#Trout needs to resign

[avengersnewb]

Not Part of the Plan (9k, M)

Omega Tony was not planning to go against the plan: to mate with Tiberius Stone, take care of his alpha's needs, to remember at all times that he was just an omega. Tony was not planning to fall in love and yet, somehow, Steve Rogers happened to him. Omega Tony, Alpha Steve, Pre-serum Steve, Falling In Love, Fluff, Light Angst, Protective Steve Rogers, Getting Married, Dogs Obadiah is a terrible, terrible person, Alternate Universe - Medieval

The villagers were fishing down the river.

That was odd, Tony thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen anyone fish in Starkdale, as the carp were too hard to catch and too small for the trouble. Father had plans to purchase salmon and trout fingerlings to cultivate in the river before the god-forsaken voyage, which of course Obadiah had no intention to execute.

Tony stopped his horse a few feet behind the alphas, distracted for a breath by a hunter hound running around them.

“The Irish peasants,” Obadiah said, in that contemptuous manner Tony had learnt to loath over the years. “Why am I not surprised? You lot are, of course, too dim to understand that you need permission before exploiting my property.”

Tony shook his head, letting out a breath. He knew the Irish villagers. Most had moved to the village after the Great Famine, except for Mister Barnes, who showed up out of nowhere, stole Peggy’s heart and stayed. They were of course not dim, and the fish—the manor never cared about the fish as far as Tony could remember.

“My lord,” Peggy said from inside the water, her form half in Tony’s view. “The crop was too thin this year. The sheds are left empty after the aid.”

Obadiah considered Peggy for a breath, the surroundings terribly quiet, save for the running water. Even the hound had stopped barking at the riders. “Who’s to blame for the crop? Who is responsible for the crop? I’m dealing with enough trouble with how little your aids are, scramming to beef it up to save you slugs from the Royal wrath.”

“We did all we could, my Lord, everything we knew to stop the pest, we tried.” Mister Barnes said, voice even. “The villagers are hungry, my Lord, the younglings falling ill from weakness.”

“It’s the fish season, my Lord,” Peggy said, taking a step closer to Mister Barnes, the water splashing around her ankles. “Please allow us to take what we have caught—”

“Fall silent, you impeccable whore,” Obadiah bellowed. The dog ran away, out of sight into the woods. “You do as the manor tells you to do. Leave whatever you have caught, and get lost before my eyes.”

Peggy took another step, flushed against Mister Barnes’ side, her face flushed, lips thin. Tony led the horse a little closer on instinct, heart pounding, biting the inside of his cheek to keep silent.

“This is not just, Lord Stane,” came a voice, a silhouette entering Tony’s view. “The manor cannot tell us to die, sir, we—” the alpha said, swallowing, breathing in. “—we need to eat, our young ones, our elderly, we—we deserve a fair ration.”

Tony’s heart quickened. He had never met this alpha, he was certain. He was smaller than alphas usually were, but with that deep, commanding voice, those piercing blue eyes, and how he was standing his ground with Obadiah—Who was this guy?

“Justice?” Obadiah said with a snort. “You think you’re a free man here, talking back, babbling about what I can do? What was your name?”

Mister Barnes looked back to the alpha. “My Lord, please forgive us, Mister Rogers is still getting used to how we do things around here.”

“We’ll leave, now,” Peggy said, reaching to grasp at Mister Rogers’ mostly wet tunic. “Steve? Come along, please, we shall—”

Mister Rogers considered Obadiah with gritted teeth, fire burning deep in his eyes, swaying slowly as Peggy tugged at him, before he finally resigned and followed Mister Barnes to help him gather their gear.

“It’s your lucky day, you little rodent,” Obadiah called after them, as they exited the water and loaded their wagon. “I wouldn’t be so generous with you if—come closer Anthony—if we were not in the company of a noble omega.” Tony clicked his tongue and squeezed his feet on the horse’s calves. “Here, Anthony, my dear,” Obadiah continued, tone too warm for the occasion. “I want you to accompany Mister Stone down here on his next visit. He is planning to reroute the water to the east, to build a new water mill.”

He continued on, explaining Mister Stone’s glorious plans. Tony listened, nodding with a tight smile, glancing at the villagers at the end of the road, heads bowed, buckets of fish left by the edge of the water. Tears welled up behind his eyelids when Obadiah ordered the guard to throw the fish back into the water. The cart was nowhere to be seen down the road; at least they wouldn’t see all the dead fish floating on the surface.

Tony did.

It was all that was on his mind, riding back to the mansion; all he could think about with a turning stomach as he played with his food at the dinner table. He tossed and turned in his bed, thinking of the hungry villagers, and had troubled dreams when he finally fell asleep, drowning in a dark river filled with dead fish.

Read full on AO3

My collaboration with amazing @mairithetree for @cap-ironman RBB 2023 was posted a bit ago but I was so exhausted (and had two other deadlines after that back to back :)) ) that I totally forgot to post about it on tumblr! Hope you guys give it a go and let us know what you think!

#stony #stevetony #omega tony #capimrbb

[tealin]

Dr Edward Adrian Wilson

“Words must always fail me when I talk of Bill Wilson. I believe he really is the finest character I ever met – the closer one gets to him the more there is to admire. . . . Whatever the matter, one knows Bill will be sound, shrewdly practical, intensely loyal and quite unselfish. . . . I think he is the most popular member of the party, and that is saying much.” 

— Capt. Scott, in a letter dated 22 Oct 1911

He was christened Edward, and his family called him Ted – the fifth child, eventually of ten, of Dr. Wilson of Cheltenham.  Even in early childhood he showed an aptitude for natural history and drawing, and his father encouraged both, allowing him to roam all over the Cotswolds and South Wales, observing animals, collecting specimens, and sketching them.  He attended Cheltenham College where he was secretary of the ornithology branch of the Natural History Society, then was accepted into Cambridge to follow in his father's footsteps into medicine.  This he did, his very hard work interspersed with regular rowing practice and at least one illicit pre-dawn excursion for trout fishing, but his gruelling work ethic and compulsion to push himself to his limit eventually backfired: while a trainee at St George's Hospital in London, he came down with tuberculosis.

At first it was thought that he needed simply a break from work and smog, so he went to stay with friends in Norway for a while. However, with mountains to climb and vistas to paint and miles of rugged countryside to be tramped over, this only gave young Wilson a greater opportunity for exertion, so he was sent to a sanatorium in Davos, Switzerland, where the medical staff could limit his range. Being cooped up sent him into a depression, but the enforced rest gave him the opportunity to correspond with a young lady he had met in London, Oriana Souper, and their relationship grew from kindred spirits to something rather more substantial.

He returned to England much improved in health, though his doctor advised he resign himself to a quiet life. Of course this was eschewed. “I can't bear people who always take for granted that one's main object is to save up one's health and strength, eyesight and what not, for when one is sixty. How on earth can they tell whether one is going to reach thirty?” Wilson threw himself back into medical studies and got his MD. In the midst of this, he was encouraged to apply for the post of Junior Surgeon and Zoologist on the upcoming Discovery Expedition. Despite his reservations – aside from his health, he and Oriana had got engaged, and he didn't think his artistic skills were sufficient to be considered in that capacity – the decision-makers liked him and offered him the post. He took it.

The Discovery left London in August of 1901, three weeks after Edward and Oriana were married.  Wilson was well-loved by his crewmates, who enjoyed his wry humour as much as his drawings, and it was here he got the nickname “Bill.”  Wilson himself was particular friends with Ernest Shackleton, and both got along well with the expedition's commander, Robert Falcon Scott.  So when Scott set out to push into the continent's interior, it was Wilson and Shackleton he took along. 

To keep a long story short, by the time the three returned to the ship (all with scurvy), Wilson was better friends with Scott than with Shackleton.  The latter was in such bad shape that he was invalided home, while Wilson and Scott stayed another year.  When the Discovery finally returned to civilisation, the friendship between Wilson and Scott had been firmly cemented.

To celebrate their reunion, Dr and Mrs Wilson embarked on several years travelling up and down the country investigating causes of a disease afflicting red grouse. Shackleton invited Wilson to join him on his Nimrod Expedition; Wilson said he was busy. However, on one trip to Scotland he reconnected with Scott and they started devising plans for another trip to the Antarctic; on another he met Apsley Cherry-Garrard, who he would recommend to that expedition.

Once again the Wilsons parted, when the Terra Nova left Cardiff in June of 1910, though they had a brief reunification between South Africa and New Zealand before being parted for real in November. This time Dr Wilson was head of the scientific staff, and as the eldest member thereof, was dubbed Uncle Bill. As before, he was rapidly beloved by all who sailed with him, perhaps even more so than on the Discovery since he was nine years wiser and kinder. His friendship with Scott also made him the communicator between the young scientists and the sometimes aloof leader – if you wanted to say something to Scott, it was much easier to relay it through Wilson. His talents as confidant and peacemaker – and also, probably, his involvement in selecting the scientific staff in the first place – were largely responsible for the first year of the Terra Nova Expedition being remarkably convivial.

One big reason Wilson had been keen to go south again was to acquire some Emperor penguin embryos, which could only be done while the eggs were being incubated in the winter. On the Discovery Expedition, they located an Emperor rookery at Cape Crozier, on the western end of Ross Island; when conditions prevented them setting up base there in January 1911, it necessitated a midwinter journey the following June. Wilson and Cherry-Garrard had already planned to do this together, and agreed Bowers was the obvious choice for the third. They set off a few days after the Midwinter feast and endured five weeks of almost unimaginably arduous conditions, culminating in a hurricane-force blizzard on Wilson's birthday which blew their tent away. Miraculously, they made it back to base mostly unharmed and with three whole Emperor eggs. It was this journey that gave Cherry the title for his book, The Worst Journey in the World.

A few months later, they were on the trail again, this time partly retracing the route travelled by Wilson, Scott, and Shackleton in Discovery times, as they trekked to the South Pole. On top of his services as an experienced and capable sledger, Wilson also contributed sketch after sketch of the mountains up the Beardmore Glacier, often battling through snowblindness to do so. To no one's surprise, he was selected for the final Polar Party, and of the three journals kept by that party, his is the least bothered by finding they'd been beaten to their goal – “We want the Scientific work to make the bagging of the Pole merely an item in the results,” he had written to his father in 1909, and this attitude was more than just a pose.

Things started going wrong even before they turned back north.  Taff Evans had injured his hand in modifying their sledge and disclosed this after leaving the Pole, when infection had already set in.  Wilson, as doctor, tended it as best he could, and the frostbites that Evans was prone to.  Then Wilson himself strained a tendon in his leg, which took several days to recover well enough to get back in harness.  Evans' condition kept deteriorating, and despite Wilson's best efforts, he died at the bottom of the glacier.  When they failed to find the warmer temperatures they were expecting back at sea level, it was Oates' frostbite that took Wilson's time and attention – that was also revealed too late, and got worse quickly.  On March 11th, Scott “practically ordered Wilson to hand over the means of ending our troubles to us, so that anyone of us may know how to do so. Wilson had no choice between doing so and our ransacking the medicine case.”  Oates let Antarctica do the dirty work for him, and eventually the remaining three decided to do the same, but not before pushing themselves as far as they could go.

Even after the remaining three were pinned down by a blizzard, Wilson was determined to go on, being prepared to make an attempt with Bowers to reach the next depot and bring back some food and fuel – a round trip of 22 miles for two men already at the limit of their endurance.  Both seemed to expect they would die on the way, which may explain why they never left – leaving Scott to die alone would have been a greater strain on them morally than the journey would have been physically.  Wilson kept his equanimity to the end: Scott wrote a very moving letter to Oriana, apologising for getting her husband into this mess and telling her of the “comfortable blue look of hope” in his eyes, “and his mind is peaceful with the Satisfaction of his faith in regarding himself as part of the great scheme of the almighty. I can do no more to comfort you than to tell you that he died as he lived a true brave man – the best of comrades and staunchest of friends.” 

Sources Cheltenham in Antarctica by D.M. Wilson (great-nephew) and D.B. Elder The Last Letters by the Polar Party, ed. Heather Lane, Naomi Boneham, and Robert D. Smith

A note on the drawings: The pages you see here span about a year and a half.  Wilson is my favourite, so I get worked up about getting him right, and then can't draw at all.  What I ought to do is take him to the pub and unwind, but what I actually do is give up and take another stab a few months later, usually in a situation bereft of reference.  Despite all this, in retrospect I think some progress has been made...?

#bill wilson #edward adrian wilson #terra nova expedition #scott expedition #polar history #biography #character design #drawings #character

[annaphoenix1994]

Ch.117 - Never Tear Us Apart

Previous Chapter - Masterlist 1; Masterlist 2 - Next Chapter

Kiera and Simon finally forgive each other oblivious to Johnny's help...

The water flowed steadily while the horses trudged through it, a complementary splash coming up to douse their legs as well as their rider’s the further they continued into the shallow river. “I bet I can get me a big trout this time!” Baler shouted with excitement, baiting his hook before tossing the line, Simon soon to follow as Kiera stayed behind to watch and just simply enjoy the view.

She had everything she ever wanted – a man who loved her, two beautiful children of their own, and an unexpected, yet perfect addition to their family. “Love, do you want to try?” Simon asked from the other side of the river, turning his horse to face hers while Baler continued to wish he had a fat trout on his line by now.

“Not yet.” She breathed, unable to resist the warm smile that spread across her face.

A smile Simon hadn’t seen in two months. I’ve missed that smile.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asked, his horse now parallel with hers while they both watched Baler continue to fish.

“Just thinking about how something that I did so stupidly could’ve costed me what I’ve wished to have for years.”

“It wasn’t stupid, love,” He assured her, leaning forward in his saddle to get a better look at his wife. “I was the one who was foolish. I shouldn’t have lied to you in the first place.”

“What did I do?” She frowned, the topic still fresh on her mind.

“You didn’t do anything. It’s what I can’t do,” He sighed. “I have two skills and only one of them pays what we need.”

“Simon, you have a lot of skills,” She scoffed. “You’re good at anything.”

“Love, I’ve been on a SWAT team since I first resigned. All of my skills involve hurting people or killing someone. It’s all I’ve ever grown used to. I did it to protect you and our family, not because I miss it.”

“I know, Simon. I would’ve done the same thing,” She admitted. “It’s not that, that bothers me. It just bothers me that you lied right to my face and was confident that everything would’ve been fine up until it was time for you to leave. When I found out, all I could think about was all the lies I’ve been used to in the past and how I enabled them by trusting them… I’m just afraid that if it was that easy for you to lie about that and with how convincing you made it sound, then it just makes me wonder what else you’ve thought about lying to me about—”

“Love, that’s the only time I’ve lied to you. I did it because I didn’t know how to tell you and I certainly didn’t want you to worry about it during our wedding and honeymoon. I didn’t want to take that away from you. I had gone back and forth on how I could bring it up. I just wish you knew how hard it was for me to even think about how I was going to tell you. I feel like I have an obligation to my team. They need me.”

She sighed, looking down at her horse’s neck just so that she could hide the tears that were threatening to leave her hurt eyes. Don’t ruin this for Baler, don’t cry in front of him. He’s been dying to go fishing for weeks, she scolded herself.

“You’re right, Simon. Can we talk about this at home?”

“Of course, love,” He assured her with a glance. “After you left my office that day, I told that woman to not offer to watch the twins again. She understood and didn’t ask any questions.”

“Better you than me telling her,” She scoffed. “Although I hope that’s not another lie.”

“Absolutely not. You can ask her yourself and I know you would.”

“I’m not wasting my breath unless she pushes the issue.”

“My Chief ordered her to stay at the jail’s office. She won’t be coming to our office anymore. The only women who work at our office is the old lady at the front and the college student who works part time in the evening.”

She arched her brow, intentionally playful, but it came off as threatening, “Can I trust you about that or do I need to find out myself?”

“You can do both, love,” He grinned, confidently reaching over to grasp her right hand that was loosely gripping the reins, guiding it up to his mouth to place a kiss to her knuckles. “Whatever I do is because I love you, whether it’s because I get deployed or if I don’t get deployed at all. There’s a high chance that I won’t get deployed – me and Johnny both. Price told me that he’d call us in if it’s his last resort.”

“It’s Makarov, Simon—”

“Don’t think about that, love. I promise I’ll keep you informed about it.”

“If you don’t, then I will.” She huffed.

“I don’t doubt it—” He breathed a chuckle.

“Dad!” Baler shouted with excitement, jumping from his horse into the shallow water, hastily grasping the fishing line and pulling in his catch. “Look at this fat bastard!”

A rainbow trout.

“I can tell you definitely spent some time with him all evening.” Kiera arched her brow.

“Well, I can defend him on this one and say that bastard isn’t considered a curse word…” He trailed off. “Besides, he’s been mouthing off to me just like you do sometimes, so having him say bastard in front of you is the least of my worries.” He chuckled.

“Fair point.” She huffed.

“Can we eat him?” Baler asked, referring to the trout.

“Can you skin and gut him, lad?”

“…No?”

“Then I guess you need to turn him loose.”

Baler huffed, “Fine. Will you show me?”

“I was thinking about showing you on a deer or an elk when the season opens…”

“Really?!” He exclaimed excitedly.

“No, I figured I’d get your hopes up just to piss you off,” He scoffed playfully. “Yes, I was going to take you hunting with Johnny and I next weekend as long as it’s okay with your mum—”

“It’s perfectly fine with me, Simon. You shouldn’t have to ask my permission to take him hunting.”

“I can’t wait to get my first deer!” He cheered, removing the hook from the trout’s mouth before turning it back into the river, baiting his hook for a new cast.

“Take that confidence with you next weekend and you’ll definitely get one.” Simon nodded.

“Do you have any snacks in that saddle bag?” Kiera asked him.

“Now did you expect me to not bring any snacks for you on a long ride?” He chuckled, reaching backwards to dig through the closest saddle bag, pulling out a Ziploc bag that contained multiple options for her. “Any cravings?” He asked hopefully as they had been openly trying to conceive another child.

She blushed, “This chocolate looks pretty good. I have been getting cravings, though,” She replied, hopeful as she pulled out a small square of dark chocolate that instantly made her stomach growl. “I’ve never heard of this brand before. Is it good?”

“I don’t know,” Simon shrugged. “Johnny brought those over for us. He had a whole box of it and was afraid it would go to waste.”

She nodded as she tore open the wrapper, “Tabs – I’ve never heard of it before. Want to split it before it melts? There’s a divot right across it.”

“Sure.” He nodded, reaching over to grasp the piece she had broken off for him.

Mercy, if only they knew that it was another one of Johnny’s crude pranks. Tabs chocolate, known as “Bang Bars”, were notorious for increasing the sex drive of whoever consumed them.

It was only a matter of time…

Once they were home for the evening, Simon suddenly found himself steering clear of Kiera throughout the house as every time he laid his eyes on her, the painful erection was becoming more and more prominent.

She too was suffering the same problem, except she continuously pressed her thighs together while she stood at the sink, the lingering smell of Simon’s cologne staining her nostrils as the desire for him grew and grew… especially after not being intimate the past two months. Her heart thudded hard against her sternum when she felt his presence closing in on her, expecting him to initiate romance.

But he didn’t.

“Want me to take over?” He asked lowly, hesitant to wrap his arms around her waist and bury his nose into her neck. He got a primal urge once he smelled her pheromones after getting closer. What is it with you tonight? I’ll devour you if I stand too close.

“I’m almost finished,” She assured him with a simple glance over her shoulder. “Are the kids asleep?”

“The twins are,” He sighed. “I still have to check and see if Baler is asleep. Little fucker has been trying to stay up half the night playing video games.”

“Hm, looks like you have the honors of breaking him out of that habit.” She giggled.

“I’ve already gotten a head start, love. Took the Xbox out of his room and he has to bring his phone in the kitchen at night. I told him when he can be responsible enough to not rely on me to wake him up for school and can manage his time better, then he can have his privileges back.”

“Has he learned from it yet?”

“Hopefully, he has. I’m going to go and check on him and make sure he’s sleeping so that I won’t have to wake him up in the morning.” He chuckled.

“Okay. I’m going to finish these dishes and get ready for bed myself.”

He nodded, simply not replying before making his way down the hallway, unaware that Kiera has hastily finished the dishes to seek out her just-as-horny husband.

Once she saw him at the end of the hallway, he had just shut the door to Baler’s bedroom while he carried a pillow and thick blanket tucked under his free arm. “Is he asleep?” She whispered from behind him.

“Like a rock,” Simon chuckled. “The lad asked me how well melatonin works and well, looks like he’s finding out.”

He turned to face her, his eyes briefly looking over her as the warmth radiating from her nearly drove him crazy at the sight alone, especially the way she was leant against the wall. “What’re you doing?” He breathed.

“I can’t stand in my own hallway?” She hummed.

“Didn’t say that, love,” He shook his head. “I was going to come and tell you goodnight before I made my way to the cou—”

“There’s no sleeping on the couch tonight, Simon.”

“I didn’t think I had a choice.” He frowned, breaking eye contact with her briefly at the sudden spike in his sexual attraction, unaware that she felt it too.

“I can give you a couple of choices,” She hummed. “Either you can sleep by yourself or… you can sleep with me in our bed after you get done fucking me through it?”

He smirked, his heart racing while he arched his brow, “What did you put in that chocolate?”

“Oh, I didn’t put anything in it, babe.”

His hands found their way to her waist quickly, dropping the pillow and blanket to the floor in one quick motion before lifting her up effortlessly and walking her into their bedroom, gently laying her down on the bed after shutting the door with his foot. “You’re good at figuring out the problem.” She breathed into his mouth.

“Dealing with you is never a problem, love,” He retorted. “You’ve been driving me crazy since we got back from the river.”

“Likewise. Although I can’t blame it on the chocolate. I just think it helped.”

“For once, I think I agree with you,” He smiled against her jaw, his erection pressing firmly into her thigh, groaning once he felt her hips roll against him in a desperate search for friction. “So, you really want me to fuck you through this bed? I’d hate to ruin such a nice mattress.” He teased.

“Oh, so you think you won’t hurt me by doing so?” She giggled, pressing her nails into the thick muscle of his back once her hands trailed under his shirt.

“I know you can take it, love, unless you telling me that was a lie?” He smirked, using her own words against her.

She groaned at his taunt, “I can take what you give me.”

“How about I give you what you need?”

“And what is it that I need?”

“You need your reassurance, love.”

“Give it to me, then.”

“My pleasure.” He grumbled against her neck, running his hand under the hem of her shirt and gently cupping her breast while her legs hooked around his waist, pulling the straining erection he was suffering through against her hot core, only luring him in further.

“I need you, Simon,” She panted, desperately trying to tug at the waistband of his jeans with the heel of her foot. “I need you inside of me.”

“I can do that,” He groaned, hooking his thumbs over the waistband of her shorts and sitting back on his knees to look at the beautiful creation of her core staring back at him. So beautiful, he huffed to himself. All fucking mine.

“You’re taking too long, baby,” She whined, winning a grin from him as he was just as eager to bury himself inside of her. “I need you. We’ve been apart for so long.”

“That’ll never happen,” He assured her, resting the tip of his length against her before laying back down between her legs. “Just because we have a little disagreement doesn’t mean it’ll tear us apart.”

She moaned when she felt the welcoming pain of his shaft burying inside of her slowly, his groan in unison with hers as he kept himself still to let her adjust to his length. “Nothing will tear us apart, Simon.” She moaned, tangling her fingers through his hair, gasping into the air as he slowly started to thrust his hips while his nose was pressed against her neck. Her reassuring words seeming to spur him on. “Don’t be too loud, love. Wouldn’t want to wake the kids.” He teased.

“Oh, shut up, Simon,” She panted while her lips were pressed against his forehead. “You always know how to keep me quiet. I don’t know why you always give me a warning—”

With a groan, he in fact didn’t give her a warning when he suddenly withdrew from her and turned her onto her stomach, landing a slap to her rear before he reached for a nearby pillow to tuck between her stomach and the mattress. “Cross your ankles,” He directed her, looking down at her while she did as she was told. “There you go.”

She moaned when he reentered her, burying her face into the pillow at the immense pressure from not only his cock, but the grip his hands on her hips had while his hips steadily started to snap into her. “Give me your hands.”

She did as she was told, willingly putting her arms behind her back for him to grasp her hands, pulling her arms back against him to give himself more leverage while he began to relentlessly pound into her. “Harder, Simon. Harder.”

“Best cover that pretty mouth of yours, love.” He warned.

“How about you do that for me?”

He smirked, using his massive frame to lean over her while his right hand clasped over her mouth, inserting his thumb between her lips, “Suck.”

She groaned while she did as instructed, winning a deep moan from him as his hips began to snap harder into her. “Mm. Fuck!” He groaned, rolling his hips downwards to graze his length against her G-Spot.

“S-Simon!”

“Say it again.”

“Simon,” She panted. “Feels so good!”

His thrusts became nearly rampant, desperate, even – like he was afraid he’d never have it again. “I’m going to put another baby in you, do you understand?”

“If you haven’t already,” She hummed. “Be sure of it, babe.”

He hissed with satisfaction, feeling her walls begin to flutter around him, pleased that he didn’t have to add any stimulation by his own hand or even a toy – he was pleased to provide her pleasure just with his cock.

“Come on it, love,” He praised, knowing he had her exactly where he wanted her, just like she had for him. “Give it to me.”

She bit down on his thumb as her orgasm shuddered through her, his soon to follow.

He pumped lazily as their orgasms subsided, slowly withdrawing from her as she gently sucked on his thumb, pressing a delicate kiss to the pad of it as a silent apology for biting down on it so hard once her orgasm crashed through her. His lips pressed against the column of her spine, the thin sheen of sweat decorating the pair of them. “Soak in a bath?” He questioned silently, watching her nod before he gently helped her to her feet to guide her towards their bathroom.

They sat in the tub facing each other, one of Kiera’s feet clasped between Simon’s hands while he gently massaged the arch of her foot. “How was work today, love?”

She sighed, “The usual: having to come face-to-face with some asshole trying to negotiate out of a deal he signed himself up for.”

“Sounds like an even-filled day.” He smirked.

“It’s the first of many, I can assure you,” She giggled. “How was yours?”

“Went back out on patrol today,” He sighed. “The usual: doing a traffic stop for a drug dealer and having to lockdown the school in Cody for a false bomb threat.”

“Bomb threat?”

“Yeah. Bloody stupid kids joking about that shite on text messages and passing it around the school. Had to bring in the dog and everything.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a more eventful day than me, babe.”

He blushed at the nickname, “I can assure you that I definitely don’t want your job. I’d gladly keep mine.” He smirked.

“Oh, I’m sure. I only took the job to protect the ranch.”

His brows furrowed, “Protect it?”

“Unfortunately, now that dad is gone every enemy he’s ever encountered is going to try and take it.”

“That won’t happen, love. It’s all paid for. We have the land deed.”

“The deed has been in our family for generations. It wasn’t updated until last year. The only thing we have to pay is the land tax every year, but that doesn’t mean people wanting to build are going to try and take it. That’s why I took this job – to kill the companies that are trying to expand their dreams into interfering with our reality.”

“What’s your plan, love?”

“I’m going to start with buying up all the land around the ranch.”

Simon’s brows rose, “You have that much money sitting around that I don’t know about?”

“Don’t be silly, babe. It’s not my money I’m spending.”

He smirked before reaching over the edge of the tub to find his jeans, making a mental note to himself to buy more of that dark chocolate both he and Kiera ate as he recalled it to be some of the best dark chocolate he had ever eaten. “What’re you looking for?” Kiera questioned.

“That chocolate wrapper. I stuffed it in my pocket. I’m curious as to what it is and where I can find it.”

“It is really good,” She giggled. “Tabs is what it was called. Let’s look it up.”

He nodded, removing his phone from his pocket and handing it over to her, “You’re better on phones than I am.”

“Okay,” She giggled, opening his phone and tapping on the safari app, smiling to herself as she saw the last page he was on was Google, seeing the many different things he had been searching the web for:

Do women like getting flowers even if you’re trying to apologize

What football games are happening this weekend?

Why can’t I download games on my phone without going to the app store

Where to get a spark plug for a 2018 hellcat

Dodge dealership near me in Wyoming

My credit is 730 can I get another loan for another car to build my credit

“Babe, you search the weirdest shit on Google,” She giggled, typing in the name of the new chocolate into the search bar. “Oh, my God!”

“What? What is it?”

“Are you sure Johnny didn’t give that chocolate to us because he had “too much”?”

“What do you mean?”

“For one, that chocolate comes in a box of three and is expensive as hell. Two, it’s for sex.”

Simon scoffed, “That’s rubbish. Never heard of it—”

“Look for yourself,” She chuckled. “It’s made for couples to stimulate blood flow, enhances performance and sex drive.”

“Mm. Well I guess we need to get us a box or two.”

#simonghostriley #simonriley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty #callofduty #simon riley x oc #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost riley #simon riley x og female

[stevesharrlngtons]

it’s just what you do.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: “my problem is that if you bring anymore whores around and it’ll start to feel like a brothel in here. and i am far too young to be a madam.”

word count: 6.0k

a/n: if you’ve read some of my st stories, you know i have a little bit of a love for bratty, bitchy readers lol so here ya go! a bratty bitchy reader in the hg universe! (though the reader is pretty tame for what i usually write for a bitchy!reader) i hope you enjoy, and if you do let me know in some feedback (:

You padded down cold stairs in bare feet, yawning as you did. You could already hear Roman and Peter talking quietly at the breakfast bar over cold cereal and sleep graveled voices as you reached the bottom landing. You stretched your arms above your head with a resounding squeak that announced your entrance.

As you push away unruly strands of hair from your face, you rub your cheek, still sheet streaked and warm to the touch.

“G’morin’ (Y/N).” Peter greeted through a mouth full of milk soaked Sugar Crisp.

“Morning, love.” You replied, placing your hands on his bare shoulders and pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.

You let your hands linger on his skin a moment longer before you stepped around him and to the pantry.

“Good morning,” Roman called after you as he watched appreciatively as the hem of your short negligee dusted the tops of your thighs.

You acknowledged him with a hum, but gave him no further greeting. No good morning, no kiss, no smile. Just a hum as you rummaged around searching for your box of oatmeal.

Roman hadn’t come to bed until just before dawn the previous night, only furthering the animosity you felt for him. The new, deep and unrelenting displeasure you held for him now that he had let another woman into your home.

“What? Peter gets a fucking endearment and I don’t get anything?” Roman griped. His voice grated on your ear drums and his angry breathing only served to churn your disdain for him.

You kept mute, clenching your teeth as you gathered a bowl and some milk to make your morning oats.

You pictured turning around to spit in his face, and how it would feel to watch his reaction as your saliva splattered his skin. You’d then tell him to go fuck himself, maybe break a glass while you were at it, anything to get his attention. Or maybe you’d go hop on Peter’s lap, place his hands on your bare thighs and stick your tongue down his throat. That was probably better than any tantrum you could throw. Your boyfriend was nothing if not possessive of what he deemed as his. You fell under that laundry list of Roman’s possessions, though you were unsure if you were soon to be erased and replaced with five new letters.

Because it had been a little over a week since Annie had taken residence in the second guest bedroom. A fucking week of seeing her and Roman eye fuck each other and share whispered conversations. A week of her connecting with Roman on a level you couldn’t understand, of being a part of schemes, of helping him and Peter (something you were never allowed to do) and talking about Nadia. You’re fucking daughter. You swore the next time her mouth began to form the syllables to the child’s name, you were going to strangle her to death. Upir or not, you were sure your pure maternal rage would be no match for her.

And, it had been a goddamn week of you sulking and pouting and seething without Roman taking even the slightest notice, or if he did, not caring a bit. That, more than anything else, is what was truly making you irate.

“(Y/N)? What the hell?” Roman cursed again as you slammed dishes around in cabinets.

Before he could say anything else, another pair of footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“Good morning!” Came her happy french lit as she bounded toward the three of you.

You didn’t acknowledge her presence, simply continued on with your oatmeal.

“I still haven’t gotten over the water pressure here. It’s so wonderful,” Annie says, and you’re sure Roman is half hard at her stupid compliment.

You still haven’t looked at her, but you’re picturing her with damp hair and ruddy cheeks from the hot water. Her face smooth and freckled with youth. Her damp hair turning her already light sleepwear see through and sticky.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Roman chimes and your neck prickles with anger.

The ice he was treading on with you was growing thinner and thinner by the moment. Melting under your fiery ire for his behavior. When he finally fell through, you hoped he’d drown.

“What are you planning on doing today? Do you have work?” Annie asks.

“I do, but do you need me for something?”

You scoff much louder than you had anticipated and you can feel three pairs of eyes on your back. You square your shoulders and turn toward the group, but don’t look at any of them. The stupid Hardy Boys with their brand new Nancy Drew, resigning you to be the villain, you supposed.

You walk around the breakfast bar with purpose, turning your body obnoxiously to avoid touching Annie as you pass. You weren’t close to her as she leaned against the counter, but you wanted her to know just how much you loathed her. So much so, that the idea of touching you made you recoil.

“Uhm, no. I was just making conversation.” She replied, her voice wavering after your subtle outburst.

You held back a pleased expression as you went to the couch, sitting at the farthest corner from the kitchen and taking the throw blanket from the back and wrapping yourself in it. You took your first bite of oatmeal and clinked the spoon loudly back in the bowl in protest.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” You hated how your name sounded so melodic coming off her tongue, “Are you feeling alright?”

You don’t reply, just continued to eat your breakfast, looking straight ahead. The tension was palpable in the room as Annie shifted her feet and waited for your response. You wish she would pick up on your clear animosity toward her and quit trying to engage with you. Her efforts were admirable, you’d admit, but with the way she looked at Roman, and the way she spoke to him, there was absolutely no way she could possibly expect you to indulge her.

You could feel Roman’s glare on you, his green eyes burning holes through the knit throw to sear your skin with displeasure. Peter was still turned toward the island, shoulders tense with discomfort at the scene you were creating. You almost felt sorry for him, it wasn’t his fault Roman was being an oblivious asshole (and that you were retaliating the way you were). He didn’t deserve to be caught in the awkward crossfire. Maybe you would sneak him into a corner and feel him up for a bit? He did deserve some pleasure for living with Roman’s pain (and hey, if it made Roman jealous in the process, that would just be a bonas of your good deed).

Soon, Annie recovered from your echoing silence and moved back to talking with Roman and Peter. You could see her out of the corner of your eye, sleep shorts hanging low on her hips and flimsy white t-shirt you had imagined, dipping down from her relaxed stance, giving both men a perfect view down her top. You didn’t have to be looking at Roman to know he was stealing glances.

You stayed on the couch, trying to eat your breakfast, but the oats were soggy and not as good as when Roman made them with cinnamon and maple sugar. You toyed with the beige mush until Roman announced he was off to The Tower. He gathered his jacket and briefcase before saying goodbye to Peter and Annie.

“I’m leaving,” Roman called over to you.

You kept your vow of silence and pretended to be interested in the curdling food before you.

“Jesus fucking-- fine! Goodbye.” He spat, irritated.

You continued to fold your oatmeal around your bowl until the front door slammed shut and Annie spoke after a moment's pause.

“I think I’ll be off, too. I have some errands to run.” Biding you both a quick adui before she exited the kitchen for the stairs.

You huffed to yourself. She could only stand to be around you and Peter when Roman was in attendance.

“I feel like I’m in a high school cafeteria and Annie just took your seat next to Roman.” Peter joked, having heard your annoyed sound.

“Well, she should know I always have an assigned seat next to him,” You said, setting your bowl on the coffee table and crossing your arms.

“Oh my God, (Y/N)! Do you hear yourself?”

“I do, and I know I sound childish but I’ve lost the will to care.”

You hear Peter sigh, then the sound of him getting up from his stool to come sit next to you.

“What’s next? Are you going to spread a rumor about her to make Roman think she’s icky?”

“Like anything I said could make him stop mooning over her,” You reply with disdain.

“He loves you, you know that. He’ll ask you to prom, buy you the most valentines and all that shit.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.” You pout with a furrow of your brows.

“Have you considered just telling him how you feel about Annie staying here?” Peter asked.

“If he can’t figure out on his own why I’m so angry, it’s not my problem.”

“Do you really think that’s fair?”

“No,” You tighten your arms across your chest, “But it’s not my fault that your gender has no emotional intelligence or inference skills.”

Peter chuckles, “All the more reason to just come out and tell Roman how you’re feeling.”

You roll your eyes and give him a half hearted glare, “Don’t you have a job to be getting too?”

“Yes, but I want to make sure you at least mull over my option first.” He nudges you gently with his knee

You give a small pause before a small smirk breaks out over your lips, “I was actually thinking about making out with you to make him jealous. Would you be willing?”

Peter claps his hands down on his thighs and pushes up from the couch, “And with that, suddenly I’m late.”

“Oh c’mon!” You giggle and get up to follow him, “Not even a little peck? Just put your hand on my ass!”

“I would rather keep all my limbs attached, thank you very much.” Peter says as he trouts up the stairs.

“You’ll like it!” You call up after him with a laugh.

“That was never in question, sweetheart! I just like my head on my shoulder and not on Roman’s mantle.”

“It’s my mantle, too.” You mutter, going up the stairs after him and heading to the master bedroom in hopes of avoiding Annie before she left for the day.

You had taken an angry nap until noon and then went downstairs to your office to get some work done. It was during this time that Jane, Roman’s new housekeeper after Anna, informed you there were some nice cuts of meat that would be going bad soon, and if you’d like it for dinner that evening.

“That sounds wonderful, Jane. Thank you.” You replied, peering at her over your computer screen.

“Would you like to ask Mr. Godfrey if he would like steak for this evening? Or if another night would be better?” Roman was known to work late, so this question wasn’t unreasonable to ask.

“I’d call him and ask, but unfortunately I am about to hop on a conference call and don’t have a spare minute. Would you mind calling to ask?” You asked in your sweetest voice.

“Of course, Ms. (Y/L/N).” Anna gave you a smile before she parted from the room.

You sighed, and went back to your riveting game of solitaire.

That night with burgundy stained lips, you sat at the head of your long dining table waiting for Roman to return for work. The beautiful reclaimed wood table that you had excitedly picked out at an estate sale that you had seen Annie sitting on just two days before. Swinging her legs like a child and eating a peach while letting Roman ogle her as the juice dripped down her flawless skin. You had slammed the front door so hard that the frame shook.

As you guzzled down your third glass of Merlot, Peter kicked your foot. A silent plea to slow down, so this evening didn’t explode with your loose lipped temper. But, you paid him no mind. You mostly just thought about how much you hated Annie for making you hate her. Hate her, and Roman. Because, really, you weren’t one of those women who stewed in jealousy or was in a constant fear of their partner cheating. Maybe that was because Roman had always been clear in his devotions to you. Sure, his eyes would wander when an attractive woman passed, but you knew he never acted on it. You had a trust in him that had never wavered until now.

You didn’t want to be one of those women who hated other women or demonized them for having your boyfriend’s attention. You didn’t want to be the girlfriend that men could point at and make stereotypical remarks about your possessiveness and label you “crazy” because of your actions in this scenario behind the three of you… but you were near the end of your rope and the woman had barely been staying with you two weeks. You were starting to question that unmoving trust you placed in Roman and it made you sick. All you could hope was that you were wrong… or at least that Peter would have told you if something happened between Annie and Roman by now.

Half way through your fourth glass, the front door sounded open and in sauntered Roman, with Annie in tow.

“Nice of you both to join us,” Peter teased, though you saw a split second of panic cross his features. You knew he didn’t want to play into your paranoia and had just done so unwillingly.

“Oh yes, we just happened to run into each other in the driveway,” Annie said, throwing a beaming grin over her shoulder at Roman who offered her a smile.

“How coincidental,” You offered over the rim of your glass. 

Everyone in the room darted their gaze to you, clearly surprised that you had decided to end your silent streak.

“Yes, I suppose it was.” Annie replies, her smile still intact, “Now what’s all this then?”

“Jane noticed some food that was going to go bad in the fridge and offered to make a nice meal for us.” You said evenly.

You remembered when us just meant you and Roman.

“How thoughtful,” Annie said, looking to Jane who thanked her quietly.

“Ms. (Y/L/N) was a great help with it as well,” Jane said, opening another bottle of wine as you had almost polished off the one she had originally opened for the evening.

Ms. (Y/L/N). Not Mrs. Godfrey. You were easy to be rid of, exiled at a moments notice.

Jane was been modest. You had sat with her while she cooked and idly chatted, handing her utensils and chopping up garlic, but nothing else. You were sure she was trying to get Roman to take notice of your efforts, which you thought was sweet. You hadn’t come out and explicitly talked about your problems with Roman to Jane, you were sure she had figured it out on her own.

See that Roman? Your housekeeper knows more about what’s wrong than you do!

“Well, thank you, (Y/N). It looks wonderful.” Annie said.

You might have even thanked her through gritted teeth, had Roman not just pulled out a seat for her and gently pushed it back in. Instead, you settled back into your discontented humming and poured what was left of the original bottle of wine into your glass.

Peter could sense your inebriation level bordering on dangerous, so he quickly raised a glass in distraction.

“Let’s make a toast! We don’t get to have such a fancy dinner this often, y’know?” He smiled through his unease, and if you weren’t almost five glasses deep you might have even caught the desperate looks he was throwing you.

The please-for-the-love-of-god-don’t-start-a-fight-with-me-here looks.

“Well, how about to (Y/N) and Jane? For making this feast?” Annie offered, raising her glass to match Peter’s.

“Yes,” Roman said, his voice tight, “To (Y/N). And Jane of course.”

His eyes bore into you, both of you on opposing heads of the table. He raised his wine in the air like he was challenging you to a game you weren’t sure the rules of. You had never felt so uncomfortable in his presence ever before, and suddenly the idea that something was really wrong between the two of you seemed more plausible.

You raise your glass to your honor, but don't cheer’s anyone, just simply place the glass back to your lips.

Everyone then went around dishing out food on their plates and passing bowls to each other. Annie was always sure to pass to Roman first and he was always the first to offer her what he was holding. You felt like you and Peter were intruders on the romantic dinner that you had cooked for them (well, helped cook).

“Oh, I have some of Pryce’s plasma left in the fridge, do you want any?” Roman offered to Annie as she took a dish of mashed potatoes from him.

“If you wouldn’t mind. Thank you,” She accepted his offer so meek and polite you almost gagged.

Maybe this was meant to be? She was the perfect little wife for Roman after all. Sweet, attentive, was just subversive enough to seem interesting, an upir. The latter was likely the best contender for why Roman would be kicking you to the curb soon. It made sense, they were the same and she was new. And don’t all men want some new pussy after a while? You were no stranger to Roman’s reputation, and you had been reminded by many a peer of his serial adultery in the past… you had just hoped he’d outgrown it when he fell in love with you.

Roman came back with the plasma and leaned over Annie’s shoulder to fill her glass. You heard her take a sharp intake of breath at his closeness and watched as she glanced up at his face, which was mere inches from her own.

You ground your knife hard into the porcelain of your plate, and the sound broke her from her Godfrey trance. You pretend nothing happened and put a green bean in your mouth.  

You tuned out the table’s conversations about their days and recent events, feeling isolated and somber. The wine was no doubt contributing to your sadness, but the residual feelings of neglect and rejection were getting to you. Because if Roman really cared, wouldn’t he have pulled you aside by now and just asked you if you were alright? Why you had been avoiding him, why you wouldn’t kiss him goodnight or good morning? Or did he just truly not care at all? Had you been replaced so easily?

You continued to sulk and play over a fictional break up in your head when a topic caught your attention.

“Any news on Nadia?” Annie asked as she swallowed a piece of bread.

Not the baby. Not your baby. Not the child. But Nadia. This woman who was trying to usurp your place in Roman’s life while you were still very present, had just again spoken your daughter's name. Like she had the fucking right.

Before Roman could answer, you pushed up from your seat, again causing all eyes to attach to you. You walked over to the fridge and obtained an old bottle of steak sauce (that you didn’t even want, you were just angry) and returned back to the table with a scowl.

And it seemed this most recent outburst was Roman’s tipping point.

“What the fuck is up with you?” He bellowed, throwing his hand in the air with similar fervor.

“Nothing.” You replied with a snap.

“Sure as shit fooled me! Because you’ve been acting like a fucking brat for the past week. So, why don’t you share with the class what’s on your mind, hmm?” Roman leaned back in his seat and dramatically gestured for you to speak.

“You wanna know my problem, Roman?” You bit out.

Peter was likely already planning his escape.

“That’s what I said.”

“My problem is that if you bring one more whore into this house, it’s gonna start to feel like a brothel. And I am far too young to be a madam.”

And there it was. Grievances were now aired, and unfortunately in front of your two house guests.

Roman’s jaw tensed and flexed as he stared you down, “Peter. Annie. Would you excuse us?”

Both stood without any more prompting and scurried to the stairwell as you and Roman continued to glare at each other in silence. When you heard the twin sounds of doors shutting, Roman finally spoke.

“So you’ve been a fucking nightmare because Annie is staying here? Are you kidding?” He scoffed.

“Don’t belittle me,” You ran a hand through your hair and looked away from his piercing gaze.

“What? Like you just did to Annie?” He motioned to where she had sat.

“Oh,” You mock, “Roman, her knight in shining armour. I’m sure it’s hard to save her when you’re up on your high horse.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about this fucking obsession you have with this woman! This obsession your culviating right under my nose and in my home.”

“Are you fucking serious?” He spits.

“Yes, I am. And don’t play so god damn naive. If the roles were reversed, you would have thrown a fit by now! Fuck, a fit! Fuck any amount of tantrums I could even begin to think of throwing! You would have murdered someone by now.” You seethed.

Roman looked at you with a bewildered expression, his eyes bugging and his mouth agape, stuttering for words, “So, you’ve really just been jealous? Fucking Christ!”

“Like you wouldn’t be if the tables were turned.”

“Fuck off about if the tables were turned. We’re talking about you, not me.”

“No! We are talking about you, Roman. This is just as much about you as it is me.” You shout, “And it has everything to do with the tables being turned. Because if I invited a man to stay in this house -- our house -- and all he ever did was fawn over me and I batted my eyelashes at him and giggled at everything he said while in nothing but a towel you would give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Roman snarled.

“Can you tell me with absolute and utter certainty that if I offered some guy a room, then spent all my time with him, had little inside jokes with him and touched him, you wouldn’t be angry?”

Roman doesn’t respond, just resets his jaw.

“So, if this man told me how beautiful I was, flirted with me and would never shut up about how similar we were, you wouldn’t be mad?” Roman just clenched.

“What if you started to suspect that I was fucking him, huh? What if you started to think about him inside me? Kissing me? Making me cum? Making me--”

Roman’s fist connecting with the tabletop cut you off.

“Enough! You win, OK? I would hate it, alright? I’d fucking kill him.”

“Thank you! That’s all I wanted. I just wanted you to see my side of this fucking story. Why I have been so mad.” You deflate against your chair, though you know this fight is far from over.

“And you didn’t just tell me, why?” Roman inquires.

“Because you should have known! I know that sounds ridiculous and I can see you rolling your eyes, but you should have known that I was upset and asked me what was wrong.” You said, tears bubbling up, causing your throat to constrict.

“I did ask you! I asked you this morning.”

“Yeah, in front of fucking Peter. Like I was going to tell you then… and you didn’t even mean it when you asked. If I would have told you, you would’ve just yelled at me and made me seem like I was crazy. I wasn’t going to open up to you when I already thought you thought I was being stupid.”

“You thought that I thought? Jesus… I have no idea what you want from me…” Roman sighs, reaching around the back of his chair to retrieve his cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

“I want you to hear me when I say that having Annie here, a woman who so clearly wants to fuck you, bothers me. A woman who you are clearly attracted to, a woman who is clearly attracted to you. It hurts me that you’re letting her stay here, especially when you didn’t even ask me if she could.” You were barely holding off the overflow of tears from your eyes at this point and you knew the second you started to cry this would all be over. Because you would start to blubber and Roman would get irritated that you couldn’t get a word out.

“Let me get this straight: I’m attracted to Annie, she’s attracted to me? So I’m going to have sex with her? And what? Leave you? Is that right?” Roman puffs around his cigarette, the condescension in his tone unbearable.

And your dam broke, the tears threatening to breach your lash line were flowing freely now. Why Roman wasn’t able to just see that something was hurting you and help change, was beyond you. You decided right then and there that you refused to let him have the satisfaction of watching you cry. You were done, for an unforeseeable amount of time.

“You’re so fucking mean.”

You sucked your teeth loudly before pushing up from your seat and heading for the front door.

“C’mon, what are you doing now?” Roman groaned, turning to watch you leave over his shoulder.

“I’m done. I’m going to Destiny’s.” You said curtly, taking your purse and keys from the hook in the entryway.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am. I’m done, Roman.” You slung your purse of your shoulder and clutched your keys tight.

“What for tonight or forever?” He asked like he was calling your bluff.

“If you can’t understand why I am so hurt, then I don’t know. Maybe forever.”

“Hey, woah, what?” Roman’s voice was startled as he got up from his seat and rushed to the door, “No, you aren’t leaving. This conversation isn’t over.”

He planted a large hand on the door handle, preventing you from opening it. You could feel his hulking figure behind you and you wanted to shrink under his size, but stayed strong.

“Roman, move your hand.”

“You’re not fucking leaving. Let’s just talk this out, OK?” He bargained.

You tried to pry Roman’s long fingers from the handle, but even with all your might working to untangle their hold, he was just too strong.

“I’ll listen, OK? I’m sorry, just let’s talk. Let’s talk about this.” His knuckles were turning white below you. You could see his bones threatening to break the surface of his reddening skin.

“Are you going to listen to me, or just dismiss and make fun of me? Because if you do Roman, I’ll just go out the back door.”

“I will. Promise.” He sounded sincere. Maybe now that he knew you were serious, he was more receptive to what you had to say.

You turned to press your back to the door and look up at him. The fear on his face was surprising to you. You hadn’t expected him to be so scared at the prospect of your leaving, he sure hadn’t cared that you were around since Annie arrived.

“I’m mad at you.” You stated frankly.

“Yeah, I caught that.” He sighs.

“I don’t like how you act around Annie. It’s disrespectful to me. I’m not a woman who cares when you look, but when you start to flirt and threaten to touch? I’m done, Roman. I’m not kidding.” You raised your eyebrows as Roman listened intently.

“I never touched.” He swore.

“Yes, but you’ve flirted and “innocently” touched. Flirted, touched and now you are starting to look at her like you looked at me.”

“I have never looked at her the way I look at you.”

You scoffed, then pantomimed his love lorn expression for him, clasping your hands over your heart theatrically.

He just rolled his eyes, “I’ve never looked at Annie like that.”

“Trust me, you have.” You say, ducking under his outstretched arm to walk back to the kitchen.

“Baby…”

“Don’t baby me, I’m still pissed.” You started to gather the abandoned plates to put in the sink for Jane.

“Then what can I do, huh? How do we work this out?” He asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Let me just ask you something,” You abruptly turn from the sink to face him, “Do you want to fuck her?”

Roman sucks in a deep intake of breath and opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly.

Your tears threaten once more. You already knew his answer was yes, though all but hearing him say it was worse.

“Ok, let me ask you something else. Have you slept with her?”

“No! Absolutely not, baby. Never.” Roman said, taking a step toward you.

“And why should I believe you when I know that you want to have sex with her? Hm?” You crossed your arms.

“Because you know I love you. Because you know that I can’t even stomach the idea of my life without you,” Roman says, his tone frighteningly serious.

You look at him for a long moment, his eyes pleading for you to speak while you collected what you wanted to say next.

“Do you want to leave me for her?” You finally said, trying your best to sound collected.

“Baby, hey--”

“No, just listen Roman,” You took a breath, “Because, you know, if you wanna be with her, be with her. Just do it. Don’t string me along because you’re scared of losing more people. Because I get it, I mean I do. She’s an upir, you’re an upir... You have shared experience and she can teach you about what you are and just… Roman if you leave me just don’t be a pussy and cheat on me. Just break up with me.”

Roman looked at you bewildered and once again stammered for his words. For a moment, you were planning on looking at the price of U-Hauls; on how long you could stay with Destiny before you were intruding; if you would stay in Hemlock Grove because it was less expensive or just go straight to shopping for places in Philly?

But Roman doesn’t sigh and tell you it’s over. He doesn’t let you down easy or even scream and stomp his feet.

He just says:

“I love you more than I have loved anyone in my entire life. Family, friends, whatever. It doesn’t matter because you win. You always win. I’m not breaking up with you, alright? Jesus fucking Christ, nothing sounds worse to me than that.” Roman takes a long stride toward you to look soulfully into your eyes.

“Yeah, I think Annie’s hot and yes, she’s an upir. So fucking what? I’m not going to leave you because of that! I could give a shit about either of those things when you’re right under my nose.”

Your pick at your nail polish as you listen to him, feeling embarrassed. But Roman doesn’t let you wallow as he tilts you by the chin to look at him.  

“I should’ve asked you if she could stay, I’ll admit that. I shouldn’t have been so chummy with her, either. And yeah, I probably should’ve just asked you why you were being so fucking moody. But you should have told me what was wrong without pouting.”

“I just wanted you to come to me and ask… for some reason I convinced myself if you asked me what was wrong, it was a sign that you still loved me.” Saying it out loud made your face heat uncomfortably.

“I love you, but that has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Roman chuckles.

“Don’t be rude,” You huff, pushing him gently by the shoulder, “Letting another random woman stay here was the real stupid thing.”

“How about we call it a draw?”

“I think I can handle that…”

“Ok, then it’s a deal. I’m sorry, you’re sorry, it’s all good.” Roman pinches your chin lightly to hold your face in place to place a soft kiss to your lips.

You hadn’t kissed him in days, and the feeling made you whimper.

“Is there anything else you need to get off your chest crazy lady?” Roman asks, his breath dusting your mouth with a smirk on his face.

You push him again, with more strength this time.

“I don’t like when Annie mentions Nadia. She is our daughter and hearing that woman say her name makes me go into like, hyper lioness mode and all I think about is punching her.”

Roman’s eyes widened.

“I do not need another woman sticking her nose in our business with our daughter. May I remind you that’s how we got into this whole mess in the first place?”

Roman sucks in a deep breath through his nose, “That’s fair.”

“I already miss her, I don’t need some woman who’s trying to hop on my boyfriend’s cock talking about her.” You were starting to get angry again.

And fucking Roman, he just smiles.

“Hearing you call her our daughter, calling me your boyfriend, all while being on a little jealous rampage? I gotta admit baby, it’s got me hard as a rock.”

“It always comes back to your weird primal possession,” You roll your eyes.

“Eh, you knew that from the beginning.” He shrugs.

“You’re still not totally forgiven, y’know?”

“Yeah? And what do I have to do to get out of the dog house, baby?” His smile turns devious.

“I want Annie out of this house,” You began.

“Done.” Roman cups your face as he started to walk you back toward the counter.

“I don’t want you seeing her without someone else present, or without telling me first. Not because I don’t trust you, but because--”

“--You don’t trust her. Got it,” Roman says, firmly pressing your lower back to the marble slab now.

“You know I have an intuition about these things,” You purse your lips in a pout as Roman begins to trail kisses across your jaw, “You should really be thanking me. I just know Annie’s going to turn out to be bad news. I have a feeling.”

He laughs, “Is there anything else, baby?”

“Yes…” You pause, “I want an inground pool. You promised me one when we moved in and the plans keep getting pushed back. I want to go swimming.”

“I’ll get the plans drawn up tomorrow,” He sucks on your pulse point.

“And you have to buy me as many bikinis as I want, designer ones, and I don’t want to hear one peep out of you about the price.” You crane your neck to give him more access to continue his sweet assault on your skin.  

“I’ll leave you with my credit card so you can order as many as you want.”

Roman moves from your neck to look down at you, his cocky persona flickering for a moment so you can see the sweet eyes of a lovesick boy hoping for forgiveness.

“Like I don’t already know the number,” You smile, letting him know that it had been granted.

He groaned, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I love you, too.” And you reached up to kiss him fiercely.

i hope you enjoyed! this was fun to write, i love writing a moody!reader lol. if you did enjoy, let me know with a comment or reblog (: ‘til next time, ily! *lets hope third times the charm and this ends up in the tags lol

#roman godfrey x reader #roman godfrey imagine #roman godfrey imagines #roman godfrey x you #roman godfrey reader insert #roman godfrey fanfic #roman godfrey fanfiction #roman godfrey fluff #roman godfrey angst #roman godfrey #bill skarsgård x reader #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgård imagine #hemlock grove fanfic #hemlock grove fanfiction #hemlock grove imagines #hemlock grove imagine #stevesharrlngtonswrites

[thiswasinevitableid]

For mermay, #25 siren for Sternclay, rating up to you? Thank you so much, I love your fics!

Here you go! I went with SFW and it's set in the same universe as the other siren prompt I got this year

Joseph has sailed so far over the horizon of regret that he’s landed right back on the shores of resolve.

The highway curves through low mountains, extends in interminable straight lines of super-heated asphalt, and he drives both stretches with purpose, eyes fixed on his goal so as not to see the last forty-eight hours lurking in his rearview mirror.

When the sign reading “Kepler: Population 3,000 on land, 50 in water” reflects the setting sun he slumps back in the driver seat, too tired to be glad, excited, afraid, or anything else at all.

He passes the Cryptonomica, proclaiming itself the premier place to learn about the Roadside Sirens. Rolling his eyes means he nearly misses the drawbridge warning, the barrier dropping and bridge rising to allow a small sailboat to pass. It’s aboard this he sees his first siren; dappled tail hanging in the water as she converses with the other passenger and waves to the siren working the bridge.

The bridge lowers and he continues forward as the early evening overtakes the main road. Neon crackles to life, creosote and rabbitbrush drift through the window when he rolls it down. The sign on Amnesty Lodge declares vacancies, so he pulls into the parking lot. It’s a strange lay-out, little cabins dotting the patches of pools that, once upon a time, must have been enclosed in rooms. Now they glisten under the emerging stars, some surrounded by lawn chairs and set ups to play horseshoes or cornhole. The building housing the lobby is precariously perched on the bank of the slow flowing river, another building whose neon is unlit sitting beside it. He pays the young lady at the counter for a week to week cabin and lugs the remainders of his life inside.

In the bathroom mirror, the wear of this trip is clear in the wrinkles on his suit and the dust on his shoes. He strips down, rinses off, and heads into the night in his shorts and T-shirt from Puget Sound. On a whim he turns right, follows a trail that leads him into the state park. He pays the five dollar fee in a little envelope as he continues on his way. Just as he reaches a scenic viewpoint, the singing starts.

Joseph can’t see any of the singers, can only pick up six or so distinct voices swirling around him.

It’s said the roadside sirens will tell you what you need.

It’s said the roadside sirens are the only way Kepler gets new residents

It’s said the roadside sirens will lead you to your hearts desire.

It’s said the roadside sirens are not always gentle.

All that tugs at Joseph’s heart is exhaustion. When footsteps creak across the boards behind him, he turns to find a man in a ranger uniform. Their eyes meet a moment and the man nods in greeting, “Evenin sir, you got any questions?”

“What do you hear when they sing?”

The ranger shrugs, “I hear them singin’. Never been all that susceptible to ‘em. Well, except for one, but he don’t sing all that often and the last time it was to tell me he missed me while I was out here workin’.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow. The man comes close enough for him to see his name tag. All it says is, “Duck.”

Duck chuckles, leans his arms on the railing, “S’okay, most folks don’t believe me when I tell ‘em that. See, thing about sirens is, you gotta have unfulfilled desires for the song to take hold. First time I was in Kepler, didn’t have a goddamn clue what I wanted from life. When I came back, found the two things I wanted right away. Been pretty content since.” He glances at Joseph, “why, you hear somethin that worries you?”

“I don’t hear anything besides-”

A burst of blue and orange light spills across them; the building beside Amnesty Lodge has come to life, and Joseph can see a line out the door from here. More importantly, someone is singing and his body moves towards the source without him noticing.

“I mean, if your main want is you’re hungry, Lodge is a damn good place to start. Put Kepler on the map. Or, uh, guess the sirens put it there and the Lodge kept it there once the novelty wore off.

“Uhumm” Joseph nods, waving an absentminded goodnight as he follows the path back to the Lodge. He’s about to join the others waiting to get through the door when he gets a flash of an image; a draft on a desk, announcing the Lodge needed a cooks assistant.

What the hell, it’s worth a try right?

A knock on the back door summons an older man in a “Joshua Tree” shirt.

“Howdy, if you’re lookin for the line-”

“I’m here about the assistant job.”

“Uhh, o-kay. Not the best time for it, but follow me.”

The man leads him down a set of stairs to a kitchen that is half in and half out of the water in a way that defies logic and physics. Swimming about are several sirens, plus two humans on the shore, cooking and sending food up to the main building in a dance that borders on chaos. In the middle of it all is a siren with a deep copper tail that matches his short beard and long hair tied back in a bun.

“Barclay! You got a minute?”

“Not really!”

“Okay then. I’ll just have this fella wait in your office until dinner rush is over.”

“Sure great yeah Moira wheres the crawfish for table ten?”

Which is how Joseph finds himself sitting in a cabin, twiddling his thumbs. His manners fight his boredom until he pulls a paperback from the nearby shelf and loses himself in the exploits of a someone recreating dishes from ancient civilizations. Doesn’t look up until the door opens and the same man, now with legs instead of that beautiful tail, walks in.

“Phew” he shuts the door with a satisfied smile, rests his head on the wood, then whirls and slams his back against it when Joseph clears his throat.

“GAHWHATTHEFUCK”

“I’m, I’m so sorry, I thought you heard, um, Thacker, tell you he was having me wait here.”

“W-wait here for wh--Oh, oh right, the assistant thing.” The siren scrubs his face, “yeah, uh, guess Mama must've put the ad out. Uh, would you say you’re organized?”

“Extremely. But honestly it doesn’t seem like you need that much help on that front.”

A deep, rich laugh, “I cleaned this morning, last night it looked like an earthquake hit this place. Guessing from the fact you didn’t freak out in the kitchen you’re cool with the supernatural?”

“Yes. It’s an area of interest for me.”

There’s suspicion in Barclay’s voice, hidden but very much present, “why’d you end up in Kepler?”

“I came here on purpose. I wanted to be somewhere where strange things were celebrated and out in the open. Not...not kept from the world.”

Barclay leans back on his desk, arms crossed, “Where’d you work before now?”

“The…” he sighs, resigns himself to finding somewhere else to go, “the FBI. UP branch, I was at Nellis when they, um, relieved me of my duties.”

For a long moment, Barclay studies him. Then he turns to his desk, setting stacks of papers in order as he hums. Joseph closes his eyes, takes calming breaths; all he wants is to be safe, to not have to run. All he wants is for Barclay to hold him, he’s never seen a man so handsome and a useless, primal part of him fixates on that fact. Also he’s starving, god, he hasn’t eaten since his breakfast of black coffee.

Barclay stops humming, “Come with me.”

Joseph follows him back down into the strange kitchen (“couple of friends of mine are pretty powerful magicians. They rigged up the kitchen for me”). All the lights are off, and without them he discovers Barclay’s eyes glow an eerie yellow-green. When he smiles, Joseph sees only the points on his teeth, not the crinkle at the edge of his eyes.

“Hungry?” Barclay rumbles.

“Starving.”

“You eat fish?”

“...Yes?” Will the wrong answer get him drowned.

The cook leaps towards the water, tail appearing and clothes vanishing at the last moment before he hits the dark surface. Joseph stands, on edge and curious, until the siren emerges, newly-dead trout in his hands.

“Tastes best fresh.” Barclay swims to his grill, turning it on in a click of a knob.

“Why not just stay human when you cook?” Joseph makes his way over to the station as Barclay butchers the fish and sets it into a heavily buttered pan.

“The charm only holds for so long before I need to be back in the water, and I get so busy during meals I don’t want to risk passing out because I went too long on shore. Besides” he spins elegantly to grab two spice jars, “I learned to cook in the water, so this is the most natural way for me.”

“Fascinating.” Joseph sits down, keeping himself out of arms reach of the water. Barclay seems nice, but sirens did not become famous for offering people things and then following through; hundreds of dead travelers prove that much.

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago, originally.”

“Ever see the great lake mers?”

“No.” He can’t help but feel disappointed that he’s only learning of their existence now.

“Quite a few out there. Sirens too.”

Well, that introduces some new reasons for all the shipwrecks.

“How do you know? Are you from there?”

“Nah. Been in Kepler my whole life. Even during the bad years, singing people into that godawful, overpriced casino buffet. Convincing them the shitty cold cuts were prime rib.” His hand stills a moment, clenches and then releases, “yeah. Every now and then” he starts chopping shallots, “one of the drunks would get it into their heads to pet the sirens tail or hair and I had to sit there and let them. My tail” he shudders, swipes the shallots into the pan so roughly Joseph starts.

“Sorry.” Barclay mumbles.

“Don’t be. I’m on edge, that’s all. And you have every right to be angry. Being forced to do something you know is wrong is....there’s no winning.”

“That why you just want a place to feel safe?”

It’s so easy to confess in the darkness of the cave.

“I put up too much of a fight about something. Refused to do something that went against my conscience. They let me go, which I feared but expected. Then I found my bank accounts were cut off and someone had manipulated the records to say I’d been fired for criminal activity so it’d be harder to find a job.”

A clink of metal on china, and then Barclay is holding a plate out to him with tenderness in his eyes, “I’m so sorry, Joseph. Here, at least you won’t be hungry.”

Joseph murmurs out his thanks.

“You a wine drinker?”

“Right now I could certainly go for some.”

A few flicks of that stunning tail and Barclay returns with a glass of white for each of them.

“To getting free of shitty pasts.” The cook raises his glass and Joseph bumps his against it. Barclay brings it to his lips, but smiles rather than sip, “and by the way: you got the job.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Being Barclay’s assistant is fifty percent clerical work and fifty percent following the siren around as he gathers ingredients or tests recipes. On Ned Chicane’s recommendation, Barclay had published a cookbook of both traditional siren foods and his own creations. It became a bestseller which, among other things, means Joseph has a brand new wardrobe, regular deliveries of gourmet food, and his cabin is now full of books. Whenever he points out that Barclay is already paying him and doesn’t need to buy him things, the siren simply rubs their cheeks together (a thing Joseph is only now getting used to) and tells him he likes doing it.

So when he’s not getting his recipes in order or typing up scribbled note cards into something legible, he’s following Barclay on foot or in a boat while he harvests or buys ingredients. Sirens have permission to fish and forage in areas, including the park, that humans don’t, which means he runs into Duck and his siren husband, Indrid, on more than one occasion while hauling lines into the boat.

The one time it gets stuck, Barclay pulls it out all on his own. Almost like he’s showing off the muscles in his back, arms, and tail.

The only thing Joseph won’t do is get in the water with the siren. He can’t get the images of drowned sailors, of fishermen torn to shreds, from his mind. Barclay is powerful, sharp-toothed and slit-pupiled, dangerous yet so gentle he once purred when Joseph complimented his food. And if Joseph never goes in the water with him, he’ll never have to confront the fact he wouldn’t mind if those pointed teeth dug into his skin and that tail trapped his legs while he thrashed in Barclay’s hold.

He assumes Barclay doesn’t notice; after all, swamps and marshes, even the river, are far less suited to a human swimming in them than an ocean or lake. This conclusion is bolstered by Barclay never, ever asking him to join him in the water. The siren is less careful about singing; he usually just hums as he works, but sometimes he sings wordlessly and Joseph nearly dives head first into the water (Barclay’s lap, if they’re on land).

Tonight, he’s cleaning up after Barclay’s test session of new recipes in the kitchen. The cook went out to visit some friends who live further in the state park, so when his voice drifts across the stones Joseph is surprised.

Cool, calloused hands on his cheeks, a tail stroking his thighs, his lips tracing up a sturdy leg. Copper hair twined in his fingertips, a heart beating in time with his own, teeth sinking into his skin, marking him, claiming him.

Water fills his nose and his body jerks back to the present, standing up in the shallow water that he stepped and stumbled face-first into.

“Joseph? Oh fuck, are you okay?” Barclay rounds the corner, swimming over to look up at him with concern.

“Yes. I, um, I think I got caught up in your song.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were already upstairs or I wouldn’t have sung so loud. I know you can’t swim.”

“I can.” Joseph kneels, face down-turned in shame, “I was scared to, um, to be in the water with you. It’s, I was afraid of what might happen.”

Barlay swims back, “you thought I was gonna eat you?”

“No! Or, um, at first I didn’t want to foolishly assume that sirens in Kepler were harmless, since death isn’t high on my to-do list. Then I thought suddenly starting to swim would tip you off to the fact I’d been suspicious and I didn’t want to hurt you.” He runs a hand through his hair, “that song, though, Barclay, lord almighty is that what I want?”

“It’s what I want, I never sang it to bring you to me.”

“Oh.”

Barclay swims back to him, rubs their cheeks together, “Can I try something?”

“Anything” is all he gets out before he’s pulled into deeper water. He gasps for air, his own moans ricocheting across the room as Barclay bites his shoulder. On instinct his body tries to tread water, but copper scales trap his legs together, keep him flush against Barclay’s body.

“It’s okay babe, you can relax. I got you, I could keep us both afloat in my sleep.” He hums as he trails his lips across Joseph’s throat, “you’re safe. You’re with me.”

“Don’t make me leave.” The song pulls it out of him, because he wants to say it, wants to admit that losing what he has in Kepler terrifies him, just so he can hear-

“Never. You make me so fucking happy.” Barclay kisses him tenderly, keeps tracking his bite marks with a finger, “please stay. Stay for as long as you want."

"What if I want forever?" He rests his face on Barclay's shoulder as the siren spins them, dance-like, in the water.

"I think we can manage that."

#mermay #sternclay #agent stern/barclay #TAZ Amnesty

[bloodsweatandpotato]

Whumpay Day 10

Silence

Fandom: Original Work

Characters: Kieran (OC)

Tw: Knives, description of suturing

Summary: Trapped at the top of a tree, bleeding out from a stab wound in his shoulder, Kieran reflects on the virtue of silence.

Silence saves.

Scared half to death and bleeding from his left shoulder, Kieran turns that thought around in his mind.

There he is, nestled in the top branches of an especially large pine tree, hugging the trunk with his good arm.

Kieran stifles a gasp as his backpack strap shifts, sliding against the gash and bringing an agony that Kieran can only just breathe through. His gaze flicks down, below the tree.

Only a few yards away, a hooded man stomping through the underbrush.

“Come out you little shit! Come and face me like a man!”

Kieran doesn’t move.

The man looks around wildly, gripping his hunting knife tighter.

The cans of green beans weigh heavy in Kieran’s backpack. What a life this is. He’s about to die for four cans of vegetables.

Kieran should have stuck to trading fish for canned goods. But his traps can only work so many times before the trout get smart, and ya can’t blame him for wanting an easy meal. The hooded man’s pack was just sitting there, the green beans proudly displayed between the zippered edges.

Kieran’s fingertips have started to go numb on his left arm. He resists the urge to adjust his shoulder, knowing the agony it will cause, knowing he’ll make a sound.

The hooded man has sat down at the base of a tree near the one Kieran is hiding in, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He leans back, sighing in what sounds like resignation.

“Well, you’ve done it.” He murmurs to himself “Can’t even track down a bleedin’ out kid in the woods.”

He swings his pack around, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he pulls out a granola bar and something wrapped in old newspaper. A piece of salted meat, Kieran decides, watching as the man pulls open the wrapper and pulls out a brown, salt speckled lump.

Kieran’s begun to feel dizzy now, the adrenaline from the chase wearing off, and the pain in his shoulder really flaring.

He gives himself the luxury of a small groan, knowing that the sound will most likely be drowned out, absorbed by the ambience of the forest.

Still, silence is key.

Kieran looks over at his shoulder, arm pressed tight against his chest, elbow bent at a right angle. His green shirt was torn, the area around the stab wound stained with blood, but luckily his black-brown hoodie had been tied around his waist and was still intact.

It wasn’t like he had a change of clothes.

Kieran slumps further into the crevice where a particularly large branch met the tree trunk, closing his eyes as he thinks. He needs to stop the bleeding.

He has some needle and thread on him... In his backpack.

Kieran looked back down at his shoulder, and at the blossoming red stain coloring his shirt.

Okay. He can do this.

Kieran slowly lets go of the tree trunk, reaching around with his good arm into his backpack. Unable to pull his pack off, Kieran winces as he contorts to unzip his bag.

The sound of the plastic zipper sliding apart sounds loud enough that Kieran is sure that the man on the ground will hear him, will climb up the tree and finish him off, maybe just shake the tree, watch as Kieran tumbles to his death.

Kieran finally manages to find the first aid kit, hand closing around the plastic pouch. He brings it around in front of him, flipping it open. There’s some adhesive bandaids, two needles, a spool of black thread, some ground yarrow, and a half empty tube of antibiotic cream.

He pulls out the cream, unscrewing the lid one handed and squeezing a bit onto his finger. Kieran raises a shaking hand to his shoulder, clenching his teeth as he smooths the cream onto the gash.

Fingers bloody, he lowers his hand, wiping it on his pants. Yes, not the most sanitary, but he doesn’t want his hand slippery for what he’s about to do.

Kieran pulls out a needle, already helpfully attached to a length of thread. He stares at his shaking hand, and the sewing needle grasped in it.

He glances down at the man, still propped against the tree, staring at nothing in particular. He looks to be engrossed in thought, but Kieran can’t be sure.

Silence is key.

Kieran pulls his shirt down, clenching his teeth as he presses the needle against his skin. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and slides the needle into his skin.

All at once, the word flashes and roars around him, the ball of fire that is his shoulder seeming to sear everything around him, catching the tree alight and burning his hair to singed crisp. He whimpers, biting his lip to keep from crying out.

Biting hard enough to draw blood, he continues punching the needle through, watching with almost morbid focus as the needle slides between the walls of the cut, surfacing on the other side of the gash. It pokes out from the other side of his skin, and Kieran’s grip shifts, grasping the pointy edge of the needle and dragging it through his skin the last few centimeters.

Bloody thread holding his arm together like some sort of grotesque necklace, he repeats the process.

On the fifth stitch, his vision goes grey and his hand falls, needle dropping from his grip to hand suspended by a thread from his arm.

When he comes to, not a minute later, the blood has begun to dry. He finishes the last two stitches with tears running down his face, before using his fingernail to sever the thread, pulling out ground yarrow from the first aid kit and smoothing some against the mostly stitched wound.

The last of the blood flow stopped, Kieran closes the first aid kit, and slumps back against the tree, unconscious.

Through the entire process he doesn’t make a sound.

Silence is survival.

#whumpay2021 #Whump #oc whump #whump writing #stab wound #post apocalypse #dystopia #original writing #Kieran and/or Cole

[paperclipninja]

Younger post-ep ramble 7x01

I joked in my finale ramble at the end of season 6 that the episode was called ‘Forever’ because that’s how long it would feel between seasons...well joke's on me because now, after 587 days, we are FINALLY here. The Younger drought has been a tough one, but we have been generously compensated by getting the first four episodes all at once, which is both exciting and also, turns out, incredibly overwhelming. As usual the thoughts and feelings are many, mostly feelings (read: I am NOT ok) but let’s start off with a delve into the premiere episode, ‘A Decent Proposal’.

The episode picks up within minutes of where the season 6 finale left off, with Diana and Enzo not wasting any time to hot foot it out of their wedding reception and into their happily ever after (Arrivederci bitches!). Of course I’m very happy for Diana and her happiness but there’s only one couple’s happiness that I am on tenterhooks about now that Diva is sorted and that is Charles and Liza, as they watch their sprinklers fizzle out in some sort of awkward, symbolic, anti-climax. 

You may recall that mere moments earlier, Charles had popped the question on the dancefloor before the two were separated by an obligatory conga line, and Charles quickly assumes that Liza’s lack of enthusiasm to shout her answer across the reception of another person’s wedding is an answer in itself. As anyone who has read my rambles before knows, I unapologetically fly the Team Charles flag, and let me tell you, despite her supreme stalling techniques (you’re not divorced yet, we should probably speak to the children blah blah), hearing Liza say, ‘my answer is, I love you’, my jaw hit the floor. I’m sorry, did Liza Miller just declare her feelings openly and directly and with absolute certainty??? We’re 33 seconds into the new season and I AM SHOOKETH DARREN. 

Speaking of declaring feelings openly and directly, I love absolutely everything about this opening scene. The music choice was perfect and really helped build the moment, as Charles told Liza he understands her hesitation before un-asking her to marry him (so that when the she’s made her mind she can pop the question - I kid you not, this has always been my dream...). The music cutting out and just hearing the crickets as Liza asks if he’s really withdrawing the proposal, his quip about her having to make the next move, assuming he’s still on the market (I love/hate this foreshadowing btw), it is Charles/Liza banter at its best and my sappy heart was soaking up every morsel. Throw in some CGI fireworks and the observation that they are sign (which may or may not play out at a later date) and you have yourself a pretty darn near perfect start to Younger’s final season.

Speaking of talking openly and directly, one of the staples of the Youngerverse, the Maggie morning debrief, is back as our way to gain insight into the thoughts, feelings and ponderings of Liza. Straight off the bat I am very pleased that Maggie has fully committed to ‘Chaz’ for Charles and I’m even happier that we actually hear these two talking about what’s going on because honestly, the last couple of seasons the Maggie/Liza convos, which we traditionally rely on heavily to know where Liza is at and to hear Maggie’s sage/sometimes terrible advice, have been skimmed over or felt rushed. We are also reminded that Liza has indeed seen Charles’ goods (the Empiriconda, she’s meaning the Empiriconda) and that the sex is hot, because we need to have all the information on top of the declarations of love to highlight how their relationship is pretty much perfect so that what transpires is even more painful.

Other things that are painful include the fact that Diana will be decidedly absent for most of the season (to be fair scheduling/covid are pretty legit reasons and in ep 1 we can chalk that up to her honeymoon, so more lamenting on that later), but early on it provides some pretty fab Lauren Diva-worshiping. Donning a baroque print Moschino suit that would’ve made Fran Fine jealous, Lauren is clearly distracted by the responsibility of her interim role at Empirical, as her mother frets about the theme for her 30th birthday party over face-time.

Keeping up the chaotic energy, we also discover that Kelsey has to go and let Quinn know she no longer needs her money (these characters’ ongoing relationship with the woman who has tried to ruin all of them at some point really needs unpacking with a good therapist at this stage) and Josh is in full frantic dad mode because he thinks Clare is trying to kidnap Gemma (lol that Lauren straight up calls her out on it later). Two quick points here:1) love seeing this side of Josh and 2) love Kelsey’s calm, measured reassurance that of course Clare would want her family to meet Gemma. I will say though, Josh meeting Rob for the first time when he’s about to go with Clare and Gemma to Ireland and hearing this guy he doesn’t know from a bar of soap exclaim, ‘I’m just in love with your daughter’ was super unfair. Not cool Clare, not cool. 

Kelsey keeps her cool as she breaks the news of her change of heart to our fave resident villain, who comes complete with a bowl of fortune cookies she ominously encourages Kelsey to consult while also enjoying her own fortune, ‘a new love will come into your life’. It’s all very OTT and ridiculous in it’s obvious foreshadowing and I am here for every minute of it because I sincerely love to hate Quinn very much.

My love of all things over the top is further fed by Lauren entering Diana’s office and making her way to the desk - the music, the way Lauren looks at the framed picture of Diana and Enzo before relegating it to the drawer, any moment I was expecting her to utter ‘my precious’ as she became more and more entranced by the power of the neckwear, before Liza abruptly broke the spell by asking what she was doing and warned her off her consideration of claiming Diana’s office as her own. Very much appreciated the continuity later in the episode when Liza is very distressed that Lauren has gone full-Trout with the chunky baubled ornament around her neck, though Lauren is less Invasion of the Body Snatchers and more Nancy Drew at this point, as she has caught wind of Charles’ proposal while reviewing video footage from Diana’s wedding which she decided, for some reason, to show Josh, who was ‘still not interested’ (we hear your words Josh but your face says otherwise). I am very on board the Liza/Lauren dynamic and their ‘circle of trust’ as Liza asks that Lauren keep the proposal to herself (we really haven’t seen the friendship between these two much) and Liza’s gratitude, ‘Thank you...Di-va’, is hilarious, as is the response, ‘my pleasure, Queen’.

We get many fine moments in the office this ep, the first meeting when there are formal announcements and speeches made welcoming Kelsey back...to a conference room of Charles, Liza, Lauren and a random guy we’ve never seen or heard from before and never will again it seems. It makes me laugh that every person in the room except the dude we’ll never know already knows everything but hey, formality is important I guess? The pitch for ‘Little Women in Space’ by an author played by an actress who is friends IRL with Sutton Foster and they were in the musical Little Women together is honestly too much but also just the right amount and this show does meta so well (not to mention Lauren’s excited outburst upon realising her party theme plus her making sure Liza knows that she knows about the proposal. Subtle as a sledgehammer is our Lauren). 

One not-so-fine moment is the extremely out of left field resignation of Zane followed by the completely douchey moment of him breaking up with Kelsey via face-time with the line, ‘I love you Kelsey, take care’. I’m sorry, what?? On the one hand, I get it that CMD wasn’t available for the season so in some respects better to deal with it swiftly and move on, but it was very abrupt and strange. I had zero investment in the pairing so it doesn’t overly affect my viewing, but any fans out there shipping those two, are you ok? Because that was a brutal way for a pairing to simply cease to exist.

So we have I love yous being thrown around by Kelsey and Zane as they break up because that makes sense (in retrospect I should’ve seen what was coming because these words clearly mean NOTHING *breathes deeply, exhales slowly*) but thank goodness Liza is there to comfort Kelsey, whose statement that she really doesn’t care would be a lot more convincing if she wasn’t crying inconsolably. We get a beautiful transition from Kelsey’s office to Charles’ with a sweeping aerial shot across the autumnal canopy of Central Park along with the gentle music adding to the relaxed pacing of the episode. Liza doesn’t want it to be weird between her and Charles now that the proposal is out there (well actually, its 100% in her court but yes), so he reassures her it’s not weird at all by planting a kiss on her that almost triggers the sprinklers because friends, it is HOTTT. Cue super cute exchange about pro and cons lists, lovingly looking into one another’s eyes and then, another ‘ I love you’ from Liza to Charles followed by Charles responding, ‘I love you too’, and despite my deceased status at this point, it was magical. But also WHAT. IS. HAPPENING. 

These two are so enamoured with one another and it’s as though it’s something they just say to each other all the time, but this is literally the first episode we’ve heard any kind of expression of feelings to one another since the season 6 premiere and even then it wasn’t this direct; Liza ran away and Charles told her he didn’t mind not being at the office because he did it for the woman he loves followed by a cute story about how he can do maths because he’s had feelings for her for 16 years. Don’t get me wrong, the entire scene this episode was perfect and it was SO well done in the way it captured the best parts of their dynamic (damn you Darren Star for being so good at what you do), but it also felt like we were being shown the dream version of what could have been before it’s all snatched away.

Not unlike Millennial, which is like naming a business Boomer Print according to the table of boomers at the investor meeting who blindside Kelsey and Charles by voting to restore the name Empirical (head boomer has clearly had it with millennials, indicated by his statement, ‘who gives a shit about millennials any more?’) and so it is done and Kelsey is officially having a very bad week. It is while enjoying a quiet bourbon in the bar that evening that Charles is joined by Quinn, who is allegedly on her apology tour to explain to investors why she dropped out of the Senate race, but also offers Charles what seems to be a sincere apology for treating his company like a toy (prediction: nothing is ever as it seems with Quinn). I have a confession to make and believe me, I don't like it any more than you do - they absolutely nailed the set up of tension and a little bit of a spark between Charles and Quinn in this scene IMO and I...I *whispers* I liked it.

What I liked even more was Lauren’s completely in character entrance to her own birthday party, omg it’s so ridiculous and perfectly her and Denise telling her daughter, ‘fix your crotch, good girl’ had me chuckling. I feel like we’re getting Kelsey’s set up for the season at this party too, as she’s feeling unsure of what defines her now, and the conversation about defining things carries over into Josh and Liza’s chat when he asks her if congratulations are in order. This exchange between the two of them is just lovely, with Liza clearly feeling a little awkward talking to Josh about Charles, but Josh reassures her that he does like him, for her, and that it brings him joy to know she’s happy. They agree that their relationship doesn’t need to be defined, and that they'll always be in each others’ lives no matter who they’re with. It feels very final for their romantic relationship and I would be celebrating the end of the triangle had I not clocked Josh’s fallen expression as Liza walks away. I really do hope that Josh finds someone he loves and who loves him the way he wants to be loved this season. Josh’s words gave Liza some clarity of her own and so we find ourselves at the magnificent Seaglass Carousel, home of Liza and Charles’ first proper date, once more.

Charles is clearly full of hope and expectation as he meets Liza and they remember the time he and the beard we try to forget about brought her there and it’s all amazing and beautiful and...*collects self*...Liza tells him that she just wants to keep riding the perfect ride. She once again tells him she loves him (we’re up to three times in one ep now for those of you playing at home), that all she wants is his heart and that she wants to be happily unmarried to him every day. To say this does not go down the way she is expecting is an understatement; we learn that Charles doesn’t want a ride, he wants to get off the carousel and not live in a fantasy. He believes in marriage whereas she believes they are now finally free and folks, this is why you talk about your stance on marriage in a relationship BEFORE you pop the question out of nowhere at someone’s wedding. 

You can see on his face, as Liza says she doesn’t want to define their relationship by the rules and obligations of marriage, that he’s hearing that she is not all in (whether that’s true or not) and he thanks her for letting him know what’s in her heart. You know the bit that actually plunges the knife into my heart? Charles shaking his head as Liza says his name, clearly overcome with emotion, before he kisses her on the head looking as though his world has just come crumbling down around him. That knife just gets twisted even further as Liza is left there in disbelief, (we are all Liza in that moment honestly), trying to process how her own declaration could be so easily rejected. You know, I knew it was coming, but it didn’t make it any less painful. I can see it from both perspectives and I have no doubt that these two characters have a lot they need to address and work through as a result of their own failed marriages if they’re going to have healthy relationships moving forward. 

I tell you what, after so long with no new episodes, this first episode of the season was concurrently beautiful and heart-breaking and one thing’s for certain - this final ride ain’t gonna be smooth. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m just going to go and regain some composure so we can start on ep 2...

Season 6 ramble collection can be found here

#youngertv #younger tv #7x01 #reiew #ramble #liza miller #charles brooks #kelsey peters #maggie amato #lauren heller #younger season 7 #tv show

[styrnraelmalqir]

The Last Vigil

[ MAJOR SPOILERS FOR FFXIV 3.0 AND 3.1 AHEAD. ]

I just have a lot of feelings and needed to put them into words. Spoilers begin right away so please be warned, thank you! 

“He would not have told you,” the Count turned to his steward, trading his cane for the broken shield of his son, “but when Haurchefant begged me to accept you into our household, he described you as ‘hope incarnate.’”

The room was hushed at the sight of Count Edmont de Fortemps touching the failed steel before him. He studied it for a moment before turning back to Styrnrael. “At the time, I assumed that he was waxing lyrical, as he was wont, but I have come to see that he simply spoke the truth.”

A breath escaped the steward’s lips as he looked upon his lord. Of the many secrets the steward had kept in half a century of service, moments such as these still came as a surprise. His focus moved to the warriors who stood in the foyer of the Manor. The steward’s vision narrowed on Styrnrael behind the thick bifocals resting on his nose. A tear threatened his composure. The warmth she and her friends brought to Ishgard was enough to fog his glasses. He batted away the tear. Before he could remove a handkerchief from his pocket to clean his lenses, Edmont surprised him yet again.

The Count stepped toward the free paladin whom his son had trusted most ardently. His gaze was still fixed on the shield in his hands, eyes low beneath his eyelashes. Of all the passing times she visited Fortemps Manor, sometimes for only a few hours of rest, not once had Edmont warmly addressed her as such.

His gaze slowly lifted to meet her own. “You are hope.” He spoke softly as if just for her to hear. His deep blue irises held an ocean’s depth. For a moment in the fading light of sunset that pierced through the windows, she saw Haurchefant in his eyes. She dared not to blink.

He cleared his throat, regaining the equanimity required for that of the head of House Fortemps. “You are hope,” he repeated with purpose, “a shining beacon that shall guide the people of Ishgard through this raging snowstorm.” With that, he lifted a heel and bowed before her, presenting the shield with both hands. She reached toward the Count to receive his gift. Her hands traced its rough edges. It was not sharp enough to nick her calloused hand, try as she might. The dazzling color of the setting sun filled the crevices of the shield’s damage with light.

“A memento,” the Count began again, looking directly at Styrnrael now. “Were my son here…” Styrnrael was entranced and the all too familiar ringing in her head made her stagger away from the present. The Echo, a gift of her mind to see memories as they were lived, could also be a curse. Suddenly her vision was every color at once and yet nothing at all. The rigid décor of the room, the flowers in the vase, the Count, the steward, and Seishin, all disappeared around her. The emptiness engulfed her in a pyre of dancing colors. Memories that were not her own flooded her reality. The Echo within her wove unrelated images together into a coherent form. The steps of a familiar quarter of Ishgard appeared, illuminated by servants lighting the gas lamps that lined the mithril-colored stone pathways of the Pillars. She stepped into the past.

--

All too familiarly, the past becomes present for just a moment.

A boy not yet ten is outside on a cold day, playing with a stick and a book. “En garde!” he shouts, defending a small toy from a would-be intruder. “That’s enough for today,” A man approaches. He is not yet forty-one. He does not make eye contact with the child. “You can return to the Manor now that mother’s guests are gone.”

The boy laughs and gathers his effects. Giving himself a running start, he jumps and grabs the Count’s hand. “And please, be reasonable Haurchefant. Leave the sticks outside this time, won’t you?”

The gaslights on the perimeter of the street begin to flicker as father and son return to the Manor. The fire within the lamps turns to smoke and color fades around her as Styrnrael steps into another vision.

Now at nearly thirty himself, the teal haired youth has grown into a thoughtful adviser, studying the charts on his desk in his quarters at Camp Dragonhead. Atop the strewn maps and coordinates of the warfront is an envelope. It was nearly torn to shreds in excitement. “What is it, my lord?” Corentiaux clamors to know what message would be so important that it drew Haurchefant’s attention so abruptly this early in the morning.

“A missive, from the Scions of course! I have been awaiting news of their decision to hear our case! We must needs their assistance posthaste to ensure Francel’s record is expunged! I know he is innocent, we just need to prove it to the Inquisitor.” His eyes dart over the words of the letter, comprehending quickly the limited envoy they approved to aid his needs. His hope never faulters for a moment no matter how slim the chances might be. “By the Fury! They have accepted our call for aid and by some fortune are sending the primal slayers themselves!”

Corentiaux is unconvinced, knowing how idealistic his lord is wont to be. “Are you sure that this will be enough to aid us?”

“Hope. That is always enough.” He nods to his squires and begins planning the reception to welcome the Scions who would answer his plea. He shuffles the papers on his desk like an Astrologian’s cards. The wind of the fanned-out pages sweeps Styrnrael to another time.

Even at midday, there is mist covering the Sea of Clouds. Scatterlings of Rose Knight scouts line the area, some swiftly rising to attention as the noble approaches, and some others ignoring him entirely. The indifference they show is quickly parted when Laniette approaches, flanked by wounded soldiers and a trembling Honoroit. “Lord Haurchefant,” the Lady begins. “Your dutiful brother has taken the growing tensions with the Vanu Vanu into his own hands to prove himself. Might you and Master Garlond have a moment to spare for one of your trademark deus ex machinas?” She smiles through gritted teeth, cursing Emmanellain for causing so much trouble, then cursing herself for entrusting him with the task.

“I thought you would never ask! Last time I so much as suggested involving myself in the dealings of the Warriors of Light, twelve men had to restrain me!” Haurchefant resigns to a smile, sparing his company the details of his favorite story to recount. He knows Laniette’s duties here in Cloudtop are much like corralling gaelicats. “You can count on me, my lady!” He nods and gently shakes his fist. Then, turning his sunlit disposition to Cid, the two of them board the airship docked at the side of the camp. Lifting into the air, they cast off the airship landing, and fly through the heavens upon the Enterprise. The clouds mingle with the exhaust of the airship’s engine, flowing through the lush lands of the camp. Styrnrael’s vision becomes clouded, too, as she flies to another image.

“I’m certain there is a joke about a monk and a House Fortemps Knight walking into a bar,” Gibrillont chuckles.

Seishin and Haurchefant laugh heartily and take their seats on weathered stools.

“What will it be, boys? For what you did tonight to provide aid and succor to the Brume folk after today’s eventful showdown, when you could be at home nursing your own wounds, I’d say this’ll be on the house. Though tis a right shame you didn’t bring along that Lady Iceheart I saw shouting about peace earlier!”

Haurchefant almost begins to order but pauses as he sees his friend still considering the vast menu. Gibrillont notices a certain paladin missing from the party. “Say, where is Styrnrael? Do you think she would fancy some mead? I will get some from the storehouse while you two make up your minds about your drinks! I’ll put in an order for trout and chips while I pass by the kitchen and be back in two bells.” Gibrillont swaggers away, leaving the monk and the knight with some privacy. Though it is only thirty past eight, nearly all the tavern’s regulars have staggered home.

“How about some hot chocolate, for old time’s sake?” His words comfort the monk who is tapping one foot against the floor. He steals a glance at Seishin while he is looking at the menu and his cheeks warm at the thought of his return. His mind wanders, “Though I was never much of a religious man before, tis Halone’s blessing you have returned to me unharmed.”

Seishin glances up at Haurchefant coyly, flexing his hand to highlight the bruises on his knuckles. A monk is ever ready to show off his battle scars.  

Haurchefant grins incredulously, still convinced his companions are invincible. That he may count Lady Iceheart among his newfound allies; that is an entirely new kind of faith. “Though I will measure it took much more than the Fury to accomplish this feat. Ysayle, is it? She may prove to bring hope to her people yet. In some way, she reminds me of our dear Styrnrael. I recall how terrified she once was to be seen in the streets of Ishgard. No matter how many times I tried to console her that my countrymen would not look upon her in disgust, I’m not sure she fully accepted that until today.”

Gibrillont returns with their drinks and supper before Seishin can respond.

“Thank you for bringing us here, Haurchefant.” He extends his hand and the heavy glass mugs clank together. “Thank you for taking us in. Styrnrael, the Scions, and I would be beside ourselves without you.”

“My family and I were happy to do so! Though truth be told, I was not sure how Artoirel would feel.” Haurchefant, ever a hospitable host, waits for his comrade to begin eating before he takes his first bite of the warm meals before them.

Seishin lets out a hearty laugh, knowing full well what he meant. “I understand completely. My older brother is also overzealous in his endeavor to protect his family.”

“I see even Ishgard’s more beloved sons have taken you in. It was truly a pleasant surprise to see you and Estinien fighting side by side.” They continue to praise each other, delighting in the company and the well-deserved respite.

“I always knew you would be Ishgard’s saviors!” His glorious shout can be heard across the entirety of the Forgotten Knight’s dining room.

Nearby, a machinist and her men glance up from their table at the commotion. She rolls her eyes at the idiots and smirks fiendishly at her comrades. The room is full of joy – for peace is on the horizon.

Their happy exchanges muddle with the commotion of the tavernkeeper moving chairs and sweeping debris. Styrnrael can hear them talking, but they are both too far away to hear. Some memories even the Echo cannot access. Styrnrael notices another Xaela. He glances downward at the child beside him, unamused with the ruckus. He leaves as quietly as he came. Before she can follow him, Styrnrael can hear Haurchefant and Seishin speaking again.  

“Twelve have mercy! Have you told her yet?” Haurchefant inquires, ears perking up at the thought of his friends’ happiness. “I should be glad to see what she says in response. When you linger too long away, I worry what the world asks of you, how you are ever saving the world from the latest calamity.” He rests a hand on Seishin’s. “You are both so precious to me,” His confession stings like a needle to her heart, ever bleeding as she hovers in the Echo. “Your feelings are safe with me, friend. I will keep them close to my heart for as long as I live.”

She wakes up in the night on a tufted settee finding a blanket that was not there when she fell asleep. Styrnrael sits up in the darkness. She feels safe, seeing Seishin and Haurchefant sitting on the floor beside her, both of them fast asleep.

The nightmares of the future dance in her mind. In her dreams, she is running ahead, trying to catch a phantom. Her armor is lead and her sabatons melt into the ground. Her heavy legs will not move. The piercing sound hits her like a drum. The crack of the shield and the splinters flying. The glare of the spear.

“I could not bear to…” His words are the ringing in her ears. She blinks away the sight of his head in her lap. He reaches for her. In the dark, she silently repeats his words.  

She looks away as the Echo tries to show her the light fading again in the dusk of The Vault. She looks away and sees Seishin. He is lost for words. She cannot turn away now, the image is burned in her mind. She steps into the memory and lets the Echo consume her at last.

--

The vision was gone. The present pulled her back. All the colors joined together until there were none. Seishin gently touched her shoulder as she awakened. The Count’s eyes were still fixed on his son’s sources of hope.

“Are you quite alright, Mistress Malqir?” Count Edmont’s voice carried genuine worry. Styrnrael’s emptiness was not the reception he was hoping for, though he did expect it, having seen the Echo sweep his friends away at times. “I know that…” His eyes, the same eyes as his son’s, closed. “I know he meant a lot to you.”

Styrnrael nodded. The embarrassment of riches this shield was, and the memories that were held within it, felt almost too much to the Xaela. No one in the room would have guessed that not weeks ago, she was wont to hide her face beneath a cowl lest she be rejected. For in the light of day, when the snow settled, she at last felt welcomed, as was her hope.

“Were my son here, he would have wished to fight at your side in the battles to come.” His eyebrows knitted together while a somber grin wrinkled his cheeks. “Take care, my friend, and return to us!”

Seishin and Styrnrael smiled, to the Count, and then to each other.

#haurchefant greystone #ffxiv #fanfic #stynrael malqir #seishin fuda #adventuresofatanksprout

[taradiddled]

What I have so far for the Helsa fic, in one chapter. Setting is a brothel in The Southern Isles. Hans is trying to get something done and Elsa is tagging along to make sure he’s telling the truth. All you need to know right now is that Hans has to keep his identity hidden, and Elsa can’t let anyone know she’s in that part of town.

-

Hans looked over the myriad of women, eyes scanning above their heads.

“Where’s Miriam,” he asked no one in particular.

“I’m right here, darlin’,” a throaty voice said from the back. The sea of girls parted at an instant, leaving a narrow path that led all the way down to where a woman was lounging upon a sedan. Though she wore clothing less embellished and colorful than those of the surrounding girls, her dress’s plunging neckline and the rouge on her lips and cheeks marked her as a harlot all the same.

Her eyes and hair were colors dark like coal, but her face, neck, and bust, had been powdered a creamy white. Elsa could make out dimples in the woman’s features as she rose up from her seat, her body lithe and limber like that of a cat.

Hans moved towards the mysterious woman, and, by pure desire to not be left standing alone before a house of harlots, Elsa followed. The woman met her and Hans halfway, though Elsa could not have been there for all the woman seemed to care.

“Hans,” she cooed, standing just a few breath’s distance from the former prince. Around her, the women went back to their business, careful to give the three some space.

Hans was taller than the woman by a head, so when she craned her neck to look up into his features, the creamy expanse of her neck became all the more exposed. She wore a black lace about her neck, from which hung a single pearl pendant, resting just below her throat.

She cast Hans the most suggestive of smiles. “What brings you to me at this early hour?”

Hans, to Elsa’s private surprise, appeared unaffected by the woman’s obvious flirtations. “You saw me just this morning, Miriam.”

“Did I?” Miriam’s lips curved. “Time just seems to drag on without you by my side.” She then did something Elsa didn’t expect: she put her hands on Hans. They framed the sides of Hans’s face, the tips of her painted red nails brushing against the red fuzz of Hans’s sideburns.

The intimacy between Hans and the woman was telling. Elsa suddenly regretted following Hans into the brothel instead of waiting outside like he’d suggested. She might have fled if not for Hans gently taking the woman’s hands into his own and removing them from his features.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Miriam,” he coolly said, letting go of the woman’s hands. “You don’t need to intimidate every person I bring here.”

As if her coquettishness was just a mask, the woman, Miriam, dropped her facade and glared at Hans. The air of vampish intrigue that’d clung to the woman parted, and left standing was a suggestively dressed woman with a sore look.

Elsa realized that she’d been had.

“Have to ruin my fun, don’t ya’, darling?” Miriam huffed, folding her arms beneath the ample rise of her breasts. “You know I seldom get the opportunity to properly practice my wiles these days.” Miriam’s move had pushed her cleavage up high, practically flaunting their roundness. Though it might have not been, Elsa felt like Miriam had done this intentionally.

Hans sighed, as if Miriam’s dramatics were mere routine. “I’m sure Mr. Carthright greatly appreciates your pains,” he dryly noted.

Miriam scoffed and rolled her eyes. “In his withered age, the old bird hardly notices my breasts slipping when I bend over. Doubt the buzzard would ever appreciate the hundreds of willin’ culls I’ve turned away.” She then finally took notice of Elsa. Her arms fell to her sides as she turned towards the cloaked queen.

“And what urchin have you rescued off the streets today?”

Though she knew the woman was purposefully attempting to rile her ire, Elsa couldn’t help but dislike Miriam.

Hans must have sensed Elsa’s rising ire, because he inserted an arm between the two women. “Not here,” he told Miriam with a lower voice. “Somewhere else.”

Miriam gave Elsa one last look, this time one of intrigue, before letting loose a resigned sigh. “Very well,” she said, turning around. “Follow me.” She headed over to a door just a few feet away from where they stood, and opened it, out into a hallway. She stood at the door for just a second, gesturing for Hans and Elsa to follow, and then disappeared down the hall.

Hans started towards the door, looking back once at Elsa to say, “Come on,” and then disappeared after Miriam. With little choice but to follow, Elsa entered the hallway, careful to shut the door behind her.

The hallway was rather mundane compared to the room Elsa had exited. Where the brothel’s entryway had been lavish and decorated, the hall was a faded blue with paper starting to peel, and walls bare save for the few paintings of erotic nature. At the end of the hall was a flight of stairs.

Hans stood at the landing. Though Elsa couldn’t see his features being so far away, she could tell he was getting impatient.

“We don’t have time to stop and stare, Your Majesty,” he stated curtly.

The ire Elsa had felt earlier returned. “Forgive me for being cautious, Your Highness.” If he could use formality against her, then so could she against him.

Hans’s momentary twitch was all Elsa needed to see to know she’d made her mark. As she approached the stairs, she could see his mouth curling with distaste. She thought he might say something cutting back, but instead he turned his back to her and continued up the stairs, leaving Elsa to take a brief moment of victory, before she followed after. But any smugness Elsa had vanished as she began hearing the tell-tale sounds of creaking beds. She could hear them as she followed Hans up the winding stairs, the noises ranging in pitch and source, as Elsa was lead up two floors, both which Elsa could tell were very much in use.

It’s a brothel, Elsa told herself, frustrated by her delicate sensibilities. These are the sounds a brothel makes. She tried to not grimace as she heard the loud wail of a most enthusiastic harlot.

“Yes, my filthy sailor, yes! Give me all of your massive trout!”

Elsa couldn’t keep her cheeks from coloring as she hurried up the stairs, falling into step right beside Hans. Any hope she’d had that he’d not noticed her discomfort slipped away as he released a puff of a chuckle.

“Something startle you, Your Majesty?”

Elsa refused to give him any satisfaction. She said nothing.

That did not deter Hans. “Forgive me for asking such a silly question, Your Majesty. I forget that you’ve not ever had the occasion to encounter such vulgarity.” Though Elsa couldn’t see Hans’s face with his hood pulled up, she knew he was quite smug.

Ice crept along Elsa’s fingertips. The hand she was using to hold her cloak together tightened into a steadily chilling fist.

“Goodness,” Hans said as they stepped off onto the third floor. “Miriam must be conserving the firewood again. I thought I felt a brief chill.”

Elsa pushed past Hans, keeping her head low. “You’re imagining things.” She refused to let Hans see the red of her cheeks.

“If the two of you are finished with your squabblin'…” Miriam stood at the end of the hallway next to an open door. She had a most unimpressed look to her features, her hands on her hips, and arms akimbo.

Elsa hurried her steps, keeping her head low as she passed by Miriam, not wanting the woman to see Elsa’s embarrassment from being caught. Meanwhile, Hans, the insufferable lout, was able to brush past Miriam, his smirk still very much in place. Miriam shook her head at the two’s antics before she entered the room herself, closing the door behind her.

“We’ll have privacy in here,” Miriam stated, walking past Elsa and Hans. “The girls know to not bring any culls by my office.”

If it weren’t for its location being in a brothel, Elsa might have thought she was in one of her councilor’s offices in Arendelle. It was mundane in its furnishing, with four bookshelves, a couple cabinets, three chairs, and a desk behind which the third chair sat. There were papers on the desk’s surface, separated into three piles, with paper-weights resting on top to keep them in place. A bottle of ink sat close by, a quill sticking out of its top, feathered and ready to be of use.

-

that’s as far as you get for now

#Helsa #Frozen #nsfw? #prince hans #fanfiction

[polyamorousmisanthrope]

Duck Patrol

Virginia strapped her helmet under her chin, nodded firmly to Anjali and mounted her red bike.  As she sped down the hill, her braid slapped annoyingly against her back in the wind.  The asphalt under her tires sounded like excitement, adventure and breaking the rules.

Virginia was happy to be breaking the rules.  Second grade was over.  She was going to be in the chess club when school started again.  She was eight. She was almost a grown-up.  The rules were for babies.

As the hill tapered off to flat ground, she turned her bike to the right – towards the tall yellow flowers in bloom along a path, and towards…

The Pond.

“Virginia, we’re not supposed to go there without a grown-up,” Anjali protested, skidding her bike to a neat stop and planting her bright green high-topped tennis shoe on the ground as if she were drawing a line in the asphalt.  She took off her helmet, hung it on the bike’s handlebars, and screwed her fists into her hips with a scowl.

Virginia rolled her eyes. “You know why?”

“It could be dangerous,” Anjali replied, mimicking Virginia’s tone and eye roll.  “Come on, let’s go back up the hill.  If your mom catches us down here, you know she’ll take your bike away for a whole week! Then we have to walk to swim team.  Stop being a moron.”

Virginia, listening to the swim team argument, almost turned her bike.  But at the word “moron” headed resolutely right again to the pond.  With calculated contempt, she snapped into the wind, “Go back and tell on me if you want to.”

“I’m not a snitch,” Anjali growled and followed her friend.

Virginia parked her bike at the foot of the broad path off the road and stood with firm resolution on the pebbly beach.  The pond, a small lake really, spread out before her reflecting the early summer sun. With a tendency to over warm water and algae growth, it was not an attractive swimming hole, but the occasional fisherman would take a small boat out to attempt to catch its unrewarding trout.  The town boasted better beaches on the riverside, but they were too far for Virginia to reach by bike.  

Looking to her left, she took a careful scan of the surface of the pond.  It was early summer, the best time of the year for the pond. Trees grew right up to the shores, digging their roots in and leaning over the surface.  Cattails grew along the shore – home to the tadpoles slowly losing their tails and turning into frogs.  She heard a duck quacking and slid her eyes over the surface with a smile. She liked ducks.  They could be loud and aggressive when they were annoyed. She loved that.

But that duck by the drainage outlet…

Virginia frowned and squinted closer at the bird quacking frantically.  “Anjali?”

Her friend stepped down from her bike, propped it carefully against a tree and joined her friend. “Yeah?”

“See that duck?”

“Yeah?”

“He really seems upset.”  Virginia chewed her lip.

“She,” corrected Anjali. “That’s a mallard and the head isn’t green.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” Virginia murmured and took Anjali’s arm.  “She’s really upset, though.  See how she’s quacking at that water flowing over the concrete there?”

The girls locked eyes.

“It’s her babies, isn’t it?” Virginia finally said with a resigned sigh.

“Yeah,” Anjali said quietly, then swallowed.  “We can go over there by the road and look without getting in the water.”

Virginia gave a short nod and edged along the shore, holding on to trees and branches as it got steeper, they made their careful way to the frantic duck. A scrambling sound and an annoyed hiss from Anjali told Virginia that her friend had slipped and planted a foot in the thick mud by the shore.  Virginia stopped but did not turn around.  Anjali pushed a small palm gently against Virginia’s shoulder, encouraging her to continue.  

When they got near to the shore where the duck swam in circles, quacking even more frantically, their hearts sank.  

Five fluffy yellow ducklings paddled in a circle in the culvert.  From time to time, one of them would flap its wings in a futile attempt to get over the concrete wall and back to the Mama duck in the pond.  Two of them had stopped quacking.

“Can you see any way to get them out without getting in the water?”  Anjali asked with a deep sigh. “If we get wet, we’re going to have to tell where we were.”

“I know,” Virginia said quietly.  “I’ll get in. You go on back.  I’ll tell our parents you told me not to go to the pond.”

Anjali shook her head. “No. My shoes are already muddy, and you’re going to need my help.  That concrete is slippery where it’s wet.”

Virginia gave a curt and solemn nod, then edged along the box.  Anjali grabbed a pliable sapling, tugged it firmly to make sure its roots were well-anchored and then extended her hand to Virginia.  The blond girl took her friend’s hand and stepped carefully into the knee-deep water.  The current tugged gently at her knees, and made her unstable as she approached the ducklings.

“I’m going to let go of your hand and hold on to the edge,” Virginia said.  

“Be careful,” Anjali breathed.  “Let me step out there.  I’ll be able to steady you.”

“Okay,” Virginia said and held on to the wet, rough concrete, trying hard not to show how afraid she was.  If she slipped, she did not think Anjali could pull her out.

Anjali eased out onto the ledge and squatted down, then sat with her legs dangling into the box.  The water, only running an inch or so over the ledge, felt weaker than the bath draining.  She swung a leg over and held on tightly with her knees.

“There,” she said happily. “Now I can hang on to your shirt and you can save the ducklings.”

“We can,” Virginia muttered, squatting down to catch a baby duck in her hands.  “I couldn’t do this by myself.”

The fluffy yellow ball didn’t feel sweet or cuddly to Virginia.  While it looked like it should be as soft and warm as a kitten, it wasn’t. It squawked and tried to struggle away from her.  Grateful for Anjali’s firm hand on the back of her t-shirt, she lifted the duckling and frowned.

“If I just put it in the water, it’s going to be swept in again,” Virginia said desperately trying to keep hold of the struggling creature.

“Throw it to the mama,” Anjali said a little breathlessly.  “She’ll be able to help.”

Virginia tossed the baby duck as far as she could, exulting when it not only landed upright, but past the mother duck.  However, Mama Duck rose a little in the air and spread her wings, beating them rapidly

“Hurry!” Anjali said. “She’s getting mad and I don’t think she really understands what we’re doing!”

Virginia braced herself, scooped up the second duck and tossed it to the mother.  However, she threw too quickly and the baby did not land as far out into the water.  The current started to drag it to the culvert when Anjali said, “Hold on!  I’ll get it.”

Virginia took hold of the concrete again, and let Anjali reach for the duckling.  But before Anjali could catch the duckling, it swam away. Overbalanced, Anjali started to tip in to the pond.  Virginia caught her friend’s arm and pulled her back, but slipped, fell and cracked her chin on the culvert edge.  Hanging on with all her might, she felt Anjali tugging at her shirt, keeping her from being swept down as she pulled herself to her feet.

“You’re bleeding,” Anjali said.  “Are you okay?”

Tears flowed out of Virginia’s eyes, but she gritted her teeth and said, “I’m not letting the babies die because of a cut chin.  Come on, let’s finish.”

The pain almost blinded her, but she forced herself to continue gathering the ducklings and tossing them to the mother.  So focused was she that when the last duckling was safely following the mama duck, Virginia turned around to pick up the next one.

“Come on, Virginia,” Anjali said gently.  “We’re done. Let’s go home.”

The trip back to the bikes was awful.  The pain, which was bad while Virginia was saving the ducklings, had gotten worse now that the urgency of the ducks’ predicament was gone. The girl followed Anjali’s lead through the muddy pond shore to their bikes.  Virginia put her head down on the handlebars and cried, not caring about the blood dripping on her new shirt, and blind to anything but wanting to sit down and have someone take care of her.

“Look,” Anjali said gently, pointing out into the lake.

Virginia scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and followed where her friend gestured.  Mama Duck swam contentedly along with five little ducklings trailing behind.

“We did good,” Virginia managed to choke out.

“Yeah,” Anjali replied. “Look, I don’t think that a helmet strap is going to feel very good on that cut.  Let’s just walk home.”

Virginia nodded, following her friend blindly and trying not to cry.  She was so glad the baby ducks were safe and so scared of how mad her mother was going to be when she saw her clothes ruined and both of the girls soaking wet and covered in mud.

Her mother had her laptop in the back yard, her camera connected and writing frantically.  Oh no, Virginia thought. She hates it when I interrupt her writing.

Taking a deep breath, Virginia shouted, “I went to the pond, it was my fault and Anjali and I went in the water because we had to save some baby ducks who were trapped.”

Her mother looked up and all the color drained from her face.  “How did you hurt yourself?”

“I went in that concrete box where the water drains because the baby ducks had fallen in and couldn’t get out,” Virginia said.

“It was my fault, too,” Anjali volunteered.

Instead of scolding, Virginia’s mother slowly closed the top of the laptop and said, “You went in the drainage culvert?”

Virginia nodded. “Anjali kept hold of me so if I slipped, I wouldn’t go under the road.”

“Looks like she needed to,” Virginia’s mother said quietly.  “Does your chin hurt?”

Virginia crumpled. “Yeah. I hit it really hard on the concrete and I couldn’t stop or the baby ducks would die and— “

“Hey,” Virginia’s mother said, still eerily calm.  “You’re okay now.  Let’s get you cleaned up.  Anjali, are you hurt?”

The girl shook her head.

“You go get a shirt and a pair of shorts from Virginia’s room, then go ahead and take a bath in the blue bathroom.”

Virginia stood still as her mother disinfected the wound and let her pick out a Band-Aid.  Instead of a cartoon one, though, Virginia chose a plain Band-Aid with no pictures.

“So, how long are you going to take my bike away?” Virginia asked as her mother put her shirt in the sink to soak out the blood.  

“That depends,” her mother said.  “Do you understand why I wanted you to stay away from the pond?”

“But the baby ducks might have died if I hadn’t been there,” Virginia protested.

“I know, honey.   But you’re worth more to me than a million baby ducks,” her mother said.  “You did slip and if Anjali hadn’t been strong and fast, you might have been swept out and drowned.”

Virginia nodded miserably. “So what was right?  Just to let the ducklings die?”

Her mother looked uncomfortable.  “Sometimes deciding what’s right isn’t easy.  But can I have a promise from you?”

“What?”

“The next time you run across something like that, could you come to me, first?  Baby, those ducklings would certainly have survived you coming back home, and I wouldn’t have let them die.  Will you do that?”

Virginia nodded.

“Will you stay within the boundaries I set for you this summer?”

Virginia nodded again.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay.  Then I am not going to take your bike this time.  But you do that again and I’ll— “

“Come down on me like a ton of bricks?” Virginia ventured.

“Two tons,” her mother said. “Count on it.”

In spite of the hug, Virginia did.

[lady-o-ren]

Bad Luck Follows

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four

A/N: This chapter is long and I swear the keep reading feature doesnt work whenever I try to use it so here’s the ao3 link ( X )

Chapter Five

The room at the top of the stairs was still and quiet where the only disturbances were wisps of grey smoke from a dying fire that weaved through the air and the dimming light of an oil lamp beside an open book left unread.

Jamie had taken to reading the bible every morning the way his father, Brian had done. Words of wisdom had fortified him through every trial that crossed the threshold of their home, guided him to care for his family the way the Lord saw fit and gave him the strength to continue onwards to a new day despite the pieces of his heart loss to in the depths of the earth. Again and crushingly again. Jamie had taken solace in the weathered pages of scripture himself, hoping that it would instill in him the ways to be like his father.

But today, this morning, once again, Jamie's thoughts turned not to his duties, but to a woman. A Sassenach.

The sense of need to have Claire's touch upon him baffled Jamie and thrilled him all at once. They were sparks of a feeling he had felt when he first saw Claire, an unearthly thing walking towards him from stories of old through the green bush and trees that split the grim sky with sun. Jamie had felt a flutter of warmth from somewhere unknown deep inside at the sight of her, but then -

Then he was nearly impaled by her just moments after meeting and Jamie realized it was trouble of bodily harm his body was warning him of. At least that's what he had told himself through the pain and humiliation at her feet.

Jamie passed his palms over his face, straight through his hair in raked dishevelment, with a throaty groan that bellowed loudly from his mouth. What was the use of mulling over a daft Sassenach, anyhow?

He closed the good book and walked over to the vanity, taking stock of his features and finding himself agreeable, Jamie headed for below wanting to fill his stomach rather than his head of anymore nonsense. He trampled down the stairs three steps at a time, making a racket with each landing as he swerved towards the enticingly sweet aromas from the kitchen making his stomach, already twisting with hunger, roar in anticipation of a hearty meal to start his day.

There was Jenny - only a week since their reconciliation and ever-present now but still a surprise so early in the morning - in her dark green homespun and stirring a pot of parritch with Mrs. Fitz close beside her, tasting the thick concoction. With their backs to him Jamie began devising a plan on how best to snatch a piece of bannocks - sitting on the table tempting him to thievery - when the older woman voiced her awareness of his presence.

"Jamie lad, ye wouldna be eye'n those bannocks now would ye?"

"Never in life, Mrs. Fitz." Jamie walked to the sweet statured woman and gave her a lofty kiss on the cheek and then another to the top of his sister's head of smooth black hair done up in twirl of bun that smelled of roses like their mother.

"Just came to see if you ladies needed assistance." They huffed at that but Mrs. Fitz gave Jamie a nod to stuff his mouth with a single helping of bread, but not to test his luck or her good nature with a second.

"Brought ye some jars of honey there on the table - a good batch too. The bees have been gorgin' 'emselves on lavender and wild flowers makin' that honey there taste like beauty itself. "The jar was already in Jamie's hand, the cloth lining acing as a lid set aside with bread ready for dipping when Jenny piped up from her place at the stove.

"Where did yer granddaughter get to, Mrs. Fitz?" Jamie's hand froze midair as he looked over at Jenny whose back was innocently turned away from him, surely over stirring the porridge to a paste.

"My Laoghaire surprised me this mornin'." Mrs. Fitz informed Jamie when she saw his confused face. "Said she wanted to bring me a bit o' sunshine." She then pointed to the large bundle of bright colored flowers gracing the windowsill. "I'll fetch her to say her regards. Lass is probably oot the door seein' to yer beasties she's sae fond of."

"No ye dinna have to -" Jamie stammered out but the older woman was already out the back door in a sweep of her voluminous skirts and a hand to her mouth with a holler carried into the air.

"Did ye ask the lass to come?" Jamie casually asked while wiping his hands of crumbs along his breeks. He didn't want to have this conversation, one where the Fraser temperament could brew quick to a boil between the two of them.

"No, just a warning to ye braithair. But my opinion of her is the same." Jenny said with the same strive for calm as Jamie while turning his way. "Laoghaire thinks the world of ye, Jamie. Wants to make ye a home, give ye children, be a wife for ye.Yers. Don't ye want that?" Jenny reached for her brother, truly wanting to know what it was he wanted if not a wife.

"Jenny, ye ken what a woman says to her ardent lover, or in this case his sister, should be written in wind and running water." Jamie recited a verse from his youth hoping to elicit a laugh from Jenny and end the discussion. Instead he only provoked her, her nails digging deep in his arm causing him to jerk in her grasp with an, Ifrinn, passed through his teeth.

"Aye, make jokes Jamie. Ye won't listen to me ye'd rather be off rolling in the heather with the Sassenach wouldn't ye?" Jamie tensed under her hands.

“Are ye accusing me of taking Claire to bed, Janet?” Jamie's gaze flashed a disturbance that darkened the blue of his eyes and what Jenny couldn't believe was that it was over the Sassenach.

“Claire now is it?"Jenny eyed her brother sharply. "Ye ken what folk say about her, Jamie? About the two of ye?" Jamie tried to move away from her, not wanting to hear anymore, but his sister was latched on tight, slight as she was.

"I kept quiet when ye brought her here, the woman being a fine healer and all, but lately brathair, yer heids been in the clouds. Ye used to avoid the lass and now from what I hear ye've taken to going to her home at all hours of the day."Jenny spoke accusingly. "I dinna ken if yer doing this to spite me or if my clotheid of a brother has lost his heart to a Sassenach."

Jamie stayed quiet for a moment, his features hooded from inquiry no matter the penetrative stare that sought to see the truth in his eyes.

“She's a widow who needs help from time to time with me the only one to provide and whenever I leave her presence it's with half the hair I started wi' if I'm lucky. Say what ye want about me, ye do often enough, but don't go tarnishing a good woman's reputation, Janet based on gossip. She hasna earned yer scorn only yer respect."

Jenny let out a sigh of resignation, a long winded one too since Jamie didn't address her last comment.

"I apologize to ye, brathair. Ye have enough on yer shoulders and now I'm only adding to it."

Jamie gave his sister a gentle shake of her shoulders. "Ye are as any sister brings. But trust me to know my own heart and to respect my choices. I'm fine as I am without need for a wife."

Needing one last jab as sisters do, Jenny's lips curled up into an impish grin. “Weel, tell that to Grannie MacNab. She's been eyen' ye since ye turned sixteen.”

"Grannie McNabb changed my nappies." Jamie grimaced with a shudder but happy her mood had shifted to teasing him.

"Aye, so she has first call on ye." Jenny replied back with a laugh that only intensified as her brother pinched at her.

Then from the doorway Mrs. Fitz popped her head in with a call. "The stramash done wi' then, dearies?"

_____

As Jamie walked outside his lungs filled not with the fresh morning breeze of pine and grass but with the unmistakable stench of shit.

"Ifrinn!"

Repulsed by whatever creature tainted his doorway, Jamie bent over to check his boots of excrement when he heard someone clear their throat.

Jamie looked up to see the young lass with smooth moonbeam hair and rosy cheeks beaming at him with want and expectation that reached her pale blue gaze directed solely at him. He gulped nervously at the attention.

“Good mornin' to ye, Jamie.” Laoghaire chirped, interrupting thoughts of brotherly vengeance. She was surrounded by two slop mouthed heathens disguised as dogs, Elphin and Bran, that were pawing at her and inhibiting her from walking more then a few steps.

"Sheas, mo lùghdaich!" Jamie commanded and the two hounds settled down but stayed at her skirts with tails whipping madly in anticipation of a treat.

"It's fine, Jamie. My own fault for feeding them sweeties." Laoghaire patted their heads affectionately leaving them to whine at not being rewarded with food. "I was just on my way back home, mam will get fashed thinkin' I've been dragged away by redcoats." She took a step closer to him nearly tripping over the dogs. "Would ye walk wi' me Jamie, to see me safe?" Laoghaire asked shyly.

While there had only been a few occasions for the patrol to pass on Jamie's lands and even then only on the outskirts, he wasn't willing to risk the young girls safety for the inconvenience of it.

“Aye, if I must," he replied reluctantly. "I'm the reason ye came, I wont be the reason for any damage to come yer way.” Laoghaire felt her cheeks stain an ugly shade of red that he had seen through her carefully laid plan and simply nodded her head, chewing her lower lip, in thanks.

____

It was uneasy walking with Laoghaire. She would sneak looks at Jamie, opening her mouth to speak only to falter that had her looking like a gaping trout and she was fiddling with her fingers, twisting them to the point that Jamie was sure they'd snap off. So to ease the awkwardness Jamie brought up conversation of the animals that she was so fond of. He recalled when they were younger how Laoghaire tried to hide a rabbit in her bonnet, becoming frustrated when the wee thing tried to escape.

"I'd never seen someone get so angry wi' such a wee fluff. You nearly smothered the puir thing to death." Jamie was howling loudly that choked harshly in his throat when he saw her face downcast in sadness. Laoghaire kindly reminded him that she was hiding the rabbit from her father's blade and had been desperate to save the animal she had grown so fond of. Jamie laid a hand to her shoulder with a gentle squeeze and apologised for his thoughtless remark. Laoghaire glanced at his hand, innocent in gesture but lingering enough to encourage a warmth to spread across her being, she had barely brushed her finger tips against his knuckles, rough and dusted with copper, when he pulled away.

Flustered with a hitch in her voice, Laoghaire asked if Jamie remembered how he hid the rabbit in his father's barn for her, where the animal nibbled at the hay and stolen carrots from his mother's garden. Jamie screwed his brows trying to capture the image that was nothing but a wispy haze of Laoghaire's puffed cheeks and the thumping legs of the rabbit trying to break free from her embrace. She pressed Jamie further, reminding him how he wiped her tears away with the corners of his sleeve, giving his oath of protection as future laird to the little soul that nuzzled at their hands.

Jamie shook his head, the memory lost to him.

He quickly spoke of their common interest in horses, finding safe ground to talk one another without fear. Once she had calmed Jamie found Laoghaire to be pleasant and discovered she had a mind outside of her interest in him that held a keen eye for farmlife. He began to see why his sister was convinced she would do him well.

Jamie could almost imagine the life that was beginning to paint itself before him. A caring wife who would tend to his every need with a kiss in the morning and whatever he pleased at night. Where conversation would revolve around pleasantries and horses...dogs…

Yes, Laoghaire was likable, more then Jamie thought she would be, but that was the extent of his feelings. Not like the bewilderment of emotions causing him havoc of late that Jamie had belittled and wished would pass. But his walk with Laoghaire made him realize he had to see Claire, to get himself sorted of whatever she had awakened in him that was fast becoming an affliction.

They came upon her home, a tidy wee thing, when Laoghaire asked, while threading her fingers through her hair that danced lovely on the wind, "Would ye like to come in?"

"No' today lass, there's something that needs my attention that I must see to."

"Maybe I could help ye." She timidly layed her hand on his arm feeling the strong breadth of him that tensed beneath her touch. Her smile was hopeful, pleading.

Puir lass. Jamie thought as he gave her hand a soft tap before removing it. "Tis no concern of yers but thank ye for the walk it did me some good." His word of gratitude sent Laoghaire's heart soaring as if he called her a beauty he could not live without. But as they said their goodbyes, Laoghaire watched the man she had dreamed of calling hers walk towards the thicket of trees where there was only a single path with one destination at it's end. The flicker in her heart, that surged with love burned to ash that scattered to blacken her sky.

_____

Jamie came to the clearing where Claire's little cottage stood, with a roof that tilted slightly to one side no matter how many times he took his hammer to it. Smoke from the chimney signaled she was home and Jamie found himself quickening his stride in anticipation of seeing her hawkeyes that could all at once cut a man down to his shins and whisk him to the highest peaks with joy.

He wondered how her gaze would fall on him now. More often than not it held an annoyance and amusement at his own expense and a smugness that knew no bounds, chin proudly held high. Though the last Jamie saw her, a genuine kindness had enveloped Claire's features, softened her in a way that had never been extended to him.

Jamie wondered if those eyes would reflect the look his own shone now. A curious eagerness to know a person in all ways.

"I've been bewitched and I don't half mind." The realization and acceptance was oddly soothing to him.

Before Jamie could knock on the door he could hear her voice beyond carried in the breeze, following it he found Claire on her knees in the dirt with a small pile of uprooted plants in a basket at her side. If they were weeds or the wee bit of greens she was accustomed to eating (like a coo? Jamie had questioned once before and received his first blithering arse if memory served him right.) he did not know. What caught his attention however, was the fact that Claire was having a conversation with her greenery and verra cross with them by the sound of it.

“Oh, you filthy little beasts feeding on poor Tom," Claire hissed as she took her hand shovel to the slugs, ending their feast in the most satisfactory way judging by the extra swivel of the wrist she gave to the slimy pests.

Well, if his mind was truly gone he'd be in good company.

Jamie leaned forward against the wooden fence that he himself had put up, careful of splinters that still gave his fingertips a stinging twinge.

"Ye give yer bitty greens names, Sassenach?" Jamie asked, causing Claire to let out a yelp and snap the stalk of her plant in half.

"Did ye just murder poor Tom?" Jamie was in pure enjoyment. Too much, Claire noted with a deepening scowl once she turned to see his face shining with delight.

"It's Tormentil you sneak and he has a fleet of brothers and sisters to mourn him because of you." Claire tossed the mangled plant directly at his idiotic grin that he dodged with a tilt of his head.

"If that's the case I offer my apologies to the late Mr. Tormentil." Jamie then gave a courtly bow to the deceased at his boots and despite herself, much to her amusement as she hid whatever was blooming at her lips with a roll of her eyes.

"You are an arse." She stood, dusting the dirt off her skirts.

"Arse is it?" Jamie lifted a ruddy brow with a smile still tugging at the corners. "I thought ye regarded me as yer friend?"

"Which I'm now sorely regretting." Claire crossed over to the other side of the fence, basket in hand, while surveying Jamie's person. His demeanor was usually that of a brooding mule whenever he found himself within range of her. Now however, there was a lightness of spirit about him that smoothed the lines of strain etched in the skin across his face. He looked almost happy here with her. But, Claire reminded herself, there was only ever one reason that Jamie would choose to seek her out.

"What brings you here anyway?" She put a finger to her chin, tapping it in mock contemplation. "Did Donas finally kick you in the rear?" Claire leaned over to see the appendage in question only for Jamie to sidestep himself from her wandering eyes into the railings.

“My arse is fine. For now." Claire's eyes narrowed at Jamie's emphasis and wondered how much more weight the fence needed before giving out.

"I just came by to risk it and thank ye for yer guidance. I spoke to my sister and - weel, I'm verra happy and indebted to ye, Sassenach."

"That's wonderful!" Claire beamed, reaching for his forearm before a hasty retreat to the back of her nape. “I'm happy for you, truly so. But you don't owe me a thing, I'm only glad that I didn't overstep my place."

Eyes pinned at her hand in admitted regret for lost of touch Jamie replied with a shake of his head. "Nay, for once yer opinion was welcomed. Even with Laoghaire in a way."

"Laoghaire? Did she give up one you then?" Claire asked, mildly curious .

"No' exactly. She came to me just this morning and I walked her home. Twas pleasant." A lopsided grin formed as to why it was so. "I used to think she was empty heided when I was a lad but there's more to her than I gave her credit for."

"Do you plan on announcing the engagement on quarter day then, Mr. Fraser?" Claire asked, her tone sharp when she had meant for a tease that caused a puzzlement at Jamie's countenance.

"No, I don't." He stated firmly and more so as he continued. "And call me Jamie. Ye did the other day and I found it verra fine.”

With a smile shy, that Jamie didn't know she was capable of she did. "Alright, Jamie then." Saying his name aloud gave them both a pleasant shiver. "I suppose I should reciprocate and have you call me Claire.”

“I thought ye liked Sassenach."

"Not always. Some here spit it like the insult it is." Seeing Jamie's expression to press her for names she added only a few. "But I don't mind it from you. It's what you called me from the first."

"Och, you were always a Sassenach to me, accent or no."

And that was the truth as Jamie recalled that day of shoveling hay, how at first sight of her the cloak she wore had been dirtied at the hem, her dress of heather fraying at the edges and her only bag, a scanty thing worse for wear. Even her hair of richly earth was a mads of frazzled curls pulled loose in a bun to match her state. Yet it had laid like a fairy crown atop her head, with the tendrils framing her face like ivory, fine and smooth, and Jamie couldn't quite focus when she reached him from her realm of trees and asked his name.

Her voice was serious, with eyes weary. She had obviously been on her feet for some time and had no time for idleness. Made more clearer by the hand at her waist, the the line of lips. Jamie had given his name with a bow of service to her needs.

Her whole being relaxed in relief that spread to every point of her in happiness, in a smile wide in radiance and James Fraser felt as if she had kissed him on the spot.

“I have been in search of you, Mr. Fraser. I hear you are in need of someone with my talents.” Claire pressed forward a hand out to him, a gesture he found odd for a woman that only suited get more.

“Have ye now, Sassenach?" And then Jamie remembered how he closed the gap between them and when his footing had taken a slip, hidden slickness under the hay…

"Next I find myself on the ground covered in mud wi' a broken foot and you hovering above me calling me a clumsy oof." Jamie tapped the tip of his foot to the ground, wincing at the memory.

“You're still an oof if you blame me for your clumsiness and it was a mild strain you child.” Claire circled her eyes in a scoff for a second time with him and if they kept on she was sure to near the record of an eyesore five.

"If I recall right ye tried to gut me too."

Claire was now at the spinning round of three as Jamie poked his middle in a stabbing motion.

"I was trying to help you!"

"With a pitchfork?!"

Claire had grabbed the pitchfork that he was holding on to as he was falling to help him balance but the pronged ends had spun around to face him and... well...at least she missed.

Claire gave him a sheepish look coupled with a shrug, as Jamie gave in to a slight chuckle at the moment that sealed their fate of ill luck with one another.

"You looked like a piglet you know, head to toe covered in filth." Claire tipped her basket at his leg and he gave it a gentle knee back to her.

"Did I? Fit for the pin I s'pose."

"You'd be in good company with your sow unless she tried to nip you again and -" Further words died in the air as realization hit her.

“Again? What do ye mean..?” Slowly Claire felt herself flushing red from face to neck that grew to a purple, followed by the most joyous laughter she hadn't felt in ages. Jamie's nostrils flared, his own shade matching hers for an entirely different reason.

“Was it Rabbie?" Jamie asked, knowing the answer already despite Claire's denial of him doing so. But who else had a mouth that never ceased to close.

That lad!

"Well dinna get too smug, Sassenach, he had an awful lot to say 'bout ye.” Jamie warned in increasing irritation.

"Like what?" The words came out in squeaks as Claire tried to compose herself. She was completely unconvinced of his threat.

Jamie racked his brain, searching for fault that he hadn't already thrown her way. The worst Rabbie had ever revealed to him was how Claire had a habit of humming to herself, something about the sea he had said. Jamie was left to answer with the only dirt he had on her.

"Nothin' so fair daft as you carrying on with yer Mr. Tom."

But he should of known better than to insult a gardners plants that were equal to flesh.

Claire went for a swipe at Jamie's head with her basket, along with the contents of prickly plants and a single turnip that distracted his vision (particularly the turnip). So she swung back again swearing better aim, only to be caught by her slight wrist high in the air, the basket falling from her grasp and her tumbling straight to Jamie's chest. Hard lines of taut muscle pressed against the soft curves of her breast and hips with every heaving breath that brushed against their faces, mere inches apart.

Claire willed her body to pull away but defiant it stayed as his did to hers, so with a voice faint and high she barely managed a weakly plea.

“Mr. Fraser -”

“Jamie." He reminded in so low a timbre that carried across Claire's skin to glow a rosy hue. Jamie reached tentatively for her face, his fingertips grazing her neck as he thumbed away a smudge at her chin that tugged at her lips, parted just as his. It trailed up to rest at her cheek where he looked rather fondly at her.

"Did ye always have freckles, Sassenach?" But more than that Jamie noticed the fine arch of her brow, how her eyes had flecks of captured sun in them, and how the blush that warmed his palm was now mirrored in the curve of her breasts.

"No, they were licked on by a coo." Claire meant to mock Jamie's accent, a sure way she thought to break whatever tangled them together, but his eyes continued to dart over her features, as her own did the same. To every small nick she had never noticed before, to the stray leafs caught in those fiery locks where underneath laid the bloom of a bump and then the color of his eyes bluer then any wonder she had ever seen that brewed such a sudden tenderness that was Claire's final undoing.

Claire pushed away, her mind snapping back to where the sky above was grey even as her heart was still beating to a maddening hymn. Looking down she saw why as their hands were still intwined, gently enough for her to sever, gently enough that she was strangely hesitant to do so.

"Will ye come to Lallybroch for tea, Sassenach?" The voice that interrupted her thoughts was strained as if he hadn't spoken for centuries but the earnest intent was clear to her.

"Why?" Claire asked breaking the contact fully now as she wrapped her arms around her middle.

"Friends speak to one another 'bout their days joys and grievances." Jamie answered perplexed. He had been encouraged by her reaction to him but now..

"What if I don't want to share a thing?" She pressed.

"Then come to tea anyways where I'll do all the talking. I shall regale ye of all the Scottish tales yer English upbringing is lacking."

"And where do we go from there?"

"If ye find me agreeable then maybe ye can invite me for a walk to forage for yer wee herbs where you can judge my intelligence. I suspect ye'd like that greatly, Sassenach." She bit her lip, trying to contain the crack of a smile that he spurred which only encouraged Jamie to give her more honesty.

"I would like to know you, Claire Beauchamp and I'd like for ye to know me as well."

"What if I'm not ready for tea today or even in a week?"

"Then I will have to do without. I'm a very patient man when properly motivated." The choice was hers to make. To press the friendship that she herself had given name to forward. But a deep rooted doubt that had plagued her mind since what seemed like always took hold like weeds, numerous and unrelenting, reminding her of what had always been her downfall.

"I take no offense if ye rather not, Claire." Jamie said as he observed the shade of doubt cripple her face. "Dinna feel I'm forcing ye as laird to accept."

"I didn't think you were it's just - shouldn't it be storming hail and thunder with you falling in a bush of nettles cursing me to the devil who created me?" She half laughed at the absurdity of her words but to them it was a reality and a common one at that. Even so Claire's hold of her waist slackened as Jamie with the lightest of touches, reached out to hers.

"I've wondered that myself but here we are limbs and all and the only thing at risk is a bit of our pride." He stroked the scar at her open palm with a soft press of his thumb as calloused as it was.

"Lets stop expecting the worse of each other, Claire. The last time we did is still wi' me and is the reason I want to know ye. Besides I already stepped in shit, independent from seeing ye today, maybe our misfortunes are in our past." He attempted what she could only surmise was a wink in the most peculiar of ways that brought the shine back to her face and him feeling a surprising joy at being able to do so.

Claire shook her head, more at herself for the foolishness that was enveloping her and gave Jamie a squeeze of palm in decision.

"You are a most ridiculous man, James Fraser. Yes, I will have tea with you."

--------

A/N: What a woman says to her ardent lover should be written in wind and running water, is a line from a movie I love that ended up being from Cattalus. So a happy accident here.

And....

Outlander at the stroke of midnight!!!

I wish to all of you well lit scenes (any damn scene) and unproblamtic storylines (a girl can dream) and for everyone to have a scene of their ship of choice that makes their heart race.(We all deserve it!)

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #blf

[trulycertain]

Ah crikey, now I’ve remembered, some Deus Ex stuff I wrote for the Multifandom Tropefest:

The Part

Adam/Miller, 6k, T. It's just one night of undercover. A black-market aug auction. Nothing will go wrong. No-one's pining. Right?

A gift for @masutrout, for the prompt “Undercover as bodyguard AU.” With a side of inhibition-destroying drugs, scumbag Brits, aug politics, Adam and Jim both getting pissed off about Adam’s dehumanisation, and stuff about the Australian civil war.

“Does he talk, or do you just pay him to stand and glare?”

Jim keeps his gaze level, smiles a little. He doesn’t look over his shoulder, to the corner of the ballroom. To Adam, who’ll be leaning against a wall like a particularly humourless shadow and probably watching all this, face impassive under the shades. “He’s a guard, not a guest.”

Their host is Scottish, but somehow still manages to be the smarmy kind of Brit. Davison nods. “Hm. Well, I can see why you chose him. He looks the part.” 

there is a saved place

Adam/Eliza, 13k, M. In which Eliza asks Adam to break into her new Picus self, and they go on the run together. And Adam realises he’s accidentally falling in love with a computer. Why can’t his time off ever be easy?

Another one for Trout, using the prompts “On the run together + fake marriage +  transhumanism + strange beauty.”

Her words are calm. Resigned. “They’re looking for me, Adam.”

He’s instantly upright. “’They’?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking - maybe wishful thinking. There’s only ever one they.

“The other Eliza...” She ducks her head, smiles wanly. “We are in many ways very similar. She has found me. What was left of me.”

The was sticks in his mind and frightens him a little. Not her point, though, so he doesn't focus on it. “What do you need me to do?”

Now she really is smiling. It's wide, warm and nothing like the smirk he sees on Picus. He wonders if he’s that predictable. (An attack dog, Belltower sneered, back in the day.) “I’d like to break into a sophisticated AI program. And I’d like you to help me.”

#my fic #deus ex #deus ex mankind divided #adam jensen x jim miller #adam jensen x eliza cassan #adam jensen #jim miller #eliza cassan #why yes #i do like me a rarepair

[multisfabulis]

A Single Ray of Light in a Sea of Darkness

Fateful Meeting (Chapter 1/7)

Word Count: 1856

This is something that had been in the works for over two months until just recently and this is my first multi-chapter fic! Originally, I was going to post the 12K+ word segment as one whole post but I realized that no one would probably read that big of a fic in one sitting so I decided to split it up into chapters. I’m estimating it to be around 8 chapters but it’s bound to change, depending on certain factors.

As one final note, there are characters in this fic that don’t have summaries of them posted and, as of now, will not have those summaries until well after this whole fic is posted. Regardless of that, I hope you enjoy reading this! I will accept any and all criticism you have!

Read on AO3 | Read on DeviantArt

     Eric was certain he was lost when he couldn’t find the path he diverged from. He was curious about that girl he saw entering the forest. Everyone he talked to in Brinegarde said the forest was too dangerous for anyone to go in yet that girl just strolled in without any hesitation. What made him even curiouser was that no one tried to stop her, with some people actively ignoring her if they looked in her direction. Out of the goodness of his heart, he followed after to warn her but ended up in his current situation.

     With night quickly approaching, he had no idea if he’d find his way back in time. He knew Alek would raise hell against the lord of Brinegarde if anything bad happened to him while he was here. Alek was pretty scary when his partner’s safety was at risk, which strengthened Eric’s resolve to get out of the forest of death. As soon as he could find his original path, that is…

     Despite that, however, there was yet another reason he wanted to get out before night fell. Whilst gathering information about Brinegarde’s lord, the townspeople had given him warnings to stay clear of the Vlixeox. He had never heard of such a thing but he believed asking about it to be troublesome, due to everyone’s belief that mentioning it was a sort of taboo. Going on from the little info he had, he assumed the Vlixeox to be a horrific beast that happened to be living in the forest.

     Knowing it to be against his better judgment, he hoped the girl would be okay on her own. As for now, he had to look out for himself. First thing to do would be to find the path he took and follow it back to Brinegarde.

     After about a half hour of trying and failing to find the path, Eric reluctantly resigned himself to his fate. Night had fully arrived and, at around the fifteen-ish minute mark, rain began to pour down. Wondering if today could get any worse, the thunder booming above him confirmed what he thought.

     As an irritated sigh escaped from his mouth, he thought about what to do next. Finding shelter was a good option but who knows how long it’d be when or if he found any. There was also the matter of finding food and water as well. A ball of regret began to settle in his stomach for wanting to help the girl, going so far as to curse his desire to help others in need.

     “I am going to die out here,” he said aloud, trying his best to not let his anxiety overwhelm him.

     Suddenly, as quick as the raindrops fell on him, they stopped. Looking up, he saw solid black matter hovering just above his head, preventing any rain from touching him. Taken aback by this, he dropped to the muddy ground in fear, believing it to be the Vlixeox’s shadow. Unsure of whether or not it noticed him, he chose to scurry away from it instead of letting out a terrified scream.

     Despite his hurried pace, however, it kept following him. His back eventually hit a tree, trapping him between it and the monster. Anticipating an attack, he put his arms up in the hopes of blocking it and potentially protecting himself from some of the damage. With the passage of time came nothing. Slowly opening his eyes, he let his arms down to see his pursuer.

     At the end of the trail of darkness was a girl. The same girl he saw entering the forest from earlier, in fact. The origin of the darkness was unknown but he knew it had to be from her somehow.

     Because of how dark it was, it was hard to discern anything from her, aside from her height and the cloak she wore. She appeared to be considerably shorter than him, almost to that of a child. The cloak was colored a faded gray and full of sloppily stitched holes and tears. Save for two locks of white hair that rested just above her chest, her face was completely concealed by her hood.

     The girl stood still as Eric got up from the sodden ground, using the tree as support. He noticed that the black matter above his head floated above hers as well, protecting them both from the rain. Whatever her intentions were, he didn’t know.

     Taking a step forward, he asked her, “Hey, uh, are you okay?”

     She didn’t answer, continuing to stay where she stood. He continued in a calm voice so as to not make her perceive him as a threat, “Okay, I’m going to try getting closer, all right?”

     As he slowly and carefully approached her, she didn’t move a single inch. The darkness continued to follow him as he lessened the distance between them, making sure not a drop of rain landed on him. She had to be controlling it, though there was no indication of where and how she was doing it from his vantage point.

     Now that they were only a couple feet away, he saw much more of her than previously. She kept the ratty cloak closed, which covered most of her body. The only visible part of her face was her mouth, which revealed her skin to be very pale. He first thought of her as a child but now realized she was around the same age as him.

     “So, do you live in this forest?” he asked. Considering she had no qualms of being in the same forest as the Vlixeox, she had to have been living here. When she didn’t respond, he took her silence as a yes.

     Flashing a nervous smile at her, he asked, “Would you mind taking me to where you stay, then?”

     The girl began walking ahead, prompting him to follow. The storm got worse as they wandered through the forest. Thankfully, the makeshift umbrella didn’t falter, which intrigued him as to how it worked.

    ��They soon arrived at a small alcove situated between two large trees. She pushed aside the crude excuse of a door and beckoned him to come in. Many sticks were inside of one tree hollow while a large amount of berries and nuts were in the other. In the middle sat a homemade firepit, a small gathering of wood meant to serve as kindling with two rocks serving as flint. A roughly made glaive leaned on the edge of one of the tree hollows, which he believed to be her weapon. Seeing all this made it apparent how long she’s lived here. How much time has she spent in this forest, he wondered with a tinge of sadness.

     She picked up one of the rocks and her glaive and knelt beside the firepit. Placing the bladed end of her weapon above the wood, she raised her hand holding the rock and intended to strike it against the blade. Before she could do so, however, he stopped her by grabbing hold of her raised hand.

     “How about I do that? As thanks for letting me stay here tonight,” he suggested. After a moment of pause, she gave him the rock and returned her glaive to its place.

     He took out the dagger he kept at his side and began striking at it with the rock. Although he offered to help, he had actually never built a fire before. Alek was usually the firestarter between them since he could never successfully light a fire during their time on the open road and this was turning out to be no different. Growing frustrated with each failure, he eventually threw the dagger and rock to the ground in exasperation. To their mutual surprise, several sparks landed on the wood and what was once a tiny ember flourished into a reasonably sized fire.

     With a sheepish expression on his face, he said in a joking manner, “Well, whatever works, right?”

     As the fire warmed them up, the girl held two sticks with trout on them above the flames to cook them. When the bottom of them became blackened, she took them away from the fire and handed a stick over to him. Thanking her, he gently grabbed the wooden skewer and started to nibble on the fish. He wasn’t much of a fan for fish but it was better than nothing.

     As she held the cooked trout up to her mouth, she let down her hood and fully revealed her face. She kept her long white hair inside her cloak, her pointed ears poking through the waves, and her face told him she was an elf. However, he was drawn to her violet eyes, something he knew regular elves to not have. He had never seen a half elf with different colored eyes and nothing else, making him rule out that possibility. Then again, he was sheltered from the outside world till recently, so there might’ve been a chance…

     The only remains of dinner were the tails and sticks, which were promptly discarded outside the alcove. They sat in silence, the background noise being the crackling of the fire and the pouring of rain. Under normal circumstances would he be okay with the comforting quiet but he was interested in wanting to know more about his new companion.

     “Would you mind telling me your name, if only so I don’t keep referring to you as that girl,” he asked, chuckling a little. “If it helps, mine’s Eric.”

     The girl appeared to be bewildered by the question. The only indication he had of that was seeing her eyes widen oh so very slightly. If he hadn’t been staring at her, he would’ve easily missed it.

     After a pause, she spoke, her voice low and soft, “Venlithea.”

     “Venlithea… That’s a nice name,” he replied. While he thought it to be an unconventional name for an elf, it suited her.

      After some time had passed, Eric talked to Venlithea about taking him back to Brinegarde in the morning and she agreed to do so. He still needed to do business with Brinegarde’s lord, after all. It probably wouldn’t look good on him for being late to their meeting, thus making a terrible first impression.

     It soon became time to sleep. He took off his cloak and laid on it, turning away from the fire to stare at the bark of the tree hollow. Despite it not being the first time he slept on dirt, a long time had passed since then and so he forgot what it felt like. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, hoping tomorrow’d go better than today.

#airi's writing #ship tag; Light in the Darkness

[willoweverdeen]

AD 2016, Williams Lake, BC, Canada - Willow Everdeen

When I was a kid, I lived on a farm surrounded by rolling green hills dotted with lilac honeysuckles and golden daffodils. A bustling river ran through the valley brimming with small frogs, water-skippers, and rainbow trout. By the river bank, there grew a large willow tree, after which my mom named me. When the weather was pleasant, the leaves on its gentle sloping branches filtered the sunlight, dappling the tall grass beside the shimmering water.

One of my favourite pastimes was running down these tall hills as fast as my small legs could carry me. Inevitably, I would trip on some loose rock or branch and, instead of falling on my hands, I would tuck myself into a ball and roll down the remainder of the slope. Tumbling down the soft grassy terrain filled me with so much happiness that I thought I thought my heart would explode. 

* * *

During a brisk autumn evening, I was engaged in a particularly riveting session of rolling down the hill, when I bashed my knee against a giant branch poking up from the ground.

Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as I cried out in pain. 

Disoriented from the fall and the rapidly descending evening darkness, I started panicking. It was only then that I realized I had wandered quite far from my home, and that the red walls of our stables were no longer visible in the distance.

As I wiped furiously away at my tears and snot, I could not help but feel an immense fear sinking into my mind. Just as resignation began to take hold, I felt a gentle nudge on my palm. 

Looking down, all I could see was a black furry blob that was quite a bit bigger than my nine year old self. Focusing a bit harder, I was able to make out soft brown eyes that glowed faintly under the pale light of the waning moon. The giant dog had such a calming affect on me that I immediately felt safer. To my younger self, it felt as if I recognized the dog from somewhere.

Guided by the dog’s gentle nudges, I eventually found my way back to the winding river. Exhausted by the events of the evening, I shut my heavy eyelids and promptly fell asleep on the riverbank.

The next morning, I was awakened by my mom’s frantic shaking. She was ecstatic to find me but a bit startled by the giant dog that I was snuggled up against. Engulfed in my mom’s warm embrace, I declared enthusiastically that I had just made a new friend called River. Together, the three of us made our way back to our farmhouse, for some much needed breakfast.

* * *

Later that year, as the first snowflakes started drifting down, my mom and I packed up our bags to move into the city. In the back of our pickup, nestled comfortably in her blanket, lay River.

[lawrencedienerthings]

Shifting cultural winds amplify calls to rename Colorado’s peaks, valleys and creeks

#theoldguard📍 🍁 👴

Colorado News

The statues are falling. The old guard is rapidly fading. And the names, they are a-changin’.

As centuries of embedded discrimination erupt in sea-to-plain calls for change, an atlas of geographic locations has appeared in the crosshairs. In Colorado, a host of peaks, valleys, creeks and mesas are poised for renaming as Gov. Jared Polis revives an idled panel tasked with studying renaming requests. 

And those pleas are increasingly urgent as BIPOC Americans — Black, Indigenous and people of color — find their voices finally resonating in a rapidly shifting culture.

Highest on the list — literally — is a call to change the name of Mount Evans, named for Colorado’s second territorial governor who resigned in the aftermath of a cavalry-led massacre of nearly 200 Arapaho and Cheyenne tribal members at Sand Creek in 1864.

Squaw Mountain and Squaw Pass, both in Clear Creek County, are high on the list, too, as are features in Delta County named by Mexican settlers who labeled a mesa and a creek with the Spanish word for the color black, or “negro.”

“There was no ill intent involved, but as time moves on and languages change and adapt, this is the world we live in and I don’t think anyone out here disagreed that it needed to change,” said Delta County Commissioner Don Suppes, whose board used a contest among local high schoolers to choose Clay Creek and Clay Mesa as the new names for the features labeled on U.S. Geological Survey maps. 

Golfers enjoy the sunshine at Devil’s Thumb Golf Course photographed with Negro Mesa in the middle background below the Grand Mesa northeast of Delta. (William Woody, Special to The Colorado Sun)

The USGS’s Board of Geographic Names has about a dozen proposed name changes for Colorado on its most recent action list. The list includes changing Clear Creek County’s Mount Evans to Mount Cheyenne Arapaho and Squaw Mountain to Mount Mistanta, in tribute to the Southern Cheyenne translator also known as Owl Woman, who was a liaison between her tribe and the settlers around Bent’s Fort in La Junta, which was owned by her husband, William Bent. 

The federally proposed name changes include changing Chaffee County’s Chinaman Gulch to Trout Creek Gulch. Jefferson County’s Redskin Creek would become Ute Creek and Redskin Mountain would become Mount Jerome, after Irene Jerome Hood, an influential Victorian-era artist and photographer from nearby Buffalo Creek. Jefferson County’s Cimarron Peak also is suggested for a name change, with a note that “cimarrón” is a Spanish word for untamed and, dating back to the 1500s, it was used in the Caribbean to describe fugitive slaves.

Andrew Cowell, a professor in CU Boulder’s linguistic department, served more than a decade on the Colorado Board of Geographic Names before it dissolved several years ago.  

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The board weighed mostly new names for unnamed peaks, with an emphasis on public safety. 

“If there was an unnamed peak and a lot of people were climbing it, we’d hear from police and rescue teams that it would be good if they could tell emergency crews that someone needed help on the north slope of this particular mountain versus the north slope of some hill,” Colwell said. “We were basically conservative in the sense that we didn’t want to start naming and renaming things until there was a pretty good reason.”

No one during his tenure ever approached the board to change a name that was offensive, he said. The board also followed federal guidelines that prevented new names in wilderness areas. 

But offensive names were changed in other states. Utah and Arizona, for example, changed names of canyons and peaks. A lot of the requests that the Colorado board rejected, Cowell said, were “vanity projects.” As in landowners wanting to name geographic features after themselves or their family. 

Lately he’s been watching the calls to rename Mount Evans and other locations. 

“I feel very sure that if people had come to us with these kinds of questions about Evans or Squaw Mountain, we would have given them serious consideration,” he said, “but no one ever brought them up.” 

Squaw Pass in the Weminuche Wilderness of the San Juan Mountains in Colorado. Squaw Pass is 11,200 feet high and is on the Continental Divide. Squaw Pass is reached by Squaw Creek and overlooks Squaw Lake. Many historic place names in Colorado are being renamed because of a cultural shift that will honor native cultures instead of degrading them as objects. (Dean Krakel, Special to The Colorado Sun)

In the past, residents could make suggestions for name changes to either the state board or the USGS’s Board of Geologic Names. The state board would then consult with locals and local leaders around the peak or valley and make formal recommendations to the federal board that would review the proposed name changes before making official changes to USGS maps. 

Cowell suspects that if there are a number of locations in Colorado that are recommended for a name change, it would happen in batches, not piecemeal. And he hopes that the new board includes a linguist versed in Native American languages. (Polis’ executive order assigns 15 people to the naming advisory board, including two representatives “who have a background in race or ethnic studies” or are from cultural institutions that focus on underrepresented or displaced communities.)    

“If you put a lot of Native American names on locations, and a lot of these locations had Native American names long before the names we know now, you need to make sure they are spelled correctly and translated correctly. It can be insulting when you garble it and mess it up,” said Cowell, who would like to see any renaming board follow established guidelines that clearly outline reasons for changing names. “If this becomes about everyone who did bad things in history, we could end up with no names anywhere.” 

Read more Colorado Sun stories about inspiring Coloradans.

Ernest House, Jr., spent 11 years as the executive director of the Colorado Commission of Indian Affairs, working as a liaison between Colorado’s Southern Ute and Ute Mountain Ute tribes — and 45 other historic plains and mountain tribes in Colorado — and state and federal agencies and lawmakers. A member of the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe who now serves as executive director for the Keystone Policy Center, he fought for a formal state apology for the Sand Creek Massacre and worked with more than 30 of the state’s public schools that use Native American imagery and mascots. 

A commission to study new names for Colorado’s geologic features “is a step in the right direction” of a path he has followed all his life, House said.  He would encourage Polis’ Colorado Geographic Naming Advisory Board to expand its Indigenous representation beyond just one member from the Colorado Commission for Indian Affairs. 

“I appreciate this momentum. This includes an opportunity to consult with tribes and have a longer conversation about what the education behind names changes might look like. If Evans is going to be changed, why do we need that change and what role did he play in Sand Creek?” House said. “It’s so good to see these conversations are going on and there will be a format and process to not only continue this, but also continue the education about why these names need to be changed and what harmful impacts these names can have.”

Still, Indigenous residents of Colorado say the list of bad actors honored with their names on maps is long. Few white explorers in the 1800s treated Native Americans well. 

In 2011, the Crestone community lobbied the U.S. Board of Geographic Names to rename Kit Carson Peak in the Sangre de Cristo range as Mount Crestone. The 10-member board unanimously declined, “citing a reluctance to change a name in longstanding published use, and a concern that by changing the name and adding an additional Crestone name to the area would lead to further confusion.”

A similar community-led effort to rename the Gore Range fell short a few years ago.  

Lord St. George Gore, an Irish aristocrat, visited northwestern Colorado for less than two years in 1855 and 1856 as part of one of the most elaborate hunting campaigns ever orchestrated.

Spires above the Willow Lakes inside the Gore Range near Silverthorne. An effort to change the name of the Gore Range could find traction as momentum to rename geographic locations grows. (Hugh Carey, Special to The Colorado Sun)

With dozens of wagons heavy with men, dogs and supplies, Gore estimated he and his team killed more than 4,000 bison, 1,500 elk, 2,000 deer, 1,500 antelope, 500 bear and hundreds of smaller game animals and birds on his unprecedented sweep through Colorado, Montana, Wyoming and the Dakotas. He was nicknamed “Bloody Gore” for the trail of destruction he left in his wake. He also left his name on Gore Pass near Kremmling, the 60-mile Gore Range stretching across Summit, Eagle, Grand and Routt counties, and Gore Creek, which winds through the Town of Vail. 

“He killed everything in sight. He was just a butcher. The guy did absolutely nothing for Colorado. I’ve never understood why we have such a beautiful mountain range named after him,” said Leon Littlebird, a Summit County musician of Navajo descent who three years ago campaigned in support of stripping Gore’s name from central Colorado’s ragged range. “Nothing ever came of that, though.”

Leon Littlebird, third generation Coloradan, with the Gore Range reflected on his windows Friday, July 10, 2020, at his home in Silverthorne. (Hugh Carey, Special to The Colorado Sun)

There’s an oral history passed down among the Utes that the Gore Range was called the “Shining Mountains,” Littlebird said. 

“That would be a great name for them. In the spring, when the sun is shining on the snow, those peaks do look silver,” he said. “I would love to see the state go to the Ute elders and have them put names on these mountains. What we have now is recent history. The ancient history reflects the people who lived here successfully and prolifically for thousands of years.”

The Gore Range was named after Lord St. George Gore, an Irish aristocrat whose wonton slaughter of wildlife during a three-year hunting expedition through the West lent him the nickname “Bloody Gore.” (Hugh Carey, Special to The Colorado Sun)

The Gore Range is in the middle of Eagles Nest Wilderness and changing the names of peaks in federal wilderness requires an act of Congress. That is rare, but it has happened before. It took more than a decade for a group of Telluride mountaineers to gather support for renaming two 13er peaks in the San Juan Range after San Miguel County climbers Charlie Fowler and Christine Boskoff, who died in an avalanche in the Himalayas in 2006. Fowler and Boskoff peaks were named in 2019 as part of a bill attached to sweeping conservation legislation called the Dingle Act.

Perhaps the most enduring and controversial naming dispute involved the highest mountain in North America. Alaska asked the federal government to change the name of Mount McKinley to Denali in 1975. The prominent peak — visible from all corners of the state’s largest city of Anchorage — was officially named in 1917 when McKinley National Park was formed and named to memorialize President William McKinley, who was assassinated in 1901. 

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Alaskans and climbers referred to the mountain as Denali, as it had been called for centuries by Indigenous Alaskans. The state spent more than 40 years fighting to change the name of the peak, continuing the push even after the park was renamed Denali National Park in 1980. The peak was officially renamed Denali in 2015, stirring outrage among McKinley-celebrating politicos in Ohio, McKinley’s home state. (Presidential candidate Donald Trump in 2015 said he would return the name to McKinley if elected, calling the renaming “a great insult to Ohio.”)

Lake Dillon with the Gore Range in the background seen on Friday, July 10, 2020, near Dillon. (Hugh Carey, Special to The Colorado Sun)

The Colorado Fourteeners Initiative, which works to protect the state’s 14ers with sustainable trail building, has not taken a position on the renaming of peaks. Its board studied the effort to rename Mount Evans last November and decided an opinion on the renaming “was really outside of what we do,” the initiative’s executive director Lloyd Athearn said.

“But I imagine in light of all the issues coming up this year we will be revisiting things,” Athearn said. 

Athearn said that while many peaks and geographic areas across North America were named after white explorers who first visited the areas or climbed the peaks, reports from those explorers often included details of ceremonial structures built atop peaks by Indigenous people. 

“So clearly, if person X was the first person to record climbing it, there was acknowledgment that other people had climbed that mountain and recognized it by another name,” said Athearn, speaking not for the initiative but as a climber working more than 25 years in conservation. “I think we are seeing a crosscurrent that what it was once named might be more appropriate. In the grand history, these mountains predate any level of human activity. They may have been called many things over many eons. What we name it today might not last into the future.”

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Younger post-ep ramble 6x12

So we've reached the end of yet another season of Younger and it seems like it only started 5 mins ago but also the premiere ep feels like 5 months ago and I'm sitting somewhere between denial and not coping because WHAT WAS THAT ENDING??? How are you all holding up? Holy shamole, the season 6 finale, 'Forever' (named because that's how long it's going to feel between this ep and the season 7 premiere), gave us a lot to process.

Picking up the day after the last episode, this week opens with Kelsey letting Liza know that it's her last day at Millennial, which triggers one of my fave scenes of the season as Liza dashes up to Charles' office to intercept Kelsey's 'Dear John' resignation letter before he sees it.  One thing I have always loved about Liza is that despite the entire premise of the show up until this season being Liza's lie, she is so awful at actually lying, which is fab for us because Sutton Foster's comedic genius that comes out of her awkward over-explaining is golden. Charles knows she's lying, Liza knows he knows she's lying, the way Charles says 'I won't report you to HR' after Liza says she's taking the letter back because it's inappropriate almost calls for a fire blanket *fans self*, the entire exchange is SO good and somehow continues to get better when Liza decides to tell Charles that the 'really sexy stuff' is actually in the form of a limerick (I also love that he knows it's not her handwriting, I don't know why, I am simple folk and might be imagining that they leave little notes around for each other...). I want to read that limerick.

Kelsey finally catches up and props to her for even being able to walk let alone run in that amazing pink leather skirt, and she saves Liza from herself by informing Charles that she is in fact resigning and hands over her letter (which I also want to read btw). The delightful dynamic that's been developing between Kelsey and Charles these past few episodes continues as Charles implores her to take a leave, that she's too important and when Kelsey goes to shake his hand, which then turns into a hug and it's sweet and lovely, the way she leans on his arm is so daughterly and emphasises the 'family' theme of the season and seriously, I just wanted to see more of these two working together then this happened and all I was thinking at this point was, why aren't we allowed nice things?

Oh but we are, as I was quickly reminded by Diana Trout in the most incredible purple suit and turquoise accessories combo. Everything about her and this outfit belongs on an aspirational poster. We discover that Liza has deputized Lauren for some maid of honour duties and that about a week has passed since Kelsey left. Diana's strained, 'WE'RE HAPPY' is deceived by her shouting (as well as Lauren pointing out that both Diana and Liza's offices are out of Kleenex, ya know, because of crying and whatnot and p.s. I'm not ok at the thought of Queen Trout office crying), but the expression that flashes across her face oh so briefly when Liza says Kelsey's coming to the wedding is real happiness and relief (have I mentioned this week how amazing Miriam Shor is with her ability to say so much with just a look?). 

I have absolutely adored seeing the relationship between Diana, Liza and Kelsey develop and grow this season, and Diana's reactions to her being able to attend the wedding but not the spa day speaks volumes to the genuine love and friendship they share. 'How can you be so bad at this maid of honour stuff? You're a thousand years old, this can't be your first rodeo'- I'm not even saying anything about that line, I just wanted to put it in my ramble somehow because it is so stellar it needs to be here because Diana giving Liza a hard time about her age now is everything and then some.

While Liza and Diana are heading to the Uncle Joe meeting, Kelsey and Zane are having a meeting of their own in the park. Kelsey reveals that she's branching out on her own and wants to give him her pitch for feedback. Zane offers her some advice, 'don't do it' and also suggests Kelsey check her ego, which in every other season and even the first part of this one I would've been saying 'YESSS, boom!' but now, not so much. But also a little bit. I am still quite confused about this whole dynamic and don't know if I like it or if I care. I liked Kelsey's response, 'with respect, my resume looks different to yours', she seemed very level headed, though it became evident fairly quickly that this conversation was less about work and more about their relationship for Zane. Zane saying she thought stepping down as publisher was her worst moment, he thought she was awesome, he wanted to be there for her was lovely and supportive and the confusion remains, Zane was being sweet but also maybe not? I'm not sure. There is definitely some truth in the fact that Kelsey does tend to play the victim (or has in the past at least). Regardless, Kelsey's expression as she was there on her own on the bench after Zane walked off oozed sadness, someone give that woman a hug.

Meanwhile at Uncle Joe's, aka Enzo's 'small g' godfather (I love the running gag of Enzo reassuring Diana he's not connected to the mafia), Diana, Enzo and Liza are in for a treat as the ice sculpture is revealed (LOL at Liza asking if it's the heart piece and complimenting it only to be told, 'no that's for a dog funeral'). A trout coming out of a toilet is honestly the greatest thing I could never have imagined, it is so literal and enormous and I love that someone actually had to make it and I think we were all Liza as she stated, 'I under-prepared'. Liza has her maid of honour duties cut out for her, but deploys two people who will definitely ensure the Trout/toilet masterpiece will never see the light of day. Maggie buttering up Joe to distract him is way too easy and then Lauren...what are you doing? You don't need to take your underwear off mate, take the pic with the safety of knicker fabric. I legit crossed my legs as the whole thing unfolded. I've gotta hand it to Uncle Joe for so calmly accompanying Lauren to the office to get the first aid kit despite his masterpiece being destroyed.

Before Maggie tackles the ice sculpture we see her once again being the oracle of the show when Kelsey rocks up at the loft looking for Liza (who Maggie says is in Queens and 'said something about Ice Capades, which is so Liza' - of course Liza would love theatrical figure skating). Can we just take a minute to appreciate how goddamn amazing Maggie looks in this episode? Her dress/headband combo in the scene with Kelsey is divine and I am in complete admiration of anyone who sits around at home dressed like that, fully made up and accessorised. If anyone turns up to my place unexpectedly I spend a good couple of minutes shouting 'just a minute' while I run around frantically trying to swap out pyjama pants with, well, not pyjama pants. Actual goddess. Kelsey being humble after a whole lot of tough pitches, 'maybe Zane was right, I let my ego get in the way', really shows the growth this character has had this season, and Maggie peps her with, 'do you still believe in yourself?' before suggesting that, 'sometimes you have to get into bed with the devil'. Turns out there's some kind of excellent story attached to how Maggie got her loft and I do love a tease, would love to see the follow up down the track (WHO did she get into bed with is all I wanna know).

Even though it's fairly obvious who Kelsey is going to get cosy with to try and secure some cashola, as she finishes her pitch (which is pretty darn amazing lbh), the reveal of Quinn at the end of the table is so damn fabulous. KLP Print is definitely up there with the worst names (seems it's true Younger style to intro terrible publishing house names in finales, shoutout to last year's Chick(y) and Kelsey using her initials as the title is so basic when she never is that it's really funny). My love of Quinn is no secret and I have to say, I would have LOVED to see an exploration of those two working together again properly. Fortunately we get more Quinn when she interrupts Liza and Charles at lunch. Liza is talking about how much pressure she's feeling and I know it's not the most interesting conversation but it's real stuff that people in real relationships talk about and I get that it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I just adore seeing Liza being so open with Charles about how she's feeling and Charles always listening with understanding and in this case, suggesting a vacation. 

Liza seems quite caught off guard by the proposition of a merging-of-the-families trip to Scotland, though her smile when Charles says, 'I thought it was time we all get to know each other a little better', indicates she is up for it (once she checks with Caitlin, which we can take as confirmation she is in fact alive, she has been located and she is ok. No word yet on Beth). Also, my sappy little heart when Liza says, 'if WE leave the girls with Caitlin’, Liza defaulting to her and Charles and the girls as a little unit, not to mention that she's thinking that this trip will involve her and Charles getting some time alone together *le sigh*. But back to Quinn, I am here for icy Liza and Charles and Laura Benanti's ability to convey such a sense of not caring at all about what people think is incredible. As Quinn teases that she's teaming up with someone 'who used to work for you or with you or beside you, it's always so confusing over there' (these lines and delivery I swear) the actual award goes to her exiting line, 'my biggest donor is over there. Watching him eat is the hardest thing I do'. Actual laughing out loud. And yes Charles and Liza, it can be Kelsey (and spoiler alert: it is).

Now part of the reason Liza was late to her maid of honour duties earlier in the ep is because she discovered that a book pitch meeting has been booked for the day before the big wedding. I hate this author so much. He is the actual worst of any author I can remember pitching on this show, I just wanted him to go away the moment he started talking (he reminds me a bit of the boss from The IT Crowd for anyone playing at home who knows that show). The only purpose he served IMO was to get Redmond on our screen, which was totally worth it if only to hear him try to have a dig at Diana but only able to come up with, 'you,...you are ageless'. The other highlight of the scene is Diana's retort to Redmond having yet another swipe at her and Liza being there sans Kesley and that is Diana's 'you know what they say? IHL...it's her loss. They don't say that, do they?' to which Liza responds, ' I don't...I'm not sure'. I am outright obsessed with Diana and Liza and need them in every possible scenario please and thank you.

Don't get me wrong, Michael Urie delivers every zinger like noone else, but this whole scene in the context of the episode felt like a hark back to the OTT ageist jokes of season 1 and it all felt like it was for the sake of it tbh (though ‘elderly dithering’ still makes me chuckle)  I get it, JOMO, giving up the imaginary, alternate life to be in the real one, very much building on the set up of Liza leaving behind her 26 year old life, but this was 2 mins and 41 seconds that could have been wedding time. I would've honestly watched a whole ep of Diana getting ready and the wedding very happily, but I appreciate that there was a lot that needed to be addressed, so even a couple more mins would've been wonderful and could've served this episode more than that insufferable author and pretty pointless pitch (plus Redmond was invited to the wedding so we could've had Redmond and bonus wedding time so win win! Next time...).

It was nice to see Kelsey and Liza out having a drink and catching up. Liza once again assures Kelsey that she supports her in whatever she does but makes it quite clear that she thinks going into business with Quinn is a terrible idea. Kelsey then fills Liza in on what Josh is up to, Liza fills Kelsey in on their convo from the week before that did not go down so well and Kelsey isn't surprised because apparently Liza is 'kind of the most important woman in his life who isn't teething'. You know what? That actually made me really sad. I mean, Josh and Liza have not been in a romantic relationship for what, 18 months or two years? He lives with Kelsey and Lauren, has a great relationship with Maggie, (I'm not dense btw, I understand why this line is there), but Josh not having any other women who he would consider important in his life despite all these amazing female friends?

One thing I was enjoying about Josh this season was his moving forward and having a purpose. After last season's terrible stagnation for his character, seeing him reestablish a relationship with Claire, have a baby, his friendship with Lauren continuing to evolve, it was all looking so on track. Then these past couple of episodes, I feel like he's had a massive regression again and I just feel bad for the character and think that surely he can serve a purpose beyond pining for Liza because he did that already for the whole of season 5. I do like that Liza is sticking with her mantra of making choices in life, of refocusing on other things, on new horizons and I do believe she's really trying, but her fickleness is certainly a constant struggle for her throughout the whole series. More and more, especially since the lie came out, I'm seeing Liza's longing for or looking back more at the life of a 26 year old and it'll be interesting to see if it's Josh she's actually feeling she's missing out on or the life he represented (and which there's no reason she can't live aspects of now). Liza's forlorn expression when Kelsey toasts to 'no looking back' has also been making quite a few appearances these past few eps.

Aside from my fave terrible person Quinn, my other favourite recurring guest this season has been Infinitely 21's Shelly. As she and Josh are finalising the Inkburg Midtown details, her unquenchable thirst once again becomes apparent as she tells him, 'we all want a piece of you..I keep saying piece, I don't even know why' (I love Josh's, 'it happens', I mean how do you even respond to someone like Shelly?)  As Shelly and Josh go through his look book to find some pieces appropriate for a 'tat and scat', Shelly of course sees the hourglass and loves it but Josh, dude, why is it in the look book if it was a one off? C'mon. Again, I get it for the story and Shelly is on it, 'please don't say you forgot who she is'. Oh sweet, innocent Shelly, if only you knew.

Ok, now the reason we're all here, THE event of the year and that of course is the Royal Wedding. Everyone looks amazing (Maggie = wowsers!) and I have made no secret of my excitement at seeing the whole Younger fam glammed up at an event together. It's really happening!!! Liza has finally figured out her maid of honour gig as she welcomes guests, including Enzo's mother who proclaims she saw a crow flying upside down on the way to the church, 'it's a bad omen', to which Liza accurately and hilariously replies, 'especially for the crow'.

Upon hearing from Liza that Kelsey wants something that she owns, Charles finds himself a seat next to Kelsey in the church and oh my heart. I honestly never anticipated that I would be gushing about the relationship between these two characters, despite the fact I had it as a wish for season 6, it has exceeded my expectations. Charles' sincerity in offering Kelsey a stake in the company, asserting that she is family, 'I knew that the day you sacrificed everything you wanted to save us', ok it was me who took all the Kleenex from Diana and Liza's offices because EMOTIONS. His gratitude is genuine and deep, I mean never mind that it was her drunken error that caused the issue, Charles' whole refocus on the importance of the people around him this season really lead to this wonderful moment and he leaves the ball in her court knowing he has done all he can to show Kelsey that she really is valued.

Liza helping Diana from the car, OH. EM. GEE I am in love. Diana and Liza's friendship is my highlight of this entire season and this exchange did not disappoint. Diana looks so amazing. Her necklace that Liza helped Enzo pick out has it's own moons probably and Diana telling Liza that 'as a maid of honour you're slow burn but in the end you're white hot' was almost too much but also exactly the right amount. Fun fact: When you look up the meaning of magnificent in the dictionary you get this gif of the doors opening on Diana as she waits to enter the church. She is composed and beautiful and as she walks towards the beaming Enzo, Kesley and Zane are rekindling, which is sweet but again, who knows for how long?  There's just so much happiness and love in the air! It is everything I ever hoped for and more. I do wish we'd heard the vows and/or seen the 'I now pronounce you husband and wife' though, I am legit sad that we didn't see at least a little bit of the ceremony. 

We also have Josh turning up as the plus one, ok yes, it makes sense Lauren would invite him but also, have some self respect man. On the one hand I get it, when you are so infatuated with someone you will do anything to see them, but Liza specifically asked for some space so I am struggling to understand why he would accept the invite or at least not text Liza and give her a heads up or ask if she minds or something you know? Again, I know it's TV and there needs to be the DRAH-MAH etc. In saying that, the tattoo conversation I actually thought was lovely. 

Prior to that though, my dream of seeing everyone at the event together is realised, we see Maggie's ice sculpture and the hint at a Maggie and Lauren rekindling (also, Liza going over to Charles in the background and cosying up to him, I see you). We do catch the end of Diana and Enzo's first dance and hear Diana referred to as Mrs. DeLuca. Enzo giving her a hard time about her eye twitch every time she is called that is so freaking adorable and Diana and Enzo together are adorable IT'S JUST ALL ADORABLE and seeing Diana so relaxed and happy is honestly everything and yes, I'M GUSHING. Again.

I do like that Josh calls himself out, that it is super weird seeing him at the wedding. Because it really is. Josh looked devastated at Liza's initial response to the tattoo question and to me, it’s because her saying he can use it is like she's so willing to let go of him that she doesn't even want to preserve anything from the time they were together. I think that for Josh, her answer was indicative of whether she was really closing him out of her life for good. I'm finding the use of flashbacks (last week in the montage this week with the tattoo) interesting in these Josh/Liza interactions, it's not something the show has ever really done before and while last week's certainly felt like a poignant reflection, I can't help but wonder if it's also serving the purpose of reminding the audience of the relationship that once was in an effort to get viewers on side with it again (obviously many viewers never stopped wanting them together). 

But I do completely understand Liza's decision not to want anyone else to have the tattoo. It is theirs, it signifies an important part of her life and their relationship and this scene did what Younger does so infuriatingly well. Last year it was the cacao dream and this year it is this scene, there is enough ambiguity to interpret this scene as either closure and a transition of Josh and Liza's relationship away from anything romantic or for those fans of the Josh and Liza romance, it allows for hope that it may reignite one day. It was left open and closed enough to go either way.

The moment I heard 'Take my breath away' playing, I swear, I could not BELIEVE my ears. I never thought this show would do something so cliche yet here we are and I loved every second of it. Liza calling it 'our song', asking Charles if he asked them to play it and the way he answered I AM DYING (note to self - any episode that plays this Berlin hit will involve a proposal). Seeing Liza and Charles slow dancing on that dance floor was everything, I am such a sucker for a couple dancing like this and it was perfect, I may be melting into a puddle of goo just thinking about the way he holds her hand so close to his heart (though Liza's apprehensive look about the Scotland trip wasn't a fave, she seemed pretty relieved to be able to get out of that one). There I was watching, my simple mind and face grinning at the dancing when suddenly I hear the word honeymoon. I'm sorry, WHAT?! Ok, so I, along with many others I'm sure, had an inkling there might be a proposal. I have to say that in my mind Charles Brooks would never propose at someone else’s wedding, HOWEVER he himself has admitted to being impulsive when it comes to matters of the heart and the moving in conversation from episode 8 was when my cogs began to turn and wonder if we mightn't see something like this play out.

I LOVE how he's just speaking softly into her ear, it's so damn intimate and as Charles begins his beautiful speech there's a smile that flashes across Liza's face as she computes what's happening, because she's a human person who has the most romantic monologue ever being delivered to her. His pause as he says 'with...everything about you' ugh, his love for her is palpable in that moment, I seriously need a lie down just from writing about it. Kelsey barging in with 'I do, I DO, I've been trying to think of a reason not to say yes but there isn't one' (listen to your friend Liza, she is wise) is so perfect, it's SO Younger, her answer being the answer Liza should've been giving (and the fact she didn’t setting up the cliffhanger rather nicely). Meanwhile, Liza is trying not to have a panic attack as all the fab women band together to ‘We are family’, but as she gets caught in the middle of the conga line, Charles expectant and hopeful and her smiling, they share that moment between the two of them despite the chaos around them, as their eyes remain locked across the room.

The beauty of television is that you get on for the ride and you never know where you might end up. At the start of the season I certainly wouldn't have thought waiting to hear Liza's response to Charles proposing would be the finale cliffhanger and I'm not sure how I feel about it to be honest, but you know what the only good thing about a 9 month hiatus between seasons is? We get 9 months to speculate and theorise and re-watch the whole series a normal number of times *cough* and digest it all.

And that, folks, is another season of our fave show done. I do plan to do a season review at some point, but I just want to thank all of you who indulge me by reading the excessive number of words I plonk on a page week after week, the interactions and feedback are wonderful and I really appreciate it all. 

I guess it’s time to get back to those real life responsibilities I’ve been ignoring the past 3 months (though JOMO, amirite?).   

#youngertv #younger tv #ramble #6x12 #younger season 6 #liza miller #charles brooks #kelsey peters #diana trout #enzo deluca #maggie amato #lauren heller #zane anders #liza x chalres #diana x enzo #denzo #team charles