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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

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Bred For Blood - Part 17 - The White Flag

Title: Bred For Blood

Warning: 18+ - sex/mature language & themes/gun violence/substance abuse etc. *mentions of blood/injuries/death/weapons/coma/unconsciousness in this part*

Characters: AU Axel Cluney, AU Ivar Lothbrok, AU Valter x OC

Description: A bright, young survivor meets an acid-gun slinging headhunter with a knack for melting faces and connections to a prodigal Utopia embedded in the heart of a deadly forest. Violence and passion incite a battle of fealty while betrayal nips at Zed’s heels.

Note: This one’s for Team Cluney. I really hope you guys enjoy reading! This part was very exciting for me to write for many reasons. Please reblog/like/comment if you like my work and want to give me a virtual pat on the head. I would really appreciate it, please and thank you!

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The doctor stomped over the rocky terrain, muttering and snickering to himself as the sun cast blistering rays on their backs. The heat never bothered him, only tanned his skin to a deep brown shine. It was the walking that made his knees burn. He'd long since shed his white coat to cover the bulk of the man draped over Rudie's wiry-haired hump, trudging along at leisure. The unconscious hunter he'd found needed all the protection available from the vicious star reaching its highest point in the sky.

The doctor halted his gangly steed every hour to force a measure of water down the burnt man's ululating throat. He often succeeded, and the hunter swallowed without issue, but sometimes, the water came back up as white foam, trickling down the sides of his face and down his neck. The onset of heatstroke turned his skin apple-red, and the doctor sprayed him down with water and gusts of hot air produced by a tattered paper fan he carried with him to ward off flies. Rudie attracted the pests who made a chariot out of the man on the camel's back. They fled their caravan whenever the doctor stopped to check on his patient and settled back in for the ride after he threw the stained coat back over the hunter's burnt shoulders. This went on until nightfall when the dry land showed signs of mercy, and water and shale gave way to the soil.

Rudie let out a guttural complaint when they reached a crop of tall, spindly trees. The diamond-shaped leaves provided shade. The doctor tethered the bleating animal, pressing his finger to his lips for a silence that would not come. Upon unsaddling the groaning man, Rudie threw his hump and sent Axel slumping to the ground, his deadweight at odds with a lengthy fall. His head cracked on a root, and a dusting of earth dried his palette, clinging to everything pink in his mouth. The camel clopped away from the whining mass who'd hitched a ride on his back, and in his wobbling dance, mashed the smallest of Axel's fingers into the soil.

"Rudie! You bumbling old idiot! You gaffer! Shoo!"

The beast side-stepped, snorting and sputtering, indifferent to the further damage done to the man. He shook his proud head, throwing ropes of spit that webbed his lashes. The doctor punished the creature by re-wrapping Axel's hand after a stern disinfecting, withholding the proverbial oats until the animal wandered away to dine on low-hanging leaves. Rudie chuffed whenever the doctor came to retrieve supplies from the riding satchel.

"That wasn't very nice, Rude. This man is our patient! We don't trample the patients. You've no idea the level of harm you caused! He'll be lucky if we don't have to amputate, and you don't have thumbs, so you're even more useless!"

Rudie wrapped his leathery lips around a clutch of grass and ripped it free, chewing and turning away from his master and the unconscious fellow. The camel minded his business and relieved himself on a nearby rock, huffing and chomping any strand of green he sniffed.

Axel vomited throughout the night. The doctor gave up his rest to make sure the man lying comatic didn't swallow his tongue. Then came the shivering and sickly shade of purple flaking his lips. Flaps of the doctor's paper fan spread droplets over his inflamed skin, another courtesy at the behest of his sore arm. Still, Axel moaned and scratched at the earth beneath him in bloody heat and delirium.

"If you can hang on until tomorrow, son, perhaps we'll find some proper shade and build a hut. Hm? How's that sound? Shade and water. For now, just rest, and don't die on me."

When the sun came up, the doctor cleaned Axel using the rest of the clean water from his reserve and stitched the open flesh splitting his eyebrow in two.

"That'll leave a nasty scar. Not that you need any more ruggedness in your act. You're just a lost soldier, sonny. But maybe one day you'll make a brilliant assistant. Better than Rudie, I hope. He hasn't even apologized for breaking your finger. Lookit him over there, shitting all over the camp, the scoundrel. But I'm the one with the oats; therefore, I make the rules!"

"M-muh... muuuh."

"Ah, in the worst of times, we still call our mothers."

"Mmph. Muh—"

"I wonder what's on the other side of those trees," the doctor said, shading his eyes with his hand, peering to the West. "You look well-travelled, sonny. Any ideas? Hate to run into any of those yawners, not knowing when your last shot was. But I suppose I shouldn't expect any valuable input from a man who can't look me in the eye."

After patching him up, the man hauled Axel to a stand and hoisted him onto the camel's back using a tree for leverage and a series of ropes to fasten him down. Once secured to Rudie's hump, the doctor took a few minutes to catch his breath. "Dunno how many more times I can get you up there, son. You must learn how to walk soon. Or I'll build you a sleigh. But that might take some time."

Far off above the foggy treeline, a sheet of ashy cloud broke to reveal bright blue sky. The doctor liked the look of cerulean and the absence of sand, so the begrimed trio lumbering through thick bush where dew still clung to the undersides of the leaves. The doctor went ahead, collecting globules before they evaporated. Rudie answered the doctor's constant rhetoric with wild groans that muffled Axel's whimpering, and they led their procession over uncertain ground.

"I reckon there's nothing but more trees over that ridge, Mr. Soldier. Maybe some mountains we can find a crevice to hide out in. Just until you get your strength back. The only thing I worry about is those damn yawners. Rudie and I will be safe, but you... I'll scout ahead to make sure it's clear. It'll rack up daylight, but you'll thank me when you're not a bubbling pile of soldier juice. Don't worry, sonny. They didn't immunize me for no reason! I count myself among the elites, but that doesn't mean I fancy myself better than you or more deserving of life. We're all in this, you see. Brights and Uns... We're still together, despite it all. They may have tried to kill you, but look at you now! Alive and well. Isn't that a slap in the face? They send you out to war and hope you never come back. They don't even have the decency to immunize you. What a world we live in."

Rudie let out a gaseous bellow. The doctor whipped around and pointed his walking stick at the quadruped. "Don't interrupt, you vile sow. Nobody needs a camel's opinion."

"Ma... Ma."

"We'll look for your mama after we get you looking presentable. Hang on tight, we're going uphill!"

As the ridge climbed, the trees grew denser. The doctor had to guide his camel through a maze of mossy trunks. Thin, whip-like branches prodded at Axel's tender skin. What leafy arms brushed Rudie's head bent back and snapped against the hunter's raw shoulders. Axel didn't notice, lost in the chimeric slurry of recent injuries. They maneuvered over stones and wove between crumbling stumps, avoiding the deadfalls. The steepled ground sloped upward like a great brown ramp of torn earth. Through the thickness, they muttered, minding their footwork, up and up, stopping here and there so the doctor could take in a few wheezing breaths. The camel—finally wary of obstacles—blew wind and groaned, hesitant on the incline.

"Boy, there had better be some more forgiving land over this ledge. I don't think it's workable to keep climbing. We might have to turn back, depending on what I see at the top. Fingers crossed for a lake. A bath would do me good," said the doctor, fanning his underarms and thighs with the paper fan.

"What do you say, Mr. Soldier? Should we keep going? See if there's anything worthwhile over that lip?"

"Muh."

"That's what I thought. You may not be the finest soldier I've ever met, but you're persistent, and that's key. Come on, fellas. Let's pray for water, and up we go! Can't be worse than the blasted desert."

~*~

Ivar's mood reflected his recent successes in bed. When Trinity brought his meal, he thanked her, even asking about her morning and if she was sleeping all right and eating properly. Trinity laughed nervously, sensing a test, and answered with a practiced air of casualty. Did he know of the plan they'd executed to get Zed in to see him? Was his toothy smile a front? Despite her unease, she humoured the leader and left when he dug into his stew and fresh bread. Trinity also noted Zed's absence, and with the King in lively spirits, assumed everything had gone well with the plan.

Ivar inhaled his late breakfast and dressed for comfort to walk the courtyard. With a bounce in his step, he traversed the throat of the Chrysalis, emerging on the other side to a nest bereft of activity. The morning stalls had cleared out, their occupants and merchants returned to their hovels. Even the young ones—usually at play in the courtyard by now—were nowhere in sight.

Ivar passed by the last remaining group gathered around a low podium, whispering over their berry reductions and leafy salads. Like a cluster of threatened barnacles, each mouth clamped as Ivar strode past. He held his head forward, flexing his palette to clear his airways. None of them made a sound until he was far enough away. Their chattering was undiscernible as distant chirping birds. He stopped at the incline of a foothill, spinning to catch them staring at the back of his head. They snatched their eyes away and made like they weren't gawking.

That wasn't the only peculiar thing that happened to Ivar that morning. Since his prolonged absence, the people seemed to have grown used to keeping to themselves. There was no merriment in the air, only sterile drafts pouring in from the filtration system. Ivar shivered from the brisk air, stopping to consider paying Zed a visit at her apartment. A morbid urge pulled him along, and he continued his walk. Ivar waited until somebody approached him—whether it a man or child—to greet him with customary courtesy. Still, nobody shuffled forward to ask him about his day or to offer him a portion of their recent gardening.

Ivar reached the frosted glass doors to the lab and stood still, thick hands hovering next to his narrow hips. Frozen in place, Ivar bit the tip of his tongue. Something told him Zed was inside the lab, and if he wished to see her, he had to set foot beyond the parameters of his expertise. The lab always put him in a bitter mood. It was the only place in the village that wasn't for him. Though he could visit any corner of Kinderfeld he wanted, he'd never felt welcome in the laboratory. The floors and surfaces' sterility made him cower from touching anything, and the lifeless stares he received from the few staff only reminded him of the responsibilities he'd shunned in favour of hedonism. None of them ever begrudged him his appetites, but he was confident they whispered of his ineptitude behind his back.

He wondered if Zed ever talked about him or if she'd ever vocalized displeasures regarding his leadership. Her request from the day before echoed in the corners of his mind, festering and swelling each hour they were apart. There was a bitter drop of ulterior motive in Zed's visit, and he let it slide down the back of his throat when she asked him to open the gate. But they'd made love, and that was more than Ivar expected. In his heart of hearts, he'd feared Zed would demand more; to let her fly the nest in search of Axel, but she'd taken his refusal graciously and kissed him all the same. Still, a nagging suspicion remained. Something was circulating in the air, whipping about the courts and apartments, squeezing under doorways and filling the citizens with doubts.

A stranger on his own land, Ivar lowered his eyes to the ground and turned away from the lab before he recognized any more scrutinizing glances. He powered along, ignoring the guards, their dutiful nods, cutting over the knolls as fast as his muscular thighs could take him without breaking into a run. The loneliness chased him back to his palace, and even its mouth gaped in question.

Ivar noticed Sheraya nearby, spreading dark red petals, a gained cigar of smoking sage held between her fingers. He craved nicotine the moment the fumes peppered his nostrils. Tears coursed down her round cheeks, though she made no sobs, no whimpers. There was only gentle muttering under her breath and more tears. The king stood waiting for her to acknowledge him and then realized she had no intention of breaking her prayer mantra.

Shunned, Ivar turned away, retreating to his house of lush fabric and solitude where he should never have left.

~*~

Vee insisted Zed stay put while he fetched them dinner. Their setting was the top floor of the greenhouse where he'd played cards and got drunk with his brother some nights. Nobody ever bothered them up there. Zed sat in waiting, enjoying the greenery, the twisting vines and canary yellow zucchini blooms. She stretched an arm out to pluck a flower and nibble its petals. Her stomach gurgled for heavier fare, so she ate another. Vee didn't keep her waiting long after, showing up with a basket of seed-crusted bread and a bowl of sliced potatoes slathered in basil paste and cooked to a crisp. For dessert, he brought dried fruit and freshly harvested cashews.

Moonlight vaulted through the trees, defusing over the glass and casting milky shadows on the greenhouse floor. The air was moist with freshly irrigated soil. Baked in the dimness, Zed couldn't take her eyes off the man sitting in front of her. He'd brought with him the game from their youth, but neither of them suggested opening the box. They smiled as they ate, breathing in the deep aromas and savouring their food together. And in the balmy atmosphere decked in silver light, Zed swore Vee was his brother's twin. Her heart shuddered in remembrance. It was what brought them together; the shared sense of guilt and the strengthening suspicion they'd both lost someone, both failed and scorned by the people who'd invested too much faith in their competence. Zed felt at peace beside him.

The scientist was still a welcome member of the village, hence his aptitude for finding rarer delicacies like wine and ripe figs. They split the skins and scooped out the sweet innards, indulging their tongues on the fruit as if it was the richest of luxuries.

"You know what I would absolutely love to eat again?" Zed asked, sucking seeds from between her teeth.

"Popsicles," Vee answered.

"Close, but no. Chocolate ice cream. I'd kill for some chocolate ice cream right now. "

Vee shook his head. "No way. Strawberry all the way."

"A hot fudge sundae with peanuts and a big maraschino cherry."

"Peanut butter sauce."

"Oh, my God. Don't say that," Zed groaned.

"It's so good. I can't remember the last time I had ice cream. Remember when you could walk a couple blocks in the Summer and buy an ice cream cone?"

Zed smiled, but the thought pricked her memory. "The last time I got ice cream was with my Dad. I got the biggest chocolate sundae, with peanut butter cups and chocolate sprinkles. He told me there was a full day-and-a-half's worth of calories in it, but I didn't care. It was after a soccer game. I didn't like soccer, but if I went to practice every week and scored at least one goal, he'd take me out for ice cream. Two goals meant I got ice cream and five dollars."

Zed sighed, continuing, "I hate thinking about the last times. Like at one point, you did something for the very last time. The last trip for ice cream. The last time you told someone you loved them."

"If you hate thinking about last times, then why are you doing it right now?" Vee asked, eyes blank as discs.

She grimaced, reaching out to touch the toe of her shoe to his, then softening her face. "I can't help it sometimes. Don't tell me you've never thought about how it used to be. You don't have to look at everything so logically."

"I don't," Vee said. "I just rather not think about those times."

"I'm sorry. Is it?—Never mind."

"My fiancé and my kid? Yes. It's always them."

Zed set her dish aside and scooted beside Vee, pressing her back against the wooden barrier of the melon patch, mirroring his position, her mouth just as dead grim as his.

"You seem to handle it well enough. But I understand. I think everyone lost something important to them," Zed offered.

Vee sighed, turning his face to the floor, cutting off the glistening whites of his eyes from view. "Found out she was pregnant the night before I left to work for the army."

"The army?"

"Yes. I had a knack for inventing. You've seen the ammunition I designed for Axel. And it takes a special gun to fire something that lethal without complication. They wanted that kind of technology and offered me a nauseating amount of money to oversee mass production. The only smart thing I ever did was refuse to sell myself. It cost me my family, but I can say with certainty Axel is the only person besides me who's fired one of them. Could you imagine what the world would be like if those had gotten into the wrong hands?"

Zed bottled talk of acid and bloodshed with a shiver and a firm hand on Vee's wrist. "Enough of that. Please. Tell me about her—your fiancé. Let's just... Remember them fondly. I don't want to think about the bullshit out there."

"You'd rather stay inside these bubbles, ignoring a second societal collapse in the making?"

"Yes. I'd rather enjoy my time here with you, listening to nicer stories. This is all that's left. I don't want to think about where we went wrong or right. Let's just talk about what made us happy."

Vee nudged her shoulder. "Why can't we talk about what makes us happy now?"

She giggled and rested her temple on his shoulder. Vee curled his wrist around her knee, and their fingers intertwined. He leaned his head on hers like they had in his apartment before Lora caught them, this time with his heart pumping in double-time.

"What makes you happy now?" Zed asked him.

"Not talking about dead relatives."

"Okay, true. Let's not. So... What are you content with?"

"You," Vee blurted.

Zed's chest tightened. Vee let go of her hand and angled his torso toward her. "I'm sorry. It's difficult for me not to... Stick to you. If I'm honest... You look like her, Lea. I really hate how much you remind me of her. And I don't want to use you to fill the void. It's wrong, but I can't help it. Everywhere I look, I'm reminded of how much I lost. And you're so understanding. You don't have all these expectations."

"Vee—"

"I don't want you to think I'm coming onto you. You don't owe me anything. All I'm saying is, I'd be happy to stick together."

"We will! I want to stick with you, too."

Vee combed his blond hair back, pinching his brows together. "Lea... I want you to tell me no, right now."

"No? What do you mean?" Zed asked.

"Tell me there's no chance in Hell we'll ever get together. If I have it planted in my mind, then that's that. But if you don't, and we continue hanging out like this, getting closer... I might... Think there's a way."

"Valter..."

"Axe knew what he was doing when he brought you here...when he introduced us. Yes, he wanted protection for you, but he also wanted you and me to hit it off. I could tell. He'd never admit it, but I know him. You're perfect for me, but I've seen how others treat you, and I refuse to do the same. I don't want to perform tricks to impress you into sleeping with me like Ivar, but I don't want to stifle my feelings like... Axel. So you need to shut me down, right now. If there's a firm barrier, my mind will reroute, avoiding any possibility—"

"Stop," Zed said. "Please, just stop."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought any of that up."

"No, it's good to speak your mind. I appreciate the honesty, even if it took months to hear."

"It would have been inappropriate if I brought it up. When we had research and pressing issues, it was easy to ignore how familiar you seemed. Now I'm at a stalemate, and you're still here, and Axel's gone. I can't pretend like I don't want to spend my time with you. But I'll stay off your heels, I swear. Just friends."

"I'm not telling you no," Zed murmured. "Maybe at some point, I wanted to fall in love, but now I know that's foolish. Love can't exist in this world anymore. Not without great suffering, and I don't want to suffer anymore. Truthfully, I don't even want to get close to you, Valter, because I'm afraid someone or something will take it away."

"Nothing will take me away."

Zed shook her head, knocking a tear loose. "Don't say that. You can't make that promise. I don't want any more broken promises."

The scientist nodded while a cloud of vapour seethed from the sprinkler heads above the raised garden beds, thickening the air and clinging to their skin. A long silence pervaded, and Zed held her breath until Vee shuffled away to retrieve Wayfare of Austea. He dropped the box before her feet and grinned widely.

"Come on then, let's play. No more doom and gloom for a while."

~*~

Ivar spent the same evening pacing in his room. He went to the private alcove he assigned to the woman on his mind. Zed was fickle, and he didn't want to dash his chances with her by smothering, but something in his stomach wouldn't settle. He'd even dismissed his guard, encouraging another visit, yet she hadn't shown. Ivar buckled under the suspicion that she was angry with him, and her absence was his punishment.

Never the man to deny himself, he made for the Hives. If Zed was alone, surely she'd welcome his company. She'd said it herself: she wasn't one to sleep with just anyone, and he was far from just anyone. He was King, and this was his realm.

Despite his self-reassurance, Ivar carried doubts that manifested on his face. He passed a few citizens, drawing eyes with his acidic mug and ignored them all the way to Zed's door.

She didn't answer the door after he knocked. He reasoned she might be asleep, though it was shy of nine o'clock—early for most but not an unusual time to sleep. Before he turned away, he twisted the handle and cracked the door open an inch, letting out the dark.

"Lea? Are you in here?"

Stagnant silence answered, and he shut the door before anyone saw him. Ivar went to the door on the left and found that one locked. He grimaced, turned from the apartments and left for the lab.

On his way through the courtyard, Ivar saw Nalani and Trinity walking arm-in-arm, engaged in private discussion. Their frantic doe-eyes widened to see him.

"Have you seen Lea?" Ivar asked.

"She should be home, I think," said Trinity.

Nalani shrugged her bare shoulders, still clutching her friend's hand. "I thought she'd be with you, Ivar."

He sneered at the women. "No curtsy? No formality? Has everyone forgotten who's in charge around here?"

The two pressed their arms together, quietly apologizing and stepping aside for Ivar. He stalked toward the lab, holding his breath while throwing open the doors and turning the corner to find the rooms gutted of materials. The refrigerator hummed, and the overhead light flickered, barren and reeking of sterilization.

Ivar examined the dustless surfaces, curious but not enough to go digging through desk drawers. He went down the hall and stopped in front of Vee's door, clearing his airways again to sharpen his ears. There were no voices. Ivar knocked and went unanswered.

He turned in time to see the first door in the hall open and Lora's head poking out. She wore the same displeasure on her face, adjusting her reading glasses while her body caught up with her neck.

"If you're looking for Vee, he's hiding away with that woman everyone is up in arms about," Lora said.

"Hiding away? With Lea?"

"Yeah, whatever her name is. They haven't been here since I caught them getting up close and personal in Vee's room."

Ivar's stomach flipped, his head buzzed. Lora took great pleasure in the snagging of his mouth. She had been fuming by herself, finding specks of dust to brush away to keep her mind off her superior who'd run away with the girl she'd grown to distrust. Lora was a woman of insecurity, easily threatened by others but quick to bite back when given a chance. After she'd found Vee shoulder-to-shoulder with Zed in his apartment, Lora waited for any opportunity to drive a wedge between her beloved head scientist and the newcomer from the desert. Now was the perfect opportunity to damage Zed.

"What do you mean?" Ivar asked.

"You know what I mean, sir. They were practically on top of each other."

Ivar had no reason to discount Lora's claim. She'd proven herself a trusted and valuable member of the village long ago and never caused a ripple of dispute. The folding of her face and iron-clad seriousness was all the King needed to believe what she told him.

"Where are they?"

"I assume—if they're smart—hiding in one of the greenhouses. I wouldn't be surprised if you caught them naked in the strawberry bushes."

Ivar scoffed and rushed away. Lora watched until he disappeared, then went back inside the incubation room and put on a pair of gloves. There was an electric cooler housing blood samples, one from each member of the village. Lora selected a sample from the bottom tray and shuffled to the sink, turning on the tap while reading the label. Popping the top off the vial, she upended the sample and drained the blood away.

Ivar did better than storming the greenhouses in search of Zed. There were slinkier things on his mind. If he caught her in the act with the scientist, only then would he justify blowing up. For now, he snuck through the grounds with his focus tuned and his breath steady.

"What's next for me? I've tried to convince him to let someone go, but he refuses. Do we just exist here now, with no way to move forward? Forever trapped in this moon unit."

"He'll come to his senses," Vee said with meagre hopefulness. "Ivar's full of himself, but he's not stupid."

"Well, let's count on those senses coming soon," Zed snorted.

"Speaking of Ivar... Do you think he's wondering where you are? You did just... You know. If that happened to me, I'd be thinking about it for a while. Wondering after you. Well, not you—'cause we never... Heh. Ah, shit. You get my meaning, right?"

"Mr. Cluney, are you flustered? I don't think I've ever heard you fumble your words before."

"I don't mean to be coarse."

"Don't worry. We'll get through this. Ivar has to see reason… We need to tell him about the ones who died."

"I'll tell him. It should be me," Vee said, stacking the playing cards back in the plastic tray lining of the frayed box.

Zed helped by gathering pieces, separating them into their individual quadrants next to the cards. She set her eyes dead on the floor after they finished packing the game away, sighing in contemplation.

"Who will go?"

Vee frowned. They shared a strained minute of silence interrupted by another burst of spray in the air. Their shirts stuck to their backs, legs aching from crossing and uncrossing. Zed handed the box to Vee.

"Maybe it should be me," she said.

"Absolutely not. You can't leave. It's too dangerous out there, and you don't have to put your life on the line. There's only two people who should go. Me or Ivar."

"You're too important to lose, Vee. That's what Axel wants. I know if he had a dying wish for me, it would be to look out for you. For us to do everything we can to survive."

"Within capability. I'm not a killer, Zed. I'm not like Axel."

Zed smirked, the merciless flames dancing in her belly again, the same ones she'd felt when she screamed at Lora. She'd harboured the noxious warmth before. It was a friend to her.

"But I am...I'm a killer."

Vee set his jaw firmly, scoffing, unable to disagree. "Listen, Rambo. Even armed to the teeth, you're still not going out there alone."

"And neither are you if you go."

"You think Ivar will leave his precious cocoon? I don't think so. He'll probably send one of his guys out to never come back."

Zed shook her head, tired of the speculation. "This is ridiculous. Anyone should be able to come and go as they please. It's tyranny to tell them they can't leave if they want to. I thought this was a place of free will? What happened to the promised land?"

"Same thing that always happens when one person is left in charge."

"On that, we agree."

They left the greenhouse with much to think about, hugged goodbye in the courtyard and separated—Zed toward the Hives and Vee following the path to his room.

The next morning Zed awoke to guards butting on all the doors, yelling for everyone to get to the courtyard. The racket came after a long night of tossing and turning. Her eyes were tight with unrest, her head throbbing, but she put on jeans and a plain white t-shirt with a single breast pocket, similar to the ones Ivar wore.

The citizens filed from the Hives, murmuring and looking around worriedly. Guards stood by to direct the traffic to the medical tent-turned-backdrop. The booth topped the steepest hill in the plaza, out of use for the past few weeks. They pooled around the base of the hill in collective confusion, looking up as Ivar took advantage of the blank vinyl behind him.

Ivar cast a proud smile over the congregation. He summoned everyone from their hiding spots without having to lift a finger and brought them into the light spilling through the checkered dome on high. He waited until he spotted Zed and Vee coming in from their separate tubes, relaxing a bare inch when they didn't arrive together. They cut their ways to the front of the throng and noticed each other right away. Ivar saw the troubled looks they exchanged and sneered.

"Is this everyone?" Ivar called to the head of his guard.

An armed man standing off to the East with a few others gave Ivar a thumbs up. The King nodded, then proceeded, his expression toward his people fresh with tenacity.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Kinderfeld. I've asked you all here to bring you some news. It has taken me a long time to come to this decision, and for my delay, I apologize. I don't take this lightly... We've lost members of our family, and my heart is broken. I've spent too long trying to think of a way to bring trade back to our village. We need supplies, yes, and medics. I understand these things because I've survived before. All of us must exist as a unit, each one pledged to the survival of our crew."

The people looked on with widening eyes. Hearts that once sang for Ivar's monologues found their tune. All of them but Azalea and the other Cluney brother. Ivar burned them with ocular venom, hoisting his smile into a morbid curve. Zed let shoulders and legs swallow her back into the crowd, but not deep enough to block her view of the head scientist glaring back at the leader.

"I forbid travel for your protection. There are dangers outside of our walls. People whose only purpose is to hunt and kill. I don't have to remind you of the horrors we've suffered or the love we've cultivated here in our home. You were all there. Some of you longer than others. They built these walls to protect us—the ones who choose love instead of hate."

Ivar clasped his hands behind his back and took splinted steps back and forth on his makeshift stage. He fashioned himself contemplative, but his eyes shone with intent.

"With that being said... We cannot wait for luck to come to us. This planet is evolving each day. Nature is reclaiming the land, and it will swallow us in its majesty. We will be lost if we don't take action."

"What do we do?" Someone called from the center of the gathering. The fiery-haired father who'd earned his keep cooking and training his son stood out as the shouter. Ivar didn't smile at him so much as he cast his grace upon the redheaded man clutching the freckled boy by the shoulders.

"I'm glad you asked, sir... We are a unity. A tribe of people who want to live in harmony, am I wrong?"

Several shook their heads, others muttered together, a dull drone of tired voices.

"Then we should vote. Does anyone care to nominate themselves or another?"

The apprehension pivoted and picked up with a few gasps. Heads swivelled in search of somebody bold enough to champion themselves for exploration. Vee continued glaring at Ivar. The king returned the glower.

"I'll go!"

Zed gasped after the words left Vee's mouth. He stepped forth, unbreaking under Ivar's challenging eyes.

"So we have one volunteer. Our beloved head of research and weapons development. A very noble gesture! Does anyone else wish to nominate themselves?" Ivar asked. He opened his arms, beseeching a reply with postured hope.

"Nobody should go alone!" Zed shouted.

"Yeah, we need a team!"

Ivar motioned for the crowd to quiet down. Once they simmered, looking on with palpable anticipation, he inhaled deeply for the next addressing.

"We're running low on men to keep our hold. The brunt of the firepower needs to remain here in case of attack," Ivar reasoned.

"I'll go alone. I don't care. We can't stand around any longer!" Vee said, his chest puffed, much to the surprise of the people who knew him.

Ivar barked a few dry laughs, disguising his pleasure to everyone but Zed and the man who'd volunteered to brave the elements. "I suppose if nobody has any objections...Vee will be the one to go. As badly as it tears me to say so... You are the perfect man for the job. Brother, I wish you all the luck."

Zed broke away from the gather and hammered her legs up the incline toward Vee and Ivar, pumping her fists until she reached them.

"Ivar, you can't do this! We can't send people out alone. At least let me go with him!"

"No!" Ivar and Vee shouted at once.

"What are you going to do to stop me? After your decree about peace and harmony, what will you do to keep me from leaving Kinderfeld?"

Ivar adopted her heated expression. "Azalea, stay out of this."

"No. I won't! Not after what happened to Axel. We have to assemble a team! Don't tell me to stay out when neither of you has seen the carnage!"

"Of course you want to go, Lea. All you care about is finding Axel. You used me and hoped I wouldn't figure out you're trying to leave. You never cared about me. You try to act like you're so innocent and respectful, but you're just like everyone else."

"Because I don't want people to die? Ivar, I understand you're trying to protect everyone, but sending men out for slaughter won't help our cause. Please," Zed whimpered. "Set aside our personal issues and try to see the bigger picture."

Ivar cooled suddenly. He patronized Zed with a frantic nod and a forced grin. "All right, Azalea. Consider our personal issues permanently set aside. You got your way. One of the guards will go with Vee. Now, go. I have heard your voice."

The guards gathered around Ivar and Vee, their conversation clipped and sheltered from the citizens by a lineup of broad-shouldered men carrying weapons of varying levels of brutality. Zed stepped away, cowering under the firm looks she received from Ivar's men. Though she bowed out of the political bubble, she stayed close by, watching Vee's sour face muttering umbrage at the King. The other citizens broke off into smaller clusters, chosen families and cliques gathering to discuss the ruling.

A hand slid over Zed's shoulder, and she whirled to find Sheraya bowing her head. "You've done what you can."

"No, I haven't!" Zed nipped. "I should go with him. I'm not afraid of the outside anymore."

"You don't have to be the hero, Azalea. You must survive."

"I have survived. I'm good at it."

"You're needed here. The young ones have to learn from the women."

"Sheraya... I can't let Vee go. I can't."

The elder took hold of Zed's clammy palm, pressing the lines with her thumb. Zed buckled as tears sprung from the corners of her eyes. "He's all I have, Sheraya."

"The only one you ever truly have is yourself. Think about that before you take your heart's path and not your brain's. Look hard into the future."

"I'm trying," Zed sobbed.

"Azalea, I mean it. Your future is important."

Sheraya left her with a warm peck on the cheek and a growing sense of bewilderment. Zed looked around at the people, the hills and the courtyard beyond, the flatland where they set up their booths and entertained each other. Envisioning life beyond the safety of their walls overcame Zed with grief. She'd won, but the conditions were too heavy for her to bear. Now her last friend prepared for expulsion.

Vee took his charge seriously. Zed saw his raw determination as they hashed out a plan. Several times, she stopped herself from storming their parley, anchoring herself to the ground with locked knees and her arms folded over her breasts.

For a long time, the conversation went on, and most of the villagers went about their morning routines, gathering to cook and gossip of the turbulent state of politics. Zed stayed close enough to catch Vee when they finally broke for action, but the men showed no signs of agreement. Ivar had to hush some more uproarious guards, leashing them down with an assuring hand on the shoulder to stop them from infecting the others with their rancour.

Zed spotted a guard sprinting from the warehouse limits. The desperate look on his face alerted her, and she stepped out of sight around the corner of the medical tent, still close enough to listen.

The man approached, panting and calling for Ivar's attention. Zed snuck a peek and saw the group retire from their conference, distracted by their comrade.

"Jackson, what's the matter?"

"It's Zee. It's him! One of the guys found some doctor dragging him through the forest."

"A doctor?" Ivar repeated. "How do you know?"

"He says so. Says his name is Simpson... Or was it Samson?"

"Samson!" Zed yelled, running from her cover toward the reporting guard. "Did you say the doctor's name is Samson?"

"Yeah, Samson," the man huffed, stunned by the woman's sudden appearance.

"Bring him in! Right now. Go get them and bring him to me!" Zed demanded.

"Now, wait a minute," Ivar said. "How do we know we can trust this guy?"

"If it's the Samson I know, we can trust him. Ivar, please. I'll vouch for him if it's who I think it is."

"Who gives a shit, he's got my brother!"

Zed vaulted after Vee, tailed by the guards and Ivar. The march heralded interest from the citizens, and soon, onlookers roved toward the warehouse. Vee turned to the guard who'd brought the news and slapped him on the shoulder. "Go tell them to let Axel and the doctor inside."

"Sir," the guard nodded, jogging ahead to the entrance where two other men stood, baffled and conflicted without orders.

"Let them in!" Zed cried out.

They waited with bursting lungs. It seemed an hour crawled by before a shadowed heap of arms appeared at the mouth of the entrance. Flanked by two guards holding him upright, they carried Axel inside, his head of matted brown hair dangling lifelessly between his shoulders, limp tattooed arms slung around their necks. Zed ran to him and propped his chin up in her hand, heart palpitating, head rushing.

"Axel! Oh my God. You're alive!"

"Now, now, miss. Don't waste too much breath speaking to him. He can't understand you."

Zed turned toward the familiar voice. Samson hobbled in next to a guard who'd taken on his load—a heavy satchel, a duffel bag and two tweed suitcases. Filth and the briny stink of body odour and piss wafted through the tunnel with them. Most recoiled from the stench.

"Doctor Samson, do you remember me? From the bloodbank."

"Ah, yes, of course, I remember you, Zed! You used to zip around on your motorbike, looking for scrap metal and something to eat."

"Yes, yes! I didn't think I'd see you again."

"The chances of us meeting were rather slim, I agree, and I have to say it's lovely to find you in this magnificent bubble here. You can see this splendid little valley from the North. We were hoping for water, but this is much better. Um, speaking of water, where might I find some? Mr. Soldier and I are rather parched. Oh, and I left my camel parked outside. Do you validate?" Samson said with a jolt of wild laughter.

Zed didn't mean to be rude, but turning away from Samson was far too easy when Axel hung before her like a damp towel on a clothesline. She wanted to hold him, to join in as support to get him a surface to lie upon, but she resisted.

Ivar butt in and directed the escort to take Axel to the laboratory, then turned to Zed, scorning the tears in her eyes.

"Looks like you got your wish, Lea. Axel's back. Your life can go back to normal," Ivar said as the rest of them rushed away with the hunter and the doctor in tow.

It was only them, facing off on the hill. Zed quelled the wildfire in her belly with a painful swallow. A debate with Ivar served no purpose, so she turned from him, solemn and absolute.

"You've given me a lot, Ivar. I thank you for that. Hopefully soon, you and I will see eye to eye again, and we can live peacefully, as you said."

She angled down the hill, hurrying toward the laboratory.

Nobody stopped her from entering the stand-in hospital room. Vee had been worrying over his brother, grimacing at his crudely wrapped hand, violet dark and lame at his side. They'd already stripped him naked and laid a blanket over his lower extremities, so the bruises spraying his ribs screamed in the whiteness. His skin was bright red and glossy, shoulders scabbed with burns. With all his muscles slackened, Axel spilled over the bed, deadweight and loose-jawed.

"What happened?" Zed asked, turning to the doctor propped up in a gurney, sipping from a jug of water.

"I can't say for sure," said Samson. "He was comatose when I found him baking in the desert. That's one lucky man, right there. Lucky he crawled his sorry ass to where he did. Otherwise, I might have missed him by a mile."

"What should we do, Samson? How do I make him come out of it?"

"Oh, we can never be sure. It could be a few days, weeks... Months. My suggestion is to regulate his body temperature, treat his wounds and burns, and hope for the best."

Zed turned back to the unconscious man. She spotted the clumps of dirt in his hair, the scrapes on his elbows and mud-caked fingernails and her panic increased.

"Somebody bring me washcloths, soap and water right now!"

"I'd be mighty careful cleaning those burns, Zed. He's got some good blisters forming. And mind his hand."

"I will, I will," Zed nodded. "Just tell me what to do."

"Can I bother someone for a snack?" Asked Samson.

The guards who'd toted them into the lab stuck around until no longer needed. Zed refused help from anyone except Vee after Trinity brought them a bucket of warmed water, and Lora provided antiseptic. They started cleaning Axel gently, beginning with the grime under his nails. Samson ate from a bowl of mixed fruits, humming in delight from the nectar sliding down his throat.

Zed moved Axel's injured arm with great care and washed away the smears of dirt marring his tattoos, applying disinfectant to the cuts. Vee worked on the opposite side of the bed, combing out the chunks in his hair. Once in awhile, Zed met Vee's eyes, and he'd nod or give her a forced grin.

Axel's unconsciousness only registered later in the night after they'd cleaned him and swapped a few words of astonishment. Zed stayed nearby, wishing his eyes open, but every hopeful breath gave way to disappointment. Lost in the blankness of his mind, Axel floated.

Even Lora surrendered to the sobering tension, making herself available to Vee only. Zed didn't concern herself with the woman. Her mind was awash with relief and worry for the friend who'd found his miraculous way back home. Nothing else mattered but the battered man lying in slumber on the hospital bed.

Samson fell asleep, and Vee left after long, touching Zed's shoulder before excusing himself. He promised to come back as soon as he'd had some rest. Zed nodded, squeezing his hand for a lingering moment, then releasing him. Sleep had no chance of overtaking her, so she stayed next to Axel, balling herself up in one of the office chairs, listening to his wheezing and sticking her fingers under his scruffy jaw to check his pulse every time he went silent.

When it was only her, Axel, and Samson sleeping in the room, she leaned over the bed and brushed her palm over Axel's scaly forehead. She avoided his singed nose, the curving laceration above his left eye and the peeling skin on the crests of his cheeks, touching his jaw and stroking his hair a few times.

"Don't worry, everything's okay now. You're back where you're safe."

The woman slumped into the chair, propping her heavy head on her elbow. She watched his chest rise and fall for a few minutes, plates of seared skin stretching tight over his ribcage, and fought off the urge to doze alongside him.

"Mmph-uh... Muh."

Zed's eyes snapped open. "Axel? Did you speak?"

"Hmm," he thrummed.

"Can you hear me, Axel? It's me, Zed. Azalea. Do you recognize my voice?"

Axel's throat went quiet, the enfeebled notes fading back to obscurity. Zed tried to get him mumbling again, but the hunter remained still.

"It's okay. I promise, I'll make you better. You're home now, and I'm not going anywhere until you’re better, okay, Axel? Don’t worry. You’re at home with me."

Like what I do? Tip me on Ko-Fi (if you want :D)

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#axel cluney fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #ivar the boneless fanfiction #valter skarsgård fanfiction #AU fanfiction #Bill Skarsgård #alex høgh andersen #valter skarsgard

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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Can you tell us about Sanguine Promise? (Also how do you come up with titles because all these are so good???)

Oooo, I was hoping someone one would ask about this title because guess what? It’s an original story! Let me give you a tiny, tiny snippet of what I managed to write before I delved heavily into Dragon Age!

The Republic of Sanguis. A land inexorably tied together with the blood of Divinity. Three factions rule its expansive landscape in relative peace; with each one paying respects to one of three creators of Sanguis. These divine beings are known as ‘The Trinity of Sanguis”. The Trinity was once three separate beings of ephemeral power, whose own blood created the continent on which the living creatures who reside there now stand upon. The Trinity thus lives on within the earth below the masses feet, residual power coursing through it. This power eventually manifested into multiple hues of blood or ‘blood hues’; three hues for three Gods. Each blood hue is identified by a specific color; some being more rare than others. However, not only color matters in Sanguis. While hue of blood is the determining factor of an inhabitant of Sanguis, the strain of their blood is also important; in other terms, their thickness. Each faction splinters their people into two categories: Viscous and Fluid. Those known as Viscous are the elite of each faction, possessing the thickest blood of the population, and thus are generally in positions of ruler ship and government. Those known as Fluid are the bottom rung of society’s mountainous ladder. The Fluid are delegated to farmers, peasants, or even slaves. Most Fluid never see the inside of a palace and if they do find themselves within majestic walls it is usually as prisoners due to most Fluid not being allowed access into the major cities of the factions. It is this very concept that continues to strain the three factions' already precarious tilt over the edge into war.

Now this was an idea that just popped into my head one day while I was playing Skyrim. I’m not sure why playing Skyrim had made me go “Original story, yes!”, but I think it was because I wanted to try something new. This is heavily inspired by the Latin language hence the term ‘Sanguis’ which means ‘blood’ or in some cases ‘power’. As the beginning line states it is a republic of three factions; The Faction of Rubeus, The Faction of Caeruleum, and The Faction of Enbur. (Red, Blue, White, respectively). Each faction also has one of three gods: Potestas (God of Power and Rubeus), Regium (God of Royalty and Caeruleum), and Astraea (Goddess of Purity and Enbur). These three gods created the land of Sanguis with their blood alone, and thus, the residents of each bear the color of blood that represents the color of their faction or rather, god. I also implemented a sort of ‘caste’ system where the thicker your blood the higher you are in society, and thinner your blood the lower you are in society (Viscous, Fluid). There is one more blood hue and that would be ‘Black’ which is the most reviled blood hue from all three factions, no matter the viscosity, and the god that possessed it? Their name was ‘Aterian’ which roughly translates to Blackened One, and thus, this is where Fane’s draconic name was actually born, as well as he himself. There’s actually a lot more in terms of world building, but I’d be here all day. 🤣🤣I have been thinking of picking this story back up once I get to a good point with ‘Emerald Eyes Amidst Golden Vows’, since it is a story I really put a lot of research into, even though I don’t even have one chapter as of yet. I just have snippets, but I do want to delve into it more! :D

(And oh my god, thank you! Honestly, I just pinpoint one theme of a chapter or drabble, and combine it with another. So in terms of my main fic for Dragon Age, ‘Emerald Eyes’ i.e. Fane’s eye color and then ‘Amidst’ or among ‘Golden Vows’ which encompasses both the two toned quality of Fane’s eyes as well as the vow he and Solas made centuries before Inquisition. Voila! Title! Also, my English teacher in high school was crazy about vocabulary, so a lot of it stuck with me. 🤣 But I’m glad you like them! Thank you so much for the ask @another-rogue-trevelyan! ❤️❤️)

#wip ask game #asks #original story #oc: fane lavellan #thank you for the ask!#don't you worry i'm coming for all of you and your stories!#>:3 #my writing #fanfiction

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emersonmanandnature · 3 years

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July 6, 2021

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and Mary Magdalene, a son, a mother, a step dad and a wife.

It wasn’t an affair of priestly delights it was a love at first sight.

Do you think an all powerful loving god would demand that anyone who is androgynous be condemned to hell not only in the afterlife but now on this planet of corruption, vice and hate of individuality.

For god is our creator and he blesses all of his children equally!

Our god is supposedly the god of everyone not a selected few with narrow blinded sight praying for the end of days.

God’s money flows upward as the people wait for their salvation living in poverty and hate from the so called christians of our lord who seems to be never present and yet he is adored for what his apostles wrote after he was sacrificed on the cross for our sins.

Does this mean from now on we would be born free of sin? Are you kidding without sin and finger pointing and priests insisting they are the only intermediary in order to find your real salvation, how would these thieves of guilt, hypocrisy and hate ever make a living if we could pray directly to god ourselves and ask for his forgiveness. The only problem is you have to be a ventriloquist in order to talk to an invisible, silent god through your own voice and hear his response with your moving lips.

And yet millions of people pray directly to their god without the money men demanding payment for their words of repetitive wisdom.

All is an illusion of ones single mindedness, to think doesn’t mean your alive what makes you alive is how you spend your time helping or stealing from others.

But if jesus came down from the heavens in his father’s place and died on the cross for our sins why would anyone in their right mind still believe that man, woman and child are still filled with the devils sin because an apple was taken when people were hungry.

What super godly power would use such a flimsy excuse to pour hate and sin on innocence and then like the landlords of today boot them out of the garden. What kind of a god does this, well it is not a true god it is mankind’s invented god. Made to keep people placated and remain frightened of their future and their only escape is to die and be lifted up into a heavenly paradise where this holy place is a guessing game but the true effect of these words in a bible made to control the forces of individuality is to believe in an afterlife and ignore the paradise you have let the wealthy dismantle and pollute without a fight.

And now as the earth dies quicker your so called paradise is an allusion to keep you contained and to follow orders given by the true reason we see no light at the end of our tunnel, for the powerful own the people and make them their little worker ants just getting by without any hope of a better life.

Having a demanding god directing souls to repent and praise a mysterious, invisible master of the universe is incomprehensible. Man judges man period.

Man looks for any excuse to demean, accuse and destroy others not only because mankind is incapable of living a life without violence, as we did when we began to stand upright and make weapons to kill animals and each other but also because our lord, god is also violent and murderous destroying life, his supposed creations, what father would think of extinction as a means toward salvation and then handpicking a few that are obedient to his every word, where was our freedom of thought our choice of how we want to live our lives the good, the bad and the ugly, does our holy father enjoy the suffering of the masses, his creations, by these small minded thieves with only one goal more and more power and money over people.

And that explains our godly maker for why live if you don’t have power over others. Yes, that seems selfish but if god can be selfish in his anger then we can be selfish in our killing fields, our disrespect toward other human beings, treating them as if they were nonexistent, just something to exploit and then let die.

What we worship is our greedy selves, especially when we can make big profits off the backs of the working force.

Worship is not external, worship is internal and the more you own other lives the more you feel godlike. The more you become addicted to your god given power therefore you must be special and your voice must be obeyed.

It wasn’t a women’s forceful voice evicting them from eden it was a deep voice, a man’s voice from the clouds that told them to get lost but not totally lost but lost in this world alone without mercy, to be evicted from eden, your home by a mean old landlord their innocence destroyed having now to fight for their very lives, all this brought on by a supreme being, a child playing with human toys, it seems he has been doing this for thousands of years up to our present catastrophe of criminal wealth.

A silent boss, demanding a special payment to himself, it seems he loves suffering, why send your only son to be nailed to a cross if you didn’t enjoy his suffering, his cries to his father up in his heavenly paradise, acting like some sort of sociopath drooling with sweat as his only son is murdered for his creation of himself in all beings, who also love to see the suffering of others because it gives them that flash of power of being saved through their selfish prayers.

And lets not forget that we are continually under the thumb of a god that cares more of his beautiful image, portraits of man’s egos, than making changes that could stop his flock of criminal minds that continue to do more harm than good and lets face it god, jesus and the holy ghost have been shut-ins afraid it seems to step out into the universe they made.

God has been on vacation now for twenty centuries since he saved mankind well jesus at any rate, we are not sure where god was or is and we never see the holy ghost but we know all three must be in the universe somewhere doing their godly thing, gaining respect from outer planets, doing his egotistical spellbinding worship of himself to help others pray for their own salvation for why should an all powerful god, faceless, invisible and silent reach out and finally present himself to his fan base!

The big question is do they really care or need his approval because the wealthy seem to be doing what god did and that is take from the people what is rightfully theirs.

Religion is an ugly affair, a pretend faith but if you feel the undercurrents of mankind’s need to blame others for their problems then you will begin to see the phony impostor of religious fever, hatred of self. For we are a jealous race to think we can’t begin to measure up to our triple gods of power.

How could a god who we have never heard personally speak to his flock, allow human beings to continue living in squalor with wars necessary violence unless you seek profits from the weapons sold to foreign countries creating their own personal killing fields?

Doesn’t weapons of mass destruction allow the elites eyes to widen with the possibilities of the end of this speck of dust and these men of narrow beliefs will gladly push the final button for it is god’s will that we all die in fear and pain. For we are just worthless sinners and I always wonder about these evangelical worshipers of self-loathing how they can look themselves in the mirror and believe they are the chosen ones to lead a massacre for god, jesus and the holy ghost of the very people that worship a fairy tale.

All of this brought to you in prime time by the catholic, protestant, evangelical, mormon, latter day saints, episcopal, lutheran, baptist, the word of life, risen hope, mega churches, methodist, christ the king, presbyterian, seventh day adventist, pentecostal, trinity bible church, and more and more sprouting up to confuse the true purpose of religion, control of the people to placate them into believing that their lives mean something to an invisible persona, who else but us our imaginative nature finally revealed.

The wisdom of the ages came up with a nauseating bluff of fear to keep people afraid of life and the wealth that rule us, and then they wrote in a religious relic, a book of peoples fears created centuries ago and to keep fear, hate and sorrow in their lives by creating a reality of poverty ruled not by a missing god but by our man god his hatred toward themselves and all people of unbelief, stating the ultimate lie and that is the only way to find or rise up to heaven is death.

How silly it is that to keep human beings occupied for centuries by religions controlling force, abusing innocence as their whipping post and making sure that no one returns to this planet of greed for that is only for the wealthy to rule generation after generation not as real gods but these men of criminal minds and you will never return to this once paradise destroyed by the rich but by dying you are freed from the brutality of this world and will be able to return to god’s paradise somewhere in space, maybe in his minds eye for isn’t god the almighty link to death and resurrection and we can be in heavenly peace but certainly not until were dead by fire or soil in a box.

So the people can’t just skip ahead to a paradise that is seemly invisible to the poor human population but yet it exists and is waiting for you to die and how you die doesn’t really matter for not all can leave this retched place like jesus did by being nailed to a cross.

It must not be that important to god how we get to his heaven for we have to pass the time here on this criminal planet being robbed of our dignity, our home, our life just so we can work for pennies on the dollar by being servants to the new order of religious zealots, it is called profit worship. Let us all kneel in silent prayer, their will be no giggling at the amount of money we just stole, oh I mean made off the sweat of those hard workers that just gave us a year end bonus plus we were not indicted this year so all is well here in the money pit of new homes, yachts and travel and oh yay our new homes guarded by military personal.

Why in gods name would you wait to die and not stand up to these men and women of greed that have exploited this earth and its inhabitants since the beginning of man walking upright.

Heaven is an illusion a prefabricated cage, a con game, a piece of candy given to a child to keep them from crying and going berserk in public. We are given just enough fake power to keep us placated in doing the dirty work for the elites of crime.

Death is an illusion of power given to others taken by the fear of revelation, the real truth that god is only a symbol to keep the populace in chains, surrendering their hope of eternal peace which is of course death, by doing the work for the true powerful men and women that own this planet, and not mother earth our true goddess.

God’s power from above is a lightning strike of death. If god can kill without regret so can mankind.

God is our example and in the bible god has murdered innocence to make a point and to control the necessary egos of his people. God wipes out the entire planet in a flood without blinking an eye and noah begins a new life as his family populates the world to once again worship a god that isn’t present in our reality but in our minds riddled with fear of his anger.

I guess his anger would be toward those crooks of wall street that didn’t meet their billion dollar bonus by cheating the people of their hard earned pay check.

Gods wars are our wars for we were made in his likeness? Amen

#zealots #power #crooks #cross #greed #destruction #religion #cjcorwinoriginal

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clansayeed · 4 years

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Bound by Choice ― IV.ii. A Gilded Cage

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Though the Trinity would rather the death of Viscount Edwards fade into obscurity, an impassioned detective from Scotland Yard seems intent on opposing them. The favor of London’s elite is easily swayed and Cynbel has never been able to stand by while his beloveds suffer.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“The Lord Cynbel Montes for you, detective.”

It doesn’t bode well that Detective Moray stands to greet him. It means he sat while he waited; it means he was patient despite the late hour. It means even knowing he could have been waiting some time for Cynbel’s arrival he chose not to behold any of the artefacts on display across the shelves or peruse the various books in their various languages all around him. Symbols of their age, their journeys and adventures.

All of that and Detective Moray chose to sit and wait. The reason for his visit far more important to him.

“Your patience is admirable,” says Cynbel; and perhaps Valdas might have done the civilized thing and apologized to the man for even needing it — but he is not Valdas, “to what do I owe this utterly spontaneous visit, Detective…?”

“Detective Moray, my Lord.” He takes off his hat and offers Cynbel a hand that isn’t taken. “I hope you’ll forgive me for the hour — but I was told the evening would almost certainly find you home.”

“Indeed. If mildly inconvenienced.”

If he’s shocked at Cynbel’s abruptness he hides it well. “Again, my sincerest apologies.”

Again, Cynbel mutters an “indeed” of acceptance.

Moray looks as if to speak but his eyes fixate on something at Cynbel’s back — he turns to see Tobias lingering, uncertain about fully closing the door.

“It’s all right Tobias. Perhaps you could make sure the kitchen has tea set for the guests. They should be finished soon and you know of the Lady Isseya’s appetite after such entertainment.”

With a curt nod and bow Tobias takes his leave of them; closes the library doors and leaves Cynbel and the Detective very much alone.

Which seems to be all Moray was waiting for.

“It’s an unfortunate business, this. Certainly I would rather we meet under kindlier circumstances.” Though, and Cynbel is quite certain of this, he would rather they never met at all. “But I assume you are already aware of the reason for my calling.”

Moray remains still so Cynbel seeks to show him exactly why that is a terrible idea. He begins circling the man; steps almost lazily around the space he knows so well and that makes it all the more easier on him when he has to hide the recognition that slips through his mask.

“Let’s assume I am not. What would you say then?”

“I would ask you not to lie to me, Lord Montes, since lying now might imply you’ll lie to me when we stop these games.”

Had Tobias not mentioned the man’s unusual aura Cynbel might not have thought anything of it. But now the thought is there and against all of his better judgment it festers; digs talons growing by the second into his doubts. Does he know? Does he see?

His eyes fall on a particular trinket, one with a memory that eases the tension in the Golden Son’s shoulders. He strokes the very tip of his finger over the curved brow of Isseya’s masque. “You’re here regarding the death of Viscount James Edwards.”

“I’m here regarding the Viscount’s murder, yes.”

There’s a victory in correcting the enemy. Moray wears it with every word. “Care to explain how you came to know the Viscount was deceased?”

Cynbel snorts; throws back a simpering, pitying smirk. “When you accrue a certain amount of wealth, Detective, the only thing worth any value becomes information. That and England’s aristocracy are a bunch of horrid gossips.” When he laughs, he laughs alone.

“I don’t find the murder of a personal guest of Her Royal Highness Queen Victoria to be a laughing matter, Lord Montes.”

“You never had the displeasure of meeting the man, then.”

“What makes you think that?”

“If you had, you’d be laughing too.”

Moray’s nostrils flare. He’ll hand it to the mortal; he’s doing remarkably well at keeping his composure.

There’s a reason more often than not Valdas is the one handling any sort of negotiation or debate. Cynbel just prefers to insult.

“That seems to be the general opinion of the late Viscount, unfortunately. But this is the Queen’s Realm and even men such as he… those who seem to prefer status to moral character, that is to say, are deserving of a life. And when that can no longer abide, I am duty-bound to seek justice for him.”

Pretty speech — wasted though.

“That’s how you have spent the day — building a case on his lack of character?” he asks.

“Nothing so bureaucratic. What I’ve been doing is piecing together his last night seen alive.” And imagine the vampire’s surprise when he looks to glare at the back of Moray’s matted dusty hair and instead finds them face-to-face. “And judging by your reaction, my Lord, you have a good guess as to when that was.”

Without looking, as though his hand was seeking home, Cynbel feels the texture of a rusted hilt and allows himself to grasp it firm. Well within view of Detective Moray; who finds himself torn between looking at the intent in his eyes and the weapon that could seek it out.

The quickening of a heartbeat is music to his ears. “What are you?” He whispers soft, curious still and not yet demanding. “Really, what?”

The detective chooses incorrectly, as if he hopes to stare down every year that gazes upon him. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Now who’s lying?”

“Lor—”

“Once more; what. are. you? That you would vex a creature like Tobias so, that you would care so much about a man who was, truly, so very little.”

But even when Moray puffs out his chest and brings himself to his full height he still has to look up. “I still can’t quite grasp your meaning… but it is my duty to carry out the Queen’s laws.”

“And that would include…” He looks the mortal up and down, takes in every fragile piece of him and he’s hot, scalding, burning on the inside. Red-faced with his blood boiling and it makes Cynbel want to cut him open just to see if he can leech out some of that warmth for himself, for his beloveds. He could — it wouldn’t take but a twitch — just one muscle and he could… “apprehending his killer — no matter the cost.”

Moray exhales. Cynbel drinks in the vindication on his breath.

“Yes.”

Funny how the Queen’s laws were so contradictory to the laws of nature; of the hunt. About as funny as it is that the Queen’s laws were very much in place and yet there was still a murder and still a killer to be found.

Dress a monster up all you want… he will still be monstrous.

Cynbel releases his grip on the dagger slowly; tucks a few strands of golden-spun hair away from his temples and behind his ear. “You’ve pulled me from my guests long enough, Detective Moray. After a long days’ efforts you ought to rest your head. We all have to sleep some time.”

Is that a threat?

Why, of course. Was I not being clear?

“I’ve yet to even begin my questioning,” Moray protests. But there’s no reticence to it. The rabbit that dives into the fox hole and wants free.

And even if the man found the dark corner to where his confidence had scurried it didn’t matter. Cynbel already has the service bell ringing in hand. “Trust me when I say your life will be longer for it.” One of the numerous benefits of an elven butler — Tobias has the library doors opened before Moray can even open his mouth.

Cynbel nods him along. “Tobias the hours seem to have caught up with Detective Moray. Call up the driver to take him home, will you?” Tobias already has Moray’s coat on his arm. Delightfully efficient.

“Lord Montes I don’t really think that’s your —”

“On the contrary I would hate for a new detective to return seeking your justice. Though… perhaps he might surprise me. Perhaps he might send word before he comes to call.”

With natural fae charisma Tobias eases the detective into his coat; even takes the man’s hat from his hands and fixes it proper on his head. “If you’ll follow me sir,” not that Moray’s being given much of a choice — it doesn’t stop him from shuffling his feet as he departs.

And Cynbel is there up until the last step. He’s there when Moray turns around as if to catch one last glimpse of his own grave.

“Expect me tomorrow, Lord Montes.”

“Good night, Detective Moray.”

He closes the door in the man’s face.

“YY-You can’t do this!” Whittaker squeals not unlike swine; which is fitting. He looks around with spectacles askew desperate — hoping one of the constables patrolling the streets outside the building will hear him; save him.

They don’t. In fact — one even turns slightly from his post to catch glimpse of them. His eyes glint in the shadow from the lamppost overhead.

Whittaker waits for rescue on bated breath. It doesn’t come; the patrolman resumes his post as though it never happened.

And because Cynbel is, has been, and always will be a hunter he can’t help but take the opportunity to revel in his victory.

“See, worm? I can do what I want with you.” Unwilling to tempt fate, however, he quickly resumes shoving the stumbling man down the steps and out to the waiting carriage on the street.

“This is illegal! I h-have rights!”

The revenant’s struggle is fierce if in vain. Black-veined hands scrambling desperately at the flesh of Cynbel’s hands. He even manages to take a chunk of skin with him but it grows back before the sensation even registers. And Cynbel lets him; finds this side of the normally cowardly thing to be the only thing about him worth respecting.

“Have some fucking dignity man, and calm yourself,” the vampire grumbles as he gives Whittaker’s lowered head one final shove into the vehicle before he steps in himself, “you’re scaring the bloody horses.”

The ride back to the Estate has never felt longer but at least there’s entertainment in it. He leans back and watches every attempted spell, hex, and display of physical force that the mortician tries to open the cab doors but one by one they fail. Each new attempt is less fulfilling than the last, and eventually he sinks into his seat despondent; forced to do nothing but accept the uncertainty of the night’s events.

At least it makes for less of a struggle once they arrive.

“Welcome back my Lord,” Tobias greets them at the door; works quickly to take his coat but refuses to touch the foul black magic that keeps Whittaker bound to his withering skin. “I see your outing was a fruitful venture, despite your tardiness.”

“Come now — he’s a slippery creature.”

“I agree, however Lord Montes requested I mention it anyway.”

“This is kidnapping, sirs!”

The look Cynbel and the butler exchange is brief but telling. “Of course it’s kidnapping,” the vampire agrees, “I would have thought that obvious.”

“Detective Moray —”

“— can do nothing for you here.”

They may be running late but Cynbel pauses to take it in. That withering moment when Whittaker no longer just accepts his situation but understands it; the danger he is in.

Succulent, truly.

They’ve switched places in the library when Cynbel enters with their prisoner in tow. Valdas now occupies the couch, cuts an imposing figure with the hearth in full flame behind him. And surely there have been myths woven about the way the lights of the flickering flames catch on Isseya’s face where she sits opposite; the high-backed chair behind Valdas’ desk her throne bound in red leather.

“It’s been too long, Whittaker, welcome back to the Montes Estate.” Valdas closes his book — one of his personal journals Cynbel notes absently — and uncrosses his legs. Settling himself in comfortably. “We appreciate your agreeing to meet with us this night.”

The revenant snarls, makes the mistake of echoing the veil in his words; “I am being held here against my will! If you think this won’t go unpunished, you —”

Isseya cackles wildly and cuts him off. “And who will be doing the punishing, you? Didn’t you already attempt to sick your demonic master upon us once and fail miserably?”

While the mousy man stutters over his threat Cynbel seeks home at his God’s side. He drapes across the length of the couch and lets his head take respite in Valdas’ lap. The fingers that wind into his hair do so without thought and he hums content in gratitude.

The doors close with Tobias on the other side. Whittaker swallows; trapped among them.

“Why have you brought me here?” he asks.

Valdas instead offers a question of his own. “Why do you think we’ve brought you here?”

The revenant glares at Cynbel with resentment in his burning eyes.

“You either plan on threatening me until I cover up the Viscount’s death, or you seek to punish me because I have not already.”

Isseya looks impressed. “Good to know not all of your brain has rotted away in your death.”

“You know I am fully preserved.”

“So long as you provide flesh for your demon master, yes,” Valdas combs through his lover’s golden tresses absently, “I wonder how quickly such circumstances would change were that no longer the case.”

It makes Whittaker blanch. “You—You would, what, have me sacked?”

“Does the city police sack those who go missing?” Isseya asks. “That seems a tad unprofessional of them.”

Go missing. She says it so casually while the look on her face is anything but. Whittaker looks like he might faint.

Where his head rests Cynbel can feel his Divinity’s legs tense; the moment before the cobra strikes. “You have already burned your bridges with us, revenant. My only regret is that our arrangement wasn’t consummated by signature.”

It makes the Golden Son look up, drawing Valdas’ attention. “You have nothing to regret my Holy One. We held up our end of the bargain.”

“You’re right, Cynbel, we have,” to Whittaker; “haven’t we? Poor little Hamish Whittaker, the worm who falls in love with the bodies he penetrates, who fancied himself a necromancer only to run afoul of a soul devourer on an eldritch plane.

“You would happily caress the dead but taking a life was too much for your delicate constitution. Did we mock you for it—perhaps. But did we turn our back on you? Did we leave you to be consumed for all eternity by your demon master? Or did we offer you a mutual exchange of services in all our generosity?”

The worst of it—and this the whelp knows—is the Made-God speaks nothing but the truth.

“He asked you a question.” Isseya says — and will expect nothing less than an answer.

“I… did believe, at first, that our arrangement was equitable.”

“You accuse my Divinity of deception?”

“The balance has shifted. The Viscount — you were sloppy! I shouldn’t be punished because you were sloppy!”

That’ll do it. To no one’s surprise but Whittaker himself he ends up mewling on his back, the desk’s contents strewn across the floor and a vengeful vampiress crouching over him in determined bloodlust. There’s something extremely attractive about seeing her carnal side still in her evening gown with bustle and all, Cynbel thinks with a smirk.

“Isseya, darling mine, please,” comes Valdas exasperated voice over his head, “those books are irreplaceable originals… a little care never hurt anyone.”

“It’s hurting me!” Whittaker wails. A nasal, grating sound that has Isseya squeezing his throat for silence.

“You want sloppy? I’ll give you sloppy. I’ll paint the walls with your blood and stretch your skin into a new canvas. Pluck those strange little eyes of yours and wear them as baubles around my neck. That seems sloppy.”

But she paints a pretty picture.

Valdas clarifies for her; “The late Viscount is not among our dead, revenant.”

“Learn the difference between sloppy and careless, worm… quickly.” She backs off, though, and when he recovers Whittaker scrambles back onto his feet.

“You’re…” he’s dangerously close to losing his glasses to the momentum of his turning head as he tries to take in the Trinity as one, “You’re lying.”

“We have no reason to lie.”

“You have plenty reason! The—The investigation! The detective; the Queen! His killer has a noose at the Tower all ready and knotted.”

“Funny that he mentions the detective…” Cynbel’s words are broken off by exploratory fingers seeking his lips, his tongue; he gives all that and more and is rewarded with Valdas’ proud smile, “you know… he said something—Moray—that I can’t seem to get out of my head.”

“What was that, beloved?”

“He said that someone had suggested to him the hour best to find us here at the Estate.”

His next words Cynbel says only when Whittaker dares meet his eyes. “I wonder who told him that.”

If he held any final, limp shred of hope that he would be leaving the Montes Estate, Whittaker spends the silence that follows coming to terms with the futility of it.

The are the Trinity; the lovers known as Les Trois Amants, the Children of the Made-God Valdemaras, their reputation spread in languages no longer spoken.

And they show no mercy.

Whatever creature Detective Moray is—if any at all—he is not the kind that can smell Whittaker’s blood lingering on Isseya’s hand when he takes it politely.

Her lovers can.

“Rumors of your beauty have been greatly understated, Lady Montes,” he says. And they both play their roles expertly; he the polite and charming Englishman, she the lady he charmed.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she lies; and takes Valdas’ hand to bring him forward too, “may I present the Lord Valdas Montes.”

Moray is as quick to falter as he is to recover. Looks between Valdas and Cynbel with a growing confusion; a kind they are all too familiar with. “A pleasure, my Lord. I — forgive me — I was under the assumption…”

Valdas who cuts him off before he can say any more—as he always must. “You are forgiven. Shall we, detective? We have a rather pressing engagement tonight.”

“But we always have time for Scotland Yard,” Isseya adds, though whether or not he believes her is unclear.

While Detective Moray may never call it such it is an interrogation, plain and simple. He meets them in their home because he thinks it will bring them comfort; lull them into security among familiar possessions and company. It is a move as bold as it is tactical, and makes Cynbel’s suspicion of him grow all the more.

He asks them to recount the events of the last time they saw the Viscount. Clearly he would prefer they do so separately but he has none to blame but himself in that they do not.

“And when your guests left for the evening, what happened?”

Cynbel shifts; covers it up with a crossed leg. Isseya reaches and meets Valdas’ hand in the middle. Moray notices, but makes the smart choice and says nothing of it.

“It had been a… tiresome affair. We called it an early night.”

As vague as Valdas’ answer is… it’s enough. Enough for Moray to round on Cynbel—at a speed which he seems to have just been waiting to do—and asks him the same question.

They always assume. That Valdas speaks only for himself and his Lady. But she is not his. She is theirs.

“Would you believe me if I said I went to confession?” is Cynbel’s snide remark; one he will certainly pay for later if the look Isseya gives is anything to go by.

“Is that what happened?”

“Of course not.”

“Then —”

“If you could instead indulge me this,” comes Valdas to his rescue, “how exactly was the Viscount killed?”

At first Moray seems ready to decline answering. Makes sense, really, that he wouldn’t want to give those he suspects of committing the crime the answer. But the children of Valdemaras exchange soft, almost secret glances and know it isn’t so.

Valdas has always had a way with the world. A magnetic personality; they would call it these days. And indeed he is charming when he needs to charm, threatening when he needs to threaten. But it is certainly more — more than Cynbel and Isseya could even possibly understand. More than they could resist.

He has complete control of self. Something not even his lovers have achieved in their long lifetimes. And when one masters themself utterly it is but a matter of time before one can master others.

Their Lord and Light—shining fucking beacon of composure and predatory propriety that he is—eases his features into a smile. And Moray is lost.

“The late Viscount’s autopsy didn’t reveal any signs of a physical attack.”

“Yet you just told us he was murdered.”

“He was.”

“Then how?” Valdas asks again, “Unfortunate as it may be I would not be surprised if Edwards went for a swim on his own.”

The very implication of it seems to bring the detective back to himself, bring him back into the room and out of the will of the Made-God from sheer repulsion. “What you suggest is blasphemy, Lord Montes.”

Cynbel shrugs. “A little blaspheming is good for the soul.”

“Not at the risk of eternal damnation.”

“He was damned already.”

The library goes intimately still. With no fire in the hearth and no wind to make the lamp candles flutter it very well could have been — the four of them frozen. Titled A Woman’s Weapon.

But three sets of ears pick up on the quickening of Moray’s heart, how his blood pounds through the body. That he looks so vindicated, his eyes seemingly with a new hunger as he takes in Isseya, takes in her words… Cynbel readies himself to strike.

“What makes you say that, Lady Montes?”

“All men are.”

“You mean to say ‘all men who cross you’ are, do you not,” The look she gives him is sharp; seen before in the deaths of millions, “and would you extend that to your husband or your… companion?

“I should hate to think that the lives of a young and affluent couple — or anyone, truly — would be sent into disarray by an… impassioned mistake.”

Valdas holds her back. She loathes him for it to be sure but they all know it’s the right thing to do. He is always, of the three of them, able to remain calm at moments like these.

Until he doesn’t.

“Detective Moray I do believe your stay in my home has run its course.”

Moray’s mistake isn’t getting up and fleeing right then. “I would think that a member of the House would only want to aid me in my investigation.”

“So you would think.”

“Are you claiming you do not?” The men exchange cool looks — maybe Detective Moray is a skilled man of his practice; but that matters little now. He’s practically branding himself for murder.

“Detective.”

“Yes, Lord Montes?”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

The growl of his voice is felt in their bones. Even when he threatens things like their tongues or their lives — both of which are his, have been his utterly from the moment they met — the Children of Valdemaras do not fear their Made-God. Not in the traditional way of fear. But there has always been an almost indiscernible difference between fear and holy reverence.

Tobias shows the detective out this time much in the same way as before. Clipped and curt, everything but shoving the mewling mortal creature out onto the steps and into the cold.

They hear his protests through the walls but do not leave the sanctuary of the library. They fold their Made-God between them and ease him in the ways only they know how. It works and it doesn’t. Valdas is eased and he is not. A tension straddling a dangerous edge all the way until Tobias comes to alert them of the approaching dawn.

“Come,” they ask of him, “rest.”

And the smile he gives is as forced as it is weary. They do not blame him for it. “I have much to contemplate. I’ll join you soon,” when he kisses their knuckles his beard tickles their skin, “I promise.”

Though they can do nothing but obey Cynbel and Isseya don’t find the luxury of sleep. Not without him.

Moray does not return the next night, or the night after that. The Trinity know they are not rid of him; they aren’t fools. But the idea of easing back into their lives is an appealing one. They’ve grown complacent.

But word of Viscount Edwards’ murder spreads. Times are prosperous, the Queen is well-liked; there is nothing else for the wealthy of England to do but speak of that which they do not know.

“He was always a kindly man.”

“I heard it was an unsavory affair — that he was caught bedding the help.”

“The poor Viscountess…”

And the irony of it is the Viscountess Edwards — a woman rather soft around the edges; no doubt built up from all of her years having to weather the harsher bits of her husband — is the only one who seems the least bit disgruntled at her husband’s passing.

“Where has she been hiding all this time?” asks Cynbel over the morning tea.

“No one knows for certain; the Viscount was a private man.”

“Unless he was in public.”

The look Valdas gives their darling girl is chiding but with no heat behind it. Not like she’s telling a lie. “All I know is she’s finally come to London under personal invitation of Her Royal Highness.”

“For what,” Isseya looks up from her careful notes, “a period of mourning? The poor woman has the rest of her life to feel the weight of that on her. She should be grateful.”

“But who towards?” His lovers frown at it but they know they can’t call him out for it; Cynbel is only speaking the mind they all share. “Whittaker is dead and his master has paid no retribution to us. In what little time I had to engage the corpse I found no bite marks or wounds.”

“Had bruising settled in?”

“None that I could tell. Who at your college took over his place at the Yard?”

“Some cockwipe of a man — the Viscount and he would’ve got on.”

And while keeping their revenant urchin alive would have been the most beneficial course for their current predicament of unknowns… some things they simply could not abide. The flagrant disobedience of a lesser creature among them.

Still… Cynbel finds himself regretting such retribution so swiftly the longer this goes on.

Because the longer it goes on the more Detective Moray proves himself an adequate tactician indeed.

He confronts Valdas in person — follows him out of the carriage and up the steps to the House and does not waver even when his questions go unanswered. It is enough for a detective of Scotland Yard to continue interrogating a man with business among the chief political minds of the nation. When they kindly (wavering voices hesitant and unsure but they have to, they have no choice in the matter) request that the Made-God sit idle until such a time that the investigation has ended, well, no one is surprised.

“Fools — obstinate cowardly fools!” Valdas calls them with a wrath that threatens to take the Montes house and half their block in London with it, “As though I did not sit with Cassius, with Brutus and Antony himself. They fear him more than they fear me? Their gravest mistake.”

And it keeps the Trinity on edge. It is meant to.

There’s a certain kind of anger that comes with always looking over ones shoulder; ready for the breath that comes down on the backs of their necks to turn into cold hands.

A fortnight following he comes for Isseya.

Lucky then that Cynbel has learned his lesson with her once and need not again; when she begins clawing through their boudoir of ancient belongings he knows to step far back.

“Beloved, what happened?”

“I want to fillet him. String him up on ugly fraying rope and make him watch my work!”

Valdas is at his back, Cynbel can’t help his relief at their Maker’s touch. “Your words, darling, your words.”

She rounds on them with red eyes and shining cheeks. Immediately they take her into their arms and she does not resist because this is where they are safe; this is where they cannot be hurt. And outside of them here the world has hurt her so gravely.

“He took the college from me! Issued some—some fucking order and they have suspended my lessons until they are certain my name has been cleared. I’ll hang them too. Ugly, rotted fruit hanging in the Queen’s fucking gardens!”

This is her cause — something she has been denied for far too long — and Moray didn’t even have the dignity to show his face as he stole it out from under her.

Whatever plans he had in store for Cynbel; Cynbel the lonely one, Cynbel the outlier, Cynbel the young bachelor whose place no one quite understands… he doesn’t get the chance to enact them.

Cynbel does not let him.

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices #choices bb #choices fanfiction #oc: isseya #oc: cynbel #oc: valdas #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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cowandcalf · 5 years

Text

Meta on Steve aka "Smooth Dog" – a short character study

Steve McGarrett and his way with women. The answer to this you'll find in his youth.

In season 10, Steve reveals an uncharacteristic streak we haven't seen so far. He's uncomfortable and insecure when it comes to the task to ask a woman out on a date. He's downright shy and he squirms as if the assignment he needs to face is too big and an emotional steeplechase. He likes to take things slow. He wants to wait for the right moment and he hates being pushed because he kind of isn't ready. At all.

And the reason why he hits this invisible wall as a grown adult in his forties is because he has never had to learn how to do it. It's his first time ever that he needs to be charming, forthcoming and that he has to dig up courage to approach a woman and to ask her out. What Steve experiences Danny has undergone in his youth as a teenager. And I guess, most of the grown men from the Five-0 task force made the same experience as Danny. But not Steve. Steve has never had to fight for attention or to fight for being seen.

If you want to understand why Steve acts quite insecure when it comes to women and asking them out for a date you have to go way back into the years of his youth.

Actually, I start with Steve in High School. Steve's a jock. Steve's a quarterback. Steve's the best quarterback Kukui High has ever had. Steve's a star! He's the most wanted guy at school. He's the secret dream of almost every girl (for sure also the dream of some female teachers) which visits Kukui High.

Steve might be a shy teenager. He might have some difficulties to act cool and collected around girls. He might be blushing and stuttering and he might also hide behind the back of his friends he hangs out with. He eats in the cantina, and he might have no idea what to talk about with girls who always giggle and glance his way. He has Mary as a bar and he doesn't even understand his little sister. He fights with her and he knows she's a girl and that he loves different stuff. But her world is quite a mystery to him. He rather sticks around with his friends and pals, his surfer guys and his ohana.

Yes, they're at the beach. They surf, they meet girls. It's normal to see everyone in swim trunks and bikinis, to be in the water, to chill together. Everything comes very naturally.

But the most important puzzle piece is Steve the quarterback! Steve, the jock! Steve the outstanding, good-looking, very handsome, super trained, awesome talented and super cute jock! Steve is hot as fuck! He's a dream version of the beach boy, surfer boy comes true.

Hawaii, High School, Football – the holy trinity. And the king is Steve, like their famous, undefeated quarterback. He even pulverizes all of Chin's school records. He's even more famous. Steve is the freaking catch!! Even if he feels uncomfortable with the fame he has to carry and he has to deal with. I'm so sure he also loves it because all girls (and boys and teachers, male and female) admire him. Look up to him, love him, cheer for him, drool over him… damn, Steve's the jackpot!

And he knows it!

Steve works out tons. He looks fabulous. Tanned skin for miles and miles, trained, hard abs, a radiant smile, a shy attitude, fierceness on the gridiron, determined and dedicated to his task. He's a freaking wet dream for every teenage girl in the schoolyard.

And then there are Friday nights! Play nights! It's football madness and this adrenaline rush that comes with the great entrance of the player who fight for Kukui High. The boys are warriors out on the field. They get celebrated like kings! The crowd is cheering and Steve kicks ass on the field. He pushes his team to the max, makes them win.

He's a fucking badass and a sexy star!

And guess what? On the benches, at the sidelines, in the spectator area, there are girls as far as the eye can reach. They scream they cry, they cheer and they yell Steve's name. And some of them have banners with Steve's name on it and hearts! And don't forget the cheerleaders! Wow! Sexy girls, trained and skilled and so into their football team they support. And there's always the cheerleader queen who normally gets to win the quarterback of the football team.

I'm so sure of it, Steve got kissed many times after a game. He never had to fight for attention. No, on the contrary, he was almost harassed with attention, with praises and with girls who would love to have sex with him, kiss him, flirt with him. Steve is always surrounded by girls who want to be near him because he's the star quarterback of Kukui High.

The girls surround him in clusters!

And if a girl behaves difficult, demands too much, Steve moves on to the next one. He's young. He's bursting with strength and testosterone! He can have any girl he wants. He can have the High School cheerleader queen. That's the jackpot, man!

Smooth Dog is on his way.

Now, change of scenery. His mother dies. He and Mary get send away. A tragedy takes place and alters Steve's soul. His emotional growth comes to an abrupt halt. He swallows the pain and hurt, fear and emotional agony because his father sends him off to the mainland.

A terrible, hard path starts for young, carefree Steve. The lingering sadness gets added to his character and the hard gushes caused by emotional pain never really heal. He learns to deal with it. He might withdraw and be for himself. I'm sure at Carlsberg he hides behind sports and physical exhaustion to find some peace, to set his mind to rest. He's a brilliant student and once he accepts his fate he digs his heel into the ground and just takes off because that's how he's wired.

He moves on. He grows into a strong, quiet, wonderful young man. His energy is radiant. He's surrounded by this faint hint of adventure, sadness, and strength. Warriors and heroes are made from that material. Steve's breathtakingly handsome. And he wants to be a SEAL.

I guess he has some girls, who are interested in him. But his mother's death and the separation of his family still eats at his soul. He doesn't have the strength or the interest to deal with a relationship.

And suddenly he's together with strong, young, hungry men. They fight to get through BUD/s. They all have one goal. He sees his comrades fail. He knows only the strongest survive. Steve's a fighter. And he has to prove something to himself.

The deep-rooted doubt is eating at the bones of his soul. His father has sent him away – his only son. Is he loved? Why can't he be with his father? Has he disappointed his father in some sort? Steve will never ever again be free in his heart and his soul because deep down he thinks he has failed as a son.

And the only thing he can do is to be the best, the strongest, the fucking elite guy who proves everyone that he's the one! That he can beat nature and his own will. Every supervisor, every chief, every boss, every drill sergeant turns into his father and he wants to make them proud.

Until he finds Joe and Joe guides him and Steve's hungry, empty heart can rest a bit. But it never really heals.

SEALs are impressive. They are strong and a women's magnet. Steve's a man and he also needs sex, wants sex, has sex. He's healthy and everything is a freaking challenge for him. I'm sure he bets with his friends and SEAL buddies which girl he takes home tonight. He doesn't have to go looking. Again, the girls and the women hunt them. The female gender gets drawn to strong warriors, lonesome fighters with this handsomeness and this sad streak around the eyes. Steve's a jackpot once again.

Smooth Dog is born.

And he doesn't treat the female sex so nicely. He grows up in a world where orders, obeying and giving orders, asking for obedience is on the daily agenda. He serves and he has one aim. To be a SEAL, to be an elite soldier. He will get forged in hell of terrible training schedules and exclusive ops and drills and exercises and deployments.

Women and how to deal with them happen on the sideline. Steve can't develop the finesse that's needed to really deal with the female sex. He gets to know the women who also join the Navy and the military. And those are just as many exceptions to the rules as every other person in this military world. It's a unique universe with different rules and laws.

And Steve doesn't have any difficulties to find a way to flirt and to be with a woman because he's again a star. He's a SEAL. He's special and hot and an incredible catch. Steve doesn't really pay attention to it. Because his focus is on the task, on the ops, on the mission, and on his brothers.

And there are some adventures we know of. He's not interested in a relationship. Even though, Steve's emotional and he falls quickly for someone, the pull towards to serve his country is way bigger. He doesn't want to settle.

And then he meets Catherine. And Catherine endures a lot of Steve's demanding attitude. The way he uses her for his own good, for his work as the head of Five-0 demands a meta on its own. Cath just bears and takes everything Steve's dishes out. He's not always so friendly and nice and loving with Catherine. But he doesn't have to work for it either. Catherine is there, always, whenever Steve calls, and orders and demands, she delivers. They end up in a relationship Steve doesn't really work for. It just happens.

(Not gonna move further into this direction. That's for another time.)

So, let's sum this up.

The whole tragedy ends with the way Cath and Steve break up. Steve starts to realize what kind of a woman (in a good way) he has had over all those years. But he missed out so many clear signs. Anyway, he's alone again and for the first time in like forever he realizes there are not that many women just gathering around him without him doing something for it.

But he's still young and bursting with energy and strength. And he meets Lynn and their first date goes down like a freaking drill on a paintball weekend. Steve has fun. He's the hero again and Lynn is smitten and just a frightened and a bit in shock. Lynn teaches Steve that he has to give his fair bit to this relationship and Steve also learns with Lynn that he can't just move on like he always has.

Lynn is a breaking point where Steve realizes for the first time that getting a woman is work, keeping her is even harder work and having a well-functioning relationship is almost impossible to manage. It dawns on him that it's not all for granted, that there are women who give zero fuck about a Smooth Dog in cargo pants. They want a man, a boyfriend, who can talk, who doesn't forget Valentine's Day and who loves to go shopping with them.

Steve's not happy. He's flustered, and bewildered and a bit in shock and he doesn't deal with it.

The years move on, time flies by and he undergoes terrible injuries and terrible losses. Ten years is a long time.

But one day he finds himself sitting at the table and drinking his coffee while he tries to ignore the pain in his bones and he asks himself how the fuck does he make a woman go on a date with him.

And suddenly, Steve doesn't have the support any more of being quarterback, being a young warrior, being SEAL, being the tough head of the task force. He's older, he has issues and the women in his world are emotionally grown and very demanding in a way he has never ever delivered.

So, that's how Steve ends up standing in the dog park with Danny and kind of gets cold feet. He just doesn't know how to deal with it. It's like he's living it backward and experiences all the insecurities others go through when they are teenagers. Steve has never learned how to really win a woman over just with being Steve.

And last but not least. The first person who doesn't take the shit Steve dishes out, who isn't impressed by all his awards and highly decorated Navy career, is one Danny Williams, highly decorated Detective himself. And that's where another story begins.

#meta #steve mcgarett #smooth dog #h50 #steve meta #cowandcalf writes #an explanation to why steve's shy with women #hawaii five 0 #10.04 #reference to 10.04 #all seasons #quarterback #SEAL #character study #i'm going to post this also on ao3

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tedfashionski · 4 years

Text

Seeing Red

I was drawing today and reminded somehow of that depressing development where the sister of David & Samantha Cameron has been appointed editor of the Evening Standard. Like, I’m looking past the implied wider corruption problems in ‘real’ journalism here, but one point she said in her announcement interview really bothered me. She said, something to the effect of ‘Oh, thank god I spent 20 years working at Vogue while David was in politics, because I am just so fond of him and I would hate to have to be critical of him. So I was safe at Vogue.’

That, right there, sums up how far fashion media is from even being able to recognise the functional role of journalism. Oh, thankfully, at Vogue we can hide from criticality and awareness of the political dimensions of the world. All the while, the fashion industry is feeding this planet-killing spirit-crushing capitalist consumerism. But, no, why would it be political? Stop making it political. It’s just clothes.

K, I’m going to RANT a little about these digital fashion weeks we’ve just been subjected to. I’ll preface by saying, yeah, I get it, it’s hard to be creative in the thick of a pandemic. My standards have been accordingly lowered 20%. I am very generous.

Chanel and Dior’s lack of energy was no surprise. Although, keeping in mind female designers tend to be more pragmatic as a matter of course, it’s sad the two top women are being so listless. I was pleasantly surprised by Azzaro – it gave a hint of a vibe but was sure of itself. It emphasised that there was no reason for the Chanel & Dior videos & collections to exist, no point of view. The smaller couture players like the Dutch trinity of Ronald van der Kemp, Iris van Herpen, and Viktor & Rolf were a little more canny, you got the impression they were enjoying themselves at the very least.

Regarding men’s, I do think Rick Owens was actually well judged in its boringness – we don’t need product-based experimentation necessarily. I enjoyed the meta-narrative aspect, it seems to me a good time for that kind of subtle, slightly snide interplay of references. Yohji’s design’s really sang, the video could have worked harder, it felt thrown together and didn’t do the clothes justice. (Side note, that showstudio Yohji review video, 45 mins of failing to say anything, was what finally pushed me over the edge. Dude. Are you guys for real? ‘Where is the avant garde’? If you don’t know, give up already. I’m not even a Yohji fanbear but he deserves better.) Kiko gave us a real stab at a pscho-medieval vibe, and I would’ve written a full review about it cus there’s stuff going on there. But fuck that. If he doesn’t want to talk to us, and show his full vision to the public in a spirit of optimism and faith in the culture, why should I bother with him? Mean and snooty gatekeeping gets mean and snotty graffiti right back.

Fashion culture (twitter, specifically) wants to be wowed by everything all the time. Then, it complains and says why is fashion week even happening during a pandemic, now isn’t the time for fashion. Another example of our schizo cognitive dissonance as we consume this shit. What do we even want?

I’ll tell you what I want. I want fashion designers to be engaged in a collective speculative in-depth discussion of what the future feels like right now, as an artform. So, I’m not going to analyse anything as a commercial proposition, because the future features less and less buying shit. In part as I believe that with growing internet dispersal of OG systems, awareness will rise, the vocabulary will expand, and we’ll stop caring so much about the performative aspects of fashion clothing. The interiority aspect will only grow, and that means unique-feeling experiences that are like conversing with a familiar presence. The fashion designer as moot, a parasocial meta-commentator. A friend you don’t actually have to talk to, just talk with, in the culture. That process won’t start from a point of ‘buy my shit’. First, a relationship should be built up, set up and running along. Then, if product occurs it’s incidental. Wow, I’m being a real little weatherbear. Check out my prophecies!

So, I’m pretty disappointed and depressed about the resentful undertone of much of the work presented to us. Like, they’re crossing their arms and getting all grumpy about how they’re not allowed to carry on like they always do. FFS, you’re FASHION PEOPLE. Change is the name of the game, this shit should excite you. It’s your job to guide each other in an open-ended perusal of future possibilities, and to make recommendations. It’s not just clothes, they’re the medium, the language in which you build the commentary. If all you care about is nice product (*cough*, hedi slimane, *cough* jacquemus), stop calling yourself a fashion designer, because you’re a clothing manufacturer and I don’t care about you.

Why are all these videos so boring? Have any of these people heard of editing, rhythm? They do realise you can hire people for this kind of thing, right? The deadening lack of imagination amongst people whose full-time job it is to be creative about the present’s transition into the future is astounding. This really underlines the risks of nepotism and gatekeeping. The only people who can afford to participate are the gutless products of a bloated upper middle class. I don’t believe in that class’s creative capacities for one fucking minute. They’ve got nothing at stake, no guts to go against anything, because their boring shitty system works for them, so why should it change? Ugh, vom.

Where is the communicative power? Nothing is being said, it’s filler for an elite determined to go down with their ship. I’m glad it’s sinking, it wasn’t fit for purpose and I’ll happily stick some extra holes in to make it sink faster.

I’m going to single out Jonathan Anderson again. Listen, he’s a little pretty boy who’s working so effectively within the system, who has played the game perfectly to the best of his ability. His work is top level, he wins every time. So, I reckon he can be held up as an example. He can take it. I’m looking at the box-shows he did for Loewe and his own brand, and I’m thinking, oh that’s such a lovely take on alt fashion communication. So much heart, and care. Then, what’s the internet equivalent? A little video showing off the box. Some 3d shots & backs of looks and boxes. A little extemporised pitter patter from Jonny. That’s it. It’s still classist as fuck. With garment design there’ll always be limits on what’s possible in terms of digital translation. This isn’t actually garment design though. It’s fashion design. If I’m stuck with a low-grade clip and some jpegs, it’s pretty clear to me you don’t care about your wider fashion community. There should be an open digital experience that feels equally cared for and crafted. And here’s where I get really angry: all these fashion journalists have been delivered this unique, beautiful experience, and what are they doing with it? Where is the thoughtful response? Every single one of these people in this privileged position should be DOING THEIR JOBS (WHICH THEY ARE PAID TO DO, FULL TIME) and WRITE ABOUT FASHION. Not post online, ‘omg lovee ittt, so cutee!’. Anyone can do that. Are you a fan or a professional? This is an embarrassment. I’m stuck analysing some pixels. You’re getting the ‘real’ experience. I know I’ll never be an insider given these opportunities. I chose this path and I’m not going to try and play that game, because the rules are: you get access, in exchange for sacrificing criticality. Because these people, as educated and privileged as they are, don’t understand the value of criticism. Good criticism, the detailed, even handed, unafraid kind, pushes the culture forward. You can’t have a healthy art form without it, it’s essential because it’s the back in the back and forth. I probably could’ve tried to play their silly PR game a bit harder. But I had a nervous breakdown, in part, because I knew I would never be allowed to get close to the art enough to analyse it fairly if I spoke freely as I do now. And freedom is essential. So, pixels it is. Rudeness it is. Because there is work to do to salvage the bottom-dwelling wreck of our fashion dreams so that maybe we can travel somewhere new and better with them. It just sucks that there’s people standing there with the tools to help and no desire to save themselves or anyone else.

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atlasursa · 4 years

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Rumnaheim Beginnings.

“All wait.”

“For the light.

“You fear.”

“Do not be afraid.”

“The sun shines out of my eyes.”

“It will not go down tonight.”

Hailing from Rockcliff the Rumnaheim family is known for providing the best Dwarven fighters, warriors, and sell swords in the Stormlands. Granted, they are provided by the children themselves. Far from Nobility, the Rumnaheims fought proudly for everything they have claim to. Orsik, their father, no longer fights but has made another name for himself in blacksmithing good enough to be considered art amongst Dwarves. Not that a name for himself needed to be made, his mother having carried him full term into battle and given birth to him in a thunderstorm above ground was enough to make the old Dwarf’s name procede him.

When his eldest daughter, Torbera, named after his mother, came of age she quickly outgrew the training available to her and her family at Rockcliff. She showed promise and character and with the connections her parents had with the higher clans and the weight of their family name, Torbera was sent to Domum to train under Lady Asella’s troops and grew into becoming not only a strong fighter, but a strong friend to Lady Asella.

When she wasn’t training, competing, or pushing herself to the limit, Torbera spent her time with the members of house Tomu, successfully indeed gaining more honor for her family.

Catching the eye of many of the Captains and Generals because of her family name, they continued to push her harder and she continued to proudly train and succeed under the most elite. But the only thing that caught her eye was the flash of steel and iron in the training arenas. All she knew was the fight, and it was all she wanted. That was until she saw Captain Kildrak Fireforge and his crew for the first time. She had heard the rumors before. The dwarf that dared to sail and tame the tempest seas of the Stormlands. They said he was struck by lightning so many times that his hair was forever ablaze with the fire that fueled his courage. The same courage that bolted him head first into winning so many battles and coating his ship with the blood of his enemies. The ocean was so scared of him that whenever he went into it, it spat him back out, not allowing him to drowned and that his hammer itself was forged in the his family’s fires that were a gift from the god’s themselves. One of the original forges from the original clans, (or so it is said). His smile was wide and bright whether he was in mid fight, feasting, or laughing. Even in his fury, the Dwarf smiled like he knew something from the gods that no one else knew. And his laugh! The thunder itself couldn’t compare to his laugh that seemed to emanate from his belly no matter the situation. But hearing the stories, and seeing the Dwarf himself in the flesh were two completely different things.

Torbera fell hard, and she fell fast when she was sent with a team of trusted fighters to receive Fireforge and his crew from the shore and bring them safely to House Tomu. Immediately, the two sized each other up. The sea worn captain, soaked head to foot, grinning like a mad fool as he tried to decide if he was impressed or offended by the short Dwarven lady that was to lead his escort. And the Rumnaheim fighter unable to keep her own smile from spreading in return as she tried to decide if he was really a Dwarf, or a fish. On the journey home, Torbera and Kildrak grew fond of eachother. He was everything rumored and so much more, and she was something he had never witnessed before.

By the time they returned to Domum, it was no secret that they belonged to each other. There was no wedding, no courtship braids or jewels of promise. When they were together, they didn’t need any of the ceremonies for they created a world for themselves.

He was her Seastorm and she, his Battleaxe. “Wouldn’t be trustin’ no other woman to keep me arse from gettin’ in trouble on solid land.” “No other woman would want to come near your ass. You smell like fish.” He would grab her and laugh, Torbera never able to keep her own laughter from joining him as they wrestled against each other in jest sparring. “Not without yer proper coin!.... Mind loanin’ me some?” His cheekiness only stoking her flames and making her fight harder.

Torbera loved the salt stains on all of his leather and the tales of adventure he’d tell her to lull her to sleep when they were in bed together. The feeling of his heavy hands in her hair the only safe thing in this world she trusted more than her own weapons.

But Kildrak wasn’t ready to give up the sea, nor did Torbera want him to. And Torbera wasn’t ready to give up the fight, nor did Kildrak want her to. So for years, they went on with their lives, excelling in what they were destined for. And every year he would come ashore, Torbera would be the leader of the team that brought him home for as long as he could stay.

When horror struck and whispers of war entered the houses, it was a given that Torbera would be on the front lines, fighting for her country, her clan, her family, and her friend. As would all of the Rumnaheim’s. What she didn’t expect, was that her lover would be the captain of the first ship to carry the first siege across the coast and to Trinity. It made sense. He was a legend, and it would take only the best for the Dwarves to be successful. Among the first of the sieges, Torbera fought valiantly and without hesitation with Kildrak at her side as the Dwarves invaded Trinity and slaughtered the unprepared town. Revenge, anger, honor, duty, and so many more things coursed through her veins making her blind to the horrors of that night until it was far too late.

Towards the end of that night’s battle, they were clearing the last of the small shoreline houses as the rest went inward. A human male came around the corner yelling, seizing Torbera’s attention as she brought him down before another cry startled her and her reflexes acted before she could stop herself, throwing her axe into a human child. And that was how Kildrak found her at the end of the siege. On her knees in tears, hammer on the floor, and staring at the dead child pinned to the wall by her axe, his axe, the one he had given her in love.

“Comeon’. Get up.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t see…. ”

“Ya...I know… but you gotta get up.”

When she didn’t move, didn’t respond, Kildrak forcibly removed the axe from the human child’s chest, causing Torbera to flinch as she heard the thud rather than saw it. Kneeling in front of her, Kildrak put her weapons back in her hands.

“No time fer this now mah gem.”

Hauling Torbera to her feet, Kildrak took hold of her shoulders though her gaze stayed on the child’s dead body.

“You fear.” A few seconds passed and when she didn’t respond, he shook her violently and raised his voice.

“Dammit Bera! YOU FEAR!”

Snapping out of it, Torbera stumbled to find the words she knew by heart.

“Do not.. Do not be afra… afraid.” “The sun, be shinin’ out of mah eyes mah battleaxe… you hear me?”

Nodding, Torbera looked up at the already smiling Dwarf in front of her, the concern not hidden from his expression. “It will not go down tonight.”

Kissing her forehead, Kildrak nodded in confirmation.

“Nor the next, or the one after that ya hear meh? That’s a good lass. now let’s go.”

Days, weeks, then months passed. The war was still fresh in every dwarf’s mind, but Torbera struggled more than she was willing to admit or let on. She had fought on, continued to strike down those who came in her path in the name of her family’s honor, never giving up the battle despite her nights were now plagued with nightmares and screams of children, their blood on her weapons. But Kildrak was always there to wake her, to help her calm down, even in the worst of it. When it was over, there were feasts in the stormlands to honor those that had fallen, their own family had another celebration festival in honor of their name at Rockcliff, and Kildrak didn’t go back to sea for a long time. No one at home would think Torbera had changed. But it was in the small things. The way she didn’t smile at the retelling of war stories. The way she hesitated to give her last name lest she be celebrated and congratulated in the honor of the deeds she had done in war. Ashamed of her own family name. Ashamed at her inability to move on as everyone else did, she lived a fake life, of fake honor. Taking compliments on the outside, but dying each time on the inside.

Years passed, Kildrak finally set sail again. He never stayed away very long at first, but eventually, they found a sort of comfort in old habits and rhythms.

And though she learned to cope, trying to remember that innocents always died in war, that it wasn’t her fault, Torbera was never truly at peace.

It was of great help that Kildrak was there, to know what she experienced, but it was of great terror that in her worst memories, it was also Kildrak who was there with her. She found comfort in Kildrak on the same nights she couldn’t even look at his face. “Marry meh.” Caught off guard and yanked harshly from a sleep by those words, Torbera looked to Kildrak in disbelief.

“Ya heard meh. I’ll put yer hair in one of dem perty courtin’ braids and we’ll have the biggest feast anybody’s ever heard of. I’ll marry ya in front of everyone and make ya a true Fireforge.”

Tobera’s heart pounded in fear, in love, in pure shock.

“You leave tomorrow morning Drak. You know once I get started, I don’t stop. I’m not waiting a year to get back into your britches.” She tried to pass off her rejection as a joke. They both knew she loved him. But that was the problem. She really did love him. And she knew him.

And her Seastorm would only offer such a thing because yes, he loved her, but because he was worried about her. Had she hidden her failure at keeping herself together so poorly from him? That he would offer something so drastic… something she knew was not who he was.

He took her face in his calloused hands and forced her to look at him. But his expression wasn’t one of love-sick courtship or even fear of rejection. It was that of a concerned loved-one when they looked down at a sick family member. “Marry meh ‘Bera”

And that was it. The moment Torbera realized she would never belong in the Stormlands until she could find her own redemption.

“Alright…. When you come back. You can braid my hair and we’ll stand before the gods, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Kissing her forehead again, they both chuckled, but neither of them said anything as Kildrak pulled an iron ring from his own tangled mess of curls and braided it into her hair. The heaviness betraying both of their true feelings as they faded into sleep.

In the morning when he left, she had to wonder if he knew… if he realized that would be the last time she would see him.

It took her a few weeks after his departure that she was able to ready herself, ‘Venturing forth to bring her family even more honor in the form of adventure and heroism.’ But leave, she did and when she did, there was a celebration, and festivities to be had as always with her clan. Even as she traveled out of the stormlands and towards the white light district, it took a while before she stopped hearing her own family name when she entered a tavern or an Inn.

But Kildrak would hear no word of such news until a year later when he stepped foot back on the Stormlands, his battleaxe nowhere to be seen. Nor the year after that, or any of the years to come. The shoreline as empty as her promise was to marry him and as free as she had now made him.

#dnd #original #characters #oc #torberarumnaheim #kildrakfireforge #5e #dungeonsanddragons #bearscampaign #dwarf #fighter #tragic #backstory #truelove

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shewasanamericangirl · 5 years

Note

I know, but for the benefit of those who may not be into tokusatsu and follow your blog, tell us about some of your favorite toku cuties!

oh boy, i could go on about this all day. which i will. hope you don’t mind that they’ll mostly be guys, as tokusatsu in general tends to be a sausagefest. i’ll try to avoid spoilers for the aforementioned non-toku devotees.

let’s get the obvious one out of the way first!

black woz from kamen rider zi-o

he came from 50 years in the future to give a high school boy a magic belt that would enable him to become an evil king with ultimate dominion over space-time

catchphrase: “REJOICE!” followed by super hammed up dramatic speeches whenever said high school boy gains a cool new power

user of the thoth stand

he basically worships this high school boy and tries to encourage him to become the despot who shaped the dystopian hellscape woz came from

he has a doppelganger we call white woz whose goals are completely counter to his, and you know what? the woz who stans the evil king is the good one

he likes natto and mustard on his rice

he can actually be surprisingly sassy if you push his buttons enough

woz’s actor, keisuke watanabe, is the prettiest human being in this universe

shinji kido from kamen rider ryuki

REJOICE! he’s also in zi-o!

he transforms into kamen rider ryuki, with dragon powers and a mask like a sports car grille

catchphrase is “oi, ren!” which was changed for me forever after watching the end of the rider time ryuki special

he is my son! i want to adopt him!

dumb as fuck, heart of gold, will let you peg

he works as a reporter at a not very reputable newspaper which seems to mostly publish investigations of weird rumors and urban legends

he also works as a waiter at this cute teahouse

he still has no money because his friend yui broke a window

in the world of ryuki, kamen riders must duke it out in a battle royale by transforming into their super alter egos and entering the monster-infested world on the other side of reflective surfaces

shinji doesn’t want to fight anyone though, he just wants to keep the monsters from hurting people!

he’s such a sweet cute idiot. i’d protect him with my life.

akira nijino from ressha sentai toQger

transforms into toQ 6gou, the the orange toQger

catchphrase: “this is the place where i will die…” (and variations on that)

reformed monster turned magical railroad worker turned hero

his introductory arc will tug at your heartstrings

his face turn happened after he saw a rainbow for the first time, and henceforth dedicated his life to protecting rainbows

his guilt complex hangs over him in the form of a literal rain cloud

he’s normally taciturn but gets super cheerful and giggly in the presence of cute baby animals, especially kittens

he loves public baths so much he uses the word “aishiteru”

he often makes his dramatic entrance while playing a mournful tune on his harmonica

he’s got a lot of internal conflict going on but he’s such a good guy

his monster form has the softest fluffiest ears and a bitchin cowboy outfit

seriously sets off my gaydar for some reason?

noel takao from kaitou sentai lupinranger VS keisatsu sentai patranger

transforms into both the silver lupin X AND the golden patren X

catchphrase is “oh la la!” which he says when surprised/excited/intrigued

he’s both a phantom thief and an elite international police officer. it just works…somehow.

uses his mecha train to travel between japan and france in no time flat

older than he looks

does unnecessary acrobatic stunts for the hell of it (which his actor, seiya motoki, really does!)

wants the phantom thieves and police officers to be friends and work together instead of fighting

lowkey shipper on deck

(accidentally typed “lowkey shipper on dick”)

is he japanese? is he french? well that is just his own sweet and sexy secret

owns a shiny silver and gold kimono equally as awesome as akira’s in the gif above

tsukasa kadoya from kamen rider decade

he’s kamen rider decade

catchphrase is “i’m just a kamen rider passing through…remember that!”

his show is so weird and confusing but that’s okay because he’s cute and has an adorably bad attitude

always trying to take photos with the camera he carries. they always turn out looking shitty. he says it’s because the world is rejecting him, and not because he’s shitty at taking photos.

so he’s supposed to hop universes destroying worlds but he seems to just keep saving them instead

said worlds are extremely strange AUs of the first nine heisei kamen rider shows

anyway, back to tsukasa. he has a weird and sexy way of sitting which he did in front of black woz once which made him start doing it

actually his interactions with black woz in zi-o are memorably hilarious for both characters

every time tsukasa enters a new world, he automatically has a job that helps him fit in. in the kiva world, he’s a concert violinist–and boy, can he play. in the blade world, he’s the head chef of a cafeteria, and comes up with some great (if a little underhanded) methods of making money.

what the fuck is he even doing?

will i have the answer to that by the time i finish watching decade or nah?

regardless, he’s incredibly charming, and pleasant to watch

ma…zhen…TA.

umika hayami from kaitou sentai lupinranger VS keisatsu sentai patranger

umika is secretly the super cute phantom thief lupin yellow!

she’s super cute and acts cheery but she’s got some intense sadness going on deep down which remains a secret to most people

waits tables at bistro jurer (the front for the lupinrangers)

i started watching lupat because she’s cute, even though i did not think i’d really get into super sentai

(i did)

fellow lupinranger and bistro staff kairi pinches her nose just like how his older brother used to pinch his nose

…when umika turns it around and pinches kairi’s nose…when that happens you will want to cry, just sayin

one of the patrangers gets a big dumb crush on her, unaware that she’s actually a lupinranger (can you blame him?)

she loves fashion and has a delightful sense of style

her favorite pair of earrings look like cherries and they’re soooooo cute, eat your heart out noriaki kakyoin

sougo tokiwa from kamen rider zi-o

he’s the high school boy black woz is obsessed with

he’s kamen rider zi-o, kamen rider zi-o ii, kamen rider oma zi-o, part of the fusion kamen rider zi-o trinity, and has a fuckton of various forms

in the tradition of shinji kido he is cute, dumb, sweet, and bleaches his hair

can you believe this widdle bitty cutie pie grows up to become a megalomaniacal overlord subjecting humanity to a dark timeline of misery and woe??

at least, he might. he’d rather not. the time travelers from 2068 inform him that it’s a definite possibility.

good at history, bad at math

has been convinced since childhood that he will become a king after graduating high school, and because of that, he has no other career aspirations and no friends…wah wah waaaaaaaah

a plucky orphan much like myself

possesses latent psychic time manipulation powers that are a little scary if you think about them too hard

haru “tokatti” tokashiki from ressha sentai toQger

blue hero toQ 2gou

during roll call he always bows and says something

adorkableness incarnate

this boy is a nervous wreck

he adjusts the train track visor on his sentai mask like it’s his glasses

massive crush on his childhood friend mio, aka toQ 3gou and the mom friend of the group (she is also a toku cutie i love to bits) (i ship it hard)

becomes particularly close friends with akira, which is interesting to see since their personalities (and suit colors) contrast so much

even when anxious and easily discouraged, tokatti is always brave and strong for his friends when in a pinch

thinks of his big brother ryo as a cool superhero

the glasses nerf just how handsome he is

i have a lot of other tokusatsu cuties i adore but these are some of the ones who’ve been on my mind the most lately! hopefully you readers enjoy this small sampling of tokusatsu dorks 💖

#shylax #long post

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kiruuuuu · 6 years

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Blitz/Rook oneshot in which Blitz is, uh, kinda dressed like this. For Halloween. Not that this excuses anything. (Rating M, humour/some sexy times, ~2.6k words) - written for @magehir 💕 and also in response to the leaked Blitz elite skin!

“I would just like to reiterate that it was your idea to use Monika’s prototype to heat up our sandwiches and that -” Blitz is interrupted by yet another smack to his ass from a stranger passing by. His cheeks are hurting at this point and he missed the point where he should’ve just sat down because now it’d be pure agony whereas staying upright invariably ends with more pain. He banked on their British colleagues being both more polite and prudish to actually make use of the slightly smudged writing on his lower back but it seems his hope was completely and utterly in vain. “In short, all of this is your fucking fault and if I get the chance to take revenge -”

“Loosen up and live a little, you dry sponge”, Bandit shoots back, entirely unimpressed with his fury, and deliberately makes eye contact with a bloke trying to squeeze past while simultaneously getting an eyeful of the two of them. “You can touch, but it costs extra, my dude.”

“I can offer a screwdriver right from the bar”, the guy replies and causes Bandit’s face to lighten up and Blitz’ to darken at the same time.

“Don’t give him more to drink”, Blitz pleads but is interrupted by his teammate: “Honey, for a screwdriver I’ll shove my tongue so far down your throat I’ll tickle your vocal cords.”

Normally, Halloween is Blitz’ favourite holiday. He enjoys the thrill of watching scary films, even likes picking out realistic and horrifying costumes and has developed a few rituals over the years. However, this year, all of the previously sacred components which as a whole make up a successful Halloween for him had to be scrapped all because of one of Bandit’s clever ideas. They ended up trashing IQ’s current project, unsurprisingly, and incurred the wrath of a woman who takes a lot of pride in her work and who’s usually able to control her temper. Usually.

Not this time.

The result is a curse on all who are forced to witness it, a plague on earth, an abomination which never should’ve seen the light of day, an unholy trifecta and a trinity of sacrilege. In order to make it up to IQ, they agreed on what at the time sounded like a very simple premise: she was to decide their Halloween costume for the party Rainbow would attend together with the SAS operators stationed at Hereford. Blitz should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy as soon as IQ agreed a little too readily, but back then he was too relieved to get out of the situation with all limbs intact to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Mistake. Because now he’s not only clad in the skimpiest outfit he’s ever worn in his entire life, no, it’s also an amalgamation of tulle and lace and frills and whatever any of this is called; it’s pink and exposes both his abs and half of his back, barely reaches over his ass and is topped off with intricately laced up knee-high boots sporting dangerously high heels. The objectively worst parts about all of this are twofold though: one concerns the large letters on his back written in permanent marker and spelling out Spank here with arrows pointing downwards, the other one…

Well. Never in his life has he ever felt the urge to watch Bandit make out sloppily with a nondescript Brit while wearing the sluttiest maid outfit Blitz has encountered so far but it seems that’s just what his entire career has lead to. To this moment. To yet another hand reaching out and copping a feel of his backside and him not being able to turn around fast enough to punch whoever did it in the face because he’d probably eat shit instead. Bandit rocks his pumps like a pro while Blitz attempts to move as little as possible. His feet are already killing him.

“I’m gonna throw up any second now”, he informs Bandit as soon as he’s done snogging a stranger and has started drinking the screwdriver. “Why don’t you just pick someone and disappear with them for a bit so I don’t have to watch you reapply your fucking lipstick every other minute?”

“What are you talking about?” Bandit sets his drink down on the counter next to them to whip out his small mirror to check on the state of the garishly red paint on his mouth. “I already fucked three of them. And one dude only let me blow him to get to you, just so you know.”

Okay. Alright. That is it. He’s reached maximum capacity for this evening concerning a lot of things, one of them being all the information Bandit so willingly shares when he’s past drunk – he’s already grating when sober but like this he’s positively insufferable. He’s enjoying the persona his costume enables way too much for Blitz’ taste, has posed for photos, flirts aggressively with literally everyone who doesn’t run away immediately and looked creepily enthusiastic when Jäger wrote the cursed invitation all of them bear on his back. Jäger himself, displaying a similarly short nurse outfit, has been hanging out with other Rainbow ops and is therefore mostly safe from the kind of attention lavished on Blitz – it’s not like he has anyone to hide with, however: Sledge is catching up with old friends and probably wouldn’t appreciate any interference from the porn version of Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, IQ would gloat to an uncomfortable extent and he has the vague feeling Mute would mock him relentlessly.

“I’m leaving”, he announces despite not knowing where he’s going, only knowing he needs to go somewhere else. Somewhere where Bandit isn’t.

“You’re so ungrateful, do you even know that?” This makes him stop in his tracks and frown at his amused friend. “Here I am, valiantly protecting your virtue by redirecting all those perverts’ attention to me, and how am I repaid? With disdain! Oh the humanity.”

Oddly enough, Bandit’s vocabulary increases proportionally to his ego whenever he drinks. “You tried to trade me for a shot of whisky earlier”, he replies drily before turning away for good. He swears he hears Bandit sadly mutter and it almost worked as he walks away.

The size of the party is a problem, however, and Blitz soon finds himself surrounded by people he doesn’t know, some of whom gladly endorse the message on his back whereas others manage to rope him into a conversation under the guise of wanting to be friendly. The illusion is shattered quickly when one of them asks whether he’d be up for a foursome, prompting him to keep drifting through the crowd in mild horror. Bandit has told him before that he looks almost laughably attractive (a fact Bandit still hasn’t forgiven him somehow) but he never really believed it until now. Until he’s suddenly aware of all the looks he’s getting.

“Elias!” He turns around at the mention of his name and comes face to face with a vaguely stunned Rook, probably also drunk and filled to the brim with bad ideas. “I’ve, uh, been searching for you all over. There’s something wrong with Glaz, I need your help.”

Instantly, he sobers up as if he just slept for several hours. “Lead the way.” He barely takes note of Rook’s costume which is comprised of little more than an admittedly adorable dragon onesie and doesn’t even object when the Frenchman grabs his hand tightly and drags him away. He must seem serious enough for no one to drop a remark about his outfit on the way for which he’s eternally grateful, but when Rook suddenly pulls him aside into one of the smaller men’s bathrooms, suspicion befalls him. Especially since the room is otherwise empty. And even more when Rook locks the door behind them with a deep breath.

“Glaz is fine”, he bursts out before Blitz can even say anything, “so don’t worry. But you seemed like someone who needed saving.”

Oh. He supposes Rook isn’t incorrect in that observation though it’s a little embarrassing it was this apparently this obvious. “Yeah. I kinda did.” Here, away from prying eyes and wandering hands, away from the stuffy air and the slightly suffocating presence of the crowd, he can finally breathe freely and feel a little less self-conscious about his clothes. Or the lack thereof, really. “Thank you.”

The heartfelt words are met with a timid smile accompanied by a manic stare Blitz noticed before but accredited to Rook being concerned about Glaz. This… seems to not be the case, though for some reason the young man is attempting to stare a hole into his head. “No problem. I just – I have so much respect for you and everything you do and so seeing you getting groped like that is really upsetting. You’re so much more than just a pretty face, even if it’s an extremely pretty face, but, uh, them reducing you to no more than a body to ogle at is -”, he bites his lip for a second, steadfastly refusing to break the now almost uncomfortable eye contact, “well, I’m not trying to say that it’d be a bad thing in itself if you wanted to be ogled at, but you didn’t seem like you wanted -” He trails off and Blitz realises he hasn’t blinked once since they entered the men’s. Tears are starting to form in Rook’s eyes and if he’s honest, there is some hilarity in this.

“You know, I won’t think less of you if you look, Julien”, he states gently and witnesses all the tension in Rook’s shoulder disappear at once.

“Thank fucking Christ”, he breathes and adds an even quieter holy shit as his gaze swoops to take Blitz’ costume in. Unlike some other expressions Blitz has taken note of throughout the evening, Rook’s speaks of helpless, desperate admiration and is actually quite flattering. Not only because he obviously likes Blitz as a person anyway, but also because he makes no move to touch or even comment.

In fact, his hopeless amazement is so pure that Blitz can’t help but tease him a little. “Dom really went overboard with this. He claimed Monika required us to shave everywhere but I somehow doubt it.”

Watching Rook choke on nothing is oddly satisfying. This time when his eyes travel all over Blitz’ body, it’s almost as if he can feel it like a concentrated ray of sun, kissing all his exposed (and indeed shaved) skin with a tingling warmth which lingers much longer than it should. Somehow, he doesn’t mind it coming from Rook, even welcomes the attention – Rook’s costume definitely plays into it as he looks utterly endearing, but also the strange intimacy of it, the fact they’re alone and Rook isn’t doing it to play along or crack a joke to someone amplifies the pleasant feel. It’s real, that much he knows.

“To be honest, I have no idea what’s supposed to be so sexy about men in skirts”, he continues and is about to add that seeing Bandit in one might have put him off the idea for at least a few decades, yet Rook won’t even let him finish his sentence before he chimes in, cheeks bright red.

“I can tell you: you’re fucking gorgeous already and this – this only makes it better. You might not get it, but fucking hell, I want to unlace your stupid ugly boots with my teeth.”

Oh.

Blitz’ brows rise simultaneously to Rook’s eyes widening in shock and there are a few seconds during which neither of them move a muscle. It’s definitely one of the tamest propositions Blitz has received all evening and yet it’s decidedly more forthright than all (okay, no, probably just most) of them combined because it’s meant so painfully seriously his mind immediately supplies him with the appropriate mental image. He suspected Rook to be interested in him before and this is the unambiguous proof yet where he’d normally not even consider the Frenchman (alright, another lie, he likes Rook and he likes him a lot), right now he’s… thinking about it.

And thinking right now means picturing him on his knees in front of Blitz and surely, it has to have something to do with the blasted outfit which apparently turns men into horny sluts because he literally can’t think of anything more enticing at that moment. No matter the fucking heels or the odd, cool feeling on his legs and in his crotch or his sore ass, all he can think of is giving in to Rook – who just then starts scrambling to explain himself.

“I’m so sorry, I have no idea where that came from, that’s not what I meant to say at all, I, uh, you look fantastic but you always do, but if you don’t feel comfortable wearing this you of course should take it off – I mean, not right now obviously, but you could go home to change and I’d even come along to help – fuck – I don’t mean like that, I mean I could make sure no one molests you on the way kinda like I’m doing oh God -”

And his pitiful speech dies with a high-pitched noise just as Blitz grabs one of the horns on Rook’s hood to pull him in and smash their lips together.

It says a lot that Rook doesn’t even seem to consider stopping when the door bursts open. Despite it having been locked, the mechanism was too flimsy to really hold against any type of weight – and some large dude reminding Blitz of Montagne slamming Bandit against it quite clearly counts as weight. “Oh fuck, it’s occupied”, Bandit mumbles against an insistent tongue and everything about the whole situation would turn Blitz off immediately if only Rook wasn’t so bloody good at this. His eyes only slide over to the sudden intrusion once, then they go back to gazing up at Blitz lovingly, longingly and with such devotion he still can’t breathe. The young man looks at him like he might literally faint should he actually be allowed to taste Blitz’ come, and not only that, his cheeks hollow out with every bob of his head, one hand is kneading Blitz’ thigh and the other playing with his (now remarkably hairless) balls and dear Lord how can anyone be this earth-shatteringly good at blow jobs?

So yes, even though Bandit and his fourth Montagne substitute saw him in a princess outfit getting sucked with abandon by an adorable purple dragon, he can’t find the energy to care, not when Rook keeps moaning around his shaft like this. It’s by far the hottest thing he’s ever experienced and not even Bandit can rain on this parade.

Even if he seems intent to do just that. “Hey, congrats, baguette, you finally did it”, he calls while herding his newest victim out of the room again, “and don’t forget – you owe me for this!”

And Blitz suddenly remembers how IQ said she’d decide on their punishment later, remembers how he saw Bandit and her together shortly before she announced her final judgement, and how much Rook seemed to look forward to Halloween despite usually not caring about it – but before he can finish the thought, Rook swallows him whole for the first time and rips a groan from his throat which makes the Frenchman’s eyelashes flutter.

He can think about this later, he decides and pushes a hand under soft fabric to bury it in Rook’s hair.

#rainbow six siege #blitz #rook #blitz/rook #fanfic #oneshot #bandit is the maybe not so secret hero in this #also this is pretty much how I picture their friendship #I wrote this in two hours so yay me

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hubskitchen · 6 years

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Hub’s Kitchen Episode 4: Why the DC Extended Universe Failed (DCEU Retrospective)

DISCLAIMER: This is a continuation of the previous installment of Hub’s Kitchen. Please read that episode before reading this one. Or not, it’s your choice. Also, spoilers for: Man of Steel, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Wonder Woman, and Justice League.

What’s up guys, my name’s Hub, and welcome to another installment of Hub’s Kitchen. Episode, installment, same difference, this isn’t an academic essay now. In the last episode, I talked about some cinematic universes and what problems they faced or are going to face. At the end, I said I was saving one particular cinematic universe for this episode, and that it needed its own episode dedicated to it. Well, I’m gonna talk about that universe today. Prepare yourselves, as I dive into the horror that is known as: The DC Extended Universe.

If there’s one cinematic universe that can rival the Marvel Cinematic Universe in terms of popularity and success besides Star Wars, it’d be DC’s cinematic universe. The Marvel/DC rivalry has been going on since the 1960’s, when a good chunk of Marvel’s heroes were introduced during the Silver Age of comic books. Throughout the past 5+ decades, both have had their major successes and major blunders. DC has always had the advantage in the animation side of things compared to Marvel, but that doesn’t mean Marvel hasn’t had good shows. The Spectacular Spider-Man and Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes series are some of my favorite animated shows of all time. I prefer Marvel because of the heroes and how more human they are compared to DC’s catalog, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like DC. My first exposure to superheroes was the Justice League animated series from the widely beloved DC Animated Universe, and I’ve been a superhero fan since. In a perfect world, the Marvel/DC rivalry on film would be a monumental and huge war, both sides unleashing their various heroes onto the screen for audiences to love, and giving more fans more room for debate in the long-fabled who’s better debate: Marvel or DC? Instead, it’s more like Marvel is curb stomping DC into the fucking dirt. I feel a brief history lesson is necessary to really bring this whole thing into context.

HOW THIS ALL FELL INTO PLACE

Several years ago, from the 70’s to the 90’s, DC had the upper hand on film, especially with classics like Superman: The Movie, and Tim Burton’s Batman ‘89. Meanwhile, Marvel struggled to get anything onto the screen, with failures like the 1989 Punisher, the 1990 Captain America, and the cancelled, but only viewable through bootleg 1994 Fantastic Four movie. Then, Marvel went bankrupt in 1996, and to keep them afloat, they sold all the movie rights to all their characters to various movie studios. Sony got Spider-Man, FOX got the X-Men and Fantastic Four, etc. During this period, Superman already fell from grace with the 1987 bomb Superman 4: The Quest for Peace, and Batman would soon follow with 1997’s Batman and Robin, one of the most infamous comic book movies of all time. The genre would see a new beginning with 1998’s Blade. In 2000, FOX launched their first X-Men movie, and in 2002, Spider-Man came out, which is the movie that I believe is what started the comic book movie boom that’s still going on, and would be the template that the Marvel Cinematic Universe would follow. DC, meanwhile, rebooted Batman with 2005’s Batman Begins, which would later follow up with 2008’s The Dark Knight, which is often considered to be the greatest comic book movie of all time. Unfortunately, not everything was working out for both Marvel and DC. Superman Returns, the first Superman movie since Quest For Peace, while a modest hit, wasn’t the hit Warner Bros were expecting it to be, and today, Superman Returns isn’t looked at very fondly. While FOX successfully launched the X-Men onto the world of film, the Fantastic Four wouldn’t get the same level of success with both the 2005 film and it’s 2007 sequel, Rise of the Silver Surfer. Sony was also in a pickle with 2007’s Spider-Man 3, which disappointed audiences. Pile that on with Hulk, Daredevil, and Ghost Rider, and Marvel was having some pretty notable failures in their catalog. However, while Universal, FOX, and Sony failed with the aforementioned films, something huge was coming from Marvel Studios when Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk released in 2008. The first Iron Man had the famous end credits sequence with Nick Fury telling Tony Stark that he was a “part of a bigger universe,” and in The Incredible Hulk, we see Tony Stark in a scene of the movie, leading fans to believe that something was coming. 2010 and 2011 marked the releases of Iron Man 2, Thor, and Captain America: The First Avenger, and in 2012, the culmination of all 5 movies released: The Avengers. The Avengers was a massive success, being that it was the first movie to make over $200 million in its opening weekend in the United States. The movies from Iron Man to The Avengers would later be known as Phase 1 of the MCU. Knowing where Marvel Studios is today, it’s amazing how huge they’ve become, making Marvel into a global phenomenon, at least in the realm of movies. This left Warner Bros pressured to make a cinematic universe of their own DC superheroes and get a Justice League movie out as soon as possible. However, this wasn’t actually the first time WB tried to set up a DC cinematic universe.

GREEN LANTERN

In 2011, Green Lantern was released in theaters. On the surface level, Green Lantern was following the footsteps of the first Iron Man: Taking a B-list character and making a movie that would set up the foundation of what would later be a cinematic universe. However, that didn’t work out for Warner Bros. Green Lantern was released to mediocre to terrible reviews, and was a flop at the box office, grossing $219 million on a $200 million dollar budget. Thus, all plans for sequels to Green Lantern were cancelled. The movie is often considered to be one of the worst comic book movies of all time, and was subject of a joke in Deadpool, with “Please don’t make the super suit green, or animated!” Good thing Ryan Reynolds got his big break with that movie. In 2013, WB released Man of Steel in theaters. Man of Steel was directed by Zack Snyder, who directed 300 and the live action adaptation of Watchmen in 2009. The head writer was David Goyer, who wrote for the Dark Knight trilogy, and one of the producers was Christopher Nolan, the director of the Dark Knight trilogy. *In Bubsy voice* How could any of this possibly go wrong?

MAN OF STEEL

It could go wrong, but not horribly wrong. Instead of releasing to rave reviews, and making over a billion dollars at the box office, Man of Steel released to mixed reviews, and in WB’s eyes, underperformed at $668 million dollars. To this day, Man of Steel is one of the most divisive comic book movies of all time, with some seeing it as a great reinvention of Superman, and others seeing it as a betrayal at who Superman is. Not exactly the foundation you want to build your cinematic universe on, huh? As for me, I side with the more negative reactions to Man of Steel, but not as much as I did back in 2013. With the benefit of hindsight, I see Man of Steel as a movie that could have been great, but it wasn't. The issue with Man of Steel, and the thing that kills the movie for me, is that they changed Superman to accommodate the world the DC Extended Universe built up, rather than have Superman be the character he’s always been. I’d be fine with a less experienced, more doubtful Superman, if after this movie, he slowly, but gradually becomes the Superman people expect. We’ll talk about that in a bit, but it didn’t help that the movie spent so much time telling us that Superman will be great, instead of just showing us. Given what we see, Supes destroying shit in Smallville and Metropolis, I don’t think he’s going to be great at all. It also didn’t help that the movie was slow as shit. I can take slow-paced stuff, but you need to really have me engrossed in order to deal with it, ‘cause a slow-pace can kill something for me. I could go on further, but we need to move this along. Overall, I think Man of Steel is mediocre, but not terrible. So, given how this movie underperformed, what do you think Warner Bros’ would do for the future? Hit the Batman Emergency button, of course! Because Batman did wonders for Warner Bros with the Dark Knight trilogy, they decided to put Batman in the follow-up to Man of Steel. But they couldn’t stop at just putting a Batman and Superman conflict into this movie. They also needed to add Wonder Woman, ‘cause the DC Trinity needs to be on screen now that The Avengers got their movie. That still wasn’t enough, however. Let’s take elements of The Dark Knight Returns and Death of Superman storylines and adapt them. Okay, this could still work. Hold on! We need to let the audience know that Justice League is coming, so let’s put in Flash, Aquaman, and Cyborg into a scene that literally advertises their films and the Justice League movie. Now we need to double down on the dark and gritty tone people were divided with on Man of Steel, and let’s try to be even more profound and deep, unlike that stupid kiddy Marvel crap that’s successful for some reason. This is for the intellectually elite, motherfuckers! This movie will be a masterpiece! It’ll mop the floor with that stupid Marvel movie, Captain America: Civil War! People will love our movie, right?!

BATMAN V SUPERMAN: DAWN OF JUSTICE

Haha, ha, WB executives are fucking hilarious. Batman v Superman, which I’m just going to refer to as BvS from now on for simplicity’s sake, released to negative reviews and was even more divisive than Man of Steel with audiences and fans. WB wanted this movie to make $1.1 billion, which is what Captain America: Civil War would end up making. Instead, despite a strong opening weekend, BvS had the second largest opening weekend drop off, with 2003’s Hulk still retaining that record. BvS would only end up making $872 million at the box office, which WB labeled as another underperformer. In my humble opinion, BvS is the worst comic book movie I’ve ever seen, and is a good contender for the worst of its genre. “But Hub,” I hear some of you say, “Wasn’t Age of Ultron accused of the same issues BvS had? Why did that film still end up being successful?” A few reasons. Age of Ultron, despite it not receiving rave reviews like the first Avengers movie did, still received fairly positive reviews and word of mouth, and still made $1.4 billion at the box office, which is less than the $1.5 billion the first Avengers made. That’s diminishing returns, but not by a lot. Second, while I’ll agree that AoU isn’t one of Marvel Studios’ best films, as it suffered from studio interference, I can at least say that the movie wasn’t broken at the seams. It got derailed a few times (Hi, Thor pond scene and Hulk X Black Widow relationship), but it the characters still felt like themselves, there were some legitimately great moments (Vision and Ultron in the woods is a good example), and wasn’t trying to be profound and deep. It tried to tell a more grand story than the first Avengers, but it was never pretentious, even if the movie bit off more than it could chew. AoU had to do a lot, too much in fact, and the movie came out as a mess, but not a terrible mess, or even irredeemable one. It’s honestly a miracle that AoU ended up as good as it was, given the circumstances. Heavily flawed, but I can admire what it set out to do. Had to get that unnecessary, but also necessary “Marvel isn’t perfect” thing so I don’t get accused of being a Marvel or Disney shill. Christ.

Back onto the actual subject, BvS is a fucking trainwreck on every possible level if you ask me. Okay, maybe not so much the music, but even then, Wonder Woman’s theme is the only song that I can remember. Then again, I don’t pay attention to music when I watch movies, as I listen to those on my own time. The story was so badly told, and the stand out moments were so horrible, I’m shocked that this movie was approved with the script that it was given. This is one of the few times I think of my theater experience when watching a movie. Man of Steel’s theater experience made me sick with the shitty shaky-cam, but this movie made me angry while watching it, and I never get angry when watching movies, so you have to be really bad in order to make me angry when watching. Two moments in particular, the infamous Martha scene and Superman’s death made me want to walk out on the movie. I’ve never wanted to walk out of a movie before, so that was a first for me. I think the biggest sin BvS makes that isn’t destroying famous comic book stories and having some of the worst versions of Batman AND Superman, is that not only is BvS slow to the point of boring, with very little of actual importance happening, but the movie tries to be so profound in its messages and imagery, like this is some fucking college arthouse film. A lot of people say the worst thing a movie can be is be boring. I respectfully disagree. For me, the worst thing a movie can be is be boring and trying to act like it’s so smart with its themes. The whole god amongst humans thing has been done to death, quite literally in the case of this movie, and the way it’s presented and written, comes off as overly pretentious. I can’t wait for someone to tell me that this movie is for the intellectually elite, while also saying that I need a high IQ in order to understand this movie. It’s why I prefer a movie to be rushed and have little actual meaning, than a movie that’s slow paced and try to be profound. This applies to bad movies only, of course.

There’s two cuts that exist for BvS: The one that was released in theaters, and the 3 hour, rated R extended cut, dubbed the “Ultimate Cut.” Yes, because the first movie about Batman and FUCKING Superman TOTALLY needed a rated R cut. I’ve watched the Ultimate cut, or more like I was forced to watch it because my brother made me sit with him and watch it. There’s a reason why I never trust the man with movies. But, how is the Ultimate cut? Well… it’s better… *sigh* Okay, it’s more complete this time around. It doesn’t feel like a huge chunk was cut out for no reason, and there’s more context surrounding the events of the movie, but does that actually fix the movie? Judging by my statement, no, no it doesn’t. Many of the problems that were in the theatrical cut are still present in this version: Batman and Superman hate each other for their own reasons but do the things they say they hate about the other, making them hypocrites, Lex Luthor’s plan makes no sense and is overly convoluted, Lois Lane is still useless, the action is still poor overall, Wonder Woman is still an afterthought, the title fight that the movie has its entire purpose riding on is still lackluster at best, the Martha scene is still stupid, and the movie essentially destroyed all hopes of a great Superman story by wasting the Death of Superman storyline. What else can I say? I fucking hate this movie, the end. Holy shit, that was a long section. How’s about something shorter?

SUICIDE SQUAD

This is gonna be a very short segment compared to the BvS one, but that’s because in a shocking twist, I haven’t actually sat down and watched Suicide Squad. I’ll still talk about how the movie ended up the way it did and how it was received, but I can’t actually comment on the movie itself. I’m also putting Suicide Squad’s history here because the BvS segment is long enough. Anyway, after BvS underperformed, Warner Bros panicked and decided to make a course correction with Suicide Squad. People liked the trailers, which made the movie appear to be DC’s answer to Guardians of the Galaxy. In fact, the people who made the trailers ended up editing the movie. Yes, really. The concept of the movie sounded awesome. A ragtag group of villains forced to do good things or they die is a really interesting concept and if executed well, could be seen as a new form of comic book movie. The anti-Avengers, you could say. However, that wasn’t meant to be. Suicide Squad was received about as well as BvS was, with some saying it was even worse than BvS. Seeing as how I haven’t seen the movie, I can’t comment on it, but given what I’ve heard, it sounds like a shitty version of Guardians of the Galaxy, both of them, and the sequel wasn’t out when Suicide Squad came out. At the very least, the movie was said to have been more profitable than BvS, even though it made $746 million at the box office on a $175 million budget. So, 3 misfires so far, and the best received one divided audiences and critics. The DCEU was in serious trouble, and there needed to be a miracle in order to save this franchise. Well, unbeknownst to Warner Bros, their savior, to a degree anyway, would come from an underestimated superhero, or should I say, superheroine!

WONDER WOMAN

Remember when I said that Wonder Woman was an afterthought in BvS? Well, she was, but she had a movie coming out. I find it funny that we live in a world where the Guardians of the Galaxy, Ant-Man, Deadpool, the Suicide Squad, and Doctor Strange got their own movies before Wonder Woman, the third member of the DC Trinity. The world is weird. Diana’s movie came out, and it blew away expectations. Not that they were high to begin with, but let’s not be so cynical here. Wonder Woman released to great reviews and audiences loved it. The movie made over $412 million dollars at the U.S. box office, more than any of the Marvel Studios films at the same box office, and outperformed Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man for the highest grossing superhero origin movie, and Spidey held the record for 15 years. The movie would end up making $821 million dollars at the global box office, making it the second highest grossing movie in the DCEU, with BvS being the highest grossing, but unlike BvS, Wonder Woman didn’t underperform and was a huge hit. So, what did I think of Wonder Woman? Well, gotta give credit where credit is due, but the DCEU has an installment where I can confidently call good. Diana herself was better characterized than she was in BvS. My favorite scene in the movie is when she and Steve Trevor are about to go to No Man’s Land, but before they embark on the train ride there, Diana gets ice cream from an ice cream vendor, and tells the ice cream man that he’s wonderful. This is something that this franchise has been sorely lacking: Little touches. The movie also used the dark and gritty motif of the DCEU correctly. This is because the movie was set during World War 1, which was a shitty time, and we had Themyscira, a bright and colorful place to contrast with the shitty London and battlefields. The first two acts, minus the underwhelming action that relied too much on slow motion for my tastes, were well handled and even great. Despite what I said about the action, that No Man’s Land sequence was awesome. However, and this hurts me to say this, the third act happens. Ooooh, the third act. If there was one movie that was so close to greatness, only to have the ending nearly ruin it, it’s this movie. I know I’m going to be labeled sexist for not saying Wonder Woman is a great movie, but please, bare with me. So, throughout the movie, Diana wants to kill Ares, the god of war. The legend of Ares states that he’s the reason why mankind goes to war with each other. However, Diana kills General Stryker (I’m calling him that because it’s the same actor from X-Men 2), and she believed him to be Ares. I mean, to be fair, he was huffing up some magic powder or something, so I can believe that. After killing General Stryker, Diana sees that the humans are still preparing their assault. Diana is horrified to see this, and she asks Steve Trevor why the humans are still at war now that she killed Ares. Shortly after this, the real Ares comes and then the movie goes into the usual third act climax. Now, I don’t have a problem with third act climaxes. So, why do I have an issue with it here? Ares was mentioned being alive early in the movie, so what’s the big deal? I think it has to do with how the movie was written. The way the movie played out, it seemed like Diana realizing that humans are, in her words, “so much more,” than what they seem. This could have explained why she gave up the Wonder Woman mantle and stayed in the human world for a century. Not having a third act climax in order to develop a character, with the message that humans are much more, even at their worst, would have been amazing. Instead, the movie throws all of that away for a final fight with Ares and Steve Trevor sacrificing himself. It felt tacked on and cheapened the movie. It came off as rewarding Diana for being naive, which is something I hated about the movie. Her entire character arc was rendered meaningless because of that last act. There’s also some questions after the fight that are never answered. Now that Ares is dead, does that mean World War 2 and the Cold War never happened in this universe? If killing Ares ended all conflict in humanity, why is the world so grim when Man of Steel begins? This act single handedly derailed the movie. What could have been a potential masterpiece only ends up being decent in my opinion. I won’t go as far as to say the third act ruined the movie, but it does end up hurting the movie by quite a bit if you ask me. I should reiterate that Wonder Woman is overall, a solid movie, but the third act really holds it back. Now, let’s get to the fifth and final movie in this, I guess you could call it, DCEU Retrospective, the big JL.

JUSTICE LEAGUE

Fun fact: Did you know that there was going to be a Justice League movie long before The Avengers? The movie was called Justice League: Mortal, and was going to release sometime around 2007/2008, if not later than that. However, I guess WB decided “Naaah, we got our golden boyo Christopher Nolan here doing Batman movies for us. The audience will be confused if two live action Batmen were on screen.” Not giving the audience enough credit, I see? I mean, I’m not sure what happened, but I’m pretty sure you can look up a video Justice League: Mortal.

Justice League faced tons of behind the scenes problems. There were talks of Ben Affleck (aka, DCEU Bats) directing which never went through, the movie being completely reworked just mere weeks before shooting began because of BvS’s terrible reception, Joss Whedon (the guy who wrote and directed the first two Avengers movies) taking over as director and reworking the movie after Zack Snyder tragically lost his daughter from suicide, etc, etc, etc. Now, I’m not saying a movie that has behind the scenes problems is doomed to failure. After all, A New Hope had several behind the scenes problems, with George Lucas even writing the film off before it premiered, and look at how well that movie ended up turning out. Although I was livid after BvS and missed Suicide Squad, Wonder Woman gave me some hope that Justice League wouldn’t be that bad. Well… I was sort of right on that.

Let me get one thing straight: Justice League is a terrible movie. The story reeks of “Been there, done that, seen it before, seen it better, and will see it better in the future.” The characters were flat at best, and irritating at worst (looking at you, second-rate MCU Spider-Man aka Flash), and the villain is one of the worst I’ve ever seen (seriously, Steppenwolf is a fucking mid-boss, so why is he the big bad of 4 years?). To top it off, the film is a tonal and visual mess, and what I mean by the latter is that Joss Whedon’s Avengers-esc style clashes heavily with Zack Snyder’s supposed deep and dark vision. Justice League comes off as, to quote one of my favorite YouTube channels, Midnight’s Edge “A Frankensteinian abomination.” That being said, at least the film didn’t try to shove philosophical messages down my throat or try so fucking hard to be deep and meaningful, so JL’s already better than Man of Steel and BvS in that regard. I also liked that we finally got a Superman that actually felt like Superman should instead of what MoS and BvS tried to make him be. I left Justice League feeling… indifferent, I guess? I didn’t like it, but I didn’t hate it either. All I know is that I should have been feeling a lot more positive about this movie than I actually did. The Justice League animated series from the DC Animated Universe was my introduction to superheroes, and I still think holds up wonderfully today. I may have not been a fan of how Season 1 handled Superman in regards to the villains of that show, but I still think it’s a fantastic show. It’s a fucking shame that Warner Bros essentially failed to make a movie worthy of the name: Justice League. To make Justice League look even of a failure, we’re gonna have to talk about box office again.

Wanna know how much Justice League costed to make, including reshoots? $300 million. Justice League is the second most expensive movie ever made, with Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides being the most expensive. Want to know how much money it made, or has made so far? $655 million. Yes, only that much. On its opening weekend in America, it made $93 million. It couldn’t even make $100 million! It took the movie a fucking month to make the same amount The Avengers made in its opening weekend. If that’s not a “Get fucked, DC,” I don’t know what is. So, now that I spent this entire time going over each DCEU movie in detail (sorry that this has been so long to begin with), it’s now time to answer the question: Why did the DC Extended Universe fail?

WHY THE DCEU FAILED

If you ask me, the main reason the DC Extended Universe failed was because Warner Bros didn’t have a set plan or a person with a vision to keep the universe in tact. The reason Marvel Studios and the Marvel Cinematic Universe has been consistently successful is because of one man, and that man is Kevin Feige. Originally being a producer for the early X-Men and Spider-Man movies, along with other Marvel films, he was the brainchild behind the MCU, and has been an executive producer for each movie in the MCU so far. When a movie doesn’t measure up to the rest, which was the case with Thor: The Dark World, the MCU didn’t go into a panic and have the next few movies affected by Thor 2’s failings. Instead, the franchise carried on, and all the problems of The Dark World were addressed and mostly solved with Thor: Ragnorok. DC, meanwhile, doesn’t have a Kevin Feige. Warner Bros made the choice to make the DCEU director-driven, rather than producer-driven. The problem with making a mega-franchise with multiple franchises inside is that you need to have them be producer-driven to have a consistent vision. I know that a common complaint with the MCU is that it tends to revolve around a single formula, often referred to as the “Marvel Formula,” but a consistent vision needs to be in check to keep things in line. Having director-driven movies is good, but can lead to a clash of visions. Maybe I should do a Hub’s Kitchen episode on that. Hmm… Because of BvS’s failings, Suicide Squad and Justice League had to be radically altered during shooting and post-production, rather than before shooting and during pre-production, which was the case of Thor: Ragnorok going in a different direction than the previous Thor films.

I also feel that not sticking to what made the characters so beloved is another reason the DCEU failed. I’ve always been one to say that accuracy doesn’t make a movie good, but even so, I still believe that the main point of the character should be completely in tact. Marvel Studios has done a great job at this, even when they had to slightly rework characters like Spider-Man for example. Despite him having a tech suit made by Tony Stark, Peter still made his original suit, his web shooters, webbing, is still a smart kid, and relatable. Meanwhile, the DCEU decided “Hey, you know Superman? Yeah, let’s make him a complete brooding asshole and have him kill people for no reason other than its cool.” Or “Hey, you know Batman? Yeah, he’s a killer now and then suddenly he’s a third-rate Tony Stark wannabe.” Even better “Hey, you know Flash? Barry Allen Flash? We’re gonna make him Wally West and make him incredibly annoying, because COMEDY!” Thankfully, Wonder Woman got off pretty well. I know nerds like me are the only people who read comic books, but as far as an adaptation is concerned, we want the core basics of the characters to be intact. The DCEU didn’t do that, and a lot of fans jumped ship. Audiences were also alienated, mainly because for Man of Steel and BvS, the heroes weren’t acting like heroes, or people for that matter. I think that covers that whole dilemma, and now, it’s time to wrap everything up.

CONCLUSION

I’m sorry that this episode was as long as it was. I just feel that I needed to go in-depth as to why I felt the way I did and why the DCEU failed. I love superheroes. I’d go as far as to say superhero stories are my favorite kind of stories. I grew up with superheroes, okay, mostly Spider-Man, but still. So I hope you all can understand why I hated the DCEU as much as I did, and why it ultimately failed. I feel like whenever people generalize others who love the MCU and hate the DCEU as them saying “Marvel can do no wrong,” are missing the point. It’s not that we believe Marvel can do no wrong. It’s that we want good representations of the heroes we read and love, so maybe the average Joe can understand why we love these funny books so much. Whatever issues the MCU has can (mostly) be forgiven because the good stuff outweighs the bad. The DCEU, however, has only one good movie to its name and a few droppings of brilliance in an otherwise mediocre DC universe.

Wow, I got really emotional there. I’m sorry for that. It just annoys me when people generalize stuff. I don’t know what the next topic of Hub’s Kitchen will be on, but I can tell you all this: It’s gonna be a hell of a lot shorter than this, that’s for sure. My name’s Hub, and thank you for reading. *Checks Google Drive word count* Over 5,000 words. What the fu-

#hubskitchen

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auburnfamilynews · 4 years

Link

https://twitter.com/mtrigg_23/status/1234882720158842882

After signing 4 tight ends in the past 2 classes, Auburn is looking to add another talented prospect in the 2021 class.

Over the next 2 weeks 2-3ish weeks, we will be taking a position by position look at the top targets on Auburn’s 2021 board. This is a first pass at who might be looking at Auburn the hardest this early in the cycle and whom Auburn might have the most interest in. However, recruiting is fluid and these lists will likely change.

Ah the tight end position. The savior of Auburn’s offense for many message board fans. Though some of the obsession over the position I think is a little over done, the general belief that Auburn has under utilized the position in recent seasons is completely valid. In Gus Malzahn’s first 2 seasons at Auburn, CJ Uzomah caught 22 passes for 299 yards and 6 TDs. Over the following 5 seasons, Auburn tight ends caught a grand total of 8 passes for 59 yards and 4 TDs.

Seeing those stats, it seems difficult to see how Auburn could go out and sign top TE prospects but that’s exactly what has happened the last two cyles. In the 2019 class, Auburn signed Luke Deal and Tyler Fromm. They followed that class up with an even more impressive one in 2020 signing J.J. Pegues and Brandon Frazier. Now here we are in the 2021 cycle and Auburn has already offered 15 tight end prospects.

So what gives? Chad Morris does, that’s what.

Since Chad Morris became a collegiate coach in 2010, only once has his tight end had less yards in a single season than all of Auburn’s tight ends have combined for since 2015. That was in 2017 at SMU. Chances are very good that you will see more passes thrown to a tight end in the 2020 campaign than you have seen attempted over the past 5 years. It also means that Chad Morris wants that position well stocked moving forward with legitimate playmakers which is why you see the Tigers on the hunt for a big time tight end in the 2021 class.

4* Michael Trigg | 6’4” | 208 lbs | Seffner, FL

Recruitment

The nation’s #6 ranked tight end was on the Plains just before everything got shutdown. While on campus, he spent a lot of time with new Auburn offensive coordinator Chad Morris who broke down his plans for how he wants to use the tight end position moving forward. Once visiting restrictions are lifted, expect Trigg back on Auburn’s campus at some point. The team to beat though is likely Florida State but the Tigers are very much in this race.

Scouting Report

Trigg is an elite athlete capable of doing a little of everything. He’s got a long frame at 6’4” perfectly capable of adding 20+ lbs without losing any of his explosiveness. A natural hand catcher, Trigg shows outstanding body control and ball skills. While he’s not facing the stiffest of competition and is used more as a wide receiver than tight end, it’s very easy to see the tremendous upside. He’s a great fit for what Morris likes from his tight end, someone that can do a bit of everything from lining up in the H-Back role to splitting out wide.

4* Terrance Ferguson | 6’5” | 220 lbs | Littleton, CO

Recruitment

Ferguson was actually scheduled to take an official visit to the Plains before the pandemic. He reportedly plans on rescheduling his OV to Auburn at a later point and the Tigers appear to be firmly in the mix. Wisconsin and Oregon are also considered top contenders at this point and will get official visits. Until he actually makes it to Auburn though it’s hard to really know how good a chance the Tigers have at snagging the nation’s #12 tight end.

Scouting Report

Ferguson is a big kid with excellent quickness who has had a tremendously productive high school career. While he won’t likely win many track meets at the next level, Ferguson has enough top end speed to make plays after the catch. He’s got great strength and has the size/frame you expect to see from an SEC calibre tight end.

3* Lake McRee | 6’4” | 217 lbs | Austin, TX

Recruitment

With a name like Lake, you better be from Texas. The former Longhorn commit reopened his recruitment back in early February and has quickly become one of the most sought after TEs in this class. Auburn, Alabama, LSU, Washington and Penn State have all offered in recent months. He dropped a top 10 list last week that included the Tigers.

Scouting Report

McRee is another fluid athlete with the frame to put on the muscle needed to play tight end in the SEC. He’s a sharp route runner with great hands. Can line up anywhere on the field which is a must for Chad Morris. I fully expect McRee to be a consensus blue chip prospect before this cycle is over.

3* Trinity Bell | 6’7” | 256 lbs | Albertville, AL

Recruitment

Probably one of the more interesting prospects in this class, Trinity Bell is getting plenty of attention from SEC programs. Auburn and Tennessee are reportedly his top 2 schools with the Vols probably the team to beat at the moment. But if the Tigers decide to go all in on the Albertville product they will likely be tough to beat.

Scouting Report

What makes Bell so intriguing is that while he’s listed as a tight end, he’s got the frame to be an offensive tackle at the next level. An outstanding basketball player as well, Bell has apparently been given the green light by both Gus Malzahn and Bruce Pearl that he will be able to play both sports for the Tigers if he were to sign. It’s hard not to get excited about this kid’s upside but it will be interesting to see if teams try to convince him to make the move to offensive line or stick with him at tight end.

3* Elijah Arroyo | 6’4” | 210 lbs | Frisco, TX

Recruitment

Arroyo’s coming off a strong junior campaign where he caught 47 passes for 648 yards and 5 TDs. Plenty of major programs took notice as the Texan sports offers from the likes of Auburn, Alabama, Georgia, Texas, Texas A&M, Michigan and plenty of others. Auburn is reportedly very high on the Independence standout and will likely push hard to get an official visit this fall.

Scouting Report

Arroyo might be my favorite target on this list. You just don’t see many tight end prospects with his type of burst. An extremely gifted athlete, Arroyo is a playmaker from the tight end spot. He can line up in-line or split out wide at wideout. Flashing consistent hands, he’s a nightmare matchup in the redzone and has the athleticism to make plays after the catch. Very easy to see why he’s got such an impressive offer list.

Gunnar Helm | 6’5” | 225 lbs | Englewood, CO

Recruitment

He’s not ranked yet but that will likely change considering his offer list. Prospects that are getting attention from Auburn, Alabama, Georgia and LSU tend to see their stock rise in the eyes of recruiting services. Auburn though was one of the the first SEC teams to offer the Colorado native and are hoping to get him on campus as soon as possible. His family isn’t averse to sending him away considering his older sister is currently attending Alabama. We will see if Auburn can turn the Helm’s into a house divided this cycle.

Scouting Report

Helm was very clearly Cherry Creek’s redzone weapon last season. He turned 8 of his 25 catches into touchdowns and feasted inside the 20 yard line. A long athlete with great hands, Helm does an excellent job creating consistent separation with his routes and his big frame makes him an easy target for quarterbacks.

War Eagle!

from College and Magnolia - All Posts https://www.collegeandmagnolia.com/2020/4/8/21212526/2021-class-preview-tight-end-michael-trigg-terrance-ferguson-lake-mcree-elijah-arroyo-trinity-bell

#IFTTT #Blogger #auburn #auburn fast #wareagle #AuburnFamilyNews #war eagle #sec #football news #aubu

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

Lipstick City (Sashea Lesbian AU) by Oxford

AN: So it’s been a minute. This is the longest fic I’ve ever written at 13K+ and honestly I could have kept going despite it being piss poor in quality. I’m not too satisfied with the ending but it’ll do for the purposes of not going on and on forever! This is inspired by Lipstick City, set a year after the events of the film. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. - Oxford

“Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.” ― Euripides, Medea

She was wearing Chanel No. 5 draped in her Cartier Paris Nouvelle Vague necklace and all was right in the world once more. Shea Couleé lounged on her satin chaise, the epitome of ethereal serenity, with her dark eyes cast down to a crinkled copy of Tipping the Velvet.

Unopened storage boxes towered around her, the team of removal men had spent the majority of the past few days like a colony of leaf cutter ants in a constant procession until they pleaded for dismissal; there was still half a truck to unload. She had journeyed away from her beloved Chicago, from her friends and parties and modelling agency all in the name of love. The love for an eight million dollar empire called Couleé Enterprises.

Shea had married Mr Couleé, the debonair ex-bachelor son of the newly deceased CEO, three years ago back when she was a high rising socialite in the Parisian scene. Born and bred in France, the two fled the European circle in search of expanding their success and found themselves front and centre of Chicago’s elite.

With a well respected surname and abundant financial security, Shea launched her modelling career to the awe of Chicago. Statuesque with poise of a classical dancer, Shea’s face could be found in any fashion magazine. She was Grace Kelly and Grace Jones combined. But all that was lost once more as her husband followed the money trail out of the city and into a small town just outside New York.

The echoed slam of a door caused Shea to pause her reading but her eyes did not leave the page.

“Darling, I am heading to work now.” Her husband called; in French, of course. Shea had ruled that whilst they were alone they were to only speak their mother language to keep the romanticism alive. He popped his head round the door and observed his wife in her relaxed position. “I shall see you tonight for dinner.” Without waiting for a reply, he pursed his lips, kissing the air and vanished. Shea exhaled deeply. The novel carelessly slipped from her fingers. Alone completely. Friendless, lost in an unknown town, Shea found little comfort in her housebound state.

Rising, Shea glided to the bay windows, sashaying around the precariously placed boxes. The view from the crystal glass overlooked the vast green patio of her chateau, extending so that Shea also had a full view of the neighbouring garden. Her neighbour thus far had remained a mystery, the modest house seemed silent and unhabituated but the decking that Shea was privy to was crammed full of potted plants of roses. Interesting.

An iron cast table and chair set looked weathered and well-used, a smaller ceramic pot was sat on one of the two chairs. Shea guessed that perhaps the resident lived alone. In her peripheral vision, sudden movement coming from the house excited her. The backdoor had been swung open and Shea watched with the hungry anticipation of an isolated extrovert to see who would be revealed to her.

At first all she saw was light blonde hair, sleek at the roots but styled so that it permed out half way down the head. The figure, a woman - a young woman – to Shea’s surprise, tottered out in black Capri trousers and a pink blouse. Her face was obstructed by round sunglasses that perched on the end of her slender arched nose. The woman perched herself at the rusting table and chair set holding a book Shea could just make the title of. Gender Trouble. Very interesting.

The peeping housewife felt her mouth go dry. She was known back in Chicago as a determined individual, if she wanted something she got it and that included people. Imposed friendships always worked in her favour, for who didn’t want the attention of such a talented and glamorous individual that Shea undeniably was?

A (presumably) single young woman living by herself in a small town couldn’t possibly refuse the friendship of big-city star Shea Couleé. Suddenly, the door bell rang loud and Shea jumped into a scowl. The new workforce her husband has employed to run the excessively vast house as Shea instructed kept her busy for the rest of the day. By the time she had a free moment to return to the bay window in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the woman next door, the garden was deserted. Shea ruffled the curtain in annoyance before storming to resume her homely duties.

The next three days were nothing but curious glances at an empty garden. Shea knew she should have just gone over there on the first day to introduce herself but in between the house staff and a visit from the local Women’s Association run by two enthusiastic women called Alexis Michelle and Trinity Taylor, who implored her deeply to grace the weekly meetings with her presence, Shea was unsure if the woman she had seen even occupied the house daily.

Maybe she was a figment of Shea’s desperate mind? That was, until, a light rhythmic tapping roused her from a Vogue catalogue one afternoon. And there she stood. On the porch, her hands twisted together around an A4 sketch pad, the mystery neighbour beamed with the widest smile at Shea’s surprised yet delighted expression.

“Hello, darling.” She laughed and Shea could not help but return the smile, charmed at the enthused informality. “I’m awfully sorry for not introducing myself sooner but work has taken over my life recently. I’m your neighbour from the next door down, Sasha, how have you been settling in? Is this a good time?” Shea moved from her languid position against the door frame to extend her hand invitingly.

“Absolutely, impeccable timing, chérie.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss on either of Sasha’s pale cheeks, aiming to impress by displaying the full French allure. Unfazed, Sasha leant into the gesture, squeezing Shea’s hand warmly. “Enchanté…Sasha. Shea. Shea Couleé.” Sasha laughed.

“What a fabulous name! You are French? What a breath of fresh air you are to this provincial town.” Shea kept Sasha’s hand firmly in her own, her famous confident smile blooming for the first time since arriving in the unfamiliar town.

“On the contrary, Sasha, it is you who are the breath of fresh air to my lonesome situation. There is not much here in terms of company for a woman, it seems, unless you are a middle-aged housewife. The Woman’s Association have already bombarded me with their…hospitality.” Sasha laughed harder, the sound was unfeminine but filled with unreserved joy, which Shea could not help but fixate her smile on.

“Oh they’re an alright bunch, really. I go to their meetings every once in a while to help out in the community and do art for them. It is a good way to get to meet people so I’d recommend you go a few times if you’re not too introverted.” Shea nodded in consideration.

“Will you be at the next meeting?”

“I shall.”

“Then so shall I.” Sasha flushed, evidently flattered at Shea’s declaration. The model continued, intrigued by her guest. “You do art?”

“I do.” Sasha nodded passionately. “I love painting and photography and performance art – all sorts. Art is revolutionary, you know, it’s so liberating and freeing from social constructs. Not many people appreciate its power. Anything and everything can be art. I lecture at a university in New York and do art shows on the side so…I’m a bit of an art enthusiast.”

“I shall have to get you to paint or photograph me sometime.” Shea pondered before adding with sanctimonious modesty. “I’m a model.” She revelled as Sasha’s eyes widened with awe.

“I can definitely see that.” The two fell into a buzzed silence, anticipating each other’s next words, wanting to say so much more.

Shea soaked in Sasha’s pale complexion, they were almost at opposite ends of the spectrum with Shea’s dark hand encased by strikingly white fingers. She admired her quirky yet still upscale regalia, Sasha was fitted into a tight orange pencil skirt and a banana yellow turtleneck. The gaudy blue rose pinned above her breast was, however, questionable.

Much to Shea’s dismay, Sasha turned her head to glance at her own house. “I should be going, you must be terribly busy with unpacking. Please do come over to mine whenever you feel like it. I’m always in after two-thirty. I should very much like to get to know you more, Miss Couleé.” Shea fluttered her lashes. Releasing Sasha’s hand, she resumed her sloped stance against the wooden frame, her hip jaunting out.

“Shea, please. It’s Miss Couleé if you’re nasty.” Winking, she hummed a laugh as Sasha chortled loudly again. She’s either oblivious or she also enjoys the works of Nineteenth century Sapphic literature, Shea mused as she waved her neighbour goodbye.

“Women’s Association, this Friday, Seven O’clock.” Sasha called over her shoulder as she strolled across the small patch of green to her house. “I’m sure Alexis gave you the address.”

The long summer days leading up to the Woman’s Association meeting passed in a daze. Shea looked out for Sasha in her garden, only spotting her once watering the excessive amount of roses and had to look away to prevent herself from banging on the window to get her attention. She barely noticed her husband’s company, or lack thereof, instead occupying her time with fantastical thoughts of Sasha.

Her voice had been deeper and smoother than she had originally expected yet its tone was calming and soothing on the ears. She fantasised how erotic it would be to have Sasha read Tipping The Velvet to her as she lay on her chaise lounge in her finest lingerie. She was also enticingly tall, almost reaching Shea’s height. Her pale skin juxtaposed the vivid brightness of her azure eyes and were framed splendidly by big dark expressive brows. And those lips. Shea groaned as she pictured those delicious full red lips that formed words with unusual elegance.

Shea didn’t pride herself on having a type. She was most definitely open to everything and anyone…as long as they were of the familiar body type. Her husband, she was sure, did not pay enough attention to notice this. He was welcome to have his own distractions with flimsy skirts at his workplace as long as he was discreet. At the beginning of their marriage Shea had convinced herself that she had been in love with him; still unsure of her curious feelings towards women. Yet once she felt the sting and heart break over his affair, Shea had tossed caution to the wind, determined to find solace and satisfaction by sating her desire for women. She had, of course, been painstakingly discreet in her rendezvous’.

Only once had there been public rumours of her husband’s adultery, almost smearing their brand name. Shea had be furious. She has screamed and tore at the expensive possessions they had worked hard to afford. They could NOT afford public scandal, it would crumble their empire. He had promised it wouldn’t happen again and begged for forgiveness. Shea had scorned him, insulted that he assumed it was her pride as a wife that had been hurt. She had no qualms if he found satisfaction in the arms of another woman, oh no, just do not jeopardise his – her – their – fortune. Money was everything.

When the night of the meting came around, Shea was filled with shy nerves. Whether it was do to with being accepted by small town minds or being reunited with Sasha, the woman could not tell. She walked around aimlessly, watching as clusters of women hovered in and outside the hall, trying to spot the tall fair-haired figure with an air of blasé confidence. Sasha was sat at a round table surrounded by Alexis, Trinity and a two other women varying in age by the names of Peppermint and Nina.

“What are you looking for, Sasha?” Bright eyes turned their attention back to Peppermint.

“I had thought I had convinced my new neighbour to come along tonight.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Rich folk rarely leave their houses to mingle with the community riff raff.” Chimed Trinity, sitting to Sasha’s left, pausing her conversation with Alexis. “She’s married to some big CEO from Chicago, so I heard. Lucky bitch.” Sasha’s smile downturned.

“She told me she was a model.”

“Honey, she’s not going to afford a house like that just by being a model.” Said Alexis. Sasha laughed dryly in response.

“Have you seen her? She’s pure art.”

“I prefer more classic tastes myself.” The elder woman sipped on her drink. “In fact, I think –”

“You came!” Sasha jumped from her seat, banging into the table resulting in multiple drinks to spill, and ran towards the tall dark beauty before her. Shea smiled cockily, secretly relieved, flicking the ends of her locks over her shoulder.

“Of course I came, I told you I would.” She grasped Sasha’s shoulders softly before tilting her head to kiss her cheeks in familiar greeting. Sasha gazed up at her with admiration and glee. “Now are you going to introduce me?”

The rest of the evening was filled with a steady flow of drinks and conversation that rose in pitch and tone as argumentative topics were debated. Shea noticed that whilst Sasha was definitely on the quieter side of the group, she had no fear of putting her point across when she felt it should be heard. She had placed Shea in her own seat, stealing Trinity’s when the woman had left to get another cocktail. As the booze set in, everyone’s posture relaxed and tongue’s loosened. Sasha had her arm resting behind Shea’s chair and Shea felt inclined to lean her back against it so that her fur coat brushed against the pale hand.

They stole glances at one another and smiled when their eyes met every time, giggling and passing comments in hushed tones as the older women slurred insults at one another. They argued over who was the producer of an old amateur dramatics production they had created. Rolling her eyes, Sasha pulled a face as Alexis claimed to have been given a smaller part due to dedicating her time as a producer. Hiccupping, Shea gave her meaningful look a she sipped on the remnants of Sasha’s cocktail. Red lipstick stained the straw but Shea didn’t care. The blonde smiled with mirth and Shea had a fleeting thought about how pretty she looked.

“Would you like to come round mine sometime?” Sasha asked sweetly, giggling.

“How about now?” Shea shot back, shooting her a flirtatious look. Again, Sasha merely laughed.

“For dinner. Or late lunch. Or just drinks.”

“Dinner.” Shea agreed. “Two Mondays time, shall we say six?” Sasha beamed.

“I’ll see you then. Otherwise….I know where you live.” Shea chuckled at the whimsical threat.

“Ooh girl, that’s not exactly a punishment I’d avoid.” Any other occasion Shea would not have easily let herself flirt shamelessly. But this was a new beginning, no one here really knew her and her socialite status did not follow her into this suburban town. The alcohol loosened her tongue and made her feel uninhibited. Shea was also realising that Sasha was a very good sport, laughing at all her jokes and flirtatious jibes that Shea was curious to see how far she could push it.

“Miss Shea Couleé,” Sasha drawled, her body swaying in her seat slightly under the influence. “Are you even married with the way you talk like that?” Shea paused, her smile frozen.

“Girl, I’ll have you know it was this mouth that got me my husband.” She licked her tongue across her lips. Sasha smirked and fiddled with the hem of her short patterned dress. Shea let her eyes flicker to her bare thigh. Her gaze traced up, appreciating the slender form of her friend. “And, as the ladies here have speculated, his eight million dollar fortune.” She regarded Sasha’s reaction but the other girl smiled sympathetically.

“Pay none of these women any mind. I hope you’re very happy together.”

“I…am.” Shea knew she didn’t sound sure. “I am happy. How could I not be? I have more money than I can spend. I’m beautiful and fierce and smart and my friends back in Chicago love me. I’m a model in magazines, people know who I am.” Sasha nodded with a pensive expression.

“You must love him very much.” Shea dropped her gaze, the raucous party around them long forgotten.

“I’d have nothing without him.”

-X-

When Monday rolled around, Shea spends the majority of the humid afternoon laying outfits on her bed in preparation for her meal with Sasha. Lost in the inspection between two dresses, Shea’s husband wondered in.

“What are you up to, darling?” Without turning, Shea continued to scrutinize her outfits.

“I’m going out to dinner with our neighbour. Sasha.” Shea heard shuffling behind her but didn’t care enough to see what her husband was doing.

“That’s nice. Who? Never heard or seen any neighbours.” Shea gave a non-committal hum. The man behind her reviewed himself in the floor length mirror. “So what are you doing with yourself these days? I never see you round the house anymore.”

“I spend my time with the Women’s Association. Sasha and I go. She’s going to paint me or photograph me.” No response. Finally throwing a dress behind her, Shea strutted to her shoe cupboard.

“Is that who you call at all hours of the night?” Shea pretended she didn’t hear the question. “You know, Sasha’s a pretty sexy name. Russian.” She froze. Her heart caught in her throat.

“I thought you didn’t know of our neighbours? I’d prefer if you kept your trysts at your workplace and not make a fool of yourself where we have to live.”

“Oh, you heard that then.” Her husband folded his arms and glared at her. “Answer me. Is that who you’re calling at every ungodly hour in the night?” Shea turned to face him and studied his face.

“Yes.” He sighed, expression relieved.

“Good. That’s fine. Just try to keep it down when you’re calling your girl friend. As long as it isn’t a man I have to worry about.” Shea gaped at him incredulously. “Also, I told you I’m not going to have any affairs anymore. It was just a one time mistake.” Lies, lies, vicious lies. Shea bit her tongue, her fiery temper burning to demand the truth.

“No.” She snapped. “I am not and will not be calling a man.” Mr Couleé nodded indifferently and made to exit the room.

A deep cold loathing rose to Shea’s throat. She clutched her shoes with a vice grip forcing herself to not throw them at the back of her husband’s head. It was indeed a fact that, after the first WA meeting Shea attended, Sasha had scrawled her number onto Shea’s napkin with a pencil the artist had found tucked into her hair.

“Call me. Anytime, day or night, if you need someone to talk to.” And as the days bled into one another with no interaction from people outside her household Shea had, with trembling fingers, called her one night. It had rung only three times before the low, smooth tones of Sasha’s voice answered cheerily.

“Hello?”

“Bonsoir chérie,” Shea winced as she glanced at her grand oak clock. “I am sorry for calling you so late, you weren’t sleeping were you?”

“Hi!” Sasha’s voice had sounded drained and Shea had bit her lip, mortified for clearly disturbing the woman. “It’s okay, I was just cleaning up my brushes. I had an inspired session in my studio tonight. Who knew painted animated projections could look so Warhol?”

It soon became a ritual that every other day Shea would call Sasha in the evening, making sure to not disturb her time in her make-shift home studio creating art. Shea would tell stories about her life in Chicago, her friends there, Lipstick City where the life she lived was beyond the imagination and the crazy shenanigans only stupid people with a stupid amount of money could pull off. Sasha listened avidly, asking interesting questions and offering her own thoughts.

She presented her own encounters in New York, her performance art, her gallery shows, her social rights works. She spoke eagerly about what she thought the deconstruction of gender would mean for people outcast from the norms, people she knew and loved and shared her art with. Shea wanted to see that side to Sasha’s life. She wanted to take her back to Chicago to meet all her artistic friends and have Sasha school them on what the colours of the rainbow meant and how beauty can be found in anything if you look at it in different perspectives. It was less than a fortnight before every other night descended into calls multiple times a day.

The permanent fixture of this routine raised eyebrows amongst Shea’s house staff. They watched apprehensively as the housewife increasingly spent her time locked away, isolating herself with the telephone into the early hours of the morning. She never ate with her husband for any meal, it was rumoured that they hadn’t seen each other face to face since arriving in the town, taking to live in opposite sides of the house. Some wondered if it was a European lifestyle choice. Others wondered if either partner was having an affair. A minority of smart, thoughtful individuals wondered their estranged relationship was due to Shea’s love of homoerotica extending beyond literature.

When the hour drew closer to their awaiting dinner date, Shea fixed the details of her outfit before strutting outside to march next door. She was shrouded in diamonds from her neck to her wrists and fingers. Her curves were accentuated by a black bodysuit with gold embroidery. The essence of opulence.

The house was a fraction of the size compared to Shea’s. The paint was peeling and rot was setting in. A purely sorry state. Checking her makeup in her compact, Shea fiddled with her curls as she rapped on the door. A beat passed before it was flung open and Shea could not contain an amused grin. Adorned in a fuchsia pink sparkling evening dress with a giant feather flower pinned to front, Sasha had a crown - was that made of felt?… – perched precariously on her head.

“It’s a good thing I dressed up for the occasion.” Shea laughed. “I love this.” She pointed to the crown and Sasha laughed, her smile simultaneously eerily wide and beautiful. “Very glam.”

“You look gorgeous.” Sasha gushed as they exchanged pecks on their cheeks. “I have to take your photo tonight in my studio. I’ll put it in my magazine – with your blessing of course.”

“How could I resist such an offer?” Shea cooed, strutting into the small living room. She eyed everything, eagerly embracing all the mess. Art supplies were strewn all over book cases haphazardly, posters and polaroids and sketches were pinned to the walls. A true artists den.

“I know this is isn’t as grand as Maison du Couleé,” Sasha said awkwardly, coming up beside her. “but it’s home.”

“It’s perfect.” Shea smiled warmly. “I’m very nostalgic, this reminds me of my first apartment in Paris.”

“I can’t ever imagine you in anything but the chicest and most high-class setting.” Sasha confessed, leading the way to the cosy kitchen. Shea watched her dress sway and curve around her behind with appreciation.

“Oh I was a banji bitch in my time. I’m just equally as bougie now.” Sasha offered a dining chair for Shea as she prepared food at the counter. “I should take a picture of you right now. All dressed like a queen doing her own cooking. Tells quite the story.” Sasha chuckled, blushing the same colour as her ensemble.

“I never let anyone cook for me. I am queen of this castle and in my kingdom I get to choose what I eat and no one can force me to do otherwise. Mainstream media can fuck off with their body shaming, telling women what and not to eat.” Shea regarded her quietly, a deeper story set behind her words. Deciding not to ruin the mood and dwell on it tonight, she instead gave a breathy sigh.

“Well don’t take it out on the iceberg, you’re practically fisting that salad, girl, let alone tossing it. You use your hands so forcefully.” Sasha instantly snorted and smiled coyly.

“Well, it is known that that bisexuals are some of the most forceful and unforgettable lovers…”Shea felt her stomach tighten as Sasha’s features creased as she choked into laughter at her own joke but instantaneously twisted her face seductively. Shea felt flawed at the transformation.

“Wanna try some?” She offered her folk up invitingly. Shea traced her tongue over the shape of her lips dramatically.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Leaning over, Sasha brought the folk to Shea’s open mouth. Shea refused to break eye contact as she wrapped her lips around the utensil and moaned deeply. Sasha didn’t move, her eyes were glued to Shea as she swallowed and moaned heavily. Even though the innuendos were a regular circumstance of their time together, tension hung in the air tonight.

“You like that?” Sasha murmured, her head tilting forward unintentionally. Shea watched the action with exhilaration.

“Hmm…needs more chocolate. Nobody eats enough chocolate around here.” Pale cheeks deepened to a rose hue.

“I agree, I love eating chocolate. But Shea, this is the entreé, not dessert.” The line between humour and sincerity had blurred. Shea gorged herself on the sight of Sasha’s quickened breath, her chest rising and falling at a foxtrot speed and the suggestive allure of her countenance. The only question was, how was Sasha seeing all this? Was it still just a joke? She had stopped laughing but…

“Sasha,” Shea drawled the name affectionately. “Do you have solutions for those of us who love to eat dessert but hate waiting until the end of meal?” Shea slid her hand cautiously across the table to cover Sasha’s. The blonde didn’t move, her face was unreadable. Hesitantly Shea rose from her seat, her hand still in place above the smaller one, her gaze held the unspoken question. This was not Shea’s first time trying to make a pass at a woman and she was confident in herself that her techniques worked. But this wasn’t a random acquaintance in a Chicago bar, this was Sasha. Her neighbour. Her friend. Her best friend. “You never actually told me you were bi.”

Sasha shrugged nonchalantly.

“My sexuality doesn’t define me and is definitely not the most interesting thing to talk about.” Shea nodded.

“Agreed. It’s no one’s business. At all.” Self-assurance flowing, this was the moment, the taller woman swooped down to finally kill the chase. Sasha jerked her head away. Shea halted, her eyes opening wide with shock.

“W-What…”

“Nice try.” Sasha’s voice was soft with disapproval. Shea stuttered incoherently. “You’re married, Shea. This was cute but I’m not actually going to sleep with you.” Pulling away gently, the blonde backed herself against the counter.

“So you’re not into me? At all?” Shea pressed, wounded. Sasha’s eyes narrowed sympathetically.

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it. I just don’t condone cheating.” Shea clenched her jaw.

“So men can have all the fun but us women have to sit tight, put up with their shit and rise above it?” Sasha was taken aback by the abrupt tone.

“I didn’t say that, did I? Why be with someone if you’re just going to cheat on them? A relationship should be built on love and trust.” Shea laughed derisively.

“Try explaining that to my husband.” Wide blue orbs sparkled with pity into dark emotional irises. Crossing the space between them, Sasha wrapped her arms around her friend.

“I’m sorry, Shea.” She whispered into her neck. The hairs on Shea’s neck tingled and stood to attention. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, is it.” Shea sighed, dropping her head into the blonde locks. She smelt like roses. “I’m not in love with him. I was but…not anymore. I’m so lonely here. All my friends are back in Chicago. My modelling is there. Everything. I’m trapped in this stupid town in that stupid house. No one understands me. Expect you.” Shea timidly brought her arms around Sasha’s waist, accepting the embrace.

“I know, I know, darling.” Sasha consoled. “You’re always welcome here, this is your home now too. You’re an incredible person, Shea, don’t get lost in the negativity.” Shea felt her chest ache. How was she supposed to let go of Sasha when all she felt from her was nothing but the love and acceptance she craved? Her fingers trembled, resisting the urge to dig into Sasha’s waist.

Dinner forgotten, the two young women made their way hand in hand to salvage the rest of their date. Entering the tiny dim studio, Sasha proudly presented her current art pieces to her new audience; an elaborate explanation was recited alongside each canvas and Shea could see the art lecturer in her bloom. Smiling at the set up, she sauntered over to the camera and struck a pose.

“Here’s your photo opportunity, ma chérie, make it count.” Sasha laughed but hastily lit the set before capturing the arabesque form.

“Art.” She declared. “Let me take another.”

The sun had melted into an ebony nightfall, unbeknownst to the two friends as they crammed prop after prop into a stream a photos, Shea very quickly coaxing the artist into the frames with her. Laughter rang around the room, completely private, no one to witness the two women dance about in playful bliss.

“I wish we could do this every day.” Shea sighed in contentment as she slipped into the other side of Sasha’s bed. There had been no suggestion of Shea retiring back to her own empty abode. She had quietly followed Sasha, tiptoeing behind her while Sasha smiled knowingly to herself but refrained from commenting.

“There’s no reason why we can’t.” Sasha hummed, letting her dress plummet to the floor. She bared no shame or reserved-ness towards her scantily clad form. Shea averted her eyes as her bed friend removed her stockings and bra before tossing on a satin slip. She has leant one to Shea for the night but it rode too high and her breasts felt exposed. Not that Sasha showed any notice. Shea quelled the bubbling excitement as her mind wondered to fantasies that stemmed from her extensive literature collection. As soon as the room snapped into darkness, the second figure dipping into the bed seemed intimately close.

Shea shuffled to make herself comfortable and brushed against the side of Sasha’s warm body. Murmuring an apology, she frowned as the only sound in return was shallow breathing. Of course she would be asleep instantly, Shea rolled her eyes. Yet despite her complaint, she found herself rapidly following suit.

The two bodies drew closer as the night progressed, arms thoughtlessly flung themselves around, drawn to the softness and heat of the other. If any trespasser were to come across their resting silhouettes, they’d be none the wiser that the two weren’t steady lovers. Sasha’s hands curled into Shea’s chest, her head buried into her shoulder. Her companion had a hand flung possessively over her hip, fingers curling into the skimpy slip.

The next morning proved a lot less idyllic. Sasha had a piercing alarm set for the crack of dawn, her lecturer life commanding attention back to reality. Shea groaned in protest, swearing under her breath in French, as the warm body in her arms rolled away. Gripping the now abandoned pillow as a substitute, Shea let herself fall back to sleep whilst Sasha quietly prepared for the day ahead. When she finally felt herself succumb to the waking world, Shea immediately felt her back muscles tense. Maybe there was a way to replace Sasha’s mattress without her knowing about it, she pondered in her hazy state. A red note was carefully positioned on the bedside cabinet.

Good morning sleepy head!

I’m afraid I have lectures all day, so I won’t be back until this evening. Feel free to help yourself to breakfast although I’m afraid you may have a more luxurious variety in your own chateau.

Please put the spare key back through the letter box once you go.

See you tonight at the WA?

~ Sasha ~ x

A tender smile etched across Shea’s lips. She arched her back, trying to ease the knots that had been caused by broken bed springs. Swinging her long legs over the bed, Shea traipsed to the tiny kitchen – the uncooked food from the previous night remained untouched in their positions around the crammed work counter. Opening the fridge, Shea cringed at the pitiful state. Leftovers, a spilt carton of milk and some cherry tomatoes were the only contents. So much for breakfast, Shea thought dryly. Flinging the door closed in disgust, the model huffed as she contemplated her current predicament. No food, messy kitchen…only one thing for it.

-X-

Sasha was more than ready for a quiet night to herself after an arduous day with her art dealer. Her hand was being tied to committing more hours to her work, the demand for another soiree was the highest yet but Sasha knew her art, however celebrated, did not pay her extortionate bills. Her hair had frizzed in the heat, the sleek parting appeared dishevelled but Sasha merely hid the mess with a cylinder hat.

Her favourite rounded sunglasses slipped down her face as she trudged with her materials to the porch. Fiddling with the key, Sasha bit her lip in confusion as the lock refused to turn. Did Shea forget to lock the door when she left? The door opened under her touch and Sasha cautiously entered. Bold brows rose, startled, as a figure lay like a Grecian statue on her davenport sofa.

“You’re still here?”

Shea smiled from her spot, opening her arms in welcome. Sasha noted the change of clothes and pristine makeup and wondered if Shea had gone home to spritz up before letting herself back in.

“How was work, chérie?” Kicking off her heels and glasses, Sasha dumped the contents in her arms to the side before descending into Shea’s open arms. She felt charmed at the domesticity of the situation, not used to having someone waiting for her return.

“Work was hard.” She sighed in between the now commonplace kisses on cheeks. “Budge over, my feet hurt.” Making room so that Sasha could sit with Shea’s head in her lap, the two stared at each other in comfortable silence.

“I bought groceries.” Shea commented, crossing her ankles. “You had no food.” The blonde grimaced, bringing a hand to run through her hair resulting in her hat falling behind her.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Shea gazed up at her, a sweetness to her expression that made Sasha bite her lip.

“I wanted to. I can’t have you starving, now, can I? You got a nice ass but the rest of you needs feeding up.”

“Don’t, you sound like everyone else.” Sasha admonished.

“How many people have you got telling you your ass is great?” her friend jested, flicking Sasha on the arm. Sasha laughed sarcastically.

“What else did you do today besides be my little hausfrau?”

“I cleaned your kitchen - well, I sent my staff over to clean it up and I made you dinner.” Shea admitted, her fingers tangled in her beads nervously. “Is that too much?”

“It’s…extremely thoughtful of you.” Sasha praised, mustering an appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

“C’est ne rien, ma chérie.” Full dark lips pouted up her companion to blow a kiss.

They spent the next two hours recounting their day, Shea proudly presenting the meal she had slaved over with her own two hands. She was not about to admit that it had taken her the best part of the afternoon to perfect. She mulled over her glass of Cointreau, silently congratulating herself as Sasha flooded her with praise after praise. The woman was, however, disappointed when Sasha suddenly declared that she was leaving for a meeting with Alexis, Trinity and the woman only referred to as Peppermint.

“I thought you said you were tired.” Shea’s voice hitched, pleading for her friend to retire for the night with her.

“I am but it’s important.” Sasha insisted with a final tone. “We’ve got a responsibility to our community.”

Conceding, Shea soon found herself in the midst of a fiery debate over a charity performing arts showcase. To her right, Sasha was passionately defending ribbon dancing whilst Alexis was imploring to the table that the show should focus on Broadway show tunes. Soothing her temple with a gloved finger, Shea sighed.

“Is there no way we can have both and move on from this?” Peppermint chimed in agreement, nodding vigorously whilst Trinity decided to throw in her own ideas. What a mess. Sasha’s were brows furrowed in disgruntlement as she beseeched the bickering table.

“Listen, I think we should – ”

“What we really need to be doing,” Shea interjected, raising her voice above the blonde. Sasha glared at her, resenting how her friend cut her off rudely. This was her idea. They should be taking direction from her, the artist, as to how this show should be directed. Granted, Sasha had to acknowledge that Shea’s contributions were very good. But she did not appreciate being forcibly ejected from the debate. Silently seething, the blonde simmered to herself.

“Sasha you agree with me, right?” Shea whipped her head round expectantly and Sasha felt the burn of four demanding faces. She had to steer this debacle away from potential bloodshed and tears.

“I do really like your ideas, Shea,” Sasha affirmed. “But – ”

“Honestly, this whole thing is a shambles right now,” Alexis said, loftily. “You’re clearly not used to a leadership role for a project this size and it’s showing. You’re behaviour is too insecure to manage this project.” Sasha was stunned.

“I think I’m doing just fine.” She straightened in her seat. “I think my strategy just doesn’t work for you, Miss Alexis. I would be better if everyone stopped talking over me and -”

“To be fair,” Shea, intercepted. Sasha bit her tongue in exasperation. “We’ve all been going off over Sasha but she’s been trying to keep us in line and create something that includes everyone.” Alexis leaned forward, waving her hands as she spoke. Trinity and Peppermint threw side glances, roused by the heated debate.

“Frankly I feel like Sasha is explicitly trusting you and your vision of this more than mine or Trinity’s or Peppermint’s.”

“Actually,” Sasha’s voice rose in outrage. “I feel like Shea is stepping on my toes a little bit.” Affronted, Shea’s eyes shone with surprise and hurt.

“Honestly, I was just trying to share my ideas –”

“You straight up just spoke over me like everyone else did, to be honest.” The two eyed each other wearily, an awkward strain rising between them.

“Time to call it a night.” Peppermint piped up.

“Agreed.”

Shea had driven Sasha and herself to the disastrous meeting however as they parted, the blonde made a move to walk away from the direction she had parked in.

“Hey,” Shea called, soured by Sasha’s mood. “I’m driving you home.”

“I would like to walk.” Came the curt reply. Shea exhaled sharply and stomped over to the woman, grabbing her hand.

“Just get in the car, Sasha, you’re not walking home in the dark.” Sasha blinked before shifting in embarrassment. The ride home was thick with a tense silence. Shea was thankful when they finally reached their destination. As she pulled up, she twisted her body to face her friend.

“We’re really not going to fall out over Alexis wanting to micro-manage, are we?”

“It wasn’t just Alexis.” Sasha chastised, looking up at Shea’s worried expression. “You barely let me get a word in, either. I expect that kind of thing from them but not you.”

A lump formed in Shea’s throat, she fought the urge to argument defensively; something she would have done to her friends back in Chicago.

“I…I just wanted to get involved.” Sasha smiled, dolefully, placing her hand above Shea’s.

“I know. Your ideas were the best ones, anyway. I just wanted this to be an equally collaborative project.” She gave a slight squeeze of her hand before taking her leave. Shea remained. Her pensive countenance was noted upon when she finally forced herself to return to her own house, a sinking sensation weighing upon her. Her husband had not noticed her absence, wholly apathetic to her plight. He was leaving for a night in New York. Business purposes only. Of course.

With a new layer of exhausted emotions, Shea cradled her pearl rotary dial phone as she waited for Sasha to answer. Sasha would comfort her, she would forget about their silly tiff and see how much Shea appreciated her. The dial tone sounded continuously until the realisation hit Shea like a concrete brick. Sasha was ignoring her call. Slamming the handset down, Shea flung herself to the chaise lounge unable to face a night of frightful sleep.

Hours trickled one after the other and Shea drowned in a sense of inconsolable dread. The one person she wanted, needed, to talk to right now was outright rejecting her. No one had ever rejected her before. Shea did not make allowances for moping behaviour. Not from anyone, especially herself. Sasha may be upset with her but Shea would be damned if she was going to let a petty row interfere with their relationship. Blustering with haste, she stormed down and out to her neighbour’s porch. Wrapped only in a silk gown that scarcely hid her lingerie, Shea pounded her fist against the door. A moment passed before Sasha’s lethargic face peered around the door. She was blank with no makeup and her hair was set in rags.

“Shea?”

“Why did you ignore my call?”

“Your…your call? Jesus, Shea, what time even is it?” Shea pursed her lips as Sasha’s drowsy features gazed up at her in confusion. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

“I had to see you. To make it right.” Sasha tilted her head, yawning.

“Shea, this is…this is a lot.” The taller of the two women closed her hand around the smaller, holding it firmly.

“I know, I know I’m a lot to handle. I’m clingy person, I give too much of myself to the people I care about and it’s off putting. I know what I’m like, trust me. But…you…this friendship means too much to me. You’re the best thing about this wretched town; you should be in New York or Chicago or Paris living the life you always dreamed of for yourself, surrounded by fabulous people who appreciate you like I do.”

Sasha looked up at her dumbfounded. Shea prepared for the wave of rejection. “I know I impose my friendship too strongly and I’m sorry for not being the best friend I could have been to you. But I’m so grateful to have you in my life. I need you. I…you don’t even know, Sasha…”

The blood rose to Sasha’s cheeks at the declaration. Pulling Shea towards her with the hand that was locked in a vice grip, she slung her free arm over Shea’s shoulder to press against her. The embrace felt electric with emotion. Releasing hands, Shea crumbled under the touch and wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist; their bodies meshing intimately.

“I love you too.” Mumbled Sasha. “I’m sorry for pushing you away. I just needed some space. This is pretty intense and I’ve never had a friendship like this before, you’re so…” Sasha swallowed, unsure of her words. “I just want you to be happy. Get out of that marriage, Shea, leave him and let yourself be happy. Be free. Go back to Chicago. Or…you could be with me. We can move to New York and do whatever we want. I care about you deeply – too much to let you carry on like this.”

Shea felt light headed. Dizzy with pure elation, she felt a new awakening inside her. She had never thought she’d live to see the day she’d consider giving up her fortune for anything, let alone for another person. Who could be that important? Whimpering, she heaved a sob into Sasha’s hair, the familiar faint scent of roses comforted her.

“I’m scared.” She confessed while Sasha rubbed circles into her back. “I’ll lose everything.”

“You’ll lose money.” Sasha corrected. “But what you’ll gain…you’ll have everything, Shea.” A gust of midnight wind caused a shiver to tremble between them. “You don’t even love him.” Sasha cried with sudden grievance. “You said so yourself – you don’t even love him.” She took a step back, eyeing Shea with begging eyes. “Please Shea…divorce your husband. Don’t let yourself live in misery.”

“I…” Shea trailed off, a panicked realisation shining in her eyes. “I want you…to be with you…Sasha…” Shea choked on her name, cupping her face in her palms desperately. Sasha held her wrists, her thumbs dancing in circles tenderly as their foreheads touched.

“Then leave him.” Sasha whispered, her eyes darting hungrily from dark eyes to full parted lips. Shea had never seen such a lustful expression from the woman. It made her body ache for contact, the force of her desire like a magnet. “Leave him and we can be together. Now…are you coming in or going back there?”

The invitation held such promise yet Shea could not but feel that her choice would finalise her fate. She bit her lip, uncertain of what implications her choice had. Sasha yawned.

“Either way, we both need to sleep. It’s been a long day.” The dark haired woman nodded, letting her hands fall from Sasha’s face as she was pulled in through the door. Sasha’s hold on her wrist continued as they ascended the staircase. No words passed between them as they entered the bedroom. Uncomfortably self-conscious, they glided under the sheets in darkness. Hands found one another and then, like a chain reaction, arms pushed and pulled greedily to enfold themselves together. Legs hooked around legs, brushing up and down, playing footsie.

Shea felt Sasha’s breath on her face and inched close until their noses touched. Sasha sighed as they Eskimo kissed, tilting her face in blind search of Shea’s lips. She felt Shea gasp as she chastity pressed her lips to the corner of her mouth. Shea peppered kisses blindly along any skin she could feel, drunk on the euphoric sensation, stamping her lips down passionately. Finally, finally. Sasha shushed her, calming her, to ease her passion. The haste would have to subside, for now, but their exchange of kisses promised more. Finally, the two plummeted into an exhausted slumber, dread and hope for the days to come lingered in the air.

The next morning was cold. A grey drizzle set in. Shea lay with her head on Sasha’s chest enjoying the sensation of fingers caressing her scalp, twirling her hair.

“I’m going to tell him.” She muttered to herself. Sasha hummed, happily.

“I love it when you speak French.” She said, oblivious to the meaning of Shea’s declaration.

“I miss speaking it.” Shea confessed. “I had a rule that him and I, when we were alone, could only speak in French. I didn’t want to lose that part of myself.”

“That’s beautiful.” Sasha smiled. “I used to be perfectly fluent in Russian but I’ve never spoken it since moving away, so I’m terribly rusty.” Shea turned a surprised look up at her.

“You lived in Russia?”

“I am, in fact, Russian.” Sasha smiled widely. “Sasha is a Russian name but I chose Velour when I moved here because no one knew how to spell or speak my real surname.”

“Get out of town.” Shea rolled and sat up on her arms. “What brought you to the States?” Sasha’s eyes dimmed and she shrugged.

“I couldn’t be myself there. Expressing myself for who I am could have ended very…nastily.” Sighing, she gave a half-hearted smile. “I need to get up for work.”

-X-

The morning passed at a glacial pace. Sasha had not brought up the events of last night but before departing, she turned to Shea anxiously.

“Will I see you again tonight?” Shea had nodded vigorously.

“Most definitely.” She had loitered at the small den until one p.m., pacified by her surroundings and the smell of Sasha on every object yet she knew the fateful hour was approaching. Mr Couleé would be home at three. It was a Friday and so his schedule for the weekend never changed. Home by three, straight to the decanter, back out to the bar by six.

Trudging along, Shea felt the weight of the judgemental stares by the house staff. She kept her head high, manner indifferent, as she stomped around the empty house. She stripped from her lingerie from the night before, choosing a simple rose toned dress and beret as her attire. Shea wondered if she should start packing her bags now so that she could make a swift exit after the conversation.

“So…you’re back, finally.” Shea’s stomach turned at the familiar voice. Spinning to face the direction of her husband, who stood blocking the bedroom door, Shea folded her arms.

“You noticed I was gone?” Mr Couleé glared, taking slow steps into the room.

“Actually I didn’t. But people have been talking.” A chill shot down Shea’s back. “People have been talking a lot about you, Shea. About you…and a woman.” A tense silence suffocated the room. “I cheated once and people talked. Now you’re doing exactly the same thing with a fucking woman and people are spreading gossip tenfold. Have you lost your goddamn mind?” His deep voice rose in a crescendo of fury. Shea stared him down, unblinking.

“Was it really that much of a shock to you?” She challenged.

“What could I have possibly done so offensively to you that you punish me with this?”

“Ha! Where do I even start? You’re rude, arrogant and have no respect for me or anyone around you. You fuck like a pig in the heat. Didn’t you ever feel my revulsion at your touch? I may have loved you once but you were no husband to me. Only a cheque book and you know it.” Eyes locked together, one in rage and the other in defiance. “I’m divorcing you.” The man burst into hard, sarcastic laugher.

“You’re not going to do that. You love my money too much. What will you do with yourself once you’re a penniless slapper dancing on tables again for change? Don’t forget where you came from before you met me, Shea.”

“I was rich on my own long before you.” Shea spat, her fingers clenched into fists and she stormed towards her husband. “You may have had more money but everyone knew I was the one settling for less in this farce of a marriage.”

“Who is it?” Couleé burned, his voice a vicious hiss. “It’s that woman next door, isn’t it? That poor pitiful plain mouse of a woman who lives in a shack. You’re going to leave all this to move into a derelict bungalow? Don’t make me laugh.” Shea gritted her teeth at the disgusted tone in his voice.

“Don’t you dare talk about her. She means more to me than you ever did. More than any of this.” Shea flung her arms to the room. “And I’m tired of living a lie. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. Enjoy the rest of your life fucking everything that glances in your general direction.”

Shea made a rush for the door, abandoning any idea of packing. A forceful wrench against her arm prevented any further escape.

“I’m not done talking -”

“Let go of me!” Shea swung herself round, yanking her arm over and over trying to break away. Her arm ached with pain as the vice like hand tightened. They struggled strenuously for a few minutes, panic overwhelming, until Shea frantically struck the man; her ringed fingers cut into his face. This did not however extract herself from his grip. Shea shrieked in anger, wildly snatching at anything within her reach from the vanity at her right to beat Mr Couleé off her.

Time slowed and sped simultaneously until a low, pained grunt paired with a cumbersome thwack sounded swiftly and Shea watched with shock and horror as the man fell to the ground; his eyes rolling up his head like a doll. Frozen in her defensive stance above him, Shea stared blankly down at the lifeless body with a brutal gash to the crown of his head. Oh no. Leaning cautiously, Shea poked his neck, his head rolled and flopped to the side flaccidly. Oh fuck. Dropping what turned out to be her iron paperweight, Shea closed her shaking hands over her gaping mouth.

Thoughts bled into one another. What was she supposed to do now? Shea back away from the body, recoiling at a fly that landed on a bloody cheek. She turned to the door, gradually making her way over and shut it quietly. The lock flipped. Shea eyed the body wearily, nauseous, wondering if the smell emitting from it was real or her imagination. Staggering over to the phone by her bedside, Shea’s hands trembled pathetically as she dialled the one person she could think of who could help her. Lipstick City.

“Annyeonghaseyo?” The Korean voice warbled.

“Kim,” Shea sighed. “I need your help.”

“Who?”

“Bitch you know me, it’s Shea.”

“Ah, Miss Shea. More man trouble?” Shea’s eyes fell shut and she massaged her temple.

“You could say that. I’m…I’m gonna need the full clean and polish. With removal. Outside New York, do you have any…connections this far out?” There was a muffled shifting on the line and Shea swallowed, her mouth so dry her throat felt like sandpaper.

“Consider it done.”

-X-

Sasha couldn’t concentrate. The day dragged and all she itched to do was run home and see Shea. She wondered what Mr Couleé was like, what the dynamic was between them in that grand house. Sasha had lived in that neighbourhood for almost two years and prior to Shea, she could not recall it ever being occupied.

Stepping off the train, Sasha began the trek home with her canvas and satchel filled with papers and brushes and random sketches she had doodled from boredom. The sooner she got home, the sooner she could see Shea; the thought made her trot along in her heels double time. Eventually turning her street corner, her light eyes focused on a large van outside Maison du Couleé and Sasha frowned as a lone unrecognisable figure struggled into view dragging a large plastic disposable bag. She watched as a woman, wearing a jumpsuit with the words T. Rex Disposals, struggled to fling the opaque sack into the boot of the van.

Lingering at her porch, pretending to look for her keys, Sasha spied at the woman muttering to herself whilst she battled against the weight of the bag. Sasha noted that it vaguely resembled something out of a morgue.

“Need any help there?” She called and the woman jolted, snapping her head at the sound of her voice.

“I’m good, thanks.” She huffed. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Suit yourself.” Sasha unfastened her door. “Looks like a body bag.” T. Rex laughed.

“It is.” she winked and Sasha smiled, leaving the strange individual to their work.

The artist had hoped that Shea would be waiting in her living room to greet her again but, alas, no such luck. It was already almost seven o’clock, the light was fading fast into the ether and Sasha wondered when Shea planned to make an appearance like she had promised.

Glancing at the clock, Sasha hummed as she decided to pass the time painting. Setting up a blank canvas, she lay all of her paints on a small table to her side that was home to a framed photo of Shea and herself from their impromptu shoot. In the picture the two stood facing each other with their smiling faces to the camera and their arms outstretched as if they were posing for a dance.

When Sasha had the photos developed, she had delighted as Shea fawned over them declaring every one to be her favourite. The model had clutched the few of her and Sasha together to her bosom, the rest scattered in abandonment on Sasha’s bed.

“We look amazing together.” She had cried, overjoyed. Sasha peeled one away from her, looking over it in admiration.

“You look so beautiful.” Shea blushed, flustered, flinging her hair behind her shoulder.

“Of course, I do.” Caressing a finger over Sasha’s face in the picture, she gazed from the paper to the young woman in front of her. “You look so…sexy.”

“Sexy?” Sasha had cried in bemusement. She laughed awkwardly in embarrassment and flipped the photo over. “I wouldn’t ever call myself that.”

“I mean it,” Shea pushed, frowning. “You’re a very sexy person, ma chérie. You should feel it.”

Shea always had a way to make Sasha feel exactly how she told her to. The consistent throwaway comments about how attractive Shea found her, though Sasha presumed most of the time they were said in jest, did make the artist feel more emboldened. She was not too proud to say she appreciated validation, especially from someone as dazzling as Shea. Not only that but the smitten looks she caught thrown her way when Shea thought she wasn’t paying attention made Sasha feel rooted in her affection towards the Parisian. For how couldn’t Sasha love someone that wanted her to love herself?

The phone began to shrill. Pausing her stroke, Sasha tucked the paint brush behind her ear as she ran to the hall outside the studio.

“Hello?”

“Bonsoir ma chérie…you sound so breathless.” Sasha laughed airily, wrapping her fingers around the cord.

“I didn’t want to miss the call in case it was you.” She admitted. There was a moment of silence and Sasha wondered if the call had disconnected.

“Can you come over? Now?” Shea pleaded. “I need to see you.” Sasha’s eyebrows rose.

“You’re not coming over here?” She had yet to be invited into Shea’s house but by the off tone in her friend’s voice, she could not help but feel apprehensive at the request.

“No. I need you here.”

“Shea, what’s wrong?”

“Just come over, please Sasha.” The young woman swallowed, her mind racing. Shea needed her help.

“I’m coming.” Dropping the phone to the cradle, Sasha discarded her overalls and the brush in her ear with cold nervous hands. After locking up and letting herself into the neighbouring building, Shea had once mentioned that the front door was never locked with so many staff constantly on duty, Sasha called out to the vast dark stairwell.

Shea had appeared, the vision of a dark queen clad in a black ostrich feathered dressing gown, descending the staircase halfway before she was met by Sasha. The blonde had run up two by two to reach her. Cupping her angular chin, Shea pecked Sasha’s cheeks in their old style routine but it felt slower and more sensual, her lips hovered over the skin. Sasha stared at her unabashed.

“I told my husband I’m divorcing him.” Sasha gasped, her mouth falling into a pretty “o”; Shea wondered what it’d feel like to have Sasha suck on her fingers.

“Shea…I’m so proud of you. What happened? Are you okay? Where…where is he?” Linking her arm through Sasha’s, Shea walked them back up the stairs and into the shadowed corridor towards her bedroom. She felt rigid, frozen with the events of today and tried to supress the memories of when jopok leader Kim Chi’s so-called connection arrived.

“He’s gone.” She simply said, staring ahead; her eyes were removed from the present and looked haunted into the past. Sasha detected her distant countenance and a pang of worry twisted in her stomach.

“Did he hurt you?” Sasha turned her gaze from her oddly behaving friend to take in her bed chamber for the fist time. The high ceiling with ornate borders and long velvet drapes that hung around an imperial four poster bed left her in awe and intimidated by such grandeur. Shea manoeuvred them so that they perched on the edge of the mattress.

“Non, chérie,” Shea shook her head, eyes glued to the oriental rug. Their arms remained linked and taking a deep breath, Shea’s hand clutched Sasha’s. “I’m going to be leaving soon too. I’m going back to Chicago.”

Shea could not bring herself to face Sasha’s reaction. She felt her heart rupture into pain at the thought of leaving her friend but what choice did she have? She could not risk Sasha being caught up in any of the fallout if her husband’s body were to be discovered. At the very least the missing persons case for the next few months would be hell. No, it was decided. Shea refused to subject Sasha to the agony and speculation of a murder case she had no part in.

“If that’s what you want.” The thick emotion in Sasha’s voice stabbed venomously into Shea. “Like I said, you have everything there. You’ll finally be happy.” The stillness between them was suffocating. “How soon are you leaving?” Shea winced at the dreaded the question.

“Honestly, I’m thinking of leaving either tomorrow or the day after. It depends.”

“On what?” Shea could read through the seemingly calm tone in Sasha’s low voice and felt her resolve disintegrating when Sasha stood suddenly, splitting away from her. She took a few unsure steps forward, her face down and hidden. “What does it depend on, Shea?” Shea reached for her but the blonde shrank away, recoiling.

“Sasha –”

“Don’t do that.” Sasha snapped, turning to face the distressed woman. “Don’t say my name as if I’m the one hurting you.” Shea blinked, her eyes bore into the pale face, cold with rue. “I thought we had…I was clearly mistaken.” Sasha’s curt words were marred with a tremble and Shea stood as if she’d been struck by lightening, too weak to endure more suffering and unable to drag Sasha through the same. She never believed she should deprive herself of what she wanted, especially if it was ripe for the taking before her eyes.

Sasha had startled at the sudden movement, retreating further but Shea powered towards her until Sasha felt her back press into the vanity. She bit her lip as Shea caressed her hand across her hollow cheek, brushing her frizzed curls away from her face.

“It depends on you.” Shea finally murmured. “It isn’t fair to make you leave but I can’t be without you.”

“You knew I was willing to go with you.” Sasha spoke softly, eyes guarded. “We just never had the conversation about the logistics if the day were to come. You’re deciding for me now that it’s better to leave me behind.” Shea curled her fingers around Sasha’s jaw, torn between what she knew she should do and what she most desperately wanted.

“I want to protect you.” She admitted, her voice hoarse with strain. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“And you think by leaving I’ll be fine? I don’t know if you know, Shea, but I’ve been looking after myself perfectly long before you.” She glared defiantly at the woman how was rubbing circles into her cheek. “Why are you leaving so fast? What are you running away from?” Shea felt the words form in her mouth but forced them back. Sasha huffed, frustrated at the lack on explanation. “You can’t just force yourself into people’s lives, make them love you and then leave without a care.” She cried, yanking Shea’s hand away. “It’s not right, Shea.” Skirting past the other woman, Sasha freed herself, making a beeline for the door.

Shea knew she couldn’t live with herself if she let Sasha leave like this. She had uprooted her life, made her truly feel reborn and in tune as to what real love was, Sasha had changed her. She had left her husband for her. And it was too significant a shift to survive alone.

“He’s dead.” The words shattered Shea’s control and she dropped to her knees. “Sasha don’t leave…Oh god, what have I done?” Sasha remained a statue, her eyes wide with confusion and fear.

“What?” She asked dumbly. Shea clutched at the jewels decorating her neck, hyperventilating. Reaching, her arms outstretched towards the pale woman, Shea collapsed against her friend as Sasha hastily returned.

“It was an accident. He grabbed me – he was so mad – and he wouldn’t let go. Look at my bruises, I was so scared –” Her words tumbled incoherently and although no tears fell, her distress drilled an ache in Sasha. Kneeling, the blonde woman held her friend to her chest tightly as she attempted to decipher what had happened.

“Where is he?” Her throat constricted when Shea nuzzled into Sasha’s neck, her arms snaking around her waist, pulling her gently against her body.

“I rang an old friend who has connections in Lipstick City. They…disposed of him. I don’t know where.” The reel of questions Sasha suddenly had left her overwhelmed. Her arms dropped like heavy weights to her sides. She thought back to earlier that day. T. Rex Disposals.

“Holy fuck, Shea.” Bringing their faces level, Shea stared into Sasha’s horrified orbs. Cupping her waxen face, she brushed her lips across Sasha’s rose painted pout.

“I didn’t know what to do or who to turn to. I couldn’t call the police. With lots of money comes lots of connections.” She whispered, begging for Sasha to understand. “But…you helped me realise who I am. I don’t need all that money. I was leaving him. For me. For you. I want you in my life, in my world, to look after and love and be free with. I want to have a part in your life, you make me feel so…high. So happy.”

Sasha’s eyes were wide like a doe. Her head was swimming overpowered by emotion than her own rationality. No one had ever spoken to her with such admiration and wonder. How had someone like Shea fallen into Sasha’s world? An answer she would never receive yet that did not dampen her gratitude that Shea had found her.

“Shea…you killed someone.” The accused woman did not react but her eyes gave away her unease.

“I did.” She swallowed. “Do you want me to leave?”

“It’s probably best you should.” Shea nodded slowly, her dark eyes bore into Sasha’s, unconvinced of her friend’s wishes.

“I understand completely.” Shea’s hands fell from Sasha’s face to her waist. “Kiss me goodbye?”

The blonde nodded, her blue eyes glued to Shea’s lips. The dark haired model tightened her grip on the slender hips, pulling them against her as she threw herself into a passionate kiss. Sasha was putty beneath her touch, submitting herself to the fervour and fury of Shea’s embrace. She felt awakened, as if she had found release from a surreal mundane existence. There was no nine to five job to barely make ends meat, there was no playground politics with middle aged suburban house wives, there was only Shea. Two souls. Intertwined by their loneliness and love. A shared connection of understanding and acceptance beyond the material world. Come what may, Sasha couldn’t lose this.

“Don’t leave me.” Sasha felt breathless. “Don’t go and run away without me.” Shea’s eyes burned with a raw intensity that left Sasha’s cheeks burning and feeling aroused. “We’ll work it out together. Let me help –” Her words were stolen as soft lips fused against her own. She gave a hopeless whimper, bringing her arms around Shea’s shoulders, pulling the woman closer to her. Shea was forceful, domineering, in her movements as she slid her craving hands over Sasha’s hips and grasped at her behind, squeezing. Gliding the zip of her pencil skirt southward, Shea’s hands invaded beneath the fabric and she tugged Sasha’s shirt out, skimming her fingers underneath and up her back.

Sasha broke the kiss, her eyes hooded with titillation and kicked off her shoes. Shea watched the ruffled up woman with adoration. Rising, she held a hand to pull Sasha up so that she could push the skirt further down until it landed unceremoniously in a heap on the carpet. The two women stood mirroring one another. Shea let her extravagant dressing gown fall down her shoulders and hit the floor, leaving her in black satin lingerie. Sasha’s eyes trailed over the clear, smooth skin of her chest, her slender muscular arms, her toned stomach – art could not come close to what Shea was.

“Take this off.” Shea commanded, unbuttoning the top of Sasha’s shirt. Sasha complied, her fingers worked with urgency at the base of the shirt, meeting Shea’s hands halfway. Shea pealed the shirt away, her eyes raking over Sasha’s pale slender body zealously. “You’re so beautiful.” She marvelled, her hands wandering over the edge of her sheer bra, sliding it away. Sasha blushed at her own nakedness, her lithe fingers ran through Shea’s hair as she tilted her head to kiss. Lips melded and massaged one another until Shea ran her tongue across Sasha’s bottom lip. Sasha’s lips tingled at the sensation, red lipstick smudged, and parted to allow Shea complete admission.

Tongues danced around, flicking and teasing, accompanied only by soft moans. The quiet enthralled Sasha, the only sound to focus upon was her lover’s pleasure and she could not think of anything more erotic than Shea. The taller woman pulled Sasha over the bed, pushing her onto the soft covers and wrapped her long legs either side of the blonde’s smooth white thighs. Shea unclasped her own bra before discarding it without a care, her eyes fixed on Sasha’s. Pressing a deep kiss into her neck, Shea murmured in French. Sasha’s eyes fluttered at the sound despite her stomach knotting with nerves.

“Shea…it’s – it’s been a while since…” She trailed off, flustered but Shea cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at her heated stare.

“Shh, baby, don’t worry. I’m gonna make you feel so good.” She whispered, burying a wet kiss to her parted lips. The two moved with a fervent passion, arms roamed and groped, hips ground together. Sasha’s toes curled at the feel of Shea’s own breasts against her body. Shea hooked Sasha’s thigh over her waist, her hand ripping the thigh high stocking away. Gazing down at her, all Shea saw was beauty and artistry in her pink panting face and her milky white petite breasts; every facet of Sasha’s being was perfection. “How has no one snatched you up, yet?” She sighed. “How am I this lucky? I can’t let you go.” Shea cupped Sasha’s breast, her thumb padding at her nipple and the fruitful response of a gentle cry made her mouth dry.

Skilled fingers were replaced by a warm tongue, confidently flicking and rolling into Sasha as she moaned and arched into the erogenous woman above her. Shea pinned Sasha’s arms to the mattress, their fingers intertwined, possessing full command. Nips and sucks turned into languid kisses that trailed fluidly down Sasha’s ribs and abdomen until Shea reached the cup of her pelvis. Her hands slid down over the rises and falls of Sasha’s body until they came to pause at the curve of her hips, hooking into the elastic of her pants.

“Please, Shea.” Sasha breathed, her eyes closed with her own hands reaching to push off the last article of clothing with urgency. “Please, please.” Shea grinned at the sound of Sasha begging over her name. Discarding the obstructing fabric, Shea sighed in ravenous satisfaction as she gaped between Sasha’s legs. She spread Sasha’s thighs further apart, throwing them over her shoulders like a stoal, then let one hand dive in impatiently whilst the other wrapped around Sasha’s leg, holding her in place.

Shea’s long fingers stroked softly along the curb of her labia repetitively, slipping between the lips to tease and elicit the small out of breath noises that drove her crazy. Sasha’s thighs clenched and jerked sporadically, toes curled and feet arched, her hands twisted in the sheet beneath her. Dragging her fingers up between the wetness, Shea looped her finger under the hood reaching the pearly reward. The blissful noises that erupted from Sasha, quiet and soft but oh so intoxicating to Shea’s ears, overflowed with ecstasy.

Shea nibbled kisses into Sasha’s taut inner thigh, resisting her gluttonous desire to rush too soon. As she neared closer and closer to where her fingers currently played on the woman underneath her, Shea felt glanced up at her lover and studied her face that was contorted from the overwhelming pleasure. Sasha’s mouth hung open, her dark brows pulled together and her skin glowed with dew from the heated affair.

“Look at me.” Shea felt powerful, in command over the beautiful woman writhing at her every whim. Shea waited until she had Sasha’s full attention; her eyes were dazed with desperation. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” Her fingers sped up their rhythmic motion, rubbing against her clitoris in a forceful manner. Sasha mewled, the red on her cheeks intensifying. “I’ve wanted to feel you around my fingers just like this, squeezing until I make you cum, I want to hear you as I give you everything.” Sasha’s head rolled back as her body convulsed and tremored, reaching the heights of her pleasure.

Dipping back down hastily, Shea lapped her tongue wildly against the velvet skin tasting Sasha’s centre. Spurred on by the endless stream of moaning, Shea bobbed her head enthusiastically, her eyes closed, lost in the moment. She controlled the rocking motion of Sasha’s hips that thrust for release and hummed. The swirling of her tongue was matched with the sound of her name falling like a prayer from Sasha’s lips. Soon the lymphatic tones turned staccato and Shea doubled her efforts to bring Sasha completion. When the tension flooded from her trembling thighs and all that remained was the resonating sound of exhausted pants, Sasha reached for the woman between her legs, burying her fingers in her soft hair.

Shea peered up at her, smiling in cocky triumph and pressed a small kiss to her thigh.

“Come here.” Sasha cooed. Her body lay unresponsive and quaking upon the soft mattress, worn to the bone. Shea crawled atop of her and Sasha cupped her cheek as they kissed; the taste of her climax passed between them.

“Ma chérie,” Shea murmured, skimming her nose over Sasha’s cheek as they stared into one another. “Je t’aime.” Tipping her forehead to rest against the pale sweaty skin beneath her, Shea closed her eyes, focusing on the pulsating beating of the body below her. “Je t’aime.”

The exchange of sweet chaste pecks cooled the air around them. Shea curled her arm around Sasha’s head, supporting herself as she stretched above her to brush the rogue strands of blonde hair that had plastered themselves to her temple. Sasha caressed her fingers up and down Shea’s toned arms. No words were needed to express the emotions rife between them.

“I’m so hot for you.” Shea admitted softly, shifting her hips to stir friction between their tangled legs. Sasha giggled, making noises of satisfaction as she joined the movement. Sitting up suddenly, Shea fixed Sasha’s thigh over her hip, slotting herself between her legs. She rubbed vigorously up against Sasha’s pelvis, scissoring. The grind of her hips shot waves of aching stimulation up her spine. Throwing her head back in bliss, Shea felt overwhelmingly alive and in tune with her surroundings. The feeling of Sasha underneath her, the sounds echoing around them, the heat radiating from their skin…she was completely enveloped in the experience. There was nothing else in the world she wanted more than to do this, be this, for the rest of her life. They fit together like the two halves of an oyster-shell. Shea was Narcissus, embracing the pond in which she was about to drown.

Tipping over into her own orgasmic state, Shea twirled over to lay next to her lover; she encompassed her arms around the smaller pale body, guiding Sasha to lie plush against her.

“What are we going to do?” Sasha sighed, her face turned in to Shea’s shoulder.

“We do nothing.” Shea replied, catching her breath. “Nothing that isn’t expected of us.”

“We’re going to look suspicious, Shea.” Sasha forced. “If we’re to be openly together people will talk.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“But- ”

“When I see you,” Shea interrupted. “it’s like - I don’t know what it’s like. It’s like I’ve never seen anything at all before. I’ve looked at women before you and they are like nothing - they’re like dust. But then you walked in for the first time on my porch – I thought…you were so pretty and your suit was so nice and your voice was so sweet.” Sasha was staring up at her stupefied now but Shea continued. “You make me want to smile and weep, at once. You makes me sore, here.” Shea placed a hand on her chest, upon the breast-bone. “I’ve never met a woman like you before. I never knew that there were women like you…” Her smooth voice became a trembling whisper then, and Shea found that she could say no more. There was another silence. “Come what may, I am not hiding this, I am not going to go without you anymore.”

Sasha’s face filled with emotion. Without a word she lay back down, resuming her hold on Shea as the two drifted off into an uncertain sleep. The next morning the police arrived to break the news to Mrs Couleé that her husband’s body had been found washed up in a lake. The remains of the man had been wrapped in a body bag with a half snapped cord, which had obviously been trying to keep the body from floating away. A most disturbing accident that Mrs Couleé was sure to have no knowledge of. Sasha’s face has drained of blood as she stood next to Shea; the widow had feigned tears, falling to the ground with a wail. The police still needed her to come in for questioning. That demand extended to a waxen faced Sasha.

The two women dressed in silence. A sombre tension loomed. Shea felt an inner peace she had not known for years calm her nerves. She watched the blonde, poor innocent beautiful Sasha, dress in her clothes from the previous day. There was no time to be spared for any glamour. Sasha caught her eye and gave her a meaningful stare. As they found themselves escorted into the police cars, Shea focused on the day this ordeal would be over. She would be wearing Chanel No. 5, draped in her Cartier Paris Nouvelle Vague necklace. Sasha Velour, the quirky artistic woman who smelled of home grown roses, would be by her side. And all would be right in the world once more.

Fin.

#rpdr fanfiction #sashea #sasha velour #shea coulee #lipstick city #oxford #smut #angst #fluff #lesbian au #alexis michelle #peppermint #trinity taylor #kim chi #trannika rex #s9 #tw murder

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lovehaswonangelnumbers · 4 years

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New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/energy-update-the-lunar-eclipse-and-the-conjunction-of-planets/

Energy Update ~ The Lunar Eclipse and The Conjunction of Planets

By Crystal and indigo guide to the galaxy

‘Do you know what black magic is? The science of distortion and manipulation of time and space to entrap a being. Do you now who has been subject to it? All of humanity. Do you know what is happening now? The return of the embodied true virtues and right ethics for humanity through the Holy Trinity in zero time point. This is the True Liberation for all humanity from black magic and the return to innocence!”

After Jupiter’s alignment with the galactic centre in November 2019, everything has taken on a different course! This was the actual grounding of the switch to the True Life. Since then, all signs and messages that each soul wanted to give to each person, have been absolutely delivered to everyone through synchronistic events and real life encounters! Everything was shown clearly! And right after, came the eclipse around Christmas day that broke down and revealed all resistances each holds through the distorted ego personality! Now, the eclipse on the 10th and the conjunction of Pluto and Saturn on the 12th brings the sudden blow! The turning of the events upside down! This is what we have been waiting for! The sudden awakening and revolution! The True Being is taking over!

The energies that are being released these days are so powerful and create such multiple pressures that depression or illness are the most common results if one identifies with the toxic personality and the scenarios that play all around Earth. The key is to totally place yourself into the True Light of Christ and surrender your whole being to it. This is the revelation of all illusions and deceptions many have been having. This is the dissolution of karma in action. Masks are off! You do not have the control anymore, your True Self has it!

These are the energies that can lift one to ascension or bring one down to absolute fall, there is no middle situation here! Do not mistaken sudden success coming from the dark elite of any kind, as a win because very very soon the result will be more than bitter. It will be devastating! The dark elites without showing who they truly are, have been hiding and manipulating the human consciousness for eons, holding people as slaves without them being able to see their true self. These are last attempts of the ruling dark archon’s elite of harvesting the souls. Do close your ears to the sirens. Those still serving as slaves the dark agendas of power, fame and control, will now see clearly who they have been serving or admiring because of the thirst of their distorted ego. Masks are off! The dark manipulators have the most sweet and promising masks!

Only the True Holy Mother, True Holy Father and True Holy Child now show us the way as ONE, from within. This is the time of revelation/revolution of the lost, the suppressed and the misguided! All children of the True Light that have been misled, now awake! What they will see, will shock them! There is pain hidden in this shock. This is the pain of eons and eons of distortion, slavery and the exploitation of their Light! True responsibility of the Self is now given to every Child of Light. This is the breaking of all mirrors of distortions. This is the dissolving of conditioned polarities! This is the time of correction! This is forgiveness for all! This is going back to the beginning! This is rebirth! This is the time of happiness of the innocents!

This is the 3 which becomes 4!

We are here! We hold hands! We are ONE!

Eirini 🌈

Following is the message that Light worker and friend Christa Maria Magdalena, received from Jesus Christ from the 5th dimension:

”Yes, now is the time for what you all came to this planet! My promise to you, that what I did you will do and even more, will fulfill itself now, in this time! Because you all, who did awake now, are here to step into your master position, like I did! You all did prepare yourself in so many lifetimes for this, many times through extremely painful learning experiences! You got trained through so many great light beings! Now is the time of decision, if you choose to continue to live in the world of illusions or if you want to grow into your real being of the creator! You are surrounded from so much support that you don’t really need anything. Just to be your real I AM in its total great creator power, to declare it yours, to fall in love with it absolutely and to share this Love with everybody around you! This, will of course change all that has been forever. But inside of each of you, is the only safe place, where you will find all you need! The way leads through silence. You with yourself in total love and trust for yourself and to find here the creator and goddess and live it through you! Here nobody can lead you, this path you must go on your own, you with your real Godself in deep trust in yourself! Here is everything, this is your path of being a master! But I will be always with you, whenever you call out for me, you will be filled with my golden love energy! You will be never alone, this is impossible, because in truth we are all one!!! It is all a never ending circle of being! Have the courage to do the step towards yourself and here you will find me as well!!! You are the masters of the new earth, the new humanity!!! Welcome in your real being!!!!”

Thank you Christa Maria Magdalena!

~~~~~~~~~

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thewritermuses · 5 years

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How To Review A Story

More specifically how do I review a story. First let's talk about subjectivity. I think that when reviewing any piece of art your opinion, your likes and dislikes, all play a big role. But having said this when you are looking at narrative fiction or narrative non-fiction the way in which a story is told can be quantified and becomes much less subjective than you think. A Word of Warning When I first started the film writing section of my degree I was given a warning that I am going to repeat here. If you like to watch film just to get a feeling that you liked it or didn't like it and don't want to delve any deeper into that then you should stop reading. There are a lot of answers that are going to be given about why you feel certain ways about what happens in narratives. It's kind of a situation where you can't unlearn what you have learnt. Once you know, you know and you won't be able to stop yourself analysing your reaction to a narrative piece. Ok, you've all been warned. Time to pull back the curtain. Story Development If you speak to writers they will all explain different processes that they follow when they write a story. This doesn't mean that they ignore these key concepts that I am going to go through. It just means that they approach them in a variety of ways. For the best writers all of these aspects will always be there. Irregardless of whether they focus on character or setting or story they will all have these key concepts and address them well. Click edit button to change this text. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Ut elit tellus, luctus nec ullamcorper mattis, pulvinar dapibus leo. The Big Five The big five are five key questions that address protagonist, antagonist and the key story beats. I am going to use The Matrix as an example throughout the rest of this piece as I have watched it recently and it does all of these things fairly well.

Photo by Jack B on Unsplash Whose story is it? This is about who the protagonist is. Who are we going to follow through the story? Whose eyes are we going to see the events through? Who are we going to root for? The Matrix - The story is Neo's. What is the story about? This is a huge question. It addresses four main aspects. First, the unity of opposites - I'll talk about this more in a moment. Second, the key story beats - Catalyst - Crisis - Climax. Essentially this question sets up the antagonist and the journey the protagonist is going to go on in their attempt to defeat them. The Matrix -The story is about Neo fighting against the control that the robots have over humankind through the matrix. This is the unity of opposites. Neo takes the red pill to find out what the matrix really is (Catalyst). Neo loses his mentor, Morpheus, to the machines in what Neo believes is a false sacrifice because he is not The One (Crisis). Neo fights against the machines to realise his true power as The One (Climax). The antagonist is Agent Smith. He personifies the machines and is their agent in the matrix and controls the machines outside the matrix that are set against Neo. What is the central question? This is the main thread that will carry the plot. It is important in every scene. It is raised at the start of the story (Catalyst) it is answered in the negative at the crisis and in the positive at the climax. It is what the story is about at its core - if a scene doesn't relate to the central question in any way it probably can be cut without affecting the narrative at all. The Matrix - Will Neo become The One.

Photo by Giancarlo Revolledo on Unsplash Prize & Price These two concepts and vital to a successful narrative. Not only are they vital they have to be in balance. If one outweighs the other it will lead to disastrous consequences to how a story is received. Prize is exactly that. It is what the protagonist gets if they achieve their goal. The price is what they pay to achieve this. If the prize is too great and the price is too little you will finish the story thinking that the protagonist had it easy. They got what they wanted without having to struggle for it. The opposite is also true. If the price is too high and the prize too low you will finish the story thinking that it was too hard for the protagonist. They had to work so hard to achieve very little. The Matrix - The prize is become The One. The price is the death of Neo's other life as Mr. Anderson as well as the deaths of his allies - Apoch, Switch, Mouse and Dozer. Why should we care? This is about whether we can relate to the protagonist and the story. The story can fulfil all of the other parts of the big five really well, but if your audience doesn't care about your story, it's for nothing. They need to care about the struggle that the protagonist is going through. Good ways to achieve this is by having the central question tie to a universal concept. That is things that we can all relate to. This is one of the big reasons that Shakespeare is touted as being one of the best writers ever. Examples are: forbidden love; power corrupts; a hero with a noble goal against terrible odds - an underdog story. The Matrix - Neo is a true underdog. He is literally fighting against reality for the sake of the entire human race. The Unity of Opposites There should be two equal and opposite forces in a story. Neither can achieve victory without destroying the other. These are represented by the protagonist and the antagonist.

Photo by Markus Spiske temporausch.com from Pexels It is important to note the word destruction, not death, destruction. Destruction is important because the force can be destroyed and the character representing it can survive - although they will be forever changed. It is important to note the word destruction, not death, destruction. Destruction is important because the force can be destroyed and the character representing it can survive - although they will be forever changed. It is also important to realise that the protagonist and antagonist only represent the forces. In some cases they may actually be the force but most of the time they are simply the forces' proxy. Put another, way they are the personification of the forces. Every Story has a Beginning a Middle and an End It is important to note that we are still in the bare bones of the story development at this stage. Even though we are going to talk about beginning middle and end. This is so that when we are looking at a story we can see that it has all these important beats and is moving in the right direction. Catalyst - This is the inciting moment where the central question is raised. The protagonist begins on their journey from which there can be no return, without succeeding or failing in their quest. Up until this point the hero may have known about the quest but they could still back out. Now they can't. This has to happen early on in the story otherwise the story is really about something else. Crisis - This is the part of the story where the protagonist is furthest from reaching their goal. You should either be able to answer the central question in the negative or close to it. All hope is lost. While this is the 'middle' it generally happens about two thirds through the running time of a film. Climax - This is the final showdown between the two forces. The central question is answered - almost always in the positive. So the hero goes on a quest, almost loses but then they win, boring huh? Then stop going to the movies because this sums up 95% of movies that you have ever seen.

Photo by Maria Jose Bueso from Pexels The Matrix - Catalyst - Neo takes the red pill. There is no coming back to his previous world after that. The story truly begins. The central question that has been floating around is now raised 'Will Neo become The One?' The Matrix - Crisis - Morpheus is taken by the machines. Neo decides because of the prophecy that he isn't the one and has to make the choice to sacrifice himself to save Morpheus. This will be the death of Neo - everyone agrees on this, even Neo. He couldn't be further from becoming The One than when he is dead. The Matrix - Climax - Neo becomes The One after his death at the hands of Agent Smith. Through this rebirth he becomes something else, something more. Why isn't it Boring to see the Same Story a Thousand Times? Let me answer that with a story. Think about the last time a friend was describing a story to you. Then you see the movie or read the book. Now compare the movie to the story your friend told. Which was better? If you said your friend you're lying or you saw something truly awful. The reason for this is because of the way the story is told. We are essentially having the same story told to us a thousand times. Because the story is told by different storytellers (directors, authors, screenwriters) and different characters (actors) it seems like a new story. But once you scrape all the meat away the bones are the same. Let's Put Some Flesh on Those Bones The next step is to go through the twelve stages of the heroes journey. One - The Ordinary World We meet the major characters and perhaps the antagonist. What is important here is to understand the 'world' the protagonist exists in. This should be a world of stable disharmony. That is, the world would continue as it is right now if the protagonist didn't go on their quest. However, there is something wrong with the world. The Matrix - Neo trying to find out what the matrix is - his first encounters with Trinity and the Agents as well as well as the surreal. We also meet the super-powerful Agents in the first scene and their adversary Trinity. Two - Call To Adventure The central question is raised. The quest is presented to the protagonist. The Matrix - This is literally a call. Morpheus calls Neo explaining he can trust him or leave in the custody of the agents.

Photo by Xan Griffin on Unsplash Three - Refusal of the Call The hero refuses to begin the quest. It's too hard or the protagonist won't/can't go on the journey. The Matrix - Neo drops the phone while scaling the building to reach the scaffolding. He decides he will take his chances with the agents. Four - Meeting the Mentor The protagonist's major ally or guiding force is introduced. Generally they are on the side of the protagonist but sometimes they are neutral. What is important is that they provide guidance to the protagonist throughout the journey. They often provide the hero with a gift. The Matrix - This is split in two parts. First is the call from Morpheus the more important 'Meeting the Mentor' scene is when Neo arrives at the apartment and Morpheus gives him the pills. Morpheus is the mentor. Five - Crossing the First Threshold - CATALST The central question is raised again. This time the protagonist makes the decision to go on the journey. They cannot now return to the ordinary world in step one. They have to complete the quest or fail trying. The Matrix - Taking the red pill as discussed in the Big 5. Six - Tests/Allies/Enemies This step takes up the majority of the story and most certainly is the main part of the second act. Tests - these are exactly what it sounds like. Obstacles are placed in the hero's path for the hero to overcome. They will generally gain a reward of some kind by overcoming these obstacles. The obstacles can be placed in the hero's path by the antagonist or the opposing force but they do not have to be. A prime example of this is the changeling. This is an ally that starts as a test. After the hero overcomes the test, the test becomes an ally.

Photo by Duy Pham on Unsplash Allies - Friends, big and small, are needed as part of a quest. The protagonist cannot succeed without them. They often become part of the price the hero must pay in order to succeed in their quest. Enemies - Minor enemies or minor encounters with the major enemy. Testing of the hero's strength allows us to see how they are growing throughout the journey. The Matrix - Tests - Combat with Morpheus; the jump; the Oracle. Allies - Trinity; the rest of the crew of the Nebuchadnezzar. Enemies - Cypher; the agents. Seven - Approach to the Inmost Cave The protagonist arrives at the start of the journey towards the crisis. This looks like it is the beginning of the end. All could be lost. The Matrix - Return from the Oracle. The team arrive at the house and the machines have locked down the building and they are all trapped. Morpheus is taken. Eight - Trial on the Inmost Cave - CRISIS The protagonist faces a great ordeal and is found wanting. This is the end. All is lost. The central question is answered in the negative. The Matrix - The attack on the military HQ where they are holding Morpheus. This is doomed to fail. Everything leading up to this point has told us that Neo must fail. They are taking on Agents. Neo believes he is choosing death after what the Oracle told him. Nine - Rebirth - Seizing the Sword The protagonist has succeeded against all odds. They take control of a vital thing that they need to achieve their final goal - this is called the sword. The Matrix - Neo begins to believe that he may be The One. He hasn't died as he thought he was going to. This culminates when he turns to fight Agent Smith in the subway rather than running. Morpheus actually says "he is beginning to believe." Ten - The Road Back The enemy is not fully defeated and the protagonist needs to race back and prepare for the final battle. They may need to fight to keep the sword and come to grips with its full power.

Photo by Ricardo Cruz on Unsplash The Matrix - Neo manages to defeat Agent Smith but when the Agent reappears after stopping the train Neo realises that he has to get out of the Matrix. He needs to come to grips with his new power. Eleven - The Final Test - CLIMAX The protagonist and the antagonist meet for the final battle. The protagonist uses the sword. The central question is answered - generally in the positive. The Matrix - Neo dies. Then he comes back to life as The One. He defeats Agent smith. Twelve - Balance is Restored The quest is finished and the world is returned to balance. The world is generally altered because of the quest and the hero brings with them some of their power due to completing the quest. The Matrix - Everything is as it was. There is no conflict anymore. Neo is now The One. It is now up to the machines to make a move but as The One he can now remake the matrix as he sees fit. Given this he is now a god inside the matrix but outside he is still a man. The status quo is much as it was before the start of the story. Does the Order Matter? Not really. The major beats, that is, the catalyst, crisis and climax generally have to happen in that order but bits and pieces of the rest of the stages can happen in a different order. If they are too far out of order they lose their power. For example, if the protagonist doesn't meet their mentor until after the crisis the question arises as to whether they need the mentor at all. Another great film, Pulp Fiction, ticks all the boxes of the hero's journey but it does them completely out of order. It's still great though.

Photo by JJ Jordan on Unsplash Bringing it all Together So that's it. We now have all the building blocks for a great story. What I generally do after watching a movie is to think about the big five and see how the story goes there. It has to fulfil here for it to score well in my book. If any of these things are missing the movie cannot score above five out of ten for me. I then look at the twelve steps and see what decisions they made here. What they chose not to include, why they chose to do things out of order, and most importantly, was the film better or worse because of it. If everything is good here a movie can score seven out of ten for me. Finally I look at subjective things. These can be anything and it depends on you. I really like great dialogue and the use of intertext, where appropriate. I hate inconsistencies - things that don't make sense in the world of the story. These are the final three points for me taking a movie up to a possible ten out of ten. Read the full article

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