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agreeeeeeeeeee · 9 days ago

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Best Friends Brother pt. 2 | C.W. ⋆✮⋆˙

> Part One

feat. Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Months have passed since you met (ie shagged and definitely didn't fall in love with) Charlie Weasley. And when Molly invites you to the Burrow for Christmas, your best friends Fred and George assure you that Charlie will not be in attendance. Spoiler alert: They are wrong.

CW: MDNI 18+, lots of christmas fluff and smut, Charlie being a shameless flirt, pining, brat tamer and primal!charlie if you squint, dirty talk, p in v, oral (f receiving), this is so tooth-rotting I cannot

AN: Charlie might be my favorite weasley to write for. and the implications of brat taming and primal play have my mind reeeeeeling

“So what are you doing for Christmas, deary?” Mrs. Weasley asked, stirring a sugar lump into her tea. You were squeezed beside Fred into a booth at tea shop in Diagon Alley, having run into your best friends and their mother while Christmas shopping. Molly insisted you join them for a rejuvenating cuppa, and you weren't one to refuse an earl grey.

“Oh, nothing really. Probably watch some corny films and get take away,” you replied, nibbling on the edge of a croissant.

“What?!” She gasped, so loud the neighboring tables turned to see what the fuss what about.

Fred and George pulled an identical grimace.

“Unacceptable!” She cried, dropping her spoon with a clatter. “Why on earth didn't you tell me she was spending Christmas alone?!” She whacked George on the arm and kicked Fred in the shin under the table.

“We didn't know!” They whined in unison, rubbing their injuries.

“Oh, Mrs. Weasley, it really isn't a big deal—”

“Not a big deal! Dear, it's Christmas!” She reached across the table and took your hands, squeezing hard and holding your eye. “You will spend it with us at the Burrow, alright?”

Your heart stopped, your tongue going thick. “Oh, I-uh—”

“Charlie will be in Romania,” Fred hissed to you from the corner of his mouth. “Just say yes, or she’ll skin us.”

Charlie. Best friends brother, dragon wrangler, and the best lay you'd ever had in your life. It had been three months since your tryst in the storage room, and the hours of effortless conversation that came after, and you'd thought of him every day since.

You'd exchanged a few letters over the months, pleasantries and some light flirting on Charlie's part. He'd even sent you a few shed scales from your favorite dragon species, the Welsh Green, but beyond that, nothing had transpired.

He lived on Romania, after all. And his work was his life. You just had a bit of fun together, a few hours of fantasy, nothing more. But no matter how many times you repeated that like mantra, you still found yourself unable to move on.

“I hope you know, love, I will not accept 'no' as an answer,” Molly said, pining you with a stern glare.

“Well, thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I’m very grateful for the invitation, and I'd love to spend the holidays with your family,” you said, offering as genuine a smile you could muster despite your trepidation, and Molly beamed at you, already running through her plans for you all.

Fred slung an arm around your shoulders, jostling you with his excitement. “Yes! You're gonna love it.”

You were grateful, and you were eager to have a real Christmas with a family you adored, but it still felt…odd. You'd be spending the holidays with Charlie's family, but not Charlie.

You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed but…either way you were spending Christmas at the Weasley’s.

The Burrow and it's residents welcomed you with open arms. The sprawling home was decorated floor to rafter in homemade garland and candles, with decorated trees in every room, branches heavy with ornaments and paper chains.

Harry, Hermione, and Fleur were also staying over the holidays, and Ginny was beside herself with excitement that you were joining as well, pulling you in for a crushing hug that squeezed the last of bits of anxiety from your heart. Percy and Bill helped with your things, and the twins were quick to get a drink in your hand while everyone chatted excitedly over one another.

It was warm and merry, and you couldn't believe you almost missed this because of a stupid, little crush.

After about an hour of conversation, you noticed Ginny start to fidget under Harry’s arm, glancing at the location clock by the stairs every few minutes. The hand with Charlie's name remained firmly at ‘work’, while the rest piled into ‘home’.

You exhaled, fighting the nerves reknitting themselves in your stomach.

“Oi, twitchy,” Fred bumped your shoulder, drawing your attention back to the conversation. “What's on your mind—”

The floo station suddenly flared to life, verdant green light blasting through the room as the flames roared. Everyone yelped and scurried back, well, besides Ginny, and when the flames died the next instant, you realized why.

Charlie Weasley stood at the center of the fireplace, a bag over his shoulder and a smug smile on his face.

Your stomach turned inside out.

Merlin, how had he gotten even more handsome? His hair was a slightly longer, his beard thicker to ward off the biting, Romanian cold. He wore a heavy coat and cargo pants, leather boots still packed with melting snow.

“Charles!” Molly shrieked, throwing herself at her second oldest son and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Charlie!” Everyone cried, rushing to greet him while you tiptoed the opposite way, meaning to escape into the hall so you could collect yourself.

“Ah, ah,” George said, catching your wrist, grinning. “You don't want to do that,” he teased.

“And why not?” You huffed.

“Better to play it cool,” he winked, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

He was right, though. You would only survive this if you played it cool. Pretended everything was normal, that you hadn't been pining for this man for weeks on end, that the thought of spending Christmas with Charlie didn't make your heart flutter with excitement.

“But the clock!” Arthur laughed, finally wrangling Molly away so he could hug his son.

“Asked Ginevra to enchant it,” Charlie said, hugging his father with one arm and bundling his little sister into his opposite side, dropping a kiss on top of her head. “Seems she did well.”

“It is not to be tampered with!” Molly crowed, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“Alright, alright. I'll fix it,” Charlie chuckled, withdrawing his wand from his belt and muttering a reversal spell. The clock hand whirred around the face, confused, before it finally settled on ‘home’ with everyone else.

Charlie made his way around the room, hugging everyone and chatting until finally, he reached George, who you were attempting to hide behind.

Charlie pulled him into a bear hug, clapping him on the back. “She knows I can see her, right?” He murmured to George, just loud enough to be sure you also heard him.

Your cheeks warmed, your stomach falling through the floor.

George scoffed. “Stop checkin’ out my girlfriend, mate.”

Charlie grinned, shoving George to the side, perhaps a little harder than necessary. “Dream on, Georgie,” he chuckled, eyes shining with amusement. He finally turned to you, his expression softening. “Happy Christmas, y/n,” he said, approaching slowly, the heavy plod of his boots matching the jump of your heart.

“Happy Christmas, Charlie,” you replied, playing coy and reaching up to brush some snow from his wide shoulder. “How's my Welsh Green?” you asked.

Charlie smirked, his eyes sweeping over your face, down your neck, before flicking back to your eyes. “She nearly took my head off this morning when I tried to give her breakfast.”

“My kind of girl.” You felt your skin prickle under his attention, but you held your composure.

“Mine too,” he purred, lowering his voice. Heat curled low in your stomach, remembering the way his voice pitched and deepened while you—good god, you were losing your mind.

“Time for supper!” Molly called over the dull roar of conversation, and you slipped away from Charlie to follow the twins into the dining room, desperate for a breath that wasn’t sweetened by his cologne.

Dinner went by in a blur of food and activity, Charlie sat by Arthur at the head while you were sequestered to the other side with the twins. After eating, Charlie slipped away to shower, and you joined everyone else back in the living room for board games and music.

You were wrapped up in a game of Scrabble with Hermoine and Ginny when Charlie re-emerged, his hair damp and slicked back, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a black t-shirt. Your mouth dried, your pussy fluttering at the mental image of him in the shower moments before.

His eyes found you across the room, his tongue darting out to wet his lips while they swept over you, taking in the House crewneck and pj shorts you’d changed into. You turned back the game to hide your face, swallowing the lump in your throat.

A moment passed, then Charlie turned to join Bill, Percy, and Arthur in the study, casting you another glance over his shoulder before disappearing.

A few more hours rolled by, and one by one, everyone went to bed besides the older men in the study. Molly set you up on the couch, apologizing profusely for the lack of space, but you waved her off, happy to curl up by the fire and read the book Percy lent you.

You settled in with a blanket over your lap, a book in one hand, cup of tea in the other. Soon though, exhaustion began to tug at you, and your eyes started to flutter closed, the warmth of the room and the chaos of the day taking its toll as you slipped into unconsciousness.

Distantly, you felt someone take the book from your hand, the empty tea cup from your lap, and you swam back to wakefulness, lifting your head.

“Just me, love,” a voice said, soft and male, and you immediately recognized it as Charlie’s.

You blinked open your eyes, finding him sticking a playing card in your book to hold your page. “Oh, what are you doin’?” you mumbled, rubbing a knuckle in your eye.

“Are you sleeping down here?” he asked, crouching in front of you, brow lightly creased. He smelled like woodsmoke and cinnamon, and you had to remind your sleep-addled mind that you could not just melt into his arms like softened candle wax.

You nodded. “Guest beds are full. But it’s okay, m’comfy.” You snuggled back down on to the couch, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“I don’t think so. C’mon, you can take my bed.”

You shook your head, grumbling an unintelligible protest into the pillow as sleep crept back in on you.

Suddenly, you were moving, the couch falling away.

“I’m not letting you sleep on the sodding couch,” Charlie grumbled, curling you into his chest. You gave half a thought to try and free yourself, to put up some sort of fight, but his heartbeat was right against your ear, reverberating in the barrel of his chest, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to move away.

He carried you up a few flights of stairs and down a hallway, nudging open a bedroom door with his foot, careful to walk you through without bumping against anything. He set you down on his bed and tucked you under the thick duvet. The smell of him wrapped around you, clean and warm and Charlie, and you moaned in contentment, too tired to stop yourself.

Every one of your cells had missed him.

He pressed a light-as-air kiss to your temple before pulling away. You reached out to catch his hand, surprising him.

“Where are you gonna sleep?” You asked, voice muffled by his pillow.

“I’ll find somewhere,” he murmured, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “Used to sleeping in strange places.”

You must have pulled some kind of face, your filter nonexistent in your sleepy state, because he leaned back down to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Better stop with that pout, sweetheart. You’ve got me strung out on the gallows,” he warned, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“M’not doing anything,” you teased back, peeking open your eyes to look at him.

“I’m trying to behave this time,” he chuckled, crossing his heart. “You deserve to be properly courted.”

A yawn stole the snarky quip from your tongue. “If you insist,” you sigh, eyes fluttering closed again.

“I do. Now, get some sleep,” he whispered, but you were already gone.

The following morning, you trudged down the stairs at an egregious hour, the incessant, jovial chatter of the Weasley's impossible to sleep through.

You found them all in the kitchen, steam from the kettle floating through the air, chased by the scent of cinnamon and syrup.

“There she is! The dead walks the earth! Now go bloody change!” Arthur shouted, shoving a rumpled but bright-eyed looking Charlie out from the crowd around the kitchen island.

“Huh?” You looked between the twins and Arthur, but Charlie slung an arm over your shoulder, tugging you into his side.

“I've been summoned to the Ministry for an update on a particularly nasty Horntail,” he said, then leaned in a little closer. “And Happy Christmas Eve, darling,” he whispered.

“Happy Christmas Eve—sorry, what does that have to do with me?” You asked, your brain catching up to the situation.

“The sap refused to risk waking you up to change into his suit,” George supplied. "So they're running late."

“Why would you—”

“Ignore them, you can sleep as long as you like,” he murmured to you.

“Charlie!” You hissed. “You should have woken me up!”

“Over my dead body, love.”

“Charles! Now!” Molly shouted, rattling the rafters.

“Fine, fine.” He reluctantly pulled away from you and bound up the stairs.

“Good morning,” Fred said, beaming at your scowl.

“Morning people, are we?” You asked, accepting a cup of coffee from George.

“No,” Ron argued, his head pillowed by his arms on the table.

Fifteen minutes later, the clop of heavy boots coming down the stairs drew everyone's attention away from their breakfast.

Charlie came around the bend, dressed in a simple, espresso colored suit with a black wool coat, a leather bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was pushed back, brushed and tidy, and silver jewelry shined from his pierced ears and ringed hands.

You nearly choked on your eggs, and Fred clapped a hand on your back.

Everyone wolf whistled and jeered, not used to seeing their rakish brother dressed to the nines. Charlie waved them off with a soft smile, leaning over you to grab a cinnamon roll. His freshly applied cologne wafted over you, spicy and warm, and all other thoughts vacated your head.

Arthur grabbed him by the arm. “Yes, yes. You're very handsome, you are my son after all. Let's go.”

“Wish us luck!” Charlie called, allowing an impatient Arthur to drag him towards the floo station. In a burst of green, they were gone.

“Are all mornings this chaotic?” You asked no one in particular.

“Yes,” they all replied in a unison, and you grinned.

You could get used to a little chaos.

The day passed in a whirlwind of preparation, with you spending most of it with Molly in the kitchen or decorating with the twins.

Once that was finished, you'd gotten ready in Charlie's room, dressing in a white sweater dress and black stockings, your hair loose and makeup light.

You couldn't help but wonder what Charlie would think of it as you evaluated yourself in the mirror. You felt his absence like an ache in your side, and found your gaze wandering back to the floo station all day.

About an hour before dinner, green flames finally erupted in the fireplace. Everyone dropped what they were doing and rushed over, eager to hear about how it went at the Ministry.

You'd gathered from the twins that the fate of the Horntail hung in the balance after it destroyed a flock of sheep in Western Scotland. Charlie, along with several other Dragonologists, had been fighting for it’s life for months.

The flames extinguished, revealing Arthur and Charlie. Arthur was beaming, an arm around his son, while Charlie looked exhausted.

“Oh, thank goodness. Just in time!” Molly cried, throwing her arms around her husband.

“How'd it go?” Everyone asked at once, following Charlie as he stalked into the living room and dropped heavily onto the couch.

Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut against the racket.

“Our son was incredible, Molly. You should have seen him. Every question, he beat away like a bludger. It was masterful,” Arthur gushed, still grinning.

You watched Charlie warily. He certainly wasn't acting like it had gone well.

Bill, seeming as concerned as you, poured a glass of whiskey and passed it to his younger brother. Charlie swallowed the amber drink in one go, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“So, is the Horntail safe?” Ginny asked, sitting tentatively beside her brother on the couch.

“For now,” Charlie muttered, finally picking his head up and opening his eyes. “They want to reevaluate in six months.”

“But that's good, isn't it?” Harry asked.

Charlie nodded. “I suppose.”

You could feel the hurt and anger radiating off of him despite his efforts at composure. The resolution clearly wasn't good enough for him, and you understood why.

You resisted the urge to sit by him, to fuss over him like his family was doing. It seemed to only drive him deeper into himself. He didn't need to hear that it was a good thing, a victory, because it wasn't. It shouldn't be a debate in the first place.

Christmas Eve dinner passed with the expected chaos, and Charlie seemed to cheer a bit after a good meal, a few laughs, and another whiskey. But you could still detect a heaviness around his shoulders. You felt it as keenly as if it was your own burden.

After dinner, everyone moved back into the living room, but you followed Charlie into the now abandoned kitchen, the wreckage of the meal evident on every surface.

You leaned against the entry way, watching as he fiddled with random things, looking for a way to distract himself. “Hey,” you murmured, drawing his attention from the mugs he was straightening.

He gave you a tired smile. “Hi, love. How was your day?” He asked, moving towards you. He'd ditched his blazer and dress shirt before dinner, leaving him in his dark trousers and a white t-shirt, his muscles straining against the fabric.

“It was good. Made some cookies, strung some lights. We missed you, though.”

He braced a hand on the wall beside your head, leaning closer. “We?” He asked, raising a brow.

Merlin, his bicep was the size of your head.

You shrugged, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Me, mostly.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, freckles crinkling around his eyes. “I missed you too. Would have much rather been here to help out. I make a mean gingerbread.”

“I bet you do," you replied sincerely, watching the way his shoulders start to ease down. “I’m sorry about the Horntail,” you said, a little quieter. “But I'm glad you bought it a little more time.”

Charlie sighed, picking at a flake of paint on the wall. “I am too. Just wish I didn't have to do it at all. He doesn't deserve to be executed just for feeding himself.”

“I know. But I'm glad he has you to speak for him.”

Charlie searched your face, his eyes melting with blatant affection. Your heart tripped over itself, drumming hard under your skin.

He glanced up and you followed his gaze, finding a sprig of mistletoe hanging just above your heads. You hadn't noticed it before, but you supposed that was the beauty of mistletoe: it was always where you least expected it.

His eyes flicked back down to you, molten chocolate, and your thoughts turned to static. He reached up to cup your face, far more timid than you've come to expect from him, and tilted your head up towards his.

“Can't believe I haven't told you how beautiful you look yet,” he said, his other hand sliding around your waist to draw you closer. “A Christmas wish come true.”

You smiled, feeling like marshmallow over an open flame. “A Christmas wish?” You prodded, batting your lashes at him as heat spilled through you.

“Too cheesy?” He asked, bumping his nose against yours, your faces so close you could almost feel his smirk.

“The perfect amount,” you murmured, your lips grazing his.

Charlie closed the final millimeter, pressing your bodies together in a slow, sipping kiss. Every neuron in your body lit up, reaching towards him as you curled your fingers into his shirt, deepening the kiss. His tongue caressed the seam of your mouth and you parted for him, letting him delve further and taste you.

He loosed a low groan, his grip tightening as he backed you against the wall. He licked into your mouth, stoking the fire simmering under your skin.

“Hey, y/n—merlin, in the middle of the kitchen? Really?”

You and Charlie sprang apart, finding Fred with a hand clapped over his eyes, a cheeky grin on his face.

“So sorry for interrupting. Though, lucky it was me and not mum,” he teased, dropping his hand. But his smile quickly fell too when Charlie advanced on him, swinging an arm out in an attempt to grab him. Fred ducked to the left and bolted back into the living room, leaving Charlie laughing and shaking his head.

“Well, that's fantastic,” you huffed, pressing a hand to your sternum to quell your pounding heart.

“I can't say they'll be all that surprised.” Charlie cupped your face again, drawing you up for a quick peck. “I haven't shut up about you since we met.”

You're soul lifted out of your body. “You—r-really?”

He smiled, pulling you in for a hug, his big arms wrapped around your head and shoulders. “Really, love. You've got me wrapped around your little finger,” he said, his voice muffled by your hair.

“I thought I was going mad, I…I couldn't stop thinking about you,” you admitted, exhaling in relief. You hugged him around the waist, sliding your hands under his shirt just to feel his skin against yours.

You felt him stiffen at your admission, before the tension dissolved from his muscles completely. “Maybe we're both a little mad, then,” he chuckled.

“We should get back to the party before they start to miss us,” you said after a few moments of quiet, though all you wanted to do was drag him up to his room and show him just how mad you were for him. But you were a guest, and you needed a moment to get your thoughts in order.

It seemed Charlie had made up his mind about what he wanted, but you hadn't even begun to let yourself consider something real with Charlie Weasley. It seemed like too lofty a hope, an impossibility.

Your heart screamed ‘yes’ but your mind demanded a rationalization, a plan. Whatever you felt for him was intense, but you would hate to rush into something and ruin what you knew could be amazing.

Well, rush into something any more than your already had.

You realized he was studying you like your thoughts were written across your skin. “Baby, look at me,” he said, turning your face back up to his. “I know we started off on an…unorthodox foot. But that wasn't just a hook up and you and I both know it.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “There’s something more between us.”

“I feel it too,” you admitted. “But I've never…” you trailed off, unable to articulate the tumbling thoughts in your mind.

“Me neither, to be honest. I feel like I've been struck by lightning,” he said, breathless, a slight nervous tremble in his voice.

You nodded, reassured that he was feeling the same, vaguely crazed way you were.

“Trust yourself, y/n,” he said, releasing you from the hug and offering you his hand. “Overthinking is the thief of joy.”

“Get out of my brain,” you huffed in mock annoyance, smiling as you twined your fingers with his.

The rest of the evening passed in a rose colored blur, with cookies and games and storytelling. Charlie never strayed far from your side, though you kept any physical affection to a minimum. But based on the knowing looks from Arthur and Molly, and the teasing smirks and jabs from his siblings, they were definitely on to you two.

After the clock struck midnight, Molly demanded everyone go off to bed so Father Christmas would have no interruptions. You were all plenty old enough to know there was no such thing, but it still made you feel a giddy thrill of excitement. That glimmer of Christmas magic you never grow out of.

Charlie offered you his hand at the base of the stairs, a mischievous sort of smile on his face, and you accepted with a raised eyebrow. He led you up the stairs and opened the door to his room with a flourish.

You nearly toppled over when you walked in. It was completely transformed from this morning. Gone were the normal decorations and his dark duvet, replaced instead with a winter forest wonderland.

His bedspread was a deep forest green, with white throw pillows and silver trim, and a stuffed reindeer waited patiently for you on the pillow, floppy and velveteen. In the corner stood a flocked tree, decorated with pine cones and strung cranberries, and little animal ornaments carved from wood. The fire roared merrily in the fireplace, the mantle above it strewn with wild garland and rosemary. Two stockings hung above the flame, each of your names embroidered on them in silver and gold.

You whirled around to look at Charlie, who was smiling down at you, a slight flush to his freckled cheeks.

“When the hell did you have time to do this?” You asked, breathless and overwhelmed. No one has ever done something so special for you before.

“While you were wrapped up in Wizards Chess with Ron.” He snaked his arms around you, dropping a kiss to your furrowed brow.

“Charlie, this is—” emotion clogged your throat. “T-this is the m-most amazing thing—”

“Oh, baby,” he cooed, shushing you with a peck to your lips. “Spoiling you on Christmas feels like the least I can do to show you how much you mean to me. How badly I want this.”

“This?” You ask, sliding your hands up his broad chest. You expected to feel butterflies, but instead a warm blanket of peace settled over you, an understanding that this is exactly how it was meant to go. That here, with him, in the earliest hours of Christmas morning, was exactly where you belonged.

“Us,” he murmured, glancing at the stockings over the mantle, then back down to you, his dark eyes practically glowing with affection. “If that's what you want too.”

“Even with me here in London?” You asked, fiddling with his collar to hide the shaking in your fingers.

“We'll figure it out. You can come visit me as often as you like. And I can come back here a few times a month.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek, moving down your neck like he just couldn't hold himself back anymore. “I have a cabin.” Kiss. “In the forest.” Kiss. “With a big fireplace.” Kiss. “And a soaking tub.” Kiss. “And I can cook.” Kiss. “And have a giant bed—”

“Charlie!” You giggled, tugging on his hair so he lifted his head and you could kiss him properly, melting under the eagerness of his mouth, the joy in his kiss.

He scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He crossed the room without breaking the kiss, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with you straddling him. The heat of your bodies pressed together was enough to have your pussy tingling, your breath labored.

“I wanna go where you go,” you breathed, breaking the kiss to appease your burning lungs. “I want to be with you.”

He responded with another fervid kiss, open-mouthed and hungry, and you let yourself get swept away in the riptide that was Charlie Weasley. Wild, impulsive, but so sincere, so lion-hearted and good. You weren't sure you'd ever get enough of him.

He seemed just as desperate for you, tugging his shirt over his head and letting your hands finally wander the full expanse of his body without barriers. You pushed him back onto the bed so you could really take him in, his big hands resting heavily on your thighs. He was broad and sturdy, his chest and arms corded with hard earned muscle, the tanned skin littered with freckles and silvery scars.

You nearly started drooling.

In a fluid motion, you tugged your sweater dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your Christmas underwear set and black stockings. The set was black mesh, decorated with mistletoe and holly berries. You had bought in Hogsmeade on the off chance Charlie made an appearance, and it was worth the steep price to see his soul ascend as he took you in.

“Merlin’s fucking—” he didn't even finish the sentence, instead pulling you down onto his chest for another scalding kiss, his calloused hands wandering up your thighs and over your hips, smoothing over the curve of your rib cage and around the plane of your back. His tongue slid into your mouth, twining with yours. You could taste the whiskey he'd been drinking, tinged with cigar smoke and gingerbread, and you moaned at the decadence of him.

One of his hands slid around to cup the nape of your neck, the other bracketing across your lower back to press your hips flush to his. You ground down onto him, unable to ignore the thrumming between your legs any longer. You both groaned at the new friction, his hips lifting to press more firmly against you.

“Just so you know,” he gruffed as you kissed down his neck, licking a long stripe over his Adam’s apple, feeling his stubble under your tongue. “I put a silencing charm on the room.”

“Very presumptuous of you,” you teased, sucking at his pulse just hard enough to leave a faint bruise, but nothing too obvious.

His hips rolled against yours, coaxing a breathy moan from your lips. “Part of my training includes being prepared for any situation,” he countered, his voice strained with desire as you rocked against him.

“Uh-huh. And what else were you trained to do?” You asked, freezing in place to watch him squirm.

A wicked smirk crossed his face and suddenly you were moving, flipped beneath his body faster than you could blink. “How to tame brats,” he growled against your ear, and a shiver rolled down your spine.

He shifted down your body, kissing and licking along the swell of your breasts before unlatching your bra and tossing in across the room. He took both your tits in his hands, nuzzling the soft flesh before laving his tongue across both nipples, making you lift off the bed with a gasp of pleasure.

“It's not fair that you get to walk around with these all the time. Too fucking perfect,” he said, his voice muffled by your skin.

You almost said that they were his. That the only thing that wasn't fair was how quickly he'd stolen your heart. But you bit your tongue, moaning under his ministrations instead.

He sucked a pearled nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it before grazing his teeth against it, his fingers pinching and rolling the other until your eyes crossed, desire pooling between your legs.

“Can take my time with you now,” he hummed, pulling back to pepper kisses across your chest. “Take care of my girl properly.”

My girl. Your head spun, your heart swelling with elation. You never thought this would happen for you, the perpetually single girl who never found someone you genuinely connected with. But Charlie was like a comet tearing through your life, turning every one of your assumptions about love upside down.

He drew you back from your thoughts with a bite under your left breast. “Come back to me, baby. No more overthinking.”

“It’s good thoughts this time,” you said, running your fingers through his ginger hair and scratching along his scalp as he soothed the mark with his tongue.

He looked up at you, a pleased smirk on his face. “Thinking about that soaking tub, huh?”

You pulled his hair, giggling at his antics while he moved further down your body. “Among other things—shit, Charlie,” you whined when his tongue dragged over the soaked gusset of your panties, scalding hot and firm.

He pulled them to the side, gliding his tongue through your slick folds and wrapping his lips around your clit, lashing it with the tip of his tongue. Pleasure coursed through you, your eyes rolling back in your skull as you cried out.

He hummed against you, moving back down to lap at your entrance with long, messy strokes. He was practically grinding his face against you, savoring you like you were the finest meal he'd ever had. He was so enraptured in pleasuring you that he was moaning right along with you, making your clit vibrate and walls flutter.

“Saints, I missed you,” he said, giving your clit and open mouthed kiss before sucking the sensitive bud between his teeth.

You couldn't even begin to formulate words, completely lost in his feasting, your body fizzing with delight and pleasure. It felt like you were high, your muscles languid, bones rubbery.

“Not thinking anymore, are we?” He teased, nipping at the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You whimpered and shook your head, raising your hips to chase after his mouth.

“Good girl.” he purred, rewarding you by latching back onto your clit, his middle finger easing inside your greedy channel.

You cried out, clenching around his finger as he pushed you closer to the edge, your listless haze making way for bright, desperate pleasure. You bucked your hips against his mouth, his tongue flattening against your clit as his inserted a second finger, stretching you. The sounds were damn near sinful, lewd and sloppy as he worked your pussy into submission, molding you like a sculptor with wet clay.

“Fuck, Charlie. M’gonna come,” you whined, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him in that perfect spot.

He curled his fingers inside of you and your vision whited out, your orgasm ripping through you, body and soul. You screamed, spine arching off the bed as wave after wave of burning ecstasy rolled through you, his tongue and fingers not letting up for a second as you convulsed.

“That's it, honey. Just like that, let it all go,” he cooed, kitten-licking your clit as you started to come down, his fingers continuing to gently massage your spasming walls. “Try to relax, love. I know it's a lot, but just relax f’me. You're doing so well.”

You sank back into the mattress, breathing labored as he soothed your quivering pussy with gentle touches. “Charlie,” you moaned, your body finally settling and cycling from overstimulation to rebuilding pleasure. “Feels s’good.”

He nuzzled your clit, kissing over your slit, the top of your mound, your inner thighs. “I live to serve,” he said, withdrawing his fingers and sucking them clean. “And if I have to live my life in service to this perfect little cunt, so be it.” As if to punctuate his point, he laved his tongue through you again and you keened, nearly jumping away at the intensity.

You shook you head, tugging him up by the hair. “Need you to fuck me, Charlie. Please?”

He grinned, kissing his way back up your body until he caught your lips once more, the taste of you mixing with him in a way that pleased some possessive part of your brain. You deepened the kiss, licking into his mouth for more.

He pressed his body against yours, the weight of him warm and comforting as you savored one another. You trailed your hands over his back, feeling some of the ridges and scars stretched across the ropes of muscle. He guided one of your legs up over his hip, angling your bodies together like a puzzle piece.

You basked in the simmering kiss for a moment longer before need began to claw at your insides, your hips pressing up against his once more.

“Charlie, please,” you sighed into his mouth, dragging your nails down his back. “Don't make me beg.”

“But you sound so sweet, all breathy and desperate,” he cooed, pecking your lips a final time before moving off the bed. He slid your panties down your legs, tossing them aside with your other clothes, then removed his trousers and boxers, that gorgeous, rosy cock slapping up against his stomach.

He climbed back onto the bed and spread your thighs, kneading the flesh at your hip while he ran the rigid head of his cock through your drooling pussy.

“My sweet girl wants to get fucked, hm?” he said, his voice rough as he used his cock to massage your puffy clit. “Let me hear you ask one more time, honey. Sounds so pretty.”

“Please fuck me, baby. Please,” you whimpered, fisting the sheets on either side of you.

He notched his cock at your entrance, hissing through his teeth as your pussy opened effortlessly for him. “That's it, lovey. Fuck, your little pussy is so tight f’me,” he groaned as your walls clenched around him, coaxing him deeper. You could tell he was fighting the urge to bottom out in one thrust, the muscles in his arms and shoulders taught and trembling, chest heaving and jaw a little slack.

You reached for him, the feeling so intense you needed an anchor. He leaned forward, knowing what you craved, and let you wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his neck.

He rubbed soothing circles on your thigh, his other hand sliding around your back to hold you against him. “Too much, baby?” He asked, pausing his slow penetration.

“Too good,” you whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He nodded, loosing a breath as you clenched around him. “Feel like your squeezing my heart,” he groaned, and you could feel it racing just beneath his skin, frantic as yours.

“Keep going, Charlie. Please,” you begged, tilting your pelvis so he sank a little deeper.

He eased you back onto the bed, still holding you close. “Good girl, takin’ me so well. Just relax, honey. Just feel me,” he soothed as he pushed the rest of the way in, his cockhead nudging your cervix and stretching your walls just enough. Not sensing any discomfort from you, he started rolling his hips back and forth in fluid strokes, kissing your skin wherever he could reach.

Pleasure spread through your body like ink through water, coloring every sensation, every thought. You loosened your grip on him, opening yourself up to his unhurried affection as he fucked you slowly, letting you adjust to the onslaught of sensation.

“You're so pretty like this, so fucking perfect.” He mouthed at your throat, your head tilting back with a cry as he increased his pace, ecstasy dancing along your skin. “All mine to love on, yeah? You all mine, baby?”

You bobbed your head, already cockdrunk and blissed out, your body submitting completely to him. “Yes, fuck, yes. All yours,” you whimpered, that knot in your lower stomach starting to tighten.

“Fuck yes, my good girl.” He leaned down and caught your lips in a searing kiss, a growl rumbling through his chest as he fucked you harder, driving his cock in and out of your sopping cunt with powerful strokes. “And I'm yours, baby. All fucking yours.” He murmured against your mouth and you grinned, feeling your heart give a discordant thump of elation.

He leaned back to fuck you deeper, one hand tangling with both of yours and pining your arms over your head, the other sliding down to rub tight circles over your clit. You stretched out for him, arching your breasts up to his hungry gaze as he railed you, merciless and claiming.

“Saints, you look so fucking sexy. Gonna come for me, love? Mark this cock as yours?”

You let out a scream as a second orgasm was wrenched from your body, the tension unraveling all at once in a torrent of bliss. You clamped hard around him, feeling his cock swell, then buck as his own release crashed over him, your name coming out like roar.

You clung to one another, his hips still rolling into yours as your walls milked him dry, wringing every drop of pleasure from one another until you crashed back to earth as one.

After catching your breath for a moment, he lifted off of you, hands skimming over your face, your body. “Merlin, I’m sorry, baby. I really didn't mean to be that rough, are you okay? Did I hurt—”

You silenced him with a kiss, pulling his body back down onto yours. “Was perfect,” you mumbled against his lips and he smiled.

“You were perfect,” he corrected, pecking kisses all over your cheeks and forehead. “Can’t get enough of you.”

You giggled, squirming as his hands tickled along your sensitive skin.

“Can I take you for a real date tomorrow? I don't know if anything will be open, but I refuse to go another day without—”

“Charlie,” you shushed, cupping his bearded cheek. “You can take me to the kitchen and call it a first date. I don't care about some made-up fucking rules. I just want to be with you.”

He grinned, giving you a quick, toothy kiss. “Then how about I clean you up, make some mulled wine with this expensive shit I brought back from Romania, and we cuddle by the fire? Call that our first date, and next year we can celebrate our one year anniversary on Christmas.”

You pushed against his chest, laughing at his dramatics, but secretly hoping that would be the case. “It better be a hell of mulled wine then,” you teased.

“Oh, it will be. Romanians don't fuck around when it comes to their booze. Now, open those gorgeous legs for me.”

“Charles Septimus Weasley! Get up!” Ginny shouted through the door, banging her fist on the wood. “You cannot sleep in on Christmas!”

“Septimus?” You groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Charlie had his head buried in your neck, heavy limbs thrown over your body. He was warm as a furnace, and the still crackling fire didn't help matters.

“Sod off!” he barked back, nuzzling closer and tightening his hold around you. You glanced at the clock, and after your prolonged first date, you'd only gotten a few scant hours of sleep.

“Fine! Then I'll throw whatever's in this fancy little box in the fire!”

Charlie was up in a flash, tugging on pants and wrenching open the door, but Ginny was already gone.

He sighed, grabbed something from the hall, then swung the door shut. He looked ready to dive back into bed, but you were already up, pulling on a pair of his boxers.

He froze in place, a feral sort of glint in his eye, forgetting entirely about the package in his hands. When you went to grab it, he lifted it high above his head, well out of your reach.

“Charlie!” You pouted, trying in vain to pull his arm down. He still hadn't taken his eyes off of your body. “You really want me to make a bad impression on your parents for our first Christmas?” You snapped, fighting the smile rising on your face.

“Just do a little spin for me,” he said, twirling a finger around.

“Charlie!”

“Fine, fine. Here,” he chuckled, handing you a pair of pajamas with your name embroidered on them. They were red and green, with white stripes and gold thread, the material thick and warm.

You loved them already.

The two of you quickly got dressed and hurried downstairs, finding everyone else already piled into the living room, also dressed in matching pj's.

“Ah, the lovebirds finally make their appearance!” Bill teased from the big arm chair, Fleur cuddled into his side.

Charlie flipped him off, ignoring the squawk of disapproval form his mother.

“Come, come!” Molly grabbed you and plunked you down on the last free space on the couch, and George passed you a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

George leaned in and muttered, “It's no mulled wine, but—”

Charlie whacked the back of his head. “Quiet, you,” he warned.

“Charles, if I have to speak to you again!” Molly shouted.

“Alright, alright! Let's get this show on the road,” Arthur said, shooing his son away so they could distribute the clumsily wrapped boxes under the tree.

Charlie plopped onto the floor between your knees, his hands coming up to absently massage your right foot. Your whole body tingled at the contact, your heart still tight with joy.

Could this really be your life?

Arthur passed out gifts, and you ended up with a pile of three at your feet. A flat, rectangular box, a heavy, square box, and one small enough to fit in your hand, wrapped in green and gold ribbon.

They went around one by one, opening gifts. Charlie received a new pair of steel-toed boots, enchanted to prevent the Romanian cold from creeping in, and an expensive looking bottle of gin, courtesy of his big brother.

After him, it was finally your turn. Your heart thudded from the attention, and you started unwrapping the larger present with trembling fingers. You tore off the paper and opened the white box underneath it, finding a knitted sweater with your initial on the front. Your throat pinched shut, tears burning behind your eyes as you traced your fingers over it.

“You're part of the family now, love,” Molly said, smiling warmly at you as you wiped away a tear with the back of your hand.

“Thank you,” you sniffled, laughing at yourself, and Charlie gave your ankle a reassuring squeeze, pressing a kiss to your knee.

The next present was from Fred and George, a stack of books you'd been eyeballing the last time the three of you went to Flourish and Blotts, and you pulled them in for a group hug.

Finally, it came down to the last present. The tension pulled taut as a bowstring when Charlie turned towards you, propped up on one knee, presenting the small box.

“I know how this looks,” he murmured, glancing down at himself. “But I promise I'm not that insane.”

You giggled nervously, taking the present from his hand and trying to ignore that his entire family was watching you. You tried to focus on Charlie, the rise and fall of his shoulders, the lock of copper hair hanging over his brow, and blocked the others out.

Carefully, you undid the ribbon and tore off the paper, revealing a black, dragon-leather box. Charlie gave you an encouraging nod, noticing the way you hesitated, and you cracked open the lid.

Inside was a golden necklace with a Welsh Green dragon scale pendant sitting on a velvet cushion. It was the most stunning shade of emerald you'd ever seen, reflecting beautifully in the candlelight, shifting blue, then pearlescent, and back to green. It was breathtaking, and you fought back the tears gathering on your lower lashes so you could continue to gaze at it.

“Charlie, this is—” emotion stole your words, and all you could do was throw your arms around him and bury your face into his shoulder.

“I hope you love it, darling. Had it made just for you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Here, let me put it on you.”

You nodded, sitting up and trying to wipe your tears before his family could see what a mess you were, but when you looked around, you saw half of them crying too.

Molly blew you a kiss, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, and you nearly lost it again.

Charlie gently took the box from your hands and walked around behind the couch. His cool fingers grazed the sides of your throat and the weight of the pendant settled against your clavicle. A moment later, your heard the clasp click, and felt the warm brush of his lips on the back on your neck.

You fondled the pendant with your fingers, the metal already warming against your heated skin, the scale heavy and smooth. Charlie came back around to the front, eyes lighting up at the sight of your smile.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he hummed, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

You grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a kiss. “Merry Christmas, Charlie.”

Thank you so much for reading!! (and if you have anything you'd like to read for Charlie, my asks are open!)

#harry potter fanfiction #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x y/n #charlie weasley fanfiction #the weasleys #charlie weasley smut #harry potter smut #harry potter fandom #weasley twins #smut no plot #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins fanfiction

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th3-c0rps3-r0gu3 · 3 months ago

Text

Arranged marriage

Chapter three

Royal au

Princess Natasha X queen autistic reader

Warnings: Natasha being a bitch. Natasha being jealous. Woman flirting with y/n. Swearing (minor) lemme know if there anymore. Natasha getting feelings? Oblivious y/n

Natasha pov

I want to rip out my eyes. Why on earth am I here. This is so stupid. Riding in a carriage with this idiot queen. Those are my first thoughts as I stare angrily out the window of the carriage me and queen y/n are sitting in. Said queen is hiding from the crowds of people outside the carriage. She's so backwards. Never wanting too many people around and only tolerating socialisation for a specific time frame before vanishing for sometimes days. In my opinion she's not fit to be a queen.

Fresh air finally. I think to myself as me and the idiot behind me climb out the carriage into the town square. People have crowded near the carriage. Ofcourse they have. Their "queen" is here. I grumble slightly as the guards help down y/n. Gods she can't even get out a carriage by herself what a useless idiot. I don't know why but my thoughts of rage and hatred have increased towards y/n. Perhaps it's to make up for the fact she's cute and her hands are soft and she really nice. Like right now with how she's thanking the guard who helped her over and over like the absolute sweetheart she is. What. No. Absolutely not. Y/n is a idiot on the throne and I will murder her. I don't find her cute I don't find her sweet and Queen y/n is not a sweetheart.

There's a wyvern on that houses roof. I wonder if y/n will notice it and rant about its species. I already know it's a wyvern because y/n said earl- why am I thinking that. It's just an idiot dragon. And boom y/n has seen it. She's ranting again. Gods I hate it. What on earth is a blood bellied wyvern and why does it matter. That dragon was black not red. I hate cobblestone too now that I think about it. My heels keep threatening to buckle beneath me. Good thing I'm an absolute goddess and can walk in heels anywhere.

Y/n pov

The carriage ride to the town square was quiet. I didn't want to interrupt Natasha too much. And if I spoke even a word I'm pretty sure she'd tell me to shut it anyway. Besides looking out the window was fun. I saw so many different dragons. I wish I could've been able to get a proper look so I could see what species they are. There's so many people outside watching the carriage though. I should've held this off until my social battery filled again. I am going to hate this trip. I really should stop letting Natasha's parents coerce me into stuff.

Finally the carriage stops and the doors open and fresh air hits me like a train. I go to step out but a guard offers me a hand. I have told them to stop doing that. They really should listen I can get out of my own carriage. But I accept his help not wanting him to feel foolish. The cobblestone streets are filled with people and horses and carriages. I like the town. Aside from the bustling people and market stalls scattered around the town square it's a nice break from the palace. A nice break from being a queen. Princess Natasha is scowling. Like always. I am pretty sure it's her default expression.

Me and the princess have walk a little now. Passed a stall selling dragon egg remains. I don't like those stalls. They often steal and break dragon eggs to get the product. I shudder slightly. Natasha hasn't been paying any attention. She's been grumbling about idiots and cobblestone. She wore heels so I guess that's why. Should've worn flat shoes like me. I did tell her so. I look up at the houses around us and.. no way. A blood bellied wyvern right there on the rooftop of a civilian house. They only come down this way in the winter! I've never seen one before aside from in books.

My mouth is running again. I never know why I do this. But I excuse myself mentally this time since I've never witnessed this dragon before. Their scales are reflective of their blood colour which is why they're called blood bellied wyverns. Well the belly part is because you see the actual veins and blood but still. I haven't had a single interruption from Natasha yet. She's just walking silently beside me as I rant. I slow down and pause looking at the queen feeling a bit bad now. I must've pissed her off in some way again.

"are you ok princess?"

I ask hesitantly. I don't like the way Natasha has paused. She's staring at me funny and I'm prepared for her to scowl and scream at me. She huffs instead.

"I'm fine just keep walking."

I blink surprised as Natasha keeps walking and I speed up to catch up to her.

Natasha pov

She's still ranting. Something about the wyverns scales reflecting their blood colour.. oh that's why it's called whatever it was. I can't help but steal glances at y/n. She's so annoying. So very annoying. And absolutely perfect at the exact same time. No. I won't go down that rabbit hole. I am not stupid. Falling in love is for pitiful useless peasants. Not royalty. Why does my heart not agree with my head. It's stupid. I'll fix it.

"are you ok princess?"

Y/n's voice stops me. That's not about dragons. I glance down at her attempting a scowl but I can't respond. She's looking at me with wide y/e/c eyes and I can't help but find her expression adorable. No. No no no no no. She's not adorable and she's not cute. I huff slightly shaking away all those intrusive thoughts

"I'm fine just keep walking"

I scowl again as I pick up pace once more. Y/n speeding up to get back to my side. She's so small. Like a puppy. No. Absolutely not. Puppies and y/n have nothing in common. I'll kill her. And I won't feel bad about it and I won't regret it. Everything will be fine. I go to yell at y/n as per normal but she's not by me anymore. I glance around and.. there. By a stall selling books and scrolls. I stand and watch her annoyed. Ofcourse she'd stop to look at scrolls and books. And judging by her expression it's dragon bullshit again. The woman serving her is leaning over the counter and talking to y/n about different species. That grin on the merchants face. That's not a friendly grin...

It's been ten minutes and y/n has not stopped talking to the merchant. She's bought atleast three books and five scrolls. And that merchant is clearly flirting with y/n. Doesn't she know the queen is engaged. To me no less. Why is this bothering me. I mean I should be annoyed it's taking so long that's normal but why am I pissed that the queen is being flirted with. Why does it irritate me more than the books. I want to tear that merchant's eyes out and turn them into a necklace for y/n to wear and I don't know why.

She touched her arm. That merchant touched y/n's arm. And I don't like it. Rage hits me like a brick. That bitch can't touch what's mine. There is a clear engagement ring on the queen's finger and it's public knowledge that y/n is betrothed to me. I storm over absolutely enraged at this pathetic sellers attempt to steal MY y/n. Swiftly wrapping an arm around y/ns waist I glare down my nose at this merchant. Watching in sick satisfaction as she backs up scared. Good to know she recognises me.

"back the fuck away from my fiancee."

I snarl. Pulling y/n closer to me. She's so small and she's looking at me shocked. I'll deal with it later. That merchant gets the hint and backs up mumbling apologies and handing y/n her books. I grab them and pull the queen with me away and back towards the carriage. I don't y/n until we are both in the carriage and leaving.

Y/n pov

I saw a dragons scroll and books stall. That looked fun so I told Natasha I was looking at it and went over. I haven't seen this stall before and it has so many books and scrolls. Most I already own but a few I don't! I immediately purchase the scrolls and books I don't have. It would be foolish if I didn't. A waste. Besides I'm the queen I can do as I please. The merchant running the stall is wonderful too. She's really friendly. Immediately we are in conversation about gilded bronze dragons and their subspecies. I haven't met a single other person who could talk dragons with me.

Don't recognise the touch at first. The seller just put her hand on my arm and smirked at me. I blink and smile back not really knowing what's happening before I'm grabbed into someone and the merchant is backing away. I frown wanting to continue talking about dragons and books still. I glance at the person who grabbed me prepared to tell them off for grabbing me politely because yelling at people is Soo mean and I don't have the heart until I realise the person who grabbed me is princess Natasha romanoff.

"back the fuck away from my fiancee."

Natasha scowls at the merchant as she pulls me closer. I didn't realise how much taller the princess was compared to me. Jesus Christ am I actually that short. I blink slightly and glance around trying to gouge out if this is normal or weird and nope this is definitely weird the townspeople are looking at us funny. I'm about to speak until Natasha grabs my books and scrolls and begins dragging me back to the carriage. I don't even argue with her I'm in a state of shock. I never thought I'd see the day Natasha would get... Jealous?

A/n: I am sorry this is so late I didn't like the ending originally and rewrote it like three times so I haven't been on much but I've started chapter four and I will go back to normal posting again I promise.

Tag list:

@cd-4848

@idkwhatever580

@gemz5

If you wanna be added to the taglist just ask in the comments:)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x you #black widow #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow x reader

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inbabylontheywept · 2 years ago

Text

Master Post of Writings and Series

HFY Science Fiction That Isn't a Ship, It's a Cannon with FTL! Military fiction revolving around space pirates and a railgun someone strapped an FTL drive to. There are three parts, the link above should let you scroll through the whole series. Like Sharks A short fic based on the prompt "Humans are the only ones to actually develop FTL. Everyone else just uses wormholes." The Scattering Experimental piece. I normally do prose, but I tried a poem. Inspired by the Dark Forest Theory. "So...What's the biggest gun you've ever made?" First installment starring Earl, a weapons designer. In this episode he explains the basics of fission-based fusion weapons, their applications in throwing things into orbit. Also stars a horny lobsterman. "R&D? More like R&Deez Nuts" Second installment starring Earl. This is a laser tag fight starring the R&D division, accounting, and sales. There will be male bonding. Or else. "Yeah, sure, and I shit thermite. Be serious." Earl drinks until he pukes. Aliens learn that humans produce hydrochloric acid for digestion. The Vengabus is Coming! A pinned down group of soldiers has to call in a human tank for backup. Shock and awe does not begin to describe it. Hold Your Breath and Burn The bad news is that he's gonna die in space. The good news is that he can make it count. "I will solve you if I must." The last tool of diplomacy is threats. Burning Bridges You don't have to kill a soldier to keep them from being a combatant. "I think we underestimated the scale of the human species by eight or nine orders of magnitude." In which humans turn out to be the swarm. Party Favors Humanity solved mortality. It did not solve boredom. Now it's everyone's problem. Starring my creepiest humans, a lot of drugs, and the leasy sexy descriptions of sex I could make.

HFY Fantasy Small, Fragile, and Destined to Die There's something to be said for spitting in the face of death. Sometimes, literally. "Healing+Lightning=Wizard Launcher" Unconventional spell uses let a wizard punch above his weight. And bite. And kick. Human wizards make a lot of ruckus. An Honorary Troll A wizard fights a troll. It is not a very wizardly fight. I considered it a very loose sequel to the story above it, but both can absolutely be read separately. Dale of the Dales A two part series about a human protecting a town of halflings from an army of gnomes with the power of hospitality, and also being comparatively massive. Why Human's Can't Cast On the properties of superconductors and golden gods. The Thunder God of Honnillee A human is adopted by a halfling. What Talon and What Dreadful Claw Tragedy with a man and a spynx.

Unsorted Fictions Leviathan A necromancer scours the depths of hell for a soul worthy of his creation. He finds more than he bargained for. Odysseus in Space (It's very, very good) Biographical Pieces Soviet Birds A comedy of errors is resolved by the Vessel of Bird Sacrifice. The Kitchen Labyrinth of Missile Science Why does a classified facility with 30 people at it have 7 kitchens? What would you do if I told you it has seven of every kind of room? The Fridges. Oh my God, the Fridges. It also has 20 fridges in it. Obviously. Kevin vs. Intro to Quantum You would be surprised at the kind of intellectual challenges random bystanders can take. I certainly was. Layman walks in and becomes the class mascot. The Condom Bomber In which I fuck up. Videos None of these are narrated by me, but I thought I'd list them here for anyone that prefers listening to reading. Like Sharks, read by Grey Voice. He focuses on smooth reading. Like Sharks, read by Aggro Squirrel. He has a theatrical voice. Like Sharks, read by NetNarrator. He has a fast, clipped style. The Vengabus is Coming & Burning Bridges 2 for 1 by Aggro Squirrel. "Yeah, and I shit thermite. Be serious." by Net Narrator. "So, what's the biggest gun you've ever made?" by Aggro Squirrel.

#InBabylonTheyWept

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sea-owl · 8 months ago

Note

This is probably too late from when you were writing but tossing it out here anyway Polin + Philoise lost in space trying to get to Francesca’s wedding (either John or Michael).

Never too late I'll always take requests.

This gives me jedi spouses ideas. Hold on. For those who are curious here's some links for the au: Here, Here, Here, Here, Here, Here, and Here.

Quick note for those curious my version of these jedi at this point in time do have relationships but selfish attachment is still highly discouraged. Kind of in a way that yes you do love this person and being with them is not banned but your duty to the universe must come first. You must be able to let go.

"Grandmaster Danbury as lovely as your company is, is there a reason we are here?" Michael asked as he followed the Jedi leader through the halls of the senate building. The route they were going was familiar, but he was confused on to why they were heading for Senator Bridgerton's office. Usually, the Order sent Senator Bridgerton's lover if they needed to negotiate with him.

"We're here to discuss marriage negotiations," Grandmaster Danbury said as the door opened.

Inside Michael could see Senator Bridgerton and two of his younger sisters. Eloise Bridgerton, and Michael's own lover Francesca.

"So, I'm getting married," Michael announced as all their friends gathered in one of their dorms.

Everyone dropped whatever was in their hands. Poor Gareth was drinking some water after his training session and immediately spit it back out.

"To who?!" Several of the other jedi asked at once. "What about Francesca? Are you leaving the Order?!"

"No I'm not leaving the order!" Michael exclaimed. "It's a special circumstance marriage, that's why Grandmaster Danbury agreed, and by luck this marriage is to Francesca, that's the only reason I agreed."

All of his friends looked confused now. Eyebrows were raised, and other scrunched their noses.

"What special circumstances has you and Francesca marrying? And that Master Agatha agreed to?" Simon asked.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Politics mostly."

The others made a face. As unavoidable as it is most of the Order do try to stay out of politics. Kate and Simon were the most adapt out of their whole group, but even they would rather have someone else deal with it.

"How do the politics of Mayton lead to you marrying?"

"Well turns out," Michael paused for dramatic effect, "I was born on Mayton!"

Everyone was back to confused again. A jedi born from Mayton, the world famous and infamous for their matchmaking and aphrodisiacs. There's some irony there.

"That still doesn't explain the politics part and how it brought special circumstances to you getting married," Kate said.

Phillip nodded in agreement. "The last special circumstances marriage happened to save a species from dying out."

Michael awkwardly laughed. Yeah, here came the weird part. "So remember how Francesca was married before we met?"

Penelope recalled the information. "He was the Earl of the Kilmartin clan, right? Tragically died young when a sickness swept through Mayton."

Michael awkwardly laughed again. "Well turns out he was my cousin, and I'm the closest male relative so the position of earl technically falls to me."

His friends fell silent again, though some of them had that face they made when they were about to make fun of him. Michael couldn't blame them. Had this been Simon or Phillip inheriting a title they had no idea they were in line for he'd make fun of them too.

"So do we call you my lord now?" Lucy cheekily asked. This broke the others and they started laughing too.

"You know what?" Michael said, playing along. "Yes, you do! Bow before your lord peasants-ow!"

This broke out another peel of laughter as Michael rubbed the spot Kate threw her house slipper at him. Sophie was the only one who was nice enough to help him up, and she gave him a little bit of force heeling to take away the sting. This is why she's his favorite.

"Okay back to why you have to get married?"

"The politics of it all," Michael groaned. "Essentially the elders of the Kilmartin clan, one being my mother apparently, very nice lady from the few talks I've had with her, they want Francesca to keep leading as the Countess of Kilmartin. But there's been some push back from other members in the clan because she was born a Bridgerton. In order to keep the peace Fran has to be married to the current earl, which is me. It essentially came down to me being the earl in name only because you know jedi, and Francesca being the actual active leader."

"But why now?"

Michael shrugged. "According to Lady Jan and Lady Helen things were tense for a while. After one of the clan members finally did some digging in the birth records and found me things boiled over. Demands started coming in that I come and take over as earl."

Now comes Michael's own fun part. "Oh, and by the way Grandmaster Danbury said you all have to come with as part of the witnesses for the Order, but people are to not know we're jedi."

There was a collective groan. "Not the Mayton clothes again!"

Simon, Kate, their padawans, and Sophie ended up all going ahead. Mostly to make sure the wedding wasn't too grand or worse too public. They needed to control the narrative and keep the knowledge of the groom being a jedi on the quiet side. So their main jobs were to rein in the Bridgertons, particularly Violet which that in itself will be it's own challenge.

Per Mayton traditions the bride and groom were escorted to Mayton's moon by two escorts for each. There the couple were to bathe together in the moon's natural springs.

"Why?" The three jedi asked. "You have indoor plumbing."

"It's so the couple can wash away their pasts as they get ready to build their future together," Eloise explained.

"It's also an act of vulnerability that allows couples the chance to open up to one another if they haven't had a chance to do so before now," Francesca added.

"There's also the legend that if a couple does bathe together in the springs they'll be blessed in their union," Colin finished.

The three jedi looked at one another but shrugged. Every world had their traditions and beliefs.

Stepping out onto the moon Michael, Phillip, and Penelope all felt a shiver run up their spines. Oh. Maybe there is some truth to the Mayton tradition.

Per the tradition the married couple to be led their escorts to the springs. Eloise and Phillip walked directly behind them while Colin and Penelope brought up the rear.

The moon itself was a comfortable tempture. Forests surrounding the group with the sound of moving water in the distance. The three jedi looked around. The force hung thick in the air, it's energy almost touchable with how it coated everything.

Eventually the group came to the opening to a cave, steps leading down. From above vines of flowers hang over the opening where one could see the springs below. The water itself was a beautiful shade of blue. Michael and Francesca went down together.

At the entrance Colin and Eloise inform their own lovers that they were free to do what they wanted until the couple was done. Immediately Eloise offered to show Phillip some of the flora only found on this moon.

Penelope giggled as eager as a child Phillip followed Eloise. "She might actually loose to the plants if Phillip has truly never seen them before."

Colin laughed and began leading Penelope away in another direction. "He loves botany that much?"

"That and how the force connects with it," Penelope said. "If she lets him he'll ramble about it for hours. Lost in the space of knowledge."

Colin let out his own laugh. "Well, he might seduce Eloise further then with that knowledge. She might demand a demonstration."

"He'll be happy to give it." Penelope's back straightens as another rush of the force hit her.

"Are you okay?" Colin asked.

"Yes," Penelope said. "You're moon has a strong connection to the force."

Colin whipped towards her. "It does?"

Penelope nodded. "I could almost touch it with how thick it coats everything here."

Before Colin could ask more rain began to fall, gaining both of their attentions. The senator and jedi both looked towards the sky.

"Well looks like Frannie and her husband to be aren't the only ones getting a bath," Colin joked.

Penelope focused on the force around her. A small part wrapping around her and connecting her to the man in front of her.

#jedi spouses #this got away from me #oopsie #probably not what you were expecting but i hope you like it!#franchael #michael stirling #francesca bridgerton #polin #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #slight philoise

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defensivelee · 2 months ago

Text

Alien Alien: Then I the Mark of Ingratitude Stand

I didn't know if I should post this but I wanted to feed y'all because I haven't been able to write a single thing since the....Shit that has Gone Down. It turns out it's hard to write Six Lives, a story about fascists, on the side of the fascists kek

So! Have this, a rather unusual story I've gone with here in Alien Alien focusing on the sole human of this verse, the Earl of Marlborough. He's now brought back to favor and is in charge of the Duke of Gloucester, a sickly hybrid much like the King himself! He may be just a bit out of his depth, however, when he's faced with a vision of what is supposedly the boy's glorious future.

CW: objectification, dehumanization, implied/referenced sexual assault, violence, descriptions of gore, child death.

Something had changed in the sound of the King’s walk. It had been a long time since the change had begun, but it drove Marlborough mad now as it drove him mad then, as he listened to the King approaching.

There was a great inconsistency to the walk of four limbs, with sharp boots at the back and thick claws at the front. One hand, as it came down, sounded harsh and scraping, and the other sounded lighter, with a more graceful cling! as it hit the floor. That was the hand that so ached now; that was the hand that had been equipped with narrow claws made of metal that appeared to Marlborough more like those of an eagle than of a natural Defender of the Faith. They dragged along the floor as the King stalked forward, as he let out a heavy sigh through his nose like an exhausted horse.

Marlborough turned around to face him. When he had first met William, he was the same size he was now; oh, certainly taller than a human, of course, but he seemed to take little space up in the galaxy even as he would arch his back and hiss at any perceived slight or threat. He was still the smallest full-grown Asterothiriot Marlborough had ever encountered.

He had grown no larger, and yet as he walked past Marlborough could suddenly see why this one believed he ruled the stars themselves. Perhaps it was the age that now showed on his face, or the stiffness of his tail, or even the slitted pupils, but now it seemed he was almost deserving of calling himself a king like the ones that had come before him. He was just almost a full tendril-tooth.

Almost. The power behind his leap up towards the window reminded Marlborough of who had truly raised the hybrid prince. The six suspicious eyes blinked at him, one by one, as their owner sat back with his tail curled in front of his arms in a manner that reminded Marlborough of the cats on Forte Solaria.

What does he want? He waited for William to say something before giving him a hesitant curtsy. His face never failed to flush as he did so.

“Do you know why you're here?” William asked.

“No,” Marlborough said. Sarah had seen something, of course, and she had said that nothing bad could come from this audience, but that was all he knew. It was the Princess Anne's powers who were stronger, but she hadn't brought up anything important, either.

“Oh, perfect,” William said with an uncharacteristic purr. “I get to surprise you.”

“How thrilling,” Marlborough said dryly. “Did you want me to be your exhibition here instead? I would prefer it; nobody passes through as much.” He started stepping away. “Though I can't see why that would warrant such privacy.”

“Stay,” William snapped, and Marlborough froze. “It isn’t that. Quite the opposite, actually.” He lowered his head, his antennae twitching as if he'd just sensed something that displeased him. “Do you remember how it maddened the tendril-tooths here to see a human become an earl upon my arrival?”

Marlborough couldn't help but laugh. “Yes, as it did you.”

“Hardly.” William flicked his tail dismissively. “Why should I care about the species of my subjects? As long as they don't belong to those vicious, drooling fortune-tellers, then I don't—”

“I'll remind you that my family is made up of said fortune-tellers,” Marlborough said coolly. “And so is your government now. It has been more than a decade; are you still not used to it?” He blinked innocently up at William, who looked up and growled.

“That doesn't mean I have to like it,” he said. “One step can't cover seven steps. I would always rather work with humans and robots than with those conniving beasts who think they rule the universe.”

“Do we still talk of the same species?”

“You are a human, my lord, you would do well to remember that!” William leapt down from the window, and Marlborough drew back as the King began to circle him. “That’s the only reason I still tolerate you. Otherwise I would have—” He raked his claws across the floor. “Killed you myself.”

“And you expect me to be honored,” Marlborough said.

“Yes.” William nodded once. He stood up fully so that he was taller than the human, the spikes on his tail slicking back with a sharp rattle. “You know, I never liked the practice of...human art. ‘Tis frivolous and obsolete, especially when I’ve found a far better use for you. No, even after what you did...” He twitched one antennae to the side. “I never liked it. Truly, I would have preferred killing you.”

Marlborough had heard it all by now; he’d heard about how the King so hated to use his body as artwork, to keep him there as decoration while he spoke to his ministers, and how unnecessary he thought the whole practice, but that he was driven to it by expectation. Expectation! What William had refused to follow since the very day he’d arrived here!

No, he knew that while William derived little enjoyment from gazing upon his body, he still wanted some way to remind a human of his status here. William must have known that he knew, but as they stared at each other, they remained silent, both daring the other to speak.

“Maybe you should have,” Marlborough said at length. He didn’t truly mean it, not really, but with every passing day he’d stood there, death had seemed more appealing than the endless weight of, ironically, what little he wore.

“No. There’s still one last thing I need you for.” William tilted his head to the side. “Well, a few things. I couldn’t have kept you there forever.”

You might have been happy to, Marlborough thought, but he listened intently as the King spoke.

“The heart-eaters are spreading like a virus,” he said, “even through this peace. For how long do you think a sickness can be suppressed?” He shook himself as if the thought unnerved him. “I need your eyes to see them, and the rest of you to defeat them if— when King Louis becomes hungry again.”

“I can’t do that now,” Marlborough said with a growing amusement. “Not without—”

William interrupted him with a hiss. “I know, I know.” He took a deep breath, then said, “The late Queen left me with this knowledge, and she is not the only tendril-tooth here who is now aware of your value. So you must return to your command. And then you and I can put this whole mess behind us.” He flexed his false claws. “But this is not forgiveness.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Marlborough said. “I could die without it.”

“You could stand to be a little grateful, human.” William stepped closer until Marlborough could smell the blood of unfortunate prey on his breath. His eyes seemed to be focused on being unfocused, with an appearance that Marlborough had only seen in starving wolves.

“In a sense, I am,” he replied. “But I’d been expecting this.”

“So you did know!” William bared his teeth accusingly.

“Not through the visions of my wife,” Marlborough rushed to assure him. “Nor did I expect it today. But I thought that you would realize that your preferred human can only take you so far.” Keppel was a fine, clever creature, as he’d been when Marlborough had first found him, but even William must have known that his future lay elsewhere.

“Enough.” William let out a rumbling growl. “How far do you think you can take me?” He turned away, the tip of his tail brushing against Marlborough’s shoulder. “There is one more thing, my lord.”

Marlborough straightened up at the address. “Yes?”

“I ask- I command you to take up another position you may not be used to,” William said. “That of the Duke of Gloucester’s governor.” Seeing Marlborough’s confusion, he added, “I know a tendril-tooth might have been more logical, but I wouldn’t like him to be ruled by those monsters from the very beginning.” He flicked his antennae in the Earl’s direction. “Besides, the Princess trusts you more than she trusts any Asterothiriot, save for your wife.”

“You want a human to— pardon me saying this, but you want a human to guide an animal into its adulthood.”

The sentence had hardly left his lips when William lunged at him with a snarl, throwing him back against the floor. Marlborough winced as his head hit the ground, as he felt the King’s claws dig into his shoulders. This he’d been expecting as well; it only surprised him that it took so long.

“An animal?!” William snapped his jaws in Marlborough’s face. “Is that what we are to you?”

“Well, you’re not human.” Marlborough turned his head away as he spoke, staring blankly to the side. “I was merely stating a fact. The little prince deserves better, someone who can teach him to hunt and fight the way his species knows.”

“Oh, he does, doesn’t he?” William sneered and stepped off of him. “But he already has me. Having you will only be his first disappointment.” He waited for a moment, then snapped his jaws again. “Stand!”

Marlborough obeyed, and William continued. “Truth be told, I want you to give him a taste for blood.”

You could have done that yourself, Marlborough thought, staring at the claws that had just been held so close to his neck. Even if he knew that William wouldn’t kill him, even if his presence commanded little fear, he had never gotten used to it.

“In the prophecies the Queen left me before she died,” William said, “you seem to appear more frequently the closer that I get to joining her.”

“She told you when you would die?” Marlborough asked, startled.

William nodded slowly. “But that doesn’t concern you. Show that boy a fraction of the boldness you have shown me, and I know he will survive.”

“Your Majesty, I—”

“He will survive,” William repeated, silencing Marlborough with a wave of his tail. “And you will be there to see it.”

✭✭✭

He had played with the Duke of Gloucester before, entertaining him with a laser pointer or a squeaking toy, and he had observed how little energy the child had as compared to Marlborough’s own. Oh, he could run as swiftly as his mother, and bark as loudly as his father, but it tired him quickly, so that he preferred curling up to sleep in between unsuspecting tails.

“So you are telling me the human is mine now?” Gloucester was bounding about William’s feet, swatting at the lashing tail. He was quite a sight, his appearance being mostly of his mother’s species, save for his blank eyes and the lack of protective spikes at his belly. His tail, too, was shorter, and as of now, he only had two horns.

“More accurately, you are the human’s,” Anne said, her eyes glinting with amusement. “But you must show my Lord Marlborough the same respect as you do everyone else.”

“Your Highness,” Marlborough greeted the little prince, who now stared at him with wide eyes.

“Marlborough!” Gloucester stood up, his tail wagging. He was very nearly Marlborough’s height already. “Does this mean I get to see Lord Churchill more often? Will he come and teach me more of his battle moves?”

“I think he can teach you more than just that,” Marlborough said. “But yes, he will be here, as your Master of the Horse.” He knew his son would be pleased with that news as well; he was already quite faithful to the little prince.

“Master of the Horse,” Gloucester repeated with shining eyes. “What does he know about those mechanical creatures?”

“Well, he will learn at your side—”

“You, my lord, you can ride real horses!” Gloucester bounded back towards his mother on all fours. “So can I, I’m almost his exact weight! It would be possible, right?”

“You can, but you shouldn’t,” William replied before Anne could say anything. “The body of a Bocca della Verità is designed to run at a speed far greater than any horse could achieve. Besides, I can’t imagine it would be too comfortable.” He bowed his head to lick the prince in between his erect ears.

“You know, on my planet, Your Highness, they would hunt on those very horses,” Marlborough said. “They would ride on in after a fox— do you know that creature, the fox?”

“You mean to tell me that foxes are real as well?” Anne’s eyes widened, matching the awe of her son’s face.

“Yes, but they were nowhere near as cunning as the stories say they are,” Marlborough said with a chuckle. “They would always run, and they were the noisiest animals I’d ever encountered.” Save for your kind, he added silently, though with no malice behind the thought.

“But we are not on your planet, my lord.” William flicked his antennae back.

“Neither are we on yours.”

The spikes on the King’s tail began to shake, but Gloucester seemed to break the spell with an excited bark. “Oh, I want to show you how I’ve been hunting! I- I learned a new trick the other day from your son.” He began to bounce excitedly on his talons, unsteady as they slid across the floor. “I’ve never missed a mouse since.”

So the first thing Marlborough did with his new charge was watch him hunt. He had always hated joining the Asterothiriots when they were hunting, be it tendril-tooth or Defender or Canis magnetar— he could never do anything but watch. Worse than that, he had no idea how to carry himself like the hunters did, so silently and effortlessly across the forest floor without ever alerting their prey. He, though smaller than them, always managed to break a twig or rustle leaves, and the prey would run off before his companions could catch it. It was as if they had a sense he did not have, as if they knew what lay after every corner.

And perhaps, for the tendril-tooths, such was the case. Certainly not for little Gloucester, however. There was a silent understanding among them all that, like William, as a hybrid he would be unable to ever receive visions. He had long passed the age when the powers normally revealed themselves.

Still, his hunting was worthy of praise. Marlborough watched him from his place high in a tree, where he would not disturb Gloucester. The prince was stalking quietly, if a little clumsily, through the plants, keeping his body low to the ground. His tail lashed behind him as he paused and opened his mouth wide to drink in the scent of the air. Curiously enough, he had been born with the tusks of a female member of his species rather than the open, outward teeth of a male, but Marlborough wouldn’t have liked to imagine him with them, anyway.

Gloucester crouched down low, tensing before pouncing forward. Marlborough sat up as the boy leaped in the air, then suddenly his talons fell beneath him awkwardly, eliciting a yelp from him. There was a squeak up ahead, presumably the mouse scurrying away. Gloucester seemed unable to push himself up on his legs to catch it.

“Damn!” Marlborough hissed under his breath. He jumped from the tree and ran over to Gloucester, kneeling down at his side. “Your Highness?”

“I let it get away!” Gloucester growled, his ears flopping to the side. “Forgive me, I lost my balance—”

“There are more mice in the forest than you could ever hope to catch in a lifetime,” Marlborough said. “There’ll be another chance.”

“I will hunt them all!” Gloucester declared suddenly, throwing Marlborough off of him. “You see the King cough all the time, and he’s hailed as one of the best hunters in the galaxy!”

“And so will you be,” Marlborough said. “But he cares little for his health. You must, or your mother will for the rest of your life.”

Gloucester hummed thoughtfully. “Is it bad that I want her to?”

“Trust me, you won’t for much longer.”

“Maybe that is how it works for humans.” He sat back, puffing out his chest and rattling the spikes on his back. “Not I, sir. I will honor and love my mother for as long as I have left.”

The odd phrase sent a chill down Marlborough’s back, but he had no time to reply before he heard steps from up ahead. He tensed for a moment, his hand reaching for his sword, relaxing only when the animal showed its brilliant, delighted face.

“Did you miss a mouse, John?” Godolphin let out a chirp of laughter before he set the strange animal down, larger and with scales as compared to the mice Marlborough had known throughout his youth.

“You know I didn’t,” he answered. Beside him, Gloucester sprung at the mouse’s body, sniffing it so loudly that it was difficult to concentrate on Godolphin’s subsequent words.

“We ought to combine your way of hunting with ours one day,” he said. “You can ride me to flush out the stag-rabbit.”

“I- I have done so once,” Marlborough said hurriedly. “And once was enough, thank you.”

Godolphin cocked his head to the side, and Marlborough remembered too late that his species could smell fear. Though he did not remark upon it, Gloucester did.

“Show me what you did, sir, I can still smell the mouse’s fear!” he cried. “How is this?” He crouched back down in the same manner he had before, his tail wagging with excitement.

Marlborough looked expectantly at Godolphin, but he only laughed and nudged him with his tail. “You must show him. You’ve seen us hunt before.”

“Aye, and picked up nothing.”

“You must not think so.” Godolphin butted his head against his friend’s shoulder. “Just because you cannot join doesn’t mean that you were never there.”

Marlborough hesitated, then stepped forward and caught Gloucester’s tail in the air. “First of all, you already alert your prey, in particular the birds above, that you are here when you move your tail so. They sense a change in the wind even before they hear the whipping about. So keep it stiffly up in the air.”

“Like this?” Gloucester stuck his little tail out, and Marlborough nodded.

“Very good. Besides that, it also helps you keep your balance when you jump. It may not be enough to halt your condition,” he added delicately, “but it never did any harm. Now, also, keep your head up so that your tusks don’t brush along the ground.” He placed his shoe under the prince’s chin and lifted it up. “And your ears erect and still.”

Gloucester winced a little but obeyed. “Then the crouch is perfected?”

“Not yet,” Marlborough said. “Your swiftness is impressive, but you would be swifter still if you raised your body slightly from the ground. You only lower yourself when you are about to pounce.”

“And then?” “Then step forward. Be careful where you put your feet.” He walked past Godolphin and stood some distance away. “Pretend I am the prey.”

Gloucester nodded and began to stalk towards Marlborough. He was very careful, indeed, though he still lurched a little from side to side every time he paused. Marlborough turned to Godolphin, pretending to be distracted.

“A fine mouse you caught there. Did you give it a soldier’s death?”

“What?” Godolphin blurted. “You mean, did I ask God to accept it into Heaven?”

“Of course, so that you may hunt it again in death. Then you’ll have plenty to eat when you get there.” He patted Godolphin on the tail, and the tendril-tooth barked out a laugh.

Just in time, Marlborough looked to the side to see Gloucester leap towards him, throwing him against the ground. He couldn’t help but let out a sharp gasp when he landed, the prince’s weight full on his chest.

“Well done, Highness!” Godolphin said after a moment of Marlborough’s heavy breathing, evidently realizing that he couldn’t speak. “I didn’t even hear you coming.”

“Churchill taught me that pounce,” Gloucester said as he stepped off of Marlborough. “And now his father has taught me the stalking part of it. Thank you, my lord.” He dipped his head for a moment before scrambling up ahead, his tail knocking into a tree when he turned sharply into a clearing.

Godolphin rushed to help Marlborough back up with his horns. “Can you breathe now?”

“Y-Yes, I just- I felt the strength of that pounce,” he managed, resting a hand on his chest. “He’ll be a vicious king.”

“With your help, no doubt.”

They followed Gloucester out into the clearing, where he lifted himself up onto a boulder and lay contentedly. The sun bathed him in red, causing his growing mane to blaze like fire and the perpetual glow of his eyes to dim. His pose was like that of a portrait of the King that Marlborough had seen once or twice, where he lay with his tail curled closely inwards and his gaze fixed upon the viewer, illuminated by a candle beside him.

I hope William IV will be kinder to me, Marlborough thought. The boy was already popular with the people, and he could only imagine that he would continue on that path.

He was startled by a sudden hiss from Godolphin beside him. “Look at him!” he said. “Covered in red!”

“‘Tis only the sun.”

“The mother star is calling to him,” Godolphin went on with wide eyes, ignoring the remark. “At once every Bocca della Verità must see this as well— their heir wading through a sea of his enemies’ blood!”

✭✭✭

The Earl of Portland was now back in France, though he had gone willingly this time, on embassy for his master. Heaven knew how the creature had reacted when he found out he had to return to the place that had caused him so much pain, as Lord Albemarle told it, but at least the heart-eaters now knew exactly what would come from their twisted games. And he would not be made a subject of them any longer.

So it was the said Albemarle, the beautiful Arnold van Keppel, who spent every waking hour at the King’s side. It seemed to content them both, for every time Marlborough saw them together they were purring, though it was Keppel who outdid William in sheer volume.

But that was merely every waking hour; in the unholy hours of the night, Keppel spent time in what should have been his quarters, but were more like a small, yet winding, laboratory where the body parts of robots hung from every surface. They gleamed unnaturally under the fluorescent lights, which were far and few in between, leaving Keppel shrouded in darkness as he worked.

“Do you ever sleep?” Marlborough asked as he entered the room. It always smelled of burning metal here, a foul scent that would give him a headache if he stayed for too long.

“Ah, my lord!” Keppel looked up from his desk, miraculously having abandoned all the robots for tonight in favor of whatever he happened to be writing. “Took you long enough. How was the Duke of Gloucester today?”

“He goes very well in his studies and training,” Marlborough said, “though he oft reminds me of the King with how the sun tempts him to sleep. ‘Tis a curious thing, for there is not a drop of Defender blood in him at all.” He shrugged and leaned back on a table, where a disembodied android’s arm seemed to reach towards him. “But I have seen naught but dedication from him, from the very moment I began as his governor.”

“So you like him.”

“I am not displeased with my post.”

“And you have me to thank for it,” Keppel said, a sly smile growing on his face. “Well, a few others, too. But mostly me. I finally told the King about our history on Forte Solaria.”

Marlborough winced. “Oh. What did he say?”

“It was hilarious, by the stars,” Keppel said hurriedly. “He was so mad— oh, it was kind of hot. But like, mad at you, too.”

“For having saved you?” Marlborough rolled his eyes. He would never please this one!

“Yes! Well, mad that you were the one who did so, anyway.” Keppel laughed. “But it must have done something, because a few days later he made you the governor and a Lord Justice and everything was great again. Right?” His eyes widened slightly. “Things are better now?” “Very much so,” Marlborough said, though he failed to hide the irritation on his face. “But it’s not that easy. You must have told him— I was trained as a soldier there, not a whore!”

“And I was trained as a whore, not a soldier,” Keppel said, stepping up beside Marlborough to swing his hips against him. “Yet look at us now! The Asterothiriots have quite changed our destinies, haven’t they?”

“Not always for the better.”

“Trust me, it’ll only get better from here,” Keppel said, “if you don’t fuck this up. I mean, look, you have a future king in your care! God knows if you’ll live long enough to see him on the throne, but as he grows, I’m sure he’ll find ways to appreciate you. But seriously—” He stepped closer all of a sudden, raising his head so that his gaze was equal upon that of Marlborough. “Do not fuck it up again.”

“I’ll fuck up whatever I think needs fucking up,” Marlborough said, though for once he realized he’d long exhausted his disdain for the King. Whatever would be, would be, and it was all decided under William’s torn and bloodstained claws. He was not malicious, Marlborough decided, just a nearsighted fool.

“As for you, Keppel,” he said, changing the subject, “what do you do in here?”

“Me? I’ve started work on my future bride,” Keppel said with some measure of dismissal, though Marlborough could tell he could hardly contain his excitement. Had he found a match already?

He decided to fall into the trap. “Who is the woman on your mind?”

“Oh, her name is Geertruid and she is as beautiful as I am and endlessly clever,” Keppel blurted. “And very strong, too! I can introduce her to you, actually.” He took Marlborough’s hand and led him to the back of the room, where a large blueprint was pinned to the wall, displaying what would eventually be a full, lovely woman.

“Who is also a robot, of course,” Marlborough muttered. Turning to Keppel, he said, “Are you seriously going to marry her?”

“I hope so,” Keppel said, his eyes shining. “If she falls in love with me once she’s finished. I’ll give her some time, but I really hope she does. She’s going to be perfect.”

“You know half-ass deserves a failure,” Marlborough said. “So I would trust you to make her, as you say, perfect.” At the praise, Keppel grinned. “But that’s not what I was asking. Has a robot ever married a biological Asterothiriot before?”

“No, but why shouldn’t she?” Keppel patted the concept of his wife on the head. “They make devoted partners, much like yourself. See, I thought you could get by that.”

“I could,” Marlborough said. “I just didn’t think you would be so open to the idea considering my Lord Portland. I didn’t like androids before, and now I never will.”

“Oh, but he’s very easy to shut up these days,” Keppel said with a shrug. “I don’t know. I think I could grow to like him, honestly. I think I already have.” He walked over to his desk, where he had left a letter unfinished. “I was just writing to him.”

“You grow so close to him that- that you send him letters?” Marlborough picked up the paper cautiously. Now that was truly unexpected; if Keppel wanted to scold him quickly, he would have sent a message through Portland’s communications system. But a letter meant something else.

“W-Well, it’s not wise to send messages directly to him,” Keppel said, his face beginning to flush. “That’s never secure. Neither are letters, sure, but nobody would think that a robot’s letters are anything of importance.”

“I do hope that the heart-eaters have begged for your forgiveness already,” Marlborough read a passage out loud, “though I know that such humility is below them and their King. They owe you much, however, for though they’ll not say it out loud, you have rid them of a heavy weight on their tails, that of the late King James. Much as they laud him, I am certain that they wanted him gone, too. Still, I know that these are memories that you keep purposely away from your core, so I will stop speaking to you of them and instead remind you of my devotion—”

“Alright, that’s enough! Give it here!” Keppel lunged at Marlborough, who laughed and turned away, holding the letter high above his head to continue reading.

“—and I would that I was there with you, to be at your side before you must face those hated creatures, and tell you that you are always loved—”

“My lord!” Keppel climbed up onto the table, but Marlborough turned around again and clutched the paper closely.

“—as I am sure the Countess with you shall never let you forget. As for myself, I can only say that—”

At this Keppel sunk his teeth into Marlborough’s shoulder, prompting Marlborough to drop the letter with a yelp. Keppel leapt forward and took the letter, placing it back on the desk and glaring at Marlborough. He blushed a deep red, down to his snarling lips.

“I think you miss him,” Marlborough unhelpfully observed as he rubbed at his shoulder.

“You know what I miss, my lord?” Now Keppel smiled. “Your silence. Shut the fuck up.” He turned to sit back down, and Marlborough came up behind him, watching him dip his claw into the ink again.

“I see you mentioned the Countess.”

“So I did. I like her very much.” Keppel didn’t look up.

“Why? Because she takes care of him like you would have, if you were in her place?” Marlborough leaned in. “Did you always know it was impossible, this dream of yours?”

Keppel paused, at last lifting his head. “My lord, there was a time when I thought this here would be impossible for me.” He gestured at the letter with a sad laugh. “And now I write this...long, romantic bullshit, and it fools him. He forgets that I’m not from here, but he’ll never forget what I’ve taken from him.” He sighed. “So, nothing, then, must be impossible. Much less my dreams.”

Marlborough placed his hand in between Keppel’s antennae. Perhaps he had taught that terrified boy more than he had intended to, but what he told weren’t entirely lies, either.

✭✭✭

There was a grunting roar from up ahead, a vicious, but high sound that betrayed the youth of the attacker. Marlborough ducked his head and watched, hidden by the branches above him, but never, he knew, out of scent range for the boys.

The one who had roared was his son, who appeared almost like a full tendril-tooth save for his smaller ears and lack of horns. But he fought perfectly, possibly even better because he knew that he had fewer targets on his body than his pure-blooded counterparts. It seemed to Marlborough that everyday in the army he had seen torn, bloodied ears and chipped horns.

One day, perhaps Gloucester would see such injuries, and even experience a few himself. But for now, he was safe in the knowledge that his fight with John was only pretend.

He took it very seriously, however. He rolled swiftly to the side as John lunged forward, narrowly missing the prince as he landed on the grass. He scrambled back up to meet Gloucester’s claws in the air just before they came down on his head. The two batted at each other for a moment before Gloucester bowed his head, butting it against John’s chest. John cried out as he was flung onto the ground, where Gloucester pounced on him, nipping him in the neck.

“There, I won!” he announced. “If that had been a real fight, you would be dead.”

“Indeed,” Marlborough said, finally coming out of his hiding spot. “And why would that be?”

“Because he butted his head against my chest,” John said. He pushed himself easily out from under Gloucester. “An adult Bocca della Verità has very sharp, very large horns, which, if positioned correctly, could kill a man.”

“Correct,” Marlborough said. “And?”

“And then I bit him,” Gloucester replied. “We have venom in our mouths, so any bite could be fatal, but to the neck it is nearly instant!”

“Very good, the both of you,” Marlborough said, dipping his head towards the prince. “You may also think of your tusks as being especially deadly. Their length is unusual; God knows what it will be when you are king.”

“Oh, then I’ll have long, long tusks, just like the Queen.” Gloucester weaved excitedly about Marlborough, his tail wagging all the while. “I recall she had them even longer than Mama! It scared me at first, but she never bit me once.”

“I never saw her bite anyone,” Marlborough said. He searched the prince’s face for a hint of sorrow, but his eyes only seemed to gleam further with pride.

“If I could be as kind as her,” he said, “yet still command respect— that is all I desire.” He twitched one ear dismissively and sat back. “Alas, I know not how much respect this body of mine commands.”

“But you will grow, Highness!” John twined his tail around Gloucester’s.

“As large as your father and as fierce as your mother,” Marlborough added. He recalled Godolphin’s earlier half-formed vision; indeed, every tendril-tooth had seen the same, including Sarah. She claimed that it was less of a true vision and more of a sensation, a deep, sudden understanding of something no one but her husband and Godolphin had seen. To Marlborough, the matter was incomprehensible.

“John!” There she called him now. He looked up as she rushed towards him, leaving a startled Abigail Hill behind her. She was pretty the same way a dull sculpture was, and any personality she might have had was overshadowed by the presence of Sarah. It was always probable, of course, that she didn’t have one at all.

“What is it, my soul?” He laughed as Sarah stopped beside him, bowing low so that she could look him in the eyes.

“By the stars, you let them play too roughly!” She tapped her sharp tail against his chest. “What will the Princess say if she finds out her son tore a claw or landed too hard on the ground? You know very well how fragile his health is.”

“Ah, but this isn't playing.” Marlborough sat down beside the prince, who jumped back in excitement. “And even if it were, such games are necessary for their development. In the wild, animals learn how to hunt and defend themselves this way.”

“Are we wild animals to you, John?” Sarah asked with a playful growl.

“Why...only you.”

“And I suppose that means you are a domesticated one, aren’t you?” she said. “You could have fooled me when I first saw you.” She sat down beside her son, licking him once on the head. “Well, then, show me what you were doing if it wasn’t playing, Johnny.”

“Nay, Mama, we were training,” John said. “His Highness is already very swift.”

“I’ll get swifter still!” Gloucester jumped onto John’s lashing tail, and John yelped, standing up and kicking a talon out. Gloucester hissed and drew back as the claws hit him in the face, and John turned around to swipe down at his head. It knocked the prince easily to the ground with a grunt.

“Did you see that?” John turned towards Sarah with shining eyes, but something bothered Marlborough in the way that Gloucester had fallen. A mere swipe from a juvenile tendril-tooth had never knocked him down.

“Your Highness,” he said, lifting himself up on his knees to examine the fallen prince beside him, “are you well?”

“Yes, my lord,” Gloucester said. Unexpectedly, he crawled forward, lifting up Marlborough’s hand with his head and then letting it rest upon his mane. “I- I’m dizzy. That’s all.”

Though they nearly matched each other in size, the prince suddenly appeared very small to Marlborough, like a child of Forte Solaria. He was not a true beast yet, after all, like his aunt or grandfather, but still a boy, who had only dreamt of battle. One day, as the vision predicted, he would be the fiercest king this planet would ever know, but for now, he was young, lacking the scent of blood in his mouth.

“Then rest for a little while,” Marlborough said. “And you, Johnny, take care not to hit his head again.”

“I can handle it!” Gloucester cried, trying to stand.

Marlborough shook his head. “Not ‘til you’re older. If we can take care to avoid another migraine, then we must.”

“What kind of prince is felled by a single swipe?” John asked, and Sarah cuffed him behind the ear.

“Shut it!” she hissed. “You’re lucky the Princess wasn’t here. What kind of subject abuses their prince so? It was you who attacked him!”

“I only obliged because he attacked first—”

“Enough of that,” Marlborough cut in. “Sarah, they were training. But you,” he went on, glowering down at his son, “must take care of what words to use before your monarch in the future. You would never say that your opponent was weak just because you were strong.”

John sat up taller, his ears pricking up. “I- I see, Papa.”

“Now, tell him you are sorry.”

Rather than simply apologizing, however, John crawled closer to Gloucester, then fell on his back, exposing his armored stomach. Gloucester dipped his head.

“I found no offense, but you’re forgiven, anyhow.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” John rolled back onto his feet and wagged his tail when he saw his father staring at him.

“By the stars, John, you would have the same look if he had just cut his head off in front of you,” Sarah said. “What is it?”

It was one of the first things he had ever observed when he had first arrived on this planet, and yet he had never gotten used to it, either— their apologies were physical. He recalled seeing the late King James, then Duke of York, falling before his grand brother, asking for forgiveness without words. And how easily it had been granted.

Marlborough shook his head. “Very good, Johnny. You learn quickly.”

His son may have, but as for himself, he knew he never would.

✭✭✭

There were few tendril-tooths that still unsettled Marlborough; even with their unnatural jaws and glowing eyes, he thought he could almost grow to love the species. Besides, it was hard not to love such features when his friends wore them well, when his children were born with the visions of the stars in their eyes and they still loved him with all their power.

And yet one Bocca della Verità he had never understood, though thankfully he was not the only one who felt this way. The Earl of Sunderland was an incomprehensible beast, a creature whose powers of foresight were nearly equal to those of the late Queen, and whose subtle movements confused everybody. When he was pleased, he would shake the spikes on his tail, and when he was angry, his tail would wag madly.

He seemed somewhat partial to Marlborough, however, which so relieved him, as under James’ rule, Sunderland had spoken fondly of the taste of human flesh. He was never the type to ask before snatching something up in his teeth, either, and William didn’t seem to mind the obvious insolence.

Presently Marlborough watched the tendril-tooth eat in front of him, his strange mouth making a mess of the cooked meat. Cooked— why was it cooked? He sat here on a chair too large for him, his eyes aching from having to narrow them against the harsh glow of Sunderland’s gaze, and still he wondered how much monster this monster was.

“I thought your species preferred raw meat,” he said.

“Well, I don’t,” Sunderland said. “I despise a bloody mess on my claws, my lord. But the thrill of the kill is not...lost on me?” He phrased it as a question, for whatever reason, his tendrils curling upwards in a grotesque grin.

“Hunting, as I understand it, is still a messy endeavour,” Marlborough said. Some hunters made it less so, but he had seen how at times the poor prey was so thoroughly dismembered that it would be shameful to bring it into the King’s presence.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Sunderland said. “Not if you kill your prey quickly and cleanly. With our strength, we can always snap the neck rather than tearing out its throat or biting it and leaving it to die later of its infected wounds.” His spikes rattled as he stood from the table. “In short, a death just the way you like it, my lord.”

Did he think he could get his way like this? Marlborough acknowledged his answer with a quick nod, but said nothing.

“Knowing that this food was caught...ethically, as it were, would you not like to have a bite yourself?” Sunderland came up to his side, bowing his head to sniff at Marlborough’s face. “It shames me to think that you are here, without—”

“Please, sir, I already refused once.” Marlborough turned away. “And your shame is only imagined. You know what I came here for.”

“Indeed.” Sunderland drew back. “To refuse me yet another thing— the union of my son and your daughter.”

There he went again, withdrawing into the metaphorical shell that Marlborough had dreaded, and had sought to keep him out of. His ears would relax, his tail would fall limp, every part of him became unreadable until the only emotion you would be able to gauge from him was rage. But there was no way to see how close one was to drawing his ire and venom, so from here on out Marlborough was alone.

“Forgive me, but your son is...” He trailed off. There was no way he could say this kindly.

“I know what my son is,” Sunderland said. “You, however, have said it yourself, many times before— we are still animals, are we not? Uncivilized as compared to the nobility and beauty of the human race.” He reached out to run his claws along a strand of Marlborough’s hair. “I understand why a little one like you would be afraid of seeing your very tame daughter run off with a feral creature such as Charles. But, John,” he breathed, the name sending a shudder through Marlborough, “you deny her what comes naturally to a member of our species.”

“I have denied her nothing,” Marlborough snapped, pushing the invasive talons away. “She has been allowed to grow as if her father were one of you. What I worry about is your son, not her. He is-”

Again Sunderland cut in, his claws coming around Marlborough’s chin to pull him closer until the brightness of his eyes forced the human to close his own. “He is what?”

“He- he only pretends to have inherited your power,” Marlborough said, his hand coming up to grip Sunderland’s wrist as he tried to wrench his head away. Every Asterothiriot, it seemed, would forget their strength when it came to handling him. “What has he seen but his own imagined fortune?”

“Of course, any vision to you must look imagined,” Sunderland said, letting him go. Marlborough fell back, one hand flying up to his neck, where he still felt the sting of the thorn-sharp claws. “Have you ever believed in our powers?”

“I never doubted them,” Marlborough said truthfully. “Nor you. But I am always careful to consider the source.”

“Very well,” Sunderland said. “So you believe in us.”

“Yes.”

“So you must then believe me when I say that I have foreseen a fine wedding, whatever your answer may be,” he went on. “I see you raising my son higher and higher when I am gone. I see that your loyalty to him will not bode well for you nor for your wife.”

“What loyalty?” Marlborough narrowed his eyes. “I know your visions can’t be wrong, but I hesitate to voice what the alternative might be.”

“You think I am lying.”

“There’s no other way to explain it.” Marlborough backed away. “Forgive me, but I know myself better than any vision, and I know that I’d never consent to...this.”

“You try to force your way out of your destiny?” Sunderland barked out a laugh. “You have greatness ahead of you, more than anything you could imagine! If you defy fate now, then when does it end?”

“I never thought you a Calvinist, my lord.”

“Ah, but unlike a Calvinist, I believe that you make your own fortune. Is that not so?” Sunderland dropped down to all fours. “And still the fortune of others. If you obey now, you can become the most powerful human this galaxy will ever see.”

“I don’t see how your son can help me,” Marlborough said. “He has made an enemy of nearly everyone.”

“He’s young,” Sunderland said. “Tell me who didn’t have enemies at his age. And even you now.” He turned away, his tail running under Marlborough’s chin as he did so. “It amuses me that you think you have a choice as a human. If your wife has already resolved on the marriage, then you will obey, either her or fate. But you will obey.”

“If anyone can fight fate, I trust her to do so.” Marlborough shoved Sunderland’s tail away, wincing as the spikes approached his eye. “If your son is truly as in love as you claim he is, then let him prove it to me in time. But I’ll not be shamed nor intimidated by a man who refuses to get blood on his claws even just to feed himself.”

Sunderland stopped, lifting his head, and Marlborough tensed. Was this his anger, then? He swallowed and met the brilliant pink eyes.

Come whatever may, then.

But Sunderland only sighed. “Ah, why should I force fate? You’ll be back here, my lord, whether I wish it or no. And I do.”

“If that be true, then ‘tis not for the same reason,” Marlborough said bitterly. “Is that all? Or do you have something more you wanted to discuss, since my resolution on this is final?”

Sunderland nodded. He sat down, his tail coming around Marlborough’s shoulders and pulling him closer. “I waited to tell you this, and indeed I hesitate to tell you now due to your...defiance of what you know to be true. But the Duke of Gloucester is nearly ten now.”

“That he is,” Marlborough said, though he couldn’t imagine why Sunderland brought the boy up. He had only ever looked upon him with a cold interest, and Marlborough shuddered to think what he already knew of the prince’s future.

“Your wife may have told you this,” Sunderland said, “of the vision all of us shared regarding the prince. We saw nothing that could be taken with either much joy or despair, though, for reasons that escape me, all that I spoke to rejoiced.” He snorted. “It was the most nonsense thing God could have sent us! The prince drenched in blood not his own? Why? He is naught but a child!”

“I was there when the vision was sent,” Marlborough admitted. “And I thought the same. ‘Twas only the sun that shone upon him. That you all read an omen in the stars at that moment meant nothing.”

“I did not say that it meant nothing, my lord, I only said that the meaning it did have was purposely made as confusing as possible.” Sunderland shifted on his claws. “But upon studying what I saw that day in closer detail, and looking even further ahead, I realize now that this omen was not meant for our eyes.”

“I see,” Marlborough lied.

“It was sent to all of us in the hope that one way or another, it would reach you.” Sunderland poked his tail against Marlborough’s cheek. “And so it has.”

“Sir, I- I’m very far removed from this world,” Marlborough said, stepping away and shaking himself. Every touch felt like the prick of a hedgehog’s quill.

“That doesn’t mean that you don’t appear in visions,” Sunderland said, turning to look at him. “I would venture to say that you are the one who appears most frequently in the stars as of late.”

“But a vision meant for me, my lord, that is—”

“Make of it what you will,” Sunderland snapped. “I would have you remember one thing, however.” He lifted his tail and ran his finger across a spike. A dark streak of blue appeared just under the claw, dripping down onto his wrist as he raised his talon up towards Marlborough.

“‘Tis human blood that is as red as the mother star. Not ours.”

✭✭✭

Having had his eyes shut for so long in the past, Marlborough knew well what the approach of certain Asterothiriots sounded like. This one was the easiest, with the sound of scrambling claws, heavy breaths in between— it was the Prince of Denmark.

He looked up and saw the huge Canis magnetar as he entered, licking his whiskers as he sniffed the air. “I heard we were making William’s mask today. I couldn’t miss that!”

Marlborough dipped his head in his direction. “Have you brought your own, Your Highness?”

“Ah- well, yes—” George turned around, his tail wagging slightly at the sight of his wife. She held a mask in her hands, presumably her husband’s.

“Maybe think twice of running up ahead next time,” she laughed, handing him the mask. “William, do you not think it is too soon? Your papa made his own when he was fourteen.”

Gloucester at last looked up from his place at the table. He had splinters of wood buried in his tusks and claws, and his fingers were stained with the ink that he had used to draw his design. Beside him, Bishop Burnet flipped the pages of a large book, showing the boy some of the older, more popular designs that the Canis magnetar typically liked to use for their masks. His tendrils twitched upon the entrance of the Prince and Princess as if he had just smelled something foul.

“No, Mama, the time is just right,” Gloucester replied. “Who in this galaxy has the power to defy the heart-eaters? ‘Tis the magnetar dogs! Bishop Burnet says that Papa’s species can harness their magnetic fields such that they can even control the presence of those ghosts.”

“Naturally, it depends on the person,” Burnet muttered, but Gloucester seemed no less enthusiastic. He held up the wooden mask he had been carving out. Just last year, he had started to learn how to cut and shape wood with his talons, in preparation for this very moment.

The mask, of course, was messy, and looked quite dangerous to wear in Marlborough’s opinion, but both George and Anne seemed delighted. George ran to his side and leaned over the table, his tail wagging so hard it swatted Marlborough in the face.

“Oh, ‘tis very beautiful,” he said. “How will you paint it?”

“I- I want it red and gold,” Gloucester said, his ears flicking back bashfully. “Like my Lord Marlborough’s uniform.”

“Unnatural colors!” George leapt back, nearly colliding with Marlborough in his shock. “Have you given any thought to this beforehand?”

“I can assure you that he has, Your Highness,” Marlborough said. “And he’s convinced that the design is possible. I trust him,” he added, seeing George snap his jaws in the air, “as a hybrid of the Canis magnetar and as a student of the Bishop.”

“Then I do as well,” Anne said. “George, show him your mask.” She flicked her heavy tail at Marlborough, beckoning him closer. “My lord, a word.”

“Yes?” Marlborough looked up at her, standing almost as tall as her father. Her presence, however, relaxed him more than it exhausted him, and she never asked anything unreasonable. At least, not of him, he liked to think. With Sarah was a different matter, but she was happy enough to obey her Princess, no matter the order.

“William is but a hybrid,” she said. “And as of now, he’s had no visions. If God wills it, his powers are only delayed, but...” The spikes on her tail shook slightly. “Our King is a hybrid as well, whose mother was a Bocca della Verità.”

“And he has no such powers,” Marlborough finished.

“Indeed.” Anne gave him a tentative smile. “I thank God for it, but he also lacks the powers of his father. No gift of foresight, nor silk in his wrists...” Her eyes widened. “What if it is the same with my son? If he inherits neither of our powers, what then? We don’t yet know if he has the magnetic field.”

“I believe that as long as he has the same eyes as his father,” Marlborough said, “his powers will show. That is, after all, how the mask binds itself to his face and body.”

“I hope you’re right,” Anne said, glancing at Gloucester. “I wouldn’t like to have lied to him this whole time. I thank you.” She tapped her tail lightly on Marlborough’s shoulder before bounding back towards her son. He was occupied with carving out designs onto the mask, though at times his father had to use his own sharper claws to cut into the wood.

This, too, was beyond Marlborough. He watched the excited boy from some distance away, always having to move this way and that to avoid the wagging tails. It was only when Gloucester looked up at him expectantly that he approached.

“My lord,” he said, “how do you fight the heart-eaters?”

“Well, to that there are many answers—”

“No, my lord, how do you fight them?” Gloucester asked. “You’re a human, with no venom nor visions nor anything. I know you can see them, but they can’t be hurt at all, can they? Not without gamma radiation.”

“No, but there are ways to ward them off,” Marlborough explained. “For that, we need the strength of every Asterothiriot— the tendril-tooths and their visions, the magnetar dogs and their masks, and the Defenders and their hivemind. There are even heart-eaters here who want to help us, who know the weaknesses of their species well.”

“God knows there are few,” Gloucester said ruefully. “So is that how you fight them? By commanding us on the field?”

“When they have enough robots to control, yes. But we rarely fight true heart-eaters on the field.” Marlborough laughed uneasily at the thought. “Their invasions work from within, as they destroy and infect the codes of our devices.” He gestured at one of the computer screens that had taken the place of a window not too long ago, which Burnet used often for his lessons. “From there, they are even more powerful than they would be if we fought them conventionally.”

“The Sun King can eat stars, though,” Gloucester said. His tail twitched nervously. “Could he do that with our planet?”

“Oh, could he?” George’s ears pricked up.

“Of course not, you two.” Anne rolled her eyes. “There is enough nuclear energy on this planet to kill him if the foolish idea ever came to him.”

Marlborough nodded. “The most powerful repellent, after gamma radiation, is your magnetic field. So if you finish this...” He tapped the mask that Gloucester held. “You will have nothing to fear.”

“Indeed, they will fear me in turn,” Gloucester said, his eyes glittering. “The moment that I put this on, they know to hail William IV!” He placed his mask over his eyes with a fierce growl.

Though Marlborough had expected the transformation, it was still always a surprise to see a Canis magnetar activate its field. Gloucester bowed his head, his claws keeping the mask held up to his face as something like a halo appeared around his head, glowing for a moment before disappearing.

“Oh, thank God,” Anne breathed.

But her relief only lasted for so long, as Gloucester suddenly dug his claws yet deeper into the mask. His other hand reached out to grip the table. A shudder ran from his ears to the tip of his tail, and then he tossed his head back with a shriek.

“William!” Anne instantly swung her tail around him and brought him closer. “What is it? Does it hurt?”

It must have, Marlborough realized, for he saw that the prince’s tail was growing dusky brown fur in place of its spikes, as were his ears, though they began to flop over as if the weight were too much for them. Much like the ears upon his father’s head.

“Of course!” Burnet hissed, coming up around Gloucester. “This child appears to be nearly a pure-blooded Bocca della Verità. To put on a mask and change so drastically could very possibly break some bones.”

“Then we must stop it at once,” Anne said. She licked anxiously at her son’s face as he convulsed in her arms, his cries sounding less human to Marlborough by the moment.

“Your Highness,” Burnet said, turning to George. “You may stop this by using your own magnetic field. It is stronger than his and will allow you to pull the mask off in the midst of the transformation.”

“I- I was thinking of it,” George said hastily. He placed his mask on his face, the same halo appearing around his head for a moment. His fur became bushier and caused him to appear much larger. He curled his lip back, revealing the sharper canines and extra teeth that grew there. He fell forward with a huff and took Gloucester in his paws.

The air felt heavier around Marlborough as he observed them, as George buried his teeth into Gloucester’s mask and began to pry it off. It was surely the conflict of the two fields, binding father and son together, though Marlborough knew that there was nowhere else George would rather be, anyway.

Poor child, he thought. Anne had been right to worry; if this was to be the transformation every time, Gloucester would never inherit his father’s powers, either.

Hail William IV. Marlborough repeated the phrase to himself. He heard the prince fall silent at last, and he looked up, realizing that the beat of his heart had become almost painful.

“How is he?” he asked, stepping closer.

Gloucester rested in his father’s arms, his whole body shaking as he sniffed, wiping futilely at the tears on his face. Anne lapped soothingly at his head, squeezing his hand in her own. The boy glanced up at Marlborough and swallowed.

“If I shall inherit the kingdoms, then England is in danger, my lord,” he whispered.

“Never,” Marlborough answered in the same volume. “The King has no such powers, either, and yet the planet remains. I am a mere human, but I remain.”

“And how? How have you done it?”

At this Marlborough dropped his gaze to the floor with a rueful smile. “That, Your Highness,” he said, “I cannot say.”

✭✭✭

The Duke of Gloucester recovered well, for the wounds left afterwards were only imaginary. The King had seemed rather disappointed in his letters, though not as much in the boy as he was with Anne, for reasons Marlborough couldn’t fathom.

But he was pleased enough with everything else he had heard of Gloucester’s education, and so Marlborough kept him on the same path as before. He watched him hunt and fight from afar, listened to the intensity of Burnet’s lessons from behind the door, wore the discarded mask as Gloucester instructed, for the simple joy of seeing it used. If no otherworldly powers could affect Marlborough, then he didn’t see why he couldn’t indulge the prince on occasion.

What was curious to him was when Gloucester would drill his little army of tendril-tooth boys, fierce creatures that appeared more aggressive to Marlborough than their adult counterparts. He thought they might have liked him, but they were rather too rough and too curious for his tastes. They would nip at his fingers, sniff him everywhere, and knock him over with enthusiastic pounces, very unlike the usual care that his son would show him.

They liked him enough so that Gloucester began to use him as a sort of reward— obey me well, he said, and the human is all yours for the rest of the night. Marlborough didn’t mind this so much, for all they demanded was tales of the human galaxies and the occasional play-fight with him. What he minded more was a hint of the prince’s grandfather whenever he made such deals, and he thought again and again of what Sunderland had said to him.

Human blood is red. It had been so long since he had cared to acknowledge the scars on his thighs every time he dressed, and yet now they seemed to sting all over again. As red as the mother star.

And tendril-tooth blood is blue. As blue as the sea.

His eyes, as blue as the sea.

He was too relieved to forget this when he watched the boys train, and afterwards when he sat on the grass with them after a successful hunt. Gloucester would speak of whatever the imagined victory of the day had won them before curling up beside Marlborough, resting his head on his lap with his tail thumping the ground. He said that he liked the human’s hands, that they were softer than even his father’s paws.

It was during one of these sunsets that Gloucester told Marlborough his intention to take his little troop scouting elsewhere, where they could get used to fighting in a different environment and tasting unfamiliar scents. Upon overhearing this, John shot upwards and bounded towards them.

“Will we go somewhere, Your Highness?” he asked. He was now taller than his father, and attempted to be just as stern, but the way he seemed ready to pounce at everything that moved did not convince Marlborough just yet.

“You nosy boy, you weren’t meant to hear,” he scolded him playfully, pushing back on his son’s teeth as he stepped closer. “Sit down, if you must, since you’re already here.”

John obeyed, and Gloucester lifted his head from Marlborough’s lap. “To answer your question, yes, Churchill, we shall. I know not where, though,” he added, glancing back at his governor.

“I know of a place,” Marlborough said thoughtfully. “There is an abandoned nuclear power plant not far off from here. We mustn’t go in, but there are many discarded robot parts around the place that will make it difficult to smell anything natural. ‘Tis hard to battle in such conditions, but I have done it, and so you must learn, as well.”

“A power plant?” Gloucester tilted his head to the side. “Pray tell, why would we ever abandon such a source?”

“Long before your existence was ever thought of, the planet was in civil war,” Marlborough explained. “Which, I am sure, the Bishop has taken care to teach you.” He paused as Gloucester nodded, then continued. “Many power plants were destroyed in the process, or rendered useless by tampering or error or simply deemed unsafe after the chaos. This particular plant had nothing wrong with it, but the removal of certain software and securities in place made it susceptible to heart-eater attacks.”

“Was France not our ally then?” John asked.

“Indeed, but there are some places where we never want them to go,” Marlborough said. “So we left it as it was and it became something of a mass grave for old or defective robots.”

“So no one will bother us there,” Gloucester said, sitting up. “I have decided. We shall go there!” He wagged the tip of his tail. “But when?”

“Nay, must you make a decision now?” Marlborough laughed. He reached out to ruffle the growing mane. “I shall make you a deal, Your Highness. Your birthday comes soon, so you mustn’t wait for long— following it, I will take you there myself, just you, so you can see if it suits your purposes.”

“I doubt that it will not, my lord,” Gloucester said. “I trust you.”

“Oh, ‘tis a nasty place,” Marlborough said. “You might be surprised.”

Indeed, the prince didn’t have to wait long at all, for he was eleven years old just the following month. He was becoming a fine creature, as obstinate as his mother. He already showed, too, the beauty that befit the Stuarts, though his was less ominous and more sweet, innocent.

Still, his youth was shown more clearly to Marlborough that night, when he was surrounded by his adoring family and the curious courtiers, who all so dwarfed the prince with their magnificent horns and overgrown claws. If only William was there, to see how graciously Gloucester behaved towards them. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two.

But, as for himself, Marlborough was glad to be rid of William for the moment. Nearly every celebration at court before this had him be something of a decoration, listening in on every conversation but never welcomed by the King. Those nights were long, exhausting him more than any battle could. How strange it was to be so fearful of his own silence.

No, tonight the art was in the sky. The fireworks startled Gloucester at first, the spikes on his tail standing straight up as he ducked behind his father, but after a while he watched them with full attention. His wide, blank eyes reflected the stars.

“If hydrogen bombs were so beautiful,” he breathed, “we would all be dead, and I would blame no one.”

Afterwards, he was brought inside to dine with his guests; he was particularly proud of being the one who fed them with some of the larger animals he had caught. Marlborough watched them eat from a distance, having already done the same himself. The scent of blood reached him even from that distance.

“See him now,” Sunderland said as he came up beside him, nudging him with his nose. “The little prince so covered in red as we saw him then.”

Marlborough swallowed. Indeed, Gloucester’s face was stained with the blood of his food, though not to the concerning degree Marlborough might have imagined. Was that all the vision meant? That the prince would be as skilled a hunter as his uncle?

“Watch closely over him tonight.” Sunderland bowed his head. “For a deadly, unseen virus spreads through our planet like fire. I’d not like the King to be so incapacitated by another spell of that excessive grief of his.”

“What are you saying?” Marlborough’s eyes widened with outrage and bewilderment as he turned to face Sunderland. “Will- will he fall ill? Shall I take him somewhere?”

“I cannot tell you what to do, can I?” The tendril-tooth rattled the spikes on his tail and turned away. “No one can.”

A sickness that hit the prince hard enough very well had the strength to kill him; he was not yet as strong as every other boy his age. But Marlborough couldn’t imagine how or why it should happen here, when he was so happy and blissfully safe from all danger. He knew, though, that he also couldn’t afford to be blinded by the circumstances. Sickness came whenever it liked.

After the dinner he watched the Asterothiriots dance with growing unease, watching Gloucester as he weaved through the talons of dozens of guests around him. He seemed well enough, and yet—

“John, what are you doing?” Sarah bent over to nudge his cheek with her head. “You look ill. I told you that you don’t have to be here when we eat—”

“No, not that,” her husband said, looking away with a sigh. “Do you remember the vision your species had, but two years ago? About the prince.”

“Yes,” Sarah said. “Why do you think of it now?”

Marlborough hesitated. “Sunderland warned me that- that there is a virus of some sort— I know not what it is, but he seemed to tell me that the prince’s life is at risk because of it. Someone might carry it here...” He looked around. “Have you been warned of anything as of late?”

“Nothing about His Highness,” Sarah said, her ears twitching in surprise. “Nor have I heard anyone say a thing. Oh!” She straightened up. “The Princess did tell me before the fireworks began that she felt the strangest thing for a moment, that the aura of a dreadful vision had swept over her, but had disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. She knew not what it meant.”

“Well, then.” Marlborough glanced at Gloucester again. “I’d like to take him far away from here.”

“Wise,” Sarah said, “but Heaven knows if the Princess Anne will allow an end to the celebrations so early.”

“The warning came from Sunderland, so she must have reason to believe it,” Marlborough said. “I think she will.”

“Very well, then I shall tell her.” Sarah looked around for a moment before ducking to kiss her husband on the head. “It might displease her now, but she’ll be grateful later. You might have saved his life.”

“I hope I have,” Marlborough replied with another anxious glance at Gloucester. He was starting to feel dizzy, his head heavy. Perhaps she was right and the scent of the blood had gotten to him. He needed to get both himself and the prince out of here.

“Oh, John.” Sarah reached down to run her claws through his hair, her tail twining around his body. “Truly, what is it? I’ve never seen you worry like this, not since- since his reign. Or are you the one who is ill?” She dropped her hand down to touch it lightly against his cheek.

“N-No, my love, I only—” He leaned into the touch and sighed again. “I would that I had visions like yours. That I may protect everyone who is in need of it.”

“But look at you!” Sarah stepped back. “You never know what lies ahead of you, yet you carry on as if you did. Men would gouge out their all-seeing eyes for a fraction of your ability.” She brought his hand up to her lips, kissing it gently as she glanced to the side. “I must go speak to the Princess now. Be safe.”

She left him there alone, his body shaking slightly, feeling as exposed as if he were made to be artwork, after all. Now this was embarrassing; what a fool he was, being so frightened by something that may or may not happen, when all he had ever known was to be fearless.

Surely they all smelled what he had been told was the sickening scent of fear, but, once again, it was only Gloucester who addressed it. He trotted merrily over to Marlborough with his tail wagging.

“My lord! Does this not please you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Marlborough let out in a rush. “Yes, but it- it would please me more if— if Your Highness would remember how I promised that we would scout out the nuclear power plant after your birthday.” He bowed his head a little. “Now we shall.”

“Oh, can we? Right now?” Gloucester blinked in surprise. “Should I not tell my mama first, I’m sure—”

“I am your governor, and I say ‘tis very well,” Marlborough said. He took Gloucester’s hand in his own. “Think of this as an assessment. I will see how you track, how you hunt, perhaps even how you fight a real battle if we come across a larger animal. God willing, we shall not,” he added hastily upon seeing Gloucester lash his tail, “but it is now or never. You can take your troop there tomorrow if all goes well.”

“Tomorrow,” Gloucester repeated. He looked back at his mother, then shrugged his shoulders as if he were relieving some tension from them. “Very well. Let us go. Papa shall entertain them, he always does.”

They both waited until they were out of everyone’s sight, then hurried out while Sunderland was still the only one who watched them. Marlborough didn’t think too much about it; after all, the warning had come from him.

“‘Tis a strange time to leave,” Gloucester said as he bounded out under the stars, shaking himself. “Is something wrong, my lord? Why must we be so discreet?”

Clever boy. Marlborough fixed his gaze up ahead as he answered.

“No, but- but there might be. Worry not, however, I think we shall outrun it.”

“But if something is wrong, will my mama be safe?” Gloucester glanced behind him, then stopped in his tracks. “I will only go if you promise me she will be safe, and Papa, too.”

“With all my heart, I do swear it.” Marlborough bowed low. He prayed it would convince the prince, or he would be forced to tell him of Sunderland’s warning. And what good would it be to frighten Gloucester?

“Well...I did say that I trusted you.” Gloucester started walking again, and Marlborough followed him, relieved. “How far is this place, my lord?”

“We must go through your hunting grounds,” Marlborough said. “But we must be careful, the nocturnal beasts are more like to attack than their diurnal counterparts.”

“I will defeat them all,” Gloucester declared.

“I trust that you can, but ‘tis better to avoid an unnecessary fight.”

One moon was full, and two others had nearly caught up to it, so the prince’s eyes were thankfully not the only lanterns that lit their path. This time he seemed not at all interested in stealth as he crashed through the bushes and knocked his tail against the trees, likely scaring away any animals that may have been ahead. It must have been intentional.

It was a while before Gloucester spoke again, when the full moon had creeped ever higher above them. “I- I cannot smell as well here. Are we almost there?”

“We must be,” Marlborough said. By now he was starting to regret this; it was too dark and too late for someone the prince’s age to be out here. He might have retired to bed instead, and hide away safely under his covers, rather than run so far into unfamiliar territory like a common spy with a human as his only protection. The most extraordinary human this galaxy had ever seen, to be sure, but a human nonetheless.

You could have done this tomorrow, he scolded himself. But they were here now, and the prince seemed determined to press on.

“I smell water nearby,” Gloucester announced after another long silence. “There is something about it, though...”

“There’s an old pond here that the tendril-tooths dug out early on,” Marlborough said, remembering just in time before Gloucester ran up ahead to see it. “At first it was clean, but it has become such a mess of parts and oil that I advise you not to approach it. Even touching it would be dangerous— the water is conductive and it has electrical currents running through it that could burn you.” He reached out to pull back on Gloucester’s tail. “So stay away from it.”

“Oh, I promise I shall! Hurry, now, I’d not like our scents to be tracked here.” Gloucester scurried under the branches, and Marlborough followed him, hearing the flutter of a startled Cryptovolans above.

They came to the said pond, surrounded by hills of robot endoskeletons and armor alike, broken limbs and spent batteries piled together and leaking their contents into the water. The moon shone unnaturally off of the metal, which reached for what looked like dozens of tail-lengths around. If the trees grew here, Marlborough would say that they had almost become part of the natural order of things, but that was not the case.

“I like it here,” Gloucester said beside him, stalking forward on all fours. “There’s a lot of space to fight. And here, too, an unwitting enemy could fall.” He gestured to the pond with his tail. “I suppose the best point would be from one of the hills, right?”

“Yes, but don’t—”

Gloucester began to climb up the many robot parts, kicking down eyeballs and fingers behind him. “You, my lord, come up here! I’ll try to beat you back. My theory is that once you’ve made it all the way up, there is nothing that can take you from this spot.”

“Why is that?” Marlborough asked. He began to climb up the same hill that Gloucester had perched upon.

“Because of this!” Gloucester turned around and kicked at the parts underneath his talons. A heavy arm tumbled down towards Marlborough, causing the bolts he stood on to slide under his feet and nearly knock him over. He jumped off before the arm could reach him, wincing at the thump it made as it landed at its final resting place on the ground. That would have hurt.

“Very good,” Marlborough called up to him. “What moves should you use from such a position?”

“A high strike!” Gloucester demonstrated it by swiping his claws downwards through the air. “Right on their faces will make them run! But if they get closer, then I can kick them with the sickle-claw, like horses do.” He bent over on his arms and kicked out both legs behind him.

“Is that what we shall practice tomorrow?”

“Yes, that is—” Gloucester paused, his ears pricking up. “Oh, I can see the power plant from here!” He began to jump back towards the ground, but his claws slid out under him and caused him to practically roll down the hill instead. He seemed unaffected as he got back up, however, if a little shaky around his tail and legs. “May we go see?”

“I don’t consider it safe,” Marlborough said. He wondered if it was high time to return yet; the body parts here unnerved him more than he cared to admit. “Are you well, Your Highness?”

“Yes, so we should go!” Gloucester hopped from side to side like an excited dog. “Please, my lord, you know that I’ve always listened to you. I’ll stay right beside you.”

“Very well,” Marlborough sighed. “But if we go see it now, then we must go back immediately after. We’ve spent too long here already.”

“By the stars, we just got here! Come, come, then!” Gloucester nudged him forward, and Marlborough laughed and obeyed his prince.

It was a longer walk than he had anticipated, and he began to notice Gloucester yawning on the way there. But he seemed to shake off all exhaustion when they arrived at the crumbling building.

“It looks endless,” he said, looking from left to right. “And- and I smell water here, too, even over everything.” He tilted his head up and opened his mouth as if he were tasting the air. “‘Tis a very strong scent.”

“Nuclear energy uses water, of course,” Marlborough said. “Both to cool the fuel rods, and to store them. But I don’t see why there should still be any of it in use here.” He stepped through the large, shattered glass doors, Gloucester following close behind, and stifled a gasp upon seeing the abandoned reactor just outside the building. It obscured the sky that would have been so splendidly visible above the collapsed walls and ceiling, and just beyond it lay the even larger cooling tower.

“Would you look at that?” Gloucester ran up the noisy metal stairs that spiralled upwards, all the way to the top of the building. “It looks glorious from up here!”

“Get down, Your Highness, you swore you would be with me!” Marlborough called after him. “And who knows how well these stairs can hold you up.” He sounded more anxious than he intended, but such were his true feelings. This place was not meant to be disturbed, he could sense it.

“The stairs continue downwards!” Gloucester cried as he hurried down the steps, Marlborough’s heart skipping a beat every time he heard the boy’s talons slide for too long. “I see something down there. Can we go?”

“Very well, but then we must go back!” Marlborough joined him on the stairs, descending to the next floor, then the next, and the next.

The prince stopped abruptly in front of him, and Marlborough nearly stumbled over him. He was about to scold him, but he found himself silenced in awe when he saw the massive pool glowing in front of them. It seemed so large that it could have stored a couple of the King’s departing ships.

“So this is where it came from,” Gloucester said. He hopped onto the floor, slipping against the metal grating. Marlborough ran hastily after him. “What is this, my lord?”

“The spent fuel pool,” Marlborough answered. “I would have thought they had emptied it before they abandoned it.” He leaned over the railing, narrowing his eyes against his reflection before looking up again. There was a control station just on the other side of the pool, though the numerous screens were cracked and showed nothing but the radiation in the water.

With a pang of deep, primal fear, he realized there was a peculiar sound still coming from the station. The water was still, and thus silent, but over everything there was a sound like a dying animal, a high-pitched, brief little groan that repeated every five seconds or so. Were they the death knells of the machine?

“I don’t like it here,” he confessed to the prince, who was currently trying to reach the water with his talons. Marlborough sighed and pulled him back. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I—” Gloucester paused. “Do you hear that? Is it coming from the water?” He turned in the direction of the control station. “I would have heard it from the other floor. Has it only just started?”

“It comes from there.” Marlborough nodded at the cracked screens. “Did you truly not hear it before?”

“No.” Gloucester shook his head. “It sounds...like something not of this planet.”

The sound went on, impossible to make sense of in Marlborough’s mind. He might have called it beeping if it had not sounded so biological. He might have called it a humming if it did not stop so often.

“Are you ready to leave now?” he asked, turning to Gloucester.

“I- I suppose.” The prince kept his gaze on the screens, however, moving only when Marlborough nudged his shoulder. “My lord, I- there is something dripping from the cracks.”

“What?” Marlborough looked up, narrowing his eyes. He couldn’t see it from here, but he guessed that Gloucester had a sharper gaze. “How—”

“Your Highness!” A booming voice echoed throughout the room, causing even the water to ripple slightly. Marlborough instantly brought Gloucester in closer as the screens began to flicker on, making clear effort through the static and colorful, messy lines. He knew what this was— nay, who this was.

The screens buzzed and buzzed until they suddenly stopped, flashing black before dozens of red eyes appeared all over them. They blinked down at Marlborough and the prince.

“Your Majesty,” Marlborough greeted him dryly in French, bowing low.

“Your Majesty?” Gloucester repeated with a squeak.

“Oh, little prince,” King Louis said, his eyes appearing to soften. “What an offering you bring me, Monsieur Churchill. Yourself, the human who has been such a thorn in my side...and the Protestant heir.” A grin began to slowly spread across the bottom of the screen.

“He will leave now. Both of us will.” Marlborough stood up taller. “And you can forget that you saw us here. There is a peace, and I trust you will not violate it.”

“Ah, but how often I have waited for a chance such as this!” Louis cried. “Must you leave so soon? I have been dying to meet this illustrious Duke of Gloucester.” His multiple gazes darted rapidly around the room. “Have you not brought your son?”

“No,” Marlborough said. “And I never will. Good night, Your Majesty.” He turned around and began to lead the astonished Gloucester up the stairs, only for a couple of rusted nails to fall down the steps towards them. Marlborough then caught sight of a strange, misshapen android dragging itself towards them with its four arms down the stairs, complete with an old, tangled wig and a partially revealed endoskeleton. Its sharp teeth went nearly all the way around its head, and its jaws seemed to be repeated down at its belly, out of which a metal tongue dangled and hit the stairs.

It lifted its faceless head, a mess of wires with nothing recognizable save for the mouth. Marlborough backed away as the robot stood upright on its twisted legs, lurching forward in Gloucester’s direction. Gloucester yelped and hid behind Marlborough, the spikes on his tail shaking fearfully.

“What’s the matter, prince? Were you not excited to challenge me before?” The King’s voice came from both the screens and the robot, which moved the mouth on its stomach rather than the one on its face. “You want to be like him, do you not? William. My William!” His voice was becoming garbled by echoing, distorted laughs, but they stopped abruptly when he next spoke. “Once upon a time, I had him.”

“So I’ve heard,” Gloucester said with a nervous growl. “But you’ll not have me, sir.” He glanced at Marlborough, who was glaring at the screens. There was no way to fight him through those, as it seemed they were no longer functional and only served as a vessel for Louis. No, there had to be another way. Another answer that tempted him.

“Oh, Your Highness.” The robot took another step towards Gloucester. “There has never been anything in this galaxy that I wanted that I couldn’t have. Of course,” he added with a low hiss, “that doesn’t mean that your human friend here has not tried to stop me. It will be such a relief to finally have that body for myself and see what my dear brother James saw in it.”

“What is he talking about?” Gloucester bared his teeth and let out a ferocious bark. “You leave us alone! It is as my lord said; there is a peace!”

“Peace!” Louis scoffed, letting out a hideous laugh through the robot. “Tales for children. Why, should I let both of you live just to challenge me again later? There will be no peace in the universe until I rule it.” He raised the claws of the robot, wickedly curving towards the sky much like the sickle-claw of the tendril-tooths.

“Your Highness, I need you to get as far away from here as possible,” Marlborough said urgently, turning to Gloucester.

“But you-”

“Please, do not be afraid for me.” Marlborough pushed the hair from the prince’s face. “You can’t fight a heart-eater yet. When we return, I’ll teach you. But you must run, as far as you can, and never look back. There are robots up there he might be able to take control of, so you must take care to be especially swift.”

“I- I don’t—” Gloucester hesitated, and in that moment the robot lunged at him, snapping its jaws in the air right by the prince. Gloucester cried out and scurried to the side as Louis batted at his waving tail, trying to follow him up the stairs. For all the limbs the robot had, however, it seemed to have trouble crawling up them.

“Your quarrel is with me, Louis!” Marlborough spat at the screens once the prince had disappeared. “Leave the damn boy alone.”

The robot turned its great head towards him. “So it is. But it is best to kill a friend before he becomes an enemy, is that not so? You would know.”

“I’ve never once thought of killing a child,” Marlborough said. He slipped off his coat as the words rang in his head.

Killing a child. Killing a child. A deadly, unseen virus.

Sunderland and his cryptic prophecies! Virus, indeed, these heart-eaters as they devoured strings of code— but what deceit that monster played with. Had he intended to lead Marlborough to this very moment?

“What are you doing, you infernal human?” Louis’ eyes disappeared from the screen, being replaced by a huge, taunting grin. “Come to strip for me like you did for King James?”

No matter. Marlborough glared back at him as he kicked off his shoes. He was out of practice here, but at least it wouldn’t be the radiation that killed him, if anything did. He took a few deep breaths, and with the last one, the longest, he leaned over the railing and dove into the pool.

Distantly he was aware of Louis’ bewildered hisses above the surface, but he ignored them and swam deeper, fighting against the urging of the water to push him back up again and his own treacherous shaking. Though he kept his eyes shut, he tried to remember how the pool had looked before he had jumped in. The glowing had come from the very bottom, where the spent fuel rods were kept. As long as he could reach the bottom, he could find them.

He began to feel the weight of the water on him at last, pushing him down further. His ears, too, began to feel the pressure, so he lifted a hand and held his nostrils shut, attempting to exhale through them. He realized he had severely underestimated how long this would take, but at least Gloucester would have more time to get away.

He stopped when his hand hit something hard, and he could see the blue glow through his eyelids. He reached out and felt along the solid— yes, here was a rod, many of them. Perhaps there was a smaller one, though, like the ones that were used in robots rather than reactors. These were much too large to carry. He swam to the side, feeling along the rods until he came to one that ended rather abruptly. He pulled on it to break it free from the rod assembly, stifling a hiss of pain at the heat on his hands. At the very least, he knew he wouldn’t freeze here.

The rod seemed to be light enough. He pushed himself back up and began to ascend, though it was made difficult by the continual sinking of the rod in his hand. He couldn’t go up too quickly, he knew, but he only had so much time.

Oh, Your Highness, you must be very, very far away from here. He began to exhale slightly upon feeling the pressure begin to ease, and finally gasped as he threw his head out of the water, his eyes flying open.

He was met with the robot glaring down at him just over the railing, reaching out with its claws as Marlborough surfaced. They hooked onto his hair, but he merely wrenched his head away and swung as hard as he could against the robot’s face with the rod.

There was a true, inhuman shriek from Louis as he fell back, his hand coming up to hold the head that had nearly been knocked off his neck. “What- but- but how—?!” he snarled, the screens going fully red and illuminating the whole room. “I’ve heard the rumors, but you are a mere human!”

Marlborough dragged himself out of the pool, the rod clanging against the railing as he climbed over it. “Well, on the planet where I was born,” he began with what he knew was a nasty smile, “we have long learned the concept of survival of the fittest. Generations of nuclear warfare have created millions of humans like me, who don’t give a flying fuck about what you send in those fancy-ass IGBMs!” He raised the rod high above him, but the robot jumped out of the way before he could hit its face again.

“So you think you’re clever, hah?” Louis barked. “I may feel all the pain, but you can’t kill me from in here.”

“Killing two kings would be quite a feat for me,” Marlborough said. “Even I would not dare, Your Majesty.”

“‘Tis rather bold of you to take credit for that great king’s death.” The robot backed away with another loud hiss. “Did you send us Lord Portland for that reason? Just to see the Asterothiriot who raised you so high be brought so low?” It dropped down on all six of its limbs, its tongue screeching as it dragged along the floor.

“Do you think I owe him everything for that?”

“Why, yes, that is how all of this works.” Louis raised the hindquarters of the robot and then leapt forward. Marlborough ducked low and tried to roll to the side, but the teeth came down on one of his legs before he could do so.

“Ah—!” He tried to stifle any subsequent sound from his mouth as the robot shook the limb fiercely in its jaws, still speaking as it did so.

“Do you truly hold grudges for so long?” he asked. “Oh, what did he do to you? Gave you everything that you have today? And all he asked was that you serve him like a proper human should.” He tore his head to the side, and Marlborough tossed his head back with a brief scream. The claws came up to pin one of his arms to the side, the one that held the rod. “Now, give me that.”

“No!” Marlborough sat up swiftly, ripping his arm out from under the heavy claws. He could tell he had accidentally drawn blood, and lots of it, but he was too angry to care for pain at the moment. He brought the rod down on Louis’ head again, and again, and again, hitting him harder with each time. It caused the jaws to close more securely around his leg, but once again, he couldn’t care less.

“Damned human—! Enough!” Louis at last drew away from his leg, and Marlborough took the chance to stand, though he felt as if his leg would shatter under him as he did so. The robot sat up, clawing at his waist like a lion catching its prey from behind. Marlborough then turned around and drove the rod straight through the wires on its head.

It was the King’s turn to scream, again, and Marlborough pulled the rod out with some effort, kicking the robot away with his good leg. As its head landed on the ground, Marlborough brought the rod back down into it, pinning it there. Louis screeched and thrashed, his claws digging into Marlborough’s arms, until at last he began to fall still, indeed like the dying animal he had sounded like when they had arrived.

“I never meant for Portland to kill James,” Marlborough snapped. “Let it be known that there are no favors owed simply because he did. I made my own fortune then, like I made it before, and I shall make it forever after!” He tore the rod back out and began to slam it relentlessly against the robot’s entire body instead, tears coming to his eyes as he did so. “And thus I killed him!”

The robot fell limp, and Marlborough looked up just in time to see Louis retreating into his screen, his physical form flying fearfully through the air. He glanced back in horror as Marlborough swung the rod out towards the control station, throwing it with all his strength against the middle screen. It landed just where he had aimed, the end of it sticking straight out of the center and shattering the rest of the screen.

“No one will ever harm that boy!” Marlborough roared after the fleeing King, who hissed and backed away from the screen, his ghostly, monstrous body glitching in and out of existence itself with the radiation that surrounded him. “Do you hear me, Your Majesty? Leave, or you will watch me dive back into this pool here, and this time I’ll bring a rod to kill you.”

Louis flicked what were currently his four ears back, all one hundred of his eyes widening. “You are a fool, Churchill,” he breathed, and then fled up the stairs in the form of a Forte Solarian stag.

Fool? Fool yourself. Marlborough leaned back on the railing as he slipped his shoes back on, drawing his coat about himself. The blood running out of him was warm, but it still caused him to shudder as it leaked through his wet clothes. He had to get back, with Gloucester safely at his side.

Ah, of course, he had to follow Gloucester. He began to climb laboriously up the stairs, wincing at the intensifying stinging in his calf. The wound wasn’t very deep, but nowhere near shallow, either.

He limped outside, into the woods, a chill running down his spine when he saw just how dark it was without little Gloucester’s eyes. He reached one hand out and began to follow the moonlight until he could see the gleam of the abandoned robot parts up ahead. Good; from there, he knew where he was going.

“Marlborough!” His heart sank when he heard the youthful voice cry out. “Oh, you’re alive!”

“You- you were not—” Marlborough gasped as Gloucester ran into his arms, his tail coiling around the human’s body.

“Pray, forgive me, but what kind of general would I be if I abandoned one of our best men?” Gloucester gave him a hopeful smile. “And I was right not to. You reek of blood. Come, we need to get you back quickly.” He nudged Marlborough on the back with his horns.

“You were supposed to run,” Marlborough said, though too stunned to sound angry. “How- how are you feeling?”

“Dizzy, as always,” Gloucester laughed. “But you know that isn’t strange for me. Why?” He glanced down at the pond as they walked past it, twitching his ear at his reflection as if in greeting.

“Then I am not the only one who needs to get back,” Marlborough whispered. He leaned against Gloucester. They had lived, but for how long, he didn’t know.

And then came the hated sound again, right behind them. The hum, or the beep, or the squeal, whatever it was. Marlborough had already learned to despise it.

Gloucester froze beside him, and they both turned around, facing the pond again. There was a familiar red glow emitting from it, a grin forming across the surface of the water.

Louis can attack here as well, he remembered, seeing the sparks fly around the edges of the pond. Oh, yes, now he knew what a fool he had been after all, to bring Gloucester here alone, where the heart-eaters loved to rest.

“Oh, moons above!” Gloucester yelped, turning around to run. Marlborough tried to follow, but he felt something cling onto his wounded leg, something large and nearly burning him with its heat. He turned around and saw Louis crawling out of the pond with those wide smiles of his, gripping onto Marlborough and Gloucester with a singular, large hand.

“Ah, now, be not so hasty,” Louis purred as he brought the two of them closer to his face like a curious boy to an insect. “Especially you, Churchill.” He plucked Marlborough out of his fist with another hand, gripping onto his hair and eliciting a pained hiss out of him. “Sweet doll, you deserve someone better than William to fully appreciate your beauty.”

“I hate you,” Marlborough grunted out as Louis squeezed him, a finger coming up to caress his chin. He tried to hide the panic on his face, turning his head away to look at Gloucester. There was not a hint of human nor android in him— he could not gaze upon Louis so plainly.

And yet, he did, his eyes wide with awe as Louis swung him carelessly around in his hand. They were truly, dreadfully blank this time, so unlike the excited boy Marlborough was used to.

The hand that held Marlborough morphed into an impish tail, flicking the human’s cheek with the narrow point. “See here, my child,” Louis cooed at Gloucester, dropping Marlborough onto the ground and lifting his tail towards the prince. “There is a taste of human blood for you here.”

Human blood. Marlborough groaned and sat up. He held his hand up to his cheek, realizing that he was indeed bleeding there as well. The pain was fading back again, even as he held his bloodstained fingers out before him. Human blood is red.

“Do you like it?” Louis asked Gloucester, who was hungrily lapping at his tail. “Yes, there’s a good boy. Would you like more?”

Gloucester responded with a sharp hiss and a wag of his tail. He tried to crawl out of Louis’ grasp, and the Sun King laughed, placing him on the ground.

“Very well, then. Follow your nose. There is your human.”

“Your Highness,” Marlborough huffed. He shuffled away on the grass as Gloucester approached. The prince opened and closed his mouth, tasting the air as he had before, with that terrifying, beastly emptiness in his eyes. “You know me well. Please—”

Gloucester lunged at him, and Marlborough cried out, rolling to the side to shield his neck and throat from the vicious, snapping jaws. “William!” he yelled, batting his fists out blindly at the snarling boy. “Look- look at me!” His body jolted as he felt the sickle-claws digging into his ribs. “William—!”

He caught the horns just in time before they impaled his chest, then twisted them sharply to the side, throwing Gloucester off of him. The prince screeched as he caught his haunches in the brambles behind him.

“William, listen!” Marlborough knelt in front of him. “You- you have to fight the madness. I know it is possible—” He jumped back as Gloucester swiped at him. “You wanted to fight heart-eaters, did you not? Fight them now!”

“Both of you are the most pathetic creatures I have ever seen,” he heard Louis jeer. “Your deaths would not be so great a loss to this galaxy.”

“Shut up!” Marlborough turned to glare at him, and in that moment, Gloucester broke free. He opened his mouth wide and pounced forward. Marlborough frantically held his arm up to shield himself just as the tusks would have buried themselves in his throat. Instead, they bit deep into what had been his uninjured arm, though much to his surprise and horror, this brought little pain with it.

Oh, I am dead. He tried to pull his arm out, and that was when the next agony hit, forcing a whimper out of him. Gloucester shook his head from side to side, up and down, clearly trying to tear the limb off. There was a move that William had once taught him, though Marlborough knew not if he remembered it—

Gloucester rolled violently to the side, taking Marlborough with him.

The human shrieked as he heard the harsh ripping sound beside him, as the prince tossed his head back triumphantly with Marlborough’s forearm hanging from his jaws. Marlborough collapsed onto the grass, panting heavily and staring up at the sky in shock. He had spent decades in the European Galaxy, and it was a child who finally took this from him.

And now I will die. He could feel the burning of the prince’s venom coursing through his body, and yet he was the coldest he had ever been. He heard Gloucester approaching, licking his bloodied lips.

“Oh, he has ruined you,” Louis said faintly. “Well, I suppose he can have you, then.”

“Murderer,” Marlborough managed through his frantic breaths. “Murderer. Murderer. There was- there was a peace.”

“Nay, no longer,” Louis said. “If I can kill you and this child, there is a chance yet that James’ son may come to the throne. And the rest is history.” His crazed eyes glittered as if he were imagining his glory already.

Oh, William, I have failed you, Marlborough thought, though to which William he spoke to, he didn’t know. His vision was blurring, from both the venom and his tears. He would have liked to die with Sarah beside him, he would have liked to see both his son and the prince follow him into battle.

He winced as Gloucester stopped in front of him, sniffing at his face. His breath now had that nauseating, metallic scent to it, and Marlborough could almost vomit. That was his own blood.

“Very well,” he whispered. “Bite- bite my throat, like I taught you.” He reached his hand out to run it through Gloucester’s mane, still managing to smile up at him. “It was an honor to do so.”

Gloucester blinked down at him, then bowed his head. Louis growled beside him.

“Go on, Your Highness, what are you waiting for?” he asked. “I hear they taste divine.” He ran his tail along the bottom of Gloucester’s chin.

The prince didn't look up. Marlborough could see his legs shaking as they had before, his claws tearing up the grass as if he were making some great effort to stand. At last, he lifted his head and darted to the side, biting into Louis’ dangling tail.

Louis curled it in with a yelp. “N-No, not me! By the stars, how did you manage to hurt me?” He turned his tail back into an arm and lifted it towards his face, watching the wound begin to go black. “Your- your venom. It works on me.”

What? Marlborough weakly lifted his head. How did Gloucester, of all Asterothiriots, have the power to harm heart-eaters? There was no man here who had ever managed to do such a thing with nothing but his numerous teeth.

No ordinary man, of course. But Marlborough realized then that the boy was irradiated, to what must have been a large extent if he had the ability to harm Louis. Every part of him could hurt the King now, including his venomous tusks. And thus the King could even be killed.

Ah, but a child killing Louis was too much to hope for, Marlborough knew. He watched as Louis sprung back, trying to shake the furious Gloucester off of his back. He hissed and snapped his jaws at the prince, who climbed onto his shoulder, digging his claws into it to stop himself from falling off.

“You treasonous child!” Louis unsheathed his claws, or rather grew his fingers even longer, sharper. “Must I do everything myself?” He lashed his tail down against Gloucester's back, and Gloucester opened his jaws in a wild screech. He slid off of the King, tumbling on the ground with a couple of pained yelps.

“Run!” Marlborough called after him, and Gloucester had only time to glance back at him before Louis sliced his claws right through his chest and stomach. Opened was the only word Marlborough would later use to describe what Louis had done to the boy— ripped him open as if he were a worthless soldier on the field rather than the royal child that he was. This boy who had just only turned eleven now saw the turn between life and death itself.

The force was enough to send Gloucester flying towards Marlborough, his body landing with what sounded like a painful thump before him. His head lolled back as if he were stunned, and his chest heaved as he fought to breathe. There was that deep, deep blue covering every part of his body and dripping endlessly out of it. It was equal parts beautiful and the most horrifying thing Marlborough had ever seen; the exposed innards of a tendril-tooth child.

“William,” he whispered. He began to drag himself towards the convulsing body. The desperate choking sounds coming from Gloucester's bloody mouth, blue and red, almost caused him to faint, but he willed himself to come closer. “William.” He repeated the name with a sob.

Louis blinked down at them both, seemingly unamused, though noticeably shaken with the spreading venom in his limbs. Marlborough glared up at him through his tearful eyes, daring him to say something, but the King only turned his apathetic stare away and limped back into the pond. The last Marlborough saw of him was his wounded tail, flicking at them dismissively as always.

“William,” Marlborough urged, looking back down at the prince he held with the arm that remained intact. His other arm he could feel becoming drenched in the blue blood, but he welcomed it, for it meant a chance to survive. No, he would survive, for it was the attacker's blood that was the only antidote for the venom. But Gloucester spilling out all the contents of his belly here would only save Marlborough’s life, not his own.

“You were so brave, do you know that?” Marlborough smiled through his tears, but then he truly could no longer hold back the shattering, near painful cries as he wept for the dying prince before him. Did he know he was dying? Was he aware of everything he was about to leave behind? His eyes remained fixed ahead, and he said nothing as Marlborough smoothed back his mane.

“Your poor mama,” he whispered. “How could anyone be ready for this?” He buried his head into Gloucester's bleeding chest. “Oh, forgive me, my child. I knew not that a liar and murderer awaited us here. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

He had to go back, he thought as he felt the venom's effects drain from his body. He could at least crawl some distance back before collapsing into Sarah's arms. Would she want him now, though, like this? His arm replaced by the immortal guilt of having let Gloucester die under his care?

“I'm so sorry,” he went on as he began to drag Gloucester back, holding him up close to his body. “I'm so sorry to all of the alien race. When- if you go to Heaven, tell God I said that.” He knew if was a fanciful statement. He was slipping on the grass with the prince’s endless flow of blood.

There came a point where he could not walk any longer, which disappointed him so, as he would have liked to at least bring Anne a body to bury. He collapsed against the ground, the sounds of him hyperventilating matching the labored breaths of the prince. Was it Marlborough that was dying with him, or was there a chance Gloucester could be saved after all?

Chance, ha. They would both die here, then. He knew they had not even made it halfway yet.

Suddenly Gloucester kicked a leg out at his side, and Marlborough grunted. It was nowhere near the pain of his open wounds, so he let it be. He turned to look at Gloucester's face, his breath being taken away upon seeing the familiar look in the prince's blank eyes. There was the boy, still alive even if he was fading quickly.

“Oh, little one, please,” Marlborough pleaded, feeling as if he could burst into tears all over again. “Just wait until you can die by your mother's side.”

Gloucester blinked up at him, and then he reached out towards Marlborough with his weak talons. “You, trumpet of the apocalypse,” he said faintly, though his eyes are as clear as ever. “The angel who saves us all. It had to be me— I was the sacrifice that so pleased you. Play for the end of the world, my trumpet!”

“Wh-what?” Marlborough wiped at his nose, his voice shaking. “William, stay. I beg of you. Stay. I cannot let them take something else from me.”

The prince had fallen still, and for a moment Marlborough thought he was at peace now, the madness and terror leaving him as he realized he was safe, and held. But the emptiness of his eyes had returned again, and his chest made no attempt to swallow up every last gulp of air.

“William.” It was all Marlborough could manage, the panic rising within him all over again. “William, listen to me. Wake up, my child. We're almost there. I told you we would take your little army with us tomorrow.” He laughed uselessly, imagining the boys all nipping at each other's tails and roaring with delight. “You are eleven now, and look how strong you are. You have so much left to do.”

So much blue; Marlborough was drowning in it. The blue of this child's blood, of the radiation in the pool, of that monster's eyes that had taunted him during those dreadful nights— he couldn't take it.

He dropped his head against Gloucester's shoulder and screamed his grief out onto the body, which remained of his size, but now seemed much too small to be so still like this. He screamed until he either fainted or he heard the frantic footsteps ahead of him, he couldn't tell which one came first.

“John, you— oh, John!” That was Sarah's horrified voice. “No, I- I refused to believe it, but— John, please! Look at me!” She licked his bloodstained face, and he could only blink listlessly up at her.

There came the name again. “William!” from a horrified mother, unwilling to take in the sight of her son in such a state. “William!” from a shocked, sickened father.

“It should have been me,” he said as he felt Sarah lift him up in her arms. “It was all me.”

“Hush, say no more. You can tell us all about it later. Rest now.”

Rest! Marlborough wanted to scoff. What rest was there for those who were still living?

#also known as the fic where you all find out that aa!marly is op as SHIT #i'm almost done with a lamentations chapter tho y'all just need to give me a moment #also yea u read those warnings right #who woulda thought tho #duke of marlborough (alien alien)#duke of gloucester (alien alien)#alien alien au

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adarkrainbow · 1 year ago

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Most people know Joseph Jacobs for his work of collecting and putting in a literary form the traditional fairy tales of England - he is the man that made famous tales such as Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Three Little Pigs, Jack and the Beanstalk, Tattercoats, The Buried Moon, and many others.

But what people tend to not know is that he was also the author of a very particular book called “European Folk and Fairy Tales” - sometimes shortened as Europa’s Fairy Book (in reference to the Fairy Books of Andrew Lang). Remember what I said before about the folklorist vs literary theories when it came to fairy tales? Well Joseph Jacobs lived in the full “folkloric fairytale” movement, fashion and study, and one of the main beliefs of this movement was that, beyond all the local and regional variations of a fairy tale, at the root of these similarly “cousin tales” found in numerous countries and eras, for each “fairy tale type”, there was an “ancestor-tale”. A “first” tale, a “primitive” tale, an “original” tale from which all the variants were born - a common ancestor that gave birth to all the different variations that formed together a “type”. It was the theory of evolution if you want, with each individual belonging to a larger group of species all coming from a common ancestor.

And Joseph Jacobs, working on this theory and belief, decided to create his European Folk and Fairy Tales book. After collecting as many variants and variations of some fairy tale types across as much European countries as he could, he compared them, studied them, and tried to re-create the “original tale”, the “ancestor-fairytale”, the “original Europan story”. The result of this work was his “European Folk and Fairy Tales” book, a book contaned the supposed and believed reconstructed “original” tales that formed the “primordial” group of fairytales from which the ones collected by Grimm, Asbjørnsen and Moe, Jacobs himself and others came from.

Of course, this being a purely folklorist work that tried to ignore as much as it could all the literary side of fairytale history (for example Jacobs removed the fairy godmother from his Cinderella reconstruction due to it being an invention of Perrault), and a work of 1916 that was created with the resources and perceptions of the time, this is not at all considered to be a true scholar work today, and it mostly fell into obscurity as an entertaining project and an interesting piece of fairytale history. But it shouldn’t be forgotten by any means, since this book reflects the beliefs and theories of the folklorists and fairy tale critics of the 1910s Western Europe, and even today on the Internet you will see several illustrations created for this specific book reused for other fairytales (I was surprised to discover that a recurring illustration of Hansel and Gretel I saw everywhere was actually created for Jacobs’ reconstruction-tale).

So if you ever want to check Jacobs’ Europa’s Fairy Book, you’ll find in it...

... The proto-”Snow White” fairytale, simply titled Snowwhite

... The proto-”Cinderella” story, Cinder-Maids

... “Beauty and the Beast”, which as you can guess is the reconstruction of the “original Beauty and the Beast”

... Thumbkin, the supposed “ancestor” of the Tom Thumb tales.

... The Unseen Bridegroom, the artificial ancestor of all “Cupid and Psyche” type of fairytales

... Johnnie and Grizzle, a synthesis of all Europan “Hansel and Gretel” stories

... The Earl of Cattenborough, the proto-”Puss in Boots”.

And many more artificial but fascinating wonders!

(Though don’t get me wrong - I do not use “artificial” in a pejorative way. Many fairytales we know today are “artificial” in the eyes of folklorists - all literary fairytales for example, from Perrault to Andersen, are demmed “artificial” by their literary nature ; and even the folklorists have to admit that some of their own created artificial tales, such as those born of the Grimm’s editing of the collected folktales. So, considering all that, while Jacobs’ reconstruction are certainly not THE actual proto-fairytales - if such a thing even exists - it is not because they are artificial that they are less to be considered than literary works or the edited final Grimm stories)

#fairy tales #fairytales #joseph jacobs #europa's fairy book #european folk and fairy tales #joseph jacobs' european folk and fairy tales #european fairy tales #fairytale types

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lonelyfanboy48 · 2 years ago

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Steven Universe Of The Creek Chapter 10 Sparks Of The Shield

Steven arrived in the living room with the whole Williams family together. He noticed Craig and Bryson sitting together, while the stump kid tried to participate in the reunion, but he wasn’t helping himself.

“Okay so how about we go outside and check out my garden from the backyard?” Earl offered.

“Earl, we did that in our last reunion, where we watered them.” Duane replied.

“You know they need water to live.”

“About that, I’ve actually taken care of the gardening this morning.” Jojo chimed in. “I knew he wanted to do it again, so I’ve made the changes.”

“We always celebrate here, what’s the difference?”

“Switching jobs?” Darnell said.

This caused Steven to take action. “Have you all ever thought of the idea of doing something new every once in a while?”

“Technically, we do.” Kimberly walked up to Steven. “We did The Jessica And Small Uncle Show when we learned she acted it out in front of her brother for the first time.”

Everyone turned their attention to Craig and so did Steven. “You watch your sister’s show?”

“Yes but, let’s just say I’m not a fan of it.” Craig spoked quietly.

Steven then thought of an idea to do something similar to Jessica's idea for an activity. “My parents always did that type of activity with me when I was the same height as Craig’s.”

“You mean age, not height?” Nicole asked.

“Yes, every time at home, I always go on adventures with my parents to fight off creatures from distant places.”

The Williams family became confused at first. “What show did you watch exactly?” Bernard wondered.

“It wasn’t a show, it was all imagination. Really, they’re so many imaginative landscapes and people of two species. Humans…and Gems.”

“You make friends out of jewelry?” Darnell asked.

“Seems like a glorified world in your childhood.” Jasmine added.

Craig took notice of Steven’s handling of this. He knew Steven’s personal life more when the truth came out about his three mothers and the gems who are his friends. If only he wished it would’ve turned out better yesterday, there would’ve been something to make up for his deeds.

“If you don’t believe me, here’s what my parents made for me.” Steven heads out the door and heads straight to his van. He opened the door from the other side but he uses his powers to activate his shield. He shuts the door as he heads back to the house, entering the front door, taking everyone by surprise again.

“Is that a shield?” Jessica walked up to Steven. “It’s beautiful!”

“Yeah, that’s a really great looking shield.” Nicole commented.

“Looks like time really revolutionized shields.” Earl added.

The family walked up to Steven, amazed at the design of his shield. However the only ones who stayed in place are Craig and Bryson, who’s in complete shock.

“Is this what you’re talking about?” Bryson leaned in to his cousin.

“Yes, but the less said about that, the better.” Craig whispered back.

“I have to admit Steven, your parents must’ve paid a fortune to make this.” Jasmine felt his shield. “Most shields don’t have these accessories.”

“You'll be surprised, these would be difficult to make with my parents.” Steven smiled. He then took full advantage of his plan as he took everyone out in the backyard to showcase his shield. Craig and Bryson sat together, sitting behind the back door like last time.

With their families watching in full view, Jasmine throws some beanbags at Steven while he blocks them with his shield. With Jasmine changing her targets, Steven single handedly got into every spot to use his shield. Everytime a beanbag hits his shield, small sparkles appear upon slight impacts.

“Am I seeing things or did I just see sparks from his shield?” Jojo locked closely.

Bernard looked closer in his glasses. “It looks like it.”

After the final beanbag impacted, Steven turned to the William’s family. “Still strong without scratches.” He showed his shield.

“Well it’s beanbags, not missiles.” Duane added.

“Also, why were their sparkles on your shield?” Earl pointed.

“Well that’s a good question.” Steven awkwardly grinned. “But we would be here all day questioning logic right?”

The William's family blinked, while also giving awkward looks. Craig and Bryson on the other hand are catching on to what's going on. “Our families don’t understand cartoons unlike us, don’t they?” Bryson whispered.

“Not really, but if cartoons are really real, the creek would’ve been different.” Craig said.

“Steven, are you sure you're telling the truth?” Nicole asked.

“Mom, those sparkles are beautiful!” Jessica jumped in joy.

“If I wasn’t telling the truth, little girls like Jessica wouldn’t want an essay of how shields work.” Steven smiled.

“Just like what I felt when I did social studies essays.” Kimberly replied.

Nicole looked down at Jessica while looking back at Steven’s shield. “Seems like a wireless feature.”

“There’s no buttons on his shield.” Bernard taking notice.

“Jessica, come on up, you can play me.” Steven called as Jessica walked up. He then notices Craig and Bryson and points at them. “Craig, Bryson, come on up there.”

Craig and Bryson took notice from Steven’s voice. Craig may not have his staff, but it doesn’t change the fact he’s too depressed.

“Bryson might play, but his cousin isn’t in the mood.” Darnell added.

“I’m not gonna be here after today, it wouldn’t be as fun without him.” Steven walked past the family while leaning down to Craig. “Craig, we can at least play together, you do that right?”

“Don’t you think you're kind of pushing it?” Craig asked. “I’m not big enough to use your shield.”

As Steven turned his attention to Bryson, he agreed with Craig. “So do I.”

“You'll be surprised, just work with me.” He stood up while turning back to the family. “Can I go inside for a minute?”

“Sure.” Jojo smiled.

Steven heads inside while quickly heading to the living room. He uses his powers as his shield glows, shortening it down to the size for kids to carry. He then headed back outside from the back, surprising everyone.

“I’ve made the shield much smaller so Craig and Bryson can use it.”

“Don’t forget about me!” Jessica called.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try.” Bryson standed up while he pulled his cousin up. “At least make the best out of it.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Craig signed while Steven followed behind. Upon heading back to the backyard, Steven handed his shield to Jessica as he headed to the other side. Upon receiving beanbags from Jasmine with Craig and Bryson by his side, he lightly throws them to Jessica as she blocks them with the shield.

“I can see the beanbags through the shield.” Jessica cheered. “It’s so stylized!”

“Just keep your attention on me more than the shield.” Steven called.

As Steven continued, Bernard took notice of the shield for every beanbag it impacted on it. The sparks felt real and had no toy effects on the shield itself. Upon two days knowing Steven personally, he may learn what Craig felt last night.

After throwing the last beanbag, Jessica gave the shield to Bryson with his turn being next. Bryson lifted the shield up as Steven threw the beanbags. Bryson moved while Steven changed his targets, reaching to every spot that impacted on the shield.

“This shield’s definitely one of a kind.” Bryson commented. “Did it ever get any scratches?”

“Nope.” Steven threw another beanbag. “Even during my childhood.”

Craig rolled his eyes, unsatisfied. The final beanbag hit the shield as Bryson walked up to his cousin. Steven looked at the way Craig held onto his shield, he didn’t forget the way he touched it last night. He felt even less impressed knowing how all of this isn’t fake.

“Craig.” Bernard placed his hand on his hip. “Go back over there and please…use his shield.”

“Don’t you mean play with his shield?” Nicole wondered.

“Yeah.” Bernard shook his head.

As Craig went into position, he lifted his shield up while sighing again. Just when Steven’s about to throw his beanbag, he then comes up with an idea to cheer Craig up. “Bryson, why don’t you throw the beanbags.” He handed them to Bryson. “I’m gonna help out Craig.”

“Okay.” Bryson replied while carrying the beanbags. Steven went behind Craig as he leaned down, whispering in his ear.

“I know you're down, but even when I’m leaving, I’m not leaving you empty-hearted.”

“What do you mean?” Craig whispered back.

As Steven looked at Craig’s family, he pointed up at the sky. “Look, a phoenix!” The family turned around up in the sky as he grabbed Craig from his shoulder. He licked his finger while inserting it in Craig’s ear plug.

“Ah! Steven!?” Just when Craig was about to react in frustration, he felt sparkles in his body. But then Bernard took notice as he saw his brother shaking. He witnessed the sparks, similar to how the shield reacted, as if what Craig behaved yesterday wasn’t part of any imagination.

“I don’t see any phoenix?” Kimberly replied.

“Oh my bad, it must have been a red bird flying past.”

Craig’s eyesight became magical while his body felt no emotion. As he looked at Bryson, he then smiled while lifting the shield up. “Give me everything you got!” He cheered.

“Alright then.” Bryson smiled as he threw the first beanbag. Craig holds onto the shield real tight, he uses it to bash the beanbag, causing Bryson to dodge in the nick of time.

“Wow, that beanbag really bounced back.” Craig took notice.

“Make sure you don’t hit hard.” Steven replied.

Bryson threw more bean bags at his cousin in different directions as Craig moved and hit the beanbags repeatedly. Soon he did cartwheels upon landing in spots to hit more beanbags. The family were speechless from the way Craig did gymnastics but Bernard knew he wasn’t capable of doing that. After one more beanbag being thrown, Craig hit it one last time as Bryson grabbed it, satisfied with his cousin’s happiness.

“That was awesome!” Craig smiled. “My body had never felt so alive.”

Steven then lifted Craig up from the ground while placing him on his shoulders. “Craig is definitely the shield apprentice alright.” He turned to the family as they applauded.

“I don’t know how it’s possible for beanbags to be launched back but I’m not complaining.” Duane commented.

“And it’s wonderful that Craig is back in a good mood for our family reunion.” Nicole smiled.

With Steven and Craig smiling at each other, Bernard on the other hand, didn’t clap, in fact he can tell something isn’t right with Craig at all. After the past two days he spent with him, his curiosity started to get the better of him, just like his brother.

#steven universe #craig of the creek #craig williams #fanfiction #CrossOver #Cartoon network #Cartoon Crossover #fanfic

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sialaterornever · 26 days ago

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hi im ill about thr (the humble realm) (you should watch magic's vods) and i am my own fandom so. poacher au

writing under the cut

The town of Remable was a small town, based around a hill of cherry trees and partially surrounded by mountains. It was isolated from society, ran on its own without support from the rest of the world, and to top it off…

It was made up of Supernaturals.

Supernaturals is the catch-all term for those who humanity deemed inhuman, from hybrids to entirely different species. Some prefer to use cryptids, others unnaturals, but for the Supernatural Hunter's Corporation, supernatural was the best term to use. Easiest to use without someone bringing it up angrily at an HR meeting.

But, unfortunately, supernaturals are deemed dangerous by the public, with supernatural attacks reported on the news every so often. This, of course, led to the creation of the Supernatural Hunter's Corporation, one only partially funded by the government due to less than moral actions taking place within SHC grounds.

Actions that few wish to mention to the public.

But back to Remable.

The Supernatural aspect of it was kept mostly under wraps. The only people who know about the town are the townsfolk, and it was supposed to stay that way.

Key word supposed to.

You see, the town being made of Supernaturals was an aspect that no one knew, but the fact that there was a town there was known by the government. But for all they knew, it was just a small town content with living far from the nearest city, and never bothered to give two cents about the place. There was a Wikipedia page and visitor website and all, but that was all for show, and no one ever went on them anyways, so the residents never had to worry about Hunters.

Until recently.

A van pulled into the only gas station of Remable at around 8 am, a red headed man in a torn coat leaving the driver seat. He brushed back his ponytail as he moved to the gas pump, filling up the gas. Once gas started to be pumped, he leaned into the open window and asked the person in the passenger seat if she wanted breakfast. A small conversation flew by, ending with the man shrugging as he ordered her not to leave the van and took the filler out of the fuel opening, putting it back on the handle. He then walked over to the station door, opening it. A small bell jingled lightly.

"Eh, Maya, you're earl-" A brown haired person was about to say before they saw the newcomer walk in, instantly freezing up and hiding away all supernatural features with a thought. He hadn't noticed, seemingly exhausted from the drive and wasn't as keen as he could've been.

"Sorry, thought you were someone else for a sec!" They said, putting on a smile. "Morning, welcome. Are you just driving through these parts?"

He shook his head, grabbing three burritos and not even glancing at them. "Movin' in, actually."

"Oh, really?" The news sent a spike of fear through them, but they didn't show it, they'd have to warn Maya and everyone else. Especially considering that this man looked… worryingly familiar. "Thought our town was so small no one knew about it."

They, and many others in the town, noticed one of the vacant houses had been bought and hoped for the best. Maybe a supernatural who'd come to hide, not realizing it was a haven for people like themself, or just a human who needed somewhere to go, away from civilization. Not… not someone who reminded the gas station owner of someone they never wanted to ever meet.

"Yeah. Why w- why I chose it," he responded, grabbing an iced coffee before walking up to the cashier. He set his items down on the counter.

They didn't want to pry further, but a name would be helpful to hopefully dispel any worries they had. Especially since they could see claw scars peeking out from the man's neck.

"So, what's your name?" They asked, scanning the items.

"Sialazar." He replied, not noticing the way the other visibly paled. "You?"

"It's, ah, I go by Cryptid." (Not the worst possible person Sialazar could've met first, but certainly not the best.)

"Really?"

He seemed amused by the answer as he paid for his items.

"Yeah, I know."

"Huh."

Sialazar stared at Cryptid for the longest time, and they hoped they didn't reveal their supernatural nature out of fear.

"...have a good day." He finally said, taking his food and leaving.

The van soon pulled away from the gas station, and Cryptid let out a shaky breath. They immediately pulled out their phone, calling the mayor.

"Hey, Maya, we have a problem. Capital P problem."

#sia writes shit #thr #the humble realm #thrblr #thr poacher au #im still calling it poacher au bc poacher duo <- inside joke kinda #au #thr sialazar #thr cryptid #poacher au sialazar #poacher au cryptid #those tags work i suppose #writing drabble

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xtruss · 1 year ago

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Staging Nuclear Dread in “Oppenheimer” and “Doctor Atomic”

How do you depict an event that has left a psychological scar—in some cases, physical scars—on almost everyone on the planet?

— By Alex Ross | July 25, 2023

Cillian Murphy as J. Robert Oppenheimer. Photograph courtesy Universal Pictures

The late Daniel Ellsberg, in his book “The Doomsday Machine,” drew attention to a curious conversation that took place between Albert Speer and Adolf Hitler in the summer of 1942, on the subject of atomic apocalypse. Speer had asked Werner Heisenberg, the physicist in charge of the faltering German nuclear program, whether an atomic explosion could lead to an uncontrolled chain reaction. Heisenberg did not rule it out. Speer wrote in his memoir “Inside the Third Reich”:

Hitler was plainly not delighted with the possibility that the earth under his rule might be transformed into a glowing star. Occasionally, however, he joked that the scientists in their unworldly urge to lay bare all the secrets under heaven might someday set the globe on fire. But undoubtedly a good deal of time would pass before that came about, Hitler said; he would certainly not live to see it.

In fact, as Ellsberg pointed out, Hitler killed himself less than three months before the first atomic device was detonated, on July 16, 1945, at what is now the White Sands Missile Range, in New Mexico. The physicists of Los Alamos, led by J. Robert Oppenheimer, had also pondered the prospect of an atmosphere-igniting chain reaction, although they put the chance of such an outcome at less than three in a million. (Enrico Fermi, less sanguine, reportedly placed the odds at 10–1.) Ellsberg noted that these dire discussions were never shared with civilian authorities. It’s unlikely that either Franklin Delano Roosevelt or Harry Truman would have called off the atomic program as a result, yet the withholding of information struck Ellsberg as symptomatic of a moral void. The scientists were “engaged in a longer-term gamble imperiling the survival of humanity.”

Several times in the past eight decades, the world has come shudderingly close to losing that gamble—closest of all during the Cuban missile crisis, when the Air Force general Curtis LeMay urged a strike on Soviet missile positions in Cuba. Richard Rhodes, the author of “The Making of the Atomic Bomb,” wrote in this magazine, in 1995, “If John Kennedy had followed LeMay’s advice, history would have forgotten the Nazis and their terrible Holocaust. Ours would have been the historic omnicide.” To which one can add: if any historians remained. The fact that no nuclear weapon has been used in combat since August 9, 1945, is the result more of pure chance than of accumulated wisdom. Ellsberg concluded tersely, “This is not a species to be trusted with nuclear weapons.”

The test shot that Oppenheimer named Trinity, in an allusion to John Donne’s sonnet “Batter my heart, three-person’d God,” has been reënacted many times onscreen. Christopher Nolan’s “Oppenheimer” is the latest in a series of attempts that go back to the stiff Hollywood docudrama “The Beginning or the End,” released in 1947. Three adaptations appeared in the nineteen-eighties, a time of renascent nuclear alarm: the BBC miniseries “Oppenheimer,” the television movie “Day One,” and Roland Joffé’s film “Fat Man and Little Boy.” But Nolan’s most formidable competition is, perhaps surprisingly, an opera: John Adams and Peter Sellars’s “Doctor Atomic,” which had its first performances in 2005, in San Francisco.

In the months before the “Atomic” première, I chronicled the making of the opera and visited major locales of Manhattan Project history, including the Trinity site. No sulfurous atmosphere lingers at the place: it’s a patch of high desert like any other. If you look down, though, you see a couple of sheared-off metal stubs—all that remains of the hundred-foot tower that held the bomb. The top of each stub is rippled, like whipped cream. I thought back to the early nineteen-eighties, when I was a teen-ager in Washington, D.C. Ronald Reagan was cracking jokes about global thermonuclear war—“We begin bombing in five minutes”—and my classmates and I were discussing what we would do if the sirens began to sound. One friend said, “I’m going to walk toward the Washington Monument and close my eyes.”

How do you stage an event that has left a psychological scar—in some cases, physical scars—on almost everyone on the planet? Mushroom clouds long ago became pop-culture signifiers, detached from the hellish violence that they represent. Stanley Kubrick made them the concussive punch line of “Dr. Strangelove.” In Wes Anderson’s “Asteroid City,” they become one more knickknack of nineteen-fifties décor, alongside Formica countertops and red-and-white checkered tablecloths. What’s impossible to capture is the awe that the sight induced in its first observers, even though most of them had a reasonably good idea of what to expect.

“Oppenheimer,” despite the huge resources that are put into play, presents an oddly rushed, jumbled vision of Trinity. Part of the difficulty is that the Manhattan Project occupies only the middle third of a sprawling bio-pic, one that combines the stylistic incoherence of Oliver Stone (“JFK,” “Nixon”) with the didactic insistence of William Dieterle (“The Story of Louis Pasteur,” “The Life of Emile Zola”). The fraught hours leading up to the explosion—an overnight thunderstorm, bets on the size of the blast, nagging fears of Armageddon—are confined to about eight minutes of screen time. Nolan’s preference for hectic cutting and closeups means that we never fully register the blank immensity of the landscape. The score, by Ludwig Göransson, tries to heighten the tension with insistently driving string textures, which may owe something to Adams’s early minimalist piece “Shaker Loops.” But the sequence is no more suspenseful than dozens of other countdowns in cinematic history, going back to Fritz Lang’s “Woman in the Moon,” from 1929.

“Doctor Atomic,” in contrast, confines itself to the weeks leading up to Trinity, arriving at the eve of the test before the end of the first act. Both the opera and the film include a scene in which Oppenheimer is seen alone at the tower, communing with the tentacled bomb. Cillian Murphy, who plays the physicist in the movie, gazes at it silently, his face wavering between fascination and terror. In “Atomic,” Oppenheimer sings a gravely lamenting aria titled “Batter my heart,” which the baritone Gerald Finley has delivered with matchless intensity in various productions. (Oppenheimer was a voracious reader, and the “Atomic” libretto intermingles documentary material with a selection of his favorite texts.) Opera’s capacity to voice interior monologues has redoubled force as we confront the sheer weirdness of the association: Donne’s poem of divine assault and ravishment renders Trinity as the site of some sort of masochistic ritual.

Oppenheimer’s florid literary self-stylizations are essential to the legendary status that he has acquired. His most grandiose gesture was to claim, years after the fact, that the detonation had put him in mind of the Hindu god Vishnu: “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” This loose translation of the Bhagavad Gita is recited twice in “Oppenheimer,” the first time during an inadvertently hilarious sex scene. “Atomic,” wisely, leaves the line out. Mythological allusions have proliferated in tellings of the physicist’s life. In Nolan’s film, he is called an “American Prometheus,” in keeping with the title of Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin’s Oppenheimer biography. “Atomic,” for its part, arose in response to San Francisco Opera’s request for a work about an American Faust figure. Such narratives risk personalizing a historical situation that has little to do with one man’s pretentious inner demons. Oppenheimer capably led the building of the bomb, but he did not conceive it, perfect it, or order its use.

“Atomic,” in its final minutes, resolves the Oppenheimer problem by letting him recede into the background. In a nod to Einstein’s theory of relativity, Adams bends time during the countdown so that five minutes are stretched out to almost fifteen. The orchestra sputters and clicks through overlapping, irregular pulses. The music seems at once to accelerate and slow down, devolve into noise and fade to silence. The explosion takes the form of a darkly shimmering chord for massed strings, with a flash of winds and muted brass on top. This, Adams told me in 2005, was the test seen from afar. It evokes what Dorothy McKibbin, the all-knowing gatekeeper of Los Alamos, witnessed from a peak two hundred miles to the north: “The leaves of the green native trees were kind of shining with the gold.” After that false dawn, quiet bell chords toll, and we hear the voice of a Japanese woman begging for water, some of her words taken from John Hersey’s “Hiroshima.” Music’s unparalleled capacity to generate dread leaves a deeper mark than any visual effect could achieve, and the abrupt shift in sonic geography wrenches our anxieties away from the Los Alamos perspective.

In the film, too, Trinity is implicitly transmuted into Hiroshima: at a celebratory gathering at Los Alamos, Oppenheimer hallucinates radiation burns on his colleagues’ faces. Yet Nolan generally pays little heed to the issue of fallout, which Los Alamos doctors tried to raise and which Leslie Groves, the chief of the Manhattan Project, dismissed. “Doctor Atomic” takes note of Groves’s indifference—he asks a physician, “What are you, a Hearst propagandist?”—and Adams’s music depicts radioactive scourings of the body. Sellars, in a revival of the opera in Santa Fe in 2018, heightened the theme by bringing onstage members of the Tularosa Basin Downwinders Consortium, who are seeking compensation for the suffering that fallout inflicted on communities downwind of the blast. The toll of Trinity is difficult to measure, but a steep rise in infant death in New Mexico in 1945 speaks for itself.

Whether any of this work, cinematic or musical, truly honors nuclear victims or contributes to a recognition of American infamy is a matter of debate. Casting the story as the tragic arc of a mythic individual not only obscures the collective nature of the effort but amounts to an exercise in scapegoating. Yet myths can sometimes show us the recurrence of fatal patterns that a more unsentimental approach might overlook. And Faust, who made a contract with the Devil, is surely a better archetype than Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods. Even on a hundred-degree day, Trinity possesses a chilly aura: in that place, a new kind of evil came into the world. ♦

#Christopher Nolan | Films | Opera #Atomic Bombs 💣 | Trinity | Los Alamos

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yourbuerokrat2 · 1 year ago

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@adumpofdumbstuff

I got a (mostly) crack fic

It had been a nice and peaceful shift on the Enterprise so far. No Romulans, no Ferengi and no Borg. The Holodock didn’t have a single incident and all engines were in perfect condition.

By all accounts, Captain Jean-Luc Picard should be feeling well and relaxed. Yet even though their last mission was a success with no casualties Troi could feel quite a bit of tension and apprehension coming from him.

Alone in his quarters on his bed, Picard was trying to force himself to relax while reading a book he found himself barely able to concentrate on despite it being one of his favorites.

An unwelcome thought came up.

It has been a while since he had last had an encounter with Q.

Not even a second later as if summoned by this very thought his room was bombarded with confetti, a bright red banner with ‘Congratulation’ written on it appeared with a grinning Q under it.

By now he very much knew that telling Q to leave was incredibly fruitless especially since the entity in question really seemed to have looked forward to this visit by the look of it.

Besides, considering Q during their last few encounters had not exactly been hostile he decided to humour him a bit. If only in the hopes that this would be a better strategy to get Q to grow bored and leave.

“Your omniscience must not be working, Q. It is neither my birthday nor am I known for celebrating it.”, he said dryly.

“Oh don’t be silly, mon capitaine. I already have something more.. spectacular planned for that special occasion. No. I am congratulating myself.”

Picard really didn’t want nor particularly care for the answer but knew that Q would not go away without telling him anyway.

“And what are you congratulating yourself for?”

A fanfare filled the room for a couple of short seconds and disappeared as Q proudly proclaimed

“They have finally given up on me.”

The question on who ‘they’ were was not necessary since the only ones who have (had) any actual hold on Q were the Continuum. And considering Q was still in possession of his powers and quite happy this time was different than when he had been kicked out of their entire species.

Still, the implications and possibilities..

“And what exactly do you mean with this?”

Picards book was gone and in a flash of light Q was lying next to him, seemingly making himself comfortable and looking at him still with a smile on his face.

“You see, I found out that even though they claim to have an eye on me ever since I got welcomed back as a Q they can’t actually do anything by their own rules which they love so very much. Because they gave me what was basically a death sentence for my ‘criminal record’ as you would call it my entire record is now” Q made a gesture with his hands “gone.

By their own rules I got judged and have been given my sentence. Q taking me back in to avoid a longwided debate was something unforeseen and none of their beloved rules were made with such a case in mind. Of course they could start debating about making new rules or simply have my record start all over again but until a new rule is fully discussed or for my ‘crimes’ to get to a number worthy of being punished, well, that’s going to take at least a billion years.

So, they simply.. gave up. They had a debate over what to do, got bored of talking to each other and of me and decided that I simply wasn’t worth their time anymore.

Which means” Q got rather close to him, uncomfortably close

“I can do whatever I want.

And I am starting with you.”

Another flash of light and he and Q were wearing party hats and Q was blowing through a party horn.

Great.

As if Picards life was not already stressful enough.

He put the party hat away.

What he needed right now was not Earl Grey but a nice cup of chamomile tea.

“Forgive me”, he said as he got out of bed “but I do not see why I should celebrate this.”

When he stood before the replicator a voice from behind him called

“Oh, don’t be like this, mon capitaine. Why aren’t you happy for me?”

“Chamomile Tea. Hot

I just find the thought of you being free to torment me however you want not particularly pleasant.”

Instead of the replicator providing him with the tea he had found a hot cup with brewing water in his hand.

And leaning against the replicator was Q, the smile now gone and staring at him.

Q had at first thought that Picard was merely given him a rather dry joke but seeing how serious his capitaine was made him realize something.

“You really think that I don’t like you. Why do you think that I don’t like you?”

Usually Q would not be so open about his intentions. Or feelings.

But he was free.

Absolutely free to do and say whatever he wanted. No one to judge him (well they probably still judged him but their opinions were no longer of any concern to him). The only one whose opinion of him held any sort of weight to Q was now standing before him and seemingly having misunderstood quite a few things during Qs last few visits.

On any other day, Q would have reacted a bit.. differently. Still trying to get Picard to see that while the entity would play with him and his crew it was no longer meant with any ill-will. Far from it actually.

But today Q was on a high. The power high of a god who no longer had to answer to anyone.

“Because I do.”

A step forward.

A step back.

“I like you a lot Jean-Luc.”

It actually did feel quite good to finally be able to give voice to it.

Especially since he was not met with rejection but confusion.

And while to Picard it was reassuring to know that apparently Q did like him (which would hopefully mean that his crew was in no danger by extension) he did not particularly find the way Q was looking at him nor the tonation of ‘a lot’ reassuring.

“I would kill for you.”

Q could now correct all the mistakes in Picards life.

“The Borgs. The Cardassians. The Admiral who insulted you last week behind your back. Just say the word”

The smile returned on Qs face. He held one hand up as if to snap.

Maybe, Picard thought, Q was in more need of chamomile than he was.

“Ask me to kill for you."

Q could do it. The snap of his fingers was merely for show, that PIcard was very much aware of. And considering the state the entity was in he very much would.

".. First of all, calm down"

This was going to be a long day.

Q: Why do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you. Q: Ask me to kill for you. Picard: ...First of all, calm down-

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years ago

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North To The Future [Chapter 2: The Distance]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, discussions of sex, discussions of drugs, discussions of murder, very indecent discussions in general, alcoholism, incompetent flirting, taxidermy, Taco Bell.

Word count: 5.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @meadowofsinfulthoughts @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @b1gb3anz @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

The answering machine beeps. “Bitch, pick up,” Heather says through the speaker. And then: “Bitch!!! Pick up!!!”

You dive for the phone on the kitchen counter. Your dad gets there first.

“Hey, Heather!” he booms cheerfully. He takes a bite of a gooey chocolate chip cookie and swipes crumbs from his beard with the back of his hand. Your mom, smiling and sly, sips her Earl Grey tea at the dining room table. “Yes, yes, well I am loath to remind you that I live here too. Uh huh. Okay. Did you want to speak to my daughter? Or were you secretly hoping to get me? I could tell you about my riveting mailbox renovation project. There’s also a cow moose that’s been coming around recently, she’s a princess, I got a big ol’ salt lick and put it out in the backyard for her. No, Heather, no, a cow moose is just a female moose. It’s not a new species or anything. Lord have mercy. Okay, here’s ladybug.”

He passes you the phone. You pretend to glower at him, not very convincingly. “Hi, Heather,” you say.

“I am mortified.”

“I wouldn’t beat yourself up about it. He was in the Marines, he’s probably heard worse.”

Your dad bellows: “I sure fucking have!” Then he guffaws in a baritone rumble as he meanders over to the table, polishing off his cookie. Your mom chuckles and shakes her head as she flips a page in the latest issue of Alaska magazine. There’s a salmon on the front cover. No points for originality.

“Anyway,” you tell Heather. “What’s up?”

“Are you finally going to go tonight?”

“Go where?”

You can hear the hopeful, baiting smile in her voice. “Ursa Minor.”

The bar. The bar Aegon asked me about. He came by the clinic yesterday afternoon to pick up Sunfyre and the Nova, that’s what Jen said; a work friend dropped him off and he dashed inside and left just as quickly. You had been busy in the exam room vaccinating Ms. Finnegan’s Saint Bernard—no Cujos allowed in your neighborhood—and thoroughly unavailable to socialize. Still, he hadn’t bothered to wait around to say hello. This bothers you. This bothers you a lot more than you wish it did. He doesn’t care about me, he doesn’t remember me, he’s too busy being a serial killer to talk to me, the possibilities are truly endless. You twirl the mint green phone cord around your fingers. “Umm…”

“You have to go,” Heather begs. “Everyone’s going to be there. Joyce, Kimmie, our whole clique from high school. And Trent! And Trent’s hot friends! He really wants to buy you a drink. Like really, really wants to buy you a drink. He’s been asking about you constantly since you moved back home. It’s pathetic, actually. Take pity on him. Let him spend his whole paycheck on your Bacardi Breezers, and then if you’re still not interested you can ignore him to your heart’s content. I wouldn’t blame you. I know he’s a dumbass.”

Trent. Heather’s brother is two years older than you and a peripheral figure of your life—like a comet that clips by Earth every few decades—for as long as you can remember. He even called a few times when you were at Colorado State for vet school. He’s tall and popular and buoyant, a long-haired former quarterback who took your high school to the state championships and still holds semi-legendary status in Juneau. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him, nothing at all…except that Heather’s right. He’s kind of a dumbass. You don’t feel any particularly ardent yearning to see Trent, no gnawing curiosity. But if Aegon might be at Ursa Minor… “I do love Bacardi Breezers.”

“Yes, I remember,” Heather says, her words warm with the memories: her bedroom floor at 2 a.m. surrounded by Just Seventeen magazines and nail polish bottles, picnics on the summertime shores of Dredge Lake, your parents’ backyard on early-autumn nights illuminated only by the crackling firepit. She’s a thread woven through your life like a vein through flesh.

“Okay. I’ll go.”

“Booyah!” she hollers through the phone. “8:00?”

“8:00.”

“Wear something slutty.” And then Heather hangs up.

~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t wear something slutty. You wear a very uneventful chunky teal sweater. Aegon is dressed in a black crewneck sweatshirt, cuffed jeans, and Doc Martens combat boots. He’s sitting at the bar when you walk in, the bells on the back of the door jingling. Ursa Minor is drowning in an ocean of multicolored lights, tinsel, garlands, tiny ceramic Santas, at minimum three medium-sized Christmas trees; Dale must have gotten into the holiday spirit early this year. The taxidermy deer heads on the wall have ornaments suspended from their antlers. The whole place smells like pine and peppermint. Shania Twain’s Any Man Of Mine is piping from the stereo. You and Aegon exchange a microsecond glance as you hang your parka on the coatrack—there’s a girl perched on the barstool beside him, you recognize her from around town but can’t recall her name—and then you cross the room to join Heather in her booth.

“I don’t know what I expected,” she sighs defeatedly upon seeing your apparel. Heather is wearing low-rise jeans, a chainmail halter top, and no bra. She has arranged her hair with numerous butterfly clips.

“Wow, you’re basically JLo!”

“Wow, you’re basically retired.” She sips her Sex On The Beach and shoves an ice-cold glass bottle towards you, dewy with condensation and conveniently already opened. “I ordered you a Bacardi Breezer. I had to take a guess on which flavor you’d be in the mood for, I know it changes several times per minute. Is coconut okay?”

“Coconut is awesome.” You start chugging. You steal a glimpse of Aegon and his…friend? Girlfriend? Date? Booty call? Fiancé? Wife? She’s chatting away obliviously. He’s nursing a rum and Coke and staring at you with his bleary, black-ringed eyes. “How’s it going, Joyce?”

Joyce is nestled in the far corner of the booth and engrossed in a fantasy novel. There’s some hunk riding a horse on the front cover. “Hey,” she says without looking up. She flips a page.

“Do you want anything?” Heather asks her.

“Yeah, a lobotomy.”

You say to Heather, smiling: “If I’m retired, what’s Joyce?”

“Dead,” Heather replies. All three of you laugh. Then Heather props her elbows on the table and tinkers with her rhinestone choker so it can catch the Christmas lights, glittering and casting scintillations. “You like my new bling?”

“Oh yeah, it’s super, it’s off the chain.” You half-listen to her lament the lack of shopping options in Juneau—Ketchikan has a Walmart now, apparently, but that’s nineteen hours away—while conducting covert reconnaissance on Aegon and his unspecified companion. It is genuinely baffling that you care this much, but that doesn’t make you care less.

“Um, hello? Hellooooo? Earth to grandma? What the hell are you staring at…?” Heather twists around to see Aegon at the bar, very sloshed and very obviously still watching you. “Him?!”

“Do you know him?”

“I know of him. He works on the same boat as Trent. I’ve never really talked to him. But I’ve heard plenty of things. Very…intriguing things. Titillating things.”

“What have you heard?”

“The bottom line?” Heather grins, conspiratorial. “He’s a mattress.”

“A mattress…?”

“Good for sleeping on and not much else.”

This bothers you, it sends hot blood to your face and your stomach into freefall, though if asked you wouldn’t be able to articulate why. Heather notices and backpedals rapidly.

“I mean, he’s cute, I guess. If you’re into guys who look like they live in a dumpster and have scurvy. He sort of reminds me of Kurt Cobain…except I think the hair is real.” She gasps. “He could give you little Kurt Cobain babies! Cobainbies!”

“I don’t want his Cobainbies.” You down the rest of your Bacardi Breezer.

“You are kind of acting like you want his Cobainbies.”

Aegon says something to the girl beside him. You gaze at him morosely. “He’s a drunk.”

“Great, Alaska has one of the highest rates of alcoholism in the nation, he’ll fit right in.”

“He’s not staying.”

“Just because it won’t be a long time doesn’t mean it can’t be a good time.” Heather wiggles her thinly-tweezed eyebrows, then observes your lack of amusement. “Alright, forget it. I’ll shut up. I wouldn’t be your best friend if I wasn’t trying to help you get laid, you know.”

“Go help Joyce get laid.”

“I’d have better luck with Pope John Paul II.”

“Go help Kimmie get laid.”

“Kimmie’s probably getting laid right now.”

As if a demon summoned by a Ouija board, Kimberly Barbieri gusts into the bar. Every friend group has a Kimmie. She is dramatic and irritating and captivating, she is effortlessly carnal, she is forever regaling you with the volatile ebbs and flows of her love life and enlisting you in her schemes: who to ensnare, who to shun. The rest of you are the supporting cast of characters and have been essentially since kindergarten. You all pity her and yet are viciously envious of her.

“Ugh!” she huffs as she throws her Kate Spade bag down on the table. You, Heather, and Joyce peer up at her with anticipatory smiles. The main character has suffered a new development. Aegon tosses Kimmie a casual appraisal and then turns back to his rum and Coke.

“Yes?” Heather prompts.

“I’m so done with Brad. I mean, I’m really done with him this time. Our three month anniversary? And he takes me to Taco Bell? Taco Bell?!”

“As if!” Heather offers, urging her along.

“As if!” Kimmie echoes in vehement agreement.

“Was Brad aware of the aforementioned anniversary?” Joyce says.

“He should have been!”

“I love Taco Bell,” you say, purposefully incendiary. Heather winks at you. This is the game you’ve played since before you could spell your own names.

“Really?” Kimmie has one hand on her hip, the other gesturing erratically through the air. “You’d be happy if your boyfriend of three long months took you to Taco Bell? You’d be real fucking psyched about that? You’d be planning the goddamn destination wedding in Barbados?”

“Oh yeah.” You are stone-faced; you are the best at feigning earnestness. Joyce is biting back giggles from behind her book. “I would do some very unwholesome things to a man who bought me Cinnamon Twists.”

“Are you on drugs?” Kimmie says. “Are you smoking crack? Are you huffing paint? Have you turned into that kid with the LSD stickers that they warned us about in high school?”

You reply, deadly serious: “I’m just a slut for Cinnamon Twists.”

“I can’t talk to you right now. I need a beer.” And that’s something else that guys unfailingly love about Kimmie: she drinks beer. She flees to the bar.

Heather’s smile dies as her eyes drift to Aegon. She sips her Sex On The Beach meditatively. She asks you, her voice low: “You think he’s the Ice Fisher?”

“No,” you say immediately.

“Oh come on, he showed up right before the murders started happening, that’s a coincidence that bears discussion.”

“It’s not him.”

“And how could you possibly know that?”

You scramble for an explanation. “He’s not big enough,” you decide. “The Ice Fisher is someone who can throw a dead body over one shoulder and lug it for miles through the wilderness.” And that’s probably accurate, but it’s not the real reason you don’t think Aegon is a killer. You couldn’t put the real reason into words if you had years to work on it. At the bar, Kimmie is shamelessly flirting with Dale, who is your parents’ age and closely resembles Robin Williams when he was first rescued from Jumanji. Aegon imparts some final words to his companion and she leaves him, not entirely thrilled.

“How did you two ever cross paths?” Heather asks, mystified.

“He has a dog.”

“Oh, right, that makes sense.”

“Why is it so unbelievable that we might have bumped into each other once or twice in this oh-so-charming, close-knit little haven of a community?”

“Well,” Heather says. “Because you’re so freakishly smart and successful and mature and responsible, and he’s…” She smirks. “Definitely not any of that.”

You glance over at Aegon. He glances back. You both look away. “He’s not so bad.”

“You should go talk to him.”

“Is Kimmie somehow not enough entertainment for you?”

“Dayum, he’s watching you again,” Heather marvels. “You should definitely go talk to him. You know, if you’re totally sure he’s not a serial killer.”

“Should I really?”

“Yes.”

You consult with Joyce. “Should I really?”

Joyce speaks without halting her reading. “Yes.”

You look at Aegon. He gives you a teasing little half-smile. Are you gonna? That smile says. And as Kimmie is coming back from the bar, you go up to sit two stools away from Aegon.

“Dale, can I get an appletini?”

“Appletini?” Dale’s brow wrinkles with confusion. You may not be a frequent Ursa Minor attendee, but you know Dale reasonably well. He’s a casual friend of your parents and a familiar face at holiday parties, town events, and trips to the grocery store and post office. “No offence, ladybug, but what the hell is that?”

“An appletini,” you repeat, crushed. “I saw it on tv. It’s a new cocktail, it’s this neat bright green color, they have it in New York…and Los Angeles…and…and…”

“Do you know how they make it in New York and Los Angeles?” Dale asks.

“No,” you admit sadly.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Forget it. Just get me a mango Bacardi Breezer.”

“That I can do,” he says chipperly, pops the cap off, and slides the bottle across the bar to you. You take a swig.

Aegon chuckles. “Embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing?” you fling back, smiling despite yourself.

“Your drink of choice is a Bacardi Breezer, that’s really fucking embarrassing.”

“I like all the tropical flavors! It makes me feel like…” You close your eyes, momentarily dreamy. “Like I’m on a beach somewhere. Like I’m in some gorgeous, warm, exotic place.”

Aegon finishes his rum and Coke and spins the empty glass absentmindedly with one hand. Dale fixes him a new one. “Where’s your favorite beach? Besides that one.” He points towards the harbor. “That one doesn’t count. Nothing in Alaska counts.”

“Then I’ve never been to a real beach,” you confess.

“What!” Aegon gapes at you. “Never?!”

“Never. Not yet.”

“Jesus Christ.” He blinks dazedly and drinks his rum and Coke. He is profoundly, unmistakably drunk.

“Did you drive here?” you ask.

“Nah. I walked.”

“Stumbled, you mean.”

He grins, showing his teeth. “I crawled, like the rat that I am.”

“Maybe you should try being sober sometime.”

“I don’t do well when I’m sober.”

“You work like this?”

He shakes his head. “Just enough to take the edge off. I can’t lose my job. Then I’d be in real trouble.”

“Have you always been a…?” What’s a diplomatic word for alcoholic? Before you can make an attempt, Aegon understands what you mean.

“Since I was fifteen, yeah. More or less.” He shrugs and stirs his drink with the little plastic toothpick with a maraschino cherry speared on it; the ice cubes clink in the glass. He bites into the cherry and slides it off the toothpick with his teeth, chews it, swallows, licks the glistening red juice from his lips. “I’ve been better than I am now. I’ve been worse.”

“How much worse?”

“Why would you want to know that?”

I want to know everything about you. “No reason.”

He evades you. “How’s the mailbox?”

“Mid-renovation. My dad is making a new one that looks like a moose.”

“That’s cool of him.”

“He’s a pretty cool guy.”

“You like your parents,” Aegon says, as if this is something curious, noteworthy. “You get along with them.”

“Yeah.” You pause before continuing, not knowing what he’ll think of it. “I still live with them, actually.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Well, I mean, it makes sense for now, because I just moved back to Juneau over the summer, and their house is right next to the vet clinic, and my dad’s always there when I need advice, and I’m the only child and they’re sort of really attached to me and maybe I’ll start looking for my own place soon but I just figured that in the meantime—”

“Hey, Appletini,” Aegon interrupts, smiling. “I think it’s awesome that you like your parents.”

“Really?” you say, hopeful.

“Really.” He drains his rum and Coke. Dale hesitates; he doesn’t make another until Aegon thumps his empty glass against the counter, wordlessly demanding one. “Why didn’t you take some time off to travel after you finished vet school? California is just a quick plane hop from Colorado. You could have spent a week or two in one of those gorgeous, warm, exotic places you’re so enamored with.”

“I thought about it…but the scheduling didn’t work out. My dad was retiring from the clinic, I was taking over for him, it was more important for me to be here.”

Aegon seems to find this incredibly entertaining, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on. “You took over your dad’s business.”

“Yes, I did.”

He nods, strangely wise, his blue eyes on you. “And you’re kind of happy about that, but you’re kind of stuck too.”

Goddamn, isn’t that the truth. “You see a lot.”

“20/20, baby.”

You study him. His white-blond hair is tucked behind his ears, except for that one undomesticated lock that always seems to escape to rest on his cheek. His eyes are hazy and swimming yet intelligent, almost cunning. He’s staring right back. He’s studying you too. He’s beautiful, you think. He’s sad and funny and magnificent and ruined all at once. How is that possible?

“What were you gossiping about with your friends over there?” he asks, flicking his thumb towards the booth where Heather, Kimmie, and Joyce are currently gawking at you.

Sex, love, drugs, whether you’re a serial killer. “Taco Bell,” you reply.

The front door flies open and a boisterous gaggle of young men flood into Ursa Minor: flannel, cologne, cigarette smoke, heavy thuds of work boots. You recognize most of them. There’s Matt, and Rob, and Gary…and Trent. He spots you and beelines for the bar.

“Hey!” Trent greets you enthusiastically, flipping his lustrous hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head like a horse. Then he addresses Aegon. “Sup, bro?”

“Sup.” They bump fists. Aegon nearly misses.

“Congratulations on finishing vet school,” Trent says to you, beaming a bit too dazzlingly. “I don’t think I’ve really seen you since you got back. How are things? How are your folks?”

“Things are good. My parents are good. Everything’s good.”

“Good!”

“Totally.”

There is an awkward silence. An increasingly awkward silence. Trent is not deterred. “Can I buy you a drink or something? A Bacardi Breezer, perhaps?” His gaze drops to your nearly-empty bottle. “Um, another Bacardi Breezer, perhaps?”

“So Heather has been disclosing all my secrets.”

“I’m sure you still have some,” Trent replies, flirtatious. Aegon’s eyes widen as he gnaws on his plastic toothpick.

“That’s a tempting offer,” you say. “But I’m stopping myself at two drinks tonight. It is a Wednesday, after all.”

“Yeah, a Wednesday,” Aegon agrees, slurring. “What kind of loser gets wasted on a Wednesday?” Then he bursts out laughing and almost falls off his barstool.

“Definitely another time though,” you tell Trent. Like when pigs fly.

“Oh, okay, yeah. Sounds good. See you around.” And Trent, former football star extraordinaire, saunters off to join his friends at the pool table. There’s a massive bull moose head mounted on the wall right above it; it’s adorned with a red Santa hat. That Don’t Impress Me Much plays from the stereo.

Aegon leans over the counter. “Hey, Dale, would you happen to have anything that’s not Shania Twain? Please and thank you.” Dale grunts, then reaches beneath the bar to get his 6-inch-thick binder of CDs. He scans through the transparent plastic pages and eventually makes a selection. CDs, not cassettes. Very high-tech.

“So you go wherever you want to,” you say to Aegon. “Anywhere. Everywhere.”

“Just about, yeah.”

You gulp down the last of your Bacardi Breezer. And next comes your theory: “But you never stay longer than six months.”

He smiles sheepishly. “Exactly.”

“What happens if you stay in the same place for more than six months?”

“My ghosts start catching up with me. One ghost in particular.”

“Is that a metaphor, or…?”

“Oh, I love this song!” Aegon shouts, slapping his palm on the bar and then lurching out of his seat. You listen: it’s The Distance by Cake. He sings along loudly, out of tune. “The green light flashes, the flags go up, churning and burning, they yearn for the cup—”

“This song?! The NASCAR song?!”

“It’s not about NASCAR, it’s about a journey!” His hands reach for you but stop short. They hover in the space between you, open and inviting. “Sing it with me, come on. As they speed through the finish, the flags go down, the fans get up and they get out of town.” He holds up an index finger. “The arena is empty except for one man, still driving and striving as fast as he can. Let’s go, Appletini, sing it!”

“No way, not happening.” But the ice of your face has thawed and melted into a massive, flush-cheeked grin. People are staring as he staggers around the floor: your friends from their booth, his friends from the pool table, Dale from behind the bar, the assorted middle-aged locals from their tables cluttered with Budweisers and bar snacks: peanuts, pretzels, Chex Mix, mini bags of Utz chips.

“The sun has gone down and the moon has come up, and long ago somebody left with the cup, but he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns, and thinking of someone for whom he still burns.” Aegon claps his hands. “Sing it, sing it, sing it!”

You leap off your barstool and join him on the floor. “Yes!” Aegon cheers, pumping his fist in the air. Heather, Kimmie, and Joyce are shellshocked, their mouths hanging open. Who says you can’t be the fun, spontaneous friend on occasion?

You and Aegon sing together, stomping clumsily around the floor: “He’s going the distance, he’s going for speed, she’s all alone—”

“All alone!” Aegon adds, cupping his hands around his mouth like a bullhorn.

“—All alone in her time of need, because he’s racing and pacing and plotting the course, he’s fighting and biting and riding on his horse, he’s going the distance…”

You use your empty Bacardi Breezer bottle as a microphone. Aegon plays air guitar oddly realistically, his fingers scaling an imaginary fretboard. You are reminded of his jade green electric guitar, pummeled and unused and slumbering in his dreary apartment. He stays near you but never touches you, never even tries to. His hair shags over his eyes. His cheeks are pink, gleaming, healthy-looking. The song ends and you stand there together in the sudden quiet, still breathing heavily, your eyes on each other, planning out which places you would touch first if such a thing was in the cards.

At last, Aegon speaks. “You want to go to Taco Bell with me?”

“What, right now?”

“Yeah. Right now.”

“Okay.” After two Bacardi Breezers, you’re probably alright to drive, but you are not in the business of taking chances. Fortunately, there is another option. Juneau’s only Taco Bell is just a few blocks from Ursa Minor; you can easily walk there, and you’ll certainly be fine to drive after a half hour and some food. You fetch your parka off the coatrack. “Where’s your coat?” you ask Aegon.

“Captain Morgan keeps me warm.”

“You are unbelievable.” You leave him momentarily to say goodbye to your friends. They sit in the booth gazing up at you with stunned wonder. “I’m going to Taco Bell with Aegon. I probably won’t be back. I’ll drive him home afterwards.”

“Aegon…?!” Kimmie exclaims.

“It’s Greek.”

“Uh. Okay.” Heather’s words are halting. “Um…have fun, I guess? Use a condom. Be safe.”

“Yeah, don’t get murdered,” Joyce says.

“I don’t think he has the requisite hand-eye coordination for strangulation at the moment. But thanks for your concern.”

You pay your tab, collect Aegon from the bar—he’s guzzling down one last rum and Coke, wiping escaped drops from his chin with his knuckles—and walk with him under dim streetlights and infinitesimal stars to the glaringly florescent, green-red-yellow beacon of the Taco Bell. Aegon insists on paying. His bills are rumpled and stained. Five minutes later, you’re sitting in an otherwise empty dining room doling out menu items like Christmas gifts, the labeled wrappers crinkling: a Mexican pizza and tacos for Aegon, a Gordita and Cinnamon Twists for you, a Nachos Supreme to share, two large Mountain Dews.

“What’s your favorite beach?” you ask him as you eat.

“San Diego,” Aegon replies, drowning his Mexican pizza in hot sauce. “Sapphire water, golden sand, cliffs you can climb all over, sea lions everywhere. They’re adorable, they bark like dogs. But they’ll attack humans. Trust me, I know.” He sucks hot sauce noisily from his fingers.

You consider him, crunching on Cinnamon Twists. “So this is what you do. You get a girl in every city and leave as soon as you’re bored with her.”

He is amused, mischievous. “Are you applying to be my Juneau girl?”

“No. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re half-right.”

“Which half?”

“The girls don’t usually last six months.”

“So more like two girls. Or five, or ten.”

Aegon smiles and says nothing. He shoves a loaded nacho chip into his mouth, never taking his eyes off you.

“You’ve told me a lot of things that don’t paint you in an especially flattering light,” you say. “Why?”

“I’m not honest with many people. Figured I’d try it out with you.”

“How’s it feel so far?”

“Not too bad, actually.”

Seconds tick by. The hushed lull—punctuated only by chewing and straw slurping—is not awkward at all. “You could stay, you know,” you say. “Here. In Juneau. Not forever, but for a while.” Long enough for me to figure you out. Long enough for me to decide what to do with you.

“No.” Aegon is resolute.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t,” he says, then pivots. “Besides, if I was going to stay anywhere it wouldn’t be freaking Juneau, Alaska. There’s nothing here. You have one decent bar, you have one Taco Bell. You don’t have a mall, or a movie theater with more than three screens, or an arcade, or a Barnes & Noble, or a halfway decent beach…for Christ’s sake, you don’t even have a friendly neighborhood scam psychic with a neon sign in their living room window.”

You’re smiling. “So that’s something you’re into. Scam psychics.”

“I’m just saying it adds to the ambiance.”

“Okay, but anyone could do that. I’ll be a scam psychic, there, boom, that box is checked.”

He chuckles, incredulous. “Oh really? You? Reading palms and tarot cards?”

“Yeah, totally. Give me your hand.”

He lays his left hand flat, devouring a taco with his right. Shredded lettuce rains down onto the table. “This is going to be good.”

You trace the lines of his palm with your fingers, skimming them like a whisper. His fingertips are calloused, you notice. Goosebumps rise up on his arm. “Hm. Hmmmm. Yes, yes, I can see many things.”

“Tell me, oh clairvoyant Madame Appletini.”

“Your liver is sad.”

He explodes into laughter, pushing his hair back from his forehead with his right hand. “Truly a singular insight.”

“And! You love dogs because they don’t judge you for your many shortcomings.”

“Right again. Okay you only get one more, you’re cutting close to the bone here.”

You draw a feather-light circle around the perimeter of his palm. He shifts in his seat, watching you, abruptly serious. “You’re not the Ice Fisher. And it hurts you that people think you are, because you’re actually—somewhere underneath all that disturbingly delinquent, self-destructive behavior—kind of a decent guy. In fact, you’ve never hurt anybody.”

“Wrong.” He snatches his hand away and changes the subject. “Here, here, let me do you.” He motions to your left arm. You oblige him, stretching it across the table. He begins by massaging your palm, kneading it with both hands. You are suddenly warm all over, feverishly warm. Then he cradles your hand in his and inspects the lines of your palm, his thumb gliding weightlessly over them. “You possess a supernatural sense of responsibility. This is both a blessing and a curse.”

“That’s probably accurate. Aim for a more shallow observation next time.”

“You would marry a Cinnamon Twist if you could.”

You giggle, almost inhaling a mouthful of Mountain Dew. “Yes, totally. I would take it to Vegas. Elvis impersonator and everything.”

“Now this,” he says, pointing to a crease that cuts your palm in two. “This is fascinating. Groundbreaking. Revolutionary.”

You lean closer. “What does it say?”

Aegon is still clasping your hand, but his eyes are fixed on yours. They are groggy yet bright, so bright. He is smiling. “You want me so fucking badly it’s eating you alive.”

Your jaw falls open, but you don’t say anything. Neither does Aegon. You just stare at each other from across the table, not hearing the wind outside, not feeling the time passing. He’s right, you realize; it dawns on you like a dream remembered from the night before. I think he’s right.

Someone clears their throat. A Taco Bell employee has approached the table with a broom in one hand and a dustbin in the other. He is wearing a psychedelic striped shirt: lavender, aquamarine, pink, white. He looks sick of life. “Hey, we’re closing the dining room in five minutes.”

“That’s fine,” Aegon says nonchalantly. He drops your hand and starts in on his last taco. “We were just leaving anyway.”

Carrying your half-full cups of Mountain Dew, slurping and chatting about the attributes of Juneau, the two of you wander back to Ursa Minor without acknowledging what Aegon said. You drive him home through a sea of cold, black nothingness, everything beyond the Jeep’s windows silent and still. His apartment building is only a few minutes away from the bar. The ride ends much too soon. A lyric from The Distance is wheeling around in your skull: In his mind, he's still driving, still making the grade. She's hoping in time that her memories will fade.

“How’s Sunfyre?” you ask, your Jeep idling outside his apartment. You are genuinely concerned, but also making conversation so he won’t leave yet.

“He’s great. Want to come up and see him?”

You almost say no, because of all those cautionary tales women are told from childhood about men, strange men, drunk men, too-kind men, all men: that they’ll get you alone and off-guard and then they’ll paw at you begging for things you don’t want to give. They’ll lull you into a false sense of security—compliments, feigned vulnerability, hot chocolate, Taco Bell—and then strike like lightning, quick and flare-hot. But when you say yes and follow him upstairs, Aegon doesn’t try anything. He stands in his tiny, drab living room with his hands in his jeans pockets, a whisper of a smile on his face, just watching you as you check Sunfyre’s stitches and tease him about his cone and scratch his soft floppy ears. Sunfyre wags his tail and then rolls over on the scuffed hardwood floor so you can rub his belly.

“He’s in heaven,” Aegon says.

“Yeah, dogs really like me.”

Aegon drags his hands through his strange silvery hair, staring at the wall. “So do alcoholic Greek guys.”

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