#i imagine some of his paintings of the common folk of the reach

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Tiny Treasons

Roll up, Roll up, Roll up, Revelers of all ages! Tonight and tonight only I can promise you a show like no other, a tragic farce rendered in miniature. Watch as they dance to the motion of an unseen hand! Watch as their lives dangle by a thread! Who lives!? Who Dies!? You’ll have to watch to find out. The Greatest show of your lifetimes, all for a bright red penny!

Setup: With the kingdom safe after their most recent heroic exploits, it seems all the party needs to do is kick back and enjoy the festival, a coinciding incident that the whole city seems to have turned out for. The Streets are congested with revelers, pulled in by what seems like every kind of delight and distraction imaginable, all underscored by the continuous burst of fireworks overhead. 

The Party’s attention eventually settles on a peculiar puppetshow, where an eccentric old man moves in a blur, animating dozens of puppets through elaborate pantomimes of dances and battles, seemingly performing an entire cast of characters by himself. A wonderous feat to be sure, but for some reason the crowd is either stunned silent or jeering, shock and revulsion painted across their faces, and as the party approaches they see why:  The ongoing show is a treasonous jape, a respected member of the court painted as scenery chewing villain, leading a faction of murderous brutes through the palace, reaving and butchering as they do.  It’d all seems like a joke in the poorest taste, but there is something about the way the puppets scream, or even seem to bleed as their tiny bodies are hacked apart that keeps the party mesmerized until the cartoonish carnage reaches its climax as the villain slaughters the monarch and their family and lifts the tiny crown onto his head with goreslicked hands. 

It takes a moment for the party to resolve what exactly they’ve seen, and by then the Puppeteer is gone, the rest of the crowd dazed and confused and only vaguely remembering what they just watched. Just who was this puppeteer, and what was the meaning of his grisly and wonderous show? 

Adventure Hooks: 

The show was a window in the coup currently occurring, a representation of the powergrab undertaken using the festival as cover to hide the sounds of battle emanating from the palace and the movement of troops loyal to the rebellious faction. While the party was distracted and resting on their laurels, their unseen enemy has struck the first blow, but if they hurry through the crowded streets and make their way into the suspiciously unguarded palace, they may be able to save a few of their allies and innocents before the usurpation is complete. 

The show was a prophecy, an insight granted by the gods into a possible future course of events. In this case the puppeteer was their oracle, who’s mission was to plant the seed of doubt in the player’s heads regarding a supposedly trusted ally and their murderous ambition. 

The show was sedition, a magical compulsion made to foment distrust in the government while at the same time stoking a protective loyalty to the crown and its authority. In this case the puppeteer is a agent of a political faction looking to oust their rival and take his place,  using the magic puppetshow to create their own public support. Being heroes, the party remains more aware of this magic than the unsuspecting common folk, and may discover its true nature should they track the puppetmaster’s appearances across the land. They’ll have to be careful while doing so however, the seditious compulsion is contagious, so allies they inform about the show and its details may end up affected by the cursed second hand. 

The show was a window into a true past, reflecting what DID happen rather than anything that is or will. The Puppetmaster in this case is a survivor of the massacre that put the current administration in power, and is attempting to get his message through the magical veil of omission that the usurper has had placed over history.  

[oh-take-this-longing]

Prompt 1: Foster

Koriah hadn’t ever seemed a part of the family. Not really. She seemed more mythical creature than Elezen noble to Adelaide. Even the circumstances of her birth, which Adelaide vaguely recalled her parents gossiping about when she was 3 years old, was outside the norm for the family and more like a supernatural gift,  like a fairy child being bestowed upon the family rather  than  the product of nature or love. Her parents would speak all the time about how imminent it was that her aunt and uncle would soon be the first Azmeriens to sever their ‘eternal bond’ and that they hadn’t so much as opened a door for one another or said a word in kindness to each other in the 2 years since they’d been wed.

Then one day her aunt and uncle showed up at her parents’ door holding hands. Holding -ungloved hands-. Holding ungloved hands with their skin touching for everyone to see. And they were smiling. And they were laughing. And they said such scandalous and, frankly, uncomfortable things as “I love you” right in front of everyone! That wasn’t a phrase Adelaide heard all that often outside of children’s tales. It wasn’t something her family ever said. Not in public, not in private, not even in jest, not ever. 

And then they did it. They kissed. Still in full view of the whole family! And this was not the usual polite kiss on the cheek or kiss on the back of (gloved!) hands for which Adelaide was so familiar. They kissed each other on the lips. They tilted their heads, smiling, and then put their lips together and 3 year old Adelaide saw it and -frankly- it was weird and she didn’t understand it at all. What was the point of that? She thought maybe it looked kind of gross. When she looked around at the rest of her immediate family with their jaws dropped and their eyes quickly darting away to look at something, anything!, else, her 3 year old thoughts were confirmed. That was definitely weird and gross. If it wasn’t her family wouldn’t react that way. Right?

And it was after that kiss that the announcement had been made. Her aunt was pregnant! And she and Adelaide’s uncle were -happy- about it. Oh, there was plenty of gossip about how the kid must have belonged to another man because she’d been having an affair and the whole lovey-dovey thing was just a public display to squash exactly the rumors that the lovey-dovey display had actually instigated instead. There were teams of couples who’d come over for weekly card, chess, or mahjong nights who would spend the evenings drinking expensive brandy with her parents and betting on who the actual father was. But to everyone’s great astonishment, when Koriah was born she already had a crop of bright red hair the exact same color as her father’s. As she grew up she shared the same striking green eyes as her father as well. Of course, by that point all the gossip had moved on to other couples and their possible infidelities and short-comings and the shock of Koriah’s arrival and the affection between her parents had completely been disregarded.

But not by Adelaide who carried that with her as one of her first memories and would continue to reflect on it as she grew older.

And as her cousin Koriah did not.

The sudden announcement of Koriah’s death when Adelaide was 25 and Koriah was 22 came as much as a surprise as the announcement of her arrival had.

Maybe it shouldn’t have. Koriah Azmerien had always been warm and sunny in personality (or what her detractors would call: ‘frivolous in demeanor’). She didn’t take anything too seriously. She wore what she wanted to. She went wherever she felt. And she genuinely did not care at all about what people said to or about her. When Adelaide would be stuck with insecurity regarding what she should say to someone (or -not- say to someone) at public events, Koriah never understood. She’d say, “If you introduce yourself and  they are unimpressed, they are the problem not you. So why worry about it?”

Well, Adelaide worried about it because her mother worried about it. And her sister worried about it. And two of her brothers worried about it. And she’d heard plenty of gossip that told her that she should worry about it. Why didn’t Koriah worry about it!? She’d one day be heading her family’s estate as well, shouldn’t she want to make the right impressions to the right people? Wasn’t she as stuck in this stifling, rules heavy society as Adelaide was?

That answer cleared itself up fairly quickly. At 19 Koriah said she was going off to see the world outside of Ishgard to learn what she could about other places. She longed to see other venues, other people, to taste other foods.

What she really wanted to do was see the Limsan ocean. She’d stared longingly at painted pictures of the ocean since she’d been so small she teetered and fell down more than she actually walked. The bubbly child would get quiet and listen with rapt attention to any story that featured dashing rogues and pirates by the seaside or that told tale of giant sea monsters or seductive sirens. Koriah’s parents eventually tired of buying their daughter stories about the ocean, perhaps wanting her to focus more on Coerthan tales of might and adventure instead, but the ocean had Koriah’s heart. So when her aunt and uncle stopped providing the books… Adelaide found a way to sneak books to her young cousin about high sea adventures instead.

And as Koriah grew older, her taste for the seafaring stories grew as well. Moving past the usual children’s tales, her book collection became… rather more ‘adult’ in nature-- much to Adelaide’s sheltered embarrassment who until her cousin had showed her the collection of erotic and romantic Limsan pirate and rogue stories had not even thought such a thing had existed. By that age, late teens, Adelaide had, of course, known that kissing was a thing. That touching was a thing. That the common folk would sometimes disappear into dark alleys and do… things. But she’d been raised by a very strict mother who had made it clear that such things were ‘crass’ and ‘unladylike’ and that as the future head of the Azmerien household, the future of the Azmerien name, she had best not ever think of such things.

Being told not to think of such things and then being shown books that wrote -exactly- of such things of course meant that Adelaide would rebel. She thought about ‘such things’ frequently. But she’d never -buy- such a book. She’d just borrow them. Where did Koriah even find those? Wasn’t she embarrassed to be seen with them?

No. The answer was no. She said someone had taken the time to write those things so someone might as well take the time to read them. She didn’t make it a point to read them in public and she hid them in her room so they weren’t immediately on display-- but she did not hide that she purchased them herself. “And if someone were to take time to read them, that someone ought to purchase them herself rather than sending out a servant to do it for her.”

So when Koriah said she was ‘off to see the world’, Adelaide knew that she was ‘off to see the ocean.’ And when she imagined Koriah out in Limsa Lominsa she imagined her capturing hearts and scandalous kisses the same way the heroines in her books did. She only wondered if it’d be a pirate or a rogue that she’d end up running away with in the end.

It was a rogue, apparently. Letters from Koriah came back regularly… until they didn’t. Koriah’s parents and younger brother received the boring letters that spoke of Limsan gossip and fashion. Adelaide received the letters that spoke of the things her cousin actually cared about. 

And the things she loved. 

And the boy she loved.

And that boy’s goofy little brother.

The boy was named Lysander Winsome and he was a key figure in some sort of thieving gang based in Limsa, but it wasn’t the life he wanted anymore. He wanted out. He wanted to save enough to buy a ship-- his dream was an airship because his heart belonged to the sky as much as Koriah’s belonged to the ocean-- and he wanted to get away with only what mattered most to him: his brother and Koriah. She thought it’d be easier to buy a ship they could sail on the ocean. That’d be a dream easier and quicker to reach and while they worked on the ship they could have adventures and save enough for the airship. But what if-- what if one day they had a ship that functioned as both? Wouldn’t that be amazing? Would Adelaide want to come to visit on a vessel that could both sail and fly?

Adelaide wrote that of course she would. But honestly, it was all a little hard to believe. Koriah’s letters sounded as much fiction as any of the books she’d left hidden in her bedroom. Maybe these letters were just fantasy. Maybe they were meant as fun reads when her reality was really just the boring letters about Limsan gossip, sales prices, and fashion that she sent to her immediate family. And she continued to think this until the letters became more sporadic and then stopped all together.

And until she met the goofy little brother.

Adelaide had assumed that ‘Winsome’ was a made up last name. No one was named that. That was an adjective, not a name. But when the 12 (or was it 13?) year old boy with chestnut colored hair, the oversized @dumb-hat swallowing up most of his face so that she could hardly see his amber eyes, looked up at her and then grinned so wide that what she saw of his eyes lit up, and told her that was his real last name… Adelaide knew that it was both an accurate adjective and a real last name.

Koriah’s last correspondence to her family was a letter that Evander clutched in his hands, written in her hand, beseeching them to care for him if he arrived without her and making clear that she gave him all rights to her property-- including her inheritance-- and that her final wish was that he be treated as the family that he was. She had married the boy’s brother in secret and in the absence of her and Lysander-- Evander Winsome was all that was left of her and should be treated with the same love and courtesy that she had been treated when she was there.

She never said ‘alive’ or ‘dead’ in the letter. But everyone knew what it meant.

What Evander did not know and would not ever know, was that a week before he arrived to Ishgard without her cousin, Koriah had written Adelaide a letter too. That letter contained two notarized copies of a will that made legally official and binding that Evander was her heir and was to receive all her property and inheritance. It was sent to Adelaide to ensure that the one person in the family that Koriah trusted as much as herself would have it and could speak up for the young boy in the unfortunate possibility that Koriah’s family would pretend they had never received a letter of their own and tried to wash their hands of Evander. 

The letter also read:

“Adelaide,

The storms in Limsa have made the ocean more alive than ever. It thrashes and dances with such exuberance that it makes me want to dance as well. The white sea foam reminds me of the lace hems on the dresses you and I loved so much as children: the ones that would twirl when we’d spin. I wish you could see it.

Lysander and I plan to make our escape soon. I never told you before because I didn’t want to worry you, but the gang did not take it well when Lysander made it clear that he wanted to strike out on his own. In fact, while we don’t speak of it because we don’t want Evander to overhear it, we’re fairly certain they plan to retaliate. As of now we plan to board a trading vessel that will take us out of Limsa Lominsa-- maybe even out of La Noscea entirely. We’ll head somewhere new and see the ocean there. Lysander wants to try his hand at opening a jewelry shop. He thinks he’d like to be a goldsmith. But his dreams and ambitions change as much as the sea does- so when we get to the new place he might decide to do something else entirely! I look forward to it. We both do. 

But on the off-chance that we never see that dream come true and that the Limsan ocean is the last one we see, I will pay for Evander’s trip aboard another vessel with a few people I trust and see that  he gets to Ishgard. Please welcome him. I don’t know how long he’ll choose to stay-- but I hope he gets a chance to foster new relationships, experiences and a new family while there. 

And on the off-chance I never see you again: I love you. I know that’s not a thing the family says. But sometimes it has to be said.

The books belong to Evander now. But you let him know I said that you can keep borrowing them.

Koriah.”

Thank you to @dumb-hat​ for letting me use his character and his backstory NPCs here! This timeline is certainly not 100% correct, but rather than stressing myself out trying to work out the exact ages and whens and whats-- I’m reminding myself that this is just about getting some writing out there and that I can fix the details later!

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 6: WE HAVE BATHROOM INCIDENT

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn Percy was carrying. Another said, "That's him."

Anxious if all the attention, I scooted closer to Percy holding onto his arm. Most of the campers were older than us. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. The way they stared at me made me uncomfortable. Though I am aware the attention was on Percy. I still felt like they were expecting me to do a flip or something.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression I was being watched.

"What's up there?" Percy asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.

"Come along, you two," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.. . . . . . . . . .

Chiron told me the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked Chiron.

"Yeah, I mean... he was a good protector. Really." Percy added.

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that! He brought two!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate... ah... fate of your mother and Y/N's parents. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you two dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age... ."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What! And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible."

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career... ."

"That's not fair," I said. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

But I wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about Percy's and I's parents' fate, as if he were intentionally avoiding the word death.

"Chiron," Percy said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that are real..."

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened.

"Yes, child." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now... until we know more... I would urge you to put that out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods.". . ..

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" Percy asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own—?"

"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose either of you do. I think a size five will do you both. I'll visit the armory later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" Percy asked.

Chiron looked at me as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?"

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

I stopped when Percy stopped.

"Percy?"

He stood in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor.

I held his hand and we got closer to the cabin. We peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he could pull us back, I caught a glimpse of the interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. "Come along, you two."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to stay as close as I could to Percy. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," Percy observed.

"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really..."

He smiled down at me. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?"

Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about should be. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish... and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again.

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

* * *

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked us critically.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and Y/N from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it. What did they call it... ? A caduceus.

Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over on the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy, Y/N. I'll see you at dinner."

He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at us. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."

So naturally Percy tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of himself, almost taking me with him but I had let go of him as he fell. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, "Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N, meet cabin eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody familiar asked.

I didn't know what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined."

Everybody groaned.

"Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy and Y/N. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there. Y/N can have the bed over there."

"Luke." I smiled. He replied with a grin and ruffled my hair.

"Uh?"

"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over and could've sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" Percy asked.

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given Percy. He was a few spots away from mine.

I looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will we be here?" Percy asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laughed.

"Come on," Annabeth told us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it."

"Come on." She grabbed Percy's wrist and dragged him outside. Percy took my hand to come with him, I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind us.

"See you at dinner." Luke waved.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one. Maybe it was Y/N."

"What's your problem?" Percy was getting angry now. "All I know is, I kill some bull guy—"

I gripped his shoulder trying to calm him.

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

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Hahah typo and originality go brrr

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[writingoflarka]

A Walk In The Rain

A continuation(?) of this other royaltycore piece I wrote. Once again inspired by @inky-duchess

It's nearing evening as we walk together across the garden. The gentle chirp of insects and sway of trees gives it all a less lonely feeling, though with Sebastian it's hardly ever lonely. I take his arm as he leads me up a step, teasing me gently for my heels that wobble with uncertainty as I make my way up to join him.

"Not all of us can be shy of seven feet," I tell him, feeling the heat reach my ears.

"Of course not," he says with a shy smile. "But you cannot be so easily bothered by every jab at your height. It's not my fault you're more rodent than lady."

I give him a prodding between the ribs, and he hisses in reply. "Any lady would have your head for such a comment."

"Would you?"

"No," I frown. "But I have half a mind to."

"My apologies."

I hear the drag of my skirt against the stone path, and Sebastian's comment makes me grimace. The other ladies always seem to glide like fog across the ground in their walking gowns, while I crawl like a common garden snail. Posture, Lyle always tells me. Graceful posture.

I must make quite the face, as Sebastian slows his stride to look at me. "Something troubles you, my lady?"

"Oh no," I wave him off. "Only thinking."

"Fine night for that," he says softly. "I wonder what the nights will be like in Opsana."

My pace slows at the thought. His trip to the principalities will be soon, where both land and sea will part us. How many more nights will I have with him? How many more walks? How many more jokes at my height?

"I'm sure they're warmer," I say softly, picturing the map in my mind. So far south to the territory shaped like a bird's head. "You will write to me, yes?"

"Certainly," Sebastian says. "So long as you write back."

"And you won't get yourself into trouble?" I ask, a little more firmly.

"I'm the king's bastard, what more trouble am I worth?"

"Bash," I warn him.

"Yes, of course," he pats my hand. "I certainly won't go looking for trouble."

I sigh, the relief obvious. He jumps at the opportunity. A cat with a tired mouse.

"If trouble should strike first however, I cannot say what would happen. Or what form it would take. Perhaps if trouble has red hair. I always liked-ouch."

I remove my elbow from his ribs. "You really should practice speaking properly. How will anyone take you seriously?"

He frowns at me. "I can speak properly."

"Well certainly not around me, you don't."

"You're the only one who doesn't mind a little cheek here and there."

That brings a smile to my face, though a part of me thinks his brazenness around me should be dissuaded. We walk for a while in comforting silence, and I watch the leaves skip across the path with the breeze. The air is cooling quickly, and Sebastian eyes me. Those curious, concerned eyes.

"If it's too cold here, we can return."

I shake my head. "I like the fall air. It's inviting."

"If you say so," Sebastian shrugs, a quick jerk of his shoulders. "I won't miss it."

What will he miss, I wonder. When he's so far away, doing the bidding of his father and brother. Speaking a language not his own, breathing sea air not his own. Will the sun tan his skin more than it is already? Or will it streak his sunset hair with rays of gold? Will he stop smelling of pine and blackberry? I close my eyes, trying to shy away from my own mind, though it is unsuccessful.

A droplet hits my nose, and with a sighing breeze, the sky releases her rain. Sebastian starts, pulling me quickly behind him, but something in me stops. He tugs on my hand as he moves on ahead. His eyes are curious, concerned.

"What is it?"

"Must we go inside?" I ask. "It's only water."

He stares at me. "My lady, your gown."

"Only fabric," I tell him, already feeling a growing dampness around me. "I've never minded the rain. Let's not retreat just yet." He owes me so much more time.

He studies me, and I watch those curious, concerned eyes. He's thinking of a reply. I can see it plainly. He wants some sort of excuse, but he has none. Finally, he lets go of my hand and gestures for me to take the lead. I step back, looking up at the moving dark clouds overhead. In the twilight, they almost blend with the sky; a murky painting bleeding slowly across the canvas, but moving all the same. The rain is refreshing on my face. It carries the smell of the sea, or at least my mind imagines it to. I turn on the toe of my shoes like a dancer, and if I hadn't been so weighed in crimson layers, I would leap across the yard, spinning and twirling like the fair-folk in the meadows. Putting a show on for him. Instead, Sebastian watches my strange and silly waddle across the yard, my little spins, dragging my gown behind me.

He says nothing, but makes no attempt to stop me. Simply watches as I raise my arms to let the water race down into my sleeves. He lets me enjoy myself, a silent observer. Though as the rain begins to pour with more force, he steps forward to take my hand. I spin into him, and he receives me. Rain runs down his face, flattens his sunset hair. I notice the whiskers returning to his chin. Will he have a beard the next time I see him? When he returns and I am wed, and we have been apart so long we have no knowledge of each other. The though hurts me. I cannot turn my gaze away from his chin. His lips.

"What is it?" he catches my attention and I'm forced to stare into his eyes. Those curious, concerned eyes.

"I don't want you to go," I say softly.

He is silent for a moment. But it's only for a moment. He takes my face in his gentle hands, the calluses of his fingers rub against my cheeks.

"I have to," he tells me, as if he's never explained before. "The nation-"

"Oh damn the nation," I say suddenly. "What has our nation ever done for men like you?"

He stares at me. He's thinking of a reply. I can see through him.

"It allowed me to meet you," he says simply. "A vicious weasel in red taffeta."

I huff, veiling a laugh. "I've always felt more of a stoat."

"Is there such a difference?" his face is so close. If I could only be taller. If I could only reach him. "I must go. There is no other option. All we can do is enjoy the time we have left."

"How will there be anything to enjoy?"

He frowns, his fingers brush my hair behind my ear. "We will find something. I'll do anything you ask of me, my lady. Whatever would make you happy."

Whatever would make me happy, when the one thing that would give me joy is unobtainable. He must leave, and I must not see him for years and years. I fear I'll forget his face. That he'll forget mine.

"You'll do anything?" I ask him, as the sky growls above us.

"Anything."

"Lean."

He does as I command, and finally, my lips can meet his. I pray I do not forget his face, but I can never forget this.

This is eternal.

[pandawritesmanythings]

Loki x Reader (Medieval AU)

Chapter Summary: You need to ask questions, but talking with Loki is surprisingly pleasant...

Warnings: Mentions of natural disasters.

Word Count: 1,919k

A/N: I love writing these two chatting TvT. Thank you guys so much for the support! Y’all are awesome!

Masterlist

-

It was the meeting time with Loki.

This was going to be something else, wasn't it?

In all honesty, you had been looking forward to discussing the book with him, but there were more pressing matters in your hands and right now you really weren't in the mood for a pointless discussion.

Sigyn had come by late at night, a piece of paper on her hand. She had memorized as many points about the meeting she could have and written them down for you. You profusely thanked her and then proceeded to spend the rest of the night sleepless because of what you had read.

You wanted to confirm it with Loki though. Two accounts are more trustworthy than one, after all. And you wondered... Did he trust you enough to tell you?

After eating breakfast with the queen and some of the other ladies of the court, you made your way towards the library, Steve hot in your trail. 

He had yet to confront you about leaving yesterday unannounced and without supervision, but there was a chance he actually didn't know about it. Until he gave any other indication you weren't about to open your mouth.

He, in fact, quietly escorted you to the library and didn't say much. Which honestly weirded you out a little, but you decided to let it slide.

"Hey." He called when you were about to enter. "Call if you need me, alright?"

It felt like there was something else he wanted to say but... "I will. I promise." You smiled, trying to ease the obvious tension he had.

The library was enormous. You took a moment to actually look at it in detail. The columns of marble extended floors above until they stopped at the dome-shaped high ceiling. The ceiling was also painted with depictions of the royal family generation by generation enjoying the knowledge found in the books. They all seemed to be resting on top of clouds, some with books on their laps, others with scrolls on their hands. Paintings of the most delicate nature. 

But despite the architectural beauty, the most incredible thing was the number of books and scrolls that the room held. The shelves were so high they almost reached the roof. And as far as you could see, there was no space in any of the shelves to fit any new books. That probably was why the wall on the far back seemed to be draped with fabric instead of there being an actual wall. 

"They're remodeling and extending it to the room next door," Loki spoke suddenly, making you gasp in surprise.

"My prince. I- Please do not scare me like that!"

He let out a hum of a laugh, but judging by the hand curled over his mouth he probably was far more amused than he let on. "Well, I hate to keep disappointing you so I figured I might as well keep you on your toes."

Oh, how I want to slap that smirk off your face.

You took in a deep breath. "Fair. But please refrain from making my heart stop next time." You said as you rounded him and took your usual spot by the window.

"Well, I shall make no promises." He smirked as he walked towards you and sat at an appropriate distance on the same window seat.

You clutched the book in your hands in front of you and showed it to him with a proud smile.

He raised an eyebrow playfully, "So I guess you managed to accomplish my commission?"

"I asked you not to underestimate me, right?"

You both began discussing the three first chapters of the book, which still ended up amazing him the fact that you were on chapter 10 already. He almost didn't believe it, but when you began referring to future chapters... Well, he had no other choice but to believe you.

"I find that writing tragedy, be it fiction or not, is a way to let out your own pain." You said without really thinking.

"You think?" He asked, leaning a bit forward, interested in what you were saying.

"Well, of course. For example, the writer of this story is telling someone else's, but how can you explain the level of detail and emotion that is in there? I do not think anyone that hasn't felt despair before could have written this..." Your hand glided the carved cover of the book. There was something almost magical about it, sadly ethereal... Even if magic wasn't something that was truly real...

"What else is the world but a balance of sadness and joy? You feel each's highs and lows when the other feeling is present. You can't have one without the other, just like you can't have light without the dark." Loki said looking out the window in thought.

"Who said that?" You asked with curiosity.

"Me. Just now." He deadpanned you.

You let out a small laugh, which shook your shoulders. "Sorry, that was stupid."

He laughed back, his eyes back to looking out at the sea. "No, it's fine. It was just a thought."

"So you are a poet?" You asked.

"What I am varies from moment to moment."

"So who are you right now?"

"Who would you like me to be?" He turned to you. Was it just your imagination, or did his eyes look brighter with the light that was coming through the window?

You took a moment to find your answer "I think I'd like to know Loki."

He seemed momentarily taken aback by your request. "Alright. What would you like to know about him?"

You hummed and looked down at the book in your lap, an idea suddenly popping onto your head, "At what age did you begin to read on your own?" You asked and settled onto the couches, hugging your book.

"Heh..." He breathed out a laugh, "I would guess... About 6 years old. By then I had told mother I didn't want her to read to me anymore, and I began looking for books on my own. You?"

"Aww, father read to me until I was ten. I always liked how calm he was when he read out stories. And it seemed to calm us both down. But I began reading on my own at 5." You got lost in the memory. "Sometimes we still read together, when we're too stressed out."

"Sounds peaceful."

"It was... I'm afraid I can't really do that anymore."

You really couldn't, not only because of the physical distance but ever since Morgan had been born she and Pepper had taken most of his free time. Which you understood, after all, Morgan was his little girl, and Pepper was his wife. It still didn't make it any less hard to have so little time with your dad. 

"What of your brother?" 

"You shall meet him soon." You suddenly perked up by the mention of Peter. "He and his mentor, Doctor Stephen Strange should be arriving between today and tomorrow."

"I believe you mentioned it in the throne room."

"I just hope passage is favorable." Your brow furrowed in concern, "What I said about disaster season, I meant it."

"I've heard some of the border cities with Asgard also receive some damage due to it. Is it truly that bad?" He asked. "I haven't seen much information on the matter."

"It's not good. That much is very true. Of course, is not like getting a tsunami but..." You raised an eyebrow at him teasingly.

Loki chuckled at that. "How do you know that?"

"I've been to council meetings before, silver-tongue. I've heard things."

Asgard had a phenomenon. A natural phenomenon that was exclusive to them. Every five years, on an almost exact date, a tsunami, the size of a four-story building would rush into the coast.

Hence, why the castle and a large part of the city were on a hill.

"I thought we could keep up the act." He playfully smirked.

"That only works with the common folk, silver-tongue," You replied, "The glitter of Asgard doesn't shine as bright up close."

"That's not the impression you gave me when you were gawking at the library." He raised an eyebrow, playfully.

Your eyes widened, but you tried to control your expression, instead, you ended up smiling shyly. "Well, there are some good things here. I will acknowledge it."

"Hmm. Glad you do." He looked around a hint of nostalgia dancing in his eyes. "It is the most beautiful place in the palace."

"I agree. Not even the throne room is this intricate."

"What of the library back at Midgard?"

"It is also a beautiful place, however, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I love the place, but you have to see it for yourself." You replied.

"Then, it will be a pleasure to visit your home soon."

Was it the smirk? The way his shoulders were relaxed? Or the spark in his eyes which made your stomach flip? Or was it the fact that you had referred to a future where the two of you were together?

"You think I'll just end up going with you, princess?"

"I believe you won't be able to resist my charm." You playfully fanned yourself with the book and batted your eyelashes.

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

"Again? Oh, Odinson. You are becoming predictable." You loved to tease him. And you loved the way the corner of his eyes would crinkle when he smirked back at you.

Loved?

You ended up giggling, while he tried to hide his smile by looking down at his book and flipping pages.

"But, about my brother, he and I have always been close. He came into my life when I was eight years old. He was a newborn at the time." You returned to his previous question.

"At the time?"

"Well... yes. Father adopted both Peter and me."

Did tome stop?

Did time stop at that moment for Loki Odinson?

It might as well have. You were adopted. And you knew. And you seemed to be alright with it. And your father and brother loved you. Did you understand? What if he...

"... since he owed them, we couldn't possibly leave their son all alone, my father agreed to raise him. Both his uncle and aunt were quite grateful. She still pays him visits often, and Peter and I visit his uncle's grave every..." You noticed his far off look, "Loki? Are you all alright?

"Yes. Of course."

He was closing off. You could sense it, the way he said those words, it was as if the wall you had been working to tear was rebuilding itself.

"Look, I know that being adopted technically means that my little sister Morgan should be the heir to the throne, but please do not go running off. If you go propose to my little sister I will drop you from a cliff." You nudged him.

The absurd comment seemed to take him off guard, at least enough to make him chuckle in amazement at your statement.

It was at that moment when you suddenly remembered. What you had set out to ask him but ended up forgetting from diving into an easy conversation with him.

"Loki?"

"Yes?" He was smiling, but you could tell he understood something was going on from your tone.

"I need to ask you something."

"I'll see if I have an answer." He sat straight, hands resting on his knees.

"Are the Jotuns really invading Midgard?"

-

TAG LIST (OPEN):

@chxrryycola​ - @midnightmystic​  - @deathkat657​ - @thatonefangirl111​ - @smolbitch2006​

[astraeagreengrass]

The Queen's Husband [5/?]

When her reign is threatened, the Queen of Ergona must find a husband to secure her throne.

Word Count: 2.545

Warnings: Smut, fluff, Steve Rogers (yes, that deserves a warning of its own). English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

A/N: This chapter is just a filler, but I hope I can make it up to you guys with some Steve fluff. I'm hoping to post more regularly now that I am quarantined, although I'm still working from home and online classes will begin next week. How are you doing? I hope everyone is safe and healthy. If you ever need to talk, my askbox is open. Sending my love to you ♡

His fingertips woke you before sunlight did.

Delicate digits traced a path from your tailbone to your nape and down again, a feather's caress to your spine. He praised the bones and vertebrates that sustained you in the same meticulous way he praised the rest of your body: the soles of your feet, the palms of your hands, the ends of your hair. Throughout the night, nothing, not a single piece of what you were, escaped his careful loving. You never imagined sex could be this special.

Your cocoon was still relatively dark, the curtains of the four poster bed shielding you and your lover from the outside world, at least until it inevitably came barging in. Today was the first day of the rest of your lives - not as husband and wife but as King and Queen and Ergona. Steve had done plenty of teaching yesterday, but now it was your time.

Turning, you found him, lying on his side, head propped on his right arm, lazy smile on his face. Adonis.

Traditionally, men and women of nobility wouldn't sleep together. They each had their separate bedrooms, sometimes linked by a door, sharing a bed only when necessary. But Steve stayed over. You choked on a laugh.

“What is it?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“I'm thinking of Wanda, Nat and everyone that was probably waiting outside the door for you to leave last night."

He chuckled, pulling you over to him with his free arm. His chest was warm, somehow warmer than the bed furs, and you tucked yourself in it, carefully threading your fingers through his patch of hair.

“Do you regret it?" his voice was muffled by the soft press of his lips on the top of your head.

“No” you kissed the skin above his heart. “In fact, I think you should come back tonight.”

His hold tightened around your body and you sighed in content. Was this love? Being so at ease and relaxed with someone you couldn't be bothered by your appearance, your responsibilities or your nasty morning breath? And how did it come to this? How did Steve sneak his way into your heavily guarded heart, tearing down your walls as easily as he took his next breath?

And why did none of these questions mattered in the blissful aftermath of your nuptials?

It didn't last long, of course. As you predicted, a knock on your door announced the end of the dream and the start of your day. It was Monday, which meant the privy council would gather at precisely ten o’clock, and not even the all the wine from the wedding feast would halt your advisors’ punctuality. You groaned, pressing harder into your husband's embrace, unwilling to let him go even as Wanda's embarrassed voice announced:

“Your Majesties?” she knocked again. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's past nine. The privy council awaits.”

“Don’t go” you whispered.

Steve kissed your temple, your cheek, your shoulder. The hand on your hip ran the length of your arm and cradled the back of your head, angling it so he could take your lips in his. It was slow and sweet, but tasted like goodbye. You hated it.

You pushed him into the mattress, knees on each side of his body and hands sprawled on his strong pecs. There was something wickedly satisfying in overpowering a man like Steve, to watch his gaze grow dark as you hovered above him. It filled your head with the dirtiest fantasies, which, up until last eve, were completely unknown to you.

You kissed him again, fiercer this time. Your teeth pulled on his bottom lip while his palm moved to your ass. He squeezed it hard enough to leave a handprint and his fingers found the way to your core, causing you to whimper. Despite the arousal you were sore, sharp pain lacing your sex from the loss of your virginity.

“Does it hurt?” Steve haltered.

You heard Wanda knock again, but it was ignored.

“A little” you muttered, eyes casting down in embarrassment.

He lifted you like a feather, switching positions gently - how naive of you to think you could ever truly outmatch his strength.

“I’ll make you feel better, my love” he promised, raining pecks down your torso until he reached the top of your mound. Your breath hitched, but, even so, your legs opened to him. These sheets had known more promises of trust in the course of a night than you did in a whole life, all sworn in his whispers of care and attention.  

Your back arched at the first swipe of his tongue. Steve held your thighs, keeping them apart as he delved between your legs. It was filthy but downright glorious, the way he licked, sucked and bit on your most private parts, all the while his beard scratched the delicate skin of your inner thighs. Erotic sounds filled your ears as you lost yourself to the delirious feeling of giving yourself to him.

You were going to be late.

Lord Fury was annoyed and Lord Strange was nonchalant but Lord Stark and Lady Romanoff looked positively delighted when you and Steve finally arrived to the Small Council meeting, over an hour later than you were supposed to.

A new chair was added to one end of the table to accommodate the King. Scrolls and parchments were ready to be examined and the map of the continent, meticulously painted on the floor to the left side of the room, gleamed brighter with a fresh coat of color.

All four advisors rose as you entered. This was Steve's first commitment as sovereign. You'd given him some reading material on laws and tax procedures during the summer so he could get used to what was to come, and, of course, he was more than well versed in military affairs, but the Small Council was the place where politics happened. Once a week you’d welcome the lords in the General Assembly and listen to their concerns and demands, but, ultimely, decisions were made in these chambers.

Steve would have to learn the ways of Ergona with the same dedication he had for his swordsmanship, but as fast as it would take to strike down an enemy. You married him to secure the throne, yet keeping it required wits and dexterity. The King  was about to enter a battlefield bloodier than any other he's ever faced.

You believed he could do it. If there was anyone that could, it was him.

“Your Majesties” Lord Stark commenced with a happy smirk. “How nice of you to finally join us.”

If Steve could kill your uncle right then and there, he would. Red flushed through his cheeks and down his neck, but he could only gawk, speechless. Sam, the bastard that he was, snickered from his post at the door.

“Tony…” Steve was disconcerted. “I mean, Lord Stark. We are… Sorry to have kept this Council waiting.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Your Grace” you interrupted, shooting daggers at Tony with your eyes.

“It is true, Your Grace” Natasha added, a smirk hidden in the corner of her mouth. “This Council is here to serve you, not the other way around.”

With a pointed look to Tony, who was disguising his chuckles with a fake cough, she continued:

“The royal wedding and King Steve’s coronation left Ergona in very high spirits. Add to that the defeat of Zerbolia and we have, perhaps, the best moment in Queen Y/N’s reign so far. We must seize this opportunity to strengthen the bond with the common folk.”

“It is customary for new monarchs to travel across the kingdom after their coronation” Lord Strange explained to Steve. “But since we are approaching Winter, I would advise you to wait until Spring.”

“Indeed” Natasha said. “The last crops will be harvested in the coming weeks, then the villages will prepare their storages. We could arrange your travels for around the Spring Festival.”

The Spring Festival marked the end of the winter months and the beginning of the new harvest season. It was the most important tradition in Ergona, a time when families and friends came to together to celebrate life and wish for prosperity.

“What do you think, Your Grace?” you asked.

“You're not a stranger to travel, right?” he pointed out. “I know you often visit the provinces.”

“Yes. I made it a personal goal of mine to reach those who can’t easily reach me, but this would be something for you. To introduce you as the new King. They know you as Captain, not monarch.”

“Your work in the military brings you renown amongst the people, Your Grace” Lord Fury clarified. “But history shows that they have a hard time taking to new rulers. Even with this initial approval, things can still shift dramatically.”

“What about their lords?” Steve inquired.

“Oh, they are overjoyed” Lord Stark quipped. “But I’ll give it until next week before they have something new to complain about.”

“The General Assembly is in four days” you stated. “Lady Natasha, what are the prospects?”

“They’ll come at the King like wolves" she turned to Steve. “Support is volatile. If the lords think you’re not prepared, they won’t hesitate to show their displeasure.”

“It is impossible for me to learn everything there is to learn by Friday” the King blurted.

“You’ll never learn everything” you said. “But we can divert their attention."

“What do you propose, Your Grace?” Lord Strange crossed his hands over the table.

“A ball, of course” you smiled.

“Excuse me, Your Grace” Lord Fury grimaced. “But how could a ball help us?”

“The nobility likes their parties, Lord Fury. It keeps them entertained and if they’re entertained they won’t bother asking the King the hard questions, thus giving His Majesty the time to go through our most important matters" you elucidated.

"This is not a bad idea" Natasha pondered. "We could have the ball under the pretense of celebrating the Yule season. This way, the lords will have time to return to their lands, oversee the winter preparations and return to the capital. You could hold off General Assembly meetings until then."

"His Grace still has to address them on Friday" Lord Stark pointed out.

You looked over to Steve. A frown marred his beautiful features as he took note of the rapid exchange between you and your advisors. He was clearly out of his element, more used to following orders than giving them. It served only as a reminder of how much he was sacrificing for you - casting aside his career, exposing himself to scrutiny of the critics, facing the fear of the unknown.

All of it for you.

"Well" you exhaled. "This council has four days to aid His Grace. I suggest we start now."

Steam clouded the room in billowing white clouds smelling like orange blossom and patchouli. The water was too hot, tinting Steve's skin a light shade of pink. His head hung from the edge of the tub, eyes closed, basking in relaxation, while his hands still stroked your left foot. Directly across from him, you said:

"You still haven't told me who holds Osuva."

He groaned.

"The Van Dynes?" he mumbled. "No, the Hogans. The Van Dynes hold Fort Murahainen."

"Are they friends?"

"Yes. Lady Van Dyne welcomed Lord Hogan to her estate on the last Spring Festival."

"Why is Fort Murahainen named as such?"

"Because the fields surrounding it are home to a large population of ants."

He lifted his head, gaze finding yours over the scented bath. You were in the royal chambers - your parents' old quarters, which you'd refused to take when you were crowned. But you were married now, and it was uncalled for a King to sneak back to his room in the middle of the night. These new chambers consisted of two dormitories separated by their own private door. So far, only one of them had been used.

Steve leaned forward, taking the parchment from your hands and tossing it somewhere behind you. His arms laced around your waist, pulling you to his lap. Water sloshed around you, spilling from the tub to the wooden floor. The light from the fire bathed him in golden glow. Your fingers traced a scar on his collaborne.

"How'd you get that?" you rasped.

"Aviko" he laced your fingers, palm to palm. "We were ambushed by a Zerbolian militia. Their sword work is ordinary, but they're great with arrows. One of them shot me and I rolled over the river bank. Bucky pulled me out."

You kissed him gently above the puckered skin, going upwards towards his neck, jawline and chin. He nuzzled you, beard scratching your cheek in a ticklish caress.  Your lips met halfway, tongues and teeth clashing in an intricate, personal dance. Steve twisted in your embrace, swiftly pulling you under him. The muscles in his arms hypnotized you as he grabbed edge lip of the tub, hovering above you.

Your hips opened to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he entered you gently.

"Fuck" he breathed out in pleasure, fingerprints digging in your hips.

Every night was like this: you'd go over the long list of names, laws and customs Steve had to memorize, always ending up in the tub, the chaise, the bed. Even the carpet once. It was a most peculiar learning method, but it was working and you weren't complaining. Sex was wonderful, but, more than that, the feeling of being with your husband tugged on your heartstrings, filling your soul with the most fantastic, overwhelming joy.

For the first time, you had more than Ergona. It felt bold and audacious, even guilt-driving, to think of something solely for your happiness, but, in moments such as these - so close to him, each kiss more as vital as your next breath - your concerns flew out the window like the last breaths of autumn before winter came.  

You were falling in love and you felt undefeatable.

"Is it time?” the bald man asked.

“Not yet” the other one responded. “We need to wait until she’s pregnant.”

“Then what?”

“Then we take Stark out of the picture. Without him she’s vulnerable. Fury is loyal to the country, not the crown, and Strange cares more about his ancient arts than politics, but Stark would give his life for hers.”

“And the King?”

“It would be a shame if something were to keep him away from Court, wouldn’t it?”

The bald man tensed, and his companion noticed his brief hesitation.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“No!” he assured. “But how will you do it?”

“I’m traveling to the mountains at the end of the week. I’ll speak to the Baron. He wants nothing more than to get his revenge on Captain Rogers.”

The bald man was quick to noticed how the other referred to the King by his former title.

“Zerbolia’s navy was crushed no less than six months ago. The military's at it's prime. How can you be sure the Baron will risk it?”

“He will.”

His companion’s certainty disconcerted the bald man, but he couldn’t turn back now. The wheels were spinning and a new game was at play.

Ergona would be the battlefield.

[palepinkycat]

OC Playlist

To everyone who tagged me - I swear, I didn't forget or ignore you, my life is simply a mess lol

Tagged by @mimabeann and @sleepswithvillains, thank you, I've had so much fun creating this playlist!  I'm gonna post the 2nd part soon.

This one's for - surprise, surprise - Cithar ☻ 

On behalf of Taral, I’m asking you NOT to give Cithar a radio. Leaving the Alliance was painful enough, please, don’t let him listen to sad songs.

His intro theme: Grá by Warduna!!! It IS his song! I mean, the lyrics, oh boy... I have SO MANY thoughts after reading the lyrics... I feel like this is something Cithar would like to tell Aivela and his friends/followers if he ever had a chance to speak to them one last time. It would be both a promise and an apology. So much angst in this one lol

Your song stirs something deep within

Like chords pulling straight from memory

I can’t find the words, they still remain veiled

Yet I know it is old, I know that it’s forgotten

I remember when you roamed freely

I remember when we roamed together

I remember us before our paths got separated

I remember the ring before it broke

[...]

You may run to my forests

Roam freely in my mountains

Lead your pack to my valleys

Let us restore the ring

I shall sing you safe on your way

I shall sing you safely home

His boss battle theme: Ah yes, more angst. Boss battle, huh? You mean him fighting a boss or him being the boss, huh? Anyways, Pride by Manchester Orchestra toatally suits both options.

Finally I felt the calming breeze

Stepping out to watch the final scene

After all it's you, my pride, and me

I can't speak whatever I can speak

You see

Now I found the way to meet the means

Faker face to make the kingdom clean

After all it's me, and the king, and the beast

Whatever whatever I can't speak

A thing

His love song: So I guess I should find two songs - one for him and Aivela and the second for him and Mara. Sooo Sarah by Alex G for Cithar x Mara where Sarah = Mara?

I can't be

What you need

I am stuck in a dream

[...]

Every day

I'll make promises that plague

Sarah's heart

So I can watch her fall apart

'Cause I know

When I break her down

We'll spit on all the happy clowns

That live around this sunny town

She loves me like a dog

And when we mess around

I'll let her know the truth I found

In my own hopeless hate

And every time I wake

I second guess the game I played

Did I make a mistake?

Yes, you did ☻

And for Cithar x Aivela - I was specifically looking for a song with some ballad/medieval mood when I came across The Song of Seven Sorrows from the Kingkiller Chronicles. Now, I've never read the book so I don't really know the lore but no other song from my playlist depicts their story so well. Assuming Lyra = Aivela, Lanre = Cithar, Selitos = Izax - or basically the whole Pantheon, they all hate him lol - and Myr Tariniel = Medriaas/Nathema

Our hero of songs and stories untold

He fought not for glory, nor silver nor gold

He killed for the hands that held his heart

For Lyra, who loved him till death did them part

[...]

But Death is a tyrant who won't be denied

Lyra she faded, she paled and she died

Her fate left unknown to we who remain

Its consequence etched in misery and pain

Unable to die, to forget or to sleep

Lanre was driven to madness and grief

Myr Tariniel burned by his hand

A mercy to the people of that wretched land

Selitos roared and he clawed at his eyes

Frenzied by pride, he cursed the skies:

"Lanre you traitor, cursed be thy name,

May you live always in the shadow and shame!"

Our hero of songs and stories untold

Now wanders these roads, alone in the cold

He dreams of the hands that held his heart

Of Lyra, who loved him till death did them part

Sorry for all my calculations 🤠

His sad times song: Oh, the sad times. Who Killed Mr. Moonlight by Bauhaus

A broken arrow in a bloody pool

The wound in the face

Of midnight proposals

Someone shot nostalgia in the back

Someone shot our innocence

In the shadow of his smile

[...]

All our dreams have melted down

We are hiding in the bushes

[...]

All our stories burnt

Our films lost in the rushes

We can't paint any pictures

As the moon had all our brushes

OR Kingdom's Coming , also by Bauhaus

Madness in the wind's got something to say

It ripped you apart

It will always be that way

It said kingdom's coming, causes chaos

Will cut to pieces the film you saw today

It's your big bad secret

Your crown of thorns

Can't take it easy, you can't turn back

The sky will open soon, could be today­

Forget your bastard ego, get it off your back

[...]

You want it all, but it's on the run

A song that reminds him of a better time: Times with Aivela, huh? 👀

The Stable Song by Gregory Alan Isakov

Remember when our songs were just like prayers

Like gospel hymns that you caught in the air?

Come down, come down sweet reverence

Unto my simple house and ring

And ring

Also, I just couldn't skip that part, it's soooo fitting

Now I've been crazy couldn't you tell

I threw stones at the stars, but the whole sky fell

He should get it tattooed on his stupid forehead so that in the future, everyone will be able to tell.

A song that calms him down: Y'all probably noticed but it really bothers me that the OLD Republic era is basically the same as the prequel/sequel era 626271182772 years later. So I pretty much headacanon it to be more of a Star Wars middle ages, like a mix of Vikings, LOTR and Game of Thrones lol Besides, Cithar is a character from my Dragon Age/Star Wars crossover soo if we're not talking about lyrics that describe him but instead about songs he'd actually listen to, I think it'd be some traditional Sith music he'd stumble upon while wandering among the common folk on Medriaas. Something that reminds him of home. As much as he hated its corruption, there were many things he loved. I imagine it would sound similiar to Sacrifice by Sharon Lyons.

A song that gets him hyped up: What's a better song to start a rebellion to than Svanrand by Heilung???

*No lyrics this time since it's just a list of names of valkyries, but imagine ancient sith reciting the names of their gods before entering a battle??? 👀*

A song that fits his aesthetic: Music that fits his aesthetic - Postaci by Dzivia

And lyrics that fit his aesthetic - The Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel

In restless dreams I walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone

'Neath the halo of a street lamp

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light

That split the night

And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing songs that voices never share

And no one dared

Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools, " said I, "You do not know

Silence, like a cancer, grows

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you"

But my words, like silent raindrops fell

And echoed in the wells, of silence

His own favorite song: The same as the one that calms him down.

The song that plays at his funeral: Would there even be one? Helvegen by Warduna

Who will sing me

Into the death-sleep sling me

When I walk the road to Hel

And the tracks I tread

Are cold, so cold

[...]

You will be free from the bonds that bind you

You are free from the bonds that bound you

[bensonalick]

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[crowsent]

AUgust 2020: Angels & Demons

Challenge given by @augustwritingchallenge

Summary: Goro won’t ever get justice. Vengeance, though... Vengeance Goro could get.

“Don’t you want vengeance, Goro Akechi?” A hand shot out from the darkness. "I can offer you vengeance. All I ask is possession of your immortal soul."

Pairing: N/A can be interpreted as ShuAke

Characters: Goro Akechi, Joker (Akira Kurusu/Ren Amamiya)

Word Count: 2305

CW: N/A

Notes: the tumblr version is unformatted. for that reason, i highly recommend you to read the ao3 version instead so yall get that sweet sweet tone difference.

i didnt include the “angel” part of the angels & demons but you know. potato potahto. also, big thanks to @yusuke-of-valla​ for giving me an AMAZING prompt. hope i did it justice

AO3 Link: HERE

=

She was buried quietly, without fanfare and without mourners. Goro remembered staying at her grave hours after sunset, clutching the single flower he brought for her between his fingers so tightly it had crushed the leaves and petals and stem into a mangled mess.

The sky was a dark inky blot by the time a woman with tightly bunned hair and a blue and white striped uniform came for him and said that since his last living relative was six feet underground, Goro would be put into foster care. Dark clouds swirled over the horizon, flanking the boom of oncoming thunder. Goro wanted to tell her that he had a living relative still, a piece of trash masquerading as a man. Shido. Masayoshi Shido.

But who’d believe a dirty bastard child over the nation’s darling upstanding politician? The son of a whore with not a single yen to his name against a “respectable” and reliable Masayoshi fucking Shido. Even as a child, Goro understood that he won’t get his justice. This biased, pathetic excuse of a system won’t ever give him his justice. He followed that woman into an orphanage and let the years pass being shuffled from place to place. No roots. No friends. No bonds. Just a pebble thrown into sea, meant to be swallowed and spat back out again.

Goro won’t get justice. Justice for the years he suffered unwanted, unneeded, and unloved. He won’t get justice for his mother whose only mistake was being too kind and loving something that deserved no love at all. Justice for the society that looked at his face and deemed him unworthy to be saved and left him to drown.

Goro won’t ever get justice.

“But I can give you vengeance.”

Vengeance.

That word, over and over again in his dreams, a promise, a vow, an offer and an absolution. Goro didn’t know when it started, exactly. All he knew is that at some point in the blur of his adolescence, a voice started calling out to him in his dreams. Hands with black-painted nails, perfectly manicured, beckoning him into the depth of an endless void. Pointed horns and red eyes. A smile and the glint of shiny teeth. And in his mind, the voice would ring out, “Vengeance. Vengeance. Vengeance.”

Justice is for children. Wide-eyed children with petty idealism and a gross misunderstanding of how the world works, of how cruel the world is, of how unwanted and unneeded and un-special they were. Vengeance, though… Vengeance for his mother’s life ruined by the selfish ego of one man undeserving of every breath he deigned to steal, his cruelty, his blatant disregard for the one thing that Goro had in this sham of a life. Vengeance for Goro. Vengeance to quell the pit of hatred and despair and the thrashing of wild listlessness and chaos.

Vengeance, Goro could get.

“Don’t you want Vengeance, Goro Akechi?” asked the voice in his dreams. “Son of a whore and a bastard child. You are playing an unjust game in a world that will never deliver justice.” A hand shot out from the darkness. Pale skin. Dark nails. And past that, further in, gleaming eyes. Blood red. Inhuman. “I can offer you vengeance. I can offer you Masayoshi Shido’s head on a pike, his legacy tarnished, the vision of Japan he was willing to burn the world down for handed to you on a silver platter.”

And in his dreams, Goro always refused. Denied and rejected and lashed out with violent words and the hurl of his fists that only ever seemed to pass through smoke. Even in his dreams, he was taunted. Taunted with something he can never truly have.

That time though, that night, on the eighth anniversary of the day of his mother’s death, on the day Goro stood alone over her grave crushing a delicate flower in his murderous, loveless hands, the creature lurking in Goro’s head won.

In that dream, Goro had reached out back into the darkness, hands shaking as he hesitated mere inches from the flawless hand beckoning him into a mad abyss. “And you’d want something in return, I presume?”

There was almost a chuckle in response to that. “But of course,” said the creature. Horns flashed for a brief moment, sharp and black and angled forward. Flames seemed to lick up the creature’s smile. “All I ask is possession of your immortal soul, Goro Akechi. Give that to me upon your death, and you will have all that you want and more.”

A soul. A soul to finally see Shido fall. To see his pathetic excuse for a father finally get his just desserts. A soul to get the justice -the vengeance- for his mother, for himself. Goro leaned forward, let his bony half-starved hand grasp the one shrouded in darkness, and spoke:

“You have yourself a deal.”

Because really. His soul was dirty, broken, and worth less than the mud on his shirt.

If that’s what he had to give, then he’d give it. Gladly. A hundred, a thousand, a million times over.

The figure in the darkness of his dreams grasped his hand, grasped it tightly, too tightly, until it began to hurt but Goro held on. Then the hand shaked his, slowly, deliberately, and a burning searing pain followed. Not in Goro’s hand but further in, his chest, his head, his heart. His soul. It burned and burned and burned a searing pain, like something was peeling his skin away bit by agonising bit. Still Goro held on.

“Stubborn,” chuckled the voice in Goro’s dream. The hand receded, the pain faded, until all that Goro was left with was darkness and the piercing red eyes. “We will get along well, Goro Akechi.”

The eyes vanished and left behind an echo.

“You may call me Joker.”

Goro woke up.

He was not a child, not a teenager fraught with dreams of deals and vengeance and darkness. He was Goro Akechi, a respected detective fresh out of the academy, praise and accolades and connections to his name. Loved by the common folk for his humble beginnings, an orphan who had to work and bleed and sweat to claw his way into the upper echelons of society, a beacon of hope that maybe they too can make their way up the ladder. Loved by the elite for his charm and wit and charisma, his flawless manners, his cadence, his posture, his mask. One of his masks.

It took years. Years longer than what Goro would have wanted, years longer than what Goro could have been patient with, but at last, he could begin the endeavor that kept him going through years. Bring down Shido. More than a quick death. More than humiliation. More than anything Goro himself could have thought of.

The thing that Masayoshi Shido valued most. Himself. His reputation. His power. His legacy. His control. Brick by fucking brick, Goro would tear it all down. Watch the ruins burn in ashes. Have Shido’s name cursed for years, for generations, for future historians to come. Have the entirety of this nation sneer at the mere mention of his name.

All it took was a soul.

The best damn thing Goro’s soul could ever be worth, honestly.

“I can do many things, Goro, but even I can’t delay a dedicated media crew,” came a voice in his head. Familiar, after years of hearing it. Joker stood at the doorway, insouciant, relaxed, leaning against the frame of Goro’s bedroom door with that irritating nigh-permanent smirk on his face.

He looked human now, which was probably the most unsettling thing about him. No horns. No face wreathed in fire. No clawed hands, no tail, no wings. Joker’s red eyes were a very human black, framed with glasses that made him look innocent and harmless when he was anything but. “Out of bed Goro.” Really, the only thing that belied Joker’s true nature was his smile. The glint of canines just a bit too sharp to be human, visible for only a breath before vanishing once again into this perfect veneer. A mask. “The new Detective Prince can’t be late for his own interview, Goro. Out of bed.”

The pillows were soft, the mattress inviting, the window positioned just so to let the right amount of sunlight in. Ultimately simple, so that when reporters and paparazzi invaded what little semblance of privacy he had left, all they’d see was a humble man living a humble life. The image Goro wanted to cultivate, that Joker advised him to cultivate. The perfect mask.

With a heavy sigh, Goro dragged himself back to the realm of the conscious with a false smile, practised so often it reached his eyes, crinkled them at the edges and lit them up how a real smile would. It was terrifying how he didn’t even have to think about it, how it was as easy as breathing. “My interview isn’t until after noon.” Goro can’t quite remember the last time he smiled genuinely. It was terrifying that Goro didn’t care. And though sleep clung to him still, Goro sat straight-backed, knees slung over his bed and crossed at the ankle. An image. A mask.

Joker gave him a smile. Well, it wasn’t entirely a smile. There was joy in it, sure, and more than a little excitement, but Goro had never quite seen another human being give that look. One of hedonistic greed not for power or wealth but for thrill, chasing something that can’t be caught and loving every second anyway. A dangerous thing, an incorporeal thing, an emotion or an experience or just the mere imaginings of something too alien for Goro to grasp.

“It isn’t. But wouldn’t you want to witness the death of the IT President that eats from Shido’s hand like a loyal dog?”

But then again, Joker wasn’t human.

For all Goro knew, this look was how creatures like Joker smiled. If they could even smile. If Goro could even smile. His camera-ready expression slipped into something other at the news. Lips stretched wide, teeth bared. It might have been a smile. It might have been him imitating the expression Joker’s face. It might have been simply Goro, delighted to know that the crumbling of Shido’s empire had already begun. Sadistic and feral and removed.

“I thought you said that Shido shouldn’t die,” said Goro conversationally, in the same tone one might discuss the weather. Despite how still and steady his voice was, he could not hide the excited tremor that ran through his body, the thrill of seeing his dream finally begin to take root and bloom into an ugly thorny rose.

If Joker noticed, he did not say. “True. I said Shido shouldn’t die. But I said nothing of the men working under him.” Goro was on his feet. Wordlessly, Joker handed him a simple summer outfit, a coat, his gloves. “The ultimate suffering for Shido is a life without power, without influence. A long life of being less than nothing. His subordinates though?”

“Weapons,” said Goro as he dressed himself. To be used against Shido. To have their lives be the sword and the bullets and the gun. To have their deaths be a wound.

For a split second, Goro could have sworn that flames erupted in Joker’s eyes. But when he blinked, it was gone, and Joker was laughing.“Right you are, Goro. They’re casualties in the war. Trash. Tools that have outlived their usefulness.” Joker led Goro out the bedroom, into the hall. Handed him a cup of coffee and a sandwich. “A threat to Shido perhaps?” Joker paused his stride just long enough to look into Goro’s eyes. “Maybe our IT President found something about Shido that he shouldn’t have.” They did not stop in the dining room for Goro’s breakfast.

“Did he?”

“Does it matter?” Joker asked.

“It doesn’t.”

Joker chuckled. The hallway light flickered with each breath and the shadows curled at his ankle. “We’ll create a story, Goro. The president dies from some… unseen force and you’re simply the good samaritan who wanted to help. You’ll get closer to the public, you get an in with Shido, and you get to watch the fall from inside the ivory tower.”

Goro took a sip of his coffee. Roasted to perfection. “And you will get my soul.”

They passed by the floor mirror in the living room. Joker’s reflection was not that of a man with fluffy black hair and a dark button-up. It was shadow and flame and a creature with horns and black-clawed hands. “And I will get your soul. But only after you watch Shido get dragged through something worse than hell. Such is the terms of our deal.”

All for the price of Goro’s soul.

“Well,” Goro smiled, sharp and fake and utterly convincing, “I suppose I’ll take my morning walk. I have an interview coming up, after all. I should clear my head.”

Joker laughed. Deep, hungry, triumphant. He vanished into black smoke and receded into the dark corners of the house just as Goro opened the door. He wasn’t gone though, not really. There was a fire in Goro’s chest, painful and freeing and damning all at once. A brand of malediction and a stain on the soul he already sold.

And when Goro saw a brown-haired man in nice clothes with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder suddenly collapse in the middle of the street, grasping his throat for invisible hands that slowly strangled life out, he heard Joker’s voice in his head again. Loud, clear, and malicious.

Vengeance.

Vengeance.

Vengeance.

Goro dropped his coffee and his breakfast and rushed forward, putting on a mask that fit far too well on his face. “Are you alright sir!?”

Vengeance.

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 4: Empty Union

Lance and Keith marry, and endure what every couple endures: gossip.

First  Previous  Next

Lance hears Keith's footsteps falter, hears a tiny chirp as they reach the doors to the throne room. He grits his teeth and pretends he didn't. There's nothing he can do right now except bear the brunt of the work.

The procession enters the throne room, Lance allowing his gossamer cloak to drag the floor behind him. His gold decorations chime in time with his steps. He recognizes a few of his previous paramours among the throng. Poor things. They’ll surely miss him.

Lance has plans.

Lance is the last to ascend the dais, glancing to his sister as she takes her former place next to Coran. Lance sits carefully in his throne, hands dangling from the arms of his chair. His father reaches out to his quintessence, disapproving, and Lance’s gloved hands find their way into his lap, clasped just so. King Alfor draws away.

The doors open again, Emperor Zarkon and Empress Honerva leading the procession in, Prince Lotor following, then Keith, just behind.

The kit looks terrified, but also like he’s trying to look impassive. Lance’s insides clench with guilt. His eyes find a predesignated corner, to where Hunk and Pidge stand. The only people beside his family that Lance actually wanted here. Hunk is smiling, offering a thumbs up. Pidge waves, even as their eyes keep sliding to Keith’s smallish form.

Lance wonders fleetingly if Keith might like them. Hunk, certainly, since the Balmeran will keep him from starving to death. Everyone loves Hunk, anyway. Perhaps he’ll like Pidge, too. The Olkari can be loud and overzealous, but they can be understanding, too. Something Keith might appreciate. Lance makes a note to introduce them to each other as soon as possible...

The royal family of Daibazaal stands to one side of the aisle. Keith kneels before the dais, Shiro’s hand upon his right shoulder.

“Speak, Lord Yurak of House Kogane of Daibazaal,” Alfor murmurs, quiet voice booming through the room. Alfor commands a room just by being in it.

Keith opens his mouth. The entire congregation must hear that shuddering, composing breath. It rings in Lance’s ears.

“I, Lord Yorak of House Kogane of Daibazaal, do hereby swear fealty to the Planet Altea and the presiding Crown. I give my life to the people, my essence to the earth, and my heart to the one who would take it.”

“Speak, Crown Prince Lancel of Altea.” Alfor leans back almost imperceptibly, all the cue Lance needs. Lance stands, slow and trembling. He steps forward, stopping at the edge of the dais, standing right in front of Keith. Allura stands just behind him, hand on his right shoulder.

“I, Crown Prince Lancel of Altea, do hereby accept your oath of fealty to Planet Altea and the presiding Crown. I accept your life, and will keep it well. I accept your essence, and will hold it dear. I accept your heart, and will treasure it always. I, in turn, offer you my life, essence, and heart for your own, to keep, hold dear, and treasure.”

“I accept your generous offer, as you have accepted mine.” Keith sounds like he would rather be anywhere else. He sounds tired.

“Your oaths are heard, understood, and approved, and hereby you are wed,” Alfor declares.

Allura’s hand slips away as she retakes her place. Lance removes his gloves and holds out a hand. Keith takes it, ascending the dais and entering the Altean royal family. Lance turns to Adam, who holds a small pillow bearing a circlet. He lays his gloves next to the piece.

Their hands are now bare to one another, and therefore, so are their hearts. There is no longer anything to separate them.

There is everything to separate them.

Lance gently lifts the circlet, settling it on top of Keith’s head, where it just barely brushes against his ears where it sits between them. They twitch and rotate, adjusting to the gentle touch. It’s kind of adorable.

Lance simply sighs in relief: it fits. Pidge had nearly throttled him when he’d asked them to modify it. Then they’d conceded that they should have thought about Galra ears in the first place.

“Behold Crown Prince Lancel and Prince Yorak of Altea!” Alfor booms. The crowd cheers, more excited for the banquet than for the marriage of their Crown Prince to some smallish Galra nobody.

Lance does his duty and pulls Keith close, one hand at the small of his back, another softly cradling Keith’s face. He presses their lips together as gently and sweetly as he can. Keith responds, his attempt inept, obviously inexperienced.

It would be sweet, if not for the reasons. Instead of dwelling on that, Lance pulls back, rubbing their noses together sweetly. Putting on a show. He draws the pliant Galra into a gentle embrace. That tail wraps around Lance's ankle.

Leaning his head to the side, Lance whispers in Keith’s ear, “Do you remember what I told you in the drawing room?” The Galra nods, muscles shifting beneath Lance’s hands. “The court is a den of lions. Bear with it, and I will get you away as soon as I can, I promise.”

Keith draws back, meets his gaze, but says nothing. Lance isn’t troubled. After all, he’d told the newly-appointed prince to trust no one.

Instead, Lance pulls him in for another kiss, this one more affirming. The courtiers coo and babble. The illusion is working.

...Somewhat.

Keith understands what Lance kept going on about roughly five doboshes into the dinner. The underhanded compliments. The kind that make Keith seethe like nothing else.

“He’s almost cute. For a Galra.”

“Oh, by the Ancients! He has a tail! Oh well. There are worse things, I suppose.”

“It’s actually quite fortunate that he’s small, when you think about it... Not-not that I’m thinking about it dear!”

“He seems gentler than most of his kind.”

“It’s best that he’s the quiet sort. Don’t want those fangs scaring away common folk.”

“He seems surprisingly well-adapted to civilized society.”

“I understand he’s intersex. Freaky, but I suppose it’s for the best. We do need an heir after all. Hopefully they’ll put him away somewhere during, though. I don’t want to see that.”

“He seems very young if you ask me. Almost too young. Though the Crown Prince is probably into that, if we’re being honest.”

Keith stares down at the weird Altean food. It all tastes ‘sweet’, or so he’s been told. He can’t taste ‘sweet.’ Has no concept of it. Instead, everything tastes like what he imagines hatred would taste like: tiny hints and aftertastes that leave him nauseous. He can’t eat.

Lance’s hand reaches down to where his own are clasped tightly in his lap and gently squeezes them. Keith flinches, forgetting his place for a moment, and the warm hand slips away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lance chatting seemingly untroubled with some courtier who’s commenting on how the Altean garb “almost seems to suit the little creature.”

“He was trying to reassure you,” Shiro murmurs in his ear, switching to their native tongue in case anyone overhears.

“Of what?” Keith whispered back. “That he likes kits?”

“I doubt it. He was all but scolding Emperor Zarkon this morning. I was listening by the door.” Keith feels a little better at that. Perhaps Lance will be gentle with him, if nothing else.

Never trust an Altean.

Lance is an enemy in an exceptionally pleasing guise. His ears are adorned with piercings and clasps, tiny gold chains strung between them. His bottom lip is painted gold, his upper in blue. His eyes are lined with blue and gold kohl. His bright blue scales glitter in the light. Even his fingernails are blue and gold. Death in a luxurious vessel.

His smile is pretty too, especially when it reaches his eyes. The only people he seems keen to smile at are his sister and Prince Lotor, though he does try for his fathers. And for Keith.

The prince is definitely trying to smile for him. He never looks happy, though. Keith imagines Lance is disappointed. No doubt he would rather have an Altean sitting beside him.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s still going to-” Keith breaks off, scared. His mating instincts, his drive haven’t even kicked in yet. As he is, his instincts are to run, or, if cornered, to lash out. Like any kit. Shiro gives him another pained look, ears down and to the side in a show of distress. Keith takes a deep breath, pushing down his fear, getting control of himself again. He cannot seem weak before these people.

“Well it’s good that he’s so young. He can still be civilized,” a booming Altean voice rings out. Keith stiffens, on the verge of losing his temper, when Lance raises his voice.

“The next person who says a single word against my spouse or our guests will be removed from court. I’ve had enough.” Silence rings out. Lance sips casually from his chalice, not visibly troubled. “Prince Yorak has married into a society that has spent centuries perfecting the art of killing his species. He is extremely brave, and for that and more, he means the world to me. I won’t tolerate another word. Especially from you, Lord Lanval. You’re drunk. Go home.”

Lance rises from his seat in one fluid motion, offers Keith a bangled hand. Keith stares at it, a confusing mix of fear and gratitude making him slow. But anything’s better than being here. He takes the prince’s hand.

The prince turns to his parents, bows.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to cause such a scene. But we are tired, and shall take our leave.” Alfor nods, looking tired as well. Coran’s eyes seem to smile a little. As they head out, Lance puts a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, leaning down to his ear as the conversation begins to pick backup again, loud and lewd as they make their exit. “When you get to your room, Adam will bring you something else to eat. Don’t force yourself,” he whispers. Shiro has never looked so grateful.

The emperor isn’t eating either. Keith assumes something has been prepared for him as well.

He follows the prince out of the dining hall, comments and bawdy jokes hooted after them. Lance sighs, managing a small smile for him. "Come on. Let's get out of here so I can take this paint off my face. It's been driving me crazy all day. And you can take off that stiff vest. I'm sure you hate it."

"I do," Keith admitted. "I really, really do."

"Quiznak, me too. Let's get out of here. There should be some food waiting for you when we get there."

Keith smiles a small, genuine smile as the prince tugs him along down a series of hallways. It's only the second time that Crown Prince Lancel has seemed like a real person as opposed to some particularly well-groomed pet.

Keith likes this person.

[transformersaesthetics]

Top Ten Expensive Transformers

The hiatus is over! Thanks for your patience with last week folks. Something a bit different today Tumblr! Not the long awaited project, but a fun little aside. A while ago, I was scrolling around on Google, and I saw a clickbait article that alleged to discuss ‘the top ten most difficult to obtain Transformers’. I was curious, and, perhaps foolishly, I clicked on it. To my disappointment, the article was merely a list of expensive MISB G1 figures, which is… Well, boring. So, today, I hope to correct that grave injustice with an article about, in a loose order, 10 Transformers that are difficult to obtain, even if you’re willing to lay out a lot of money. 

A couple of rules before we jump in; First, these aren’t the most expensive Transformers or the rarest transformers, because those questions don’t really make sense. How much a figure costs varies from seller to seller, so it’s impossible to establish a list of the absolute most expensive. Also, many figures that are famously expensive are not expensive in absolute terms, but for their price point.  Similarly, with an exception we’ll discuss in a moment, actual rarity can be quite hard to establish. As far as contents of the list go,  Takara Tomy will occasionally create special ‘lucky draw’ figures for contests in magazines and things. How many they produce varies from figure to figure, but it generally is between 50 and 10. These will be excluded from the list, because if they weren’t, the whole list would be lucky draw figures. (Although they’re cool as shit and you should go take a look http://www.luckydrawtransformers.com/)  Similarly, there are a ton of figures like Victory Leokaiser that command a lot of money on the secondary market just because they were japanese exclusive. These would also take up a ton of room on the list, so I’m going to avoid them unless there’s a really good reason to have them on here. Same for convention exclusives. Without further ado, let’s get started! 

10: Action Master Thundercracker 

Normally, when a toy is exclusive to somewhere, it’s Japan. However, as we’ll discuss later, in G1, Europe and other parts of the world saw some strange distribution. (NexusShard17) Towards the end of G1, “the European Hasbro branches continued releasing new toys which the USA would never get.”(NexusShard17) Perhaps the most notorious of these is Action Master Thundercracker, which has one of the most magnificent color schemes ever seen on a transformer. Where Thundercracker is traditionally blue, Action Master Thundercracker is neon pink, lime green, and a bunch of metallic copper paint and baby blue thrown in for good measure. (Geewunling) Because of the exclusivity of the figure, and it’s desirable, awful color scheme, it tends to command quite a bit on the secondary market. 

How do I get one? 

You can reliably find him on ebay in varying states of completeness, which of course impacts the price. For the figure itself with a few accessories, he goes for around 70-80 dollars, ranging to 150 and up for MISB. 

9: Dark of the Moon Wheeljack/Que: 

Who? 

Wheeljack/Que had a bit part in Dark of the Moon. He was mostly kind of around until he got shot towards the end of the film, for emotions or something. (SFH) He had a toy fully produced, but, when the DOTM line was prematurely axed, Wheeljack’s toy was left in limbo. Takara was eventually able to release Wheeljack in their markets, but he never saw an official US release. (SFH)  

How do I get one? 

Because the toy did actually see an official release somewhere on the planet, it’s not particularly rare, just expensive for a deluxe. You can generally buy one for around $100 on eBay. 

Notes: 

This fate is actually fairly common for toys. Most of the final wave of DOTM was eventually released by Takara. Similarly, although much of the tail end of Transformers: Animated was genuinely axed, figures such as Blackout did see release in Japan.(Abates) (And are also quite expensive.) I mostly picked Wheeljack because he’s the one I always think of. 

8: Masterforce Browning

Who? 

Browning was exclusive to the Japanese G1 line, Super God Masterforce. However, what really makes him difficult to come by is his alternate mode; Browning turns into a Browning M1910 pistol. (TVsGrady) Not only does he turn into a real model of gun, it’s a pretty convincing alt-mode from a distance; no orange safety cap, just sweet sweet chrome the whole figure over. Obviously, this would not fly in today’s toy market, and that makes a reissue of Browning extremely unlikely.

How do I get one? 

Between the reissue problem, the fact that his alt-mode is honestly really cool and novel, and his limited, Japanese release, it’s tough to even find an original Browning for sale on Ebay. Even when he is available, he tends to command a clean couple hundred. Your best bet would be dedicated trading forums. 

7: Hasbro DOTM Leadfoot 

Who? 

Much like Wheeljack, Leadfoot had a bit part in DOTM. He showed up for a few scenes with the Wreckers and built a spaceship and made Nascar jokes. Also like Wheeljack, Leadfoot was planned to receive a deluxe class figure, but with the untimely demise of DOTM, it was not to be. Takara did release a version of Leadfoot, and, like Wheeljack, this is expensive, but not unobtainable. What is excruciatingly hard to come by is one of the unreleased Hasbro two-packs of the character, which contained Leadfoot in a different deco from Takara’s, and a deluxe Topspin. Packaged samples are known to exist, but never officially saw release in any market. 

How do I get one? 

Takara’s Leadfoot generally commands $80-150 on eBay, and you can generally find one or two floating around. If you want the Hasbro deco, well… Good luck. The transformers wiki confirms that there was once one listed on eBay.(MSipher) Now, nine years after DOTM, your best bet would be to know someone, to know someone who knows someone, or to have an in at a place where things like this are discussed and trafficked. 

6: Rally Rhinox 

Who? 

Many of you are likely familiar with the Beast Wars character Rhinox. Many of you are probably not familiar with the promotional toy that character received at local American chain Rally’s. (S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) It looks nothing like Rhinox, or even really like a rhino.(S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) However, “Most people didn't realize the promotion even existed until after it was over, and the restaurant chain is fairly small and somewhat regional.” (S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) Because collectors are how they are, it tends to be quite expensive. 

How do I get one? 

The cursory ebay search I did recently didn’t turn anything up. However, a little more digging found some previous listings on old transformers forums. It appears to have gone for about 100 dollars, which is quite a bit, considering it’s a worse happy meal toy. 

5:Latin American G1 product 

What? 

G1’s international distribution was a bit of a mess. Hasbro handled the US, but “The earliest toys released in continental Europe (minus Italy) were distributed by Milton Bradley, which was in the process of being taken over by Hasbro at that point.”(NexusShard17, The Transformers) In Latin America, the situation was even more complex. No fewer than five licensees were producing G1 figures, often in unique and striking color schemes. (Whalermouse) With the passage of time, the exact scope of what was produced has become unclear; for example, “There are supposedly upwards of three dozen different mold/color combinations altogether, many of them unique to the Peruvian line, but the ravages of time have made samples stunningly rare and reliable information scarce.” (Whalermouse) The actual rarity of the figures depends on what specific piece you’re after, but all of them command outrageous sums. 

How do I get one? 

Many of these pieces are available to purchase on ebay. However, even the mini-vehicles tend to command on the order of 300-400 dollars. However, as you can imagine from the fact that it is uncertain what all exists, some individual colors and figures might prove exquisitely difficult to find. 

4: W Cassettebots 

What? 

Wouldn’t it be cool if Soundwave had some cassettes that turned into dinosaurs? What if they combined? Well if you lived in Japan in the 80’s, and preferred Blaster, you didn’t have to dream. There were two teams of cassettes that turned into dinosaurs, and that combined, albeit somewhat awkwardly. (M Sipher, W Cassettebot) At the end of the Headmasters, “there were a number of toys exclusive to Japan, most of which today command large sums on the secondary market due to rarity (or at least perceived rarity) in the West.” The W Cassettebots were solidly in that category. However, unlike other such exclusives, the W Cassettebots didn’t see a reissue until 2018-2019. (Interrobang; S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) For decades these figures could command 2000-3000 dollars for the pair. Even knock offs would go for several hundred dollars. Although these are expensive simply because of their exclusivity, their notoriety earns them a place on the list. 

How do I get one? 

If you’re a reasonable human being, you buy the reissue. It’s two orders of magnitude cheaper and you can actually play with it.  If you’re actually interested in the real deal, an accepted path is to buy some KOs to familiarize yourself with what those look like, and then… find the boys themselves somewhere? Likely by reaching out to an individual seller; I’ve never even seen a real pair on ebay. 

3: G2 Bomber Megatron 

A toy that essentially anyone can buy, but with a packaging variant that is next to unobtainable? Oh baybee, welcome to this version of G2 Megatron. “A planned-but-more-or-less-canceled redeco of Generation 2 Dreadwing, this two-pack of Megatron and Starscream was only released to test markets in Ohio in very limited quanities, and never saw a wide release… the toy was instead made available, with just a few small deco changes, in the Beast Wars II toyline as BB and Starscream.”(ItsWalky) Why do we care about how difficult this is to obtain? My god, because it’s there. Because it’s there. 

How do I get one? 

I’mma say you don’t. I’d guess less than 500 samples of any sort of this are around, and new in sealed box which is the only thing you’d care about? You’re at the mercy of Ohioese children of the 80s not playing with the cool toy they were bought. Good luck finding one. When you do, be prepared to break your wallet in half. 

2: G2 Defensor and Menasor 

These guys really should be number one on the list (but they’re not quite for a good reason). The place they occupy in transformers culture is legendary. It’s a newsworthy event when a set of these figures even becomes available to buy. Even Hasbro has lampshaded the rarity of these figures in the bio of one Shortround, a Cybertron toy. (KilMichaelMcC; Bronzewolf) Much as the first entry on our list, Action Master Thundercracker, had a phenomenally garish color scheme, Menasor and Defensor were going to be released that way in G2. However, between one thing and another, they were canceled. In spite of that, several samples are known to exist. Imagine it. A G1 combiner, unreleased, with this magnificent, gaudy color scheme, all those delightful little bits and pieces to lose or misplace over the years, a bare handful of extant ones in any event… The stuff of legends, to be sure. 

How do I get one? 

Know someone who knows someone. These tend to go for in the neighborhood of 20000 dollars. If you have the 20k to drop on one of these guys, you probably know someone who can put you in contact with one. They are also, rarely, listed on ebay. 

1: Chrome Optimus Prime

Okay, I know I said no Lucky Draw figures, but this one is special. There aren’t ten, or fifteen, or fifty of these. There are exactly two, as part of a single display. (MasterX224) “Won by TFW2005.com member James Zahn, this one-of-a-kind (well, two-of-a-kind) piece is an almost fully vacuum-metallized Leader-class Optimus Prime in red, silver and blue (based heavily upon Generation 1 Optimus Prime), presented with a custom display base with an embossed silver Autobot insignia and a perspex display case.” (MasterX224) The fact that there are two of this figure catapults it to the absolute stratosphere of rarity. It’s difficult to imagine what figure that actually exists could be rarer than this. Maybe a one-off thing for a valued Takara employee? Maybe the very first prototype of Optimus Prime? Even things like Menasor and Defensor have a handful of samples. What has just two? Well… this Chrome Optimus Prime. 

How do I get one? 

Well it helps to be James Zhan. And… yeah I think that’s really all. He’s certainly not going to give it up any time soon. Maybe if you meet him he’ll let you take a look at it some day? 

I hope you all enjoyed this loose list of some of the rarest/most expensive for what they are Transformers. There’s a ton of other super notorious lads, (cough G1 Raiden cough) that really do deserve to be on here. These are just a few of the ones I thought were interesting and, candidly, know about. I’m not in the circles of those folks who are collecting the rarest of the rare. If there’s anything you know about or would even like to spread rumors about, mention it! I’d love to hear about them. Also, if this caught your fancy, make sure to check out the lucky draw website. They have all sorts of interesting stories up there.

TVsGrady et al. “Browning” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Browning Accessed 11/1/2020

SFH et al. “Wheeljack (Movie)” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Que Accessed 11/27/2020

Abates et al. “Blackout (Animated)” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Blackout_(Animated) Accessed 11/27/2020

NexusShard17 et al/ “Transformers: Dark of the Moon (toyline)” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Transformers:_Dark_of_the_Moon_(toyline) Accessed 11/27/2020

MSipher et al. “Leadfoot (DOTM)” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Leadfoot_(DOTM) Accessed 11/27/2020

S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47 “Rhinox (BW)/toys” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Rhinox_(BW)/toys#Beast_Wars Accessed 11/27/2020

NexusShard17 et al. “ The Transformers (European toyline)” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/The_Transformers_(European_toyline)#1985 Accessed 11/27/2020

Whalermouse et al. “The Transformers (Toyline)” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/The_Transformers_(toyline)#Mexican_.26_South_American_Transformers Accessed 11/27/2020

MSipher et al. “W Cassettebot” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/W_Cassettebot Accessed 11/27/2020

M Sipher et al. “Fight! Super Robot Lifeform Transformers! (toyline)” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Transformers:_The_Headmasters_(toyline)#1987_.28The_Headmasters.29 Accessed 11/27/2020

Interrobang et al. “Graphy” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Graphy#Vintage_G1 Accessed 11/27/2020

S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47 et al. “Dairu” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Dairu#Toys Accessed 11/27/2020

Geewunling et al. “Thundercracker (G1)/toys” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Thundercracker_(G1)/toys#ActionMaster Accessed 11/27/2020

ItsWalky et al. “Megatron (G1)/toys” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Megatron_(G1)/toys#Generation_2 Accessed 11/27/2020

Bronzewolf, “Unreleased G2 Menasor Prototype listed on Ebay again” Siebertron

https://www.seibertron.com/transformers/news/unreleased-g2-menasor-prototype-listed-on-ebay-again/36662/ Accessed 11/27/2020

KilMichaelMcC et al. “Generation 2 Defensor and Menasor” TFwiki.

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Generation_2_Defensor_and_Menasor Accessed 11/27/2020

MasterX224 et al. “Optimus Prime (Movie)/toys” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Optimus_Prime_(Movie)/toys#Leader_Class_toys Accessed 11/27/2020

[disasterhumans]

Caleb(/Bren) Visits Astrid’s Home [C2E89 Transcript]

Matt: Situated in the north-eastern reaches of the Shimmer Ward, you come upon the address state in the letter: 31 Wodestone Manor. A respectable manor house, rests on an expansive property that seems to bear numerous other abodes across its snaking grasses and fencing. All which wrap around and sit in the shadow of one of the ominous towers of The Candles. A familiar one. Her manor house is one of many that sit on a property that encircles Trent Ikithon’s tower. You can see the manor house is largely built form bleached, pale wood, with dark window frames making for a curious contrast. It looks very nice. [...] This home is two stories [...] the second story [...] is more like an additional room. It’s nice, but not as big as some of the other estates you’ve seen here.

It’s past evening, so some of the lanterns in the district are lit. Some folk are walking through, but most of the Shimmer Ward has died down. [...] The interior [of the house] is lit.

(Caleb stands in the street for about ten minutes, staring at Astrid’s manor house, and the tower, before working up the courage to walk up to the front door, and use its iron knocker. A few moments pass, and a halfling, male servant dressed in a pale suit opens the door.)

Servant: Uh– might I help you?

Caleb: Eh... yeah. I’m here to see the lady of the house.

Servant: And, ah, who might you be?

Caleb (Bren?): My name is Bren Aldric Ermendrud.

Servant: I’ll pass this on to the lady. Please be patient.

(The servant re-enters the house, leaving Caleb on the stoop. A few moments pass before the servant reappears.)

Servant: Uh, the lady will see you shortly. Um, if you would please step in, there is a guest holding chamber, if you wouldn’t mind waiting for a moment?

Caleb (Bren?): Of course.

Servant: Of course.

Matt: As you step inside, the hosting chamber is a very sparsely decorated room. While the exterior looks very nice, the interior is very minimalistic. You’ve seen a lot of garish homes on the inside of a lot of affluent folk who just fill it with decor and paintings; very much a display. This house...a lot of the rooms just feel more empty, but not in a way that feels like it’s unintentional. Everything is particularly placed and spacious. And this hosting chamber is no different: small table under the window, those two couches, not much else—the walls are pretty barren here.

(The servant exits the room. Caleb take a seat, sitting “absolutely stock still,” He can feel his heartbeat throughout his entire body. His chest and stomach grow hot, swelling with nerves.)

Matt: You begin to hear footsteps approach. [In] the archway that leads into the hosting chamber, a figure steps in, and [...] raises a hand. The low candlelight in the room raises to get brighter. You see a human woman in her mid-thirties. Dirty-blonde hair, extremely short in the back, but long and [...] side-combed in the front, framing the right side of her face, to just past the chin. She looks toward you—a familiar face, if older—with a hard look in her eyes, but a smile, with a heavy scar—that is new—that rides from the top of the brow, to the bottom of the chin. She is dressed simply.

(Caleb rises.)

Astrid: (in Common) Well, it has been some time. I was not expecting...you, Bren.

Caleb (Bren?): (in Zemnian) Let’s speak in our regular tongue.

Astrid: (nods) (in Zemnian) Of course.

Caleb (Bren?): Hi.

Astrid: (simply, gently) Hello.

Caleb (Bren?): Um. I think I’ve been, uh, imagining and dreading this moment for… longer than I care to admit.

Astrid: Hm. I’m sorry “dread” was a word, but I’m sure you have your reasons.

(Several beats pass in silence)

Caleb (Bren?): … there’s so many things that I—

Astrid: (raising hand in a placating manner) Sit. Sit. (crosses room to sit on opposite couch from Bren. She rolls up her sleeves to show a series of dark, maze-like tattoos along her arms. She folds her hands on her knee.)

Caleb (Bren?): Um… so much. What happened?

Astrid: (wryly) A lot of things have happened, Bren. Where would you like me to begin?

Caleb (Bren?): Um… (beat) The last thing I remember is my home.

Astrid: (sighs)

(Several moments of silence pass)

Astrid: We were… chosen, for a reason. From obscurity, picked from the rest of the riff-raff for something that we… can do. (long beat) And to…seize such a destiny, can cause a lot of heartache. (beat) And we can do some terrible things.

(long beat of silence)

Caleb (Bren?): (rubs hand over his mouth) Um. Eh— It’s strange. I find myself wanting to, um… Apologize. Still. So much of me feels like… I f– I failed. But… A lot has changed, and I-I know some things now, that I didn’t, as a boy, and… I’m so glad to see you.

Astrid: (rueful) I’m glad to see you too, Bren. (beat) I mean, it’s been well over a decade… but we still often talked about and wondered where you were. If you were okay.

Caleb (Bren?): How did I— (clears throat [Liam: he’s in a cold sweat]) Um. How did I get to the sanatorium?

Astrid: (careful) W-we took you there. (pitying) You had a breaking point. And—understandably—began to lash out. Part of that same spark that was seen in you, could create a lot of sparks everywhere else. (reaches up to scratch at her neck, and reveal the burn scars there). (in the tones of parent placating a child) But for your own good, we took care of you, and we brought you there. But we had to subdue you first. You were too dangerous to us—and to yourself.

Caleb (Bren?): (beat) I… was there a long time.

Astrid: And we always hoped that you’d… (small smile) That you’d improve. And at times you did, and… I mean, to be honest, even looking at you now, and hearing some of the things that you’re doing… I mean you’ve defied all of our expectations. And if you feel like you failed then, know that everyone’s path goes at… different paces. You’ve certainly proven now that you are in no way shape a failure.

Caleb (Bren?): What are you doing these days?

Astrid: I’m… doing a bit of tutelage. I’m doing what we were meant to do. Which is keep our people safe.

Caleb (Bren?): (roughly) Is it difficult for you?

Astrid: At times. But I take pride in my work. And I’ve stopped some terrible things from happening. And I’ve seen some of the possibilities of what can be done when the right application with the right minds [sic].

Caleb (Bren?): Had you heard that my, uh, friends and I were here?

Astrid: It was… (wry smile) rather rapid chatter once Trent had notified us of the return of the lost pup.

Caleb (Bren?): You know what the Mighty Nein and I are leaning to do?

Astrid: I’ve heard. (smiles) And I’m very curious. It seems… I mean it seems so...not what I would have expected from you. So much more. I’m impressed. I’m proud.

(beat)

Caleb: When I, um (swallows), came back to myself. In Vergessen. There was a-a woman. A patient, I think. Sh– um… she healed me? And… This might be hard for me to convince you, but, she helped me see things. What we did that night… I-I did fail. But I didn’t fail the Empire. I failed myself, and my mother and father. (beat) He. Lied. To me. I know he lied. (beat) And if he would lie to me about that. It is hard for me to understand what he wouldn’t like about.

Astrid: (long exhale) (pityingly) Bren… I’m so sorry. (sighs) I’m so sorry. (reaches out to touch Bren’s cheek)

[Liam: Insight check.

[...]

Matt: She seems very genuinely mournful for your pain and your suffering. But there’s also a hardness to it, in like a less ‘this is a terrible thing that happened,’ this is more of a ‘I’m sorry you’ve suffered. As we’ve suffered. As many people have suffered forever, and ever. Life is suffering. And some things are necessary.’ That’s kind of what you glean, off of a very high insight check.] [...]

Astrid: To be gifted, in a world filled with hardship like this, is to do things we’re not proud of. And to question the choices we make, and to regret the things we wish we could change. Do I agree with everything that I’ve been asked to do? No. Do I think about it? Do I lament? Do I see the faces of the people I’ve watched expire at my own hand? All the time. But I also know the reason that we get to sleep every night in a comfortable inn bed, or in a manor—as do the many families and children, just like we were. Just like the families we once had. That don’t have to make the choices we did. They still get to live. Happily, and comfortably. Because the few—the chosen few—made the hard choice, and do what few have the will to do.

(Several moments of silence pass)

Caleb: (sighs) I, um… Hm. I’m sorry. I-I will… never forget what we were. And even now, all these years later, I can’t shake it. I still… care, a great deal, about you. At least, the girl I knew. But. He has blinded you. You and Wulf. And all of his little helpers. And I mourn our childhood. And our souls.

Astrid: (reaches out to rest her hand on Bren’s knee) I understand your anger. And as much as he’s been our teacher, he’s not infallible. He’s just an old man, with the right connections, who will one day pass, like they all do.

Caleb (Bren?): You always were ambitious.

Astrid: So are you, apparently, Bren. Like I said, I’m proud of you.

Caleb (Bren?): I think I better go. (slowly reaches out to touch the scar running down Astrid’s face and/or neck) (beat) Too many scars.

Astrid: I regret none of them. (beat) Except one.

Caleb: Thank you for allowing me into your home. Maybe we will see each other again.

Astrid: You’re welcome any time, Bren. I’d like to… see more of you.

Caleb: Yeah, maybe. (in Common) We’ll see, um… my friends are depending on me.

Astrid: (in Common) Of course, well then you should probably get to them.

[Liam(/Bren/Caleb?): I just sort of hang on her face for a minute. Think about staying. And walk towards the door.]

(Astrid stands and follows Caleb to the door, careful not to crowd him)

Caleb (Bren?): Gute nacht

Astrid: Gute nacht (reaches down to briefly squeeze Bren’s hand)

(Caleb leaves, wending his way back to the inn, and his friends, as Astrid stands in the doorway, arms crossed, and watches him go.)

[jadekitty777]

Baker’s Dozen, Part 2

Final day, final day, final day!

Day 8: Free Day @taiqrowweek

Rating: K

Words: 1,800

Summary: When a desperate escape from fans leaves Qrow seeking shelter in a nearby restaurant, he expects little of the rundown, failing business that offers him a table. One bite is all it takes to change his mind. [Actor and Chef AU]

Ao3 Link: Part 2

~

Mornings at the Qrow’s Nest were blissfully silent. With opening still hours away and the kitchen completely empty, Taiyang had all the time and space he needed to do the various prep work that would carry the lunch and dinner teams throughout the day. The things like soups, breads and desserts that needed a more delicate and mindful touch that would easily be lost under the hustle and bustle of the rush crowds.

It also gave him plenty of opportunity to experiment. He wasn’t used to the more trend-following patrons his new restaurant tended to draw in, but as head chef, it was his job to decide what went on the menu, while also finding new, exciting things to cycle in every season to stray from a stagnating selection. It was a challenge to imagine up different recipes rather than fall into his old, tried-and-true routines, but he’d never been one to quit when things got difficult and instead jumped headfirst into the work.

Thankfully, his business partner was a rather inspiring muse, with an entire filmography page to pull ideas from. Designing meals around whatever hotshot flick or program Qrow happened to be appearing in worked like a charm for both of them. There was less chance his creativity would tank and it drummed up excitement for the upcoming release.

This Fall would see the premiere of The Grimm Adventure, a dark and gritty fantasy-action flick. Though he wasn’t taking a leading role, Qrow still seemed positively beside himself for it to come out (Tai suspected it had something to do with the fact he got to run around for two-thirds of the film with a sword). From what he understood, the story took place in a dystopian world ruled by shadow creatures and followed the journey of a young maiden tasked with saving her dying world. Qrow would appear in it as her mentor, guiding her during her more difficult trials.

The low-lit sets seen in the trailers belayed a morose, almost gothic aesthetic, and had Tai leaning towards garnishes that matched, such as brisket and black-bean chili, forbidden rice and chicken stir fry, southern pork with a side of black-eyed peas and blackberry cobbler and black forest ham with leafy asparagus and roasted potatoes peppered with black garlic. He was most proud of that last one, as it was meant to match the fire-burnt thickets Qrow would save his apprentice from.

The menu was mostly complete and ready to be revealed. The only thing he had left to decide on was the final dessert.

So, Tai flipped on his old cassette player, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

~

Two hours later found him flourishing on the final touches to the cake he’d crafted while belting out the lyrics to whatever western-inspired ditty was managing to come out of the ancient machine.

“Country roooads, take me hooome, to the place I belooong. West Virginia, mountain llama. Oh take me home, country roads.”

No one was around to hear the lyrics he didn’t quite remember right.

So, of course that was the moment someone decided to walk through the door.

“Mountain llama?”

Tai jumped, completely butchering the strawberry he was trying to cut precisely in half. He swiveled around, greeted by the amused smile of his partner. “God’s almighty Qrow! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

He chuckled, holding up his hands in peaceful surrender. “Sorry ‘bout that. It’s just – llama??”

“Oh put a sock in it.” He turned off his player before reaching for another strawberry. As he chopped down, he said, “Surprised to see you here. I thought you were staying in New Zealand a few more days?”

“The reshoots went better than expected, so I caught an early flight.” Qrow explained. “Though I would kill for some coffee right now.”

“Pot’s on for the taking.”

The offer was graciously accepted, and soon enough the other man had a mug in his hand and a seat on the counter, watching as Tai shaped the strawberry halves into hearts. He took a sip of his coffee – black with barely enough cream to color – and asked, “What are you working on?”  

Focused on getting the cut just right this time, his response was distracted. “Dessert, for you.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t have.” Like the thespian he was, Qrow absolutely played it up, putting a hand to his heart and fluttering his eyelashes like a lovestruck debutante.

“You know, they say the first sign of an actor’s career going south is when they start to overact.” He ‘tsk’ed pityingly. “And you were still so young too.”

“Hm, funny,” There was a clear smirk in Qrow’s voice, “Because the only way ‘south’ I intend to go is with you.”

Tai missed the next cut too. Ears burning red, he shot the other a look. The only response he was offered was one brow raised in challenge as he smugly drank his coffee.

As much as he wanted to give back as good as he was given, nothing decent would form in his mind. So, he just grumbled, “Snake”. He’d have felt defeated, if not for how nice on the ears Qrow’s chuckles were. “If you’re all done with your games, I’d appreciate it if you’d have a taste of this cake.”

“You sure you want my opinion on that? You know I’m not much of a dessert guy.”

“Don’t worry, I made sure to temper the sweetness for your tender palate.” He said as fetched the cake from the adjacent workstation’s display shelf. Beyond its stark black frosting, the two-layered cake did not look like much. The decoration was left simple, only a standard spiral design bordering the top and bottom edges. Even the addition of the strawberry slices in a simple ring on top only added a bare hint of color.

The trick was within.

As Tai sliced through the cake, it revealed the marble design inside. Made with a mixture of chocolate and red velvet, the two batters blended together in a swirl like pattern. The layers were neatly divided by a scarlet-bright raspberry filling, bringing all the dark colors and bright reds together. He might not be the most outstanding baker there was – that honor had gone to his late wife – but he still felt a sense of pride as he held out the slice to his partner.

Qrow whistled as he got a proper gander at it. “You really outdid yourself this time.”

“The truth is in the taste, not the view.” Tai handed him a fork next.

“Beg to differ.” He said, eyes never leaving him even as he dug in. “The view’s pretty nice from where I’m looking.”

The flush was back, spreading like a fever across his cheeks.

When they had first met, he had told Qrow he was no fool, unblinded by the trickery of the successful and silver-tongued. He’d like to maintain that eighteen months later, that was still the case. But the game Qrow was playing now was more devious than his first – and one Tai didn’t entirely mind losing.

He could not say quite when it started, all the flirting that grew bolder by the day and lewd comments that left him redder than a rose. At first, it had overwhelmed him; yet before long, he had found himself trying to return those notions. It had been quite some time since anyone had taken a fancy of him but settling down had not left him entirely rusty. Every time he managed to leave Qrow speechless or shy left a pleasant warmth in his belly, like a fire just starting to burn.

So yes, he absolutely knew where all this hemming and hawing was leading them. He just never fathomed in his wildest dreams he’d be heading there with someone like Qrow. On a surface level, he could never imagine they were even compatible.

Like the cake, the trick was on the inside.

As was typical for a man of his class, Qrow hid a lot to save face and that was what most saw. A successful, rich, socialite who barely had time to look down his nose at the common folk. Yet, Tai had learned the compassion he truly held. The gesture that saved his restaurant was only one act of many. He saw it again, when Qrow quietly requested if Tai would apprentice Lie Ren, the son of his driver who wished for a future in the kitchen. And again, in his visits to the children’s hospital to read them stories whenever he was in town. Once more with the various gift and food donations he’d make around the holidays so fewer homes had to go without.

That isn’t to say the man didn’t have his edges. He could be too caustic at times and if politics was even hinted at as a topic of conversation, Qrow’s voice was louder than anyone’s in just what he thought about their current president’s policies. He liked to drink, sometimes in excess, and when he was in a poor mood he either took to isolating himself or just sulked about like a teenager.

Yet for all his bad, the good still shined through. His smiles and laughter were treasures. He declined to live in excess, finding peace in the quietness of a quaint home. He was strict in never telling lies to those he trusted. He was brilliant, and funny, and hard-working. It was also a plus that Qrow was nicer to gaze upon than any fancy painting in the most prestigious museum.

There was so much Tai had grown to appreciate about the man behind the actor. With it, his feelings were starting to bud, close to blooming. He knew it was much the same for Qrow – though he knew not how precisely he viewed him, he at least could determine with confidence that it was a mutual romance beginning between them.

The real question was, which of them would be the one to make the final play on this game they’d started?

“Mmm, this is really good.” Qrow’s voice broke him from his thoughts, already halfway through the cake. “You’re right, it’s not too sweet.”

“And the berries add that tartness you like.” Tai added.

He chuckled, forking another piece. “You keeping track of my food preferences?”

That was, perhaps, the best hand he was ever gonna get dealt.

“A’course.” He lent his hip against the counter, “How else will I make your favorites when I invite you to dinner?”

Qrow froze, utensil halfway to his mouth as he stared beyond it and right at him. After a heated second of silence, he asked, “Is that a request for a date?”

Tai hid the shake of his hands by crossing his arms. “It is, if you’ll have me for one.”

“Believe me, I’d happily have you for dinner any day of the week.”

“Yeah?” A laugh mixed with embarrassment and pleasure left him. “How ‘bout Thursday then?”

Qrow smiled one of those treasured smiles and blushed one of those gut-warming blushes, and said, “Sounds just perfect.”

[you-a-southpaw-doll]

Leader or Not... ~ A Negan One-Shot

Summary: 

You’d think that after 22 years of being around each other, Negan would know when not to mess with Leigh. You’d think that after 22 years of being best friends and married for the last 20, Negan would know when not to touch Leigh’s food. You’d think that after 22 years of watching Leigh threaten and even punch people for touching her food, that Negan would know better. 

You’d think this...and you’d be just as wrong as Negan. Despite the fact that the only person allowed to “steal” Leigh’s food is Negan himself, even there comes a time, and a dish, that Leigh just won’t share. Not even with her own husband. You’d think Negan would know this...both before, but especially after, the end of the world and the dead started walking the Earth.

You’d think that Negan would know not to touch Leigh’s bacon.

Warning(s): Language. Angst, maybe? Threats - spoken, unspoken, well known, good,  and bad. Rules - both Negan and Leigh’s. Violence - Seriously, Don’t fuck with Leigh. Negan being an ass ‘cause, well, he’s Negan. Leigh takes Lucille’s place in the comics but doesn’t die. Secret relationship - well, secret to every-fuckin’-one that’s not Negan or Leigh. Leigh’s a badass. Not beta’d, so...there’s that. I only have Grammarly used on this. 

Author’s Note(s): Here’s that new Negan fic I mentioned! :)

Word Count: 2,631 words

Relationship(s): Negan x Leigh Sullivan (OFC) [romantic]. 

Characters: Negan. Leigh Sullivan (OFC). Sanctuary Workers. Simon. Carson, mentioned.

Taglist: @negans-network @prettyboynegan @mychemicalimagines @spnnnxangelsx @rockinkel21 @misskittycat02 @band--psycho@ofxallxwexlost @iron-halt @thamberlinawrites @ravenwings73 @lettherebepink @stoneyggirl @sebs-padawan 

_______________________________________________________________________

Story Time:

Third Person’s P.O.V. ~ 

You’d think that after 22 years of being around each other, Negan would know when not to mess with Leigh. You’d think that after 22 years of being best friends and married for the last 20, Negan would know when not to touch Leigh’s food. You’d think that after 22 years of watching Leigh threaten and even punch people for touching her food, that Negan would know better. 

You’d think this...and you’d be just as wrong as Negan. Despite the fact that the only person allowed to “steal” Leigh’s food is Negan himself, even there comes a time, and a dish, that Leigh just won’t share. Not even with her own husband. You’d think Negan would know this...both before, but especially after, the end of the world and the dead started walking the Earth.

You’d think that Negan would know not to touch Leigh’s bacon.

***

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~

Sitting across the table from Negan as we eat breakfast in the cafeteria, I listen to my husband talk ‘bout the plans for the day’s scavenging runs with Simon as I glance down at my tray. Since we had a pretty good haul yesterday, the kitchen was able to whip up some scrambled eggs, french toast, and bacon. The bacon’s a treat for those of us that can afford it by havin’ ‘nough points.

Thankfully for me, though, between being Negan’s right hand, top savior, and secret wife, I can have whatever the fuck I want. My husband doesn’t care as long as I’m happy. Besides, I risk my ass to bring in the goods that we find out there. I say I’m his secret wife ‘cause...well...no one else knows he and I together. 

At least not officially. Everyone knows to keep their hands to themselves. My husband doesn’t tolerate rape, and I don’t either. Plus, I may have once cut a man’s dick off and shoved it down his throat when he tried to get fresh with me. That was at the beginning when I was helping Negan get this place set up and there hasn’t been another incident like it since.

He and I decided that it would be in my best interest, and his too since he’s the Bossman, if there wasn’t a giant target on my back, painting me as his weakness. Not that I’m weak. I’m not. I’ve made that abundantly clear in the last few years since the dead started walking, and even before, way back when civilized society was still a thing. 

Yet, neither of us could handle the thought of someone trying to use me to get my husband. He can’t stand the thought of someone trying to hurt me. I’m his wife, after all, the love of his life, the one woman who’s always been there, or at least been there for the last 22 years, ever since senior year of college. 

And, I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting Negan in any way whatsoever. He’s my husband, the love of my life, my best friend, and my whole world. And hurting me, well, it hurts him, and I ain’t ‘bout to let that happen. So, we decided that we’d keep our relationship a secret. It hasn’t been easy, that’s for fuckin’ sure.

Not when I see women, and hell even some men, flirt with him, thinking they have a chance. Before the world ended, I used to slide up next to him, my hands all over him, and make it clear that he wasn’t single. Now...I just grit my teeth and give the other person the deadliest glare I can, while watching Negan brush it off, only sometimes flirting back, not that part bothers me.

My husband has always been a flirt. Hell, that’s how he and I ended up becoming best friends, then dating, and even getting married two decades ago. It’s just who he is. Even so, he wouldn’t cheat on me, that I know for a fact. And, I know it abso-fuckin’-lutely kills him to see men and women flirt with me, thinking that I’d be up for a one-night stand.

I never am. Not when I have the man of my dreams still by my side. Even if he is a jealous ass at times who doesn’t like to share what’s his. That always turns into some of the best sex of our lives after he catches some fuck flirting with me. Not that I ever flirt back. That’s just not who I am; I’ve never been much of a flirter…’cept with Negan.

Other than watching people flirt with the other, Negan and I have managed to keep our relationship secret. I mean, yes. We still sneak touches, glances, and whispered words when we think no-one’s ‘round, and we always come home to each other every night, and we still wear our wedding rings, but we don’t flaunt our marital status.

And nobody questions the close-knit bond he and I have. They figure it’s just one of those “gotta survive, so I teamed up with this person” type of bonds that are common since the dead started walking. And...no one would dare question the barbed-wire covered bat-wielding, leather jacket wearing, swear with every other word, leader of the Sanctuary.

Hearing my husband’s deep chuckle, I glance up and hide a smile as I see him pat Simon’s shoulder. I raise a brow, drawing the conclusion that they’re finally finished discussing plans for the day. Maybe Simon’ll fuck off now and I can get back to enjoying breakfast with my husband. Negan glances at me and shoots me a wink as he takes a sip of the orange juice we picked up from the Hilltop a few days ago.

I blush a little, glancing back at my plate and pick up a strip of bacon, bringing it to my mouth, taking a bite, and glancing back at him. A smirk plays on my lips as I watch his eyes dart from mine to the piece of cooked meat between my lips.

“Leigh.” He growls softly.

I smirk. “Yes, Sir?”

His eyes darken and I try not to giggle at the lust and love that swims in his muddy water brown eyes. He discreetly shifts in his seat, stretching out his fuckin’ long-ass legs until his boots brush my shins. To anyone else, it’d look like he’s getting comfortable. But, I know better. He’s itching to touch me, and I know he’s hard from me calling him “Sir”.

“You’re going out on the run today, right?” He asks, playing it off like he’s not rubbing his boot up and down my lower leg.

“As far as I know, Sir. Unless you need me here for something?” I question, taking another bite of bacon.

“Nope. I need you out there with me. You’re the only fuckin’ person I trust to have my fuckin’ back and protect my sexy ass.”

I snort with a laugh. “Of course, Boss. Whatever you need.”

Simon shakes his head. “She can’t fuckin’ protect you, boss. She’s too tiny.”

Both Negan and I jerk our heads to glare at Simon. Negan’s foot pauses, pressing against my knee, I reach a hand down to slide my fingers under his jeans, and softly stroke the little bit of skin above the top of his boot in an attempt to calm him. My actions remain hidden by the table, thankfully, and I watch him relax just a little at my touch.

“Simon…” He and I both growl out at the exact same time.

“I have protected his ass since long before yours ever showed up. I’m the one who’s been there for him, stitched him up, and killed any fucker, dead or alive, who tried to take him out.” I hiss at the slightly balding man. “Yes, I am short, but you know what they say ‘bout short folks. We’re closer to Hell, so we’re meaner. And, I will fuck you up, along with any other fuckin’ dumbass that tries to mess with him.”

Negan nods. “She’s right. She will. And she’ll do it over something as simple as someone trying to steal a bite of her food. ‘Cept for me of course. ‘Cause I’m the Leader, and I can do what I fuckin’ want. Ain’t that right, doll?”

He glances at me as he reaches for a bite of my eggs. I rub my thumb across his leg as I nod. He’s right. I have fucked people up for trying to steal my food. Even if it’s just meant playfully. I don’t fuckin’ share it. Never have. Unless it was with my brothers, my best friend, and eventually Negan. It even became our thing while we were dating.

That was actually how he figured out that I liked him back.

“That’s fuckin’ right. So, Simon, if I can fuck someone up over trying to steal my food, just imagine what I can do to someone who tries to hurt Negan.” I say, finishing my strip of bacon.

Simon’s eyes widen, and I know he’s heard the stories ‘bout what I’ve done when some of the other Saviors once tried to, jokingly, take a bite of my food off my plate. Let’s just say that they ended up with jobs that didn’t require the use of both hands after that. He shakes his head, sighing.

“Whatever. I can still protect him better than you can, Leigh. I’ve easily got a foot and 150 pounds on you.” He gripes.

I raise a brow. “And we both know I’ve kicked your ass before. Or do you need a reminder?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Negan laughs and shakes his head as he reaches for another piece of food off my tray. I don’t pay it any attention until I see what he’s reaching for. In one quick movement, my hand is off his leg, above the table, and holding a fork between his fingers, leaving it embedded in the tabletop. 

“Don’t. Fuckin’. Touch. My. Motherfuckin’. Bacon.” I hiss, glaring at my husband.

Every fuckin’ thing and every single person in the Sanctuary goes silent at my actions. I’m not surprised. They don’t know he and I are married. To them, I’m just a Savior who just threatened the Boss. Granted, I intentionally missed and Negan knows that. He knows I’d never hurt him. A moment later, Simon has his hands on me, jerking my arms behind my back.

I growl and slam my head back, busting his nose and knocking him to the ground, effectively loosening his grip on me. I glare at my husband for a brief moment, taking in his wide eyes and slightly opened mouth, before I quickly stand and pin Simon to the ground.

“Do. Not. Under. ANY. FUCKIN’. Circumstance. Lay. A. Fuckin’. Hand. On. Me.” I growl at him. “I’m not some bitch you can just touch, Simon. And you’d best fuckin’ remember that. What happens between Negan and I is our business. And he fuckin’ knows better than to steal my goddamn bacon. The punishment for stealing my food is NOTHING compared to someone thinkin’ they can touch me. And, if you ever fuckin’ touch me again, I will string you up by your goddamn tiny ass dick and stick you on that fence my-fuckin’-self. Am I fuckin’ understood?”

He swallows deeply, or well, as best as he can since his face is bruising, and blood pouring outta his nose. But, he nods in understanding, fear flashing through his eyes as he glares at me. I stand, kicking him in the side once, just below the ribs.

“Get the fuck outta here and go fuckin’ see Carson, you pornstache creep.” I hiss before turning back to the table, taking my seat once more, and drinking my orange juice. 

I hear him shuffle to his feet before he walks away. I smirk to myself and turn my attention back to my husband. He’s clearly still in shock. Not once have I ever physically threatened him for taking my food, and it’s because I generally don’t mind. Except when it comes to my bacon. No one fuckin’ touches my bacon and he’s known that.

He was just trying to prove a point to Simon earlier, but it backfired on him. There’s only been two people in my life who I have shared my bacon with: my baby brother, Eli, and mine and Negan’s daughter, Lucille. Up until we lost her to childhood leukemia at the age of 5. I take another sip of my orange juice as I stare at my husband.

Negan holds his hands up in surrender as he lets out a shaky laugh. His foot isn’t close to my leg anymore, and if I wasn’t slightly pissed off at him for trying to steal my bacon, I’d whine softly at the loss. He leans in closer to me and just barely manages to whisper, but it’s still loud ‘nough for those ‘round to hear. 

“You’re fuckin’ lucky I fuckin’ love you, sweetheart.”

My eyes widen at his words. It’s not the first time I’ve heard him tell me he loves me, but it is the first time since the dead started walking that I’ve heard him say those words where other people can clearly hear. I know my left eyebrow is now raised high, surely resting halfway between my hairline and my eye. 

He just smirks that dimpled little smirk at me, thinking he’s got the upper hand again.

Oh, but he doesn’t know just how wrong he is. 

I smirk over the top of my glass of orange juice, before lowering it to the table and leaning in close to him. Our lips are just a breath’s touch away from touching each other’s. Instead of kissing him right away like I really want to, I whisper something back to him.

“I love you too, and I don’t give a flying Fuck if you’re the leader or not. You. Do. Not. Fuckin’. Touch. My. Motherfuckin’. Bacon. I won’t miss next time.” 

Only once the words have left my lips do I allow myself to kiss him. I don’t really give a flying fuck ‘bout everyone watching at this point. The cat’s basically outta the bag. I smile and relax, calming down a little bit, giving in to the feeling of the kiss. Just before he can turn the kiss into a more passionate one, I pull back, smirking at him.

“No runs, mister. Not today. You’ve got a punishment waiting for you in the room.” I say, my voice low and full of unspoken promises.

As I stand once more, grabbing my tray, I watch as he flashes me that devilish, dimpled grin I fell in love with over 20 years ago. That “I’m a bad boy and you shouldn’t introduce me to Grandma” dimpled grin. I wink at him before walking away, putting my tray in the bin to be cleaned later by one of the kitchen workers.

Without looking back at him, I know he’s still got that grin on his face and that he ain’t moving till his hard-on has gone down just a little so he can comfortably walk. Just before I walk out the cafeteria’s door, I raise my hand above my shoulder and flip him off. His laugh follows me out into the hallway as I make my way back to our room.

Leader or not, I don’t give a fuck. He’s still my husband and our relationship’s no longer a secret. Leader or not, I don’t give a fuck. No one fuckin’ touches my bacon. Leader or not, I don’t give a fuck. He’s getting punished. Leader or not, I don’t give a fuck. 

[maxbradley]

Don’t Even

I can't stay here. I can't take any more of this imprisonment. I need to get out. Blindly I splash a glob of red ink onto the stretched canvas. Hot air escapes my quivering lips. I can barely breathe. I find myself searching for that box again… There's got to be something better tasting than this crap. I open a gilded window to let the thin trails slither out from my lit torch. Only when I can think clearly again I look back into the depths of my private studio. Well, actually, it's my bedroom. My dad's refused to set aside one of the countless rooms in the house for my only source of pleasure in this strange world. I take a deep token before coughing again; I keep on smoking to ease the mental tension, "I want to get out." This is only wishful thinking. I've always thought about running away, but then… I look at the stretched canvas again, running fingers across my mother's hair, deep red. I prop my hand's tips to the background and prod continuously and haphazardly to create blossoms on the leave's green. Wiping the ink away, cigarette still in my mouth, I take up a brush and dip it into oil paint, watching it create wild blue streaks around her, above her for the sky… A dove in her palm takes on a definitive look. I fight myself from changing her into an angel, wings and halo and everything. She needs to be alive.

With the color still drying I place the half finished work next to a raven, the yellow of its eyes staring me down. I try not to trip over a small stack of blank paper and pens on the floor, backing away to observe the rest. A myriad of senseless patterns and shapes and many hues overwhelms me. Yet, here in the isolation of my own little world, I'm home, away from Home. I can't just leave my art here! … I need more paint. "Master Bradley?" "Don't call me that, Yoli!" putting out the light against the window sill and striding across the hardwood floor to reach the door. I open it and poke my shagged hair out, "Something wrong?" It's a shame that my father would take this wonderful, exotic woman and reduce her to nothing more than a servant out of many in this estate. The afternoon sun glistened on dark mahogany braids and shone on her deep tan complexion. I barely paid attention to the direction of the corners of her bright red lips, "Bradley! You been smoking again??" She smelled the tobacco on me and within my room. No use trying to hide anything from her. Yolanda knows about life far more than I ever will. "Yes m'am." I about scoffed at my sad attempt at formality, "He doesn't care what I do." Her face nearly fell, "Don't say that, mi'jito." She places her sweaty palms to my face. I just realized I'm about her height now. "I'm sure he loves you very much. He just can't show it well." … You've got to be kidding me... I feign a smile. "Can you bring your dirty clothes to the laundry room for me?" She never buys it. Sometimes I wish she could. I need to work on my acting skills. ----- I force a part of my head through the iron gate and play "jail time" with my hands gripping the bars. You think I'm playing? Getting out is not as easy as asking, "Hey Dad—can you let me out? I wanna go somewhere." It's harder when you've developed the inability to make close friends that can bail you out. Whatever they spin about my dad, whatever wealth he might have—how famous he is among those big company names—I don't care. Not about what he has. Not what he is, either. I let go of the bars and whisk my way back to the mansion. My personal Alcatraz. What I wouldn't give to visit that place; we're all the way on the East Coast. New England. The place itself, where I live (unfortunately), is rather secluded. Walled in, whitewashed concrete slabs covered with ivy like an infestation. Nothing but trees with fallen leaves—a meadow practically—for a good 5 miles all around. It would be easy to follow the paved road to civilization… My dad would freak. He always wants me home, besides time away at school. His excuse? "I won't lose you like I lost your mother." I'm smiling now, peering up at the cotton clouds, shot with the brightest pink imaginable. It was almost nauseating, had it not been for the warm orange ribbons leaving their marks as well. Yeah; good plan, Dad. I don't want anything to do with you. A small breeze brushes my hair; it's in my eyes, "pfft!" … It's gotten chilly. I can't be back in there. Not now. I finally spot a foreign car parked next to our own on the opposite side of the gate… Not back there. ----- "Why are you here again?" That wasn't actually said; it was just thought out loud. A buxom woman settled in a seat a far ways next to me, I shuffling farther away. She let out a tiny pout before trying to get on my good side again, "Please, Bradley—let me get to know you this time;" I pull my hand away from hers, burning holes into her being with a leer— "You know me very well. I don't want you here!" This faceless lady flushed like the rest of them before distancing away, just in time for the host's entrance. "Is my son giving you any trouble??" I turn away from his stern face. "Not at all" she giggled. Makes me want to— Calloused, rough hands run through my hair. I can't tell whether he wants to harm me or comfort me, "Bradley. Pay your respects— One of the servants rolled in with the dinner cart and gave me a knowing look. I can't look my father in those soiled, mossy eyes. I bite my lip. "She's our guest." ". . . Yes, Sir." My appetite was long gone. My energies were spent on this lady. It was obvious she wanted to gain his intimate trust. "Business meeting" or not, she was a flirt. "Elaine" needs to get out of this house now, before she gets any ideas. Any attempts to reach me were answered by my cold shoulder. I'd only talk to her openly if he happened to be there at the table with us. I could see Elaine getting annoyed with me now. Finally; she should be going home … It was now a quarter past ten—long after our mundane meal. I've been spying on them ever since they left the dining room, after helping out wash some of the dishes (there was little else to do). What could my dad see in her? What chance could she have to be a replacement for— True to his word, they were talking about the adult world of business and nothing else, sharing their third glass of wine together. While wondering how he could ever control his drinking in front of his guests, it was time for this Elaine to leave. But not without a goodbye kiss. He returned it on the cheek before leading her out the door and into the yard; I stayed behind. To see what they might be doing now would be devastating. "Bradley?" Yoli startled me, "Why aren't you in bed?" "I don't have curfew." My baggy eyes weren't helping my cause. "Tomorrow's a school day, young man." ----- The light's still on in my room; I can't sleep. I felt a need to continue the painting of my mother. My angel. The reason why I exist! … There was no right to take her away so soon. If she had been there longer, "things could have gone differently." I had forgotten to check the time on my red digit analog clock. "Kid." My skin crawled when he opened the door. It was far too late to hide away my work, which my dad caught sight of. Clearing his throat, "She told me how rude you were being, Son." This was typical of most women. With their sweet deceitful wiles. It made me sick.

Alphonse Uppercrust is only a foot away from my perch on the stool. He strode past by me and felt around my open window, "What's this??" I continue dabbing the color back into Lillian's face. The gilded pane is shut just in time, "What are you doing?" "Painting." He grabs my collar to force eye contact—"No, kid." holding the discarded torch in front of my face, "Where'd the hell did you get this? At school?? On the street." My face is stone; I dare not say a word just yet... "Was it from one of them?" "You got a lot of nerve, Dad—bunching up your servants with criminals." He nearly threw me off the seat; I made it much easier on him and landed on my feet. He was right; a servant did sneak it to me, but only with a hefty bribe attached. We are filthy rich, after all. "You," he breathed, "have a lot of nerve to be talking back to me, Bradley Uppercrust. Don't forget where you came from, and don't forget who you're destined to become—I had to laugh at this new scrap of a monologue— "I came from Hell, and I'm destined to become another You? Not a chance—What now?? You're going to hit me again after 3 accident-free years?!" Dad was livid, hand raised and my back against the wall. The sight of my art to my left assured me that everything was going to be all right. I'm just glad he was still relatively sober for those moments. "… Son, I'm trying." No pity from me this time. "I really am." The hand goes down on my shoulder where he keeps a strong grip, "I'm not doing that anymore, the affairs. Don't worry. I've learned to control my fleeting emotions— Except when you're drunk—"Are you ever going to forgive me?" My neck still craned to see past his façade; I'm trying to see past the reddened eyes and the watering of his sockets—"No, Dad. Never." I wrench myself away from the wall and, out of personal rebellion, I fish out that box of independence, imagined freedom… 3 years of not hitting me when he's sober. That's a good record. I'm sure he felt bad after… I could see the dejectedness in his whole frame as I continued breathing in toxins, "What? You drink. I smoke. It's only fair." Immediately he resumed composure; weakness is not an option in this household if you want to survive for 16 years. "Know what, kid? I understand what you want now. You want to follow what the outside world has to offer. The common folk? I'll tell them to unlock the gate. You can get out of this house whenever you'd like. No restrictions. No curfew—I'll let you live your own life!" I've kicked off my shoes and sat in my bed, close to the backboard. My eyes and ears are open wide to this titillating information— "You've proven that you're so mature now. Let's all hope you make the best of it!!" The slamming of the door shocks the hallway. I'm puffing out rings and singing a little tune to celebrate a premature victory.

[katsukikitten]

Princess part 5

He storms from the yurt.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"To see the city! Explore!" You call over your shoulder to a more than displeased King.

You walk along the streets with freshly healed legs as Bakugou reluctantly trails behind you. You're lapping up the culture as your eyes wander near and far. They spot people of many ethnic backgrounds and all wear the colors of the Badlands. Blood red, black, gold and greys. You commit them to memory as you have with all house/kingdom colors out of habit.

Sometimes kingdom colors can help you guess a person's quirk which could save your life in battle. But that's what's so difficult about the Badlands. The people are blended from other kingdoms. You notice the colors of the neighboring Mountain kingdom, that apparently Kirishima is the king of. They wear greys, blacks, and soft reds. Like that of berries.

The women are accompanied by men with what seems by choice. Their clothes vary greatly, some leave nothing to the imagination while some show nothing but their eyes, even in this glorious heat. The one thing you do notice is the children, happy, healthy. Laughing and carefree as they cause mischief. Hours are spent exploring every Avenue and alley to see all of the stunning paintings on the side of their homes. Each telling a story that you eat up like a kid does sweets. Eyes glittering in the overhead sun as you study their history through the fabric. The yurts become farther apart and the sounds of the city seem to die down as you near closer to the fringes. You can smell the ocean, feel it still and a smile forms on your lips as you see a large mural of the ocean side meadow at sunset. The same point in horizon you see now. It's odd how it's only been a few hours but this place has felt more like home than your real one ever has. You breathe in the mixture of exotic spice and sea air hungry for more despite the city having only one more mural to offer.

One that seems more legend than history. A woman has her back to the painter, with hair the same length and color as yours. She stands tall with a hand out stretched to an ash blonde male with eyes so red they could pierce you where you stand, his own hand reaches out to her. A breath separates the space between their fingers. The difference between this painting and all the others is that the King is the same size as the mysterious woman while the other paintings depict royalty as larger than life.

Bakugou watches you silently, studying you while he can. Your eyes seem to light up with delight with every painting you see, you enjoy reading the history of their travels. How they follow the stars to the perfect locations. How large dragons like Ryu used to be abundant. How he became king. He can't say he doesn't like it. How your eyes light up, how you seem generally interested in it all.

His eyes follow yours to the fresh painting, barely started before he left and somehow returned with you. He notices the signature of the artist, two grey orbs and immediately knows who's house you both stand beside. He sighs, opening his mouth to comment but the sound of your stomach growling breaks the calming quiet and before he can guide you back to his yurt, you're already heading in another direction.

He is impressed that you've memorized their movable city in such a short time.

But he will never admit it aloud.

You start for the market remembering the rich smell of bread and if you're lucky honey. It takes about twenty minutes from the outskirts to the city center at a steady pace. The market pauses once more to bow to their king and glare daggers at you before they start their song and dance of haggling again. Every stall has new offerings in their little gold boxes.

Offerings you have a feeling he will not take, you wonder if he thinks them beneath him.

You approach the first stall with bread and ask for two hand loaves. The shop keep is surprised you speak their tongue before she moves for the basket with the fresh bread.

"Two gold draki." She hisses, back to you. Oblivious that you have her King in tow.

"And how do you plan to pay dipshit?" He chuckles in your ear, waiting to see you drown.

You produce two shiny gold pieces from your pocket.

"You really shouldn't let your valuables lie around." You giggle as he grips your hip in warning.

"A Princess of thieves then?" He bites, eyes unseeing the heavily blushed shop keep who has just noticed Bakugou looming too closely to you.

"Ah your highness. I have finer loaves for you should you wish." She keeps her head down while keeping a hateful glare in your direction.

"I do wish to have them." He says grabbing the two hand loaves while slamming down fifty gold draki.

"P..please your greatness. I cannot accept this. This my offering to you."

"You will accept it if you still wish for me to take your offerings." His voice is dark as he speaks over his shoulder, the shop keeper does not touch the gold until Katsuki is almost out of sight.

"Are you always so gruff? She was almost in tears." You say earning a sharp glare as you bite into your heavenly loaf. You offer him the two pieces back to which he shakes his head.

"You might need that draki one day." He growls, "Enough sight seeing. I have a meeting to attend to."

He finishes his loaf as his strong hand pushes against the small of your back. You give him a heated glare that he ignores.

"Ah princess!" The elderly gentleman says by way of greeting, "I have more clothes for you."

His slightly gnarled hand points to the golden outlines box in it sits a beautiful blood red outfit in a hue so deep it seems black with the contrasting white fur. This time a sharp toothed necklace sits atop the white fur, neatly displayed.

"Old man." You smile fingering the sharp blood stained canines with delight , "You shouldn't have."

"She's right. You shouldn't have." Its a threat that leaves his lips instead of gratitude, "Leave the necklace. Take the outfit only."

Bakugou places a black pouch with what must be filled with hundreds of gold draki. The older gentlemen pushes the pouch back to his king. Katsuki goes to open his mouth but he holds up his blue veined hand.

"I do not accept this money as you've given our people enough. I have a job because of you, I have fine furs, teeth, scales and linens thanks to your hard work. You will kindly take my offering sire." He says it all with a bowed head nothing but respect in his wish.

Bakugou leans close with a nasty snarl,

"I told you to save *those* teeth."

"And I did."

"You will hold onto them longer and I will THINK about not paying you for your offering." He grabs the sharp toothed necklace that is adorned with black, white and pink pearls back to the older gentleman, "I am serious, Reo."

"As am I sire. But I will respect your wish. I will hold onto the necklace a bit longer. Though the fur should be hint enough." Reo speaks softly head still bowed to the king as he delicately takes the beautiful necklace from the King's rough hands.

"Are these blessed with fertility too?" A dry comment but somehow you feel the energy weaved into the clothes and you cannot help but want to wear them no matter what they are enchanted with.

"All royalty is stitched with three main things, fertility, luck, and protection. But before you comment Y/N my wife did add another to your standard list." Reo holds mischievous golden eyes with you. You cannot help but catch a devilish smirk yourself as you lean closer, curious like a cat.

"Power." Reo adds before a strongly banded arm is wrapped around you.

"I'm going to be late." A growl in your ear as he moves you away, "Thank you again, Reo."

You sink into the bed with a sigh as Bakugou keeps his eyes on you, clouded with odd emotions.

Emotions you choose to ignore as you lounge.

"Oh lunch was served?" You perk up, noticing the fine meats and breads on the low sitting table by the chairs.

"Had you let me lead you here you wouldn't have had to deal with the market today." He growls pulling another necklace of teeth over his head.

"Hmmm.." is your only response as you study him. Your eyes drink in the brash man, noticing how he is not adorned with a crown, an odd thing for a king to be missing but the teeth seem to determine your status here.

Why else would he be so sensitive about you recieving a necklace?

Most of the common folk wear silver, gold even, but few wear any sort of teeth or pearl in their jewelry.

In fact you have only noticed three people wear them.

Kirishima, who's necklace only has a single tooth, though it is long and thick. It is black with age and matches the ones he wears in his ears. It compliments his ever black scaled uniform.

Reo, who has a set of smaller white teeth on his necklace. A necklace that reminds you of a gift given from someone of high ranking.

Or maybe he too leads a double role like Kirishima but as the King's advisor and shop keeper instead of general and King of his own land

And lastly Bakugou Katsuki himself.

Though he is laced in blood soaked teeth, gold, and that damning fur.

Fur only he, and now yourself, wear. You finger it now as your eyes rove over his muscular stomach. Sculpted by the Gods and hardwork. You feel a ghost his calloused hands on your face and sigh out angrily.

Grabbing for the amber liquid greedily.

He seems to finish readying himself. Looking in the mirror with a cocky smile as if he cares about his appearance.

"I'll return in a few hours." He gives you his back as he makes his way to leave, "Do not leave my chambers."

"Like hell!" You stand, "You're taking me with you. If this is war talk you'll need me there."

He stares at you over his shoulder for moments that seem to stretch into hours.

Will he really need you there?

Or is he curious to see how you behave in court as well?

Will you provide entertainment as you did at your auction?

Or will you be a good little princess and listen.

"Fine." He snarls as he flips the canvas up, leaving you to rush along behind him.

Curiosity seems to have killed the cat.

××××××××××××××

Much like home the meeting is boring or so you feign boredom, it helps one to be forgotten.

Because nothing relaxes a man more than when he thinks a pretty face isn't listening.

Unfortunately but fortunately that works here as well.

It makes it especially easy to be forgotten when every man in the room wants to look anywhere *but* your pretty face. What with it's new accessory of thick woven thread.

Their nervousness seems to subside under the heavy gaze of crimson eyes. They drone on what they think they've heard, what they think they saw and what they thought knew. You can tell they are all bullshitting. Not one of them in contact with any sort of informant that rests the soles of their feet on your home land.

You eye Katsuki, he too seems suspicious of their answers. None of them really committing to what they've scouted.

Kirishima is seasoned in battle that much you can tell but he seems to be taking notes. Maybe be does not have a gut feeling about much.

Or maybe he simply does not know what you know about people.

"Excuse the intrusion sire." An older male, late forties says as he enters the small yurt. He drops to his knee head bowed to the King clothed in muted colors.

Colors that would go unnoticed by any common folk or hell even a Duke.

But your eyes are sharp for a reason. He stands and you see a soft glistening stitch of silver over his right breast.

You are so fixated on the stitching that you do not hear him tell of how the High King is quickly rebuilding a fleet. Of how the Prince of the fire and ice isles has just departed or of how the once quirkless Prince has made promise to return before he boarded his ship.

"It seems even a small ship has departed as well headed in..."

"You're of the Imarith kingdom no?" You interrupt before smiling a bit cruelly, "Excuse me *former* Imarith kingdom."

When the man's eyes find you it seems as if he is actually looking at you instead of seeing you as just eye candy.

No it seems as if he is staring Death in the face.

His brow begins to bead with sweat, he swallows several times and his eyes are glued to you.

"Its obvious isn't it? Your colors may be close to black but I still see the kingdom in them. And any fool knows that silver stitching indicates a dead insignia." Your cat smile widens, swirling the wine in its glass, "I seem to remember your kingdom helped fund the rebellion in the great war. Even fought in it near the end. Do you plan to do that here as well?"

His breathing becomes rapid as he stares at you, he wets his lips but when he parts them he does not speak.

Cannot speak.

"I ask only because there is not a single visual oath to the Badlands about you. Not to mention I'm wondering if your information is actually good. Father would not have allowed you to set even a toe onto a broken harbor in the High Land." Your eyes narrow, you lift your hand and the man turns to run.

In his haste he trips on the carpet, feet still flailing to get beneath him before he bolts through the canvas doors.

The room is silent and the tension becomes palpable as Katsuki stares you down. You fish your wine, smile his way before standing.

"I take that this meeting is done." You stand, stopping before the men who stood in front of the dias, "I suggest you become better informants before I make an example out of all of you. When I'm through Bakugou will never have another lazy informant again."

You smile as you the moisture from their hands, aging them twenty years before returning them to normal, letting the canvas fall behind you. As you're walking away all you can hear is the groveling of six grown men begging for forgiveness for their lack of information.

Katsuki ignores the groveling, eyes only staring after you.

"Get the fuck out of my sight." A snarl and they obey quickly. The room is filled now with only Kirishima and the King himself.

"Man. I thought that guy was gonna shit himself." Eji laughs as he crosses off all of his notes, save for the last man's words, "She's something isn't she?"

"Why did he react that way?" No soft curiosity in his tone and all bite.

Bite for being left in the dark that she was so feared.

"Forgive me. I don't think I've ever told you since the former King of the Badlands was set firm on not getting involved." Kiri bows his head before continuing.

"The Princess was more than the King's scout. She fought in many battles. Her hands are much bloodier than our own. In the last battle my kingdom was to be support to help turn the tides of the battle, we stood silently in the mountain that over looked the valley. To everyone's surprise only four people showed up. King Toben, Griffith, Ares and the Princess. We thought surely this would be an easy win, hundreds of thousands of me vs four people, easy right? Wrong. The Princess had a new trick up her sleeve and no she did not bend these people to her will. She..."

Kirishima blanches for a moment as he recalls the memory. He swallows heavily before clearing his throat.

"She made them explode. Blood misted in the air and nothing was left of them save their clothes. Not all of them but majority. And the ones that lived. Whether they were out of her range or she was out of power her brothers and Toben handled. Near the end she had to be held up by Ares, I moved my men out of there as fast as I could. It was...horrifying to say the least. I can still smell the blood. Still feel it on my skin when I think about it." Kirishima surpasses a shudder.

Bakugou's eyes narrow with heated rage as he stands. Explosions dancing along his skin as he paces. Thinking of what he had let into his bed, his bath and still asking himself why the fuck he saved you in the first place.

"Why have I not heard of this?"

"For the High King to keep his throne he must marry off any daughters he has to other kingdoms. So High King kept it under wraps. He realized quickly that men feared his daughter instead of yearning for her. He withdrew her from battle, from the war meetings, from it all. Any rumor of her helping to strategize the winning battles of the great war or her unfathomable power was silenced. Permanently." Kirishima states, "He reshaped her image to fiery but beautiful. Still the obedient little princess she needed to be."

Katsuki snorts. Obedient? You? Not even on a cold day in hell.