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razieltwelve · 3 years

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Writing Genre Fiction

Not all fiction is the same. It’s why we often divide stories according to which genre or sub-genre they belong to. In the case of fantasy, it’s not unusual to see stories classified as epic fantasy, or humorous fantasy, or dark fantasy, amongst many others. Each of these genres or sub-genres has its own quirks and conventions, and a reader can generally tell whether or not a story fits fairly quickly. As a writer, then, what are some of the things you should consider when writing for a particular genre or sub-genre?

In my opinion, it comes down to the five crucial aspects of a story:

Characters

Plot

Setting

Themes/ideas

Writing technique

Each of these five areas is vital to the success of a story and each genre or sub-genre has its own conventions that apply to each of these areas. Adhering to these conventions, or at least acknowledging them, is the easiest way to ensure your story fits into a particular genre or sub-genre. To illustrate this, let’s pretend we’re trying to write a humorous fantasy or a dark fantasy story.

Characters

Characters are the heart of a story. There are very, very, very few stories that can survive having boring and formulaic characters. In contrast, readers are often willing to overlook a lot of flaws in a story if the characters are interesting and engaging enough. If you want to write a humorous fantasy, then you need to make sure that humour is a part of your characters.

Let’s start off with one of the stereotypes of fantasy fiction: the adventurer. Now, adventurers are commonplace in fantasy fiction. If we want readers to know that they’re reading a humorous fantasy, then we need to make our adventurer a humorous fellow. Now, this doesn’t mean that the adventurer has to be funny. On the contrary, it is entirely acceptable for their misfortune to be the cause of other people’s mirth. Consider the following introduction:

Jeremy could still remember the day he’d first joined the Adventurer’s Guild. They’d given him a wooden plate with his name on it and told him to go kill some goblins. That first mission hadn’t gone exactly to plan. If it hadn’t been for a serendipitous landslide annihilating the goblins’ camp, he might well have met his end then and there. However, there was nothing wrong with a bit of luck to start a man’s adventuring career off. Surely, it wouldn’t be long before his wooden plate gave way to a copper one and then a silver one and then perhaps even a gold one. Ideally, he’d get to platinum one day, but he didn’t want to be too arrogant.

Of course, his first mission hadn’t been the only one that hadn’t gone to plan. The second hadn’t gone to plan either, nor had the third, or the fourth, or the fifth… In fact, it had been ten years and twenty-seven missions, and he still had a wooden plate dangling around his neck. On the upside, he’d finally upgraded from a pointy wooden stick to a proper spear. It was progress. Kind of.

Now, the moment a reader gets through those two paragraphs, they’re going to know what kind of story this is. It’s going to be a humorous fantasy. The very nature of the character (Jeremy) makes it clear that humour is going to play a part in the story. What if we wanted to write a dark fantasy? Well, we’d have to approach it differently:

Ten years and twenty-seven missions. That’s how long he’d been eking out a living. Mission to mission. Day to day. Never knowing when he’d finally bite off more than he could chew. He’d done everything he could to rise up through the ranks, but nothing had worked. He’d lost a few fingers for his troubles – and more than a few friends. The best nights were the ones he didn’t dream. But when he did dream…

Gods. He could still hear the screams. He’d seen fellow adventurers ripped to bits by goblins, crushed under landslides, or set ablaze by fire drakes. It wasn’t skill that had allowed him to survive. It was luck. And maybe a bit of cowardice. But adventuring wasn’t a job for heroes. No. Heroes got killed quickly. It took a cunning man to survive, and a cunning man had to be willing to cut his losses, even if it meant losing a few friends in the process. It might make it hard to sleep at night, but it was still better than ending up in a dragon’s belly or on some ogre’s skewer.

Again, you can see how the character himself is quite a dour, pragmatic fellow. This already makes it obvious that the story will have different feel to it than the earlier one. Moreover, his explanation of his history makes it very clear that this is a world where bad things can and do happen quite frequently to people in his profession. Moreover, his admission that running and abandoning people is acceptable demonstrates a certain… darkness to the world he inhabits.

Characters often reflect the genres or sub-genres they are a part of. If you want to write a humorous fantasy or a dark fantasy, then that needs to be reflected in your characters.

Plot

The plot is another critical part of a story. It is, simply speaking, the sequence of events that occurs throughout the story. Once again, the plot itself can be used to signpost what sort of story a reader is dealing with, and readers who want to read a particular genre or sub-genre will almost always expect certain things from the plot.

For a humorous fantasy, this often means a subversion of expectations to create humour. Since fantasy, as a genre, has so many expectations, this is actually not as difficult as it might seem at first glance. Imagine you’re reading a story and you get this for a plot:

Prince Zachary was the second-most dashing prince in all the land. To become the most dashing prince, all he needed was to rescue a princess. It’s a pity, then, that there aren’t any princesses that need saving. What to do? Well… why not use his royal wealth to train a commoner to pretend to be a princess before hiring a dragon to pretend kidnap her? He could then ‘rescue’ the princess and claim the number one ranking. What could possibly go wrong? How about everything.

As you can see, the plot subverts a whole host of expectations in a way that immediately makes it clear that this is going to be a humorous story. Indeed, the plot is perfectly set up to create humorous situations from beginning to end. Now, what if we wanted to write a dark fantasy? Dark fantasy has its own expectations, and in this case, we’ll want to conform to them. That means taking the normal fantasy tropes and ideas and adding some grim darkness to them.

Prince Zachary was once the heir to the second-most prosperous kingdom in the land, but betrayal saw the downfall of his family. Robbed of his birthright and forced to wander the land disguised as a commoner, Zachary struggles to survive. Ambushed on a lonely road by bandits, he finds himself on the verge of death. Wounded, penniless, and alone, Zachary has no choice but to abandon his honour to survive. If he wants to reclaim his throne, he’ll have to become the same sort of monster as the traitors who struck down his family.

Dark fantasy features dark themes (as the name suggests), and this generally needs to be reflected in the plot. Betrayal, tragedy, and general horribleness are all parts of dark fantasy, and you’re going to need to have them in your plot if you want to write a dark fantasy. It’s not a coincidence that so many dark fantasy stories have what seems to be a whole dictionary’s worth of awful things happening to people.

The plot your story has can often be one of the biggest tells as to which genre or sub-genre it belongs to. A humorous fantasy will often have a humorous plot. A dark fantasy will often have a darker plot.

Setting

The setting of a story is the world in which the story exists as well as the rules that govern that world. What sort of setting you have will greatly influence how your story is perceived by the reader. As you can imagine, a setting full of tragedy and woe will lend itself more easily to a dark fantasy story… unless you make the tragedy and woe so utterly ridiculous that it becomes funny, in which case you’ll end up with a humorous fantasy. Don’t believe? Let’s try it out.

Evermere is a world riven with conflict. Its petty kings have fought for centuries, and their wars have done nothing but wreak havoc and suffering upon common folk and nobles alike. Driven to ever greater depths of desperation, the squabbling kings have turned to demonic pacts to further their power. Now, demons walk the land, harvesting the souls of all those unfortunate to cross their path and inflicting even greater tortures on all those who dare to oppose them.

Yeah. The world described above is pretty awful. It’s got all the ingredients you need for a dark fantasy because it allows you to deploy all of the most common tropes, traditions, and conventions (e.g., people getting tortured, civilians getting wiped out, people being betrayed, bloody conflict for petty reasons, etc.).

But what if we turned the tragedy and woe up to eleven? Well, then you’d get a setting that actually lends itself to humour:

Evermere is a world where kings are a dime a dozen. Wait. That was last week. Right now it’s about a penny a dozen – royal inflation and all that because of all the unnecessary kin-slaying and treachery. And let’s not forget the demons. Constant civil war wasn’t bad enough. Someone actually thought getting demons involved was a good idea. Now the local tax collectors are joined by demonic soul collectors in a never-ending bid to suck commoners and nobles alike dry of all their wealth and their souls.

As you can see, the setting here makes it clear that this is going to be a humorous sort of story despite it being quite dark. Indeed, the increased darkness is such that it actually goes from being dark to being amusingly over the top.

Setting matters. The world your story is set in is what gives it context. Dark fantasy stories often have dark settings. Likewise humorous fantasy stories tend to have humorous settings. In a dark fantasy, demons might expect payment in souls. In a humorous fantasy story, demons might demand payment in limited edition action figures.

Themes/Ideas

Every story has themes and ideas. In some stories, these might play a very central role. In others, they are more in the background. By now, you can tell where I’m going with this. Each genre or sub-genre has themes that occur quite frequently. Including these themes will often make it easier to write for those genres or sub-genres.

If you want to write a dark fantasy, it’s likely you’ll end up including themes or ideas like:

Betrayal

Crime paying off

The good guys not always winning

Pragmatism over honour

Moral relativism

What makes humorous fantasy (and humour in general) a bit of a special case is it’s not so much about what themes or ideas you employ but more about how you use them. For example, you can write a perfectly serviceable humorous fantasy using the themes given above with a few tweaks. Have the betrayal at the heart of the story be something petty, such as two wizards going to war because one dared to wear the same robes as the other to a prestigious convention. As for moral relativism, instead of making it a complex discussion about moral shades of grey, make it a story about a guy who has realised that sometimes it makes sense to pay a dragon to eat the bandits who’re troubling your village.

Certain themes and ideas lend themselves best to particular genres and sub-genres. Making use of those themes and ideas will help you to write a story that satisfies the reader and fits into those genres and sub-genres.

Writing Technique

Writing technique refers to the technical aspects of writing, such as word choice, sentence composition, and so on. Different genres and sub-genres are written in different ways, so conforming (or not conforming) to those standards can make your life as a writer easier.

Take something like epic fantasy. In most epic fantasies, you tend to see more advanced vocabulary and longer, more complex sentences. The prose will often come across as a bit florid or even purple to those who aren’t fond of epic fantasy stories. In contrast, dark fantasy stories tend to lean more toward more succinct prose and grittier descriptions and exposition. Battle isn’t some glorious, heroic endeavour out of story and song. It is brutal and ugly and bloody and all too real. Likewise, humorous fantasy has its own writing techniques, such as hyperbole, contrast, and so on.

Just contrast these descriptions of a battle.

Blood. The coppery smell of it filled the air. Gerard’s spear caught in his opponent’s gut, and the dying man lunged forward with his sword. Gerard let go of the spear and dodged the desperate slash before he drew his dagger and jammed it into the man’s throat. Blood spewed from the wound, and he shoved the other man into the muck of the battlefield. At his feet, a wounded man clutched at his leg. He kicked him in the face and yanked his spear free. There was still plenty of killing to do.

That, as you can imagine, would fit well into a dark fantasy. It’s gritty, realistic, and definitely dark. Now, how about something different:

The two men circled each other, their blades at the ready, each as keen for battle as a berserk wolverine. With all the grace of two walruses fighting on the shore, the pair lunged forward. To call what followed combat would have been an insult to the word combat. It was closer to the deranged flailing of two half-witted drunks.

The writing style should immediately give away that this isn’t a serious story. Instead, it’s a humorous one.

Writing technique can greatly impact how a story is perceived. Things like word choice, sentence construction, metaphor, exaggeration, and more can all help define what genre or sub-genre a story belongs to.

Summary

If you want to write a genre story, then you need to understand how that genre works. Each genre has its own rules, expectations, and conventions. You don’t need to slavishly follow all of them, but incorporating at least some of them into the characters, plot, setting, themes/ideas, and writing techniques you employ will make your task far easier – and far more enjoyable for the readers. This applies to areas as diverse as dark fantasy and humorous fantasy.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

#writing #writing technique #writing advice #writing tips #improving your writing #writing humor #writing dark fantasy #genre writing

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jazminebrightxx · 3 years

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LIKE MAGIC

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SHOW: Teen wolf

CHAPTER THREE: “works like magic”

EPISODE: 3x02 “chaos rising”

(part two)

The sudden fact and shock of Erica's death hung in the air, tension rising between Derek and Isaac. After Kaitlin had passed out Stiles grew worried for his childhood best friend. But the thought of the bombshell she had dropped on the two of them not even an hour ago still loomed in his mind.k

He looked at the brunette who sat on a table, her uncle looked here over, double checking she was okay, Stiles was confused, he didn't know how to feel about the fact that the girl he'd known his whole life was a supernatural. In one instance, he still just saw Kaitlin, the girl he had grew up with, the girl who's mom was best friends with his mom before she died. He saw the way her nose crinkled up when she laughed and the dimples when she smiled. Or how she played with her collarbone when she was nervous. Then on the other hand, he saw her in a whole new light, she was a witch, he'd seen her do it, she held Isaac down so effortlessly and was willing to hurt herself to help.

Kaitlin caught Stiles gaze, sighing, she says a few words to her uncle, jumping from the table and made her way over to the two friends, awkwardly standing in front of them.

"We should talk" she stated, her arms crossed over her chest, the boys look to each other, silently agreeing "okay" They make their way outside, standing near the redheads car, she leans against the hood as she crosses her arms.

"Why would you lie to us?" Scott questions, a scowl grows on Kaitlin's face, shaking her head slightly "I didn't lie to you, I'd never lie to you. I just..." she sighs, looking at her feet.

"My mom tried to hide it from me for the first few years of my life" she looks up at the two, slight hurt in her eyes

"When it finally happened she explained everything to me, but made me swear to keep it a secret" her voice was horse, her head still slightly sore.

"How'd it happen" Stiles questions from his place, standing against the wall across from the redhead

"Eight years ago" she starts "I came home from school after a really bad day" she takes a quick glance at Stiles, the boy listening intently. "Every little thing annoyed and agitated me, then I got really upset with my mom, which ended in me shattering my kitchen windows without trying" she chuckles lightly at the memory. "she knew she had to tell me after that, I was young, but I wasn't dumb"

"She explained everything to me, but even if I was allowed I couldn't tell you guys" her voice wavers, emotion building up slightly, she looks to Stiles "you had just lost your mom" then to Scott "and your dad...you were just kids"

"Katie you were a kid too"

Kaitlin goes quiet, looking down at her feet, she sighs "it was so hard, when I moved away, it killed me. I hated it, the thought that I might never see you guys again, I thought that I would never get the chance to tell you guys the truth" she shakes her head, looking back at her friends.

"The reality of it set in when Lydia told me she knew" the two boys look at each other dumbfounded, Kaitlin laughs

"Yeah that's how I felt, she said something about a feeling"

"Psychic" Stiles mumbles

Scott steps forward, his arms slightly crossed "Katie, I think I speak for us both when I say, we don't blame you and we're okay with it" he smiles "but how did you know about... you know, me" Kaitlin smiles

"About two weeks before I moved back, deaton came to Boston for the weekend. He sat me down and explained everything, Peter, Derek, the kanima and what's currently happening, the alpha pack" Scott smiles with her "have to admit, I was speechless"

Stiles stands straight from his position, clapping his hands together. He walks forwards standing beside Kaitlin and wrapping an arm around her shoulder

"Well, I for one am very excited for all of the 'Sabrina the teenage witch' jokes I'm about to make" he jokes, Kaitlin laughs at him, wrapping her arm around stiles lower back, he pulls her closer, squeezing her comfortably

"Looking forward to it."

******

"She's not dead" Derek Hale yelled at his beta, Isaac flinched at the loudness of his voice, the two had been arguing over the status of Erica.

"Derek, he said, 'there's a dead body. It's Erica.' Doesn't exactly leave us much room for interpretation" Stiles explains, Kaitlin sat beside Isaac on a counter, rubbing her temple in irritation

"Then who was in the vault with Boyd?" Kaitlin rolls her eyes, growing tired of the same conversation "someone else obviously"

"Maybe it was the girl on the motorcycle." He looks to Isaac "the one who saved you?"

"No, she wasn't like us, and whoever was in the vault with Boyd was." Stiles crosses his arms, a sigh escaping his lips.

"What if that's how Erica died? They pit them against the each other during the full moons and see which one survives, it's like werewolf thunder dome" Stiles rambles, Kaitlin lets out a breathy chuckle, Stiles' humor always slipped through at the worst times.

"Then we get them out tonight" Derek pushes even further

"Be smart about this, Derek. You can't just go storming in" Deaton buts in. But Derek won't give up "if Isaac got in, then so can we"

"But he didn't get through the vault door, did he?" Kaitlin finally says, the alpha turning his gaze to her "we need a plan"

"How are we going to come up with a plan to break into a bank vault in less than 24 hours?" He questions the witch, a smug look on his face, challenging her. She gives him an exasperated look.

"Oh I don't know you tell me, your the one that plans on getting them out tonight?" She sits up from her position, Derek glares at the witch

"Uh I think someone already did" Stiles looks at his phone "beacon hills first national bank closes its doors three months after vault robbery" he reads from his phone, handing it to Kaitlin who skim reads over the article

"It doesn't say how it was robbed but it probably won't take long to find out" the girl hands the phone back.

"How long?"

"It's the internet, Derek. Okay? Minutes"

*****

Scott and Stiles went to stiles' house after leaving the animal clinic last night to try find out more about the bank. Kaitlin had told them she would stop by in the morning before school and see how they had progressed, what she didn't expect to see was the two boys Sprawled across the room, papers scattered everywhere, some coming from the printer, both passed out.

"Guys" she attempts to wake her friends, the two teens not moving "guys!" Still even at her raised voice, they slept soundly.

She crosses her arms, smirking, she kicks the chair Scott sat on, he falls from the chair, waking himself and Stiles up as he does.

The two boys smile sheepishly at the witch when they notice her, she stands tall smirking at the boys, wearing a light purple spaghetti string top over a long sleeve white T-shirt paired with denim high waist jeans and her converse.

Stilinski walks into the room, two cups of coffee in his hand, he hands Kaitlin one, the brunette smiles at him, saying a quick thank you

"I see you woke them for me" he laughs "time for school" he states, turning to walk out of the room "Wait, dad!" Stiles calls, his father turning back to look at him

"Heather?" Kaitlin's ears perk up at the familiar name, Stilinski frowns, shaking his head "no. Nothing yet" Stiles' face falls after his father walks out

The room is silent for a few moments, before Stiles speaks up "ten hours and nothing." He states in frustration

"We're gonna find something" Scott reassures him, glancing at Kaitlin

"Finding something doesn't make Erica any less dead" Stiles argues, moving to clean his room "or Boyd any less about-to-be dead

"We still have time" Scott reassures further, Stiles glances at Kaitlin who shrugs

"Is this whole 'remain optimistic in the face of complete and utter disaster' thing apart of the 'be a better Scott McCall' program?" Classic sarcasm from the king of sarcasm, Kaitlin chuckles, trying to hide her amusement

"Not if it doesn't work"

Stiles sighs in frustration, crumpling a piece of paper in his hand "no, it works"

Kaitlin looks at the papers around the room "Uh guys, maybe your work isn't a total failure" she calls when she notices a newspaper article with Stilinski arresting a man outside beacon hills first national bank

She moves to show Stiles the article, the boys eyes widening and pushing the article to Scott, moving to run out of the room

"Dad! Dad! Wait! Dad!" He runs out of the room, Scott looks to Kaitlin who smiles

*****

Kaitlin jumps out of her car, parked next to stiles' Jeep. The boy groans when he jumps out of the Roscoe, waiting for Kaitlin to catch up to the two, when she does, Scott pulls out his phone and they start walking

"Alright, so we meet at Derek's at 5:00 to go over the plan, and then we don't get started until dark" he swings his bag over his shoulders, Kaitlin sighs

"Do I have to come, Derek's a bit of an ass" she states, Derek's attitude towards the whole situation yesterday make Kaitlin look at the man differently

"Derek's not all that bad, Katie. He's just sour about everything with Erica and Boyd" Stiles explains, reassuring the girl who nods "Yeah I guess, what do we do till then?"

"Well right now, we've got English."

*****

The school day had gone by like any other, boring classes and boring teachers.

After school, Kaitlin, Scott and Stiles met at Derek's like planned

"Okay, you see this?" Stiles pulls out blueprints and a red marker, marking a few places on the sheet

"This is how they got in, it's a rooftop air conditioning vent" he explains the route of the vault that the robbers had took

"It leads down inside into the wall of the vault, which is here. Okay?" He circles the section where the vent is.

"One of the robbers was lowered into this shaft, now that space is so small it took him about 12 hour to drill into that wall, which is stone by the way." He continues, glancing back and forth

"Then throughout the rest of the night, they siphoned the cash up to the guys in the roof, through that one little shaft in the wall. Boom!" He hits the table, putting the cap on the marker

"Can we fit in there?" Scott questions, leaning over the table and observing the sheet

"Yes, we can, but very, very barely." Stiles continues to hit the paper lightly as he talks "and they also patched the wall, obviously,so we're gonna need a drill of some kind"

Kaitlin watches the three men from a counter near by, her legs crisscrossed under her

"I'm thinking maybe a diamond bit.." Stiles starts to ramble again but is cut off by Derek

"Look, forget the drill." He states, Stiles freezes in his place, moving his fist slightly up and down "sorry?"

"If I go in first, how much space do I have?" He looks down at the prints, his mind set in stone

Stiles questionably eyes him, glancing at Scott and then back. "What do you think you're gonna do Derek?"

"Are you gonna punch through the wall?" They straighten up, Derek crossing his arms

"Yes, stiles, I'm gonna punch through the wall." Derek smugly smiles at the teenager

"Okay, big guy let's see it. Let's see that fist." Stiles challenges the taller man, Kaitlin straightens up to watch the scene unfold

"Big old fist. Make it, come on." He pushes further, growing cocky

Derek clenches his hand into a fist, his arms still semi crossed.

"Get it out there. Don't be scared. Big, bad wolf. Yeah, look at that" Kaitlin snickers, earning a glance from Peter Hale who sat on the stairs

Stiles grabs Derek's wrist, putting his hand a few inches away from Derek's fist "Okay, see this?"

"That's maybe three inches of room to gather enough force to punch through solid..." Stiles doesn't get to finish his sentence as Derek punches his hand, Sending him backwards in pain, he hits his hand against the metal table. Kaitlin winces.

Stiles whines like a dying cat, falling around the room, holding his newly injured hand "he could do it"

"I'll get through the wall" Derek ignores Stiles as he quietly whimpers

"Who's following me down?" He rests his hands back down in the metal table, looking at Peter

"Don't look at me." Derek's uncle states "I'm not up to fighting speed yet. And honestly with Isaac out of commission, your not looking at very good odds for yourself"

"So I'm supposed to just let them die?" Derek questions his uncle

"Well one of them is already dead" Peter states, a sarcastic grin on his face

"We don't know that" Derek insists, Kaitlin rolls her eyes, sighing and jumping off the table

"Give it up Derek" she starts, all eyes turn to her "you do know what we're up against, right?"

"A pack of freaking alphas. All of them killers, ruthless killers at that. We don't even know all of them" the redhead crosses her arms, standing beside the table

"And if that doesn't scare your testicles back into your stomach, try to remember that two of them form together to make one giant alpha" she finishes, Derek looks to her curiously.

"She's right you know" Peter speaks up "I'm sure Erica and Boyd were great kids, they're gonna be missed" he finishes, stiles glares

"Can someone kill him again please?"

Peter looks back at Stiles, a stern look on his face. "Derek, seriously"

"Not worth the risk" he finishes, referring to the plan to rescue Boyd and the person in the vault

"What about you?" He looks to Scott, Stiles shrugs

"Yeah, if you want me to come..."

"Not you" Derek sternly denies, looking back to Scott

"Scott?" Stiles turns to look at his friend, pointing his thumb in the werewolf's direction.

"I don't know about Erica,but if Boyd's still alive, we have to do something" Scott states, Derek clenches his jaw but nods. Scott looks at Peter, he rolls his eyes and sighs.

"We have to try" Scott pauses, Derek raises his eyebrows "but?"

"Who's the other girl" he turns to look at Stiles and Derek "the one locked in there with Boyd?"

You should know, I am slow with updates. IM SORRY. but anyway have this crappy update :( I promise it gets better and Kaitlin is my favorite oc I’ve ever made so get ready to get to know her more.

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #dylan obrien #scott mccall #stiles stilinski x reader #isaac lahey #stiles x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #dylan o'brian gifs #alison argent #stiles imagine

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iturbide · 3 years

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(CheeseAndCake here) It is done. More CC!Edelgard in Heroes has been sent! I tried to make it clear that, while Edelgard has changed a lot, and is showing the dragonkin propper respect, her mind is still jumping to the thoughts she used to have before she gets a hold of her thought process. It’s still there, but she doesn’t let it show or let those thoughts dictate her actions and is doing her best to change it. I’m so proud of her.

You and me both her development as a character is absolutely fantastic, especially in the way that she still jumps to certain thoughts and then forcibly grapples with those very thoughts because she’s conscious of the fact that she needs to work on that. I especially liked how she reminded herself that it’s the second thought that’s important rather than the first, because that’s really important for people who are trying to change: if we tell ourselves that the first thought is the only thing that matters, then we just feel ashamed and guilty for reacting in ways we’ve been conditioned to, and it stymies progress. She really is working hard on changing, and that is absolutely something to take pride in.

You know who else would be proud of her? The Bad End AU folks.

In the interests of keeping this at least kind of contained, I’ll just stick to the core group: Claude, Hilda, Ashe, Annette, and Nika.

Claude

After getting summoned, would take pains at first to avoid any Edelgard, in part because at the time he was summoned the Edelgard of his world probably doesn’t know he survived; he might even be going by his given Almyran name rather than his adopted Fodlani one, both to safeguard his identity and because he’s spent years back home where they use his true name...though the resemblance between him and the other Claudes would still give him away to some extent, even if he is older and wiser than they are.

CC!Edelgard would probably be the only one to actively seek him out, since the others tend to be very focused on their tasks and don’t care to make small talk with those who aren’t in their immediate circle of confidantes (Hubert, Byleth, etc; occasionally they would chat with Lysithea, but part of it would be trying to coax her to the Imperial side). The first time she does, he would spend a solid ten seconds trying to size up the situation (because he’s pretty sure that’s Edelgard, but she’s not in the Imperial reds, but is she just trying to get him to lower his guard, or is there something else going on here?); having known someone very much like him for quite a while, it would be all the proof she needs to say with certainty that this is, in fact, Claude, because she doesn’t know anyone else that will just stare so intently at something (or someone) they’re trying to figure out.

She might try for the same Almyran icebreaker that she used with Legendary Claude, and for a split second he would get chills because fuck did Edelgard conquer Almyra too -- wait, no, if she did she’d probably make Fodlani the standard language, huh. The only sign of those internal thoughts would be a slight sharpening of his gaze as he looks at her, which would soften again once he comes to his far less dire conclusion and actually processes the words she said -- though at that point he’d laugh because him? Ruler of Almyra? He’s an advisor, she clearly has him mistaken for someone else.

Of course then she tags him as ‘heir’ instead (using the Almyran term), and his smile gets a little sharper, because if he’s guessing she only figured that out recently -- if she knew he was a prince at Derdriu, he suspects that she wouldn’t have tried to kill him.

CC!Edelgard let him go, of course. But this is about as close to a direct admission as Claude’s ever come, and despite the maelstrom of thoughts and feelings swirling through her she pushes herself to ask if he’d like to talk about it over a game.

Claude isn’t one to pass up a game, honestly. So the board is set, and they talk about their worlds over several matches; they don’t realize how time passes, engrossed as they are in the games and conversation. Someone quietly brings them a meal once it gets late enough, and they each offer a distracted word of thanks, eating without ever putting the match on hold.

They discuss his world, and how the Edelgard he knew ordered his death, only for their professor to land a non-fatal (but convincingly mortal-looking) blow; how the situation in Fodlan made his dream as good as impossible, so he took an advisory position under his father when he returned to Almyra while establishing an information network stretching beyond its borders that he hoped would do Judith proud; how news of a Blaiddyd brought him secretly back to Fodlan to evacuate Dimitri’s half-brother Nikita, and how he’s tried to give Nika a life of his own choosing rather than molding him into a leader for Faerghus; and most of all, about the dire situation in Fodlan, and how Claude is willing to take the fight back across the border if that’s Nika’s choice once he comes of age so that the people there can live by their own choosing again.

They discuss her world, and how she saw her conquest through, only to realize too late that she’d been deceived and manipulated from the start by Those Who Slither; how she was taken captive again, subjected to worse than she’d suffered as a child, until Claude and Dimitri’s cousin Ivanna created enough chaos for her to break free; how she joined them in the fight to put an end to what she had forged, casting aside the title of Emperor and seeking only to atone for her past evils in whatever way she could -- beginning with changing herself, expanding her view of the world and her understanding of its people along with it.

Claude never imagined that Edelgard von Hresvelg, Emperor of Adrestia and Conqueror of Fodlan, would tell him that he’s right to try and stop her. But then, this particular Edelgard has seen where her ambitions end up. It’s heartening, in a way -- and while he doesn’t think she deserved what happened to her (no one deserves to suffer the way she did), he’s still glad that she’s managed to realize how narrow her previous worldview was, and he’s proud that she’s trying to broaden her horizons. They might not become friends, necessarily, but he would be willing to help her work on that in much the same way that the Claude she knew did, which she would appreciate.

He’d also teach her more Almyran just because he can. She’s going to go back able to hold basic conversations and just wait until her Claude hears that.

Hilda

Much like Claude, she might also be going by another name -- though in her case, it would be an assumed Almyran alias, since using her own name would be dangerous with her supposedly dying at Derdriu along with Claude. She’s gotten used to it, for sure, but she also can’t wave off suspicion anywhere near as well as Claude does, since she has the classic Goneril Pink palette going on (and, as Claude’s mom pointed out when they first met, she’s too old to be Holst’s kid, so sister makes more sense -- and Holst only has one sister, officially).

Also like Claude, she would do her utmost to avoid any and all Edelgards, and for much the same reason: she was supposed to have died at Derdriu, so Edelgard realizing she didn’t could put her and Claude both in danger. Lucky for her, most of the Edelgards don’t have much interest in cross-House socialization; however, CC!Edelgard takes an interest in Claude, and if there’s one thing Hilda absolutely will not allow, it’s someone threatening Claude, so when she sees the two of them in conversation, the second she recognizes that this is an Edelgard -- something that wouldn’t be immediately obvious to her, given the outfit change -- she’d be putting herself bodily between them with her axe at the ready.

Claude is far more amused by this than Edelgard is. She’s not big on having weapons pulled on her, understandably, and there’s a momentary face-off between Hilda with her axe and Edelgard with her dagger before Claude inserts himself between the two women and suggests they just talk this out like reasonable people.

“Since when has Edelgard ever been reasonable?” Hilda scoffs.

“Since I was robbed of my freedom and nearly my life at the hands of foes I’d underestimated too long, and Claude offered me a chance to atone for my past.”

That’s enough to make Hilda take a step back. Claude has no interest in speaking for or over Edelgard, but he acts as a mediator between them as they talk, calming arguments before they can get out of hand and generally guiding the flow of conversation. Hilda isn’t as quick to trust Edelgard as he is, but even she can’t deny that what the former Emperor went through was something no one should have to face; she’s at least willing to give Edelgard a chance to change, and show proof of it -- and even she has to admit that the former Emperor’s progress is stark, in comparison to their last meeting.

Ashe

Unlike Claude and Hilda, Ashe doesn’t have a reason to hide his identity. He wasn’t part of the final battle at Fhirdiad, having been charged with Nika’s evacuation before the Imperial Army arrived at the Kingdom capital, so there’s no illusion that would be broken by discovering that he’s alive. His goal is to safeguard Nika’s life, and that’s what he intends to do.

Of course, this means that he has absolutely no love whatsoever for Edelgard or Hubert, since he believes (and Claude agrees) that it was the Emperor’s right hand man who’s been sending assassins after the young Blaiddyd. Claude might have a fair-minded perspective when it comes to Edelgard (though he still condemns her actions, make no mistake, he just recognizes that she’s still human and has potentially deeply flawed motivations that drive her), but Ashe still harbors some intense hatred and resentment toward her.

Hilda might be willing to listen to CC!Edelgard (with Claude’s mediation), but Ashe has no interest in hearing what any Edelgard has to say. He’s not openly aggressive with them, but he prefers to avoid them when possible -- and when he has to work with them, he’s terse at best, following orders to the letter so that he can distance himself from them as soon as possible. CC!Edelgard would have to put in a concerted effort just to talk with him, and even then he’d be unimpressed. She murdered his friend, her own step-brother -- something Claude’s secured proof of -- destroyed countless lives in the Kingdom (not to mention the Alliance and Empire), robbed nations of their independence and forced obedience on them...he might have done things he’s not proud of in the past, but he never committed atrocities the way she did.

He wouldn’t condemn her attempts to change. He knows the importance of getting another chance, of making amends and atoning for past crimes -- but at the same time, she took so much from him that he wouldn’t be able to forgive her. The pain she caused him is too deep and too personal, so while he would certainly acknowledge her growth and progress, he wouldn’t forgive her for what she did to him and his.

She would acknowledge that he doesn’t have to forgive her, though. She’s not going to try to win him over or change his mind -- but the apology is still important, because she recognizes the harm she caused him. She’s going to keep striving to better herself whether he accepts her apology or not -- and when she leaves, promising that she’ll let him choose when and if they speak again, Ashe would know that she really means what she says.

Annette

Similar to Ashe, Annette doesn’t have a reason to hide her identity. She wasn’t there for the fall of Fhirdiad, since Dimitri sent her off with Nika to keep him safe; the Empire has no reason to think she’s dead, so her being alive doesn’t need to be a secret. All she’s trying to do is keep Nika safe, and that’s exactly what she intends to do.

Unlike Ashe, though, she doesn’t go out of her way to avoid the Edelgards, and generally only leaves shared spaces with them when she has something to do. She knows how dangerous the Adrestian Emperor can be and generally is, so she prefers to stick closer to her friends in order to help keep them safe, specifically placing herself between Edelgard and her companion. Ashe removing himself from places where Edelgard is present generally ends up removing Annette, too, since she’d much rather stay with him than linger around Imperials.

CC!Edelgard would likely be the first and only one who actually bothers approaching Annette -- and the moment she does, Annette would be on her guard. If she’s with someone, she would try to send them away so they’re not in danger; if she’s alone, she would just be wary but open to at least trying to listen, since Claude has made some good points about Edelgard being human and therefore having very human motivations, however flawed the execution might have been...but at the same time, she’s still nursing raw wounds of her own. Not only is Edelgard responsible for the death of her closest friends, she also saw to the death of her father -- and estranged or not, she wanted to give him a chance and try to rebuild their family. None of that even gets into the fact that she can’t go home because of what Edelgard did to the Kingdom, or the fact that she ordered the murder of a child -- Blaiddyd or not that’s unconscionable to her.

Compared to Ashe’s icy loathing, Annette is much more passionate and emotional when it comes to her rebukes. Nothing Edelgard could ever do will bring back Annette’s family or friends, and after all the harm she caused...Annette can’t forgive her. Even if she understands what this Edelgard is doing, she just can’t bring herself to forgive that hurt.

But Edelgard would certainly understand that, by now. And she would explain that she’s not trying to make Annette forgive her: the apology was necessary as an acknowledgement of her own wrongdoing, and so that Annette could know that she recognizes the pain she caused. She’ll keep moving forward, striving to change and atone and avoid committing the same mistakes again. And that would be what finally cements in her head that Claude was really right about her: she really is a person, someone driven and flawed...but also someone who can change, if she wants to.

Nikita

Nika, unlike the others, has never had a personal encounter with Edelgard at the time he was summoned. He knows of her, primarily through accounts from Claude, Hilda, Ashe, and Annette, but he’s never seen her in person: he would only know to avoid her because the second they see her, Ashe and Annette would point Edelgard out to him and tell him to avoid her at all costs.

He would try, too. Since he would spend a lot of time with his Kingdom guardians, he’d either end up leaving places with Ashe when Edelgard arrives or going elsewhere on Annette’s advice. Hilda would be similarly defensive of him, though she would be confident in her ability to cover for him should Edelgard make a move and therefore wouldn’t encourage him to leave when they cross paths with the Emperor; Claude, meanwhile, would be the only person willing to engage with them, even if they don’t usually approach him.

Which is where CC!Edelgard comes in. After they’ve started interacting on a somewhat routine basis, if she approaches Claude while Nika is with him, Claude would go out of his way to introduce them -- and since he would have discussed Nika before, CC!Edelgard would know exactly who he is.

Nika’s heard a lot about Edelgard over the years. Depending on where it comes from, it can be either scathing or even-handed but still critical. And he would do his best to keep the latter in mind as he agrees to talk with her (with Claude mediating, because Nika would clearly want him there, judging by how he surreptitiously grips Claude’s hand when Edelgard makes the request). He wouldn’t know what to expect from her, really...but the story she tells of her torture and manipulation at the hands of a shadowy force would be unlike anything he could have predicted. There might be no real affection between the two, under the circumstances, but he would certainly be sympathetic to the suffering she endured, even if that doesn’t excuse her actions.

Given who Nika is, and what he intends to do, Edelgard might even try to help ensure his success as best he can: giving him what information she has about Those Who Slither, providing details on the Imperial Army’s structure and workings from her own world before everything went wrong -- anything and everything she can think of to ensure that when he goes back, he’ll be able to make Fodlan a better place than she did in her own world. He would accept it with respect and gratitude and promise to do his all...but he would still feel very strange about interacting with the woman that killed his half-brother. Even if he didn’t know Dimitri well, part of that is because she robbed him of the chance.

Ultimately he would be courteous and respectful, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to interact with her: he wouldn’t shy away from conversation when they happen to cross paths, but otherwise he would leave her to her own devices -- which, generally, would probably suit her, since she probably wouldn’t know what else to say to him. Ultimately, though, Nika would admit that Edelgard isn’t the person that he thought she would be -- which, he supposes, goes to show how much effort she’s put into becoming a different person.

#answered #cheeseandcake #fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem: heroes #crest control #bad end au #this took me quite literally all day #i was trying to keep it reasonable and failed utterly haha #but i think i got the broad strokes down pretty well #i love how everyone has different takes on cc!edelgard and her growth

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Invincible Episode 7 Improves Upon Its Already Great Source Material

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This article contains spoilers for Invincible episode 7.

Amazon’s animated adaptation of Robert Kirkman and Cory Walker’s comic Invincible was always a great idea. The property has just about everything that streaming services and their audiences are looking for currently: superheroes, ultraviolence, and jaw-dropping twists.

One big question facing the series, however, was how could one show possibly fit in all the story of the comic’s lengthy 144-issue run? Invincible episode 7, “We Need to Talk,” is the first season’s penultimate installment and it reveals how the show is set to approach this logistical challenge. With so many comic book issues of plot to get through, Invincible seems perfectly happy to accelerate through that plot as efficiently as possible. To that end, “We Need to Talk” features a truly staggering number of climactic moments.

This might actually be the most charmingly chaotic and jam-packed episode of TV this year (at least before next week’s finale). So much happens in “We Need to Talk” that it runs the risk of overwhelming the viewer. With that in mind, let’s break down the important plot points of this hour and examine the major ways in which they differ from (and even improve upon) the comic.

Robot’s True Identity

The reveal that the entity known as “Robot” isn’t who he claims to be might be the most shocking Invincible twist thus far. And that’s saying a lot for a show whose first episode concludes with the story’s Superman equivalent straight up murdering the rest of his Justice League.

That Robot (Zachary Quinto) is really a malformed genius named Rudolph Conners isn’t a surprise to comic book readers, but its positioning this early in Invincible’s story is a surprise. Robot’s work with the Mauler Twins to create a new body for himself doesn’t happen until after the events of Omni-Man’s confrontation with Mark in the comics (more on that later). The show, however, shrewdly decides to present this moment in the same episode as Omni-Man’s fall – just so there’s never really a moment for viewers to catch their breath.

But now the truth has finally arrived. Robot, the orange hunk of metal with a fixedly bemused expression, is actually a machine being operated remotely by Rudolph Conners. Rudolph, or Rudy, is a small, damaged man whose body isn’t capable of surviving Earth’s environment. For many years Rudy was content to exist in his own life-giving tank of fluids while operating his superheroic “Robot” remotely. Everything changed, however, when he met the hero known as Monster Girl.

Rudy couldn’t help but identify with Monster Girl (Grey Griffin), a fellow soul who has made the best of a flawed body. Everytime Monster Girl transforms into a monster, her human form de-ages several more weeks. Theoretically at some point Monster Girl will become an infant and then waste away into nothingness. Before any of that happens, Rudy wants to fix her…and he wants to fix his own broken body so that the pair can be together.

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To that end, Rudy sprung the mad genius villain team The Mauler Twins from prison to create a cloned body for him to transfer his consciousness into. What makes this whole thing even stranger is that the genetic material Rudy chose for his new body belongs to his Teen Team and Guardians of the Globe colleague Rex Splode. The new Rudy appears to be played by Rex Splode actor Jason Mantzoukas with his voice altered to sound younger.

Does that mean Zachary Quinto is no longer a part of the series? Let’s certainly hope not as he may have been the best performer of the entire cast. And why did Rudy choose Rex’s DNA (and without Rex’s consent, it must be said)? Because Rex is hot, basically. Rudy chose a human form that Monster Girl was already comfortable flirting with.

This is…a lot. And the fact that Rudy has to introduce himself to his teammates while they’ve all gathered for an “apocalyptic event” just adds to the madness. But what of The Mauler Twins? The disappointment of Rudy’s double-crossing doesn’t last long. For, after Rudy is forced to abandon his efforts to reincarcerate the Mauler Twins to return to the Guardians home base, the twins get back to their important task at hand. And that leads to the return of another important Invincible character…

The Immortal is Immortal After All

Back in Invincible episode 1, Mark Grayson’s dad Nolan a.k.a. Omni-Man (J.K. Simmons) made short work of the Guardians of the Globe. Darkwing? Dead. War Woman? Dead. The Immortal? De….wait a minute. How can someone called “The Immortal” die?

Well, it turns out that death for The Immortal (still voiced by Ross Marquand) is only temporary. Omni-Man removed The Immortal’s head, which is pretty much universally lethal across all genre stories. But The Mauler Twins theorized that if The Immortal’s head were returned to his body, he would spring back to life.

Sure enough, that’s exactly what happened once The Immortal’s noggin was reattached. Unfortunately for The Mauler Twins, their dreams of forming any sort of alliance with the resurrected hero are quickly dashed as he immediately flies off to confront the man who killed him.

Omni-Man v. Cecil Stedman

And that takes us to Omni-Man. In the comic, Omni-Man’s confrontation with The Immortal is what leads Mark Grayson (Steven Yeun) to discover that he’s got a Darth Vader situation on his hands. The show borrows that moment from the comic because any time you have the opportunity to make a character watch his father tear a Wolverine-looking dude in half, you’ve got to take it. That comic book moment is surprisingly abrupt though. In one panel Omni-Man is doing his usual Omni-Man thing and saving a group of citizens from a faulty roller coaster and in the next panel, The Immortal is all over his ass.

The Amazon Prime series dramatically improves on what is already a pretty great moment simply by drawing it out and building serious tension. Nolan’s wife Debbie (Sandra Oh) and the entire Global Defense Agency led by Cecil Stedman (Walton Goggins) are already well aware of Nolan’s treachery and have decided to finally take action. In speaking to Den of Geek and other outlets prior to Invincible’s premiere, Kirkman (who’s onboard as a writer and producer for this adaptation) revealed that Cecil Stedman would be getting an expanded role earlier on in Invincible’s story.

“Cecil Stedman is a character that we get to know a little earlier in the show and definitely we get to do more with him,” he said. “I think that’s a lot of fun. There’s definitely some differences to his character and working with Walton Goggins on him has been great.”

Cecil really is a fascinating tool for Invincible. Many superhero stories have a Jim Gordon-style government liaison for its heroes to interact with. This person usually represents the interests of the planet’s “normal” citizen and is particularly impressive for being able to cut it in the world of the super-powered. By having Debbie and the GDA uncover Nolan’s guilt first, Invincible creates a wonderful opportunity to display both Cecil’s competence and depict the absolute horror of we puny humans trying to keep a super-powered god in check.

Many times throughout Invincible episode 7, Cecil admits that there is nothing they can do to stop Nolan. The best they can do is slow him down for a bit until Mark is able to intervene. The first roadblock that Cecil presents is the explosion of an entire suburban city block with Nolan at its epicenter (R.I.P. Donald).

“Best it will do is maybe knock him on his ass for an hour or two,” Cecil says. Then when the smoke clears to reveal an unharmed Omni-Man, Cecil grimly adds “Or maybe not hurt him at all.”

Cecil then throws the “hammer” at Nolan, which is a powerful blast from a weaponized satellite.

“$400 billion for the world’s most expensive nosebleed,” Cecil quips when Nolan takes the weapon out with ease.

Then we get a sense of how many moral shortcuts Cecil is willing to take to keep the Earth safe. Mad scientist D.A. Sinclair’s (Ezra Miller) wounds from his confrontation with Invincible haven’t even healed yet but Cecil already has him using his evil technology for noble purposes. Sinclair’s “Reanimen” technology is now being used to reanimate recently dead U.S. soldiers, who are sent in to slow down Omni-Man. Unfortunately, that is also unsuccessful.

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Finally, Cecil is forced to head out into the field armed with nothing but a teleporter to confront Omni-Man himself. When that inevitably fails to slow Nolan down, the GDA sends a monster that Nolan already conquered, only this time it’s been robbed of its weaknesses and fear. And that’s where Mark finds his father, just in time for The Immortal to arrive and deliver one hell of a surprise.

There’s something to be said for the suddenness of the comic’s Omni-Man moment with Mark. Mark witnessing his dad’s evil act truly comes out of nowhere even though we know it’s inevitable as Nolan has been practicing this conversation all issue.

What the show does with the moment is a masterstroke, however. By centering the focus on the human characters of Invincible’s world, we get a chilling sense of just how terrifying this all is. Omni-Man’s heel turn doesn’t just have personal implications for Mark, it means that Earth’s unbeatable protector now seems to hate Earth. More terrifying than that is that the only person we think can defeat him is Mark Grayson…who, it must be said, has done nothing but had his ass absolutely handed to him by lesser enemies over and over again for the past three episodes.

Amber and Mark

It probably feels anticlimactic to address Mark and Amber’s lover’s spat after breaking down Omni-Man’s reign of terror. But it’s necessary to see how far-reaching the changes (and in this case improvements) are in episode 7 in comparison to its original text.

Mark and Amber’s relationship thus far has been all about frustration. Mark is facing an annoying problem with a seemingly easy solution. Amber (Zazie Beetz) is upset with him because he is absent in their burgeoning relationship. He’s absent in their burgeoning relationship because he’s a superhero. Therefore, the quickest, easiest solution to this dilemma is to tell her that he’s a superhero.

So in this episode, that’s exactly what Mark does. He gets suited up and flies right through Amber’s window to deliver the exciting news. The problem is – she’s not that excited.

“Ugh, I know you’re a superhero,” Amber says. “I’m not an idiot, I figured it out weeks ago.”

This is not how things go down in the comic. That version of Amber is a bit more…let’s say “bubbly” and when confronted with the fact that Mark has lied to her for weeks she responds with an excited “My boyfriend is a superhero?!?!?”

The show, however, is smart to not let Mark off the hook so easily. Of course Amber knew that Mark is Invincible. Because, like she says, she’s not an idiot. Anyone who spends an inordinate amount of time with him is bound to figure it out sooner than later. So what Mark thought was a problem with an easy solution becomes yet another difficult lesson on his path to maturation.

“I think that Amber is important in terms of holding Mark accountable,” Beetz told reporters prior to the show’s premiere. “Mark is still struggling with what his identity as a super person is. And she shows him that (powers) are not what make you good or special ultimately, it’s what’s in your character.”

It turns out that the people close to you don’t appreciate being lied to. Though human beings all look like particularly vulnerable ants from Mark’s perspective high up in the sky, we certainly don’t appreciate being treated like insects to be protected and manipulated by the powerful among us.

Mark and Amber’s relationship is an excellent indication that nothing will come easy for Mark Grayson on this show. Every decision has an equal and opposite reaction. It’s important that he learns that lesson before he enters into what is sure to be the most stressful and morally confusing moment of his life next week.

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Invincible’s season finale will be available to stream Friday, April 30 on Amazon Prime.

The post Invincible Episode 7 Improves Upon Its Already Great Source Material appeared first on Den of Geek.

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linkspooky · 4 years

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See You Later, Eren

With all the time travel shenanigans lately we still have not got an explanation for the first scene in the manga, despite these chapters having already been connected to the present day (to you, 2000 years from now, from you, 2000 years ago). Due to the structure of the final arc paralelling the first arc, I believe that the meaning of Mikasa’s words will be revealed in either the final chapter, or the penultimate chapters leading up to the final. In other words these are Mikasa’s first words to Eren in the manga, and they will also be her last. Because these are the words she’ll say to him right after she kills him.

EXPLANATION UNDER THE CUT.

1. Mikasa and Eren

There’s a reason that I believe it will be Mikasa to deal the final blow that stops Eren, that puts him down before he destroys the world and not Armin even though Armin is the “hero” of the story. The reason is Mikasa’s arc has always centered around Eren in a way that Armin’s hasn’t. Armin will always care more about the world then Eren, because he has things he believes in besides fighting the titans and survivings, he has dreams and the ability to see the greater picture.

Armin’s role also isn’t to grow into someone like Eren or Mikasa who can take the big titan down all by themselves. In fact, him acting like this with Bertolt is something that while it won them the battle almost got himself killed.

It’s actually not that much of a change to his core character for Armin to sacrifice himself and fight head on with his own hands. In fact, he’s even willing to do this around people he considered his past friends. He was the one to expose Annie and suspect her first. The only real significant change is that Armin will have to break his denial over who Eren is, but if the choice was between Eren and the whole world from the start Armin would have always chosen the world over Eren. Armin’s not supposed to grow into a hero in the same sense that Eren and Mikasa want to be, by fighting things head on himself. He’s always been set up to become a demon like Erwin, that is make choices that will get other people killed and have confidence and live with those choices rather than constantly waffling and second guessing his chioces.

Armin has regressed to his worst traits, that is letting his low self esteem constantly make him question his own decisions. At his worst he’s afraid to choose anything, because he doesn’t even want to decide, because deciding makes him responsible for the people he lost as a result of his decision. Armin killing Eren in a physical fight won’t really fix any of that. What he needs to do is lead, not attempt to do everything himself, or sacrifice himself so he’ll be the only one hurt. He’s the hero of the story, but he also needs to grow into a demon in a sense.

Whereas, Mikasa’s arc has always centered around Eren for better or worse. Armin would choose the world over Eren, Mikasa would choose Eren over the world.

To phrase this in terms of “Wants and Needs” which is one of the most basic ways to express the central tenets of a characters arc. Usually a character starts the story wanting something, only to get denied what they want and realize instead what it is they need. Or sometimes a character is given what they want, only to have it cause them to regress because it’s not what they need.

Eren wants to stop being a person and exist for the idea of freedom. What he needs is to learn to be a person and accept the love of the people around him and see them as their own individual people too. In that sense, Eren is given what he wants after the timeskip, he’s powerful and cunning enough that he finally can win almost every fight he enters, takes other people’s agency rather than having his own taken, and powerful enough to stand up on his own and he becomes the major mover of the world rather than being moved by it, however that also means he severely regresses as a person and loses what he needs, his friends who used to surround him.

What Mikasa wants is to always be close to Eren and never be separated from him. What she needs is to be her own person. This is set up as early as the Trost arc, and no Mikasa is not being slow in her character development because literally every single character is regressing to the major problem set up in the Trost arc, Eren wants to fight alone, Armin has no confidence in himself, Mikasa has to learn how to live even without Eren.

Mikasa wants to live for the sake of Eren, to live vicariously through Eren as he was the one who showed her that the world was beautiful but that’s not living. Mikasa’s want has been denied to her again and again throughout the story.

Ironically the reason Mikasa is so capable, the reason she is strong and confident in ways Eren just couldn’t be at the start of the manga was because she never made any decisions for herself, and therefore never struggled with her choices or her decisions. It’s easy to do things if you say you’re doing them for the sake of others and therefore never have to hesitate. Mikasa believes the person who gives her a place to live in the world is Eren, and therefore she cannot survive without him. All of the beauty of the world and all of its ugliness are all tied up in Eren.

Eren and Mikasa’s relationship is beautifully complex. It’s not just onesided on Mikasa’s part, they are both codependent to each other in a way. The current Mikasa and Eren would not exist without one another because they have always relied on each other to survive. The thing is, while Eren always runs off, he’s always subconsciously relied on Mikasa to follow him and cover his back. He rebuffs her and pushes her away, but Eren also knows that she’ll chase him. From eren picking fights with bullies only to have Mikasa cover his back, to Eren ambushing Marley and knowing Mikasa would show up and save him and trusting her to do that when he started losing the battle fighting on his own.

Eren loves and needs Mikasa to see himself as a person. She has always been the relationship that connects himself to his own humanity. Mikasa not only humanizes him, but she’s also the only one that can make him second guess his actions and what becoming the enemy of the world means he can’t be a human or by Mikasa’s side anymore. Mikasa makes him realize his own desires to be loved and accepted for the weak coward that he is, rather than having to be someone strong who always fights alone. However, at the same time Eren also resents Mikasa for making him feel this way, for making him feel so human. He hates that he always has to rely on someone, that he always has to be around her because it makes him feel inferior. I would say the resentment is mutual too on Mikasa’s part, as much as she loves him there’s a lot of negative emotions built up. She resents him for always running away from her, for not giving her what she wants.

At the same time Eren is the person who first showed Mikasa there was warmth in the world, and treated her like a human when she was about to be sold by slavers. Mikasa wraps up all her personhood in Eren, but at the same time that makes her see Eren less and less as a person and more as a symbol. Which is why she can’t ever come to term with her feelings, she’s so afraid of losing their current relationship she can’t risk any change at all, even if it would be a positive one with her feelings being returned. It’s almost like Mikasa doesn’t want Eren to love her back in the same sense, because she doesn’t need it in her own mind, not really, she’s always been content loving him at a distance. Loving the idea of Eren has been enough to motivate her up until now.

But if Mikasa does not live on as a person, for her own sake and not Eren’s she can’t love him properly. She can’t really love him as a person separate from her unless she first takes that step back and realizes. Mikasa is so confused about her own feelings because she doesn’t want to think about them, doesn’t want to experience them, she just wants to feel for Eren, not herself. But that stands in the way of what she wants to do which is love Eren and be loved. What she’s wanted ever since the day he wrapped that scarf around her was the genuine human connection that that scarf represents.

It’s something that she realized all the way back in Trost, that she has to find a way to live without Eren. That’s what she needs. However, Mikasa doesn’t want to. Which becomes the source of her regression.

Which is why the decision to kill Eren is so central to the development that she needs to go through. It’s even been set up by several different foreshadowing. One, Eren calls MIkasa a slave and the only way for slave to be liberated is by killing their masters, the people who seek to control them. Which is what Eren is doing right now, robbing her of her own agency and not letting her make decisions in the name of protecting her.

Eren is the one who called her a slave. Eren is the one who will die, freeing her. The breaking of their relationship is so necessary for Mikasa as a character that she’s already completely reevaluated the way she views things just from being separated from Eren. Mikasa, the one who wanted to believe in Eren the most is the also the first one to realize how misplaced her feelings for Eren were.

This is exactly where her arc is taking her, realizing Eren is not the person he thought she was. Mikasa is coming the closest to realizing that Eren’s true form and that she has been seeing a different side of him all along.

Which is why Mikasa has been reevaluating and remembering the first scene where they met. Their relationship is written so the begnnings and ends parallel one another.

Eren showed her two things, the first being his violent murder of the two men attempting to enslave her, and the second being the beautiful connection. The world is ugly, and yet beautiful. This time Mikasa is having her agency stolen again, but not by slavers, but rather by the boy who once rescued her. This time Eren has taken the place of the slavers, trying to steal away from freedom of others for his own goals.

Therefore, to free herself Mikasa needs to do what Eren encouraged her to do in the scene. To take the knife, and fight back, fight for her own freedom by killing the enemy in front of her. Even if this time the enemy is the person she loves. No, because she loves him she must be his enemy. The scene is a reversal of their first meeting, instead of being the helpless girl Mikasa must take knife in hand and show Eren the cruelty of the world and also it’s beauty.

2. An Ugly, yet Beautiful Relationship

The story has always framed Mikasa’s love for Eren as a complex thing. Despite it being the source of her strength, it is also, something that denies her from accomplishing what she needs to. Mikasa always fails in critical moments with consequences because of how she rushes after Eren. She cannot stop Annie from kidnapping him and it results in Levi getting hurt, she fails to stop Reiner and Bertolt from taking him. Mikasa’s desire to put Eren before everything else in the world is something the story consistently denies her and that leads to her failure. Her codependency with Eren, has never been a good thing and always is framed as a flaw. As beautiful as the connection between them is, it’s also ugly. It’s a metaphor for the pain, but also the comfort of all human connection itself. Mikasa’s desire is to connect, Armin’s is the world, Eren’s is freedom from everything.

The same way what Eren wants is naive, a freedom that means he’s allowed to do absolutely everything and he’s so strong he has total control over everything and therefore never has to lose another person again, Mikasa is just as naive. What she wants is a connection that will never hurt her, and never fray or break. The reason the red scarf represents the red string is because it’s just as naive, it’s a fantasy about being destined to be with another person and always be by their side, and always following them no matter where they go or how you are separated. Mikasa’s desire is to be always tied to another person, but that comes at the cost of being her own person.

That’s why the idea that her love for Eren is not her own, but rather a product of being an Acerkman shakes her so much. Because Mikasa deep down knows she needs to love Eren as a person, and also needs her feelings to be her real, and owned by her alone. Even when she was on the brink of death she realized that if she died, the memory of Eren would not be able to live on with her.

Which is why Mikasa parallels Levi so heavily, because Levi also had to make this choice as well. He had to be confronted with who Erwin was as a person, the good and the bad and choose to let him die instead of continuing to be by his side.

The only way Levi could ever understand Erwin such an important person to him was not by forever being by his side, but instead telling him to die and continue to live on in Levi’s memory.

Levi lost the person most important to him, but he also gained understanding for who that person truly was. He was finally able to reconcile his feelings for him. Levi finally saw Erwin as a person, and not just a demon he had to rely on. He also realized that everyone was actively making him into a demon and denying him as a person, and Erwin himself was responding by diminishing his own personhood.

Erwin is given solace and allowed to die as his own person, rather than having to continue to be the devil. Which also, parallels Eren’s own situation greatly because Eren WANTS to become the devil because at this point he believes it’s the only way for him to protect his friends. He no longer allows himself to be his own person the same way Erwin did, and no longer lets himself be loved as a person.

The reason the only deaths in the series that are shown to be freeing are Erwin and Kenny’s is because they literally spent their entire lives NOT BEING PEOPLE, the same way that Eren is trying so hard to deny himself as a person right now. The only choice they get really is the choice of death, because they made all their other choices for the sake of other people.

Which is where we return to Eren once more. Eren denies himself as a person and wants to become a devil, a special existence that can hold the fate of the world in his hands, but at the same time he needs, craves, to be loved as a person. To be accepted for the weak person he is rather than the strong person he pretends to be. Which is why Mikasa sees this moment as so cirtical.

It’s entirely possible that Eren had made up his own mind at this point, that he was already going to commit to the plan, but the reason Mikasa believes this to be the critical juncture where the path split off is because what Eren is asking here. He’s asking her specifically, do you love me as a person? or do you love me out of obligation? The one person who loves him as a person, Eren is having doubts and is trying to reconfirm his humanity in the face of everything he is about to throw away to become a devil.

The same way Mikasa bases her entire personhood around Eren, Eren’s humanity and his connection to the beauty of the world has always been in Mikasa’s hands. She has always represented the connections he needs, but the one he denies himself.

Which is why Mikasa sees this as the critical point, regardless of whether or not what she had said would have made a different. Because Mikasa realizes now, all along she wasn’t seeing Eren as a person. Wasn’t loving him as a person. Which prevented her from truly loving him or acting on his feelings.

The only way Mikasa can love Eren as a person is to be his enemy, to confront him for what he is now, and what she realizes he’s been all along. She has to confront the ugliest side of Eren, instead of only looking at the beauty of their bond.

Both Eren and Mikasa are blind now. Eren has forgotten about the beauty of the world that Mikasa represents, and Mikasa has forgotten until just now about the ugly and violence of the world that Eren represents by only focusing on the beauty, which is why they need a confrontation with each other to be able to see both.

Mikasa needs to remember Eren violently murdering those slavers like they were not even human beings and the fact he went out of his way to kill people. Eren needs to rembmer the action of himself wrapping the scarf around Mikasa and how that connection did more to save her than his violence for her sake ever did.

3. See You Later Eren

This is going to be a short conclusion to my post, and also offer a prediction. Why do I think “See you later” is going to be said after Mikasa kills Eren. For two reasons, one Mikasa has been the one to deal the final blow on two of Eren’s biggest foils, Annie and Reiner, and this is also exactly how she says goodbye to them before killing them.

Mikasa fights two Eren foils. Armin takes down Bertolt. Armin’s enemy is himself. Mikasa’s enemy has always been Eren, which is why choosing to oppose him, and therefore choosing her own personhood is so central to her arc.

As established by Eren, the Ackerman’s are connected to and can open the paths in the same way that the royal family, and those connected to the control coordinate are. Which is why I believe, in conjunction with Mikasa’s literally directly stating that she could have chosen to take a different path that after killing Eren, the two of them will be dragged into the paths the same way Zeke was with Eren after Eren lost his head.

That by killing him first Mikasa will show Eren the ugliness of the world, it’s violence, but at the same time she will be the one to comfort him and give himself peace and reassurance that while he was alive he was loved as a human. Which is what she needs to do to become her own person, because all along she has asserted that her strength is not hers alone, but Eren, her decisions are not hers alone but done for the sake of Eren.

Mikasa has to tell Eren once again that there is a kind boy still inside of him, he’s still the one who promised to wrap the scarf around her, and helped her out when she was cold. But the only way for her to do that is by finally confronting his ugliness and letting go of him.

Mikasa will kill Eren, but then in the paths remind him of the beauty of the world he tried so hard to destroy. Allowing Eren to die as himself, as a person who was loved instead of the enemy of the world. Allowing Mikasa to finally love Eren as a person like she’s always wanted to rather than loving the idea of him. Eren will die but Mikasa will finally be able to live on as her own person.

Which is what Eren should truly desire ultimately. The freedom of the ones he loves. Their happiness. Even if he can’t be around in their lives. Mikasa’s last words for him are “See you Later” not “Goodbye” because even if Eren is no longer in her life, she’ll be able to see him again, her love for him, her memories for him will not disappear but rather continue on in the world even after his death.

#aot meta #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman #attack on titan meta #shingeki no kyojin meta #eremika #the paths #snk 123 #aot 134

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abyssal-hoonter · 3 years

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Evie walked to the table and examined the papers laying on the wooden surface. She had spent years working on the research of the Pieces of Eden but this was the first time she had seen so much about the topic that she put all her mind and heart to care for. Her fingers glid slowly on the documents as she narrowed her eyes to focus on reading with the assistance of the Eagle vision.

There was nothing hidden here, on the lines, yet it could be the other person who was carrying something unclear and mysterious within her rib-cage. Evie turned and saw the woman got up on her feet by gripping the cane in her hand. The assassin felt pity, somehow, though she didn't know why she got that feelings for her enemy.

"Is it true that you want me to help?" Evie raised a question, and was responded by a simple nod. Of course, she hadn't found it enough to believe in, as she continued, "How could I know this is not a set up?"

The woman started to pace toward Evie and came a halt just at a dozen centimeters between them. She lifted her face to look at the young girl by an eye of pain and also, a small piece of disdain. She smiled. A smile that made Evie shiver.

"Were I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be standing here, staring at me like a hungry bullet awaiting to pierce through my body once again, Miss Frye." Lucy stated coldly and confidently with her voice lowered since tired and bored. Evie felt that. A voice that contained a fire of angry and disgust not toward Frye, but to the man that had used her for a very long time and now he was waiting to take over what was rightfully hers and keep those as his own possession. Crawford Starrick, a hypocrite who seemed to be promising and sophisticated upon his outlook, was really a too ambitious, power-hungry and ungrateful son of a bitch.

"You read the letter he sent me, didn't you? Didn't know how long he took to think of a way to comfort me for what he would do, but, I think that was quite enough." Lucy added, waving her hand into the air and walked to the table, "All these years working, bleeding myself dry to uphold the principles of our Order and all that for which we stand, without a thinking of betraying. Wow, Miss Frye, it had led me to this. What a miracle, isn't it?"

"You should have known it would come someday, sooner or later. Society and politics sometimes run by that way as well as people could live by cheating and robbing. You're in a higher place, I wonder why you didn't come to realize that, Miss Thorne." Evie shook her head in frustration.

Lucy took a manuscript on the table, showing it in the middle of the documents so that both women could observe it clearly under the light in Thorne's chamber.

"I thought about what you said. But still, there are hope and faith, victory and achievements we have. So I kept trying and fighting... At least it took him 10 years to cut down this partnership. This manuscript, it's mine, I got it in the auction where I met him for the first time. That was quite a long time, I suppose."

Lucy paused for a few seconds, thinking, and finally let out a chuckle, "Hm, I've been through a lot of things in my life, Miss Frye. Vengeance, well, vengeance is kind of a bad game that we shouldn't play it... But, it's fun, in my way." She narrowed her eyes and glared at the younger one as a mean of both evilness and pleasure. "Care to join me?"

"I'd rather not, Miss Thorne. I'm..."

"A coward, who stabs from behind and runs when face-to-face." Thorne laughed, for the first time in front of Evie and the assassin saw that redhead was pretty attractive and beautiful even when that was her archenemy who was supposed to be eliminated.

"I mean... I'm not sure about your method and your honesty. Even you can see how a Templar brings you disgust and hatred. We have observed for a very long time and see the way The Order treats the lives of people under their control. You say good but that's not what you bring. From oppression, corruption, exploitation and death they suffer." Evie shrugged, "I can't trust you, Miss Thorne... For now, at least... I still can't trust you immediately."

"I understand. I understand." Lucy blinked and nodded. "Everything and everyone has their own reasons. I'm sorry, Miss Frye. I took your time." The redhdead moved to sit down on a dark brown chair while Evie went to the opened window to flee from the manor. All of sudden, she turned back to look at Thorne. She didn't know why she did that but she had already done what she found hard to understand. Why does that older woman seem poor and lonely like that? Perhaps it is because she was still weak and pale after getting a big ass attack that had nearly taken her life? Or maybe it is something else the young girl hadn't figure out?

And she saw Lucy smoking at the table, coughing and breathing hard but still, the woman didn't stop. She smoked fast at a speed of completely consume a cigarette in half of a minute and continued to the point she coughed out her saliva. Evie couldn't stand that as she felt like each time Lucy made sound was a time her heart got punch. Eventually, she jumped back into the room, rushed to the table side and snatched the cigarette out of Lucy's hand in her surprise.

"You've honestly lost your mind!" The brunette's eyes wide opened and glared at Thorne angrily. "I didn't kill you but this one might." She threw the cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out by her heel.

Lucy watched the younger woman did that as she leaned backward and inhaled.

"I know you wouldn't trust me. Since our paths are crossed, we meet and fight, die and survive, not to share our stories nor listen to what the other say. For the first time, Miss Frye, may I ask what drove you to be an assassin?"

Evie looked at Lucy, face-to-face, and none of them blinked or a second until the Frye twin broke the silence.

"I was raised to be what I am now."

"You didn't choose to start it?" Lucy asked, and there was no answer.

Miss Thorne sighed, "Have you ever lost someone you really love, Miss Frye?"

Evie didn't know whether she should answer or not but finally, she swallowed hard, "Yes, I did. Why did you ask?"

"Because losing my daughter put an entrance for me to find the Shroud."

"Really? I'm sorry for your lost." Evie replied.

"Not your fault, Frye. To be honest, that's a long story if you're willing to spend time listening." Lucy released a soft smile.

"Alright then." Evie pulled the chair and sat down opposite to the woman, "This is strange. I could never believe I'll spend such a good time chatting with you, Miss Thorne. Especially..." She wasn't able to fill the sentence when she saw Lucy was staring at the floor, motionless like a statue showing its non-verbal sorrow.

"When I was 18, I saw a family in which the wife had a bad illness. The husband took a loan from some people and put the money into curing for his wife. Once she recovered, he worked his ass off to pay the debt, well, funds and profit, until he passed away for overexertion, leaving half of the debt to his poor family. His wife became a courtesan to earn living for both her and the daughter as well as paying the money. It wasn't long after that, the mother got killed by a robber, only for a few pounds, leaving the child totally alone then without any care or protection." Lucy paused as she poured the tea to the cups and gave one to Evie.

"What then?" Evie asked.

"I raised her on my own. And finally, ha, she left me 5 years ago. Tuberculosis. I watched the kid breathed her last."

Lucy stood up, looking outside the town, "I collected all of those memories and events only to have a question: Is there anyway I could do to make things less bitter? And I think... The Shroud's going to be one of the solutions."

Evie kept listening without saying a word. Perhaps she was opening her mind to digest something new and big.

"I see, that was quite a story."

"Uhm hum, so next time if you think all Templar are the same, then remember me. I might be fool enough to be stabbed on my back, but I have my sense to pursue what is necessary for the betterment of humanity. And... There's no good way for the future that contains no weakness, no pain, no sacrifice, no any negative points. Remember that... At least, we'll try and I'll prove what you want me to."

Evie crossed her arms across her chest and frowned, "Are you serious? Can't we just move on and focus on finding The Shroud instead of revenge?"

Lucy chuckled at that, "Maybe, we can do stuff as you pleased. That's a way to prove I'm not playing an upper-hand." Then she walked closer to Frye, whispering into her left ear, "But save that Crawford for me."

"And no more cigar, okay?" Evie raised her eyebrows as her eyes followed Lucy's steps.

"If that's what you like... Sugar."

#assassin's creed syndicate #evie frye #lucy thorne #assassins creed #assassinscreedsyndicate

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tracy-adkins · 5 years

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A rant about Rey.

I'm so sick of the entire Mary Sue debate. It's ridiculous! And this bullshit right here is the straw that broke the camel's back!

Here was my response to that dudebro-

Aside from pissing me off, this interaction also got me thinking...

What I told him about her life was absolutely true and it only takes 1/2 a working brain cell to realize that... Rey grew up in hell.

Niima outpost is a bona fide shit hole. It's the kind of place where the most famous ship in the galaxy can be hidden in plain sight... for years! The kind of place where people sell children. Where people ignore a teenage girl being attack in the middle of the city market... or worse, find it entertaining.

Rey is rather plain looking and shapeless when we meet her... and that was not by accident. Daisy is a beautiful young woman who can turn heads walking down any street in the world... but the difference of appearance between her and Rey are as marked as those between a peacock and a peahen.

The heartbreaking truth is, this is as much a defense tactic as it is a statement of Rey's poverty. She's 19... even if she was a late bloomer she's spent, at least, the last few years having to worry about being seen as a desirable woman... because if someone stronger, more clever, or sufficiently devious enough took an interest in her she could and likely would have been sexually assaulted, raped and/or murdered... the chances of her having never been AT LEAST sexually assaulted are very slim...

She fights every fight like her life depends on it. Even when it's a simple robbery... of something worth zero money to her... did you notice how fast she went from "stop that" to complete savage beast mode on the thugs Unkar sent? It was instantaneous the moment that thug grabbed her. That's panic fighting, pure survival instinct. She's been grabbed before... and it's apparently left her with the effects of lingering trauma.

Did you see how she didn't hesitate to attack, with intent to kill, Kylo the first three times that met? She's had to fight for her life before. Enough to have conquered the panic to the point she can fight effectively. That means she's done it A LOT.

Rey is no sweet cinnamon roll, nor some overpowered bimbo... she's a survivor living in one of the foulest pits of hell that the GFFA has to offer.

Sure, she's a decent person... but make no mistake, she is absolutely willing to cut a bitch. She is a stone cold killer. We don"t know her body count, but anyone with eyes can see that she didn't hesitate and she didn't bat an eyelash at killing that first stormtrooper in the forest before Kylo found her. She'd have done the same to him if not for the fact that he was a Jedi.

Which brings me to the point where they actually do meet...

When he took off that helmet and introduced his real PERSON to her you can't help but wonder why the fuck the big bad guy would do such a thing.

But, if you watch the scene that follows you can see him become more and more fascinated by her with every passing second.

I didn't watch him when I saw this movie at the theater, I watched her. She was emoting beautifuly... terror, panic, revulsion... I can see why someone could see this scene as akin to rape... they'd be wrong, but I CAN see how they've come up with that.

Guess who else wasn't looking at him during this scene? Rey wasn't either.

You know when else she wasn't looking at that incredibly expressive face of his?

When he first got a load of her.

The novel states and it's actually pretty easy to see if you look for it, that Kylo Ren was surprised by and impressed with her from the moment she opened fire on him in the forest.

Yup. He was a goner from the word go. He didn't take her because it would be just as easy to get the map from her as it would be to get it from the droid... frankly the data chip would have been infinitely more useful than a 30 second, unfocused memory... no he took her because he felt incredibly drawn to her. He took her because she intrigued him. He could feel there was something different and special about her. He was so distracted by her and elated to have gotten her under his control that he didn't give even a fraction of a shit about finding the droid or Luke anymore... he actively didn't want the droid anymore because that would have robbed him of his excuse to keep her around and investigate her mind... the perfect cover for his sudden, urgent, NEED to learn everything about her and figure out why he felt so "inexorably drawn" to her.

Watch his face after she says the bit about Vader... he's scared shitless... but he's not afraid for his life... he's scared because he didn't find out why he was drawn to her, and now it was a way more powerful draw... and it felt incredible... like nothing he's ever felt or seen or heard or read about...

That my friends, with a shiver down his spine to mark the occasion, was the moment he realized that she was his ONLY equal in the entire galaxy... and he wanted her. Like a trophy, yes, on the surface, where he could acknowledge and accept it - but also on a deeper level... on the level of a unique being who had found the only other of it's type in existence... on the level where Adam wanted Eve.

Rey missed 100% of that... just like a lot of the fandom... just like I did upon first viewing.

In fact she missed every bit of him falling in love with her... allllllllll the way up to this moment

Yep... even says so in the book... she had no inkling that he had actual, real, deep feelings for her.

Not even when this happened-

She was clueless.

And guess what else she didn't know? She didn't know he was physically attracted to her until this moment-

It never occurred to her that he might want ALL OF HER... because she only found out 10 minutes ago (a LONG ten minutes!) that he felt ANYTHING towards her besides a desire to shape and control her Force training and abilities.

It was a lot to take in all at once... especially considering that she was still so terrified of him that she tried to kill him 18 hrs ago!

She had hoped she could convince him to go home to his mother and his family... to return to the light... to fight the good fight... she never even suspected that he had fallen in love with HER... the lonely, scrappy, unwanted, abandoned, flawed, unlovable dessert rat... not her powers.

I think she misjudged him terribly from start to finish.

She has no idea when she closes that door in his face that his feelings were hurt but not changed... that they were real and not some fucked up manipulation tactic.

That naked vulnerability is why they chose Adam Driver... Kylo's feelings for Rey are alive and well... that's why the last time we see him he is bowing under the weight of massive amounts of grief.

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countingwithturkeys · 4 years

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Blurb: Peacemaker

A long time ago I wrote a blurb about Marceline finally passing and joining Bonnie in dead world. Consider this the prequel to that. Though my blurbs typically don’t come with content warnings, this one has two: Death and feels. I promise the next blurb will be fluffy.

Mom was never the same after mama died.

When I was young I was fascinated by mama’s ability to catch mom in a lie. Mom was a fantastic liar, something she said always served her well at work. She could lie to her demons and she could lie to fellow cosmic entities. She could deceive her father, Death, even herself. She even saw fit to teach me everything she knew, believing that the ability to fool someone was an essential survival skill. She was a master at it, a true artist. But she could never fool mama. She would try, of course, usually with a lop-sided grin that hid her actions but not her intent, but mama saw through her every single time. “It’s her eyes,” mama told me one day. “Your mother can change any part of her she wishes, but her eyes will give her away every time.”

I had laughed when she told me this with a self-satisfied smirk, and it really was funny to think about. The ruler of the Nightosphere, evil incarnate itself, no match for a queen made of gum? Mama had tried to teach me what she knew, because just as mom believed lying was a vital skill mama believed detecting deception was just as important. “For when you become queen one day,” she had said, and I would just roll my eyes because both of my parents are immortal and had lived for well over a century. Still, there was wisdom in mama’s coaching, and I had tried my hardest to see through mom’s tricks and schemes. I never succeeded.

Not until mama died.

“I’m fine, Penny. No worries.”

That had been the first time I had caught mom in a lie, and it made my blood run cold. She had given me the same reassuring smile she had always given me when I asked how she was doing at mama’s funeral, but I could see the pain in her eyes. Something, some light I didn’t even know was supposed to be there was missing. Instead something new had taken its place, something that made me grossly uncomfortable, that made me clench Raak’s hand even as mom fixed them with a level stare, begrudgingly accepting them as my mate out of respect for our soulbond and the desire to see me happy, and nothing more. Even then her heart hadn’t been in it, I could tell. There was no fire. Literally or metaphorically.

“Head back, okay? I’ll catch up.”

Except mom never set foot in the castle again after that day. Jan had tried to joke that mom was finally obeying stereotypical vampire rules, that maybe I should try explicitly inviting her back into the palace that had been her home for hundreds of years. Instead she had decapitated him with her axe. Her heart wasn’t in that either. Raak thought it was funny, but they were too smart to say so.

Instead she threw herself into her work, leaving the Nightosphere only when the situation - either literally or socially - called for it. Of course, she was always there when I wanted or needed her. She was right there for my wedding, because despite mama’s best attempts Ooo never did recognize a soulbond as a legal establishment and more’s the pity, even if Raak was clearly and adorably taken with the whole event. She was there for the births of both of my children, lending no small effort to helping to raise them and teach them what it meant to be part demon, what it meant to live as such on the surface world. She still kept a watchful eye on the descendants of her friends long passed.

But there was no more music after mama died. When she decapitated Jan it didn’t escape my notice that her axe lacked all of the necessary accouterments for it to play music. The concert hall, that extension of the Citadel she had painstakingly built from materials imported from Ooo itself was sealed shut, with no demon daring to mention its existence even in hushed whispers. It was only be executive order - my executive order to be precise - that her records and albums were preserved as Candy Kingdom national treasures. It was the only way I could be sure that my children would know their grandmother had the most hauntingly beautiful voice.

Mom was there, but she wasn’t. She supported me, loved me, guided me. She was every much the same mom she had always been, so long as you didn’t look too closely. Unfortunately for her, I took after mama just a little too much; I appreciated the effort mom put in to make sure I understood and could make music, but I was a scientist at heart. Of course, I studied the science of sound, but musicology was an important field of study with any number of practical applications.

“Your mama would be proud,” mom had said with a beaming, watery smile.

She denied it vehemently, but I knew how much of her she saw in me. I knew how much it hurt her. So I never faulted her reticence, or the way she retreated into herself. She was just as loving and somehow even more frustratingly protective as she had always been when I was a child, but the wisdom only age can grant allowed me to see her as the person she was, flawed and in pain. I pretended not to notice the steel locket she wore tucked under the shield of her suit. I forbade my gardeners from touching mama’s rose garden, leaving it under mom’s devoted care. I told my children stories of my parents so that mom’s voice wouldn’t crack when she tried to tell them instead. Above all, I pretended not to see the pain in her eyes when she looked at me, hidden beneath her love and pride.

I couldn’t imagine the agony of feeling a soulbond severed. My mothers had in essence grown up together in the way only immortals could. Their relationship spanned almost seven hundred years before I was conceived, had lasted over a century by the time that bond had been broken. I took comfort in knowing that at least mama wasn’t suffering; although mom was arrogant - they both were, really, at least that wasn’t a trait I inherited - she was every bit a schemer as mama, just in her own weird way. Before I was even born she had somehow persuaded Death to let mama into Dead World at the highest tier should she ever die, though she was reluctant to share how she had pulled that one off. Not even mama knew, and somehow her frown at being robbed of the knowledge had only ever made mom laugh harder.

I missed the sound of mom’s laughter. That died, too, along with her music.

The best we would ever get were soft chortles, though she did give me a sincere smile the first time my daughter produced fire. She took after my mom in a way I never did and found the Nightosphere fascinating. Somehow she had managed to wear down mom’s resistance and was even allowed to shadow her at work, though it only made her love the job even more. Not that it would ever be her’s, mom would emphasize. Repeatedly. Usually while tapping her amulet with her claw to remind everyone that she was, regrettably, Deathless.

As cliche as it was it had hit me in the middle of the night - poor Raak, I almost gave them a heart attack - that mom would never see mama again. Being exempted from Death’s scythe meant that their souls would never be reunited, and suddenly mom’s morose attitude made perfect sense. She would live eternity in agony, because that amulet she was so proud of was a curse that could only be passed through blood. I was already queen of the Candy Kingdom, and though I knew my daughter would leap at the opportunity to take her grandmother’s place, mom was always adamant that this duty ended with her. And she was endless.

But I was nothing if not my mama’s daughter, and while mom was willing to be resigned to her fate mama had taught me that all problems have solutions, so long as you knew what question to ask. Trusting Raak to distract mom long enough to not notice her precious pickle jar being pilfered from her room, and with a silent promise to both them and Jan that I would make their grievous injuries up to them, I had met with the one being I thought could persuade Death to change his mind.

“Please,” I had implored Life. “I know mom has a contract with Death, but there has to be a different way. I love my mother, and mama died saving me.” Whereas her husband was cold and heartless Life had always been warm and compassionate, and though she could give me no details she assured me that mom herself was what prevented their reunion, that another contract superseded the agreement she and Death had with one another. Life had never lied to me before. This was where mama and I differed as rulers, I had realized: she had trusted no one, save for her mate. I would not make that mistake.

After returning home I bided my time. Nothing important had ever been done in haste. Mama had taught me that. I summoned my daughter and son to me for a secret, yet essential, conversation. He had cried, as I knew he would, but she had understood. Actually, she had grinned that same grin mom had when she finally wore mama’s resistance down. But that would be a headache for a different evening. Although mom liked to only return to Ooo when specifically requested, or to tend to mama’s garden in secret, there was one night I could always count on her making an appearance.

Just as it had ended, it began with a meteor shower.

It was surreal, seeing mom at mama’s grave. I knew she went there every year, leaving the most beautiful of roses for her and apprising her of the previous year’s events. That meteor shower was important to her, important to them both. Their first date was under that shower, they had been married under that shower. Cruelly, mama had been killed the night of that shower, and one year later exactly she had been buried under its glistening light, as was tradition.

Although I normally wouldn’t attempt to hide the sounds of my approach - mom’s hearing was too precise for that to ever work, I had learned that the hard way as a child - I attempted anyway, out of respect for her privacy. It was odd, seeing her out of her suit, in torn jeans and some t-shirt. I could hear the spectre of my mama’s voice calling her outfit distasteful. It made me smile, even if it didn’t make me deaf to the one-sided conversation.

“-so proud of her, Bon. Penny’s got this whole queen thing down. Made some pretty righteous changes you probs wouldn’t approve of, but you know? She actually made a legit treaty with the Fire Kingdom. Like, without using the Nightosphere as a liaison. It was amaze-balls. The Kingdom’s in mondo-awesome hands.” Even as her chuckle was forced I couldn’t help my blush of pride at my mom’s words. She wasn’t one to pay false compliments or criticisms; she said and did exactly as she meant and wanted to. Refreshing, really, given the pressures of ruling.

“I miss you, Bon.” Her voice cracked, and my smile dropped. “It’s…” I heard her sigh and dared to peek from my hiding place behind the gateway that marked the grounds. Whereas before she had been floating she now sat - actually sat - with her arms wrapped around her knees. Something was clasped in her hand, something small and square, but in the dark I couldn’t see what. I never inherited her night vision. “I know Death held up his end of our deal, so you’re pretty up there in Dead World, huh? Gotta be with Finn and Jake and Phoebe and Simon everyone else, right? How are they doing?” Her voice began to shake and I looked away, knowing I was intruding on something deeply personal. “It’s just… so hard without you, Bon. I know you’re probs doing your science junk to your heart’s content… but we had science down here, you know?” And then I heard it. A sound I had never heard before in centuries of life, something that made my heart drop and my skin crawl.

Through a soft, almost imperceptible declaration of her love, my mother was crying.

It was hard to imagine my mother doing such a thing. I knew she was more emotional than my mama - and I had the stories from Uncle Finn and Uncle Jake in my youth to prove it - I had always thought those emotions to be limited to the spectrum of rage. It was hard to see Lady Evil as someone who could or would express such sorrow, and harder still to think of the woman who gave me life, who raised me, protected me, nurtured me, and protected me as having those kinds of feelings, but there they were. And it solidified my decision.

Though it was telling that mom hadn’t heard my approach already I made just enough noise to reveal my position, giving her the chance to conceal her despair. It was the respectful thing to do. It was the kind thing to do.

I heard her snarl, but once she saw who was encroaching on her personal time with my mother’s headstone her demeanor changed. She was floating again, the square object clutched in her hand. The smile she greeted me with was arrogant and knowing, though it was obvious to me that she was counting on the cover of night to hide the signs that this was a bluff. “What are you doing out so late, mein Schatzi?”

I may have not been able to decipher my mom’s expression, but I knew she could see me as clearly as ever. There was no sense stopping my eyeroll. “I thought I would find you out here, mom.” I thought I heard a forced snicker before she seemed to turn back to the grave. I lowered my voice respectfully, both for my mama’s resting place and for the heavy atmosphere. “I wanted to see how you were.”

“Just catching your mama up.” There was a tightness in her voice. And then it was gone. “So what, you got bored? Or is this your way of admitting I was right and that-”

A sigh of irritation escaped me. I didn’t try too hard to stop it. “Mom, for the last time. I’m very happy with Raak. We have two beautiful children, a soulbond, and they never stop striving to make me happy.”

“Now, Penelope-”

“Grandfather wasn’t thrilled with your soul’s choice in a mate, and now you aren’t thrilled with mine. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

She was quiet, and for a moment I believed she might actually reflect on her behavior. My mistake. The same one, coincidentally, I knew mama made just as often. “Seems like it’s a family tradition at this point! Can’t mess with that!”

I closed my eyes, rubbing my left temple. The headache would have to wait until after this conversation. “Mom, I didn’t come out here to talk about Raak or the children. I came out here to talk about mama.”

I didn’t need night vision to see her wince. Even if she hid her tears she always wore her heart on her sleeve. “What did you want to talk about?,” she asked, more tension than I’m sure she meant sneaking into her voice.

It was now or never, quite literally. “Mom… I know you miss her.”

I expected her to deny it, or to at least discourage my inquiry. I didn’t expect the sigh of resignation, or the small white flame to ignite in her palm. “Come here, Penny. There’s something I want to show you.” With a skeptical, raised eyebrow I did as requested, joining my mom and politely pretending that the fire didn’t illuminate the fact she had recently been crying. Mama had taught me the importance of tact. Instead I focused on the rectangular object in her hand.

It was a picture frame of all things. Though the picture it held was old and a bit grainy it was in remarkably good condition, probably from having been kept in the Nightosphere and thus shielded from the effects of time. “Mom… is that…?”

It was my mothers, impossibly younger, laughing and cuddling together against a meteor shower backdrop. Mama was squirming a bit, making her left arm a bit blurry, and mom was off-center, clearly trying to level the camera with her telekinesis. As she followed my gaze mom’s smile was fond. Sad. She watched me, not her picture. “That was the first picture we took together, on our first date.”

“The one you two didn’t even know was a date?”

Her laugh was refreshingly free of grief. “Yeah. Your mama was the one who dragged me out there. I wanted to work on my jams, she wanted to prove to me science isn’t lame.”

“Science isn’t lame, mom.”

Her groan was, of all things, affectionate. “You sound just like your mama.”

“One of us has to,” I grumbled.

“Probably, yeah.” She kissed the top of my head. “I’ve kept this picture safe ever since that day. I know we have tons more, and some fancy portraits I still keep finding, but… this one’s special.”

I gazed intently into that picture, at the images of my mothers from before my time, from before there was even a Candy Kingdom. Back when they shared a little cabin by Butterscotch Lake and were still new to trusting anyone, including themselves. I knew how their story began. And I knew how it was going to end, even if mom didn’t yet. “...I miss her,” I whispered.

“I miss her too, Penny. Every day.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, a nervous gesture I knew I inherited from mom. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Even in the dim light of her fire I saw my mother’s suspicious eyebrow. “What did you do and whose soul do I get to suck out?”

“No. No, mom. No soul sucking.”

“Spoilsport.”

“I think you should be with mama.”

Mom could hide a lot of things, but not her grimace. “Penny, we’ve been over this. My place is here. Well, technically it’s in the Nightosphere, but my lair my rules, and right now-”

“Mom,” I interrupted. Rude, I know, but necessary. “I know. You’re the force that stabilizes the Nightosphere, but we both know how enamored Judith is with your job. She would take it over in a heartbeat if allowed.”

“Yeah, and I’m not allowing it.”

“But mom-”

“No, Penelope Abadeer.” she growled out. I wasn’t used to her voice being this firm. Traditionally mama was the firm one, but the topic of the Nightosphere and her role in its existence was a sore one, so I didn’t blame her. “This is a curse. Not one I would inflict on my daughter or my grand daughter. I made my decision-”

“You made your decision back when you thought mama was gonna be with you forever.” Even in the dim light I could see her eyes narrow. “I’m sorry, mom, but we both know it’s true. You never would have agreed if you ever really thought-”

“That was my mistake. End of discussion.” She turned to leave, the flame still ignited in a subtle cue that I was meant to leave with her.

“I talked to Life.” That stopped her, though she didn’t turn back. “And Prismo. In the Time Room.”

Now she turned back. “Are you nuts?! I know my parenting style was always a little lax, but I’m pretty sure your mama would wig out if she heard that!”

I gave her a poignant smile. “No, mom, you’re wigging out. Mama did whatever she had to to solve a problem.” And I’m not my mama, but this would have been a bad time to start poking old wounds. “I know you love me, mom, and I know you love Judith and Uther. You’ve spent your entire life protecting us and Ooo and the memories of everyone you’ve lost, but… they’re just that. Memories. You don’t have to keep doing it.”

“This is my place.” It wasn’t exactly cold, but it was a warning.

“Mom, I love you. You’ve always been there for me. You’re the best mom I could ask for. But I know you miss mama. I have a soulbond too, mom, and I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose Raak. I only know it would be agony beyond compare.”

“I am contractually obligated-”

“Mom, please. I know you take your legal biz and junk really seriously, but I talked to Life. She said there’s another contract that takes precedence over the one you have with Death. I know you don’t trust him, but Life has only ever been kind. She made sure mama’s soul got to Dead World safely, remember?”

Of course mom would remember. Life almost had to pry her soul out of mom’s claws, could hear the silent screams of a shattered soulbond the rest of the universe was deaf to. But she had escorted mama to the highest tier of Dead World herself, granting her safe and smooth passage. Death may have been bitter that mom was proficient in tricking him out of what was rightfully his, but Life held nothing in her heart but love.

I expected mom to ask about the secondary contract, to press me for details I would have loved to give but didn’t know myself. Perhaps she sensed a non-disclosure agreement, or perhaps, deep down, she really just wanted an excuse to try. Regardless- “...One year.”

“Mom?”

She sighed, the warm tone returning to her voice. It never could stay away for long. Not when it came to me. “Give me one year to think about it.”

I smiled and ran over, hugging her tightly. She returned the embrace. It was the best I was going to get out of her right now. Besides, what was a year to an immortal. “Thank you.”

As it would turn out, the decision would not take a full year. Perhaps mom had requested an audience with Life herself, or perhaps she was just willing to accept True Death after hundreds of years of endless Unlife. Regardless, to grand ceremony and press release she had turned over the chaos amulet to my daughter who, despite having been thoroughly exposed to the worst the Nightosphere - and the job itself - had to offer thrived in a way that would make my grandfather proud. Though she and her brother would mourn her loss they, too, were adults and understood that she had existed and done her job, had even saved Ooo itself more than a handful of times, and now the time had come to reap her reward and go home.

Letting go was always difficult for mom. For a woman who often professed that everything changed and that control was an illusion she tried awfully hard to hold on to the past. I was proud of her. Too proud to send her off alone. It was for that reason I ignored her wishes to spend her last night on Ooo alone at mama’s grave. Instead we sat together under the meteor shower, just the three of us, though one of us was silent while she and I exchanged our farewells and promises to be together again one day, when Death’s scythe would inevitably come for me. Though I had inherited mama’s effective immortality I never shared her wish to use it. She never understood that. Mom did.

Speaking of which.

“Mom?”

“Yes, mein Schatzi?”

I hummed, looking up at the night sky. I had grown accustomed to seeing mom without a suit, had gotten used to carrying the weight of her axe strapped to my back. But there was one thing I hadn’t gotten used to, and never would. “Before you go home to mama… will you sing for me? Like when I was a little girl?”

Mom smiled, a real one this time. “Come here, Penny.”

Perhaps it was silly. I was hundreds of years old myself and queen of the most powerful kingdom in the world besides, but I would never say no to a lullaby from my mom. Just as I did when I was a little girl I slid into her arms, letting my head rest against her shoulder as my eyes closed. As she stroked my hair she sang, soft and gentle, filling my mind with idyllic scenery and finding that which was once lost. She sang of gardens and home, of the promise that everything stayed even if it changed. Though I didn’t mean to, I cried into her shoulder, not hard but softly and effortlessly.

I pulled away when her song was finished, kissing her cheek. I was ready. “Thanks, mom.” Her smile was knowing, more like the one I knew than the strained one that had taken its place since mama’s death. It said what we were both thinking: We both needed that. “Take care of mama until I join you both, okay?”

“There’s still time to ask me not to, you know.”

I nodded. “I do know. Please do it anyway. I know how much you love me and the children, but I think if you leave mama alone for too long up there she’ll disassemble Dead World, and then we’ll have something worse than the Night released on Ooo.”

She snickered. “Natch. Your mama’s nuts. You should watch out for that, pretty sure it’s hereditary.”

“You’re both nuts. Fortunately, the two cancel one another out.” With one last hug I stood, leaving her beside mama’s resting place. “Safe journeys, mom. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

I felt the telekinetic force of her hug. “I love you too, Penny. If you need me I’m pretty sure you can convince Life to let me visit.”

“I’m sure I could. With that said, you and mama prepared me adequately. We’ll be fine. Go home, mom. Sheesh.”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes at me. “Fine, fine. Get out of here. I promised your mama I’d never stake myself, but the sun’ll be up soon.”

There was nothing more to be said, and I wouldn’t want her final moments to be worrying about mentally scarring me with her True Death. “Alright, mom. Just one more thing.”

Before she died mama had taught me the secret of how she was able to get a picture with mom if vampires couldn’t be reflected in mirrors, and when I produced her small mirrorless camera she knew exactly what I wanted. Just as she always did, she obliged me.

When mom passed she did so at mama’s side, and at peace.

#bubbline #fan fic #adventure time

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ramblingrachell · 4 years

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Have You Read This? The Election of 2020

Like many of us, I watched Hamilton on July 4th, 2020 – our nation’s birthday. I met the day with mixed emotions as the spirit and character of our nation as of late did not seem appropriate to celebrate.

As I watched the story about many of the nation’s founding fathers and first leaders unfold, I was struck by the parts of their personal trials and tribulations that went beyond their contribution to the nation. Hamilton was the first politician to be involved in a sex scandal; Layfette – an immigrant, unafraid to step in and become America’s favorite fighting Frenchmen; Washington – a slave owner willing to admit “it probable that I may have committed many errors;” Jefferson – gained wealth profiting from the work of slaves, one of which he fathered six children with after making her his mistress. Burr – the untried murderer of Alexander Hamilton, whom he killed while still holding office as the third Vice President of the United States. In short, a hot mess of moral contradictions. I have been listening to the Hamilton soundtrack ever since my first viewing on July 4th, and realized a number of lines in various songs could be strung together to reflect my perception (key word: my) of the current political climate. Over the last week or so, I finally sat down to string all of those poignant lines together (with a few liberties for relevant context), a lyrical short story I have dubbed, The Election of 2020 (seen further down, further down). The beauty of democracy that is reborn during election seasons is our ability to get a fresh start, gain new perspectives, correct past wrongs, and continually better this land of the free for generations to come. I saw a quote recently that described voting as not so much like trying to find the perfect partner for marriage, but rather like using a bus for public transport. Voting is a map of bus routes that you must choose from in order to get from point A to point B. There may not be one specific bus that is going to your exact destination, but that doesn’t mean you stay at home and give up on travel entirely. Voting is not about waiting for “the one” candidate who is absolutely perfect. Instead, you choose to get on the bus that gets you closest to where you want to be. I know and love many republicans and democrats that have used the privilege of voting to get us all closer to where we want the nation to be. To me, where we are right now does not seem to fit under either traditional party umbrella – no, it’s much more like an umbrella that has been turned inside out and torn apart by a calculated hurricane of divisive and selfish endeavors. Perhaps more than ever before, this is the time to reassess our voting bus routes that will get us from point A to point B. Are we moving from indifference to tolerance? Hate to love? Despair to hope? Chaos to consistency? Negligence to protection? Moreover, before you get on your bus of choice, remember the route is designed to get the whole of our nation where we want it to be. Not just for me and not just for you. For all of US – as in, all of the United States. We will never all agree, I know this, but in spite of these disagreements, I am reminded of the hope that comes from the story of Hamilton. Even 244 years into this nation’s story, despite many dramatic peaks and valleys, the journey to our shared, happily ever after epilogue lives on. It lives on in me, in you, and in every vote cast to get us where we want to be. Regardless of how your vote is cast, the courage to reexamine your route and get on that bus… well, that would be enough.

The Election of 2020

“America, you great unfinished symphony A place where even orphan immigrants Can leave their fingerprints and rise up We’re running out of time Eyes up Time's up Wise up He's not the choice I would have gone with History will prove him wrong Winning was easy for him Governing's harder Welcome, folks, to a dysfunctional administration! He stands only for himself It's what he does I can't apologize because it's true Have it all, lose it all The President is gonna bring the nation to the brink He’s the villain in our history Frankly, it's a little disquieting that so many are blind to this reality He doesn’t have an ounce of regret He accumulates debt, he accumulates power Yet in our hour of need, he forgets Ardently abuses his post It's hard to listen to him with a straight face Watching the tension grow He cannot be left alone to his devices Indecisive, from crisis to crisis Stay alive 'til this horror show is past We're gonna fly a lot of flags half-mast Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us How many died because he was inexperienced and ruinous? We're too fragile to start another fight Where do we draw the line? Someone oughta remind him We're running a real nation Him and his words, obsessed with his own legacy His sentences border on senseless And he is paranoid in every paragraph How they perceive him Let future historians wonder How he tore so much apart And watched it all burn I wish I could say what was happening in his brain He's not very forthcoming on any particular stances Ask him a question: he glances off, he obfuscates, he dances I will not equivocate on my opinion I didn't say anything that wasn't true His father's a scoundrel, and so, it seems, is this dude He is uniquely situated by virtue of his position Though 'virtue' is not a word I’d apply to this situation He seeks financial gain, straying from his sacred mission And the evidence suggests he’s engaged in speculation Why does he assume he’s the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude will be his doom He knows nothing of loyalty Smells like new money, dresses like fake royalty Desperate to rise above his station Everything he does betrays the ideals of our nation See how he lies Look at his eyes Follow the scent of his enterprise If we don't stop him, we aid and abet it Watching him grabbin' at power and kissin' it Somebody has to stand up to his mouth What do we stall for? If we stand for nothing, what'll we fall for?

Be careful with that one He will do what it takes to survive No one knows who he is or what he does His pride will be the death of us all God, we hope he’s satisfied This man has poisoned our political pursuits Destroyed our reputation I can almost see the headline, his “career” is done Ya best go run back where ya come from! This dude is out! You ever see somebody ruin their own life? History obliterates In every picture it paints It paints him and all of his mistakes It's him against us, the world will never be the same He better get ready for the moment of adrenaline Try not to crack under the stress When he finally faces his opponent They’ve fought on like seventy-five different fronts He smacks others in the press and doesn’t print retractions We're breaking down like fractions But when all is said and all is done I have beliefs, he has none Gotta get us out of the mess he’s got us in There’s a reason no one trusts him No one knows what he believes I get no satisfaction witnessing his fits of passion The way he primps and preens and dresses like the pits of fashion Our poorest citizens, our farmers, live ration to ration As Wall Street robs 'em blind in search of chips to cash in He’s askin' for someone to bring him to task While we were all watching, he got Washington in his pocket But the sun comes up And the world still spins I hear wailing in the streets There is suffering too terrible to name This is not a moment, it's a movement Are we a nation of states? What's the state of our nation? The issue on the table: We are engaged in a battle for our nation's very soul I’m past patiently waitin'. Let’s passionately smash every expectation For the first time, I’m thinkin' past tomorrow. We're gonna rise up - time to take a shot This nation better rise up Raise a glass to freedom Something they can never take away No matter what he tells us Look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now But we'll never be truly free Until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me Seek out injustice in the world and correct it Life doesn't discriminate Between the sinners And the saints It takes and it takes and it takes And we keep living anyway We laugh and we cry And we break But can l be real for a second? For just a millisecond? We gotta make an all-out stand Get him out of power So he holds no office We are a powder keg about to explode We gotta stop 'em and rob 'em of his advantages Let's take a stand with the stamina God has granted us We pick and choose our battles and places to take a stand We will fight for this land Summon all the courage that’s required Be a part of the narrative The story they will write someday How we emerged victorious Leaving the battlefield waving Betsy Ross' flag higher No one has more resilience Let’s move under cover and move as one We have one shot to live another day Don’t throw away this shot We will fight up close, seize the moment and stay in it And so the American experiment begins again We bleed and fight for the next generation We'll make it right for them If we lay a strong enough foundation We'll pass it on to them, we'll give the world to them For a strong central democracy We may never all agree, but There's only one man and woman Who can give us a command so we can rise up Throwing verbal rocks at his mediocrities What do you stall for? What was it all for? We studied and we fought For the notion of a nation we now get to rebuild Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness We fought for these ideals; we shouldn't settle for less I don't pretend to know All the challenges we’re facing But this once, take a stand with pride This is not the time to stand to the side Stand with us in the land of the free To get the people that we need to lead We need the votes We need bold strokes When there’s skin in the game, stay in the game We don't get a win unless we play in the game We may get love for it We may get hate for it We get nothing if we wait for it I wanna build something that's gonna outlive me I dream of a brand new start I want real leaders that can save the day We won't be invisible We won't be denied If we get this right The nation can start to move on It outlives us when we’re gone We are the one thing in life we can control We are inimitable, true originals We can’t stand still Or lie in wait We don't wanna fight, but We won't apologize for doing what's right Together we can turn the tide If we manage to get this right They'll surrender by early light We have no control Who lives, who dies, who tells our story But I know that we can win I know that greatness lies within us But remember from here on in History has its eyes on me and History has its eyes on you”

(All Lyric Credits: Hamilton: An America Musical. Performances by Lin-Manuel Miranda, Daveed Diggs, Renée Elise Goldsberry, Jonathan Groff, Christopher Jackson, Jasmine Cephas Jones, Leslie Odom Jr., Okieriete Onaodowan, Anthony Ramos Phillipa Soo, and Original Cast Company. Atlantic Records, 2015.)

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vaniri · 4 years

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Hostage [Arthur Morgan x Reader]

Ono, I’ve committed another smutty fic ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Y’all remember “Kidnapped”? It’s the sequel. Arthur and reader's relationship develops and it leads to some smutty stuff.

It’s mad long. And weird. And a little bit kinky, too ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ but I know you like it ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°) smut ahead, of course.

BIG THANKS TO @ugh-my-back WHO DID THE BETA-READING AND HELPED ME GREATLY WITH LITERALLY EVERYTHING 😭❤️❤️❤️

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You've been with the van der Linde gang for weeks.

You were never truly their hostage. Arthur stated clearly why he brought you to camp, but even after realizing how much they could demand for your release, none of the folks treated you like you'd expect someone in your position to be treated. They untied your hands immediately and didn't tie them back when you sobered up; they let you sleep off your inebriation on a quite comfy cot and fed you in the morning; they never locked you up or constricted you in any other way, they let you walk among them freely. Well, almost freely, as there was always someone who had an eye on you.

Arthur was that someone, to be exact. He was always watching, always close to you, yet still keeping his distance. You didn’t mind that, at least at the beginning. You never talked about what had happened on his horse and acted pretty civil towards each other, but you couldn't deny that this night woke something in you. Something that not only didn't want to subside even after you realized that he probably wasn't interested in taking your friendship to the next level, but grew stronger with every passing day.

Despite his rough nature, Arthur Morgan - yes, you eventually learned his last name - turned out to be a fine man. He realized pretty quickly that you had no idea how to survive in a world outside your family mansion and was kind enough to teach you the basics of living in the wilds. First, he showed you how to shoot a gun, letting you train with his own revolver, which seemed pretty intimate to you. And so were his touches when he corrected your position or readjusted your grip. You tried your best to focus, but every brush of his coarse hands against your skin felt like a flame spreading in your body, making your knees weak. He was probably fully aware of the effect he had on you, but never said anything about it, never took advantage of it, nor acted improperly, even despite the fact you were usually alone during these lessons. To your surprise, you realized that you actually felt sad about that.

But he wasn't completely passive, you noticed at some point, he did show some interest in you. Sometimes you could have even sworn that he was purposefully teasing you. Seemingly innocent smiles that belied not so innocent thoughts, given away by that mischievous twinkle in his eyes. The way he put his hands on your shoulders when he joined your conversations, or these subtle "accidental" touches when he was passing you, that carried a hidden message you couldn’t fully understand. He sure wanted something from you, but never expressed it clearly. It was confusing.

You were determined to figure that out. To figure him out. You tried to spend as much time as possible in his company, helping him out with his camp chores, or just sitting beside him by the campfire. One evening, when you were slightly tipsy and in great mood - thanks to equally tipsy Sean and his stories - you gathered up enough courage to put your hand atop Arthur's. He let you keep it there, and you saw a glimpse of a slight smile tugging at his lips for a while, but that was the only reaction your gesture provoked. Maybe he was reluctant to open up and show his feelings in front of the gang members, you thought later, a man like him could not want the others to see his softer and vulnerable side. So you changed your approach.

You were doing everything to spend as much time with him outside the camp as possible, trying to bond and waiting for him to reveal his true intentions. You were trying to get closer to him during your shooting lessons. You also eagerly followed him on his everyday hunting trips, which he allowed, as you were supposed to learn how to provide food in the wilds. Yes, you definitely needed those skills. And you tried hard to do as he was saying, but you were usually too occupied with studying him and just enjoying your time alone to actually listen to his instructions.

"You're gonna be so dead when we finally release you." He commented one day, when you missed a clear shot because you were more interested by the way Arthur bit on his lower lip while focusing than the animal before you.

"If you release me." You corrected, giving him a sheepish smile. He didn't look angry though, rather kind of amused. "So far my father doesn’t seem willing to pay you anything. Maybe he just threw your letter on the pile of "to read when I'm not so busy" papers, which is never, as he’s always busy. That sounds like him. Maybe he didn't even notice that his "beloved" daughter's gone missing. Or maybe…" You moved closer to him, and his eyes involuntarily darted to your lips. Interesting. "you misinterpreted and I'm not worth anything."

You hoped that having you so close, alone and looking him straight in the eyes, will spur him into action. For a moment it seemed to be working, he leaned in and slightly tilted his head, as if he was going to kiss you. And you were sure he was, so you slowly closed the gap between you two, but when your lips nearly brushed his, he drew back, avoiding your gaze. You immediately thought that you misunderstood his intentions and felt like a fool. How could you have expected that a man like him would want to kiss a woman like you? Teasing, innocent flirting, and even that damn night were one thing, but this? This was probably too intimate and meaningful.

"[Y/N], why’d you leave your home?" He asked suddenly, when you were on the way to your horse. A fine beast Arthur stole for you one day and taught you to ride properly - like an outlaw, not a lady.

"What? Why are you asking?"

"You told me that your family treated you badly, but... I thought you came here prepared, having some basic survival skills."

"I have them now, right? You taught me how to shoot a gun, and I do it fine when my target stands motionless right before me. You also taught me how to fish, and how to cook over an open fire. I can survive now, barely, but I would manage somehow. Why, are you going kick me out now? Or you're just going to nag me about that deer I missed?"

"No and no. I'm just wondering what was the real reason you left your home, so suddenly and without a plan."

"It wasn't sudden, it was growing in me for years. That feeling, an awful realization that I don't want to live my life as my parents' doll, or a prize wife of some boring prick, who can't see past the sum on his bank account. I knew that if I'd stayed, I could have never truly been myself. I just wanted to live, for real. Make my own decisions and finally be free. And maybe see a bit of the world, too."

"But your little adventure ended pretty quickly, with a bunch of outlaws" He remarked, approaching you in two long strides. "who kidnapped you and now keep you as their hostage."

"I was a hostage before our paths crossed, Arthur." You pointed out somberly, mounting your horse. "Yes, you kidnapped me to make me your hostage, but also gave me more freedom than I could have ever imagined. You freed me from my previous life, and now you’re giving me the possibilities to lead another one. An independent one. A life of my own. Looking at it all now, I can tell for sure that meeting you that night was the best thing that ever happened to me. You are right, I came here completely unprepared. I could have been robbed, raped, murdered even. But you found me before any of that happened, and even though your intentions were impure, I'm really grateful for that."

The man said nothing about your confession, only nodded as if in understanding. But looking at the way he reacted to it - by grabbing his belt, what was, as you'd learned from observing him, how he kept himself comfortable in stressing situations; and lowering his eyes - you could say for sure that your words got to him.

“I really mean it, Arthur.”

"If I knew I was being a knight on a white horse, I would sure act like one. Or at least wouldn't act like a bastard. I'm sorry, [Y/N]. For treating you so horribly." He raised his head and looked you in the eyes with something you could only define as shame. "I just... wasn't myself that day. I mean, I'm an idiot every day, but then I was even a bigger fool than usual. I'm sorry for that, [Y/N], truly."

"I'm not mad, but it confused me. You confuse me." You admitted. "You did something like that to me, said we were going to be friends, and then didn't act on that promise. You were teasing me for weeks, getting my hopes for something more up, and then doing nothing about it. What do you want from me, Arthur Morgan? What you really want?"

"I... don't know, [Y/N]. I legit don't know anymore. That day I was really desperate, okay? I met someone from my past, someone who was very dear to me, and that encounter didn't go well, to say the least. I came to that saloon to drink my sorry ass into a stupor and forget about everything and everyone around me. But instead of finding my solace in alcohol, I found you. I don't even know what I was thinking that night, I was drunk, angry, and so damn hopeless."

Seeing the everyday facade of a cruel and heartless outlaw Arthur usually hid behind, it was so easy to forget that he was still a man capable of feeling and showing emotions, full of self-doubt and uncertainty about his own morality and the actions he took. So far you hadn't had many occasions to behold this side of him, and watching it surge to the surface now was so completely unexpected that you were sitting there stunned, not knowing what to say. Should you comfort him somehow? Should you ask him what made him so sad? Tell him you had no idea he didn't feel well, because he didn't look or act like that? You were absolutely bewildered. All you could do was watch as he grabbed your reins, as if he feared you could leave before he could say all the things he wanted you to hear, and looked at you with remorse in his eyes.

"I took you with me because I thought that I could... we could..." He tried to explain himself. "Yes, it was mostly about money, but also... You was so nice to me, and I just didn't want to be alone that night. With you I felt better, and later I saw that you was fond of me. Of course you was, idiot me made you hopeful for something more between us. And honestly, I've been thinking about it since that night. But I can't do this to you, [Y/N]. I'm an outlaw, murderer, a bad man..."

"Not in my eyes." You cut him off, and before he had a chance to open his mouth and speak again, you leaned down to him and pressed your lips against his. Maybe it was wrong, you didn't think it through, just acted on an impulse; but at that moment you wanted him to shut up and stop degrading himself.

He was clearly surprised by your bold move, but didn't push you away, which you took as a sign to continue. You kissed a man only once in your life, when you were fifteen and slightly smitten with the garden boy your family hired, but you instinctively knew what to do. Or at least you thought you did. Luckily for you, after a moment of shock, Arthur decided to not only kiss you back - the realization that he was no longer just passively letting you kiss him without taking any action made the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazies - but also take the lead. The kiss became unexpectedly passionate within seconds; carried away with all the feelings that surged over him, Arthur pulled you off your horse and pressed against his muscular chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. After denying the need to be loved for so long he was absolutely love-starved and your affection intoxicated him completely. At some point of your heated makeout he lost balance and landed on the ground, with you on top of him. But he didn't break the kiss even for a second.

The feeling of his voracious lips against yours drove you completely insane, but you lost the last bits of control over yourself when he pushed his tongue past your teeth, and hungrily explored your mouth. Your hands were all over him even before the fall, but now one of them snuck between your pressed bodies, into his pants, and grabbed his crotch. Through the thin fabric of his union suit you could feel the outline of his member perfectly; he was still quite flaccid, but after a couple of firm strokes you felt it harden under your touch. Arthur's lips finally left yours and let out a shaky breath. He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes when a wave of pleasure surged through his body.

"[Y/N], stop." He whispered softly, trying to grab your wrist. Your hand immediately stopped its movements, but didn't withdraw from his pants.

"Is something wrong?"

"You ain't never laid with a man before, have you?"

"Why do you think that?" You probably weren't doing as good as you thought. Or your poor kissing skills gave you away.

"That's pretty obvious. You come from a good family, so you was probably raised to be a decent girl, and your innocence was highly protected."

"I'm not so decent anymore, remember? But you are correct, I’ve never been with man before. Is that a problem?"

"Not for me." He blessed you with the prettiest and warmest smile you have ever seen in your life.

"I want you, Arthur." You confessed, before he had a chance to belittle himself or say something about him not being good enough for a 'lady like you'. "I would love you to be my first." And only, crossed your mind unexpectedly.

Arthur seemed to be both delighted and slightly worried about your statement. He felt honored and absolutely overjoyed that you openly declared your willingness to be with a man like him, ugly and miserable outlaw, who had nothing to offer to you. But he also knew that you could do better. Still, it was your decision and damn, at this moment he felt like he could do anything you asked for, respecting your choices - even these poor ones, like him - included. So despite his doubts, he decided to let you have him. But not like that, you deserved something better than quick dirty sex on the forest floor.

"Then at least let me make sure you enjoy it properly." He suggested and pulled your hand out of his trousers, then kissed it courteously. You would happily have him here and now, you didn't really care about it being special or memorable, like your mother used to say about your 'future wedding night', but eventually you agreed to do it his way.

Unluckily for you, your first time together had to be put off due to unpredictable circumstances the gang had encountered. One day Arthur, John, and Dutch came back from Valentine all bloodied up and with Strauss yelling something about being shot. You weren’t told exactly what happened, but you knew it was something bad. And big. Dutch ordered an immediate pack-up, in which you were actively involved, and you had to move your camp, very suddenly and to another state.

In Lemoyne things were different. Arthur was spending days on playing local lawmen and trying to outwit these two wealthy families, all to get to their money. You were usually busy with camp chores you were given as a member of the van der Linde gang. It's been over two months since Arthur brought you in and at this point everyone had already forgotten that you were actually a hostage there. For the first couple of weeks the folks were pretty hopeful that you could make them rich enough to make most of their problems go away - you were worth a small fortune, it seemed. But days were passing, another letters were sent, and your father didn’t even deign to send a word back. So after a few attempts to contact him, to no avail, no one probably believed that they would see even a cent for you. Dutch still had faith, being overly optimistic about matters associated with possible money income was peculiar to him, but the others understood that you were probably a lost cause. No one really minded though, as you were, by any means, one of them now.

Despite his rather tight schedule, Arthur could always find time to spend a moment with you. He wasn't a fan of public displays of affection, so among the others you confined yourselves to light brief touches and deep meaningful looks. He wasn't ashamed of what was between you two though, or trying to hide your relationship - he stated clearly and to everyone that you were his woman now and the other boys should back off. He just preferred to enjoy it in private. When no one was watching, he was becoming a completely different man. And it wasn't only about heated kisses and intimate (but never too intimate) touches you exchanged when you were lying together at night, or sitting alone by the fire. It was more about the connection that was born between you two. After some time Arthur grew so comfortable around you that he wasn’t afraid to show you his real face. He could talk about everything, or just sit in silence and enjoy your company. You learned more about his insecurities, his doubts, and even his thoughts about the situation the gang wound up in. He told you about his past and you gladly shared your story. It felt so good to be able to let it all out, for both of you; to finally have someone so close and trusted that opening up didn't feel wrong. You were beginning to be really satisfied with your life. But your happy times couldn't last forever.

Due to the character of his "profession", and also his short temper, Arthur often came back to camp covered in blood, bruises, and sometimes even wounded. You were never happy about that, but despite that you always helped clean these up, or patched your man up if needed. At some point you even got kind of used to that. At least he was fine after all, you told yourself. But one time he didn't come back. Dutch said they had split during the parley with that enemy gang and later he was nowhere to be found. It was so unlike Arthur to disappear without a word, in such an important moment, and you dreaded to think what could have happened to him. The truth about his disappearance came to light a couple days later, when he appeared unexpectedly in Clemens Point, wearing nothing but his union suit, and fell off his horse before anyone could reach him, weak and limp with fever and pain that grisly gunshot wound in his shoulder surely caused. He only managed to gasp out that the parley was a set-up and he got captured by that bastard Colm O'Driscoll, who tortured him and planned to use as a bait, and fell into a deep slumber.

He was bedridden for almost three weeks. First couple of days he lay completely unconscious with high fever. You stayed with him all day and all night, leaving his side only for a short while to catch some sleep, and tried to help him as best you could. You were no nurse, but you remembered how in your childhood days your family maids were taking care of you when you fell ill, and also listened to Grimshaw's advice. You put cold compresses on Arthur's forehead, around his wrists and ankles to bring down his fever. You washed the sweat away from his skin regularly and made sure his wound was clean and bandages always fresh. And, most importantly, you talked to him, almost all the time, hoping he could hear your voice and go back to you. Dutch said it was probably blood poisoning that got him, and thus he could not survive this. But you knew Arthur was a fighter, he wouldn't give up so easily. Not now. And you were right - after what seemed to be forever, he finally opened his eyes. His path to full recovery was long and painful - so much that two or three times he even agreed to take morphine Swanson offered him - but at least he was alive.

"What are you doing there?" You were delighted as one day, when you brought him a bowl of freshly made stew, you found him on the pier instead of his cot, sitting and scribbling something in his journal. He finally had enough energy to get up and walk around camp, which was a very good sign.

"Drawing."

"What?"

"You." He raised his head and took a quick look at you, for reference apparently, then went back to sketching.

"May I see?" You could always just crane your neck and glance at his creation, but no matter how curious you were, you always respected his privacy.

"Absolutely not." Arthur closed his journal and tucked his pencil behind his ear. "It's not finished yet."

"Will it ever be?" You gave him a simpering smile and handed him the stew. He gladly accepted, which was another good sign. "You look better."

"It's probably because I feel better. A bit dirty and unkempt, but definitely better."

"I could give you a trim If you want." You quickly examined his bushy beard, neglected since the day he disappeared, and his definitely longer than usual hair. Yeah, you should be able to deal with that. Hopefully. "And there's plenty of water around us, help yourself."

"A trim sounds nice, but I’ll better leave swimming in the lake to John." He decided, finally giving some attention to the bowl he was holding.

An amused smile tugged at your lips when you heard his comment. Normally sarcastic and witty Arthur was extraordinarily meek and silent during his recovery days. Seeing the old him back made you feel certain that he was indeed doing better.

"I'll leave you with your food now. Holler if you need me for more drawing reference."

"[Y/N] wait. Ride with me to Rhodes." He called after you. "I mean, not today, I'm probably not ready to ride a horse yet. But in a few days maybe. I could take a bath, and then we could spend some time together. Alone."

You knew exactly what he meant and felt your heart flutter in your chest. You had to wait a long time, but you knew he wouldn't forget about his promise. You really wanted that, so you nodded immediately, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, but you were not ashamed of how eager to spend some time alone with him you were and intended to show it to him. Arthur only smiled at you, in that exact way that made you want to take his face in your hands and press your lips against his in a long and passionate kiss, and got back to eating.

You arrived in Rhodes a week later. You didn't like this place, something about it made you feel uneasy, but having Arthur at your side helped to keep your nerves at bay. He booked a room in the saloon, and two baths, so you could focus on each other and not the fact that you smell and feel like a mixture of sweat and horseshit. You went first. You liked to keep yourself clean and did it regularly, as much as possible when living in a camp somewhere in the wild, so you needed only a quick scrubbing, and after making sure your most important parts were washed properly you could go back to your room. Arthur needed a little more time to make himself acceptably clean, so you had a moment to prepare yourself for what was going to happen. You had no idea how, though. Should you undress and wait for him sprawled on the bed, wearing nothing but a seductive smile? Or should you keep your clothes on and let Arthur take care of that matter himself? Should you do something with your hair? Or prepare your lower parts somehow? You had no clue, so you did what your instincts told you. And left the rest to him.

When he came back to your room a couple minutes later, he found you sitting comfortably on the bed, with the first two buttons of your shirt open and the belt already unbuckled. He sure liked what he saw, you figured, looking at the contented smile that flickered across his face. And you had to admit that you also liked the view before you - Arthur didn't bother to put his shirt back on, knowing that he would have to take it off again in a few moments, so his broad chest and deliciously muscled stomach were on full display. And those arms. You couldn't take your eyes off him, you always knew this man was attractive, but in this moment you realized how much. You wanted to touch him, run your fingers through the hair on his chest, follow his happy trail down his abdomen, past the waistband of his trousers, straight into his underwear…

"My my, look at you. I barely shucked off my shirt and you're all ready to jump on me." Arthur locked the door, so no drunken patron could disturb you. "Nervous?"

"A bit. But I really want you."

"Yes, I can see that." He sat beside you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. His eyes roamed over your figure, lingering a bit longer on your cleavage. "I must warn you though. I ain't a gentle man when it comes to sex. I won't hurt you, but I like it rough."

"I know. I mean, I wouldn't expect anything else from a man like you. I’m ready."

"You're a smart girl. I knew you'd figure that out."

He took your hand in his and, without a word, guided it into his pants. His rough pubes brushed against your palm and you felt your heart pound fast in your chest, in unison with intensifying with every second throbbing between your legs, when your fingers finally found what you craved the most. You instinctively wrapped them around his still soft dick and gave it a few experimental strokes, reveling in soft pants that escaped his seductively parted lips. Arthur didn't say anything, didn't spur or instruct you in any way, only watched with a contented smile how eager to pleasure him you were. Even though you lacked certain skills, your hand felt amazing on his cock and he let you know about that by letting out a quiet but expressive groan that made you shift your gaze from his still clothed crotch to his slightly flushed face.

You locked your eyes with him as he caressed your cheek. You kept stroking him, experimenting with the pace and grip, and felt his member slowly harden under your touch. The effect you had on your man made you immensely proud of yourself. He looked like a wonder, with his naked chest rising and falling rapidly, rosy cheeks, and that lascivious smile that sent a wave of pleasant heat straight to your core. You couldn't resist and pressed your lips against Arthur's, tentatively at first, but you deepened the kiss when you felt his hands play with your breasts. You didn't put your camisole back on after the bath - pointless, you thought - so now only the thin fabric of your shirt separated your skin from his touch. It still felt good though, his skilled fingers made you shiver, kneading your flesh and rubbing your now erect nipples.

"I'd love to see them." He unexpectedly broke the kiss and, to your discontent, took his hands off you. "Show me your tits."

You obediently undid one button, then another, trying not to go too fast so you didn't seem too keen. Arthur's eyes were following every move your fingers made and you were sure he wouldn't mind, or would even prefer it, if you just ripped your clothes off. You felt his lustful gaze on your skin and knew he was very willing to see you naked, but even though he didn't hurry or scold you for undressing too slowly; he was only watching you fumble with your shirt, waiting patiently until you finally revealed your chest to him.

"You're so pretty." He purred, taking in the sight before him. He gently cupped one breast, then the other one, and you closed your eyes, succumbing to the sensation. "You like it when I touch them, don't you?"

"I like your touch in general, no matter what you're touching."

Arthur chuckled gutturally at your response.

"Good girl." But even though he was clearly pleased with you and your reactions, he took his hands off you, again. "I like your touch, too."

"So I've noticed." Your eyes darted to his crotch and that impressive bulge his dick made there.

"Eager to get back to business?" He undid his trousers and drew his half-hard cock out in one swift motion. You were staring with your mouth agape, absolutely enthralled, when he gave it a few unhurried tugs, letting out a quiet groan - his reaction was probably a bit exaggerated, but it sure had its effect on you. You wanted to make him groan like that, to make him moan and harden in your grasp, so you put your hand atop his, trying to make your intentions clear. "You want me to teach you how to jerk a man, me, off properly?"

You nodded vigorously.

"Don't get me wrong, you did amazing there." He assured, taking your hand in his and putting it on his member, making you wrap your fingers around it. "But I strongly believe that it's really important to learn what your partner likes most. And tell them what gets you going, too."

"Show me then."

Arthur guided your hand down on his shaft, then back up to the head, where he made you tighten your grip a little, and again to the base of his cock. He repeated the whole motion a couple times, going slowly, so you could watch his reactions and memorize how to cause them. Your eyes flicked to his flushed face, then back to your hand working on his dick, and you felt the throbbing between your legs grow unbearably strong. You were fighting the urge to touch yourself, give yourself some pleasure before Arthur could take care of the matter, but you decided to focus on satisfying him first. Your fingers couldn't measure up to what he was going to do with you anyway, and it was definitely worth the wait.

Gradually picking up the pace, he stroked himself to full hardness with your hand, and then released it, letting you go on your own. You eagerly followed his instructions and jerked him off with firm but unhurried tugs, adding a bit more pressure where you noticed he clearly liked it. Arthur loved every second of it, especially how bold and creative with your other hand you were, massaging his balls and raking your nails along the insides of his thighs, even though he hadn't suggested that. Pleasure took over him completely quicker that he could have anticipated, having considered being with an inexperienced woman, and he was barely able to control himself. He threw his head back and bucked his hips up, letting out a loud moan that was probably heard in the entire saloon.

"Shit." He panted out, suddenly catching your hands and making them stop their doings. "Shiiiit."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, quite the contrary. Shit. [Y/N], no offence, but you are a natural. I almost came just from that." You smiled triumphantly at his comment, not even trying to hide how proud of your work you were. "Enjoying yourself so far?"

"Definitely."

"Good. Because now it's my turn to have some fun."

Arthur's hand cupped your rosy cheek as he leaned over you, forcing you to lie down on your back. He pulled your trousers down almost effortlessly and spread your legs, taking in the sight he had before his eyes. You felt so exposed under his voracious gaze, roaming all over your figure, and so naked, even though you still had your underpants on. You let his eyes devour your body, impatiently waiting to be finally touched, but not giving him any hints on how wanting your were. At least not deliberately. He noticed it almost immediately though and his hands found their way to your inner thighs, where they rested for a while. He was waiting for your reaction and when he got it, as you whimpered softly, prompting him to make another move, his palms began their tantalizingly slow journey towards your crotch.

Your breath hitched in your throat when he finally dragged a finger along your clothed slit. It soon focused on your bud, rubbing it lazily in a circular motion. You still remembered how Arthur's touch felt on your naked clit and how it set you aflame, but even despite the layer of fabric separating your sensitive spot from his warm fingertips, his practiced strokes sent jolts of pleasure straight to your abdomen.

The friction was delicious and you loved it, but you definitely wanted more. And so did Arthur, apparently. Eventually, his hand found its way into your pants and, to your absolute delight, one of his fingers slipped in your cunt.

"So wet for me, again? I'm flattered." He pumped it in you, slowly and steadily at first, enjoying your soft breathy moans. Then, he added another finger and picked up the pace, every thrust of his hand made a slapping wet sound in your dripping hole. "Shit, you'll feel amazing on my cock"

"Then put it in already." You reached for his member, throbbing gently against his thigh, but he swatted your hand away.

"Patience, girl."

You felt you heart pound in your chest when you watched Arthur slide your panties down your legs and throw them behind his back. A sly smile tugged at his lips when he spread your thighs apart to give himself full access to your entrance and you were sure he would slip his fingers back in, but he had other plans. Instead, he dipped his head towards your crotch and dragged his tongue along your slit, lingering a bit longer on your sweet spot, where he put a little more pressure. A loud moan escaped your throat when he focused his ministrations on your bud, it felt way better than his fingers. Every flick of his tongue sent sparks through your entire body and you had to put a hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs of pleasure. Arthur didn't like that, he wanted the entire saloon - entire Rhodes! - to hear how much you enjoyed his touch. But simply telling you to keep your hands off your face would be too easy and too boring. He was a man who didn't fear challenge, so he was absolutely ready to make you scream his name so loud that even the residents of Saint Denis would know who was the one fucking up into you.

He lapped at your clit in a steady rhythm, with quick firm licks, but slowed his pace every time you seemed to start enjoying it too much, and tormented you with light swipes of his tongue against your sensitive bud until your muffled whimpers subsided into shaky sighs. Then he repeated the whole cycle again. You tried to get some control, but he was relentless; every time you threaded your fingers through his hair and pressed his head to your crotch, he stopped his doings and waited patiently until you started behaving again. The only thing you could do was give up and submit to his will – and at some point you did. It paid off, Arthur not only abandoned his torturous pattern, but also reached to your breasts and cupped one of them, adding new sensations to already intense stimulation.

Your entire body was on fire and you could barely control yourself. Arthur seemed to have even more fun watching your reactions, and when you loudly mewled his name, apparently not giving a damn about who might hear you anymore, he knew he had you in his power completely.

"You're such a good girl, [Y/N]." He praised you, giving your clit a short break. "And good girls deserve a reward. You want me to reward you?"

A shaky "yes" was enough to have his tongue lap at your sweet spot again. This time Arthur didn't play any games with you, didn't protest when you grabbed his hair, nor reprimanded you for trying to spur him on. He was determined to bring you pleasure and it took only seconds to have you exactly how he wanted you, squirming and wailing his name as your climax hit you hard and took over you completely, pouring bliss through your entire body. You pressed his head to your crotch and grinded against his face, using his mouth to prolong your ecstasy. It was glorious and absolutely breathtaking, way better than the orgasm he gave you on his horse. But definitely not how you wanted it today.

When your wits came back to you and you realized what just happened, you felt slightly confused. Was this your "reward"? One look at your man, watching you come down from your peak with an overtly contented expression, made it clear that it wasn't an accident. He made you come on purpose. But... why? Why he let you finish like that before... doing what you had expected him to do? Was this all he had planned for tonight? You thought you'd be making love, properly and fully, like you've dreamed since the day you met him. What Arthur did to you was truly wonderful, but you wanted something more. You wanted to feel one with him and thought he desired the same.

"You can do this again." He explained, having noticed the question in your eyes. "You can have another orgasm soon, and you should last longer before you reach it. Which means that we can have more fun."

"How do you know that?"

"A working lady I used to sleep with in Nevada taught me this, and a couple of other useful things, too."

"Oh. So, I'm in good and experienced hands."

Arthur let out a quiet chuckle, but when he spoke again, you heard a tinge of sadness in his voice.

"I know what you may be thinking about me, but the truth is, I'm not very... good with women. And I laid with very few. But they taught me a lot about their bodies, and mine too, and I'm going to use all this knowledge today. If you let me. Just trust me, [Y/N], and I promise you will never forget this night."

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you." You pointed him, propping yourself up on your elbows. "And for your information, I don't think any negative things about you. Actually, my only thought now is: when will he continue?"

Another chuckle, this time distinctly more cheerful.

"So impatient.” His fingers brushed against your skin on their unhurried way up your inner thigh. "Don’t worry, we’re almost there. I just need to make sure you're properly prepared for what's about to come."

You definitely felt prepared and ready to have something more in your cunt than a finger he slipped in you, but he was the experienced one here and you indeed trusted his knowledge. One digit felt like nothing inside your already overstimulated pussy and you let Arthur know about that by grabbing his wrist and trying to force his hand to thrust into you deeper and harder. He didn't intend to torture you this time, so he listened to your subtle suggestion and put another finger in your wanting hole, giving you the fullness you so needed. This man sure could do miracles, every push of his hand made the pleasant heat pool in your abdomen again. It was perfect, at least until he slid in yet another finger, which felt slightly uncomfortable, a bit too full. You didn't say anything though, knowing too well that it was still nothing compared to his deliciously thick member and you wanted to be fully ready for it. Arthur knew what he was doing, you saw it in his eyes. So you relaxed your body and after a moment of vigorous thrusting, you got used to the stretching and fullness his fingers provided.

"I think you're ready." He decided, withdrawing his hand and aligning his pelvis with your entrance.

He entered you with one firm push, slipping smoothly in your slick cunt. You moaned softly; being filled like that felt both wonderful and like too much at the same time, but it wasn't as special as you had imagined it to be. Or maybe you had just expected a lot from having a penis in your vagina. There was no metaphorical fireworks, no instant pleasure; only the feeling of fullness and Arthur's loving expression when he looked in your eyes, totally lost in the sensation of finally being inside you.

"Shit, I knew you would feel great on my cock since the moment I put my fingers in your cunt for the first time." He gasped out when he moved his hips for the first time, withdrawing from you almost completely, only to slam back into you with full force, making you exhale sharply. He did it again, and again, eventually setting a steady, but pretty vigorous rhythm.

Your tight pussy felt absolutely divine and Arthur could barely restrain himself from pounding wildly into you, taking you hard and marking you as his. He didn't want to accidentally scare or hurt you though, it was your first time after all, so despite his urges and pleasure his every thrust provided, he did his best not to go too rough on you. Maybe next time, he thought, or any other, when you get better accustomed to having him in your cunt. Or when you beg him to get wild yourself.

It was really hard to control himself in this position though, with you under him, lying on your back, completely in his mercy - so he decided to change it before he lost himself completely. Now you were on top of him, straddling his hips, being in control of the pace and the angle he penetrated you at.

"Feeling good up there?"

"Yeah."

"Now, be a good girl and ride me like the finest horse." He commanded, rubbing the insides of your thighs with his thumbs.

You did as you were told, rolled your hips like the motion of your horse made you do, pulling a low, guttural moan from the man below you. You did it again, and again, trying to find a perfect angle and rhythm that satisfied both of you. You wanted it slow, with deep and unhurried thrusts that hit the right spot inside you, making your body shiver with ecstasy. Arthur seemed more impatient, you could tell he'd prefer it hard and fast, instead of relishing the pleasure, enjoying the moment and memorizing every second of it. You weren't selfish, you wanted to cater to his needs too, so you set your pace quite fast, taking him as deep as possible, but slowed down every time the fire in your belly grew too strong.

You tried your best to focus on your movements, but the feeling of fullness and the friction of his cock rubbing the insides of your cunt were so good that it was getting hard to control yourself and stop riding your man like a crazy when you felt your orgasm build up. You didn't want to come again though, not yet, not so fast. Arthur told you that you could climax many times today, but leaving him behind like that seemed a bit unfair.

You had no idea that he wasn't really that much behind. Arthur had his sexual needs, and kinks, but he was still a simple man and a good tight pussy bouncing on his dick was almost enough to make him come. He was absolutely delighted by how much effort you were putting into giving him pleasure and how beautiful you looked riding his already throbbing cock. The image of your blissful face and these pretty tits he couldn't resist cupping, bouncing right in front of him, has been etched into his mind forever and he knew he would be coming back to that memory often, being alone in his tent. No woman in his life mesmerized him as much as you did, and yet, he couldn't reach the peak because of your uneven rhythm and stopping when he was at the cusp of his release. He loved how dedicated and bold in your doings you were, but he needed to come, now, so despite his previous resolve to let you take the lead, he decided to get back in control.

Not wasting any time, he grabbed you by the waist waist for better hold and started bucking his hips rhythmically, ramming into your cunt with full force. He still tried not to go too hard, but you were apparently so turned on that not only you seemed completely fine with his fierce pounding, but also started begging him for more. And Arthur was there to give you what you wanted.

"Is this how you want to be fucked? Like that?" The only answer you were able to give him was a moany whimper resembling "yes!". This was exactly what you expected from sex with Arthur: him unleashing his urges and screwing you in earnest, making you cry with ecstasy with every push of his hips. You wanted him to ravage you, make you his, and leave you a complete mess. Luckily for you, he seemed to have similar plans.

He sat up and pulled you against his chest, wrapping his arm tightly around your shivering body to keep you as close as possible. You clung to him and buried your face in the crook of his neck, trying to muffle your wails his furious pounding was causing, but a firm slap on your rear quickly reminded you that being silent was not what Arthur approved.

"I want to hear you, [Y/N]. Every single moan that comes out of your mouth." He purred encouragingly in your ear as his hand snuck between your entwined bodies, his finger began to rub your clit with quick and uneven strokes. It quickly got him what he wanted. "That's a good girl. You like it when I do this to your pussy, don't you?"

"Yes!"

"I can tell. I know you're close. Come on my cock, I want to feel it."

This was too much. His dirty words, his already throbbing dick in your cunt, and his fingers working their magic on your bud, this all set every nerve in your body aflame. You cried out his name and scratched his back so hard it probably left marks when your orgasm jolted through your body, making you throw your head back and buck your hips furiously to get as much pleasure as possible.

"Oh shit, oh shit!" Seeing your climax rush through you and feeling your muscles clench rhythmically around his length, Arthur lost any remains of control he'd had over himself and succumbed to his urges completely. He sped up the pace of his thrusting, ramming into you with fierce passion, and embraced you even tighter to feel you with his entire body. He heard your moans, felt your nails on his skin, and knew he couldn't last any longer. "Shit, I'm gonna come!"

"Come inside me, please." You pleaded, mind still fogged with your prolonging bliss. Arthur's wild pounding, along with his animalistic groans, were doing miracles to your still sensitive core, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body over and over again. "Please, Arthur."

And he did, spilling his warm seed deep inside your cunt with a long guttural moan.

He had never felt like this before. He had many orgasms in his life, but no woman he laid with gave him what you did. Real closeness, the feeling of being trusted and understood. Wanted, and not only for what he had to offer in bed, but for, or maybe rather despite, what he really was. He felt safe in your embrace, and happy to have you in his arms. Maybe it was just the effect of post-coital euphoria, or maybe he was slowly opening his eyes, but at this moment it felt like being... loved.

He buried his face in your soft messy locks, abashed by that thought. You two became really close to each other. You trusted him, and he trusted you too, like no one else. And you made it pretty clear that you were interested in him. But... love? Could you love him? Like, really love? That thought still seemed too preposterous to him.

But he realized he would love nothing more that this to be true.

"Arthur?" You were slightly worried that he went silent for so long, and even more that he was clinging to you desperately as if he was afraid you could suddenly disappear if he loosened his embrace even a little bit. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, sorry." He finally raised his head and smiled tenderly. "That was pretty intense."

"It... was." You couldn't think straight under his soft gaze. His beautiful blue eyes, looking deep into yours, and his warm palms, gently massaging your back, made you feel absolutely intoxicated. You couldn't speak. You couldn't take your eyes off his beautiful face. He smiled at you again, sincerely and with pure affection, and that was the moment you melted completely.

You didn't even know when you pressed your lips against his, tentatively at first, but all these emotions you've been bottling up for so long finally surged to the surface, taking over you and turning your initially innocent kiss into heated and passionate one. To your delight, Arthur didn't remain passive for too long, taking the lead pretty quickly. There was something in the way he was kissing you though, something that shouldn't really be there. You tried to identify that thing, but didn't have much time to dwell on it because Arthur deepened the kiss, making what's left of your coherent thoughts escape your mind in seconds.

"Stay." He broke the kiss unexpectedly and rested his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath.

"What?"

"Stay, [Y/N]."

"I'm not going anywhere?" Light-headed with the kiss, you had no idea what he was talking about.

"I mean if the ransom comes, and you can go. Stay with me."

Desperation, you realized. His kiss was full of desperation, and fear of losing you.

"I'm not going anywhere." You repeated, accentuating every word. "I thought we both knew my father is not interested in getting me back. There won’t be any ransom, you won't get anything for me."

"And what if we will?"

"All of a sudden you have faith?" You snorted, caressing his cheek with the back of your hand. He looked so calm and vulnerable under your touch. "Even if you release me one day, I have nowhere to go. I don't want to go. I won't go. I'm yours now, Arthur. I won't leave you."

And, in fact, you never did.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fanfiction #rdr2 fanfiction #duck pecks her keyboard

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kiss-my-freckle · 3 years

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Bear with me on this rewatch. I kinda thought this episode was boring, but it had quite a few seeds for Rederina along with parallels and foreshadowing.

8x5 Rewatch: Fribourg Confidence

I’m gonna start off with Anne, since everyone is commenting about her. You basically have to follow his conversation with Vlad because she pushes Red back to 5x22 soundtracks. A simple follow along....

Dembe: Where are you going? Red: Clear my head, get some air.

Red: Bird watching is more than just birds, Cvetko. It's seeing ourselves in connection with the world in which we live.

♪ I don't know where I belong No I don't know But I've been hanging on For too long 'Cause no one really knows me, at all ♪ --Nobody Knows by Autograf

Red: Do we know each other? Anne: I don't believe so. Should I know you? Red: No, no, no. I was just curious if we'd ever met. Anne: I'm Anne. Red: Raymond. Anne: Well, now we've met. Red: Yes.

Red went to get some air. "She's in the very air you breathe." I'm expecting a resurrection for Katarina Rostova.

♪ You're on your own In a world you've grown Few more years to go Don't let the hurdle fall So be the girl you loved Be the girl you loved ♪ --Retrograde my James Blake

The world in which Red lives. He’s an old bird now.

How did he get here? Abe talking about his daughter. Rederina all through it.

Alina: Like father like daughter.

Like mother like daughter.

Red: I didn't know you had a daughter. Abe: I did once. But not anymore. Zoe: The two of you close? Red: It's complicated.

Abe: Jennifer and I are estranged. Now, I - I got those photos from her mother. Dom: I had to make do with photographs of Masha.

Abe: She and I agreed that Jen should live with her so she could have a life, a good life. An honest life. Red: God willing, Katarina's daughter will live a private life of quiet courage. Abe: But if you're right that my baby's a thief, go ahead. You may as well kill me now, 'cause I ain't got nothing to live for. Dom: You said it, chum. Look around here. You call this living? After I lost my daughter… I crawled… crawled into the wilderness like a mortally wounded animal to get as far away from the pack as I could, to… to run out the clock. Run out the clock and die. And If you came for a survival manual, you won’t find it here.

Abe: I never wanted this life for her. Red: I never wanted you to be.... like me.

Red: She's the first thing you think of every morning. Red: And every day, when you wake up, it will be the first thing you think about. Until one day, it will be the second thing.

Abe: Which is why I thought it best to stay away from her, even after I got out of prison. I cut ties. You can't imagine how hard that is. Dom: I loved that girl enough to let her go, which is more than you can say.

Red: For the purposes of this conversation, let's assume I can. Liz: I don’t know. With Reddington, I don’t assume anything.

Abe: Until one day, I walked back in. Not to be with her, you know, not to talk. Just... Just to see her. Kate: You can’t just stroll into her life after all these years. This is a mistake.

Abe’s girl.

Abe: Raymond, lay this at my feet, not at Jennifer's. She's just a kid. My girl. Red: Your girl. Abe: My baby girl.

Red’s girl.

Katarina: Take care of my girl, Sam.

Red: That's my girl.

And Ressler's, of course.

Red: Agent Ressler, how's our girl?

Yet he allowed the woman from Paris to stake claim.

The Woman: Me? I’m her mother.

Yet he allowed Tom to stake claim in the backseat in 5x8.

Tom: Liz, my Liz.

If Red can’t be Liz’s mother, then Liz can’t be Red’s daughter. Period. It cuts both ways. Alina and her dialogue. “The whole thing's sort of a double-edged sword, isn't it?” Yeah. That’s why this war won’t last. Liz is destroying both of them.

Some foreshadowing....

Abe: Now, wait... I told her that you were off-limits. I did, Raymond. Red: I flew 15 hours so I could look you in the eye and tell you what I told Rakitin - Elizabeth Keen is off limits. Sikorsky: And I asked you to fly here so I could look you in the eye and tell you I agree. For now.

Face value. “Look at our faces, your wife dies."

I like that they've got the husband sleeping with a pink mask just like his wife's, then they do a mirror shot like they do all the time for Rederina. Their Cape May hits are heavy in this episode. I have to wonder, given their references, if Red is gonna realize what's going on with Liz because of their Cape May- Ruin parallel. Funny too, given the way they opened this episode, the soundtrack. She wants to be your James Bond. "Are you telling me, like, what... Like, you think that I murdered a KGB defector, like I'm Bond? I'm Tom Bond, and I just, uh... between social studies and recess, I go around assassinating people. I had my job interview there, Liz, at the coffee shop." The woman who's acting just like her dead husband. The bird robber masks. And Red ends up birdwatching. They steal nothing but the flashdrive even though the box has stacks of cash. "Hey. It's me. Call Reddington. Tell him we got a problem." Yeah.... her name is Tom Bond. Red talking to Carl about how he overestimated his abilities. This hits back to Kate's arc. "As you well know, one of the keys to my success is a clear and consistent understanding of my own limitations. So often people overestimate themselves, misapply their gifts." Then the Hunter telling Red what Kate said to him. "She said you'd do this - understimate her."

“Hello, Peter.”

"Whoever robbed you knew where to look, and they didn't learn it from me. So... with all due respect, if there was a failure of security, it wasn't on my end."

Red technically failed Elizabeth. I was considering the note further. “Hello.” A nice hit to Cape May, but someone on Facebook pointed out a better parallel. Red dropping into Peter’s golden parachute, then dropping him from his plane. It sent my mind in so many directions. Howard faking his death with his plane. Red talking to Smokey about the difference between flying and falling. Atticus and Red sitting and watching the birds. Would you like to fly? I know I would. I think Liz plans to kill Red, but that plan will switch and something is gonna drop through her skylight. Add in Alina’s comment. "Drop the Mr. Wilke BS, and you might be home in time for dinner." Because it also parallels Peter. “Looks like we'll be able to drop you off in time for dinner.” As well as Tom in their Redemption pilot. Scripts for the spinoff are gone, so I can’t find the exact dialogue for that.

The very theme of this season is "finding" Liz. Because Red "lost" her. It's all a push back to her S2 memory wipe. That's why no one is supposed to find her until they actually find her as they’re supposed to. As I've been saying, she's reversing from Rassvet. That’s why part of me thinks the necklace in Red’s box might be purposeful. Red found Katarina, his former self in Cape May. Maybe Liz will find her former self in a Ruin parallel. I'm thinking perhaps that’s why they can’t get to Liz. Why they’re not supposed to. Liz has to find herself, and she’s doing it in this direction because fate wants her to. I’m gonna laugh if Liz goes from Red's deposit box, and the mark pushes her back to Tom's deposit box. That's where she found the envelope with the mark and her picture of Red at Sam's hospital. She's not Keen, she's Milhoan. Even possible Liz realizes Red is her mother while finding herself. I've often considered the idea of Liz learning Red's truth, and keeping it from the audience until the end of the series. Like perhaps she actually learns to keep a secret. At any rate, I think Liz will be “found” eventually. It’s all about that second memory wipe.

Red: Then she's gone. The thumb drive with her. Dembe: What will she do with it? Red: Nothing good.

The Freelancer: What does she need me to do? Skip: For now? Nothing. "You got caught in the rain..." The Freelancer: "And need to dry off."

Liz: Your daddy just always taught me to be ready for a rainy day. Agnes: But it's not raining. Liz: Aren't you too smart for your own good?

Again, the hit to Tom’s go-box in Liz’s vent. Talk about dialogues. You can see their direction. She gave the thumb drive to Cooper, and I’m all but guessing Alina will be repaying Red next week by recovering it. Quid pro quo. I think The Freelancer was Liz’s mistake, and they’ve hidden the danger he presents under their Sikorsky thumb drive storyline. Continue following along because Red is genuinely pissed and terrified at the same time lol...

Cooper: I suppose you also think that she's responsible for The Freelancer's release, which now that we're here and she's not, is guaranteed to happen. Red: I think she's not only responsible for it, I think it's what she wants. Cooper: That's absurd. Red: One day, Elizabeth steals millions of dollars from me, and next, The Freelancer has a brand-new expensive attorney demanding his release unless Elizabeth Keen magically appears in court. That doesn't strike me as absurd, Harold. That strikes me as unsettling.

Very unsettling. Liz had The Freelancer locked away in prison for 7 seasons, and Red just worried about Marvin betraying him for doing 3 years. jfc lol

Red: But before then - I fear she may do something that she can never recover from. And of all the tragedies that you and I have experienced together, that would be the most tragic. We have to do - do everything in our power to prevent that from happening.

Exactly what Red was talking about with Cooper at the end of 8x3. Her doing something she won't be able to recover from. The Freelancer will kill 60 people just to hide one murder. Liz just put Agnes in danger. Perhaps the point of Marvin’s set up. To show Liz’s naïveté" in the criminal world. Forget about the thumb drive... it’s The Freelancer Red worries about.

Cooper's hypocrisy. He lost Liz first after Aram already let her escape the post office. "And, Agent Ressler, let's keep this an internal matter. We can notify Reddington once Keen's safe and in our custody." Giving Red all reason not to share his intel. "So now you want my help. Harold has a unique definition of - halfsies. Tell him that I don't recognize anyone in the photos and that the next time he has actionable intel, I expect him to share it with me before it's squandered, not after." Sigh.... Cooper telling Panabaker everything after what he did in Kuwait. Shit is gonna fly.

Aram is getting better in the field, so there’s that. Their hit back to Garrick’s episode with Red’s story about handwriting. A Rederina hit with the handwriting. Rederina hits all over the place. Rederina with their Cape May hits, the Cape May warbler and Red’s Cape May id. The leader was a woman lol. Yeah... Red leads, they follow, but I think it’s funny Panabaker believes otherwise. “You don't find many swans swimming in the sewer.” How long will 41 million last Liz? The robber woman was paid 1.5 million. The coffee cups are getting insane at this point. All throughout. That’s what Tom’s dream scenario started with.

Basically, I’m expecting something serious to drop through Liz’s skylight and for Agnes to get hit... two things I’ve been predicting since S5 and S6.

Red: Under the greenwood tree, who loves to lie with me, and turn his merry note unto the sweet bird's throat. Cvetko: Nice rhyme. Red: Shakespeare thought so.

Red leaving his criminal empire behind for just a moment in a peaceful world. Becoming one with the birds, Anne chirping along with them. Red doesn’t get much time to sing... unless he’s torturing someone in the woods for a name in S3, then breaking out in campfire song.

#Anti-Tom Keen #Anti-Keen2 #Rederina

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

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Romance Dreaming:

Captain Francis O’Malley/Duncan Shepherd+Reader

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

So, not long ago, in our Discord group we had a rather interesting conversation on put an awful moustache onto Duncan which @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern immediately complied, creating Francis O’Malley, a rather lonesome cowboy with a love for the countryside and a southern accent.

And then… I just had to put this in some kind of lousy romantic plot, because it is just how I am done, I am sorry… but I hope that it could at least steal a laugh from you!

Have a nice day!

SUMMARY: When you met on your road, in a rather compomising situation, Captain O’Malley, you are put up in front of a rather interesting deal.

WORDS: 12,6K

WARNINGS: Mentions of Abusive Household, Mentions of War And Death, HIGHLY HYSTORICALLY INACCURATE (I am sorry guys I just had a lot of things to think about, tonight, so I am sorry, if this doesn’t make sense, but I just felt like the post-civil war would have been a nice setting), Slutshaming, Marriage, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Mentions of Sexual Themes.

Francis had chosen many times the wrong side.

At the start of the war he had been a confederate, not because he had particularly believed in their cause, but because he had been brought up in that area, and it had been rather difficult to choose any other view.

Even more when your parents had controlled your Fate.

He hadn’t approved many of their choices, but he had been in too deep to get himself away.

War and leading armies was something he was good at, alongside riding his horse, and he wasn’t able to do more anything else, since everybody seemed to think he was the epitome of the perfect cavalry captain of the South, with his perfect light eyes and his strong legs.

So, he hadn’t chosen much of his life.

Except for Roweena.

Roweena and him had met when he had been asked to escort her and her father through a business trip, with his unity and he had been truly amazed by the beauty of such a creature, narrow waist and acute eyes, which played with his emotions.

He had wanted to marry her from the moment he had first seen her, but there was some distance between them, as in between their social status, and his father hadn’t approved.

Hence Francis had thought that, since he had already Roweena’s heart as she wrote to him, he just had to focus on becoming the best cavalry captain so that he could convince Roweena’s father to give her away to a war hero, and they would retire in a sweet country mansion where he could train horses and live the rest of his days in peace.

War had hunted him when he was finally alone, in his tent: the thought of how many fellow soldiers he had lost in that horrible and murderous plot made him feel empty and missing something.

Something he was hoping to find in Roweena, in her sweet eyes and comforting hands.

But then the tides of the war had turned and the North had started slowly winning each battle, gaining more confidence as they went and in the end they had completely destroyed their opponents.

The war had finished in a bittersweet end for Francis.

He was to be executed as many other captains, but a general of the North had noticed him and had suggested that instead of being hang with everyone else of his comrades he betrayed them and came to the North, because they could use someone with his abilities.

He knew that it had been a rather coward decision, but he couldn’t help but choose his life, that one time where he had finally been able to choose.

He hadn’t ever cared for the Confederation’s barbaric rules and now he was breaking them to save his life.

Still each night he woke up with of his friends calling him a coward.

The city in which he had been sent as his first appointment was nothing more than a shithole, completely destroyed by the horrible disasters that Lady War had brought with her and there wasn’t much control to do, after Francis had been appointed constable.

He knew it was some sort of punishment and degradation for having a past in the confederation but each day he woke up wanting to do nothing and feel nothing, he remembered he was alive and that was all it mattered.

He had to live on for those who hadn’t had a chance.

Also, the thought of Roweena kept him going.

Her father had sadly died in the war and she had had to rush to an aunt in the North, according to her latest letters.

She had lost anything she had owned and the only thing that kept her going was Francis.

The thought of their arms joined together in a last hug when they had run away from her annoying chaperone, that same hug that tasted so bittersweet for Francis, each time he remembered about it, was what kept his hopes up.

She hadn’t left her new address and Francis hadn’t been able to contact her, but he had also thought that he couldn’t just show up to her door to bring her to the shithole he worked in: he had to give her something better and he was working on it.

With the little money that he had managed to hide, he was trying to build a new house at the outskirt of the city, hoping it would his and Roweena’s love nest.

One day, he would wake up and all the ghosts would be away, and he would have Roweena by his side.

He was imagining all this, meanwhile he was patrolling with a few friends, when he heard a merchant screaming ‘thief! Thief!’ indicating a running boy, who was zigzagging through the crowd in an almost desperate run, almost making it…

… hadn’t it been for Francis on his horse, who was completely able to avoid the confused mob, using a shortcut, crossing his paths with his thief, just as he was a few miles from being safe and sound.

The little thief knocked himself out against the side of Francis’ horse, who neighed furiously and Francis had to give him a few good caressed to calm it down, meanwhile he reigned it to circle the thief, who was knocked on the ground, too scared by the horse to even try a movement, meanwhile the little bag with money was knocked on the ground, open.

“What do we have here, Charles?” he asked at the horse, eyeing gravely the little thief: the crime scene had increased due to the poverty of the area and the world, but this didn’t make it less excusable “… a little thief… who can’t do his job”.

“Please sir…” the thief’s voice sounded strangely high-pitched and a little hood was covering his face, meanwhile he went on his knees begging the captain “… I honestly… my family is going to starve and nobody is willing to hire me…”.

“You can stop all this silly talk, you should know better than to rob someone of their legitimate money!” he shouted back and something sparkled in the thief’s eyes, suddenly not so scared of the horse, raising on his feet.

“Oh, you think that I was stealing somebody’s ‘legitimate money’?! That merchant is profiting on poor people’s lives, he isn’t less a criminal than me! He is a thief exactly like me… but since he dresses in rich fabrics and doesn’t look starved, you won’t persecute him!”.

The thief’s angry rant made Francis almost fall back from his horse: he knew that what he spoke was true, since many merchants had started taking advantage of the poorness that the war had left, but the thief had still broken the law and he couldn’t go unpunished.

And then a little breezed blew onto them, and the thief’s hoodie fell down his shoulder… or better her shoulder, since the thief revealed to be a girl, a little younger than him, with obvious sign of starvation on her face, but there was some kind of determination that graced her features that made her… truly wonderful at Francis’ eyes.

He was dumbfounded enough and when the thief tried to escape him, due to his distraction, he almost lost her, but Charles was smarter than his owner and quickly captured her again, and this time Francis dismantled from him, so that they could have a conversation eye-to-eye .

She was definitely young and the fact that she was a girl made Francis want to be lenient with the punishment since she was obviously not doing this because she liked it: if it was true that she had a family, she must have been truly desperate to try out this road.

He wondered what he would have felt, had his Roweena been the one that had to steal to provide for her family.

She wouldn’t do it with any sort of evilness to it, it was necessity that brought her on the bad side of the road and although Francis had to obey to the law, he could bend it a bit.

“What’s your name?” the girl refused to reply and he forced her to raise her chin to him, meeting a pair of beautiful eyes, shining of some kind of rage that seemed to keep that body up, burning into Francis’ mind “… and don’t tell me a fake one or I’ll throw you in the darkest jail cells we own, got me?”.

“…(Y/N), sir” the name came out as a soft whimper, as if it pained her to reveal an identity she had almost forgotten “… please don’t put me in jail, captain! I’ll return the money and apologize! I can’t go to jail, my mother would be heartbroken!”.

“You won’t” although he wanted to toy with her a bit more, mostly so that she would learn her lesson, he saw a deep pain in her, a scar that brought him to think of his own “… but you have to promise me you won’t do it again, (Y/N), got me?”.

Her head came free from his grip and this time you refused to look at his eyes, clearly not wanting to swear something that she felt like she would do again, and rather soon according to what her eyes spoke of.

“… you know that you can’t survive like this, don’t you?” he asked, surely concerned that such a beautiful girl could reduce herself to this.

Had the thieving also been unfruitful would she have turned to something even worse?

His heart honestly couldn’t stand it.

“My father died in the war, sir, and my mother has other five children, two of which are rather young! My older brother is a drunkard and won’t help us, so me and my other two sisters try to make some money helping mom with embroidery and cultivating our little vegetable garden… but it isn’t ever enough… the youngest are always hungry and my brother… he steals us money!”.

This was a rather common tragedy: many families lost their only source of income and many of the members turned to alcohol, letting others starve.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity for her.

“I won’t hurt you or rattle you out, but if you promise that you aren’t going to steal anything, anymore, I might have a job proposal for you”.

Her nose immediately scrunched up and he realized that the way he had worded the entire thing was horrible and definitely implying something that he hadn’t wanted to, blushing and regretting his words, immediately.

“… I didn’t mean anything like that!” he put his hands up to try to make her relax and see that he didn’t mean anything dirty, behind his words “…I mean an honest job: I have recently started living here and the chaotic life and work has left my house rather… unclean…”.

“You are asking somebody who just stole money… to clean your house?”.

The absurdity of the entire situation made him laugh and she smirked, this time definitely more genuinely.

“You must be truly new in town”.

Francis was rather thankful for his chaotic meeting with (Y/N),

She was amazing with cleaning the house, but that wasn’t her only talent: she was extremely educated for the third daughter of a farmer, justifying her knowledge as the passion that her grandma, a fallen noblewoman who had fell in love with a farmer, had passed down to her.

She knew literature and was passionate about it, which had made her feel wonder at Francis’ small collection of books and, before she had to steal any of them, he had welcomed her to take what he needed, almost as a little library of his.

They would then discuss about it, once she was taking a break from cleaning, Francis insisting she did so, since she worked hard and more times than not, she had overworked herself and he had had to accompany her with Charles back home.

She would always make him stop a bit before he actually reached the proper place.

He knew it was both because she was ashamed of him seeing her modest home, and both because she didn’t want her brother to know of her employment: he would steal her money and use them for booze, hence she always hid her money in her garter belt, knowing he wouldn’t search her there.

Some days, she would come in work, a black eye and a tremble in her hands, she would scrub the floor with such a ferocity that Francis many times had to interrupt her, before she hurt herself and more times than not he had let the girl use his bathroom, just to hear her sob lightly.

It hurt him to know that she had to go through something like that, each time she went back home.

Wouldn’t it have tarnished her good name and his, he would have insisted that she sometimes stopped in his city house so that she could avoid that horrible life.

‘Have you ever thought about running away?’ he had asked once, meanwhile she chatted about the latest books she had managed to get her hands onto, a new one even for Francis, since he had started to buy new books just for her, she loved the ones with fantasy in it and the right atmosphere.

‘More days than not I catch myself thinking about it…’ her confession surprised him: he hadn’t expected that to happen, although she lived in that horrid place, she had never mentioned to him running away ‘… I once even did my luggage and… then… I never know what to do’.

He kind of expected it.

She didn’t have any money and family, although abusive as that one, was still family.

He knew all too well.

‘And what about you, mysterious cowboy?’ she joked, meanwhile she turned to him, pushing the soap in the water, and then immerging the rag in it to clean the floor of the main room, a little but familiar place she had grown to love ‘… don’t you want to run away?’.

‘In the countryside’ he started and gently he relaxed himself, thinking about his life, a calm life in a nice place, where he could live happily surrounded by horses, the nature and his beloved… Roweena…

… Roweena!

He hadn’t thought about her in months, and that morning he had been brightened by a letter of an old friend of his, who had also joined the North side and he had sent him a letter about having seen Roweena at a ball and having talked about her, knowing she would attend a ball not too away from his shithole of a city.

‘All alone?’ she asked, with a malicious smile on her lips, having caught his enamored glance.

‘I might have the perfect girl for that life’.

‘She is a lucky girl, Mr. O’Malley, then’ she had giggled making him blush ‘… I mean… you helped a thief so I truly believe that you have a big heart and she must beyond lucky’.

Did her gaze hide something more?

Francis couldn’t help but think that there was different spark in her eyes, a more intense spark.

But he wasn’t able to think more about it, because as her gaze had set up on him, it immediately left him going back to her chores.

Through the weeks that separated him with his meeting with Roweena, to relax his brain he had taught (Y/N) how to ride with Charles, not much since he couldn’t due to the lacking space and the fact that they couldn’t spend more time together, mostly after one of her littlest sibling had caught a cold and she had to help her mother with him.

But she was a natural.

Whenever she would ride Charles, the horse would grow quiet under her, even quieter than when the horse was under him, making him call it a “traitor”, although he had fun with the beautiful way she would laugh as the stallion would accelerate under her.

And then the day came.

She had come to his house that morning and she had helped him get ready, since he trusted her more than his usual suggestions as a male.

‘Oh but if it was for me, that awful moustache of yours would be off’ she mumbled immediately, but didn’t erase his mark, meanwhile she helped him slicking his hair and adjusting his elegant suit, a thing which would have been full of medals, but he had lost each one of them as he had moved in the North.

But from the long look she reserved for him, he knew that he hadn’t lost his charm,

‘She is a lucky woman indeed’.

‘Tonight, stay here’ he insisted as he was leaving, the previous day her brother had gotten rather upset because the smaller ones of her sibling wouldn’t stop crying, and both her sister were outside working their embroidery as some old lady’s house, so she was the one he had pushed his anger onto.

When she had come that morning knocking softly at his door, a bit earlier, he hadn’t been able not to notice that she was stumbling a bit, limping lightly and when her gown, a soft cotton thing, had raised up lightly he had seen an horrible hematoma on her ankle, which she had immediately covered as she had caught him looking at her.

‘I can’t… the town would talk…’ she blushed so graciously that Francis couldn’t help but be in awe, remaining a bit more on the threshold of the door.

‘Just stay here, I feel better knowing that you going to stay here, your brother wouldn’t notice it and you sisters can cover on you!’ he insisted, gently grabbing one of her hands to make her relax, which she did with a soft whimper ‘… you can stay here till the hour you usually go back in the city, and then take a shortcut, so that people will simply think that you have finished your turn of the day’

‘That is too nice, I can’t…’.

‘Make me go with one less worry, (Y/N), it’ll make my uneasy heart feel better’

And she had eventually complied, promising to take care of his small house.

‘Good luck, cowboy’ she had mumbled, smirking before he walked in the chariot ‘… and if it doesn’t work… we’ll know that it was all the moustache fault’.

He couldn’t help but smirk to himself at those words, in the chariot, the conversation he had had with her definitely helped to ease his anxiety.

The entire place where the event was to happen was extremely elegant and rich and Francis couldn’t help but feel at unease, definitely different from all the people that were dancing around the ballroom, meanwhile he stayed close to the angle with the alcoholics.

“Still a fan of scotch?” mumbled James, his old friend, the one who had informed him about Roweena, being the only welcoming face in the crowd, sitting himself beside him, being welcomed with a huge pat and an affirmative answer, which made the waiter pour them two glasses of scotch.

“… didn’t think that you liked these kind of things…?” he mumbled surprised to find his roughish comrade in such a beautiful and delicate place.

“I still don’t like them, but it is better to be seen in these kind of things… it helps” and he not only eyed the expensive bottles, but also the way new leaders and captains moved around the crowd, although many of them were young, he could still see many converted ex-South loyalists.

“… well then let’s hope this might be a good night for both of us” smirked Francis, moving to clink their glasses together, but James didn’t look convinced and mumbled.

“You need to know one thing before…”.

But his voice was interrupted by an announcement of something and soon Roweena was descending the elegant stairs in the center of the ballroom, but she wasn’t alone.

A man was on her side, holding her gloved hand and softly leading her through the light, till they reached the level of the ballroom and Francis’ ears were finally able to focus onto what the announcement was.

“To Roweena and David, the most beautiful couple in this room!”.

“She announced her engagement a week ago, she is going to marry some idiot from the North, the important thing is that he has money and influence, her aunt organized anything: she is pretty and he is rich, her lifestyle will continue on living…”.

Francis was taken aback by all the cynicism his friend spoke and immediately turned to him, as a bull who had just seen red.

“… how can you speak about my beloved like that?” the anger shone in his face, meanwhile annoyance appeared on his friend’s face.

“Wake up, Francis! I tolerated that… awful…shrew for your love, but I hoped it was this which made you realize who Roweena truly is…”.

“She must have been forced in this!” he shot back, not caring that they were attracting glares “… she promised me…”.

“… and any men who even looked at her!”.

The shameful words his friend spoke only angered him more, but as a proper gentleman he just decided to move away, so that his friend could reflect on his hurting words.

He had moved away, a bit and when he came back, he had lost sight of James, but Roweena had been left sadly alone, a perfect opportunity for him to take to finally talk with her.

Reassure her that his feelings for her hadn’t changed and that he was more than ready to run away with her.

She had seemed surprised to see him, but she had quickly welcomed him in a rather informal hug, immediately attracting the wondering eyes of many people around her, which sent him rather unpleasant looks.

But he was in Heaven in her arms.

Although he had to admit that he couldn’t help but feel a bit horrified by all the things around him.

“… oh Francis! I didn’t know you were going to be here!” although his arms had been welcoming, her voice held some kind of sick sweetness that honestly that was suddenly out of tune with the image he had of her “… you made me the most beautiful surprise!”.

“I just couldn’t be separated from you, Rowie” Francis tried to spark again that beautiful relationship that had blossomed between you two “… you look even more beautiful”.

And she did, but Francis couldn’t help but feel like there was some kind of fake edge to her, which ruined her usual candor.

“What are you doing, right now? I thought that the North wouldn’t forgive you”

“They did, once they saw me on a horse” he tried to joke, but all around him the faces were long and before he knew it, Roweena suggested that he accompanied her to have a little breather, outside.

And as he moved outside, she immediately lighted a little cigar, something that Francis couldn’t helo but classify as not very elegant in a lady, but he didn’t stop her, just shielding himself a bit, meanwhile he gently covered her lithe shoulders with his coat.

“… you truly surprised me, Francis” her voice now empty of any ringing sweetness, was dark and rough: it surprised him, indeed “… I didn’t expect you to be this resistant”.

“What do you mean Roweena?” he mumbled surprised, immediately throwing himself to her, gently collecting her small hands in his bigger ones “… I thought we had promised to wait for each other”.

And surprisingly, after his heartfelt discourse, Roweena laughed in his face and before he knew it.

She blew smoke in his face, an illusion as her pretty face and the manners she had shown him.

“You think that promises make the world goes around, Francis?” she smirked, meanwhile he pushed herself closer to him “… because I know for sure that it is money that makes it go around, and I want to be the one spinning it, if you know what I mean”.

All his memories of what Roweena had been shattered by that presumptuous woman, which looked at him like a little insect meant to be squashed by her heels.

“What about our countryside life? I can still give you that!” he didn’t know what he could say more to make her reason, go back to when she had loved him and promised to do so till eternity “… I have started building a small house… in the countryside… it is a small life but…”.

“I don’t want a small life, Francis, I never wanted it” she spoke with such a slowness that every words took a hit in Francis’ chest “… I only said what you wanted to hear, it works that way with men”.

And as she had walked in in a whirlwind of ribbons and crinolines, she walked out of Duncan’s heart and life, leaving him dumbfounded and with an aching heart.

He didn’t know how he had managed to finally come back from the entire failure, since he had then, without even questioning, drunk himself stupid, emptying two bottles of scotch, till his body begged him to shut down and lay down.

It had been Charles who had brought back home, and he had risked many times to fall but once he had arrived home, the heaviest part of the entire thing was to drag himself through the door.

Which he did, longing for his bed, but when he finally managed to fall onto it he found out it wasn’t empty, but a warm body was laying against it, soft and definitely feminine and although it made no sense, his body, in his drunken state, reached around for it, curling against it, feeling comforted by the welcoming way she relaxed against him.

A whimpered breath leaving her lips, a heavenly lullaby that, alongside her even breath, lulled him to a peaceful sleep.

He woke up the following morning because the body he had curled against the previous night started moving, away from him and, more out of subconscious conscience than actually wanting to keep her close, he brought her back onto him, cuddling to the warmth, till a whimper of pain surprised him.

And he realized to whom the body belonged.

(Y/N) looked at him, as he opened his eyes, the thin nightgown she had chosen definitely more form fitting than the usual clothes she wore, and her hair down from her usual updo, gently gracing and cornering her face in a beautiful frame.

She was honestly beautiful, any detail highlighted by the shy light of the morning and her body appearing extremely delicious, hidden in simply cotton.

“… Mr. O’Malley, what…? I thought…?” and then shame set in her, her cheeks flushing red “…I fell asleep waiting for you, sorry for sleeping in your bed, I’ll immediately change the sheets…”.

“There is no need for it” he couldn’t help but feel ashamed by himself, he shouldn’t have drunk so much, mostly because, although nothing had happened and they had both their clothes on (although that nightgown was oddly revealing and doing things in his mind), it was highly scandalous to sleep with any woman that wasn’t your wife, before marriage “… I don’t think that I am actually able to leave this bed, right now… I am feeling pretty… unwell…”.

“Then I’ll go and fix you breakfast!” anything to get herself away from him, this is what Francis saw in her eyes, embarrassment shading anything else “… so that you can lay down and collect yourself”.

And she had strutted away, almost tripping in her own feet, due to the quickness of her movements, just to get away from him.

It would have been almost funny, hadn’t he felt like his head was going to explode.

Left alone, he had to finally reason with the revelation that his plan for the perfect life with Roweena was now impossible.

The rejection hurt him, but what made him feel truly empty again was the thought that any solution he had thought for all his problems, the emptiness due to the loss of war, the sense of guilt for having passed on the other part and the horrid thought that his life was meaningless.

What was he supposed to do with all that knowledge and an half finished shithouse on the countryside.

He left his bed just when it grew cold, although the natural perfume of (Y/N) still lingered on his pillow.

The kitchen smelled amazingly, but (Y/N) wasn’t stopping a single minute to face him, in an awkward silence that honestly made him uneasy.

“… I am sorry for the accident of tonight” he knew that he had probably scared her this morning, he could only imagine the hell she had gone through for her drunkard brother.

“I am actually the one who should be sorry, master Francis, it was… I shouldn’t have fallen asleep…” she rambled, clearly nervous.

“There is no need for the ‘master Francis’ and I personally am the tone who should be sorry, again, for the incident, I might have drunk a bit too much, yesterday…”.

She relaxed a bit, gracing him with a more lighthearted smile.

She had changed in her daily clothes, a high-necked blouse and a long gown of a beautiful light blue, tending to gray, which lighted up her age but also showed the sign of somebody who had grown up too quickly.

“… it didn’t go well?” in your voice there was no judgement and he couldn’t help but shake his head, meanwhile he seated himself to the table, as you brought him coffee and what you had prepared, enough that it would last him for days.

“Would you mind sitting down with me?” he asked, a bit shyly “My head is spinning and you moving around makes me feel even worse”.

She obeyed, setting herself down on one chair, the farthest away from him.

“If she didn’t like the moustache, you can still tell her you’ll cut it off” her genuine suggestion brightened up the mood, making let out a soft laugh “…no need to get this sappy about it”.

“Thank you for the suggestion, but it is simply more complicated than that…” and although they had known each other for not much time he confessed her everything that had happened that night with Roweena, and she listened with attention, her gaze becoming sadder as she took his difficulties.

“I am sorry to hear that…” her hands slowly inched closer to his, although she didn’t dare to take it “… I know what it is like to feel like any plan that you might elaborated isn’t working, because something changed, but…”.

And she finally took his hand.

“… but there is going to be a woman who loves you, I know it, and in the meanwhile, all you have to do is pick yourself up and look through the bright side…”.

“I can’t honestly see it” he mumbled, grumpily, and smirking she made him raise his head lightly, becoming bolder with her touches.

“You have a nice job, and you are going to build yourself a nice house in the countryside, you also have Charles… and if the entire woman thing doesn’t work, you might get a dog… I am sure Charles won’t be jealous”.

He couldn’t help but finally let out a laughter, not all his emptiness was now filled, but he couldn’t help but feel a more lighthearted, comforted by her gentleness and sweetness.

“… you are pretty wise about heartbreak, experienced many yourself?” he didn’t mean to actually barge in her stuff, and he felt her retreat in herself, but still… she answered him.

“I haven’t had many lovers, I can’t offer a proper dowry and I don’t think about love…” she mumbled shyly, meanwhile she hid her gaze “… but lately… somebody has been… I have thought about somebody… in that way”.

“He is beyond lucky” he couldn’t help but think that somebody like her would be a perfect partner: beautiful, hardworking and constantly having something to be happy for “… I hope that he knows that…”.

“I haven’t… come forward with him” she mumbled rather shyly, removing her hand from his grip “I do think that I am not… what he is looking for… so I am just waiting”.

He raised his coffee cup and moved it towards her.

“To us waiting for the people of our lives”.

She simply smirked meekly and then set back to take care for anything.

Weeks had gone and soon it was Autumn and then Winter.

Francis had had to slowly renounce for a bit to his country house, but he was comforted by (Y/N)’s teasing presence, who hadn’t allowed any trespassing of their precious riding lessons, which had somehow brought them together, and in the end they weren’t anymore master and servant.

They were good friends, if not something more.

Hadn’t it been for the constant reminder of Roweena’s hurtful words, he would have maybe tried to court her, although the society would have frowned upon such a union.

But he had started caring less and less about society’s opinion.

But (Y/N) did.

And he respected her shyness, choosing to admire her from afar.

And then that night happened: it had been pouring rain and there was no way Francis could have let her go out in the coldness and weary weather, asking her to stay as a guest.

Through the passing of seasons, she had started staying far more in his house, more time than not, when he wasn’t there, busy on trips or social events so that it would be less scandalous, staying in the guest room.

He knew that it was a small refuge from the daily sadness of her life: her brother would usually hurt just her in a drunken fury to steal the money she made at Francis’ house, he would rarely touch his mother for some kind of conscience he had, and the mother always hid the smaller children, meanwhile her other sisters were many times away, staying at some old lady’s house where they ere employed as a seamstress.

Many times, he had wanted to march over to her house to fight off the awful man, teaching him to pick up a fair fight, but she always made him swear not to.

‘It would make him angrier and the village would talk about it’.

Still, whenever he saw her brother, he would throw him a rather meaningful glance that he had his eyes on him and he better behave.

He was aching for a reason to put him in jail once and for all.

He had let her stay that night, due to the pouring rain, and the morning he had let her sleep in, mostly due to the fact that she had overworked herself lately, helping her sister with some seamstress work and helping her mother at the farm.

He had thought about even getting her breakfast ready, although he couldn’t cook to save his life.

But this had unreasonably created a lateness to her, and although they had had a nice morning, she had had to rush the entirety of the thing, since she had known that her brother would already be wondering what was going on, since she didn’t know for how long her sister would cover her.

He hadn’t thought that her delay of a few minutes would cost her so much, mostly because their plans had worked many times.

Not that time.

When her brother had come from a night of drinking and gambling he had expected to find breakfast ready, but her sister hadn’t been able to cover for her, since she had been called in early, so when he hadn’t found what he expected he had gone crazy, wrecking the house, meanwhile her mother hid with the littlest ones.

So, when she had come home late, having stayed the entire night away, he had unleashed his fury onto her.

Francis had known about this when one of his officers had been asked to come to the house to sedate the fury of the brother, and instead of sending him he had gone there himself.

He had ridden Charles till the old house and there he had found (Y/N)’s sister, crying her eyes out, both her little siblings in her hands, immediately asking for his help.

He had rushed in, knowing perfectly that she must have been in danger, and he had found not only the house completely destroyed, but she was cowering in an angle, bruised and bloodied, an eye swollen enough that she didn’t seem to be able to open it.

And her brother was on the table, a bottle in front of him and their mother moving around the house to try to bring him breakfast, meanwhile he screamed.

And in that moment, he had been the one who had seen red.

He had rushed to the man, a pathetic little ignorant man, and had pushed him till the chair under him had fallen down catching him by surprise, but he was too drunk to realize the change of plan and Francis had done everything to a lighting speed, immediately coming across him and starting the fight.

The punch was the first of many, he didn’t think, he just saw the bruised face that (Y/N) had sported when he had at first walked in, and the only thing that stopped him were her small and ushered pleas.

She had dragged herself to him, her hand trying desperately to reach for him, meanwhile she asked and pleaded him to stop, not differently than she had done before with her brother.

“Please… mas…ter.. Francis… he is not worth it”.

He knew it all too well, but it hurt him to see her like that, and he disentangled himself from his brother, and gently brought her into his arms, raising her in them so that she wouldn’t be hurt and force herself through a painful situation.

“I am going to get my men to collect your son” he simply uttered at the (Y/N)’s mother who pleaded with her eyes to avoid such a strong solution, but he was unremovable “… this scum doesn’t belong in such an household”.

And then he exited with (Y/N) bloody and bruised in his arms, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder probably to hide some kind of uneasiness to her own vulnerability and he didn’t talk preferring to walk in science to his home, waiting there for a doctor who could examine her and bandage her wounds.

He could see all the town’s eyes on them, but he could have cared less.

He couldn’t help but think about how close she had been to death.

What would have happened hadn’t he been able to come to her, just in time?

He couldn’t think about that in the slightest, not when he was worried sick about her.

The sight of her bruised face was painful enough, because it spoke of extreme pain and he couldn’t help but be extremely worried on her future.

She had talked him and the doctor, once he had come, he had said she was lucky she had ‘such a thick head’ or she wouldn’t be alive.

He had checked her ability to move her body and although she did so with a painful breath it was clear that she hadn’t been injured permanently, although he had to bandage your ribs, since some seemed broken, a procedure which Francis hadn’t been able to stand, turning around to give her some privacy and because the sight of bruised skin honestly made him not only feel awful but also like he hadn’t done enough for her.

And certainly, like he hadn’t hit enough that bastard.

Also, her intellectual abilities weren’t compromised, for which he was even more thankful, because to ruin such a wonderful brain it would be a true waste.

“I am going to grab something in my office to help with the pain, I’ll bring it when I’ll come to check on her, tomorrow, right now it’s better if she is kept awake, it is good for her head”.

He had thanked the doctor and handsomely tipped him for the inconvenience and to keep his mouth shut, before he came back at her, she was facing the opposite wall, wanting to hide and shrink away from him, in a desperate fetal position.

“… do you want something to eat?” he didn’t know what to do.

She must have had an awful day and he wasn’t helping her much: he had beaten her brother…

… who had reduced her to a bloody pulp, but family was strong.

“… no, thank you” she sniffled, meanwhile she adjusted on her side, a little moan of pain leaving her lungs.

“What about a book?” he just wanted so damn to be useful, even with the easiest of asks “… I can read it to you”.

“I think that you have already done more than I deserved, Mr. O’Malley… I…” her voice was so low that it was just a simple whisper and hadn’t he been so still “… I am truly ashamed you had to see that… you must think so…”.

“You think that it is you who should be blamed for this?” his anger made her flinch, but it wasn’t directed at her “… you have no fault in this, you are the victim…”.

“I should have fought harder…” she tried to mumble, but he was unable to stop himself and his anger from flaring up.

“… and he should have never touched you!” because it was the damned truth, it wasn’t her fault in the slightest and before Francis knew it, she turned around: her face a map of bruises and hurt, and he found himself walking closer, no sign of fear in her eyes, just shame again “… I am sorry for not having stopped this sooner…”.

“It wasn’t your business” she mumbled, meanwhile he softly raised her chin, grabbing it between his thumb and pointer fingers helping her look at him, meanwhile she held back a soft whimper of pain “... I am still not your business”.

“You are, instead” he moved her so that she could stare at him in the eyes “You are so damn my business, with your gentleness and softness, and you deserve nothing more than this in the world, and I am sure that from now it is given to you”.

He made sure every world meant something for her and she looked at him like she did believe him, although there was still some kind of shyness in her eyes and he was more than aware about the fact that sadly he had gone too far, but… the little smile she sent his way… was worth it.

“Thank you for being there, Mr. O’Malley” the little smile turned in a devious smirk “… you aren’t so bad yourself…if you can overlook that awful moustache”.

“Well you are certainly back to normal!” he laughed out loud, truly relieved that you hadn’t lost your bite “… I am going in the kitchen to cook something, scream if you need help”.

Some time had passed since Francis had freed (Y/N) from the grasp of her brother and although the first days it had been simply to help her through her convalescence (although she was stubborn as hell, and many times she had tried to help him around the house), then he hadn’t been able to send her back to her house, although her brother had been sent to jail.

Hence, he wouldn’t annoy her, anymore.

He would make sure of it.

But somehow the permanence at his house had marked her in a bad way, since the entire town would talk about her as if there was some kind of illicit relationship between you two.

Old ladies would talk about how he had gotten stuck with her, thanks to some kind of evil plan of her and his lower officials would say even worse, using words he had long-since prohibited.

It almost seemed as if there was no exit, in this kind of situation: she couldn’t exit her house (although she would still go out to see her family, but they seemed to have excluded her from their core) without risking people looking dirtily at her, since her modesty had been shredded, in their eyes.

And she couldn’t go back to her family.

The only way was for her to stay in that city was with him…

Under a legalized bond, such as marriage.

He honestly didn’t have many chances after his loss of Roweena at marriage, and he couldn’t deny the growing attraction he was feeling for her, only enticed by the need to protect her, so he couldn’t help but feel like making her an honest woman might help her.

But he was aware that it wasn’t a simple question and one day, once he had come home, he had asked her opinion on the matter: starting from how she felt about the situation and what were her ideas to stop this behavior towards her.

“I don’t know how” sadness shone in her face, meanwhile she softly fidgeted with her hands “… I don’t know what I have to apologize for… I don’t know why my life is so angry about me… I just… I feel like hiding in this house is also not a proper solution”.

“You know that this doesn’t bother me” he mumbled “… but I might have an idea to solve this”.

Her eyes immediately brightened up: the “house arrests” were pretty heavy on her, although she tried her best to avoid showing the difficulties and the emotions that this rejection from society brought to her.

“… we might have to marry”.

Her eyes literally rolled behind her head for the surprised a.nd she almost fell from the chair.

“… what?” she mumbled, meanwhile he worried that it hadn’t been the brightest of her ideas “… you must be joking”.

“I am not” and he exited a little ring from his pocket, which he had picked up the night before “… I know this might be excessive… but if you marry me, they’ll leave you alone, although it is sad to say”.

“I know… I know…” she was looking at the ring, not daring to touch, which was definitely not good “… but… you don’t… you have no fault in this, you can’t always help me Mr. O’Malley, this is too much”.

“…it isn’t such a bad condition for me, you are already in the house every day, so it won’t change much, and I can’t think of anyone, after Roweena, so I don’t think that I’ll ever settle down…” he knew it might have been a bit excessive, but so were the society’s rumors “… people say I need to have a wife, and you need somebody who’ll quiet the rumors, so we are going to get married, we respect each other and have some kind of friendship; we are for sure better than many couples I know”.

She still looked back at him, confused and shocked, before slowly her hands reached to the ring, immediately retreating at last.

“You don’t want me as your wife… I am…” she mumbled, again nervous, looking at him in the eyes “… I can’t… what if you regret it?”.

“My heart has been broken since the end of the war, and when you came in my life, you brought some kind of solace in my life and I’ll forever appreciate you, as your eternal debtor”.

She looked once more to the ring and this time she gripped it in her fingers.

“Should I be surprised that it isn’t as tacky as your moustache?”.

“Be ready for a lot of tackiness in the future, my wife”.

The marriage had been rushed, but not enough that it seemed a coverage for an unexpected pregnancy.

Her sister and James had been their witnesses, she had worn a beautiful white dress, the best one he could have afforded, but she would have looked angelically even in rags.

The entire thing was more a quick need than an actual want, hence after the small ceremony was over they had retired home, thanking their few guests, who had wished them all happiness, although many of the people sent their way some dirty and annoyed looks.

Once behind closed doors, they had both let out soft and relieved breaths.

“… it is done” Francis mumbled.

“We are husband and wife” she replied, as if it was a shocking truth.

“… before anything goes further” he mumbled, immediately moving towards her, trying not to corner her, since she already had a blush going on, on her pretty cheeks “… I might be your husband, but you don’t owe me anything”.

Her cheeks definitely flushed, at what he meant: the duties of a wife were known to her, but he knew better than to push her, not after everyone in her life had done that.

They were similar in that: they both had been forced in things they hadn’t wanted.

And he didn’t even think that he could do something like that to her.

“…well before anything goes further, I also have a confession to do” she mumbled not even looking at him in the eyes “… you remember when I said I was in love with somebody…?”.

How could he not, he had wondered for entire days who that man was, if she would be heartbroken to have to marry him instead of the man of her dreams.

“… that man… well… it was you”.

And before Francis could properly reply to that outstanding confession, you ran away.

Since that confession she had been distant towards him: not careless but there was no way he could even feel like she was at ease with him, since she would constantly avoid him, whenever she could.

They might have been married now, but… they were more strangers than actual wife and husband.

The confession that she had fallen in love with him, had confused him, mostly because he didn’t want the feelings she harbored for him to be some kind of “reward” for his behavior towards her; he didn’t want nothing more than her purest form of affection.

The thought that she felt like she owed him something honestly made him feel sick at his stomach.

But now the town talked more secretively whenever she would walk out of their houses, and she had now some friends, other wives to whom she was slowly teaching how to read and write and Duncan had suggested she actually tried to get some teaching degree.

‘You are good at teaching, so you should try to get it certified, and you might open a little school here’ he had once mumbled, meanwhile she had told him about how many women sadly didn’t learn to read or write, and they kept in this horrible condition till the end of their days.

At the time she had simply blushed and nodded, but Francis had discovered soon that she had started getting some information on how to become a teacher and he couldn’t help but encourage her in secret, continuing with bringing her books, as some kind of gift for sticking for so long with him.

And then the ball of the town had rolled around and also (Y/N) had been taken by the frenzy of the choice of the dress and the thought of dancing around for the first time after entire days of pain.

She was definitely gorgeous, when she smiled so openly and naively, it was genuine and Francis was definitely addicted to that beauty.

Finally the night of the ball had come around and for the first time in month the looked like a true couple, with her hanging onto his arm, dressed up in a puffy but graceful green dress, the color mixed with light blue to catch better the lights and heighten her colors.

(He had to admit that when she had come down the stairs, almost running in that… thing, his heart had stopped beating and he was fucking sure that she was the most beautiful creature in the whole town).

(If not the entire world).

The ball was much smaller than many he had attended but it gave off some kind of familiar atmosphere and he felt comfortable with his pretty wife at his arm, finally laughing like she hadn’t in just so many days, softly showing her teeth in a ridiculous manner that made him want to kiss her pretty lips.

But he had to be the proper gentleman.

They still slept separated, but sometimes he would wake up from a nightmare, probably his screaming having woken her up and he would find her on the couch, a little candle illuminating the room and the book she was reading and which she proceeded to read out loud to lull him back to sleep.

He was dancing with some old lady that had stolen him from a laughing (Y/N), meanwhile she danced with a rather young courtier, one of the child of the wives she had been helping, who had started to court her, enough that Francis couldn’t help but be jealous of the way she would smile at him.

And then it happened.

Roweena had always been known for her grand entrances: once she had hired servants to carry her in a Cleopatra-way, something which should have told him what he was in for, a long time ago.

But the entrance she did, stuck in his mind mostly because there was no reason for her to here, so he wasn’t expecting her in the slightest and even if it might make him pass for an egocentric, he knew she had come back for him.

She had eyed him in the crowd and he immediately shifted away from the woman he was holding, moving towards (Y/N), collecting her in his arms, and sending the poor child a sweet smirk, promising him candies, meanwhile he tried to drag away his wife from the drama.

But it wasn’t enough.

Roweena reached them easily and she immediately clasped onto him, hugging him closely, meanwhile he felt (Y/N) nervous against him, stilling her movements, as she tried to pretend everything was fine.

“…ahh look at you Francis, making me come all the way from my honeymoon for you!” her voice was cheery enough that everyone had heard and it wasn’t a secret that everyone was looking at her.

“Roweena, what are you doing here?” he didn’t care that he was being extremely rude, but he didn’t want to waste any time, mostly when (Y/N) was still at great unease, clearly comparing herself to Roweena, since she was smart enough to realize she had been Francis’ first love.

“Ah, that isn’t a nice way to speak to a lady” she commented, but didn’t let his tone get in her way, tangling her arms together “… but if you must know, I am here for you”.

The last words of her phrases had moved onto a more confidential tone, as if she didn’t want (Y/N) to hear her, sending towards her a rather dirty look, that got on Francis’ nerves.

“.,, I have come here to take up your offer about having a nice life on the countryside” each words seemed forced out of her mouth, as if he had just obliged her to follow him, which was rather unlike him, but it still didn’t stop him from being ashamed “… the horses and the cattle, the entire thing, you know, I am ready for it”.

“… and what about your fiancé?” he felt (Y/N) beside you fidgeting nervously, as if she had wanted Roweena to get the hell out of their way as soon as it was possible.

But he, instead was making small talk with her.

“He isn’t…” Roweena for the first time since forever seemed at loss for words “… he was a big pretender…not definitely what I needed… and he made me truly appreciate what I had lost with you”.

Which meant that he hadn’t shown to have as much money as he was supposed to, to stay with Roweena, and to properly ‘take care of her’.

And she had gone back to him.

“… well that is quite the trouble” he hoped to sound as annoyed as he could “… but I don’t know how to help, I am not sure that my wife would appreciate me helping you”.

He saw and felt (Y/N) beaming against him, finally moving a step closer to him, smiling gently at her.

Kill them with kindness, indeed.

“…a wife?” she asked confused, meanwhile (Y/N) showed off her pretty ring, nothing too expensive but it made quite the work “… you married?”.

“Happily married” (Y/N) enforced, her hand immediately gripping his, before she laid a soft kiss onto it.

“… oh ahem…” she obviously didn’t know what to do anymore “…I didn’t know…”.

“Well now you know…” (Y/N) smirked, before she gripped tight Francis’ hand, turning just to leave her with a last message “… and I even like his moustache”.

And then they were both running away like two giggling teenagers, Francis trying to keep her dress from making her trip (which happened still), meanwhile she smirked, their eyes still entwinned.

They seemed a couple, and as they reached the outside of the ballroom, to properly breath more freely away from that society of conventions, he couldn’t help but feel like things were easier now.

So easy that with extreme gentleness and softness he moved to lay a sweet kiss on her lips, the first since their marriage, since she had allowed him to graciously push his lips against hers, in a shy kiss.

But in this one, although he still kept it shy, her lips came alive under his and before he knew it, she was the one leading the kiss, softly teasing his lips, mapping them out with her tongue, before her teeth tested the softness of them.

And it was all interrupted as her nose came in contact with his moustache, tickling it gently, enough that she had to separate herself from him, to sneeze making him giggle softly, meanwhile she hid behind her hands, clearly ashamed.

“I told you to cut that damn moustache” she snickered, not truly angry, and he gently pushed her hands away from her face, facing her pretty eyes and those delicious lips.

“…I’ll cut my beloved moustache, learn how to play the harmonica and build you a house on the countryside, if you promise to kiss me every day like that”.

Now the embarrassment on her cheeks was true and he thought he might have overstepped his limits, but then she gently moved closer and slowly and softly, but with a meaningful glance at their now-entangled hands, she smirked softly and reached out to kiss one of his cheeks.

“I’ll kiss you each day, my captain” she said “… moustache or not…”.

“Then why… why have you been so cold with me, all this time?” he knew that hadn’t he asked her this he wouldn’t be sure if his feelings were reciprocated as hers; she might have been scared by the ghosts of his past, when he would wake up screaming.

She might not want a traitor, and more importantly she might hate him for forcing her in a marriage, although he had been the one, she had loved, and she had confessed so.

“…I didn’t… it wouldn’t have been proper for me to express my feelings… when you were my master, mostly because… you had your feelings for Roweena… and when you came up with the idea of the marriage I thought you were doing it more out of pity than actual interest for me… and I… just was scared that what you felt for me, was not enough”.

He had thought the same, each night, since their wedding, when he had woken up alone, uncherished and without her by his side.

He might have harbored feelings for Roweena, but he had let them go, as soon as (Y/N) had entered her life, showing him the truth and the wonder that being loved with the same amount, meant.

He loved her.

He knew it.

And he would act on it, now that he knew she wouldn’t run away.

“Well than rest assured, milady” he mumbled, meanwhile he brought her by the waist closer to him “… what I feel for you is stronger than what I have ever felt for anybody else. All my life I haven’t chosen anything, and then you came in… and I chose to marry you, although selfishly… because I wanted you… and I hope you are happy, because we are stuck”.

“As long as you cut that horrid..!” before she could finish the sentence, Francis had lightly tilted her body, dipping her a bit, enough for her to have to rely on him for balance and as if that wasn’t enough, he kissed her, this time deeply and slow.

A sensual kiss, finally, one between two lovers.

Finally.

He pushed her against him, feeling the entirety of her warm body against his, meanwhile she simply smirked against the kiss, letting her mouth open after his tongue teased her lips, pushing itself through the little “o” which formed as she was surprised by how swiftly his hands moved from her waist to cup her buttocks, collecting the layers of her dress to pick her up in his arms.

As they separated, he twirled her around making her smirk, meanwhile she giggled and tried to make him stop, knowing all too well that although they were away from the main crowd, they were still in an extremely public place.

And they were indeed caught.

… by Mrs, Leipniz, their neighbor, an old widow who looked dourly at them, muttering something about ‘newlyweds not having any shame’, before she moved away and Francis felt her shivering, obviously embarrassed, but also cold.

“C’mon let’s go home” he muttered, gently putting her down, but keeping their hands linked in front of him, meanwhile he led her to their home.

He helped her out of his coat once they were inside, but she distracted him keeping on kissing all his face, meanwhile he smirked at her rushed affections, but he welcomed them, but as soon as she was out of the awful coat he could have a great look at her dress, meanwhile she twirled for him.

“You are freezing, babygirl” he mumbled as her freezing hands, settled onto his chest “… might I warm you up?”.

He wiggled his eyebrows making her blush but also smirk, meanwhile she just turned, setting up a meditative pose, as if she was thinking.

“… and how would you do that, Mr. O’Malley” she teased him, before a small kiss was sent onto his lips, just for her to retreat immediately.

“Well, I’ll have you know, Mrs. O’Malley…” he smirked at the way her name tasted in his mouth being said like that “…that I have a lovely fireplace in my room”

“But I also have one in my room” she murmured trying to appear completely unbothered by the entire thing, meanwhile she smirked at him, trying to run away from his arms, which only tightened the grip on her, making her giggle.

“Oh, but mine, little girl…” he smirked, pushing himself against her, so that the sexual innuendo was clearer to her, making her feel his excitedness through the layers of her too-covering dress “… is bigger”.

She giggled, completely red in her face, but she just nodded, before blowing a soft kiss to him and exiting his arms, caught by the distraction and rushing in Francis’ room, merely closing the door behind her.

He snickered, but quickly followed her, discarding on the way his jacket, remaining in a soft linen shirt, and his “more-than-properly-tight” pants, finding that she had also shed part of her dress, the full gown and her own jacket revealing some linen puffy underpants and her lithe corset, which was tightened over a sheer chemise, truly making Francis’ mind reach its most sinful thoughts.

“... you took your time, old man” she muttered, gently reaching behind her to unlace her corset, a lighter shades of blue with golden insert, and Francis moved closer to her immediately, slapping gently her hands away to undo the corset, in a newfound intimacy he loved with all his heart.

“… and you are taking too many liberties brat” he replied, pushing on her corset laces, effectively stealing her breath, something that made her take a deep intake of breath, suffocating whatever she was going to protest with “… I might have to punish you”.

He then moved and pushed onto the laces to effectively freeing her from that annoying garment meanwhile he laid passionate kisses onto her exposed neck, since her hair where in an updo, something for which he was thankful, although he had quite the passion for her hair being let down.

“Is that a promise, old man?” she spoke back, turning her face to him, gently linking their lips for a slow kiss, making him feel every crevice of her lips, meanwhile his fingers passed onto her body, letting the corset fall down her body, exposing the modelling nightgown.

“That is definitely a promise” he smirked, gently raising one hand onto her breasts, squeezing one softly in his hand, meanwhile your mouth opened, and he bit the tip of her ear, making her moan out loud “… and I always respect my promise”.

This was enough for him to feel her tremble beneath him, pleasure oozing from her lithe body and he knew it all too well that she was probably drenched in her garments and discovered this and much more as he probed softly her cotton underpants, before his hand slipped in them, stopping at the beginning of them.

“Want me to make you feel good, lovely” his other hand went to her hair and he pushed the main hairlock in it, letting them fall onto her shoulder, meanwhile she nodded, biting her lips, and his hand moved further, meanwhile her moans answered the question.

“… please, Francis… I…” and then she turned to him, the gentleness of her eyes didn’t hide the fire in them “…I can’t… I have waited long enough for this”.

And he didn’t dare to actually delay her wishes anymore and he softly slipped his fingers onto her mound, finding it indeed wet and warm, and not because of the burning fireplace, which was the sole light in the room, alongside some candles lighted up on the nightstand, permitting him to see her beautiful face, the way it contorted as his fingers came in contact with your secret.

But this wasn’t enough.

“Can you lay on the bed for me, lovely?” he asked, and although protesting against the loss of his hand, gently teasing her, but she laid, meanwhile he softly nestled between her thighs, already feeling the delicious smell of her arousal.

The knowledge that she was already this aroused because of him was making him quite crazy.

He rutted lightly against the bed, to relieve a bit of the pression on his own member and when he finally managed to focus on her again, he recognized that between him and that sweet nest of honey there was an obstacle: her underpants.

He almost wanted to rip them off, but he knew that this gesture might scared her, so he gently dragged them down her soft legs, meanwhile he revealed her nest, now barely hidden from some linen short pants, decorated by frilly parts in silk.

Her wetness had sipped through them, revealing the shape of her puffy folds.

And he pushed them down her legs, after the underpants, having her almost naked under him, the chemise the only thing covering her, and with the way she blushed as he raised his eyes to meet hers, and tightened her grip onto the hem of it, he didn’t dare also defraud her of that last shard of modesty.

He preferred for her to guide him when she felt ready.

But she had asked to make her feel good.

She had said she had waited for too long.

So, he shouldn’t make her wait any longer.

He dipped one fingers in between her folds, teasing her softly, more to see her joyful condition than to actually elicit any pleasure from her, which, still, sparked in his finger’s wake.

She gently pushed her hand into the sheets and raised her back off the bed, but immediately stilled as Francis found her that damned sweet spot he knew that would make her see stars, meanwhile her grip on the sheets tightened, and her legs came to close themselves onto his fingers, either to lock him there or to hide herself from her ashamed state.

He retreated his finger from that aching point just to collect against wetness being dripped by her folds just to douse it over her pearl, lightly swollen due to his ministration, continuing this a few times before it was enough that he felt like he wouldn’t hurt with his next moves.

“I am going to breach your innocence, my little girl” he said, raising her eyes to look at her, finding some kind of dark pleasure in them, a silent prayer, because it wasn’t enough “… it might be uncomfortable, but if you want to stop… you just tell me, won’t you, sweetheart?”.

“Of course, Mr. O’Malley” the way she addressed him, alongside the rough tone of her voice, arousal through it being evident.

“I might actually like the way you pronounce my name” he smirked, before he went down, nestling himself better in her nest, making sure that his shoulder blocked her legs so that she wouldn’t deny him access.

“Have you ever done this to anyone before?” there was some uneasiness in her voice, that made him stop from doing much more, making him raise his eyes to look at hers “… I don’t… I have never…”.

“Yes, I have done this before…” he felt disappointment in her eyes, alongside with her ducking her head away “… but I have never been in love with the person I have done this before”.

And to enhance the concept he kissed her thighs, till his breath was just onto her nest, making her moan lightly, meanwhile she screwed her eyes close, the knowledge that he loved her making her feel like nothing more could be more pleasurable.

“I… I am scared you won’t like… it… with me” she mumbled, meanwhile his tongue licked a little path from her inner thighs to the upper part, softly delimiting and mapping out the confines of her womanhood.

“You think too much, (Y/N), there is nothing in the world that you could do to make me feel like you aren’t perfect to me” he definitely felt like she was a bit more relaxed and then inched his finger between her folds, holding it here, meanwhile he moved up so he could kiss you as he slipped his first finger inside her, and immediately she bit down on his lips.

He tried to ease the gentle pressure with a softer touch of his lips, but it was enough with the way her walls tightened around his finger, not wanting to let it go, that he knew it was enough, and that she was starting to feel pleasure.

He still checked in her eyes, which had rolled back a bit, and when she rutted lightly against it.

And he was completely loss in the adoration of the way pleasure overtook her, and he gave her what she needed, pumping lightly his finger in and out of her, till he knew that it wasn’t enough anymore and he moved his lips onto her folds, before they raised onto her clit and he softly kissed it, before he started sucking on it, making her moan loudly and her fingers, unwillingly, treaded in his hair.

She pushed him, meanwhile her legs closed around his shoulder, trembles of pleasure going through her and he knew that she was almost there.

She just needed a little push, or better… a little crook of his finger, meanwhile his tongue started lapping more languidly her pearl, making him feel every inch of it, stimulating her till she was oversensitive and when pleasure came… she screamed.

She contorted over the bed, the evidence of this never having happened, was clear in in the movements of her body, ecstatic and honest, and definitely divine with the way her juices flowed in his mouth, the taste better than anything he had tasted, and he passed a few minutes slurping anything he could from their natural source.

And when she pushed him away from the hair, in a rather tight grip, which only excited him, and she brought him in a kiss, a messy kiss, collecting some of her own juices in a desperate attempt of passion, in a show of tongues that lead her to take the upper hand, inverting the positions.

Now she was on top of him, and he wasn’t sure he minded it at all, now with the way her thighs pushed onto his hardening bulge, which was becoming more and more desperate, searching for friction.

“I do think that I want more” she murmured, almost reaching his lips, before she turned back, and one hand reached down his pants, although an adorable blush coated her cheeks “… I have tasted corruption and I don’t think that I can stop”.

He smirked simply, reverting again the positions and making her giggle.

“Well that is good because I have no intention to stop…” he giggled, pushing down his pants and undergarments with them, meanwhile another hand tasted the wetness and readiness of her soft nest “… and little girl, get ready for the final shred of your innocence being forever stolen”.

“I can’t believe that you are reading those things, when you have a man of bones and skin in front of you” mumbled annoyed Duncan, meanwhile you turned another page of the romance you were reading before bed.

Romance books had always bene your guilty pleasures: they made you relax, alongside the fact that whenever Duncan wasn’t with you they were your own way to have a bit fun with your body, since the smutty description could be quite “steamy”.

You hadn’t been able to put down, still, your latest romance reading, not only because it was definitely a slow-burn romance, but the male character also sounded like Duncan, hence you had been too busy trying to finish the book to actually dote on your real “boyfriend”.

“Just give me a few minutes… we are getting to the interesting part” you mumbled, trying to hush your boyfriend, but whenever Duncan was bored and not receiving enough attention, he was prone to particular vexations towards you.

And in this case, he literally stole the book from you, before discarding it rather ungently away from you and throwing it in an angle of your shared bedroom, making you scream at him in protest, but he immediately stopped any response of yours kissing you and pushing himself on top of you.

“… I think that I can offer you more entertainment than some stupid book” he smirked as soon as he retreated from the kiss “… I am definitely better than Captain O’Malley”.

“Oh, are you sure?” you smirked, feeling like you had just gifted yourself a wonderful night of sex “… won’t you show me, Captain Shepherd?”.

----

As always... any feedback is more than welcomed and encouraged, I am always curious to know what you think of the shit I write, and I hope that you’ll appreciate it!

Also I do have to warn you that I have been having some personal problems and I haven’t felt like writing much so I am sorry if the next fics might take some more time!

And here are to the one who wanted to be tagged!

@so-langdon @blakewaterxx @emmyrosee @lovelylangdonx @1-800-bitchcraft @kaetastic @frenchbread4ever @lathraios @rosegoldrichie @rocketgirl2410 @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @forgivemelucifer @antichristfern @lonely-cloud @elena-75s-blog @ashyblondwaves @kleineshaschen @dyns33 @vintagepink @langdondelrey @chloewinchester13 @luthienshavenlove @ confusedafsthings @venusbloodlust @coezals @vixenmare @soph3218 @baby--yoda @omegaaislynn @im-the-music-whore @melodylangdon

#captain o'malley #captain o'malley reader #duncan shepeherd reader #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd fic #duncan shepherd smut #duncan shepherd fluff #duncan shepherd moodboard #cody fern #cody fern characters #hoc #house of cards #hoc imagine #house of cards imagine

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elenajohansenauthor · 4 years

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#tumblrspiritweek, Wordy Wednesday, Part I

Since this is all about our own work, now’s a good opportunity for some #shameless self promotion. I’ve already posted the first chapter of my first novel, What We Need to Survive, a few times, but not recently.

The overview: post-apocalyptic romance, grim world but hopeful message, first of a trilogy following the same couple, potential triggers = global collapse due to illness, rape mention, gun violence, other weapon violence, onscreen character deaths (not the mains! yes there is a happy ending!)

I KNOW THIS ISN’T NECESSARILY WHAT EVERYONE WANTS TO READ RIGHT NOW. I’m not trying to be insensitive, but I also couldn’t know in 2015 when I published this that I’d be trying to make a living as an author through an actual pandemic. I am writing other things that don’t have plagues in them (and I will post the first chapter of my current WIP later today) but I love these books and I’d be sad to give up on them just because the real world sucks right now.

So I get it, if this is the wrong time for you to read this. Check back later today for some rock-star action.

If you’re still here through all of that, this book is currently on sale for 99 cents and the trilogy omnibus edition for $4.99;or if you’re up for reading it in a timely fashion and leaving an honest review, I’m always willing to send out [free, digital] review copies, hit me up.

Below the cut: the first chapter in its entirety.

Chapter 1 - Cigarette Lighters

August 23rd, 4:23 pm – Somewhere along US-36, Central Ohio

Paul kicked a rock out of his path, watching it bounce and skitter down the highway.

He saw no point in wasting breath on cursing the weather. One squall of rain caught him earlier in the day, forcing him into the cramped shelter of one of the abandoned cars dotting the road. But the boom of thunder in the distance worried him. He’d spent plenty of nights out in the open. Sleeping in the rain was miserable enough, but he imagined sleeping through a storm would be next to impossible.

He looked up, but thick forest on both sides of the highway hid all but the narrowest strip of sky. Blank, unbroken gray hovered above him. There was no way to judge how close the storm was, except for the unreliable system of counting Mississippis.

The closest building he remembered passing was at least half an hour behind him, maybe an hour. The closest town he’d left behind yesterday afternoon. Turning back might get him to shelter before the storm struck, if he hurried.

Or it might not. The road ahead curved away from him, and the trees could hide anything.

Paul kept moving forward, faster under the threat of rain.

Ten minutes later, he spied a gas station and picked up his pace even more.

As he got closer, the station didn’t seem promising. Most of the windows gaped empty, broken down to their frames, and the front door hung askew on a broken hinge. The first fallen leaves of the season littered the parking lot. Shards of glass from the broken windows and random bits of trash lay scattered among them.

The rain started as Paul reached the edge of the parking lot. He sprinted for the cover of the roof protecting the pumps.

Hard-won caution kept him from dashing the rest of the way inside. Instead he approached the building with slow, deliberate steps, holding up his empty hands. “Hello in there!” he called. “Anybody home?”

There was no answer, but Paul remained wary. When he was a few yards from the open door, he stopped and called again. “Is anyone there? I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, just a place to get out of the rain.”

A shuffling sound came from his right, and a movement that flickered in the corner of his eye. He turned toward it and saw a gun pointed in his direction. The gunman himself hid in the shadow of the empty window frame.

“Stay where you are!” the man shouted. His voice was deep and authoritative, the kind of voice that focused the attention of anyone who heard it. Paul didn’t doubt it belonged to a man willing to shoot him, if necessary.

“No trouble,” Paul repeated. “I was hopin’ this place was empty, ‘cause I’d rather be inside than out with a storm overhead. But if I ain’t welcome, I’ll move on.”

“Stay right there, and give me a minute!”

Paul did as the man ordered, watching the gun in the window, which didn’t move. He guessed the man was talking to someone inside, but he couldn’t hear anything. While he waited, the rain grew heavier, pinging on the corrugated metal of the roofing like the highest notes played on a huge steel drum.

“You got any weapons?” the deep-voiced man called out.

“Just the knife on my belt,” Paul answered. “No guns.”

“You can wait out the storm with us in here, then be on your way. Sound reasonable?”

Paul lowered his hands. “Yeah, that’s good.” The gun disappeared from the window, and the knot of tension in Paul’s chest loosened. He hadn’t believed he was going to get shot, but he was relieved to be right.

Unless they were going to rob him the minute he walked in the door. But it was too late to run now. If they meant to take his supplies, then the man with the gun could shoot him in the back when he fled.

Best to play along.

A man with dark brown skin and chin-length dreadlocks appeared in the doorway. He was shorter than Paul, but that didn’t mean he could be dismissed as a threat, since he was much more heavily muscled. His straight-backed posture and firm gaze shouted military to Paul. Or maybe cop. And he sported a holster on his belt. The man with the gun.

Unless there’s more than one of ‘em.

When Paul didn’t move, he flashed a grin, wide and startlingly white. “Come on in,” he said, beckoning with one hand. He stood aside to let Paul through.

The inside of the station wasn’t in any better shape than the outside. The metal shelving units were empty, all the chocolate bars and potato chips gone. Glass-fronted refrigerators lined the back wall, but those were empty, too. At the counter, the cash register lay on its side, the drawer popped loose. Paul guessed that had happened in the first few days, when looters thought money still meant something. It hadn’t taken long before that wasn’t true anymore. Dark patches stained the white linoleum floor. Paul hoped they weren’t blood. Though they probably were.

“I’m John,” the man said. His voice sounded almost friendly, and Paul lifted his hand in automatic reaction to meet John’s for a shake. He dropped it when he saw there was no hand offered.

“Paul.” He settled for giving John a nod instead.

John turned and headed for an open space beyond the counter. Paul meant to follow, but he stopped short at the sight of a girl crouched under the window. She was small, her thin limbs folded in on themselves to take up as little space as possible. Her black hair was oddly uneven in length, not quite reaching her shoulders. Paul guessed it was growing out from whatever shorter style she’d had, before. Her wide eyes watched him with silent tension, like a fawn ready to bolt to safety.

Paul hadn’t met many kids on the road, but most of them looked a lot like her. Frail and frightened, not ready to face what the world had become since the plague had ruined everything.

Before Paul could decide what to say to her—or even if he should say anything at all—she shot to her feet and followed John across the room. Her ill-fitting clothes didn’t completely hide the curves of her body, and the swing of her hips was shocking and compelling at the same time. She wasn’t a young girl at all. Her head wouldn’t even reach Paul’s shoulder, but she was a grown woman, right down to the angry toss of her hair.

But still frightened.

Paul let her have her distance from him. With any luck, the storm would pass before nightfall, leaving him time to move on and make camp somewhere else for the night. He’d shared makeshift shelter with strangers before, talked, and traded, but he never slept well. And it was no great leap to guess the woman didn’t want him there.

Though she had let him in, at least. That was why she’d been at the window, Paul guessed—John had checked with her before giving Paul permission.

Lightning flashed outside. Paul counted four-Mississippi before the thunder rolled over the building. After the next strike, he counted three.

If the light were better, he could pass the time scribbling in his notebook. A half-formed song had haunted his thoughts for days, and he’d welcome a chance to jot down the lyrics. But it would be a waste of ink and paper trying to write by lightning flashes.

If the company were better, he could talk and see about some trading. He was running lower than he liked on food, though he had enough to see him through the next day or two. The towns on this stretch of the highway all seemed to be one or two days apart, so he expected to hit another one tomorrow. He could spend a day searching houses for supplies.

Glancing around the interior of the station, he wondered if there was a rack of local road maps. So far, he’d been navigating by the ones posted on the walls at rest stations. But it was too dark to see much of anything, except a weak glow from the far corner. Someone had lit a candle. He heard low voices talking. John’s, he recognized. Another one, lighter and higher-pitched, he assumed was the woman’s. But there was a third, too, higher still and squeaky.

Another flash of lightning drew Paul’s attention back to the window. No need to introduce himself to the others if they were only company while the storm lasted. With nothing else to do, he cleared a space on the counter, sat on it, and watched the storm.

There was a light patter of footsteps. Paul turned just as someone reached out to touch his arm. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Paul replied. The boy looked about nine or ten. His skin was almost the same deep brown shade as John’s. The glow of the candlelight behind him traced the edges of his short corkscrew curls, giving them a faint golden sheen.

“Do you want to trade with us before we eat dinner?” he asked, half-polite and half-shy. “Maybe we have something different, if you’re tired of what you got.”

“Sure.” Paul slid off the counter top and followed the boy over to the others.

John sat cross-legged with his back to one wall. “Aaron, I told you not to bother him.”

Aaron shrugged as he settled beside John. “I just wanted to see if he had any different food we could trade for. I’m tired of peanut butter crackers.”

In the corner, the woman sat with her knees drawn up before her. She flicked a glance at Paul but said nothing as he pulled off his pack and sat down several feet away.

“You might be in luck, then, Aaron,” Paul said. “I’ve got some granola bars. The s'mores kind, I think.”

Aaron gave him a big smile that was nearly identical to John’s. Paul didn’t want to leap to any conclusions based on the fact that they were both black, but they looked enough alike to be father and son. So far, they were acting like it.

Paul stole another glance at the woman as she stared into the candle flame, ignoring everything else. Her skin was a lighter golden brown, under the smudges of dirt. And despite the realization that she wasn’t a child, she didn’t look anywhere near old enough to be Aaron’s mother. So who was she, and how did she end up with them?

The sound of a zipper snapped his thoughts back into focus—Aaron had a battered red backpack on the floor in front of him. He reached in and pulled out two packets of crackers.

Paul rifled through his own supplies and turned up two granola bars in exchange. He was about to ask what else they might want, open-ended, to see if he could draw the woman out at all. Before he could, he heard wet, squelching footsteps from the front of the building. He leaped to his feet, whirling to face the newcomers. Three of them, two women and a man, all middle-aged, all splattered with rain.

“Easy, Paul.” John’s voice was firm. “They’re with us.”

“If we’d known the rain would start so soon,” the man said, “we could’ve just set these outside and let the storm fill them up.” He had a large metal water bottle in each hand. One he passed to John, the other he set on the floor beside him as he sat down. “So you made a new friend while we were gone?”

A soft snort came from the corner, but John answered them without acknowledging it. “Just sharing the roof until the storm passes.”

The man pulled off his baseball cap, ran a tanned hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, and smiled. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to get rained on.” He stuck out his other hand, which Paul shook briefly. “Mark.”

“Paul.”

“And this is my wife, Sarah,” he went on as one of the women sat down on his other side. The rain plastered her short blond hair to her forehead, but she smiled too and passed the extra bottle she carried to Aaron.

“Nice to meet you, Paul,” she said.

The final newcomer was still standing, looking down at Paul with a curious intensity. “Hello there.” Handsome, Paul mentally tacked on, because that was the exact tone she used. Since she was staring, he did too.

She was tall, or maybe she only seemed tall because she was lean and angular. Her hair was a riot of messy red curls in dire need of a wash, but she was pretty, in a faded, tired sort of way. Before the plague hit, she must have been beautiful. Before her eyes grew ringed with dark circles and her cheeks hollowed out from lack of food. “I’m Alison.”

Paul nodded. Alison tilted her head to the side for a moment, clearly waiting for more. When she didn’t get it, she strode past him. Behind him, which made his shoulder blades itch before he realized she was going to the small woman’s side.

Who still hadn’t given her name. Someone would, though. Paul could be patient.

Alison leaned against the wall and tapped it twice with the extra bottle in her hand. The sound reminded Paul of a food dish being set on the floor for a pet. Without looking, the woman reached her hand up, palm flat, and Alison set the bottle on it. Neither of them said a word.

When Alison sat down between her and Paul, closer to him than he would have liked, he had to resist the urge to pull away. No sense in being rude if he was only here until the storm let up.

“So, Paul,” Mark said with forced cheerfulness, “which way you headed?”

“East.”

Mark’s lips twisted behind his dark scruff of a beard, which hadn’t gone as white as his hair yet. “Damn, us too. I was hoping you were coming from there, so we could get an idea what the road ahead was like.”

Shaking his head, Paul said, “Sorry I can’t be more help.”

“Maybe you can,” Sarah said. “Do you have anything to trade?”

With an easy smile, Paul asked, “What d'you need?”

Sarah pursed her lips as she thought, and the cuteness of the expression took years off her face. “Extra socks?” she asked, hopeful enough that Paul knew she needed them, but resigned enough that she didn’t expect to get them.

Paul shook his head and turned to Mark. “Smokes.” Which earned him a light slap on the shoulder from his wife. “What, it’s been weeks now!” But Paul’s answer was another shake of his head.

John had Aaron seated in his lap and was finger-combing the boy’s hair. “I’m not holding my breath that you’ve got any natural-hair care products. I’m more likely to get struck by lightning. Inside.”

The dry, deadpan tone startled a laugh out of Paul. “I ain’t even got anything for myself right now,” he said, scratching at his dark blond hair. “I’m way overdue for a wash, and dunkin’ my head in a river ain’t the same. I’d shave it all off if electric razors were still a thing.”

Mark gestured at him. “You’ve got a knife.”

“I’d cut myself to ribbons. I think I’ll keep bein’ shaggy for now.”

Aaron, sensing his turn, piped up. “Any books? I’ve read the one I have about a dozen times by now.”

“Not much of a reader,” Paul answered. “What book you got?”

“Treasure Island,” Aaron said. “I like adventure stories.”

Alison snorted. “You’re living in one.”

John gave her a narrow-eyed look over Aaron’s head, but he didn’t say anything.

“Pain killers.”

The sharp and sudden request focused Paul’s attention on its source, the unnamed woman. Gone was the frightened doe of a girl—now her eyes were hard and flat. “Half a bottle of aspirin,” he offered. “What’ll you give me for it?”

“All I’ve got to spare is food. Cheese crackers, chocolate bars, take your pick. Or a can of Red Bull, if you’re afraid to sleep in here with us tonight and want to stay awake instead.”

“Nina …” John said with more than a hint of warning in his voice.

So she’s got a name after all.

“It’s thunderstorm season,” she said. “We’ve been lucky so far they haven’t been worse, but this one’s not going to pass over in an hour like you hope. We’re going to be here overnight.”

Alison hunched forward, elbows on her knees. “How do you know?”

“The weather here isn’t much different from where I grew up,” she answered with a slight shrug. “I lived with this every summer as a kid.” She turned back to Paul. “Anyway, does that work for you?”

Medicine of any kind was valuable, even the common stuff like aspirin. Food was never a bad trade, but he doubted she had enough to spare. “You hurt?” he asked, stalling.

“Cramps,” she answered shortly, and Paul suppressed a grin.

Any urge he’d felt to smile, though, disappeared when Alison spoke. “I’d think you’d be glad you’re having them.”

Paul found the bottle in his pack and rolled it across the floor toward Nina. It stopped at the toe of her boot, and she stared at it without speaking. “Don’t need any food,” Paul said, though it wasn’t strictly true. “I’ve got enough for myself for now. But since y'all were here first, I figure anything left in this place is yours, and I saw some lighters in the display on the counter. I’d be happy with a few of those. Seems like a good thing to have, and they might come in handy for trades down the line.”

Off to his other side, John and Mark traded a stunned look—Paul guessed they hadn’t noticed the lighters. Mark got up to retrieve them. “Let’s see …” he said, counting. “If we each keep one for ourselves, that leaves six for you. Sound good?”

“Sure,” Paul said. Mark brought them over to him, and out of the corner of his eye Paul watched Nina. She didn’t reach out to take the aspirin until the lighters were in his hands. Mark distributed the rest of them while Nina swallowed a few pills with a swig from her water bottle. She noticed Paul watching and nodded at him. He figured that was the closest she would come to thanking him, so he gave her a smile. Not the huge, dazzling grin that his mother had once told him would break hearts someday. Instead it was the small curve at the corners that his girlfriends, over the years, had all told him was sweet. He used the first one on women he wanted to impress—the second was usually reserved for the ones he was already close to. But the last thing he wanted to do was make Nina think he was attracted to her.

Even though he was. Illuminated by the candlelight, Paul could see she had beautiful eyes, big, vividly blue, and fringed with thick lashes. He had a pronounced weakness for women with gorgeous eyes.

But Paul could see Nina wasn’t like some of the other women he’d met on the road in the aftermath of the plague. The ones just as lonely as he was, who were willing to trust him for the length of one night before they parted ways in the morning. He never looked back, and neither did they. There hadn’t been many, and it had been weeks since the last time, so it was only natural he’d find himself falling in lust with someone.

Even if prying words out of that someone was a challenge.

Before the silence between them stretched on too long, Paul forced himself to look away. “Alison, you want anything?”

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