#when i first drew her over a decade ago

[battle-of-alberta]

it continues!

i'm going to embark on my daily constitutional and then make dinner but if you're interested in the colouring process, mayhaps a stream tonight...

[seresinhangmanjake]

The Harkonnen's Sweet Thing

Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Reader

Summary: You watched your brother kill the man you love--a man you were once gifted to by the Baron--and now that he is gone, you think Paul will use you as a political pawn in his war. And you're right. But you're shocked to discover who is demanding to have you.

Words: 2650

Notes/Warnings: This is Part 1 of 2. Ignore canon ages in the timeline. I don’t know what they are, but everyone young is in their twenties, cool? Cool. Dune inaccuracies. Jessica and Paul kind of (very much) suck. Feyd’s a soft boy for our reader. Angst but also fluffy-ish stuff. Implied smut. Mention of pregnancy. I think that’s it. TG:M people ignore me. I don’t know what I’m doing here either, but i'm embracing it for now. 

When your brother pierced through armor into pale flesh, you felt it as if he had driven that blade into your body instead of the body of the man you love. You felt the shock of icy steel penetrating warm and delicate tissue, and the suffocation that came from the mutilation of your lung. You felt droplets of blood run down your front as you reached for the blade that was not there. As children, you were taught not to remove it. Not unless sufficient care was nearby to stop the bleeding before too much was lost.

Paul did not respect that knowledge. He yanked his knife out of Feyd’s torso and watched with relief as he collapsed to the ground. His body landed with a thud that matched the heavy beat of your heart. A beat that reminded you your blood was rushing strong, keeping you alive while your lover was draining dry of the strength to keep himself from leaving this world, from leaving you. 

You wailed in the silence of those around you. Screamed at the top of your lungs as tears streamed down your face. You tried to go to him but the Fremen snatched you before you could reach him, forcing you to your knees, one of them slapping a hand over your mouth. This was not the time for hysterical outbursts; it was a time to stare in awe as a new leader accepted his victory and claimed power over the emperor and his daughter. 

“Shut up, girl,” a male voice spit in your ear. He was tired of the struggle you were putting up against the hand squeezing your face. You were ruining his opportunity to witness a beautiful moment in history. A defining moment. A moment you didn’t give two fucks about. 

No one spared you a glance save for the witch whose vibrant eyes were drilling into the side of your skull. A woman your father had instructed you receive as a stepmother following your third birthday. A manipulative woman whose smile in front of the Duke had masked the scowl permanently seared onto her face when looking at you—a decades-long act that the capture and death of your father had freed her from. And she’d wasted not a second displaying her distaste for his daughter. 

Not long ago you'd thought to thank Lady Jessica for not loving you. Her lack of love made her so terribly desperate to rid herself of you that when cornered the night your family was attacked, she’d thrown you right into the arms of the Harkonnens—a fate she believed would destroy you rather than thrust you into a life you would come to cherish.

“A gift for you, nephew,” the baron had said after the fighting ceased and the soldiers, with you in their grasp, had returned to their unfamiliar home.

Feyd-Rautha had not rushed when he descended the staircase and approached you for the first time. His eyes were unblinking as he’d taken in his present; a slow drawl from head to toe that sent shivers down your spine. 

“An Atreides,” Feyd had said in a low voice, deep and thick and eerily lovely.

The baron’s voice did not contain the same appeal. “Yes. Do you like it? A new pet for you to ruin.”

You’d stood frozen as Feyd traced a knuckle down your cheek before grasping your chin and running his thumb over your bottom lip. He’d possessed not a lick of shame when his index finger drew a line from the dip of your throat to your cleavage. There had been no consideration for your feelings when he tucked that same finger between your breasts and the neckline of your nightgown and lightly tugged you forward. 

You had gasped with your stumble, your hands pressing against his chest to catch your fall while he smirked at the blush tinting your cheeks. His tongue then darted out to dampen his lips before he moved his hand to the curve of your waist and squeezed. 

“Perfect,” He’d said, not in a loud declaration of appreciation, but in a tone meant for your ears only. Then he’d grabbed you by the wrist and led you to his chambers.

When the door had slammed behind you after you were jerked inside the room, you were suddenly filled to the brim with panic. You’d heard the rumors. What would he do to you? How would he do it? Would you suffer long? 

A tear had slipped down your cheek that, once noticed, was brushed away with his thumb. 

“Do not worry yourself unnecessarily.”

You’d swallowed, stuttering, “Wh-What do you mean?”

He’d pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, exposing pale skin taught over defined, well-trained muscle. Then he’d stepped into your space, inching you backward until your spine was flush with the wall. He’d fisted the flimsy, nearly see-through fabric of your nightgown in his hand and slowly dragged it up your body until fingers could sneak under the hem to graze your inner thigh.

You’d sucked in a sharp breath at the pleasurable waves of heat that rippled from his touch.

“Atreides or not, you’re much too precious to ruin the way my uncle suggests,” he had said, his lips a hair's-width away from yours. “I've been looking for you for so long. You're mine now, do you understand?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

He hadn’t loved your hesitation—you could see it in his eyes and in the downturn of his lips—but he was satisfied when you’d truthfully said:

“No.” Because you weren’t. Not after he had brushed that tear off of your cheek.

His next question had caused your heart to skip a beat from the concoction of emotions it shot through you. Fear of the unknown mixed with unexpected excitement.

“Have you done this before?” 

You’d shaken your head and in response he lightly nodded, his nose nudging yours. 

“You want to?” he’d asked, hiking your leg up to his hip, and you found yourself nodding as well. “I won’t make it hurt.”

You’d replied with a soft “Ok” before accepting his kiss with as much fervor as he was giving it, thankful that what you’d imagined was awaiting you upon your arrival in foreign territory was far from what you were receiving. 

Days later, when you had mentioned that he did not live up to the rumors of his cruelty extending to all areas of his life, he’d hummed. Said, “I make many bleed, and enjoy it. I feed off of their pain. Those who have been in my bed are not spared this, and it will not be uncommon for you to see me stained with the death of others, including my former pets.” 

He’d paused then, allowing you a moment to question your future as one of those pets, if that's what he considered you.

“But I have been searching for something that I’ve wanted for a very long time,” he’d said. “Something that hasn't existed within these walls. Something I will never want to harm. Something…soft…and sweet,” he had admitted to your surprise.

He’d then told you that you were that sweet thing. That he’d known it from the moment he saw you. That he was choosing you. 

But it was a choice that had its repercussions. 

All things must have balance, and you had tipped the scales. From his gentleness toward you, a darker, more gruesome beast emerged when facing off with others. A brutal warrior who never surrendered and never lost. A sadistic man who showed no mercy to the opponents whose blood you would later wash from his body. He had annihilated his previous reputation as just the famed killer of Geidi Prime and evolved into something more, all because of you.

That was why you thought he would win against Paul. Your brother was skilled, but the universe had long known the name Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen for his prowess in combat and his ruthlessness which had only grown with time. 

So why was it not your brother on the floor with his love sobbing and struggling to reach him?

In the thirteen days since your lover’s death, it is that question that has robbed you of all peace. 

Despite your brother having escorted you back to Caladan for the time being, you find no sense of home or happiness in your birthplace. You walk the beaches and fields that, as a child, you dreaded one day leaving, but they are not the same. Nearly a year has gone by since you were last here, however, so much of what you once loved about this planet is overshadowed by the shattered heart caused by Feyd's death. 

When you were young, your father would often express his wishes for your future. He would paint a beautiful image of you bringing your children to play in the gardens of your childhood home, carefree and unburdened. It was a source of comfort that he used to mask the reminder of your duty as an Atreides: that you would not be marrying and having children out of love, you would marry in the name of peace and produce heirs in the name of security. And it seems in the end, he was right.

With Feyd unable to claim you, Paul will be the one to secure new arrangements for your future, which just so happens to greatly fare in his favor. After all, he just declared war, and you are the ripened political pawn at his disposal.

“Are you well?”

You turn as sharply as you can at the intrusive voice, but the uncomfortable skirts of your dress are thick and stiff, restricting your movements. Feyd never made you wear anything like this and you forgot what it's like to be weighed down by layers of fabric. You fucking hate it.

Paul stands a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back and a light smile on his face. Clearing his throat, he joins you on the balcony attached to your old room. 

“I know we haven’t spoken much about what’s to come. I’m sure you’ve been curious,” he says. 

You shrug, shake your head, and return your gaze to the horizon where ocean meets sky. 

“We have matters to discuss.”

Matters such as where he will be sending you off to be married, you imagine. He must act quickly if he intends to establish and gain control over house alliances, since they weren't overly enthusiastic about accepting him as their leader.

“Let's sit down,” he tells you. He grasps your hand before you can object and guides you to one of the balcony benches. Once you’re settled, he takes a seat beside you and says, “I am going to ask you something. And I want honesty.”

You sigh. “What?”

“When you were with the Harkonnens for those many months, were you treated like a slave as I had feared, or were you something far from it?”

Your eyes narrow. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because it’s important,” Paul states, staring you directly in the eye. “I’ve been thinking about the way you wept over him after we fought, and how he denied every offer I made in exchange for your release…” With his pause, he shakes his head. “I thought maybe he had messed with your mind, confused you, and that was why you were so hysterical over his loss…but that’s not right, is it.”

“Paul–”

“Does he love you?”

It takes conscious effort to keep your body from shifting uncomfortably. “What is it to you?”

“He survived his wounds,” Paul says. 

The casualness with which he shares that news heavily contrasts everything that runs through you. Your heart stops. Your lips part, unsuccessful in drawing in oxygen. Your eyes no longer see anything but Feyd’s face as it flashes in front of you. The way he looked when he last smiled at you. The way he looked the last time he came inside of you. The look of him when he died—or almost died. Death had been there, looming over him. 

You’re trying to will away the tears. Paul is watching you too closely. “Wh–What?” you say.

“He’s alive, and he is demanding you be returned to him,” he informs you. “So, tell me: is he truly threatening me so aggressively over one of his ‘pets’? Or is he threatening me to get back the woman he loves?” 

The woman he loves. You never imagined yourself in a situation where your brother would ask if a member of a centuries-long rival house loves you. But then again, you never imagined a member of a centuries-long rival house loving you to begin with.

You remember the night he told you. It was late and your bodies were bare after having bathed together. You were searching for your nightgown when he said “Come to bed, my love.” 

You sighed, defeated. He’d called you that before, but whether it was real or not was such a mystery and it hurt your heart a little bit more each time. “You shouldn’t call me your love unless you mean it,” you finally told him. 

You heard his footsteps when he stood from the bed. He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. “Why would I call you that if I do not mean it?” he asked. Then he hummed and said “You know me better than that, my love” before dipping his head lower and nipping the shell of your ear with his teeth. 

So yes, he loved you—loves you. But there’s something in Paul’s voice as he asks you that question that gives you pause. It’s too gentle as if luring you into a false sense of security. The Harkonnens are not known for their capacity to love, and Feyd loving you could be seen as a weakness; his one vulnerable spot.

As monotone as you can manage, you reply, “If you’re being threatened you should just send me back and be done with it. I know you have more important things to worry about.”

Paul’s lips thin in disappointment. “I can’t send you back,” he says. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “Because I believe he loves you. And I need to see how far a Harkonnen is willing to bend for an Atreides,” he says. “If he wants you back, he will have to be open to negotiations.”

You stand sharply, take a few steps from him, and blow out a heavy breath through your nose. You were told your brother changed after drinking that magic water and it shows. Holding you hostage for political gain is not the same as marrying you off. 

“I would like to be done with this conversation,” you say with a huff.

“I understand,” he replies, so you turn to enter your bedroom. But before you’re fully through the door, he says, “There’s more, though.”

You freeze. 

“I had a dream,” he says, his voice coming closer. “There was a boy, no more than five years old. He had your features and your hair but his skin was of the same paleness as the Harkonnens.”  

Sucking in a breath, you brace yourself with a hand gripping the door’s frame. 

“You’re pregnant, sister,” he tells you, leaning against the opposite side of the doorway. “But I'm very glad to know that the heir of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is a product of love rather than an unfortunate incident,” he says. “Additional incentive, should it be necessary.”    

In your shock, you can’t look at him. He doesn’t need you to. You can see his smirk in your peripherals, then he pushes off the frame and heads toward the main door of your room. 

“Try to get some rest, sister,” he calls over his shoulder. “You really shouldn't be on your feet too long.”

[krirebr]

So Kris, I’ve been thinking about Cole and his relationship with Steve. He seems a bit…out of the whole vampire loop. Would you want to give us some insight into how Cole fits into Steve’s crew? And why Steve treats him the way he does?

Chelsea! Ok, here's a little drabble* that I hope, at least somewhat, answers some of these questions. Thank you for indulging all of the little avenues of world-building I constantly want to go down. 💜

*And by "little" and "drabble" I mean just over 1k.

There's no pairing or reader-insert character here, just Cole and Steve having a chat. With dinner crying in the background. This takes place about a decade before Everybody Wants to Rule the World.

This is My Four Leaf Clover

Warnings: violence, gore, death, a lot of blood. Vampire stuff, basically. Also, talk of being unhoused.

Cole sat in the small bedroom, unsure what he was doing there. It was nice, well-appointed, luxurious, but a little bland. Probably a guest room. He didn’t belong there. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed or gotten new clothes. Everything was ratty, every part of him was dirty. He didn’t know why he’d been brought here.

The door opened. The man who’d found him in the alley and brought him here, Steve, came in, dragging a young woman behind him. She was kicking out, flailing really, and sobbing. But she was so pretty. He noticed that right away. 

Steve shoved her into the corner and then looked her in the eye. “Stay,” he said firmly and she stopped moving, but her whimpers and cries continued. Cole’s fangs dropped, he couldn’t help it. Steve then took a seat next to Cole. “I brought you something to eat,” he said gently, gesturing to the girl. “Actual food.” Cole blushed. Steve had found him trying to take down a raccoon to have for dinner. It hadn’t been going well. “But first,” Steve said, “I need you to answer some questions. You know what you are?”

Cole ran his tongue over one of his fangs and nodded. “I’m a vampire, right?”

Him asking for confirmation seemed to take Steve aback a bit, but he nodded. “Yes, sweetheart, you’re a vampire. We both are. Who turned you? They didn’t explain it to you?”

“Uh, it was a woman? Her name was Sadie, I think. I met her at a bar one night and took her home, then I must have passed out. When I came to, she was gone. There was–” he closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. “there was a lot of blood. And I felt… different. But I never saw her again.”

Steve scowled and turned his head, muttering, “Of all the irresponsible–” He sighed and turned back to Cole. “How long ago was this?”

“Uh,” Cole hemmed. “I’m not sure exactly. Time is– It’s been hard to keep track of time. But years, I think. Some years.”

“And you’ve been on your own this whole time?”

“Yeah,” Cole nodded. 

Steve looked pointedly at his ratty clothes. “Ok. And where are you living right now?”

“Um,” Cole ducked his head and ran his hand over the back of his neck, embarrassed. “You saw it. Earlier.”

Steve looked pained at that. “Honey, why didn’t you find a place to stay?”

“I was living on my parents' farm when I was turned and when I woke up, I just– I could hear the blood flowing in their veins. I had to leave. But I didn’t really have anywhere to go, so. I don’t know. I ran out of money a while ago. And I figured out real quick that daytime is no good, so that eliminated most jobs. I take nighttime work when I can, but,” the girl in the corner caught his attention again, and he gulped, “being around people is hard.”

Steve looked confused. “Honey, we don’t work. We don’t need money. You sweet thing. Alright,” Steve moved on, “why the raccoon?”

Cole closed his eyes again. “Uh, I’m not very good at– at stopping. And then I didn’t know what to do with the bodies? It drew a lot of attention. So small animals seemed easier. But it’s hard to get enough.”

Steve sighed. “I can imagine. You’re gaunt, honey. Ashen. I bet you’re weak, too. You’re just a babe in the woods, aren’t you? You aren’t cut out for this at all.” He brushed a finger over Cole’s cheek and Cole couldn’t help the shiver that moved through his body. “Well, we can deal with the hunger right now.” He turned to the girl in the corner. “Come here,” he said, and shockingly, she did. She stood where Steve directed her, but the moment Cole touched her, she started fighting again. And in his weakened state, he couldn’t overpower her. “Make her calm down,” Steve directed.

Cole looked at him, confused, as he continued to try to fight her into submission. “What? How?”

Steve stared at him dumbfounded for a moment then recovered and chuckled to himself. “This explains so much,” he said. “Honey, we can make people do whatever we want. Give us whatever we want. We don’t need money. We have power. We take.” He grabbed the girl easily and made her look him in the eye. “Calm down,” he said. “Be still,” and now that Cole was paying attention, he could tell that this was different. More. She immediately stilled for Steve, who passed her over to Cole. “Now,” Steve said to him, “go ahead, take your time.”

Cole took a moment to just hold her in his arms. She was so soft. So pretty. He tried to look her in the eyes, make a connection, but her gaze was glassy like she couldn’t actually see him. He tried to swallow down his disappointment as he moved his nose over her neck. She smelled so good. So feminine. Maybe, if he asked, Steve would help him keep her. He’d be so good to her. He would. But right now, he was so hungry. He sank his fangs into her neck and drank, sucking on her throat, relishing the blood as it rushed into his mouth. He swallowed, over and over, as he held her as close as he could. Distantly, he could hear someone calling to him to slow down, to stop, but none of it registered. She was so good, so delicious, everything he needed. 

When he was finally sated, he pulled away, her body dropping limply to the floor. He looked at her and was horrified to see that a chunk of her throat was missing. He looked down. He was covered in her blood. He looked up at where Steve was now standing, preparing himself for rage, or disappointment, or something, but the man was placid. Steve just sighed. “That’s ok, honey. It’s alright. We’ll work on it.”

[dozing-marshmallow]

Can you do some fluffy Chris x non-binary!reader where the reader is a 19-20 year old camper on the island, please? ^v^

Sorry If you’re getting too many requests and this is annoying! :(

It’s okay, my love! Your request wasn’t annoying at all, and though I’ve had to temporarily close my asks, you don’t have to worry about it! In the end, I chose to receive them under my own awareness, but I appreciate all the concern!❤️Enjoy!!

CHRIS MCLEAN X NB! (ADULT) CAMPER! READER FLUFF

The host wasn’t shy with favourites.

Hence why you were summoned by him on the beach, at a time where everyone else was too tired to strategise.

You arrive, finding the ambient to be carefully idyllic with the swish of the sea and Chris sitting at ease.

His face was dark orange in certain angles from the effulgence of the campfire he crafted not too long ago. Though that was the only source of light in the wildlife nighttime, you can see his eyebrows tilting at your appearance,“Why are you wearing a hoodie?”

“It’s Canada, Chris.” you gently rub your shoulders,“That campfire isn’t enough to warm the entire air.”

“Fair enough.” he reaches over in his sitting position for an opened bag between his feet,“I had some leftover marshmallows. Thought it’d be nice to toast them together.”

You come to sit down next to him on the log, noticing two conveniently thin sticks on his other side,“I’d like that.”

He squeezes a marshmallow from the packet onto the top of a twig and handed it to you. He repeats the same with the other twig and sticks it out lightly above the flames and snuggles against your shoulder,“Talk to me. Remind me how it’s like to be two decades old again.”

“You’re such a funny man, Chris.” you rub your hand on his thigh as you slowly spin your stick with the other,”For one, I finished college, the funniest years of my life. My first year, I didn’t take anything seriously and neither did my friend. During our class tests, we would share an earbud on one of our ipod players and we would leave more than half of the paper blank.” your lips widened upwards as your mind relives the glassy experience of reckless youth.

“Terrible, dude.” clear Chris didn’t feel the same,“I couldn’t care less about academics, but ranking lowest of the low on purpose? You better not be thinking about doing the same here.’

“That’s what my mom was saying after parents evening. So, thanks to her wise words, I graduated, two years before my friend, who’s in catchup school right now.” a laugh forced its way out of your dry mouth after you finished narrating.

“Right now?” he blinked consciously,“An evening class?”

You drew your tanned treat out the smoke for a bite, confirming,“It only seems late because we have no energy left after putting up with your challenges all day and you call it night the minute it’s dark. You ruined our perception of time.”

“Sure did.” his teeth takes a proud dive into his toasted squishy,“Someone’s gotta teach you kids that staying up late isn’t good for your well-being.”

Says him who made the entire second challenge about just that!,“We’re not kids, Chris! We’re adults. We can drink, vote, smoke, fuck. Do all that you can.” the kind of contestants he was dealing with. You hoped that would put things into a new perspective for him.

“Yeah yeah, secure yourself something that pays you at least six figures a month, then come back to me.” he rolls his eyes, fishing another marshmallow out in the fiery centre,“Soooo? Where are your plans for that? You going to work after this? Uni? Apprenticeship?”

You silently shiver.

Only the crackling of the campfire occupied the air.

“Uh, dude?” he waves his hand in front of your wordless face,“Helloooo? (Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

Chris didn’t appreciate that,“If you didn’t know, it’s kinda a poor show of manners to not reply when people are speaking to you.”

“I know...” you thought the silence was a better answer,“Sorry.”

“Are you saying that because you have nothing to tell me?”

You nod.

“Oh. Wow.” he wasn’t actually expecting that,“Really though? Like you’ve never thought about what you wanted to do after you left school? Not even when you were younger?”

“Nunca. I had other things to worry about.” feeling awkward, you removed your shoes to allow your bare feet to explore the grains of the sticky sand.

“Well! It seems like another inexperienced troubled thing has stumbled across my path, still not knowing what they wanna do with their lives even if they are too old to go back to elementary.” Chris’ time as an actor paid off in his voice at the pretend moment of theatre,“Why don’t you work for me?”

“And end up paralysed for the rest of my life?” you sneer at his suggestion,“No thanks.”

“Don’t be so down, (Y/N)!” he exclaims, pinching your cheek,“Am I that bad that the first job you assume I’ll give you is internship? Heck no! You can be my assistant, secretary, something. Whatever the title is, it’s not really important, but it won’t be internship. Genuine!”

“I don’t know...” hesitation dresses your tone,“Wouldn’t this be obvious to the other contestants that there’s some favouritism if I worked with you after the show? I don’t want them to ridicule me.”

Laughter from Chris in this context was...a reaction you didn’t wholly list out,“Why do you care about what a bunch of lifelong jobless people think? Besides, it’s in the contract, you’re legally obliged to do any role I may ask of you. I’m the one in charge here.”

You quickly remember Chris by his job. The host. The host with the most.

An accepting exhale longs out between your lips,“I guess you’ve decided my fate then, Mr McLean.”

“Practicing formalities already? Hm.” he dramatically puts a finger to his chin, a smirk tapping on his face,“I think I’m liking this employer and employee relationship between us.”

“Gross!” you guffaw, shoving him jokingly on the shoulder, already having his title shattered in your brain,“We’ll have plenty of time for that once I’m in a suit.”

“Who said I want you in one when it happens?” your eyelids disappear. He did not just say that,“We’re on an Island for God’s sake! I’ll allow you to wear something more casual.”

Oh my God, he’s good.

Oh my God.

“W-We’ll see...” you stuff your stutter with another soft goodie, way before it could get golden.

“You bet I will.” Chris had winked at you there, similar to the flash of the campfire, melting your marshmallow as he did your heart.

Cheesy, but it’s the truth. Your life’s barely started and it’s been signed away to an anticipating celebrity.

Ha! When you’ve already won him over, who needs a hundred thousand dollars?

[ohtobealady]

October Prompts

As a penance for not getting my latest chapter out on time, I've decided to embark on a month-long prompt challenge. Is it counterintuitive? Perhaps, but I hope it'll help work as a whetstone to my dulled writer's brain. I'm using this prompt list.

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1 October: Beginnings  

She could hear his heartbeat beneath her head, steady and comforting against her ear. It wasn’t often that they laid this way: his arm pulling her close, her head nestled beneath his chin, her nose tilted up into the space at his throat. But they’d both felt too far apart, the last few weeks too trying to be together properly … and tonight their first attempt at sex in weeks had failed miserably. 

Oh, her awful treatment had been helping, of course, but there were still some days when she could hardly keep her eyes open after dinner. And oh, they did try; they both endeavored to arouse the other in the ways they’d learned together over the last four decades. He pulled her toward him—his big hands at her upper arms, her hips, her neck—kissing her; she brushed her fingers along his breast, his jaw, gently tugging the soft waves of his hair at the back of his head. But it was no use: she was too tired even when she wanted to be with him more than words could say. 

“No. I’ve told you before, do not apologize to me,” he’d said as she sighed contritely. “Come, let us make the best of things.”

And Robert had held his arm out for her, and she’d fallen into the warmth of his body where they remained even now, a half hour later, the exhaustion that’d stopped her from making love somehow not nearly enough for sleep. 

And when enough comfortable silence had passed between them, Cora nestled further and kissed the soft fabric of his nightshirt beneath her. 

“Darling?” she whispered.

“Hmm?” His hummed response was sleepy, but he pulled her closer all the same. 

She hesitated before she asked him, before she let the silly, romantic ideas that had danced around her mind be out in the space between them. 

He shifted beneath her, and she drew in a breath of him. No, she reminded herself. It wasn’t silly. 

“Tell me something you’ve never shared with me before.”

And now he hesitated. “What?”

“Something you’ve never told me. Something nice.” She lifted her head slightly and looked at the fire-lit lines of his face. “In lieu of sex.”

“Must you say it that way?”

Cora rolled her eyes, but laughed. “In lieu of intimacy, then. Tell me something private—just for us.”

He grumbled, and his shoulder moved. 

“Please? I’m so disappointed I don’t feel well enough for sex, I—“

“—Cora, no—“

“—want to feel closer to you. That’s all.”

Robert sighed. “But I’m not sure there’s anything you don’t already know.”

“Certainly there must be,” she ran her finger along the silver stubble at his jaw. “Something you’ve kept to yourself?” 

“No,” he affirmed. “I can’t think, really.”

“Oh…” she groaned. 

“And you? Surely you can think of nothing.”

Cora lifted her eyes to peer around them, at the room she’d spent most of her life’s nights in, and she looked back at him. “I can.”

He evidently did not believe her, and she pouted as he laughed. “My dear, I’m afraid we’ve reached the point in our marriage, indeed our lives, where we may know more about the other person than we do ourselves.”

“That can’t be true,” she grinned. “There’s got to be something you’ve never told me? I can think of at least three or four things you’ve never known.”

“Can you indeed?”

Cora chuckled and rested her head back upon his breast. “Yes. Things from nearly another lifetime ago now.” Her fingers found a button of his pajama shirt and she scraped her nail on it. “But things all the same.”

“I see,” his hand found hers and stilled it. “Go on, then. Though don’t be surprised if you’ve told me before.”

Again, she angled her chin up, her nose finding the space against his throat, and she exhaled a long breath. She wouldn’t look at him as she told him—couldn’t bear to—but she’d told herself to let herself be vulnerable with him. When she thought her illness would be her life’s ending, she knew she wanted the rest of her life to be free from the fear she felt at telling her family — telling him — of her love. “Do you remember our engagement?”

“I have a vague recollection,” he chuckled, and she smiled against his neck. 

“Well, you know what I mean. It’s from then: when we were engaged to be married.”

“Nearly forty years ago,” he said softly, though Cora wasn’t sure if to her. But she felt his arm draw her closer.

“It was when I was back in New York, and we were writing to one another. I’d write to you every day, long silly letters with nothing of substance because I was afraid I’d … well … that you’d been a sort of dream — that I’d dreamt you up. I wanted to keep you real.”

He was quiet for a moment before she felt his thumb brush her upper arm. “You didn’t send them, though?” His voice was quieter. “I got quite a few but not six months’ worth.” 

“No,” her face grew warm, but she fought away her embarrassment. “I sent you the ones I thought were written best. I rewrote some to send you. I didn’t want you to think me frightfully dull, or dim-witted.”

“Huh,” he chortled. “I did not think you dull. Even then.”

Cora closed her eyes, and she finished. “And I slept with the letters you sent me beneath my pillow.”

She heard a small rumble of laughter in his chest and she furrowed her brow; her cheeks still hot, she picked up her head. “What? You aren’t laughing at me, I trust.”

“No. It’s nothing. Only you were right. You’d not told me that before.” 

She lay her head back down, and she grinned again. “I know.”

“And?”

She blinked. And she hummed in question. 

“And? During the Boers? Did you do it then?”

His voice wasn’t teasing anymore, and Cora felt the shift in the space around them: closer, stiller…it was exactly what she had wanted. Vulnerability. Intimacy. The thin as gossamer line between his life and hers growing ever thinner until at last, it wasn’t there at all. Only one. 

“Write to you every day?”

“No,” his thumb brushed her arm again. “Sleep with my letters beneath your pillow.”

She shook her head against him. “No,” she answered truthfully. “It wouldn’t have soothed the ache for you, anyway.” She ran her fingertips along his shoulder and took in a deep breath, remembering keenly the hollowness she felt night after night all those years ago. “I kept them locked in my desk.” She continued. “Away from the girls.”

To her surprise, she heard another small chuckle, and she found herself biting her lip. “Likely for the best to have locked them away. I recall a few being erm … how shall I put it?”

“Desirous?” she provided through her smile. 

The rumble of laughter was louder. “Desperate, more like.”

And this time she laughed aloud, as well. 

“Very well,” he sighed after a moment. “What do you want to hear, hmm? When I first fell in love with you? The beginning of it all?”

Cora had not stopped smiling yet, and now it grew wider. “Oh, but I know that one,” she said against his chest, his heart still beating beneath her. “Our first Christmas.”

“No.”

Cora lifted herself up and away from him. “But yes. You loved me then.”

“I did, yes, but that isn’t when I first knew.”

Cora blinked at him, shocked. “What? Really? Earlier?”

To her slight annoyance he laughed again. “Yes, as I’ve told you before. It wasn’t as long as you think. Why? Does it surprise you?”

“No,” she really meant yes, but, “it’s only … well, I don’t remember it that way.”

“No I suspect you wouldn’t as it’s my memory and not your own.”

“But…when?”

She looked at him in the firelight. She looked at his eyes, his mouth. She looked at the way his brows softened, just a touch, when he brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. 

And she knew. 

She suddenly realized she knew. 

A night like this, only it was thirty-eight years before. Their hair darker. Their skin smoother. Their bodies whole and healthier. 

Cora could almost imagine him that way now, if she let her vision relax, if she let the firelight perform its shadow magic. She could imagine him — remember him — that late summer night in London, the last night of their first married Season, his thinner fingers brushing softly along her cheek, smiling up at her as she peered down at him in bed, a tangle of sheets around them. 

And the vulnerability she was after, the intimacy, began to choke her. She rested her face against his nightshirt; she angled her nose up to the space made just for her, sheltered by his chin. 

“We were in London—“

“—Never mind,” she whispered to him. 

“What’s that?” She could hear the rumble of his words in his chest. 

She swallowed. “I don’t really need to know. I know enough.”

“Do you?” She felt him press his mouth to the top of her head, and she closed her eyes. “You know? You know that I have loved you very much, and for so long?”

She nodded against him, and at some length she brought her face up to see him again. “And I love you,” she barely whispered, but she was rewarded with a smile. 

“You do,” he agreed. “I know.”

[natlacentral]

‘Avatar: The Last Airbender’ Stars on Bringing Animated Characters to Live Action: “We’re Weren’t Doing a Caricature”

After more than half a decade of development, Netflixunveiled its highly anticipated live- action Avatar: The Last Airbender on Friday. 

The show, adapted from Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko’s animated series that premiered in 2005, follows the beloved story of Aang, an Avatar who can bend all four elements — water, earth, fire and air — and is responsible for maintaining harmony in his universe’s four nations. Along the way, Aang befriends waterbender Katara and her brother Sokka as they work together to end the fire nation’s war against the other nations. Frequently, the group faces off against Zuko, a fire nation prince locked in an ongoing pursuit of Aang’s demise.

Though Netflix’s live-action approach to the story heads for darker themes than Nickelodeon’s animated original, the cast of kids at the show’s center maintains the story’s sense of childlike wonder that is so beloved by fans. 

The actors — Gordon Cormier (Aang), Kiawentiio (Katara), Ian Ousley (Sokka) and Dallas Liu (Zuko) — began their journeys toward the show around four years ago, navigating a blind casting process that tried to keep the subject of their audition a secret and involved a lengthy, international search for the right artists to bring DiMartino and Konietzko’s characters to life with the Albert Kim adaptation. Each an avid fans of the original (Cormier says he’s watched the show 26 times), the group spoke to The Hollywood Reporter about how their love for the franchise gave way to their need to get the live-action story right — and where they’re hoping the show will go next.

Let’s go back to the beginning. What do you remember about the casting process? 

DALLAS LIU They sent all of us these dummy sides and fake character names. I know some of these guys didn’t know [it was for Avatar], but for me it felt obvious from the character’s description, and my fake name was “Juno.” I think, knowing the series, already being such a huge fan and Zuko being my favorite character … I definitely used that to my advantage throughout the audition process. 

GORDON CORMIER I actually turned down the audition, because I had no clue what it was. I got the audition, and it was for a 12-year-old. I was a small 11-year-old at that point. I had told my agent, “I don’t want any more auditions like this because I’m too small to play 12.” So I turned it down. And then they sent it back and they said, “No, we really want to see this.” 

Were you all fans of the animated series?  

KIAWENTIIO Me, Dallas and Ian grew up [watching] the show, but Gordon was actually born after it aired. 

CORMIER After I booked the role, I looked up the animated series. I watched it 26 times, because I became a giant fan. I didn’t even really watch it to study my character — the first time was for that. Then I watched it again for the fun of it, and again, again, again, again. I feel like I really got to know Aang, to see what he’s going through and hopefully bring that into the live action, with a little bit deeper and darker tones. 

LIU I think because of the significance of Dante Basco’s voice acting [Basco is beloved as the original voice of Zuko], I felt a little extra pressure knowing that there were such huge shoes to fill. But the way I navigated that was: We aren’t trying to make a remake scene for scene, line for line. We’re trying to get a new set of people involved. Hopefully, they love the show just as much as we do, and we give the old fans something new. 

Were there any specific parts of your character you drew from the animated series, or anything you added that felt new? 

IAN OUSLEY It’s such an amazing opportunity for the character of Sokka to go from an animated series to live action. When I watch the original series, I feel like Sokka is always the voice of the audience, so that’s something that I tried to carry over into our show. How can I be the voice of the audience and set the tone for everybody at home? 

LIU We wanted to make sure we weren’t doing a caricature of these animated characters. For Zuko, in season one of the animated series, definitely for the first half of it, he’s quite melodramatic and extremely emotional to the point where his eyes are jumping out of his face. I think his relationship with Uncle Iroh in the live-action series was really cool for me. He’s not so much a brat to his own uncle, who looked out for him and cared for him. 

OUSLEY In the animated show, Sokka is [also] doing so many things that are animated. It was a big challenge to bring it into reality and not lose any parts of him. But in addition to that, what comes naturally with live action is the humanness. A lot of the things happening in the show are very real and very intense, and he gets to have real human reactions while also getting to find out what that comedy looks like. 

Bringing this world into live action also meant some impressive martial arts from all four of you! What was your preparation for that? 

KIAWENTIIO It was helpful, we did a six-week boot camp before filming. That’s where I got familiar with the fight scenes I had to train for. 

CORMIER I was super energetic. Running, around, doing all these exercises … that was heaven for 12-year-old me. 

LIU For Gordon, he’s supposed to be a master at such a young age. He needed to be extremely well-versed in the style of air from the beginning. 

OUSLEY It was really awesome watching the commitment to Gordon’s character, because he would go home and practice for hours and hours on his own. He was having so much fun. They had to keep him on the kids’ schedule still, but even as an 11- and 12-year-old, he was still putting in hours of work, because they were giving him videos to practice. It was awesome. 

KIAWENTIIO I feel like with my character, I got really lucky with the fact that I grew alongside her throughout the series. She doesn’t start out as a master, but she ends up that way. 

LIU And Ian is actually a world champion martial artist in weapons, but his character isn’t an expert. So he had to unlearn those punches. 

OUSLEY I love weapons in general, and Sokka has a really special attachment to his weapons, and his war club. So it was really cool to bring that over. But yeah, I had to unlearn a lot of that technique.  

It’s been about a year and a half since you finished filming season one. What’s it been like reuniting for this press tour? 

KIAWENTIIO It’s so interesting, because I feel like we got so much closer after filming. We definitely got to know each other while filming. But it’s on a different level now, getting to spend that time apart and realize how much we actually care for each other. 

OUSLEY The first time I saw Gordon [after filming], his voice had changed. I freaked out. I was like, “What is happening?” And then I kept telling him, “Talk again!” It’s been awesome to get to know each other again. We’ve grown up, and we’re growing together. 

LIU We’ve grown, not just as actors and actresses, but each of us grew up as human beings, in front of the hundreds of people on set. Each of them had a huge influence on the people we are right now. 

So, what are your hopes and dreams for a live-action season two? 

KIAWENTIIO With the animated series, it just gets better every season. I think adding a new addition to our group, getting to see Toph, is super exciting. It would also be really cool if I got to portray the Painted Lady. 

LIU Season two is epic for Zuko. I want to do the one where I’m yelling at the lighting. 

IAN I’m waiting for season three, though, because I want my sword. I am the world champion in weapons, specifically, so his sword would be a dream come true. 

CORMIER Also season three, I really want to do that episode right before I go fight the fire lord and Aang won’t sleep. I start to see all these visions, and Momo and Appa start talking. It’d be so awesome. 

[kirythestitchwitch]

Klaroline WIP Wed - fake sexy lamp au - 1.3

1.1 here 1.2 here

“Ugh!” With a dramatic huff and a flounce, Rebekah tipped sideways to lean on his shoulder, which drew a deep exhale from her exceedingly patient older brother, who was reaching his limit. Her gaze drifted over the contents of his folder, and she drew in a short breath. “Oh. Stefan.”

“Mm. The Ripper still appears to call this town home. Once more, he’s been pulled into the wake of a doppelgänger’s tragedies and found himself ensnared.” Lifting a page, from the stack underneath, he held up a photo—clearly taken at night—of Stefan outside a house, peering in the window.

Making a face, Rebekah reached her arm around and plucked another photo up: Stefan watching the doppelgänger in a graveyard. In the photo, she appeared to be writing in a journal, knees tucked up almost to her chin. 

“She’s not nearly as pretty as the first one,” Bekah said cattily, and real amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth for the first time all morning. His little sister could be so petty when she chose to be, and she had never quite gotten over the loss of Stefan all those years ago. To find he had been pulled into the aura of the doppelgänger like so many others before him had to be a low blow. The low level psychic tug the doppelgängers projected seemed to work on some, not on others. Elijah seemed eternally bound to their whims.

Thinking of Elijah put the scowl back on Klaus’ face.

“Enough, Rebekah.” Pulling the photo from her fingers, he tucked it back into the folder and shut it. “That will be your new best friend, come Monday morning.”

“Ugh. She promises to be horribly depressing. Writing in her diary in a graveyard, honestly.” Rebekah flicked the folder. “Hope you have a Tortured Artist persona ready, she’ll probably like that one.”

“Well, we’re not leaving anything to chance, or the treachery of the canon fodder this time, are we? Nor will Elijah be here to become romantically entangled in her web.” Idly, he watched passers-by mill around the town square.

Rolling her head against his shoulder to look up at his face, Rebekah squinted at him. “Are you two ever going to make up? It’s been decades.”

Something that certainly wasn’t petulance, definitely annoyance, crept into his voice. “Elijah is the one with the grudge. If he had only not spent two decades wallowing in self-imposed misery—”

“After you told him that you threw us into the ocean,” Rebekah pointed out.

“—Of which it was very clear to see I had not done so. You would have thought his spies better at reporting such things, and after I left so many of them alive.” It was rather magnanimous of him, he thought. Elijah should have come running, decades before he’d crawled out of his den of woe. Even now, he was still living apart from them. Oh, he’d visit to see Kol and Rebekah, but Klaus he ignored with frigid politeness. It was galling.

“You could just apologize,” Bekah wheedled.

Klaus reached for his backpack and shoved the folders inside, jerking the zip closed. Getting to his feet, he dumped Rebekah over on the bench and she swore while she righted herself. 

“I guess that’s a ‘no’ then,” she said irritably, shoving hair off her face.

[maybanksbabe]

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐥 ➢𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆 - 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒃𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒁𝒐𝒏𝒆

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 | 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - On a mission to retrieve a drone to help the group look for the Merchant, more hijinks ensue. Kodi gives the boys an insight into why Kie might have shot down John B. And as usual, nothing goes the way they planned it.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬) - language, passing mention of sexuality, boys being idiots, canon-typical drama, if I missed anything lmk!

"THAT'S NOT GOLD," Pope stated with disappointment as Kie handed out a sturdy envelope with marker printed on the front.

"Holy shit," John B mumbled as he took in the sight of the envelope. Kodi helped Kie out of the hole and the two of them moved to join the boys with the envelope.

"This is from my dad." John B looked around in disbelief, clearly hesitant to open it just yet.

"Guys - code red. Code red - square groupers! Square groupers!" JJ alerted them as a vehicle approached. They all hurried around the side of the crypt and dropped to the floor.

"Lights!" Kie hissed and all the lanterns and torches went off. Kodi reached over to help JJ turn off his headlamp when she noticed he was struggling.

"It's those guys that robbed your house." There was no hiding the panic in Pope's voice as they huddled together and tried to keep as quiet as physically possible. JJ peered around the corner and everyone waited with bated breath.

"Is it them?"

"Homie's got a gun -" That was all the prompting they needed to turn their flashlights on again and take off in a run.

They scaled and cleared the gate with no issue at all. Except for Pope who got caught on the top. JJ drew the gun but John B immediately stopped him.

"No way -"

"You're gonna rip -" Pope's protests were cut off when his shorts came away and remained stuck to the gate. Unable to hang around, they curbed their laughter in favour of getting into the Twinkie first.

"Oh, my God..."

-/-/-

Back in the safety of the Chateau, they regrouped and composed themselves once Pope had put a fresh pair of shorts on. Kodi made her way into the lounge and saw JJ making a sandwich with mouldy bread.

"JJ, that bread had mould on it three days ago..." Pope remarked as he rejoined them. He just shook his head and carried on.

"I'll just pull off the bad parts. Plus, mould is good for you. It's just a natural organism..."

"I don't know how told you that but I don't think it's factually correct," Kodi interjected as she got comfortable on the sofa.

With the light of several lanterns and candles, they gathered around the table to watch John B open the envelope. JJ took a bite of the sandwich and immediately spat it into the wastebasket before rejoining them.

They all watched as John B unfolded a map and spread it out on the table. There was writing and small diagrams peppered across it.

"Holy shit..."

"Oh, X marks the spot -" Pope pointed to the hastily drawn X on the map.

"Wait - there's something else." He reached into the envelope again and this time pulled out a tape recorder. John B pressed the play button and it worked.

"Dear Bird -"

"Who's Bird?" JJ piped up, confused.

"That's what my dad called me..." John B trailed off.

"I hate to say I told you so... But I told you so. And you doubted your old man. I suspect, at this moment,  you're filled with guilt and self-loathing over our last fight. But don't kill yourself yet, kid. I didn't expect to find the Merchant either -"

They all shared looks of disbelief, hoping what they'd heard was true.

"You were probably right to call me out. Wasn't exactly the father of the decade. What can I say, kid? I could smell the barn. And hopefully, we're listening to this in our brand new sugar shack in Costa Rica, living off passive investments and pulling on permits."

With each passing second, John B's eyes got glassier. Filled with unshed tears as he listened.

"If not, and you find this for less than optimal reasons, well, that's what the map is for. There she is, the wreck of the Merchant. If something happens to me, finish what I started. Go for the gold, kid. I love you, Bird. Even if I didn't always act like it... I'll see you on the other side..."

John B got up and walked away from the table. Whilst the rest of them marvelled at the fact that Big John had in fact found the wreck, Kodi wanted desperately just to hug him. Give him some kind of comfort after everything he'd been through so far.

Kie beat her to it and offered an embrace that he seemed to melt into.

-/-/-

Later that night, sat on the dock, they all felt the need to relax and destress. Kie strummed her Ukelele and JJ skimmed rocks across the water. Thunder rumbled in the distance and Kodi could smell the impending storm in the air.

"How much was it, again?" JJ spoke up, though his voice came out uncharacteristically quiet.

"Four hundred mil," Pope replied without missing a beat.

"Alright, let's talk about the split." The way JJ spoke almost made Kodi believe that they stood even the smallest chance of actually finding the gold. It was oddly refreshing.

"Before we say evenly, may I remind you I am the only one that can properly defend us from those groupers who were after us," JJ stated and held up the gun. Kodi shook her head slightly.

"You haven't trained -" Pope began to object.

"YouTube, bro!"

"That's really not the way forward," Kodi remarked quietly as she settled against the wooden railing behind her. Whilst Pope and JJ bickered, she noticed John B was disconnected from the conversation. She stretched her leg out to bump her foot against his as casually as possible. He lowered the bottle he'd been drinking from and they shared a look.

Are you okay? Kodi mouthed to him and he shrugged it off. That didn't make her feel any better, but she'd made an effort at least.

"What are you going to do with your eighty mils, Pope?" Kie queried, curious. Kodi watched as he thought about it for a long beat before turning to look at them.

"Pay for college in advance. And also, textbooks. Those are expensive," he replied with a slight nod.

"That's smart. That's a good plan," Kodi agreed and picked at her sleeve.

"What about you, Kie?" JJ prompted and the conversation took a slight turn.

"Yeah, what does a socialist do when she's rich?"  Pope teased. Thankfully, Kie had the good sense to just laugh off their digs and remarks.

"I just wanna make a double album. About OBX, the Pogues. You know, the way Catch A Fire is about Kingston. Record it at Marley Studio. Peter Tosh on producing -"

"Peter Tosh is -"

"Dead, I know." Kodi chuckled at the interaction and all eyes turned to her.

"Kodi?"

"Travel and surf," she replied quietly, "I wanna see the world. Put some miles on my soul. Experience the different languages, cultures, and food. Surf at the Eddie Aikau in Hawaii. I wanna see life beyond the Outer Banks." They all seemed surprised by her answer before JJ spoke up.

"I know what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna get a big ass house on Figure Eight and go Full Kook."

"You're gonna go Full Kook?"

"Yep. Gonna get a marble statue of myself, and then I'm gonna get a koi pond. Put a bunch of those fish -"

"I'm never visiting," Kie joked and a chorus of wishful laughter passed through the group.

"What are you gonna do, JB?" Pope's question turned all their heads to the boy in question.

"To going Full Kook," he replied with a growing grin. Everyone raised their drinks and toasted.

"To going Full Kook!" They all agreed and sat back in their chosen seats. A hopeful air surrounded them. The determination to find gold was a mutual desire.

They were going to make it happen.

-/-/-

By the following morning, the five of them were making their way through the waterfront. People were still working on clearing the damage left behind by Agatha. JJ whistled and caught their attention.

"You guys see that?" Everyone sat up and leaned forward to see what he was talking about. A speedboat was going in the opposite direction to them. It looked beyond expensive.

"That's the Malibu twenty-four-MXZ. The world's finest wakesetter. Number one in quality, luxury and performance," JJ stated and they all watched in fascination as it glided by.

"Two hundred K. Easy," Kodi remarked and ran a hand through her hair, her head tipped back to soak in the sun.

"We picked the wrong parents," Pope lamented before Kie interrupted.

"I hate to break it to you guys, but that's Topper and his girlfriend." Their amazement quickly soured and all eyes watched as the boat passed by. Sarah was tucked into Topper's side and held her nose in the air at the sight of them.

"You don't have to act like you don't see us, bitch." Kodi stifled a laugh at Kie's comment and put a hand behind her head, the other splayed on her stomach.

"Relax, Kie. If she wanted to, she would."

-/-/-

Stretched out in the back of the Twinkie, Kodi had lost track of what they'd been planning to do until they rolled to a stop and John B cut the engine. JJ turned and tapped her ankle, stirring her into motion.

"Alright, keep a lookout. We're behind enemy lines," JJ warned before loading the gun. Kodi opened her mouth to protest but John B beat her to it.

"C'mon, man, just put it back."

"What?"

"JJ -"

"You can never be too careful," he replied and Kodi shook her head in defeat. Pope climbed out and leaned into the passenger seat window.

"I predict that bringing a weapon into a four-star hotel will likely cause more problems than they solve."

"For a change, I agree with Pope. This is a bad idea." Kodi and Kie were the last ones out of the back and slid the doors shut with ease.

"I swear to God, I'm gonna throw that thing in the ocean, JJ. Put it back," Kie chimed in and he shook his head. Thankfully, John B pulled it out of his hand and put it in the glove box. Like a sulking child, JJ relented and climbed out of the Twinkie to follow after them.

"So, where exactly are we going?" Kodi questioned as they made their way up to the hotel he bussed tables at.

"We're getting on the internet because only rich people have electricity right now," he rebuffed and clipped his employee card to his belt loop. They followed him into the hotel through the trade entrance at the back and made their way through the teeming kitchen.

Steam, loud utensils and shouting back and forth made it hard to think straight. But no one seemed to protest their passing presence.

"See, they got the backup generators going? Kooks don't miss a beat," JJ commented quietly over his shoulder as they passed through the main floor.

When they finally made it to the room full of computers and WiFi that was actually connected, they all seemed to become frantic. Uncertain as to what they should check first. Pope got into the nearest computer and John B retrieved the map from his backpack. He read the coordinates out and they all gathered around to watch.

"- Boom, continental shelf, right there," John B pointed out with a gesture to the screen and where the red pin had landed.

"Well, if it's off the deep end, it's not going to be much of a treasure hunt, is it?" Eyes fixed on the screen, they watched in anticipation as Pope zoomed in, closer and closer.

"Shit, it's on the high side. It's only nine-hundred feet," John B concluded with an impressed expression.

"Oh, yeah, that's not too deep." Kodi's sarcasm was met by a subtle nod from JJ and pointed looks from Pope and John B.

"Is that doable?" Kie whispered, brows knitted together in confusion.

"Totally doable," JJ assured her and Pope protested.

"Will we be taking your personal submarine?"

"How do you know this, Mister Dive Master?"

"The Salvage Yard," JJ replied, matter-of-fact, "They've got a drone that can drop a thousand. It has a three-sixty camera and everything. It's for, like, deep dives and stuff."

"It sounds exactly like what we need," Kodi stated in agreement.

"Can your dad get his grimy little hands on that?" John B questioned, clearly not convinced.

"Well... My dad's grimy little hands are what got his ass fired. I guess the salvage captain frowns  upon showing up shitfaced, turns out."

"Great..."

"The drone is there. It's in the impound yard, outback."

"How much did you say was on the Royal Merchant, again?" Kie shuffled in her seat slightly and tucked a few curls behind her ear.

"Four hundred million," JJ and John B replied in unison. Before any of them could reach the door, Pope had gotten up and stood in front of the double doors, arms open wide. Kie had a go at trying to move him, but it was no use. Thankfully, Pope didn't resist for long and they all made a dash out of the hotel, and back to the Twinkie.

"Can't we do anything legal for money?" the brainiac complained as they took off.

-/-/-

"Pope, we're not stealing the drone. We're borrowing it," John B explained for what sounded like the millionth time.

"Humans are the only animal that can't tell fantasy from reality," Pope quoted, staring out of the window. Kodi sat on the carpeted floor and watched as JJ rolled a joint, seemingly disconnected from the whole conversation.

"Did you come up with that?" John B questioned over his shoulder as he drove.

"No, Albert Bernstein came up with it, but it applies to this whole treasure-hunting thing."

"So, which is it? Fantasy or reality?"

"Why are you so weird, Pope?" Kodi nudged JJ with her foot. Thankfully, the conversation kept moving.

"It's fantasy, but possibly a reality."

"Reality," John B agreed with Kie. Kodi's attention turned back to JJ sparking up, the joint hanging from the corner of his mouth. Before the flame could make contact, Pope plucked it from his mouth and cast it aside.

"Keep the signal clear." The pout on his face was too much to bear and Kodi laughed as she watched him flip the lighter closed and tuck it back into his pocket.

"Alright, roll out." Kie went ahead and put the diversion in motion to draw out the security guard. Kodi, Pope, John B and JJ waited off to the side, hiding behind a parked boat.

"How's it going with Kiara?" JJ teased John B as they watched the guard follow Kie to the people carrier.

"It's not awkward, weird or anything."

"Honestly, I didn't think you were actually gonna listen to me..." JJ replied, amused by John B's answer.

"I was a hundred per cent sure she was into you. Pope would agree." Eyes turned to Pope, who was crouched at the end of the line. He refused to look at any of them.

"Ehh..."

"So, like, Kie. She definitely gave you the Heisman?" Kodi queried, both curious and just desperate to move the conversation along a little faster.

"Oh, no question. Yep."

"Maybe she's just into someone else," Pope suggested and it was Kodi's turn to snort quietly into her sleeve at the prospect.

"Or, maybe she's just not into guys." The three of them turned to look at her with confusion.

"What? I would know, I've got a foot in the door," she defended in a half-whisper. Mercifully, Kie had gotten the guard far enough away from the gatehouse and that was their cue to move in. The four of them took off in a sprint to get into the yard.

JJ was in front, John B next and then Pope and Kodi were side-by-side. She couldn't remember the last time she had to run like that without being chased. They caught their breath as JJ spun in the combination on the lock with slightly fumbling hands.

"Do you have the right numbers?" Pope quizzed as they watched him tug frantically at the lock, It didn't open.

"All right, so I might have the wrong numbers." A collective sigh of disappointment passed over them. None of them was sure of what to do next when a guard dog came sliding around the boats, barking and growling at them.

"Shit!" They all scattered in different directions. John B and Kodi hid around the side of the storage unit, whilst Pope and JJ took off.

"All clear?" Kodi poked her head around the corner of the unit and nodded. She watched him reach for a pipe and swing at the lock. Two tries and it split. They ducked inside and began looking around.

John B made a run for the storage cage and Kodi caught up to help him lug the two boxes they needed out of there.

"Well, that was fucking terrifying..."

--//--//--

@moremaybank @kraekat29 @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @bjrmaybank

[hypnotisedfireflies]

Tommy and the Babysitter

The second advent reject from Cloud Nine & Other Stories. Set later in 2024 than the first reject and the eventual story, Luke is six months old.

“Tommy, baby, I love this kid, but we need a night off.”                

Tommy looked up from where he was wrist-deep in pairing tiny socks.  Maria was in the doorway, lightly bouncing a fussy six-month-old in her arms.  The baby in question had a mouthful of her hair and from this angle, it kind of looked like he was sporting a dramatic moustache.

There were any number of appropriate babysitters in Jackson who could help the Millers out.  The most promising was the one right across the street.  Tommy knew how good his brother was with kids and Maria was kind of starstruck by Joel’s affinity for it, repressed for over twenty years, but comfortably finding its way back into Joel’s psyche.

“He’s always looked after someone,” Tommy explained later as they packed Luke a big bag.  He would not be staying overnight – Maria didn’t feel ready for that – but it was a long enough time that Tommy felt the need to arm Luke with his own supplies in the case of any eventuality.  “First it was me, then it was Emma, then it was Sarah – ”

He paused, then drew the zip decisively along its track.

“Then Tess, then Ellie.  He can’t help it.  He’s just hardwired that way.”

“Is Tess okay with this?” Maria passed him another hat, just in case the first vanished into thin air.  “She’s – a bit less …”

“Tess and Ellie are goin’ round to Lachie’s.”

“And was that before or after Tess heard Joel was babysitting Luke?”

“I don’t know.”  Tommy shrugged.  Then, sensing Maria’s eyes still on him, he hoisted the bag on his shoulder and looked at her.  “Don’t worry.  We haven’t chased her out of home.  Joel don’t do anything she’s not okay with, not even for me.  And Tess has always been … Tess has always been …”

“What?”

“Particular about not comin’ between Joel and me.”

“If anything happens to her, it’s on you.”

Joel had threatened him with that two decades ago, when they left the mountains of Tennessee.  And something had happened to Tess in Indianapolis, and Tommy had never quite been able to shake a sense of responsibility for it, even though Joel had never once used that warning against him. 

“But did she?”

“What?”

“Come between you.”

Tommy lifted the bag over one shoulder.  He thought about it for a moment.  “No.  There are a lot of  things I can blame on Tess, but that ain’t one of them.  And I would’ve been fuckin’ blind to ever think it could’ve been any different.  Them two were meant for each other, right from the start.  Anyone could see that.”

Maria raised her eyebrows, amused.  “You liked Tess?”

“Am I in trouble, ma’am?”

She grinned.  “No.”

“No,” he said, pretty sure that was true.  It was a long time ago, after all.  “People either loved Tess or hated Tess. She can be kind of divisive like that.  I was one of the few inbetweeners.”

“Uh huh,” Maria gave him that irritating, knowing smile she wore when she thought she knew best. 

Tommy rolled his eyes.  She hadn’t been there, and she didn’t know.  It was complicated back then.  They were so young.  The Outbreak was still with them, so fresh, and there was so much they still didn’t know about the fungus, each other, and most of all, themselves. 

The truth was Tommy sometimes had difficulty connecting up the man he’d been then with the one he was now.  He talked about it in the sessions he attended on Tuesday nights, a group of men around about his age.  None of their experiences were identical but there were common themes across all their pathways.  It was reassuring to be heard.  It was easier to relate to pre-Outbreak Tommy Miller than it was with the man he’d become between about 2008 to 2018.  That was surprisingly common amongst the men in his group.  Stormin’ Norman called it the “do or die” time.  It was the point where everyone lost themselves, tried different ways to make it, then found themselves on the other side trying to reconcile with all the things they’d done. 

He wished Joel would go with him just once.  Even if he didn’t talk.  Just go once and listen.

“You right to go?”  Tommy asked.

Maria nodded.  She was already rugged up – scarfed and zippered and booted and behatted – ready for their precious few hours to themselves. 

Joel met them at the front door, rubbing his hands together and turning his head from side to side to squint at the gently falling snow. 

“Are you sure this is okay?”  Maria asked. 

Tommy could hear the slight catch in her voice.  All her reservations about Joel were far from resolved.  She was choosing to trust Tommy over her own instincts. 

“I’ve got him,” Joel said, gently lifting Luke into his arms.  “We’ll have fun.”

“Yeah, he’s a fuckin’ hoot,” Tommy commented as he eased the bag on to Joel’s shoulder. 

He stepped back with a thank you on his lips and paused.  Joel just standing there, looking down at the new, tiny baby in his arms.  It could’ve been 1989.  Tommy swallowed his words instead and backed away, nodding.  His gloved hands found Maria’s.

Tommy and his wife headed down the road.  Their breath escaped in warm puffs before them, caught in the twinkling lights.  Fairy and streetlights were strung up all over, the network expanding further than it had the previous year as more neighbourhoods within Jackson opened up.  Their population growth was slow and controlled.  They had lost more people during the year than they had gained.  But it was exciting to see the Jackson experiment was working. 

“What are you thinking about?”  Maria asked.

“Just – naw, it’s nothin’,” he answered, shying away from it.  He nodded to the towering Christmas tree.  “Every time I see that, I think I’m in a fuckin’ Hallmark movie.”

“Nothing wrong with one of those,” Maria replied, glancing over their shoulder to the blue house.  “I used to look forward to curling up with one of those and a glass of wine.”

“I thought you liked those shitty action flicks.”

“I can like both,” she reminded him.

(I think the point of this was Tommy talking about finding something that worked for him, finally being part of something bigger, which was his core drive throughout Driftersverse but idk).

[gerec]

AU-gust 2023

16. Road Trip

Pairing(s): Cherik Warnings: N/A

Charles received the letter upon his arrival in Calais, which led him to believe that it had been sent before he even left England to begin his travels. Grinning, he thanked the porter for bringing his luggage, and agreed to meet his tutor Mr. Summers for a late dinner, before retiring to his room and unsealing the envelope.

Dearest Charles,

Yes, I did send this letter ahead of your arrival, as I knew you would take your time in Dover before making it across the Channel! Just know that you are missed already, as Tony’s attention span is dismal on a good day, and he is entirely insufferable without your slightly less irritating presence around to keep him in line.

(And no, he has still not forgiven his father for forbidding him to join you on the Grand Tour. I imagine dinners at the Stark household will be very chilly for the foreseeable future.)

In any case, I have made arrangements for a Mr. Erik Lehnsherr to meet you in Calais and interview as your translator and guide. The man is a bit taciturn but well-educated and well-travelled, and most importantly speaks French, German, Italian and Dutch. He comes highly recommended by Christian, who met him and took him on as a guide during his own tour three years ago.

But Emma, you say, will this man be good company on the road? And will he be easy on the eyes? While I cannot attest to the former, Christian assures me that he is quite handsome indeed, enough to meet even your high expectations. Most importantly, he shares the same worldly outlook on relationships as you do – and my dear brother of course – so I am certain you two will get along splendidly.

Do remember to write, as I suffer here in London without your charming presence at all the best parties. I will keep an eye on Raven and Dr. McCoy, and send details of their burgeoning relationship.

Yours,

Emma

----

Mr. Lehnsherr sent word the next day, and Charles was quick to agree to a meeting at the hotel. He invited Mr. Lehnsherr to join him for dinner, but the man declined, citing a previous engagement that sounded more like a contrived excuse. And while everything Emma said in her letter was true – he had travelled all over Europe, and was fluent in all the languages of the countries Charles planned to visit – he was also prickly and almost condescending, as though he didn’t quite approve of the frivolous nature of Charles’ travels. His answers, when asked after his family and where he called home, were distressingly vague and curt, and, as their conversation drew to a close, Charles could not imagine spending months on the road with this man, who proved even more infuriating than his two best friends back home.

Finally, after he’d had enough of Mr. Lehnsherr drinking his brandy and insulting England’s weather, he blurted, “Why do you even want this position? You clearly do not approve of my reasons for coming to the Continent, or even to care for my very person. This trip is a chance for me to open my eyes to the wider world, Mr. Lehnsherr, and I will not waste it at the side of someone who will hinder instead of help me.”

Mr. Lehnsherr smiled, perhaps the first genuine one of the evening and replied, “Would you welcome the truth, I wonder? Well, here it is Mr. Xavier. My work as an artist requires that I travel, and a position like this helps me with my expenses. And while I do not think you will learn anything truly meaningful and worthwhile on a trek of luxurious decadence through Europe, I am a quite capable guide, and will do an exceptional job in showing you exactly what you ask of me. Whether you choose anything beyond the attending fancy parties is entirely up to you, as is the way you choose to flaunt your privileged wealth.”

Charles was stunned, entirely unused to such harsh judgement from someone he’d met mere hours before. He bristled as Lehnsherr watched him with those steely blue eyes, sharp and accessing as though he were measuring Charles’ character and finding him lacking. Part of him wanted to send Lehnsherr away with a sound rebuke, and yet another, bigger part wanted desperately to prove him wrong; to show him that Charles was not merely a spoiled rich boy, and that he intended to use his position as heir to the Dukedom of Norfolk to better the lives of those in his care.

“I assure you that I did not take this journey on for the parties,” he countered, with just enough chill in his voice to make his affronted feelings known. “I welcome a thorough education, not just of the rich but of the poorest in the land, though, would you call it decadence if I wanted also to admire great art and learn about music and history to enrich my soul? Before I must be married off and swallowed whole by a life of duty and tradition?”

If anything, Lehnsherr’s smile only grew wider, and for the first time, he met Charles’ gaze with something like approval. “I would be happy to oblige you, Mr. Xavier, in whatever manner of decadence you wish to indulge.”

His cheeks flushed with heat at Lehnsherr words, and he remembered what Emma had intimated in her letter; that the man might share his proclivities for the same sex. He held his breath when Lehnsherr closed the distance and lightly brushed Charles’ cheek with his fingers, only exhaling when he grinned and then stepped away again.

“Well, Mr. Xavier,” Mr. Lehnsherr said, licking his lips as he took a slow sip from his glass of brandy, “do I have the job?”

Charles blinked, flushing again when he realized he’d been staring at Lehnsherr. He poured himself a refill, before turning to meet the man’s steady gaze.

“Yes. Mr. Lehnsherr. Be ready to leave the day after tomorrow.”

[vukovich]

V: video 👀

--I missed this from a prompt game, and now I can't find the prompt list, so it is hereby bequeathed the status of a Peculiar Prompt--

It Happened in a Blockbuster (as was the style at the time)

Y2K was probably all made up, Draco figured as he passed the news stand. The cover stories were nonsense about computers, and those, as far as he could tell, were actually magical.

But it was nothing to worry about. Or that's what Pansy had said when he mentioned it a few months ago. In October? No, September. Had it been that long?

The bell above the video store door jingled as he entered. He'd half-expected it to be closed at 8 PM on New Year's Eve.

After he slid his DVD returns through the slot, he took a deep breath. It always smelled the same. Something like socks, rubber, and artificial butter. The decor was bold blue and yellow, or had been before a decade's sun and slush, and maybe under the shelves, the carpet was still bright.

The clerk gave him a passing wave and went back to his magazine. His name was Terry, but Draco had never addressed him as such, because learning someone's name via their nametag felt illicit. He wouldn't call him by his name unless they'd properly introduced themselves, which they hadn't. And probably wouldn't.

Draco went days at a time without speaking to anyone. Not because he wanted to, it was just that there was rarely someone to talk to.

New releases first, right by the door, but Draco had already watched them. To the right, the children's movies with their covers like sweets boxes. To the left, in tidy alphabetical order, were films that had been in the store for between one and three months, precisely, and then they'd be shelved forevermore by genre and title.

Documentaries were what he rented most, but they weren't his favorite. They were good for when he wanted to feel as though he were sitting in companionable silence with someone. Action films were best for when his thoughts were too loud and needed to be drowned out by car chases and explosions. Romance movies were his favorite, but he was rarely in a state to watch them.

He'd never climb Mt Everest like in a documentary, or take down a rival car thief gang, but love? Unfortunately, love was something he could have, and the fact that he didn't was too much to sit with.

The wedding invitations started coming in like junk mail last year. Draco had tossed them all in his building's dumpster. Not many people had noticed his missing RSVPs.

He didn't need to witness romance in a church or on a television screen. Not if he could help it.

And especially on New Year's Eve. Alone.

He hadn't planned on becoming a film junkie. And maybe he wasn't really. He rarely remembered an actor or producer's name. He couldn't say what was a "bad" film versus a "good" one. Everything he knew about films was subjective. He liked blonde leads, either all romance or no romance, because a romance taking second booking to an action plot was an insult to both.

But having watched most of the local Blockbuster's stock hadn't been in his post-war plans. Well, assuming he'd had post-war plans. Which he didn't. Everyone else did, and they'd gone out and done them.

He thumbed through copies of Muppets from Space to see if one might be an extended edition. It wasn't.

A shorter man took down a copy of Never Been Kissed and turned it over in his hands. Drew Barrymore was one of Draco's least favorite lead actresses, so the fact that she mainly did romantic comedies was just fine by him. If he ever had to sit though her narrating a documentary, he'd-

"Malfoy?" Harry Potter was standing there, holding Drew Barrymore in his hands. "Hey, cool. I didn't know you lived around here."

He reached out to vaguely shake Draco's hand, skirted it into an almost-high five, then smoothed his hair back.

It was surreal seeing him somewhere like this. Arguably a bigger celebrity than anyone on that movie box, but Muggles didn't know. It was no big deal when he ran into Neville in the grocery store, or Granger at the bank. They weren't Harry Potter.

"Yeah," was all Draco said. "On Wilson Ave."

"Okay, well," Harry said, "Um, see you around?"

He waved the movie box as he turned to leave, but only made it a few paces before he stopped.

Draco quirked an eyebrow in question.

Harry bit the inside of his lip, then eventually said, "People talk about you." Before Draco could react, Harry shook his head, then added, "Not like, in a bad way. Like, we check in on you."

Draco's brow furrowed. "What?"

"It just comes up sometimes, you know? Has anyone seen Malfoy lately? How's he doing? What's he up to? You know, just stuff like that."

"Oh," Draco said.

"I just..." Harry smoothed his hair back with the movie box. "I just thought you might like knowing, you know?"

"Oh."

Draco looked down at the geometric patterns in the faded carpet. Did it matter that his classmates kept tabs on him? Like a surveillance web. Some kind of watchful net.

It made a certain warmth spread through his chest, because it did matter.

"Thanks," he said, swallowing thickly. He nodded towards Harry's hand. "That's probably an awful film. You'll have to believe in the kissability of Drew Barrymore."

Harry pulled a face and put it back on the shelf. "Dodged a bullet. Want to help me pick something else out? I'm not in a hurry."

Draco's lips cracked a smile. "Sure."

--

Three days later, he returned Austin Powers: the Spy Who Shagged Me, and took copies of Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery, GoldenEye, License to Kill,and Romeo + Juliet up to the desk.

"Hi, Terry," he said.

Terry rolled his eyes and scanned Draco's Blockbuster card. "You've got a late fee of... " he squinted at the computer monitor. "Two hundred thousand, five hundred, and thirty-seven pounds?"

Draco gasped. That Y2K nonsense really had turned all the computers evil.

--

[kesleyjo]

Okay.

So remember a while ago when I said that I was working on a Nancy Drew future fic where Nancy is a full blown PI and Ace is an ME? So lets say I have been working on that. 

And lets just say I feel the need to give a little sneak peak of that at this moment.

NO REASON. Just like. If you need it, here you go.

“Ace, just tell me what this is about.”

They were in the morgue at midnight. She already knew what he had to show her was not above board.

With a small flourish, Ace gestured to the four bodies, all currently covered with medical sheets.

“Alright so victim number one,” Ace unveiled the face of the first body, Mrs. Burton. “Like all victims here she was exsanguinated. But in this case her kidney was removed. But she was sewn up afterward and the scar is aged at least 10 years, though there is no medical record of that.”

Ace then flipped over the sheet of the next victim. “Mr. Cortez. Blood drained took his pancreas. Again, scar at least a decade old.”

“Liza Baker. Stomach and gall bladder taken. Old scar. No medical records.” Ace did not even bother to remove her sheet or the one of the last victim.

“Edward Banks. Heart gone. And yet the scar looks to be at least 15 years old.”

Nancy scanned all the victims before looking back to Ace. “And no connections between any of the victims?”

Ace shook his head as he covered all the victims before leading her to a small room off the morgue.

“I don’t say this lightly Nancy, but this feels supernatural.”

Nancy had to suppress a smile for Ace at that moment. The circumstances and the senseless deaths of four people would not allow it, but still Nancy was proud that Ace was skilled enough to sense the presence of the supernatural in his victims.

“I agree. But I still don’t understand the pattern. Unless this is a Dr. Frankenstein situation and they are trying to take organs from the living?”

Ace was already shaking his head, “The victims were all dead and nonviable when said organs were removed, it would not make them good hosts for future creatures.”

Nancy pondered for a moment. “I need to talk to Nathan again.”

Ace stiffened. Only slightly. “And why would that be?”

Knowing exactly where this anxiety stemmed from Nancy grabbed him by the waist and pulled him closer, “Because he found three of the four bodies and could provide some context.”

In a rare show of frustration Ace grunted, “He wants you.”

Pulling even closer Nancy added. “Good thing the feeling is not mutual.”

Relenting, Ace kissed the tip of her nose. “Fine. But bring George and her crowbar.”

Not satisfied with a peck, Nancy brought him in for a proper kiss. “Done.”

[inkdemonapologist]

Some Inconclusive Squinting At Wilson And Audrey's Timelines

Probably someone else has already had thoughts on this, but here's some of mine!

WILSON:

World War 1 ended in Nov 1918. Given Nathan was shipped overseas in the final year, it's likely he participated til the end, meaning that if he got busy with Tessa the INSTANT he got home, Wilson would be born in mid 1919 and be, uh, 53 years old by the time of BatDR

No offense to Wilson but he is NOT looking good for 53

Also Wilson somehow sounds approximately a gazillion times older than his dad's audiologs, which, since they're about the death of Joey Drew and the opening of Arch Gate Pictures, are from just a couple years ago.

There's a few different ways headcanon could go on this I think, but I actually have a small speculation/theory on this one: Wilson has been in the Ink Realm for over a decade, thus "removed from the march of time" in reality, but since he's human (the only human!) and not an ink creature, he's been aging while in the Ink Realm.

We know he's been in and out before, and a decade or more could give him enough time to learn about and do all the bullshit he's doing. Henry mentions that he hasn't eaten in years, which could be a mistaken guess -- but if he's correct, would mean he's been captured a lot longer than the 211 days they've been ink-demon-free.

This could also fit with Wilson's weird note about being hidden in plain sight:

"It's been years and my face is still a mystery to my coworkers. They don't know me. They avoid me as if I carried some infectious disease. At first, this was an insult. But now... it is a gift. With the right costume, I can play the part of anyone. I can go completely unnoticed, hidden amongst the shadowed walls. As a clerk, an artist, a producer. Or even... a lowly janitor."

I don't think it's controversial to say that Wilson is eXTREMELY DISTINCTIVE AND VERY NOTICEABLE ACTUALLY, and even the man himself describes being intentionally avoided as if he's diseased, which is sort of the opposite of being unnoticeable. But if Wilson came out of the machine looking over a decade older and was suddenly treated like a weird old man when he's only in his 50s... both his offended confusion and his later realisation that this is an opportunity to be unrecognisable could fit.

(do i think this is intended? tbh probably not. do i think it makes more sense? YES) anyway next up,

AUDREY:

We hear the "tell me another story, Uncle Joey" line in BatIM, which takes place in 1963. Joey describes his previous attempts as those that "came before" Audrey, so most likely he had not created Audrey yet.

This would mean Audrey was created in 1963 at earliest, and is a young woman by the time of BatDR in 1973

This does not look like a 10 year old:

So Joey didn't just create her as a ten year old and then by BatDR she's 20; Something weird happened with her aging. ...this isn't like, a plot hole or anything; she's an ink creature and she can grow up however quickly she wants/Joey wants. BUT IT DOES RAISE SOME QUESTIONS ABOUT EXACTLY HOW THAT WENT DOWN, especially considering that Joey died only 2 years ago, describes having a pretty significant relationship to her, and then in BatDR she has completely forgotten he's her dad. There's so many pieces;

Wilson (dubious trustworthiness) says she'll forget everything, implying that on entering the ink realm she'll lose her memories -- though afaik none of her other actions or comments seem to reflect a loss of memory on any other topic (for example, confidently telling Wilson "I've never done anything to you!" rather than a question of "What did I ever do to you?!")

Similarly, her "Well, newsflash! I didn't even know my father!" line does NOT sound like she suddenly can't remember her dad -- the emotion in it sounds like something that's been kind of a sore spot for a while. Even a new, fudged memory wouldn't have the time to build up this frustration in the Ink Realm... it feels pre-existing.

Joey (dubious trustworthiness) asserts that she's chosen to forget.

With her age being weird we have no idea when she left home; she could've been out on her own for a few years, and depending on the circumstances, may have had reason to forget/dismiss the memories of a very anomalous childhood.

Nathan never mentions her and does not have any explanation for Joey's boosted spirits (when you would think "apparently he adopted a child!" would be a pretty reasonable guess), so she does not seem to PUBLICLY be known as Joey's daughter

With absolutely no information there's space for a lot of speculation -- since she's his creation, can Joey tweak her memories? Can he give her a different backstory? Or did Audrey just end up in a different living situation and her brain decided her "ten years of growing up crammed into 4 years of time" memories with Joey didn't make sense? Did Joey have to give her up for some reason? Or did she and Joey have a huge argument/falling out that led to her leaving home? Did Joey try to demonstrate the truth to her and it was so weird that she just blocked it all out? etc etc etc

She still has the animation cell signed by Henry, and the TioL book with Joey's storyboard notes, which I feel like, she must've been given by Joey? So like, does she know Joey raised her, and she called him "dad" with the assumption he was her adoptive father, and she just wonders about a birth family that must exist but that she never knew? This one feels the most sensible to me, but also doesn't track with Memory Joey making the assumption that she's "chosen to forget" -- though it's also possible he's just being dramatic, or that Memory Joey just didn't know. Or, combine this with the one about Joey telling her the truth and her just repressing that because it's too weird, so she remembers her relationship with her father but not the origin story??? And like... I guess also this would mean the machine DID scramble her memories some so that Memory Joey wasn't shocking to her to meet?

Anyway, I haven't been able to cobble together a SATISFYING THEORY about Audrey's timeline so much as a bunch of really interesting headcanon fodder, depending on how you want to interpret Joey.... Just feels like there's a big space there where SOMETHING Obviously Happened but absolutely no clues towards what it might be.

[whump-me]

Martyr, Chapter 19: The Truth This Time

Chapter 19 of Martyr, a novel-length sci-fi whump story about a captured Martian rebel with a secret and the renowned interrogator who has waited a decade for the chance to break him. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.

Contains: multiple defiant whumpees, cold whumper, restraints, interrogation, verbal sparring, forced to watch, hand stabbing, blood, brief wound infection mention, adult characters described as “kids” by an older and more jaded narrator

---

Wraith

Isadora left him alone for a while after that—to think, she said. So think he did. He sat under the harsh lights of the interrogation room, the cuffs cutting off his blood flow and digging into his probably-infected ankle wound, and he thought about Gabriel. He pictured himself in Gabriel’s office again, imagined Gabriel looking at him with those sorrowful eyes. I’m sorry, imaginary Gabriel kept saying. And, I never should have let you do this.

Shut up, Wraith answered. Then, aloud, “Shut up,” just to hear something beside the hissing of the air vent. Gabriel didn’t answer.

In his imaginings, he wasn’t pacing back and forth in front of Gabriel’s desk. He was sitting cuffed to a metal chair, all but three of his fingers swollen and bent at odd angles. It was getting harder for Wraith to forget where he was.

Good. He couldn’t afford to drop his defenses, even for a moment. Especially not now. Isadora knew the truth now, which meant the stakes of her game had gone up. She wouldn’t waste her time on trying to get some useless statement from him anymore. Now they were playing for Gabriel’s life.

When Isadora came back, she wasn’t alone. Two guards followed in her wake, dragging a prisoner between them. Wraith couldn’t tell if they were the same guards as before. They all looked the same in their Special Security uniforms, a dark enough blue to hide the blood, with that hated blue-and-green emblem. They all wore the same flat neutrality on their faces, the empty expression that almost hid their nerves around Isadora. News of what had she had done last night must have gotten around.

Then he got a look at the prisoner.

At first, he thought it was Callum, and dizziness washed over him. Had last night actually happened? Had he hallucinated all of it? But when he blinked, and looked again, he didn’t know how he could have mistaken this man for the other.

They were both kids, or near enough, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Callum had been broken and empty-eyed, this man snarled and spat defiance. The guards had to tighten their grip on his arms until their knuckles were white to keep him from wrenching himself free, even with his hands cuffed behind him. He spent every curse word under the sun as he kicked and flailed against them.

His eyes shone with a painful courage—painful because Wraith knew how futile it was. And because Wraith knew that look—the defiance in his voice, the fury on his face. He might as well have been looking at himself from ten years ago. That was how well he knew that aura of fury that threatened to consume him along with everything around him… and that deep well of devotion shining in the young man’s rage-filled eyes.

Wraith had always been willing to die for Gabriel. And he had never been the only one.

Isadora motioned toward the empty chair. The guards uncuffed the prisoner and shoved him hard into the chair, then got to work securing him. Wraith swallowed, his mouth dry.

He knew why this man was here.

“Don’t you do it,” he spat at Isadora. “Don’t you dare.” Empty words. Because what was he going to do to her if she drew a line down his cheek with a knife, if she beat him to death right here in this room? He could threaten her all he liked, but he would start begging again if she came anywhere close to what she had done to Callum. He knew it, and he knew Isadora knew it.

Isadora checked the prisoner’s restraints carefully, just as she had with Callum. “That’s not what we’re doing today,” she said as she tightened one of his wrist cuffs. “Not yet, at least. I think it’s time for us to have another civilized conversation. One where we both tell the truth, this time.”

She stood and leaned against the wall behind the young prisoner. He spat a curse over his shoulder at her.

“Don’t,” Wraith told the prisoner quietly, earning him a dirty look from the man. Wraith remembered being that age. Back then, he had thought any deference shown to an Earth soldier—including passing one in the street without offering a snarl and a shouted curse—was tantamount to surrender. It was a wonder he had survived.

“I don’t buy it,” he said to Isadora. “If you just want to talk, why bring anyone else into it?”

“Because I’d prefer this conversation to be more fruitful than our last. I intend to get to know you—the real you, this time. For every lie you tell, and every question you refuse to answer, I’ll hurt this man. I’m sure you remember how that goes.” She stepped forward to place a possessive hand on the prisoner’s shoulder. The prisoner bared his teeth at her like he wanted to bite it off at the wrist. She tightened her grip.

“And what makes you think you can tell when I’m lying?” Wraith asked, summoning the ghost of his former smirk. “You didn’t have a clue last time.”

Isadora dug her fingernails into the prisoner’s shoulder, drawing a noise of pain from him that he couldn’t quite suppress. “I didn’t know how the pieces fit together then,” she said. “Now I do. You’re exactly what you seemed to be at our first meeting—someone incapable of inspiring a movement, capable only of a few meaningless gestures of defiance and then an early death. I read you accurately from the start; I simply didn’t have enough information to recognize that. So yes, if you lie, I’ll know.”

Wraith had his doubts. But he kept quiet. From this moment forward, he didn’t intend to say anything to her unless he had to. As it was, she was already going to make him say more than he wanted to. He wouldn’t give up anything that could lead her to Gabriel, but if she wanted to demonstrate her power over him by making him play this little game, he would play. He would be her trained parrot and say everything she wanted to hear. He would let her earn all the victories she wanted, so long as it meant not watching someone die in front of him so he could rack up a few meaningless points in a made-up game.

“Let’s not waste our time with unimportant questions,” said Isadora. “I’d prefer to skip straight to what I’m the most curious about.” She took out her knife and ran her finger slowly down the blade, careful to avoid the cutting edge. “When the leader of your rebellion asked you to sacrifice your life, why did you agree to do it? I know the man is persuasive, but what precisely was it that persuaded you? You have your flaws—and they are many—but I can tell you’re too strong-willed to be swayed easily.”

“I told you,” said Wraith, “he didn’t ask me. It was all my idea. Were you listening at all?”

In a single sharp motion, Isadora slammed the knife down into the back of the prisoner’s hand. The prisoner howled in intermingled pain and range. Blood seeped out from around the blade. It hadn’t sunk in far—the tip had stopped when it hit the metal arm of the chair. But it had pierced his hand all the way through, and Wraith suspected it had gone through at least one important tendon on the way. Just like his own, the prisoner’s hand would never heal, even if by some miracle he made it out. Wraith felt sick.

The prisoner looked down at his hand with gritted teeth. Isadora held the blade in place, like she was pinning a butterfly. The prisoner’s face went a shade paler. He swallowed. For the first time since he had walked into the room, fear overtook the anger in his eyes.

Wraith wondered if the man, for all his defiance, had ever felt real pain before.

“You can’t say we’re playing a game and then break the rules you set out,” Wraith ground out through gritted teeth. “You said you’d hurt him if I lied. I’m not lying.”

“I think you are,” she said. Then she gave a small shrug and pulled the knife free at an angle that widened the wound. The motion looked careless, but Wraith knew that nothing Isadora did was anything less than precise—except when the ice in her eyes thawed. And right now, her eyes were still cold enough to give Wraith a shiver when he looked at her. She was just trying to do one last bit of damage. It worked. The prisoner let out a strangled groan through his teeth.

Blood welled up from his hand. It formed rivers on his skin, and those rivers became smaller streams, splitting and splitting again as the blood ran down his fingers and dripped onto the floor.

“I think you’re lying,” Isadora repeated without so much as sparing a glance for the prisoner, “but I’ll let you have that one for now. We can come back to it later. For now, I’ll rephrase—why did you sacrifice yourself?”

“Because he has to survive,” said Wraith. With that, his words ran dry, because what else was there to say? But Isadora was still watching him expectantly, holding up the knife in anticipation.

“You said it yourself,” he said. “He’s the one who inspires everyone. He’s the one who can get them to fight. I sure as hell can’t do it. If he dies, the rebellion dies, and I wasn’t about to let that happen. I wasn’t ready to let Earth win.”

The knife came down again. This time, Isadora had to lean over to jam it into the center of the prisoner’s other hand. The man jerked against his restraints, but she had tightened them expertly—the only thing that moved was his neck, jerking futilely as the muscles stood out in sharp cords.

She pulled the knife free once more. A glistening drop of blood dripped from the blade onto her uniform pants. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and pulled out a black cloth, which she used to wipe the blade clean. The prisoner stared down at his hands, at the blood flowing up from his skin and then down onto the floor. Isadora didn’t look at him.

“I went easy on the last one to give you a chance to understand your situation,” said Isadora. “I don’t have any reason to do that this time. You already know how this works. That means you need to be careful with those lies of yours, or you’re going to have to watch another of your friends die. Maybe the one who sent you here would find that acceptable, but I don’t think you would. Choose your next answer carefully.”

“Don’t you even talk about him,” spat Wraith. “It’s just as well you don’t know his name. You wouldn’t be worthy of speaking it. You don’t understand anything about him, because you think everyone is like you.”

Isadora answered with a thin smile, as if she had earned a small victory. “Why did you choose to sacrifice your life?”

Wraith took a breath before answering. If he got it wrong again, he didn’t know where the knife would go next, except that it would be someplace worse than the hands this time. Besides, what he really wanted to say was fuck you, and somehow he didn’t think that would get a better reaction.

He called up his mental image of Gabriel again. He imagined Gabriel asking the question—Why did you volunteer? Why didn’t you let me talk you out of this? He imagined himself standing in front of Gabriel’s desk, his limbs twitching with nervous energy, as he insisted it was for the cause. Maybe he would even have believed it. But it would have been a lie all the same. Wraith didn’t give a damn about the cause. Not compared to Gabriel.

I did it for everyone who would die or give up hope if you weren’t there to lead them, he tried next. His imagined Gabriel shook his head, his face solemn. That was closer, but it wasn’t right either. If he said it aloud to Isadora, the prisoner would lose an eye, or worse.

Wraith let out a quiet sigh. “I did it for him,” he said. “Because he didn’t deserve to die at your hands, and I couldn’t stand to let it happen. I’m sorry if you want more than that. But that’s the answer, all right? That’s what I’ve got.” He looked down at the table, letting his head fall into his face. He stared down at his blurry reflection in the polished metal surface, so he wouldn’t have to watch the knife come down again.

But Isadora didn’t move. “Why?” she pressed. “What makes him worth sacrificing for? Why does he inspire such devotion?”

Wraith sneered at her. “Why do you care? Are you wondering why no one loves you the way they love him, even though you two are supposedly so alike?”

Isadora raised the knife.

“Stop,” he said hastily. “I’ll answer, all right? Just give me a minute.”

Isadora waited, knife hovering in the air.

He wanted to say it was because the rebellion needed Gabriel. It was the right answer, the noble answer. It was what he had told Gabriel, back when he had insisted on doing this. But he knew that if he said it out loud, Isadora would bring the knife down.

Wraith swallowed. “Because I love him,” he said through clenched teeth. “And when you love someone, you’ll do any stupid thing to keep them safe. Not that you would know. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

---

Tagged: @straight-to-the-pain @soheavyaburden @gala1981 @whumpacabra @sacredwrath @suspicious-whumping-egg @sonder35 @decahedron-crabclaw @seasaltandcopper @tremendousenemyhideout @bloodinkandashes @whumplr-reader @whatiswhumpblog

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[silversiren1101]

OOOoh ♜: Shoulder rubs for the Hellpair 👀

I was kind of hoping for this one!!! Shout out to @wonda-ch for sending the skin-crème mentioned here during the Valentines letters!

Contrary to what one would expect of a married couple, waking up with Regill still next to her in bed, asleep, worried Minovae far more often than not. Rarely did she have the liberty of enjoying his peaceful, sleeping expression on the chance she did wake first; known holidays and scheduled vacation allowing his subconscious to turn off that internal alarm of waking before even dawn broke the horizon.

This wasn't one of those mornings. It was a Wealday, and she knew for a fact he had multiple meetings today.

Her hand drew away from his brow, having found it warm but, blessedly, not as hot as she'd expected despite the tension in his unconscious expression. He was curled up into her side—another bad sign in and of itself—but he also wasn't the infernal furnace that would've woken her earlier if he was. The fever had made him seek out the cooling relief of her scales in the night, she knew; her tail had encouraged it too, having draped over him and pulled him close while pressing her soft feathers to his exposed back. She knew without a doubt why, but still, she had to confirm.

Peeking under the covers, the early grey light revealed at least not lines of black running up his arm, but deep purple, and with less spiderwebbing than usual.

'A milder flareup', she sighed with tempered relief.

They weren't as severe as they used to be, the infernal curse in his scars fading with both time and her influence. It was nearing the point she could break it completely, when her power as a nascent protean lord could pierce through this fading blight wrought by a full-fledged archdevil. The day couldn't come soon enough. She was done seeing him continue to pay for what had ultimately been her life with such suffering.

Too late for this morning, though.

With a resigned exhale, she slowly pushed the duvet down past her arms and shoulders, confirming with a stifled shiver that a chill had taken to the air overnight. The cold seasons were the worst of it for him, something about it aggravating the scars especially perniciously. Cheliax wasn't nearly as cold as Sarkoris, luckily. His health had improved markedly since returning to warmer home soil after the Crusade ended nearly two years ago now. Still, the chill was early this year and, with neither of them having expected it, his supplies were well out of reach, not stored beneath the bed as they were come winter.

There was nothing for it but to wake him and go fetch them. She knew him better than anyone and they'd done this enough times before: just get it over with. No pity. No pampering. No coddling him or overly gentle care. Treat it like a usual occurrence. Any additional attention only made him more irritable than the pain already did, exacerbating those feelings of frailty he despised so much. She understood well-enough, that fear of coming across as broken or incapable before the very people you were supposed to be leading—she only hoped that he knew that the Vice Knights, by and large, only respected him all the more for standing before them on these days when his disability was more visible than not.

She certainly did. She also wished her own attentions didn't fall into the same category, that he saw her care not as pity or a statement of his capability, but merely as those of a loving wife and fellow Hellknight of decades. She didn’t think him weak or lesser; how hypocritical that would make her? She only disliked seeing him suffering so, and would do many an unreasonable thing in his eyes to soothe it in any way if she could. It wasn’t personal, she knew, his touchiness regarding being cared for. He was a stubborn Hellknight and so was she, trained to push through every obstacle no matter the pain. Even so, there was no upside to risking the devotions she wanted to lavish upon him like this. It wasn’t that she feared his potential irritable reaction, no. She never feared him. She only feared making him feel worse by feeding the insecurities brought out during these moments. That, she would not risk. Especially not for something that would only go towards indulging in her emotional wants.

Sounds from Citadel Darvhage's courtyard below had begun drifting into their chambers, signaling that it was time to rip the bandage off—or blankets, in this case. The knights were beginning their day, and that meant their Lictor was behind schedule. Preparing herself for whatever disposition he might be in, she mentally quelled her nurturing, doting instincts and impulses. He loved her very much. It wasn’t a reflection of his feelings toward her that he would react poorly to any overly gentle care. Besides… she was much the same as a Hellknight herself, after all.

Time to get this started.

His brow was warm as she kissed it to begin waking him. The mild fever was palpable with contact, but faded quick from her lips as she pulled away to murmur softly in the space between them. Knuckles brushed his cheek before she cupped it and traced the contour with her thumb, all the while she swallowed down the worry as he took longer than expected to wake. In truth, it was only some seconds, but compared to how he usually snapped awake at the slightest provocation? It felt worryingly long. Relief cooled her fretting though when those yellow eyes groggily blinked open shortly later. They looked around blearily, clearly disoriented, before focus surged into them all at once upon processing the noise, the light in the room, the worry in her expression, and, of course, what must have surely been the terrible ache in his arm.

Regill groaned, half growling as realization turned to frustration and annoyance. “Ugh, Hells… again…”

He went to roll away from her, to shift to his back, only for him to hiss and wince as pain must have surged up his arm. His entire body stiffened. His other hand surged to his spasming arm. Even his knees drew up an inch further to his chest, that instinct to protect the vitals from danger when severe enough pain triggered it…

She stifled a concerned whine and the soft cooing that itched in her throat, instead placing a reassuring hand on his good shoulder. Her tail helped him to his back before retreating—something that took a deific effort. It had a will of its own, answering more to her heart than her mind; and, Hells, did her heart want to take him close and hold him until the pain went away. She wanted nothing more than to keep him in bed for the day and give him the permission to rest he would never allow himself, disability or no—permission he'd give to her with little issue, yet she knew she'd be just as resistant in his place.

Instead, she kept her face only mildly concerned.

"Good morning. Before you ask, no, it's not that late. You have time."

He peeked at her through bleached fingers, having started to rub at his nose and eyes. A single mote of appreciation flashed at her that nigh no one else would've been able to catch.

"...Good, and... good morning." His voice sounded rough, though she knew he'd power through it with coffee hot enough to risk a burn. He began to sit up, tired face tightening again as the pressure it put on his arm aggravated it once again. It wasn't as bad as previous times, no, but it didn't make it any easier for her to see and not pounce at him protectively for.

Instead, her hand shot out to his shoulder. A firm pressure bid him to lean and support himself against the headboard.

"Hold on, I said you have time, okay? I need to go get your things still. No need to rush just yet."

She was careful to keep her tone more neutral than worried, even a little commanding, not wanting him to pick up on anything he could misconstrue as pity or coddling and resist all the more for it. Their gazes held the other's for a brief moment before he, much to her relief, grunted and acquiesced.

"Alright", he grumbled, resigned. The headboard creaked as he rested his weight against it, letting his head loll back a little and eyes slip closed with a huff.

She froze, suspicious. Would he leap up as soon as she turned her back? Was there something else amiss? He was being too… agreeable. No, she couldn’t worry like this.

With that, she slipped off the bed and headed to the adjoining bathroom. The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, in such a rush she hadn't even bothered to step into her slippers. She didn’t even bother grabbing her robe to cover-up as she passed the chaise it'd been thrown over—and what for? It was only her dear husband present. Modesty was not an issue and the cold was only a minor one. Her scales would warm shortly with the exposure, reacting to the air's chill. She also knew exactly where everything she needed was, no searching required. Tucked away in a medic's case in one of the cabinets of the bathroom, she undid the clasps and double-checked the contents: salve; bandages; adhesives; braces—wrist and elbow; and last, that dreaded sling. She doubted he needed the full sling today, and with any luck he would be able to go with only some bandages today… Still, the entire case came with as she returned to their bedroom and the bed.

And found him, surprisingly, exact as she'd left him. A part of her had expected to find him with legs already hanging over the side of the bed, angling to get up and push himself as he had so stubbornly and deliriously done the previous flareups. Her rush had partially been spurred by such a concern, but, no, he remained as he had been, save for the blankets kicked further down the bed and legs freed.

He raised his brows at her surprise, a bit more evident in her expression than she'd intended.

"You can't blame me for being surprised after the previous times, love", she retorted to that look. More weariness creeped into her tone than she intended.

A flash of a irritable grimace tugged at the corner of his mouth before he inhaled deeply and sighed. "You said I had time. I am choosing to believe you."

"'Choosing'", she repeated with a snort, tone more sarcastic than not. "What an honor, that my husband has 'chosen' to believe me."

Still, there was a part of it that most certainly was not, and she felt a slash of regret that it'd leaked out—just the briefest reminder to him that she had hard feelings over the restraint she showed when caring for him. He most certainly picked up on it, she could tell. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, lips pressing together lightly before he turned away, looking out the window instead.

Dammit. This is exactly what she'd been trying to avoid. Why were they both such terrible, terrible patients?

Because they were Hellknights, duh.

Silence otherwise descended on them as she got to work. Setting the case down on the nightstand, the salve tin found its way to her hand in short order. She popped the lid and the smell hit her nose instantly: delicate like rose petals with a hint of cream from sheep's milk, but with an added sharpness like the freshest of cinnamon and black pepper. The strange concoction had tilted both of their heads at first, but it'd taken only that very first application for them to appreciate it as the only thing that helped him aside from the prohibitively expensive and painful sun orchid salve that'd saved his life those years ago, when the wounds had been fresh. This one, at least, was a gift from a dear friend, of which they were only more than happy to send more as requested—in exchange for a bottle of wine, at least.

She went to scoop out a generous portion of the oily paste, but stopped.

One try. She had to.

"...Perhaps you should skip your first meeting? It is only your staff meeting... Wolka and Yaker will understand if I take your place."

A pointless attempt.

His head turned back towards her. Annoyance and indignation flared in those eyes.

“‘Only?’ You know the staff meeting determines all operations for the day”, he snapped.

She didn’t let it get to her. It wasn’t personal.

Suddenly, though, something almost apologetic met her in those gorgeous yellow eyes. His lips parted before pressing together, and he exhaled like deflating. Her eyes widened, shocked by the shift, but softened as she recognized that look: he hadn’t meant that, and was quite remorseful for it.

“…Besides… the pain is only a five or so, this time”, he muttered. His tone was muted, only making her yearn and ache further to hold him softly. Sweetly.

His answer at least was good. She knew crossing the half-way threshold on his pain scale meant it was only just beginning to impact his capabilities. A five? They would bring this down to a one at most after this. Maybe then, he would accept an embrace, seeing it only as her love—the truth—and not pity thanks to the lens of his chronic pain tainting her perception. Why was it so easy to hug and hold and kiss him any time he didn’t actually need it?

Stubborn even for a Hellknight.

“A five is good. It’s getting lesser every time…”, she murmured, before speaking louder. “Time to get this over with. Should be quick this time.”

He exhaled a sigh and made a short sound in affirmation, preparing himself.

Knowing it wasn’t as bad today as before, she scooped out half of what she'd initially thought to from the tin. The tips of her fingers cooled beneath it, feeling almost tingly, and, with an extra swallowing down of her doting care, she wasted no time getting to work.

He hissed and grunted the second it touched his skin.

She slathered it in a thick strip up and down his arm to start, following the line of deep, bulging purple that was his scar. It was best to get full coverage before starting to massage it in, letting it start its soothing before the pain really started. From the especially ragged slash across his palm, to his forearm, skipping the elbow where the cursed blade had also skipped, back to his upper arm where it’d found his flesh again especially deep, and finally his shoulder where it’d nicked the bone before meeting air once again, she ensured no place was missed before sitting back, letting it set for a few moments so the pain could dull.

His deep breathing, slightly strained, filled the otherwise silence between them. Seconds more passed even after he deflated in relief, broken then by something she didn’t expect.

“…Thank you.”

She snapped her attention up to his gaze once more, finding that apologetic expression once again. Affection twinged in her chest, as did something like amusement and endearment.

“You know that’s not necessary”, she murmured. Her tail lifted from the edge of the bed where it’d been anxiously coiling all over itself on the floor. He closed his eyes as the feathers brushed his face, then seemingly accepting as the willful, mischievous appendage lay across his lap. “I love you, of course I’m here for you.”

He would do it himself if he could, and a part of her, selfishly, was happy he couldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to take it all if she couldn’t even help him in this was.

He grunted, though, as if correcting her assumption. “It’d occurred to me that the other times you’ve had to help me with this, I hadn’t actually thanked you.”

Because you literally couldn’t, she didn’t say, teasing or not. The previous times, where the pain had been eights or nines, he hadn’t able to do much more than groan and whimper until the pain had settled to a more manageable four—leaving him irritable, but at least mobile.

“Again, it’s not necessary, love. I just wish you were a better patient.”

His eyes narrowed as he smirked. “I could say the same for you.”

He could. He should. Maybe they would both get somewhere more agreeable, then.

“Well, your thanks is accepted.” She smiled, and relished the way the light dusting of red at his ear tips revealed just what he thought of her. “Now, let me finish up so you aren’t late to this meeting you insist on being present for.”

He rumbled in affirmation, yet still tensed beneath her touch as she took his hand in both of hers, anticipating the ache. His own grabbed at her tail, fingers threading through her feathers—a new development for him. The tip of it rattled approvingly, and the fan at the end shifted to lay against his bare chest ready to soothingly brush, reassuringly soft.

Not wanting to draw this out, her thumbs pressed deep. He jerked, head lolling backward as he squeezed harder at her tail. Her heart cried inside, but outwardly, she pressed on, beginning to massage the salve in to the bulging, inflamed purple line knowing that it wouldn’t hurt at all in comparison shortly. She even worked faster than usual knowing he was only at a five today, making steady progress up his arm. His palm, his worst and forearm, his upper arm, and his shoulder. It took only minutes, and even then, he’d stopped gripping at her so tightly by the time she was halfway finished. Satisfied, she took a look over her handwork to much relief: the purple was already starting to dim and fade already, not nearly as angry as before. It’d most likely be that pale silvery color again by the time they were back in bed again this evening.

“…Done?” Even his voice sounded better than it usually did post-treatment.

“Well, do you think you’ll need either of the braces?”

“No. It already barely aches me.” He even started to flex his joints as if to prove his point, only to jolt and wince slightly once he got to his shoulder.

She made a short sound at that, frowning at him. It also, though, gave her an idea, and she’d worked fast enough that they had time for it.

Her tail abruptly withdrew from his lap. He gave her a quizzical look as she gently tugged him forward, off the headboard.

“Come, sit up. Legs off the bed and me behind you. Don’t give me that look, you have time.” She then grinned at him pointedly. “That is, if you still choose to believe me.”

He grumbled, but knew better than to resist with that comment leveraged against him. She reached for the salve once again, only grabbing just enough this time to allow her fingers and thumb to glide—especially across the gnarled scarred mass of his reckoning scars.

“Is this really necessary? The stiffness will be worked out through the day—!”

He cut off into a gasp, which melted sensuously into a deep groan. She smirked, smiling into his hair as she massaged deep into his wounded shoulder, strong hands of a nascent demigoddess and lifetime warrior wreaking upon him what sounded like such bliss. He practically melted back against her, pooling into her breasts as if the tension of the pain was the only thing that’d been keeping him upright.

There was more than just that, though. She could sense the stress of their shadow war against House Thrune in those stiff shoulders, and not to mention the stress of reforming an entire defunct Hellknight order in their own image.

“By the Chain… you know you can ask for this any time. You’re stiffer than the stick up Asmodeus’ ass.”

He said nothing to that, save for a begrudging roll of his eyes. She knew he’d never ask.

She just noted to herself to do this more often.

[daisymintt]

WIP Wednesday

Arthur, Merlin, and Arthur’s closest circle of knights were sitting in a tavern after a long day of traveling. Merlin was exhausted and couldn’t wait to fell into his bed and sleep but Arthur had insisted that they all should celebrate meaning he wouldn’t get to rest until nearly morning and only after dragging Arthur’s drunk hide to his room.

Gwaine had wondered off to flirt with a scullery maid Merlin recognized from the citadel kitchens. If he remembered correctly her name was Mabel. She was relatively new but she had seemed nice enough from the limited interactions they’ve had. He was only halfway through his first mug of ale when Gwaine none to gracefully sat back down at their table, dragging the scullery maid with him and knocking the table as he did cause an uproar of complaints from the others.

“Aye, you’ll never guess what this lovely lass just told me! Go ahead love, tell ‘em.” Gwaine gave Mabel’s hand an encouraging squeeze. Arthur set his mug down for the moment and leaned towards them, intrigued. She smiled shyly and nervously tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear before relaying what she had told Gwaine to them, “The other day one of the other scullery maids warned me about the ghost that haunts the halls of the citadel and to always carry with me a sprig of sage to ward off the spirit.”

Merlin nearly choked on his drink and coughed roughly a few times to clear his lungs. He’d heard about the ghost when he had first became Arthurs manservant but hadn’t paid the stories any heed at the time thinking that they where just that, stories. Now he was beginning to wonder if he should’ve looked into them more. Percival shifted in his seat uncomfortably and glanced over his shoulder as if he saw something, Leon looked unimpressed by the tale, Elyan was more interested in what was in his mug, and Lancelot was enthralled.

Arthur furrowed his brow, his lips downturned in a frown, “What ghost?”

Mabel’s eyes widened in surprise and she stuttered out, “My apologies, my Lord, I thought you knew. The ghosts of King Bruta, Queen Honora, and their children. They say the haunting s started soon after your father came to power since… you know… he killed them when he conquered Camelot in his youth. They say their spirits are most active near the abandoned parts of the citadel especially around Samhain.”

Arthur’s lips were pressed thin by the end of the tale as he stared into his now empty mug, lost in thought. Gwaine didn’t seem to notice Arthur’s obvious discomfort and continued on in excitement, “I’ve never seen an actual ghost before we should totally check it out! Or are you lot to chicken?”

That caught their attention. Never ones to back down from a challenge they loudly proclaimed that they aren’t chickens and agreed to meet by the old throne room after the feast of Samhain. They all looked rather pleased with themselves except Arthur who looked unsettled and nervous.

~*~*~*~

A few weeks later Samhain was upon them. There was a bite in the air that left one longing for the warmth of their beds and the leaves where starting to change color from the lively green of summer to the vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows of the harvest season. Arthur hadn’t brought up the ghost since that night but Merlin would often find him staring off deep in thought. Merlin had planned to sneak off the the abandoned throne room early in hopes of dealing with the ghost himself but found himself caught up in preparations for the festivities and wasn’t able to get away.

The feast was decadent, food and wine flowing freely while the Nobles happily hobnobbed with one and other. As the festivities drew to a close Arthur got restless, shifting in his seat waiting impatiently for a chance to excuse himself for the night. The knights had left not long ago, presumably waiting for him and Merlin at the rendezvous point. Finally, Arthur seized his chance and quickly excused himself, Merlin followed close behind. They found the knights all congregating around the entrance to the abandoned parts of the citadel, the old oak doors stood tall and firm untouched except by decades of dust.

Gwaine’s arms were loaded up with candles and a suspiciously wrapped bundle that Arthur choice not to ask about. Arthur fished the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door with a much to loud click