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meat--grindr · 3 years

Note

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

· It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

· Even better, you aren’t alone.

· Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

· The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

· Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

· The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

· The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

· Okay. Sure.

· It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

· In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

· “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

· Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

· “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

· “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

· “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

· And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

· The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

· You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

· In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

· So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

· He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

· You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

· His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

· He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

· “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

· And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

· He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

· “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

· Limp or lifeless?

· The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

· You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

· You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

· When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

· He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

· “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

· Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

· “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

· He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

· You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

· You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

· “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

· And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

· “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

· The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

· You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

· Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

· Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

· You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

· Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

· For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

· The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

· You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

· When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

· “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

· You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

· His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

· The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

· “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

· You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

· Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

· You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

· “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

· Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

· There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

· “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

· There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

· “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

· “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

· “Oh, yes.”

· “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

· Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

· “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

· Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

· “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

· The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

· Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

· Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

· Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

· “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

· “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

· You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

· Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

· Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

· Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

· “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

· Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

· “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

· Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

· You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

· You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

· “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

· “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

· You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

· “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

· Clever boy.

· You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

· He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

· You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

· He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

· His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

· You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

· With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

· His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

· You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

· “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

· “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

· You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

· “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

· “They are aware, yes.”

· The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

· Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

· You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

· Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

· “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

· You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

· “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

· The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

· You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

· “Oh yeah? How?”

· “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

· He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

· ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

· You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

· Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

· You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

· He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

· But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

· This is going to be fun.

· You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside. Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

· Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

· “What was that, Count?”

· “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

· The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

· Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

· “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

· With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

· The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

· “Their…blood?”

· You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

· “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

· Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

· The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

· Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

· The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

· Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

· Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

· You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

· “What’s going on, Count?”

· “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

· “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

· Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

· The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

· Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

· His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

· Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

· You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

· “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

· “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

· Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

· He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

· With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

· The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

· His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.

· He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

· The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

· Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

· He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”

#martin x reader #slasher x reader #martin 1977 #slasher imagines #ripper fics #sorry for how late this is #enjoy!

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chelsfic · 4 years

Text

Leftovers - Part 10 - Nandor the Relentless x Reader fanfic

Previous parts: Masterlist

Summary: Nandor attempts to use his powers of hypnosis to heal the reader’s broken brain, Nadja tries to be a good friend, and Guillermo gets something he’s been waiting for...

Warnings: Smut in this chapter!, Female Reader, Hypnosis, Blood drinking

A/N: I hope you like this part! I thought I owed you guys some smut and fluff after the angst of the last chapter...

---

“You are now under my command…”

Nandor’s voice is rich and thick like chocolate syrup. You feel as though you’re sinking under the weight of his influence, falling into his deep, dark eyes and beneath the surface of his droning voice. Your limbs grow heavy and relaxed. It should be a terrifying experience but instead you feel utterly at peace, relinquishing control. Trusting that Nandor will keep you safe.

The vampire swallows, watching the spirit drain from your face with a qualm of panic in his gut. He can do this.

He keeps his hand raised in front of your face, flourishing it as he speaks, “Attend to my words. You will remember the events of the night of the vampire rave. You will regain the memories that were erased from your mind. And...yeah that’s about it.”

He shrugs and lets his hand drop, bending forward to lean his forehead against yours as he holds your gaze, “And now you will awake with your memories healed and the pain gone…”

He leans away, biting his fist in anxiety as he watches you slowly rouse from the trance.

The nagging ache of your erased memories is gone, but in its place you’re momentarily assaulted with vivid images that flash through your mind’s eye like scenes from a movie. You experience the pulsing music and flashing lights of the rave as if you’re really there. You’re lightheaded and dizzy with alcohol and then...a voice making clumsy rhymes into your ear as hands drag you backwards into a shadowy corner.

“Drug blood chillin’... ain’t no villain… just a quick sip, don’t gotta worry ‘bout killin’...”

Pain. Fear. And then a voice calling casually, “Forget it, boo.”

The memories fade and you finally come back to the present, looking up into Nandor’s worried eyes and smiling unsteadily.

“It worked,” you say and then you’re falling against him, clutching the front of his shirt and shaking like a leaf.

“Of course it worked,” Nandor replies with a chastising tone. “You doubted me?”

You snort into the fabric of his shirt and hold on tighter. He lowers you both back into the coffin and gently closes the lid, groaning as he settles down beside you.

“Everything is alright now,” Nandor sighs. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, wiggling into a comfier position and then adding, “Nandor? Do you know a vampire who raps?”

Nandor’s body goes rigid beside you and he growls, “Fu-cking guy!”

---

The next night, Nadja sits in front of the camera with her arms crossed over her chest and a pout on her red lips.

“I have no idea why such a vibrant, wicked little warrior baby would want anything to do with Sir Snakes-for-Brains…” she shakes her head. “He’s like, ‘Oh! I am Nandor the Relentless! Look at my giant balls while I set your hut on fire!’ What’s the appeal?”

She rolls her eyes and throws up her hands. “But my stupid human child wants what she wants. And he has been making her very sad for days. Enough is enough!”

She jumps out of her seat and stalks down the hallway, trailing the camera operator behind her. As she nears Nandor’s door she catches her heel on the carpet and nearly trips.

“Fucking witches again!” she shrieks before throwing open the door to Nandor’s room.

Nadja freezes in the doorway and the camera guy films over her shoulder.

Nandor has you laid out on the thick, fur rug next to his casket. His face is buried between your legs and your fingers twist into his hair as you arch your back. At the sound of the door slamming open you tilt your head back and shriek, “Nadja!”

Nadja’s face splits into a delighted grin and she swats the camera crew away behind her.

“My mistake, little chicky,” she trills, slowly backing out. When the door is nearly closed she pops her head back in and calls, “I never should have doubted your vicious seduction powers, mortal! You go girl!”

Nandor raises his head, his lips and beard glistening with your arousal and he whines, “Get out of here! Fucking hell…”

---

You hold out for about ten seconds after the door closes before bursting into giggles. Nandor breaks down with you, his brows arching up adorably as he wheezes with laughter. After a moment, he crawls up your naked body and settles down over you. The hard length of his erection brushes against your heated core and you whine a little with need. He rests his elbows on either side of you, caging you in with his strong arms and leaning down to lick a trail down your neck. Goosebumps erupt over your skin and a pleasant shiver runs down your spine.

“They won’t use that in the documentary, right?” you pant, caught between arousal and worry. You jerk your hips a little, seeking some friction, but Nandor presses down to keep you still.

He drags his fangs over the beating pulse in your neck before replying, “If they do I will rip off their heads and set fire to their villages.”

He twists his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, pulling your head back to bare your throat. You gulp, overwhelmed with the need for him inside of you. In your fuzzy brain you’re not even sure it matters to you if it’s his fangs or his cock...you just need him.

“Maybe--uh, maybe we could try asking nicely first,” you tease.

“You are going to make me soft, little mortal,” he complains, nudging your legs apart and lining himself up at your entrance. He presses forward just slightly, enough for you to feel the pressure and the promise of his delicious girth.

You reach down to run your hands along his sides, his hips, cupping his round buttocks and squeezing.

“You don’t feel soft to me…” you laugh and then he’s pushing forward, burying himself inside of you with abandon. His mouth falls open and he darts forward quicker than your eyes can follow, closing his mouth on your tender throat and biting down with a feral growl as he slams inside you.

Nandor shuts his eyes, gripped in the heady sensation of feeding during sex. Sex-feeding. If he’d known it could be this good he would’ve taken a human lover ages ago.

Nandor throws his head back, blood dripping from his chin and onto your naked breasts. He grips your hips, rolling his pelvis against you with unnatural speed until your thighs shake around him and he cries out with his orgasm.

He falls down beside you, gathering you into his arms and tucking you against his chest with a satisfied purr. You tilt your head back and press your mouth to his, tasting your own blood on his tongue.

“Do I still taste good...now that I’m all impure?” you ask, trying for a light tone, but somehow deeply caring about his answer.

“You taste delicious,” Nandor assures you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and lapping up the slow ooze of blood from your wound. He pulls back, smacking his lips and adding, “Sweet and salty. Like one of your human chocolate pretzel snacks.”

A smile tugs at your lips and you duck your head bashfully. He reaches a hand up to brush his fingers through your hair and you hum contentedly at the feel of his nails dragging along your scalp.

“Well, that’s all you’re getting for now is a snack,” you sigh, sitting up and stretching your limbs, cat-like. You cover your mouth as a yawn escapes your throat. “I need to go bandage this…”

“Unless…” Nandor trails off, looking up at you with his big, liquid eyes full of feigned innocence. You remind yourself that your boyfriend is a 13th century Persian war lord.

“Unless…” you echo, smirking in amusement at him.

“You wish to make your unholy transition this very night!” Nandor enthuses, sitting up with an eager glimmer in his eyes. “In which case band-aids will be unnecessary.”

You roll your eyes with affection and respond, “We talked about this already, remember? My condition?”

Nandor’s shoulders slump and he looks put out as he replies, “Oh...right. You were serious about that?”

---

The camera is pointed at you as you lounge on one of the couches in the fancy room, biting into a green apple and carefully chewing before you reply.

“I told him he has to make Guillermo a vampire first.”

---

“Knock, knock!” Nandor singsongs, poking his head through the curtain that serves as the door to Guillermo’s tiny room.

He finds his familiar seated on his sad, twin bed with his laptop open. He’s sipping a Yoohoo and listening to something on his headphones.

“Master!” Guillermo exclaims, pushing aside the laptop and slipping off the headphones.

Nandor smiles awkwardly, his fangs biting into his lower lip, and asks, “Do you have a moment to talk, Guillermo? I don’t want to interrupt your computing machine time…”

“Of course!” Guillermo answers. “Is there something you need?”

“No, not at all,” Nandor sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed, awkwardly toying with the hem of his cape as he searches for words. “It is what you are needing, maybe. Guillermo, you’ve been a very good familiar to me… I know I have not always been the easiest vampire to work with…”

Nandor pauses for a beat, looking expectantly at his familiar until Guillermo takes the hint and rushes to insist, “Nonsense! You’re...you’re not difficult at all.”

Guillermo’s eyes flash to the camera and instantly dart away again.

“That’s kind of you to say. But it’s true, I’ve been demanding and… maybe even a little insensitive to your needs. You’ve worked for me for many years and now, I think it’s time for a reward that reflects your service and loyalty.”

Nandor stops and watches Guillermo with a glint in his eye as he waits for his familiar’s reaction. For his part, Guillermo can’t help glancing at the glitter portrait hanging over his desk with trepidation as he asks, “Is it another...craft?”

Nandor scoffs and barely suppresses a grin as he answers, “No, Guillermo. It’s even better than a glitter portrait. I’m going to make you a vampire!”

Whatever reaction Nandor expected, it wasn’t this. Guillermo’s face lights up for a brief instant and then his eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses into his pillow in a faint.

Nandor jumps up, leaning over his prone familiar with a frown and exclaiming, “Oh no! He’s died already!”

---

Guillermo awakes a few minutes later, blinking his eyes open to see his master looming over him and flicking droplets of Yoohoo onto his face.

“Oh, good, you’re not dead!” Nandor says mildly, sitting back and waiting for Guillermo to regain his faculties.

Guillermos’ voice comes out breathless, “You...did you really say you’re going to make me a vampire?”

Nandor smiles, congratulating himself on the surprise as he answers, “Yes! I’m really going to make you a vampire, Guillermo. Tonight. If you’re ready…”

“But…” Guillermo shakes his head slowly, trying to process this news. He’s delirious with happiness but after so much disappointment he can’t help but be skeptical. “Why now?”

“Eh…” Nandor grimaces awkwardly and flicks his eyes to the camera. “It may have been a condition of turning my human into a vampire...She won’t let me turn her unless I do you, too.”

“Oh…of course,” Guillermo sounds dejected and his shoulders slump forward.

“Unless you no longer wish to become a vampire…” Nandor moves as if he’s about to leave and Guillermo jumps forward, practically throwing himself into his master’s arms.

“No! I want to be a vampire!” he insists, desperation in his tone.

“Very well,” Nandor throws his cape over his shoulder and turns toward Guillermo, “Prepare yourself!”

Guillermo, trembling with nerves and excitement, tilts his head to the side and answers, “I’m ready, master.”

---

A/N: Heeeeyyyoooo, I couldn’t let my baby, Guillermo, have another Jenna incident. I hope you guys liked this chapter! We’re closing in on the finale.

Tags:

@festering-queen @kandomeresbitch @strangestdiary @glitterportrait @scuzmunkie @redwoodshadows @sarasxe @rileyomalley

#nandor the relentless #nandor #nandor the relentless x reader #nandor the relentless fanfic #nandor the relentless smut #nandor x reader #nandor the relentless imagine #wwdits fanfic #wwdits smut

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myonechicagoworld · 3 years

Text

CHICAGO FIRE – A COFFIN THAT SMALL (S01E19)

[TRIGGER WARNING: kid trapped in laundry chute gif under the cut]

Matt Casey: Hey.

Heather Darden: I am so sorry. I completely zonked out.

Matt Casey: No worries. I didn’t want to wake you.

Heather Darden: What time is it?

Matt Casey: Uh, 7:00.

Heather Darden: Oops, I, uh, I have to pick up the boys from

grandma’s.

Matt Casey: Okay.

Heather Darden: Uh, the baking dish is still dirty, so I’m gonna

wash it.

Matt Casey: I’ll clean it.

Heather Darden: Matt.

Matt Casey: I saw this swing set fort type thing at True Value.

I’ve been meaning to build it for Griffin and Ben.

I’ll bring it and the dish by after shift. If that’s cool

with you.

Heather Darden: Thank you, you’re… that’s very sweet.

Matt Casey: Oh, come on.

Heather Darden: Mind if I use your bathroom?

Matt Casey: Of course.

[knocks on door]

Kelly Severide: Hey.

Matt Casey: Hey.

Kelly Severide: My dad wanted me to drop that off. His way of

apologising for you catching that elbow.

Matt Casey: Thanks.

Kelly Severide: All right, well, I-I’ll see you at the house.

Heather Darden: Do you have any mouthwash?

Matt Casey: Eh… it’s not what you…

Hey.

Hey! It’s not what you think!

Kelly Severide: Yeah, I’m sure you’ve got it all figured out.

[car door slams, engine starts]

cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: Hey! Any of you guys know John Pritchard,

or are you all too young?

Matt Casey: He was gone before I came on, but I heard stories.

Mouch: Piece of work, that one.

Otis Zvonecek: What, he died or something?

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah! You know, Boden, Mouch and me,

we all knew him back in the day. He

must have been 20 years older than

Boden if that tells you anything.

Otis Zvonecek: What did he die of?

Christopher Herrmann: Old man stuff. I don’t know.

Matt Casey: [chuckles]

Christopher Herrmann: Funeral is tomorrow up at Grayslake.

Otis Zvonecek: Are you guys going?

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah, I guess, you know? We should

pay our respects.

Matt Casey: All right. Hydrant’s good to go.

Christopher Herrmann: [grunts]

Peter Mills, you get to flush the next

one.

Mouch: By the way, saikensha wa saimusha yori kioku yoshi.

Otis Zvonecek: What the hell’s that?

Mouch: You bet me I couldn’t say a sentence in Japanese. I just

said one. You owe me 20 bucks.

Joe Cruz: [chuckles]

Otis Zvonecek: Okay. (A) I don’t remember that. And (B) how do

I know you’re not just speaking gibberish?

Mouch: It’s a sentence.

Otis Zvonecek: What’s it mean?

Mouch: Pay me 20 bucks, I’ll tell you.

Otis Zvonecek: Ridiculous. You tell me and…

Boy 1: Help! Help!

He fell!

We were playing hide and seek upstairs.

Victim 1 (Little boy): [groans]

Matt Casey: Hang on. We’re coming.

Victim 1 (Little boy): [strangled grunts]

- title -

Joe Cruz: (into radio) This is 81. I need a paramedic across from

our firehouse.

Dispatcher: (over radio) What’s the address?

Joe Cruz: (into radio) Look for our lights!

Let’s go, bro!

Peter Mills: Hit it!

[siren wailing]

Victim 1 (Little boy): [strangled grunts/breathing]

Matt Casey: His neck’s twisted. He can’t breathe.

Boy 1: I told Taye not to go in that chute. He knows better.

Matt Casey: Come with me.

All right, we have to get through this block.

[buzzing]

Boy 1: [crying]

[sirens wailing]

Matt Casey: (over radio) 61, we need you on the second floor.

It’s a child.

Gabby Dawson: What’s going on?

Otis Zvonecek: Kid hid in the laundry chute.

Joe Cruz: Mills, get in here.

Peter Mills: Yeah!

[drilling]

Lady 1 (Mom): Dougie?

Boy 1 (Dougie): [cries] I told him infinity times not to hide in

there [cries]

[indistinct chatter]

Matt Casey: Okay let’s peel back the front.

Lady 1 (Mom): Taye?

Chief Boden: Ma’am. Ma’am, don’t look.

Lady 1 (Mom): [gasps]

Chief Boden: We’ll get him out. Let them work.

Matt Casey: Get his head.

Lady 1 (Mom): Dougie… Honey, go upstairs.

Chief Boden: Okay.

Lady 1 (Mom): Oh God. Oh Lord.

Matt Casey: Let’s back him out.

Chief Boden: Don’t look.

Lady 1 (Mom): [cries]

Joe Cruz: [grunts]

Grab his legs.

Otis Zvonecek: He’s conscious but barely.

Lady 1 (Mom): Taye! [cries]

Chief Boden: Okay, okay. Okay.

Lady 1 (Mom): [cries]

Joe Cruz: Grab his legs.

Lady 1 (Mom): Taye.

Leslie Shay: Let’s board him quickly.

Chief Boden: Hold on to me.

Lady 1 (Mom): [sobs]

Gabby Dawson: One, two, three.

[grunting]

Gabby Dawson: You the mother?

Lady 1 (Mom): Yes.

Gabby Dawson: You can ride in the back with me. Let’s go.

Chief Boden: Go on.

cutscene

Gabby Dawson: I’ll be right back.

What have you heard?

Lady 1 (Mom): Um… the doctor says it looks bad. It’s a

damaged windpipe, so his brain was…

without oxygen.

Gabby Dawson: Well, they’ve got great surgeons here. They’ll

do everything they can.

Lady 1 (Mom): You know… Taye has been to your firehouse.

Gabby Dawson: Oh yeah?

Lady 1 (Mom): Yeah. His whole class went on a field trip last fall

when the school year started. It was all he could

talk about for days [chuckles] [sniffs]

He said he wants to be a fireman, help people.

Gabby Dawson: That’s… that’s sweet.

Lady 1 (Mom): [sniffs] Gangs are always calling, but he won’t bite.

He’s gonna be straight and narrow, and I believe

that.

Gabby Dawson: I’m sure he will.

Lady 1 (Mom): [sniffles] Thank you.

cutscene

Matt Casey: You gotta be kidding me.

Mouch: I don’t know if I can handle another season like the

last one.

Christopher Herrmann: Hope springs eternal.

Mouch: Hope never met a Sox September.

Otis Zvonecek: Yeah, well at least you guys have a series win

in the last century. Try being a Cubs fan.

Christopher Herrmann: There’s plenty of room on the

bandwagon if you want to move to

the south side.

Otis Zvonecek: Yeah. What are you, Pouch? You Cubs or Sox,

huh?

Christopher Herrmann: Look at her feet. She’s definitely a

White Sox fan.

Joe Cruz: Guys, put a cork in it. I’m trying to listen to the

Hawk.

Mouch: Saikensha wa saimusha yori kioku yoshi.

Otis Zvonecek: What does that mean?

Matt Casey: Hey, if they score, come get me.

Otis Zvonecek: [muttering] Saikensha… Sai…

Chief Boden: Hey Lieutenant. I want to bring you up to speed

on what Kelly’s just filled me in on.

Kelly Severide: I’m gonna push to fast-track Peter Mills to

Squad. The youngest anyone’s every made

it was 23.

Matt Casey: You.

Kelly Severide: I think Mills can break the record. And I talked

to Chief Walker over at District, and he thinks it

would be great for CFD morale.

Matt Casey: Is that what you think, Chief? Great for morale?

Chief Boden: As long as he qualifies.

Matt Casey: Well, sounds like you guys have all the answers.

cutscene

Peter Mills: You wanted to see me, Chief?

Chief Boden: As you’re aware, Lieutenant Severide thinks

that you’ll make a strong addition to Rescue

Squad.

[door closes]

Peter Mills: Yes.

Chief Boden: I just want to hear your take on it.

Peter Mills: I’m gonna bust my ass to make it happen.

Chief Boden: Why?

Peter Mills: I’m sorry?

Chief Boden: Why’s it so important to you?

Peter Mills: ‘Cause I want to be an elite firefighter, sir.

Chief Boden: And this has got nothing to do with your

father?

Peter Mills: No, sir.

This has nothing to do with what my father did

or did not do with his time at the CFD. This is

about me

Chief Boden: Well, since you’ve been here you’ve put on ten

pounds. Which, from where I sit, doesn’t look

like a candidate willing to bust his ass.

[slurps]

[door closes]

Gabby Dawson: Hey, how’s it going?

Peter Mills: Been better.

Gabby Dawson: You need me to take care of someone? Give

me a name.

Peter Mills: Not now.

cutscene

Matt Casey: Heather Darden and me, we’re just friends. She

came over to talk and fell asleep on my couch.

Kelly Severide: Right. Got it.

Matt Casey: I don’t know what you want me to say here.

Kelly Severide: I saw what I saw, Casey. Sell your clean whistle

act to someone else, ‘cause I ain’t buying.

Matt Casey: You can’t imagine you might be wrong about

something, can you?

Kelly Severide: I can imagine a lot of things, just not the idea

of you rolling around with Andy’s widow.

Matt Casey: Come on.

Kelly Severide: Explain to me why Heather barely talks to me,

but she’ll sleep with you, even though you’re

the guy who put her husband through that

window?

[gunshots]

[shouting]

[glass shattering]

Firefighter: Get down!

Get down!

[gunshots]

Christopher Herrmann: What the hell is going on in here?

[tires squealing]

Chief Boden: You okay?

Kelly Severide: Yeah.

Chief Boden: Casey, are you okay?

Matt Casey: Yeah.

Chief Boden: What the hell is going on here, Detective? This

has always been a neighbourhood house.

Man 1 (Det. Ben Vikan): You tell me. No run-ins recently? No

fires where one of your guys tried to

pop off to the local…

Chief Boden: No.

Christopher Herrmann: We’re not cops. People are happy to

see a firefighter show up.

Man 1 (Det. Ben Vikan): Could this be Voight related?

Matt Casey: Voight?

Man 1 (Det. Ben Vikan): When it comes to gang violence, the

man has a long reach. He’s got a

dismissal hearing soon.

Matt Casey: Not like Voight to stir up the nest if he’s trying to

free himself.

Joe Cruz: Man, why don’t you pick up one of these bangers

for something small and trade the bust for what

they know about the shooters?

Man 1 (Det. Ben Vikan): Corner boys in this neighbourhood

are good. We can’t catch them with

the drugs and make the bust stick.

We’ll keep our ears to the ground.

In the meantime, I’ll make sure we

have a conspicuous police presence

around the station.

Chief Boden: Meaning what?

Man 1 (Det. Ben Vikan): Put a special detail on it. Squad

outside. Officer posted in the

house.

Firefighters: [muttering in disagreement]

Chief Boden: Well, that’s fine. So long as the men are safe.

Otis Zvonecek: [sighs]

Chief Boden: What?

Christopher Herrmann: Cops in the house is a bad precedent.

Sends a message to the good residents

around here that… we’re not a safe

haven.

Mouch: You rather have one of us be killed?

Christopher Herrmann: Of course not.

Chief Boden: We will let the police handle their business, and

we… will handle ours.

Joe Cruz: [sighs]

cutscene

[police radio chatter]

Otis Zvonecek: Never seen anything like this before.

Joe Cruz: So much for being the neighbourhood’s house.

[engine starts]

[dramatic music]

cutscene

Lady 2 (Barista): Here you go.

Leslie Shay: Thanks.

Kelly Severide: Thanks.

Leslie Shay: Yeah.

Kelly Severide: Hey, any word on that kid pulled out of the

laundry chute?

Leslie Shay: I haven’t heard anything yet.

Hey, what’s going on with you and Casey? It

seemed like…

Kelly Severide: Oh, I don’t… I don’t want to talk about Casey.

Leslie Shay: Okay, fine. We’ll just enjoy watching you two

mark your territory.

Kelly Severide: Ah…

Leslie Shay: So what do you want to talk about?

Kelly Severide: So how would this work? With the, um…

insemination?

Leslie Shay: Well… basically, you know, I’d get a hormone

injection once a day for 12 days to boost

ovulation, then we’d go to a clinic where they

have rooms set aside for collection. Meaning

you know, they give you magazines or

whatever and you go in and do your business.

Kelly Severide: I mean, I get that part

[chuckling]

Kelly Severide: How much does it cost?

Leslie Shay: Uh, all-in, 10 grandish.

Kelly Severide: 10 grand, are you serious?

Leslie Shay: Yeah.

Kelly Severide: You have that kind of cash?

Leslie Shay: I’m gonna stretch some card limits and cobble

it together.

Kelly Severide: I’m in.

[laughter]

cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: What?

Mouch: You picked him up first?

Christopher Herrmann: Just get in.

Mouch: Now I gotta stare at the back of your head for an

hour?

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah.

Mouch: Guess it’s better than getting shot at at the

firehouse.

Boden & Herrmann: [laughs]

[laughter]

Chief Boden: So I come home, try to climb in through the

window, but it’s shut. It’s locked.Oh, okay. I

thought I got a clean getaway, but no. Now

I gotta go around and ring on the damn

doorbell.

[laughter]

Chief Boden: My old man, he’s just sitting in his chair.

Waiting for me. For hours.

Mouch: 3 o’clock in the morning.

Chief Boden: Alcohol on my breath

Mouch: Ooh! [laughs]

Chief Boden: He just stares at me, hard as nails. He says,

“boy, you got four choices where you’re going

to college… Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines…

pick one.”

Mouch: Wow.

Chief Boden: [scoffs]

Christopher Herrmann: At least your old man gave a damn.

Mouch: Oh, Bill Herrmann wasn’t so bad. I’m friends with

Chris’s older brother, Larry. Your dad would throw

the ball with us when he was home.

Christopher Herrmann: Larry did not disappoint him the way

that I did.

Chief Boden: You never told me about your dad.

Christopher Herrmann: Aw, sold luggage to department

stores all over the Midwest. He

was on the road more than he

was home.

Chief Boden: Is that right?

Christopher Herrmann: He wanted me to chase him into

the business like my brother

Larry did, so naturally I took the

fireman’s test.

[chuckling]

Christopher Herrmann: They got this whole thing…

Larry and my dad.

I don’t talk to him that much

anymore.

Mouch: You should call him.

Christopher Herrmann: I should. It’d be that much worse

when he didn’t call me back.

cutscene

Gabby Dawson: [panting]

Peter Mills: What are you doing here?

Gabby Dawson: Maybe being quiet and keeping to

yourself is how it works in the Mills

family, but that’s not how the Dawsons

Dawsons do it.

Peter Mills: Is that so?

Gabby Dawson: Look, if you want to fly solo, you better do it

in bed with your eyes closed, okay? But if

you want to train for Squad, you better get

ready to talk while you run, ‘cause I’m

coming with you.

Hey. I want to be a part of whatever comes your

way.

Peter Mills: Well, then you better tie your shoes first.

Gabby Dawson: Oh!

Peter Mills: [laughs]

Gabby Dawson: [laughs] Oh I’m gonna get you!

cutscene

Chief Boden: This is the right time, right?

Christopher Herrmann: Paper said 3:30.

[organ playing in background]

Christopher Herrmann: Excuse me, is this the Pritchard

funeral?

Man 2 (Mortician): Yes. Yes, we’re about to get underway.

Christopher Herrmann: Oh.

Man 2 (Mortician): Have a seat.

Mouch: Thanks.

Chief Boden: Thanks.

Christopher Herrmann: Are you kidding me with this? Didn’t

he have, like, five sons?

Mouch: Yeah.

Christopher Herrmann: Where’s his family?

Man 3 (Preacher): Welcome, friends. We’re all here today not

to grieve but to celebrate the life of…

John Aaron Pritchard. Matthew 5:4 says,

“Blessed are they who mourn for they

shall be comforted.”

Mouch: Let’s get outta here.

Chief Boden: Amen.

Christopher Herrmann: So, like, I mean, that’s it? I mean

what… half a dozen people, and

no family, and a preacher who

doesn’t even know his name

without looking at the program?

And where’s the truck with a half-

raised ladder and salute to a fallen

firefighter?

Chief Boden: Chris…

Christopher Herrmann: No, I’m serious. What’s my funeral

gonna be like when I kick it? Or

yours, Mouch, huh?

Mouch: Doubt I’ll care.

Christopher Herrmann: All the same, he deserved a funeral

with respect for all of his service.

And just because he waited a dozen

years to die and moved out to the

sticks doesn’t mean that he wasn’t a

hero.

Chief Boden: Let’s go.

Mouch: Shotgun!

Christopher Herrmann: This… this ain’t right! Grr!

cutscene

[indistinct police radio chatter]

Matt Casey: Any word on the shooters?

Uniformed Cop: Nada.

Matt Casey: How was the funeral?

Christopher Herrmann: What’s worse than terrible? It

was that.

Peter Mills: [groans]

Otis Zvonecek: What?

Peter Mills: Oven’s busted.

Christopher Herrmann: What? Blender is too.

[buzzing]

Joe Cruz: Bad news. Remember that kid from last shift?

Trapped in the laundry chute?

Otis Zvonecek: Yeah?

Joe Cruz: Didn’t make it.

Gabby Dawson: He came here, this kid. He was here on a

class field trip.

He told his mom he wanted to be a fireman

when he got home.

Peter Mills: Wow, I recognise him. It was my first day. You

guys had me give the tour.

Otis Zvonecek: [exhales] Man I remember that.

Joe Cruz: Funeral’s on Friday.

Christopher Herrmann: Hey pop, it’s Christopher. Just…

checking in. I know it’s been a

while, and… anyway just call

me back.

cutscene

Kelly Severide: You know what the worst part is?

Matt Casey: What is the worst part, Kelly?

Kelly Severide: That you don’t have enough sack to

admit you’re sleeping with Heather.

At least come clean.

Matt Casey: Keep walking. I’m done explaining myself.

Kelly Severide: You haven’t explained a damn thing!

That’s the point!

Matt Casey: ‘Cause you’re wrong!

Don’t come up on me again like this.

Kelly Severide: Really?

Chief Boden: What the hell is going on here?

In my office, now.

[object clatters]

Chief Boden: We’ve been here before. Almost tore

this house apart.

Kelly Severide: This time, it’s different.

Chief Boden: Tell me about it.

Kelly Severide: Yeah, Casey, tell him about it.

Matt Casey: No offense, Chief.

[door shuts]

cutscene

Leslie Shay: So what do you think about the whole

Casey/Heather thing?

Gabby Dawson: Uh… I don’t know.

Leslie Shay: Hmm. You haven’t asked him?

Gabby Dawson: We’ve said like two sentences to each

other in a month.

Hey, what’s your name?

Man 4: Phillip.

Gabby Dawson: [laughs] All right, let’s get you up, Phillip.

Come on.

Here we go [groans]

Leslie Shay: Whoa!

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles]

Leslie Shay: Phillip, that is not the kind of full moon I was

expecting to see today.

Gabby Dawson: [laughs]

Leslie Shay: Come on.

Gabby Dawson: Here we go.

Leslie Shay: All right, keep your pants up.

Gabby Dawson: Whew! So Severide’s, uh, little swimmers,

huh?

Leslie Shay: Yeah.

Gabby Dawson: And who’s paying for this?

Leslie Shay: [sighs] I don’t know.

Gabby Dawson: You know, there’s another, cheaper alternative.

Leslie Shay: Oh, come on.

Gabby Dawson: What? I’m just saying.

Leslie Shay: Oh boy.

Gabby Dawson: Nature has already worked out a lot of these

details.

Come on. Oh!

[engine revving]

[tires squealing]

[horn beeping]

Leslie Shay: (into radio) I need a 10-1 to East Van Buren, now!

Dispatcher: (over radio) What’s the nature of the call?

Leslie Shay: (into radio) Someone’s stealing our ambulance!

[horn beeping]

[tires screeching]

Gabby Dawson: Hey!

Man 5 (Thief): What the hell?

Gabby Dawson: Pull over!

Man 5 (Thief): Shut up!

Gabby Dawson: You can’t steal an ambulance!

Man 5 (Thief): I said shut up!

Gabby Dawson: Listen to me, moron!

Man 5 (Thief): Quit talking to me!

[horn honking]

Gabby Dawson: This ambulance has GPS. They can track us in

the city so they know where we’re at at all

times. When you hear the beep that means

that they’re about to shut down the engine!

Man 5 (Thief): What are you talking about?

Gabby Dawson: They’re gonna turn off the engine, lock up the

tires, and send your face flying through the

windshield.

[sirens approaching]

Man 5 (Thief): That ain’t true!

[police sirens wailing]

Gabby Dawson: Here it comes!

[beeping]

Gabby Dawson: You should buckle up!

[beeping continues]

Man 5 (Thief): Damn it!

[tires screeching]

Gabby Dawson: [heavy breathing]

Man 5 (Thief): [groans]

[siren whoops]

Gabby Dawson: Somebody call for an ambulance?

Leslie Shay: Come on, Philip.

cutscene

Leslie Shay: Hey.

Kelly Severide: Hey.

[door closes]

Leslie Shay: [clears throat] I know this may not be the best time,

um, but I have a new proposal. So please don’t

say anything or make any funny faces.

Kelly Severide: Okay.

Leslie Shay: Okay. Uh… I can’t afford the insemination. So I’ve

been thinking about Plan B. And I propose…

when the time is right, you go into your room with

magazines or Skinemax or whatever you need to

get yourself ready. And then with the lights out,

you signal me by calling out my name once. You’ll

hear your door open, footsteps. And… and then

you’ll be mounted. You will finish your business

inside of me as quickly and efficiently as possible.

And then I’ll be out the door, so you can clean up

or whatever you need to do. At which point, I will

need to be alone. Most likely to cry. And we will

never speak of this to anyone ever [chuckles] for

the rest of our lives. And… I thank you for

listening. Just think about it.

[door shuts]

cutscene

Gabby Dawson: [sighs]

[phone buzzing]

Gabby Dawson: Here we go. Here we go.

Sit. Sit.

Mouch: What the hell are you doing?

Christopher Herrmann: I’m not standing near any windows.

Mouch: Well, it ain’t exactly easy to watch the ballgame with

you staring back at me.

You think the shooters are going to text you before

they open fire?

Christopher Herrmann: I broke down and called my old

man. I got nothing back.

Otis Zvonecek: [sighs] Mills, what’s for lunch?

Peter Mills: Oh, um, I was bringing in some beef tips but I

don’t think they’re gonna taste that good raw,

so, uh, we can do some pimento cheese

sandwiches…

Joe Cruz: How about Al’s beef?

Peter Mills: Okay, all right. We’ll do Al’s beef.

Matt Casey: Call it in.

Peter Mills: I will. All right.

Mouch: Oh Otis!

Otis Zvonecek: Yeah?

Mouch: Uh, saikensha wa saimusha yori kioku yoshi.

Otis Zvonecek: Seriously, up yours, Mouch.

Mouch: [chuckles] Hey, you know who knows how to

translate that? Andrew Jackson [laughs]

Chief Boden: Dawson, where’s Shay?

Gabby Dawson: Uh, I don’t know.

Chief Boden: This is Tara Little. She’s a candidate. She’s

gonna be riding along with you guys for the

next few shifts for evaluation.

Gabby Dawson: Cool.

Lady 3 (Tara Little): Hey, so nice to meet you. I’ve heard

a lot about you.

Gabby Dawson: Oh, don’t pay any attention to what these

guys have to say. Especially Frick and

Frack over here.

Lady 3 (Tara Little): Oh, which one’s Frick?

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles] Come on.

Matt Casey: What’s that?

Peter Mills: Oh, it’s… yeah I keep the cooking club cash

hidden here. That-that’s cool, right?

Matt Casey: Yeah. Yeah it-it’s fine. I’ll get the food.

Peter Mills: No, I don’t mind. I’ll grab it.

Matt Casey: I got it.

[car door shuts]

Matt Casey: I want to talk to whoever’s in charge.

Young Man 1 (Dealer): Nah, get back in your truck.

Matt Casey: Not a cop. Not armed.

Young Man 1 (Dealer): Nah man, get back in your truck.

Matt Casey: I just want to talk.

[game sounds on TV]

Young Man 1 (Dealer): [clears throat]

[door closes]

Matt Casey: You in charge?

Young Man 2 (Greshawn): Who wants to know?

Matt Casey: My name’s Casey. I’m the Lieutenant at

Firehouse 51 down the street.

Young Man 2 (Greshawn): So?

Matt Casey: Someone tried to pop a couple shots into our

house in broad daylight. Could have killed

someone. Someone who works to protect

this neighbourhood every single day. Now I

know why. You guys hide your drugs in the

hydrants, don’t you?

Look, we have to flush those hydrants twice

a year. Otherwise one of these buildings is

on fire… yours maybe. It burns down

because there’s no water in our hoses. You

know, I’m not stupid enough to think that

you’re gonna give up selling your junk

because I come in here, but I’m telling you,

you hide it in the hydrants, it’s gonna get

flushed.

Young Man 2 (Greshawn): You done?

Matt Casey: No. Like it or not, we all gotta coexist here,

right? This is our neighbourhood. You

don’t own it.

[door closes]

cutscene

Leslie Shay: Hey. Guess what?

Kelly Severide: What’s up?

Leslie Shay: Well, my dad just called. He’s gonna pay

for the insemination. Says he was

worried that he’d never be a grandpa.

Kelly Severide: That’s great.

Leslie Shay: Yeah. So you know, back to Plan A.

cutscene

[indistinct radio chatter]

Otis Zvonecek: You know what? Fine.

Mouch: Saikensha wa saimusha yori kioku yoshi.

Creditors have better memories than

debtors.

[train passing]

Mouch: Hey, Lieutenant, okay if we make a quick

stop. Won’t take long, I promise.

Matt Casey: Sure.

Mouch: Cruz, take a right here.

Matt Casey: This is the right place?

Mouch: This is it.

Christopher Herrmann: Aw, come on Mouch. What

is this?

Mouch: Just wait. I want you to see this.

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah.

Man 6: Randy! How are you?

Mouch: What do you say, Larry?

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): Good to see you man. Hey.

Chris.

Christopher Herrmann: Hey, Larry, how you been?

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): You’re not getting away with

a handshake. Come here,

little brother.

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah, good to see you.

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): [chuckles] All right.

Hey.

Christopher Herrmann: Hey. Wow you guys have grown.

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): Yeah. How long has it been since

you’ve been here?

Christopher Herrmann: I… don’t remember. Uh, dad around?

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): No, he’s in Boston. He’s supposed

to be selling socks to Filene’s

basement, but he’s probably

already in line for bleacher seats at

Fenway. Randy called and said you

were down about dad. So come on.

There’s something you should see.

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): You should hear him talk about his

son the firefighter. I can’t get him

to shut up about it.

cutscene

[dishes clattering]

Chief Boden: Okay.

Mrs Leppert.

Lady 1 (Mom/Mrs Leppert): Chief.

Hello. I’m sorry to bother you.

Chief Boden: No, not at all. We’re all very sorry about your

son.

Lady 1 (Mom/Mrs Leppert): Thank you. You may know he was

here once. And… he wanted to

be a fireman ever since. Anyway,

he would have been happy to

know you guys were there at the

end. And he would have wanted

you to have this. Thank you for

what you do in this

neighbourhood.

Chief Boden: Thank you.

We owe this kid. We owe Taye better than this.

We are better than this.

[somber music]

Christopher Herrmann: I have an idea.

Chief Boden: Ten-hut!

Chief Boden: Present arms!

- end -

Definitions:

Saikensha wa saimusha yori kioku yoshi = Creditors have better memories than debtors

Hope springs eternal = Said when you continue to hope that something will happen, although it seems unlikely

10-1 = Fireman/firemen needs emergency help

Frick and Frack = English slang term used to refer to two people so closely associated as to be indistinguishable

Filene’s Basement = Department store company

Ten-hut = Come to attention!

14 notes · View notes

ask-anti-cosmo · 3 years

Text

Anti-Cosmo X reader my dear pet part 2

You were sitting in your room, feeling very confused as you were just teleported there by Anti-Cosmo right as he was getting in a fight with a little bald red-eyed Anti-fairy. You sighed and laid down on your bed. Why was Anti-Cosmo being so nice all of a sudden? Honestly it just worried you….

You heard Anti-Cosmo enter and you quickly stood up from fear. He simply walked over to you and wrapped a tap measure around your waist.

“W…what are you trying to do?” You asked worriedly.

“Take your measurements.” He shrugged.

“For my coffin…?”

“No silly, I want to make you a dress.” He chuckled, making you blink at him.

“W-what? Y-you’re being nice?” You asked confusedly as he measured your hips, making you blush a little.

“I’ve decided to go to a party, down on earth its October, and a very rich man and woman are throwing a lovely costume party~”

“You’re taking me to a ball…?” You asked, feeling slightly excited. Other than the walk earlier, he had never taken you anywhere since you got there.

“Why not?” He grinned and gently wrapped the tape measure around your chest, making you blush more.

“Y-you just never take me anywhere…”

“I can have some fun~” He chuckled and got up, taking out his wand. He waved it and your clothes were replaced with a regular boring black dress. “Here we go, let start with the sleeves.” He smiled and made the sleeves long and slim, but had them flow out at the end with dark blue lace here and there.

You smiled at how pretty they were and then the skirt of the dress lowered into a mermaid style, and the fin part spread long on your left and super short on the right, making you blush a little. Blue ribbons laced up like a corset on each of your sides, and blue lace lined the collar.

“There.” Anti-cosmo grinned then frowned. “Hmm, something’s missing…”

“Stockings maybe…?” you said hopefully, feeling bare with your legs being displayed.

“No that’s not it, but I like the suggestion.” He grinned and made some appeared, but had the garter strap on the high side visible.

“T-that’s not what I meant!” You blushed and tried to hide it.

“Ah! I’ve got it!” He grinned and slide your sleeves off your shoulders.

“A-Anti-Cosmo…” You whispered embarrassedly before realizing what he was doing. He was putting your neck scars on display. “I-I don’t want to show these off!”

“But I do! It shows you’re mine!” He grinned. “Be happy! You’re beautiful!”

“That’s the last thing I ever expected to hear from you…” You huffed.

“Any how…” He poofed up a tall mirror for you. “Time for the final touches.”

“Final touches??”

“Cinderella didn’t go to the ball wearing only a dress you know.” He chuckled and waved his wand at your feet, making comfortable black heeled shoes appear. They looked like they were made of obsidian.

“Oh…” you said as you covered your mouth in astonishment.

Your ears got heavy with earrings similar to the one in Anti-Cosmo’s left ear. And a small black gemmed tiara appeared in your hair that was going up into a bun. Light make-up graced your face and you felt entirely new looking at yourself in the mirror.

“There, perfect for my little princess of misfortune~” He grinned

“T…thank you Anti-Cosmo…” You said quietly.

“You’re very welcome my dear~” He grinned and took your hand, kissing it. “Shall we then?” He grinned, swishing his hand to make a cape appear on his shoulders.

“O-okay…” You nodded, and you soon found yourself in front of a great house. People were flowing in and they were all dressed as if they were prepping for the red carpet. A Halloween styled red carpet.

Anti-Cosmo lead you inside to the grand hall, filled with people dancing and tables where food could be served. Halloween decorations covered the walls and stairs everywhere. “Absolutely wonderful~” Anti-Cosmo grinned.

“How did you get invited here…?”

“I know the owner.” He grinned. “Ah, speaking of, there’s my little porcelain doll herself~” He said, pointing to a woman who indeed looked like a doll, with platinum ringlets and a pastel frilly dress with a high collar. “Come, let’s go say hello~”

You agreed curiously and you two walked over to where the lady and her Dracula dressed husband stood. She was smiling at everyone till you two approached. She flinched at the sight and just stared with a look of fear as you two approached.

“Hello again my dear.” He grinned at her, making her flinch. She must have been one of his past victims, which actually gave you hope that he’d someday let you go.

“H-hello again….” She said softly. “How are you doing?”

“I am doing quite well.” He grinned and held you close. “As you can see…”

“I do see…” She nodded and looked at you sympathetically. “I hope you enjoy yourselves.”

“We will!” He grinned and took you into the crowd to dance. You began to feel conscious about your scars and the skin the dress showed off, making you blush as some men would leer at you. Especially when Anti-Cosmo would spin you, and your dress would flare open.

Anti-Cosmo leaned close to your ear. “If any other man dare touch you, tell me and I will bring the wrath of Hell upon him.” He whispered, making you shudder, but also somehow made you feel safer.

“Thank you…” You whispered back. “C-can I go get some food…?”

“Yes of course.” He smiled.

“Anti-Cosmo…why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?” You asked.

“Go and get your snacks love.” He told you, ignoring your question. You sighed and went to the table to get something to eat.

“Hello…” A familiar voice said. You turned to see the Doll Woman Anti-Cosmo talked to earlier.

“Hi…” You said back shyly. “So uh...I assume you know what I’m going through?”

“Well enough…” She nodded. “When I was much younger, my family was a mess and reporters constantly wanted to prove it. But because I fed Anti-Cosmo, he was able to keep their secrets safe…”

“I see…” You nodded. “When did he let you go?”

“Let me go? I sent him away, He appeared in my house one day and promised me wishes for blood. I wanted my family to appear normal and perfect so I accepted. One day I had enough and told him to leave and never return.”

You blinked in astonishment. Will He leave you alone should you ask? You’ve never gotten a wish from him, so does that mean he owes you? He has taken blood from you almost constantly since he took you two and a half years ago.

“So what about you?” She asked.

“Um…he saved me from a sexual assault from a student at school…”

“Oh wow, wonder why, usually unless you as he waits till after the misfortune to approach you.” She chuckled lightly. “I’m sorry…time with him messed me up a little…”

“I can understand why…” You sighed and saw the Anti-Fairy call to you. “Gotta go…”

“Good luck.” She smiled.

“Like there’s a chance of that happening…” You mumbled softly as you went back to your master.

“There you are love~” He grinned and held your hands. His grin wasn’t his usual cocking look that made your stomach turn, it was more loving and happy. It made you smile back at him without realizing it.

You were too distracted by the kind green eyes looking in yours to notice the drunk man behind you that came over and groped your bottom roughly with both hands, making you squeal with surprise and embarrassment.

The next thing you knew, was Anti-Cosmo’s angry eyes burning with hatred at the man who touched you. To your great surprise though, he simply swatted the man’s hand away and pulled you closer to him.

“Keep your filthy hands to yourself sir!” He spat and walked you away.

“Wow…you handled that really well.” You said. “I thought you’d kill him…”

“I basically did.” He shrugged.

“What?” You blinked and looked back at the perv.

“Let’s just say, he going to find a cancerous lump downstairs.” He said subtly. “If he’s lucky, they’ll find it in time and he won’t die…He’ll definitely lose something reguardless.”

“Oooh….” You winced.

“Why don’t we head back home then?” He smiled.

"Right…home…” You mumbled.

“Yes, it’s your home too.” He told you gently.

“It’s my prison…and I think you own me some wishes!” You huffed at him, making him blink in surprise. “From all the blood you’ve taken from me! You did the Doll girl!” He then smiled his nice smile again.

“I supposed you’re right, but there are some wishes I will not grant.”

“Fine…” You grunted.

“So what is it you wish?” He grinned.

“I can guess you don’t want me escaping or anything, so those are probably out of the question…” You sighed. “Alright, I want either these scars from you gone, or covered!” You huffed.

He frowned slightly at that but sighed and waved his wand, wrapping a blue scarf around your neck. “There….”

“Thank you…”

He smiled at your thanks and kissed your cheek. “Let’s go…”

You agreed and followed him to the back where you both disappeared into your room. “I wish my room looked less like a dungeon…” you frowned.

“What would you like it to look like?” Anti-Cosmo asked.

You stared at him a minute. “Like a bedroom.” You said sarcastically.

“Boring, but fine.” He sighed and made it look like the room of a teenage girl. A very girly teenager, but at this point you were happy with anything. Even the pink walls and boy band posters. The vanity was super nice at least.

“Thank you…” You smiled happily. “Anti-Cosmo…Why are you being so nice to me?” You asked again.

“Come now dear, time for bed.” He said, avoiding the question again. He waved his wand and you found yourself in nothing but a night gown and underwear. The night gown was black, short-ish with soft mesh-like fabric over the black silk inside layer and spaghetti straps.

You blushed and tried to cover your legs before taking a breath. “Please stop avoiding the question.” You said bravely.

He paused a second before sighing.” I’m avoiding because I don’t know the answer myself…”

You blinked surprised but smiled at him softly. “Well…either way, thank you. It was a nice evening.”

He smiled back at you and kissed your head before leaving the room.

You sighed happily and flopped on the bed. He’s been so nice to you today! It’s made you feel so happy that he’s even trying! You got under the nice cover’s and felt yourself drift into the best sleep you’ve had in years. You were completely unaware of the red eyes that watched you.

#Anti-Cosmo #my dear pet #march 11 2016 #dollhouse reference #dollhouse #fairly odd parent #anti-Fairies

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alj4890 · 4 years

Text

Angst Prompt

(Thomas x Amanda) with the prompt dealing with the death of someone close as requested by @krsnlove

(Thomas x Amanda) (Maxwell x Amanda) in a one shot

A/N The song I found for this made it hurt all the more to write. It seems perfect for Maxwell. Not a part of any of my AU's.

@lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @hopefulmoonobject @krsnlove @annekebbphotography @hopelessromantic1352 . @sunflowergirl05 @desireepow-1986 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @moodyvalentinestories @emceesynonymroll @my-heart-beats-for-ya @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker . @trappedinfandoms @kate-mckenzie @cordoniaqueensworld @everythingmarvelsherlockspn

Masterlist

Song: For a Dancer

In and Out of View

Impossible. That's what it is. It's impossible that he's gone. He can't be. No one had his enthusiasm. His joie de vie.

It can't be true.

"Amanda?"

She looked up to see Olivia standing in the doorway. The normally unflappable duchess seemed unsure of what to do.

"We need to leave for the funeral." She said softly.

Amanda shook her head. "I don't think I can do it." She clutched the heavily creased paper that held the words she had painstakingly written. "Liv--I--" tears began to fall again. "I can't."

Olivia sniffed and sat down beside her. "You can do this. You have never failed Maxwell. You can't start now when he's..."

Amanda reached for some tissues, forcing herself to stand up. There was no escaping this task. She had to go.

Olivia wrapped her arm around her and guided her out of her bedroom. The two made it downstairs, walking out without pause through the palace doors.

The motorcade to Cordonia's oldest cemetery had traffic at a near standstill. Everyone wanted to honor the noble who had been so cruelly taken from them.

The cathedral set within the capital soon came into view. Car after car dropped off nobles, diplomats, and well known personalities from all arenas. Each was dressed in mourning for Lord Maxwell Beaumont.

Olivia stepped out and waited on Amanda to do the same.

Everything within the young duchess wanted to scream out to the driver to leave this place. Take her anywhere that could help her forget what the last few days had wrought. Instead, she took a deep breath and got out of the town car. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses as she passed a sea of photographers.

She could hear Maxwell's voice as if he were whispering in her ear. "Remember to make sure they capture my good side."

She bit down on her lip. He always knew how to diffuse any tense situation with humor.

Her best friend. Her constant source of security. Maxwell had helped ease her out of her shell since she had been a shy little girl. Every time she tried to hide away in her room with a book, he convinced her to join him on some adventure. He encouraged her in everything. Stood by her side. Never failed in seeing the best in her.

No one could bolster her confidence faster than Maxwell.

How am I to do this without you? She thought. Why did you have to--

The doors to the sanctuary opened. Olivia paused to speak to some of their friends that had been standing toward the back.

Amanda ignored them and continued down the aisle. Her eyes stared straight ahead at the mahogany casket that held the man she had adored. Loved. Her best friend. The only man she had shared every secret she had ever held in her heart. The only one to believe she was capable of every good thing in this world. The one to promise that only the best lay in store for her.

"He was wrong." She mumbled. "If I was destined for happiness, why was he taken from me?"

She continued down the long aisle, ignoring everyone. Conversations were tuned out. Her peripheral vision blurred the closer she got.

Why did Bertrand insist on open casket?

Amanda swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. Her legs began to tremble along with the rest of her body. Each step in her black heels seemed less sure the closer she got.

"He looks good." She heard an elderly noble say. "Looks so natural."

Amanda wanted to contradict the earl. There is no way on earth he looks good! He's dead! Lying in a coffin. Nothing about this is natural! He was shot. Killed. Mowed down by a terrorist who wanted to destroy Liam and the noble family.

****************

Maxwell had been standing in the wrong spot in the ballroom. The bullet meant for Riley had been intercepted by Drake. Before anyone could react, Bastian and Riley helped get their wounded friend to safety. Then another shot was fired.

Amanda had stood there in disbelief when she saw the red spreading over Maxwell's crisp, white tuxedo shirt. His face revealed his surprise as he pulled his jacket open. His bright blue eyes met her hazel as he collapsed to the ground.

She rushed over to him, ignoring the screams and chaos around her. Her hands tried to stop the blood pouring out with each beat of his heart.

"No. Please." She pleaded over and over. "Maxwell, it's going to be okay."

He weakly set his hand over hers that were trying to hold Death off for as long as she could.

"Manda?"

She stilled as she looked at his pale face turning ashen.

"It's okay." He whispered. "Let me go."

She shook her head as a sob tore through her lips. "Please don't leave me alone."

He smiled softly. "You'll never be alone." Maxwell tried to take a deep breath. His eyes closed.

"No." Amanda whispered when his hand slid down to the floor with a soft thud. "No!"

Olivia found her there, hands still pressed to his chest. She gently pulled her away as the paramedics rushed over.

Amanda didn't think she would ever forget the image of him dying there, her hands feeling the final beat of his sweet and loving heart.

*****************

She stumbled near the front of the sanctuary, falling against the side of the third row pew.

She felt strong arms grip her, helping her stand upright on her trembling legs.

She looked over her shoulder to find Thomas Hunt supporting her.

Sorrow and pity were there in his face.

"Let me escort you." He said softly.

She nodded with more tears blinding her from such gentleness. Such concern.

He set his right hand at her waist while he held her hand in his left. He walked slowly with her the last few steps.

She looked down at her best friend.

She had lost so many people who she had loved. It was almost not worth the heartache to get close to anyone.

It wasn't fair. Why should she lose her family? Her best friend? Why?

"I'm sorry for your loss."

She was startled out of her despair by Thomas' deep voice.

He gently squeezed her close to his side. "I've lost loved ones but never one so young."

Amanda could only nod. What else was there left to say?

He looked around. "Where were you going to sit?"

She shrugged, unable to look away from Maxwell's face. "I don't know. I have to give the eulogy."

His eyes widened. "Are you certain you are able to?"

"I have to." She covered her mouth when she heard her the quiver in her voice. "I have to, no matter what." She tore her eyes away from Maxwell. "I never do well speaking in public. He--" she closed her eyes as more tears escaped. "He always helped me."

Thomas led her away as more people approached. "When you get up there, look only at me."

She opened her eyes and searched his. "What?"

"Focus on me. I want you to speak what you wrote as if you are talking to only me." He sat beside. "That will help you forget everyone else here."

She slowly nodded. "Alright. Thank you."

Thomas continued to hold her hand as the service began. He was a little surprised with his actions. He knew her from attending some of the same events they had been invited to. They were a little more than acquaintances but were not what one would call close.

And yet, when he saw her walk in, he knew she needed him. He had observed her friendship with Maxwell over the past year and knew she would be beyond hurt with his death. When he had heard about the events that unfolded at the palace that fateful night, she had been the one to come immediately to Thomas' mind.

When it was time for her to go up to the podium to deliver the eulogy, he escorted her, whispering to keep her eyes on him.

Neither of the two was certain how she managed to say the heartfelt words as tears silently fell down her cheeks. Her gaze never wavered from his, as if she knew the moment she looked away she would crumble.

Thomas remained by her side, holding her up much like he had in the cathedral once they reached Maxwell's final resting place.

Once the graveside service was complete, the two stood there as nobles began to make their way to the cars.

Thomas remained quiet as she took one last look at her friend's final resting place. With a deep breath, she turned away.

"Thank you for your..." She pressed her hand to her mouth as the tears began to fall faster. "Thank you."

"Where are you going?" He asked. He couldn't help but be concerned about her delicate state.

"Home." She replied. "I need to be alone right now."

******************

Unable to keep his thoughts off of her, Thomas decided to extend his stay in Cordonia. A couple of weeks went by, yet Amanda remained in isolation.

After speaking with Liam, he traveled to St Orella.

A somber butler welcomed him inside the large mansion the duchess resided in.

"His majesty informed us of your visit, Mr. Hunt." He led him upstairs. "We have a room prepared for you." His stoic expression saddened. "Her grace asks that you make yourself at home, though she will be unable to join you for dinner this evening."

"I understand." Thomas replied. "How has she been?"

Hudson cleared his throat. "Devastated, sir." He opened the door to a bedroom in the family wing. "She hardly eats or comes out of her room." He nodded down the hall toward the lady's chambers. "She says she needs rest, yet there is always a light on in the wee hours of the night."

Thomas eyed the closed door. "I'll see what I can do."

****************

Later that night, he knocked on her bedroom door. When he heard her tearful answer, he steadied himself then stepped inside.

She looked up in surprise. "Thomas!" She pushed the book aside she had been reading. "Is something wrong?"

He walked over to where she sat in the floor.

"Nothing's wrong." He replied. He eased down across from her. "I just wanted to see you."

She ducked her head from his piercing eyes. "I wish you had given me a chance to make myself more presentable." She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

His frown eased. "Don't worry about that." He glanced down at the book and realized it was a journal. "What are you reading?"

She bit her lip.

Thomas thought she wasn't going to answer him.

"It's one of my journals." She replied. "I have been going back to read some favorite memories of mine."

Thomas kept his attention on her. "What is one of your favorite memories?"

A slight smile tugged at her lips. She began to share with him times Maxwell had done something to help overcome her fears and uncertainties.

He listened, chuckling at her humorous anecdotes of life at court with Maxwell.

Amanda looked down after one bittersweet memory to see that once again, her hand was being held.

Thomas gently squeezed her fingers as he shared a few memories of his own about the fun loving noble.

For the first time in weeks, she laughed. It had a hollow sound, as if it had forgotten what happiness was like.

The pair sat in the floor for hours, talking not only about Maxwell, but also about others they had lost.

And Thomas still held her hand, offering unspoken comfort.

*********************

He was able to convince her to go for a walk the next day. Hudson and the rest of the staff felt hope return when they saw her willingly come out from her seclusion.

Meals were once again served in the dining room. There were no more hushed tones as the staff tried to help things return to normal or rather a new normal for their lady.

Worry over her lessened each day. There were no more muffled sobs piercing the silent hallways as she cried herself to sleep. No more lights left on throughout the night as she went through her shared past with her dearest friend.

Thomas continued to steadily draw her back into the world of the living. He noticed as the weeks went by that there were less tears when she spoke about times with her friend. Her memories were no longer shared with thoughts revolving around his death or funeral. She had begun once again to focus only on the joy Maxwell had brought her and their friends.

A bond had formed between the pair as Thomas helped her through this dark time. Though no one could ever take Maxwell's place, he had found his own spot in her heart, one he hoped would be his from now on.

It soon came time for him to return to America. His worry of her becoming depressed again was soon dispelled when she made plans for them to see each other in a few months. He couldn't help but smile as she teased him that there was no getting out of their friendship.

"I want you to come to California within the next few weeks." He took both her hands in his warm grasp. "I'll be working on a film, but I think you would enjoy seeing it come about."

"I would like that." She tugged him into a hug. "I can never thank you enough for staying by me throughout all this."

He held her close. "I wanted to." He cleared his throat while easing back some. Thomas tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, slowly smiling at her once more when he noticed her happiness. "If you need me for anything, I will be here as soon as I receive your call."

She kissed his cheek. The flush on his cheeks followed by his stammering made her heart turn even more tender toward him. With a final hug and promise to talk soon, he left with both their hearts lighter and filled with hope for the future.

#choices trr #the royal romance #trr #trr maxwell #choices #thomas hunt x oc #Thomas Hunt #thomas hunt rcd #choices thomas hunt #thomas hunt x amanda

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dakarimainink · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2

WARNING: None

I walk down the long hallway of the rebuilt estate of the Hellsing organisation. What was once a top-secret property, has now opened their doors to the public for people to get trained in combat, weapon handling and knowledge about dark creatures.

Sir Integra Hellsing know that when she passes away, there will be no one to truly lead the Hellsing organisation, except the government. This was her way of making sure the Hellsing legacy would continue – by opening a sort of school for people to become hunters. I had taken some time to learn how to become a hunter, and apparently, only a few were selected. The criteria – have a specific set of skills one could only be born with.

A set of double doors are open, and inside are people fencing. I note one of the people watching, dressed in a burgundy red uniform with a red writhing mass as her left arm – Seras Victoria. I have read about her, the second human to have been turned by Alucard. She was only 19 years old when she was turned. She had a tragic past and a hard upbringing. Now she was head vampire and the one to train the new hunters.

I watch as two people fence with grace. It’s almost a dance, but one of them is clumsier than the other. The footwork is almost to perfection and the movement like calm waves on the ocean. The fencing ends and they pull off their masks and one of them is revealed to be Integra herself. I look in awe as her long white hair flow down her slim body and her right eye shimmer in the bright ceiling light.

“Well done, Oliver, but you need to work more on your defence.” She points out as she shifts her weight to one side. “I believe you have quite the potential.” She adds before her eyes meet mine. I keep her gaze locked with mine, letting her know I am here for her. She gives me a slight nod. She turns to Seras. “Keep them training. I will be right back.” Integra makes her way over to me, assess my presence before gesturing me to follow her.

We walk in silence down the hallway until we finally enter a room to the left.

The room is open and high ceiling. The back wall has huge fixed windows, letting in the grey light from outside. In the left corner is dark red chesterfield couches, with a dark oak coffee table placed in front decorated with a bouquet of flowers. In the right corner is a small bar filled with all kinds of liquor and crystal glasses. The walls are decorated with huge framed paintings of different historical figures. In the middle of the room is a long dark wood executive desk with a lamp, a landline phone, papers neatly stacked, pens placed in order and a silver box with cigars. Behind the desk is a dark green executive chair.

Integra makes her way to the desk, places her mask on top and sit down in the chair. I walk over to the desk and wait patiently while she reaches for her cigar box. She pulls out a thin and brown cigar, places it between her thin lips, light it up with a golden lighter and inhales deeply. She breathes out the light grey smoke while taking in my form.

I feel her eyes etch into my skin, making me want to spit out words at her, but I know she is a respectable woman with high standards. It took me three years to get this interview and I am not planning on screwing this up.

The silence linger between us uncomfortably as she takes another drag from the cigar. The smoke makes me want to cough, but I supress it. She turns the chair a little, leans back and crosses her legs as she lets the cigar rest between her lips. Her eyelids are heavy, not from lack of sleep, but from the fact that she knows she can somewhat relax in this room.

“You’re from the London History Chronicle.” She says as she finally drags her eyes away from me. She looks absentmindedly at one of the paintings hanging on the wall. “You’ve been nagging me for the past three years for this interview. Why?” She adds and continues to look at the painting.

Nagging her? I mean, yes I have tried desperately to get this interview, but nagging you is a bit too far. And I have never been in direct contact with you, but rather your new housekeeper; Stella Cherrier.

I scan the side of her face. A brown patch covering her left eye from a gunshot wound that made her go blind on that eye. I can see a thin line of a scar peeking from below her patch. It must have been one hell of a shot, yet I have a feeling she didn’t even flinch. That’s the kind of woman Integra is, hard, unfaced, strong, relentless, cold and deadly. I know she could stare death in the eye and still not bat an eye.

“I have been studying and reading about what happened in London 31 years ago.” I begin to explain. “I even wrote I master thesis on the events. I want to ask y…”

“It was nothing more than just an exchange of bullets.” She cuts in, still not looking at me.

I bite my tongue. So she is one of them. “Just an exchange of bullets? I am sure the bill for rebuilding the whole of London would disagree with you, Sir Hellsing.” I lean my weight on one leg as I cross my arms. It makes her turn her head towards me. She looks at my posturing, she seems to dislike it. “I am also sure the three million people who died that night would also disagree with you.”

She narrows her eyes at me, before a smirk grows on her lips. She shifts in her seat, leans forward on her desk with her fingers intertwined. “I like you, what is your name?”

My eyes widen at her remark. She likes me? I felt rather cocky spitting those facts out, showing off my knowledge. I just spat at her and she likes me? I let my arms hang down to my sides and I straighten up. “I am Alessa.” I introduce myself.

She leans bank in her chair and take another deep drag from her cigar. “How much do you know of what happened 31 years ago?”

I scan her face. Is this a test or an actual question? Besides, I thought it was I who were going to ask the questions. “I know everything that is available in writing plus the rumours and fairy tales.” I begin to explain.

“And how do you know the distinction between what is true and not?”

“I go with my gut, my knowledge and what seems reasonable. I hardly believe there were actual angels during the battle, but rather the image of angels because of Iscariot the papal knights joined the battle on their helicopters. I also heard dragons interfered in all of this too, but I mean…” I glance at her grin as I speak. “Vampires and werewolves, that’s okay, but dragons? That’s a bit too far.”

“You would be surprised.”

I let out a gasp at her remark. My eyebrows shoot up as I stare at her questioning.

“But you are correct, no dragons exists. At least to our knowledge. Now you seem like a person who has a great deal of knowledge about what happened and more than enough information to write an article, so why are you here?” She places her cigar in the ashtray and leans forward on her elbows.

“I am here because I want to hear from someone who saw it all. Who was in the middle of it. Yes, there are some corrupted videos available, but you are the only human, as far as I am aware of, who saw and experienced everything.” I explain. She raises an eyebrow at me and I once again cross my arms in front of me. “And who is still alive.” I add.

She smirks at me. “Well then, Alessa. Please go ahead with your interview.”

I pull my backpack off, pull out my notes and my phone to record the interview. “I hope you don’t mind.” I show her my phone and she shakes her head. I start the recorder on my phone, places it on the desk and look at my notes.

I clear my throat. “When the vampire attacks leading up to the reveal of the Millennium, did you ever think it would be linked to something greater than just some random vampire attacks?”

“I had my suspicions, but vampire attacks are not that uncommon, we are just good at hiding it and cleaning up before anyone else sticks their noses in it. We know that humans are not strong enough or equipped with knowledge about vampires that they can fend for themselves, which is why we stepped up from the start. Wasting human lives and sacrificing them as ghouls is a fait I wouldn’t send upon anyone.” Her eyes fall to my phone and there is a twitch at the corner of her right eye. “The police has no knowledge or equipment to fight off vampires or ghouls for that matter. Which is why it is crucial Hellsing is the first to know about these kinds of attacks.”

“It this why you have opened up to the public to train new people?”

She looks up at me. “Yes. I have realised that family run businesses is a thing of the past. When I pass away, the government will take over. I know Seras will do a fine job leading everyone, but I don’t know what will happen to Alucard, as there are no heir to the Hellsing family.”

“What do you think will happen to him?” I am intrigued to know what she thinks. Her head must be filled with the most wonderful things imaginable, both dark and light.

“Who knows. Alucard is the most powerful being to ever exist and without a master, he might go rogue, find a new purpose, find a master within the government or clench his thirst for whatever is going on inside his mind.” She sighs out. “All I know is that the government will take over the Hellsing organisation and it is my duty to make sure the standard of our hunters are the best.”

I nod in agreement. I wonder how England would be without the Hellsing to protect us. Who knows how many creatures they’ve kept at bay by just existing.

“I read that you gave the command to Alucard to release all his powers, did you know what it entailed? From what I read about it; every soul he has ever consumed was released from his coffin and fought alongside him. It was described as a sea of dead souls.”

Integra lets out a chuckle and it somewhat takes me by surprise. “I knew what it entailed, but I had never seen it before. It was quite the sight. To see his raw power unleashed upon this world was almost frightening.”

I raise my eyebrows. Integra, scared? Sounds impossible based on everything I had read about her. She was calculated, strong and fearless. If she was somewhat frightened, who knows what everyone else felt.

“I remember as soon as my command slipped my lips, everyone, from all sides, attacked him. The Nazis and the Iscariot. They could feel the annihilation was about to wash over all of them. Their lives snuffed in a flash.”

“What did it make you feel to know you commanded such powers?”

She leans back in her chair and locks gaze with me. I notice she is chewing her inner cheek. “Responsible.” Is the only word slipping out of her.

My jaw lowers slightly as I am stunned not to hear the word powerful come out of her.

“I feel responsible for every innocent life lost during that night. This war begun because Alucard exists. I believe that if it happens once, it can happen again.” Her eye lower and I sense a hint of sadness. “And I don’t know which state Alucard is in now, considering what happened 31 years ago.”

“What?” I gasp and take a step closer to the desk. I can see she realise the last sentence was not meant for my ears. “What do you mean by state? What happened?” I ask desperately.

The stands up. “This interview is over.” She declares and press a button on her landline phone.

Within a second, a woman dressed in a black dress with a white apron – the housekeeper – enters the room. “Stella, please escort Miss Alessa out of the estate.” Integra commands with a calm voice.

I sigh, letting her know I dislike her decision to just throw me out. I reach for my phone, end the recording and put everything back in my bag. “Safe travels home, Alessa.” I reluctantly follow Stella out of the massive building.

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #original character #original female character #writing #ao3 #anime / manga #integra hellsing #seras victoria #alucard

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erikaf-94 · 4 years

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Everything’s Dark

When I open my eyes, everything's dark. I try to turn to one side, but for some reason my right leg hits a hard surface. I release a groan of pain, and I realize immediately that I’m not lying on a mattress, my back is supported on a sort of rigid table. Therefore, I'm not in my bed. I instinctively bring my hands forward, finding out that the space around me is surrounded by close walls. I start to move, touching everywhere, grasping second after second to be confined from every possible angle. The material under my fingers is irregular, fibrous. It must definitely be wood. «This can’t be real», I say aloud, fearing what I'm starting to believe. I force myself to remember everything I can of the past few hours. I had been with Nick, my new boyfriend for five months now, and we were drinking at the local club. It was roughly a quarter to eleven. Maybe almost eleven. I can't say for sure. We were talking about this and that, about our working day, and how nice it would be to organize a holiday in London for August. We were having fun, even though at some point I started to feel a little sick. From then on I don't remember anything. Only a vague sense of nausea lingers to torture my stomach. I must have had too much to drink, and fallen asleep. So where the hell am I now? To my great relief, I still wear the evening's clothes, a fancy black tank top and a pair of light jeans. On my feet I can feel my boots. Maybe it hasn't been long since I've been here, wherever here is. I decide to put my hand in my jeans pocket, where I usually keep the phone. Fortunately, that's where I find it. As soon as I unlock the screen, I instantly check out the time: it’s midnight sharp. After that, I take a look around, glowing everything with a soft, blue light. What I see is the worst nightmare of my life: I'm locked up in a fucking coffin. An old wooden coffin. My heart starts to accelerate, and with each beat the breath gets shorter. I drop the phone near my head and start screaming at the top of my lungs «HEEEEEELP!» My fists beat against the light wooden lid above me. «HEEELOOO? CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME? SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEEEASE! NIIIIICK! NIIICK, DO YOU HEAR ME? HEEEELP!» Even my feet start to kick violently against the immovable wood. I stop for a moment and stretch my ear against the surface. I don't hear any sound. No one answers. It's all useless. There is no one who can hear me. Warm tears run slowly down my cheeks, while my chest twists in despair. How is this possible? How on earth is this possible? I'm screwed. I gasp for the already little air that is in here. And now what should I do? What the hell am I supposed to do? There must be something I can do, besides tearing my vocal cords and scraping my hands. So I remember the phone. I pick it up and carry it in front of my face. Rapidly I unlock it and try to illuminate the bottom of the coffin, where I glimpse my bag in the corner with surprise. It seems to have been thrown away without regard, because it’s upside down. I want to take it, cause maybe I can find a clue inside, or anything else that allows me to remember some useful detail. I drag myself with my legs towards my goal, and I succed to grab it with my feet, so I push it higher, close to my thigh. I place it on my chest and take a look inside by lifting my head: there are my house and car keys, a notepad with a small pen, two protein bars, paper handkerchiefs, a mirror and a couple of cents tucked into a pocket. Not a shadow of the wallet. «What the fuck...» I murmur, sinking into total confusion. Who could have taken my wallet? Have I and Nick been robbed? What if the robber thought of locking us up in two separate coffins, maybe to get more money with a ransom, or something? What if Nick’s situation was worst than mine? If he was hurt, or even... No, I don't wanna think about it a minute longer. The phone lighting goes out. I unlock it again and check the battery level: six percent. «It ain’t real, it ain’t real, it ain’t real... It's just a bad dream, just a fucking bad dream.» I press with my thumb the address book, and without further thinking I choose Nick’s number. I have to wait a long time before an answer. «Nick? Nick, are you okay?» I blurt out without giving him time to say a word. «Nadia?» His voice is practically flat, although I notice a hint of disbelief. «Yeah, it’s me! Where are you, Nick? Are you okay?» «Oh, I'm doing great. Aren’t you supposed to be dead already?» A shot in the chest, that's how his words feel like. I can't come to terms with what I’ve just heard. «Was it... was it you who put me here?» "Who else, you filthy bitch? Jesus fucking Christ? You had no friends or relatives who cared about you. In your stupid meaningless life you only had me. What a pathetic waste of space.» Its tone, warm and welcoming until a few hours ago, now it gives me goosebumps. I realize that he has just used the past tense to speak to me. I start to cry, like I've never cried in my whole life. «Why did you do this to me? I thought we were in love!» I say between sobs, feeling extremely nauseous. «Well, you just need to know that I never loved you. And now, sweet dreams, baby. For good.» He hangs up on me. «NO, FUUUUCK!» I scream, hitting the lid once more and sticking a splinter in one of my knuckle. A trickle of blood slides down the back of the hand, so I bite my lower lip in pain and hold my breath, trying to remove the splinter from my flesh carefully. Then I grab a handkerchief from the bag, and press on it for a few moments. I cannot understand. Why would Nick do this to me? I've always been good with him. I don't deserve to die this way. I don't deserve any of this! And yet, instantly, I realize that I actually got screwed from the start. Nick never took me to his house. Nor did he tell me too much about his parents, or his friends and acquaintances. In fact, he never introduced me to anyone who was part of his life. Maybe he even lied to me about his job. He is right, my life has been insignificant for a very long time. When we met, I believed that he was the meaning of my existence. Loving him was my life purpose. What a fool I was! Maybe this is the perfect ending that a person like me deserves. I’m gonna die exactly as I lived: alone, helpless and far from the world. Suddenly the phone vibrates and distracts me from my depressing thoughts. The caller is unknown. «Hello?» I say, wondering who might call me this late. «Hi, is Nadia Putman speaking?» «Yes, it’s me. Who is it?» «I’m Natalie Holland, a secretary of the local police station. Ten minutes ago a woman brought us a lost wallet, which happens to be yours. Have you noticed a missing wallet on your bag, miss?» «Yes, I have. My boyfriend, or should I say ex-boyfriend, stole it from me and decided to put me in a coffin.» «I’m sorry, miss, what have you just said? He put you in where?» «In a fucking coffin, goddammit! Could you help me, please?» «Oh, okay, sorry to hear that. I’ll put you through with the deparment chief, Oliver Finch. Hold on a minute, please.» «I don’t have a min» I try to say, but she’s already gone. Seconds pass by, while I’m waiting on the line. I check the battery: three percent. Panic is making my heart race a little faster. I don’t wanna be delusional, but as they say, hope dies last. «Oliver Finch speaking. Miss Putnam, are you still there?» «Hi... yes, I’m here.» «Good. I was informed of your current situation, miss, and I want you to know that we’re going to make everything in our capacity to get you out of there, but first I need you to answer a few questions for me.» «I’m running out of time, sir! My battery is three percent, and I’m very claustrophobic. I don’t know how much air remains in here. I don’t even know where I am.» «Please, I need you to calm down. Take some deep breath, okay? We’re already trying to track down your phone’s signal. Now, to facilitate our job, you have to tell me what is the last thing you remember before finding yourself in there.» «I was at a club near the city, it’s called “The Joint”. I was there with my ex-boyfriend, Nick Allen, around eleven o’clock. We were drinking, I think he put something inside my glass, because I felt dizzy. Then, nothing more. Now I’m not even sure Nick is his real name.» «Okay, miss, you’re doing fine. We’ve just found a Nick Allen on our archives. He’s been in jail several times for theft, rape and attemped murder. He’s real name is George Frederick Clark.» «Fucking George, or Nick, or whatever! That piece of shit has just ruined my life. I can’t believe he fooled me that way. I was so stupid... so stupid!» I keep on sobbing, and I don’t care to wipe the water away from my face with my hands. «Nadia, I need you to focus. Do you know where he lives? It could be crucial for...» The phone is dead. I scream in frustration with all my strenght one last time. It was all in vain. Great. Perfect. I let out a sigh of resignation. Tears run copiously down my face, as I realise that this is over. That’s it. I’m gonna die here, unless the police has localized my GPS by some miracle. At least I’ve tried. At least I’ve lived more than certain people. Now, the only thing I can do is to wait. I’m not sure what for, the police or death. Either way, it’s okay. I’m gonna be okay. I’m okay. Then, I close my eyes, and everything’s dark.

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fanesavin · 5 years

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High Raj Avitej Sharma, First of his Name is laid to rest but the people’s voice rings out across the city. A new Raj must be found, and quickly before the city falls to chaos.

@thisbrutalbelle / @imviapassmeabeer / @faye-andrews / @ianncardero / @scarlettxruby / @mayaparker / @rydenbolt

THE ROYAL FUNERAL.

Even with the Queen of the Dead Woods injured after the assassination attempt in the Lower City, the Royal Funeral still had to proceed as planned. If anything, the incidents in the past few days almost demanded some distraction, and a big distraction full of gravitas and extravagance.

Where the first days of mourning had been silent murmurs among the people trying to pay respect for their beloved dead High Raj, by now the rumours, accusations, and paranoia flew around like paper in a windstorm. Some said that House Kesley was the only House that stood behind High Raj, and the other Houses were all behind his murder. Other’s say the Red Priestess tried to light the Castle on fire, and supported the Kesleys to rule. Some said all the Kesleys had been killed by the Inquisitor, and good riddance. Others said the High Inquisitor was consorting with witches - both in and out of bed. Some say he bribed the Knight Commander, others say the Forty Isles Heir Apparent and Ward Danian are in a plot to usurp the throne and send the High Inquisitor packing. The assassination attempt on the Queen of the Dark Woods factioned people in the Lower City. The damage to the buildings and to some of the commonfolk made the area of the attack a hotspot of fear. Some said it was cursed now, and burned any sight of plants in the area, causing an even larger fire to rage for a few hours. Some said they have seen the Darkness and now try to worship it too, and considered the werewolf soldiers their Holy Protectors. Others considered the attack well-founded, and beg for guidance from the Red Priestess and her god of Light.

But despite all these fractured beliefs and rumours, one shout is unified from the outside: A new High Raj.

The people needed order and discipline. They had hoped for it when the High Raj was first appointed. Their mids were still fixed fast on the necessity for someone, somehow, to guide them. An Inquisition was not there to rule, and the people had waited long enough for peace.

Despite their limited resources while stuck in the Keep, with the Forty Isles money and the Queen of the Dark Woods’ sense of ~aesthetic~, the day of the funeral was as ceremonial and grandiose as Prince Iann had urged it to be. It started in the Core City of course, through the Upper City, down the largest main street of the Lower City and down onto the Waytried Docks. The people gathered in droves. The Cloverry was in full presence, coin showering the streets of the Upper and Lower Cities in the wake of the large casket.

The call, as the Master of Whispers found out later, actually started in the Core City. It happened once the High Raj’s pyre was lit, and set to float on the calm ocean waves. As it floated away to the horizon, and the musical procession faded in sombre silence:

“A new High Raj. We need a new High Raj!” The call was picked up, spread across the entire Capital, shortened. “High Raj! HIGH RAJ! HIGH RAJ!!!” Bells tolled then, drowning them out: but the message was clear. The people were tired of waiting. They wanted - needed - a new High Raj, now.~

The priestess stood in her dark robes, a silent spectator to the funeral of the would be High Raj. While she did not share in the faith of most of the other mourners, the waste of life snd the violence in which it ended were proof that there was one god they would all meet: the god of death. Yet her lord had called her here for a reason: to bring the Unnamed Blade to The One. But she had not been told who they were. Not yet. But it would come. The Lord of Light always showed his presence. When the time was right.

Bella could not walk by any means, her body weak from the incident prior and her legs bound in bandages rather than their usual jewels, so another member of the families in the Keep loaned the Queen a horse to ride alongside the casket, the new aged wolf not departing her side, seeming to eye everything as the High Raj's body was removed from the keep to begin the funeral procession at the Core City and head outward. Bella was resistant to go but with so many guards and Royals this time she assumed her family would not be so confident.

The affair was certainly...strange. Bella was not aware of all the customs that the High Raj's people, or those of Bluesprings, and while she had tried her best to learn them a great did did not make sense. So when all waited for the body to come from the keep to begin the process, they were likely not expecting what came, the High Raj's coffin a hollowed out tree, carved along it's trunk with limericks in a foreign tongue of a song once sung about the High Raj before he had been appointed, jewels dug into it in many places. The branches of the tree had been manipulated and shaped into a crown, while where the Raj laid was made of moss, sprinkled with ground diamond so he seemed to shine beneath the evenings light. Of course it had to be done in the evening, for the true show to begin.

Iann stood by the Red Priestess. For once it wasn't a strategic or political placement. He merely needed a place to stand, and the Red Priestess happened to be at a good vantage point. If only so she knew she was noticed by at least one person in the crowd...so alright maybe Iann's choice was a little strategic. He couldn't help it; he was a Prince. Playing the Game was second nature to him. He nodded at her, then watched the Queen Bellamy assembled with the coffin. "Are you still here alone, Priestess?" Iann asked, quietly. "I see no other of your ilk here in the courtyard."

Maya slipped in among the nobles as the funeral procession was about to begin. Bellamy sat atop a horse near where the front of the procession would be. Among the crowd, Maya spotting Iann and the Red Priestess. Her expression tightened at the sight of the woman who had exposed her. But Maya knew better than to start an altercation at a funeral, especially with a priestess. Instead she made her way through the crowd, listening for any useful tidbits.

Ephram attended the gathering in the courtyard, standing a decent ways away from the actual bier created from the hollow tree. He'd attended a fair share of funerals in his own holding, most of House Pettaline having been decimated by war or the wasting sickness that had swept the East, but this was an entirely foreign entity. The state funeral of the High Raj, presented by the apparent Queen of the Dark Woods in her own style. It seemed like it would be prudent to be present, but not ... involved.

The Red Priestess didn’t look at the prince as he spoke to her. Her eyes were on the body of the Raj, so resplendent in the grip of death. She seemed slightly troubled, though she did not speak of it if she was. “I am never alone, Your Grace,” she said quietly.

Bella was not near the coffin by any means, as it was carried out of the building by guards and members of the Clovvery, placing it onto the carriage that would pull it Bella was merely observing with the rest of the royalty that would eventually open the gates and allow everyone through. She had no intention of being near the High Raj's body after last night. It was evident how the commonfolk saw her.

"Ah yes, your Lord of Light." He looked over at the funeral assembled in the courtyard, then thought about what happened to the Queen of the Dark Woods recently. An assassination, apparently who 'shone light like an angel' according to the accounts of the guards and commonfolk. He looked sidelong at the Priestess, wondering if that 'angel of light' belonged to her Lord. "I wish I had your faith, sometimes," he murmured. He spotted that no-longer-a-servant servant girl, and he thought about how people disparaged the Priestess for her actions at the Quiver of Houses regarding the girl. "Possessing lack of regret in one's choices, it would be refreshing."

“If they were my choices, perhaps I would regret them, Your Grace.” She had heard of the person that had attacked the dark woods queen. Heard the rumors. This was no act of her lord, however. Though no one had asked her opinion. “And why can’t you?” She looked at the prince. “Have faith, that is?”

"The sea is her own faith, Priestess. She's the only goddess I know how to worship. And she is unforgiving and fickle. I suppose I have a type," Iann said with a slight smile. A funeral might not be the best place to say bawdy things; but on the other hand a funeral was the perfect time. Seeing one's mortality in the stark reality, in the body within the coffin within that strange hollowed-out tree.

Maya stopped next to Lord Pettaline. She curtsied out of habit, "Good evening sir. If it can be called that." As far as she knew he had made himself rather scarce in the last few days.

"That she is. Though I hear her beauty is unmatched. Strange what men will do for such a creature that possesses both.” Wars had been fought for less, she knew. “Yet among all of us, all our gods and all our respective faiths... the god of death is the only one that comes right when you call on him.”

Ephram inclined his head to acknowledge the Lost Lady, mildly surprised that she'd approached him. "A good evening for at least some faction," he said, with a slight squint. "Unless the current rumour is that the killer acted alone. Seems unlikely to me."

"I always believed Death was a goddess," Iann countered, but gently and conversationally. He looked over to the Queen of the Dark Woods and nodded at Bellamy. "And the Death Goddess looks a little like her Highness over there."

Bella felt her wolf's gaze remain on the Prince and her own shifted to catch his nod. His hearing was better than her own but it was not safe for them to speak with one another here. The King, always in his wolf form, had intended to remain in the Dead Woods to keep it protected but when she had summoned forces he had grown nervous and hid among their numbers. To announce who he was would allow people to be aware the Dead Woods were relatively unguarded and they did not know who would be able to understand his words beyond her. Gently nudging the horse she moved over to the Priestess of Light, maybe others suspected her of what happened but Bella knew better at smiled at the two of them. "Thank you for your physicians yesterday, your Royal Highness," Bella offered, the wolf nudging Iann's palm as though to shake it.

Maya shook her head, "I think you're right. It's too complex to have acted alone." She looked around the crowd again, analyzing the expressions around them. "As for a good evening for some faction, I'm not sure I can agree with you there. I don't foresee peace even if the culprit is caught," she said. Of course, she never foresaw peace, at least not for long. Even if someone was appointed High Raj and smoothly assumed the position before long someone else would to take it.

The Red Priestess looked at the dark woods queen. She certainly could see how one might think of the women as something to be feared. And perhaps they should. “Perhaps Death /is/ a goddess. Or perhaps Death merely comes as what we perceive it to be. A thing of our own creation. Perhaps the sea is /your/ death, Your Grace. One day.” The Red Priestess dipped her head as the queen acknowledged her. “Your Grace.”

Iann drew in a long breath, a surge of pleasure washing over him like a wave. Not just at the way the Red Priestess turned his words so deftly and brought it back to the sea, but also at the idea of an honourable death at sea. "One can hope," he agreed, and he almost sounded warm, reverent. The Queen's horse came closer, and Iann was about to reply when he was genuinely startled by the feel of the grey wolf's nudge. He took a step back, staring at it as if to remind himself that it...was no mere wild beast. "How are you healing, your Highness? I'm appalled that assassin got so close to you to do such severe damage to your legs." Of course he didn't know the details of what happened, only that it happened.

Ephram angled his shoulder back, enough so he could regard Maya properly as they spoke. "I didn't think you'd have so definite an opinion about the politics of the thing," he said, a little coolly. "Aren't you dead set on remaining nothing more than a servant? Advisor to Lord Savin, is it?" With the close quarters and high tension of the past few days, the gentry hadn't had much else to do other than watch their backs, talk about their speculations, and share news of fresh developments. Ephram hadn't met Maya until now, but after the public display of her birthright, he along with everybody else knew who she was.

Maya shrugged, "Even servants have opinions, particularly when recent events might trigger another war." Most royalty she'd known never had any idea how much servants truly knew and heard. They rarely thought of them. Although so far the nobles around these parts paid a bit more attention. Or perhaps that was only due to the events of the last few days. "What of you Lord Pettaline? Do you see peace in our future?" she asked.

Bella looked over the Priestess, aware her King could not be so kind to her. Even if she didn't intend it her religion was the opposite and drawing near could drop his appearance when he was not capable of being shown now. "Fine Lady," Bella said, unsure how to address the Priestess. "The assassin did this," Bella lifted her jaw, showing the jarring and deep burn that cut across her neck. "I harmed my legs to summon my darkness, and my wolves came," she reasoned, aware the prince might find that idiotic. "I'm not a fighter, if no one came to my aid I'd have lost my head. I did not intend the destruction that came. I've heard from some of the staff that things are even worse now."

Ephram wasn't so easily shunted from his point once he got going, though. "Of course servants have opinions, and welcome to them," he said. "Everyone can and should think what they will." His blue eyes bored into her. "Not everyone has the opportunity -- the duty and responsibility -- to act on those opinions in a way that affects matters. And people. And the running of the Bluesprings, keeping us aimed towards peace in our future."

Maya turned more properly to face Lord Pettaline. She weighed his words, sensing perhaps there was something behind. She'd heard words like duty and responsibility before. Her parents used to talk of them often. "I want peace as much as anyone else here, but I am not so naive to not see war on the horizon," she replied, "But if you have something you'd like to say, sir, you may as well say it outright. There are enough secrets in this castle already."

Iann blinked, and looked back over at the coffin. "I've heard things are getting even worse, yes. But I've also heard that things are getting better." Depending on how one looked at it, of course. And Iann had a knack for turning bad into opportunity. And as a Prince, he sought opportunity for the good of many, not just himself. "Fear can engender belief, and an urge to hope towards something better. Perhaps this assassin of yours did us all a favour, your Highness." He motioned towards the gathering. "Shall we be proceeding soon? I believe the people are eager to see their lost High Raj for the last time, and to mourn him."

The Red Priestess smiled softly at the prince before turning to the darkwoods queen. She frowned slightly at the mark on the woman’s neck, and that she had had to harm herself in order to save her own life. Though she knew some things required blood and pain. “I’m glad to see that the coward did not succeed.” Though she did glance at the large wolf pressing into the princes palm.

"Don't call me sir. It's demeaning to both of us." Ephram's voice was flat, mirroring the look he fixed Maya with. "You're highborn, no matter how much you want to lay claim to being the voice of the smallfolk. It's shameful. The way you derelict your duty as the ruler to your people, it's cowardice. When you know very well that they'd welcome you back as their own, their Lost Lady." He jerked his chin in the direction of the High Raj's bizarre coffin. "In the presence of a man slain for taking up a responsibility that would have saved us all, your refusal to shoulder your birthright is unconscionable." Ephram's words had nothing to do with Maya personally, seeing as he didn't know her; but as a born noble himself, one who was scrabbling tooth and nail to hang on to enough power to do his best by his people, Maya's continued chosen servitude seemed base and self-serving.

Did not really want to leave the castle's protection, even if she suspected that nothing would happen it was the feeling that it could happen that made her wish to remain inside, evident on her face as she swallowed. "I suppose we must," she reasoned, looking over to the High Raj's form placed atop the carriage. He wore the finest of clothes, perhaps more grand than was appropriate for such an event but people outside the Dead Woods seemed to really enjoy the restrictions to their body so he had many. "I know, Priestess," Bella said, offering her own hand to the woman because her wolf could not. "What we worship are not lords that envision enemies in one another, we're two sides of a good, two times of day, perhaps we'll wander until morning and your Lord can join us," Bella smiled to her with assurances.

Maya's surprise at his command not to call him sir showed only briefly in her expression. It returned quickly to its stoicism though as he continued. "I would never claim to speak for all common folk," she said first. Chin still raised and expression calm, she took a moment to compose her next words. "If I am a coward then I am not fit to serve my people. What they want, what they've spun me into in legend is not who I am. I have never been cut out for power or the games required to maintain it. The best I can serve my people is to stay as far away from them as possible," she said, "Returning now would only result in bloodshed. I would not put them in danger again for my own pride."

“Perhaps we shall, Your Grace.” The priestess gave the deadwood queens hand a small squeeze. “One cannot exist without the other, as you say.”

The hard set of Ephram's mouth eased some as he listened to Maya's response. "Bloodshed, why?" he asked. "What danger do they face that wouldn't be helped by the return of the Lady who they thought taken from them?"

"You've done well arranging the details of this Royal procession, despite the stress you've had to deal with," Iann said, noticing the way the Queen looked over at the carriage. "It will generate the proper awe and reverence befitting our fallen ruler. Shall we, Queen Bellamy of the Dark Woods?"

"My homeland is not without a ruler in my absence," Maya replied, "A ruler who has already shown a willingness to murder for his own gain. And not everyone wants the Lost Lady back after all these years. I am better as a hopeful story than I ever would be as a ruler."

Faye wasn’t sure how she felt being among so many mourners. She didn’t know the Raj, yet his death was tragic enough that it bothered her greatly. Whoever had murdered him had done it purposely. In front of nearly everyone with even a modicum in the surrounding lands. The atmosphere was subdued, yet there was a tremor of something else underneath. Something Faye didn’t like. Not one bit.

Bella nodded her head firmly, swallowing as the carriage sat at the front of the closed gate, others lining up behind it and Bella nudging her horse to do the same. "I don't really understand how he looks so...put together," she spoke to the Prince as she moved, unsure if he knew. "I heard there was so much blood but when I was adorning him with herbs and ointments in preparation he looked perfect." He looked perfect now really, crown on his head, skin only slightly darker than he once was. Finally in line Bella rose her hand high and the guards opened the gate to begin their walk through the city and outward.

Ephram leaned back slightly, his lips parting in an expression of perplexed distaste. "You know that your people are ruled by a ruthless murderer, and you're content to leave them to his mercies instead of chancing being unwelcome by some? Gods above and below." He shook his head, directing his attention back to the funeral proceedings. "It seems to me, Lady Maya, that your story isn't one of hope at all, not to anybody involved. Not your people living in subjugation to a tyrant, and not to you, finding excuses to avoid returning home and attempting to be the sort of ruler who doesn't need to rely on murder and games."

Fane was late to arrive to the gathering, having had need to change and return to his typical appearance as those around the city knew him. He slipped through the crowds quietly so as not to draw attention to himself eyes relatively downcast. Solemn and lost inside his own head. He didn't have time to be here with everything presently afoot, but making an appearance was necessary nonetheless.

"I'm not sure, myself," Iann replied, walking alongside Bellamy's horse. "We on the Isles intern our dead to the sea." The Forty Isles, naturally did things differently when it came to their funerary procedures. No burying, no burning; only sinking. Sometimes it was as if the Forty Isles did things differently on purpose, just to show that they could do whatever they wanted. But Iann didn't like looking at the dead High Raj. Iann could stand drowned bodies, dead bodies, even those who die peacefully in their sleep. A body dressed so prettily was disconcerting, but not unfamiliar to Iann. "But he will be a sight to behold for the commonfolk; and this is more for them than it is for us."

Maya shook her head. The man sitting on her father's throne would not give up his power easily nor would anyone who had benefitted from from his rule. There would be a civil war. Of that much she was absolutely certain. "No one in my home land would let go of their power without a war," she replied, "Think me a coward all you like Lord Pettaline. The legend isn't about me anyway, it never was. I would not ruin it by returning." She curtsied again, "If you'll excuse me Lord Pettaline, I believe the procession is leaving without us."

"We let nature do what it does, we hold something but generally it has no body," Bella reasoned, supposing neither of them would know if he really did look strange then and allowed the peculiarities of his lack of injuries to move on. The High Inquisitor, she decided to trust, had done his job but the only people she actually felt anything akin to trust to were for the Prince and the Priestess, the Priestess had nothing to gain and if the Prince was the cause of the crime he seemed like he'd do a fine job running the Kingdom, everything he'd done to her so far had been very helpful. "I'm not sure if anything will calm them. Cruel things," she scowled, still hurt by the fact no one had even attempted to aid her.

Iann disagreed with her assessment of the commonfolk, but then he didn't see himself at their mercy nor was he interested in what they could do for him personally. They weren't cruel, nor were they kind. They were just people. And people could be manipulated and guided, like a school of fish. And from his privileged vantage point, he knew they moved en masse depending on the currents, the food, and the predators around them. Safety in numbers, stragglers and outliers beware. And their safety all depended on what Iann, the Heir Apparent of the Forty Isles, chose to provide them: currents, food, or predators. So he gently pat her horse's neck. "They are calmed for now," he said, as the sombre music started, and the gates finally opened. People were everywhere, crowded close; yet to Iann there was a sense of freedom. The Gates of the Keep were finally open and the Inquisition was finally giving the people something under their control. The power and effect of the grand, solemn sight of their dead High Raj was palpable. People gasped, murmured prayers, burned their papers, bowed, cried....it was magnificent.

Fane lifted his head as the music indicated the beginning of the procession, the pace was slow considering the weight of the casket being pulled and number of people following behind it. He found himself looking to the people as he passed them by. He owed them his service and his duty. The reminder was humbling, and Fane let his head dip once more. He heard Iann's words, and while he didn't respond outright found himself wondering calmed, perhaps, but for how long?

The gates opened and even though Faye was near the back of the procession, and knew that no one would like spare her a glance with the Raj and deadwood queen far ahead of her, she still felt a wave of fear. The masses pressed in on all sides, and Faye slowly pulled up the hood of her cloak, eyes cast downwards as she followed.

Bella frowned at the Prince, she still considered him the most logical heir to the throne but only because she felt ruling a Kingdom like this was not the same as ruling her forest. She had people who admired her, who supported her, who she supported in turn. No commonfolk here knew anything of royals so why would they help them. Her horse moving forward she decided she would ask the only person she knew would answer about the body, greying wolf following her horse as she did. "Inquisitor," Bella called to gain his attention upon her horse. She looked ridiculous, and felt it, with everyone else walking, but her legs were too damaged to walk. "May I ask you something?"

Fane was a world away. So many things brewing in his head, plots and conspiracies and what felt like a thousand and one expectations. One wrong word could be the difference between peace and all out warfare. Yet who could he trust to speak with on the matters weighing on his mind? When everyone was still a suspect despite his rapidly narrowing list. So he was a touch startled to hear himself being called, lifting his head he noted the Queen of the Deadwoods and he inclined his head in polite deference to her rank. "Your majesty," he moved a little to the side so that her horse might have a little more room to walk unimpeded. "You may," he was unsure what she might have to ask of him but he would answer to the best of his ability.

"I haven't seen a funeral since I was a girl," Bella offered as reason for her question, wondering what the Inquisitor assumed of her, especially after being attacked. She knew rumours were it was the Prietess' people, stupid rumours really, none assumed her family because of their high standing - at least not commonfolk, perhaps Royals who had interacted with them knew better. Aware of there puritanical reign alongside their own church Bella had been cast out from because of her sinful perversions. "How was the High Raj able to be returned to such a pleasant state. I heard there was a great deal of blood."

Fane had trained in the Guard, and had fought many battles against darkness and creatures that tainted everything they touched. Infected and infested, he had seen and survived evil and the young Queen who rode nearby was nothing like the evil he'd faced to the fringes of his lands. He was equally aware of the rumours, but as had been proven recently, they weren't always quite what they were cracked up to be. The question caused him to look ahead to the body, thoughtful in his consideration of the question he didn't know the full process but he knew aspects, "no one knows the entire ritual but I know you wouldn't wish to leave blood in a body regardless. They use a particular resin from what I'm led to believe it prevents the body from... hm... decomposing." He answered quietly, enough to be heard but not enough to disrupt the procession.

Bella frowned a little, "but shouldn't you still see his injuries?" she asked, not aware of anything beyond 'poison' being involved. So much blood and for it to be poison was strange but Bella was not aware of anything else. The procession moved slower as it seemed a collective on horses was trying to move about, causing people to step in the way of the High Raj's funeral. It merely slowed pace though, nothing was going to stop this. "I just don't understand how he looks so fine," she shrugged, becoming acutely aware this was only suspicious to her.

Fane looked aside to the Queen, "the injuries were only around his head nowhere else..." He didn't particularly think the funeral procession was the time to go into the full details of the excess blood being that from the cranial cavity and brain being punctured by the spikes when they emerged from the pressure-activated device built into the crown. Fane also didn't particularly wish to draw too much attention to the crown at present, considering the information he'd learned earlier today concerning it. "What isn't masqueraded by his hair was likely filled by wax to take the appearance of skin... But... When it happened his face was hm... sheeted with it. A relatively even distribution all the way around... Which would give the impression of there being more than there was." Plus, in the time he'd been collapsed on the throne there was enough time for it to pool out of the countless puncture wounds.

Bella became aware she was only irritating the High Inquisitor as he answered her question in line with practices rather than what she had meant. "I suppose I imagined so much blood would have affected him more," she said, dropping the topic, looking ahead of them to see if the fuss being caused would end soon and yet it only seemed to grow worse, not necessarily from the men but from the commonfolk. They were growing rowdier the further they got from the City's core. "You would know what was strange and what wasn't, I'm sure," Bella conceded, trying to remain calm as the flustering crowd made her nervous.

Octavia made her way through the bustling crowd. She needed to find her Queen- especially with everything that's happened the last few days. It took her only twenty minuted to find her, but Bellamy seemed nervous; even if it didn't show on her face. "My Queen, I am sorry it took so long for me to find you." She said giving Bellamy a quick bow.

Faye still walked with her head bowed and covered. The growing ruckus ahead wasn’t lost on her, and she wished she were back in the walls of the keep. But she kept moving ahead, hoping the guards and the somberness of the day would prevent any more bloodshed.

Bella Immediately the wolf at Bella's feet snapped aggressively at Octavia, not biting her but the strange stoic calm that the wolf had since it had entered the castle the previous night was gone. It seemed to even enrage some of the commoners, who unbeknownst to Bella had decided the wolves were somehow protectors. "It's fine, Octavia," Bellamy spoke calmly. She was not upset, she had left the castle knowing Octavia was asleep and had not woken her, by no means was it the Knights fault but if she showed too much kindness her husband would show more ferocity. "Stride the horse with me, things are getting frightful," she requested.

Fane was hardly irritated by the questioning, he had simply answered it to the best of his understanding of the question that she had asked. "I'm not sure I quite understand, you mean to ask why he looks as peaceful as he does despite losing that amount of blood? If that was your question... Then they tend to paint the skin some, so it appears more natural." But equally, he was distracted by the group of men ahead that seemed to be intruding on the procession. Fane glanced at a few of the crowds as they passed, dropping back to fall in along the outer side with a few of his men trailing his movements. A small act to create a barrier at least between them and the Queen.

Octavia: didn't flinch at the wolfs bark, she knew her mistress wouldn't allow her to be harmed. "Yes, M'lady." She said looking into the eyes of the wolf, willing them to understand that she is there only to protect. She took the reigns of the horse and climbed up, allowing to see the entire crowd from her place above. She had opted to wear her full armor that day, just in case anything were to happen.

Bella It was innocent of Octavia to imagine that Bella would protect her from the King, a kind thought but not true. He was her King and Octavia didn't even consider herself a member of the Dead Woods, if her husband wanted to harm her there was little she could do. Others? Yes, she would intervene but not her people. "Perhaps I just don't understand death as it is here, I was attempting, ungracefully apparently, to say, without saying in front of commoners, that he does not look himself at all, is that even him?" she asked more directly.

The commoners surged slightly towards the procession, crowding some of those walking. Faye stumbled slightly, catching herself on the side of the horse walking in front of her. The animal barey flinched, used to the commotion. But Faye was startled, and tried to push through the procession to get ahead to where someone she knew was walking.

Fane was visibly puzzled by the question at hand. Perhaps death worked differently in the Queen's realm he couldn't very rightly say. "Aye, that's the man... Doubt they'd put the wrong body for all to see." He turned a little to see Faye stumbling along looking more than a little bit shaken, "Lady Lacroy? Come, walk over here." There was a little more space around the horse at least, enough that you weren't being completely buffeted by people.

"I did not know the High Raj very well, I think I had only seen him a couple of times in person; but he does not look like the pictures they painted of him, at least." She said in thought. Octavia kept the pace of the horse with the procession, making sure to keep an eye on the rowdy crowd. Octavia nodded at Lord Savin, agreeing with his statement.

Seeing Lord Savin walking next to the Queen of Deadwood and her knight, Faye came over as quickly as decorum and nerves would allow. “Thank you...” she muttered, glancing at the Inquisitor and then the two on the horse. “I fear I might be crushed.”’

Octavia nodded at Faye, greeting her. "Lady Lacroy, I recon you'll be much safer over here." She said with a polite smile

Bella shrugged, they had made it very clear that they knew more than what Bellamy did when it came to this and that was fine, investigations would be left to the Savin man who had become focused on a woman Bella had seen once or twice but barely spoken with. "We can't stop the procession," she insisted of the funeral. Prince Iann had insisted this was what the town needed but the further out they pushed the more thngs became strange. Nature had begun to take over the area she had been attacked the previous day and fires were burning. The more they moved the louder their chanting became. "WE NEED A NEW HIGH RAJ!"

Octavia placed her hand on her sword, keeping it at the ready in case she would need to use it. "I am not sure they care much about the procession anymore, Lady Bellamy." She studied the crowds angry faces and watched as they pushed against the knights protecting the procession.

As they moved, Bella's eyes darted to the man who had cause the funeral slowed down. The darkness that surrounded Ryden called to her, immediately aware of what he was, finding it strange he was in human form. All the wolves she knew remained in their wolf form, perhaps the man even noticing the one wandering at her side, much older than himself. "We need to complete this," she insisted to her knight. They weren't hurting anyone, they were upset, they wanted a ruler, someone to make things calm again. "I can't summon my wolves, Inquisitor Savin," she noted, sure they would upset people. "Perhaps we should have the guards move people back as best they can without violence?"

Faye did her best to stay out of the way. She merely wanted not to get lost in the crowd of people if they surged to join the procession. But they were chanting now. So loudly that Faye could barely hear what anyone else was saying. She felt her heart beating wildly in her chest, and it took eveuosje had to put one foot after another and continue to follow the Raj’s body.

Fane was a tad concerned by the chant going up from the crowd, it didn't bode well. His features tightened a little and he glanced back at the others in their small band. "Stay together," with this said he stepped out a little to the side moving to walk with the guards patrolling the perimeter of the procession. Moving to one of his commanders he instructed quickly, "lock formation and draw out on my command, give us some space but do so slowly, we don't wish to start a riot." He moved his way through to several different men in the group instructing the same and once he was sure they all understood. With their eyes in his direction he gave the signal, and they took up the call to their men who drew a tighter formation locking their shields to form an effective barrier and slowly create some more space in the street so the procession may continue.

Bella felt a tremendous level of relief as Fane gave out direct commands that she would have no idea how to give. Usually she was working with a different assortment of soldiers. Not this kind. "Thank you, Inquisitor," Bella said with relief. The crowds were still there but there was some distance between them now. "Did any of you notice that many with his horse?" she asked, "Has he been here since the coronation?" To have so many men with horses he could not have been a commoner, not even Bella had horses, the one beneath her loaned.

Fane returned back to the side of the Queen and the entourage with whom he was a little more familiar. The Queen's question had him looking back over his shoulder but by now the man's back was turned and Fane couldn't rightly make out any visible house sigil. "I don't think so, but then again there are countless people in the castle..." it wouldn't have been hard to overlook one. That being said he turned his attention back ahead, "I don't think it's much farther to go," he said equally thankful for the fact they wouldn't have to be out in the crowds for very much longer, they had a little more room to breathe now. Regardless he kept a vigilant eye on the crowds.

"What shall we do to return however?" Bellamy asked, realising she had rather back them into an awkward spot trying to get her sole job for the day done. "I did not think this through," she let out a heavy breath, eyes turning to the man. he had done well enough to make them through, turning seemed dangerous. The commoners would not harm the Raj, the guards doing there duty. "Do you know a way back to the castle that might not be so awful?" she asked him.

Fane considered the question at hand, going back the way they had come would be the easiest answer. The roads were open and afforded them the ability to maintain guard. "With the amount of people filling the streets and what occurred yesterday... I'm not sure it would be wise to chance short-cuts," Fane cautioned warily, "there are some routes but with you astride it would be difficult to navigate. Let us see the Raj's body delivered for his rites of passage. Without the body we should be able to make a quicker journey back than we did on our way down."

"Without the body I worry they won't be so kind," Bella admitted. The body was already being set off for it's final passage, the collective of people in the march beginning to turn. "I would not usually ask this but will you please join me?" Bella asked, meaning upon the back of her horse. The fire about the place and the hordes of commonfolk who yesterday had ignored her attack was making her fearful and if they had to turn back Bella did not want to feel as helpless as she had.

Fane looked up at the queen as she made her request, it didn't seem proper considering her rank but he would never outright decline the request equally not wishing to leave Faye behind. So, Fane did what he tended to do rather well in times like this and thought on his feet, glancing back over his shoulder to where a couple of the horses that had been pulling the Raj's casket were now being walked back an idea coming to him. "One moment your highness," Fane backtracked to secure the reins of one of the now spare horses before mounting the horse, he was rather lightly armoured by comparison to his typical dress so it wasn't as hard as it might otherwise have been. Trotting back he fell in on the outside of Bella's horse slowing he held a hand down for Lady Lacroy to help her up. The guards pulled in tighter, a more secure formation around them. He glanced over at Bella to ensure she was well enough "a slight faster pace then? If that suits?"

Faye wasn't sure what was about to happen. But the smoke and the growing chaos was not helping the situation. People were growing bolder as they walked, throwing things from afar that hit the shields of the guards that had spread out to ease the passage of things. When the Deadwood Queen called for Lord Savin to join her on her horse to help navigate the crowd, Faye felt a flare of her own fear. But it wasn't but a moment or two before it seemed the Inquisitor had another plan in mind that would hopefully alleviate the Queen's own fear and get them to all to safety faster. As Fane held out his arm for her, Faye hesitated only a moment before clasping his forearm with her own and letting the horse's own momentum swing her up behind Fane. Her arm wrapped his waist and she slid forward securely so she wouldn't be jostled.

The Red Priestess had folded into the procession with the others, walking without fear or judgement. The people were hurt and angry and fearful. Of course they would feel the need to show their frustrations to the lords and ladies meant to protect them. The unease bothered her not. And when the Raj's body had been delivered and the last rites begun, the priestess said her own silent prayer to the Lord of Light, and stood until it was proper to leave.

Fane's action were far more appropriate and gave Bella the same comfort that she was needed, even more relieved when Lady Lacroy joined. The more of them the less daunting it all felt. "Thank you both," Bella said to them, looking to the Priestess as she made her prayer. They could made it back now, she was sure of it, picking up pace on her horse.

Fane helped Faye up, it didn't take too much for her to be settled behind him nor did it impede them much. The Inquisitor didn't feel much need to be thanked for only doing the action that seemed both most appropriate and correct in the given situation. He was sworn by a binding oath - unrelenting and unending as the day it was first crafted and while he no longer served among the ranks as a footsoldier. He was bound to it regardless. Still, he dipped his head a fraction in acknowledgement to the Queen's thanks, "welcome majesty," with that said the group and guard set off at a faster pace. The crowds parted at the sight of the nobles and their escort as they made the return journey to the castle occasionally he would glance over at the Queen keenly aware that she was still injured and not wishing anything to happen to her. As the castle rose into sight he exhaled, "almost there m'ladies," he said addressing both women in his company.

Entering the castles courtyard the gates were quickly closed behind all those entering, Bella's wolf running beside her horse. Relief washed over her, a strange feeling since buildings had rarely given her that sort of feeling before. "What are we to do?" Bella asked them as a guard helped her off the horse and into some crutches. "They are calling for a King, the houses need to be called," she decided, looking to see if they agreed.

A guard approached Lord Savin as soon as the gates had shut behind the quartet. "Pardon me, milord, but Maya asked for your presence straight away in the Great Hall. There are men here to see you."

Fane circled his horse the gates shutting but not silencing the calls from outside, drawing his mount to a halt he remained seated for a moment. "Before a Raj is chosen I have need of speaking with the Prelate... There are still too many loose tethers..." And Fane worried that in not having them all gathered would prove to a far worse outcome than not. He was just dismounting when the guard approached, and Fane looked at him with a weary gaze. "I'm sorry, you'll have to inform her I'm indisposed with business concerning the welfare of the Capital..." Even with the gates shut the chants echoed.

"Perhaps Lady Lacroy and I can help them?" Bellamy suggested, looking to Faye. They had standing, maybe they could be of help to the woman. Bella not aware yet that the once servant girl was now more than that.

Faye looked at Fane as the Queen suggested that the two of them assist the men calling for him. Faye didn't know how much help she would but, but if the Inquisitor asked if of her, she would do her best.

Fane gave a slight nod to them both hoping whoever needed to speak with him wouldn't mind a delay. Unfortunately, there were matters more important that a wayward individual wishing to speak with him.

-----

Ryden had not seen this many people congregating in... well, never. Dyrerow was a small piece of land, with first neighbors far apart by acres of frozen earth. Whenever the lording house he was now the heir of held any gathering, people came only if the weather didn't stop them. Which meant that the halls of Balcaster castle were half-empty at best, at any given time. He'd thought that more than twenty in the same dining hall were a throng and it came as a surprise that the world had THIS many people in it. Everyone and their grandmother had come. And apparently, all of them had ten grandmothers each and they brought them all.

Very few of his men had followed Ryden on this journey - only the bravest and most daring. One man he had lost on the way, but that was considered lucky. Strong and enduring as the people of the far North were, the journey had been perilous and the road did not spare them. Yet here he was nevertheless, trying his hardest not to gape at all the wonders of the capitol. And also trying not to melt. The fur cloaks they wore were now a hindrance, if not at least a peculiarity in their obvious unkempt state that added to these newcomers' savage appearance. They guided their horses down the maze of cobbled streets, breaking out and right into what seemed like an even larger clusterfuck of people, moving in some sort of endless procession, like a caterpillar of humans just wiggling through forever. Ryden reigned his horse, who'd be more spooked if it wasn't practically dying of heat, and signaled his men to come to a halt. By their faces, he noticed they had even less of a clue on what was going on...

Maya followed the procession in silence after leaving Lord Pettaline. She listened mostly to the whispers and murmurs among the gathered crowds. Her attention was drawn therefore to a sudden group of newcomers in heavy coats. There weren't many of them, but they did look weatherworn and a bit dogged. They were from the North, no doubt. She made her way easily through the crowd to stand in front of the leader's horse. "Pardon, sir," she said, "I'm going to have to ask you to dismount."

A voice drew Ryden's attention, speaking in the common tongue Ryden was very familiar with but chose not to use this time. Accent heavy, the peculiar dialect of the far North could be very difficult to decipher, unless spoken slowly. "Eh? What's it sound to me is yer askin' ta be trampled o'er. I wound nae recommend it. It 'urts a lot." His men behind him had given a little chuckle to that - their lord, although unfitting, his ways questionable, was most definitely of the entertaining, funny sort sometimes.

Maya was lucky enough, if one could call it that, in her travels that she could make out the man's words through his accent. Although not without some difficulty. She raised an eyebrow when she did work it out. There were a lot of witnesses about to actually injure her, so she didn't feel any of the fear that she might've. "I've had worse," she replied, "And I think, this many witnesses, you'd find yourself clapped in iron, which wouldn't be comfortable either." After a brief pause, she added a very subtly sarcastic, "Sir."

"Pfff, I ain't no sir." Seeing that she'd understood him perfectly, which was quite a surprise if he were honest, though not enough to take him aback, he dropped the dialect of his homeland to something easier to follow. "And by sayin' that, obviously ya ain't no lady either, so since we're kinna equal on that I don't see why I shoulda listen to ya." His face darkened then, casual tone evening into a deep, emotionless baritone. "Git, I have no interest in you." He turned the horse around, guiding it past the procession, to the High Raj's castle. After all, this was what he was here for. Not to walk in line with a bunch of rude folks who liked their strolls more than manners.

Maya It was not the first time today that someone had told her not to call them sir or claimed that she was their equal. It didn't feel quite as strange this time though, seeing as the newcomer clearly thought she was just a servant. It didn't escape her notice either that he'd dropped his accent, for the most part. Interesting. She huffed a laugh though when he told her to 'git.' He then turned his horse around. "If you're looking for the High Raj you're going the wrong way," she called after him, "I would've told you if you'd dismounted, but you just nearly walked your horse into his funeral procession."

That had given the northman pause. Turning his horse back around, he returned to the woman and dismounted. "What did ya say? He's dead? What sort of a lord dies so soon after becoming one? Ya'll picked a sick lord to rule the world?" He was visibly puzzled.

That seemed to get the newcomer's attention. He turned the horse back around, walked it over and finally dismounted. "No, he was..." Maya glanced behind herself to see if any of the commonfolk had followed her down the alley, "Perhaps we should find somewhere to speak privately. You've missed a great deal," she was about to call him sir again, but decided against it, "I'm sorry. I don't actually know who you are, other than that you're from the North." She paused, her brow furrowed in thought. There was only one House from the North that no one had seen in years. It seemed a silly guess, but she made it anyway. "Unless, has House Balcaster finally decided to open its doors to the outside world again?" she asked.

Ryden frowned at the woman, confused by her request. Speak privately? She was either a whore then or a thief, looking to take the opportunity to drag him to a dark alley to earn a bit of coin. He had been warned of the likes in the capitol, where there were many dead ends to corner a person in and rob them of their belongings. He was about to turn away again, engage any of the commonfolk to give him the same piece of information with a lot less fuss, but then she'd actually recognized who they were. "Are ye of the North as well?" He answered her question with one of his own, because it added up. She'd understood him earlier and now recognized his banner.

Maya certainly wasn't thinking of robbing or sleeping with him. Her concern was maintaining the secrets she'd been sworn to in the castle. "I'm a s..." she paused. She was no longer merely a kitchen girl in Lord Savin's house. She wasn't entirely sure if she would still be in his employ when all this was over, but for the moment she was a bit more than a mere servant. "I'm an advisor to Lord Savin of Blackspire," she said.

Finally something that rang a bloody bell in this gloomy silence. "Take me to yer lord, then." He asked, eager to speak to another northerner, a person he was more likely to trust in this strange, new world.

Maya turned over her shoulder to see Lord Savin passing with Bellamy, the knight Octavia and Lady Lacroy in the middle of the funeral procession. "I'm afraid that's him, quite in the middle of something," she replied, "We can make our way to the castle and I can explain everything there. Away from prying ears. Once he's returned to the castle I'll be happy to get you an audience with him." She wasn't entirely sure Lord Savin would be able to make time consider all that was happening. Of course the appearance of House Balcaster after all these years was no small matter.

"Nay, now." Was what he'd simply declared, leaving his horse with his men and walking in the direction of the man this woman had pointed out.

Well, there went any sense of discretion. Maya could hear people start to chant. Hoping to at least lessen what she was sure would be the ensuing chaos, she grabbed the man by the arm, "The High Raj was murdered sir. And I really don't think it wise for you to walk into the funeral now to learn about it from the man serving as High Inquisitor."

She'd grabbed his gloved had, effectively catching him by surprise and stopping him for long enough to listen to her words. Frown never leaving his expression, he glanced back over to the man she'd pointed out before he lost him to the crowd, noticing who he walked with. It made a shiver run down his spine despite the sweat under his winter clothing. The crowd around them was getting rowdy, their chanting intimidating when done in such numbers.

The High Raj was murdered... No wonder unrest was brewing. Irked, he spat on the ground, backing off. The moment passed anyway - the man was gone down the procession. "City folk and yer titles. Whatever they're good fer." He shook her hand off, returning back to his men. "I will slit yer throat should ya mislead me." He warned in a low, blood-chilling whisper and left her to mount his horse so they may go where she would be more willing to talk.

Maya breathed a sigh of relief when the man didn't insist on marching out into the middle of the procession. "It's a force of habit," she admitted taking her hand back, "I was a kitchen girl until about twelve hours ago. In addition to the fact, I don't actually know your name. Unless you'd prefer Lord Balcaster?" She showed and felt no fear at his threat. "Good thing I'm telling the truth then," she said as she mounted his horse with a little help. Once he was on as well, she guided them all the short way to the castle

Gods this woman was talkative... If everyone on these streets talked as much as she did, how did anyone get anywhere on time? "... Ryden." He muttered out, because he hated being called Lord Balcaster the most. "Ryden Bolt." The last name one given to bastards of the region, fatherless sons with no one to claim them. He was still reluctant to change it. Because his father died before he could even think of acknowledging him. He was also pretty sure he didn't even know about him while he was alive. He followed her instructions and got them to where they were supposed to go.

Maya nodded when he gave his name. "Maya," she replied. Soon enough they were within the walls of the castle. She dismounted in the courtyard, knowing that it would be the best place to intercept Lord Savin and introduce Ryden. "The High Raj was murdered in the middle of his coronation. By his own crown no less. Venom from some snake. Lord Savin has been named High Inquisitor and, well, we're still not sure who's responsible. But that he was murdered is a fact that hasn't left the walls of this castle, which is why the secrecy. Hope for peace and all."

He didn't care for her name but he supposed it was better than hey, you. He dismounted after her and left his men at the entrance to the courtyard to wait on him. The information she had to provide had him listening with a quiet focus. If what she'd said was true, it sounded like witchcraft to him. "Who disagreed to his becomin' the High Raj the most?" Not that a name or a house would mean much to Ryden. He'd barely gotten half of them memorized.

Maya considered his question for a moment. It was the very question that they were trying to answer. "Several houses and I'm not sure I'm at liberty to mention them by name," she said, "That'll be a question for Lord Savin when he returns. It shouldn't be long now." She also didn't feel like she had enough information to accuse anyone. It wasn't her place. "Would you all like something to eat while you wait? It's a long journey from Dyrerow."

Ryden crossed his hands, looking away in thought. What did all of this mean, especially for him? What was he supposed to make of this? How to proceed from here on? They've journeyed for so long only to find the High Raj dead and on his way to whatever afterlife his religion had him believe in. Coming out here was supposed to give him more answers, not confuse him further. When she'd offered food and rest, he glanced over his shoulder to see his men shift awkwardly on their feet. They surely needed some rest desperately... Not only was the road from Dyrerow long, but also terribly dangerous. "Fine." He agreed, motioning his men over. "Where are the stables?"

Maya waited for his answer. She stood as she always did, chin up and back perfectly straight. After a moment, he agreed. "Daniel," she said to one of the servants who'd come out, expecting them to be the funeral procession, "Please ensure the men's horses are seen to and if you could ask Annabella to send something up from the kitchen for these men?" Daniel nodded, "Yes miss." She made a face, causing Daniel to laugh before saying, "Yes Maya." She turned again to Ryden, "This is probably the best place to wait if you wish to speak to Lord Savin directly." She hesitated and almost turned away. But stopped herself and gathered the courage to ask, "Why now? Lord...Ryden, why rejoin the Quiver of Houses after all these years? If I may ask."

Ryden glanced at the woman... Maya, that is, raising an eyebrow. Why was a curious question to ask. "Why not and what's it to ya to know?" He waved one of his men over to see that the horses were taken after, the rest following him after the servants and Maya herself, to where they may eat the promised bite.

Maya shrugged, "Only curious." She walked with them to the Great Hall for food, leaving word with one of the door guards to send Lord Savin to them when he arrived.

It was hard to not let his marvel be noticed on his expression as he walked into the Great Hall of the palace, big enough to fit three great halls of Dyrerow. The long table could probably fit an army for a light snack. Must be very hard to warm up such a large open space but then again, Ryden couldn't imagine snow falling here. Right now, he was missing the chill. It was too hot to breathe even inside. Him and his men took the seats at the far end of the table, waiting for the food to be brought to them, all glancing about curiously except for their lord, who did a very good job of acting indifferent.

Maya wasn't exactly sure what to do once they'd entered the Great Hall. Up until yesterday she would've stood politely at the side while they ate. But today was not yesterday. Luckily Annabella arrived shortly after they did with food enough for all of them. Maya thanked her before sitting, although several seats from Ryden and his men. She opened her mouth to say something about the lack of a proper welcome, but shut it again. For one she didn't think he would be much impressed by a proper welcome. For another it wasn't even her sort of master's fault there wasn't one. Instead, she lapsed into silence. At least for a moment she could relax. None of these men could be responsible for the High Raj's death, meaning she didn't need to watch them carefully. For a moment the careful stoic mask slipped off her face revealing her exhaustion.

The moment the food arrived, all four men were just sitting baffled, looking at the plates they were offered. They exchanged looks between each other. Seemed like they hadn't expected... food this unusual. Not that any at the capitol would find it unusual. But when you mostly survived on wild game and hardly anything else, it was odd to see things like strawberries in cream and boiled vegetables. Ryden was overjoyed at the mere smell of beetroot broth and rabbit stew. Those were delicacies. These things were... suspicious. One of his men braved to take some straight off the plates they were served in, bot bothering with eating utensils. After a tentative bite, he nodded his approval and others followed suit. They didn't look hungry. But when they have started eating, it became apparent that they were famished. They ate with no table manners. Even their lord didn't care for a fork, although he seemed less interested in food and more in eating just to have something to do while he waited.

The Red Priestess found a way back the great hall eventually, looking sombre as ever but almost relieved that it was over. Now that the Raj had been laid to rest, the choosing of another could continue. Entering the hall, she saw that she was not the first to return. The Lady Parker and a host of men she did not immediately recognize were already seated. The priestess knew that the girl most likely had not appreciated her lineage being outed, but it had not been up to her. Perhaps with time Lady Parker would come to see that hiding what you were only caused more sorrow and grief in the end. As she came closer, the priestess' expression became more curious. The men were northerners, that much was certain from their dress. There weren't many Lords that lived in the ice and snow, and Lord Savin was already here. "What brings the Lord of the Frozen Wild this far south after so long?"

Maya didn't so much as raise an eyebrow at the men's lack of table manners. She was long since used to eating with servants who usually couldn't be bothered with manners by the time they got to eating. For her part she did use a fork. Still it was nice to be silent and unconcerned about how she appeared for at least a little while. After a sip of wine she breathed a sigh of relief and sagged her shoulders. The moment the doors swung open though her entire demeanor went rigid again. She stood, but was surprised by the Red Priestess instead of Lord Savin. A quiet fire lit behind her eyes. "I take it you know Lord...Ryden of House Balcaster already. Naming people does seem to be your area of expertise," she said.

Ryden and his men looked up at the approaching figure, too oddly dressed to be a noblewoman, with a grace of someone mysterious and holy. He was introduced before he could do so himself. Leaving their food for a moment, they regarded the priestess in quiet, neither's gaze less suspicious than the other. "Yeah, there's this prophecy, yanno, when the Lord of the Frozen Wild comes, skies will rain shit. I'm here to see the spectacle." The bastard lord spoke, no small amount of sarcasm in his tone. It was odd, everyone here was a curious midwife, wanting to know all the gossip.

"I give no one a name they do not already possess, child." The priestess gave Maya a soft smile, though her eyes searched the younger woman's face, not missing the flicker of something in her eyes. "And yes. I know of House Balcaster." She gave the Lord Ryden a bow, the side of her mouth rising in an amused smirk. "I shall remain indoors then, m'lord."

Whatever the case Bella followed the door guard to the Great Hall, wolf at her side, when she entered she saw Maya, the Priestess and the werewolf in his human skin at the table. The woman's eyes moved over him, up and down she tried to recognise him but could not. There were few ways to become a wolf, entering the Dead Woods one, but if that were the case she'd have known him. "Inquisitor Savin needs to speak with the Prelate, I came instead," Bella announced.

"Possessing a name and wishing others to call it are not the same thing," Maya replied in a tense tone. She glanced back at Ryden when he mentioned a prophecy. She didn't think he was entirely serious about the contents of it. But there were enough legends and stories around his lands that she didn't doubt the existence of a prophecy. Before she could comment on it though Bellamy walked through the doors as well. "This is Queen Bellamy of the Dead Woods," she made introductions as she would've if she were a servant still, "Ryden from the North."

Ryden grunted out inarticulately, going back to his plate for now. From a corner of his eye, he was glancing at the woman in red. He'd heard stories of women like that. Witchcraft, all of it. When another had walked in, Maya introducing her, Ryden's entire body froze. He stared at his plate for one long, tense moment before looking up. Steel-colored eyes locked on the queen as she walked in, and he slowly rose, along with his men, seemingly to pay respect.

"The North," she nodded, knowing of a few ways a man in the North could become what she could feel vibrating off his skin. The wolf at her side seeming to sneer at the man. The wolf by her did not know as much as Bella could run through her mind but it did smell it's own wearing human flesh and felt betrayed. Fortunately Bella's fingers came to the wolf's snout and ran over it gently. "Very very far North I would imagine," she mused, looking to Maya, grateful for the respect his men showed. "What was it you needed Inquisitor Savin for?" Bella asked Maya. "Or did you need him?" she turned to Ryden, golden eyes meeting his own that contrasted with hard steel.

Maya glanced over at the sound of scraping chairs. Ryden and his men had stood up to apparently pay respect to Queen Bellamy. Something they hadn't exactly done for the Red Priestess or one might argue for her. After all a threat to slit a women's throat wasn't exactly respectful. She sat again, nodding towards Ryden. He was the one who had wished to speak to someone with more authority than her and evidently he considered Queen Bellamy one of those people.

"Aye, I needed him." He walked around the table, his men exchanging questioning glances but not following. When he was close enough to the Queen, he gave a surprisingly graceful bow for one clothed in fur and travel-strained leather armor. He'd offered to take the queen's hand to kiss it, the formality done with much care.

Bella looked over Maya and the Priestess, wondering if they were still upset with one another. The last she recalled they were upset about something but Bella did not quite hear or understand what. Injured still from the evening before she extended her hand easily but the weight on her damaged legs felt unbearable as she did, the gesture was the most respectful she had received so far however, and she did not want to ruin it by showing her pain. "Help me to a chair, Ryden," she requested, feeling as though his title had been lost in his introduction. "Is there a reason none of us here can help?" she asked, the Priestess certainly had some skills and Maya was close enough to the Savin man that she surely knew some.

Maya sat back down. She did cast one last look at the Red Priestess, wondering if she, like Lord Pettaline, would implore her to take up her supposed birthright. Unlike when she was alone with Ryden and his men, she sat up perfectly straight again with a perfectly stoic expression. "I filled him in on the basics of what has happened," she mentioned. She didn't say that he had desired to speak to another man of the North. That was his to say if he desired to.

He'd helped her to the table readily, a strong support to her light weight. When she was seated, he spoke, words more tempered than usual. "The dead can't be brought back so there is no helping that. But I've heard many things about the Queen of Deadwoods. I am hopeful now that some light might be shed on the happenings I've encountered 'ere. I'd rather hear it frem yer mouth, now that I see yer attendin'."

There was an odd cunning to his eyes, not quite scheming but nevertheless intense. He was being careful in addressing the queen, for reasons that surpassed politeness.

Bella looked to Maya when he said he'd rather hear it from her, she assumed both of them knew that it really was Fane, at least currently, who had the most information about what was happening and Bella didn't doubt Maya had said all she knew. When she finally looked back to him he held a gaze she didn't quite understand, rarely encountering people with motives beyond their words. "Even so far in the North, I suppose my wolves roam further than I was aware," she smiled, her own eyes searching for whatever was in him that made him part of the darkness she worshipped. "We're not completely sure, the Inquisitor and the Prelate are speaking now, so perhaps something has developed. So far as we know the King was...assassinated," she stated plainly, knowledge not shared with those outside the castle. "There was talk of witches being involved and the Kesley family but I'm unsure of what that came to, perhaps Lord Savin's ward knew more," she offered, her hand reaching out for his, intent to feel whatever was running through him and place it's origin. "Did you come here to pledge some allegiance or -" but she was cut off because the moment her fingers grazed his skin she felt the curse running through him. It was a perversion of her darkness that grazed his flesh, something she had not felt but had heard rumour of. Her fingers withdrew immediately, eyes moving to the Priestess, wondering if she felt anything strange about him. "Or - or," she stuttered out. "Or to me?" he joke finally came but it fell flat having taken so long to be voiced.

#// and another one xD #got scene

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thatlesbiannudistcult-stories · 5 years

Text

Finding Goddess (Chapter 15)

"Yes? You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Ah, Miss Connors. I just finished speaking to Miss Cassidy and she seemed surprisingly chipper for once. She spoke quite highly of you in particular. Said her meeting with you had been a very informative and inspiring experience."

"Ohh. What...exactly did she say?"

"Oh, a great many things. Such as how you provided actually useful feedback for once, showed you were clearly well-versed in the kind of experiences she was looking for in her writing material, finally understood what we are looking for in the books we publish, that sort of thing. She claimed she might even have an idea for a new story entirely thanks to you."

"I....I see."

"I understand she is a very difficult client to work with, Miss Connors, but she is a very important one, so I would like you to know that I greatly appreciate the work you have put in with her. Nobody else in our company has been able to reach Miss Cassidy in nearly the same capacity as you have today. The next time she needs a little one-on-one time with us, I'll know exactly who to turn to."

"G...great."

"Are you feeling well, Miss Connors? You look awfully red, and you're shaking an awful lot."

"I'm fine."

"You don't need to lie to me for the sake of your job, Miss Connors. And you shouldn't. Go on. Take the rest of the day off. You've earned it."

"I...I...alright. Thank you, sir."

***

Carol thought the way clothes felt on her body yesterday was bad, but after her meeting with Elaine, they had become even more unbearable. Whereas before they closed in on her like a coffin, today it was more apt to say they were piercing her flesh like an iron maiden. It almost hurt to wear them, made her feel dizzy and feverish, even sick to her stomach. It didn't help that they were wet here and there with spilt coffee. At least, she hoped that wetness was just from spilt coffee.

But more than anything else, her hands seemed to be operating on their own accord. They wanted to pop every button off her blouse until her breasts popped out, they wanted to peel every inch of nylon off her legs until they were left completely bare, they wanted to stroke every erogenous area on her body until she burst again. Every ounce of her willpower had to be devoted to keeping one hand firmly grasped on the other to prevent either from stripping her bare while she talked to her boss. Even that was shaky. Or maybe it was just her legs that were shaky. With how violently they were trembling, Carol's ability to stand up for any length of time could only be described as a miracle.

Miracle...I seem to be experiencing a bunch of those, lately.

Carol didn't wait until she got home before she began to take her clothes off. The second her car door slammed shut, she was already tearing voraciously into them, starting with her shoes. She tossed them so contemptuously into her backseat that she could hear the heels snap. Her stockings followed; she didn't so much peel those off her legs as she ripped them off, tearing numerous holes in the fabric and ruining them completely. She didn't care. They were clothes. She hated them. Hated how they covered her body, hated how they stuck to her skin so tightly, hated how they gave her so little room to breathe. If Carol never had to wear stockings again, it would be too soon.

"And...there! Ahhhhhhhh. Much better." Carol let out a deep sigh of relief once she slid her skirt off. She was bottomless now. From the waist down, she didn't have a thread or a stitch on her body. And it felt so good! Even her skin seemed to be moaning with happiness. Things were much less tight around her, air circulated in and out of her lungs more freely, and the temperature just seemed to drop dramatically in and around the mother the more nude she got.

"I should be allowed to be like this all the time," she murmured as she rubbed her thighs and wiggled her toes. "And I could be...if I converted to Zenrism."

Her smile faltered with that thought. Convert to Zenrism. That would definitely solve all her problems. Heck, it would give her everything she ever wanted in life. Permanent 24/7 nudity! Bodily freedom! Sexual liberty! It was everything a woman could ever ask for.

But...it was a big step. One that would no doubt turn her whole life upside-down. It would change the way everyone looked at her, it would dictate the things she would do, the crowds she would run with, and so on. And Carol wasn't so sure she was ready to make such a massive change so soon. She couldn't help but be a little suspicious of it as well; Zenrism sounded too good to be true. There was a definite catch to it, there had to be. It was a cult after all, one that would expect her to believe in all kinds of nonsense.

But then, how nonsensical could it actually be? Strange things were happening the moment she learned about it. Henrietta forgot to put her clothes on the one time. Carol was forgetting to put her clothes on every single day. And she was stripping herself naked without realizing it. Wearing clothing was getting more uncomfortable by the day, the hot coffee didn't affect her at all, in fact, now that she thought about it, it didn't affect Maisie either when it spilled all over her the other day. Was it just as the Holy Scripture said in the story of Kinuse? Were Zenrists really resistant to fire and heat?

And then there were the words that the priestess whispered in her ear as they made love in the grotto.

"I need...I need to think about this," said Carol. Realizing she had been sitting in her car for ten minutes without any pants on, she decided it was time to get a move on. Turning the key in the ignition, the mother rolled the vehicle out of the parking lot and drove away.

***

Driving bottomless was great, but it wasn't enough. Carol's breasts were still trapped in the confines of her blouse, and the way they were pushing against the fabric told her they were screaming for freedom like two hungry babes. So when she stopped at her first red light, Carol wasted no time in giving them their wish. She was naked now, completely butt-naked in her car, and no one was the wiser. No one except maybe the two people in the van right next to her who were staring at her with eyes the size of saucepans.

"Uh...hi," Carol giggled as she gave them a nervous little wave, not knowing what else to do. Fortunately, the light chose that moment to turn green, mercifully giving her a reason to vamoose. "Bye!"

So here Carol was, driving in her car totally naked. It had been a while since she did that and she forgot how...fun it was. Sure, she got to ride with Henrietta as a passenger a few days ago, but this was different. Carol had full control of the situation now. She could drive as fast or as slow as she wanted, pull up as close to the curb as she liked, and decide for herself if she wanted to go left or right. In essence, she had a choice in who she could reveal her naughty little secret to. That college-age group of girls entering the cafe? The old man with the cane on the crosswalk? The despondent-looking mother exiting the grocer with two bags of food in her hands? All viable marks.

N-not that she would of course! Such a thing would most definitely get Carol in trouble, and she didn't want to push her luck anymore. Not after she miraculously dodged that cannonball with Elaine. But if I were a Zenrist, there wouldn't be any luck to push...

She let that thought hang until she pulled into her apartment building's parking lot. She very nearly opened the door and stepped outside before remembering that she was still naked. Riding around in the car without a thing on was one thing, nobody had to know what she was doing (and few people did). But it was another thing altogether to stroll outside in the...altogether. Everyone would see what she was doing, and there would be no way to deny it. Carol would need to put something on first.

But as the mother gazed at her assorted clothes, which had been tossed haphazardly around the car, a feeling of despondence seemed to fall over her. She didn't...want to put them on. She didn't want them covering her breasts, her stomach, her back, her thighs, her butt, her anything. She didn't want them anywhere on her body! Not even for the couple minutes it would take just to walk from her car to her apartment. And now that she was looking at her blouse lazing about on the passenger seat, Carol couldn't help but feel her skin crawl simply from seeing how close it was to her. It was like it could, at any moment, leap up and pounce on her, covering her beautiful skin with its odious fabric.

"Screw it," she said, flinging the door open without a second thought. "I already showed everyone on this street my naked body. What's flashing myself one more time gonna hurt?"

Carol shivered with joy as she stepped out and the sun hit her bare skin, warming it in all the best ways. Goddess, these were the moments she lived for. That she used to live for. That she could live for. That she would do anything to live for. To live nakedly every minute of every day, to feel the very essence of the world with her every inch of skin. The sun caressed everything; its rays crept down her thighs, over the contours of her back, along the slopes of her breasts, and even crawled between her buttocks and slightly parted lower lips. Even the soles of her bare feet were not spared the sun's touch as they took in its warmth from the ground.

"Mmmmm," she moaned as she stretched herself out, thrusting her breasts into the air just to expose them to more of the sun's warming light. This feels divine. Being naked is such a blessing. Why can't more people realize that?

Deciding that she had spent enough time soaking in the rays, Carol locked her car and headed inside, leaving her clothing behind.

#carol #finding goddess

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smartcookie727 · 6 years

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Burn

What’s up, peeps? Testing the waters with some new fandom material as a bday gift for my wonderful friend, Vicci @supernovaecastaway. She singlehandedly got me to watch Voltron, and I fell absolutely in love with the story and all of the characters. Stretching the fingers here with some one-sided jeith. This is based off her fic, which drove the final nail in the coffin and tossed me head first into a new fandom. Imma say it up front and loud: this is NSFW as hell. We’re talking cracking into the Top 5 smuttiest fics I’ve written...and if you know me, you know that carries some weight. So, have some sheith-y/jeith-y OT3 smutty goodness. I had such a blast writing this. There will absolutely be more Voltron fics on the horizon. I hope yall enjoy. As always, leave me a comment, reblog, tag, whatever you want to interact so I know what yall like. Be sure to check out my writing blog @luminescent-words for all fics, WIPs, and everything literary!

Pairing: Jeiro, one-sided jeith, sheith

Prompt: birthday voltron fic! one-sided jeith angst/smut for the vicci

Length: 2.4k

The rule is simple: James can look, but he can’t touch. It’s his fourth time back in Keith and Shiro’s room, playing a dangerous game of of heated glances. But tonight, the stakes have been raised. One touch. The chance is an awful challenge. If he does this right, he’ll get something he’s always longed to have, if not, he doesn’t know if he’ll get an opportunity like this again.

Burn

God, what a beautiful moan. The sound of Keith’s voice hitching when he was close to bliss, spread thin between gasps, was a privilege to hear. And James knew it.

He also knew the sound was not his to claim. But that knowledge didn't stop it from drowning out every other thought on nights he fought to fall asleep in a cold bed. It was so strangely familiar to him now. James had every muscle memorized, every soft strand of hair that cascaded onto dark sheets, even the way Keith’s eyelids seemed to flutter before he would call out Shiro’s name and fall over the edge of his ecstasy. Sometimes, James couldn’t believe he was so lucky, so cursed, to know the things he did. It was easier when it had been just a fantasy, a pretty dream in his head. Knowing how good the truth could be battered his heart, because he knew it all belonged to another man.

It was James’ fourth time back to their room after his initial invitation, but tonight, he felt as nervous as he’d been when he’d stepped through that large gray door for the very first time.

One touch, Griffin. Make it count. Good work out there.

Shiro’s words echoed in his mind, and his thoughts raced back to the wink Keith had tossed him as the red tinged shirt of his uniform fell to the floor. Chills raced down his spine. He would wait for the right moment. All he wanted was a kiss. To feel lips and breath as Keith keened with pleasure into him. Anything more would be too much. James didn’t think he’d be able to tear himself from their room again if he allowed himself more than a press of lips. Order had to be maintained.

“Shiro,” came a shaky voice. Then Keith’s beautiful moan pierced the room.

No. It was too soon. He was missing his chance. James stayed his hand against his skin and tried to rise. How the hell had he been so distracted?

Another moan came in response. James’ eyes flicked up from Keith’s face just in time to watch Shiro crouch over that gorgeously toned back in his own release. He froze—heart falling straight to his stomach—and settled back into the plush seat.

Too slow, Cadet. His chance was gone.

James’ heart beat painfully in his chest. He fought to slow his breathing, but his body was tense with unfulfilled need. Everything began to go soft. James groaned. All he could do now was clean up. Looking around for a tissue, he caught a glance of the two of them pressed together in a lazy kiss. Something dark deep inside him told James he must actually like pain. It would always end the same, but that wouldn't stop him from enjoying the ride to inevitable heartbreak. He sighed, resting his head between his hands, crestfallen.

Footsteps padded around the room. James didn’t bother to pay attention, instead he let out an exasperated huff and began to adjust his disheveled clothes. Always one step behind Keith.

A strong tug on his bangs forced him to look up at the ceiling. Eyes like a thunderstorm met his own burning gaze.

“Ow,” James yelped, staring daggers into the man. Usually, he wasn’t so irritable at the end of a night like this, but he didn’t even have the energy to fake pleasantries now.

“Waited too long, sir,” Shiro chided, leaning down close enough for James to see the beads of sweat that dripped down his temple. “So, what do we do now that you've missed your chance to touch?” He drew the word out slowly, an agonizing reminder of everything he’d almost had.

“We talked about it.” There was no mistaking the low gravel and stardust timbre of Keith’s voice. James instinctively twitched and tried to face him, but Shiro’s floating hand held him firmly in place.

“Shame you waited too long to finish, but we don’t want to leave you hanging.” A crooked smirk spread across Shiro’s face. James struggled briefly under his iron grip, earning himself another sharp tug and a craned neck. He quieted reluctantly. There was no will as powerful as that of the man above him—and James knew it. “Remind me what the normal rule is,” Shiro continued, the usual steel in his voice tinged with mirth.

“You can look, but you can’t touch,” James said through ground teeth.

Shiro’s free hand grasped James’ wrists and pinned them behind his chair. “So, as a consolation, this time you get to be touched, but you can’t look.”

His heart skipped a beat. He felt hands work his underwear back down to his ankles. Keith. James’ mind raced as nimble fingers drummed against the inside of his thigh. This couldn’t be real. It would break the only rule they’d set. The one thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do.

“Do you accept?” Keith asked gently. The question laid him bare. If James wanted to leave, this was his out.

“Yes.” The words left his lips before his brain could catch up. Even if it only ended in pain, it would be a wonderful way to burn.

Keith ran his hand from where it tapped playfully on James’ leg up to his chest, popping pesky buttons until his shirt hung loosely around his body. His hips bucked reflexively, and he strained to break free of Shiro’s hold. A soft chuckle filled the air, then the grip on his wrists tightened uncomfortably. Warm breath tickled his ear.

“I thought you liked rules,” Keith purred, flicking one of his nipples. His touch drew out a moan so dirty James couldn’t believe it came from his own voice. But he dared not move his head in response. He understood enough to know that Shiro would only crane his neck further back if he did—or worse, he’d stop the game entirely. James’ chest heaved as bare skin brushed his own.

“Any suggestions, Shiro?” Keith’s voice was dripping with anticipation.

“Have fun, baby. He’s been good.”

A chill ran up James’ spine. What had he just agreed to?

Keith dragged a finger down to his belly button. James shuddered, biting back a whine, and squeezed his eyes shut. Better to remove the temptation to look than to stare into those unyielding eyes, watching his every move as Keith tore him to pieces.

Nails grazing against his stomach pulled James’ attention back to Keith. He pressed a kiss into his chest. It sent shivers racing across his skin. One hand ghosted over his cock while the other held his hip in place, teasing circles with his thumb.

“Do you want me, James?” Keith breathed. His body rolled in response, little moans escaping his lips. He was a whimpering puddle of need beneath Keith, begging to be touched.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he crooned, running his tongue from James’ jaw down to his collarbone. “Looks like you were having a bit of a problem before. Shall I fix it?” He palmed at James’ arousal, already growing hard under his touch. A high pitched whine answered for him, and that was all he needed to hear.

Keith traced his thumb up the vein in his cock, circling his head slowly. James slammed back into the chair. It was too much and not enough all at once, and it felt so good. His hips bucked up, yearning for more friction, but Keith held him firmly in place. A loud, hungry groan escaped his grasp when he finally took him in his hand and began to pump. James bit down on his cheek until it nearly bled to keep from screaming. Keith knew exactly what to do to with every inch of him. His lips made their way to James’ chest, nipping at the sensitive skin and rolling his hardened tip between his teeth. Moans poured out of him in waves as James took it all in, racing towards his climax.

There was a low chuckle, then the pace against his cock grew faster, harder. James felt his own wetness begin to spill onto Keith’s hand and coat his length. His neck lolled to the side, any inhibitions he’d had earlier gone. Shiro’s prosthetic was the only thing keeping his head up, but he didn’t care what the man thought of him right now. All James could think about was the way Keith was pressing his body against him, sliding his arousal up and down his leg. His toes curled so hard he thought they might cramp when Keith suddenly pulled away.

“No,” he groaned, “go back. Please, go back.”

“Patience, James, we’re just getting started,” Keith crooned before tugging on his earlobe with his teeth.

“I want—” he sputtered, keening with every red hot touch.

“Good, James,” came a low rumble, “Tell Keith how good he is with his hands, how good it makes you feel.”

The words tumbled freely from his lips. “Oh, Keith, the way you—” His voice faltered as he shifted from pumping to drawing circles around the tip of his cock. “That you touch me—is the most—that I’ve ever—” James was trembling, so close to the edge. “You know just how—I’m so—” He gave up trying to speak. There wasn’t enough blood left in his head to form a word with more than one syllable.

Warm skin pressed into his lap; James nearly choked on his own breath. Keith had him pinned beneath strong hips. It was the exactly what he’d longed for in every heated daydream hidden beneath a cold shower. Except this was real and it was Keith. His hands skittered across James’ body, tweaking any sensitive spot he could find. He rocked their lengths together so hard that James could see stars.

There was a sharp pinch at his nipples and James bucked up so violently that Shiro had to pull his wrists back to keep him seated. Keith let his full weight press down onto him, pumping his cock with long, agonizing strokes. Sloppy kisses littered James’ chest, and a burning desire in his gut threatened to consume him. He felt teeth pull his lower lip down, shredding his last ounce of self control.

The lips pulled away as James began to ride out his release, spilling furiously into Keith’s lap. His moans filled the space between them all as he slowly came down from his high.

Keith stood. Cold danced across James’ skin at the sudden loss of contact and he whined, begging for more. He felt rough hands, Keith’s hands, plant themselves firmly on his shoulders. Opening his eyes just a crack, he caught a glimpse of onyx hair above him and lips pressed together in a fervid kiss.

“I might've gotten things a little dirty,” Keith sighed breathlessly, running his tongue along the bottom edge of his teeth.

Shiro’s words were like cool steel, and he dug his fingers further into James’ hair. “Then clean it up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Strong hands spread James’ knees as Keith kissed a line from his neck down to his navel.

“Yes, sir,” James breathed.

Keith chuckled deep in his chest. “Impatient aren’t you, Griffin. Didn’t the Garrison teach you anything about control?”

He didn’t have a chance to respond before Keith’s lips encapsulated him in warm, wet splendor.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head bobbing with every twist of Keith’s tongue. “Fuck.”

He was getting so very hard again. Keith painstakingly lapped up every trace of his release. Electricity coursed through his veins.

“Fuck.”

So this is what it felt like to play with fire and burn to ash.

“Fuck,” he wailed over and over, the word searing through his body like a wildfire.

“You look so beautiful with your mouth full of cock, baby,” Shiro crooned.

It was a helpless mixture of pleasure and pain to feel but not see. James knew just how beautiful Keith could look with his lips around a cock, and his body longed to know what he’d look like with his mouth filled with his. Keith gave James a hard squeeze in response, nearly sending him flying over the edge.

“Fuck,” he screamed between gasps.

Keith released him with a long swipe of his tongue and stood.

“Sounds like he’s ordering us to fuck, doesn’t it, Shiro?” he purred.

“I think so.”

Dazed from Keith’s touch, all James could do was mumble ‘fuck’ again and again as he slowly blinked his eyes into focus. Keith and Shiro were locked together above him in a tangle of lips and teeth. Shiro bared down on him, pressing Keith’s chest into James’ face. James didn’t care. He wanted to soak up every second of this bliss. Jumping at the opportunity, he nipped at any part of Keith’s skin he could for as long as he could.

They broke their embrace with a sigh and fumbled towards the bed. James tried to turn his head but the floating arm still held him in place. Only when he heard the telltale rustle of skin against sheets did Shiro let him go. He groaned at the soreness in his neck, lifting it slowly before settling his chin in his palm.

Had that really just happened? James looked up. Keith was leaning over Shiro, pressing his back into the bed with a powerful kiss. He watched the large prosthetic hand squeeze his ass. A neon sign that said ‘mine’ would’ve been more subtle.

“Have your fun, too?” Keith asked, dark eyes meet his own in a tantalizing stare, daring him to stay.

James nodded between heavy breaths. What was he even still doing here? He was a pawn in a dangerous game, and all he could win was heartbreak. Still, something deep inside him kept his feet rooted in place.

“You can go if that was a bit too much for you,” Keith mused, a hungry smile on his lips, “but I’m ready to really fuck, sir.”

James was sure of it now. He didn’t care how much the rational part of his brain screamed at him to leave; he’d do anything for another moment to bask in the burning star that was Keith.

“Bite him.”

Bite me.

“With pleasure.”

#Voltron #jeiro #jeith #sheith #one sided jeith #keith kogane #james griffin #takashi shirogane #cookie writes #voltron fics #cookie queen of smut #HAPPPY BIRTHDAY VICCI #idk how this fic happened but it did #dives into voltron fandom with smut in true cookie fashion lmao #it was so fun to write tho #literally the banter had me giddy the whole way through drafting #but yall how do u do the pronouns and make sure everyone know whats happenning #that was certainly a bit of a challenge #the pining OH THE PINING #james is gonna suffer but hes gonna be happy about it #cause that one sided jeith angst is where its at #tho i rlly wanna write some more traditional romantic shieth #cause established couple stuff is my shit but this pining stuff is goooooood #seriously nervous about this one #new fandoms and new couples always make me nervous #lmao what a trip trying to keep track of 3 ppl tho #also expect a lot of shieth coming at ya on the blog from now on #what yall thinkkkk

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