#Both for the sake of decorum but also out of curiosity

[drones-of-innocence]

Hi! Great job on your collab with Elitadreams! You’re both so talented!

I have a question. How do you think the following morning after the last chapter would go down?

Hey there, thank you so much!! 🥺

If I were to continue where the last chapter left off, Mario and Peach would sleep through the rest of the night and possibly a bit late into the morning because of the eventful night.

It would be a deep and restful sleep that neither of them have experienced in a very long time. Mario is ordinarily a very light sleeper due to his being very aware of his surroundings for his adventures, and Peach tends to stay up late working and then wake up early to prepare for her duties. Yet, after that night with Peach safe beside him, Mario feels so at ease to the point where his body entirely relaxes and allows him to get a full night's sleep. Peach's subconscious senses only security and comfort without even a hint of stress on her mind, and she also gets to rest fully.

Mario would be so unused to this deep sleep that he would wake up quite disoriented and be confused at first as to where he was and what he was doing. But then, seeing Peach snuggled so close, in her soft blankets with her cute little Yoshi plush tucked in with her, everything would come back to him.

The sun would already be rising high, with the sounds of the castles daily functions as well as the birds and breeze outside setting a peaceful ambience. Mario would fret at first, but give in to simply watching Peach sleep for a few precious moments. Her hair all tousled, her face soft and peaceful. During the night, she had curled up beside him and tucked into his side.

It's intimate, and Mario can't help but smile despite the butterflies in his stomach.

However, he is aware that he shouldn't stay with her in her bedroom of all places, no matter how at ease he feels being with her as she rests. He wishes he could protect her just like this every day. But the threat is still present on the castle grounds, and he must see to it that Kamek is deported and will think better of coming back. He planned on convening with the Lieutenant and reorganizing the security arrangement and introducing night shifts. Plus, he has to check in with Luigi.

So he carefully eases away, taking great care to move very slowly as to not disturb the sleeping princess. His hand had rested over hers all night. He gingerly strokes his thumb across her knuckles, and gazes at her face for a long moment before finally shifts out of the bed.

Her room is still an absolute wreck. It's kind of hilarious to sleep so sweetly among such a mess, but as long as she is safe, Mario doesn't mind. He decides to speak to some of the staff about getting her space fixed up for her as he's stepping around some of the broken furniture.

As soon as the door shuts with the softest click, Princess Peach smiles to herself and snuggles deeper into her bed.

[majorxmaggiexboy]

One of Us is a Ghost, pt2

1845:

It’s like encountering your childhood imaginary friend at a traffic light, except you weren’t friends, they weren’t imaginary, and you had involuntarily stalked them without their knowledge. 

Wednesday blinks. 

Tall- Jopson does an uncanny impression of a demonic doll being electrocuted. Silently, somehow. A double-take, another, he’s spun around and shut the door before Wednesday can raise an eyebrow. 

Something is different. Not drastically, but noticeably. 

Wednesday is nearly seventeen. Jolly Sailor Bold here doesn’t look ready to yell back at furious geriatrics determined to use expired coupons, but he has to have, as Enid would say, “Seen Some Serious Shit”.

 A temporal exchange rate is at play. 

Curious. As is this reaction to seeing her. Goody hadn’t been the least bit surprised to discover an interloper in her timeline. She had also known she was dead. This is different. 

It has to be handed to the poor Victorian sailor. He’s clearly doing his best. It’s a lot to process. An unexpected presence on the ship, suddenly appearing no less. Sneakers. A woman, in general. Not something the Royal Navy offers much training for dealing with. He is at a disadvantage; Wednesday has done this all before. This could be his first time experiencing psychospiritual communication between layers of temporal reality. 

The proverbial band-aid has to be ripped off at some point. They’ll never get anywhere otherwise. A demonstration of a lack of ill will, in the form of an innocuous greeting, might soothe the nerves enough to properly adapt. 

Wednesday raises a hand in imitation of Thing; nothing more than an upward flick of the wrist. 

“Howdy, Pilgrim.”

***

Thomas Jopson was twenty-five and had never been superstitious. 

When, in the course of his duties, he encountered a girl in the Captain’s spirits-store, he didn’t immediately remember dark eyes staring from the shadows as he slipped into addled dreams. Truth be told, he scarcely remembered that night at all. 

Well, he remembered the Captain calling him a brave fool after- - -the ‘fool’ part had never seemed dreadfully important. 

The only recollection he had of the girl was the ribbing he caught about it from Icemaster Blanky, whose commentary on the matter was colorful enough to redden cheeks, which only made the man laugh harder. 

Captain Crozier had had jokes, too. Mainly in the vein of, “Honestly, Jopson, if you needed time off, you could’ve asked instead of getting shot full of shrapnel.”

As it was, Jopson’s first thought wasn’t that he’d ever seen the girl before, but that a stowaway had gone unnoticed for months on end.

He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish by shutting the door, leaving himself alone in the room with her. On reflection, this was extraordinarily improper and he ought to be ashamed of himself. But there were more pressing matters at hand. Namely, that he should report this at once, but dreaded to do so for the girl’s sake, and more importantly, the Captain’s patience was already tried from every direction. 

Wracking his brain for a solution satisfying decorum, protocol, and propriety, it was only slowly that Jopson noticed the girl’s strange mode of dress. She looked like an actor in a Pantomime, or perhaps as if she intended to visit the Theatre. What in God’s name she was doing aboard Terror if that was the case, though-

“Howdy, Pilgrim”

Foreign? Her voice carried an unfamiliar accent. She didn’t sound threatened, either. Didn’t mind being found. That could make things easier. While the girl held up one hand, he presented both of his, slowly. 

“Miss,” he tried, “Are you aware that this is a navy vessel?”

The girl nodded. “I couldn’t be sure, but suspected as much.”

Right. 

“May I ask, then,” Jopson began, “What exactly you are doing aboard, and how long you have been so?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” she replied. She was pacing, in a way, looking round the room and at the bottles with a sort of muted curiosity. “This time, it’s been about ten minutes.”

Ten minutes? This time?

“I’ll cut to the chase,” the girl continued, in a tone like a man of business. “I don’t know how, but you are a relative of mine. And I don’t mean in the illegitimate offspring capacity, so you needn’t take offense. I am here as the result of a psychic vision. I don’t know why, and you might or might not be able to assist with that. Are there any Outcasts on this voyage?” 

The solution Jopson had been searching for crept up on him as the girl spoke. He remembered, then, seeing her before. There was no stowaway, only a vivid dream. 

That he should have such a dream while very much awake was concerning, but who on this voyage wasn’t overtaxed? Icemaster Blanky would have a laugh. Not that Jopson would ever tell him of this. 

It would be another several hours before he could retire to his bunk, but a few hours of sleep would handle the ‘stowaway’ problem without any further upset on his part or the Captain’s. 

Relieved, Jopson looked again at the mirage before him. Of all the images the mind could produce...he could start writing novels if this kept up. 

***

She isn’t sure what she expected, but a beat of silence after which her relative reached over her head to retrieve a bottle and then left without a word, was not on the list. Immediate cooperation and the revelation of useful information might be a stretch, but it would be a nice change of pace. 

She follows him through the door, out into the main room. Perhaps she should have followed Goody’s example and been cryptic. But Goody had had the advantage of an immediate threat to mutually face. In this case, no mystery had presented itself to be solved, past or present. 

It might be time to get creative, if this strand of visions continues. That or start sharing knowledge from the future just to see what mayhem might ensue. That doesn’t sound like good terrible, though. 

The captain enters eventually and Wednesday doesn’t bother hiding. The brief, doubtful glance the steward flings in her direction is mildly satisfying. He would have had a stroke had it turned out anyone else could see her. It might have been fun. 

Visions with no discernable purpose, Wednesday finds, can be extremely boring. If that’s the mystery to solve, she’d sooner go another round with the undead.

[br-uwu-cewayne]

The thing is okay so the thing is

"Bruce" and "Batman" both start with that "B-."

So. So what I'm saying is.

However it happens -

- whether Bruce was trying to bolster his "Sluts It Up Indiscriminately With Various Conveniently Powerful People" reputation (to keep several lines of easy access to case files persons of interest open) by brazenly flirting with the newly divorced Police Commissioner, not really expecting anything to come of it other than an easily leveraged tabloid story, more of as a joke designed to provoke a reaction than anything serious, but OOPS that was... wildly more successful than he thought it would be, seems like maybe Jim miiiiight be spiraling a bit with this big life change and going through a touch of a midlife crisis, but also it was kind of enjoyable, the way the man flirted back, subtle and still with decorum but surprisingly wicked in tone and clever innuendo... maybe it... couldnt hurt to explore that a bit... so long as "Brucie" keeps things just the playful level, and it doesn't interefer with their friendship and good working relationship as Batman...

- or whether it's out on the balcony grabbing a smoke and a moments peace together at a city hall function, and a touch too drunk/too nervous/too tired of all the pretending Gordon let's slip that he's always kind of been drawn to other men but he.. he can't be... he can't... no, not with his job and highly visible position and especially with his marriage that's already struggling against long hours and dark dreams. And Bruce knows it's a bad idea to muddy those waters even further but "Brucie" would leap to the opportunity, and "Batman" wants to do anything that could ease his friend's mind, either put to rest his curiosities if it turns out Jim doesn't actually like it, or reassure him that it doesn't mean he isnt still a Good Man if he does...

- or whether it's cloistered away in a private study during a Wayne Gala with a bottle of Scotch too expensive to open out in the main floor, Selina on his arm leaning in and helping him schmooze with the Mayor and the DA and the Commissioner and their wives. As the night wears on, their party grows smaller and smaller until it's just them and the Gordon's, and a bit of "Brucie" starts to fall away in light of their clever humor and banter and theyre all stretching out in the leather furniture pulled in close around the rug and Selina is laughing at something Barbara said, falling bodily into her on the small couch, and Jim is flashing a wry grin to his wife and a heated look to Bruce as he shifts in the armchair across the small space from him, their ankles knocking warm against each other for a moment before he clears his throat.

"Actually, while we have you... look, we've been coming to these things for a while now, and you always... it's always different, after the party winds down. The... the way you act, and well... I know you're not so bad, really, as I used to think. What with, er, your reputation, as it is. And uh... the thing is, you're also... you both..."

"Oh for god's sake, Jim," Barbara giggles, sitting upright and fixing her bun, once tight now loose and messy and framing the blush of her cheeks. "What he's trying to say, is that we have... an arrangement, the two of us. And we would like to include the two of you, if you're interested."

And so that night Barbara and Selina go upstairs to the bedroom like the classy ladies they are while Jim and Bruce make good use of the study's sturdy mahogany bar and macassar ebony desk and italian leather sofa and thick alpaca wool rug and reinforced tempered glass floor length window pane and good lord Bruce I'm not a young man anymore i cant-

- [ahem] anyways, uh, the point is it doesn't matter HOW it happens, just that at some point as they get closer in their civilian life too, Jim gets accustomed to slipping from that first consonant in "Bruce" to something more... affectionate, behind closed doors.

The trouble comes after a long shift. The way it always seems to. It was a hard night, and Jim's frankly a little surprised they made it through. The rest of his people are in the clean up stages, GCPD cars blocking off traffic, squads huddling up to delegate responsibilities before breaking off to their various tasks.

And Batman is turning to walk away.

Well... limp away.

Jim knows the man rather wouldn't, but that damn sewer was so fucking filthy he really NEEDS to get that gash in the back of his thigh looked at professionally before infection can set in.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh, preparing himself for a refrain of the usual argument with his dear friend. "Hey, B- "

And that's when it happens.

Because the thing is. After that long night at each other's side. Falling into their usual tandem. It honestly feels so weird to call him Batman. It always does. Because it's the man's title, not his name.

Like, sure, when they first greet each other by the spotlight at the start of the night, Batman will nod and offer him a gruff but fond "Commissioner," before launching into the sit-rep of the evening... but by midnight, it's always "Gordon." By sunrise, "Jim."

So it feel strange, not to have something more familiar to call the man back with.

But "Bats" is completely out of the question. Not with the mocking way he's heard it trip off the tongues of scoundrels like the Joker and Harley, or saw the way Batman's jaw tensed almost imperceptly the first time Jim nervously tried it out.

And just "B" is fully reserved for the kids- er, the Robins, Jim supposes, though it's pretty damn clear the relationship between Batman and his (sidekicks? assistants? trainees? Gordon still isn't sure quite what to call them, other than just...) Robins is something a little less professional and little more Long-Suffering Parent And Dangerously Strong-Willed And Stubborn Children. (Oh, he knows that kind of relationship when he sees it. He's been in those trenches.)

Nightwing, most specifically. It felt weird even in his own head, rolling the letter around for a few mental test runs before ever daring to use it aloud. Even in his own brain, it would only ever come out in the young vigilante's voice - never his own.

The problem is, he's already started the word. He's literally in the process of shaping the first syllable, lips pressed together, lungs filling with the air to push out whatever vowel sound he can decide on.

So.

So it's honestly a bit strange just how easy it is to accidentally fall back onto familiar syllables.

And what every city employee in earshot hears, from the nervous forensic interns to the veteran detectives to the field paramedics to the city hall press correspondent standing behind the yellow crime scene tape, who all look to their Commissioner and Batman (though unofficially) with the utmost professional respect (and a healthy dash of fear) as their superior officers, is

"Hey, Baby, you need to come back here and get that looked at."

...

Well.

You can imagine the sort of chaos that ensues.

[shadowbringcr]

permanent plotting & relationship call!

Hello there! Plots are part of my enjoyment when it comes to RP, and I know having something planned out beforehand can be preferable at times. So this is a relationship ad if you ever want something detailed with my character!

Smash the like button on this post to let me know that can I poke you for some plotting. Feel free to reply if you want anything specific as well! This will also give me some freedom to send in-character starters or minis, although I will always discuss the idea first to make sure it’s okay. By default I will use the IM system or by sending asks, but I also can be use twitter or discord if you prefer those - just let me know. 

For more information on Lycelle, you can check out her application and her statistics page. Feel free to ask me any questions as well!

TL;DR SUGGESTIONS!

kids she can be a guardian figure for

her quest for more power is gonna bite her back somehow

sparring partner

people to nerd about magic with

cooking threads

adventuring parties

daaaaaarkneeeeeeeeeess

aaaaand more!

FRIENDS

Making acquaintances with Lycelle is fairly easy - she’s well-manned, polite and she’s very capable of carrying a typical conversation. That being said, most would notice that she tends to hold these people at an emotional distance: she wouldn’t reveal much about herself in these conversations and would keep to a professional decorum. 

It takes much more to be someone she would consider to be a true companion - someone who can see the true intensity of her emotions. It’s not easy for her to trust someone, but when she does? You have her utmost undying loyalty. It’s for their sake that she draws her sword to protect. It takes time for her to warm up to someone, but she does prefer honest individuals who would accept her even when they get to see her bad qualities.

HEROISM

Ignore her claims that she isn’t one - she’s saved a lot of lives at this point, and chances are she won’t be stopping anytime soon. While she doesn’t exactly pursue trouble, if she ever sees someone wrecking havoc she will intervene to stop them. Are you in need of being saved from some terrible situation? Lycelle’s your knight in shining dark armor.

She is also free to engage in philosophical talk about what being a hero is and what it entails. Debates on justice or morality are very much welcome - Lycelle has a rather grey view of the world and she’s willing to take the more pragmatic route if necessary. That being said, she does believe in the virtues of humanity, and sees that there is no need for a reason to help people.

Conversely, if you happen to be a villain of some sorts - especially if you’re the type to harm civilians or cause a citywide disaster - then it is only natural for her to become an obstacle for you. Don’t take it personally, but if you’re putting her friends’ lives at risk then she will step up to stop you.

ENEMIES

I've covered a good chunk of this towards the previous section, since bad guys would most likely be the majority of her enemies. That being said, she doesn’t exactly take such dealings personally and wouldn’t really think much about those people.

However, there are some certain qualities that get on her nerves, and hitting one of them is a surefire way to genuinely enrage her. First thing is betrayal - she doesn’t take kindly to traitors, and is less inclined to give them a second chance thanks to some horrible experiences in her past. 

Another thing would be enemies who revel in their bloodlust. This is because Lycelle sees herself in them - there is a part of her that delights in fighting and violence. These characters represent an alternate path she might have ended up on if she didn’t learn to use her powers for good, and the thought of it scares her. If they could see right though her, she will have the indescribable urge to destroy them.

Ilberd and Zenos make the top of her shitlist. Lycelle would kill them on sight if she could.

LEVEQUESTS ERRANDS

She’s gotta make some dust one way or another! Not being used to jobs that require her to stay at one location, Lycelle has decided on being a freelance odd jobber at the moment. It’s not too far from her usual adventuring stuff, and it would let her discover locations around Spirale.

Feel free to be one of her clients, or maybe just spot her running around. Some stuff you might see her do could be delivery requests or searching for lost items. She also happens to be a good cook and alchemist, so feel free to hire her for those jobs as well!

I would also love to have some expeditions and monster-hunting as well in the future, once she has some of her abilities back. She’s very curious about the nature in this world, and would stop at nothing to get that curiosity satisfied.

EVERYTHING MAGIC

Lycelle’s job in her home world is that of an aetherologist - that is, someone who studies different forms of magic and their uses. Her ability to perform spells might have been nerfed but the magical theory remains, and that would allow her to have intelligent conversations about the topic.

She would love to be able to talk to like-minded people in order to compare and contrast how magic works in other worlds. She can also be a teacher as well to anyone looking to improve their art, once she has a thorough understanding on how her student’s particular brand of magic works.

SPARRING

She likes fighting, and not being able to swing her sword for days on end tends to get her feeling stagnated. Sparring would not only help her stave off boredom, it will also help keep her skills sharp! The two-handed sword is her weapon of choice, and will likely practice against you with such. Whether you want her to also employ the powers of darkness in your duels is up to you.

Despite being a Warrior of Light, you might find her an even match against martial artists of considerable skill. Most of her legendary feats are due to her magical prowess, not due to her skill with the sword. That being said, she’s very much aware of this weakness - one that she hopes to rectify during her stay in Spirale.

MISCELLANEOUS

If there’s anything you have in mind that I haven’t covered, feel free to throw the idea my way regardless! I welcome both sad and happy threads with equal measure, and I’m looking forward to having a myriad of plots to work alongside you all!

[kohakuhibiki]

Ok, I really feel uneasy about it, but after a conscious long reflection, I realized that I'm unable to "really" trust cis people. It's really not an aspect of me I'm proud of, but I can't deny it really do affect my perception of the world. It's not a case of "I hate cishet boohoo", actually I really don't think there is any GNC people who really feel wary of cis people simply out of spite and malice, it's simply that they're simplifying their feelings for the sake of catharsis and coping. And in all honesty, I can T O T A L L Y understand where they might be coming from.

From what I see my relationship, in both platonic and romantic ways, with cis people is that...I always have the latent, persistent, feeling that I can actually feel like there is a red flag. Actually, it's more like a closed box, a box meant for flags. It is implied that there's a red flag in the box, but you can't see it yet. It also might be a dozen of red flags. You just can't always tell at first in many cases. Of course in a loooot of cases, the box isn't even properly closed and there are flags sticking out everywhere, but the cases where the box is closed properly are the most insidious ones. You know that you'll be disappointed, but you don't know when, you don't know why, it'll be a surprise.

At first it feels like projection. But then you remember you grew that feeling of uncertainty out of experiences that you had no control over. And very often, you end up realizing that it was never projection...but perception there was something odd, but you can't tell what it really is. Sometimes it is big, sometimes it is an accumulation of small things.

Ok, yes of course other GNC people come with issues, but it is expressed differently. From cis people what I usually fear of what will happen is that my experiences will always be minimized, my humanity will be granted selectively and very consequentially (to various level, like I had people starting misgendering me out of spite just to rile me up when they were upset (I think we all had that experience at least once, no, ten times at least maybe) and then to the other extreme I had people feel like I'd have to be thankful and make a show of gratitude for granting me the bare minimum amount of respect), also I can understand curiosity, but holy shit that some people have literally no fucking sense of decorum when it comes to express said curiosity. Also, you can actually tell in various cases that most of them are misgendering you behind your back. And let's be honest, of course, I also fear violence, I fear for my safety, and let's be honest: there's no real way to actually really avoid potential abusers but to isolate yourself.

It's really an inner discomfort I don't get as much when I am with GNC people, and out of experience...I feel like I can't really help it.

Tl;dr : I think I have cisphobia O:

[dragonfics]

Thanks (again) to @itsladykit I was inspired to write some silly rom-com style TwistedHoneyMoney. The exact words that started it were “Twist/Rus, Cash/Rus, Twist/Cash love triangle (the kind that ends in polyamory, but starts with a rivalry between Twist and Cash)”. How was I to say no to a good old-fashioned love triangle? (Especially one with a Tale-verse monster sandwiched between to Fell-verse idiots).

Relationships: TwistedHoneyMoney (Twistfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus/Purple Swapfell Papyrus) (The poly relationship is not yet established in this chapter)

Summary:  Fell-verse monsters have a strange method of courtship—one some might deem a little unorthodox (or, in the words of certain monsters—undignified). Then again, it takes a fool (or two) to underestimate the duplicity of a Tale-verse monster. After all, isn’t it always the ones you least expect?

Tags: Non-explicit sexual content (this chapter), flirting, teasing, unconventional courtship

Warnings: Nothing serious, but this may come across as a sort of “cheating” (though no one is in an established relationship). Everything is consensual however, and the rivalry is in good-spirits (for the most part). But... they are assholes. I’m not even going to try and deny it.

Just two chapters for this one! It was meant to be a one-shot, but I went completely overboard with the “courtship”. (I would also like to apologise to anyone waiting on the next chapter of Argent Night. Unfortunately, I’ve been a bit swamped with uni stuff, so I’ve had to delay the update. I’m hoping to get the next chapter out by next weekend.)

With that all out of the way, I hope you enjoy!

~Beneath the cut~

When the Barrier had broken, and monsters had reached the Surface, it had soon become apparent that certain members of their race were more suited to life among humans than others. While many monsters settled comfortably into their new lifestyle, some found themselves struggling to adapt to the everyday norms of human society.

“Public transport? What a concept! Why on earth would I travel out in the open where anyone could attack me without warning?”

These more ill-fitted monsters were dubbed ‘Fell-verse’ by the gentler portion of their cohort, given the widespread notion that they were merely ‘fallen’ versions of the average monster.

Naturally, the Fell-verse monsters were not pleased with this distinction, and chose to name the softer members of their species ‘Tale-verse’—as an act of petty revenge (in their own eyes, at least).

“Utter airheads, the lot of them! Waltzing around as if life is some sort of fairy-tale.”

But despite a few initial disagreements, the Tale-verse and Fell-verse monsters soon came to develop a sort of fondness of each other (though neither would ever admit it openly). Though they still butted heads occasionally, their fascination with each other took over many early misgivings.

Compassion, joy, and zest were all fairly foreign concepts to many Fell-verse monsters. So it came as quite a shock to them when the Tale-verse monsters displayed such things so openly. Words like ‘naivety’, ‘absent-mindedness’, and even ‘stupidity’ were thrown around by some. Others, however, found themselves quite enthralled by the sweeter monsters, and many Fell-verse monsters were soon to be seen wandering the streets in the company of Tale-verse monsters.

And indeed, the Fell monsters weren’t the only ones intrigued by their counterparts. Many Tale-verse monsters derived amusement from the brash behaviour of Fell-verse monsters. More than once, a Tale-verse monster would have to explain the common social etiquettes of human society to a Fell-verse monster.

“He wasn’t trying to kill you, he was just offering you a drink.”

And, as time took its course, the question of Tale-verse and Fell-verse monsters entering ‘intimate relationships’ with each other arose. At first, the mere suggestion was met with utter indignance.

On the Tale-verse end, one often heard comments such as: “Utterly absurd! Can you imagine actually trying to tame one of those creatures long enough to have relations with it? I, for one, am content to let them ravage each other instead of those of us with a little dignity!”

And, on the Fell-verse side of things: “yeah, i guess i’d fuck a—heh—tail-verse or two. but, like, do they even know what they’re doin’? … do they know what fuckin’ is?”

Yet for all the doubts and naysaying, nature inevitably took its course, and soon, relationships between Fell-verse and Tale-verse monsters came to be—rare, though they were.

It soon came to the attention of the Tale-verse monsters however, that their Fell-verse counterparts had a fairly… abnormal method of courtship. Many seemed to lack the charisma acquired to ‘woo’ the Tale-verse monsters—a fact they made up for in blunt, unashamed forwardness. And though this approach had its benefits (most Fell monsters weren’t overly fond of small-talk), its success rate was fairly laughable. As it turned out, Tale-verse monsters tended to expect a little more decorum from their suitors.

Another trait which seemed prominent among Fell-verse monsters, was the (sometimes mildly aggressive) tendency towards competitiveness. And in the case of seduction, this often led to the unabashed art of bragging of one’s conquests. It soon became a point of pride, for one to be able to say that they had been intimate with a Tale-verse monster. After all, what sort of social prowess must one possess to be able to seduce such an enigmatic creature?

 Twist, a skeleton monster (and one of very few, at that), could make no claim to possessing any degree of subtlety or finesse when faced with social encounters. What he didn’t lack however—was confidence. While he’d never been one to brag (at least, not explicitly), his list of Tale-verse conquests was to be admired. Whether it was his words or his reputation—few could be sure—but Twist seemed to possess a knack for charming his way into the beds of Tale-verse monsters.

Cash, another Fell-verse skeleton, could make similar proclamations about his sex-life—and he did. Though a little shy of Twist’s level of confidence, Cash was a very proud monster, and took great strides to ensure the word of his prowess spread as far as was possible. Though he lacked Twist’s charm (and for Twist, ‘charm’ was probably a generous descriptor), he certainly had no shortage of affluence. When his wits failed him, he always had his wealth to fall back on (and it served him well).

But, as it stood, neither Twist nor Cash were quite satisfied with the list of successful Tale-verse endeavours to their names. There was one they would have liked to add—a monster they’d both had in interest in for quite some time.

Rus was a Tale-verse skeleton—and a rather fascinating one at that (in the shared opinion of Twist and Cash, in any case). Though Tale-verse through and through, Rus was rather a curiosity for the two Fell skeletons. He smiled—a lot—yet there was something behind his smile that left the mind wondering. The smile was by no means false, but it held a certain degree of ambiguity, which stirred an element of uncertainty—and intrigue—in the Fell-verse skeletons.

Being of the same ilk, Twist and Cash saw in each other a competitor for Rus’s affections. While both had yet to make a move on him, the tension between them had been present for a long time. And it was on a warm Friday night—at one of the skeletons’ weekly gatherings—that these tensions rose to a head.

****

Twist was a monster who made it his mission to spend as much time in public as his schedule allowed. So when the Tale-verse skeletons had proposed a weekly ‘pub night’—a visit to their neighbourhood’s local watering hole—Twist had been one of the first to speak up in favour of the idea (in spite of many of the other Fell-verse skeletons’ protests to the ‘Tale-verse nonsense’). And once the tradition had begun, Twist had become one of the few (if not the only) to attend every single gathering.

And this week was no different. He sat at the bar, sipping his drink and observing the other patrons (monsters and humans alike) chatting and laughing away. It was a relatively quiet night, and only a few of the skeletons had deigned to show up. Rus and Cash were both in attendance, and as it stood—very much occupied by each other.

Twist watched, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, as Cash made his very best effort to hold Rus’s attentions. They were seated in a booth along with two of the other skeletons—Red, and Blackberry (Twist’s brother). But neither Rus nor Cash were paying much heed to the other two, sitting a little closer to each other than was perhaps necessary for an ordinary conversation.

But Twist knew it would be a while still before Cash was ready to make his move. The set of his shoulders was tense and anxious, and he barely seemed able to maintain eye contact with Rus for more than a few seconds. Twist would have been more than eager to indulge himself in the entertaining activity of watching Cash squander each passing opportunity to seduce Rus for the entire night—but, Twist wasn’t known for his patience, so after downing the remainder of his drink, he stood and crossed the bar.

As he approached the booth, Rus and Cash both looked up (the latter appearing a little less than pleased at the intrusion). “Heya, Tale-verse,” Twist addressed Rus, grinning.

“twisted,” Rus greeted in response.

Cash was giving Twist an apathetic glare, and Twist lifted a challenging brow-bone before returning his attentions to Rus. “Y’know, ‘m feelin’ a little pent up—ya wanna head back ta my place fer a couple a’ hours?”

Twist knew he was taking a risk; though this very direct method of enticement had worked in the past, Rus was difficult to read. Cash, on the other hand, made no effort to hide his bewilderment. “for goodness sake, twist, ya can’t just—”

“sure,” Rus responded, standing. Cash blinked, clearly stunned (in truth, Twist couldn’t claim to be any less surprised, but he refrained from revealing as much). Rus shot Cash a smile. “i’ll see you later, moneybags.”

Cash seemed to be struggling to find words, looking crestfallen as Twist slung an arm over Rus’s shoulders, pulling him against his side. “Don’ worry, Patches, I’ll take good care a’ him,” Twist said, knowing full well that the nickname embarrassed Cash to no end.

True to his nature, Cash blushed a pale shade of violet, ducking his head and turning his covered eye away. Twist chuckled, and pressed his teeth to the crown of Rus’s skull. “Ready ta head off then, sweetheart? I’m as good as they say, promise,” he added, with a wink.

“oh, i don’t doubt it,” Rus said. “and if you prove to be better—maybe i’ll even consider fucking you again.” Twist took no small amount of delight in the smug grin he was able to cast in Cash’s direction as he led Rus from the bar.

Needless to say, he’d won.

 And, as it turned out, Rus was just as profound a partner as Twist had been hoping (more so, even). His stamina was surprising for someone of his HP, and he made very little effort to keep himself quiet (which Twist appreciated immensely). He was also astoundingly more attentive than Twist had been expecting—leaving Twist more satisfied than he could have hoped for.

As they lay beside each other on Twist’s mattress, Twist couldn’t help but grin to himself. “Gotta say, Tale-verse, I’m impressed,” he said, a little breathlessly.

“i’d be offended if you weren’t,” Rus replied, smirking. He rolled over, pressing himself against Twist’s side and resting his head on his shoulder. “you weren’t half bad yourself.”

Twist was somewhat startled by the gentle display of affection—and had to remind himself for a moment that Rus was a Tale-verse monster. Well, though unfamiliar, it certainly wasn’t anything Twist was opposed to. After a moment’s hesitation, he returned the gesture, wrapping an arm around Rus. It felt… nice.

The pleasant haze of their afterglow was broken by the dull buzz of Rus’s cell phone. Casting Twist a sheepish grin, he untangled himself from his arms, turning over and answering the call. “heya, cash. what’s up?”

Twist froze in disbelief. Why would Patches be calling now…?

“what am i doing…?” Rus turned to cast Twist a wink. “something unfathomably stupid.” Twist stifled a snort, but watched Rus carefully. There was no chance Cash was simply calling for a friendly chat; his motivations were undoubtedly less than honest. “hmm, your place?” Rus’s response to whatever Cash had said confirmed Twist’s suspicions. “tell you what—why don’t you give me an hour? that work?” Rus stifled a snort, his gaze flickering to Twist. “yeah, i’ll shower first, you asshole. see you soon.”

For a moment, Twist had to remind himself not to gape. He stared at Rus as he hung up, struggling to hide his bewilderment. “Yer… meetin’ up with Patches?” he asked cautiously, ensuring he hadn’t misunderstood the phone call.

Rus flushed slightly, but smiled, his eyes darting away from Twist. “yeah… something wrong with that?”

Twist blinked, trying to comprehend the situation. While Cash’s intrusion was not unexpected—Rus’s agreement to his offer certainly was. Still, Twist wasn’t one to back down so easily—though he couldn’t stop Rus from engaging with Cash tonight… he could certainly delay him. “We still go ‘n hour, don’ we?”

Rus shrugged. “i suppose.”

“Good.” Grinning, Twist rolled them over, straddling Rus’s hips. He leaned down, kissing the surprised look off Rus’s face. “’Cause I’ve got a few more things I’d like ta do ta ya before ya go.”

Twist considered it a victory that Rus didn’t have time to shower before he left.

 Twist made sure to awake before sunrise the next morning. His bones ached pleasantly from the previous night’s activities, and his magic felt considerably warm and settled. After a quick breakfast, he made his way to the nearest bus stop. He was at Cash’s house before seven. Not bothering to ring the bell of the ridiculously pricy penthouse, Twist waltzed inside—noting that Cash seemed to have forgotten to lock the front door. He certainly must have been eager.

To Twist’s surprise, Rus was sprawled out on one of the lavish sofas in the living room, fast asleep. Cash was nowhere in sight. Shooting a cautious glance at the staircase, Twist approached Rus, placing a light hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Tale-verse,” he whispered, as Rus blearily opened his eye sockets. He blinked at Twist in surprise, a hint of amusement in his features.

“twisted… couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rus murmured through a yawn.

“Nah.” Twist grinned, climbing onto the sofa beside Rus. “Patches made ya sleep on the couch?” he questioned, lifting a brow bone.

“who says we were sleeping?” Rus asked, smirking.

Twist chuckled, leaning in. “Wanna not sleep some more?”

Rus snorted. “you sure have a way with words, twisted. do you want me to suck you off or eat you out?”

Twist grinned, feeling victorious. Leaning in, he pressed their teeth together, satisfied by Rus’s soft hum of appreciation. “How ‘bout both?” he murmured, nipping at Rus’s jaw.

Rus drew away to regard him with dubiety. “now you’re just being greedy.”

“Why waste a mouth as exquisite as yers on jus’ one form of oral?”

“well now, how can i say no to such a sweet-talker?”

Twist couldn’t decide if he was more satisfied by Rus’s performance, or the look on Cash’s face when he emerged at the top of the stairs to find Rus with his head between Twist’s legs.

 A week passed without incident (sexual or otherwise), and it wasn’t until the skeletons’ next gathering that Twist saw Rus and Cash again. The day was hot, and Twist was thankful for the cool air-conditioning inside the bar. What he was not so thankful for however, was the sight of Cash and Rus huddled beside each other in one of the corner booths.

By all appearances, things seemed fairly normal (but, perhaps, for their proximity to each other). But as Twist drew closer, he came to notice a rather strange expression on Rus’s face. He looked almost pained, and light beads of sweat dotted his skull. It was only when Twist caught Cash’s expression—an almost vindictive grin—that he realised something more was at play.

Any other monster would have shied away the moment they caught whim of what was going on between the two skeletons—but Twist wasn’t just any monster. Shame was something relatively foreign to him, and without qualm, he sat down beside them, shooting Cash a broad grin. “Heya, Tale-verse—Patches—what’re ya up to?”

Rus’s eyes went wide, a heavy blush sinking into his features. But when he opened his mouth to speak, Cash cut in, leaning over to regard Twist with a challenging tilt of his head. “not much. i was just givin’ rus a hand with somethin’. isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Rus blushed deeper as Cash’s teeth grazed his neck, but he nodded (a little breathlessly), remaining silent.

Twist observed them, projecting unfazed amusement despite the frustration Cash was igniting within him. “Well,” he said, shrugging with casual indifference and leaning back, “don’ stop on my account.”

“we weren’t,” Cash growled, and Rus whimpered softly, turning to bury his face in Cash’s chest. But Cash stopped him, holding him at bay with his free hand (the other was currently… occupied). “nah, love. i want ya ta look at him. go on. turn around.”

Rus stared at Cash for a few seconds, tears leaking from the corners of his eye sockets, before turning hesitantly to look at Twist. Cash pressed his teeth to Rus’s acoustic meatus, whispering something too quiet for Twist to hear. But given the sudden heated look that crossed Rus’s features—it wasn’t difficult to guess the nature of Cash’s words.

Twist knew walking away would be admitting defeat, but he still felt thoroughly put on the spot. Embarrassment wasn’t really an emotion he was familiar with, yet he could feel magic tingling beneath the surface of his bones. Rus’s expression was an enticing mixture of bliss and discomposure, his eyes straying from Twist’s face, and his cheeks glowing. Though Twist would normally be more than inclined to enjoy the display, Cash’s complacent smirk was very off-putting.

He relinquished to sit and watch, forcing his features to appear neutral, until at last Cash pressed his hand over Rus’s mouth to muffle his cries, and pulled away. “you were perfect, darlin’,” Cash murmured, running his tongue over Rus’s neck, while keeping his gaze firmly locked on Twist. “gonna go wash my hands,” he said, sliding out of the booth and casting Twist a triumphant smirk. “don’t worry, love, i took good care of ‘im.”

Twist watched Cash go, pressing back the retorts he itched to speak. When Cash was out of sight, Twist turned to Rus, who still looked a little flushed. Shuffling over, Twist traced his fingers over the back of Rus’s hand playfully, leaning in to murmur, “Need me ta take ya home, Tale-verse? I can give y’a ride.”

Rus glanced at him, lifting a brow-bone. “you don’t drive,” he pointed out.

“Not that kinda ride, sweetheart.”

By some miracle, Rus agreed. Twist was more than obliged to continue his rivalry with Cash—indeed, he was rather delighted. The competition was thrilling—seeing the mix of outrage and frustration on Cash’s face every time Twist gained the upper hand was immensely satisfying. Not to mention, Rus was a damn good fuck.

****

Cash had never been one for socialising. He tended to avoid human (and monster) interaction as much as physically possible, and spending time in the presence of crowds was a peeve of his. He had been one of the first to reject the bullshit Tale-verse suggestion for a ‘weekly hang-out’. In fact, the first time he had attended had only been at Twist’s unrelenting insistence.

He had attended every one since.

Cash liked Rus. He liked talking to him, being around him, touching him. He was all sweet smiles and soft whispers and subtle glances that made Cash feel wanted. So on that warm Friday night, Cash’s soul had leapt a little when Rus had chosen to sit beside him. Him—and not that Twisted asshole who kept shooting them glances from across the bar. Cash made sure to establish the fact that Rus’s attentions were his for the night. He shuffled close to him, leaned in, and did his best to smile and engage.

But for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to get the right words out—hell, he could barely look at Rus without blushing. And before long, Twist was standing beside their booth, his body angled in such a way that flaunted the sharp curve of his hip and displayed just a sliver of his clavicle. His eyes were on Rus, but Cash caught the brief smug glances in his direction.

When Rus left with Twist, it felt as if a dagger had embedded itself in Cash’s chest. His fists trembled at his sides, and he could do little but stare at the hard oak of the table as his magic boiled. He caught a glimpse of Blackberry’s smug half-smile across the table, and snapped his head up, teeth gritted. “somethin’ to say, berry?”

Blackberry sighed, sounding almost pitying. “You’re not going to win against him, Cash,” he stated simply.

Irritated, Cash cast a glance at Red, who merely shrugged in concession. “yeah, uh, sorry bud. the twisted’s got ya beat by a mile an’ a half.”

Cash stared at both of them for half a minute before standing abruptly, marching for the door without so much as a ‘goodbye’. He seldom bothered mustering the energy for petty competitions—but Twist somehow seemed to know just which of his buttons to push, and Cash was nothing if not stubborn. He would not be losing this.

 Relief flooded Cash when Rus picked up on the other end of the line around an hour later (a very small part of him entertained the idea that Rus had been hoping Cash would call). And Rus’s unfaltering agreement to come over sent Cash’s soul aflutter. He couldn’t help but grin to himself as he hung up, wishing more than anything that he could see the look on the Twisted bastard’s face.

When Rus arrived an hour later, he was looking a little dishevelled. “you smell like sex,” Cash remarked, letting him in.

Rus hummed in agreement, crossing the room and flopping onto one of the plush sofas. “uh… yeah. that’s normally what happens when you have sex.” Cash felt a sick pit settling in his chest, and he grimaced. Seeming to sense his discomfort, Rus quickly shook his head, smiling. “but… feel free to try and prove me wrong.” His tongue danced over his teeth, and Cash felt warmth pooling in his groin.

After pouring them both a glass of his most expensive champagne, he sat beside Rus, who seemed more than grateful for the drink. “are you trying to get me drunk, cash?” he asked, lifting a brow-bone in teasing.

“i’m trying to give you the treatment you deserve,” Cash told him, smoothly. His breath stuttered as Rus’s hand glided slowly up his femur, settling just beneath his pelvic inlet.

“fuck me on this sofa, and i’ll consider myself treated,” Rus purred, pressing his teeth against Cash’s neck. Though Cash normally turn his nose up at the thought of sullying his pristine couches—he decided to make an exception for Rus.

And oh, was he glad he did. Though fucking Rus was sweet and gentle, it was nothing like Cash had imagined it to be. Though Rus was soft and considerate—he was by no means submissive. Even as Cash pounded into him, he could feel Rus guiding his movements, encouraging him, whispering words of praise and adoration.

When Cash came, it was with tears in his eyes, and Rus’s name falling from his mouth. He flushed at how embarrassingly quickly he had reached his climax, but Rus seemed unconcerned, almost immediately curling up against him and falling asleep.

A little startled at the unreserved display of trust, Cash carefully pried himself out of Rus’s arms, gathering a blanket and draping it over him before hurrying upstairs, his cheeks burning. A small bloom of pride unfurled inside him—where Rus had only remained with Twist for a mere hour, he had chosen to stay with Cash for an entire night (even if he was only sleeping on his sofa). Cash almost considered joining him, but decided against it, the thought a little daunting.

Needless to say, the fury and despair he felt at finding Twist in his living room the next morning with Rus’s face buried in his crotch—was unfathomable. Cash vowed nothing short of bitter revenge in return.

 A week later, he delivered on his promise.

The blistering heat of the day did nothing to quell the heady agitation of Cash’s magic, and he was more than grateful when he found Rus sitting in their usual booth alone at the bar. Sliding in beside him, he pushed his misgivings to the back of his mind, and slung his arm over Rus’s shoulders, leaning into him. “bit warm today, isn’ it?” he remarked, satisfied by the look of surprise on Rus’s face.

“i—i suppose it is,” Rus said, seeming a little taken off guard by the physical gesture. This delighted Cash, and he tugged Rus closer. He could feel the heat radiating from his body, and dared to indulge the idea that Rus might be just as horny as he was.

He turned his head to press his teeth to the angle of Rus’s jaw, feeling a shudder go through Rus as he scraped his teeth over the bone. “hmm… you smell delicious, y’know that?”

Rus’s breath hitched as Cash’s fingers found the waistband of his pants, teasing at the base of his spine and iliac crest. “i—the others might be here soon,” he murmured, his breathing beginning to quicken.

“do you want me ta stop?” Cash asked, pausing.

“i don’t… n-no.”

“good,” Cash breathed, his fingers finding the pool of magic which had settled at Rus’s pelvic inlet. “because i really don’t want ta stop… and besides, pretty sure the twisted asshole is the only one showin’ up today.”

Rus pulled away slightly to glance at him, a brow-bone lifted in skeptical amusement. Cash flushed a little, suddenly wishing he hadn’t spoken. But to his surprise, Rus only grinned and leaned close to whisper, “well then, we’d better put on a damn good show.”

By the time Twist arrived, Rus was barely short of a mess of sweat and magic in Cash’s hands (or, hand, rather). The sudden expansion of Twist’s eye-light didn’t surprise Cash, and he smirked as he caught Twist’s gaze. He was a little surprised when Twist sat down beside them—even more so when he remained where he was after it became obvious that Cash wasn’t stopping.

Cash heaved Rus closer, wrapping his free arm around his chest possessively, and whispering obscene words against his skull. Throughout the encounter, he refused to release Twist’s gaze—the bastard needed to learn that Cash wasn’t one to accept defeat so easily. For once, Cash found himself struggling to read Twist’s expression. His eye would occasionally stray to Rus’s face, but for the most part, he seemed to be having difficulty keeping it off Cash.

When Rus came, Cash pressed his hand over his mouth to silence him, despite the rowdy chatter that filled the bar. He allowed Rus barely a moment to catch his breath before leaning in to smooth his tongue over Rus’s neck. “you were perfect, darlin’,” he breathed, softly, carefully gauging Twist’s response. To his disappointment, Twist appeared (for the most part) unaffected by the display, but for the pale flush of magic around the spiderweb cracks of his eye socket. Giving Rus’s femur a gentle squeeze, Cash stood. “gonna go wash my hands.” He glanced at Twist, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “don’t worry, love, i took good care of ‘im.”

As he walked away, Cash preened at the way Twist’s jaw clenched—just a little. Though he knew this competition of theirs was far from over, he couldn’t help but revel in his small victory. While he was more than enjoying the pleasure of Rus’s company, he was beginning to find himself quite thrilled by Twist’s small slips in composure. The idea of seeing him fall apart completely was… more than intriguing.

****

The feud between Twist and Cash continued for weeks. With Rus as their weapon of choice, they tormented each other to no end—going so far as to interrupt one another in the midst of their ‘revenge schemes’. One positive at least, was that Rus seemed to have no complaints in regards to the arrangement. If he had any reservations about his role in Twist and Cash’s rivalry, he made no mention of them. Truth be told, he appeared a rather enthusiastic participant.

But, one Friday night at the bar, their antics were brought to a rather abrupt end.

Twist’s hand had somehow found its way up the back of Rus’s shirt, and he had his fingers curled around Rus’s spine—a predicament Rus seemed quite satisfied with. Particularly when coupled with the feeling of Cash’s sharp fingers on his ribs. The look on his face was something akin to deep bliss—though the same could not be said for Twist and Cash. Over Rus, they shared a piercing glare, each determined to outdo the other.

It was only when Edge (who had been observing the endeavour in silent distaste after being quite forgotten by the other three skeletons) loudly declared, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Rus—would you just pick one of them?”—that Twist, Cash, and Rus all came to a simultaneous halt, looking up at Edge in surprise.

Immediately, Twist and Cash exchanged a frantic glance. In the midst of all their attempts to best each other, not once had it occurred to them to simply ask Rus which of them he preferred. And suddenly, all attention was on the Tale-verse skeleton, who faltered beneath the gazes of the other three. “w-well…” he stammered, averting his gaze.

“… well?” Cash was quite literally sitting on the edge of his seat, his fingers clenched around the corner of the table. “which of us is it?”

Rus shook his head, releasing a quiet, humourless laugh. “look—it’s not that easy. i—”

“C’mon, Patches,” Twist interjected, shooting Cash a dubious grin. “It’s obviously me. Ya can’ even last more than a couple a’ minutes.”

Fuming, Cash opened his mouth to snap back at Twist—but Edge quickly cut in, sighing. “Aggrandising your own sexual prowess isn’t going to achieve anything, Twist,” he said, sharply, silencing Twist. “It’s precisely how the two of you landed yourselves in this dilemma in the first place… Rus?” Something unspoken seemed to pass between Rus and Edge—an understanding beyond what Twist or Cash had the capacity to comprehend in that moment.

Rus glanced between Twist and Cash anxiously, resting a hand on each of their arms. But their surprise at the unexpected gentle contact was nothing compared to when Rus quietly confessed, “i… i want both of you.”

[yzafre]

when you find me free-falling (out of the sky) Interlude 1

AO3

<< First  |  < Previous

Donald loved his Flight.

They’d come a long way since they started, from poor workers to part of the guard to high-ranking officers.  Mickey even married Queen Minnie to become King! There couldn’t be a better King, truly, and he was proud to be bonded to two of the best men in existence.

So yes, Donald loved his Flight, but sometimes they made him want to pull all his feathers out.

Case in point, when he entered the throne room one morning to find it completely empty save for Pluto and a letter, he could already feel the stress headache building.  Once he actually got to the contents it’s fair to say he loses his head for a bit.

Who could blame him, though?  Yes, the situation Mickey’s chasing down was important – but there were procedures for this!  There were least five meetings that would have to be rescheduled this week alone, delegation of duties that would have to be filled out, not to mention the social instability if it got out that the King disappeared!  This could have all been dealt with if Mickey had given them fair warning and an hour to get things together; but, no, he had to run off at the drop of the hat like he was a teenager all over again, and now he was out there on his own with no backup and - !

Needless to say, by the time he reached Goofy he had both a pounding headache and a burning desire to strangle their third.

Their captain of the guard was napping in the garden instead of tending to his duties.  Of course he was, why would he be doing something productive right now?  Donald takes the opportunity to vent some of his frustration, casting a crackling thunderbolt to wake the dog up.  Now, just to explain the situation, and hopefully they’d be able to resolve this quietly, without anything getting out, and –

The ladies were right behind him.  Dagnabbit.

  Donald and Daisy met through Mickey and Minnie.  How else would they have met?  If Mickey hadn’t fallen into favor with Minnie, Donald’s section of the guard would have only ever seen the Lady Daisy in passing.  When the mice got together, however, Mickey brought his Flight and Minnie brought Daisy.

The two ladies had yet to find their third, but held tight together anyways.  Daisy was a bit abrasive for the traditional court, outspoken and upfront (part of why Donald liked her so much), but she matched well with Minnie, who was quiet but with a hidden spine of steel.

Around those two, Donald’s flight could relax a bit more, lean into the more casual nature of their youth without having to constantly keep up decorum.  It was a relief for all, though for varying reasons.

Still, the two sides came from vastly different backgrounds, and sometimes it showed.

“Oh dear, what could this mean?” Daisy asked, fluttering by the Queen’s shoulder as they read over the letter.

After a moment the Queen closed her eyes, folding the letter with careful hands and smile.

“It means,” Minnie responded with a deep breath, “We’ll just have to trust the king.”

Donald cast her a deeply skeptical look but managed to hold back his opinion on that bit of commentary out of respect.  Minnie was a strong queen, and a good match for Mickey; she also hadn’t had to drag the mouse out of a hundred scrapes when he was a poor dock-worker with a sense of responsibility encompassing everyone and everying, and neither the power nor the authority to back it up.  The King had always had more good intentions then sense, though he hid it better these days.

Honestly, you’d think being married would have finally rid Mickey of this habit.

He reassured the Queen that he’d find their King and saluted the ladies proudly.  It was only as he turned to leave that he noticed his Flight-mate wasn’t following him.

“You’re coming too!”

Pull his feathers out, honestly.

  Goofy loved his Flight.

They’ve come a long way since they started, and all of it together.  Mickey’s strong urge to do right and Donald’s relentless stubbornness have gotten them far.  Goofy liked to think his own lightheartedness had kept them from veering too far off the path, as well.  At the end of the day, Goofy is bonded to two of the best men he knows.

So yes, Goofy loves his Flight, but sometimes he wishes they’d just slow down for a moment.

Between the library and the gummi hanger, Donald talked non-stop.  After he repeated himself for the third time, Goofy started to tune him out.  At that point, the duck’s mostly doing it for his own sake, anyways.

While Goofy was disappointed – and, perhaps, a bit annoyed – that Mickey ran off towards danger on his own, he wasn’t really surprised, either.   Whether guided by curiosity or righteousness, Mickey’s always had a spot of impulsive restlessness to him that prevented him from standing still.

He had a good heart, though.  Now it was time for the two of them to follow that heart into the trouble it’s found.

As they reach the last hall before the hanger, he tuned back into Donald’s review of the rules, regulations, and requirements of inter-world travel.

“Right,” he nodded, “We’ve gotta protect the world border.”

“Order!” Donald corrected.

“Right, order,” he muttered as they climb into the ship.  It had been a while since they’d been on a road trip – despite the danger, this could be fun for them.

Next >

[wearesuchstuff1]

There is a Time, There is a Place

Read on AO3

As always I have to thank the amazing @rxbxlcaptain who edited this for me.

This fic was inspired by this post.

The two men stand across the room from each other, the tactical table between them.  There are others in the room, but at the moment the furious energy sparking across the table makes the various commanders, generals, and extraneous personnel stationed around the perimeter all but invisible.  Many of them certainly wish they were.  

 While the men argue and accuse, two smaller figures watch each other from across the table.  Both dark haired and fair skinned they listen to their adoptive fathers with sharp, curious eyes.  They watch each other with that same curiosity.

 They have little enough in common.  They come - literally and figuratively - from different worlds, their clothing and hairstyles proof enough of that.  One is dressed in soft pants, combat boots, and a dark jacket, with two messy braids holding both hair and memories.  The other wears a soft, white gown, her hair pulled up into two pristine buns just above her temples.  Their temperaments are different too, manifested in the way the girls hold themselves.  The elder leans forward on the balls of her feet, ready for action, a knife strapped to her side.  The younger surveys the room with a poise rarely seen in those even twice her age.  And yet the two young women are far more similar than either could comprehend in that moment.  

 After all, they are both here.

 Saw Gerrera, ever passionate, flings words like grenades.  Jyn Erso is used to this passion.  She sees it in everything her adoptive father does, from the way he fights to the way he trains her to the way he tucks her in at night - stories of the horrors of the Empire replacing the tales her mother had once told her.

 Gerrera’s passion is equally matched by Senator Organa.  He has seen too many he cared for die at the hands of the Empire to allow the Alliance to, as he puts, <em>sink so low</em>.  If the fervor displayed by the Senator surprises Leia Organa it does not show on the nine-year-old’s face.  This is not her first diplomatic meeting, nor will it be her last.

 One last figure stands at the edge of the tactical table, watching, ever-quiet.  She speaks now, her calm voice ringing with enough authority to silence even these two impassioned men.  

 “Tempers have run hot,” Mon Mothma says.  “I believe it would be wise to take a break before we say what cannot be unsaid.”

 The matter is not finished.  Everyone knows that.  But heads are inclined and a breath is released and the room begins to clear.  

 “Jyn.” Saw’s hand is heavy on her shoulder and his voice is quiet.  “My child, go, speak to the young princess.  See what you can learn of her father’s plans.”

 “You want me to spy on our friends?” the girl asks.

 “Those unwilling to do what it takes to defeat the Empire are no friends of ours.  Remember that, Jyn.”     

 It warms what is left of Saw’s heart to see the way, even at eleven, Jyn sets her shoulders and lifts her chin.  She is strong, and he knows she will need that strength.  

 Her father is speaking with Mon Mothma and Leia surveys the room quietly.  She catalogs who speaks with whom, who laughs aloud and who keeps their voice low, and who has left the room completely.  She watches the other girl speak with Gerrera, then approach her.  The older girl is taller, but her clothes are ripped and muddied.  Leia offers her a gentle smile.  Her aunts would be proud.  

 “Hello,” she offers.

 “Your father’s wrong, you know,” Jyn responds.  Leia doubts this girl has aunts to teach her proper diplomatic decorum.  

 “How so?”

 “The Empire will kill every one of us if they’re given the chance,” the girl defends.  She is told these words before every battle. “They’d destroy entire planets to kill us if they could.”  

 Leia nods. She does not doubt it.  “Then let us then be thankful such technology does not exist.”

 Jyn bristles.  She has seen the Empire destroy people.  They don’t need that sort of technology.  All they needed to kill her mother was a blaster.  Given the chance, all Jyn would need to kill the man in white who took her mother and father from her would be her bare hands.  

 “But don’t you see?  They would kill us if they could.  We must kill them before they are given the chance.  Doesn’t your father understand?”

 Leia raises her chin but her eyes spark with a defiance and fight that even her aunts have not been able to douse.  Her father saw the same spark when she had demanded to join him on the mission to the Rebel Base.  

 “Of course we do.  But my father and I also believe that the torturing of prisoners for information and the murder of innocent civilians makes us no better than those we fight against.”

 “You’re wrong,” Jyn bites, pushing away the thought that in some other time, in some other life, she and Leia might have been friends.  “It doesn���t make us better.  It makes us dead.”

 She turns on her heel and marches out of the room in search of Saw, having no way of knowing that as her angry back retreats the young princess is watching her, having the same thought that Jyn herself just had.  Leia imagines that perhaps the day when she and Jyn can be friends remains ahead of them.  Leia, as always, has hope.    

Jyn storms out of the War Room, a force of nature as always.  Saw is nowhere to be seen so she picks a direction, turning away from the few huddled groups of ranking officers and heading instead down a quiet corridor that hugs the War Room’s outer wall.  The first door she comes to is locked with a keypad, as is the second.  The third has no keypad in sight and opens with a tug.  The door reveals nothing but a supply closet.  Only shelves and crates.  Well, Jyn notes with surprise as the door clicks shut behind her.  Only shelves and crates and a boy.

 He’s a young man, really.  He sits on a box with one leg drawn up next to him, but even sitting Jyn can see that he would tower above her.  His hair hangs into his eyes and the shadowy beginnings of a beard show on his cheeks.  He regards her with a mixture of shock and confusion.  

 “Who are you?”  Jyn demands.  The boy raises an eyebrow at her.

 “I’m Lieutenant Cassian Andor, who are you?”

 “Are you spying on us, Cassian?”  Jyn has always preferred to skip right to the point of a conversation.  It always used to make her papa laugh.  

 “What?  No.” The boy - Cassian - is a good liar, Jyn notes.  He has been trained.  His eyes stay focused on hers, his fingers don’t fidget.  But Jyn has been trained, too, and she hears the way his words trip a bit too quickly from his tongue.  

 “Why else would you be sitting in a supply closet next to the War Room?”

 “Look, little girl, I don’t -”

 “I’m not a little girl,” Jyn interrupts, voice indigent.  It’s the not first time she’s been judged for her size and age.  But usually, after a good beating or two in the training field, most of the Partisans stop making that mistake.  She had been her papa’s ‘little girl’.  She would be no one else's.  “I could kill you with just my hands, you know.”

 Cassian - who has not yet had the misfortune of feeling Jyn’s stinging blows - simply laughs.  

 “I’d like to see you try.  I’ve been fighting people much bigger than you since I was six.”  While Jyn may like the way Cassian’s accent colors his words she has to scoff.  She’s already killed ‘troopers more than double his age.

 “You’re here with Saw Gerrera, aren’t you?  For the meeting?” Cassian asks, changing the subject.    

 “The one you’re spying on, yes.”

 Cassian’s eyes flash.  Someday this little girl is going to get him into trouble.  He’s sure of it.  “I’m not spying.  Draven said I couldn’t be in the room.  He didn’t say I couldn’t listen.  Besides, there are parts in here I need for a droid I’ve reprogrammed.  He’s functional but he still has a few glitches.”

 “Droids annoy me.  Who’s Draven?”  Jyn asked, wandering over to a nearby crate and perching on it, looking curiously at Cassian.  She can only assume this Draven was one of the many pairs of eyes watching Saw and Senator Organa’s argument.  Perhaps he was Cassian’s mentor. Jyn didn’t get the feeling she would like him much.

 A distinct note of pride entered Cassian’s voice.  “Commander Draven.  He’s an intelligence officer.  He recruited me.”  

 “When?”

 “When I was younger than you.”  This statement is accompanied by a raised eyebrow.  It isn’t that Cassian is happy to have been a soldier at such a young age - although it does give him authority over the other kids on the base.  He had much rather have spent the time growing up with his parents and his sister.  But they were lost to him a long time ago and the Rebellion has given him a home and a cause to fight for and he is proud to do his part.  And if he cannot close his eyes some nights for fear that he will be haunted by those whose lives have been sacrificed - either by his hands or another’s - for the sake of this war, well then that is a price he must pay.  Besides, he reminds himself, he’s sure it will get easier as he grows up.  Someday he’ll be strong, just like Draven, and the deaths - his family’s, his friend’s, and even his enemy’s - won’t bother him then.   

 “You don’t know how old I am.”  The girl’s chin is raised, her shoulders set.  Cassian is sure this is a well-practiced look for her.  Despite her strength he can still see the hurt in her young eyes.  That too, he knows, will fade with time.  

 “11, 12?”

 Jyn’s scowl deepens.  She hadn’t thought he would guess.  She feels as though she should be fifty for all she has seen and done in her young life.  “I’m 11.  But I could still kill you with just my hands.  How old are you?”

 “16.”

 “If I’d been fighting since I was six I would have killed them all by now,” Jyn scoffs.  “The empire, the man in white.  Everyone who-” she stops herself, her young eyes going wide at the words that had almost tumbled their way out of her mouth.

 “Who what?”

 The light is dim in the supply room, but when Jyn meets Cassian’s eyes she can see sympathy there.  She pushes away thoughts of blaster fire and her mother’s limp body held in her father’s arms.  She pushes away memories of the dark, underground room and her lamp, threatening with every flicker to plunge her into eternal darkness.  Most of all she pushes away the burning, all consuming hatred for the man in white who had taken her life from her.  Saw fanned that hatred, nurtured it, loved it, but it scared Jyn in a way she did not want to admit, even to herself.  But Saw’s words rang in her mind, ever present, a lifeline to which she clung when the darkness and pain threatened to swallow her whole.  <em>We must destroy them, Jyn.  It is the only way to find peace - for the galaxy and for yourself.</em>    

 “Everyone who took my parents away.”

 It almost shocked Cassian, how much this little girl’s words hurt him.  But why should it surprise him?  War created orphans all the time.  Hell, he created orphans with just a shot from his blaster.  No, it should not surprise him that this child had lost her parents to the Empire.  

 Nor should it surprise him that she wanted revenge.  After all, when Dravin had approached him with an offer to join the Rebellion he had jumped at the chance to continue the fight the Empire had already started when they killed his family.  Revenge had driven him for years, had honed his loyalty to Alliance, and had formed bonds he knew he could never walk away from.  But despite the commitment he dedicated to every aspect of his training, the thrill that had coursed through him when issued his own blaster, and the pride he had felt when assigned his first solo mission, he had slowly begun to realize that it didn't matter.  The eyes of the first person he killed still haunted his nightmares and not their death, nor any victory the Rebellion had scored since did anything to bring his family back to him.  He is loyal to the Alliance, more loyal than most, he suspects, but it doesn’t take away the pain, and it tares at Cassian’s heart to hear this young girl, somehow both hardened and naive - as he is now sure he once was - speak of her dead parents and the hope that her suffering could be erased by vengeance.  In all things but this Cassian knows the importance of hope - he has seen men live and die for nothing more - but this hope, he knows, will be lost to the girl, and it will destroy her.  Maybe it will destroy them both.    

 “That’s not how it works, little girl.  You can’t ever get back at them.  Not ever.  And by the time you finish trying they’ve taken something new from you.  And you can’t stop.  And it doesn’t ever end.”

 He watches her, wishing his words could get through to her but knowing she will not - cannot - give in.  She will hold on to hope for as long as she can, and his words will do nothing to stop her.  And when that hope is finally lost it will break her.  

 Instead of responding the girl’s eyes flick down to his arm where Cassian had managed to push the dull ache and wetness all but out of his mind.  

 “You’re bleeding.” Jyn narrows her eyes and watches the boy glance down at his arm where a bloody bandage peeked through a blaster-shot shaped hole in his jacket.  

 Cassian purses his lips.  He had gone to medbay as instructed and the droid had cleaned and wrapped his wound.  It isn’t that deep, so Cassian is surprised to see that he has bled through.  Maybe he shouldn’t have turned down the bacta the droid had offered.   

 “I just got back from a mission.”  Neither child seems too worried about the blood, and nothing could say more about their childhoods than that.

 “A successful one?”

 Cassian glances at the girl.  “I killed the target, if that’s what you consider a success.”

 Jyn’s confusion shows on her face.  “Of course it is.  One less of them, right?”

 “Four less of them, actually.”  A husband, a wife, and their two children.  They youngest had been his age.  They never saw him, lying on the neighboring roof, sniper rifle in hand.  He had contemplated for a full two minutes which to kill first.  In the end he started with the youngest.  He remembered what it was like to watch your parents die.    

 “All the better,” Jyn answered.

 Cassian watches her for a moment.  “Saw.  He trains his Partisans from a young age, right?”

 Jyn nods.  “He’s been training me since I was eight.  I’m the youngest.  And I’m going to be the best.”

 “And it doesn’t bother you?  What you have to do?  The people Saw has you kill?  The prisoners Saw tortures?”

 “Not if it gets me closer to finding my father.” Jyn’s look is fierce, but there is a shadow of uncertainty in her eyes, as if a part of her soul is crying out to be saved.  When she speaks again the words are not hers.  “We have to do everything we can to fight against the Empire.  They have to be destroyed.”

 Cassian gives her a tiny smile.  “On that point we agree, little girl.”

 He was not the only orphan of war raised by the Alliance, of course, and a few adult soldiers have raised their own children in the corridors of the Dantooine base, but this girl is different, he decides.  He could imagine, somehow, being willing to fight by her side for a cause they both believed in - after she grew a few more inches, of course.      

 With a sudden bang the door to the supply closet busts open.  The light from the hallway is obstructed by large figure and Saw leans heavily on his staff, his breathing labored and his face furious. Both children jump to their feet but Saw hardly spares a glance for Cassian before he turns to Jyn.

 “Child. Come. We are leaving this place. Forever.”

 “What happened?” Jyn asks.

 “They will not fight for the Rebellion.  They will not do what it takes.”  Rage emanates off Saw’s imposing figure and somehow both Jyn and Cassian know that the fate of the Rebellion will never be the same.  “You will never see these people again.”  With that Gerrera turns and storms out of the room.  Quickly Jyn moves to follow, but at the door she turns back.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you were defying orders,” she tells Cassian, her small hand on the doorframe.

 Cassian stands tall - she was right, he does tower above her - and clasps his hands behind his back.  Despite standing at attention, though, his deep brown eyes find Jyn’s.  “I don’t defy orders, little girl.  You defy orders and people get killed.  You should learn that.”

 Jyn holds Cassian’s gaze for a moment, then drops her head.  When she looks back up at him she is sad beyond her years.  He sees that she is in pain, sees that she is lost, and sees that she needs a home.  But it is not in his power to give her one.

 “People get killed even if you don’t defy orders, Cassian.  You should learn that.”   

 And with that Jyn Erso turns and walks out of Cassian Andor’s life.  Thoughts of Saw Gerrera’s green eyed girl rarely cross Cassian’s mind.  Like Gerrera said, they were never going to see each other again.  Cassian believes that, right up until the day he is called to the War Room by General Dravin and finds himself staring at a woman - a criminal with a traitor for a father - whose beautiful green eyes seem impossibly familiar and who glances at him with well concealed questions.  

 They try to place each other, try to figure each other out, but it isn’t until Jedha, when Cassian finds Jyn kneeling next to Gerrera, with tears in her beautiful eyes, that he remembers the little girl in the supply closet.  He pulls her out of the collapsing temple - away from the man who, despite everything he did to her, had been her father for so many years - and can do nothing but acknowledge the commands that come through from Draven, ordering him to kill the only other father Jyn has ever known.  He had been right; war created orphans all the time, and when he looks through the scope of his blaster, finding the man with Jyn’s green eyes, he thinks for a moment that he is no better than War itself.

 He is glad when he is able to prove them both wrong.

 He yells at her when they get on the ship.  Water dripping into his eyes, he pushes away the thought that this is the second time he has pulled her away from her dead father.  His pain and uncertainty manifest in shouted words thrown without a thought.  He defied orders.  He defied them for her.    

 She tells him he is no better than a Stormtrooper and he thinks that perhaps today is the first day in a long time that he actually is.

 Jyn’s eyes flash with fire when she storms out of the War Room.  Of course they hadn’t believed her.  The risk is too great.  But Cassian doesn’t care.  Nor do Kay and the people he has gathered, his old friends.  Nor do Chirrut, Bodhi, and Baze, his new friends.  And when he welcomes her home all he can see are the eyes of a little girl who had been searching for a place to belong her whole life, who is thankful to have finally found one.    

 He never tells her how he knows her.  He doesn’t have time.  The flight to Scarif is a blur of preparations and plans, and then they are kneeling together on a beach, holding each other as a blaze of white light races to swallow them whole.  

 A promise ligers between them.  <em>I could have been happy with you.  I could have loved you.  Maybe I did.</em>               

 They die together with a peace neither thought could ever be found.  Not in a war.  Not after everything.  Not for them.

   When Leia Organa reads the report of the Battle of Scarif she grieves for a friend she had known most of her life, a boy who had joined the Rebellion to find justice but who had given up the search long ago.  And she grieves for a little girl she barely knew but who, she is now sure, she would have been friends with.

She prays to the Force that they are at peace among the stars.

Thank you for reading! 

AO3

Unfortunately I do not own Star Wars!

[ricandhaiz]

The Rose of Castile, Part 7 (Cuéllar)

After having been granted a nearly year-long respite during his first year of marriage to Inés, Raul spent the next four years of his life in faithful service to the king. In addition to assisting his primo, Count Pedro, in the rebuilding of Valladolid, he participated in a military campaign with the king in Granada in the summer and fall of 1074. He was again called into service by the king in the summer of 1076 to accompany him to Nájera as part of a sizable military retinue. Fortunately, no blood was spilled on that campaign since Alfonso and Sancho Ramírez of Aragon were able to reach a negotiated settlement of the annexation of portions of the Kingdom of Navarre after its king, Sancho García IV, had been murdered by his siblings on June 4, 1076. In addition to taking part in military campaigns, he confirmed documents and provided counsel to the king from time to time as a member of the royal curia.

By 1078, Alfonso had set his sights on reclaiming the trans-Duero region or lower meseta, which was the area between the Duero River and Tajo River. After successfully establishing a Christian settlement in Sepulveda in 1076, the king assigned the task of repopulating and rebuilding Cuéllar, which had been overrun and decimated decades before by the Moorish leader al-Mansur, to Raul.

Raul paid his first visit to Cuéllar in the summer of 1078. The town itself was nearly deserted and consisted of little more than a few rudimentary buildings and thatched huts. Heeding Count Pedro’s warning that the town would likely be subjected to raids by the Moors from Badajoz and Zaragoza, he took careful note of the various ways in which it might be vulnerable to attack. As the designated repoblador of the town, it was clear to him that his first order of business would be to devise a defensive plan, erect fortifications, and assemble a local militia. Based on his initial assessment, he understood that the task the king had been set before him was going to be both daunting and fraught with danger for himself as well as his wife, Inés, and their daughter, Estela.  Nevertheless, he informed the king that he was prepared to carry out his wishes to the letter.

During this same period of time, Inés’ life with Raul was touched by joy and tragedy. After a single miscarriage early on in their marriage, she conceived a child, Estela, and welcomed her into the world in the fall of 1074. And then, less than two years later, she carried another child to term only to discover, after a long and agonizing childbirth, that her son was stillborn. The experience left her bedridden for a short time and suffering from bouts of depression long after her body had healed. For Raul’s part, he did what he could to console and support her until she was finally able to move past her grief and go on with her life.

It was a hot and sunny afternoon near the tail end of summer when Raul brought his family to Cuéllar along with thirty-five knights, squires, carters and household staff. It had taken them three days to travel to their new home in the lower meseta from Valladolid with their worldly belongings. The main thoroughfare, such as it was, was largely deserted as they slowly made their way passed the makeshift church near the center of town toward the structures that would serve as their temporary lodging until the lord’s permanent residence could be built. While his servants unloaded the carts and led the horses away to the stables, he gave Inés and Estela a brief tour of their new home. Afterward, Raul paid Abbot Pablo, the newly installed abbot that Bishop Bernard of Palencia had assigned to Cuéllar, a visit with Inés while Estela stayed behind with Mencia, her nursemaid.

Upon arriving at Abbot Pablo’s doorstep, Raul and Inés were ushered by a servant to his private quarters behind the church. The Abbot was a thin, bald-headed man whose bones seemed to crack with each movement. Inés disliked him on sight.

The Abbot smiled obsequiously as he greeted Raul before turning his full attention to Inés. Raul’s eyes narrowed as the Abbot licked his lips and cast an appraising gaze at his wife. When Inés, who felt obliged by custom to offer him her hand in greeting, did so, she found herself fighting the urge to snatch it back as soon as she felt the Abbot’s dry and cracked lips press upon her fingertips.

“How was your journey?” the Abbot asked.

“It went as well as could be expected,” Raul replied a little more curtly than he had intended. “The weather was fair throughout and we encountered no undue delays along the way.”

“That is good,” the Abbot said as his eyes drifted once more to Inés. “It was good of you to come. One rarely sees a lady of your stature and breeding in the lower meseta. I suppose that this town, such as it is at the moment, must come as quite a shock to a woman with your refined tastes and sensibilities.”

Inés smiled demurely and edged closer to Raul. “I thank you for your concern, but I assure you that I’ve had absolutely no qualms about relocating here and am perfectly willing to do whatever I can to assist my husband in the rebuilding process. In fact, I’m very much looking forward to making the acquaintance of as many of the locals as I can at the earliest possible opportunity.”

The Abbot looked aghast at the idea. “You’re unlikely to find anyone of your social standing here,” he replied with a sniff. “Most of Cuéllar’s recent arrivals have been men. Some came with families, but most did not. And the few women who are here are either servants and/or the wives and daughters of farmers, sheepherders or craftsmen. I doubt that they could tell you anything that would be of interest to you.” Although Inés found the Abbot’s suggestion that the town’s residents were beneath her and unworthy of her time to be both closed-minded and condescending, she bit her lip and held her tongue for Raul’s sake.

Just then, a female servant appeared at the threshold of the Abbot’s room to inform him that dinner was ready to be served. Once the woman had gone, the Abbot said to Raul, “I would be most honored if you and Doña Inés would join me for dinner.” Raul glanced at Inés, who wanted him to say no, and then nodded his head more out of decorum than any desire to spend any more time with the Abbot than absolutely necessary.  

The Abbot smiled and clapped his hands together. He led them to a small room adjacent to the kitchen with a wooden table. They washed their hands in basins of water before taking their seats across from the Abbot, who promptly said grace before loaves of bread and butter were served with some wine and mutton soup.

“May I make a suggestion?” the Abbot asked as he tore into one of the loaves of bread and slathered it with butter. Raul nodded. The Abbot continued, “If I were you, I would not have Doña Inés venture out without an armed escort. The lady is quite attractive and will likely draw quite a lot of attention from the men who have settled here, some of which I’m afraid may be of questionable character. Also, it is not uncommon to see bandits wandering about the alfoz in search of an easy mark.”

“Thank you, Father Abbot,” Raul replied with genuine gratitude. “I will certainly take your advice into consideration and plan accordingly. Nothing is more important to me than my family’s safety.”

“Did you bring your children here as well?” the Abbot asked.

“Yes, we have a daughter, Estela. She is three,” Raul replied. “She is a lively and inquisitive soul. Both my wife and I enjoy her company immensely and would not be parted from her.”

“She sounds enchanting. I look forward to meeting her,” the Abbot replied.

“What would you say is the town’s population?” Inés asked.

The Abbot looked like he was attempting to calculate the number in his head as he sat back and rubbed his chin. “It is hard to say, especially given that more and more people seem to be arriving with each passing every week. A handful have settled in the alfoz but most live in town.”

Raul nodded. “The king is eager to repopulate the trans-Duero and so I anticipate that that trend will continue for some time to come. In the meantime, my men and I will do what we can to protect the town and fortify the its defenses until a militia is established. Realistically, it will likely take years if not decades to completely wall off the city and build a fortress that’s capable of withstanding a direct attack by the Moors.”

“Rest assured, my lord, that I will do my best to tend to all the sheep in my flock,” the Abbot replied with utter confidence. The look on Inés’ face spoke volumes about her thoughts on the cleric’s chances of success in that respect. Raul coughed and turned his head away to hide his amusement.

“Do you know if there have been any raids in nearby towns?”

“More so from bandits than any organized Moorish force,” the Abbot replied. “But the more the king encroaches into the trans-Duero and pushes the boundaries of his realm southward, the greater the chance that towns such as Cuéllar will face an attack by them.”

“As I said, I will do whatever is necessary to prepare this town for that possibility,” Raul replied matter-of-factly.

“Yes, my lord,” the Abbot said as he sipped his wine. “I have every confidence that you will.”

After a few minutes of eating in silence, Raul asked, “Father Abbot, are there any other matters of concern that I should be aware of?”

The Abbot looked grim. “I’ve heard rumors from time to time about people are suspected of practicing some form of witchcraft.”

Raul gave the Abbot an incredulous look. “How did you happen to come upon this information?”

“I sometimes overhear the servants talking amongst themselves,” the Abbot replied with a shrug.

“How many people are you talking about? Do you know who they are?”

Sensing that he had aroused Raul’s curiosity, the Abbot leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Yes, and I have taken the liberty of trying to investigate the matter myself to assess whether or not it deserves further inquiry.”

“Have you discovered anything that would lead you to believe that the bits of gossip you’ve heard amongst your servants are true?”

The Abbot shook his head. “Not yet. But if I do, I will be sure and inform you forthwith.”

“Father Abbot,” Inés interjected. “What sort of evidence does one usually need to find someone guilty of witchcraft?

At first, Abbot looked like he was caught off guard by Inés question but then said, “My lady, although I am far from an expert on such matters, I’ve heard that witches possess certain blemishes or birthmarks that do not bleed even if pierced by a knife. It’s also been said that they are incapable of reciting the Lord’s Prayer if pressed to do so.”

“If you happen to come across such a person, what do you believe would be the most appropriate punishment?”

“A witch must be hung or burned at the stake,” the Abbot replied without hesitation.

Eyes widening, Inés asked, “Is there no other recourse besides a sentence of death?”

“No, my lady,” the Abbot replied firmly. “Those that have freely given themselves over to the Devil and do his bidding are, in my humble opinion, well beyond the point of saving and deserve no mercy.”

Inés knitted her brow and looked Raul directly in the eye as she asked, “If someone was accused of practicing witchcraft, she would still be subject to the normal civil process, would she not?”

“Yes, of course,” Raul replied. “That’s why establishing a civil infrastructure is of such critical importance.”  He then looked at Abbot Pablo and asked, “Don’t you agree?”

For a moment, the Abbot looked as though he was at a loss for words. Finally, he said, “If that’s the way the king believes things should be handled, far be it for me to disagree. But, as I mentioned at the outset, many of the townsfolk are simple-minded and highly superstitious. And if, by chance, a devastating crop failure or some mysterious ailment killed their animals or their neighbors, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if they told me that they believed that their misfortunes were brought about by the Devil or someone doing his bidding. In that situation, I don’t know if even you, my lord, would be able to persuade them to think differently.”

The Abbot’s words chilled Inés to the bone. She also sensed that Raul was similarly disturbed by what Abbot Pablo had said. She wanted to get away from him and to put as much distance as she possibly could from this man.

Sensing Inés distress, Raul stood up and said, “The hour is late and I’m sure that you must have other pressing business to attend to. It was very kind and gracious of you to invite us to dine with you on our first day here.” When the Abbot began to stand up, Raul motioned for him to stay seated, adding, “We can see ourselves out.”

“I look forward to seeing you and your family at daily mass,” the Abbot replied, and then inclined his head as he looked at Inés and said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady. Please feel free to come and see me as often as you’d like for confession or spiritual counseling. I’m happy to be of service to you in any way I can.”

“You are too kind, Father Abbot,” Inés said with such grace that no one except for Raul would have known just how much she had grown to loathe the man in the short period of time that she had known him. “Good night.” With that said, both she and Raul gladly departed for home.

 After having spent some time with Estela, Raul and Inés bid her good night before retiring to their room for the evening. Inés was standing by a fogged-up window and brooding over the Abbot’s words when she felt Raul’s arms come around her waist. The tension she was feeling in her body eased as she leaned her back against his chest and sighed.

Raul nuzzled Inés’ hair and whispered, “Aren’t you glad you married me? I’ve brought you to a place with few defenses and superstitious people who would accuse you of witchcraft if you so much as look at them the wrong way.”

Inés turned to face Raul and smiled. “I have no regrets, my lord. Do you?”

Raul looked troubled. “Your papá was right. This is no place for you or Estela.”

Before he could say more, Inés placed her finger on his lips and said, “I am exactly where I want and need to be.”

“But if you had married Don Alonso…”

“Thank goodness, I did not,” Inés cut in. “Estela and I will be fine as long as you are with us. Just think of the possibilities. As Cuéllar’s first lord, you are the one who’ll be responsible for erecting its defenses and establishing its civil infrastructure. Does that not excite you?”

“How could it not, when you put it that way,” Raul replied, grinning. “So tell me, what is your opinion of Abbot Pablo?”

Inés frowned. “May I be blunt?” Raul nodded. “I don’t trust him, and I don’t think you should either. And what he said about the issue of witchcraft and the kind of punishment for it that he believed was appropriate made my hair stand on end.”

“Unfortunately, not all abbots are as wise and thoughtful as Abbot Felipe. But since he is already the Abbot at San Pedro, we have little choice but to make the best of things with the abbot that Bishop Bernard has sent to minister to the townspeople of Cuéllar.”

“Do you truly believe that there are men and women in this world who have made a pact with the Devil?”

Raul looked grim. “The Church teaches us that the Devil is real enough. But, in my experience, it’s often the evil that lies within each of us that poses the greater threat to our survival than anything the witches the Abbot spoke of could possibly conjure up.”

“He frightens me, and the kind of summary justice he spoke of with such conviction as to those that might someday be accused of witchcraft is positively barbaric. Promise me that you won’t let that happen, and that you will do what you can as lord to persuade those that would sit in judgment of the accused to give that person a fair chance to prove his or her innocence.”

“You have my word. But know this: If anyone ever lays a hand on you or Estela, his or her punishment will be severe and swift. I will show no mercy to those who would dare to harm what is mine.”

“I always feel secure when I’m with you,” Inés replied as she laid her head on his shoulder, “and I don’t doubt that you’d move heaven and earth to keep Estela and I safe from harm…It’s just that I wish you didn’t have to go away so often.”

Raul kissed Inés’ forehead and pulled her closer. “If it were up to me, I would never leave your side. But, alas, it is not. Whenever the king calls upon me and says that he has need of me, I must say aye or run the risk of being exiled.”

“If that ever happens, then Estela and I will hold our heads high and follow you wherever you may lead us,” Inés replied without any sense of uncertainty. “You will never be rid of me, Raul.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Raul teased.

“Maybe both,” Inés replied as she tilted her head up to receive his kiss.

“Don’t worry about things that have not yet come to pass,” Raul said as he looked into her eyes and stroked her hair. “Let tomorrow take care of itself. For now, I would much prefer to concentrate on my beautiful wife and what I can do to please her.”

Inés cupped Raul’s face in her hands and kissed him. “As a matter of fact, Estela did ask me the other day when she could expect to have a little baby brother or sister to play with.”

“Did she now?” Raul asked with a chuckle.

“I think I’m ready to try again, that is, if you are,” Inés replied, and then bit her lip as she anxiously awaited Raul’s response.

“Are you sure, mi amor? Raul asked with a haunted look. “Those first few days after you’d given birth to our son were…hard. Everyone thought you were on the verge of death, including me. I went to the chapel and prayed for hours at a time, begging God not to take you away from me, and knowing that if He did that it would’ve been my fault.”

A look of utter horror crossed Inés’ face as she vehemently shook her head and said, “How can you say that? I wanted to have him just as much as you did. And just because my last pregnancy was difficult doesn’t mean that the next one will be too.”

Raul looked torn. “We have Estela. The two of you are more than enough for me.”

“I want more,” Inés cut in. “Please Raul. Don’t say no.”

“I don’t think that I could bear to lose you,” Raul replied, his voice wavering.

“That will never happen,” Inés said as she took him by the hand and led him to their bed. “Love me tonight, and then leave the rest to God.”