatomy.

Instead of killing the damn invasive creatures with a shovel and burying them in the sand, Sledge draws them.

If Snafu could draw, maybe he'd finally be free of this strange fascination that's taken hold of him. The image of Sledge that one afternoon - showering, naked and lean and glowing in the midafternoon sun - burned itself in Snafu's brain. He doesn't know how to purge himself of it. At the time, he didn't even realize he'd been looking that closely at Sledge while they were in the showers, but afterwards his brain pieced the scraps of memory together and gave him a picture more vivid than what he thought he saw.

And now he sees it whenever he looks at Sledge.

Even on Peleliu, after everything's gone to shit, but somehow they got off the beach and somehow they're not dead yet, his mind drifts to Sledge. The boy strips off his shoes in the midst of battle. Snafu stops him, shoving Sledge's boots back into his chest with force.

It's the first time he lays hands on Sledge and he doesn't even register it because he's too busy being worried about the damn idiot being caught with his pants down and shoes off.

Sledge is a distraction. That's all he is.

Until Sledge fucking picks Snafu up off the ground even when Snafu is pretty sure he's already dead. Sledge drags Snafu out of his shock and out of danger, and proves he can keep his cool during battle. Cooler even than Snafu, who still runs hot whenever Sledge gets too close.

Naive little Sledgehammer grew up quick, but unlike Snafu, he did not grow up mean - he still saves worthless things fallen helpless in the sand and dirt. From that minute on, Snafu makes it his personal mission to preserve Eugene's goodness.

He doesn't anticipate Sledgehammer accepting Snafu's newfound loyalty so readily.

Burgie calls Snafu out on it teasingly during their ship ride back to dreaded Pavuvu. A painful bout of seasickness causes Snafu to lose track of Sledgehammer for a few hours aboard ship, and Snafu spends the time wandering the decks in search of him.

"Since when did you appoint yourself as his shadow, Snaf?" Burgie retorts when Snafu asks if he's seen the 'Hammer'.

"Just need to collect on my bet about him smoking by the end of his first battle," Snafu shrugs.

"Every nonsmoker smokes by the end of their first battle, Snafu. You already knew that," Burgie says, "Leave him be."

"No way," Snafu argues, "Someone needs to teach that rich boy that he don't know everything."

"And of course you'd be the one to do it," Burgie sighs.

Ironically, Sledge is the one to find Snafu in a random ship compartment instead of the other way around. Snafu is lying prone, trying to keep his half digested meal from rolling around.

"Here," Sledge says, shoving a small box at Snafu as hard as Snafu shoved Eugene's boots.

"What is it?" Snafu asks, feigning disinterest.

"Crackers. They'll help with the stomach," Sledge replies, "C'mon, let's get you topside."

"How the hell'd you get crackers on a ship short of rations?" Snafu asks. He obediently follows Eugene through the ship to the deck. Like a damn shadow.

"I sweet talked one of the swabbies," Sledge explains casually.

That news roils Snafu's gut. Jealousy again. It's lucky they made it to the deck. He staggers to the rail and pukes overboard.

"The swabby liked my accent," Eugene says and leans beside Snafu, "Think he was from northern Alabama. I told him how us southern boys have the best aim in the Marines."

Snafu finishes vomiting up the last of his afternoon chow.

Sledge sighs and places his hand on Snafu's upper back.

Snafu's glad no one else is around on this part of the deck to see his shame. He hangs on the rail and feels miserable.

"Get it all out?" Sledge asks, and passes Snafu his canteen.

Snafu takes a sip, swishes it around his mouth, and spits into the sea. And then guzzles as much water as he thinks he can keep down. He sticks his tongue out at the disgusting aftertaste and hands the canteen back.

Sledge runs his hand down from Snafu's back to his arm. Before Snafu knows what's happening Eugene is gently taking Snafu's hand and leading him away from the rail. Sledge sits on the deck and leans against the ship's wall. He tugs on Snafu's hand for him to sit next to him.

"Better to go down to one of the cabins," Snafu resists.

"You don't want to know how bad it smells down there," Sledge warns, "Trust me. Fresh air is best."

Snafu gives in and collapses next to Eugene. He tilts his head back against the cold metal and closes his eyes.

Sledge takes the box of saltines from Snafu's hands and Snafu hears rustling as Sledge opens the package. Sledge then nudges Snafu's elbow with the box.

"Eat," Sledge says.

Snafu groans and leans his head on Sledgehammer's shoulder instead. He doesn't want any ill-gotten flirtation crackers. It's a lot easier to close his eyes and pretend to sleep.

Sledge seems to not mind Snafu sleeping on him. He doesn't move away, at least. So Snafu uses it as an excuse to shuffle closer. Which is when he realizes Eugene never let go of his hand. He's still holding on. Tight.

"Snafu?" Sledge prompts. He uses Snafu's nickname like they're best buds, though they've hardly ever spoken.

Snafu grunts.

"On that airfield…" Sledge says, "Don't you ever dare do that again, allright?"

"Whatever you say, Sledgehammer," Snafu drawls, "Don't even know what I did."

"You just...lay there," Sledge says quietly, "Like you were...."

"Waiting?" Snafu tries to remember his own state of mind in that moment.

"Gone," Sledge says sharply.

"Same damn thing," Snafu gives up on sleeping and lights a cigarette.

"If you're not around who'll tell me what I'm doing wrong?" Sledge asks.

"Shit, Sledge," Snafu drawls with a grin, "practically anybody who's not you could do that."

Sledge actually chuckles. That's the thing about Eugene. He's not stuck up or prissy like Snafu'd expect him to be. He's humble, and willing to laugh at his own inexpertise.

"I'd rather it be you," Eugene adds quietly with a small smile.

Snafu sucks on his bottom lip and refuses to respond to that.

"So no dying," Eugene finishes, as if such a conclusion were a choice.

Snafu does fall asleep and when he wakes up a few hours later, Sledge's head is tipped on top of Snafu's. Sledge's long nose is in Snafu's hair and he's snoring loud enough to wake the enemy a thousand miles away. Snafu can feel Eugene's snores blowing his hair around.

Despite these annoyances, Snafu tries to freeze in place and jostle Eugene as little as possible.

Their hands are still linked together. Sledge's hand is wrapped tight around Snafu's. Snafu lifts Sledge's hand to examine his delicate fingers - long and gentle, but not dainty. Eugene has the calluses of an expert marksman, and painfully short fingernails. Snafu picks at the boy's ring curiously.

Sledge shifts and turns farther in towards Snafu's body. He draws his arm away from Snafu's fiddling and instead places his hand on Snafu's soft belly. "Stop moving," he mumbles.

"You stop snoring," Snafu complains. He bumps his head intentionally into Sledge's big nose to make his point.

Sledge ignores him and slumps more of his weight onto Snafu's shoulder.

Snafu accepts his fate and reaches over Sledge's body to steal the saltines. He opens the cracker package and starts snacking.

"Must you, with the crunching?" Sledge snarls after a few minutes.

"Got hungry, Sledgehammer," Snafu, "If you're gonna be using me as a pillow, I'm gonna need to generate extra padding."

Sledge sighs and holds his hand out, "Give me one."

Snafu complies, "If you get crumbs in my hair, I'll kill ya."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing in your hair right now, Snafu," Sledge gripes.

"Yeah? What else is up there? Pick it out for me," Snafu grins.

"Smells like you took a nap in seawater," Sledge says, "Or smoke."

"Get your long nose out of my hair then," Snafu quips.

"Once you get past the brine smell it's not so bad," Sledge mutters and doesn't move

"Yeah, well your shoulder smells like…" Snafu starts, and then cuts off when he realizes Eugene's shoulder doesn't smell like anything Snafu finds unpleasant. "Did you change your shirt?"

"Traded it for the saltines," Sledge explains, "The swabby wanted a souvenir that saw battle. I gave it to him. Stole this one off a supply crate."

"Fuck, Eugene, I thought you flirted your way into the galley," Snafu grumbles.

"Who says taking off my shirt wasn't a part of that?"

Snafu can't see it with his head on Sledge's shoulder but he swears Gene is smirking at him. "Should have just given him your pin," Snafu argues.

"Can't," Eugene replies, "Sid says they're good luck."

Snafu rolls his eyes at the mention of stupid Sid and settles back comfortably to sleep.

Eugene hooks a thumb in between Snafu's button holes in his shirt to keep his hand on Snafu's stomach. His fingertips barely brush Snafu's bare skin, and suddenly Snafu is no longer interested in sleeping.

And then Eugene's wandering fingers hit Snafu's shrapnel wound.

His response is immediate and a little shocking, "What the fuck, Snafu?" Without asking Eugene starts popping open all of Snafu's shirt buttons.

"What the hell, Sledge?" Snafu tries to back away from him.

"My father's a physician, let me look at you," Eugene orders. He manhandles Snafu's hips forward away from the wall to stretch him out on the deck. Snafu's thin wound runs from right beside his belly button to right over his hip. "Jesus, Snaf, that could turn infected."

Snafu is still trying to process the feel of Eugene's long hands gripping his hips, there is no room in his brain for worrying about infections right now.

"You're gonna need to lie down," Eugene tells him, "Here…" Sledge takes off his shirt and folds it up so Snafu doesn't have to rest his head on the floor.

"Thanks," Snafu says blankly.

"I thought it didn't hit you, you idiot?" Eugene asks.

"Naw, it hit me," Snafu smiles, "just didn't kill me."

"Wait here, I need a kit," Sledge gets up and walks off, leaving Snafu on his own.

Snaf uncomfortably folds his open shirt closed and crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously. He hopes no one will accidentally walk past this part of the ship while Snafu is stuck laying here like a patient. It takes far too long for Sledge to return.

When Eugene does finally return, he's holding a big medic kit that definitely is going to be missed somewhere.

"What'd you have to take off to get that?" Snafu asks, his voice mean, "Your pants?"

"I'll return it when I'm done," Sledge tells him in a no nonsense tone. He sets the kit down and flips it open. "I'll need to open the waist of your pants though, do you mind?"

Snafu looks to the sky to avoid Sledge's concerned gaze. "Don't care," Snafu says as nonchalantly as he is able. He wets his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.

Sledge gently uncrosses Snafu's arms and moves them to the side. When Sledge unbuttons Snafu's pants, Snafu takes a deep breath. His stomach constricts, and he knows his bones are poking out embarrassingly far. Sledge's hands are warm and surprisingly soft. Cleaning everything, and putting a tiny amount of stitches near Snafu's waistband area doesn't take Sledge long at all. Before Snafu even gets to fully enjoy the feeling of Eugene's fingers sliding over his most sensitive area, Eugene is already buttoning Snafu's pants back up and smoothing his shirt down. Snafu flicks the shirt back off, deciding if he's already indecent he might as well continue that way.

Snafu moves to sit up, but Sledge puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay down for a bit," Sledge says, "I want my shirt back though. Here." He scoots next to the wall at Snafu's head and then helps Snafu lean forward enough that Sledge can reclaim his stolen shirt. Sledge throws the shirt on and then scoots closer again, beckoning Snafu to lay back down.

Having his head in Sledge's lap is about a thousand times more distracting than Eugene touching his skin. There was a medical excuse for that. There's no goddamn excuse for this.

As if reading Snafu's mind, Sledge decides to up the ante and he runs his hand along the clean skin beside Snafu's wound. Sledge's hand continues up to Snafu's chest and then stops. Sledge picks at a brown spot of dried mud below Snafu's sternum till it pops off and he can flick it away onto the deck. He then massages away the sting and leaves his hand resting there.

Snafu daringly rests his own hand on top of Sledge's. He doesn't breathe even once till they're both settled and Eugene doesn't pull away.

"You need a shower, Snafu," Sledge comments.

"You gonna give me one?" Snafu lolls his head so he can see Sledge's face.

"Only way to do that now would be to toss you off the ship," Sledge says seriously.

"That a no?" Snafu guesses.

Sledge glances down at Snafu with his signature 'I know better than you, but I am also amused' expression, and then stares blankly out towards the sea. He sighs, "Sleep off the seasickness. I promise I won't snore."

Snafu silently watches Eugene's profile for a while before he finally closes his eyes.

Sledge keeps his promise. He doesn't fall asleep once during the entire time Snafu is out. Sledge does, however, eventually remove his hand from atop Snafu's chest and that wakes Snafu up instantly.

Snafu stays perfectly still, and tries to breathe as even as possible. He doesn't want Sledge to notice he's awake and kick Snafu out of his lap.

Snafu carefully peeks one eye open, and sees two hands hovering above his head holding a book and pencil.

"Writing again?" Snafu accuses.

"Hmmm," Sledge says.

"What about?" Snafu asks.

"You," Sledge responds.

Snafu smiles. He knows Sledge is just being obtuse and not actually writing about him, but still, "Tell me."

"No," Sledge refuses.

Snafu eyes Sledge's hands and attempts to determine how much force it would take for him to grab the book away.

"If you take this bible from me, I'll never let you sleep on me again," Sledge warns.

"What makes you think that's a threat?" Snafu teases. He sits up and tries to lean over to read Sledge's writing.

"Because you slept like a baby during your nap," Sledge says. He angles the book away from Snafu's prying eyes.

"Plenty of other guys in the company more comfortable than you to sleep on, Sledgehammer," Snafu says.

Sledge looks Snafu straight in the eye and dares him, "Then why don't you go find them?"

Snafu holds his gaze for a few breaths. And then wordlessly puts his head back in Eugene's lap.

Sledge calmly sets down his pencil and book, and threads his hand into Snafu's hair instead. "You know what I miss?" Sledge idly scratches Snafu's head as he talks, "Having an inexhaustible supply of blank paper."

"I still don't understand how you've managed to hold onto that one pencil nub for so long," Snafu comments. If talking means Sledge will massage his head, Snafu will do anything to carry this conversation.

"Writing in my bible is well and good, but nothing compares to a fresh blank sheet," Sledge states, "I can't believe that in school I used to tear pages up, or throw them away if I made even one typewriter mistake."

"We should find you a new pencil," Snafu continues his own train of thought, "Or maybe a couple."

"What a waste," Sledge sighs over his stupid crumpled typewriter pages.

"I bet the officers' tent in camp has pencils," Snafu muses.

"You need to borrow a pencil?" Sledge asks, "Sorry, I wasn't listening for a minute. Here, take mine." He hands Snafu the tiny nubby remains.

"Thanks, Sledgehammer," Snafu says and sticks the pencil behind his ear to remind himself later.

The first thing Snafu does on Pavuvu is go scrounging for paper. The constant stream of people coming in and out of the officer's tents makes it particularly easy to search. Snafu gets five pencils on only one run. He doesn't dare take the brand new stacks of paper. It would be too obviously missed. Instead he hunts through trash bins around the camp, and pulls out anything that looks clean and innocuous.

Snafu figures any important classified documents are being shredded or burned immediately anyway. No chance of him accidentally picking up something he shouldn't.

It takes a few days, but finally Snafu hits the jackpot. An entire stack of half used blank sheet notebooks. They're spiral bound, and the edges are dirty, and the covers don't look particularly pretty. But the pages inside are clean. Snafu takes his stack behind the mess tent and scrubs off some of the dirt stains.

A few of the notebooks are too gross to be salvageable. For these he carefully cleans his knife, and cuts out the crisp pages individually.

When he's finished he leaves his collection on Sledge's cot with the pencils resting on top of everything. Satisfied, Snafu takes a step back and surveys his work. Then realizes he can't let it look like he is doing Gene any favors. He sticks his hands out and musses the papers completely so the stacks are no longer neat and the pages aren't ordered by type. But he leaves the pencils on top. He doesn't want them to get lost or sat on.

At first Sledge doesn't say anything about Snafu's gift. The next time Snafu stops by the empty tent, the paper and notebooks are neatly stacked on a high shelf to keep it out of the way of crabs and vermin. It warms Snafu to see how organized the messy pile he left became. Even the pencils are safe and snug wrapped in a little handmade pouch.

Snafu takes the warm feeling with him to chow that evening.

"Did you wake up on the right side of the bed for once, Snaf?" Burgie asks.

Snafu brushes his comments off with a smile and sarcastic look.

Sledge looks up the minute he realizes Snafu is sitting down. "Hey," he says eloquently.

"Hey," Snafu says back. He sets his tray down and pulls out his cigarettes.

"I swear you smoke more than you eat," Sledge observes. He eyes Snafu's still mostly full and cooling plate of food.

"I only put things in my mouth if it's worth the bother," Snafu tells him, smirking.

"Are you saying warm mush isn't worth it?" Bill jokes as he polishes off his own bowl heartily.

Snafu laughs at Bill's graceless eating, till he realizes Eugene is staring. Not at Bill, but at Snafu. And looking very mournful for some reason. Unable to stand seeing Eugene looking that way, Snafu anxiously extends his hand to touch Sledge's knuckles, and then offers him a smoke.

"No thanks, Snafu," Sledge says, very unfriendly and possibly looking to start a fight, "I prefer to eat my meals."

"Has anyone gotten any letters from home yet?" Burgie changes the subject brightly.

Bill shakes his head.

"Nothing but my mother's usual package," Sledge says. He notices Snafu staring at him with quiet interest and adds with a sigh, "Yes, Snafu, I saved you your favorite jar."

Snafu smiles, "See, always worth it to wait." He grabs his unused spoon off the table and slips it into his pants for later.

"Sid still hasn't written to tell me if he made it home okay," Sledge says with a worried frown.

"I'm sure he did," Burgie says kindly.

"What about you, Burg?" Snafu interrupts, "You hear anything from Florence lately?"

"She's written, yes," Burgie says and turns as red as the canned beets Sledge's mother mailed last week.

Snafu whistles, Leyden begs Burgie to read any exciting bits aloud, and Sledge politely asks who Florence is.

"Burgie's girl he met in Australia after Gloucester," Snafu explains.

"I knew she liked me because she was the only girl not flocking around Snaf," Burgie jokes.

"Like flies to shit?" Bill snaps, "Snafu being the shit 'n ass."

"Don't think he slept in the stadium bunks with the rest of us even once," Jay laughs.

"I had more worthwhile places to go," Snafu says and eyes Sledge to gauge his reaction. He lazily takes a drag on his cigarette.

"Think we'll be given liberty in Australia again sometime?" Sledge asks. He holds Snafu's gaze steady.

"Don't care," Snafu shrugs.

"Unfortunately no," Burgie says, "I suspect we'll be run ragged till this war is over."

"At least she writes you," Bill interjects, "You'll just have to skip over thataway and pick her up before going home at the end of all this."

"Not sure how I'll manage that," Burgie takes a deep breath, "But it's true, I think she felt as strongly as I did. She expresses it well in her letters."

Bill whines that Burgie is holding out on his buddies by not divulging the content of said letters. He and Burgie get into a heated discussion that mostly consists of Bill begging and wallowing in self pity over not having any sweethearts.

Snafu and Eugene ignore them. Once Sledge finishes his meal, Snafu offers his cigarette again, and Sledge accepts. They pass it back and forth as they watch the sunset over the beach in the distance. Snafu wallows in every single touch of their fingers during each exchange.

"Speaking of mail," Sledge starts, "Snafu, did you leave paper on my bunk?"

"Why would I leave paper on your bunk?" Snafu scoffs.

"I thought maybe you were writing a letter and forgot it, or something?" Sledge asks, as though he isn't smart enough to put two and two together. No one accidentally leaves a jumble of notebooks lying around. Not when they're such a hard commodity to find.

Bill barks a laugh "Snafu writing? Can you imagine...that'd be the day."

"The only paper I ever concern myself with is asswipe," Snafu taunts. He dangles his cigarette out of his mouth and smirks at Leyden. Snafu throws one cautious glance over to Sledge and immediately regrets it.

Instead of being grateful, Sledge is annoyed. He snatches the cigarette straight out of Snafu's mouth. Sledge's fingers press into Snafu's lips briefly before he steals the smoke away, almost like a gentle punch. The unexpected touch and Sledge's deadly serious glare turns Snafu hot down to his toes.

Sledge finishes the cigarette in dead silence, and rather than stub it into the ashtray, he takes the nub and sticks it back between Snafu's lips. Sledge abruptly stands, grabs his tray, and stalks off without another word.

Leyden awkwardly coughs and gives Snafu a sympathetic look.

"Did you dump a bunch of papers on Eugene's bed?" Burgie asks Snafu for clarification.

"Fuck no," Snafu lies. They know he's lying. He grinds the cigarette into dust on the ashtray.

"Maybe I should have mentioned the Australian guys were buzzing around you, too," Jay suggests to Snafu, "Except there were less of them thanks to the war."

"Don't think that would've helped, Jay," Burgie says.

"Yeah?" Snafu says. He climbs over the mess hut wall and walks off.

#Sledgefu #Pining #Demisexual snafu #Bad germs

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch 20

You find yourself in a forest

Odd when did you get here? Had you walked here? Driven? You...you can't seem to remember. How on Earth did you get here?

(The contents of this chapter are sexual in nature please don’t interact if you are below the age of 18)

Oh Gods you hoped you didn't have an episode while driving again. Even under normal circumstances just the thought upsets you but after finding out Toby's life changing accident the thought now left an acidic taste in your mouth. Similar to when you're sick and have the residual vomit in your mouth no matter how many times you brush your teeth. A very unpleasant experience.

A tall figure looms in the distance taking you out of your musings. You've seen him before, haven't you? Long spindly tendrils stretch out from behind the figure, much like the whisps that led you through the shop the other day. Had it not been for their serpent like movements you'd have thought the being was just another tree in this dense dark forest.

This sure didn't look like the Monongahela. You close your eyes for a moment, just resting your eyes. Your head feels so foggy right now.

You're so tired too, have you been sleeping? When was the last time you slept? Why can't you remember?

It's fine calm down, you just need to think. The fog is so thick, it's hard to focus. Why can't you just focus?

Come on YN, you need to focus, focus, focus!

In an instant that figure is right in front of you. They are so much taller, craning your head back doesn't do much to get a good look at them. You can't make any features out on the shockingly pale face. And here you thought Toby was deathly pale, you may as well have been staring death in the face.  Given the black suit and red tie you might actually be.

Being dead would explain the fogginess of your memories and why things aren't exactly connecting. Had Toby killed you? No, he wouldn't. Maybe the two of you got into an accident on the drive home.

But where's Toby then? Had he survived the crash? Is it bad to hope he's dead too? That boy wouldn't be able to handle another traumatic event. Hell he seemed one major inconvenience away from peacing out when you'd met him, he still has those moments.

Where are you going to go? This wasn't anything like you were expecting, but the again Hollywood's never given you any sort of accuracy before why would they be the ones reporting on life's biggest mystery?

A tendril slips its way around your throat tilting your head up to stare into the pale face of the figure before you. Squeezing as it does, gently not so much to actually suffocate you.

'You are not dead child, you could not be further from it.' a masculine voice echos in the empty space of you mind. The voice rang so clearly it rattled the walls of your brain.

A literal 'brain goes brrrr' moment.

If you aren't dead then...this has to be a dream. The only other explanation for why everything feels so fuzzy and you have so much brain fog.

'Correct, you are in a dream...of sorts. I've summoned you here to review your progress thus far. I must say you've far exceeded my expectations, no thanks to my failing puppet.' the tendril tightens around your neck, again not enough to choke you out. Just a very firm squeeze.

Firm enough that it has you pressing your thighs together. Haven't you taken care of this yet? This situation is so embarrassing because even though you can't see the expression of the being before you they have an omnipotent air around them.

They sense your hunger building, maybe that's why the appendage around your throat tightens once again. You're left a bit breathless.

'I'm very pleased with both of your results. A reward is in order,'

The figure's head moves slightly as their attention shifts to something behind you.

'I believe he'll benefit from this as well.'

He?

Without a moment to think anything else, not like you could in your current state, you were turned around. Where you came face to face with....another faceless entity? No the man in front of you clearly had a face – had the tall pale being not? The man's face was there but you couldn't really make out what you were looking at like it was pixelated in some way to protect his identity on the evening news.

You could see that he had a mop of brunette waves, unlike the tall one who was to your knowledge completely bald. More tendrils wrap themselves around you, on your legs and around your mid section. Legs are spread apart as you're lifted off the ground.

Open and inviting to the form before you. Just what kind of reward is this?

Before you can protest you quickly become aware of the fact that you are naked.. Bare chest on display as nipples harden in the chill of the air. You squirm to try and get away but the hold the tendrils have is too strong for you to break out of. Your legs are lifted until they are face level with the person in front of you.

Yup totally a dream, just a monster fucker having a wet dream. Normal everyday thing.

'To be quite honest it's less of a reward and more a test. But it should prove enjoyable for both of you.'

Hearing the sound of a zipper you freeze, out of shock rather than fear. You were joking when you'd called this a sex dream. You've never had one before and it's surprising to say the least. Do all sex dreams start this strangely?

A pair of fingers find their way to your mouth. Without thinking you opened up and took them in. Letting them go as far back as they could. They played with your tongue, dancing up and down it. Pressing hard here giving a rub there, shoving it between the two of them making sure your saliva coated every single spare centimeter of them.

You found it a bit difficult to breathe around them let alone swallow. They had a salty with a hint of something metallic, like he had an open paper cut. The texture was rough and very different from your own fingers, you could feel divots near the nail bed and loose hardened skin scrapping the inside of your mouth. Sometimes when you swallowed around the fingers you'd get a sharp thrust in return, like he was trying to hit the back of your throat with only his fingers. You nearly took in his pinkie like this. A harsh groan would follow and you'd moan along.

All the tendrils on your body gave a light squeeze at the show. You heard a whisper of 'Good pets.', this time it was echoed through the forest surrounding you.

“Fuck off.” the man who currently had his fingers nearly reaching down your throat growled out.

Before he he gently grabbed on of your legs, moving your body closer to him. Flutters of lips trailed their way up from your knee to your inner thigh. A playful nip stings a few inches from your core. Involuntarily your thighs press together, squishing the head in between the,. It wasn't long before you felt warm breath blow onto your core. You could hardly keep back the trill when a pair of lips wrapped around your clit and a tongue started to dance circles around it. It was a simple set of motions but ones that seemed to hit just right. You didn't know whether to be thankful or hate the tendrils for preventing you from bucking right into the pleasure.

Taking deep breaths to collect yourself didn't work if anything it made for a pseudo pant which left you even more feverish than the lapping at you clit. He flattens his tongue against you and you shudder as he slowly drags it along your slit giving a flick to the hood of you clit. He angled his tongue so he could carefully dance that line between your clit and it's hood. Toes curling you aren't able to contain yourself anymore. A panting and flushed mess as you moan around his fingers, a trail of saliva runs out from the corner of your mouth and down the expanse of your neck. You can't stop your hips as they weakly buck towards him, still stifled by the tendrils stilling them.

The man between your legs stiffens.

Even with him looking right up at you, you can't see past whatever fog is playing at your mind, but you do know that he's just as much of a mess as you are in the moment. Just from going down on you, the poor boy, now you really want to shove his face deep between your legs and not let up until he can't breathe.

Maybe you can.

Your hands haven't been bound like your legs, so you should have no problem grabbing his hair and pulling him in.

'Oh, he'd like that very much. Give it a go pet.' the disembodied voice says, once again in your head.

Wasn't there a body to go with that voice earlier? Yeah, there was, where'd he go?

Your legs are still bound by the tendrils but the tall man is no where in sight anymore. What a strange dream.

A wet dream you remember as your focus returns to the man between your legs. Might as well make the most of it.

The man seems distracted as he glares at something behind you, but you know nothing it there – you've just checked. This gives you the perfect opportunity to grab a fist full of his hair and drag him back down to your puffy lips to finish what he started. He was more than willing as he needed no further instructions and went straight to giving light kitten licks to your aching clit. Frustrated pants and whimpers leave you as he just works you up and pulls back. He's teasing at this point and seems very pleased with himself.

“Pl-please.” you keen  when he pulls away for a second time. Instead of answering your plea he massages the meat of your thighs as he stares up at you from between your leg. You can see one hand in between his own legs most likely toying with his cock like he toys with you.

Just the thought of his cock has you bucking into him, but it seems to do the trick. He begins to suck on your bud again. This time you have a bit more mobility and can grind your hips down in time to his sucking. It's getting wetter and sloppier down there by the second, like he's trying to collect all the liquid in his mouth but can't really hold it there.

For a third time the pleasure stops, and you feel like crying. It's so unfair your first wet dream and you're saddled with an edger.

You let out a whimper and raise your hips again in a pathetic attempt to demand his attention back to where it's needed. While his face is still featureless to you there's a sense of smugness around him. Oh joy a sadist. A harsh spit rings through your dream bubble. But you don't feel anything land on you.

A wet squelching sound can be heard. The blood just doesn't know where to go anymore, to your face or to your core? Clearly none of it's going to your brain when you only thought it , 'Oh shit he's jerking off.' on repeat.

You're very thankful that the tendrils are just holding you up instead of keeping you spread now as you're able to squeeze and rub your thighs together. Trying to get any friction to alleviate your ache. All while you cry and choke around thick fingers.

“Pretty mouse.” his voice is a rumbled timber.

Fingers press harshly into your tongue before slowly pulling out and spreading you legs back open for him. His thumb trails your inner thigh, the nail scratching the unmarked skin as it went. Making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as he let out a breathy chuckle.

He began toying around with your folds with his two spit soaked fingers, “Yea, li-ike that? Make some more pretty noises for me.” His fingers twirled around the entrance of your pussy. Lighting the nerves on fire with each passing circle they made.

Gods, he hasn't even been in you and you're already about to cum. But he was ignoring your clit now. Snaking a hand down you settle it above his and before you can even touch it he's smacking your hand away.

“Nuh-uh mouse.” he gives a sharp smack to your bud, making you jolt as you let out a little 'eep'.

He laughs at your reaction, “Don't worry I'm going to-to-to make you feel so good.” he smirks, “in time.”

That'd be a no for you. You can take three edgings but four is just asking too much, especially for a dream. You aren't one to be bratty often but you're already pent up in the waking world like hell you'll let yourself be edged in the dream one too.

“Fuck you're cute, even when you pout.” suddenly a hand grasps your jaw and pulls you down, it's a bit uncomfortable with your bindings still in place. Your faces are just inches apart right now and you still have no clue who he's supposed to be but sometimes faces are hard for brains to make up. He could just be someone you saw in town once and don't remember.

He leans in and kisses you. It doesn't take anything for you to open your mouth and let him in, there's a hint of tang on his tongue. No discernible taste just a bit of tang. He makes sure to glide his tongue across every inch of your mouth, making sure you taste yourself. You can feel his smirk in the kiss as you moan. Can feel the pumping of his hand on his cock now that you're so close together.

The thought of his cock makes your core pulse with need. And as if he can read your thoughts he pulls away, leaving you panting and horny. “Now that's a cute look too.” The tip of his middle and ring fingers are in you spreading the ring of your entrance far apart. “But then this on-one's my favorite.”

As you writhe and moan you can't help but think of how much you hate that boyish lilt in his tone right now. He scissors his fingers and twists them this way and that, occasionally plunging them as deep into you as they can go. And while your panting and whimpers are lovely he quickly figures out that you're much more receptive to the teasing of your entrance. The way just the tips of his fingers work in lighting up hundreds of nerve endings.

How he can leave you right on the edge of orgasm only to take that away by pulling out slightly or diving in further. It's a good game, but he eventually grows bored of just your facial expressions and wants to chase his own release. So, he leans in towards your core to watch the way your walls clamp down on his finger tips as they spread you apart. Trying to squeeze around the foreign objects to eject them out but if he surges his hand forward the walls constrict in a way the feels like they are trying to suck him deeper into your depth. All the while you moan and whine, just for him.

So enraptured with your being he isn't really paying attention to you anymore. You want to end his teasing, you just want to cum. It's not surprising at all that he hardly noticed you grabbed a fist full of his hair. But he certainly notices when you pull him to your core and hold him in place. The pressure on his scalp letting him know just how tightly you have him.

There's a moment when he does nothing, just stares up at you from between you legs. Through hooded eyes he continues to make eye contact as he brings his mouth to your clit, even as you buck into him.

“Good boy.” the words just tumbled from your mouth in a moan.

One that gets echoed by the man kneeling before you. It's a needy little moan, one that changes things.

“Good boy,” he goes faster, not just on your clit but he also starts stroking himself faster.

“Ah – aaah, good  boys wai-it oh – wait to cum.” his hand slows and you hear a mumbled 'Good boys wait.' causing your grip to tighten as you pull him up by his hair to look into your face – even if you can't see his.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

“N-no!” you can feel the shiver that runs through him.

Big guy isn't so tough now that you found his kink, damn this dream sure is exploring a lot of your owns though.

“That's right, now you've been awfully naughty. Edging me like that. Doesn't seem like you want to be a 'good boy'.”

“I want to – want to be a good boy, very good boy.” his hand is still going, you'd honestly be surprised he hadn't cum if this weren't a dream.

“Hmm, finish what you started. Then...maybe you'll be my good boy.” a series of moans followed as he bucked into his hand. Apparently you'd said a trigger for him and he came just from that alone.

You want to find it in you to play up being upset with him maybe even play up how he wasn't a good boy after all – cumming like that. But you could tell from the way his shoulders sank in that he felt ashamed that he didn't last until you were done with him.

Sometimes a gentle hand is needed. “Oh my poor baby. I didn't know how excited that'd make you.” you cup his face gently. He's trying to make himself smaller. “Now now of that, you can make it up to me.” He perks up.

“You want to make it up to me right?” you slide back away letting you hands fall off his chin, and he follows your movement leaning to feel your touch again.

You give him a smile and stroke his cheek, “Then make me cum.” it was a breathy whisper as you took the opening to initiate a kiss with him. No tongue was involved this time just an urgent need and movement of lips.

You pull away from him and get a small whimper in return. Pay back would sure be sweet right now had he not riled you up this much then got off himself.

He's sliding back down between your legs, barely giving himself a chance to settle in before twirling his fingers just outside your entrance. Face diving to lick several long stripes along your slit.

'Seems everything is in order here. I trust you both will behave in my absence.'

“What?”

Waking up horny and unsatisfied with the fainest memory of your wet dream fading further and further from memory was definitely one way to start your Saturday. But it wasn't the preferable way or a fun one. Especially when it involved a pair of soaking panties and an hour to even satiate your needy pussy.

#a cure for insomnia #ticci toby #ticcitoby #ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta fanfic #masky x reader #Timothy Wright #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright x brian thomas #masky #Brian Thomas #brian thomas x reader

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 6

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2021, Day 2: Death Upright: Change, Ending, Release Reversed: Refusal to Change, Unfulfillment, Stagnation

A seam strains along a well-worn shoulder, so stretched he can actually hear it creak over the din of the canteen. That clinches is: that asshole’s got to be picking out too-small fatigues from the GI bin.

There’s no other way for him to look like that, biceps testing the tensile strength of cotton every time he takes a sip of his coffee. Sure, this guy’s jacked the way all the active rangers are, ready to heave 750 tons of metal onto their backs at a moment’s notice, but he’s not Mitsuhide. It makes sense when he pops buttons off his coverall, or stretches out one of their dingy cotton tees. But that’s not this asshole.

He’s lean, the kind that telegraphs that taking an elbow from him might be career limiting. There’s no reason the general issue tee should cling to his back like it’s painted on, his coverall hanging off his hips like he’s got an occupation other than freeloading. Shirayuki leans over, fingertips brushing over his sleeve with a laugh--

“Just punch him already,” Kiki drawls, “get it out of your system.”

Zen blinks, suddenly aware there’s still some Taco Tuesday left in his mouth. “What?”

“Kiki.” Dark bruises circle the skin beneath Mitsuhide’s eyes, underscoring the weary strain in his voices. “We shouldn’t be encouraging that sort of behavior.”

“Why not?” Her elbows dig into formica as she leans over her plate, shoveling rice into her mouth. At her father’s table, Kiki knows the use of every spoon, the name of every fork, but this deep in the dome, Ranger Seiran’s never met a meal she can’t inhale in five minutes flat. “I did it.”

Air hisses right through his perfect teeth, the only sign he’s annoyed besides the tense bar of his shoulders. “And you’re lucky you didn’t get caught.”

Kiki hums around the lip of her mug. “You mean like you did with Lugis?”

Mitsuhide doesn’t have skin like his, the sort that flares up like flash paper at the barest hint of sun or taunting. But still his neck flushes red as a burn, so bright Zen’s half tempted to slap it, just so he knows what it’s like.

“T-that was an accident,” he insists, even as his mouth settles into a satisfied smile. “Even the inquiry said so.”

It’s a struggle to keep his own from curling at the edges. “Only because Lugis didn’t want to press charges.”

“Only because he didn’t want it getting out that a girl ran circles around him on the mat,” Kiki corrects, each word a scalpel’s slice, excising those particulars from that shitshow with surgical precision. They can talk about this; Lugis’s challenge and the way Kiki swept him; that he was hardly on his feet when Mitsuhide somehow mislaid his fist and found it in his face, but everything else, the whys of it--

Those are all off the record. Forever. Or at least they would be, if Lugis wasn’t crawling through the dome like a stoat that’s caught whiff of an egg.

But that’s not what this is about. “And you want me to do that with that asshole?” Zen mutters. “Since it made Mitsuhide such good friends with Lugis, after all.”

“Obi isn’t Hisame,” Kiki informs him with the kind of steel in her tone that suggests she won’t be taking critique on that particular assessment. “All your issues with him are external.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps, teeth gritting down.

It’s a mistake, a rookie one at that: never ask a Seiran a question you don’t want the answer to. “He’s got Shirayuki’s attention and you don’t.”

Mitsuhide clears his throat, shoulders set like Zen better plan to shelter in place. This particular storm isn’t about to hit its usual conversational breakwall. “Attention you’d have, if you hadn’t skipped out on your session.”

Zen grips the table to take that hit. But it’s not nearly the last; the stare Kiki turns to him is wide-eyed, half-betrayed. “You didn’t say anything about that.”

“It’s none of your business.” Even as the words fly from him, he knows it’s not fair, that he’s spitting nails into the wind so that they’ll hurt someone else instead of him. It doesn’t stop him, it never does, but a guilty knot settles in his gut. “The sessions are voluntary. They always have been. I don’t need--”

“Someone to keep your head on straight?” Every syllable snaps like ice, her eyes twice as cold. “That was the whole point, wasn’t it? So if something happens to us, you’d have--”

He can’t listen to this, not another word. “That was never the plan! I would never plan for you guys...”

Not coming back. For Redwood Dancer to be left a ruin on the sea floor, their bodies strapped in, hermetically sealed until the ocean wore the jaeger down to parts.

“Nothing is happening to you guys,” he grits out. “Shirayuki was always an addition, not a-- a replacement, because you’ll never--”

“No one can promise that.” Mitsuhide’s never one to throw a first punch, but oh, does he know how to end a fight. All the breath’s knocked clean out of him, and there’s Dancer’s right hand, shoveling down another bite of rice like it’s nothing. “Every time we go out there it’s a flip of a coin. It doesn’t matter how good we are, one day there’s going to be a kaiju that kicks us clean off our feet.”

He shakes his head, wishing the words would fall right out of them. “No. That’s not--”

“Zen.” He’s never heard a siren’s call, but it can’t be as inexorable as Mitsuhide saying his name in that tone, both firm and pitying and mournful all at once. “You know better than anyone. Rangers don’t grow old.”

There’s no thought when he levers himself up from the table, just up with away chasing its heels. He just can’t be here listening to this, not now, not after they just barely crawled home from another kaiju clawing its way across Korea’s shoreline. Not when he knows he should be fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with them-- that he would be if they stopped trying to saddle him with every rookie that rolled out of the simulator and finally put him with the only person that could fill that brace beside him.

“Zen!”

It’s easy to ignore Mitsuhide’s shout over the dinner rush; it’s just part of the noise, a buzz at the edge of his senses. Something to goad him, to push him out of there before either of them think to follow after. Their pity’s the last thing he needs, the last thing he wants. After all, it’s not him that won’t climb in the Conn-Pod, but his--

“Boss!”

Zen blinks, the empty corridor resolving around him. He’d let his feet carry him, their only imperative away-- and now he’s all turned around, every bulkhead the same. He’s heard about this happening to rangers when they lived in the dome too long; chasing the Minotaur, a ranger called it, three drinks down at the local hangar. And no fine little princess to give you string to find your way out.

Except he did have one of those. A person to help him through the labyrinth, even if she couldn’t show him the way. He’d been avoiding her.

That seems stupid now. It’s not like she’s on that asshole’s--

“Hey! Hey, boss.”

Speak of the devil. Zen turns, and there he is, too-tight t-shirt and all: his own personal problem. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” He holds out his hands, as if that’s proof enough to clear him of ulterior motives. “I just...saw you head out and it looked like...”

Zen’s shoulders square, body braced like they’re back on the mat. “Looked like what?”

Obi’s breath rushes out of him. “It looked like you shouldn’t be alone.”

It’s not until he lifts his hand that he realizes it’s trembling, barely able to push his bangs back where he needs them. “Yeah? And you thought-- what? I’d want to see you?” Even to his own ears, his laugh is bitter, wrong, like it came from someone else’s mouth. “You, the guy who won’t get out of my way?”

Something ripples across this asshole’s face, too fast for him to catch more than its wake. “You think I’m the stick stuck in the mud here?” When those strange cat’s eyes stare at him, it’s out of placid waters, but that grin on his face-- it doesn’t reach them. “Rock, meet hard place.”

Zen’s hands clench, so hard his knuckles creak. “You think this is a joke? You’re trying to shove your ass in a seat that isn’t for you, and you--”

“You think I want to be out there?” He lets out a bark somewhere between pitying and derisive, arms folding over his chest. Zen takes special care not to check how stressed his seams are. “I did my time, Your Highness. I got out. I got told no one would ever look for me again.”

“Then why are you here?” Zen spits. “No one wants you.”

“You don’t know how true I wish that was.” A hand pulls at his shoulder, long fingers digging in around the blade. “But your brother dragged me down the coast because I’m not done. I’ll never be done, because I can’t sit on the sidelines and watch Snotju or Head Banger or whatever cosmic asshole crawls out of the rift wreck another wall.”

His hand lifts, scrubbing through the bristle of his hair, just a shade too shaggy to be regulation. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it, Master? I’m the one who doesn’t want to be here, but I’m the one who’s got the balls to get back in that jaeger. And you--” a cold gaze rakes over him-- “you’re content to sit there and watch the world burn just because I’m not--”

“Shut up.” He’s trembling, every muscle straining against his self-control. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a goddamn thing--”

“I’ve been in your head,” that asshole reminds him. “I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You don’t.” He can’t. “You don’t fucking know a thing about me.”

He cocks a hip, grin loaded like a bullet. “The prove it.”

Kiki’s right: in the instant where his knuckles hit that cut-glass cheekbone, Zen feels great.

Shirayuki’s office has always put him at ease; he stepped in here the first time before she’d even properly covered the walls, the tension seeping right out of him into the push carpet under his boots. There’s just something about how she fills a space-- something that has nothing to do with furniture or wall hangings or motivational posters-- that makes his brain put out whatever chemical that means safe. He’d never understood why the other rangers avoided her, not when they could have forty minutes in the room equivalent of a warm hug.

But it’s different this time.

“Izana made you call me here.” He’s ramrod straight on her worn couch, hands clenched in his lap. Or rather, right over the throw pillow he moved to sit. “Didn’t he?”

“The Marshal’s personal feelings have nothing to do with this.” Her words snap like a window on a sill, closing on that topic with a sense of finality he expected from the top brass, not their therapist. “The PPDC’s code of conduct is quite clear on the procedure to be followed after a non-sanctioned physical altercation between personnel.”

There’s a loose thread right by the fringe; he’d noticed it months ago, but never dared to tug it. Every time he’d felt the urge, he’d think of dominoes and load-bearing pillars, of the whole edge unraveling in his hands right as she looked at him.

Today, he pulls. It comes right off with a snap. “And that’s the only reason you brought me in?“

Shirayuki turns to him, one incredulous brow raised. “You were the one who cancelled our last session--” her mouth twitches as she twists the knife-- “last minute.”

Well, he deserves that one. Sure, he’s had his reasons, but Shirayuki-- well, she deserved more than one step up from ghosting. If the thought of having to look anyone in the eye after all that hadn’t made his stomach turn for three days, maybe he would have come to that conclusion before Kiki ripped him a new one over it.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters, aware with every word that it’s not enough, that there’s not enough apologies to patch up the trust he broke. “I wasn’t...ready to talk.”

He expects the clap back; yeah I got the message, or but you were ready to take a swing? But he should have known: that’s not how Shirayuki works. She’s a professional, whether that’s what he wants from her or not.

Instead he face softens, right back into his friend. “I know. What happened in the drift can be...intense.” She hesitates, teeth sinking into the plush bow of her lip. “I just wish that you had felt comfortable conveying that to me. As my patient, you’re supposed to be able to control--”

“I don’t want to be your patient.”

Her mouth closes with a grunt, hand pressed to her stomach as if he hit her. “O-oh,” she murmurs, breathless. “I hadn’t realized that you, ah, wanted to terminate our sessions--”

“No!” God, it would be nice to be able to say this all smooth like he’s sure that jacked asshole can, leaning against a wall with his hand right by her head, sexual tension rocking the Richter scale. “I just meant--” his teeth try to grind down his thoughts into something palatable-- “Shirayuki, I don’t want to just be your patient.”

He could fall into her eyes they’re so wide, rounded ‘o’s that match her mouth’s geometry. “Ah, Zen, that’s...”

“I don’t mean because I-I like you.” Even though he does, but there’s rules for that. The kind the PPDC will look the other way on, but not Shirayuki. She’s not from under the dome; she still worries about what people might think outside of it. “I just...wish you were on my side.”

“I am on your side.” Her shoulders pull straight against the back of her chair, her soft look hardening into resolve. “Which is different from telling you want you want to hear.”

He jerks back, cheeks stinging like he’d been slapped. “I didn’t say I wanted that,” he mumbles, hands clenching over his lap. “But I don’t need you to tell me to do whatever it is Izana wants me to either.”

“I wasn’t going to.” The notebooks in her lap closes with a snap, and with trembling fingers, she sets aside her shield. “Izana wants you back in a jeager for the legacy. For the unbroken line of Wisterias standing between humanity and the rift. But I...”

Her eyes lift to his, and they’re no longer the lush, leafy green of a forest, but the hard glint of emerald. “If you get back in that cockpit, you need to do it for yourself.”

It’s an effort not to say, I don’t see the difference.

“I saw you when the siren went off.”

Zen scrubs a hand over his face; he remembers. Their eyes had met over that seething mass of fear and competence, and-- and he’d been so sure that if he saw her, something more than that glimpse of red in the corner of his vision, he’d forget every inch of his resolve and go to her. That he’d just take her in his arms and tell her all the thoughts roiling in the sea of his mind, but--

But he hadn’t. He’s taken one look at her and, without even a pang of guilt, left her there. A real hero.

“Zen.” She says his name so firmly, so seriously, that his head jerks up, gaze tangling with hers. “You don’t want to be on the sidelines. You don’t want to be the general hiding being his troops. You want to be out there, Rex Tyrannis shoulder-to-shoulder with Redwood Dancer. And you could be.”

It’s his breath that’s rasping, the death rattle of the man he’s let himself be these past few years. “How?”

There’s not an ounce of hesitation in her when she says. “You have to choose to move forward.”

And cozy up in the cockpit with that asshole. He thinks about that grin, cocked with a confidence he’s never been in the neighborhood of having, and...

It’s so familiar that his double vision makes his head pound. “I can’t work with that-- Obi. I won’t.”

“I know that...” Her lips press together, bursting apart with a pop. “I know there’s no limit to the amount of people a ranger could potentially drift with, but there’s something...special when you find the right one. That there’s something right about it than can’t ever be replaced.”

He stares, head galloping in his chest. She shouldn’t know that-- there’s no way she could. Most rookies out of the academy just drift successfully once, and that’s it-- that’s their partner, for better or worse, like marrying the first kid you kiss. There’s exceptions-- emergencies, injury, irreconcilable differences-- but even though this job has a high turnover...rangers rarely die alone. There’s not enough people for a paper.

“Yeah, I’ve...heard that too.” Probably from the same mouth she did, though it seems Mitsuhide’s polished the speech since he last gave it. To him, at least.

“I understand that you have a vision of who you want beside you in the pod,” Shirayuki presses, voice growing tighter, more tense with every word. “But Atri’s gone.”

Every drop of blood in him turns to ice. “Atri?”

Her breath hisses out through her teeth, relief slumping her shoulders. “I know no one can be him, but--”

“You think this is about Atri?” A giggle bubbles up from him, bitter on his tongue. “I’ve been sitting here for weeks-- no, months! And you think all this, the whole reason I won’t climb in a jaeger with just anyone off the street is because of Atri?”

Every corner of her face lost. “Isn’t it?”

“No, I...” He pinches the bridge of his nose, like it might stem the pounding of his heart behind his brow. This whole time he’d been so careful, trying to be understood for once, to let someone see him instead of his mistakes--

But he should have known; as long as his brother is obsessed with sending him an endless parade of nobodies which he sits behind a desk, it’ll only be his hang ups hung out for everyone to rifle through.

“I should go,” he finally manages, levering himself to his feet. The room spins, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, but he can’t stay here, not when she thinks-- when she’s always thought--

“Zen,” she murmurs, voice muffled by distance. “Are you all right?”

--That he’s pathetic. “Yeah.” He stumbles to the door, swinging it open. “I just need to--”

And of course, standing right there is that asshole, hand half-raised to knock.

“Boss,” he breathes, clearly stunned. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d be...”

The awkwardness in the office is palpable, so thick that he might as well be moving through molasses. Before this guy showed up, he’d though he had half a chance; he was practically the only one outside of K-Science that would even look at her, and his sessions always felt like more, but now--

Well, it’s no wonder he didn’t stand half a chance next to him, if she thought he was waiting for Atri.

“Don’t worry about it.” Zen pushes back him, shoulder clipping his. Or at least near enough to claim the feat. “I’d hate to keep you two from your--” date-- “dinner plans.”

Shirayuki’s breath gasps from her. “Zen, wait, we’re not--”

“It’s fine,” he lies, every muscle tense where he stands, fighting the urge to look back. “A couple of things are clearer now.”

It’s not just her. They all think he’s waiting for him, that one day he might stroll back in here like nothing happened, and Zen--

“Please.” Shirayuki’s voice trembles, and even if he’s not looking, he knows she’s at the door, vibrating in its frame. “Let’s just finish the session.”

-- and Zen’s been giving them nothing else to work with. All these years, looking like a kid stood up on prom night.

“No, I just remembered there’s something I’ve got to do.” He forces a smile on his face, giving her a bare hint of it as he peeks over his shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.”

It kills him how much hope lights in her eyes. “Next week?”

“That our appointment, isn’t it?” he says, light tone limping. “Unless I see you around the dome before then.”

“Right,” she breathes, cheeks flushed at both corners of her smile. Obi’s watching her, concern writ large in his eyes, and well-- maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as Zen wanted to believe. “Until then.”

He gets halfway down the hall, before Obi calls out, “Hey, boss...”

It’s clear when he looks back that Obi hadn’t meant to speak, but now that he has, he clear his throat, giving himself a visible shake.

“You could come with us,” he says, hesitant. “If you wanted.”

It’s an olive branch, one he doesn’t deserve. One he should take, if he wants all this to heal over without a scar. But he’s not ready for that, not yet.

“No.” He shakes head. “I wasn’t joking about having something I got to do. Go enjoy yourselves.”

This is a terrible idea.

He knows it the entire time he’s walking, the anxiety cresting the second he sees the plate on the door, engraved and letters painted black: IZANA WISTERIA. MARSHAL.

“Well,” Izana hums from his desk. “Are you going pace outside my office all day, or are you planning to come in?”

Zen lets out a rush of breath and pushes the door open the rest of the way.

“You win,” he says, all in a rush. “I’ll do it. I’ll give him another chance.”

“I think at this point, he’s giving you another chance,” Izana tells him, barely glancing up from his pile of papers. “But...I’ll arrange it.”

He nearly says, I figured you’d have it all arranged already, but bites it back. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure. And Zen.” His brother looks up, capping his pen calmly before he folds his hands over the desk. “It’s not me who wins. It’s humanity.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, meeting that steely gaze. “But I’m not doing it for them.”

For once, his brother doesn’t have anything to say.

It’s Obi who’s locked in first this time.

His cheeky smile is already waiting when Zen steps on deck, body gripped by Rex Tyrannis’s hydraulics when he throws him a wink. “Second time’s the charm, right Your Highness?”

“Third time,” Zen mutters, keying in his code. “It’s third time’s the charm.”

“Right, but you were top of your class.” A guy like Obi shouldn’t be so comfortable when he’s got twenty tons pinning him in place, not when he’s got a face just asking to be hit. “So we can shave one of those off, right?”

“Depends.” His mouth twitches. “Where did you rank?”

Obi’s grin grows stiff enough to float. “I think you’d say I’m a natural talent.”

“That bad huh?”

A laugh saws out of him, raw in the loud silence of the pod. “You have no idea.”

“I think I could take a guess.” The hydraulics hug Zen tight; even lifting to his arm to the panel is a chore. “Ready?”

“For you?” Obi’s mouth stretches into a leer.  For once, he feels like he’s in on the joke. “Any time.”

Don’t chase the rabbit. It’s Obi’s voice that says it; not the way he had before, serious and concerned, a scolding and a reminder. No, this one is a laugh restrained, sing-song. One pill makes you big and one makes you small.

There’s a faint riff of guitar, and Zen’s about to tell him to can it, that putting trash in the drift just clogged up the flow, but--

But between one breath-- one blink and the next, he’s lost in the tide, rolling through his memories rudderless. When a hand grips his shoulder and--

“I’m ready.” Zen’s always too honest, too eager but he’s young here, younger than he ever remembers being wearing the badge. “To pick up the legacy. To be what father meant us to be.”

The memory runs true, his younger self still chatting away with Shidnote, unaware that his whole world’s about to be cut off at the knees. But he’s not watching that now, he’s watching the way shadows crawl across his brother’s face, a storm front that appears and vanishes in the moments no one looks.

“About that.” Izana settles his hand on the desk, but the drumming is no longer bored but...nervous. An asynchronous beat that runs at the speed of his thoughts. “I meant to tell you. I’m being promoted.”

“Promoted” The word still kicks his legs out from under him, still knocks the wind out of his lungs as efficiently as any punch to the gut. “But I thought we would--”

“They want me in a command capacity now that Mother’s taking over Anchorage.” Izana won’t look at him. The man who has built his career on being able to stare down Orochi in Sagami Bay can’t bear to look him in the eye. “I’m being taken off active duty.”

“But--” He looks between them. “But--”

“But--”

“But--”

The memory stutters. It’s him, he’s the one who’s pushing away. He’d always thought he couldn’t give this to someone, to some guy right off the street, someone who might pity him, but it’s-- it’s him. He can’t look at this. He can’t face failure another time.

And he doesn’t know how to stop.

Hey. Obi’s voice is too close, but he’s just an outline in the drift, blues and grays fuzzing between misfiring synapses. Hey, we don’t have to watch this.

They do. They have to, if he’s going to get through this.

Right. There’s no way for Obi to sigh here, where there’s no air, but he does, long and loud. It sounds...different. Almost...feminine. I have worse. Want to see me wet the bed when I was--?

The words fuzz before they can continue. Go ahead, Obi says, sounding like himself. Take as much time as you need. It’s not like we have clocks here.

Zen can’t nod here, not without a body, but he breathes, one solid in and out--

“It’s supposed to be us.” Even with the distance of time, every word is carves straight from his flesh, laid out on a platter for his brother to see. “We’re supposed to carry on the legacy.”

“Shidnote will continue on in his current capacity,” Izana explains, bored, as if he didn’t even speak. “He’s served me well. I’m sure you’ll both be sufficiently compatible.”

“But--” Zen grits his teeth. “It’s supposed to be us. Why are you giving me an excuse--?

He blinks. He never said that. He’d been thinking it the whole way to his bunk, but in the moment it had only been a yes sir. I understand, sir.

Then why--

“It’s an excuse.” The shine’s all worn off Atri’s grin, baring the raw edge beneath. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you.”

Scrap litters the floor at his feet; he’s never known what jaeger-grade parts sold for on the black market, but he knows it’s not pocket money. This is a small fortune if someone knew where to sell it.

Which clearly Atri does.

“You’re going to blame me?” Zen’s laugh limps with bitterness. “I catch you with stolen goods, and it’s my--?”

“It’s not stolen, it’s salvage,” Atri snaps, snatching a length of steel from his hands. “It’s not like they’re using it.”

A lie-- there’s not a shred of steel or wire that’s wasted in the dome. Jaegars come with a price tag that only governments can pay, and any corner that can be safely cut on maintenance is considered savings passed onto tax payers. There’s no way he can’t know it, not after six months, but--

He doesn’t care. He never did.

“This is why you agreed to be my copilot.” Every word aches as he births them from his lips, a truth that cuts even as he speaks it. “You didn’t care about protecting your friends. You just wanted access to parts.”

Atri shrugs, the barest twitch of his shoulders. “I never said I gave a single fuck about all that hero shit. You just assumed I did, because you do.”

“But the drift...” His breath wheezes, the way it did when he was a kid, before his dad paid for all that to be fixed. “How did you...?”

“I just thought about the stuff you cared about. Friends. Kaiju. Me.” Atri’s grin turns smug. “Some of us don’t wear our heart on our sleeves, Wisteria.”

Wow. Obi’s outline fuzzes as he circles behind Atri, a single brow raised. He’s a real fucknut, huh?

His memories are jumbles, him-now and him-then all tumbled together until his first instinct is to jump to Atri’s defense. He may not be an academy-trained ranger, someone who has a lifetime worth of experience in a simulator, but put him in Rex Tyrannis and he’ll--

Steal the toilet cover? Obi offers, mouth canting into that insufferable grin. The one that always reminded him of--

Ah.

Obi darts a glance to where Atri stands frozen beside him. Jeeze, you really know how to hit a guy where he lives. You think I look like this asshole?

Just the grin, really. He’s almost a head taller, broader in the shoulders, and Asian besides. Better looking too--

Obi’s smile stretches into a leer. You don’t say, bossman?

Maybe Atri’s right. He’s got to get better about what he thinks about in the drift. Especially with someone this insufferable around.

If anything, Obi’s more amused. So it’s this guy though, he’s whole hold up you have with me? It’s not--

Against his will, Atri springs to life, mouth curled into his nastiest sneer when he says “I don’t know why you’re acting so betrayed. After all, you only wanted me to get back at the Marshal, and I played my part, didn’t I? I’m sure he’d jump in the pod if that meant he could be rid of me.”

“That’s not--” true, he should say. He can’t though, not when he’s not this-Zen, when he’s just looking out from his eyes, straight into Obi’s.

“Yeah.” There’s no spit to swallow in the drift, but he does anyway, a force of habit. “It is.”

The memory fuzzes away from him, and it’s just them now, two men braced in the Conn-pod, staring at each other through their visors.

“Right hemisphere, calibrated.” Zen blinks, watching as his hand opens and closes, the robotic voice’s dulcet tones washing over him.

“I never wanted this, you know,” he murmurs, “not if it wasn’t with my brother. That’s how it was supposed to be, me and him versus the kaiju.”

“Left hemisphere, calibrated.” His arms seem to move on his own, and it’s strange how he can’t keep the smile off his face this time. It feels good, moving like this again.

“No,” he breathes. “It was supposed to be me and him versus the world.”

“Ready to activate the jeager.“

Obi’s arms lift, a fighting stance to mirror his. It’s easy, so easy. Easier than he ever thought it could be. “What changed?”

He’d shrug, if the hydraulics would let him, but this isn’t Redwood Dancer. “Seemed like a shitty reason not to save the world.”

“Calibration complete.”

Obi grins, teeth shining bright under the lights of his visor. “Doc tell you that?”

Zen laughs. “Pretty much.”

“She’s got a gift,” Obi agrees, hands moving in sync with his. “And it’s making you feel like an asshole.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Looks like you jokers are getting along,” Kiki deadpans through their helmets. “How do you feel about taking Rex out for a drag?”

“After being cramped under this dome for months, Princess?” Obi drawls, tossing him a conspiratorial wink. “It’d be my pleasure.”

“Just give us a sec!” It’s been a long time since Zen’s talked much with the crew in CIC, but he recognizes that voice-- Yuzuri, one of Shirayuki’s friends. The peppy one with the cute accessories. The one that told him she’d give him cement shoes if he made her cry. “Let’s see if we can get you off your leash.”

He’d always liked her. Hopefully the feeling’s mutual, since she’s right next to the plug.

“Hey, boss.”

Zen blinks, glancing across the cockpit. “Yeah?”

“I know Atri was supposed to be a big fuck you to His Majesty, but...” He hesitates, thoughtful. “You drifted with the Big Guy for a while after that. Why?”

“Ah--”

It’s impossible not to think of it, the siren rising in the air, the men running past them, voices drowned out by the drone.

“I’ll do it,” he says, glaring up at the man across from him. “At least you know you’re just a seat warmer.”

“Zen--”

He blinks, the memory stuttering beneath him. That’s not what Mitsuhide called him then, that wasn’t until after--

“Zen.”

That’s not inside the memory, that’s inside his helmet. “Mitsuhide?”

“You’re out of alignment.”

He shakes his head, uncomprehending. “What do you--?”

“You’re out of alignment.” He repeats, each words strained. “You both chased the rabbit, and...Obi went straight down the rabbit hole.”

It doesn’t make any sense. “But I--”

“You have to go get him,” Mitsuhide says, dire. “He’s pointing the plasma cannon at Mission Control.”

#obiyukiweek21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #pacific rim au #my fic #ans #never did i think i'd cause so much controversy about who would end up in Rex Tyrannis #but i'm glad that this chapter was already going to cover it #and oh my what's that? #are we getting Obi backstory next chapter? #>:3c

[hiccstrxd]

Revelations

This idea ocurred to me last year, i started it on august and i’m only now finishing it lol. This one shot takes place during the battle in htty3 and then it time skips to a little bit after the dragons had left. This wasn’t proofread so there might be a few mistakes. 

This is obviously a self-indulgent hiccstrid fic because i just love them way too much. 

It has been crossposted on AO3 as well!

xx

“I think that’s the last one, let’s head back now!” She yelled over all the commotion, dodging a flying axe going her way that dangerously missed her by mere inches. She sprinted for a run then, trying her best to evade any threats and deeply hoping her legs wouldn’t give up beneath her. 

The more she ran, the more the tightness in her chest increased— the lack of air in her lungs suddenly became a restraint. She mustered what was left of her strength and put two fingers in between her mouth, blowing out some air. Almost immediately, she heard Stormfly’s familiar squawk from above, the Nadder landing gracefully on the decaying ship’s deck in the midst of chaos. 

She grasped the saddle tightly and in one swift motion pulled herself atop of the leather seat. Stormfly took off right after, the already cauterized wooden surface in which they were standing promptly shattered after her dragon’s strong impulse. 

She faintly saw the other riders mounting on their dragons, trailing not too far behind her, but her main concern was to get back to the cliff on time. 

“Come on, girl!” Astrid pressed herself forward trying to gain more speed, the high steep getting closer with each flutter of wings. She could hear distant cheering, the often roaring of some dragons that were nearby, blasts that soundly went off in the distance, and lastly, collective muffled screams. 

And then silence. 

The hasty change of atmosphere left her perplexed, with a strange feeling of dread, almost stopping her midair. At once, she became alert, looked around for any threats and squinted her eyes for better focus. 

And for a few seconds, her heart stopped. A loud gasp deliberately escaped from her lips. 

No. 

He was falling. Gravity pulling him downwards with such velocity that seemed inconceivable. 

She saw him plummeting down to certain death with Grimmel clinging to his flying suit. She saw Grimmel relentlessly tearing apart every bit of the handmade wings that were until that point unharmed. She saw Grimmel clutching his prosthetic as a last attempt to survive when he lost his grip on his shoulders. She saw Grimmel bring down Berk’s Chief and her entire heart with him. 

Suddenly a new sense of strength overcome her and she urged Stormfly to fly even faster. The Nadder, sensing her rider’s distress, complied with little coaxing, letting out a soft squawk as a way of comfort. 

Her eyes began to sting, a few tears threatening to fall down, prickling her lashes but she wouldn’t let them, not now. Her hands started to ache from gripping the saddle tightly, her legs feeling numb from squeezing her knees firmly against Stormfly’s sides as to not fall off and also as the only other thing keeping her from doing anything drastic.

She kept her gaze forward — even if it hurt seeing such scene display before her — it served as a motivation to keep on going. But despite her dragon’s effort, they were still too far away. He was too far away. 

Her mind wandered to all those things that could have been, if circumstances were to be different, if their day-to-day life weren’t an occupational hazard of some sort. Visions of a future that just seconds ago seemed so plausible we’re being snatched out of her grasp with such cruelty, leaving a bitter aftermath in its wake. 

Thoughts of warm embraces, tingly touches, blinding smiles, tinted cheeks, tiny fingers—

Her breath hitched. 

Her heart constricted. 

Her vision blurred and breathing became even more difficult than when she was running away from the turmoil in the ships. 

But dwelling on it wasn’t an option, time was at stake — no, time was only an appendage of the bigger picture and she wasn’t about to push her luck on that one.

An instruction fell from her lips, voice coming out more strangled than she cared to admit. Astrid was about to encourage Stormfly to keep flying forward when suddenly a white blob came at high speed towards the free-falling pair, its front paws taking ahold of one very stubborn, selfless Viking. 

And she couldn’t remember another time when she felt as relieved as in that particular moment. 

She never brought it up and nobody actually knew, aside from the gang, that she was well aware of what had transpired that fateful afternoon. There were some hushed whispers whenever she entered a stall and odd hand motions meant to silence whatever was going to be said about the matter and the sorrowful looks —oh, the looks— that were sent her way when they thought she wasn’t looking. 

She had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes at all of it because it was silly, so utterly silly. There was absolutely nothing to feel gloom for, everything was alright (well, that wasn’t entirely true, the dragon’s depart to the hidden world was still a very painful memory) but they better drop the subject before she shows them herself just how well she’s managing. 

Hiccup was fine, he was safe, she wasn’t going to lose him just yet, they were going to get married after all, he couldn’t—

But he almost did.

And it was in that moment, during one of her throwing practices in New Berk’s uncharted woods, that she finally let everything sink in. And this time, she didn’t even try to choke back the sob that escaped her lips nor withhold the tears from freely cascading down her cheeks. 

She faintly heard the calming rustling of leaves from the trees above her and the distinguished uneven sound of a metal prosthesis and a boot stepping on branches and fallen leaves.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you nonstop—“his sentence was cut short the moment his very vivid, expressive green eyes landed on her and she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth because he wore his heart on his sleeve and he was caring, selfless Hiccup and she loved him, accident prone or not. 

His eyebrows furrowed, his eyes held now a softer gaze and from where she was standing she could already see the wheels on his mind turning, “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

She faintly registered his movements, steady footsteps approaching her slowly. In a matter of seconds he was enveloping in a tight hug, one of his hands cradling the back of her head while the other was wrapped around her waist and there was nothing she could do but hug him back just as tightly, burying her face in the crook of his neck. 

She always took pride in her ability to conceal her stronger emotions. She dealt with them as the strong shieldmaiden she was raised to be, always facing them head-first. But, she thought, there’s nothing wrong with letting your walls down once in a while. Preferably not too often though. 

“I thought I had lost you.” she managed to say in between sobs, muffled by the fabric of his shirt and so low that she almost thought he didn’t hear her. But somehow he did because his grip around her tightened as did hers around his torso. 

Astrid decided against of adding the for sure at the end since, she believes, it’s heavily implied. There were many times in which she was very close to losing him through the years, but this one seemed so much real, so much dreadful.

Neither of them were sure of how long they stayed embraced in the deep ends of New Berk’s forest, but they certainly didn’t care either when the sun started to set on the horizon, a chilly breeze rustling the leaves up on the trees, signaling that the night was upon them. 

She took one last deep breath and slowly untangled herself from the hug. He took a small step back and raised his hand to gently wipe the remaining tears gracing her face. She leaned into his touch, bringing her hand upwards to lace their fingers together and smiling softly when he brought her hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle lovingly.

Gods, she loves him.

#hiccstrid #hiccstrid fic #httyd 3 #how to train your dragon #the hidden world #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #Astrid Hofferson #im such a hiccstrid trash #i really hope this turned out good? #im still new to this #but i love writing #hiccup x astrid #httyd fanfiction #my writing

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Chapter 21

Oh but we aren’t done, let’s unravel this spiderweb completely shall we? All the aces that everyone thought they had are pulled out, and what they thought were aces, just might end up being jokers instead. Also this picture of this dagger? That’s Kushi, before and after it turned to platinum, before it disintergrated into black ash. 

@punkhorse96​ this is where we come right to the brink of losing everything and this story ALMOST becomes a tragedy only for LOVE TO CONQUER ALL. And save the day and bring it back from the brink of destruction and taking the highroad keeps you from being involved in the tragic “accidents” on the low roads from the head on collisions between the other players in the game. Enjoy Darling, one more chapter to tie all this up in a neat little bow. 

Also I would like to make a note- because this mentions pregnancy and in a sense, abortion too- I want to make something clear. I am pro choice. I believe that children can be a blessing, but they above all else, are people and they deserve to be wanted, deserve to be cared for by loving and caring parents who want them and parents who are ready and willing to have them. And not be viewed as the bad consequence for having sex. 

Blood For Gold

Chapter 21

“What’s going on now?” Demsey asked you. 

“Something between Benny and Sierge that they need to work out.” You answered him. 

“Demsey, do remember that favor I asked of you? How you would help me escape the Palace of Windsor?” You prompted, as your tears welled in your eyes because having Demsey so close but knowing that the best thing to do for him was going to be to get worlds apart from him was breaking your heart just thinking about. 

“Yes, I have not forgotten.” Demsey reassured you. 

“I need to call it in. The moment we return, I need you to bring that trunk down to the stables, I was given Charlico as a gift, and I’m leaving with Heavencrest and Charlico. Because the moment we get back and can get packed, everyone is leaving the Palace of Windsor and my family is going to be going to Mirador to help sort things out.” You informed him. 

“Absolutely, I will ride back immediately and meet you in the stables.” Demsey reassured you. 

“Thank you.” You thanked him before your parents came and pulled you back to them as they insisted on having a family meeting to discuss what they were going to do as once again, urged them all to go to Mirador and formulate a plan there and that you would have room in Mirador’s stables for everyone’s rides and plenty of rooms for them to stay in even though they weren’t as lavish as the rooms at the Palace of Windsor but your family insisted that even if they had to share beds and roll out bed rolls on the floor, they were going to stay together but in this moment, you just wanted to be free and have space from everyone. 

Demsey rode the fastest horse he could rent and immediately went up to his room and hastily packed his own things into his own trunk and put them with yours and waited anxiously in the stables as your family came back as you hurriedly packed everything you could not live without and put them in a separate trunk and instructed the servants to take the first trunk to the stables and all the others to go back to Mirador with your parents since they would be taking carriages back to Mirador before you got dressed in a simple, comfortable shirt and pants along with your flying leathers and practically ran towards the stables once Yalin gave you Charlico’s papers of ownership and breeding lines and a note to the stable hands that Charlico’s saddle and whatever other tack you wanted would be leaving with him. 

“So what happened in there?” Demsey asked as he tried to help you get Charlico and Heavencrest saddled up to be loaded up. 

“My case against the Morrigans got dismissed from every court in England.” You told him. 

“How in the world did the Morrigans get your case dismissed?!” Demsey demanded. 

“Because it wasn’t them that did it, it was the Dowager Queen who was the one who dismissed both my case against the Morrigans and the Morrigan’s case against me in both the public and private courts and barred us from ever going to court to protect the Crown from any damage that this case would bring to it through Gregori, Yalin and Ramsey and she herself got to see and hear all of the evidence and acted as judge and jury and ruled in my favor. The original contract I had with Edward Senior was upheld. And the Dowager Queen awarded me everything that the Morrigans have as recompense for the hurt they caused me in their conspiracy and attempt to murder me and they were branded as mad and insane for trying to murder me via mourakatili and were sent to the asylum to be fed poison to make them honestly insane.” You answered. 

“Oh, but that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Isn’t that more or less the outcome you wanted?” Demsey asked in confusion because you were still manically trying to saddle and load both animals up and you were still crying and clearly in distress. 

“Factually, yes, but at the same time, no, not at all, because I finally found out why they tried to kill me to begin with and it’s so much worse than anything I could have imagined. The day I married Edward Senior, Ramsey, in a panic said only minutes after I married Edward, told his father that I was his perfect bride but because I was just then married, I was unavailable because his parents had threatened him that if he had not found a bride that season, he would be cut off in every conceivable way and sent into the army and have the rake beaten out of him one way or another. But he just thought I would marry Edward and live out the rest of his natural life with him and in five to ten years when Edward would die naturally of old age, then he would be ready by then. But what no one realized was Gregori’s desperation to see Ramsey married and father to a legitimate heir as soon as possible was so great, he conspired to murder Edward Senior so that I could be Ramsey’s wife that much quicker. Because it was Gregori who bribed Edward’s doctor- Dr. Rickets, to poison Edward Senior with Wolf’s Eye which when you take it, it makes you delirious within a couple months, and within a few more months, it will put into a further delirious rage to the point your heart beats so hard so fast, your heart beats itself apart, causing your heart to fail, and that led to Edward’s own madness and in his madness, he abused me. The entire Royal Family including Charlotte, Yalin, Ramsey and myself were completely unaware of Gregori’s involvement and plotting and all of them were mortified to learn of this news and as recompense, they gave me Charlico for free, although I still feel I paid for him with my own blood, but none of that seems to matter to anyone else so the real murderer is walking free because he’s the King’s brother and heaven forbid he face any punishment for his actions.” You hissed as you wiped your angry tears away as you did your best to get Heavencrest’s saddle cinched correctly as your tears blurred your vision. 

“The Morrigan's thought I had poisoned Edward Senior, wanting to get out of the marriage which of course wasn’t true because before the poisoning- Edward Senior had been nothing but good to me and I was happy and content with him and I had no reason or motive or cause for such a thing but they thought I was a typical moura, who just wanted the highest payout as quickly as possible and in retaliation and wanting to avenge Edward Senior, hired the same doctor, Dr. Rickets, to obtain mourkatili and poison me with it so that I would be buried right next to Edward Senior. Dr. Rickets tried telling Gregori but Gregori was already on holiday with his family in Dorierra trying to find another “me” for Ramsey and didn’t get his letter in time for Gregori to step in and Dr. Rickets added Jade’s Crown to the mourkatili to make it less lethal but more addictive and told the Morrigans all they needed to do was put a thimble full of it into a pot of hibiscus tea to hide the color and once I would have a sip, I would become addicted and would request to drink it more and would choose to drink myself to death, which that plot very narrowly succeeded.” You revealed with a bitter laugh. 

“But because it was Gregori who is guilty of the conspiracy, it’s being covered up, buried and dismissed and all evidence of Gregori’s guilt, once it was made aware by the Morrigans and myself and my family, it was then quickly destroyed and Dr. Rickets ended up going to the asylum with the Morrigans and has the same fate as them.” You revealed as Demsey was half tempted to try to burn the palace down himself as rage almost blinded him but your hurt kept his mind with you in the moment.  

“However, the complication was that Richard’s mistress, Myra, her children by Richard were brought up in Broadcove as servants because Agnes insisted that only the children she bore to Richard should be his heirs and treated them as such because she was the one who had control of a good portion of the wealth since a lot of it was in her name, that term was agreed on so that Agnes would continue go along with everything like a good wife and Richard of course had to agree because Myra has no nobility at all herself, just her beauty and personality to recommend her and Agnes had the breeding, nobility, connections and dowry to boot. So, of course Richard married Agnes but kept Myra as his mistress and it is those connections and that dowry that enabled Edward Senior and Richard to invest it and multiply it and turn it into the massive wealth they did and with Agnes working her own contacts like a concierto does an orchestra, that’s why they have as much power and influence as they do. But Agnes was always resentful on account of Myra so she abused those poor innocent children because she hated how Richard loved them more than the children she bore to him and even though they were his bastards, they were made in more love than Jane and little Edward ever were and she demanded that if they remain in the house that they were to earn their place as servants or be put out into the street because she could not bear the humiliation of Edward’s infidelity made public and she would turn all of her connections on Richard if she didn’t get her way so he had no choice but to agree and Myra was lucky she got a room, much less a suite of rooms at Broadcove in the opposite end of the house from Agnes, Jane and little Edward.” You explained. 

“And if that wasn’t bad enough Agnes even sent one of them to their early death, the eldest son Myra bore to Richard, the second time I was served mourkatili in tea form, she insisted that to “prove” it wasn’t dangerous, for the poor boy who served it to me, she insisted that he taste it to prove it wasn’t poisonous, I tried to stop it but he did as she commanded and dropped dead the moment that poison touched his lips and she tried to pin it on me to Myra saying that I insisted he drink it. So of course Myra came to me and demanded to know what the poor boy had done to me that I should be so cruel as to kill him and when Richard found out, of course he believed Agnes at first and came at me and had me tied down so he could beat me and I couldn’t fight back, I was too drunk on mourkatili to fight back anyway before Jane intervened and told them the truth and Jane had to show them the truth that had been caught via her own messengerari that was in the room and when Myra saw it, she apologized profusely and did everything she could to heal the hurt that Richard had inflicted but when Richard saw it, he never did apologize to me but instead turned on Agnes, her bruises and cuts were twice as bad as my own. But that didn’t stop Agnes because the third time Agnes did it, it was Myra’s youngest boy who was only six.” You broke down crying as Demsey came and tried to hold you but you resisted him, because you wanted to leave as soon as you got this all off your chest because you wanted and needed him to know the truth. 

The whole truth.  

“And I of course drank down every drop of it to keep him from having any to protect him and Jane, once again had to intervene, so she and her father decided that only she would serve me the mourkatili because I would not make her drink it and that all of Richard’s other children by Myra would be kept to her apartments in the north wing and would only be let out when they were in the company of Myra or Richard, so they became like caged animals, just like me and must like Myra.” You revealed as Demsey stared in horror. 

“And Jane, sweet Jane, she got her ladies maid to go to the market for her to get me ipecac and she would try to dilute the mourkatili and try to add what she had heard would help lessen the impact of it or help to try to neutralize it. And she purposefully “tripped” and crashed onto the floor when she couldn’t dilute the tea and it of course stained the rugs and the floorboards underneath but she couldn’t do it too often for fear her parents would get suspicious but she did everything she could in those limited, forced circumstances to try to do what she could to save me, so even though the fact of the matter is she did serve me poison, she isn’t responsible for it. And I hold no grudge against her or blame. And of course, when I got to leave Broadcove, Myra pleaded with me to take her children as my own servants because she knew I would be good to them and treat them with kindness, much more than they were being given at home and I could not refuse her. But of course, they are their father’s children and they of course, kept reporting on everything I did to their father. So even when I left Broadcove, I couldn’t escape the Morrigans.” You divulged. 

“But why not dismiss them entirely then?” Demsey asked. 

“Because they have been good to me despite that and I couldn’t fault them for their loyalty, nor can I find fault in their service, they have always been respectful and obedient and they did everything they could to be courteous and cater to me and it was only three months into my widowhood when they saw for themselves what kind of person I was that they switched their loyalties to me and told their father to “fuck off” because if he really did love them like he claimed, then he would not have put up with their indentured servitude or mistreatment at Agnes’ hands and refused to spy on me after that and it’s because of those circumstances that in an effort to mend things with me, the King made Myra a Maquise, a station higher than a Count or Countess and basically told everyone the cover for this whole fucking fiasco was ‘that Agnes and Richard went on holiday, got sick with something to make them go mad while Jane and I have been at Windsor and that they bribed Dr. Rickets to poison me with mourkatili and thankfully my brother’s dragon was here to cure me and that they are all guilty of madness and attempted murder and have since been sent to the asylum. And that Marquise Myra Bellafont, moved with pity, has taken in Jane and little Edward and is now their loving caregiver’.” You informed him. 

“So that’s why I am leaving Broadcove to Myra and all of her children as heirs of it because while Agnes has always treated them with animosity, they have never treated Jane or little Edward that way or even Myra, let alone me. So they will leave Mirador as my servants and enter Broadcove as masters and I have been awarded everything that the Morrigans had, all wealth and property and I am leaving a business or two to Myra and her children to run so that they can keep up Broadcove and care for their needs and anyone who says otherwise or attempts to reveal the truth will be promptly killed or sent to the asylum themselves.” You explained. 

“But if that wasn’t enough, Richard did hire a mage to cast a spell over all of Mirador so that no messengerari would work and send any message out and bribed four of the post masters in the Royal Mail Service to destroy every piece of mail going in or out to me and Mage Bellfast had to conjure them all up because they had all been burned in an effort to be destroyed. That’s why that table was covered in mail from my friends and family. Not even your letter to me a few days before the ball to warn me about who was going to be there and who meant me harm could reach me.” You explained. 

“And that was the other reason why the Royal Family couldn’t let this go to court because to prove that their Royal Mail Service had been corrupted, couldn’t be tolerated.” You answered. 

“And what’s even worse is now I can’t go home to Dorierra either because I got the classification of tavnit, which means “no master”. And even if I were to go back to Dorierra, I can’t stand to go back into the bride system. But I also can’t stand to go home to Mirador where my whole family now has dollar signs in their eyes and now they are all clamoring for a piece of the giant money pie I’ve just been handed and the temptation to just let your sister inherit all that I have so that you can assist her in how to run it all so I can be free of even all of that is too tempting for me right now and so the only place that leaves that I can go and be truly free in every sense, is a colony because justice is a joke and loyalty is fickle at best in this country and the less people around me who can use me for their own benefit, spy on me to others who would use that information as blackmail against me and betray me, the better.” You insisted bitterly.  

“Do you think I would ever do those things to you?” Demsey asked. 

“No, never, because you’re actually a very good man, with upstanding character and morals but you deserve a highborn lady at your side to be the perfect wife to you and help you and stand by you. And as much as I want to do that, I can’t.” You cried as you put your bags onto the saddles and tied them down. 

“Why not? I told you, I don’t need an heir and a spare, all I want is you to be happy. And if a colony is where you think you’ll find that then let me go with you. Where you go, I go. To hell with England.” Demsey insisted. 

“No, England is still your home though, and Whydah I’m sure has no equal. You have everything here, you have your business which should be booming with the new soap recipes which Leumeni has offered to share if he could have the chance to court Kiera properly. You have your title as Duke, you have your family and friends, and I’m not worth giving all of that up for.” You argued. 

“Yes you are! To me, you are worth more than anything this world has to offer me.” Demsey argued further as he once again tried to reach for you to pull you into the comfort of his embrace as you desperately put your hands on his chest and shoved him away with what was left of your strength in that moment. 

“Demsey please! You can’t love me without knowing the truth about me! I am a murderer! I’m the one who gave Edward his fatal blow!” You cried out as Demsey was dumbstruck by such a revelation as he subconsciously took a step back as your heart broke to see such a reaction from him before you grabbed your last bag and tied it to Charlico’s saddle.  

“A millenia ago, when mouras first touched down on the ground, the reason we knew we could turn things into gold was because at a banquet, a drunken man tried to rape a moura woman. The moment his touches grew desperate and violent, just touching her, her body, in an act of self defense, turned him into a statue of gold. That’s how we found out we had that power. Once she touched him again, he turned back to flesh and blood but the act of being a solid gold statue killed him and he dropped dead. Then we learned to master that defense mechanism and learned to control it. It was our blessing and our curse. From there, moura women were hunted like game, like trophies and when mouras grew cloaks, when you took a moura’s cloak you were considered bonded with them. And men of all kinds hunted us, and once we turned their enemies into statues of gold, to be melted down into bricks and bars of it and once that is done once it stays gold for a year, touching it again will never let it revert back to it’s original flesh, so the gold was kept in the ground for a year and a half just to be safe while the person was considered “gone missing”, or the women turned their own body weight of mud and rock and bricks into gold, then they were released. But that meant that no moura would ever have rape or any abuse attempted on them because the perpratrator would be turned to gold themselves. But when the gold plague came, that power died with it. And suddenly we didn’t have that protection, or that curse. Until only recently, and I mean recently as in only the last one hundred years. There have been only four mouras born in the whole world, who can now touch that moura gold and turn it into moura platinum. That’s what I am. I’m a platinum moura. The moment Edward’s flesh touched mine as he tried to rape me, he dropped dead as a platinum statue, he broke the bed and the crash was heard through the whole house and I had to have the bed burned and bribed Dr. Rickets to say he died of a heart attack, which having a heart that needs to be beating for you to stay alive, if it stops, you’re dead, still kind of happened. But because of the mourkatili, it means that that very platinum is poisonous and lethal if you touch it but when I touch it again, it turns to black ash, the same black ash from the Gold Plague that killed billions of heavenly moura, that’s why my hands were black when you came in and why there was so much ash on the floor because Mage Bellfast, as payment for conjuring up my mail asked me to turn a brick of moura gold into moura platinum. I tried and failed because Grevu cured me. And when Mage Altissia informed Mage Bellfast of that, he cast a spell on me and pulled the mourkatili that was in my hair back into my body and re-poisoned me so that I could have that power back. I tried stabbing him after he put that spell on me and I tried stabbing him with Kushi and Kushi turned from gold to platinum in my hands but the mourkatili made me weak again and I collapsed onto the floor and when I stood back up and picked up that gold bar and the moment I touched it, it turned from gold to platinum and I gave it to him and he at the time had the good sense of wearing gloves and when he got to hold it, he kissed it. And when he kissed it, his body instantly dissolved into a heap of ash with the bar of platinum falling onto a heap of his clothes and ash and it killed him and when I went to pick up Kushi, the moment I touched it, it turned back to gold but also into ash as well and it disintegrated into my hands and all the jewels that were imbedded into it, fell through my fingers like pebbled sand at the beach. I destroyed Kushi because it had been made with moura gold and when I touched that brick of moura platinum, it did the same thing. And now I can’t touch anything made out of moura gold or else the same thing will happen to it and for all I know the ash is just as poisonous now as it was when it first appeared in the Gold Plague. That’s why I have the tavnit status and that’s why I’m not welcome back in Dorierra because I have no use for the stable masters and once again, I am a lost cause.” You confessed. 

“Do you still love me now? Knowing that I can kill you if you touch me? That I can turn everything that happens to be moura gold and turn it into poisonous platinum that will kill everything and anything it touches?” You asked rhetorically. 

“That’s why as soon as I’m packed, I am going to go back down to Grevu so he can heal me yet again so that I am free of this curse too and then I’m leaving for the farthest colony I can find from here because the more space between me and this whole horrible situation and circumstances, the better.” You told him. 

“But I know you would never do such things to me, at least on purpose. I promise to remove everything gold from Whydah so that you can’t possibly…” Demsey tried to offer. 

“Demsey, that is not the only reason I can’t marry you and that you can not come with me. You deserve a wife who is faithful and honest with you in all things. Demsey I am pregnant. I am with child as we speak. I’m a month along already and even if we got married today, the baby will come too soon after the wedding and your reputation as well as my own would probably be ruined beyond repair and I can’t do that to you, I won’t do that to you, I refuse to do that to you. It’s not right and I refuse to do anything that can be in any way harmful to you. That’s why Grevu cured me the first time, he could tell I was falling pregnant and cured me to protect me and the baby, but because of the pregnancy and because of Grevu’s magic, protecting the baby from all harm, even now with the mourkatili in me, the baby is fine, it remains unharmed and the rest of my womb is being protected from reabsorbing it’s poison and this babe was made in love and passion and I refuse to harm it either. It’s an innocent in this situation too and it’s not only my responsibility and obligation to take on the consequences of my own actions and I have no one to blame for my state but myself and I am ready and willing to take it on and the only saving grace I have is that the baby is in no way the offspring of the Morrigans. And I love you too much to try to push onto you a baby that isn’t yours. It wouldn’t be honest or right. And I can’t ask you to take me and this baby on, knowing that.” You insisted as you finished then went over everything to make sure everything was attached and secure and wouldn’t come flying off when you would fly to the colonies in just a few moments. 

“And the father of the baby has completely disappeared, no one can find him. And what’s worse is he was a whore in a whorehouse, that’s who the father of this baby is. Two months ago, when you gave me that note back that Calla was able to sneak to me. I went to The Gold Finch, that is where I met Yalin, she told me about The Red Velvet Rope and she told me which days to go and which days to avoid the place because that was Ramsey’s favorite whorehouse and at the time she didn’t want us to meet because she knew Rasmey would use me, then ruin me. I met the manwhore there and I got to be with him three times, that first time, a second time right before the ball at Havenfield and the third at the Masquerade Ball at The Midnight Peacock. That’s who I was with right before you found me at the bar, he was why I didn’t feel like dancing because we had both told the other that we were going to be pursuing other people and that never again would The Red Velvet Rope be in our lives and then the bastard made an enormous bet on me on Kamoba and apparently won a small fortune and as always, he took the money and ran because since then, he has vanished into thin air and no one has even heard of him, let alone knows of him and of course The Red Velvet Rope absolutely insists that no one by his name or appearance has ever worked for them, ever. But the place wouldn’t be a good whorehouse if it didn’t serve it’s lady clientele pregnancy warding tea to counteract the consequences of it’s use which I made sure to drink both before and after each trip to The Red Velvet Rope. Except for the night of the Masquerade Ball, I was too heartbroken over losing him that I forgot to drink any and that one time was all it took, even with the mourkatili in my system which mourkatili is supposed to kill fetus’ but thanks to Grevu’s magic, the baby is perfectly fine and healthy and shows no signs of being disformed or anything. And I would never do you the dishonor of trying to pass off a baby that isn’t yours to your very face and I would hate myself for trying to live that lie and that guilt would eat me alive, more than mourkatili ever could. That’s what I meant by you deserve better. Do you still love me now? Don't these truths kill every ounce of love you thought you had for me? Don’t..don’t answer those questions. Hopefully all these truths will help you dismantle any affection you’ve built for me and hopefully you can find someone worthy of your love and affection who will do right by you, who isn’t a whoring murderer.” You offered as you finished with the last of it before you went back to Grevu and asked him to heal you again as Demsey sat on the now empty trunk as his own sack of clothes and personal items laid down at his feet and processed everything as he watched you get into Grevu’s tent with him as you hugged Grevu tight and tried to tell him goodbye as he wrapped his neck and wing around you protectively as you cried into his chest but thanked him for intervening and trying to protect you and save you and the baby before he seemed to glare at Demsey. 

“It’s not his fault. He’s not the one to cause my hurt.” You tried to excuse to Grevu. 

“Just, please, heal me, one last time, so I can carry the baby safely ok? Thank you, thank you for preserving this little miracle of life.” You pleaded with Grevu who put his nose into the neck of your flying leathers and snorted softly before you had to let him go and go to a corner and throw up again and just the sound of you being sick and in agony as once again, the mourkatili colored your hair, but just the ends of your hair this time instead of all of your hair as you readily grabbed it and cut the colored ends off and laid them on the ground for Grevu to burst into flames to destroy for good and it was enough to break Demsey out of his stupor and move him to action as he knelt next to you and once you were done, he handed you his handkerchief to wipe off your mouth. 

“Audra, my love for you transcends everything you’ve told me and will transcend a million things more. I don’t care if you were working at The Red Velvet Rope as a whore yourself, and I don’t care if you couldn’t know who or what was the father of the child you’re carrying and I don’t care if you don’t even have a penny to your name. I love you. I will always love you. And I will happily love the child you’re carrying as if it were my own. You speak like you’re the only one to have ever sinned. I’m imperfect too and I don’t want the perfect wife. How boring would that be? I want you as my partner in life, no matter how or what kind of name you want to attach to it, I want you, any part of you or all of you if you’re willing to give it to me as perfectly imperfect as you are right now and forever.” Demsey professed. 

“You want to hear my deepest darkest secret? Shortly after seeing you on the train, I used The Red Velvet Rope too because I could not get you off of my mind and I thought at the time that if I rutted with a moura, that would help me be less distracted and then I met another moura, with the same first name and the same looks as you. And my fantasy was that I was actually being intimate with you instead of her and I met with her three times as well, that first time shortly after returning the note to you from Calla, the second, right before the ball at Havenfield and then again at the Masquerade Ball. I went to that ball and I immediately rented a change of clothes so that no one would recognize me in my own clothes in an attempt that you would not recognize me but that she might and sure enough, like moth to a flame, she found me again and it both broke my heart but filled me with relief that she was going on the straight and narrow and she confessed that she was going after an orc in the gentry and I feared it was my brother because shortly after just giving Sierge the smallest, most miniscule of details about her, he has been looking for her ever since and he claimed he found her and agreed that her resemblance to you was uncanny and I tried to kiss her goodbye and cut things off clean with her at the ball, but it was like she was a drug that I was addicted to and I went one last round with her and I haven’t seen her since. She also bet on me for the Kamoba and apparently won a small fortune in turn but again, she, just took the money and ran and not even Sierge has been able to find her since, even with his almost super powerful sense of smell, and that was also why I was in no mood to dance at the Masquerade Ball and why after that, I found you at the bar and why it wasn’t fair to you at all that I was in your presence but yet it was her that was on my mind. So I’m just as much of a whore as her and I have been just as unfaithful and just as secretive and deceitful and I’m sorry that we live in a society where such things are like a death sentence to a woman and her honor but are expected from most men and it’s not fair and it isn’t right. But I swear- on my life, I would never, ever, hold such things against you and I would keep these revelations just between us and take them to my grave and I will do anything you ask of me, except for leaving your side. I want to help you, I want to love you and care for you if only you would let me. You are not the only one with sin or fault, I’m just as guilty as you, I’m just as imperfect and flawed. But she is nothing compared to you and is a sad counterfeit of the real you and I would much rather have you than a hundred of hers. You will always be infinitely more precious to me. Please, if you must insist on going to a colony, then let me go too. You don’t even have to marry me if you don’t want to, I don’t have to be a Duke, Sierge or even Tzane can take the title and the business for all I care. Just...let me love you and care for you the best way I can. I know how to make soap anywhere, with my own two hands, it doesn’t have to be England or Europa, I don’t care where we are or where we go, as long as we are together. That’s all that matters to me, we’ll find a way to keep each other. I swear.” Demsey offered before you took your small canteen on your hip and swished your mouth out real quick before you finally kissed him, climbing into his lap and wrapped yourself around him and held him tight as you both cried tears of happiness and relief as an overwhelming flood of emotion overtook you both. 

Then as if you both seemed to realize it at the same time, that each other’s taste was...really familiar.Not in a way that it was familiar from the night before but much farther back than that. Almost too familiar in an uncanny way. 

“Wait, this, other Audra, the first time you met her, did you try to call her Audrey and she corrected you by saying it’s Audra- Draft?” You questioned him as suddenly, something clicked in your head.  

“And I replied, ‘call me Demsey’.” Demsey answered as he gave you the most bizarre look before you both started laughing. 

“Oh my gods, we are so stupid! Ugh! The Abbess at the Red Velvet Rope, told me I was going to be seeing a guy named Draft. That’s why I said “Draft”, not as my last name, but that was to address you, who I thought was named Draft.” You confessed. 

“And it was on the 12th. At like, 3 o’clock in the afternoon? I told my abbess on my side of the place that I just wanted a rut with a moura and she offered an Audrey and so that’s why I called you Audrey and I thought the Draft thing was you saying your name was Audra Draft, Miss Draft.” Demsey confessed with a sigh of relief as he held you as finally your own personal scent was so wonderful and comforting and familiar! How had he not made the connection before now?

“And then we both returned on the 23rd at about the same time and met again, you were wearing that gorgeous navy suit jacket with the cream pants and that vest with cream and navy paisley.” You realized. 

“And you wore that sexy as sin black lace dress that had me nearly losing my load just from the looks of it. Which, you do still have that right?” Demsey asked.  

“Yeah, it’s back at Mirador.” You confirmed with another laugh. 

“And that was you? At the Masquerade Ball, and it was me that you were quitting Mr. Draft for?” Demsey asked as he just couldn’t stop laughing as all of a sudden everything clicked into place as to why he was so outrageously attracted to you as he tightened his hold on you. 

“Yeah, and obviously it was me that you were quitting Miss Draft for?” You asked with a laugh of  your own. 

“Yeah.” Demsey confirmed. 

“So this is actually my child you’re carrying, this is my babe that Grevu has used his magic in protecting this whole time?” Demsey asked in awed astonishment and wonder and gratuity that even when you thought it was the child of a manwhore, you would would bear it and cause no harm to it and you’d be juast as loving and doting and safeguarding it which pleased him greatly and really proved to him the exceptional character you had as you nodded yes before he happily grabbed your face and kissed you with so much passion and so much feeling it was almost overpowering.

“Ok, new change of plans, I am marrying you as soon as I possibly can, I have a ring for you actually here, in my pocket, when you had that attendant hand the journal that I had written in back to me and that one line that you loved me back was all I needed to know, I figured you would be a while and I immediately rode to the closest jewelry store and bought you a ring and raced back and I barely made it back before we came inside the throne room. I am taking you home to Whydah and only keep whatever servants you’re really attached to back at Mirador but otherwise, leave the rest to whoever you want and I will never leave your side again and I pledge my heart, mind, soul and absolute fidelity to you from this day on.” Demsey vowed as he got the ring from his pocket and slipped it onto your finger.  

“Likewise. Although I would like to make one small suggestion.” You offered as you wiped the last of your tears away. 

“Name it, it’s yours.” Demsey answered back. 

“If we ever get to the point where we need a break from being Duke and Duchess Voyambi, we can take breaks and go out on the town and Mr and Mrs. Draft.” You proposed which got him to smile wide and laugh. 

“That sounds perfect. And we can continue to make bets in Kamoba, as Mr. and Mrs. Draft.” Demsey suggested. 

“Perfect. Now, get what you need, load it onto Charlico because right now, he is yours, because it is only right that a mated pair of griffins be owned by a mated pair of people and fly Charlico home to Whydah.” You ordered as you looked at the aquamarine teal stoned ring with a halo of diamonds around it with so much pride and happiness and now that you knew that it was actually Demsey to save you from everything and that you had no more reasons to try to escape anything, because what you wanted and what you needed was already yours and already in your embrace and being married to Demsey and carrying his children was all you wanted and it made the sting of all the revelations earlier today melt away and you felt strengthened and fortified and so supremely happy because you were happily and freely choosing Demsey just as much as he was happily and freely choosing you, as “complicated” as the circumstances were. 

“Yes Ma’am.” Demsey giggled as he kissed you again. 

“Good dragon, very good dragon. I owe you everything. Thank you so much.” Demsey happily cooed to Grevu who happily wrapped his head and neck around you both and happily soaked up your affectionate petting and scratching just as a servant came into the barn. 

“Is Duke Demsey Voyambi in here?” He called out. 

“Yeah, I’m here,” Demsey said as you untangled from him as Grevu lifted his head to reveal you both and together you walked hand in hand to the servant who looked relieved to see you. 

“And Sultana Saharazat! Oh good, I’ve found you too. Your bets on the Kamoba battles, they have returned along with their payouts.” He said as he handed Demsey a thick letter full of bills and then handed you a large parcel of bills too as you noticed the letters on top as addressed to Mr. Draft and Miss Draft. 

“So who did you bet on?” You asked him. 

“You, you beat out Benny, I bet on you to win the battle and you did.” Demsey said as he took the letter and showed you before you took the letter and showed him. 

“You bet on me too?” He cooed to you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and kissed the crown of your head as he read it. 

“And with the pay out being one in 20 that you would win your class, I now have at least 2000 pounds here.” You giggled as you opened it to reveal the stacks of pound notes before you put those into the saddle bag with Heavencrest but kept the note and put it into your pocket. 

“Would you come to Mirador with me today though? I still wish to have your input and sensibilities on how to handle all of the wealth and businesses and how I should alot what I’ve just inherited and who it should go to, but I do have one thing clear in mind, all businesses need to have unions for the workers, everything has a union back in Dorierra and when Jane told me that you were pro union, it of course makes the best sense, earning money is of course the goal but not at the price of the lives of your workers.” You suggested sweetly as he simply pocketed his own winnings but put the actual letter in a bet into his pocket where your ring had once occupied. 

“Of course, I would be delighted to, and I’m honestly happy and relieved we agree on this.” He reassured you before Benny came rushing in with Sierge carrying a whole bag full of money since his bets were structured in such a way that they compounded so he just won over a hundred thousand pounds for Benny beating The Saharan Viper and The Copper Cobra along with your heir father, his wife and his mother. 

“Grevu! Lift this curse off of me right now!” Benny demanded of Grevu as you and Demsey watched her pass you curiously as you snickered a laugh. 

“Shut up Audra! You just won the world! You have no right to laugh at me!” Benny spat angrily as Grevu growled at her before he got up and balled himself up, like a cat curling up on a rug before a fire and turned away from her as your family was coming into the barn to leave too. 

“Aw, does “the happy heart beat” not make you so happy Benny?” You asked her in a teasing, almost taunting tone. 

“Don’t you dare say those words to me, there is nothing happy about this situation at all!” Benny said. 

“Happy heart beat?” Demsey repeated. 

“In the far east- in the emperors harem, that’s how pregnancy is diagnosed and what is said when it’s discovered. It’s a way of diagnosing pregnancy. Dr. Chu told me, that’s why I told Sierge to follow Benny and stay with her.” You revealed. 

“And thats...” Demsey began as he looked at you questioningly. 

“Yup.”  You eagerly nodded with a bright smile. 

“Oh good you have not left yet.” Your mother blew out a breath of relief at seeing you as all of them were carrying small packets of money, won from them betting on you for winning the Kamoba tournament. 

“No, Demsey is coming to Mirador with us, since he’s been running his businesses with great success in the English market, I want his input to help me decide what I should do with all of the Morrigan’s businesses and help me decide who should get what.” You explained as you happily stood with your arm around his waist as he stood with his arm around your shoulders and happily held the other to your side as Benny just rolled her eyes in annoyance. 

“Axal! Get your ass down here and have Grevu take this curse off of me this instant! He cursed me last night before the night Kamoba games and I refuse to live another moment under it!” Benny screamed down the barn which got everyone to stare at her in confusion except for you and Demsey who were content to just stand back and see how this was going to play out. 

“How did he curse you?” Axal asked with a barely contained grin. 

“He just...did! I just need him to lift it!” Benny hotly demanded. 

“Right. I don’t believe you. Unless you can give me solid proof and evidence that he did and show me how he cursed you, I’m not getting involved at all.” Axal dismissed as he waived her off and began to walk away. 

“He got me pregnant!” Benny desperately confessed as everyone gasped and stared at Benny in shock as you couldn’t help it, you snorted and snickered a laugh which soon infected Demsey too and the others around you. 

“Wow! You had sex with Grevu? By heaven above, Sierge’s dick isn’t enough for you that you had to fuck my dragon?! How did he even fit…?” Axal began to ask.

“No! I didn’t fuck your dragon, his cock would split me in half! No, I...he made the seed that was already in me take root and now his magic is protecting that root and I need him to lift his protection of that root so I can remove it!” Benny finally confessed. 

“And whose “root” is it?” Axal asked. 

“Who knows, it could be mine, it could be Viscount Whiteales or any of the other orc gentlemen  you were schmoozing with at the Kamoba lunch and dinner feasts, it’s hard to tell with a whoring slut like her.” Sierge said as everyone ‘ooooh’ed’ with another snickering laugh as Anavia and Loreiris tsked and shook their heads. 

“Your mother will be so disappointed in you. You knew penilie- vaginal sex was forbidden for this very reason, is this why you couldn’t get the dowager status?” Loreiris asked. 

“Yes, it’s cost me everything! Now Grevu, take it back!” Benny demanded. 

“But what about that leverage you were going to use against Audra when and if she could not get you that Dowager status? Surely you can’t fault her- for you- not getting it, because we were all there to hear how she wanted all of us to have that status and didn’t single you out to not have it.” Loreiris pointed out. 

“You were going to betray Audra after everything she did for you?” Your mother scuffed in disgust. 

“No, I wasn’t, I swear!” Benny said as real fear came back into her eyes. 

“But you told me that you were going to.” Loreiris insisted. 

“And me,” your heir father insisted. 

“And me,” his wife Maradiem added. 

“And me,” his mother Anavia added. 

“It was just something to say for the Kamoba, I didn’t mean it!” Benny pleaded as your whole family began coming towards her and began to surround her as everyone was glaring at her before she was pushed back so that her back hit the wall. 

“What is going on now?” Yalin and her children asked as they came into the stables to see your family off and saw Benny as she ducked and dodged through your family to get to her. 

“Please Mama Yalin, you have to help me! Grevu cursed me so that seed took root in my womb and his magic is protecting the root and I need it removed before I could ever go back to Dorierra!” Benny pleaded. 

“Well whose seed was it?” Yalin asked. 

“Sierge’s.” Benny finally confessed. 

“Are you sure? You were seen practically hanging all over all the other orc families yesterday, it could have been any of theirs, after all, you were offering all of them the leverage you had collected for Gregori against Audra and Demsey so Audra could be with Ramsey, but obviously, you see how that didn’t go so well.” Loreiris said as she gestured to you and Demsey as well as to Ramsey who was between Axal and Octavia. 

“So you were going to try to sell that leverage to the highest bidder?” Yalin asked Benny as she pulled away from Benny and fixed her with a disapproving glare. 

“No!” Benny shook her head no. 

“That’s not what she told everyone else, I specifically overheard her tell Kate Whitesale and her brother that she would give that leverage to them so that Kate would be the next Duchess Voyambi and that Benny would be the next Viscountess Whitesale since Sierge was the second son and heir to nothing and had no power or wealth to his name because it all rested with Demsey and how getting that leverage came with ‘the unfortunate side effect of Sierge’s attentions and affections which you did not at all return’.” Loreiris paraphrased. 

“I overheard those exact sentiments too, you offered the same thing to the other orc families that day too and swore up and down how you had Sierge’s unwanted and unreciprocated attentions and affections and how you needed “saving from him”.” Axal insisted. 

“Oh dear, did you get caught in your own web?” Yalin asked Benny as she shook her head and looked so profoundly disappointed. 

“Well, unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t help you. Because the right thing to do was once you saw that whatever leverage you got by whatever means you used, was no longer wanted or needed, you should have been a good friend to Audra and forgotten all about it. Because I never asked you to get that leverage and I never wanted it used against Audra. Who has clearly already had enough horrible tactics used on her.” Yalin offered. 

“And I never asked you to get leverage on her either. So your leverage was and is completely useless to me.” Ramsey insisted. 

“Nor I.” Charlotte chimed in. 

“No but your father did!” Benny insisted to Ramsey and Charlotte. 

“Right, the same one who hired a doctor to poison an old man to death, how did that turn out by the way?” Ramsey sarcastically mocked her before turned to his mother. 

“Horribly. I fear your father faces some intense discipline and will be forced to pay recompense with interest for years and years to come.” Yalin answered. 

“And once it is known that you are with child, that classifies you as “fallen” and no man in nobility in any country either here or anywhere else in Europa wants a fallen lady, no one will want to claim you. I suppose if you have anyone at Dorierra will take you on- in such a condition, that would be what’s best but for fallen ladies, there are few choices. Maybe the father might be induced to take you, if he will have you but only if you had not betrayed him or tried to cast him off before hand. But with the fortune Sierge just won from the Kamoba, he could have any number of ladies.” Yalin said as she gestured to him. 

“And with that fortune he could buy any number of the businesses I just inherited, so it’s not like he’s left with nothing, no fortune or income or power or influence, he could be a man of industry and wealth that might even exceed his brother and he could always claim his own title of nobility, it might not be as high as a Duke but it’s better than nothing, after all we are all Maquis now right?” You pointed out to everyone else who had agreed on staying in England. 

“But he’s the one who gave me the leverage against you in the first place!” Benny said as she pointed at Sierge accusingly as everyone then looked at Sierge. 

“Look, you and your hands and mouth were very persuasive but I only told you what you wanted to hear. It’s not like anything that I told you was necessarily completely true or at all accurate or even current. Because what’s that saying? Something only ten percent true is still 100% misleading? You’re not the only one who knows how to work other people and you weren’t subtle about the fact that you were working me, but thanks for the inside info to bet on you against the Saharan Viper, even as dirty as you played her, I now have enough money to buy any bride I wanted from Dorierra if I ever wanted one, or I could just as easily court and marry any eligible lady here in England. So, all in all, thanks Benny for doing me the backhanded favor.” Sierge winked at Demsey with a smug smile himself a shrug from his shoulders. 

“But the fact that you’re not just willing, but desperately wanting to kill my unborn child because it just happens to inconvenience you and puts your treachery on display and exposes you for who and what you really are. I don’t know if I want you as a wife. I can’t trust that you wouldn’t hurt any other children I could ever give to you if I were to take you as my wife, for any number of reasons. So go ahead, let Grevu lift his protection from you and “uproot” the little sapling and destroy it before it can sprout any further as you so chose to phrase it. You’re free of my attentions and affections as of this moment and every moment to come, exactly how you wanted to be, right?” Sierge questioned rhetorically as even you could see the beginning of tears start to make his eyes glassy as he tried to remain composed as even you could feel how profoundly hurt he was by this betrayal too. 

“Yes, you know why? Because you never once respected me! Or women in general. You treated me like a pet, a toy, you feel a woman’s place is in the home, birthing heirs and too stupid for anything else, helpless and weak and completely dependant. I am so much more than you could ever comprehend, let alone appreciate. And being forced to be bonded, much less married to a stupid, honorless, pig headed, stubborn, egotistical, selfish, much less completely incompetent, lackluster lover, who is as reckless with honor as he is money. You are ruination itself! And you will lose all of that wealth as quickly as you got it!” Benny roared angrily as everyone blinked in surprise. 

“Wow, been holding that in for a while now huh?” Calla asked Benny. 

“Yes, and I’m done, Leumeni, Coravien, come on, we’re leaving. we are going home to Dorierra, we can still catch the train.” Benny barked at her brothers. 

“I’m not leaving with you. I’m free, remember? Unlike you, I got dowager status, so I don’t answer to you. Besides, everything I could ever want and need is right here with me in England. Not in Dorierra.” Leumeni answered back calmly as he looked to Kiera who happily took his hand and held it tight. 

“And you’re more than welcome to stay at Mirador while you find a fine house of your own.” You offered to him. 

“Thanks, I’ll take you up on that.” Leumeni smiled happily. 

“Me too, if Demsey will take me on as a partner in his soap business, I’ll give him every soap recipe I know and we can have the same soaps and things here that we do at home. Besides, I’m a Marquis here in England and the King offered me a living of ten thousand pounds a year, which I understand is a lot and the other orc ladies here are actually really pretty. So I’m staying too.” Coravien answered his sister back too. 

“Yeah can I get in on that soap thing too?” Leumeni asked. 

“Absolutely. I’d be happy to have you on board.” Demsey readily agreed as you smiled happily at him as you squeezed him into your side and being so proud to have such a wonderful man as your fiance. 

“And London needs a proper moura restaurant,” Storren pointed out. 

“Yeah, I ain't going back either, I’d love to open a good moura restaurant. Give that Savoy I keep hearing about a good run for its money.” Brima grinned. 

“And my place is with Tzane, I ain’t going back either, not until I marry Tzane and we go back together to gather all of my things from Dorrierra so I can fully move here, Whydah is from what I hear a large home, big enough for more than one couple.” Calla shrugged. 

“Mama Yalin?” You called out. 

“Yes Audra Dear?” Yalin asked, happy and elated that you were still speaking to her in such an affectionate way, having feared that Gregori had completely destroyed your relationships with their entire family. 

“Would it be possible to get a marriage license for Demsey and I to get married sooner than later, he has asked me to marry him and I’ve accepted, and I would like to get married within the week at least so that all the members of my family who wish to return to Dorierra can see me get married in the moura tradition before they leave to go home to Dorierra?” You asked her hopefully as you raised your left hand and turned it so she could see it as everyone gasped excitedly and cheered to see it before offering their congratulations to both of you. 

“Surely you can postpone your departure from England for a day or two can’t you Benny? You could still go back with my family when they want to go back.” You offered rather sweetly, if not just a tad smugly because what you had told her in the Kamoba battle was coming true, just the way the gods and goddesses had told you it would. 

“Only if Grevu will lift this curse off of me first.” Benny decided. 

“Grevu, go ahead, do as she asks. Lift the protection.” Axal decided before Benny marched down and kneeled in front of Grevu who blew a red smoke over her and then inhaled it all back in a moment later. 

“Thank you, you overgrown rat with wings.” Benny snipped as she turned away from him before Grevu spitefully growled and knocked her down onto the floor on her way out with his snout as Benny cursed in pain before she felt the pain seep and radiate from her lower belly as she clutched it as everyone else just shook their heads and carried on with business of getting ready to leave as Siege simply walked out of the barn and towards the carriage with his other siblings and their partners since his parents had left Buckingham palace to their London home right after the “court” was ajourned. 

“You ready Demsey Darling?” You asked Demsey as you both got into Heavencrest’s and Charlico’s saddles respectfully. 

“Absolutely Audra Dearest.” Demsey grinned before he put the helmet on before Heavencrest and Charlico raced to reach to the skies as Demsey and yourself flew to Mirador to discuss business with your family and friends, including Marquise Bellafont because you wanted her to tell her children herself of their own freedom and rise to nobility since the King and Queen had quickly signed off on her nobility so she could show it to her children herself. 

Once you arrived home, Rose, Myra’s eldest daughter, was the first to greet you. 

“My Lady, you would not believe what the papers have been saying about you.” Rose began. 

“Rose, I love you dearly, but I need you to go back inside and get dressed in your Sunday best, your mother is coming with really fantastic, exciting news, and get all of your siblings and tell them to do the same.” You excitedly told her. 

“Really?” Rose asked you. 

“Yes really, and after today, you and your siblings are servants to no one, not even me.” You hinted as she gasped as she looked from you to Duke Demsey who was nodding in confirmation with you, wearing a similar smile. 

“Excuse me then,” Rose happily excused herself as she rushed back into the house and called all of her siblings together and repeated what you told them as they all quickly left and got dressed in their Sunday best and packed everything they owned before their mother arrived and eagerly embraced her children and revealed the truth and then repeated what the King and Queen had told her what the story should be as they all agreed to the story before they came back to you as all of them hugged you tight before you presented them with your winnings. 

“Now, this is all I was able to win in the Kamoba battle, take this money, go to a really good dress shop or even a few of them, put this down as a down payment on your new wardrobes. I want every member of your family to dress and appear as lofty as your station permits. I have some jewelry I wish to bestow upon all of you. Although I will insist that all of Agnes’ jewelry be given to Jane along with anything else Jane has any sentimental attachments to and I understand if Jane would like to inherit her mother’s connections and will use them how she sees fit.” You insisted. 

“Oh of course, of course.” Myra readily agreed. 

“Now it will take time to save up some money for decent dowries for the ladies. But once everyone else gets here, and we all discuss together how we are going to divide everything. I’m sure by the end of tonight, all of us will be satisfied with the outcomes.” You reassured them. 

“Thank you Audra, you’ve been so good to us, is there anything we can do to repay you?” Rose asked as she hugged you again. 

“Just stick to the story that the King proclaimed, be kind and good to Jane and especially little Edward. He will miss his parents, but hopefully when he grows up, he will learn to accept things. And I want all of you to have the same freedom I’m going to enjoy, and that is to choose for yourselves what your lives will be, who you marry and marry for love if you can at all possible, if you even want to get married that is. But choose happiness, whatever that may be and I will do my best to find some kind of tutor, so that all of you get the same education and same learning and gain understanding of business so that you handle your new acquisitions well and not squander it or let anyone take advantage of you either. You are neither servant or slave to anyone’s will but your own from this moment on.” You urged them before everyone seemed to arrive as you introduced your family to Myra’s children. 

You all crammed in around your table as several ladies had to take on the laps of their partners as your steward from Broadcove, Mr. Chattingham, who was so happy to hear of your own victory and in a way, Myra’s victory over his own former masters was key in knowing all the businesses that Edward Senior, Richard and Agnes had, and doubted much had changed in the year since his service to them ended and had incredible insights on what businesses would be best for each of your brothers as well as Myra’s sons as you and Demsey insisted that each business would have a union to protect it’s workers as Mr. Chattingham named who Richard had hired to specifically root out union organizers within his businesses as you knew already who you were going to be immediately firing before you hand them over since your parents had gotten word before they left that a messenger from the King along with Scotland Yard had been dispatched to all of the banks and other businesses and was in the process of having it all turned over to you and put into your name as it was immediately a prerequisite that the unions would be brought in and stay in place or you would not hand any of them over because even in Dorierra, every Dorrieran man was in his own union with the stables so such a thing was not new to you or anyone from your family as even Sierge offered to buy a business himself so that he had something other than his family’s soap business and his soon to be brother in law’s restaurant, but something to call all his own before there was a knock on the door. 

“Hi, I’m Mage Amaryllis, Mage Altissia informed me that there was a spell on this house to disable the messengeraries? And she asked me to come and lift it.” She offered. 

“Yes, thank you so much for coming, please, do whatever you can.” You invited her. 

“Thank you.” She said before she found the absolute center point of the house and closed her eyes before moving and gesturing around herself as you saw what looked like magic shackles begin to break around the messengeraris in each room before she did a pulling down motion from the ceiling and all of a sudden it felt like a fresh breeze flowed through the house as the very air felt lighter and less stuffy or still or smothering. 

“There, much better, things should be working much better and much smoother from now on.” Mage Amaryllis smiled. 

“Thank you so much, how much do I owe you?” You asked. 

“Nothing, the King and Queen have already paid me and I just came from Broadcove and have already lifted this same spell from there. But if you ever do need anything else, either magically or otherwise, here’s my messengerari address as well as my own home address here in London, write or call any time.” She said as she handed you a card with her name and contact information written on it as she had another one for Myra before everyone else also took a card from her before she saw herself out before Myra and all of her children did the same as you assured them that they were all definately invited to your wedding whenever you got a chance to plan it and execute it. 

“Ok, I need to try something.” You told your family as you left the dining room and went to the living room took the keypad on the messengerari in the livingroom and punched in the address to your other friends back in Dorierra and smiled excitedly as your friends faces then began to fill the surface as they were equally surprised and happy and excited to see you. 

“Demsey!” You called as he came in before you took his hand and introduced him to your friends. 

“This is Duke Demsey Voyambi, I’m marrying him as soon as our marriage license comes through and it will be a love match this time.” You informed them proudly as they all gasped and gushed and squealed and offered you their congratulations. 

“So like, how soon is soon?” Jenniverre asked. 

“Probably a few days,” Demsey answered. 

“Oh that’s more than enough time, who wants to fly to London with me?” Jenniverre asked everyone who was on the group call. 

“Oh give me an hour to get packed, do you have a room where we could stay?” Jenniverre asked. 

“Yes. Is there any way you guys can bring some figs? Like bushel baskets full or even saplings?” You asked hopefully. 

“Yeah, why?” They asked. 

“Pregnancy cravings.” You answered in Marinai with a bashful blush and smile. 

“And? Was it at least good?” They eagerly asked. 

“Oh, how divine is the god’s blessing!” You said as you waived your hand above your head which was a marinai euphemism for meaning ‘sex so good it’s as if you were having actual sex with the gods’ which got them all to giggle and laugh salaciously. 

“Oooh, of course of course, yeah, you got it, we’ll stop by the greenhouses.” Adrilody confirmed. 

“We’ll be there as soon as we can get packed and saddled up, we’re flying in, see you soon! I can’t wait!” Jenniverre squealed as she and the others quickly got off the call. 

“As if this house wasn’t full enough.” You chuckled to Demsey. 

 “Well Whydah is huge, they are just as welcome there too, any friend of yours is a friend of mine, just as any enemy of yours is an enemy of mine too.” Demsey offered. 

“Thank you.” You thanked him appreciatively as you stood on tip toe as he ducked down to kiss you easier as he couldn’t help but palm your lower belly reverently. 

“What does ‘savacia’ mean?” Demsey asked.

“Pregnancy cravings.” You answered. 

“Wow, this early?” Demsey asked. 

“Oh yeah, moura’s can tell almost instantaneously when we get pregnant, morning sickness hits early but really only lasts a week at the most, usually only a few days, Grevu hid my morning sickness by making you and Axal start throwing up and I was so distracted with the mourkatili poisoning and Dr. Chu did say that I would have cravings but what’s usually the go to thing that those who have been cured from mourkatili is actually- vegetables, like celery, usually rhubarb. So for me, the figs were a surprise and I didn’t think anything of it.” You murmured.

“Who said “savacia”?” Your mother asked as she came into the living room from having walked down the hallway from the bathroom that was in the hallway. 

“I didn’t. Calla?” Benny asked her as she came down from claiming a room of her own upstairs. 

“Nope, I did.” You volunteered. 

“The figs! Figs are your savacia?!” Your mother exclaimed excitedly.

“Yeah, that’s kind of why I really wanted to get married, rather quickly, to the father.” You answered as you nodded over to Demsey as everyone came rushing in and congratulating you again. 

“So I was right?! You are pregnant!” Benny gasped as a smug smile threatened to overtake her face. 

“Yes I am, about three and a half weeks along.” You confirmed. 

“So I was right about you getting pregnant at the Masquerade Ball.” Benny beamed, feeling vindicated that she her hunch was right. 

“Yup, but not by any manwhore as you so claimed, but by him, he just changed his clothes and went under our assumed names we gave each other so as not to cause any suspicion and we’ve been secretly courting for say, the last two months would you say? Keeping it so secret and hidden away was especially hard on both of us, especially when I was being pursued by the Raymonds, wasn’t it?” You readily supplied your family as Demsey didn’t dare disagree with you because that sounded like the perfect explanation for everything as he found himself smiling brightly because that should have been the truth because he had every intention of telling you he wanted to court you at the ball at Havenfield but he got interrupted by Ramsey in the art gallery. 

“So hi, I’m Audra Draft, pleasure to meet you.” You said to Benny as you offered your hand to shake hers as she looked both disgusted and disappointed by the fact that her “leverage” wasn’t even real leverage at all as she crossed her arms under her bountiful bosom and scowled at you before you let your hand drop. 

“You! You lied to me!” Benny accused Sierge who was just grinning smugly himself, proud of his brother for finally connecting the dots so to speak but he wasn’t about to disagree with those sentiments. 

“Yup, it’s true, I did lie to you, because what kind of brother would I be if I actually gave my brother up for something as meaningless as what you talked up our exchange to be? Demsey only gave me Audra’s assumed name, to protect her and her honor and I respected him enough to respect his wishes in protecting her and her honor. Something which you’ve been hell bent on destroying since the beginning. And I wasn’t going to let you actually have anything capable of destroying me and my family.” Sierge tossed back as Benny narrowed her eyes dangerously at him. 

“But since she’s pregnant, she’s not “fallen” too?” Benny demanded. 

“No, absolutely not, I’m the one that got her that way and I have every intention of making her an honorable and upstanding lady and no one would dare question me or my word about the matter and it’s still early enough that when we take our honeymoon to anywhere she wants to go, it’s not uncommon for new brides to come home pregnant from their honeymoon.” Demsey reasoned. 

“Just think, the same could have been for you, if you hadn’t insisted on “uprooting my seed” as you so “delicately” put it.” Sierge murmured from his corner across the room. 

“So? How was it? Was it good at least?” Axal murmured in your ear. 

“Oh how divine is the gods blessing!” You repeated with the same way you did before which got your whole family to cheer and laugh as Benny scuffed in disgust. 

“You know, maybe you should go back to Dorierra, you’ve beaten The Saharan Viper in Kamoba of all things, surely any man would think twice before harassing you on the train.” Your mother suggested with a forced polite smile.

“You will have to hurry, the last train leaves in an hour and a half.” Tzane suggested as he looked at the time from the clock in the room. 

“Fine, I will.” Benny said as she went back upstairs and got repacked as you called your carriage around and got Benny’s things loaded up as she used her remaining fee she had been paid just for coming as Leumeni and Coravien saw her off. 

“Well now, shall we go out to dinner? To the Savoy perhaps?” You suggested to everyone else once Benny rode away in the carriage. 

“But I’ll need you to help me get dressed,” you urged Demsey before taking him by the hand and leading him upstairs to your bedroom to finally strip out of your pant suit since you had long since peeled yourself out of your riding leathers and the moment the door was shut Demsey’s hands were already all over you, practically ripping these clothes off of you.  

“So what does “ah-shamala-show-in” mean?” Demsey asked as you helped him get undressed to a degree too as you walked him towards a chair for a quick sex session before dinner. 

“It means ‘oh how divine is the gods blessing’ in the literal translation. But it’s a euphemism in marinai that means ‘sex so good it’s like having sex with a god’.” You giggled as you got him into the chair and readily seated yourself on your now familiar friend and began to ride him with gusto. 

“Ah, that makes everyone’s reactions much more understandable. And may I just say- the feeling is very much mutual.” Demsey happily replied as he drove up into you with equal passion as he held you so close and looked up at you like you were a goddess he would be devoutly worshiping for the rest of his life as you welcomed his affections with open arms, literally, as your moura marks were lighting up the room brighter than any candle or fire could. 

“Gods I just should have told you sooner, I should have been able to tell you at the ball at Havenfield that I wanted to court you.” Demsey confessed as nipped at your ear after kissing up the column of your graceful neck. 

“I have a feeling you were about to before Ramsey cut you off.” You smiled as your fingers carded through his hair and scratched deliciously at his scalp while his own fingernails raked down your back as his cock was exactly what your body had been craving this whole time as you were almost beside yourself in happiness that you actually sexually craved your soon to be husband and were almost helplessly attracted to him on every level. 

“I should have been rude and insisted on saying it anyway.” Demsey confided. 

“Well in my mind and heart, you did and obviously, you have my answer.” You giggled before you kissed him soundly. 

“You can say that you wanted to keep it quiet out of respect for Ramsey and of course Gregori and Yalin and you wanted to make sure that I had my choice of any bachelor of my choosing but seeing me being openly courted by another just cemented our feelings for each other and simply as a ruse you pretended to be interested in your other options.” You reassured him just before you found your release and, for the sake of the others in the house, you kept your keening cry of bliss down by biting down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder and whimpering while your body shuddered in delight which only spurned Demsey to finally release his precious seed into the only “field” it belonged in as he held you so tight. 

“I am never, ever- letting you go.” Demsey professed as he nuzzled the crux of your neck and shoulder and breathed in deeply, cementing this wonderful smell of you in his mind and was so relieved that the woman who he had fallen in love with and the woman he had fallen into lust with- were the same woman and supremely relieved that any stigma or jealousy you may have felt when you found out about the “other Audra” was now done and over with and any he had felt had melted into nothingness. This was so much better than he could have ever hoped, or imagined or even feared and once you both recovered he, very patiently and lovingly helped you get dressed in a gown that you insisted matched what he was wearing so that you looked like a proper couple before simply putting your hair up in a simple bun to hide it’s rather shortened nature.

You returned downstairs to where your family had gathered and had to take a few carriages to the restaurant before they happily got one big table put together as Demsey invited his parents back for the meal to see for themselves  and they were so happy and overjoyed to have you in the family even if they were disappointed that Benny had chosen not to stay with Sierge but they were relieved and pleasantly surprised to hear the news of your “secret” courting of their son and realized that was why you were polite with Ramsey but were not returning his efforts and realized that Demsey had actually played that circumstance cleverly and were thrilled to have Leumeni and Coravien added to the family soap business as well as Leumeni, Calla and Storren added to their family and eagerly talked to Brima and Coravien about the other orc ladies that were in the gentry before as they of course had their own ideas about the wedding as Demsey made sure to insist that it should be as soon as your friends could arrive and that it should be rather small, with only family and close friends because your wedding to Edward had been so big and such a huge ordeal that you didn’t need or want that big of a wedding which you readily agreed with which his parents could not argue with as it was readily agreed that the London home would be better equipped to handle such an affair then since the majority of the guests would be at your own home as Amara and Storren also announced their courting, along with Kiera and Leumeni and Calla and Tzane as their weddings would be much more planned and prepared because Calla, Kiera and Amara wanted the bigger, grander weddings which you and Demsey did confirm you would be back from your honeymoon in time to attend and you were all relieved when Demesy’s parents gladly accepted the cover that the King had insisted on, especially with you and Jane especially providing off the cuff “details” that added more “authenticity” to it and made it sound closer to the gospel truth as it was accepted as such as Jane was given the most sincerest sympathies for the sudden loss of her parents and their sanity but the fact that she was protected because of her being at the Palace of Windsor as you continued to eat dinner with Demsey on one side of you and Jane on the other, just as it should be. 

#Blood For Gold #Blood For Gold Chapter 21 #regency era orc period drama #regency orcs #orcs #orc love story #orc romance #Mouras

[jcmorrigan]

What movie or tv show scared you the most?

OH HEEHEEHEEEEEE MY TIME HAS COME

I think this was probably the sign I was meant to be a horror fan, because I'm gonna talk about two movies here and neither one is a standard horror film. Now, I avoided horror films like the plague, but I now realize that's because of my aversion to jumpscares and gore, which have very little to do with actual scary stuff. I feared actual horror imagery as a small child, but basically once I read Coraline it all just turned around because that book gave me nightmares but I actually WANTED those nightmares and kept going back to the book. So what are the movies I just COULD NOT contend with?

First up, I have found that a lot of people have said this one, but really and truly, fuck Chicken Run.

I was...maybe ten when I watched it. Signed up for a goofy claymation adventure. What did I get? First of all, a whole lot of bleak color palette that warned me that this was not going to be a happy story. We are then shown the stakes right away: our entire main cast lives in a dystopian prison and if they do not find a way to escape, they will die. One DOES die. This is where a lot of people say they noped out right away, but actually, the execution of the dinner chicken in the first scene was tame for me compared to what would come next.

The pie machine. It's assembled, it's talked about, and eventually our two leads fall into it in a way that is designed to be fatal. Look, there are a ton of horror tropes in this scene alone. I haven't seen it SINCE THE ONE AIRING and I can still vividly tell you a lot of this. And if I walked into a horror film and asked for this, I'd come out super satisfied, but I was not expecting horror from this. First of all, I remember vividly the shot where you're looking from Ginger's POV falling down the shaft and the divider comes up to shunt her into the "meat" line. It's incredibly claustrophobic and you just get this almost jumpscare reminder that the character through whose eyes you see is regarded as nothing more than meat to be consumed. There is then an array of blades designed for close calls, and dough that essentially glues the lead characters down to a conveyor belt so they have to helplessly watch the death machines that are coming. Sticky stuff that roots you to one spot; that's another thing that just REALLY unnerves me and I love it if I'm reading CreepyPasta but I was not reading CreepyPasta; I was watching a children's film. The leads escape certain death by jamming the gravy system, causing the machine to overload on pressure, and here I feel like I should've been relieved that they escaped but instead I was the most unsettled of all when the pressure meter started climbing. I don't know if this film *gave* me a phobia of industrial accidents or if it just awakened what was already in my OCD little brain, but suffice to say that after this movie, I was hyper-aware of my own fear of things like hissing steam, rising pressure meters, and being in a room where large metal things were clanking. (I'm since over it; I've been exposed to it in enough things.)

Now, I was no quitter. I should have just noped out. But I didn't. I continued to traumatize myself. The next part of the film until the climax I don't remember so well - it wasn't as traumatizing - EXCEPT for the part where Ginger finds and rebuilds Rocky's circus poster. And now, as an adult, I can see how that was kinda supposed to be funny, like, "The goddamn chicken padded his résumé and the way they found this out was a circus poster." But little me was invested in these chickens, I wanted them to be happy, and what I saw was basically their death notice being signed with that scrap of paper with a cannon on it. I FELT that in my bones.

STILL NOT HAVING THE GOOD SENSE TO JUST EJECT THE TAPE ALREADY, I proceeded to the climax, in which what happens to Tweedy might be one of the most fucking awful things I've seen ever? Pinned upside-down in a superheated, confined space with rising liquid from below as the pressure meter starts climbing again. And her husband arrives just in time to see her like this but not in time to actually stop the explosion. Thank God it didn't actually kill her because even though I was already traumatized, that would've absolutely made it worse.

Thing is, ever since this movie scared the absolute shit out of me - and was probably the cause of the weird stomachaches I had for A WEEK after - I've kinda had this thing about reclaiming the scary parts and stomping on them while laughing maniacally. I feel like every time I've done a crossover project, there's been a temptation to write in an arc where the mains go up against THE PIE MACHINE and fucking win. And also there's whump with tons of comfort in my version to mitigate it all. I haven't done any such thing for TBTC...YET. But I know what I must do. I know who must destroy the machine and the Tweedys along with it. Buckle your seatbelts.

My final word before I move on is that as I ascend into adulthood, I think that for the most part, a rewatch of this film wouldn't traumatize me so badly. It'd still be gross and creepy in a way I think shouldn't be sent to children without warning, but I could deal with the imagery, maybe enjoy using it as whump fuel even more, maybe my horror side would really get into the peril this time. But the one thing I've realized is that this premise is fucked EVEN MORE if you're a grown-up, because as a child, you're sympathizing with the chickens. You want them to get free of this death camp environment. But as an adult, you start to realize that all Tweedy wanted to do was be a chicken farmer who sold pie, and her supposedly nonsentient animals ganged up on her in a display of unheard-of intellect among farm stock. This would then lead to her undergoing at least one near-death fate. Think about being a farmer in our world and the animals you keep GANG UP ON YOU LIKE PEOPLE because you're killing them for food. No thank you, no THANK you.

But surely this was a one-of-a-kind phenomenon. Surely, after this...after so many other people agreed with me; "Fuck Chicken Run"...no animation studio would ever pull shit like this again.

I had hoped that was the case until Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs.

This is one I don't actually see lambasted as often. Maybe because the Chicken Run trauma crew grew thicker skins before this movie. I only sort of did. Maybe because no one ever actually invested in this film, having already predicted how much it would be garbage from the dumb humor in the trailers. Oh, but not me. I was a fool. Also my family picked it for a movie night so my fate was sealed anyway.

The original book is actually pretty frightening on its own. Food falls from the sky in such great numbers that it starts to destroy the world. Okay, that's terrifying. But kind of in the alluring way. I would keep coming back to the one page about the giant pancake on the school because the way it was drawn unsettled me so, with something huge and immovable blocking off the way to a building that usually has hundreds of innocent children inside. The film built on this and made it a thousand times worse.

Let's start with the goddamn Spray-On Shoe. Our main character is a mad scientist (but the good kind, apparently) whose list of bumbling failed experiments dates back to when he was a child and invented a spray you could put on your feet to coat them in shoes. He then gets laughed at because he didn't engineer a way to get the shoes off, and runs home in humiliation. Guys, the teasing/bullying factor is...not the most worrying thing about this story. There's a throwaway line about how Flint wears THE SAME SHOES into adulthood because to that day they simply cannot be removed. This seems like an incredibly urgent medical problem? Having your feet encased in the same rubber for years? The same rubber as when you're a kid? I just found myself thinking "What if my shoes never came off one day" and that terrifies me, okay? It's stupid and it's silly and it scares me. Even more than that, though, is the canonization of a polymer in this universe that can be sprayed on sticky and will literally never break no matter what you do to it, because that goes back to the pie machine dough principle. Being glued to a surface permanently is inherently terrifying and we'll go over this later because this is not the last fuckin time the glue shoes get brought up.

Flint invents a food-spewing machine. It ends up in the sky. He rides his popularity as it rains larger and larger food down upon the town and also the world. Most of this film up until the climax is unsettling but not AWFUL. Where it starts to go to shit is when Flint realizes his machine is too dangerous and shuts it off, only for the town's local greedy politician to switch it back on into an apocalyptic mode. So can we start with "Local town finds out its elected official is willing to sabotage their well-being in order to capitalize on the fame of a disaster-causing object?". Like, the whole film would've been solved so much sooner if there hadn't been a saboteur in the works - not a fun campy villain, mind you, but a saboteur who exists to drive the plot to the scary place. But I guess we need that narrative tension to justify having a film in the first place, so fine, I'll ride it out.

The main crew saddles up to fly out to the machine, which is now encased in a FLESH LABYRINTH of food, and...I'm just gonna rapid-fire the shit that happens at this part:

-The food turns sentient in order to defend itself. The cute animal sidekick brutally dismembers an army of gummy bears that is fully sentient and rips them apart to devour them.

-We enter the flesh labyrinth and it's exactly as much a horror RPG setting as you think it is.

-Now sentient cooked chickens besiege the party. The comic relief character is consumed by one, only to kill it from the inside and decide to WEAR ITS SKIN in what is seen as his defining character arc's conclusion. Wearing the skin of a dead monster allows him to forge his new identity.

-One of our party has to go back because of a tight passage lined with her deadly allergen, causing her to undergo anaphylaxis after an accidental mild nick. In the flesh labyrinth.

-The entire horrific journey is instantly INVALIDATED when it turns out that instead of the kill code for the machine, all Flint has is a file of a cat video. Which he finds out as the town is about to be obliterated off the face of the earth.

-So he solves it by jamming the works with the spray-on shoe and DID I NOT JUST GO OVER HOW HORRIFIC INDUSTRIAL EXPLOSIONS ARE IN KIDS' MOVIES? DID I NOT? ARE WE REALLY DOING THIS AGAIN? Anyway it's canonical proof that NOTHING can break the shoe glue and I should be happy for the town and happy that there's no more flesh labyrinth of living meat but instead I'm just terrified because of the door we have opened. We have imparted the existence of an indestructible sticky polymer upon the world.

-It's later seen used in a credits sequence to repair damaged houses. Which, first of all, given its flexible nature, is fuckin stupid. It won't serve as an actual wall. Second, that got me thinking about construction accidents involving the fuckin shoe glue. If that stuff gets dripped on a person's face -

-So then cue me sitting awake in bed later thinking wide-eyed about Cloudy with a Chance of Fucking Meatballs and realizing that this compound that is essentially a chemical weapon in the making is now in the hands of the mayor who deliberately caused an apocalyptic event over the town because he wanted the food rain. And THAT'S not going to lead to pretty circumstances.

I think you'll see that a lot of my fears with these two movies is "THINK OF THE IMPLICATIONS!" and I think that just shows how my mind works and why I'm drawn to fanfic so much. I'm all about diving into a universe, exploring its corners, analyzing it to death.

And with the industrial horror stuff, I kinda wanna bring it around to two other films that actually really subverted my expectations and made it fun. 102 Dalmatians was a fave of mine through middle school, but I remember when the climax took us to a big ol' factory and I got plumb nervous. After the usual blades and ovens of horror, the fact that it concludes with Cruella basically wearing a cake and a lengthy montage of the dogs kicking toppings onto her is just one of the most wholesome imageries. She survived the thing and now you get to watch her be decorated Lisa Frank style by her victims who are more interested in humiliation than murder, and I love that.

But maybe more prevalent is that I'm well aware that if certain filmography or plot points had been handled in different ways, The Boxtrolls might've actually frightened the ever-loving fuck out of me what with all the industrial stuff and medical horror, but I just...felt like that film was holding my hand the whole way through going "It's okay." The industrial stuff was framed in a way that was just campy enough and yet also taken seriously. Putting a really charismatic villain - ACTUAL VILLAIN, NOT CHICKEN FARMER OR CORRUPT POLITICIAN SABOTEUR - at the wheel was just such a mitigating factor that it gelled the whole thing together and I ended up LOVING what was done with giant machines and garbage crushers and explosions. And as for the medical body horror, I really appreciate how it was so baked in that Snatcher did that to himself - that everyone, EVERYONE warned him "Do not do this, you will probably die, I'm serious, bad fucking idea" up to the point of Eggs trying to plead him during an anaphylaxis attack, one last time, DO NOT continue down this path, we can find a way to heal you psychologically and get you some self-fulfillment. And Snatcher fully chooses hubris over the many, many opportunities offered him to be able to step down onto a safer path and that removes the fear and pulls it more into a tragedy for the villain. Not at all the same thing as "Sam the reporter is trying to save the world and doing her best until a fixture of the landscape accidentally sends her into anaphylaxis."

(Oh, and by the way, can I just - when I do see CWACOM brought up these days, it's always in the context of "This is the one movie where the guy tells the girl it's okay to look nerdy!". Well, no, not the way I remember it. The way I remember it, Sam basically tells Flint "I used to have really tacky style but have since changed it up of my own volition" and Flint is just like "NOOOOO YOU NEED TO WEAR GLASSES AND A SCRUNCHIE. I WANT A HOT NERD GIRL." This could've been pulled off right with some more introspection into female beauty standards, even in a tongue-in-cheek way, but right now it really looks like Sam just wanted to make herself more glam for a new image and Flint bullied her into regressing her style. Which I've also realized meant he bullied her into dressing more like she did as a teenager and normally I think that kind of shit is just "You're overthinking it" but since it's CWACOM and I spelled it out on paper like that, I'm just now realizing how that can be seen as pretty...icky.)

The one saving grace of CWACOM is that I was older by that time, and so it didn't affect me as hard as Chicken Run. But I still hold it dearly to my heart as one of the MOST DISTURBING movies I know, and by "dearly" I mean "fuck this movie, really and truly." I want to extend my thanks to 102D and Boxtrolls for giving me industrial-horror-based climaxes that were actually really comfortable, and again, probably what drove both of these was the fact that we had a campy diva villain in the lead for the potential scary stuff to surround and radiate off. Not a fuckin...ordinary chicken farmer who is just trying to make bank but is somehow passed as a Nazi allegory for trying to live her life as a farmer? I dunno, maybe if I rewatched that film I'd see she has a thirst for human blood too, and if I could fix fic Chicken Run my first order of business would be to give her a thirst for human blood instead of/in addition to chickens.

Anyway. Fuck both these films, EXCEPT for the fact that traumatizing scenarios can always be recast as whump material, and the next time I wanna do some crossover aftercare from a physically and psychologically damaging mission, I have a pie machine and a flesh labyrinth to exploit. REALLY HEAVY ON THAT AFTERCARE COMFORT THOUGH!

[hail-the-supreme-leader-kylo-ren]

TROS TRAILER BREAKDOWN

Here’s a collection of thoughts/things I noticed in the Rise of Skywalker trailer.

We open with Rey ‘Jedi’ training, with the helmet and droid thingo which is a callback to Luke’s training with Obi-Wan: “Stretch out with your feelings!”. But since she’s dropped the helmet, looks like she’s surpassed what Obi-Wan taught Luke, or the training droid has gone crazy. 

This visually parallels the Force cracking the ground between Kylo and Rey on Starkiller Base at the end of TFA. Also Rey has the ‘red string of fate’ tied around her right-hand (which we also saw in the teaser, see below), so this is likely the same sequence of ‘Jedi’ training with Leia in the forest. ALSO related to the ‘string of fate’, there’s a damn rope there in shot running across the valley.

Cool shot, it brings to mind when we were first introduced to Rey, scavenging a Star Destroyer on Jakku in TFA. I’m certain this is the Death Star ruins, because she does have her bag on her, which we know she brings with her to the ruins from the teaser footage (see below), and that also explains why she’s wet! 

[Those last 2 shots are from the first teaser trailer] Note: Rey, Poe and Finn all have bags, and Poe has an injured his arm and has wrapped his scarf around the wound. 

Poe is making a speech to the Resistance, and note he has his left arm injury properly bandaged now (the wrappings are white).

Here’s a shot of the Resistance in a ship or hanger, and they look under attack as blaster fire shoots in the background. Most Resistance folks are running away, but (Dominic Monaghan), Connix, and Rose aren’t retreating but looking on at something horrible unfolding. Rose keeps moving towards what’s upsetting her (probs Finn being hurt less be honest), and it kind of looks like Dominic is calling “Rose” to get her attention and convince her to retreat to safety like everyone else. Also note that the orbaks riders are already there with the Resistance.

Here’s Finn, Poe, and Chewy and it looks like they’re in the same forest that Rey’s training in, so this is probably the Resistance’s new “headquarters/base”. Note that Poe has his injured arm wrapped up in his neck scarf he wore on Pasaana, so he hasn’t given his Resistance speech yet, and both Poe and Finn have their saddle bags.  

She is one angry bean! Also, note no bag. 

Kylo/Ben’s Darcy moment. #imdead

He looks SO sad and serious approaching her. 

He flips his lightsaber up and over slowly, so that the ‘blade’ is facing away from Rey, which to me looks like a “I don’t want to fight you” move. 

I have no idea what this iceberg floating in space is, but its visually EPIC. Note there’s some kind of ‘factory’ on the top left hand part, that is producing steam from lots of pipes. And there’s also some form of ~buildings~ underneath it too with steam also, but on the underside of the berg the structures are made up of cube forms. Is this perhaps where Palpatine’s headquarters is, secretly hidden in the Outer Rim?

Here is Palpatine’s throne, which has the newly created ‘Sith’ symbol on the back of the chair. Also note that there is blue flashing lightning happening in the background of this scene. 

Here are an Imperial Star Destroyer powering up and rising from the icy cold water. Is this on the ice-berg?? This explains where the Imperial fleet came from that we saw in the teaser trailer. There is also blue flashing lightning happening in the background of this too.

I don’t read/view any other SW materials besides the films, so I don’t recognise any these ships except the Falcon but this is obviously the Resistance’s fleet ready and assembled to fight Palpatine’s Imperial Fleet/The First Order.

This is Rey in her bloat/ship going on solo to the Death Star ruins.

Note Rey’s look of concern/disbelief in the background, at what Babu Frik is doing to C-3PO’s memories/system. 

That looks like a droid or person in shiny armour on the right, that captures BB-8′s and Dio’s attention in Babu Frik’s workshop. 

So the gang is in Babu Frik’s workshop all wearing big ass jackets, and Zorii Bliss is there so this obviously take’s place on Kijimi. And Poe is still wearing his scarf, which likely means that they haven’t visited Pasaana yet and he hasn’t been injured yet. 

They cut to this shot, bit this is not Babu Frik’s workshop, this is likely at the Resistance base as you can see the Resistance members in the background are in their beige uniforms, and those rebels/resistance green map/screens are visible too. 

Same with this shot, it’s not the same scene as the workshop. Poe isn’t wearing his scarf and jacket.

Finn, Poe and Chewie are on board a First Order ship. Note the lighting panels look very similar to the ones in the Empire magazine photo of Kylo in the FO hanger (see below). Poe does not have an injured arm, and both him and Poe have their saddle bags on. 

On Pasaana, during the speeder chase, BB-8 cuts into a cylinder of something that leaks yellow dangerous stuff. Also I think Chewie is in the background, so BB-8 is on his speeder.

Rey is then seen throwing it at the following Storm Troopers that are trailing her on another speeder, and the two Jet Troopers in the air. 

Meanwhile on the other speeder, Finn C-3PO and Poe seem to be having a successful time against the Troopers. Note Poe is wearing his scarf, Finn has his saddle bag on, and C-3PO seems okay he’s cheering like Finn.

This ship that is shooting at the First Order X-Wings and Star Destroyer looks very much like the Resistance Y-Wing seen in the lego that has the characters of Poe and Zorii, so one of them could be piloting this. 

Here we see an epic shot of BB-8, Finn, and Jannah leading her people on their orbaks on the side of ... a Star Destroyer?? Note the blue lightning happening in the background and the Imperial Fleet in the sky behind them. 

This is the Emperor’s throne room in the Death Star ruins, so this happens likely before their watery fight outside. Rey still looks pretty angry, with her saber lit, but Kylo/Ben is giving super patient vibes with no saber lit. HE WANTS TO SORT THIS SHIT OUT.

Here’s Finn, with Jannah behind him on the similar Death Star ruins we’ve seen Rey and Kylo fighting on. Looks like Finn is yelling “REY!!!!”, maybe he’s watching their fight ensue. Or maybe she’s being captured again, mirroring TFA. He’s still got his bag on.

Here’s Rey and Kylo destroying (on purpose or accident?) the stand that holds the charred Vader mask. Note Rey has a dagger in her left hand, and it looks to me like Kylo is reaching out with the force for the Vader mask with his left hand. Are the fighting over it, or both wanting to destroy it?

Here Finn and Poe and C-3PO all look very serious, Poe has his gun out. We can assume this is Pasaana because of he’s wearing his scarf, and the cave’s colour/texture looks very much like the rocky formations of Pasaana (see below). The blue light cast over Finn on the left is likely coming from Rey’s lightsaber. This looks to be from the same scene as the image that was shown at D23 (see below). Also Rey, Finn, and Poe all have their bags on them!

Here we get a true sense of how big this epic last star “war” really is. Again there’s more blue lightning in the background. (I don’t understand the science behind how the resistance members are breathing right now, maybe the ships are very low and still within a planet’s atmosphere?) Also I’m not a ship guru, but are they riding on a FO ship? What ever ship it is, it seems to be an ally ship, as not in the same formation as Palps’ Imperial fleet. 

Cue more trademark Palpatine blue lightning flashes. Ben looks SO cut up. He’s also very dirty which reminds me of this D23 photo of him (see below) where he also looks pretty miserable. He definitely looks like he’s stepping up to face something epic (probably Palpatine or Dark Rey) to help save Rey/the day.

Then we get Rey facing Palpatine, and he seems to be in an apparatus that is keeping him alive/helping him hover/stand/whatever he’s doing while he’s intimidating her. She looks so smol. There’s some runes carved on the floor. Also, there’s more blue lightning happening.

Then lastly, we get this shot of Rey, with more blue lightning action. This shot is a little eerie, with the lightsaber reflecting in her iris making her look almost like an AI robot. But then faintly she smiles and it seems genuine.

#tros #the rise of skywalker #tros trailer #tros spoilers #kylo ren #kylo #ben solo #rey #rey of jakku #reylo #finn #poe #rose #rey x ben #the supreme leader kylo ren #palpatine #star wars #adam driver #daisy ridley #John Boyega #myown

[thecrescentcityrpg]

“I wanna live life fast, I don't know how to slow down.”

full name:   Kaiden “Kai” Leon Amari

city of origin:  Atlanta, Georgia

age:  34

species: Werewolf

occupation: Owner of Moonlight Ink tattoo parlor, part-time boxer at 9 Round

faceclaim: Sinqua Walls

⇨   B I O G R A P H Y

Kaiden was born into a werewolf pack in the heart of Atlanta, Georgia. The younger of two sons, Kaiden and Kallen grew up thick as thieves; his brother was always his best friend and never seen as a rival. Kai’s father was an alpha werewolf for a modestly-sized pack in Atlanta and it was set in stone that Kal would take his father’s place before Kai was ever born. Their youth went as expected: Kal was kept on a short leash and Kai was free to run rampant. As the younger son, he had no promised responsibility to weigh on his shoulders or ruin his childhood. While his brother was stuck in classes on werewolf history, or stuffy meetings with local pack leaders, Kai was allowed to wander, run, and enjoy his childhood. He spent more time with their human mother, who had a wild streak of her own and was more than willing to indulge Kai in adventures. A lot of Kai’s early memories were spent out exploring dozens of local nature trails her, baking sweets for the entire pack, and spending the day at the local art supply store to encourage his love of drawing and sketching. In those moments, he learned about werewolf and pack life naturally, outside of textbooks and lectures, and decided from an early age that he would never join his father’s pack.

As they aged and matured, one thing became clear: Kaiden was a natural leader, with an electric sort of personality that drew people in, and Kallen just wasn’t. Kai was constantly in trouble at school for pranking his teacher, running amok in the classrooms, and convincing his classmates to get in on the action. He lettered in football and lived out the high school dreams that mirrored popular teen movies. Kai had popularity and infamy at his local school, a steady stream of girl and boyfriends available, a large friend group, and a good life. He rarely spent time around the pack and his father if he could help it, and he was happier for it.

Kai’s father actively demonstrated his disappointment in him as he got older but he never took it to heart; Kal was the golden boy, after all, and the one who was saddled by fate with their father’s unrealistic expectations. And Kai? He was a wildcard, a free spirit, and he would not be tethered to a pack that barely acknowledged his existence outside of “the alpha’s son” or “the future alpha’s brother”. Their father’s disappointment towards Kal was much more private and a heavy sort of tension that filled their house during his teenage years. Although not as close as when they were young kids, Kai loved his brother and always made time for him; the boys would disappear a couple times a month into an adventure of their own, outside of the watchful gaze of the pack, littering the back of Kal’s truck with cheap beer cans as they existed outside of any forced expectations of greatness.

And then Kallen came of age. As the eldest son of the alpha, his activation of the curse was scheduled around his twenty-fifth birthday if it didn’t happen accidentally before then. The entire thing felt cruel, scheduling the death of someone, and the weeks up to the ceremony were tense and awful. Kai found himself crashing on friends couches just to avoid being home, unable to sleep in his own bed due to the heavy emotions around the Amari house. The night before Kal’s ceremony, he showed up at the couch Kai was currently surfing on, their pickup packed to the brim, and asked him to leave town with him. Kai never hesitated. He had already graduated high school and was working at a local tattoo shop after interning there, but had no other obligation to town besides his mother. He broke up with his girlfriend via text, climbed through his window to grab his letterman and a couple of other relics of his childhood, and hit the road.

They drove through the night and made it to Ohio by breakfast time. From there, the brothers lived week to week in different towns, cities, and areas. Kal had amassed a large savings account that Kai had no idea about, and it funded their road trip throughout the country. He kept in contact with his mother, of course, updating them vaguely after they had cleared an area and were already onto the next stop. Kal seemed like a new person without their father bearing down on him, and their bromance re-kindled on the road as they were allowed to just exist, carefree and young and stupid.

Until the accident. Kai doesn’t talk about how he was triggered, or even mention a having a brother, but one day they were on their way some festival inside Salem, and the next day they were werewolves. The activation of the curse brought up a lot of old feelings and drama, and Kai knew that his brother had changed in more ways than one. It only took a couple of weeks before Kal left him a note, an envelope full of cash, and a broken heart. He had left in the middle of the night, again, to return to their family.

Kai was furious. He allowed his anger to crackle at his bones and it kept him in wolf form for almost a month. Every time he tried to change back to his human form the rage simmered and stoked something in him that was too emotional and human to feel on two legs. He kept the money, spiteful but not stupid, and travelled to Atlantic City. After using his wolf senses to cheat his way through a casino, he had enough money to try to settle down and start over. Living life on the road lost its luster without his brother, and he was tired of feeling so angry.

New Orleans had meant to be a boozy pit stop to drown his sorrows in. Kai quickly fell in love with the city, especially the gritty, messy parts that escaped the light shed on the city by tourism. He was charmed, and for the first time in too long felt compelled to stay somewhere longer than a week or two. Kai avoided the supernatural scene for as long as possible, but the city was chalk full of power struggles, turf wars, and aimless wolves that needed taken care of even in times of “peace”.

Kai caused a lot of fights when he first arrived. After nearly coming to blows with a vampire that looked at him the wrong way, a strange offer had been given: a membership at a local boxing club. The 9 Round became a healthy way for Kai to try to channel his rage and aggression, and he soon became a staple member at the club and improved some of his inter-species relations. Kind of.

Despite the his decades of struggles, Kai was an alpha’s son, born to lead, and the draw of pack life eventually called to him. Leadership fit him like a glove, and after a messy battle with a complacent alpha, Kai found himself in charge for the first time in his life.

Kal had continued to wire him money after the betrayal, and Kai hadn’t touched any of it until he needed it. It was enough for him to start is own business, Moonlight Ink, in one of the grungier parts of town. During the first couple of months Kai lived in the storage loft above the business to save money. A natural artist, the shop quickly grew popular with locals. Kai had the unfair advantage of werewolf senses, and his line work, shading, and inventive techniques soon gained infamy in the area. They were known specifically for glow in the dark tattoos, using non-traditional mediums, and insane geometric line work that could nearly cross eyes. The parlor had to move to house enough chairs for additional artists and clients into a nicer part of town.

Kai laid down roots, and the city responded with a love he hadn’t felt in a long time. No longer on the run, he could openly converse with his mother and old friends from town. His father never cared much for him, after all, and why would he start now with the golden boy home? He had grown immensely since his arrival. No longer a child, or in his brother’s shadow, he could hype up his pack brothers and sisters without making any of the mistakes of his father. All of Kai’s mistakes were definitely his own, and usually a result of his awful temper. His pack was his family, his new, chosen family that he could keep from fucking up, and he took his responsibility very seriously. That didn’t mean that he would be a stick in the mud alpha, though. After all, what was life without a little bit of chaos and blood?

⇨   P E R S O N A L I T Y

+   passionate, hardworking, loyal

-    impulsive, aggressive, chaotic

#new lsrpg #new rp #new rpg #new roleplay #new orleans rp #kaiden amari #werewolf #all #taken

[thecleverdame]

This Is Not A Fairy Tale - One

Alpha!Prince!Sam x Omega!Reader

Story Masterlist 

Summary: You’re a suppressed Omega who is forced into servitude after the death of your father. Your stepmother Naomi is a heartless woman who forces you to do the cooking and cleaning, while she tries to marry off her own two daughters, Alex and Claire. But your life takes a wonderful and dangerous turn when you meet the charming Prince Sam who also happens to be an Alpha.

Warnings: ABO smut, abuse, death of parents, magic

Beta:  ilikaicalie  

*This story is complete and posted on Patreon. Become a patron for a monthly pledge of $2.50 and get access to all my Patreon content. 

-

Once upon a time, you were happy.

There are faint and fading memories that still linger. The face of your father, the scruff of his beard when he kissed you and the way he held you in his arms. He was a warm, kind man with a heart of gold who taught you many useful skills, the most important being how to always find the positive in any situation.

He was your hero, a giant of a man who could do no wrong and made you feel loved and safe. The two of you were tucked away into your own quiet little corner of the world.

He met Naomi when you were eight. She was a blonde, pushy sort of woman who was used to getting her way. She smiled and cooed over you, putting on a show for your father but even as a girl you knew she was poison. There was disdain bubbling under the surface. For many years you thought back on those early days, trying to pinpoint why she harbored such immediate hate.

Now you know. She was jealous. Jealous of your father’s unwavering love and excitement in your company. She wanted him to love her the way he loved you. Perhaps if she had been his first love he could have given her his whole heart. But your mother stole it many years before you were born.

He told you stories of your mother, a strong woman who argued as fiercely as she loved. She died giving birth to you, gave her life to bring you into the world but your father never once made you feel as if it was your fault. He only spoke of how proud she would have been of the little woman you were becoming.

Life was good, despite Naomi’s harsh stares and her two boorish daughters. As long as you had your father, you were willing to share him. For reasons beyond your comprehension, Naomi made him happy, and his happiness was yours in kind.

Six months to the day after they married, your father died. It was an accident, the carriage overturned, he fell and snapped his neck. It was quick and unexpected. You sobbed on the cold stone in front of the hearth, crying into your hands and begging God to bring him back. He was all you had in the world and now, there was nothing.

Naomi didn’t turn you on you all at once. It happened slowly over time. She took the toys from your bedroom, assigned chores that previously belonged to the servants. She ensured that you worked from sunup to sundown, laboring until your fingers bled. Exhaustion drained the fight right out of you and before you knew it, the world was turned upside down.

When your first heat came you were fifteen and living the bowels of the house, sleeping on a bed of straw. You writhed in pain, screaming and crying until Naomi’s daughters, Alex, and Claire found you in a state of pure agony.

“What’s wrong with her?” Claire asked, standing next to her mother as they watched you with interest.

“Is she sick?” Alex leaned forward to inspect you.

“My Lord,” Naomi breathed, staring in disbelief. You were an Omega. She could scarcely believe her eyes. “How is this possible?”

You shouldn’t have existed.

There were only a handful of Omegas left in the world. Betas were commonplace, Alphas were rarer, but not unheard of, but Omegas were coveted, sought-after. This meant you were special, that someone would want you and she couldn’t stand the idea of you being elevated above her or her daughters.

Thirteen Years Later

“Wake up!”

The toe of a boot connects with your ribs, jarring you awake. You sit up on the floor, blinking in confusion.

“What’s happened?” You squint, staring up at your step-mother.

“Get up,” she spits, thrusting a cup of tea toward you. “The girls and I are headed into the city. We want to get an early start, so let’s get this out of the way.”

You groan, looking up at her as you take the mug from her hands. This is your morning ritual. This tea, which is more of a poison, is disgusting and bitter. It drains the life from you, twisting your stomach into a knot and causing nausea that stays with you for days at a time. It’s been slowly killing you for years and someday soon it will do its job. But it keeps your Omega at bay, suppresses your heats and urges. That’s what matters, subduing your instincts.

After she leaves you’re free to get up and begin the day in peace. You change out of your nightgown, inspecting your ribs before pulling on your only dress. The weight has been falling off for a long time, but there’s not much left to lose. Once you had hips and curves, but now you’re wasting away.

The morning chores fly by. Cleaning Alex and Claire’s bedroom takes ten times as long when they’re present. They enjoy throwing clothes onto the floor as you pick them up and hurling insults designed to keep you in your place. Naomi’s room is always the most time consuming, she likes things just so and has a tendency to follow you around, pointing out spots you’ve missed and demanding you start over.

And if you take too long, they beat you. Sometimes with a switch, other times with whatever object is the closest.

But today will have none of that. By the time the sun is high you’re finished with all your daily chores. You will often take a secret nap in the barn in the afternoon, a quick little cat nap so you can make it through the day, but this afternoon the empowerment of freedom is calling your name.

The fields in summer have always been your favorite. There are wildflowers in every direction as far as the eyes can see. You wander to the edge of the forest, then follow the stream just happy to be out in the sun and the warm blowing breeze. The birds sing, flitting from branch to branch and you get lost in the memory of better times.

Coming upon a clearing, you head to the willow tree with her branches hanging nearly to the ground. Underneath her shade, there is a soft bed of moss and you lie down, staring up at the beams of sunlight shining between the narrow leaves.

You're almost asleep when you hear the hooves of a horse. Emerging from underneath the branches you coming face to face with a tall, handsome man. He stops short, the reigns of his horse in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he offers with a small bow. “I didn’t realize there was anyone out here.”

“I was quite hidden.” You look him over trying to decide if he’s any kind of a threat. A woman alone in the country is an easy target for rapscallions, but he doesn’t seem the sort.

His clothes alone tell you of his wealth, and his demeanor has the self-assurance of someone who’s accustomed to a position of stature.

“Would you like me to leave you?” He looks from you to his horse, his eyes lingering on your face. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“There is no intrusion,” you smile. “I was under the impression that this place was my secret, but I don’t mind sharing.”

“Good,” he stares at you, a big, broad smile revealing white teeth. “I was out for a ride and decided to stop to eat. Would you like to join me?”

“Oh, thank you, but I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“I have more than enough.”

Before you have the chance to protest he’s pulling his saddlebag off the horse, and unrolling a blanket to layout on the ground.

“I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality.” You’re nervous, small excitement at this personable stranger.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon than having lunch with a beautiful woman.”  

You blush and he chuckles, taking your hand to lower you onto the blanket. The instant his skin touches your hand you feel it, a rush of heat that seems to beeline right for your heart.

“Thank you,” you sputter focused on straightening your skirts.

“Of course.”

He’s looking at you but you don’t meet his gaze, afraid of giving away this embarrassing attraction. You’ve never responded like this to any man before, but he is quite a breathtaking specimen of the gender.

He unrolls several cloths, laying out a feast of bread, cheese, sweet fruits, and wine.

For the first time in nearly a year, your stomach settles and you enjoy the food in front of you. He was right, he has enough to feed ten men and you eat until your belly is full.

“What’s your name?” he asks, tearing away a bite of bread with his teeth.

“Y/N.” You take a sip of the wine. “And you?”

“Sam.” He watches you until you’re forced to look away. “Forgive me, I have this feeling as if we’ve met before. There’s something so familiar about you.”

“I think I would remember you.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself, and immediately recoil. “I only meant, you’re very tall. Hard to forget.”

“Well,” he grins, breaking a piece of cheese in two, handing you half. “I would remember you as well. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a woman as magnificent as you.”

“My God,” you suck in a breath, looking away from him as your cheeks burn hot.

“Forgive me, I’m being too forward. I’m not normally this bold with someone I’ve just met.”

“Where do you live?” you ask, desperate to turn the conversation around. “Perhaps we have bumped into each other and simply don’t remember.”

“In the city.”

“I’ve been to the city many times, what district?”

He waits for a moment as if considering the authenticity of your question.

“The castle.”

The castle. Your mind processes a million tiny pieces of information all at once. The fine gold thread of his clothes, the horse, the leather of the saddle and the ruby red ring around his middle finger.

Dear God in heaven.

“You are...Prince Samuel?” you ask but you already know the answer, suddenly frightened.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, reaching out as you stand up.

“I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have left the house and now I’m taking up your time.”

“Stop,” he commands and you freeze as he stands. “Please, don’t run away. While we don’t know each other, I do find your presence...calming. I can’t explain it, but I hope you might feel it too.”

You do. Your aching bones and tired body feel alive, in perfect working order.

“I am no one, my lord.” You look at the ground, unsure of why you’re so afraid. Noami has you conditioned, fearful of consequences at every turn.

“On the contrary, you are a truly remarkable creature.”

“You shouldn’t say such things.” Your eyes tick up, sneaking a look at him but only for a second.

“Right.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m not normally a man who speaks in such a way to a lady. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You gulp, gathering courage and looking him in the eyes. “I should go home but I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to, either.” His jaw clenches and then he gestures toward the blanket. “Shall we sit and talk for a while?”

“I’d like that.” You sit, side by side, staring out into the field talking but not really listening because all you can focus on is how wonderful he smells. It’s a scent that grows stronger with each passing moment, curling around you like smoke and settling right into your bones.

It finally dawns on you. He’s an Alpha. You’ve never met one in person before, they’re a rarity, but the King and both his sons are Alphas. Perhaps that’s the reason for your bold demeanor.

“You live nearby?” he asks, eyes flitting from your mouth to your neck. There’s sweat pooling in the dip between his collar bones and you’re fixated on it.

“Close enough.”

“And do you enjoy...living in the country?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Will you forgive my indecency, but can I just…” he leans forward, waiting for you to stop him but you’re frozen in place.

Sam lowers his face to your neck, the very tip of his nose touching under your ear and a shiver shoots from the back of your skull all the way down to your toes. He draws in a deep breath, making a small, strangled noise before pulling back.

His eyes are lit up with surprise and confusion.

“You’re an Omega,” he whispers, looking in amazement as if you are indeed some wild spectacle.

“Yes,” you mutter, stuck in this moment, unable to move. He’s very close, inches away from your face. He’s breathtakingly handsome...this will surely be the death of you.

“I didn’t know there were any of your kind left in this part of the world.”

“My step-mother hid me away,” you explain softly, looking down at your work-worn palms.

“Who are you?” He takes your hands in his, big rough hands that squeeze you tight.

Eyes fluttering closed you try to ignore how wonderful his touch feels. You wish he would wrap his arms around you and hold you, never letting go.

“I told you.” You’re suddenly overcome with emotion, tears pooling in your eyes. “I am no one.”

“That couldn’t be further from the truth, Omega.” He’s closer now, eyes darting from your lips to your throat, then your bosom. There’s a frenzy building, you both feel it.

You whimper when he calls you Omega. No man has ever used your title before, no less an Alpha.

“I scrub floors.” Your lids flutter, breathing him in.

“I don’t care.” Two fingers touch under your chin, tilting your face up to him.

There’s an ache between your thighs the likes of which you’ve never felt before. A throb that’s emanating from your bud and sending a desperate need out in every direction. Breath flutters and the rest of the world goes silent as you both feel any semblance of restraint slipping away.

“I don’t think we should be alone together,” you say.

“No, probably not.” He doesn’t look away, still holding your face up to his. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod yes, unable to speak.

His lips are gentle at first. The warm press of his mouth is wonderful and opens up a world you never knew existed. When you sigh his tongue curls into your mouth, wet and slick over your own as he forages deeper.

Before you know what’s happening you’re lying on your back with Sam hovering above you, his mouth moving from your mouth down your jaw. He nips at your chin, teeth scraping down your throat as you roll your hips in search of more.

“Can I touch you?” he asks again.

“Yes.” Your voice is broken, but you manage at least a single word as his hand snakes under your skirt.

Long fingers trail over your thigh, moving higher and higher until he’s right there.

“Have you ever been touched before?” he inquires, the pads of his fingers moving slowly up and down close enough to your sex that he can feel the heat on his knuckles.

“No,” you admit. You’ve scarcely touched yourself, never had the inclination. But something about Sam has ignited a dormant need inside you.

He grunts, watching your face as the tip of his thumb dips between your folds. Everything down there is wet heat, and slick, dripping for his touch. He rubs his thumb up and down the length of your pussy, sinking in a little deeper but only teasing.

And then his thumb moves up to your clit and you think you might perish here and now. You’re sweating, gasping and wiggling as he rubs you with a well-placed touch. It’s not long until there’s the build up, pleasure stacking upon pleasure and the world explodes. He presses gently with two fingers either side of your clit, keeping firm pressure as you cum. Legs stiffen, toes curl and you cry out the only word that makes sense.

“Alpha!”

“Omega,” he growls back, dipping down to kiss your lips.

There’s a bulge in his trousers, pressing firm into your hip and you’d like to explore more of him when you hear the church bells ringing in the distance. The chimes shock you back into reality and you sit up, pushing him off you.

“I have to go!” You’re panicked, a shaking hand over your mouth.

“I’ll take you wherever you need to go.” Sam offers. He watches in confusion as you adjust your dress, cheeks still red from your peak.

“No! You can’t!” you sputter. “I’m sorry but I have to get back. It’s six and I need to be home when they return!”

“When who returns? Why won’t you let me-”

“I’m sorry,” you stop, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him one last time. “Goodbye, Alpha.”

Before Sam can stop you, your sprint off toward the woods.

#alpha sam winchester #alpha!sam x omega!reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction

[zuihuojoui]

smoldering slander

SATURDAY 19, 2020  11pm.

It was only a matter of time before someone said something about the accidents befalling the money grubbing Diamonds. Perhaps the string of accidents were becoming a bit noticeable. In truth, the others aside from Sang were not quite deliberate. Yes, he put the order out but it wasn’t like with Sang. Sang was to set actions in motion so he could observe, see if any others could be linked outside of the list of names. The others following were to amuse him and his cohorts. Indeed it saw to the end of their theft, but it was more than that. Assassins on payroll were informed, and given a challenge. First to the target got a bonus on top of the retainer. Then, those with multiple kills were given another bonus. It was a wild Diamond hunt.

Bets were placed and a string of entertaining tales passed from final moments, had the Clan laughing for days. Given the lack of real focus to the task, it couldn’t be counted as surprise when someone talked to one they should not have and some of the details were publicized, and worse he was named. That part was perhaps the most entertaining. 

These were, in fact, paid assassinations ordered by none other than Ace of Hearts and leader of the Zuihuo Clan: Zuihuo Joui.

He was named a murder and could practically hear the gasps, see the pearls clutched at the revaluation. It could not be. The beloved Ace who simply loved his women, loved his liquor and loved his horses, there is no way he is a murderer.

How it could be a revelation, though, he wondered. He ran a drug cartel, did the populace think he gave his enemies mediated chats when they crossed him? Having the Clan smeared across the land as murders, he supposed it was to bring some sort of shame to them, and force him to put out a statement denying it, upholding his status as true friend of the community. It tickled more laughter from him as he rode into Diamond territory, dark garments adorning his body, sword fixed to his hip, hair caught up and pinned a top his head, a golden dragon holding it all in place. Golden cuffs covered the tips of his ears, catching the light of the moon lightly.

The horse stopped, The Ace looking over the highranked residential district, disgusted at the outlandish sculptures peaking from behind the walls. His eyes cast up to the stars then the beam of light rising in the distant but just for a moment. One would miss it if didn’t know to look for it. 

He grinned and waited for another moment, until finally smoke rose to the sky, amber swells pushing up as fire ran over roofs and along walls, burning everything in sight. The High Fae kept his grin, urging his horse forward, up the paved road. At the end of the street a half ripped open gate welcomed him and his guards into the manor that was most certainly not his. Inside his agents had already round up the staff, spears pointed with snarling manabeasts and Shifters, awaiting the chance to rip into their flesh. 

He pushed off he horse and into the home, finding its owner on his knees, his family huddled along with him.“Well, Master Lee, what a wonderful evening we are having here”, he sang merrily walking to stand before the man, ignoring the cries of his family present. To the side he saw their luggage and laughed. They were planning to run, his gold and platinum no doubt within.

“Fifteen years you and this family, and your idiotic friends, stole from me. And yes, shame I did not notice, but lessons were learned. Thank you for that”, he said with a polite nodding of his head. “That’s one of the joys of long life, the constant learning it gifts you. Mistakes can always be rectified once there is life”, he said as two of his cousins came into the room, swords in hand covered in blood. Joui held his laughter at the sight. They had visited another home, relatives that thought themselves safe. They were not.  “And even if you don’t survive, all you need is loyal spawn”, he said passing his eyes over his grown children. “And then they can rectify those mistakes. Sadly, you will not have this chance”, he worded slowly as his eyes shone golden in the space, hands lifting to cast the deep illusionary web. 

The web bound its captures, making his casts stronger, having more influence. Without breaking it in haste, it doomed victims to death. 

Simultaneously two clones appeared at his side. The cries had stopped, the eyes all lifted up to the High Fae and his doppelgangers.  “I thought about this riding over here, a proper end to this folly. You idiots of this district call my district and my people thieves and morally corrupt, all of that slander”, he began, the words echoing from the clones in octaves deeper, creating an eerie sound. “And yet I have never stolen from anyone. I don’t even know any thieves. But you, 15 years I have fed, clothed, and allowed your lack of artistic sense to run rampant on this continent. I have allowed you to multiply and add to the stink of your kind. Well, that ends now”, he said finishing the web. 

“They have betrayed you”, he said holding his hand steady to amplify the influence his words would have, casting the illusion to force his bidding. “They have brought you to this end. It is a great sorrow and a stain on your honor”, he said then pointed at the blades in his cousins hands. The Fae beside him grinned and dropped the bloody blades at their elder’s feet. “Take it back. These before you took your trust and betrayed it. Your care for people was misused. For decades you have fed them and kept them alive yet all they have done is betray and steal from your wealth and your honor. End this, and rise in honor again”, he said as his expression darkened, grin widening while feeling the struggle of their combined will against his influence. He pushed the cast, painting the family as crooks that betrayed him, that ruined him, as villains that needed justice.“Do it”, he commanded, clones voices roaring louder. “You have suffered enough. Hold to that Diamond honor, make the council proud and a seat is yours. Prove you are better the conniving Hearts!” He added, knowing though he spoke to the patriarch, the heaviness of the cast would affect his family, them believing the words as well. 

The patriarch rose, taking the blade and began slicing at the bodies before him. Joui stepped back with his cousins, unwilling to let the sprays of their filthy blood touch them. At the archway they watched the patriarch hack his family to mere pieces of humans, blood pooling around him as he carried the act out. The family grabbed at each other, son taking the other blade and joining the massacre. His clones stood by, speaking the crimes to push Joui’s will within them. The remaining two blades were driven into the chest of the opposite wielder. Father piercing son, son piercing father. 

Watching the last two living struggle, he broke the web, watching the strain of the spell pull on their life. Without the web and the illusion their actions were clear. “If all Hearts are thieves and immoral monsters, why would you steal from their Ace and then recruit others to do so?” he asked watching the life pull from the two until they collapsed unto the pieces of bloodied ends. 

He turned, moving out to the courtyard. All around him hungry flames devoured the structures, lifting heavy smoke into the air. He lifted the fabric at his neck and covered his mouth and nose before saddling his horse again. Water had been given to the creature and passed over its head to keep it calm as chaos burned around. Departing the residence with clansmen and guards, it too was set ablaze. Fire raced over intended homes and neighboring alike, unable to differentiate criminal from innocent in its fury. 

The Ace rode out of the district, back into his own. At the border he turned to watch the smoldering vengeance dance through the night. A handful of fire Elementalists ( @phoenixkadeu) saw to the blaze, ever entertaining him with their abilities. He removed his riding gloves then pulled the fabric from his face, hand passing calmly over the horse beneath him, as he watched blocks of homes disappear into the fountain of flames.

Reports came into him as he watched, all intended met their end. Flames burning them, their kin, their possessions. Only the very young, were seen to have escaped from some homes, them on the back of every horse within. 

Indeed the Ace was a murderer but he had the right. The sums stolen from him were more than some would see in a lifetime. If money ruled the Hearts its quite expected that stealing from the Ace was never a wise choice. 

#kadeu: plot drop #sp: smoldering slander plot drop 5 #phoenixkadeu #all other highranked diamonds are free to suffer some property damage #send him a bill #or matter fact bill the council

[brittababbles]

So, seeing as you said questions are okay - lisanna and oberyn are in an arranged marriage but when do they actually meet for the second time (1st being when he chose her over cersei)? Is it at the altar or did they get to meet when they were younger. Did they write to each other growing up? Is lisanna ever shown a portrait of her destined husband? What about ellaria? When does lisanna meet her? Is lisanna told about oberyn's reputation?

Questions are magnificent. I need direction terribly. 

So the first time they meet is actually the occasion of which Oberyn speaks when he traveled to Casterly Rock with Elia and their father. He was seven. Lisanna was three. Oberyn remembers this vividly; Lisanna, of course, doesn’t recall it at all. 

They don’t actually meet again until about a month before their wedding, but I’ll get there in a moment, because the arrangement surrounding their marriage isn’t as long-standing as it might have sounded. After all, this wasn’t Tywin’s first choice - he wanted to marry off his eldest daughter first. Tywin offers Cersei to Oberyn only after Elia and Rheagar Targaryan’s betrothal comes to be, and includes the addendum that, should the Prince of Dorne prefer, Lord Tywin’s younger daughter is also of marriageable age. Oberyn was only involved in the decision because he’s Dornish and was very nearly eighteen at the time and it was felt he ought to have a say in his own marriage. The Dornish court probably wasn’t expecting him to have such a... vehement opinion on the matter. But he did. So his “choice” of Lisanna over Cersei was less about any desire to marry the younger sister than it was about a deep, deep desire not to marry the elder sister. He chose what he hoped was the lesser of two evils and got lucky, I suppose. 

Lisanna, for her part, had no memory of ever seeing Oberyn until he arrived in King’s Landing with his sister shortly before Elia’s marriage to Rheagar. Her father had brought her and her sister along for the festivities - they were both such pretty things, after all, and added ornamentation to the Lannister name if nothing else. It was mostly a happy accident, really, as Tywin had gone to no effort to arrange any kind of pre-alter meeting of the two betrothed, and it wasn’t like Sunspear was incredibly convenient a location for a Lannister to visit offhand. She must have seen a portrait, seeing as their marriage arrangements had carried on for nearly a year between their two houses, plus she could identify him on sight, but she’s never put much stock in the truth of portraits and at any rate, no picture could do Oberyn justice. 

She saw him ride in with the Dornish contingent when her father lined her up with Cersei to welcome the Princess. He was taller than she’d expected, and stunningly lithe. She was a fifteen year old virgin and had never seen a man who could move like Oberyn, even in the saddle. He immediately sought out Lord Tywin following any formal introductions, and lightly kissed his bride-to-be’s hand, and managed to have enough sense not to grin at the wide eyed expression he received from her in return. 

They spent virtually no time together in the intervening month, but when the Dornish party returned to Sunspear, they took a small group of Lannisters with them. Tywin joined them two weeks later at which time Lisanna and Oberyn were married. 

Up to this point, their relationship was very formal. They were never alone together until their wedding night; Lisanna was always accompanied by a septa, an older serving lady, or her father. She called him “Prince Oberyn” and he “My Lady Lannister”. The only time he touched her was when he kissed her hand before they parted at the end of each of these - honestly rather stiff and uncomfortable - meetings. Their wedding was an equally formal affair, though she notes that Oberyn smiled through the whole of the ceremony. She tried, but was honestly more focused on keeping her breakfast down and not stepping on her maiden cloak. The feast that followed separated them fairly consistently too; Lisanna ate next to nothing, and played her bride/hostess role well enough. They sat next to each other, but spoke only occasionally to one another. It was a busy occasion, after all. 

They left separately for their designated bedchamber - Oberyn’s, obviously. There was no formal bedding ceremony - Lisanna later learned that this was at her husband’s insistence in order to make her more comfortable. Tywin’s last words to Lisanna: Please him, if you can. Her father was on his way back to the Red Keep by dawn the next morning. She didn’t see him again for several years.

Did Lisanna know about Oberyn’s reputation? In a manner, I suppose. She knew he was no innocent, at least. Cersei and Lisanna did not have what I would call a loving sisterly relationship - Cersei is made easily jealous, and did not like sharing Tywin’s affection with a younger sister. This redoubled when the Martells chose her little sister over her to be their princess. As such, every rumor ever whispered about Oberyn got back to Lisanna via her sister prior to their marriage. Again, she was fifteen and a virgin and was inclined to believe her older, more experienced sister, particularly on matters of sex (it wasn’t a well kept secret between the four Lannister siblings, after all, about Cersei and Jaime). So when her sister told her that Oberyn fucked the corpses of men he killed in battle, that he’d fathered four children already (true at the time, though it wound soon be five, and one of the few true things Cersei ever told her about Oberyn), that he went to bed with goats and that he once bit a girl so hard during sex that he severed an artery and she bled to death (this one became, in retrospect, laughable in Lisanna’s eyes, but at the time terrified her completely). So to say that she was terrified going into their wedding night would hardly be an overstatement. Her ladies dressed her in some elaborate nightgown and then sent her into his room. She arrived before he did, sat on the edge of the bed, and sobbed. 

It was at roughly that point that Oberyn arrived and realized that he had his work cut out for him. For he had heard all the usual things about his bride; that she was kind and gentle and pure as the untouched Northern snow. He’d anticipated the nerves of a maiden, and the typical shakiness that comes along with deflowering a girl, but he didn’t expect to have to convince her that he had no intention of draining her of all of her blood that night, or any night to come for that matter. My sweet little flower, he muttered, touching her chin gently to get her to look at him, there’s no need for these tears. Do all the women of Casterly Rock cry on their bridal nights?

He’d ordered up a small spread for them, because he’s Oberyn and he noticed that his new wife hadn’t touched her food at the wedding feast, and led her out to the balcony where the servants had placed it alongside a long sort of chaise. They spent the next couple hours there, in the moonlight, and he calmed her fairly easily. He made certain she’d eaten to her satisfaction, and offered her wine as she liked. He was gentle with her and for the first time they just...talked. For hours, they talked and exchanged stories and started to call each other by name, and she giggled into her goblet as he told her a story of some mischief he and Elia had caused as children, and he curled a single finger around her hair as she told him of the two sight-hounds she’d left behind as Casterly Rock. At some point, she drew near enough that he could kiss her. 

The rest of the night... he was good to her. He carried her into the bedroom, whispering promises that he would not hurt her, then gently undressed her, disposed of his own clothes, and laid her on the bed. He kissed her everywhere from her forehead to her toes, then pulled her first...second... third orgasms from her with his tongue before slipping inside her and slowly, carefully making love to her. She cried at first, then cried out his name in the end, and he held her through it, spilling inside her and gasping words of praise against her lips. 

When he’d finished tending to her, and had wrapped her in the silk sheets and curled himself around her, he whispered to her that the needn’t do this again, if she didn’t wish it. I would never want that she whispered, kissing him. 

They spent the next several weeks getting to know one another better, in some ways. The sex became less gentle, and Lisanna became less of a Lannister. 

Ellaria, of course, proceeds Lisanna in Oberyn’s life by a year and a few months. Their first daughter had been born before Oberyn’s marriage. Ellaria was hardly ever a secret between the newlyweds - the fact that Oberyn had children by other women was a well known fact - but that he loved another woman did bother Lisanna at first. He hardly loved Lisanna less for Ellaria’s presence, but Lisanna was a northern girl (or so Oberyn teasingly liked to call her. For everything is north of Dorne) and was raised in a deeply monogamous culture. She couldn’t fathom loving two people at once. Not at first. 

Ellaria actually entered Lisanna’s life separate from Oberyn, oddly enough. 

Lisanna was - and is - prone to difficult menstrual periods. Particularly in her teenage years, she suffered through the intensely painful cramps on the typical monthly rotation. These were compounded by anxiety when Oberyn was away, and as a prince and esteemed warrior of Dorne it was hardly possible for him to be with his bride constantly. Ellaria found Lisanna curled up in her marriage bed, sobbing in both pain and panic. This woman - the most beautiful woman Lisanna had ever seen, simply crawled into bed alongside the princess and held her. All through the day and evening and night, just held her and stroked her hair. In the morning she kissed Lisanna. They spent the next week in bed together. Lisanna was seventeen. 

You can imagine Oberyn’s surprise when he comes home to find his two beloveds curled up in his bed without him, and after a slight sulk that this all went on in his absence, he gleefully climbed in alongside them. Very little has changed in this arrangement since. Both women acknowledge that each needs their time alone with the prince. Oberyn, for his part, sees nothing in leaving his two doves alone together. Ellaria delivered - hands on delivered, for Lisanna has no love of maesters considering what happened to her mother - all of Lisanna’s children, and Lisanna was at Ellaria’s side for her three youngest daughters births. Lisanna is Oberyn’s wife, and therefore is legally recognized above his paramour, but it’s hard to say that one outranks the other in his life. They exist in balance with one another. 

I hope this clears up a few questions, a maybe sparks a few more. I welcome them whole-heartedly, because I haven’t come up with a format that works well for this character yet. She’s buried in Rumi poems and old crusading songs and since I’m neither Rumi nor a crusader, it’s a bit difficult to get her out on paper. So I welcome all questions or thoughts on this character, because I’m very eager to share her. 

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x oc #lady lisanna lannister #game of answers #game of thrones

[mst3kproject]

The Manster

Who has two thumbs and is back on terra firma with working wifi?  This MSTie!

As for my chosen subject this week… I don’t think I have to justify this one.  It’s called The Manster, as in a portmanteau of man and monster.  It was directed by a guy who mostly made cheap-ass jungle movies, and stars a bunch of embarrassed actors who don’t know how they ended up here.  It’s old and it’s dumb and it’s often pretty funny though never on purpose, and the perfect stinger moment comes very early in the film… you’ll know it when you see it.

So we have Dr. Robert Suzuki, who lives on top of a volcano.  When people have ‘Dr’ in front of their names and live in isolation with a bunch of blinky light machines, that’s usually a pretty good clue that they’re mad scientists. Tragically our hero, Larry Stanford, is not that observant (Larry’s obliviousness would have been a constant target for Mike and the bots and he would have deserved all of it).  He’s a reporter who wants an interview about Suzuki’s theories on the causes of mutations, but too bad for him, he arrives just as the mad doctor has run out of family members to experiment on.  Under the influence of Suzuki’s injections he’s soon devolving into an animalistic frat-boy, drinking, carousing, and murdering… oh, and he’s growing a second head. Will that be a problem?

So basically this is a werewolf movie with a fake mustache on… or perhaps a Jekyll and Hyde movie of sorts, as discussed in the denouement.  It wants to explore the dichotomy of good and evil in every one of us, using the very silly device of a two-headed man.  I have to say, I understand the metaphor, but it wasn’t put to nearly good enough use.  The movie would have been ten times more fun if we’d gotten to see Larry and his second head arguing over whether or not they’re going to kill somebody.  Not better, mind you, just more fun.

As far as just being a movie goes, The Manster is better than a lot of things I’ve watched for this blog.  The characters have names and look different enough that you can tell them apart, the story makes sense on its own terms and everything that happens is relevant to the plot.  Photography is honestly pretty good and the actors are competent.  All this happens to be in the service of a really silly story with awful special effects (I love Larry’s rubbery second head bouncing as he runs) but it’s engaging enough that you want to keep watching.

What I really like about The Manster, however, is that it offers a lot to analyze.  I’m not sure much of it is intentional.  The Jekyll and Hyde side of the story is elucidated in an ending speech, as Larry’s friend Ian tries to reassure Mrs. Stanford.  He says there was good and evil in Larry, and they’ll just have to wait and see which side wins.  This is not a very satisfying ending, really.  We’ve just seen Larry’s evil side plummet to its death into a volcanic crater… and the surviving good side is under arrest as a serial killer.  Dr. Suzuki and his assistant, the only people who could testify that Larry was not responsible for his actions, are both dead.  This guy’s going to jail.

The really interesting thing in the movie, though, is one that comes up by accident.  Dr. Suzuki’s work is on evolution – his theory is that cosmic rays can induce mutations, producing new species more or less overnight (this is called ‘macromutation’ or ‘the hopeful monster theory’, and lurked on the edges of the mainstream in the 40’s and 50’s) and he hopes to induce the same effect chemically.  When he tries, however, his efforts invariably produce monsters.  Emiko, his wife and former research partner, turns into something resembling the closet monster from The Brain that Wouldn’t Die.  Kenji, his brother, turns into a yeti, and a similar fate awaits Larry.  These mutants cannot understand human speech, and their behaviour is irrational and violent.

This implies a couple of things.  We hear vague mentions of Dr. Suzuki experimenting on fungi, but his heart is mostly in his human experiments.  That tells us that his goal is to speed up the evolution of humanity, and one presumes that this is intended to improve us somehow. Of course, this is not how evolution works.  Evolution does not make things better – this is why biologists have mostly dropped the descriptions primitive and advanced in favour of the more neutral basal and derived.  Dr. Suzuki’s quest is therefore quite misguided, as illustrated by his monsters. In no way could they be considered ‘better’ than humans – in fact, they’re significantly worse at surviving and reproducing (the thing natural selection selects for) than ordinary people are.

There’s another layer here, though.  ‘Evolution makes things better’ is a misconception that’s been around since Darwin, and dates back to even earlier ways of organizing the natural world.  When Linnaeus created the classification system for living things that we’re still saddled with today, he did it under the believe in the Great Chain of Being – the idea that you can order everything that exists into a hierarchy with mold at the bottom and god at the top, and that after god and the angels humans are the best thing that exists (as proved by our being the only creatures able to create classification systems).  It’s an idea that appeals to human vanity and to our need to impose order on the natural world, and it isn’t likely to go away anytime soon.

With that in mind, perhaps there’s another reason Suzuki’s experiments fail.  If you believe that humans are the best living thing around, particularly if you believe we are the image of god on earth, then maybe it’s not possible to improve on us.  Any change you make to people that takes them away from humanity will automatically make them worse.  This idea does appear to be manifest in the fates of Emiko, Kenji, and Larry, all of whom become more apelike, less ‘advanced’, as they change.

In that case, what does The Manster think makes for a good human?  We see a little of Larry before he starts to mutate, so we can compare that with what he becomes.  Rather surprisingly for a movie of this vintage, the fact that Larry is white seems to be pretty incidental.  He is a foreigner in a faraway place, but this serves mostly to drive a wedge between him and his wife Linda.  Except for a couple of rather troubling moments, the film does not present Japan in an exotifying light.  We do see things like a bathhouse and a geisha bar, but these represent Larry’s personal slide into debauchery, rather than the country as a whole.  We also meet normal working people among both the Japanese and the American expat community – reporters, police officers, and even priests.

There’s a very nice bit, actually, where Larry comes upon a Buddhist priest praying, and when he realizes this man doesn’t speak English, Larry takes the opportunity to unburden himself.  It makes him feel better to talk about his moral quandaries aloud, and the fact that the priest doesn’t understand him means he cannot judge him.  This is a very relatable and human moment, one of the best in the movie.

Unfortunately, it also segues into a couple of the most distasteful things in the film.  As I’m sure you’ve guessed, Larry does murder the priest, but before he does, he stares at a particular statue in the shrine – a representation of a three-eyed, fanged being that I am in no position to identify, although it looks a bit like Vajrapani.  Before Larry grows a full second head he sprouts an extra eye in his shoulder, and the implication is that the three-eyed statue draws his attention to the monster within himself. I don’t know much about Buddhism but I do not like the idea of casting another culture’s religious figures as symbols of monstrosity.  The west has done plenty enough of that.

But back to the question of acceptable humanity. We watch Larry get drunk, violent, antisocial, lazy, and promiscuous, which tells us that the ‘good’ man is the opposite of these things: sober, peaceful, friendly, hardworking, and chaste. The film pays particular attention to how Larry relates to women.  The fact that he’s been faithful to his distant wife is established early on, and one of the first symptoms of his devolution is his willingness to discard her.  First he makes out with a couple of girls at the geisha bar, and later he takes Dr. Suzuki’s assistant Terra (who has a tragic backstory but we frustratingly never find out what it entails) as his mistress. On the phone with his wife Linda at the beginning of the film, Larry tells her he loves her and promises to be home soon.  Later, when she comes to Japan searching for him, he shouts at her and makes a show of preferring Terra.

One conversation he has with Linda is particularly revealing.  He tells her he has no desire to settle down in one place and wile away his time drinking coffee and playing bridge when there’s a big wide world out there.  She asks him what about her plans, and he declares he will ‘put her in her place’ and ‘slap her down’.  Since this is when Larry is the opposite of what a good man should be, we can take from it that a good man respects his wife and takes her opinions and needs into account.  For the late fifties, this is actually kind of surprising – I’ve seen films from a decade or two later that were far more backward about this.  So hey, points for that.

All things considered, The Manster is a pretty well-made movie.  It’s dumb and full of clichés, such as the man scientist destroyed by his own creation, the femme fatale who sacrifices herself for the hero because she’s fallen in love with him, theremin music to represent the monster’s appearance, etc etc etc… but it’s competently put together and whether intentionally or no, contains a lot of interesting material. It’s the sort of movie I can watch repeatedly and always find something new in.  Definitely recommended viewing for the 50’s Monster Flick fan, although with the caveat that there is a scene in which one character urges another to commit suicide.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the manster #guys in gorilla suits #tw: suicide #50s

[iwillbeinmynest]

Hold On Loosely - Biker!Steve x Reader(f)    Chapter 7

Authors Notes:  If you’d like to be tagged please send me an ask. I keep better track of tags that way.

Word Count: 1.4k

Special Thanks: Here’s to @itsanerdlife for fueling my Biker obsession and being my Beta for this whole thing. To my girl over at @girl-next-door-writes who also beta’ed for me. And an extra shout out to @bettercallsabs for this beautiful graphic. She is amazing and y’all need to check her out!!

Notes/Warnings: (My notes and warnings are for the story as a whole. Some notes and Warnings will not apply to every chapter.) smoking (I do not support smoking. keep your lungs clean y’all.) drinking, (be of age, don’t be stupid) minor violence, backstabbing, attempted murder, anxiety, stress, mentions of death, car accident, trauma, …I think that’s it. let me know if I’ve missed something.

Masterlist

 The rest of dinner had actually gone much better than Y/N had anticipated. Steve seemed to loosen up but Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because he liked her or if it was the beer. Although, he only had one.

 Y/N felt herself loosening up as well. It wasn’t until Steve mentioned a sports car that she realized she hadn’t thought about Danny in the last hour or so.

 Not thinking about Danny wasn’t all that taboo but, it was when she was around a guy. The guilt of being around someone other than her late husband had always kept her from letting herself enjoy dates, which frankly, had been very few.

 “So, tell me,” Steve’s smile had been permanent for the last forty-five minutes. “Why writing? I mean, your business is obviously booming due to the enormous amounts of papers you sorted the other night but, what got you into it?” 

 Y/N bit her lip and shook her head. “I guess I wasn’t good at anything else.”

 Steve shook his head quickly and leaned forward on the table. “I don’t believe that.”

 She ignored him and kept going. “My mom pushed me to be so many more things, a doctor, a lawyer a..what was the other thing, oh, she wanted me to start my own publishing firm. But, all those things...I just couldn’t do them.”

 “So, you tried to be a doctor?”

 She nodded. “I even made it into med school but I couldn’t bring myself to go. It just didn’t make me happy.”

 “And writing does?”

 She drank from her glass and nodded her head. “It really does.”

 “Then that’s all that matters.” He grinned, leaning back again.

 “I’m glad you think so.”

 Steve knew she didn't need his approval but the see her smile the way she did, well, he might have to try that again.

 So he did. “I do. I think a girl like you deserves to be happy.”

 There was that smile. Yeah, he could get used to that. 

 “You say that to all the girls you date?” Her eyes narrowed playfully.

 “Who says I date a bunch of girls?” He tried to keep his face even, not reveal the real answer.

 “So, you're not the bad boy biker who takes home a new girl every weekend?”

 Steve couldn't fight back his laugh. “Every weekend, huh? Is that what you think of me?”

 She shrugged under her soft grin. “I'm just making guesses.”

 Steve shook his head. “Nah, no other girls for me, just you.”

 Y/N flushed red and pulled her lips between her teeth. 

 Steve inhaled to apologized but Pepper walked up. 

 “How was it?” She smiled.

 “Great as always.” Steve didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. He was trying to read if he’d upset her or flattered her. When she smiled at him before looking at Pepper he relaxed.

 “It was amazing.” She complemented. “Seriously, the best meal I’ve had in a long time. Thank you so much.”

 Pepper put her hands up. “Hey, I didn’t cook it.”

 “But you did hire the chef and had a hand in the menu.” Steve reminded her.

She shrugged. “All true.”

 Y/N chuckled and gathered her things.

 “You two ride safe, okay?” Pepper looked at Y/N. “I heard about your house, I’m so sorry about that. I hope Barnes has taken good care of you.”

 “He has.” She grinned. “I can’t thank him enough.”

 Steve felt a sense of pride hearing how grateful and respectful she was being towards Bucky. She might not know but it meant a lot to him.

 “Well, It was great to meet you, Y/N.” Pepper smiled. She squinted at Steve. “Keep him out of trouble.”

 “I’ll do my best.” Y/N teased him.

 Steve rolled his eyes but smirked.”Come on.” He waited for her to stand then escorted her through the restaurant to the door. He’d never say it out loud but he liked the appalled looks he got from these old people in their fancy clothes. He nodded his head to a man who was looking at Y/N in a way that made him want to punch the guy out. Steve put his hand on Y/N’s lower back and opened the door for her- the doorman was too busy looking for a manager to figure out who’d let them in there.

 Y/N shook her head and laughed. “You enjoyed that didn’t you?”

 Steve smiled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The short walk back to his bike was quiet and when they arrived he took her purse and secured it back in his saddle bag. He handed her the spare helmet and she took it without a word. 

 Steve really liked how natural it felt to have her on the bike behind him. She was already getting better with her grip which meant she wasn’t so nervous to ride. He wished he knew if she was comfortable with the bike or with him. And if he was being honest with himself, he wanted it to be the latter.

 Pulling up to her house, she let go of his vest and started pulling off the helmet. “I’m sorry you’re stuck babysitting me for a week. I’m sure you’d rather be in your own bed near your friends.”

 Steve pushed the kickstand out and cut the engine. He pulled his helmet off and ran a hand through his hair. Y/N hadn’t tried to get off the bike so he didn’t either.

 He twisted in his seat to look at her. “No, I don’t mind. I’m sorry they pushed you to do this but I agree with their reasoning. I don’t think the hit on your house was an accident and I want you to be safe. Letting people in your neighborhood know you’re with us sends a message.”

 Y/N took a deep breath and leaned forward, kissing his cheek before she lost her nerve. “Thank you.”

 She dismounted the bike and she tried to get her purse and shopping bag but she fumbled with the buckle on the saddle bag. Y/N’s hands were shaking. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking, kissing Steve. 

 Steve stood behind Y/N, his chest pressed to her back. Strong calloused hands steadied hers and he opened the saddle bag for her. “What’s wrong?” His voice was low and hushed in her ear.

 “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” She let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” She could feel Steve rest his head against hers.

 “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

 Y/N tuned to face him. She wanted to explain everything to him. How she felt about him. How nervous she was and how some part of her felt like she was betraying Danny. But the words wouldn’t come.

 Steve argued silently with himself. He knew what he wanted and he had a pretty good guess at what she wanted but if he did this and he was wrong, she might shut down on him. Steve frowned and clenched his jaw. Well, You never know unless you try, right?

 His hands found her wrists and he ran his hands up her arms before coming to the nape of her neck. With a gentle nudge of his thumb, he tilted her head upward and she complied without resistance. Against his will, his breaths quickened like when he was in middle school kissing Margaret Carter for the first time. The corner of his lips drew up when he remembered his first kiss and how he knew, deep in his gut, that this just might be his last first kiss.

 Y/N’s heart seemed to stop when Steve’s lips met hers. She took a sharp breath through her nose before running her hands up Steve’s chest to grip the edges of his kutte. 

 The second she tugged on his vest, he dropped a hand from her face and pressed into her lower back, pulling her against him. There was no doubt in his mind, now. He’d do whatever it took, wait as long as she needed, to make her his old lady.

 Y/N didn’t realize until her calves ached that she’d pressed up onto her toes to try and reach him better. She pulled back and lowered herself down to flat feet. She breathed heavily against him. Resting her head on his chest and feeling the weighted rise and fall of his lungs.

 Steve leaned his head down and kissed the top of her head. He stepped back towards the house and took her hand. “Come on. I have a surprise for you.”

 Y/N couldn’t control her grin and huffed. “If it’s anything like that last one, I’m gonna need a minute to catch my breath.”

 He shook his head and chuckled. “Just come on.”

*************

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[7deadlycinderellas]

The Ghost of the Red Keep, ch6

Ao3 link

Six and ten and all her years later, Arya will never forget the sight of Bran’s broken leg twisted and deformed. It’s the bone in his upper leg, close to his hip. Maester Pycelle says it may be well over a year until he can walk again, if ever.

He’d slammed his head into the ground as well. If he hadn’t still had his helm on then he could have died. As it was, he took a hard hit, and couldn’t say quite what had happened when he woke up.

“All I remember was riding Storm and then black,” Bran tells them when he finally wakes from the milk of the poppy induced sleep Pycelle had put him under while he set his leg. “I guess something spooked him, and he threw me.”

That’s horseshit, and Arya feels like Bran knows it. Storm was well trained, and had never so much as stumbled. It would take a great fright to even make him bolt, much less throw off his rider. And Bran’s leg…

Arya can’t quite remember what Maester Luwin had taught them what that bone was called, but she recalls that it was supposed to be one of the strongest bones in the body. A fall from a horse shouldn’t have been enough. Arya doesn’t think it was an accident, but she’s frightened to say so.

It will take ages for him to heal, and Ned insists that he shouldn’t have to do it in the capital. So in less than a fortnite, as soon as his condition stabilizes, Bran and Catelyn are loaded into the wheelhouse to return to Winterfell.

Bran is completely bereft when Arya sees him leave. This is basically the end of his dream.

Arya bids them a tearful farewell, and tries not to be too terribly jealous.

Everyone is walking on eggshells in the following weeks.

Arya manages to sneak around in the tunnels when the septas come to take Stan and Leo’s bodies away to the sept. There will be no funerals for them, the two bastard boys, but the least they could do, Arya thinks, is not cart them away in front of their mother.

She sees one’s hand sticking out of the cart, his skin pale with a strange, almost silvery sheen.

The plans for the tourney continue.

The next full moon is the second to last day of when the tourney is planned. Arya’s skin itches again. There’s danger all around her, and she can’t think of anything to do about it, she can feel it in her bones. She’s not sure if she should say anything to Ned about it, she’s not sure what she even could say, and all she wants to do is talk to Gendry.

She writes him what she can, but she’s not sure what’s safe to say. He writes her back, when he can, scrawled on the back of her letters in his still rough, He consoles her over Bran, understands how devastating it would have been. Tells her of another boy, an apprentice smith, who’d leaned too close to the fire and fell, burned his hands nearly to black. That boy wouldn’t smith anymore, he’d been on the mercy of the gods and the septas.

Arya’s so worried, she doesn’t even fight having her gown for the ball made and fitted. It is beautiful, silvery gray silk, the same shade as the rabbit fur in her cloak, even if the skirt is volominous and hard to run in.

Sansa finishes it up, her hand as steady and certain as any professional seamstress.

She twists, and bends over to grab something, and her rolled up sleeves ride up even further up her elbows, and Arya just barely catches a glimpse…

She grabs Sansa’s arm and forcefully pushes the sleeve upwards, ignoring her objections. The bruise is angry, purple with spots already turning yellow-brown. Sansa snatches her arm back before Arya can search any further.

“Did the prince give you that?” Arya demands.

Sansa looks away.

“It doesn’t matter. Soon we’ll be married, and I’ll only have to see him in public. I’ll have guards all around me…”

Her voice trails off and Arya has to stop herself from screaming. Screaming that those guards will likely be the king’s men, not hers. Screaming to Sansa that Joffrey’s not even a prince, but a rotten bastard. She has to use all her willpower to squeeze it down, to squash the urge. No one can know, Ned had said.

“Tommen told me he wanted to join the Kingsguard so he could protect me...Bran too, before... That’s what Ser Jamie did. He joined the Kingsguard so his sister wouldn’t be alone here...some good it did.”

Arya barely has time to acknowledge that yes, the Kingslayer did seem unsually close to his twin, before her brain starts screaming again.

“The queen knows this?”

Sansa snorts. Arya is astonished, she’s never heard Sansa make that noise before.

“I wonder if the queen knows much of anything anymore. She’s drunk on wine half the time, rambling on about things that don’t make sense. She said once that Robert’s struck her before...that made me feel bad, but then she laughed like it didn’t matter. She keeps going on and on about how she’ll show him…The things about Lord Baelish and Jon Arryn, and something about imports from Essos...I don’t know how her mind gets to where it does.

Sansa takes a deep breath before plastering a smile on her face.

“At least soon, I will be queen, and she won’t be able to make anyone else suffer.”

Arya thinks on that for a while. Once her son marries, Cersei’s power will be diminished. Once Robert dies, she might as well not be a royal anymore. Would she go home then, to Casterly Rock? Would that make her happy?

Arya thinks going home to Winterfell would make her happier than anything, but not without knowing her family and friends were safe.

The first day of the tourney comes. Arya smiles brightly and forces Sansa to the edge of the bench, on her one side, Ned on her other. No room for princes to force themselves. They’re not even wed yet, she insists.

She wants to enjoy the tourney. She would normally, would lap it up, would eagerly watch the riders and try to learn their tricks, pick a favorite and cross her fingers for them. Daydream about entering one herself. Aunt Lyanna had, she had said that the joust was nine-tenths horsemanship, and Arya could ride as well as a boy.

But everytime she looks at the horses, and the lance, her stomach sinks and she thinks of Bran.

No bone would break like that from a fall from a horse.

There’s a rush of stiff applause, and Arya watches the man they call the Mountain that Rides. He looks like he could break a man in two with just his pinky finger. He’s one of Cersei Lannister’s prized champions, or Tywin Lannister’s rabid dog, depending on who you asked.

She watches him holding the lance, and feels a chill on the back of her neck.

The next day, the melee, she begs off the festivities, claiming an upset stomach. She wonders at the empty seat beside Sansa, and her heart lifts when it ends up being taken by Edric Storm.

“My uncle is off seeking the maester, hoping to find a tea for my constitution,”

“Perhaps I should find him,” Arya interjects, “I’m feeling a bit out of sorts myself. I think we should both lay off the cherries.”

She tilts her head, and sees the very base of Edric’s hands. Marked with an ever so slight metallic sheen. Arya does her best to meet her father’s eyes, but she can’t be sure if he sees.

Sneaking into the kitchens is easy enough. The servants who can are outside watching the tourney, one of the bits of the entertainment there for all, those who aren’t are rushing about in early preperation for the feast that will end it.

Most of them pay her no mind. Lady Arya Stark never yelled or gave them trouble. Oh if they had known Arya Underfoot. She finds Mheagan easily enough, Barra sticking closely to her side. The little girl is bigger now, nearly five or six, though still quite small. Big enough to fetch and carry, but too small to stray from her mother’s side and be seen.

Today, she has a whining tone in her voice. Arya recognizes it, from Rickon, or shamefully, from her own voice on occasion.

“Mumma, I’m hungry,”

“Then you should have eaten your breakfast.”

“Don’t like cherries.”

Arya wrinkles her nose. There they are again, those cherries.

Something in her mind blinks to life. And that’s how Arya finds herself in the Red Keep library when there’s a tournament going on outside.

It’s not hard to find the book. She’d found it by accident before, it had been sitting on one of the tables when the Septa had been teaching her and Sansa their history. Arya had been admonished for reading it instead of listening, but she remembers.

Why a book on poisons had been so easily accessible had never occurred to her.

The joili nut, she read, was once a popular snack food in parts of Essos until it was discovered that consumption over time would cause poisons to build up in the eater’s body, causing weakness and stomach upset, eventually leading to vomiting, seizures, and death from too much.

They could be distinguished by the almondesque taste, at times almost tasting like ripe cherries, and the slight metallic look caused by the oils staining the skin.

Cherry tarts, is all Arya can think of. She smuggles the book out under her jerkin, and when Ned returns to the tower, she’s left it open to the correct page.

Early the next morning, Arya wakes to a note from Ned atop a pile of packages wrapped in burlap.

“Take the top to the kitchen, leave it behind the flour barrel. The middle to the stable, on the ladder above the saddle rack. The bottom is for Gendry, I trust you know where to leave it. Renly has Edric covered. We’re getting them out before this week is through.”

Being the ghost of the red keep has it’s benefits.

She saves Gendry’s package for last, and risks Ned’s wrath by sneakiing down to see him.

It’s early, only a tiny strip of sun, and he’s still asleep on his cot.

He sits up, blinking, when she flings the package at his chest.

“Hold onto those and listen. We’re sneaking you out, you and your siblings too. “

“What are you-”

Arya shushes him, sitting on the edge of his cot.

“The queen’s children are bastards. They aren’t the kings. We think she was keeping the rest of you around...poisoning the others, so she could have something to hold over King Robert’s head if he ever found out about her infidelity.”

Gendry laughs roughly. The golden children, flaunted in front of all of King’s Landing, bastards just like him. She doesn’t tell him the other bit, that other thing Ned confided in her. She had watched Jamie Lannister in the first days of the tournament, her stomach twisting each time in disgust. She hopes it’s not true, but Lord Renly has insisted that the rumours have persisted about the Queen and her twin for years.

“So your-”

“We’re sending Mheagan and Barra up north to Winterfell. You and Mya are going to the Riverlands, and Renly’s sneaking Edric back to Storm’s End right after the ball. “

She reaches out and squeezes Gendry’s hands tight. Her heart tugs. She would say that she wishes they could send him to Winterfell, but she’s not sure where she’s even going to end up when this is all done. If Ned’s accusations don’t go as planned...there could be war, and it’s better if they aren’t all in one place.

She hesitates, before handing him the other package she had grabbed when she brought Ned’s.

Gendry’s eyes go wide when he unwraps the sword.

“You’re giving me Needle?” he asks breatheless. Arya is similarly out of breath when she responds.

“You’ll need it more than me. I know you can make yourself a better sword, but on the road, until you get to where my father’s sending you…” her voice trails off, words rendered babbles, “Right now you need it more than me,” she steels her voice, “And when you see me again, you can give it back.”

She surges forward and kisses him, once, hard. She pulls back, his eyes are so incredibly blue.

“I’ll come and find you when it’s time to leave...please stay safe.”

Arya bounces on her heels for the rest of the tourney. Ned whispers more of his plans to her. All three groups will leave in the early morning, once the ball is officially over, when most of the castle will be too drunk or hungover to pay attention, and Arya must help them be ready.

He also tells her that he’s sending Sansa away with Renly and Edric.

“That will put her in danger too-” Arya tells him. Ned nods.

“But she will be far away from here, and I do trust Renly. He may not be the most brilliant or thoughtful of lords but he is not cruel and he is not duplicitious. He would bear her no ill will. And if she stays here, than she will be in danger too.”

The tourney and the ball will end, the ghosts will disappear into the night and the next day, Ned will levy his accusations at the queen. These accusations of adultery, treason and incest. Arya doesn’t ask what will happen to her, or what will happen to him.

At the suggestion of a visitor from the Reach, the ball will be a masquerade. That evening, Sansa and Arya prepare their masks. Sansa’s is simple, it barely covers her eyes.

Arya tsks at her while adding the fake fur to her wolf mask, that will go all the way over her head, like a helm.

“What’s the point of that, everyone will know it’s you.”

Sansa smiles sadly.

“Everyone will already know it’s me. They all do.”

Sansa’s gown is a gorgeous pale gold, enveloping her pale figure and making her look all the more regal, despite the anxious look on her face, and the filmy shawl hiding the marks on her arms. Arya’s heart tugs in her chest. She so desperately wants to tell her sister that everything will be okay, that she won’t have to marry that awful prince, but she knows how to keep mum, and she must.

The jousting ends, and the melee, and the archery contests, and Arya would be hard pressed to tell you the names of any of the winners. She doesn’t like this and hopes it ends soon.

Arya dresses for the feast and the ball, and tries not to let her worry show on her face. Sansa helps her lace up her gown and Arya places the wolf mask over her face, braids pinned neatly underneath.

Ned pauses outside when the handmaiden leaves, looking them both over. It’s been so long since he’s looked happy at all, that Arya beams.

“You look lovely,” he says, giving each girl a hug over their shoulders. “The both of you.”

When he hugs Arya, he slips her a bit of paper, which she tucks into her waist pocket. They’ve already discussed this, but she wanted it just in case.

“I’ll see you both at the feast.”

Arya and Sansa walk to the great hall arm in arm. Arya feels that her face must look preoccupied, because Sansa whispers to her,

“Thinking about your secret friend?”

Arya chuckles. She knew she was going to regret letting Myrcella call him that.

“One of these days, I’ll tell you all about him. But for tonight, I can’t.”

Sansa wiggles her eyebrows, and Arya realizes she’d never even let it slip before that Gendry was a “he”. Suddenly, she does wish she could tell Sansa all about him. As fun as it had been keeping him a secret all these years, suddenly, she just wants her sister’s advice.

The feast is lavish and rich. The centerpiece is what must be an entire roast auroch, with leeks and potatoes and huge boats of gravy. Smaller platters abound, rabbit in wine sauce, crispy fried duck, ocean fish wrapped in bacon. Arya barely has a tiny bit of each and she’s already nearly stuffed even before getting to the side dishes, the piles of oat breads, the parsnips and onions boiled in gravy, the little fried fishfingers. She barely even wants to look at the desserts, the gorgeous cream swans and piles of cakes, though she manages a single honey biscuit.

The spirits are flowing freely, and Arya watches as the king and queen at the high table make their way through what seems like it must be a whole barrel each. Sansa sips daintily at a single glass of Dornish red, while Arya slowly learns to appreciate her own cup of mead. No one else around them seems to be holding back.

By the time most of the dishes have been cleared, the music has started and the dancing begun, Arya is so full she feels like she can’t move. The nerves deep inside her don’t help. She can’t think that after tonight, she doesn’t know when (or even if) she’ll ever see Gendry again. Him being safe has to be the most important bit.

When the dancing begins, Sansa can’t refuse Joffrey’s offerred hand. He’d crossed all the way across the hall to ask of course, and this feast is in celebration of their upcoming marriage!

Everyone in the crowd are in masks. Some are as simple as Sansa’s (much as Arya said, the blue feathers do little to disguise her fair face and red hair), others are elaborate, more like headdresses than masks. Cersei herself is wearing a fringed golden mask, likely intended to resemble a lion. King Robert has apparently foregone the theme of the ball, and wears no mask.

Arya dances a few times. She’s not great, but as far as most of the expected ladies skills she was expected to gain, dancing is far from the most obnoxious, so she mostly sticks to the sidelines, watching.

King Robert is so drunk that he’s begun to slump over, though his mouth is still moving. Cersei’s back is ramrod straight, but her hand never leaves her wine glass, and it is never empty.

The night goes on, the crowd waxes and wanes, and Arya listens closely for the faraway sound of the time-keepers’ chimes. She’s waiting for twelve, the hour of the ghost.

Just when the night is beginning to drag on, and she hears the chimes go to eleven, Arya feels a tap on her shoulder.

The clothes he wears are simple, a wool tunic and leather breeches, but well made enough not to be out of place at the ball. He wears a simple black mask covering the upper part of his face, underneath the black iron helm, horns twisted to the front. All Arya has to see is his eyes before a grin sprouts on her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, excitedly, grasping both of Gendry’s hands in hers.

“Your father left a bit ago to go and rouse us all, so we could get ready,” he nods off to the edge of the ballroom, where Ned sits with a mug of ale, as though he’d never left. He’d only been wearing the simplest of black masks before, and is now bare-faced. “He gave me the mask, said he thought I might want to see you before we leave.”

Arya feels her face glow red, and she glances, embarrassed, towards where Ned sits.

“I’m glad he did.”

She reaches out and touches the helm. The metal is smooth, the horns well shaped.

“Is this-” she asks in awe.

Gendry nods.

“Your father went out, found Master Mott. He wanted to make sure I didn’t have any belongings I wanted to take with me.”

Arya swallows a lump in her throat. Of course Father thought of that.

“Have you ever been to the Riverlands?” Arya asks, choking back the emotion in her voice.

Gendry chuckles in response.

“I’ve never been out of King’s Landing.”

“Well it’s much nicer. I haven’t been many places there, but they’re all better than King’s Landing.” Arya assures him “Most places don’t stink like this.”

Inch by inch, the eleventh hour ticks by.

“Would you like to dance?” Arya asks at one point. Gendry quirks an eyebrow.

“This is a very rare offer, so I suggest you take me up on it.”

Gendry stands slowly, taking his hands in hers.

“I don’t really know how,” he admits.

Arya giggles.

“Don’t worry, neither do I.”

No one else on the dancefloor is paying any attention to them, the wine having flowed too freely. Arya hadn’t even finished her mead, but the butterflies in her stomach still take flight when Gendry places one hand on her shoulder and one on her waist like she shows him. As time keeps ticking, the butterflies turn to a body-wide sense of warmth. She rests her chin on his shoulder, and wonders if this was what all of Sansa’s breathless, giggly stories were trying to tell.

Their pleasant reverie is interrupted, by a sudden clamor and yelling. The two of them turn to find that King Robert, red-faced and full of rage. Cersei is standing, as red-faced as the king and shouting. Arya and Gendry are clear on the far side, and can’t hear what’s being said, but even from the distance, Arya would swear she sees the Queen’s lips stained silver.

Arya turns to Gendry, looks him up and down, and says,

“Let’s get out of here.”

She takes his hand and they slip out of the ballroom. The stairs outside that the walk following Ned’s direction twist around the outside, and when there’s a sudden loud noise, Arya can kneel and peer down through one of the balconies.

There’s another noise, more recognizable as a crash, and people start yelling in alarm, and milling about, and there’s someone on the floor, and Gendry tugs Arya’s hand and they leave it behind.

The path they follow comes out behind the stables. When they get there, there are already three horses saddled up, and one of the Stark’s men already in the saddle.

Mheagen holds Barra, who’s sleepy but not quite out, in her arms. She looks a little wane, and Arya suddenly wonders if she’d been eating any of the food left for her daughter and inadvertently consuming the poison. Gendry takes her from her, and lets Mheagen mount the light brown mare before handing her daughter back to her.

It gives Arya an odd feeling, seeing him hold a young child.

The two of them, and the guard, leave first, once they have their packs. Mheagen looks frightened, and Arya wishes deeply for their safety. She hopes Winterfell isn’t too much for them.

Mya is tall, nearly as tall as Sansa, and despite her diminished weight, the joili nut doesn’t seem to have taken much of an effect on her. Her and Gendry catch each other’s gaze, and Arya can’t quite name the emotion going through them.

Mya can mounts her horse easily, but Gendry’s never been on a horse in his life, and Arya has to show him how to step into the stirrup and swing his leg over.

“Let her do most of the work,” she tells him, still gripping his hand.

She doesn’t have time to even attempt a farewell, when they’re interrupted by the thumping of feet. Arya spins rapidly, expected Gold Cloaks. Instead she just sees Ned, holding a bundle, sweaty and frantic.

He shoves the bundle into Arya’s arms.

“Go,” he tells her.

“Father what-”

“It’s not safe,” his voice spills, “The king is dead, the queen too. Poison. Joffrey ordered the city closed off.”

Arya’s head swims, but Ned is already looking from Gendry to Mya.

“Keep her safe,” and they both nod solemnly.

He hugs Arya, whispering.

“You remember Harwin right?”

Arya’s head is still swimming.

“The master of horse from Winterfell-”

Ned runs a hand along the back of her head, unpinning her braids.

“He’s living in the Riverlands now. He’s loyal, you can trust him.”

He looks Arya up and down.

“Can you ride in that gown?”

This is real, Arya suddenly realizes.

“Umm, help me unlace,” she asks, turning her back. Ned pulls her laces on her gown, and laughs softly when she lets it drop to the ground, revealing the deerskin breeches she’d slipped on underneath. Old habits are hard to break.

Ned hands her the gown, folded up, along with the bundle.

“You should be able to sell that, but don’t right away. People might come looking.”

Arya mounts the horse in front of Gendry, clutching the bundles, and one of Ned’s hands.

“What about Sansa and Edric?” She asks, in a very small voice.

Ned sighs.

“I’ll do what I can for them,” he rubs the back of Arya’s hand, above her thumb. “Be safe, Little Wolf.”

Arya has to show Gendry how to kick to get the horse to move. It’s still pitch black as they leave the Red Keep behind, the lights from the celebration still shining in the distance.

Arya’s not even seven-and-ten yet, and she’s not sure where her life is going to go.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #fic #gendrya