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madam-mademoiselle · 4 years ago

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The Ill Wind of Mozart's Horn Concerto No.4

It was one of those days where the rain was beating against the mansion, keeping residents at home. Normally those who are out in Paris at this time of day were occupying themselves in a little free time from their normal schedule. The weather being bad as it was, Sebastian forbade you to even take a carriage into the city to get what was on the grocery list along with the tenants' needs list.

You had more or less stuck with the same chores, wanting them to be done so tomorrow would be a lighter load on you and Sebastian. He had told you to make sure the windows and mirrors on the second floor were cleaned. The least favorite chore you had to do. There was that one smudge that resulted in a painful flick to the forehead.

With Mozart's piano playing in the background, you swore you almost heard the same tune. You hummed along with it before realizing what it was! You snapped your fingers and smiled. Oh he was not going to like this, but! This was going to be worth it for you!

You waited as he played through an arrangement before coming to the one you knew quite well. Clearing your throat while cleaning the window next to his door. As soon as the first stanza began, you followed along singing.

"I once had a whim and I had to obey it

To buy a French Horn in a second-hand shop;

I polished it up and I started to play it

In spite of the neighbours who begged me to stop."

The piano stopped briefly from your… lack of the musical ability to carry a tune. You made sure the hallway was clear of any of the residents, starting your lovely melody as Mozart began his concerto again. You sounded off again much to his dismay.

"To sound my Horn, I had to develop my embouchure;

I found my Horn was a bit of a devil to play."

The sound of piano stopping suddenly had you quiet again while footsteps could be heard marching towards the door. You pressed your lips together to suppress the smirk that was trying to make its way on your face. Facing the window and focusing on the cloth, the door opens to have Mozart peering around to find the offender.

Those violet eyes were drilling into your person. You pretended to focus on the glass but turned to him. You gave him a smile, "is there anything you need Mozart?" The rag in your hand as you paused to give him your attention. Staring into your soul, he stepped fully into the hallway.

"Yes, I thought I heard someone butchering one of my concertos out in the hallway." You turned your head down the hall, making a show of it. You turned back to him with an expression of confusion. "I'm sorry, I haven't been paying attention. I've been trying to make sure the windows and mirrors are clean and streak free. Maybe some hot chocolate and sweets will help? You stayed up late last night working on your piece."

That part was true, he was frustrated when he described the music he heard in his head wasn't wanting to come through the way he was wanting it. When he did come to bed, he tossed and turned before getting up and returning to the piano. When you woke up to see him sleeping on the piano, you covered him with his blanket, and went to retrieve some Blanc from the kitchen to drink later.

Back to the current situation, he shook his head, "no. I appreciate the offer. Thank you for the Blanc and blanket earlier mein liebe.” His eyes softened as he reached to push back a stray lock from your face. Feeling sympathetic, you wrung the rag in your hand. “You know Wolf, someone once told me you need to focus on something else and whatever thought you were thinking of so hard before, will come in front of your mind.

Seeing him looking indignant, you held up a hand, trying to soothe him. You started to tick off ideas for him to do. “Before you say you were playing something else, you still saw the notes in your head. Leave the music room for a little bit. Go to the dining room and get some lunch, I can make you coffee, or maybe go watch Jean and Napoleon spar, I’m sure Jean wouldn’t mind.”

He shook his head, “it's not that simple. It is at the end of my finger tips, the melody is there. Trying to convey it…" Placing the rag on the window sill, you take one of his hands in yours. You kissed the back fingers and squeezed his hand gently before letting it go. You knew he was a germaphobe and didn't want to push it too far.

"You'll figure it out and once you have it penned in the stanzas, it'll have its place. I won't keep you further, I have to get back to cleaning windows before Sebas finds out I am shirking work." You groan the last part. Thinking about any flicks to the forehead he may deliver if he catches a single streak.

He offered one of his private smiles for you before shutting himself back into the music room. You sighed and got back to work, listening to him play through his arrangements. Hearing the frustration in his playing as he tried to find the notes that eluded him. When you got to the last window and raised your rag to clean it, he started with that concerto again.

You waited patiently, keeping yourself distracted. Listing chores that you had completed, thinking of the shops you needed to visit in town, and even to the point where you were pursing your lips as you were mouthing along with it. He heard your God awful caterwauling for the first time. Mozart probably knew it was you singing and was too preoccupied with that tune to speak to you about it.

Taking it no more and ready to face his disappointment and horror when he realizes his significant other couldn't sing, you continued your song:

"I miss its music more and more and more.

Without that Horn I'm feeling sad and so forlorn."

Your voice had reached a deep pitch of the song when singing out forlorn. You coughed quickly to clear the tickle it had created in your throat. Quickly resuming where you had left off in your tune.

"I found a concerto and wanted to play it,

Displaying my talent at playing the Horn,

But early today to my utter dismay it had totally vanished away."

The piano had stopped abruptly. The rag dropped from your hand realizing what you had just sang aloud. Oh boy, that was probably the wrong thing to belt out when your composer boyfriend just told you he was having issues trying to wretch out that stubborn melody from his skull. You heard more than saw as the door to the music room swung open with more force than normal. In the doorway revealed Mozart, giving you an icy stare as he slowly walked toward you.

"MC? So it was you from earlier. I was going to give you the benefit of the doubt. However, I simply cannot forgive what I just heard." He placed his hand on the wall beside your head while you were staring at him with wide eyes. He moved to eye level, close enough to kiss him, his other hand moved to gently hold your chin in place. Maybe it was a bad idea to choose that song out of anything else? "Mozart, it's just that your music is so accomplished, that there may be some parodies of your work and that so happen to be one I overheard…"

He was silent, cool amethyst eyes watching your expression. Pondering about what to do with you. You had interrupted his time twice with what you called singing. No doubt everyone in the mansion had heard them. Grasping your chin, his eyes bore into yours, a small smirk started to grace his lips. "You had suggested I take a break. Come." Letting go of your chin and stepping away from you, he started towards his music room.

"Why are we heading towards the music room? I don't think it would be productive if you took a bre-!" Forgetting your momentary faux pas and getting slightly annoyed that you were still in your spot, he came back over to you to sweep you off your feet. "Your listening skills are as bad as your singing." That smirk got a little bigger as he carried you to the room. You glared at him for that little comment.

"I am going to take a break with mein liebe by giving her a voice lesson. That should inspire me." At the threshold of the door, he kissed you, teasing out a low moan from your throat. "Much better." With you still in his arms, he shut the door to start your "lessons".

*A few hours later*

Closing the door to the music room and hearing the piano's song flowing beautifully in the hallways you grabbed your cleaning supplies. Heading to the kitchen, you straightened up your clothes and hair. You happen to look at the wristwatch Issac had repaired for you, realizing it was 10 minutes passed the normal time the caffeine addicted vampires of the mansion took their coffee, Mozart included.

Arthur had beat you to the coffee grinder as he was drinking his fill of the precious bean water along with Leonardo present. His tool kit was sitting on the counter, putting away one of them. "Coffee grinder mess up again Leo?" Placing the bucket in the pantry and washing my hands, both vampires were silent, feeling their eyes on me. Drying your hands, you made eye contact with Arthur's sapphire ones. "What?"

"I didn't know Wolfie's bird wasn't much of a songbird. Was going to come out of my room and give you a standing ovation." Your cheeks were flushing red. You thought everyone had moved to the first floor, you had forgotten about the other residents that reside on the second floor. Arthur was probably writing instead of being with Theo. Leonardo chuckled, handing you the grinder. "Everyone heard you cara mia."

You groaned, hiding one of your hands. Arthur smirked at your embarrassment, "yeah. Mozart caught me singing to one of his concertos with verses that weren't really appropriate for it. He was trying to compose with a melody that wouldn't come to him and I told him a break would probably help."

Leonardo was silent, hearing the muffled sounds of piano playing. "It sounds like it helped cara mia or would prima donna be more suited to you eh?" You threw the drying towel at him, seeing him getting a laugh out of the teasing both of them were doing to you.

"It did, I'm just glad it helped. It finally came to him after he gave me some music lessons so I am happy he can get it on paper now." Placing the towel back on the counter, Leonardo left the kitchen, leaving you and Arthur. The smirk on his face grew the size of the Cheshire Cat's. "What? Why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?"

"I think you enjoyed the lesson too, bird." His index finger tapped to the place where his shoulder and neck met. Miming him, you felt the dried blood from where you had ‘your lesson.'

"Arthur!" Furious, you placed the coffee grinder down on the table to chase after the laughing writer.

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Thank you @aeoncryptic for proof reading and for the support for my first Ikemen Vampire fanfic shot!

The song MC is an actual song called Ill Winds by Flanders and Swann. Take this fic as you will, just wanted to have a little fun with Mozart.

#ikemen vampire #ikemen mozart #ikemen vamp #ikemenvampire #mozart x reader #mozart x mc

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snowdice · 5 years ago

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Big Bang Editing Story [Day 2](Part 2)

I’m going to go ahead and start a new thread. What’s been done of this story already is under the cut.

If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today.

Chapter 1

“Please?” the younger teenager said as he threw his arms around Logan in a hug. Logan gave him a disgruntled look when a stray arm bumped some of the papers on his desk and one that he’d been using fluttered to the ground.

“Patton, I have work to do.”

“You work all the time,” Patton pouted back at him.

“I’m the crowned prince,” Logan reasoned. “There is a lot for me to do.”

“You’re not even doing royalty business tonight,” Patton pointed out. “You’re just reading your book.”

“But I have to do some tomorrow and if I agree to a sleepover, we both know neither of us will sleep.”

“We’ll sleep, I promise!” Patton said.

Logan gave him a skeptical look. They had been having these sleepovers for a decade at this point and in none of them had Logan ever actually slept. On the contrary, Patton usually kept him up long enough that Logan was so tired he couldn’t fall asleep and then the boy himself would pass out leaving Logan to stare grumpily at the ceiling.

“Future Royal Advisor’s honor?” Patton tried, eyes hopeful. “Come on, we can play dress up.”

Logan glared at him. “I am 17 years old,” he reminded.

“I’ll do your hair,” he tempted. “I’ll even let you read a book while I do it.”

The look in his friend’s eyes and the fact that he really was quite good at hair started to weaken Logan’s resolve.

Patton, knowing him so well, saw his tenacity faulter and pitilessly pressed his advantage. “Mama made fresh cookies today,” he said. “They’re the ones with strawberry jam. We could sneak into the kitchen and steel some in the middle of the night.”

“Considering you are the head chef’s son and I am the prince, it would hardly be considered stealing.”

“But it’s more fun that way,” Patton argued with a laugh. “Come on, you need to have some fun. You’ve been stressed out lately.”

“This is fun,” Logan said with a frown, gesturing to the large book in front of him.

“I know,” Patton said, “but your brain has got to be tired from reading all of that Latin and Sand’s Kit.”

“Sanskrit.”

“Gazuntite.”

Logan sighed. “Why did father agree to make you the royal advisor in training?”

“Because he knows without me, you’ll send your entire life sitting at this desk reading your book.” Patton scrunched up his nose at him.

“I would also do my royal duties.”

“But sometimes you need to relax,” Patton said. Logan opened his mouth. “Really relax. No super encoded magical books that make me dizzy looking at them. We’re going to play dress up, eat cookies, and read silly books, and that’s final.”

“Oh, I’m being commanded, am I?” Logan asked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re really going to try to command your prince? You’re lucky I don’t have you tossed into the dungeon.”

Patton hopped off the chair he’d pulled up to Logan’s desk and scrambled a few feet away. “You’d have to pull yourself away from your book to do that,” he said, sticking out his tongue at him.

Logan glanced down at his book. Reading the Pragilium text despite its difficulties had been his life’s work since he was a small child, and it was something he very much enjoyed, but he was tired from his duties and his lessons the last few weeks and not in the way he would be if he agreed to Patton’s sleepover. He looked up at Patton. He was shifting back and forth on his feet, a smile on his face. The book could wait.

Logan carefully closed his book and stood from his desk chair. Patton was already giggling before Logan lunged for him.

Patton was a lot more agile then Logan was himself and knew the castle just as well since he had been brought to live here when he was just starting to walk, yet he was clearly slowing his place so Logan would not lose him. They ran through familiar corridors, careful to not slam into the stationed guards as the slid around corners. They ran past the large window that gave the best view of the castle garden and Patton avoided the spiral staircase that would let out near the kitchen where his mother was currently preparing that night’s dinner. Instead, he made a dash through the smaller dinning hall, unused at this time because they had no important guests, and then hung right to bolt towards the wing with Logan’s own private quarters.

The guards that stood in front of the double doors to the private hall, stepped aside easily at Patton’s approach. Patton pushed through the doors and they swung shut behind him.

“Traitors,” Logan accused, shooting past them through the door himself.

The guards only seemed amused by his accusation.

“Help!” Patton yelped. His still light tone didn’t worry Logan that something was actually wrong, but it did make him wonder who he was speaking to. That became clear, however, when he noticed his father standing at the end of the hall outside the entrance to his own bedroom. Patton sprinted past Logan’s bedroom and directly at the king.

“What is going on here?” Logan’s dad asked amused as Patton darted around him to use him as a human shield.

“I made Logan stop working and now he wants to throw me in the dungeons.”

“Well,” Logan’s father said. “It’s a good thing I’m king and can overrule him then.”

“Thank you, Thomathy.” Father chuckled at the nickname, and Patton poked his head around the king to stick his tongue out at Logan once again.

“He’s sticking his tongue out at me!” Logan pointed out. “Surely that counts as some sort of treason.”

“Does not!” Patton claimed.

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“I would, but you’re hiding behind my father like a coward,” Logan argued.

“He does have a point there, Pat,” Father reasoned. Patton just wrapped his fists into the man’s robes and shot him a piteous look.

“Oof, Pat,” Father said, rubbing his chest as though it ached. “That look is a shot straight to the heart. Is someone trying to assassinate me?”

“No,” Patton said. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“Hmm,” Father replied, reaching out to ruffle his hair and then stepping away from him. “I can always count on you Pat. I have to head to a meeting now. Keep our troublemaker out of mischief for me?”

“Oh, I’m the troublemaker?”

“Of course, Thomathy,” Patton swore, ignoring Logan completely. “Can we use the jewelry box for dress up?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Father agreed. “I won’t need any for a while. Just keep them safe.”

“We will,” Patton promised. Father smiled at him and walked towards the entrance of the hall. He paused to press his palm to Logan’s cheek briefly before continuing and disappearing through the doors.

Logan turned back to Patton. “It seems you have cornered yourself,” he pointed out.

Patton glanced around himself. He had, in fact, sequestered himself in the end of the hall. The only possible avenue was into Father’s bedroom and he’d likely locked the door behind him if he was going to be gone to a meeting. Patton giggled when his predicament set in. “Truce?” he offered.

“Not a chance.”

“No! Logan! Truce!”

Logan took a menacing step towards him.

“Defensive offence!” Patton shrieked and charged at him.

The air was knocked out of him when Patton slammed into him. “Ugh, Patton, why?” The arms that had wrapped around him squeezed hard. “I’m being attacked! Guards!”

To the guards’ credit, one of them did stick their head through the door just to make sure. Patton waved at them.

“There is no respect for the crown in this entire castle!” Logan sputtered when the door closed once again.

Patton released his waist finally, and instead grabbed his hands. “Come on, I bet I can pick out a good fun book from your dad’s library for you to read during our sleepover.”

“My book’s fun.”

“And easy,” Patton stressed. “We’ll have to wait for the cover of nightfall to steal the cookies, but there is plenty to do until then.”

“Fine,” Logan said with a put-upon sigh, though he honestly didn’t feel any true resentment. He wondered if he’d regret his decision to agree to Patton’s ‘sleep’over in the morning.

He would find in the years to come, that he very much wouldn’t. For, many, many reasons.

Chapter 2

Virgil hated this. He really, really hated this. To think he wished he was back in training camp. He yearned for General Landon’s mistreatment like he imagined most children desired their mother’s affection. He tried not to sniff too loudly from his place behind the foul-smelling bags he’d hid behind in the small shed long enough ago that his legs had long since cramped.

He could tell from small window opposite him that the sun had set recently, though it was not quite last light. Soon he would have the cover of darkness and would have to move from this spot. That was almost worse than staying cramped here forever and starving to death in the shed. He felt sick. He felt so sick. He didn’t want to be here.

A noise startled him, and he flinched down further behind the bags as someone pulled opened the door to the shed. A man made a groaning sound and set gardening tools down on the table with a clank. Virgil did not want to imagine all the ways each of those things could kill someone, but his brain didn’t give him the choice.

Virgil focused on breathing as quietly as he could even when the thoughts in his head made him want to pant. The man continued to put away the tools in different places in the shed. Virgil tried to curl even tighter into his already tight ball when he strayed too close a few times.

The man finished his work and wiped off his hands on his shirt. Virgil expected him to turn and exit the shed, but instead he called out. “I can see your hair.”

Virgil froze, and when the man turned to look right at his hiding place, he let out a small whimper. He tried to scramble away when the man took a step closer to him, but there was nowhere to go but to press himself up against the back of the shed, the man’s body between him and the door.

They sized each other up for a long moment. Could Virgil make it to one of the tools if he moved quickly enough? He didn’t know. He doubted it and there was more than a likely chance that he’d reach for a tool himself with his much longer arms.

“You here to steal food from the castle garden?” the man finally asked.

Well…no, not at all. He wished he was here to steal food. How should he respond? What was the most tactical answer? He cast his mind back to his training. There were a few options when faced with this situation, but he didn’t know which was the best one. The most obvious explanation was to go with his cover story and try to say he worked in the kitchen, but this man worked with the garden. There was every possibility he knew people in the kitchen. Another strategy would be to agree with whatever he said and hope he came up with a reasonable explanation on his own… but that explanation seemed to be that Virgil was a thief. Would he immediately be dragged in front of the king or have his arm chopped off or something else horrible? He could try spinning it around on him by asking him questions back and confuse him. He could ask him why he was here or if he was the one stealing food. That would be stupid though, he was obviously the gardener. That would probably just piss him off and make Virgil’s fate worse.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

“Hey kid,” the man said. “What’s going on?” He had crouched down in front of Virgil and the fading light from the window finally hit the side of his face the right way to light up the currently black tattoo on his face. Virgil blinked. He was really glad he hadn’t just lied in that case. He did not comment on the marking or otherwise indicate he knew what it was. That would breed questions about why he knew what the man was. Why was the man a gardener if he was a multrum? It didn’t make any sense.

That didn’t matter now however, Virgil needed to say something, and it had to be the truth.

#not writing #just talking #proofread stories

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aswithasunbeam · 5 years ago

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Burr, October 1812

Burr was re-reading the latest letter from Theo when he heard the screaming. Startled, he pushed away from his desk, whipping aside the tent flap to emerge into a stampede of panicked men. Burr could smell gunpowder, the tell-tale gray clouds of battle gathering over the Queenston Heights; of more concern, the eerie call of Native war-whoops were audible underneath all the shouting. Seizing a passing sergeant by the shoulder, Burr demanded, “What it is going on?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the sergeant pleaded.

“Why are you running, then?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the sergeant repeated as he squirmed away from Burr’s grasp to keep running with the rest of the men.

“Damn it,” Burr muttered, fighting the current of men to push towards the launch point of the attack.

They’d been winning not ten minutes earlier.

What on earth could have happened?

Hamilton had groused at their first meeting in Washington, “Everything about this damn war feels a day late and penny short. I can’t seem to pull ahead of the incompetence I inherited.”

“And you’d like to put me in charge of it?”

“I never claimed I was doing you a kindness,” Hamilton had retorted, his trademark wry smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“How long are you going to keep punishing me?”

“As long as I see fit.” The smile had turned to a toothy grin as Hamilton waved him towards the chair.

Burr had rolled his eyes at the smug tone even as he’d taken the offered seat. “You know, I ought to spend more time in your company. Remembering how frustrating you are is the best antidote to any of my lingering guilt.”

Hamilton had laughed, a distinct twinkle in his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Burr had snorted in response.

After spending the past years working to rebuild his law practice while staying as far out of the public eye as possible, he’d had little interest in resuming his military career. Though, he’d had to admit, catching up to Hamilton in rank was rather an enticement. And his dear little Gampillo had been duly impressed when Burr had emerged resplendent in a new General’s uniform for the first time.

Still, he’d worked hard to try to reestablish a sense of normality. Enough money to support himself and a house with enough rooms to have Theo and Gampy for the summers was all he desired now. Wading into the thick of a losing war wasn’t going to do his reputation any favors. His practice wouldn't survive another reputational hit.

“War is the business of the young. Leave it to them,” he’d tried to argue to Hamilton, one of his old headaches pounding between his temples at the daunting task before them.

“None of the men in charge at the moment are what I’d call young.”

“All the more to leave me out of it,” Burr said.

“Theo’s in New York with you for the summer, isn’t she? With little Aaron?”

“She is.” Hamilton damn well knew that.

“If we leave Van Rensselaer in charge of our forces, how safe do you think they’d be? Brock’s cunning and smart. What’s to stop him marching on New York?”

“She could always travel back to South Carolina.” But that wasn’t really an option, he considered, even as he’d said it. The malarial outbreaks were worse than ever this year. The thought of sending Theo and Gampillo back into the heart of the outbreak made his blood run cold.

“Look, it’s not like I’m excited to be back in uniform either. But without significant turnaround, I expect we’ll be a British colony again by New Years’.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Burr charged.

“I wish I were.”

“The U.S.S. Constitution has won a victory for us. It’s not all doom and gloom.”

“Britain has the greatest navy the world has ever seen. If the only place we can win a battle is at sea, I shudder for our chances.”

Burr had massaged his temples even as he sighed in surrender. “What do you need me to do?”

His appointed task had been easier said than done: take command of the army of the center and successfully penetrate Upper Canada. The problem was, whatever Van Rensselaer might have said to Hamilton, he’d had no interest in giving up command of his militia forces to Burr. And Burr had the distinct impression that no small amount of skepticism still ran through the minds of the men. Letting him return to his legal business in New York might have been acceptable, but to place a man once accused of treason in command of an army?

And so, on the eve of battle, with his regular forces dwarfed by Van Rensselaer’s New York militia, he’d found himself relegated to his command tent, little more than a useless figurehead.

Still, Van Rensselaer hadn’t been doing anything too inexcusably stupid to Burr’s eyes. They’d been undersupplied at first, but a brief armistice had given them a chance to stock up and remedied most of their wants. And while foul weather had scuttled their first planned attack on Queenston, things seemed to be going admirably well today. In fact, field command had just sent back a request for entrenchment tools.

What could have gone so wrong?

Burr hasted towards the riverbank as he spotted Van Rensselaer’s boat coming back, nearly swamped by men. They started leaping over the sides and swimming for the bank as Burr watched, horrified. From across the water, he heard men screaming, “Help! Help us! Send the boats!”

“They’re running scared,” Van Rensselaer reported as he swung his feet over the side of the boat. “I was just coming back for equipment, and they started swarming. I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

“Stop running, you dogs!” Burr shouted to the men scrambling away.

“The men can’t retreat into the water. They’re trapped,” Van Rensselaer said.

“They shouldn’t be retreating at all!”

“When the Indians arrived—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Burr huffed, turning sharply to following the panicking men.

A group of older regulars were standing nearby, watching the ensuing panic with evident confusion. Burr hastily arranged them into formation and ordered they raise their arms.

“Sir?” a corporal queried.

“Raise your rifle, corporal,” he ordered again.

They all obeyed.

The sea of men stilled.

Burr mounted an overturned box and pitched up his voice. “The next man who I see running from this battle will be shot for desertion.”

More men stopped, turning slowly.

“But sir, the Indians,” one of the men called.

“General Hull surrendered his entire force out of fear of the Indians. You heard the way your countrymen talked about him? Would you leave your wives and daughters to blush for your cowardice, too?”

Anger flitted over the faces in the crowd. A breathless anticipation rippled in the air.

“We fought the British once before for our freedom,” Burr continued. “We stood strong no matter how hard or hopeless our chances. We didn’t run scared at Valley Forge. We didn’t run scared at Yorktown. And we won’t run now. If we die, we die on our feet, facing the enemy down. Who’s with me?”

A whoop to rival the noise from the opposite bank rose from the men assembled before him.

“To the boats, lads!”

The current began to flow the opposite direction, men scrambling to regain the ground they’d lost to return to the boats to carry them across the river.

Van Rensselaer stood gaping some paces away.

“Confidence from a commander goes a long way, General,” Burr instructed as he passed.

It was a lesson he’d seen in action at Monmouth, when Washington had turned the panicky forces fleeing under Lees command back around. Even he’d been moved by the stern, cool gaze ordering them onwards despite the heat, the screams, the horror that lay ahead. At least, he had been until he’d passed out from the heat exhaustion.

He piled into one of the boats himself and continued to encourage the war cries from the small fleet now rushing across the Niagara as fast as the oarsmen could carry them.

#hamilton fanfic #alexander hamilton #aaron burr #war of 1812 #battle of queenston #life hereafter

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supdawg100-blog · 5 years ago

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hey guys tell me what you think of this story i wrote

Saw Legacy

Part 1:The Sins Of The Mother.

The day started out so normal so how did I end up here trapped in some abandoned building Playing some sick game trying to fight for my life, that's what I asked myself As I went through this whole ordeal I woke up in a pitch black room. With some sort of strange device strapped to my chest With no idea of how I got here but before I could adjust my eyes to the dark TV turned on lighting up the most of the room and on this TV was a billy doll who turned its head to look at me before it spoke "hello Rachel I want to play a game" it said as it dawned on me what was happening, and I began to panic as the doll continued to speak " you don't know me but I know you for years you have ruined the lives of others by manipulating them and playing games with their hearts well Today, we play games with your heart" and as he said that the thing on my chest begins to beep as a green light appears to signal that the device was now active which only caused me to panic even more "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!!!" I screamed at the TV but to no avail as the doll just continued to speak " the device strapped to your chest is of my own making and if you do not complete the tasks set before you in 60 minutes" as he said this a timer came to life on the wall " that device will administer 12,000 volts of electricity directly to your heart stopping it and killing you instantly " I looked up at the timer that had yet to start as I tried to wrap my head around what was happening " here let me show you" it says as the TV switches from the doll to a mannequin wearing the same device I was and a timer that was just about to strike zero and when it did I was absolutely terrified by what I saw once the timer hit zero the green light on the device turned red and let out a high-pitched beep before sending 12,000 volts electricity into the mannequin causing it to burst into flames before switching back to the doll who continued to speak "so tell me Rachel how much blood will you shed to stay alive live or die make your choice let the game begin" and with that the TV turned off causing the timer to start as well as a door that was not visible until now to unlock only then did I fully understand what was going on the true horror of my situation now fully realized at that moment I began to scream and cry for help until my throat was sore but no one came realizing that it was pointless to scream or yell, and that I was running out of time I decided to get moving stealing myself and mustering up all the courage I had I walked over to the door and pulled it inside was a single light source a door, and a recorder with a piece of paper taped to it and on that piece of paper were two simple but bone chilling words Play Me as I approached the tape recorder the door behind me slammed shut and locked itself this caused me to jump, but I didn't look back I grabbed the tape recorder and pressed play and the voice that played was the same as the billy doll on the TV " hello and welcome Rachel to the path of redemption there are three, tasks that lie before you the first of which is just ahead but heed my words not everything is as it seems" and with that the tape stops, and the door unlocks and without even thinking, I pushed the door open and walked in a somewhat large room, but whatever was in the room was covered by white sheets, and before I had time to even blink the door slammed shut, and the sheets suddenly were pulled away to reveal a TV, and my Ex boyfriend though he did look different his face was all sunken in, and he looked like he hadn't eaten in days he was strapped into some sort of machine with tubes protruding from his wrist and as I saw this I ran over to him and tried to free him but to no avail all the while trying to talk to him" Matt what the hell happened to you and how the hell did you get here?" All he could get out before we were interrupted by the TV turning on was my name there on the TV was the same billy doll from before which began to speak " hello Rachel welcome to your first test in front of you is just one of your many victims after you broke his heart he went on a downward spiral turning to drugs to fill the void left by you his current drug of choice is heroin" he said as I looked back at his arms and noticed the marks where the needle had entered his arms " two choices lie before you the first choice will allow you to end his suffering by administering a lethal dose of the very same drug he uses to numb the pain to do this all, you need do is pull the lever to the left of you" as he said that I looked over to see the lever that would kill him " but the second choice requires a sacrifice for you may save him from his fate by pressing the button in front of you and holding it down for 30 seconds preventing the blade from descending causing him to be split in half you have 60 seconds to decide" it says before the TV shuts off and yet another timer starts this one only having 60 seconds on it the saw blade would begin to descend slowly I would begin to panic as a looked between the switch and the button the clock ticking i finally decided to save his life I ran up to the button I inserted my hand into the box that contained the button that would save his life and as I pressed it a spike shot into my hand causing me to scream in pain and pull my hand back as the saw continued to descend 42 seconds remaining on the timer I put my hand back into the box pressing the button again this time when the spike shot into my hand I kept it there the pain was excruciating but the saw stopped as the timer continued to count down now only 30 seconds remaining on the timer but I couldn’t take it anymore and had to pull my hand back out screaming “FUCK!!!!!” as the saw began to descend faster now that the timer had hit 30 seconds I ran back up to the box Thrusting my hand back into the box for the third time causing the spike to shoot up into my hand once more but it didn’t matter as I did this the timer hit 0 and caused the saw blade to split Matt in half covering me in his blood and I screamed, and screamed until I couldn’t scream anymore, and the door on the other side of the room unlocked with a loud clicking noise after I was done screaming I ripped a piece of his shirt off and used it to bandage my hand then I proceeded through the door into a decrypted hallway covered in cobwebs and cluttered with desks and torn down bookshelves as the door closes behind I break down and begin to cry Matt didn’t deserve to die he didn’t deserve what happened to him after I was done crying I stood up and proceeded through the hallway as I made my way through it, I noticed another tape recorder hanging from the ceiling by a string I reach for the recorder my hands shaking in terror of what just happened as my hand wrapped around the recorder I paused trying to gather the courage to take it and play it after just sitting there for what seemed like an eternity but I'm sure was only seconds, I rip the recorder from the string and play it “while I'm curtain there is a desire to point your finger at me for the blood that was just spilled unless you can point that finger inward more blood will be spilt this I can assure you in the room ahead lies your second trial but be careful if your to hasty you may be stabbed by the guilt of what you have done ” and the tape stops and I throw it to the ground before proceeding to the door when I get to the door I think I can hear a voice on the other side, but it’s too faint to make out so i grab the door knob and begin to twist and as I do so I hear what sounds like clicking noises coming from just beyond the door so i begin to open the door slowly, and I notice a weight ascending, and I realize just in time what it was for the weight reached the top and the door swung open causing a scythe to swing down from the door acting on instinct alone I jump to the left dodging the blade by meer inches after escaping death I proceed through the door and to my shock I see my 17-year-old daughter almost completely naked wearing nothing but her bra and underwear strapped to this device that looked like a cross with saw blades just above her arms and legs, and a table with the clothes she was wearing just the night before panicking I ran over to her and try to release her from her straps “MOM WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!!!” she screamed as I tried to release “I don’t know sweetie but just hold on I will get you out of here” I said before a TV in the corner of the room turned on and the doll spoke “welcome Rachel to your second trial the women before you should be all to familiar she is after all your daughter you claim to love her then why did you let your boyfriend molest her” “ I DIDN’T FUCKING KNOW HE WAS DOING THAT YOU BASTARD!!!!!!” I screamed as the doll continued to speak “ do you know what kind of damage that can do to a child of course you don’t because you don’t really care about her nor do you pay attention after that incident your daughter started hurting herself as you can now so plainly see” after he say that i look at my daughters arms and legs to see numerous healed cuts, and some fresh ones “ Today, you get to prove that you truly love her the device she is strapped to is linked to a 60-second timer and if you do not release her from it within that 60 seconds the blades that are positioned above her arms and legs will saw them off causing her to bleed out now the way to free her is simple you must pay the toll” as he says this a scale is revealed “ and the toll is your own flesh tip the scale to your side by using any one of the tools before you and the blades will stop, and your Daughter will be set free tell me Rachel are you willing to sacrifice your own flesh to save your daughter live or die make her choice” and the tv turns off and the timer starts to count down, and the blades come to life and begin to descend my daughter immediately begins to scream and cry causing me to run over to her and yet again attempt to break her bounds but it is useless “MOM PLEASE YOU’VE GOT TO HURRY I DON’T WANT TO DIE” she screamed as I looked for something to help me that’s when I saw that knife on the table in front of the scale I ran over to it and tried to take it time ticking down know only 30 seconds remained so I looked at my daughter who was looking at me tears in her eyes and told her to look away, and then I grabbed the knife and began to cut away at my own arm blood began to spill out almost immediately and the pain oh my god the pain it was almost unbearable but I couldn’t let that stop me when the timer reaches 20 seconds I through down the knife and picked up the meat cleaver and began hacking away at my arm blood flew everywhere but I continued to hack at my arm until it finally came off i quickly though clumsily place my now severed arm into the to scale, and it tipped all the way to my side causing the blades to stop ascend back to their original positions, and with not a moment to spare just as it tipped to my side the timer had just hit 3 seconds with blood pouring out of my wound, I ran over to my daughter as her restraints were released and she jumped from the cross looking device she ran over to me and grabbed me just as I was about to fall then the TV turned on once again, and the doll spoke “ Congratulations Rachel you saved your daughter and proved that you really do love her but remember you still have one more trial” and with that the TV shut off prompting the door on the other side of the room to unlock my daughter quickly hoists me on to her shoulders and begins to carry me to the door she gets to the door and pushes it open noticing a steam pipe running, so she brings me over to it and sets me down next to it and tells me that she is going to sear my wound close, and that is going to really hurt I tell her that it is ok, and that I can take it soon she pushes my stub onto the pipe causing it to steam, and burn as I scream out in pain it is so intense that I nearly pass out but I manage to stay awake and after the deed is done my daughter reenters the room we just came from and returns fully dressed before collapsing and beginning to cry I wrap my arms around her, and let her cry into my chest after about 10 minutes she finally begins to stop and calm down after that we stand up and begin to walk down the hallway we had entered as we walk, she asks me what is going on and I tell here I have no idea, and that everything is going to be ok we round a corner, and there waiting for use on the other side, just in front of a door is the doll who has been talking to use the entire time sitting there on a tricycle we both stop dead in our tracks and just stare at it for a couple second before cautiously making our way to it after we get just a few feet away it begins to speak “ hello Rachel Hello Tessa you have done well to make it this far and deserve congratulations, but before you can walk out of here you must face your final trail which lies just beyond this door but be warned this last trail is the most challenging do you have the strength to face it or will you crumble under its weight?” after it is done speaking me and my daughter both look at each other before walking past the doll pushing to door open both stepping inside letting the door close and lock behind use the room is immediately lit up, and what I see horrifies me there sitting across from use in what looks to be a glass box of some kind with multiple glass boxes in front of it all containing a key is my best friend Zack who upon seeing use runs up to the front of the box and say “hey what the hell are you guys doing here and what the hell is happening” to which we reply with “we don’t know” before the TV in the corner of the room turns on, and the doll speaks again “Hello Rachel and welcome to your final trial you claim the man before you is your best friend but do you really care about him? For years you have known this man is in love with you, you have manipulated that love for you and caused nothing but pain. Your fun and games have caused him to break the law on multiple occasions to fulfil your material needs well today he just might be crushed by your carelessness the box he is in is a compactor of my own design which is linked to a 60-second timer the key to the door which will lead to his escape is in one of the boxes in front of you but choose wisely picking the wrong key will cause the door to permanently lock sealing his fate think carefully let the game begin” and the TV shut off the timer starts, and the ceiling begins to descend at a slow pace Zack begins to flip out banging on the glass trying to break it as my daughter does the same meanwhile I pace back and forth trying to decide which key is the right one as the timer hit 40 seconds my daughter speaks “Jesus Christ mom pick a fucking key Hurry or he is going to die” I look at her and say in a somewhat panicked voice “how the hell am I supposed to know which ones the right key they all look the fucking same” to which she screams at me “I DON’T FUCKING KNOW JUST PICK ONE WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!!!!!!” I look at the timer which now shows 20 seconds and then I look at the box which has Zack now on his knees trying to hold up the ceiling I look back to the boxes and decide I pick the one on the far left and closest to the box door and smash it open with my bandaged hand and grab the key rushing over to the door I try to put the key in the lock but I am shaking so bad I drop the key as the timer reaches 10 seconds I Hurry and pick it back up I Hurry, and put the key into the keyhole and turn the key that causes a buzzer to go off and a locking noise to be heard it slowly dawning on me what I had just done I scream as I try to pull the door open but to no avail as it does not move an inch, and the timer finally hitting 0 causing me to be forced to watch as my best friend is crushed to death his blood and internal organs covering the bottom of the box me and my daughter both sit there screaming as we watch the hole ordeal after it is all said and done we just stand there as the door on the other side of the room unlocks and swings open we just look at it trying to make sense of what we had just seen minutes pass before we both walk through the door and make our way through the hallway to freedom we get half down the hallway when we see the exit which causes us to run towards it only to be split up by a huge metal door like thing the falls just as my daughter passes me; we both stop and I try to find a way through but I only find a single door with a slot in the middle, and a window just the size of a laptop screen I try to open it but I cannot “damn it it’s locked” I say as my daughter comes to the window and speaks, “mom I haven’t been completely honest with you” she says, “what do you mean” I reply as I try to figure out what she is talking about but I don’t have to think long because she pulls a tape recorder from her pocket and presses play and the dolls voice begins to play, “hello Tessa I want to play a game right now you are feeling helpless but I can assure you this helplessness is not without meaning in 20 minutes your mother will enter this room and attempt to save you if she succeeds then your game begins I have placed the key to her device inside your right leg I also have provided the knife in which you may use to dig it out when the time comes, you will be given the choice to either give her the key and safe her life or to walk out this building and leave her here to rote so tell me Tessa when the time comes can you forgive the one who has caused you so much pain or will you exact your revenge live or die make her choice let the game begin” the tape stops and I'm left with a look of shock and horror as I realize what is going on she pulls the knife from her other pocket and begins to cut open a cut on her leg that has been sewn shut after she does this she digs into the wound and pulls out a key the key to my freedom “thank god sweetie now please slide it through” I say but she just looks at me before throwing the key to the other side of the room and proceeds to walk to the door I scream at her “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING YOU PICK THE FUCKING KEY UP AND GIVE IT TO ME RIGHT NOW!!!!!!” but she just opens the door turns around, and looks at me before walking out the door she turns back and says, “GAME OVER!!!!!!!!” as she slams the door shut.

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trashboatprince · 6 years ago

Text

So, @thedobermutt and I did a collab fanfic together through a mini rp for the space pirate au we’re doing with Spottie, Hunter, and Gru.

Here’s how her Henry and mine (Hugo) first met years ago in the au.

Heads up: Hugo is a half-breed alien and human, Henry is all human, Bendy is a celestial demon from deep in space, and Joey is an ancient disaster man. Also, there is fighting and two moments of blood and injury, one worse than the other, but it’s not fully described, mainly implied.

On with the fic!

Hugo grinned as he sat on the pristine, white wall that was around the training grounds for Joey Drew's future dogs, or cannon fodder, take your pick.

No one seemed to have noticed the oddly dressed teenager from where he sat, perfect, that makes his mission so much easier! After finally getting his own ship, the new captain decided that he and his best friend, Bendy, needed to make a name for themselves.

And to do that, they had to do a big thing, something that everyone will know about across the galaxy! And their best idea was to kill Joey Drew, probably the most well-known man of the galactic military forces.

The Mutt and the Ink Demon were going to make a perfect name for themselves by stealing from him and maybe even taking him down! As he jumped off the wall and entered the ground, he never noticed that someone had spotted him.

Joey Drew, the man himself, raised an eyebrow as he spotted the young pirate from his office window. "Well, it seems we have an intruder." He said with a hint of amusement in his voice to the other young man in the room with him.

Joey just chuckled to himself, amused, as he stared out the window. As if this young pirate would sneak past a divine being like him.

But he played it cool, lest his human trainee caught onto him. Joey turned to said young boy, who had been shadowing his commanding officer for the day, learning the ropes.

Henry just offered Joey a look, unsure what had brought about his sudden change in behavior. Joey turned to said young boy, who had been shadowing his commanding officer for the day, learning the ropes. Henry just offered Joey a look, unsure what had brought about his sudden change in behavior.

“Sir? Is everything alright?” Henry asked.

“Yes, of course,” Joey answered, before turning from the window to face the teen. “Seems like you’re in for some excitement today, Henry. Follow me.”

Henry stood from his seat and followed the tall man out of his office and towards the court yard. There, in the distance, he saw an oddly dressed man, one who looked not much older than him. Henry was puzzled by this, but followed Joey nonetheless.

“I think that’s far enough, pirate, don’t you?” Joey bellowed out to the intruder, amused by his startled reaction.

The half-human nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice, turning sharply to see the one and only Joey Drew near the entrance to the building, looking too amused for his own good.

Hugo also took notice to someone standing behind him, was that a human? Weird, was he a servant? No, he was in uniform, wow, they allowed humans here? Probably to go out and die in battle first.

"Nah, I don't think so, I think I'm a little too far." Hugo smirked as he reached for the metallic tool behind his back. "Allow me to come closer to meet the one and only Drew!"

"If I were you, I'd stay away." Joey replied, adjusting the glasses on his face. "You do know where you are, yes? Clearly you do, since you decided to be like the big shot pirates out in the stars who all think they can take a crack at me for five minutes of fame. Ah, a wonderful dream, but that's all it is, a dream."

Hugo snorted loudly, rolling his eyes. "You talk too much. Here, let me help ya with that!" He moved forward, pulling his axe from behind himself, the glowing blade appearing with the click of a button.

Henry wasn’t quite sure what was happening. A pirate? He felt his heart pick up speed a little. Suddenly he felt Joey’s hand on his shoulder, grip firm. He turned to look his officer in the eyes, seeing no fear in them, only his own concerned face in the reflection of the man’s glasses.

“This one is all yours, Henry,” Joey told him. “Restrain this idiotic pirate, would you? Show me what kind of man you are, Ranger.”

Henry turned to the advancing man, pulling out his own weapon, a standard Ranger sword, activating the blade. He strode forward with confidence, hiding his nerves well. He wasn’t sure how much experience this pirate had, but he was about to find out.

This man looked somewhat human, so perhaps the odds were in his favor, for a fair fight if nothing else. He had trained hard for the last two years to get here, he wasn’t about to back down now.

“I think that’s enough,” Henry told the man. “If you know what’s good for you you’ll stop with whatever nonsense you have planned here.”

He wanted to talk the man down from making a brash move, a mistake that he’d regret. That was the Ranger way, negotiation. But if it came down to it, they were ready for a fight. So, Henry held his ground, battle-ready stance.

Hugo was a little disappointed that Joey sent out the soldier, what a coward, but at least this gives him a chance to try his hand at fighting against a ranger! He couldn't remember ever fighting one before!

"I'd rather not stop, kid! I'm here to make my name known and your boss is gonna make that happen!" He laughed as he approached Henry, swinging his axe blade, only for his attack to be blocked by the other teenager.

Oh great, he had great reflexes, or Hugo gave him too much of an opening to block, he needed to tone back his cockiness. He looked at the ranger, glowering at him with odd eyes, seeing the look on the stranger's face. "Tsk, you look like you're gonna be such a stick in the mud when you get older, brat."

"Well, we can at least agree on something, pirate." Joey spoke in the background, greatly amused by the start of this fight. Let's see if the human could take on the mutt, that'll make for a interesting couple of minutes.

Henry just grunted as he pushed the man’s axe away with his sword, getting into position to fight once more. He decided it best to ignore the jabs at him, from both this man and his officer. Looks like this pirate really was looking for a fight after all. Best to just subdue him, no need for anything drastic here, he thought to himself.

The man presented to be...cocky, perhaps? Or maybe just confident that with enough wide swings like that he’d land a hit eventually. Henry was careful in his every move, making sure to leave enough space as not to get knocked around by the heavy axe.

He parried and dodged and swung. The man was quite good, albeit a little reckless. Henry noted that some of his moves were harder to dodge. A few close calls here and there.

“That’s the spirit, Henry,” Joey called out again. “Not bad for a rookie.”

"Rookie?" Hugo chuckled as he tried to take another swing, only to move back to avoid losing the tip of his nose. "No wonder you're so young! Is the military allowin' ten year olds to fight for 'em?"

He quickly avoided another attack, noting that it was meant to hit his hand. Oh? Was this kid trying to make him drop his axe?

Clever, Hugo had to give him that! Actually, this guy wasn't bad with his fighting skills, but that could prove troublesome. Hugo himself wasn't that bad himself, but he had never taken on people with military training before.

This... might have been a bad idea, shoot, he wish Bendy had told him no, but that demon was always looking for a fun chance to cause trouble..! He gasped when he felt the hilt of the sword hit him in the stomach, causing the former cabin boy to lose his balance.

Dirty move, got him when he was distracted!

Henry pointed the sword towards him once more, a gesture meant to offer the man another chance to rethink his actions. As expected, the young man swatted the sword away with his axe. Henry should have expected as much. This guy seemed to be out to prove something.

So far things seemed evenly matched. This man was unpredictable most of the time, but his wide swings told Henry this man was still learning how to properly control his own weapon. Perhaps in time he would. Such potential, seemed a shame to waste it on pirating.

Another moment of the man’s unpredictability came into play. Henry heard the man give a hefty grunt and swing his axe forcefully. Henry wasn’t fully prepared, the strike knocking him off balance. He managed to get a bit of space between them, but not before feeling the blade catch the right side of his face near his jaw.

Henry let out a sharp hiss and reached up to the wound, feeling the blood on his face. There would be time to worry about that later, he had to remain focused. Though, he swore he could hear Joey snicker in the background.

Hugo seemed to freeze up for a second, seeing that he had actually wounded the ranger-in-training.

Oh, uh, he didn't think he'd get an actual hit like that on him, if anything, he just wanted to knock the brat out! Great, he was gonna hear this from Bendy later, he could just hear it now 'don't attack kids! Sometimes they can be annoyin' but they ain't yer biggest problem!'

"Just back down, dog." The pirate huffed, feeling a little winded from the fight. "You're better off leavin' me to fight your master."

There was a loud, sharp laugh from Joey and Hugo looked over at him. "You really think he's going to back off? Please, it's part of his training to keep fighting. And even if he did, what makes you think you could do me any damage, half-breed?"

This served to burn Hugo's nerves as he moved away from his current opponent and started to charge towards Joey. "Don't call me that! Fight me like a man, don't hide behind rookies!"

“You gonna just insult me and walk out on our fight?” Henry asked as he stepped in front of the pirate. His sword was back in position, ready to strike again.

Since the moment he arrived at the academy he had heard nothing but insults. “You’re just a human, a runt. Ain’t you too young to be a Ranger, kid? You’ll never make it, little human boy.” He aimed to prove them wrong.

He ignored Joey’s amused cackling in the background. He had the man in front of him to focus on, now that he seemed to catch his attention again.He kept fighting, but he could tell the pirate was distracted by what Joey had said. Perhaps too distracted. Might serve Henry well to help subdue him, if he could just get that axe out of his hands. He saw his chance, thrusting his sword forward once more.

And, with horror, he realized too late that the man had decided to move at the last second.

Uhg! The brat wanted to keep fighting, so Hugo decided to humor him and did his best to avoid his swings and try to strike back. This was annoying, he came here to take down Joey Drew and that's what he was going to do!

Until he made a false move, a wrong step.

It had been a simple mistake, Hugo had moved to do a low swing, wanting to just hit this guy in the stomach with the blunt end of his axe.

But instead, he found himself frozen in place, half-blind.

Oh, it didn't take him more than a second or two to realize what had just happened, that he had the end of the other's sword embedded in his right eye. He could feel his blood on his face, seeing it run bright green down the blade of the sword. Then he looked at the pure horror of the other boy's face.

"... Ch-cheap trick, kid..." He wheezed out just as the pain finally kicked into overdrive.

Henry went very still in shock. His body was shaking, his breaths leaving in shallow pants. What had he done? What had he done?! This isn’t what he wanted at all.

He only meant to remove the axe from his hand, not stab him in the eye.He wasn’t sure what to do now. He didn’t want to yank the sword out and pull out the eye. But, sure enough, that’s exactly what Joey began barking at him to do.

“Just remove your sword already, Henry,” Joey told him. Henry did as he was told, backing away from the man in horror. No, no, no. Not this. Why this? He could do nothing else besides stare at the man as he cried out in pain. He was too shocked.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, so sorry,” Henry whispered over and over.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Joey called out again. “Restrain him already. Let’s get this over with, Ross.”

"Don't p-pull it out, please..." Hugo whispered back, just as freaked out as the other.

This was a mistake, this was a huge mistake! M-maybe Bendy could fix this! Bendy could do all sorts of things, maybe he could fix something like this!

Joey was growing impatient, the human boy was too much of a coward to do a simple task. How was he going to survive in battle if he couldn't even do this!? He approached, grabbing at Henry's arm, and pulled it back.

Hugo screamed in pain as he felt the sword pull out, along with something else. He collapsed on the ground, crying out in pain as he clutched his face.

"Someone help me! I'm blind!" This was pathetic, but Hugo didn't care! He was in so much pain, and losing a lot of blood, how deep was the wound!?

“J-Joey, we have to get him medical attention,” Henry told him. “Please!”

“Henry, calm down, it’s just a pirate,” Joey sneered.

“It doesn’t matter, sir,” Henry told him, standing in front of Hugo some to keep Joey away from the man. “It’s a Ranger’s job to help and protect, even our wounded prisoners.”

“Oh, Ross, you are naive about the universe, aren’t you?” Joey chuckled. “You’ll learn. This was a good first lesson. Fine, finish restraining him then. I’ll let you finish what you started here.”

And with that, Joey backed away, smug look still present. Henry turned back to the wounded man. He started to bend down to check on him, see if he could stop the bleeding. Fool is going to get himself killed like that. Too trusting, Joey thought as he watched on.

Hugo looked up at Henry with his good eye, trying to get away from him. "S-Stay away...! You can't take the other one..!" He shoved at the ranger, smearing blood on him as he weakly tried to get the guy to back off.

He rolled onto his stomach, trying to get away, only to hear a horrible, familiar screech. It was like an animal screaming mixed with metal on glass.

Bendy was aware, Bendy knew that something had happened, and these two were in for a world of trouble. It didn't take more than a moment for something to come busting out of a wall around the training grounds, making an obvious entrance as the demonic being roared in rage, slamming a large, double-holed hand on the ground.

Joey straightened up at the sudden entrance of the demon. A demon? How did I not notice it? Joey remained calm, simply watching the creature as it entered the room. Looks like he had someone else to keep an eye on.

Henry turned towards the screeching sound, eyes wide with panic. Was this thing with the pirate? This didn’t look good, Henry noted, seeing himself covered in some of the man’s green blood.

He picked up his sword, just in case, holding out a pleading hand towards the monster.

The demon growled lightly as it seemed to sniff the air before turning its attention towards the group. The growl turned into a snarl as it started to charge towards them at a pretty fast speed for something running on only its hands.

It stopped right in front of Henry, completely avoiding Joey, as if he wasn't there. It leaned in, sniffing the blood on him, before it roared, shoving him aside to get to Hugo.

"B-Ben..." Hugo tried to get up, still in a state of shock. The demon, Bendy, let out a soft growl and picked him up with one hand, being careful, before turning his attention back to Henry, looking ready to kill.

This stranger smelled like Hugo's blood, he was a threat! He hurt his father, how dare he!?

Henry took a little longer to recover, still in shock, after being roughly thrown aside by the demon. He managed to get himself up enough to turn and face the snarling beast, who was a little too close for his comfort.

He was panicked, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest. He backed up a little, not daring to stand and provoke the creature. He held his hands up again. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” was all he could continue to whisper.

Be a Ranger, you coward. Henry inhaled deeply and tried his best to regain his composure. He was unsure what to do now. And Joey...Joey didn’t seem to find any urgency in this situation. Is he going to let me die?

Joey looked more annoyed than anything else. What was a child, no, infant demon doing here? Wait a second, was this that little punk of a devil that the Butcher Gang had told him about? The one their cabin boy had taken aboard a few years back?

... Well, this makes things interesting, so this pirate was that cabin boy then?

Might be fun if they spare him for a bit, but he had to get rid of that demon, get him out of here before he killed Henry. Well, might be fun to play a little 'prank' on him, teach this upstart that he's not the only demon in the area.

Unnoticed by the other three, his shadow moved, slipping along the ground, grabbing onto Bendy's wrist. The devil tensed up, feeling an unsettling sense of dread, his inky skin practically crawling! He moved back from Henry's personal space, letting out a nervous growl.

"Bendy..." Hugo groaned, he was so lightheaded right now. "Come on, let's go."

Bendy looked unsure, but turn his attention to Henry once more, baring his teeth at him, before rushing towards a wall, seeming to vanish through it, leaving a black stain on the stone.

Henry panted heavily as he watched the whole scene. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he couldn’t be more relieved that the demon was gone. He was frozen in place now, panic setting in deep. So much had just happened.

“What am I going to do with you, Henry?” Joey asked as he walked towards the boy. “You’re gonna have to toughen up if you want to make it as a Captain. Can’t have you breaking down like this all the time. There will be fights in your career, deal with it.”

Henry slowly nodded, standing. Not encouraging to hear, but Joey did have a point. He couldn’t go on like this if he let his fear and unease get the better of him. Still, he would be shaken up by this encounter for a while. Perhaps it would always haunt him, but he hoped not.

“Looks like the foolish pirate boy is free to sail again, hm?” Joey said before placing his hands on Henry’s shoulders. “You did well, Ross. Even got your first scar, eh?”

Henry reached up towards the cut, forgetting its existence in all the chaos that had happened.

“Trust me, that one will scar,” Joey assured, seeing the quizzical look on the boy’s face. “You have much to learn yet. Come, let’s get you patched up.” Joey began to walk away back towards one of the buildings, Henry slowly following. He wondered if he would ever see that pirate and his demon again.

Perhaps next time he would be more prepared for the horrors of battle. He only worried that one day he would be numb to it. He only hoped that day would never come.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #henry stein #joey drew #batim bendy #beast bendy #space pirate au #john's drabbles #kinda

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weasleyimaginewheezes · 7 years ago

Text

Fred x reader / Caught

A/n I wrote this quickly and rather late at night so I would have something to post today. It was just an idea I couldn’t escape from until I wrote it down and I realised I hadn’t actually wrote any just Fred smut so here ya go 😊 I put the smut under the cut again for those who might not want to read it (may not work properly on the app). So, enjoy reading some embarrassing Molly and George because i love writing them. Also, I made the reader Hermione’s older sister because I can and it was quite fun to write. A/n

Word count: 4k+

Warnings: mentions of romione, swearing, implied smut, heavy smut under the cut

One of your favourite places to be was the Burrow. A few years ago, you had stayed briefly before attending the Quidditch world cup with the Weasley family and although it had been a brief visit, you had fallen in love with the way everything worked magically from knitting needles to self-cleaning pots and pans. It had been crowded that summer with many people that most found it to be too much but with you coming from a small muggle family it was brilliant. Plus, you could eat as much sugar as you wanted much to your sister’s dismay.

Of course, the real reason you accepted the invitation most summers wasn’t because of the magic around every corner or the sugar intake allowance, no it was because what better way was there to spend the summer than with your two best friends.

You had met Fred and George through Hermione’s friendship with Ron. She of course, disapproved of everything the twins did whilst you encouraged them. You loved their pranks and jokes and even helped in the planning of one or two.

Just as you arrived at the burrow for the start of the summer with Hermione, the doubts of where you stood with the twins flooded your mind. You hadn’t seen them since they had flown off into the sunset just before the end of the school year. Fred had given you a leaving present in the form of an unexpected kiss which had left you stunned, there hadn’t been time to talk about it before he left so you had been questioning your place with him for the rest of your time at Hogwarts. It wasn’t something that was easily discussed in a letter.

Hermione knocked on the door and smiled over at you. She had been more excited than ever at the prospect of staying at the burrow this summer and you knew exactly why. It was the same reason you had been excited to see Fred over the summer for the past 2 years. She glared at your knowing smile as Ron opened the door. Hermione faltered for a second before greeting her best friend with a large grin and walking past him with her suitcase in hand.

“So obvious.” You muttered under your breath as you followed Hermione in. She must have heard you because another glare was sent your way.

“what was that (y/n)?” Ron asked, his brows heavily furrowed. You dismissed your words as nothing and asked where to unpack just as Molly walked in.

“You can stay in Fred and George’s room.” Molly said sweetly. You looked confused, Molly usually never let you or Hermione stay in one of the boys’ rooms. “They’re living above their shop now.” Molly rolled her eyes before resuming her previous task in the kitchen. Your heart fell slightly in your chest at knowing you wouldn’t be seeing Fred any time soon. Hermione couldn’t help but look knowingly at the disappointment on your face to which you hit her with your small bag. Ron seemed confused by all the commotion.

After you had taken your bags up to the room and looked around at all the products stored there, you and Hermione re-joined most of the family in the kitchen.

“So, Fred and George aren’t going to be here at all?” You asked, hoping to sound as casual as you could. Molly shook her head with a small smile saying that their business was booming and what not. You tried not to look to deflated but Hermione caught your expression again, this time it was your foot that met her leg with a kick.

After a lovely dinner, you sat down with Hermione, Ron and Ginny to play a game of exploding snap. Molly was finishing up some last-minute chores and Arthur was using muggle tools to fix an old radio on the dining table.

“Arthur, really? I’ve told you to do that in the shed!” Molly reprimanded as she walked past but her husband continued.

“I’ve nearly got it Molly and it’s too cold in the shed.” The radio buzzed and beeped as the screwdriver twisted into the back of the radio. Hermione shook her head amusedly at Arthur’s fascination with things that were most normal to you and her.

Arthur was right about the weather though. It was almost the middle of summer and it felt just the opposite. The unfortunate fact being you had packed for hot weather, you should have known better with it being Britain and all.

You shivered as Molly came over to tell her children something and she noticed. “Dear are you cold?” You nodded but insisted you’d be fine with a dismissive wave but Molly had already begun searching for something to wrap around your shoulders.

“Here wear this, he wouldn’t mind anyway. I think it’s an old one.” A dark green jumper was thrown into your lap and you smiled gratefully at the older woman before she left. You picked it up and realised it had a large F on the front which made you smile largely. You instantly threw it over your thin t-shirt and sighed happily at its knitted warmth along with its Fred-like smell. You avoided Hermione’s gaze for the rest of the evening.

Shortly after, you all left for bed. Ginny pulled Hermione into her room to discuss something so you were left on your own in the twins’ bedroom. You looked around at the different posters and pictures hanging on the wall and smiled as you saw one of yourself with Fred and George which had been taken the previous year when the DA had been formed. You couldn’t help but notice the frame hung over Fred’s bed. The bed which you had chosen to sleep in (if Hermione asked it was because you had picked it randomly and didn’t have a clue whose bed was who’s). But you had spent enough nights staying up and joking with the two of them in there that it was hard not to tell. You settled down, taking the jumper off and was just about to dose off to sleep when the door opened. You assumed it was Hermione until someone shushed another person, they had a rather deep voice so you could rule Hermione out. Just as panic rose in your chest at the idea of a burglary, a bag was dropped onto your feet rather painfully.

You yelped in pain making whoever it was jump backwards. You squinted in the darkness and could just make out two identical looking figures. “Fred? George?” You voice was full of sleep.

“(y/n)? What are you doing here?” One of the twins said, you were too sleepy to be able to tell the difference in their voices.

“Well I was trying to sleep.” You quipped. A quiet hushed chuckle sounded and then someone was sitting by your feet.

“Okay so why are you sleeping in my bed?” That was definitely Fred speaking. His voice made you smile ever so slightly in your drowsy, sleepy state. He just managed to see your smile in the ray of moonlight shining through the curtained window. You explained that Molly had placed you both in their room and that Hermione was currently talking to Ginny. At that moment you heard a snore and looked to see George flat out asleep on his bed. Fred laughed as quietly as he could. “Better tell Hermione to sleep in Gin’s room tonight.” He got up to leave but was stopped by your whispered voice.

“Why are you back anyway?”

“Oh, um, just wanted to surprise mum is all.” Fred smiled briefly before leaving to enter his sisters room. You knew he was lying but was in no mood to question him at this late hour. He came back into the room and begun to lay pillows out on the floor in a bed like manner.

“Fred?” He looked up in the darkness to meet your eyes. “What are you doing?” He gestured emptily to his ‘bed’ and you laughed quietly as he looked at you. “You don’t have to do that. C’mon.” You squished up to the wall and patted the space next to you. It was his own bed and you weren’t about to let him sleep on the floor for you. He hesitated before shrugging with a smirk and hopping under the covers.

“Better than sharing a bed with George.” He said matter-of-factly as he snuggled up beneath your shared blanket. “He’s a prat and a blanket hog.” You gave a nervous chuckle before settling back down to sleep and rolling onto your side, facing away from Fred. It was just two friends sleeping in a bed together utterly platonic, these words were repeated over to yourself as you willed your heart to slow and for your brain to power off so you could sleep. Which eventually you did but it was long after Fred at least according to his snores.

You woke up with a chill running through your body. You blinked your sleepy eyes open to see the morning sun shine through, highlighting the empty space next to you. George was gone too. Had it been a dream? You got out of bed confused and cold as you heard noises from downstairs. Your PJ’s were another thing you had packed for summer and were very thin material so you picked up Fred’s jumper from the floor and threw it on again, happy for the excuse to wear it.

Just as you were about to exit the room, the door swung open to reveal a rather dishevelled Fred. You smiled at him, thankful that it wasn’t a dream as he closed the door behind him rather quickly.

“Fredrick Gideon Weasley, you get here right now!” His eyes widened as Molly’s voice carried up the stairs. You asked what was going on just as George’s voice said something inaudible to her. She seemed to stop in her path up the stairs and make her way back down them. Fred breathed a sigh of relief.

“What was all that about?” You inquired. Fred just laughed before fully meeting your gaze with an amused smile.

“Oh, Mum was just a little bit shocked at our arrival this morning. Especially because we might have scared her with-“ Fred’s sentence trailed off as he took in your appearance. His eyes landed on the jumper and his eyes seemed to glaze over, he gulped before meeting your gaze again. There was a sort of intensity in his eyes as he walked over to you.

“Is that my jumper?”

“Yeah, your mum gave it to me when I was cold. Is it okay?” You were unsure, you had never seen Fred look like this before. Fred nodded quickly to your relief. You watched as he licked his lips unconsciously.

“Freddie are you okay-? mphhh.” Your question barely left your lips as they crashed against Fred’s. Suddenly his hand was in your hair and you were kissing back with passion. Not entirely sure why this was happening but being so glad it was. You pulled back and looked into Fred’s lust blown eyes. “What was that for?” You asked, panting in your need for air.

“Because,” He kissed his way from the corner of your mouth to your ear and whispered, “you look so fucking hot in my jumper.” His words made you shiver from head to toe before you smirked widely at him and bit your lip.

His eyes remained on your lips as he closed in to reconnect his to yours. The kiss was sloppy yet perfect. You knew exactly where this all was leading and the thought made you smile giddily into the kiss. Fred led you to his bed and laid you down gently before resuming his kisses which become surprisingly gentler than before as if he had become unsure in his actions. “Is this okay?”

You nodded sweetly and met his eyes with a smile which he returned. He began to kiss down your neck, pulling the jumper down your shoulder for easier access to your skin. You hummed as your breathing became shallower with each inch he moved down. And then your mind crashed to reality.

“What about -ah- George or Hermione or your Mum?” Fred looked up at you and nodded before picking up his wand and swishing it in the direction of the door with the mumble of a spell.

“There.” He resumed his trail of kisses. “Now no one can disturb us at least for the next half an hour.” You smiled as you cupped his face and brought his lips up to meet yours once more.

You heard the thumping of Fred’s heart as you laid your head directly on it. It was slowing down, in time with yours. You felt Fred tenderly kiss your hairline evoking a large grin to cover your face. He lowered his hand to tickle at your waist a little and you squirmed, “Fred!” You lightly hit his bare chest and looked up at him with a pout. He couldn’t help leaning down to kiss your lips with a smile as he continued. You giggled more before he stopped suddenly and smirked down at you.

“So, what does this mean?” You knew what he was talking about and it had been the question toying in your brain since the last time your lips had unexpectedly met back at Hogwarts. You shrugged cutely and pursed your lips playfully.

“I hope it means that I’m your girlfriend?” You bit your lip, part playfully and partly from worry.

“Good. Cause that’s exactly what I had in mind.” Fred gave a cute one-sided smile and ducked his head in order to reconnect your lips. Your heart swelled with emotion and love for the man in front of you.

You parted from the kiss soon after and resumed your comfortable position, resting on Fred’s chest and slowly stroking parts of his skin. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer.

“Why did you really come back last night?” You didn’t look up to see Fred’s confused face but you could hear it in his next word.

“What?”

“Well you said you came back to surprise your mum but I’m pretty sure you were lying.” You smirked as Fred scoffed prompting you to look back up at him.

“Can’t a son come back to see his lovely mum without being accused of-?” Fred feigned hurt and outrage before he stopped playing at the sight of your knowing, glaring eyes. “Fine. George told me you were spending the summer and I wanted to see you. It’s sappy I know.”

You shook your head with a giggle. “No, it’s sweet.” You cooed at his confession before once again kissing him. You just couldn’t get enough of being able to kiss him again and again until both your lips became sore. Just as the kiss picked up in fire, you jumped apart as the door swung open.

Molly entered with a laundry basket firmly held in her arms and a list in the other. You brought up the blanket to cover your decency, sitting up a little bit. She didn’t look up as she read the list, not noticing you. “Fred, I need you to…” Her sentence trailed off as her eyes landed on her son’s bed. Damn, you were just about to try and sneak out of sight under the cover. Molly’s jaw fell agape and you could only wish that the ground would swallow you up whole right now, Fred looked as if he was hoping the same.

“Mum!” Fred gritted his teeth and nodded his head towards the door. Everyone in the room seemed to be looking for a quick way out of this situation. Molly walked slowly backwards out of the door and closed it quickly, you could’ve sworn you had saw her narrow her eyes towards you before she did so.

“shit.” You rubbed your palm over your face with a scowl. Your heart was beating even faster than it been 10 minutes earlier. To your surprise, you heard laughter sound from next to you. You whipped your head round to glare at Fred as he threw his head back in seemingly joyful laughter. “What?! Your mother just caught you in bed after sex.” You said it in an obvious tone with a disbelieving face.

“Yeah but- c’mon (y/n) it’s funny!” Fred didn’t even have a full explanation but he had always used laughter to help him deal with awkward or stressful situations so it was normal behaviour really.

“It won’t be when she wants to talk about it with you,” Fred’s face immediately dropped. “I bet she’ll even get your dad to have a word too.” You raised your eyebrow in a knowing way as Fred’s face went pale.

“It’s fine we’ll just live the rest of our days up here. I’ve got sweets and a place to sleep.” Fred’s eyes twinkled with mischief but you knew he was sort of considering it.

“Fred, we can’t live off of puking pastilles for the rest of our lives.” You got up to start dressing as Fred rolled his eyes.

“Nooo, don’t.” He was trying to pull you back into the warmth of his bed but you resisted the temptation. You shook your head with a smile and picked up the discarded dark green jumper on the floor. Fred narrowed his eyes suspiciously as you walked backwards with a teasing smirk. You threw the jumper on over your PJs and bit your lip. Fred groaned as he got up from the bed and started to shove clothes on. You turned to open the door just as you felt Fred’s hands on your hips.

“You. Are. Such. A fucking. Tease.” You laughed as he emphasised each word with a kiss to a different part of accessible skin making you shiver before throwing on a t-shirt and leading the way downstairs.

“Arthur! Your son was in bed with a girl!” You heard Molly’s yelling voice from the landing of the 3rd floor. You spared a glance at Fred quickly who gulped before you both tentatively made your way down the stairs.

“Who was it?” Arthur’s voice was quieter and less angry, it sounded more distracted. Molly must have thrown something down on the table as a loud thud rang through the house.

“(y/n).” You could see the glare in Molly’s face already.

“Oh well, I’m happy for them. Ow!” Arthur yelped slightly as Molly hit him on the arm. You could just see into the kitchen from the stairs. Molly looked livid as she rushed around the kitchen whether it was her being busy or simply pacing, you didn’t know. “Alright I’ll speak to him.”

You walked into the living room to see George sitting by the fire, reading what appeared to be an edition of the quibbler. At the sight of you both he waggled his eyebrows up and smirked. “Heard all about you two. Of course, I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later.” He got up from his spot and winked at the both of you before leaving the room. You avoided Fred’s gaze as you blushed deeply from George’s words and at the thought of entering the kitchen. Fred reached down to interlock your hands and you smiled gratefully at him but also couldn’t help but notice he was blushing as furiously and as bright as the colour of his hair.

You instantly let go of Fred’s hand as Molly glared at the both of you. You sat down quickly and quietly for breakfast but there was nothing set up as of yet. Fred sat next to you before Molly pulled him up by the sleeve of his t-shirt. He protested in mockful pain as Molly dragged him to the kitchen area, not far from where you sat but enough to be out of earshot. Molly coughed loudly at Arthur and he followed.

You heard your name yelled as the argument began between parents and son. You watched as Fred’s face got steadily redder. You could only catch the louder parts of the conversation mainly Fred. “Ew! Mum that’s Gross!” “Merlin Mum! I’m sorry!” “Yes I was-!” You missed the last part of Fred’s shouted sentence as he catched your eye and blushed deeper before mouthing the last word which looked a lot like ‘safe’.

George snuck into the room and sat on the chair next to you, kicking his feet up on another chair. He had a large box of every flavour beans open and was digging into them like popcorn as he watched the argument with interest. “What did I miss?”

Normally you would have laughed and asked him to share his sweets but in your state of embarrassment, you could do nothing more than glare at the younger twin. George jokingly put his hands up and resumed to watching the ongoing argument which seemed to be turning softer, at least on Molly’s part. She gave her son a hug but he looked less than happy as he didn’t return the effort and rolled his eyes behind her back. You stifled a laugh as the three of them walked back over.

“I just want you to be careful Freddie.” Molly patted him on the back which he attempted to dodge as he resumed his space next to you.

“Mum please don’t call me that after that conversation.” Fred looked mortified and you rubbed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. George sat laughing at it all. You saw Molly look unsure but her gaze wasn’t directed at George, it was pointed on the hand you had on Fred’s shoulder. You immediately retracted it and began to try and find a point of interest in the room.

“Aww c’mon Freddie, Mum’s only looking out for you. Don’t want any unexpected pregnancies now do we?” George looked all too happy with himself for his comment as his eyes widened with a sort of wicked glee behind them. You kicked his leg hard under the table to which his smirk faded into a glare.

“George!” Molly hit his arm as did Fred. But Molly seemed worried by his words. You felt the need to shake your head as her eyes roamed to you. You swore she heaved a small sigh of relief as the others made their way down for breakfast. You were so thankful for the distraction as plates of food flew from the kitchen to the table. Your sister smiled at you and began to apologise for falling asleep in Ginny’s room.

“But I guess it worked out if these two came back early.” Hermione gestured to the twins and you nodded, desperate for a conversation change. “But if George slept in his bed and you slept in Fred’s then where did you sleep?” She asked Fred innocently. Fred began to speak before being cut off by Molly.

“Pumpkin juice anyone?” Everyone seemed to forget Hermione’s question as glasses were filled with juice all around the table. Everyone except George of course.

“Yeah Freddie, where did you sleep?” George mocked not knowing, placing his elbow on the table so he could rest his hand and stare over at Fred and you.

“On the floor. I slept on the floor.” Fred nodded as he lied, his mother smiled. You guessed it was for Ginny’s sake and to minus your embarrassment but Ginny probably understood more than she let on anyway.

Breakfast continued as normal except Hermione, at one point, shot her eyes between you and Fred who had begun to have an intimate conversation of your own. You met her curious look and couldn’t help the smile on your face. Your sister smiled back, understanding. Her eyes shot briefly over to Ron with a look of wanting, he was talking animatedly with Ginny about Quidditch, no one else but you caught this.

Just as you were eating your way through your final pancake, you felt a hand grab yours underneath the table and smiled at Fred who was already gazing at you. Despite the rude interruption earlier and the heavy embarrassment that followed, you couldn’t help but be grateful for the chain of events that had led you to become Fred Weasley’s girlfriend and you had an old green jumper to thank.

*Smut*

Fred was gentle as he kissed your lips, waiting until you picked up the passion so he knew you were sure. You soon did as your tongue entered his mouth, Fred’s joined alongside yours. His hands wondered up and down your back underneath the jumper. Your hands, meanwhile, where running through his hair and pulling just a little to emit moans from the taller boy. You parted the kiss to throw the jumper and your thin pyjama t-shirt off in one swoop, you weren’t wearing a bra so your front was fully exposed. Fred admired your figure before pulling you back down into a crashing kiss.

He was situated on top of you as he pulled of his own clothing including his jeans, so he was left only in his underwear. You teasingly reached down between you to grope the bulging outline of his dick, his breathing shallowed as he leant down and began to pepper your neck with kisses. You giggled as his lips tickled your skin so Fred went for a rougher approach and experimentally bit your skin before soothingly licking over the protruding bruise. He gathered from your sigh of pleasure and small moan that you enjoyed it so he made some more before trailing his line of kisses down to your chest. He massaged one of your breasts in his hands as his tongue trailed over the other. You threw your head back onto the pillow as he continued.

Eventually his hand was reaching down to take off your jeans and after he was successful, he resumed his kissing of your breasts as his hand slipped into your panties and began rubbing the mound there. His fingers eventually found your clit making you arch into his touch. He smiled as he kissed back up to your lips and took the air from your lungs with his passionate kisses which captured every moan. Just as you pulled back for air, Fred slipped a finger into your entrance making you scream a moan. He kissed you again with a hushed laugh. “The spells aren’t that soundproof, love.” You nodded and bit your lip hard to stifle any more sounds emitted from your lips.

But it was made all the more difficult as Fred slipped off your panties and lined his member up with your hole. You were breathing heavily and Fred noticed your nerves as your breaths became slightly uneven. “Hey, if you don’t want- “

“no, I do. It’s just a bit…” You couldn’t seem to find the word but Fred seemed to understand you as he kissed you reassuringly making you sigh. You nodded as he parted from the kiss, telling him silently that you were ready.

“If you want me to stop just say okay?” Fred looked so nervous himself at the idea of hurting you so you kissed him back for his peace of mind and agreed with another silent nod. He nodded his head back, more to himself as he entered you. He pushed in slowly, you gasped in a bit of pain so he kissed you and made sure you were okay. You nodded again as he bottomed out and you felt so full, so good. “Fuck.” His swear roused something in you and you reached up to kiss him roughly, your hands roaming all over his bare back. You accidently caught him with your nail but to your surprise he growled and pushed the kiss deeper. You pulled back so your lips were grazing his ever so slightly.

“Can you move?” You whispered against his lips, reassuring him with your eyes as he caught onto your request and began to slowly thrust in and out. The pleasure began to feel inside your body and you smiled, Fred noticed the change and gained more confidence in his actions. He began to pick up the pace of his thrusts making you moan. You tried to stifle them as you remembered you weren’t alone in the house but the pleasure seemed to override your brain and all you could focus on was Fred. The way he touched you, kissed you, the way his body seemed to move perfectly with yours.

“Ugh Fred, oh fuck. Harder” The last word you whispered seemed to urge Fred on as well as the way you said his name. He nuzzled his face down into your shoulder as he went harder at your request. You held and stroked his hair as you kissed the side of his face and neck. You quickly felt a knot of tension form in your stomach and you knew that you were reaching your climax. Your hands instantly reached down to grab a hold of the bed sheets. You let out a strangled moan as you screamed out his name and felt your orgasm ripple throughout your whole body like a wave of pleasure.

You laid dazed for a little while as Fred continued to thrust into you, your hands once again found his hair and pulled slightly making his moans more frequent. He called out your name before he bit down onto your shoulder and quickly pulled out, coming over your stomach. He kissed over the mark he just left and his whole body seemed to deflate as he came down from his high. Fred quickly cleaned up your stomach before he rolled onto his back. You kissed him, placing your head onto his chest and listening to his heart.

“Was that alright?” Fred’s voice sounded out of breath but still with an etch of concern. You kissed his chest and nodded against it in response.

“More than alright.” You said contently. Fred let out a deep breath and you smiled, perfectly comfortable by his side.

#fanfiction #fanfic #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred and george #fred x reader #smut #fluff #Weasley twins #weasley #cute smut #my fic

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aj-the-satyr · 6 years ago

Text

Parabellum

Chance knocked on the door of the suite.

“Your boss sent me.”

The door swung open slowly revealing a nervous looking man in a black suit.

Chance inclined her head and pointed her gun. “Back up. Send him out. We are leaving.”

The Clockmaker’s voice could be heard from inside. “Miss Wolf!”

“I’m here to take you home Davidius. Your workshop is fine, no one disturbed anything important.”

She heard a long sigh followed by sounds of quick packing. The guard had backed off but had kept her in his line of sight. “He’s grabbing his tools.”

Chance nodded but didn’t let her senses relax, not even for a moment. She was still here, in the belly of the beast. “Focus” she whispered under her breath.

....................

Lance looked up as the door swung open. Director Jensen had returned from wherever he had got to.

“Director.”

“Lance. Good work but I believe we can scale back our investigations.”

“Director?”

“It’s a play. Someone is pushing our buttons.”

“Do you have an idea of who?”

“No.” He waved Lance out of his chair. “Get out there. Track down DeAngelo. I think she’s onto something in this mess. She was supposed to find just enough to rile me up and I just upset a whole boatload of apple carts with what I just did.”

Lance stood trying to process this. “Director?”

“Plays for power are about to be made and I just burned enough bridges to lose me my job.”

“Director!”

Levi just smiled. “Go. Find DeAngelo.”

“Yes, Director.” Lance left the office, glad for the step down in his responsibilities. Whatever was going on it was clear the Director had way more of a handle on it than he did. Lance let out a long sigh and pulled out a phone. “Now how do you find someone who doesn’t want to be found?”

.......................

Dick frowned at the text. Figaro was supposed to give him 3 days and it had barely been 1. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. It was Carlos.

“Well that’s a lot of gibberish.” Said Carlos clearly looking at the phone.

“Code. And don’t read my texts over my shoulder.”

“Don’t read your phone and look miserable then.” Carlos stepped around in front of him. “Zoo today or have your plans changed?”

“Changed.”

“Oh. Ok. Do you need your car?” Carlos grinned.

Dick just shook his head a little. “Take it. I’m probably going to picked up.”

“Thanks. But seriously what’s got you so wound up?”

“Take your time at the zoo Carlos. Public places would be best.”

.....................................

Chance led the way and only put the gun away when she saw that the lobby was clear of people. Only the woman behind the desk, Janice, remained to stare coolly at them as they left.

“Straight outside Davidius. I have something to deliver first.”

Davidius nodded clutching his toolbag to his chest as he took small steps across the lobby.

Chance veered towards the desk and saw Janice grip something just below her eyeline. Chance raised her hands up as she approached. “Janice.”

“Miss Wolf. I suggest you leave before I call security. You are aware that Mr Kober revoked your privalages here?”

“Wasn’t aware I had any to begin with. I have something you should give to him.”

“Oh?” One of Janice’s carefully groomed eyebrows arched at this.

“Yeah.” Chance produced a manila folder with a flick of her wrist. “He will find this to be some very interesting reading. Also...... tell Vetra I’m sorry.” She placed it on the desk and headed after Davidius. Now there was only Nikolai to worry about.

Janice flipped open the folder as Chance left, her eyes widening as it became very clear just what Chance wanted delivered to Mr Kober. “WHY!?” she called after her.

Chance didn’t even slow her stride. “Because no one should have that.”

......................................

(Malentendu continues. Probably gonna alternate between this and my other brand of nonsense Malarkey. Trying to write more and enjoy the characters. Easy task right?

Taglist is currently. @yuutfa @sleepy-and-anxious @anntarinsanitymaterialized @wordsaremylife

Thanks for reading. Thanks for writing. Thanks for sharing. Thanks for being creative. Just thanks. Till next time.)

#Malentendu #Chance Wolf #Writeblr #MyWriting #Still no real idea where this is going #just having fun #listening to Legend of Zelda music #Other useless tags

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flauntpage · 7 years ago

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The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks

The first couple weeks of the 2017-18 NBA season have been more fun, unpredictable, and mind-boggling than anyone could've guessed. After Gordon Hayward's injury, the Boston Celtics look like they'll never lose again, Aaron Gordon appears to be a budding All-Star, and Cleveland Cavaliers general manager Koby Altman should probably consider blowing everything up and starting all over (kidding!).

Seriously, though, the season is quickly shaping into an entertaining adventure nobody saw coming: an ongoing drama between belief and skepticism. Between the Little Engine That Could and Small Sample Size Mountain. Let's take a closer look.

1. Chandler Parsons Looks (Relatively) Phenomenal

Heading into this season, expectations surrounding Chandler Parsons—at 29, post-several significant knee surgeries, after a year in which no player in the entire league (except, um, his own teammate Andrew Harrison) shot the ball worse—were lower than they will be for Netflix's inevitable rollout of Stranger Things 7. But instead of hobbling around as a $23 million ball mover, Parsons is one of the most efficient players in the entire league—last night's 0-for-4 outing against the Orlando Magic notwithstanding—and possesses its lowest defensive rating.

(When he's on the court, Memphis performs like a 79-win team! When he's off, only 29.)

Parsons isn't blowing by defenders (unless they're named "Frank Kaminsky"), but has finally rediscovered some confidence in his shot after starting the season with a petrified look on his face every time someone passed him the ball. He's averaging more points per 36 minutes than ever, and has spent nearly all his time at the four (a smart, new development that's partly due to JaMychal Green's ankle injury).

Parsons recorded two dunks in his first 100 minutes after a grand total of three in 674 minutes last season. On one play against the Charlotte Hornets, he grabbed a defensive rebound, leisurely dribbled to the top of the arc, and launched an open three. It clanged off the front iron, but that's still an encouraging level of comfort to see from a guy who was booed by his own fanbase a couple weeks ago.

What does all this mean for the Memphis Grizzlies? Parsons has only logged 19 minutes beside Mike Conley and Marc Gasol, and in that time they were outscored by 14.2 points per 100 possessions. But if they can gel some on an upcoming five-game road trip, and Parsons is able to sustain some of his efficiency in a larger role without suffering any health-related setbacks, there's a very good chance this team can not only qualify for the playoffs, but make some genuine noise once they're there.

2. Big Men and Closeouts

This might seem obvious, but with even more traditional centers stepping behind the three-point line this year, the guys asked to stop them are also drifting towards the perimeter more than they used to. The following qualifies as anecdotal evidence within a small sample size, but according to NBA.com Dwight Howard is contesting 2.7 threes per game this season, up from 1.5 last year. Marc Gasol is at 3.7 three-point contests, and last year he averaged 1.8. Steven Adams contested 2.7 threes last year and now he's at 3.6.

Again, these numbers are circumstantial—reliant on minutes, opponents, and scheme in a tiny sample size—and should be read with a grain of salt. Some centers (like Rudy Gobert and DeMarcus Cousins) haven't seen any uptick at all. But what matters here is the reminder that as NBA offenses continue to evolve, individual defenders are being forced to need to sharpen tools they barely used to need.

Centers who bite at Joel Embiid's pump fake, or wildly race out at Brook Lopez with no plan other than to run him off the line, put pressure on help defenders who're forced to either foul, take a very painful charge, or desert their own assignment and surrender an open look elsewhere.

Sprinting to a dead stop and then trying to laterally stick with a ball-handler is incredibly difficult, but in today's NBA this is what once-plodding seven-footers have to do if they want to stay on the floor.

3. Apologies to Jakob Poeltl

I don't think my opinion on a prospect has ever shifted faster than it has with Jakob Poeltl. It was unclear watching him last year how a seven-footer who can't shoot and doesn't possess leap-off-the-screen athleticism could carve out a meaningful role on a winning team.

This opinion was bad. Poeltl is awesome. Not only is he a putback monster who can control the offensive glass against the right matchup (Toronto's offensive rebound rate is 9.3 percent higher with him in the game), but the 22-year-old has also proven to be an agile pick-and-roll finisher, with touch and strength around the rim. His defense is phenomenal, too, particularly when switching out on the perimeter. Poeltl keeps one hand high to bother the shooter's vision, swivels his hips, and slides step for step.

This is valuable, but thanks to Jonas Valanciunas and Bebe Nogueira, Poeltl's playing time isn't as high as his skills suggest it should be.

4. Philly's Expanding Playbook

It's oh so very early, but according to Synergy Sports, the Philadelphia 76ers boast the NBA's most efficient offense after a timeout. This is a massive leap from last year, when, well, they came in dead last, averaging a measly 0.819 points per possession. Some of this is thanks to Brett Brown's willingness to experiment with the most talented and complementary roster he's ever had, and some is just because said talent is able to savage defenses that aren't as focused as they should be.

Ben Simmons is as perceptive as he is physically imposing; the 21-year-old has already figured out how to make opponents pay when they don't execute as tightly as they should (or when they're simply unable to squeeze the ball out of his hands).

After an Iverson cut towards the left wing, Simmons attacks away from the screen once he notices that Dallas Mavericks big Dwight Powell is hugged up on Amir Johnson instead of in position to ice the pick-and-roll.

The next play starts the same, with Simmons once again opening things up by cutting across the elbow. But instead of Johnson setting a screen, Joel Embiid posts up on the left block while three other Sixers (who're all respectable outside threats) clear out to the weakside. Trevor Ariza isn't in position to force Simmons towards the sideline, so the phenom behaves like a phenom and instead plows into the middle towards an open lane.

These two positive results come off action that isn't especially creative. But Brown is smart enough to realize that sometimes all he has to do is get out of the way. Wind up your franchise player, point him towards a simple two-man action, then let him wreak some havoc. Simmons's ability to read and react at warp speed is one of the many unteachable gifts he already has, and the scheme that can slow him down might not currently exist.

5. Is Ricky Rubio Finally Evolving?

Watch what happens when a defense goes out of its way to prevent Rubio from shooting the ball.

As he spins middle off Gobert's screen, Brandon Ingram leaves Joe Ingles (you know, the guy who made 44.1 percent of his threes last season and is even more accurate this year) to stunt and force a pass. The ball is eventually swung to the opposite corner, where Rodney Hood drills an open look.

This is probably more due to an antsy 20-year-old trying to make a play than a tactical decision from Lakers head coach Luke Walton, but it hints at a reality many thought we'd never see. Rubio is making shots. What's even more impressive than him making 38 percent of his threes (and a completely unsustainable 54 percent of his long twos) is a newfound bravery attached to his shot selection.

Rubio's three-point rate is currently 16.7 percent higher than his career average. Above-the-break treys are still all over the place and he still can't finish at the rim, but a willingness to fire away could change how defenses treat him over the course of the season. Off reputation alone, Rubio's gravity won't ever sniff most of his contemporaries, but an ability to make defenders pay every now and again is significant.

(Also, he has the best hair in the league.)

On Wednesday, Rubio finished with 30 points (three short of his career high) on 17 shots. For just one moment, imagine an alternate reality where these developments are taking place on a Jazz roster that also has a healthy Gordon Hayward and Derrick Favors nearly back to the borderline-All-Star plane where he ascended before injuries weakened his antithetical impact. Is that the second or third-best team in the Western Conference? Does a Rubio, Hood, Hayward, Favors, Gobert lineup make the Warriors sweat?

6. Reminder: Giannis is Huge!

The sight never gets old. In the opening few minutes of Milwaukee's blowout loss against Oklahoma City on Tuesday night, Giannis glided around the floor as a taller, stronger, longer, version of all the various wing defenders employed by the Thunder. It was funny, watching OKC's fundamental identity and nightly advantage look so delicate standing beside the NBA's very own Cloverfield. On the same court as Giannis, Paul George, Andre Roberson, and Jerami Grant looked like raptors flailing around in Jurassic Park's final scene.

7. Reminder: De'Aaron Fox is Fast!

Keep an eye on the shot clock.

8. Is 2017-18 Kemba Walker About to Become 2016-17 Isaiah Thomas?

Meaning, are we in store for a second unexpected leap from a spunky Eastern Conference point guard, one season after it felt like they already spilled out all they had to offer? Earlier this week, Walker ranked third in fourth-quarter scoring (he's now at 10th, with a number that would be top five last season), has never been more efficient from inside or outside the arc, and has damn near doubled his free-throw rate.

Walker has been fantastic inside the paint, and the Charlotte Hornets look deprived of all five senses when he's off the court. This is somewhat due to the fact that they don't currently have a backup point guard, but Charlotte is still an unbelievable 33.6 points per 100 possessions better when he's in there.

There's a jumpy, unpredictability to Walker's game right now. On one recent possession against the Memphis Grizzlies, Walker pushed the ball in transition and nearly penetrated beneath the basket before he decided to pump the brakes and dribble back out to set up the offense. But once he realized no Grizzlies were nearby to escort him to the perimeter, he curled baseline and knocked down a wide open jumper. Splash.

With more pressure to shoulder a heavier load after Nicolas Batum went down in the preseason, Walker is playing with an unseen self-belief that's steadily elevating his game even higher than last year's All-Star campaign showed it could go. Taming a tiger is less complicated than corralling him off a high screen right now. He's a virtual lock to make his second-straight All-Star team.

9. The New York Knicks are Rebounding the Shit out of the Ball

Photo by Wendell Cruz - USA TODAY Sports

Remember when the Knicks were mocked for constructing a roster that essentially barred Kristaps Porzingis from spending any time at center (only three percent of his minutes have been at that position this year, down from 21 percent last year)? Well, even after three-straight wins against the Brooklyn Nets, Cleveland Cavaliers, and Denver Nuggets that took place before they were slapped back to Earth by the Houston Rockets, these personnel decisions probably still weren't the way to go.

But what those personnel choices have done is help New York formulate a fun, possibly sustainable (?) Porzingis + Putbacks identity. With Carmelo Anthony out of the picture, Porzingis has spent the opening chapter of his third season mushrooming into an unguardable beanstock. Only Giannis, Boogie, and Steph Curry are averaging more points than Porzingis. Zero players have a higher usage rate.

Instead of spacing issues caused by the likes of Enes Kanter and Kyle O'Quinn, those two have butchered teams on the glass. The Knicks rank second in offensive rebound rate and third in total rebound rate. While almost every other team around the league is downsizing, New York has firmly positioned their 7'3" franchise player at the four. And, relative to some depressing expectations, it's working!

10. I Can't Wait for the Atlanta Hawks to be Good

If you've happened to catch any recent Hawks game at Philips Arena, you might remember sideline reporter Andre Aldridge posted up at a brand new bar that just opened along the court's baseline. It looks like the most amazing place on Earth.

The team is horrible, but have openly cuddled up beside a full-on rebuild that should (if all goes according to plan) make Philips Arena one of the NBA's most lively atmospheres a few years down the road. Until then, Dominique Wilkins and Bob Rathbun need to broadcast every home game games directly from the bar.

11. Let's Trade Jamal Murray for Kyle Lowry

The likeliness of a trade involving these two players is microscopic—the idea disintegrates if the Toronto Raptors and Denver Nuggets both look like solid playoff teams in late January (Lowry can't be dealt until that month)—so I won't spend too much time rationalizing why I think it should happen.

But it sorta makes sense! Big picture, Toronto has a rapidly progressing core simmering beneath its veteran, All-Star-caliber contributors. The aforementioned Poeltl, rookie OG Anunoby, recently signed Norm Powell, and intriguing rotation players like Delon Wright and Pascal Siakam have the future looking solid.

They're successfully rebuilding on the fly while Lowry, DeMar DeRozan, and Serge Ibaka begin to decline on big-money contracts. Trading (at least) one of those three for valuable assets would punt meaningful playoff contention from 2018-2020, but allow continuity to accelerate within a new, modernized offensive system.

If they can somehow land someone with Murray's upside and turn him into their new franchise player, the Raptors would seamlessly glide from a stagnant also-ran to a promising up-and-comer. Dwane Casey has already relented a bit, playing lineups that feature four or five young pups at the same time.

The main holdup here, besides contractual issues that make matching money a little difficult with these two teams, is Denver's cooperation. Why the hell would they give up on a 20-year-old who defends his position and may own the most invaluable offensive trait in basketball: an ability to knock down pull-up threes at a reliable rate?

Denver is almost an inverse of the Raptors. Both teams are operating on two timelines, but the Nuggets are more clearly loaded to do damage five years from now. Nikola Jokic is 22, Gary Harris just turned 23, and Emmanuel Mudiay (who's made 45.5 percent of his threes this year!) is 21. Common sense says "wait." But Paul Millsap's decision to climb aboard turns maximizing the present into a conversation.

Lowry has been pretty bad this year, but he's still one of the five or six most effective all-around players at his position. Imagine how he'd look next to Jokic and Millsap. How much better would Denver be if he's there this season and next?

Again, a trade like this is extremely complicated and would dramatically shift the direction of two franchises that seem to be content with where they are. But the word impossible doesn't exist in today's NBA.

12. Can Rashad Vaughn Maybe Become a Thing?

Vaughn (who recently said "that's what we lived for" in reference to the McGriddle sandwich) entered his third season with one foot in the league and the other on a banana peel. He logged a grand total of four and a half minutes in Milwaukee's first four games (during which he was trade bait) before draining four threes in an 11-point win against the Hawks.

On Halloween, the team decided not to pick up his fourth-year option, making Vaughn an unrestricted free agent this summer. For a team that has little financial flexibility going forward, completely whiffing on a first-round pick can have painful consequences. Giannis is clearly ready to win now, and the Eastern Conference is begging someone to usurp the Cavaliers.

As Malcolm Brogdon, Jabari Parker, and Khris Middleton each become eligible for a significant pay raise in the next couple summers, the pressure will be on Milwaukee's front office to complement their franchise megastar with a championship-caliber supporting cast before he can flee as a free agent.

On paper, Vaughn is an ideal puzzle piece: a 6'6" three-point threat who may one day be able to reliably knock down threes, make plays when the ball is swung his way, and threaten defenses by pulling up off a dribble hand-off or initiating his own pick-and-roll. Maybe the Bucks believe waiting to see if Vaughn pans out is a waste of everybody's time, especially now that Tony Snell already fills the role he was meant for.

But money issues constrict ways in which Milwaukee can improve from the outside. Internal improvement is key. Vaughn's team option feels negligible now, but giving up on him so soon may come back to haunt this team in one way or another.

13. The Spurs are Perfect Even When They're Not

Even though Patty Mills' game-tying three didn't fall, San Antonio's execution of this elevators action at the end of a recent loss against the Indiana Pacers exemplified why they're the coolest cucumbers around.

Everything about this is ideal...until the ball leaves his fingertips.

14. Jordan Clarkson's Usage Rate is Higher than Anthony Davis, Russell Westbrook, and Just About Everybody Else

To suggest Clarkson has made the most of his reduced playing time is to suggest that Kendrick Lamar sometimes steals the spotlight when he's on other people's songs. In ten fewer minutes than he averaged last year, Clarkson is averaging the same amount of points, knocking down threes at a more accurate clip, posting the highest assist rate of his career, and, generally standing out as a quality contributor off Los Angeles' bench. (He launched six threes in 14 freaking minutes against the Toronto Raptors!)

He's efficient for the very first time despite his usage percentage soaring into the rarified air normally reserved for All-Stars. Some of this is because he's the only shot creator on the floor, often paired with the likes of Corey Brewer, Kyle Kuzma, and Josh Hart. And some of it's because he's been instructed to attack. It's too early to speculate whether this is a breakout campaign or just an early-season surge, but Clarkson's production is flying under the radar in a city that thinks Lonzo Ball is the only player who ever lived.

15. Al Horford is Playing Better Defense Than Everybody Else

The Boston Celtics have the best defense in the NBA because Al Horford is playing like its best defender. When he's off the floor they guard like a bottom-10 unit, but when he's out there, nailed down as a human lighthouse guiding Boston's young pack of swarming athletes everywhere they should go, the Celtics are well-choreographed misery.

Individually, the overwhelming talent Horford has had to corral is beyond impressive: Giannis (twice), Ben Simmons, LaMarcus Aldridge, Kristaps Porzingis, and Kevin Love. All opponents are shooting just 56.2 percent at the rim when Horford is on the floor. When he rests, that number spikes all the way up to 74.6 percent. The difference ranks in the 98th percentile among players at his position, according to Cleaning the Glass).

For the fleeting minority that still scoffs at Horford's occasional humdrum box score, and are fed up with the Ambien-akin side-effects commonly linked to what happens after repeated exposure to negated entry passes, crisp high screens, and perfect execution of myriad pick-and-roll coverages, Horford remains an overpaid waste. Nearly a dozen years of evidence proves they're wrong, and this year he's definitively worth every penny.

Using priceless instincts, flawless habits, and a wingspan that allows him to cover more ground than anyone his size should (only seven players contest more shots every game, per NBA.com), Horford has glued himself inside the all-too-early Defensive Player of the Year (pseudo-MVP?) conversation. He shouldn't leave it anytime soon.

16. Tristan Thompson is a Black Eye on Cleveland's Bloody Face

The Cavaliers have dropped five of their last six games, with all five losses coming up against teams few, if anybody, projected to make the playoffs. Life is rough. But on a team with defensive woes that are as much due to mental indifference as they are physical fragility, Thompson's struggles across the board are particularly worrisome.

Two years ago, the Cavaliers allowed 101.7 points per 100 possessions with Thompson on the floor. This season, his defensive rating is 111.2. His minutes are down, his confidence is low, and his offensive role is non-existent. It's obviously possible for the Cavaliers to bounce back after Isaiah Thomas returns and LeBron James starts to feel like a superhero.

But up until he suffered a calf injury against the Indiana Pacers that will sideline him about a month, Thompson was a non-threat off the ball who launched more long twos than he ever should. If James leaves in free agency this summer, the $36 million Thompson is owed over the next two years turn that contract into one of the league's roughest (from Cleveland's perspective!) agreements.

To be fair, once he's healthy, Thompson's numbers should stabilize once Cleveland works an actual point guard into their rotation. Teams were able to switch James-Thompson pick-and-rolls, and the sliver of opportunity born from that action mainly arrived after a mistake. Here's an example, as miscommunication between Jrue Holiday and Dante Cunningham leads to an easy dunk.

17. Dillon Brooks is Found Money

I wonder how a lucky a front office feels whenever they draft someone 45th overall and then immediately watch him flourish in consequential ways. Is this like finding a $20 bill in your back pocket or hearing your train approach the second you descend onto a subway platform?

The Memphis Grizzlies have had their fair share of first-round blunders, but scoring with guys like Brooks has helped keep this organization afloat, stiff-arming a rebuild further out than it probably should be.

I don't have much to say about Brooks. He seems to be a cagey one-on-one defender, someone who's relentless and difficult to screen. That's nice. He's also committed a bunch of rookie mistakes and isn't really making his threes. But the fact that he's averaging 30 minutes per game on one of the league's most pleasant surprises is telling.

The value of a second-round pick is never more clear than in transcendent figures like Manu Ginobili or Draymond Green, but they still feel like an undervalued commodity. Think about how different the Los Angeles Clippers might look today if they drafted someone like Brooks a few years ago?

Plucking a helpful contributor in the second round takes quite a bit of luck, but some teams have an ability to carve their own more often than others.

18. Your Weekly Reminder that the Golden State Warriors are Unfair

Kevin Durant is shooting 49 percent from behind the three-point line, and his three-point rate has never been higher.

The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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amtushinfosolutionspage · 7 years ago

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The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks

The first couple weeks of the 2017-18 NBA season have been more fun, unpredictable, and mind-boggling than anyone could’ve guessed. After Gordon Hayward’s injury, the Boston Celtics look like they’ll never lose again, Aaron Gordon appears to be a budding All-Star, and Cleveland Cavaliers general manager Koby Altman should probably consider blowing everything up and starting all over (kidding!).

1. Chandler Parsons Looks (Relatively) Phenomenal

Heading into this season, expectations surrounding Chandler Parsons—at 29, post-several significant knee surgeries, after a year in which no player in the entire league (except, um, his own teammate Andrew Harrison) shot the ball worse—were lower than they will be for Netflix’s inevitable rollout of Stranger Things 7. But instead of hobbling around as a $23 million ball mover, Parsons is one of the most efficient players in the entire league—last night’s 0-for-4 outing against the Orlando Magic notwithstanding—and possesses its lowest defensive rating.

(When he’s on the court, Memphis performs like a 79-win team! When he’s off, only 29.)

Parsons isn’t blowing by defenders (unless they’re named “Frank Kaminsky”), but has finally rediscovered some confidence in his shot after starting the season with a petrified look on his face every time someone passed him the ball. He’s averaging more points per 36 minutes than ever, and has spent nearly all his time at the four (a smart, new development that’s partly due to JaMychal Green’s ankle injury).

Parsons recorded two dunks in his first 100 minutes after a grand total of three in 674 minutes last season. On one play against the Charlotte Hornets, he grabbed a defensive rebound, leisurely dribbled to the top of the arc, and launched an open three. It clanged off the front iron, but that’s still an encouraging level of comfort to see from a guy who was booed by his own fanbase a couple weeks ago.

What does all this mean for the Memphis Grizzlies? Parsons has only logged 19 minutes beside Mike Conley and Marc Gasol, and in that time they were outscored by 14.2 points per 100 possessions. But if they can gel some on an upcoming five-game road trip, and Parsons is able to sustain some of his efficiency in a larger role without suffering any health-related setbacks, there’s a very good chance this team can not only qualify for the playoffs, but make some genuine noise once they’re there.

2. Big Men and Closeouts

Again, these numbers are circumstantial—reliant on minutes, opponents, and scheme in a tiny sample size—and should be read with a grain of salt. Some centers (like Rudy Gobert and DeMarcus Cousins) haven’t seen any uptick at all. But what matters here is the reminder that as NBA offenses continue to evolve, individual defenders are being forced to need to sharpen tools they barely used to need.

Centers who bite at Joel Embiid’s pump fake, or wildly race out at Brook Lopez with no plan other than to run him off the line, put pressure on help defenders who’re forced to either foul, take a very painful charge, or desert their own assignment and surrender an open look elsewhere.

Sprinting to a dead stop and then trying to laterally stick with a ball-handler is incredibly difficult, but in today’s NBA this is what once-plodding seven-footers have to do if they want to stay on the floor.

3. Apologies to Jakob Poeltl

I don’t think my opinion on a prospect has ever shifted faster than it has with Jakob Poeltl. It was unclear watching him last year how a seven-footer who can’t shoot and doesn’t possess leap-off-the-screen athleticism could carve out a meaningful role on a winning team.

This opinion was bad. Poeltl is awesome. Not only is he a putback monster who can control the offensive glass against the right matchup (Toronto’s offensive rebound rate is 9.3 percent higher with him in the game), but the 22-year-old has also proven to be an agile pick-and-roll finisher, with touch and strength around the rim. His defense is phenomenal, too, particularly when switching out on the perimeter. Poeltl keeps one hand high to bother the shooter’s vision, swivels his hips, and slides step for step.

This is valuable, but thanks to Jonas Valanciunas and Bebe Nogueira, Poeltl’s playing time isn’t as high as his skills suggest it should be.

4. Philly’s Expanding Playbook

It’s oh so very early, but according to Synergy Sports, the Philadelphia 76ers boast the NBA’s most efficient offense after a timeout. This is a massive leap from last year, when, well, they came in dead last, averaging a measly 0.819 points per possession. Some of this is thanks to Brett Brown’s willingness to experiment with the most talented and complementary roster he’s ever had, and some is just because said talent is able to savage defenses that aren’t as focused as they should be.

Ben Simmons is as perceptive as he is physically imposing; the 21-year-old has already figured out how to make opponents pay when they don’t execute as tightly as they should (or when they’re simply unable to squeeze the ball out of his hands).

The next play starts the same, with Simmons once again opening things up by cutting across the elbow. But instead of Johnson setting a screen, Joel Embiid posts up on the left block while three other Sixers (who’re all respectable outside threats) clear out to the weakside. Trevor Ariza isn’t in position to force Simmons towards the sideline, so the phenom behaves like a phenom and instead plows into the middle towards an open lane.

These two positive results come off action that isn’t especially creative. But Brown is smart enough to realize that sometimes all he has to do is get out of the way. Wind up your franchise player, point him towards a simple two-man action, then let him wreak some havoc. Simmons’s ability to read and react at warp speed is one of the many unteachable gifts he already has, and the scheme that can slow him down might not currently exist.

5. Is Ricky Rubio Finally Evolving?

Watch what happens when a defense goes out of its way to prevent Rubio from shooting the ball.

As he spins middle off Gobert’s screen, Brandon Ingram leaves Joe Ingles (you know, the guy who made 44.1 percent of his threes last season and is even more accurate this year) to stunt and force a pass. The ball is eventually swung to the opposite corner, where Rodney Hood drills an open look.

This is probably more due to an antsy 20-year-old trying to make a play than a tactical decision from Lakers head coach Luke Walton, but it hints at a reality many thought we’d never see. Rubio is making shots. What’s even more impressive than him making 38 percent of his threes (and a completely unsustainable 54 percent of his long twos) is a newfound bravery attached to his shot selection.

Rubio’s three-point rate is currently 16.7 percent higher than his career average. Above-the-break treys are still all over the place and he still can’t finish at the rim, but a willingness to fire away could change how defenses treat him over the course of the season. Off reputation alone, Rubio’s gravity won’t ever sniff most of his contemporaries, but an ability to make defenders pay every now and again is significant.

(Also, he has the best hair in the league.)

6. Reminder: Giannis is Huge!

The sight never gets old. In the opening few minutes of Milwaukee’s blowout loss against Oklahoma City on Tuesday night, Giannis glided around the floor as a taller, stronger, longer, version of all the various wing defenders employed by the Thunder. It was funny, watching OKC’s fundamental identity and nightly advantage look so delicate standing beside the NBA’s very own Cloverfield. On the same court as Giannis, Paul George, Andre Roberson, and Jerami Grant looked like raptors flailing around in Jurassic Park‘s final scene.

7. Reminder: De’Aaron Fox is Fast!

Keep an eye on the shot clock.

8. Is 2017-18 Kemba Walker About to Become 2016-17 Isaiah Thomas?

Meaning, are we in store for a second unexpected leap from a spunky Eastern Conference point guard, one season after it felt like they already spilled out all they had to offer? Earlier this week, Walker ranked third in fourth-quarter scoring (he’s now at 10th, with a number that would be top five last season), has never been more efficient from inside or outside the arc, and has damn near doubled his free-throw rate.

Walker has been fantastic inside the paint, and the Charlotte Hornets look deprived of all five senses when he’s off the court. This is somewhat due to the fact that they don’t currently have a backup point guard, but Charlotte is still an unbelievable 33.6 points per 100 possessions better when he’s in there.

There’s a jumpy, unpredictability to Walker’s game right now. On one recent possession against the Memphis Grizzlies, Walker pushed the ball in transition and nearly penetrated beneath the basket before he decided to pump the brakes and dribble back out to set up the offense. But once he realized no Grizzlies were nearby to escort him to the perimeter, he curled baseline and knocked down a wide open jumper. Splash.

With more pressure to shoulder a heavier load after Nicolas Batum went down in the preseason, Walker is playing with an unseen self-belief that’s steadily elevating his game even higher than last year’s All-Star campaign showed it could go. Taming a tiger is less complicated than corralling him off a high screen right now. He’s a virtual lock to make his second-straight All-Star team.

9. The New York Knicks are Rebounding the Shit out of the Ball

Photo by Wendell Cruz – USA TODAY Sports

Instead of spacing issues caused by the likes of Enes Kanter and Kyle O’Quinn, those two have butchered teams on the glass. The Knicks rank second in offensive rebound rate and third in total rebound rate. While almost every other team around the league is downsizing, New York has firmly positioned their 7’3″ franchise player at the four. And, relative to some depressing expectations, it’s working!

10. I Can’t Wait for the Atlanta Hawks to be Good

If you’ve happened to catch any recent Hawks game at Philips Arena, you might remember sideline reporter Andre Aldridge posted up at a brand new bar that just opened along the court’s baseline. It looks like the most amazing place on Earth.

The team is horrible, but have openly cuddled up beside a full-on rebuild that should (if all goes according to plan) make Philips Arena one of the NBA’s most lively atmospheres a few years down the road. Until then, Dominique Wilkins and Bob Rathbun need to broadcast every home game games directly from the bar.

11. Let’s Trade Jamal Murray for Kyle Lowry

The likeliness of a trade involving these two players is microscopic—the idea disintegrates if the Toronto Raptors and Denver Nuggets both look like solid playoff teams in late January (Lowry can’t be dealt until that month)—so I won’t spend too much time rationalizing why I think it should happen.

They’re successfully rebuilding on the fly while Lowry, DeMar DeRozan, and Serge Ibaka begin to decline on big-money contracts. Trading (at least) one of those three for valuable assets would punt meaningful playoff contention from 2018-2020, but allow continuity to accelerate within a new, modernized offensive system.

If they can somehow land someone with Murray’s upside and turn him into their new franchise player, the Raptors would seamlessly glide from a stagnant also-ran to a promising up-and-comer. Dwane Casey has already relented a bit, playing lineups that feature four or five young pups at the same time.

The main holdup here, besides contractual issues that make matching money a little difficult with these two teams, is Denver’s cooperation. Why the hell would they give up on a 20-year-old who defends his position and may own the most invaluable offensive trait in basketball: an ability to knock down pull-up threes at a reliable rate?

Denver is almost an inverse of the Raptors. Both teams are operating on two timelines, but the Nuggets are more clearly loaded to do damage five years from now. Nikola Jokic is 22, Gary Harris just turned 23, and Emmanuel Mudiay (who’s made 45.5 percent of his threes this year!) is 21. Common sense says “wait.” But Paul Millsap’s decision to climb aboard turns maximizing the present into a conversation.

Lowry has been pretty bad this year, but he’s still one of the five or six most effective all-around players at his position. Imagine how he’d look next to Jokic and Millsap. How much better would Denver be if he’s there this season and next?

12. Can Rashad Vaughn Maybe Become a Thing?

Vaughn (who recently said “that’s what we lived for” in reference to the McGriddle sandwich) entered his third season with one foot in the league and the other on a banana peel. He logged a grand total of four and a half minutes in Milwaukee’s first four games (during which he was trade bait) before draining four threes in an 11-point win against the Hawks.

As Malcolm Brogdon, Jabari Parker, and Khris Middleton each become eligible for a significant pay raise in the next couple summers, the pressure will be on Milwaukee’s front office to complement their franchise megastar with a championship-caliber supporting cast before he can flee as a free agent.

On paper, Vaughn is an ideal puzzle piece: a 6’6″ three-point threat who may one day be able to reliably knock down threes, make plays when the ball is swung his way, and threaten defenses by pulling up off a dribble hand-off or initiating his own pick-and-roll. Maybe the Bucks believe waiting to see if Vaughn pans out is a waste of everybody’s time, especially now that Tony Snell already fills the role he was meant for.

But money issues constrict ways in which Milwaukee can improve from the outside. Internal improvement is key. Vaughn’s team option feels negligible now, but giving up on him so soon may come back to haunt this team in one way or another.

13. The Spurs are Perfect Even When They’re Not

Even though Patty Mills’ game-tying three didn’t fall, San Antonio’s execution of this elevators action at the end of a recent loss against the Indiana Pacers exemplified why they’re the coolest cucumbers around.

Everything about this is ideal…until the ball leaves his fingertips.

14. Jordan Clarkson’s Usage Rate is Higher than Anthony Davis, Russell Westbrook, and Just About Everybody Else

To suggest Clarkson has made the most of his reduced playing time is to suggest that Kendrick Lamar sometimes steals the spotlight when he’s on other people’s songs. In ten fewer minutes than he averaged last year, Clarkson is averaging the same amount of points, knocking down threes at a more accurate clip, posting the highest assist rate of his career, and, generally standing out as a quality contributor off Los Angeles’ bench. (He launched six threes in 14 freaking minutes against the Toronto Raptors!)

He’s efficient for the very first time despite his usage percentage soaring into the rarified air normally reserved for All-Stars. Some of this is because he’s the only shot creator on the floor, often paired with the likes of Corey Brewer, Kyle Kuzma, and Josh Hart. And some of it’s because he’s been instructed to attack. It’s too early to speculate whether this is a breakout campaign or just an early-season surge, but Clarkson’s production is flying under the radar in a city that thinks Lonzo Ball is the only player who ever lived.

15. Al Horford is Playing Better Defense Than Everybody Else

The Boston Celtics have the best defense in the NBA because Al Horford is playing like its best defender. When he’s off the floor they guard like a bottom-10 unit, but when he’s out there, nailed down as a human lighthouse guiding Boston’s young pack of swarming athletes everywhere they should go, the Celtics are well-choreographed misery.

For the fleeting minority that still scoffs at Horford’s occasional humdrum box score, and are fed up with the Ambien-akin side-effects commonly linked to what happens after repeated exposure to negated entry passes, crisp high screens, and perfect execution of more pick-and-roll coverages, Horford remains an overpaid waste. Nearly a dozen years of evidence proves they’re wrong, and this year he’s definitively worth every penny.

16. Tristan Thompson is a Black Eye on Cleveland’s Bloody Face

The Cavaliers have dropped five of their last six games, with all five losses coming up against teams few, if anybody, projected to make the playoffs. Life is rough. But on a team with defensive woes that are as much due to mental indifference as they are physical fragility, Thompson’s struggles across the board are particularly worrisome.

Two years ago, the Cavaliers allowed 101.7 points per 100 possessions with Thompson on the floor. This season, his defensive rating is 111.2. His minutes are down, his confidence is low, and his offensive role is non-existent. It’s obviously possible for the Cavaliers to bounce back after Isaiah Thomas returns and LeBron James starts to feel like a superhero.

But up until he suffered a calf injury against the Indiana Pacers that will sideline him about a month, Thompson was a non-threat off the ball who launched more long twos than he ever should. If James leaves in free agency this summer, the $36 million Thompson is owed over the next two years turn that contract into one of the league’s roughest (from Cleveland’s perspective!) agreements.

To be fair, once he’s healthy, Thompson’s numbers should stabilize once Cleveland works an actual point guard into their rotation. Teams were able to switch James-Thompson pick-and-rolls, and the sliver of opportunity born from that action mainly arrived after a mistake. Here’s an example, as miscommunication between Jrue Holiday and Dante Cunningham leads to an easy dunk.

17. Dillon Brooks is Found Money

I don’t have much to say about Brooks. He seems to be a cagey one-on-one defender, someone who’s relentless and difficult to screen. That’s nice. He’s also committed a bunch of rookie mistakes and isn’t really making his threes. But the fact that he’s averaging 30 minutes per game on one of the league’s most pleasant surprises is telling.

Plucking a helpful contributor in the second round takes quite a bit of luck, but some teams have an ability to carve their own more often than others.

18. Your Weekly Reminder that the Golden State Warriors are Unfair

Kevin Durant is shooting 49 percent from behind the three-point line, and his three-point rate has never been higher.

The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

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snowdice · 5 years ago

Text

Big Bang Editing Story [Day 3](Part 2)

In the same vein as my study session fics, I’m going to be writing a story while I edit my Big Bang Fic. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing final edits for a section of my Big Bang Fic.

This will be a royalty AU and unlike the study fic, I actually have a few plans for it going in, but you can still feel free to send in asks with suggestions or questions to help me along.

Because this story is a story I’m writing to edit, I’m not going to edit it very consistently… The two chapters are finished and under the cut.

Also! I have a lot of world building for this story already and I have a role for all of the sides! (Even the ones that won’t show up for a little while.) Feel free to ask any questions. There’s plenty of magic in this AU.

If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today.

Chapter 1

“Patton, I have work to do.”

“You work all the time,” Patton pouted back at him.

“I’m the crowned prince,” Logan reasoned. “There is a lot for me to do.”

“You’re not even doing royalty business tonight,” Patton pointed out. “You’re just reading your book.”

“But I have to do some tomorrow and if I agree to a sleepover, we both know neither of us will sleep.”

“We’ll sleep, I promise!” Patton said.

“Future Royal Advisor’s honor?” Patton tried, eyes hopeful. “Come on, we can play dress up.”

Logan glared at him. “I am 17 years old,” he reminded.

“I’ll do your hair,” he tempted. “I’ll even let you read a book while I do it.”

The look in his friend’s eyes and the fact that he really was quite good at hair started to weaken Logan’s resolve.

“Considering you are the head chef’s son and I am the prince, it would hardly be considered stealing.”

“But it’s more fun that way,” Patton argued with a laugh. “Come on, you need to have some fun. You’ve been stressed out lately.”

“This is fun,” Logan said with a frown, gesturing to the large book in front of him.

“I know,” Patton said, “but your brain has got to be tired from reading all of that Latin and Sand’s Kit.”

“Sanskrit.”

“Gazuntite.”

Logan sighed. “Why did father agree to make you the royal advisor in training?”

“Because he knows without me, you’ll send your entire life sitting at this desk reading your book.” Patton scrunched up his nose at him.

“I would also do my royal duties.”

“Oh, I’m being commanded, am I?” Logan asked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re really going to try to command your prince? You’re lucky I don’t have you tossed into the dungeon.”

Logan carefully closed his book and stood from his desk chair. Patton was already giggling before Logan lunged for him.

The guards that stood in front of the double doors to the private hall, stepped aside easily at Patton’s approach. Patton pushed through the doors and they swung shut behind him.

“Traitors,” Logan accused, shooting past them through the door himself.

The guards only seemed amused by his accusation.

“What is going on here?” Logan’s dad asked amused as Patton darted around him to use him as a human shield.

“I made Logan stop working and now he wants to throw me in the dungeons.”

“Well,” Logan’s father said. “It’s a good thing I’m king and can overrule him then.”

“Thank you, Thomathy.” Father chuckled at the nickname, and Patton poked his head around the king to stick his tongue out at Logan once again.

“He’s sticking his tongue out at me!” Logan pointed out. “Surely that counts as some sort of treason.”

“Does not!” Patton claimed.

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“I would, but you’re hiding behind my father like a coward,” Logan argued.

“He does have a point there, Pat,” Father reasoned. Patton just wrapped his fists into the man’s robes and shot him a piteous look.

“Oof, Pat,” Father said, rubbing his chest as though it ached. “That look is a shot straight to the heart. Is someone trying to assassinate me?”

“No,” Patton said. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“Oh, I’m the troublemaker?”

“Of course, Thomathy,” Patton swore, ignoring Logan completely. “Can we use the jewelry box for dress up?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Father agreed. “I won’t need any for a while. Just keep them safe.”

Logan turned back to Patton. “It seems you have cornered yourself,” he pointed out.

“Not a chance.”

“No! Logan! Truce!”

Logan took a menacing step towards him.

“Defensive offence!” Patton shrieked and charged at him.

The air was knocked out of him when Patton slammed into him. “Ugh, Patton, why?” The arms that had wrapped around him squeezed hard. “I’m being attacked! Guards!”

To the guards’ credit, one of them did stick their head through the door just to make sure. Patton waved at them.

“There is no respect for the crown in this entire castle!” Logan sputtered when the door closed once again.

Patton released his waist finally, and instead grabbed his hands. “Come on, I bet I can pick out a good fun book from your dad’s library for you to read during our sleepover.”

“My book’s fun.”

“And easy,” Patton stressed. “We’ll have to wait for the cover of nightfall to steal the cookies, but there is plenty to do until then.”

“Fine,” Logan said with a put-upon sigh, though he honestly didn’t feel any true resentment. He wondered if he’d regret his decision to agree to Patton’s ‘sleep’over in the morning.

He would find in the years to come, that he very much wouldn’t. For, many, many reasons.

Chapter 2

The man finished his work and wiped off his hands on his shirt. Virgil expected him to turn and exit the shed, but instead he called out. “I can see your hair.”

“You here to steal food from the castle garden?” the man finally asked.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

That didn’t matter now however, Virgil needed to say something, and it had to be the truth.

“Kid?” the man said again.

“I don’t want to be here,” Virgil said truthfully.

The man’s tattoo shimmered just slightly, and he paused. He settled himself down in front of him. “Well where do you want to be?”

Virgil shrugged.

The man frowned and then leaned back to grab something out of a bucket under the table. “Here,” the man said. An apple was plopped down in his lap.

Virgil stared down at it in confusion.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted. “I wasn’t here to steal though, promise.”

The man nodded. “Go ahead and try it,” he suggested. “It’s from a new hybrid plant that just started growing fruit.”

Virgil cautiously brought it to his lips and took a bite. “It’s good,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks.”

The man watched him eat for a long moment. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

Virgil was careful with how he responded. “Hiding.”

He arched an eyebrow. “From what?”

Virgil was not fool enough to say.

“Well, you can’t hide in here,” the man said once he realized Virgil wasn’t going to speak. “I lock it from the outside during the night. How about I walk you back to wherever you’re supposed to be. Where’s that?”

Virgil bit his lip. “The castle,” he said.

He titled his head at Virgil. “Alright,” he agreed. “Come on.” The man offered him a hand and he twitched before slowly taking it. The man pulled him to his feet carefully. He reached over and grabbed another apple from the bucket. “Here, have another one for the road,” he offered.

Virgil looked at it in confusion. “Oh,” he said. “T-thanks.” He stored the apple in his pocket and when he’d looked away, he felt a hand descend on his back.

He yelped and jerked away, eyes wide, but the man was just holding his hand in the air where Virgil’s back had been, looking confused.

“Sorry,” he stuttered. “You just startled me.”

The man eyed him. “Sure kid,” he agreed. “Let’s get along.”

Virgil nodded and followed him out of the shed. He waited for the man as he locked up the shed and then they walked side-by-side to the castle. The man never reached for him again, Virgil noticed.

Virgil found himself shuffling closer to him as other random castle workers passed them, using him as a cover. No one looked at them twice.

The man took him in one of the doors of the castle. It was one near the kitchen if Virgil’s mental map was right.

“Can you find your way from here?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil replied. “I know where I am. Thanks.”

“No problem kid,” he replied. He nodded at the bulge in Virgil’s pocket. “If you ever want another one of those apples, I have plenty.”

“Oh,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks for the offer.”

He inclined his head and turned back to leave out through the door they’d come through. Virgil watched him go. Well. That was the weirdest interaction he’d ever had with an adult, but at least all of his limbs were intact. He gulped looking around at the strange hall he was in. For now.

There weren’t many people coming in and out of the kitchen at the moment since dinner had long since passed, but he was still cautious as he took the spiral staircase up. Though most wouldn’t question him in the more public areas of the castle, it still never hurt to be safe. He came out in a large corridor across the way from what he knew was a small dinning hall for important guests. It was still fall, but it was getting late enough in the season that there should not be any guests staying for fear winter may come early and snow them in.

He kept close to the walls as he quickly passed through the dining hall, wincing as his shoes clacked softly on the floor and then turned left. He kept his ears peeled for guards and ducked around corners when he heard people coming, but eventually found himself in the correct hall. It was a hall of large bedrooms used for visiting dignitaries, and he slipped into the first bedroom on the left.

He took a moment to gawk at the large bedroom. Most of the furniture was covered in white cloth to keep it from getting dusty when not in use, but he could still imagine how beautiful it was when someone was staying there, how soft the bed and chairs must be, and how pretty the designs on the wardrobe.

He shook himself and turned his attention to the bed. He crouched down and squirmed underneath it. His arms stretched out, searching along the wall at the head of the bed until he found the loose board. From what Virgil had been told, a dignitary from Faumatia had come here in the spring before their membership in The Alliance was known and planted supplies for this. He grabbed the bag and squirmed back out from under the bed. He opened the bag and pulled out exactly what he’d been told would be there: a knife, some dried meat (which he chose to forgo since he still had the apple), and one sleeping potion enough for the guards who would inevitably stand at the entrance to the hall The King’s bedroom was in.

Then, Virgil settled in to wait for a few more hours until the rest of the castle was asleep. He chewed idly on the second apple he’d been given. He felt a little bad; he wondered if the nice gardener liked his king. Would he make the connection between The King’s assassination and Virgil? Would he feel guilty for helping him even if accidently?

He shook off the thought. He had enough to feel bad about without feeling bad about that too.

He waited for hours before he finally decided it was time to move. The clock had struck 2am a good while ago and everyone but the night guards should be asleep. He stood and snuck back the way he came, past the dinning hall and into another area of the castle. The correct hall was easy enough to find with its two guards posted outside of it. With practiced ease, he kept silent to the shadows and snuck up on them. When he was close enough, he pressed his shirt up against his nose and uncorked the potion, tossing it so the gas it made when hitting oxygen hissed and spiraled up their legs. They were down in a moment and Virgil was running past them, holding his breath. He closed the doors behind him silently.

Now, he just needed to find the king’s bedroom. He imagined the floorplan in his mind. There were two bedrooms in this wing: one for the prince and one for the king. He froze. Which was which? He remembered which doors led to bedrooms, but racking his brain, he couldn’t remember which one they’d said was The King’s.

It was fine. They’d both be asleep at this hour. He’d just check the first bedroom on the left and see if it was the prince or the king. If the prince was sleeping there, he’d back out and go to the next one.

Decided, he took out the knife and crept to the first bedroom door. He turned the knob and pushed it open slowly.

Confused eyes met his the moment the door finished opening. It was the prince. What was he doing awake at this hour? The stared at each other for a long moment, both frozen. The prince’s eyes drifted to the knife.

Then, something heavy and flat slammed into the back of his head.

Chapter 3

The figure whose head Patton had just slammed a cookie sheet over tottered forward and fell to the floor; the knife fell limply from its hand onto the floor. Patton immediately stepped forward to kick the weapon away towards Logan. Logan stepped forward to grab it and stored it away quickly at the bottom of the chest at the foot of his bed.

He looked back up at Patton. “T-thank you,” he said.

“Um-huh,” Patton replied, still looking down at the fallen figure. It did not seem like it’d be getting up anytime soon. He slowly lowered the cookie sheet.

He cautiously knelt down next to the person.

“Patton, what are you doing?” Logan asked.

“I just want to see,” Patton said. He carefully shoved the figure over to its back so he could peer at his face. It was a young boy with a pale face and kinda squiggly dark hair that framed his face unevenly. “Oh,” Patton said softly. “He’s just a baby.”

“What are you talking about?” Logan asked.

“He’s like 12,” Patton said with a frown. “Maybe 13.”

“He also had a knife,” Logan stressed, but he did move closer to get a better look at him. “We should call the guards.”

“But...”

“No, Patton,” Logan said firmly.

“Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding?” Patton tried.

“A misunderstanding?” Logan scoffed. “What? Did he accidently sneak past the guards into royal family’s private hallway and come into my bedroom in the middle of the night with a knife?”

Patton looked down at the kid. “Well…”

“He’s clearly an assassin,” Logan said. “We need to call the guards so they can deal with him appropriately.”

“Can we at least wait until he wakes up?” Patton said. “I want to talk to him. Maybe…”

“He’s not a feral cat you can tame.”

Patton bit his lip and looked up at Logan about to do something sorta mean. “But aren’t you curious?” Patton beseeched. “He’s so young. Who would have sent him? Who would have trained him if he’s really an assassin? How’d he get past the guards? Don’t you want to know? They probably wouldn’t tell you if we let the guards take him away.”

Patton could see Logan’s resolve breaking. He was weak to his own curiosity and whoever this kid was, was a curiosity. He sighed. “We’ll have to check him for any weapons before he wakes up, and we’ll have to restrain him.” Patton beamed up at him. “We’ll call the guards and tell Father as soon as we’re done or at the first sign of trouble.”

“Sure,” Patton readily agreed.

“Hmm,” Logan said. “Watch him closely for a couple of seconds.” He ducked through the door to his little work area and then ran back with a corked bottle. “Hmm… can I borrow your bracelets?”

“Sure. Why?” Patton asked, already working them off his own wrists.

“This is a binding potion,” Logan explained, taking the bracelets and pouring a couple of drops carefully on them. “It keeps people locked in place. It’s rather strong though and if I applied it directly on his skin, it’d hurt him and be hard to take off. This way, the bracelets will just act like magical cuffs. They’ll hold his arms in place wherever we need them to be.” He waited for a moment and then tapped his own finger to where he’d applied the potion. “It’s dry” he said.

#proofread stories

53 notes · View notes

snowdice · 5 years ago

Text

Big Bang Editing Story [Day 4](Part 2)

This will be a royalty AU and unlike the study fic, I actually have a few plans for it going in, but you can still feel free to send in asks with suggestions or questions to help me along.

Because this story is a story I’m writing to edit, I’m not going to edit it very consistently… What I have done is under the cut.

If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today.

“Patton, I have work to do.”

“You work all the time,” Patton pouted back at him.

“I’m the crowned prince,” Logan reasoned. “There is a lot for me to do.”

“You’re not even doing royalty business tonight,” Patton pointed out. “You’re just reading your book.”

“But I have to do some tomorrow and if I agree to a sleepover, we both know neither of us will sleep.”

“We’ll sleep, I promise!” Patton said.

“Future Royal Advisor’s honor?” Patton tried, eyes hopeful. “Come on, we can play dress up.”

Logan glared at him. “I am 17 years old,” he reminded.

“I’ll do your hair,” he tempted. “I’ll even let you read a book while I do it.”

The look in his friend’s eyes and the fact that he really was quite good at hair started to weaken Logan’s resolve.

“Considering you are the head chef’s son and I am the prince, it would hardly be considered stealing.”

“But it’s more fun that way,” Patton argued with a laugh. “Come on, you need to have some fun. You’ve been stressed out lately.”

“This is fun,” Logan said with a frown, gesturing to the large book in front of him.

“I know,” Patton said, “but your brain has got to be tired from reading all of that Latin and Sand’s Kit.”

“Sanskrit.”

“Gazuntite.”

Logan sighed. “Why did father agree to make you the royal advisor in training?”

“Because he knows without me, you’ll send your entire life sitting at this desk reading your book.” Patton scrunched up his nose at him.

“I would also do my royal duties.”

“Oh, I’m being commanded, am I?” Logan asked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re really going to try to command your prince? You’re lucky I don’t have you tossed into the dungeon.”

Logan carefully closed his book and stood from his desk chair. Patton was already giggling before Logan lunged for him.

The guards that stood in front of the double doors to the private hall, stepped aside easily at Patton’s approach. Patton pushed through the doors and they swung shut behind him.

“Traitors,” Logan accused, shooting past them through the door himself.

The guards only seemed amused by his accusation.

“What is going on here?” Logan’s dad asked amused as Patton darted around him to use him as a human shield.

“I made Logan stop working and now he wants to throw me in the dungeons.”

“Well,” Logan’s father said. “It’s a good thing I’m king and can overrule him then.”

“Thank you, Thomathy.” Father chuckled at the nickname, and Patton poked his head around the king to stick his tongue out at Logan once again.

“He’s sticking his tongue out at me!” Logan pointed out. “Surely that counts as some sort of treason.”

“Does not!” Patton claimed.

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“I would, but you’re hiding behind my father like a coward,” Logan argued.

“He does have a point there, Pat,” Father reasoned. Patton just wrapped his fists into the man’s robes and shot him a piteous look.

“Oof, Pat,” Father said, rubbing his chest as though it ached. “That look is a shot straight to the heart. Is someone trying to assassinate me?”

“No,” Patton said. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“Oh, I’m the troublemaker?”

“Of course, Thomathy,” Patton swore, ignoring Logan completely. “Can we use the jewelry box for dress up?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Father agreed. “I won’t need any for a while. Just keep them safe.”

Logan turned back to Patton. “It seems you have cornered yourself,” he pointed out.

“Not a chance.”

“No! Logan! Truce!”

Logan took a menacing step towards him.

“Defensive offence!” Patton shrieked and charged at him.

The air was knocked out of him when Patton slammed into him. “Ugh, Patton, why?” The arms that had wrapped around him squeezed hard. “I’m being attacked! Guards!”

To the guards’ credit, one of them did stick their head through the door just to make sure. Patton waved at them.

“There is no respect for the crown in this entire castle!” Logan sputtered when the door closed once again.

Patton released his waist finally, and instead grabbed his hands. “Come on, I bet I can pick out a good fun book from your dad’s library for you to read during our sleepover.”

“My book’s fun.”

“And easy,” Patton stressed. “We’ll have to wait for the cover of nightfall to steal the cookies, but there is plenty to do until then.”

“Fine,” Logan said with a put-upon sigh, though he honestly didn’t feel any true resentment. He wondered if he’d regret his decision to agree to Patton’s ‘sleep’over in the morning.

He would find in the years to come, that he very much wouldn’t. For, many, many reasons.

The man finished his work and wiped off his hands on his shirt. Virgil expected him to turn and exit the shed, but instead he called out. “I can see your hair.”

“You here to steal food from the castle garden?” the man finally asked.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

That didn’t matter now however, Virgil needed to say something, and it had to be the truth.

“Kid?” the man said again.

“I don’t want to be here,” Virgil said truthfully.

The man’s tattoo shimmered just slightly, and he paused. He settled himself down in front of him. “Well where do you want to be?”

Virgil shrugged.

The man frowned and then leaned back to grab something out of a bucket under the table. “Here,” the man said. An apple was plopped down in his lap.

Virgil stared down at it in confusion.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted. “I wasn’t here to steal though, promise.”

The man nodded. “Go ahead and try it,” he suggested. “It’s from a new hybrid plant that just started growing fruit.”

Virgil cautiously brought it to his lips and took a bite. “It’s good,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks.”

The man watched him eat for a long moment. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

Virgil was careful with how he responded. “Hiding.”

He arched an eyebrow. “From what?”

Virgil was not fool enough to say.

Virgil bit his lip. “The castle,” he said.

Virgil looked at it in confusion. “Oh,” he said. “T-thanks.” He stored the apple in his pocket and when he’d looked away, he felt a hand descend on his back.

He yelped and jerked away, eyes wide, but the man was just holding his hand in the air where Virgil’s back had been, looking confused.

“Sorry,” he stuttered. “You just startled me.”

The man eyed him. “Sure kid,” he agreed. “Let’s get along.”

Virgil nodded and followed him out of the shed. He waited for the man as he locked up the shed and then they walked side-by-side to the castle. The man never reached for him again, Virgil noticed.

Virgil found himself shuffling closer to him as other random castle workers passed them, using him as a cover. No one looked at them twice.

The man took him in one of the doors of the castle. It was one near the kitchen if Virgil’s mental map was right.

“Can you find your way from here?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil replied. “I know where I am. Thanks.”

“No problem kid,” he replied. He nodded at the bulge in Virgil’s pocket. “If you ever want another one of those apples, I have plenty.”

“Oh,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks for the offer.”

He shook off the thought. He had enough to feel bad about without feeling bad about that too.

Decided, he took out the knife and crept to the first bedroom door. He turned the knob and pushed it open slowly.

Then, something heavy and flat slammed into the back of his head.

He looked back up at Patton. “T-thank you,” he said.

“Um-huh,” Patton replied, still looking down at the fallen figure. It did not seem like it’d be getting up anytime soon. He slowly lowered the cookie sheet.

He cautiously knelt down next to the person.

“Patton, what are you doing?” Logan asked.

“What are you talking about?” Logan asked.

“He’s like 12,” Patton said with a frown. “Maybe 13.”

“He also had a knife,” Logan stressed, but he did move closer to get a better look at him. “We should call the guards.”

“But...”

“No, Patton,” Logan said firmly.

“Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding?” Patton tried.

“A misunderstanding?” Logan scoffed. “What? Did he accidently sneak past the guards into royal family’s private hallway and come into my bedroom in the middle of the night with a knife?”

Patton looked down at the kid. “Well…”

“He’s clearly an assassin,” Logan said. “We need to call the guards so they can deal with him appropriately.”

“Can we at least wait until he wakes up?” Patton said. “I want to talk to him. Maybe…”

“He’s not a feral cat you can tame.”

“Sure,” Patton readily agreed.

“Sure. Why?” Patton asked, already working them off his own wrists.

“Help me get these on him,” Logan said. Patton nodded and grabbed the boy’s thin wrists in his, pulling back the dark sleeves so Logan could snap the brackets on him. Then, Logan grabbed both of his hands and moved them above his head, so they laid against the ground. Patton shifted him around, so he was laying prone. “Okay, now we should make sure he doesn’t have any other weapons on him.”

Patton nodded and they both started awkwardly patting at his clothing, feeling for anything that could be a weapon. “He’s really skinny,” Patton said while his hands brushed across his rib cage.

“Strange,” Logan said. “You would think one would keep your assassins well fed.”

“And older,” Patton pointed out.

“It’ll be another question for when he wakes,” Logan said. “He doesn’t seem to have any other weapons on him.”

“Let’s get him sat up,” Patton suggested, “so he’s easier to talk to.”

Logan nodded, and they worked on pulling him into a sitting position against the wall. The boy made a slight sound at being moved and Logan met his eyes. They quickly finished setting him up and settled his hands next to him on the ground to pin them there.

Then, they both stood back to watch. The boy shifted a bit more and then sucked in a sudden breath. He went tense all over the second before his eyes opened. His head lifted to look at them with absolutely terrified eyes. Logan shifted beside him, clearly about to speak, but Patton’s hand struck out to grab Logan’s shoulder. Logan glanced at him and then stood back.

Patton moved forward to kneel in front of him. “Hey there,” Patton said with a slight smile. The boy seemed to try to curl away from him into the wall. Strangely, he didn’t seem to even attempt to pull against his restraints.

“What’s your name?” Patton asked. He paused but the boy didn’t respond. He just stared at him with scared eyes. “My name’s Patton,” he offered, “and that’s Logan.” The boy glanced at Logan, and then looked away, staring down at his lap. Patton waited, but he didn’t move. Eventually, Patton tilted his head so he could get a look at his face. “Oh, honey,” Patton said. “Are you crying?” Patton reached out to touch his cheek and he flinched back with a sharp inhale but there was very far for him to go. “Hey, it’s okay,” Patton soothed. He gently wiped away a few of the tears that had fallen down his cheeks. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The boy did not respond, and Patton settled back on his knees with a frown. He glanced at Logan who shrugged. Patton bit his lip in thought for a moment. They weren’t going to be able to speak to him until he calmed down. How could Patton calm him down? Patton’s eyes skirted around the room. The book Logan was reading? No. One of the old fancy crowns they’d borrowed from Thomathy? No. Cookies?

“Are you hungry?” Patton asked the boy. He didn’t confirm verbally, but his head did tilt up in interest. “We have some cookies,” Patton said. He stood, perhaps too quickly because he cowered into the wall as though he expected Patton to lunge at him. Patton smiled apologetically and walked over to the plate they’d luckily stacked the leftover cookies on before Patton had used the cookie sheet for different purposes.

With a smile, he selected a mint chocolate chip cookie from the plate and walked back over to the boy. He was slower this time with his movements, but the kiddo still tracked him carefully with his eyes as he knelt back in front of him. “Here,” Patton offered. “Try this one. It’s my favorite.”

The boy didn’t open his mouth. In fact, he pressed his lips even harder together.

“Come on,” Patton tempted. “They’re really good. It’s my mama’s own recipe and she made them herself. One of the only two people who know how to make them perfect.”

Patton glanced over at Logan and smiled. He got a glare back in return. Patton leaned forward slightly like he was telling the boy a secret. “Logan’s the other person who knows how to make them,” he divulged. “When I was six, my mama got sick for a few days and I was really sad. He wanted to cook me my favorite cookies to cheer me up. He had no idea how to do it, but he was determined. He snuck into the kitchen in the middle of the night and tried to make them.” Patton laughed at the memory. “He did really, really bad. Logan hadn’t ever cooked anything before, let alone mint chocolate chip cookies. There was flour everywhere and he managed to break three wooden spoons. But, when mama got better, she taught him how to make them. That way, he can make them for me if she ever can’t.”

Patton offered the treat again. “Come on,” Patton said when he still didn’t move to eat it. “What’s wrong?”

Logan stepped forward suddenly and Patton blinked at him. He reached for the cookie and tore off a small piece of it before offering it to Patton. Patton opened his mouth, confused, and let him pop it into his mouth. He chewed it and swallowed.

“Try again,” Logan said stepping away.

Patton turned back to the boy and held out the cookie. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy opened his mouth. Patton let him take a bite. “See!” he said. “It’s good, huh?”

5020

He chewed and swallowed the bite of cookie. “W-what’s going on?” he finally spoke in a low scratchy tone. Hmm, maybe Patton should get him some water soon.

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Patton said. “Lo and I were a bit startled by you showing up in his bedroom in the middle of the night.”

“You… knocked me unconscious,” the boy said.

“Well you gave us quite the fright there with that knife of yours.”

The boy seemed to shrink at the reminder.

“Want to tell us what that was about?” Patton asked.

He shook his head, shoulders climbing.

“Let us rephrase,” Logan said calmly. “Clearly you were here to assassinate either my father, myself or both. So, the relevant questions are who sent you to do so and why?” The boy shook his head and Logan frowned. “No?” he asked. “Apologies, but ‘no’ is not a sufficient answer.”

Logan’s statement did not appear to go over well with the small assassin. He went still and curled over into himself as though to protect his more vulnerable areas. Honestly, Logan thought agitated, Logan hadn’t threatened any bodily harm. He’d even prefaced the statement with an apology even though he didn’t feel as though he had anything to apologize for! Just like father had taught him!

Patton shot him a glare telling him he was somehow in the wrong despite the fact that he’d almost been the one assassinated. Logan grumbled and returned to quietly sulking in the background while Patton cooed at the assassin, trying to cajole him out of the ball he’d wrapped himself into.

Logan did have to admit the situation was odd. He was young. He didn’t even know anyone trained assassins so young. His kingdom did have a guild of trained assassins/spies, but one couldn’t even join the military until one was of age (though they could start training at 16 with special permission) and all assassins must have at least a year of military training before being considered. It would be years more before they were sent out on actual missions.

So, where had this young boy came from? Surely, he wasn’t acting of his own violation especially considering his age and temperament. What was his or whoever had sent him’s greater purpose? One didn’t attempt the risky act of regicide without some reasoning. Why did he only have one weapon? Most hired killers would be provided a backup at the very least and more than likely an arsenal. Why was he acting so skittish? It was a strange attitude for a trained killer.

He had piqued Logan’s curiosity and Logan wanted answers.

“There, see?” Patton was saying, hand feeding more of the cookie to the assassin who looked just as startled by this fact the second time around as the first. “How about a compromise?”

Logan eyed him suspiciously. He was willing to let Patton lead since Logan was well aware of his own shortcomings when it came to tact, but his friend also had a bit of a bleeding heart. Logan refused to let him put himself at risk.

Ironically, the assassin seemed to be on the same page as Logan. His eyes tracked Patton distrustfully. “Compromise?” he echoed.

“Yes!” Patton said, unconcerned with the blatant discomfort in the room.

“We’ll ask you a question and you answer it,” Patton said. “Then you can ask a question and we’ll answer that. Then we can keep going back and forth like that.”

The assassin seemed unsure about this, but he slowly nodded. “What’s your question?” he asked.

Patton looked back at Logan and inclined his head. Logan took a step forward. “Who are you?” Logan asked. The assassin hesitated.

“Maybe a more specific question,” Patton suggested. “We’ve got plenty of time and ‘who are you?’ is a bit of a big question. There are so many different answers!”

“Very well,” Logan agreed. “Let’s start with, what’s your name?”

The assassin considered him, looking overly cautious for such a mundane question. “It’s Virgil,” he said after a moment.

“Last name?” Logan prompted.

“I-” he hesitated, looking distressed. “I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have one?” Logan asked.

And… he was curling up into a ball again. “Sorry,” he said softly. He started to cry again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, hey,” Patton soothed. “That was good.”

Logan frowned. It was not ‘good’. It had given them basically no information. “Why-”

“It’s Virgil’s turn to ask a question, Logan,” Patton said. Logan almost groaned. This was going to take forever, wasn’t it?

Virgil’s eyes bounced between them. “Why haven’t you called someone to take me away yet?” he asked.

“We wanted to ask you a few questions ourselves before getting the castle guards involved,” Logan answered.

“Are…” he shut his mouth, likely realizing he’d have to wait for his next question.

Logan considered him. “Why do you have no last name?” Logan asked.

Virgil looked away. “I’m an orphan. I don’t know who my parents were, and no one bothered to give me one.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Logan acknowledged. “And your question.”

“Are…” Virgil said. “Are you going to torture me if I don’t answer something right?”

#proofread stories

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snowdice · 5 years ago

Text

Big Bang Editing Story [Day 8]

This will be a royalty AU and unlike the study fic, I actually have a few plans for it going in, but you can still feel free to send in asks with suggestions or questions to help me along.

Because this story is a story I’m writing to edit, I’m not going to edit it very consistently… What I have done is under the cut.

If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today.

Chapter 1

“Patton, I have work to do.”

“You work all the time,” Patton pouted back at him.

“I’m the crowned prince,” Logan reasoned. “There is a lot for me to do.”

“You’re not even doing royalty business tonight,” Patton pointed out. “You’re just reading your book.”

“But I have to do some tomorrow and if I agree to a sleepover, we both know neither of us will sleep.”

“We’ll sleep, I promise!” Patton said.

“Future Royal Advisor’s honor?” Patton tried, eyes hopeful. “Come on, we can play dress up.”

Logan glared at him. “I am 17 years old,” he reminded.

“I’ll do your hair,” he tempted. “I’ll even let you read a book while I do it.”

The look in his friend’s eyes and the fact that he really was quite good at hair started to weaken Logan’s resolve.

“Considering you are the head chef’s son and I am the prince, it would hardly be considered stealing.”

“But it’s more fun that way,” Patton argued with a laugh. “Come on, you need to have some fun. You’ve been stressed out lately.”

“This is fun,” Logan said with a frown, gesturing to the large book in front of him.

“I know,” Patton said, “but your brain has got to be tired from reading all of that Latin and Sand’s Kit.”

“Sanskrit.”

“Gazuntite.”

Logan sighed. “Why did father agree to make you the royal advisor in training?”

“Because he knows without me, you’ll send your entire life sitting at this desk reading your book.” Patton scrunched up his nose at him.

“I would also do my royal duties.”

“Oh, I’m being commanded, am I?” Logan asked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re really going to try to command your prince? You’re lucky I don’t have you tossed into the dungeon.”

Logan carefully closed his book and stood from his desk chair. Patton was already giggling before Logan lunged for him.

The guards that stood in front of the double doors to the private hall, stepped aside easily at Patton’s approach. Patton pushed through the doors and they swung shut behind him.

“Traitors,” Logan accused, shooting past them through the door himself.

The guards only seemed amused by his accusation.

“What is going on here?” Logan’s dad asked amused as Patton darted around him to use him as a human shield.

“I made Logan stop working and now he wants to throw me in the dungeons.”

“Well,” Logan’s father said. “It’s a good thing I’m king and can overrule him then.”

“Thank you, Thomathy.” Father chuckled at the nickname, and Patton poked his head around the king to stick his tongue out at Logan once again.

“He’s sticking his tongue out at me!” Logan pointed out. “Surely that counts as some sort of treason.”

“Does not!” Patton claimed.

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“I would, but you’re hiding behind my father like a coward,” Logan argued.

“He does have a point there, Pat,” Father reasoned. Patton just wrapped his fists into the man’s robes and shot him a piteous look.

“Oof, Pat,” Father said, rubbing his chest as though it ached. “That look is a shot straight to the heart. Is someone trying to assassinate me?”

“No,” Patton said. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“Oh, I’m the troublemaker?”

“Of course, Thomathy,” Patton swore, ignoring Logan completely. “Can we use the jewelry box for dress up?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Father agreed. “I won’t need any for a while. Just keep them safe.”

Logan turned back to Patton. “It seems you have cornered yourself,” he pointed out.

“Not a chance.”

“No! Logan! Truce!”

Logan took a menacing step towards him.

“Defensive offence!” Patton shrieked and charged at him.

The air was knocked out of him when Patton slammed into him. “Ugh, Patton, why?” The arms that had wrapped around him squeezed hard. “I’m being attacked! Guards!”

To the guards’ credit, one of them did stick their head through the door just to make sure. Patton waved at them.

“There is no respect for the crown in this entire castle!” Logan sputtered when the door closed once again.

Patton released his waist finally, and instead grabbed his hands. “Come on, I bet I can pick out a good fun book from your dad’s library for you to read during our sleepover.”

“My book’s fun.”

“And easy,” Patton stressed. “We’ll have to wait for the cover of nightfall to steal the cookies, but there is plenty to do until then.”

“Fine,” Logan said with a put-upon sigh, though he honestly didn’t feel any true resentment. He wondered if he’d regret his decision to agree to Patton’s ‘sleep’over in the morning.

He would find in the years to come, that he very much wouldn’t. For, many, many reasons.

Chapter 2

The man finished his work and wiped off his hands on his shirt. Virgil expected him to turn and exit the shed, but instead he called out. “I can see your hair.”

“You here to steal food from the castle garden?” the man finally asked.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

That didn’t matter now however, Virgil needed to say something, and it had to be the truth.

“Kid?” the man said again.

“I don’t want to be here,” Virgil said truthfully.

The man’s tattoo shimmered just slightly, and he paused. He settled himself down in front of him. “Well where do you want to be?”

Virgil shrugged.

The man frowned and then leaned back to grab something out of a bucket under the table. “Here,” the man said. An apple was plopped down in his lap.

Virgil stared down at it in confusion.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted. “I wasn’t here to steal though, promise.”

The man nodded. “Go ahead and try it,” he suggested. “It’s from a new hybrid plant that just started growing fruit.”

Virgil cautiously brought it to his lips and took a bite. “It’s good,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks.”

The man watched him eat for a long moment. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

Virgil was careful with how he responded. “Hiding.”

He arched an eyebrow. “From what?”

Virgil was not fool enough to say.

Virgil bit his lip. “The castle,” he said.

Virgil looked at it in confusion. “Oh,” he said. “T-thanks.” He stored the apple in his pocket and when he’d looked away, he felt a hand descend on his back.

He yelped and jerked away, eyes wide, but the man was just holding his hand in the air where Virgil’s back had been, looking confused.

“Sorry,” he stuttered. “You just startled me.”

The man eyed him. “Sure kid,” he agreed. “Let’s get along.”

Virgil nodded and followed him out of the shed. He waited for the man as he locked up the shed and then they walked side-by-side to the castle. The man never reached for him again, Virgil noticed.

Virgil found himself shuffling closer to him as other random castle workers passed them, using him as a cover. No one looked at them twice.

The man took him in one of the doors of the castle. It was one near the kitchen if Virgil’s mental map was right.

“Can you find your way from here?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil replied. “I know where I am. Thanks.”

“No problem kid,” he replied. He nodded at the bulge in Virgil’s pocket. “If you ever want another one of those apples, I have plenty.”

“Oh,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks for the offer.”

He shook off the thought. He had enough to feel bad about without feeling bad about that too.

Decided, he took out the knife and crept to the first bedroom door. He turned the knob and pushed it open slowly.

Then, something heavy and flat slammed into the back of his head.

Chapter 3

He looked back up at Patton. “T-thank you,” he said.

“Um-huh,” Patton replied, still looking down at the fallen figure. It did not seem like it’d be getting up anytime soon. He slowly lowered the cookie sheet.

He cautiously knelt down next to the person.

“Patton, what are you doing?” Logan asked.

“What are you talking about?” Logan asked.

“He’s like 12,” Patton said with a frown. “Maybe 13.”

“He also had a knife,” Logan stressed, but he did move closer to get a better look at him. “We should call the guards.”

“But...”

“No, Patton,” Logan said firmly.

“Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding?” Patton tried.

“A misunderstanding?” Logan scoffed. “What? Did he accidently sneak past the guards into royal family’s private hallway and come into my bedroom in the middle of the night with a knife?”

Patton looked down at the kid. “Well…”

“He’s clearly an assassin,” Logan said. “We need to call the guards so they can deal with him appropriately.”

“Can we at least wait until he wakes up?” Patton said. “I want to talk to him. Maybe…”

“He’s not a feral cat you can tame.”

“Sure,” Patton readily agreed.

“Sure. Why?” Patton asked, already working them off his own wrists.

“Strange,” Logan said. “You would think one would keep your assassins well fed.”

“And older,” Patton pointed out.

“It’ll be another question for when he wakes,” Logan said. “He doesn’t seem to have any other weapons on him.”

“Let’s get him sat up,” Patton suggested, “so he’s easier to talk to.”

The boy didn’t open his mouth. In fact, he pressed his lips even harder together.

“Come on,” Patton tempted. “They’re really good. It’s my mama’s own recipe and she made them herself. One of the only two people who know how to make them perfect.”

Patton offered the treat again. “Come on,” Patton said when he still didn’t move to eat it. “What’s wrong?”

“Try again,” Logan said stepping away.

Patton turned back to the boy and held out the cookie. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy opened his mouth. Patton let him take a bite. “See!” he said. “It’s good, huh?”

5020

He chewed and swallowed the bite of cookie. “W-what’s going on?” he finally spoke in a low scratchy tone. Hmm, maybe Patton should get him some water soon.

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Patton said. “Lo and I were a bit startled by you showing up in his bedroom in the middle of the night.”

“You… knocked me unconscious,” the boy said.

“Well you gave us quite the fright there with that knife of yours.”

The boy seemed to shrink at the reminder.

“Want to tell us what that was about?” Patton asked.

He shook his head, shoulders climbing.

Chapter 4