#At least she's thinking one step ahead. — good on many levels

[acourtofquestions]

They drifted into the blackness for another day, then two. Still the sea did not appear.

Aelin was sleeping, a dreamless, heavy slumber, when a strong hand clasped her shoulder. "Look," Rowan whispered, his breath brushing her ear.

She opened her eyes to pale light. Not the ocean, she realized as she sat up, the others rousing, undoubtedly at Rowan's word.

Overhead, clinging to the cavern ceiling as if they were stars trapped beneath the rock, small blue lights glowed.

Glowworms, like those in the lantern Thousands of them, made infinite by the reflection in the black water. Stars above and below.

From the corner of her eye, Aelin glimpsed Elide press a hand to her chest. A sea of stars—that's what the cave had become.

Beauty. There was still beauty in this world.

Stars could still glow, still burn bright, even buried under the earth.

Aelin breathed in the cool cave air, the blue light. Let it flow through her.

Rattle the stars. She'd promised to do that.

The emerald on her marriage band glistened with its own fire.

Beauty remained—and she would fight for it. Needed to fight.

It was a constant thrum in her blood, her bones. Right alongside the power that she shoved down deep and dismissed with each breath. Fight—one last time.

She'd escaped so she might do it. Would think of all those still defying Morath, defying Maeve, while she trained. She wouldn't hesitate. Didn't dare to pause. She'd make this time count. In every way possible.

Aelin could have sworn the living stars overhead sang, a celestial choir that floated through the caves.

A star-song carried along the river current, running beside them, for the last miles to the sea.

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 4: Sampo x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7082

Warnings: afab!reader, Silvermane Guard reader, size difference, age difference, handcuffs, cunnilingus, cumming untouched, cum in pants 🤭 dubcon, piv, mentioned stomach distention

A/N: So I'll fully admit that part of what went into this was me being petty lol ofc I was excited to write for Sampo again anyway, but I got a comment on the first fic I did for him that accused the reader of being underage. When she most certainly was not. If that was the angle I was going for, trust me, you'd know about it. So I played up the size difference big time in this one and made our reader a sweet little virgin for him to take advantage of 🤭

⭐

It’s not every day that Sampo Koski finds himself on the sharp end of a Silvermane Guard’s short sword and for that he has to give you credit. 

The fact you’d managed to track him down at all, let alone way out at the far edge of the old abandoned city is impressive enough on its own. Not many could have accomplished even that much. But to then face him by yourself rather than calling for backup? 

Well, it looked to him like you were just chomping at the bit to sink your teeth into some trouble. 

“I’ve got you cornered now, you crook. Make any sudden movements and I’ll run you through. You’re under arrest.” 

That was all well and good, but as he looks down the length of your very pointy sword he understands why it's not one of the standard issue halberds you’ve got pointed at his face. You were tiny in comparison to him and hardly the sort of girl he’d call intimidating. He could probably take you, sword or no sword. In fact he’s sure he can, considering he must’ve had at least a hundred pounds on you easy, and yet … the clear glint of challenge in your eyes makes him reconsider that choice. Although he’d come out on top eventually that didn’t mean he wouldn’t suffer a few puncture wounds for it along the way and he isn’t quite convinced he can afford that price. Getting into a tussle with you probably wasn’t worth it. 

Feigning defeat, he lets out a heavy, long suffering sigh and slowly lets go of the bag full of smoke bombs sitting on top of the rickety old table. Just as any good con man knows when to quit while he’s ahead, Sampo recognized that now was the right time to throw in the towel. He could always figure something out further down the road, after you’d put your little sword safely away.

And besides. You did strike him as someone who might be fun to play with for a while. 

So he harmlessly lifts his hands up in what should have been the universal gesture of surrender but you jolt as if he’d just reached for a loaded gun. The blade aggressively bobs with the involuntary flex of muscle and nearly takes off the end of his nose, surprising an undignified squawk out of him. A bit on edge, yeesh. 

“Alright, alright. Let’s just calm down and take a few deep breaths, okay? You could really hurt someone waving that thing around like that!” 

“Be quiet!” You hiss up at him. 

Keeping your weapon leveled at the center of his face, you take a step forward as if to close the distance but he’s quick to scuttle back a pace. It’s not like he really had much of a choice, your eyes flashing dangerously as you follow after him. 

“Do not even think about trying to escape, you damned nuisance. In the name of the Amber Lord and under order of the Supreme Guardian, I’m taking you into custody.” 

“Sure thing, missy. I hear ya’ loud and clear!” He says, trying to laugh it off even as he dances back on his toes to keep at a safe distance. If he just maintained his cool long enough you’d eventually let your guard down. Probably. “But you’re not going to have anyone to arrest if you poke me full of holes! Say, here’s an idea. How about you put that oversized butter knife away and then we’ll talk this out, hm?” 

“As if I have anything to say to the likes of you.” 

“Oooh, come on. Don’t be like that.” His hapless chuckling abruptly cuts off with a not entirely feigned gulp when he backs all the way up into the wall. With nowhere else to go, Sampo can only tip his head back with a dull thump against the aged and decaying wood when you bring the end of your sword so close that he almost goes cross eyed trying to track its movement.  

Sure, he’d admit you were good and evidently not the sort of person who would make the mistake of underestimating a much bigger opponent just because you had him at sword point but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t slip up eventually. He just needed to bide his time, pick his cards right and do what he always does best. 

Playing the fool. 

“Okay, look! I’m ever so sorry for whatever crime you think I may have committed to make you come after me like this,” He croons in his most convincing, well practiced tone of solicitation. “But I’m sure this is all just one big misunderstanding. If you’d just give me a chance to explain myself I think we’ll get this sorted out in no time and then we can both be on our merry ways. Come on! That only sounds fair, doesn’t it?” 

Eyes narrowing up at him, you haughtily lift your chin as if in outright defiance of his entreatment. “You are not entitled to fairness after all the scams and cons you’ve pulled on other people, you blue demon. I’m afraid I have no pity to spare for you this time.” 

“I can see that.” Sorely grumbling under his breath, Sampo drops his attention down and to the side to fix on a seemingly random spot on the floor. He can see you shifting slightly at his peripheral, restless and maybe just a little nervous now that you were face to face with the supposed scourge of Belobog. Although it was obvious you were well trained you were still just a bit too naive and trusting if you were really going to fall for that old trick. 

“As long as you cooperate and don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” You intone, indeed reading his body language as that of defeat. “Things will be much easier for you in the long run. I’ve got you cornered with nowhere to go. Just give up and come peacefully.” 

Slowly taking one of your hands off the hilt, you reach back with a careful motion for something in your supplies pack. He has a few guesses what it might be, of course, but you don’t quite make it that far. Sampo spots his chance when the backward stretch of your arm pulls your gravity off center just so to make you redistribute your weight more on the left leg than the right. It’s slight enough to be almost imperceptible to the average man but average man Sampo Koski is not. 

His arm snaps up to grab at your outstretched wrist like a striking serpent, your eyes going big and round when he redirects your sword away from him with a smoothly controlled jerk. Your reaction time is quick though and you start to bring your other hand back around to restore your grip. The following rush of motion happens so fast that most of it is just adrenaline fueled muscle memory on his part. 

Blindly reaching for you with his opposite hand, Sampo pushes off from the wall so he can use his greater size to spin you, effectively trading places. He shoves you back with a bit more force than he’d intended to and the resulting thump makes the old rafters rattle in protest. The impact seems to force all the air from your lungs, momentarily stunning you, and he takes quick advantage of that opportunity to snag your other wrist so he can slam it back against the groaning wall. At the same time, he presses into you with his weight to fully pin you there and stop you from struggling, effectively trapping you in place. 

It’s over in an instant. 

Letting out a faintly shuddering breath, Sampo tips his chin down to look at your face. Glaring right back at him, you visibly gnash your teeth and try to push back on his hold with your sword hand but it’s no use. Not only is he bigger and stronger than you, but he’s heavier too. Just as he’d expected then. You were a bit too undersized to take him on. 

“Guess you should have called for backup, eh?” He teases you, letting his mouth curl into a sleazy grin that just seems to further grate on your nerves, given the way you make a wild attempt to thrash yourself free. 

In truth he finds it rather cute for all of five seconds until your desperate twisting brings one of your knees up a little too close to his crotch. His smile drops immediately, and he quickly wedges his thigh into the space between your legs to further limit your range of movement. Couldn’t have you incapacitating him that easily, now could he? 

And the sharp gasp you pull in at the nudge delights him to no end, especially when you go stockstill between him and the wall. The startled look on your face is priceless and he can’t quite stop himself from cooing at you as he dips his head down to get a better view. Such a pretty thing for a Silvermane. It seemed a real shame that you were wasting all your time and energy putting yourself in danger for nothing more than a few cheap medals of honor. Perhaps he could change that though. 

“Now, now. There’s no need for all this nonsense, is there? If you’d wanted a piece of ol’ Sampo Koski so bad, all you needed to do was ask. I’m not so cruel and cold hearted to deny a cute little thing like you.” 

Even through two layers of clothes, both his and yours, he can feel the vague sensation of your pussy squeezing against his thigh. It makes his cock twitch in fast growing interest as he wonders what your cunt must look like, what it tastes like. And although it’s hard to tell through the uniform, he suspected your tits were big and juicy too, given the way they heavily shift under your clothes when you give a weak jerk against his hold. Oh, but he couldn’t wait to help himself to you. 

First though … “Why don’t you go ahead and drop that sword for me, sweetheart? Hm? Be a dear, won’t you?” 

“Bastard - -!” 

Obviously you weren’t going to willingly give up the fight anytime soon, so he makes careful work of readjusting his hold on your wrist. Sampo’s hand greatly dwarves yours just as the rest of him does and it’s easy for him to twist it at just the right angle to make your fingers go lax. With a wordless cry from you, the blade noisily clatters to the ground which he quickly uses his other foot to kick away. Reluctantly going still, you shoot him a wary, guarded look that brings the smile back to his face. 

“There. That’s much better, isn’t it? Now if you’ll just relax a little bit we can - -“

His grip on you barely eases up for a second and you’re yanking your hand free with a violent lurch to smack him right across the face. The hit itself does more to surprise him than any pain that might come with it, and his head jerks to the side with a dramatic ‘oof!’  

So impressed by your gumption, he doesn’t immediately react so you have enough time to twist in his hold and slam your boot into the back of his knee. He crumples just like that, hitting the ground at your feet, but you’re quick to follow him down. 

Throwing yourself across his back, you frantically grab at his arms to yank on them and he’s so bemused by the whole thing that he just lets it happen. It takes a great deal of effort on his part not to outright laugh when he was getting such a kick out of this, instead playing along with a series of lilting grunts and ‘ow, ow, ow’s that he hopes are sufficiently convincing. What an interesting woman who would choose to wrestle with a man double her size after she’d already been unarmed. He couldn’t wait to see what you’d do next. 

Panting heavily, you at last manage to get his arms wrenched behind him and you dig your knee into his spine to force Sampo all the way down on the dirty floor. He can hear you fumbling with your pack as much as he feels it when you’re sitting on top of him, but this he just lets happen as well. 

And with a sudden, triumphant exclamation of victory, you viciously snap a set of handcuffs around his wrists to secure them in place. 

As you start to ease off him with a shuddering sigh of relief, he gives his fingers an experimental wriggle to flex his arms and test the give. Nice and tight. Ah well. It wasn’t the first or last time he was going to find himself in this predicament. 

“There. I’ve got you now.” You wheeze, gingerly climbing to your feet to stand over him. Moving forward, you reach down to fist your hands in his shirt and roughly yank him up. He almost decides to give you a hard time about it but you’re doing such a good job that he doesn’t quite have the heart to make this any harder for you, so he helpfully gets one of his long legs under him so he can push himself to sit upright on the floor. 

Craning his neck back, Sampo looks up at you with a sly Cheshire Cat grin although it evidently is not the kind of expression you’d been hoping for after all that. With a bothered hiss between your teeth, you bend down to shove at his broad shoulders and force him back against the wall before straightening again. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath when you take a step back to survey your handiwork. Taking advantage of his first opportunity to do so, he appreciatively drags his attention over your vibrating body to take note of everything and commit it all to memory. The Silvermane uniforms were not designed for women, hence why so many altered theirs to better suit their needs and mobility, but you’d left yours almost completely unchanged. It was hard to get a good idea of the figure you were hiding underneath all the layers, but he was confident it would be good. His intuition rarely ever steered him wrong on such matters. 

“So,” He says at last, keeping his tone friendly and conversational. “You’ve caught me. Congratulations. What are you going to do now?” 

Shooting him a wary look, you bring a gloved hand up to wipe a bead of sweat off your cheek where it had started to run down. “What do you mean? I’m taking you back to Belobog and throwing you in jail where you belong. I’d think that should be obvious by now.” 

“Eh, sure. You could do that, and I’ll even admit it would be the logical thing to do. But don’t you think there’s something else you could do instead? A far more fun and exciting secret option that I can see you haven’t thought of yet.” 

Brows knitting in genuine confusion, you look down at him like he’s just sprouted a second head. “Have you gone mad? I have no idea what you’re trying to say, you big oaf.” 

Allowing his grin to take on a sharper, more pointed edge, Sampo gives his shoulders a meaningful shrug as he tips his head to one side. “Ooh, are you really that naive or are you just pretending not to know what kind of position I’m in right now? Well, I’ll tell you something, little miss Silvermane Guard. You can’t fool me. I know good and well how you reacted when I had you pinned you up against the wall a moment ago and now I’m completely at your mercy. So why don’t you just help yourself? I won’t even put up a fight, promise.” 

He throws you a saucy wink, and you immediately choke on a sharp intake of air as you reel back. Honestly he’d think it a bit dramatic if it weren’t for the way your expression darkens with unmistakable fluster and embarrassment, clueing him in that you weren’t simply playing up the innocent maiden schtick to keep your pride. 

And his brows take a very expeditious trip up to his hairline with that realization. “Don’t tell me … you really hadn’t thought about it? Oh me, oh my, could it be you’re actually a virgin standing before me in the flesh? You poor thing.” 

“O - of course not, you fiend! How dare you speak to me like this!” 

“But if that’s true then … surely you must not have any problem making a wager with me, hm? I mean, if you’re so experienced and knowledgeable in the ways of the adult world there’s no way I’d win, right?” 

His smirk grows when your eyes widen to the approximate size of dinner plates, just staring down at him like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. Oh, but this was too rich. You’re doing a horrible job of pretending like you were at all comfortable with the direction this has gone and he can see his window to strike gradually revealing itself. You would have been easy enough to sucker in just about any other situation, especially for someone of his caliber, but like this? When he already had you so rattled and disoriented? This was going to be like taking candy from a baby. 

“I can see I have your attention.” He goes on, speaking in a slow, confident drawl now. “How about it then? I’ll even give you the advantage by promising to only use my mouth. No hands or — other extremities, just to keep it fair.” 

You look like you just might faint dead away as you surreptitiously glance down at his lap before snapping your attention back up with a wordless cry. “W - what are you even talking about? Why do you think I’m going to strike a deal with a criminal like you, Sampo Koski?” 

“Ah, so you do remember my name.” He graciously inclines his chin, every bit the performer at home on his stage even for an audience of one. “And I know you’re going to strike a deal with me because I can tell just how hot and bothered you’re getting from over here. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about your pussy since I pinned you to the wall, have you? Yeah, thought so. Alright. Here’s the deal, sweetheart. Give me five minutes, that’s all I ask. Just give me a chance to rock your world and if I can't make you scream for me in that time you win. I’ll go along peacefully with you back to Belobog. You won’t even hear another peep out of me the whole way, scouts honor.” 

“Wha … and if you win?” 

“Then you’ll take these handcuffs off and let me use my hands for a little while.” 

Squeaking shyly at the salacious waggle of his brows, you quickly turn away from him to look elsewhere. He watches you fidget and squirm for a drawn out moment, clearly wracked by indecision while he patiently waits to find out what you’ll choose. It was a bit of a gamble, sure, but he was no stranger to low odds bets and he was relatively confident you’d take the bait. After all, carting him all the way back to Belobog by yourself would be no easy task. 

And just as he’d expected, the promise of having a willing captive eventually wins out against your common sense and you slowly turn back around towards him. Your eyes stay downcast, preferring to look at the floor rather than at him, but that doesn’t particularly bother him much. 

Especially not when you bring your hands forward to hover at about waist level, uncertainty and nerves making you hesitate. 

“Should I just …” 

Breathing out a terse sigh through his nose, Sampo bumps his head back to rest against the wall with a knowing smirk. “That’s right. Slide your pants down and come here.” 

You look like you’re going to back out after all for the stretch of a single heartbeat but then you seem to hastily gather your resolve, mouth settling into a firm line when you reach down to fumble with the front of your slacks. The pristine white fabric slouches around your hips as soon as you get them unfastened but you stubbornly keep them held up while you shuffle forward to stand before him. 

Still smiling, Sampo inquisitively cocks his head to one side and you glare at him as if in warning before at last shoving your pants down to pool around the boots they’re tucked into. Your panties quickly follow suit to leave you bare from the waist down and nervously fussing with the bottom hem of your uniform jacket which you tug at to cover yourself. It’s plainly obvious that you’re a mess of nerves, not at all comfortable with being even partially naked in front of another like you’d wanted him to believe, but that was all right. He’d fix that soon enough. 

“Closer.” He murmurs, coaxing you with a grin. “I can’t reach you like this. No hands, remember?” 

You suck in a rough breath and hold it in your chest for a harrowing moment. 

Abruptly squeezing your eyes shut, you yank the front of your jacket up and shuffle into the space between his bent knees to offer your cunt to him. And Sampo immediately feels his mouth start to water when he gets his first good look at you just a hair's breadth from his face. 

The curls framing your pussy look soft and ticklish, a perfect place to lose himself in, and your inner thighs are soft with a welcoming pudge that begs to be squeezed. He’d have to save that for later though, and he gives his lips a quick swipe with his tongue before leaning up to dip his mouth close. 

“Such a pretty girl,” He says, low and husky, to make sure you can feel his breath wafting against your skin before he actually touches you. “I don’t understand how you’ve possibly gone this long without having anyone eat you out but it’s okay. I’m here to remedy that for you. Just relax for me, alright?” 

At your flustered little whimper, assuring him you were doing everything but relaxing, Sampo places a lingering kiss to the curls that pad your cunt. He takes his time with it as he slowly works his way down to the apex of your mound where the fleshy seam starts and he gets his first taste of you with a quick flick of his tongue. You jolt as if he’d just electrocuted you via static shock, swaying on your feet. But you stay right where you are, which he had to give you props for, merely squeezing your thighs as if to shut him out. 

Tipping his head at an angle, he presses up into the tight, hot space to startle a mouse squeak out of you. The insistent nudge of his mouth forces you to adjust your footing for balance and you reluctantly shuffle into a wider stance as he buries his face in you. His olfactory senses are immediately overwhelmed with the smell of your cunt, your taste where it settles on the back of his tongue. Slightly bitter and salty, and yet so incredibly flavored with sweet notes of arousal that he was sure to remember it for as long as he might live. 

His cock eagerly flexes in his pants to push up at the zipper as if trying to escape on its own accord while he continues to nuzzle into you, kissing and licking at fleshy lips to part them. Each lap of his tongue brings a fresh taste of you with it and he quickly realizes just how wet you really are as he worms his way into the slick crease of your body. It was clear he excited you way more than you were willing to let on and that pleases him a great deal. No wonder he’d been able to feel your pussy clenching on his thigh if this was how sensitive you were. 

“Oohh, that’s - -!” You cut off with a flustered gasp when his tongue at last nudges your clit, a barely there, featherlight caress, but still more than enough to make you judder for him. How cute. He wasn’t even going to need five minutes at this rate. 

Grinning into your cunt, Sampo undulates his wet tongue up to massage over that tender little button just gently enough to let you acclimate to the sensation. The last thing he wanted was to scare you off by going in too hard too fast but, to his continued delight, you warm up to it quickly enough. He can feel the shift in your body language when you start to relax into it, shyly jutting your hips out to better offer your pussy to his mouth. And you just keep getting stickier and stickier for him, saliva mixing with slippery arousal to leave your slit a mess with the viscous gossamar. 

He can barely contain his own excitement when he at last starts to lick you in earnest, flicking his tongue up to swipe through fleshy creases and folds, bumping against your swollen clit head on. You beautifully jerk in response, hands fisting the bottom of your jacket into a wrinkled mess until you at last give in to the urge to reach for him. 

Your fingers feel heavenly in his hair as you grab onto his head, even when they fiercely shake because of what he’s doing to you. Whining low in your throat, you again start to fidget and twist your pelvis as if to escape the onslaught of his attention and yet … you don’t actually move to pull away nor do you shove at him. You just stand there and take it while Sampo batters your poor little clit back and forth before finally sealing his lips around you to suckle. 

That seems to make your knees almost give out, and you mewl a sensitive sound into the otherwise still and silent building when you weakly rock against him, clutching his hair so tight he thinks you might actually pull it out. Oh well, though. It would be well worth it once he won this little wager and got to put his hands on you. 

“Oh! Nnghnn … gods, that’s …”

He suddenly pulls his head back with a loud, wet, obnoxious smack of his lips. 

Chuckling softly under his breath at your frazzled whine, Sampo tips his head back to look up at you again. “Amazing? Wonderful? The best gosh darn feeling you’ve ever experienced? Well, little miss Silvermane Guard, are you still feeling so confident now?” 

You shoot him a deeply embarrassed look accompanied with a soft, helpless whimper that rushes straight to his cock. It was clear enough that you didn’t know how to fully process any of this and you weren’t confident enough to take the lead either, to use him for your own pleasure like he so wished you would, but that was alright. He was keen to teach you a thing or two before this bet was finished. 

“Do me a favor,” He husks, spreading his legs wider out across the floor to lessen some of the uncomfortable strain in his pants. “Turn around and back up on me. Hey, don’t look at me like that! It’s not so strange a request, is it? It’ll still feel good, I promise.” 

“B - but that’s - -“ 

“A great idea, of course!” He cuts you off with a playful wink. “Just trust me. You won’t regret it.” 

War wages across your face for a drawn out moment while you try to parse through this no doubt confusing situation. It’s a difficult thing to do though when your pussy was coated in slick and sticky saliva, begging for more attention that he wasn’t going to give you until you either complied or made him. 

He would have been perfectly happy with the latter, truth be told, but ultimately the former wins out. You were just needy enough not to let common sense cloud your judgment and you stiffly disengage from him so you can shuffle back half a step. 

Hands reaching down to hike up the back of your jacket as you spin around, showing off your (frankly amazing) ass, you nervously glance over your shoulder at him for further instruction. “Like this?” 

“Yeah, that’s right. Now back up, and don’t be shy about it. Pretend like you’re going to sit on my face, mmkay’?” 

You give him an exceedingly strange look before clearly deciding it wasn’t worth it to question him any further. He could see the flustered resignation in your expression even from where he was sitting, and he draws an anticipatory breath to brace himself when you finally start to nudge back on him. 

If he’d had the use of his hands he would have been happy to yank you down and hold you in place no matter how much you squirmed and whined about it, but. Well. We can’t have everything we want in life, now can we? 

Instead he has to make do with watching you slowly inch back towards him, stiff and halting even as his cock restlessly flexes inside his slacks. Unable to take the waiting any longer when you still hesitate at the last moment, he leans forward to meet you halfway and he shoves his face tight into the cradle between your legs, eliciting a startled squeak of surprise from you. 

But then he opens his mouth wide, dragging his tongue from the starting dimple of your slit all the way up to your entrance where he teases you with the suggestion of penetrating you with it, and you seem to completely forget your initial reticence all at once.

Choking on a half formed moan, you blindly push back on him as you arch your back to better settle your cunt against his mouth and receive his attention. The force of it shoves his head back against the wall with a dull thud, making him groan a heavy sound into you, but it’s not near enough to deter him. Neither is the way you effectively cut off his air supply like this, making it almost impossible for him to breathe save whatever little bit he can pull in from his mouth. If anything it just fuels his own excitement to even greater heights as he hungrily laps at you now, swirling his tongue round and round your clit to leave you uncontrollably twitching against him. 

And as the seconds continue to tick by in this fashion you become increasingly more fidgety and antsy until you’re all but writhing on his face with stiff, unpracticed swivels of your hips. It smears your cunt across his nose and mouth in the process, the rush that comes with it shooting straight down to his throbbing cock where it pitifully strains against the zipper, in need of a good tug or two. It probably wouldn’t have taken a whole lot to have him shooting hot ropes everywhere and he once again finds himself sorely wishing he had his hands. 

But his inability to touch himself just seems to make it ache all the worse while, conversely, you appear to be enjoying yourself quite a bit despite the dire tinge in your stretched thin voice. Sampo can tell you don’t know what to do, how to make any sense of what’s happening to your body, and it just spurs him on to attack your defenseless clit with even greater ferocity. 

Burn everything, he couldn’t even recall the last time he’d been this hard. 

And then you say it. 

A breathless, tiny little, “M - Mister Sampo!”

That’s all it takes to make him cum, his hips stiffly rolling against the floor while he creams all over the inside of his underwear. He can hardly breathe through it, grunting a masculine sound into your cunt while the sensation of his fast cooling load bleeds into the front of his pants. In truth he’s so lost in the surge of fast pumping endorphins and potent adrenaline that it takes him a prolonged beat to realize that you’re cumming too. 

Crying out in pleasure, you shake and judder through your release far longer than he does, sucking in one frantic breath after another while you sensitively squeal his name for the whole building to hear. If this had been anywhere other than the old city the two of you probably would have had a couple of good Samaritan’s running to check what was going on to make a woman cry out like that and he’d quickly find himself on the sharp end of another Silvermane weapon. 

But luckily you are in the old city, not Belobog, and he slouches back against the wall with a heaving groan when you finally pry yourself away from him, still twitching with the lingering remnants of your orgasm. He only needs to take one look at you, legs trembling like a newborn foal while you try to orient yourself, and he knows what he needs to do. 

Recovering much quicker than you do, Sampo leans forward even when it just makes his underwear give a wet squish at the change in position and flexes his arms to test the full range of motion allotted to him by the cuffs. They don’t even budge but that wasn’t a problem. He has enough room to flick his hand up and out, summoning a small blade of wind to slice clean through the metal chain connecting the two links with a barely audible rattle. 

He quickly brings his hands around and reaches for you, grabbing onto your hips before you can react or even realize what’s happening. Completely ignoring your squawk of surprise, he yanks you down into his lap to sit on his still achingly rigid cock and he curls himself over you, chuckling softly at the way you gape up at him in barefaced shock. 

“W - w - wha —“ 

“Oh, did I forget to tell you? You’ll need something a bit stronger than that if you want to keep me locked up. Surprised?” 

Keeping one arm secured around your middle, he reaches down with the other to splay his fingers across your rapidly flexing stomach and then drags it lower to dip between your legs. You gasp and twist in his hold, uselessly smacking at whatever part of him you can manage to reach, but it’s all an effort in futility. He already had you trapped in his clutches despite all the squirming, and his gloved finger takes a casual swipe through the creases of your messy cunt to make you jolt. 

“Well, well, would you look at that. I’d say I won our little bet, wouldn’t you? That means I get to put my hands all over you and … other things too, isn’t that right?” 

“Wait! You can’t - - nnghn!” 

Tossing your head back when he finds your sopping wet entrance and pushes one finger inside to feel the stretch, you seethe up at the ceiling. He’s acutely aware of your body trying to reject it and keep him out, but you were much too slippery to stop him even when your thighs valiantly squeeze shut around his hand. 

“That’s a tight fit.” He murmurs, perfectly offhand while he makes casual work of slowly thrusting his digit in and out of you. Your pussy softly clicks with the motion, so wet for him that the smooth material of his glove slides easily through your constricting passage. The only response he gets is a sharp, overwrought hiss while you halfheartedly try to shove at his arm. 

It was likely too soon after your orgasm when the nerves were still vibrating and tender, so he decides to take pity on you at least for the moment. Carefully withdrawing his hand from between your legs, he instead reaches up to yank at all the buttons and latches on your jacket to get that undone too. He couldn’t wait to see those tits for himself, and not even all your fitful writhing was enough to deter him from it. 

You harp at him the whole time of course but Sampo just coos at you to relax while he fumbles to get the inner thermal shirt yanked up around your neck. With his chin tucked over your shoulder he has the perfect vantage point to look down at the soft white bra that holds your breasts in place and he takes a moment to indulgently squeeze at them through the material, kneading the flesh until you finally relent with a harried moan. 

Only then does he hook his finger into the band and tug it down. Realizing what he’s doing, you make a desperate attempt to swat his hand away but the moment your tits spill out into the air you violently shudder so hard it seems to temporarily immobilize you. Punchdrunk and dazed, you reluctantly allow your head to loll back against his shoulder as he sets his sights on the stiff, pebbled peaks of your nipples. 

“What do you know, Sampo Koski’s intuition is always right it seems.” He murmurs, quite pleased with himself as he tweaks one of the buds to leave you moaning in his lap. “I had a feeling these were going to be nice and juicy. Are you sure no one’s ever played with these before? You look like you’re enjoying this …” 

You give a weak, faltering little mewl in response, tense fingers digging into his forearm where you’re clutching onto him for dear life. Chuckling a husky sound into your neck, he nuzzles against you to kiss and nip at the vulnerable skin there before slowly working his way up. Still idly toying with your nipples, pinching and pulling at them, he brushes his mouth across your cheek to finally claim those kissable lips for himself. 

And you let him do it, groaning hotly into his mouth while he kisses you deeply and lays total claim on your person. There isn’t an inch of you that he won’t have touched by the time he was done, and the knowledge that he was undeniably going to be your first fills him with a sick sense of pride. The signs were all there, even if he did tease you contrarily. And oh, how he was going to wreck you for any other man. It would always be him who you thought of, comparing everyone else to the so-called crook who so expertly turned your own body against you on the floor of an abandoned building in the old city, and wasn’t that just the greatest punchline of all? 

“Are you gonna’ be good for me?” He says at last when he carefully reaches under you to unfasten his pants, lips brushing yours as he speaks. “Gonna’ let this dirty old man have his way with you, right here, right now? Just like this? Hm?” 

Lost in the stupor of your arousal, you blithely nod for him even as a brief flash of uncertainty crosses your face. It seemed that some part of you understood his intention, the full brunt of the implication of what he was about to do to you, but you were too far gone to stop it and it was already much too late. Sampo has his cock fished out and he pauses only long enough to give it a perfunctory tug, smearing his own spend over the length of it to help lubricate the way. 

Angling it up, he blindly nudges through your soaked cunt until he feels the dip of your entrance, so wet and creamy against his tender glans it makes him suck in a slow breath. You go ramrod stiff in his hold, lurching forward as much as you can with his forearm still locked around your middle while your hands frantically ball into his jacket sleeves. There was no escaping it though, not in the wholly defenseless position he’s got you in, and you wordlessly cry out when he starts to push up. 

A rattling breath puffs out of him as your pussy slowly spreads open around him, granting him entry to your body. The overwhelming heat of you accompanied by the too tight squeeze makes him glad for his first orgasm, premature though it may have been, because he isn’t so sure he could have held it back otherwise. Your guts are alive around him as he gradually sinks deeper and deeper into you, aided by the help of gravity. Vulnerably curled up on his lap like this, the only thing you can do is take it. 

And you do take him, beautifully in fact. Every inch of his cock gradually slides into the tight embrace of your inner sleeve until he at last settles against the end of you with nowhere else to go. You wail a pitiful sound at the pressure that pushes in on your organs and choke on a tiny little sob as your trapped legs futilely kick at the air. It wouldn’t have helped much even if your pants weren’t tangled around them though, not when Sampo already had you fully impaled on him. 

That'd been the deal, right? 

Well, maybe it hadn’t been stated out right but that should teach you not to make deals with shady businessmen or Fool’s. 

Rumbling a low sound of pleasure as he slides his hand around, caressing over the faint bulge created by his cock through your lower stomach, Sampo nuzzles at your face again to get your attention. He wanted to make sure you weren’t drifting off to la-la land on him, and when you tip your head to blearily glance up at him with a deep felt shudder, he allows himself a sly smile. 

“Let me hear you scream my name again, pretty girl.” He purrs, narrow hips bracing to angle out of you so he can slam back in. “And don’t forget the ‘mister’ either. I think I rather liked how that sounded.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

[stinkybrowndogs]

gsps really are the most Dog of all dog breeds

I’m honestly surprised there are not more shorthairs on dogblr. What’s the hold up people. They are basically just a Malinois minus the teeth and brains and there are like 50 of those bopping around on this site! That and gsps are truly a dime a dozen. I could go on Craigslist right now and find a few byb litters. (I won’t. But I could.)

In all seriousness I think it has to do with the fact that the people who enjoy them unfortunately tend to lean conservative 😓 especially once you get into the hunting community. Being obviously gay or trans in hunting spaces is not super comfortable or safe feeling and I can only imagine being non-white in these spaces as well. That and the popular training methods used for gun dogs are… interesting. To say the least.

Some snippets of the books I was given when I was trying to get into hunting :

That isn’t to say that these are completely void of any useful information, there are lot of simple training steps that make perfect sense for the task the dogs are doing. But I think you have to take some of this with a grain of salt; when I was trying to get into hunting I found that I was able to achieve the same results with less adverse methods, plus my mentor was much more versed in modern dog training and conditioning. Brandy’s training is more of a blend of the two- the most adverse tools we used was a woah- harness (phased out pretty quickly) and an e-collar for long distance recall (again, there is a bit of a trade off of comfort for safety- the dogs job in the field necessitates being off leash and pushing out far ahead of the handler, and they can quickly get out of sight or earshot. Having a Vibrate-based recall cue simply makes sense. This should be paired with a gps collar just in case… I was told many a horror story of dogs falling into mine shafts and only being found because of the gps Tag).

Force fetching was never on the table. I saw one handler with a rubber bumper covered in toothpicks so his dog would not bite down too hard on it… never had to do that either. I’ve never had to strap an e-collar to my dogs belly. I don’t have to force my dog into a down to teach her. I don’t step on her toes (on purpose).

Her WOAH command maybe took longer than I would have liked, but it’s solid with lots of practice. Her recall is great and regularly practiced, and I don’t need an e-collar to reinforce it. She has a wonderful natural fetch, though we never formalized it. She’s beautiful when she’s on point, and it’s amazing to just see her do exactly what she was meant to do with little input from me. Truly no greater feeling than watching her cross back and forth across a field in front of me and freeze into a perfect point. It’s like she wants to chase the bird/rabbit/whatever SO BAD she’s shaking but her genetics won’t let her.

If I had the money to get back into hunting and falconry I would do it in a heartbeat. It’s a hobby that’s been sidelined since losing my job for obvious reasons, and it’s the first thing I want to pick up when I have a more stable income. If and when that will happen, I am unsure

What the fuck were we talking about. Oh yeah.

Dogs of all time for sure. But very much a dog that is good at the one thing they are good at, and if you DON’T do that thing, they can be…. A bit much. Being so environmentally focused can be difficult for people I think. It’s just not what many people are looking for (even though they give world class cuddles). That and the energy level; I don’t think it’s too bad, especially now that they are older (we go out for runs like 2-3 times a week) but also I simply would not leave the house if there were no consequences, so having a creature that will dismantle my furniture if I do not go get some vitamin D is a great motivator. The dichotomy of being a Velcro dog and being nearly oblivious to their handler when they are off leash is interesting, and probably why you don’t really see them in many sporting dog circles, or working outside of hunting. You gotta cement that recall before you let them off leash, ESPECIALLY being able to recall off of wildlife, and you gotta work really hard to reinforce handler engagement. I joke that Brandy is an idiot, but everything she needs to be able to do seems to be hardwired into her, and the things I had to teach her (recall, leave it, drop it, WOAH ect) she picked up quickly and hardly ever has issues with. (Dont talk to me about loose leash walking though)

Regardless, I love their personalities, their niche behaviors, their energy level, their ability to be the goofiest silliest idiots, their soft soft floppy ears, I love how they talk back to me when I talk to them, I love their big booming barks and club feet. I love that we are ultimately exploring the world together, and the joy we share when running through the woods or on the beach. I love watching them leap into the river with reckless abandon. And then at the end of the day, all they want to do is get under the covers with me and fall asleep. They are perfect monsters and I can’t see myself without them.

[animeloverskylarmoon]

Byakuya Kuchiki (Bleach) - Noble Series 1: Our Love - Chapter 4

For the next few weeks, things are a bit quiet.

“(Y/N)-chan!!”

You smile at Hanataro who’s waving aggressively in your direction.

Easy days like this are appreciated.

You’d asked to meet up with him to grab some items for your trip to the word of the living. The pills he carries are good for when you’re in a bind.

You drop right in front of him and he holds out the small pouch.

“Please be safe (Y/N)-chan, the world of the living can be scary too.”

He’s still the same old sweet guy.

“I will, I promise.”

You give one last smile before you take off. Byakuya is waiting for you at the entrance. It’s not unheard of for him to go on trips. Rukia is in Karakura Town with Ichigo, so you guess that’s why he’s agreed to follow on such a lower level mission. Hollow activity isn’t anything new. But there’s also the meeting with Kisuke that’s good for keeping tabs on any significant changes.

The trip there isn’t long. He’s already waiting to step through the Senkaimon. You catch sight of his captain’s cloak before you truly see him. His back is turned, and when you land at his side, he looks down. The huge door has always been a marvel to you, regardless of how many times you’ve seen it. You haven’t been to the world of the living enough times to ever not be in awe of its differences.

“Are you ready?”

“Hai.”

He turns back and those huge maroon doors open, the light illuminating the entire area.

The journey between your world and theirs might be the distraction you need. As your feet move through the space, you keep your eyes forward.

“What does it mean?”

There must be a reason that these memories have been plaguing you. You haven’t thought about your past in what feels like centuries. You wish you could stop thinking about it, or banish the idea that something bad is coming, about to happen. It’s that lingering sense at the very back or mind.

“(L/N)-san.”

You blink, surprised. You’ve already stepped into the world of the living and you hadn’t even noticed.

“Ah, we’re here.”

He glances at you, but says nothing.

“We must see Kisuke.”

You nod.

“Alright Taicho. We should probably get go-”

The distinct cry of a hollow draws your attention. The shift in spiritual pressure is not lost on you.

“Taicho.”

“Yes.”

Nothing else is said, you both take off in the direction of the disturbance.

Byakuya is much faster, not that you’re surprised. Keeping up with him has always been a challenge. But you’re doing pretty good considering that he’s a prodigy. You both end up a few miles ahead. You’re in the air and the sight of the bigger hollow is a bit of a shock. You notice the familiar head of orange that joins right at Byakuya’s side.

“Kurosaki-san.” You smile at him.

When you give him a once over you realize that he has a few scratches on his cheek.

“There were two over at the clinic. I’m not sure what’s drawing them in.” Ichigo reports gripping his sword.

“Understood. (L/N)-san.” Byakuya states.

“Hai taicho!”

You charge forward and Ichigo seems a bit shocked.

“A-Are you going to let her handle it on her own!” Ichigo protests.

He’s about to jump in.

“You shouldn’t underestimate others Kurosaki.”

Ichigo pauses, a bit confused. It’s not that he thinks you’re defenseless. He’s never really seen you in battle, but the hollow is a bit bigger than most. Even with his abilities taking on the two earlier still took a bit of effort.

Ichigo expects you to at least draw your blade, but instead you clench your fist, and when the hollow takes a swing, your fist connects with the palm of its hand.

At first there is no change, but then he hears it, what sounds like bone cracking, then the noticeable wave of wind that bursts behind the hollow is a shock. Ichigo lifts a hand to cover his face at the residual shock wave, and when he moves his hand, there is a crack on the hollow’s mask.

He’s stunned.

“But she..she didn’t even touch its face..”

Byakuya nods.

In a matter of seconds, those small cracks turn into bigger breaks and just like that, the white is falling away and its body is beginning to disintegrate right before his eyes.

It’s gone in under a minute. Just like that you’re back at Byakuya’s side.

“I don’t sense anymore in the area. We should probably head right to Urahara-san, Taicho.”

Byakuya nods and Ichigo is still gaping as he points at you.

“W-What kind of crazy strength is that!!”

Sado is the only one he knows that displays such raw physical strength.

You blink, then lift a hand, rubbing your neck.

“Ah, it’s nothing really. To be honest I’m not much of a swordsman. I’m better now, but back in the academy I was pretty pathetic.”

You begin laughing and Ichigo’s eyes just twitch.

“T-That’s probably for the best.”

He can only imagine the damage you would do if you were at his level, or Byakuya’s.

“It’s time to leave.” Byakuya states. Just like that he leaves, and you follow behind. Ichigo flinches.

“Oii! Wait for me!!”

At this point, he should expect nothing less. 

[theroseceleste]

Vampire Miguel - Part 7 - Ashes to Ashes

It is time to face Morbius and end him once and for all. Will it be plain sailing, or will there be a rocky road ahead?

Please note - This is the end of season 1 of Vampire Miguel. I have interesting ideas for season 2, if people want more... Please let me know what you guys think? If I continue, I will be giving Vampire Miguel a little break, but he will return (if you want him to).

Buy me a coffee! (And gain access to my discord)

Minors DNI - Smut and descriptions of violence

Word count - 8410

If you don't want spoilers, avoid reading the contains section below.

Contains - Descriptive fight scenes, moderate descriptions of violence. Brief description of sex.

If you enjoy this fic, please consider liking, commenting or re-blogging. Many thanks.

Thank you to those who have read and enjoyed Vampire Miguel so far. The likes and re-blogs are very much appreciated.

Enjoy xx

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6

It feels strange stepping out of Las Sombras. Over the last twenty-four hours, you have been ensconced underground, hidden away, safe from Morbius and his turned creatures of the night. You blink and squint as the daylight makes your pupils shrink, adjusting to the brighter light levels.

Leaving the security of the shelter was simultaneously daunting and refreshing. However, the fact that it was light outside gave you a bit of relief and an extra sense of security. Not to mention that inhaling the cool, crisp autumn air was very much needed. Certainly a lot fresher than the stuffy atmosphere underground.

Both you and Lyla make your way to the station in her car. Miguel strongly advised against either of you using public transport - just to be safe.

Under Hobie’s instruction, you and Lyla meet his contact outside the closest police station to Las Sombras.

At 10am sharp, he stands in his police uniform, wearing a specific scarf around his neck to help you differentiate him from his colleagues. You both were warned that he wouldn’t be sharing his name, but so long as you two can access the CCTV system, you and Lyla didn’t mind.

“I can only guarantee a small window of time for you to have access to this room. So if you can, be quick,” he mutters as he leads you through the station as swiftly as possible, carrying a cup of coffee and waves good morning to passing by fellow cops.

The officer opens the door to a small room equipped with a desk, a computer and a couple of chairs. “This machine is linked to the public CCTV network around Nueva York. If you have a rough area in the city you can start with, you should find the person you’re looking for,” he says as he shuts the door once all three of you have entered. “I’ll take the controls though,” he adds, taking one of the two seats.

Lyla gestures for you to take the other chair and she stands between you and Hobie’s contact.

“So, where am I starting?” he says, looking at you expectantly.

“You met Morbius the other day, didn’t you? Where was that?” Lyla asks, jogging your memory.

Your mind is blown away by the fact that you did indeed meet Morbius just five days ago. And since then, your life has been a dramatic rollercoaster. Your life has been in danger at least three times, you’ve learned how to shoot a gun, learned vampires exist and you’re now dating one - kind of - sleeping with him at the very least…

As you think, a sea of memories swells in your mind. Churning images as you summon snapshots of each one until you finally start remembering where you first met Morbius.

“In the subway, five days ago. Heading to Brooklyn station just before 9am,” you answer.

“Eastbound or westbound? I need to know which platform you arrived at,” the officer asks as he starts entering information into the system.

You had been coming from your place of work… well… your now ‘old’ place of work. “Westbound,” you answer, doing everything you can to stop feeling mad about Jameson.

Hobie’s contact pulls up the camera footage on the screen around the time you provided on the morning five days ago. Both you and Lyla lean forward slightly, as if it will help you spot yourself and Morbius quicker.

Watching the footage, you see Miles’s parents handing out their flyers. Your heart sinks with sadness and guilt now that you know about their son, but are unable to tell them or the police anything about it.

On the screen, lights emerge from the tunnel as the camera on the platform also watches over the tracks. You think this is your train pulling into the station.

Sure enough, you eventually spot yourself leaving a carriage with the beautiful man in tow, except his appearance was a total facade. A lie. A trick. You feel sick at the thought of what that man nearly did to you.

“There,” you point at the screen. “There he is. We need to see where he comes from and where he goes,” you instruct the officer.

He starts working backwards from that point on the CCTV footage. Following his every movement before he finds you on the train.

Obviously, because Morbius is a vampire, his activity lasts throughout the night. You all watch him hop about the city via the subway. Above ground, you observe him taking leisurely walks along busy streets.

Unfortunately for you, he does occasionally slip into alleyways where you suspect he knows he cannot be seen. God only knows what he’s doing, but he does re-emerge again, allowing the three of you to trace his movements even further back.

Footage from the evening before you met Morbius suggests that he stayed in an apartment block neighbouring a shopping and restaurant district all day. The entrance to the building shares the cover of a roof-like feature that also looms over the retail businesses and subway station.

Returning to the point in which you meet Morbius, the officer then follows the vampire’s movements through the subway CCTV network, bringing him full circle back to the very same apartment block.

“I bet that’s where he lives,” Lyla comments as she types the building’s address into her notes.

Fast forwarding on the footage shows Morbius repeatedly coming and going around sunrise and sundown. You presume he chose this specific apartment block because of the cover over the entrance, which buys him some wriggle-room to come and go when the sun is up if necessary.

“Yep; I’d say that’s where the guy lives. Is there anything else you need?” he asks before glancing up at the clock on the wall, checking to see how much time you have been in there.

Catching on to the officer’s awareness of the time, you and Lyla decide you have all the information you need.

The pair of you thank him for his help and promptly leave.

“So, Morbius lives in the Brooklyn shopping district?” Miguel asks as he looks up the address Lyla gave him that evening after all of the vampires wake up and get out of bed. “That’s not too far from here…” he mumbles pensively.

“Makes sense,” Lyla replies as she twirls some microwavable noodles around her fork. “The surrounding area is largely under cover. Fairly central too, with lots of nooks and crannies to hide in and feast on people,” she continues as she takes a mouthful of food.

Miguel couldn’t believe you and Lyla returned with an address for Morbius’s hiding place. His faith in CCTV is now largely improved because of it. There was an underlying sense of negativity that morning as he was falling off to sleep, feeling concerned over how successful the trip to the police station was going to be. There are still certain aspects of modern-day living that he still needs to have a better understanding of and the city’s extensive monitoring system is one of them.

“Now that we have a location, I need to tell you my plan on how we’re going to end Morbius,” he says as he joins everyone else in the communal area. The moment his words leave his mouth the group fall silent; anyone holding their phones puts them away in their pockets, looking as though they want to take part in this important discussion.

You sit beside Miguel, also noticing just how focused the rest of the vampires are, particularly the younger ones. Presumably because they had the most to lose being turned against their will. Their family, their education, and technically the future they had only just begun preparing themselves for. A chill runs down your spine knowing that the innocent youngsters look the most determined with the subject of revenge. But can you blame them?

“As vampires, we can sense others. So, stage one of the plan is to determine roughly where in the apartment building he stays. Myself and Lyla will go ahead early; with the use of sunscreen so I can travel during the day before he wakes up and leaves,” Miguel begins to draw up his plan, his mind putting together his ideas as if they are pieces of a puzzle.

Everyone is listening intently.

“Stage two; after finding his apartment, the rest of the vampires - who still want to be involved - will make their way to the confirmed location as soon as the sun sets,” he pauses for a moment before adding. “There is no shame in backing out. This could get dangerous real fast. Morbius isn’t afraid to use what harms vampires against us. This could result in any one of us being reduced to a pile of ash before the night is through.”

The silence that descends upon the shelter feels heavy with his serious words, his ruby-red eyes wander to each and every person who has said they want to be involved, but no one backs out.

“Stage three; once we’re all together, we barge in. If we make noise, then so be it. We want to catch Morbius unaware before he wakes up and then we end him,” Miguel’s voice carries an air of finality as he speaks.

Hobie, who sits next to Pav and Margot on a couch, leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “Tell us when, and consider it done,” he says with such confidence. All the others nod in agreement with the punk vampire.

“As soon as possible,” Miguel answers, “sundown tomorrow.” He has waited long enough to see the end of Morbius, he wants him gone at the earliest opportunity, for the sake of the city.

The following day, as the vampires sleep, you, Lyla and MJ talk amongst yourselves in the communal area. You watch Lyla pack a bag full of ammunition as there is an overwhelming sense of nervousness shared between all three of you.

It is agreed that MJ will stay in the shelter and keep MayDay safe. You have decided you will join the team of vampires as soon as the sky is dark enough to fly stealthily over Nueva York. Peter will fly holding onto you, making sure you stay with them and under their protection.

“How was Miguel this morning when he got into bed?” Lyla asks. There is no hint of cheeky suggestiveness in her voice. She knows the man is preparing himself for a fight. A fight that could cost him his life. And without him, there will be fewer good vampires to protect the city.

You want to say he was fine. But the way he held you close on the bed, his arms tight and tense to make sure you can’t get away, suggested otherwise. His kisses were plentiful but tender and full of meaning. The feeling of his lips against your skin took your breath away, his affection was his wordless way of saying goodbye if he was to never return.

Miguel continued kissing you, holding you, touching you until his eyes couldn’t remain open any longer, just the thought of it almost makes your eyes well with tears. You don’t want to lose him, but it is a necessary fight, you just hope he and his fellow vampires come out victorious. “He didn’t say much, but I could understand he was preparing for the worst,” you finally answer.

Lyla zips up her bag as MJ gives MayDay a slightly tighter squeeze while she chews on the corner of a child’s book.

“Peter was the same this morning. If Peter is subdued about something, you know it’s serious,” MJ speaks up, her voice sounding slightly shaky with emotion. Much like yourself, MJ is working hard to make peace with the fact that her loved one may not return.

You eventually stand after looking at the time on your phone. It won’t be long till you have to prepare Miguel for the evening ahead. “Gotta go and get Miguel up and slathered with suncream,” you announce, spurring Lyla to get up too.

“Right, while you do that, I’ll prepare a blood pack for Miguel, make sure he’s got enough energy,” she pauses halfway through heading into the kitchen. “MJ; will you be able to do the same for the others when they wake up?”

MJ looks up from MayDay’s book after opening it and reading it to her. “Oh yeah, sure,” she looks back down at the book and runs her fingers along the words, “Incy wincy spider…”

MJ’s words fade as you head back to Miguel’s room, your heart full of anxiousness and anticipation. Every step towards his room brings you closer to waking him up, bringing you closer to the moment he has to leave.

The smell of sunscreen hangs in the air as you step through the door and notice Miguel is already up and dressed.

“Oh,” you say in surprise as you close the door behind you. “You’re already up.”

Miguel approaches, dressed in black, a warm smile on his face - an expression you suspect is an attempt to stop you from worrying. “I just wanted to spend some extra time with you before I have to go,” he replies as he rests his large hands on your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing soothingly.

Like an anxious mother caring for her son, you zip up his jacket as if you believe it will provide him extra protection. “You sure you’ve got everything covered with the suncream, Miguel?” you ask as you smooth your hands over the leather.

He nods at you, feeling thankful that you’re there for him. “Yes, I’m sure. Thank you, mi dulzura,” he replies as his arms slowly wrap around you, holding you close. Long fingers tangle in your hair as he gently pulls to make you look up at him. “You take such good care of me,” his voice is merely above a whisper.

You feel heavy - relaxed - but heavy and woozy. So woozy that you fail to notice the significance of his eyes glowing. To you, they are just beacons, commanding your attention, something you have no trouble giving to him.

Miguel’s arms tighten around you as your legs start to lose strength. “I’m going to take care of you now,” he mumbles, but you don’t really notice the words, except for the vibrations in his chest soothing you.

Each blink gets longer as your eyelids feel heavier, the pounding of anxiousness in your heart has gone, you feel at peace and safe.

Now there’s weightlessness and the endless sea of darkness before you just after Miguel leans in to give you a tender, loving kiss…

“Y/N!” a young girl’s voice pierces the darkness in which you are unable to tell just how long you have been lost within. However, when you hear the voice call out again, it starts to sound clearer, and your body doesn’t quite feel so heavy.

You feel tremors happening occasionally each time this mysterious voice speaks.

“He’s done the same to Y/N, guys. She’s out cold,” the voice calls out again, sounding urgent and concerned which is starting to affect you.

Eventually, you realise the void shrouding you is a dreamless sleep, and the tremors are caused by someone trying to shake you awake.

Everything still seems heavy, but your limbs slowly feel as though life is coming back to them.

Sensing that you’re stirring, the person shakes you again, strengthening your connection with the waking world.

Finally, after a struggle, you prise your eyes open, your vision unfocused, making you see double.

“Y/N!” the voice calls out, which after several moments of heavy blinking, you come to recognise that it is Gwen that has been trying to rouse you. Soon after, you discover that she’s kneeling next to you on Miguel’s bed.

Your muscles reluctantly move as you try to sit up, Gwen gives you support, her hand resting on your shoulder.

“Where’s Miguel?” you ask, your voice hoarse from being in deep sleep. There’s a slight throbbing in your head as the final effects of the impromptu slumber wears off.

“We guess he’s taken off and left us all behind,” Peter suddenly speaks up, making you look around the room to find everyone also standing in Miguel’s private quarters.

“Dude thinks he’s some kind of hero,” Hobie grumbles as he stands there, arms folded, his face a picture of disappointment.

“I get you’re mad, Hobie. We all are to an extent,” Lyla interjects as she tries to squeeze through the crowd of vampires so she can be heard. “He thinks that he’s responsible for Morbius and doesn’t want anyone getting hurt or killed because of his mistake.”

The more people talk, the more awake you feel and your memory starts to return. “Miguel hypnotised me off to sleep, didn’t he?” you mutter, sounding slightly betrayed.

“He did it to Lyla, MJ and MayDay too, to make sure he could leave without anyone arguing against his own plans,” Peter wades back into the conversation.

A sense of hopelessness floods you, knowing that Miguel has gone to face this fight on his own. Either an exceedingly brave or foolish thing to do. “What do we do?” you ask, looking up at Lyla and Peter, the two other senior members of the group.

They glance at each other and give a nod before looking back at you.

“We continue with stage two of the original plan,” Lyla answers.

“Except, you and Lyla drive to the location while we fly. Both of you will be equipped with guns so you can protect yourselves,” Peter adds before looking at his phone. “It’s nearly sundown; we should get ready to go.”

It has been slow progress, but Miguel gradually zigzags his way up the staircase of the apartment block. Sweeping along every floor to detect any sign of Morbius.

He hates the fact that he hypnotised you and the other two human women to sleep in a bid to slow the rest of the vampires down. He knows you all will be mad at him, but it is for the best - in his opinion. He can take Morbius out, and everyone is safe.

Under his jacket is a holster and a sheath carrying a gun loaded with silver bullets along with a silver knife. Two weapons are better just in case the one fails.

He gives a polite nod to other residents as he passes them in the corridors while his senses stretch as wide as they can, like feelers to pick up any trace of the evil vampire.

Stepping onto the next floor, his brows furrow as he picks something up - a mental signature of another vampire nearby, and it feels exceedingly familiar. He just hopes that Morbius isn’t awake to detect Miguel. Unfortunately for him, however, it has taken him far longer than he anticipated. But knowing that he is knee-deep in his own plan, he might as well continue to locate Morbius and try to put an end to him. Hopefully, by the time the rest will inevitably show up, Morbius will be nothing but a bad memory.

Miguel’s senses tell him that his long-lasting enemy is on the same floor as him. He hovers by each door, his hands casually nestled in his jeans pockets while he listens, feels and sniffs with his abilities for Morbius.

He finally finds a door that causes his vampiric senses to fire on all cylinders. Alarm bells, whistles, and flashing lights explode in his mind as he looks at the door in question.

A tentative listen through the thick wood doesn’t betray much as to what’s going on inside, but he knows Morbius is there.

Remembering that you zipped up his jacket, his hand slowly and quietly pulls it down until it hits the end, letting the leather garment open.

Feeling thankful once more that his dead heart isn’t hammering inside his chest, he focuses on the task at hand. Raising a leg, he delivers a powerful kick to the door, crunching the frame with the devastating blow.

Miguel moves quickly. Drawing his gun from the holster under his jacket, he enters the apartment.

Inside, it’s dark and silent. Curtains are drawn to keep the light out during the day, but the glow of the sun around the edges is almost nonexistent.

He stands in the open-plan kitchen and living room, poised to shoot anything that moves. His head turns left and right, his keen red eyes scanning his surroundings.

Two doors lead out of the kitchen area, one to his left and his right. One of these rooms could have Morbius sleeping within them - if the apartment door being kicked in didn’t wake him.

While holding the gun with one hand, the other reaches under his jacket for the silver blade as he stalks deeper into the apartment. He’s now prepared for long and short-range combat before turning the door handle.

The door swings open, revealing a tiled bathroom and sadly, not a slumbering vampire.

Suddenly, in his mind, he feels movement behind him. Miguel spins around, taking a rushed aim and firing just before he’s struck heavily with a gnarled fist in the face. The bullet lodges itself into the wall across the kitchen.

Despite reeling from the blow, Miguel slashes with the blade with unfocused vision, luckily snagging it on his attacker’s arm. A shrill, monstrous scream fills the air as the metal burns the vampire’s flesh.

Time is of the essence. He can still only sense one vampire; he’s certain that it’s Morbius that he’s facing.

His right hand presses forward, aiming the gun at where he thinks is the heart of his enemy. He wishes that his vision would clear more quickly. The kind of punch he took would have killed a human outright; it was bound to take a moment or two to recover fully. This does tell Miguel one thing however: Morbius is even stronger than the last time they fought…

Before he can pull the trigger again, a wing shoots out from Morbius’s back, shunting Miguel deeper into the bathroom. The gun and the silver blade fall to the floor with a loud clatter.

He soars backwards, hitting and denting the wall behind him, and then collapses into a bathtub as dust and cracked tiles fall on top.

After recovering from being sliced by the knife, Morbius stops applying pressure on his now healed wound and rushes forward to snatch up the dropped weapon, raising it to strike back.

Looking like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in surprise and fear, Miguel’s mind begins to frantically search for a solution.

As Morbius plunges the blade down towards his victim, the tables turn. It is now he that is shrouded in whirling black mist. Morbius may have managed to stab Miguel before, but this time, his foe is armed with the same trick he usually plays. The bath is now empty, except for the knife wedged firmly through the plastic.  

More mist materialises from behind Morbius followed by a hard kick and a grunt sends him crashing into the tub.

Wrenching the shower head from the wall, Miguel turns on the water at full flow. A hateful expression is plastered across his face, his fangs bared threateningly as he aims it down on his enemy.

The bathroom fills with Morbius’s screams of agony as he’s doused with rushing water, the sound makes the corners of Miguel’s lips slowly tug upwards into an evil grin. He watches with glee as his enemy curls up in a defensive ball, steam rising from his body as his flesh burns and stings.

Keeping the shower head trained on him, Miguel reaches down to the floor to pick up the gun. As fun torturing his enemy may be, he cannot lose sight of what he came here for.

The soaked and scalding situation Morbius has found himself in is not lost on him. Once again, Miguel has managed to debilitate him with the use of flowing water. Only this time, it doesn’t quite match the torrent of a fast-flowing river.

Old, ripped wings burst out and wrap around Morbius and burn as they protect his body, buying him time to summon the energy to vanish.

“No!” Miguel yells as he stands up straight again, taking a potshot at Morbius out of desperation. Another loud crack fills the air as the bullet soars through another bout of black mist and punches a hole through the tub instead.

Tossing the shower head into the bath, Miguel picks up the knife from the tub and storms out of the room, not giving a damn that he has left the water running.

Morbius’s presence feels strong. He’s still close by.

The kitchen is empty, which only leaves Morbius’s bedroom behind the remaining door in the apartment.

Hasty footsteps thunder across the floor as Miguel charges into the last room, sending the door swinging off of its hinges.

A brilliant purple light immediately floods the room, making him instinctively flinch, expecting to feel the skin on his face and hands burn. Clearly this is a trap set by Morbius if anything like this was to happen.

When Miguel notices the distinct lack of agony when the UV rays don’t burn him, he lets out a cruel laugh. Once again, sunscreen has proven itself useful.

Drunk on the feeling of having an advantage over Morbius, he vanishes and reappears behind the bright UV lamp where his foe hides.

Planting his booted foot against the still soaked vampire, he shoves him backwards into a dresser, making it thud loudly against the wall. “That won’t work on me today, Morbius,” he growls with a victorious grin as he raises his gun.

Despite the UV light not paying off, Morbius did not show fear - in fact, he wears an expression more like annoyance and irritation.

Without further deliberation, Miguel pulls the trigger only for it to click uselessly in his hand as the mechanism inside jams.

His stomach lurches like he has mis-stepped going down the stairs, the perfect moment to kill Morbius slipping out of his clutches. “FUCK!” he yells as he pulls the trigger again, willing for the firing pin to hit the cartridge inside.

Realising his time is not over yet, Morbius lashes out, grabs the support of the UV light and takes a violent swing as he stands back up abruptly. The collision knocking Miguel backwards, his head recoiling sharply before he collapses onto the bed. The furniture cracks loudly, the impact of the giant falling onto it causing the structure underneath the mattress to buckle.

Tossing the light aside, Morbius clambers on top of Miguel, using his clawed spindly fingers to prise the weapons from his hands. The gun is now useless, but the knife is still a threat - but could also be useful, depending on who’s on the receiving end.

A battle of strength ensues as the pair struggle to turn the blade towards the other. Fangs bared, the both of them snarl as the red in their eyes flash dangerously.

The tip of the knife inches closer to Miguel’s chest. His shuddering hands grip onto Morbius’s wrists, desperate to hold him back.

With a roar of sheer power, he manages to roll the deceptively strong, evil vampire onto his back, making an effort to turn the blade towards his enemy with one hand while the other punches hard against his face; payback for the dirty UV light move.

The knife slowly turns, twisting downwards towards Morbius’s chest, suspended above him tauntingly. The punch weakened his arms as he felt his cheekbone smash under the devastating force of Miguel’s fist.

A look of hesitation flashes across Morbius’s face, he’s once again on the losing side as he tries to push back the knife that is hanging perilously close above his dead heart.

Another swift punch comes from Miguel, his enemy catching on that each blow makes the knife drop an inch closer.

It is like Miguel can see the cogs turning in Morbius’s mind. “Don’t you dare!” he hisses as he pushes harder, every muscle tensing. The look on his enemy’s terrifying face tells him he’s desperately considering vanishing.

With the extra effort, a pin-pricking sensation is felt through his clothes, starting to bite into his skin and burn immensely. One more hard push and he’ll be a pile of ash.

Knowing that he will surely lose in this position, Morbius retreats. Black mist engulfs Miguel as the knife plummets into the mattress, slicing cleanly through the sheets.

Angry red pierces the darkness in Morbius’s room. Miguel is beyond seething. Without giving himself any time to think, he vanishes too, bursting in and out of existence around the building until he can lock onto his enemy.

His senses tell him Morbius is on the roof. Black mist swirls and licks around his incensed form as he materialises and clocks his foe taking flight.

Wings sprout from his back, beating the air, sending Miguel soaring into the night. With his bat-like appendages in much better condition in comparison to his enemy’s, he catches up with just a few well-timed flaps.

Sharp claws grapple onto Morbius’s ankle and pull him down to Miguel’s level. A mid-air clash begins against the inky-black sky while crowds of civilians amble from shop to shop below.

The airborne skirmish halts when Miguel seizes Mobrius’s neck, his extended claws slice into his foe’s flesh as his fingers squeeze hard.

Yells of agony from the evil vampire echo between the buildings in the shopping district making shoppers below look upwards and gasp and scream.

Miguel tuts with frustration; he did not want an audience, but there is no point crying over spilt milk. There are more important matters to tend to: killing Morbius.

He’s got his enemy right where he wants him, now’s the time to strike while the iron is hot. But his eyes widen when his free hand clasps around nothing above the sheath, realising that in his hurry to locate Morbius, he left the knife firmly wedged into the bed in the vampire’s apartment. He has made a monumental error, costing his revenge.

A dark chortle fills his ears, mixing in with more shrieks of panic and fear from below. “It appears you have made a mistake, Miguel,” Morbius growls before unleashing a heavy blow to Miguel’s face.

“Ah!” the failed hero’s head snaps to the side as he lets out a grunt and releases Morbius from his grip. The sudden pain in the side of his head makes his beating wings falter.

The pair drop lower towards the street below as pedestrians and shoppers scatter.

The tables have turned for Miguel. He was dealt the winning hand, armed with the element of surprise, a gun and a silver knife… and it has all been wasted by a moment of bad luck.

He kicks himself for trying to play the ultimate hero, to protect everyone and refusing to enlist the help he had at his disposal.

Morbius exacts his revenge by gripping Miguel’s neck, letting his claws now sink deep into his skin.

A growl turns into a yell of agony, before his enemy sends him hurtling down onto the concrete below; some lucky pedestrian just manages to get out of the way in time.

Upon impact, the concrete cracks and crumbles under Miguel’s sheer weight and the force with which he was thrown by Morbius. His back arches in pain as he lands awkwardly, knocking the wind out of him. His vision blurs as he bangs his head again so soon after the strike just a few moments ago.

Without a care in the world, unafraid of showing who he really is, Morbius lands on his feet, wings spread wide and the gnarled monster out on full display.

Civilians recoil with fear and disgust, but cannot bring themselves to run away, as if their sudden movement will make them a target.

The more daring amongst them reach for their pockets and pull out their phones, recording this spectacle from behind cover - if they could find any.

Walking coolly past just one of the few trees dotted along the paved walkway, Morbius takes hold of a branch, using his increased strength to wrench it from the trunk. A loud snap echoes between the front of the shops on either side of them.

“To think you offered yourself on a plate to me, makes this all the sweeter,” Morbius sneers, however there is a look of victory plastered all over his face as he looks down upon the dazed and agony-ridden Miguel.

Snapping off a bit of the branch in his hand, Morbius fashions a stake as he finally reaches Miguel. He sinks to his knees on top of the dazed vampire and places his weight on his enemy’s wings, wearing an expression of relief as if he has just completed a marathon.

This rivalry, two centuries long, is about to end finally. A costly mistake Morbius made is about to be righted.

He raises his arms, holding the stake above his head as Miguel struggles to see. The good vampire knows he’s in trouble but the splitting pain in his head renders him useless.

“You nearly bested me, I’ll give you that. But let’s be honest, I was always going to reign superior,” the blurry-looking Morbius hisses, although the red in his eyes are unmistakable.

In Miguel’s final moments, he thinks of you as he feels the position of Morbius’s body change suddenly. He can’t see what Morbius has in his hands, but he knows it isn’t good.

Everything Morbius has had to endure for two hundred years after nearly dying in the river, has been leading to this moment. His victory in the palm of his hand.

Morbius plunges the stake downwards towards Miguel’s heart…

A loud crack is followed by what feels like Morbius’s head splitting into two makes him stop and let out an anguished scream.

You have arrived on the scene just in the knick of time, carrying a baseball bat, followed by the others. Any second later, there would have been nothing but a pile of ash where Miguel lays now.

Seeing Miguel stuck, unable to defend himself flipped a switch in your head. Lyla had already provided you with the weapon concealed in her car, all you needed was motivation, and boy did you find it.

Before Morbius could kill your vampire boyfriend, you raced up to them undetected, and swung for your life - well, Miguel’s life.

The evil vampire scurries away, covering his caved head with his arms before taking off. A portion of the remaining observing civilians disperse away from him. You may not have vampiric strength but you caught him off guard and unprepared.

With slightly recovered vision, Miguel sits up and squints, recognising your scent immediately. “Y/N?!”

You look down at him and offer your hand to help him up. But you also have half a mind to bonk him on the head with the bat too.

To say that you’re mad at him is an understatement.

As Miguel slowly rises from the hole in the concrete, you watch the rest of the vampires descend upon Morbius like a hungry pack of wolves, with Hobie leading the charge, carrying his twin blades.

While a second vampiric skirmish begins, you hear Lyla’s voice yell at the members of the public, ordering them to leave and steer clear. Miguel breathes a sigh of relief when he starts to see the public come to their senses and move away.

“You good?” you ask Miguel as he rubs the back of his head, the remnants of his dazed state slowly slipping away.

“Yeah,” he answers as he watches the swarm of determined and angry vampires vanish and reappear in a cloud of swirling mist above.

You don’t want him to go, but you know he should. Your hand clutches his arm as you silently push him forward, but to your surprise, he stops and looks back at you.

He draws you in for a heartfelt kiss on your lips before he presses his forehead against yours and clasps your hands in his. “I’m sorry.”

Then, you feel his lips press against your forehead as he kisses you again before you feel his wings beat air at you.

As he takes flight, his regained vision allows him to lock onto the fight ahead. He hears Morbius’s howls of pain as everyone rips into him, throwing him between them like some vicious game of Pass the Parcel.

Every vampire Morbius had turned, that Miguel took under his wing, wanted a slice of revenge. He finally came to realise he couldn’t deny them that and assumed that all of them would be mad at him, and rightfully so.

But what matters now is seeing to it that Morbius does not escape tonight. His only way out of this is his ashes being scattered by the autumn breeze.

As you watch Miguel’s large form enter the fray, you soon realise some of Morbius’s cronies have finally come to his aid.

You hear a hiss behind you. Swiftly spinning around you gasp in shock as you see red eyes, sharp fangs and claws descend upon you before a shot rings out from behind. Their eyes go wide before they dissolve into ash.

Lyla approaches soon after, a smoking gun in her hand. “I think there’s more coming; here,” she says as she pulls out a second gun from her back pocket and hands it to you. “That bat won’t beat them all off.”

The baseball bat clatters against the concrete slab as you drop it, take the weapon and prime it.

“We need to stop as many as we can from helping Morbius in that fight. Looks like they’re giving him a good run-around,” Lyla continues as you see sudden movement behind her.

Raising your gun, you take aim and pull the trigger. The vampire's ashes fall at Lyla’s feet just as she turns to see what you shot at.

Back up in the air, the sound of gunshots reaches Miguel’s ears. He glances down towards the noise and can see more trouble is coming from under the cover over the shopping district; but it looks like you and Lyla have it handled, for now.

Worry mounts in his mind however. He doesn’t want you both to be overwhelmed but equally, he can’t let Morbius escape.

With the prolonged fighting, teleportation and use of vampiric strength, Miguel can sense Morbius’s energy dwindling. And if he can sense it, the others can too.

It is like there is an unspoken understanding between them all to tire him out completely, to make it certain that Morbius cannot get away.

Suddenly, a feminine scream catches his attention.

Looking around desperately to spot the source, he discovers Gwen had received a hard punch to the face, sending her plummeting towards the ground.

Both Miguel and Miles dive fast to catch her before he hears Hobie yell out his name and point at an escaping Morbius.

He stops and looks up. It seems Morbius is seizing an opportunity. Miguel cannot let him slip through his fingers again, knowing that Miles will continue to swoop low and save Gwen in a daring dive.

Hobie draws his blades as he flies after the weakened evil vampire. “Catch!” he shouts as he hurls one blade far over Morbius’s head with great effort, the sharp metal glinting as it catches the moonlight with each revolution in the air.

Miguel knows exactly what Hobie has planned.

He vanishes in smoke, picturing exactly where he wants to be.

As the mist clears again, a terrified Morbius halts before him, tattered wings splaying wide to slow himself down.

Miguel raises his hand and expertly catches the blade’s handle before thrusting it forward into his enemy’s heart.

At the exact same time, Hobie teleports behind and stabs it into Morbius’s back.

The moment the silver blades connect in the middle, Morbius chokes and splutters, his red eyes fixed on Miguel’s, before his old enemy at long last disintegrates.

They did it. It’s over.

Miguel’s raised arm lowers as he starts to process what’s happened. It doesn’t seem real.

Ash swirls gracefully in the wind as it falls to the ground, scattering the remains of Morbius far and wide - not that Miguel particularly notices this.

He is so deep in his state of disbelief, that he doesn’t hear the cheers from the other vampires until his feet touch the ground and his wings stow away.

The silver blade slips from his loose fingers, clattering on the pavement as his eyes lock onto you.

It was you who flipped the fight back in his favour. It was you who saved his life.

He rushes to you, his arms scooping you up and holding you tightly against him.

Not a single word is uttered, but you know through his hold on you alone that he is truly grateful.

You return the embrace, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Of course you’re mad at what he did to you, but you’re certain he knows it and he’s already apologised.

If truth be told, he’s grateful for everyone. Everyone did their bit during the fight. If he hadn't been such a foolhardy man and had stuck to the original plan, the fight might have been over without any complications.

Now, everyone has landed and began to group up around the both of you. Peter and Hobie pat him heavily on the back while the younger vampires rejoice.

Miguel puts you back down as he watches a thunderous Lyla approach.

Back in the shelter, Lyla had been the calmest of all, even defending Miguel when others expressed their disappointment or anger over him leaving early.

But you find yourself shocked to witness Lyla lash out and hit her good friend. She is much smaller than Miguel, making her violent act look a little comical, but there was a nasty jab in her punch which connected with Miguel’s ribs.

“Oof!” he grunts in surprise, it didn’t particularly hurt.

“Why did you go and do that, you fool?!” she hisses as she now unleashes multiple strikes on him, one after another. “You nearly got yourself killed! How dare you send me to sleep! I’m gonna kick your fucking ass for that; just you wait!—“

Miguel simply allows Lyla to work out her frustrations until she dissolves into tears. Her hammering fists give up their abuse before slipping her arms around his waist and hugging him.

He pats her reassuringly on her shoulder as he gives everyone else an awkward look. “You can all beat me up later,” he says as a sniffling Lyla slowly pulls away before giving him one last well deserved whack.

Miguel sends the rest of the vampires back to the shelter, but he wants to keep you and Lyla with him while he returns to Morbius’s apartment.

Before Hobie left with the others, he told Miguel he called in a favour with his police friend again and promised there wouldn’t be repercussions with the law enforcement.

That was a load of weight off his mind. If things had gone his way, the killing of Morbius would have happened in the privacy of his apartment but, obviously things had to go wrong.

Entering the now deserted apartment, the faint sound of running water comes from the bathroom, reminding him that he left the shower running.

Lyla goes to turn it off, leaving you alone with Miguel.

You feel his fingers tentatively brush against yours, almost as if he wants to see how you are but is too scared to ask you, in case you go and do something similar to what Lyla did earlier.

To ease his concerns, your digits reply by hooking themselves around his while your thumb runs over his rigid knuckles. You feel him relax and relief at your touch.

The open-plan living room and kitchen looks relatively normal - nothing suspicious or interesting to note.

Miguel doesn’t exactly know what he’s looking for, but this is his only chance to explore his old enemy's home.

Lyla returns and the three of you enter Morbius’s bedroom. The light from the UV lamp shines up to the ceiling as it lays on the floor.

You flip the main light switch on, illuminating the entire room.

Your gaze falls onto the twisted bedsheets pinned down onto the mattress by a knife, telling you there was a close fight in here too.

While you’re preoccupied with the look of the bed, Miguel and Lyla observe the walls now that you all can see properly with the light on.

“What’s this?” Miguel asks, thinking out loud as he approaches a wall.

Both you and Lyla take a look, too.

Dozens of newspaper clippings are stuck to the wall with pins. Each one talking about the same man: Doctor Otto Octavius.

You wrack your brain, trying to think where you’ve heard that name before…

“Why was Morbius interested in a nuclear physicist?” Miguel mutters with confusion.

Nuclear physicist… “Oh!” you gasp when you remember.

Both Lyla and Miguel look at you.

“I wrote about him the other day,” you begin to explain. “He’s a nuclear physicist who is soon to win a Nobel Prize in physics. But not only does he specialise in nuclear physics, he has also dabbled with biology.”

Miguel is silent for a moment as he struggles to grasp the link.

“Perhaps…” Lyla joins in, “Morbius was starting to explore other avenues in his search for a cure?”

“You think Morbius was going to approach a scientist to help cure him?” Miguel questions Lyla before glancing up at the newspaper clippings again, searching for more clues.

“Well, his own theory never cured him. Perhaps he was considering going down a more scientific route?” Lyla responds as she looks up Doctor Octavius on her phone.

You gasp again as another thought enters your mind. “Morbius may not have had the chance to speak to Octavius, but you do.”

Your boyfriend glances at you suddenly. A glimmer of hope shines in his eyes. “You think I have a shot at getting rid of this curse?”

There is a moment of silence as you reconsider your thoughts, but eventually, you take his hand in yours. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Miguel’s lips press into a thin line as he ponders a life free from vampirism. Could it be possible? You’re right though: he won’t know the answer unless he does something about it.

With a quiet nod, Miguel reaches up and rips every article of the scientist off the wall. Morbius won’t be needing them any longer…

Naturally, the news channels were abuzz with fresh claims of the existence of vampires over the next couple of days.

While the government works harder to quash the new videos surfacing on the internet of the final vampiric showdown, more and more people are starting to believe that they’re being lied to.

Some civilians naturally voiced their concerns, while others praised the vampire group for ridding Nueva York of what looked like a ghastly beast.

Alongside the newly surfaced videos came refreshed campaigns to continue the search for the missing youngsters.

A few people who watched these videos on V-Tube, the vampire channel on YouTube, claimed that they recognised their missing friends as those who took part in the vampiric battle.

Of course this development concerned Miguel most of all. But with the youngsters’ parents being given fresh hope that their kids are still in the city, you and Lyla convince him to release them.

Although, while doing so, he promises them all that the shelter of Las Sombras will always be open for them should they ever need it.

Now that the city is free from Morbius and peace has been restored, you decide to get back into work. It doesn’t take much for Lyla and Miguel to convince you to work for Las Sombras nightclub after reopening.

With the government still pissed at you for writing your open letter for the Daily Bugle, no other newspaper in Nueva York wants to hire you. But, you’re not too upset about it.

Working at the nightclub means you work with Lyla. The both of you get on amazingly well and act as partners in crime to tease Miguel. And, of course, you get to see your boyfriend too after he rises from his daily slumber.

Like every other new couple, you and Miguel are besotted with one another. Perhaps your bond together is stronger than most; probably due to the things you have been through together, and ultimately you let him feed from your neck, before he makes slow and tender love to you.

With an empty shelter, you and Miguel use every space available to express your intimate desires.

He takes you on the sofas in the communal area, on the kitchen counter and in the bath, giving you a new reason to start having more of them, especially when Miguel is involved.

Feeling the warm water hug around your body while you’re pressed against his makes you feel weak and soft like melting butter. And adding his face full of pleasure to the mix as you slowly ride him - being careful not to slosh the water over the sides and flood the bathroom, sends exquisite tingles spreading throughout your body.

Miguel has enjoyed a couple of months of well-earned peace. Aside from tending to his vampiric needs like sleeping during the day and feasting on blood, he has wanted to do very little with the subject of vampirism.

He simply wished to enjoy his time with you, beginning a new chapter in his life until he is struck with the unpleasant thought that he will end up watching you grow old if the both of you stay together.

Remembering that he watched his beloved daughter and brother be consumed by the passage of time, he realises that he cannot live through that again. And it is that realisation that makes him sit at his desk, open his drawer and take out the newspaper clippings. His red eyes repeatedly trace over Doctor Otto Octavius’s name, entertaining the idea that he may be able to provide a cure…

And that's season 1 wrapped folks! Now tell me, do you want another season? Lmk!

Vampire Miguel has surpassed Pilot Miguel in size, and I thought that series was huge! If you haven't read it, part 1 is here.

124 pages, 63,860 words and have been writing it since early September 2024. It has been an interesting journey to say the least, but has been a fun AU to explore!

Buy me a coffee! (And gain access to my discord)

Thank you to those who enjoyed the series. Likes, comments and re-blogs are always appreciated.

I have a different series in mind which is currently in the works, so stay tuned on my Twitter, or if you're in my discord, you'll hear progress on the new series there too. ;)

Love, Rose Celeste xx

[redbullcateringfiction]

Chapter 2 -

Cantata

Arabella is the executive assistant for Mercedes Team Principal Toto Wolff. 10 years into her career, it looks like the tide is changing, and she's beginning to question her relationship with him. Is it something more, or nothing but an idea lingering in her head?

F/M, Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Romance, Pining, Love, Slow Burn

Second chapter below the cut or click here for AO3

Click here for the previous chapter on Tumblr, and click here for a list of all chapters

(Total: 7270 words thus far)

“How long have you been with Mercedes?” Mr. Wolff asked me.

“2 years at this point,” I nodded.

“And prior to that?”

“I was a personal assistant for an acting agent at United Agents,” I answered. “Prior to that, I received a Level 5 executive assistant diploma and project management diploma at Souters in the Netherlands.”

“What languages are you fluent in?”

“German, Dutch, Arabic, English, and French,” I explained.

“Arabic…that’s helpful,” he nodded.

“Yes. There was a continuous call for an executive assistant in the marketing department who spoke Arabic when I first applied here. I thought I’d be a good fit.”

“You only have 5 years’ experience at this point, and only 2 in Formula 1. Would you be prepared to take on the level of responsibility that this comes with?”

“With all due respect, Mr. Wolff, I’ve made it through 5 rounds of interviews and 4 exams. I have yet to fail a single one. This might just be what I was made for.”

Mr. Wolff looked up from his note pad and smirked. He seemed to think for just a moment, and then looked me in my eyes. “I agree. Can you start next week?”

~

“There’s a 90-day trial period when you first begin. If we decide to proceed, you’ll sign a formal employment contract for this role. If we don’t, returning to your role in Marketing will still be an option. If this role re-opens, you can re-apply in a year. Do you understand?” The HR manager asked me.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Do you mind if I say something…off the record so to speak?” He asked.

“No, no problem. Go ahead,” I nodded.

“This will be very hard. And you’re quite young. What, 25? You’ve been here for 2 seasons. We’ve only really been this team, like this at least, for 3 seasons. This will only continue to get harder. With Haug gone, we’ve got this new guy. You’re not just his assistant, you’re going to act like his curator with everyone else. You’re going to be the one really driving this connection. Afterall, you’re the one who plans every step of the day. If you leave during those 90 days, you get to take home 50% of your salary to keep you from going to another team. If you leave after 6 months, you get to take home 100% of the salary for a whole year. I’m just saying, you won’t struggle if you get tired of this.”

I thought for a moment. Was he telling me to leave or was he telling me I could? Was this a warning or a recommendation?

“Thanks,” I answered. I picked up my new badge off the desk. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

~

“It’s the end of the 90 days, Ms. Lazaar,” Mr. Wolff said, sitting me down at his desk. “Let’s have a talk.”

I could feel my forehead dripping beads of sweat. I hadn’t been perfect. Not at all. But I’d been pretty darn close. I have no clue what the threshold is for failure. That’s not something I was entirely used to. Executive assistants frequently find themselves doing this for years. If this didn’t work out, I don’t know if I would want to go back to marketing. I had spent the past 3 months in different countries, watching races from the pit practically. I experienced Formula 1 at a level I never imagined. Going back to sitting at a desk answering phone calls wouldn’t cut it anymore. This felt like it. And there’s only so many teams. There are only so many jobs just like this with my skillset. If this didn’t work out…well…I’d probably be at a bank by next year.

“How do you think you’ve done?” He asked. I hated questions like these. What was the point? You already know how I’ve done.

“I think I’ve done well. I haven’t been perfect. The first two weeks were hard, but after that settling in was easy,” I explained, with a small white lie about the ease. Nothing about this was easy.

“Easy?”

“I may have been bluffing,” I quickly gave up. He chuckled in response. Suddenly the air felt much lighter. My nerves suddenly subsided. I blotted my forehead with a tissue.

“Do you feel close to burning out at all?”

Yes. “No.”

“Was that a bluff?”

Okay, maybe I had been a bit emphatic with that no. And perhaps a bit dramatic with my thinking. “A little. This isn’t easy. This is hard. This is tiring. But I like it. I think I might even love it. I enjoy it. Sacrificing a few hours of sleep makes this worth it,” I answered.

“Well, I can tell you enjoy it. I think you’ve done a great job. I’m excited to see what you do with the rest of your tenure here at Mercedes,” He smiled, passing me an official hiring contract. I signed it with no second thoughts.

~

I looked down at my Tinder profile. In several of the pictures, I had put forth an effort to show off my long and dark curly hair. My favorite picture, was of course, first. It helped to showcase the kind of lifestyle you lead to ensure you only get matches you actually like. That picture was of me, on a yacht in Monaco with Lewis Hamilton and Valtteri Bottas. What else screams “are you good enough for me?” quite like that? I need a new one though. This was getting a bit old.

“Ten years, yes?” Toto suddenly asked.

“Huh?” I lilted, looking up from my phone.

“Ten years at Mercedes for you. Coming up, isn’t it?”

“Is it? Has it been 10 years? Oh…well yes. I guess it has. I think in April.”

“April 18 th , to be exact,” He nodded.

“Cool,” I sighed, going back to my phone. I felt a hand come over and my phone had suddenly disappeared out of my view. I turned and Toto had it in his hand. This was the stuff of nightmares. There is no way in hell my boss can know I’m on Tinder. My heart jumped out of my chest as I suddenly went to reach over for it, I saw the screen had darkened. He at least had done me the favor of pressing the power button.

“Give it back,” I groaned.

“You’re so glued to your phone,” He mockingly groaned back.

“It’s literally my job to be.”

“Ah, then what are you so busy with at this moment that you can’t tell me what you’d like for your 10 th anniversary at the company?”

“None of your business,” I frowned.

“Then answer what it is that you’d like.”

“I don’t know, a pen or something? Can I have my phone back now?”

“A pen? A fucking pen? For a decade at a company, you want a pen? ”

“Yes. I’d love a pen. Now give me back my phone.”

He disappointingly handed over my phone. I continued swiping away until I noticed him take out his own phone. I looked up and scoffed, and he chuckled knowing exactly why. I looked back down and saw a profile that stood out. A super like.

Jeffrey, 40

I’m the nice guy your mom told you to settle down with, but with slightly less hair and more traveling.

Yeah, I’ve read worse. I swiped right and messaged him. As I patiently waited for a response, I looked back at Toto. I watched as he looked through the padfolio, seemingly memorizing every word on the page. I had, for a long time, deliberately put my head in the sand when it came to him. This morning though had seemed to shock me, and suddenly I found myself lingering on him. His hands turning the pages, his glasses slipping off his nose, and the way his dark eyes traced the pages I had written. In many ways, he is incredibly-Ah, my phone vibrated.

Jeffrey: Hey! Nice to meet you, Arabella. You’re a secretary?

I sighed and typed out my reply. Not a secretary. An executive assistant. “Fucking men,” I mumbled. Toto looked over with an eyebrow raised. I awkwardly smiled and went back to my phone.

Jeffrey: Oh, sorry! So, you know Hamilton?

If I were the type to cackle evilly, I would at this moment.

Me: I work with him.

Now, to let that fester a little bit. I looked down into my bag and pulled out my schedule and began making the necessary calls for tonight. It’s important to verify everything. First, the hotel, immediately followed by the driving company. I had nearly forgotten and phoned down UBS to ensure that the investors have their meeting scheduled for the correct time. I placed the necessary checkmarks in my schedule that represented ‘Yes, I’ve called them. Now it’s their fault if anything has gone wrong.’

And of course, to top it off, Bombardier. “Yes, we have the jet chartered for tomorrow morning at 8am,” Our private contact, Leanna, answered.

“Oh, perfect. And could you make sure that breakfast is ready for everyone?”

“Yes, absolutely. The usual for everyone?” She asked.

“Yes, and make sure Mr. Wolff’s pumpernickel snaps like a cookie. I think I recall it being a little too lightly toasted last time. Oh, and next week, we have that flight scheduled, too? Right?”

“Yes. I’ll send you an email too to verify all the rest of the flights for the year. But for you, Arabella! I don’t have your breakfast here.”

“Oh, I’m going to cook for myself in the morning. I’m a sucker for an English breakfast.”

“You sure?” She insisted.

“Really, Leanna. They are my bread and butter. Literally.”

She gave me a nice pity chuckle. “Okay, well, Francis will meet you at Heathrow.”

“Thank you, Leanna. Speak with you next week.”

“Obviously!” She laughed, hanging up the phone. I placed my checkmark next to the flight. I looked over at my phone and saw the new response.

Jeffrey: Oh, you work at Brackley?

You could say that.

Me: Yes.

Jeffrey: Well, I’d love to meet with you tonight and talk more about ourselves. What time are you free?

I gave it a little thought. It’s so easy to plan for everyone else.

Me: Does 9pm work for you?

Jeffrey: Perfect, how about Angler?

I’m impressed. And its close! Oh, God. Does he work for UBS? Am I over thinking this? I’m overthinking this. Why would 9pm be okay if he worked for UBS? He would certainly be at this event.

Me: Perfect-er.

Jeffrey: See you then.

I took my last glance at my phone before looking up at the driver’s GPS. 45 minutes left to go. I checked my email and did the slightest bit more work but otherwise enjoyed the little break I was getting. Every so often, I would peek my head up at Toto and watched him do little of much alike me. It doesn’t take long to read the documents I prepare, by design. I watched briefly for a moment as he Facetimed his children and watched his face beam with pride and joy. I tried not to watch for long, pretending instead that I wasn’t listening. Slowly, but surely, 45 minutes turned to 30, and then to 5. Then all of a sudden we were on the move. I grabbed the suitcases out of the trunk as Toto managed the other bags. We headed in through the large omniscient glass doors after crossing the courtyard, and I phoned down to the UBS executive assistant.

“Hello, this is Marie.”

“Hi, Marie. It’s Arabella and Mr. Wolff. We’re in the lobby,” I spoke quietly.

“Excellent, I’ll come down and meet you. Mr. Fischer will be about 5 minutes late for the meeting, but Mr. Wolff is welcome to start.”

“I’ll let him know. Thank you, Marie,” I said, right before hanging up.

“Okay, Toto. Bobby Fischer is going to be about 5 minutes late, but you’re welcome to start. Please actually do start. Don’t linger,” I explained.

“Will do, Arabella,” He sighed. He handed me my crossbody and I slinged it over my shoulder. “Ah there she is.”

I looked across the lobby and saw Marie walking towards us. The world of executive assistants is small, and we’ve truly all begun to know each other. Not all of the driver’s have assistants but Marie was Lewis Hamilton’s ex-assistant. Leaving your boss in this line of work is truly a bit like a break up, and this must feel like running into your ex’s parents a bit. I still get uncomfortable walking past the Marketing department. However, Marie was just like most of us current or ex F1 assistants. She was a hard ass. Much more controlling than you’d expect out of your typical assistant, and if I’m considered demanding, Marie is 10-fold. I don’t know if that management style worked for Lewis, but it's what a field like banking demands at times, so I imagine the crossover wasn’t as odd as it must seem. 

“Wonderful to see you again, Arabella. And you too, Toto. Arabella, meet us on the 38th floor at approximately 1:30. I can have coffee made for you at arrival. Black coffee right?” It sounded less like a question and more like a statement.

“Absolutely. See you then,” I nodded. She ceremoniously walked towards the elevator with Toto, almost like a passing of the torch. I headed outside and brought up the directions to the hotel. Just around the corner really, but I can be a bit silly and somehow get all turned around. Truly why F1 driving was never for me.

I wandered into the hotel and saw the clear signs for the Angler restaurant. I knew it was close to the hotel, but it hadn’t processed it was in the hotel. I walked up to the check in counter while sending off the quickest message to my Tinder date. Have you made reservations? 

“Hello, yes, I need to check in for Torger Wolff,” I explained.

“Ahh, for the Mercedes F1 team staying here tonight?” She asked. 

“Yep,” I nodded.

“Can I see some ID?” 

I handed over my ID and my phone quickly buzzed. 

Jeffrey: Yes! Wouldn’t dare not to.

Oh, perfect. Great. Couldn’t get any better. 

Me: Oh! Perfect! Great, couldn’t get any better! See you there.

I looked back up at her while she studied my ID. 

“Are you with the Mercedes F1 team?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“What is it that you do?” She asked, almost snidely. 

“I’m an assistant.”

“To whom?”

“Who do you think? Lewis Hamilton? Or the guy who’s bags I’m trying to drop off?” I smiled.

“Well, I don’t see you have a room booked here. How am I to know if you’re not just a groupie or something?”

“A groupie? In a suit?” I questioned, before shaking my head. I was trying to shake off what I really wanted to say in this instance. “Check the notes. It’s very clear that I’m authorized to enter his room and to check in.”

“I see no notes,” She smiled. 

“Then call your supervisor,” I smiled back. I saw her roll her eyes as she picked up the phone. Soon enough, a young gentleman walked behind the counter. He had to be younger than me.

“Yes?” He asked.

“She is attempting to check in for the Mercedes F1 Team Principal. I see nothing on here about her checking him in,” She explained. Her manager took a glance at the computer screen, then over at me. He looked me up and down, before going back to the computer screen.

“Is this your ID?” He asked.

“Yes,” I groaned.

“Please, don’t catch an attitude. We’re simply trying to ensure the safety of our guests,” He smiled. An attitude? “I see you have no room booked tonight under the block of rooms for Mercedes-Petronas. Am I to believe that you simply are here to enter his room and then leave?”

“Yes, you absolutely are. Especially considering I have shown you my ID,” I explained.

“Then why aren’t you staying here if you’re with the team?”

“I live in London. In Chelsea?” I nodded.

“That’s a long way from here,” He sighed.

“Is it? It’s like half an hour,” I insisted. “No, nevermind that. I am here to check in for Toto-Torger Wolff. I am his executive assistant. I have a badge for Brackley that I will happily show you. I have no intention of staying at your hotel today because I would like to sleep in my own bed before heading to a whole other country for testing. I would like to simply drop off his bags in his room and ensure everything is up to snuff because that is my job . Nothing else, nothing more.”

“How about you just give us the bags and we’ll drop them off in his room?” He tried to appeal to my growing frustration.

“How about I take the bags up so I can do the other half of my job?” 

He simply shook his head. I handed him my Brackley ID and he looked it over.

“Could these be faked?” He another hotel staff member who came over due to the commotion

“Fur sure they cud’ be,” he answered in a thick scottish accent. “My mukker’s git one for McLaren.”

“We won’t accept this,” He smiled at me again. The smiles were beginning to look faker and faker by the moment. This is the primary issue I find myself in being a Black woman working for what are essentially, sports celebrities. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if they turned around and asked Lewis to leave. 

“Here,” I gave up. I took out a business card for Bono. “Has he checked in yet? Give him a call and let him verify me.”

They took the card and dialed the number. They hung up after a few moments.

“He didn’t pick up,” They shrugged. 

“Fine, do me the favor of at least taking the bags then? Up to the room?” I babbled. Words seemed to be lost on me at this moment.

“I think we’ll actually not. We can’t be sure what the content of those bags are,” the manager nodded.

Please. For fuck’s sake. “I’ll see you back at 2:00pm,” I tried to smile.

I took the bags back over to the UBS offices, and took the elevator up to the 38th floor and walked towards Marie’s desk. There she was sitting scrolling through her phone.

“Oh, Arabella,” she mumbled looking up. She looked at the clock, and then at her phone, and then up at my face. She stood up and looked down at my hands. “You’re early…and you still have the bags. Was the room not ready?”

“They refused to let me in,” I sighed. 

“Again?” She questioned. I raised an eyebrow up at her. She was a pale skin tone, and had medium brunette hair that brushed her shoulders. 

“I’m black, Marie. Yes, again,” I stated as I sat on the chairs by the office entrance.

She frowned. “Let me go get your coffee, love.” It was truly the lightest voice, and kindest voice, Marie had ever offered me. She usually gives me no type of affection, even though were in the same career. I think it’s a bit cutthroat and she got used to turning everyone away. I wasn’t used to this type of response from her. She soon returned and handed me the cup of coffee, sitting down next to me.

“Well, I’m sorry about that. I know, beyond all else, I can’t understand this type of situation as deeply and as well as you. Nonetheless, I know you’re good at your job, and that this simply isn’t fair for someone of your caliber.”

I stared into the cup of coffee for a moment, really letting her response process. I looked up at her and her flat expression. A signal of care for her. 

“Thanks, Marie,” I offered a slight smile as I sipped my coffee.

“No need to fake a smile. I would call, but they’d probably pretend they don’t know who I am either,” She acknowledged. 

“Don’t worry. His bags have to get in somehow.”

“So, what have you been up to you? Outside of this?”

“Nothing really. This is all I’ve been up to.”

“Listen, I don’t miss that life at all,” She mumbled. “There’s nothing quite like getting to work at 9 in the morning, and leaving at 5 in the evening. This is consistency. There’s no jetting across the world. I mean, I can actually have a relationship. I’m getting married, for Christ’s sake. That’s not possible in F1.”

“I want none of those things.”

“Is that why your phone just went off with a Tinder notification?” She chuckled. I looked down and Jeffrey had sent a message. I think I just passed you in Broadgate Circle! You must be there for the Mercedes event tonight at UBS, right?

I quickly responded. Yes, actually! Sorry, I didn’t notice you.

“That’s for hookups,” Not for boyfriends.

“Ah, nothing more, huh?” She answered.

“No.”

Jeffrey: Oh! Did you want to push our dinner to another day? Or did you want to meet at the event? I’m a lawyer for UBS so I didn’t see much of the point of going, but I’d be happy to.

Fuck. 

Me: No, no! I’m completely fine with meeting at 9. I’m leaving the event early.

Jeffrey: Okay, great! Sorry if there was any confusion. See you at Angler.

I wasn’t overthinking! Isn’t this the best? Your anxiety being right always prevents it from going too far the next time. Obviously. Totally. For sure.

“I’ll leave you to your work now,” Marie smirked, standing up. “But I highly recommend leaving F1. What’s the plan? To be 60 and still galavanting around?”

“Presuming Toto Wolff still is, yes,” I grinned falsely. She rolled her eyes and walked behind her desk. I looked over my notes for the hotel. Everyone knew I was supposed to be checking in, and yet, nothing changed. These kinds of things seem to somehow never change. But, my checkmark reassured me. You did everything right. Now it’s their fault if anything goes wrong. That’s what it means, and it's a serious thing. 

Soon enough, Toto left the meeting.

“Have a good afternoon, everyone! See you tonight,” He smiled, shutting the door. He looked over and saw me with the bags, and gently pinched the bridge of his nose. “Again, Arabella?”

“Again.”

“Once every few years, huh,” He said, grabbing the bags and immediately walking towards the elevator. I jumped up and followed him. As the years had gone on, Toto had gradually become more keenly aware of two things: He is a celebrity, and I am Black. As a result of his growing celebritas, and my very unchanging Blackness, these types of occurrences had become more frequent. 

“So what was the reason now?” He asked. 

“I look like a groupie,” I shrugged.

“A groupie? In a suit?” 

“That’s what I said.”

Toto rolled his eyes and moved his glasses to his shirt collar.

“How was the meeting?” I offered.

“The usual. Numbers this, offers that. Etcetera, etcetera,” He waved his hand almost at the suggestion we could have a normal conversation at this moment. I took that as my sign to quiet down, and just follow him. So I did. The second we arrived to the hotel I watched as the original front desk employee scurried to the back, and the supervisor made a return. He smiled far too brightly for this moment.

“Arabella, introduce yourself,” Toto gestured to the supervisor as we walked up.

“No introduction necessary. The employee who just ran to the back introduced originally,” I smiled, even more brightly than the supervisor. I watched as his look turned a bit sour.

“Ah, well go grab her too. Was anyone else involved in this?” Toto asked me.

“A Scottish man but he didn’t really have much to say,” I shrugged.

“Oh, never mind who did and didn’t say anything. The point remains. Go grab the other two individuals she’s referring to,” He ordered the supervisor. We watched as he scurried about the backroom and nearly dragged the two out by their necks. As they approached the desk, he hid behind them like a scared puppy.

“I saw that your name tag said front desk manager, you can’t hide behind these two,” Toto complained. The man stepped from around the two employees. “Go ahead, tell me what happened.”

“What happened with what? I’m sorry, can we check you in Mr. Wolff? I’m not sure what’s going on,” The young lady suddenly piped up.

“You seem awfully scared to not know. Let me have an explanation, please,” Toto nodded.

“Well-” She began to speak again but was quickly interrupted by her boss.

“We asked her to show ID, and the produced ID appeared to be fake. So we did not allow her into the room,” The manager stated, suddenly piping up.

“So, did she provide any other identification?” Toto asked. 

“No,” The manager replied.

“Arabella, don’t you usually have a lanyard with your Brackley ID on it?” Toto asked, turning to me.

“Oh, yeah, they have it. I never grabbed it back. Nor my ID for that matter, which they didn’t mention being potentially fraudulent when I came up here,” I sighed. 

Toto put his hand out, and they handed over my identification. A Danish passport and the Brackley ID.

“And Bono’s card,” I gestured. The manager reached into the trash and took out Peter Bonnington’s business card, and handed it to me.

“So, did you call Bono?” Toto asked them.

“We did yes, but he didn’t pick up,” The manager replied.

“Oh okay, let me verify right quick,” Toto nodded, taking out his own phone and dialing Bono. “Bono, hello, you’re on speaker phone. Did you get a call from the hotel earlier?”

“No…was I supposed to?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Toto said immediately before hanging up. He just simply stared at them for a moment.

“Here’s your room key, Mr. Wolff,” The front desk woman said, handing the key to Toto.

“One for me, too,” I smiled. She produced another and handed it to me, with huge screaming eyes that said ‘save me.’ No, I don’t think I will.

“And at this moment, right now, place a note on the account saying Arabella Lazaar is my assistant and any needs she may have related to my reservation should be addressed,” Toto ordered them.

“Actually, could you tell me who made the block for the rooms?” I asked.

“That would be uh…” The manager said, scrambling around the computer. “Um…you Ms. Lazaar.”

“Is this incompetency or is this bigotry? I’m not sure which, but whichever, I recommend the three of you have new jobs lined up in the morning. And when they ask ‘Oh how did you get fired?’ Don’t put anyone from my team’s name in your mouth, including my own,” Toto grumbled. They nodded, and he turned on his heel and walked towards the elevator.

“Oh, Mr. Wolff!” The front desk lady nearly screamed at the top of her lungs. “We’ve upgraded your room to the presidential suite.”

He threw his hand up dismissively as we got into the elevator, as if to say both ‘thank you’ and ‘just stop.’ As we got in he turned to me and took a deep breath. 

“They were quite the group of idiots weren’t they? I’ll call the company behind this place and get it sorted out.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Nothing to appreciate really, these things shouldn’t go this way. You provided everything they needed, and yet they decided to still treat you wrong. That’s on them, and they should’ve known there would be consequences for their actions,” He explained. “We have our own security. It helps when the front desk at hotels also pays attention to possible situations, but at the end of the day, they’re not supposed to go beyond their liability. They took it much too far, and who’s to know if you were the first, or if they’d be worse next time?”

“I understand that, but,” I hesitated. “They still need their jobs, and I don’t want my boss turning around and using his fame to protect me.”

Toto looked up at me, and smiled. “Arabella, we have responsibilities to one another. You handle nearly every moment of my life. In turn, yes, I pay you, but I also make sure that while under my employment, you’re well treated. That would be the same if this were Formula 1 or if it were just another company.”

I thought for a moment, and while I knew he was right, I don’t know how comfortable I felt having anyone take responsibility for me. But…I suppose…everyone needs things addressed that they can’t handle themselves. There isn’t really anyone else for me to rely on. That’s kind of frightening. Suddenly, Marie’s words hit me like a ton of bricks. I almost thought I would get dizzy. I’m 35 now. I love my life, but am I wasting it? Should I be settling down? 

I looked over at Toto who seemed to be patiently awaiting my response. 

“Yes. You’re right,” I stated, a little too shakily. 

“Are you nervous?” He asked as we exited the elevator. 

“No, just stressed, really.”

“You have vacation days. You should take one,” Toto shrugged, pressing the key to the door and swinging it open. 

“I only use them during the holiday break. We’re far from that.”

“If you think of the week between testing and the first race as a holiday, then it’s right around the corner,” He winked, as he opened the door for me.

“Absolutely not,” I chuckled, setting his suitcase on the bed. I took a quick look around the room and then texted security to let them know Toto was inside the hotel room. 

“Looks good, Toto. I’ll head out,” I said with a quick head nod. 

“There’s a whole separate room attached here. If you want to change here, you’re welcome to,” He spoke without looking up from his phone. 

I could feel my cheeks get hot, so without thinking I just ran out of the room, trying to pretend I didn’t hear him. I immediately pressed my hand to my forehead. That was stupid. It was a relatively normal offer. There was nothing weird about that and yet I reacted like he asked me to jump off of the London eye. Shit. I made it weird didn’t I? Or did he make it weird? Was it weird at all? No, no it wasn’t. God, Arabella. Stop overthinking for once. I headed for the elevator and went down. As I was leaving, I couldn’t resist making a little bit of eye contact with reception. 

Ha.

Tags: @daddyslittlevillain

[storiumemporium]

Trauma and Repeating Cycles

Full disclosure before I get into this little ramble I've been wanting to make— a lot of the theories and mutterings here are just the culmination of other theories and thought processes I've seen from much cleverer fans around the inets (primarily here and twitter), I would link them but frankly there's so many and I have no idea who would truly be the original coiner of these thoughts 😭😭😭

And also, of course, par the course for this show, very dark themes ahead.

I've just been thinking (probably too much) in depth about how Aegon and Aemond in particular are the final culminations of literal generations of sexual, psychological, and emotional abuse at this point. How Aegon wants so desperately for his mother's approval, and ends up instead a dark mirror of his father. And how Aemond wants to be his own, and instead ends up a dark mirror of his mother.

Alicent

I think it's important to start here with Alicent and just... Take a moment to truly detail and soak in the level of horror this poor girl has been subjected to.

She's the tender age of fourteen (important to keep this in mind later) when she's preyed upon by a man she not only regards as her father figure but is- yes- in fact the same age as her actual father. This man is the father of her at-the-time best friend. And though it's made more overt in the script than in the scenes, we see immediately even before the guillotine drops the fissures within Alicent's mental health. (Biting and chewing at her nails aggressively, for one.)

This is already horrifying enough, it should be enough. But it's exacerbated by the fact that this predatory union is propagated by her actual father, and that both of these men work to sequester her from the only person she would have had for support in this. Rhaenyra. The one with the temper, and the power, to be enraged by this without consequence. Conveniently, the only one who could have hissed and spat her rage at her father with impunity is the one completely erased from her life by them.

And by the time she finds out? It's too late, (none of the blame lies with Rhaenyra for her reaction, as she herself is a teenage girl going through horrific grief and finding out what has been done behind her back) Alicent is already set to be wed to Viserys, to become her step-mother.

This evolves into the first signs of an extremely important trauma response that we see carry down in different ways, much later on in the story. Alicent begins to lean upon duty, upon sacrifice, upon law and order. These things that she swaddles herself in from her youth to protect from having to admit how unfair all of this has been to her. What is leadership without sacrifice? What is being a Queen without suffering? She's too young and too wounded to look at the truth, she needs the structure of pain being a necessity in order to survive the burden of being a mother at fifteen years old. Of being the victim of martial rape at that tender young age.

And through these repeated traumas, she bears four children. The only part of her life worth anything to her, in the end. She's too young for them, too traumatized, too unequipped, but she loves them down to their souls.

And then, in her attempts to remain a good friend to Rhaenyra, in vouching for her, her father is ripped out from under her and she is completely alone with these toddlers. A moment which becomes defining for Alicent.

The moment Otto plants within her the seeds that would turn her- well, into Otto himself. Something she only realizes when it is tragically far too late.

Otto tells her, impresses upon her in a moment of extreme distress, that Rhaenyra will butcher the only good thing that has come of her traumas in life. That she will do anything to maintain the power her son rightfully (at least in the laws of Westeros) should have. She's not as cunning as Otto, and so where he uses cleverness and cunning she uses desperation and strict force (duty, suffering, law, order) to impress upon her firstborn that be must be King to survive.

As we all know, the death knell of Alicent ever believing otherwise first calls at Driftmark. When her son is maimed and Rhaenyra calls for torture (a desperate move to protect her own sons, but alas).

Now, why do I mention all of this that we've seen repeated plentily about Alicent? Because of how it trickles down into her children. Aemond in obvious ways, but less obviously in

Aegon

People have no trouble looking at Aemond and Alicent for the horrors that have been wrought throughout their lives, but not so much for Aegon the Elder, and while I think that's completely fair considering what we see of Aegon on the surface level throughout the season, I'd like to cut deeper into him.

Primarily, that I think Aegon himself has been severely sexually abused and traumatized, and that the character we see by the end of the season is a result of a great deal of very horrific circumstances that the show unfortunately either makes light of or completely undermines.

The mildest of the things I want to bring up is that Aegon's alcoholism very likely stems from that of Viserys- either the man is an alcoholic himself or at least fosters the unhealthy codependence in Aegon. I mean- he's two when Viserys first gives him a drink from Viserys' own cup. From a very young, very very much so still developing mind, I can't imagine what that would do to him.

But the more keen points, Helaena and Flea Bottom.

We all make our cracks about Aegon running to Flea Bottom for safety, that he's passed out drunk in a puddle somewhere or singing shanties in a bar with pirates. But I do want to point out the overwhelming odds that Viserys brought him there, or at least ordered for it to happen.

We even outright hear Daemon state that they used to run the whole of the Street of Silk in their youth. Viserys doesn't deny it, he simply grows hypocritically enraged that Daemon would do so with his daughter. Not his son. His daughter.

Who else in the entire keep would have the power and- frankly- the audacity to take Viserys' eldest son out into the city and to a brothel? Who would even benefit from that happening? And sure, you could say that Aegon simply chose to do it of his own agency. But how is it that a thirteen-fourteen-fifteen year old boy manages to escape what should be the most densely guarded location in the whole of Kings' Landing to go gallivanting off in the most dangerous corners of the city all night long? To end up drunk until sunrise there? At the very least do you think Otto would let his key to the throne go risking death constantly?

Unless, of course, the person to first bring him there has more power than Otto.

Aegon, at least from an age as young as Aemond and Alicent, had been brought by his father or at his father's behest, to a brothel to have sexual relations likely of a similar age gap to that of Aemond with the Madame.

Now, I want to bring up something that I already have a couple of times, something that I think envelops itself into his early experiences at the brothel.

There are two separate scenes, both dismissive and used as humor, that paint an incredibly bleak and tragic picture.

Aegon, age fourteen (the same as Alicent), outright stating that he does not wish to marry Helaena. He doesn't want it, and he words it in a crude and cruel way- as a drunken fourteen year old might be so inclined to do- but the sentiment beneath remains. Aegon is an unwilling participant in this marriage.

Aegon must, for duty, for order, for sacrifice, for law.

Helaena, standing from her chair with a cup in her hands, proclaims that Aegon mostly just leaves her alone, unless he comes back drunk.

On the surface? A joke that embarrasses Aegon and cuts the tension of the scene. Beyond that?

Aegon has already expressed that he did not desire to marry his sister, and now we hear that the only time he touches her is when he's inebriated. This doesn't give the impression of consent.

Which brings why I wrote about Alicent first into this. We see her impress duty upon him so aggressively, that it is his necessity to be King and all things that come with it. This is the product of a trauma response that duty and order and sacrifice and law are the means by which she survives, as well as a long held terror that her children will be butchered by proxy of having a stronger claim to the throne than Rhaenyra.

As a result, Alicent unwittingly subjugates her eldest son to the exact same traumas as Otto did with her. Aegon is robbed of his agency and autonomy in life. Everything about him curated with the intent to take a throne that was never meant to be his, that he does not want. He is forced to marry his sister against his express desires, and he is forced to bed her.

And make no mistake, it's force. Aegon is a notorious man-whore and lecher, he's a regular purveyor of brothels is he not? And yet he requires alcohol to crawl into bed with her, to sleep with her as he regularly and enthusiastically does other women.

I cannot say what this does to Helaena, I would like to think she is either neutral or accepting of this since she mentions what happens so casually and openly to her family. (Otherwise, we would need to get into the topic of a harmful stereotype of the neurodivergent girl being portrayed as having childlike innocence/stupidity and not understanding her own circumstances).

But at the very least, this means that Aegon is forcibly complicit in his own sexual assault, his own rape. Because he has to perform his marital duties, he has to have children by Helaena, it's his duty.

And we see the way this cultivates in Aegon. One of the most common symbols of someone attempting to seize control of their own life is to cut the hair (for a real world example, Britney Spears). It is extremely common symbolism in media, it has meaning in multiple cultures, even TGC himself says that Aegon's hair is short as a rejection of his blood, feeling like the black sheep of the family. I believe he hacks at his own hair in a desperate bid to feel some sort of control or ownership of himself in a world where he otherwise has none. Aegon copes by becoming an alcoholic and developing hypersexuality, he lacks any understanding of boundaries or what would be reasonable in a sexual environment.

It results in Dyana, and it results in Aemond.

Neither of which are forgivable things, neither of which become less horrifying, neither of which become more acceptable. (And we're very blessed to live within an era and society where it is commonly held knowledge that these things are unacceptable and horrific). But with the context that Aegon has been subjected to brothels and sexuality from such an early age- and against his will- it sheds a little light on Sara Hess' statement that Aegon doesn't understand consent, for himself or for others. Even his depressive acceptance of becoming King. He never once mentions that it's unfair to him, he just reaches out like a child, asking do you love me? Wanting to know that if he does this thing being demanded of him, he'll be rewarded with affection for it.

It's a tragic shame that the first season was so short, because we didn't get remotely enough time with the children, I think it would have been valuable to flesh out Aegon's relationship with self actualization and lack of control. That everything he wants and desires is out of his hands, that he must perform, and that even when he does it's not enough because he doesn't do it right. He proclaims that he tries so hard in that scene with Alicent, and that it's never enough, and it sounds comedic because they don't even take the time to show us, or to expand upon the morbid crumbs left behind of how Aegon is in a very predatory situation of his own, and that it's burnt away at his understanding of how the world works.

Which in my mind, plays out why he would bring Aemond to the brothel. In some convoluted, distorted way, I could see it being his attempt to comfort or reach out, Aegon's deeply warped perception of bonding and affection. Their father brought him to one at the same age, no? Aemond needs to take his mind off of what is still a relatively recent trauma, and so Aegon supplies the only way he can, the only way he's equipped to do so. Unwittingly, like Otto upon Alicent and Alicent upon Aegon, Aegon traumatizes Aemond further.

Aemond

Which brings me to Aemond, I think this will be a touch more brief than the others because plenty of people much more eloquent than myself have already expanded upon the tragedy of Aemond and how he turned out the way he did.

Unlike Aegon, Aemond never had the burden of the spotlight, the opposite in fact. By the time Aemond existed, all of Viserys' children by Alicent had fallen out of favor, and so Aemond has never once known the attention or the love of his father. Instead, the only consistent and parental figure Aemond ever had in his life was Alicent. Alicent already favored restriction and piety from a young age, as a result of the things done to her, though they hadn't quite hit their summit yet within the story.

Instead, Aemond is raised nestled into her skirts, resenting Aegon for his behaviors toward him and being ostracized by all else. Helaena was the only other kind figure aside from his own mother in his life, and her absent mind meant that Aemond truly lacked any peers in his life to bond with.

As a result, we have a child that is incredibly isolated, attributing all the cruelties and absences in his life upon his own shortcomings, his need to succeed and match the image of the Targaryen Prince, because then Viserys would have to notice him, because then his nephews and brother would have to respect him. And so he does something incredibly brave, incredibly reckless.

As a result? He's permanently maimed. And who is punished for it? Him, his mother. Not the one who did it, the one who tried to protect him. He watches his mother have a massive outburst and he watches how emotion is a crime, he's witness to the fact that feeling anything at all is sin and makes you the one in the wrong. She's made out to be a shrieking lunatic, that Rhaenyra and her children are the innocents, that Aemond was the criminal in this.

Alicent retreats into herself, that transformation finally hits it's pinnacle, and Aemond chases after it. He learns to bottle himself the exact same way, he learns to suppress everything and to instead focus on violence and physical prowess. But Aegon learned to cope in completely antithetical ways, and so when he attempts to soothe, he further harms. He subjects Aemond to yet another scenario in which he has no control, in which leaving makes him the bad guy- wasting Aegon's coin, disappointing him at least. It completely solidifies Aemond's dislike of things he perceives as unclean or uncouth, and he becomes a violent and barely composed mirror image of his mother.

All in all, these three are on a wheel turning against each other, unwittingly they cultivate harm that drips from one onto the other. Aegon knew their love once upon a time, and so he dives into the unhealthy things laid at his table, he gorges upon them until he needs to vomit and consumes again in the attempt to return to the feeling of love that they gave him so long ago that they will be fleeting, foundational memories and little else, anymore. (Might I remind everybody of that conversation between Jason Lannister and Rhaenyra? "I wonder, Princess. Was your own second nameday as grand as this?" "I honestly don't recall, and neither will he.") Aemond never once knew those feelings, he never knew massive hunts and banquets and celebrations, gargantuan bonfires and fawning nobility. So he shelled in on himself, he became utterly cold and disconnected. The distance was his friend, but now he's completely alone and with absolutely no one to lean on, no one to understand him, and no outlets for emotions that refuse to be bottled up when Lucerys enters his life again. Aegon invites him to the feast, but there's nothing on the plates, and there hasn't been for a very, very long time.

Alicent became a facsimile of what harmed her in the pursuit of protecting her own children, not realizing she was sentencing them to the same fate. Not realizing until the ashes were settling around her and green was as horrifying as red that they'd never stood a chance, at all.

[druidx]

7 Snippets, 7 People

Thanks for the tag, @artdecosupernova-writing, @eli-writes-sometimes & @late-to-the-fandom. Because I got many tags for this game, I figured I'd throw them together and do 21 excerpts.

Tagging back: @aalinaaaaaa @thewriteflame @wildswrites @aquadestinyswriting @artdecosupernova-writing @autumnalwalker @blind-the-winds @eli-writes-sometimes @hannahcbrown @oh-no-another-idea @rhikasa @swordsoulwrites @winglesswriter @andromeda-grace @writingmaidenwarrior @wispstalk @late-to-the-fandom @athenswrites

Rules: Post 7 snippets and then tag 7 people (DW, I'm not expecting anyone else to do 21 snips 😅️)

Once again, all these are from Alexis Dalliance vs the Evil of Titan, in my unending quest to edit the damn thing.

One

Alexis hurried off again, every step taking her further from her companions. Halfway down the west corridor, the tapping of claws sounded from around the corner ahead. Alexis' heart sped up. Along the long, straight corridor there was little cover – only the nook where a support buttress met the ground. Quickly, she stuffed herself into it, crouching down, thinking small, invisible thoughts. Two goblins passed her hiding spot. By their conversation, their attention was less on any interlopers and more on what they were having to eat once their shift was done. Alexis waited, hardly breathing, until they had turned the corner. She counted out slowly, keeping her ears alert. When it was clear they'd moved on, she slipped out of the nook, continuing her investigation.

Two

At the corner, turning back east, she noted an alcove on the inner wall. A quick look showed a set of stairs spiralling down into the inky darkness. Not the direction they intended to travel, but worth noting for later investigation. Alexis continued down the corridor, passing a wide door of sturdy, studded wood. It must lead to the outer defences. At the further end, she paused at a door on the outer wall to check the sounds coming from within; a barracks, this one. Once again, the corridor turned sharply right, southwards now. Halfway down was a shadowy alcove. Alexis frowned – that had to be the stairs up. As she approached, the scritching of goblin claws on stone came again. She ducked into the alcove’s far side with only a moment to spare, breathing lightly as the goblin guards rounded the corner on their patrol and strode on past. She waited, eyes on the winding stair above, willing her heart to slow, as the receding click of claws counted down the seconds.

Three

As soon as it was safe, Alexis started to duck out of the alcove but paused. Richard and Ithanor hadn’t come rampaging around the corner yet, and it would be prudent to at least observe the next level… As fast as she dared, she scampered up the stairs, peaking into the next level. The brightly lit corridor led away in the same manner as below, racks of arms and armour lining the way. Odd, that no doors lead off the inner wall… Feeling she was probably pushing the limits of her companion’s patience, she padded back, completing her circuit of the tower.

Four

This floor was well lit, flicking touches replaced with wicked lanterns, the light forced outwards by metal dishes behind each flame. A hacking cough from her left made Alexis freeze. She pulled back into the shadows of the stairs. When the cough didn't get any closer, she peaked out. At the end of the corridor was a barred door. On either side stood goblins with spears. There was no way of her exiting the stairwell without being seen so she retreated back to the others.

Five

"There's some kind of prison cell up there, and it's being guarded by two gobbos. They're looking right down the corridor. I'm good, but not even I can hide in plain sight like that," Alexis told them Richard hefted his sword. "They're evil. We should kill them." With a heavy sigh, Ithanor put a hand on Richard's blade, lowering it. "We can't. It'll create a ruckus and bring the whole tower down on our heads." "Maybe," Nathardin said, running a finger along his bowstring, "we should turn back. Captain Hengar told us not to take any unnecessary risks." As one, the group turned and glared at him. Nathardin held up his hands in defeat. "I'm just saying." "We have made it this far," Victor said with a glance to Richard and Ithanor. "We are strong, brave, and true! I know we have it within ourselves to defeat Zagor. We must continue!" "There was a lot of goblin and orc styled armour on this level. The woodling and I are both reasonably small. I bet we can convince them to leave their post. Right, Half-pint?" Ithanor raised an eyebrow. "It could work. Do you speak the goblin tongue?" Bastet's grin faltered. "No…" "I do," Alexis said. Richard and Nathardrin raised an eyebrow each at her. Alexis shrugged. "To know the language of one's enemy means you can always defeat him. That's what my Uncle used to say, anyway." Ithanor nodded. "Then it's agreed. Go select your new outfits, ladies."

Six

Their old armour shucked, Alexis passed her pack to Ithanor, muttering phrases in Goblinish. "You alright, Sprout?" Ithanor asked. "Yeah. I'm just rusty." Alexis blew out her cheeks. "Listen, Sprout." Ithanor crouched down. "I know you can do this. And you know, if Sindla fails you, we've got your back. You've just got to holler." "Keep forgetting that." "You'll get get used to it, lass." He rapped on the top of her helm. "Off you go. Telak guide your tongue."

Seven

With that, Alexis continued to feel out the lock, brow furrowed in concentration. With a faint clunk, it popped undone. "There." The dwarf shoved open the door. "Well knock me down with Moradin's hammer! 'Tis a woodling after all. Nice job with them green-skins, lass." "Thank you." Alexis' ears twitched, catching the distinctive rattle of Richard's heavy plate armour. "And here is the rest of our group."

Eight

As the others crowded around, Alexis introduced her companions to the dwarf. "I am Magar Silvarius, the boss of this here fort," the dwarf said, reaching up to shake hands with everyone. "I'm right glad you folks have come. My fellows are in the other cells. You think you can get 'em out?" "Of course we can free them," Richard said. With a flourish, he gestured towards the other barred doors. "Alexis?" "Yeah, sure. I'll get right on that," she muttered, heading towards the doors. Over her head, Magar called out, "Worry not lads and lassies. You’ll be out in a jiffy." The lock Alexis was picking popped open. "One down, seven to go…" The dwarves inside pushed out, shaking first Alexis' hand, then bustling over to Magar who embraced them. "Hey," Alexis called, "what happened to the gobbos we sent down to you?" "We took them out, of course," Richard answered. "Right. They have any keys on them? This would go a lot faster if I had help." "I think I saw a keyring on one of them," Nathardrin said. "I'll go check." Alexis sighed and got to work on the second door.

Nine

"Alright now, settle down, settle down!" Magar called after a while. "I've had a wee word with her ladyship-" here he nodded to another dwarf, standing a little apart, dressed in fine velvets, "-and we've agreed it's only right and proper we compensate these fine folk for their work in freeing us and taking our home back from these marauding nuisances." The dwarves cheered. Magar turned to the group. "The next level up contains our vault. But it’s also the most fortified level. There’s a guard post at every corner of the tower, and Moradin knows how many gobbos are in each." "We can take on whatever’s above," Richard said. "But there are still many vermin in the lower levels which stand between you and reclaiming your tower." Victor scratched at his chin, glancing at Ithanor. "A little help would not go amiss," he said and turned his attention back to Magar. "There are arms and armour down below, if you’ve any men still able to fight?" As he spoke, Alexis saw many of the dwarves nodding their heads, some pounding fists into their opposite hands. Magar must have seen it too, as she ran a critical eye over her people. "Aye. I think I’ve a few."

Ten

Soon the dwarves were back, armed and armoured. Five of the dwarves remained with the group; the rest were led by Magar's lieutenant back to the lower levels, set on wiping out the goblinoid invaders. "Here's the plan then," Ithanor said. "We'll split into groups of three. Alexis and Bastet will lead our most stealthy into position outside the furthest rooms. They'll hold until Richard and I can get into position. We attack simultaneously. Agreed?" Ithanor glanced around as the group variously nodded heads or gave murmurs of assent. "Alright, Alexis, take your team and check the coast is clear." "Right. Nathardrin and Victor, you're with me," Alexis said. "We'll take the far left room. What d'you think, Bastet? Five verses of Down in the Square?" "Make it seven," Bastet said, looking at the two dwarves who'd come to stand next to her. "Richard, Ithanor, give us seven verses of Down in the Square to get in place before you come up and give the signal." With that, she scampered up the stairs, and, once sure the coast was clear, called down, "C'mon, lads."

Eleven

The others were similarly successful; by the time the three of them had moved forward, the fighting was over and Magar was dismissing the dwarves to help with the fight downstairs. "Right, then," Magar said. "Now yer all here, let's have a wee look at those feckless beasties have done to my vault." They followed her around to a solid metal door, decorated with ornate geometric designs.

Twelve

"Magar," Ithanor said as they were finishing up. "Thank you for these gifts, and your help to clear the lower levels." "It’s no problem, laddie. You’ve still a few levels to go. Sure you don’t want an extra hand or three?" "We’ll take it from here. With these new weapons," Ithanor hefted his warhammer, "we’ll have the fort freed in no time." "Alright," Magar shook Ithanor’s hand. "Best of luck, all of ye. Moradin’s strength go with ye."

Thirteen

At the final stairwell, they paused, silent. Ithanor motioned for Alexis to go up first. Her heart in her throat, Alexis glided up the stairs, her crossbow primed. The top of the tower was a domed, circular room. To the south, bookshelves stood sentry beside a writing desk, piled high with scrolls and pens. To the north was a gleaming piece of equipment, with balls of multicoloured stones on concentric rings, taking up a large space by itself. But what caught Alexis’ eye was the figure to the east of the room, turned away fiddling with something on a bench filled with esoteric rods and scrolls. It was long and lean, draped in an ill-fitting robe of yellow. This has to be him! Alexis thought. There was no one else in the room, and he certainly fit the ideal of an evil warlock. She breathed out softly and raised her crossbow, training it on the creature’s narrow back. Her trigger finger curled. One good shot could end this now– "There is no point in doing that, little one." His grating voice filled the space. "You’ll find it will not work." Alexis jerked. Her bow triggered. The bolt rattled harmlessly off an invisible shield. Zagor sighed and turned. "What did I tell you? A shame. I thought you were the observant one." He tapped his foot, and it was then Alexis noticed the circle inscribed around him, arcane sigils dancing at its edges.

Fourteen

Alexis shivered. Her hand groped out for her meagre blanket; it found only hard-packed dirt. The air was cold and still and weighty in her nose – like the hours after a snowfall. Her face scrunched up. The middle of summer shouldn't be so cold. She rolled over, hand exploring a different way. Where was her blanket? She'd always had her blanket. After the Wargs and their riders had left, the folks who found her let her take items from her ransacked home. The blanket embroidered by her step-grandmother had been the first thing she'd grabbed, and it had never left her side, ever. So where was it? Her questing hand hit something hard and cold that rang with a dull chime. Smooth, metallic. Round. Alexis opened her eyes. Darkness, pressing in on all sides. A blank, black void. She sat up. If it wasn't for the feeling of her chest rising with each breath, or the sound of her heartbeat drumming in her ears, Alexis might have thought she'd gone to the Here After.

Fifteen

She sat, perfectly still, with one eye squeezed closed. In the incessant dark, she counted out time with her heartbeat. Slowly, she became aware of others breathing nearby. When she opened her eye, lumps appeared a few meters away, softly rising and falling. They were too slight, too low to the ground to be her companions. Confused, Alexis stood, turning to take in more of the strange situation. A chill breeze pricked her flesh. She wrapped her arms around herself, shocked to find she was wearing nothing but her undershorts and shift. Her eyesight more attuned, she searched for her equipment but found only the bars of a cage. The metal was cool and slick under her hands, ringing with a dull chime when she taped it. "Oh," she breathed. "Bollocks."

Sixteen

"Wake up, scum," the guard said, then in a mocking tone: "Breakfast is served." He slung a bowl of thin gruel onto the cell floor, barking out a laugh as half of it split on the floor. The women took turns, each quickly eating a spoonful of the gruel, with Bastet and Alexis last. Alexis tried not to think too hard about the taste or what it may have been made from, as the guards unlocked the cell.

Seventeen

Soon enough the menfolk were brought down. Alexis strained to see in the guttering torches, watching the procession of haggard elves as they passed by. She felt her heart lighten as she caught sight of the rest of their party. Nathardin and Victor looked ragged, but Richard and Ithanor still stood strong and true – though the latter already sported a purpleing bruise on his cheek. Alexis waited while the men's line was secured and the guards passed back, before she gathered up the slack in her line, shuffling to be closer to where Richard stood at the end of the men's line. She hissed up at him, and the elf looked down, relief spreading across his face. "Alexis! Thank the gods!" "Shh! Keep your voice down, you big twit." "Sorry," he whispered. "You have a plan, right? You can get out of this?" Alexis huffed. "No, no plan yet. They took all our gear." "Same here. We woke up with nothing." "There's very little I can do without my lockpicks. Even if I had something to use as a rake and tension, I'm not sure how much good it would do us. I'm sure you've noticed all the heavily armed guards?" Richard blinked and nodded. "Yeah. So even if I could get us out of our cells, we still have to deal with them in nothing but our skivvies." Richard opened his mouth – but was cut off by a whip-crack behind him. "Keep working, scum," a guard snarled. He prodded Richard with the but of the whip. "You – stop slacking!" Richard raised his pickaxe, face contorting, but Alexis put a hand on his knee. He looked down to see her shaking her head, eyes wide. With a growl, he turned the pickaxe on the mine face. The guard watched as Richard hewed huge chunks of rock and opal from the mountain. Satisfied, the guard turned, making his way further up the line. Richard paused. "He's gone," Alexis whispered. Richard dropped his pick. "I know you'll figure something out," he patted Alexis on the head, "cuz you're super smart. I'll pass the word along that we've got a lock-breaker who just needs some tools. Maybe one of the elves has something."

Eighteen

From Richard's other side came a heavy thud. Alexis looked around him to see one of the elves, an older man, collapsed on the floor. "Hey!" called the guard, marching back towards the fallen elf. "Get up! I said, get up you worthless milk-drinker!" The guard pulled back his foot, intending to kick the old elf. Before anyone else could move, Victor was there. The wizard cried out, falling to one knee as he took the blow meant for the elf. "Leave him alone," Victor ground out. The guard laughed. "Look like we got a hero here, boys," he called, summoning three other guards to join him. One of the new guards drew back his lips in a contemptuous snarl. "A good beating will teach you how things work around here." No matter how much she and Richard strained against their bonds, the chain wouldn't budge. They watched, helpless, as the three guards used feet and fist and whip to beat him bloody. Alexis growled – if only she had her tools! In frustration, she spat out a curse. One of the guards turned around. "You want some too, short-arse?" he said, flexing the whips between both hands as he strode towards her. Alexis cursed herself for being so stupid. The guard raised his arm. Alexis flinched back, squeezing her eyes closed. The blow never came. Only a pained grunt from above her. Alexis opened her eyes to find Richard standing between her and the guard. His back was ridgid, his fists clenched. The guard backed away, flicking the whip. "Back to work, cur," he snarled, but Alexis could see the fear in his eyes. Richard's head turned as he watched the guard back away, stumbling over a loose rock, until he was back with his mates. "All of you," the guard cried, cracking his whip again. "Quit gawking. The opal won't mine itself! Go on, move it!" Two of the guards dragged the elder elf away, the other two walking up and down the line, their whips flicking, as they cowed the slaves into action once again.

Nineteen

Back in their cell, the women were given another bowl of slop and a bucket of gritty water before the lights were expunged. The rest of the women curled up, as they had before, against the far wall. Bastet laid down in the middle of the cell, putting herself between the door and the women. Alexis was moving to join her when Nassurae called her name softly. "Yes?" Alexis asked, as Nassurae shuffled over. "I just wanted to thank you for what your friend tried to do today. The old man who fell was my father. He had been growing sicker for the past week. Nothing could have been done to save him – but your friend's actions allowed him to pass in some dignity, and for that I am thankful." Nassurae's green eyes shone in the darkness. "The resistance you showed too… We quickly gave up on our hope. But, perhaps – with your help – we may find it again. Goodnight, sá itil." "Good night." With that, Alexis curled up, back to back with Bastet.

Twenty

The next day arrived and left the same, but on the third Nassurae came to Alexis again. "Sá itil," Nassurae said. Alexis looked up from listening to Bastet's plans for eviscerating their captors. "Yes?" "I have something for you." The woman beckoned Alexis closer, and from the skirt of her shift revealed a flat section of metal and a piece of moulded wire. Alex's eyes grew large, and she hurried to take them, hiding them in the waistband of her shorts. "Where did you get these," Alexis breathed. "They are from my husband," Nassurae said. "He had planned to attempt our escape himself but did not have confidence in his abilities. After hearing your friends' tales of your skill, we agreed they would be better in your hands." Nassurae grabbed Alexis' hands, moss-green eyes mositening, her voice sinking low and shaking. "Please, please get us out of here. I know your people did their best for my father, but I could not stand it if I lost my husband here too." "It's okay," Alexis said. "We'll find a way, I know we will. My companions are resourceful and clever. I'll let them know of these tools and we'll come up with a plan to free everyone. I promise." Nassurae still gripped Alexis' hands, but she nodded, acorn-brown hair swaying with the movement. "Now, you must sleep," Alexis said. "Tonight is for remembering the stars. Tomorrow is for planning." "Of course." Grudgingly Nassurae let go of Alexis' hands and shuffled away to sleep with her people.

Twenty-one

Alexis returned to where Bastet sat cross legged, and lay down behind her. "What did she want?" Bastet asked. "She gave me some things I can use as lockpicks," Alexis said, her voice hushed. "I suppose Ithanor or Richard convinced the men we have a plan to escape. Being able to pick the cell doors is a good thing, but I'm not sure it helps us really." Alexis sighed. "I don't know if I'd be able to find our weapons and the men and free them before the guards would catch me." Bastet leant back against Alexis, her nails sounding a dull staccato on the dirt floor. "What if…" Bastet said slowly. "What if I could create a distraction?" Alexis rolled over, looking up at Bastet's face, creased in thought. "How would you do that?" "Drow men are easily swayed by feelings of power, and it's not often a drow woman will allow a man to have power over her. If I can convince the guards to let me… entertain them, that would give you enough time to get out and let the others out." "But what about weapons?" "Maybe the men have something improvised that can be used while we find our own. We'll need to discuss this with the others. " Bastet yawned. "Either way, it's time for sleep. We're going to be busy tomorrow." With that, she laid down, back to back with Alexis, and fell asleep.

[dogmomwrites]

Seven Snippets

This tag came from @traveler-of-realms, so thanks for including me in this game!

Gonna pass it on with soft tags to @papercutsunset, @crypticcodexcreations, @andromedaexists, @oh-no-another-idea, @pandawriterstuff, @krokuswrites, and @briannaswords, as well as leaving an open tag. Rules—share seven snippets from your WIP/s and tag seven people

.

One  Riley risked a glance under the truck to see that the men had split up. He could see three pair of boots moving into the street to circle around the truck while the other man kept Riley pinned down with constant gunfire. Not a good position to be trapped in. At least, not normally. 

Dropping his backpack, he quickly reached inside and pulled out a small oval of dark green metal. The last one he had. He pulled the pin out, waited a second, and rolled it underneath the truck. 

“Is that a fucking grenade?” one of the men asked just before it went off. 

Two  Maybe...maybe he shouldn’t have let the men kidnap him. 

Aaron sighed, the sound lost to the helicopter’s windstorm. It seemed like a good idea at the time. 

Three  “I don’t think we need to sit around for three days,” Riley had said. As much as Jimmy hated it—as much as he hated agreeing with anything Riley said—he couldn’t find anything to say as refute. One stretch of road work had somehow brought them to Oregon far ahead of their time schedule, and while Jimmy had been grateful they were saved more hours in the car, he began to wonder if sitting still for many hours and contending with Avalanche’s unending energy was preferable to admitting that Riley had a point. 

It wasn’t that Riley was unintelligent. He was just very annoying. And any time Jimmy was forced to side with him never went unnoticed. 

Four  Aaron had no idea how to respond to their story. They didn’t appear concerned by that, however, and he let them move on to a new topic as though the previous one hadn’t been a roller coaster in its own right. Meeting his mother’s eyes, he silently asked, I’m not the only one with vertigo, am I? 

She hid her laugh well, and the brothers didn’t notice. No, you’re not. I honestly don’t know what else to expect from them at this point. 

Five  “Awoo?” Avalanche asked, and Jimmy froze midway onto the chair. 

“No, I wasn’t watching a...dirty video? Who told you I was watching porn?” 

“Rawr-y.” 

“Fuck you, Riley!” 

Six  She threw herself from the steps into Aaron’s arms, her trust in him perhaps stronger than he was; if Riley hadn’t been there to steady him, they would’ve hit the ground with maybe enough force to lower Aaron’s mood. 

“Awoo!” she cheered him. 

Aaron grunted as he struggled to maintain his grip while shifting it to something more manageable. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said. 

She chattered rapidly at him. 

“Yeah, of course. You can have all the pinecones you want.” 

“Awoo awoo awoooo!” 

Laughing, he turned to Riley for some help and together, they lowered her to the ground. She gave them no assistance, and made no effort to get up, instead choosing to roll onto her back and wriggle her joy at all the pinecones she was going to make Jimmy bring home for her. 

Seven  But then Jimmy had come back in, sleeplessness wearing away at his emotions. Turning his anger into sorrow. Bringing him back to apologize, to break down, to remind Riley that there was nothing he could do to help. And on a horrible level, Riley had resented him for it. Even as he’d held him, even as he’d gone downstairs with him, even as he’d stroked his hair until the medication finally put him to sleep, it had been there. Burning in his chest like an ember he couldn’t put out. 

 Because holding onto his anger gave more comfort than holding onto a stuffed leopard. 

[claire-starsword]

The Guardiana Magic School Run - Part 17

Hey everyone, remember this? I sure don't! I was swept away by the task of translating the novel and, while this haunted my every moment as something i didn't want to leave unfinished, i barely remember what was going on. I do remember being not excited at all for the boring battle ahead, but hey, chapter 6 is a difficulty spike, so let's get over this already.

First of all, let's make things even easier.

We're past easter and egg hunts, it's now time for fish hunts. Hanzou pops out as a reward of this silly puzzle, which is leagues better than his original hiding spot. Also we get to enjoy more chapters with him. That's right, he's a magic user! Totally valid for this run.

I also thought you needed to click on the fish to find him but you just have to stand on it. So he just jumped out while i was busy typing, which scared the hell out of me, don't do that again, man.

Anyway, his attack is massive, surpassing even Max, but his defense is uh, on par with Tao's. That's bad (she does have a couple Steel Rings to have that though). Because of that, I'm passing the Repel Ring from Gong to him so that he doesn't have to worry about counters at least. We can do even better though.

I completely forgot in the last updates, but Waral sells a unique item, the Wind Ring, which grants +5% evasion. I don't think I'll be needing too much money for a while, I'm holding back on a lot of promotions so mages and healers won't be using the late staves yet, also I remember there is at least one free Holy Staff next chapter. Also, evasion is very ninja-like, isn't? So I get two for Hanzou, one for Gong and one for Tao. I also set Hanzou with some Healing Seeds and a Shower Cure, as I have some of these just laying around, I guess? I really don't remember a lot lol

Anyway, it's time to leave Waral for what I consider the most boring battle in all of this game.

It's the ship. Again. It was easy last time too. Yay.

Truly this chapter is the filler arc of Shining Force. It even got a beach on it.

Anyway, the clear bonus is the Soulbuster, which has already shown up in the Deals section, but would be nice to get it for free instead. I probably already talked about it when it first popped up, but who says I remember that, and who says you can make me shut up. So, the Soulbuster is a sword made for human enemies. There are not many of those, I think the Dark Priests count, but! I believe it counts for Cain. You can see it's being given right before chapter 6. And while this run has been easy so far, I still fear Cain. I ALWAYS fear Cain. So yeah, I want this.

Thankfully this battle won't waste our time with enemies behind the ship. We can just advance. I believe more enemies will be spawning in the middle.

Domingo is my greatest tank by far in both HP and defense, so he can probably handle whatever.

Arthur apparently has good defense right now, which always takes me by surprise.

I assume there's no need to stress here, so I'm spamming heals with the healers to get exp, and I don't think Narsha's Attack boosts will be needed even everyone's pretty strong already, so I'm Boosting Anri's spells with her instead. She levels up for her troubles and get Attack level 3, which I don't think I ever used.

Turn 2. Only a Sea Bat came forth. I'm bored. Domingo continues to advance and taunt enemies while tossing a Freeze 1 at it. Arthur finishes the job.

My plan with Narsha was to boost Tao's spells next, but she doesn't need it, so I'm casting step on Anri instead to see if she can reach enemies, because this woman is behind on levels and it's sad. It's still not enough for her to reach anything yet!! dang it!!

Turn 3. Trying to bait a pegasus knight with Domingo while still trying to get rid of this Gargoyle before it reaches anyone squishier.

how is he real

Arthur is poisoned but I honestly don't think that matters. He levels up and gets +3 attack.

Oh I'm remembering now how absurd this woman currently is.

Khris is so nice that she actually reaches to heal 3 HP of Arthur instead of spamming for exp only. With this she nabs an important level up! She has Heal 3 now, which was my main reason for delaying her promotion. I'm still on the fence if I'll delay until level 20 for Aura, depends on the equipment we'll get next chapter, and if I'll even get opportunities to safely use these priests for attacking.

Turn 4. Finally the pegasus knights are coming, and more enemies have spawned. Unlike what I thought they spawn further to the right. The empty middle of this map really was just to waste our time. Fiiiiiiiller.

Domingo has a chance to do AoE, and I love that. I am a bit worried about Anri exposed, but I'm hoping she can survive at least one hit, and that they'll also be obsessed by Max as usual. I don't wanna miss the bonus so I need someone to go ahead.

Arthur finishes the bat. Tao sadly cannot reach anything. Khris can, but I'm worried so I'll continue spamming heal for now.

Hanzou debuts with style! And then I cramp his style by failing to screenshot that caption properly, it was a double attack.

Max obliterates a bat with unnecessary violence (critical i failed to screenshot), and also does his most important job: baiting everything and anything away from Anri.

Unfortunately these enemies are so easy that she gets only 16 exp from a kill, I'm fighting a losing battle trying to get anything useful out of this.

BWAH???

okay i completely forgot that Max's defense hasn't keep up with the enemies in this run, I'm way too used with this man being a tank. At least he does have lots of HP to spare. And the other enemies aren't nearly as strong as the knights (knights have 30 attack, conches have 22 and the bats even less).

Thankfully Lowe moves right away to help his roommate. Also Arthur kills a conch on counter, which is awesome.

On Turn 5 he one hit kills another Conch and I regret scrolling fast because he gets another massive level up which i would've liked to screenshot. Lots of 4 and 5, you had to see it. Really wild how good he is if you put in the effort.

Tao obliterates the greatest threat we faced here.

I decide Max can just tank for a while and maybe, just maybe, Anri can get something more out of this.

Since the battle is ending I waste a whole Aura of Narsha just to heal Arthur's poison damage. She gets 20 exp out of that, which is wonderful, I love mass healing.

Hanzou continues to be wonderful. I was right about the rings.

She gets a level! :D

Turn 6. I start worrying about the bonus and decide Arthur should just kill the final enemy. Arthur proceeds to miss. Then Domingo gets a Freeze on the thing and I decide to risk things a bit and wait for Anri to get the kill. Not like she can miss, I'm just paranoid about doing things tight like this.

But never mind that! Everything goes perfectly fine, and she gets… 9 exp.

Please let this filler end already.

[insert screenshot of the clear bonus here, i hit the image limit but we did get it]

Losses: 0 Deaths: 2

[proofwhisky]

TOMMY HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO meet someone so completely and totally in tune with his weaknesses as Fiachra Kelly. It's like the man knows exactly how to get under his skin; like he knows every in and out of his very soul. Already Fiachra's been able to successfully ambush Tommy, to successfully lure him out in the open another handful of times without even having to lift one of his own fingers. It's like he can see right through Tommy.

It sets Thomas on edge, makes him reckless & impulsive, which, in turn, makes him an even easier mark. The worst part is that Tommy hadn't even noticed it was happening; hadn't noticed Fiachra's presence in his life until far too late. Fiachra had been at least one step ahead of him before Tommy was even aware that there was a race. Hadn't been entirely convinced of the threat the other man posed until he'd found himself lyiing on the cold wet asphalt, warmth from his blood seeping out of the wounds in his head to flow into the gutters with dirty rainwater.

Thomas Shelby can confidently say that he's met his match.

Having to come to terms with his own shortcomings has been a long and brutal lesson in humility. No matter how many times he's tried to get info on the man, or how many men he's sent out in search of any modicum of leverage, he's come up empty-handed. Losing like this over and over again has forced Thomas to admit to his weaknesses. Without information, without knowledge, he is just a man with a gun & razorblades sewn into the lining of his clothes. He is not a threat. He is not an adversary.

Stanley had eventually been the one to talk him off of the edge. For some reason, Stanley had been the only one capable of reaching Tommy on the level required to spur him back into action, to rush headfirst straight back into another losing fight.

The heart monitor beeped steadily, the only signs of life for a long moment while Stanley laid still against the starched hospital pillows, glazed eyes looking out the window by the bed. Tommy stood there with his hands in his pockets, waiting for Aisling to return.

"Can you kill him?" He'd said.

"What?"

"Can you kill Fiachra Kelly? Before he kills one of yours?"

"..."

"It was your brother in the hospital before, wasn't it?"

"It was me."

Another long silence passed between them, the heart monitor keeping time between seconds. Stanley had made eye contact with Tommy. They'd held each others' gaze.

"I'll give you every last penny that I have if it means I know he'll be gone for good."

"I have no use for your pennies, Stanley."

"Please, Tom-"

"It will be done."

They locked gazes again, something unspeakable communicated between their eyes as Aisling showed herself back into the room & Tommy looked away, stepping back to let the two of them talk again. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He was going to kill Fiachra Kelly, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

He'd been so confident then. He isn't anymore.

Now, Aisling's been MIA for days, not answering his calls or his texts. He'd looked everywhere he could think of, & he's on his way to check out one last spot: Stanley's room at the hospital. He prays that she isn't there, not somewhere so obvious, somewhere so out in the open, practically begging Fiachra to swoop in and kill her ( nevermind him being so keen to go there himself ).

He stops short when he sees a well-dressed man sitting upright on the made-up bed, facing away, gazing out the window.

"Ah, look what the cat dragged in," the man says. "Just another peaky bitch."

Tommy stands, rooted in place for a long time, attempting to wrestle his heart rate into submission and keep the rush of fury and terror off of his face. He clenches his jaw, hand moving slowly to curl around the handle of his pistol where it sits in the holster at his ribs.

"... Fiachra," he says.

"Mr. Shelby," Fiachra says, turning to face him with a polite smile. "I think it's time you & I had a chat."

Tommy stays still, hand wrapped around the butt of his gun, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. Fiachra makes no move to attack, gives no indication of hostility. Minutes pass in silence. Finally, Tommy lowers his hands, glancing behind him to find the empty chair he'd occupied during his visit with Stanley, & he sits down.

Another few second pass in silence, the sound of the heart monitor eerily absent. Nothing fills the room but the sound of Tommy's heart, thundering in his ears.

"So," he says, meeting Fiachra's eyes. "Let's chat."

starter for @bailesona !!

[mazegays]

could've followed my fears all the way down

Chapters: 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30

Chapter 31

Thomas keeps a few steps ahead of them, walking backwards and using their warnings to know when to avoid something on the ground.

Before long, he can see Harriet, working on… something with a group of kids, and Jorge, talking to one of the builders working on the kids’ building.

Gally hasn’t been checking on that as much as he should, probably. 

“Hey, Thomas, kids are messing around not far behind you, maybe turn around!” he warns. Either that or Thomas will wait for them.

“Thanks, Gally!” Thomas keeps walking ahead of them.

Oh, that’s right. The kids swarm Thomas. Gally’s not sure why, he never really paid attention, but Thomas is pretty good with them, when he’s given a chance.

Mostly, they’re busy enough that they don’t have anything to do with them. At least Gally is, and he’d like to keep it that way. They kind of scare him sometimes. 

Some of the kids are tossing something back and forth, switching who they’re throwing to every time— some sort of game. The ones closest to Harriet are sitting in a circle with one running around the rest.

Harriet sees Thomas and excuses herself from the group. Minho and Gally join them a minute later.

“I’m going to guess that you don’t want to play ‘Catch the Crank’ with us.” She winces a little when she says it. “It’s apparently supposed to be a duck game? But they changed the name.”

“No, thanks, I think I’ll sit out of that one.” Thomas is aiming for lighthearted, but he misses the mark.

“What else do these kids do?”

“Throw things, race, I don’t know.” Harriet says. “I’ve only really spent this morning with them. Sonya had volunteered, but she woke up sick so I said I’d do it for her.”

Some of the kids start screaming.

“You sure you don’t want to come help?”

“I think we’re good, but you have fun.” Minho tells her. 

“They’re so loud!” She grumbles before heading back to the kids.

“What do you think those kids are doing?” Thomas nods to a few on the edge of the forest.

“Who cares? As long as they don’t go in, we don’t have any problems.” Gally watches them for a minute to make sure they’re not going to, just in case.

“Thomas!” One of them breaks off from the throwing game, her friends yelling after her. “My dad says I’m old enough to be in the greenhouse now! Can I come with you next time?”

“Yeah, Mal. Sonya will probably be there too. I bet you’ll be really good at helping us water all the plants.” Thomas crouches down on her eye level.

“Mal! Come back and play!”

“I don't think they'll wait much longer, Mal, you should go back. Don’t worry, you’ll have lots of time to talk to me in the greenhouse.”

“Okay!”

finish on ao3 or continue reading

Thomas watches her run back, accepting Minho’s hand to help him up. “She’s been begging to work in the greenhouse for months. She’ll be fun to have around.”

He scans the rest of the kids, or maybe he’s checking where Harriet is, but Gally turns to follow Thomas’s gaze.

The kids who were at the edge of the forest aren’t there.

“Do you think they went in? There are too many kids here for one person to keep track of them all.” Gally doesn’t remember there being this many kids when they first came here, but maybe he just doesn’t interact with them a lot. He’s pretty sure that kids take a while to grow, so they can’t all have been born here.

“I really hope not, that would suck.” Minho mutters.

Thomas keeps looking around, doing a slow spin. Gally doesn’t bother; if he sees something, he’ll let them know.

Minho sees it before either of them.

“Thomas, move!” They both turn to look at what he’s talking about— 

Those kids weren’t by the forest because they were going to go in.

They’d found an animal of some sort, probably wounded, and tried to catch it.

Minho pulls away from him to shove Thomas out of the way, Gally only seconds behind him. He catches the animal— he’s not sure what it is— before it can get its teeth into any of them.

“Jorge!” He yells, over the kids now screaming and crying. “Get a cage for this thing or something!”

Jorge sees what he’s holding and sprints into the greenhouse.

“Are you both okay?” Thomas is still on the ground from Minho’s shove; Minho’s on his knees in front of him.

“Winded, but I should be fine.” Thomas answers, only meeting his eyes for a second before looking at Minho.

“I’ve got a few scratches, but I’m not bleeding. Gally caught it before it could do anything. What even is that?”

“No idea.” Gally admits. “If there were wolves this close, I might think it was a cub or something. But there’s nothing that big in this area.”

Harriet rounds up the kids, keeping them far away as Jorge comes back with what looks like a hastily-made wire cage.

“It should hold it for a minute. At least long enough to get it away from the kids.” He explains.

Getting the animal in the cage is a lot harder than just holding it. It went mostly limp when he picked it up, but it does not want to be in an enclosed space.

It takes all four of them to get it in far enough to shut the ‘door’ and bend the wire to keep it closed.

“I’ll handle this, hermanos. Thanks for catching the thing.” Jorge lugs the cage away. Gally doesn’t really want to know where he’s going with it.

“So, are we still on for reading in bed?” Minho asks. “I could really go for that right now.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Thomas sounds distracted, though; he’s more focused on watching the kids than them.

What’s going through his head?

And why hadn’t he moved?

If it were any other night, Minho would have told Thomas no when he said he wanted to go sit in the forest for a while.

But something about that animal today shook Thomas up. He doesn’t know what it is, or why, but even after reading and napping most of the afternoon, he’s still not acting normal.

At least this time, he’s wearing pants and a long-sleeved shirt. 

(Thomas is still probably going to steal Minho’s jacket, but he really only wears one so he can steal it at this point, so that’s okay.)

They take a few blankets and wrap up some food, and it reminds Minho so much of the day they tried to take Thomas on a ‘date’ that he doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry.

There aren’t going to be any trees falling on them this time.

They’re not going to be sitting against trees.

The walk out is quiet.

For once, Minho can’t tell what either Thomas or Gally is thinking, and that worries him more than anything else that happened today.

“Why did you jump in front of me?” Thomas whispers. Both Minho and Gally had tried, but in the end it had been Minho in front of him and Gally handling the animal.

“Why didn’t you move?” Minho counters.

Thomas avoids their eyes, not wanting them to see the truth in his. 

The stars above them are easier to focus on— he can name all the constellations, but he doesn't remember learning them. That doesn’t matter, anyway, because they're not the ones asking for answers. The constellations don’t care what’s happening down here, because some of them probably aren’t even there anymore.

He’s staring at ghosts.

“Thomas, why didn’t you move?”

He doesn’t know what to tell them.

He doesn’t know what they want to hear.

He was startled? They won’t believe that.

He can’t tell them that for a split second, he’d thought about what would happen if the animal got its jaws around his throat. He would have been dead for good then.

Anya wouldn’t be able to fix that.

He can’t tell them that for a second, he’d been looking at Newt again, terrified and crazed.

He doesn’t want them to know how bad it really is.

Thomas doesn’t think he’s ever going to not feel like this, and, selfishly, he doesn’t want to leave them. He doesn’t want to leave them, but he doesn't want them to have to try and figure him out.

They deserve more than him.

Gally shifts so he’s sitting in front of Thomas, so he can’t avoid his gaze.

“Why didn’t you move?” He says it so softly, so gently, that he wants to tell him. He wants to tell him everything: How the panic of being in the forest makes him feel something again, how he keeps thinking about going back to the river when he’s laying awake in the middle of the night.

All the nightmares they don’t wake up for.

He hasn’t slept through the night… well, maybe since Denver. He’s not sure. It’s not something he’s keeping track of.

“I—  I don’t know. I just froze.”

He’s never frozen before. They know that. His reaction is always to fight.

“Thomas.”

“I really don’t know.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” Minho rolls him a little so they can cuddle.

It’s nice, but he doesn’t deserve it.

“I don’t. Maybe in the morning.” He already knows he won’t. He won’t sleep tonight, and tomorrow they’ll ask more questions and maybe he’ll go talk to Jamie or Sonya or Frypan or someone, and then he’ll come back to them and talk about it some more.

But it won’t be tomorrow morning.

He waits until he’s sure they’re asleep to move.

<- 30 32 ->

[purpleprincessonfyre]

And now something a bit soft, inspired by an idea that @jackiequick gave me that devolved into a full fledged Found Family fic. Sorry not sorry.

Marvel AU - Not Your Barbie Girl

Characters: Liane Felton and Jason Underwood aka JJ

Mentioned: Ethan Lensherr, The OG Avengers, Rochelle Romanoff-Felton, Rei Stark

Setting: The Avengers Tower, post Battle of New York

Themes: Found Family, Grumpy and Sunshine friends

IB: Not Your Barbie Girl by Ava Max

Liane was stressed. She was pacing her room back and forth, her music nearly blasting, her bed strewn in dresses and outfits, shoes cluttered across her floor and she was clenching her pillow tightly, trying not to scream. She was not doing well.

Ethan had asked her on a date. Yesterday. He was very slightly nudged by his brother Cole into saying it outloud but Liane had said yes almost immediately. Actually she'd shouted it. Causing everyone to stop in their tracks as her cheeks turned a deep shade of peony. But Ethan had smiled, that dumb sweet grin that made Liane feel special.

But now she had the arduous task of choosing what to wear. Smart? Casual? Smart casual? Streetwear? Black tie? She was racking her brain trying to predict what kind of date this was going to be or how her date was going to dress. Ethan wasn't really a suit person but what if he wore one tonight? There were too many options.

Finally Liane settled on a classic look of hers; white collared blouse, pale pink sweater, plaid grey skirt, white knee socks and black Mary Jane heels. She smiled as she put it on, feeling that confidence she had before and stepped out of her room to check with the other girls about her outfit choice.

But as Liane entered the main area she realised how quiet it was. She looked around and only saw one person. Jason Underwood. She frowned, clearly confused.

"Where did everyone go?"

"Nat's off training Rochelle and a few of the others, Bruce and some of the guys including Rei are at the lab and the rest are busy. I'm only here so the Tower isn't left unsupervised."

"Oh. Okay. Do you...do you mind if I get your opinion on something?"

"Go ahead but it might not be flattering," stated Jason, his eyes still fixed on his newspaper. Liane stood in front of him in her outfit, smiling.

"Does this outfit look good for my date tonight with Ethan?"

"Sure it does." Jason replied, still not looking up. Liane sighed.

"At least look at it."

"Fine." His gaze flicked up to her outfit then back to his paper.

"Yep, you look like your usual...pinky self."

"I- But what do you think? Be totally honest."

Jason lowered his paper, making eye contact with her, not sure if this was a trap or not.

"You want ME to be honest?"

"Brutally honest."

"Fine." He put his paper down, sat bolt upright and fixed his gaze on her outfit. He looked her up and down carefully before he spoke, having made up his mind.

"You dress like a Boarding School Student who thinks they're rebellious for wearing nail polish and earrings at school. You're on a date, not taking your SATs. All you'd need to top it off is a dog in your purse and a crucifix necklace to show them just how devout you are."

"Okay now you're just being rude."

"You wanted honest! And honesty is I don't like your outfit. You need to find something new."

"Wait what?" Jason stood up and got up to Liane's eye level, using all his skills acquired from being a godfather to Rei to try and talk some sense into Liane.

"You have spent your whole life dressing the way people expect you to dress, talking the way people expect you to, dating the way people tell you to and living the way people think you should live. Why don't you figure out who the real Liane Felton is for once?"

"N-no one's ever asked me that before...I- would you come shopping with me? For new clothes?"

Jason stopped still. He hadn't expected that. He turned around and saw her hopefully eyes and remembered that despite her reputation she was still so young. And naive. And he was literally her only option. If anyone could help this poor girl salvage a personal style from the wreckage of her preppy barbiecore closet then it would have to be him.

Jason held out his hand kindly, smiling.

"Let's get you some new clothes, Doll."

-----

The unlikely duo got out of the car and headed into the mall, in search of new clothes for Liane. Liane strode ahead, her eyes determined while Jason followed behind closely, also slightly acting as a guard dog to her since she wasn't the most liked person in the world.

They headed into the first clothes store they saw and grabbed a basket.

"Okay so what is your signature colour right now?"

"Uh pink?"

"Exactly. Not that pink isn't pretty but of course but maybe it's time to add some other colours to your closet. Pick out an outfit in every colour of the rainbow. A jacket, a dress, pants, a suit, skirt, you name it. And well we'll see what your new thing is."

Liane grinned. If there was one thing she excelled at, it was making an outfit. Soon the basket was overflowing with shades of crimson, ochre, tangerine, emerald, azure, navy and lavender and some whites and blacks were thrown in for good measure. After being satisfied with her choices, Liane marched into a dressing room with her outfits ready to try each of them.

Jason took a seat outside the changing area, ready to critique each look. Eventually Liane emerged in a red dress, topped with a red coat, black boots and a red hat. Jason raised an eyebrow, amused.

"A bit Carmen Sandiego for you."

"I dunno I think femme fatale suits me."

"Try again, Miss Scarlet."

Next she entered wearing a sunny yellow 50s style dress with white heels, a little cardigan and a bow in her hair. Jason tried not to laugh.

"Tell me about it, stud."

"Oh man! Not Sandra Dee! I was going for Marilyn.."

She kept trying on outfits in varying shades and pulling funny faces when Jason gave his verdict until he stopped her when she reached green, looking her up and down.

"None of these are working...what colours do you have left?"

"Blue, dark blue, black, white oh and purple!"

Jason's eyes lit up. He took Liane by the hand and led her back to the room.

"Try the purple jacket with this top, these pants and those mini gogo boots."

Liane nodded, seeing his vision and stepped back into the dressing room to redress, hopefully the final time. When she finally emerged Jason beamed from ear to ear. Liane was wearing a turtleneck styled white top with high waisted blue jeans, a purple leather jacket, white mini gogo boots with gold hoops in her ears and had stuck her signature heart-shaped sunglasses in her hair like an Alice band.

"What do you think?"

"I love it. It's mature, the colour suits you so well and you don't look like a school girl. And it's understated too. Very nice. But what do you think?"

"I really like it, it's so comfy too!"

"Liane Felton we have found your colour. But don't be afraid to experiment with other colours too don't limit yourself."

"Who knew you were so good at fashion?"

"Clearly I didn't."

"Ethan would be crazy not to be impressed by that outfit too."

"You think so?"

"I know so, Doll."

Liane smiled softly, then flung her arms around Jason's neck, standing on her tiptoes to reach as she hugged him tight, engulfing him in a cloud of her candy scented perfume. He was taken aback at first but realised she probably really needed this hug. Reluctantly he wrapped his arms around her in the hug, smiling as she held him close. Sometimes it was easy to forget that these Heroes of the Future are still pretty scared young people with fears and needs.

None more than Liane, who had been her mother's personal doll since birth. He'd heard the stories and the rumours but now he knew the real Liane he had nothing but sympathy for her. And after having dealt with her father in previous skirmishes and work, he felt sort of protective of the bubbly blonde princess. And she finally had a chance to break out of her shell for once and be her own person.

Hope you enjoyed!

Tagging: @jackiequick @gcthvile @cherrysft @blueboirick @meiramel @askstevella @ask-missparker @ask-starrk @therealdaydreamstark @thechoooooosenone @wizzzardofoz @finlayholmes @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @missstrawbs2001

[raiii-bee]

I know this is talked about to death and this is an unpopular opinion on here, but as a trans jew I honestly do not see as much issue with people pirating the awful Hogwarts game.

Is it still a problem that they're willing to play it? Yeah. Absolutely.

But if they do the bare fucking minimum and recognize and criticize the anti-Semitism/transphobia, educate themselves, then ok. At least it's something while minimizing some damage.

At least no money went to JK or the shitty devs. No record can be made of this purchase, she can't use it as "evidence" people agree with her.

It's not innocent. For sure. I still judge people willing to still be into HP at this point, and willing to play this game. But at least it's a step in the right direction.

And honestly with how many people just straight up have no idea what's going on (because if you are mostly offline you wouldn't have a reason to know), and how many people say "it doesn't matter." At least someone pirating the game made the conscious decision to weigh their options and avoided sending their money towards something that harms people. It's something. It's better than thinking you can buy the game then donate to a trans charity (because that's a BS solution).

Sure I'd rather we move on from HP and no one buy it. But in this world, in this current reality, someone having the thought to pirate it is already ahead of most people. It's not perfect, but it's something. And that something is better when they also bother to recognize and discuss the problems with the game itself.

They should still be shamed. But I feel that considering it on the same level as legally buying the game is doing more harm than good. The people who are on the fence are just going to buy the game because it's easier if you tell them no other solution is better. With a stupid juggernaut like HP, we can't convince everyone in a swoop. Small changes. Steps. Pirating is not as good as ignoring the game entirely, but it is better than buying it, in my opinion.

Still spoil it for people though. That's funny as fuck. Lol.

I don't have anything against people who think otherwise. If you despise pirating it just as much as buying, that's fair! You go! This rant is just my own thoughts on the matter.

Tldr: pirating the Hogwarts game, in my opinion, is still bad. But it is not the same as buying it legally. It is at least slightly better.

[witchesoz]

What we know of Oz: Book 2, Gillikins and Mombi

The second Oz book is “The Marvelous Land of Oz” (of its full title “The Marvelous Land of Oz: Being an Account of the further Adventures of the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman”), published in 1904. # The first thing this book makes us learn about Oz is the famous Northern Country! Remember, in the first book the land of the North was left unnamed. In this book we discover that it is the “Country of the Gillikins”, with for titular color purple. Now, at first we think it is just like in the first book, the color only applying to people’s clothes and houses and such. But here, Baum went a step ahead… Indeed, Tip mentions that in the Gillikin Country “everything” is purple: the grass is purple, the trees are purple, the houses and fences, even the mud is purple! This “everything” mention still seems like an exaggeration though, because the narration still mention the “green” of the corn stalks, and the “golden red” of the pumpkins. This is probably a retcon because Tip also claims that everything is blue in the Munchkin Country, yellow in the Winkie Country, and so on and so on, yet we know from the first book that it isn’t true. The description of Tip and Mombi’s farm also give us some indication about the Gillikin Country – it is located near a forest on one side and a valley on another (“below” the farm). It has several corn fields and pumpkin fields, and the animals raised there are several brown pigs and one four-horned cow, said to be the “pride” of Mombi. From the farm, one can see hills to the east. Interestingly, Mombi’s farm is said to be “dome-shaped”, “round” and the narration clearly states that all of the farms of Oz are shaped this way (in fact, later it will help the characters differentiate the farms from Oz and the ones from the “Outside World”). # One of the two big characters introduced here is Mombi, or “Old Mombi” as the book likes to call her. Keep in mind that Mombi wasn’t identified yet as the former Wicked Witch of the North, this was an idea that came later in the series. In this story, Mombi wishes to be a Witch, but we learn that the Good Witch of the North forbid any other Witch to exist in her “dominions” (quite a specific term to choose), so Mombi, while “aspiring to work magic”, can’t be a Witch due to it being unlawful, and has to be “a Sorceress, or at most a Wizardess”. This description is quite interesting because it gives us a new look at the world of magic in Oz. According to this book, Witch is merely a title and seems to correspond to the high magic practitioners, or the magic practitioners of high level, with under it the title of “Wizardess” and at the bottom the one of “Sorceress”. Which is quite weird given that Glinda, specified to be above Mombi in terms of magic, is still said to be a Sorceress while Mombi is said to be a Witch… If we are pragmatic, we know very well that Baum was merely inconsistent in his confused world-building, but it can still leave us with many theories. Mombi is introduced as the guardian of Tip, full name Tippetarius. Physically, she is described as an old woman that hobbles and need a cane or a stick to walk. Usually wearing an apron and knit stockings (with a cloak for her travels), she is described as having “stern and wrinkled features”, “long bony fingers”, a “crooked form”, “evil features”. To the point that the Tin Man calls her “ugly”, and both Jinjur and the narration refer to her as an “old hag”. We know that she has a bad reputation due to people suspecting her of indulging in magical arts, which alienates her from the Gillikin community. However, she has neighbors that directly know of her “curious magic” and thus are afraid of her, treating her “shyly but respectfully”. Due to the vastness of her farm, she seems to be quite rich. At the beginning of the story, she says to Tip that she goes to buy “groceries” at the village, a travel of at least two days, when in fact, she went to meet a mysterious figure only said to be a “Crooked Wizard” who lives in a lonely cave “in the mountains”. She traded several “important secrets of magic” with him, obtaining in the process three new recipes, four magical powders, and a selection of herbs of “wonderful powers and potency”. However, Mombi reveals that she “wickedly fooled” the Crooked Wizard, and that he was stingy, giving him the smallest portions possible (one of the objects traded being the Powder of Life, of course). Mombi’s other defining trait is to be the one taking care of Tip, the book’s young hero, an adventurous boy. Tip is the charge of Mombi, but she rather treats him as a slave, making him do all the chores: feed the pigs, collecting wood in the forest, working in the cornfield, milking the cow… Yet Tip is by no mean servile. Whenever he can he plays around or laze about instead of working, and he hates deeply Mombi, often playing tricks on her or trying to scare her. In relation, Mombi seems to be quite violent, given that she threatens to beat Tip “black and blue” for his latest trick – Tip himself says that he knows she is “bad and revengeful at heart” and that she doesn’t hesitate to do “evil things”. It is later revealed that she only keeps Tip around to do all the work for her (the narration mention that he is “as strong and rugged as a boy may be”): once Jack Pumpkinhead is “born”, Mombi decides he will be her new slave now, and that Tip can just disappear. Yet she insists on keeping him around… By turning him into a marble statue. Because she plans to grow a beautiful flower garden in Spring, and she thinks he would be a perfect ornament there. We later learn why she wishes to keep him around no matter what, even turned into a statue, but one think that is jarring about this scene is that Mombi tells Tip right in front of his face what she is going to do to him. She doesn’t think one minute that Tip would try to flee or go away or resist his fate (even though she still takes the precaution to keep the magic potion in her room so that Tip wouldn’t destroy it). Did she spill the beans because she was tired and it was the end of a long night? Or was there another reason she thought Tip wouldn’t flee? Mere sociopathy or something else? Theories are open. # The Powder of Life is one of the biggest new magical items. Sold by the Crooked Wizard to Mombi, it is kept in an old pepper box, with a label written by the Wizard himself. The Wizard only have enough for two or three uses. The Powder of Life’s power is that, when put on an object correctly, it can bring it to life. One just needs to sprinkle the powder like pepper on the object, and then to accomplish a small ritual similar to the one needed to activate the Golden Cap: lifting the left hand with the little finger pointed upward, say “Weaugh”. Then, with the right hand lifted with the thumb upward, say “Teaugh”. Finally, with your two hands lifted and all fingers spread out, say “Peaugh”. Then the object will come to life. During the book it animates Jack Pumpkinhead, the Sawhorse, as well as the Gump-Thing. Note however that the object must be ENTIRELY covered in the Powder, else the parts that did not receive it will stay numb and inanimate. # This book confirms that winters exist in Oz, because Mombi and Tip feed their cow pumpkins during “winter time”. We also know that sickness exists in Oz, given that Tip had the “ague” one year prior to the story. # Here’s what we know of Mombi’s “how to turn children into marble statues” recipe: in a small black kettle, measure equal part of milk and vinegar. Add to it several packets of herbs and powders, wait until the potion boils. Then let it cool for a whole night – in the morning it will be ready for consumption. # Jack Pumpkinhead gives us two interesting bits of information. One, about his clothing: the clothes he wears are all possessions of Mombi. Tip found them in a “great chest” where Mombi keeps all of her keepsakes and treasures, including these clothes. One might wonder why they are of such importance to her. Said clothes are: purple trousers, a red shirt and a pink vest dotted with white spots. The other interesting point is that the narration keeps talking about the real-life Halloween tradition of “Jack Lanterns” and how, since Tip had no playmates, he ignored everything about emptying the pumpkin beforehand. This comment can be interpreted in two ways: 1- This was a joke intended for the modern American reader 2- Jack Lanterns are indeed known and a common child’s game in Oz.  Take your pick. # More animals of Oz: we get the confirmation that horses and donkeys are actually common animals in Oz, since Tip speaks about them. # Tip tells to Jack the recent history of Oz, and it is quite interesting to note that it slightly differs from the events of the first book – showing that what really happened and what people, or at least Tip, heard of are slightly different. Tip explains that the Emerald City is the “biggest town” of the country, located at the center of the Land of Oz. He heard many stories of it – of how it was built by a mighty and powerful Wizard name Oz, of how the Scarecrow was “invited” by the citizens of the City to rule over them, just like the Tin Woodman was (and not, you know, appointed by the Wizard as in the previous book). Tip mentions that Dorothy is from Kansas, a place in “the big Outside World”, which seems to be a new notion in Oz. Tip doesn’t mention at all the Lion in his stories, in fact the Lion is completely absent of this book (for reasons I’ll explain later). And he also adds that the Wizard “wasn’t so much of a Wizard” and that he fled in a balloon because Dorothy and her friends were angry at him for being deceived and threatened to expose him. Something which enters in direct contradiction with the events of the first book… but again, Tip is a little farmboy living far away in the North of Oz, and since stories spread from mouth to hear, it may have been heavily distorted. But we know that the Scarecrow is a very popular ruler at the Emerald City (and again we have a big ambiguity, the Scarecrow being at the same time said to be the ruler of the Emerald City, and the City alone, and yet the ruler of the City also ruling over Oz entirely). # Something people tend to forget: there is another yellow brick road! Indeed, when Tip goes to the Emerald City, he follows a Yellow Brick Road that leads to it, and even has sign posts indicating things such as “Nine Miles to the Emerald City”. Interestingly, just like how the Brick Road in the East got cut off by a wide river, this Northern Road is also cut by a broad and swift rider (two miles after the “nine miles” sign). This river however has a man with his ferry-boat that can let people pass, but only if they pay him with good money (he is noted to have a face looking “cross and disagreeable”). This river seems to be the limit between the Gillikin Country and the Central region – indeed before the river, the “purple tint of the grass and the trees” faded away to a “dull lavender” than “greenish tint”, but past the river, the grass and trees become “bright emerald-green”.

- - -

Because yes, ladies and gentlemen and animated woodpeople, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz got a sequel if you ignored it! The kids kept sending Baum many letters asking to know more about Oz, to read more about Oz, and they had a special interest in the characters of the Scarecrow and the Tin Man, that were apparently very popular. So Baum finally gave in to the popular demand, was published in 1904, four years after the first book, "The Marvelous Land of Oz". The full title however is "The Marvelous Land of Oz: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman". But it was sometimes shortened to "The Land of Oz", just like how "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" was shortened to "The Wizard of Oz". This book was a very big success at the time, before falling into oblivion for the decades following the MGM movie, and then springing up again, first n the 80s/90s thanks to "Return to Oz", the movie, and then in the 2010s thanks to modern Oz takes such as Emerald City, and also the feminist, LGBT and transgender movements, because... well, you'll see. One thing to note is that this book was written in a different style than the first. The first was really a sort of little fairy tale, with simple descriptions, a simple plot, simple characters, and self-contained chapters that could easily be cut-off. This second book however is clearly intended for an older audience, even though still young, being more complex in terms of characters and plot, having a lot of jokes and being much more funny/parody in style than the first, having chapters often ending in cliffhangers or cutting in the middle of the action, and in general being thicker and filled with much more action than The Wizard of Oz.  

[bllsbailey]

NEW POLL: Kamala Harris Won the Debate—yet It's Trump Who Gained a Point in Voter Support ( Keep reading as this is not a pro-kamala article.)

Talk about mixed messages. Many viewers did not think Donald Trump had his greatest debate performance Tuesday night as he was frequently interrupted and fact-checked in real-time by the biased ABC moderators, and new polling results reflect that. Half the respondents to a new NY Post poll conducted by Leger thought Kamala Harris won, while 29 percent thought Trump did, and 13 percent called it a draw.

But here’s the surprising part—not only did that not help her, but Trump garnered a one percent rise in his approval rating compared to a pre-debate poll, while Harris did not get a similar bump. She remains ahead of him in this poll by a very slim margin, 50-47, although the RealClearPolitics average of all polls shows the former president up by 3.1.

So far at least, it would seem that voters weren’t swayed by Harris’ performance. That’s not the news the VP was hoping for:

POLL: 14-Point Shift Among Independents Toward Trump

Hilarious Cope Flows Like Fine Wine After Times Poll Shows Trump Beating Harris

Trump Takes Shocking Lead in Top-Level Poll, Completely Shifts Perception of the Race

I know, I know, they’re all just polls, and there’s only one that makes a difference, and that’s on November 5. But if you pay close to politics or write about them for a living, polls are an interesting, if not particularly accurate, way to get insight into how events are shaping the mood of the electorate. To me, what I look at is the aforementioned RCP average because by averaging all the top polls, you can erase some of the bias and outlier results.

And Trump is winning in that average.

The numbers will likely continue to change as voters digest the debate, but at least for now, it doesn’t appear to have moved the needle much. Harris came flying out of the gates after Joe Biden stepped aside, but after her brief honeymoon in the surveys, voters woke up to the fact that she has no substance, so it’s back to a neck-and-neck race. Many consider that an advantage for the former president since polls underestimated his support in both 2016 and 2020.

My take is that voters in this poll say she “won” the debate because she mostly stayed on script, got out her memorized lines, and didn’t have any major brain malfunctions. Trump, however, came across to some as a little agitated and angry (with good reason—he was ambushed in a three-on-one scrum).

I would argue that the poll results show that as far as appearances go, she did better in the eyes of these respondents, but they weren’t particularly moved by what she actually had to say. If you watched the whole thing, you know she pretty much said nothing other than a bunch of buzzwords and happy-sounding phrases strung together. (“Opportunity economy”: in which we take your money and give it to other people.)

Debates and polls are interesting—but it’s grocery store and gas prices at the end of the day that most people care about.