#he smashed his hooves into my head while i was taking a drink from a water bottle

[cbk1000]

So Mr. Jenn leaned over to pet Seamus, and Seamus decided the thing to do was smash his head into the underside of Mr. Jenn's jaw so hard that Mr. Jenn chipped a pretty sizeable chunk off one of his teeth.

#just horse dog things

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Emp-ire “The Stupidest Thing.”

Wrote this this morning, thought it was fun. 

Hope you guys enjoy.

“Every damn time.”

“I know.”

“Every damn time.”

“I KNOW!”

…

…

“Is this like your kink or something.”

“Shut up Ramirez, you’re hardly one to talk.”

“Perhaps I am, but don’t you find it just a little bit weird that every other weekend you seem to get kidnapped by someone. I swear it's going to turn out you are a lot less vanilla than I thought you were and getting kidnapped is like your kink or something.”

Adam sighed deeply, “Getting kidnapped is not my kink.”

…

“I mean if it was, all you had to do was ask.”

“Ramirez.”

“I’m pretty adept at tying knots.”

“Sweet lord in heaven above  save me.”

Below him the horse rocked slowly back and forth. Though he was objectively not off balance, having his hands tied to the saddlehorn certainly made him feel as if he were off balance. Below him Maroz grunted and tossed her head as if she knew something was going on. Ahead of them, the party of bandits, or outlaws or whatever the hell they were laughed and joked together tossing a bottle of whiskey back and forth.

At the head of the column rode their leader a man by the name of Vincint McBride. A man whose graces Adam had not particularly ingratiate himself into, but that tended to happen when you kick a man in the balls with the universe’s most powerful servo operated mechanical prosthetic.

Adam had not gotten off lightly for that. He had a boot shape bruise on his face, a nose that was tender, but luckily not broken, and at least one or two broken ribs. He had certainly taken a beating from this group of men and it wasn’t likely to be his last.

“I blame you.” He muttered

Ramirez looked affronted, “how is this my fault. If it were up to me we would still be back in town wooing barmen and barmaids and drinking too much. It was YOU that decided to come out here in the first place.”

“I seem to recall it was YOU who dragged me on this ‘vacation’.”

Their bickering continued for some time,the two hardly noticing as they dropped down into a small valley, and the line of horses pulled to a stop. 

McBride looked around the little canyon, “We camp here for tonight!” He announced sliding down from his horse, “Someone get those two unloaded.”

Turns out, unloaded meant being dragged and turfed unceremoniously onto the dirt from four or five feet up. Ramirez hit the ground with a grunt, and Adam did the same rolling onto his side groaning and coughing bound hands pressed to his aching ribs.

McBride stared at him in amusement.

“Tie them up.”

His crew did as ordered grabbing them by the arms and legs and binding them fast.

Adam found himself pinned up against some sort of alien tree, a strange yellow grass brushing at the back of his legs

It was in that moment that he remembered the implanted tracking device in his cest, and lit up with excitement for a moment before suddenly realizing….. It only broadcast in moments of extreme distress.

And despite what was happening to them.

He actually hadn’t been in nearly enough distress.

He tried to conjure some up, but it was no use. 

He didn’t feel anything.

McBride leaned forward puffing a swirling ring of smoke into his face from the cigarette dangling from his mouth, “You’ll be worth a pretty penny. Who knows, maybe we can get something for the marine too.”

Behind him his men chuckled.

Adam lifted his head, “Those will kill you, you know.”

McBride took the cigarette from his mouth and contemplated Adam, “Better to live fast and die young rather than die old never having lived at all eh.”

“Not when that dying young comes from lung cancer.”

McBride pursed his lips, reaching up and knocking Adam’s hat back off his head. Adam had to turn his head away from the sun that shone down on them through the bright blue atmosphere. He watched in apprehension as the man pulled a large, wicked looking knife from a sheath at his belt and tapped it against the side of Adam’s face.

“How much did you pay for that eye boy, two thousand, four thousandmaybe. It looks like Tesraki work after all, and I know they run a hard bargain.”

Inside his head, Adam watched as the targeting radicals of his mechanical eye fell over the man’s face.

“Its a pice of junk.” he lied

The man laughed, “Admiral Vir, you are a very poor liar.” He leaned in close so that Adam could smell his hot, rancid breath.

“I think, before we sell you back to your master, dog, I might just sell the rest of you for scrap parts.” He tapped the barrel of his gun against Adam’s prosthetic making a hollow metal clattering noise as he did.”

Adam felt his insides tighten up, no, not the leg, the eye he could get a new one but…. But that leg!

He wasn’t entirely sure it was even something someone else could take off him. The Steel eye wasn’t exactly keen on parting from him on most occasions, and he doubted it would take kindly to being removed by these thugs.

The thought made his entire body ache with pain that hadn’t even come yet.

McBride turned his head to look over at Ramirez, who was tied to the next closest tree, “And how about your friend over here, does he have any spare parts I should know about.”

Ramirez lifted his head in some measure of defiance.

“I have a couple spare parts I think you might be interested in….”

The sinister smile with which Ramirez gave the group of men made it pretty clear that while he was making a euphemism, his true meaning was going to be far more sinister.

McBride snorted, “Not likely. I’m not interested in ‘your’ spare parts.”

Ramirez tilted his head, “Really because it looks to me like you could use a spare pair of balls.”

The men in the circle snarled, and McBride raised  hand.

“Don’t test me, marine, or I might just have to borrow yours.” He flipped the knife between his fingers and Ramirez went silent, though he kept a defiant eye trained on McBride.

The man looked at him with his head tilted to the side, peering out from under the brim of his black and red hat. The collar of his white shirt flickered somewhat in the wind that rolled down through the valley.

“While I appreciate your little banter, boys. It's time I get to collecting on my ransum,” 

He turned to look at his group raising his voice to shout, “Get settled in. We camp here tonight and then meet with our fence tomorrow morning. He might be able to help us sell this one off before the train, now. Get to WORK!”

Adam turned his head to glance over at Ramirez as the group of men and women broke into a sort of frenzy, setting up camp. On occasion, a few of them would come by just to throw a jibe at Adam or Ramirez waving guns or knives in their faces and threatening horrible horrible things upon them. Adam didn’t let them know that the threats were sort of getting to him. Granted this wasn't his first time around the block when it came to getting kidnapped.

This was, however, one of his first times getting kidnapped by another human.

And if there was anything he knew after years working with aliens.

It was that humans were far scarier than any alien.

The sky turned purple as the sun began to set, and as he sat there by the tree and watched the light fade and the shadows grow long, he couldn’t help but wonder what Sunny was doing. He doubted she had been stupid eough to get herself kidnapped. If it was her in this situation, they probably wouldn't have been kidnapped at all.

He glanced over at McBride strutting around his camp like a Rooster struts around a clutch of hens, that long decorative knife glittering at his belt.

No matter how he came out of this.

McBride wouldn;t be leaving with that knife.

He was going to make sure of it.

***

He was half asleep running footsteps jolted him back to consciousness.

Adam lifted his head in confusion and looked around to see one of McBride’s men skidding down from a nearby hill holding a rifle in one hand as his arms failed wildly to keep his ballance, “Vincent! VINCENT!”

One of the bedrolls on the ground jerked, and the outlaw sat up in bleary confusion, the fire flickering over his half dazed face, “What now!”

“It's the Sheriff! It's the sheriff and his boys. Followedus somehow, and heading right this way. WE HAVE TO GO!”

That got the entire camp on its feet very quickly scrambling for whatever they could grab.

“NO TIME.” the man howled, “They're almost here!” “Grab the prisoners, and LET'S MOVE.” McBride ordered. 

Adam exchanged glances with Ramirez who gave him a wicked little smile.

Adam nodded.

Two men ran forward to untie them, and in their haste became rather sloppy.

Adam watched hungrily as the man dropped to untie his legs from the tree. Adam shifted his pelvis to the side somewhat, and as the last rope came undone, he lashed out with a kick to the chest with devastating consequences. The steel eye prosthetic roared to life and set the man flying back a good two feet before he slammed into the ground gasping, eyes wide and bulging ribs cracked.

Adam fell to the side and rolled, and thorough the ground he could feel the thundering of hooves.

Off to his side Ramirez, without the gift of a powerful prosthetic, did something else.

With the grace and flexibility of a career olympic ice skater, he kicked one of his legs up smashing his foot straight into the chin of the other man, with all the flexibility and grace you wouldn’t expect from someone wearing jeans and cowboy boots.

The effect was much the same as wat Adam had achieved, and he managed to roll to the side and skid down into a low rocky depression.

That is when the gunfire started and they could hear the sound of McBride ad his men shouting to each other.

Ramirez hand managed to get his tied hands out from behind his back and used them to untie Adam’s feet and hands. Adam pulled Ramirz’s hands free and then turned to run back up the hill skidding between rocks and boulders as he bolted towards McBride’s voice. That little bastard was going to pay.

He came up behind one of McBride’s men slamming into him with his shoulder and knocking him to the ground. He grabbed the man’s pistol from his hand and, in a moment of uncharacteristic viciousness, pistol whipped the man across the temple causing him to fall to the ground silent and unconscious.

He could see muzzle flash from up the canyon walls, and kept in cover just in case as he chased after McBride. He could hear the horses going absolutely ballistic just across from him and peeked out from around the side of the boulder only to have to throw himself back as a bullet chunked the rock into shards beside his head, He cursed violently and crawled to the other side of the rock. 

He peered out from behind and shook his head, No wonder these assholes couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn since those of them using handguns insisted on firing with only one hand. Adam wasn’t exactly the sharpshooter of the year, but he had been trained in the force long enough to know you were far more accurate using both hands.

At least that’s what he thought until a moment later when one of his bullets managed to impact the side of another man’s gun, shooting it from his hand. The man looked up at him in wide eyed consternation and awe. Adam just frowned.

He had been aiming for the head, but he guessed that wa going to have to do. Behind him he could hear Ramirez’s whoop of triumph as he managed to get his hands on a gun, and together the two of them joined forces with the sheriff.

“There he goes!”

Ramirez shouted, and Adam followed his pointed finger to McBride who had managed to acquire a horse and was now riding up the canyon. Adam broke into a dead sprint after him. The horses were in disarray, but he managed to find Maroz rearing and screeching at the back of the group.

He reached up his hands to calm the horse, and to his surprise, the beast pulled back, lowering herself to the ground and shaking her head.

He grabbed her reins and hauled himself into the saddle, “Come on, Lets go!” He snapped the reins and squeezed her sides forcing her into a dead gallup after the retreating McBride.His body rocked in the saddle, but he kept his ips loose and his head low and forward as wind whipped past him.

McBride Turned in his saddle and shot off a few rounds, though riding a horse one handed was hardly the best way to take a shot and the bullets sparked off the canyon wall. Adam pulled out his own weapon, and making a sudden decision, he released the reins, drew himself up an fired with both hands.

He nearly fell off his horse, but the effect was a desired one as, for the second time that day, he sent a gun spinning from the hand of his enemy. That too was also accidental, but if he ever told this story he was definitely going to say that it was totally on purpose.

The two of them skidded around the next corner and Maroz was gaining, clearly a far superior horse to the tatty bay that the man had chosen.

Adam didn’t have any rope, and even if he did, he had no idea how to use a lasso. Apparently he had missed that lesson on being a cowboy, and found there to really be only one other option afforded to him.

He drew up alongside the other man’s horse and slipped his feet from the stirrups, bringing himself to a low crouch on the saddle.

He could feel his feet slipping and knew he had to act now, so he launched himself to the side.

Maroz whinnied loudly but kept her feet.

The same could not be said for either Adam or McBride as Adam tackled the other man from the saddle and the two of them went careening towards the ground. It was about halfway down that Adam realised this might not have been such a good idea since this was about the equivalent of pitching oneself out of a car at about 25 miles an hour.

Needless to say they hit the ground hard.

The kind of hard that knocks you into another dimension for a moment. Luckily for him he landed on top of McBride before bouncing off and tumbling into the rocks. It hurt like a sonofabitch but, finally he was able to stagger to his feet. Somewhere in there, he had gone and lost his handgun, leaving both him and Mcbride unarmed as they crawled to their feet winded and limping.

What followed was probably the most uncoordinated fistfight to have ever existed on the history of the planet as the two of them fell over, slipped, wobbled and cursed at teach other.

Hoofbeats were nearing them from behind, and more shouting voices. He thought it was the sheriff, and that is probably what got him into so much trouble…. As the horse barled into him, and he was knocked unconscious for a second time that week.

He woke up next to a fire groaning thinking for a moment that he had been recaptured before a familiar face turned to look on him from above, a familiar mustachioed face and a glittering golden badge.

“Sheriff?”

“That was the right stupidest thing I have ever seen, boy.” The man announced in his drawing country accent.”

Adam sat up with a groan hand on his head,

“The stupidest thing I have ever seen, but probably…. The bravest thing too.” He held out a hand, something glittering in his palm, “here, take this, you earned it.”

He looked up in confusion reaching out to take the shining handgun from the other man’s hand.

“It's McBride’s.”

Looking down he could see the scuff that his own bullet had left on the side of McBride’s gun.

[ffangirlingsince2001]

Body on Fire

theichabbieclub asked:

Can u do the scene where Geralt yells at Jaskier. But replace Jaskier with reader. Later that day, He's worried because they're quiet. He thinks it's bc he yelled at them but it was because they have heat exhaustion. He is so caught up into his thoughts that reader is able to sneak off. He finds them sitting on the ledge of a bridge. He talks them down, and apologizes. He then realizes that they have heat exhaustion and they lose consciousness and he cools them off, apologizing when they wake up

A/N: So, sorry in advance but I didn’t totally follow this request. I still hope it satisfies you!

Geralt x Reader 

Warnings: angst, heat exhaustion, almost drowning, injury, fluff 

“Why is it that whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shoveling it?” He was yelling before you knew what was going on. You didn’t even know why he was mad, but he was pointing the finger at you for… whatever it was. “The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it!” Now you were really confused, you hadn’t had anything to do with that. You were there of course but you hadn’t done anything of consequence. You were going to ask him what he meant, what was wrong, how you could help, but he never let you. “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

It was like a knife, cold and precise. You stumbled a little and nodded, tears building in your eyes. You didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know anything it seemed.

“I’ll go wait by the horses,” you whispered, not sure if you were still welcome there. You knew he was just angry, at whatever had gone wrong. You knew that, he had a problem, saying whatever he wanted to and being forced to apologize for it later. You had already forgiven, like you had every time before when the words slipped from his lips that were harsher than they should have been. That didn’t take away the feeling in your head though. That had been there long before he had told you to fuck off. That’s why you had shown up for the verbal beating in the first place, to ask for help. To figure out why the world seemed to spin with every step and his words echoed around like thick mirages. Everything seemed so heavy you couldn’t even manage being hurt, the weight too much to bear. You could barely hold your sword let alone a grudge.

‘Drink something’ is what Jaskier would say if he were here. That was his answer to every ailment, and for the most part it seemed to do the trick. It was all in what you drank though, and you were sure the ale wouldn’t be very helpful.

Woozy fingers rummaged through your packs, searching for water. Your eyes burned as saltwater filled them, though you weren’t sure if that was the tears or the sweat gathering on your forehead. The nerves in your fingers felt for anything cool, taking over for your sight, but there was none to be found. Not a single drop of water in the entirety of your rations, only ale and bread that was dryer than you felt.

Geralt eventually joined you and silently climbed atop Roach and took off, not even pausing to glance in your direction. You would have shouted at him if you’d been able, but your stomach churned when you opened your mouth and you decided it was best if you kept your mouth closed.

It was miraculous you were able to get on your horse at all. By the time you had been able to the mount the steed you felt exhausted, muscles and bones aching alike. Every time the horse’s hooves hit the ground you let out a soft groan, praying for a smoother ride. Praying for the horse to sprout wings and let the cool air wash over you, or throw you into a river, whichever destiny deemed fit.

The sun was laughing at you, heavy rays beating into your skin as you urged your horse to catch up with the angry Witcher. Even when you stopped beneath the shade of the tree and slid from your horse, the sun still seemed to creep through the branches and emblazon itself across your skin.

He was talking to you. You could see his lips moving and hear the bass in his voice reverberating against your skull.

“I’m going for a walk,” you announced, or hoped you announced. As you left you bumped against Geralt and felt the world tip. He must have said something, you swore you heard it, but then he wanted you gone. Maybe it was a goodbye.

You walked through the woods, slowly pulling off the extra layers of clothing. The lowest layers refused, stuck to you like starfish against slick stones. They wouldn’t leave and you were so hot they were melting into your skin. You could hear a river, cool and fast rushing against the earth that threatened to overtake it. It filled your every sense and as you swayed, searching for the sound of relief that beckoned you.

Something caught your foot and you fell, crashing to the rotted, wet wood of the ground. And then there it was, rushing beneath you was the river, thrashing and beckoning you like a mistreated lover. Stretching your hand over the edge of what you suspected was a bridge you could feel the spray of water against your fingertips. The relief was a drug and you wasted no time in pulling yourself to the edge, reaching out for the water.

A voice interrupted the water, it called to you but you couldn’t bare to lift your head and settled for plunging into the rocky water.

Geralt wanted to apologize so badly. The moment he had said it he had felt bad, and it hadn’t gotten any better when she pushed past him, muttering she was going to take a walk he knew he couldn’t let her keep thinking he actually meant anything he had said to her. As he searched for her, he found a trail of her clothing scattered amongst the leaves.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, gathering the clothing as he went. He could hear the main river in the distance, but he prayed that she hadn’t attempted to cross. He pushed through the bushes and a silent scream left his lips as he watched her plummet from the bridge. He wasted no time diving in after her, ignoring everything he had ever been taught about the river. It pulled him away and he struggled to gain control, fighting through the surging waters to find Y/N. Water filled his mouth when he pulled above the surface to call her name and a boulder lingering beneath the surface smashed into his shoulder. He grunted and pulled himself above the surface again, his strength waning as the water tossed him around with ease. This time he caught sight of a hand clinging to a rock, fingers slipping down the smooth stone. He pushed forward, pulling through the water before she slipped away again.

Something below the surface cut through his torso and a roar of pain filled his mouth with water once again, but his hand wrapped around yours nonetheless and you both tumbled into the water. Hands wrapped around your waist and he kicked you both to the bank. Coughing and sputtering he checked for a pulse, shaking fingers pressing to your throat in desperation. As he searched, panic began to well up in his throat.

He had killed you. Oh dear god, he had killed you. The last things he ever said to you was that he wished you were gone, and now you were. Sobs bubbled inside him and he could barely breath as he clutched your shoulders, breaking as you lay lifeless before him.

Until… there it was, soft but pattering furiously. He could have cried, you were alive, you were still in his arms.

But your skin burned him. You should’ve shivering but instead every inch of you was on fire.

“Y/N, Y/N, wake up. You have to tell me what’s wrong with you,” he whispered, shaking you furiously. With a soft cough you turned over and vomited up the water you had swallowed in your exhaustion induced swim. He patted your back gently, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it,” he cried, but you had no interest in his apology, the blood staining his shirt was of much higher concern to you.

“Geralt, you’re bleeding,” you gasped, reaching to put pressure on the wound, but he pushed you away.

“No listen, that’s not important. I’m sorry, I drove you to try and kill yourself,” he gasped, and you shook your head, ripping off a ball of fabric to control the bleeding. “What are you doing? Stop helping me, I almost killed you.”

“Geralt!” you snapped and he glanced at you, heavy hearted, “I did not jump into that river because of what you said to me. I know you. I know you didn’t mean it. I was hot, I’m still so fucking hot.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, Geralt, I was delusional. I had no idea what was going on. It was an accident, and you saved me, so if you want me to say it, You’re forgiven. You’ve earned it.” He had finally let you bandage his wound, the shock forcing the fight out of him.

“I am sorry.”

“I know, but please, let’s just rest.” You could tell he wanted to argue, to continue begging for forgiveness, but you weren’t having it. “Please.”

“Okay,” he conceded and then, injury and all, he carried you back to camp, laying you among the shade, and insisted that never again would you try something so incredibly stupid. You assured him you wouldn’t and let your eyes close while a cool breeze washed over you, taming the fire you had tried to extinguish.

[shadlad24]

More Funny Little Moments #1: Season 1, Episodes 1-12

So, I decided to do this post after all. Halp. LOL Because I apparently LOVE giving myself a bunch of unnecessary work, I decided to choose two to three extra moments, per episode! SUPER halp! X’D Anyway, these are moments that didn’t make the cut for my FFLM series because: my sense of humor is a little weird, they were gonna be too much work (LOL/Siiigh), I like to highlight patterns, and I don’t like a lot of repetition. [Links to each FFLM along the bottom of the post. :)]

Let’s start with something I originally agreed with other fans on but have since changed my mind. A lot of people didn’t like this part of “Chariots of War” because it seems so ludicrous that Xena would forget her chakram anywhere. Well, let me tell you! This lady has left her weapons behind most episodes thus far. I didn’t note it every time here (and especially didn’t bother with her whip) because that’d really overrun the post buuuuut… You’ll see. XD

1.01 Sins of the Past

Xena’s shift being so much dirtier than the little boy’s clothes though she’s high up off the ground, and he lives in smoked-out rubble.

Yup. Xena forgot her sword (and later, her main saddlebag) at her mother’s tavern. Pft.

Sorry these were kinda lame, but I didn’t want to re-use any more of the original fifteen points I made about this episode... Ah well. Moving on! (heh)

1.02 Chariots of War

Xena loses her sword after the chariot crash, taking up and discarding Sphaerus’s but walking off without her own. (See her front and back and both of Argo’s sides.)

Gabrielle chewing Xena out, Xena being bummed about it, and Argo being surprised. X’D

1.03 Dreamworker

This got me good. Gabrielle does Xena’s war cry so well here that I really thought it was Xena for a few seconds. Realizing it was GabbyWabs only made me chuckle more because she apparently can’t do it when it really counts in “The Greater Good.”

Argo NOT being on Team Gabrielle. XD (Their feud is a little funny to me.)

1.04 Cradle of Hope

Xena tossing aside her sword after killing Nemos. Extras even dance and celebrate right on top of it! Wut thuh?

I decided to avoid mentioning Hope in the FFLM because Xena’s quote here is more ironic than comedic, and Gabrielle’s little face is just so sad, but I didn’t want to let it pass by entirely unremarked upon. At least GW gets to show off her oracle skills again? :’)

1.05 The Path Not Taken

So, Xena and Gabrielle walk into a bar… Heh. No, but really, they enter this tavern for the first time ever, yet the bartender not only knows what they want, he knows that they’re coming and has their drinks waiting for them too. All Xena has to do is knock on the counter and nod to get her fire-breath alcohol/oil, and Gabrielle barely has the word “cider” out of her mouth before the guy hands it to her. Xena, like me, is duly amazed.

Lucy, through Xena, making another timely anti-peanut statement. I just didn’t want to do the same thing twice back-to-back in the FFLM. X)

1.06 The Reckoning

Gabrielle thinking along the same lines Xena and I did about this poor excuse for a judge.

Me not being well-versed in ancient Greek heroes and picturing the fool who Draco killed so handily in the first episode. heh

1.07 The Titans

I’ll let Xena explain this one. …Mostly. I can’t believe Gabrielle not only sassed the Titans such that she unashamedly put Xena and Phyleus in danger too, but also kinda got this (admittedly awful) town demolished and didn’t lift a finger to actually help anyone in the temple. Tsk tsk. XP

So… Hyperion here can smash homes and businesses that were probably well-built and reinforced and all, but he can’t get his hand out of a stocks-cuff that was made in a single evening with scraps from those destroyed buildings. He also, inexplicably, has no use of his left hand or the power-breath that he used to knock Gabrielle over. Okie. XD

1.08 Prometheus

Is this really a thing? I was giggling quite a bit in disbelief that severed windpipes can heal. Like, perforated is one thing; completely bisected? Yeah, I don’t think so.

Gabrielle being incredulous upon learning that Xena has other friends, realizing what the warrior princess means, and then wondering if that could be her one day. 

   1.09 Death in Chains

Gabrielle enjoying watching Xena kill someone for the first time, then quickly realizing that fact. Whoops.

I found this moment really odd and then kind of hilarious. This poor dying old woman begs for water and goes ignored not only by the hospice workers, but also Talus and Gabrielle. Then Talus decides to be helpful. Gabrielle goes to the woman and lets her talk a lot (undoubtedly drying her mouth and throat even more), hears that Xena might be in danger, and then just… leaves. Talus goes with her, not having gotten water from the well after all. What a couple of jerks! XD

1.10 Hooves & Harlots

I really don’t know why Gabrielle kept making this face as Terreis died, but it tickled my funny bone too. So, I provided alternate subs to go with it. [Did you notice how she kind of cringes when Terreis tries to hold her hand and then just lets the Amazon flop once she’s died, flinging her hand aside like, “Ew, get it off me!”? What was that all about? X”) Hm… maybe she has an aversion to dying people, and that’s why she abandoned the old lady last episode?]

Gabrielle being a smart aleck, just like me, because Phantes’s complaint here is so ludicrous. But then you see the close-up of little hoofies in cuffs too, and, if you’re anything like me too, kinda just topple over laughing. The poor actual horse they did this to, though, man! What even?

Gosh, this episode was chockfull of hilarity, eh? Why did this happen? Gabby, take it away!

1.11 The Black Wolf

I laughed at this too. But now I wonder. Is Xerxes related to Caesar and/or connected to Rome or something? Because Xena does this twice around them too. In “When in Rome,” she jokes that the two guards lost playing tag with her, and in “A Good Day” she informs Pompey that if there were more guards hiding around their meeting space, then she would have had more helmets. heh Oh, Xenie. I think I know why Gabrielle’s turning out to be such a little punk ...or vice versa? Is Gabrielle actually a bit of a bad influence on Xena? XP

So, this fight just struck me as really odd. Xena passes her sword to Flora though she (Xena) needs to battle the big boss of the episode, and… actually, is totally right. The king throws a single wide-ass punch, waits while Xena kicks the guy behind her a few times, lets himself get kicked in the face a couple of times, and then comes at her with a little piece of chain, presumably from the restraints that were intended to keep Flora in place during her execution. Sir, you have a sword! A giant sword, right there on your hip! What are you doing? Then, when Xena kicks him a final time and sends him flying, his (supposed-to-be) metal armor is no match for the splintered wood of the axe she broke earlier. …Okie. XD XD XD   *gif below*

Xena once again leaves her chakram somewhere. …And I am now imagining this being part of Gabrielle’s maid duties: the poor kid has to go find Xena’s weapons each night and bring them back to her. I’m especially imaging the fluffball hilariously, adorably struggling to get the chakram out of things like this wall, as she did with Xena’s sword in the tree stump in “Dreamworker,” but more parallel to the floor. Cuuuute! XD

This plus this 

*pic + GIF below*:

1.12 Beware Greeks Bearing Gifts

This scene too really made me wonder, though amused as well. Why is Gabrielle so surprised that the only city nearby, that they were headed to, is the one they find? Is she really being that loud? Is Xena goofing around with the bootlaces question? Why startle Gabrielle and then yank her into enemy territory screaming, when what you want is quiet? What’s with the trapdoor-spider soldiers? Xena’s pose throwing the chakram. XD Gabrielle mostly featherlight dance-y moves through the battlefield. XD XD XD Why is it that when Xena tells Gabrielle to stick right behind her, Gabrielle disappears? And what was with the bucket-sitting soldier? Gabrielle is like, “Oh; no, thank you!” when she sees him and turns tail. Then Xena ...follows her. “We’re goin’ this way! Now we’re goin’ that way!” But they still end up dead-ahead from where they burst out of the bushes. XD That was ridiculous and nonsensical, and I’m very confused but had lots of fun. heheheh  *gif below* [ETA: Darn! The original file was too big, so I had to remake the GIF and cut quite a few things out. :( Sorry]

Xena’s outta-nowhere crusade to emasculate Deiphobus coming full-circle. What was that all about?

Welp, I hope you had as much fun as I originally and then later did. Not so much in the middle with the collage-and-GIF-making and editing and redoing, but; y’know. XD Wouldn’t trade it for …Hm… Nevermind. LOL

If you missed any of the FFLMs, then please click on the corresponding number-links below. :D

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[mommymooze]

Coffee is Delicious

Hubert x reader

Mentions of fighting/battles/death  Coffee beans are mutilated 

Your heart is pounding strong and steady as you continue to develop and perfect your lance skills while mounted on the back of your Pegasus. All members of the Black Eagles Strike Force hone their skills constantly, never knowing when they will be called to battle against their enemies. Rising with the sun, you consume a hearty protein filled breakfast followed immediately by sweat laden muscle building exercise. Allowing a brief cooldown while you drink plenty of water to compensate your body for the fluid loss, you then spar and develop your lance techniques.

Lunch is spent socializing with your friends as best you can. Mostly you observe them, too shy to comment or draw attention to yourself. Watching everyone laugh at Caspar’s antics, nodding while all are complimenting Dorothea on her latest opera performance, and hiding your snickers as they give Linhardt a difficult time for just being his obnoxious self.

The next several hours are invested in your magical development. Practicing lower level spells, learning new spells, building your casting abilities and increasing your focus and concentration. Next you are sprinting to the stables for Pegasus or horseback riding. Finally, you clean up, have a light dinner and spend time with friends, or continue research.

If you check the dictionary for the word Shyness, there is a picture of you hiding behind a book and Bernie hiding behind you. Carrying on a conversation with a single person is manageable for you. A war council meeting with 10 or more people? You can manage to be present at the meeting. Participation is out of the question. Entering the room, you take a seat, placing your hands and notebook in your lap. Visibly above the table only your eyes and head move to the direction of the person speaking. Copious amounts of notes fill the pages of the notebook. Thoughts, perceptions, even recommendations on how to carry out tasks that are brought up at the meeting. After a meeting one day when the only two remaining in the room consist of you and Hubert, he asks to see your notes. He is quite aware of your hesitancy to address a group.

“These are excellent observations. Why did you not bring them up during the meeting?” The dark mage inquires, already knowing the answer.

“I, uh, did not want to interrupt. I just…” your voice fades to silence and you can only focus on your notebook on the table.

“May I suggest that you sit next to me during tomorrow’s meeting.” Hubert begins, “If you will allow me to discretely view your annotations, I will offer your thoughts in such a way that no attention or scrutiny will be directed towards yourself.”

“Sure.” You shrug. Not that you would ever disagree with him. You have heard Emperor Edelgard state too many times that Hubert is an extension of herself and any order or direction from him is the same as if she had proclaimed it herself.

Hubert rises and dismisses you. Skittering to your room you drop your book, fall lengthwise on the bed, smash your pillow into your face and scream. Hubert, your crush, noticed you. He appreciates some of your observations and you are invited to sit next to him. It takes you a few minutes to get your breathing under control and the flush to fade from your face.

Quickly throwing on your sparring garb, you run out to meet with Ferdinand for lance practice. Both of you obtain a healthy, challenging workout as he also educates you on the finer points of his presentation that he had made during the council meeting. You actively banter with him, bringing up some notable flaws and considerations which he appreciates and will review your logical points.  

The Strike Force is embroiled in a particularly rough battle close to the Oghma Mountains. The air is cooler there to begin with, however with it being Guardian Moon with temperatures below freezing, the winds tear through your clothes like frozen daggers of ice as you fly on your Pegasus. The close knit group is responding to the reports of a large quantity of enemy forces entering into Varley territory.

Your coal black steed swoops low, hooves barely clearing the ground as you direct your lance into the chest of an enemy cavalier. Just as the winged steed is directed to head back into the skies, an enemy mage strikes with a flash of purple light blinding your vision. An experienced flier such as yourself should have no problem hanging on, however the frigid temperatures combined with flying at dizzying heights and speeds have allowed the unforgiving chill of the weather into your limbs, your hands too numb to firmly grip your saddle, you are thrown from the back of your steed. The screams of dying soldiers the last thing you hear before you lose consciousness.

 There is no camp as they planned to arrive, fight, and return. The Empire’s Elite forces decide to detour further into Varley territory, where roads are better constructed and Inns are not too difficult to find.

You are carried from the field after the battle concludes. The healers asses your condition. A concussion and aftereffects of being struck by black magic. Your resistance has greatly improved since the academy days and you will recover without any permanent damage.  

Traversing the fields and undeveloped countryside on horseback is slow because several riders have to double up. Ferdinand offers to carry your unconscious form, however he has injuries of his own to care for. Hubert mounts his mages warhorse and is assisted with securing your unconscious form in front of him. He wraps his large cape around the both of you to assist in conserving warmth between you. Your Pegasus is given to another rider more accustomed to traversing at great heights, they scan the countryside and lead the way to safety.

The exhaustion from battle washes over everyone as they ride with little conversation heading east, eagerly anticipating a warm meal and soft bed for the evening.

Hubert checks your positioning, your back leaned up against his chest, your cheek pushed tight against his sternum.  

A soft voice mumbles from within his cape. “Yumm. Smells so good. Coffee.”  

The hand around your waist shifts slightly. “Shhh. Rest. You have a concussion.”

You snuggle closer to him in your haze. “Hubert’s voice is so deep and sexy. Mmmm.”

The dark mage’s eyes cast about him, nobody appears to be close enough to hear you but him.

The horse jostles you both as it steps into a dip of the ground and he tightens his grip around your waist.

“I want to have coffee with him. Stare into his gorgeous chartreuse eyes. Delicious.” You murmur.

The troops finally meet up with the road, the travel now much quicker with even ground for the horses to traverse. Hubert rooms with the Emperor while you are in a room with Linhardt and a few other injured soldiers.

 You arise quite early in the morning, having slept through much of the ride here. Running down to the stables you check your Pegasus, relieved that he is quite healthy. Heading back inside you grab breakfast and a large coffee, finding a quiet corner to sit and try to recall what happened that led you to finding yourself here.

A few others of your group are scattered about the room. You half-listen in on their conversations. You take your dishes back to the counter and obtain a refill. As you return to your seat, you are followed by Hubert.

“Might I join you?” he requests as he stands across the table.

“Absolutely.” You quietly answer as he takes the seat across from you. The coffee is too hot to drink, you wrap both hands around the cup, warming your fingers nicely.

“Are you feeling better today?” Hubert asks, bringing his drink to his lips for a sip.

Your eyes are riveted on his. You realize that you are gazing at him far too intensely, suddenly you’re looking away and breaking out in an embarrassing blush. “Yes. A bit of a headache. I feel much warmer. I recall the cold was getting the best of me. I should have stayed on the ground when my fingers started becoming numb. I hope I did not cause any major problems.” Bringing your cup to your lips, the coffee is still boiling hot. How can he drink it like that?

“Not at all.” He smiles, taking another sip.

The room begins to fill with the rest of their group. Linhardt sits next to Hubert, placing his plate filled with sweet rolls and cup of tea onto the table. “I can’t wait to get back and get some proper sleep.” The healer frowns. “Someone talks in their sleep and wouldn’t stop rambling about coffee all night long.” The cleric’s green eyes drill holes into you. You weakly smile as you raise your cup to cover your face and hide behind it. You sort of know you talk in your sleep, but this is the first time someone understood what you said. Mostly you were told you mumble. Just another reason to hide away and keep to yourself.

 The journey back to Enbarr is uneventful and quiet. Your Pegasus is not exactly thrilled to be grounded most of the way back, however the weather is cold and you do not wish to be chilled so soon again. Arriving home, you slip back into your regular routine, working on your muscles and skills. The weather is cold, wet and dreary, you must forgo riding for several afternoons.

Heading to the kitchen you decide a cup of coffee would be the perfect warmup on this chilly day. As you enter the always busy room, the cooks are bustling about, preparing the meat and vegetables for the next meal. As you finish preparing your drink, pouring it through a clean cloth filter, Hubert arrives to obtain yet another cup of his favorite caffeinated beverage. With too many people around you don’t speak, but you do wave to greet him.

“Afternoon.” The dark haired mage grumbles. “The weather is cold and miserable. Best for staying indoors by a warm fire.”

You nod slowly, gripping your cup firmly.

“There is a decent fire in the library should you need further assistance in combating the weather’s chill.” He says before the noise of grinding his coffee beans makes talking impractical.

You nod as you leave, heading to your room.

 You mull over Hubert’s suggestion to sit by a warm fire instead of freezing under your blanket in your cold and damp room. Summoning your courage, you decide it is to your benefit to seek a warmer location while you are studying, no matter who or how many others may be occupying the room. Turning the corner to where the fireplace is located in the library, you are surprised that only Hubert is here, occupying one of the more comfortable chairs in the room. The smell of the burning hardwood fills the room, adding to the warmth of the blazing flames. The other occupant does not raise his head from his reading as you sink into an overplush chair that comfortably hugs you. The upholstery is warm, immediately making you feel secure and relaxed. Placing your still warm coffee cup on the arm of the chair you open your reading material to where the bookmark holds your place. Concentrating on your book, you only raise your eyes to reflect on a particular passage or to imagine the depths and runes of the spell you are studying.

Reading a particular dark magic spell you look to the other spellcaster in the room. Your mind conjures up the last time you observed him cast this spell, perfect concentration reflected in his face. His posture is immaculate, leaning slightly forward, his right arm fully extended creating the runes consummately while his voice deeply and powerfully orders the incantation. The purple luster of magic gathering in front of him, quickly growing in magnitude and power as the spell bursts forth, striking and eliminating the enemy. Unconsciously you let out a sigh of awe.

“Pardon?” suddenly his eyes are focused on you, his brows raised.

“Your spellcasting is fabulously perfect.” The words are out of your mouth before you realize you had said them out loud. Your cheeks burn with the heat of a blush as you desperately resist the urge to bury your face in the pages before you.

“Thank you.” He muses.

Both parties return to their reading, the only sound in the room is the occasional page turning and the popping and crackling of the fire.

A throat clearing ahead of you draws your attention from your book.

“Should you wish to further your development of your reason magic skills, I humbly offer my assistance.” Hubert proposes for your consideration, not looking up from his reading.

“To increase my abilities aiding the cause toward our Emperors victory, I accept your proposition.” You smile widely.

There is the slightest smile that flashes across Hubert’s lips that you are thrilled to bear witness to.

 Hubert joins you in the spellcasting section of the training grounds when he finds the time. Your stomach flips every time he touches you to correct your arm position, your stance, standing behind you to watch your rune manipulation. By the time he leaves to head to his next appointment you are tomato red and breathless.

 Today is one of your longer learning sessions and quite productive. After dinner, you decide to retire to the Library to procure a book Hubert recommends that covers additional spells and manipulation of runes. The two comfy chairs are taken by others, thus you make do with alternate seating on the couch that faces the fireplace directly. Placing your coffee cup on the end table you open the tome and become immediately immersed in its contents. The other occupants of the Library leave without your notice.

Hubert greets you as he enters the room. Taking a seat on the other end of the couch, he places his coffee on the end table, opens his book and begins reading.

After reading quietly for nearly an hour you are deep into the section dissecting rune manipulation and you find there are a few passages that are not quite make sense to you. You stop to take a sip of your now very cold coffee, nearly choking on the nasty liquid.

Hubert looks over to you. “Are you all right?”

“Cold coffee.” You stammer and catch your breath. “Actually, I have a question about this section here…” You say, holding the book between you, scooting a bit closer to him as you point out the section. The dark haired mage slides next to you so that you both can review the passage. He carefully explains the runes, their order and how the instruction of the manipulation contributes to the verbal incantation thus giving the magical energy and power to the spell.

Everything suddenly clicks. Smiling brightly in your frenzied joy, you turn to Hubert and give him a peck on his cheek.

Your gasp as your eyes go wide as realization hits you regarding your most recent action.        

Hubbert’s gloved fingers gently grasp the side of your jaw, turning your face toward him again. “I think you meant…” he hums as his lips gently meet yours in a soft kiss. You grab his lapels, keeping your lips pressed together until you find the need to breathe again.

He slides his arm around your shoulder as you lean into his chest.

Hubert presses his lips to the crown of your head. “I find you delicious as well.”  

[valhallanrose]

Dancing Queen

A reflection on past birthdays and a glimpse at the present. 

Happy birthday to my firstborn.

2.3k. Cautionary CW for discussions of food. 

Fic title: Dancing Queen by ABBA.

The first birthday that Zelda remembered actually wasn’t her own, but Tamryn’s. It was his twelfth, though only the third time he’d actually celebrated on February twenty-ninth and not on March first. She was four then, giggling madly as she smashed a piece of the cake into his face - a tradition in Nevivon and something their parents had encouraged - and licking buttercream frosting off her fingers until Galen lifted her up to the kitchen sink to actually wash her hands. 

Tamryn got her back two months later, on her fifth birthday, though he was far more gentle than she had been about it. Maybe it was because she’d been completely zoned out chewing on one of the sugar flowers that had adorned her cake, but she distinctly remembered assessing the mouth feel of one of them before a hand on the back of her head tipped her face straight into the slice of cake Evalina had just set in front of her. 

Birthdays were typically small affairs in the Olenev household. It was time to simply be together, take joy in another year spent living life to the fullest and with each other. The only exception Zelda could think of was her bat mitzvah, all those years ago, and Tamryn’s own bar mitzvah, though she certainly remembered her own better than his. 

They always got to pick a special breakfast a few days before the actual birthday. Zelda chose the same thing every year without fail: chocolate-stuffed syrniki and strawberries. There was never another time of year that particular combination was eaten, only on her birthday, which made it feel all the more special to her no matter how old she got. 

Some birthdays had been...less than happy. Her sixteenth, the first birthday alone, the wound of her father’s death still raw on her heart. Or her twenty-fifth, which she had entirely forgotten until the following week, elbows deep in work at the Lazaret. Not that she’d celebrated at all during the plague, it never felt like a worthwhile occasion. 

She remembered on her twenty-sixth birthday, the first she acknowledged after the end of the plague, wishing quietly that there’d be no more sad birthdays. She wanted those happy times back - those happy times of just being five years old in Nevivon and feeling sugar flowers melt on her tongue and getting her face shoved into a birthday cake just when she thought it was safe.

And then Tamryn had found her later that year. 

Twenty-six had been a new beginning for them both. Twenty-seven had been the first birthday of hers they celebrated together since she was fifteen - a little awkward at first, but they found their way, finding a cute little restaurant on the waterfront and Zelda nearly punching Tamryn over the set of diaries he’d found in an antique shop that had belong to an apothecary long before.

For her twenty-eighth, Tamryn had given her an experience - a theater company from Prakra had made a temporary stop in Vesuvia to host a performance of The Tempest for the Countess on their way to Venterre, borrowing the theater in the Heart District closest to the palace. The short period they were in town fell over her birthday, and Tamryn had not only gotten her tickets, but got them tickets for one of the private boxes rather than the general audience. It had been a delight, and an experience she treasured dearly. 

She’d asked Tam once, a few weeks after that birthday, why he did so much for her (not that she was ungrateful) - and he’d simply smiled, kissing her forehead and telling her that he had ten years of birthdays he wanted to make up for. She’d assured him he didn’t need to do that, but he waved her off, pointing out that he was an adult and that if he wanted to do nice things for his family, he would. 

The twenty-second of April came again, this time her twenty-ninth birthday, and Zelda stirred when the mid morning sunlight beamed across her face and warmed her skin. A heavy weight pressed against her back as she began to roll over, making her snort as she assessed the limited amount of space between her and the other side of the bed. 

“Bed hog.” 

Oberon lifted his head, some of her hair threaded between his antlers, and gave her an incredulous look that made her laugh. 

“Yes, you, a bed hog. Brat. Come here, give me your head.” She shifted enough to sit up, carefully brushing her hair away from where it had tangled with the new growths forming, each only a few inches tall by then. “How are your nubbins doing?”

Do not call them my nubbins. 

“Fine, oh mighty forest prince, how doth your crown fare -” Zelda laughed as Oberon shoved his face into her chest indignantly, the stag sighing dramatically before he laid his head in her lap. She carefully inspected the velvet, idly scratching behind his ears all the while as he patiently waited for her assessment. “They do look good, Obie. You had a beautiful eight point set last year, I’ll bet on the same or more this year.”

She’d kept his last shed, actually. They were currently mounted on the wall in her shop, those pretty eight points acting as hooks for the herbs and plants she was in the process of drying out. 

Zelda smiled as she began to scratch around the base of one of his antlers, his hind leg thumping against the mattress and his head pushing into her hand as he snuffled contentedly. There were a few long beats of quiet before his voice filtered through her mind again and drew her eyes down to his, all big and brown and soulful. 

Zelda?

“Yeah?”

Happy birthday.

She beamed at that, lifting his head in both hands and pressing kisses to his fuzzy cheek, even when he complained about ‘smelling her morning breath’ but made no move to get away.

“Thank you, Obie. What do you say to breakfast?” Zelda glanced out the window, smiling at the cloudless blue sky and the bright golden sun. “Tam spent the night last night. I’m thinking me, you, him, and Magnus out in the back garden after I whip something up.”

Oberon nodded slightly, shifting to drag himself out of her bed - quite literally, as he put his front hooves on the floor and shuffled forward until his hind legs hit the hardwood. Zelda shook her head at him and flipped back the covers, combing her fingers through her hair and shoving her feet in her slippers before she made her way down the hall to the kitchen.

She knew she’d slept in, but she was surprised to see Tamryn already awake, standing at the stove with Magnus perched on his shoulder and preening his bedhead. 

“You, not waiting to mooch off my breakfast? Hell must have frozen over.” Zelda teased, and Tamryn rolled his eyes, tipping his head back and giving her a cheeky grin. 

“I could say the same thing about you sleeping in.”

“It’s the weekend, Tamryn, I’m not a masochist.”

“Well, not just a weekend.” Tamryn shifted, lifting his left arm to gesture for Zelda to come closer. She gladly accepted the embrace, burying her face in the soft wool of his sweater as he gave her a tight squeeze. “Happy birthday, shithead.”

She swatted at him as he laughed, turning away from her to slip the spatula under the pancake when Magnus chirped and set it carefully on the serving plate to his right.

Zelda’s brows drew together as she let her eyes wander over the ingredients, then the pancakes themselves, the realization dawning the longer she looked over it all. “Tam...are you making -”

“Mama’s syrniki recipe, yeah. I can’t promise it’ll be perfect, you and I both know she would follow her heart tweaking things and I only have the recipe cards you helped me braille, but I realized I have now been here for three birthdays and not even attempted making it.” He waved the spatula idly in the air and blew a few strands of hair out of his face before he continued. “Hopefully I wasn’t too presumptuous, but you and I both have the same opinions about chocolate and I felt optimistic.”

Zelda laughed, shaking her head as she found the chocolate in question and broke a piece off for herself. 

“No, not presumptuous at all.” She popped the piece into her mouth before she began to move about the kitchen, pulling together parts of Oberon’s own breakfast with the deer hot on her heels. “I’m looking forward to it. I don’t think I’ve ever made them myself, so this’ll be the first time I’ve had them in years. Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, get the hell out of here with your fancy leaf water.”

“If tea is leaf water, then coffee is just bean water, stupid.”

“Maybe, but if I wanted to drink leaf water I’d just go drink from a puddle.”

Zelda flipped him off, and when Magnus squawked loudly, Tam returned the gesture, snickering to himself under his breath as he worked his way through the last few syrniki. 

*     *     *     *     *

Eventually, when they made their way out to the small back garden and crammed the plates onto the wrought iron patio table, chatting as Magnus settled on the back of one of the empty chairs and Oberon found his favorite spot - easily noted by the way the grass was permanently flattened at the base of the crabapple tree in the corner of the garden. They both were animated in conversation, Zelda only pausing to take the first bite of her syrniki and losing her train of thought.

They weren’t Evalina’s, but they were still delicious, the chocolate warm on her tongue and the strawberries perfectly between sweet and tangy - it was enough to make her throat feel a little tight after she swallowed.

“Good?” Tamryn asked after a moment, and Zelda laughed, nodding as she spoke. 

“They are. They’re not mom’s, but they don’t need to be. They’re perfect.” She reached out and laid a hand on his wrist, squeezing it lightly. “Thank you, Tam. Really.”

“You’re welcome.” Tam shoved strawberry in his mouth before he reached into the pocket of his sweatpants with his other hand, turning Zelda’s palm over and smacking a slim, flat box into her hand. “Your gift, by the way, before I set it down and forget where I put it. I already did once, I made the bed and lost it in the sheets. Damn near shit myself.”

Zelda snickered softly, gently tugging away the crisp white ribbon and carefully cracking open the box, the lid opening on a hinge that revealed the jewelry inside. 

The necklace was simple - only a single pendant, the six-pointed star a little bigger than the pad of her thumb and strung on a delicate golden chain. Her breath caught as she lifted the star on one of her fingers, watching the morning light gleam on its polished surface. If her throat had felt thick before, she felt like she was trying to swallow a rock now, eyes burning with the tears that welled up.

“You said you lost yours years ago.” Tamryn said gently. “I know you loved it, and you never took it off when we were kids…”

“You’re going to make me cry on my birthday.” Zelda sniffed, and Tamryn laughed, reaching out to pat her arm. 

“Don’t, because then you’ll make me cry, and then we’ll both look ugly when we go out later.” He smiled when Zelda snorted at that, swiping a rogue tear away before it could slip down her cheek. “Do you want help putting it on?”

“I’m sure it’ll look ridiculous with my pajamas, but that’s not going to stop me. Yes, please.”

The clasp would come together neatly at the base of Zelda’s neck - simple, but secure - and the pendant fell just below her collarbone, making her smile and touch her fingertips to it once she released her hair from where she’d moved it out of Tamryn’s way. He draped his arms lazily around her shoulders, chin propped on her head, rather than returning to his own seat across from her at the table. 

“If the chain is too short, I can take it back to the jeweler and ask them to add some length to it.”

“No, Tam, it’s lovely. Thank you so much.” She laid her hands over his and gave them a squeeze, smiling as he squeezed them back before he straightened up. 

“I’m glad you like it.” Quickly, he snatched a strawberry off her plate, snickering to himself as he made his way back around to his seat despite her protests at the theft of fruit. “Now shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“Ass.” Zelda reached out and stole one of the blackberries left on his own plate, munching happily on it and smacking his hand away when he tried to steal another strawberry off her plate. “Go away, you have your own fruit.”

“You won’t even share with your beloved older brother?”

“Just because I’ve been stuck with you since birth doesn’t mean I like you, you know.”

“Joke’s on you, bitch, that goes both ways.”

With a laugh, Zelda finally dug back into her syrniki, banter and conversation mixing and flowing between them easily as they talked about anything and everything that came to mind. The sun continued to move overhead, warming their faces long after their plates were cleared and their cups were empty.

She didn’t need to know how the rest of the day was going to go - in her book, it was already a pretty damn great birthday.

[nastybuckybarnes]

A Broken Fairytale  -  Nine

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Reader AU

Summary: Sold by your mother, you work as a servant for the King and Queen of Acadia. The Prince, much to his initial dismay, takes a liking to you. When a wicked woman intervenes, your life is nothing more than a prison sentence. With a war on the horizon and a betrothal to a missing Princess that he can’t escape, Bucky is forced to be the Prince -and King- that his father wants. A pawn in a bigger game than the two of you realize.

Warnings: Language (Maybe), Fluff, Angst, Violence, Injuries

Word Count: 3.1K

A/N: Dude I like older guys FOR A REASON guys my age are so trash and that is on what?? Periodt! Enjoy this! Bad Dream is gonna be popping out next!

SERIES MASTERLIST MASTERLIST

~*~

“This is obviously an act of hostility! A warning of what is to come! We cannot let it go unpunished!” King George cries, glaring out across the room.

“First, they fail at upholding their end of the bargain, then, they kidnap my nephew in broad daylight! You think we will stand for it?! No! The Princess turns twenty in under two months! We cannot wait any longer! If we do not have Prince Steve back within three days, we march on Corona.” There’s no room for argument and James knows that. He bows to his father and walks out of the room, beyond worried for his cousin.

“He wouldn’t just take off like that unless something important had happened,” Sam whispers, walking alongside the Prince.

“I know, Sam. But there’s no way for us to tell my father that. We’ll have to find him ourselves. We know that he’s somewhere in Corona.” Sam nods, brows furrowed.

“Rumlow never came back, did he?” Sam suddenly asks. James shakes his head and his eyebrows raise. “Maybe he’s done something to Steve. I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s never been truly loyal to my Father’s throne.” Sam nods, frowning to himself.

“We’ll figure this out. Before your father does anything unreasonable, we’ll find Steve.”

~*~

“No one will find you here.” You look between Rumlow and Steve, tugging against your restraints while the blond Prince glares at your captor.

“Why capture us?” He demands, seemingly unbothered by the tight ropes keeping the two of you immobile.

“I was paid a hefty sum to bring the missing princess’ head in. The woman doesn’t play any games. She wants to see the fall of the two Kingdoms so she can rebuild. And I’m going to be by her side through it all.” You furrow your brows.

“How is killing us going to...” you trail off, the pieces clicking in your mind.

“You really didn’t know, did you?” Rumlow asks, crouching in front of you, dagger tilting your chin up so you look him in the eye.

“All this time, the lost princess of Corona was in Acadia, right under our noses. Sad that it wasn’t treason. But no one needs to know that, do they? Soon enough you’ll be dead, Stevie over there will be presumed dead, and the two kingdoms will fall to ruin.” You simply stare into his eyes, not backing down. He leans in, voice lowering as he whispers to you.

“Before I kill you, I want to enjoy you. You’re pure, untouched by men. How’s about we change that?” He leans down to kiss you and you slam your head forward, smashing your forehead against his nose and sending him falling backwards, his dagger dragging up and slicing a line across your top lip and your cheek.

You flinch, blood quickly spilling down your cheek.

“You’re fiery, I’ll give you that,” Rumlow laughs, bringing his hand up to his nose and wiping away the falling blood. He walks to you, grabs your face in his hand and glares at you.

“Leave her alone, Rumlow!” Steve snarls, glaring up at the man. Rumlow shakes his head with a smile, pretty much ignoring the Prince.

“She only said she wanted your head. So it really doesn’t matter what happens to the rest of you. And I’m sure she won’t care if you come to her a little banged up.” He moves his hold to your hair and yanks your head back, exposing your throat to him. Your breath comes in shallow pants as you hold as still as possible.

He brings the knife to your neck, just tracing lightly over the pulsing vein in your neck. You swallow hard, squeezing your eyes shut as he slowly starts applying more pressure.

“Not so fiery now, are you?” He asks, yanking your hair to make you open your eyes.

You glare into his eyes with a burning hatred that you’ve never felt before.

“Do it then.” Your words surprise everyone in the cottage.

“You want me to kill you?” He asks, toying with the knife.

“If you’re going to do it then do it.” He smiles and strokes your cheek gently with the back of his hand before smacking you, his knuckles making your face throb.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do or I’ll draw this out a lot longer.” You take deep breaths through your nose, slowly turning back to look at Rumlow again.

“You’re a hard one to break, you know that? Anyone else would be crying, begging for their lives. But not you, huh?” You say nothing and he chuckles.

“I want to break you. Make you cry and beg for me to stop. And you know what I’ll do then?” He licks his lips, eyeing you up and down.

“I won’t stop.”

“You won’t touch her!” Steve shouts, struggling against his restraints.

“Really, your Highness?” You squeeze your eyes shut in shame as Rumlow’s hands grope your breasts.

“It looks like I’m touching her. And what are you going to do to stop it?”

The sound of rope snapping makes the room freeze and in an instant Steve is on top of Rumlow, fists pounding into his face.

“You won’t ever... lay a hand on her... again!” You watch in slight horror as Steve punches Rumlow unit he’s black and blue and bleeding.

“Steve... Steve stop,” you whisper. He stops, his fiery blue eyes softening as he sees the terror on your face.

He hurries over to you and unties you, tilting your head to the side and examining the cut on your face.

“It’s not too deep. Won’t even scar that bad,” he murmurs. You nod, eyes going back to the unconscious man on the floor.

Steve grabs the rope that was binding your wrists together and hauls Rumlow’s body over to the wall, tying him up the same way the two of you were tied.

“We need to get you to the Palace. And quick. King George won’t hesitate to think that this was an act of aggression on behalf of Corona. The only thing we can do is show them that you and I are alive, your Highness.” You stare at him in shock, the new title sending you spiralling into a hole full of confusion.

“I... had my suspicions before, one of the first days you were here with us. But Queen Valerie confirmed my suspicions. She told me about your necklace, the enchantment on it. And she... she was singing your lullaby. The one you sang to Peter. The lost princess is you, (Y/n). And if we can get you to the Palace, we’ll be able to stop a war.”

The gravity of the situation hits you square in the chest and you shake your head, stumbling to your feet and hurrying out of the cottage and into the cold forest.

You hyperventilate, mind racing at the new information.

“B-but there’s... it’s impossible. I can’t.... it doesn’t make sense.” Steve gently pats your shoulder.

“I don’t expect it to make sense. But we don’t have any time to waste. We need to get to the Palace and we need to get there fast. A storm is brewing and I know King George is just waiting to wreak havoc on Corona.”

You nod, taking a deep breath and squaring your shoulders.

“My horse was in the stables around back. I... I’m not sure if she’s still there.” You hurry around to the back of the cottage, relief filling you when you see your mare tucked away safely in the stables.

Steve’s quick to get the horse ready and you apologize to her softly for not giving her time to warm up properly.

“Come, we don’t have time.” You nod and mount the horse quickly, settling yourself in front of the Prince as the animal takes off through the woods.

Thunder crackles overhead and a flash of lightning strikes the ground a few meters away, startling the three of you.

“Come on, we’re nearly there.”

Your mare runs hard and fast, her strong legs pushing against the uneven ground.

She stays steady and fast, even when rain begins beating down on you, soaking you to the bone.

When you reach the edge of the woods, Steve pulls her to a stop and you stare in shock as at least a hundred Acadian soldiers fill into the village.

At the very front of the wall of soldiers is a familiar head of brown hair, soaked and sticking to his handsome face.

“James,” you whisper, staring at him and trying to drink in all of his beauty.

“Come. We need to get to the Palace. We don’t have time to waste. He’s probably under orders to storm the Palace and take the king and queen hostage.” You don’t want to move. You want to stay watching the man you love as his horse brings him from the gravel path of the woods towards the main road leading to the Palace.

With a shout and a gentle nudge to her belly, your mare starts running again, hooves beating against the noggin ground as Steve leads her through backstreets and narrow paths towards the Palace.

Your heart is in your throat, and you squint as raindrops pelt against your skin. The wind whips your wet hair around and thunder booms overhead.

“Woah!” Steve pulls the horse to a stop and slides off quickly, grabbing you by the waist and helping you off. The two of you run up the stairs to the gate, your dress weighing you down but you push through, grabbing it and hoisting it up so you don’t trip over it.

When you finally reach the gate, a sword is pointed at the two of you, two more guards quickly drawing their swords.

“I demand an audience with His Majesty!” Steve shouts, the roaring wind almost carrying his voice away.

“The King will have nothing with you. Nor her,” The guard sneers, looking you up and down.

“Acadians are storming the city, making for the Palace as we speak. I demand to speak to the King!” The guard shoves Steve back a step and glares at the two of you.

“Begone! The King will have no visitors.” Steve grinds his teeth together, steps forwards, then punches the guard right in the face. The two others react instantly and Steve pushes you behind him, raising his sword to block a blow.

You scramble past them, ducking below the elbow of one of the guards and sprinting towards the Palace doors.

“Stop her!” Someone shouts.

“Run!” Steve yells, fighting off the guards almost effortlessly then running after you. He catches up quickly and pushes the huge oak doors open, the wind sending them banging against the walls.

“Go! Straight down the hallway, through those red doors! The King will be in there!” The two of you sprint down the hallway and you slide to a stop as five guards come during into the hallway in front of you.

“They’re expecting a blow from the top, go between the legs and get past them. I’ll hold them off. You just need to get before the King.” You nod, walking forward with Steve a step ahead of you. He cracks his neck then raises his sword, swinging at the two closest guards.

The others jump into action, focused mainly on Steve and giving you a chance to slide past them. You run as hard and as fast as you can, lungs aching and legs burning.

“Stop her!” Someone shouts. The echo of the metal shoes against the marble floor makes your anxiety spike. You can hear the grunts and curses of the guards behind you as they fight.

You’re so close.

So damn close.

"Go (Y/n)!” Steve shouts, grunting in pain as someone lands a particularly hard blow to his chest.

The sound is soon lost among the overlapping shouts of the Palace guards, no doubt thinking you mean to harm the king. You’re so close. The doors are straight ahead.

The slapping of metal against marble is growing louder, as are the struggles of the guards that Steve must be fighting.

You launch yourself at the doors right as a hand grazes your back, and then you’re in the throne room and everything seems to freeze for a moment.

The King and Queen stand up quickly, guards drawing their swords and standing protectively in front of the two royals as they stare at you.

“Who are you?!” The King demands. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, mouth dry at the fact that these might be your parents.

Two guards are suddenly grabbing you by the arms, forcing you to your knees in front of the King. “M-My name is-” you yelp, the hard toes of a boot bruising your spine and sending you falling forwards, panting and groaning in pain.

“Your Majesties!” Steve’s voice shouts, grunts and groans following as guards wrestle him into the room, tossing him to the floor beside you then kicking him in the gut once.

“Steve!” The King exclaims, hurrying down the steps to help the Prince to his feet. Steve holds his stomach, panting hard as he looks up at the King.

“Acadians are storming the city,” he explains, wiping blood from his chin and glaring at the guard holding you to the ground with his foot. You slowly catch your breath, blood pumping hard in your ears.

“We’ve been made aware. They’re being led by Prince James. After you, I’m assuming. I’ve ordered everyone inside their houses and underground.” The older man sounds absolutely hopeless.

The Queen is silent though, her eyes on you with guarded hope. The King looks over at his wife then down to you, seeming to notice you for the first time.

“Steve, who’s this?” Steve smiles slightly and limps over to you, shoving the guard off of you and glaring at him before helping you to your feet.

You stand before the King and Queen in your soaking wet, tattered and muddy dress, hair stuck to your face and dried blood smeared on your cheek.

“Your Majesties, this is (Y/n). And I firmly believe her to be the Princess of Corona.” There’s a stillness in the room that no one breaks for a moment, everyone staring at you in shock.

“She has the necklace... the locket. And she sings the very same lullaby as you, Queen Valerie. She was ‘orphaned’ and adopted as a baby by a vile, cruel woman.” Steve continues after a moment, taking you by the elbow and pulling you even closer to the King.

Queen Valerie takes a deep breath in, walking down to you and raising her hand up, hovering over your cheek for a moment and squinting her eyes at you.

You stay perfectly still as her trembling fingers come up to your throat, brushing gently over your locket.

She gasps, pulling away and looking at you with tears in her eyes before glancing over her shoulder for a moment then looking back at you, almost surprised that you’re still standing here in front of her.

“It is you, isn’t it?” She asks, a tear dripping down her cheek. The entire room is silent as the Queen brushes her fingers over the cut on your cheek, the warmth spreading from her gentle touch making your entire body tingle.

“My daughter. You’ve returned to us. You’ve finally come home.” She hugs you tightly, sobbing softly against your shoulder. You hesitantly hug her back and look over at Steve in shock.

“Have Anthony brought before me at once,” The King demands, walking towards the two of you as a guard runs out of the room.

He brings his hand up to your cheek and examines your face for a few moments before nodding, his eyes becoming glossy.

“I’d know those eyes anywhere,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around you and the Queen.

“Send word out to Acadia immediately. Inform them that the Princess has been found,” Steve demands, glaring at the guards until they start moving.

When the King pulls away, the Queen continues hugging you, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

“My Lady, we should get her dried and washed,” a redhead says, piping up for the first time since you entered the room. The Queen nods and reluctantly pulls away from you, cupping your cheeks in her hands for a moment and pressing her forehead to yours.

“I feared I had lost you for good. And in losing you I lost myself. My one daughter has now come back, and with her, she has brought me,” she whispers, her eyes full of tears.

The redhead curtseys and bows her head to you. “Your Highness, I’m Virginia Potts. If you’d like, you may call me Pepper. I’m going to show you to a room where you can stay. A bath is being drawn as we speak. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you there.” She rises and takes a step to the side, watching expectantly as you stand there.

You glance at Steve with wide eyes, hesitating and not fully comfortable leaving with the strange woman, although you know she probably won’t hurt you. Steve nods with a smile, encouraging you to trust the woman, and you allow the redhead to lead you out of the room, your mother holding your arm the whole way.

When you’re out of the room with the door shut behind you, Steve turns to the King and bows when the older man pats his shoulder.

“You’ve done so much for this kingdom. We will never be able to repay you,” he whispers, tears dripping down his cheeks into his grey beard. Steve only smiles.

“I’m owed nothing,” he says simply. The King shakes his head and goes to argue but Steve cuts him off. “I’m going to go meet Prince James, stop him from causing any damage and explain the situation. I’ll be back shortly.” The King presses his lips into a thin line then nods, “very well.”

The blond prince walks out of the room, a lightness in his soul as he leaves the Palace, mounting your mare and heading to where he knows the Acadians will be.

James sees the rider coming and orders his men to halt, rain beating down on his face and souring his mood further.

“Buck! Stop!” The young prince raises his eyebrows and rides to meet his cousin, a smile spreading on his face, then fading when he sees Steve’s injuries.

“Steve! What happened to you?!” Steve shakes his head and looks the brunet in the eye. “I don’t have time to explain it all, but you need to stand down and you need to send your fastest rider back home.”

James furrows his brows in utter confusion. “Why? What’s happened?” Steve takes a deep breath in and fights a smile.

“The Princess has been found.”

[onthepageoftears]

The Tale of Two Bards (Jaskier x Bard!Reader)// Witcher

A/N: We love our dumb bard!! Also this is a gender neutral reader!! :D

Request: @haade-s​ Would I be able to request a Jaskier x bard!reader where whenever they meet up (which is a lot) they sing together & split the coin but they're also very casual lovers. Like they say they love each other & have very casual PDA (resting his chin on her shoulder while talking and her pecking his cheek) & while it's odd for Geralt he does like seeing them both happy. Idk where you'd want to take it plot wise but I've been craving crazy in love Jaskier 💖💖💖 thanks!!

Warnings: flufffff, drinking?? mentions of love lol

Words: 1,446

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

The night was anything but quiet. The people in the tavern yelled with a mix of joy and disappointment as you and Jaskier walked out of the crowd together, smiles wide on your faces. Any time the two of you met up, it was like a spark ignited. Your hearts swelled, but so did your minds — you two were the perfect duo, coming up with songs practically on the spot and singing them together that same night. People came from towns near and far just to see the two of you perform together, to spread your talent and lather the crowds with lyrics that would be stuck in their heads for days — if not weeks — after hearing them.

Something was so precious about you two bards — the way your eyes met as soon as you saw the other, the way you smashed each other into a warm embrace, the lingering touches as you went to work on some music. Of course, neither of you noticed it, at least not until you separated once again.

You and Jaskier were going through your earnings of the night. You always earned more when you sang together, and neither of you was complaining. You leaned your head against your fellow Bard’s shoulder, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“If only you sang with me more often. You help draw in such a big crowd.” You felt Jaskier’s rumbling voice as he spoke.

“I’m truly flattered. Really. But you must see it’s you who draws the crowds.”

You pursed your lips, then shrugged. “Okay, it’s me.” You smiled cheekily and lifted your head from his shoulder. His smile was weak, eyes glazed over.

You poked him in the chest. “Chin up. We just had a wonderful show!”

“I know. And we were supposed to have another tomorrow.”

You faltered. “Were?” Jaskier looked away, so you moved in front of his gaze. “You aren’t leaving tomorrow, are you?”

“No. Tonight.”

“But…why?”

“Geralt says there’s a vampire a couple towns over. It’s a great opportunity for a song.” Jaskier brightened up, put his hands to the sky to paint the title: “‘Blood Sucking Bastard’. Or…‘Fiend’. Well, I’m still working on the details.”

You nodded and smiled. This would be a great opportunity for Jaskier. He loved going on these adventures and coming back to sing you the song he wrote, to get your feedback and have the two of you sing it together. But your stomach churned at the thought of him leaving again, and so soon. He noticed.

“I’ll be back in a week or two, at most. You’ll be in Velen by then, right?” He walked over to you and placed his hands on your shoulders. His touch calmed you down, helped you manage a smile.

“Right. I wish you well on your journey, Jaskier.” You leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek, then patted the spot that you kissed. “If you die, I will still perform your songs for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll miss you too.”

—

The next night went by quickly; you performed alone, and though the crowd was sad Jaskier wasn’t accompanying you, they still enjoyed the performance. However, you couldn’t say that you did. Your mind was preoccupied, mostly on the Bard. You missed him more than you had before, or, more than you’ve noticed before. His bright blue eyes, his playful smile, the way his touch made your skin heat up at contact. He could be frustrating at times, but his undying loyalty and charms always made up for the dumb things he could sometimes say.

And now, as you sat at the bar after your show, you had the biggest urge to get up and run after him, to tell him you didn’t want to have to say goodbye again, that you wanted to wake up every day and see his face, to hear his voice. And that urge had always been there, whenever Jaskier left. It wouldn’t go away no matter how much you drank, or sang with other people, or moved to other towns. That urge could be lethal if not treated soon; so finally, you decided to feed it. You got up, grabbed your cloak and lute, and ran in towards the town that Jaskier had mentioned the other night.

—

Jaskier had been jabbering on about you nonstop since he left. Geralt was used to his constant talking, but this was getting unbearable. ‘Y/N’s eyes, and Y/N’s voice, and the way Y/N bites their lip before they laugh’. He didn’t know why, but Jaskier was even more annoying about Y/N than he had been on any of their other trips. It was like now, tonight, his brain was clouded by everything Y/N.

“I’m telling you Geralt, Y/N is possibly the best bard I’ve met.”

“Over yourself?”

“Of course.” Jaskier frowned.

Geralt sighed. “Then you should tell Y/N that.”

“I have.” Jaskier rolled his eyes at Geralt’s ignorance. 

Geralt grunted. “You care about Y/n.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Quite obviously.”

“No. You care more than you think.”

Jaskier stopped in his tracks, letting Geralt walk Roach slightly ahead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you love Y/N, Jaskier.”

“Love…like, in love?” Geralt only blinked from atop a now stationary Roach, leaving Jaskier to shake his head in disbelief. “Me, in love with Y/N? Well, it’s plausible, sure. But does Y/N-“

“Yes.” Geralt would’ve had an easier time knocking the bard out and throwing him over his horse. Instead, he waited for Jaskier to finish his rambling and come to the obvious conclusion.

“I have to find Y/N. Now.“ Jaskier turned on his heal, ready to run all the way to Velen. 

Geralt grunted and steered Roach beside the bard. He patted the spot behind him and nodded to Jaskier. “Might as well get there faster.” 

Jaskier was surprised but didn’t linger on the details. Geralt letting him on Roach was a big deal, but finding Y/N was bigger.

—

You didn’t know how you got this far on your own. With only a lute on your back and a small knife in your hand, you trekked the dirt roads and hoped you’d run into Jaskier and Geralt. 

What would you tell him? That you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him? That was a bit forward. Maybe you would tell him that you missed him, just to test the waters. Yeah, that could work.

You were mulling this over when you heard the sound of hooves — you jolted yourself from the middle of the road and stood near a bush, hoping the person would leave you be. You hadn’t had any bad luck yet, and you weren’t about to let some random person hurt you, not after you had gotten this far. But soon, you recognized the figure who sat on his noble steed — it was Geralt, no doubt, with Jaskier actually sitting right behind him.

You jumped from your spot and waved your hands in the air, causing them to slow to a stop.

“Y/N?” Jaskier frowned from atop of Roach. He jumped down from the horse, surprise etched on his face. Geralt took the liberty of walking past the two of you, giving you some privacy.

Before Jaskier could process your presence, you were wrapping him in a tight hug. “Funny seeing you here,” you mumbled into his jacket.

Jaskier held you tighter. “What are you doing in the middle of nowhere? Are you hurt?”

You pulled away from him, only slightly. “I missed you.”

“That’s hardly a reason to put yourself in danger.” Jaskier frowned, but still held a smile on his face. He looked down at you and brushed a hand along the side of your face, wiping some dirt that resided. You leaned into his touch and bit your lip, then smiled.

“It was worth it.” You shrugged, still holding onto Jaskier’s arms. Before you could pull away, he used the hand that was on your cheek to bring you closer; his lips met the corner of your mouth, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence. But you frowned, and instead of letting him go, you gripped his neck and met him with a full on kiss, one that was long overdue.

As soon as you two parted, Jaskier searched your face. He smiled brightly and pulled you back into his chest, where you laughed.

“We need to write a song.” He said, exasperated. You chuckled and pulled from his grip, holding his hands in your own.

“About?”

He smiled wider. “True love. Called...’The Tale of Two Bards’.”

[mostlydeadlanguages]

The Triumphs of Deborah and Jael (Judges 4 & 5)

Image: "Jael & Sisera," by Conterfeyter

I love these two chapters of the Bible.

The first chapter is a straightforward story about how two women help Israel triumph over their oppressors: Deborah, a prophetess and judge, and Jael, a courageous nomadic woman.  It's a sorely needed counterpoint to the treatment of women elsewhere in the book of Judges — and a reminder that even in the ancient world, women could be snarky badasses.

The second chapter is a gorgeous and very difficult poem which roughly retells the same events.  There's still some debate over which chapter was written first, but most scholars view this chapter (the “Song of Deborah”) as a very ancient text, the predecessor of the prose version.  If I were to footnote every grammatical difficulty or obscure vocabulary in this chapter, I would be writing until next year; I've merely highlighted a few of the most challenging cruxes.  Despite its difficulties, though, it's a raw, powerful epic that intertwines cosmic theophany, military adventure, and personal intimacy.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Judges 4

Once again, the Israelites acted wickedly in YHWH's sight. (Ehud had died.)  So YHWH delivered them up to Jabin, the king of Canaan, who reigned in Hazor.  The commander of his troops was Sisera, who lived in Forest-of-the-Gentiles.  Then the Israelites cried out to YHWH, because he had nine hundred iron chariots, and he had been brutally oppressing the Israelites for twenty years.

Now, Deborah was a female prophetess, a "woman of torches" [1]; she was judging Israel at that time.  She would sit beneath the Palm of Deborah — between Ramah and Bethel, in the hills of Ephraim — and the Israelites went up to her for judgment.

She summoned Barak ben Abinoam from Kedesh in Naphtali, and she said to him, "Hasn't YHWH, the God of Israel, given a command?  Go and muster at Mount Tabor, and take ten thousand men with you from Naphtali and Zebulun.  Then, at the river Kishon, I will muster for you Sisera, commander of Jabin's troops, with his chariotry and his horde — and I will give him into your hand."

Barak said to her, "If you go with me, then I'll go.  But if you don't go with me, I won't go."

So she said, "I will most certainly go with you!  Nevertheless, there will be no honor for you on the path you are traveling — for YHWH will deliver up Sisera by the hand of a woman."  Then Deborah got up and went with Barak to Kedesh.  Barak summoned Zebulun and Naphtali to Kedesh, so that ten thousand men marched at his heels.  And Deborah went up with him.

Meanwhile, Heber the Smith had split off from the Smiths — the descendants of Hobab, the father-in-law of Moses — and pitched his tent at Oak-in-Zaanannim, which is at Kedesh.  They told Sisera that Barak ben Abinoam had gone up to Mount Tabor, so Sisera summoned all his chariotry, nine hundred iron chariots, along with all the people with him, from Forest-of-the-Gentiles to the river Kishon.

Then Deborah said to Barak, "Get up!  This is the day when YHWH will surely give Sisera into your hand.  Doesn't YHWH himself go out before you?"

Barak went down Mount Tabor, with ten thousand men following him.  And YHWH threw Sisera and all his chariotry and all his horde into chaos before the blade of Barak.  Sisera got off his chariot and fled on foot, while Barak chased after the chariotry and the horde as far as Forest-of-the-Gentiles.  The entire horde of Sisera fell before the sword; not one remained.

Meanwhile, Sisera fled on foot to the tent of Jael, the wife of Heber the Smith — for there was peace between Jabin, the king of Hazor, and the kin of Heber the Smith.  Jael came out to greet Sisera, and she told him, "Tarry, my lord; tarry with me, and don't be afraid."  So he tarried with her and entered the tent, and she hid him under a covering.

He said to her, "Please, give me a little water to drink, for I am thirsty."  So she opened a leather bottle of milk and gave him a drink, then hid him again.  "Stand at the tent's entrance," he told her, "and if someone comes and asks, 'Is there a man here?', say 'No.'"

But Jael, Heber's wife, took a tent peg and held a hammer in her hand.  She came to him  stealthily, and she drove the peg into his temple until it penetrated the ground, while he was unconscious.  He breathed his last and died.

Just then, Barak appeared, chasing Sisera.  Jael came out to greet him, and she told him, "Come — I will show you the man you seek."  So he came in to her — and Sisera was there, lying dead, with the peg in his temple.

Thus God humiliated Jabin, king of Canaan, on that day, in front of the Israelites.  Then the hand of the Israelites pushed harder and harder against Jabin, king of Canaan, until they exterminated Jabin, king of Canaan.

                                                            Judges 5

Deborah sang this with Barak ben Abinoam on that day: When caliphs are in chaos [2] in Israel,         when the people volunteer —         bless YHWH! Listen, you kings!         Hear, you dignitaries! I myself, to YHWH —         I myself, I will sing —         I will belt out to YHWH, God of Israel. YHWH, when you came forth from Seir,         when you strode from the land of Edom, Earth quaked —         yes, and Heaven sprinkled,         yes, and clouds sprinkled water. Mountains rippled before YHWH, the One of Sinai,         before YHWH, God of Israel. In the days of Shamgar ben Anat,         in the days of Jael, routes vanished,         and travelers on pathways         traveled circuitous routes. Heroism vanished, [3]         in Israel it vanished,         until you arose, Deborah,         until you arose, a mother in Israel. God chose a new people — [4]         then war was at the gates! Could a shield be seen, or a spear,         among forty thousand in Israel? My heart belongs to Israel's officers,         the volunteers of the people.         Bless YHWH! You riders of tawny donkeys,         you who sit on tapestries,         and you who walk the road:         proclaim it! Louder than pebbles between the water-currents, [5]         there they recount YHWH's loving-loyalties,         the loving-loyalties of his heroism in Israel. Then the people of YHWH came down to the gates. "Awake, awake, O Deborah!         Awake, awake, declare a song! Get up, Barak, and capture your captives,         you son of Abinoam." Then the remnant of the nobles came down,         the people of YHWH came down to me with the warriors. From Ephraim were those with roots in Amalek,         after you, Benjamin, with your peoples. From Machir, the officers came down,         and from Zebulun, those who wield generals' rods. The commanders of Issachar were with Deborah;         Issachar was true to Barak.         In the valley, they chased after his strides. In the clan of Reuben were great rations of heart.         Why did you sit down with your saddlebags         to listen to the piping of the flocks?         In the clan of Reuben were great rationales of heart. [6] Gilead stayed across the Jordan,         and Dan — why did he sojourn with the ships? Asher sat on the seashore,         staying at his harbors. Zebulun: a people that defied death,         and Naphtali, upon the heights of the land. The kings came; they warred.         Then the kings of Canaan warred at Taanach, by the waters of Megiddo.         They took no plunder of silver. From Heaven, the stars warred;         from their courses, they warred against Sisera. The river Kishon washed them away;         the primordial river, the river Kishon.         Tread firmly, my soul! Then the horse hooves hammered         with the galloping, galloping of his stallions. "Curse Meroz," said YHWH's messenger;         "Curse bitterly its inhabitants. For they did not come to help YHWH,         to help YHWH with the warriors." Most blessed of women be Jael,         wife of Heber the Smith —         of women in tents, most blessed. "Water," he asked; milk, she gave.         In a noble bowl, she brought him cream. She reached her hand for the peg,         her right hand for the worker's mallet; she hammered Sisera, she crushed his head,         she smashed and stabbed his temple. Between her legs, he sank, he fell, he lay;         between her legs, he sank, he fell.         Where he sank, there he fell — ruined. Through the window, she gazed down;         Sisera's mother lamented through the lattice. "Why is his chariot delayed in coming?         Why is the clatter of his war-chariots tardy?" The wisest of her noblewomen responds;         even she can answer the words herself. "Aren't they retrieving and dividing the spoils?         One cunt — two cunts! — for every man; [7] dyed cloth as spoil for Sisera,         dyed embroidered cloth as spoil,         two dyed embroidered clothes on every neck as spoil." Thus may all your enemies perish, YHWH!         But your loved ones are like the rising of the sun in its strength. Then the land was quiet for forty years.

[1] "Woman of torches" — or "woman of Lappidoth," or "wife of Lappidoth."  Since "lappidoth" (torches) is neither a personal nor a place name elsewhere, I choose to translate it here as a metaphorical epithet.

[2] "When caliphs are in chaos" — this line is most often translated as "when locks grow long"; it relies on some very obscure vocabulary.  I read it as a wordplay that connects two homophones: the noun for a powerful leader, and the verb for running amuck.

[3] "Heroism vanished" — This whole verse is very difficult and complicated by the fact that the word I translate as "vanished" is a near auto-antonym (it can mean either "to cease" or "to grow fat"), and it's not clear whether the same meaning is intended throughout.  The word I translate as "heroism" is sometimes translated as "peasantry."

[4] "God chose new people" — This is the straightforward translation of this line, but because of its theological difficulty (how could God turn against Israel?), it usually gets reversed as "[people] chose new gods."  As I understand it, "new people" means "a new set of enemies for Israel."

[5] "Louder than pebbles between the water-currents" — Another set of very obscure vocabulary.  I imagine this image as the roaring of water splashing over pebbles.

[6] "In the clan of Reuben were great rations of heart / great rationales of heart."  This is either a wordplay or a scribal error; the lines are identical except for two similar words.  Some translators emend the first line, so that the two lines are an exact repetition, decrying Reuben's equivocation.  I view it as a pun: Reuben supposedly has a big portion of courage, but in the end, he dilly-dallied.

[7] "One cunt — two cunts" — This Hebrew word literally means "womb," but here it clearly refers to female war-captives for sexual slavery.  "Cunt" is the most common English word that conveys both meanings, although it is more crude than the Hebrew word would have seemed.

[desert-dyke]

Never Fight a Woman with Spurs - Part 1

Working on Jackal’s backstory for the Vegas Vampires collab, starting with how Jackal became a vampire

content warnings: blood, broken bone, dislocation, guns, blood drinking, loss of consciousness  Idk how to write content warnings so lmk if there’s anything else 

A bullet rips past him, sinking into the wall. Jackal’s luck pointed in his favor yet again. A grin fills his face. He is heavily unsteadied by the whiskey in his gut, holding the same wall as he turns towards the woman who failed to shoot him. 

There she is, revolver in hand, standing in the dusty road. Her with dark hair pulled into a ponytail beneath her ten-gallon hat. Her with her trousers - such a peculiar woman, and he was already starting to like her. 

“Need to work on your aim,” he taunts her. 

She moves nine yards in a blink of an eye. The shock further unsteadies him and he holds onto the wall tighter. It was just his mind playing tricks, thoroughly saturated in the drinks, and maybe some other substances as well. 

She grabs him by the collar of his shirt, shorter than him, but having the strength to throw him against the wall. 

“That was a warning shot!” The air is crushed from his lungs. Jackal knows what little else to do but laugh, thinking lady luck was still going to smile on him. 

“You lost. Accept it,” He tells her. He had a knack for cards, for gambling, and he seldom lost. 

“You cheated.” Her dark eyes narrow with the accusation. She throws him to the ground, before digging the spur of her boot into his ribcage. He grunts at the pain, no longer laughing, but he could take a beat down. “I want my fucking money back!” 

Jackal rolls onto his back. Her face is entirely blacked out, backlit by the moonlight. “Or what?” He taunts her. He knew a bluff when he saw one. ‘Warning shot’ his ass. She wasn’t going to kill him. He wasn’t afraid of her. 

She spits on his face. Jackal laughs. He sees the sole of her boot rise above his face. She brings it hard down on him, smashing her heel against his face like he was a venomous viper. He closes his eyes, turns his face away, but the battery continues until her heel collides with his nose. He hears a snap. Blood fills his sinuses. He can taste it in his mouth. 

“Not laughing now, are you mister?” Jackal is quiet. He would wait this out. Not the first person he pissed off, and she wasn’t going to be the last. 

His vision is blurry by the time she stops. He blinks a few times to clear the blood from it. She is gone. It was one of the worse beatings, he would give her that.

Jackal is slow to sit up. His head feels like hell, blood pounding in his ears. He hears horse hooves on gravel. It halts before him. Jackal looks up. His stomach drops as he sees that it is her again.

He should have ran when he had the chance. 

She dismounts as Jackal rolls onto his stomach, attempting to crawl away, though he knows it will be futile. She grabs his ankle, holds tight on to it. 

“I’ll give you the damn money! Just-! Leave me alone!” He shouts. She declines to answer. He hears a ‘Ya!’ in time with a flick of reigns - peculiar, given that there is still pressure around his ankle. 

He makes the connection a moment too late, as suddenly his entire body is yanked along by his ankle. His leg pops from the socket at his hip as Jackal is dragged along the dust by the horse. He claws into the ground, attempting to gain purchase. Dirt wedges beneath his nails. It cuts his finger tips. 

He quickly learns that his best defense is to go limp. Any movement causes him to roll, banging his elbows on hard earth passing too fast underneath him, or worse, his head. 

The pain steadily increases in his leg where bone had split from joint. The weight of his body resting on it, he could feel himself slowly ripping apart, sinew by sinew. And just when he thought he was going to lose his leg entirely, the horse came to a stop. 

He smells a burning fire smoldering to coals. There are two other horses tethered at this makeshift camp. Two other dark figures rising from where they sat by the fire to take attention to their newest addition. 

“He’s bleeding,” One states. Though he cannot see faces, the voice sounds feminine. He also notices that despite her words, she did not sound concerned. 

The woman from the bar unties his ankle. Jackal quickly collects himself. His leg hurts with every movement, bone still disconnected. His chest hurts, his skin felt raw, yet still he willed himself to move. 

“Drink up, girls,” She grabbed him by his hair, dragged him a little bit closer to the campfire before letting him fall prone again. “Though I must warn you, this one has been drinking.” Jackal had no idea what she was talking about. 

“Aren’t you going to drink, Nisha?” The other asks. Nisha mounts her horse, shakes her head. 

“I have business to take care of,” Nisha answers, her horse begins to trot in place. “Mabel...Clem...Don’t drink too much. I need him alive.” The horse gallops, ferrying her away. 

Jackal reaches for his revolver. He was still soggy from the alcohol, disoriented from the dragging, but this was his last hope for freedom. He draws, fires two shots just as the women were turning back towards him. He watches as the shots ripped into their torsos, blood bursting from the entry spot. He couldn’t believe his luck.

Jackal stands, shaky, like a newborn calf. Any weight put on his leg hurts horrifically. He makes no progress towards the two other horses before he notices the women were still coming closer. They were bleeding, yes, but otherwise seemed unaffected by the gunshots. 

“W-what?” His eyes squint, as if he were just not seeing things right. Maybe he was higher than he originally thought.

They speed towards him, nearly jumping from one spot to the other, like he had seen Nisha do. The one named Mabel grabs him by the hair. The other, Clem, digs her fingers into his dislocated leg. Jackal cries out in pain. He feels his revolver leave his hand as one of the them take it while the pain is at the front of his attention.

“It’s alright. We’ll take care of you,” Clem says. Jackal’s vision is marred by the flaring pain. She leans into his neck. He thinks she might kiss it, but instead he feels a sharp pain cutting into his skin.

“Ah!” 

“Shh…” Mabel hushes him. His eyes move wildly about him, unable to comprehend, unable to see a way out of the trap. He feels added pressure to the wound she had given him and realizes that she was sucking, pulling out more blood. Jackal groans in discomfort. He wants it to end. His hand twitches as he remains held by both women, now weaponless and severely weakened. He would not underestimate them again. 

Clem’s lips are red and bloody. She laps the extra from them, like a cat after drinking milk. “Nisha was right. A bit boozy, but it does in a pinch.”

Mabel was already eager and reaching for him for her turn. “I’ve gone hungry long enough, I don’t care what it tastes like!” She latches on to the same wound Clem bit into him, with a new pressure that earns a noise from Jackal.

“What’s…wrong with you!?” Jackal gasps out, eyes meeting with Clem’s, as she watches her partner drain him. 

“Are you just figuring it out now?” Clem answers. The smile she gives him is wicked. Mabel drinks with much more enthusiasm. He can almost feel the blood being pulled from his veins. Excess blood drips from around her mouth, dripping hot down his neck and onto his shirt. He groans again. He is starting to feel a little lightheaded. “She’s new. Don’t mind her,” He hears Clem say, though that made just about as much sense as everything else did. He feels a heaviness in his head. Clem says something else but he can’t make out her words. The night grows darker. The fire seems nonexistent now. Gravity is calling him back to the ground, and as Mabel releases her hold on him, he obeys.

[eatprayworm]

tsomd/rongzhi animorphs au pt. 2

bless y’all for the kind feedback on my animorphs au!!! ;w; as promised in part one, i have some twitter fics for this ‘verse that i’ll cross-post here. i have three so far, which i call: ding rong & mouth mashing, homesickness is a bonding activity, & and they were shormmates.

so let’s gooooo

ding rong & mouth mashing

local andalite ding rong is able to shift into a human. it's a learning experience, especially bc he now Has A Mouth and wow what do mouths do. he has learned he can eat and drink with mouths, and he likes both very much!

then one day he and wang zhi are like,,,,, idk working on some case together, and they somehow end up in a situation where they need to divert attention away from something. maybe they're hiding and need to conceal their identities. maybe they're trying to make a distraction so ppl can't see some crime being committed near them. idk! 

but cue wang zhi being like we need some way to make this distraction, and ding rong nods and before wang zhi can say anything, ding rong just smashes his mouth on wang zhi's. wang zhi is ??!?!?!?!? WhAT

ding rong is Confused when wang zhi pulls back after a moment of Mouth Mashing bc "i understand that kissing is a good way to make a distraction." (he read this in one of tang fan's novels, bless him.) wang zhi is like "okay but that wasn't a kiss??? you were eating my face and people might have thought you were hurting me or devouring my soul." 

ding rong is aghast. "i'd never eat prince wang zhi's soul :(" and wang zhi is like look. whatever. not the point. 

but ding rong blinks his big eyes with renewed interest. "can you teach me to kiss properly?" 

wang zhi almost drops a file. "what?" ding rong is crowding into his space and wang zhi is suddenly flush like um wow is it hot in here?

“yes, in case we need to do this again,” ding rong says. 

and wang zhi is just Looking at ding rong, who is eagerly Looking back .wang zhi, who has never kissed anyone before in his life unless you count this mouth mashing.....teaching someone to kiss? ding rong really thinks he can do that? trusts him with it.

-wang zhi should say no. he should! it's stupid. but he's feeling warm and ding rong is awfully close, and he did notice that dr's human form is.....pleasant to look at, and so wang zhi nods. 

"okay. later. for science." 

and ding rong is very UWU (but also his own face feels warm and hmmm what kind of silly human reaction is this?)

later they meet up w/ tang fan & sui zhou who ask how the Mission went. ding rong smiles (mouths are good for smiling! he likes smiling. likes when wang zhi smiles in particular) and says "only minor setbacks. prince wang zhi is going to teach me to kiss so next time is better."

-wang zhi is smacking ding rong like shut UP. tang fan is trying to keep his screaming internal (he's....mostly successful) and then he's extending a hand to sui zhou. "pay up!!!!!" and wang zhi has the horror of realizing they took bets on what???? wang zhi and ding rong kissing?

-wang zhi declares he hates everyone in this room, and that they need to get back to work ffs. it kinda helps when ding rong morphs back into andalite form. kind of. bc now wz is even looking at ding rong's andalite form in a new light, and yeah he's gonna get drunk later to cope.

--

homesickness is a bonding activity

wang zhi can't sleep, and so he goes to visit ding rong in the western depot stable that is now ding rong’s lil home. ding rong is resting, long legs folded beneath him, but still awake. his eyestalks perk a lil when seeing wang zhi. sometimes, wangzhi hurries to the stable at night, telling ding rong to morph into a human immediately because there's an urgent issue he needs ding rong to look into. ding rong never complains.

ding rong is starting to stand when wang zhi lifts a hand to stop him. "no need to stand. there's no mission."

ding rong gets settled back to the ground. “prince wang zhi is up late,” ding rong remarks through telepathy. wang zhi shrugs. he doesn't really want to talk about it. so he doesn't. he just sits down on a crate beside ding rong, who regards him curiously.

for a while, they sit together in a silence that wang zhi finds isn't at all uncomfortable. strange, wang zhi thinks, how the presence of a large, only partially humanoid alien is more companionable than his own species. 

when he can breathe easier, he walks to the front of the stable, looking up at the night sky. "can you see your home?" 

there a rustle, then the steady presses of hooves on the dirt. wang zhi doesn't look away from the sky as ding rong sidles up to him, his four eyes following wang zhi's gaze. “no.” 

there’s just a hint of regret.

“but,” ding rong continues. wang zhi startles as a seven-fingered hand comes to rest on his. when he whips his head toward ding rong for an explanation, he finds ding rong is still watching the sky. the large hand curls around his, and both lift to the sky. once wang zhi's hand is lifted as high as it comfortable can, ding rong extends his index finger. wang zhi's index finger slides up ding rong's, joining it. 

“my home is this direction,” ding rong says, voice a soft murmur across wang zhi’s mind. wang zhi swallows, tries to focus.

"i see," is all wang zhi can say. he withdraws his hand first, slower than necessary as he stares at the cluster of stars ding rong pointed to. he tries to envision it, a planet full of ding rongs, large and small. their children, their society.

ding rong's family.

wang zhi knows he misses them.

“prince wang zhi's home -” ding rong says, though he cuts himself off. he knows wang zhi's history. not the details. but ding rong knows that, like himself, wang zhi too was torn away from everyone and everything he knew.

(he also knows that wang zhi can never return. ding rong, theoretically, can. maybe he will one day. wang zhi doesn't like thinking about it. at least ding rong may have a family to return to.)

wang zhi isn't aware he's gone silent until ding rong's apologies start pressing against wang zhi's mind. he blinks, looks up at ding rong, the way his eyes say more than any word could. wang zhi finds himself smiling, just a little.

he takes ding rong's hand, his smaller, shorter, fewer fingers wrapped around ding rong's. and now it's wang zhi's turn to lift their joined hands, out in the direction of guangxi. "my home is there."

ding rong stares in the direction, the eyestalks squinting, like he can see it if he tries hard enough. it's endearing, wang zhi thinks. their fingers slip away, hands returning to their sides. wang zhi glances to see ding rong still looking toward guangxi. after a moment, he looks to the sky, where he had pointed out his home. then to guangxi. then back again. 

wang zhi finds himself smiling.  "i feel like making noodles. would you like to have some with me?"

ding rong meets his eyes, blinks curiously. “noodles? now?”

“yes.”

ding rong doesn't respond with words. instead, his body starts shifting, morphing before his eyes. it's a grotesque process, watching an andalite morph into a human, but it doesn't bother wang zhi as much as it used to. a minute later, wang zhi is looking into two brown eyes as opposed to four green. ding rong wets his lips, and then there's a slight tug of a smile on his handsome face.

"i would like that." 

and so they venture to the depot kitchen together, side by side.

--

and they were shormmates

ding rong explaining the concept of a 'shorm' to his human friends. someone you trust enough that they could put their tail blade to your throat and you'd feel no fear. a close, intimate companion. everyone is like bruh.

at some point in time, late at night in the western depot stable, wang zhi asks if you have to be an andalite in order to be a shorm. ding rong says he used to think so, but now he thinks it's more about the Concept of that bond. wang zhi is like so like, for instance, someone could use a knife.

ding rong says he supposes so, yes. andalites have a sacred relationship with their tail blades, so there's more of a spiritual and emotional impact with using the tail blade than a knife. but he thinks it's roughly the same principle. (in human form, ding rong favors knives.)

and then wang is staring at ding rong’s long, sharp tail blade, like a scorpion, and ding rong is staring at wang zhi’s staring. and something is brewing, something has been for a long time, and now it's threatening to bubble over. 

and then ding rong’s whip-like tail is moving forward.

“look at me.”

wang zhi does: meets ding rong's main eyes, liquid green, as the second pair of eyes are down at him. wang zhi’s heart is pounding, the tail moving ever closer, but wang zhi doesn't falter. ding rong never looks away.

then there's a tickle against wang zhi’s throat, soft as a whisper. he doesn't look down, doesn't need to see to know that the blade is hooked around his throat; a slight shift forward, and wang zhi's life will end in a waterfall of blood. it's not so scary. not so scary at all.

and it's like in a dream; they hang in suspended air, time fallen still. all wang zhi can see is the deep eyes before him, the weapon at his throat an afterthought. he doesn't know if ding rong finds what he's looking for, but he hopes he can see him, here in a drafty stable.

because wang zhi can see ding rong.

the blade retreats slowly, slowly. he doesn't clutch at his neck, doesn't gasp in relief. all he does is watch ding rong's tail settle on the ground, and he finds himself thinking 'come back.'

“prince wang zhi -”

wang zhi stands at once, expression darkening. “goodnight ding rong.”

ding rong's response is a beat too late, but it comes, soft as the steady flow of water, “goodnight, prince wang zhi." 

they don't speak of this night. wang zhi makes an idle note to bring a knife with him when he visits next.

[innerpostmentality]

The Return of Mr & Mrs Sinclaire – Part III A Rose By Any Other Name

A Choices Desire & Decorum based AU fanfic All rights to characters and settings from the Desire & Decorum fiction belong to Pixelberry Studios Featuring: Rose Sinclair, Luke Harper, Caiden Lykel (oc), Marina Burke (oc) Rating: PG-13   Warning: Captivity, Language Word count: Long post around 3446 This takes place after Part II - The Fire Tags: @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @speedyoperarascalparty @hellospunkiebrewster @tornbetween2loves @gardeningourmet @melodyofgraves @thequeenofcronuts @symonde @ritachacha @hellooliviaolivia @paisleylovergirl @allaboutchoices @regencylady1810​   Rose was bounced hard against the floor of the wagon as the team strained for speed. The hay wagon lacked the suspension designed to add comfort for carriages. Trussed in the feed sack with her arms bound she couldn’t brace herself. Time was measured in bruises. But she could feel the fatigue of the horses even as she heard one of the men yell and the whip crack.  “Garrik, ease up mon. T’weren’t no good if yas kill tha horses.”  “Shut it Hob. I ain’t dyin on this bloody plain over no doxy. Tha horses will make it to tha farm and we can hand er over and get our quid and be done.”

   She heard the edge of nervous anger in the second voice even as the whip cracked again. Rose tested her bonds and realized her luck as the rope was bound around and around her but her wrists and feet weren’t bound. She wasn’t gagged. And the bonds were all inside the sack where she could get at them. The problem was even if she could get free and manage to get out of the cart in the daylight there was no practical cover to hide in. And if she tried to get away and they caught her she knew they would secure her better.  The more the wagon slowed the more the men argued until finally Hob bellowed, “I’ll piss on you if you don’t stop, mon. I need to piss and there’s water here. You got ta let them rest and drink for a bit or we’re all gonna be walkin’. We need ta check her ladyship and gag her like you said. They was specific ‘bout her bein’ in good state. She ain’t made no sound she could be daid.”  “Fuck she ain’t daid. Don’t say that. Bloody fuck.”  They stopped.  Rose felt the wagon shift as the men got down. She did her best to relax as much as possible knowing it wouldn’t serve to struggle. She heard some rustling but couldn’t discern what was happening.  “She ain’t movin’” The man she thought was Hob sounded close. Abruptly her ankles were grabbed and she was drug to the end of the bed of the wagon. Somehow she managed not to scream fearing they would let her drop to the ground.  “She ain’t daid just fainted is all.”  She was pulled and nudged. “Come on girlie, wake up.”  She remained completely limp. “She ain’t movin’, Garrik.”  “Fuck. Come on girlie it’s time ta wake up.” He shook her again. “Fuck.” “Put on your scarf and get me some fuckin’ water, Hob. I’m gonna take er head sack off.”  “What about, ‘I gotta piss’ did you not ken? You get your own water. I told you not to go so hard. Now you broke the horses an the doxy. I knowed we was shite outta luck when you took this job haulin’ er ladyship cross tha country cause she ran away from tha high nob. Ladyships is delicate like flowers and yas broke er.”  “I’m gonna break you, ya piss fer brains.” Grunts and curses and noises of scuffling were coming from the ground close to the wagon. For a moment she considered if they really thought she was dead they might just leave her. Then she almost panicked when she considered they might try to bury her. She settled on playing senseless and incapacitated. If she could convince them they would be less likely to restrain her as well. So when the sounds of the fight changed from angry shouting to more petulant sniping and grousing she moaned softly.   “Ya bastard, ya broke me nose.” She moaned a little louder.   “Bet ya wish now ya’d got me wat..”       “Hush!” She moaned again, softer.   “I tol ya I ain’t killed er! Now get me some water for er! And put yer cloth oer yer face.” A moment later she was being shifted in the wagon remarkably gently. And the voice she had decided was Garrik was again trying to persuade her to wake up. “Come on yer ladyship just wake up a wee bit.” She thought he was untying the top of the sack she was in as he coaxed her.  “We got a commission from es highship yer husband tha Duke ta get ya back ta em.” She stayed limp but moaned in reality as he shifted her and hurt one of her many bruises. The sack over her head was removed and she concentrated on staying relaxed and resisting the nearly overwhelming desire to open her eyes. She could tell it was light out by the deep red she saw through her eyelids. He was adjusting her again then cold water was dribbled on her face. She gasped and moaned and fluttered her eyes open a moment before she rolled them up in her head closing them again and going limp.  “Fuck! Somethens wrong wit er.” He started to shake her again but almost immediately stopped when Hob yelled at him.  “Garrik, for fucks sake stop mon! She’s sore hurt cana ye ken! Prolly smashed her brains. Ain’t gonna serve ta shake her none. Leave er ta me and go tend tha horses so’s we can get ta tha farm.”  Her plan seemed to be working well as Hob tended her undoing the rest of her bonds and then patting at her face with a soaked handkerchief that made her twist away from the smell of stale sweat which only encouraged him to renew his efforts to rouse her.  “Come on Ladyship, let me know ya’s gonna be foine.”  She fluttered her eyes open again and blinked doing her best to look confused. “I.. I… “ She frowned as though trying to focus. He was dressed in workers trousers and a dirty green sack cloth shirt. A scarf covered the bottom half of his face and his left eye was swelling shut. A cut over his brow continued to seep.  She blinked and whispered softly “You’re hurt… Did, did you save me?”                                 -----------------------------------------  Marina smiled as she exited the Turks Head Tavern and saw The Captain was waiting with four horses, two of them saddled. She adjusted the pack she had put together over her shoulder and fished a couple of carrots out of her pocket breaking them into four pieces and giving each horse a piece before she walked around them trailing her hand gently over them. She checked their legs and hooves making certain of their soundness before she adjusted her tweed cap and glanced at Caiden.  “Good horses, Captain. Are they yours?”  “Aye. They’re Arabians. I first encountered Arabians on a trading expedition years ago. They’ve got the best endurance of any horse I’ve ever seen. As a boy I loved horses.” He frowned. “Then I joined the navy and had to ship them.” He trailed off and shook himself nodding at the mare that Marina was inspecting. “That’s Sheba. The one next to her is Jezebel. She bites so have a care. I’m sitting on Samson. And Zibiah is my lead.”  Curiously she turned a steady assessing gaze on him.  The Captain was not an especially large man though he had the aura of command that pulled attention and filled spaces. He possessed an elegance in his bone structure that spoke more of French or Spanish heritage than Germanic. His eyes had always fascinated her. They shifted from a dark steel gray to a blue so dark they looked black. For just a moment she allowed that he was a handsome man. The recognition bothered her. Her awareness of him bothered her. Her experience with men as a woman was not a happy tale.  “Am I sound?” His deep voice shook her from her contemplation and she dropped her eyes and adjusted her cap to hide the heat in her cheeks before taking a deep breath and meeting his dark gaze.  “Philosophers of the ages may debate that. It’s beyond my ken for certain.” She secured her pack behind the saddle and grabbed Jezebel’s lead before carefully fitting her foot to the stirrup and springing herself into the saddle. She caught his grin before he turned and led them off.  They rode silently north along the carriage road and Caiden set a steady mile eating pace. Having lost the morning they were pushing the fresh horses just a bit.          

  Marina found herself enjoying the opportunity to study The Captain even as they rode. Perhaps because they were leading horses and the speed they were travelling they travelled single file. Keeping to the road as much as possible for safety and speed. Still she noted how he focused on the horses and regularly would drop back to check on her.   Hours later Caiden departed the road and headed for the river Wharfe. The river had been getting closer and closer to the road for the last hour or so and now was a shimmering silver grey band winding its way beside the road.  Eventually he pulled up under a large sycamore tree by the bank. He dismounted and allowed his horses to drink while he went to her, “May I assist you?” He lifted his arms in offer.  She hesitated, lifting a brow and looking down at him. It was a strange moment for her, the first moment the Captain was treating her in a manner that proved he recognized her as a woman. She noted the afternoon sun had turned his eyes silver grey like the river and it momentarily transfixed her. At last she nodded and swung her leg over the saddle to face him. He gave her a gentle smile as he grasped her waist and lowered her carefully to the ground. Holding her a moment to be certain she was steady before he stepped back and went to pull the saddle from Samson.  “We’ll change horses here.” He spoke to her as he saw to Samson rubbing him down with sweet grass and checking his hooves. “I had fancied making Skipton when we set out but I think not now.” He paused looking at the light and back over at Marina who was pulling the saddle from Sheba. “If you allow I can saddle Jezebel for you.” His voice was soft with the offer his face hidden from her as he gave Samson a fond pat before taking his blanket and saddle to Zibiah and checking her before saddling her.  “It’s a kind offer and I thank you, but I can manage.” Marina frowned realizing that she was becoming increasingly discomfited by the Captain’s gentlemanly behavior toward her. “I’m not helpless.”    Caiden snorted with laughter and Zibiah shied a bit til he placed a calming hand on her neck speaking gently. He looked over at Marina, “Forgive me. But you are the least ‘helpless’ person I think I’ve ever encountered.” He was shaking his head. “I would not have engaged you on this had I thought you were at all helpless. That you are not helpless does not mean that you are not worthy of every consideration.” Just then Jezebel decided to try to bite Marina as she was preparing to saddle her. Marina slid her hand up on the reins to just beneath Jezebel’s mouth holding the horses head down and pushing her backwards as she spoke firmly “Ty budesh' podchinyat'sya! No! You will obey me!”  Caiden’s mouth fell open as the diminutive woman backed the horse up. He watched as she walked forward forcing the horse back with sheer strength of will and determination. Finally she stopped and stared at Jezebel for a moment sliding her hold on the reins back to a more natural lead position. Her voice was soft but firm as she addressed the mare. “Are we in accord? Good. Now come.” She led her back to the tree and the blanket and saddle.  Caiden chuckled and shook his head. “Jezebel, I could have told you not to try such foolishness with her Ladyship.”  Marina’s eyes went wide. “I’m not a Ladyship!.”  “Oh, but you most definitely are. And I am your Captain.” The words fell from his mouth without thought as some admission of his soul’s desire even as his personal measure of proper decorum was cringing at the most unsuitable retort.

He strode over to her picking up the saddle and settling it on Jezebel’s back before he reached beneath the horse to grab the cinch and fasten it. His mind was trying to formulate an apology but he wasn’t sorry.

 Her black eyes were lancing him, one arm braced on her hip in agitation. “I am NOT some Ladyship to be owned by anyone, Captain. Others have tried and failed before. I may have foolishly agreed to help you; and I hold to my word. I am your employee. But mark this well when your friend is safe we are done. Do you understand me?”

 His eyes went wide and locked with hers studying her carefully. Her reaction was far more extreme than he could anticipate. Finally his voice as gentle as he could manage, “Miss Burke please forgive me. Truly I intended no offense. I fear this endeavor will necessitate some levels of intimacy between us that may prove awkward for both of us. We actually know little of one another.  Be assured that I respect you in every way.”

 She turned without a word and riffled through her pack pulling a couple of carrots and a cloth wrapped piece of cheese. She wordlessly handed him a carrot and then unwrapped the cheese and cut a chunk of it off handing it to him before cutting a piece for herself. She wiped her blade on the cloth before rewrapping the cheese and stowing it again.

 Caiden fished a dried summer sausage out of his own pack and sliced chunks off for each of them. Then pulled a bottle of wine out of his pack and deftly pulled the cork with his teeth before offering her the bottle first.

 Marina took a deep swig of the crisp summer wine before handing the bottle back to the Captain. They stood as they ate their travelling repast and walked each horse to the river allowing them to drink. At last as they were tightening their girths and checking their packs were secured on their lead horses she addressed him. “So you should tell me of your friend and this Lady I’m to impersonate.”

 He looked at her a moment noting that she had not accepted his apology nor uttered a word of forgiveness. And he was still trying to fathom how his banter had so seriously offended her. He wanted to press it but thought better of it and decided to answer her question.

 “Ah. Well, Earnest Sinclaire I’ve known since we were both boys. We made our maiden ship together. It was one of his father’s ships and I came aboard as cabin boy and cook’s mate. We were bound for China. Being of an age and our first time at sea we found soon enough that we got on well. We both planned to get our experience and then serve commissions in the Royal navy and fight Bonney.” He frowned looking pensive for a moment. “It sounded so grand when we would talk about the future to pass our watch hours. Then James, Earnest’s elder brother and the heir died and his father fell gravely ill. He went home. I went to the Navy commissioned as a lieutenant.” He shook his head pulling himself from the past and looked over at her.

 If he hadn’t seen her when she rescued him from drowning he would never have guessed that the trouser and coarse linen shirt clad diminutive figure was aught but a boy. She was fascinating to him. Even dressed as she was, sweaty after riding steadily for the last four hours there was an energy about her and a quality that spoke of nobility. He frowned at himself so addled by this woman. As he forcibly brought his thoughts back to her question.

 He’d never actually met Rose Sinclaire but Earnest had given him fair description. Miss Burke was smaller he suspected. Earnest was fairly tall and commented on how his Rose fit perfectly in his arms as they danced. Caiden met her dark gaze as she studied him.

 He smiled and shrugged. “To be truthful I’ve never met Rose Sinclaire. I have her description from Earnest’s letters.” He grinned, “Hair like the sunset spun into fiery waves… Skin fair as alabaster, angel’s kisses dusting her perfect nose…”

 Marina snorted shaking her head and laughing. “Your friend is drunk as a sailor just paid with a week before shipping out again on this Rose of his.”

 Caiden chuckled feeling his heart lift at the pure joy of her laugh. He was having his own moment caught again in his own fascination with one Marina Burke.

 She continued, “So does she have an accent? You said they are new married now? I know we are in haste to Gretna Green. Then we assume their names and leisurely journey back to where? Hoping as a fisherman teases for fish to lure those who would collect this bounty out to attack us?” She lifted her brow.

 Caiden was contemplating the perfection of her tiny rosebud mouth. He finally managed to process what she had asked him and nodded. “That’s the plan so far.” His voice was warm and soft as he met the rich darkness of her gaze.

 She cocked her head slightly puzzled by the delay in his response and the strange note in his tone. “And you think we can manage this impersonation?”

 “Aye.” He was certain in that moment he could convince any observer that he was besotted with this woman. He was leaning toward her and caught himself. He cleared his throat and noticed the length of the shadows. “We need to go, Marina.”

 She nodded and took a small hop setting her left foot flawlessly into the stirrup and vaulting into the saddle.

 He took an extra minute to check the cinch on his saddle girth before mounting. “Let’s make for Addingham while we have the light.”

 “As you lead, Captain.” And they were off again.

This leg they did not push their mounts and it was well after the sun had slipped below the horizon that they made their way into the village of Addingham and found stable at The Fleece Inn.

Caiden went first to secure a room at the inn and was pleased to find they had one to let with stabling for their four horses. He paid for the room and extra rations for the horses then went out to join Marina and lead the horses around to the stable. As they were tending them he kept watching her as she fed them and gently cared for them.

 “You have a hand with horses, Marina.” His voice was whisper soft as he looked over the stall wall at her brushing Jezebel.

He frowned. “It would be good if I had a name to call you besides your own. Introducing you as my stable lad Marina won’t do.”

 “You shouldn’t introduce me.” She lifted her brow at him as she looked over Jezebel’s back. “If you introduce me I’ll have to remember to answer to it. Just call me Boy for this journey.”

 It made perfect sense and Caiden hated it. She deserved so much more than this hell paced ride to swap places and put herself in mortal danger. But he knew better than to argue with her so he nodded and went back to brushing Zibiah.

 When he was finished Caiden went around to the stall where she was putting up the tack. “There’s lamb stew in the common room.” He waited for her and she looked up at him and smirked.

“I don’t think you escorting me in to dinner is going to be good for our cover, Captain.”

He fidgeted suppressing his inclination to offer her his arm. Then he met her dark eyes, his voice soft and sincere, “Marina… I am sorry to put you through this. I want you know… I appreciate this.. I appreciate you…” His voice dropped to a whisper, “so much.”

She turned from him ducking her head to put her cap between her flushed cheeks and the warmth of his gaze.

“Apology accepted Captain.” She nodded toward the opening of the stable. “Lead and I shall follow you.”

------------------To be continued -----------------------

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 73.1

Some new enemies are crawling around the city. But who are they? Previous! Next!

--

Government of Doom Part 1

           In a hidden government facility, agents are working around the clock, monitoring energy levels from all the around the world on their computers. One man notices something odd and calls over his supervisor.

           “Sir,” he says, “these levels from a city in California are very…strange.”

           The supervisor sighs wearily before even looking at the computer. “Ah, yes. That’d be the Nameless City.”

           “The what?”

           “A city in California without an official name,” he explains, “to call it ‘weird’ would be an understatement. Levels have always been high there but it’s always contained to the city so we don’t worry about it much.”

           “O-okay,” the agent nods, “but I still think you should take a look.”

           The supervisor looks over the agent’s shoulder and his eyes widen with surprise. “Wh-what is this…?”

           On screen is a sort of graph with a coloured line displaying paranormal energies in that area. One of the jobs of these agents is to make sure the line stays a nice, even level. But on screen right now, the line is fluctuating wildly, constantly spiking and falling seemingly at random.

           “What timeline is this?” the supervisor asks.

           “The last year or so,” the agent replies.

           “I have never seen anything like this before,” he mutters before standing up straight. “I’m gonna discuss it with the director but I’m betting it’s time we’ve stopped turning the other cheek when it comes to the Nameless City. They’ve been left alone for too long.”

---

           “Are we almost there?” Tak asks impatiently.

           “Yeah, I’m getting grass stains,” Gaz grunts.

           “We should be close…I think,” Dib replies.

           “Why do we have to crawl?” Pepito asks.

           “So we don’t spook them,” he insists.

           “Everyone shut up,” Zim hisses, “we’re here.”

           The Battalion pokes their heads over a bush and looks out towards a small lake a little ways outside the city. What they see has them gasping in awe.

           Two horses are drinking from the lake. Their hides are pure white and smooth like ivory, their hooves are gold and sparkly, and their manes and tails are all the colours of the rainbow. And protruding from their heads are coiled crystal horns that sparkle in the sunlight.    

           “Unicorns!” Dib squeals into his hands to muffle his voice.

           “That crazy homeless guy was right,” Pepito remarks.

           “Not sure he’s so crazy now,” Gaz comments.

           “What do you think, Squee?” Zim asks.

           “Gaz may be right. If he’s right about the unicorns, the rest of his babbling might not be crazy,” Squee replies.

           “No, I mean about the unicorns.”

           “Oh, right.” He awkwardly clears his throat. “Uh well I don’t sense any kind of malice but that could be because they’re relaxing.”

           “Should we just leave them alone?” Pepito asks.

           “We can’t just leave,” Dib snaps, “nobody has any documented proof on unicorns. They’re one of the rarest of the supernatural creatures.”            “We’re not documenting them,” Squee says sternly.

           “Fine,” he groans, “but we still can’t just leave.”

           “Alright,” he sighs and removes his bag and sweater, handing them to Pepito. “Hold my stuff. I don’t want them perceiving me as a potential threat.”            “You sure about this?” Pepito asks.

           “Yeah,” Squee nods as he steps over the bush. “I don’t think they’re dangerous.”            He slowly, carefully, approaches the unicorns, keeping low to the ground. Once he’s a couple feet away, he stops and sits in the grass.

           The one closest to him takes notice and looks at him. Its eyes are pure black orbs that sparkle in the light, immediately reminding Squee of the stars in space.         ‘Uh…hi,” Squee waves.

           The unicorn leans over, smelling him, before blowing air in his face, making him chuckle, and going back to the lake.

           “Guys, it’s okay,” Squee calls back to his friends. “Just leave your weapons and come slow.”

           The rest of the Battalion cautiously hurry over. The unicorns look at them but seem more interested in their drink as the kids examine them.

           Dib carefully touches the second one’s back and strokes it. “They feel so smooth, like made of crystal.”

           “Their hair is really soft,” Tak says as she runs her hand through the other’s mane.

           “I gotta admit, this is a nice change of pace to the usual creatures we deal with,” Pepito remarks.

           “Yeah, they seem really peaceful,” Squee agrees.

           “Kinda boring,” Gaz comments, “but I guess they are pretty.”            “I am surprised that they are so comfortable around us,” Dib muses, “being such elusive creatures, I figured they would be more cautious.”

           “They can just tell what’s a threat and what isn’t,” Zim shrugs, “they must be clever creatures…for Earth.”

           The kids hang around for a couple minutes. While the unicorns aren’t very social, they are quite chill and they give off a very calming atmosphere. Even the usually high-strung Zim and Tak find themselves relaxing by the creatures’ sides.

           But their quiet afternoon comes to a screeching halt when they all immediately sense another’s presence. The Battalion whip around just as a bang rings out and something smashes into the ground where one of the unicorns was standing. But both are already gone, having sensed the danger, and galloping across the water. The kids, however, are too distracted to notice.

           “Was that a gunshot?” Squee shouts, covering his ears.

           Tak’s cybernetic eye scans the surrounding area. She sees residual body heat from where a person was hiding in the trees behind them, but the person themself has already ran off.

           “Whoever it was, they’re gone,” she says.

           “Gah,” Zim snarls, “if I find out who that was, they’re gonna pay.”            “Maybe we can,” Dib muses as he digs around in the dirt and pulls out a bullet, completely intact.

           “Give it!” he demands, snatching it from Dib’s hand. “I’ll examine it in my lab.”

           “Who else knew the unicorns were here?” Squee asks.

           “Anyone who goes down Main Street,” Gaz replies.

           “But who else would listen to a crazy homeless guy?” Pepito asks.

           “And why would somebody try to shoot them?” Squee adds.

           There’s a heavy silence as nobody can think of an answer.

           “Let’s just get out here,” Dib orders.

           The others nod in agreement and they head through the woods and back to the highway.

           Dib drives everyone home in the Epic. They’re all rather tense after what just happened, their minds reeling.

           Squee is the last to get dropped off before Dib and Gaz go home. He rubs his neck as he walks up to the house, feeling drained all of a sudden. But before he reaches the door, a chill runs down his spine and he turns around.

           The street is quiet, as per usual. Passersby never cross through Grave Road, believing it to be cursed, and the few neighbors are either inside or at work. But Squee can feel someone watching him.

           “Where are they?” he asks.

           “They’re well concealed,” Shmee replies.

           “Irkens?”

           “I don’t think so.”            Squee’s eyes narrow. Before, he would’ve tried to ignore the danger, not wanting to get involved. But now he finds himself not feeling so afraid. More annoyed than anything.

           He clicks his tongue and goes inside, pulling out his phone and sending a message in the group chat.  

Squee: Something’s watching me

Tak: Same here.

Pepito: me too i think

Zim: Dib and Gaz?

Squee: They’re probably still driving home.

Zim: Everyone stay on your guard and regularly check in. Something is about to happen.

           Squee half-waves to Johnny and Cammie as he passes by the couch, still texting his friends. Cammie waves back, contently watching TV as she pets Nugget. Nny isn’t quite so blissful. He knows someone has been watching the house all day and it’s pissing him off. Tonight, as soon as everyone’s in bed, he’s getting to the bottom of it.

[davidvalencia323]

One of the best Adventure Time Episodes: Jake the Brick 

Mr. Bunny retreats to his warren, its homemade comforts some consolation to help pass the hungry night.

Twilight falls on the peaceful forest; a twilight unaware of the struggles it both soothes and conceals.

The crickets begin to stir, rehearsing their musical rhapsodies.

In the distance, flashes of heat lightning illuminate a purple summer sky.

Even angry deer, at last, must come to rest. And so it is with our erstwhile antagonist, who has disappeared into a stand of trees, perhaps to dream of tomorrow's pointless battles.

- OH MY GLOB! ITS A CRAZY STORM! This might be it. This weather might knock the whole thing down!

If a definition of bravery exists, this must be it; a lone bunny, fancing off against, ineffectually pushing around some twigs with his pink bunny nose. A smbolic gesture, perhaps, but sometimes that's all we have.

The wind is beginning to pick up, and it's becoming clear that mother nature has not just knocked on the door, she has come in, sat down and poured herself a drink. 

Mr. Bunny has no friends, no family, no loved ones of any kind.

The wind is really picking up now.

Small puddles gathering around the entrances to Mr. Bunny's cozy home...

... beginning to grow in size and connect with one another. It wont be long now...

- BUT WHAT IS THIS?

Looks like this unflagging little hero of a bunny will have some help, though. A family of friendly beavers appears to have taken up the cause.

Often called "Nature's architects", these intrepid mammals are sparing no effort to sore up the endangered burrow.

- Here's an unusual sight. It's a Sea Lard!

You'd expec to see a few  mudscapms out in weather like this, but here we have a rare treat , indeed. This little beauty is pretty far outside of her natural habitat. But I heard it said by wise old salts schooled in ancient maritime lore that a storm will sometimes blow them off course to a remarkable degree. Looks like we've got some pretty good evidence tonight.

Yes, sir, sometimes those old sailors know what they're talking about. It's the triumph of experience versus the secondhand verities of musty academic tomes.

This feisty sea lard is pitching right in to save the rabbit hole, belying its slothful reputation. She uses her prodigious swiveling behind to increase the size of the hole while the beavers continue to reinforce the sides with straw and stick.

At time like these, the supposed cruelty and indifference of the natural world, all too often its most salient feature, pale before the nobler instintcs of even our most humble kin.

In the morning light, few signs remain of the summer storm that battered this idyllic glen. The beavers are finished with their work and are heading home.

The sea lard looks like she's gonna go wander the woods for a while. Maybe she'll find her way back to the ocean and write a novel about her experiences.

Mr. Bunny is exhausted but can rest easy knowing that his home is secure.

- BUT, ALAS! The bunny's rest is short-lived. The deer is back.

The deer, perhaps confused by the antler-like appearance of Mr. Bunny's protective dam, is now testing the situation. Mr. Bunny is unsure of where this is going.

- AND WITH A SINGLE SMASH FROM THE DEERS POWERFUL FRONT HOOVES, THE BUNNY'S HOME IS UNDER ATTACK.

Mr. Bunny has hopped to safety and can only watch as the deer  continues its relentless rampage on the only home he knows. A couple more mighty smashes and the dam... THE DAM HAS BEEN BREACHED! Water is now flooding in... The deer continues its attack!

This deer misplaced rage, combined with its size and weight, is more than enough to bring down the weakend walls, which are now starting to give, aided by the unforgiving weight from the tree aboove. Even Mr. Deer, in his blind fury, seems to sense what's about to happen, as he steps to one side.

It's Over. The warren has been destroyed... An injustice of astronomical levels. Words fail me.

- Actually, he doesn't seem that upset. He's on his feet, checking out his new surroundings. Even the deer is impressed. As if confused by the events, he performs a comical double-take and retreats into the forest.

- LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS BUNNY IS INDOMITABLE!

THIS SHIT IS AMAZING!

Adventure Time surprises you everytime. Wow. 

9/10 for this f**ing chapter, BOOOOY!

[the-voice-of-hell]

Rent is Theft, part 25

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here.  Note:  My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not.  If you have notes on that or anything else, hit me up.

                                                     ***

      I felt a chill.  My body was too beaten to react with a shiver, but there was a chill, like my most exposed flesh was draining of blood, stung by the air with pain.  But low key.  My eyes stung with the salt of dried sweat as I opened them, and my nostrils burned with lingering smoke.

      I forced myself to a sitting position, feeling almost too lightweight and airy, a dried piece of driftwood.  My limbs were very stiff.  It took a while to figure out what time of day it was - early morning, the light gray and dim, glowing like cathode ray tubes where it peeked through the windows.  Smoke hung in the air from the day of burning, but I sensed that nothing was currently in flames.  How much of that had I imagined?  The apartment hadn’t melted completely into a coal-black abyss, so the worst of it had surely been in my head.

      Leimomi.  I jolted awake and staggered around the apartment, trying to call to her, my throat too dry to make a sound.  She was on the bathroom floor, at first only visible to me as a sprawled mass of dark mangled hair, in parts sunk to deeper black, smoking.  How had she gotten in there?

      I pulled her head and shoulders up onto my lap.  She was easy to slide across the floor because the sweat underneath her body didn’t dry the way it had on top.  Something alarmed me badly.  As I pulled, her hair was coming out in dramatic clumps.  It felt like I was killing her.       I gasped, the choke finally bringing enough saliva to my throat to start making sounds again.  I used my voice to hyperventilate and make incoherent plaintive noises.  I know what they meant.  She woke up crying as well, which was a massive relief.

      I kissed her mangled salty forehead, pressed my cheek there, tamped down my panic enough to make soothing noises.

      “What happened to us?  What’s... Am I... Where is..?”

      I took the questions seriously, looking over her head and body for answers.  “Your hair… You’re OK, you really are, but your hair is burned... Don’t worry, it’s OK.”

      She cried and I held her, though my body ached and cramped so badly I almost spasmed with the pain.  At last she calmed enough that I felt bold enough to do something, to say something beyond my soothing.

      “Hey, when I say your hair is burned, I mean just your hair.  It’ll grow back, your head is fine.  But we should get this gross stuff off of you, honey.  I’m going to run you a bath, OK?  You get in and wait for me.”  I choked.  “I’ll geh- water too.”

      I helped her into the bathtub, and she sloughed off almost all of the mass of her hair at once, leaving flimsy thin strands half glued all around her face, head, and neck.  Her forehead was knotted from crying and I kissed it, wishing I could smooth it out.

      Just as I was leaving to get our water, she cried, “Oh no!  It’s your hair too!”

      I turned to look at her and felt up my head.  Some of my hair was coming loose, and I quick stepped to the mirror in panic.  Please don’t be male pattern.  It wasn’t as bad as hers, wasn’t bald in the front at all.  Tears streaked my face again, this time in relief.

      But then I felt it.  Just below the crown, there was a bald area, the flesh warped and numb from a burn.

      “Courtney, it’s gone.  The mouth!  And my hair.”

      She was right.  Our curses had been burned out of us.  And the bald spot was low enough I could probably work with it, if it ended up as a permanent thing.  “That’s good, I mean... That’s good.”  I peeled myself from the mirror and smiled at her one time before going for the water again.

      The grey light was already more fully formed than when I first woke, though still weak.  Maybe it was an overcast morning out there.  I remembered using warm saltwater to gargle when sick, and added some table salt to the first glass I poured.  I gargled it, I swallowed some.  As my voice healed under the effort, I spoke to Momi through the rooms.  “We’re doing good, baby.  We got through the worst of it!  It’s good...”  I trailed off, unsure if she could hear me over running water, realizing I was talking to myself more than her.

      I cut off two slices of cheese and tossed them in a bowl with some chips, poured Momi a tall luke-warm glass of water, and went back to the bathroom.  She turned off the water as I came in, looked at me with her big eyebrows scrunched up.  As long as she still had those, I was in love.  I smiled much more easily then, and sat beside the tub.

      “Drink this.  Kinda gargle it a little too.”

      She did.  “Bleh.  Gross.”

      “I think warm water goes down easier when you’re dehydrated like this.  At least I didn’t add salt to yours.”

      “Ew.”

      “Heh.”  I gobbled up my share of the cheese and chips, then smiled at her again.

      “Why are you smiling at me so much?”

      “I’m just so glad we’re done with the curses, that we’re alive.  I swear, I’m gonna get more interviews, get something going.  If we have to move to Kalamazoo and flip burgers, we’re going to be OK.”  I wanted to help wipe away the rest of the loose hairs, but she was eating the food, drinking the water.  “When you’re done I just wanna take a super quick shower before we check in on everyone else.”

      “Oh god, I hope Marcie is OK.”  She hugged herself.

      “You can bet she is.”  What could possibly be wrong with the world right then?

      My gaze drifted through the smoke, took in some details as the weak sun revealed them.  There were blisters and warps in every surface.  The mirror’s backing was badly oxidized into rusty splotches and speckles.  What the hell?

      I helped wipe away Momi’s burned hairs and wrapped a scarf around her head, cancer patient style.  Then I hopped into the shower and rinsed the salty crud off my bones.  I heard voices in my apartment, towel-dried and put on a bathrobe as quick as I could.

      There was no bedroom door to obscure me as I hopped around, trying to get ready.  Methadone Mike and Deandre glanced at me a few times.  At last I slouched against the door frame like Mae West.  “Hey boys.  How’s everybody doing today?”  Momi looked embarrassed.

      Deandre said, “Fit to get eaten.  We just got slow roasted las’ night.”

      Mike said, “That’s ta say, like, why are you in such a good mood?”

      I slapped the back of my head with both hands.  “Only one mouth today.”

      Deandre grabbed his body and started patting himself down.  “Huh.”

      “I did ask you a question.  You talked to anyone else yet?”

      Mike said, “Uh, just to check in.  Everybody’s alive except... Graeme ain’t answerin’ his door.”

      I was startled, then thought better.  “Sometimes in crunch time programmers’ll work overnight.  Bet he isn’t even home yet.  Stayed out on purpose just to beat the heat.”

      “Well shit, you think everybody is cured?”

      I shrugged.

      “Except Graeme,” Mike added.

      “Alright,” said Deandre, “Let’s find out.  But look at this shit.”  He gestured around the place.  Every surface was blistered or warped from the heat.  The air was hazy from old smoke with no way to vent.  “We gotta get out of here.  We’re lucky to be alive.”

      I nodded eagerly and swept Momi along with us as we stepped into the hall.  “This is our chance.  We got through it, guys.  We can walk away...”

      In the hall, the lights were all dim and irregular - the light somehow blotchy.  Glancing up, it looked like they had little bubbles in the glass of the fixtures.  Heat damage?  We went to Olivia and Knobby’s door and knocked.

      Suddenly, the elevator softly chimed its presence on the floor.  I glanced that way over Momi’s shoulder, expecting Grime to step out of the door looking like a semi-pleasant zombie.  Instead, before the door fully slid open, a horrible animal’s head ripped free, thrashing and tossing spittle.

      We all leapt at the noise.  It was surging, slamming to get into the hall.  The scrape and bustle coming from inside the elevator - meaty flanks beating the sides of the box, impatient hooves scratching.  It was a wild boar with a head the size of my torso.  The bug-sniffing pig?

      “No!” I shouted, “You’re supposed to have an appointment!”

      Momi dragged me out of the hall as it came in, slamming against a wall in its mad scramble.  I was in an apartment, it was out of sight, but I could still hear it, still feel it in the floor - an ogre, a giant.  Olivia and Knobby were bedraggled and terrified, looking like twelve year olds in their sweaty underclothes.  Deandre was shoving at them, yelling something.

      I found Momi’s eyes and hardly had a moment to catch my reeling mind before she was thrown against me.  She had been blocking the door, and one bash from the beast sent her crashing.  We scrambled to push the door back into place as the monster wound up for another attack.

      Momi cried, “We need a gun!”

      Deandre might have said something about that, but the pig crashed into the door again like thunder.  The door was knocked off the hinges, Momi and I were mashed together under it as the monster barreled past us into the room.

      My head was spinning, ears ringing, when I heard the voice of that fucking bug man out in the hall.  “What’s that boy?  You smell somethin’ good?  Get ’em boy, get ’em!”

      I tried to tell him to fuck off and die, but couldn’t breathe.  I struggled to stand, slipping against the wall.  To one side, the boar rampaged through Olivia and Knobby’s apartment.  Right in front of me, Momi was pushing the door out into the hall like a massive shield.  She smashed it against the wall and I saw a spindly white man’s arm flap behind it like a spider in death throes.

       I caught my breath and she was lifting me up by an arm.  We faced the living room.  The boar had already annihilated the coffee table and upended every piece of furniture that remained.  The children were hiding, Deandre and Methadone Mike facing it from either side, armed with stools.

      “Hey!” I yelled at the thing.  “We didn’t call for you!”

      It whipped around to look at me, and the guys charged in.  It looked mildly surprised to be stabbed from both sides, and spun in place again.  This time, the power of its movement sent the guys down.  Deandre was shoved back by his own stool, losing his grip and going end over end.  Mike’s stool flipped away and exploded on the ceiling.  His body went ragdoll to the floor and bounced.

      Before I could even blink, it reached a leg over - with almost no effort at all - and drove it down onto Mike’s back with a horrible noise.  He spasmed one time and fell still.  It wasn’t even looking at him.  It was staring at me.

      The thing was so full of power, its barest movement made things explode.  I knew if it touched me I’d die badly.  The kitchen had a window to the living room and I tried to dive through that, hoping Momi would take the opportunity to shut herself in one of the bedrooms.

      I only got my upper body through, snagging my thigh on the wall.  My legs were hanging out, wagging as I scrambled to get in.  The pig was so fast.  I felt it crash into me, into the wall.

      I think it had tried to bite my leg but missed, then when it pulled back to bite me again, its tusks flipped me the rest of the way into the kitchen.  Lucky, but it still felt like taking a baseball bat to the thighs.  I was on a high counter trying to get my balance when sharp hooves kicked me onto the floor - it had reared up to attack me.

      Fortunately it knocked me out of its own reach.  I yelled, “Momi, hide!” and hoped she’d do the smart thing.  I heard it hit the floor again and scrape hooves to come get me.  I jumped up on the counter again, planning to go through the kitchen window back to the living room as soon as it got close.

      The kitchen had a clear view of the apartment door and as the beast rounded the corner, I saw Richie stepping into the apartment behind it.

      “No!  Run!  It killed Mike!”  I screamed.

      It whipped around again, crashing into every wall as it went.  I tried going through the window, but again got tripped up, falling out headfirst and landing like a pile of bowling pins.  I blacked out.

      Deandre was pulling me to my feet, Olivia and Knobby were behind him.  They were waving for us to come join them in the bedroom, in safety.  Deandre looked very frustrated.  “Just ’cause I’m gangster doesn’t mean I have a gun.”

      My head bobbled in shock.  “Uh-huh, hm - fuck.  Where’s Leimomi?”

      “I’ll go help her.  You get in there with the kids, dammit.”

      My heart sank and I almost collapsed again, sliding out of his arms.  Then I shook my head and steeled myself.  “Where did she go?”

      He shook his head.  “Out there.”

      Pretty quickly, we were both out in the hall.  Knobby gave me his aluminum bat and Deandre got a knife.  I heard the pig in one of the other apartments, heard movement from others as well, heard voices.  Olivia and Knobby’s door was where Momi had left  it - on top of some unmoving fucko who was dead for all I cared.  The pig had also knocked the doors off of Methadone Mike’s apartment and Leimomi’s.  I heard a buzzing overhead like moths around an electric lamp. I glanced up and saw the light fixtures were actually full of eyeballs, which obscured the light and bobbed around each other like they were boiling.

      Patrick and Marcie came out of Patrick and Perry’s apartment, both carrying short spears made from halves of the same broken mop handle.  Marcie said, “Where’s my boy?”

      We exchanged very emotional looks in that moment, but the sound of the pig thrashing in Momi’s apartment drew our attention.  We all hustled to that broken door, gathered outside it in the hall.  I said, “Hey, pig!  Suey!”

      In response, I heard it wreck some more furniture before storming back into our line of sight.  It surged toward us, toward the hall, and we all stepped to the sides of the door.  Patrick and Marcie were on one side, Deandre and I on the other.  As it came into the hall thrashing - a grey-brown tornado of bristling hair and gleaming tusk - we all did our best to attack it.

      Hitting it with the baseball bat was like hitting leather-covered steel.  The shock and its thrashing threw me to the ground again.  It stomped Deandre’s leg and he collapsed, though he barely managed to escape another stomp by lurching out of the way.  His face was completely unrecognizable from the pain, doubled in on itself like a baseball cover.

      It jerked back into the apartment, leaving the four of us in the hall, splashed with blood.  Another calm before another storm - it would surely come attack us again in less than a minute.  Deandre couldn’t get up, Marcie had lost her spear, Patrick’s face was purple and swollen.

      To Marcie I said, “Help Deandre get to Olivia and Knobby!  I’ll help Richie.”

      She shook her head, grabbed Patrick’s spear, and went after the thing in Momi’s apartment.  I looked at Patrick in desperation, he shook his head.  I knew he had to get back to Perry.

      I grabbed Deandre’s shoulders to drag him, but he pushed me away.  “Don’t!  Find your girl!”

      “That thing’ll stomp you dead!”

      “Go!”  Blood spewed from his leg in time with his pulse.

      I took the permission and ran into the apartment.

      Richie was dodging it over by the window, bouncing around like a too-tall marionette on a string.  The pig had a spear and a knife sticking out of its flanks, but wasn’t slowing at all.  Marcie was throwing a stool at it, again to no effect.  Where the Hell is Leimomi?

      “Come on!,” Marcie yelled. “Suey suey!,” I yelled.  That’s a thing they say on farms, right?

      The boar was obsessed with Richie in that moment, ignoring anything we threw at it.  He was more agile than the thing, like a cowboy at an unusually sadistic rodeo event, but it was so much faster.  It whacked him in the shin with its tusks and flipped him off its head.  He spiraled in the air like a starfish before hitting the ground.

      The beast came rushing at him, and Marcie blocked it with a cushy chair.  When it failed to flick the furniture aside quickly enough, it decided to burrow its way through, sending a snow of stuffing and wood chips flying.  As it dug, its weight had Marcie and Richie sliding tangled across the carpet.

      I pushed a couch upside down, covering the pig and the chair, and I jumped on top.  I waved for Marcie and Richie to get away from the chair, and they did.  Just in time, the monster ripped out through the chair, out from under the couch.  I bucked loose and the couch rolled over me.

      When I got loose, I saw it headbutting Marcie full force in the guts, then spinning to face Richie.  He kicked it but it just lurched into the foot, pushing the boy on his ass again.  Marcie was too winded to help, I was still getting to my feet, and the horrible thing’s massive jaws were perfectly poised to start devouring Richie’s softest parts.

      Momi came into the room with a long flat metal rectangle, gripped in two places with rags.  She slapped the wall to get its attention.  “Hey!  Hey!”  She waved the metal closer to its face, swooping dangerously close to Richie’s head to do so.

      The pig lost interest in Richie and nipped at Momi’s clumsy weapon.  Unfortunately for Richie, it was stomping all over him to get to her.  He was bloody in a split second.  I found my footing and charged in.

      I grabbed its tail, jerked with all my strength.  It really hated that, bellowed and turned to face me, trampling Richie again.  I lost my grip on the tail.  It was facing me almost instantly.  This was it.  Deranged animal fury, blood and bristles, gleaming tusks - and me completely without a weapon.

      It hit me with its face, a battering ram of bone and enamel.  We went to the floor together, prey and predator, jerking and screaming.  I pulled myself out from under it.

      Leimomi was coming to help me, Marcie to Richie.  The boar was on its side, twitching.  Momi had stabbed it from behind with the metal, and deep.  She pulled me into her big arms.  I gasped as my diaphragm started working again.

      “Where did you get that… spear?”

      “Bottom of Mikey’s bed.  Are you OK?”

      “Uh… I think so.”  I sat up.  “Deandre.  Mike.  What the fuck is happening here?”

      Marcie had Richie sitting up again.  “We got it?”

      I pulled myself up to my feet on Momi’s shoulders.  “Checking for bed bugs.  We gotta get Deandre to a hospital.  And you.”

      “Huh?”

      Marcie said, “Hush up, baby.  Let’s get you walking, OK?”

      I went into the hall.  Deandre was gone, a trail of blood leading back to Olivia and Knobby’s place, past the corpse of the bug man.  Overhead, the eyeballs in the lighting fixtures were seething, angry.

      Momi came into the hall behind me.  “What should we do?”

      “Get everyone together, down there.  Fucking... Hell, I don’t want Marcie to see... Mike like that.”

      “Should I tell her..?”

      “We should all go down there.  Get Patrick and Perry.”  I yelled to Marcie, “Hey, we’re going to Olivia and Knobby’s apartment first, OK?”  She made some kind of noise back, then we went to work.

                                                       ***

Read next chapter here.

[normanandcaliban]

Bar Crawl

Music: “Your Light” by Yoe Mase

“ID, please.”

Norman casually produced the small, rectangular piece of plastic and gave it to the bouncer. The dude was one intimidatingly massive demon with cloven hooves where feet and shoes should be. Every inch of the guy oozed bouncer stereotype (tall, big arms, big chest, icy stare, cold demeanor), but the tight-fitting “Super Mario Bros” t-shirt he was wearing threw off his tough-guy fengshui. Norman fought back a grin, trying not to give away his thoughts. The last thing he needed was to be kicked out of the first bar of the evening. He still had so much exploring to do since this was his first time visiting Hell.

The bar’s neon “Beercade” sign overhead cast a yellow glow over everyone waiting in line behind Cal. Norman had never been to an arcade bar before. Cal said this was the place to come for the best local beer. Norman was more of a rum and coke kinda guy, but beer sounded great when Cal originally proposed the idea.

While the large, green demon checked his credentials, Norman’s eyes drifted up to the beast’s large, black, curvy horns. The way they twisted in a sturdy spiral reminded Norman of a mountain ram. Norman wondered if he ever kicked out disgruntled bar patrons by smashing into them headfirst.

The demon caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “You need something, bub?”

Cal’s hands clasped Norman's shoulders from behind, making him jump. He poked his head past Norman’s left shoulder and addressed the bouncer, “No, we’re good, Ron. Sorry, it’s his first time in the Furnace so everything is still pretty...new.” Cal planted a peck on Norman’s cheek and gave him a noogie. 

The “Furnace” is what native demons referred to as Hell’s main dimension. Cal brought Norman to Pandemonium, the capital of Hell and heart of the Furnace, to introduce him to demonic culture. As they exited the portal from Earth to Hell, he best described the bustling, satanic metropolis by calling it “an infernal version of New York City.” When the city came into view, Norman’s jaw dropped. The resemblance was unmistakably New York-ish with a dash of hellfire, exposed brickwork, and thousands of screaming, writhing souls of the damned. Skyscrapers grew out of the ground as far as the eye could see and stretched all the way up into the black, tar-like, starless sky. Taxis, cars, and other vehicles packed the streets, making any mode of transportation other than walking a pain in the ass. Flying was also an option for most since several demon species had wings, but Cal said most demons shy away from it due to all the construction and demolition hazards in the downtown area. Dozens of bars, coffee shops, and retail stores littered the bases of every skyscraper. Various demons, creatures, ghosts, ghouls, and undead hustled to and fro in the clustered madness that was Pandemonium’s downtown nightlife.

Cal tried to give Norman another noogie. He rolled his eyes and tried to shrug Cal off. The bouncer, aka Ron, smiled at their playful banter. He cleared his throat, politely coaxing them to stop, “Yeah, I know how it is. My girlfriend is human, too. We’ve been together two years and she still gawks a bit whenever she comes to visit. The Furnace can be a lot to take in all at once.” He checked the identification one more time before extending it back to Norman. “Here’s your ID back, dude.” He gave a nod to Cal. “Have fun you two.”

“We will! Thanks Ron, good to see you again.” Cal smiled back. He casually grabbed Norman’s butt and gave it a squeeze then walked through the door without ever showing Ron his own ID. Norman let loose the grin he’d been holding back and shook his head at Cal. Must be nice to have connections, He thought to himself. He wished he had something like that when he was still a minor.

He was thinking of ways to pay Cal back for that public ass grab when he stepped through the tinted glass door and gasped. The interior of the Bar was laced with intricate woodwork from floor to ceiling. The wood was clearly recycled, but sanded down and molded to fit perfectly in every corner. It looked like something straight out of a boujee architecture magazine. At the far left was the main bar with tap nozzles, shelves of fancy liquor, and a painted version of the “Beercade” sign from outside. On the right sat arcade-style video game machines stacked back-to-back all the way to the patio and emergency exit doors. There was Pac-Man, Galaga, Donkey Kong, Super Mario Bros, various racing games, and even skee-ball. Norman felt like he’d stepped back in time to the 80s.

Dozens of demons crowded around the main bar counter, ordering various glowing liquids, beers, and shots. Some of the drinks smoked ominous gases while others screeched earsplitting cries of intangible babble. Norman swore he even saw one of the drinks try to crawl its way out of a martini glass. He glanced around, trying to locate his boyfriend, when a familiar red hand shot up through the crowd and waved at him frantically. Norman squeezed his way between a very intoxicated rock golem and a succubus with ginormous boobs to find Cal saving the only two remaining barstools at the counter. He beckoned Norman to come sit. 

“Hey you, what d’ya want to drink?” Cal asked as Norman pulled up in the stool next to him.

“I don’t know.” Norman replied casually. “What’s good? I don’t normally drink beer, so order something for me. I trust your judgement.”

Cal grinned. “You got it!” He turned to the nearest bartender and shouted over the noise of the crowd, “Hey Ryali, two Pitchforks over here!” She nodded and gave a thumbs up.

Pitchfork? 

“What’s Pitchfork?” Norman chuckled. What an a-typical demonic beer name. It was almost so corny that it was a perfect fit. He was excited to try it. 

“Only the best brew to ever touch your mortal lips. It’s made from dragon’s blood.” 

Norman grimaced, “Dragon’s blood? I don't know if I can stomach that...”

“Oh no no no, not actual dragon’s blood. Dragon’s Blood. It’s a type of hop plant grown in Erebos. It gives the beer its unique flavor. Ah! Here we go.” He took two sweating, ice-cold beer cans from the bartender. “Thanks Ryali!” The demoness smiled, nodded again, and winked at Norman with her third eye, making him cringe a bit. Cal laughed and handed Norman his beer. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing you squirm.”

“Oh shut up and drink your beer.” Norman snarked as he popped the tab on his can. Air hissed out of the opening when the metal punctured the seal. 

Cal held out his can to propose a toast. “Here’s to new beginnings and cute guys.” He winked.

“Uh-huh, suuure. And here’s to us.” Norman retorted.

“To us.” Cal agreed, clanking his can on Norman’s.

The cold can chilled Norman’s lips. The first surge of beer hit his tastebuds and sent waves of bitter, tangy flavor through his senses. 

“Damn! That’s good beer!” He exclaimed, sitting back to marvel the can with new insight.

“Told you.” Cal responded. “Hey, Ryali! Another round over here!”

Norman looked over at Cal and found his beer completely empty. His eyebrows shot to the roof of his forehead. “We’ve had these in our hands for exactly one minute! Did you just chug that?!”

Cal grinned, showing off his fangs, and wagged his eyebrows. “They didn’t crown me ‘Beer Chugging Champ’ in college for nothing! It’s all in the gag reflex.” He flexed his biceps in a display of sarcastic, manly macho-ness.

“Is that so?” Norman cocked an eyebrow as Ryali brought Cal the next round of beer. The demon eagerly opened his second can and began gulping down a good portion of it. Norman returned to sipping his first beer and added with sexual fervor, “I can think of something else you should be chugging right about now...” 

Cal choked, sending spurts of alcohol flying out of his nose and mouth. Ryali, the two other bartenders, and several people around Norman and Cal stared for a moment then started laughing. Norman joined in as Cal got a towel to clean up the mess he made on himself and the counter.

“That’s for grabbing my ass earlier.” Norman chided, sticking his tongue out at Cal.

“You bastard.” Cal laughed, wiping beer from his face and shirt. “Your ass is mine when we get home.”

“Is that a challenge? Cuz I honestly wanna see you showcase those chugging skills.” Norman fired back at the demon. “If you can beat me in a Das Boot chugging contest, you can have me any way you want when we get home, deal?”

A spark of excitement and mischief flickered across Cal’s demonic eyes, “Oh it’s on like DONKEY KONG!” 

They shook hands as Ryali brought over two gallon-sized, glass boots full of beer.

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