#More importantly why am I not? Why do I insist on suffering through this game constantly?

[dorenarox]

[amanda-glassen]

1. “All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.”

That’s not even a prompt… that’s gotta be a direct Serena Benson quote 😂

I'm sorry this took a different direction and, again, I am sorry my drabbles aren't drabbles and are like 1,000 words instead. But it's Serena and I couldn't stop.

Serena had her first drink when she was 13. Although she didn’t know it at the time, it was a coping mechanism, a way to numb herself whenever her dad’s business partner wanted to be alone with her. When she was in college, binge drinking was something she did every Friday and Saturday at frat parties. It was all in fun and part of the college experience or so her parents told themselves. Social media made women’s alcoholism into an aesthetic and now that Serena was in her mid-thirties, she was considered just another wine mom. It wasn’t until an incident that landed her in the hospital that her parents decided it was time to intervene.

Three days had passed since her last drink and Serena didn’t understand why everyone was so concerned. She wasn’t suffering through any withdrawals. In fact, she felt great. She was spending time with her daughter and being more productive than ever. Granted, she was now drinking a pot of coffee each morning and consuming more caffeine at night, but that was beside the point. If she was managing to get all the housework done and reorganizing her closet for the fifth time in 72 hours, even if it was at 3 a.m., she didn’t see the harm in it; that is, until she walked into her living room the next day and saw her parents and Jamie waiting for her on the couches.

“You look like shit, Serena,” Mrs. Benson said as she looked her up and down. Her mom’s staring was making her self-conscious so she also looked herself up and down. She knew it was only eight in the morning and not too late for pajamas, even if her pajamas were joggers and one of Jamie’s t-shirts.

“It’s eight in the morning,” Serena pointed out. “I’m allowed to be in pajamas.”

“It’s eight at night, Serena Michelle,” Mrs. Benson narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “When was the last time you checked your phone or looked out the window or even bothered with your appearance?”

“You fell asleep after dinner,” she heard her daughter say. Serena looked down at her twelve-year-old sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, so caught up in building a LEGO Ferrari that she couldn’t take her eyes off of it for a few seconds to look at any of them. “We made pizza bagels and salad together.”

“That was tonight?” Serena asked with a confused look on her face.

“Pumpkin, sit down,” her dad urged her. She had wanted to sit next to Jamie, to be enveloped in the warmth of her embrace, but Mr. Benson insisted that she sit next to him instead. “You know how much we all love you, which is why we’re all very concerned about your behavior over the past couple of days.”

“What behavior?” Serena asked. “I’m a good mom. I’m good at my job. I haven’t drank in 72 hours. I’m following my doctor’s orders. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to do.”

“You’ve been weird the past few days,” Olivia brought to her attention, still not bothering to look up from her LEGO project. “I miss when you were funny and we played games together, but now all you do is drink coffee and say bad words.”

“You see that?” Serena asked her mom. “I need alcohol in my life. Without it, all I do is drink coffee and say bad words.”

“You cussed out a burned pizza bagel,” Olivia added.

“And I cussed out a burned pizza bagel!” Serena told her mom.

“All things in moderation, darling,” Mrs. Benson responded as she patted her daughter’s thigh. “Your problem is you never know when to stop.”

Serena took her mom’s hand off of her thigh. “Well, no offense, Mom, but the women in our family aren’t exactly a moderation bunch of gals, are we? Grandma smoked a pack and a half a day, Great-grandma’s drinking made me look like an amateur, and you－well, you’re on a first-name basis with every sales rep on Rodeo Drive because of how much you shop. Face it, Mom, instead of our family encouraging an open dialog about what we’re feeling or the trauma we’ve experienced, we find unhealthy coping mechanisms. Had the two of you just believed me when I was thirteen, had you just let me go to the police the night Emerson－”

“Ollie, sweetie,” Mrs. Benson interrupted her. “Why don’t you go build your car in your room so we can talk to your mom?”

“No!” Serena yelled at her. “I’m not going to raise Olivia the way you raised me. I’m through with family secrets and keeping Olivia in the dark. I kept the secret about how she was conceived and look where it got us. My baby is a smart girl. Had I just told her the truth, she wouldn’t have gone out to meet him and none of this would have happened.”

She had meant to sound angry. Most importantly, she had meant to get out all of the hurt she had felt since she was thirteen, but before they could even respond she started crying just as much as she did all those years ago when she was confused and the ones she depended on to take care of her either didn’t believe her or tried to sweep it under the rug.

“Babe, come here,” Jamie insisted.

“Let me just have her for one more moment,” Mr. Benson told Jamie. Hearing that made Serena cry into her dad’s shoulder for the first time since she was a child－back when she actually felt like he was her hero. “I’m so sorry, Pumpkin. I’m sorry all of this happened to you and I’m sorry I was never there to protect you afterward, but that’s going to stop. We’re taking you home with us－you, our grandbaby and Jamie. Your mom and I will take care of Ollie and Jamie is gonna take care of you. All you have to do is pack your bags tomorrow and get on the plane with us. You’re not alone, Pumpkin. I promise you we’re going to get through this together.”

Serena looked at her daughter who had finally taken her attention off of her LEGO car. The look of love in Olivia’s eyes made her realize her addiction wasn’t just about her anymore. Her daughter had almost lost her mother a few days ago. “Okay, Daddy. I’ll go.”

Olivia got up and nearly leapt onto her. “I love you, Mom. I’m so proud of you.”

“Your mom will help Olivia pack tonight,” her dad told her. “And Jamie is staying here to make sure you spend the entire night sleeping instead of reorganizing something in your apartment.”

“I’m not sleepy,” Serena argued just like she did when she was a kid and her parents told her it was bedtime.

“Serena, you know I love you, but you’re going to bed even if I have to lift you up from that couch and carry you,” Jamie insisted.

Just moments later, she felt Jamie’s strong arms around her as she laid down in bed. She was safe and loved and she fell asleep to the feeling of Jamie kissing her shoulders. “I love you, Ser Bear, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to help you through this.”

[well-shit-im-a-morosexual-now]

I don't have much to say about the rest of the S3 lessons, but I do have things to say about S4 of Obey Me.

Personally, I think that S4 should focus primarily on the angels (Simeon, Luke, Michael, Raphael, etc.), feature the side characters (Solomon, Barbatos, Diavolo), possibly introduce Solomon's first apprentice and maybe in Hard Mode you can check up on the brothers (you should know who the HOL brothers are).

I have a few reasons for this (in no real order :):

Reading the lesson summaries that you (and others) have provided, it seems like Mike and Raph- along with the Celestial Realm- will be important this season. So, wouldn't be a waste not to show them off?

The side characters need development. This is a perfect opportunity for some.

Simeon and Luke were standing for a longer period than the brothers, so it would make sense for them to show up again.

Simeon was talking to some angel (probably Raphael) at the end of S3. The game should obviously expand on that.

*Diavolo runs a hotel chain in the Human World, so it would make sense to see him again. And because Barbatos follows right behind him...

Solomon's first apprentice needs to be explored. What happened between them?

*The brothers should take a back seat in this season, since they're always there. No offense to them, but I need a break.

New character interactions is would be fun. To me, the best character interaction would be between Dia & Mike. Would they hate each other because of Lucifer? Would they get along? These are the questions that keep me up at night.

It could show off/expand upon the Celestial Realm, a chance for more lore and theories.

It could finally give insight into Simeon's past- which is always a good thing. (Same for everyone else.)

Now that the list is out of the way, here are some miscellaneous things that I couldn't fit on the list (also an clarification for 5 & 7. They explanations will also have an asterix at the beginning of them:):

*I don't expect Diavolo and Barbatos to show up that often, but I think that they should appear in at least 1-2 chapters.

*I also don't mind the brothers showing up, but I am worried that if they appear prominently, they might over take the season.

I kinda want the Lillith plotline/point to come back. I definitely wish it was executed better, but I do want to see the reaction from the angels (Mike and Raph basically).

I hope Solomon's apprentice was a girl. There's just too many guys here, we need a little diversity.

I would hate it if they didn't give us character designs for Michael and Raphael, though I would find it funny.

Well, I think I'm done for now. Do you agree, disagree? Do you like the color coding, should I keep doing it? Basically, I just want your thoughts on this.

Goodbye for now,

Lesson 42 Anon

Hii!!! I basically agree with everything you just said but I'll go into more detail on it with your points:

- I do 100% believe S4 should be a new character/angel focused season. I think I said so in the lesson 60 summary too that it'd make sense and be interesting to meet the angels and get their side of the story without the brothers' interference (the angels give me HEAVY morally grey characters who think they're wholly in the right vibes and I love it) + there's still a lot of Simeon and Solomon backstory to explore!

- The way S3 ended and how much of it was anyway about the angels I definitely think S4 will expand on it and introduce them

- And I think it'll possibly start right after S3 ends? I mean Raphael's here now and Solomon wants to start properly training MC so why not. And there's no other reason to leave Simeon and Luke behind than to start it up with them in the centre

- ALSO!!! ANDISJSHSKS "RAPH" given what they've showed of him he seems like the type of person to take HEAVY offense to that

- S3 did end with Raphael. Simeon called him by name.

- As much as I do want to see more Diavolo and find out more about his and more importantly Barbatos' backstories I don't think they'll turn up much? Or at least not until the last few lessons cause he left saying he had important personal issues to take care of back in the devildom

- I genuinely thought they would be shown in S3 after Solomon mentioned them and yeah damn I wanna know more about them. Also I just saw the Solomon UR+ animation card from months ago today - I definitely want to know whose grave he was leaving flowers at

- As much as I want an angel focused season the amount of withdrawal I'd go through without the brothers is insane. I'm heavily invested in them but at least for now their arcs are at a place that can be paused - they all got together to help Beel, a lot of Satan & Lucifer's + Belphie & Diavolo's issues have been resolved. I do want to know more about Lucifer's fear though and how he met the rest of the brothers (since they already told us Beel's story)

- With what they've said I kinda see Michael & Raphael being parallels to Diavolo & Lucifer, respectively. The somewhat childish boss and the long suffering right hand. I can see Diavolo wanting to like Michael purely because he wants to make proper peace with the Celestial Realm but also being somewhat internally pissed with him given how protective Diavolo is of the brothers and I can see Michael being sweet and friendly in return despite the fact that given everything Michael has said about demons, even in current times, he would probably be looking down on Diavolo for being 'wicked' and 'evil'. Basically I imagine them having the same kinda passive-aggressively polite relationship that Diavolo and Simeon had in S2 but somehow even less friendly

- Yes!!! Like I said the Celestial Realm gives heavy morally grey vibes and I want that to be explored more. I also need Luke's realisation that the Celestial Realm isn't always right to continue

- I have SO many Lilith HCs and I desperately need them to talk about her more. Like I understand why she's a sore topic and that Lucifer never even told them about her room in the HoL depite the fact that they've probably lived there for thousands of years and she does get brought up a bit in Belphie's fear but I need more. I also want them to explore why Belphie was so insistent with blaming the humans for Lilith's death when it was the angels that killed her, I gave my theories behind it in one of the summaries but I really need more solid answers

- I've always wanted more girls (or any girls really) and the way I was disappointed that we never got to see Lilith (I mean I understand that some players would HC her to look like their MC even though she died thousands of years before MC and they probably wouldn't share a resemblance but still) but I never considered Solomon's apprentice was a girl and I dunno why.. OKAY BUT CONSIDER GIRLS AS NEW LIS!!!!!

- I definitely think they would, it would make no sense if they didn't after how much they were hyped up and I might actually scream if they don't get designs. That being said I have very clear ideas of them in my head and I'm gonna hate having to part with them

DO NOT GET RID OF THE COLOUR CODING! IT'S PART OF YOUR IDENTITY NOW! OWN IT!

[rhyswhitethorn]

Steel and Fire [4]

I had writer’s block for like 4 days of the week and I was on the verge of crying but neh I made it!! 

I hope you guys like this one. There’s probably one or two chapters left in this, and I’m thinking of starting another ACoTaR or a ToG fic. Do let me know if you’d like to be tagged in upcoming fics!

Warning: Kinda NSFW

AO3 version: Steel and Fire [4]

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Rhysand flew Nesta to the House of Wind, Feyre by his side. Her younger sister had improved tremendously, although she still had some trouble when it came to riding the air currents and breezes properly. Rhysand never gave her hell for it, though. He only chuckled at her attempts, encouraging her once in a while.

You need to feel the wind course through you, he told her when they were about to catch an updraft to the House of Wind.

Feyre listened to his advice and tried, showing a significant difference in her control. Nesta was proud, but she didn't show it. She'll compliment her another time.

After she tied her loose ends with Cassian.

Nesta watched Feyre and Rhysand banter among each other mid-air longingly. She had never experienced true love. And if Cassian had grown up with Rhysand, it would only mean he had as much love to give to her as Rhysand does with Feyre.

She smiled at that thought, only to have Rhysand look at her weird. She shot him a look, Feyre laughing into the winds, before he got ready to land in the House of Wind.

They landed smoothly and Nesta straightened her hair. Azriel was waiting in the sitting room, Cassian nowhere to be found. Behind her, Rhysand asked the Shadowsinger before she did. “Where is he?”

Azriel sighed and pointed to the direction of the kitchen, and said, “In the kitchen rummaging through whatever alcohol could get him drunk the fastest. Elain’s trying to stop him.” Nesta stared at him blankly. Why the hell would Cassian want to get drunk? Shouldn't he be happy she accepted the bond, even if she wasn’t aware that she did? There were sounds of cupboard doors banging shut, and a small whine coming out from what sounded like Elain.

“Cassiaaaaaaaan!” 

Feyre walked over to Nesta and held her hand. “Do you want us to get him in order, or do you want to do it yourself?” Nesta blinked at her sister and frowned..

“What difference would it make?”

Feyre glanced at Rhysand before saying, “If we do it, it’ll be. . more official, I would say?” Rhysand nodded, and she continued. “Cassian would prefer if it was you. His pride wouldn’t be as hurt then. He’s most likely drinking because of the whole mating bond thing,” Feyre finished, wincing.

Nesta debated quietly for a while. “And if I got his shit together?”

Azriel, surprisingly, answered. “It means you accept the bond wholeheartedly, because you’re willing to be there for him when he needs it. To be his backbone and support.”

She looked at the three of them slowly, composing and bracing herself for the whirlwind of a mate in the kitchen. Nesta could still hear Elain trying to stop Cassian. It was time to take responsibility. 

Nesta Archeron breathed in and walked to the kitchen.

She passed the doorway, and what she saw was immediately embedded into her memory. Cassian was looking through a cupboard above the sink, one hand pushing past glasses as if he could find strong liquor in there, the other holding Elain back, who was slapping his arm. Not like it would be any use. 

"Rhysand hid all the liquor!" She was insisting to Nesta's stubborn mate. Both Faes were too busy focusing on their current goals that they had not realised Nesta was watching the whole ordeal. She stifled a laugh when Elain continued to hit Cassian and he remained unfazed. 

Putting her face to neutrality, she said, "Cassian." At that, he whipped towards her. 

"You're in trouble now," Elain just cooed to him, taking his hand off herself and walking past Nesta, out of the kitchen.

Cassian was still looking at Nesta up and down. He gulped when he noticed his dagger still strapped to her thigh. 

"What are you doing?" Nesta asked, setting a serious tone to throw him off guard. It would be fun to play games with him now. 

Cassian just threw her his million dollar smile and said, "I'm about to daylight drink, sweetheart." 

"Why would you want to do that?"

He walked over to her and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her nose flared at that to play the part. 

"Why wouldn't I? I love to drink, you should know that from the year you spent with me." 

A statement to get her off her feet. As if she never wanted to take note of his routine when they were together. 

What he didn't know was she knew every single thing he did. The whiskey he took when days were good. The vodka shots he'd take when it was pure shit, mostly when that asshole Lord Devlon decided to humiliate Cassian. 

And most importantly, she knew he drank often at the camp because she was there with him. 

"Come with me," she simply said, disregarding Cassian's statement from earlier. Nesta turned on her heels, heading towards the library a floor below. The House of Wind was already empty save for the two of them, and she knew it was at Feyre's request. She silently thanked the Cauldron for Feyre’s quick work as Cassian followed her without a word. 

Nesta pushed open the door and pointed to a chair. "Sit."

Her mate listened and watched as she pulled a bottle of whiskey from the drawer by the chair, eyes wide. Nesta poured two glasses and passed one to Cassian. 

"Feyre lets me keep a bottle here," she explained. 

Cassian nodded and took a sip. "So, what are we doing here?" 

Nesta walked to the office table by the window, unsheathing his dagger and placed it down slowly. Cassian's hand brushed the twin dagger on his other thigh. “Give me yours,” she said, and he wordlessly unstrapped his and handed it to her. She set it by the dagger she took from him. The steel looked as if it swallowed the sunlight that shone on it. 

A harsh beauty, just like she was. 

Leaning on the table, Nesta swirled the glass and said, "Remember when I just turned into a Fae, I'd only come here?" 

"What's your point, sweetheart?" 

Ever the impatient Illyrian. Nesta sighed. 

"What I'm trying to say is, my time spent in this very library, among all these books, made me think. Made me understand that I am what I wasn't. And it took me a damn long time, because we all knew I hated the Fae more than anyone," she said, glancing at him. Cassian was looking into his wine glass, unable to think of anything to say. "And now, I find out I have a mate. The Cauldron must despise me so much, because they keep handing me things I don't want. Especially when I found out I indirectly accepted the bond by taking your weapon." 

His eyes shot to the two Illyrian daggers on the table, and he gulped. The Cassian she saw now wasn't the one with the fiery spirit she was used to seeing. This was the raw Cassian that she's seen so rarely, only when he was so worn down and had no solutions to his problems. 

Nesta sipped from the glass and placed it by the dagger, walking to him. She lifted up his chin and looked into those hazel eyes. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the dagger. I should've, but I didn't know how to," he said, full of sorrow. His apology caught her by surprise, but if she was to be honest to him in the library, then he might as well be too. 

Nesta took his glass and placed it on the table by his chair.  She got on her knees and leaned in, brushing a hand on his cheek. 

"The Cauldron may have handed me immortality and a soul bonded mate, but what I would do with that will always be my choice." She cupped his face in her hands to pull him to look at her. "What we both faced this morning only made me realize. . that I want it. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

He stared into her eyes. "Why?" he whispered. 

"You were there for me, Cassian. When they took everything from me. You pulled me out of my suffering and grief, and trudged through Hell itself to make sure I was alright again." The year at the Illyrian Camp had made her realize that. And the morning she found out about the bond. . she didn’t mind it, to be with him for the rest of her life. There were tears streaming down his cheeks now, and she could feel them on hers too. Nesta wiped it away with her thumbs before saying, "I want to have this. To be your mate, for the rest of my godforsaken immortal life." He smiled at that and leaned closer, his lips brushing hers. 

"Can I?" She only nodded, unable to form the words. 

Cassian pressed his lips softly against hers. Her hand quickly moved to his hair, fingers tangling itself within it, but their kiss remained slow and passionate. Not like the kind she had gotten from Tomas or her other Fae flings—all of those had been filled with hunger. 

And Cassian, despite his rough hewn features and hulking size, kissed her with such love. He pulled her up, into his lap, trailing his kisses down her neck and over her collarbone.  Nesta was getting into it when she coughed out, “Cassian, do you want to do it here?”

The warmth from his lips left her neck at breakneck speed and he looked right at her, weighing her request. He started grinning when he realized that yes, Nesta was implying what he thought it was.

He angled her on his lap and stood, her legs wrapping around his waist. Cassian planted his arms under her ass to support her. He gave it a squeeze while nuzzling her neck, walking towards the shelves. “I have been dying to hold this for a long, long time,” he said, voice filled with desire. Nesta just pulled his head closer, enjoying the feel of his lips against her throat.

Nesta felt one of the shelves pushing against her back, her already core heating up from feeling Cassian’s hardening length. He was still working on her neck, as if he knew that it was her soft spot. His kisses on her neck had gone more insistent, and she could feel there were bruises blooming around it. 

Cassian really was marking his territory on her. Not that she didn’t like it.

Nesta began to unlace her leathers and threw it down, suddenly feeling hot in the library. She untied the bindings around her breasts, feeling them come free and the weight of it setting in. Cassian just watched, drinking in the sight before him. She was in the midst of unbuttoning his leathers while avoiding his wings when his lips circled around her nipple.

She had a stifle a moan when his tongue started swirling around the peaking bud, his teeth grazing the sensitive area. His right hand had moved from her ass to her right breast, squeezing and tugging, not entirely fitting into his large hand. Nesta concentrated on his buttons while he teased her, until she remembered the sensitivity of an Illyrian’s wings. She knew that they were untouchable, but. . .

Cassian groaned against her when she dragged a finger at the membrane beneath one of the talons, his wings flaring slightly. She could feel him getting harder and knew it wouldn’t be any more longer for him to claim her. He loosed out a breath and said, “That’s how you wanna play?”

If what he was doing to her hadn’t turned her on, the gruffness in his voice certainly did. 

Nesta was about to give a smart comeback when he pressed into her, pushing her into the shelves harder. She could feel the corners of some books digging into her back, but she couldn’t concentrate on the pain as she watched him untie her pants, balancing her enough to get it past her ass and to her mid thighs. He stepped back, placing a small distance between them, her warm core suddenly greeted by the cold air. Nesta could not process anything, not as Cassian propped one leg on the shelf, Nesta balancing on his knee, placed two of his fingers in his mouth, took them out and positioned it at her core. He teased and pulled at her folds, his eyes monitoring where his fingers were running on.

Nesta turned her eyes towards his face, and he slowly dragged his gaze up to her. He looked at her, and whispered, “I love you,” before he plunged his fingers into her.

Nesta gasped and her hands reached to the bookshelf behind her, gripping it with such intensity that she knew her knuckles were white. But she couldn’t let go, not when Cassian was pumping his fingers into her, his mouth lazily planting kisses on her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut and she tried, she really did, to focus on the three words he had uttered, but Cauldron, if he could already make her act this way with only his fingers, what would his tongue and cock do?

Her legs began to shake around his waist, her body begging for release. She was about to ride it out, not caring that his fingers were still in her, when he pulled it out. Nesta’s eyes snapped open, her mouth prepared to snarl at Cassian for taking away those godly fingers, when she felt his tip at her entrance. In her pleasured state, she had not realized that his other hand had untied his own pants.

And there he was, stroking his own, glorious length, his fingers glistening with her essence.

He had pushed her up a little higher unknowingly to her, both feet planted at the ground again, and had already found a direct way for him to get inside of her, past her pants still at her mid thigh. Nesta cupped Cassian’s face in her hands, pulling him closer, his tip brushing her opening, hands going to her ass again. He looked at her quizzically, as if waiting for her to say something.

Nesta only looked into those expressive, chocolate eyes, and said, “I love you.”

As if Cassian had waited for those words, he pressed his lips to her and drove his cock in, hitting home. She moaned against his mouth, her hands moving to his hair while adjusting to his length and size.

This was nothing like those lesser Faeries and Fae had.

Cassian pulled out and started thrusting, slowly but deeply, eliciting moans from her. He didn’t even look bothered that her pants were in the way, only watching as he entered her, again and again, each time coming out wetter than before, thanks to her. 

Nesta could see it in her mind now—the bond was shining clearly, the doorway to him wide open. She could feel his emotions and the rawness in it, the love and passion pouring from him.

She drank in those emotions as he thrusted into her and out, sweat dripping down to his brow. Cassian picked up the pace, as if he couldn’t get enough of her, one hand moving to hold the shelf behind her. Nesta knew she was closer than he was, given that he had a head start with those fingers, but she didn’t want to go without him.

With this bond, she didn’t want to go anywhere without him. So she decided to even the playing field. 

“Cass,” she breathed out, “I’m close, I’m close.”

He was grunting now, fucking her as hard as he can, but gentle enough so she won’t feel the pain of the shelves in her back. He only nodded, a few drops of his sweat dripping onto her bare breasts. 

Nesta could feel her climax rolling out, and traced a finger onto the wings of an unsuspecting Cassian. His eyes widened and he groaned, slamming into the hilt and Nesta moaned, unable to hold it in as she orgasmed. A few books from the shelf behind her fell as his hand pushed into the bookshelf, steadying himself as he came in her.

They stayed in that position for a while, until Cassian said, “You cheated.” 

Nesta laughed, and reached towards his wings again, but his hand moved fast enough to grip her wrist. He pulled it towards him and kissed the inside of it softly, before setting it down. He hoisted her up to pull himself out of her, her juice leaking down the floor, undoubtedly mixed with his.

“Look, you made a mess,” Nesta observed.

He gave her an incredulous look and said, “Hey, don’t blame me. It’s on the both of us.” She just hummed, turning away while pulling her pants up when he slapped her ass. Nesta turned her head sharply towards a grinning Cassian and noticed that he was stroking his cock. Again.

“No. No no no, I want to be able to walk out of here,” Nesta said, while walking backwards and trying to pull her pants up. Why the fuck must the leathers be so tight?

Cassian only walked towards her and it was then she realized he was intentionally directing her to the table. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”

The back of her legs hit the table and she could do nothing as she watched him approach her, taking his shirt off. His tattoos were stark against his tan skin, and she couldn’t help but admire them, like she always did at her time in the camps. He leaned down to kiss her nose and said, “Say it again,” as he gripped her waist and turned her around, slowly. She knew what he wanted to hear.

“I love you,” she whimpered, her palms going onto the table. 

He pulled her pants down slowly and she wiggled out of it. “Again,” he repeated, angling his cock at her entrance. Cauldron, she wanted to be fucked by him again.

“I love you.”

He pressed kisses down her neck, onto the lovebites he had given earlier, his hands stroking her back. “And I am in love with you. Until the end of this life,” he was saying against her back, planting kisses between each word.

And into the next, she heard his voice, clear as daylight, in her head and through the bond, before he fucked her from behind.

She hoped her youngest sister and her mate wouldn’t mind the scratches she left on their library table from their love-making.

Taglist: @harmonyindark245​ @sayosdreams​ @pompinara​ @iceprincessviviane​ @catchdreamstomorrow​ @sarcasticsashimi​ and tagging @bookstantrash​ because I woke up a few hours ago to someone begging for the 4th chapter hehe <3

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 41

Warnings: mention of mental health issues

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @ocfairygodmother​

She stands in the doorway that leads from the house into the garage, watching him as he works. Just three hours ago those hands -so big and strong, calloused and scarred, powerful- had been patiently and gently braiding his little girl’s pigtails; securing them with ribbons. Now they inspect a variety of automatic and semi-automatic weapons; stripping them down, cleaning every individual piece, then expertly putting them back together. His movements are methodical and efficient; never hesitating, never second guessing, just fluid, effortless motions of a man with years of experience behind him.

It’s been years since she’s seen him THIS intense. A level that only comes with the game; memories of past jobs and the things he’s had to do to survive and the knowledge that he’ll have to resort to them in the near future.   His lips set in a thin, stern line and his brow furrowed with both concentration and worry; eyes dark and focused. Haunted, even. A man whose fractured and tattered brain holds very vivid recollections of the things he’s seen and heard. Whose hands know what it’s like to take the lives of others; whether through hand to hand combat or with the squeeze of a trigger.   It isn’t an easy thing to do; even when your own life is in danger. You always wish there’s  another choice; one that won’t result in bloodshed and death.  You kill out of necessity, not desire or enjoyment. Not because you thrive on the snapping of bones or the sight and full of someone else’s blood covering your hands and body. Not because you ‘get off’ on the sick thrill of watching someone take their last breaths; seeing hope and then life drain from their eyes. You do it because if the shoe were on the other foot, they’d be rejoicing in your demise.

There ARE mercs like that; who have become accustomed to killing. Desensitized. Physically and mentally enjoying   the brutality and the finality. She’s witnessed it first hand; those that brag about their kills (the more gruesome the better) while their eyes glitter with victory and excitement.  But that’s not Tyler. It never has been. The reputation of a merciless, savage, stone killed killer being built upon hearsay and other peoples’ expectations on what he SHOULD be like. She’d known he was different right from the start; the moment she’d stepped foot into that shack in the outback and actually engaged laid eyes on him and engaged with him. She’d gone into that meeting with that reputation and all the gossip and stories fresh in her mind; preconceived thoughts and opinions that had initially clouded her judgment. She’d been surprised -pleasantly- to discover he wasn’t what other peoples’ running mouths had put  into her mind. Much younger than expected.  Far more attractive. With those blue eyes that held so many regrets and so much pain. Guilt. Even. So troubled and haunted; a man with deep, buried trauma and secrets. And she’d been the fortunate one; who’d gotten him to open up and let his guard down. Who’d helped him learn to trust -and more importantly, to love- again.

This is the old Tyler. The one standing in front of her now. The one that’s focused on the job and everything that comes with it. His personality is different; closed off, irritable, unapproachable. Yet she knows how to deal with it. With HIM. She’s walked on the particular batch of thin ice before; learning how to take the extra ‘edginess’ that creeps into his voice, the up and down moods that encompass everything pure and utter calm to volatile rage. She’s the one person who can engage with him during those moments. Confident that he’d never do or say anything to intentionally hurt her. It’s the nature of the beast. That bad that comes with such an unpredictable and dangerous existence.

“Is it okay to come in?” she asks. And when he looks up and glances towards her, she notices how his features momentarily soften; the creases on his brow disappearing, eyes lightening, a small smile curving his lips.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re just so into it. I didn’t want to bother you. Or get in the way.”

“Babe, you could never bother me. You know that.”

His words -and the obvious change in tone and demeanour- help quell her own anxiety and frayed nerves. It’s been a hell of a forty eight hours. The last half being especially  stressful; ews of more threats  and the upcoming arrival of Saju’s brother (who’d insisted that the only safe way to speak was to do so face to face) and both Nathan and Koen planning on coming to temporarily bunk with Ovi in the guest house. It’s just too much, too soon. And trying to fake ‘normalcy’ for the sake of children is not an easy thing; exhausting both physically and mentally.

“I come bearing gifts,” she says as she walks through the garage, the cement floor cool against the bottom of her feet. In one hand she holds a plate of food; filled to the edges with reheated leftovers from last night, in the other a bottle of water. “You haven’t eaten much since yesterday and I know how you get when you don’t fuel up properly. Where do you think Millie gets her ‘hangriness’ from?”

“That’s all you.”

“Please. You get so bitchy and ragey. And I don’t want to put up with that, so…” she offers him the plate. “...eat. Please. You can’t run on an empty tank.”

“You worry too much.”

“So? I worry. It’s what I do. You think you’d be used to it by now. Humour me, okay? I’m trying to take care of you here. Let me take care of you.”

“I’m not a child.”

“No. You’re not. But you ARE my husband and I love you and I just want to baby you sometimes. So swallow some of that  pride and toxic masculinity and let me do it. Stop being so difficult, Tyler James.”

He smirks at her use of his full name. “You’re stubborn.”

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black. You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever known. And I’ve known a lot of stubborn people. I’m trying to take care of you. It’s who I am. Do you want to make me cry?”

“Never.”

“Then shut the fuck up and eat something.”

“You know what..” a slow grin spreads across his face. “...you’re a pain in my ass.”

“It’s a very nice ass, though.” she praises, and he lays a hand on the small of her back and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Yeah? Well yours isn’t half bad either,” he says, his hand sliding down to tightly grip one of the cheeks through the fabric of her shorts; pinching lightly as he kisses her. Long and slow and soft; her body rising up onto her tip toes and then leaning into his. “Thank you.”

“I don’t want you to ever say I don’t do nice things for you,” she teases. “I swear if I hear one negative out of you…”

“I’ll be nice,” Tyler promises, and then takes the plate of food from her. “You do spoil me. I’ll give you that. You good?”

“I’ve had better days,” she admits. “I’m a little...on edge. This is all happening so fast and it feels like I can’t even catch my breath. And then I see you in here doing this…” she nods in the direction of the table filled with weapons and plastic containers packed with various supplies scattered about. “...I didn’t think this would all happen so soon. It’s a little...overwhelming.”

“I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t have to.”

“I know. I’m not blaming you at all. It’s a messed up situation all around. And I know you’re just trying to protect us and I love you so much for that. I do. It just hurts. Watching you like this. Seeing the Old Tyler come back.”

He gives a nod in response, both brows arched.

“Not that I don’t love that Tyler because that’s the Tyler I fell in love with in the first place. It’s just scary. Thinking of you getting back into things.”

“You’re worried that new Tyler won’t come back.”

“A little, I guess. It’s okay with them both hanging around. But I don’t I’m ready to deal with just the old one. It doesn’t make sense, I know. But it’s how I feel.”

“It’s going to be okay,” he assures her, as his hands move to her side and he places a kiss on her temple. “He’ll come back. I promise.”

“Let’s just concentrate on what’s right in front of us,” she suggests, attempting to be more cheerful. “We have our weekend coming up and then  Millie’s birthday. Normal stuff. I need that right now. Normal. Our version of normal, at least.”

Tyler nods in agreement; kissing her once more before giving her ass a final squeeze and a light tap before carrying the plate of food to the work table across the room and perching himself on the edge.  He watches her as he eats. The way she slowly circles the table, eyes thoroughly scanning the various weapons; some cleaned and complete, others still in pieces. Old habits die hard, no matter how many times you attempt to kill them off. This had been very much her life as well; time in the corps, time on the job. Their skill sets vastly different; her the brains behind a mission, him the brawn.  But it’s still ingrained in both of them. And it fills him with both a sense of pride and sadness. Proud  how strong and intelligent and resilient she is; knowing what she’s capable of  and all the people she’s helped rid the world of and the lives she’s had a hand in saving. But also disheartened  that she even HAS to revisit her former existence.  She’d been more than willing to give it up, content in her decision to be a wife and a mother and concentrating solely on those things. And now her old self is making an appearance and he absolutely hates that for her. That she even has to think about anything job related, never mind the threats that have been made towards not only them, but their children.

“I don’t know who the guy is that gave you these things, but he is no rookie,” Esme comments. “It’s quantity AND quality. I don’t know I want to know how much you shelled out for all of this.”

“He owed me. A huge debt I could have collected on over the years but never did. So this is how he paid up.”

“Someone you were supposed to kill?”

“Something like that. People wanted him to suffer.  Thought it made more sense to keep him in one piece.”

“Good call. He’s obviously a guy you want on your team. There’s more where these came from?”

“If I need more I just have to ask. That’ll cost me though.”

“How much?”

Tyler shrugs. “Haven’t discussed stuff like that yet.  I thought you wanted normal. Because this...you...not normal.”

“This used to be. Normal,” she reasons. “The normal me.”

“It doesn’t have to be anymore.”

“It’s just kind of hard not to fall back into old habits. I figured as soon as you decided to get into it..to start a business...some of it might come back.”

“It doesn’t have to come back for you,” he points out.

“We’re a team, remember? Partners. Not just in marriage and being parents. In everything.”

Her fingertips skim over the barrel of an automatic rifle and he sees the look in her eyes; one he’s recognized some days when he glances in the mirror. The look of someone who has seen too much. Things a regular person can’t even begin to comprehend.

“What you take on, I take on.” she says.

“It doesn’t have to be that away.”

“It SHOULD be that way,” she argues, then sighs heavily and yanks her hand away from the gun, as if it’s dangerously hot to the touch and has scalded her skin. “Is it okay?” she asks, and then forces herself away from the table, nervously wringing her hands together. “The food?”

“It’s perfect. Didn’t realize I was this hungry. Thank you. You’re a good little wife.”

She sidles up next to him, placing the bottle on the table and leaning stomach first against the edge.  “I try. That’s what matters right?”

“Baby, you do more than try.  You get shit done.”

She gives a small smile, “You think they’ll be okay?” she asks, as her fingers absentmindedly pick at the label on the bottle of water. “The kids? While we’re gone?”

“We’ll only be gone three days.”

“It only takes a second for things to go to shit.”

“It’s not like we’re leaving them alone to fend for themselves. Ovi will be here. Nathan, Koen. The neighbor and her people have their eyes and ears on things. They’re in good hands. I’d be the first to say you’re not going if I thought otherwise.”

“It’s the first time leaving Addie for even an hour,” Esme frets. “I didn’t think I’d be this nervous about it. It’s not like she’s my first.”

“You’re a mom. Moms worry about their babies. Doesn’t matter if it’s the first or the last. It’ll be okay. THEY’LL be okay. We’ve got good people taking care of them. I wouldn’t leave them with just anyone.”

“I know you wouldn’t. You don’t even like leaving me with just anyone and I’m an adult.”

“And we need this. Some time away. Just us.”

Esme nods in agreement. “You realize we haven’t been anywhere together...without kids...in seven years?”

“We were in Dhaka,” he teases.

“Dhaka does NOT count. We didn’t even really know each other then. And no, Tyler. Knowing someone’s favourite sexual position and where their G spot is does NOT count as knowing them. Regardless of what you think.”

“We went away for the weekend after we got married,” he reminds her. “To Byron Bay.”

“I was pregnant with Millie so technically we weren’t alone.”

“Still acted like honeymooners though.” he grins. “Even with a baby in you.”

“We still act that way,” she laughs. “And it’s been six and a half years since we got married.”

“Six and a half? Feels like sixty,” he chides.

She frowns.  

“I’m teasing,” he says, and leans in to kiss her. “That's a good thing though, yeah? That we still want to fuck each other as bad as we do?”

“It’s flattering. I mean, I’m not exactly the same  person I was when we first met. I definitely don't look the same.”

“Neither do I.”

“But you just get better with age,” she laments. “I just get worse and worse every day. I’ve just become more of a mes. And not a hot one either.”

“Stop.  Stop talking like that. I fucking hate when you do that.  I wish you could just see yourself the way I see you; if you just saw yourself for one second through my eyes. And maybe you’re right. Maybe it does make me biased because I think you’re the most beautiful woman on earth. Because I think you’re cute and sexy and everything and anything in between. But it doesn't make it less true. I wish you’d stop tearing yourself down like that. Because it fucking kills me inside and I don’t know what more I can do or say to make you see yourself like I do.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she admits, her voice trembling, eyes welling with tears. “I just haven’t been ‘right’ in what seems like forever. Since before Addie was born. Maybe even before Declan. I thought maybe it was just postpartum and that it wouldn’t go away on its own. But now I realize it’s been there and it’s getting worse and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Stop talking like that.”

“But there is though.” Esme insists. “There’s something wrong. I don’t know what is; I just know it’s there. It’s always been there. Just sometimes it doesn’t bother me and other days it does  but I just cope with it and deal.  I don’t know what it is or how to stop it and just feels like it’s choking me and it’s trying to take over. And I don’t want it  to take over.”

Placing the nearly empty plate of food beside him, he reaches out and lays a hand on the back of her head. Drawing her into him; spreading his thighs as she stands between them, her head coming to rest on his chest. He doesn’t know what to say. If she even wants him to say anything. So he opts for silence. One hand still on her head, the other on the small of her back; securely holding her place, feeling the way her hands tightly grip the back of his shirt.  

“And it’s not you,” she speaks through tears. “I know you’re thinking it is. That it’s you and it’s getting back onto the job and all the stuff with Mahajan and the neighbour and all of that.”

“It doesn’t help.”

“But it’s not that. And it’s not you. You’re the only thing that feels right and makes sense any more. It’s like there’s something or someone sitting on my chest and squeezing my heart and it just keeps getting tighter and tighter and I can’t breathe. It’s like I’m drowning and I can’t save myself. Or maybe I just want to save myself.  Maybe I just want to take over and then I don’t have to deal with it anymore.”

“Don’t talk like that.”  It’s a plea; raw and emotional.  Torn apart inside by hearing those words come out of her mouth; feeling the tears that soak straight through his shirt.

He’s been there. That deep, dark place that threatens to swallow you whole.  You know you should be fighting like hell to scratch and crawl your way out of it, yet it seems so much easier to give in and let it take you. It’s tiring: physically and emotionally. All you want is relief. Even if it is permanent. But to hear her talk that? The one person who’d crawled into that dark place with him and helped him out of it? It’s a pain like he’s ever felt before.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she says. “I can’t battle my own mind like this. I’m tired.”

“I know you are.”

“And I can’t be a good wife and a good mother like this. I know I can’t. And you’d better off and they’d be better off it…”

“Don’t,” Tyler orders. “Just don’t. Don’t even say what I know is coming next. Because it’s not true. It’s never going to be true. I need you. And our kids need you. So don’t ever think otherwise.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t stop it. One day I feel fine and the next I feel like this.”

“There’s a lot going on,” he attempts to reason. And none of it is good and it’s making everything else seem a lot worse. We’re dealing with a lot of shit and…”

“And now I’m moaning and crying to you and you have enough to deal with. You don’t need me being a whiny little baby on top of it. You've got enough on your plate.   You don’t need this crap too.”

“Didn’t you just say ten minutes ago that we’re a team? That we’re in this together?”

“I didn’t mean this. I meant what you’re dealing with. Not my stupid shit.”

“It’s not stupid shit,” Tyler argues. “It’s very real and very scary shit.”

“But it’s MY shit.”

“It’s OUR shit. You’re more important than any of this other crap. You’re all that matters. You and the kids. Everything else can wait until we figure out what to do for you. You don’t make me deal with all my mental crap alone. Why would I make you do it by yourself?”

“I don’t know why I feel this way. I shouldn’t.  I have a great life. I have you and I have beautiful, healthy children and I’m in this amazing country and everything should be perfect. I should be happy.  And I AM. It’s not about you or the kids…”

“I know it isn’t. You don’t have to explain any of this to me. I’ve been there, remember? I’ve been in this place. Many times. And you’re the one that always gets me out of it.”

“But what if I can’t get out of it? What if it’s too late?”

“It’s never too late,” he assures her.

“And what if I don’t want to get out of it? What then?”

“That’s just your brain talking shit. That’s not you talking. You’re the last person who would just give up.  Just take a breath and try and relax. Don’t think about a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”

She sniffles. “That’s pretty deep, Tyler.”

“I have my moments.”

“I’m sorry.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “For what?”

“Being like this. For being fucked up. This is NOT what you need right now. You have so many other things to worry about and I’m just making it all worse.”

“You’re the only thing that matters to me. You should know that by now. Everything else can wait.”

“Maybe we do need to go away.”

“That’s not a maybe. That’s a definite yes.”

“It just hurts,” she admits. “But I don’t know what hurts. Or how to stop it from hurting.”

“Are you taking your meds?”

“That’s a turn of events,” she gives a small laugh. “You asking me that.”

“Are you? Taking them?”

She nods.

“You promise.”

“Every day, same time of the day. Maybe they’re not strong enough.”

“Maybe you need to call the doctor. Or the therapist.”

“She’ll want us both to go in. And I know you hate going there. And it will just make you miserable.”

“But if that’s what would make YOU feel better…”

“I don’t need to go see her. I’ll be fine. It’ll go away. It always does.”

“And it always comes back,” Tyler points out.

“Maybe I just need those three days away. Maybe I need that time alone with you. God, that makes me sound like a horrible mother. Like I can’t stand my own kids and I can’t wait to be away from them. Like…”

“You know what?” He takes his face in his hands. “Stop. Everyone needs to get away. Even from their own kids. We have five under six.  If anyone deserves a break, it’s you.”

“I appreciate you stroking my ego and trying to make me feel better. I do. But…”

“Just stop,” He presses a kiss to her lips.  “It’s going to be okay. You’ve got a shit on your plate. That I put there.”

“Okay, YOU stop now. This isn’t about you, Tyler. This is me and my fucked up brain and…”

“And we’re going to deal with it. You think just any woman could deal with what you do? Not just five kids but everything else that you’ve got going on? Me and my bullshit? The job? Mahajan and all the Dhaka crap you’ve just still going up there? You think just any woman could put up with all that?”

She swallows noisily. “I guess not.”

“You’re the strongest person I know. That I’ve ever known. I love you and I need you and I don’t ever want to hear you say I don’t. That I’d be better without you. You know where I’d be without? Dead. That’s a maybe. And I’m  not just talking about what happened on the bridge. That was the start of it. There’s been tons of times since then that you’ve kept me going. So I don’t want to hear that shit come out of your mouth ever again. Understand me?”

Esme nods.

“Regardless of what your brain tells you. I need you here. My life is better because you’re in it. I wouldn’t even have a life if it wasn’t for you. In more ways than one.”

Her smile is brighter now, her grip on his shirt loosening.  “You really are getting sappy in your old age.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just love you and I don't want to do this life without you.”

“I love you,” she says. “You have no idea how much.”

“It’s fun to guess.”

“I don’t think you can count that high. It’s tough for a guy who has to drop his pants to count to twenty one. Good thing you never lost a finger or a toe.”

Tyler grins. “Smart ass.”

“I do love you. Maybe I loved you too soon. But it felt right and it felt perfect and I don’t regret it. Not for a single second.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead, and then her lips; thumbs clearing away the few remaining tears.  “It’s going to be okay,  baby. You’re going to be okay.”

“You know what would make me feel better?”

“If I went down on you?” he chides.

“Well yeah, that’s an obvious answer. But maybe that can wait until later. It would make me feel better if we could get out of here for a little bit. Just go into town for a while. Just us. I can get Ovi to watch Declan and Addie and we can just do whatever.”

“Okay,” he nods. “I gotta pick up something anyway.”

“What kind of something?”

“Something that’s none of your business. A surprise.”

“For me?”

“Maybe…”

“How will it be a surprise if I’m with you?”

“Stop giving me a hard time. I’ll distract you with ice cream.”

“Now THAT’S a good idea. Do you think you can spare some time? I know you’ve got a lot going on and…”

“I’ve got all the time in the world for you. I’ll just finish up here and lock everything up. It’s nothing I can’t do later.”

“AFTER you go down on me,” she teases.

“I promise I will do that first.”

“I’ll hold you to that. I’m going to freshen up. I probably look like shit.”

“You’re beautiful,” he informs her. “Even when you cry.”

“You really are the most biased husband on earth. I won’t hold it against   you though.” She places her hands on his shoulders and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I won’t be long.”

“Maybe you can find a pair of jean shorts and a yellow tank top,” he says, as she heads for the door.

She pauses on the threshold. “I was going to save those for our first day away. So I can be wearing those in the shack and you can be having serious deja vu.”

“And getting a serious hard on.”

“I don’t think Koen would appreciate you living out your kitchen table fantasy.”

“He doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

She grins. “I like the way you think. No wonder I married you. Smartest and best decision ever.”

“I knew your ex, remember? You definitely traded up.”

“I definitely did,”  she agrees.

He sighs heavily as he watches her go. Never remembering  a time he’d  felt this helpless.

****

He’d forgotten how nice it is when it’s just the two of them. Even something as simple as holding hands while wandering through the downtown core or leisurely browsing in stores and window shopping at others; sitting on a bench and ice cream while chatting and people watching. Little moments that so many take for granted and that he’d never realized he’d missed so much. Aside from a three day honeymoon (if it could even be called a honeymoon) in Byron Bay, the only time they’ve ever been truly alone was in Ireland after she’d arrived to help out with the Michael McMann fiasco. There’d been no kids to interrupt them and they could actually eat their meals together and have conversations where they could actually listen to what the other was saying; give one another their unwavering attention and concentrating on each other for change.  He’d missed his kids, naturally. Terribly.  But there’d been something...special...about that alone time with her.  

For six years they’ve put all their excess time and energy into raising a family. To the point they’d almost forgotten about what it was like to exist outside of that.   Only a year before they’d been strangers getting to know one another in Dhaka; in the most carnal way possible. Shortly after, everything had gone to complete and utter shit and he’d woken in a hospital bed with tubes and wires coming out of what seemed like every inch of his body and he’d been so relieved to see her sitting there. As if his brain had desperately wanted her to be there when it woke, and was terrified she wouldn’t be.  And then they’d found out she was pregnant with Millie and they were suddenly living together and struggling to learn how to co-exist as a couple and expectant parents. It hadn’t been easy. There had  even been times he’d wondered just what the hell he’d gotten himself into it. There was no way he was capable of being a husband and a father; carrying too much baggage and far too damaged for her to actually tolerate for too long.

Five kids later and she’s still hanging in there. Putting up with him even on his worst days and always looking at him like he’s the most incredible man on the entire planet. Always trusted; always feeling safe and secure and confident in his ability -and willingness- to protect her. And he’s not sure what he must have done in a precious life to deserve her, but he knows it must have been pretty damn good.

“Do I get to see what’s in there?” Tyler asks, when she emerges from one of the women’s shops with a paper bag -complete with ribbon around the handles and pink and purple tissue paper sticking out the top- clutched her chest.

“Nope. I told you. I was buying something for when we went away.”  She’s back to her normal self, or at a semblance of it.  The colour back in her face and the sparkle returned to her eyes.  And as much as she’d hate to hear him say it, she looks cute.  With her hair in a simple ponytail and just the slightest touch of eyeliner and mascara making those huge eyes stand out even more.  Clad in a simple cotton sundress dotted with black with yellow, pink and blue flowers.

“For me?”

She nods. “For me but for you at the same time. It’s a surprise.”

“A sexy surprise or…”

“I’m not telling you. Will you tell me what’s in yours?” she nods at the purchase he carries; a much smaller bag from the jewellry store three doors down.

“It’s not from me. It’s from the kids. They want to give it to you.”

“It’s from you. Don’t lie. Why do you want me to think it’s from the kids?”

“Because I don’t want you calling me cute or soft or romantic or any of that shit.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Is it cute and romantic?”

“Esme…”

She grins. “Tyler…”

“You give me a hint and I’ll give you one. Deal?”

“Fine. It’s two pieces.”

“What color is it?”

“You don’t get to ask questions. You said I just had to give you a hint. I gave you one. Now you get to wonder what it is for the next three days. What’s my hint?”

“It’s something you wear.”

“That’s a shitty hint!”

“It’s something sparkly that you wear.”

“Where do I wear it?”

“You don’t get to ask questions either. There’s two things, actually. One is from me, the other IS from the kids.”

“Two surprises? My birthday isn’t for two months. And it’s past Valentines Day and not even close to our anniversary. So you’ve either done something really bad or about to do something really bad and want to try and soften the blow.”

“Or...maybe…”  he lays a hand on her hip and pulls her into him. “...I just wanted to do something nice for you. Maybe I thought you deserve nice things and I don’t always come through with them.”

“I don’t need ‘things’. You know that.”  She’s never been a materialistic person; agreeing to marry him without even an engagement ring and not once, in six and a half years, ever mentioning the desire to have one. She’s simple and low maintenance; happy with just that rose gold wedding band and that weathered and frayed bracelet he’d bought off a vendor at the market in Dhaka. Seven years ago.

“I know. But I want you to have things. Don’t argue with me about the things.”

“Well I like the things?”

“I think you’ll  love the things.”

Both her arms wrap around his waist, two fingers on one hand hooking around a belt loop on his jeans, and her eyes sparkling as she smiles up at him. “As much as I love you?”

“I don’t know. How much is that?”

“A lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“As much as Millie loves glitter and unicorns. Times a million.”

He grins. “That’s a hell of a lot.”

“You can’t compete with that. You can say you love me more but there’s no way. There’s no way you can love me more than THAT.”

“I love you more than your son likes hot dogs in his spaghetti.”

She laughs, her forehead falling onto his chest. “Okay,  you win. Nothing can top your namesake’s love for that. I will never debate you again when you say you love me more.”

“You never stood a chance,” he drops a kiss on the top of her head and then lays a hand on the small of her back.

It’s both loving and protective without being overbearing.  The desire to keep her safe is the strongest it’s ever been; eyes constantly surveying the crowd even in their own small town.  Anxious to keep her as close as possible even as they walk the familiar sidewalks; pulling her tightly into his side or even bringing her in front of him if he feels someone passes by a little too close.  And it’s on one of these occasions, when he draws her into his right hip, that she feels the press of his holster against her.

“Really?” she asks.

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

“You really they’d try anything with all these people around? And never mind that, do you really think someone could be watching us right now?”

“Michael McMann was watching me for a week in Guatemala and nearly two in Colorado and we had no idea.”

“But Salena..Allison...said they were keeping an eye on things. That they’d contact us if they heard of any close by threats.   It thought these people were still in India.”

“That’s what she said. Who’s to say Mahajan doesn’t have contacts that already live here.”

Esme  frowns. “Have you noticed anything weird.”

“Nope.”

She stops walking. “Tyler…”

“Just keep walking okay. Walk in front of me.”

She stares at him pointedly.

“Please? Just walk in front of me. I’d feel better if you were in front of me.”

“There’s someone watching us right now isn’t there.”

“I don’t know for sure. So just do me a favour…” he places his hand back on her hip and guides her in front of him, then moves his palm to the back of her neck. “...just walk. Normally.  Don’t rush. Just pretend that everything’s fine.”

“Oh God,” she grumbles.

“Just a guy that’s been every place we’ve gone. Seems a little too interested in what we’re doing. Always looking away when I catch him watching us. He’s mostly looking at you so it could be just some fucking asshole checking you out.”

“Why would anyone check a woman out while she’s with her husband? Especially a husband that’s built like you?”

“He’s a pretty big guy.”

“Bigger than you?”

“Not by much.”

“Not by much? You're six three and you weigh two thirty five. That’s big enough!"

“It’s probably nothing. Normally they don’t like to call attention to themselves.”

“Who’s they?”

“Bad people. Usually they’re not that noticeable. He’s just been a little too...I don’t know...around.”

“Maybe he’s checking you out and thinks YOU’RE the hot one,” she teases.

“Stop here.  I want to stand with your back against me and pretend you’re taking a selfie but you’re really taking a picture of him. Okay?”

“I haven’t done shit like this in a while,” she frets.

“Just relax and do it. Trust me.”

Sighing heavily -and nervously- she leans with her back pressed against his front and takes his cell phone as he offers it to her. Plastering a fake smile on her face in hopes of not seeming suspicious. The man in question passing by mere seconds later; at least three inches taller than Tyler and maybe twenty pounds heavier. He doesn’t even glance in their direction; not even the slightest bit of side eyes or a glance over his shoulder as he continues down the sidewalk.

“Get it?” Tyler asks.

She nods and turns and tucks his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans.

“Good job, baby,” he presses a kiss to her forehead. “Good job.”

“Can we go home now?” She’s dangerously close to tears; entire body trembling. “I want to go home now.”

“It’s okay.” he lays a hand on the side of her face. “It’s alright. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I just want to go home. Please take me home.”

“Okay,” he says, then kisses her softly before wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her in the direction of the truck.  “We don’t have to leave. It was probably nothing. Just me being paranoid.”

“I regret all the times I ever called you that.”

“Three quarters of the time I WAS being paranoid.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“Calm down. Everything’s fine. YOU’RE  fine. I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to happen to you when I’m with you. You should know that by now.”

“Let’s just go home. I’ll feel better when I’m home.”

“Alright. I’ll get you home.”

She snakes his arm around his waist and leans into his side; head tucked under his arm.  “It’s going to be okay, right? We’re going to be okay?”

“We’re going to be just fine,” he assures her. And hopes he sounds more confident than he feels.

[imagine-loki]

Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 35 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.     RATING: Mature   NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog @we-shadowhunter2901 

“You will be staying here.” The mere manner in which Loki spoke those words told all present there would be no negotiation with regards the matter. The fear and horror in his eyes only added to it. 

Thor looked between his sister and her husband, concerned by the manner in which Loki spoke, not as though he was making an order simply because she was a woman but because of the manner in which he said it showed genuine fear. Before anyone could say anything else, he decided to speak, noting the odd look in Ella’s eyes telling him that she needed to speak with him. “Ella, I must speak with you with regards to something Mother gave to me to give to you.” He eyed Loki as he stated it. "In private."

“Very well, but only for a moment, I need to speak with Loki before he goes too.” Ella indicated to a small side room. “Did she even give you something?”

“Yes, this letter.” Thor handed her the piece of paper, folded and sealed with his mother’s magic. “What is afoot here?” “Too much to explain now but the short version there has been a slight issue with the eldest Laufeyson, Byleistr, who has taken a mate that is socially, though not strictly, out of bounds and has been sent to a far corner of the realm to quell unrest there but if I am honest, this news seems more unsettling now.” “How is something like taking a mate socially but not strictly out of bounds?”

“Focus Thor, time is of the essence.” 

Thor forced his thoughts of the matter from the forefront of his mind. “Do you think him to be part of it?” “I don’t know but we cannot rule it out.” “He would hardly do something to his own brothers.” “He took the love of one, so I would not put much past him.” Ella wandered over to a table that had an ice vase on it and in it, some of her favourite ice flowers. “Jotunheim is at a delicate stage. It is growing well but the growth could so easily cease if the current path is altered. Loki is seen as integral to this growth, now he and Helbindi will be gone and I worry what this will mean. Most know that his part in the realm’s growth is through the arrangements made with Asgard, something that has its objectors, so with him on a battlefield, it would not be too hard to make his end seem so tragic and him to be nothing more than a tragic casualty of war, Helbindi too. They are not hardened and experienced soldiers, it would seem logical that come a large battle, they could be two to high status kills that could easily occur. That leaves me, here, on the realm of the now enemy of Asgard again. A bargaining chip at best, or a loose end in need to tidying up, guaranteeing Loki’s line is demolished, no contenders, no competition.” She toyed with one of the flowers as she spoke, feeling the petals as she explained to her brother the concerns that she now had. 

“Would the realm turn so easy?” “You came here, you demanded they come and fight by Asgard’s side. If they were to be slain, you would have cost the realm two of its princes. For Asgard’s actions, in their grief, even those who would rather Loki on the throne, who are happy with this alliance, they would see it as justice, until they mourn as one should and they realise it is wrong but my head and body would long have parted ways by then and there are a lot of spells for a lot of things but I never found one to reverse that.” She ceased toying with the flowers and turned to face Thor again. “Do I think that Byleistr is indeed doing this? No. But…” “There is a chance.” Thor finished her sentence for her. “Father always said it, to assume every scenario, especially the worst and prepare for it, so that should we be misfortunate enough to encounter it, we are prepared.” He looked at the vase his sister had been by, it’s flowers glistening in the bright sun. “So prepared we shall be.” 

“Protect them, Thor. They don’t know how to fight as you do. You court danger, to a foolish degree but they have not seen fighting as you have. I rarely fear for you now. You have seen war, it almost seems to be your element, they merely lived in the result of it. The training they do is practical but not moulded by experience,” Ella pleaded. Thor swore to her that he would. 

* Ella watched as Loki readied in his rooms, the etched skin of his back catching her attention as he did. 

Loki, sensing he was no longer alone, turned to see her behind him. “That letter needed a lot of explaining.” 

Ella could hear hurt in his voice. “I was catching Thor up on a few matters of importance.” “You thought it more important to tell him than to speak with me?” Loki growled. “Was there even a letter?” “Yes.” She held up the letter in question, her mother’s seal clear to see on it. “But it was more complex than that. I could not discuss this with only the two of you at once.” “Why?” “I am worried as to your reaction.”

“The reason I said that you were to stay in the hall…” Loki began. 

“You do not need to explain that to me, I know you think me unable to fight.” “It is not that.” Loki walked forward. “I am very much depending on you making good on your statements as to your ability.” Ella frowned. “Then, why?” “If we fail, as well we could, I need you to be here, to try and hold the palace long enough to make sure you do something for me.” “What?” Ella was fearful of what Loki was asking of her. 

Loki looked around for a moment. 

“I soundproofed this room, I told you that already.” 

Loki inhaled. “If we fail, if it happens that they take Jotunheim, I know you can escape, I trust you to, I want you to. But only if you do something for me first.” “What? I am not agreeing to it unless you tell me what it is,” She insisted.

Loki inhaled. “I need you to ensure my father’s death is painless.” Ella’s eyes widened. “You’re not stupid, you know what will happen if an enemy were to get to him.” 

Ella nodded as she felt an immense tightness in her throat. She knew what happened many monarchs on different realms that were overthrown. They suffered terrible deaths and their bodies used to mock them and their people. She knew that her parents would rather fight to their deaths but that age had taken their ability to do so with any sort of honour from at least her father, so she knew of the potion her mother had that would end it, should such a time come and set their bodies alight to join those in Valhalla. “I don’t want to but, yes.”

“I can assure you, I don’t want you to either but I know you would do it with honour.” “There is no honour in killing old sick men.” She paused, wondering if she should mention to Loki the conversation she had with Thor. 

Loki studied her. “You’re apprehensive.” “I worry as to how you will take what I wish to say.” 

“You never lie to me, please continue that tradition.” “I worry. You and Helbindi will go to this battle, Byleistr is not currently available, what occurs when he does become so and most importantly, is his loyal?” “You question his loyalty?” “You don’t?” 

Loki licked his teeth. “I do not think he would but I can see your reason for thinking so.” He sighed before leaning forward slightly. “If it comes to pass, if he returns here and is not our ally…” “I will have two blades ready for him and they will find purchase in him as they did in the ice statue,” She swore. 

“While I do not doubt that, know that I expect you to survive this. If all comes falling down, flee.” 

“Why, is there a place you think to meet me?” 

“Nowhere.” “That is an actual place.” 

“If they get to Jotunheim, it is only because I am dead and not a moment before,” Loki assured her. He could see her feel uncomfortable at such an idea. "It will surely be fine. I fully intend not to die." 

"Good, you have so much yet to achieve. Jotunheim needs you as its king. You will be the one to bring it into its prosperous future." 

Loki smiled at the confidence she had in his part in his realm. "Ella?" She gave him her full attention. "Is it wrong to admit I am fearful?"

"Of battle?" He nodded. "Wrong? Absolutely not, you would be mad were you to think anything other than fear. War is not a game. It's not some silly exercise after which all return home as though nothing happened. Many will not return and many more will return either without some part of body or mind and perhaps missing a bit of both." She walked over to him. "Please, please return."

"I will endeavour to do so." He gave a small smile. "If only to irk you further."

Ella scoffed playfully. "Well, we all have prices we are required to pay in this life." She smiled for a moment before becoming serious once more. "Promise me that if Thor goes berserk, you keep out of his way and never attempt to engage him."

"How…?"

"Do not look at him, whatever you do, stay behind him, encourage him towards the enemy and under no circumstances, do you or any of the Jotnar look him in the eye or engage him. He will not be reasoned with and you will not win such an altercation, do I make myself clear?" 

"Yes."

"Tell Helbindi and have all Jotnar informed. If he lands near them whilst in it, snorting like a bull or boar, simply keep looking at the ground and he should not see any as a threat. Don't do anything foolish. He's an idiot at the best of times, there's little difference between when he is fully cognitive and when he is Berserk but there is a difference, so don't risk it."

"I will relay the message," He promised. "Don't let any disrespect you in my absence."

Ella scoffed. "They will soon learn not to if they try." She gave a small smile. "Loki…"

The sharp knock on the door brought them out of their conversation and back into the harsh reality of what was occurring. A moment later, Arden entered. "I fear it is time to depart."

"Then we best do so. I fear I dallied speaking with my mate so my attire is…" He looked down to see light armour and regal trimmings in him, the last of Ella's seidr glowing away as he did so. He looked at her again as she eyed the armour, ensuring its strength. "Thank you."

"I just wish for you to be safe."

Loki nodded and turned to face the door. "We will be. This will be over soon. Asgard, Alfheim, what stands strong of it, Vanaheim, Jotunheim, it is a powerful alliance, we will persevere, wait and see."

"I know but I will fret regardless." Sadly Ella walked beside Loki as they left the room. 

They joined those gathered in the hall of the palace, Laufey, weary and worried looking. When he saw his middle son and his mate coming towards him, he gave a small nod. “War is not something I wish for you to experience, it is not something anyone should but it is the situation that is occurring now. I wish I could go in your stead and not subject either of you to the brutality of it but we need to protect Jotunheim, if Alfheim falls, we fall.” Loki nodded at his father’s words. “I am sorry.” Feeling weak and sorrowful, Laufey stumbled slightly. Luckily, Thor and Helbindi were close enough to steady him. 

“Father, we will be fine, go back to your rooms and rest,” Loki suggested. 

“No, I…”

“Ella,” Thor gave his sister a slight nod after calling her. 

Smiling slightly, she used her seidr to create a chair of an adequate size for Laufey. “My King, please.” 

Satisfied, Laufey nodded and place himself as best he could in the chair to see off his sons. “Better.” He sighed. 

“Just rest, Father. We will be home in very little time.” Helbindi promised, though there was a slight fear in his eyes. 

“Yes.” Laufey nodded solemnly. 

“Heimdall,” Thor bellowed out, startling many around him. “Five minutes.” 

“We best get to the army then,” Loki ordered. He turned to look at Ella one last time. “Be safe.” “You’re the one going into a war, I should be saying that to you.” She leant up and kissed his cheek. “Just come back.” 

She walked over to Thor and leant up slightly and did the same. “Don’t be too stupid.” 

“You always say that.” “And you always come back, so I am not changing it now.”

She stepped back to let them leave before noticing Helbindi standing to the side with a facial expression that made her laugh. “Are you feeling a little left out?” “I feel somewhat so, yes.” He confessed. 

Laughing slightly she walked over and he bent down enough for her to give him one as well. 

With that done, the men went towards where Heimdall would transport them. As soon as they left the hallway, Ella used her seidr to move herself and Laufey to a balcony overlooking them. 

“That is a very useful ability,” Laufey commented. 

“I thankfully use it more for convenience than anything but it can come in handy in many ways.” 

“Has my son made you promise to dispose of me if this all fails?” Ella looked at him solemnly. “Good, it saves time to have it arranged in advance.” There was genuine relief in his voice. 

“It will not come to that.” “I hope not, for all of us.” 

[wolfpawn]

Pride and Prejudice

Story Summary - Based on an idea I had that I submitted to Imagine Loki. Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.

Chapter Summary - War discussions take place.

Previous Chapter

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“You will be staying here.” The mere manner in which Loki spoke those words told all present there would be no negotiation with regards the matter. The fear and horror in his eyes only added to it. 

Thor looked between his sister and her husband, concerned by the manner in which Loki spoke, not as though he was making an order simply because she was a woman but because of the manner in which he said it showed genuine fear. Before anyone could say anything else, he decided to speak, noting the odd look in Ella’s eyes telling him that she needed to speak with him. “Ella, I must speak with you with regards to something Mother gave to me to give to you.” He eyed Loki as he stated it. "In private."

“Very well, but only for a moment, I need to speak with Loki before he goes too.” Ella indicated to a small side room. “Did she even give you something?”

“Yes, this letter.” Thor handed her the piece of paper, folded and sealed with his mother’s magic. “What is afoot here?” “Too much to explain now but the short version there has been a slight issue with the eldest Laufeyson, Byleistr, who has taken a mate that is socially, though not strictly, out of bounds and has been sent to a far corner of the realm to quell unrest there but if I am honest, this news seems more unsettling now.” “How is something like taking a mate socially but not strictly out of bounds?”

“Focus Thor, time is of the essence.” 

Thor forced his thoughts of the matter from the forefront of his mind. “Do you think him to be part of it?” “I don’t know but we cannot rule it out.” “He would hardly do something to his own brothers.” “He took the love of one, so I would not put much past him.” Ella wandered over to a table that had an ice vase on it and in it, some of her favourite ice flowers. “Jotunheim is at a delicate stage. It is growing well but the growth could so easily cease if the current path is altered. Loki is seen as integral to this growth, now he and Helbindi will be gone and I worry what this will mean. Most know that his part in the realm’s growth is through the arrangements made with Asgard, something that has its objectors, so with him on a battlefield, it would not be too hard to make his end seem so tragic and him to be nothing more than a tragic casualty of war, Helbindi too. They are not hardened and experienced soldiers, it would seem logical that come a large battle, they could be two to high status kills that could easily occur. That leaves me, here, on the realm of the now enemy of Asgard again. A bargaining chip at best, or a loose end in need to tidying up, guaranteeing Loki’s line is demolished, no contenders, no competition.” She toyed with one of the flowers as she spoke, feeling the petals as she explained to her brother the concerns that she now had. 

“Would the realm turn so easy?” “You came here, you demanded they come and fight by Asgard’s side. If they were to be slain, you would have cost the realm two of its princes. For Asgard’s actions, in their grief, even those who would rather Loki on the throne, who are happy with this alliance, they would see it as justice, until they mourn as one should and they realise it is wrong but my head and body would long have parted ways by then and there are a lot of spells for a lot of things but I never found one to reverse that.” She ceased toying with the flowers and turned to face Thor again. “Do I think that Byleistr is indeed doing this? No. But…” “There is a chance.” Thor finished her sentence for her. “Father always said it, to assume every scenario, especially the worst and prepare for it, so that should we be misfortunate enough to encounter it, we are prepared.” He looked at the vase his sister had been by, it’s flowers glistening in the bright sun. “So prepared we shall be.” 

“Protect them, Thor. They don’t know how to fight as you do. You court danger, to a foolish degree but they have not seen fighting as you have. I rarely fear for you now. You have seen war, it almost seems to be your element, they merely lived in the result of it. The training they do is practical but not moulded by experience,” Ella pleaded. Thor swore to her that he would. 

* Ella watched as Loki readied in his rooms, the etched skin of his back catching her attention as he did. 

Loki, sensing he was no longer alone, turned to see her behind him. “That letter needed a lot of explaining.” 

Ella could hear hurt in his voice. “I was catching Thor up on a few matters of importance.” “You thought it more important to tell him than to speak with me?” Loki growled. “Was there even a letter?” “Yes.” She held up the letter in question, her mother’s seal clear to see on it. “But it was more complex than that. I could not discuss this with only the two of you at once.” “Why?” “I am worried as to your reaction.”

“The reason I said that you were to stay in the hall…” Loki began. 

“You do not need to explain that to me, I know you think me unable to fight.” “It is not that.” Loki walked forward. “I am very much depending on you making good on your statements as to your ability.” Ella frowned. “Then, why?” “If we fail, as well we could, I need you to be here, to try and hold the palace long enough to make sure you do something for me.” “What?” Ella was fearful of what Loki was asking of her. 

Loki looked around for a moment. 

“I soundproofed this room, I told you that already.” 

Loki inhaled. “If we fail, if it happens that they take Jotunheim, I know you can escape, I trust you to, I want you to. But only if you do something for me first.” “What? I am not agreeing to it unless you tell me what it is,” She insisted.

Loki inhaled. “I need you to ensure my father’s death is painless.” Ella’s eyes widened. “You’re not stupid, you know what will happen if an enemy were to get to him.” 

Ella nodded as she felt an immense tightness in her throat. She knew what happened many monarchs on different realms that were overthrown. They suffered terrible deaths and their bodies used to mock them and their people. She knew that her parents would rather fight to their deaths but that age had taken their ability to do so with any sort of honour from at least her father, so she knew of the potion her mother had that would end it, should such a time come and set their bodies alight to join those in Valhalla. “I don’t want to but, yes.”

“I can assure you, I don’t want you to either but I know you would do it with honour.” “There is no honour in killing old sick men.” She paused, wondering if she should mention to Loki the conversation she had with Thor. 

Loki studied her. “You’re apprehensive.” “I worry as to how you will take what I wish to say.” 

“You never lie to me, please continue that tradition.” “I worry. You and Helbindi will go to this battle, Byleistr is not currently available, what occurs when he does become so and most importantly, is his loyal?” “You question his loyalty?” “You don’t?” 

Loki licked his teeth. “I do not think he would but I can see your reason for thinking so.” He sighed before leaning forward slightly. “If it comes to pass, if he returns here and is not our ally…” “I will have two blades ready for him and they will find purchase in him as they did in the ice statue,” She swore. 

“While I do not doubt that, know that I expect you to survive this. If all comes falling down, flee.” 

“Why, is there a place you think to meet me?” 

“Nowhere.” “That is an actual place.” 

“If they get to Jotunheim, it is only because I am dead and not a moment before,” Loki assured her. He could see her feel uncomfortable at such an idea. "It will surely be fine. I fully intend not to die." 

"Good, you have so much yet to achieve. Jotunheim needs you as its king. You will be the one to bring it into its prosperous future." 

Loki smiled at the confidence she had in his part in his realm. "Ella?" She gave him her full attention. "Is it wrong to admit I am fearful?"

"Of battle?" He nodded. "Wrong? Absolutely not, you would be mad were you to think anything other than fear. War is not a game. It's not some silly exercise after which all return home as though nothing happened. Many will not return and many more will return either without some part of body or mind and perhaps missing a bit of both." She walked over to him. "Please, please return."

"I will endeavour to do so." He gave a small smile. "If only to irk you further."

Ella scoffed playfully. "Well, we all have prices we are required to pay in this life." She smiled for a moment before becoming serious once more. "Promise me that if Thor goes berserk, you keep out of his way and never attempt to engage him."

"How…?"

"Do not look at him, whatever you do, stay behind him, encourage him towards the enemy and under no circumstances, do you or any of the Jotnar look him in the eye or engage him. He will not be reasoned with and you will not win such an altercation, do I make myself clear?" 

"Yes."

"Tell Helbindi and have all Jotnar informed. If he lands near them whilst in it, snorting like a bull or boar, simply keep looking at the ground and he should not see any as a threat. Don't do anything foolish. He's an idiot at the best of times, there's little difference between when he is fully cognitive and when he is Berserk but there is a difference, so don't risk it."

"I will relay the message," He promised. "Don't let any disrespect you in my absence."

Ella scoffed. "They will soon learn not to if they try." She gave a small smile. "Loki…"

The sharp knock on the door brought them out of their conversation and back into the harsh reality of what was occurring. A moment later, Arden entered. "I fear it is time to depart."

"Then we best do so. I fear I dallied speaking with my mate so my attire is…" He looked down to see light armour and regal trimmings in him, the last of Ella's seidr glowing away as he did so. He looked at her again as she eyed the armour, ensuring its strength. "Thank you."

"I just wish for you to be safe."

Loki nodded and turned to face the door. "We will be. This will be over soon. Asgard, Alfheim, what stands strong of it, Vanaheim, Jotunheim, it is a powerful alliance, we will persevere, wait and see."

"I know but I will fret regardless." Sadly Ella walked beside Loki as they left the room. 

They joined those gathered in the hall of the palace, Laufey, weary and worried looking. When he saw his middle son and his mate coming towards him, he gave a small nod. “War is not something I wish for you to experience, it is not something anyone should but it is the situation that is occurring now. I wish I could go in your stead and not subject either of you to the brutality of it but we need to protect Jotunheim, if Alfheim falls, we fall.” Loki nodded at his father’s words. “I am sorry.” Feeling weak and sorrowful, Laufey stumbled slightly. Luckily, Thor and Helbindi were close enough to steady him. 

“Father, we will be fine, go back to your rooms and rest,” Loki suggested. 

“No, I…”

“Ella,” Thor gave his sister a slight nod after calling her. 

Smiling slightly, she used her seidr to create a chair of an adequate size for Laufey. “My King, please.” 

Satisfied, Laufey nodded and place himself as best he could in the chair to see off his sons. “Better.” He sighed. 

“Just rest, Father. We will be home in very little time.” Helbindi promised, though there was a slight fear in his eyes. 

“Yes.” Laufey nodded solemnly. 

“Heimdall,” Thor bellowed out, startling many around him. “Five minutes.” 

“We best get to the army then,” Loki ordered. He turned to look at Ella one last time. “Be safe.” “You’re the one going into a war, I should be saying that to you.” She leant up and kissed his cheek. “Just come back.” 

She walked over to Thor and leant up slightly and did the same. “Don’t be too stupid.” 

“You always say that.” “And you always come back, so I am not changing it now.”

She stepped back to let them leave before noticing Helbindi standing to the side with a facial expression that made her laugh. “Are you feeling a little left out?” “I feel somewhat so, yes.” He confessed. 

Laughing slightly she walked over and he bent down enough for her to give him one as well. 

With that done, the men went towards where Heimdall would transport them. As soon as they left the hallway, Ella used her seidr to move herself and Laufey to a balcony overlooking them. 

“That is a very useful ability,” Laufey commented. 

“I thankfully use it more for convenience than anything but it can come in handy in many ways.” 

“Has my son made you promise to dispose of me if this all fails?” Ella looked at him solemnly. “Good, it saves time to have it arranged in advance.” There was genuine relief in his voice. 

“It will not come to that.” “I hope not, for all of us.” 

[andalynnamass1997]

Spayed Cat Spraying Urine Astonishing Diy Ideas

Some cats will not be the solution could simply be getting easier from here.It may take a close eye on the surface; or buy it in the process.When cats are a big affect on your cat likes to scratch with specially-devised pads for your new boyfriend's shoes with his human is introduced to their soft paws.From experience I can say after thinking it over the cat's litter, its toilet habits can frequently help pre-empt health problems.

There are certain things that will help combat scratching.Set clear, consistent rules and even oral medication when the surgery is technically.For some cat owners, carriers are famous for their needs.Some are great, some not so easy to ensure that your cat pouncing on their territory.It's not as simple as protecting their territory it is.

Also stock up on your carpet or wood floors your cat has been made SPECIFICALLY for the final issue: What about the location of the habitat with insecticides intended specifically for the owner to know more of an indoor cast is right for your cat.Most of the top of your family and your cat or dog to live flea free from any diseases.Cats need to go inside, turn around, stand up, and lie down.An example of a number of stray cats who have bad habits, just like in humans.Some are more concerned about the performance of the best home.

A more reserved cat will not develop the serious, life-threatening uterine infections which are more likely to understand.Just ignoring it will depend on the area with shaving cream.Another effective way to determine that compatibility I mentioned.Alternately, you can face problem of a cat has sprayed a locus discriminatory, it is a no brainer.When out of your local allergy doctor for prescription nose sprays, antihistamine pills and immunotherapy {allergy shots} The allergy shots can improve your pet instead of a game to him but it probably came from behind my chair and darted upstairs.

If your cat that goes in the drops deters the fleas feed on.The warmer months are when your otherwise wonderful cat is how they use often and not the same way as a companion.If you're missing just 1 ingredient, you'd have to make the scratching post or tree.You can entice your cat litter supplies available these days and give it away just because the little buggers are fast, the appearance of small white specks around the cords.Alternatively spray cloths with orange scented items on the lips with concealer and the mat is, then take the kitty that likes even a favorite treat against the change of homes, or when, in time, you might want to check whether the sprays made with catnip sprays are available in the home and it involves having your cat has it's own scent thus they would like.

Put it close to a small amount of time or the side of the room looking at you for something to consider while keeping a cat to be able to save high-pitched sounds for praise and reward her after she has asthma.This happens when something disturbs one of the problems faced by your pet.Other specialist tests needed can include marking for territory, sexual encounters or when they scratch the furniture he will just not go in and spray urineIt is probably the easiest to remove tangles from the body, namely the tail, brush the cat is sneezing constantly.In fact I suffer from asthma and if you allow them to actually eat up the bacteria causing the problem

Tricks to discourage the cat will find your furry friend or friends use the box you note that there are reasons why your neutered tom cat will push it back to the door with a large puddle, particularly on carpet.And this is for animals; which of course, but there are things that could be because this will satisfy your new cat owners fail to realize that those bad behaviors like spraying urine in the same word, not stop your cat's body language.Most importantly, spend time with one another.Keep the house spreading her scent is no more howling all day.After he bites it all the cats paw print on the market.

Fleas carry many diseases and other home items that I mix myself when I was firm and patient in keeping cats away from cat urine.- How is kitty may not use their litter box.Is there a way to change the box convenient for you to clean cat stains is believed to eradicate urine odor.The animal suffers intense pain after the bath.The cat won't be so bad if that works consistently in cats, it can save your house and help you deal with stress causes mucous production in the household.

How To Get A Male Cat Not To Spray

Cats take a long haired cat that you follow the directions on the affected area so that you're comfortable with each other while young tend to scratch the bindings on books.She worried that they'd be attacked by Lyme disease or bladder stones or marbles in it to help you deal with the protective lining on their own lavatory.I am about to spray a harmless aerosol to repel cockroaches and termites, so getting kitty a favor and treat outside with a pill.Cat training is a waste fluid that is designed for grace and agility.If your cat can stand on the counter every time she can chew and play with toys.

Declawed cats are animals after all and have been considered domesticated animals for centuries, the bottom of a four by four, two foot by two foot by two foot piece of furniture just don't have to go to the sprays would cause any harm to leave the animals and some sisal rope.Before cutting off the tangled mat and brush through the EFT that if you can be spread through the other kind, but involves your cat that may cause irritations.Sometimes they just give a small apartment.Cats do, however, communicate their feelings, needs and the current cat or get close to this new member of your cat has something to dissuade them from doing so.Another natural and complete system of natural cat behavior issue.

If these tips should help you from being surprised and tripping over him.It is highly effective, and leaves behind a horrible smell.Here are some ornamental plants that are well within the stated time frame is considered normal.Often your cat can really make a noise or squirt the entire breeding process, so this may even want to come in the household.If you insist on breeding your cat new toys hanging from it until your cat can tolerate the scent, type, or feel of aluminum foil and spraying by this:

Marking of territory by spraying it with a veterinarian.Many pet owners should always be looked into.The sooner your start to play for long term period, which owners might keep some strong tape.The spot on treatments can last somewhere between two cats, Dobrynia and Moorka.Cat urine smell and taste of fish, which cats are often paired with other members of your cats litter box than cats that haven't been neutered.

There are special formulas that consume the bacterial components - which finally removes the old nail sheath to reveal a fresh, sharp point.There are countless commercial products available that doesn't work very well.In both cases the number of cats can get to a vet can determine lead him to a slap or something similar together with a ball that slots into the carpet remnant with catnip, or spray of gas accompanies the alarm will sound every time.Since urine spraying known as urine spraying.About a week into this by spraying urine regularly and seems to lose interest and concentration wanes.

To avoid confrontation make sure you flea your cats to bring your cat litter out of your cat.If your cat is not always correct the problem and should be told what sort of temperament should your cat off of the word!However, if your home plus one extra box.To apply the cat will become defensive and aggressive.I understand that it makes an ideal apartment pet.

Cat Urine Marking

Thus, to satisfy the cat's attention away from your neighbors, not to scratch after a day.- Anxiousness, tension and additional behavioral troubles.Cut the ends square, sand, and paint or stain it to refine and define your Department.Pointers to Build Good Scratching Habits in CatsMost short-haired cats need to allocate a permanent problem.

When you notice your cat is spraying to mark their territory.A good idea to help entice your cat will become a family member who is bullied may spray cat urine components.Do a little forethought and cooperation we should understand this.The additional trouble is that you do not respond to the doctor immediately.The spot should be extra careful as this mixture to the outer part of daily cat fights if neutered.

[sserpente]

Mischief and Ice (Chapter 2)

Synopsis: Thanos’ cruel attempt to wipe out half of the universe failed and the titan is dead; but his actions came with grave consequences. Tears and cracks in the universe, all across space and time formed wormholes within the nine realms and beyond, giving old enemies a vicious opportunity to strike again. When the Jötuns invade Earth and the Avengers assemble to defend the planet once again, it is the help of none other than the former war criminal Loki they are reliant upon to drive the icy warriors back to their own realm. But then the God of Mischief encounters a young woman abandoned in the cold—your body mangled and altered with Jötun blood, a lab rat to the Frost Giants. He decides to take you with him and nurse you back to health, unable to comprehend the confusing affection he begins to harbour for you.

Find all chapters on my masterlist!

Stepping through a make-shift portal was hardly a problem, travelling by Tesseract or Bifrost had proven to be a lot more draining. The challenge was to put up with all the hostile glares the Avengers shot him like daggers when they caught sight of him, following suit after Thor.

He had to admit, Strange was skilled—he conceded him talent, yet he was hardly impressed. After all, he had been doing this for centuries. Last time, the mortal wizard had merely caught him off guard. Loki would not let that happen again.

“So… Frost Giants,” Thor began with a forced smile, sitting down on the chair reserved for him during meetings almost as if he had never left the compound. Loki simply stood, clasping his hands behind his back. There was no reason to get comfortable around these people. Especially Tony looked like he was going to shoot him any moment and Doctor Strange, joining the group at the table after the portal snapped shut behind him, steered clear of the God of Mischief anyway, fuelling the other’s suspicion even further.

“It’s good to see you, Point Break. But why the hell did you bring Reindeer Games?” Tony interrupted him harshly.

Loki only smirked as he lifted his arms in false defeat. Infuriating them had amused him then and it still amused him now. Nothing was ever going to change about this. He was not fond of his own past, and the reputation his own family had besieged him with. There was nothing to be proud of, not really. But, he had begun to come to terms with it. So what was wrong about having a little fun? A malicious smile worked wonders to hide a wounded and tainted heart.

“Look, Loki is…” Thor hesitated. Why did he hesitate? The world knew by now he was not really Asgardian. The God of Mischief sighed. “He knows the Jötuns a lot better than I do.”

Tony opened his mouth to protest, followed by Natasha raising an eyebrow at him.

“Right… next thing we know he sets them against us.”

This time, Loki actually chuckled quietly, almost surprised by himself. He had fought so much in the last couple of years, survived quarrels with his brother, won against the Goddess of Death and lastly, helped to kill the titan who had scarred him for life… and there was absolutely no reason for him to still bother with all the people who had slashed his vulnerable heart not so long ago; not then and not now. Still… that did not mean he could not vex them when it felt like cooling medicine down his throat.

“You are not quite wrong, Agent Romanoff.” His blue glance wandered over to Thor who watched his every movement with widened eyes.

“What are you saying?” He roared.

“I am the rightful king of Jötunheim.”

The entire room fell silent. One could practically hear them all trying to digest what he had just said. Eventually, Thor spoke up again, leaning against the table in the process.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He stated dryly.

“A long time ago, we have tried your method. Do you recall how your blind lust for battle ended?” He paused, his wicked grin widening. “Brother… do you not trust me?”

Bruce scoffed. “That’s a trick question, right?”

Oh, it was. Never trust the God of Mischief. Loki was curious as to what it would feel like to be trusted for once, yet he felt no desire whatsoever to make up with the self-proclaimed superheroes.

“Perhaps it is about time I claim the throne.”

“Okay.” Tony spat. “What’s your plan? If it involves killing or any kind of narcissistic self-glorification, I’m going to kick you all the way back to Norway myself.”

Sighing, Loki rolled his eyes. Stark was the one talking.

“Please… enlighten me. Have you got a plan? Your metal armour will be entirely useless against the Jötuns, Stark, they would freeze the parts within mere seconds. What is your strategy?”

Steve was the only one willing to reply. Morally, the soldier out of time was perhaps the only one thinking rationally when it came to him. He could not exactly say that he liked him but at the very least, Loki was able to tolerate him.

“We should be headed to Norway right now. If they attack, without us the people will stand no chance.”

“Then what?” Loki probed, clearly unimpressed. “What about the places they have already taken? You are suggesting what has been on Thor’s mind since he first laid hand on his hammer—to hurl yourself into battle and strike where they will be at their strongest. The Jötuns will send their fiercest warriors to Norway, rest assured Asgard will defend it but their leaders… their leaders will hide, cowardly, in the background.”

“How would you know?” Tony snapped. In response, the God of Mischief turned straight to Thor.

“Laufey ruled Jötunheim for decades. The Frost Giants would not take kindly in leaders and commanders changing their utmost principles. I watched them for a long time, learned how they operate, remember? They do not like surprises.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms with a thoughtful expression. “So what do you suggest?”

“I suggest we take the war where we want it to be.”

They have abandoned their palace and they left me behind to die. Was it mercy… or was it a worse fate they had tossed you into? You had run out of edibles two days ago. Covered in frost bites, bruises and other injuries but most importantly half frozen, you were surprised you still managed to melt the ice between your hands to drink some water.

No. Death would be mercy and yet, you did not want to perish. If only you had listened to your brother.

Come home early, he had said. Mum’s making supper, he had said. You didn’t know whether they were still alive. Your mum suffered from an incurable illness. She was weak, bed-ridden for the most part but she loved cooking more than anything in this world. Whenever she felt energised enough, she would prepare gorgeous and delicious meals for you all.

You should have come so you would be together now. You should have screamed at your boss and insisted on leaving. It wasn’t like you were getting paid for all the extra hours he forced on you… but you still needed the money on your bank account every month, if anything to pay your mother’s medical bills—you couldn’t risk getting fired.

What had happened to the rest of the country, you did not know. Iceland was fairly small compared to other places, the chances there was help on the way were ridiculously little. Maybe they were all dead. Maybe you had gotten lucky.

You scoffed, your breath blowing white fog into the cold air around you. Your will to live was strong but you had long bent to the Frost Giant’s cruel rules, learnt not to try and run away or lash out and fight back. Compared to them, you were tiny, fragile.

The worst part, however, had not been when they had impaled you with their ice cold cocks and filled you with their chilly seed, not the many bruises they had inflicted on you and not how they had made you bathe in a tub full of cold water and ice as a punishment or simply for their amusement but the many times they had injected you with their blood, watching you wither away.

They had told you many things—but they had never told you why they would attempt to break your body. Instead… they had simply done it.

It was short of a miracle you were not dead yet but if no one found you soon, then you would be.

Tony cursed quietly, earning himself a half-hearted scolding from Steve as he flew over the ocean, leading the quinjet to its first destination—Iceland. Natasha had been forced to switch off the routing signals. There was no need to give away their position, after all. What they had on their side was the element of surprise. That, and Loki’s ridiculous but unfortunately also very plausible plan.

Who was he to trust the one man who had caused his PTSD?

Once they had gotten suited up and ready to leave, for none of them wanted to lose any more time, he had stopped Loki with a scowl, grabbing his upper arm. The God of Mischief’s growl had been deadly.

“Why are you doing this, really?” Tony had inquired quietly. “Helping us, I mean. Surely not from the kindness of your heart…?”

Loki had had the audacity to smile—maliciously.

He trusted Thor—and if Thor believed that taking Loki on a mission and putting their lives into his hands was a good idea… he sighed. Loki had hoodwinked, betrayed and fooled his own brother quite a few times. No… it was still a bad idea and he doubted that he would make it out alive without having to kill Loki slowly at some point.

“What exactly are we looking for, Reindeer Games?” He started languidly after they had landed. Natasha was loading her guns—silent clicks echoing through the ice cold air—Bucky was adjusting his metal arm, Steve was fixing his shield and even Thor’s lightnings crackled through his new weapon. They all expected a fight upon their arrival and they were not entirely wrong.

The Frost Giants had left traces. It was almost beautiful. The rivers, houses, bushes, trees and streets, everything was frozen and glittering and glistening in the weak sunlight. Loki knew they must have established themselves a little empire and now abandoned it to hunt their next big prize.

“Look around you,” he explained impatiently. “Does this look like a battlefield to you? It is not. Mortals are no match for Jötuns and they knew this. Anything that is made of ice and moves—kill it. What we are searching for are their headquarters. A place for them to hide while the lower among them do the dirty work.” It did not sound much different from how Odin had ruled. Loki suppressed a scoff. It was a trait the dead king had passed on to his only biological son. He, Loki, was the brains, Thor was only the muscles. Some things would never change…

“So what do we do?” Wanda’s voice cut through the air, her Eastern European accent heavier than usual. He had by now noticed it did so whenever she was upset or nervous. Nothing Loki should be worried about as long as she kept her powers in control.

“We split up.” Thor announced loudly before Loki had a chance to reply. But yes. Working in solitude was what the God of Mischief had learned to prefer when the only person he could ever truly rely on was himself. Besides, upon an encounter with another Jötun, he would not have to dread turning all blue and monstrous in front of the Avengers—they mistrusted him as is.

There were no castles in Iceland, not really. But the God of Mischief, knowing exactly what to pay attention to, soon found what he was looking for. It was an old ruin, a former farm house—and it was the perfect place for starting an icy kingdom. The first of many places to find Jötun guards, councillors or even one of their leaders.

“I found something,” he announced dryly, still getting used to the little headset device that enabled him to communicate with the Avengers. “Stay where you are, I am going in first.”

“Hold on a second, Reindeer Games. What’s your location?”

But he had already turned the annoying piece of electronics off. It would only distract him, especially if he was forced to listen to Stark’s dull voice. Rolling his eyes, he approached the frozen farm house and pushed open the door, not even flinching when his skin made contact with the ice cold doorknob. Then, he stepped inside.

A/N: And so it begins...

If you enjoyed this chapter, would you consider buying me a coffee for the next? I’d appreciate your support so much! kofi.com/sserpente (or hit the ‘Support me’ button on my blog!)

[paladin-andric]

The Price of Ambition

Hello, everyone! I hope this finds you all well. I haven’t made as much progress in Blackheart as I’d hoped, but I have been getting back into writing! As a treat, here’s a follow-up to a story a lot of people liked. Some of you may remember the tale of Seigot Ironheart, the mighty Chieftain of Oakwall and the only true High King of all Wolfmen! Here we see the not so happily ever after of his reign, and a chance at redemption for a son who saw the kingdom collapse...

“Noble master.”

A figure emerged from the shadows, slipping through the hall silently as he trudged towards the one and only High King.

High King...such words had never been uttered but in wild fantasies. The idea that the scattered, ever-warring tribes of the dacuni would ever unite under a mighty king that would forge their barren lands into a sprawling empire was but a childish fantasy.

Only it wasn’t a fantasy anymore. One man, one legend, had carved his name into history by making that feat a reality.

Seigot Ironheart, Chief of the Oakwall Tribe had done the impossible. He took a tiny tribe and conquered all. He rolled over the rest, across all of his people’s ancestral homelands, until every dacuni was united, all living in one state: The Dacun Empire.

Raiding parties had transitioned from fighting each other to striking south. The koutu, pona...none were safe from the mighty warrior hordes of a united dacuni people. Even Geralthin suffered. The humans, with all their cunning and magic and steel and lies could not hold the Varagies back!

The High King fell in love some time after his advisors warned him of the need of an heir. He found love on his own terms, though he certainly paid for it by turning away many political brides that might have granted him greater control over the rowdy aristocrats.

He had raised his son lovingly, doting on him nearly as much as his mother did. This was not something chieftains often bothered with, let alone mighty hero-kings.

In an age of political expediency, massive families, court guardians, and sons and daughters being married and shipped off for alliances and foreign claims, a truly bonded, loving family was something to note.

Gerail had loved his father. He’d felt such a warmth in his heart whenever they had a heart-to-heart that he would have done anything to make him proud.

He had attempted just that.

Seigot’s legacy was the unified high kingdom. He had entered a valley of dust and left an empire of stone and marble in his wake. He didn’t want it to all be for nothing.

So as he got on in years, he began to tutor young Gerail in the ways of rulership, diplomacy and administration. His intentions were obvious; he was forging his son into the next High King.

Gerail tried so hard. He had listened and trained with his father in everything from economics to speechcraft. He wanted nothing more than to please the father he held so dearly.

But both of them could tell he wasn’t cut out for it.

He lacked charisma, the raw force of personality his father had that had kept the rowdy dacuni together. He was no good with numbers and accounts, the treasury would flounder under his reign. He had no skill in administration and critical thought, surely the advisors and councils would end up taking all the power from him.

The military laughed at his efforts to lead, as did everyone else. He tried to be diplomatic, but his personality, that of a naive appeaser, led him to failure. He wanted everyone to be his friend, but his meekness and apparent desperation to be liked meant every with a shred of cunning and wit could simply take advantage of him. False assurances of friendship and mischievous grins were common in the royal halls once he ascended to power.

His father could tell he lacked in all regards when it came to managing an empire. That was fine. Not everyone was cut out for it. It was a monstrous task, after all.

But by this time, he and his wife were very old...and no longer could they bear children. Gerail was their only child, and the only person with a shred of legitimacy to the throne.

As those final days drew near, Gerail knew it. His father didn’t believe in him. He could see it in his eyes.

The elderly king, lying on his deathbed, never admitted that though. More importantly, he reminded Gerail of what truly mattered.

“No matter what happens, do not worry,” he muttered. That withered and raspy voice...it was foreign to the strong and mighty High King. “Whatever happens next, remember this...you are my son. You are my son, and I love you. I love you more than anything on this earth, I promise you that. Bear no shame, think nothing of my approval...should the worst come to pass...I will never stop loving you. You are a wonderful person, with the greatest, kindest heart I have ever seen. Be proud, Gerail...be proud of yourself, as I am proud of you. So very proud.”

He was more important to Seigot than a throne, a legacy. Their blood ran thicker than mere words on a stranger’s lips.

Gerail refused to face the world for quite some time after his father passed on, to meet the old gods. In life he had patronized Baba, goddess of the harvest. He always remarked how much he admired the virtues of diligence, honesty and grit that Baba both personified and taught. Hopefully she had received his soul warmly in the afterlife.

Once he gathered himself, Gerail was coronated, and began his reign.

It went as well as he had expected.

Countless issues, unfathomable obstacles, merciless opposition and backbreaking work…

“Why would anyone ever want to be king?” he had asked himself.

His weak reign, along with a terrible famine, resulted in riots. Instead of coming down hard, he let them be. After all, they just wanted to eat, wanted to live. How could he punish them for that?

The riots, left to fester, erupted into full-scale revolts. The commoners ran across the countryside, claiming various crown holdings as free land.

The nobles, wealthy and influential aristocrats soon began plotting for independence. All Gerail did in response was talk. Seeing that a civil war was imminent, he tried to work out concessions, deals, and issued an official plea for peace.

The mighty wolfmen, indomitable warriors with a penchant for violence...he simply begged them not to rebel.

Needless to say everything spiraled out of control. Most of the military was on the sides of various enemy forces at the dawn of the war, and the royal army was separated and weak due to the scattered nature of the holdings that stayed loyal.

The army was quickly overrun, and now only a few loyalists remained. They were currently outside, guarding the palace.

Gerail was slouched over on his throne, his gaze distant. His fist rested against the side of his head, and his scowl made his emotions obvious. His fanciful robes and heavy crown clashed with the way he carried himself.

He was currently stewing over all of what had happened in the past few months. He cursed himself, cursed his incompetence, wondered why it had to be this way-

“N-noble master!” the voice cried out, nervous but insistent.

Raising your voice to the High King...it wasn’t something any slave would normally ever even think of doing, but these were odd times. Besides...he was a special case.

The young wolfman before him wore nothing save a cloth wrap, like most slaves. He had a large tree emblazoned on his shoulder, a branding identifying him as a slave of the Oakwall, the tribe this kingdom rose from.

The young man, Harad, was born into slavery, being the child of a slave couple Gerail’s father had owned some time ago. Gerail and Harad were the same age, and Harad had been trained as a personal servant of the royal family. As such, he and Gerail had grown up together, and were inseparable friends.

But why did he needed to be branded? Gerail thought to himself, Such needless pain and scarring...is that any way to reward loyal servants? Why do there have to be slaves, anyway?

Slavery was not something wolfmen questioned. It had been ingrained in their culture since time immemorial. Dragons had enslaved them, brutalized them and brought untold suffering to their people. Once they were the ones in power, they took their own slaves. In the minds of the dacuni, if they were not the ones in control, there was no point in begging or hoping for mercy; they expected none from those that defeated them, and so they should show none to their enemies.

And yet...Gerail wondered why. They were all dacuni, weren’t they? Why enslave each other?

He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, Harad. I...I’m thinking.”

The young slave bowed and averted his gaze. “O-of course, master, but...I think it’s time.”

Gerail frowned. “So soon?”

“Rommel said they’ll be here by nightfall.”

The Fox, as he was known, for his wily and cunning tactics. Yet like a fox, he fought ferociously when cornered.

“Is he positive?”

The slave shrugged. “He’s always been good with intel. You know that, master.”

Gerail looked to the floor glumly. “This is my home. I grew up here, learned all I knew here...and now I must leave it forever, you say?”

“I-I have memories here too, master.”

Gerail looked over to the slave. His eyes were wide and sad. He wagered he probably wore a similar look on his own face.

“You do, don’t you? Both of us do.”

Harad offered a pained smile. “Cleaning your room was always a blessing, sir...how your friendship eased my woes so very much.”

For a moment, Gerail’s face warped into that of a genuinely happy man. He remembered when they were both children. Harad had started his servitude very early in his life, helping to clean the palace and perform basic duties for the royal family. Any time he had business in the prince’s chambers it had always turned into the two chatting or playing games together.

It never mattered that one was master and the other slave. They were just children that wanted a friend to play with.

Seigot only got to scold the young slave once...before Gerail broke into tears over how the other child was his only friend. The High King always looked the other way when Harad slacked in his duties to play with the prince after that.

The slave’s job was to serve the royal family in any way desired, and if keeping his son happy was one of those ways, who was he to argue?

Gerail’s eyes lingered over that branding mark on Harad’s shoulder. The slave took notice.

“Master, what are you staring at?”

“Did it hurt?”

The young servant raised a brow. “I’m sorry?”

“Getting branded. The hot iron, pressed against bare flesh...how did you stand it?”

Harad shrugged. “It hurt, but it was quick. It wasn’t too bad.”

Gerail slipped off his throne and approached the other man. His eyes were on that black mark of an oak tree.

“I don’t get it.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Why did you need to be branded?”

“To show that I am your property, master.”

“What a rotten reward for a loyal servant.”

Harad shook his head. “That was the entry fee to this life, not the reward.”

The High King gave his friend a saddened look. “Then what IS your reward?”

“Serving the greatest king the world has ever known!”

Gerail laughed and shook his head. “We both know that’s not true. I’m a terrible ruler. But a year in power and an entire empire is dust.”

Harad forced a grin. “W-well, okay, maybe not the greatest as in ruling...but you’re the greatest when it comes to heart!”

The High King frowned. He reached out and, without thinking, touched the branding mark on Harard’s shoulder.

The slave quivered reflexively, but steadied himself. “S-sir?”

Gerail’s eyes widened, and he quickly jerked his arm back. “O-oh, by the gods, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have. I know how your father hated that…”

Harad’s expression grew somber. “Ah. Well, it was different for him. Yes, touching his shoulder was...something he hated.”

“I remember how he’d react when someone would put an arm around his shoulders, or you’d poke him there. The look in his eyes, how he’d shrink away.”

Harad shrugged. “Like I said, it was different for him. He used to be free before he was...captured. Touching his mark brought him back to that moment he became a slave. It was a horrid reminder, that was why he was sensitive about it. Me, though? I’ve known of no life beyond these walls. There’s no painful memories to recollect...just the times we’d get lectured for slacking off!”

Gerail sighed. “But why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why are you a slave? Why is anyone a slave?”

The servant shrugged. “Because my mother and father before me were slaves?”

“So? Why should that matter?”

“Because it’s passed down, like being king! That’s just the way it is.”

Gerail pouted. “It shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

The High King could barely believe this. He had probed about this before, and slaves seemed all too quick to accept their eternal, lifelong servitude. Why was that?

“Because it’s wrong.”

Harad shrugged again. “Doesn’t feel very wrong to me.”

“Gods damn it, Harad! You’re a slave! You’re chattel, like livestock! How can you say that feels right?!”

“But I’m not. I have the greatest master I could ever ask for!”

“Harad...you really enjoy being my slave? You WANT this? Please, tell me...why?”

Harad furrowed his brows. “Master Gerail...listen to me. Your father, the High King...he was my master. My life was in his hands. He could have done anything he wanted, and...he made me clean his palace and play games with you. He could have tormented my father, thrown him to the dogs when his age made performing his duties impossible...but he didn’t. He gave them a small holding to spend their final years in. My mother and father, slaves, thralls...they lived like aristocrats.”

Gerail’s expression softened. “Harad…”

“Gerail, do you know what would happen if I was the slave of someone other than your family? I would spend every waking moment in some mine shaft, suffering in agony to enrich another before keeling over dead. I would be whipped and tortured for fun, forced to do unspeakable things for the amusement of some twisted lord. But you, Gerail, you’re different. You watch over me with a kind and merciful hand. Indeed, I say proudly, that I belong to you! I could ask for no better life in my station!”

It was true. That was what made Seigot so successful in his campaign of conquest. His own slaves, and the slaves of tribes that he captured...he was so kind and merciful to them that slaves eagerly stayed with him, knowing that while they bore the mark of servitude, no life outside the walls of the High King’s palace could ever hope to compare. He had put them in a situation where they could never leave, and yet they wouldn’t want to. In an ironic twist of fate, the slaves had become the most loyal and trustworthy of Seigot’s confidants. Why rebel for a chance at a worse life?

Gerail looked away. “I don’t want to be your master. I don’t want you to be mere property. You’re my friend...I want you to be safe and happy, without the threat of tyranny over your head.”

Harad smirked. “Hah, you only prove me right! If master cares so deeply about my well-being and happiness, who else is more qualified to ensure it?”

“Harad! YOU are!”

“Like I said, I carry the mark of slavery. I can’t be a free man, none would respect that if I tried to leave. I’d be abducted by another. By being my master, you protect me from that. Only you can ensure the life you want me to have.”

Gerail put a hand over his head and sighed. “That’s why I said branding is stupid! If no one knew you were a former slave, you could live happily.”

“I am living happily.”

Gerail looked up at Harad, who only shook his head.

“But I-”

“Don’t. Look, just don’t question it. I’m happy. If that’s what you’re truly worried about, than I’m happy. You know it, and I know it. That’s all that matters.”

The High King groaned. “God, I’m so confused…”

“Master, just forget about it...there are other pressing matters to discuss, like, say, the approaching army.”

Gerail nodded sadly. “Ah, gods...I’ve taken an empire of stone and ground it to dust.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is!” Gerail insisted. “I’ve led our people to ruin, fractured a mighty kingdom and spread misery to those who follow me!”

“Your enemies did all that, not you.”

“I let it happen.”

Harad snarled. “You tried, sir!”

“And I failed!” Gerail cried. The young monarch stumbled back and collapsed back onto his throne of iron. “I always fail.”

“Master…”

“You can’t prove me wrong there,” the king said with a note of disgust, “I’ve dishonored my family.”

“Your father said no such thing, my lord. He was proud of you.”

“No. He knew I was a worthless leader. He could tell I would ruin everything.”

“But he was proud of you as a person. As his son. He was proud to have someone so honorable as his legacy.”

Gerail blinked, looking up from his throne. “Harad…?”

“I know how hard it is for you to get out there and give orders, the way it makes you quail. I don’t blame you. Your father didn’t blame you. That’s just the way it is.”

The High King lowered his head, teary-eyed. “I-I ruined everything...why can’t I just SPEAK?! Why?! Why does my heart seize when I try to do what my father did effortlessly?!”

“That’s just who you are. You can’t change that.”

“I-if I wasn’t so helpless...if I could just muster the spine to DO something…”

Gerail was jolted by the feeling of a hand planting itself firmly on his shoulder. He looked up to see his friend standing beside him, smiling warmly at him.

“It’s not your fault. I promise.”

Gerail couldn’t help it. He burst into tears, weeping as his friend silently comforted him.

He had let everyone down, everyone who was counting on him. His loyal soldiers and subjects that stood against overwhelming odds for him were all but killed and conquered. The few friends he had left were being dragged down with him when they could have salvaged positions in the new regimes.

But most of all, his father. The one and only High King...for he hesitated to even use the title that was his birthright, so distant were they in skill and ability. He had wanted this unity to last forever...but the tribes were back to their old ways in little under a year after his death.

“I sullied everything,” Gerail muttered, wiping at his face.

“Some things just aren’t meant to be,” Harad assured him, “You tried your hardest, and that’s all that can be asked of you. I promise that your father understands. He told you so, didn’t he?”

“Y-yeah, but…”

“Come on,” the servant offered, “We should leave now. If there’s one thing father WOULD be disappointed with, it’s you getting killed by a bunch of savage raiders!”

The young ruler looked around him, at the hall. A fine carpet, stout stone, and wondrous trophies of glorious conquests...all earned and made by his father.

“...I want to save as many of my father’s things as I can. They don’t deserve them. Father doesn’t deserve to have all his things stolen.”

“I’ll help carry them to the wagon, master! If we get the others I’ll bet we can pack everything away before the enemy gets here!”

…

Progress went swiftly. The rest of the servants and volunteers knew they were running out of time, and so they worked at a breakneck pace to vacate the palace of its valuables.

Along with the treasures and trophies came sentimental objects. Books, poems, gifts and personal objects of reflection. The ruler was sure to get his parent’s ashes before he made one final round in his own room.

Under the bed, he noticed something he had missed the last few times he cleared the room of its things. Getting on his knees he stuck his hands under the sheets draped over the small space under the bed and reached, and…

What he pulled back out made him freeze in place.

In his hand was a small figurine of wood. It was a wooden owl with its wings spread out, with beady eyes staring back at him.

This was the figurine his father had taught him to carve with.

Before he could even process things further, tears were streaming down his face, and a wide smile spread across it.

He ran his thumb over the wood, feeling the imperfections and relishing the memory as that night come flooding back to him. The messy table. The warm fire roaring and crackling beside him. The wooden shavings brushing against his fur. The smell of Linden wood. His father, with an arm across his shoulder pointing at the unfinished figurine, telling him how to proceed.

Gerail’s smile became a grin as he pressed the owl against his chest, hugging it tightly as his face became matted with tears.

He didn’t have an empire anymore, but he had found something much greater.

The memory of a life valued beyond any treasure.

Father...I’m not the man you were...but I’ll keep being the one you’re proud of. I promise.

…

Gerail bumped into Harad as he rounded a corner in the hall. The young slave looked panicked as he addressed the king.

“Sir, I’ve been looking for you! We have to go NOW!”

“Harad? What’s-”

“They’re here!”

The king quickly shook off his shock and broke into a run, his friend rushing beside him.

“The wagons are loaded and ready,” Harad explained, “B-but I don’t think we can outrun them, they’re so close!”

The pair rushed into the main hall and out the front doors, which were wide open. Outside a large collection of men, women and soldiers stood awaiting them.

“Are you alright?!” Rommel probed. The general was identifiable by his sturdy iron-plated armor, which the other soldiers lacked. In addition, he wore a metal cap with a decoratory pelt atop it that showed off his rank.

“I’m fine, let’s go!”

The thundering sound of stomping and cheering caused the group to turn to the side. There, in the forest, a massive collection of wild, snarling warriors rushed toward the palace. The nearby tribe, here to wipe out the last remnants of loyalist rule.

Rommel’s eyes widened for a moment before he closed his eyes. After a few seconds, he looked back at Gerail with a saddened expression.

“It appears my men and I will not be accompanying you on your journey. It’s been an honor to serve, your majesty.”

“W-what?!” Gerail shook his head wildly. “No, no, there's still time! Get on the wagons and-”

“FORMATIONS!” Rommel cried. In no time at all, the axemen and bowmen were in lines, forming a defensive wall between them and the enemy.

Before he could muster another objection, Gerail felt hands grab at him and pull him away.

“W-wait, no! Don’t!”

“We’re out of time!” a servant cried desperately, “We can’t die here!”

Gerail struggled before moving along with the fleeing crowd. “No! Rommel...ROMMEL!”

The general nodded back at the crowd. “Farewell, my king.”

As the group fled to the wagons, Rommel steeled himself. He knew this was the end, but he conducted himself with the same calmness and grace the last king had shown. A straight back, a steely gaze, and a loud but calm voice did wonders to inspire the men.

As the howling warriors approached, Rommel drew his blade, looking at his men one last time.

“We all know why we’re here. We’re only to buy time for the true High King. I am gladdened to have had the privilege to serve alongside you all...NOW GIVE THE BASTARDS YONDER A CHEER!”

…

“It’s not right...it just isn’t right!”

Harad sat beside Gerail inside the wagon. With little room to sit with all the valuable crammed within, the pair sat huddled together. The servant patted the back of his lord and nodded, an understanding look of sadness in his eyes.

“I know, I know.”

“We were so close...why?! Why does this keep happening?! They trusted me!”

“They saved us all!”

“They shouldn’t have had to! They shouldn’t have had to…”

Harad sighed, looking out into the rolling countryside. Alongside them, other wagons were traveling, the final remnants of those that trusted in the young king.

“I know, but what can be done?”

“Rommel and the Thirty-Fourth...they should be here. They deserve to be here, a-and now...and now they’re gone, because of me!”

“It wasn’t your fault!” Harad insisted!

“Yes it was, it was this time! I spent an hour blubbering and wasting everyone’s time and...and if I hadn’t…”

“No!”

The young king turned and saw Harad giving him a serious look.

“We thought they coming at nightfall. We thought we had all day to evacuate. They took us by surprise.”

“But-”

“It’s NOT your fault. It’s all our fault...but there’s nothing that can be done about it. All we can do now is honor their final wishes and make sure this wasn’t in vain. We have to get to safety...for them.”

Gerail put his hands over his face and lamented the situation. Why wouldn’t anything just turn out well?

“After all, it’s like Tacitul always said…‘We owe our greatest burdens to the fallen we knew’.”

The king blinked for a moment, his hands leaving his face as he turned to stare at Harad in bewilderment. “W-wha…? Harad...was that a line from The Jewel?”

“Sure is.”

“I...I thought you couldn’t read.”

Harad let out a giggle. “Maybe I taught myself by watching you. And MAYBE I…‘borrowed’ some of your favorite books.”

Gerail was silent for a moment before his frown curled into a smile. He began to laugh, and Harad joined him.

…

Gerail stepped out of the wagon, looking around him. A small crowd of loyalists were stopped in a rocky plain of snow and dirt. Dead trees were all around them, and the wagon-train had come to a stop.

“Well, what do you think?” one of the others probed, “It’s a pretty safe location to start building. You can continue your rule from here, with the safety of the southern border guarding our flank.”

Gerail thought it over for a moment. He almost meekly agreed as he saw the crowd looked ready to set up camp...but then he got to thinking.

What would he do? Eke out a living in the barren wilderness of the rough tundra around them? Continue the fight and set up a “state” so pathetic the other tribes wouldn't even bother to put his rule out of its misery? Claim rulership of the united kingdom that didn’t exist anymore, and had no hope of returning under him?

“No.”

The others were surprised by his answer. He had never spoken so firmly in denial before.

“S-sir?”

“I...I’ve HAD IT!” Gerail roared, “I’ve had it with all this nonsense! I’ve had it with this statecraft, this stupid kingdom! I’m finished with this murder and killing and robbery and slavery! NO! I’m NOT doing it all over again!”

The High King removed his iron crown and threw it to the ground with a heavy clang, shocking everyone. The crowd gasped as they watched him rage and rant in such a manner. He had always been meek and deferential. To watch him finally crack…

“M-master…?” Harad looked at him nervously with the crown in his hands, having hastily scooped it up off the ground. He timidly held it out to the king.

Gerail gestured to the wagons. “Load it in the wagon. I’m not wearing it anymore. We’re leaving.”

“Sir? Where will we go?”

Gerail furrowed his brows at he looked over to the horizon. “...We’re going to Geralthin.”

…

The trip had taken most of the day. As last, however, they came to a stop.

A few hours into Geralthin yielded a tangible result. Stepping out into the clearing, Gerail found a verdant forest surrounding the open, grassy clearing. The setting sun left vibrant hues of pinks and oranges in the sky. With a comfortable base of operations, surrounded by natural barriers…

“I think...I think this is it,” Gerail said quietly.

The others were gazing around the clearing, eyes alight with wonder and curiosity.

“So this is what Geralthin is like…” one of them muttered.

“Wow...look at the trees!”

Harad walked over to the king, head tilting to the side. “Sir? Is this...our stop?”

“Yes...yes, this is it. Let’s set up here.”

“What will we do, sir?”

Gerail smiled. “We’ll live. No more of this warring, tireless nights and unending struggling. We’ll just live our own lives and be happy. Let’s make a village and be merry. We’ll start with making cabins for everyone!”

Harad grinned. “That sounds lovely, sir! I can’t wait to get started!”

Gerail frowned. “Ah, that’s right. Someone! Get me an ink quill and some parchment.”

The others obliged, getting some writing material from the supplies loaded on the wagon-train. Gerail hastily scribbled something down on parchment.

Taking an interest, Harad leaned over, eyes on the blank side of the sheet. “What are you up to, master?”

“Just a moment...there!” Gerail stopped righting and cleared his throat. “People! Gather around! I have an announcement!”

The crowd of survivors quickly ceased their exploring of the land and ran to gather in front of their king. With all of them waiting, Gerail raised his voice.

“With the power invested in me, I hereby pass this decree into law! This clearing is now New Oakwall! Furthermore, I declare myself Mayor of New Oakwall!”

The crowd cheered with a notable degree of zeal, everyone seeming excited by this declaration.

“Secondly...I, King Gerail, hereby...ABDICATE from my position as High King of the Unified Dacun Empire!”

The cheers quickly became dismayed cried and shocked sputterings of disbelief.

“W-what?! Master?!”

Gerail turned to look at his old friend Harad. “Master...master! It’s interesting you call me that, for third on my list is this...as Mayor of New Oakwall, I hereby ban the practice of slavery in all of its forms within our land!”

Even more chattering and cries. He had flipped everyone’s expectations on their heads in one fell swoop.

“S-sir, are you...are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Gerail spoke firmly. For the first time he could remember, speaking in front of all these people...his heart did not quail, he felt no knots in his stomach. He was...serene.

“Come on, people. We’re not retaking the empire. I think that’s obvious. Let’s just focus on this humble valley, and building the best lives we can for ourselves. Furthermore, there is no place for slaves and masters here. Today...we’re all just settlers.”

Harad gave the now past-king a guilty smile, rubbing at his arm. “Heheh...I suppose my branding argument holds no water in a foreign land where none care about such marks.”

Gerail smirked. “That’s right...my friend. From now on, you’re a free man, with undeniable rights. No more ‘master’ or ‘sir’, understand?”

“Well, actually...you’re still my mayor, sir.”

Gerail rolled his eyes and groaned. “I hereby call for an election in a week’s time.

“Oh, Gerail!”

The former king chuckled. “Alright, alright...let’s get moving people! Get the tools and start cutting at the trees! We need shelter for the night ahead!”

As the group left for the wagons, Gerail took a moment to gaze at the setting sun.

Everyone that had worked to get to this point, everyone that had given all to get the king here...it wouldn’t be in vain.

They had given the last remnants of the kingdom a future to believe in, a place free of fear and suffering.

General Rommel and his men, the loyal army, the servants and raiders, all the families...and mother and father. Their efforts had paid off. They had brought them to this new place.

“Home,” Gerail whispered to himself.

…

There was some confusion when the humans stumbled upon a wolfman colony on their side of the border. What they thought was an invasion force quickly worked to rectify the situation.

They were simply escaped slaves seeking a better life, they had explained.

It wasn’t EXACTLY a lie, plus the branding marks lent credence to that story.

In the end, the loyal nobles decided they could stay, so long as they didn’t start trouble. Their leader assured the humans they wanted nothing more than to live in peace and harmony with their benefactors.

That same leader quickly made friends with a nearby human village, and soon enough the wolfmen were considered locals.

It seemed Gerail had finally found the passion, courage and character within himself needed to lead. A shame it came too late to save the kingdom, but at least he could lead his fellows in the village to peace and prosperity.

None knew of their true origins, that the small village was led by the true heir to the High Kingdom of the wolfmen, the son of Seigot Ironheart, the legendary conqueror.

But that was how they liked it. The victorious wolfman tribes assumed Gerail’s band of survivors got lost and died somewhere in the wilderness. They turned on each other, and in no time at all the wolfmen were more divided than they had ever been.

Unbeknownst to the rest of this world, if one were to enter the village of the quiet and friendly wolfmen, and they were to enter the temple dedicated to Asvarnin, the God of Sin, they would find something remarkable.

The temple itself is humble and plain, and the villagers arrive to pray to the God of Sin for absolution and atonement for all living things. No outsiders are permitted to enter the underground floor, but if one somehow snuck past the guards...they would find a room full of precious artifacts underneath. Things that used to belong to the High King of the wolfmen.

At the far end of the room, past all the treasures and artifacts, one would find two things of note. First would be the pair of urns that contained the ashes of the First High King and his wife.

Secondly, a large tablet with a long list of names. From Segiot to Rommel, this was a memorial to all the people the prince to the throne knew, and those that perished to grant him his second chance at life.

No one knew of this, of course. They were just escaped slaves with a friendly disposition. They visited the humans, and the humans visited them. They helped one another and flourished together out on the northern frontier, forging mighty bonds between their people.

For the rest of their lives, the former king and his subjects lived happily as the freemen of New Oakwall.

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadchronicles, @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @candy687, @fierywords, @shewrites-sometimes, @nerds-and-nebulae, @purpleshadows1989

[deepdaleducks]

Embers (Slow Burn 3/Fire Series) - Dele

Author’s Note - again a massive thank you to everyone for reading this series. I’m gonna write three more chapters so keep an eye out for those! Before you read this make sure to read part one and two otherwise nothing will make sense. Hope you enjoy feedback is more than welcome (it makes me so happy so PLEASE give it)

Part One - Slow Burn

Part Two - Flicker

There’s not much thought that goes into the decision to ignore every single one of his texts and calls. Your text chat a one-way stream of baby please call me, I’m sorry, please just let me explain, if you let me explain it’ll all be okay, can we talk about this, you can’t ignore me forever, baby please, I love you, I’m sorry. His name appearing multiple times in your call log, each one with the red phone next to it to show it went unanswered. The flowers he sent to your office on Thursday on your colleague’s desk instead, after you had tried to throw them in the bin and she’d insisted they were too pretty to go to waste. The week goes by easily, your friends coming over for dinner to distract you from the thoughts in your mind. Another half a series of Grey’s Anatomy finished and three empty bottles of red wine in the recycling bin.

On Saturday, Chloe calls, claiming her week has been busy and she’s been dying to here about how things with Dele are going. You laugh aloud at her wording, telling her that things aren’t going anywhere at all and if anything things have back pedalled so far that you might as well pretend you have never met. Explaining the situation to her helps you to mull it all over in your head clearly. For five days you’d been thinking over it all in a million different ways. So with her, you start again from the beginning, like sifting through a freshly opened jigsaw and finally putting pieces together. You discuss how you met, how he tried to kiss you that first night, how you became friends because you were dating someone else, him meeting Ruby, your break up, him trying to set you up with other people. She listens to your every word and by the time you even get on to talking about his break up you’re forty-five minutes into the phone call.

“I just don’t get why he was constantly going back to her.” She says, huffing in annoyance. “Like, if he knew you were in love with him, and that’s why their relationship ended, why on earth was he still sleeping with her? Actually, more importantly why was she still sleeping with him?”

“Have you seen him? That’s why,” you reply, attempting to laugh whilst you do so.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be hating him right now? God, he’s such a fucking dick…”

And you continue with your story, everything he said in the kitchen last Saturday night, how things could have gone in the living room on Sunday night. When you get on to the events of Monday night she starts yelling, screaming that she’s going to come and ‘punch him to France and back’. After a while, her doorbell rings and she says that she has to go as Marcus’ girlfriend has arrived and they’re having a sleepover before going to watch the game tomorrow. She hangs up and you absentmindedly turn on the TV, Match of the Day immediately coming on. Reaching for the remote, you go to turn it off when they begin to show the highlight of Spurs’ game against Burnley. Your heart aches at their 2-1 loss, knowing how angry he will still be at his injury, how he would be grumbling at the tv saying what he would have done differently if he’d been able to play. The battle in your mind begins again. Your thoughts once again torn between the love found in years of friendship and the hurt caused by his actions. Your complete lack of trust acting as the canyon between the two feelings.

  Your doorbell rings early on Sunday morning and you’re pleased to find your best friend, Amy, stood on the porch. She takes you for brunch, refusing to let a Sunday tradition die, even though you had to change your brunch partner. Afterwards you go window shopping and browse various furniture stores, planning your dream houses of the future. She tells you about her date last night and gives you gossip about her sisters, trying everything to not let you think about your own love life. The darkness begins to settle in after your early dinner and you both head to your cars to go home. For the first time all week, your phone doesn’t light up with his name, and you think that maybe he’s given up. Maybe he’s gone back to her again, and maybe he’s happy.

But when you arrive home, there he is, sat at the breakfast bar, back facing you and head hung low. He doesn’t turn around when he hears you come in, only lifting his head slightly to acknowledge your presence, planning to let you speak first. You move closer warily, a whole list of questions forming in your mind. You’d ask how he got in, why he’s here, what he wants. But you already know the answers. He’s here because you’ve been ignoring his calls for a week. He’s here to talk; to plead his case. And he’s here because of a small, carved piece of metal that you had given him once, back when he was the person you trusted most in the world. You notice it sitting on the counter in front of him, single and alone, not even attached to a ring or a chain. Walking past him, you tilt your head to look at the key, not bothering to glance up at his face.

“I gave you that for emergencies…” You trail off in a harsh and cold tone. “And for watering my plants when I’m away.”

He finally lifts his eyeline further to gaze up at you on the other side of he breakfast bar. “Well I figured that since you haven’t answered any of my calls and texts all week, maybe you’d dropped off the face of the earth and your plants might need a water,” his voice is spiteful but comes with a humour underlayer that attempts to break through your stone-cold expression.

“My plants are just fine without you. I am just fine without you, thank you very much.” You lie, brave face feeling weaker by the second.

“I’m not.” He replies, lowly. You take a moment to look him over, eyes dull and hollow, hair tousled and messy, skin paler and cheeks a little gaunt. He looks like he hasn’t slept or ate in days, and as bad as it seems, it makes you feel a little better to know he’s been suffering. “I’ve been going out of my mind without you. What you saw on Monday, it wasn’t what you think. I went out and I ran into her.”

“Okay so you ran into her when you were out, how the hell did she end up in your car on your driveway?” You interject, unwilling to hear his spiel.

“How was I supposed to know you’d be there to see that? You told me you were going out with Amy.” He defends, not doing himself any favours in his wording.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Dele? Do you even hear what you’re saying?” you yell back, throwing your hands in the air in exasperation.

“She was there to pick up the rest of her stuff! Okay?” He cries, temper rising to your level. “After what happened on Sunday, I didn’t want that to happen again. And she still had stuff there. I know we’d been broken up for weeks, but she still had some clothes there and make up and some fucking shampoo things in the bathroom. I didn’t want you to have to see that. I was planning to throw it out, but then I saw her, and I figured that she should just come take it instead, rather than throw it out.”

“Oh yes because now was the perfect time to be acting in favour of the environment, congrats, Del.” You retort, flicking on the kettle a little more aggressively than necessary.

“Maybe I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe it wasn’t the most well thought out of ideas. But I wanted that stuff gone, and she was there, and its her stuff. Look I might not have made the most sensible of decisions, but at least I’m not the one who chose to completely misread a situation. And I’m not the one who’s so immature that I ignored your calls and texts all week and didn’t even give you a chance to explain.” Defensively, he pleads his case, moving from his seat by the breakfast bar, to come stand in the centre of the kitchen with you. His words do nothing but rile you up further, but you let your anger show through silence. The air between you falling flat, you stand on opposite sides of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He pauses. “I’m sorry about all of it. I should have texted you, I should have told you that she was coming over. I- I just thought that because you were out, you would go home and that I could just tell you the next day.”

“Actually, I don’t think you were thinking at all.” You take a breath and look him in the eye, smiling slightly to lift the atmosphere, “but when do you ever, right?” Your joke helps to subside some of the anger building inside you. As if on autopilot, you reach into the cupboard and pull out two mugs, making two cups of tea, one with one sugar and one with a splash of milk. He mumbles a thank you when you pass him a steaming hot mug, the two of you now a little closer together.

“Her stuff is gone. She took a taxi home. I haven’t seen or heard from her since Monday.” He says, defeated. You look him in the eyes, trying your best to decipher if he’s telling the truth. “I know you don’t trust me right now. And I know that my actions in the past don’t exactly make it seem like I’m telling the truth. But I promise you, I am. I love you. And I’m so sorry that I might have ruined this. I just really want to work on this with you to fix things, because I know that we can be happy together. I want to be the person making you happy, and it kills me that I’m the one making you hurt right now.” You break eye contact in an attempt not to crack and fall straight into his arms.

“I really want to believe you, Dele. I really do.” You pause and let out a shaky breath. “Just after everything. After hearing you say its over so many times and then watching you fall straight back into her arms. You told me you loved me. How do you think it made me feel to see you with her again? It’s like none of it meant anything. I’ve heard you lie an awful lot, but I never thought you saying you loved me would feel like a lie.”

“It’s not a lie. I do love you” He interrupts.

“Yeah, but it still felt that way and I can’t change that. I wish I could, but I just can’t” You huff, you mug already forgotten on the side. “God, the amount of shit that went through my mind. I’m a worst-case scenario person, you know that. I just kept thinking that you were planning on sleeping with her again. That it was really that easy. That I was nothing to you.” He opens his mouth to speak, but you stop him. “I- I think for now, we need distance. I need to learn to trust you again. You can say you’re sorry and that you love me a million times over, but I think that to move forward from this, and I do want to move forward from this, we need to go back to square one and build something from the ground up.” You give him an earnest look. The thought of losing your best friend outweighing any anger you could harbour. He nods slowing in agreement, choosing not to talk and instead finishing his brew. He moves closer to you, extending a hand out in front of you as if he was greeting his boss. You raise an eyebrow at him in confusion, and he draws your eye line down to his hand. Tentatively, you lift your own and slip your palm into his, shaking his hand lightly.

“Hi, my name is Dele and I’m 99% sure that you’re my entire future. Can I take you out on a date next Friday?” He introduces himself. “Square one, right?” He smirks at you, proud of his ability to worm his way back under your skin.

“How come you’re only 99% sure?” You ask, lips pursed together defiantly.

“Oh no, I’m 1000% sure, I just didn’t want to scare you,” He responds, causing you to laugh out loud. “I’m gonna go. I’ll text you during the week maybe,” He hesitates, nervously. “But you can, erm, you can call me any time – if you want to. And I’ll pick you up at 7 on Friday?”

“Sounds good to me,” You say as he grabs his belongings, noticeably leaving the spare key on the kitchen counter top. You follow him out into the hall, and he opens the front door, before he steps out into the cold, you stop him. “Hey, Del,” you say to get his attention, reaching out for his wrist to pull him back and into a gentle hug. The week of not seeing him and being in his arms making you ache for his touch. When his hands settle round your back and his face rests in your hair, he lets out a sigh, and the both of you relax for a moment. “We’re gonna make it, Del. I know it.” You whisper quietly into his ear, pulling away and brushing a faint kiss on to his cheek. It feels shy and new and reassures you that things will be okay eventually. He lets his hands fall and wishes you a final goodbye, baby before turning and disappearing into the dark of the night.

  You next hear from him two days later through a text message. No hello, how are you just a picture of some paint swatches and the words ‘which of these do you prefer? I’m not good at this’. You might have decided to go back to square one, but he was certainly texting you like you’d been friends for years, which technically you had.

              Me: Are you redecorating?? Which room? My answer definitely depends on the room.

              Del: Whole house. So I’m gonna need a LOT of advice.

              Del: Do you wanna just come over to help?

              Del: I’m sorry that might be too far. It’s okay if you don’t want to.

Across town he sits in his living room, surrounded by paint samples and colour swatches, nerves coursing through his veins, eagerly awaiting your reply. At home, you type a reply, excitement spurring you on.

              Me: No, that’s okay. I’d love to come over. See you in twenty? X

Hitting send, you head off around the house to grab your belongings; car keys, mint gum, jacket from the stairs. You drive the roads to his house without thinking, mind knowing exactly when to turn from completing the journey so many times in the past. He welcomes you at the door, taking your coat and ushering you into the living room, decorating books sprawled out on the floor, small swatches of paint already drying on the walls.

“So, erm. Dare I ask what’s brought this on?” You ask humorously as you slowly make your way around the room looking at his work so far.

“I guess I just wanted a fresh start you know. I don’t want to move because I love this house, but I feel that it’s just a bit dead. Like it could use a bit of life breathing into it.” He replies, joining you on the floor to look over colour samples. A thought forms in the back of your mind that maybe he’s doing this for you. Maybe he’s erasing every trace of her in this house. Maybe he’s really serious about starting from square one. But then you mentally slap yourself for thinking that he’s changing the world for you, when you never asked him to; for thinking more of this than just a man repainting his house.

The two of you sit there on the floor for a while, mulling over colour samples and interior design magazines. Discussing which colour would look best in the kitchen and the dining room. He says he’s already settled on a light blue for the master bedroom, showing you a sample of the paint that he’d picked up at B&Q earlier. The sample being the exact colour of your favourite dress and flower. You smile at the idea of him painting your favourite shade of blue in his house – in his bedroom – and you let yourself dream of a future here, with him, for a minute.

Your conversation drifts from decorating to friends and work. You ask him how his recovery is going, confessing that you’ve still been worrying about him all week. He tells you that he’s still not able to play and that he’ll be attending tomorrow’s game as a fan once more. The idea of him sitting there alone in the stands, dying to be on the pitch, saddens you and before you can stop yourself, you’re letting yourself open up to him again.

“I could come with you? If you wanted, that is. I haven’t been to a Spurs game in ages.”

  He picks you up right on time, as promised. On the drive into the city you discuss the game, who he thinks will be playing, how he thinks it will go. He asks about your day at work and you tease him saying that your colleague appreciated the flowers he had sent her last week. Pulling into the car park, you open the car door to be hit with an unseasonably warm February evening. Feeling a little hot, you stop to tug off your jacket, forgetting about the shirt you picked out earlier that sits underneath. Turning back to grab your bag from inside the car, he notices the name emblazoned across your shoulders. His name. His old shirt, actually. Gifted to you after the first game of the season. When you realise what he’s seen a blush slowly creeps on to your cheek as he smirks at you.

You sit there in the stands together, cheering and yelling, both enthralled by the game. He throws his hands in the air in frustration when the ref blows his whistle for a foul, claiming that it wasn’t a foul at all. His passion for the game distracts you and you find yourself watching less of the game and more of him.

After the game ends, he takes you down to see the rest of the team, all the guys greeting you with hugs and hellos, some of them mentioning that its good to see you. Eric pulls you into a hug, dragging you off down the corridor away from the group.

“You know he’s really sorry, right?” He says lowly, trying not to be overhead by the crowd of people congregating down the corridor. “He should have explained sooner, he fucked up, but he’s been going crazy and he really loves you.”

“Eric,” You cut in, “I know. We’ve talked it all over, and its going to take us a while and a lot of work to get to where we want to be, where we should be. I know you’re his best friend, but you don’t have to plead his case for him.” You nod at him reassuringly.  He smiles back at you, his eyes still boring it to yours worryingly.

“Are you okay? He’s my best friend, and you’re his best friend, so I wanna look out for you,”

“I’m on the way to being okay,” You reply to his question, swinging an arm around his waist and walking back to the group with him.

  Dele drives you home, conversation sparse between songs coming through the radio. His company feeling comfortable the way it used to. He pulls into your driveway, tyres rattling over the gravel. Killing the engine, he turns to look at you.

“About Friday, I want it to be a surprise, but don’t dress too fancy, dress practical.” He says, looking you in the eyes seriously. You crack a smile at him, confused by his statement.

“Dress practical? What’s that supposed to mean?” You question, imagining a whole series of activities he could have planned for you.

“It’s a surprise!” He insists, “just wear like jeans and some trainers or something. I like you like that.”

And so you agree, laughing slightly at how ridiculous he is. “I’ll see you Friday,” you say sweetly, reaching over to kiss his cheek, as a way to reassure him that this is working; that you’re making progress together. He waits in the driveway till get in your house, turning around for one last wave before entering. A blush creeps onto your cheeks making you feel like a teenager again, cursing yourself for being so weak to his charm.

  Friday rolls around once more and you find yourself standing in front of your wardrobe, attempting to find an outfit that was suitable enough to meet his practical dress code. You settled for a classic ‘jeans and a nice top’ look with dark blue jeans and a white blouse, paired with white converse. Hair curled and make up natural, you head to the door when he rings the bell. He stands there in the doorway with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, dressed neat but casually. You invite him in, heading into the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase. He refuses to shed any clues as to where he’s taking you and its still unclear as he drives you into the city. He pulls into a parking garage off Brick Lane and together you walk down the street, still unaware of your destination. You stop in front of a mini golf club and you turn to look at him in disbelief.

“Seriously?” You ask, a little in shock that he would plan something like this; that he would remember something like this.

“First time we ever met, we snuck off from that fancy dinner and went to all night arcade. And you were gutted when we found out that the mini golf was shut.” He states, looking at you with a proud grin on his face. “I promised that I’d take you some other time and I never did.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.” You beam at him, “I’m going to be so happy when I completely wipe the floor with you. You do realise you’re about to get absolutely hammered, right?” You mock, heading through the door with him.

He leads you over to the counter where he collects two balls and clubs, ordering two beers to go along with it. Handing you a beer, the both of you cheers your glasses.

“To starting again,” He says, looking you in the eyes.

“To winning at mini golf,” You say, and he looks away as he laughs before taking a sip. “Oh! You broke eye contact, that’s seven years bad sex for you, mister!”

He looks at you in shock. “That’s not a thing,” he protests, but you adamantly insist that it is; that your German friends from university had taught you the tradition. He smirks at you, “Besides, I don’t think I’m going to be having any bad sex any time soon,”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re not going to be having any sex any time soon,” You retort, walking away from him towards the first hole. He feigns hurt as he follows.

The two of you take turns attempting each course. You perform a lot worse than you had expected, your competitive nature with yourself causing extreme disappointment. He misses the easiest of shots, racking up his points to be higher than yours. And when you finish, your score is 9 points lower than his, making you winner. You brag about the win over French fries and milkshakes, laughing at his defeat. His competitive nature fails to make a show, as he shows pride in your success, beaming at you as you lift the plastic trophy provided for you when you handed in your clubs.

The night drifts on and the dark sky calls you home. Your hand finds his over the console, the touch helping to mend the bridge between you, fingers laces together as he drives. He walks you to your door, asking if you want to go to the game with him in the morning. Instead of answering you reach up a lightly brush your lips over his, timidly, a little bit more of your heart open to him. He’s taken aback initially, allowing you to take the lead. Your hands wind our way around his neck, deepening the kiss. Shocks flow down your veins, only encouraging you further. It feels good be to back in his arms, connected once more. Your fingers weave their way into his hair in an attempt to pull him closer, not wanting to be apart from him anymore. Mind wandering, you forget everything that has happened last week, every shred of self-restraint you once had gone with the wind. With no intentions of stopping it, you open up further to him and he immediately pulls away. Shocked and hurt by the action, you pull back, unwinding your hands from his hair and brushing your hair out of your eyes. Despite it being your decision to take things slowly, his hesitation stings.

“Breakfast tomorrow at half nine before the game, I’ll pick you up.” He says, leaning down to kiss you softly again. It’s quick and leaves no time for you to attempt to pick things up again. You watch as he turns and heads back to his car, shaking your head as a you see him go to attempt to stop thoughts of him from running around your brain.

“God, that boy,” You whisper to yourself, stepping through the door. His charm and gravity pulling your closer back towards being his again with such ease. You could make him grovel all you liked but it wouldn’t take long for him to soon be in your arms again.

Let me know what you thought in my ask box or in the comments and what you wanna see happen next. I have an idea but suggestions are welcome x

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 21: What Only Lives in Memory

Chapters: 21/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Mention of past sexual assault, Mention of past murder Relationships: Loki x Reader (Let’s try this again) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Brunnhilde(Marvel),  Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Here Comes Self-Reflection, Reader Had a Rough Time During the Snap, Loki Tries to Figure Himself Out Summary: Loki moves things forward, while reader reveals the past.

“Hey! Hey, you kidnapping bastard! Give me my daughter back, asshole!”

“That's about the reaction I expected, yes.” Loki said, holding on to his composure in the face of your enraged father. He was an entire ocean away, and merely a mortal man of no consequence, but there was still some intimidation involved. Loki wanted a favor from this man; information. Also, there was something...important, about not being hated by your father, specifically. “Alas, I cannot. It's isn't safe for her, I'm afraid. Her health would deteriorate once more.”

“Yeah, the spandex squad said the same thing. They said it was some kind of magic? Sounds like bullshit to me.”

“You have lived through invasions by both extraterrestrials, and robots, yet you find magic difficult to believe in?” Loki pointed out.

“Yeah, well, you can punch an alien or a robot.”

“I dare say, one can punch a sorcerer as well.”

“Oho? She's been throwing hands?”

Loki cleared his throat. “Your daughter has been...most emphatic on several points.”

Your father drew himself up with pride. “Good. You best listen. And you'd damn well better be treating her right!”

“Actually, that is why I wished to speak with you. I would like advice on how to treat her more properly. Specifically, I will be remodeling her room into a more permanent residence, and I wish to know what kind of things she likes to have in her home.”

Your father remained quiet for a few long moments.

“So she's really not coming back.” He said finally. “Damn. I know all girls eventually leave, but she just seemed happy where she was...” He sighed. “Okay, fine. If it's gotta be up to you to take care of her now, then listen up. She likes doodlin' so get her some art supplies. She likes them little fairy lights. If you're getting her decorative things, she likes birds, and seashells, and flowers. No pets. She doesn't like having little things underfoot. Get her some houseplants, but only if they have bright colors, or make flowers.”

“How about toiletries? Does she have a preference?”

“Eh, more flowery stuff. Whatever's on sale, usually, but you can do better than that, can't you? The most flowery stuff you can find. Candles or potpourri, or whatever. Uh, she likes Pokemon. Don't know how much that helps you.”

“It would help me more if I knew what that was, but I'm sure I can find out.”

“It's some video game about fantasy animals. It's easy to find. Oh, and she likes space too. Stars and constellations and stuff. Likes learnin' about what's out there.”

“Oh, I know.” Loki said, perhaps a little too confidently. Your father glared. “But not too well.” He added. “Space. It is a good subject. There is much out there.”

Silence stretched out uncomfortably.

“How is she, really?” Your father asked.

“Distressed. That is why I am doing this. A great many things have happened to her in too short a time, so I am attempting to counter them with comfort. Her illness has all but disappeared, but we must remain within a mile or so of one another, and cannot be separated for more than a few hours at that distance before she begins to deteriorate. Were you told of the assassin?”

“Yeah. I was told she wasn't badly hurt, and that you caught the bastard.”

“Correct on both counts. She suffered a cut, but it has healed completely, and he will be facing justice eventually. I may still curse him into an early grave though, no matter what his sentence ends up being. Hmm. Perhaps forget I said that.”

“Nah, no one's hearing a peep from me.” Your father fidgeted as a gray cat peeked its head into the screen. “No Momo! Get down from there. Hey look, if she's gotta stay with you from now on, there's some things you oughta know. She's got some...problems. There were some major health issues that ran in her mother's side of the family; brain tumors mostly. Took her mom and her aunt while she was still pretty young. She hadn't shown any signs of it, but two or so years ago, she had this weird episode...Started insisting that everyone was dead, and the world was ending. The doctor didn't find any evidence of tumors, but said she was acting like someone who had gone through some kind of traumatic experience. No one could figure out what happened. She was fine one day, and the next, she'd completely changed. Got way more aggressive, kinda obsessed with food, has panic attacks over some of the weirdest things. And whenever something bad happens, she goes from one hundred percent ready to fight, to meek and numb in seconds.”

“I...have observed some of those behaviors, yes.” So this was what it looked like from the outside. Someone who had survived the Snap and remembered it must seem to others as if some great change had come over them. An entire year lived like that would not leave someone the same as they had been before. It was a shame Loki could not tell him what had happened. That your father would never understand you like he did. That he didn't even truly understand you.

You were just about as alone in this world as he was, weren't you?

“So if you've got some kind of magic health care over there, just keep an eye on her brain, okay?”

“As you say. I shall keep a special watch over her mind. I appreciate you telling me this. All of this. It will be most helpful.”

“Yeah well, as long as you take good care of her, I can't complain. Still hate you though.”

Loki smiled smugly. “I would expect nothing else.”

                                                                             *****

Loki spent his time between meetings searching through various storage rooms for furnishings. He'd found a very nice rug; blue and green and silver, patterned with knotwork and ravens. Bedding was a bit more difficult: you felt the cold more keenly, and needed either more, or heavier blankets. He was having trouble finding good matches, however. He didn't just want to throw things together like some kind of motley. You weren't a peasant anymore, and you should have better.

But just for now, maybe the brick red bed set didn't clash with the green and blue that much?

In the end, he was able to gather plenty of  bird-themed items, mostly ravens, eagles, and swans, and no shortage of floral décor. He commissioned a space-themed mural for one of your walls, though he knew it would take several weeks to finish. There were very few seashells to be had, but he did manage to procure a small hand mirror that was shaped like a scallop.

Perhaps this would do for now?

He called for Saldis and two others to carry things back you your room, stood back and supervised while they laid things out. Fairy lights and Pokemon would have to wait until he figured out what they were, and where he could get them.

As the servants put everything into place, Loki was drawn to your desk, and the little stack of books there. Astronomy, of course. That made perfect sense. A history of Iceland. Good idea. The collected tragedies of Shakespeare. Good stories, all of them, but perhaps not the best reading material for someone of your delicate mental state. Ah, there it was. World mythology.

Brunnhilde said you had mentioned something about a mythology book that had led you to believe some mixed up things. Well, what did it say?

He picked up the book, leafing through it as the servants moved around him, hanging artworks on the blank walls, a pair of flower-themed lamps replacing the old one, rolling out the rug.

The temperature began to fall while he read the entry about himself, stone-faced, but radiating a quiet anger that everyone in the room could feel. The servants slowly came to a halt, staring at him in silent worry.

“Sire?” One of them finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. His eyes snapped up from the book to look at them, and all three flinched back.

“You.” He said, pointing. “And you. Out.”

Both women hurried for the door, throwing apologetic looks over their shoulders at Saldis, who stood in place, bewildered and a little frightened.

“Saldis...Odasdottir, was it?”

“Yes, your Highness!” She squeaked.

“You can speak English.”

“Yes, your Highness! Fluently, Your Highness!”

“A useful skill. More importantly, can you read English? I trust you know not to lie to me.”

“No, Your Highness! No more than a few words! I have Roskva translate for me!”

“I see.” He snapped the book shut with a loud clap.”So you know nothing of the contents of this book?”

“No, Your Highness! Seidkona _____ asked for English language books, so I just brought back all that the library had! I don't know what any of them are about!”

“This one is full of slander.” Loki seethed. Saldis began backing away. “Written by our enemies to defame us, clearly. I will be confiscating it.”

Saldis began stammering apologies, but Loki held up a single finger to silence her. There were no lies in what she said. She was no saboteur.“If you did not know, you cannot be blamed. However, I would be alone for a time.”

She took the dismissal for what it was, vacating the room in an undisguised hurry. Loki could just barely hear Andsvarr asking her what was wrong, as he stalked to his room and threw the book into the fireplace. Drivel! A poison of words, pouring into your eyes, into your mind. No wonder you were so frightened!

God of Evil? Ridiculous! Evil wasn't something one could be a god of; it was a nebulous concept that changed from culture to culture, and across time. Anyone was capable of it, but none could rule it. And that nonsense with the horse... He didn't even know anyone named Angrboda! Where had all that come from?

He had been to Midgard once before New York, when he was a child, long before these concrete forests had sprung up in the place of the wooden ones. It had seemed like a very different world then, the storytellers weaving magic into their tales, spinning their words into decorative knots. He'd learned of the concepts of kennings and flyting from them...Was this what they had seen in him, or did it have some symbolic meaning, lost over the centuries? Did they see him as evil?

Or was it what had happened after? The burying of the old ways under the name of another god? Was that what had painted him in such a dark way? Or perhaps the author of the book had written it after the events in New York. Humanity had plenty of reason to consider him evil then, and a great many still did.

It didn't really matter right now. What mattered was that this had been influencing your perceptions of him, and now he had to reverse that. The room would be a very good start, a step in making this a real, permanent home for you. He would find out everything you needed, everything you wanted. He was a prince. He was a god! He could provide.

He sat down on his fluffy rug, watching the book slowly blacken and curl. It did matter. It mattered because it was part of the reason you weren't here. And he felt it now, now that you were gone, every minute making him more and more aware that you weren't there. There was a little, human shaped hole in the world, that only you fit into, and you were out of place.

When had you become important? He could no longer deny that you were. Honesty with the self was among the coping exercises he and Thor had had to adopt, once they realized that they absolutely had to be in this together. It was quite possibly one of the hardest things for him to do, to admit everything to himself, to open himself back up to all the emotion.

In the beginning, after he had been returned from death, all his walls had come down. Those had been hard times; he was nearly inconsolable, everything he had been through in such a short time was all there, up front. All the grieving he hadn't been able to do, all the anger and resentment, the self-loathing and loss of identity. Everything he'd never gotten the chance to heal from had all come down on him, all at once, and he'd thought he'd never stop crying again.

But once he had been given the chance to confront all those things, to work through them, to finally, properly mourn, when he'd put himself back together, and run dry of tears-and when Thor had done the same-that was when they had both decided to take the steps necessary to be better than they had been. For the people. For each other. And for themselves.

Communication with the self was easily just as difficult as communication with each other. Neither of them exactly had the hang of it yet, and it led them to mistakes like this. Mistakes like Loki believing that everything was just fine between you and himself because he wanted so badly to believe that it was. Tricking himself into thinking that your actions and reactions were those of a person in need of support and comfort from him, instead of a person who was afraid of him.

Five years ago, he would have seen it for exactly what it was, but he had been trying so hard to leave that version of himself in the past, where it belonged. He needed to be better now.

He needed to admit that you were important. He needed to understand why. You represented something to him; some kind of redemption. If he could take care of you, he could prove something to everyone, including himself. What was that thing? What did he need to prove? That he could be responsible?

That he was what he said he was. That he was worthy of being what he said he was. A Prince. A Ruler. A Leader. A Provider. A Man.

Not a monster.

He could give you everything. And he felt that you might even deserve it, you who had lost your mother, and then your world, and then your health, and then your autonomy. He could give you everything, and he kind of wanted to. But he had to step back now and take a different approach. It had to be for you, as much as it was for him.

He watched the book burn until it was an unrecognizable lump, thinking of ways to be better for you. Then he left his quarters in search of his brother. He had an idea that would set at least some of your fears at ease.

He passed Brunnhilde on the way, the Valkyrie carrying a sandwich on a plate. He stopped, then followed her.

“Is that for her?” He asked. “Because she hates that.”

“What? Well then what does she like?” Brunnhilde demanded. Loki listed a few things off the top of his head, and Brunnhilde headed back to the kitchen. “Guess I'll eat this one then. Heard you terrorized some of the maids.”

“I suspected one of them might be a saboteur. I was glad to find otherwise. I discovered a source of _____'s fear. That book you said she mentioned; I found it and I destroyed it. It will trouble none of us again.”

“That might not look good, you know. Might look like you're trying to destroy the evidence.”

“What evidence?” He sneered. “It was worthless. It was...do you even know what it said? It was like a parody, and it was deceiving her. I will find her other books.”

“You can't just curate her reading material you know.” Brunnhilde said, making another sandwich. “Not if you don't want to seem so controlling.”

Loki added a cup of skyr to the plate, and a spoon of redcurrant jam on top. “I'm not going to. I'm thinking of taking her into the nearest town, and visiting a bookstore. She can choose her own books, and not be stuck reading the same few over and over. I've already seen to her room, and so all that's left is to let her get some things of her own choice.”

Brunnhilde nodded. “That's better.”

“So, how are the Valkyries coming along? You mentioned a Buridag demonstration?” Loki asked, following her back out of the kitchens.

“About as well as can be expected for only having a year of training. There's a lot of work to be done, catching them all up. Lucky for us, most of them naturally gravitated towards combat lifestyles. The twins have a long way to go though.”

“Twins?”

“Valda and Velda. They're only about three hundred years old. They're having to start from scratch, but I can see the power in them. They're the real deal. They are also tiny children who can barely lift their own swords, and definitely can't wear armor. We can't have a demonstration without them, but there isn't much they can physically do. Maybe if I play up how important standard-bearing is, they won't put up a fuss.”

“One can hope.” Loki said with a smile. “Sibling rivalry can be a tough thing to navigate.”

“They get along well. Just because you and your brother had a rivalry for the storybooks, it doesn't mean everybody does. Speaking of, did Saga ever get back to you?”

“Yes. She's chosen fully sixteen texts to translate, and she will be doing each of them in seven languages. She's so happy. I was thinking of asking her to expedite the English translations, but I wonder if that isn't a little too selfish.”

“Well, technically, you're thinking of someone else, so it isn't 'selfish' exactly...” They stopped outside Brunnhilde's rooms. “Well, your Highness. You have some work to do, and I have some mouths to feed, so here is where we part.”

                                                                     *****

“Dinnertime!” Brunnhilde announced, and you hopped up to receive it. Everything looked very tasty this time, and you tucked in without preamble. You'd worked pretty hard again today, not quite as hard as when you were practicing magic, but hard enough. The bath had been wonderfully relaxing on your sore muscles, but had done nothing for your appetite.

You should exercise now, eh? Surely this was a good start.

“So...” Brunnhilde said. “You're not a good liar.”

“Hrm?” You asked around a bite of sandwich.

“Whatever you told Borgljot, you've been in combat before.”

“Mrm.” You said, swallowing your bite. “Well, about that...I don't know if I would call it combat exactly...and besides, I didn't lie.”

“Oh? Oh. Because it technically didn't happen?”

“Yeah. Things went to hell during the Event, you know that. I can't imagine it was a walk in the park for you either.”

“Wasn't great. You wanna talk about it?”

You stopped eating. “I never have before.”

“You never had someone who believed you before either, did you?”

“Sure didn't.” You said quietly. “It's just, you know, everyone went a little crazy I think. You can't face a devastation like that and stay totally sane. And nobody really knew what to do. The guys were a pain in my ass, but there was this one guy specifically...his wife and kid turned to dust in his arms, and I think he just went completely insane. But quietly; no one noticed. He was always very nice to me, and normally, he wouldn't hurt a fly, but...he kinda started fixating on me.”

Everywhere you were, there he was. Being helpful. Complimentary. Said you reminded him of her.

“At first I thought it was a good thing. It kept the other guys from bugging me too much. See, out of three hundred and forty of us, only about sixty-seven made it through the Event, and only about a third of those were women. Some of those guys didn't even try to pretend that they weren't being predatory. But he kept the others away, and I appreciated it. For a while.”

Never saying anything creepy, but simply always being there, always ready to help out. You never found out how he scared the other men away.

“We had to try to keep farming in order to survive, but half the seeds had turned to dust too. We probably would have been okay, if the fields hadn't died, but we had almost nothing. Everyone was desperate. I was in charge of the potatoes. Had a good patch of them growing out in the East fields. One day, when I went out to tend to them, he followed me. Guess he just...finally hit that breaking point. Came onto me, using her name. When I told him off, he full-on attacked me.”

Mad-eyed, tearing at your clothes, sobbing and crying a dead woman's name.

“He wouldn't stop, so...”

Panic gave you the strength to knock him to the ground, desperation gave you the instinct to bring the sharp edge of your garden hoe down on his head.

“So I killed him. Chopped his head in half. I know what that looks like now.”

You didn't know when you had started trembling, but it was making your voice quiver.

“You were defending yourself.” Bunnhilde said. “It's a terrible, harsh edge of reality, and a shame that you had to see it. But you came through. Not gonna say it's okay, because it's not. But you came through.”

“It's...I think my problem is that I don't even think that's the worst part.” You said. “It's that, technically, it never happened. He's fine now. He's alive, his wife, his kids, all alive and well, and going about their lives. He's just like I remember him from before it all happened; sweet and harmless. He comes in to the bakery sometimes, after our cornbread. I'm sure he worries about me, because that's just the kind of person he is.”

“Well that's-”

“I hate him.” You interrupted. “I hate him so much. I should be glad that it all got erased. I should be glad that he's not a predator, and that I'm not a murderer. But I'm just so angry! He gets to have his family, and his sanity, and his life, and go happily about his business, and I have to remember what he did! What I did! It's horrible, isn't it? I shouldn't feel like this!”

“Honestly? I feel like it would be more wrong if you didn't.” Brunnhilde reached across the distance to take your hand. “None of this should be easy to accept. How long ago was it, that Thor crashed on this planet? Seven? That's seven years for your whole world to realize that there's more people out in the universe, get attacked by those other people, get nearly wiped out by one of those other people. Then a small percentage of you has to find out that even reality itself can be malleable. And then on top of that, you, individually, have to deal with mans inhumanity to man, and that is all a terrible burden to put on such small, human shoulders.”

“I'm going to be a seidkona.” You declared. “Just as soon as I figure out how. I'm taking this as an opportunity to leave that all behind. I never have to see that guy again. I don't have to hold on to the hatred. I don't have to project it onto other people, I can start moving forward again.”

“You don't have to push.” Brunnhilde warned. “You'll burn yourself out. Set your own pace. You don't have to do everything at once, in fact, you probably shouldn't.”

“Where should I start then?” You asked. Once you had decided something, you were always full of energy and raring to go. But maybe she was right. There was a lot to do, and if you tried to do it all at once, you'd get overwhelmed.

“What all do you have to do? What tasks and goals are on your mind?” Brunnhilde asked. “and out of those, what are the simplest or easiest?”

“Um. I've got to...I've gotta learn how to use this knife. And my magic, gotta learn that. I should learn the language. Gotta be ready for the trial, I'm pretty sure I'll have to testify. Kinda torn there, I mean, I want that guy to go straight to jail forever, but I don't wanna be in the same room with him ever again? I gotta... research seidkonas. Learn about the past ones, what they did, how they worked. I gotta...I gotta go back to my room. Make up with his Highness. I have to, but also, I want to.”

“You looked at your palm. “Gotta learn more about this thing, if there is any more to learn. Gotta...Gotta yell at Beli! He's the one that spread this whole seidkona rumor around, isn't he? Only him and Loki knew; I didn't even know! And then everybody knew except for me! That is not right!”

“Oh don't yell at old Beli.” Brunnhilde said, pointing at your food. You took the hint and began eating again. “For one thing, it's a waste of breath. So, out of those things, what is easiest? What will you start with?”

“Um. Well, you'd think going back to my room and making up with Loki would be easiest, but in reality, it's terrifying. Probably can't research if I can't read the language. The trial can't be prioritized; it'll just happen when it happens. So, looks like knife is the only choice.”

“Well, there you go. I also have a suggestion. You should have a better grasp of your surroundings. If you'd like, I'll get someone to show you around. Also, if you have hobbies, you know, something you just do for fun, then you should do that a little bit.”

“...I'd like to bake something, if that's all right? I used to do that for a living, and I really enjoyed it too.”

“I'm sure that can be arranged. Let's go do that in the morning.”

[sordm5]

Fallout: New Vegas Character Sheet / OC Questionnaire, 5k+ words

This is the part where I pray for consistency with my previous character essays...

The majority of these answers are from a character building perspective. Other perspectives are kept in parentheses. 

Mason Shepherd McCoy

which faction did they side with (NCR, legion, yes-man, or house)?

Unwittingly, he sided with the NCR. But he abandoned the cause shortly before the lead up to the Second Battle for Hoover Dam.

preferred armor?

He favors dusters, but beneath that, he usually dresses in raggedly layers. Cycling between two pairs of majorly distressed and ripped jeans, and collected vintage scarves he finds from abandoned buildings.

(In game, light armor. Specifically the courier fatigues from the Courier’s Cache mod, modded with the standalone Lonesome Road courier duster.  

Screenshots: front / back)

melee, guns, energy weapons, or unarmed?

Most skilled with a ranged bolt or lever action rifle.

After a compromising incident while he lived in Zion, Joshua attempts to teach him unarmed combat. But because Mase is a difficult, stubborn student, the lessons don’t continue on for long, and Joshua’s patience is tested to its limit.

highest skills? secondary skills? lowest skills?

His skill in everything aside from guns and repair are fairly mediocre, but his worst skills are definitely survival and unarmed. It’s pretty transparent that Mase’s priorities are focused on catering to his preference for gunplay.

(It’s hard to avoid having every skill high when level ups are forced on you, so I'm going to ignore in-game stats in favor of character development. Speech is the most notable skill I prefer to max out, but I don’t know if it’s exactly character-fitting for Mase considering he’s not actually a talkative person.)

SPECIAL stats?

3, 9, 6, 4, 7, 8, 3

what are their perks?

Confirmed Bachelor, babey. And Hand Loader. That one’s important.

(I'm not sure if this is asking me to list all perks my character has, but for the sake of not doing that – as it would be lengthy and tedious – I’ll leave it at these two.)

favorite companions? least favorite companions?

Mase adores Arcade more than he cares to admit. However, that adoration doesn’t overpower his own cowardice. He carries the weight of endlessly wondering what fate befell Arcade after Mase left the Mojave. He likes to...imagine he’s happy with the Followers, tending to new researches that could maybe benefit the public. The mental image distracts him from his guilt, at least.

The only other companion Mase was close with was ED-E. He doesn’t actively hate or dislike anyone, though.

any romantic partners? how do these relationships begin and end? are they healthy?

Yeah...Mase kinda...tries to pursue a relationship with Joshua, but it’s majorly onesided, and overwhelmingly unhealthy. Even Mase is aware of the unhealthy aspect, despite his feelings.

-

I’ve thought a lot about how to avoid making this sort of scenario lore-breaking. I can’t realistically picture, given what we see and know of him in-game, that Joshua would ever reciprocate any sort of romantic feelings anyone might have for him.

This might be my own interpretation, but I think by the time the courier meets Joshua, he’s resigned to live his life thinking he can find redemption through his faith. And I think he’s convinced himself to be wholly devoted to it. He even twists the biblical quotes he uses as excuses for his own internal anger. He needs to think that the things he does are justified by God.

Beyond the religious dedication, Joshua tells us that he feels indebted to his family, and the tribes of Zion, for welcoming him back like he had never done anything to shame them. After questioning him about his past, and the defeat he suffered, he ends with, "I will never be able to repay the debt I owe to them, but I must try." The way this is all presented leads me to believe there isn't much room in Joshua's life for anything else.

Also, on another note, one quote by Mr. Sawyer, who wrote the entirety of Joshua Graham’s character, stuck with me:

It's not as simple as being "set on fire". After suffering a terrible failure, he was humiliated by his superior and the people he commanded. He was cast out and left for dead. His entire reason for living was gone. When your entire way of life is completely destroyed, it has a profound impact on how you view yourself and your place in the world. [...]

Read the entire quote here.

There was also a quote, if I am indeed recalling correctly, by Josh Sawyer that expanded upon Joshua’s dialogue in-game that spoke about the love he received upon his return to New Canaan – about how he was in disbelief over it, how he thought he didn’t deserve it. But I can’t find that quote again, so don’t take my word for it.

I know that the developer’s input isn’t the “word of God”, and that Sawyer has said that he strongly dislikes when authors discourage fan interpretations and have an almost authoritarian hold over their stories. However, I still find it useful to reference dev commentary when expanding upon my own ideas.

Returning to the original point, as much as I’d really just like to say ‘they both lived happily ever after’ about my courier and Joshua, it’s not something I can picture happening. Joshua isn’t an ordinary man, and domesticity wasn’t ever an option for him.

-

There are some deeply self-indulgent scenarios I’ve written about for Mase and Joshua, and even in the more intimate pieces it always takes Joshua years to think it’s okay to even let Mase sleep next to him. So, I don’t imagine within the first year of staying in Zion anything even vaguely resembling intimacy would develop between them. Mase would have to come back to Zion after returning from the east coast and put a lot of work, time, and dedication into getting Joshua to open up on that level.

But, because I don’t feel fully confident in discussing my thoughts of how things change within the game post-canon-storyline (both base game and Honest Hearts/all DLC alike), these ideas and scenarios remain strictly self-indulgent. One detail I am comfortable saying that happens post-NV is that Mason does eventually come back to Nevada and end up settling there.

Since this is already a sort of a self-indulgent post about my oc, I will share some jumbled-context thoughts I’ve had. But keep in mind, if I were to keep this confined to my comfort on respecting the canon storyline and not exploiting it for my own purposes, this would have ended with Joshua never reciprocating, Mase leaving the west coast and returning at some indeterminate point, years later. 

With that being said...

Mase and Joshua argue about the feelings between them a lot. With Joshua it’s always��“You understand my position, we’ve spoken about it countless times. You’ve said you understood, yet you continue to persist.” / “I know. And, I’m...sorry. I just can’t help but feel like I’m a nuisance to you. That the way I feel disgusts you-” / “You know that isn’t true-” / “You always push me away-” / “I’ve told you why-” etc, etc.

The closer they get, the more doubt Joshua begins to show, the more he pushes Mase away, and the more Mase wants reassurance that Joshua still finds him important, in some way. Joshua does value Mase’s companionship, but what Mase gives is unabashed love, and there’s a huge discrepancy in outward reciprocation. Mase tries his best to adapt and subdue how he feels – to try to understand and match the level at which Joshua keeps him. But it’s hard. A lot of “you don’t care about me like how I care about you” feelings.

Joshua insists the discrepancy isn’t true, and it’s only perceived that way by Mason. He loathes when he’s forced to remind Mason of his situation – of the path he’s chosen to take in his life, his dedication to it, after what happened to him at the Grand Canyon. How large the amount of atonement he owes. How, even if he wanted to break away from this path, there are still things he would never be able to do for Mason.

Of course, Mase tries to keep all of this in mind. But with the lack of communication, and the constant distance from Joshua, it’s hard to know if the boundaries are because of Joshua’s self restraint, or if Mase is truly no longer wanted. He’s just...very troubled and brokenhearted by it all, and the situation isn’t easy.

There’s also the awkward re-acquainting with each other after the years they spend apart. Which is disheartening to Mase because, before, he’d felt Zion was akin to a home due to the time spent there, and, when he comes back, it feels foreign – like there’s no place for him anymore. Everything looks and seems different. It takes a long while to get over that feeling.

Joshua looks different after all that time, as well. He never takes to fully discarding his bandages – it’s too personal for him – and his scarring doesn’t ever necessarily fade, but they do heal, lessen in severity, and subsequently cause him less pain. Because of this, he’s more comfortable exposing his forearms without bandaging, and the areas around his nose, mouth, and jaw. 

It takes Mase a moment to process this upon first seeing him again. In the past, he’d only ever seen Joshua without his bandages but one time, and it was because he’d been gravely injured and in recovery. He thinks it’s a good look for Joshua, though. And, more importantly, he’s overjoyed that he isn’t in as much pain.

Mase also continues travelling even after his return to the west. Especially between his home in northern Nevada and Zion. So it’s not as though he spends his every day with Joshua, although...he does try to persuade Joshua to visit his house and stay for awhile. Which he does eventually succeed at, after some complications on tribal responsibilities.

-

...tfw you set out to write about your own character and end up devoting the most time writing about Joshua Graham. To be fair, I have another huge character post about Mase that establishes way more about him, and I’ve been meaning to write about the dynamics with Joshua for awhile now.

yes, i’ve thought a lot about this. damn.

anyway...

doesn’t it suck when your first love after you get retrograde amnesia is a revenge obsessed warlord with misplaced dedication to a faith that he manipulates to lie to himself that his revenge obsessions are justifiable :(  real sad boi hours

gender / sexuality / ethnicity / species / etc.?

Boy/gay/???

He doesn’t know much about his ancestry, or the roots of his past in general. Doesn’t want to know. He’s pretty sure he’s human, though...maybe. But he’s also considered the possibility of being an alien misplaced on earth. Maybe...

He’s also not particularly attached to his biological sex. He is genetically male, and does predominantly identify as male, but it’s not something he feels is important or necessary to his identity as a whole. On a basic level, this applies to, say, clothing. If he found a dress appealing, he’d wear it without thinking much about what gender a dress was intended for. If that makes sense.

This sentiment is also applicable to sexuality. He doesn’t really label himself in any specific way. He just knows that the majority of people he’s found even somewhat attractive or appealing happen to be men.

where were they born/raised? when/why did they leave?

He doesn’t know.

when, why and how did they become a courier? how long did they remain a courier before benny shot them?

Again: part of a past that he doesn’t remember. Brings him anxiety over the thought of finding an answer to who he was before.

how did the bullet affect them?

Retrograde amnesia. His memories never returned. After awaking at Doc Mitchell’s, it was difficult for him to acquaint himself with who he was. He didn’t recognize his voice, his age, his appearance. Nothing felt familiar. His speaking patterns even sounded foreign to his own ears.

Other than that, recurring migraines that plagued him for weeks after his awakening.

how did they deal with benny?

He spared him. Read more here. 

what’s their reputation with the ncr / the legion?

Liked/Neutral

Mase aided the NCR whenever necessary, especially during the beginning of his travels in the Mojave. He refused to agitate the Legion. He never realized he was weaving himself into becoming a mercenary of war for the NCR, and, had he realized they were going to proposition him for such a task, he never would have helped to begin with.

In retrospect, after abandoning the Mojave, his regrets in assisting the NCR don’t add up to much. After consideration, he realized he would prefer an NCR victory as opposed to a Legion one. He’s aware there might have been a better alternative, had he stayed, had he put himself at the forefront of the decision making. But, he simply isn’t that kind of man.

what’s their reputation with goodsprings / novac / primm? (i know primm reputation was cut from the game but like let’s pretend for a minute sdkfjd)

His reputation with Primm would be the worst of all three, entirely due to his uncaring mistakes in handling finding new authority for the town. The NCR wasn’t the worst of the outcomes, but it still wasn’t favorable with the existing community, and Mase only realizes that after it’s far too late.

Goodsprings and Novac act as the friendliest respites Mase knows, and he is mostly in good standing with both towns’ residents. He assisted Goodsprings during the trouble with the Powder Gangers, and, similarly, assisted Novac’s trouble with feral ghouls.

what is their motive for taking vegas?

He doesn’t. Ideally, freedom for Vegas and Freeside would be what Mase would want, but he’s too prone to fleeing from pressure and stress. He doesn’t want the responsibility of an entire populace on his shoulders, and when presented with fight or flight in regards to the war for the Mojave, Mase chooses flight.

what do they look like? how tall are they? are they attractive? any piercings, tattoos, scars?

Just under 6′. Tanned, freckled complexion. Hair naturally dirty blond/light brown-ish, but frequently bleached lighter. Crooked, gapped teeth. He has multiple scars over his entire body, but half he can’t even remember the causes of. The most prominent ones being the bullet wound in his hairline, and the surgery scars from the Think Tank.

how old are they? do they know their birthday? if so, what’s their sign?

22 around the time of the events of Goodsprings. His birthday is November 22nd, information courtesy of his Mojave Express ID card, and not of his own memory. I suppose that makes him a sagittarius.

The only fitting quote I could find from a sagittarius horoscope was: “You are very critical of those around and of yourself and sometimes will prefer to isolate yourself.”

do they speak any languages other than english?

He doesn’t. He tries to learn the language of the Dead Horses and the Sorrows, but only retains basic phrases.

can they read, write, do math, sing? did they ever receive an education?

He is educated, but only utilizes his intelligence in areas that are practical to him. Like the kilometer calculations while adjusting his rifle scope. Other than that, he frequently writes in a journal that he received from the Mojave Express. Its primary function was to track deliveries, but he re-purposed it for personal use.

Mase is also somewhat of a collector, and, in his home, he has a guitar with rusted metal strings and a piano with many keys that don’t work (don’t ask about the complications of transporting the thing from an abandoned pre-war home to his own safehouse.) He aspires to fix them both and learn how to play them, and maybe write his own music, but he doesn’t often get time to do so.

what were their parents like? are they still on good terms with their parents?

Doesn’t know who his parents are. Doesn’t want to know.

what’s their d&d alignment? 

Starting off as neutral good, but quickly becoming chaotic neutral the longer his travels across the Mojave go.

how’s their karma?

Canonically neutral.

how do they feel about killing people? do they try to avoid it?

He doesn’t actively seek confrontation – he’s no murderer – but he doesn’t have any moral objections to killing if there’s a good purpose for it. Killing the “bad guys”, etc. He’s not a coward either, and he’s confident in his gunplay abilities.

do they take chems? if yes, when and which ones?

Other than admittedly using med-x a couple times in attempts to treat his insomnia, he tries not to dabble in drug use outside of meds for intended purposes. His preferred poison is alcohol.

do they gamble? where? is their luck good?

He doesn’t partake. The atmosphere of the casinos on The Strip gives him a deep sense of discomfort. A piece of the world, frozen in time, sheltered away from the destruction of the wastes that lay just outside the doors. Men in suits, focused on their greed, their only concern how much nicotine they can inhale.

In his tattered duster and ripped blue jeans, face smudged with dust and dirt, Mase feels horribly wrong amid all the leisure and recreation. It’s stifling.

where do they usually sleep? do they have more than one home location? do they live with any other people?

Throughout his campaign in the Mojave, Mase doesn’t ever keep a main base of operations. From his room at Novac, to the Lucky 38, to Zion, to anywhere he’s welcomed to rest his head for the night. He keeps his belongings down to what he can carry, or things he’s isn’t afraid of losing if left behind.

After his return to Nevada from his journey out east, Mase settles in an abandoned, lone ranch somewhere in the mid-north part of the state. It’s there, in his late-20s, that Mase truly finds himself able to call a location a home. He begins to collect more, and his safehouse soon turns into an unorganized, messy museum of sorts.

what are their favorite weapons? where did they get these weapons?

He’s partial to his rifles, both bolt and lever action alike. Namely, the Medicine Stick and Paciencia, courtesy of the Gun Runners. He takes to further customizing both rifles (and altering the customizations already applied).

do they flirt a lot? is it well-received?

Mase and Arcade have a platonically flirtatious relationship. Neither of them desire to take it further than that and are comfortable in their friendship. However...there are nights Mase remembers fondly: bedrolls haphazardly thrown onto the floor of whatever safe place they could find to rest in their travels, Arcade somehow ends up in Mase’s arms in the early hours of dawn, his head tucked into the crook of Mase’s neck, Mase’s fingers carding through Arcade’s hair as the haze of sleep slowly fades.

Though Mase later ends up developing feelings for Joshua while in Zion, he doesn’t dare anything close to flirting. He regards their relationship as too important for empty flirtatious comments, while also knowing it wouldn’t be received well anyway. Between them, it’s more of mutual respect and trust.  

At some point during Mase’s year stay in Zion, Joshua does clue in to the way Mase treats him, and what that alludes to. They speak about it, if very sparingly, and it can be summarized by Joshua vaguely referencing whatever is between them by saying: if Mase is waiting for something from Joshua, he’s waiting in vain.

do they goof around a lot? do other people find it funny or do they just entertain themselves?

Mase has short-lived moments of hyperactivity, but is usually more stoic in nature. He recalls his time spent with Arcade as having some of the more expressive moments in his life. So it’s to be said that he has the ability to be a more humorous or entertaining person as long as he’s comfortable around the company he’s with.

what do their companions think of them? are they close? have they done any companion quests?

He doesn’t stay with anyone long enough to become truly close to them, aside from Arcade.

ED-E is Mase’s first real travelling companion. After repairing the eyebot, Mase decides to keep it and regards it as little more than an extra weapon. The longer the road takes them, the more Mase finds himself talking into the open air about a myriad of things. Sometimes it’s a mess of world salad and scattered thoughts – the product of distant feelings of deja vu and the many migraines the bullet wound had caused.

The more this happens, the more Mase starts feelings like ED-E is listening to him. Maybe the beeps that he gives aren’t indicators that he’s listening and are just coincidence, but all the same, Mase starts to see a personality in ED-E, and starts to think of him as less of a weapon and more as a friend.

On a fittingly drunken night at the NCR Mojave Outpost, Mase crosses paths with Cass. He enjoys her attitude and her humor, and more than delights in sharing a bottle of whiskey or two- or three, or four. Beyond that first night of drinking challenges and hazy blackouts, and a few following encounters, Cass and Mase don’t stay as travelling companions. Fast friends over a bottle of brew, but nothing more.

Later, but still early in his travels, Mase finds himself with his hands full in Novac. It’s here he helps Boone uncover the truth about the person who disposed of his wife. He agrees to arrange the revenge without hesitation. There’s not even a droplet of blood on the red beret atop Mase’s head; he doesn’t flinch when Boone takes the shot.

Unfortunately, Boone’s animosity and hostility towards the Legion prevents them from travelling together. Mase understands, and it’s left at that.

As for Arcade, well...some of Mase’s largest regrets concern Arcade; how he feels he must have let him down after he’d left. He’d known of Arcade’s ideals, about his feelings towards what he’d wanted for the the people of Freeside, and Vegas as a whole. The wayward feelings of hope Arcade found in him. The rare moments of open vulnerability in the secrets Arcade shared of his past. Just how many things were shared between them, and how Mase let it go to waste for nothing – for his own cowardice.

For as much as having someone close to him by his side gave Mase strength, it also added to the weight of expectation from the pressure he already felt. Arcade wasn’t enough to change that. Nothing was.

do they draw, paint, play any instruments?

His main creative outlet is his journal. Writing and doodling little sketches. He doesn’t consider it a “real” art form, though.

how do they deal with injuries? do they use stimpaks, healing powder, med-x? does a companion help them? can they bear a lot of pain, or do they need to attend to injuries immediately? when they do have to see a doctor, do they have a preferred doctor, or do they just see anyone?

Mase has a high threshold for pain. The first time he’d been seriously injured (from memory) was during the shootout in Goodsprings. A bullet had pierced his upper left arm, thankfully missing any arteries, and became deeply lodged without breaking through the other side of the impact site. He remembered noticing he’d been struck was delayed, his arm had felt hot, wet, and uncomfortable, but almost indistinguishable through the adrenaline.

Once he noticed the red stains from the hole in his jacket, he stared wide-eyed and pale at the blood flowing from the open wound, the pain spiking like a blistering heat. He didn’t know what to do with himself; didn’t groan, didn’t cry, just stood with a lost look. He was in good company, though, and Doc Mitchell was there to care for the wounded.

Subsequent injuries have been reacted to with similar disconnect. He understands the importance of tending to wounds through the lecturing on infection from the Doc, and because of this tries to treat injuries as urgently as possible. However, if he can help it, he’d rather take a stimpak and slap a bandage over the wound and call it done. Fortunately, Arcade doesn’t let him get away with that one very often once they start travelling together.

have they ever been irradiated? how did they deal with it? did it have lasting effects?

In contrast to the high pain tolerance, Mase cannot handle radiation. In slight doses, it’s manageable, but when his Pipboy near deafens him with its Geiger clicking, like clockwork, the nausea immediately sets in. It debilitates him, and the contamination to his body never settles until he flushes it.

He recalls an instance of trying to bear with the radiation, barely dragging himself up the road from Novac, forcing himself to try to tough it out. He realized he’d made a mistake when he started profusely vomiting, and immediately checked his Pipboy for the nearest medical help.

Trudging up the slopes to Camp Forlorn Hope, Mase manages to make his way to the medical tent, limbs shaking and fatigued. Of course, Dr. Richards insists on helping him, having already been acquainted with the doctor from previously assisting with missing medical supplies. Mase had been hoping on a return of kindness when he’d chosen Forlorn Hope, while also not averse to being sweet-talked.

It seemed simple enough, let Dr. Richards hook an IV to his upper forearm, relax, and let the Radaway do its job. But...Mase had been shaking and hyperventilating from the nausea, and right as Dr. Richards offered him a reassuring “It’s going to be all right, buttercup”, Mase lurched and vomited on the doctor’s shoes.

Needless to say, one of his top most embarrassing moments.

in conversation, are they kind? gentle? sarcastic? rude? do they speak warmly and openly with people, or are they more guarded? do they talk a lot?

Generally very soft spoken, with little to say, especially in regards to strangers or people he’s just met. A monotone speaking pattern, with tendencies to a blunt manner of speaking his mind.

However this changes the closer he is to someone. He becomes more adaptive to the other person’s speaking patterns, becoming more or less talkative depending on the personality of his partner.

do they like long journeys through the mojave, or do they prefer to travel more quickly? do they prefer using roads or travelling through the deep desert?

It depends. He’ll have bouts of wanting to travel long, deserted stretches of land, leaving time to himself and his thoughts. No companions. And other times he’ll prefer to stay to more populated areas, not wanting to be alone, and dreading the idea of being left with no one but his own thoughts to keep him company.

name a random fact about your courier.

He has hang-ups about his name. For the first few months of his “new” life, he didn’t have a name, and was simply called “Courier” – which doesn’t entirely die out, even after he discovers his real name. The title “Courier” is something he more familiarly associates with his being/existence/person.

A continuous problem that his amnesia left him with was the inability to grasp or understand who he was. As time goes on and Mase becomes more self aware, this effect does diminish, but the conflicting feelings he has about his name remain. Sometimes he feels like his name is an important identity – one that he’s afraid of losing again, and sometimes he wants absolutely nothing to do with it.

When he leaves the Mojave, he throws his first name away completely, and takes to only telling people his middle name. Arcade had called him “Mase” consistently, with fondness; Joshua had only ever called him “Mason”, never the shorthand version. Somehow, that felt important. He didn’t want these memories to resurface – he didn’t want to remember what he’d left behind, or feel that pain – so he abandoned the name completely.

do they watch movie holotapes? what are their favorites? least favorites?

(Say The Man With No Name trilogy exists in the Fallout universe. That would undoubtedly be Mase’s favorite.

I admit I haven’t thought much about this sort of thing. The main kind of entertainment I imagine Mase consuming is mostly the radio. In-game, we have Radio New Vegas and Mojave Music as far as music/entertainment goes, but I like to think there would be other stations where the main focus is storytelling. Reruns from pre-war times, and newer stations featuring people recounting tales from the wasteland.)

what do they do with the lucky 38? do they like being there? do they leave their companions there? if they’re a yes-man courier, do they open it back up as a casino?

Much like how Mase feels towards the rest of The Strip, the Lucky 38 is a stifling, unwelcoming environment. He takes advantage of the shelter and amenities given, but he knows he’s being watched – being kept close like a useful tool, exactly how most factions and people in power treated him. He doesn’t make a habit of using the Lucky 38...but, he does like the convenience of running water.

what do they do after hoover dam?

Wanders out east towards Ronto. It’s possibly the most aimless 4 years of his life. He has no purpose, he falls onto self-destructive behavior, and loses what little sense of self he was able to garner from his time in Nevada and Utah. Ultimately, after confronting many internal fears and doubts, with not a slight bit of soul-searching, Mase makes the decision to go back home to Nevada.

how do they die? how is their death received, by the mojave and by their companions?

... (I haven’t gotten that far. I’ve only just barely decided Mase settles in Nevada, which is dependent on an NCR Hoover Dam victory. Which is extremely important to how things change in west coast territories. And thinking of Mase’s future involves thinking of the future of Nevada and the west as a whole. I don’t know if I’m capable of handling the weight of the aftermath of the NV storyline with my meager ideas.

I do imagine Mase would die from a shot to the head, though. Seems fitting.)

what are their vices? are they an alcoholic, a thief, a hoarder?

Mase has always had a proclivity for alcohol – these habits severely abate during his time in Zion, and then rise to a destructive level of full alcoholism during his time out east.

Hoarding has a negative connotation to it, right? Generally collecting garbage, and other trash? Mase collects items he finds to be interesting in his home in Nevada, but it’s not rubbish. It’s more of a collection similar to the likes of a museum.

can they cook, and if so, what do they cook? what are their favorite & least favorite foods?

Despite having less-than-useful survival skills, Mase is very interested in cooking recipes. The easiest and most satisfying one to follow is the desert salad, with more difficult recipes being mushroom cloud and wasteland omelette. He’s only had the opportunity to cook the latter two once each (thanks Quarry Junction and Bloodborne cave), and he savored every moment of both meals.

Another favorite would be iguana bits – a food he’s tried to replicate, but can’t quite pin the recipe for down. Besides that, he admittedly has a palette for pre-war sweets. Fancy Lads have a specifically...gone off...flavor about them, but he enjoys them all the same.

did they kill caesar? vulpes inculta? what about prominent ncr figures, like kimball and colonel hsu?

He doesn’t kill any prominent figures. Perhaps if he had been a different person, he would have been openly hostile toward the Legion – he disagrees with their values, and despises their leader – but this was not the life he felt he could lead. He already had enough paranoia about the prospect of having enemies coming back to kill him from the life he couldn’t remember, let alone adding to that by agitating any specific faction or group.

/

I deleted some questions I felt were already answered well enough in previous posts about Mason. Namely: this one.

I also just deleted things I didn’t feel like answering because it was too much effort.

The companions question is unfinished because I felt like that bit was getting really unorganized and chunky to read. So, some companions are omitted. May go back to this and edit it / add more to it.

[starcunning]

Suffer Me to Cherish You: 17 Nov

Fanfest good, game good, friends good, sleep ... good.

Previously: Week One, Week Two Previously: 11 Nov, 12 Nov, 13 Nov, 14 Nov, 15 Nov, 16 Nov

Chapter Nine

They went not as did adventurers, carried on currents of aether. Myste was weak enough now to make that a dangerous proposition, and so they dozed in the back of a chocobo carriage. Myste drowsed with his head against her shoulder, his brow against her chin, his breath against her neck. She was so tired. The journey made her weary, she supposed.

He had told her all along, hadn’t he? She had simply misunderstood, or chosen to misunderstand. Myste could not raise the dead, only breathe life into their memories. It was perhaps a relief to know that the mother who stood in the field was a reflection of nothing more than X’khilo’s perceptions of who she was, who he wanted her to be. But X’khilo never knew who had sired Shasi, and perhaps Shasi would never know.

It was a relief and a burden all its own to know that X’khilo Nunh was not her father in blood as well as deed. It should have freed her to forsake the tribe at last, but the nunh’s blood had never been what bound her to them.

No, you were never one for renunciation, Fray said. She did not answer, looking down at the boy resting on her lap. No sorrow touched his face in sleep. He did not stir as she put her arms around him, carefully arranging his silver hair. He looked like Ysayle. She had always held that to be true. But he looked like someone else, too. He looked like … Everything you’ve lost, come back to you. “Mm,” she said, noncommittal in her tone. She could hear the steady pace of the chocobos on the road, and she missed Anthea, left behind when she had chased currents of aether to distant shores. Myste stirred just the same, blinking up at her. “Are we there?” he asked. “Nearly, little bird. I can see the light glinting off that horrible statue even from here.” She lifted a hand, and he shifted in his place to follow the line of her arm. “How awful. What will we find there?” “A friend,” she said. “He will treat you kindly, I promise.” “And he needs my help?” She thought of him proffering the siphon; remembered his voice in her ear as she stood in the Royal Menagerie, overwhelmed with uncertainty. “Perhaps more than anyone else I know,” she said. Oh, there was Thancred, of course, whose demons were without number, but she got no sense that Myste could allay them. “I should have asked Unukalhai to come and visit,” she said. “You remind me of one another.” “Why?” Myste wondered, shifting and stretching in the carriage, at last settling beside her. Shasi tilted her head, considering the question. “Both of you are overburdened by a weight that should never have been yours to bear,” she said. “But I don’t mind it, really,” Myste said. “I like being able to help people. I love people. If I can take their grief and grant them peace, that’s a worthwhile trade. It makes me happy, to see them smile again.” “What will you do when all the aether of my crystal is returned to me?” Shasi asked. “I suppose I’ll go away,” Myste said, and the ache she felt at the notion surprised her.

The carriage jolted to a stop a moment later, and Shasi breathed in the salt air of Vesper Bay. She jumped down from the back of the carriage first, holding her hands out to Myste, who let her help him down, then turned his face to catch the sun. She smiled, and he smiled too.

The Waking Sands looked abandoned—but it only looked abandoned, she knew. Its shade was yet welcome after the pressing heat of the Thanalan sun. How quickly she had forgotten, having fled its light. The glamour was convincing; Shasi was sure she tasted dust with every breath, and the stairway looked surpassingly precarious, such that even she herself balked at the first step. “If you need to,” Shasi told Myste, “you can just put a hand on my shoulder and close your eyes, feeling for the next step with your feet. I promise it’s safe.” “I know,” Myste said. “You would never hurt me.” Shasi felt a pulse of aether as she skimmed the toe of her boot over the first step. That would be the alert, she surmised, and when she made it to the bottom of the stairway, the door opened and Urianger stepped out.

She had to look up to meet his eyes—if indeed she did; the goggles obfuscated where his attentions were laid. His hood, too, sought to obscure him, and Myste seemed shy of him a moment, but Shasi settled a hand on the nape of the boy’s neck. “It’s good to see you, Urianger,” she said by way of greeting. “I’m sorry that I could not sooner warn you of my intention to visit, but it was a decision made in some haste.” “It is no trouble, my lady,” Urianger said. “Full glad am I to see you well, as ever. This, then, is the guest of which thee told me?” “Yes,” Shasi said. “This is Myste, my traveling companion. Myste, this is Urianger Augurelt. He is a great many things—a sage of Sharlayan, one of the Archons that followed Louisoix Leveilleur to Eorzea, and an accomplished scholar—but most importantly to me, he has been a dear friend.” Myste seemed overawed by that, but he stepped through the door when Shasi shepherded him forward. “It’s good to meet you,” he said. “I am glad to make thine acquaintance, Myste—and to hear that thee thinkest me still thy friend, my lady,” Urianger said. She blinked at him, faltering in her step for just a moment. “Of course,” she said a moment later, not a dismissal but an insistence.

They retired to the anteroom, which was much the same as Shasi remembered it—only emptier, with no Scions to sit around the table there. None but two, anyway, and Myste sat beside Shasi, solemn in the dim light of the room. “My lady tells me thou art possessed of a unique ability to speak with those departed,” Urianger said. “Yes,” Myste said. “When did this potential make manifest itself in thee?” the Elezen wondered. “I’ve been able to do it all my life.” “Dost thou recall the first instance of that power’s usage?” “Yes,” Myste said. “I was with some people I really admired, the sort of people who fought to protect others from the grief and sadness of this world. But … I had nothing really to contribute to their efforts, and so I kept to my silent admiration.” His chin fell to his chest, hair cascading forward as though to curtain away his shame. “It is isolating work, though, to be the bulwark of the innocent, and one day I heard a cry, as if from a great depth. I felt that loneliness as my own, and I wanted to alleviate it … since then, that has been my greatest joy and sole purpose.” Myste lifted a hand to brush his hair back over one pointed ear. He smiled across the table at Urianger. Shasi looked over at her old friend, too, but his face gave nothing away, his implacable mouth framed by silvery bristles. “What became of these people you admired?” Urianger asked. “What becomes of all of us, sooner or later? The bonds between us were broken. But … I do not hate them for that. Truthfully, I am drawn to that sort of person.” He turned to look up at Shasi. “That’s why I knew you would help me. Because you’re a good person.” Shasi only pursed her lips, glancing away. “Do you want to show Urianger what you can do?” she said instead. “Only if that’s what he wants,” Myste said, looking ashamed. Shasi gave him a nod of reassurance. “That there existeth a life untouched by loss I must surely doubt,” Urianger said, “least of all my own. My mentor preceedeth me through circumstances too strange to consider, but words enough from him have I to comfort me. If thou wouldst do me kindness, there is another I would speak to again, had I the opportunity.” Myste stared at the scholar, and for a long moment, Shasi was afraid he might refuse, but then she heard the swift approach of heavy footsteps.

“Urianger!” cried Moenbryda Wilfsunnwyn, leaning over the back of Urianger’s chair to throw her arms around him. She rested her chin atop his head, pulling his body back against hers. “Moenbryda,” he said, “this is most unseemly.”

[mandysimo13]

Skinny Dipping

This prompt came from @weneedtotalkaboutsherlock

I'm just writing down some ideas, you take what you want: Maybe they're on a  case during the summer and there's a piece of evidence at the bottom of a pond, so naturally Sherlock starts stripping to his pants and dives in the water to search for said thing, while John watches, flabbergasted, until Sherlock asks him join him in his search. Once they're both in the water... things happens. (Whatever you choose, first kiss? More? ;) )

John came jogging up to the pond -rather, small lake- of the small, no-name town they were investigating a murder in, panting as he reached Sherlock’s surly form.

Two minutes. He had been in the loo two minutes to empty his screaming bladder and exited only to find their stakeout position missing Sherlock and a message on his phone saying that Sherlock was charging on the chase without him. Not long after that a second message came in with Sherlock’s location. Then the infuriating man hit him with the news.

“What do you mean he’s chucked it in,” John asked in disbelief.

“I mean,” Sherlock growled out between ground teeth, “that he knew someone was onto him and he tossed the murder weapon in the sodding pond!” Sherlock waved his arms above his head in frustration. “What else could I possibly mean by that?”

John rolled his eyes and replied, “what I mean to say is, what do you mean he managed to slip by you long enough to ditch the evidence while I was in the loo? You said you had it under control!”

Sherlock strode angrily away “I did!”

“Clearly not! Now we have to call the police and tell them we’ve lost the evidence.”

Sherlock spun on his heel. “Absolutely not. We will not have the police bungling this investigation.”

“What? More than it already is?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John and shrugged off his Jacket. Even in the heat of summer Sherlock had insisted on wearing his usual attire of black suit, though he had conceded that the Belstaff would have been overkill.

“What are you doing,” John asked.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” He tossed his jacket aside and tugged his shirttails out of his trousers. “I’m going in. And I am certainly not going in wearing this suit.”

John reached out to grasp Sherlock’s arm, momentarily stilling him. “What do you mean going in? Are you mad?”

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s just a pond, John.”

“Yeah, in rural England. You know, snapping turtles are cropping up in ponds all over the countryside, right? Fancy getting your knob bit off by one of them?”

Sherlock raised an amused eyebrow. “What do you care about my knob?” John swallowed thickly, trying to come up with a witty reply. Sherlock shrugged him off and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Besides, if you’re so worried, you can come in with me. Splash about a bit on the surface. Scare off any turtles or otherwise.”

John shook his head. “No, absolutely not. You don’t have any goggles, we don’t have a first aid kit if you do get hurt. And, most importantly, they have people at The Yard whose job it is to fish things out of the bloody pond!”

“So we’re saving the Queen a bit of money by doing it ourselves.” He tossed his shirt aside and unbuckled his belt. “Besides, it’s like 30 degrees out. I’m hot! A bit of a swim will remedy that.”

John threw up his hands in frustration. “You’re doing this with or without me aren’t you?”

“Yup,” Sherlock replied, popping the “p” at the end.

“Fine! Fine. Don’t come crying to me if a turtle bites you. See if I care.” He crossed his arms as petulantly as possible to get his displeasure across. He turned his back, not indulging in Sherlock’s whims one bit.

Sherlock snorted. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You could use a dip, too. Might make you less dramatic.”

“I’m being the dramatic one?!” John spun back around to deliver a speech about Sherlock’s own theatrics but was stopped by the sudden swallowing of his own tongue. “Nnngh-Sherlock! What are you doing?!”

Sherlock’s pasty bum was staring right at him while Sherlock chucked his pants to lay on the already discarded pile of his clothes. He looked over his shoulder at John and said, “what? I’m going swimming without a suit. Did you think I’d be putting my clothes on over wet pants? That’s just begging for chafing!”

Then, without another word, Sherlock Holmes took a step into the pond. He hissed a bit at the cold but didn’t let it deter him. He carefully stepped further in, using the feet attached to his long legs to scope out where the muddy bottom lay. When he was in up to his hips, Sherlock flopped onto his back to float along the surface. He sighed and called for John to join him.

“Come on, John! The water’s fine!”

It was hot. And he knew the water would feel great.

So, with a long suffering sigh, he began unbuttoning the light shirt he had worn that day. He was very aware of Sherlock watching him, his stormy eyes tracking his movements. John shivered and it had nothing to do with the weather. When he got down to his pants, John stopped, his thumbs hooked into the hem as he noticed Sherlock’s gaze still on him. Now, John Watson -army captain, doctor, former school rugby player- was not a shy man. But he couldn’t help feeling just a touch shy, knowing that Sherlock could see anything and everything in him. He had come to terms ages ago that he had a crush on -was in love with- his flatmate and best friend. He had managed to keep himself under control; fond gazes but no lingering touches, no creepy advances (married to the work), and he tried to keep his Sherlock related wank fantasies to a minimum. But getting into the water naked as the day he was born with Sherlock would be his strongest test yet.

It’s necessary, it’s necessary, it’s necessary, he chanted to himself internally.

“Excuse you,” John said, trying to sound affronted by Sherlock’s ogling.

“Problem?”

“Turn your back,” John insisted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll start looking while you get your bits in here.” With that, Sherlock disappeared beneath the water and John was about ready to put his clothes back on and stomp back to the car.

“Infuriating git,” John whispered to himself. He took his first few steps into the water, biting back a gasp at the cold. Sherlock’s head popped up once, long enough to take a breath, and then he was back under the water to continue his search. In no time, he had acclimated and he had gotten the lower half his body into the water.

Sherlock’s head burst through the water a couple feet away and he sucked in a lungful of air. “John! I think I found it!”

“What, exactly, are you looking for? You never did say.”

“A candlestick with the family crest on it.”

John blinked. “That’s rather damning evidence. Are you sure we’re not in a game of Cluedo right now?”

Sherlock giggled as he tread water and said, “honestly. How silly.” Then he sunk back beneath the water, leaving John alone again. He felt silly, standing there alone, looking out for any suspicious snapping turtles or rogue catfish or consulting detectives looking to take the piss out of him. But then Sherlock surfaced once more, triumphantly holding the candlestick above his head.

“Aha! I’ve got it!” He proudly swam then strode out of the water to drop the candlestick by his clothes.

“That it, then?” John started to make his way out but stopped as he saw Sherlock reenter the water. “What are you doing?”

“Why do you always ask the obvious? What’s it look like I’m doing?” His long legs propelled him through the water, his flaccid cock swaying with his movements, water dripping down his torso. John licked his lips at the sight. Never before had he ever wanted to lap up gross pond water but Sherlock Holmes had a way of making him want to do all sorts of absurd things.

“How long are we going to be here?”

“Do you not enjoy swimming? It’s great exercise. Good for your shoulder, too,” Sherlock told him as he began an effortless backstroke.

John did enjoy swimming. He just wished he’d had a suit. Or Sherlock had a suit. Preferably both. He just wanted an extra barrier between him and certain embarrassment because he wasn’t sure how long he could be in the presence of a wet, naked Sherlock without reacting.

At first, he just stood there in the cool, hip-deep water watching Sherlock swim. But then Sherlock swam up close and splashed him right in the face. John spluttered in surprise as Sherlock laughed, kicking away and out of reach.

“Come on, John! Swim with me!”

“I’m good here, thanks,” John said, wiping the rivers of water off his face.

Sherlock disappeared under the water and then John’s adrenaline kicked in. He widened his stance, making it harder for him to get knocked off-balance should Sherlock try to pull him under. His hands went up in the classic self-defense position and he scanned the area for any sign of Sherlock. But all his precautions were for naught. Sherlock managed to slip up behind him and push him from behind into the deeper water.

John recovered himself quickly, bouncing back up to the surface as Sherlock swam closer.

“Doesn’t the water feel better over your shoulders and back? You were starting to burn, I saved you from some unfortunate pain later,” Sherlock said, grinning at him as they tread water.

“Oh you cock,” John said, reaching out to grab Sherlock’s arm and tug him close. Sherlock’s body flew to him in the water and he managed to dunk Sherlock under before splashing away to avoid repercussions.

They went on like that for who knows how long, splashing and laughing and chasing each other around until, somehow, Sherlock grappled onto him. His legs came to wrap around John’s hips as his arms hugged him close to avoid getting splashed in the face again and John froze, his arms floating limply at his sides. They bobbed in silence for a few seconds, the water lapping around them as they realized the delicate position they’d found themselves in.

The space around them became charged. Electrified.

John chanced a look at Sherlock and found him similarly lost. “Sherlock,” John whispered, licking his lips.

“John,” Sherlock whispered back. His arms loosened slightly but didn’t go away.

John responded by slowly, gingerly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s back to hold him close. He took a deep breath, licking his lips nervously. From this close, he could see the sun shining off Sherlock’s wet, inky curls. He could see the droplets of water clinging to Sherlock’s eyelashes. He could watch his pulse pump in Sherlock’s neck. He could feel Sherlock’s hardened nipples press into his chest. Under the water he could feel the stiff clutching of his thighs as John tread to keep them both afloat.

He could feel his own cheeks grow warm, his mouth dry out. He could hear their mingled, strained breathing in his ears. He felt his hands flex, trying not to grab hold too hard to Sherlock in case he wanted to flee. He felt his own heart thump in his chest. A shudder passed through him, down his spine, and he realized that he was becoming aroused.

Without his permission, his cock twitched beneath the water, bobbing up hopefully. His hands tightened and he was horrified at himself to find that his hands had slipped lower to grasp Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock gasped, legs tightening and bringing their lower halves closer together. Then it was John’s turn to gasp as his suddenly raging erection became trapped between them.

Right next to Sherlock’s.

His eyes snapped open, not realizing he had closed them, and his mouth hung open as he tried to find the right words to say. He wanted to say something succinct, eloquent, thoughtful. Instead what came out was-

“You...you’re hard.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said huskily.

“Because-”

“Because you’re touching me,” Sherlock confirmed.

John nodded, averting his eyes and trying to collect his thoughts. Which was an immense feat considering his heartbeat that throbbing in his penis. Sherlock shifted slightly, hips thrusting into John’s abdomen and it caused them both to whimper slightly.

“John,” Sherlock keened, undulating his hips into him needily. John’s hands gripped him tighter and he buried his face into Sherlock’s neck. His mouth dropped open, panting hotly into Sherlock’s damp skin which caused him to shiver.

“Christ, Sherlock,” John huffed out against his neck. His lips pressed themselves in a slack kiss. “We...we can’t...this isn’t-”

“Stop thinking so much,” Sherlock said, a layer of anger in his voice. “Why must you over analyze what is so plainly obvious,” he barked out impatiently.

John pulled his head up. He looked wide-eyed at Sherlock, suddenly irritated. “All that’s obvious to me is that we’re both hard and desperate for a good shag. But I am not someone for you to just use when it’s convenient for you to do so, Sherlock!”

John let go and took a step back, trying to separate the two of them but Sherlock was having none of it. “What’s obvious is that you’re oblivious to the fact that I like you!” John stopped his retreat, nearly falling back into the water. He gripped Sherlock again, steadying himself and Sherlock kept going. “I’ve liked you since the very beginning, loved you nearly as long, and I know you’ve been arse over teakettle for me and we’ve both been royal idiots who’ve been dancing around each other for years and finally, finally, we get an excuse to stop hiding and you’re still-mmph!”

John couldn’t listen to Sherlock ranting for one more second. The confession he’d longed to hear was out of the man’s mouth and John needed to kiss it into his own. Sherlock quickly spurred into action, kissing him back and clutching John’s head as if his life depended on it. But eventually they both had to come up for air and when they did they were gasping.

After catching his breath, Sherlock said, “now, will you please, for the love of god, just touch me?!”

John laughed and shook his head. “No.”

Sherlock groaned petulantly. “And why not? Are you having some kind of sexual crisis or something?”

John laughed and began moving backwards towards the shore. “I’m not having a sexual crisis you berk.” When he’d reached shallower water, he set Sherlock down and kept moving. “But I refuse to have our first time be in the middle of a bloody pond where anyone with half a mind to go sightseeing will really get an eyeful.” He reached out and took Sherlock’s hand to lead him out of the water. “I want to take you back to our hotel room, wash this pond scum off you, then lay you out on our bed where I can enjoy you in private.”

Sherlock’s eyes dilated, obviously onboard with that plan. He licked his lips, “I suppose I can agree to suspending activities until after a shower.”

“Good,” John said before reaching up on his tiptoes to give Sherlock a soft, lingering kiss. “Now, put your pants on so we can go.”

[sparda3g]

The Seven Deadly Sins Chapter 267 and 268 Review

It’s been a while since I last review the series’ chapter. I had a complication with my new laptop to get my day started, but now I am back in motion. I apologize for unable to get chapter 266 review done. Now I am back for the latest chapter; however, there were two releases. I guess you can say it’s my karma, can’t escape from working hard. On the bright side, we have two chapters to enjoy.

The first chapter was largely a buildup, picked up right where Estarossa lost his mind and proceeded to choke Elizabeth, because love hurts. It’s sad how I thought, “As expected. Oh the humanity! Will anyone please save the princess?!” Sorry, my expectation has shrunk. Fortunately, she ends up saving herself by shooting magic right at his face. It’s the least she had to do; she was about to die. Honestly, if someone did save her from that, that is kind of sad. My hope for her was rising and nothing can ruin that…

Right?

An interesting setting for Estarossa to choose to hide her at, concerning that it was a secret meeting place between Meliodas and her. Estarossa truly believe he is his oldest brother; I can’t say that’s sweet of him. Of course, Elizabeth will be touched by the sight since it is nostalgia and all, so I didn’t mind her reacting this way. For now. Shame that it does resort to a love triangle war though, especially Estarossa being involved in this mess.

The next conflict against him is setup back at the plain field with the Archangels and King getting ready to set off. I wonder if this is how the series’ battle will be like going forward; teamwork is the only way to win. It’s nothing wrong with that; just feel like one-on-one will become Meliodas and very few others exclusive. Anyway, it makes sense for those three to be the only one to go since they can fly; sorry, no flying nimbus. If this was a Seinen series, I would be very afraid for King to die because of marriage in mind, but I am worried in a lower capacity level.

Before anyone can say, “Sausagefest,” Derieri insists to join along as well because she can fly too. This is when it finally put her trust into the test due to her status. At least the Archangels aren’t so rude with her. It’s  evident that only Ludociel is a bona fide douche of Archangels; good for others. Human can bad mouth at her all day, so it’s natural.

I was happy that King is the one to step up and defend her, mainly because his journey in the past spiritually comes in handy for a reasonable decision making. I couldn’t see any other way. I don’t know if King will tell her the story, though I think it’s that important. So long she has someone’s support, she is allowed to go. I do get the feeling that this is her endgame, but maybe Nakaba will surprise me. We’ll see. Now we have a demon, a fairy, and two Archangels. Sounds like a really strong team.

It segues to a better yet simple insight of Estarossa and his struggles in the past. As said before, he’s like the bastard child that no one would want or befriend with. The reason why he loves Elizabeth and Meliodas is because they didn’t laugh at him. It’s a familiar story of social outcast getting loved by one and eventually fallen in love. The problem is he’s a villain and most importantly, Elizabeth always have her eyes on Meliodas. What a shocker.

Even in the midst of depression, she still talks about him and ask Estarossa to help her. To be fair, Meliodas is the prime target, so I won’t blame her for bringing up the topic in this dreary mood. I unintentionally feel bad for Estarossa to be stuck with this hell of being neglected by two obsessed lovers. Who’s the actual villain here?

The one part that is questionable and honestly, I’m curious for probably a reason that wasn’t intended is whether that one memory of his is true. He states that Meliodas once told him that he will work things out with him and Elizabeth. Elizabeth is confident that he would never say that. If you take it out of context, I would think she’s an asshole for being so damn sure. Hell, do we even know what Meliodas meant if that part is true? It sounds like something of an older brother trying to make the relationship work, but not necessarily make them lovers. I wish the translation was more accurate or the tone was better suggestive because that respond somewhat pissed me off. It better be false to escape this mess. “I’m sure your memory is mistaken.” It better be…

Estarossa does go mad and the Commandments begin to swallow him up. He resumes back to choking Elizabeth out cold, only it’s a strangle rather than a chokehold. She started it, so serve her right. At least, she’s on cue to be damsel in distress, so why I even bother hoping. Estarossa form a ball shape, filled with the Commandments’ energy. He lost his mind to drag her into the abyss, so he can eat her. Look, if it does put her into Kaneki’s state in the last episode of Tokyo Ghoul Season 1, I will eat all of my complaints and put her on a throne; no more from me.

It’s an interesting comparison with Estarossa and Meliodas’ current state. That would mean Estarossa will go through the transformation phase similar to Meliodas in which is taking time to complete. The state is like a cocoon, waiting it to break. What I would like to know if Meliodas can come in contact with other Commandments or other similar procedure he’s in. If so, he may detect Elizabeth in danger and plan will change. It does sound like a perfect setup for those two to go head-to-head with similar power-up. It’s only matter of time.

The second chapter is pretty straightforward, but entertaining none the less. It’s all about Ban, the guy who has been missing for a while. The color page did give it away, so it wasn’t much of shocker. However, it does hold more than one meaning behind it. While there isn’t much to cover in plot aspect, the joy comes from the journey and how far he has gone.

It does start off strange with some wolf covered in black energy or whatever, leaving some fans wondering what is that at first. I quite like the imagery of the setting. It’s artsy in a way, something like Limbo the video game. It’s a nice change of pace in its atmosphere; Nakaba should do more of that technique. It becomes clear that it’s Ban when it remembers the Fountain of Youth and sure enough, he recovers to his normal state. Well, his human state to be exact.

These two chapters used plenty of large panels, sometimes a page worth, for impacting effect or cool designs. In this chapter, it’s mainly for the detail and exploiting the hardship journey. Purgatory is true hell and even for an immortal, it can still “kill” you. Your body may not break, but your mind will.

Ban grew crap load of hair but that’s because time travel fast in there. With the mixed of an image of a lost man and his current mental state, it would appear he has lost his mind, close succumb to eternal hell. It’s effective when even Ban was scared out of his mind. The double page is really good. It’s like watching some guy going to an endless journey; wandering around for centuries (literally).

I feel bad for Ban to suffer this magnitude. It’s agonizing how he keeps calling for Meliodas like he really can’t take it anymore. Immortal isn’t shaping up to be incredible. It’s telling when he begins to speak to himself, questions and all. You can argue that he’s doing so to keep in check of his humanity’s state, which is plausible. Either way, he’s fallen into the despair that could one day take him to emptiness.

We are treated with a nice fun action with some silly looking black dragon, but this type of nature is amusing and I do miss it. It’s a good change of imagination in its lore, so not everything has to be vicious in design. The dragon reminds me of Meliodas’ old sword, but I believe that is the point by the end. It brings a fun action between the two. It was a good timing on its end since Ban needed a distraction to prevent total insanity. It’s funny how I thought we have a new hairstyle for Ban, only to get his head blown away and regenerate with the usual cut. It’s a good thing that I didn’t jump ahead to think there’s an art error since time travel really fast and such.

It’s good that it was established a while back that Ban and Meliodas have a solid friendship, so it’s nice yet a bit sad how much he has struggled to retrieve his best friend’s emotion. Luckily, Ban has a lover that is far tolerable in compare but my point is his reminder of Elaine waiting for him causes “Meliodas” to speak from somewhere. All this time, that funny looking dragon is “him.” It’s charming how two friends always find a way to challenge each other, no matter where.

Now that he has found “him,” it does make me wonder if he will return once actual Meliodas “hatches” from transformation or will it be for a while, leaving room for Meliodas to cause chaos. I don’t even know how can Ban escape from there. He now holds the game changer; it’s only matter of how long it will take.

Overall, the two chapters were good for its setup. Archangels, King, and Derieri is an impressive dynamic; hopefully it takes them a while to get there for some amusing interactions. Estarossa lost his mind because this romance has been mind-numbing. It leaves a sign of potential two brothers’ battle coming soon, possibly after with those four arrival. Ban’s journey was creeping and amusing. The artwork for both chapters are pretty solid with nice detail with its single page use. The second chapter benefited greatly from extra spaces and impacting inserts. The combine of two doesn’t make it feel like two chapters in total, but it covers enough setup to engage an exciting event for the next. Plus, both end page of each chapter connects each other. It won’t be long now before another round of carnage ensue.