#Smear a woman today and live in fear of BEING a smeared woman tomorrow

[iznsfw]

The Rabbit

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

9,623 words

Categories | maid!Wonyoung, if you could get the movie this is based off of you're awesome, blowjob, anal

Yep, I finally wrote Wonyoung. Who knew, right?

Maybe you'll meet your end today. Tomorrow, if you're lucky. Either way, they'd find out. That's definitely certain; mandatory love is no winning game. Love in general isn't, especially when it's founded on merely scrawny and lustful sex. The lines between lust and love blur, and it becomes more dangerous than it actually is.

And one could say that it really isn't love (you've heard that a couple more times than you'd like) when you barely know anything about her, when your mind only dances with the thought of ruining her angelic self again, but they know you'd never listen. You refuse to.

So, where did all this—a young, gorgeous woman by the name of Jang Wonyoung in the crook of your arm, her hand on your cock and glossy lips on yours—start?

Well, to understand, you have to stay in the present and reminisce about the past, just one more time. You've to live in it as if the former days were the current ones and what's now is nothing to worry about. But you shouldn't dwell too long; the world out there is no land for lonely men.

-

1. HOP

Your nerves and fears merge and struggle as one as you line up to the counter. They've plenty of reasons to do that sickly collaboration that makes your stomach hurt, but you find solace with the fact that it's at least a nice hotel. The soft yellow paint on the wall makes a lovely pair with the yellow one smeared on the outlines. The rooms are all well-furnished, and the frames bear replicates of several famous abstract masterpieces. In general, the hotel possesses a grand and pretty aesthetic, and you would have rated the stay five stars out of five if you weren't hoarded out of your home and in here.

Everyone dresses nicely, too. The older woman in the line next to yours wears a blazer and a high fashion tube top under it, her main color all over being pink. On the other hand, the man in front of you dons a formal black suit. It's like there was a recurring oath all around to dress grandly that they left you out of. How rude of them.

Suddenly self-conscious, you smooth down your simple shirt and jeans. You're already making an exception for yourself from the expensive dress code; the obligation to look clean should at least be followed. There shouldn't be any crinkled lines riding the fabric of your shirt, or a single speck of dirt on your cheap shoes.

"Next," says the woman at the counter briskly.

You make your way forward. Said woman is dressed in mandatory, dead-looking uniform and has no sign of a smile on her emotionless face. She doesn't want to be here more than you do. She makes that clear as she flashes you a tired look.

"Name?"

You tell her your name, switching your weight from one foot to another.

"Age?"

"Twenty-one years old."

"Sexual preference?"

"W-what?" you ask. It bears repetition; you have no idea why the woman would ask that. 

She—(you should start calling her "Kim Gaeul" now; you've read the name on her breast pocket tag)—sighs, not caring to hide her frustration. "You know why you're here, don't you?" she asks. 

Her tone suggests that you should know. However, no idea comes to mind. If they ever informed you of your purpose here, the message got lost in translation in the stress of packing your belongings and traveling all the way to this hotel. It's a decent upgrade from your humble little house, but it can’t mimic the safety of the place you grew up in. You're basically being held hostage here—this place will never be home.

"I don't," you admit guiltily.

"Well, if it's not obvious, you're a twenty-one-year-old heterosexual—I assume—man, and you still haven't found a partner." 

Gaeul says it in this unnecessarily audible voice that makes you flush red to your ears. Everyone is going through the same, hence their presence in this very hotel, but when it's uttered out loud, it's like rubbing salt over an already throbbing wound. 

Your face feels hot with humiliation. "Yes? And?" 

"This doesn't go well with your purpose of being fruitful and multiplying," continues Gaeul. To quote the Bible in these times is… well, something, but you’ll let her have this one. "Here, you'll be able to find your lifetime partner—"

You're confused. "And how does being here help with bagging a girl?" 

"—and spend two weeks together to prove your bond to us." Gaeul glares at you, clearly annoyed that you've interrupted her. For that, and out of pure, unyielded spite, she dodges your question expertly. "You're given forty-five days, and, if by the end, you're unable to find someone who shares the same qualities slash traits with you, you're turned into an animal."

Well, you did not expect that one coming. 

(But, if your memory serves you well, the cop in the van that took you to this place said, as he brushed down his gray uniform: "They skin you alive to make you a little critter, that's what they do—it's heinous. Happened to an old friend of mine. Miss him more than ever."

"Did you see it happen?" you asked, his words stealing your attention from the lands running to keep up with the vehicle.

"Was told about it," answered the cop. "He said he wanted to be a dog. They took out his organs and gave all the blood to the hospitals. Dunno what happened to those, but they probably went down the same route. Wonder what kid out there got his lungs now, heh."

"Well, did it work? Did he become what he wanted?"

"No idea. All I can say is after that, dogs kept following me around.")

"You know," you say, leaning forward on the counter with your arms crossed, in hopes of appearing more in control of the whole thing than you actually are, "it takes more than forty-five days to find a wife, Gaeul. It takes years."

"Oh, really?" Gaeul gives you a condescending look one would give to a rambling, precocious toddler. "Didn't know that."

"Hey, I'm not doing this. I'm out."

"Suppose you're a Loner, then?" 

"I've heard that one before."

She sighs. "A Loner doesn't believe in what we do here," she explains tiredly. "They don't believe in love."

"Sounds like me."

"If one wishes to extend their forty-five-day period in finding a partner," adds Gaeul helpfully, her statement definitely not a thinly veiled threat, "they're required to kill a Loner."

You're stunned by how everything works. Just forty-five days to get a wife? Those who don't want to comply with the system being hunted down as a consequence? What has this world come to?

You look back in line. There are numerous other men and women waiting for their turn, and you're wasting their time and Gaeul's. Not that you care much for her since she's been rude to you since the beginning, but she does look like the kind of person able to make someone disappear off the face of the Earth if they don't fit in. What if you don't match her criteria either? What would she have the people in charge do to you? What if the animal thing was a lie and they actually just killed you off?

It's either death, becoming an animal, or having someone to hold. 

You haven't had the third one in a long, long time.

You inhale, hold that breath, and exhale slowly. Straighten your shoulders. "Fine, I'll do it."

"Alright. Sexual preference?"

"Heterosexual." You think.

"If, in any circumstance, you are unable to find a partner, what animal would you like to become?"

A beat. 

"A rabbit," you say thoughtfully. "I think I'd want to become a rabbit."

2. DOWN

"A rabbit? Really? Out of every animal out there?"

A small Japanese woman from behind you in line keeps you entertained now in the waiting room. She has short, auburn hair and a cute smile. Her cheeks remind you of dumplings. Speaking of, you can smell some of them cooking in the kitchen nearby. You can hear your stomach rumble.

"It just… feels right, you know?" you say, shrugging in your seat beside her, in which she's strangely pressed up closely to you. 

You haven't really given the animal thing much thought. You know that there's an underlying reason for it, but you can't really ponder exactly what. Perhaps it's a favorite animal from childhood? Nope, couldn't be it—your favorite animal back then was a lobster. And you can't even recall the reason for that.

"A rabbit… carrots…” You give up. “No idea.”

The woman nods understandingly. Her fingers guitar a rhythm on her knees. "Aren't you gonna ask what I'd like to be?" she says expectantly.

Alright, sure; you'll play her game. You've nothing else to do, anyway; you're just waiting for your room number to be announced. It might take a while, too, with the number of people waiting before you. The richer ones obviously get more privileges as well.

"What animal would you want to be?" you ask the girl.

"A butterfly. Be nice to just fly around and be pretty, don't you think?" 

"A butterfly’s an insect, no?"

"Insects are also animals."

Desperate to keep the conversation going to fill the eerie silence, which makes you grow more and more uneasy, you prompt more lines from her. "Are they?"

She twitches her mouth to one side with a thoughtful look. "I'd like to think so."

You're given only forty-five days to find the one, you remind yourself. You have to constantly give yourself reminders lest you forget about your new life here in the hotel. Here's your chance.

"What's your name?" you ask her.

"Rei."

A cute name for a cute girl—nice. Rei's adorable from head to toe. Even the clothes she wears are sweet. Her plump cheeks allude to that, too. "Well, Rei, you want to team up?"

Rei scoffs, suddenly moving away from you. Her face, which you once saw as adorable, suddenly looks scary. "Is that what you think of all this? A defense-offense field game?"  

"Uh, no, I meant that it’s—"

"No, save it. I want to actually find love here, you bastard. Love isn't a game you can just play anytime."

Yeah, of course it isn't; love is a fucking requirement. Does Rei really think she'll find true love in a world like this? You pity her Snow White enthusiasm for true romance, for a prince who’d sweep her off her feet without the feeling of obligation, but maybe she really wants to be a butterfly. You're not gonna stop her from what her heart desires; you're far from that kind of guy. 

At least, you hope so. God, are you becoming one of those men? 

Rei's obviously upset. From the pure shock in her face, it's clear she saw something in you that was quickly made meaningless by your mindset. She rises from the sofa, fuming, and walks away. She says in heated breaths that she needs some fresh air. 

You watch your chance disappear just like that and smile tightly. Oh well.

"Tough, ain't it?" remarks the man from the loveseat across the room. He's a lot older, and he looks like he'd be the best grandfather. He'd probably let his grandkids stay awake past bedtime and give them candy. Why is he here? Maybe he recently broke up with Grandma? "Finding a girl?"

"Don't I know it," you sigh. 

He smiles sympathetically. "It's better than being a rabbit," he says.

"I'd take a rabbit over a no-jerking-off policy."

That's how it works here: real life torture, in an unusual way, since they're depriving you of self-pleasure. They don't believe that masturbating would help find a girl. Gaeul told you earlier that if you were caught doing so—(and they will; they have CCTVs in the damned rooms, which definitely breaks more than a few laws about privacy and the like)—there would be severe punishments. 

You truly don't want to know what punishment awaits your refusal to obey.

The man chuckles. "At least you get a lap dance. That's better than yankin'."

"A lap dance?" you ask. Gaeul didn't mention that.

"Every night, a maid comes over and gives ya a good grind down the groin. You don't actually get to touch her or do the thing, if you catch my drift,” he winks, “but it helps with mating. Wouldn't want someone who can't get it up at night, amirite, mate?"

"Suppose not." 

The man sees the sparkle in your eyes. His laugh evolves from a soft, olden chuckle to a full-on guffaw. "See? There's pros in this place, too, getting a pretty girl on top of you every night."

"Can't the maid be my wife instead?" you joke. That would make the flow of things here a whole lot easier, if that were true.

He shakes his head. "Nah, some say they're part of the Loners. Wouldn't want to mess with them."

The Loners… you've heard about them during your drive here. You saw them lurking in the woods, guns cocked, with eyes flashing demonic looks at every passerby. While the cop told you not to make eye contact with them, Gaeul informed you about their beliefs earlier during your heated exchange: love shouldn't be mandatory. And you agree, but getting hunted down by desperate rich people isn't at the very top of your bucket list. 

You're a coward, but you like to think it's just you playing safe. One wrong move can land you in a place where your eyes would never behold the light of day again, where life holds no meaning unless a carrot is present.

"You're lying about the lap dance thing, aren't you?" you say finally. The world is fucked up, but it can't be that bad, right?

He grins. "See for yourself, and don't say I didn't warn you."

-

If there's anything good in this hotel besides the air-conditioning and paintings, it's the food. The platters served on the white-drapes tables make you feel more well-off than you actually are. There's fish skillets, sushi, gravy, and mashed potatoes. Spoons and knives of varying sizes and utilities sit on the opposite sides of every plate. 

"Guess I like this place now," you joke to a woman beside you. She giggles back politely, but doesn't respond; her mouth is stuffed with crispy chicken skin.

You eat to your heart's content. Pour gravy all over the hills of mashed potatoes. Scoop up unlimited rice and pair it with the soup. You wonder what kind of cooks they hired to produce these delicacies. Was there a certain secret degree that had to be obtained to be accepted here? A secret recipe worth signing an NDA for? 

"Good, isn't it?" asks the young gentleman across from you. It's clear he's used to grand dining; he's dainty with his chewing, and knows on which occasion a specific utensil should be used. However, his eyes are kind—there's no judgment in them as he watches you wolf down your food.

"Definitely." Letting go of table etiquette, you speak with half your mouth full. Glance down at his plate. "Do you usually eat that little?"

"Not really," he responds. "Just keeping room for dessert."

"There's dessert?" 

As if on cue, chocolate cake and more chicken wings are placed on the table. You take one of the chicken wings and eat it with rice, classic Filipino style. 

(Speaking of, you really, really miss Jollibee.)

Should you go for the cake, too? 

You glance at the cake, then at your growing belly. Fuck it. You slice a generous part of the cake onto your golden plate. The frilling of the dessert is made of flowery cream. The bakers decorated the top of it with coffee-flavored candy, which you fork into your mouth gladly. Your stomach and heart feel full, but you just keep eating. It’s rare to come across food this delicious, and you’re not going to waste it. It’s all or nothing.

"Let's take half and half for this bad boy," the gentleman gestures to the cake with a pinky, "and leave nothing for the rest of these fuckers. How's that sound?"

"What the hell, I'm in."

As promised, he slices the dessert smoothly with a serving knife and places a good amount for you, and another one for him. You're gluttons, you two, but it's exactly that which made you like each other. 

You become quite uneasy when you see staff looking at you strangely. Their eyes are squinted, and they’re murmuring among themselves, pointing in your direction. You try to look away, but they’re approaching already. There’s nowhere else to run.

"Sir, you might want to come with us."

You look up, ready to bear whatever they're planning to do to you. But then you realize they’re talking to your new friend, who looks nervous. The look in his eyes matches the one you’d see in an animal caught in a bear trap. He follows them anyway to the backrooms; the staff look pretty serious, and they don't look like they'd back up.

You've no idea what happened after, but you hear the words "masturbation" and "disobeyed," watch a few heads turn out of curiosity, and smell the horrid scent of burning skin.

You also hear screaming.

Safe to say that no one used the toaster after that.

-

You enter the chambers of your room with a fulfilled stomach. There's just a tiny amount of alcohol in your system, enough to keep your nerves at bay, and maybe a few mashed potatoes. You make sure to brush all that off in the tiled bathroom, using the small tube of hotel toothpaste and the children's toothbrush they provided for you. Drain it all down with mouthwash and leave your mouth feeling minty. 

You thought the bedroom would be as grand as the rest of the place. To your surprise, its design and furniture look like ones you'd see at a gas station motel, nothing more. There's no expensive comforter to slip under, or a tiger's carpet to rest your feet on. It's all just… normal. 

Maybe you'd like it that way. One day, it'll feel like home. You're not entirely sure about it, but you're hoping it'll happen.

You're just watching TV on the vintage television they set up on a small table (it’s a pretty old movie called Psycho) when a knock sounds on your door. Wondering who it might be, coming over at this hour, you open it. 

"Good evening, sir." 

A girl with braided hair twisted by dark bows in a stereotypical and an obviously fetish maid outfit stands timidly outside of your room. In spite of your tiredness, it still astounds you how she looks like an expensive, vintage porcelain doll brought to life. Her skin is as pale as the frilly, ribboned fabric forming the top of her black dress and the gloves that wrap her thin arms like a present. Her hands are curled behind her back, but they hide nothing, not even her nervousness. 

"I'm sorry," you say. She's pretty, and you would have done her, but you don't know what the hell she's doing here. "I didn't ask for room service."

"It's not room service," she says. She's tall for a girl, only a little shorter than you, but you forget it with how often she hangs her head. "I'm, I'm here to give you the… you know…"

"Huh?"

"The grinding thing?" the girl goes on. Her fingertips tap against each other. Her eyes meet everything but yours. "The lap dance?"

Oh, now you remember. Your mind let go of the idea, having trained its focus on the food you consumed, but now, you can't stop thinking about what this girl is going to do. And here you thought it was just a joke to get you going.

You take a proper look at her. She's really beautiful. That face and body of hers, visually striking and slim in all the right spots, doesn't belong in a maid's uniform, now that you look closer. She should be a model, strutting down the catwalk with confidence in every one of her strides. She should be out there walking for fashion weeks and shows, not grinding on random strangers varying from old and young.

(However, in all unfiltered honesty, you certainly wouldn't mind her rubbing her thighs and ass on you, or holding those braids as you plow her—)

"Who are you?"

"I'm the maid," she replies. She bites her lip, getting even more anxious about what's to come, but it just looks undeniably sexy to you, even if its effect on you is wholly unintended.

Nodding: "Yeah, I know that. But what's your name?"

"W-Wonyoung…" 

"Well, Wonyoung, do you want to do this? It's completely fine if you don't."

It's probably her first time hearing this because her blush is intense. She can't recall the last time anybody asked if she actually consented to her job. "I don't mind," she says honestly. She crosses her arms together and looks down. "I think I kinda like it."

You smile widely. "You do, huh?" 

"Yes, but I'm a little nervous. I… I've never done stuff like this before."

Her voice is small and sweet. Pair that up with her angelic face and the outfit, then it equates to her looking like the perfect fuckdoll. You can imagine a million different scenarios with her if the world were kinder: having her as your pretty little sugar baby, with Wonyoung always following you like a tail and calling you daddy. Perhaps as a young wife, too, who'd welcome you home in ways that stray from a simple breakfast or kiss. Oh, you lament those lost universes. 

But for now, you can have her pretty ass on your crotch.

"Come show me what you came for," you say.

"I—" Wonyoung shakes her head. She has to get a hold of herself. "Sorry, I'm just scared."

"Don't worry, I'll help you out."

Your lower body descends on the bed. And after, so does her tight, round ass on your center.

Your hands hold on to her tiny waist and guide her in her routine. She's on your lap, and you're in heaven.

The skirt, created and woven by the wealthy seamstresses in the hotel, is mesmerizing, but it's the natural way of her butt grinding left and right on your crotch that catches you whole, as if she were born with the ability to make the simple, subtle action of nuzzling her rear end on your cock feel like every good thing in the world. In that moment, you have strong faith that a million dollars or a good life can't compare to Wonyoung's ass.

The doubled pleasure from her thin safety shorts and her round butt causes you to let out a deep, guttural moan: "Fuck, Wony." 

"Wony?" she asks, looking back at you with glassy eyes that still hold impossibly delicate innocence in them. Oh, how much you want to see the corruption's lust bloom in her irises.

"Sorry." You throw your hands in the air with a soft, broken laugh. "Just slipped out of me, dunno why."

"No, it's fine," says Wonyoung. She winks. "I like it."

Temptation taunts you in the form of the young girl's skirted ass. You wonder if she's lying about being a neophyte to this; she's a natural talent. She takes care to press her butt hard against your rising erection, and pleasure its covered tip by grinding on it with a rapid rhythm. Your cockhead starts to feel hot and tight, and you can tell she's aroused as much as you are; her safety shorts are attractively damp.

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes." You hold on to her dancing hips that grind on your growing erection, guiding her movements to what feels good for you. "Mmm, fuck, faster."

"I can't, I'm sorry..."

Wonyoung halts and rises from your lap. It's a terrible decision to make; it leaves you with unfulfilled desire and her with shaky, buckling legs. She bows apologetically. "I—I'm not supposed to do anything other than that, sir," she explains. "I have to go now. I'm sorry."

You can't believe you were teased like that. And you can't even masturbate to get down from the path to your high. You've seen what they did to the man who was caught touching himself, and you aren't keen on having your hand shoved inside a burning hot toaster.

"Wonyoung, please—"

She exits the room, head bowed and cheeks flushed. You're sitting like a rejected schoolboy on the bed, with blue balls and a throbbing erection, and you couldn't be more disappointed.

-

The next day arrives faster than you expected, and you still can’t stop thinking about her. Well, there wasn't a minute in the nighttime you spent without thinking of Wonyoung. Although your eyes ought to be on the pretty girls aplenty who’re looking for a man like you—(there’s Miyawaki Sakura, the wealthy heiress with pink hair and a charming, camera-trained smile, and; Kim Jiwon, who would have stolen your heart with her cute, cat-like ways back in your high school days)—your mind remains caught up in Wonyoung.

Pick up your cup, and the black design makes you think of her dark braided hair, which would have felt amazing curled up in your hands as you have your way with her. It’s difficult to drink coffee when the bitter taste reminds you of how she’d taste infinitely better, if last night her crotch was parked on your face instead of your lap. Wiping your mouth with the provided tissue paper sparks a new lamentation: the similar smooth feel of her maid’s dress, and, with her slim shape, how easy it would be to fold her into every position imaginable just to feel her insides become disarrayed from your needy cock.

She’s like a dream come true, dancing in your mind as if she were your ballerina rather than a hotel maid. She’s a sweet, innocent daydream who knows not of how much she stays first in line in your train of thoughts. Wonyoung is temptation in its most innocent form, and it ruins you how you can’t have her for yourself.

"Hey, you alright?" asks the old man you befriended after Rei's rejection. He's still wearing his pajamas and foggy glasses. 

You nod, your mind someplace else. "Yeah. You?"

"All is well on my end, too." He lathers Nutella on the plateaus of bread and folds into half tightly.  "Did the maid come over to see you last night?"

Chewing through your bread (untoasted, of course), you shake your head. "Nope," you lie through your teeth. "No lap dance, no nothing."

"Huh, that's odd. You probably don't remember it."

"Or maybe you lied," you say.

"Nuh uh, your old man's a saint. She came over to me last night. Gave hot stuff here some action."

"Sure she did."

The man chuckles lightly before taking a bite out of his bread. Now that his eyes are on his food rather than you, you think of Wonyoung again. You wonder if your meeting with her is what love at first sight is. You’re unhealthily infatuated with the girl, and you’ve only met her once. Could it be that this means something more?

Unfortunately, you haven’t got the answer to your own question. But, when she comes tonight, you’ll find out. Your determination is set on it.

3. THE

And come she does; her meek voice barely has audible quality past the glass peephole on your door, but it does make her small face look unusually large. Her expression holds the same lamblike innocence to it, and the dirty thoughts all come rushing back.

Your heart jumps as you welcome her inside. "Hi, Wonyoung."

"S-sir," she stutters, hands folded in front of her skirt, "I want to say that I'm sorry for last night."

Her voice is sweetly precious in a way that, even if you didn't already like her, you would have forgiven her instantly. Her departure last night isn't a grudge you hold on her—she just wants to stay true to the rules, plain and simple. And there's nothing wrong with that; you play by the book, too.

"No hard feelings." You pat her cheek. Feel it become hot. "You're just doing your job. One more time okay?"

You watch the relief wash over her face. But nervousness settles in once more as she sits on top of you. 

Her bum erects your cock, sliding up its backside and teasing the tip like she did the night before. You even get a feel of a cameltoe through her shorts. Your hands find her waist and you help her sway her hips side to side. Wonyoung's constantly looking back at you with desperation tinting her gaze. She might not know it, but it's the plea in her gaze that's daring you to break the rules for her just one time. Just one time. 

Come on, it seems to taunt, you can live with a burnt hand, you can live with being a rabbit if it means spending a night with Wonyoung. Do it.

So, when she finishes her routine, the first thing you utter is:

"Please don't go." 

You've reached a new low: you've fallen for the maid's tight hot body and pretty little face, and now you can't get enough. You won't ever get enough of her, and that both satisfies and dissatisfies you. If she's so far away, how can you ever get to have at least a healthy portion of her? How can you lose yourself in her when it's forbidden? 

Wonyoung looks at you regretfully. "Sir," she begins, hand steadied on the doorknob.

"Please, Wony."

The nickname ignites a firework in her. The flame shoots through her trembling hands, pretty face, and drenched core. 

When did words alone make her feel so… warm? Her legs feel weak all of a sudden, and though she knows she can get in trouble for entertaining you more, invisible puppet strings drag her to you. Her lust, like some tumors, has formed a mind of its own, and it overpowers her logic already. It intends to keep her on the track towards granting her sexual needs. 

"If we do it," she says hesitantly, "do you promise to never tell anyone?"

"I swear."

Wonyoung nods, registering your oath and making a silent one of her own, too. "Okay, thank you."

"Of course."

"And… and can you call me Wony?"

You promise to. You swear on your risked life and heart poisoned by Wonyoung's presence that somehow thrives with the toxicity. 

To illustrate what happens after that, and how your pants and her underwear end up slipping off and her thin legs are suddenly curled around your waist, is difficult. It's hard to remember who initiated everything, or even make verbal guesses when your lips are entangled with Wonyoung. Any attempts to cover any hidden CCTVs should have been made earlier when your hands weren't on her thighs, lifting her to the bed and keeping her down there as kissing becomes the only thing you know.

You don't know if Wonyoung is a good kisser or it's all because of how plump her lips are. They wrap around your own with such soft security that the tenderness of it makes slipping your tongue inside her ignites feelings of just a tiny bit of guilt. But then you remember that corrupting Wonyoung from a sweet girl with little experience to a nymphomaniac is exactly what you want to do, and the guilt goes away almost completely.

"You kiss so well, sir," she says, much to your surprise when you've just completed an internal monologue about how good she kisses. 

"You're not so bad yourself. Fucking love these lips." You lick a stripe of lust over her mouth and she giggles. "Show me what they're good for, Wony."

"You mean, like… suck your cock?"

"You're a quick girl."

"I am, but only for you, sir." 

Wonyoung takes this as her sign to switch the positions, with you being the one on the bed while she gets on her knees. The size difference between your erection and her small face surprises you. With how small Wonyoung is all over, especially her little mouth, how can she take you? 

Luckily for you—and for the equally turned on maid—that's the thrill of it. She's big and tall around everyone but you, and that alone already makes you want to do the most unholy things to her. Show her who's truly the big one in this situation, show her where she belongs, which is below you, between your legs and making puppy eyes for your cock. 

The light dawns on Wonyoung's pleading face. She pouts, grabbing a hold of your cock and swiping it on her mouth, before asking, "Please? May I pretty, pretty please suck your cock?"

"You can anytime. Wouldn't mind if I pull on your cute pigtails, right, Wony? You'd let me tug on them while I fuck your face?"

"Oh!" Wonyoung nods eagerly. Is that even a question? Of course she'd let you. "Yes, yes, sir, please do. Wony doesn't care if it hurts. Wony only wants you."

Are those tempting words part of her training course prior to becoming a maid? Maybe, and perhaps closing her sweet lips cleanly around your dick is a lesson there, too; it's a lesson she passed with flying colors. 

Her hair's already twisted in your fingers, ready for when the overpowering emotion of lust hits. Meanwhile, her hands are on your thighs to guide her in pushing her head back and forth. Her eyes sparkle more than the stars in the night sky outside the window.

She clicks her tongue on the bottom side of your cock. Hissing, you make your first tug, mumbling her name in almost rueful tones. Yea, rue Wonyoung for how fucking sexy she is, rue her for taking your eyes off the people you're supposed to be with. Oh, yes, rue her. Her punishment ought to be what's happening right now, but she's enjoying it a little too much for it to be called one.

"So good!" she says pitchily, as if your cock were actual food that's left a lasting first impression. "Mm, oh, you're so big and long, sir. I love how your precum tastes. But I want the, the real cum from you, too."

"Wonyoung…" 

There's her name again, never leaving your thoughts but departing from your lips. You rise from the edge of the bed and poke your dick against the inside of her cheek, and God, does she look adorable. It feels good, too.

"Mmm, mmm! You'll give it to me, won't you?" Wonyoung looks up at you expectantly, speaking between effortless blowing. "You'll give plenty of cum for Wonyoung, right?"

"If you keep blowing me like that, I might as well."

The last three words come all rambled against each other, tied closely between syllables as you're losing your breath. Dragging your cockhead against Wonyoung's tongue and cheeks brings you a lot closer than you'd like, but you really don't want to deny her of what she wants. You'd love to spoil her with numerous shots of semen, all over her beautiful and angelic face, plus inside her prepared mouth.

"Oh, then I'll keep doing it." She giggles mischievously. Your hips are contained by her hands as she starts to bob her head. You gasp as you fill her throat and part its tightness. Her tongue teases your balls pressing against her lips and your throbbing veins. "Mmm, like this, sir? C'mon, fuck my throat. Give me your cum."

You aren't going to deny her of that either. Your cock enters the depths of her throat with the help of your fists pulling onto Wonyoung's braids. She lets out soft grunts whenever you thrust, and soon, her effortless blowing becomes difficult to replicate.

It's sadistic pleasure when her gags stimulate your cock even further, as if she were just another pretty little fuckdoll whose purpose is none other than that, and her mouth opens wider for air only to be filled again with cock. Her breaths are far away, and with your musky scent filling her nostrils, she can't even get oxygen. Spit and gags are all you can hear aside from your own heavy groans and Wonyoung's whines. A world outside of sex with her doesn't exist at the moment—it's just you and her, and there's no turning back.

And, even with only you and her in this universe, you still get lost in the warm wet pleasure of her mouth. 

The merciless assaults you do unto her face, using what's supposed to be the visual of the century being displayed in billboards nationwide as your personal fuckhole, make both of you scream. Like an experiment gone wrong, you explode in Wonyoung's mouth. Her drool slides down her chin as her tongue sticks out, trying to catch the hosed eruptions of semen into her mouth. She wants it all inside her, and there's no excuses that can be made for drops gone wasted.

That's what the rest of her face is for. You pull out and spray your cum on her. More explodes 

"Sir, oh, sir, that's so much!" Wonyoung opens her mouth wide and sticks out her tongue, her eyes closed. "Yes, thank you, I'll take all of it!" 

There are promises all over the world that are broken everyday, but Wonyoung keeps hers, true to her word: hands on her knees, like the obedient little maid she is, she lets your mess launch into her mouth and face. Even when some get into her hair, or a few specks roll down her maid outfit, she stays still and lets the tide take its toll on her.

It settles eventually, like all things do at some point. But it's made clear that this sex thing won't—you still want more. Like lust and gluttony, the sin of greed has taken over you. You long for more of Wonyoung, for her everything, knowing that this might be the last night you're ever allowed to see her again. They're sure to be watching everything going on. 

You stand to lock the door. As the latch falls into place as well as the dresser table for extra security, Wonyoung's eyes sparkle; it means that the two of you aren't done yet.

"You're going to give me the real thing, right, sir?" A good pet and a good girl, Wonyoung crawls, following your steps, and sets her used face on your knee when you sit back down. "Right? Please say I'm right."

You laugh. After stroking her hair, you wipe the cum off her face with your thumb and offer it to Wonyoung. She sucks on it, as expected. "Aren't you supposed to be leaving? I thought you didn't want to do this."

"Oh, but I do, sir. I wanted to but I was scared… but I'm not scared anymore. I want you and your cock inside me, now."

You dig your thumb deeper into her tongue. Wonyoung whimpers, forced to open her mouth wider. "I'm afraid you don't get to make the rules around here, Wonyoung," you taunt. "But maybe if you tell me what you want, I'll give it to you."

"Really?"

"Sure, why not? But don't get your hopes up, Wony."

"Hahmm, okay." Wonyoung's finger dimples her chin. "I want you to fuck me."

"Dirty little mouth you got there."

Wonyoung blushes. "You made me like this, sir. It's your fault. I want you to take responsibility."

"In what way?"

"No…"

"I need you to be more specific, doll," you say. You raise her chin upwards. She juts her bottom lip out. "I'm risking everything here for you. Tell me what you want."

"I want sir to fuck me… to fill me up like I'm his little breeding toy." Wonyoung squirms. She's getting turned on at her own words. "Yes, yes, I want that—I know it'll hurt because I haven't been fucked by a cock as big as his, but I don't care. I want you to fill my insides and fill every hole. I want you to make it last."

"Even if we might never get to see each other again? Even if you might lose your job?"

"I don't care if I do, sir. All I want is you."

"You're a desperate little thing, aren't you, Wonyoung?" you ask, smiling a little. "But that's good enough for me. Get on the bed."

Wonyoung obeys a little too fast for someone who's only met you once. Where is the hesitation from earlier? Out of the window—she's on all fours on the mattress, skirted ass and pussy jut out. She's shameless, bold, and you certainly wouldn't have thought she'd be this weak for cock if you had only met her outside of this hotel. Her angelic looks just sweep out all possibilities of sluttiness, or at least, you would have thought so, because why is she whining helplessly right now, all for your dick? 

Her soft sounds are subliminal messages. They tell you to spank her soft ass and have your way with her. They're so powerful that you do exactly that: you draw your hand back as far as you could and slap Wonyoung's ass cheek. Her knees tremble, and she's whispering your soft honorific over and over. 

"Sir, please," Wonyoung whispers. "No more. I need you right now."

She doesn't need to say it when her soft, virginal cunt dribbles a waterfall of wetness. You make it a point to let your fingers slap its puffy lips as well. It sends the little maid crying out in pain, but it couldn't be that if she's spreading her legs more, right? 

"Need your cock inside me," she says. She winces and cringes through the spanks. "Mm! Need it to ruin me, sir! Need it to make your maid too tired to work, please, please, please!"

"You're risking your job here, Wony," you say, a proud smirk on your face as you remind her of what's at stake, "you're risking everything just for my cock. And you've only met me once. My god, you really are a slut."

"Mhmm, I am!" 

"And you know what happens to bad little maids like you, right?" Throwing one last harsh spank, you lean over to whisper in her ear. "They get this."

Wonyoung screams a ramble of curses when your cock enters her. You suppose she's truthful about never having done much of this before; she's painfully tight. Grunts already depart from your lips at the first few thrusts. 

"Jesus fucking Christ." You're hypnotized by her reddened ass bouncing against your stomach as you drill into her. Your hands are wrapped tightly around her little waist to feel more of the round cheeks clap.

"Sir!" she shouts. She never gives you a break; her vaginal walls are always swallowing your length and keeping most of it there. "More, please, more, I need it!"

Wonyoung's pussy is better than just having her do a lap dance on you. It isn't even a debatable matter when it's wet just right for you to slide in and out of her hot warm hole, and tight enough to pleasure your cock like she was designed for fucking. Sizable breasts, pretty dazed face, and slim bod? It's hard to believe that those descriptions do not belong to a sex doll but instead to Wonyoung, but she's becoming one herself also.

That's exactly the reason why you're more than happy to give more to her. You glide your hands everywhere, feeling her beautiful body almost worshipfully. You're afraid to break her; she's so slim that you might hurt her with one wrong move, but your fear doesn't really match up with how mercilessly you're pounding her, how you're forcing her to scream out your honorifics as if the walls were soundproof. 

You're worried, to be honest. You know they're watching, and you know other people are still waiting for their daily routine with her. You know that the two of you could get in trouble that extends to more than a simple scolding. More clarity would have hit you like a brick wall in your way if it weren't for Wonyoung screaming:

"Yes, yes, yes, fuck me like that! Ha– oh!"

Wonyoung lets out a tiny exhale at your hands pulling on her braids. With the help of the tugs, your eyes enjoy the sight of her expressions contorting with the pleasure and pain. One second, she's pursing her lips and her eyes are wide open, and in the other millisecond her mouth hangs with yelps and gasps. Wonyoung is not afraid to show how she feels, which motivates you to keep pounding. Every flush drill into her naked lower body draws another orgasmic expression on her pretty face.

"That's right, Wony likes having her little pussy stretched out," you growl. Sex might as well be an exercise; you're straining your hips with how hard you pull out and push, and getting your hands sore as they grasp her braids. Wonyoung is merely your equipment. "You do, don't you? Pretending you're an innocent babygirl just to tempt me?"

"Y-yes," she says, biting her lip. "I love sir's hard cock! I love how it hurts, oh yes—"

"Of course you do, baby. It doesn't matter what I do to you, you'll always cum for me. You'll put everything on the, fuck, line just for my dick."

Wonyoung squeals throughout firm rubs on her clit. Her lower body sways and flinches, and she's beginning to struggle to keep herself up. Luckily, there's your grip on her braids to keep her upright, to keep her in position for fucking. 

"That's right, sir," she tells you. Her words are cut off by tiny gasps. "I'll always cum for you, I want to be the one you use forever. I don't care if we get caught, I don't care, I just want you."

"Of course. Nobody can fuck you as good as me. You're mine to ruin. Now cum for me like a good girl, Wony. Don't hold back."

She nods. She's almost there. Just a few more sunken thrusts into her warm pussy, and she's going to lose it. It's an ending she actually looks forward to. Being able to squeeze around you and to sheen your girth with squirt seems like an achievable goal. It doesn't even have to be time-based, too, she realizes, when her legs shake once more.

"Ohhhh, fuck! Sir, oh my god, sir, I'm cumming!"

Dragging your penis against her textured sensitive spot, you fuck Wonyoung into an orgasm. It arrives (you smile at the pun) like a heavy flood. If you were the one to spray your cum on her earlier, now it's reversed—Wonyoung's vagina squirts a mess of girl cum and nectar onto your lower body and the little clothes that remained on you. She's screaming so loud that you bet even soundproof walls wouldn't be able to hold back her shouts. No, the walls and windows would shatter, and the bed would break into pieces as well, with the help of her limbs scrambling to steady herself. Wonyoung has gone crazy, finally corrupted to the core as it contains all of your plentiful cum.

You tug her braided ponytails up and let her kneeling form rest against your chest. Her head rests against your shoulder, and from there, you hear her muttering senseless sentences. They can't even be called so when they're fragments of words that don't mix well together, but fortunately, you understand what she means: you fucked her really well.

It could go two ways with Wonyoung when you start to kiss her neck and shoulders: fortunate or unfortunate. She might be ready to have her other hole filled, but on the other hand, she might need more time to recover. But that isn't a matter you linger on when kissing Wonyoung's pretty collarbone and shoulders is a better task to fulfill. She's gasping softly, unable to moan because of losing her voice in her orgasm earlier, but you still work your magic. 

"Sir…" she mutters. Exhaustion rides her body like a carousel. It makes her weak, and your kissing doesn't help aid her situation. 

"Yes, Wony?"

She leans back more into your neck, and curves her head to the side so that her words play out next to your ear: "I want more."

4. RABBITHOLE

"You sure?" you say. This is probably one of the few times she has had sex, and it's only one night. Maybe it's going too fast? 

"Does sir not want to fill my little asshole up?" Wonyoung asks. She guides your fingers to her sides. As if her body and your hands were magnets, they join instantly. "Doesn't he want Wony anymore?"

God knows what Wonyoung referring to herself in third person does to you. Your cock hardens and bumps her ass cheeks, and you’re required to tighten your hold on her hips to maintain your stability. "I—I want you, Wonyoung," you say. "But are you sure you're ready?" 

She blushes. It's little caring questions like these that put her into the most passive state imaginable. When that state of mind imprisons her, she only wants to make you feel good. "Yes, sir."

There it is. It's your cue to switch positions, make use of as little time as possible to recover, and get ready.

You lather her asshole with makeshift lube. You drag squirt from her pussy to her rear end, using it as lube. Wonyoung, now sitting on the bed, watches. She's overcome with lust. Her puckered hole twitches as you tease your cock against it. 

"Don't tease me, sir,” begs Wonyoung. She parts her leg a little more, then leans back into the mattress. The way she’s looking at you with those sultry yet pure eyes and how her legs are spread underneath the maid dress are straight out of a porn. Wonyoung’s so tempting, so irresistible, that you wonder every now and then if she’s even real. She’s a walking doll from head to toe, made to fuck and be fucked, which leaves the question: why aren’t you filling her asshole up yet? 

You bunch together a whole lot of effort to push your cock through her hole. It’s a little less wet than her pussy, but god, is it tight. Wonyoung moans softly and tries to relax, but every push makes her impulsively clench down. You’re afraid that you might blow early, and you really don’t want this to end yet.

“Sir, sir,” she says, eyes widening to the size of saucers when you grab her legs and push them back. “Fuck, it’s so good, I can’t—”

You groan a little. “Yes you can, Wony.” Your thumbs slide up and down on her thighs affectionately. “You’re my good girl, right? You can take it.”

“Hnnn.” Wonyoung shuts her eyes. Her moans and whimpers are a series of pleasure that almost makes you forget about being careful rather than urge you to be. You’d love to hear more of those pretty moans from her, but she can’t make them unless she’s comfortable. “Is it all in yet, sir?”

Her asshole has taken in most of your rod. You suppose that’s good for a first-timer. It’s good enough for a little white lie. “Yep. Good girl. Can I move now?”

“Okay… just be careful.”

With a girl like Wonyoung, careful sex is out of the question. But oh, you try, you truly do. Make use of your shaft covered with Wonyoung’s pussy juices to lube up the journey inside her asshole. Let her wet cunt make it easier to slip into her tight, brown hole. You enjoy the helpless, corrupted look in her face and the feel of her pillowy thighs in your hands, and you can safely presume that she’s enjoying it, too. Soft hums of pain still barely make it out from between her knit lips, but her eyes roll back—it’s a different feeling, for sure, yet it feels good. 

“Fuck, Wony, you’re a tight fit.”

“Thank you, sir,” says Wonyoung. Her pale cheeks have turned red again. 

She rubs a finger over her nub so more of her juices can lubricate her rear end. It’s effective; although Wonyoung writhes with the double pleasure, the unusual method makes it easier to fuck her. Now, thrusting inside her is almost like doing so to her pussy: tight and wet. Her ass ripples beautifully, and her expressions catch you off guard. Her jaw is on the ground and her eyes look upwards, as if doing so helped ease the experience. However, she shuts them, as making that expression makes you hammer harder into her butt. 

“That’s it, sir, it feels so good now. You’re so big inside me.”

“Deeper then?” you challenge her. You push her legs deeper into the mating press position, and you can visibly see her pussy clench around nothing but air. You’re allowed to travel deeper inside her butt this way, and Wonyoung couldn’t be more ecstatic.

“Yes, hmmm! So hard, sir, I can feel you throbbing!”

Does a sir kink exist? If not, it does now—Wonyoung’s polite honorific has become the easiest method to harden and lengthen your erection. Each time she calls you that, with those same watery eyes and puffy lips, you’re driven to deliver hammered thrusts in her hole, whichever one. In a way, she’s corrupted you, too. If you erased the former innocent maid she is, she’s transformed you into a man who can only go weak for her. Other women have no effect on you when the hotel maid is the one you’d rather pin down the bed and fuck till she passes out. 

And she doesn’t even know it. 

“Fuck, Wonyoung.” You give in to your impulsive thrusting, wringing screams of pleasure from her throat. “What the fuck are you doing to me, hm?”

Wonyoung’s next inhalation of air is delayed due to the obstacle that is your hand wrapped around her throat. She whines out. “Sir, oh my god—”

“This is all your plan, isn’t it, you naughty girl? You want me to do anything for you. You want my cock so bad that you make me want you, too. And for what, hm?  For a quick dicking down? You’re fucking pathetic.”

Degrading word after degrading word leaves your mouth, but each makes Wonyoung thrust her core upwards to meet your clashing sex. She’s become paler, weaker, sluttier—all in the span of your furious sex session. You’ve no idea why you’re saying all those words that would hurt a normal person’s feelings and dignity, especially when Wonyoung is too angelic and pretty to be guilty of anything, but if it makes Wonyoung look like she’s on the edge of cumming at all times, then you’ll stick to that plan.

“I bet you like walking around in your little outfit, Wony, and wearing those pigtails, too, because you know people are going to look. Is that what you want? For people to notice how goddamned fuckable you are? Because if it is, it’s fucking working.”

Pausing is a faraway dream; you keep on rambling, and your thrusts remain rapid. A stream of ruined breaths squeeze out of Wonyoung’s mouth. Her pillow-like cheeks clench tighter around your cock, as if it were agreeing. 

“Sir,” coughs out Wonyoung. Tears spill down her face, but she keeps on rubbing her small clit, and, on occasion, fingerfucking her cunt. “I’m going—god, I’m going to—”

“Cum? Do it, then. Cum all over my dick, but we’re not finished. The night is still young, Wony; we have all the time in the world.”

Releasing Wonyoung’s throat does nothing to help her breathe when your lips crash into hers immediately. She’s screaming into your mouth. You propel yourself closer to orgasm with your thrusting, then fully cream her butthole. Wonyoung’s cum squirts all over the place: on the bed sheets, your shirt, and your cock. She stops rubbing herself, apparently giving up on taking more, but you continue the loop for her. 

Her screams continue. They’re a melody to accompany your thrusts, and your sleep, for you collapse on the bed, tired and weak.

-

You'll meet your end today. They already found out. That's definitely certain; mandatory love is no winning game. Love in general isn't, especially when it's founded on merely scrawny and lustful sex. The lines between lust and love blur, and it becomes more dangerous than it actually is.

And one could say that it really isn't love (you've heard that a couple more times than you'd like) when you barely know anything about her, when your mind only dances with the thought of ruining her angelic self again, but they know you'd never listen. You refuse to.

So, now that you remember how all this—a young, gorgeous woman by the name of Jang Wonyoung in the crook of your arm, her hand on your cock and glossy lips on yours—start, what do you do now?

Well, for one, you have to reminisce about the past and pray for there to be a future, just one more time. You've to live in what once was as if the former days were the current ones and what's now is nothing to worry about. But you shouldn't dwell too long; the rapid knocking on your door is growing louder and louder.

[enahstudio]

Knowing Thyself:

A dreamer who lost its passion and how she found a spark of hope

an autobiography

----- For once, I called myself a dreamer. A visionary. An idealist. An imaginative woman. It starts with a change of perception towards the world we're living in today. As someone who is fond of reading books, watching cartoons appropriate for my age, and observing the people around me, I know it is something that will shape me into a different person rather than just being someone who yearns to finish education or enjoy simple things in life.

----- Growing up in the slums, contemplating the vulnerable people in our community has driven me with so much passion to become a doctor. Specifically, a pediatrician. Children always have a special place in my heart. During my childhood, I tended to get sick, incurable with just a smear of vaporubs or consuming medicines. There's this one time I broke my el-bone (Yes. I use to refer to it that way because I find it kind of witty). Visiting the hospital became a daily routine. Before I was admitted to my own room, I laid alongside whining children. It pains me to see them suffering various illnesses, despite it being normal to happen to children.

----- Aside from patients being my friends, I became great pals with the doctors who always keep me in check every time they pay me a visit. I always thought they're awesome professionals. I find it cool whenever they consult their patients and write them prescriptions.

----- I can somehow picture myself doing the same thing hereafter. Ever since then, I would make scenarios in my room. Using my stuffed toys as the patients and me as the doctor. If there's anything that I should be thankful for, that is for having such supportive parents. They even customized a white coat and a name template for me. Wearing it feels like I'm already living in my dream. That's how I see the vision of my future. That's how I call myself 'a visionary'.

----- But just like they always say, in order for a dream to be achieved, you might have to encounter some hurdles that'll hinder the strongest desires in your life. I've reached the point where I can't sense any motivation to pursue things. When it felt like everything is just an infatuation. At the age of eight, the death of my father had a huge impact on me. As if the colors have faded and I can no longer see the light down the path towards my dream. I struggled to stand on my own feet. Still not able to fathom the fact that losing someone would send waves of unsaid emotions. It affected my performance in school. My marks have dropped and my thoughts have gone disoriented, unabling me to make wise decisions for myself.

----- During the challenging times 2020 has given us, I have seen enough of what people have gone through. It aided me to perceive the truth about living your life. We go through certain hardships. There's these phases in life where we get to experience the things that are least jovial; loss, downfall, and false hope.

----- I admit we get to feel things like that. I may have failed to see the ones who continue to support me. The ones I turned a blind eye on. In spite of the series of distress, life goes on. The pain will eventually leave as long as you find a way to help yourself. And I did. I conquered every fear, and walked through every obstacle I encounter. From this moment, looking back from what I've been through, I know I have no other reason to give up. I guess I get to call myself a dreamer of yesterday, and still a dreamer today, tomorrow, and always.

@enahstudio 2023. All Rights Reserved.

[msclaritea]

This is a strong, hardworking, brilliant woman. I watched the primaries very closely. What did I see?

Media attacking her for being a strong debater. She did not ATTACK Biden, she confronted him and practically handed him a golden opportunity to re-think his position on certain subjects.

The media erasing her blatantly from ads and mentions when talking about the candidates. The reporter Cilliza, embedded in her campaign ran non-stop attacks on Kamala.

Seeing full inclusiveness from her camp and the places she went, in opposition to needing shades on from the blinding white of the places certain other candidates went.

ADOS injecting Colorism into the public discourse by demanding we draw a distinction between Black people born here vs Jamaica. All anyone has to do is research how black slaves…WHO CAME FROM AFRICA…were treated on Rum plantations to know this argument is bullshit. (Note, it is a known fact ADOS was backed by white supremacists.)

The attacks from hard left, especially all those Champagne Socialists, calling her a cop. Maybe so, but look closer at her record. Her biggest targets were those who commit violent crime, and most importantly, SEX TRAFFICKERS. 

I empathize, minutely with white women who want to be salty about not reaching this position first, but that chance presented itself in 2016, and we were handed 45 instead. It just seems to me, so many women just don’t like other women. Also, assuming she runs in 2024, there is no reason to believe she would not pick a white woman as HER running mate.

She is a black/Indian American woman who cares. Who when still running California, went personally around to LGBTQ clubs and strip clubs, to personally make sure they were adhering to fire safety protocols. Ironically, many of the Progressive black prosecutors we have now, who keep being complimented were inspired by Harris and her early policies.

For the hard left, who basically share some of the same ideology as the GOP, a lot of whom are actually young republicans, adamant on Abolish Police instead of Reform, others should look into the future and consider this: Some states, financially depleted having to turn to corporations to fund their precincts even more. Exactly what happened to sports fields across the country decades ago. Cities could not keep up with costs, corporations took over, prices went up. We all see what an unstable government TRULY looks like now. Still a good idea?

Right now, we keep losing women in crucial positions because various levels of spite, jealousy and personal money interests hold them back. News just reported over 30 women in Health and Safety positions across the country were threatened out of the jobs just when we needed them there, most.

STOP LETTING MEN PULL THE STRINGS AND TALK YOU OUT OF SMART CHOICES. Some in Hollywood are trying to block her. I don’t trust Hollywood right now. They have a huge Human and Sex trafficking problem. People deserve to be safe. CHILDREN deserve to be safe. 

Do your own research. Below are excerpts from the Kamala Harris wiki page.

Contents

1Early life and education

2Early career (1990–2004)

3District Attorney of San Francisco (2004–2011)

4Attorney General of California (2011–2017)

5U.S. Senate (2017–present)

62020 presidential campaign

7Political positions

8Electoral history

9Awards and honors

10Personal life

11Publications

2.12003 Campaign for District Attorney

3.1Public safety

3.2Reform efforts

3.1.1Felony conviction rate

3.1.2Non-violent crimes

3.1.3Violent crimes

3.2.1Recidivism and re-entry initiative

3.2.2Death penalty

3.2.3Truancy initiative

4.12010 election

4.22014 election

4.3Significant cases and policies

4.4Criminal justice reform

4.5Consumer protection

4.6Public safety

4.7Obama appointment speculation

4.3.1Anti-truancy efforts

4.3.2Law enforcement accountability

4.3.3LGBTQ rights

4.4.1Launch of Division of Recidivism Reduction and Re-Entry

4.4.2Sentencing and prison inmate retention

4.4.3Death penalty

4.5.1Fraud, waste, and abuse

4.5.2Privacy rights

4.6.1Environmental protection

4.6.2Law enforcement improvements

4.6.3Sex crimes

4.6.4Transnational criminal organizations

5.12016 election

5.22017

5.32018

5.42019

5.52020

5.6Committee assignments

5.7Caucus memberships

6.1Speculation as Joe Biden’s running mate

[noladyme]

The Crown Princess of Charming - part 4

Welcome to Charming - its name says it all. Cat needed a fresh start; and though she hadn’t planned on that being in the arms of the crown prince of this little town’s bikerclub - that was what happened. Charming CA would either be the death of her - or a whole new life.

Rated M

Tag: @wonderlandfandomkingdom​

4

It was Saturday morning, and I didn’t have anywhere to be – except in the arms of the gorgeous man, who was currently playing the part of big spoon to my little one. We slept as long as we could, and cuddled quietly after that; before the prince of Charming suddenly declared that he had to piss like a racehorse; and did the naked run to the bathroom.

While he was away, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. No calls. No messages. I exhaled in relief. Maybe he’d gotten the message.

Jax reentered the bedroom; and sat on the edge of the bed; taking my hand. “I was thinking”, he said. “This whole back and forth between here, the clubhouse and the motel… it’s not working for me”. I sat up with a concerned look on my face. “What are you saying?”. He sighed. “Ever since that first night we slept together… if you’re not there when I wake up; it feels wrong. It would be easier if you just moved in here”.

My jaw dropped. “Jax, I…”. “I’m not asking you to marry me, babe”, he said earnestly. “I just think this is the right move… for both of us”. “You’ve known me for two weeks”, I said. “Most of that time you’ve spent on the road, or having to take care of your son – which for the record is exactly what you should be doing…”. “That’s my point”, he smiled. “With you here, I can see you as much as I want… and you’d be safer”.

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me”, I muttered. He pulled me into his arms; and kissed my shoulder. “I don’t… shit, Cat. Don’t take it like that. I’m sorry!”. He sighed. “I want you here with me, because I’m crazy about you. The fact that it’d be easier to protect you is just a bonus”. I pulled back. “I hate the thought of you seeing me as broken. That’s not how I want to start a life with you”. He shook his head. “I don’t see you like that at all. I see a woman who dropped in to my life, and swept me of my feet. You just happen to have baggage”. He smirked. “Hell, you haven’t seen half of my baggage yet”. “You’re really selling this moving in together thing”, I chuckled.

He laughed. “Come on… Are you gonna make me beg?”. I shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt your case”, I smirked.

He got off the bed, and knelt down on the floor – stark naked, with a grin smeared across his face. “Cat Rose”, he said, taking both my hands. “I’m on my knees – dick sweeping the floor – asking you to please leave that rathole you call a motel room; and move in to this nice house with me”. I laughed. What the hell am I getting myself in to? I sighed deeply. “Ok, yeah. Let’s do it”, I smiled. Jax’s face lit up. “Yeah?”, he breathed. I nodded and bit my lip. “But just for the record; it’s not exactly sweeping the floor”.

Jax’s face dropped; before he feigned menace. “Oh yeah?”, he said. I shrugged, and smirked. He crawled onto the bed; and yanked the covers off me; before beginning to tickle me. “Take it back”, he demanded. “No!”, I shrieked, and tried to fight him off. “You will…”, he growled; and continued his attack; moving one arm around me; to hold me against him, so I couldn’t get away. I laughed uncontrollably; unable to stop him. “Ok! You have the biggest penis I’ve ever seen”. He continued his assault. “It’s massive! Like a third arm… Please Jax!”.

He let me go; and as I regained my breath; he kissed me softly. “That’s all I wanted to hear”, he said sweetly. “You hurt his feelings”. I pouted. “Lay down, and I’ll make it up to him”. Jackson narrowed his eyes, and smiled in surprise. “Really?”. “You just saved me from having to live in that rathole I’ve been calling a motel room”, I jeered. “I’d say you deserve a thank you…”. I ran my fingers down his chest and stomach; before gently wrapping them around his beginning erection. “Lay down”, I breathed.

Jax got on his back; his head on the pillow. I straddled his legs; and stroked his thighs. They were firm from riding his bike so much; and the muscles tightened even more from my touch. With a sweet smile, and a lick of my lips; I lowered my head, and ran my tongue over the head of his penis. He hissed in pleasure.

I wrapped my hand around him; and slid him in to my mouth, feeling him grow harder by the second. I moved my mouth up and down around him; sucking all the while. Jax was groaning quietly, his hands searching for something to hold on to.

I took his right hand, and placed it on my head; pushing his fingers to hold on to my hair. “Shit, Cat…”, he gasped. I looked up at him – continuously sucking at him; but now letting him control the movement of my head. He pushed me down until I felt him at the back of my throat – and when he felt me begin to gag; he pulled me of him; still holding on to my hair. “You good?”, he panted. “Yeah”, I said. “Again”. He chuckled and shook his head. “Baby; you’re gonna be the death of me”, he said; and lowered my head again – grabbing himself, and sliding into my mouth.

He pulled me up and down shallowly; before once again lowering me all the way down. I couldn’t take all of him, but I let my hand stroke the last inches. He continued this movement; a strong hold on my hair. Shallow. Shallow. Deep. His moans and grunts made me wet, but I wanted him to have the pleasure for now. This continued for a few minutes, until he couldn’t take it anymore; and quickly pulled me up and down five times; and then thrusting as deep as I could take him – coming down my throat; and crying out.

He lifted my head up, and pulled out of my mouth. I swallowed with a pleased smile. “Shit, woman…”. Pulling me by my hair to his face; he kissed me roughly – then attacked my clit with his fingers – making me come within seconds. I cried out a moan myself – my walls clenching deliciously.

I collapsed next to him. “Goddammit, I think I love you”, he panted. “You’re just saying that, because I give good head”, I chuckled. “Well, that’s not a bad talent to have”, he smiled.

—

A short while later, I stepped into the kitchen, re-showered and dressed. Jax had lent me a clean t-shirt with the Samcro reaper on the front. He’d just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. “That’s a good look on you”, he smirked; handing me a mug. I raised a brow at him. “Still not getting inked”, I said. He chuckled.

I sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m hungry”, I said. Jax grinned. “You just had breakfast”, he said; and sat down across from me. “Sorry, but I don’t think 100 million of your little soldiers are going to hold me over until dinner”. I poked his thigh with my bare foot; and he grabbed my ankle. “No more tickling!”, I yelped. He laughed, and let go.

The front door opened; and Gemma came in; carrying Abel in a car seat. “Hey”, she said. Jax got up, and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Thanks for taking him again, mom”, he said. She smiled. “My pleasure”.

She sat the cat seat on the kitchen counter; and Jax unbuckled his son; picking him up; and kissing his forehead. “Hey, little man”, he said quietly. “I missed you��. The sight made me smile.

Gemma grabbed a mug of coffee; and sat down in the chair Jax had occupied before. “Clay filled me in last night”, she said, and looked at me. “I’m sorry, Cat. I had no idea”. “No one did”, I muttered. “Just Jax. I didn’t tell him everything either”. Gemma sighed. “Maybe it’d be better if you moved in here with him”, she said.

“We already talked about it”, Jackson said; bouncing Abel on his shoulder. “Cat’s checking out of the motel today”. I almost choked on my coffee. “I am?”, I coughed. He shrugged. “I know we didn’t exactly put a date on it; but it makes sense”, he said. Gemma nodded. “He’s right, sweetheart”. She poured out the rest of her coffee in the sink; and grabbed her purse. “I’m late for the salon. Dinner tonight? Our place. Everyone’s coming”. Jax nodded. “7? We’ll be there”.

Gemma walked over to me; and kissed my cheek. “Take care”, she said, and walked out the door.

“Jax…”, I said, meeting his eyes. “Today?”. “You don’t have work today. It’s as good a time as any”, he said, moving the car seat to the laundry room. “I’ll call Neeta. She can take the kid while we go to the motel to pack you up”. I sighed. “I paid for the week. I don’t have to move out until tomorrow”, I muttered. “And I really don’t want to deal with it yet”. “Deal with it?”, he said. “You make it sound like a jail sentence”. He looked disappointed.

“Don’t do that”, I said. “Don’t make this into a thing about me not wanting to live with you”. He shrugged. “Well do you?”. “Yes!”, I said. “But I spent the last 2 days in a constant state of fear. I just need to take a day to… get straight”. He frowned. “I’m sorry”, he said. “I get it… but you do still need to get some stuff today – unless you plan on wearing a reaper t-shirt to dinner at my mom’s”. I sighed. “Can’t you just get a prospect to bring one of my suitcases?”, I said.

He grinned widely. “You’re becoming more of an old lady every minute”, he winked. “I’ll have Rat pick something up”. “He needs my key”, I said. “Nah, he can pick the lock”, Jax said; and walked down the hall with Abel. “Of course he can”, I mumbled.

I grabbed my mug, and followed Jackson to the nursery. He was undressing Abel; getting ready to change his diaper. I leaned against the door frame. It was a strange sight to see this tattooed biker in a wifebeater; carefully wiping and changing a small baby – all the while cooing and making silly faces. It was heartwarming. And it made me think of something we hadn’t discussed.

“I know you think me moving in here is right for us; but what about him?”, I said. “It’ll be good for him too”, Jax muttered. “How so?”, I asked. Jax looked at me over his shoulder. “Come here”, he said, beckoning me with his head. I stepped up next to him; looking at the smiling baby.

Abel was wearing only a diaper, and I noticed a large scar on his stomach. Jax ran his finger over it. “Abel was born with his guts outside. His mother thought it was a good idea to OD on crank while she was 7 months pregnant with him”. I gasped quietly. “I didn’t know”, I whispered. “I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want you to feel sorry for him. He’s a fighter… like you”. Jax looked at me meaningfully. “You’re good for me… and I know you’ll be good for my kid”.

Jax began dressing Abel in a onesie; and I sat down on the pullout couch in the nursery to watch him. “Time for a nap, buddy”, he said; and put Abel in his crib. Sitting down next to me, he took my hand. “I know this is a lot to deal with. The baby; my club; the guns… but I want you with me. With us”. I sighed deeply. “I want that too; but I need to make something clear”, I said earnestly. “I’m not his mom… I will take care of him, love him and protect him… but you can’t change where he comes from… no matter how bad it is”. I bit my lip. “And I don’t want you to be with me because you’re looking for a replacement for her”. Jackson put his hands on either side of my face, and looked at me with serious eyes. “You’re not that. I swear”, he said. “But you can’t fault me for being happy that the woman I’m falling for, happens to be good for my son as well”.

I grinned at him. “You’re falling for me?”, I said. His forehead furrowed. “Darlin’… you are smart; funny; sexy… and you can do some serious damage to a folding chair. What’s not to fall for?”. I laughed, and bit my lip in embarrassment. “For a badass biker, you have a way with words, Jackson”.

His lips met mine softly; before we left the nursery quietly. Jax took my hand and pulled me into the bedroom. “I want you to do something for me”, he said; opening the bottom drawer in the dresser. “I want you to carry this”. He put a small handgun on the bed. I stepped backwards. “Jax, no. I can’t…”. “Please, babe. I need you to do this”, he pleaded. “Look…”.

He began demonstrating the use of the gun. “This is the safety. When you need to use it, turn it like this”. I was shaking my head. “No. I’m not…”. He took a hold of my wrist, and pulled me towards him. “Cat… I’m not asking”, he said with a hard voice. “This is for your protection”. I took a deep breath; and clenched my jaw. “Ok”, I whispered, my voice shaky. Jax nodded. “Safety off, yeah? Pull the hammer, point, and shoot”. He pointed the gun towards the mattress, and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. “Now you do it”.

With a trembling hand; I took the gun from him. I pulled the hammer; pointed at the mattress, and pressed the trigger. The click from the gun almost made me topple over. “Shit”, I whimpered. Jax put his arms around me. “Good girl”. He kissed my forehead. “You’ll be fine”.

Letting go of me; he got a magazine filled with bullets, and slid it into the handle of the gun I was still holding. “Can I put it down now?”, I whispered. “Keep it in your purse”, he muttered. I nodded.

“Shit, I think I need a drink”, I breathed. “It’s not noon yet”, Jackson chuckled. “I can roll you a joint”. I laughed nervously. “I’d say yes, but I have to take a drug test on Monday”. He smiled. “Shit, I forgot”, he chuckled. “If Bobby brings brownies tonight, don’t eat ‘em”.

I sat down on the bed, putting the gun next to me. “You don’t see how absolutely insane this is?”, I laughed. “Your son is sleeping in the next room; and you’re teaching me to shoot a gun, which…”, I checked, “… oh yeah; has the registration filed off!”. “It is what it is, babe”, he said, and sat next to me; kissing my shoulder. “Are you gonna be ok?”. “I’ll have to be, right? If I want this… You…”. He half smiled, and kissed me.

—

Jax left for church a few hours later, leaving me with Abel; who I insisted I could take care of alone. “I’ll need to learn, right?”, I smiled. He’d kissed me goodbye – and muttered a few words to Rat, who was watching tv in the living room. He’d arrived in my car, with a nervous smile, and one of my suitcases. I got dressed in a button up flowered dress.

“You look nice, ma’am”, Rat said; when I joined him in the living room. “Thanks, Rat”, I said. “But please call me Cat”. Rat nodded.

I got him a cup of coffee, and went to feed the baby; when there was a knock on the door. Rat sprang up, and got to the door before me; gun in hand. “Rat, relax!”, I hissed, holding Abel to my chest. “Sorry”, he muttered.

He opened the door slightly. “Delivery for Catherine Rose”, a man’s voice said. Rat took something from him, and closed the door in the man’s face. “This is for you”, he muttered. He held out a bouquet of pink roses. My breath hitched. “Throw them out”, I said. Rat frowned. “Sure… but there’s a card”. He handed me a small envelope. “Can I give them to my mom?”, he asked. “Whatever. But I don’t want them in my house”, I said. My house, I thought. This is my house.

I placed Abel in his high chair, putting some building blocks in front of him. Sitting down myself; I carefully opened the small envelope, and pulled out the card. - I forgive you. It’s time to move on from this. J.

What the hell did that mean? And how did he know I was here? I wanted to call Jax, but it was 3.15, and I knew all phones would be off during church. “Rat?”, I called out. The scrawny man stepped into the kitchen. “Yes ma’am… Cat”, he smiled. “How long do club meetings usually last?”, I asked. “It depends… why?”. I sighed. “We need to go to TM”.

I picked up Abel, and Rat got the car seat. We were out the door within minutes.

—

Pulling up at TM, we were met by Gemma – hair looking amazing after getting her highlights freshened up. “Hey, sweetie. Do you need me to take the baby again?”. “No”, I smiled nervously; bouncing Abel on my arm. “I need to talk to Jax”. “Tell me what’s wrong”, she demanded.

I gave her the note from Josh; and pulled the baby to my chest; holding on to him tightly. Gemma read the card. “What does it mean?”, she asked. “Hell if I know”, I said. “Come on”, she said; and I followed her into the clubhouse.

Jackson was sitting and smoking a cigarette at the bar when we came in. He put out the butt, and stepped over to us. “Hey, darlin’”, he smiled. “What’s wrong?”. Gemma handed him the card. “This came to the house. With flowers”, I said.

He read it with a bewildered face. “This is good”, he said. “This could mean he’s backing off”. I scoffed. “I don’t know Jax”, I said with a sigh. “How did he know where to send it?”. Jax ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. No one but the club knows you were there; and they wouldn’t talk”. “I know”, I muttered. “So is he watching me?”.

“Rat!”, Jax called to the prospect. “Were there any strange cars around the house? Anyone come by?”. “Just the delivery guy”. “What did he look like?”, Jax demanded. “20’s. Black…”. I shook my head. “Not him”, I said. “But he knows people… Shit!”.

Gemma took Abel from me; and left us to go talk to Clay. Rat sauntered off to do whatever it is a prospect does; when they’re not playing bodyguards for terrified women.

Jax sighed. “We do nothing. For now”, he said quietly. “Ok”, I whispered. “You’re gonna be fine. Did you put the gun in your bag?”. I nodded. “It’s in my purse in the car”. “No”. He shook his head. “You keep it on you. Ok?”. His eyes were hard. I met his gaze. “Yes, sir”, I said with a frown. He grinned. “I like the sound of that…”, he jeered. “Sorry, I’m not feeling very sexy right now”, I muttered. He put his arm around my waist; and leaned in. “Well, you look it”, he whispered in my ear. “You have no idea what dress does to me”. His hand ghosted my ass; and I bit my lip – heat spreading from my core.

“Yo, Jax!”, Juice called. “Can we give it to her now?”. “Shit. Yeah!”, Jax grinned. “The boys got you a housewarming present!”. I looked at him incredulously.

Juice ran off down the hall, and returned a second later, carrying something large behind his back. “Now let me be the first to say; I am so happy to that you two crazy kids have – finally, after all this time – decided to stop living in sin!”, Chibs said heartfeltly. “It’s been two weeks, Filip”, Jax said. “And we’re moving in together. Not getting married”. “Yet!”, Gemma sneered from her chair. She was feeding Abel a bottle. I grimaced.

Tig stepped forward. “Either way, doll. Welcome to the family. This is from all of us”. Juice pulled out their present. “Tada!”, he said with a grin on his face.

It was a folding chair – with a big red bow on it. There was a roar of applause.

“Jax!”, I yelled, and punched his shoulder. He laughed. “I might have mailed the video to Juice from your phone, while you slept”.

Bobby stepped up, and took my hands. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart!”, he smiled. “I haven’t seen dancing that sweet, since my Vegas days”. I flushed red. “It’s after noon. Can I have a drink now?”.

“Champagne?”, Juice asked. I sighed. “You found the other video as well”. “It’s on YouTube”, he smiled.

I walked up to him; took the chair, and made it twirl under my hand. “I still got it”. “Yeah!”, Happy grinned. It was the first time I’d ever heard him speak, and I sent him a smile.

I made a curtsey, and put the chair against the bar. Phil handed me a beer. Jackson sat on a stool; and pulled me against him. “So, what’s the verdict?”, I asked. “Church…”. Jax sighed, and lit another cigarette. “Well, Juice wants me to dump you. But that’s because he wants to be your rebound. Remind me to kick his ass for that”, he chuckled. “We’re gonna amp up security here, and around our house”. His use of the word our made my knees weak, and I stifled a smile. “So you think there might be a risk of something happening?”, I said. “We don’t know. But the feds showing up like they did… even if it has nothing to do with that asshole, it’s still bad. Either way; no one blames you for anything. Not that they would”.

I looked around the room. I couldn’t help but feel a bit uneased.

“What would have happened if I wasn’t with you”, I whispered. “You are…”, Jax said. “Yes, but… what if I wasn’t? What if I was just some chick who moved in to town; and brought the FBI with me?”. I looked at him seriously, wanting an answer. He clenched his jaw. “It still wouldn’t be your fault. And we don’t kill women”.

His words made me shiver. “Who do you kill?”, I muttered. He shook his head. “Another time, Cat”, he said.

“Put out that cigarette, and burp your kid”, Gemma said, walking over to hand Jax his son. He let go of me; and took Abel – putting him over his shoulder. “I need to get home and start cooking”, Gemma said, and looked at me. “Wanna come help me?”. “I’m a crappy cook”, I smiled. “I’ll have to rethink that wanting you to get married thing”, she scoffed with a smile. “Come on. I’ll let you peel the potatoes”.

—

I went with Gemma to her house; bringing Abel with us. Rat followed on his bike. Gemma was a beast in a kitchen; and I was scrambling to follow – but she didn’t chide me once. She even gave me a few tips; feeling it necessary after I told her about the time I’d literally burnt a cup of tea.

At 6.30, a roar of bikes was heard outside. Jax arrived in my car; having left his bike at the shop. We sat around Clays and Gemma’s large dining table; having a delicious meal. All through dinner; Jax held my hand whenever he wasn’t stuffing his face.

I felt warm. Loved. There wasn’t a sour face among the people surrounding me. Opie had arrived with Lyla and their kids; and Ellie had her nose buried in my Pippi Longstocking. She finished it during desert; and came over to hand it to me. “Keep it, Ellie”, I said. The girl thanked me; and Opie sent me a warm look.

This was right. Good. It was home.

Around 10.30; we packed up a sleeping Abel; and left in my car. We passed by TM for Jax’s bike; and he followed close the rest of the way home. Jax put his son to bed, and joined me in the kitchen. I was filling the dishwasher; when he stepped up behind me, sliding his arms around my waist.

“Hey”, he breathed, and moved my hair to kiss the back of my neck. “Did you stay away from Bobby’s brownies?”. “Yeah… but they smelled like heaven”, I sniggered. He pressed his body against me. “You smell like heaven”, he whispered. I turned around in his arms; and put my own around his neck. “You’re drunk and high”, I smiled. “Stone cold sober, baby”, he grinned.

He exhaled deeply; and looked down my body. “That dress…”, he sighed, and bit his lip. “Shit; the bed is too far away”.

I yelped, as he grabbed my bottom and carried me over to the kitchen dining table. “Jax!”, I gasped. “What are you doing?”. “Christening the house”, he said, and sat me down; placing himself between my legs. “You’ve lived here forever”, I laughed. “Not with you”, he answered. “And I’m gonna have sex with you in every room; until every wall in this place has had a good view of your perfect tits”.

He began unbuttoning my dress. I pulled him in, and kissed him; moaning slightly. “Shh, baby. I’m focusing here”, he grinned; and unwrapped my torso; leaving me in my bra. That disappeared quickly, with almost a flick of his wrist. He let out a long sigh. “Kitchen walls… meet; tits!”. “Jackson!”, I shrieked, and covered myself with my arms. “Nope”, he said; and forced my arms to the sides. He grabbed on to my left breast; and latched on to my nipple; making me gasp. He repeated his attack on my right breast; before meeting my lips and tongue.

“I’m gonna do you on this table, now. You understand?”. His face was hard. “Yes”, I whispered. He grinned menacingly. “I don’t think I heard you”, he snarled. “Yes, sir”, I said; looking straight into his blue eyes. “There we go. Stand up”.

I stood up in front of him. He raised the skirt of my dress, that was still hanging from my hips; and hooked his fingers into my panties – pulling them down; and kissing my thigh in the process. I stepped out of them. He stood up, holding my underwear up in front of him. “I’m keeping these”, he said; and stuck them in his pocket. His fingers lifted my chin, and kissed my lips gently; before turning me around with force, and – with a strong hand on my back – bent me over the table.

I heard him unbuckle his belt; and rustle with the fabric of his jeans. His fingers lifted my skirt, and without warning, he pushed in to me with a groan. “Please…”, I gasped. “Please, what?”, he breathed. “More!”, I groaned. I heard him chuckle; and he pulled out a little, before slamming into me again. His hand went to the small of my back; and his thumb went between my cheeks – probing at the ring of muscle there.

He began thrusting steadily. No sweet words or softness – and I was loving every second of it. Jax leaned over me, and moved my hair from my face. “Do you want more?”, he rasped into my ear. “I want to hear you say it, darlin’”. “Y-yes, sir”, I mewled. “Shit”, he chuckled, drawing out the word. “There ain’t a chance in hell I’m ever letting you go”.

He pushed into me with force, and smacked my ass. The delicious sensation of his hardness moving in and out of me was enough to push me over the edge; and I cried out on pleasure. “That’s it, baby”, he groaned, and sped up his movement; nearing his own end. “Keep going, just like that… Ahh!”. He came inside me; and collapsed on top of me. He breathed heavily for a moment, before pulling out of my warmth. “Tomorrow we do the laundry room”, he smirked, and stood up – underlining his words with another smack to my bottom.

It took me a minute to regain the strength to stand. When I did, he was leaning against the counter – pants still undone, but penis wrapped safe behind his boxers. “You don’t play fair”, I grinned, and pulled my dress off completely; throwing it on the floor. “I’m gonna take a shower”. “Want company?”, he smirked. “No, I’m good”, I said. I nodded towards my clothes on the floor. “Clean that shit off my kitchen floor, Teller”. I walked naked down the hall towards the bathroom. “Yes, ma’am”, he called after me, with a chuckle.

—

We had a good night’s sleep – Jax only getting up once to soothe a crying Abel; who needed a changing.

The next morning, Jax’s phone rang early. He untangled himself from my arms, and answered the call. “Yeah?… Shit… No, I’ll be there. When?… Ok… No, I need him here… Bobby… Yeah, I get it… See you there”. He hung up, and sighed deeply. “I have to go”, he said, and kissed the top of my hair. “I’ll call Neeta; have her take the baby”. “I can take him”, I yawned. “You need to go to the motel, and pack up”, he said. “I was gonna have Phil go with you, but Clay needed him. Go to the clubhouse and wait for me. I’ll take you myself, when I get back”. I sighed. “No, I’ll go myself”. “Cat, no…”. “It won’t take long. 30 minutes. I’ll go in; pack up the car, and go to the compound straight after that”.

He clenched his jaw. “Bring the gun”, he said. “Yes, sir”, I smiled, and kissed him. He smirked, and pulled me close. “I was serious when I said that I think I love you”. I grinned. “I think I love you too”, I whispered. We lost ourselves in a deep kiss for a minute; before we heard Abel fussing over the baby monitor.

A little while later we said goodbye to Abel and Neeta; and gave each other a goodbye kiss; before driving in opposite directions.

—

It was weird driving in to the motel parking lot. There was a sense of finality to it. I was starting fresh for the second time within weeks – but this time I had an actual home to start anew in.

I let myself in to my room, and smiled at the crumbled sheets – the sign of the last night I’d spent there with Jax. Most of my things were still in boxes; I only had some laundry laying around; and quickly packed them up; taking a couple of trips, back and forth between the room and the car. Taking a final look around the room to check if I’d forgotten anything, I was about to go check out; when the door sprang up behind me.

Four men wearing ski masks sprang into the room. “Hi, kitty”, one of them jeered. I was about to scream; when I took a blow to the face from one of them. I fell to the floor; and he straddled me; holding me down. I scratched at him; pulling at his shirt – revealing a tattoo of a swastika on his arm. There was a name next to it – Linda. I imprinted the tattoos in my mind.

“Get it done!”, one of the other men hissed, and the man swung at me again. I turned my head just in time to miss his blow. My purse was on the floor a few feet away, and I reached for it – when the man on top of me got up; and pulled me by the hair, to throw me on the bed. I scrambled to get away, but one of the others, took a hold of me. “This town is dangerous lady”, he said. “You should have stayed where you were”.

The man that had sat on me, began unbuckling his belt; when another stopped him. “Darby said…”, he began. “Shut up, you idiot!”, the man holding me said. “But keep your damn pants on”, he said to the other.

I scratched at him, managing to wrestle free from his grasp; and throwing myself at my purse – going for the gun inside. Someone kicked me in the stomach; and I folded in to myself; gasping for air. “Please”, I gasped.

One of the men was guarding the door. “Finish up!”. Two of them held my arms, while the third sat on my legs, and pulled out a syringe, filled with a brownish fluid. “No…”, I begged; sobbing. “Don’t!”. He lowered the needle to my arm. “It doesn’t need to go in the vein; she just needs it in her system”. “Just let me do it!”, the man with the syringe growled.

He punched the needle into my arm; and I screamed – one of the men covering my mouth. The needle emptied into my arm; and I soon went slack. The room started spinning.

“It’s done”, someone said. “Who is this bitch, anyway?”. “Doesn’t matter. It’s 500 bucks”. “Shit, I’ve seen her with Samcro. That’s Jax Tellers old lady!”. “Goddammit, let’s get the hell out of here!”.

I heard them scramble, and leave the room – slamming the door behind them.

I told my body to move; but I had no control. I couldn’t lift my head – I could hardly see. Everything was a blur.

And then it went black.

—

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #216: “... To Avenge the Avengers!”

February, 1982

"Avenge us, Tigra! The Molecule Man must die!”

Eesh, the Avengers plus Silver Surfer have gone full Hamlet’s Dad on Tigra and she’s gonna cat Molecule Man and his plush himself to death. But he’s ready for it.

But why? Well...

Last time: Silver Surfer inadvertently gave Molecule Man the idea to eat Earth. The Avengers and the Surfer teamed up to stop him but he just Molecule Manned their sweet gear into nothing, captured them all, and then stomped them under a giant boot-o-matic crusher! Except Tigra who he kept around because he wanted someone to talk at and because Tigra had claimed that she liked him!

This time: “Tigra... the Last Avenger!”

Nice touch that the book name inside the book has been changed to match even if the cover hasn’t.

That is a tough hat to wear. Did you know its only been a little over a week since she joined the team?

And in that time she got thrown into space by an Elf-Queen, watched a founding Avenger have an emotional breakdown and try to kill his friends to make them like him again, had her soul set on fire, been repeatedly harassed in public, and watched the whole team be killed with her life only being spared because she begged for her life!

Is this the worst week and change in Avengers history? IT MIGHT WELL BE!

“She was spared. The fear of death has drained away now, leaving only emptiness behind. She has never felt so alone.”

This narration set in the same panel where Molecule Man is all but slapping the giant boot and going ‘this bad boy can crush so many fucking Avengers in it.’

Well really, its more like

Molecule Man: “Well, cat-lady, they’re dead! Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, and that Silver Surfer guy -- squished flat by my giant boot-o-matic crusher! You know, I made this thing out of molecules from a scrapyard! Yessir, I believe in recycling!”

But that’s about the same level of dissonance between jolly goofus villain rambling and hollow despair.

Anyway, Molecule Man calls her out on being such a bummer because she’s moping over there when he’s feeling good about killing the Avengers and really Tigra try to consider how he feels geez.

So she shakes off the despair and asks hey what exactly is Molecule Man going to do with her?

Tigra: “Am I going to be your mate or...”

Molecule Man: “What? Nah! I never got along with girls! I mean, you know... that way! Yessir, mom always warned me about... that! And she was right! You can be my friend! No! Make that -- my pet! Here, kitty, kitty!”

Wow.

That. That dodged a bullet in a cool Matrix bullet time way right into another bullet.

Let’s please not get too creepy with this, huh? You listening to me, comic published nearly forty years ago? Let’s not get creepy!

Molecule Man decides to be a responsible pet owner and feed his pet. He can control molecules so obviously it should be no trouble to just rearrange them into any configuration he--

Okay, its apparently really hard to make food! Way too complicated!

He’s going to be an irresponsible pet owner and not feed Tigra. And meanwhile he’s going to chow down on some undifferentiated mush or possibly a pile of dust. Its all molecules so its all the same to him.

Tigra didn’t even want food but asks him where the bathroom is.

Molecule Man: “Bathroom? Hmm... well, I really don’t understand how plumbing works, so I couldn’t make a bathroom! If you want, though, I could sort of fake it...”

Tigra: “No, I’ll be all right! i just feel a little sick...”

Molecule Man: “So go be sick for a while! I’ve got to get started on my little project anyway! If I’m going to eat this stupid planet -- I’ve got to prepare by clearing away all the living things from a few square miles of land.”

And he gets started! A giant ridge of land just peels up from the ground, like Molecule Man is skinning a fruit before eating. Also a volcano erupts. Pretty sure there weren’t any volcanoes in New Jersey before now.

Fairly sure.

Outside the dome, thankfully the army has been evacuating everyone in a fifty-mile radius or else a lot of people would be dead. VOLCANO.

Then the Fantastic Four arrive.

Yayyyyy! Oh whoa whoa, Fantastic Fourrr!

They’ve got the best Molecule Man mashing record so they’re here to do what they do do.

Which in this context is fail like champs.

Ben Grimm the Thing tries to shatter the dome with a punch and no dice. Then Human Torch cranks up to nova flame and applies the heat of a sun on one little spot on the dome.

Johnny about wears himself out doing it and still no result.

Guess Iron Man, Thor, and Silver Surfer > a pinpoint miniature sun.

Meanwhile inside, Molecule Man tells Tigra hey get a load of this. And then he levitates a couple billion gallons of water from the Delaware River and dumps it on the Fantastic Four, plus the army, washing them away.

Invisible Woman: “Reed, it -- it doesn’t seem possible!”

Mr. Fantastic: “Everything is made of molecules, Sue! Anything is possible for the Molecule Man!”

Molecule Man far too hax.

But meanwhile, gasp, the Avengers weren’t actually all killed in a book with their name on it! This is unprecedented!

And Silver Surfer is ready to explain their unlikely survival of giant crushing boot.

See, Silver Surfer wasn’t quite as knocked unconscious as the three Avengers so he played possum. When Molecule Man put the Avengers plus Silver Surfer in the crushing boot and when it was just about to crush, Silver Surfer used the Power Cosmic to disintegrate the bottom part of the boot so that the Avengers and him fell to a lower floor. Completely uncrushed!

So that’s good.

The bad is that Silver Surfer has to report that Tigra is still in Molecule Man’s clutches.

The awkward is that Iron Man and Thor lost their armor and hammer respectively so Cap is like ‘wait, what are Tony Stark and Perfectly Normal Dr. Donald Blake doing here??’

So Tony and Don come clean about his secret ID.

Tony Stark, Actually Iron Man: “I feel a little foolish about keeping that secret from you till now! I’m sure Don feels the same way...”

Donald Blake, Dr. Thor: “Right, Tony...”

So now Cap is in on the secret which previously bound Tony and Don together as the Best Friends Avengers Who Aren’t Beast and Wonder Man.

Remember when they discovered each other’s secret IDs? Good times. Well, weird times. That was the issue when that hates-robots group suicide bombed Vision for dating a meat woman.

Also, Tony was only wearing underwear under the Iron Man armor so Don gave him his suit jacket to wear as a loincloth. Mighty nice of him.

Silver Surfer has just been standing on the sides not caring about all this secret ID nonsense or personal drama so he chimes in to point out that Molecule Man is going to eat the planet unless they stop him.

Cap decides that he and the Surfer have to strike before Molecule Man realizes they’re alive. Tony and Don have the important mission to hide somewhere safe.

Tony and Don object to being sidelined. Strongly.

Tony: “You think Iron Man is just a suit of armor, Cap? Is that what you’re saying?”

Don: “I found this rod to use as a makeshift cane! It won’t change me into a thunder god, but it’ll help me get around -- if only to draw fire!”

Tony: “Like it or not, we’re with you!”

Don: “The Avengers stand assembled, Captain America! Now, lead us!”

Cap: “All right! I get the message! I should have known better than to think you’d -- I mean, you two are the best...”

Tony: “Save it, Cap! We’ve got work to do!”

Aww.

This is everything I could have hoped for out of secret ID reveal. Cap starts thinking of them as civilians now that they have real person names but ultimately it brings them closer as teammates.

I love it. Granted, I love it because my favorite form of Avengers is a group of friends and set of interpersonal dramas roughly shaped like a superhero team.

Later, in the nighttime and in the room that Molecule Man made for Tigra.

... Wow, Molecule Man.

Wow.

So we’ve got a giant cat shaped bed. A giant, terrifying cat head on the wall. And a giant ball of yarn. But not giant sized cat tree? Fie and shame.

Anyway, Tigra is sitting on bed lamenting and decrying the Fantastic Four’s failure. Especially as it pertains to her situation.

Tigra: “I -- I just can’t believe the Fantastic Four failed! How could they let me -- and the world down like that? How could they? Right now, Reed Richards is probably locked in his lab trying to invent a gizmo that’ll pierce the dome! Hmf! Who knows how long that might take? The Molecule Man plans to eat the Earth tomorrow morning!”

Nothing like a nice filling breakfast, I guess.

She grants that Reed doesn’t know there’s an everyone’s-deadline so instead Tigra bemoans that it’s all up to her.

Tigra: “I should have tried to jump him today! I can’t believe I didn’t! I was standing right next to him a couple of times! I’m cat-quick! Why didn’t I lunge at him and claw him to shreds before he could move? Could it be because my muscles felt like jelly -- ? I was trembling -- ? In shock -- ? Afraid of him? Hey, shouldn’t I be? I mean, I saw him crush my friends to a bloody smear! And I had a spooky feeling that he was somehow, secretly ready for an attack -- and hoping I’d give him an excuse to dice me into furry cubes!”

And because this is a Tigra character beat page, she also thinks about how easy the hero gig used to seem when it was for smaller stakes. But with the actual literal fate of the world at stake... “I never thought that when the big test came I’d be a scaredy cat!”

But she remembers what Cap said during the Ghost Rider story that its not wrong to be frightened if you don’t let fear dictate your actions.

So she creeps out into the night to Molecule Man’s bedroom.

Oh, that’s a neat touch.

Her shadow on the wall looks a lot like a tiger because her hair curls at the end like a tail.

Neat.

So anyway, she doesn’t understand how Molecule Man can be so confident that he’s just sleeping with his door wide open and with no defenses and wonders if there’s a trap or whether he’s just counting on her to think that there’s a trap.

She’s about five seconds from a full-blown I know you know that I know that you know episode.

The only way to find out is just go for it so she creeps into the room. The garish room.

This is even more wow than Tigra’s room.

But as she creeps into the room and up to the enormous, ridiculous bed, she realizes that she has to kill him. If she attacks and doesn’t kill him with the first strike, what he could do is too horrible for her to imagine.

But what she doesn’t realize is that Molecule Man isn’t sleeping soundly and isn’t unprepared. 

He’s stretched monomolecular filaments across the room, too thin for even Tigra to spot.

Now usually monomolecular filaments is one of those ‘oops I’ve been cut to pieces by invisible wires’ thing. You’ve probably seen it in a couple of anime. But this is more like a bunch of cans on a string.

Tigra breaks one of the filaments while she creeps forward. Something that she couldn’t possibly know but which instantly alerts him.

And his response is a “Oh, ho! Just wait’ll she tries it! This’ll be fun!”

Because Tigra’s instinct was correct. Molecule Man was keeping her around just to kill when she finally tried anything. Its been a game. See how far he can push Tigra and how messily he can deal with her when she loses.

This is pretty tense stuff! Well, it lasts a page so it doesn’t overfocus on this specific tense scenario but still!

Tigra: “I’m in range! All I’ve got to do is spring and... and kill him! He murdered my friends! He’s going to destroy the whole world! I’ve got to kill him! Come on, lady! Do it! What’s wrong? He deserves it! He’s a murderer -- ! A rotten little wimp! He calls you ‘kitty’! Kill him! I hate him! I hate him! but... i just can’t kill him!”

And apologizing to Cap for not being able to go through with it, she slinks out of the room trying to think of another way.

Inside the room, Molecule Man sits up disgruntled, just not understanding at all why she didn’t go through with it. There’s no way she could have known that he was ready for her so why wouldn’t she try to do a murder!

And then as Tigra is wishing she had someone to talk to, someone grabs her and pulls her around a corner.

Boom, a comedy after all that one page of tension.

And it’s Cap because there’s like four people it could have been.

Tigra is elated that the Cap is alive, that she’s not alone anymore! And she tries to confess that she attempted to kill Molecule Man to avenge the Avengers. That maybe she should have because now she might lose them again!

Tony: “You did fine, Tigra! Relax!”

But she doesn’t feel like she did fine so she tries to explain that she let the Avengers down by giving into cowardice. She told Molecule Man she liked him to stay alive.

Cap: “Good strategy, Tigra -- preserving your life so you’d be able to carry on the battle!”

She tries to explain it wasn’t strategy so much as being terrified but she gets distracted because she’s just realized that in this group of Cap and Silver Guy there’s two people she doesn’t know.

Cap: “Dr. Don Blake, who’s secretly Thor and Tony Stark who is Iron Man’s alter ego!”

Her mood immediately flips.

Tigra: “You guys are really Thor and Iron Man? Really? And it’s okay for me to know? Really?”

Tony Stark: “Why not? Somehow those secrets seem pretty trivial, what with the world on the verge of being the Molecule Man’s breakfast!”

He says that but he still looks pretty annoyed at Cap just blurting it out.

And geez, Cap, you gotta let people reveal their own secret identities. Or make up some dumb excuse that everyone instantly believes.

Its the done thing.

In terms of Avengers drama though this is pretty good. Thor, Cap, and Iron Man have been working together for a really long time. Even though Cap didn’t form the Avengers he’s basically been there so long they consider him an honorary founder.

Cap learning Iron Man and Thor’s secret identities can be a ‘we should have told you sooner!’ thing.

Tigra just joined the team! Like a week ago!

They need to work together now and there’s probably no smooth lie that could paper over where Iron Man and Thor went and why these two are here now but its probably still a little galling that Cap just blurts it out to the newest person on the team.

Its great. I’d love to see the repercussions of this.

Anyway, time is short so Tony gets to explaining the plan.

He found his broken armor and managed to scavenge enough bits and pieces to make a little device he’s calling a screamer. It’ll emit a high-pitched noise that should disorient Molecule Man.

And then the device just poofs into smoke in Tony’s hand.

Whoops, Molecule Man overheard their plan to beat up Molecule Man and also heard Tony call him names.

So he pulls together all the loose dust in the room and uses it to strangle Tony.

Wow, they’ve gone from having a “layered assault” to watching someone literally choke on Molecule Man’s dust. That’s got to be the quickest turnaround from hope to nope.

Tigra goes wild, rushing at Molecule Man and screaming that she shoulda killed him before and she’s damn well going to scratch his face off now!

But Molecule Man asks her to talk to the hand. Zing.

Puns.

Although “Don’t scream at me, Kitty! ‘Cause I’ll slap you down!”

Sure. That’s good wordplay too.

Having just been comedically (although seriously) WHAP!’d across the room, Tigra has her own words to say.

Tigra: “You -- you weak, slimy excuse for a human being! How could I have stooped so low as to humble myself to garbage like you? So you’ve got power! Big deal! You were a nerd before -- you’re still a nerd! You were a mistake! You shouldn’t even have been born! You crybaby! All you do is blame the world for your own inedequacy! Go on, kill me, nerd! I despise living in the same world with you!”

Wow. She really took all those personal details he shared and slapped him upside the head with them.

Goes to show. Don’t try to destroy the world. People will have rude things to say.

Meanwhile, Cap and Silver Surfer are trying to save Tony but can’t clear the super condense dust faster than Molecule Man gathers it.

Cap tells Tigra to get Molecule Man because that’s their only chance but Tigra is too hurt from being slapped by a giant hand.

Molecule Man: “I’ve got to hand it to you guys, it must’ve taken some doing to escape my crusher! This time, I’m going to make sure you’re dead! Hmm... someone’s missing! But who?”

And he’s done process of elimination and realized that the guy Thor turned into is missing and figures he ran away when Entirely Normal But Furious Dr. Donald Blake tells Molecule Man to grit his teeth.

And then Molecule Man runs off yelling because Dr. Donald Blake can throw down. He possibly broke Molecule Man’s nose with that one punch.

Good job, Dr. Donald Blake.

With Molecule Man not focusing on the dust thing, Tony is free of the dust thing but unconscious. Dr. Donald Blake tells the others that he’ll take care of Tony and that they should go chase Molecule Man since they can run better than he can.

So Cap, Tigra, and Silver Surfer go off in pursuit of Molecule Man.

Silver Surfer reminds that he can track Molecule Man’s unique energies. Cap helpfully points out that they can also just track the trail of blood drips from Molecule Man’s nose. And Tigra goes ‘also I can smell him’ because its good to have three different ways to find a guy.

They find him in some sort of throne room (curled up in pain on the throne) and charge at him. But he’s not in the mood for their shenanigans.

So he sends a tidal wave of molecules at them.

Cap shouts for Silver Surfer to do something and he does do something indeed.

The Surfer blasts the wave of matter with the power cosmic so hard that it transmutes into raw energy and just explodes through the top of the palace in a beautiful pyrotechnic display.

It also completely exhausts the Surfer and he just kind of plops down for a nap right there on the ground.

Cap tells Tigra to watch the Surfer and then goes to take the Molecule Man on alone.

This isn’t a great plan but also their already small roster has kind of dwindled to this point.

And maybe Cap sort of doesn’t want to throw Tigra at Molecule Man when she’s already been hurt and was voicing all those doubts earlier. Can’t say for sure. She’s about to offer for help but Cap is like ‘WHOOPS NOW OR NEVER!’

Molecule Man must be in a whimsical mood, I mean more so than usual have you seen what he’s been getting up to? Because he converts some of the furnishings into a bunch of stars to shoot at Cap.

Its funny because Cap wears a star. It’d be ironic if he got smacked in the face with one, probably.

But Molecule Man activated Cap’s speechifying and that buffs him because nobody likes hearing Cap talk about freedom and justice and doing right more than Cap probably.

What I’m saying is that he leaps and gambols between the stars and I feel its because he has Stuff To Say that he’s doing so well.

Cap: “You make me sick, mister! They say power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely,  and you’re living proof of it! You might kill me! After all, I’m just an ordinary man -- but men like me have always found a way to bring high-and-mighty tyrants like you to their knees! There’s never enough power to save madmen like you -- from ultimate, bitter defeat!”

WAK!

And perhaps it wasn’t just his agility that was improved by inspirational speeching himself. Because he knocks Molecule Man down with that one punch and he doesn’t get back up.

Or maybe Molecule Man just has a glass jaw.

Don Blake and Tony Stark show up and Silver Surfer wakes up but he runs in with the rest anyway for some reason. Tony tells Tigra to watch Molecule Man while he has an Important Debate with Cap.

See, Tony has realized something. Knocking down Molecule Man is just the first step. If Molecule Man gets back up, he might start eating the Earth again and the Avengers might not be able to stop him.

So he asks Don Blake if there’s a medical way to just sort of keep Molecule Man knocked out.

Don Blake: “How? We can’t just keep hitting him on the head -- this isn’t a T.V. show! I mean, how hard do you hit him? How many times can you do that before causing serious brain damage... or death?”

Realism? In a comic book? What are YOU doing here??

Anyway, Tony doesn’t see any other option but to kill Molecule Man.

Cap protests that Molecule Man is a human being with rights to due process and a trial by jury of his peers!

But Tony is convincing the others. As an Actual Doctor, Don Blake doesn’t like to hear this. He wants to save lives. But he can’t refute Tony.

And Silver Surfer also seems on Team Tony.

Silver Surfer: “I understand what it is to sacrifice one life so that a multitude, a world might live! It seems clear that this Molecule Man cannot be imprisoned or held in check! He... must die to save the Earth... though I could never bring myself to slay him!”

Don’t you have the power cosmic? Surely there’s a power cosmic option available?

To be fair though his the power cosmic might be exhausted at the moment.

Still. Geez, Silver Surfer. ‘He gotta die but 1-2-3-not-it’ is really how you’re playing this??

Meanwhile, Tigra has decided that being asked to watch Molecule Man implies a certain duty perhaps even responsibility to tell him how much he sucks. Which is a lot.

And recall that she’s already told him how much he sucks earlier in the fight. So she has found a second wind in telling him how much he sucks.

Tigra: “You little jerk! Don’t you see? Cap was wrong! Power very seldom corrupts! It usually doesn’t change anything! It just magnifies what’s already there, whether it’s good and noble or evil and petty!”

“You were a nerd before... now you’re a powerful nerd! Big deal! Dummy! The shame of it is that with your power you can build... you can contribute! You don’t have to be a loser anymore!”

“Why are you such a fool? Why can’t you see that killing a planetful of people doesn’t make you even -- it just make you lonelier than ever!”

Wow. It feels like Tigra could hypothetically be talking about all different kinds of entitled nerds who then become the jerks as adults!

Anyway.

Tony and Cap are still arguing.

Tony, at least, isn’t going to ask someone to do something he wouldn’t do himself. I.e., he’s going to kill Molecule Man himself and save four billion people.

Cap: “Tony... please! I can’t let you do this!”

Tony: “You can take me in for murder afterward, Cap, but for now, stand aside! I’m warning you...”

Cap: “You’ll have to go through me, Tony...”

You’re warning him, Tony? You don’t have armor. You don’t even have pants. What are you going to do to supersoldier Captain America?

Logic aside, what strikes me is how much this foreshadows.

Before Civil War contrived that superhero registration, the big hot button superhero debate issue is whether superheroes should kill in extreme circumstances.

Spoilers for the NINETIES but the Regular and West Coast Avengers will come to schism and Cap and Iron Man will basically break up over whether or not to kill the Kree Supreme Intelligence after it engineered a war that killed 90% of the Kree people on purpose.

Shooter is long gone by that point but I guess someone is going to pick up the thread.

Because the debate doesn’t get settled here or rather does, sorta, in favor of Cap but not in a way he expects.

Interrupting the sad fist fight between Cap and a nearly naked man, Molecule Man pops up and tells everyone that Tigra has convinced him to turn his life around.

Tigra: “Guys, Mr. Owen Reece and I have talked, and, well, I convinced him to give himself up!”

Mr. Owen Reece: “Yes, I want to start seeing a therapist!”

Cap: “huh?”

Mr. Owen Reece: “I know I’ll have to go to jail... but that’s okay! It’ll give me time to think things out! I’ll make an opening in the dome now so you can call the authorities!”

Don Blake: “s-sure!”

God, that is just great. I love this as a resolution so much. This is a resolution that Squirrel Girl would bring us, although we’d get more of the actual convincing.

Still very, very good. Good to be optimistic in comics sometimes. Sometimes villains can seek redemption if only a cat yells at them long enough.

Although I think the best part is how baffled everyone is by the plot twist.

So with but a “Soon...” caption, the police have come to pick up Mr. Owen Reece and brought Miss Hanrahan who is going to be his therapist.

Holy crap, a therapist in Marvel who isn’t Doc Sampson but will work with superpowered nonsense!

Can we bring Miss Hanrahan back??

A couple things I like here.

One is that Mr. Owen Reece has changed off-panel into a suit instead of his supervillain costume. Now that’s him making an honest effort.

Two is Very Annoyed Tony Stark in the back of the pack of Avengers. He’s wearing a handkerchief as a mask because someone might recognize him as Tony Stark and then wonder ‘hey why is Tony Stark here.’

Three is the proud smile from Tigra when seeing Mr. Owen Reece meet his therapist.

Melts my heart a little.

Before he goes away to jail, Mr. Owen Reece takes a quick sidebar with the Avengers.

He retroactively feels just awful about ruining their various gadgets so he decides to make right.

He reintegrates Mjolnir, Toomie the surfboard, and Cap’s shield exactly as they were. Original molecules and all! They were so weird that he remembered where they all went.

As for Iron Man’s Iron Man armor.... look, he did his best.

Mr. Owen Reece: “But your armor, with all those complicated electronic gadgets is just too tricky for me to reassemble! You needed something more proper to wear till you get home, though -- so I whipped up some red and gold cloth and made you an Iron Man leisure suit! I hope it’s okay!”

Amazing. Simply incredible.

Although I think my favorite part was Mr. Owen Reece realizing ‘hey Iron Man should be wearing pants!’

Anyway, he also takes apart his Molecule Man Doom Fortress and puts those molecules back where he found them. More or less. He tries.

And, yes, he does rebuild the entire town of Netcong, New Jersey. Except the plumbing.

In a funny call back to Reece admitting he doesn’t really understand plumbing, none of the plumbing in the rebuilt town works.

Later, back at Avengers Mansion, Silver Surfer is offered a spot on the team but turns it down.

FOR THE PATHS OF DESTINY DO BECKON HIM DOWN A LONELY ROAD THAT MUST BE TRAVELED ALONE

Its the only who he has ever known. Except for all the time he spend with Galactus. Or the Defenders. Or later on when he has a companion to take on space nonsense.

Tigra also takes this time to say farewell.

Tigra: “I’m just not in the same league as you guys! I mean, sure I’ve got lots of super-ability, and, usually, I'm even pretty heroic -- but not up to your standard! I mean two of you, without your powers, no less, really showed me what it’s all about back there! And let’s face it, you guys mess with some heavy-duty opposition! I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead!”

=C

Noooooooooo

But but but Tigraaa you were a source of joy and fuuuuuuuun

You only joined at the end of #211! It’s only been about a week in-universe!

Darn.

The three other Avengers all say their goodbyes.

Thor reminds her that she was the one who turned around Mr. Owen Reece but Tigra says she got lucky.

Iron Man gives her one of Tony Stark’s cards and tells her to call Tony Stark who is definitely not him anytime she needs anything.

Jarvis even tears up at her leaving, although he denies it because a good butler never dies on duty and then blames his allergies.

And then Tigra is off. Damn. If I didn’t know who might be joining the Avengers soon I’d be completely inconsolable instead of just very.

So now the Avengers are down to just three members. That’s not a team. That’s a crossover. Probably why Jarvis wonders if a membership drive is in order.

NEXT: The return of... Yellowjacket, the Wasp, and Egghead!

I’m game for Wasp coming back! Don’t think it likely that Yellowjacket is just going to come back to the team just like that! And Egghead? The villain who blew up a city with a killsat and killed Hawkeye’s brother? Unlikely recruit!

(No I know that’s not what the NEXT means)

Hey, follow @essential-avengers​ because the Hank Pym just keeps happening. Like and reblog too please. Be sad with me that Tigra is gone.

[therainroguefanfiction]

❉ 139 Dreams (Jaemin Na) Along the Way

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Mafia, Angst, Romance, Crossover ☁

Word Count: 2,583 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Jaemin ☁

World: Kpop, NCT & Anime, Katekyo Hitman Reborn! ☁

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

Jaemin sat at the kitchen table with his parents. A man sat on the other side of the table, casually drinking an espresso. He was wearing a black suit and a matching fedora. The air was thick and uncomfortable.

The front door creaked open, boots stomping on the wooden floor of the entryway. You stepped around the corner with a scowl on your face. “This better be important, Reborn. Today was supposed to be my day off.”

Reborn sipped his espresso. “I have a job for you.”

“Obviously,” you rolled your eyes, catching sight of the young boy. As one of Got7’s bodyguards, you had come across several other kpop groups in the past few years. One of the recent ones was NCT, the group that this boy belonged to. The question was, why was he sitting across from Reborn?

“You’re going to marry this boy,”

“…excuse me?”

“His parents took out a loan with some questionable people when he was injured. They were then referred to me for help. The deal is quite simple,” he smirked at you over his shoulder, black eyes shining with amusement. “Until their debt is repaid to me, their son will be married to you.”

Your eye twitched in annoyance, “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“Jaemin, you really don’t have to do this…” his mother patted his arm with a sad look.

He smiled softly, resting his hand over hers. “It’s okay. You did everything you could for me when I was injured. This is the least I can do to repay you.”

Reborn’s smirk grew as he stood up, his fedora covering his eyes. “Now that that’s settled, go pack your bags. You’ll be living with Y/N from now on.”

You stood in the doorway awkwardly after Reborn left, receiving a glare from Jaemin’s father and a worried glance from his mother. ‘Don’t blame me, I’m just as much a victim here as your kid is,’

Clearing your throat, you pushed away from the door frame. “Come on,”

Jaemin hugged his parents before following you out to your car. “I have to get my things from the dorm.” He spoke softly, not sparing you a glance.

“Right,” you sighed, starting the car. ‘This is gonna be hell,’

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

“You got married?!”

“I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Did hell freeze over?”

You scowled at the younger members of Got7, throwing a pillow at them. “It’s not by choice, idiots.”

“Couldn’t you just say no?” Jaebum questioned.

“I could, and then Reborn would make my life an even bigger hell than it already is.” You huffed, sliding down in the chair. “That bastard is a sadist through and through that gets off on pushing people to their absolute limit.”

“Until the debt is paid…” Jinyoung murmured thoughtfully. “How much do they owe?”

“100k, I think.”

“Daammmnn,” Jackson covered his mouth, eyes wide. “Do you know how many pairs of shoes I can buy with that kind of cash?”

“Or how much Dr Pepper…” You mumbled.

“It may take a few weeks, but with the high-paying clients you get, you could pay it off.”

“See, Reborn thought of that,” you met Jinyoung’s gaze. “The money has to come from Jaemin himself or his family. I’m not allowed to contribute to the pot because of how easily I can make money.”

“Is it really that bad being married, noona?” Bambam inquired curiously.

“Having someone you don’t know living in your space is pretty frustrating, yeah.”

“Why don’t you try to get to know him?” Youngjae suggested.

“No thanks,”

“Stop being anti-social, Y/N.” Jinyoung scolded. “You’re obviously going to be together for a while, the least you can do is try to make the best out of the situation. Think about how stressed he must be right now.”

Your nose wrinkled at the thought. All these years, you only had to look out for number one, but now you had another human being in your life that you had to think about, keep safe, and consider their feelings. You were not happy.

“I’d like to start a pot about how long it’ll take before Y/N cracks and kills someone.” Jackson flipped his hat upside down, holding it out to the other members.

“Five days,” Bambam wagered.

“A week,” Youngjae grinned.

“I think she can last a month,” Yugyeom commented.

“Thanks for the confidence, assholes.”

“Twenty bucks says Y/N ends up in love with him.”

“Really, Mark.”

He shrugged in response, sending you a grin.

“I hate you guys.”

Jinyoung chuckled, “We love you too.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

“I’m home,” you muttered, kicking off your boots by the front door. It was late, nearing one in the morning, so you didn’t figure Jaemin would be awake.

The apartment was dark and silent, just the way you liked it.

You stretched your arms above your head, feeling your shoulder pop. You grunted in pain, cursing the bastard that had kicked you into a filing cabinet. Who came up with the bright idea to give those things such sharp edges? If they were still alive, you’d kill em.

You plopped onto the couch, stretching out across it. The apartment only had one bedroom, and since you were away most nights anyway, you let Jaemin sleep there. When you were home, you had the luxury of sleeping on the couch. At least it was mildly comfortable.

You were almost asleep when you heard the bedroom door creak open, setting your body on alert. After spending most of your life in the mafia, your body had learned to be hyper-aware of your surroundings at all times, even in a state of half unconsciousness.

“You’re home late,” Jaemin’s voice cut through the darkness, gruff from sleep.

“Job ran late,” you muttered, not bothering to open your eyes. You could hear him shift, but he remained silent. With a sigh, you opened your eyes. The balcony doors behind you were made of straight glass and were not covered, allowing moonlight to shine on him. “What is it?”

He remained silent for a moment more before finally speaking. “Dream is doing a photoshoot tomorrow, but Haechan hyung and Mark hyung will be doing an interview with 127… can you come?”

You raised a brow, noticing the way he held himself uncomfortably. There was something he wasn’t telling you. “You do realize all hell is gonna break loose if an SM employee sees me, right?”

“Right…” he took a deep breath, looking away.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows with a smirk. “Sounds like fun. You don’t mind if I bring a friend, yeah?”

His body language changed to a more comfortable stance as he quickly shook his head. “I don’t mind,”

With a chuckle, you fell back onto the couch, folding your hands behind your head. “Get some sleep, it’s gonna be a wild ride tomorrow.”

The words should have worried him, but they brought him comfort as he returned to the bedroom. Crawling under the sheets, he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on his face.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

To say Jaemin was nervous was a vast understatement. As the Dreamies entered the photographer’s studio, his nervousness grew, eyes darting around. You had told him that you would be there, but that morning you had gotten an emergency call for a job. He was beginning to think that you weren’t going to show, and that didn’t bode well for him.

“Hello, boys.” The photographer purred, her small eyes sweeping up and down their bodies.

Feeling her eyeing him like a piece of meat made him shiver in disgust, but she smiled at this. How did the other boys not realize how inappropriate she was being? He glanced at the others, but they were chatting animatedly amongst each other, all of them smiling and relaxed.

“Come along, boys. We’ll do the group shots first!” She clapped her hands as she turned, the boys following her like little ducklings.

Like the professional he is, Jaemin bit his tongue and gritted his teeth, putting on his best smile as he followed her instructions. After the group photos were complete, she moved onto individual photos. Oh, how he wished she would do his first so he could get it over with, but he knew better. His would be done last so she could take her time with him.

“Jaemin~ it’s your turn,” She smirked, her eyes glinting.

He suppressed a shiver as he moved to stand in front of the camera. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and it felt as if his heart had stopped. Their manager was following the other boys out of the room. It had been a long afternoon and none of them had eaten anything, so they thought it would be a good idea to go down the hall to the vending machines, per her suggestion. That left Jaemin alone with her, aside from a couple others who were too preoccupied with their own work to notice anything amiss.

Jaemin swallowed when she stepped closer. “The fear in your eyes is so… lovely~ So raw, so pure!”

He took a step back, falling onto the wooden bench behind him. What was he meant to do? What were the chances that his manager would believe him over her? She was one of the best photographers in the business, having worked with thousands of idols, models and various of the world’s most powerful companies. Her word meant more, and he would be forced to apologize for lying and attempting to smear her reputation.

“Oi, aren’t you a bit too close to be taking a picture?”

Both of their heads snapped to the side at the voice. You were dressed in a suit and fedora, your go-to outfit whenever you had to go undercover for a job. That isn’t what startled Jaemin, though. No, it was the look of pure rage burning within the depths of your eyes. He was sure if Jackson hadn’t been there to hold you back, you would have attacked her.

“Who are you?” She snapped, eyes narrowing at you. “We’re in the middle of a shoot, which you are disturbing. Leave now or I will call security.”

“Shove it up your ass, hag.” You spat, pulling your arm from Jackson’s grip so hard that he nearly lost his balance. Your eyes never left her as you approached Jaemin, roughly pulling him to his feet.

The woman recovered from her shock after a moment. “How dare you – Do you have any idea who I am?!”

Jackson scoffed. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, lady. Just let it go before Y/N kills you.” He nodded his head towards you and the woman’s eyes followed, widening. Your hand was on your hip, barely pulling a thick blade from its sheath under your shirt.

“Y-You’re crazy… You w-wouldn’t -”

“Try Me,” your tone sent a shiver down her spine, the murderous look in your eyes sending her stepping backward. Satisfied at her fear, you put your arm around Jaemin before pushing him out of the room. He walked between the two of you in silence as you exited the building.

“What about -”

“I took care of you,” you cut him off, not sparing him a glance as you approached your car.

Jaemin knew you were steaming, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty. It wasn’t his fault that she acted that way towards him, but maybe he should have been honest about why he wanted you there to begin with.

Jackson bumped his shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry too much, it takes little to piss Y/N off.”

“Jackson,”

“What’s up, Y/N?”

“You can walk home.”

“Oh, come on, it’s like fifty blocks away and it’s freezing!”

“Then I suggest you start running,” you sent him a sharp look. “Get in the car, Jaemin.”

He didn’t hesitate, sliding into the passenger seat. He sent his hyung a sorry look through the window, but he just grinned in response.

The drive back to the apartment was silent and tense. He tried to stay as still as possible, worried that the smallest of movements would interrupt the silence and bring your anger to an explosive point. Your hand was gripping the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white. Your face bore no expression, but you couldn’t hide the fire lighting up your eyes. You just wanted to punch something, and it didn’t help that you kept seeing that woman’s face in your mind. Jackson shouldn’t have held you back. Then again, you really didn’t want to commit murder in front of Jaemin, he didn’t deserve to see something so grisly.

You stepped inside the apartment, throwing your keys onto the small table near the door. Your suit jacket and boots soon followed. The tension was driving him nuts.

“Where the hell are you going?”

He paused, not turning to face you. “I was going to take a shower.”

“A shower,” you muttered under your breath in disbelief. “You had no intention of telling me, did you?”

He grabbed his elbow, still refusing to turn around. “No, I didn’t.”

“I should beat your ass, you know that?” You started to pace, needing to move in order to release the energy building within. “How long?”

“Since debut…”

“Debut – are you kidding me right now?” He winced at your loud voice. “I thought you were smarter than that, Na Jaemin!”

Jaemin finally turned, eyes showing his displeasure. “What I did was the smart thing. No one would have believed me if I told them.”

“I would have!” You sighed in frustration, resting your head against the back of the couch. “I care about you, dumbass.”

He felt his heart pick up speed at the words. It felt taboo like he wasn’t meant to hear that part and despite himself, he had to question it. “Since when?”

You lifted your head to scowl at him. The anger was mostly gone, replaced by a mild annoyance and exhaustion. “I don’t know. Somewhere along the way, I started to… to care.” Your nose wrinkled at the thought. “Jackson said you were a witch jokingly, but I’m starting to believe it.”

“I’m not a witch,”

“Really? That is what you have to say? Motherfu – I need a drink.”

As you passed by him, he reached out, his slim fingers wrapping around your wrist. For a solid minute, you just stared at each other, no sound other than each other’s breathing and the air conditioner whirring in the background.

“I think… I care about you, too.”

“I’d ask you out on a date, but I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to come before marriage.”

Jaemin smiled, lightly smacking your shoulder. “Idiot, married couples go on dates, too.”

“How should I know? I don’t date.” You grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer. “You know, you’re pretty lucky.”

“And why is that?”

“If anyone else hit me like that, I’d kill them.”

“And me?”

You hummed, leaning closer until your lips ghosted over his. You could feel the warmth radiating off his cheeks and you smirked. “You can sleep on the couch tonight.”

Jaemin blinked at you dumbly as you walked away, his heart racing in his chest.

You peeked your head around the corner, grinning. “What, did you want me to kiss you?”

“Shut up!” He cried, grabbing a small pillow from the couch and throwing it at you. Despite the embarrassment flooding his system, he couldn’t help but smile.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

[ughyoongis]

In The Midst Of Chaos

[ chapter 02 ] a prince!calum fic

A/N: let me know if you’d like to be in the tag list for this fic or any of my others!! also enjoy this chapter!!

word count: 3.8k

warnings: mild language, mentions of violence

There's not much in this world that motivates Calum, not unless it's money or the fear he instills in others upon entering a room, but Alice? He can't help but linger in the nursing quarters more than he used to now that she works there. He opts for sneaking in early in the morning, before anyone's even walked in to start their daily routine of opening the windows and dusting off the shelves. He leaves a book or two on her desk in the study, along with his own note, his review on whichever book it is.

She likes to send them back to the library when she finishes them, a note always slipped into the last page.

He's not exactly waking up every morning jumping for joy when he remembers he has the glory of doing this, but he doesn't hate it. In fact, the sun seems a bit brighter and the world a bit less torturous every time he drops one off for her.

Today's choice: Fahrenheit 451.

He grabs his parchment and puts ink to paper.

Alice,

I too would like to run from my troubles, but with a lot less mechanical hounds after me. (Read with caution, do not burn, no matter how strong the urge afterwords.)

He refuses to sign his name, on the off chance it falls into the wrong hands.

He takes his time going down the halls, memorizing where each door leads, and how to get from place to place. He lifts his head every now and then, to observe the windowsills, how birds linger on them, whistling tunes. He used to despise their chirping, but today it seems to be mimicking the chittering of his soul.

The nurses quarters lie still as he enters, the familiar scent of herbal tea and strong cherry medicine hits his nose, but he brushes past that fact and finds her studies. The door already open.

He curses under his breath, her friend is there, the boy who stares at him with enough unease to fill the room entirely. She told him his name, but he's already forgotten it.

He's working on some sort of brew for medicine, the many ingredients out on his desk being mixed together. He seems too focused to realize someone is lingering in the doorway. Maybe he could sneak in unnoticed.

It's too risky. He thinks to himself, book in hand, note in the other. He could read what he has to say and ruin the secret between the messages, how no one knows it's him sending her these books, telling her how he hates it here. How he wants to leave. To run. To go somewhere far beyond these walls where he can enjoy the most carefree living, the world that no one let's him see.

"I can see you." The blonde mutters, voice flat. "Just walk in already, Alice."

Fuck. He lingers in the entrance, tucking the note discretely into the book before clearing his throat.

"I'm not Alice." He enters anyway, since he apparently should be doing that. And manages to place the book on her desk before the blue eyed boy spins to face him.

"I'm so sorry, your highness. I thought you were- She usually- Sorry." He brings a hand to his messy curls and huffs, too stressed to even begin to muster up his reasoning. The autumn breeze sweeps through, hits their faces as the maori observes his work.

"You're here early." He notes, "Nobody else has even shown up."

"I have research to fulfill." He musters up the courage to explain, "Had a revelation at sunrise, and came here as soon as possible to see if I finally figured something out."

"I see." He hums, in no mood to speak to him anymore. He never really cared to hear about this sort of stuff, not even from those he tolerates in this castle. His eyes skim across Alice's side of the room, how she has a much messier way of things than her study buddy does.

"Alice won't be here for a bit." His voice carries from across the room as the prince steps towards her desk, now that something has caught his eye, a journal, left open, pages yellowing and binding frayed. He glances at what she had stopped on, his muscles stilling as he sucks in a sharp breath.

"She draws?" He asks out loud. The apprehensiveness within him is taking over as he studies the way she's managed to take his own face and features and put them onto paper. Her messy, smeared ink somehow so elegant in it's path. She made him look nearly exact to how he is now.

"All the time, your highness."

He nods in acknowledgement just as there's a few nurses strolling down the corridor as they arrive for their shift in the morning. He should leave before the word spreads.

"I'll be going, then." He mutters, feet carrying him away as his eyes are forced to peel away from her sketch of him.

"She'll be here soon, if you're looking for her." He can see right through Calum, and that worries him, is he showing his ambitions too much, should he have never mentioned her in the first place? They both stand there for a few moments, he checks his appearance, to try and hide any emotion that could be seeping through. It's too early for this sort of interrogation.

"No, it's fine, I was just checking in." He lies flatly.

"Your highness, I thought I heard your voice." Penelope stands in the doorway, her hair pulled back into a braid as she offers a warm grin. He stays stoic and displeased. The last thing he wants to do is draw attention to himself, and her stating his presence for anyone to hear isn't helping.

"I'm going to be on my way, if you don't mind." He steps towards the doorway and gives a nod to the woman as a form of acknowledgement. She follows behind him as he tries to leave.

"Prince Calum, I'd hope you're down here for good reason, if a new employee did something wrong I could speak to them. They've never been in the castle before it's going to take a bit for them to understand the ways at which we-"

"Everything's fine." He answers. He doesn't care about how harshly he interrupted her.

"She meant no harm, she's such an intelligent girl." Penelope apologizes once more for Alice's slight error within her first week of working. He speeds up his steps to try and get her off of his back. He really should've never stopped by.

"I understand that." He grabs hold of the door to leave. "Now, if you excuse me, I have a tutoring session to attend."

His exit is greeted with an empty corridor and silent foyer in the distance. Guards stand at the ready by the doors and if he listens closely he can hear a conversation down towards the South tower. He hopes they can have a ball sometime soon, to fill the silence for a night. Something that will take away this dreadfully quiet castle and bring some life to the lackluster walls. He hates it.

"Your highness, are you ready for your studies?" Ashton finds him at the top of the stairs, at the same time Calum makes his way up the polished steps. His feet echo as he strides towards him.

"Always am." He fakes his enthusiasm. There is little to no real excitement in his studies nowadays, just reading book after book learning mind numbing facts on how to do trades and the different exchanges he will be a part of soon enough.

They enter the library, where they tend to study most days. At times when the weather is more than magnificent, they'll venture into the garden, but the skies hang low and dull as heavy grey clouds begin to lurk.

He wonders if Alice would like to be in the garden sometime, he could show her his favorite spots to hide in so no royal guard could find him. Maybe tomorrow, if his schedule opens up.

"You seem out of it today, Calum." Ashton is one of the few people in this world who can call him by his first name, a natural instinct of his since they grew up together. His father, the king, had befriended Ashton's parents, his father is now the archduke. They've been inseparable to say the least.

"Do you remember the girl who knocked over the vase?"

"How could I forget?" He jokes.

"She's a new nurse here, she was telling me about life outside of the castle, I-"

"You can't be listening to her silly stories, out there it's nearly identical to this place."

He feels a headache coming along because no, that can't be true, she had said her house was the size of her study alone. Her library had nowhere near as many books such as this one, how dare Ashton lie so bluntly. He deserves the truth. Hell, he demands it.

"Then why can't I leave?" He spits without thinking, eyebrows drawn together in anger. He doesn't know why he can't go out there if it's all just the same. "Why can't I go to the festivals, why must I sit in the same rooms day after day, without so much as a glimpse of the world of my kingdom outside?"

"Because you belong here, you are royalty, protection is a must." Ashton stays unfazed by his aggravation, he's grown used to his cold stares and outbursts.

"I want to see the marketplace, the theater, the villages." He feels his blood course quicker, "I deserve to see the way my people live."

"They live like us, my home outside of this castle is nearly identical to yours, smaller but just as elegant. Calum, whatever she's saying is a lie, my village is nearly equivalent to yours."

He is itching to leave, to see if what he says is true because things are not adding up nor falling into the right places. Someone's not telling the truth.

He hears the door open, his father enters with the head general of the army at his side.

"My son," He enters, arms opened wide to greet him, Calum's muscles tense at the sight of him, straightening his posture. "I would like you to meet the general."

Calum stands from the desk, hand stuck out as the old man shakes it curtly. He's in his uniform, multiple badges and pins on his coat. His professional attire matches Calum's princely garb, he notices the wavering look in the older man's eyes, even those who are twice his age and tough as nails cower at the sight of him.

"I've heard good things about you." The general gives a wry smile.

"Surely." Calum smirks, when they separate.

"Are you free to walk with me for a moment?"

"Of course." He ditches his tutor in favor of something much more important, his father watches him leave alongside the general, already discussing things about the weather and such. He hates how he can feel his father's eyes judging him from miles away.

"Is there trouble in the trenches? Is that why you've returned?"

"We had a minor setback." The general drops his head, as the hallway remains barren for the time being. Only the sound of their footsteps is heard for quite some time.

Calum feels his gut drop, he prays they didn't lose this, too much money has gone into this war, too much time has been spent already, families invested so many of their children, husbands, everyone. It can't be for nothing.

"We've lost three nurses." He speaks in one breath.

"I gave you six, how did you lose half of them?" He can see where this is going and turns down to head towards the nurses quarters. His eyes shoot daggers into him, he can break this guy in a heartbeat. He wishes he could. Those nurses were some of his best, if he has to hire more in their place.

"They all died in different ways. Bullet wound, malnutrition, illness."

"I hope you're not losing soldiers that easily too." He snidely remarks at the same time they see the door in the distance.

"I-I'm not, your highness, I just need a few more nurses, it would help so much." His rambling stops when Calum swings open the door to the chambers and brushes past those who scramble to get things ready for today's busy events.

"Well, this is very last minute but I'm sure some people are willing to leave tonight." He glances into each room, looking for Penelope. Her brown curls and unusually caring nature. She's always smiled when he enters, he doesn't understand why.

"Dropping in quite often now aren't you, your highness?" She pops up behind him with a box of empty glass bottles that clink as she steps closer. Her eyes take in the man next to her and her smile drops.

"We need your help again." The general mutters, his eyes offer an apology that won't leave his lips.

Her head gives a sad nod before she heads to a few rooms. They linger behind in slow strides. Calum watches her steps, notices how she's getting closer to a room he's memorized by now. His gut drops to his feet when she knocks on the splintered, worn door.

His instinct is to butt in and say they should do this later, talk this out and decide as a group who goes or not. This isn't the rightful scenario, though, it'll raise a red flag.

Besides, Alice is answering the door tired but blissful, he has no idea where his mind has gone but when she takes in his appearance and a small twinkle flashes in her eyes he merely clears his throat and looks away.

"Alice, my dear, did I interrupt?" Penelope is eyeing the book in the girl's hand, opened onto a page, her eyes meet Calum's once more before she hides it behind her back.

"No, I was just getting ready for the morning." She lies, as Luke peers up from his desk only to get back to his work out of fear of being yelled at.

"Alice, that's a beautiful name." The general holds his hand out as an offer, she glances down at it, then sees his uniform, and furrows her eyebrows.

"Is my father okay?"

"Your fa— ? Oh, he's fine I'm sure." Penelope gives her a welcoming smile, "It's just, the general here, he needs more nurses in the trenches. You'd be a real help if-"

"No." Calum doesn't even know what force inside of him said it, but it's out there in the void of silence that follows his statement.

"And why not, your highness?" The general spews, irritated with his immature behavior.

"Alice is... she's..." He licks his lips as the words don't come quick enough, he can't say the truth. He can't bring himself to call her the closest thing to a friend he's ever had. That's sad. They'll tell everyone he's a sad loner who spends his days wallowing in the garden.

"She's my personal nurse, you can't take her to the trenches."

"Since when?" Penelope sputters in disbelief, her hands find her hips and the distinct irking in her tone hurts.

"Last week, I decided, did you not get the memo? I told one of my scribes to tell you?" He feigns confusion, "She'll be the one I go to from now on, she's a wonderful nurse."

"But we don't ha-"

"She's helping my mother." He blurts out, knowing there's no way to argue with him now that that's in the air. Penelope's guard drops and she's frowning, the same pity frown he's used to seeing from her nowadays, and her hand falls over her heart as if what he said is making it burst.

His jaw clenches. Alice is going to ask what that means, he can feel it.

Calum huffs, "You can take anyone else with you, but she stays."

He watches the way her lips part at his words, notices the way she clutches the book tighter in her hand, how it's not Fahrenheit 451, but it's her drawing of him instead. Now complete, and he's drawn in the garden, his eyes widen ever so slightly. Because he's come to the realization that her window peers into one of his hiding spots.

"Now, if you excuse me I have studies to return to."

-

"When you said meet me in the garden I expected something much more lively." Alice shuffles through the grass, her hair is messy and astray in the bun it was once securely pinned into but has now become messy throughout the stress of her work day. He had invited her into the garden, shortly after his session with Ashton had come to a close.

"What could be more lively than this?" He gestures to the picnic blanket he had someone lie down for him. An array of fresh fruits and breads out for them to choose from. He didn't know much about her taste, only sat down to eat with her once or twice. But he knew just enough by the way she grinned while sitting on the other side of the blanket.

"Is this another favorite place of yours in the castle?"

"Always has been." He grabs a slice cantaloupe and eats it with his fingers, something Alice showed him how to do, he's been using silverware since he could speak.

She grabs a strawberry and bites the bottom off. Her smile is irresistible, he finds himself thinking, his teeth bite down on his bottom lip.

"It's going to rain soon," She gazes up to the sky, gray clouds heavy and looming above their heads. Taunting. Waiting to drop. Not a thunderstorm, but rain here is rarely present. Always sunshine.

"I have nowhere else to be for the rest of the day, except supper." He doesn't mind staying out here in the rain, not if it means she's here.

"I have to take care of the prince for the rest of the day, so," She jokes, her hand brushes a stray strand of blonde hair over her ear as she speaks. She grabs a blueberry at the same time he does. Her hand instantly retracts.

It stings. He looks over at her, at the way she was worried he'd yell at her for grabbing something at the same time he was supposed to. Why does that make his chest ache?

"I don't want you to be scared of me." He whispers, lips parting as he watches her blush underneath his gaze, she's flustered, hands finding her lap as he leans forward. He can see the books she had brought with her, Fahrenheit 451 sits on top of the other three.

He watches a raindrop land on her shoulder, rolling it's way to her collarbone. The rain falls slow at first, and she's leaning in, towards him, her own perfect pink lips parting ever so slowly as she thinks about his eyes. His hair. His nose.

Her nose bumps against his, and he can feel every breath she let's fan across his lips.

"I'm not scared of you." She answers, breathlessly, and finds the back of his hand, she runs her fingertips across his knuckles, her hair falls over her face as she traces patterns into his skin, feeling the rain begin to fall.

He's sitting there, still as can be, eyes trained in on her actions, she's making his chest feel tight, constricted, almost forcing it to feel something after too many years of hiding emotions.

"The book is very nice so far." She grins, speaking at last, he can hear the lightness in her voice, how tender and caring she sounds. He could fall sleep to her voice. His muscles relax at the words that fall off her lips.

"Yeah?" He wants to smile, he doesn't know why though. He holds back, reels it all in, and clears his throat. "What page are you on?"

She takes the novel from her stack of books and opens it up to the page marked with a ribbon.

"One hundred thirty three." She answers, her body pulls away from him in doing this, and the warmth of human contact drains from where she once hovered over his skin. He wants to pull her back, tell her to stay. But his hands merely twitch as he thinks of what to say.

"My tutor," He starts, unsure of if this is something he should be telling her. "He thinks you're lying to me, about outside these walls, what it's like."

Her smile is graced with remorse. She's finding pity in his words, how sad, he imagines her thinking, the boy is so naive to not know the truth of the world. His own kingdom.

"It has it's similarities." She lies. "Big open fields, gardens, forests. We don't have fountains, though. And our houses are built with stone or wood. Not marble and stained glass."

"So, like the nurse's quarters?" He tries to conjure up how it must be. Something dark and dismal. Grimy. He hates it in those bloody quarters but goes down there to see her and sometimes visit Penelope.

"Sure, except in my village, we have houses about..." She tries to compare it to something. A room he should know well enough to put into perspective. "I'd guess they're around the size of your bedroom."

"I have three parts to my bedroom." He responds.

"Well, take the smallest one, and that's my house." She smiles despite the sadness in that statement.

He realizes suddenly how it's still raining, and yet, he's unbothered. A longing look in his eyes finds her much more welcoming ones, she stares at him with so much kindness. He feels undeserving.

"If I could ever get past the walls, would you show me your house?" He asks Alice.

She runs a finger over his knuckles again, and his chest constricts once more. He feels so hopeless saying that, because the chances of him getting out of this damn castle are slim to none.

"Of course." She grins, "You could stay there, too. Hide for a bit."

All of a sudden her grin breaks into a wide smile, something childish in it, awestruck and fascinated. She instinctively puts a hand over her mouth to try and hide it.

"What?" He tilts his head curiously.

"You're smiling." Alice responds, "I've never seen you smile before."

He ducks his head down, hiding it. At the same time his gaze falls to their hands, how she has her's now resting on top of his, unknowingly, of course. But he doesn't mind it. Not one bit.

[ruthandliamgoplaces]

Travelling is not all rainbows and unicorns

The past few days have been spent participating in a local festival, buying lots of stuff and travelling to the start of the Annapurna Circuit. A few tales!

Holi Festival

Holi Festival is a Hindu/Indian festival that celebrates the start of spring - the visible way to mark the festival is by throwing colourful paint and water over everyone. We were told by our guesthouse owner to wear something we didn’t mind ruining, and to put all electronics inside watertight bags. We thought we had been well prepared by buying white Holi t-shirts, but actually this had the adverse affect of making us open targets.

The main demographic of people who participated in the paint throwing and soaking festivities appeared to be young boys, groups of teenagers of both genders, and young men. The three groups had three distinct methods.

The young boys waited in the networks of alleyways and when you were trapped, you would face a barrage of water bombs with the aim and velocity that would shame a professional cricket team.

Out in the streets, you would be enveloped by gangs of smiling assassin teenagers all keen to smear paint on both your cheeks, hair, and if they were feeling suitably cheeky, your body. Being someone who has issues with personal space, having a constant stream of Nepali teenagers rubbing their hands all over me left me wrestling with horror.

Worst of all, was the young men, who would sit high in the buildings and then throw vats of water on your head from height.

In theory, and if you were of a certain temperament, I suspect it could be quite exciting and fun to be covered in paint and water. My reality- was that it turned Kathmandu into a real live Call of Duty game. The most fun target for all was the tourists. Especially those wearing white Holi t-shirts.

Liam and I initially embraced it, although afterwards agreed neither of us particularly enjoyed it. After a while, it was tiring. We turned blind corners in alleyways with anticipation of being pelted, or chased by small boys. We avoided shoals of teenagers, and stepped round water tipping zones by avoiding wet patches on the floor.

I know I sound like a grumpy old woman, but I suspect no one likes to feel like a helpless foreign target. The Nepali newspapers seemed to concord with my feeling of trepidation as the local news articles on Holi included a warning that it counted as assault to touch someone without their permission. Police were driving around, making sure that only those who wanted to be were soaked or painted.... the tourists who didn’t wear Holi t-shirts were mostly unscathed... so we were probably a bit stupid!

Also in the article, there was a comment about how the festival article had lost its religious meaning. Instead, it had become only about throwing paint on each other, and engaging in raucous street festivities. The quiet family times have been replaced by partying. Liam and I got into judgey tourist mode and questioned to what extent this was being influenced by tourism. Many of the tourist areas were capitisiling on the festival by having boozy parties. Backpackers were walking around with beers in their hands- no locals were. Yet.

All that being said- I am glad I took part. There was a lot of positivity and smiles and I felt that the paint and water attacks were well intentioned. Me not enjoying it probably says more about me and my personal space issues than the festival!

Buses and bartering

The day after we took two buses to get from Kathmandu to Besisahar, the start of the Annapurna Circuit walk. We learnt that the bus drivers like to put tourists and questionable locals on the back seats, because they are worst being the hottest and bounciest. Liam and I shared the back row with three very drunk Nepalese men, who spent the time waiting for the bus to start arguing with other bus passengers, arguing with each other and trying to communicate with us by slurring Nepalese (god knows what) at us. Other bus passengers found this very amusing. When the bus started, they fell asleep, one with his head on Liam’s shoulder, generously sharing his sweat and dribble.

I was envious of their tactics of a drunken coma though because the buses were so bouncy on the pot holed dirt roads, that I was regularly thrown clear from the seat. Our fit-bits went into melt down- thinking we had done 40,000 steps when really we did nothing other than providing pillows and entertainment for the locals. We couldn’t even play our plague game as the bus bounced so much we couldn’t focus on the screen.

On the bus, we learnt more of the Nepali driving custom, including the special advanced bus skills of overtaking other buses going seemingly the same speed, on blind corners, with huge sheer cliff drops on one side. The trick here seems to be just to beep your horn a lot as you do so, with an advanced dose of the previously mentioned skill of assuming that you will never crash.

We also learnt that a bus is never full. There is always room even if you sit on someone else’s knee. Kind of like UK trains in rush hour. Oh, and tourists are charged four times the amount for the same seat. Which, other than also being given the worst seats, we really don’t mind. And that’s a problem generally... Liam and I both lack the assertiveness for the Nepali custom of haggling. As well as being targets for Holi Festival, we are primed for being charged way more than we should be, and often politely thank people who have just mildly exploited us. Despite repeatedly making earnest pacts after these occasions to try and haggle, we have epically failed and now admit surrender. It’s so cheap anyway, we have decided that £1 here or there is a small price to pay compared to the personal costs of challenging our combined (high) social anxiety.

Himalayan Breaking Bad

Seven hours of bone rattling bus experience later, we arrived at a town which is the start of the Annapurna Circuit, and attempted to pack our bags for the trek in our hotel room. Of course, we realised that we have way too much stuff, we don’t need it all and we can’t carry it. Most people hire porters to carry their bags round the trail, but we love being independent. The locals think this strange and we were called “typical English” to not accept help- I have no idea what this means - and it made me feel like I voted Brexit.

Fortunately, we asked the help of the Air B&B owner who we stayed with in Kathmandu, and have arranged a driver to take our surplus 8kg bag to the end of the trail, leaving us with a meagre 25kg between us to carry the 130 miles.

The B&B owner looks very much like and has all the calm, helpful, all powerful mannerisms as Gus from Breaking Bad. His efficient use of local networks to help us has heightened my suspicions. Happily for us, the mere use of his name seemed to immediately resolve our luggage crisis, with a hotel owner in a town 60km away being happy to receive and look after our random bag until an unspecified date in April (no fear of terrorism here). Fingers crossed we get it back, will be an interesting feeling handing it to a random driver tomorrow!

So, that’s us for now! Its been an exhausting couple of days filled with cultural experiences and challenges... but we are happy and full of Nepali Beer, and grateful to Himalayan Gus, and all of the Nepali people today who helped us get here, fed us, drove us, housed us, and despite our fears at times, didn’t try to attacks us or rip us off more than we deserved! Liam has had to add a new column on our budget spreadsheet called ‘stupidity’ and we have accepted a 10% surcharge on our trip for lack of bartering skills!

Tomorrow- we begin the trail!

[dead-friends]

Chapter 2

On the other side of the kitchen there was a skeleton of a man, his skin tight on his bones near transparent. He was naked, covered in dirt and he stood there on the other side of the center counter. He was fighting with Sarah. He was pulling at her clothes and when he saw exposed skin, he bit down. Already her arms were red with blood from where he had taken chunks of her flesh.

Lizzie stood in the doorway frozen. She had no clue what should she do. This wasn’t possible. They were there to check out the house she just inherited. There was nothing in the lawyers description of the place that said there would be a crazy, naked man attacking them when they went there. The house was hidden back in the woods. It was supposed to be the home of a reclusive hermit of a man who had once been her uncle. Nowhere in the description was there mention of a crazy man who would eat them.

Her mind felt like it was going into overdrive as she saw her friend’s clothes being ripped. Tears streamed down her face, and she just stood there. She watched, fighting with her own desire to flee.

Neither of them saw her there as both were turned away. Lizzie could just run right back out the door and leave this craziness behind her. It would be easy. She could run to her car, call the police, and drive away. The realtor and the crazy man can have this place, she would leave and never come back.

Something told her that if she did leave, there would be no escape. She would return. Deep inside, she new she would have to come back there.

Why, and why did it matter now?

It didn’t. She had to do something. This man was tearing apart her friend. She had to do something about it.

She started to look around the kitchen for anything she could use.

The man ripped Sarah’s shirt, reaching for the exposed shoulder beneath. It was then that he turned to Lizzie. She could tell from the focus that he had known she was there. He grinned at her, his teeth covered in blood as he gave her a wide tooth smile that seemed to large for his mouth. He had too many teeth and all of them looked sharper than they should have been. Red drops dripped to the counter top and he bent over licking them. The blood smeared, more now streaked the counter as he continued to drip.

Sarah must have felt the change in attention as she made a burst to get away. She took three steps before the man’s thin arms wrapped around her and pulled her back. He turned her so that she was facing Lizzie and now Lizzie could see her blood covered, tear streaked face. Strands of hair were stuck to it, and there were patches from her forehead where he had pulled some away.

To prove it, he reached up and grabbed another handful of hair, pulling it back hard until it ripped away from the scalp. He licked it as it came free before stuffing it in his mouth.

“Just let her go.” Lizzie said.

Sarah cried harder, “Please, just please,” she sobbed.

The naked man didn't speak. He never spoke. He just kept his gaze on Lizzie, flashing her that large, blood smeared, toothy grin. He stood there, watching her. Sarah struggled to get away but she couldn't break from his grip. He was stronger than he looked.

"I don't know what to do." Lizzie said, shaming her head as she looked to Sarah, pleading with her eyes, asking for forgiveness for not saving her.

“Please, let her go.”

Sarah shook in his arm, trying to kick her foot back into the man’s exposed testes. He held her too tight, and pulled her in closer to him, forcing her off balance. Her knee hit the corner of the counter and before she could register the pain, the naked man pulled Sarah back by her hair. She let out an earth shattering scream as more hair was pulled free and she was stumbling as she lost her balance.

Lizzie watched as her friend started to fall, held by one arm around her chest and another on her long hair. The man grabbed more hair, sensing that she was getting away and both her arms where grabbing at his to push it away.

“Please let her go,” her plea nearly drenched in her tears as she shook, trembling with the fear that something worse was about to happen. The man kept smiling at her, cackling as he would pull harder on Sarah’s hair, then relax his grip as she would pull away. She wouldn’t make it very far as his grip would tighten and Sarah would again get yanked back to him.

Those eyes. That laugh. Lizzie knew she would hear that sickly cackle for the rest of her life as the nightmares would never let her forget it. That was if either one of them survived this. This mad man had Lizzie’s best friend. There was no guarantee either one of them would survive.

The man didn’t take his eyes off her, and Lizzie found herself pulled into them. Time slowed. His laugh grew louder and rang through her head like a bell, a church bell chime that with every dong in time with her heartbeat. One naked man became two as her vision doubled. Yet somehow she still watched him, the true him, and those dark, hollow recesses of eyes.

She couldn’t pull away. Time passed but it was lost on them. He had her as well, but it wasn’t in some death grip. He was in her soul, and she could feel that darkness spreading. A chill ran through her as her insides grew cold. It was in her bones, her blood, and it was spreading getting closer to her heart. It would freeze her completely if she let it.

A scream rang out. She wasn’t sure if it was from her or Sarah, but her vision pulled back and she saw both of them again. The naked man was nodding at her, that smile never disappearing, but he turned from her and looked at the prey in his arms. He licked the blood from his lips and momentarily closed his eyes in relish, his head lifting for a moment as he showed to be in pure bliss.

Then in a flash his eyes were open and alert and he was studying Sarah.

Lizzie knew she had to do something. What!? What could she do? She could rush him, she had to rush him. That naked disgusting form had his friend. If she hit him and they toppled over, then her and her friend could beat him up, or just run away. They could get out of her.

On some level, that rational brain of hers was trying to convince her that she needed to do it. She needed to attack this man or she was never going to get friend back. If she didn’t her friend would be gone, probably dead or worse.

What was worse?

She knew what worse was. There was living after life was taken from you. That half life of existing after some thing like this defiled you. She knew that. She was studying psychology after all. She knew what this did to the living corpse left behind.

Why hadn’t Susan and Lizzie taken those rape prevention courses at the ‘Y’? They had both talked about it, knowing that it was always a possibility, especially being young girls on a college campus. They lived where every woman needed to be on constant guard of rape as every year multiple attacks would happen and not go reported. It was believed that colleges were a breeding ground for sexual predators and they were prime bait.

Why hadn’t they gone?

Because, there was always another study group, or another drink with a friend to go to. There was always something that they were doing, and who had time to start dedicating to some class at the ‘Y’. They could always do it some other time. It wasn’t like it was ever going to happen to them.

But now here it was. It was going to happen to them, and it was going to happen in Lizzie’s own house. The house she had just inherited. This place she didn’t even want, and after today, wasn’t sure she would ever be able to step into ever again.

You have to live through today first before you can decide if you were ever going to come back here. Live through today first, to make it to tomorrow.

The man continued to study Sarah. He had pulled her close and was smelling the hair in his hand, then biting down on it. He noticed that Lizzie was still studying him and spit it out to nuzzle up to Sarah’s neck and lick the tears that were spilling down.

Sarah was whimpering in his grip. Her eyes closed. She would occasionally twitch, trying to pull away from him, but it was obvious the fight was out of her.

The laugh got louder. Lizzie wasn’t convinced it even came from the man as it felt like it was echoing through her head. It was misplaced as he was over there and she heard how clearly that voice cackled in her thoughts.

“Please.” She whimpered as much to hear her voice against the sound of his as to plead for her friends life.

The laughing intensified and she felt her forehead throbbing with its rhythm. Stars formed at the edge of her vision, and the pain pushed in as she tried to pull her focus on the naked man and look at her friend.

Sarah was covered in sweat and blood. It had melded together and was running from her scalp where there were now visible patches due to hair being pulled free. Somehow her shirt had been torn, and the naked man had exposed one of her breasts. He was grabbing at it violently and there were already forming bruises. There were cuts from his nails from where he had squeezed too hard and more blood now smeared her exposed flesh.

They weren’t going to get out of this alive.

Lizzie felt her legs give out. She lowered herself to the floor and kneeled there, raptured by sobs at what was happening to Sarah. She couldn’t watch anymore. She buried her face in her hands.

Sarah screamed. Lizzie heard her fall. She landed hard and Lizzie had heard the ‘plop’ as flesh hit the tile floor without trying to catch herself. The bastard had probably thrown her down. Lizzie couldn’t look to see. She knew Sarah would be on the other side of the kitchen island and there wouldn’t be any way for her to see if she was okay.

What did it matter? They were both dead. Why did it any of it matter anymore?

If she could turn into a puddle of tears and sink right there into the floor she would. Enough tears came, she thought she would soon be in a puddle. They just kept flowing, and she felt her shirt getting damp.

She didn't get a chance to lie down there and die when she noticed that a shadow was looming over her. It must be her turn. He was there for her.

She looked up and he was there. His member was dangling between his legs, its thick shaft was purple and she could see where there were cuts along it. Flesh had been torn away in some places, and the meat underneath was exposed. She was surprised that it was brown and ash gray underneath. It was a foot away from her face, and as disgusting as the torn piece of meat was, she couldn't get past the intense smell of decay that emanated from it.

She didn't want to look at it, but found it harder to turn away and study the rest of the man. She had been so terrified by his blood soaked mouth before, but now she was looking at him differently, having to look up at him, and with how close he now stood, she saw more of his deathly state.

He had scrapes all over his body, some of them still bled. The dark splotches that were all over his body she had mistaken for dirt were under his skin. It was like some kind of infections or bruises, and they made what was his ash white skin take on these unearthly patches. Maybe it was dirt, but somehow under his skin? It looked like scales with thin white lines that crisscrossed his skin. That didn’t make sense either, but it was something and he looked like he would be dirty even after an hour in water.

When people say ‘what kind of rock have you been living under,’ they were referring to him. He looked like he had crawled out from under that rock but while he had been under there, had died and they forgot to tell him he was dead. Whoever they was because he had no friends.

He cackled and reached for her, grabbing her by the back of her head and was pulling her closer to him. She knew what he would want her to do and fought against him, pulling her head back. Again she was surprised by his strength, this time feeling it for herself as she wasn't apple to stop herself from being pulled in. The stench grew worse. Rotten meat. The wreak of it twisted her stomach and she could feel the vomit touching the back of her throat.

This really couldn't be happening. How was it? Why did this  have to happen to them?
 The tip of his penis twitched. Oh God, don't let him get hard. Then she watched as a small white object protruded from the head. It emerged and wiggled back and forth almost like a finger beckoning her closer. She was already close enough that she could see lines, circular lines around the body, like it had segments to it. The part that had first emerged was larger and she thought she could see a large opening. Is that a mouth. Oh my Lord is that...

Is that a maggot?

She'd never been this close to one, but was sure it was. It withered its way free, and fell onto her chin.

"NO!"

She felt the scream push through her until it exploded from her lungs into a rush. It slammed into the man, and the pure intensity made him step back, releasing her as he stumbled.

Inside her something was different. She snapped, and she felt that if none of this mattered, then it didn't matter what she did to him. He was going to kill them, and he was going to do it painfully. It didn't matter if she fought back, it was still a nightmare, so why not hurt this bastard as much as possible before he hurt her.

Lizzie wasn't thinking about what she was doing, she just did it. She attacked. She pushed herself up and in one motion pushed out with her hands. It connected in his chest and she felt his sudden shift as he lost his breath and then his balance. He fell back and she persisted. He hit the counter, keeping him upright but he was dazed, stunned by her blow. She followed we'd up with a knee to his groin and he made an audible gasp as he bent over.

She didn't stop. She brought her hands together and brought them down on his back. He fell to his knees and the collapsed to the floor. Lizzie stood there, watching him. She was panting, not realizing how much exhaustion went into beating someone up, but she had done it. She had stopped him.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there feeling proud of herself. It was longer than she should have, she knew that much.

Sarah! She needed to check on her!

Lizzie hurried around the counter hope my to find her friend okay. She saw the blood before she came upon the body. The blood had become a river flowing in the cracks toward the open back door. Then she found that lake of red around her friends head.

Lizzie was sure she would never forget how her hair was all wet and matted in the pool. She couldn't help but think how upset Sarah would be when she saw herself in the mirror because it was matted and Sarah couldn't go a second with having her hair not perfect. There were lumps of it that were drenched and had turned her sunlit rays of blond into a dark red mush.

She needed to do Sarah's hair before she woke up. That's what she needed to do.

Lizzie lowered herself down, keeping her legs together and staying poised like a lady when she looked at Sarah's eyes. They were open, looking out into the distance.

They didn't blink. Not even when a fly landed on them.

Then she noticed that some of the blood was coming out from the side of Sarah's eye. Half her skull was caved in there making her face not even. That shouldn't be like that. And her mouth... her jaw was ripped away and there were teeth missing…her smile, she was going to be pissed. Sarah was relentless about using teeth whitener so she had that super sweet, innocent as cherry pie smile that often lured in guys.

She had to get Sarah out of there. She wasn’t going to be happy, but maybe the doctors could do something.

Lizzie reached forward and pushed on Sarah’s shoulder.

“Hey, we gotta get out of here. I need you to get up.”

Sarah didn’t move. Lizzie thought about trying to nudge her friend again, but she didn’t have time for this. Sarah needed help, but Lizzie didn’t think she could carry her. Would she be able to drag her?

So much blood. It was going to get all over her shirt and jeans, but she had to do it.

She reached forward, trying to grab Sarah’s shirt top, adjusting her balance while also trying not to step into the pool of blood. It was tricky, and she didn’t realize until she tasted her own blood that she was biting her lip.

Sarah’s shirt was wet, but Lizzie got a good grip on it and pulled. Sarah slid on the floor, streaking through the blood and allowing more of it to soak into Sarah’s blouse. As she moved across the tile, there was a scraping sound and Lizzie tensed at how loud it sounded in the stillness that had descended on the house since she had knocked the naked man down.

She stopped. She had to as she was losing her balance pulling her friend and feared she would fall on her but and then her own jeans would be covered in red.

Damn why hadn’t Dennis come out there with them? Sure, Sarah and Lizzie were friends with Jessica and Dennis was just the boyfriend, but he was useful. When Sarah had needed someone to carry her new mattress up four flights of stairs because the elevator was out in her apartment complex, Dennis had done it. He had complained for the last two flights of stairs, and gotten irritated with their giggles and jibes, but he had done it.

Who else would she get to move a dead body when she needed it?

No! Sarah wasn’t dead. She couldn’t think that way. She just needed to get her out of there and go for help. They needed to find the police and get them out there before the man woke back up. He could regain consciousness at any time, any noise could do it.

She listened to her breathing. It sounded loud and raspy to her, and deafening. She tried to control it and breathe easier, but her heart was racing. Her body was betraying her. She wanted to keep quiet, still as the house around her, but every part of her seemed to cry out in betrayal. Her ankle popped as she reached forward to grab Sarah again and pull and she winced.

The man would be waking soon. She pulled on Sarah again and that scraping on tile screamed through the kitchen. Lizzie looked at the man, worried he would be waking up.

He was staring at her. That smile had returned and he was lying there on the ground staring at her. There wasn’t even any sign that he had been passed out. Had he been watching her this whole time?

“Come on Sarah!” Lizzie reached forward and pawed for clothing. “I need you to help me here. Get Up!”

Her hands couldn’t make purchase throwing her balance off. She didn't fall back though and had been able to push off, standing as she stumbled back until she hit the wall to regain her balance.

The man laughed at her, his cackle echoing off the linoleum. She didn't turn to look, to see that blood red smile, but it didn't help as her eyes stayed locked on Sarah.

The cold dead eyes that confined to stare at Lizzie. Lizzie had never seen a dead persons eyes before. She hadn't thought there would be a change, that the eyes would look the same if someone was alive or dead, but that wasn't true. No matter how still someone is, there was always some movement to the eye, a twitch or a throb as blood circulated through the corneas.

Only the dead remained still. Sarah wasn't moving.

She heard something sliding on the floor. She didn't turn to look. She didn't have to go know the man was pulling himself towards her. The image of his blood filled mouth, the maggot that slithered from the tip of his penis, all of it was already burned into her memory. Another look in his direction would only be another nightmare she would need to avoid.

Instead she turned from the man, turned from her friend and ran out the kitchen door.

[blackwaldpartisan]

First day after the volunteers' arrival (15th)

Spent the morning studying the book on medicine. I believe I will have to start washing my hands more so that I don't infect someone. That would be a waste. Medicine is also much more complex than I thought it was. So many little details that need to be checked and taken care of while I thought it was just to clean out a wound, then seal it somehow. It also seems my stay with the walking corpses has hardened me to most of the bodily functions and dysfunctions mentioned in the book. Nothing in it sounds really gross or horrible. It's all just another piece of flesh that's gone awry somehow.

The inn has been repaired as well.

In the evening I asked the Doctor Dead if it knew what had caused my “fall” (the lack of memories that is). He said no. I did not have time to ask if it knew that all of the Reserve is afflicted, but I don't doubt it already knows that. Seems those hopes were for naught, unsurprisingly. 

The Doctor Dead then lined the new arrivals up and asked who they were and what they could do. Most seemed to be fighters but there was one magician, a Cursed one even, perhaps I will make the effort to talk to him someday. Any help is welcome. Also there are more Paladins now, perhaps I should not mention the Fel again because I hear they loathe it. Then again, all means are needed in this struggle and if they cannot see that, they are imbeciles. Not that I can tap into the Fel much anyway.

We were then sent off to re-capture the “Western Cottage and a graveyard” with a flanking maneuver. I was part of the flanking team together with the newly arrived mage, the Captain with the mask and the blond hair, Odán who is an officer but don't want us to act like he is (because then some Forsaken might shoot him in the head. That would be sad, he is an agreeable man) and a warrior in worgen form whose shiny armour we had to smear with mud. That was amusing.

Of course the whole column was fired upon as she marched down the road and our group split off while the main force continued down the road. The flanking itself and the sneaking through the woods was rather uneventful apart from a Reservist patrol strolling past just some 50 yards away. But when we reached the cottage the Reservists discovered us and fired at Odán, keeping him pinned down in a hole while the rest of us attacked. They had pikes though, couldn't reach them. I shot one or two (can't remember exactly but I could not be bothered to reload after a few shots) and tried to jab under the pikes, or chop the heads off. I got stabbed above my hip for that trouble. The warrior in worgen form whose armour we smeared with mud fired grenades at Reservists which did some good, and Victoria mauled some of them from afar. Then we had to pull back.

Odán got pissed on by a Forsaken soldier on the way back which was amusing but extremely fragrant in a negative manner. He reeked. We reported to the man-doctor's lab which is now the infirmary and there were plenty of wounded. I was about to clean my wound out when the young Paladin woman offered to heal it for me. It was amazing yet again. I can't imagine what it would be like to be blessed with the Light, but it must be marvelous. I wonder if it feels as good as magic when they channel it? It ought to, what with being divine and all. In any case the wound is more or less closed now. I also removed the bandages around my left shoulder because the bite has healed (I now carry matching marks on my shoulders. Almost looks intentional) but left the one around the arm because it is still scabbed over and sore. The cut on my cheek is healing well again also! I am relieved that my increased washing of it has helped. For a while I feared it would never close, or that I would end up being blood poisoned (I read about that in the book today. It is a wonder no one has caught it yet)

Back at the inn they all spoke of today's events (of course) and their kill counts. I was surprised that I could not tolerate it no longer but it felt so grim and callous. I care nothing at all for the Forsaken deaths and wish their rotten souls to burn in the Twisted Nether... But I cannot bring myself to hate the Reserve. There were too many people like me, and too many people I know. There were those among them that deserve to die, yes, but not all of them. When the others speak of them with such loathing (even some of the newcomers do) it is hard not to feel apart. So I left. I watched the sea again and the Knight Dawnfeld followed me (his presence really is rather comforting) and I told him as much. I am not one for crowds and especially not a crowd wishing my former friends, companions and fellow scared Gilneans dead. He seemed to understand my point, but would not budge from seeing the Reserve as traitors. I understand that. I pity those that are left. I am so lucky have been captured as I were. We spoke a little more and then the Doctor Dead came. If it had anything on its mind, I don't know, because it drew others to him like bad odors draw flies. Before long I found myself in the middle of a small crowd again, blabbering away about guns and cannons. I have little to no interest in those things. The talk about where to flee was vital and interesting enough (I do like the plan of reaching Tempest’s Reach. It should be a little more deserted now what with so much of the Reserve deployed in the Blackwald. It's not really an option with the broken bridge and Forsaken presence though) and of course the talk once again turned to killing filthy Collaborators.

I (probably with an audible excess of sarcasm and spite. Stupid and rash of me, really) expressed the opinion that we should simply storm the place and kill them all, then stalked off. The Knight Dawnfeld did not follow this time.

I am lucky and grateful to be with the Partisans. I am not so happy to bleed for them (more than I ever bled for the Reserve) but if that is what it takes to get out of this alive then so be it. I enjoy killing the Forsaken (more than I ever suspected I would. Never knew I was this vengeful) but I have to steel myself every time I am to kill a Reservists. Each face looks like a friendly one, even when they spit 'traitor' in my face and try to kill me. But if they must die for me to live, then so be it.

Tomorrow I will try get a moment to talk with the captured Reservists. I heard Eton Smith died. I am certain Elia will take that hard. Need to make sure she don't break.

I wish I had a pleasant memory from before all this that I could look back on, long for and lose myself in.

[patheticnugbaby]

Strong

This took a lot longer than I wanted it to the write it but it’s okay. Adahla is struggling with the ever-encroaching idea that her work may never be done, or that she’ll be dead before she can finish it. Takes place after Adamant and references a few of my other fics. I’ll make a thing putting them all in order and shit someday I swear.

How many times do you think Solas apologized to your Inquisitor over the course of the whole thing? If they were good enough friends for them to confide in him somewhat, about their fears, pain, the burden of it all. How many times do you think he apologized when they told him? Them thinking he’s apologizing because he’s sorry that it fell to you, him knowing that it’s his fault they’ve suffered.

WARNING: Descriptions of pain, blood, and despair.

Adahla sat on the ground, staring into the hearth fire. The anchor almost glowed brighter than the fire did. She pulled her knees up to her chest, tucking her chin as she looked at her left hand.

“What’s going on here?!”

The Divine, suspended in the air by Gray Wardens, their eyes fogged over with angry red light. A grotesque, spindly creature, malformed limbs, was it wearing armor or was its skin stretched over some kind of awful black metal? Shards of brilliant red crystal grew from its flesh.

The Divine lunged, knocking the green orb from its grasp. Adahla lunged to grab it, fumbling until she held it in her left hand. Searing, white pain shot up her arm, bringing her to her knees-

 She winced, a sudden, sharp pain from the anchor bringing her from her memories. Adahla gripped her hand tightly, as though the pressure would alleviate the pain. She gritted her teeth, cradling her hand close to her chest. It hissed and spat, like hot oil.

There was a quick, polite knock on the door. Her breath hissed between her clenched teeth but she stayed quiet. She didn’t trust herself to speak without alerting them that something was wrong. She needed just one night after the absolute horror of Adamant. Just one. Then she could go back to being the Inquisitor.

“Inquisitor? Are you alright?” Solas, he never came up here before. “May I come in?”

She took a few shallow breaths, squeezing her eyes shut, “Just a... Just a moment! I- Aah!” The anchor cracked and she fell onto her side, curled around her left hand, clutching it so tightly her nails drew blood.

She heard her door slam open, hurried footsteps running up the stairs. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, even as she was pulled into a lap. Adahla curled tighter around her hand with a strangled sob.

“I know. I know it hurts, vhenan. I am so, so sorry.” Warm arms closed around her, it would’ve been comforting if not for the fiery pain of the anchor. “Let me see.”

A hand closed on her left wrist, gently prying it from her grasp. She tried not to fight him on it, each new wave of pain made her want to draw it back to her chest. She clenched her right hand, her fingernails biting into her skin.

“I know. I’m sorry,” He pulled her fingers away from her palm, there was a hissing crack of wild magic that made her yank her arm in his grasp, “Ir abelas, ma vhenan. How long has this been happening to you?”

“Always flared a little now and then,” She managed between gritted teeth, “Started getting worse after Adamant.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was a sharp edge in his voice, like a ragged blade.

“I didn’t-” She gasped as a sharp pain lanced straight through her bones, “I didn’t want to worry anyone.”

“You could not have failed more spectacularly,” He hissed, fingers probing gently at the edges of the mark, “Fenedhis!”

She winced as a sharp, cold sting shot through her hand, numbing the pain to a duller throb rather than the fire it had been before. Adahla took a breath, it felt like the first one she’d taken all night. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her right hand, chancing a glance at Solas.

If she didn’t know him better she’d say he almost looked impassive, but she did know him better. His lips were pressed into a thin line, anger and worry creasing his eyebrows and his ears were pulled tightly against his head. His eyes softened a little as he covered his thumb in his sleeve, gently wiping away at her face.

“You’re bleeding.” His voice was quiet, a soft tremble in it, “Are you alright?”

“I’m better,” She smiled a little, to reassure him, “Really, I’m alright.”

When he pulled his sleeve away there was a deep, red smear on the hem, “You say that more often than it is true.”

“I need to be alright. I always need to be alright, no matter what’s happened.” She snapped, pulling away from him a little, “Because if I’m not, suddenly we can’t do this,” she sat up, pulling her legs up to her chest and burying her head, “I can’t do this.”

Solas reached out and pulled her back to him, leaning down to rest his head on her back, “You are not alright, and here, you don’t have to be,” she felt him place a soft kiss on her shoulder, “You are a strong woman, Adahla, you are unique in the most remarkable ways, but you do not have to be strong now, vhenan.”

Something in her cracked, like the final tap that shattered a glass. Her fingers clutched tightly to her trousers as she shuddered with a broken sob. She turned, burying her face in his chest, clutching his sweater tightly. His arms wrapped warmly around her back, rocking her slowly. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks, falling to stain the light fabric of his shirt. A hand gently stroked her hair, tucking stray strands behind her ears. Eventually, she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly enough to prompt a breathless chuckle. Adahla managed to look up at him, puffy red eyes and drooping ears.

“Ma vhenan,” He smiled, almost sadly before he gathered her into his arms, pressing her close, kissing her hair, “I am sorry that this is your burden to bear.”

“You always say that,” She replied, sniffling a little and nuzzling into his chest, “I may have ruined your shirt.”

“It’s just a shirt,” She heard the little smile in his voice as he hugged her a little tighter, “Would you like to talk?”

“I don’t know,” She paused, shifting a little, “but I think I should. Maybe not on the floor.”

He loosened his arms on her, allowing her to stand. She gave him a smile, holding out her hand for him to take. Solas allowed her to pull him up, reaching over to place a hand on the back of her neck, planting a soft kiss on her forehead before letting her go. She took both of his hands in hers, leading him around to one side of her little bed. She sat on the edge, bringing him to sit next to her, still having one hand in his. Adahla leaned on his shoulder with a yawn she tried to suppress.

“You’re tired,” He brushed his lips against her forehead, gently squeezing her hand.

“I’m always tired. Sleep alone won’t ease that,” She shook her head a little, “I should be relieved. Orlais stands, no demon hordes marching on the horizon. You and I, we walked the fade, felt it solidly under our feet and made it out alive.” Adahla paused, looking at her left hand, “I remember how I got this now. It was foolish of me to wish for those memories back.”

“Anything can look foolish in hindsight,” Solas rubbed soothing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Even you?” She smiled, really smiled and nudged him playfully, relishing the warm sound of his laughter.

“Especially me, vhenan,” He reached over with his free hand, tucking her hair behind her ears, nothing but tenderness in his eyes. “Why are you not relieved?”

She looked away, out her closed windows, “I am waiting for another unthinkable catastrophe. We have won two victories and we have not been reprimanded. I know, he cannot admit that we have wounded him. I just have this feeling that something terrible is looming around the next corner, that when all is said and done, it really won’t be.” Adahla squeezed his hand, perhaps a little too firmly, “If I live long enough to see Corypheus put down for good I fear that won’t be the end of it. The world will find another way to fall to pieces and unless I run they will look to me to pick up the pieces until it kills me.” She took a long, shuddering breath, “I don’t know if I can even see the point to it all anymore. What is this struggle even about? The vain hope that the breath we draw tomorrow is somehow less rotten than the one we draw today?”

He was silent for a time, his warm hand in hers, the only sounds their breathing and the soft popping of the fire in the hearth. She felt the soft pricking at the corners of her eyes, a sharp pang in her chest as she felt sure he wouldn’t have an answer for her. He always had an answer for her.

“It’s about the little things,” He said quietly, his eyes on the floor, ears flicking a little, “The smell of your favorite tea in the morning, the comfort of a good story in the company of friends. It’s about the thrill of discovering something new, or entirely forgotten; the gleam of joy in another’s eyes. The beauty of a sunrise over the mountains, the warmth that comes when you finally come home, tender kisses stolen in the shadows of a deserted library. Laughing at the wonder of snow.”

He leaned over and caught her jaw with his forefinger, turning her to face him. She swallowed, still feeling the prickling of tears in the corners of her eyes but it didn’t sting. There was adoration in his gaze, butterflies slowly batting their wings in her chest. She stored that look with them, how his lips were slightly parted as his thumb grazed gently over her bottom lip, the easy warmth in his storm-colored eyes.

“Remember them. Even if after all of this, it doesn’t feel the same,” He smiled softly, stroking her cheek, “If you cannot, then remember that you are loved. Always.”

She hugged him tightly to her, her cheeks flushing a little when she heard his soft laughter. When she pulled back she hastily wiped at her eyes with a nervous laugh.

“Creators. I just can’t stop crying tonight, can I?” She laughed again, looking away before he pulled her back into a looser embrace.

“Cry as you need to, my heart,” She felt him kiss her hair, “You carry a heavy burden, one you never asked for.”

“I fell into it, fate and happenstance. I heard her voice and I went to see what happened. I wanted to help her,” She chuckled ruefully, “Always have to try and save them, don’t I? Even when it hurts.”

“You have a noble heart, ma’arlath,” He pulled her into his lap, reaching up to cup her cheek, “I am proud to know you.”

“Sweet talker,” She blushed a little, taking his hand in hers and turning her head to kiss his palm, then she yawned, unable to stop herself.

“You should sleep, if you can,” He smiled, tilting his head a little.

She glanced at her bed, then back to him, pensively chewing her bottom lip, “Would you... Would you stay with me tonight?” she saw him flick his ears a little and she amended: “I don’t- I don’t mean that I just-” She huffed, looking down, “I would like to not be alone.”

Solas reached up to her face and pulled her down to him for a soft, gentle kiss, “Ma nuvenin.”

She squeaked when he picked her up, only to turn and lay her on top of the covers, “Solas!” he gave her a little smirk before putting a little kiss on her nose, “I haven’t even taken my boots off.”

“We’ll have to fix that then, won’t we?” He gave her an impish grin, sitting by her feet and deftly unlacing her boots.

“I can do that,” She protested, sitting up and taking her leg away from him.

“I’m aware. All the same, would you allow me this simple pleasure?” He smiled softly, tilting his head; she flopped back onto the bed, relinquishing her leg.

“You can’t look at me like that.”

“Why?” There was a mischievous edge to his voice as he continued unlacing her boots.

“Because you look like a damn puppy, that’s why,” She growled, pushing herself up on her elbows to glare at him when he laughed. “What? It’s true.”

He laughed again, slowly pulling off her boots and setting them neatly beside the bed, “Is there anything else you need, vhenan?”

“Just another log on the fire,” She answered, ears flicking a little as she sat up, shrugging off her coat and throwing it onto the couch.

He flicked his wrist, a log neatly placing itself in the hearth, “You sleep in your clothes?”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s cold here,” She drew her covers back, patting the bed beside her, “Are you coming?”

He hesitated, just for a moment before slipping the wraps from his feet and circling to the other side of the bed, slipping under the sheets beside her. He laid on his side, facing her as he held his arms open for her. She grinned, pressing her back against his chest as his arms folded around her. Adahla covered his hand with hers with a happy little sigh.

“Is my hair bothering you?” She asked, turning a little, he chuckled, squeezing her gently.

“Never,” She felt him press a soft kiss against her temple before he laid back, “dream well, ma’arlath.”

“Dream well, emma sa’lath.” She brought his hand to her lips before snuggling a little further into her blankets.

She fell asleep almost immediately, pressed close to him. He knew that he shouldn’t be here but he quashed the unwelcome thought, reveling in the scent of her hair, the sound of her breathing. She was soft and pliant in his arms, warm and sweet against his chest. He held her a little tighter, allowing himself to be lost in this precious moment, to pretend that it would never have to end.

[fromnonexistence2eternity]

Do I count this day as yesterday? Or do I title it tonight's new date?

Either way: April 6th, 2017 I woke up this morning and chose sleep over makeup. Isn’t sleep supposed to be more important than an enhanced form of beauty? It doesn’t really matter because it happened. I went “barefaced” to work, hoping no one would ask me ‘what’s wrong?’ Or 'you look tired today!’ It was nice being able to touch my face without fear of smearing my layer of foundation away. I could rub my eyes, and not worry about mascara bleeding down the bags under my eyes. I looked human. Like a living breathing woman who’s bad at sleeping. My skin looks lived in; nothing is out of place or dusted off. It just looks comfortable and sleepy. I’m okay with walking around with no makeup. I was called cute today, and I took the compliment by this nice guy, because it was genuine. Whether it had anything to do with me wearing makeup or not - maybe the sun was hitting me just right - it was a nice thing to hear. It validated this simple decision I made just 6 hours ago, just because I valued rest over 30 minutes of staring at myself, and polishing over… what? My imperfections? I don’t care. I’m no longer concerned. If I put on makeup tomorrow, or if I don’t. What would it matter? I’m still me, right? I’m still here, living inside my skin?

[kythe42]

I know I already made one post venting today already, but the more I think about the doctor’s appointment I had, the more pissed off I’m feeling. These feelings of anger aren’t really specific towards my doctor, but just at the general mentality of doctors that women don’t know their own minds about what they want to do with their bodies, and this applies even if the doctor is a woman.

So for some background information, I have a long history of abnormal pap smear results. They don’t come back abnormal every time, but it’s kind of like a coin toss whether it will or not. The recent one I had came back abnormal again, and I was told that I’d need to have another biopsy done. I’d already had two in the past, the most recent of which was just last March, so less than a year ago.

Now normal pelvic exams are extremely painful for me even if the doctor uses the small instruments and they can’t use the small instruments when doing the biopsy. The first time I had one of these biopsies done, it was in the office awake and I was in sheer 10 out of 10 agony. After that I said I’d never consent to another one unless I was knocked out. The next time I needed one done, my doctor consented. I have a new doctor now who agreed to do it under anaesthesia too, but I still had to come in to talk about it and sign papers.

At this point I’m just so sick of it all. I know I’m never having kids, and I’ve never had the slightest desire to have them. Even if I wanted kids, I know I’m not capable of taking care of one for various reasons. So since I know I’m not having kids, I asked the doctor to just cut out my cervix and be done with it. Given my history, the doctor decided she wanted to do another procedure which would cut out a portion of my cervix but not entirely remove it. This would give a larger sample for biopsy, but would also hopefully remove all the abnormal cells and hopefully leave me with normal pap results in the future.

I asked why I needed my cervix if I wasn’t having kids. The doctor explained that the cervix also helped support the pelvic organs, including the bladder. That sounded kind of important, so I accepted her answer. However,  I strayed onto the topic of hysterectomies. While it would be nice to do away with my period even though it’s much less heavy and painful since going on birth control, that’s not the primary reason why I’d want one. Having kids is out of the question for me, and given what’s going on in the current political climate regarding abortion, it makes me kind of afraid. I’m not currently sexually active, and I live in a very low crime area, so I know the chances of me being raped and having my birth control fail are very low(not to mention the PCOS which impairs fertility to begin with), but I’d still rather be safe than sorry, and before menopause, the only sure fire way to prevent pregnancy is to not have a uterus.

I told all of that to the doctor, but I also said that I knew the insurance probably wouldn’t pay for a hysterectomy unless it was really medically necessary. My doctor then said that the insurance issue was irrelevant because she would flat out refuse to perform that surgery on someone as young as me unless it was really necessary because I might change my mind when I get older. I used to think it was only women under 30 who got that speech, but apparently 33 years old is still too young to make my own decisions about what I want to do with my body. She said she’d only consider it for women in their 40s. To add insult to injury, my doctor is pretty young, and based on when she graduated from medical school, I’d say she’s either my age or slightly younger.

I tried explaining to my doctor that even if I wanted kids, I’m not physically, emotionally, or financially capable of taking care of a kid. She said that things could change someday, that I might meet someone I love and decide I wanted to have a child with them. I pointed out that adoption is an option in the remote chance that I change my mind, especially since I’d rather not pass down my crappy genes to another generation. She still insisted that I won’t know how I’ll feel tomorrow let alone a few years from now.

I just find that kind of attitude so insulting. If she wasn’t a new doctor and knew my full history better, I don’t think she would ever try to convince me that I might reconsider. I could give so many reasons why I shouldn’t have children even if I wanted them, but the most important one that comes to mind is my Asperger’s, which is not something that’s ever going to go away. I have sensory integration problems with my Asperger’s and sound sensitivity is probably the issue that causes me the most distress. Certain sounds can be very painful for me and can cause a large amount of distress. Depending on the situation I might might start yelling or break down crying. In more extreme cases I might lose control over myself and be prone to violence, which might be directed inwards at myself, or outwards towards the source of the noise.

Guess what? The sound of a baby crying is a major trigger sound for me and even when the baby is making happy sounds it still irritates me to no end. I’ve tried to seek treatment for this problem for years without success, and the only suggested treatments I haven’t tried are things I can’t afford because insurance doesn’t cover it, and to be honest they sound dubious to begin with. So forgetting the myriad of other reasons why I shouldn’t have kids, this one alone is serious enough that if I ever said I wanted to have a child, I would hope that someone would file a court order to prevent me from procreating for both my own good and to stop me from traumatizing/hurting any potential children I might have.

I didn’t tell my doctor all of that because it really isn’t her business, and it irks me that without really knowing me, she’s making assumptions that there’s the potential for me to change my mind in the future. But I know it’s not just her. From what I hear, this is the opinion of pretty much all doctors. I hope someday there will be a world where people won’t be able to tell women what they can and can’t do with their bodies, but I fear I probably won’t live to see it.

[readbookywooks]

Daenerys

The flies circled Khal Drogo slowly, their wings buzzing, a low thrum at the edge of hearing that filled Dany with dread. The sun was high and pitiless. Heat shimmered in waves off the stony outcrops of low hills. A thin finger of sweat trickled slowly between Dany's swollen breasts. The only sounds were the steady clop of their horses' hooves, the rhythmic tingle of the bells in Drogo's hair, and the distant voices behind them. Dany watched the flies. They were as large as bees, gross, purplish, glistening. The Dothraki called them bloodflies. They lived in marshes and stagnant pools, sucked blood from man and horse alike, and laid their eggs in the dead and dying. Drogo hated them. Whenever one came near him, his hand would shoot out quick as a striking snake to close around it. She had never seen him miss. He would hold the fly inside his huge fist long enough to hear its frantic buzzing. Then his fingers would tighten, and when he opened his hand again, the fly would be only a red smear on his palm. Now one crept across the rump of his stallion, and the horse gave an angry flick of its tail to brush it away. The others flitted about Drogo, closer and closer. The khal did not react. His eyes were fixed on distant brown hills, the reins loose in his hands. Beneath his painted vest, a plaster of fig leaves and caked blue mud covered the wound on his breast. The herbwomen had made it for him. Mirri Maz Duur's poultice had itched and burned, and he had torn it off six days ago, cursing her for a maegi. The mud plaster was more soothing, and the herbwomen made him poppy wine as well. He'd been drinking it heavily these past three days; when it was not poppy wine, it was fermented mare's milk or pepper beer. Yet he scarcely touched his food, and he thrashed and groaned in the night. Dany could see how drawn his face had become. Rhaego was restless in her belly, kicking like a stallion, yet even that did not stir Drogo's interest as it had. Every morning her eyes found fresh lines of pain on his face when he woke from his troubled sleep. And now this silence. It was making her afraid. Since they had mounted up at dawn, he had said not a word. When she spoke, she got no answer but a grunt, and not even that much since midday. One of the bloodflies landed on the bare skin of the khal's shoulder. Another, circling, touched down on his neck and crept up toward his mouth. Khal Drogo swayed in the saddle, bells ringing, as his stallion kept onward at a steady walking pace. Dany pressed her heels into her silver and rode closer. "My lord," she said softly. "Drogo. My sun-and-stars." He did not seem to hear. The bloodfly crawled up under his drooping mustache and settled on his cheek, in the crease beside his nose. Dany gasped, "Drogo." Clumsily she reached over and touched his arm. Khal Drogo reeled in the saddle, tilted slowly, and fell heavily from his horse. The flies scattered for a heartbeat, and then circled back to settle on him where he lay. "No," Dany said, reining up. Heedless of her belly for once, she scrambled off her silver and ran to him. The grass beneath him was brown and dry. Drogo cried out in pain as Dany knelt beside him. His breath rattled harshly in his throat, and he looked at her without recognition. "My horse," he gasped. Dany brushed the flies off his chest, smashing one as he would have. His skin burned beneath her fingers. The khal's bloodriders had been following just behind them. She heard Haggo shout as they galloped up. Cohollo vaulted from his horse. "Blood of my blood," he said as he dropped to his knees. The other two kept to their mounts. "No," Khal Drogo groaned, struggling in Dany's arms. "Must ride. Ride. No." "He fell from his horse," Haggo said, staring down. His broad face was impassive, but his voice was leaden. "You must not say that," Dany told him. "We have ridden far enough today. We will camp here." "Here?" Haggo looked around them. The land was brown and sere, inhospitable. "This is no camping ground." "It is not for a woman to bid us halt," said Qotho, "not even a khaleesi." "We camp here," Dany repeated. "Haggo, tell them Khal Drogo commanded the halt. If any ask why, say to them that my time is near and I could not continue. Cohollo, bring up the slaves, they must put up the khal's tent at once. Qotho—" "You do not command me, Khaleesi," Qotho said. "Find Mirri Maz Duur," she told him. The godswife would be walking among the other Lamb Men, in the long column of slaves. "Bring her to me, with her chest." Qotho glared down at her, his eyes hard as flint. "The maegi." He spat. "This I will not do." "You will," Dany said, "or when Drogo wakes, he will hear why you defied me." Furious, Qotho wheeled his stallion around and galloped off in anger . . . but Dany knew he would return with Mirri Maz Duur, however little he might like it. The slaves erected Khal Drogo's tent beneath a jagged outcrop of black rock whose shadow gave some relief from the heat of the afternoon sun. Even so, it was stifling under the sandsilk as Irri and Doreah helped Dany walk Drogo inside. Thick patterned carpets had been laid down over the ground, and pillows scattered in the corners. Eroeh, the timid girl Dany had rescued outside the mud walls of the Lamb Men, set up a brazier. They stretched Drogo out on a woven mat. "No," he muttered in the Common Tongue. "No, no." It was all he said, all he seemed capable of saying. Doreah unhooked his medallion belt and stripped off his vest and leggings, while Jhiqui knelt by his feet to undo the laces of his riding sandals. Irri wanted to leave the tent flaps open to let in the breeze, but Dany forbade it. She would not have any see Drogo this way, in delirium and weakness. When her khas came up, she posted them outside at guard. "Admit no one without my leave," she told Jhogo. "No one." Eroeh stared fearfully at Drogo where he lay. "He dies," she whispered. Dany slapped her. "The khal cannot die. He is the father of the stallion who mounts the world. His hair has never been cut. He still wears the bells his father gave him." "Khaleesi, " Jhiqui said, "he fell from his horse." Trembling, her eyes full of sudden tears, Dany turned away from them. He fell from his horse! It was so, she had seen it, and the bloodriders, and no doubt her handmaids and the men of her khas as well. And how many more? They could not keep it secret, and Dany knew what that meant. A khal who could not ride could not rule, and Drogo had fallen from his horse. "We must bathe him," she said stubbornly. She must not allow herself to despair. "Irri, have the tub brought at once. Doreah, Eroeh, find water, cool water, he's so hot." He was a fire in human skin. The slaves set up the heavy copper tub in the corner of the tent. When Doreah brought the first jar of water, Dany wet a length of silk to lay across Drogo's brow, over the burning skin. His eyes looked at her, but he did not see. When his lips opened, no words escaped them, only a moan. "Where is Mirri Maz Duur?" she demanded, her patience rubbed raw with fear. "Qotho will find her," Irri said. Her handmaids filled the tub with tepid water that stank of sulfur, sweetening it with jars of bitter oil and handfuls of crushed mint leaves. While the bath was being prepared, Dany knelt awkwardly beside her lord husband, her belly great with their child within. She undid his braid with anxious fingers, as she had on the night he'd taken her for the first time, beneath the stars. His bells she laid aside carefully, one by one. He would want them again when he was well, she told herself. A breath of air entered the tent as Aggo poked his head through the silk. "Khaleesi, " he said, "the Andal is come, and begs leave to enter." "The Andal" was what the Dothraki called Ser Jorah. "Yes," she said, rising clumsily, "send him in." She trusted the knight. He would know what to do if anyone did. Ser Jorah Mormont ducked through the door flap and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. In the fierce heat of the south, he wore loose trousers of mottled sandsilk and open-toed riding sandals that laced up to his knee. His scabbard hung from a twisted horsehair belt. Under a bleached white vest, he was bare-chested, skin reddened by the sun. "Talk goes from mouth to ear, all over the khalasar," he said. "It is said Khal Drogo fell from his horse." "Help him," Dany pleaded. "For the love you say you bear me, help him now." The knight knelt beside her. He looked at Drogo long and hard, and then at Dany. "Send your maids away." Wordlessly, her throat tight with fear, Dany made a gesture. Irri herded the other girls from the tent. When they were alone, Ser Jorah drew his dagger. Deftly, with a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he began to scrape away the black leaves and dried blue mud from Drogo's chest. The plaster had caked hard as the mud walls of the Lamb Men, and like those walls it cracked easily. Ser Jorah broke the dry mud with his knife, pried the chunks from the flesh, peeled off the leaves one by one. A foul, sweet smell rose from the wound, so thick it almost choked her. The leaves were crusted with blood and pus, Drogo's breast black and glistening with corruption. "No," Dany whispered as tears ran down her cheeks. "No, please, gods hear me, no." Khal Drogo thrashed, fighting some unseen enemy. Black blood ran slow and thick from his open wound. "Your khal is good as dead, Princess." "No, he can't die, he mustn't, it was only a cut." Dany took his large callused hand in her own small ones, and held it tight between them. "I will not let him die . . . " Ser Jorah gave a bitter laugh. "Khaleesi or queen, that command is beyond your power. Save your tears, child. Weep for him tomorrow, or a year from now. We do not have time for grief. We must go, and quickly, before he dies." Dany was lost. "Go? Where should we go?" "Asshai, I would say. It lies far to the south, at the end of the known world, yet men say it is a great port. We will find a ship to take us back to Pentos. It will be a hard journey, make no mistake. Do you trust your khas? Will they come with us?" "Khal Drogo commanded them to keep me safe," Dany replied uncertainly, "but if he dies . . . " She touched the swell of her belly. "I don't understand. Why should we flee? I am khaleesi. I carry Drogo's heir. He will be khal after Drogo . . . " Ser Jorah frowned. "Princess, hear me. The Dothraki will not follow a suckling babe. Drogo's strength was what they bowed to, and only that. When he is gone, Jhaqo and Pono and the other kos will fight for his place, and this khalasar will devour itself. The winner will want no more rivals. The boy will be taken from your breast the moment he is born. They will give him to the dogs . . . " Dany hugged herself. "But why?" she cried plaintively. "Why should they kill a little baby?" "He is Drogo's son, and the crones say he will be the stallion who mounts the world. It was prophesied. Better to kill the child than to risk his fury when he grows to manhood." The child kicked inside her, as if he had heard. Dany remembered the story Viserys had told her, of what the Usurper's dogs had done to Rhaegar's children. His son had been a babe as well, yet they had ripped him from his mother's breast and dashed his head against a wall. That was the way of men. "They must not hurt my son!" she cried. "I will order my khas to keep him safe, and Drogo's bloodriders will—" Ser Jorah held her by the shoulders. "A bloodrider dies with his khal. You know that, child. They will take you to Vaes Dothrak, to the crones, that is the last duty they owe him in life . . . when it is done, they will join Drogo in the night lands." Dany did not want to go back to Vaes Dothrak and live the rest of her life among those terrible old women, yet she knew that the knight spoke the truth. Drogo had been more than her sun-and-stars; he had been the shield that kept her safe. "I will not leave him," she said stubbornly, miserably. She took his hand again. "I will not." A stirring at the tent flap made Dany turn her head. Mirri Maz Duur entered, bowing low. Days on the march, trailing behind the khalasar, had left her limping and haggard, with blistered and bleeding feet and hollows under her eyes. Behind her came Qotho and Haggo, carrying the godswife's chest between them. When the bloodriders caught sight of Drogo's wound, the chest slipped from Haggo's fingers and crashed to the floor of the tent, and Qotho swore an oath so foul it seared the air. Mirri Maz Duur studied Drogo, her face still and dead. "The wound has festered." "This is your work, maegi," Qotho said. Haggo laid his fist across Mirri's cheek with a meaty smack that drove her to the ground. Then he kicked her where she lay. "Stop it!" Dany screamed. Qotho pulled Haggo away, saying, "Kicks are too merciful for a maegi. Take her outside. We will stake her to the earth, to be the mount of every passing man. And when they are done with her, the dogs will use her as well. Weasels will tear out her entrails and carrion crows feast upon her eyes. The flies off the river shall lay their eggs in her womb and drink pus from the ruins of her breasts . . . " He dug iron-hard fingers into the soft, wobbly flesh under the godswife's arm and hauled her to her feet. "No," Dany said. "I will not have her harmed." Qotho's lips skinned back from his crooked brown teeth in a terrible mockery of a smile. "No? You say me no? Better you should pray that we do not stake you out beside your maegi. You did this, as much as the other." Ser Jorah stepped between them, loosening his longsword in its scabbard. "Rein in your tongue, bloodrider. The princess is still your khaleesi. " "Only while the blood-of-my-blood still lives," Qotho told the knight. "When he dies, she is nothing." Dany felt a tightness inside her. "Before I was khaleesi, I was the blood of the dragon. Ser Jorah, summon my khas." "No," said Qotho. "We will go. For now . . . Khaleesi. " Haggo followed him from the tent, scowling. "That one means you no good, Princess," Mormont said. "The Dothraki say a man and his bloodriders share one life, and Qotho sees it ending. A dead man is beyond fear." "No one has died," Dany said. "Ser Jorah, I may have need of your blade. Best go don your armor." She was more frightened than she dared admit, even to herself. The knight bowed. "As you say." He strode from the tent. Dany turned back to Mirri Maz Duur. The woman's eyes were wary. "So you have saved me once more." "And now you must save him," Dany said. "Please . . . " "You do not ask a slave," Mirri replied sharply, "you tell her." She went to Drogo burning on his mat, and gazed long at his wound. "Ask or tell, it makes no matter. He is beyond a healer's skills." The khal's eyes were closed. She opened one with her fingers. "He has been dulling the hurt with milk of the poppy." "Yes," Dany admitted. "I made him a poultice of firepod and sting-me-not and bound it in a lambskin." "It burned, he said. He tore it off. The herbwomen made him a new one, wet and soothing." "It burned, yes. There is great healing magic in fire, even your hairless men know that." "Make him another poultice," Dany begged. "This time I will make certain he wears it." "The time for that is past, my lady," Mirri said. "All I can do now is ease the dark road before him, so he might ride painless to the night lands. He will be gone by morning." Her words were a knife through Dany's breast. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was finally going home. And now to lose it all . . . "No," she pleaded. "Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way . . . some magic, some . . . " Mirri Maz Duur sat back on her heels and studied Daenerys through eyes as black as night. "There is a spell." Her voice was quiet, scarcely more than a whisper. "But it is hard, lady, and dark. Some would say that death is cleaner. I learned the way in Asshai, and paid dear for the lesson. My teacher was a bloodmage from the Shadow Lands." Dany went cold all over. "Then you truly are a maegi . . . " "Am I?" Mirri Maz Duur smiled. "Only a maegi can save your rider now, Silver Lady." "Is there no other way?" "No other." Khal Drogo gave a shuddering gasp. "Do it," Dany blurted. She must not be afraid; she was the blood of the dragon. "Save him." "There is a price," the godswife warned her. "You'll have gold, horses, whatever you like." "It is not a matter of gold or horses. This is bloodmagic, lady. Only death may pay for life." "Death?" Dany wrapped her arms around herself protectively, rocked back and forth on her heels. "My death?" She told herself she would die for him, if she must. She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved. "No," Mirri Maz Duur promised. "Not your death, Khaleesi." Dany trembled with relief. "Do it." The maegi nodded solemnly. "As you speak, so it shall be done. Call your servants." Khal Drogo writhed feebly as Rakharo and Quaro lowered him into the bath. "No," he muttered, "no. Must ride." Once in the water, all the strength seemed to leak out of him. "Bring his horse," Mirri Maz Duur commanded, and so it was done. Jhogo led the great red stallion into the tent. When the animal caught the scent of death, he screamed and reared, rolling his eyes. It took three men to subdue him. "What do you mean to do?" Dany asked her. "We need the blood," Mirri answered. "That is the way." Jhogo edged back, his hand on his arakh. He was a youth of sixteen years, whip-thin, fearless, quick to laugh, with the faint shadow of his first mustachio on his upper lip. He fell to his knees before her. "Khaleesi, " he pleaded, "you must not do this thing. Let me kill this maegi." "Kill her and you kill your khal," Dany said. "This is bloodmagic," he said. "It is forbidden." "I am khaleesi, and I say it is not forbidden. In Vaes Dothrak, Khal Drogo slew a stallion and I ate his heart, to give our son strength and courage. This is the same. The same." The stallion kicked and reared as Rakharo, Quaro, and Aggo pulled him close to the tub where the khal floated like one already dead, pus and blood seeping from his wound to stain the bathwaters. Mirri Maz Duur chanted words in a tongue that Dany did not know, and a knife appeared in her hand. Dany never saw where it came from. It looked old; hammered red bronze, leaf-shaped, its blade covered with ancient glyphs. The maegi drew it across the stallion's throat, under the noble head, and the horse screamed and shuddered as the blood poured out of him in a red rush. He would have collapsed, but the men of her khas held him up. "Strength of the mount, go into the rider," Mirri sang as horse blood swirled into the waters of Drogo's bath. "Strength of the beast, go into the man." Jhogo looked terrified as he struggled with the stallion's weight, afraid to touch the dead flesh, yet afraid to let go as well. Only a horse, Dany thought. If she could buy Drogo's life with the death of a horse, she would pay a thousand times over. When they let the stallion fall, the bath was a dark red, and nothing showed of Drogo but his face. Mirri Maz Duur had no use for the carcass. "Burn it," Dany told them. It was what they did, she knew. When a man died, his mount was killed and placed beneath him on the funeral pyre, to carry him to the night lands. The men of her khas dragged the carcass from the tent. The blood had gone everywhere. Even the sandsilk walls were spotted with red, and the rugs underfoot were black and wet. Braziers were lit. Mirri Maz Duur tossed a red powder onto the coals. It gave the smoke a spicy scent, a pleasant enough smell, yet Eroeh fled sobbing, and Dany was filled with fear. But she had gone too far to turn back now. She sent her handmaids away. "Go with them, Silver Lady," Mirri Maz Duur told her. "I will stay," Dany said. "The man took me under the stars and gave life to the child inside me. I will not leave him." "You must. Once I begin to sing, no one must enter this tent. My song will wake powers old and dark. The dead will dance here this night. No living man must look on them." Dany bowed her head, helpless. "No one will enter." She bent over the tub, over Drogo in his bath of blood, and kissed him lightly on the brow. "Bring him back to me," she whispered to Mirri Maz Duur before she fled. Outside, the sun was low on the horizon, the sky a bruised red. The khalasar had made camp. Tents and sleeping mats were scattered as far as the eye could see. A hot wind blew. Jhogo and Aggo were digging a firepit to burn the dead stallion. A crowd had gathered to stare at Dany with hard black eyes, their faces like masks of beaten copper. She saw Ser Jorah Mormont, wearing mail and leather now, sweat beading on his broad, balding forehead. He pushed his way through the Dothraki to Dany's side. When he saw the scarlet footprints her boots had left on the ground, the color seemed to drain from his face. "What have you done, you little fool?" he asked hoarsely. "I had to save him." "We could have fled," he said. "I would have seen you safe to Asshai, Princess. There was no need . . . " "Am I truly your princess?" she asked him. "You know you are, gods save us both." "Then help me now." Ser Jorah grimaced. "Would that I knew how." Mirri Maz Duur's voice rose to a high, ululating wail that sent a shiver down Dany's back. Some of the Dothraki began to mutter and back away. The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving. Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone. Dany saw naked fear on the faces of the Dothraki. "This must not be," Qotho thundered. She had not seen the bloodrider return. Haggo and Cohollo were with him. They had brought the hairless men, the eunuchs who healed with knife and needle and fire. "This will be," Dany replied. "Maegi, " Haggo growled. And old Cohollo—Cohollo who had bound his life to Drogo's on the day of his birth, Cohollo who had always been kind to her—Cohollo spat full in her face. "You will die, maegi," Qotho promised, "but the other must die first." He drew his arakh and made for the tent. "No," she shouted, "you mustn't." She caught him by the shoulder, but Qotho shoved her aside. Dany fell to her knees, crossing her arms over her belly to protect the child within. "Stop him," she commanded her khas, "kill him." Rakharo and Quaro stood beside the tent flap. Quaro took a step forward, reaching for the handle of his whip, but Qotho spun graceful as a dancer, the curved arakh rising. It caught Quaro low under the arm, the bright sharp steel biting up through leather and skin, through muscle and rib bone. Blood fountained as the young rider reeled backward, gasping. Qotho wrenched the blade free. "Horselord," Ser Jorah Mormont called. "Try me." His longsword slid from its scabbard. Qotho whirled, cursing. The arakh moved so fast that Quaro's blood flew from it in a fine spray, like rain in a hot wind. The longsword caught it a foot from Ser Jorah's face, and held it quivering for an instant as Qotho howled in fury. The knight was clad in chainmail, with gauntlets and greaves of lobstered steel and a heavy gorget around his throat, but he had not thought to don his helm. Qotho danced backward, arakh whirling around his head in a shining blur, flickering out like lightning as the knight came on in a rush. Ser Jorah parried as best he could, but the slashes came so fast that it seemed to Dany that Qotho had four arakhs and as many arms. She heard the crunch of sword on mail, saw sparks fly as the long curved blade glanced off a gauntlet. Suddenly it was Mormont stumbling backward, and Qotho leaping to the attack. The left side of the knight's face ran red with blood, and a cut to the hip opened a gash in his mail and left him limping. Qotho screamed taunts at him, calling him a craven, a milk man, a eunuch in an iron suit. "You die now!" he promised, arakh shivering through the red twilight. Inside Dany's womb, her son kicked wildly. The curved blade slipped past the straight one and bit deep into the knight's hip where the mail gaped open. Mormont grunted, stumbled. Dany felt a sharp pain in her belly, a wetness on her thighs. Qotho shrieked triumph, but his arakh had found bone, and for half a heartbeat it caught. It was enough. Ser Jorah brought his longsword down with all the strength left him, through flesh and muscle and bone, and Qotho's forearm dangled loose, flopping on a thin cord of skin and sinew. The knight's next cut was at the Dothraki's ear, so savage that Qotho's face seemed almost to explode. The Dothraki were shouting, Mirri Maz Duur wailing inside the tent like nothing human, Quaro pleading for water as he died. Dany cried out for help, but no one heard. Rakharo was fighting Haggo, arakh dancing with arakh until Jhogo's whip cracked, loud as thunder, the lash coiling around Haggo's throat. A yank, and the bloodrider stumbled backward, losing his feet and his sword. Rakharo sprang forward, howling, swinging his arakh down with both hands through the top of Haggo's head. The point caught between his eyes, red and quivering. Someone threw a stone, and when Dany looked, her shoulder was torn and bloody. "No," she wept, "no, please, stop it, it's too high, the price is too high." More stones came flying. She tried to crawl toward the tent, but Cohollo caught her. Fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back and she felt the cold touch of his knife at her throat. "My baby," she screamed, and perhaps the gods heard, for as quick as that, Cohollo was dead. Aggo's arrow took him under the arm, to pierce his lungs and heart. When at last Daenerys found the strength to raise her head, she saw the crowd dispersing, the Dothraki stealing silently back to their tents and sleeping mats. Some were saddling horses and riding off. The sun had set. Fires burned throughout the khalasar, great orange blazes that crackled with fury and spit embers at the sky. She tried to rise, and agony seized her and squeezed her like a giant's fist. The breath went out of her; it was all she could do to gasp. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur's voice was like a funeral dirge. Inside the tent, the shadows whirled. An arm went under her waist, and then Ser Jorah was lifting her off her feet. His face was sticky with blood, and Dany saw that half his ear was gone. She convulsed in his arms as the pain took her again, and heard the knight shouting for her handmaids to help him. Are they all so afraid? She knew the answer. Another pain grasped her, and Dany bit back a scream. It felt as if her son had a knife in each hand, as if he were hacking at her to cut his way out. "Doreah, curse you," Ser Jorah roared. "Come here. Fetch the birthing women." "They will not come. They say she is accursed." "They'll come or I'll have their heads." Doreah wept. "They are gone, my lord." "The maegi," someone else said. Was that Aggo? "Take her to the maegi." No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn't, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn't they see? Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames. "The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed," Irri said. "She said so, I heard her." "Yes," Doreah agreed, "I heard her too." No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur's voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! she screamed. The dancers! Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

[woodsyboxingandlife]

Roy Moore Is a P.O.S.

This Roy Moore character, I won’t even call him “Judge” because for lord’s sake, he was tossed from his seat, on two occasions, his case and how the public at large isn’t responding to the piling on of allegations, on the record, against him, is raising my BP.

This Moore clown…no, that’s too kind, too benevolent a characterization of an apparet predator…

This Moore fella is now running for a Senate seat representing the citizens of Alabama, sweet home to about 4.8 million people, too many of whom feel, polling tells us, that they don’t see Roy Moore as being anything other than deserving of the Senate seat given up by the current Attorney General, Jefferson Sessions.

They don’t see him as I do…which as a piece of shit. OK, I’m going with that one…harsh, reserved for the truly deserving…piece of shit.

Ouch, harsh Woods, some who have stumbled onto this, thinking I am writing about the latest great white hope in the heavyweight division or what have you. Nah, if you haven’t heard or read, this guy Roy Moore, who was a judge and then a DA in Bama, has a high regard of himself, to the point that he thinks he’d make a fine Senator. He is heading towards a place where he’s going to be the only one seeing himself as Senate material, as a continuing stream of allegations, and first-person publicly delivered accusations by women that declare that Moore, a grown man, engaged in at best unseemly and at worst straight-on sex assault of young ladies, if we are being politically correct, “girls,” some of them, if we are not, dribble out. One or two a day, now…

Five ladies, it was reported, said that Moore, who was bumped from his spot as Chief Justice of the Alabama Supreme Court after two years because of overt religiosity, a refusal to respect the separation of church and state, was a super creep.  But he still had that high assessment of self—he twice attempted to win the Governor job, and was rebuffed in the primaries. He got a second chance as Chief Justice in 2013 but again fumbled, after three years, showing blatant bigotry towards gays, by enforcing a state ban on same-sex marriage, which the Supreme Court invalidated.

So, if you are boiling it down, Moore finds it unlawful for two men to marry—but now a steady stream of ladies have come forward to relay that the man, now 70, was in decades past fast and loose with his own conduct. Moore, in the days following the allegations storm, admitted he’d date teens when he was in his 30s. They were over 16, he stated. Ewww, came the calls from a dare say a strong majority of decent minded beings, though many in and outside Alabama were dismayed when polling showed a devoted flock wouldn’t stray from their man Moore. These pro Moore stalwarts looked down on the aggrieved women who’d been harassed and seduced and/or molested by Moore back in the day, and said their sharing of the misconducts was nothing more than conspiracy politics, smear tactics by persons who apparently just deemed him such a titan of righteousness and political acumen that they decided he’d need to be character assasinated to remove him from the playing field.

So, to this point, people who’ve accused Moore of misconduct are painted, basically, as Hillary Clinton supporting Libtards. They’ve been dismissed and discounted, critiqued by Moore defenders who try to sound like Columbo when they say they find it strange that they are crying as they relay a story from 30 years ago. As if to say, how could being molested decades ago really, truly, actually bother someone so much today. You will not be surprised to know that most of the defenders are men, and painting themselves as being empathically deficient at best. And sub moronic cavemen at worst…

Some of these defenders, they seemingly just don’t comprehend how their defending of this track record of molestation reads to us with normal conscience levels. One guy brought on to cable news to be a Moore surrogate noted that Joseph was an older dude and Mary wasn’t of legal drinking age, so, c’mon, Moore was just boys being boys back then. It was the 70s, that is an excuse that comes up time and again.

It was no boys being boys, what Beverly Young Moore, a Trump voter, told media two days ago. She was 16, Moore age 30, an ADA, someone looked up to as a pillar of lawfulness. This was no horseplay gone awry when he drove with her, stopped, locked the doors, grabbed at her chest and tried to force her head to his groin. Rape attempt, is what she described. Yes, publicly, which some of these mega morons blinded by the disgraceful political climate that we are mired in point to as a point against her credibility.

She just wants attention, and money, they say.

That seems plausible to them, maybe, because that is maybe how they think…they find it so foreign that maybe someone would be holding on to such a painful memory that they go beyond their comfort zone, their fear of being disbelieved and ridiculed and shunned within the community.

"And he looked at me and told me, 'You’re just a child, and I am the district attorney. If you tell anyone about this, no one will ever believe you," Nelson said. Moore was, a paper reported, then an assistant district attorney in Gadsden, in northeast Alabama, from 1977 to 1982. You choose your description of Moore, will you? I won’t take issue with it, I bet, if you see this situation as I do.

I heard a whopper today that steams me. A lawyer Moore pays to cover for him said, "I've been with him in probably over 100 different meetings and been around probably in excess of 10,000 different ladies in Judge Moore's presence and not once, not one time, have I ever seen him act even remotely inappropriate against any woman."

Jesus H. C-Word, this man has a valid law license?

Friends, back in the day, I used to smoke pot. It was more illegal then. And can I assure you, in that time frame I didn’t spark it up in front of my mom and dad, or the principal, or any other person who I figured wouldn’t be A-OK with my deviation from lawfulness. Yeah, I hid it. As, common sense would tell you, and if you are half a sentient being or not someone being paid by Roy Moore, is what someone who seemed to be a serial perv/molester would do.

They’d sneak and slither and use their sneaky creepy methods to get their victims in a place safe for them to attempt their attack.

This Moore story is yet another one which cements the stark and sad state of where we are as a nation. We are citizens united, we are, too many of us, in our division…polarized by mind sets that virtually render us different species. 63 million people said yes, this guy who was accused of molestation or harassment by 11 women, who has a track record of stiffing vendors, playing the system by declaring bankruptcies, and defrauded innocents by promising a high level education experience and delivering an adult-ed night school status one, this is the guy we deem Presidential material. Who was on tape bragging about hitting on a married woman, and how he can walk up and grab a lady’s pussy because he is rich and famous and immune from blowback. This EXCEPTIONAL nation elected this crude con man, who walks around painted on orange spray tan year round and doesn’t get the memo that he looks like a buffoon, is an ethical black hole and you have to go back to our civil war experience to offer a similar era of instability of national morale.

Too many of those same Trumpers, it seems like, cannot ponder that this Moore off the rails story is anything other than a vast left wing conspiracy to make it so a Libtard gets the Session seat. That “reasoning” defies common sense, and points to an outbreak of madness. Because, c’mon it isn’t sane. As if we needed more evidence of that. Those that wish to hold on to power, at pretty much any cost, will over-look egregious examples of misconduct and duplicity and lying under oath to adhere to the higher power that so many of these politicians look up to, their God, their framework for living, their personal Constitution…enriching themselves, by securing and holding on to power, and the trappings, be it monetary, or ego-massaging, which come with it.

Oh, and let’s not even delve deep into the concurrent shit shows that are giving the DC follies a run for the money. The Cosby-Weinstein-Louis CK-(insert fallen idol of the hour-day here) quagmire is confirming what so many women who’d been targeted by “important” movers and shakers/liberty takers had figured out: sooo many guys use their power like a weapon. They dangle the possibility for upward mobility, or maybe even dispense with that, and just assume because they are well-known public figures they deserve to treat people like items on a buffet line. They do’t see a person, they see a tray of orange beef.

The ingredients missing in the Moores and the CKs and whoever is outed as a perv piece of shot tomorrow are…empathy.. decency…integrity..humility.

All these guys saw something, which was actually a SOMEBODY, with a feelings, and went after it. With rude voraciousness…they didn’t care or consider their actions would cause alarm, dismay, fear, terror, post traumatic stress. The millenials get smacked down for being entitled; this conduct that we’re hearing has been a Hollywood staple isn’t that the height of toxic entitlement. Aesthetic train wreck Weinstein because of his powerful seat didn’t need to match up his appeal level with a potential romantic or sexual partner, he’d be the sole arbiter if there was a “love” connection, because he saw not a human being, but a vessel to serve him, to please him. How Trump sees his office, I think.

Mark these words: Roy Moore will step down from his quest to serve his ego and be elected to the Senate. Might not be tomorrow, or the next day, but it will happen. And we can take some solace in that. Because our system of communication is not totally broken. People don’t often enough seek news, but corroborative evidence. The “news” they get from Fox News isn’t news, it’s a hit of an opiate,  to soothe them, quell their anger at the state of society, and offer them alternative targets to puncture, so that their angst can dissipate for the moment, and they can avoid for another hour their disgust at the man in the mirror and the fallacy of the validity of the American dream.  But truth still can win…it sort of seeps to the fore, caterpillar quick, and has to be lobbed to persons who don't even realize it but are actively avoiding it. The Roy Moores, the pieces of shit who deserve a jail stint more so than a Senate seat, still eventually do get what is coming to them. Of that, I still have faith.