#the lady's mantle leaves also act as cups

[sgrayonderii]

nom de guerre

SSM21 Day 17: a gentle man

In which some titles are more accurate than others. Samurai-esque AU

It is common knowledge that for a noble title and a swath of land, her mother was sold to a warlord.  

Haruno Sakura had the great misfortune of being born as the daughter of a destitute samurai family. Their master had long been vanquished and their lands long sold to make ends meet. And yet still longed for days yonder. 

But her mother also had the great fortune of being born a beauty, so when the opportunity arose; a passing hegemon looking for a bride, Sakura’s parents took a chance. 

They say that the young warlord was so mesmerized by her mother that he immediately accepted the terms of the expensive bride price and took her as his wife. 

On their wedding day, mother was dressed in her finest robes while her father arrived late in a full suit of blood soaked armor. 

The ceremony itself was a soleum affair. Her parents pledged themselves before the gods and swear to their union.

And so Haruno Sakura becomes Lady Uchiha no Sakura, the wife of Lord Uchiha no Madara.

----

Sarada has faint memories of her father; more often than not her father is sent to the battlefield and only returns a few days to weeks at a time between campaigns. 

The Uchiha clan is one of the important noble families of the Konoha and known for its long history of bloodthirsty warriors. Her father is no exception. 

Whenever he returns home, Sarada hides behind her mother’s skirt. Her father is an imposing demon-like man, larger than life, and taller than a mountain. Someone more suited for stories and legends than real life. 

They call him a man more fearsome than Susanoo-no-Mikoto itself. So violent, so blood crazed, it is a wonder that Sakura lived as long as she did when a male heir had yet to be born. 

Thankfully, it seems that as a daughter, her father pays very little attention to her. Whenever he returns from the borderlands between here and Oto, he barely spares her a glance. 

However, whenever his eyes meet her mother’s through his helmet, he beckons her over. 

“Sakura,” he commands, voice deep and low, “bring some tea to my quarters.”

Sarada always remembers her mother looking angry but determined then. Sakura dutifully follows her husband into the inner chambers. She doesn’t emerge until late morning.

Sarada is usually having lessons during this time, but one day she sneaks out of her etiquette classes to find her mother. 

She searches almost the entire unusually empty manor before finding Sakura in the kitchen brewing tea. Her mother’s clothes are covered in blood and her hands are covering her tears. 

Sarada has never seen her mother sob so terribly before.

From then on, she decides that her father must be an especially cruel man. 

---- 

Whenever her father returns from war, her Papa also comes home. 

Today she finds him on the engawa overlooking the gardens. He is sipping some tea while looking over some scrolls. He appears injured, bandages wrapped around his torso, but otherwise in good health. 

If her father is the devil incarnate, then Sarada’s papa is a handsome devil. 

No wonder her Mama is so taken with him. Sometimes when she is supposed to be asleep, she can hear her Mama fuss over Papa. They hold hands when no one is looking and share secrets no other soul knows. 

Despite the cold manor they reside in, Mama is an affectionate woman at her core and her Papa is receptive to all she has to give. 

And Papa must be someone important too; after all he is allowed to leave and enter from the inner quarters that a normal Uchiha foot soldier could not. 

Sarada pads over to him, he looks up and beckons her closer. 

“Have you been a good girl, little peanut?” 

Sarada scoffs. “ I’m not a nut.” But she holds out her hands anyways. 

Her Papa chuckles and pulls out some dried persimmons from his sleeves. “Don’t tell Sakura.” 

Sarada smiles at their little secret before taking a bite. “What are you reading?” Her Papa allows her to climb onto his lap and drapes the scroll over her. Sarada squints, only understanding a fraction of the words on the paper. She points and reads aloud the characters she recognizes.

“Good girl.” He slips her another dried persimmon.

That is when her mother finds them. 

“Sasuke-kun!” her mama enters the scene in a huff, “I told you to stop that, you’ll ruin her dinner.”

Sarada quickly shoves both persimmons into her mouth. Her papa has the decency to look sheepish. 

“You can’t keep spoiling her like that! She is going to get an upset stomach!” Sakura continues.

“Do you want me to spoil you too?” 

Her mama sputters, all red and flustered. Her hands move to cover her flaming cheeks.

Sarada meanwhile uses the distraction to hold out her hands for another treat. Her gentle papa instead leans down and kisses her forehead.

---

For the past year, her father and his retainers had been defending the borders between Oto and Konoha. After the dissenters were finally defeated, a grand celebration is held in her father’s honor. 

She remembers that her father was hailed as the second coming of Madara, the legendary clan head from the distant past. The comparison is uncanny, both bloodthirsty and merciless but dauntless in the face of adversary. Soon it becomes her father’s mantle; Lord Uchiha no Madara, the slayer of the Orochi. 

Sarada hadn't been invited to the banquet due to her age but that night she is much too excited to sleep. She has never seen so many people gathered in one place in her life. And even though her father’s presence makes her nervous, she loves the tales about his exploits. 

The banquet hall is rowdy and the envoy’s drunken singing could be heard from down the halls. The fuzzy silhouettes of her father’s soldiers line the banquet hall, she has a hard time making out who is who. Everything is quite blurry even with the multiple lanterns.

The only one Sarada could identify for sure is her mother. Sakura’s features are distinct, like a lone flower against the night sky. Her mother sits obediently at the head of the table beside the man that is her father. 

He has forsaken armor this time, but there is still a sword at his side. From the distance, her father doesn’t look particularly like he was enjoying the festivities. 

He appears bored. Perhaps his blood is not used to peace, after all a beast belonged in the wild and a warrior to the battlefield. 

Sakura every once and a while would refill her father’s sake cup or serve him more of the feast in front of him. Occasionally, when her mother would lean over and her father would whisper something into her ear. 

Her mama would stiffen and her face would become strained. At first Sarada can’t make out the expression, until a small smile blooms on her mama’s visage. 

Sarada goes to bed soon after, not quite understanding their interactions. 

---

Her earliest memory of Papa is halfway past her fourth year. 

Father had been back for a few days now, not that she had really seen him. And to be perfectly honest, her father is a scary man and she would rather not run into him. 

But Sarada is also curious so she puts on a brave face and finds herself outside her mother’s quarters.

Peering through the crack in the paper screen door, Sarada spots her mother’s figure and a man she doesn’t recognize. 

Her mama is leaning on the man’s shoulder while he serves her sake with his free hand. Back then, Sarada found it a strange role reversal that a man dressed in such luxurious robes was pouring her mama a drink. 

Sarada has seen some men in her father’s army throw a tantrum when a pretty lady wouldn’t attend to them. Even Sakura during official functions knows to serve her father first before anyone else can even eat.

But this man sat with her mama so nonchalantly and closely, breaking tradition as if it was nothing!

Her shock was audible to where her mother and the man turned to see her crouched by the entryway. 

Sarada felt as if she interrupted a private moment, but man’s expression morphed into something soft and Sakura giddily rushes over to pick her up. 

“Sarada! Come, come! Papa is here, see?” Sakura hands her over the stranger’s awaiting arms. She doesn’t want to leave her mama’s embrace but the man’s is just as warm. 

“Hello little peanut, have you been good while I was away?” 

How is she supposed to answer him? She opts for a nod and reaches for the familiarity of her mother.

“Sasuke-kun…” 

“It’s alright, she probably isn’t used to my face.” He leans over regardless and kisses her mother’s forehead. Then he looks Sarada straight in the eye. “I am you papa.” 

Sarada thinks she likes this ‘Sasuke-kun,’ this Papa. Someone so kind to her mother can’t be a bad man. 

----

As she gets older, Sarada becomes privy to the rumors about the current acting head of the Yamanaka clan. How her son looks nothing like her deceased husband but has the same eyes as the court painter. 

And Sarada has her own theories about her mama and the man that is her papa.

She just hopes that her father never finds out. 

---

Even though her mother is essentially the lady of the house, Sarada still hears whispers of her lineage. Even more so now that Sarada begins wearing glasses. 

Before her father leaves for his next campaign, he gives Sakura his inkan. 

As the wife of the lord, Sakura officially acts as his surrogate in any official business even if some of the family retainers aren’t happy about it. 

Fortunately, many would rather swallow their pride that incur her father’s wrath. 

All except one. 

Uchiha no Shin, a rather minor branch clan member, always disapproved of her father and even more so now that he left his wife in charge of the estate in his absence. 

It all comes to a head when Sakura denies him funding for a rather ill thought out building project. 

“You dirty wench! ” 

Sarada can hear the screams from her room. She rushes to the scene. Sakura is still standing her ground when she arrives. 

“I don’t see any benefit in this strategy and I doubt my dear lord husband would either.” 

“What do you know?! You are nothing but a plaything you stupid bitch, I’ll teach you some manners!” Shin chooses that moment to raise his hand at her mother. 

Sarada feels the anger seep into her bones but her mother chooses that moment to retaliate and punch Shin square in the face herself. 

Shin falls back unceremoniously. Sarada is slack jawed. 

“How dare you!” he seethes. Shin tries to get up only for another person to rush to her mother’s aid. 

Shin’s screams are agonizing and it takes Sarada a moment to realize that not only had her father returned, but he had drawn his sword and stabbed it clean through Shin’s arm, effectively pinning it to the tatami. 

“Sasuke-kun!” 

Sarada blinks once. Twice. 

“Are you alright Sakura?” Her father, her papa asks, completely ignoring their screaming relative. 

Sakura nods and he turns to her as well “Are you okay Sarada?” his voice deep and low but the same kind cadence up close as her beloved papa.

Suddenly her father’s mysterious and distant features that were always hazy to her meld with the papa in front of her now.  

Sarada adjusts her glasses. She feels really stupid in that moment. 

---

This time, Sarada is invited to the banquet. 

It’s an annual harvest festival and her father is the guest of honor. The local leaders once again announce him as ‘Lord Uchiha no Madara’ much to his chagrin. 

“I really hate when they call me that.” Sasuke tells them later when the food is being served and drinks are flowing freely. Sakura is on one side while Sarada is on the other. Habitually he is discreetly putting any sweets that make it his way and the tenderest pieces of meat onto their plates. 

“Anata,” with time Sarada notices that her mother only ever uses this term in public when her father needed more placating than usual, “they are just just in awe of how great you are!”

“I wish they had chosen something different, Madara was such a pain in the ass.” 

“Sasuke-kun!” Her mother tries to be scandalized but can’t help but devolve into a fit of giggles. 

As her father continues to look on adoringly at his wife, Sarada can’t help but agree with him. 

A name like that is unfitting of her gentle papa. 

A/N: Happy Sasusaku month 2021! My brain is mush right now so excuse the multitude of grammatical errors. Thank you for reading!

And just to note in historical Japan, men tended to change their names depending on significant life events. For example, Minamoto no Yoshitsune's childhood name was Ushiwakamaru.

@ssskmonth

#sasusaku #SSM21d17 #SSM21 #Sasusaku Month #ssskmonth

[smutty-skyrim]

Vex || NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare

Vex is prone to meandering pillow talk. It'll always begin in a comfortable silence, where you lay lost in thought beside each other, but slowly her thoughts begin wandering from her lips. You get lost in intimate conversations about life, love, and little secrets you'd never tell another soul. She loves those moments when you're both so at ease - when your face shines with afterglow and honest smiles. She places soft kisses on your cheeks and neck as you mutter sweet nothings to each other.

If it was a rough session, she'll usually get you a warm bath. She washes the sweat from your skin, tender around any injuries. Her hands will roam over your body and take in every inch, paying extra attention to your breasts and the swell of your hips. Sometimes her hand will dip low and curious fingers will wander to your clit. She'll rub you to another climax - one less fraught with intensity, tender and patiently coaxed.

B = Body Part

Her favorite body part on herself is her breasts. They're perky and, in her opinion, cute. She loves having them played with and admired. Her nipples are remarkably sensitive.

She likes your ass. She loves the way it moves when you walk, accentuated by the leather of the Thieves Guild armor and the sway of your hips that drives her crazy. She likes grabbing hold of it while she laps at your sensitive clit, nails digging into your skin. While she's hesitant to eat your ass (something about it seems off-putting), if she tries it she'll find yet another way she enjoys your body.

C = Cum

It takes Vex a while to cum, especially in the case of vaginal orgasms. She has the most luck with your fingers flicking her clit while you whisper filthy things in her ear. She loves if you finger her when she begins to climax, and feeling her walls tighten around your digits.

D = Dirty Secret

Often, she doesn't wear underwear under her Thieves Guild armor, including a bra. She'll do this whether she's lounging around the Flagon or on a mission. There's something about the scandal that would erupt if her armor went askew that gets her going. Being able to reveal her breasts to you while you're on heists together is another benefit.

E = Experience

She isn't shy about her experience. She's been with men and women, both long term and one night stands, and enjoyed it all. Ever since she lost her virginity she's been exploring her sexuality pretty actively. She doesn't mind if you lack experience so long as you have a healthy curiosity and appetite.

F = Favorite Position

Vex makes it very well known that she enjoys being fucked from behind. She loves when you bend her over and pin her down with your hands between her shoulder blades as you pound into her with a strap on. She'll mewl your name and push back against you, desperate for more. She also loves being eaten out from behind.

G = Goofy

She's pretty serious in the moment. If she makes a joke, half of what makes it funny is how entirely unexpected it is. Despite this, she actually likes if her partner has a sense of humor. It can serve to loosen the mood and bring out a more lighthearted side of her.

H = Hair

Vex likes to be clean shaven, though she doesn't always get the opportunity to make that a reality. She mostly prefers it that way to mitigate any messes. It's more convenient to her, even if it can feel like more work in the moment.

I = Intimacy

When someone sleeps with Vex, they get one of two sides depending on who they are. One is more aloof, almost reluctant to let on how you pleasure her and eager to leave after the deed is done. The other is more passionate, where her touches can range from gentle to fervent, but never ambivalent. You in particular get the latter, with rambling words of praise undoing you.

J = Jack Off

She enjoys masturbating and usually finds time for it when she doesn't have a partner to keep her needs met. She'd always rather blow off steam with somebody else. While she might hold off pleasuring herself if she thinks there's a chance to have some fun with you soon, she doesn't see why she only needs to cum once and will happily satisfy herself until the two of you do fuck again, even if it's within the hour.

K = Kink

Dom/sub - She doesn't like intense Dom/sub dynamics, but she does enjoy a level of power exchange. She's a switch, thriving in the role of both the bratty sub and the commanding Dom. It's hard for her to say which role she prefers, as it varies based on her partner. Sometimes it depends on her mood, but often the dynamic is chosen based on her chemistry with that particular person.

Spanking - She both enjoys being spanked, and spanking you. She likes your ass, she likes playing with it, and she likes striking your skin and hearing you yelp her name. It's a natural fit. And at the same time, you forcing her over your knee when she snarks at you, or smacking her with a firm palm as you fuck her drives her insane.

Light Choking - Much like spanking, it can go either way. She mostly likes the feeling of the power exchange that comes from having your hand on someone else's throat. Some light pressure to restrict blood flow is also fun, but she doesn't like anything intense.

Praise - She praises you on instinct when she likes what you're doing, but a secret of hers is that she longs to be praised herself. The ever confident thief loves to be assured she's a good girl as she laps at your folds. She'll writhe under your touch if you whisper how good she's taking it as you fuck her.

L = Location

A mark's house. She's learned someone's schedule just so she could fuck you on a stranger's clean bedding and would love if you'd do the same for her. She fantasizes about you sitting on a noble's dining room table as she eagerly eats you out. Maybe the neighbors will hear you cum.

M = Motivation

Vex likes watching you move - whether this is just the way you walk, or the way you deftly make your way through a shop on your way to a valuable lockbox. She fixates on your hands while you pick locks and gets lost watching your lips move when you talk.

N = No

Roleplay - She has no idea how to get into character and just finds it generally awkward. She's tried it at the request of several partners and the sessions always fumble to an uncomfortable halt. She can take the mantle of a sub or a Dom, but asking her to be a priestess of Dibella, or a damsel in distress, or a catgirl? It's not going to work out.

O = Oral

She likes giving oral more than she enjoys receiving, and she really enjoys receiving. She thinks she's better with her fingers but prefers burying her face in your wet cunt and working her tongue against your clit. She like shearing you gasp out her name and feeling your fingers tangle in her hair.

P = Pace

When Vex is in control, the pace is slow in a manner that makes it clear she's trying to milk everything she can from you. She savors every second of pleasure, moving with calculated hands and precise fingertips. She rolls her hips - teasing, daunting - and you groan in anguish and pleasure.

When she's on the receiving end she likes it fast and hard. She enjoys being pinned down as you fuck her as roughly as you can manage, pounding out every last bit of tension residing in your bodies. She rarely meets her limit, relishing in the intensity and begging for more.

Q = Quickie

Quickies are fun, but Vex prefers to drag the whole experience out. She's a big fan of foreplay and feels like going straight to the act skips a large portion of the pleasure. And once you begin, she doesn't rush for the climax. She only exception is when you're fucking somewhere you're not supposed to be, but even then she'd rather take whatever time she can to prolong it. Taking your time means you're more likely to get caught That excites her.

R = Risk

She's an eager risk taker. She enjoys the possibility of someone coming home while you're fucking, and slipping out of someone's house with lingering fluids tucked under the blankets. She can get off to the thought of the rumors that would spread if the two of you were caught.

She hasn't dabbled much in the edgeplay side of risk, save for choking. She might be willing to once she trusts you enough but it's unlikely she'll enjoy anything too intense.

S = Stamina

She often goes for a while, both because of preference and because it can take her a bit to cum. Extended sessions are the norm for her. Usually she's exhausted by the end of the first round, but if you give her some time to recover she's always interested in another.

T = Toys

Vex loves when you fuck her with a strap on. Even though  she cums best from her clit being played with, she enjoys penetration. The two of you pick the ideal toy together - one that you'll both enjoy being fucked by - and spend the next few days putting it through rigorous tests.

Modern!Vex would have a wide collection of vibrators. Once you had a chance to play with all of them, she'd give you the one you liked best to keep for when she isn't around.

U = Unfair

She is absolutely a tease. She goes out of her way to whisper dirty thoughts into your ear when her mind starts to wander and her hand will slip to your ass regardless of where you are, as long as she doesn't think there are any eyes on you. Sometimes she begins her seduction hours before you'll have a chance to act on it. It makes you squirm and she loves it.

V = Volume

She makes a moderate amount of noise. She starts off as mindful as she can be about to sound but she's quick to get lost in the moment. You'll usher out shameless moans and rambling dirty talk. She can keep it down if she needs to, but it takes effort.

W = Wild Card

Vex has more experience with men but has a preference for women. At the same time, she's less likely to make a move on a woman. She tends to be more nervous about what ladies think of her. With men she's usually confident, but that falters when she's dealing with the same gender. But never mistake her reservation for disinterest.

X = X-Ray

She has a c-cup chest with small rosy nipples that often stand pert in the Skyrim chill. Her stomach is toned but still soft, as are her thighs. Her hips are more narrow, and her ass is more on the small side, though still rather perky.

Y = Yearning

There's no hiding that Vex has a high sex drive. She enjoys fucking, and particularly enjoys fucking you. She tries to pretend it's a preference, not a necessity, but she tends to get cranky if she doesn't cum nearly daily. Even if she's not actively horny, she's probably still down.

Z = Zzz...

It's rare for Vex to fall asleep afterwards. She likes chatting with you in those intimate moments and finds her mind more active and prone to wandering. Even if it's late, she'll find herself struggling to doze off. If you're the sort who likes a nap once you're done, shes' more than happy to stroke your hair and hold you while you sleep.

#vex #thieves guild #skyrim x reader #tes v #skyrim #the elder scrolls #skyrim smut #x reader smut #smut headcanons #smut alphabet

[adowbaldwin]

Baldwins Secret - part 10?

Diana took one last, longing look around the room, surrounded by historical figures she had only read about. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever invision herself walking amongst the men who shaped the Roman Empire, much less befriending Caesars daughter and Mark Anthonys sister. Who was also technically her sister in law.

She left the celebrations to walk along the gardens once more stopping briefly to ruffle Lucius head as he took Anthonys money in a game of back gammon, or rather the Ancient Roman version.

Her favourite part of the house was most certainly the entertaining room. Many nights she had spent watching Lucius as he demanded attention from everyone, taking all their money in gambling debts and doting on Antonia. He followed her with his eyes around the room, or acted like a lost puppy and trailed at her feet all the time.

Seeing him with his own children, especially his daughters answered the question as to why he had taken to Rebecca so easily, despite being a massive ass hat.

Julia came bounding down the hallway, arms flinging wide and embraced Diana "I am going to miss you, so much"

Diana felt sad, it was a shorter time here but just as hard to leave them behind as she had with those she came to love in 1590 "Not as much as i will miss you" one last rib crushing, air constricting hug and she left with her father.

One goodbye she did not want to say was to the children, and Antonia. God how she would miss little Cyrus waking her up every morning with cheese, sharing his own with her because "she was pretty".

"Our time has come to an end, sister" Antonias voice was tight, eyes glassy

She needed to know "if you can see your own future, why not change it?" It came off as more a desperate plea. Not only for the sake of her loosing a friend, but also Lucius' happiness laid with her.

She smiled, small tear working its way down her face as she cupped Dianas cheek "What will be, will be. Ive seen my end many times and i do not fear it"

Their hug, sisters in both witch craft and marriage was bitter sweet. Diana would never have otherwise known of her, this life without secretly snacking but now it was all ending. She loved getting to know her and him in this time but she had to leave it behind.

"Diana" Antonia whispered softly "please take care of him" she croaked

She nodded, tears slipping "Dont worry, i intend on hugging him everyday of my life. And ill make Rebecca do it too. He loves her"

They braced foreheads before pulling back and patting their wet faces "i have one favour to ask of you, before you go?" Antonia asked meekly

Diana nodded "anything, name it"

Present Day:

"This house, its just - omg" Phoebe squealed, it was a living time capsule "how has it lasted all those years?" She marvelled

Boudicca laughed "Oh my sweet it hasnt, father has it refurbished every so often. There is probably one pillar and a tile that is original" she smiled "its nice though, that he keeps it as is. Nothing like being able to return to your childhood home"

"Baldwin said he cant stay long, why?" She furrowed her brows in confusion. She had never seen him as content and happy as he had been the past few days

"The city is his home. He has rebuilt, built and financed everything from the Zoo to the tarmac but none of it shakes the ghosts" she lowered her tone, knowing if her father overheard he would not be too happy "everyone he has ever loved, everything he knew walked these halls. Its alot for a man that has bottled his emotions for 2000 years"

"I cant picture him married" she trailed off "or changing nappies"

Boudicca smiled "he cloth diapered our bums more then mother. He is the broodiest man in the world, even now. I think it is the only thing he hated about turning, not being able to churn out more children"

It was an odd notion, one Phoebe could not appreciate. Her mind wandered to the possibilities, how if in a different life she and Marcus could of had children in some alternate reality. Though not possible now, it wouldnt stop them from trying.

Her deep in thought, pensive walk was halted as the strongest scent of willowsap and honeysuckle flooded her senses. Dianas distinct mark was unmistakeable, filled with aromas Phoebe could not place, ancient wonderous things she had never known.

Boudicca made an appreciative noise "i had missed the scent of ladys mantle and frankincense" she turned abruptly, listening intently for Dianas heart beat "Come, she is in the livingroom"

#adow #a discovery of witches #fic #baldwins secret #diana bishop #baldwin montclair

[heroicadventurists]

Robin 80 ***spoilers***

Robin 80 was a wonderful celebration of the first sidekick... the Boy Wonder... Robin. This issue consisted of 10 stories focusing on the different iterations of Robin. While Carrie Kelley received a pinup in the issue, she did not receive her own story. Robin 80 focused on the five canon Robins. While some are upset that Duke was not included in this lineup, he was never an official Robin to Batman. If we count Duke, we have to count all of the "We Are Robin" crew. When given the choice by Batman, Duke chose to pave his own path as his own hero, which is commendable. Dick received 4 out of the 10 stories in this issue, which was fitting considering it is also his 80 year anniversay. My favorite thing about this issue was the acknowledgement that Bruce adopted the male Robins. Below I rank the stories in Robin 80 from my least favorite to my favorite.

10. Dick Grayson, Nightwing in Aftershocks

Writer: Chuck Dixon

Starting off my list is Aftershocks.  This story follows Dick after he has quit being Robin, and has assumed his new identity, Nightwing.  This story highlights perfectly how Dick operates as a solo hero.  He is brave, quick on his feet, witty, and of course, he saves the day.  This was a good one-shot but it didn’t have the impact that some of the other stories in this issue had.  However, it did serve it’s purpose of showing Dick coming into his own.

9. Nightwing and The Titans in Team Building

Writer: Devin Grayson

Like Aftershocks, this story serves to show how Dick operates as a team leader. He was smart, strategic, capable and decisive.  He was everything you want in a team lead.  As before, this was a good one-shot, but it also lacked the emotional impact that other stories on this list had. 

8. Dick Grayson, Agent 37 in The Lesson Plan

Writers: Tim Seely and Tom King

Like Aftershocks and Team Building, this story follows Dick as Agent 37.  In this story he is a mentor to a young recruit named Paris.  He gives her lessons throughout the story that contradict every lesson Batman ever taught him.  When he gets to the final lesson, he tells her the one thing that he agreed with Batman on “Ignore Your Mentor.  Do What You Do Best”.  One thing I really appreciate about the stories focusing on Dick is that each story is a progression in his vigilante career.  He has an actual arc in Robin 80.

7. The Supersons in My Best Friend

Writer: Peter J Tomasi

This was an adorable story about how Jon views his friendship with Damian.  Damian is a lot more vulnerable when he is with Jon, and honestly, he acts like the kid that he is.  This was a lighthearted and sweet story that shows a different side to our current Robin.

6. Tim Drake, Robin III in Extra Credit

Writer: Adam Beechen

This was a wonderful piece that highlighted how awesome Tim is.  For so many, Tim is their Robin, and it was nice to see him getting recognition in this comic. 

5. Stephanie Brown, Robin IV in Fitting In

Writer: Amy Wolfram

Out of all of the stories in this issue, Stephanie’s story made me think the most.  There was a very deep meaning behind this story once you get past the surface level.  So let’s breakdown this story.  The story begins with Stephanie showing up late to a training session.  She suits up in one of Tim’s old costumes.  Of course there are issues with this and Stephanie is busting out of the seams (not because she’s overweight but because she has breast, butt and thighs to contend with).  She complains about her hand-me-down costume while Bruce focuses on training.  Even with her top busted, Bruce is still training.  He even has the nerve to tell Stephanie she is distracted. Alfred shows up with Dick’s old costume as a replacement, and Steph asks for something “without a cup”.  Bruce FINALLY makes Stephanie a suit fit for a young lady, but when she puts on her new costume, Bruce tells her “no more excuses”.   Let that sink in.  He saw her complaints about wearing a male costume as an excuse not to train.  Let’s carry on.  They go to Western Town to take on Firefly.  The villain du jour does not take Stephanie seriously and calls her “Cosplay Girl”.  Stephanie is rash during the fight and does not follow Batman’s orders, resulting in her capture by Firefly.  She is able to avert disaster (barely) and saves the day, but Batman still chides her. 

Batman: “Tim would have waited outside”

Robin (Stephanie): “I’m not Tim!”

Batman: “I know”

Stephanie tells Bruce that she wants to be her own Robin and to stop trying to make her into something she’s not.  Bruce hears her and makes her a special closet in the batcave with her own costumes. This seems like a step in the right direction but we know how her Robin story ends.

At no point in this story did I feel like Stephanie was being sexualized.  it was more awkward and embarrassing than anything else. Neither Bruce nor Alfred said anything inappropriate to Steph, and no skin or nipples were shown thru her shirt.  She was just in a predicament where her costume was too tight because Bruce was making her wear Tim’s old costume.  And that was the point of the story (at least for me).  Bruce wasn’t trying to find a replacement Robin, he was trying to find a replacement Tim, and eventually get Tim back.

Bruce has a bad habit of trying to replace people in his life.  He did this with Jason and he did it with Stephanie, and the results where dang near the same.  Bruce replaced Dick with a direct copy, down to the hair color, race and costume.  Bruce was trying to do the same with Stephanie, however it was unsuccessful for obvious reasons.    This story really made me think about all the extra pressure Bruce put on Steph and Jason by trying to have them live up to Tim and Dick respectively.  Instead of playing up their strengths and letting them define what type of Robin they wanted to be, he wanted them to be replicas of their predecessors.    Both results turned out in disaster with Jason dying and Stephanie nearly being killed after she was fired. To me this story highlights how badly Bruce tried to use Stephanie to get to Tim.  It makes absolutely no sense that he wouldn’t make her a costume to fit her body.  But is it surprising b/c he did the same thing to Jason.  To me this story was a lot deeper than Stephanie busting out of her top.  It was about 1.  Bruce’s need to get Tim back 2.  Bruce’s lack of respect for Stephanie and 3.  Stephanie’s disastrous run as Robin.  Say what you will but she held the mantle for less than 3 months and almost died trying to prove herself to Bruce.  Stephanie never got a fair shake at being Robin, and this story highlights that perfectly.  She was literally setup to fail. Maybe I have overthought this story, but those are the points I got from it, and they are important points to be made, which is why it takes the # 5 spot.

4. Dick Grayson, Robin in A Little Nudge

Writer: Marv Wolfman

This is a story about a boy becoming a man and setting off on his own journey. In this story, we see Batman and Robin clashing on patrol, as Batman wants Robin to fall in line and Robin wants to make his own decisions. The issue ends with Dick thanking Bruce for everything he has done for him but leaving the nest to become his own hero. Bruce knew this day was coming, and instead of talking to Dick, he purposely picked small fights with him so he could make that step on his own.

3. Damian Wayne, Robin: Son of Batman in Bat and Mouse

Writer Robbie Thompson

This story lands in my #3 spot This story focuses on the fundamental differences between Damian and Bruce. Bruce knows that something is going on with Damian, he just can't figure out what it is. He wants to fix it but he doesn't know how. He can't rely on Alfred, as this story takes place after his death. On Damian's part, he is blaming everything on Bruce instead of taking responsibility for his own actions. While some see Damian's current storyline as a regression, I see a lost kid with no guidance. Alfred is dead, Dick is Ric and Bruce is emotionally inept. Jason tried to step-up, but that relationship soured quickly. Damian has no one to guide him, and is making bad decisions as a result. This story sets up the eventual showdown in the upcoming Teen Titans annual.

2. Jason Todd, Red Hood in More Time

Writer: Judd Winick

I was not expecting Jason to have the most heartfelt story in this issue. This story was beautiful and now I want Judd Winick to write another Red Hood miniseries or ongoing. This story highlighted the complicated relationship between Jason and Bruce in the most purest way I've ever seen. Even the artwork had an innocence to it. The story goes back and forth between a young Jason, who loves Bruce wholeheartedly, and an older Jason, whose relationship with Bruce is way more complicated and strained. This story highlights why Jason will always be a part of the Batfamily, because even with their complicated relationship, they love each other. This story just adds to the wonderful stories featuring Jason in 2020.

1. Tim Drake, Red Robin in Boy Wonders

Writer: James Tynion IV

The brotherly bonding in this story is what landed it in the # 1 spot. This story takes place prior to Detective Comics # 934. In this story, Tim cannot decide if he wants to attend college or join Bruce in forming the Gotham Knights. He seeks advice from Dick, Jason and Damian, with each one telling him something different. Dick tells Tim that he's a hero that the next generation can look up to. Jason essentially tells Tim that Bruce is stuck in his ways and he has the opportunity to be better than Bruce. The best advice however came from the little Gremlin in Tim's life. After some well placed insults, Damian tells Tim that he has accomplished everything he has set out to do, and has been successful in his endeavors. At the end of the day "You do anything you damn well please". The confirmations Tim received from his brothers was much needed for him and helped him make the decision to form the Gotham Knights with Bruce. I loved getting a "behind the scenes" look at how The Gotham Knights protocol was formed. Because of these factors, Boy Wonders has my #1 spot.

What is your favorite story from Robin 80?

#robin 80 #robins #robin #batfamily #bat family #batbros #batboys #dick grayson 80 #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #stephanie brown #carrie kelley #nightwing #red hood #red robin #drake #spoiler #duke thomas #batman family #batman #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth

[this-idiots-left-eye]

In Plain Sight

Cover art by Stlyrica on instagram!! I’ll put a link to it in a reblog!!

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: When Break hides Gilbert's favorite Christmas ornament somewhere in the Rainsworth manor, the Golden Trio must spend the afternoon looking for it. But why is it so special to Gil?

Notes: I originally wrote this for the prompt "Ornaments" in an alphabetical Christmas prompt list my friends and I did in 2017--(it was going to be part of a group of Christmas fics we all wrote for different fandoms. Some of the people in that group hadn't read PH, so that's why this fic has some explanations for who the characters are). Then I posted it for Pandora Hearts Month 2018 for the Golden Trio Prompt: Friendship. I hope you like it! I would really appreciate it if you could reblog and/or leave a comment to let me know if you enjoyed it!

*

“You’re the tallest, Gil, you should put the star on top!”

“Ooh! It looks yummy! Like a big cookie!”

“It’s not a cookie, Stupid Rabbit!”

It was a few days before Christmas, and the trio was at the Rainsworth manor. Finally, everything was ready for the holiday; a fire was dancing in its place, the stockings were all lined up on the mantle, and they had just put the finishing touches on the tree. The only one who hadn’t been informed about the festive season, was the sky outside; it had been raining for the past few weeks. There was a chill in the air, it was frosty, but snow hadn’t quite come yet. Still, they made the most of their time indoors.

“Perfect!” Oz exclaimed.

Oz Vessalius was the fifteen-year-old heir to the Vessalius dukedom, but after his escape from the Abyss that year, when he wasn’t off on adventures, and missions, he spent most of his time at the Rainsworth’s.

“It’s so pretty, Onii-chan!”

On account of the ten-year gap, Oz’s sister, Ada, was older than Oz now, but, no matter what, she would never stop seeing him as her older brother. She was on Christmas break from Lutwidge Academy, and more than happy to spend it at the Rainsworths, with her brother. She had, of course, brought her two cats—Snowdrop and Kitty—with her, (which Gilbert maintained a healthy distance from, due to his phobia of cats).

“The Rainsworths will have the best-decorated tree in town!”

Oscar, their uncle, was spending the afternoon with his niece and nephew too. He was a bearded, bespectacled man, with the same blonde hair and green eyes as the rest of his family. At the moment, he was sitting on one of the couches, with a cup what he called ‘tea’, but which the rest of them guessed probably had something stronger in it.

“I can’t take all the credit, Gil and Alice helped a little,” Oz joked.

“‘A little!’”

Gilbert was Oz’s servant; a dark-haired man, who often appeared cold and reserved, but who was rather sensitive, and a worrywart. He still sometimes acted as though they were only a year apart in age too, despite the fact that he was now ten years older than his master.

“Yeah, manservant!” Alice challenged, “More like we did all the work!”

“I was just teasing!”

“Well,” Sharon had a way of returning things to order with her calm and proper words, “you all did a wonderful job.”

Sharon was the heiress to the Rainsworth dukedom, and looked like a thirteen-year-old girl, though was really in her twenties or thirties—(they knew better than to ask her exact age). Her chestnut hair was usually tied back into a kind of half-ponytail, and, as always, she outmatched them all on style points; today it was with a dress of a wintery blue that looked as if she was trying to encourage the snow to fall. As per usual, she held a cup of tea in one hand—peppermint, she had informed them, for the Christmas season—and a pastry in the other. She was sitting at a small round table on the other side of the room, with Reim—duke Barma’s bespectacled, hard working, servant, who spent more time at the Rainsworth’s than anywhere else, with his two best friends—Sharon and Break.

“Well, I’m beat,” Alice stretched and yawned, “Seaweed-head, when are you going to make me some meat?”

Most Chains (creatures from the Abyss) didn’t look like Alice did; like a fourteen-year-old girl, with floor length brown hair, and an almost cat-like physique—(though it was a giant rabbit she often turned into). Also unlike other illegally contracted Chains, she did not have a thirst for human blood, although she did have a particular love for meat, as well as almost anything edible.

“I suppose I can make you something, now that we’ve finished,” Gil sighed.

“Oh? Have you now?” they turned to see Sharon’s servant, Xerxes Break, grinning as he poured himself another cup of tea. “Are you sure nothing’s…” he leaned back against the table, “missing?”

Break was a red-eyed, white-haired man, also much older than he looked. Even those close to him would say he was a bit of an acquired taste; his love for teasing, the creepy doll on his shoulder, and his general lack of regard for other people and their feelings, made it difficult for those subject to his mischiefs—such as Gilbert—to acquire any kind of affection for him.

Gilbert froze, turning his head slowly to the tree. His eyes immediately found the empty space where a certain ornament had been.

“Break!” he shouted, spinning back to him, “Must you do this every year?!”

“Let an old man have his fun.” Break grinned.

“I believe he must, Gilbert-sama,” Sharon answered Gilbert’s question, nonchalantly taking a sip of tea before continuing, “It has become something of a tradition.”

“I should have spent Christmas with he Nightrays this year,” Gilbert grumbled, reluctance in his motions as he began to pick up books, and other objects around the room, as if searching.

“You’re so mean,” Break chided playfully, then spoke a little more seriously, knowing Gilbert had no intentions of spending much time with his adoptive family, and real brother, “You’d rather spend Christmas with the sewer rat, than us?”

Gil gave him a death glare.

“Sorry…but what’s a tradition?” Oz asked, turning to Sharon and Break.

He wouldn’t admit it, but sometimes, especially with things like this, the ten-year gap could make Oz feel like an outsider.

“Every year Break takes Gilbert-sama’s favorite ornament,” Sharon explained, “And hides it somewhere in the manor.”

“Ooh! That sounds like fun!”

“It’s not fun, Oz!” Gilbert hollered at his master, “It’s a waste of a perfectly good afternoon! Not to mention annoying, and rude!”

Break laughed. Gil had yet to learn his outrageous reactions were what made this sort of thing so fun for the prankster.

“Don’t worry, Gil!” Ada bounded up to him, “I’ll help you look!”

Gilbert flushed, “T-Thank you.”

“What does it look like, Gil?”

He looked at Oz, then turned back to Ada, and explained it quietly enough that only she could hear.

She nodded, beaming, and began to look in a different part of the room.

“What’s the matter, Gil?”—Gil gasped as his master appeared suddenly at his other side—“You don’t want me to know what it is?” Oz’s laugh faded into a more puzzled expression when Gil averted his eyes, turning redder.

“It’s a secret, Onii-chan!” Ada answered for him, “You’ll see when we find it!”

He didn’t get the chance to ask anything more, because Alice broke in, having been observing all their interactions,

“Does…Does this mean I won’t get my meat?”

“Uh huh,” Gilbert sighed, “That’s exactly what it means.”

“No! I will not allow it!” Alice shook her head, and whirled around on Break, pointing at him in an accusatory manner, “Clown! Return Seaweed-head’s stupid ornament his instant!”

“It’s not stupid, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Aren’t you a spoilsport?” The Mad Hatter teased, then the doll on his shoulder, Emily, finished,

“Why should I listen to some dumb bunny?”

Alice growled, her hands clenching into fists. She spun to Gilbert, declaring as she ran up to him,“Then I won’t rest until I find that ornament! With the great Alice-sama on your side, you cannot fail!”

“Sure you won’t just get in the way?”

She kicked him in the shin, crossing her arms, “You’d be lost without me, Seaweed-head.”

“Don’t kick me, Stupid rabbit!” he rubbed his leg, “Now go look for it over there!” he stamped his injured foot back down and pointed to the opposite corner of the room, (to which she quickly ran, proceeding to tear her designated space apart in a matter of seconds.)

“Is this ornament really all that important, Gil? I mean, we have lots of—”

“Yes!” he answered before his master could finish, “it is!”

Oz sighed, knowing how attached his servant could get to things, “Alright. So…is us helping against the rules?” he asked, watching Alice destroy the room in search of it, Ada calmly remove things, and put them back where they were meant to go, and Gil as a mix of the two.

“Don’t you think we would have stopped them if it was, Oz-kun?”

Sharon shook her head, “It doesn’t matter who finds it, watching him search is the fun part.” Her mischievous side was showing; most of the time she was this prim and proper lady, but being close to Break had its effects.

“That’s right; the more people searching, the funnier it is when they can’t find it,” Break sang. “Though, tell me, Ojousama,” he turned to his mistress “are you merely saying that because you wagered he’d find it early—before 18:00?” he asked knowingly, sitting up on the table—(Reim gave him a look that could only be interpreted as: can-you act-any-less-like-a-servant?)

They turned to the clock—it was 15:00.

“Why do you want to know, Break?” his mistress asked with a tone of false interest, “Are you afraid your skills as a prankster have gone down with age?” she patted her mouth innocently with a napkin.

“What do you take me for, Ojousama?” he smirked, crossing his legs, narrowing his eyes at Gilbert, “He’ll need all the help he can get.”

Gilbert returned to him an even more murderous look.

“You… betted on this?”

“All part of the tradition, Oz-kun,” Break mentioned, stealing a mini pastry from Reim’s plate—(the incense was more than evident on Reim’s face, and probably why Break did it).

“It’s not money we wagered, though; If I win, Break has to swear off sweets over Christmas—as well as make me a lavish dessert full of those sweet things he can’t have. And if Break wins, I have to buy him an equally lavish amount of extra Christmas candy and sweets.”

“Nice! Break, I didn’t know you could bake!”

“He really can’t,” Sharon chuckled, “But it’s fun to see what he comes up with.”

Break glared at her.

“So… is this how you bet every year?”

“Sometimes it’s different. But it’s usually something to the effect of giving Break a taste of his own medicine…Though I seem to recall one year, I wanted Break to do this dance I had heard of in a book, if he lost. I believe it was called ‘Futterwacken.’”

“That’s a weird name for a dance!” Oz laughed, “So? How did that go?

“I suppose it is,” she smiled, “That was one of the tamer punishments, but, when he did lose, he refused—rather blatantly.”

“Really?!” he turned to Break.

“How many times must I tell you? I have no talent for dancing.”

“Truly, as a servant of the Rainsworth Dukedom, it would be better fitting that you learned,” she shook her head, then turned back to Oz, “Anyway, after that, we thought the chance to take away his candy was rather enjoyable.”

“Aw, I want to join the bet!”

Gilbert looked affronted, but before he could speak, Oz continued, boyish excitement simmering in his tone,

“Say, what if, if Break loses, I get to eat his candy instead?!”

Sharon and Break glanced at each other.

“Let me ask you something, Oz-kun;” Break set down his tea, “Are you willing to risk the consequences of such a wager?”

“Ehh…consequences?”

“Why of course. I couldn’t give little Oz-kun the chance of stealing my candy without the proper torment in store if he lost.”

“Eh…” Oz knew just how mean Break could get, and that this could very well turn into a prank war that ended in actual blood, “I think I’ll pass.”

“I always said you were smarter than you looked,” the Mad Hatter picked up his tea again.

“Maybe you could join in by helping me look, instead of encouraging them, Oz!” Gilbert whirled on him.

“Aww, do I have to?” the fifteen-year-old groaned.

“Oz!”

Oz turned to the masterminds, as if silently asking for them to give him an excuse not to.

“Hey, Oz-kun is sharp,” Break began, then Emily added,

“Probably smarter than these three put together!”

—two of the aforementioned three gave him what can only be described as ‘fight-me’ faces, and Ada looked disheartened—Break took no notice, and finished,

“So that depends; whose side are you on?”

“Well,” Oz thought for a moment, then mused, grinning, “it would be fun to see Break trying to swear of candy!”

“Is that so?” Break’s eye narrowed.

“In any case, why isn’t Reim-san helping?” he shifted the focus. “You’re not the kind of person to sit back while others are in trouble”

Reim sighed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “While that may be true, these two are often harsher with me, than others. If I help you, I have a feeling I shall pay for it in some way later,” he shot them an icy look, “dearly.”

“Whatever do you mean, Reim-san?” Sharon asked innocently. “We thought you enjoyed our company.”

“Yeah, it’s only because you’re our favorite, Reim-san,” Break gave a fake sappy voice.

“Then pick a new favorite!”

“That’s not how it works! You have a lifetime guarantee!”

“Sharon,” it was Ada who spoke. She had been focused on searching on the mantelpiece, and inside the stockings, “Why are there nine stockings?”

“What do you mean, Ada?” Oz asked, stepping over to her.

“Well, I was just thinking; there’s me, Onii-chan, Uncle, and Alice,”—Alice looked annoyed at Ada mentioning her name—“since we’re staying here for Christmas,” she pointed at each of the stockings in turn, “and these belong to Sharon-sama, Break, Duchess Rainsworth-sama, and Reim-san, right? But who does this last one belong to?” she held the bottom of the last one, careful not to pull it off the mantle.

They turned to Break and Sharon, who glanced at each other, their mischievous grins fading into more somber, reminiscent expressions.

“It was Break’s idea,” Sharon answered.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit—“

“It’s for my mother…That has become something of a tradition as well. We just thought it would be nice, to have something to remember her by during the Christmas season.”

The tone in the room quieted; the rest of them knew that Shelly was Sharon’s mother, who had died sometime after Oz’s coming of age ceremony.

“That’s…actually really sweet,” Oz noted, “Break, I’m surprised you thought of it!”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you? And you say that like I’m cruel.”

“Well…” Oz rubbed the back of his neck, smiling nervously, trying to formulate a non- insulting answer in his mind.

“I think what Oz is trying to say,” Reim started out gently, then finished harshly, “Is that it’s high time you realized you can be a jerk, Xerxes!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say jerk’…” Oz began.

“I would,” Gil mumbled.

“My…I cant believe that you all….” Break began softly, then Emily jeered,

“Just figured that out now!”

The anger was evident on all of their faces.

“Really, why are you all ganging up on me,” Break grinned, without a hint of hurt in his voice, “when you should be focusing on the task at hand?”

“Because it’s your fault we’re in this mess!” Gilbert shouted, then ran his hand frustratedly through his hair, observing the mess they had made of the room, before demanding, “Is it in this room?!”

“Given up already, have you?” Emily teased.

Gilbert clenched his hands into fists, biting back a retort.

“Did anyone see him leave the room?!”

Everyone looked at Gilbert blankly, or up at the ceiling, trying to think if they had, realizing they had no idea, and knew full well Sharon could have used Eques to transport him when their backs were turned anyways. Gilbert put his hands on his hips, sighing at their silence “Alright. We have a whole manor to look through, it’s best we move on from this room,” he paused, turning again to Break, with malice in his eyes, “Right?”

“Sure, kiddo!” Emily replied, and he gave the fakest grin yet.

Gilbert gritted his teeth, then shook his head, directing them,

“Let’s split up; Ada, you go down the left hall, Stupid Rabbit, you take the right. I’ll go downstairs.”

“I won’t let you down, Seaweed-Head!” Alice sped down the hall, not even searching, as if she had forgotten the task she’d been given.

Ada nodded, “Come on, Snowdrop, Kitty!” she called to her cats.

Oz sighed, “Alright, fine. I’ll help too.”

Gilbert smiled, about to thank him, when Oz added,

“But I expect to be rewarded for my troubles!”

His servant rolled his eyes.

“I kinda need to know what it looks like, though, don’t I, Gil? You seemed to want to keep it a secret earlier.”

“You’ll…um….You’ll know it when you see it,” Gilbert looked anywhere but at his master.

Oz sighed, putting his hands on his hips, “Really? That kinda makes things harder, you know.”

“Oh, not up to the challenge, are you Oz-kun?” Break goaded.

“No, no, I can do it! I just feel like we’re not addressing a key part of the puzzle here!”

With that Gilbert pulled him out of the room and into the search.

Gilbert was right; it did seem like a bit of a waste of an afternoon; exhausting wasn’t the only word that came to mind after rifling through each room one by one, with no clue as to where it might be. Especially because the feeling began growing in them that Gilbert was way too attached to things, as well as that Break was, indeed, a jerk. They didn’t know how much time had passed before they met up again in the hall, everyone hanging their heads in shame and disappointment.

“What should we do?” Ada asked quietly.

“We can’t let the clowny bastard win!” Alice slammed a fist into her other palm to emphasize her point.

“That’s right!” Gilbert agreed, “For years I had to put up with his constant teasing, it’s high time we got him back!”

“I don’t think losing the bet is really going to make him stop. I mean, he’s lost before, right?”

“You don’t have to be so blunt about it!” Gilbert complained.

“Sorry,” Oz shrugged.

In the moment of silence that followed, Ada’s cat started rubbing against Oz’s leg, as if trying to comfort him.

“What do you think, Snowdrop?” Oz asked jokingly, picking up his sister’s cat, (Gilbert eyed it, a whine developing in his throat, scooching away), “Do you have any idea where it is?”

Oz gasped.

“What is it, Onii-chan?”

Tied into the cat’s collar was a ribbon, attached to a little ornament. He pulled it free and placed the cat on the floor (it meowed and padded away).

The other three gasped in turn, leaning in to get a better look at it.

“That bastard!” Gilbert slammed his fist into the wall behind him. “He knew I wouldn’t go near your cats!”

“Yeah,” Oz laughed, “leave it to Break to take the cheap shot.”

“What are we waiting for?!” Alice demanded, “Didn’t I just say we can’t let the clowny bastard win!”

“You’re right!” the others said together, and bolted down the hall.

“We found it!” Oz held the ornament high, like a trophy, as they burst through the door.

At the same moment that he held up the evidence, the hour chimed.

They each glanced at each other, then at the clock, which read exactly 18:00.

“My, my, isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” Break remarked, stretching, “It looks like it’s a tie, Ojousama.”

“It would appear,” Sharon smiled “In that case, would you please excuse me for a moment?” she gathered her dress and hurried out of the room.

“So, which one of you found it?” Break asked, walking over to them.

“I did.”

The prankster smirked, “What did I tell you?” he ruffled Oz’s hair, “Oz-kun’s sharp.”

“So… what does that mean about your wagers?” Oz tried to put his hair right. “Since you tied?”

“Just a moment Oz-kun,” he put his hand on Oz’s head, his sleeve falling over his eyes, and looked over their heads

Sharon quickly did return, a little out of breath, holding a small package wrapped in a ribbon.

“Here you are, Break!” she held it out for him.

He took it from her and unwrapped it, opening the little red box to reveal that it was filled with the the candy she had promised.

“Just the thing I needed” he patted her head, unwrapping a piece and tossing it into his mouth. “Better luck next time, Ojousama,”

Oz and Alice stared at him, open-mouthed, dumbstruck that he had beat them.

“Now I suppose I should get started on that dessert of yours,” he waited until the proper moment to add.

“Please do.”

“Huh?” Oz and Alice asked simultaneously.

“Since we tied,” Sharon spoke, as they both turned to them, “we both win.”

“So…does that mean the clown still has to swear off candy?” Alice asked hopefully.

“No—Unfortunately,” Sharon added, glancing at her servant, who rolled his eyes, eating another piece, “We both get the rewards of the wager, but no one gets the punishment.”

“More in the Christmas spirit, wouldn’t you agree, Ojousama?” he said between candy crunches.

“Since when do you care about ‘Christmas spirit’?!” Gilbert demanded.

“Better luck next year, I guess,” Oz tried to put a positive spin on it.

“Next year?!” Alice fumed, “I want to settle this now!” (Gilbert held Alice by the neck of her jacket.)

“Believe me,” Reim grunted, eyeing Break, “it’ll only end worse for you,”

“Who knows?” Break shrugged, “There may not be a next year, Oz-kun.”

Alice continued to seethe while the others glanced at each other, unsure of how to respond to such a statement.

“There you go again,” Reim scolded. “You can’t just mention something like that!”

Break dismissed him with a wave of his hand, chuckling to himself, and muttering something about his uptightness, as he made his way down the hall to the kitchens.

After Break left, Oz looked down at his hand, opening his fingers to reveal the little clay, painted oddity he was still holding. Alice came behind him and looked over his shoulder at it.

“What…is it?”

“You didn’t know what you were looking for?!” Gilbert questioned.

“Because you never told me, Seaweed-head!”

Gilbert looked away, clearly wanting to bite back, but without argument with which to do so.

Oz shook his head, staring at it. It was rather crudely made, ineptly painted. But he couldn’t mistake it for anything else—and Gil had been right, he did know it when he saw it.

Because he was the one who made it.

“I can’t believe you kept this, Gil.”

Gilbert looked away, nodding and turning red.

Now he understood why Gilbert was so intent on getting it back. This ornament had probably become a symbol to Gilbert—much like Shelly’s stocking on the mantelpiece was for Break and Sharon—for Oz himself. This ornament, through the years, had probably become tied to his faithful valet’s unending hope that his master would come back. Each year Break took it, as if teasing that perhaps he wouldn’t (and, maybe this was his roundabout way of him trying to prepare him for that), but Gilbert always got it back, as if displaying that he would never lose that hope.

“Oy! What is it?!” Alice demanded again, upset her ‘manservant’ wasn’t focusing all his attention on her.

“It’s a bird, Alice,” Oz answered simply.

“Really, how do you figure?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look very good does it?” Oz laughed.

“Seaweed-head, why would a crappy ornament like this be your favorite?”

“Oy! You don’t see me criticizing your bad taste!”

“Bad taste?! I have impeccable taste! I eat meat every day!”

“That’s not what—”

“Its because I made it for him,” Oz answered her question quietly.

“You?” Alice laughed, slapping him on the back, “You have pretty poor skills, Oz.”

“Give me a break! I was a kid!”

Oscar laughed, walking up to them, “You’re still a kid, Oz. Yes…I can’t remember how old he was, but he made me, Ada, and Gilbert ornaments,” he laughed a little, putting his arm around Gilbert, “I remember how offended Gil was at his master making him a gift.”

“Yeah,” Oz laughed, they all looked up at Gil, who got steadily redder the more they spoke, “We had to force him to accept it.”

“Why are you surprised he kept his, Onii-chan?” Ada asked, “Uncle and I kept ours. They’re back at the Vessalius manor. But! we could bring them over here if you want!”

“That’s okay, I believe you! Still… Like Alice said, they don’t look very good.”

“But, like you said, you were the one who made them for us,” Oscar ruffled his nephew’s hair.

“What were the ornaments you made for them, Oz?” Alice asked.

“Well, I made Ada a little cat, and uncle Oscar a camera. I didn’t really know what Gil liked, so I just made him a bird. Funny, how your chain is Raven now.”

“How come you haven’t made me one, Manservant?!” Alice hit Oz on the head.

“Hey! I’ve been busy!” he rubbed the spot where she hit him.

“In any case,” Alice turned to Gilbert, jumping quickly to the next subject, “now you can make my meat, Seaweed-head!”

“Break’s using the kitchen, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Then let’s go to the market! I’m starving!”

Gilbert sighed into his hand, “Fine. Let me get my hat and coat.”

“Can I come with you guys?” Ada asked—Alice looked peeved, but Gil and Oz had already welcomed her.

“I’ll go check if Break needs anything!” Oz ran off towards the kitchen.

As Oz arrived, he saw that Break had changed out of his white coat and purple shirt into more casual closing—likely so he wouldn’t ruin his normal outfit. He had rolled up the sleeves, and was wearing a pink apron Gil sometimes wore when he cooked for them here, but which probably belonged to Sharon’s grandmother, or mother. He had already begun to make a mess of things; flour was all over the counter, chocolate was on the walls, somehow there were even ingredients in in his hair.

“You need some help?” Oz asked, half-jokingly.

Break looked up.

“Oz-kun,” he noted, then grinned, “You? Help me? Gotten bored of Gilbert-kun, and Alice-kun already?”

“Nah. I just wanted to know if you needed anything. We’re going to the store.”

Oz knew that Break could have asked for help from the staff, or Gilbert, but Sharon called him ‘Mr. One-Man-Show’ for a reason; sure, it might not taste or look all that good, but at least he would have made it himself.

“You really think I wouldn’t have come prepared?”

“But, if you won, you wouldn’t have to make—”

Oz gasped. Realizing something:

They both had bought the supplies ahead of time. Oz thought one of them would have to go to the store, depending on who won the bet, (perhaps dragging the other begrudgingly along), but they both had already bought the necessary ingredients. Which meant, either the food one of them bought would go to waste, or be used in some other way, or, regardless of who won or lost, they still intended to give each other the gifts.

“You already had the ingredients,” Oz thought out loud. “and Sharon-chan already had your candy...”

“So?”

“I would have thought one of you would have to go to the store, depending on who won.”

“What’s your point, Oz-kun?” Break pushed his hair back.

Oz shook his head, grinning like he now had some secret information. “Break, you really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”

Break put his hand on the table, turning to him, “Wipe that cheeky grin off your face before I do it for you.”

Oz put his hands behind his back, sauntering closer.

“Oh, nothing,” he whistled, “Just that, well, you do this every year, don’t you? Sharon likes to give you a taste of your own medicine if you lose, but you both use this an excuse to give each other extra gifts, don’t you? I bet it was your idea in the first place.”

“How do you know we weren’t planning to use the supplies in some other way?”

“Because you’re not considerate enough to let others use your stuff,” he grinned, “Didn’t you just say there would be punishment in store if I got your candy?”

“Well,” he smirked at Oz’s discovery, twirling the spoon in his hand, “‘nice’ would be stretching it. But maybe occasionally I’m not a complete ‘jerk.’”

Oz grinned. That was all the confirmation he needed.

As if he were brandishing a sword, Break flicked chocolate on Oz’s face with the spoon, “Now get out of here.”

Oz rolled his eyes.

“Good luck, Break!”

With that he exited the room, and ran to the front door to catch up with Gil, Ada, and Alice, who were gathered there, waiting for him.

“Break doesn’t need anything!” he called to them, “Let’s go!”

At first it may have seemed like a waste of time, but, in the end, Oz realized; an afternoon playing a game, learning that after ten years Gil had still cherished the small gift he had once been reluctant to accept, seeing how Sharon and Break found ways to bring each other joy, spending time with his friends, spending time with his real family, would never be a waste of an afternoon for him.

#pandora hearts #pandora hearts fanfiction #pandora hearts christmas #gilbert nightray #oz vessalius #alice baskerville #xerxes break #sharon rainsworth #oscar vessalius #ada vessalius #christmas fic #pandora hearts fandom #pandora hearts gilbert #pandora hearts oz #pandora hearts alice #gilbert pandora hearts #pandora hearts manga #christmas pandora hearts #pandora hearts fanfic #pandora hearts fic #mochujun #jun mochizuki #ph #ph fandom #ph fanfiction #ph fic #ph fanfic #christmas fanfiction #christmas fanfic #phmonth18

[soyforramen]

BHDC - Round 3 - Pirates

(Thanks to @satelliteinasupernova for helping me pick a historical era for this!)

Weak in the Knees

The sea was a harsh mistress - fickle, stormy, and deadly if you weren’t careful.  She would take your life as quickly as she took your heart.  Never could man tame her, nor could he understand her, he could only pray that he stayed on her good side.  She was also the best thing that had ever happened to Forsythe Jones the Third.

Employed at ten on a small trading sloop, sent to man the crows nest and work the rigging, he’d lost his heart to the open skies and lawless waves.  By fifteen he’d learned enough to become a crewman, his gangly body’s reach a boon during rough storms.  In his sixteenth year he, along with the rest of The Intrepid, had been pressed into British service for a war they neither knew nor cared about.  And by eighteen he’d traded the British Naval Fleet’s canon and tack for the crew of The Whyte Wyrm.  His shares were one one-hundredth of what it should have been, but Jones would have gladly worked for rum and plantains to get away from Admiral St. Clair’s savage rule.

The Captain of the Wyrm took a strange liking to Jones, partially because they shared the same strange name and partially because Jones was a quick, eager study.  An old, wizened drunkard too fond of the stories of his youth, F.P. had taken Jones under his wing and trained him in the manner of a second mate to the ire of the older crew.  Yet none complained for F.P. fostered a camaraderie that the British Navy, despite all their ineffectual pomp and circumstance, could never hope to rival.

Among the younger crew Jones found camaraderie of his own.  Each had lived on the sea longer than they ever had on land and knew a ship better than themselves.  So when the Wyrm sank due to the Captain’s error off the lagoon reefs of Bermuda, the younger crew staked a claim in their own future.  

Four years of hard work, scraping together their funds doing jobs for smugglers, merchants, and the occasional naive Lord who wanted the true ‘Treasure Island’ experience, had led to this moment.  They’d managed to save enough to trade for an old merchant ship, tried and true, one that had weathered many a storm.  Mr. Lodge had promised that this was a ship worthy of any seafaring man worth his salt.  It was an offer too good to pass up for the quartet, and so Fangs had readily negotiated for her.

“Doesn’t it make ye want to weep?” Fangs asked.

He clapped Jones on the shoulder and slid an arm around Toni’s waist.  Sweet Pea grunted, but even he couldn’t hide his excitement.  Standing on the dock the quartet gazed in marvel at the run down ship, it’s hide tattered by hastily filled canon holes and barnacles six inches deep, the sails eaten through by rats, and the mast standing only through a feat of tar, rope, and a strange aversion to gravity.

Weep was perhaps too strong a word, but despite its tattered disposition, The Iconoclast was theirs.  For once in their short, miserable lives they had something to their names.  Their future was their own.  To pirate or pillage, to trade or travel; the decision was theirs and theirs alone.

And the thought made Jones weak in the knees.

A brisk sea wind tickled the back of Elizabeth’s neck and she ran a hand across it to disperse the strange vulnerability she felt.  Necessity required her hair to be shorn almost to her scalp, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel a pain of regret.  The loss of her hair made her feel naked in a way the harsh wool of the trouser should have.  The trousers, at least, facilitated her movement and helped her hide in plain sight.  

She walked down the docks to the next ship in port and was greeted by a leather faced man with a missing eye, the empty socket puckered and black.  Elizabeth swallowed her revulsion and stepped up to the man with her chin high despite the shaking of her hands.  The man chuckled at her bravado.  He made an awful retching noise and spat up a glob at her feet.  

“Lookin’ fer werk?” he drawled, amused by her if his grin was anything to go by.

“Yes.”  She winced at how high her voice sounded.  She cleared her throat and did her best to flatten the pitch to a gravel that itched her throat.  “Yes, I am.”

The man guffawed and winked lewdly as if he knew her secret.  “We’re dry docked until the captain sobers up.  Try the tavern off the square.  Ask fer Fangs.”

She nodded a thanks and turned back towards the town.  The man’s voice slowed her step and she turned back to him.

“They’re bastards, the whole lotta them,” he said.  “I’d be careful around those curs if I were you, sir.”

Elizabeth scurried away, the man’s hacking laughter haunting her.  She burrowed further into her coat.  If she weren’t able to blend in as a man she’d be found out quickly and sold to the highest bidder, pressed into service at the local bar or brothel, or worse.  Brought back to her mother and pressed into marriage.

It was easy enough to find the square in the bustling town.  Finding the tavern containing a ‘Fangs’, however, was much harder.  Almost every building around the square housed a tavern full of brawling, drunken men stinking of sweat, dirt, and rum, their companions ladies whose hard lives were etched in the lines around their eyes, skirts cut short above the knee.  These were the places her peers whispered about, aghast at the sheer depravity and jealous of the unrestrained revelry.  In all her life, Elizabeth never could have foretold this sort of people could be her saving grace.

It wasn’t until the fifth tavern that she had any luck.  Behind the bar was a rough looking woman, her leather skin beaten by the sun and highlighted with rouge and tattoos.  Elizabeth shouted above the din and the bartender nodded.

“But you din’t want a thing to do with them, laddie.  Only greenhorns looking fer an early grave,” the woman cautioned.

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from pleading.  This was the third coastal town she’d been to and the first she’d found any hope of leaving Bermuda.  With a sigh, the barkeep nodded towards the back corner of the room where a pair were holding court at a wooden table by the fireplace.  Elizabeth nodded her thanks and picked her way through the rank crowd.

The large one of the pair, dark complected and scowling, gave her pause.  He towered over his companion even while seated, his arms coursed through with muscles borne of fighting the sea.  A black and blue sea snake coursed through waves drawn on his arms, its tail propelling the creature from one wrist to the other.  Next to him sat a petite woman, her long, sun kissed hair strewn through with pink and purple ribbons.  Kohl outlined her dark eyes and brightened her smile.  They made an odd pair in this tavern full of old, sun-beaten men and women, both too young and new to have much experience.

She swallowed down her fear; Elizabeth hadn’t made it this far to let her own prejudices hold her back.  It didn’t matter if they were young or old, experienced or not.  All she needed was a ship that could take her away from this island as quickly as possible.  

“Fangs?” she asked in a wavering voice when she drew near.

The tall man sneered at her and crossed his arms, a threat that made the sea snake writhe along the inked sea.  The woman peered at her in curiosity.  Elizabeth drew her fingers into her palms to keep from rearranging the ill fitting clothes.  Without the gloves she normally wore her nails bit into her skin and the pain reminded her why she was there.

“I heard you were looking to take on crew.”

The man snorted and waved her on, as dismissive a gesture as she’d ever seen at any of Lord Mantle’s dances.  Elizabeth held her ground.

“Are you Fangs?” she repeated.

The woman, taking pity on her, shook her head.  The ribbons danced, a hypnotic wave of color that rivaled any fashionable trend from London.  

“You just missed him.  But I don’t think this is the crew for you,” she said kindly.

Elizabeth was stunned.  Never before had she been denied anything; the daughter of a landed Baron - former Baron - she’d grown up with all manner of worldly creations at her feet.  Anything her hearts desire had been done at once, unless it went against her mother’s wishes.

“And why not?”

The woman raised her eyebrows.  “Have you ever been asea?  Have you ever held on for your life while Poseidon crashed down around you, determined to take you for his own?  Have you ever sat on deck for days on end while Helios does his best to make you believe you’re in a Maharaja’s palace?  Have you ever -“ she glanced down at Elizabeth’s hands, pale and unblemished “-worked a day in your life?”

Fury ran up Elizabeth’s chest into her face; no one dared to speak to her in this way, especially not some commoner.  Her nails bit deeper, drawing a bit of blood.  She squeezed harder until the fury ebbed.  That wasn’t her place anymore.  She was, if nothing else, lower in status than the two in front of her and if she didn’t act with the proper etiquette she would quickly be found out.

“I’m willing to do whatever work you require.”

The tall man snorted and purposefully looked away from her.  “Keep walking.”

“Are you Fangs?” Elizabeth challenged again.

“If I’m not?”

“I was told Fangs was hiring.  If you aren’t Fangs -“

An arm was thrown over her shoulders and she stiffened at the overly familiar touch.  The smell of rum, pomade, and a day spent in the sun overwhelmed her.

“You were looking fer me?”

Elizabeth turned her head a fraction to find a man with close cropped hair crowding her.  “Fangs, I presume?”

He grinned.  “Aye.  And you are?”

“Eli-“ she caught herself, though not quick enough at the woman’s interested glance. “zar.  Elizar Smith.”

“Well then Eli, what fate brings you our way?”  Fangs said as he sat down at the table.  He sloshed out a bottle of amber liquid into three waiting cups and pushed one towards her.  Forgoing a cup, he drank deeply from the bottle.

Elizabeth - Elizar now, she supposed - pursed her lips.  A farce done once was theater; a farce done twice was folly.  

“Work.”

Fangs looked her up and down, a mirror to what had just concluded.  “Can you climb?”

“Yes.  My father couldn’t keep me out of the cork trees he kept.”

“Can you follow orders?”

“I’ve been doing it all my life, I don’t see why I should stop now,” she said sourly, remembrances of all her mother’s chastising coming to mind.

Fangs and the woman laughed at her cheek.  

“Can you cook?”

Her mouth went dry.  A woman of her station always had someone to cook for them, to clean and launder for them, but how hard could manual labor be?  A bit of water, a bit of heat, and you have a meal; a bit of elbow grease, thread, and cloth and you have a sail.  

A lie, though, could not fall from her tongue.  Regardless of her urgency, she’d heard too many stories from her brother of pirates killing their own, hanging them off the side of the deck and watching for sport as the sharks and eels and piranhas leapt to eat their crew.  How easily they’d eat their own companions when food ran low, or how quick they were to draw guns over an insult.  

“No.  I’m afraid I’ve never had the privilege.”

Fangs nodded at her honesty.  He raised his glass in a toast that no one else joined.  “We push off at dawn in two days.  You’ll be paid a hundredth of anything we make, minus provisions.”

He held out his hand and Elizabeth shook it, ignoring his companions.  Business concluded, Elizabeth stood and made a shaky exit.  She escaped into the alley behind the tavern to catch her breath.  Without lies or deception she managed to make her way in the world.  Though she’d never had to do anything more taxing than a waltz with a suitor, she was determined to make this work.  

She had to, if she wanted to be free of this island she’d been brought to as a babe.  The prospect of leaving the broken mess of her mother’s dreams behind; the shame of her sister; the anger of her father.  It was almost too much to be denied it now.

The reality of it made her weak in the knees.

(Cross posted on Ao3)

#bughead drabble challenge #bughead fiction #arrrrr

[antihero-writings]

In Plain Sight

Cover art by Stlyrica on instagram!! I’ll put a link to it in the replies!!

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: When Break hides Gilbert's favorite Christmas ornament somewhere in the Rainsworth manor, the Golden Trio must spend the afternoon looking for it. But why is it so special to Gil?

Notes: I originally wrote this for the prompt "Ornaments" in an alphabetical Christmas prompt list my friends and I did in 2017--(it was going to be part of a group of Christmas fics we all wrote for different fandoms. Some of the people in that group hadn't read PH, so that's why this fic has some explanations for who the characters are). Then I posted it for Pandora Hearts Month 2018 for the Golden Trio Prompt: Friendship. I hope you like it! I would really appreciate it if you could reblog and/or leave a comment to let me know if you enjoyed it!

*

“You’re the tallest, Gil, you should put the star on top!”

“Ooh! It looks yummy! Like a big cookie!”

“It’s not a cookie, Stupid Rabbit!”

It was a few days before Christmas, and the trio was at the Rainsworth manor. Finally, everything was ready for the holiday; a fire was dancing in its place, the stockings were all lined up on the mantle, and they had just put the finishing touches on the tree. The only one who hadn’t been informed about the festive season, was the sky outside; it had been raining for the past few weeks. There was a chill in the air, it was frosty, but snow hadn’t quite come yet. Still, they made the most of their time indoors.

“Perfect!” Oz exclaimed.

Oz Vessalius was the fifteen-year-old heir to the Vessalius dukedom, but after his escape from the Abyss that year, when he wasn’t off on adventures, and missions, he spent most of his time at the Rainsworth’s.

“It’s so pretty, Onii-chan!”

On account of the ten-year gap, Oz’s sister, Ada, was older than Oz now, but, no matter what, she would never stop seeing him as her older brother. She was on Christmas break from Lutwidge Academy, and more than happy to spend it at the Rainsworths, with her brother. She had, of course, brought her two cats—Snowdrop and Kitty—with her, (which Gilbert maintained a healthy distance from, due to his phobia of cats).

“The Rainsworths will have the best-decorated tree in town!”

Oscar, their uncle, was spending the afternoon with his niece and nephew too. He was a bearded, bespectacled man, with the same blonde hair and green eyes as the rest of his family. At the moment, he was sitting on one of the couches, with a cup what he called ‘tea’, but which the rest of them guessed probably had something stronger in it.

“I can’t take all the credit, Gil and Alice helped a little,” Oz joked.

“‘A little!’”

Gilbert was Oz’s servant; a dark-haired man, who often appeared cold and reserved, but who was rather sensitive, and a worrywart. He still sometimes acted as though they were only a year apart in age too, despite the fact that he was now ten years older than his master.

“Yeah, manservant!” Alice challenged, “More like we did all the work!”

“I was just teasing!”

“Well,” Sharon had a way of returning things to order with her calm and proper words, “you all did a wonderful job.”

Sharon was the heiress to the Rainsworth dukedom, and looked like a thirteen-year-old girl, though was really in her twenties or thirties—(they knew better than to ask her exact age). Her chestnut hair was usually tied back into a kind of half-ponytail, and, as always, she outmatched them all on style points; today it was with a dress of a wintery blue that looked as if she was trying to encourage the snow to fall. As per usual, she held a cup of tea in one hand—peppermint, she had informed them, for the Christmas season—and a pastry in the other. She was sitting at a small round table on the other side of the room, with Reim—duke Barma’s bespectacled, hard working, servant, who spent more time at the Rainsworth’s than anywhere else, with his two best friends—Sharon and Break.

“Well, I’m beat,” Alice stretched and yawned, “Seaweed-head, when are you going to make me some meat?”

Most Chains (creatures from the Abyss) didn’t look like Alice did; like a fourteen-year-old girl, with floor length brown hair, and an almost cat-like physique—(though it was a giant rabbit she often turned into). Also unlike other illegally contracted Chains, she did not have a thirst for human blood, although she did have a particular love for meat, as well as almost anything edible.

“I suppose I can make you something, now that we’ve finished,” Gil sighed.

“Oh? Have you now?” they turned to see Sharon’s servant, Xerxes Break, grinning as he poured himself another cup of tea. “Are you sure nothing’s…” he leaned back against the table, “missing?”

Break was a red-eyed, white-haired man, also much older than he looked. Even those close to him would say he was a bit of an acquired taste; his love for teasing, the creepy doll on his shoulder, and his general lack of regard for other people and their feelings, made it difficult for those subject to his mischiefs—such as Gilbert—to acquire any kind of affection for him.

Gilbert froze, turning his head slowly to the tree. His eyes immediately found the empty space where a certain ornament had been.

“Break!” he shouted, spinning back to him, “Must you do this every year?!”

“Let an old man have his fun.” Break grinned.

“I believe he must, Gilbert-sama,” Sharon answered Gilbert’s question, nonchalantly taking a sip of tea before continuing, “It has become something of a tradition.”

“I should have spent Christmas with he Nightrays this year,” Gilbert grumbled, reluctance in his motions as he began to pick up books, and other objects around the room, as if searching.

“You’re so mean,” Break chided playfully, then spoke a little more seriously, knowing Gilbert had no intentions of spending much time with his adoptive family, and real brother, “You’d rather spend Christmas with the sewer rat, than us?”

Gil gave him a death glare.

“Sorry…but what’s a tradition?” Oz asked, turning to Sharon and Break.

He wouldn’t admit it, but sometimes, especially with things like this, the ten-year gap could make Oz feel like an outsider.

“Every year Break takes Gilbert-sama’s favorite ornament,” Sharon explained, “And hides it somewhere in the manor.”

“Ooh! That sounds like fun!”

“It’s not fun, Oz!” Gilbert hollered at his master, “It’s a waste of a perfectly good afternoon! Not to mention annoying, and rude!”

Break laughed. Gil had yet to learn his outrageous reactions were what made this sort of thing so fun for the prankster.

“Don’t worry, Gil!” Ada bounded up to him, “I’ll help you look!”

Gilbert flushed, “T-Thank you.”

“What does it look like, Gil?”

He looked at Oz, then turned back to Ada, and explained it quietly enough that only she could hear.

She nodded, beaming, and began to look in a different part of the room.

“What’s the matter, Gil?”—Gil gasped as his master appeared suddenly at his other side—“You don’t want me to know what it is?” Oz’s laugh faded into a more puzzled expression when Gil averted his eyes, turning redder.

“It’s a secret, Onii-chan!” Ada answered for him, “You’ll see when we find it!”

He didn’t get the chance to ask anything more, because Alice broke in, having been observing all their interactions,

“Does…Does this mean I won’t get my meat?”

“Uh huh,” Gilbert sighed, “That’s exactly what it means.”

“No! I will not allow it!” Alice shook her head, and whirled around on Break, pointing at him in an accusatory manner, “Clown! Return Seaweed-head’s stupid ornament his instant!”

“It’s not stupid, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Aren’t you a spoilsport?” The Mad Hatter teased, then the doll on his shoulder, Emily, finished,

“Why should I listen to some dumb bunny?”

Alice growled, her hands clenching into fists. She spun to Gilbert, declaring as she ran up to him,“Then I won’t rest until I find that ornament! With the great Alice-sama on your side, you cannot fail!”

“Sure you won’t just get in the way?”

She kicked him in the shin, crossing her arms, “You’d be lost without me, Seaweed-head.”

“Don’t kick me, Stupid rabbit!” he rubbed his leg, “Now go look for it over there!” he stamped his injured foot back down and pointed to the opposite corner of the room, (to which she quickly ran, proceeding to tear her designated space apart in a matter of seconds.)

“Is this ornament really all that important, Gil? I mean, we have lots of—”

“Yes!” he answered before his master could finish, “it is!”

Oz sighed, knowing how attached his servant could get to things, “Alright. So…is us helping against the rules?” he asked, watching Alice destroy the room in search of it, Ada calmly remove things, and put them back where they were meant to go, and Gil as a mix of the two.

“Don’t you think we would have stopped them if it was, Oz-kun?”

Sharon shook her head, “It doesn’t matter who finds it, watching him search is the fun part.” Her mischievous side was showing; most of the time she was this prim and proper lady, but being close to Break had its effects.

“That’s right; the more people searching, the funnier it is when they can’t find it,” Break sang. “Though, tell me, Ojousama,” he turned to his mistress “are you merely saying that because you wagered he’d find it early—before 18:00?” he asked knowingly, sitting up on the table—(Reim gave him a look that could only be interpreted as: can-you act-any-less-like-a-servant?)

They turned to the clock—it was 15:00.

“Why do you want to know, Break?” his mistress asked with a tone of false interest, “Are you afraid your skills as a prankster have gone down with age?” she patted her mouth innocently with a napkin.

“What do you take me for, Ojousama?” he smirked, crossing his legs, narrowing his eyes at Gilbert, “He’ll need all the help he can get.”

Gilbert returned to him an even more murderous look.

“You… betted on this?”

“All part of the tradition, Oz-kun,” Break mentioned, stealing a mini pastry from Reim’s plate—(the incense was more than evident on Reim’s face, and probably why Break did it).

“It’s not money we wagered, though; If I win, Break has to swear off sweets over Christmas—as well as make me a lavish dessert full of those sweet things he can’t have. And if Break wins, I have to buy him an equally lavish amount of extra Christmas candy and sweets.”

“Nice! Break, I didn’t know you could bake!”

“He really can’t,” Sharon chuckled, “But it’s fun to see what he comes up with.”

Break glared at her.

“So… is this how you bet every year?”

“Sometimes it’s different. But it’s usually something to the effect of giving Break a taste of his own medicine…Though I seem to recall one year, I wanted Break to do this dance I had heard of in a book, if he lost. I believe it was called ‘Futterwacken.’”

“That’s a weird name for a dance!” Oz laughed, “So? How did that go?

“I suppose it is,” she smiled, “That was one of the tamer punishments, but, when he did lose, he refused—rather blatantly.”

“Really?!” he turned to Break.

“How many times must I tell you? I have no talent for dancing.”

“Truly, as a servant of the Rainsworth Dukedom, it would be better fitting that you learned,” she shook her head, then turned back to Oz, “Anyway, after that, we thought the chance to take away his candy was rather enjoyable.”

“Aw, I want to join the bet!”

Gilbert looked affronted, but before he could speak, Oz continued, boyish excitement simmering in his tone,

“Say, what if, if Break loses, I get to eat his candy instead?!”

Sharon and Break glanced at each other.

“Let me ask you something, Oz-kun;” Break set down his tea, “Are you willing to risk the consequences of such a wager?”

“Ehh…consequences?”

“Why of course. I couldn’t give little Oz-kun the chance of stealing my candy without the proper torment in store if he lost.”

“Eh…” Oz knew just how mean Break could get, and that this could very well turn into a prank war that ended in actual blood, “I think I’ll pass.”

“I always said you were smarter than you looked,” the Mad Hatter picked up his tea again.

“Maybe you could join in by helping me look, instead of encouraging them, Oz!” Gilbert whirled on him.

“Aww, do I have to?” the fifteen-year-old groaned.

“Oz!”

Oz turned to the masterminds, as if silently asking for them to give him an excuse not to.

“Hey, Oz-kun is sharp,” Break began, then Emily added,

“Probably smarter than these three put together!”

—two of the aforementioned three gave him what can only be described as ‘fight-me’ faces, and Ada looked disheartened—Break took no notice, and finished,

“So that depends; whose side are you on?”

“Well,” Oz thought for a moment, then mused, grinning, “it would be fun to see Break trying to swear of candy!”

“Is that so?” Break’s eye narrowed.

“In any case, why isn’t Reim-san helping?” he shifted the focus. “You’re not the kind of person to sit back while others are in trouble”

Reim sighed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “While that may be true, these two are often harsher with me, than others. If I help you, I have a feeling I shall pay for it in some way later,” he shot them an icy look, “dearly.”

“Whatever do you mean, Reim-san?” Sharon asked innocently. “We thought you enjoyed our company.”

“Yeah, it’s only because you’re our favorite, Reim-san,” Break gave a fake sappy voice.

“Then pick a new favorite!”

“That’s not how it works! You have a lifetime guarantee!”

“Sharon,” it was Ada who spoke. She had been focused on searching on the mantelpiece, and inside the stockings, “Why are there nine stockings?”

“What do you mean, Ada?” Oz asked, stepping over to her.

“Well, I was just thinking; there’s me, Onii-chan, Uncle, and Alice,”—Alice looked annoyed at Ada mentioning her name—“since we’re staying here for Christmas,” she pointed at each of the stockings in turn, “and these belong to Sharon-sama, Break, Duchess Rainsworth-sama, and Reim-san, right? But who does this last one belong to?” she held the bottom of the last one, careful not to pull it off the mantle.

They turned to Break and Sharon, who glanced at each other, their mischievous grins fading into more somber, reminiscent expressions.

“It was Break’s idea,” Sharon answered.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit—“

“It’s for my mother…That has become something of a tradition as well. We just thought it would be nice, to have something to remember her by during the Christmas season.”

The tone in the room quieted; the rest of them knew that Shelly was Sharon’s mother, who had died sometime after Oz’s coming of age ceremony.

“That’s…actually really sweet,” Oz noted, “Break, I’m surprised you thought of it!”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you? And you say that like I’m cruel.”

“Well…” Oz rubbed the back of his neck, smiling nervously, trying to formulate a non- insulting answer in his mind.

“I think what Oz is trying to say,” Reim started out gently, then finished harshly, “Is that it’s high time you realized you can be a jerk, Xerxes!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say jerk’…” Oz began.

“I would,” Gil mumbled.

“My…I cant believe that you all….” Break began softly, then Emily jeered,

“Just figured that out now!”

The anger was evident on all of their faces.

“Really, why are you all ganging up on me,” Break grinned, without a hint of hurt in his voice, “when you should be focusing on the task at hand?”

“Because it’s your fault we’re in this mess!” Gilbert shouted, then ran his hand frustratedly through his hair, observing the mess they had made of the room, before demanding, “Is it in this room?!”

“Given up already, have you?” Emily teased.

Gilbert clenched his hands into fists, biting back a retort.

“Did anyone see him leave the room?!”

Everyone looked at Gilbert blankly, or up at the ceiling, trying to think if they had, realizing they had no idea, and knew full well Sharon could have used Eques to transport him when their backs were turned anyways. Gilbert put his hands on his hips, sighing at their silence “Alright. We have a whole manor to look through, it’s best we move on from this room,” he paused, turning again to Break, with malice in his eyes, “Right?”

“Sure, kiddo!” Emily replied, and he gave the fakest grin yet.

Gilbert gritted his teeth, then shook his head, directing them,

“Let’s split up; Ada, you go down the left hall, Stupid Rabbit, you take the right. I’ll go downstairs.”

“I won’t let you down, Seaweed-Head!” Alice sped down the hall, not even searching, as if she had forgotten the task she’d been given.

Ada nodded, “Come on, Snowdrop, Kitty!” she called to her cats.

Oz sighed, “Alright, fine. I’ll help too.”

Gilbert smiled, about to thank him, when Oz added,

“But I expect to be rewarded for my troubles!”

His servant rolled his eyes.

“I kinda need to know what it looks like, though, don’t I, Gil? You seemed to want to keep it a secret earlier.”

“You’ll…um….You’ll know it when you see it,” Gilbert looked anywhere but at his master.

Oz sighed, putting his hands on his hips, “Really? That kinda makes things harder, you know.”

“Oh, not up to the challenge, are you Oz-kun?” Break goaded.

“No, no, I can do it! I just feel like we’re not addressing a key part of the puzzle here!”

With that Gilbert pulled him out of the room and into the search.

Gilbert was right; it did seem like a bit of a waste of an afternoon; exhausting wasn’t the only word that came to mind after rifling through each room one by one, with no clue as to where it might be. Especially because the feeling began growing in them that Gilbert was way too attached to things, as well as that Break was, indeed, a jerk. They didn’t know how much time had passed before they met up again in the hall, everyone hanging their heads in shame and disappointment.

“What should we do?” Ada asked quietly.

“We can’t let the clowny bastard win!” Alice slammed a fist into her other palm to emphasize her point.

“That’s right!” Gilbert agreed, “For years I had to put up with his constant teasing, it’s high time we got him back!”

“I don’t think losing the bet is really going to make him stop. I mean, he’s lost before, right?”

“You don’t have to be so blunt about it!” Gilbert complained.

“Sorry,” Oz shrugged.

In the moment of silence that followed, Ada’s cat started rubbing against Oz’s leg, as if trying to comfort him.

“What do you think, Snowdrop?” Oz asked jokingly, picking up his sister’s cat, (Gilbert eyed it, a whine developing in his throat, scooching away), “Do you have any idea where it is?”

Oz gasped.

“What is it, Onii-chan?”

Tied into the cat’s collar was a ribbon, attached to a little ornament. He pulled it free and placed the cat on the floor (it meowed and padded away).

The other three gasped in turn, leaning in to get a better look at it.

“That bastard!” Gilbert slammed his fist into the wall behind him. “He knew I wouldn’t go near your cats!”

“Yeah,” Oz laughed, “leave it to Break to take the cheap shot.”

“What are we waiting for?!” Alice demanded, “Didn’t I just say we can’t let the clowny bastard win!”

“You’re right!” the others said together, and bolted down the hall.

“We found it!” Oz held the ornament high, like a trophy, as they burst through the door.

At the same moment that he held up the evidence, the hour chimed.

They each glanced at each other, then at the clock, which read exactly 18:00.

“My, my, isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” Break remarked, stretching, “It looks like it’s a tie, Ojousama.”

“It would appear,” Sharon smiled “In that case, would you please excuse me for a moment?” she gathered her dress and hurried out of the room.

“So, which one of you found it?” Break asked, walking over to them.

“I did.”

The prankster smirked, “What did I tell you?” he ruffled Oz’s hair, “Oz-kun’s sharp.”

“So… what does that mean about your wagers?” Oz tried to put his hair right. “Since you tied?”

“Just a moment Oz-kun,” he put his hand on Oz’s head, his sleeve falling over his eyes, and looked over their heads

Sharon quickly did return, a little out of breath, holding a small package wrapped in a ribbon.

“Here you are, Break!” she held it out for him.

He took it from her and unwrapped it, opening the little red box to reveal that it was filled with the the candy she had promised.

“Just the thing I needed” he patted her head, unwrapping a piece and tossing it into his mouth. “Better luck next time, Ojousama,”

Oz and Alice stared at him, open-mouthed, dumbstruck that he had beat them.

“Now I suppose I should get started on that dessert of yours,” he waited until the proper moment to add.

“Please do.”

“Huh?” Oz and Alice asked simultaneously.

“Since we tied,” Sharon spoke, as they both turned to them, “we both win.”

“So…does that mean the clown still has to swear off candy?” Alice asked hopefully.

“No—Unfortunately,” Sharon added, glancing at her servant, who rolled his eyes, eating another piece, “We both get the rewards of the wager, but no one gets the punishment.”

“More in the Christmas spirit, wouldn’t you agree, Ojousama?” he said between candy crunches.

“Since when do you care about ‘Christmas spirit’?!” Gilbert demanded.

“Better luck next year, I guess,” Oz tried to put a positive spin on it.

“Next year?!” Alice fumed, “I want to settle this now!” (Gilbert held Alice by the neck of her jacket.)

“Believe me,” Reim grunted, eyeing Break, “it’ll only end worse for you,”

“Who knows?” Break shrugged, “There may not be a next year, Oz-kun.”

Alice continued to seethe while the others glanced at each other, unsure of how to respond to such a statement.

“There you go again,” Reim scolded. “You can’t just mention something like that!”

Break dismissed him with a wave of his hand, chuckling to himself, and muttering something about his uptightness, as he made his way down the hall to the kitchens.

After Break left, Oz looked down at his hand, opening his fingers to reveal the little clay, painted oddity he was still holding. Alice came behind him and looked over his shoulder at it.

“What…is it?”

“You didn’t know what you were looking for?!” Gilbert questioned.

“Because you never told me, Seaweed-head!”

Gilbert looked away, clearly wanting to bite back, but without argument with which to do so.

Oz shook his head, staring at it. It was rather crudely made, ineptly painted. But he couldn’t mistake it for anything else—and Gil had been right, he did know it when he saw it.

Because he was the one who made it.

“I can’t believe you kept this, Gil.”

Gilbert looked away, nodding and turning red.

Now he understood why Gilbert was so intent on getting it back. This ornament had probably become a symbol to Gilbert—much like Shelly’s stocking on the mantelpiece was for Break and Sharon—for Oz himself. This ornament, through the years, had probably become tied to his faithful valet’s unending hope that his master would come back. Each year Break took it, as if teasing that perhaps he wouldn’t (and, maybe this was his roundabout way of him trying to prepare him for that), but Gilbert always got it back, as if displaying that he would never lose that hope.

“Oy! What is it?!” Alice demanded again, upset her ‘manservant’ wasn’t focusing all his attention on her.

“It’s a bird, Alice,” Oz answered simply.

“Really, how do you figure?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look very good does it?” Oz laughed.

“Seaweed-head, why would a crappy ornament like this be your favorite?”

“Oy! You don’t see me criticizing your bad taste!”

“Bad taste?! I have impeccable taste! I eat meat every day!”

“That’s not what—”

“Its because I made it for him,” Oz answered her question quietly.

“You?” Alice laughed, slapping him on the back, “You have pretty poor skills, Oz.”

“Give me a break! I was a kid!”

Oscar laughed, walking up to them, “You’re still a kid, Oz. Yes…I can’t remember how old he was, but he made me, Ada, and Gilbert ornaments,” he laughed a little, putting his arm around Gilbert, “I remember how offended Gil was at his master making him a gift.”

“Yeah,” Oz laughed, they all looked up at Gil, who got steadily redder the more they spoke, “We had to force him to accept it.”

“Why are you surprised he kept his, Onii-chan?” Ada asked, “Uncle and I kept ours. They’re back at the Vessalius manor. But! we could bring them over here if you want!”

“That’s okay, I believe you! Still… Like Alice said, they don’t look very good.”

“But, like you said, you were the one who made them for us,” Oscar ruffled his nephew’s hair.

“What were the ornaments you made for them, Oz?” Alice asked.

“Well, I made Ada a little cat, and uncle Oscar a camera. I didn’t really know what Gil liked, so I just made him a bird. Funny, how your chain is Raven now.”

“How come you haven’t made me one, Manservant?!” Alice hit Oz on the head.

“Hey! I’ve been busy!” he rubbed the spot where she hit him.

“In any case,” Alice turned to Gilbert, jumping quickly to the next subject, “now you can make my meat, Seaweed-head!”

“Break’s using the kitchen, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Then let’s go to the market! I’m starving!”

Gilbert sighed into his hand, “Fine. Let me get my hat and coat.”

“Can I come with you guys?” Ada asked—Alice looked peeved, but Gil and Oz had already welcomed her.

“I’ll go check if Break needs anything!” Oz ran off towards the kitchen.

As Oz arrived, he saw that Break had changed out of his white coat and purple shirt into more casual closing—likely so he wouldn’t ruin his normal outfit. He had rolled up the sleeves, and was wearing a pink apron Gil sometimes wore when he cooked for them here, but which probably belonged to Sharon’s grandmother, or mother. He had already begun to make a mess of things; flour was all over the counter, chocolate was on the walls, somehow there were even ingredients in in his hair.

“You need some help?” Oz asked, half-jokingly.

Break looked up.

“Oz-kun,” he noted, then grinned, “You? Help me? Gotten bored of Gilbert-kun, and Alice-kun already?”

“Nah. I just wanted to know if you needed anything. We’re going to the store.”

Oz knew that Break could have asked for help from the staff, or Gilbert, but Sharon called him ‘Mr. One-Man-Show’ for a reason; sure, it might not taste or look all that good, but at least he would have made it himself.

“You really think I wouldn’t have come prepared?”

“But, if you won, you wouldn’t have to make—”

Oz gasped. Realizing something:

They both had bought the supplies ahead of time. Oz thought one of them would have to go to the store, depending on who won the bet, (perhaps dragging the other begrudgingly along), but they both had already bought the necessary ingredients. Which meant, either the food one of them bought would go to waste, or be used in some other way, or, regardless of who won or lost, they still intended to give each other the gifts.

“You already had the ingredients,” Oz thought out loud. “and Sharon-chan already had your candy...”

“So?”

“I would have thought one of you would have to go to the store, depending on who won.”

“What’s your point, Oz-kun?” Break pushed his hair back.

Oz shook his head, grinning like he now had some secret information. “Break, you really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”

Break put his hand on the table, turning to him, “Wipe that cheeky grin off your face before I do it for you.”

Oz put his hands behind his back, sauntering closer.

“Oh, nothing,” he whistled, “Just that, well, you do this every year, don’t you? Sharon likes to give you a taste of your own medicine if you lose, but you both use this an excuse to give each other extra gifts, don’t you? I bet it was your idea in the first place.”

“How do you know we weren’t planning to use the supplies in some other way?”

“Because you’re not considerate enough to let others use your stuff,” he grinned, “Didn’t you just say there would be punishment in store if I got your candy?”

“Well,” he smirked at Oz’s discovery, twirling the spoon in his hand, “‘nice’ would be stretching it. But maybe occasionally I’m not a complete ‘jerk.’”

Oz grinned. That was all the confirmation he needed.

As if he were brandishing a sword, Break flicked chocolate on Oz’s face with the spoon, “Now get out of here.”

Oz rolled his eyes.

“Good luck, Break!”

With that he exited the room, and ran to the front door to catch up with Gil, Ada, and Alice, who were gathered there, waiting for him.

“Break doesn’t need anything!” he called to them, “Let’s go!”

At first it may have seemed like a waste of time, but, in the end, Oz realized; an afternoon playing a game, learning that after ten years Gil had still cherished the small gift he had once been reluctant to accept, seeing how Sharon and Break found ways to bring each other joy, spending time with his friends, spending time with his real family, would never be a waste of an afternoon for him.

#pandora hearts #gilbert nightray #oz vessalius #pandora hearts fic #pandora hearts fanfic #pandora hearts fanfiction #alice baskerville #pandora hearts gilbert #pandora hearts oz #pandora hearts alice #pandora hearts gilbert nighray #pandora hearts oz vessalius #pandora hearts fandom #pandora hearts fluff #pandora hearts christmas #pandora hearts xerxes break #xerxes break #pandora hearts break #sharon rainsworth #Oscar Vessalius #ada vessalius

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 7 Chapter 5 Rundown

I really did not expect to get a daily huntress life montage episode, but here it was. Luckily that’s not all it was, and the ending is definitely gonna set events in motion to upset the status quo. But we can’t reach the ending unless we go to where it starts.

And it starts with Penny giving a sunrise wake up call to Team RWBY in their Atlas dorm. They’re in wall indented bunks, wearing matching Atlas Academy pajamas... and with the loose shirts it looks like they grew in more than just height over the last few Volumes, especially Weiss. Guess those dresses bind the chest pretty tightly. Or maybe they made one character model for the Atlas pajamas outfit and then changed up the face, hair, and other important details like Yang’s arm but left the torso basically the same? Regardless, they’re all very tired... except Ruby, who’s excited to start doing official Huntress work. 

Next thing we know everyone’s gathered in a briefing room to get the rundown on the day’s missions, and Jaune is coerced to give his cup of coffee to Marrow. Stupid puppy dog eyes... Clover starts briefing everyone, and his monologue plays over a montage of everyone doing the very thing he’s talking about. How convenient for show with minimal tell. Most of the missions are going to be escorting supply runs out to the Amity launch site and fighting off whatever Grimm might gather around the mine or strike on the road. But since so much construction stuff is going to making Amity a communication satellite, they can’t mend the damage to Mantle’s border wall so they have to do some Attack on Titan style Garrison work and defend the wall from approaching Grimm. We see Nora adorably playing with Ren’s braid, or maybe redoing it for him that morning, before they set to work on perimeter defense. Then the Bees are seen in the mine with Marrow killing Grimm, since it is a volatile part of the launch site and worth defending. He calls their combat styles into question, specifically how they don’t seem suited to work well together and they might want to mix up who teams up with who. But they execute a flawless tag team take down on a Beowolf and that quiets him down for a bit. Let’s get into that a little, because people have been getting a lot of impressions on it. Here’s how I see it. He comes from a team where all the members were chosen specifically to compliment each other. These are girls who met and were partnered by random selection, and had to learn how to make their styles meld together, so from the outside looking in it seems disjointed but when they apply themselves they have synergy. So it’s a matter of perspective, really.

But then we get to my third favorite part of the episode, and the moment we had been teased about since RTX. Jaune is indeed helping a group of preschoolers cross the street on the way to school, with a stop sign that has six sides instead of the eight real world signs do... odd. And this earns him the attention of five flirty, posing, winking, Real. Thirsty. Moms. A sixth even comes up and gives him a casserole she made... apparently something she’s done before. And she’s not taking no for an answer, shoving it into his hands even while acting all flustered and shy. Nora is watching from nearby and attributes his mom-magnet status to the new haircut. Makes you wonder if these ladies would still be into Jaune if they knew he was only about 19?... But even this has a point. It’s still important to help out with day to day troubles and jobs around Mantle to help the public know that the huntsmen and huntresses are there to keep them safe. 

Clover assures them they can use their free time however they choose, and everyone seems to take full advantage of that. The Rose-Xiao Long sisters spend their time hunting down Grimm that get into the city, while the Schnee sisters bond over strengthening Weiss’ summoning abilities... even if Winter doesn’t want to directly show praise or approval of her sister’s growing finesse. But another very practical activity emerges, training with the Ace Ops. Jaune and Ren get their butts kicked in some Atlas equivalent of the X-Men’s Danger Room by Vine and Elm respectively, but seem to learn a thing or two from the experience. Ruby tests her speed against Harriet as the two run in circles, with a little help from Weiss’ glyphs as she also gets to practice keeping up with Ruby’s movements to place the glyphs where and when she needs them. But Oscar gets the executive treatment, sparring with Ironwood himself to try and pry some of Oz’s muscle memory and fighting skills loose and hopefully bring Ozpin out too.

Next thing we know it seems to be the next morning and Ruby is excitedly telling Penny about her and Weiss’ mission the previous day complete with sound effects and wild hand gestures, while Blake drags a sluggish Yang away by the wrist to get ready for work. Jaune has learned his lesson and brought Marrow a coffee of his own, but Nora is still asleep in her chair. Can’t trust her with caffeine... Team RWBY are at varying levels of enthusiasm as they stare at the mission board, and as the days seem to fly by that energy starts to drain from all of them until its a team family napping pile. If you’re a shipper like me you can enjoy Blake sleeping with her head in Yang’s lap and Weiss leaning against Ruby’s shoulder to snooze, and if you’re not you can still enjoy the whole group comfort dynamic and Yang catching some z’s on her sister’s other shoulder. It’s a moment for all types.

But then IT happens. The best thing we could have ever hoped for all Volume. Team FNKI is Back, BABY!!!! Flynt got some fresh clothes including a jacket, while Neon wrapped her pigtails up into buns that look like cat ears and changed her whole wardrobe. She kept her cat collar-like choker and roller blades but added a white jacket connected to paw padded fingerless gloves, a crop top connected to a pair of short shorts with stars on them and a white belt by what look like suspenders, and blue leggings with a rainbow stripe down the outside and a few holes worn into it. It’s a whole ass look and she makes it work. But for all her clothing changes, her in-fight attitude is still just as bratty and insulting, calling Nora slow even as she smashes pillars to run directly at her. Ren is hiding behind a pillar and trying to shoot at... gasp, a third member of Team FNKI!!! His weapon is a whip and his outfit is mostly white and gold with a very deep cut to his shirt. Curious to see if we learn anything more about this person. But we don’t have time for that, because we bear witness to a MURDER. Neon took notice of Ren putting in so much effort against her teammate as she did a flip over him and froze Stormflower with her glowsticks, and goes for Nora’s jugular. “Where’s all that energy when he’s around you?~” ABSOLUTELY. ROASTED.

Nora takes the white and gold guy with a grenade before hopping on Magnhild and somehow riding it like a witch’s broomstick using repeated grenade shots as she chases after Neon... past Oscar fighting a guy wearing blue and black? No... it can’t be. 

They based the other two members of Team FNKI on that goddamn dress meme from 2015???? You brilliant bastards... what else could we expect from the people who made a raver chick out of Nyan Cat and a jazz musician from one of their own Minecraft jokes? So JNR and Oscar are doing their best against Team FNKI, much to Ironwood’s subtle amusement. Flynt and the blue guy, whose name we later learn is Kobalt, are beaten and Neon is cornered in the center of the training room by Jaune Ren and Oscar, then ambushed from above by Nora. Even with a black eye that disappears within 4 seconds, Neon is very impressed with how much they’ve grown since the Vytal Festival. And she seems kinda flirty with Oscar, much to his flustered confusion. Jaune returns the compliment to a certain degree saying they kept them on their toes a good many times. Flynt invites them to lunch, and Nora says she could eat a sandwich the size of a human being. Kobalt, the human she was comparing its size to, is not amused that he gets hypothetical lettuce on his head. Weird how much her fantasies can affect reality like that... But before they can all head off to bond, Ironwood needs JNR+ Oscar for a mission so they promise to try and meet up again.

We shift to Ruby, Penny, Qrow and Clover in a transport bringing supplies out to the launch site and driving past a few adorable penguins, though Ruby is bored by the long drive when an airship would be faster. But Penny informs her the supplies would be too heavy and use up too much Dust fuel when they should be conserving it for coming fights. The girls have a conversation about making friends and finding time to balance between work and social lives while the men are in the back playing cards and shooting the shit. Clover keeps winning. But they still have a heart to heart about how good of an influence Qrow has been for these truly gifted kids even if he doesn’t want to give himself that credit. He tries to shift the praise back to the Ace Ops for keeping the teens safe in Atlas, but Clover says its a no brainer, since the new generation is the ones who will inherit the planet they’re still trying to save, and that hopefully they can keep the world in better shape than the current adults are leaving it for them. Some real world parallels about environmental protection and all that if you ask me, and it’s subtle enough that I don’t mind at all. Qrow confirms that he really is off the booze by saying that once upon a time he would have drank a toast to that sentiment, and Clover calls him out on his behavior. But not the alcoholism, the deflecting praise. He deserves to feel good about what he’s done, because he really has been doing a better job than he thinks.

The truck comes to a stop, and the cause is unlike anything they would have expected. Robyn Hill and her Happy Huntresses have set up a roadblock. Penny stays in the truck as a last resort, while the other three get out to try and talk to Robyn. She wants to know why they’re bringing stuff that could be fixing the wall and protecting Mantle to a mine in the middle of the tundra. Turns out the sheep faunus from last episode really was one of her agents and reported what she saw. You might think there would be no harm in telling Robyn that they’re trying to make Amity into a new communication tower so global communication can be restored. It’s a noble thing to do and I doubt she would object to such an ambition, even though she would have liked to know sooner. But the more people you tell about it the more chance there is the wrong people will hear it. So if Watts got word about it and told Salem she might actively choose to send a lot more Grimm to ruin the launch instead of there being a few that naturally wander onto the site. Or if Jacques found out he might make a smear campaign out of it by spinning the truth. Also, it may not be for Clover to tell. 

He goes by the book in all things, so he would have to run it by Ironwood to know if this is info they can afford to share with Robyn. So he tries to play it off as getting lost out in the snow where everything looks the same, but she calls him out on it. He says Amity is at the mine for routine maintenance, but she’s not buying that either since usually only drones and select technicians do the repairs, the next tournament isn’t for a while, and the supplies they’re taking are more than what would be necessary not to mention better suited for Mantle wall repair. She demands answers for the shady military business she’s taken careful notice of, and for the materials to be handed over for the good of the people. But Clover gives that a hard pass and encourages her to focus on her political campaign so she can request materials be taken where they’re needed through the proper legal channels, especially when she shifts her questions over to Ruby and Qrow and the young huntress tries to assure her this is also for the good of Mantle. She seems very ready to fight for the sake of raiding the truck here and now, and everyone’s hands go to their weapons... until Penny pops out of the truck with her swords drawn and demands Robyn stand down and call off the camouflaged huntresses approaching the back of the truck. Guess her sensors are better than the human eye. Her pleading for Robyn to let them through peacefully works and the barrier gets taken down. But Robyn swears vengeance, she’ll get to the bottom of this secret no matter the cost. Potential antagonist? I hope not.

But enough of that tension, time for Schnee vs Schnee sparring: Weiss’ Knight vs a large Beowolf Winter spawned, but Winter has years more practice and skill so she wins a pyrrhic victory. The Knight gets slashed to death but it impaled the Beowolf with its sword. She criticizes Weiss’ technique, but it turns into a backhanded compliment that she’s made her sloppy moves a part of how she fights and makes them work for her. Weiss recognizes that’s her sister’s way of showing approval, and calls her out on being nice like that. The elder sister is mortified that her stern attitude has been called into question, but she calms down and acknowledges that Weiss has grown a lot during their time apart, she’s confident enough to make jabs like that and stand up to Dad. Winter is proud her sister has found her own independence and has made her own kinder worldview, since her own leaving the Schnee name behind was the best thing that ever happened to her. They can carve their own path together, though she still thinks Ironwood’s side is the best place to be with that path. Weiss is skeptical since she knows a bit more than the General about Salem and all that, and she doesn’t like the way the kingdom has become under his leadership, what he has let it become. Winter assures her this downward spiral is temporary and the satellite will fix everything, Ironwood is doing some tough things but it’s what he feels is right. Weiss had to deal with Ozpin keeping world shattering secrets and leading them on a deadman’s quest because he thought that would keep his self interests and plans on track, so even if she doesn’t admit that much she’s openly more skeptical. Winter stands firm that Ironwood wouldn’t keep secrets from her, but Weiss calls her on that. Can she be sure?

This is enough to spurn Winter into making a decision, to lead Weiss to the depths of Atlas Academy, through the facilities and labs and past a secure access door... to a viewing room. Overlooking a room where an old woman is resting in a hospital bed. There’s a sink and some cupboards, some paintings on the wall and an easel next to the bed, and a few medical pods on the left side of the room while the bed is on the right surrounded by health readout screens. The bedridden Winter Maiden was a painter. Oddly enough, the pictures on the wall seem to be concept art from the credits of the last few Volumes: the aquatic market in Menagerie, the Mistral train station, and the cave overlooking the forest where Nora and Ren found the Nuckelavee’s spoils of war are the ones I can recognize at the moment, but I’m sure the other 2 have relevance. But enough with the small details, let’s address the Goliath in the room. Winter has been personally attending to the Winter Maiden, named Fria, in her final days, how appropriate. In fact, that’s the plan. Winter will literally be the next Winter Maiden, so she’s the only person Fria is allowed to interact with so she can be the last person she thinks about when she dies. Which could be any day now. But I can smell a monkey wrench a mile away and there are a few that could be thrown into this plan. Fria is a very Norse sounding name so it’s possible she’s related to Nora and she could think of her in her last moments, the granddaughter she laments she may never see again after they parted so many years ago. Or if some grand attack comes to Atlas and Winter is otherwise engaged, Weiss will be the only one who knows to come bring Fria to safety and the worst might strike leaving one of our main 4 as a Maiden. All I’m saying is, there could be a lot that goes wrong. But for the moment, Winter is ready to take on this responsibility even if it seems like a dick move of Jimmy to have her volun-told to be next in line. But she calls back to Weiss’ growth and accepting what she can’t control. Her entire military career may have been a paved road to this outcome, but she’ll still make her own choices along the way and be the Maiden her way to make a real difference in the world with these powers. It’s not for Ironwood or their Father’s sake, but for herself.

Unfortunately, speaking of Father and doing things your own way, Jacques holds a press conference to proclaim how Ironwood’s embargo have caused everyone to suffer equally, himself included. That’s a load of garbage, he’s just moody that he’s 5% less rich and dropping. But he also announces that he will be closing down every SDC owned business that isn’t Dust mining and refining. It’s a “necessary measure” with how the embargo is effecting businesses and making it supposedly nonviable for those businesses to stay open and still be effective. Another lie, he just doesn’t want to have more money leaving his pocket as employee wages. This is clearly part of the strategy Watts suggested to him, keep as many doors closed as possible so he can horde the wealth he still has while spinning it to be Ironwood’s fault. He comes off as another victim doing what is necessary so people don’t hate him directly for it and he can win voter support. And it’s not like Robyn Hill can do anything to make the SDC give people their jobs back, so why vote for her? It’s a seemingly perfect plan, as infuriating as that is to admit. And it sure sets off the people of Mantle, as they start a riot in the streets. Guess our good boys and girls will have to deal with that some time soon.

A whole lot to think about while we wait for next weekend’s episode. But it was still a very good chapter in my opinion. What did you think?

#rwby reviews #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #lie ren #penny polendina #oscar pine #atlas ace ops #winter schnee #general ironwood #robyn hill #neon katt #flynt coal #team fnki #fria the winter maiden #jacques schnee #rwby spoilers #volume 7 spoilers #rwby volume 7 spoilers

[under-atomic-skies]

The Crooked Kind. Ch. 3

Sleep Walking

Summary:  Fiddleford is a student at Backupsmore University. He meets a stranger at a payphone and makes an unlikely friend who, unbeknownst to him, has a long, complicated relationship with his roommate. The pair become close and eventually, a romance buds between them. What could possibly go wrong? (Tags will be updated as fic is updated)

NOTE: Please check out the warnings for this chapter. It might spoil some of it, but be safe! Also, there’s some mention of prices in this chapter, and considering it’s around 1970 in this fic, I converted the price to match how much it might have been in the 70’s. I’m not entirely knowledgeable on how stuff like this works or is priced for that matter, so keep that in mind. Happy reading!

Warnings: [ sex work Negative views of sex work Explicit sexual acts

Word count: 3,756

AO3

Ch. 1 || Ch. 2 || Ch. 3 (HERE) || Ch. 4

I got a picture on the mantle piece Of the way that I thought that we’d end up But this shows no resemblance to that

When night finally fell, the students emerged from their dorms and apartments, donned in their best bar clothes. Stan envied them in a way. He wished he could be so carefree and able to put his worries out of his head in favor of having a good time with friends. But life had not dealt that hand to him, and instead of finding himself joining them, Stan would take advantage of them.

It was around 9:30 as Stan approached one of the bars he had picked out that previous morning. As he anticipated, there was a bouncer by the window. For years, he had needed a fake ID to get in, and while he still used a fake ID to keep his real name concealed, he had turned 21 last summer and was technically legally allowed into the bars now.

As he approached the large, intimidating bouncer, he flashed his ID and a grin and the man merely nodded and stoically stepped aside to allow him entry. This man was used to college kids who wanted to drink, dance, and find someone to work out their stress with. However, this was not Stan’s first time, and he wasn’t the bars average patron. He stepped closer to the bouncer and whispered under his breath, wanting to work out a deal with him. The bouncer glanced down at him, as if scrutinizing him. Luckily, with Fiddleford’s new coat on, he didn’t look nearly as seedy as he had with only a warn t-shirt and stained jacket. He gruffly nodded and motioned to another man standing just inside by the door to come over. The initial man whispered something to this new man, who also took a look at Stan before nodding and motioning for Stan to follow him.

He hadn’t noticed the tension in his shoulders until he breathed a sigh of relief, glad that this first bar was so far working out well. The man led him through the mostly empty dance floor, though the music was still loud and the lights flashed in beat with the music. It was dark in there and apart from a few people by the bars getting drinks, it was empty.

Stan understood college bars well by this point. It wasn’t until around 10 that people really started to fill the place, and by 11 it was packed, sweaty bodies rubbing and brushing against others as they danced their cares away. Stan usually preferred to get before the crowd so that he could have time to set up shop, get comfortable (i.e. prepare himself) and wait for the first customers.

The man led him past the dance floor and down a thin hallway to where the bathrooms were located. He opened the door and wordlessly pointed inside. Stan had to practically squeeze past the man to get inside, seeing as the large man didn’t leave much space for him to get through.

Once inside the bathroom, Stan turned towards the bouncer again, waiting to hear the terms of the agreement. “You can charge whatever you want, but at the end of the night, the bar gets 40% of your earnings.”

The man said it as a matter of fact and Stan understood that there was no room for negotiations. 40% was a steep price, but considering he usually made a fair amount of money, he’d let it slide. Not to mention he had his ways of pocketing more than what he was technically ‘supposed’ to.

At Stan’s nod, the man merely eyed him one more time before letting the door close. Now alone in the bathroom, Stan looked in the mirror. Luckily, most of the ‘customers’ wouldn’t see his face seeing as most of the people coming to him were just wanting to get off quickly after an unsuccessful night of chasing ladies. However, there usually were a few that weren’t shy. They wanted the full deal, so with this in mind, he made sure he at least didn’t look like complete shit (luckily, he had already shaved and washed his hair that morning for Fid-- nope, he wasn’t going to think of him here.)

It wasn’t hard to find the stall that was meant for him. It had a mark on the door and the wall that bordered another stall had a spherical hole cut into it. He let himself in and after shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the knob on the door, he turned back around. Resigning himself to wait for the first person, he closed the lid and sat on the toilet, idly twiddling his thumbs.

This part was always the worse. When the night picked up in pace, he didn’t have time to think. He just had to focus on the money he was going to make, but now that it was still early, he had plenty of time for his mind to race, wondering how he had come to this.

Making millions hadn’t seemed so hard at first. He’d been practically bursting with ideas after he had been kicked out, not to mention he’d still had the hopes and ignorance of a man who hadn’t been beaten down and trodden upon. Now nearly four years later, all of his prior ideas had one by one turned out to be dead ends. He had learned that the world wasn’t a kind place to people like him, and the hope that one day he’d earn millions so he could go back home was still stubbornly kicking, but he knew realistically that he was never going to achieve it.

Still, what else was he supposed to do? Having that goal was one of the few things that kept him going, no matter how much life threw at him. As more of his plans turned out to be busts, he steadily got more and more involved with seedy people with dangerous offers. He was a desperate man with a hopeless dream so he couldn’t turn down the offers for long.

Those offers soon found him in all sorts of dangerous situations. Colombian jungles, smuggling, selling guns, gangs, you name it, Stan’s done it. Selling himself had, oddly enough, come as a last resort. He had grown weary of always being on the run from people he owed debts to, tired of always looking over his shoulder. Selling himself had turned out to be easier than he had thought. He had lost his sense of modesty and pride a long time ago, and once that was out of the way, he had no qualms making a quick buck by offering services to desperate losers. Of course, this was true most of the time. He tried not to think of it in the daylight hours. He had cash in his pocket for gas and occasionally food, so he just blocked out how he got that money. But as he sits on the toilet seat, waiting for the first john, his mind couldn’t help but travel down the same self-deprecating path every time.

No, this was not his first time. It was far from it, but that didn’t mean it got easier.

Knowing how the night would inevitably end up, he took a moment to prepare himself. He had brought some lube in a tiny container from his car, and only needed a few moments to work himself open before sliding his pants back on.

Finally, the door creaked as someone came in. Stan watched the bottom of the door as footsteps entered into the small bathroom. He couldn’t decipher whether or not he wanted the feet to stop by his door or keep going, so when the footsteps stopped outside his door and knocked on the stall, he was indifferent.

“How much?” the man asked, voice quivering. Stan couldn’t help but feel a mixture of sympathy and relief, the later being the dominant of the two. The guy was a newbie. They had a tendency to over pay, as well as be more gentle.

“$10 for a blow job, $30 to fuck me,” Stan replied back, matter of fact. Hearing the person behind the door sputter, he didn’t have to see him to know what expression he had.

“Uh---I’ll just,” He must not have been able to get himself to voice his desires but instead offered a ten dollar bill under the door. Stan took it, folded it and stashed it away in his shoe.

“Alright, in this stall.” Stan replied, reaching his hand over the wall blocking off his stall from the next and pointed into the neighboring stall. He heard the man shuffle his feet before closing and locking the door behind him.

“What do I d-- oh.” the man replied, apparently just noticing the hole between the stalls. Letting out an exhale, Stan could hear the sound of a zipper and the soft ruffle of clothing before the john inserted his cock into the hole. It took all of his self-restraight to not sigh. The one downside of newbies was that they had a tendency to be loud and come fast. That made the job easier on him, but could also be frustrating after a while.

Stan turned on the toilet seat, finally looking at the poor john. He could see his shoes under the wall and knew from their slight tremble that he was nervous. He wasn’t hard, not that Stan expected him to be, but Stan would fix that.

Hands cupping as close to the base as the wall would allow, he guided the man's cock into his open mouth. After that initial movement, he moved as if on autopilot. He barely thought of what he was doing anymore, now way more practiced then he would like to admit. Soon the sound of Stan’s slurps (hearing them always made himself feel even worse about selling himself) was chorused by the other man's loud, poorly constrained moans. He knew that the other movement he was hearing was the man moving against the wall, maybe gripping the roof of it desperately, and that thought at least gave Stan some small sense of pride that he could at least do this well.

The man was hard now, which made Stan’s job easier. At this point, he lost himself again, focusing on his task. In moments like these, time seemed to stretch on, making the task more arduous. Luckily for him, the man was obviously not used to this kind of sensation, and the sound of his strangled moan broke Stan’s train of thought, warning him not a moment too soon as the man came, spurting cum into Stan’s mouth. Milking the man through his orgasm, his breathy gasps only increased until Stan retracted his mouth with a ‘pop’. When it came to his first ‘customer’, he always made sure to do especially well, seeing as the man might possibly spread the word to other potential customers. Stan shuttered silently as he swallowed. The guy on the other side was still panting, but was already tucking himself back into his pants.

“Uh.. thanks.” The john replied hesitantly, obviously not knowing what or if there was protocol for this kind of thing.

“Sure thing,” Stan grunted out, voice harsher now from the abrasions against the walls of his throat.

The man left and soon enough the stream of customers increased. Stan’s night followed pretty much in the same way that first man had. College kids were green. Many of them just wanted to get off, and the alcohol in their system allowed them to make the bad decision to fork over their money to some faceless man on the other side of the bathroom stall. Stan’s jaw got more and more sore as the night went on, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He reminded himself of the steadily growing wad of cash he was stuffing into his shoes and he forgot about the jaw pain.

A few hours later, the night was finally winding down. Customers were still coming in, but the amount had decreased. Stan wiped his sleeve across his jaw, wiping away what was left of his saliva and his latest customers cum when he heard a heavier set of footsteps come into the room.

There was another knock at the door, “How much?” the voice asked, voice much deeper than any of the others so far. Somehow it made Stan’s gut coil in apprehension. He had been able to get off mostly lucky; newbys only wanted to have their cock sucked. This guy didn’t sound like no newby.

He repeated his mantra, “$10 for a blow job, $30 to fuck me.”

Waiting with bated breath, his gut sunk as the man offered a twenty dollar bill under the stall door. Gulping, Stan silently took a deep inhale to steady himself. He took the bill, pocketed and unlocked the door, revealing a tall, burly man. He certainly wasn’t no college kid. Word that he was there must have gotten around town. The man's lips curled into a smirk.

“Well aren’t you just a cute little bitch.” he replied, closing the door behind him. Thank God he was practiced enough to not let his apprehension show through. Instead, his eyes lowered, looking up at the man with lustful, lidded eyes.

The mans hands moved up, grasping his jaw tightly and angling it up towards his face more as his other hand moved to undo his fly. “Drop em, whore.”

His hands around his jaw dropped in favor of tugging his pants down enough so his dick could be pulled out. His expressionless gaze continued to watch as Stan dropped his pants, meanwhile his hand curled around his cock, pumping himself until he was erect. Stan’s gaze dropped to the man's dick and gulped. He was going to be sore after this.

“Turn around,” The man demanded. Stan mentally was glad that he had taken the time to prepare himself whilst waiting for customers earlier in the night. He could only help that he was still ready. He did as the man said and turned around. Before he had time to bend down, the man’s hand tangled in his hair and thrust him forward until he was practically gripping the toilet. Stan’s hands came to grip the sides of the bowl, trying not to think about how dirty this bars bathroom was.

The man’s cock brushed up against his hole, and Stan couldn’t help himself as he let out a needy moan. It was times like this where he didn’t entirely hate what he did. He pressed back towards the man ever so slightly, silently begging him. This earned a harsh laugh.

“You desperate already, slut?” he said, guiding his dick to teasingly circle his hole, earning another whine from Stan, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re yelling by the time I’m done with you.”

With that promise on his lips, he thrusted into Stan, fast and hard, forcing his way into Stan’s hole until he bottomed out. Stan jerked forward, closer to the toilet bowl with a gasp at the strength of the man’s thrust. He scrambled for purchase on the bowl as the man’s hands gripped his hips like vices and began pounding into him, sliding almost all the way out before thrusting back in. Stan gasped loudly, each thrust forcing him to scramble for purchase on the toilet.

The erotic sounds of their coupling filled the empty bathroom, Stan’s needy gasps, and the man's own gruff grunts. He grabbed a fistful of Stan’s long hair and tugged it, forcing Stan’s head to angle backwards, exposing his neck as the man continued to pound into his hole. By this point, Stan was also hard himself, and his neglected dick was dripping with need.

“Let me hear you, whore.” The man whispered as he leaned close. His breath ghosted over Stan’s earlobe and he couldn’t hold back any more. Each thrust was punctuated by a loud moan. Stan’s hand moved towards his cock, but the man stilled his hand.

“You gotta beg for it.” he growled back. Stan wasted no time. He begged and pleaded with the stranger, begging for him to be able to touch himself, he needed it so bad. Deciding he was pleased by this, he released his hand. Stan instantly curled his hand around his cock, stroking in time to the man’s thrusts, his moans growing louder. As the man continued to fuck into his hole, Stan’s thoughts drifted, imagining someone else behind him, someone a lot smaller and whos voice had a southern twang to it. He imagined this man would be more sensual, whispering words of how good he was, how hot he was into his ears. As if he could hear those words, he let out a particularly loud moan.

Within a few moments, the mans thrusts sped up, losing its normal rhythm. Stan knew he was going to cum soon, so the hand on his cock sped up.

With one, final deep thrust, the man came deep within Stan with a loud grunt. He continued to move though, subtly milking himself as he rode out his orgasm. Stan could feel the sensation of the warm cum filling him and with a few more strokes, came as well, shooting ropes of cum across the closed toilet seat.

The two were still for a moment, just merely panting from the task. Finally, the man pulled out with a wet sound and grabbed some toilet paper to clean himself up. He tucked himself into his pants, and without a final word, turned and left, leaving Stan bent over the toilet, cum dripping from his hole.

After a few moments, he straightened up on shaky legs and retrieved some toilet paper to wipe up his own mess. He could tell he was going to be sore by the next day, but now that he was alone to himself, he thought back to just a few moments before.

Had he… had he really imagined that it was Fiddleford who had been fucking him? That imagining the sweet southern man fucking into him had made him moan louder than the actual man who had done so? He didn’t know what to make of the whole situation, his thoughts merely traveling around in circles wondering when did he start thinking of his new friend-- not even that, acquaintance-- in such a way? Surely if Fiddleford knew the truth about him, he wouldn’t want to even be associated with him.

His thoughts continued to swirl around in his head, until finally, the door opened. He half feared it would be another customer to add to his inner turmoil, but instead he heard the bouncers voice. “Bar’s closed.”

Stan sighed thankfully and stood up, wincing as he did so. He shrugged the jacket back on and unlocked the door. He came out to greet the bouncer, who looked at him with a face of disgust. Silently, he extended a hand, obviously expecting him to fork over the bars share of his profits. He pulled out his wad of cash, thankful that he had hidden a few bills in his coat pocket. He counted out the money before forking over the 40% (though in actuality, it was more like 25-30%) he owed the bar. The bouncer pocketed the cash and motioned to the door.

“Scram.”

Stan didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled out the door and back to the street, yet again thankful that he actually had a real winter coat to wear. It was even colder than it had been the following night. He quickly retreated to his car, parked in the familiar parking lot, to count his earnings. After pulling out all the cash from his jacket and shoes, he had close to around $300. It wasn’t a bad night, especially considering he only was fucked once. This should hopefully be able to buy him gas, food, and maybe even a motel room whilst he was here. Hell, maybe tomorrow, he’d treat Fiddleford to a cup of coffee if he was feeling generous enough.

He tucked the money into a safe place and leaned his car seat back, wincing as he leaned back down against the seat. Hopefully he wouldn’t still be too sore when he saw Fiddleford tomorrow.

He tried to ignore that he had been thinking about the kind man in such a way. He felt dirty. What he did was already dirty by most people's standards, but thinking about the man who had shown him more kindness in a day then he had received in the past four years? It made him feel lower than low.

Unable to help himself, and having masochistic tendencies when down, he pulled down the sun visor from the roof of his car, revealing the photo he had taped to it. Fingers gently traced the shapes of the worn images, looking at the smiling faces of two boys. They had been so innocent back then. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for breaking that damn machine, even if it hadn’t been intentional. If he hadn’t been such a fuck up, Ford would have never missed his shot to go to his dream school, and Stan would have never been kicked out of the house.

Distantly, Stan wondered what Ford was up to now. No doubt, he probably had been able to get into another school. His Ma tried to tell him about Ford sometimes on the phone, but Stan always tuned her out, not wanting to think about how he wasn’t apart of his brothers life anymore. He told himself that one day, he would make millions of dollars so he could make it up to his family and come home. He just-- he just needed to wait for a break.

He closed the visor with one last look at his twin and sighed. It was a good thing Stanford couldn’t see how low his brother had gotten. He doubted Stanford would even want to look at him if he knew what Stan had to do in order to survive. But luckily, Stanford would never find out. Once he made his millions and apologized to Ford, he’d never have to think about what he had to do ever again.

He could leave this all in the past; he just had to be patient and keep working towards his goal.

#the crooked kind #ch. 3 #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls fan fic #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #stan pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddlestan #ford pines

[littleredroseonthevalley]

St. Catherine of Vadstena

Or, Desperate Measures

Summary: Shunned by her lover, driven away by her family, offered a divorce by her husband, Alexandrina turns to the Seamstress for help.

Rating: T -  Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Mentions of abortion. Reader discretion is advised.

Words: 1516

Notes: This makes a whole more lot sense if you read St. Paul or, How the Ladies Take Their Tea in Grover and St. Catherine of Alexandria or, The Piety of the Seamstress first, but you should get it just fine without.

St. Catherine of Vadstena is the patron saint of protection against (natural) abortion, but since voluntary abortion is forbidden by the Catholic Church since 1588, I had to make a bit of a stretch to find a saint.

Be as it may, I hope you enjoy it!

“Noticing that frequently by various Apostolic Constitutions the audacity and daring of most profligate men, who know no restraint, of sinning with license against the commandment ‘do not kill’ was repressed; We who are placed by the Lord in the supreme throne of justice, being counseled by a most just reason, are in part renewing old laws and in part extending them in order to restrain with just punishment the monstrous and atrocious brutality of those who have no fear to kill most cruelly fetuses still hiding in the maternal viscera.

Who will not detest such an abhorrent and evil act, by which are lost not only the bodies but also the souls? Who will not condemn to a most grave punishment the impiety of him who will exclude a soul created in the image of God and for which Our Lord Jesus Christ has shed His precious Blood, and which is capable of eternal happiness and is destined to be in the company of angels, from the blessed vision of God, and who has impeded as much as he could the filling up of heavenly mansions, and has taken away the service to God by His creature?”

~ Effraenatam (Papal Bull), Pope Sixtus V, 1588

In Grovershire, within walking distance from the county town, there was a small, simple farmstead, not unlike many others on the sides of the road. What set it apart from all others, however, is that its owner, a certain Mary Beauchamp, a woman famed for her ability to make things disappear.

For Alexandrina, right now, that is all she needed.

She arrived at the house on a rental carriage, dressed on a thick cape, unusual for the summer weather, and carrying a single suitcase.

The front door opened wide for her to come in. Mary needed no further explanation; she knew why that woman came to her house.

“Sit down.” The matron pointed her a cosy armchair. “I will brew you some tea. Would you like some biscuits to go with?”

“No, thank you, madam.” The blonde aristocrat shakes her head softly. “I am too nauseous from the trip.”

Mary suppresses a smile. “Best get used to it.”

The proprietor serves the hot beverage and, while the visitor sips the cup, she inquires, “How far along are you?”

“Six weeks, I assume.” She responds quietly, and then proceeds to the calculations, “The last time I have been with him was April, and I have not bled in May.”

“Some women bleed into pregnancy, miss. ‘Tis not a reliable method of assessing your condition.” The older woman lectures. “You have been with a man regularly in March?”

“Since February.” Her cheeks tint as she thinks of the occasion. “I stopped going to my husband’s bed in October last, and then I met…” She stops on her tracks.

“Do not fret, child. I understand.” Mary smiled softly. “You seem not to have gotten pregnant in February, your stomach is yet to show. How many times have you adjusted your dresses?”

“Once, madam.” She responded. “Last week.”

“I see. Well, I would say you are six to ten weeks along. Which is very good for us, it gives us options.”

Mary stood from her own seat by Alexandrina and walked to the mantle, taking a rather large wooden box. She returns to her seat and places the box on the coffee table and opens it softly.

“Those are herbs used on restellism procedures.” She explains. “They have many uses, and they have many methods through which they terminate a pregnancy. As such, they have varying degrees of dangers associated to them.”

At the mention of the risks, the blonde woman’s cheeks paled.

“Do not worry, as I said you are in luck. Your pregnancy is still early, your child still does not have a placenta.” She picks up a sheaf of dried leaves. “For you, I would recommend this one. It forces your monthly blood. It should expel the baby with it.”

Mary places it on her hands, and Alexandrina admires the herbal medicine, its texture and smell.

“Will I have to eat it?” She enquires, curiously.

“No, we brew a tea with it. It is rather bitter, but we sweeten with honey.” The madam explains. “Of course, the hard part is not drinking it. It will cause severe cramps and bleeding, but you should be fine in three days.”

The young woman drops it like it is hot. “Oh, God.”

“There is another option, of course.” Mary argues. “We can carry it to term. You can stay here in the house, we would care for your health and, when the day comes, I will deliver it and arrange for a quiet adoption. It, however, is going to cost you a pretty penny.”

“I do not have much cash. I carry only some jewellery I could hide on my suitcase, and I will need it for… after.” She informed.

“Well, there is a third alternative.” The matron says, thoughtful. “You can write your husband a letter, pleading for him to take you back, at least for the duration of your pregnancy. I can go there, deliver it and reason with him.”

“I suppose that would be the best…” The blonde argues. “Very well, where do I find paper and ink?”

“My daughter Susan will show you to your room and provide everything you need for your stay.” Mary smiled. “Write the letter, and after, try to have some rest. I am certain I can wear him down to a reasonable arrangement.”

“How can you be so certain?” She asks, legitimately doubting it.

Mary limits herself to chuckle. “Because you are on my living room and not rotting on a prison cell.”

It was nightfall, Mary had left with the letter hours ago and should not return before noon the next day.

Despite the recommendation for bed rest, Alexandrina was feeling too energetic, too anxious to sleep.

Suddenly, a knock on the door and Susan walks into the room, carrying with her a trail with a bowl of supper.

“I brought you supper, Mrs Sinclaire,” She says. “And a book, too. You ought to carve a hole on the floor walking back and forth that much.”

The blonde stops short of her pacing and looks at the young girl sheepishly. “I apologize. I am feeling rather nervous.”

“It is nothing I have not seen before.” The other responds, placing the tray on the bedside table. “Many women in your situation have come here in search of help; some were told off by their husbands and cast away from society, but most were taken back by their families. I trust my mother will find a way for you.”

“Oh, easy for you to say!” Alexandrina argues, beyond herself. “I could very well be one of the exiled.”

The brunette toots. “Well, you know your husband better than any one of us. Is he a good man?”

That was an easy question. “Yes.” For all his boring personality, Ernest was the best man she ever knew.

“Does he care you?” She continues.

That was a harder one. “He used to… before all this….”

“No matter, if he cared if ever so slightly, and if his intent is good, he will take you back.” Susan states, firmly. “Now, eat. I will bring you another candle, it is probably going to be a sleepless night for you.”

As Susan predicted, Alexandrina did not sleep a single moment in the night, having perused the entirety of the book procured for her.

Les Liaisons Dangereuses, it was the title of the novel, as the brunette argued it would be beneficial for her to have some exposure to self-reliant women, even if only characters on a libel.

The morning brought Mary with a carriage, instructed to take Alexandrina back to Ledford Park. Mr Sinclaire had agreed to give her shelter for the entirety of her pregnancy, and would consider assuming the child and providing for them both afterwards.

Before leaving, Alexandrina cried and hugged both women, rejoicing the shift on her luck and blessing them both for taking her in on her time of need. As a token of gratitude, she had gifted them with a beautiful diamond necklace, that Mary hid under the floorboards, to use in case of emergency.

There were good times and bad times for the Beauchamps following the departure of Alexandrina, but there was never a day in which they were so desperate as in to retrieve the necklace.

They caught wind of her death, and Mary lightened a candle for her soul, so she and her child be received in the Lord’s graces and unbound forgiveness.

So, one day, years later, Susan took it with her to dinner at the Sinclaire’s London townhouse. Covertly, she took it out of her dress and hid it between two books on their library, while Ernest retrieved a Shakespeare poetry collection.

It was only fair, Susan chuckles to herself as she thinks about it, she was about to steal the dead woman’s husband, best to return her prized necklace.

Taglist: @catlady0911; @mrsernestsinclaire; @snickette; @tornbetween2loves

#desire & decorum #ernest sinclaire #duke tristan richards

[rawaabeauty]

Beauty Secrets We Swear By: 12 Glowing Skin Tips Every Girl Needs

Skincare isn’t something that ought to be taken lightly. As we age, our skin needs our education and understanding more and more. we'd like to avoid skincare mistakes, and use products that hydrate, firm, and benefit our skin. There’s no excuse to not follow a correct skincare regime. Without one, our complexions are sure to become dull, dry, and fatigued. If you’re able to transform your skin, inspect our glowing skin tips every girl needs!

 Skincare Mistakes to Avoid

1. Sleeping with Makeup On This is one of the most important no-nos when it involves good skin. don't ever roll in the hay your makeup on, regardless of how tired you're. If it helps, leave some makeup wipes on your bedside table for the night’s once you just can’t make it to the toilet. Your skin renews itself while you sleep and once you leave your makeup on, you’re not allowing it to try to that. It can cause extensive damage to your skin and doesn’t allow it to breathe, making your complexion look tired and fatigued.

2. Cleansing Too Often Yes, it’s possible to wash your face too often. you'll think the more you cleanse, the higher, but the reality is, when you’re constantly cleaning, you strip your skin of the highest layer of oil, triggering more boring, which may cause acne and blackheads. For a glowing complexion, cleanse twice per day and confirm to follow with a hydrating moisturizer.

3. Exfoliating an excessive amount of, Or insufficient Exfoliation is a crucial step in your skincare process, but an excessive amount of exfoliation is often damaging for your skin. On the flip side, never exfoliating means you aren’t getting obviate the build from bacterial and dead skin cells that survive your face. Exfoliate twice per week for the best results!

4. Not Cleaning Your Makeup Brushes Cleaning your makeup brushes are often an annoying task, but it’s so necessary for healthy, glowing skin. confirm to scrub your makeup brushes every fortnight approximately. They accumulate bacteria, dead skin cells, and oil, which may clog your pores and cause breakouts and dull skin. Cleaning your brushes is a component of a hygienic skincare routine, so confirm you are doing so consistently.

5. You Touch Your Face and Don’t Clean Your Phone These two go hand in hand because both your phone and hands carry such a lot of dirt and bacteria it’s disgusting. Try your best to not touch your face throughout the day as doing so can spread dirt, oil, and bacteria to your skin. This also goes for your phone. If you talk on your phone tons, confirm to wash it constantly. Otherwise, all the gunk that lives on your phone will transfer to your face, causing clogged pores and breakouts.

 Glowing Skin Tips We Swear By

6. Drink More Water and fewer Caffeine Water hydrates your skin, while caffeine dehydrates it – so which one does one think is better? Drink the recommended 8 cups of water throughout the day. Not only will it help your skin glow from the within out, but water also has many health benefits including flushing excretion, regulating blood heat, and keeping you energized.

7. Use the proper Products for Your Skin Type Everyone’s skin is different – what works for a beauty blogger or one among your best friends might not work for you. stick with products that are formulated to offer your skin type what it needs. If you've got sensitive skin, search for oil-free and fragrance-free products; if you've got dry skin, look for products that deliver extra moisture; if you’re susceptible to breakouts, search for ingredients that prevent acne, like 2-hydroxybenzoic acid. Once you discover the products that employment best for your specific skin type, you’ll notice an enormous difference in your complexion.

8. Wear Sunscreen Everyday Do your skin a favor, and protect it by wearing sunscreen every day. Yes, even within the winter. Sunscreen is that the best thanks to preventing signs of early aging, to not mention carcinoma. Some beauty and skincare products contain sunscreen, but if yours don’t, conform to use it under your makeup. If you call at the sun, re-apply every two to four hours to form sure you’re protecting your skin. this may keep it looking young, glowing, and beautiful!

 Glowing Skin Products to take a position In

9. Glossier Super Glow vitamin C Face Serum Want some serious glow for your complexion? Glossier Super Glow amps up the brightness of your skin with ingredients like vitamin C and Magnesium. The incredible formula energizes and evens your skin tone, creating a light-weight reflecting complexion. It improves the design of dark spots without irritation, leaving your skin feeling recharged and rejuvenated.

10. Tata Harper Regenerating Cleanser This cleanser is an investment that’s well well worth the tag. A daily cleansing and exfoliating treatment, it buffs the skin, giving it a refined, radiant look. With 16 high-performance botanical ingredients, it dissolves build-up, refines pores, and boosts hydrating for seriously healthy-looking skin.

11. Aveeno Ageless Restorative Night Cream A good night cream is vital to glowing skin, and this one is full of antioxidants to enhance the looks of fine lines and wrinkles, and reduce the consequences of elastin and collagen loss. It’s super hydrating, strengthening your skin’s natural moisture barrier, revealing beautiful, glowing skin.

12. Believe truth Cream Aqua Bomb This lightweight gel-cream gives your skin a burst of hydration for a stunning, healthy glow. It acts as a cooler and refresher for dull, dry skin, absorbing quickly so you’re not left with any greasiness. It’s formulated with Lady’s Mantle, which is understood for its skin-nurturing properties, also as ceramide 3 and glycerin to assist your skin to retain and maintain moisture.

[shanastoryteller]

Your Athena made me cry, I'd like you to know. And we got Medusa! Who, her ending, wow, just. Wow. And the whole thing with Aphrodite and Athena was really interesting, and like Hephestus is shaping up to be the most wanted of the gods, which yes.(Her gift is to turn all who would harm Medusa in that way to stone. It acts as a curse, but she meant it as a gift, and gahhh) Also, Amphitrite is super interesting and is there any way I could tempt you into expanding on her? Or, well. Any more, truly

Zeus claims the sky ashis domain, free and open and pure, and his it becomes.

Hades goes to theunderworld, and it’s messy and horrible and heartbreaking, but he claims ituncontested, and his it becomes.

Poseidon goes to the sea,but it already has a sovereign.

~

His first though is thatshe’s beautiful. Skin the color of pearls and hair the dark, rich green ofseaweed. She’s tall with the type of aristocratic bone structure that wouldmake him think her delicate if not every other aspect of her was as fearsome asHera at her most irritable.

“You come to my landseeking to make it your own,” she says, and she’s not quite walking and notquite swimming as she circles him. “Who are you to rule the sea?”

He clears his throat, andhe’s a powerful god, he and his brothers are the most powerful gods that stillexist on this earth, but his knees shake before her. It’s not a good feeling. It’snot infatuation – it’s fear. “I am Poseidon.”

She tilts her head, andher pretty blue eyes are as cold as sea floor they stand in. “Goodbye, Poseidon.Perhaps your brother will be able to find what’s left of your corpse in hisunderworld.”

The water whips aroundhim, doing its best to rip him apart, forcing itself into his lungs andsuffocating him. He didn’t think he could drown, but he might be about to beproven wrong.

Then a net closes aroundhim, pulling him up so he breaks through the surface and takes a large,grateful gulp of air. He’s hauled over the side of a boat and dumped on itsfloor, the person who saved him wildly fighting the angry waves. “You must havereally pissed the Lady off,” a light, teasing voice says. Poseidon is stillcoughing, his eyes watering and lungs screaming. This boat is going to capsizeand they’ll both die, so he doesn’t get how this person can sound so lighthearted.

Except they’re not. Theirlittle boat is being expertly handled against the thrashing waves. Poseidonblinks, and he’s inclined to say the person sailing is a woman, considering thebudding breasts and hips. But the hair is cut short, and the chiton is designedfor a man.

“What’s your name?” heasks.

“Caeneus,” his unexpectedrescuer answers.

That’s a man name, andPoseidon opens his mouth to questions it – then closes it again. “Thank you,”he settles on, “You saved my life.”

Caeneus finally steersthem to land, and Poseidon dismounts to help him pull and anchor his boat toshore. “Anytime,” he says cheerfully, “What did you do to make the Lady so mad,anyway?”

“You know her?” he asks,staring. This man appears to be a mere mortal, yet how could a human know thatwoman?

He grins at Poseidon andpoints out to the glittering sea. “We all do. She is the ocean itself, and justas powerful and unknowable. You better be careful not to anger her again – I don’tknow anyone who’s survived her wrath twice.”

“Right,” he says blankly,even though that’s unavoidable. He’s to be the god of the sea, and if he has towrest the mantle of monarch from her corpse then so be it.

Caeneus claps him on theshoulder, his work-roughed palm more comforting than anything else Poseidon hasknown since escaping his father’s stomach. “Come to mine, you look half dead. I’llmake you something warm.”

He takes a long look athis savior. Skin a dark shade of brown, and his eyes are amber in the settingsun. His black hair is cut short, and the muscles of his arms and legs shiftwith each moment. “Very well,” he answers, and is inordinately grateful that he’stoo cold to blush.

~

Caeneus takes him to hishome, a hastily constructed shack on the beach’s edge. The wind whips throughthe cracks in the wood so that no matter where you stand you’re always chilled.“This is the worst woodwork I’ve ever seen,” he says. He slides his hand acrossthe wall and is completely unsurprised when it comes away with splinters.

“I’m a sailor, not a carpenter,”Caeneus answers, intent on mixing together a bunch of ingredients Poseidon onlyhalf recognizes. “It stay upright.”

“Barely,” he returns,cupping his hands around the cup that’s shoved at him.

Caeneus doesn’t ask himto leave. Instead they squeeze onto Caeneus’s too small bed. Poseidon curls aroundthe smaller man, tangling their legs and tucking Caeneus’s head under his chin.“You’re so warm,” Caeneus murmurs, half asleep already, and Poseidon’s heartclenches.

He makes sure he’s asleepwhen he carefully, so carefully, lowers his head and brushes his lips against Caeneus’scheek.

~

When Poseidon wakes up,the sun is bright and Caeneus is gone.

He should go marchingback to the ocean, but first he has something important to do. He’s just notsure how to go about it.

He can’t ask Zeus, hisyounger brother knows plenty of war and not much else. Which leaves –

It’s easy enough to slipinto the underworld, although he regrets doing so the second he arrives. It’salmost completely dark, and lonely. Lost souls are immediately reaching forhim, cold hands brushing against his skin.

“What are you doing?” afamiliar voice demands, and Poseidon nearly wilts in relief when Hades appearsat his side and guides him away from the wailing souls. “It’s not safe here.”

“What’s wrong with them?”he asks, glancing back, his chest clenching at sympathy at their cries eventhough he knows there’s nothing he can do for them.

They slip through therealm, and they land in front of a partially built stone castle. The goddess Hecateguides them construction with her magic, her visage that of a young child sinceit’s still morning in the mortal realm.

Hades sits on the ground,and the skin beneath his eyes is dark and bruised. He looks like a strong windwould blow him over. “Nothing, everything, I don’t know. I’m working on it. Whyare you here?”

“I don’t suppose you knowhow to build a house?” he asks, though he doesn’t expect much. It seems he’snot the only one having trouble claiming authority over his domain.

His brother laughs, eyescrinkling at the corners. “You’ve come to the wrong sibling, little brother.”

Oh. That’s true. “Do youthink she’ll help me?”

“Yes,” Hades answers,lips still twitching. “Now leave me to my anarchy, I have more than enoughtrouble to deal with without you causing more.”

That’s fair enough.

Poseidon heads to Olympusnext, careful to peer around corners to avoid Zeus and Hera. Their marblepalace is already constructed, and he tamps down on the bitterness that theyrule unchallenged. In the center of the throne room, next to a roaring fire,sits Hestia.

“Sister,” he greets,tentative. “I need help building a home.”

She looks from her fireto him, and when she smiles he feels all his tension drain from his shoulders. “Ofcourse, little brother. If it is help you require, then it is help you shallhave.”

Hestia tears apart theshack with a flick of her hands, says, “I’ll ask Demeter for some better wood,”and is gone and back in the blink of an eye. They build it by hand after that,and Hestia’s soft voice guides him whenever he hesitates or stumbles. They aregods, so it doesn’t take too long, and when they finish they have a small,beautiful house right on the edge of beach, one with a large bed and lots oflight, one with a fire pit in the center that has Hestia’s name inscribed inthe bottom so that she may look over this home she helped build.

“Thank you,” Poseidonsays, the sun beginning to set.

Hestia winks at him, “Anytime,little brother,” and is gone in the next moment.

He hopes Caeneus likesit. Unfortunately, he won’t be able to stick around to find out.

He has a queen tochallenge.

~

He finds her again, inher palace of polished rock at the bottom of the sea.

“There’ll be no helpfulsailor to save you this time,” she says, head tilted to the side. Already thewater is colder around him, the current stronger.

He swallows, “I amPoseidon. I am to be the god of the sea.”

She glances him over,unimpressed. “Why do you want it so badly? There is nothing about you that is ofthe sea.”

“I am a god,” he answersblankly, and doesn’t say that it was this or the underworld, and that wasn’t amess he was willing to take on.

She snorts, a flicker ofamusement appearing in her emotionless gaze. “You are too soft, and too kind,to ever be a master of the sea.” He opens his mouth, but she raises a hand, andhe closes it. She takes slow, deliberate steps towards him, and he swallows anddoesn’t look away. “I will make you a bargain, Poseidon, god of nothing.”

“I’m listening,” heanswers, and tries not flinch when she places a cold hand against his chest.

“I am Amphitrite,” shesays, “sister of Gaia, and I have lived long before your conception, just as Iwill live long after your death.” Poseidon pales, and oh, he had no idea the class being he was dealing with here. Thisis very, very bad. “If you wish to rule the sea, then you must rule me.”

He swallows, “Lady, I – athousand apologies, I did not know–”

“Silence.” His mouthclicks shut. “I was born as I am, and I will die that way. But – I need notlive this way.” He doesn’t understand, and she must see that, because shetouches her own chest and says, “I have a heart as cold and dark as the oceansI bore. I will give it to you, and I and the sea will be yours to command. ButI require your heart in return, so that I may know kindness and softness.”

He doesn’t know what tosay. Hearts aren’t things to be given away lightly. But he must become lord of the sea.

“Take time, if you must,”she says, that same cold amusement in her eyes. “I am as immovable as the ocean,and I will be here when you make up your mind.”

He’s propelled up andonto the shore, far more gently this time around.

“POSEIDON!” he barelyturns when a body slams into him, and lips press against his. Caeneus pins hiswrists to the sand and kisses him, long and slow and more than distractingenough to make him forgot about the offer from the personification of the seaitself. “You built me a house,” he murmurs, “You built me a house.”

“Do you like it?” heasks, dazed.

Caeneus grins above him,wicked and beautiful, and rolls his hips into Poseidon’s. “Come with me, and I’llshow you how much I like it.”

~

Poseidon means to go backto the sea, to Amphitrite, but every morning Caeneus kisses him good morning.He learns of the sea, though. He goes out with Caeneus each day and learns itmotions and its temper, the taste and smell of it. Learns how to understand it,and learns how completely and totally uncaring it is, how the coldness of itsdepth is the totality of it.

The sea is not kind. Ithas no sympathy, no love, no capacity for such small things as forgiveness ormercy.

He means to return toher, but it becomes harder and harder every day.

Days turn to weeks turnto months. He and Caeneus grow closer, and closer, and Poseidon has no idea howhe’s supposed to turn his heart over to Amphitrite when it’s now held by amortal with amber eyes who leaves mouth shaped bruises all along Poseidon’scollar bones.

“Poseidon,” Caeneus says,quiet in the oppressive stillness of the night, head on his chest and curledinto his side. The moon is large and high, and pools silver on their bedroomfloor. “You’re a god, right?”

“I am,” Poseidon says,amused. Caeneus knows what he is, but this is the first time he’s mentioned it.

Caeneus pushes himself upso he can look down at him, and Poseidon reaches up to cup his face. Caeneusleans into it, covering his hand with his own. “Could you make me into a man?”

“You are a man,” he saysautomatically.

He rolls his eyes andpulls himself up so he can swing his leg over Poseidon, straddling his hips. “Youknow what I mean.”

Poseidon shifts enoughthat both their breaths hitch, and he says, low, “No. I’m sorry. I’m not – I haveno domain, and my powers are limited.” He could maybe do it, but transformation is not among his natural talents,and Caeneus is too precious to risk unless he is certain.

He’s disappointed, butsmiles through it, and leans down to kiss him. “It’s all right.”

It’s not. If Poseidonwere the god of the sea in more than name, if he had taken Amphitrite’s offer,he would be able to transform his lover like he desires.

He’s a god, brother ofZeus, and he can’t give Caeneus the one thing he’s ever asked of him. What goodis he, what good is any of his power, if he can’t make the people he loveshappy?

He’s flips Caeneus overand kisses his neck so his lover won’t see the self-hatred that’s plain on hisface.

~

Poseidon sneaks away inthe middle of the night, presses a soft kiss to his sleeping lover’s slack mouth,and enters the ocean.

“You’ve decided then?”she asks, head tilted to the side.

“I will not be a loyalhusband,” he declares, back straight. “I love Caeneus.”

She laughs, and for thefirst time he’s not afraid of her. “Do with your mortals what you wish. It’s noconcern of mine.”

“Okay,” he says, andsteels himself. “Okay. I accept your offer Amphitrite, sister of Gaia.”

She holds out her hand,nails more like claws, and tears open her own chest without flinching. Herblood slick and dark as it pours from her, swirling in the water around themShe pulls a dark, round thing from her chest and holds it out to him.

“I,” he looks down at hischest, and he doesn’t – he’s not sure if he can do what she’s done, and hewould feel foolish asking for a knife.  Shesteps forward and places her hand with its claws against his chest, slippery andwarm with blood, and cuts open his chest for him.

It’s excruciating, andhis knees buckle against the pain of it. Amphitrite holds him up, and waits.

She can’t to this part.It has to be him. He reaches inside his chest and pulls out his heart, beating andwarm. He clumsily places it in her chest. It’s startlingly, violently redagainst the dark green color of the rest of the inside of her. She does thesame, slipping her own heart into his chest.

Their skin heals overinstantly. Amphitrite’s mouth drops open, and her cheeks flush pink. Shesmiles, small and soft, and for the first time she looks – happy.

Her heart in his chestcold as ice, and its chill suffuses his body, edging out to fill him entirely.

He can feel the oceannow, all of it spread across the globe, the tides and the creatures the residein it, it’s plants and animals and nymphs. “It’s so much,” he says, and is surprisedat the sound of his own voice, at its curtness.

“You feel only part ofit,” she says, stepping forward, “It is a force too powerful for a god tocontrol. I am a force to powerful fora god to control. However, you hold my heart. As I will now obey you, so willthe sea.”

“You could overpower me,”he says clinically, knows the power she wields by what he can’t feel ratherthan what he can.

She presses a hand to hischest, and they both startle. She’s warm now. She wasn’t warm before. Orperhaps he has simply grown colder. “I could,” she says, “but I will not.”

He has no reason to trusther, but he’s painfully aware that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. “I’mgoing to Caeneus,” he says, and a sense of unease grows within him. Even theshape of his lover’s name in his mouth doesn’t feel the same anymore.

“Do as you wish, husband,”she turns from him, going deeper into her – their – palace.

This time, he uses hisown powers of the sea to push him to the surface.

It’s not as satisfying ashe thought it’d be.

gods and monsters series part x

#gods and monsters series #part one of two because this got too long #amphitrite's pov for the next one #thanks for all your sweet words anon! #i hope you liked it! #poseidon's origin story #also poseidon is asian #poseidon #amphitrite #caeneus #hestia #hades #greek myth #Greek Mythology #long post

[kurtty-drabbles]

Justicar verse (part 2)

N/A: Uhm, I want to make this have only 5 parts. It is a small challenge for me. So...let´s see if I can really do it. Cadbury and Kitty will meet and Go Girl deserve to be a heroine. Implications will be throw and again, I´ll try to make worldbuilding.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @everykurt @muninandhugin

The view of Wakanda is truly breathtaking and no matter where you stay in Wakanda, you need to see the sunset of Wakanda because it is something akin to spirituality and Ororo Monroe can only let her smile show how this is completely true. And even more, as she´s watching the sunset on her balcony of the royal palace of Wakanda.

Drinking water and gazing fondly at the ring on her middle finger- one that was designed to represent the beauty of this country and all its glory- makes everything sweater and Ororo can still remember the day the man of her dreams offer such jewelry to her. And is revert from her daydreams when a voice drawls her back to reality. "Ororo, are you still here or in the astral plane?" and the Witch Weather looks to see the King of Wakanda, for once, without his Black Panther´s mantle.

"If I was in the astral plane, silly, you wouldn´t be seen me...or would you?" Ororo asks crossing her arms -letting her glass of water on the table before- and smiles at the man who is now thinking so hard she can even see the gears working on his mind. "T´Challa, I´m joking...you would still see me if I was in the astral plane...God, Shuri was right, you´re a nerd" Ororo jokes and T´Challa is not bothered by the joke. Only sighs in relief.

"I´m happy to hear that" T´Challa speaks in an easier tone now-not the first time the women in his life call him a Nerd and T´Challa won´t deny this statement- finally took notice of the newspaper placed aside on the table "Are you keep tabs on what´s happening in the US?" his tone is casual but Ororo only needs to arch one of her elegant eyebrows to make the King of Wakanda drop the poor act.

"I wish you would not bother with what happens there" He states calmly and honest as Ororo sighs and looks away for a moment but the man continues. "But, it wouldn´t be the woman I love if you didn´t care...so tell me, Ororo, tell me what´s in your mind, please" he begs softly.

Ororo´s eyes direct to the ceiling, yet, T´Challa can bet she´s not really noticing the architecture and is drifting away to her past-one that T´Challa does not know all the details.

Her eyes land on T´Challa´s own eyes and she speaks without a filter this time. "I keep thinking...is the cure the real answer?" she inquiries more to herself than to T´Challa. "I know mutants that would give anything to be able to have normalcy" she speaks and gazes at his eyes lovingly now.

"I once knew a mutant that would do anything to be able to touch someone" She caresses his face for a moment. "To have this type of intimacy..." she flashes a kind smile to him as he kisses her hand and Ororo continues now with a forlon look. "Yet, I can´t help by thinking this cure may not be perfect...after all, are they signing up for this?"

"Ororo" T´Challa begins. "No one is forcing them to be cured."

"Yes, but, T´Challa...I´m not an omega...I´m a Beta...should I give up on my powers? Should I feel lucky my powers are so useful and only pity the others for not being blessed?"

"You´re my Queen and if anyone dares to hurt you...it will have to pass through me" His tone is sharp and words don´t doubt the sincerity of his words, but, can´t help by thinking in the what-ifs scenarios.

"And if I wasn´t your Queen? I can´t think of my life without my powers and at the same time...how can I say mutants should be proud of their powers if their powers cause detriment to themselves" Ororo asked again more to herself than to T´Challa.

Black Panther has no answer yet.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

The purple dress may be as glamorous as she was hoping and at the same time, it does resemble a butterfly. Betsy Braddock is more than familiar with the symbolism of a butterfly-she has a serious face as she glances over the penthouse she is living and stares at her reflection only to see purple- and putting her fingers on her temples as her eyes are cover in purple energy. "Butterflies as you only live once ...let´s where you are" she mutters to herself and could feel her mutation activate.

"Betsy?" someone knocks on the door but is already inside the house and Betsy´s glowing eyes deactivated once she looks at her brother, Brian Braddock, who has a big grin on his face. "Sorry to enter like this...I just want to see you...I haven´t seen you for 2 days" he chuckles a bit. "we´re too overworked with the case of Shadowcat" Brain explains and Betsy flashes a cutesy smile.

"Nonsense. We´re brother...Are you here to ask for help in Shadowcat´s case? I´m afraid I can´t do much" Betsy uses her telekinesis to offer some drinks to Brian who declines as he is sober for 4 years now and wants to remain like that. "one bad fight and that change you?" Betsy asked impressed. "I mean, I´m impressed you´re sober and extremely proud but to think it was for a fight for such petty thing" Brian nods sagely.

"If I could be violent for such a thing...I wouldn´t want to know what I could be really violent if I had alcohol..." Brian shakes his head. "No, I´m here only to give a nice hello to my favorite sister" and Betsy mocks roll eyes here while her grin is bigger.

"Brian, I´m your only sister"

"And even if I had 10 you would be my fav!"

And Brian continues. "I heard Wanda Maximoff gave you some troubles..." Brian trails off and Betsy just shurgs off.

"She created a protection system for all the magical users and well, she has magic but no real understanding of politics" Betsy states as if is nothing important and moves her hands around to prove this is not a big deal.

"Ok, and how are all the magic users in the US and UK? We´re British, of course, but...I can´t help to think there are some similarities in the stories I´m hearing" Brian states patiently and Betsy gave him a penetrating gaze for once.

"Yes, some magic creatures do tend to cause problems...some are too dangerous to be near humans...but, we must trust me, Brian, I´m dealing with this in the best way" Betsy promised and Brian waits to see if she would say anything else.

"Betsy...you´d know I´m here for you. To help...you don´t need to do anything alone, right?" his tone is soft as if he´s begging and Betsy cups his face for a moment and speaks again.

"You big oaf, I know this...but, I´m the older twin and I can take care of you and myself just fine, and yes, if I need help I´ll ask for my favorite Justicar" Betsy speaks amused and back to her high spirits. "Now, do you want to eat with me?"

"Oh, let´s save for a rainy day, Betsy...I have to complete a mission" Brian promises and once he´s out of her house and on the elevator the man can only look to the side to see his partner.

"So, how Butterfly went?" his southern British accent is thick and Brian rubs his eyes for a moment.

"Blade, you´re right...something fishy is going here"

"Congratulations, Brian...you get less stupid today. I´m proud of you"

"What is happening to the magical...users?"

"Oh, you mean creatures? Ah, back to the stupid again, anyway...those who aren´t useful ... aren´t needed in Butterfly´s chess game" Blade states poignant.

Meanwhile, once Betsy is back to be alone she´s frowning. "I´ll find you, Meggan Puceanu...just you wait!"

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Kurt Cadbury is not exactly as workaholic as people claim him to be-he won´t deny he loves his job and loves his life in general, but, the man does not live in his office 24/7- and right now, the man wearing his casual outfit getting hopeful looks from the ladies and just straight up having a good time.

So what if he went straight to a boutique shop? He could have been planning to buy a dress for his girlfriend-ignoring the fact he has no girlfriend at the moment- there´s nothing strange in this fact nor with the fact, he went straight to the woman with her naked back asking help to zip her black dress.

And really, there´s nothing strange in helping the said woman zip her dress as he speaks. "I reconize your fluffy her... Kitty Pryde!" and the woman turns to see him smirking at him. Kurt is also smirking in his self-righteous way.

"Oh heavens! Justicar Cadbury knows me? Damn...I must put this on my diary" she teases him and flicks his nose earning incredulous looks by the bystanders - his normal skin is hiding his fur and Kitty can´t help by wonder how he really looks like-

"Kitty Pryde, you´re under arrest!" he states taking his handcuffs. And Kitty comically raises her hands as she looks perplexed- in a fake way as Kurt would like to add- and speaks. "arrest for what? The dress didn´t look good on me...or you want to see me naked that much"

"For being Shadowcat!" he explains feeling his check grow hotter now.

"Oh, that´s so kinky. Did you walk around with your handcuffs only to role play with me? Kinky. But I´m afraid I must explain to those poor people" she mentions the bystanders who are equally confused and some are even turn on by this display. "what´s going on. I´m not Shadowcat and you have no proof...all you have is your love for me" she teases.

"You think too much of yourself!"

"I´m not going after you with handcuffs and saying how your hair is fluffy" and adds. "face it, tiger. You hit jackpot"

Kurt blushes and some ladies in the shop film the interaction amused. The famous bachelor is seeing someone?!

"I know you´re up to something" he couldn´t complete his sentence as a big boom is heard from a few blocks away and his eyes land on Kitty who is scared as the others - Kurt thinks the act is fake- but she looks at him and says. "Justicar Cadbury...will you not save us?"

Kurt points his finger at her and remains silent and leaves. He´s really not workaholic ...

___________________________________________________________________________________________

A few minutes before the big boom on

Edith Swayer is on the storage house looking at the Justicars in front of her who are placing her fears to rest and listening to her story as much they can- Edith is crying fat tears and is holding a big box in front of her chest- and summarize her tale in a few lines.

"Those vandals! They want to destroy the cure and they left...they stole everything but this..." Edith then continues. "But I saved this last box...Did I did something good?" she asked in a childish tone.

The Justicars don´t seem to care but since the cure is valuable and their powers are too volatile to use on Edith, they can play along. "Yes, you did great...now, hand over the box to us"

One of them is channeling their energy and attack Edith if she proves to be a problem...a band of beta stealing from Omegas? heads will roll for sure.

"Let me say one last thing" Edith replies with a big smile on her face. "Go to hell" it was a quick set of motions she stumps on the floor activating the trap and teleport at the same time with the last box of the cure.

Now

Kurt Cadbury is at the crime scene watching the group of Justicars severely hurt being taken care of by medical professions and while people explain what they think they saw - the Justicars aren´t well enough to respond anything- Kurt can only think one thing.

This is Shadowcat´s doing!

#justicar verse au #Kurt Cadbury #Kurt Wagner #best shapeshifter after Mystique #No he is not ashamed of his looks He does goes around in blue form #Sometimes he just like to vary #Kitty Pryde #that scene was funny in my head #Kurtty yet #U go Girl says fuck your cure #Ororo/T´challa

[cherryagency]

10 Best Herbs to Stop Your Period

As a woman, menstruation is a natural part of your monthly cycle. But sometimes our period finds us at inconvenient times, which can be quite frustrating. You may also be experiencing heavy flow, which could get quite uncomfortable. This can lead to fatigue, anemia, depression and even cervical cancer in severe cases. Did you know that you can use herbs to stop your period or to slow your cycle or ease your discomfort and give you more control over your schedule? The following herbs to stop your period can also help in moderating excessively heavy flows, thus making it easier for you at that time of the month.

Looking for other information? There are other ways to ease period discomfort or cramps? Consider this old wive’s tale, which might not be such a tale about using Lemon to stop your period, or maybe you want to know if it will stop in water?

What’s ahead? Natural treatments are often derived from herbs and other plants with real pharmacological characteristics. Most of the time, lifestyle changes can be most effective, but there are some potent herbal treatments that you should definitely consider if you are having mild symptoms.

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  What Herbs Can Make Your Period Lighter?

Natural treatments involve both lifestyle changes, like exercise and diet and changes in our environment, to taking herbs and other therapeutic treatments. Remember that many herbs have proven medicinal benefits; however, you should always consult with a medical professional if you believe that you have a serious or prolonged medical condition. Herbs and natural treatments have been known to treat everything from depression to offering natural treatments for ovarian cysts. So, what are some of the herbs to stop your period that you can use to stop your period for a day or decrease the flow for your entire cycle?

Raspberry leaf

Traditionally, the raspberry leaf has been used to relieve painful menstruation, and it can also be used as one of the best herbs to stop your period, according to the project aware website. Raspberry tea suppresses menstrual flow by constricting the body tissues, and can also be useful in reducing menstrual cramps. The typical dosage for the raspberry leaf ranges from 1.5-2.4 grams per day according to drugs.com.

Angelica root

Also known as Dong Quai or female ginseng, this root has for long been used by the Chinese as a treatment for menstrual cramps, and to relieve menopause symptoms. The Angelica root keeps the female hormones balanced while at the same time suppressing the menstrual flow, thus it is beneficial for timing your period.

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If you are on blood clotting medications, please avoid this root as the two are likely to interact. It is also advisable to avoid it if pregnant as it can cause miscarriage or congenital disabilities.

Radix Noto Ginseng

It is also known as Tien Chi Ginseng or Tien Qi, and it may be effective in stopping any menstrual bleeding. According to an article in the encyclopedia alternative medicine published in 2001, you can stir 1-3 grams of powdered radix Noto ginseng into your juice or soup to suppress menstrual bleeding. Order Noto Ginseng from Amazon.

Lady mantle and garden sage

These two herbs are known to stop the menstrual flow, especially if in excess. Mix a teaspoon of lady’s mantle in a cup of water and allow the mixture to boil for a few minutes. Allow it to cool, and add honey if you wish to sweeten it.

Shepherd’s purse

The herb has anti-hemorrhagic properties, and it has been the next choice when both garden sage and lady’s mantle fail to act.

Ginger is one of the best herbs to stop your period

Boil ginger in water for a few minutes to provide relief and stop the menstrual flow, and take the infusion up to three times a day.

Cinnamon as an herbal remedy for heavy flow

Make a cinnamon tea by steeping one cinnamon stick in a cup of boiling water to stop heavy periods. You can also take 3 drops of tincture of cinnamon back twice a day.

Thyme

There are many medicinal benefits of Thyme including being used as an insect repellent or even as a digestive aid. With regards to your menstrual flow, seep one tablespoon of thyme leaves in a cup of boiling water for ten minutes. This is effective in arresting excessive menstrual flow. You can also use thyme tea mixed with ice cubes as a cold compress on the abdomen to stop the heavy flow.

Mustard seeds

Grind 40 grams of dried mustard seeds to a fine powder, and take two grams of the powder in milk every day to arrest excessive bleeding.

Banana flower

Eat cooked banana flower with a cup of curd to increase progesterone levels in your body and control excessive bleeding.

Indian spikenard

It has been used for ages to treat dysmenorrhea, and it is a very effective natural remedy for heavy periods.

Licorice

Remove the peels and grind the licorice to a fine powder. Take three grams of the powder with water, three times daily for four or five days. It is very beneficial for arresting excessive bleeding during menstruation.

Sacred fig

Extract juice from the fresh and tender leaves of the sacred fig and drink it twice a day during your cycle to treat excessive menstrual bleeding.

Bamboo leaf

Make a decoction from bamboo leaves and nodes and take it twice daily to treat menstrual problems. It is very useful in regulating your menstrual cycle.

Mango bark

Mix 10 ml of the liquid mango bark extract with 130 ml of water for an effective remedy for excessive bleeding during periods. Take a teaspoon of this mixture every hour.

Rough chaff

Soak 20 grams of rough chaff in 300 ml of water and take the tea up to two times daily to treat excessive bleeding.

Mango bark

Add 10 ml of mango bark liquid extract to 130ml of water and take a teaspoon every hour to arrest excessive flow.

The aforementioned remedies are some of the best herbs to stop your period, but there are other herbal remedies for heavy flow include Tenner’s cassia, hawthorn flowers, and jujube tea. It is important to consult your physician, however, before taking herbal remedies, especially if you are on other medications since some harmful interactions may occur. In case you are pregnant or suspect that you could be, it is also paramount to avoid taking any herbal preparations, as they could lead to a miscarriage or congenital disabilities.

The post 10 Best Herbs to Stop Your Period appeared first on Access Project.

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[thehealthology-blog]

New Post has been published on http://thehealthology.com/2017/05/natural-power-this-plant-is-the-best-friend-of-womens-health/?utm_source=TR&utm_medium=TheHealthology+blog&utm_campaign=SNAP

Natural Power: This Plant Is The Best Friend Of Women’s Health!

It works great as a natural regulator of hormones, progesterone stimulates growth and regulates the menstrual cycle, which is extremely important when attempting conception.

This plant is also known as virak, lady’s mantle, rabbit’s foot, lion’s foot and Agile Frog, but is best known by the name lady’s mantle, lat. Alchemilla vulgaris, and its therapeutic properties and beneficial effects on women’s health are known since the Middle Ages. Today it is considered as a universal natural remedy for all women, treating many different diseases.

In medicinal purposes, you should collect the leaves and flowers or the entire flowering plant (the root has no medicinal properties!). The leaves can be harvested in the spring, but it is best to collect them in July / August. Leaves can be collected also after flowering, but then they don’t have that kind of healing power.

Lady’s mantle contains flavonoids, organic acids, tannins, salicylic acid and a real treasure of vitamin C.

Although a large number of its medicinal properties have not yet been explored, lady’s mantle is the best natural remedy for the treatment of infertility. It acts as an excellent natural regulator of hormones; progesterone stimulates growth and regulates the menstrual cycle, which is extremely important when attempting conception. Lady’s mantle strengthens the uterine wall and so protects against miscarriages, and helps with polycystic ovary and for removing the unwanted pounds.

In addition to these benefits for women’s health, lady’s mantle helps with fibroids, cysts, endometriosis, eases menstrual and menopausal symptoms. Tannins contained effectively mitigate heavy and painful periods and regulate the bleeding.

This plant is very effective in the treatment of bacterial and fungal infections. You can simply use tampons soaked in a tincture of lady’s mantle as pessaries.

Recent research has shown that lady’s mantle acts against staphylococcus bacteria that have become resistant to many antibiotics, and Japanese scientists have discovered that the substance from lady’s mantle the agrimonin prevents breast cancer.

Uses of lady’s mantle:

Tea

Put one teaspoon lady’s mantle in a cup of boiling water and let it sit for five to ten minutes. Drink it in always sips in, and drink two cups per day.

A tincture

In a liter of water boil 30 to 50 grams of dried lady’s mantle without roots. Use the tincture for vaginal wash or enemas with intestinal problems.

A Bath

Boil 200 grams of dried or fresh lady’s mantle in three liters of water and pour it into the tub with the prepared water. Stay in the water for 10 to 20 minutes, and then go to bed.

[krakensofpyke]

Among Wolves, Part I

Young Victarion is given over to the wolves.

Victarion had never been so far inland in his life, and he hated it.  There was no appeal to be found in the dry chill of the wind, nor in the endless expanse of unmoving rock and tree.  Their party covered miles on horse and on foot, passing villages and castles, yet the young kraken gave little attention and less regard to any of the structures which were so different from those of the Isles.

He had not begun the journey in such a sour spirit.  His father had introduced the idea as a grand adventure to the North, following Victarion’s 15th name day.  They were to sail up the Summer Sea, passing the Stony Shore, Sea Dragon Point and other coasts of the North before making port outside of Deepwood Motte.  It was to be an opportunity to improve his knowledge of the waters outside of their island home, as well as one to gain experience aboard a longship.  He had jumped at the chance, seeing it as yet another sign that he was to be groomed for the position of Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet.

It was not until they were three days at sea that Lord Quellon had revealed the true motive of the voyage.  “I did bring you out so that you would have more time aboard a ship, though you have acquitted yourself well under the Anvil-Breaker’s command already,” the elder Greyjoy admitted.  “I mean to give you one of your own when you return to Pyke as well, but this was not the whole of why I brought you to sea with me.  You will be Lord Captain one day when old Lord Stonehouse passes into the Watery Hall...”

The young man beamed at his sire.  “It is all I have ever wished for,” he interjected with gratitude.  “I will work tirelessly to bring honor to you and to my bro-”

“I was not finished,” Quellon reprimanded.  “You will be Lord Captain one day, but I will not have Balon make a shark of you, constantly prowling the seas for blood.  We have strength in numbers and gold again, almost as much as we did in the days of my grandfather, Lord Dagon.  I am doing all that I can to see that our people to continue to grow, rather than be squandered on another hopeless rebellion.  To do this, we must nurture alliances with the mainland and our people must learn to put aside the Old Way, or at least refrain from inflicting it upon their fellow Westerosi.”

Victarion’s brow furrowed; he had had no notion that there was to be more to their outing.  “What sort of alliance do you intend, father?  The Northmen are fighting no wars that we might join them in.  Why did you not simply send ravens and have them come to us?  And why bring me instead of your heir?”

The Lord Reaper gave his son a serious glance.  “I have exchanged many a raven with Lord Rickard, son.  Perhaps more than any Son of Pyke has ever exchanged with a Son of Winterfell.”  He put a calloused hand upon Victarion’s shoulder.  “I did not bring Balon precisely because of the nature of this alliance we have planned.  You see, your brother has already been wedded to the Lady Alannys...”

“You do not mean...”

“I do, Victarion.   I intend to have you stay at Winterfell until the beginning of autumn so that you might become familiar with the Starks and they with us.  Additionally, in time, you will be wed to Lord Rickard’s daughter.  Our houses are to be merged, the power and prosperity of both made better in doing so.  It is a fragile prospect right now though, for our people have given the lords of the mainland little reason to trust us.  I am expending every effort to change that, but I need you to help me, son.  I need you to obey me.  You will obey me.”

The adolescent Ironborn rose from his seat, letting his father’s hand slip from the shoulder it had perched on.  He was of a height with Quellon, and the pains he had at night hinted that he might eventually overshadow the mighty man.  Victarion’s eyes flickered with mute disgust.  He wanted no part of this pact; he needed only to consider his stepmother, the lady Piper, to know that the women of the green lands were all soft, pampered quims.  They are fit only to be taken as salt wives...

However, he was nothing if not obedient.  The man who laid this duty before him was both his lord and his father, and he would need to show loyalty if he was ever to take up the mantle of the Lord Captain.  “Very well, my lord,” he replied, his face dark with brooding.

The days passed slowly and without savor afterward.  They reached the raised fortress of Deepwood Motte in little more than a fortnight.  There they had been accepted with chilly spare welcome, with little more than thin stew and lumpy porridge before being urged on to Winterfell.  Lord Quellon did not seem to begrudge them their inhospitality, but Victarion found it insulting.  Be glad we did not bring fire and sword to your pitiful keep, he thought bitterly, though he did not voice it.

The small party of Ironborn made camp on nights when no town was nearby.  There, the young Greyjoy enjoyed the only small consolation offered him during their trek.  Quellon had allowed Maron Botley to accompany them, providing Victarion someone to practice at arms with in his free time.  He was a man in his prime, stout and quick, with two long whiskers that made him look like a catfish.  They sparred twice on most days, at daybreak and past dusk, to the cheering and hooting of the other men in their party.  Quellon seldom emerged from his tent to observe them.

This, however, was not enough to push down the feelings of discontent that hulking young man felt.  One night, when they had made camp outside of an abandoned watchtower in the wolfswood, Victarion had gathered the courage to tell his father that he would not be so easily abandoned in the green lands.  “If I am to be Lord Captain, then I will become a poor one should I be left to languish a hundred leagues from the sea.  And the girl, she will be no more than a salt wife to me, fit for naught but-”

Quellon cut his son short with a stinging slap to the face.  It was easy to forget that his father was unafraid of violence, and the surprise made the blow hurt all the more.  When he looked into the lord’s eyes, he saw weariness rather than fury.  “Son,” he sighed, “when you open your mouth, see to it that your brother is not speaking in your stead.  I will strike you for every time you parrot his thoughts on my actions.” 

Victarion opened his mouth to respond, but his father gestured his silence and continued to speak.  “It is good that you admire your brother, a captain should believe in his lord.  However, if you follow your brother blindly in all things, he may lead you and the rest of the fleet into ruin.  You must think about your situation, rather than reacting as Balon would like you to.  Have you considered that you know nothing of this girl you have so vehemently spurned.”

Chastened, the young Ironborn felt his cheeks redden.  “No, Father,” he replied quietly, “I had not.”  Reflecting on his actions, Victarion realized he had been acting like a petulant child.  He did not like the situation, nor the way he had been swept impotently into it, like driftwood on the tide, but who was he to go against his lord father?  This is the cup that has been passed to me, he brooded, and I may drink the sour wine and be refreshed, or cast it away and succumb to thirst.

“Her name is Lyanna,” Quellon informed him, the tension in his voice slackening.  “She is only thirteen, but already a great beauty, if her father is to be believed.  A fierce and lively girl, more like to pick up bow and arrow than needle and thread.  And look at this.”

The Lord of Pyke rummaged through a small stack of papers and produced a partially rolled missive, indicating a passage in the middle.  “...she is the wind itself when ahorse, so keen is her speed and agility...”  His father read the line aloud as Victarion followed with his eyes.  “Quite a young lady, no?  Just the one to show you that not all women of the mainlands are as soft and dull as Balon would have you believe, I have no doubt.”  

She sounds willful and vexing, he thought saltily, and horse-riding is no fit sport on the Isles.  He knew he would be struck for voicing his contentions, however.  The captain-to-be tried to imagine having this she-wolf as a wife with an open mind, yet all he could picture was his eldest brother, gazing at him with stony disapproval.

After the ponderous days of traveling by land, they had finally crossed the wolfswood.  The small party of Ironborn had barely found the Kingsroad before a company of men in Stark garb had met them from the south.  They had been expected, and were meant to act as an escort to Winterfell, but the looks they gave the Greyjoys were grim and very nearly hostile.  Victarion might have welcomed their naked steel if the journey had not worn him so. 

The sun had crept past its zenith by the time Winterfell’s North Gate came into view.  Their guides shouted a greeting to the guards at the wall, and the gates creaked open.  Within, a drawbridge was slowly swinging into place.  The soldiers of House Stark had known better than to voice any insults to their lord’s guests, but the look on each ones’ face seemed to say behave yourselves, Ironmen, you are not welcome here.

 For once, Victarion’s mind was not consumed with distaste for his surroundings.  The immensity of the castle had robbed him of his reproach.  It was one of the great old fortresses of the Age of Heroes, just as Pyke was.  A labyrinth of walls and walkways greeted him as he crossed over the moat, and a structure made entirely of clear glass sprawled out to his right.  Many of the towers and keeps poked up from the south, but he was also able to see the tops of trees swaying in the cool summer wind.  A forest within a castle, he marveled, this is their godswood.  Septs had profaned the surface of the Isles for centuries, but no Ironborn lord had succeeded, or ever properly tried, to raise a grove for the Old Gods.  There was something both beckoning and terrible about the spray of red leaves that he could see just beyond the wall.  A ship made of weirwood would be the terror of the seas from the Arbor to Asshai.  

A chuckle broke Victarion’s silent inspection.  “Awed by the castle, are you son?”  His father offered a wry grin.  “Do the mainlands still hold no interest to the great, proud son of the Kraken?”  

He scowled at the man.  “It smells like dirt here, there is no tang of salt in the air.”  

Quellon made as if to strike his son as he had promised, but instead merely patted his cheek.  The condescension of the act was more infuriating than any slap.  “Aye, I’ll admit that I prefer the scent of the sea, my boy.  You’ll get used to it though.  You’ll have to.”

Drowned God preserve me and forgive me...

#The Lord Captain [Victarion POV] #victarion greyjoy #part one of me fleshing out what I am going to call #winter au #also if anyone knows any Lyanna blogs that might be willing to write this sort of thing with me please send them my way