#the little 'you ought to be ashamed of yourself >:(((' always catches me off guard though 😭

[amara-laz]

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

Aww why thank you :') I like you too /p

1. Ruler of Everything - Tally Hall

2. Away From The Rain - Chamber Chu

3. Murders - Miracle Musical

4. Dream Sweet in Sea Major - Miracle Musical

5. Fate of the Stars - Tally Hall

[druddigoon]

prompt fill #1

@shame-cubed: bede and gloria in a raid together

this was supposed to be a simple one but then i decided to add 3 more people and a metric fuckton of tension and it kinda blew up. word count: don’t worry about it

————————-

“Where’s the dynamax pokemon?” 

He eyes you with a mask of disdain, attention briefly flitting to the vikavolt you have buzzing over your shoulder. “Not an issue, no thanks to you.” 

“There’s been reports of energy flares in almost every gym, so it took a bit of time to get here.” You pause to catch your breath, removing your beret to run a hand through your windblown hair after a harrowing flight over the Tangled Woods. Dangling under a vikavolt fifty metres off the ground doesn’t do well for vertigo. “I’m here to help. There’re other people coming, just show us where the pokemon’s at and we’ll calm it down.” 

There’s muffled banging at the main entrance, a drawn-out holler cut off with a sharp rebuttal. Hop and Piers. Bede’s voice ices over. “Then go play hero for the other towns. We don’t need you here.” 

The nerve of him. “I don’t know if you’ve stuck your head out of your little me-bubble yet, but people are trying to save the region from collapsing, and maybe if you stop babying your ego for just one second you’d accept help when help is offered—” 

“I believe Bede is suggesting he’s already dealt with the issue.” Opal cuts in, stepping out from under the shadow of the backroom. She looks the same since your gym challenge—angular face drowning amid her ample ruff, deceptively leaning on her umbrella-cane like she isn’t capable of throwing it away in a heartbeat—but it’s the way Bede stands straighter and draws closer to her presence that has you thrown. 

This is not the Bede in Galar Mines, not the Bede in Hammerlocke, tired and disgraced; this is not the Bede at Wyndon semifinals, desperate for redemption. This is the Bede who’s found his home, confident and grounded when you’ve had the rug swept from under your feet. 

The gym challenge changes people, they say. 

(You’ve never felt more alone.)

“Miss Opal! We’re here to help you with the dynma—” Hop skids to a stop once he notices Bede, and the way they size each other up reminds you of fights between wild pokemon. 

Coming here was a mistake. 

“Evenin’, ma’am.” Piers brings up the rear, eyes glued to his rotom-phone, unheeding toward the palpable tension in the room. “Dynamax readin’s gone, I reckon you’ve got it taken care of then.” 

“Why yes, my protégé handled the rogue shiinotic brilliantly a little while before you came.” 

Bede smirks at her praise; you lay a hand on Hop's shoulder to stop him from pulling anything, only to have him roughly shrug it off and stalk out of the building. 

“I wouldn’t bother with him,” Bede says as you stare at the still-swinging doors, something close to shame prickling deep in your throat. “Someone who thinks he's entitled special treatment because his brother’s the champion doesn’t deserve to take his spot.” 

Deep breaths. Opal watches you with hawk’s eyes, and for a second you feel more bone than flesh, surrounded. Think of secret summer grottos, ponds with water so clear the remoraid’s scales gleam as they swim through, think of how happy Crustle was when his crabapple tree bloomed, maybe wiping that smarmy expression off Bede’s face even though you can’t throw a punch to save your life. 

When you dare to speak again, your voice comes out lowed like a hiss from a boiling kettle. “If you’re so good at dealing with dynamax pokemon, I’d like to see you handle the rest of this problem.“ 

“I fail to see how the rest of the gyms fall under my jurisdiction. We’ve dawdled for long enough, it’s time—” 

“He’ll do it.” 

“—for you to...what?” 

You’d savour the look of disbelief on Bede’s face if the implication of Opal’s comment didn’t sink in. She regains control of the situation with a smile, too pleasant for the gravity of her words. “It must be difficult for the three of you to handle all of this on your own. These bones are too old to hitch a ride on unlicensed fliers, but Bede here can accompany you while I guard the gym.” 

Bede runs a hand through his hair, considering. 

“Fine,” he bites out, releasing his gardevoir before striding out the entrance. You quickly jog after him, hoping to reach Hop before he does. “Let’s go.” 

“—very keen on addin’ fuel to the fire.” Piers comments far behind you.

“They’ll sort it out,” Opal replies, “Sometimes all it takes is getting a little burnt.” 

————————-

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hop gapes at the skulking figure of Bede from his perch atop his corviknight, an imposing bird outlined in scintillating angles against the dead of night. “Glor, please tell me you’re joking.” 

“He wanted to come. You...we need all the help we can get, and having him just means we can get this done faster and safer. Please. This is for the greater good.” 

“Are you siding with him now? Is this what it is? This is a bloody insult to injury, Glor. Do you remember what he’s done to you? Do you remember what he’s done to me?” 

“I’m not taking anyone’s side! You can choose to never see Bede again after this is over, Hop, it’s just that we have a bigger issue at hand and everyone’ll need to put aside their difference until we can stabilize the region.” 

“I know, but I'm a hundred percent sure that we. Don’t. Need. Him.” He punctuates every word with a jab of his finger in Bede’s direction. “We were fine in Turrfield. We were fine in Hulbury. We were fine in Motostoke, we were fine in Stow-On-Side. We’re almost done, we’d just finish everything with more peace of mind if he buggers off.” 

Bede crosses his arms. “Flattered you think so highly of me. Honestly, Hop, you’re desperation is showing. Worried that I’ll steal your thunder?” 

“Guys, please—” 

Hop’s corviknight lets out an ear-piercing screech, rearing up and flapping its wings in a way that forces the rest of you to back up. Bede’s gardevoir steps in front of him, her horn glowing with the beginnings of psychic energy. 

“ENOUGH!” A dark shape, too fast to make out, cleaves between the two boys, the acrid smell of something sour lingering behind. 

Piers steps out, followed closely by his obstagoon, the vestiges of a night slash still roiling off its foreclaws. “This isn’t what I was expectin’ from a finalist and a gym leader, and you two ought be ashamed of yourselves for this kind of behavior.” He sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. “I need a smoke break. Gloria, come with me.” 

————————-

“Marnie told me you lot were good kids.” Piers takes a slow drag of his cigarette. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, sneaking peeks at the clearing even though neither of the boys are in sight. “So imagine my surprise when I end up babysittin’ two kids who look one second away from tearin’ each other’s throat out, with you actin’ like you’re the reason they want to.” 

“I am.” The floodgates burst all too easily; you never expected to pour your heart out to a near-stranger, fraying dye job illuminated in the harsh glare of the street lamp and wreathed in a halo of cigarette smoke, but lately all your friends have been worse than strangers and Piers. Piers sits still and listens. “I-I never wanted to do...this. The championship is always Hop’s dream, and I promised to help him get it like a friend before pulling it out from under him. Could’ve supported him after Bede broke his spirit—he said he was a disgrace to Leon’s name, even though he isn’t even relevant—but instead I decided to hammer it in by battling him and winning.” 

You shut your eyes, grind the heel of your palms hard onto them until you’re seeing stars. “I saw Bede’s disqualification. I was there to see the hope go out of him when Rose told him he no longer worked for them, was there and did nothing. I’ve done nothing but shirk and shirk, and now i’m supposed to stabilize Galar’s dynamax outbreak when I can’t even lift a finger for the people closest to me.” Bitter smile. “Some champion I am.” 

Piers huffs. He drops the cigarette, crushing its embers under the heel of his boot, before looking up and speaking. “I don’t know enough to say it’s not your fault, but you’re takin’ your mistakes out of proportion.” 

“Spikemuth’s never been my dream; most people don’t end up doin’ the thing they want, believe it or not. This may not be yours and yet you’re tryin’, and you’ve got heart. I doubt a bad champion would be risking her life travelin’ from town to town confrontin’ rampagin’ pokemon like you are now.” 

“That...still doesn’t make me a good champion.” 

“No, it doesn’t.” He stands, brushing off lingering ash. “But Galar doesn’t have a ‘good champion’. It has you. And even if you can’t redeem yourself in the eyes of your friends, you can redefine yourself in everyone else. Come, let’s head back.” 

You return to the same silent standstill you left. Hop can’t meet your eyes, face buried in the feathers around his corviknight’s neck. Bede only stares back; a challenge. 

“Which cities do you have left?” he asks. 

Piers checks. “Only Circhester and Hammerlocke, it looks like.” 

“We’ll split up, then,” Hop interjects, not even looking up. “Piers and I’ll go to Circhester, while Gloria and Bede go to Hammerlocke.” 

“That’s fine,” you concede after a moment’s pause. He’s trying to distance himself from you, but can you blame him?

(You can’t, not really. This must be a nightmare situation for him—losing to the false heirs, failing to catch them, fighting alongside his former-friend-now-champion knowing he could’ve been the one in her place, watching her strike the final blow as his cinderace heals on the sidelines. Every reminder is driving a nail in the coffin, and Bede’s arrival is simply the stake that split it at the seams.)

“Best of luck to you, then.”

“Good luck to you too.”

————————-

“Everything you’ve said to Hop applies to you, y’know.” 

“Are we really going over this now?” The Hammerlocke gym halls are far too empty for comfort, deep rumbles echoing against your skull as you catch flashes of light past stadium doors. You stalk onward, eager to get the situation over with and return to Ballonlea. Damn Opal. “We have a bigger issue at hand.” 

Out of the corner of your eye you see Gloria puff out her cheeks. If someone were to back you into the corner of an alley with a knife pressed to your throat, you’d admit you do respect her; becoming the Champion is no easy feat, and nobody expected it from a quiet girl with a team full of bugs, the beginner’s route fodder others grind to train their battlers. It’s her altruism that irritates you, a relentless selflessness that will get her bitten, somewhere down the line. “Can’t you accept help without fighting it?” 

You fall silent. 

Oleana’s voice, ice against your ear. “Is this how you’ll treat the man who found you, back when you were all alone?” 

(More wishing stars. Always more wishing stars.)

A rattling roar resounds ahead. Sensing she’s needed, Hattie coalesces by your side with a chiming noise, and you continue on, pushing past reinforced double doors. “The last person who offered me help was Rose.” 

And look where it got me.

The dynamaxed haxorus is huge; its scythe-like tusks crest above the open roof of the arena, claws as large as longswords carving deep furrows into the turf, an excess of power and energy given a corporeal form while the haxorus’s original body is tucked away behind layers of shields. An entire section of bleachers had been razed to the ground, steel gouged with millions of tiny lacerations that fractal in draconid energy. Gloria finally shut her mouth, calling out her crustle as you start putting distance between you and her.  The flash of light catches the haxorus’s attention. 

Its eyes are impossibly wide—a deerling in headlights, more prey than predator—and when it roars, it's a pained cry pitched like a plea.

The raid begins. 

Gloria fights like battling is innate to her, instinct ingrained through bone in a way no amount of textbook memorization or controlled-environment training can hold a candle to. Bugs are notoriously more id than superego; rather than suppressing it, hers seem to have tailored their natural behavior towards battling, where her commands are less commands than they are suggestions, tips, and warnings, a coach to her players. She trusts her pokemon, and they make it worthwhile. It makes her incredibly hard to read, as most of the time she isn’t even giving instructions.

Helpful in a singles matchup, not so much in a tag-team battle.

You hear her call out from the other end of the stadium, and her crustle withdraws into its shell just fast enough to dodge the brunt of Hattie’s dazzling gleam. In the split second when the haxorus is sent reeling, it pulls off a shell smash, darting out of its shell in a blur of orange to land a stone edge that shatters the haxorus’s shields. 

It keeps up the distraction long enough for Hattie, slow as she is, to charge up another dazzling gleam. The stadium lights up in a brilliant light display as it explodes against the haxorus’s side, sending it reeling. Crustle is also sent flying a couple metres back before getting back on its feet, the exoskeleton of its claws warped from where it used to to block the worst of the attack. 

“Stop hitting me!” Gloria calls. 

“Then dodge out of the way! Hattie can’t avoid you without compromising her output!” 

Haxorus finally notices you, letting out a bellow as its tail warps into something steel-tipped, sharp with metallic ridges gleaming crimson in the dynamax light, before swinging the entire thing towards you. 

Of course. Bloody thing knows steelspike. 

Your back collides with the stadium walls before you realize there’s nowhere to run. Damn Opal. Couldn’t make do with just the shiinotic. Hattie matches the haxorus with her own war cry, energy streaming through her coat in a last-ditch attempt at damage. 

In the span of a split second, something orange collides with the tail, knocking it off track. 

Then the world flashes white. 

When you finally regain your vision, the haxorus is back to its regular size and barely conscious, keeling over onto the ground. Hattie twirls, unscathed save for shards of steel tangled in her hair. 

You could hardly recognize it without its boulder shell, but buried in the sand beside her was the fainted body of Gloria’s crustle, who’d taken the brunt of the steelspike. 

“What was that?” You ask Gloria, who had recalled the fallen haxorus into its gym-issued pokeball. 

She crouched next to her crustle, checking it for injuries before withdrawing it as well. “Crustle blocked its attack. Don’t worry about him; he’s tough, and I’ll reward him with extra fertiliser to his favorite tree after this.” 

“Hattie could’ve take—” You stop, because no, she wouldn’t, before amending “It’s unnecessary. Crustle could’ve utilized the chance to get its last hits in.” 

“He might’ve missed. This gave us the best chances of winning, and he wanted that. Wouldn’t have followed my order if he didn’t. Also...Hattie?” 

“Stop changing the topic. You’d let it throw itself into the path of danger for a chance?” 

“Yes.” 

She looks a little dejected, but doesn’t push like he expects her to. Nobody gives charity for free; he’s learned this through his multiple orphanage relocations, Rose’s too-large watch, Opal’s quest for an heir. His mind is quick to point fingers at pity, just like the others, but he can smell pity a mile off and Gloria’s never been the type for it, not to him. 

Why?

“Isn’t this a betrayal to Hop?” 

Her face steels over. “He doesn’t have to like anything I do. He’s not here, and this isn’t about him.” It’s a far cry from Stow-On-Side, her fury on Hop’s behalf. You’ve noticed the two seem more distant lately. The gym challenge changes people, they say. 

The outside air is cool on your face. Gloria’s vikavolt has its claws latched onto her backpack, carrying her in what you’d describe as the most dangerous method of flying and you still don’t understand, why why why why why? 

“Gloria?” 

She glances back at you, head tilted slightly to the side. Your question dies in your throat. 

“Stay safe.” 

She looks at you strangely. “T-thanks. Stay safe too.” 

You watch until her figure becomes a dark speck on the horizon before heading home, alone.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Minutes to Midnight

Yukimura is one of the Lords of March and I just knew I had add him to the list. This is inspired by the Yukimura and Saizo bathtub videos they released recently (or at least recently at the time of writing lmao).

SLBP | Yukimura x MC | Explicit

Yukimura and MC are away from home and make the most of their new surroundings.

As expected of any warrior, training takes up a significant amount of Yukimura’s time. There’s always room for improvement and techniques to master and he maintains his body in the same way as his armour and blade.

It’s Lord Shingen’s idea to visit the onsen, taking note of the hot weather and relative peace. There are no battles to organise nor invasions to prevent and the idea of spending a weekend in the sunshine is too good a prospect to pass up. Even so, Yukimura finds his mind elsewhere. While the majority of the retainers pack light clothes and sake for the trip, he debates training swords, which greatly amuses MC.

“I’m sure the Lord Shingen would rather you relax with everyone else,” she says on the morning of their departure, taking in his heavy bag.

He elects to say nothing of the dark shadows under her eyes and mountain of snacks she has carefully prepared, instead hoisting his luggage over one shoulder with a satisfied smile. He does not want to admit the truth; that training has become such a part of his life that he will be lost without it. His body is sworn to Lord Shingen’s service and he will not allow himself to die ashamed. There must never be a sword too heavy for him, no army he cannot cut down.

MC is not a soldier, though, with little understanding of war. She laughs as he rushes off in front to their destination, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his body in the heat of the summer sun. He supposes he must look quite ridiculous to her, but would have it no other way. If she comes to know the battlefield and bloodshed as intimately as he does then surely he has failed as a man. Her smile must always be as sunny as the sky above him; gentle and unwavering.

He is the first to arrive at the beach; the first to suggest wrestling contests and watermelon cutting. He is also one of the first to leave the growing party and wander off to the onsen. Between the alcohol and exertion, he is only too happy to indulge himself in a moment of uninterrupted relaxation.

He sighs in satisfaction as the heat of the water sinks into his aching muscles, easing out the knots in his back. He leans back against the wall and allows his legs to float underwater, gazing through the onsen’s stream at nothing in particular. In this moment he thinks he understands Shingen’s motivations for coming here. The waters are so still and warm and the beach so lively that it’s almost impossible to think of war.

He leans back and gazes up at the stars, eyes half lidded. He only had one sip of sake, but he blames if for his sleepiness anyway. He tells himself that he should not fall asleep here; that he will either catch a cold or drown. Even so, he cannot bring himself to move and is somewhat grateful at the sound of movement on the other side of the pool.

“Hello?” He calls out, meaning to invite over whichever retainer it happens to be, only to blush a bright red and immediately avert his eyes.

In center of the bath is a rock large enough to sit on. Now, though it serves another purpose. MC peers around the side, face flushed from embarrassment and body entirely hidden.

“M-MC,” Yukimura splutters, what are you d-doing here?”

“This is the women’s bath.”

His heart skips a beat, the realisation striking him too late that he came here semi automatically and does not remember reading any of the signs.

“I,” he says, a flush breaking out across his face, “I’m sorry! I’ll leave at once.”

He moves towards the bank, turning his entire body away from the bath and mumbling apology after apology.

“It’s alright,” she says, though, and he’s sure he misheard her.

“Huh?”

“I don’t mind. I’m happy that it’s you.”

In retrospect, he should have expected this, though cannot shake the guilt. MC is the only woman in their group and ought to have had the women’s baths to herself. The fact that no other retainers had come to the baths should have been enough of a clue in itself that he had come to the wrong place. He cannot disagree with her, though. Any other retainer to make the same mistake might have seen MC naked.

“M-me too.”

This is his first chance to speak to MC since their arrival and the sound of her voice only serves as a reminder of exactly how much he has missed her.

“Are you enjoying the sunshine?”

It seems a mundane question given their current circumstances; he can think of nothing more than the rising steam and knowledge that MC is naked somewhere nearby.

“It’s good to take a break sometimes,” she says, laughing softly.

“I’m glad.”

He knows that despite her presence at the coast, she likely didn’t take a break at all, instead refilling drinks and taking care of Lord Shingen and his men. She seems happy enough to see him, though he cannot escape the overwhelming sense of guilt that he’s intruded on a moment that ought to have been private.

“Y-Yukimura,” she says, quieter than before. “Could you...come closer? Shouting across the bath like this might draw the other retainers.”

She has a point, he supposes. If Lord Shingen finds out, or-worse- Saizo, he might never live it down. He can already imagine Saizo’s knowing grin and teases that he had not made a mistake at all.

The water is deeper where MC is and he wades towards her, water rising to his waist. MC peers out from behind the rock as he approaches, turning her back to him as he comes close enough to touch her. He matches her body language, turning away from her himself and gasping as they sit back to back. There’s no denying that she’s naked now-no denying that they both are.

“So,” she says, shyness taking over her voice. “Did you win the wrestling?”

“I did. We should focus more on hand to hand combat when we get back. It was good to see-”

He falls silent at MC’s soft laughter.

“D-did I say something funny?”

“No,” she says, “it’s just like you to think of training schedules even here.”

“Oh,” he says, unable to keep a smile from his face. “I suppose you’re right.”

“You know the world wouldn’t end if you let yourself rest sometimes,” she says. “I’m happy that you’re dedicated...and I’m sure Lord Shingen is too...but I think you forget you’re a person sometimes.”

Her body is soft and warm against his own, her hair soft against the back of his neck. He wishes he could look at her; at the sheen of water against her skin and moonlight in her eyes. He says nothing of it, though, determined to ignore his imagination. The more he tries to deny himself, the harder it is to dismiss the image forming in his mind. If he closes his eyes, he can see the curve of her breasts and downy hair between her legs. It’s not the first time he’s thought of such things, but the first time it’s been so difficult to ignore.

That’s not the only thing he’s struggling to ignore. He can feel himself growing hard, the mental image of a naked MC enough to grab his attention. He’s glad she has her back to him; that the water is high enough to hide his shame.

“I’m sorry,” she says, taking his silence to mean he is unhappy. “I shouldn’t have-”

“No! No, I was just…”

He realises that he cannot tell her of his predicament and racks his brain for a likely explanation, finally settling on something simple.

“It’d be nice if we could stay here longer.”

It’s easy to focus on training, though he almost regrets it now. It’s difficult to deny that Shingen intended their short stay to be a break from reality, yet as far as he and MC were concerned nothing has changed. They worry about the same things even as they sit back to back in a hot spring.

He wishes now that he had eaten watermelon with her; taken a break from wrestling to find her a particularly pretty shell. Such things will be a luxury when they finally get home and the weight of the world returns to their shoulders.

“Yukimura,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Will you...could you…”

“Hmm?”

“Could you turn around?”

His stomach flutters at the idea and he takes a deep breath before shifting his weight and turning around to face her. He takes one look at her pink cheeks and exposed shoulders and squeezes his eyes closed, a fact that only seems to amuse her.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, you’re without clothes. I wouldn’t want you to-”

“Yukimura,” she says, more forceful this time. “I want you to look at me.”

He opens his eyes and focuses on the water, jumping out of his skin when she reaches out a hand to his face. She’s not usually this bold and to say it catches him off guard is an understatement. Slowly, he lifts his own hand and holds it over hers, water trickling across his neck and chest from both of their fingertips.

He understands her meaning even without saying a word. Tomorrow the spell will be broken, leaving tonight little more than a dream. They will return to their old selves the moment they get home, with nothing but memories to remind them of the shore. His body is sworn to Lord Shingen’s service, but in this moment there is no Takeda, no Sanada, no Kai and he wants nothing more than to swear it to her.

He crushes his lips against hers, drinking in her moans and reaching for her waist. She returns the kiss with just as much force, linking her arms around his neck and using her tongue to pry open his lips. He obliges, sighing into her touches and dropping his hands from her waist to her ass. She responds in kind; wrapping her legs around him and easing herself onto his lap.

It’s too much and not enough. Their kisses leave him out of breath, yet no matter how tightly he grips onto her he does not feel close enough.

“MC,” he gasps, all too aware that they have never been alone like this before, let alone kissing so feverishly in one another’s arms. “Is this okay?”

“Of course,” she moans. “You?”

He responds by smoothing his hands over her legs and rolling his hips against her, earning a gasp of surprise. She loosens her grip on him, taking a few steps back and towards the bank. He follows, pressing his back to the wall and lifting her back onto his lap.

Perhaps it is the heat of the water or her naked body. Perhaps it is the fact that they are so far from home and he had not seen her all day. Whatever the case may be, he has never been so desperate to touch her; never so happy to drown in her kisses.

She reaches down for his dick, smiling into his kisses at the rasps she gains in response.

“MC,” he moans, “I’m not sure how long I can...”

“Good.”

She runs her fingers over his cock, squeezing it from base to tip. Her movements are clumsy and inexperienced, but he melts under her touches nonetheless. He reaches for her breast, squeezing a good deal more roughly than usual as he peppers soft kisses along her throat.

She reaches one shaky hand to the bank, releasing her grip on her cock.

“Are you alright?” He breathes into her, reaching up to cup her face.

“More than alright,” she says, using her other hand to steady her weight. “I’ve never been better.”

She sinks onto his dick, so slowly at first that it’s almost painful. He leans back, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to stifle his moans. She leans forward to kiss him, gasping as he fills her completely.

“MC,” he says, wanting to tell her she’s beautiful, only to lose his train of thought when she shifts her weight.

“I want you,” she whispers and goosebumps break out across his skin.

He’d sell his soul to stay there forever; to hear her moans for the rest of his life.

He presses his forehead against hers, holding onto her hips and bucking his hips into hers, deepening the thrust with every moan.

The sound of their bodies slipping out of the water and MC’s soft sighs borders on obscene, each thrust deeper than the last. His stomach churns every time she takes him in, the force of the collision sending shivers along his spine.

Right now nothing matters but the feel of her body against his; her fingers across his skin and lips at his throat. For a moment he even forgets his own name, so caught up in his immediate surroundings that he doesn’t respond when she calls it.

“Y-Yukimura,” she whispers, an urgency in her voice that wasn’t there before. Her body trembles, she digs her nails into his skin and he understands without saying a word.

She cries out as she comes undone, walls clenching so tightly around his cock that it leaves them both unravelled. He grips her ass as he comes, holding her in place to ride out the waves of pleasure and lean back against the bank.

They sit there in silence for almost too long, panting from the effort and slowly returning to reality. MC leans forward to rest her head on his chest and wraps her arms around his back, still shuddering from the force of her orgasm.

“I don’t want today to end,” she murmurs, closing her eyes as he kisses her forehead. “I just...want tonight to last forever.”

“Well you know,” he says, “if we stay here until daybreak, then it will.”

“I don't think that’s how it works.”

“It should be.”

MC laughs as she climbs up from his lap, legs wobbling as she gets to her feet. Her body is pale in the moonlight and he makes a point to take in every curve and freckle. Perhaps he has been in the bath for too long, but in this moment she looks ethereal.

“Is something the matter?” She asks, turning to face him and catching his gaze.

“N-nothing,” he says, the haze of lust leaving him in much the same fashion as a magic spell.

Tomorrow they will be themselves again; he will blush at the simplest of touches and she will stumble over her words. For now, though, he is only too aware that there are minutes to midnight and he is content to pretend for a just a little longer.

[marypsue]

Raising Stakes 22 / 24

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen / Part Seventeen / Part Eighteen / Part Nineteen / Part Twenty / Part Twenty-One / Part Twenty-Two / Part Twenty-Three  / Part Twenty-Four

I’m also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

"We’re getting outta here.”

Jimmy’s voice from the other side of the cinderblock wall was heavy with exhaustion, a little skewed by the swelling from his blackened eye. Usually he flamed on and when his face came back, it was instantly healed, but...it really had been a spectacular shiner. Nice of him to keep it on so Stan could admire his own handiwork. “Listen. Kitten. We been over this a million times -”

“No. Shut up.” Stan rubbed his hands together, staring at the cross dangling from his cell bars. Whenever he blinked, it left neon afterimages on the inside of his eyelids. “I’m not spending any more of my life - undeath - whatever, fighting werewolves or harpies or - or you so some rich dickheads can get off on watching it. And neither are you. We’re gettin’ outta here.”

When Jimmy spoke again, his voice sounded unbearably heavy. “You think I haven’t tried?”

Stan huffed out a long breath. “I know, I know. But listen. I got a plan. And it’s gonna work.”

The cross stung Stan’s hand as he yanked it down off the bars, but it didn’t burn like he’d seen it do to Jimmy. It didn’t take long for him to strip the bars of his cell of all their Madonnas and crucifixes, and then it was just a matter of getting a shoulder in between the bars and pushing. Their captors kept him running pretty low on blood, probably to keep him from doing exactly what he was doing now, but right before and after a match they’d feed him up to make sure he was strong enough to kick ass in the ring and heal any injuries he got out there. Wouldn’t pay to put a monster out there that couldn’t put up a fight. Definitely wouldn’t pay to let their star slugger get permanently damaged.

It took longer than Stan would’ve liked, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure no guards were coming, and a few times the bars made an awful shrieking sound that he was sure would’ve given him away, but nobody came. Maybe they were all out drinking to another spectacular fight, and another happy client. Maybe they’d all gone home to bed, getting cocky because their security measures had held this long. Didn’t matter, so long as Stan didn’t get caught.

“C’mon,” Stan muttered under his breath, gripping one of the bars in one hand and shoving back as hard as he could against the one beside it with his shoulder. “Come on, you bastard, come on...”

With one final shriek, the bar Stan was holding onto gave way, bending like a licorice stick in a little kid’s fist. Stan grinned, and knew it was full of fangs.

Jimmy started when Stan stepped out in front of his cell door. “How -” he started, and then gaped when Stan reached up and tore down the two-foot-tall crucifix hanging from the cell’s bars. “What the hell?”

Stan turned the thing over in his hands, and then dropped it. It really did sting, more so the longer he held onto it. 

He started stripping the rest of the religious symbols from the cell door, ignoring the angry red marks that started to burn across his palms. “They did a pretty good job locking me up, but there’s one thing they forgot to consider.”

“Yeah?” Jimmy grunted, and Stan looked up to see him lazily flicking his flaming whip in the confines of the cell. It sizzled and burned down to embers wherever it touched the crosses that decorated the walls, but in the patches Stan had cleared on the cell door, it wrapped around the bars lovingly and left them scorched black. Stan had only seen Jimmy grin bigger when his head was literally a skull.

Stan flashed a grin right back. “They never thought maybe I might be Jewish.”

Jimmy pushed himself to his feet, crossing the cell to smile through the door at Stan. He gripped the bars with both hands, and flamed on, his face and the flesh of his hands burning away as crackling flames ate through them - and through the bars. 

Jimmy stepped forward as the bars melted away in his hands. Stan couldn’t be certain, given that Jimmy didn’t exactly have a face at the moment, but he was pretty sure Jimmy winked in his direction.

“Y’know, this is why you always win our fights,” he said, and Stan laughed.

“You sure it’s not ‘cause you keep throwing them because you don’t wanna mess up my handsome face?” 

Jimmy slung an arm around Stan’s shoulders, laughing, his face slowly reconstructing itself as the flames died away. “You’ll never know. C’mon, sugar, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

...

Susan started sputtering out threats as soon as Stan pulled the gag from her mouth. “You let me go, you - you - you!” she spat, a few drops of spit actually flying up to spatter the crash test dummy’s eyeless face. “You’ve been a very bad demon, or whatever you are, and you ought to be so ashamed of yourself!”

“Susan, it’s me!” Stan said, trying to work the dummy’s stiff, mitten-like hands around the knot tying her hands together. 

Susan sniffed, tossing her head back and jutting her chin forward. “Prove it, mister!” 

“If I wasn’t, would I be untying you?” Stan said, giving another tug on the knot. 

Susan’s expression turned thoughtful, but she kept her chin haughtily raised, glancing down sidelong at Stan. “Well...tell me something only Stan would know,” she said, finally, before blowing aside a lock of hair that had fallen out of her pouf of curls and into her eyes.

“Like what? I’ve known you for two days, tops,” Stan grumbled, cursing when his mitten-hands fumbled the knot, again. “Shit!”

“Yep, you’re Stan,” Susan said, decisively. “Why’re you a dummy?”

“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself the same question for the last thirtyish years,” Stan muttered. “Long story short, if you see my body, stake it.”

“What?” Susan squawked, and Stan sighed. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, it’s not me, all right? It’s that...Bill guy.” The extension cord slipped free again, and Stan cursed under his - well, he didn’t really have breath to curse under, but he didn’t care enough to come up with a better way to put it. “Long story. Don’t ask.”

“Even if I really wanna?” Susan asked, and Stan wished he could roll the eye painted on his mannequin face. 

“He’s gonna be down here in a minute, I’m guessin’. Ford was yelling some nonsense about some portal thing, which...” He waved his hand in the general direction of the thing that was almost definitely the portal. 

Susan nodded understanding. “So how do we stop him?”

Stan stared at Susan, briefly, before turning back to the knot binding her wrists, which was finally starting to loosen. “I just told you. Put a stake in ‘im.”

“Well, I’m not going to do that,” Susan said, dismissively. “How’s that knot coming?”

“Terrible,” Stan said. “Stop wiggling.”

Susan sat still for a second or two, before her shoulders hunched forward and she said, “You don’t really want me to stake you, do you?”

Stan concentrated, hard, on wriggling his second thumb down into the knot beside the first. “I told you, that’s not me, it’s a murder demon in a monster suit. You’d be doing everybody a favour.”

“But - but what happens to you?” Susan asked, and Stan refused to feel guilty about the warble of worry in her voice. 

Stan shrugged one shoulder, and then pulled the dummy’s mitten-hands apart. Miraculously, this time they didn’t slip out of the knot, the knot pulling apart instead. Stan wished the dummy had a mouth to grin with as he untangled it. “Guess we’ll find out. Hey, can you take care of your feet? I’m gonna see if I can find Ford’s stupid crossbow.”

“Think he put it down back in the entryway upstairs when he was tying me up,” Susan said, nodding towards the window with the metal shutter that Stan had come in through. “I have to say, I know you care about him a lot, but I don’t think that brother of yours is a very nice man.”

“That wasn’t Ford, that was Bill,” Stan said, shortly. 

“No, it was your brother,” Susan answered. “He wasn’t very happy about me breaking in.”

Stan tried to come up with words, couldn’t.

“Yeah, alright,” he said, finally. “Dammit, Ford.”

He pushed himself to his mannequin feet, taking a moment to steady himself. The dummy was lighter and more top-heavy than Stan was used to, and he wobbled a few times before overbalancing and tumbling head over heels back to the ground. He lay flat on his back, staring up at the tangle of wiring and pipes criscrossing the ceiling, and figured that if he’d been human, he’d probably be trying to catch his breath right about now. The dummy couldn’t really feel pain - or much of anything, to be honest - but he still muttered, “Ow.”

There was a sound from Susan’s direction that sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter. Stan ignored it, pushing the dummy back up to its feet. “All right. Ford said Bill was after this portal thing. If we can’t get at the crossbow to take him out, next best plan is we shut this thing down somehow.”

“Well, I like that idea a whole lot better,” Susan said, unwinding the last of the extension cord from around her ankles. “How d’we do that?”

Stan looked around the base of the portal. “You see a plug anywhere?”

“Noooo,” Susan said, and Stan looked up at the quaver in her voice. She was staring back over his shoulder, at the shuttered window Stan had come in through. And the open door.

And the elevator door on the far wall, which gave a cheerful ding! and slowly slid open.

Stan couldn’t help but stare.

The last time he’d seen himself so bloody, he’d just chewed his way out of a car trunk and through four of Rico’s goons. And even then, he was pretty sure eh’d never looked so maniacal. It was something about the smile. Or maybe it was how wide Bill kept his eyes. Or maybe the way he moved, a little too fast in jumps and starts, like an enormous, overgrown spider. Whatever it was, though, something about just the sight of Bill would’ve made Stan’s skin crawl, if he’d still been in it.

Of course, Stan was pretty sure he’d never made a habit of dragging his meals around by the neck and waving a crossbow in their faces, either.

Bill flung Ford out of the elevator before stepping out himself, that nasty, sharp grin growing impossibly wider at the sight of the portal. For one heart-stopping moment, Ford didn’t move, lying in a heap of dirty trenchcoat and awkwardly-sprawled limbs on the lab floor. What Stan could see of Ford’s face was pale, almost greyish, and the hand he held pressed against the side of his neck was slick with too-dark blood.

Bill laughed, that horrible, sickening laugh that made Stan’s dummy hands clench into mitteny fists, and reached down to grab the collar of Ford’s trenchcoat, hauling him to his feet. “Oh, come on, Fordthy! You’re not giving up on me yet! Where’th your fighting thpirit?” Bill grinned expectantly, then threw Stan’s head back and cackled. “Oh, right! He wath in that thkeleton I thmathed!”

Ford made a quiet, pained sound in the back of his throat, like a kicked dog. 

Before Stan really knew he meant to move, he was already charging across the lab and through the door. Bill looked up just as Stan slammed full-tilt into Bill’s middle, throwing both arms around his waist in a full-body tackle. It should have knocked Bill to the ground. And it probably would have, if Stan had had a real body with any weight at all. 

As it was, at least Bill let go of Ford to shove Stan’s mannequin body right in the middle of his drawn-on eye. Stan stumbled back, into some kind of console. Something shifted behind him when his elbow rammed into it, and a low hum started to fill the room, but Stan didn’t have time to pay it any attention.

“Well, would you look at that!” Bill laughed, advancing on Stan, Ford apparently forgotten. Over Bill’s shoulder, Stan could see Ford trying to push himself up on one trembling arm, only to collapse back to the floor. “Thtanley Pineth! You really are a glutton for punithment, huh?”

The dummy’s drawn-on eye couldn’t blink. Bill just seemed to vanish right in front of Stan’s eye. Stan didn’t even have time to react before he was suddenly airborne.

The dummy didn’t have nerves, so it didn’t hurt when Bill flung Stan’s mannequin body straight into the wall of computer towers. Snippets of the room flashed past as his dummy head wobbled on its neck, Bill’s eyes shining yellow from the dark ceiling, the dummy's limbs flailing past his line of sight, the lights flickering in the computer towers, Susan at the doorway, Ford lying on the floor beside him.

The floor didn’t actually shake when Bill landed beside Stan’s head, but Stan would’ve believed it had. Stan didn’t even have time to get his bearings before he was back in the air, hauled up by one arm to dangle, eye to scribbled-on-eye, with Bill.

“You Pinetheth really don’t know how to quit when you’re ahead!” Bill chirped. Stan watched his fangs flash, horrified fascination freezing him in place. No wonder Ford had thought he was a monster. “You’ve been working hard tonight! I think it’th time you took a - break!”

Stan tried to pull free, but the dummy was useless. He couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly as Bill grabbed his other arm and yanked it clean out of its socket.

Bill looked at it, and then half-shrugged one of Stan's shoulders. "Okay, tho that wath more of a rip. The joke thtill workth though, right? Right?"

“You - you put him down!”

Bill paused, with Stan dangling from one arm, the dummy’s arm dangling from the other. They both spun, to see Susan standing in the doorway.

With the crossbow pointed directly at Stan’s body.

“I mean it, mister!” Susan said, giving the crossbow a jab in Bill’s direction. "Drop him, right now, or - or I’ll stake you right through the heart!”

The low hum Stan had heard earlier had grown louder, he realised, filling the silence that dragged on for what felt like an hour.

Finally, Bill gave a little snort. And another. And then broke into full-blown laughter.

“Oh! Oh, really?” he asked, his grin like a crescent moon slicing across Stan’s face. “Hey, jutht how many timeth have you fired one of thothe thingth before?”

Susan’s shoulders stiffened, for just a moment before her face pinched with determination. 

“Does it matter?” she asked, readjusting her aim. 

“Matterth if you plan on hitting the heart on the firtht try!” Bill said, brightly. 

Susan bit her lower lip.

“Susan, quit messing around, shoot him already!” Stan yelled, but Susan still stood frozen in the doorway. The tip of the crossbow bolt traced wobbly figure eights in the air as her hands shook.

“You know what?” Bill said, tossing Stan and the dummy arm both aside. Stan landed on his back, and tried to scramble to his feet, but without his right arm, that was easier said than done. 

Bill threw both arms wide, and took two jaunty steps towards Susan, who flinched backwards but, to her credit, didn’t drop the crossbow. “Here ya go, kid! Thith’ll be fun! Do your wortht!” The pale blue light from the outer room glinted off of his extended fangs, turned the crust of blood coating his chin and neck almost black as he stalked towards Susan like a cat approaching a cornered mouse. “Come on, Lazy Eye! Thee what you can hit! Take - a -”

Whatever Bill had been about to say was cut abruptly short by a whistle of displaced air, and a soft thunk. Bill looked down, eyes widening in surprise, at the inch of crossbow bolt sticking out of the middle of his chest.

“Well, thit,” he said.

Susan whimpered, dropping the crossbow. It went off with a twang, its bolt clattering harmlessly against the concrete floor. 

From the elevator, Carla’s voice said, “You got that right.”

Stan spun, without even bothering to try to pick himself up off the floor.

Carla stood silhouetted against the dim light beaming from the slowly-closing elevator door, her hair wild and catching the light like the halo of an avenging angel, her outstretched arm with the crossbow pistol extended like the hand of fate. She’d never looked so beautiful.

“Carla?” Stan breathed, and Carla’s eyes flicked over to him in confusion, just for a second, before fixing back on Bill. Or, rather, where Bill had been. 

Carla shouted in surprise as Bill lunged at her, and fired twice. One bolt caught him in the collarbone, the other in the shoulder, just above the heart. Bill staggered back, that stupid smile wiped off his face for the first time.

Stan pushed himself up, and threw himself at Bill again. This time, he didn’t waste time with the tackle. Instead, he swung out with his remaining arm, knocking Bill backwards with the punch that had won him so many boxing medals. 

Bill staggered backwards, and finally crashed over onto the console he’d pushed Stan up against earlier. And the symbol etched into its side, glowing a burning yellow. Literally.

The dummy didn’t have a nose for Stan to smell the singed hair and scorched flesh, but the sizzle and Bill’s shrieks told him everything he needed to know about what he was missing out on. He couldn’t help but wince as something glowing an eye-searing yellow and screaming shot out of his own body’s back, his body slumping forward to reveal the symbol branded on its right shoulder. 

“Shit,” Stan muttered to himself. “That’s gonna hurt.”

The dummy didn’t have teeth to grit, but Stan braced himself as best he could, before shaking off the dummy and shooting back into his own body.

It hurt.

The burn on his shoulder took all of his attention at first, a searing, white-hot pain that ate up his entire arm and half his back. He sucked in a breath without thinking, and that was when he felt the crossbow bolts, one, two, three sticking out of him. Stan curled forwards, hugging his own sides, embarrassed by but unable to stop the keening noise that spilled out of his mouth.

Susan bent down, not taking her eyes off of Stan’s slightly-smoking body, and scooped up the crossbow. Carla, on the other hand, marched across the room, and gave Stan’s knee a kick. 

“Stanley Pines,” she said, and Stan managed to raise his head just enough to see her glaring down at him. “You’ve got one hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

Stan managed a sheepish smile. “Would you buy that I actually did eckthplain everything, and your memory jutht got erathed?”

Carla just stared for a moment longer, before rolling her eyes. “Normally I’d say no, but this has been...a very weird night.”

“Stanferd!” 

The shout from the elevator made Stan whip around, a move he instantly regretted. Through the tears that sprang up in the corners of his eyes, though, he could see the hunched shape of Fiddleford McGucket scramble across the room to where Ford was lying, no longer moving. 

Carla followed Stan’s gaze, before turning back to him. “You’re lucky I ran into that man on my way out of town. Well. Into his giant robot, anyway. Did we...we asked him for something to do with this house, didn’t we?”

Stan tried to nod, and quickly thought better of it. “Needed an invitation.” He reached up, and gingerly tried to grip the crossbow bolt that had lodged by his collarbone with his right hand. It didn’t work. His hand wouldn’t close properly, and just trying to move his arm sent shooting pains all up and down his back. “Ah! Ohhh...thit.”

“Here,” Carla said, gently brushing Stan’s hand away and plucking the crossbow bolt out of his shoulder in one swift movement. Stan hissed in a breath, and Carla shot him a sympathetic grimace. “ I...don’t think you were quite that feral last time we talked. What got into you, anyway?”

“Little one-eyed triangle bathtard,” Stan said, shortly. He concentrated, for a moment, feeling his fangs slip slowly and grudgingly back into place. “Is Ford okay?”

Carla looked confused for a second, before recognition dawned. “Wh- Bill? Stan, how did -” She stopped, letting out a sigh as she stared, exasperated, at Stan. “Stan, you didn’t.”

“Had a plan,” Stan gasped. The burning was coming in waves, now, pulsing between bearable and unbearable heat. “Didn’t work. Got a new plan. How’s Ford?”

Carla glanced over towards Ford, and then back to Stan. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know.

“No,” Stan said, shaking his head despite the way it pulled at the probably-cauterized skin on his back. 

“Stanley,” Carla started, but Stan reached out and tried to push her aside with his injured arm as he got to his feet.

“No. That’s not -” It felt like every step was a million miles, but Stan staggered over and dropped to his knees beside his brother. 

Ford had never let Stan forget who was the older twin, but now, wrapped up in his trenchcoat and lying motionless on the concrete, he looked impossibly young, small, fragile. 

Stan smacked his injured fist against the concrete floor, biting his lip until he tasted copper. “No! Dammit, you asshole, get up! I got myself branded to save your stupid genius behind! This isn’t how it ends! This isn’t -” The word fair stuck sideways in Stan’s throat, leaving him feeling like he’d swallowed a knife. “You can’t - I just got you back!”

“Stanferd?” 

Stan tried to hit the floor again, couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than let his hand drift down to rest, shaking, on the floor beside the tangle of Ford’s hair. In the puddle of rapidly-congealing blood that trickled out from underneath it.

He shook off the comforting hand that McGucket tried to rest on his shoulder, but the man’s words weren’t so easy to brush aside. “Stanferd, I don’t rightly know what you done this time, but it’ll be all right -”

“I’m not him, McGucket,” Stan sighed. It took what felt like the most effort anything had every taken in his whole life - or unlife - but he managed to push himself back up to his feet. Ford’s lab assistant looked up at him from his crouch, hands tucked close in to his chest like some kind of frightened animal, and Stan let out another sigh. “He’s - he’s down there.”

“Stan,” Susan said, and Stan pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, staring down at the toes of his ratty boots.

“No, Susan, save it. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Okay, but,” Susan pressed on, and it was only then that Stan heard the quaver in her voice. “Is this thing supposed to be doing that?”

Stan looked up.

Out in the greater room, in the middle of the upturned triangle, a ring of rainbow light was slowly rotating. As Stan watched, the ring turned faster, and faster, until the rainbow blurred into a circle of pure white light.

In the dead centre of the hulking machine, the portal sparked slowly to life.

And, quiet at first, but quickly growing louder, the lab filled with the sound of Bill Cipher’s cruel laughter.

[loisinherlane]

Fic Title: the temple of prometheus (AO3 link)

Artwork Title: An Awakening Affection (imgur link)

Author: Procrastination Fairy / @sohmamomiji (Megan)

Artist: @eternal-reverie​ / @jennifererazo (Jen Erazo)

Fic and Artwork Rating: G

Warnings: A bit of mild violence, but nothing out of tune with Sailor Moon. Trust me when I say it’s very mild.

Characters: Sailor Venus/Aino Minako, Kunzite, (minor) Princess Serenity/Tsukino Usagi, Prince Endymion/Chiba Mamoru

Relationships: Sailor Venus/Kunzite, minor Princess Serenity/Prince Endymion

Word count: 7092

Fic Summary: “You are in the Temple of Prometheus, Sailor Venus. Did they tell you nothing?” / Serenity and Endymion inadvertently disturb the spirit of an ancient temple, Kunzite is captured, and Venus is sent to rescue him.

@ssrevminibang​ 

It was a labyrinth. Of course it was a labyrinth.

“It’s always a labyrinth with Terrans,” Venus muttered as she scanned over the cold stone walls. Somewhere in those depths was Lord Kunzite, Endymion’s guard and the man she’d been sent to save. That was all she knew. “I can assume they’ve hidden him in the center,” she mused as she approached the entrance. The structure was rather out of place in this stretch of woods, the trees stretching far above her head, above the labyrinth itself. Yet, they did not build a canopy over the top. Instead, bright sunlight illuminated this place. Yes, Venus was sure this must have been the location.

“And what exactly were Serenity and Endymion doing here in the first place?” she wondered. “Such a romantic spot for a date, that’s what Serenity said about it. That girl doesn’t have a suspicious bone in her body. No place like this is anything but some sort of . . . trap, or else magical haven. Either way, it’s not some place you ought to go without a reason. Blessing to lovers, that isn’t worth this danger.”

Venus considered screaming to release her frustration but decided that talking to herself was enough. If anyone else were around here--perhaps Lord Kunzite’s captors--they’d think she was really crazy if she did that. But who cared? This wasn’t her planet. Venus had a simple mission: retrieve Lord Kunzite and return to the Terran palace. Then she could hurry back to the moon and hope that Queen Serenity hadn’t noticed her absence.

Beyond the entrance to the labyrinth, the walls were just as high, just as gray and cold. It was rather ugly. Venus pursed her lips in disgust. Trying to navigate through this maze would take far too long. Venus didn’t have Mars’ intuition or Mercury’s analysis skill. No, the best thing to do here would be to use her powers. Unhooking the chain from around her waist, she took a breath and swung it around until she built up enough power to toss it to the top of one of the closest walls, the point catching around a vine. She ran and jumped on the wall, feet planted firmly on the stone.

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

Venus spluttered, the chain slipping from her fingers in surprise. She slid down a little, though she caught herself before she could fall to the floor.

“Then again, you are wearing heels. Rather unusual attire for a savior.”

“It’s uniform,” Venus protested automatically. “Wait, who am I talking to you? Who are you? Did you capture Lord Kunzite?”

“Is that his name?” The voice sounded uninterested, though it perked up a little. “I was wondering who would come to his rescue. The boy and girl seemed more interested in each other. He volunteered to take their place, but he didn’t seem to have high hopes. After all, he knows the price I require for release.”

“And what is that price?” Venus’s head whipped around as she tried to locate the voice--the captor--but there was nothing around but the few strands of grass peeking through the cracks of the walls.

“I shall await you in the first room, strange lady. You can go over this wall with your chain, if you prefer, but you’re better off not to try again. You shall only hurt yourself.”

As if to prove his point, the ground shook, and Venus clutched her chain a little tighter, scrambling to get to the top. As she braced herself on the small ledge, she realized what he’d meant. The walls inside had grown taller, up to the sky. She couldn’t even see the top anymore.

“Lovely,” Venus muttered bitterly, hopping down to the floor. She hung her chain around her waist once more and began her trek through the halls. It didn’t take long to reach a door that would presumably lead to the first room the voice had mentioned, standing tall, the dark wood out of place.

The door weight significantly more than she’d anticipated, and Venus had to invoke a little bit of senshi power to get it to move. When it finally swung out of the way, she let out a breath and closed her eyes.

That was a mistake. Something leapt at her and scratched her leg. Automatically, Venus swung her leg up, knee making firm contact with whatever had attacked her. She pulled her chain back out, whipping it in front of her to clear space. With a quick glance, she noted a few odd-looking creatures, fuzzy bodies and fangs with dim-witted eyes.

“I don’t suppose any of you were speaking to me earlier?” she asked. None of them answered. It took a moment before they realized the chain was no longer in the way, but once again, they moved to attack. “How rude. I’m a guest.”

None of them made any movement to acknowledge her words, and she waved her hand to send a small wave to bat them aside.

“Is that all you have? I’ll admit, I’m rather disappointed. Even the men who come here usually have some sort of magic on their side. You didn’t look like a normal soldier.”

Venus peered over her shoulder, finding a small boy sitting on a ledge--it almost looked as if a brick had jutted out simply to be his seat. He sighed and rested his head on his hand, eyes rather bored. This must have been the spirit of the temple Endymion had mentioned. She hadn’t expected the spirit to take this form, but she supposed she wasn’t all that aware of the forms spirits liked to take anyway.

“You’ll never defeat them that way. These are simple creatures. The labyrinth is their home, and you’re intruding. They’ll attack mindlessly until they die. Do you have the heart to kill them, miss?”

Well. That was a question. Venus had never killed a thing in her life. She’d trained for it, of course. To be the princess’s guard, she had to be willing to kill anyone who would put Serenity in harm’s way. But it was one thing to know that in concept and another to be asked. These little creatures weren’t threatening her princess in anyway, nor were they acting maliciously, if what the boy said was true. Did she?

“Must I kill them to make my way past here?” she asked, swinging her chain just enough to bat them back once more.

The boy smiled, as if entertained. “If you kill them, you will be able to pass,” he confirmed, but he said no more.

“And if I don’t?”

“So long as the creatures see you as a threat, they will attack again and again.”

Venus frowned and turned back to the fight. The creatures reared up again to attack, but she lifted her hand and muttered a spell she’d learned before she’d come to live at the palace, something her mother had taught her long, long ago. It was a kind of magic she’d nearly forgotten, something she’d been told held no value in combat. Pale golden sparks flew from her hand and landed on the creature’s chests. They shook their heads before turning their beady eye back to Venus. She worried for a moment that she’d failed. What would she do if she had? Would she really have to kill these innocent creatures?

Luckily, the brown-furred creatures merely trotted to her and nuzzled themselves around her legs. The creatures’ fur wasn’t nearly as soft as it looked, and she wondered if they were bristly enough to scratch.

“Interesting. You’re not like the others then,” the boy concluded from his perch. “Your powers are from a more basic source. But you have better control as well. It’s just a shame you don’t seem to understand your potential.”

“Excuse me?” Venus asked.

“Don’t concern yourself with it now. You really are the perfect person to come through this labyrinth. If you are his love, then he made a good choice in offering himself.”

Venus let out a cough. “Love? What? Lord Kunzite? Oh, no. I just . . . The girl you mentioned. I serve her. He serves the boy. It’s my duty to retrieve him.”

“Duty and love. Two powerful forces,” the boy said. “You choose to be here for duty then?”

“I do,” Venus said.

“Be careful then. My labyrinth prefers love. You clearly have much love in your heart. I know you can make your way through here. Don’t reject love because it’s so basic, miss.”

“I am Sailor Venus,” she said.

The boy seemed unsurprised. “Your powers suggested as much. Go ahead and make your way through, Sailor Venus. I shall await you in the second room.”

-

It had all started with Serenity and Endymion, as it always did.

“Venus!” her princess had called, eyes wet with silver tears running down her face. She had lifted the hem of her dress to ensure that she wouldn’t trip over the skirt, but this revealed her bare feet, and Venus could only wince as she imagined what the courtiers had thought when they saw their princess running through the halls like so. Venus would have scolded her had she not noticed the other figure trailing behind.

“Your Majesty. I was unaware you were making a visit,” she said, bowing to Prince Endymion. The prince for his part looked a little abashed, but not as much as he normally did when he was caught at the Lunish palace when he ought not. His cheeks were flushed red, but his eyes, normally averted, peered into hers.

“Sailor Venus, please,” he began before faltering, the shy boy she’d always seen before returning. He glanced to Serenity as if ashamed.

“Venus, it’s Kunzite. Endymion and I were--” She paused, the echoes of chatter from a hall over drifting their way. Venus sighed and turned, gesturing for the two to follow her to her chambers.

“Here, let’s speak away from prying eyes.”

Behind the door, her three soldiers were sitting in their own designated spaces. They paid little mind to Endymion’s entrance, perhaps because they were growing used to his appearance as well. That really wasn’t a good thing. Venus might need to separate the lovers for a while, before their absences became too obvious. But that wasn’t the concern at the moment. Venus waved her hand and a few chairs appeared.

“Now what is all this?” Venus asked. “I hope it’s something important, considering both of you were darting around here like mad.”

Serenity sniffed and wiped her face. “Venus, you don’t understand. It’s Kunzite.”

“Kunzite?”

“We were at the Temple of Prometheus,” Endymion started, a deep breath to calm himself. “It’s . . . There’s a rumor that the temple can bless lovers to ensure that they will find a happy ending.”

Happy endings. Serenity had become rather obsessed with that since she’d begun to see Endymion. It was just something out of a Terran fairy tale, but the prince and princess seemed to think that they were a fairy tale. Clearly, this endeavor hadn’t worked out for them.

“Alright. You went to the temple,” Venus prompted.

Serenity sniffed and wiped another tear from her cheek. “Kunzite had followed us. He’d told Endymion not to go there, but I suppose he knew we’d gone anyway. We made it all the way to the inner chamber, but the spirit said one of us must stay. Kunzite told us to run, but he’s still in there, and we don’t know what happened to him!” Suddenly, the princess broke out into sobs, covering her face in her hands. When she looked up at Venus, she actually looked ashamed of what she’d done for once. “Oh, Venus, it’s all our fault. Kunzite doesn’t deserve this.”

Venus glanced over to Mercury, reading a book in her corner. Mercury hid her face. Mars and Jupiter both tried to appear extremely fervent in their conversation. Venus knew they were all listening. She sighed.

“Prince Endymion, you must head home. Your parents will be wondering. I’m sure your guards can make some excuse for Kunzite for the time being,” she said firmly. Both Serenity and Endymion looked disheartened by her words, as if she’d told them to give up on Kunzite forever. “Serenity . . . tell me where the temple is. I will find Kunzite and bring him home.”

-

The second room was much like the first. Venus had known better than to use her chain again, so she walked through the halls, turning a corner every so often. It felt like she was going in circles, but at least, she’d come across another door, very similar to the first. When she pushed this one, there was no resistance. It swung open easily, revealing an identical room, though this was one was empty.

“Well? Are you here?” Venus demanded.

No one answered her. Venus looked around the room once more. The layout was the same, the door on the other side. But she’d been told to meet the spirit here, and she didn’t know where that door would lead her. Would it take her back out of the labyrinth? At least with the spirit, she had a chance of being guided to Lord Kunzite. She decided to wait, first standing on the dirt floor, then leaning up against the wall.

“Hello?” she called when she could wait no longer.

If there were a clock in the room, Venus was sure she would hear it ticking. The silence drove her mad. Should she just go? She couldn’t stay in senshi form for such an extended amount of time, and if she had more fighting to do--then again, she hadn’t really been doing any fighting.

Venus let out a breath, releasing herself from the transformation until she was just a woman in a bright orange gown. The hem trailed along the dirt floor. That would be near impossible to explain. She’d have to be careful making her way back to her room, which would be difficult, as tired as she already was. She was supposed to be the leader of Serenity’s guard. She shouldn’t have tired out so easily from this mission. She should have been stronger than that.

She pinched her nose. Venus didn’t even understand why she’d been chosen to lead. Jupiter was the strongest. Mercury was the smartest. Mars always knew just what to do in combat. They had their elements, storms, ice, fire. What did Venus have? Her powers of love and beauty. Her mother had always told her to be proud of herself. Sailor Venus’s powers were unique among the senshi, and she alone could delve into the heart for power. But that had never done her any good, even in training. No, she had her chain and a sword, where the other girls relied on themselves. She was weak. There was no way she was going to save Kunzite.

“Giving up so easily?”

Venus’s head snapped up, and the boy looked at her with pitying eyes. He seemed genuinely disappointed that she wasn’t going to continue, and he shook his head, leaning onto his hand.

“And I really thought you were wise enough to understand. Alright. I can escort you out,” he said with a shrug.

“You . . . Where did you go?”

The boy looked at her blankly. “I’ve been here.”

Venus huffed. “Why didn’t you speak then?”

“I was curious,” the boy said. “You came all the way here and yet you doubt your abilities. Why is that, Sailor Venus?”

“I’m on a mission for my princess.”

The boy took a step closer. “A mission you don’t believe you can complete.”

She lowered her eyes before straightening up, shaking off the hem of her dress. “I have to try,” she said.

The boy stared as if he were examining her closely. He wasn’t looking at her physical form, per se. It felt as if he’d delved into her soul and was cutting it apart piece by piece to see what was inside.

“You refuse to let anyone know you doubt your powers,” he said. “Perhaps that’s wise as a leader. But until you face what you can do, you won’t know the true depth of your strength.”

“My strength? What exactly are you doing here? Why do you care about my powers?” Venus asked.

The boy rolled his eyes. “You are in the Temple of Prometheus, Sailor Venus. Did they tell you nothing?” A pause. “They didn’t. Alright. This temple is dedicated to the most basic knowledge of humanity. Love is one aspect. Normally, I find soldiers come to save their loves, and all they have is a sword and a bit of combat magic. You have that, but you have more. You are Sailor Venus, guardian of love and beauty. Moving through the labyrinth should be second nature to you. But you’re so attached to your duty that you can’t even allow yourself to experience your own power source.”

“. . . Serenity and Endymion mentioned a blessing,” Venus began.

The boy batted the thought away. “Something the people made up. This place is a place of knowledge. Sure, I usually use love-based tasks, but that seems to be the only thing they can understand. I like you. These tasks will give you the knowledge you need.”

Venus tugged at a strand of blonde hair. “I don’t understand.”

“The people of Earth understand little about this temple,” the boy said, as if it were a great hint. “They see it like something out of their fairy tales. Three steps, a sleeping lover, and a maze. They romanticize this. And yet they struggle to get past the first step. You found that rather easy.”

“The first step? But I haven’t--” Venus faltered. They were in the second room. “The creatures.”

“My pets. People always want to kill them,” the boy said sadly. He reminded her of one of the children of the Lunish court, a small boy whose beloved pet bird passed a few months back. In this moment, he didn’t look like a powerful spirit, but just a young boy with fluffy brown hair and unusually bright eyes. “But you saw. The right way isn’t to kill. You know love, Sailor Venus.”

Venus looked away. “That was just . . . . I didn’t want to hurt them. They hadn’t done anything wrong.”

The boy smiled. “Exactly. You knew that in their hearts, they were innocent. That is a power, Sailor Venus, to know the true hearts of your enemies--and your friends.”

“It’s not much use in combat,” she muttered.

“You think? Perhaps you should fight for the second task,” the boy said.

Venus looked stricken. This only spurred the boy on.

“Yes, yes, you must face this fear. No sword, no chain, just you and your powers, Sailor Venus,” he instructed. At his words, her weapons disappeared.

“Who am I to fight?” she asked. The boy didn’t answer. In front of her stood Lord Kunzite.

-

How humiliating it had been, to learn Serenity had not done her duty and gone to her lessons. Venus had grown lax in her responsibilities as Serenity grew older. When Serenity’s youthful eyes grew a little wiser, when her smile grew a little tighter, when she stopped slouching at formal events, everyone had imagined that Serenity was finally learning what it meant to be the crown princess. Even her tutors had said Serenity was studying with a new intensity. She still struggled, but she struggled with a desire to truly understand the information given to her.

“A little late for that,” said the languages tutor.

The history tutor said, “She will make a good queen one day.”

Venus saw it as she took Serenity to her lessons, the words from her notes on her lips, eyes distant as if remembering. This wasn’t the same silly girl who’d stayed out in the sun until her skin grew dark, her silver hair even paler, the girl scared to step out in the week of dark for fear of monsters. This girl, still dark from sunshine, hair still pale and silvery, was more than a child. She was the future queen. Venus knew that she would serve this woman until the end of time. If this woman was to lead her someday soon, then she should be alright to go to lessons herself.

She’d perhaps been a little hasty in that judgment.

It was needless to say that Venus was livid as she descended to Earth. That stupid, stupid girl, who’d let her mother come to scold Venus about not doing her duty. And she’d been with the girls as well, Mercury and Jupiter kindly averting their gazes, while Mars just stared, as if Venus weren’t the leader--she was supposed to be the leader. She was supposed to do everything right. She was supposed to be better than--

“Lady Venus.”

Venus let out a yelp, stumbling over a root and landing on her behind. She hadn’t even realized she’d already reached the surface. Hand instantly attached to the hilt of her sword, she looked up to greet her assailant. But it was only Kunzite. She let out a breath and lowered her head. Wonderful. Now even a Terran had seen her fail miserably. She waited to see if he would laugh at her, just keeping her head down so he wouldn’t see any tears in her eyes, because no matter what, she would not let him see the leader of the Sailor team cry, but Kunzite did nothing of the sort. He offered a hand and helped her to her feet.

“You ought to be careful,” he said, eyes soft and warm. She felt something warm in her chest, and--

“Venus, you always warn me to watch out for the shift in gravity.”

Venus looked over. Serenity and Endymion were sitting by a creek, on stumps. And Serenity was in one of her white dresses. Oh, heavens, she was wearing a white dress, and there would be little remnants of this excursion on the fabric. How would they ever explain that away?

“. . . You look angry,” Serenity said reluctantly. Her sun-kissed cheeks heated pink. “Oh, no. I stayed too long, didn’t I? Venus, I’m so, so sorry. I promise I’ll-- I’ll tell Mother I was in the gardens. You know how often I’m in there. I was just distracted. I’m so sorry.”

Venus knew she shouldn’t relent so easily. That’s all anyone did to Serenity, fall to her whims. She was spoiled--spoiled sweet, but spoiled nonetheless. She had never really had to fight for a thing in her life, and Venus would do her no favors to continue to baby her.

“It’s alright, darling,” she said. “But we must return. Tell Prince Endymion goodbye.”

Serenity clasped Endymion’s hands eagerly, and Venus politely averted her eyes.

“We don’t have an easy job, do we?”

She looked to Kunzite, who openly stared at the pair, a hint of smile on his lips. His eyes were full of love for his prince.

“They’re not an easy pair,” he continued, “but they’re both full of heart. In a way, it’s our duty to keep that heart from interfering with their future. No matter how difficult it is, there are few who could do this job like we do.”

Venus regarded him carefully. She’d never had her emotions towards her positions phrased so eloquently, so firmly. But the love for her princess, deeply seated in her heart, remained as steadfast as ever. He understood that. She smiled. “Of course. They’re our duty.”

-

No. Venus was not facing Lord Kunzite.

The man took a swing with his sword, and she jumped out the way. In her normal form, her reflexes were only decent. She couldn’t fight him like this. Waving her pen over her head, she allowed the power of Venus to wash over her.

She didn’t have her sword or her chain. But she did have the power of Sailor Venus, and that would have to be enough in this battle.

This man was not Kunzite. He didn’t have the warmness in his heart that Kunzite had. He had nothing in his heart but a desire to fight and be fought. He could barely be called a man. Whatever she was facing, this was just a creation of the temple. Venus could handle it.

She dodged another attack and automatically reached for her chain. But she didn’t have it. That was right. How was she supposed to attack without her weapons?

The sword narrowly missed her shoulder, and Venus rolled away to the other end of the room. She huffed as she slowed to a stop, propping herself up on her elbows to get ahold of herself. The boy was above her, sitting on another ledge and watching curiously.

“He’s not the real Kunzite,” she said, eyes up at him.

“No, he’s not,” the boy agreed.

Venus swallowed. “Is this a person I’m facing? Will I kill someone real?”

The boy shook his head. “It’s not my place to tell you, Sailor Venus. You saw enough to know he wasn’t Kunzite. Can you see enough to decide what to do?”

Venus stared helplessly up at him, only spotting the fake out of the corner of her eye. She moved just in time and leapt to her feet in attempts to get away. The man followed somewhat slowly. Physically, he wasn’t much of a combatant. He wasn’t there to fight her, not really. No, the boy had made it clear that this was about Venus and her powers. She turned her attention to the emotions she’d sensed from this creature. Were they really emotions? Or just a purpose? He really didn’t have a heart, did he? No, he’d just been made from the dirt underneath her feet. He wanted to return to his true form.

Venus took a deep breath and called to the source of her powers. “Rolling Heart Vibration!”

A bright beam showered the room, and when it faded, the man had dissolved back into the dust from which he’d been formed. All was right. Venus could feel that deep inside of her. Her sword and chain reappeared around her waist, and she released herself from the transformation once more.

“Do you understand now, Sailor Venus?” the boy asked, pushing himself from his ledge and landing flat on his feet. From that height, it should have hurt, but he made no sound of pain. “You have a gift that few people can control. The people of Earth--even of your moon--may not understand what you can do. But you are destined for great things.”

Venus’s face flushed at the compliment, though she wasn’t entirely sure if she understand what understanding she was supposed to have. Then again, she did feel a little more . . . in control of her powers. Perhaps that was all it was meant to be. It seemed a bit of let down, but she brushed that aside. She hadn’t come here to train. “Where’s Lord Kunzite?” she asked.

The boy smiled. “I shall take you to him.”

-

In condoning a relationship between the prince of Earth and Serenity, Venus laid out some careful rules. Serenity was to bring one of her guards to Earth each time, and she was not to stay more than an hour a day. An hour of a princess’s time was precious. Surely Endymion realized just how much he asked for in asking for the princess’s heart. Serenity had reluctantly agreed, since it meant that Venus would no longer threaten to tell her mother, and since Serenity’s magic was still sporadic, there was no risk of her failing to transport back as she had once or twice.

(Venus had little clue how well Queen Serenity I had accepted the excuse that Serenity had made a mistake in her magic studies. She’d not punished any of them, but the queen was a lot wiser than any could comprehend. Venus didn’t know how she could not know the truth.)

Serenity had started by taking Mercury or Jupiter. Mars was so volatile that if the wrong member of Endymion’s guard was there, she might burn down the little woodsy destination. Mercury didn’t mind the excursion. It was a peaceful time for her to read a good book. Jupiter loved anything romantic, and she was a little more lenient than the others might have been. Unfortunately, one of Serenity’s free hours fell upon a time Mercury was discussing reinforcements in the palace’s security system, Jupiter’s visit to the house of Zeus, and Mars’ divination training. Venus was the only one available.

“Please, Venus,” she had begged, hoping that her big blue eyes would do the trick. “Endymion sees me so little. We don’t have much time together.”

Perhaps that was what had done it. Venus felt a twist in her stomach, knowing just how true those words were. One day, both would be married off for an alliance, and they would have no time to return to each other’s sides. They would rule their own realms and reminisce about the long forgotten days where they knew true love. In Serenity’s case, she might release her consort after a few years, as her mother had done, so long as she had an heir to tie their families together. The Terrans had different opinions on the sanctity of marriage. Their only hope was the sliver of a chance that they might be a part of an arrangement between the Earth and the moon. Venus held no such hopes of her own.

She could see that Serenity didn’t either.

“I . . . Alright,” Venus relented, transporting the both of them to the Earth’s surface, a certain coordinate they’d practiced time and again. Endymion was waiting, and his face lit up when he saw Serenity. She immediately rushed out of Venus’s arms to her lover.

“Be safe, you two,” said a man standing off to the side. Venus had seen him at the ball, but she could not remember his name. They hadn’t even been introduced in all the frenetic affairs. He had strawberry blond hair, pulled out of his face rather sloppily--no, not sloppily, carefully tied back to look messy but frame his soft features well. Zoisite. He’d been at the leader of the guard’s side for much of the event. He glanced to Venus. “Hello. You know, I’d imagined someone a bit more like Kunzite from Serenity’s descriptions. She makes you sound so harsh.”

“Does she?” Venus asked. She narrowed her eyes. “She doesn’t follow the rules. I can’t help that I’m the one who must enforce them. I’m only strict because she needs me to be.”

Zoisite shrugged as he hardly cared. “It was not a criticism, Sailor Venus. Kunzite would say the same.” He paused and looked at her again. “I take it back. You really do remind me of him.”

-

“This is the last step, Sailor Venus,” the boy said.

“And what am I to do this time?” Venus asked, pausing to straighten the bow in her hair. She felt gross, her uniform a little rumpled, sweat streaking her forehead, though she knew she looked as beautiful as ever. Still, it wasn’t exactly the look she wanted to greet Kunzite in. No, she’d wanted to appear a little more . . . put together for this rescue. The bow was the most she could manage.

The boy smiled. “What else? The Terrans love their stories for a reason. True love’s kiss is the only thing that can break a sleeping curse.” He waved his hand, and sunlight shifted to reveal up at the top of the steps a throne with Lord Kunzite resting. “He awaits you. I look forward to watching you save him. You came here for duty, Sailor Venus? How will that serve you now?”

“You-- Why didn’t you warn me of this?” Venus balked, eyes wide. She turned to look at the boy, really looking at him this time. His brown hair was mussed, and he looked almost sleepy. But he lifted his green eyes to meet hers, and suddenly she saw that he was not just some spirit sent to guide her. This really was a boy, a boy protecting his home, much like those strange creatures in the first room.

“It’s not my duty to warn you,” he said with a big grin, like he was proud of his words. “I like you, Sailor Venus. You understand the power of love, but you find yourself beholden to duty. Nonetheless, I trust you know how to solve this dilemma. What shall you choose?”

“Well, only love can break the curse, you said,” Venus began, but the moment she turned her eyes, the boy was gone.

Alright. That was fine. She could finish this without him. He said he knew she could do it, so surely she didn’t need him. Instead, she looked up to Lord Kunzite, who could not return the favor. His eyes were closed. What a shame. Kunzite’s eyes were a sight to behold.

Venus always remembered his eyes. She couldn’t remember the color, gray, green, silver--something piercing but earthy--but she remembered the way he looked at her as if he knew everything in the universe, and she knew nothing. What could he know that she didn’t? She was Sailor Venus, leader of Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Serenity II’s royal guardians, champion of love and beauty. The Earth might brush her powers aside as weak, but Venus could bring them to their knees in an instant.

And yet Kunzite’s eyes never failed to make her tremble.

Now, his eyes weren’t upon her. He was almost slumped in the cold stone chair, vines weaving around him to keep him upright. It mustn’t have been a comfortable position, and yet, he looked so peaceful. Venus faltered. She couldn’t take another step. She was a lady--a soldier, but a lady--and ladies didn’t go into a room with a lone man.

No. In spite of her attire, Venus wasn’t here as a lady; she was here as Sailor Venus. Her mission required her to do this.

Her approach brought new revelations. The slight lines at Kunzite’s eyes lessened when he rested, and that was when she could believe he was only a few years older than Prince Endymion.

“Should I look like you in a few years?” she wondered. “My princess seems to be just as wild, if not more, than your prince. She shall drive me mad one of these days. But I suppose you have other boys to deal with as well. My ladies know their place, and they never step out of line. They’re such good soldiers.” Her dearest friends as well, but she was never to admit that, not to a stranger.

Kunzite wasn’t quite a stranger though. She leaned a little closer, the stone rough on her hands. Her hands were just as rough, she imagined. The Terrans could only call her a lady, but her hands were proof she was more.

-

“Presenting Her Royal Highness Princess Serenity II and her royal court, Lady Venus, Lady Mars, Lady Mercury, and Lady Jupiter.”

“Our proper title is Sailor,” Venus insisted to Serenity as they stepped inside the ballroom, Serenity leading with her long, far too intricate dress trailing behind her on the staircase. Her four guardians were careful to walk around the train, moving more like soldiers than guests, though they were dressed the part.

“Terrans don’t have a good equivalent. Their power runs through the male line,” Serenity said, batting their worries away with a wave of her hand. “They mean no offense. It’s a nice title.”

“They do have military. General might have been appropriate,” Mercury began to say, but her spiel was cut off by the approach of a tall, dark man with the most piercing eyes Venus had ever seen.

“Generals don’t typically fight in our land. You are soldiers,” he said. Venus vaguely remembered him from Serenity’s explanations--the leader of Endymion’s guard. “But you serve a different function to your princess’s court. You are all noble, are you not?”

“In a sense, they are,” Serenity said. One of her few strong points as a princess was her understanding of the Lunish court. Even Venus had trouble understanding all the intricacies. Then again, she’d always been schooled to be Sailor Venus, while Serenity had her role as the princess, her future as queen.

Venus lifted her chin defiantly to Kunzite. “And you? Your title?” she asked.

“Tennou. It means both king and general. It’s a word perfect for my position,” he said.

“Then call me Tennou Venus.”

Kunzite raised a brow. “You are no king.”

Venus colored, but Serenity made a laugh. “Oh, Kunzite, don’t scare my guardians. It’s a ball. We ought to forget about our worries.”

Even though she said that, Venus knew Serenity’s words were false. There was never a place to forget worries for royalty, certainly not in a ball on another planet, no matter how head over heels the prince was for his visiting dignitary. This ball was not an excuse to invite Serenity to Earth. This was a carefully calculated opportunity to change the Terrans’ perceptions of the Lunish, to judge whether the Earth could be trusted as an ally. There were extra guards stationed at all the entrances. Enchanted invitations to ensure that no one outside the guest list could enter the ballroom. Even Venus’s presence was a message, a last defense. Serenity played nice, but they had all seen the protesters outside the palace.

Even still, Kunzite softened a little at the princess’s prodding. No one could resist Serenity. Venus may have had an ethereal beauty that brought men and women to their knees, but everyone loved Serenity. “Your Royal Highness. Endymion is greeting other guests and regrets that he could not come to you directly. He sent me to ensure that his most anticipated guest arrived safely.”

Serenity flushed bright red as she always did at any mention of Endymion. Venus couldn’t help the way her heart softened. Serenity may have chosen a difficult path to love, but at least she had found it. Endymion was one of a kind, a good man. Most importantly, he loved Serenity. This ill-fated affair brought her princess a little joy. Perhaps they could wait a little longer to cut the strings.

“Your prince and I both know our duties well. I take no slight that he has yet to see me,” Serenity smiled, fingers tangling in the long strands of her silvery hair. Jupiter absently pulled her hand away, as she always did during etiquette lessons. That was the one habit they’d never erased, Serenity’s gripping at her hair, revealing any nerves.

Mercury changed the subject easily. “It’s for the best we take a moment to adjust to Earth’s gravity first. Serenity and Endymion will need to share the first dance when they meet, and I don’t feel up to dancing yet.”

A smile slid over Mars’ lips. “Perhaps warn your prince that Serenity is used to dancing where she can step on toes without injuring her partner.”

Serenity looked indignant, but Kunzite let out a small laugh before he could recover and return to the position he had to play for the night.

“You must excuse me, ma’am, your Ladyships. I have matters to attend to as well,” Kunzite said politely, his mask once again in place.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Kunzite,” Venus said before anyone could stop her. Serenity looked a little appalled at the slight, and Mercury seemed embarrassed by it. Jupiter had to struggle to contain her laugh. Mars… Mars was almost grinning.

Kunzite merely let his lips twitch, neither a smile nor a frown. Venus had no clue what he was thinking.

-

Venus still couldn’t tell what Kunzite thought. Sometimes, he seemed as cold as this stone throne in which he sat. When he looked at Endymion, he had that warmth in his eyes only a guardian could know. And yet after journeying all the way here, she felt that she did know him a little. They had the same duty, paid the same price.

“True Love’s Kiss is what breaks all curses. That’s what they said, Lord Kunzite,” Venus told him, as if he could hear her. “Your Terran fairy tales say a man kisses a woman to wake her, and it’s true love. I’m afraid I’m neither a man nor am I in love with you. Not yet, at least.” The thought brought a blush to Venus’s cheeks, though she stayed strong. “I am, however, Sailor Venus, soldier of love. I am True Love, and I will wake you.”

Venus leaned forward, her breath blowing Kunzite’s hair away from his face. She carefully braced her hands on Kunzite’s shoulder, strong and solid, though warmer than the stone throne. Venus had never been this close to a man. She’d never given so much to save someone. But this was her destiny, as Sailor Venus and as the girl who’d been chosen from the house of Aphrodite to serve Princess Serenity. For once, Venus allowed herself to be Philyra, and Philyra pressed her lips to Kunzite’s, very briefly, then scrambled back over the arm of the throne, almost stumbling down the steps to the platform.

Kunzite’s eyes, warm and earthy, opened. “Lady Venus,” he said, startled.

“Sailor Venus,” she corrected. He looked around, watching as the vines untwisted, retreating to the walls around the throne.

“Soldier and lady,” he remembered. “You were the one who saved me. I didn’t-- I know this curse. Only true love can break--” Kunzite couldn’t even finish his sentence. For the first time ever, he looked flustered, cheeks a deep red, and his hand moved to cover his mouth. Venus couldn’t help but smile brightly, giving a wink.

“I am love, Lord Kunzite. I can break any love curse. That is why Serenity sent me.”

Kunzite looked almost disappointed by that revelation. “I see. I suppose I should thank you.”

Venus shrugged, offering her hand. “I accept your thanks, Lord Kunzite. Now, shall we return you to your home?”

Kunzite took her hand and pulled himself to his feet, running his free hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “I suppose it is time. Lady-- Sailor Venus, tell me. How did you make your way through this labyrinth?” He looked genuinely curious, rather impressed, even a hint of affection. Venus wanted to bask in that, but it wasn’t the time. For now, Sailor Venus needed to escort Tennou Kunzite back to his prince.

Perhaps later, Venus and Kunzite could take a chance on affection.

[archergwenwrites]

Put Her Back on the Throne

(@toxixpumpkin for your Royalty prompt list. It’s Bellarke from 100)

-I was tasked with rescuing this royal family member but I found them waiting for me to pick them up

“Heya, Bellamy.”

“Heya, Clarke.”

“That’s no way to talk to the heir to the throne!”

Both the Princess and the young guardsman turned to look at the Head of the Guards. Clarke broke first, laughing while Bellamy moved the Princess’s steed towards the stone wall she was sitting on. She began to chuckle as well while the Head Guard just looked cross.

“You’ve never done this before, have you, Pike?”

“You’re the only one who’s done this every time, Bellamy.”

His hands grabbed her waist, helping her bounce from the wall to the ground and onto the horse. “Consistency is key.” His voice was light as he lingered to be sure that she was well seated.

Pike raised an eyebrow. “You can stop manhandling her.”

Clarke immediately leaned over - unbalancing herself so that Bellamy had to stay there to keep her from falling - and ran her hands haphazardly all over Bellamy’s face and through his hair. “Is this a problem?”

“No...”

"Then Bellamy being sure I don't fall isn't a problem." She easily righted herself. "Someone else ought to go with him next time."

He let go of the reins to move to his own horse. "You say that every time."

"Eventually you'll find someone else who can keep up."

With that, her horse exploded forward, racing away from the men and furthering her flight from the castle. Bellamy cursed before quickly vaulting onto his own horse. Pike scrambled for his, but the third horse skittered away as Bellamy rapidly gave chase, leaving the Head Guard scrambling.

Clarke knew her horse well. She kept a high speed as she darted through the town, taking quick turns in an attempt to lose her pursuers. She did completely lose Pike with his miserable start, but she couldn't ditch Bellamy. It helped he was pretty sure he knew where she was going.

The two broke out of the village into an open field, a forest just a short push away. Clarke, however, pulled out of a gallop and let her mare walk to cool down - still making for the woods but at a sedate pace.

"Caught me again."

"You know, you would escape if you didn't give up." He pulled up beside her, looking at her seriously. "If today's the day you do it for real, well let's ride full speed into the woods, take the one sharp turn - yes, I know you know which one - and I'll fall off; you'll get away clean."

"No, I'll just go back to my mom and tell her the new prince she's trotted out gives me the creeps. Besides, I can't ask you, one of the best riders in the Queensguard and the one with the reputation for always catching me, to take a fall off your horse for me."

Bellamy laughed shortly. "Please, Princess. I'd fall on my own sword for you."

She recoiled. "Loyalty to the crown has never meant suicide, Bellamy!"

He glanced at her, and then away. "Yeah, well, love makes you do stupid things.”

There was a beat, and then the two looked at each other as they realized he said that out loud. A rare blush spread over his tan and freckled face. One might have formed a response if Pike hadn’t caught up, sending the moment scattering away.

“Are you quite finished, Your Highness?”

“Yes,” Clarke replied slowly. “A good run and ride always clears my mind.”

Pike looked like he was about to explode. “All this to get in some exercise?”

She raised an eyebrow as she urged her horse to the path to the castle. “Dear Officer Pike, surely you know how it clears the mind.” She tsked at him, as if he had interrupted a Sunday stroll not a half-hearted bid for freedom and confession of love. “A Princess needs a clear mind.”

“Then request an outing.”

The look she leveled was full of disbelief at his foolishness. “You know how impossible that is, as the man in charge of assigning me bodyguards.” With that final barb, she urged her horse forward into a canter, Bellamy’s leaping to keep up.

“When the day comes,” he managed to whisper to her at some point. “When the day comes you have to run for real, give me a day or two warning if you can so I can be out of your way.”

“And I told you not to sacrifice yourself for me.”

“Princess,” he began, making her title sound both like an admonishment and endearment, but cut himself off with a shake of his head. “At least you know where my sister and her husband live, if you won’t take my help.”

She didn’t know how to say what she was thinking, and some how a few years riding circles around the other guards discussing policy hadn’t prepared her for this moment.

“Thank you, Bellamy.”

The whispers are everywhere within two days, and Bellamy can’t stand them.

“Can you believe it?”

“She could do so much better. Ought to be marrying a real prince.”

“Could just be rumor, of course, but I hear it’s to save the kingdom - that they’ve got something to end our worries.”

“What could be worrying the queen so much she’d marry her daughter to young Lord Wallace?”

It seems that while Clarke was riding through city streets, Queen Abby was placating Lord Dante Wallace with discussions of medicine and technology. While Clarke raced into fields, the palace conversation turned to mutually beneficial trade arrangements. And while Bellamy let slip his feelings, Abby used her one bargaining chip to be sure the Mountain’s technology would never slip into the hands of the Ice Nation.

And Clarke wasn’t there to protest.

There’s a candle in her window for six days before she vanishes.

Five days into that week, Bellamy starts looking pale, fumbling a little, which is still more than usual, and he barely eats. The next day he can’t get out of bed for the fever and the vomiting, and he’s ill the entire day. Kane, who controls everyone’s schedules and can supersede Pike’s scheduling, gives Bellamy three days off and orders bedrest for that duration.

That night, the candle goes out.

In the morning, Bellamy is dragged from his bed by the young Lord Wallace. The guardsman promptly vomits all over the princeling’s shoes, but as he’s only been able to keep down water for the past twenty four hours, it’s not much of a mess.

“Get up,” snarls Lord Wallace. “The Princess is missing and you’re supposedly the one man who can always find her.”

Bellamy, in his rumpled sleep pants and nothing else for the fever, laughs. He has one leg still caught in his bed, tangled in sheets, and he’s supported on his forearms just above Cage’s sick-covered shoes, and he laughs.

Naturally, one of those shoes meets his face, and Bellamy wonders what happened that week he didn’t see Clarke.

“I told you to get up, not laugh. I am your future king, and you will listen to me.”

Braced againsthis bed now, Bellamy’s head weakly lolls with the weight and his illness. “Oh buddy, I have no idea who you are. You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that to get unconditional loyalty.”

He was rewarded with another kick, this time to the gut, which he repaid with more watery bile as the Queen and her sidekick Kane burst in, Pike trailing behind with the decency to look ashamed.

“Lord Wallace, what is the meaning of this?”

The young lord turned to the retinue, and Bellamy sees the older Lord Wallace making his way though not quite there. “The Princess is missing, and this is the guard that can always find her, yet after a quick round of questioning I learned he was not among the searchers, but in his room. He was in bed, asleep, when I came in. I think he must have aided her.”

The queen looked at Bellamy, who stared back unflinchingly. Her gaze flicks over the room before she turns that imperial look on the noble-blooded man. “Cage,” she begins, and Bellamy catches a victorious glint as the other man stiffens visibly. “Take a look around the room and tell me what you see.”

He barely glances around. “I see a pathetic guardsman’s room.”

“Mmmm. That is not what I see. I see blinds pulled tight against light, a common reaction for those with a fever-induced headache. Look at your shoes. He’s thrown up everything in his stomach, twice, and look, all water. He’s been ill for some time - and if you think my daughter didn’t let him catch her, you must think me a blind mother. Your few previous indiscretions could be overlooked, as they were done in private, could be read as pre-wedding anxiety as you were bought and sold to ensure both our peoples not only survived, but thrived.” Kane, to his credit, flinches, but the queen keeps going, unchanged. “This, however, cannot be overlooked. You assaulted a member of my staff. My staff, not yours.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

Bellamy wants to kick out Cage’s legs for the insult, but Abby’s look is plenty. “Not ever. This was unwarranted and public. I must congratulate you, for you held off revealing this behavior for several months, under what must have been enormous pressure. No wonder Clarke was so antagonistic towards you; she was hoping to draw it out.” She turned to Dante. “I do hope we can salvage our trade relationship, but it will not be done by marriage.” To Pike, she added, “please escort the two Lord Wallaces back to the guest wing.”

When they’re gone, the queen lays a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder and he remembers she worked in hospitals for the longest time, a drug she can’t seem to kick. “How do I look, doc?”

He imagines Pike being incredibly flustered at his familiarity with the royal family, but he can’t help it - especially with Kane, practically his on-and-off father.

“You look like you took a cocktail of something roughly two days ago so you’d be sick on purpose.”

Bellamy, sitting properly against his bed, looks at the queen with his too pale and sweaty face and tries to lie through his teeth without lying. “Now Your Majesty, why in the world would you do that?”

“Same reason you’re the only one my daughter won’t run away from.” She stands, brushing her hands on a pair of pants that probably cost more than his life. “A Prince Consort doesn’t need to bring a fantastic alliance or trade resources to the match, Officer Bellamy. But he ought to bring integrity, honor, loyalty.” Kane is smirking, the old gossip. “Bring my daughter back, and we’ll talk more.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She almost breezes from the room, but something snags in her mind and catches her hand on the doorway. “Oh, and Bellamy?” She waits for his eyes to meet his. “Thank you.”

[davidsankey]

The estate wall of Grove Hall Park (19th-c Lunatic Asylum) over which cucumbers and a vegetable marrow was thrown in a bid to woo Mrs Nickelby by one of inmates

https://goo.gl/maps/K1UGFaDwcZL2

https://goo.gl/maps/tfrxQ1Te4zB2

...Having now reached her little finger, Mrs Nickleby was carrying the account over to the other hand, when a loud 'Hem!' which appeared to come from the very foundation of the garden-wall, gave both herself and her daughter a violent start.    'Mama! what was that?' said Kate, in a low tone of voice.    'Upon my word, my dear,' returned Mrs Nickleby, considerably startled, 'unless it was the gentleman belonging to the next house, I don't know what it could possibly--'    'A--hem!' cried the same voice; and that, not in the tone of an ordinary clearing of the throat, but in a kind of bellow, which woke up all the echoes in the neighbourhood, and was prolonged to an extent which must have made the unseen bellower quite black in the face.    'I understand it now, my dear,' said Mrs Nickleby, laying her hand on Kate's; 'don't be alarmed, my love, it's not directed to you, and is not intended to frighten anybody. Let us give everybody their due, Kate; I am bound to say that.'    So saying, Mrs Nickleby nodded her head, and patted the back of her daughter's hand, a great many times, and looked as if she could tell something vastly important if she chose, but had self-denial, thank Heaven; and wouldn't do it.    'What do you mean, mama?' demanded Kate, in evident surprise.    'Don't be flurried, my dear,' replied Mrs Nickleby, looking towards the garden-wall, 'for you see I'm not, and if it would be excusable in anybody to be flurried, it certainly would--under all the circumstances--be excusable in me, but I am not, Kate--not at all.'    'It seems designed to attract our attention, mama,' said Kate.    'It is designed to attract our attention, my dear; at least,' rejoined Mrs Nickleby, drawing herself up, and patting her daughter's hand more blandly than before, 'to attract the attention of one of us. Hem! you needn't be at all uneasy, my dear.'    Kate looked very much perplexed, and was apparently about to ask for further explanation, when a shouting and scuffling noise, as of an elderly gentleman whooping, and kicking up his legs on loose gravel, with great violence, was heard to proceed from the same direction as the former sounds; and before they had subsided, a large cucumber was seen to shoot up in the air with the velocity of a sky-rocket, whence it descended, tumbling over and over, until it fell at Mrs Nickleby's feet.    This remarkable appearance was succeeded by another of a precisely similar description; then a fine vegetable marrow, of unusually large dimensions, was seen to whirl aloft, and come toppling down; then, several cucumbers shot up together; and, finally, the air was darkened by a shower of onions, turnip-radishes, and other small vegetables, which fell rolling and scattering, and bumping about, in all directions.    As Kate rose from her seat, in some alarm, and caught her mother's hand to run with her into the house, she felt herself rather retarded than assisted in her intention; and following the direction of Mrs Nickleby's eyes, was quite terrified by the apparition of an old black velvet cap, which, by slow degrees, as if its wearer were ascending a ladder or pair of steps, rose above the wall dividing their garden from that of the next cottage, (which, like their own, was a detached building,) and was gradually followed by a very large head, and an old face, in which were a pair of most extraordinary grey eyes: very wild, very wide open, and rolling in their sockets, with a dull, languishing, leering look, most ugly to behold.    'Mama!' cried Kate, really terrified for the moment, 'why do you stop, why do you lose an instant? Mama, pray come in!'    'Kate, my dear,' returned her mother, still holding back, 'how can you be so foolish? I'm ashamed of you. How do you suppose you are ever to get through life, if you're such a coward as this? What do you want, sir?' said Mrs Nickleby, addressing the intruder with a sort of simpering displeasure. 'How dare you look into this garden?'    'Queen of my soul,' replied the stranger, folding his hands together, 'this goblet sip!'    'Nonsense, sir,' said Mrs Nickleby. 'Kate, my love, pray be quiet.'    'Won't you sip the goblet?' urged the stranger, with his head imploringly on one side, and his right hand on his breast. 'Oh, do sip the goblet!'    'I shall not consent to do anything of the kind, sir,' said Mrs Nickleby. 'Pray, begone.' 'Why is it,' said the old gentleman, coming up a step higher, and leaning his elbows on the wall, with as much complacency as if he were looking out of window, 'why is it that beauty is always obdurate, even when admiration is as honourable and respectful as mine?' Here he smiled, kissed his hand, and made several low bows. 'Is it owing to the bees, who, when the honey season is over, and they are supposed to have been killed with brimstone, in reality fly to Barbary and lull the captive Moors to sleep with their drowsy songs? Or is it,' he added, dropping his voice almost to a whisper, 'in consequence of the statue at Charing Cross having been lately seen, on the Stock Exchange at midnight, walking arm-in-arm with the Pump from Aldgate, in a riding-habit?'    'Mama,' murmured Kate, 'do you hear him?'    'Hush, my dear!' replied Mrs Nickleby, in the same tone of voice, 'he is very polite, and I think that was a quotation from the poets. Pray, don't worry me so--you'll pinch my arm black and blue. Go away, sir!'    'Quite away?' said the gentleman, with a languishing look. 'Oh! quite away?'    'Yes,' returned Mrs Nickleby, 'certainly. You have no business here. This is private property, sir; you ought to know that.'    'I do know,' said the old gentleman, laying his finger on his nose, with an air of familiarity, most reprehensible, 'that this is a sacred and enchanted spot, where the most divine charms'--here he kissed his hand and bowed again--'waft mellifluousness over the neighbours' gardens, and force the fruit and vegetables into premature existence. That fact I am acquainted with. But will you permit me, fairest creature, to ask you one question, in the absence of the planet Venus, who has gone on business to the Horse Guards, and would otherwise--jealous of your superior charms--interpose between us?'    'Kate,' observed Mrs Nickleby, turning to her daughter, 'it's very awkward, positively. I really don't know what to say to this gentleman. One ought to be civil, you know.'    'Dear mama,' rejoined Kate, 'don't say a word to him, but let us run away as fast as we can, and shut ourselves up till Nicholas comes home.'    Mrs Nickleby looked very grand, not to say contemptuous, at this humiliating proposal; and, turning to the old gentleman, who had watched them during these whispers with absorbing eagerness, said:    'If you will conduct yourself, sir, like the gentleman I should imagine you to be, from your language and--and--appearance, (quite the counterpart of your grandpapa, Kate, my dear, in his best days,) and will put your question to me in plain words, I will answer it.'    If Mrs Nickleby's excellent papa had borne, in his best days, a resemblance to the neighbour now looking over the wall, he must have been, to say the least, a very queer-looking old gentleman in his prime. Perhaps Kate thought so, for she ventured to glance at his living portrait with some attention, as he took off his black velvet cap, and, exhibiting a perfectly bald head, made a long series of bows, each accompanied with a fresh kiss of the hand. After exhausting himself, to all appearance, with this fatiguing performance, he covered his head once more, pulled the cap very carefully over the tips of his ears, and resuming his former attitude, said,    'The question is--'    Here he broke off to look round in every direction, and satisfy himself beyond all doubt that there were no listeners near. Assured that there were not, he tapped his nose several times, accompanying the action with a cunning look, as though congratulating himself on his caution; and stretching out his neck, said in a loud whisper,    'Are you a princess?'    'You are mocking me, sir,' replied Mrs Nickleby, making a feint of retreating towards the house.    'No, but are you?' said the old gentleman.    'You know I am not, sir,' replied Mrs Nickleby.    'Then are you any relation to the Archbishop of Canterbury?' inquired the old gentleman with great anxiety, 'or to the Pope of Rome? Or the Speaker of the House of Commons? Forgive me, if I am wrong, but I was told you were niece to the Commissioners of Paving, and daughter-in-law to the Lord Mayor and Court of Common Council, which would account for your relationship to all three.'    'Whoever has spread such reports, sir,' returned Mrs Nickleby, with some warmth, 'has taken great liberties with my name, and one which I am sure my son Nicholas, if he was aware of it, would not allow for an instant. The idea!' said Mrs Nickleby, drawing herself up, 'niece to the Commissioners of Paving!'    'Pray, mama, come away!' whispered Kate.    '"Pray mama!" Nonsense, Kate,' said Mrs Nickleby, angrily, 'but that's just the way. If they had said I was niece to a piping bullfinch, what would you care? But I have no sympathy,' whimpered Mrs Nickleby. 'I don't expect it, that's one thing.'    'Tears!' cried the old gentleman, with such an energetic jump, that he fell down two or three steps and grated his chin against the wall. 'Catch the crystal globules--catch 'em--bottle 'em up--cork 'em tight--put sealing wax on the top--seal 'em with a cupid--label 'em "Best quality"--and stow 'em away in the fourteen binn, with a bar of iron on the top to keep the thunder off!'    Issuing these commands, as if there were a dozen attendants all actively engaged in their execution, he turned his velvet cap inside out, put it on with great dignity so as to obscure his right eye and three-fourths of his nose, and sticking his arms a-kimbo, looked very fiercely at a sparrow hard by, till the bird flew away, when he put his cap in his pocket with an air of great satisfaction, and addressed himself with respectful demeanour to Mrs Nickleby.    'Beautiful madam,' such were his words, 'if I have made any mistake with regard to your family or connections, I humbly beseech you to pardon me. If I supposed you to be related to Foreign Powers or Native Boards, it is because you have a manner, a carriage, a dignity, which you will excuse my saying that none but yourself (with the single exception perhaps of the tragic muse, when playing extemporaneously on the barrel organ before the East India Company) can parallel. I am not a youth, ma'am, as you see; and although beings like you can never grow old, I venture to presume that we are fitted for each other.'    'Really, Kate, my love!' said Mrs Nickleby faintly, and looking another way.    'I have estates, ma'am,' said the old gentleman, flourishing his right hand negligently, as if he made very light of such matters, and speaking very fast; 'jewels, lighthouses, fish-ponds, a whalery of my own in the North Sea, and several oyster-beds of great profit in the Pacific Ocean. If you will have the kindness to step down to the Royal Exchange and to take the cocked-hat off the stoutest beadle's head, you will find my card in the lining of the crown, wrapped up in a piece of blue paper. My walking-stick is also to be seen on application to the chaplain of the House of Commons, who is strictly forbidden to take any money for showing it. I have enemies about me, ma'am,' he looked towards his house and spoke very low, 'who attack me on all occasions, and wish to secure my property. If you bless me with your hand and heart, you can apply to the Lord Chancellor or call out the military if necessary--sending my toothpick to the commander-in-chief will be sufficient--and so clear the house of them before the ceremony is performed. After that, love, bliss and rapture; rapture, love and bliss. Be mine, be mine!'  http://classics-illustrated.com/nick/nick7.html