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cuddlecave · 3 years ago

Note

is xiphoid

first: you *are* good

next: alright thingrey au

how bout an alternate 'the team finds out the shapeshifter is still alive, whoops!' but in an utterly disastrous way

it's been a while since antarctica! a long while, and gord and benr *meant* to tell the team about them ages ago, when benr became human shaped again, but there just never seemed to be a good time? and really, whats one more day, week, month...

anyway the team is utterly oblivious of benr, but being aware of gord, means that's they've noticed he's not been spending as much time with them! been spending, like, a lot of time at home, actually--or away from town. sometimes even avoiding them! they're worried, bc really, this is not the way to deal with trauma, gord! you don't pull away from your friends, you get help! just bc you can't see a therapist doesn't mean you shouldn't try to process it!

anyway, gords generally cagey about where he is, but on a rare team night where he had come to hang over...they very much on purpose get him drunk. now, drunk gord is still pretty fucking cagey (he loves his boyf and would never endanger him if possible), which is a shame, but tom is able to ask a question casually enough that gord doesn't think about it...and ends up telling them he goes out to the [insert desert area here] sometimes. when pressed on why he goes, he seems to realize he made a mistake, and bolts, cutting the night short.

now, credit to gord, him and benr don't go back to that particular desert area after that. but the team are damn smart, and figure that just bc he's not at that area anymore, doesn't mean he's not in *any* desert area anymore.

takes some trial and error--figuring out when gord seems to be out (he never answers his phone when he's out, his car is not at home), and then checking a desert area (didn't get anything but desert the first few times). but eventually...they find his car.

things paint...a worrying picture. there's camping/chilling gear in the car (chairs and a shitty tent, left from when gord tried camping several years ago and never bothered to remove from his car) but they're not set up and gords not there? the doors arent locked and the keys are in ignition? (gord doesn't want to drop his keys running from benr, he did that once and it sucked. also why he doesn't bring his phone! but he's out like 55 miles from the nearest town, who's gonna steal his car?) there's torn up foliage around, as if something big came through (benr may give gord a head start, but he still likes to be big enough to a) chase well, and b) nom gord after), and most worryingly--a set of human footprints in the sand, clearly running based on stride. and some strange larger footprint *next to them*.

their friend was ambushed by something big, and is going to get got. (this is not entirely untrue. not ambushed, but definitely going to get got, lol.) they set off quickly following the footprints.

meanwhile-gord and benr are having a *great* time! the exercise feels nice for both of them, it's a cloudy day so it's shady, they're gonna order pizza and play playstation after this--its gonna be a wonderful day. it already is!

gord, at this point, is beginning to tire out. benr is getting closer. he pushes himself a bit farther, to stretch out the chase just a touch longer, and makes a sharp turn around a rock formation, causing benr to briefly crash into it, giving him a few more steps. but he's tired, and well, benr has better stamina--and agility. benr bounds over the rock formation and uses it's height to gain just a bit of an extra boost, and tackle-hugs gord. they nearly crash into some sharp shrubs, but they're fine.

gord turns and looks up at benr and grins, and benr leans down to him, and gives him a long kiss. gord hums in contentment and relaxes. he's gonna get to doze, now, before driving. naptime, hell yeah.

benr picks him up to swallow him and he just remains basically limp, exhausted, letting benr manhandle him, gently maneuvering him into his jaws. he's swallowed with little fanfare, and happily settles in his tum, almost immediately starting to doze as benr starts to walk.

then he hears screaming, and benr sharply moves, and suddenly he's wide awake.

the team follow the tracks. it's a long walk, even moving at speed--gord must have really been booking it, which means hopefully he's still safe, got away some how. surely nothing would chase him for too long, when he was outrunning it this well. the trail goes on and on and on--its looking less like this thing gave up. and gords footsteps are shorter, he's not managing a hard run anymore. they're coming up on a rock formation--its still several hundred feet away. close enough to see a figure that can only be gord run from behind it, but far, far to far away to do anything about what happens next.

they see him turn sharply, and something big hits the rocks, clearly taken off guard. he makes it a few steps. and the team look on in absolute horror as what can only be the shapeshifter jumps off the top of the rocks, and tackles gord to the ground. they're partially obscured by the desert plants, but it's enough to see, even at this distance, the rippling body parts of the creature, pinning gord down.

the thing leans its head down toward gord, and they can't see what's happening with the plants and distance. and then.

it picks a completely unmoving gord up, and swallows him whole.

oh, god. it snapped his neck. it ate him. it's going to try to finish what it started in antarctica oh fuck does anyone have a flamethrower?!

a seeing it stand and start to leisurely walk in the direction they came from, they're finally broken from they're spell of silence and horror. somebody starts screaming angrily, and bubby has a lighter and big spray, making a makeshift flamethrower--and they run towards it in vengeance.

it notices them and sharply turns, booking it in the opposite direction.

(1/?)

continued under the read more!

(cont) oh fuck, thinks benr. this is not good. Not Good at all. gord frantically asks what's going on?! and goes cold when benr says 'ur friends saw us. and buby has fire.' the good thing is, benr is bigger and faster than humans. the bad thing is that he's been running all morning and now has over 200 pounds of boyf swaying in him, even if he's holding gord as tight as possible so he's not getting thrown everywhere. he's not gonna last long, and there's nowhere to hide. gord is furiously thinking. but he's also exhausted, and panicking. the thoughts in his brain are sticky like drying glue when he tries do something with them, and he can feel benr slowing. it's not by much, but his alien bf getting hurt *at all* is unacceptable, so. he decides to stop thinking and start doing. he tells benr to 'stop and let me out! as fast as you can!' and benr skids to a stop and turns half facing the approaching team, and splits his abdomen open and gord comes tumbling out into the light, getting immediately covered in dust and mud sticking to the saliva covering him. it's kinda gross, but at the moment it's not even registering, bc in those moments buby has nearly caught up. gord stands, pushes benr behind him, who let's himself be pushed purely out of surprise, and holds his hands out. 'its me! I'm fine it's ok it's me, please I can explain, just turn off the fire! it's ok!' but the thing is, as far as they're concerned...'you fucking imposter we saw gord die! get a better lie!' and buby is still running full tilt at them. gord has enough time to think, *aw fuck, this is gonna hurt*, before buby lights his makeshift flamethrower and gord is suddenly extremely hot, in pain, and knocked on his back. he can see the sky for a quick moment, before what can only be benr is standing over him, protecting him from further fire. a few limbs quickly use the dirt to put out the couple embers on his shirt (well, what's left of his shirt...) buby jerks back at the large being leaping in his direction, but it stops as it stands over the gord-imposter. which... is not moving. or writhing like the shapeshifter, or trying to split off from the damaged part. it's just...lying there. shallowly breathing as if in shock. buby gets a bit of a sinking feeling. - I got tired after writing this but basically benr tries to angle around enough to protect gord and also use teal green on him from another mouth. the team quickly figure out something is fucky, and that gord...might not be a Thing?? gord is in zero shape to have a real conversation--burns are serious business, and he basically passes out during teal-green. so why was the creature... protecting gord?? especially if it ate him?!?! there's an uneasy (extremely uneasy) truce, and benr carries gord back to the car, flamethrower pointed at them the whole way. they leave gords car and take them both back to toms place, in the car they drove in. it is supremely awkward. especially when gord wakes up for half a minute, kisses benr, and passes out again. not sure how it would go from there,, .... didn't mean to accidentally write a minific but here we are!! I really like the 'extreme misunderstanding vore' trope, lol.

ohhhh man this is like an angsty version of a regular not-a-game au idea i've thought up before o: thinking about what would happen next... the whole car ride home, benb was hitting gord with more healing (tho he gave the guys ample warning first about what he was doing so they wouldn't think he was attacking or something), and thanks to that, gord's burns are healed up to the point where he doesn't need hospitalization, just some burn cream and good rest to finish it off. (and a hair cut. benb is very sad that he couldn't repair gord's burned hair and beard. when gord's awake again he's just "Dude it'll grow back, don't worry." "i knooowwww but it still sucks. your hair was SO pretty. and you look like a sixteen-year-old without facial hair. kinda weird. babyfaceman." "WOW shut up."). when gord's awake and aware enough again, they all have a sit down and get an explanation from him and benb. benb goes on to basically give a summary of his whole backstory; explain what exactly he his and how he got to earth, and what he was trying to do both at the b'mesa base and that first norwegian base he first thawed out in. when he gets to the part about why he never wanted to hurt the sciteam, that does a pretty good job of warming them up to him. "the thing about that frzn guy is he was a total asshole. HUGE douche canoe. and i was like 'maaaan i don't wanna be this guy, he suuuuucks', but then i noticed that he'd hardly ever interacted with anybody else there. new guy on the base. nobody knew him, or knew what he was like. so i figured i could get away with acting like myself instead of him, and nobody would notice. i've never been able to just be me around other people, only when alone. i didn't really... know how it was gonna turn out. but you guys ended up liking me! you invited me to come hang out on breaks, and play video games, and watch movies, and talk about soda and photography and it was fun and nice and good! you were nice to my dog body, too. giving me a name and everything... you're all great cools. i got attached to you guys. like, super attached. didn't wanna hurt you, ever. 's the reason i never touched the sled dogs, too- i knew tommy would be sad if something happened to the dogs, and i didn't wanna make him sad." (bubs probably acts like he's not touched by that, but he is :B and also, like i've said in a post on my main, bubs feels some sympathy towards benb after hearing about his origins as an unethical science experiment. bubs wasn't grown in a lab in this au, but he was still subjected to some painful "knowledge tubes" experiments due to his contract with b'mesa. so he still knows that feel, bro. unwilling lab rat solidarity.) benb apologizes for everything in antarctica, and bubs apologizes for torching gord, but then the team asks what the fuck? happened in the desert?? and gord explains the "one-sided tag" game they do to help benb burn up energy, and that benb was just carrying gord to let him rest from the run on the way back to the car. ("Carrying you in his stomach, though?" "nah i don't put him where food goes. it's the uhhhh *lip smack* nap organ. custom made for sleeping in. bedry time.") (they also at one point explain "also we're dating" to which gord gets accused of being a monsterfucker ha ha. and then benb's like "ew no i'm ace" and harold goes on about how beautiful interracial young love is.)

#long post #bf tum is the warmest place to hide

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drethanramslay · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 2

Pairing: Cassian X MC ( for this chapter)

Warning: Slight swearing and violence

Word count: 3.2 K words

Chapter 1

Taglist: @choices-love-affair @miyakokurono @openheart12 @trappedinfandoms @noboundariesplease @nooruleman @madampugzalot @sekizincimektup @dailydoseofchoices @choicesfanatic86 @kaavyaethanramsey @junggoku @flyawayboo @whatchique @vampiregirlsblog @squishywizardhq @lilyvalentine (let me know if you want to added or removed from the taglist 😊)

Song: Cross your Mind by Niall Horan

forgive if I make any mistakes

I am an early bird.

I love the period just before the sun rises. To see the sun slowly come out of the cover of darkness and illuminate every thing in its wake is truly beautiful. The chirping birds, the cool breeze which blows against my face and to see the sky slowly become a mixture of different hues almost makes it feel like it heaven on earth.

Dawn. The start of a new day. The chance to rewrite your slate. To have a fresh start.

Just like the way the sun paints the night sky with a variety of colours, I try to bring the different shades of happiness in my life. I have seen so much violence and gory as a US Marshall that I am still surprised I haven't gone for therapy.

I think it's because I try to find the happiness in everything? I know sometimes it feels like finding a needle in haystack but no matter how ever small that reason is, it's always enough to hold on to.

I was sitting on the beach, crossed legs as I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of the rising sun on my face and the sea breeze which whistled through my shoulder length brown hair. The feeling of the white sand in my hands and smell of the ocean made me feel alive. It's only during moments like this that I feel like the original me.

It's short, it's fleeting but a great reminder on how different I am now.

"Cassian?"

I turned and saw Adira walking towards me in nothing but my shirt and runner shorts. A smirk was pasted on her face as she sashayed towards me.

Being the lead on this case was... Interesting.

I learnt many quirks about her and the one which stood out the most was that, she was a grade A spoilt brat.

I am usually very respectful towards woman but damn, she drives me up the wall. Hell, she threw a fit when I tried making her wear a life jacket.

When we were on the houseboat to Nantucket, I debriefed her on the case and her identity. "So Adira, they finished putting together your cover. You'll be Adira aka Maliha Johnson, a working class girl who just lost her parents. The money your parents left you allowed you to purchase a small house on Nantucket, where you'll be working odd jobs to pay for the contractor helping you repair the weather damage on the place."

The look of aghast which painted her face almost made me wheeze. "Working class? Me?" I thought she was being comical and I just gave her grin. "What is wrong with that?"

I thought wrong.

"You want me? Adira Lockhart.. daughter of the CEO of Lockhart industries, the girl who has a motherfucking MBA, to scrub barnacles of yachts? Excuse me while I puke."

I observed her. Her hands were smooth with no callouses and her skin was flawless, with not a single scar. She was definitely one of those obnoxious rich people who thought that they were above everybody and that the poverty was a disease.

Yup, I hated them.

Serves her right, maybe she can learn a thing or two about humility.

"Yes, Adira that's how it's gonna be and I'm sorry you are going through this. We can't put you in some big place like your old job because that will be the first place they will look for you. We need to rework your entire cover identity so that it's completely different from what Adira Lockhart is."

She sighed and looked out on the ocean. "I was supposed to be settling into my new position at work... Not start a fresh."

I reached and squeezed her hand, conveying my empathy the best way I could. "It's hard to not feel like this is a punishment, but believe me you are doing the right thing. Not only will you be protecting yourself but, you will also be protecting the countless others when you testify."

She turned towards me, her hair whipping her face. "I hate it when I am not able to be in control of my life.." I turned towards her and gave a small smile our eyes meeting.

We stared at each other's eyes, the air between us cackling with lust and the need to be close to each other.

She was about to lean in when an icy gust ripped across the desk, spraying water all over her back.

She shrieked and I swear I momentarily became deaf.

"You need something to cover you up." As I was reaching for my jumper she stopped me.

"I'm fine without it." She said in a voice as cold as the ocean water.

"But, you are shive-" she stopped me with a hand up.

"No, I don't need it Cassian."

And it had been like that since the last week. The hot and cold moments. At one time she is all open, carefree and flirty and then suddenly like a flipped switch she will give Elsa a run for her money at being the coldest person. The silent treatment would be so harsh that it felt like my ears would ring.

She would throw major tantrums and I would have to end up doing maximum amount of work, but then she would profusely apologize by sucking my dick and ride me seven ways to Sunday.

Cassian, don't you love the challenge? The thrill of tasting the forbidden fruit? Don't be so harsh in judging her... She is going through shit.

But, it was surely a new experience. It felt natural to wake up next to her and it was natural to make breakfast in the morning, even if she didn't eat it. I felt like I was the mother hen, trying to make sure she ate and was physically fine so that she won't slip into depression.

And it's a proven fact that exercise get the endorphins rushing through your veins so, I have taken up the responsibility of teaching Adira how to fight so that if I'm compromised, she can at least defend herself.

"Good morning, your highness. Shall we begin?"

"I'm sorry I'm late... a certain someone kept me up till late night." She said with a smirk as she picked up the jumping rope near me.

I just rolled my eyes playfully and started skipping rope.

We did our warm ups which included running and basic stretching. There was teasing and playful shoving which made the entire thing fun. Her eyes would trail to my abs whenever I picked up my singlet to wipe the sweat of my face. And my eyes would trail to the sweat trailing down her chest into her cleavage.

I am not one to deny the view.

"Okay Adira, we have mastered basic punches and blocks but, it's not always gonna be that easy... Have you watched 'Knight and day'?"

"The Tom Cruise movie? Hell yeah."

"Great. So do you remember the part when the bad guy wrapped his arms around-" I went behind her and wrapped my arms around her chest tightly, trapping her hands there "-like this?"

She started breathing heavily. "Yeah.."

"Good. Hands like Houdini. Put your palms down and all at once, throw your hands to the ground and move your hips back."

She did that but, ended up falling on the ground with a smile.

"Nice. The other guy won't know what hit him."

I reached forward and held my hand out. She grabbed and stood up, dusting off the sand on her ass.

"Are you ready for work?" I asked as we started walking back home.

"Ugh nooo." She whined.

I chuckled. "Adira its-" a sudden crash and bang sounded from the house and I stopped in my tracks, my shoulders tensing.

Adira was going to open her mouth to say something but I help up my hand to quieten her.

"There is someone in there." I quietly whispered as I picked up the gun which I had buried in the rose bushes. I stepped in front of her. We entered through the back door and tip toed in.

"The place could be surrounded, stay close to me."

"What if it's them?"

I reached down and squeezed her arm. "I will protect you."

I grasped the gun tightly and Adira just clinged onto my arm. Stepping into the house, I noticed every nook, corner and shadow. Another bang resounded and Adira shrieked and my eyes narrowed onto the open front door.

Moving slowly, I led her to the door and checked the handle.

"No signs of forced entry." I said as I let go of the door.

"But why... Oh." As realization dawned on her.

"What do you mean by oh?" I asked as I turned towards her.

She looked away, guiltily and stared at her feet. "I may have opened the door for getting the newspaper... Guess I never shut it."

What.. the FUCK?

I take my hand down my face, trying to keep my anger at bay. Can't she understand that even the smallest mistake and she could die? Just the smallest feeling of security and she could be on the floor with her throat slit? Is it so hard to understand that this is WITSEC and not some fucking vacation in the Hamptons?

"Adira, how am I supposed to protect you when you're literally leaving the door wide open for the people who want to kill you?" I asked through clenched teeth.

She just crossed her arms and let out a huff of frustration. She just turned the other way.

How dare she have the audacity to get angry?

"Fine. Nice chat. Go for a bath and we are going to work."

She stomped up the stairs and shut the bathroom door so hard that it resounded throughout the entire house.

Well, annoying Adira is back at it again.

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I trailed behind Adira, trying to match her pace, but she just kept stomping on the sand, full steam ahead.

"Walking angrily on sand doesn't have the effect you're going for. Unless you're trying to look cute." I called out to her.

She just huffed and walked even faster. I ran a couple of steps and fell into stride with her. "UGH! Can you not?"

"I'm just trying to do my job ya know? Try to protect you from a mob that is after your life?"

"I hate this. I'm sick of being escorted around."

"But Adira-"

"Shut the fuck up Cassian." I raised my hands in surrenderance, not wanting to ruin her mood even more.

"I'm sorry Adira."

Apologizing will make it better, right? Even if it isn't my fault?

"And you should be." She said haughtily.

I could have given a fucking powerpoint presentation on how this wasn't my fault but I would really like to keep my balls intact so I just shut the fuck up. Avoid conflict, they say. The shit we men go through...

We reached the lobster shack but, Adira didn't slow down her pace. This resulted in her feet getting tangling in the fish nets on the deck. She let out a huge groan and stared at the sky as if to ask "Why is it happening to me?"

What a drama queen... But, I still like her.

"Do you want me to help you?" I asked, preparing myself for a brutal rejection.

She just sighed and looked up at me with her tired blue eyes. "Yes please."

I bent down and slowly untangled the net out if her ankle. After I was done, I slid my arm up her calf and smiled up at her.

"There."

She gave me a soft smile. "Thanks Cassian."

I was going to say something when Renata called out to us. "Why are you both standing there doin' nothin'? The lobsters aren't going to shuck themselves!!"

Adira rolled her eyes and said lowly. "Well, that shucks."

Barking out a laugh, we both headed to the shed to get on with our work.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was outside the shed doing my work when I heard Renata sigh with frustration. "This... Is really getting my goat!"

I couldn't help but snort. Who even says that nowadays?

"Anything I can do to help?" Adira's voice spoke up. I stopped my work so that I could hear how their conversation goes.

I heard a loud crash and bang which made me flinch. Renata really must be pissed.

"Rockport Dining needs fifty-seven ounces by tonight, and I keep losing track. Numbers have never been my strong suit."

Please Adira don't blow your co-

"Well, you're in luck. After years in finance, there's nothing I can't keep track of in my head." I heard her gleeful smile.

I sighed and pinched my nose in frustration. This is just like Jonah all over again.

I heard Renata's loud boisterous voice which I swear, the entire town could have heard. "Aren't you full of surprises!"

"Everyone has their surprises."

Yeah and your fucking surprises will be the death of me.

"I knew you had that smart look about you. Any other secrets locked away in that head of yours I should know about?" Renata asked in a teasing manner and my eyes started surveying the area, to see any suspicious activity.

You never know when your enemies can creep up on you and one stumble, boom you are dead.

But it was crowded and it was hard to narrow in on any suspects.

I creeped close to the door of the shed and peeked in. Adira had a fake smile plastered on her face and said, "No of course not. I'm an open book."

Renata laughed. "We'll just have to get our hands dirty together then Let me get you a new pair of gloves." She headed for the door and I blended myself in the shadows so that she couldn't notice me.

She leaves and I storm inside the shed and throw the bucket of crabs on the floor.

"Grab your things and tell Renata you are quitting." I said as I started taking my own gloves out.

"WHAT? Why?'

I took a deep breath, trying to prevent myself from breaking out. "She's going to start asking questions about how someone with your work history ended up here. Your cover is blown, Adira. Let's go." I reached for her hand but she just pulled away.

Rolling her eyes, she turned to her work station. "Nothing will happen, you are just being paranoid."

She. Just. Didn't.

I was just gonna speak up but Renata came in, bustling. I casually leaned against the wall, staring at Adira with hard eyes. "So tell me more about your talents. My son is finance so he might know more about this topic."

I smoothly cut in. "I'm sorry Renata but Maliha needs to leave. There has been a family emergency."

Adira's eyes widened before she played along, stammering." Yeah.. uh there has been an emergency. I have to quit."

She was heading out when Renata grabbed her hand, eyes full of compassion. "Maliha, I'm a mother too. And I know that look in your eyes is sheer fear. I don't know what it is, but I hope everything is okay."

Without saying anything, Adira turned and fell into step with me.

We biked back to the house, but I still couldn't shake off the feeling that we were caught. That maybe, just maybe they are on to us.

And that's because she couldn't keep quiet.

I saw Adira peek at me from the corner of the eye. She opened her mouth to say something but ended up not saying anything.

And I'm damn glad she didn't because I swear to god, I would have snapped so hard.

After a few minutes, Adira blurted out. "How many times have you done this? You must be an expert in helping other people leave their lives behind."

I sighed. "Don't get comfortable. The moment you do, you'll make a mistake you can't take back."

Adira stayed quiet as we peddled the rest of the way. We parked the bicycles and I bent down to put the chain on the wheels.

I entered the house and headed to the kitchen while, Adira went up the stairs. I sighed and started getting dinner ready. The sun was setting over the ocean and the sky was a mixture of pink and blues, as if it was confused as to which colour it wanted to show. The sun gleamed a vermilion hue and it painted the entire house orange in its wake.

I heard the shower run and I took out the cutting board to cut some vegetables. I was thinking of making stir-fry with a side of noodles. And I didn't care if Adira didn't fucking like it or not.

I cut the vegetables, pouring in all my day's frustration into massacring them. I took a break and grasped the counter tightly as I let out a sigh.

I stood up and looked out fo the window, to see the dying sun. But that's not what caused me to grasp the knife tighter.

A reflection.

A reflection that was not Adira.

I ducked and the crow bar whistled over my head. I turned and flipped the knife so that I could hold it tighter. Let's call the intruder Thing 1.

Thing 1 tried to go for my head again, but I blocked his hand and punched his face with my left hand.

Disoriented, his grip on the crowbar loosened. Seizing the opportunity I twisted his arm and disarmed him. A parry of blows were exchanged but I managed to stab him twice in the gut. Moving like water I ended up behind him and got him in a headlock.

"Lights out motherfucker." I said as I snapped his neck, ending his life.

But that wasn't the end of it.

I was tackled to the ground by another person. I ended up hitting my temple on the counter edge and I swear, I heard ringing. Things were blurry and I saw the guy lift a knife, trying to stab me but I was quick.

Making an 'X' with my hands, I blocked the knife and it stopped inches from my face. “Oh you just. did, not....Not the face asshole.” I reared my leg up and kicked him as hard as I could on the balls.

"Fuck." Thing 2 said with a thick Irish accent as he writhed on the floor.

"Take this you cunt." I kicked him hard in the ribs and picked up the crowbar.

"Say hello to Thing 1, when you meet him in hell." That being said I hit him hard on the head which ended with him having a cracked skull.

"ADIRA!" I called out as I ran up the stairs, tightening my grip on the crowbar.

The bathroom door was open but I heard the crash of the lamp and a high pitched scream from the bedroom.

I kicked open the door and there was Adira.

But that's not what made my blood boil.

The asshole was standing there, his arms around her, trapping her.

With a gun pointing at her head.

well well... guess who is going to have his ass handed

can we just say that angry Casian is hot yeah?

I will probably post the third chapter next week? because currently I'm taking writing requests for hitting 400 followers and to fill the void of Ethan Ramsey in my heart

maybe you might get to see the character I have been raving about next week?

like, comment and reblog!! tell me what do you think will happen?

#choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices stories we play #choices witness #witness: a bodyguard romance #cassian witness #witness mc #witness #wabr #choices wabr #cassian keane #Cassian x OC #cassian x mc #adira lockhart #anushka writes

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beeblackburn · 5 years ago

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Pretender Reads A Little Hatred, Part I, Chapter Five

If anyone would like to publicly hang me for posting more frequently after months since the first read-through, feel free! Goes without saying spoilers ahead for the entirety of The First Law works beyond the keep reading. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Title: A Little Public Hanging Point-of-View: Crown Prince Orso

As a forewarning, I just want to say this: I hate privileged royal characters. I do, I really do! They always end up as some form of ineffectual, despite being in high positions, spoiled whiners who complain about how hard their lives are, despite having vastly more than the mud-and-shit-worked peasants they rule over, and refusing to actually change things for the better.

And, after a lifetime of reading about privileged royal twats as protagonists who complained about how hard their lives were, only to end up getting a heart for the peasantry later, but not actually rocking the boat too hard, in terms of changing their monarchies to something directly more beneficial, I’m just kind of done with them?

That being said, Abercrombie wrote Jezal dan Luthar and I actually liked how he progressed, but at the same time, he wasn’t royalty at the start. Just a noble prick who had to take some hard blows before he could grow the hell up. So, we’ll see how this goes...

“I hate bloody hangings,” said Orso.

One of the whores tittered as if he’d cracked quite the joke. It was the falsest laugh he had ever heard, and when it came to false laughter, he was quite the connoisseur. Everyone was false in his presence, and he the worst actor of all.

“I guess you could stop it,” said Hildi. “If you wanted.”

Orso frowned up at her, perched on the wall with her legs crossed and her chin propped on one palm.

“Well… I suppose…” Strange how the idea had never occurred to him before. He pictured himself springing onto the scaffold, insisting these poor people be pardoned, ushering them back to their miserable lives to tearful thanks and rapturous applause. Then he sighed. “But… one really shouldn’t interfere with the workings of the judiciary.”

Lies, like everything that left his mouth, engineered to make him appear just a touch less detestable. He wondered who he was trying to fool. Hildi undoubtedly saw straight through it. The truth was, when it came to stopping this, as with so much else, he simply couldn’t be arsed. He took another pinch of pearl dust, his heavy snorts ringing out as the Inquisitor in charge stepped to the front of the scaffold and the crowd fell breathlessly silent.

My, my, Orso’s quite the charmer, isn’t he. Just this apathetic mess who can’t be bothered to act in any way real, even stop a hanging he doesn’t like. There’s a pitiful quality to him, but not in a way that arouses sympathy or love to me, given how much privilege and power his position has, especially with how much he knows he’s a shit and can afford to get away with it as crown prince.

That being said, what strikes me about this opening is just how painfully self-depreciating Orso’s voice is. To the noting of false laughter, to the knowledge that he knows he’s using his words to paint himself less awful to Hildi, to this feeling that she can see through how despicable he is (and he kind of is here!), one thing that contrasts him with a high screech against early Jezal and, more accurately, Crown Prince Ladisla, is that... Orso really doesn’t buy into any hype of his. He knows he’s a shit person, everyone knows it, so why bother denying it to himself?

Hmmm. I’m not entirely sure how to feel about this, self-awareness can cut both ways in terms of reader sympathy, but he’s no Ladisla so far. He’s certainly an interesting contrast to Savine, the other Union voice, and Leo, the other male voice, so far. He’s not particular fixated on public appearances, given the ease of doing drugs out in the open, and he’s not exactly a man of action either. He’s just... kind of an inactive shit stuck in his privilege.

“These three…people,” and the Inquisitor swept an arm towards the chained convicts, each held under the armpit by a hooded executioner, “are members of the outlawed group known as the Breakers, convicted of High Treason against the Crown!”

“Treason!” someone screeched, then dissolved into coughing. It was a still day, so a bad one for the vapours. Not that there were many good days for the vapours lately, what with the new chimneys sprouting up all over Adua. People at the very back must have been struggling to see the scaffold through the murk.

“They have been found guilty of setting fires and breaking machinery, of incitement to riot and sheltering fugitives from the king’s justice! Have you anything to say?”

The first prisoner, a heavyset fellow with a beard, evidently did. “We’re faithful subjects of His Majesty!” he bellowed in a hero’s voice, all manly bass and quivering passion. “All we want is an honest wage for honest work!”

Huh, so the Breakers are effectively revolutionaries? Honestly, I can’t really blame them for railing against their conditions. As we’ve seen in Savine’s chapter, they live in some truly wretched environments. And all these passages prove is that is the new age of progress that Savine’s taking advantage is here to stay, and Orso’s eyes are a necessary lens to see all the curses of it, whereas Savine would only see the Breakers and the vapours as the inevitable collateral damage of this new world where money is power.

“I’d sooner take a dishonest wage for no work at all,” grunted Tunny.

Yolk burst out laughing while swigging from his bottle and sprayed a reeking mist of spirits, which settled over the wig of a well-dressed old lady just in front.

Hey, Tunny and Yolk! Hi, you two surviving bastards! Playing to the hits, I see.

“Yes.” Tunny showed his yellow grin and Orso winced. He hated it when Tunny used him to bully people. Almost as much as he hated hangings. But somehow he could never bring himself to stop either one.

(arches an eyebrow) Now, how did Tunny manage to get in close enough to the Crown Prince ever since serving in the war against Styria? And why get close to a Crown Prince to begin with? Is Tunny not afraid of the shitting falling on him once Orso’s enemies angling to take him and his friends out?

And, by god, Tunny’s turned into more of a shit than he originally was. I mean, given his appearance in Sharp Ends, I’m not surprised, but never let it be said that Abercrombie lets up on the negative character development he’s famous for among his characters.

The side-whisker enthusiast had turned pale as a freshly laundered sheet, something Orso had not seen in some time. “Your Highness, I had no idea. Please accept my—”

“No need.” Orso waved a lazy hand, wine-stained lace cuff flapping, and took another pinch of pearl dust. “I am a damn disgrace. Notoriously so.” He gave the man a reassuring pat on the shoulder, realised he had smeared dust all over his coat and tried ineffectually to brush it off. If Orso excelled at anything, after all, it was being ineffectual. “Please don’t concern yourself over my feelings. I don’t have any.” Or so he often said. The truth was he sometimes felt he had too many. He was dragged so violently in a dozen different directions that he could not move at all.

Honestly, as much as I don’t come out of this respecting Orso, I can relate to that last sentiment. Being so dragged apart by different responsibilities and obligations that you feel paralyzed by it. You can’t move, you can’t do anything.

That being said, Orso, you’re doing drugs while watching a hanging you can, theoretically, try to stop. I’m not seeing where you’re being dragged apart here.

And there is so much apathy and self-depreciation in these passages, so much of Orso not getting angry or petty, not even for a power high considering Side-whiskers would be fine with however he reacted, which is so telling compared to the usual reactions of nobles. There’s no knee-jerk anger at being told off like Jezal or Ladisla or Vallimir or most others here. Orso’s so inactive, he can’t even summon up the typical petty retribution that nobles do.

He’s a shit, but he’s a very different shit compared to the others, I feel.

“Majir?”

“Y’owe Majir a hundred and fifty-one marks. Said she can’t give you more credit.”

“Spizeria, then?”

“Y’owe him three hundred and six. Same story.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

Hildi gave Tunny, Yolk and the whores a significant glance. “You want me to answer that?”

Orso racked his brains to think of someone else, then gave up. If he excelled at anything, after all, it was giving up. “For pity’s sake, Hildi, everyone knows I’m good for it. I’ll be coming into a considerable legacy one of these days.” No less than the Union, and everything in it, and all its unliftable weight of care, and impossible responsibility, and crushing expectation. He grimaced and tossed her the box.

Huh! The same Majir in Savine’s chapter? A neat note, but dang, Orso, who haven’t you indebted yourself to at this point? So much privilege of never needing to mind one’s personal purse. Though, you’d think Jezal would’ve covered him or Terez, at least, told him to knock it off the frivolous spending, up to a point.

And there’s that awareness again, knowing how much weight he’s going to be under once he stops being Crown Prince and starts being King of the Union, and, to put a pause on haranguing Orso for his inactivity and open apathy, the Circle of the World might be the only series where there’s greater context to more justify a lack of feeling any agency among the royalty, given how Bayaz’s set it up and how much Jezal is ultimately a prisoner to his status, though Orso doesn’t know how bad it’ll get.

Kind of hard to do anything when stepping out of line means an “accident.”

“You owe me nine marks,” she muttered.

“Shoo!” Orso tried to wave her away, got his little finger painfully tangled in his cuff and had to rip it free. “Just get it done!”

She gave a long-suffering sigh, jammed that ancient soldier’s cap down over her blonde curls and stepped off into the crowd.

“She’s a funny little thing, your errand girl,” warbled one of the whores, dragging too heavily on his arm.

“She’s my valet,” said Orso, frowning, “and she’s a fucking treasure.”

Awww, is it wrong this made me like Orso more? If he drags himself, he elevates others as well. And he’s right, Hildi’s a damn treasure and it’s still kind of amazing a prince allows his inner circle to be contrary to him, mouthing off to him and using him in their petty power plays like with Tunny and Side-whiskers earlier.

It’s like he has so little regard for himself, that there’s room for him to think so much better of others.

On the scaffold, meanwhile, the bearded man was bellowing out the Breakers’ manifesto with ever more emotion. The noise from the crowd was growing but, much to the upset of the Inquisitor, he was starting to strike a chord. Calls of support were breaking through the mockery.

“No more machines!” the bearded man roared, veins bulging in his thick neck. “No more seizure of common land!”

He seemed a useful fellow. More useful than Orso, certainly. “What a bloody waste,” he muttered.

This is reminding me of when Last Argument of Kings had the Tanner plotline and how much the peasantry rebelled then. Except thematically... this feels different. That rebellion was an orchestrated farce at the head of it in the end, but this feels more... real.

Orso, especially stuck in his self-depreciation, can see the validity of the people involved with the movement, and see the waste of killing a good man. Yet, he’ll still let him die because his station is built upon on culling the dissidents of royalty, hence why the Inquisition are doing this.

He might believe it a waste, hell, I think he genuinely does, but ultimately, without acting, all those thoughts? Empty gestures and sighs, full of pity, Orso.

It was a riddle. This man, born with no advantages, believed in something so much he was willing to die for it. Orso, born with everything, could scarcely make himself get out of bed of a morning. Or, indeed, an afternoon.

“Bed is warm, though,” he murmured.

Well, that’s just the thing. The privileged, with their inherited wealth, don’t have to work to preserve it and their privileges. They’ve known no other life beyond it and have grown accustomed to their degree of luxury. Their wealth and privilege allows them to live as comfortably as possible, and the human lives exploited and squeezed out of their use? They’re less a consideration to the immediate pleasures of the privileges of those in high places.

Comfort and pleasure can blind you, because too much of them can close you off to the pain and anguish of others, if your luxurious life is dependent on the suffering of others. It’s only when you have skin in the game that you learn to fight for something until the bitter end, because you don’t have any luxury to fall back on when you’re knee-deep in the shit. A world’s difference between that Breaker and Orso, between those with losing and winning hands.

Rather than needing strong men or horses to haul up the condemned, some enterprising fellow had devised a system whereby prisoners could be dropped through the scaffold floor at a touch upon a lever. There was an invention to make everything more efficient these days, after all. Why would killing people be an exception?

(snorts) Done in a new way, indeed.

“Damn it,” muttered Orso, working a finger into his collar. There was nothing even faintly satisfying in this. Even if these people really were enemies of the state, they hardly looked like very dangerous ones.

In some ways, this is a shockingly naive thought in the Circle of the World. Plenty of otherwise harmless-looking or quiet people can turn out your most dangerous and ruthless enemies in this world, as Logen would point out. But, at the same time... this is still an acknowledgment of all this being wrong. Orso’s problem isn’t that he doesn’t know right or wrong, it’s that he can’t be bothered to do anything about it, and that damns him, given he, out of everyone there, could stop it. Could, at least, try! And doesn’t!

The next in line to receive the king’s justice was a girl who might not yet have been sixteen. Her eyes, wide in bruised sockets, flickered from the open trapdoor to the Inquisitor as he stepped towards her. “Have you anything to say?”

She appeared hardly to comprehend. Orso found himself wishing the vapours were thicker, and that he could not see her face at all.

“Please,” said the man beside her. There were tears streaking his dirty cheeks. “Take me but, please—”

Oof. I can’t say I’m surprised, considering West’s chapter at the Angland camp noting the Inquisition takes children in, but seeing it still punches me in the heart. And that man, just begging for leniency to that girl, for himself...

And Orso, wishing he didn’t have to see her face, in order not to feel the guilt burning in him. At staying his hand. Because looking at someone’s eyes beforehand makes it all the harder to say they deserved to die.

Orso gritted his as he looked to the scaffold. Hildi had been right, he could stop this. If not him, who? If not now, when?

There was some problem with the girl’s noose, the Inquisitor hissing furiously at one of the executioners as he dragged his hood up over his sweaty face to peer at the knots.

Orso was just about to step forward. Was just about to roar, Stop!

On a purely realistic note, I kind of wonder what would have happened, had Orso acted? Glokta’s not there, nor is Bayaz, and it can be agreed-upon the public masses that the royalty of the Union still holds the power over there. So, ultimately, it depends on whether Orso would buckle to the Inquisitors there, them telling him that the Breakers are traitors and deserve no quarter with him conceding in the end, or if he could argue that children have done no crime worth execution? In truth, the Inquisition are the real power, given Arch Lector Glokta, but at the same time, publicly undercutting the royalty might be more trouble than Orso undercutting the Inquisition, who nominally serve under him.

In short, it’s entirely possible he could’ve, at least, saved the girl, just like Jezal protected Brock’s children against his Closed Council once:

“There will be no hangings.” The king was frowning levelly at Bayaz.

Hoff blinked. “But your Majesty, you cannot allow—”

“There has been enough bloodshed. Far more than enough. Release Lord Brock’s children.”

Last Argument of Kings, Patriotic Duties

(Sobs at father/son connections)

In all honesty, if we’re talking echoes of the first trilogy, there’s a lot of later-Jezal in Orso, the self-depreciating man who was more painfully aware of how out-of-depth he was as king, except the self-depreciation is far more pointed in Orso’s case, Orso’s voice is choked full of it, so much so that it’s a miasma of disregard to himself. Not undeserved, considering how little he’s doing now, but it’s definitely a notable quality. On a structural level, I can’t help, but read a certain Crown Prince Ladisla in Orso, except, instead of just a punchline, there’s an actual character in this useless prince, and enough self-aware and want to do the right thing...

... Yet, Orso doesn’t.

But circumstances always conspired to stop him doing the right thing. He heard a soft, high voice in his ear. “Your Highness.”

Orso turned to see the broad, flat and decidedly unwelcome face of Bremer dan Gorst at his shoulder.

HEY, GORST THE WORST! How’re ya doing? :D Still the King's First Guard? Of course you are! Also still being a depressed, self-pitying murderous incel? That too, most like!

Gods, I wonder if he’s still fixated on Finree, after all these years...

“The queen has sent for you,” piped Gorst.

Orso blew out through his pursed lips to make a long farting sound. “Hasn’t she better things to do?”

Oh, SNAP! We’re getting Terez this early? My, my, I’m certainly interested in seeing her again, after how Abercrombie dropped the ball with her the first trilogy.

Orso turned away without much reluctance. He hated bloody hangings, but the girls had wanted to go and he hated disappointing people, too. As a result of which, it seemed, he disappointed everyone. At his back, there was that strange sound between gasp and cheer as the next trapdoor dropped open.

Disappointing me as well. Damn it, Orso. Nothing was stopping you from stopping the girl’s execution, at least, and then going to your mother right after. But no, you took the easy excuse of needing to be with your mother, instead of the hard choice of standing for what’s right.

Another thing Abercrombie relies on? The anti-climax, the thwarting of expectations on a chapter and series scale, I knew it as one of his writing tools going in, and I still fell for it, hoping Orso would do something useful, anything useful and stop the excessive execution of a child. I suppose I have no one to blame but myself, given even Orso’s expressed what a useless shit he is, but...

Oh, Orso, Orso, Orso. What am I to do with you?

Orso tossed his hat onto the bald head of a bust of Bayaz, congratulating himself that it came to rest on the legendary wizard at a pleasingly rakish angle.

Huh, I do wonder how a meeting between Orso and Bayaz would go down. Bayaz’s inevitable to come visit the Union at some point in this trilogy, especially if Jezal croaks in the middle of it (the Breakers would serve as an abject reason for murdering the king, given the allusions to the French Revolution). Orso hardly seem to be made of sterner stuff, even more than his father, who wasn’t exactly a lion deep down... but at the same time, that’s expected, isn’t it?

Who are you, Orso, beyond a self-aware fool I can’t respect, and pity without sympathy?

The tapping of his boot heels echoed in the vast spaces of the salon as he crossed a sea of gleaming tiles to the tiny island of furniture in its centre. The High Queen of the Union sat fearsomely erect there, dripping with diamonds, growing out of the chaise like a spectacular orchid from a gilded pot. It hardly needed to be said that he’d known her his whole life, but the sheer regality of the woman still took him aback every time.

You know, I was expecting this, but wow. We’re really getting Terez, huh! Looking the picture-perfect example of royalty.

Also, I got to love that fearsomely. Lovely detail to capture how Orso feels about his mother.

“Mother,” he said, in Styrian. Using the tongue of the country they actually ruled only aggravated her, and he knew from long experience that aggravating Queen Terez was never, ever worth it. “I was just on my way to visit when Gorst found me.”

“You must take me for a rare kind of fool,” she said, angling her face towards him.

“No, no.” He bent to brush one heavily powdered cheek with his lips. “Just the usual kind.”

“Really, Orso, your accent has become appalling.”

“Well, now that Styria is almost entirely controlled by our enemies, I get so little chance to practice.”

As an immigrant child, someone born away from my current home, I can’t entirely relate to this... but I know my parents suffered a great deal of cultural diaspora when they came to where we currently live. And, when my brother and I could, we would speak Chinese because it was part of our parents’ culture. I’m not particularly good at it, but I know enough to make my parents’ lives more convenient instead of speaking a language they’re less comfortable with.

I say all this to say? I completely get where Terez’s coming from. She was effectively sold off from her father to a foreign country to accumulate more of his power and she’s adrift from her original culture and home and just wants to keep as much as possible. And it’s honestly such a neat detail from a character who was given the short shrift in the first trilogy, writing-wise. I can already tell there’s a greater sense of detail attended to her this time.

The royal bosom, constrained by corsetry that was a feat of engineering to rival any wonder of the new age, inflated majestically as the queen sighed. “People expect a certain amount of indolence in a Crown Prince. It was quite winning when you were seventeen. At twenty-two, it began to become tiresome. At twenty-seven, it looks positively desperate.”

(looks at Crown Prince Ladisla) Different sort of man, yet, the same disappointment. I come back to the Prince Ladisla comparison because the way they’re written feels so different, despite occupying a similar useless royal twat archetype. Prince Ladisla completely bought into himself being the best thing since sliced bread, full of illusions of himself as a great general in his head. Crown Prince Orso, though? If anything, he suffers from the opposite problem: so thoroughly disillusioned of himself that he feels he can’t do anything. They’re both privileged, useless, royal twat archetypes, but how their uselessness is expressed is the difference between day and night.

“You have no idea, Mother.” Orso dropped into a chair so savagely uncomfortable it was like being punched in the arse. “I have long been thoroughly ashamed of myself.”

“You could try doing something to be proud of. Have you considered that?”

“I’ve spent whole days considering it.” He frowned discerningly through the wine as he held it up to the light from the giant windows. “But doing it really feels like such a lot of effort.”

This feels similar to the Finree/Leo dynamic, except where that mother was exasperated at her son’s inability to do anything but act, Terez takes issue with how much Orso will do anything but act. A true man of inaction against Leo’s man of action.

Also, “long been thoroughly ashamed”? How long as this been happening for Orso, then? Terez did mention that he was like this since seventeen, but... why? I mean, as Terez says, you could try doing something. Like, um, stopping an execution? Orso? Hello?

“Frankly, your father could use your support. He is a weak man, Orso.”

“So you never tire of telling him.”

“And these are difficult times. The last war did… not end well.”

“It ended pretty well if you’re King Jappo of Styria.”

His mother pronounced each word with icy precision. “Which you… are…not.”

“Sadly, for all concerned.”

“You are King Jappo’s mortal enemy and the rightful heir to all he and the thrice-damned Snake of Talins have stolen, and it is high time you took your position seriously! We have enemies everywhere. Inside our borders, too.”

Well. That answers one question about Jezal and Terez. Though, honestly, I expected as much, given those grisly circumstances. (grimaces)

Also, snrrrk. Terez, Orso barely has the energy to do the right thing for a girl, what makes you think he has the energy to take up a mortal enemy he never asked for?

Also, calling it now: Orso and Jappo are totally going to meet eventually in this trilogy and get along because they can share in their mutual burdens of dominating mothers.

“Then I trust you come to me in a receptive mood.” Orso’s mother gave two sharp claps and Lord Chamberlain Hoff strutted in. With waistcoat bulging around his belly and legs stick-like in tight breeches, he looked like nothing so much as a prize rooster jealously patrolling the farmyard.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed so low to the queen, he virtually buffed the tiles with his nose. “Your Highness.” He bowed just as low to Orso but in a manner that somehow expressed boundless contempt. Or perhaps Orso only saw his own contempt for himself reflected in that obsequious smile. “I have positively scoured the entire Circle of the World for the most eligible candidates. Dare one suggest that the future High Queen of the Union waits among them?”

HEY, Hoff! You piece of utter shit! How’ve you been?

(stares before wincing) Well, that feels familiar... though, I imagine there’s just some genuine contempt, considering that you’re not exactly the model of princely behavior.

Well, not good princely behavior.

“Oh, good grief.” Orso let his head drop back, staring up towards the beautifully painted ceiling of the peoples of the world kneeling before a golden sun. “The parade again?”

“Ensuring the succession is not a joke,” pronounced his mother.

“Not a funny one, anyway.”

“Don’t be facetious, Orso. Your sisters both did their dynastic duty. Do you suppose Cathil wanted to move to Starikland?”

“She’s an inspiration.”

“Do you think Carlot wanted to marry the Chancellor of Sipani?”

Actually, she had been delighted by the idea, but Orso’s mother loved to imagine everyone sacrificing all on the altar of duty, the way she was always telling them she had. “Of course not, Mother.”

Cathil? Carlot? What the... who named them? Orso makes me think Terez got to name the sons (oh geez, I just realized Crown Prince Orso was still a child when Duke Orso got killed, what a bad omen) and Cathil and Carlot... did Jezal name them? Where did he get those names? Now I’m wondering Jezal asking Glokta for advice on names, and Glokta asking Pike for another name for the daughter after the first one.

Either that or Cathil and Carlot are common Union names, maybe, but just imagine the awkwardness of that naming discussion between Jezal and Glokta.

Also, STARIKLAND? Where Conthus and Carlot are? Oh dear...

What strikes me about this is the idea that Orso and Carlot were close enough that he knew that she was delighted at the arrangement between her and the Chancellor of Sipani. It’s just a nugget, but it helps make Orso a little more palatable.

Also, as much as I really dislike the guilt-tripping from Terez here... there’s a sad reality that she was sacrificed for her father’s power. Whether he knew she was a lesbian or not is immaterial, he could’ve arranged her a match she actually liked and straight-up didn’t care enough to, only thinking that she would’ve whined, had he offered Euz, instead of simply a king.

“Lady Sithrin dan Harnveld,” announced the lord chamberlain.

Orso sank lower into his chair. “Do I really want a wife who measures the distance from her chin to her tits in miles?”

“Artistic licence, Your Highness,” explained Hoff.

“Call it art, you can get away with anything.”

HA! I have a few artistic friends, and have seen enough artists justify wonky perspective or anatomy, that this is endlessly amusing to me.

Honestly, Orso’s got a few good zingers here. That’s another good part about this chapter here: he’s funny in a way Rikke and Leo, or even Savine, aren’t, despite the darkness of the initial half. A lot of his quips undercut a good chunk of the darkness there. Not enough that the reality doesn’t sink in, but enough that it doesn’t choke us with the misery of child execution.

“The Countess Istarine of Affoia is a proven politician, and would bring us valuable allies in Styria.”

“From the looks of her, she’s more likely to bring me a dose of the cock-rot.”

“I had imagined you would be immune from constant exposure,” observed the queen, waving the portrait away with an exquisite flourish of her fingers.

Snrrrrk. Dang, even Terez’s got some good zingers here. This back-and-forth is delightfully fun.

And so it went, as Orso marked the turning of morning into afternoon by the steadily decreasing level of wine in the decanter, and dismissed the flower of womanhood, one by one.

“How could I abide a wife taller than me?”

“She’s a worse drunk than I am.”

“At least we know she’s fertile, she’s borne two bastards that I know about.”

“Is that a nose on her face or a prick?”

He almost wished he was back at the hanging. That, he could theoretically have stopped. Over his mother, he was utterly powerless. His only chance was to wait her out. There were a finite number of women in the Circle of the World, after all.

Yeaaaaaaaah, Orso might be a shit person, but dang, this part of him is oodles of fun, a delightful wry awareness. Though, dang, some of these are pretty damn petty complaints, all things considering.

“Finished?” asked Orso. “No portrait of Savine dan Glokta lurking in the hallway?”

(feels a chill in his spine) Oh god, no, Orso.

No, just no. Please don’t. I’m serious. Don’t fuck your half-sister!

On a less horrified note, is that why he gave those petty complaints and denials to those women? Because he has his heart set on Savine? Which, I mean, all the power to you, Orso, but it’s Savine. Putting aside the incest angle that you don’t know about, it’s Savine.

Even at this distance, he felt the chill of the queen’s displeasure. “For pity’s sake, her mother is a low-born boor, and a drunk to boot.”

“But an absolute scream at parties, and whatever you say for Lady Ardee, Arch Lector Glokta has the people’s respect. Or at any rate their abject terror.”

“A crippled worm,” spat the queen. “A torturer!”

“But our torturer, eh, Mother? Our torturer. And I understand his daughter has made herself quite spectacularly rich.”

I 100% do not blame Terez for being so visceral against Glokta. What he did to her the first trilogy is some abjectly ghastly shit. I will never hold that against her. Though, you really have to be a classist shit to Ardee, Terez?

That being said, whatever happened to Shalere? She’s not attending to Terez and she was particularly joined at the hip with Terez back in Last Argument of Kings, so... was she killed? I noticed Orso didn’t mention a brother, or did Glokta take mercy on Terez and Shalere after the former sired Orso, Cathil, and Carlot, and Terez told her lover to get out of dodge to protect her? That’s... just even more sad and lonely for Terez.

Also, huh, Ardee goes out to parties and living the high life? Good for her, I guess she doesn’t just stay home all the time, like Savine’s chapter implies. At least that’s some levity from the misery of loneliness.

“Money made through trade, and dealings, and investments.” The queen spat the words as though they were criminal enterprises. For all Orso knew, Savine’s dealings were criminal enterprises. He wouldn’t at all have put it past her.

“Oh, come now, money shamefully made from trade fills the same holes in the treasury as the kind nobly wrung from the misery of the peasantry.”

“She is too old! You are too old, and she is even older than you are.”

“But she has impeccable manners and is still quite the celebrated beauty.” He waved a loose hand towards the doorway. “She’d make a prettier portrait than any of those piglets, and the painter wouldn’t even have to lie. Queen Savine sounds rather well.” He gave a chuckle. “It even rhymes.”

I’ve said plenty about Orso’s inactivity and his shittiness for that, but he’s certainly got a brain to him, and enough understanding and no class illusions to realize that money’s money, no matter where it comes from.

Honestly, it’s a little refreshing, how much Orso isn’t the usual privileged royal twat, characterization-wise.

Also, huh! Good to know how to pronounce Savine’s name! Now, I sort of wish I knew how to pronounce your name, Orso, ya fop.

“Promise me you will have nothing to do with that ambitious worm of a woman.”

“With Savine dan Glokta?” Orso sat back with a bemused expression. “Her mother’s a commoner, her father’s a torturer and she made her money from business.” He shook the last drops from the decanter into his glass. “Quite apart from which, really, she’s far too bloody old.”

“Oh,” he gasped. “Oh! Oh fuck!”

He arched his back, clutched desperately at the edge of the desk, kicked a pot of pens onto the floor, smacked his head against the wall and sent a little shower of plaster across his shoulders. He tried desperately to squirm away, but she had him by the balls. Quite literally.

He crushed his face up, nearly swallowed his tongue, coughed and hissed one more desperate, “Fuck!” through gritted teeth, then sagged back with a whimper, kicked and sagged again, legs shuddering weakly with aching after-spasms.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

(bursts into laughter) HAHAHAHAHAHAHA HOLY SHIT! (continues howling in laughter) Oh my god, Orso!!! (descends into a strangled sort of laughter now) Wow, Orso, just wow... hahahahaha (putters in tiny, almost choked snickers) ... hahahaha...

... Shit, this is kind of bad, isn’t it. Guys, what the fuck.

Orso watched his seed float around in the wine. “That… is somewhat disgusting.”

“Please.” Savine rinsed her mouth out from the other glass. “You only have to look at it.”

“Such cavalier disrespect. One day, madam, I shall be your king!”

“And your queen will no doubt spit your come into a golden box to be shared out on holidays for the public good. My congratulations to you both, Your Highness.”

He gave vent to a silly giggle. “Why does someone as altogether perfect as you waste her energy on a dolt like me?”

Snrrrk, gods, this chapter really be a ton of fun, given how much Orso’s matching up against people his fencing level. Brings out the best in everyone, dialogue-wise.

And it doesn’t pass my notice that when Orso says the usual entitled and typical “I shall be your king” remark, just like Ladisla towards Cathil in Before They Are Hanged, Orso is clearly saying it in jest and lets the retorting quip pass with a giggle. There’s so much of Orso that feels like an intentional course-correction of that particular fantasy archetype, a forceful zag where Ladisla zigged.

She pushed out her lips discerningly, as though considering the mystery, and for a strange, stupid moment he almost asked her. The words tickled at his lips. There was no one better suited to him. She had all the qualities he wished he had. So sharp. So disciplined. So decisive. Besides, it would have been worth it just for the look on his mother’s face. He almost asked her.

But circumstances always conspired to stop him doing the right thing.

“I can only think of one reason,” she said, hitching her skirts up and wriggling onto the desk beside him.

Oh, Orso. You’re a bit of a coward and even more of a fool than I thought if you don’t see the reality that she’s only after you for your impending kingship. The writing’s on the wall here, and you’re refusing to see it because you think Savine’s just the best (I suppose not incorrect in most aspect aside from morality).

“Get to it, then.”

“You really are in no mood for romance today, are you?”

She slid her fingers into his hair, then twisted his head somewhat painfully down between her legs. “My time is valuable.”

“The naked gall.” Orso gave a sigh as he hooked her leg over his shoulder, sliding his hand down the bare skin, hearing her gasp, feeling her shudder. He kissed gently at her shin, at her knee, at her thigh. “Is there no end to the demands of one’s subjects?”

This ending and this entire sex scene really does illuminate a lot of things, like the actual Savine/Orso dynamic (sub male and dom woman), how gentle and passive-compared-to-Savine Orso is as a lover, how clever he can be with words during intimacy, and... how much Orso feels so worthless, he feels he need the best to complete him, no matter how much she might be using him for her own gains. I shake my head at this, not even taking into account the incest quality, but... there’s a sadder register to it.

As a chapter, this does set up quite a few details, like the ills of the new age, and the Breakers that’ll resist this to the point of death, the Savine/Orso affair, and Orso’s (really) apathetic and self-depreciating character. Orso’s asides manage to undercut quite a bit of the darkness of the chapter’s first half, where Orso’s inaction is condemned by even himself, and the second half is where it crackles with dialogue and fencing between more equal opponents, unlike Savine’s punching down against random putzes. It’s not quite as self-contained as Where the Fight’s Hottest, but it’s more fun than all the prior chapters so far.

As a character... honestly, Orso fascinates me in a way only Rikke also does for me. I won’t exactly say he’s more interesting than Savine at this point, but he makes for an interesting contrast to Leo as a man of inaction. Self-aware, yet useless, Orso’s kind of a huge mess and a privileged shit in a way that I should hate, and, yeah, I don’t particularly think it says great things that he still let the executions happen (at the very least, he could’ve tried to save the girl!), but... he’s a shit in a way that’s so different from most other privileged royal twats. A man who knows himself for the useless prince and just internalizes it as deep as the pearl dust he snorts. In some ways, the self-awareness damns him, because he knows he’s useless and doesn’t try for better or not being useless, but, at the same time, he’s not unintelligent, has no illusions about himself, and is certainly a sort of fun character, if blatantly aware of how trashy he is.

I kind of wonder where Abercrombie’s going to take Orso, because he’s really fascinating as a character construct, a fantasy archetype given this modernized wry self-awareness, the privileged royal twat who has no illusions of his station and what a shit he is.

PART I

Chapter One: Blessings and Curses Chapter Two: Where the Fight’s Hottest Chapter Three: Guilt Is a Luxury Chapter Four: Keeping Score Chapter Five: A Little Public Hanging Chapter Six: The Breakers Chapter Seven: The Answer to Your Tears Chapter Eight: Young Heroes Chapter Nine: The Moment

#a little hatred #a little hatred spoilers #the age of madness #the first law #joe abercrombie #crown prince orso #a little hatred part I

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memoirsofamessybitch · 6 years ago

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In My Mind; Part 1

@lizgarxo this one is dedicated to you! and to anyone who has been looking forward to a continuation of this!

the prologue can be found here: http://memoirsofamessybitch.tumblr.com/post/180457816968/in-my-mind-prologue

Joe X Fem Reader

Sometimes it's hard to get settled into a new gig that's so different from the one before. I'd worked on a lot of T.V shows, a few stage productions but a film...it's a whole different ball-game. You're working even longer hours, getting treated even worse than any job before, and most of the time you're just touching up miserable featured extras. I spent the whole first week getting coffee, as my expertise wasn't needed to it's full extent. The second week I started doing make-up tests, the leads were still having wardrobe fittings to prep for initial shoots. I glanced at the main casting, I recognized a few names, but not all.. My crew dealt with prosthetic and make-up. Which meant a lot more time with actors in my chair and in my trailer, lots of touch ups and by the look of it lots of airbrushing and fake blood.

You could say I had very little job satisfaction, the dream had turned to complete dust after getting so much abuse and fetching about a million Starbucks orders. So much so I can't even stand walking past one. I must sound like the most cynical bitch on the planet, and you're fucking right.

It was by the third week when my interest began to peak however. Not only in my job but in fact my own personal life.

When people tell you they've been unlucky in love, you're pretty sure they are just exaggerating. But me, I could write the book sweetheart. I'd grown pretty used to rejection and heartache, so I made sure I tried my best not to catch feelings. Meaningless sex with multiple hookups kept my appetite for human contact at bay, who had time for a significant other. So when I tell you, I met someone who makes my stomach ache with butterflies, who makes my skin tingle and burn with excitement at the very mention of his name. You can understand the severity of how much of an impact he has on me.

By the third week, around 6 am an actor sat in my chair and completely changed my perspective on life forever. I didn't even realize at first I had my earphones in listening to (favourite album) and sipping my drink unaware of what was going on at first. Movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention and with a loud sigh and got up from my leaning position and began my day.

I didn't see him, not right away if you know what I mean. It wasn't till he spoke to me, that’s when I really saw him. I noticed his kindness initially, then the rest followed of course.

“Morning! I'm Joe, nice to finally meet you” he had on this really kind and trusting smile, like he'd known me for years. I smiled back, not forcibly either. I could even feel my cheeks flush a little. Now that I wasn't expecting.

I eventually noticed he had his hand out so we could shake. I quickly snapped out of my smiling gaze and grabbed his hand.

“I'm y/n, so uh....it seems like we're doing some scarring and wounds on the face and neck” I picked up my photos for reference.

“Yeah I'm not muscular enough to have gaping scars on my tight bod” He pointed to his chest and grinned, followed by a soft chuckle. I wasn't expecting a genuine laugh to come out of me either that day, but it did. I covered my mouth and snickered “You've seen those studs in action films all bloody and dirty, yeah...bet you’ve airbrushed a few muscular men in your time I can tell” I kept laughing, more noticeably this time. “Sorry I'll stop” his chuckle died down. I was a little disappointed, I was enjoying it.

“NO....dude it's fine. It's been a while since I've had a laugh like that” I was preparing my brushes looking at him through the reflection in the mirror before us. I examined him bit by bit. Firstly; his dark auburn hair, it was thick and slightly wavy on top. Hair department obviously hadn't seen him yet. In fact it looked like he'd just woken up. His nose dimple was the second thing I noticed, and it was ridiculously adorable. I bit my lip briefly as I made very quick eye contact. Just had to check them out too. In the light they looked kinda olive coloured. I smirked at him as he continued.

“Why! make-up trailers are where you're supposed to have fun, or you go insane from boredom!” he crossed his arms and looked at me with intrigue.

“You're right with the last one, the last couple of jobs I've done have been so BORING, films are hard work though, I think I'm gonna be a shell of a person after this one” I picked up my prep spray and held it up. Joe closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly.

“Ready?”

“As I'll ever be, just make sure it doesn't go up my nose” He pointed to his nostril and I rolled my eyes.

“Alright your highness” He chuckled softly again as I sprayed away. “You done a lot of acting then?” He scoffed at my question. Okay maybe it was dumb but actors come and go, I'd met so many, names and faces really escaped me.

“You could say I have, you ever seen Jurassic Park?” He looked up at me as I put some putty onto my fingers and began to massage it between them, my eyes widened.

“Oh my god you're Raptor number 3 aren't you! I love your work” I put on some dumb fan girl voice and stuck my tongue out. He threw his head back and laughed. “For real though...were you like the little boy or something?” He nodded sucking in his bottom lip. “Damn son that's pretty fucking cool”

“Okay okay...you ever seen the show The Pacific?” he was really testing me now. I shook my head pushing my tongue against the inside of my cheek.

“Nope, Sorry I'm shit at this game dude” I started to stroke the putty onto his cheek bone as gently as I could.I focused on his side profile for a moment. It certainly wasn’t the worst thing I’d seen in a while. I licked my lips and continued stroking carefully.

“Damn your hands are soft....” He whispered as his eyes closed slowly. I stopped for a moment and sucked in my bottom lip. His freshly shaved cheek felt pretty good too to be honest. I watched his body relax at my touch, it was oddly satisfying.

“Thanks?” I said with slight hesitation in my voice.

“Sorry was that....sorry I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable” the way he looked up at me made my chest feel odd, almost full of something. He was looking as if he was genuinely worried about what he had said to me. I put my hand on his shoulder and shook my head.

“No...NO no no...I'm not....just” I hesitated for a moment before I continued.

“I struggle taking compliments is all” I carried on applying. I could feel his eyes on me. “What, you're looking at me like I just said something ridiculous” He shook his head. I sat back on the desk facing him this time, and began swirling around the brush over the applicable make-up. I watched each fiber pick up the pigment, trying my best not to let the butterflies in my stomach distract me from my work.

“How long have you been working on sets then?” I sighed, leaned forward and started stippling the make-up on his face.

“Long enough” was all I replied with. Glancing into his eyes for a second then away again.

“Sounds like you're not a fan” He sounded intrigued for sure. But I wasn't sure how I felt delving too deep. I'd only just met him.

“It's a job, and of course I'm grateful for it I guess I'm just feeling....stagnant” I pulled back and added more to the brush. “This is getting a bit deep now man maybe we should tone it back” I laughed nervously, still unable to look at him longer than 5 seconds. Which was fucking hard because I was painting his face. But this guy was causing me to feel things I hadn’t felt since I was very young, dumb and naive. I felt excited to be near him. I felt a little foolish too, I barely knew him, and i knew he didn't really give a shit about if I liked this job or not, as long as I did it correctly. Right?

“Well regardless of how you feel y/n this looks incredible, you should be proud” I couldn't hold back my beaming smile, my cheeks ached slightly from the reaction.

“Thanks Joe, means a lot” was all I replied with as I carried on painting.

#joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello #joe mazello

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thepartyresponsible · 6 years ago

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another fill! this is not a champagne fill. this is a coffee fill, which has stronger notes of bitterness and acidity.

@greythunderkat, i am so sorry. your power is out, and you asked very nicely for a little more from the post-apocalyptic verse, and you probably wanted something at least a little sweet, and here i am, bringing you despair.

this is how jason coped with the end of the world. warnings for character deaths (so. many. deaths.) and also for roy harper, which means drug references and trucker hats and bad decisions.

It’s a grotesque, Jason thinks, what the world has done to itself. It’s an obscene joke. He tells Roy, when he asks, that he’s not surprised, but that’s a lie. It had been a hell of a shock, watching Gotham rend itself to pieces. The kind of hit that falls so fast and so mean that you don’t feel it for hours. There’s just the sudden jolt, and then radiating numbness.

He remembers the desperate twist of sorrow that hooked in when he found Alfred on the floor, sweating through his shirt, cuffs already stained with vomit. He remembers scooping him up, remembers hating Bruce for doing this, for leaving another one of his blind, stupid followers to suffer alone. Alfred – imperturbable, unflappable Alfred – had seemed to weigh almost nothing.

The numbness hit about three minutes later, when he found Bruce’s body. After that, he didn’t feel a damn thing for six, seven months.

He buried Alfred and Bruce side-by-side, tucked right next to Bruce’s parents. He put Tim there, too, when he found his body, a week or so after the worst of it had worked through Gotham.

Tim didn’t die sick. Tim bled out in some back alley, got his face stomped in afterward. Jason doesn’t know who he was trying to protect, but he died with his mask on, like a good Bat.

Jason doesn’t hear a damn thing from Dick or Barbara or anyone else. Never finds their bodies. As he works his way out of Gotham, heads south like a migratory bird fleeing winter, he leaves messages behind, spray painted on every building he thinks they might check, telling them where he’s headed.

When he leaves those places, he does it again, leaves a breadcrumb trail of black spraypaint, bats and coordinates in coded messages.

But he never hears anything from any of them again.

He’s surprised by what the world does to itself, but not that he loses every single Bat in the processes. They’re all better-natured, nobler. Those who didn’t die sick probably died like little Tim, fists clenched tight until the bullet holes drained too much blood.

Bruce, of course, would’ve been proud of every single one of them.

Probably not so proud of the way Jason ran away, and damn sure not proud of the things Jason did in that first stretch of months after leaving Gotham, but Jason tells himself he doesn’t care. Bruce Wayne was never proud of him, so it’s not like he fell from grace. More like he just kept digging farther down into the muck he’s always been mired in.

It’s Roy Harper, incongruously enough, that steadies him out.

“Hey, Jay,” he says, months after the outbreak, as he rolls through the window of the warehouse Jason’s staying in. He smiles like it’s nothing, like he’s just dropping in after some work with the Titans. He smiles like the world isn’t gutted behind him.

“Fuck,” Jason says, too out of habit to remember sentence structure, too startled to compensate. He swallows the cold canned soup he hadn’t bothered to heat up. “What the fuck, Harper?”

“Been following your messages,” Roy says, with a shrug. He’s starved to bantamweight, and, every time he grins, Jason gets a pretty clear idea of what his skull looks like under that thin layer of skin. “Anyone else find you yet?”

Jason sets the can aside, climbs to his feet. Roy eyes him with a casual friendliness that almost hides the way he’s keeping one hand close to the knife on his belt.

“Just you,” Jason says.

“Yeah,” Roy nods. There’s a sudden, sharp twist of his mouth, a flash of something behind his eyes. “You’re the only one I’ve found, too.”

Jason figures they could fill graveyards with the list of names they’re trying not to say to each other. All those bodies stacked up between them, and he doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to climb to the top, meet Roy halfway.

“Sit down,” he says, finally. “There’s soup.”

Roy studies him for a second and then smiles again. Last time Jason saw him, he was in disgrace, but it’s probably a hell of a lot harder to find heroin now that the world’s dead.

He doesn’t look healthy, but he looks clean.

Hell, he’s the first familiar face Jason’s seen in months. Jason wouldn’t chase him off if he looked high out of his Goddamn mind.

They don’t talk about it much. One time, when Jason wakes up to find Roy curled in on himself, rocking back and forth, he puts a hand on Roy’s shoulder and listens, carefully blank-faced, while Roy explains.

“I was in rehab,” he says. “Kinda remote. Grayson found it for me. We were fine for a couple weeks, then I guess someone remembered we were there. Whole fucking place, and just me. None of others were fighters.”

Jason didn’t try to hold Gotham. He knew it was a lost cause, and he chose, pretty quickly, not to die for it.

He wonders how long it took Roy to make the same call.

“It’s alright,” Roy says, mostly to himself. He rubs at his face, but he isn’t crying. His face is emptier than Jason’s. “I’m fine, Jay. It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Jason says, “alright. Let’s get moving.”

‘’Sure,” Roy says, getting his feet under him. He wobbles a little on the way up, but he’s steady by the time Jason steps back. “Let’s go.”

If Jason had a chance to pick, he wouldn’t have picked Harper. But he’s glad that he’s here. There’s an edged, insistent optimism to Harper. That’s probably what got him in trouble in the first place, but he can’t get into much trouble with Jason constantly within reaching distance.

Jason thinks that, anyway, until Harper comes laughing out of the forest, hyena-cackling, blood on his face, his hands, all down his Goddamn shirt, and says, “Jay! Jay, I killed a fucking bear.”

“With what, shithead?” Jason says, on his feet so fast that he’s almost dizzy with it. “Your fucking hands?”

“Arrows didn’t take it down,” Roy says. He leans over, hands on his knees, and laughs, giddy and high-pitched, off his head on adrenaline and maybe blood loss. “Got it with a couple of arrows, finished it with a knife.”

“You fucking idiot,” Jason says, tripping right into rage. “You fucking disaster.”

“Killed a bear, Jay,” Roy says, a little petulantly. His hat is missing, which serves to show off the ragged cut on his forehead.

“Fucking Christ,” Jason says, and doesn’t panic. “Fucking Christ, Harper.”

The cuts aren’t as bad as they looked. He’s not hurt half as bad as Jason feared. But they’re low on antibiotics, almost out entirely, and Jason can’t sleep because he’s so damn worried that Roy’s going to up and die on him from gangrene, like this is some shitty WWI-era tragedy.

“You’re gonna get trench foot,” Jason tells him. “Your face is going to turn green and fall off.”

Roy laughs. He’s not quite as manic as he was earlier, but he still seems to find the whole situation somehow hilarious. “Better not,” he says, mumbling from his sleeping bag. “I’m definitely the pretty one.”

“The fuck you are,” Jason says. He stares at the ceiling above them, tries to remember how far away that town was, the one with the pharmacy that looked like it might still have something valuable left inside. “I swear to Christ, Harper, if you die--”

“Not gonna die, Jay,” Roy tells him. He’s serious now. Soft and blank, the way he gets when he’s sad. “I killed a bear with my fucking hands so I could get back to you, dumbass. I’m not leaving.”

“You killed it with a knife, asshole,” Jason says, but his heart tightens up in his chest, and he gets unwelcome flashbacks of finding Tim in that dark alleyway, the bright red of the suit, the dark red-brown of old blood.

He doesn’t want to lose any one else. He’s a long way from Gotham, and he doesn’t know where the hell he’s supposed to bury Roy if it’s not right next to the rest of his family.

He sneaks out at dawn, leaves a message for Roy to stay in their stolen cabin, try to get some rest. Out scouting, he writes. Gonna find more food.

They have enough food. Hell, they have a fucking bear that they’re supposed to find something to do with. They have stacks and stacks of canned food. What they don’t have is enough antibiotics, and so he’s off to get more.

When he gets into town, he walks right into a trap.

Fortunately for him, the trap’s already sprung, and the trappers have their eyes set on different prey.

The man’s older than Jason, looks put-together in a way that is almost laughable, given the relative dilapidation of the rest of the world. It looks like he still bothers to comb his hair in the morning. He comes crawling out the half-collapsed mess of the pharmacy with a bag on his back, a gun on his hip, and dust all down the front of his shirt.

Jason watches in amazement as the man no-shit pauses to brush the worst of the dust and debris off of his clothes before he sets off down the street, straight for the group of men who are waiting to grab him.

Jason stopped wearing the bat on his chest a long time ago, but Roy painted it on the back of the stupid red hoodie he gave him last Christmas, and Jason feels the weight of that symbol for the first time in years.

The easiest thing, he knows, would be to wait until the fight’s over and then take out the survivors. That’s the clean way to play this, the safest way forward.

But there was a time when Jason didn’t put his safety in front of anyone else’s.

He’s never quite been a hero, but he used to be something better than what he is now.

When he kicks the sniper off the roof, it feels like some kind of resurrection. The bullet he puts through the leader is blinking awake after a long fever, settling back into a body he barely remembers.

It’s not what Bruce would’ve done. But this isn’t Bruce’s world. Bruce died, and took his world with him, and Jason’s been out of the world so long that it stings, stepping up to the edge, letting himself be seen.

When he calls down to the man below, he’s almost laughing, feels stupid and off-balance. Relieved, maybe. “Hey,” he says, “you’re a fucking lunatic, you know that?”

The man looks up at him. He’s calm, relaxed. He just shot four people in thirty seconds, and Jason hasn’t seen anyone move with that kind of beautiful efficiency since the last time he saw Nightwing having fun in a streetfight.

“I’ve been told,” he calls back, dry, amused.

It has been a long damn time since Jason spoke to a stranger who had anything other than threat and fear in their voice. It’s been a long damn time since he met anyone who moved like his people used to, back when he had people other than Roy Harper.

It feels like some kind of homecoming. It feels like crawling his way out of a second grave.

He gambles on trust, because he thinks, if he spends one more day in a dead world, he’s going to die with it.

“You grab any antibiotics?” he asks. “I’ve got a friend who did something stupid.”

#writing #fic #fill #post-apocalyptic verse #death

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ikesenhell · 6 years ago

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Missing: One Shoe

Bloodline, Chapter 6. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTE: There isn’t a content warning this chapter. Thank god.

They traced the video.

It was difficult for certain. After over a decade, there wasn’t much that they could do to really narrow down the location, but they managed it. Ieyasu begrudgingly admitted to himself that Mitsunari knew his stuff.

“It seems to come from somewhere in Norfolk,” Mitsunari advised him. “Have you ever been there?”

“No.”

Masamune laughed. “It ain’t said like it’s spelled. They say it ‘Nah-fuck’, not ‘Nor-folk’. They said back in the day of the Revolutionary War, when the redcoats were around, the women there wouldn’t drink, nor cuss, nor--”

“I got it.” Ieyasu sighed. “What kind of a place is it?”

“They make the battleships there for the Navy. It’s mostly a shipyard.” And at that Mitsunari paused. “They’re trying to make it more… trying to drive up the property values, but it has a reputation nonetheless.”

He didn’t ask. The implication was obvious.

All they had was a radius to work with, but that was enough. Honestly, Ieyasu was terrified. What if his mother was alive still? What if she’d been chained up in that basement for a decade? What kind of a person would she be after that? He tried not to think about it (what were the odds, anyway? It was more likely she was dead and gone), but the thought still rung in his head like a bell.

It was a solid four hours to Norfolk (not accounting for anyone in D.C. deciding to be an idiot and clogging the streets, and they always were being idiots), but Nobunaga didn’t bat an eye when he asked for the time off. “As far as we are concerned, this is official business.”

Ieyasu wanted to snark something about my family isn’t government business, but held his tongue. The only way to get resources he needed was if he cooperated.

He got halfway through packing a suitcase when she rapped against his doorframe.

“Yes?” Ieyasu brushed back his hair and stared up at her.

“So when are you leaving out for Norfolk and how many days is it?” She asked, simple and matter-of-fact. “I need to figure out how much to pack.”

He took a couple moments to process. “You’re coming?”

“You ask like it’s not a foregone conclusion.”

“I ask because it isn’t.”

She just fixed him with a wry smile. “I’m in this now with you, it’s foregone. So how many days is it?”

His mouth moved before his brain could really catch up. “Four. But--”

“Thanks!” And she vanished back into the guest bedroom, leaving him gawking in her wake.

He confronted her at the car the next morning. She leaned against the passenger door with her small bag and a smile, the grey Virginia morning swirling around her.

“Look.” He snapped open the trunk. “You might have to shoot someone again.”

Her smile faded. “I know.”

“I can’t babysit you if you get sick again this time.”

“I know.”

“Can you stomach it?”

“I don’t know.”

Ieyasu almost fixed her with his typical sour attitude, but one glance at her conflicted expression stilled him. “You don’t know?”

“No. I don’t. Is that so bad?” A pause. She handed her bag to him anyway. “But I signed on for this, and I’m sticking around regardless. Even if I don’t like it, your mom is worse off than I am. I want to at least try and help her.”

Silence. He busied himself with the bags, acting as if he needed to properly arrange them when there was space to spare. What was there to even say to that? “Alright. But you have to keep up.”

“I understand.”

As one, they settled into their seats and buckled in. Rearranging the mirrors, Ieyasu wondered if it would be so impossible to admit he liked having her there.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

Thanks. Thanks for coming. Thanks for being here. Thanks for being a friend. I’ve really liked having you around. You make me feel human. I like finding you in the kitchen in the morning. I think I like you.

“I can’t run the music and drive at the same time, so you’ll have to,” he said instead, tossing the auxiliary cord into her lap. “Pick something. I don’t care what.”

“Roger that.”

---

The traffic through the tunnel was terrible, but once they popped out the other side--there it was. Battleships sat in the ocean water, massive cargo ships just grey blocks in the waves. Cranes loomed in the distance against the swirling sky. Hideyoshi had offered to get them a place on the Naval base, but Ieyasu turned him down on the grounds that he’d be more obvious there than elsewhere. They got a hotel room near the Norva Theatre instead.

“Alright.” She flung down her stuff and stretched. “Let’s get to it! Where do we go now?”

“We’ve got a relatively small radius to cover, but it still is a lot of walking.” Ieyasu pulled the map back up on his phone. “But it’d be too suspicious to take the car in loops around the block.”

“Yeah. I’m tired of driving anyway. We could grab something to eat and do a lap?”

“Sounds good.”

They picked up Chipotle burritos and walked through the downtown streets. A fierce breeze blew off the ocean and swept between the blocks, stirring her hair around her. As much as the practical part of him wanted to tell her to just put the damn hair back already, it’s getting everywhere, he couldn’t stop watching it fly in picturesque arcs around her.

“So.” She crushed the foil in her hand and pitched it into a trash can. “Here is my thought.”

“I’m terrified. What is it?”

“Did you get that joke from Masamune?”

Ieyasu snorted. “You’re mistaken. I made that joke because of Masamune.”

Her smile warmed him from toe to tip. “I should have guessed. Here is the thought: they’re holding her someplace with no natural light, so it should be a basement, right? And I imagine they have lots of storage for other things. It’d be stereotypical for me to suggest that we hunt for a warehouse, but don’t you think that’s a logical place to start? Maybe an office building too?”

“It’s a start of some kind. May as well.”

They did the rounds a long while before they saw it. The building itself was an unassuming pale yellow brick, a strange curved relic of 80s architecture. A peeling sign for a cleaners perched on the outside, thinly half papered with a sign reading FOR R and half of a phone number. On first glance he ruled it out.

“Hey.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Let’s get into a side street for a second.”

“Why?”

“Please?”

So they dipped to the side anyway. She shuffled in front of him and peered around the corner expectantly. “There are people in that parking lot.”

“So? Maybe they’re people looking to rent.”

“I don’t think so,” she answered doubtfully. “Something about it is rubbing me wrong.”

“Fine. If it makes you feel better, we can double back around.”

They did a loose lap around the block and came back the opposite direction on the street behind. Carefully they picked their way through the alley until they were in the back of the building, the weathered graffiti on the back crawling over the exterior--and there was an 18-wheeler parked out of sight.

“What is that for?” Ieyasu hissed. Unease prickled over his arms.

“Time to find out, isn’t it?”

“Wait--” But she was already slipping into the alley. Cursing under his breath, he followed her. “I said wait.”

“Too late.” Silently she crept up to the cab and popped up, peering through its contents. “No one is inside.”

“Lucky, cause that would’ve gotten you caught.”

Ignoring him, she rounded the back of it and investigated the door. It was locked. “Damn.”

“What did you expect,” he hissed, “That they’d roll out the red carpet for you? Hold on.”

“What are you doing?”

Ieyasu knelt before it and pulled out his lockpicking set. Carefully fishing through the tiny tools, he produced two and slipped it into the latch, jimmying it around. Click. They had success. “Are you fast?”

“Fast enough, I guess.”

“Well, you’re also smaller than me.” Not by much, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “I’m not opening this whole thing up. Get in there, figure out what’s inside, and get back out. I’ll cover you.”

Without hesitation she nodded. God, why was she so helpful? If it were him, he would have had a thousand questions before doing this. “Got it.”

“And don’t--” He paused, the warning lodged tight in his throat. She was a civilian. Where did he get off, letting her put herself in harm’s way? “Don’t… touch anything.”

“I understand.”

Hefting the whole weight of the sliding door under his shoulder, Ieyasu lifted it (and both marveled at how damn heavy the thing was and how much weight training with Masamune had paid off, it wasn’t as bad as he thought it might’ve been) and cracked it about two feet. She wriggled herself in, arms first, and disappeared from view.

And now came the awful waiting game.

He usually was good about that. Masamune had a habit of going dark for hours at a time, leaving them mired in doubt and without a word of comfort. He was used to it now. But her--already he felt like he’d let go of something very, very fragile and precious. Was this even the right thing to do? Ieyasu wanted to regret ever stepping into that library--

And he couldn’t.

The thought rattled in his mind ominously. What did that even mean? He rolled it over and over again like a marble, wearing it smooth with wonder. God, he was an idiot. Meet woman. Almost get woman killed on your account. Make woman get involved in an investigation as a result. Develop feelings for woman. Great job, Ieyasu, I’m sure she’s totally willing to return it. What was he thinking? As much as he shoved that treasonous realization down, it just bubbled back to the surface.

Well, fuck.

He considered it a small mercy that something rattled from the nearby building. Ducking behind a nearby dumpster, he held his breath and peered at the truck, trying to keep an eye on her concealed position. Shit. Two men approached it from the back, clapping their hands free of work grime and dust, one of them swinging a bundle of keys around his finger.

Oh hell no.

Acting quickly, Ieyasu grabbed a half-empty container of spray paint and tugged his shirt up hard over part of his face. Jogging to the truck, he rattled it meaningfully and started to spray.

“Hey!” The man yelled. “What are you doing!?”

Perfect. Playing the role of a graffiti artist caught in the act, he jumped and dashed down the street. The loud crunch of gravel behind him burned through his ears. Rounding the corner, he waited a half second until his pursuers emerged, then he chucked the can at them. It bounced with a satisfying clank off one of their heads.

“WHAT THE FU--”

Laughing despite himself, Ieyasu tore down the street. They were fast, but he was faster. Thank god for weekly track at the CIA. Now he just needed to get back to her. As if on cue, his phone vibrated.

I’m clear! Where are you?

His heart thumped heavy with relief. Hands shaking, he texted back a simple I’m three streets down and one over. Meet me here.

--- Her cheek was streaked with dirt and she was missing a shoe when she got to him, but she looked fine otherwise. He almost asked, but she held up a hand. “Lost it in the getaway. I think it’s in an alley somewhere.”

“Hell.”

“Yeah.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “Good news is that I didn’t lose it in the truck or something, so there’s that. Plus, they were old and kind of loose. I guess it’ll look like trash.”

She couldn’t very well go wandering around in one bare foot. Ieyasu weighed the options and then offered her his arm. “Get on my back.”

Her brow arched. “What?”

“You’re--” He staggered over his words. “Look, you might step on glass or something, and then it’ll get infected, and I can’t have that, it’d be a real pain in the ass--”

“--’Yasu, I’m in a skirt, I can’t very well do a piggyback ride--”

His nickname in her mouth did things to his pulse he couldn’t articulate. Flustered, he motioned for her to come closer. “Fine, then I’ll just carry you. You can’t walk around in one bare foot.”

“Can you carry me that long?”

Now it was a challenge. Setting his jaw, Ieyasu scooped his arms under her back and knees, sweeping her up. She squeaked with surprise and latched onto his neck. “You’re light as fuck. Now hang on. Cross your legs if you’re so worried about it.”

“I am!” Her cheeks were bright red. Whenever the wind blew, her hair swept against his nose and tickled him, the scent of cherry blossoms and lavender circling around him.

“Sorry,” she apologized, brushing her hair off his face. His heart hammered so hard he wondered if she heard it. “I should tie it back.”

He huffed. “Then you’d have to let go, and then you might fall, and that’d be worse. I’ll deal with it.”

---

Despite her protests, he bought her another pair of shoes from a local shop (some nice sneakers--they were practical, but he spent a little time trying to pick something cute for her, though he’d never admit it) and they went back to the hotel. He watched as she peeled away her socks and dipped her toes into the bath.

“So,” she started, swishing her feet in the water. “The truck.”

“Yep.” He hopped up onto the countertop. “The truck.”

“I…” A beat. She twisted her lip between her teeth. “There weren’t any boxes left in there, just some crushed down spares, so I went sorting through them for any kind of identifying information. You know, a brand, a shipping address, something.”

“Right.”

“Only one in there was marked. It had a shipping sticker still on the top. Ever heard of a company called Sinopec?”

He paused, wracking his brain. “Actually, yes. It’s sort of familiar. Isn’t it a chemical compound and petrol company?”

“That’s exactly it. They do mostly gas-related stuff--and ‘other’.” She put up air quotes. “It’s a legitimate business and all that, but I find that interesting.”

“Hmm.” Ieyasu mused for a moment. “But what does this have to do with my mother? She was a CIA operative, not a chemist. My father wasn’t one either. I think he was a foreign relations guy. What would you need hostages held without ransom and chemicals for?”

“I mean, nothing good.”

“No shit. Glad I have you to point that out.”

She just laughed at his snark. “Hand me that towel, would you?”

He did. She patted off her feet and drained the tub, the two of them slipping into the adjoining room and settling onto their respective beds. The pale grey light backlit her like a classical painting. Somehow, all of the edges of her were rendered perfect in the glow, every inch of her fascinating and gracious.

“So what’s the plan?” She asked.

“Well.” He wrenched his mind from that train of thought. “I’ll call it in. They might send the Uesugi-Takeda team, and I can send you back with Sanada--”

“Wait. Wait!” Her frown was a thing of petulant beauty. “What do you mean, ‘send me back’?”

“Exactly what I said. You’re not going to get into the middle of another firefight.”

The stubborn woman pressed forward. “I can help! I’ve been helping! What if you need someone that isn’t known to them?”

“Then I’ll get Sarutobi, that squirrely bastard, or something--”

“--seriously, ‘Yasu, let me help--”

Something about the way she said his name snapped his will clean in half. A thousand swirling visions of her in his mother’s position lanced in his mind--blood running down her cheeks, begging some unseen assailant, pleading, his name still in her mouth--please, please, please--

“I can’t,” he choked, “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t let you.”

“‘Yasu--”

He wrenched her off the bed and forced her mouth against his so hard their teeth clicked together.

She was only stiff a moment, and fear shot like ice in his veins--but then the lines of her shoulders went soft as a silk skirt, molding to his touch and curving against him. Her palms cupped his jaw and he wondered if his face was meant to be there. It fit too perfectly. He wasn’t much of one to wonder about higher powers or that nonsense, but for one split second, he imagined that only a god could make someone settle like a puzzle piece against him.

“Ieyasu,” she half-laughed against his mouth. “This wasn’t expected.”

“I’m a man of surprises,” he answered, feeling stupid the second he said it. She just giggled so hard he smiled despite himself. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry. It was cheesy.”

“If you don’t stop laughing, I’ll make you stop.”

“Oh?” The tilt of her voice was like a shot of pure sunshine, burning him the whole way through. “Do tell.”

“I said stop.”

She tasted like paper and the faint tang of envelope glue, a cherry blossom lotion and a sweet chapstick. He’d laced a hand through her hair and let it slide around his knuckles, relishing the contrast as he nipped at her lower lip.

“We’re being very unprofessional right now,” she teased.

“You’re the one being unprofessional with all the commentary. I’m trying to keep this kiss office-appropriate,” he huffed, deadpan as always. It garnered the laugh he wanted so badly. “But seriously. I can’t just... “

“Ieyasu.” His name was a song in her voice. “Ieyasu. I’ve come this far with you. Please let me help the rest of the way.”

“If it gets too dangerous, I won’t be able to forgive myself.”

But she just shook her head. “I won’t let it come to the worst. Just let me help.”

Idly, he smoothed one of her eyebrows with his thumb. Her nose wrinkled, mouth squished into a pout, and he memorized the expression the way he’d filed away every important thing he’d ever learned. “If you get hurt--”

“I won’t.”

A long moment passed between them. At last, he sighed. “You’re as stubborn as Masamune.”

“And you like him, too.”

“I tolerate him.”

“I’m sure you kiss everyone you just tolerate.”

He squinted at her and she giggled, squeezing his hands. “I promise. I’ll be fine.”

#Missing: One Shoe #Bloodlines #Ikesen #Ikemen Sengoku #Ikesen Ieyasu #Spy Ieyasu #Ikesen Spy Au #Ikesen Modern Au #Ieyasu Tokugawa #Tokugawa Ieyasu #my writing #Ikesen fanfic

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justbeingnamaste · 6 years ago

Photo

911 17th Anniversary: 17 Unanswered Questions !

As the 911 17th anniversary approaches,

it is worth casting our minds back to that “catastrophic and catalyzing event”, that new Pearl Harbor (in the words of the PNAC neocons), which has cemented the false idea of a War on Terror into the public mind. More and more researchers and facts have emerged since the first few years after the event. Thanks to the work of people like Dr. Judy Wood and Rebekah Roth, we now have a very good idea of the how and who behind the biggest false flag attack in world history. Below are 17 unanswered questions designed to briefly reacquaint you with the shocking anomalies, inconsistencies and holes in the official narrative during this 911 17th anniversary.

1. If Osama bin Laden was the mastermind of 9/11, why was he never formally charged with the crime?

Guess the FBI just plain old forgot or were too busy conducting sting operations (foiling terror plots they themselves orchestrated) to actually charge bin Laden with the grandest crime in history. By the way, what were representatives from the Bush family (ex-CIA chief and President George H. W.) doing meeting with representatives from the bin Ladens (Shafig bin Laden, brother of Osama) the day before 9/11 in New York Ritz-Carlton Hotel? How did everyone seem to know it was bin Laden before the dust had even settled, e.g. former Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak speaking on the BBC only 1 hour after the attacks?

2. Why did Netanyahu say 9/11 was “very good for Israel”?

The New York Times quoted Netanyahu as saying: “”It’s very good.” Then he edited himself: ”Well, not very good, but it will generate immediate sympathy.”” Netanyahu was quoted elsewhere as saying, “We are benefiting from one thing, and that is the attack on the Twin Towers and Pentagon, and the American struggle in Iraq,” and that the 9/11 event “swung American public opinion in our favor.”

3. Why did 5 Israeli “art students” (i.e. intelligence agents) celebrate by loudly dancing and cheering on a nearby rooftop and thereby attracting attention?

These same “art students” stated to the police: “We are Israeli. We are not your problem. Your problems are our problems. The Palestinians are the problem.” They also claimed in a TV interview that they were there “to document the event”!

911 17th anniversary: this mural was painted on the Urban Moving Systems van before 9/11/01.

4. Why did the Israeli company Urban Moving Systems have a mural of a plane crashing into the Twin Towers painted on its side (remember, it must have been painted before the 9/11 attacks)?

This was the same van associated with the 5 Mossad “art students” …

5. Why did the BBC announce Building 7 had been demolished before it actually had?

Someone went off script and jumped the gun with that report …

6. Why were the 9/11 planes so light that day (carrying a total of 260 passengers in 4 planes instead of the more normal 800 passengers)?

Just a coincidence, right?

7. How could any emergency calls (either by passengers or flight attendants) have been placed from the air when cell phones don’t work in the air?

Rebekah Roth was a former flight attendant herself who caught some of the 9/11 flight attendants in a lie. One of them stated she was on the phone for 27 minutes! Another one stated that the hijackers had sprayed pepper spray (or mace) just in business class, but this is impossible because it would circulate all throughout the plane.

8. Why did there just happen to be

46 drills on the day of 9/11

to confuse everyone? 9. If Mohammad Atta and his team of hijackers were waging a holy war/jihad against the US according to their strict Islamic faith, why were they seen gambling, drinking alcohol, eating pork, smoking cocaine and using hookers in the leadup to the 9/11 false flag attack? 10. Why did NORAD, ultimately commanded by then VP, PNAC member and neocon Dick Cheney,

give the order to “stand down”

when the US was under attack? 11. Is it just a coincidence that then Secretary of Defense, PNAC member and neocon Donald Rumsfeld announced that the Pentagon/DoD couldn’t account for US$2.3 trillion the day before 9/11 happened, thus putting this astonishing fact down the memory hole? 12. Why did NYC mayor Rudy Giuliani immediately ship the fallen metal to China and India, thus destroying the evidence?

According to Dr. Steven Jones, only 250 pieces of structural steel were saved for analysis out of 200,000 tons!

13. Why did then President

George W. Bush

continue to read a kids’ book, upside down, to a classroom of children right after he was told the first WTC tower had been struck?

By the way, do you think it’s a just a coincidence that the kids were reciting these 5 words for their lesson right then: KITE, HIT, STEEL, PLANE, MUST?

14. Why did

Bush tell a public meeting

that he saw the first plane strike the WTC and said “There’s one terrible pilot” when video footage shows he was in the classroom not watching a TV at that time? 15. Why did the Israeli company Zim Shipping mysteriously

vacate their WTC lease just a week before 9/11

and incur a $50,000 fine to do so? 16. If 9/11 was carried out by 19 Kamikaze Arabs and with the help of no States, was did Saudi Arabia threaten the US when Congress was considering releasing the “28 pages”?

And why does the troika of Israel, Saudi Arabia and the US continue to work together, e.g. as in subsequent operations like the Syrian War?

17. Why have so many non-US public officials stated on the record that the 9/11 attack must have been carried out by a State, not a loose group of militants?

Conclusion

As more and more years pass from September 11th, 2001, it is important to remember the gross amount of falsehood and fakery surrounding that event. Those lies led to so much draconian regulation, limitation of rights, torture, tyranny and war. May the 911 17th anniversary be an occasion for us to remind ourselves of the vast deception that continues to be perpetrated against us. It’s never too late to pursue and spread the truth. Even after all the hoopla over the JFK files release, Trump still bowed down to his military-intelligence masters and kept many files classified. Will history repeat itself and will 9/11 truth be held to the same fate?

Credit ~ Article ~ http://freedom-articles.toolsforfreedom.com/911-17th-anniversary-questions/?

#Remember 911 ?

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writerspink · 6 years ago

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evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

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apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

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exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

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stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

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feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

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install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

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warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

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