#click for better res apparently | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

Text

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, angst, mutilation, violence, death, being hunted, reference to unwanted attention from a man, 1890s period standards for men/women, religious references, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Miriam?” Your voice carries over the open street, one of the two small steps leading into your nonexistent front yard firm under your feet. Across the way and one house to the left, your older neighbor, Miriam, readies her horse for you—kept behind the paddock door of her attached single-stall stable. Men and women shuffle past along the cobblestone, clopping hooves and tipping soft caps. Giggles and gloved fingers.

The city is lively today, and you’ll be glad to be out of it for the better part of the morning.

You brush down the front of your shirtwaist, patting at the pleating along the front before folding your shawl across your shoulders; hiking it farther into your high-collared garment.

“Miriam!” You call again, shuffling down that last step and trying to shove yourself farther into the crowd. Keeping your black skirt close to you, you sigh long and pray the pouch at your side will stay away from the hands of pickpockets—a tailor gets off well enough, but every penny was worth it. One setback could ruin you.

Which was the reason you were now making your way into the country on your neighbor's horse.

Miriam glances up from where she fiddles with the bridle strap, her head mixed in with the masses. You smile, raising a hand far above the sea as men sneer down at you, hearing the tinkling bells of her laughter.

You make it to her and Whistlejacket the Thoroughbred as you huff, rubbing your gloved hands together before the clicking sound of your heeled shoes can catch up to your ears.

“By the Lord, it’s chilly, Love,” Miriam utters, patting the horse as you softly rub the animal's neck. Black ears twitch to you, chestnut eyes soft and pliable. You smile before replying with a chuckle.

“And the chill won’t stop Mrs. Ida from having my hide for that wool-lined cycling jacket, unfortunately.”

“Ah,” Miriam scoffs, “Mrs. Ida. I’d tell that one to mind her manners to the fine lady who makes her husband's waistcoats.”

“She always asks for them a size small,” you hum, rummaging through your satchel to make sure you have the money you need for the wool that’ll go inside the order. “One with more of a brain would say she was trying to say something.”

Your eyes glimmer as you send your neighbor a glance. Miriam slides you a cheesy look.

“‘More of a brain’, the girl says,” she mutters as you laugh brightly. “A wonder you’ve not found a husband yet.”

You ignore the comment, sliding down Whistlejacket’s side to slip your foot into the stirrup, huffing at the beast’s size before shimmying up with all the grace of a young hooligan. Panting on the saddle, both legs over one side on account of your skirt, you take a breath and happen to glance at the dark house that borders Miriams.

“Miriam?” The words escape you in a moment of curiosity. “Pray tell…is Mr. Riley back from his trip to London yet?”

Mr. Riley—Simon as you know him to be called by only a whispered passing. It was apparent with your little…interest in him. It wasn’t a carnal interest, no, God forbid, it was a hesitant need to understand him.

You’d never sown nor mended so many clothes than to his own collection.

Frock coats, waistcoats, shirts, ties, and trousers all—ripped to shreds before being placed on your counter like it didn’t matter a smidge. And those deep brown eyes of his…endless; seemingly incapable of human emotion above the tight layer of silk that the man wears up to his nose. There was something strange going on with Mr. Riley, and you were determined to figure it out, but he was also quite alluring to you in a simpler sense.

You liked how he spoke to you.

“London?” Miriam asks, putting a hand to her wrinkling chin. “My, was that where he was off to—how do you hear about these things, Girl?”

You clear your throat, putting back on your smile. “Oh, never mind that. I was just curious, see.”

Whistlejacket’s feet shuffle from under you, the tall beast’s strength seen through his broad neck and well-bred attitude. Miriam’s husband had been a carriage driver, and when he died, the widow had taken Whistlejacket into her care as the only living family she had.

You rub at his neck again, and the horse nods his head up and down, knickering.

“You’ll take care of the old fellow, then?” The question is layered, anyone going through the forest to the farmer’s fields knows that the shadows grow long.

Knows what can hunt you.

You glance at the woman, nodding firmly. “And bring you back your share for taking the lovely creature out.”

With that you’re out, taking the reins in your hands before easing Whistlejacket into a walk and entering the flow of traffic; waving a hand behind you in goodbye. Miriam calls on the smoggy wind.

“D-don’t stray from the path, Love!”

A path wouldn’t save you from the Ghost.

—

It is the year 1897, and beasts live here.

They roam in the dark corners and the forgotten alleys of every city and street—silent, unseen. Waiting to strike with white fangs or sharp claws; a snarl or a whisper. Vampires, demons, specters lost to time…Werewolves.

Nowhere was safe, and so, the world had to adapt.

As Whistlejacket’s hooves meet the slowly depleting cobblestone of the outer city, the clink of the metal bit dances in your ears; your face roves back and forth through the fields, those far in between houses. In your bag, you have more than just money.

Holy water, a crucifix, and, of course, a knife made of pure silver. When in doubt, silver was always the safest bet.

But the forest…the forest was unpredictable.

You breathe slowly as it comes into view hours later, those creaking branches and the breeze that speaks to you—in your head, you hear the plea. Or the threat.

Turn back.

The both of you stop only a foot from the treeline. Whistlejacket knickers, feet shuffling. Your hand finds his hide, rubbing soothing circles as your lips thin.

“Easy,” you whisper, but nothing could be farther from easy. Your fingers brush through the horse's hair as he moves his head, hooves taking a step back. “Easy.”

The blackness of this forest is unnatural—the others in the city and town go around it; a four-day trip. You didn’t have four days. Like a moth to a dark altar flame, the oblivion takes you in and the forest expands in your view the longer you stare into it, down that path of overgrown grass and gravel. Rocks and twigs.

With one hand you grab at your shawl and pull it closer to your neck, holding the reins lightly as your fingers twitch around them with the other.

“Easy,” you say for a third time, quickly looking away from the path and clearing your throat.

Clicking your tongue, your boots tap Whistlejacket’s side and after a puff from his large nostrils, the animal ambles forward, far slower than he had before but still moving nonetheless. Your hesitance bleeds into him, and you know the horse's senses are far better than your own.

But you were stubborn—you’d come too far to go back now, and if you wanted to be home by supper you had to buy the wool you needed and leave as quickly as possible. Going through this forest would take up most of that time.

The trees enshroud you, and in their brimstone grip, they reach with gnarled fingers like a leering phantom. You lean to the side to avoid one branch, feeling it pull at your shaul slightly; trying to grab at you, it seemed. This place would devour you whole, but you were less scared of the general aura and more of the fabled monster that patrols this place.

The Ghost.

Whistlejacket is unsure of this, despite the journeys you’d both been on. It always worried you how such a large carriage animal could still get so nervous after years of desensitization—the horse didn’t flinch at the yells from the city; or the howl of mutts at midnight. But this brimstone forest made him shiver under you like a child in the cold.

As you speak to him lowly, your hand reaches into your satchel and grasps that tiny silver blade, attaching it to your cinched belt as your skirt sways in a dead breeze. A chilled puff of air falls from your lips, though there is no coldness in these standing sentinels—it is a dead-like atmosphere. Every pound of your heart can be heard.

“You know, old fellow,” Whistlejacket’s ear twitches back to you, but his eyes do not leave the path. You spare a tense chuckle. “I’ve half the sense to tell Mrs. Ida to shove that wool lining right up her—”

Something sharp echoes far off into the trees and you pull on the reins with a tight breath.

Whistlejacket squeals, trying to bolt, but you keep a strong hand on him—eyes flashing from one dark void to the next in between the trees as his hooves dance. Your head bobs with every jerk of his legs, yet you barely notice it.

A twig? You ask, heart hammering. No, no that sounded like an entire tree getting snapped in half.

Eyes glancing over your shoulder, you look back down the road and find the tiny speck of light that signifies the exit of this place, the last glimmer of home. With a heavy look around, you close your eyes and shake your head.

Mrs. Ida was…something else…but she was one of your best clients for all her abhorrent behaviors—money was tight as of currently, and the woman’s husband was incredibly rich due to his practice as a physician. This wool was needed not only for the jacket but for your shop upkeep and the price of fabrics, needles, and threads. This wool was an investment you couldn’t miss.

“Whistlejacket,” you click your tongue but the animal snorts and shakes his head, backing up. “Whistlejacket!” Your voice carries despite not even being above a hard whisper.

“I promise you, when we get to the farm I’ll let you eat all of the sugar cubes you want—my treat.” Your hand finds the space between his ears and below his skull, the soft black mane twisting in your fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Your eyes are half-narrowed.

That wasn’t a twig.

Monster Hunting was a booming profession—and many took to it out of glory or need for coin. Those hunters had been in and out of this forest for short generations, trying futilely to catch what was rumored to lurk here before they got ripped to shreds like their fathers had.

The Ghost.

Some say he stands over nine feet tall; and has fangs that are bigger than a man’s palm—claws like butcher knives. Blackened and dead is his brain, cruel and maniacal.

The Werewolf’s heart is chained to hell, and his soul to Satan. He is cursed ever to walk like a beast and feast on human flesh while in his wolf-skin and out of it.

A ghost.

The Ghost.

You close your eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the stench of blood or the injuries you’d seen those hunters bore—being dragged back into the city screaming and wailing in pain. Arms and legs ripped clean off, never to be found. Most never came back at all.

“Please, Whistlejacket,” you plead, bumping your forehead into his neck. Whispering into his skin, you take a deep breath. “We need to go on. Quickly. We can’t stop here.”

Stopping was making a bigger target on your back—letting your scent linger in the stale air.

With one last whinny, his fast flinching feet, the horse pushes forward as you click your tongue again; faster and more uneasy. But you didn’t slow him, no, if Whistlejacket was going to speed up, you were completely fine with that.

Moving again, you loose a sigh from your lips.

There were many dark stories living here, some too heavy to tell aloud, even—one specifically was the tale that you’d overheard in your shop while helping Mr. Riley fix a large hole in his waistcoat.

Riding along the path, you guide your steed down a small indent, blinking at the images your mind conjures up.

Mr. Riley had been far quieter that day than in the recent past, and you thought perhaps he was beginning to warm to you after a few long months of silence and clipped business talk. That day, though, you had your doubts.

Mr. Moore and Mr. Hill were coming in to inquire about the state of their overalls, working-class both and eager to have their second pair of articles fixed. Mr. Riley had been there first, and thus, you’d been talking to him for the better part of ten minutes.

“Mr. Riley,” you’d explained, holding his black silk waistcoat in your hands while opening and closing your lips. “I…I really must begin by asking how exactly you manage to do this to your clothes. In good faith, I half-believe you have a habit of getting into bar fights with a knife-wielding fiend in your free time.”

Brown eyes had stared at you above that cloth of his, soft cap on his head protecting blond tendrils of hair. Scars peel at his skin, old and pale.

You’d never been afraid of him, despite his large frame and his intimidating muscle—the gruff aggressiveness of his tone. It was strange, but you had a feeling he would never do anything nefarious…perhaps his morals shone through far better than his conversational abilities.

“Can you fix it or not?” He grunts in question, hands in his pockets. Eyelids blink at you slowly, long lashes caressing flesh.

You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I can.”

In that intermission of silence, you’d heard the words from the men behind Mr. Riley—missing the spark of amusement that had coated those brown orbs as they watched you.

“Did you ‘ere, then, Mr. Hill?” A sharp, hurried whisper. Your eyes blink at the two as the man ahead of you slightly shifts his shoulders, tilting his head to the side to stare behind him. “There’s been killin' in the East district—they’re callin’ the ‘unters in, see.”

“Hunters?” Mr. Moore huffs. “They’ll not make a smidge of a difference now. I’ve heard about it—they say the Ghost slunk in from the Forest and ripped the man to pieces.”

“Aye! They found pieces of flesh hangin’ off the shop signs. Like he’d been put through a machine, I hear. Half a jaw was left in the street, an eye leading into the trees, and…and…”

“Gentleman,” you call, oblivious to how Mr. Riley is as tense as a rope, eyes small and tight on the two men. He barely breathes.

The two look to you as if being caught by their mothers. You frown. “Time and place.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“M’sorry, Miss, lost myself.” You smile through a sigh and turn back to Mr. Riley.

“Well, now then, I…” He quickly walks to the door, boots heavy and knee-length frock coat swishing as he pushes open the barrier and slips through. You gape, confused for a moment. By the time you think about opening your mouth again, you can already see him entering his own house across the street and pulling the door closed firmly.

The curtains close. Black night leaking out around the illumination of the oiled street lamps. It was the news in the morning that called to the true horror that you’d overheard in your shop.

Mr. Lambert was never your favorite patron, in fact, you’d call him a creep at best—insistent on marriage to you and a hazard, considering that your home was connected to your shop. He knew exactly where you lived and when to use your time in his less-than-pure favor.

Mr. Riley had been a natural deterrent in recent months, but what really struck you was that the brown-eyed man had managed to show up exactly when you needed him regarding Mr. Lambert. The small silver bell above your door rang his arrival whenever the other was trying to lean over your counter, smiling sweetly at you as if you were a prize to him and his leering eyes.

Mr. Lambert would instantly straighten, tense, and dart away with a metaphorical tail between his legs while shooting nasty glances.

But you’d never imagined him to be dead.

You’d never imagined his body to be hung from the trees that border the forest like a trophy—the Ghost had dragged him out of his home, the door busted off its hinges, and the inside all but demolished by fighting bodies. Neighbors said they’d heard howls on the wind; yowling and wet snarls like a rabid dog.

Mr. Lambert was mutilated. Unrecognizable mass of flesh and hair, bone seen through shredded skin and tongue lulling from a ripped-off jaw. One eye and a branch through his toro to hold him up.

Now halfway through the forest, in the densest bit of trees, you can’t help but imagine becoming just like him.

You hadn’t spoken besides to reassure Whistlejacket, yet the fact was that you couldn't even reassure yourself—like a child, you cling to the animal below you and try to ignore the murmurs. Your shawl had been pulled up and over your head, creating a sound barrier for you that truly did nothing to help.

Looking slightly to the side at a large and moss-layered boulder beside the path, you shiver not from the cold.

“Maybe I should have just waited the four days…” Your whisper leaked out, and it seemed a sin to break the silence that had been layered here.

A shadow filters past the side of your eyes, a silent motion atop the boulder that you think perhaps is a crow. You pull at your shawl to show your face a bit more, turning your head upward.

Atop the stone is not a bird—it is not an animal of natural birth or of sound mind. It is a beast of ancient rites and white-fanged dreams; left here among the living in a sick game of predator and prey.

You don’t register that it’s really there, the Ghost, until its blackened form stands to its full height, great shaggy fur under the remains of clothes scraps, and muzzle curled to show off fangs and pink gums. There are his ears, atop that head; they point to the sky before flinching back to staple themselves to its elongated skull. Long hands that scrape the stone below it near the claws that dig into the rock until they make long scratches.

Like a demon made flesh, this Werewolf was the epitome of nightmares. So strangely human and monster at the same time.

Eyes like a burial mound.

You stare in numb horror, gloved hands steadily tightening over the leather reigns until your knuckles pop. Whistlejacket does not yet know the beast is here, glaring into your soul and branding it; taking a large step closer to the edge of the boulder as the moss flakes under his egregious large paw-pads.

A low rumble is all it takes, those pupils small and beady, from within the breast of the Ghost’s expansive chest. Whistlejacket’s nose sniffs the air, his head turning and already tense.

The horse screams like a dying banshee, spine curling and legs kicking out. He bucks as the Werewolf snarls through a loud howl, all four limbs connected to the stone and roaring. Your back slams into the ground as you’re tossed off Whistlejacket, your mouth releasing a scream to join the rest of the noises that echo off the foliage.

Crashing into the path, your neighbor's horse disappears with one last high-pitched squeal into the darkness as you feel your bones rattle at the connection to your spine. Tumbling down a slight hill, you quickly get your skirts in order before scrambling to your feet with pain brimming in your scraped skin. Looking back to the boulder, your pounding heart rampages.

But the Ghost isn’t even there.

“Oh, Lord Almighty,” you whisper, backing up multiple steps. “Oh, Lord.”

The blade is missing from your belt—you don’t know where you’ve dropped it in the fall and that might just be the death of you. Mr. Lambert’s story infects you; the other hunters.

You frantically look at that mighty stone, up and down, while skittering backward.

Where did it go?

Panting, you only stop when you hit the firm frame behind you, a large tree trunk of fur, and a hard chest that you sink into. You freeze—eyes wide and unblinking. A thin squeak exits your mouth, and a reverberating call purrs over your vertebra, making you shiver with fear.

Minutes draw before you gather the courage to delicately turn your head upward.

Those eyes meet yours again, small and coated over with rage; pale fangs so close to your forehead they’re like ivory with dripping saliva. One drop hits your flesh, but you fail to register it.

Those eyes.

Up close you’re completely stolen by them, sucked in and whisked away as a bride, this mixture of dark wood and earth. Brown so rich you’d never seen something like it…or…or had you?

Incredibly, in between your panic, something sparks you as being familiar in a way you can’t quite place in this state.

The Ghost is gargantuanly large, so much so that he bends his spine to lean over your entire body and growl down at you, the sound starting in his gut and expanding up to his throat. The fur around his neck is so thick it’s like the mane of an exotic cat, ironically, as tufts of hair are on the tips of his ears.

You stare and try to memorize the look in his eyes as clawed hands come up at your sides, horrifyingly human with long fingers; five-pointed except for the fact that the skin is blacked like hide. Sweating, you shake before your lips start talking for you, as they usually do.

“I do hope I’m not intruding, Kind Ghost.”

The beast halts his slow entrapment, right ear twitching forward at your voice. He doesn’t blink, and his mouth does not close.

“I…I only wished for safe passage.” Internally you wonder if you’d lost your mind—if it had broken in this moment of hysterics. Your voice is far more steady than it should be. “I must get to the other side of the forest, you see. Urgently. I have business that must be settled. Though,” you add quickly, tone cracking for a moment. “Though, I knew not how to contact you to ask.”

The Werewolf’s heart can be felt on your back, a deep thum of pulsing power and raw death. It watches, its mouth twitching a smidge more closed and lungs rising. Its feral heat leaks through your clothes into your flesh.

A furred hand connects with your hip and you squawk as you’re shoved to the ground very suddenly, thrown to the side onto the grass with only your palms to catch you. You’re flipped over, those same claws slamming beside your head before you can push back up and try to run. But there could be no running. Like a moth to flame the Ghost would hunt you down until there was nothing left of you but bloodied carnage.

You throw up your hands in front of your face, the great form splayed over you and a sniffing nose digging into your stomach. There is a low whine of a hungry maw as the shaggy head moves up and around. Like a human, the Werewolf’s hand grabs at your wrist, pinning it down to the ground as the other digs into the earth, dragging it up like a farmer’s plough.

“H-hey!” You shout, pushing with your free fingers at the muzzle—in sound mind, you’d never even think to do such a thing. “Get off of me!”

You should have been terrified, and maybe you were, but you’d gone past the point of knowing it. This beast was leering over you like Mr. Lambert, but far more dangerous and…and…

“Are you smelling me?!” Your angry voice makes his dark eyes snap to yours, and in an instant, you’re staring up his muzzle, body splayed out below him.

You shutter.

“Eh…Just don't…rip anything, would you?” You were talking to a Werewolf as if he was capable of higher understanding in this form—as if still human. Voice small, you thin your lips and feel sweat run your eyebrow ridge, heart pitter-pattering.

Why were you still alive?

The snout resumes, running along your shoulder and finally stopping at your neck with a pass of the Ghost’s tongue over his lips. You close your eyes tight.

This was it, you think. Of course, you’d be the one to lose the only blade that could let you actually damage this monster, the silver glinting in your mind as you curse yourself violently. You feel the puff of his vile breath on your neck, his claws peeling at your shirt collar slowly back.

Your breath hitches, fingers winding through the fur below your grip, but the confusion breeds with the horror. The sensation of his soft fur wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it was perhaps the finest material you’d ever handled. While it wasn’t the time for this, your occupation was impossible to ignore…this texture was far better than any silk.

But he’s stopped moving entirely. Lids fluttering, you open your eyes slowly, afraid but addled at the inaction.

Brown side-eyes you closely, fangs dripping next to the meat of your neck and parted to show a lulling tongue. The beast purrs as you stare, looming with enough mass to block the sun and moving that muzzle closer to your pulse. In an act of pure desperation and womanly instinct at the sight, you snap out your leg and, not hesitating a moment longer as the animal’s tongue meets your flesh, you send your shoe straight in between the monster's legs.

A sharp yowl makes your ears ring, but you slip out from under the Ghost as it banks back, snarling and yapping before it rights itself with a shake and rabid hunger. The look from before is gone—but you’re already through the trees by the time the enraged hunting cry makes your neck hairs rise.

Guttural, savage, and devoid of humanity.

On the path you find your blade, and you snatch it as you gather your skirt in the opposite hand and dash away. To where, you have to tell yourself, you do not know. But it’s human nature to run, to sprint until your throat tastes like blood and your stomach rolls with bile—all of that can be tolerated if for the simple promise of survival.

So run you did.

Faster and harder than you ever had in your life, you sprinted into the brimstone trees and the dead thorns, not looking over your shoulder at the noises of snarls and breaking tree trunks; claws through the earth, and the primal howl of a hunt. Your throat is raw and scraping, clothes thoroughly ruined as you crash through a thorn bush while cutting up your arms and legs in tiny streaks of crimson.

Droplets make a path behind you, a path, and a scent to tell you by. But with how the Ghost had been smelling you too deeply, you doubted it would be long before he tracked you down to finish the job.

You lose a shoe in the mad dash, lungs heaving and whimpering from the sudden absence of sounds entirely—as if the beast had disappeared into thin air. Still, you don’t brave a glace behind as you take turns and bends in the earth at random, running deeper and deeper into the foliage.

Bloodied and running out of strength as you hop a small stream, yelping when you slip and bash your wrist into the ground, you had never wished for Whistlejacket more. All you could hope was that the horse was making his way out the other side of this hellscape.

You never should have come through here.

Tears stain your eyes, blurring the edges as you manage to run into a small clearing, head whipping back and forth from one area to another. Every turn was the same—every tree similar!

But the house was different.

No more than a hut, really, it was stone and had a thatched roof, nestled in a field of black flowers and wisps of dead grass. The door was opened, but the ground was torn up by claw marks—spanning up the sides and near a broken widow.

You rush to it without a blink, and just as you make it to the threshold, you grab the thick oak door with your torn gloves. Turning, you find him across the open glade.

Air is shoved from your lungs as you wheeze, the black shadow in the tree line. Brown eyes burn past flesh and bone—beady. Twitching lips and high-pointed ankles with rising fur. It was like a statue. Not even moving; barely breathing as it…watches.

What had happened to the snarling—the howling hunt?

Had…had he been behind you the entire time?

You whip the door closed and frantically slam the bolt in place, the blade brought to your side and shaking in your tight hold as you back up quickly.

“Oh, Miriam, damn you, you’re always right.” You gasp, back hitting the edge of a table. “Curse me for never listening.”

Your neighbor had expressed worries the day before your departure, but you’d been stubborn as always—wool, you said you needed. Just enough for a coat. It was nothing; nothing that should have led to this.

You feel like passing out, bile rising into your throat before you swallow it back down and breathe in quick heaves.

But the door didn’t cave in, and no great monster barreled through to eat you up and pin you into a tree branch. The house settled, the minutes dragged on…

…and nothing happened.

Your heart slowly goes back to a hesitant normal, like a mouse after being chased by a hawk; a lamb by a wolf. Standing up straighter with blood saturating your clothes, the uneven strides of your shoe-less foot mean little to you as your form slinks to the broken window. You don’t feel the pain in your cuts—the sweat or dirt—before you bend down and hiss at the stretching flesh.

Knees knocking on the floor, you peek above the sill slowly, eyes wide open and tiny pupils quivering.

“Why didn’t it come into the glade?” You ask yourself, seeing the large shadow in the far-off coverage of the dropping leaves. A steadily dying sun. You weren’t making it back home tonight. “Why is it staying away—it knows I’m in here.”

Surely it wouldn’t let you live?

Your brows tighten, swearing there are eyes looking back at you through the kaleidoscope reflections of the glass. You duck down, vibrating as your vision runs across the strange hut.

One room, it only held a table, a tiny desk, a trunk, and a bed. A fireplace with no logs. Dust lived in the corners, and candles that were unlit were melted in plates and cups all around your view—score of them as if the dark was something the owner feared vehemently.

This would be your sanctuary for the night.

“Do Werewolves not come upon hallow ground?” Your voice bounces off the stone. “Was this a priest's hut?”

If there was a church nearby in this damned place, that would truly be the best scenario. Churches held hunters more often than not.

Standing, you walk the space, feet aching as the adrenaline wears off and it all sets in. You place your blade into your belt, but your fingers never leave the pommel. First, you go to the desk, picking through letters and thin papers.

Blinking, you pass them over in favor of the journal, the one next to the hastily thrown down quill—the spilled ink.

Your hand touches the leather and flips it open, ears peeled for any noise from outside. The drawings come into focus quite quickly.

Diagrams and intense study fill your brain, images of the Ghost sketched so lifelike that you flinch back and physically recoil until you gather your bearings.

“I don’t suppose this would be of any help,” you utter with a frown. “Will it tell me how to make silver bullets? Give me a revolver?”

Shaking your head, you close the journal before the faded name on the cover register—you walk away slowly before you halt.

"Simon Riley."

Your heart tightens and those brown orbs come back to you. It’s like your mind expands in a millisecond.

Simon Riley and his frequent trips out of the city. Simon Riley and his shredded clothes exactly like the ones that the beast wears. Simon Riley and his silent, black, soul. His secrets.

“No,” you try to convince yourself, chuckling as your panic spikes. Every interaction whizzes past with surety. “No, that’s not possible. I couldn't have been that inept when he was right in front of me.”

Anger pierces you, and all sense leaves. You know it to be true, know it to be the reality even if you'd just put the pieces together yourself. This was too perfect that God himself must have come down and laid it out for you to find.

In a moment of raw rage, you stomp to the door—hand snapping to the bolt and reaming it back. The outside chill makes you growl, but you exit the hut nonetheless. It was like a spit in your face.

“Simon Riley!” You scream into the air, hand in fists. “Get your arse out here and explain to me why I’ve been fixing your fucking clothes while you’ve been galivanting around the bloody forest!”

Call you insane, but seeing your work constantly ruined made you more mad than being chased like an animal, especially if this animal had no intention of killing you. He'd had the option, but he hadn't.

That only serves to make you even more angry.

Your finger points into the tree line. “I spend my God-given time to make them perfect for you, and this is how you repay me?” A rustling from the bush to your left. You snarl and turn to find the upright form as it blinks at you, muzzle closed and ears forward. It steps out into the grass with one paw before you brandish your blade at it.

The Werewolf freezes, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’m going to rip that damn fur from your body and teach you what it’s like to have your practice insulted, you twat.” Those eyes don’t stray, just like they never had in your shop.

Yet there was a more primal tint to them—more wild, unrestrained. Aggressive.

The monster stalks forward with slow and heavy steps, walking up to you until it can once more stare you down. You take down a shaky breath and press your knife into his abdomen as fur encompasses your field of view.

Your confidence wavers.

“D-don’t you know it’s rude to chase down a lady in her travel shoes?”

A snarl grinds itself out in cut intervals as if he were trying to speak to you, snapping fangs and tilting head. You have somewhat of an idea of what it means.

“I’m not apologizing for kicking you in the balls, Mr. Riley. You deserved it.” You lower the knife from his abdomen.

A nose pushes itself into your neck again before you shove him off with a curse. He doesn’t even flinch before he tries once more.

“Would you quit it?!” You yell, scoffing. “What in the devil is wrong with you?”

It was like he was trying to rub his head all over you—as if nothing but a dog scenting a bone.

Isn’t he? Your lips thinned. It wasn’t foreign to think he wasn’t in the right state like this. Of course, he wasn’t. Mr. Riley would never act like this, even with how often you saw each other.

Lord, you didn’t even know if he liked you that much, but judging by whatever this is, it happened to be quite a bit. You huff and push him back with a scene of finality, slithering backwards into the hut before slamming the door.

There’s a low grumble from outside, the barrier shaking as a large paw presses on it with immense force.

“No!” You order, pulse running. “No—you figure yourself out first! I’m not letting you in like that.”

The sudden enraged roar is so loud the broken window shakes. It makes your veins quiver under your skin. But there's a heavy slam of leaving feet moments later, the sound of screeching trees as branches are bent back.

You pause and stand straighter after a long minute. Your lungs inhale.

“It listens better than the man,” you breathe, feeling weak. Bravery was tiring.

Yet, there was still the problem of the dead.

Simon Riley was the Ghost—a Werewolf. He’d killed people, many, many people in these trees.

You grab at your neck softly, the scent of earth and blood stuck under your fingertips, infecting your very soul.

“...So why didn’t he kill me?”

—

You helped yourself to the clothes in Mr. Riley’s trunk, taking what you could find and slipping into it for bed. It was nothing more than a large undershirt and pants, but you wouldn’t be the one complaining. Luck was back on your side, as you also found a small package of bandages and matches.

Lighting the candles one by one, afterward, you did what you could for your wounds. You weren’t keen on traveling to find water to clean them out, so, for now, a wrapping would have to do.

The beast patrolled the glade.

You’d hear him occasionally bend by the door, shadowing along the crack before there was a tapping of claws on stone and a huff of hot breath. He’d always leave you unaccosted, a smacking of gums and licking of chops heard through the cracked window before the dog darts away.

Where fear had been previously, curiosity starkly remained at the forefront.

“Simon Riley,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of his bed after that same event that had happened not an hour earlier. And the same an hour before that. Clockwork.

A wolf stalking his hunting grounds, making sure all is where it’s supposed to be.

He smells you in here.

“It’s too damn late for this,” you huff, rubbing at your face. Ideally, you’d like a bath and a hot meal, but there was no supper here. No food at all, really.

You plop down into the feather pillow, face nuzzling into the deep scent that you remember smelling from Mr. Riley as he came into your tailor’s shop. This was demented—unholy action.

If this were a different woman in this bed, she might be praying to her God for some salvation, an angel to come down and whisk her away. But the thought is like a stake in your heart.

If there were a different woman in this bed…would she even be breathing as you were?

You shiver and burrow deeper into the covers, pulling them up to your chin. For whatever reason, Simon Riley, the Ghost, had stayed his fangs from your supple flesh; now you weren’t even sure that when he was leaning over you he had any intention to hurt you at all. He had seemed like he was…waiting for something.

Simon Riley, your neighbor.

Your neighbor the Werewolf.

You groan and hold yourself in the candle-light, unsure. You’d heard the tales—the murders. Mr. Lambert. Those countless hunters mutilated. Like a child, you pull sparse memories that bring it all to light.

Mr. Riley was quite the gentleman when you happened to catch him.

There was never a time when you had to carry in your own fabric shipments—he was always outside to grab them before you could get one hand on the carriage compartment; it all seemed like lifting a feather. You’d speak to him about his day and his trips to the bigger cities that he always frequented.

He’d told you it was because of his business, and you’d refrained from asking what exactly it was that allowed him to purchase such exquisite clothes—or even how they always ended up ruined.

As your eyes flutter in this bed full of long black hair, you sigh and listen to the howls from far off in the distance; shivering.

“Where do you need ‘em, then?” The accent was aggressive, yes, but the tone was casual. You smile over at Mr. Riley and see the large trunk in his hands as the carriage leaves outside.

“I don’t know,” you tease, “But I think you look quite dashing being such a ready and willing neighbor, Sir.”

“That it?” He raises an eyebrow, but no expression slashes his visible face. To even get that was something to celebrate.

You raise a hand and wave him behind your counter, chuckling.

“I jest, Mr. Riley. Right back here the same as always.” He wordlessly ambles forward, feet heavy upon your wooden floors.

You smell the scent of fresh earth as he passes, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Clearing your throat, you ask easily as the man strangely flinches as he brushes your arm, eyes flicking just a smidge wider.

“Any more travels this month, then? I am a bit curious to hear about where you’ll be off to this time.”

“London,” is a swift answer. Brown eyes glance at you as the trunk is set down with a puff of breath in the space below the shelves. “Ever been?”

You shrug.

“No, unfortunately.” Simon stands to his full height, hands finding the insides of his pockets. You should be hesitant of his stature—his great shoulders—but you find it suits him. He tilts his head at you, his cap off today to let his wisps of hair collect at his temple. “You?”

Mr. Riley grunts, feet shifting.

“Quite a few.” He blinks slowly. “Not missin’ much. Bloody filthy.”

You laugh and tilt your head down, staring at the floor for a moment as your cheeks heat up. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Simon puffs a sound of amusement, looking you up and down. He stares at your waist before he hums.

“That a new one?” You look down at your corset above your blouse, putting a hand above the embroidery and nodding earnestly, touched that he’d seen it. Mr. Riley was far more in tune with his surroundings than others.

“Yes, had a horrible time with the designs—I’m not quite sure I like it yet.”

“It’s nice.” The man seems just as surprised about his quick outburst as you do, wide eyes meeting each other to connect with bare emotion.

It’s a long pause that leaves you stuttering, your heart skipping a beat as your flesh burns with brimming affection. Simon grunts tensely and darts his eyes away to stare hard at the counter behind you.

“Well, I…” you tilt your head, beaming through a soft chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. That’s high praise coming from you.”

“It’s nothing.” He takes his leave, firmly moving past you and shifting his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally run into you. “Wear whatever you want, won’t make a difference… You’ll still be lovely.”

Before you can gape into the expanse of his back at the blunt compliment, he’s already out of the door with a whisper. You watch him cross the street from the window and see him climb his steps, sucking down a shaky breath.

An embarrassing giggle meets air.

The man far across the street pauses in front of his door, gloved hand outstretched. He stays there for a hint of a moment, and you swear he turns his head to space you a tiny glance over his shoulder.

Suddenly feeling as if you’d gotten caught, though you don’t know why, you squeak and hurry away into the back room.

You wake up to the sound of the door opening.

Drowsy and fatigued, your ears twitch to the sound of low groans and clipped growls—thick curses that would make any mother go shy that slip in and out of your reality.

You should be afraid.

Footsteps stumble in, the thick closing and bolting of the door eching. Candles flicker through your eyelids, and you make a low noise in your throat as your face scrunches.

All sound ceases.

So quiet that death himself would vacate the area, your brain catches the end of a set of surprised footsteps coming to the bed and a sudden low exclamation of, “Bloody fucking hell.”

It all fades in and out, glimmering and glinting.

A swift cleaning of the objects in his possession, organization, and fixing—moving papers. Feet stop at every other minute, and eyes burn into your face from above the covers.

His fingers pull back at fabric, seeing the clothes you wear, the ones that he needs as of currently.

A deep chuckle encircles you; your sleep deepens. Those same fingers, like a plague of slumber, travel up your bandaged arms and twitch along your shoulder—moving up until they come to the pulse at your neck. They add pressure and a breathless grunt is expelled as you tilt your head farther up.

That touch is moved to your chin, moving it back down to hide your flesh from that brown gaze before a heavy sigh brushes over you. The covers are all at once pulled farther up along your form.

The shadow disappears, and with it, it takes the extra blanket from the end of the bed, harshly grunting as the fabric is shuffled around and wrapped. A tiny mutter.

“You have a fuckin’ horrible habit of complicating things.”

You sleep on, and, if you were conscious enough to realize it, you would have felt the gaze on you for the remainder of the night from the table—watching, barely blinking above the heavy press of eyes.

Silent, if only for the soft breaths taken and no sooner exhaled on long, even, airways.

As if not but a dog that watches the moon under starlight; the gentle sight of snow falling outside of the den.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlized, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @l-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

1K notes · View notes

little-pondhead · 8 days

Text

Your Ancient History, Written In Wax

Danny knew he should have put better security around the Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep. It wasn’t even Vlad who opened it this time! The fruitloop was too busy doing his actual mayor duties because for some godforsaken reason, the man got re-elected.

No, it wasn’t Vlad. And it wasn’t Fright Knight, either. Nor the Observants. Who opened the Sarcophagus, then? Danny didn’t have time to find out as Pariah Dark promptly tore open a hole in reality and hunting Danny down.

The battle was longer this time. He didn’t have the Ecto-Skeleton, as that was the first thing Pariah had destroyed. The halfa had grown a lot over the past few years, and learned some new tricks, but apparently sleeping in a magic ghost box meant that Pariah had absorbed a lot of power. The bigger ghost acted like a one-man army!

Amity Park was caught in the middle of the battle, but the residents made sure it went no further than that. Vlad and the Fentons made a barrier around the town to keep the destruction from leaking. Sam, Tucker, and Dani did crowd control while Danny faced the king head-on.

Their battle shook the Zone and pulled them wildly between the mortal plane and the afterlife. Sometimes, residents noticed a blow from Pariah transported them to the age of the dinosaurs, and Phantom’s Wail brought them to an unknown future. Then they were in a desert. Then a blazing forest. Then underwater. It went on like that, but no one dared step foot outside of Amity. They couldn’t risk being left behind.

It took ages to beat him, but eventually, Danny stood above the old ghost king, encasing his symbols of power in ice so they couldn’t be used again. He refused to claim the title for himself. Tired as he was, Danny handed the objects off to Clockwork for safe keeping and started repairing the damage Pariah had done to the town. The tear he’d made was too big to fix, for now, so no one bothered. They just welcomed their new ghostly neighbors with open arms and worked together to restore Amity Park.

Finally, the day came to bring down the barrier. People were gathered around the giant device the Fentons had built to sustain it. Danny had brought Clockwork to Amity, to double check that they had returned to the right time and dimension.

Clockwork assured everyone that they were in the right spot, and only a small amount of time had passed, so the Fentons gave the signal to drop the shield.

Very quickly did they discover that something was wrong. The air smelled different. The noise of the nearby city, Elmerton, was louder and more chaotic. Something was there that wasn’t before, and it put everyone on edge.

Clockwork smiled, made a remark about the town fitting in better than before, and disappearing before Danny could catch him.

Frantic, Danny had a few of his ghost buds stay behind to protect the town while he investigated.

He flew far and wide, steadily growing horrified at the changes the world had undergone. Heroes, villains, rampant crime and alien invasions. The Earth was unrecognizable. There were people moving around the stars like it was second nature and others raising dead gods like the apocalypse was coming. Magic and ectoplasm was everywhere, rather than following the ley lines like they were supposed to.

Danny returned to Amity.

The fight with Pariah had taken them through space and time. Somewhere along the way, they had changed the course of history so badly that this now felt like an alien world.

How was he supposed to fix this?

In the Watchtower, The Flash was wrapping up monitor duty while Impulse buzzed around him, a little more jittery than usual. The boy was talking a mile a minute, when alarms started blaring an alarming green. Flash had never seen this alarm before, and its crackling whine was grating on his ears.

Flash returned to the monitor, frantically clicking around to find the issue, but nothing was popping up. No major disasters, no invasions, no declarations of war. Nothing! What was causing the alarm?

Impulse swore and zipped to a window, pressing his face against it and staring down at Earth. “Fuck! It’s today isn’t it? I forgot!”

“What’s today?” Flash asked. He shot off a text to Batman, asking if it was an error. The big Bat said it wasn’t, and that he would be there soon.

“The arrival of Amity Park. I learned about this in school; the alarm always gives me headaches.”

Flash turned to his grandson, getting his attention. “Bart,” he stressed. “What are you talking about?”

Impulse barely glanced over his shoulder. Now that Flash was facing him, he could see a strong glow coming from Earth. “The first villain, first anti-villain, and the first hero,” he said anxiously. “They all protect the town of the original metas. They’re all here.”

“Here? Now??”

“Yeah? They weren’t before, but they are now. The first hero said there was time stuff involved, which was what inspired me to start practicing time travel in the first place.”

“I’m not following.”

“It’s okay. We should probably go welcome them before they tear apart Illinois, though. The history I remember says that some of them freaked and destroyed a chunk of the Midwest during a fight with each other.”

“WHAT?”

#dpxdc #pondhead blurbs #liminal amity park #I’ve seen stuff like this in the mhaxdp fandom and I eat it up every time #basically the fight with Pariah caused the town to jump through time a little #and while they THOUGHT they were keeping everything in #shit leaked out and tainted those points in time #so technically #historically and genetically speaking #Amity Park is the origin point for the meta gene and Danny made history as the first hero #because Clockwork is a little shit #everyone embodies a basic ability and it has grown from there #the flash family are direct descendants of Dani (speed force Dani for the win)#Dash is the reason super strength exists #so on and so forth #go buck wild #bart learned about it briefly in history class in the 30th century #practically hero worships them #booster gold knows about them too but in contrast to Bart’s excitement #booster is fucking terrified because there was a period where Amity Park rebelled against the US government #and he’s from that specific time #he learned to fear phantom because he lived during that part while Bart is from farther in the future when those issues got resolved #guess who’s chosen to welcome the town? >:)#if you’re wondering what happened to the GIW #they turned into the branch Amanda Waller runs #Danny is the first hero #Vlad the first villain #and Dani the first anti hero #there’s an arc where Danny is trying to fix things but clockwork won’t let him into the timestream and all the heroes are horrified #because yeah Danny is the OG but if he goes back in time to fix his ‘mistake’ what will happen to them?

437 notes · View notes

matan4il · 7 months

Text

This is the funniest shit, Mile deserves an Oscar at comedy. He's mimicking Apo. My fave bit? He's doing Apo doing Mile's sign...

Mileapo were asked what they would do if they could switch bodies. Mile made sure the coffee vs smoothies saga would live on. Reminder: this started with Apo saying he likes smoothies over coffee on a game show recorded on Sep 1 at the latest which means it has been at least 18 days of Mile being adamant that he DOES know Apo, that Apo DOES like coffee better, and that Apo is a little shit. I'm still team Mile.

And even more coffee vs smoothies drama, where Mile basically asks, "Are you not tired of this? If we could re-tape that show, would you not admit you like coffee better?" And Apo proved he's the toughest little shit out there and said, "Nope."

IDK what this joking "checking you out" thing was, but I approve.

And as usual, they don't know the meaning of personal space...

Also, from the press conference they had in Laos on Sep 17, apparently despite the whole teasing coffee vs smoothies world war, Apo will openly admit that Mile can just look at him and know what he's thinking. I'm not fragile over this at all.

(for all my Mileapo/Kinnporsche posts, click here)

#mileapo #mkp #mile phakphum #mile phakphum romsaithong #phakphum romsaithong #apo nattawin #apo nattawin wattanagitiphat #nattawin wattanagitiphat #man suang #man suang cast #kinnporsche #kinnporsche cast #kinnporsche the cast #kpts cast #kpts the cast #kinnporschedaily #mileapodaily

176 notes · View notes

wheresmymilliondollarman · 10 months

Text

aaron warner x ferrars! reader pt. 4

(continuation from part three)

who knew running a new country was so hard? spoiler alert: apparently everyone but you and your sister. your asylum days never looked so simple.

a/n: hi… i’m back 🔥🔥 i’d like to start by apologizing for the stupid long wait. it was unfair to my readers and i swear i had no intention to leave people waiting. i genuinely forget sometimes people really like my writing </3 and i truly am grateful to the people who read. let’s jus say i have been busy and yet so unmotivated for the littlest things. i won’t bore w the details i’m sure y’all are jus happy i finally posted part 4. again REALLY sorry for the wait and pls enjoy. also now adding borders to my fics (ill edit the old ones too)

word count: 9k

warnings: few plot changes, fights and feuds, violence and blood mention, castle slander, angst, buzzcut aaron 😣😣😣

things were finally looking up for the rebellion. you'd manage to overthrow the supreme commander and his army, the reestablishment no longer ruled over your part of the land - making it open to new possibilities of government.

you never wished you paid attention in your social studies classes until now.

there were so many regulations you had to learn, matters you had to discuss, and, of course, the never-ending paperwork. your least favorite part. it didn't help you were behind on learning the fancy terminology for topics. 'can't people ever just say what they mean?'

juliette's optimism for being a leader was diminishing every time she had to meet with castle on strategy. he poorly disguised his disapproval of leadership upon every encounter.

but you learned to ignore it along the way. it wasn't as if he was ever the perfect leader either, plus you'd get the gist of the whole leadership thing soon. you silently prayed.

in the midst of all the responsibilities, you had to keep aaron from killing kenji most of the time. they were originally getting on somewhat friendly enough terms, but that was before the incident occurred.

that day, kenji barged in with urgency into your room as you were looking over papers. he went on to say there was a 'serious' problem, and you worriedly assumed it had to do with the reestablishment. but it instead involved your boyfriend.

"seriously kenji? i thought we were under attack or someone died!"

"someone will die if you don't handle your boyfriend right now. hopefully better than you've been handling being supreme comm-" kenji was cut off by the click of a gun.

"i dare you to finish your sentence."

with the barrel to his head, kenji quickly defended his words with the barrel to his head. aaron and him bickered back and forth. kenji turned to you for help, but all you did was shrug and mouth 'karma.' then he hit kenji's head with said gun.

"okay, that's enough, can someone explain to me what the issue is here?"

"this is the issue." aaron then turned to reveal chunks of different sizes along the back of his head. you gasp at his ruined hair.

"oh my god, kenji what the hell did you do?"

"i gave him a trim just like he asked!"

this made another argument burst out between the two. kenji denying his mistake and aaron picking the gun back up and threatening to kill him.

"aaron put the gun down."

aaron reluctantly does so, but his glare at kenji doesn't drop.

"phew, thanks, princess."

"kenjii since you "trimmed" warner's hair, i think it's only fair that he does the same to yours." you proclaim.

kenji looks toward you in horror, "no way!"

aaron wastes no time in going to the bathroom and returning with a razor. he gives him a terrifying smile, "i'm only going to trim the edges."

kenji bolted out of the room a second later, complaining about favoritism on the way out.

aaron ended up having no choice but to shave the rest of his hair, leaving him with a military-style buzz cut. you would mourn the longer hair, but truthfully, it did nothing to tarnish his looks.

sector 45, after sending several invitations, finally received a rvsp for an international leadership conference held at your sector. from oceania, is what delalieu told you and juliette.

you started to come to the realization about the lack of history you knew about warner. sure, you knew him deeply now, but you knew so little about his past. castle made it evident when he mentioned to you and juliette his possible connection to oceania's leaders. castle, annoyingly, did not disclose anymore and insisted aaron needed to be the one to tell. yet, he judged how little you both knew about oceania.

warner being immersed into his work left little time for that. while aaron had been helpful in your learning some etiquettes, he'd been closing off his emotions since he father's death. even after many attempts of trying to get him to open up, he vowed he was okay. you had a slim to none chance of prying information about oceania from him.

you felt lost and angry. for being supreme commanders, you and juliette seemed to be almost always out of the loop. castle regarded you as experiments, seeing how two naive teenage girls could survive being leaders. the rest of the world wasn't any different.

you offered the idea of just reading castle's mind, but juliette thought it could lead to mistrust toward you. she believed you both needed to remain calm for the moment, which is what you have done so far. but you were getting a bit bitter playing nice for so long.

at times you felt juliette left you of the leadership issues. she insisted to be the one to tackle meetings and discussion with castle, she sometimes gave answers before even discussing it with you, and even delalieu seemed to report everything to her first before it got to you. you would never bring it up, and just wrote it off as her still getting the hang of everything. but in the back of your mind you worried it was only a foreshadow.

on the way to see the new headquarters, castle rushed to you. he begged you and juliette to reconsider taking warner with you to greet the guest downstairs. you had no clue what he was on about, but played along and told him warner wasn't needed. you quickly caught on to the situation.

you rushed back to your room, put on what you deemed appropriate clothing and freshened up your hair and face. you were still putting on your shoes when you left.

on the way, you thought about how odd it was juliette didn't even bother to inform you. even if you were busy, you both had pagers to contact one another for important events such as this one.

you hear sounds of greetings as you approach the reception. you luckily hadn't missed out on much.

you see kenji along side juliette and feel a pang of betrayal. juliette was subtly shocked and kenji was confused to see you. but you cover it up with a smile as you turn to see the guest.

"apologies for my delay, i was held up with some prior matters." you hold a hand out, "it's a pleasure to meet you, i'm y/n."

the guest introduces himself as haider, and you can't help but notice a glint of recognition as he looks you over.

but that was forgotten as you came to find out haider wasn't aware of the fact sector 45 had another supreme commander as it wasn't mentioned on the invitation. you told him it must've been a mistake, but you threw a questioning glance to juliette.

you felt yourself get lost as the meeting when on. haider didn’t make it discreet he knew warner very well. he made a brief comment on his relationship with the other supreme commander children.

“i’ve got to say, when i first heard about warner being involved with a girl — i had strong doubts. he has never been the relationship type. unless you count lena. oh, but i’m sure you know all about her by now. they were together for almost two-years after all.”

you had no idea who lena was, but you had a strong sense you wouldn’t like the answer. haider had obviously knew this, and faked ignorance with his comment.

“oh. he hasn’t mentioned his ex-girl friend?”

your heart dropped. you glanced at kenji and juliette from the side of your eyed and they held the same face of surprise. you did your best to remain unphased with a polite smile.

“must’ve just not been important enough to discuss. like right now. i’d prefer if we got back on track of the topic instead of digging into my personal relations.”

if haider was impressed or offended he didn’t show and shifted subjects. you tried your best to listen in as juliette spoke with him about dinner, but the thought of warner having an ex-girlfriend floated around in your mind for the rest of the meeting.

the second haider left the room, and you all burst into a discussion for the next step. dinner would be in less than an hour, and you were still filled in with little to no information about haider and his intentions. you knew the next step would be for you to talk to aaron about it, but you weren’t sure you could be alone with him with this newfound information about his past. you got juliette and kenji to come along with you to question him under the excuse that it would be easier than relaying whatever he told you.

before you three could do that, you didn’t forget their actions before this meeting. you knew it would be the worst time to discuss especially with how limited time was, but you spoke without thinking when you saw juliette heading towards the door.

“why didn’t you tell me about this meeting?”

she sighs and brushes you off saying it wasn’t the most important subject right now. but you already begin, so you thought you might as well get some answers, and pushed her for an explanation.

“we’re suppose to be in this together, how could you leave me in the dark—”

“because i didn’t think you could handle it, and quite frankly, castle agreed with me.”

“what?” you were dumfounded by her response.

“you’ve been so unruly lately, and i get it doing this whole supreme commander thing has been challenging — but i couldn’t afford anything with this meeting.”

“unruly? just because i don’t want to listen to every little thing castle says. news flash, he’s made it quite clear he doesn’t support us leading sector 45.”

“he knows far more than us, we should take what he says wisely.”

“j has a point y/n, castle has a lot of experience—” kenji intercepts.

“shut up! you’re just as guilty as juliette. i thought we were friends and then you help juliette hide this meeting from me!” you spit at kenji.

he stays silent, for once. but it says more than enough for you. you turn your bitterness back to your sister.

“was it his idea to only put down you as the supreme commander on the invitations, too?”

“yes.” she reluctantly admits. “castle wasn’t sure if the idea of two supreme commanders would go well over with orher sectors. i swear, y/n, i only found out once they were already sent.”

you didn’t care for reasoning. you were angry at it all. “i agreed to do this for you! it was you wanted us to do this together! ”

“and maybe i’m starting to regret that.”

your face dropped. juliette’s eyes widened as she realized the weight of her words. but it was too late to apologize.

you scoff, “alright. fine. go ahead and do it yourself. go and question warner about haider yourself and talk to castle and beg for his help for dinner. because i’m done being supreme commander. but it’s not like i ever was, right?”

you can’t help but leave a final comment before you stalk out the door, “you know what’s funny? i found out about the meeting because castle wanted me to tell you to not do it on your own, to bring warner, he said. guess you’re unruly to him too.”

with limited options of locations juliette, kenji, or warner wouldn’t be able to find you, you had to resort to being hiding in your old room you were once held captive in.

now less clouded by anger, you facepalmed yourself. perhaps just quitting being supreme commander had been a rash decision. you weren’t even quite sure if you could just quit like that. but you would rather be jobless than take back your words to juliette.

maybe she was right, you are quite unruly. but you had no plans to admit it to her.

you thought back to aaron. you wanted his comfort, but you still were upset about the ex-girlfriend situation. even if you said it was important, you had somewhat of a right to know when your boyfriend was in a past relationship.

you hated how castle was right about how much you lack knowledge about aaron’s history. and you know you should probably be there with kenji and juliette talking to aaron, but you were too prideful, and a little embarrassed to do so.

so you collected yourself as made your way back to your room (taking twists and turns to avoid anyone you didn’t want to see) to prepare yourself mentally and physically for the dinner to come.

unfortunately for you, aaron was sitting on your bed waiting for your return when you stepped into the room. you we’re unsure on how to greet him since he likely was informed about earlier events through juliette and kenji.

“oh my god, you scared me.”

“my apologies, amor. but i had to see you after you you didn’t arrive with kenji and juliette when they went to ask me about haider.”

you went into your closet as he spoke from your bed, picking out a nice dress for dinner. “got into a fight with them and it didn’t end well. then i dramatically quit being supreme commander.” you explained nonchantly.

he was taken aback, “you quit? just like that?”

“yeah.” you confirm walking out the closet with a lilac dress on arm, “you think this’ll be good enough, or it it too much?”

“you’ll look astonishing as always. but don’t change the topic, what happened to that headstrong nature of yours i admire? you can’t just give up after a silly fight.”

you groan, and toss the dress on tour bef next to him, “i really don’t want to talk about it right now. can’t you just tell me what shoes go with this dress?”

“amor.” aaron stands up and interwines his hands in yours, “please don’t shut me out.”

you bitterness rose back up at his words and you drop aaron’s hands. “that’s ironic coming from you.”

“amor, please don’t pick a fight with me.”

“castle once told me i didn’t know you as well as i thought. and he’s right, aaron. any mention of your past and you close right up.”

aaron sighs, “i’m not an open person, you know this. it’s harder for me to talk about my personal life than it is for you. but i mean it when i say i am trying for you.”

“really? then why didn’t you even bother to mention you knew haider. or how about the fact you have an ex-girlfriend! you know how embarrassing it was for someone from a different continent to tell you more than you knew about your boyfriend?”

“lena?” he asks furrowing his brows. “she was barely a girlfriend. haider likely only mentioned her to rile you up and it’s working, so please calm down.”

“oh my god. there you go again! you want to just sweep it under the rug, and i’m tired of it. all i want is a little more openness from you.”

“i have been open, there’s no one closer to my heart than you. please understand that just certain subject are—“

“hard to talk about, yeah i’ve got that.” you exasperated. “i just think it’s important to mention a two-year relationship.”

“it was purely physical.”

your heart stings. “so, physical relationships just mean nothing to you? everything physical we’ve shared hasn’t meant anything to you?”

“that’s not what i meant. i was different back then!”

you turn around, “just go warner. i’d like to be alone right now before dinner.”

aaron didn’t anything else, he knew your word was final. not because of his sense of your emotions, but by the fact you used his last name.

in less than an hour you managed to fight with every person close to you. and you had to see said people at dinner in less than ten minutes. somehow, you blamed castle for your luck.

delalieu knocked on your door to escort you to dinner. you weren’t sure of aaron had told him to or perhaps he had pity that you would be entering alone. either way you were happy to walk with someone you weren’t upset with.

luckily, you had arrived before the guests did. but unluckily, kenji, juliette, and aaron were already there. your usual spot was next to aaron and infront of juliette, kenji sometimes next to you or her. but juliette sat at the head of the table now, kenji to her right and aaron to her left. you had no choice but to awkwardly sit next to warner due to the limited seating. plus you’d rather not show haider theres issues amongst you four.

kenji and juliete silently conversed, your sister ignored you fully while kenji glimpsed at you with a small frown. you could feel aaron turn in your direction, but your gaze focused on the empty seat next to you.

haider arrived shortly, greeted aaron first with a hug, one aaron was visibly discomforted by. then discreetly spoke, both using arabic tongues. which none of you knew he had. ypu almost choke on nothing as he casually reveals aaron know seven languages. the rest of you greeted him curtly, and he took a seat in front of you.

haider wasn’t the only guest at the dinner, his sister nazeera showing up was a bit of a surprise to the rest of you.

nazeera is gorgeous, with her smooth carmel complexion, dark eyes and strong features. her face held diamonds percing; two on her eyebrow and one below her lip. she wore a wrap that covered her whole hair, and it did nothing to lessen her beauty — it enhanced it.

she stared at juliette before she turned to you. you were unsure of the expression she held, and part of you wanted to just find out yourself, but you knew better.

both you and juliette stood up to greet her, and she accepted politely. she gave aaron a mere nod then proceeded to sit down next to you, instead of her brother. but if anything it gave you more of a reason to not talk to the people beside you.

aaron started the conversation about her scraf, but kenji was the one who made an offhanded comment regarding her head scarf, which you learned was called a hijab, claiming it was banned to wear them since it was stabled with religion. nazeera didn’t shy away from answering, she stood her stance and didn’t care for reestablishment rules despite being a supreme commander’s daughter.

nazeera has a sharp tongue and kenji was not prepared for it. you tried to hide you smile as kenji got more flustered with his words. she was highly more likable than her brother.

“are all the other supreme commander kids like this?” you ask her.

“only the ones who aren’t insufferable.” she stands up from her seat, “so, no,” she tells you with a wink. nazeera then announces her departures and leaves the dining table.

you had a good feeling about her. and even though you and juliette were at odds, you knew she also admired nazeera already.

aaron and kenji bickered a bit before haider bid his goodbyes. aaron took the liberty of escorting him to his quarters. a job that likely should’ve been done by you or juliette, but frankly, you didn’t like the guy much to care.

now juliette, kenji, and you sat in an awkward silence. part of you wanted to mend things with your sister, but majority of you felt she should take the first step. kenji looked ready to say something, but held his tongue.

you figured it was the most you’ll get, so you mumbled a goodbye and headed off to your room.

half way there, you stopped. even if you felt you were the one in the right, you were ready to make the first move if it meant rehashing things with your sister and best friend. you rerouted back to the dining room.

before you could enter, you heard talking. you peeked through the slit of the open door and saw nazeera, juliette, and kenji talking.

suddenly, and ugly feeling boiled in your stomach. seeing them all conversing (mainly juliette and nazeera because kenji was mixing his words) made you realize how perfect the three looked together. almost natural. it made you think of how easy it would be to replace you. nazeera would be the one teasing and messing with kenji. nazeera would be the sister you imagined juliette wished she had instead — one who was confident, witted, and courageous. everything you lacked these days.

maybe they just didn’t need you nearly as much as you needed them.

you couldn’t even place your vexation on nazeera. you just met her today, and she was already someone you knew was amazing as she presented herself.

you never entered the dining room. you left before anyone could notice you dejectedly walking away.

the following morning wasn’t better. delalieu knocked on your just as the sun was starting to rise, your restless sleep did nothing to help wake you up. he informed you you’d been invited to accompany haider, and nazeera would likely be joininng. you nodded, thanked him, and sent him on his way.

as soon as the door closed, you grabbed the nearest pillow and screamed into it. haider was already being a pain, and it was his second day.

worst part was, delalieu failed to mention haider had also invited others.

you were unpleasantly surprised to see all three of the people you quarreled with arriving after you.

you weren’t sure who to walk aside. but on instinct you stood next to aaron before you could remember your vendetta. juliette was on one side of haider and you were on the other. nazeera and kenji followed closely behind.

it was unbearably silent the first few steps, there wasn’t a word uttered. the tension would’ve needed a axe to cut.

you couldn’t help but peek at aaron from the side of your eye. you quickly looked forward when you accidentally made eye contact. he sighed quietly after. you hated how badly you had to clench your fist to prevent yourself from latching it onto his.

haider broke the silence. he asked warner if he would be attending the continental symposium. you and juliette only knew briefly about it. no one ever mentioned the nature of the event to either of you.

but when juliette inferred haider about it, you both realized how big the event was.

“i wasn’t sure whether you’d both attend since the late supreme commander anderson has never attended public gathering.”

“we’ll both very much be there.” you add in quickly.

“of course, we aren’t hiding from the world,” juliette adds in, “when will it be?”

haider’s eye slightly widened as if she asked an incredulous question. but it made sense after he revealed it would be in two days. he innocently answered, but you knew he was satisfied having caught juliette off guard.

“it’s really my fault for that. juliette’s been so diligent with managing all other issues i thought it would be better if i took it off her shoulder’s and handled it. but silly me, i’d forgotten to keep her posted on the date.”

you jumped in with an excuse to defend your sister because even if you two weren’t on good terms, you wouldn’t let someone try to toy with her.

juliette looks to you grateful for the help, and you give her a small smile in return.

aaron added in, “she’s right, we’re finalizing the program with delalieu today, who is hard at work planning the details.”

you give his hand a tight squeeze as a ‘thank you’. but as you try to let go, aaron’s hand engulfs your tightly to stop you. you try to wiggle your hand a little, but eventually it it be.

you bite the inside of your cheek to keep you from smiling.

aaron asks haider for his plans during the remainder of his stay. he mentions catching up with old friends then goes on to say juliette and you must’ve received numerous invitations from the other kids of supreme commanders.

“we haven’t gotten the whole group together in far too long,” haider says.

you raise a brow, “whole group? just how many of you are there?”

suddenly everyone stops as haider’s demeanor goes from unauthentic sincerity to ice cold. it almost scares you.

he harshly grabs aaron’s arm,wretching your hands apart, and pulls him forward. haider asks angrily if he’s shared little to nothing about ‘them’ with you.

“you turn your back on us for this — this child? how stupid could you be? you have to know it won’t end well, i promise you that.”

“hey! let go.” you protest.

haider scoffs and ignores you. “i thought it couldn’t be true you’d fallen for a psychotic girl’s insignificant freak sister. i defended you, just to find out it all true. what the hell happened to you?”

you’d had enough shoved him away with your gift, hard enough to cause him to stumble back a little.

haider was stunned by the sudden force then notices the red aura from your hand.

“what did you just do?”

you shrug, “how could a child like me do something? but if you touch him like that again you’ll end up just like the last supreme commander. i promise you that.”

“is that a threat?”

“why don’t you find out?”

haider laughs, almost delighted by the fact you threatened to basically kill him. everyone else unintentionally lets out a breathe they didn’t know they were holding, especially juliette who had been ready to intervene.

haider requested to speak with aaron alone, promising to keep his hands to himself. you and aaron shared a look, and you knew he’d be alright. he gives you a smile that was made for you, and you return it.

the fight from the say before was long forgotten. you knew no matter how many fights you’d have, you’d do almost anything for him.

part of you still hoped for a grand apology, but this would be more than enough. now, you hoped to eventually make amends with the other two.

you walked off, not quite sure the destination. you figured you might as well go on a walk yourself since the planned one got disrupted. but a hand grabbed your arm to stop you.

“hey, uhm,” it’s juliette’s voice, “do you think we could talk? i mean..later because we’re all so busy and obviously you have stuff to do-“

“yeah.” you smile, “i’d like that.”

you both share heartfelt grins. you wave at kenji and nazeera from your spot and walk back toward the base. this time, with a happier kick in your step.

a good few steps in — you felt it, an abrupt change in the environment. it was almost too eerie, and you realized there was no one in sight, not even the guards who are meant to follow you from a generous distance.

you came to the conclusion it was no accident when the first shot punctured your shoulder. the second through your side.

you scream in agony to as you attempt to flee from the open, but more bullets ensue. you manage to block a few with your energy, but the pain was painful enough to leave some to hit your busy, such as your thigh. but the one that made you topple over was a bullet near the chest, in almost the same spot anderson once shot you.

you managed to block it before it was a fatal hit, but it hit you enough to be painful and draw blood.

you were half conscious, the world foggy and blurry in your eyes. you felt someone approach you and kneel down to tower over your defenseless body. a sudden pressure on your neck woke you up enough to understand this person was choking you to kill you.

you used whatever energy you had left to try and push the person off of you. the lack of oxygen and the increase of black spots made it hard for you to focus on pushing the person off.

your adrenaline kicked in to created enough power to get the man off of you. as soon as he groan in pain, you started to feebly crawl away from the perpetuator. your blood likely dragging on the concrete now. but they composed fast, and grabbed onto your ankle. you fid what you could and grabbed the nearest rock and hit them on the head with it. but ir wasn’t enough to stop them from grabbing you again.

at that point you were worn out, too tired to even move a muscle. the loss of blood was starting to make you woozy, and the bullets seemed far more painful than you remembered. you couldn’t register you were on the verge of death.

but the pressure on your neck never returned. instead came the noises of violent punches and broken bones. a new person crouched beside you, you knew they meant you no harm as they assessed your wounds and chanted assuring words.

in your deliriousness, you babbled on about how they looked like your friend kenji, one whom you fought with and missed so much.

“i’m sure your friend misses you too.” kenji responds, doing his best to keep you awake.

you blacked when another person, stronger than the first, carefully carried you and rushed toward the base.

in the medical bay, you were in and out of consciousness. you remember sara and sonya hurriedly tending you, kenji freaking out in the back, and aaron worriedly beside you. your first thought was, ‘where’s juliette?’

unbeknownst to you at the time, juliette was getting her wounds treated as well. she had been shot too, but not nearly as fatal as you. she was caught off guard alone as well, but her attacker only aimed to disable her. nazeera had been near by when she heard the commotion and saved her.

juliette was shot moments before you, and aaron believed it was worked as a distraction so your assailant could successfully kill you.

kenji was the one to find you. after juliette had been injured, he went to find you and arrived in the nick of time.

it took almost two days before you could wake up fully without passing out every minute. the first face you saw was aaron — who was already at your beside, holding your hand tightly — almost like he was praying.

when he noticed you’d woken up, his face became relaxed. he pecked you on the lips before badgering you with questions about your state. you assured him you were alright, and had to repeat it over and over.

your body still ached greatly due to the poison laced in the bullets sara and sonya explained to you. your wounds were healed, but there were still possibility of hallucinations from the poison.

after asking for your sister, sara had informed you of her situation, but quickly told you she was alright after seeing your worried eyes.

the culprits had been caught and sent to the holding cells, but they had refused to cooperate. meaning there was zero information on who was behind both your attacks.

aaron was monitoring you intently, when you sat up he rushed to help. he hadn’t stopped holding onto you since you woke up, as if you’d disappear if he let go. his eyes were red-rimmed, but you didn’t comment on it.

you felt bad for giving him a near-death scare again, and berated yourself for leaving yourself vulnerable. even worse, since your sister had also been hurt. aaron put the blame on himself for leaving you unattended.

no matter what you said, warner seemed distraught. his eyes told you there was more to the issue, he was holding back. as he remembered what the issue was, he grew distant. his grip on your hand loosened.

“is everything okay?”

“as long as you’re okay, amor.” he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “i have to speak with you about something.”

“about what?”

“not here. let’s get you out of here and cleaned up before we talk.”

you nod. you were more than ready to get out the the med bay. your thoughts went to the coming symposium, with you and juliette being temporarily mia, there was likely a plethora of things still needed to get done.

you were happy to finally get a chance to shower. the grime and blood were now down the drain. once done, you changed and went back into your room where aaron was waiting.

before he could get a word in, you embraced him tightly, and he didn’t hesitate to hold you. after almost dying, you just wanted the comfort of aaron. kenji would call you crazy for putting ‘comfort’ and ‘aaron’ in the same sentence.

you kiss him, after what’s felt like forever. it’s not fiery or rushed, but deliberate and emotional. everything was gone from your surrounding for a moment, it was just the two of you. you felt safe. but then aaron pulled away from you, and held onto your hands.

“amor, i need to tell you something. it’s important.” his eyes are looking at everywhere but you.

“you can tell me anything.” you reassure.

he takes a deep breath, running a hand through his blonde hair. your nerves begin to spike, you’ve never seen aaron so hesitant to speak, he’s almost scared.

“i’ll start from the beginning.”

and he did. he told you the start of the reestablishment, their campaigns, ideals, and plans to take over. then, he shifts to the ‘unnatural’s’ and how after they were discovered, they were exploited by the reestablishment.

aaron tells you about two girls who were willingly given over to the reestablishment to be experimented and tested on. you were getting confused on where the conversation was going.

“aaron, why are you explaining all this?”

“because one of those girls is juliette.”

you didn’t know what to say, you were thrown into a loop you still weren’t fully comprehending.

“i don’t understand..”

“the parents you lived with weren’t your biological ones. y/n, you’re both adopted.”

your reality was warped in a matter of seconds. you never felt connected to your ‘parents’, but finding out you came from a different family?

“w-wait… so the people juliette and i lived with for almost our entire lives aren’t our parents?” aaron nods.

“so where are our biological parents? are they alive? wait… who’s the other girl you mentioned before?”

your head was jumbled up, you were trying to get so many answering at once while still trying to process.

aaron closes his eyes for a second before the green is visible again. “that other girl is juliette’s sister. but it’s not you, amor. you and juliette are not biologically related.”

you were frozen, as if time itself had stopped. you free from aaron’s hands and distance yourself. everything had change.

aaron keeps speaking, saying he only knew of juliette’s real sister and parents and sister until recently. castle was the one who told him the information to put the pieces together. castle was the one who urged him to tell you because the reestablishment was was coming, very soon.

“there was no record of you before you were adopted, i had always assumed it was only juliette adopted. it was only after you came here and i ran your dna, along with juliette’s, did i find yours different from your parents.”

juliette wasn’t actually your sister. the parents and girl you grew up with aren’t related to you at all. everytime you talked to aaron about were grateful for juliette as a sister, he knew the truth the whole time.

it took you five minute of speak again. you didn’t care for the rest at the moment, you still had to have another question of yours answered.

“if juliette’s biological parents work for the reestablishment, where are mine?”

“i swear, i had no idea-“

“please. just tell me.”

the more you heart, the more your heart shatters. to stay and watch over sector 45 while his father left to the capital, anderson had him prove himself. it started with emmaline, juliette’s real sister. he was in charge of her imprisonment and torture. but then his father sent him one more task before he was supreme commander.

anderson transported a man and woman to sector 45, aaron was commanded to get information, by any means, out of them. it went on for a year, until anderson saw no value in keeping them anymore.

his father ordered a public execution, and aaron did as he was told. only when finding a journal of his father just hours before you woke up did he get the identity of those people. your parents.

it was the final straw to send you spiraling. you don’t know if you got on the floor or started yelling first. aaron knelt down next to you, trying to soothe you, but it was only making it worse.

you don’t even feel the tears are running down your face. aaron apologizes over and over saying, no matter how many times you told him to stop. you could only keep saying ‘why?’ over and over.

‘why did you keep this from me?’

‘why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

when aaron tried holding you, you roughly shoved him away. his touch no longer felt loving. instead, it became poisonous.

“don’t touch me.”

“amor, please. i love you, so much.”

“you don’t know how to love anyone. you’re a fucking coward.”

the room was suffocating you. you felt trapped and had to get out of there. you got up and booked it out the door, not stopping when aaron called out your name.

you keeping running and let your legs guide you to your destination. the moment you spotted the white door, you came to a halt.

you barge in with no warning, startling the two people in the room. you take big step toward your target and, without hesitation, you slap castle.

“oh my god— what the hell, y/n!”

kenji’s presence does nothing to stop you, “did you have your kicks keeping secrets from us this entire time?”

castle sighs, now unphased by your violence, “i assume warner told you.”

“we trusted you! and all you did was keep us in the dark about our own fucking life!”

“what the hell is going on?”

“does juliette know?”

“i talked to her not long before warner went to you.”

‘oh god,’ you thought. you worried that was the reason juliette has lacked to see you since you’ve woken up.

“miss ferrars, it was not my intention to cause pain to your or your sis— juliette.”

his error struck a nerve, “no, but it was your intention to be a liar and snake, screw you.”

you stormed out in a rage, not before doing a 180 on castle’s desk. you hoped he’d have the worst time cleaning up.

you ran. out of his office and out of the compound. away from it all. you finally stopped after being knee-deep into a forest.

not caring for your surroundings, you sat down on the nearest large rock. it was then you realized how much energy you exhausted. you took in deep breaths to regain your breathing stability. the oxygen filled your lung helped to calm you down for the first time in the past hour.

with no one around, you finally had the time to think straight without anger and despair clouding your judgement. you weren’t even sure if you could exhaust anymore tears.

but it turned out you did. going through the events of the past hour, didn’t help with processing as you thought it would. it only made you relive the heart-ache.

took half an hour to calm down your sobbing. but it was oddly comforting doing it in a place no one would hear you.

you decided didn’t wanna focus on everything you learned. not on aaron. not on being adopted. not on juliette not being your sister. not on your parents being dead before you got the chance to meet them.

you focused on what you could control — the coming continental symposium. it would be in less than a day. you had nothing prepared, not even attire; much less a speech.

you had no idea how you could show up and presume your personality from before. how could you face the supreme commander kids in a state like this? your thoughts wondered to juliette on what her plan would be. but then it hit you; how was juliette handling it?

when you thought about it, you hadn’t seen her all day. she didn’t see you when you woke up, nor before you and aaron talked. she likely didn’t take this news lightly, especially regarding her sister.

thinking about juliette having a sister, that wasn’t you, was painful. your bond wouldn’t be the same. you weren’t blood, juliette no longer had a reason to stand by your side.

despite telling yourself not to, you thought back to warner. his betrayal hurt deeper than castle’s. how could you trust him again? you couldn’t. it was over.

time passed like nothing being amongst nature. the once light blue sky, turned orange with pink hues, signaling the end of the day. you knew you couldn’t hide forever. you had to find juliette.

if your theory was right then juliette was not in her room. you brainstormed possible locations when you bumped into kenji.

“y/n? thank god, everyone’s been worried about where you went, and juliette—“

“where juliette? i need to see her now.”

“y/n… warner told me everything. i know it must be hard for you both, but i think typu both need some spac—“

you snap, “just tell me where she is kenji!”

“she’s not in the best state.”

“take me to her. now.”

kenji reluctantly leads you to the door of anderson’s office. when you saw it was locked, you pounded on the wood relentlessly.

“c’mon, let’s just go.” kenji persists.

“juliette! open the door!”

“go away.”

“juliette, please let me in. i wanna talk.”

“i don’t wanna speak to you.”

“well, i do.”

“you’re not my real sister, so leave me alone!”

“fine,” you scoff, “hopefully you treat your new sister a lot better than your treating me right now.”

“fuck you.”

“fuck you too!” you throw back.

“…bad time to say i told you so?”

you rolled your eyes at kenji’s remark and walk away. your anger resurged, and you needed somewhere to blow off steam. training room had been unfortunate to be your victim.

when you saw no one in sight, you took it as a sign to proceed. in a matter of seconds, objects where tossed across the room through your levitation. weights were scattered, some broken, benches were bent out of shape, even a few treadmills weren’t so kindly spared. you’d feel bad about the damage later, but it felt so good in that moment to get angry.

it was dark outside when your adrenaline was closing to nothing. your only had energy to sit on a mat laid across the floor. you figured you’d take a quick power nap before going back to your room to sleep.

as soon as you closed you eyes, you were passed out. you’d hadn’t realized just how much of your energy you exerted.

aaron warner was getting back from his debriefing with delalieu, when the open door of the training room caught his eyes.

he was more than dismayed to see the damage done to what once was the training center. he was irritated that he’d have to replace basically all equipment. aaron assumed there was violent fight that happened, but then his eyes fell upon your form sleeping soundly on the floor.

now, he was more impressed than annoyed at the damage done. he would’ve been slightly proud of he wasn’t the reason for you to lash out so brutally.

aaron picked up your limp body in his arms, and carried you off to bed; taking advantage of holding you again. because he wasn’t sure the next time he’d be able to.

you were disoriented after waking up in your room, wondering how you ended up in your room when you’d fell asleep in the training room. you threw the possibly of sleeping walking to bed in, but then decides you didn’t care much for finding out.

it had been much later than you anticipated, and you were surprised no one woke you up. you dressed swiftly and headed out the door, despite a dreading feeling brewing in your gut.

first stop was to find delalieu, who actually found you first. he informed you the arrival of the newest guests and listened as he listed name. you stopped when he uttered the word ‘lena.’

“lena? as in warner’s ex-girlfriend?”

delalieu says nothing, but his eyes are looking at the ground. ‘so that’s a yes.’

great, you thought. you broke up less than twenty four hours ago and his ex already shows up.

then delalieu tells you juliette is already greeting guests, so your presence is not mandatory. he likely knows all of yesterday’s events, including your fight with her, so he’s likely trying to prevent conflict before the symposium.

a stronger person would’ve bitten the bullet and showed up anyway. but you weren’t that stronger person today. you would take to chance to avoid people you didn’t wanna see at any point.

perhaps it was a coward’s way, but you believed after everything, you were entitled to have at least one day.

you busied yourself in the office of your room; approving symposium plan and decor, looking through letters, and going through anderson’s old files — provided by delalieu.

kenji came to see you three hours before the symposium. you pretended to not here it the first couple times he knocked, but he was annoyingly persistent.

you weren’t mad at kenji, he didn’t know anything before you. but didn’t mean seeing him was easy, his presence always reminded you of juliette. you three had always hung out. now he was stuck in the middle.

kenji told you nazeera wanted to speak with you, so you granted her permission to enter. nazeera was quick to her point and told you the reestablishment’s plan; destroying sector 45. she advised you and juliette presented yourself strong at the event, to show everyone you’re a formidable enemy. plus, there was the possibility of sudden danger because of the plans the reestablishment had for juliette and you.

you found sudden danger was just always a given in your life.

you weren’t sure how you and juliette could show up united, you both were at odds and still processing everything you’ve been told. it would be nearly impossible to act as if nothing has changed.

were you even still supreme commander? you weren’t sure you ever ‘unquit’.

but, differences would have to be put aside. because everyone will be watching for your next move. and it may or may not lead to the demise of sector 45.

you missed just shooting and punching enemies.

kenji stuck around after nazeera left. you both discussed the danger to come. then, he filled you in on anything you missed, juliette’s buzzcut, warner sulking, the new guests, and, your favorite, lena being humbled by juliette.

apparently, she’d been ‘eager’ to meet you and asked juliette about your whereabouts. she referred to you as an ‘ex-girlfriend’ is what kenji told you. how she knew about the break up, you had no idea.

juliette looked her up and down before telling her you don’t waste your time with other insignificant to you.

you couldn’t help but laugh, maybe you were judging lena before knowing her, but based on that interaction; it told you enough.

once kenji left to get ready, you decided you’d do the same.

your nerves spiked the closer it got time for the big event. you spent a good hour deciding what would be best to wear. you hadn’t realized you relied on warner for fashion help until that moment.

you settled on a floor-length gown with beautiful embroidered and beaded details. you tried to avoid putting any accessories gifted to you by warner, but it was nearly impossible.

you attempted a makeup look, and you thought you did a pretty good job. and if not, kenji never frayed from being brutally honest to your face.

a guard knocked at your door to alert you that it was time. you cross your finger before exiting the room. time to face everyone you’d been avoiding.

everyone who was to go to the symposium was gathered outside the base, awaiting the vehicle to take them to the meeting location. as expected, everyone was dressed formally.

warner was quick to spot you and hurriedly walked to you. you power walked to get away from him, and hopefully find someone you liked at the moment. but, nonetheless, he caught up to you.

“i don’t wanna talk to you.”

“please, amor. hear me out.”

warner pulls you close to him, holding your hands hostage at his chest. you look into his eyes, and you can see how tired he looks. he’s hadn’t slept well, and it was obvious.

“what could you possibly have to say to me?”

“what could i possibly not have to say to you?”

“i’m sure you rather entertain you’re ex-girlfriend over day, glaring daggers to us.”

“you know that’s not true.”

“do i? i don’t know anything that’s true lately.”

“i love you. my hearts burns for you greatly, and a moment without you is one i can’t bare.”

“i don’t want to hear—“

“my heart has always been yours. i’ll never be able to take back everything i’ve done, but i refuse to lose you because of it.”

“aaron.”

“you can scream or yell at me all you want, if it means you’ll stay by my side.”

his forehead presses against yours. his eyes are focused on every feature of your face that hes already committed to memory.

“say you forgive me, amor.” he whispers so vulnerably.

you want to kiss him. you want everything to be magically better after. you want to believe this is another challenge you both can overcome.

but you can’t. at least no so soon.

you’re holding back tears, but aaron already has one going down his face.

“i can’t.” you distance yourself from warner. “every time i see you, i’m reminded of your betrayal. reminded how much heart-ache you’ve caused me. it can’t be so easily forgotten, aaron. not when i still love you so much.”

you were thankful to be distracted when the guards informed you the rides were here. but your thoughts switched as you noticed you’d have to be enclosed with aaron, juliette, and kenji for fifteen minutes, especially when you had to sit next to warner because juliette was just as mad at him as well.

you the were first out given the chance. you were overwhelmed by the amount of people who showed. thinking about juliette and you having to speak in-front of them all was intimidating. and likely all of them hoped for your demise. fun.

now, juliette took the podium, and you were next to her. you two have yet to discuss anything, so you’ll have to wing your speech to match the tone of hers.

but before she could start, the chaos begins. numerous people being protesting and berating both you & juliette and sector 45.

it was all getting jumbled, but there were various ‘traitors’, ‘you’re just children!’, and ‘freaks.’

to defend juliette, you move to the microphone and angrily demand everyone to quiet down, you do your best to yell over the voices rioting.

out of nowhere, the stage you’re standing on explodes. you’re both launched ten or more feet back. then chaos ensues.

theres a ringing in your ear, making it hard to hear anything; only you witness it all from the ground. people running left and right, the stage was now on fire, and men in uniform started invading the premises.

you see juliette lying on the ground not too far from you. you croak her name, then aaron’s and kenji’s, but you’re not sure if you’re even using your vocals.

you feel yourself being dragged away, you’re unmoving. you feel numb, not able to identify which parts of you are injured.

it’s all happening on slow motion in your vision.

you can see the same happening to juliette. with your head above the ground you see a new perspective. you finally see your friends, some are lying motionless, others are running.

you find kenji helping others escape and aaron with him taking down as many guards. then aaron spots you being dragged away, and his eyes widen. he’s on the move to reach for you, but his distraction leaves an opening for a soldier to take him down from behind.

it takes five soldiers to hold him down, he’s yelling your name, and you don’t react. they finally hand cuff him, not wasting a moment to inject him with something strong enough to incapacitate him.

kenji follow the same fate, not being able to get away invisible before nazeera knocks him out.

a man stands in front of you, blocking you from seeing the scene. you recognize the black expensive boots immediately.

“seems we both have a habit of not staying dead.”

anderson lunges the barrel of the pistol against your head — then it all went black.

you were so sick of seventeen.

taglist — @ravisinghs-wife @tom-pls-fuck-me @valeridarkness @fallonaurr @whatsupb18 @letspretendimnottrash @heart-an0n @mrsspector-grant @kikilarast10 @nina357 @lupinswolfsbanes (some aren’t tagging D: ) tysm for the support <3

#aaron warner x reader #aaron warner #aaron warner anderson #aaron warner imagine #aaron warner fanfic #aaron warner x female reader #x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #shatter me #x female reader #juliette ferrars #kenji kishimoto #shatter me fanfic

268 notes · View notes

rheallsim · 1 year

Text

Last night I sent my teen to prom. All the teens were initially loaded onto the dance floor, so I had her join them; but they just stood there. Nobody moved as time ticked on.

I cancelled and re-did actions. I used testingcheats to reset sims. I tried everything to get them to do stuff, and was about to say "Dang, this game is so bugged, why couldn't they make this one thing work?" and chalk it up to EA being crap at their jobs—

—then I noticed that occasionally the teens would have a thought bubble above appear their head. The thought bubble was always the headshot of the same townie teen. I checked my sim's moodlets and saw the dreaded "Embarrassed"/"Cannot unsee" moodlet, indicating someone was apparently nude in the vicinity.

Finally, I realized the problem. I used Better Exceptions to learn that townie's CC apparel, and tracked it down to a pair of pants that still had the "nude" buff attached to it, causing everyone to bug out and freeze in place because they couldn't get over their embarrassed reactions. (And apparently the teen spawned with them even though they're disallowed for random, asdsfjk)

Finally I used testing cheats to "delete" the teen with the offending trousers and the teens were freed! They started dancing and talking and laughing… but then prom ended. I took too long to work it out, haha. XD

This "nude" buff thing with CC clothing happens so often, and it drives me nuts, haha! Thankfully @sims4studioofficial's recent update made it even simpler to remove the nude buff tuning, but you still have to go through every package file one by one to fix is. :\

Has anyone made some sort of tool or batch fix to mass-remove the nude buff from CC clothing? It's one of my major pet peeves but I have so much CC clothing and going through them one by one would take literal days. ;____;

(Old tutorial on how to fix the nude buff tuning on CC clothing using Sims4Studio)

(Or with the latest S4S update, open the package file, click to the "Tuning" tab, and click the "x" next to the nude buff modifier in the list. Don't forget to click "apply to all swatches" and "save" when you're done!)

#Text post #Rheall Rambles #question #CC Bug #long post

147 notes · View notes

daily-linkclick · 9 months

Note

What is the theory abt lg being from an alternate timeline? I’ve been seeing a lot of ppl talk about it and idrk where it comes from, and what are your thoughts??(have a nice day!!)

this ask magically appeared in my inbox just today but apparently it was sent weeks ago, holy shit! thank you for waiting op LMFAO

anyways, it's a theory that's been around before season 2, iirc! mostly because we had little to nothing lore wise around their powers, and its just fun thinking about while we waited for anything canon. there were a few things that did hint at lu guang being from an alternative timeline, being that we don't know his age and backstory, and his weird hair color (not a lot of people sporting full white hair, or any unnatural hair color in link click, at least)

those aspects don't necessarily point to him being from an alternate timeline, but they also could be hints towards it! but there's new content that makes this theory potentially canon! it's from this music video played during Bilibili World. it features an alternate mv for vortex, which is interesting because we see lu guang falling first:

youtube

in it, there are several shots with cheng xiaoshi wearing completely different outfits, some injured and one seemingly dead? Plus a frame that shows four cxs's merging into one. maybe it's just ooo pretty visuals, but there's a looot of imagery that implies different timelines (shard fractals, reflections, mirror images, etc)

There's also this shot, with lu guang wearing an alternate fit we've never seen - and he's wearing more black in this one?? his s1 fit also featured a dark shirt and pants but his flannel color was more dominant. this leads me to believe that this is lu guang but less experienced (another timeline).

maybe all of this is just non-canon for marketing, they did market lu guang as dead for all of pre-s2 lol, but i like to believe this is them teasing lu guang's past! even if he's the main character, he's someone who's past we know the least of. i'd argue we find out more about side characters than we do about him actually - which makes me (and a lot of other people) think he's from an alternate timeline!

that's the gist; i'll put my own thoughts under a read more so this post won't be insanely long

my own thoughts on the theory is that i think lu guang is from multiple alternate timelines. the frame with multiple cheng xiaoshis, and the one where four merge into one makes me believe lu guang met cheng xiaoshi in his timeline, but cxs either died or had a miserable life. he kept going into different timelines in an attempt to save him / be in a timeline where cheng xiaoshi is actually safe and happy, and finally got to the timeline we see in the show.

though that part requires him having more than just the power to look into what happens in a photo. but there's been proof of lu guang hiding what he knows / has with cheng xiaoshi (re: him hiding the fact emma died, and him hiding the photo that liu tianchen gave him). he's also an incredibly private person. if he hides from his closest friend, who's to say he isn't hiding something from the audience either?

we also don't know how they got their powers. if lu guang originally had the power to dive back into pictures, then it would make sense on how he's able to go to different timelines. also, studio lan clearly emphasizes the fact that the pair are two halves of a whole, and the show is more interesting because of that dynamic.

as an extra: lu guang's doting nature makes a lot of sense too, he just doesn't want to see cheng xiaoshi miserable again! it's a pretty known fact that cheng xiaoshi didn't have any friends (besides qiao ling) before lu guang, and his life insantly got better when they finally were a trio (interesting that it was mainly because of a mysterious person that popped out of nowhere). here's a fun twitter thread by t3mp0s about the trio's dynamic

lastly, i just think it'd be fun if at one point cheng xiaoshi slowly discovers what lu guang did in his past for him. and how hypocritical lu guang would sound after saying "past or future, leave them be" if he never applied that to cheng xiaoshi! either way i still want to see a cxs saving lg arc man... they keep teasing it EVEN IN THE MV

that's it!! i know link click's best quality is the trio going through other people's stories, but i think they're preparing us for the biggest one: lu guang's.

#link click #link click spoilers #dlc asks #i draw cheng xiaoshi a lot but listen i love thinking about lu guang more . he is so mysterious #HOPE THIS WAS UNDERSTANDABLE LOL #i didnt say anything abt the two as a ship in this post bc im someone who could do with or without it #but my god studio lan is not helping their case when they say 'yeah theyre two halves of a whole character'#i love doomed gays #lmk if there was anything i cld say more honestly i wrote this in a haze #because its my favorite theory #lu guang

103 notes · View notes

apocalypticavolition · 3 months

Text

Let's (re)Read The Great Hunt! Chapter 37: What Might Be

Everyone has that moment that they've looked back on and wonder, "What if I'd done it differently?" Sometimes we can move on, put what-ifs to rest, but sometimes that question will haunt us for the rest of our lives. Don't let this post be that moment. Don't let future you think to themself, an hour from now, "What if I just hadn't spoiled the whole Wheel of Time series for myself by reading this post? What if I'd enjoyed the books by reading them without spoilers?" Don't click "Keep reading" unless you already know all the spoilers and thus will not forever be wondering.

(And yet... perhaps if you do not choose to spoil yourself, years from now you will look back on this moment and wonder what might have happened if you had.)

This chapter has a Portal Stone icon because we're doing one of the best chapters in the whole damn series.

“We stood it upright,” Alar said, “when we found it many years ago, but we did not move it. It . . . seemed to . . . resist being moved.”

Probably the Stones are all entangled in some sort of higher dimensional quantum process, on one part just to be able to function at all and on another to ensure that no one warps off to an alternate world where it turns out that the Stone was tossed into a volcanic caldera a few years back and thus they instantly die. I wonder if there's wiggle room to allow stuff like Stones falling in one world but not another, or if they're all so tied up that reorienting it in one world caused it to be fixed in all of the others too.

Forgive us for our lack of ceremony in leaving you, but the Wheel waits for no woman.

Since I've given Jordan a bit of guff here and there for enforcing his own gender beliefs on the settings, point here for having Verin use "woman" as the default term. Hashtag HER-story, amirite?

Ingtar’s back stiffened. “I hold back at nothing. Take us to Toman Head or take us to Shayol Ghul. If the Horn of Valere lies at the end, I will follow you.”

Really you might argue that this here was the real moment of redemption for Ingtar and that all the rest is just the formality of seeing it through.

I have never used a Stone; that is why your use is more recent than mine.

"Bitch I'm just covering so no one has to know you're the Dragon Reborn. Do the plot thing already!"

Also I kinda feel that Verin is really stretching the oaths she's pretending to have here.

What would I not give to talk with this girl of yours? Or better, to put my hands on her book. It is generally thought that no copy of Mirrors of the Wheel survived the Breaking whole. Serafelle always tells me there are more books that we believe lost than I could credit waiting to be found.

Honestly, even though rumors are so rarely right in this world, I think popular opinion is correct and none survive. I also find it pretty doubtful that there's that many lost books left to be recovered at this point: three and a half thousand years is a long-ass time, too long for most forms of writing to survive.

Apparently, not every Stone connects to every world, and the Aes Sedai of the Age of Legends believed that there were possible worlds no Stones at all touched.

Among others, any timeline where a Portal Stone was never constructed would by definition remain off of the network. I wonder how they decide what Stones connect to what, though. Was it perhaps based on what ifs related to the nearby areas? What other worlds were missing?

With one finger she outlined a rectangle containing eight carvings that were much alike, a circle and an arrow, but in half the arrow was contained inside the circle, while in the others the point pierced the circle through. The arrows pointed left, right, up and down, and surrounding each circle was a different line of what Rand was sure was script, though in no language he knew, all curving lines that suddenly became jagged hooks, then flowed on again.

I expect that these worlds have extremely non-Euclidean geometries at play, based on how they were used to make the Ways. Likely the arrow has something to do with a physical force, probably gravity.

As my father would have said, it’s time to roll the dice.

Headcanon: Mat is Verin's dad reborn.

“I am Rand al’Thor,” he growled. “I am not the Dragon Reborn. I won’t be a false Dragon.” “You are what you are. Will you choose, or will you stand here until your friend dies?”

As I've said before, the one thing Rand's not allowed to do is stand still: every time he does the pressure only mounts until he has to act. Verin at least offers the kindness of spelling it out for him.

The flame consumed fear and passion and was gone almost before he thought to form it. Gone, leaving only emptiness, and shining saidin, sickening, tantalizing, stomach-turning, seductive. He . . . reached for it . . . and it filled him, made him alive. He did not move a muscle, but he felt as if he were quivering with the rush of the One Power into him.

After all this time, I still can't decide if being a channeler would be really awesome or really awful.

“Father!” Rand screamed. Clawing his belt knife from its sheath, he threw himself over the table to help his father, and screamed again as the first sword ran through his chest.

Though of course the Mirror Worlds take from the Many Worlds Theory, we must remember that they're not actually the same. The Many Worlds Theory is a way of resolving one of the fundamental mysteries of quantum mechanics. When not observed, particles don't have discrete locations but probabilites of being here, there, or even over there. These odds are called a "waveform". When observed, the waveform collapses and the particle is only in one of those places. The thing scientists don't get yet is the mechanic of that collapse nor the reason. Many Worlds Theory says "The collapse is an illusion. All of those possibilities exist somewhere but since we can only exist in one place we can only ever observe one possibility. All worlds continue on, none with more value or reality than any other except in that those who exist in only one must favor where they are."

This is not what the Mirror Worlds are. The Pattern of Ages is a specific framework which dictates one reality (T'A'R) reigns supreme above all the others, and that among these the closest reflection (the Prime Reality) is inherently more valid than the increasingly distorted copies.

In Many Worlds theory, one can discuss the relative probabilties of different timelines. One location for a particle might have had a 2/3rds chance of being the real one while the other two were each only a sixth. Amid the Mirror Worlds, there's no such thing. T'A'R and the Prime reality each have a 100% chance of being true and all other worlds have a 0% chance of happening.

That said, the Wheel does seem to think some Mirror Worlds are more plausible than others, and I think Rand's journey is - at least at first - moving in order of descending plausibility. Him dying immediately when the story began is a very "likely" outcome - to some degree more likely than other potential deaths later in the timeline just because in each of those scenarios Rand had a little more experience to keep him going.

There was a year when neither merchants nor peddlers came, and when they returned the next they brought word that Artur Hawkwing’s armies had come back, or their descendants, at least.

It's bizarrely heartening to think that even the Seanchan invasion will completely miss that the Two Rivers exists.

Also note that this world - where Rand is never found by Fain or Moiraine and never leaves as a result - seems next most likely amid the categories.

Egwene grew frightened when the moods were on him, for strange things sometimes happened when he was at his bleakest—lightning storms she had not heard listening to the wind, wildfires in the forest—but she loved him and cared for him and kept him sane, though some muttered that Rand al’Thor was crazy and dangerous.

I wonder what happened to this Egwene that she accepts the Two Rivers life without complaint while Rand is forever ranting about how life should be. I also do think that the haters should remember that this is the "no inciting incident" default Egwene: a caring person who stays with Rand until the end. The pair grow apart because of outside forces, not because Egwene is fundamentally flawed as a person.

Women came, too, shouldering what weapons they could find, marching alongside the men. Some laughed, saying that they had the strange feeling they had done this before.

This is both nice foreshadowing for how the Two Rivers folk will respond to the real Shadowspawn invasion and another hint of the old blood amid the people. It would not be surprising at all if many of them were truly the last of Manetheren reborn.

Tam tried to console Rand when Egwene took sick and died just a week before their wedding.

The nextmost implausible sort of world: no inciting incident and Rand survives his channeling sickness but Egwene does not. Being a slightly mainer character than she is, it tracks that this is more plausible than a world where he dies young while she stays on track to be Wisdom.

Elayne did not look at him, of course; she married a Tairen prince, though she did not seem happy in it.

I'd be upset too in this position. What a strange world this is, that a gal who should be the first Aes Sedai queen in centuries should end up married to anyone from Tear. What the fuck is going on at the White Tower to lead to this? I would guess that the reason Moiraine didn't find Rand is that Siuan isn't Amyrlin and that whoever is in charge instead has run the place into the ground.

Also, assuming "prince" means "son of a High Lord or Lady", if not "High Lord" directly, I wonder which horrible family Elayne is stuck with.

He knew he was mad, and did not care. A wasting sickness came on him, and he did not care about that, either, and neither did anyone else, for word had come that Artur Hawkwing’s armies had returned to reclaim the land.

1. It seems that this Rand is doomed to never be able to complete his character development without the actual plot happening.

2. What's delayed the Seanchan by years if not a decade? How far back does this timeline's divergence have to be to account for all of this?

Many of the people of Caemlyn had fled already, and many counseled the army to retreat further, but Elayne was Queen, now, and vowed she would not leave Caemlyn. She would not look at his ruined face, scarred by his sickness, but he could not leave her, and so what was left of the Queen’s Guards prepared to defend the Queen while her people ran.

I expect that this was foreshadowing Caemlyn's importance in the Last Battle, an importance that Sanderson didn't fully follow up on. Even in this life, Rand finds himself head of an army by Elayne's side leading a desperate last stand.

I have won again, Lews Therin. Flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker flicker.

There's some great details in the paragraph that precedes this bit, much too much to analyze. It says a great deal about the central nature of Rand to the Pattern that he can have so many bizarre outcomes: I expect no one else in the party had anywhere near so much variety in their lives.

We also get confirmation that Rand is Aiel, which is nice, though it's sad that the closest thing to a reference Aviendha gets in this procession is "women he had never seen before".

Of course, Rand's lovers aren't the important part here. Elayne and Min get mentioned but it is Egwene who receives a similar multi-faceted fate. So often she is a central figure in his life; she can't help but be his opposite even when their lives have gone horribly off-script.

And of course, our iconic line. The Dark One wins again and again, but like I already said: none of these worlds have even a 0.00000000000000000000000000000001 percent chance of happening. None of these victories matter in the slightest.

“Does it surprise you that your life might go differently if you made different choices, or different things happened to you? Though I never thought I—Well. The important thing is, we are here. Though not as we hoped.”

I desperately wish I had the slightest idea what Verin had seen in her procession. Were there worlds where she avoided the Black Ajah altogether, or worlds where she happily threw in with them? Maybe a world where she poisoned Cadsuane, or one where she was in Moiraine's place and threw Lanfear through the twisted red door?

You should not have tried to bring us directly here. I don’t know what went wrong—I don’t suppose I ever will—but from the trees, I would say it is well into late autumn.

Presumably it's the nature of those arrow worlds. I've joked about the Ways being akin to the inside of a black hole and suggested that they had strange geometry and I expect this is proof. They did come instantly but it also took four months by another spacetime's reckoning.

“Rand, I’d never tell anyone about—about you. I wouldn’t betray you. You have to believe that!”

It's true! Mat doesn't do that in this reality and none of the other ones count. But I do think he was tempted at points. Not enough to go through with it (and he had no real opportunity to do so), but still. Now though, that door is permanently closed.

The curly-haired youth dropped his hands from his face with a sigh. Red marks scored his forehead and cheeks where his nails had dug in. His yellow eyes hid his thoughts.

Wolf boy here probably had one hell of a time in the pack. Or perhaps he just got out of that weird timeline where he mistakes Laila for a Trolloc.

Rand backed away when she reached for him. “Don’t be foolish,” she told him. “I don’t want your help,” he said quietly. “Or any Aes Sedai help.” Her lips twitched. “As you wish.”

1. I expect that nearly everyone has now forgotten a good deal of the experience thanks to Verin's help, which ironically helps Rand even though he doesn't want it.

2. Verin must really chafe at the sheer ingratitude of this, considering just how much she's doing for the dumb boy.

3. That's the end of our chapter folks! Next time: Remember Egwene? She still exists!

13 notes · View notes

runwayrunway · 9 months

Text

No. 36 - Riyadh Air

No, they are not changing their name to Saudi Arabian Airways, but there is a new development on the Saudi Arabian flag carrier front.

That's right, Saudia is dead, sayonara you w-

No. That isn't true, that was a joke. But what isn't a joke is that Riyadh Air is a planned second flag carrier for Saudi Arabia.

That's mostly a joke. Other countries have multiple flag carriers, though that comes with a couple caveats. Usually when this happens one is full-service and international while the other is domestic and/or low cost. The UAE has two flag carriers, but one is Dubai's and the other is Abu Dhabi's, which feels like an important distinction.

Saudi Arabia, on the other hand, just has decided they want to operate a second airline instead of doing the normal thing and putting all their resources into one really good airline. I don't understand it. The plan is to keep Saudia based in Jeddah while Riyadh Air is based in Riyadh...again, plenty of airlines have multiple hubs, so I don't see the point. They claim to be the first "digital-native airline", which is shaped like words yet means nothing (also, take that up with David Neeleman and Breeze). They've nabbed Etihad's old CEO and bought a bunch of 787s, and the stated goal is to become the largest carrier in the Gulf region at an unprecedented blistering pace in order to increase tourism. Given Emirates's numbers...well, it's probably still more likely to happen than a startup airline operating exclusively A380s managing to turn a profit, but that's not saying much.

Anyway, they've got a livery! Apparently this is the first of two, so expect a follow-up post when the second one drops, but for now there's plenty to talk about as is.

Unlike many - nay, most - of the subjects I cover, Riyadh Air has made me do absolutely zero research. You do get modern liveries like jetBlue and Lufthansa with little style guides to weakly attempt to back up their relatively mundane graphic design choices and things like condor and Icelandair's lovely little webpages, but Riyadh Air has done them all at least one if not several better by not only explaining in detail where they got their inspiration but also giving me a high-res 3D model of their airplane that I can rotate and zoom in and out on.

Take care; my computer is fairly underpowered and I do have an absurd number of tabs open most of the time, but this did crash my browser multiple times. Even just opening the main page of their website makes my CPU sound like it's spooling up for takeoff.

Okay. First I want to discuss the logo. They've got a video up on their thought process. I had transcribed it, but it looks better in motion, and thankfully they've stopped making it autoplay (presumably because, as I mentioned, this website absolutely guzzles processor as is) and in the process made it possible for me to simply left-click it off their website and into this post. Don't worry about it killing your browser. It's a normal video in a normal tumblr post without a 100 million dollar website chugging along in the background.

(I've taken some screenshots in case anyone does have trouble with the video.)

Now this is how you design a logo. The airplane window thing feels, in retrospect, so obvious I can't believe nobody had done it yet. I think it pairs gorgeously with the R, and I love that they chose to take inspiration from Arabic calligraphy, which is not only a massive point of pride for cultures which utilize the script but also just generally gorgeous. (It looks a bit like a stretched backwards hamza to me.) The shape of the bird's wing is the part I have the most trouble actually connecting to what I'm seeing, but sure, I'll give it to them. What the heck. This logo is nice.

I mentioned when discussing China Airlines that very few airlines use lavender as a primary color. Well, here's one that does! They actually discuss this on their website as well:

Inspired by the lavender blossoms that carpet Saudi Arabia, we've chosen this color because it symbolizes Saudi generosity and its authentic hospitality.

And this is, again, pretty fantastic. This is a thoughtful choice which isn't lazy or arbitrary. It has the potential to really pack a visual punch, and it does the thing I love when flag carriers do - references a feature of its home nation.

An upside to the fact that the livery page takes eons for my computer to chew on is that I get shown this lovely loading screen, which demonstrates the fantastic combination of blues and purples which make up the full scheme of this airline's colors. I love the combination of these colors. Light saturated colors are rare enough, but to see extremely dark blues and purples together like this is a rare delight. It definitely has the potential to get eyestrainy, but if done well it could look absolutely breathtaking.

But will it be done well? After all, a good idea isn't always well-implemented - see condor - and China Airlines's livery fails for me because it's barely got any lavender! So does Riyadh Air fall into the same pit? Let's check the browser-destroying 3D model they've lovingly provided us.

I love that 3D model, by the way. Instead of looking for a bunch of pictures of airplanes that happen to be in the correct lighting and at the right angle to demonstrate the exact thing I'm attempting to discuss I can just...zoom in while putting the plane at the specific angle I want. Normally I actually try not to rely too heavily on things like style guides because a piece of flat-colored concept art isn't actually going to communicate how a plane looks in motion and with light on it, but this is a really really robust model. Sure, it's not quite as maneuverable as I'd like it to be, it's still not a perfect representation of real life, but it's really well made. It even sways side to side a bit and if you zoom in close enough you can see they bothered to model the external sensors and the engines are even turning! Don't worry about the fact that if you zoom in even further you can tell the engines are just a fan suspended floating in a cowling. They even added ambient engine sounds. This model is so cool it legitimately took me several minutes of turning it around and muttering "wow..." under my breath before I realized the environment it was sitting in was just some very stretched and crunchy jpgs.

Mmm, those reflections.

To be honest, I also just enjoyed playing with this thing. It's almost like having a real model plane, but doesn't cost more money than I have! But enough of that.

So they definitely didn't chicken out when it came to the lavender. This plane is as purple as a Breeze Airways plane is blue (it is very purple). It's not just a purple tube, though. Even from a distance you can see that there's added detail here.

I love the wordmark, first off. They've really committed to the billboard look with this gigantic text in both English and Arabic. I love it. With such an overwhelming main body color it feels prudent to make sure the name is as visible as possible so it doesn't get lost in the shuffle.

And with this gigantic, recognizable logo plastered on the bottom you'd be able to identify it just as well from below (and this is zoomed out as far as the website let me!). In fact, the depth of the design really shines best from below. That's not necessarily a good thing, because your plane does have to be parked sometimes, but it's not a dealbreaker either. I just need to say that this is probably my favorite design for an engine nacelle, ever. It's gorgeous, and you can see in the first picture how well it flows into the main design. They don't go together quite as well from the bottom, and from below the plane does look a bit rear-heavy and the wordmark peering in is a bit awkward, but none of those ruin it. I would be stunned if I saw this fly overhead.

The website provides a few details about the design if you zoom in and click little black dots. It took me ages to realize this. It's neither intuitive nor accessible and I truly despise it, so I've taken the liberty of transcribing the bits that matter.

You can turn this plane in any which way you'd like, zoom in and out, and the details on the bottom never stop being beautiful and coherent. It truly does remind me of calligraphy. As they describe it:

Rooted in our Heritage The controlled, smooth linear profiles make up our signature "Canopy Twist". A perfect balance of our rich local culture and our modern global outlook, connecting the city of Riyadh to the world.

I love the name 'Canopy Twist', to be honest. And I love the design, too. My one criticism of it is the colors. They already have an established secondary shade of purple. That they used the text color for the highlights makes sense, but why couldn't they have used their lavender instead of a third shade of purple? In the quantity used for the underside it feels disconnected from the rest of the livery and they could have fixed that very easily by just...using their already existing secondary shade of purple? I think it would make for a very nice bridge to the tail as well, and it just feels like a colossal missed opportunity.

You may have noticed that the bulk of the fuselage body is a color a bit darker than what might conventionally be considered 'lavender'. This, too, is noted.

Indigo Livery Inspired by the ever-changing colors that paint the sky from dusk till dawn. A symbol of tranquility, harmony and integrity.

(This color is obviously purple, not indigo, but I will not belabor that point.)

I love the description, the idea of the transition between dusk and dawn. Much like the window as a basis for a logo, this makes me go "why in the world has nobody thought of that before? That's brilliant!"

It makes me think a bit more could have been done in the details. Maybe the canopy twist could be a gradient, like the gradient of the sky while the sun is rising? Just a thought.

And ultimately it's the canopy twist that is my only real sticking point with this livery. It is beautiful and unique and well-designed and it is simply a color that sticks out like a sore thumb. It's the only warm thing creeping into a design otherwise full of beautiful cool tones, it has gorgeous flow within itself but breaks up the feeling of consistency through the airframe as a whole, and I just...I really wish it were lavender.

If that's my main issue you can do a lot worse. And overall I do like the Riyadh Air livery. If that one detail was changed, this would easily be an A. This review would be all but uncritical. Except for the fact that it could use a bit of canopy twist up top, too (maybe just a tiny bit on the top of the nose, flowing in the same direction) in order to make the plane feel less rear-heavy (though it already beats out the vast majority of liveries in that sense), the issue with the color is my only big criticism. But it's the main detail of the design, isn't it?

It's wild. So much of the time my reviews are "good details, bad when you step back". But this is the opposite. Fantastic, but there's that one detail that sticks with you. And the details by and large are far from bad too. I mentioned the nacelles, and I think it very elegantly transitions the tail into the body. It would be more elegant if the design on the body was the same lavender, though!

A few more nitpicks: the centering of the logo on the tailfin is a little strange, the tail would look better if it had a bit of a gradient to make it less matte-seeming, and the combined effect of those is very luxury-hotel-towel-monogram. Okay. I'm done complaining.

So it falls short of being one of the best I've ever reviewed, but I still really, really like it. The calligraphy inspiration creates these elegant sweeping lines that are perfectly at home on the 787. The deep purple looks luxurious despite the fact that Riyadh Air doesn't plan to offer first class. It's eyecatching. It's stylish.

And, now that I've covered all this, let's look at the colors in person! That's right, they've already had a plane delivered in full Riyadh Air colors.

The deep purple with the lighter canopy twist, combined with the tiny white dots of the various probes and such, make this plane look like an animal camouflaging itself against the night sky in a place untouched by light pollution. The light lavender contrasts sharply in this particular image, sharply enough that it feels like a slice cut out of the plane.

This continues to be an issue from other angles and in other lightings, but the cool-toned light makes this purple look like true indigo and the blueish cast improves the look, giving an almost fluorescent appearance to the transition between the twist and the tail. The way the light reflects off the dark paint makes it look rippling and shifting and alive in a way it never could off white.

In shadow, the plane looks as dark as a city sky. In light, the vibrant purple of a fresh eggplant. This paint job adapts wonderfully to its environment. Much like Vietnam Airlines's, each light brings out a unique beauty.

And sometimes, the tail, detached though it may look, does so in the way a shining arm of a spiral galaxy neatly transitions into the black expanse around it.

Riyadh Air's planes range from ultraviolet to supervoid, but they are never lost in their environment. The principles behind the design remain consistent, and beautiful, and alone in a sky full of planes which refuse to embrace the dark skies they fly in on red-eye journeys.

Ultimately, I think Riyadh Air's livery feels a bit overdesigned. They added one color too many, and a few decisions feel like they don't belong together in the same picture. Just think about the amount of colors here, the balance of major features, and think about Vietnam Airlines, and you'll see what I mean. I'm not a fan of minimalism, but sometimes the only way to keep a story straight is to minimize loose ends. A secret becomes exponentially more likely to be exposed with each new person who learns it.

But before I looked closer, before I zoomed in and out on a little 3D model while my computer screamed, I saw this livery for the first time and my jaw hit the floor. And the average person isn't going to think about this the way I do. Ultimately, my critical eye is usually something I defer to, but I can't argue with the fact that this livery is going to be to someone else what China Airlines is to me. And, like China Airlines, when they come back and look closer at it they'll notice it wasn't as perfect as they thought, but...we've come so far, if this is someone's China Airlines. And as much as I nitpick at details the package counts, too. If you asked me why China Airlines got a C- instead of a D+, my honest reason would be...it struck me enough that I singled it out to begin with, even though that started to fall apart when I looked closer.

Why am I giving Riyadh Air an A- instead of a B+? Because this plane will stun people 5,000 feet below it, and they'll think to themselves that it's the prettiest plane they've ever seen.

#tarmac fashion week #era: 2020s #grade: a-#region: middle east and north africa #region: saudi arabia #riyadh air #flag carriers #at least ostensibly flag carriers.

35 notes · View notes

prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 1 year

Note

hoping this isn't a ~weird request but i would love to read your takedown/opinions of the failures of TRC as someone who was also reaaaally underwhelmed with how it handled an interesting setup/cast of characters and was left feeling very blah about the whole experience, and i'm having no luck poking thru your tumblr archives if it already exists :) no pressure ofc, enjoying your opinions on the new series regardless! (i personally deleted the ebook after struggling thru the first chapter oops!)

i was going to say "you have caught me on a day when i am crazy exhausted even after sleeping 12 hours so sure why not" but tbh i think that's giving myself too much credit re: my ability to resist this particular flavor of haterade, although it provides a nice justification. disclaimer that i haven't read anything from the original series since right after the raven king came out so i don't remember it super well. but like basically the problems with the raven cycle are two-fold: (1) the first three books are not very good (2) the raven king is the dumbest and most hateful piece of shit masquerading as a novel i have had the misfortune to encounter in my life. like you have to understand i went into this series having had it pitched to me but Dumb But Fun and for the first three books i was having a good time. i was often like "lol this is stupid" but i would say equally often i was like "aw my kids :')" in particular i remember that something clicked for me with BLLB where the books didn't get better but i suddenly like legit loved and cared about the characters and was invested in their relationships in a way where the flaws jumped out a lot less and i appreciated a lot of things stief had done and i made a pynch playlist and started drafting some fic and blah blah blah. and then the raven king came out and it was just, i can't emphasize enough, the worst book in the history of the printed word.

on point the first: the books are not great. stief comes up with some decent lines (funny similes, the occasional spurt of something pretty), and one of the things i will give her is that she can definitely set an Atmosphere (although this skill seems to have gone missing for CDTH) - monmouth manufacturing and fox way both feel like places that are just a bit too interesting to be real but in a nice way. overall though i find her prose weirdly stilted and artificial and tryhard. i think at some point i called her what taylor swift would be as a novelist, back when our most recent taylor albums were red & 1989, and i more or less stand by that - "losing him was like driving a new maserati down a dead-end street" feels like something stief could write, but instead of a 3-minute country-pop song, it's 350 pages of that. also i have genuinely never encountered an author worse at plotting. there's a weird and almost baffling shapelessness to the books that is truly like nothing else i've read in a bad way. like i said this a couple days ago but i felt like it gave me a new respect for every other bad to mediocre novel i had read in my life, because apparently those authors did all have some kind of basic skillset so fundamental i hadn't appreciated it until i read one who absolutely does not. and also the thing i have said before of, every book has a million chapters about the villain who has nothing to do with anything, and every single one of those chapters is boring as absolute fuck. the whelk chapters in TRB are sort of retroactively justified by the noah reveal, which on reflection i think remains the most successful thing she's pulled off, but the others are interminable and completely without reward for the reader.

even fans of the series seem to concede that plotting is not her strong suit, and the things people tend to like her for are (1) her writing, which... sure. i don't think it is good but you do you. and if i am forcing myself to be fair i will say that at the very least she does have a distinct voice and doesn't have that horrible flat YA Novelist Affect that has taken over what i sometimes feel insane swearing used to be a much more vibrant and stylistically diverse genre at least in terms of the things that made their way to my sphere of awareness. so. fine. and then (2) her characters. and like yeah the TRC crew is cute. they're fun. i liked that gansey was kind of insufferable and the books made no attempt to pretend otherwise. i did love classic scorpio depresso bean trauma freak ronan lynch, and i loved how as the series went on he was both a snarling anger machine and an idiot teenage boy with the most embarrassing crush in the world. i liked blue's ambition and her imperfect but passionate feminism. i loved adam parrish's teeth-gritted determination.

and i did absolutely fall for the pynch of it all. ronan lynch, who could have anything he wanted, desperate for the affection of the one guy who had no patience for his bullshit! adam parrish, who saw himself as so lowly, falling for this almost ethereal creature who dreamed beautiful things! the way ronan's main hobby was wallowing in self-pity but the person he was attracted to was the guy who refused to act like it wasn't time for ronan to grow the fuck up. the way adam had such a fraught relationship with anger, his own anger and that of other people, but he saw so keenly through to who ronan really was that while ronan's anger exasperated him, it never scared him or made him feel like he had any obligation but to be his honest self. the way hard-edged ronan dreamed adam lotion for his hands and labeled it in freaking LATIN, the way tense adam started finding a new respect for ronan without ever feeling a need to become more deferential or apologetic. i mean it was good shit. it was such good shit that i really and truly believed that while she was not the greatest writer in the world, stief must have built this particular dynamic between these two people on purpose. she must have deliberately planned for their slow-burning mutual attraction and deepening care to communicate these exact things about what their value was to each other - ronan giving adam space to dream, adam tugging ronan into reality - and while i was pretty sure the last book would be dumb, because all the books were dumb and she'd thrown a lot of balls into the air that she was not gonna catch, and especially because i had the sense she was going to want a neat happy ending which meant either gansey wasn't going to die (boring) or gansey was going to die but everyone was somehow going to be okay by the end anyway (stupid), i was also like, well at least pynch are gonna get together and it's going to be this really nice culmination of both their arcs.

hahahahahahahahahahahaha

the short version of why TRK made me feel so wild with rage was that it made extremely clear that everything i had enjoyed about the books up till that point had happened 10000% by accident. pynch is a good example of this. all that stuff i talked about above, all the push-pull dynamics of them, all the stuff that made them a good ship - it turned out that none of it mattered. none of it was relevant. none of it was even worth mentioning. because none of it, actually, was on purpose. adam and ronan get together by making out, which i respect. they do not have a conversation after that happens. not like, they hook up and don't took about it right away. i mean they don't have a post-makeout conversation IN THE ENTIRE BOOK. there is no moment where either of them says or even thinks, like - why this person. which is dumb for ronan because he has been so horny about adam, but hateful for adam because he is out of ronan's league unless we're being very clear about why this is a good fit! the stuff about ronan helping adam normalize his relationship to anger, lmao. nowhere to be found. instead we get gansey telling adam, "don't hurt him." repeat: we get gansey telling adam, who tries the hardest all the time of all people ever and who is half convinced he should be in jail for having feelings, to make sure he is nice to ronan, whose ENTIRE BRAND is "huge fucking asshole all the time for no reason." because ronan is "fragile." which like, sure. he's a half-orphan [at that point] with a fucked up life whose brain tried to kill him two years ago. but adam is an 18 year old paying all his own bills who moved out of his parents' house the day his dad DEAFENED HIM IN ONE EAR, and somehow this does not grant him any kind of special dispensation for care in the ganseyverse. and this is not ever in any way contradicted or challenged or complicated or even referred to later by the text. crime!

meanwhile, ronan... [pinches nose, sighs heavily]. again i said recently that the dream thieves should have told me her hand was not steady on the steering well. because what happens in the dream thieves is ronan meets someone who is like him but bad, and learns from him, and then figures out how to be himself but good. which is a fun sexy idea for a story, but the book fucks it up because ronan is too aware at all times of what a dirtbag kavinsky is and too untempted by his wild ways. there's no real fall, so there can't be a real rise. he fucks up his best friend's car, which he knows is also his best friend's number one most prized possession on earth, and the resolution to that is: hey dude my bad i killed your car but it's okay i dreamed you a copy of it. ???????? that's like parent who runs over your cat and says it's okay because they'll take you to the pet store tomorrow logic [realized in the middle of that i stole that image from sandman sorry]. i mean, in a vacuum, i guess it's not exactly. but like: ronan doesn't address the situation by learning anything about how not to be the kind of person who destroys something of great emotional value to someone he cares about. he addresses the situation by learning how to do his superpower good. this is not emotionally satisfying fantasy writing. it's hollow and stupid. and it's extra stupid because the book's attempt at an emotional resolution later down the line is that ronan needs to... hate himself less. which he can do by... realizing he doesn't hate himself. ??????? once again: empty. unbelievable. stupid. there's no connection there to, like, "now that i hate myself less, i can and should be less of a dick to everyone all the time," much less "one way of hating myself less might be to stop doing things that make me extremely unlikable." just: he hates himself less, he's no longer alone, he can dream whatever he wants, he's cool with his big gay crush now. weak. and like it was weak for me at the time, but reading BLLB i did think: well, the hand lotion. well, the trying to dream up a soul for the dream people. well, the big hug with blue at the end. ronan is growing and changing following his experience. it's kind of a shame we don't get his POV on any of this. but we'll probably catch up with him in the next book.

and again: no. i mean, we get ronan's POV, yeah. but none of it is reflective of someone like consciously trying to break the destructive and harmful (to self and others) habits he had forged in his grief. none of it conveys any awareness on the part of character or text that, like, deciding on purpose to be a decent human being matters. that maybe it's the kind of thing you should commit to before falling into a long distance relationship with someone who probably has PTSD from their abusive parents. that it can be hard, that it's rewarding. none of that. instead - i don't even fucking remember what. at one point he feels guilty about holding adam back and then he thinks, i'm not asking him to stay, just to come back, like ok that makes it so much better. you're just asking adam parrish, a steel whirlwind of ambition, to go to the ivy league college he has just about killed himself getting to because of how desperately he wants to escape the shithole town where he had his traumatic childhood, and then move back in four years' time. which again is not discussed. it's just taken for granted that ronan wants to stay at the barns forever. he tells declan he wants to drop out of high school [a choice being made by an eighteen year old two years after the traumatic experience of finding his dad's murdered corpse] and be a farmer and drive a tractor in circles on the property, which would be kind of funny given that his family farm is populated by dream creatures, except that like the book takes him weirdly seriously and also this is not intended as a metaphor. like his endgame in that series is that this traumatized teenager is living by himself on the barns fucking around and dreaming forever with like 3 friends all of whom are leaving town and zero ties to human reality or goals or desires of any kind and this is treated as a happy ending. even though by the way his mom got brutally murdered eight months before the stupid epilogue. but he's doing fine [stief hates women so bad]. [again it's SO funny that the first dreamer book opens with "ronan realized that his life was totally pathetic and depressing so he decided to move." like there was not this level of complexity present when you wrote the dumb epilogue!]

i keep forgetting about how ronan dreams into existence a weird little feral fawn creature/person and is bizarrely chill about it. also how his mom is his dad's dream and his little brother is his own dream and it's really explicit that his mom in particular does not have a personality of her own but just responds by giving whoever she's talking to whatever kind of person they want to interact with, which is the moooooost fuuuuuucked uuuup thiiiiiing eeeeeeverrrrrrrrrrr, and the books are just like. yeah this is normal and fine. [again sooo funny that in the dreamer trilogy declan is like "unbelievably fucked up that my little brother and mom are dreams." like yeah it is! where did you get that idea maggie. was it in the tumblr tags.]

what else. she ruined blue liking space, which didn't seem possible. blue doesn't like space and want big things because she's a smart spunky girl in nowheresville virginia feisty enough to dare to believe she can make her own life. no. it's because her dad is a tree person and trees like the sky because they grow upwards. whenever i tell people this i have to emphasize how much i'm not exaggerating or making it up. this is what it says in the text. she's like "oh that makes sense." ???????? i dwell on this one a lot because it's soooooo so so so stupid, but also because i think it really encapsulates the thing that makes TRK not just stupid but actively repellant to me, which is that you get the sense reading it that stief thinks it's better when things come from weird magic shit instead of from like real human characteristics and psychology. like for a series about friendship it winds up feeling to me weirdly and grossly misanthropic - none of these people are special or worth caring about because they are human people, it's all because of their magic Stuff. it's all because oh they actually WERE more special than everyone all along, not because of the choices they made but because they were born to it (why is ronan the only one who can take from the ley line without stealing? is it because of the kind of person he is? no. it's bc he's Special). ronan's dreaming, blue's treeness, and then gansey being actually all along a time-shifted resurrected friendship amalgamation creature who felt an instant kinship with his friends, again, not because he was a lonely teenage boy seeking out fellow weirdos to care about, but because they literally had met him before. adam, the only genuinely human character left by the end, meanwhile still is constantly asked by the text to apologize for his existence, not just in the "don't hurt him" scene but in the absolute nightmare section in the end where he goes back to his abusive parents' house for closure(????) and reflects primarily on how ugly and small his trailer was (?????????) and feels startled to discover an instinct in himself to help other adams who might be stuck like he once was, and then immediately conceptualizes this as something blue or gansey would think, which is so hateful i can't even process it. like adam at no point in this last book is acknowledged to have had a positive influence on anyone else even though he's better than the lot of them put together, but he has to kowtow to blue and gansey in his own brain for teaching him (a poor abused kid) that he might empathize with poor abused kids???? when to my sincere recollection NEITHER of them has ever like on the page demonstrated any kind of do-gooding impulse? their hobbies are myth-hunting and unskilled clothing manufacture? perfectly acceptable hobbies for a pair of teens but like? why does she hate poor people and victims of abuse so bad...

the big bad demon that is destroying the town is shaped like a wasp. gansey has a bee/wasp allergy and one time died from bees. these two things are never connected. henry cheng is upgraded to a main character because maggie heard you like diversity and now has a completely different personality than when he was an amiable preppy dbag who happened to be asian. now he has a mother in the mob and a tragic backstory about being kidnapped that taught him that you can't let fear rule your life and if you're scared you should be scared and then do it and be happy anyway, which is pretty good advice for things like an irrational fear of closed spaces that can't actually hurt you but really not applicable to someone who both does literally have a deadly allergy to bees and also has spent the past four years traipsing willy nilly all over the place not even bothering to keep his epipen with him. it turns out gansey's big moral lesson has nothing to do with for example his obsessive desire to control his friends but actually like ronan he just needs to love himself better and realize that his friends care about him after all. please notice again that ronan and gansey, rich boys acting out, need to love themselves more. this is dumb but if this was like the thesis of the whole series i would be like, that was stupid but whatever. but what of adam parrish, a poor abused kid who was abused so hard he is now a poor abused disabled kid? does he get self-love? no. he gets to realize that his rich friends have made him a better person, and be relieved that he's escaped from poverty because of how the aesthetics were bad. I MEAN IT'S SOOOOOO CRAZY AUGHHHHHHH

i forgot when i was talking about henry cheng the scene where blue and gansey go to the asian kids' house and are like "wow such diversity so culture," which is like a nightmare edward said had once. like they're just so excited to have discovered this exotic exciting new world and to learn about things like how henry cheng makes asian jokes because if he says all the bad things about himself first then other people won't say them. and i shit you not, the entire sequence is done in narration, with spoken lines appearing in italics in the middle of descriptive paragraphs, not rendered with dialogue as an actual scene, a technique she doesn't use anywhere else that i can recall and which really serves to just be like... here is this Mass of Asianness, as opposed to being normal about it and being like "here's some asian kids having a party." i haven't seen anyone comment on this technical feature but i think about it all the time because it makes me feel insane. it's one of the few things i've read in the past however many years where i read it and was like "i guess i was naive before about racism." like it's not that i didn't know but i was like, wow in 2016 you can still just transparently have your entire ability to conceptualize scene and narrative totally warped by an attempt to feature non-white people and no one will be like, hey we're all unlearning a lot of stuff but maybe let's rethink this before we go to print. there's a scene where ronan jokes about henry's mixed-raceness by saying "which half" which i do think is stief being unaware of the optics bc she's dumb but still comes across real bad and then there's also a scene where ronan does a "vaguely offensive" imitation of henry's voice which i truly have no fucking idea what the hell that is supposed to mean on a literal concrete basis other than making fun of an asian kid's accent. in both of these cases gansey and blue are disapproving and adam snickers and it's like, ok so pynch is racist now. cool. who asked for this, maggie. and also see above re: i really gaslit myself into thinking that one of the points of this series was that ronan learns to be a better person. my bad! (he sort of attempts at one point to make up with declan about how ronan has treated him so bad and also ronan was obviously his dad's favorite. but like his way of doing this is he gives him a toy he dreamed called a Orb. if i were declan i would throw his Orb back in his face. but like that's how broken the ethos of these books is. a heartwarming reunion between two brothers torn apart by the death of the father that they both equally lost hello declan is also a teenage orphan - and it's just. here's some garbage i got you. i didn't even spend money on it. it just happened.)

in addition to ronan's mom the lady bad guy also dies a horrible bloody death that feels a lot more gratuitously fucked up than any of the man deaths in the series. oh i forgot about how blue's mom is dating a hitman who killed ronan's dad and ronan just like doesn't care about this after the first five minutes at all. and neither does anyone else. and then he wanders offscreen... i forget why. we never get any intel on why blue is destined to kill her first love if they kiss or if that would have happened with anyone but gansey or if she and gansey can kiss after he's resurrected or what. like the prophecy that kicks off the series, and just: nada. gansey sells his beloved home to bribe aglionby into letting ronan graduate and the two of them never talk about this and the text never clarifies whether ronan bothered to graduate or not (and in CDTH it turns out he didn't). like another way this alleged series about friendship is weirdly misanthropic is i really was not convinced by the end of it that these people were friends. none of them are seen ever enjoying each other's company or thinking well of each other outside of the two romantic pairings and gansey going apeshit about how awesome henry cheng is. also gansey's whole big quest for meaning blah blah, like i don't super care that glendower is dead, i think you could write a good book with that moment working thematically even though it does fuck with your continuity because who the fuck were the three sleepers. what was with those birds. (there's a lot of mysterious/spooky shit that never gets addressed and like... again i think you could write a book where that works, i don't like to be prescriptive about this stuff, but again: play stupid games win stupid prizes. write a dumbass book that invests a lot of time in the importance of its magic and worldbuilding, and i will get annoyed when your magic and worldbuilding is dumb as fuck and/or totally pointless.) but it's like ok so then the idea should be that the whole point of gansey's glendower quest was actually an internal one, that the payoff of SIXTEEN HUNDRED PAGES of this is some kind of life lesson or emotional shift or whatever. and the payoff is that gansey realizes his friends love him (which again: but do they though? like do they really?), and that he and blue and henry take a gap year. that's the big exciting finale. a year off before gansey goes to college, with his true love and a guy he first hung out with eight months ago. HELLO? like who gives any kind of a shit about that. about any of this. what the fuck was all this for. this all happened so that two rich teenagers could like themselves better. are you fucking kidding me maggie? hateful!

anyway. i'm sure at the time there was more i was forgetting because this book was sooooo boring and every single thing that happened in it was stupid. i feel like this was very incoherent but in my defense these books are hard to critique coherently because they are, again, so stupid. CDTH from what i remember reading it through the first time and continue to pick up now like hangs together as a book better certainly than TRK did but my experience is such that every time she does something passably right i truly can only be like, wonder how she's gonna fuck this one up to kingdom come.

#askbox #the shmeamer shmilogy #the shmaven shmycle #i had a bunch of stuff under that tag at my old now deleted blog but not this one

107 notes · View notes

hi-im-kaybee · 28 days

Text

i've been sitting on this story for a little while after the finals last quarter, and re-reading it now it's not as bad as i remember. enjoy!

The cool air outside whistled through the little vents and cracks of the cafeteria’s windows. It was an irritating note piercing the noise of the morning rush; I could hear it cleanly over the humdrum din of other diners. Comrades, you could call them; but I wasn’t too close to anyone across the fort, outside of getting to know the nurses a little better than some. So I stayed in my own personal bubble, in the far corner, idly stirring my spoon in the instant coffee for far longer than I really needed to. An excited little goat girl was bleating my name, bringing my eyes up out of interest and disdain.

PFC Elle Girbach sat in front of me. I may have endured her better than I endure others, being in the same platoon and all, but it was still grating to have my usually-solitary meal time interrupted like this. “Kaybee! Did’jya hear the news?” she chirped. In my irritated state, I growled out, “And a warm hello to you too.” My eyes returned to my drink—I wasn’t looking at her face, but if I was, I would have been met with a hurt tensing of the brow. She continued. “...they’re finally getting applicants processed for the new ‘Castor-Pollux’ procedure.” This did catch my attention, and I was able to tear my gaze away from my coffee to her and finally take a drink. “The what?” I asked. “I’m not sure, honestly. Just this new thing related to our mech department. Supposed to help with performance, apparently.” She looks around, brows furrowed further in observant concern. “Well, I’d assume so; they never find the budget for anything that doesn’t.” I rolled my eyes, bringing my hand to my chin and my elbow to the table. “True, but what they have it set up for in particular eludes me.” “Not me.” I returned to my defensive standoff. “Now find another pilot to bother, I need to relax before the upcoming sortie.”

She got up, flashing her enhanced carbide canines nestled in artificial gums, with a dismissive click of the tongue. “Gee, looks like someone’s in a mood today...” I interrupted her; “Oh, you’ll find I’m in many moods all the time,” said with a facetious smirk. “This one happens to be anti-social.” My brow drops as fast as my mask of a smile. “Now beat it, before I have to beat some sense into you.” She raised her chin at me and left. It may have been harsh but I know she takes it easy; you kind of have to keep a guard up around here, because you will get pushed over if your fellow pilots and other crew think they can get away with it. After I finish my coffee and hash, I rack up to the changing room some six floor above this one. The walk is a little more calming than the breakfast; at such an early morning hour, while the sun was still pulling itself up and over the landscape, the halls were quiet and uneventful.

No sooner do I reach the door and take two steps in does my wrist buzz—I glance down at my wrist, squinting at the embedded LED strip under my skin. My report from the top brass is to... head to sector 5? But that’s practically as far from the mech hangar as you could possibly get out here. What did they need with me out there?

The lights inside the pod flicker from white to orange as I climb in. It’s a very defined texture along the walls here, filled with greebling and pocketed with technology that does... far more than what I could even imagine. But the paint scheme on everything matches my bodysuit and helmet, so I must be in the right place. A little buzz on my wrist alerts me to a message incoming from the research team, giving me a concise list of instructions to get “plugged in”. I do have a few slots surgically embedded onto my body, but the process here seems to avoid those, mostly talking about getting certain wires put into the suit alone. As the last wire slots into place, the pod hums and my suit hums with it, before all the lights in here snap to green. I send a quick neural message, thinking: What’s next, then? Is this gonna be safe? before my wrist buzzes again, affirming that everything so far has been nominal and there’s no readings to indicate anything but. I try to swallow my worries down with a gulp—it doesn’t work. With nothing left to do, I let my finger tap the switch in front of me as directed.

Suddenly the whole pod goes from humming to singing a tone, shaking me to my very core. I struggle to stay upright, grasping at anything that allows my hands purchase on the curved walls. I can’t bear it, it feels like the pod itself is shrinking, I must get out of here—a full-on panic attack is erupting from between my ears. I’ve never been so scared before. I start clawing at my own suit, the constricting nature ensnaring me somehow, further adding to the deluge of sensory overload. My arms successfully puncture the suit, and I can barely feel my wrist buzzing above the myriad of other inputs, messages ensuring me that this is somehow still typical for their experiment; then it finally happens.

My arm is splitting in two, down the hand and right to the elbow. But there’s no blood or viscera, just a few extra fresh fingers peeling from the interior and finding the right place to settle. I would scream if I could find my voice, but it’s lost in the din of the pod. I stare in horrified wonder as the split continues down my arm, into my torso, and an unbearable itch develops from within me. I grope, pry, claw and struggle with my own body, before tearing my suit in two outright. The moment flashes into my skull, searing into my mind forever—I see someone else in the pod with me at the same time.

It takes a few minutes for me—us?—to catch our bearings. I have to lean on them initially for support, but eventually I can stand unassisted in the pod. I look them—me—down, and notice my suit is practically identical to theone I’m in right now, down to the little tears and scratches from earlier. Parts of my suit are plugged in, mirroring the connections that I have on my side as well. I feel their arms, trying to gauge the level of intimacy I have with my own self, looking back at me. Where their hands glide, it sends shivers across my body like waves on a still shore. Where mine glide, I can feel their body tense up, then relax, not yet accustomed to being touched by someone who knows them so well.

The pod is still for all these moments, feeling like eternity to ourselves. I hold them just as closely as they do to me. It’s a little... unreal how intimate I had allowed myself to be with what is technically a complete stranger. We haven’t even spoken to one another yet, but it’s like I knew what they wanted, what they were dying for, without a word shared between us. Without feeling like a word needs to be uttered. Eventually, I get another buzz on my wrist, letting me know they’ve been monitoring us and asking how I’m feeling subjectively. I start up another neural message, but try to imprint the raw feeling this time; instead of any words, I send the thoughts of how it feels to be alone with me, bundled with a few memories of the intimacy I felt with my own mom when I was young, and how I pined for some of my friends as I was growing up, always feeling drawn toward them as I aged but never being able to truly feel as close as I wanted to.

I spend another few moments just holding myself, and finally allow myself to break the silence. It’s the first time I’ve felt my voice all day, and it’s incredibly dry and froggy. I spare a little cough, and in return I chuckle at the seemingly-forced formality of it all. It’s true, I thought, that I was finally able to be completely and utterly vulnerable.

So I just asked myself a few things, things I had always wanted to try and figure out if I had another me in the room to answer. Some of it was to truly parse what I was feeling, and get a sense for the thoughts I had as an external mediator to myself; some of it was to merely hear myself talk, and remind myself that I needn’t be so damn hard on myself all the time. We continued like this for a short while, when finally I had one last buzz on my wrist. I knew they had read it as well, because it shocked both of us silent to the core.

They asked us to decide which one of us gets to leave the pod, never to return, and which one has to stay here forever. We had an hour to decide.

They never make it easy, do they?

I assume we share the same thought, as my double shoots me a look right as I shoot one to them. We chuckle quietly, muffling the dread of our inevitable decision; if only for a moment, it’s another moment to share together. I look, almost hopeful? And it’s because I assume I’d understand my decision better than anyone else. My mind was made up almost instantly, and I decided to spend the rest of the hour in peace; in a solitude of two, the company of myself.

Elle is the first of my platoon to see me after my little experiment, as we’re in the throes of an evening sortie.

She comments on my new mech, assigned to me earlier that day. “Hmph, figures they’d give the hotshot wrecking ball a new set of legs. What’s up with this, are they forcing you to toe the line so the mechanics stop gettin’ all uppity at having to fix your antics?” “...huh? Oh, no, this was for my... assignment today.” I respond, a little slower than usual, and she catches that quickly; she’s visibly taken off-guard by my lack of hostility. She responds, nodding; “Uh-huh... I, uh, hope you enjoy it.” She walks back to her own mech and techies rummaging about, no doubt already spreading the rumors of my altered behavior. It doesn’t bother me a bit.

I stride to my handlers, who are already preparing the cockpit for me. They hook me up, carefully inserting each wire into the ports on my skin. My senses dissolve into the synchronicity of my mech, and a familiar voice echoes in my mind, speaking to me—my own. “God, this feels so weird...”

“Maybe you’re lucky. I’ve always wondered how it feels to be in there.”

“Well, it’s weird. And when you got in here, it felt like I was... stepping into my own body. Or having it taken over...”

“What, like when we sync?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh...” I can’t bring my hand to my chin, but I can feel the ‘in- between’-ness of us doing it.

“It’s... a little hard to describe. Sorry...”

“That’s fine, it’s just... fun, watching you get to experience all this.”

“Thank you. It’s been fun so far, too.”

I couldn’t see them smiling—the fact that they didn’t have a physical body anymore kept that in check—but I could feel it. “You’ll have to keep me updated on all the stuff out of the mech as well.”

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? They’re giving me a little wi-fi unit to stay in touch with you.” I smiled broadly, and I knew they could feel it, too.

“Looking forward to it, then. Let’s get to work.” The mechs were ferried to the north field, and our sortie commenced.

#kaybee #kaybee writing #mechposting #haven't done this in forever #it was really fun getting forced to make this story #which is why i probably won't write for at least another few weeks #mech pilot

9 notes · View notes

khoicesbyk · 9 days

Text

The Royal Romance.

Forevermore.

A/N: this is the next chapter in the journey of my OTP. Follow along for the fun.

Rated: Mature (at times can and will be Explicit. I'll be sure to change the rating when and if that happens). | Contains sexual content and strong language. (You know? The usual. Y'all should be used to this from me by now 😁) | Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters. | Main Characters: King Marquise Rys (LI) and Queen Shanelle Miller-Rys (MC) | All Characters and names: (except MC and original characters created by me and/or other authors [their characters have been mentioned and/or used in the story with their permission] ) are property of Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 8,600 words. (may be slightly more or may be slightly less. Look, I stop counting after editing and re-editing and driving myself insane. 🤷🏾‍♀️)

If you’d like to be added to my tag list. Just reblog or DM me and I will gladly add you! 😁😘

This series is rated Mature and/or Explicit. It is NOT reading material that is safe for those under 18. Reader discretion is STRONGLY advised!

Missing a chapter or want to read a chapter again? I got you covered! Click ——> Here!

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations

Sorry this is wayyyyy late! I thought I had uploaded it last month. Oh well! 🤦🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

Chapter 5.) Joy Of Winter.

It's December in Cordonia. And many in the kingdom were abuzz for the annual Cordonia Winter Festival. It has become somewhat of a national pride and many were ready to celebrate. None more than Marquise. He loves the event and the fact that it has become his wife's newest pastime brings him joy.

December wasn't just the month of the Winter Festival. It was also the month of his graduation. He was to finally graduate with a Doctorate in Psychology. He was excited and couldn't wait to go to Boston. But first, before he could celebrate he had business to attend to.

It was a few weeks removed since his mother-in-law had gotten into a physical altercation with Countess Alicia. With many of the nobles beginning to take Lady Alicia's side and wanting Shantel to be removed from her post. But Marquise knew better. And after the security footage of the fight was released, he had both ladies meet him in his office to discuss and remedy the issue.

"Good morning to you both. Thank you for joining me. Please have a seat." he said to them both.

"Thank you for having us, Your Majesty," Shantel replied.

"Yes. Thank you." Alicia agreed.

"You're both very welcome. Now that you both are here, we can get down to business. Apparently, you two have an issue that needs to be resolved. Now."

Alicia huffed.

"There wouldn't be an issue, Your Majesty, if someone here had remembered her place."

Shantel rolled her eyes.

"If by 'remembered her place' you mean that I should've remembered that I am a Duchess and you're not, then yes you're right I should have, and by doing so I should've had you thrown out of the palace."

"You have no authority there!" Alicia sneered.

"No, I don't. But my husband, perhaps you know him, his name is Prince Damien Miller, he does. And so does my daughter. The Queen. After all, it is HER palace. Not yours. And certainly not your step-sister's." Shantel shot back.

"Your husband is a coward and idiot!" Alicia seethed.

"If by that you mean he chose better and by that I mean he chose me and not a bottom feeder like you. Then yeah you're so right he is."

Alicia's face contorted with disgust.

"Why you no good god awful Jezebel!" Alicia snapped at Shantel.

"You're still mad that he didn't want you then and still doesn't want you now!" Shantel spat back at her.

"Why you–" Alicia started to say before Marquise cut her off, "That is enough! Have some decorum! You're both grandmothers for God's sake."

Shantel raised an eyebrow.

"You know what? You're right, Your Majesty. We should know better. Especially me. After all, my sweet granddaughter is the Crown Heir. I have an example to set for her. I wouldn't want her to see me act like this."

Alicia scoffed.

"This is why you are not and never will be worthy of your so-called title and station as Duchess. You think because you slept with Damien that you belong among us. You are nothing but a commoner. A low-brow American commoner at that."

"Correction: you slept with him. And according to him, you were never really that good. Unlike you, I married him. I love him. Something you have always been incapable of doing."

"Ladies!" Marquise warned.

"I don't even know why I'm even here. We both know you'll do nothing but side with this sad excuse of a noble." Alicia said to Marquise.

Marquise took a deep breath and straightened his spine.

"You're here because whether you like Shantel or not, whether you like the fact she is married to Damien or not, she is still an active member of The Royal Family. And you decided to put your hands on her. Knowing that it's against the law to do so." Marquise said to Alicia.

"She started it!" Alicia protested.

Shantel rolled her eyes.

"Countess, with all due respect, I have seen the security footage and heard the accompanying audio as well. You antagonized her after she, my father-in-law, and Commander Devereaux were situated and settled into their rooms and when she snapped at you for your rudeness during dinner, you threw a drink in her face. Which ended quite badly for you."

Alicia rolled her eyes and Marquise raised an eyebrow at her.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me, Countess?" he asked.

"Of course not. I'm not a heathen. Unlike some people." she replied while gesturing to Shantel.

"I'm not so sure your actual husband, Earl Amos, would agree." Shantel shot back at her.

"Ladies! Last. Chance." Marquise warned.

The two women glared at each other but said nothing.

"Now this issue between you two needs to be put to rest permanently. You are both nobles of very high society, given you both have close proximity to King Dominic and Shantel has close proximity to myself and my wife."

"So just what are you proposing, Your Majesty?" Alicia asked.

"After speaking with both of your husbands I let them decide what the best course of action is to take," Marquise replies.

"And what did they decide?" Shantel asks.

"Your husbands decided that you two are going to work together." Marquise replies.

They were stunned.

"What?!" Shantel asks.

"Excuse me?!" Alicia asked.

"Allow me to explain, because Shantel is the Education Minister, she needs a second in command. That's where you come in Alicia. Because as of this moment, per your husband's request, you are no longer Head Of Staff at the palace in Cloutier."

Alicia blinked.

"What do you mean by his request?!" Alicia asks.

"What I mean is Earl Amos requested you be fired from your position as Head Of Staff for embarrassing and potentially jeopardizing his house, social standing, and name. And I will honor his request. Effective immediately. Instead, you will serve as Shantel's second in command. Consider it fair and well...karmic punishment."

Their jaws dropped.

"So you're saying that I have to work for that?!" Alicia asked, gesturing at Shantel who rolled her eyes.

"Yes. This was the solution both men came up with and as King, I signed off on it." Marquise replied.

"Unbelievable. I can not believe that no good coward would turn on me!"

Shantel shook her head.

"Next time pick on someone who can't fight. You know, like your step-sister?" Shantel quipped.

Marquise turned his attention to his mother-in-law.

"As for you madam, you said it best. Your granddaughter is the Crown Heir. And it is up to you to set the greatest example for her. And as her father and your King, I expect you to act like it. Now as far as Alicia working for you is concerned, I expect you to be a fair leader. Is that clear?" Marquise asks.

"Of course. She's not the first combative person I've dealt with in a workplace and she won't be the last."

Alicia scoffed.

"This is humiliating! I shouldn't have to work with her!"

"Not work with her Countess. Work under her. She is officially your boss. But as she has just assured me, she will be fair. And I expect that you will be compliant."

"And if I'm not? What then? You forget I'm protected by my brother-in-law." Alicia asked.

"First of all, his detail does not extend to you. And hasn't extended to you since he lost power. And secondly, I could just forgo the solution and go with Damien's original idea," Marquise replies.

"What idea?" Alicia asks.

"That I strip you of your title and lands. That was Damien's original idea. The only reason he didn't push harder for it is because of your grandchildren. He as well as your husband didn't think it would be fair for them to have to lose what's rightfully theirs because you want to be a 60-going-5-year-old." Marquise replied.

Shantel snickered quietly.

"It's no wonder why many of the nobles don't respect you, Your Majesty. You let worms like her get away with murder, while you punish their betters for no reason." Alicia sneered at him.

"Oh, I definitely have a reason. It's called I'm the King and this is my kingdom! Now if you're that unhappy with how I rule and run things, you are free to live anywhere you'd like. Just know that it won't be here in Cordonia."

Alicia huffed.

"Are we done?" Alicia asked.

"Get out of my office!" Marquise hissed at her.

Alicia got up and stormed out. Slamming his office door.

"Well, that was fun," Shantel said.

Marquise raised an eyebrow at her, causing her to shake her head.

"I'll be fine, son."

"I know. But I meant it when I told her that you would be fair. Do not make me look like a liar."

"I would never do that to you. You know this. I know how hard you work to balance everything."

"Good."

"You know she's going to run and tell the first noble she comes across that you have been unfair to her right?" Shantel asked.

"I'm betting on it. But I've been in power long enough to know how to deal with these wealthy idiots." he replies.

"What if she tries to gather enough support to oust you and my daughter?" she asks.

"Unless she can somehow convince the 5 heads of the Great Houses of Cordonia to support her cause, I doubt it. Also, Countess Madeleine, Duchess Kiara, Duke Bertrand, Duchess Olivia, and Duke Landon pledged their support to the crown when Khari was born and reaffirmed that pledge when my boys were born."

"Madeleine took over for her mother?" Shantel asks.

"Mmhmm. Duchess Adelaide has kidney cancer on top of having Cirrhosis." Marquise replied.

"Oh my God!" Shantel said with a gasp.

"Her health struggles haven't been made public yet, but due to her rapidly declining health, she quietly passed the duties as Head Of House over to her daughter when the boys were six months old."

"Is it terminal?" Shantel asks.

"That I don't know. I do know that Adelaide is on the donor list. I also don't know how high up the list she is." Marquise replies.

"Does my daughter know?"

"Yes. We went to see the Duchess a few weeks ago."

"How can Madeleine be Head Of House if her mother is still a Duchess?"

"Her health. If a Head Of House ever falls gravely ill, they can pass their duties on to their heir. Maddy won't officially be Duchess of Fydelia until her mother officially passes."

Shantel nodded.

Just then there was a loud commotion outside of Marquise's office door.

"What in the world?" Shantel asks.

That's when Earl Amos Barbaroux came in with Countess Alicia hot on his heels.

"May I help you?" Marquise asked.

"Yes, yes you can. You can tell my so-called husband that the deal he made with Damien is off!"

The Earl rolled his eyes.

"Please my King, I apologize for intruding into your office. But my wife is being unreasonable."

Alicia whirled around on him.

"Unreasonable?! You are trying to dehumanize me by forcing me to work for someone who is way beneath my station!" Alicia yelled at her husband.

"You don't have a station!" he yelled back at her. "I have a station!"

Shantel and Marquise looked at each other as Earl Amos took a deep breath.

"If it wasn't for me, you'd still be the same noble whore, that your parents passed around, family to family, until they found mine, specifically they found my father, and begged him to match us together!"

This left the King and his mother-in-law speechless.

"You—" Alicia started to say before her husband cut her off, "I have had to put up with you and your constant disrespect and condescendence for decades. And now is when I put my foot down!"

"Enough! Whatever the issue is or issues are between you two, will not and can not be solved by you two having a shouting match in my office. So if you two don't mind." Marquise said to both of them while gesturing to his office door, "Thank you."

Earl Amos nodded.

"Yes, you're right Your Majesty. I apologize for my behavior towards you and Duchess Shantel." he replied to Marquise before addressing Shantel, " and speaking of you Duchess, I would also like to extend my sincerest apologies for my wife and her unbecoming and unscrupulous behavior towards you all these years. I have never been more ashamed or embarrassed."

Shantel nodded.

"Thank you for your apology, Sir."

Earl Amos gave her a small smile and nod before turning his attention back to his wife.

"His Majesty asked us both to leave his office. So let's go," he said calmly to her.

Alicia crossed her arms as she glared at him.

"I am not going anywhere with you! You no good traitor!" Alicia sneered at her husband.

"Well, you're certainly not going to be staying in my office all day so you and Earl Amos can both take your leave."

Alica scoffed at Marquise.

"Countess, I will NOT repeat myself," Marquise warned her.

Alicia huffed and began to turn on her heel. But not before saying one last thing to her husband.

"I should've had Edward kill you when I had the chance!"

The Earl scoffed.

"Well, now you can't. And until our youngest three children have finished their studies and are off to university, I am stuck living with a shrew of a wife better known as you."

Alicia stood there with her mouth open as she watched her husband walk out. Then followed behind him not too long after.

"Well that was certainly eventful," Shantel said to Marquise.

Marquise only shook his head.

"Too eventful."

"What happened to them?" Shantel asks, "From all I ever heard he's been nothing but good to her."

"He has. But she's never been any good to him."

"But why? What has he done that she hates him so much?"

Marquise looked at his door for a moment.

"Off the record? The three youngest children he mentioned...aren't biologically his."

"What?!" Shantel asked.

"Their biological father was a man Alicia had been having an affair with for years. He worked on her and Amos's estate staff. And rather than risk the scandal of divorce, he's raised them as his own." Marquise replies.

"Do you think their children know he's not their biological father?" Shantel asked.

"I doubt it. I don't think he wants them to know."

Shantel nodded.

"I can understand why. It would break his heart. Where is their biological father?"

Marquise exhaled slowly.

"You don't know this but your brother-in-law had him executed when the man threatened to go public about his and Alicia's affair."

"You're joking!"

Marquise shook his head no.

"Nope. And Edward made sure to have this man erased from all public records. And he even told Amos that he was to raise the children as his own until they became of age."

"Edward, had every trace of him erased?"

"Yes. You forget he had A LOT of unchecked power then. No one would have been stupid enough to question him. It took me a while but I did find the man's name."

"What was it?"

"His name was Yohan. But that's all I have been able to recover about him."

"Surely the man had a family."

Marquise exhaled slowly.

"If he did, they were silenced by either execution or exile."

Shantel shook her head.

"So is that all nobles do? Cheat on each other and drink themselves to death?" she asked.

"No. They also brag about their insane wealth and power while thinking it rivals mine."

"And we both know your power is unmatched."

"Exactly. So now that all that ugliness is over, how about I treat you to lunch?" Marquise asked.

"I would love to have lunch with you son-in-love."

"Perfect!"

Later that night Marquise had caught Shanelle up on his very colorful morning.

"Alicia was cheating on Earl Amos?"

"Yes. For years. And she was able to get away with it."

"How?"

"She knew he could never challenge her because all she had to do was run to either Edward or Genevieve and she'd be safe. So he knew it was safer to keep quiet."

"Yikes!"

"Yeah."

Shanelle took a sip of her wine.

"Now are you sure this Alicia woman working under my mom is a good idea?"

"Absolutely. I trust your mother, I especially trust in her judgment. I also trust that Alicia will remember that she has more to lose than gain if she defies the decision that was reached."

Shanelle nodded.

"Now onto more exciting things. Like your graduation next week."

Marquise snickered.

"I am so excited. I can't wait."

"Same! We've been waiting for it and now it's here. How do you really feel?" she asked.

"Honestly, I'm relieved. It's been a long journey. But it's been worth it. And now by this time next week, I will have my degree in my hands. And then we and the kingdom will celebrate our favorite kingdom pastime."

"I know I'm so excited. I love seeing the palace and the orchard all decorated. And it'll be the first Winter Festival that the boys will be able to participate in."

"They were at the one last year."

"They were with Nina all day. She kidnapped our boys."

"Not that you minded my Queen."

"True."

"But you're right. They will have a blast."

"And of course, there's my favorite: the annual snowball fight."

Marquise raised an eyebrow at his wife.

"What do you have planned for this year, my love?"

"Battle of the sexes!"

"You mean I get to throw a snowball at you?"

"No. It means you will finally be dethroned as the defending snowball fight champion."

Marquise snickered.

"May the best team win my Goddess."

"I know I will."

Marquise rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Over the next few days, the couple spent time together before His Majesty had to get ready for his solo trip to the States. While he was excited to go, his children weren't. They had never been away from their dad for that long. So the Princess came up with a great idea for her and her brothers. They would go with him without him knowing. She pulled out one of her Daddy's biggest suitcases and did her checklist.

"Okay, boys! We have our snacks, our juice, and our chocolate milk! Now do you have your blankies?" Khari asked her brothers. Both boys held up their blankies.

"And you have your touchdown bears?"

The boys held up their bears.

"Alright! Let's hop in!"

All three climbed into the suitcase and shut it.

"Okay, boys! We gotta be quiet so Daddy doesn't know! So shhh!" she whispered to her giggling brothers. Who tried their hardest to quiet down so they wouldn't get caught. Sadly they were caught when their parents couldn't find them and looked all over the palace for them. But they discovered the suitcase they were hiding in.

"Babe?" Shanelle asked over her shoulder.

"Yeah?" Marquise replied.

"Is this one of your suitcases?"

Marquise looked at it.

"Yeah, but I never packed this one."

"Then why is it closed?"

Marquise went to open it when he heard familiar giggling. He shook his head and started to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Shanelle asked.

"I just figured out why we haven't been able to find the children."

"What do you mean?"

"Take a listen."

Shanelle leaned in and heard the same giggling.

"No, they didn't."

"Yes, they did."

Shanelle shook her head with a smile.

"Let's play along."

Shanelle nodded.

"There's my suitcase! I've been looking all over for it!"

"Good, I'm glad you found it. Now you and my dad can go on your trip."

"Yup now let me just zip it up."

The giggling intensified when he zipped up the suitcase.

"Say, my love, have you seen the children?" he asks.

"No, I can't say that I have," she replied.

"Oh well! I'm sure we'll see them before I leave."

Marquise picked up the suitcase and carried it down with the children giggling inside and him and Shanelle snickering the whole time. When they got to the main hall where Shanelle's parents were waiting they heard the giggling.

"What in the world is going on?" Damien asks.

Shanelle told them and asked them to play along.

"Well, Your Highness. I believe we're ready to leave." Marquise said to Damien.

"Yes, my King. It seems that we are ready. It's just I haven't seen the kids. Shantel and I looked everywhere for them."

"Y'know that's funny! Their mother and I were just saying the same thing."

"Where could those kids be?" Shantel asked.

Shanelle just shook her head laughing softly. That's when Margo walked up.

"Are you ready to leave my King?" she asked Marquise.

"Yes. We will be leaving shortly. Do me a favor. Take a listen to the suitcase."

Margo took a listen and heard her grandchildren giggling.

"Why are they in the suitcase?" Margo asked.

"Because apparently, they think they're going with me. So we're playing along." Marquise whispered.

Margo nodded.

"Mama, since you're here have you seen the children?" Marquise asked.

"No, I haven't. I thought they were with you and their mother." Margo replies.

"No. No one has seen them. Damien and I can't leave without saying goodbye to them. Oh well! Let me take my suitcase and Damien and I can take our leave."

"That's an unusually large suitcase, my son. What do you have in it?" Margo asked.

"You know I don't remember what I packed in it. Let me check."

Marquise opened the suitcase and there were his children and their giggling.

"There you are! What are the three of you doing in my suitcase?" Marquise asks.

"We don't want you to leave so we're going with you Daddy," Khari replied.

His heart exploded as he helped them out of the suitcase and sat down with them.

"My love you know you and your brothers can't go with me."

"But!" Khari pouted.

Marquise put a gentle finger to her lips.

"My love. I love you and I love Zyon and I love Kylo. But you three are too young to go with me."

"But we don't want you to go Daddy."

"I know you don't. I won't be gone long."

He hated seeing the looks on their little faces.

"I'll see you three Thursday."

"It's not the same Daddy," Khari said, shaking her head sadly.

"Dada..." Zyon whined.

Marquise took a deep breath.

"If it's one thing you three know how to do perfectly, it's tugging at Daddy's heartstrings."

He gathered the three of him in his arms.

"I love you. I love each of you. I don't like to leave you but sometimes Daddy has to. But I promise I will never ever be gone for very long."

Marquise looked at his children and smiled before clearing his throat and singing softly.

"Come now my sweet babies please don't cry. Let's wipe those tears from your eyes. Let's see those smiles so they brighten up the day. Always remember no matter what, Daddy is never too far away."

He held his children close before Kylo looked up at him then went and grabbed his blankie.

"Blankie!" he said as he held it up to his father.

"You want me to take it with me?" Marquise asked.

Kylo's only answer was a smile.

"Thank you, my love. I will take great care of it."

Zyon followed suit by giving his father his touchdown bear.

"My! I'm being spoiled today. Thank you."

He held his two boys close to his chest.

"My two sweet loves. I love you both more than I could ever tell you. I will see you both soon. I won't be gone for long."

He kissed them both on their foreheads before sending them to their mother and turning his attention to his daughter.

"Come here, my love."

Khari stood in front of her father with a sad look on her face.

"Are you mad at me Daddy?" she asked.

"Never. You are allowed to feel whatever it is you feel. I could never fault you for that." he replied.

"So I'm not in trouble?"

"No. You and your brothers kinda gave yourselves away when you first started giggling. We couldn't help but play along."

"You knew that we were in the suitcase the whole time?"

"Yes, my sweet one. We did. Your mother and I couldn't help but play along."

"Oh..." Khari said dejectedly.

Marquise tilted his head before gently tilting her chin up.

"You have no idea how much I adore you. I adore the way you love your little brothers. I know why you feel the way you do. I used to feel that way whenever my mother had to leave for a short period."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yes. When I was 8 years old, Mother had to go on a leaders fellowship to Namibia for three months and I missed her terribly. Every day I would ask everyone on her staff when she was coming back."

"You did?" Khari asks.

"Ohh yes. Every single day until your grandmother returned." Margo replied.

Khari giggled.

"My point is I know what it feels like. I know you don't want me to go but I have to. It will only be for a few days."

Khari looked down at the ground. He pulled her close to him.

"Do you know what happens next Saturday?" he asked her.

"Your graduation?" she replies.

"Yes. Do you know why I'm excited about it?"

"Because you worked really hard for it?"

"Yes. But that's not why I'm excited about it."

"Then why Daddy?"

"Because you and your brothers will be walking across the stage with me when I get my degree."

Khari perked up.

"We will?"

"Yes. I asked if it would be okay and the committee I spoke to agreed."

Khari nodded.

"Look at me, my love."

Khari looked up at her dad.

"I will only be gone for a few days. I know you're sad but we'll be together again on Thursday."

"You promise Daddy?"

"I swear it on my heart, my life, and my soul. I will never be away from your side for too long."

Khari chewed her bottom lip and then nodded.

"Okay."

Marquise wrapped his daughter in a loving hug as he stood up.

"I love you, I adore you. My sweet beautiful Princess."

Khari gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

"I love you too Daddy. I'm sorry we tried to trick you."

"No need to apologize, my love. Now go to your mother. Okay?"

Khari nodded.

"I will call you and your brothers tonight okay?"

"Pinky promise?" she asked, holding up her pinky.

"Pinky promise," he replied, hooking his pinky to hers.

With a soft kiss on her forehead from her father Khari was at her mother's side. Marquise stood up and looked to his father-in-law.

"Your Highness, NOW we can leave."

"Of course," Damien replied with a small chuckle.

With final goodbyes to their loved ones. Marquise and Damien were soon on their way to the airstrip. Once in the air Marquise silently became curious about his children's plan to go with him.

"Something on your mind son?" Damien asked.

"Just wondering where Khari got the idea to pack herself and the boys in a suitcase," Marquise replies.

Damien chuckled.

"From me. It's an old story that I told her when she asked me if her mother had ever gotten into big trouble as a child."

"What do you mean?" Marquise asked.

"Shanelle was 4 years old when she didn't want me to leave on a trip home. So she packed herself into my suitcase and fell asleep."

Marquise snorted.

"And I nearly missed my flight because Shantel and I couldn't find her." Damien replied.

Marquise nodded with a smile.

"I guess she thought she'd succeed where her mother failed." Damien quipped.

"She would have if she and the boys weren't giggling so much."

Damien simply nodded with a smile.

His Majesty and Prince Damien's US trip began when they touched down in Tennessee. There they were taken across the state line into Kentucky, where they visited His Majesty's Bourbon Distillery. They toured the facility and even got to taste the special holiday blend. As well as touring the four adjacent horse farms. That's where His Majesty got the idea for the name of the distillery. Terre de Chevaux. Which means Land Of Horses.

That night he called to check in with his children.

"Hello, my little ones! I miss you so much."

"We miss you too Daddy. How is your trip?" Khari asked while holding the phone so her brothers could see.

"It's been fun. I toured the distillery and the horse farms around it and do you know what I found out?" Marquise replied.

Khari shook her head no.

"I met some of the horses. And I learned their names."

"What are their names?"

"One is named Esther after my grandmother. Another is named Victor after my uncle. And the last one is named Ellie."

"Like Grandmother?"

"Exactly my love."

"Wow! Will we get to meet them, Daddy?"

"I hope so."

"Where do you go next Daddy?"

"I will go to the capitol in Washington D.C. tomorrow, where I will get to speak to Congress, and then your grandfather and I will be in Boston. Where I will see you three Thursday."

"We can't wait! Right boys?" Khari asked her brothers who were trying to take the phone from her.

"It's time for bed my loves."

"Okay, Daddy. We'll talk to you tomorrow."

"I love you all. So much."

"We love you too! Right boys?"

Later after putting their children to bed, Shanelle had a quiet conversation with her husband.

"Finally! They're all down for the count."

Marquise snickered.

"I miss you. You know that right?"

"Yeah, I know. I miss you too, handsome. But like you told the kids we'll see each other Thursday."

"Indeed we will. It's amazing that we've been to Boston twice in one year."

"I know you should go play the numbers while you're in the States."

Marquise snorted.

"Yeah sure I will."

Shanelle let out a small yawn that she failed to hide.

"Go to bed, my Queen. I'll text you in the morning."

"Alright. Goodnight Handsome."

"Goodnight my Goddess."

"I love you."

"I love you too Shanelle."

After blowing her husband a small kiss, Shanelle went to bed. The next morning, His Majesty touched down in Washington D.C. to re-sign the Cordon-America Act of 1985. After signing the act Marquise got the chance to speak to Congress. Something he only ever dreamed about.

"Good Morning everyone! My what a dream come true this is for me. I actually get to speak to Congress as a whole. If only my Poli Sci professor could see me now."

In his nearly 45-minute speech, Marquise highlighted the importance of the act and the continuation of the shared goal between his kingdom and America. A free, safe, and fair world for all to live in. After his speech, he and Damien toured The Library Of Congress, where he saw the original Declaration of Independence. Once the tour ended, they traveled to the Maryland National Cemetery so Damien could lay flowers at his in-law's graves.

"I haven't been here in a few years. It's good to see them." Damien said as he laid the flowers on each grave.

"Thank you for bringing me here. Shanelle talks about them all the time. Especially your former mother-in-law."

Damien snickered.

"Yes. Mom is where Shanelle gets her personality from. That Jamaican fire runs through my daughter's veins."

"And mine," Marquise added.

The two shared a chuckle. After a short flight that evening, His Majesty found himself back home in Boston and getting ready for his graduation. The next day, his wife, children, mother, and mother-in-law arrived from Cordonia. And he couldn't wait to hold his babies again.

"I've missed you three so much," he said as he hugged them.

"We've missed you too Daddy! How has your trip been?" Khari asks.

"It's been good but it's better now that you three are here. And just like I promised you, we're together again. And you and your brothers can explore the house." Marquise replied as he led his family into the living room. "But before that, I believe I have a few items to return."

He pulled out Kylo's blanket and Zyon's bear.

"I believe that these belong to the two of you."

Later that night after a big dinner and getting his children off to sleep. His Majesty went to check on his mother who was just settling into her bed.

"Are you alright Mama?"

"Yes, my love. I'm fine. I am perfectly happy."

"Happy eh?"

"Yes of course my son. By this time Saturday, you'll have your Doctorate in hand. And will be able to display it in your office back home."

Marquise chuckled.

"It means the world that you're here with me."

"It means the world to be here. To represent our kingdom and our family."

"It's funny. I look around this room and I can't help but miss Papa. I wish he could be here."

Margo took his hands in hers and looked at him with a warm smile.

"I know you do, my son. The last time I was here was with him when you earned your bachelor's degree. He would be thrilled to see you earn your Ph.D. As a matter of fact, the whole flight he would've had the children in stitches and excited about your graduation. But it's just Papa that you miss is it?"

Marquise took a deep breath.

"No. My heart aches for her. I miss her. I wish she could be here as well."

"She is here my love. She's so incredibly proud of the man you have become. She would be filled with such pride at all you have accomplished in your life. And so would Papa. They look down from heaven with smiles as bright as the sun and as wide as a Cheshire Cat."

Marquise shook his head with a smile before kissing her forehead softly.

"Thank you, Mama. You always know what I need."

She kissed his cheek.

"I'm your mother. I will always know what you need."

"Get your rest, Mama. I'll see you in the morning."

Margo smiled at him as he left the room and returned to the master bedroom where his wife was. He climbed into bed with her and wrapped himself around her.

"My big ass baby."

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you too but you are way too heavy. Now get off of me."

Tried as she might, but Shanelle could not get him off of her.

"Marquise...I...can't...breathe! Get off me!"

He finally let her go.

"Big ass creep!" she said as she caught her breath.

"Your big ass creep. Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah."

She snuggled into him.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"Relieved. It'll all be over soon. All the hours of study and presentation and research will have all paid off."

"Mmmhmm. And soon you will officially be a Doctor and a King."

Marquise snorted.

"Very funny."

"You love me."

"Indeed I do. I will say I can't wait to see our children walk the stage with me."

Shanelle shook her head with a smile.

"Their little cap and gowns came the day after you left. So Khari has been teaching the boys how to walk the stage."

"Please tell me you got it on video."

Shanelle handed him her phone.

"See for yourself, Your Majesty."

Marquise watched as his daughter tried to teach her brothers how to walk a graduation stage in hilarious fashion.

"Well...she tried."

"Yup. They are cute though."

"Very," he said with a small smile.

As he lay in bed with his wife, Marquise became contemplative.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asks.

"My thoughts are worth more than all the literal gold in our vault. But since it's you, sure," he replied.

"What's really on your mind? Is it your mother?" she asks.

Marquise sighed.

"Yes. I can't help but wish she was here. I can't help but want her to be here. I want to see her celebrate with you, Margo, and your parents. And I want to see her standing behind our children. Cheering them on." he paused to clear his throat, "You would think that after 26 years my heart would have healed itself by now. But it hasn't. That void in my heart is still there. That need to see her, to be around her, to be able to hold her hand or hug her is still there. I just hope to God that I've made her proud."

"I know it is. And I know in my heart that you have made her proud. Everything that you've accomplished in and with your life has made her proud. This is just another accolade to add to the list of things that she's proud of you for."

He kissed her forehead softly.

"Thank you, my love."

"It's what I'm here for."

He smiled at her as he held her close.

That Saturday was the big day for His Majesty. After getting dressed himself, he hilariously got his children dressed in their caps and gowns. With both boys being so enamored with their caps. Once everyone was ready it was time to head to the university. Once they arrived Marquise took a very deep breath for this was it. Everything he'd worked for had led up to this very moment. And it was a moment that didn't disappoint.

He finally got to do the one thing he had been dying to do. Walk the graduation stage. But what made it even more special was his children walking with him. He was proud as they stole the show. Afterward, he found himself in his mother's arms.

"I am so proud of you, my love. So proud! You've done it, my boy! You've really done it!" Margo said proudly.

"Thank you. I'm still in shock but I am so thankful to have you here. By my side, to celebrate with me."

"My love, there is nowhere on this earth that I'd rather be. I got to watch you achieve yet another one of your dreams."

Marquise closed his eyes and laid his forehead against hers.

"Look at me, son."

He looked at her.

"I wholeheartedly believe that Eleanor is jumping for joy right now. She is elated that her son is not only a King but he's also now a Doctor. You are her greatest dream come true. Her smile is as bright as the sky and as wide as a canyon. And so is Papa. You know he is in heaven just bragging about his boy doing it yet again. Telling every angel he comes across that his son has become a Doctor."

He pulled her close.

"Thank you. For every single thing. I would not be where I am, I would not be the man I am, without you. Please don't ever forget that."

"I never have and I never will my son. Now go celebrate my love. Go on."

Later that night after hours of celebrating with his family. He spent time with the one he loves most, his wife. They were nestled together on the couch in the living room.

"I'm so proud of you. You know that right?" she asks.

He placed a sweet kiss on the palm of her left hand.

"I know. You've been one of my biggest cheerleaders throughout all of this. When I wanted to stop or give up you told me to keep going. Or else you'd slug me." he replies.

Shanelle snorted.

"Mission accomplished."

Shanelle took a look around the room.

"Our story began right here. In this house. On this couch because someone's big ass pulled his hamstring racing a bunch of teenagers."

He punched her.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get!"

"Jerk!" she hissed.

"Chicken, shrimp, or goat?" he asked.

"You're lucky I love you."

"I really am. Because at the time we got engaged, there was a part of me that feared you would've turned me down."

Shanelle took a deep breath.

"Please don't hate me for this."

"For what?" he asked.

"There was a part of me that wanted to tell you no. A HUGE part. I wanted to run away from you and not look back." she replied.

"Why didn't you?" he asks.

"Because I love you. That's why. I couldn't let you go even when my brain was screaming for me to do so. You showed me what true love is. You made a promise that you have never broken. You promised to love, protect, and nurture my heart and my love. And you have constantly and consistently kept that promise." she replies.

"And I always will. If you don't believe anything else from me, you can believe that."

Shanelle smiled at him as they continued to enjoy a quiet moment together. Once back in Cordonia, planning for the Winter Festival kicked into high gear. Crews worked overtime making sure every detail was perfect and to Shanelle's exact specifications. All the while Marquise had plans of his own.

With the palace being as big as it is, there is a lot of unused and mostly dead space on certain floors. So he decided to have three floors converted. One into a personal bowling alley. Another into a massive indoor ball pit and playground for his children. The final floor is the one he's most excited about, that floor will be an indoor laser tag arena. And it has to be tested out to make sure it's safe and ready for the barrage of kids and adults who will want to play. Because it will be open to his family and the staff and their families.

That Friday before the Winter Festival, Their Majesties hosted their family, both immediate and extended at the palace residence. While the children were having a time running around playing, Marquise pulled Logan aside.

"Come with me," Marquise said to Logan.

"Where we going?" he asks.

"It's a surprise. Trust me you'll like it." Marquise replied.

"Nope! You know I don't like surprises unless I'm in on them. So where are we going?" Logan asks.

"I'll show you when we get there," Marquise replied through clenched teeth.

"Ohhhh...okay Uncle Scar."

"Shut up and move Simba."

Marquise led Logan to an elevator and used a keycard to enter.

"Well, this is spooky..."

"Get in the elevator Logan."

Logan shot him a suspicious look before he and Marquise got into the elevator.

"Okay. I'm in the elevator. Now what?" Logan asks.

"Now we go down to the basement," Marquise replied.

"To your dungeon?" Logan asks.

"No. That's on the other side of the palace. And you'd have no access to that. But this is something else." Marquise replies.

They rode the elevator down and got off when it dinged. Once out of the elevator, they walked down a hall to a door with a keypad.

"What's behind the door?" Logan asks.

Rather than answer, Marquise smirked and then slid his keycard to open the door. When the door opened, Logan's jaw dropped.

"Welcome to my newest toy."

"What is it?" Logan asked.

"This is my brand new laser tag arena," Marquise replied.

"Laser...tag...arena?!"

"That's what I said."

"Dude! When the hell did you have time to do all of this?" Logan asks.

"Construction started back in May. And was completed after the boy's birthday. But it's still not quite ready yet." Marquise replies.

"What do you mean?" Logan asked.

"It hasn't been tested...yet," Marquise replies.

That's when Logan's grin widened.

"And who's going to be brave enough to test it out, sire?"

"Why we are, my good man!"

"Man! Let's go!"

The two suited up and spent a few hours laughing and having a good time in the arena. When they left both were buzzing.

"That was amazing. Thank you for sharing it with me. Even though you cheated half the time."

Marquise snorted.

"You're welcome. And thank you for coming. I'm glad you had a good time."

"I can't wait to tell my wife about it."

"As long as you don't tell the children. I want it to be a surprise for them."

"My lips are sealed, Your Highness."

When they got to the common area, their wives were enjoying a glass of wine.

"And just where have you two been the past few hours?" Shanelle asked them.

"Out." They both reply.

The wives looked at each other.

"Uh-huh. You two went to check out Marquise's laser tag arena, didn't you?" Bronwyn asks.

The men's jaws dropped.

"How do you know?!" they asked.

Bronwyn answered by pointing to Shanelle.

"How do YOU know?!" they asked.

Shanelle shrugged.

"I might've accidentally stumbled upon the construction site one day."

"You mean you were being nosy?" Marquise asks.

"It is my job to be," Shanelle replied.

Marquise groaned.

"Relax. Your kid doesn't know. I haven't told her."

Marquise visibly relaxed.

"I can't keep nothing from you, can I?" Marquise asked.

"Nope. Now move it, you two. We have a Winter Festival to get ready for tomorrow." Shanelle replied.

The next day was the day of the Cordonian Winter Festival. All of Shanelle's hard work and planning had finally come to fruition. Many enjoyed a plethora of winter activities. Including snowmobiles. Which Marquise, Logan, Branden, and Brayden took full advantage of.

"Alright, Brayden. We got a big job."

"What's that?" he asked.

"We gotta beat your dad and brother in the race," Marquise replied.

"Yeah yeah! Go super fast!"

"And do you know what we win when we win?" Marquise asked his nephew.

"What uncle?"

"Bragging rights my boy! Bragging rights!"

"Yay!"

"So ready...set..."

"VRRRROOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM!"

"And we're off!"

While the dads and the boys enjoyed the snowmobiles, Shanelle took the girls ice skating out on the frozen pond.

After riding around on snowmobiles it was time for the main event, the annual snowball fight. That both royals were determined to win.

"Any last words before I take your title, Your Majesty?" Shanelle asked her husband.

"Keep dreaming woman!" Marquise replied with a smirk.

"I am so going to enjoy this!"

"You enjoy losing?...how very odd."

Once the trash talk was done, the whistle was blown and the fight was on. It was a battle of giggling proportions. With trying to take out one another.

"Will you hold still?!" Shanelle shouted at her husband.

"Why? So you can hit me?!" he replied.

"Yes!"

"No!"

The snowball fight was epic and ended in a draw. Which was a delight to all who participated, watched, and cheered. Before the event was over His Majesty decided to try his hand at axe throwing with Sam and a very animatedly drunk Logan.

"Uh, Logan?" Sam asks.

"Yeah?" Logan replied.

"How many of those have you had?" Marquise asked, pointing to the pint in Logan's hand.

"Including this one?" he replied before downing the rest of the pint, "eight."

Sam and Marquise looked at each other.

"You've had eight pints of Skullcracker Ale? Are you nuts? That stuff is powerful!" Marquise asked.

"Yeah, I know. Who knew you Europeans could make a strong ale?" Logan replied before grabbing an ax, "Now let's really have some fun!"

"Oh Dear God..." Marquise groaned.

"If he hits either one of us..." Sam warned.

"Noted."

Sam and Marquise stood way back and watched Logan toss the axe and wildly miss his first target.

"Missed it by an inch. Let me try again."

Logan tried again with Sam and Marquise looking on.

"How long are you going to let this go on?" Sam asks.

"Until either he runs out of steam or they run out of axes," Marquise replied.

"Which one is more likely to happen?" Sam asks.

"They run out of axes," Marquise replies.

"So we're gonna be here a while?" Sam asks.

"Yup so settle in my friend," Marquise replies.

Later that night after the Winter Festival had concluded, His Majesty told his wife what had happened at the ax throwing booth.

"Logan had how many pints?" Shanelle asks.

"You heard me. He had eight pints of Skullcracker Ale." Marquise replied.

"How did you let him drink that many pints?"

"First of all, I didn't let him do anything. He was already halfway through his eighth one when I got there. And second, saying you're great friends with the King will get you anything in this kingdom. Including eight pints of Skullcracker Ale. Especially when the limit is four pints."

Shanelle groaned.

"That hangover is about to be epic."

"Oh yeah. He's gonna be feeling it for days. But thank goodness there's a hangover cure."

"I can only handle three pints of Skullcracker Ale. I don't know how Logan managed to drink eight of them."

"Because he has an iron liver?"

Shanelle snorted.

"That's for sure."

"And how are you, my love? What was the final tally?" he asks.

"I'm good. I'm exhausted. Today was so much fun. And the money raised during the silent auction was enough to fund the Children's Fund. All in all, it was a great day. People had fun and that's all I care about. It's why I do this every year."

"I know and you do a brilliant job at this if I do say so myself."

"Careful Your Majesty. Your personal bias is showing."

"So? I'm allowed to brag about and celebrate my beautiful wife's accomplishments all I like. Thank you very much."

"Fine. Just one question."

"Hmm?"

"What are we doing for Christmas?" she asks.

"How about somewhere tropical?" he replies.

"Works for me!"

"I shall make our Christmas arrangements post haste."

"Yay!"

Just then there was an urgent knock at their bedroom door.

"Who in the world is that?" she asks.

"I'll go find out," he replied.

When he got up and answered the door, there was an attendant on the other side.

"Yes?" he asked as he stepped outside.

"Apologies for the disturbance this late Your Majesty but there is news out of Earl Amos's house." the attendant replies.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Earl Amos Barbaroux is dead." the attendant replied.

"What?!"

"He was stabbed to death in his office."

"What?! By who?"

"Lady Alicia, sire. From what I have been told they got into an argument and she stabbed him in the chest with a letter opener. Repeatedly."

"Where is she now?"

"An arrest warrant was issued for her but she's taken refuge at the old palace but that's all I know at the moment."

Marquise groaned.

"Great...thank you for informing me. Please keep me informed of any further details."

"At once sire."

When Marquise entered the bedroom, he had an annoyed look on his face.

"What's that look for?" Shanelle asks.

"Earl Amos is dead," he replied.

"Lady Alicia's husband?"

"Yes. She stabbed him to death."

"What?! Why?"

"I don't know yet. But I will find out. Just not right now."

"What happens to his estate in the meantime?"

"It goes to their oldest daughter."

"Do you know where she is now?"

"Hiding out at your palace to avoid arrest but that's as far as I've gotten."

"She won't be there for long. I'll put the call in to have her removed from the property. I will NOT be sheltering her."

"You're not. Her step-sister is."

"I don't care about her step-sister. Genevieve can kiss my whole ass. Alicia's gone as early as tomorrow morning."

Marquise smirked.

"So says the Queen."

"So shall it be."

5 notes · View notes