#Young men are very seldom the ones calling the shots that get them worked to the bone and disabled by the time they're middle aged

[yeetntve]

One time my Mum drove over a kerb and got her car stuck at a hardware store, and three different men just came over to help unprompted. The only thing they said about it was directly related to solving the problem, and in the end all three of them just seamlessly worked together to physically lift the front of the car so my Mum could reverse out. They succeeded, saving us tow truck fees and ensuring the nice afternoon we had planned was able to go on. They asked for nothing and we never saw them again. All it took was my Mum calling them her heroes, and those men were walking on air all the way into the hardware store.

I just think that maybe, just maybe, blaming the pain and suffering caused by our patriarchal system on men's individual nature is uhhhh, some bullshit.

I see the radfems out there saying that every man who's ever been born is a psychopath who's constantly looking for an opportunity to commit a felony and then I remember this one time I was really struggling to get a shopping cart out of another shopping cart and a dude came over to help me, but he couldn't do it, and then another dude came over to help him, and then another came over because it was a challenge he wanted in on, and then I had 3 guys all tearing at a stuck shopping cart, and literally none of them even needed a cart.

And when they got it out, they fist pumped and I said thanks so much and one of them said "easy." And then they left.

And it's like.

I don't think radfems go outside.

[ogsherlockholmes]

23rd October

John Garrideb. 

That’s all I need to say. 

Okay, I’m going to say a bit more than that because, although we all know and love the famous scene he causes, John Garrideb himself isn’t the most well-known. 

I’m going to get on the name after I’ve explained his plot line, but I’m just going to add that (as well as being a J villain), his name is the same as Watson’s (obviously) BUT one of his aliases is James Winter (double J villain).

J Garrideb is introduced as a client who was searching for two other men with the same name as him (Garrideb, not John- he would only have to look at this blog to find about ten other Johns).  

‘Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, was a short, powerful man with the round, fresh, clean-shaven face characteristic of so many American men of affairs. The general effect was chubby and rather childlike, so one received the impression of quite a young man with a broad set smile upon his face. His eyes, however, were arresting. Seldom in any human head have I [Watson] seen a pair which bespoke a more intense inward life, so bright were they, so alert, so responsive to every change of thought. His accent was American, but was not accompanied by any eccentricity of speech.’ 

He didn’t actually call for Sherlock, but another Garrideb, Nathan, asked for him. J Garrideb wasn’t too happy about that and complained to Sherlock, but eventually relents and lets Sherlock get on with it. 

When J Garrideb leaves, Sherlock proves that practically everything he said was a lie, and that J Garrideb hadn’t finalised his backstory yet.

First, he said he put advertisements in the newspapers for other Garridebs- he didn’t. 

His outfit makes it seem like he’d been in London for a while- his documents and own statements said he’d only just arrived. 

He claimed to know an American doctor that Sherlock mentioned- Sherlock made up said doctor.

Combining all that and the fact he didn’t want Sherlock involved, it’s not making J Garrideb look too good. And so he isn’t: Sherlock discovers that J Garrideb is in fact ‘‘Killer’ Evans, of sinister and murderous reputation.”” as Sherlock puts it. His other aliases are, as mentioned, James Winters and Morecroft. Remember the names. 

Sherlock explains his backstory. 

“Aged forty-four. Native of Chicago. Known to have shot three men in the States. Escaped from penitentiary through political influence. Came to London in 1893. Shot a man over cards in a nightclub in the Waterloo Road in January, 1895. Man died, but he was shown to have been the aggressor in the row. Dead man was identified as Rodger Prescott, famous as forger and coiner in Chicago. Killer Evans released in 1901. Has been under police supervision since, but so far as known has led an honest life. Very dangerous man, usually carries arms and is prepared to use them.” 

It is later explained that ‘Killer Evans’ needed Nathan Garrideb to leave his house so he could get to a forgery which was hidden underneath the floorboards. The house previously belonged to the man he killed, Rodger Prescott, and Killer Evans was going to steal the forged money. 

A very elaborate and detailed story about the Garrideb inheritance, just to get an old guy obsessed with history out of the house. 

So, now I’ve gotten the storyline out of the way, I’m going to go into a very wild and obscure theory. Warning: it’s extreme and stupid and doesn’t make sense to anyone apart from me. I understand if you’re not going to torture yourself by reading it. 

I mentioned the aliases: John Garrideb, James Winters, Morecroft and Killer Evans. For the sake of this theory, I’m going to call him Evans, since I think that’s most likely his name (not the killer part, though, that’s just a nickname). Evans created the name Garrideb so it worked with his crazy story and matched Nathan Garrideb’s. 

So, why John? 

If you search up ‘most popular male names 19th century’ you get a link to a social security website, where the first name is John. I mean, with the amount of Johns I’ve written about, I think I’ve given definitive proof for that. 

Simple enough, then: John Garrideb. 

But what is the need for James Winters and Morecroft?

Remember the time that Mary Morstan (yes, the ‘wife’) called her husband James in The Man with the Twisted Lip? I’m sure it’s a very common mistake to mess up your spouses name, and then your spouse doesn’t even correct you, it’s fine, Mary. 

Sometimes, it’s easy to dismiss these continuity mistakes as just mistakes, but it’s funner to imagine that ACD had an actual reason for them. 

So, we have a murderer who has two aliases: John and James. John is the one he’s introduced with, and James is only briefly mentioned. Then we have a doctor, with one name he is always called, and one which he was accidentally called on one occasion. 

Yes, I know James was also a common name (it’s third in the list of most popular names) but I like writing theories that are very unlikely, I don’t get out much. 

I’m not suggesting Evans was a mirror of Watson, but Evans was also the man who tried to kill Watson, and brought about the ‘Garridebs’ moment. And, let’s be honest, how could ACD write that not thinking it was even the slightest bit romantic?

Then comes the last alias (yes, I’m still going): Morecroft. 

I failed to find the name Morecroft on my trusty social security website, and when I searched it up, only pottery results came up. So, Morecroft, not a popular name. Who else had unpopular names? 

Sherlock and Mycroft. 

Mycroft was apparently popular a decade before the books were written, but neither were popular at the time of writing. And Morecroft? I’m not even sure if anyone had that name. But, it sounds very similar to Mycroft. 

I promise, I have a point. 

Evans therefore used two popular names as aliases and one unpopular. He was a known liar and forger of the truth, making mistakes in his stories and-

Mistakes in stories? Continuity errors? Forger of the truth? Lies? 

Where have I heard of that? 

Cough cough ACD. 

No, I’m not suggesting ACD was a murderer now. I will get there eventually. 

Evans had reasons for his lies, he was trying to succeed in something. But the only thing he does succeed in is gifting the world with the Garridebs moment. So, he’s using false names that are either the same or similar to important characters in the canon. 

I’m being very extreme, but maybe ACD was telling us something? 

Maybe, like Evans, ACD is making these blunders in his stories for a reason? And maybe, like Evans, these lies will lead to one thing: Sherlock and Watson?

Or, I’ve had too much caffeine today, and I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Anyway, enjoy today’s post if you can, I promise I’m not crazy. 

[rinharu-purple]

Emmm 👉👈 can i request Gavin's spring festival date analysis?! Ehem especially when Gavin said "I've waited a long time for today.." 💙

But Of course if you're not busy.. I'll wait patiently.. I just.. love read your analysis 💙 like i can feel your love and dedication for Gavin.. a lot of Gavin stan is very smart and loyal.. just like Gavin itself

Hello nonny and of course you can! Thank you for your lovely ask and reading my posts. It makes me really happy to hear this 💞 I can also double up what you've said, Our birdcop is smart and loyal and I really love being a part of Gavin-standom which includes so many talented writers, artists, analysts and it has @cheri-translates! There are so many great posts from various accounts and one can feel the love, passion and loyalty towards Gavin in all of them! 💫

An analysis on Spring Festival date is so overdue, so it is me who should apologize for not having written this before. I will more than gladly include your request scene, I hope you enjoy it ^_^

MC Testing Waters: Spring Festival Date

At the beginning of the game, MC is a young woman with lots of love in her heart, however without much experience in love. Fortunately this starts to change when she meets LIs as adults.

Spring Festival Date takes place after Firework Date and before the Romantic Date, although the timeline is quite messy, which I will come to by the end of this analysis.

If you look closely, you can see MC checking Gavin's romantic feelings towards her by using this "boyfriend game" and also uses the opportunity to get beyond his hardened exterior and touch his vulnerable side 💗

Spoilers start below this line

This date comes to, because MC lies to her aunt about having a boyfriend to avoid arranged blind dates and even promises to visit her on New Years with her boyfriend. Speculatively it seemed like a solid play, until...the time literally came.

Thinktanking about a way out of this with Kiki and Willow, they weight different options as to tell them she broke up with him, leave the city or call in sick but then the best wingman on earth Minor saves the way and suggests that she just takes a "fake boyfriend" with her, surely enough with Gavin in his mind.

MC goes through her contacts list to search for a suitable candidate, but her heart Whispers her the answer by skipping a beat as her fingertips scroll down to one name.

... Gavin

As such... MC has chosen her player for the game and Gavin's Heart Trial with MC's family commences...

---Press Start---

Creativity Test

Unluckily Gavin actually shows up for this highly important date late, with his phone off! From the storyline he arrives a couple of minutes late to MC’s aunt's place, thus starting the game one point behind. He was late because he was buying presents for the whole family! With the spot on gifts which are well received by the family because they're expensive, imported goods, limited products, cute and thoughtful he makes up for the lost points.

But it's just the first stage and he has 3 more stages to clear, the pressure is slowly rising.

This gray suit has a lovely story behind it, which you can find by the end of the story.

Decision Test

Gavin has passed the creativity test with flying colors, but in the second stage more challenging questions are on the menu. The eldest aunt wants to know Gavin's age, occupation, salary(?!) and possessions(?!). The last two questions are fairly over the line and is a no-no in my country. Asking people about their financial status as well as bragging about it is perceived as rude and insolent, that's why the way Gavin answers these questions skillfully without bragging about his wealth adds just another brick on my Gavin-temple.

Age: 24

Occupation: Police Officer

Salary: Covers the bills

Possessions: A flat in the city and a motorcycle.

In my Prank date analysis, I've mentioned about Gavin's ability to deal with impertinence and also here, he stays friendly, but only answers the questions necessary to get through with the situation. MCs family is checking whether he's wealthy enough to take care of MC (which is sad that in the 21st century that in some countries women need to be financially secured by men). So Gavin just gives them just the right enough of information to pass the test and pass he does.

There is another aspect to his way of answering though. You see, Gavin is an unmaterialistic man. He doesn't care about money or any other meta. He doesn't touch upon the fact that he's coming from a wealthy family, or that he inherits his grandparents house or that he can afford designer dresses, overseas travels or gems without giving a second thought. That shows just how humble Gavin is and I love him for it. What defines him is not his wealth, nor does he allow anyone define him on his financial status. It's his character, the values he stand for, the vision he embodies, the way he treats MC.. Ehm.. And.. His champion body and drop dead gorgeous looks (comes as an extra;))

But the game is far from over, because the family council is now going to challenge him on...

Affinity Test

This is where things get rosy as the family would like to know how they've met and whether they've been together since high school.

Look, Gavin is actually not playing a game, but living the moment. He is well aware of the fact that once he and MC become an official pair, he will be standing on the same spot a year later. He is serious...

So when they ask about their affection, he gives them his genuine answer and confesses his crush on her during high school and says that they've been going out since fall. This dazzles MC, as if she hasn't been dazzled enough lol.

The three glasses of drink he gulps surely has a role in this sincerity and taking three glasses of a drink as a punishment also becomes a tradition for MC and Gavin in the future.

And so, he proudly passes the Affinity Test with flying colors, effortlessly. Only one more stage and he's done it!

Execution Test

Every hero has his moment, when the fight takes a gloomier turn against his favor and the odds don't look good as before when he gets a strong blow, that is when the family hits him with the question "Don't you get alone well with your family?".

This is Gavin's weak spot, his cryptonite, his bleeding wound and MC's family just pressed on it. What makes this scene so heartbreaking is not just the topic itself and we know why it is a sensitive topic for Gavin but also that Gavin actually tries to signal them that this is not his favorite topic. He tells them he doesn't go home for holidays (friendly warning number 1), the aunties pushes by telling him to take some meal with him to which he replies "Thanks, but that's okay. I've been away for a long time" (friendly warning number 2) the family pushes further and as a one last resort he tells them that during college he rarely went there and spent holidays working afterwards (friendly warning number 3). Sadly the auntie than ignorantly ask whether his family doesn't worry about him and now because he's given three fair warning shots which, he downright gives them a brief and resolute answer:

- No.

That's usually the latest where people with common sense stop digging in further. Unfortunately then the auntie asks whether he doesn't get along well with his family to which Gavin no longer responds. This is the perfect way of dealing with such people and Gavin has a very intuitive talent for dealing different people from different mindsets. Give them three friendly and fair warnings, still pushing? Then give them a last chance by one final brief and to the point answer, they choose to ignore the signal? Stop interacting, you can only waste time beyond this point.

The only problem with this situation here, is that these people are not just somebody, Gavin wants to win these people over, so he cannot just ignore them. But also he cannot do it without a timeout, so he goes to grab some wine. (God it makes me so sorry everytime he has to face his family drama or is misjudged. I just wanna hug him bring him hot cocoa, give him a backrub and bring spicy food for him. Luckily he has MC ^_^)

But let's not talk only about about Gavin, because MC is struggling too. And we should recognize her stick up for him with the most cherishing words:

-Auntie, you got it wrong. He is a decent and pure man and has come to my aid many time and in quite dangerous circumstances.

When she comes back however cannot find Gavin, once she does, a heartwarming moment blooms between them.

This scene is very crucial in Gavin and MC's relationship because this is the first time MC sees Gavin tired and flustered. She feels sad for him but also happy for herself, for she feels as though she gets closer to him, thus seeing the real Gavin. By the way she show him her genuine care, Gavins heart melts and kisses the back of her hand as a gesture and so the first intimate moment involving them having a kiss ensues. Furthermore, they show each other their mutual care, which brings them one step closer and this gives Gavin the only courage he needs to tackle the situation.

When our hero gets the courage and the stamina he need from his girl, nothing can stop him now. Having gatherer his strength, Gavin returns to the dinner table:

“I am so happy to be here with you all today. In fact, I haven't felt this atmosphere of family in a long time. I have a very strict father and a brother I seldom see...I don’t even know when I turned into such a loner. Eating alone, sleeping alone, doing everything alone...until I met her. It was a beautiful autumn day. The gingko leaves were floating in the wind. I was also going through a pretty dark time. But she saved me before I hit bottom...It’s she who told me I could live a stronger life. And it’s also she who told me I could live a more tender life. I never felt lonely before, until I met her. I started to get used to star-gazing with her, having dinner with her, spending the New Year’s with her. In the future, I'll give it my all to stay with her, to take good care of her and love her. I wanna make up many times over for all the times I wasn't there”

MC’s heart stopped, aunties eyes teary, the elder Aunt want his actions to back up these words and thus Gavin has a pass from MC's family. Now that he's won the game, it's time to collect his prize.

After they leave MC's aunt's house, our lovebirds walk together in the night full of fireworks and Gavin tells Mc that Minor has mentored him on being the perfect son-in-law, hence he was late. He also asks her what she would do if he didn't show up, to which she says that her intuition says that he won't fail her and he murmurs quietly:

- I've waited a long time for today.

Of course he doesn't repeats himself when MC asks him about what he just said. But that's what kept him going all night long.

He has waited for six whole years to meet her again, to stand by here, take good care of her and love her. Tonight, he could do them all by being her "boyfriend", giving his word to her family and having their blessings. He could see that she also cares a lot for him, worries about him and wants to be there for him. He landed his lips for the first time on her delicate skin and could give her warmth.

He could finally confess his feelings for her and say the genuine things he will only say to her.

So yes, he has waited for a long time for this moment to come and when it came, he made sure to grab it tightly.

----—----—---

Timeline issues:

- The order of the dates in the game doesn't always reflect the real course of events. The grey suit that Gavin wears is actually bought after Romantic Date, which takes place after this date.

-Even though MC plans this whole game to avert blind dates, but she still gets set up later on a blind date by another aunt lol.

Thank you once again for your patience nonny and I hope that the analysis proves to be worthy of your wait 💗

Masterlist

For MC's confession let me take you here

For Gavin and MCs relationship milestones here

For a fun trivia about this date you can click here

[whereisstevethestove]

Boys Who Cry Pearl and Sea: Flying Dutchman AU

Fandoms: Sanders sides and technically the lore behind the Flying Dutchman.

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Remus

Relationships:  Roman/Virgil

Additional tags: Mer AU, Pirate AU, Human AU, Siren!Roman, Sailor!Virgil

Word count: 3263

Summary:  Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.  Perhaps that is why he has never felt like he belonged on land.

Notes: I wrote a sea shanty for this! (x)  I hope you enjoy!

AO3

Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.

His English mother was traveling from her home in London to join her merchant husband in Cuba, but by the time that she arrived, her son was nearly a month old, and strange, with storm grey eyes that seldom blinked.  He grew up mostly indoors, there not really being any other children his age that his family would let him socialize with.

Virgil himself was an odd child, quiet, and when he turned ten, his father sent him to another sea captain for an apprenticeship.

The Windborne was a young ship, not even five years old, and the captain was quick to shove the pale boy belowdecks, for a child has no place among a crew of men.  Virgil spent his first year feeling like an outcast, a stowaway on a ship he was technically part of.  

That was of course until they found out that Virgil could squeeze himself into small spaces, and climb faster than anyone else on ship.  He also seemed to need less sleep, so they started to put him on the night watch as months passed.

Virgil didn’t mind.  At least it gave him an excuse to hum the shanties that the others sang as he stared at the dark water that was reflected with stars.

He was fifteen when something interesting finally happened during one of his watches.

“There was a boy, Icarus~”   The haunting melody stretched over the water in the secluded cove that they were anchored in and Virgil leaned a bit more over the side of the ship as he strained to hear the song.

“You pronounced Icarus wrong.”  Virgil called out and the song stopped.

“How do you pronounce it then?”

Virgil pursed his lips before answering.  “It’s not I-Car-Us, it’s all one beat, kinda like: ǐːkaros.”

“Oh.”  The voice seemed confused.  “There was a boy, Icarus, who flew too close to the sun-”

“That’s better.”  Virgil smirked as the voice sputtered in annoyance.

“His wings were made of brass and wax-”

Virgil listened as the voice sang about the greek myth, before abruptly hopping topics to sing about a sailor’s myth, the Dutchman.  Virgil wasn’t one to believe in silly legends, but the voice was nice and it made him feel lightheaded in a good way, so he continued to listen as the second chorus faded out and the voice switched verses again.

“There is a simple sailor boy,

Not wanted by land nor sky-”

Virgil stood up from his spot and looked over the water.  “Woah, wait.”

“What?”  The voice was definitely irritated now.

“Simple?  That’s all you can think of to describe me?”  Virgil teased as some of his hair fell into his face.

“Uh... to be honest, I thought you’d be drowned by now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, the shanty only has two verses, I’ve been making the rest up.”  The voice said sheepishly and Virgil heard a splash of something going into water.   He watched as the dark water below rippled and a moment later, a red and gold blur shot out and landed on the deck next to him.

Virgil fell back onto his ass in shock.  “Mermaid.”

The creature flashed him a grin.  “Close, I’m a siren and I am a male by your kind’s definition., so not a mer-maid either way.”

Virgil took in the red and gold tail, the dark skin as he slowly looked the siren in the eyes.

“You’re gorgeous.”  He breathed out reverently and the siren’s fins on the side of it’s head flared in surprise.

“You are very pale and small.”  He responded back, which broke Virgil from his reprise as he scrambled back up to his feet.

“Thanks, I get that a lot.”  

“Oh.  I thought for sure you’d be taller standing.  Hmm, okay.”  The siren balanced himself on the railing better, looking at Virgil with curious eyes.

Virgil blushed, ducked his head and then looked back up.  “So, how am I not dead?”

“Excellent question.  I have no fucking idea.”  The siren shrugged and Virgil nodded.

“Alright then.”

“Can I get your name pale one?”  The siren asked as he leaned forward and Virgil leaned back.  

“Me giving you my name doesn’t do any weird shit- like I sell my soul to you, right?”

“No, why would it do that?  Is that some weird human thing no one told me about?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “It’s a fae thing, I thought that since sirens are real, maybe they were.  Anyway, I’m Virgil.”

The siren’s eyes widened.  “You have a siren name.”

“Okayyy?”

“I’m Roman.”

“That’s an odd name.”

“Says the one who literally didn't know that my kind existed, despite having a siren name.”  Roman shot back with a sharp grin.

Virgil smirked and gently shoved at the siren, who wobbled nervously.

“You should go.”

“Why?” “My watch is almost over.  I want to go to sleep.”  Virgil yawned and the siren shrugged.

“Alright.  I’ll get you one of these times.”  Roman said as he fell back, disappearing into the water.

…

Virgil didn’t see him for another year.  The Windborne traveled to many different locations and so it was rare for them to pass through the siren’s waters, and when they did, they didn’t stay the night.

So he wasn’t surprised when the song started across the water.

“I’ll sing you a song of ravens and stone--”   Roman’s voice definitely had some bite to it and Virgil could feel himself slipping as he struggled to keep his mind clear.

“With the temper of a storm!”

Virgil jumped into the water, fully intending on beating up Roman for being so fucking annoying.

What he wasn’t expecting was for arms to wrap around him and start dragging him down.

Virgil tried to elbow the person, mer(?)  behind him, but the singing just intensified and his head felt like it was full of cotton….

…

…

…

Roman couldn’t believe that Andy had managed to snag Virgil the second the teen had jumped in.

His half brother was a force to be reckoned with though, and Roman watched as the lithe siren dragged the sailor out of the water and tested for a pulse.

“Aw, he’s still alive.”

“I asked for him to still be alive An.”  Roman muttered as he looked at his human.

“I don’t know why you’re attracted to him.  He’s awfully pale.  And when there’s so many other options up there on that ship..”  Andy trailed off once he saw the look in Roman’s eyes.  “Oh, you see the pale on as a mate?  You’re a mess, sing once you get your life together Ro.”

With that, he left with a snap of a jet black tail slapping water.  

…

Virgil sat straight up and vomited,  coughing as seawater exited his lungs and he shivered on the rock that he was somehow on.

“Are you okay?”

Virgil threw up again and shook his head as someone gathered him up, pressing a hand against his chest.

“I’m sorry, I got worried because you stopped breathing.”

Virgil’s mind had cleared enough for him to look up through lidded eyes to see Roman looking at him with concern.

“What?”  Virgil croaked out, voice absolutely ruined by the seawater that he had ingested.

“Uh, you jumped overboard, my half sibling brought you here and then I pulled the life back into you.”

Virgil vaguely remembered jumping over, but after that…

He passed out again.

…

Roman was not expecting humans to be so fragile.   Virgil had indeed become unresponsive after throwing up, but now he was asleep again, with no warning at all.

At least the sun was coming up, so it would be a bit warmer.  

He just had to hope that Virgil’s ship wasn’t leaving, or else Roman wasn’t sure what he’d do.  This was supposed to be a fun interaction, not him watching an almost corpse.

Unfortunately for him, the sun rose, The Windborne left the cove, and Virgil slept.

Roman wasn’t sure how he was going to admit to his human that his only way back home was gone.

…

Turns out, Virgil was fucked.

He woke up and realized almost immediately that his ship had left and the first thing he did was try to sneak off the rock that Roman had stuck him on, so that he could swim to the shore and try to work out his life then.

He didn’t notice that Roman was on the rock also, until the siren grabbed his shoulder.

“Where are you going, the ship is gone.”

Virgil hissed and recoiled, falling into the water before surfacing to curse at Roman.  “What the fuck?”

“Sorry!  I assumed that humans could hear when someone is coming up on them!”

Virgil hissed again and scrambled back onto the rock.  “I wasn’t paying attention, and yes I know that the ship is gone, it’ll be another few months before they anchor back here.”

“A few months?”

“Yep.  We had planned a few routes over the next year that come this way…  I just have to wait out the storm, and I’m not doing it on this tiny ass rock.”  Virgil went to slip into the water when Roman stopped him again.

“Let me swim you over, it’ll be faster.”

“Thanks I guess.”

Virgil watched as Roman slipped into the water and then swam around the rock to wink at him.

“Ready my raven?”

“Oh, stars no.  No pet names.”  Virgil grumbled as he got in and wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck as directed.

“Ready?”

“You won’t drown me, right?”

“Of course not!”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Roman swam slowly, but still, it was faster than Virgil could’ve gone, so it was nice to hitch a ride in a sense as they made their way to the beach.

They finally made it to where Virgil’s feet could touch, and he quickly let go, wading through the water to collapse on wet sand.

“Are you okay?”  Roman called from his spot in the water and Virgil stuck his head up.

“Oh yeah.  I’ve been kidnapped by a siren, threw up my body weight in saltwater, haven’t eaten since almost two days ago, and now I’m here for a good long time, all alone!  Don’t forget that if I don’t get some actual water soon, I’ll be a rotting corpse on this beach!”

Roman was by his side faster than Virgil could comprehend, eyes flashing nervously.  “Water?”

“What about it?”

“You can’t drink seawater?”

Virgil groaned and buried his face in his hands.

This was going to be a long three months.

Assuming he could survive for that long.

…

The first week was the worst.  Roman had to watch as Virgil disappeared into the treeline, leaving for long hours, even though he had offered to provide for any of the sailor’s needs, after all, it was his fault that Virgil was stuck.

All the human had asked for was a knife though.

He built an odd structure on the shore, and Roman watched as he (unsuccessfully) fished, and got sick from being in the sun for too long the second day.

By day eight, Virgil was screaming at the sky to just hit him with some lightning.

Roman was impressed that his human had even made it that long.

By night nine, he finally had the courage to go back on shore.  Virgil was laying on the ground, staring at the stars, seemingly distracted, but his eyes did flit over to Roman as the siren adjusted his tail and also lay back.

“Are you okay?”

“No.  I miss people.”

“Ah.”

They lay there in silence, and it wasn’t until Roman looked over and he saw the streaks of silver running down the other’s face that he realized something was wrong.  He sat up and scooted closer to Virgil, gently wiping at the strange stuff.

“What is this?”

Virgil blankly looked at him, still not moving.  “Tears.”

Roman brought the ‘tears’ to his face.  “Weird.  They look… wrong.”

Virgil sniffed and sat up, wiping at his face with a torn sleeve.  “Why is that fish?”

Roman looked at the ‘tear’ again.  “It is a liquid.”

“Are you implying that tears aren’t made of saltwater?”  

Roman sniffed the tear and realized that Virgil was right.  It smelt like ocean. 

“You cry the sea when you are sad?”

“I guess.”  Virgil sniffed again and Roman sighed before putting a finger to the corner of his own eye, quietly shedding a pearl as he cried.

“I do too.  Perhaps we are not as different as we like to say.”

…

The dynamic changed after that.  Roman started to bring fish, which was a godsend in Virgil’s opinion, and in exchange, he’d tell the siren about something from his world, or he’d teach him a new shanty to sing.

And as much as he denied it, Virgil fell in love.

It wasn’t a major revelation in a sense.  It was about a month into his stay and he looked up and remembered that it was his birthday.

Hurray, seventeen years on this earth.  He hadn’t told the siren, who didn’t understand the concept of age, and even though Roman certainly acted like he was Virgil’s age, he had told him once about the first time his pod had moved, and it was because the first merchants were sailing into the area.

So yeah, his siren, wait, when did he start considering Roman as his siren?  Virgil shook his head, trying to clear it of the traitorous thoughts as Roman came in with the gentle waves, grinning.

“Hello my stormy night!”

“No nicknames!”

…

Roman was in love.

Deepy, irrevocably, in love.

He was screwed.

Sirens only choose one mate, and it is always the first one that you fall in love with.  No take back, so changing in the future.

The only problem was that he knew that Virgil didn’t love him back.

The different specie? Not a problem, many sirens fell in love with humans, and they could change their mate to be like them with a simple draw of blood.  The fact that Roman was immortal and Virgil wasn’t.  Fixed when turned into a siren.

Literally everything had a solution.

Except when your love didn’t feel the same way.

They were both on a rock one night, Roman and helped Virgil swim out, although the young sailor was surprisingly good, despite most at the time who couldn’t swim, and Roman had been caught up in the way that the moonlight framed Virgil’s face to notice that the human was addressing him.

“RO.”

“Oh sorry, what?”

Virgil laughed before suddenly looking serious.  “The ship will be arriving any day now.”

Roman deflated and looked away.  “I know.”

“I have to leave.”

“I understand.”

“Part of me doesn’t want to, you know?  Stay here for the rest of my short and pathetic life… but I don’t want to watch you watch me die..”  Virgil trailed off and Roman saw that he was crying again, oddly reminiscent of their first night like this.

“What if you didn’t have to die?”

Virgil looked at him sadly.  “I’m not like you Roman.”

Roman gulped.  “I know, but you can be.  There’s just one problem.”

“What?”

“You’d have to be my mate.”

Virgil’s eyes widened and a blush spread across his face as he ducked his head to hide behind his longer hair.  “Oh?”

Roman nodded.  “I know, it’s something that we take very seriously and I understand that you wouldn’t want to do it and--”

“No, I want to.  Maybe not now, but in a few years?  Yeah, it sounds amazing.  All of it.  Being with you… mates.”

Roman blinked at Virgil.  “Really?”

“Really.”

Roman surged forward and kissed Virgil, wrapping his arms around the human’s waist, sparks flashing across his vision as Virgil kissed him back, all passion and quiet love.

It was his first kiss and Roman could feel it clear as day that the human was meant to be his.

When they pulled away, with Virgil gasping for air and Roman trailing kisses along his mate to be’s jaw, nipping at the skin.

“Seas below, I love you.”  Roman whispered as he pulled away, looking into Virgil’s dark eyes.

“I love you too.”  Virgil kissed him again and this time they didn’t break away for quite some time.

…

Virgil stands at the edge of the ocean.

The Windborne came into the cove about a week after he and Roman had claimed each other, the siren later marking him with a bite that scarred silver against the still pale skin.

Hell, Virgil really wished he could get tan.

Roman had also given him a gold coin, one that he was supposed to give away when he was ready to return, and then they would be ready.

Roman had promised to come back for him.

When Virgil boards the ship later, they’re overjoyed to see him alive.  When they anchor for the night, he collapses in the barracks below decks, grateful to be sleeping in an actual hammock, rather than on sand or on stones.

When they sail out of the cove the next day, only he can hear the song that Roman sings in mourning of his mate.

Only he wants to jump back.

…

Years pass, three to be exact, before they sail by that cove again.  Virgil meets Remus, a younger sailor that he teaches everything, despite sometimes wishing that the younger would just shut up and give him a peace of mind.

Remus is bold though, and he believes in mer.  Virgil tells him about Roman, one day when they’re both in the crow’s nest and he doesn’t think that he sees anyone look so excited.

Of course, that is before he hears the song as they are sailing by, not stopping as night falls.

“I’ll sing you a song of ravens and stone--

With the temper of a storm!

With those who sail the waters deep,

Calling the entire sea their home!”

Virgil doesn’t realize that Remus is allured by the song until he snaps out of his funk and drags them both below decks, defying his heart.

He gets sick.

Remus nurses him back to health.

A month later, he insists on being alone for night watch, and luckily they are anchored just outside the cove.

Roman still has that wild smirk and he still kisses with a passion that makes Virgil dizzy as his mate cuts their palms and presses them together, mixing human and siren blood.

Transformation doesn’t hurt.

Virgil lets Roman pull them both overboard and the first time he breathes in saltwater properly, he cries, his tears still made of sea.

“You haven’t changed a bit my love.”

Virgil laughs, his voice carrying the unrestrained power of a new siren.  “Oh darling, but I have.”

His song is wild, just like a storm on the sea, free.  It melds with Roman’s perfectly as the two harmonize, voices weaving sea shanties and siren lullabies as easily as a fisherman mends a net.

Virgil wonders if Remus can still hear a siren’s song.  He may regret leaving the young boy behind, but he can take care of himself, after all, Virgil did as well.

…

Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.

Maybe that’s why he never felt comfortable in his own skin, why he was quiet for a child, taking in everything he saw.  Maybe it was the siren name that his mother gave him, for she believed in the beautiful creatures that dripped with song.  

Perhaps it was like in Roman’s shanty:

Not wanted by land nor sky...

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 33

Summary: Kate is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 33:  Kate finds solace in her new friends and Tommy wants to escape for a bit. 

            When Michael returned to the office, it was tense, to say the least. He and Tommy got into shouting matches a few times and everyone could clearly hear them in the office. But it seemed that Michael was too invested in the company to let things get in the way. As well as Tommy wasn’t willing to give up his accountant.

            So, things died down a couple of weeks after he returned. Meanwhile, the deal was written and the company was now working with the Forty Elephants. Kate kept in regular contact with Alice and Maggie, building a repertoire as she did with Alfie. Of course, like with Alfie, she found she enjoyed the women’s company. They were women who understood her, understood the things she did. Before, Kate had no one who really understood her other than a group of men. Still, how could they understand what it was like to be a woman in their line of work?

            So, being friends with Alice and the rest of her close cohorts was refreshing.

             “So, Alfie told me you were in Boston for some time.”

            Kate had invited Alice and a few of the other women to join her for lunch at Arrow House. Maggie came along as well as Ruby Sparks and Lillian Goldstein. What looked like a typical ladies' lunch out on the patio was actually a gathering of some of the most dangerous women Britain had ever seen. And Kate felt right at home with them.

            “There were things from my past that caught up with me,” Kate admitted. “Things I needed to take care of.”

            While Alice looked genuinely interested, Maggie seemed a bit more intent on digging for anything that might garner mistrust. The contract was signed, but that didn’t mean they completely trusted each other yet. They were women who knew the true value of loyalty and how rare it was to find.

            “Stuff like what?” Maggie inquired.

            “A man I had dealings with.” Kate realized that there was no reason to skimp on details. These girls would understand. “I hired him to kill the man who killed my mother. A man in the Chicago Outfit. I promised him money for doing it but fell through. The deal was either I paid or I married him.”

            Ruby made a noise of disgust. “Fucking pig. Who on Earth does he think he is?”

            It made her smile a bit even though the memory was so painful. “He caught up to me eventually so I had to return to Boston.”

            “Do you need him killed?” Alice asked bluntly. “You name the day and way, love.”

            “Fucking castrate him and throw him out on the streets,” Ruby muttered into her teacup.

            “Thank you, but he’s dead,” Kate assured them. It was different, hearing them become angry about it. The reactions were similar to Alfie and Tommy. They all wanted to kill the man who treated her poorly. But Alice and the others were acting on empathy instead of sympathy. They understood the plight of being a woman. Struggling under the thumb of a man. They understood the anger and desire to change the tides. To make other men feel the pressure on the back of their necks. It was a shared existence. And as hard as he could try, Tommy wouldn’t understand.

            “Good.” Alice nodded. “You killed him?”

            “I wouldn’t let him kill me.” Her voice quieted as her brow furrowed in thought. “He took so much from me.”

            Lillian, who seemed to be the gentlest of the group touched Kate’s arm. “You’re still standing. You’re still here. He couldn’t take that away from you.”

            She nodded, not sure what else to say about the matter. There was comfort in knowing she had allies who understood. Then, Kate noticed the ring on Lillian’s finger. “Oh, I didn’t know you were married.”

            Alice, Maggie, and Ruby all snorted. “I’m not, technically.” Lillian looked to Ruby at her right. “Ruby and I…”

            It took a moment for Kate to connect the dots but she finally realized when they looked at each other. “Oh, oh of course. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

            Maggie studied Kate’s reaction with scrutiny. “It’s something we accept.” She spoke in a firm tone as if to ward off any criticism.

            “Of course, no I…I completely understand,” Kate assured them. “There are no rules when it comes to love, least not in my eyes.”

            Lillian smiled as Ruby reached for her hand. Both of them seemed relieved to act normally around Kate. There wasn’t anything to hide between the women.

            “We hope your men understand that as well,” Alice added.

            “Well, I can certainly talk to Tommy about it if you want me to. But I wouldn’t call them my men.” She laughed softly. “I don’t call the shots around the company.”

            Alice just shook her head with an amused look. “Men can think they’re in control, but it’s usually not the case. It’s usually the woman behind him.”

            “Yeah, the one who’s got his balls in her purse.” Maggie quipped making them all burst out into laughter.

            Kate realized how nice it was to laugh again.

 ~~~~~~~

            That same night, Tommy came home earlier than usual. Kate found him downstairs smoking a cigarette and flipped through some mail.

            He smiled when he saw her walk into his study. “Did you have a nice lunch today?” He asked. “Mary said you four were in stitches the whole time.”

            Kate laughed softly. “They’re very fun to be around.” She agreed.

            “All they do is give me the cold shoulder.”

            ��Hm, maybe it’s how you come across.” She walked over to him, adjusting the collar of his shirt to turn his attention away from the mail in his hand. “I wasn’t very fond of you at first.”

            “That’s not true, you liked me.” He dropped the envelopes to pull her close.

            “Eh, you were difficult to like. At least you’re handsome.” She teased.

            He scoffed and shook his head. “Those women are a bad influence on you.” He joked.

            Kate laughed and ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s nice to have other women to talk to. It’s boring talking to men all day.”

            “Hm.” He hummed and wrapped his arms around her waist.

            “But I am glad to see you again.” She murmured and kissed him.

            He deepened the kiss, pressing his hands to the small of her back. But he knew it was up to her to lead. There had been a few times when Tommy overstepped, getting carried away with the moment and Kate shied away. She said it wasn’t his fault, but he knew he was responsible for making her feel safe.

            She pulled away and hugged him close, inhaling his cologne mixed with cigarettes to feel at home again.

            He lightly peppered kisses down her jaw and neck, holding her tenderly. “Want to go away with me this weekend?” He asked.

            “Sure, where to?” A little break sounded like heaven to her.

            “Doncaster. I’m going to buy another racehorse and there’s an auction there on Monday. But I figure we could make it a longer trip. If you’d like.”

            “That sounds perfect.”

            “We could make a week of it.” He proposed. “Go further north, somewhere on the ocean. Scarborough has a nice place to stay by the water.”

            Kate lifted her head to look at him. “I’ll follow you wherever, Tommy Shelby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

            “Morning, Kate.” Michael greeted her as she entered the office.

            “Michael, how are you?”

            Tommy’s cousin didn’t answer because he noticed she had a luggage case with her. “Are you going somewhere?” He asked.

            “Tommy and I are leaving this afternoon for Doncaster then to Scarborough.” She answered, setting her case down so she could take a paper that Michael was holding out for her.

            The young man seemed a little disgruntled at the fact that his cousin was taking the time to have a holiday while the rest of the family was in turmoil. But there was little he could say or do. Mentioning anything would only lead to another argument. And Michael didn’t have the energy. He was only barely making it by, using snow to keep from crashing as he worked tireless hours.

            “I suspect he’s getting another horse,” Michael noted, remembering the last time he went to Doncaster with the rest of the family. When they were all still speaking to each other. Before the terrible nightmares, he had.

            “I suppose. I guess we’ll see when we get there.” Kate looked to the door. Tommy had followed her into the building but stayed on the first floor to speak with some of the workers. “How is your mom?” She asked. Seldom could she ask Tommy about the others. He never wanted to talk about what happened and always cast aside her concern.

            Michael sighed. “She’s not well. S’been seeing things because of the tablets they have her on.” He admitted. “Talks to spirits.”

            Kate had always known Polly as the strong, woman in charge. Secure and reliable, it was hard to hear how the imprisonment had such a negative effect on her. It didn’t matter how strong one was, there was always something that could break them. “I’ve tried to talk to Tommy about everything, I really have but…”

            “I know.” Michael nodded. “It’s okay, Kate, it’s not your place to fix things. It’s Tommy’s responsibility.” He scrubbed a hand over his weary eyes. “But they’re all too headstrong to face each other.”

            “Right, I’m aware.” She agreed, still glancing at the door every so often just to see if Tommy would walk in. She didn’t mind if he heard her talking about his family. But she also didn’t want the subject to sour their trip together. “And John and Arthur?”

            “Out in the countryside. Linda’s due any day now.” Michael figured. “Ada said she’d tell me when the baby was born. He won’t talk to me. Ada’s been…well the buffer I suppose.” He mumbled.

            “I haven’t spoken to her in a bit.” Kate admitted. She’d been so caught up in the deal with the Forty Elephants that she’d neglected to stay in touch.

            “Tommy’s sending her to Boston soon.” Michael shrugged. “Guess he’s got plans out there.”

            Kate’s heart nearly stopped. “What?”

            He looked at her blankly. “He didn’t tell you?”

            “No…no he didn’t.” She cursed under her breath. “I’m going to leave this here for a moment.” She said, gesturing to her luggage before leaving. “I need to find Tommy.”  

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Masterpost

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[geffbob]

Elf & Dwarf part 1

With hair of gold, with hair of coal

With grace and elegance, with strength and poise

With fire in her eyes, with death in her hands

Two souls bound, two souls, until the end

 “What’cha writing there love?” - said Gerdam, curious and confused. Coming back with wood slumped over her shoulder. She set it down with a large bang and began picking off leaves.

“A poem” - replied Mileasia. Looking out into the distance. The hilltop they were currently resting on was warm with the evening sunlight. Both the horses were fine to just eat grass as they rested.

Gerdam’s heavy armour was resting on a rock next to them. Dwarven armour typically consists of leather, dwarven metal (sturdier than regular metal and blue, dwarves will refuse to share the way dwarven leather is made to non-dwarves, unless you’re a very trusted close friend) and belts. While lightweight, it can be uncomfortable and cause a lot of chaffing after a while, and both magical beings wanted to rest.

While relaxing, Gerdam likes to wear typical dwarven clothes; soft white long sleeved cotton shirts with buttons, black pants, held up with a belt (knife permanently in the belt, obviously) and plain leather shoes. Her hair is long, brown and has several braids. Like most dwarven women, she has a long brown bushy beard which she considers to be her pride and joy, regularly commenting on “slicing the hand of whichever whoreson that dares to touch it”. Her armour, however, is a bit bulkier. A dwarven metal helm that has a retractable faceplate, a dwarven metal breastplate with leather armguards (dyed blue) with a slot on the back for a sword (seldom used) and a chainmail skirt which, strangely, never makes any clinking sounds. Her armour would have fur with it, yet she had it removed a few weeks ago because of the heat. A belt holds up the skirt and attaches it to the armour, which in turn allows Gerdam to hold an unreasonable amount of objects. Knives, pouches with herbs, bombs, bandages, more knives and obviously, alcohol.

Mileasia is worlds different from Gerdam, as she is wearing nothing but a white cloak with a hood that shimmers in the sunlight. Clearly magical, as it is always clean, and any substance slides off it, particularly useful for close range encounters. It is very difficult to see any of Mileasia’s features, yet, her ears do poke into her hood and her face can be seen. Blue, serious eyes that always seem to be looking at something contrasts heavily with Gerdam who has lovely green eyes and a constant smile on her face. There is obviously a parting in the middle of the cloak which exposes Mileasia’s body, and the jet-black skin-tight leather armour underneath. No weapons are seen, yet she always seems to have one ready. However, unless she’s about to kill something, Mileasia doesn’t open her cloak, only occasionally removing her hood when she’s indoors, to be polite.

It was a beautiful end to a beautiful day. Mileasia and Gerdam had been working all of yesterday and the day before. As they were both proud members of the Adventurer’s Guild, Gerdam had the wonderful idea to accept 6 missions around the Catherm area. Catherm was a decently sized town, close to the grand ocean. Dwarven territory by law, but with many human residents in the area a lot of dwarves call the region “The Pinklands”. Mileasia knows better than to argue with Gerdam’s “incredible judgement” and “perfect decision making”, so they had to complete all of these missions with very little rest over the next 2 days before they expire.

 The first mission was simple goblin clearing, as simple as going to a cavern and ridding it of the pests. Gerdam’s signature “hit the wank-a” technique worked flawlessly, and by 10am Monday morning, the cavern was clear and all that was left was a bunch of goblin corpses with flattened heads.

 The second mission was a lot more difficult. A farmer in the area had lost track of a bunch of his livestock, most importantly, his award winning “cow de lait”. This one took 5 hours and was without doubt the worst part of Mileasia’s day. Upon realising that the cow was stuck in a bog, Mileasia tried simple levitation magic to get it out. And yet, all the magic did was force the cow into panic, making it thrash around and get further stuck in the bog. Magic force doesn’t work if what you’re forcing, forces back harder. Gerdam realised that they wouldn’t get paid if the “bleeding cunt of a cow” didn’t survive, so she opted to dive in after it, getting herself stuck in the process. Mileasia, after likening Gerdam’s attitude, intelligence and actions to that of the currently drowning cow, had to jump in after the both of them, this time, with a rope around her. Gerdam would not speak for several hours after she was rescued from certain death by bog. Even when they discovered the reason for the disappearance of the livestock was that of a wolf-lord in the area, Gerdam’s mood didn’t improve until well after the wolf was cut to pieces and served for dinner in the town square. Mileasia knows that Gerdam only needs a few shots of “Gohm’s Grog*” before she forgets all her worries and dances with the human children until bedtime. Always an adorable sight.

 (*Popular Dwarven drink. Recommended doses: 2 shots intoxicates any full grown human. 1 shot for elves. 3 shots for orcs. 5 for dwarves.)

 The third and fourth mission were done on Tuesday in the morning. Both of them were interconnected. Bandits had taken residence close to the overpass from “The Pinklands” to “Wilbur’s Barrow” which was halting trade in the area. A lovely and strangely quiet trader wanted an escort over the bridge and out of the city, “Two birds w’ one stone” as Gerdam so eloquently said, so they set off to deal with it.

Most of the conversation on the road towards the overpass was Gerdam trying to irritate the lady into talking, and yet despite her best efforts, the lady wouldn’t say more than a few words to everything she said.

“So, ya like having dwarves and elves do everything fo’ ya, is that it lassie?” – started Gerdam, bored, tired of sitting on the back of a cart and wanting to do something fun, like annoy humans. “No” – she whispered back

“Ah, so you consider yourself independent, that right ae?” – Gerdam continued

“A little” – again, whispering

“Then why d’ ya bloody need an escort? You’re young, strong, I bet y’ could lift a sword, tackle a bunch of them to the ground and cut their willies off w’out much hassle, why dunnae ya?” – Gerdam said, sparked about something

“Gerdam, stop it” – said Mileasia, calmly. She was looking into the distance and had to turn around to look at the two. Noticing that Gerdam was practically leaning over everything in order to yell into the lady’s ear, she touched Gerdam’s shoulder and continued. “Not every human likes fighting, some simply wish to survive.”

“How bleedin’ boring” said Gerdam, slouching down. “Y’d think ye humans would wanna kill something every few minutes wit’ how bloody many of ye there are, like bloody rabbits, except less cute. Ya keel over dead and another 50 of ye replace ya instantly.”

“I don’t like fighting” – replied the lady, still very quietly.

“See, now leave her alone Gerdam, sit next to me and enjoy the ride” – said Mileasia “Fine” – Gerdam replied.

When they arrived at the overpass with the strangely silent human woman, they saw exactly what the problem was. There was a fallen trunk of a tree on the road. Any passer-by would leave their carriage and go to move the trunk, be with magic or with force. Upon doing so, an archer would yell from the bushes and side forest land, challenging the potential tree-mover to try their luck, drop all their valuables and pass unharmed, or attempt to draw their weapon and see if they can draw faster than an arrow can fly. Mileasia opted for neither, teleporting behind the archer instantly and holding a knife to his throat, asking politely for the location of the other members of the trope. She received no answer, however, as she was ambushed on all sides. Gerdam was quick to respond, sprinting as fast as she could to the surrounding forest area and spinning in a circle, felling a few trees and crushing a few men against them, breaking bones, splintering spines and cracking ribcages. Mileasia also wasted no time, teleporting again 10 meters into the air and pulling an array of knives from her cloak, throwing them precisely against the group of men. Pinning several of the unfortunate souls to the ground by their necks. The luckier ones raised their shields, only to be met with overwhelming force, as Gerdam’s studded bat smashed through their wooden shields like they were made of glass, and crushing those with metal shields against the ground and surrounding bush area, which she then used to bounce on to crush more “crying gits” as they were called. The leader of the trope appeared out of the shrubbery, most likely from the small camp that was behind it. Brandishing his war-axe with pride before being subsequently attacked on two fronts from both the dwarf and the elf. He had no chance, being knocked into the air from the club (being welded like a bat) and slammed with a ball of electricity, exploding into several chunks of flesh, bone and blood. Mileasia simply used her cloak to absorb the impact, shaking off the more troublesome bits afterwards, then casting a small cleansing spell on Gerdam’s clothes, which she grumbled a “thanks” for, before moving towards the camp.

As they found out, there wasn’t just bandits there, they had set up explosives all around a cage and were holding some prince hostage. To start off with, Gerdam was against the idea of rescuing the prince, stating “well if we recuse the poor bugger, we should hold him hostage ourselves and keep the ransom”, which was countered by:

“I understand, however, you must realise that becoming a wanted criminal in the region is certainly not part of our itinerary for today, besides, where shall we keep him? He cannot walk behind the horses as he is too fat and will simply stumble. Nor can he ride either of our horses because he will simply attempt escape, and I shall have to kill him” - replied Mileasia

“I’m right here ladies”

“And he smells, he’s probably not showered in days” - said Mileasia, ignoring him completely. “I do not wish to drag a plump foul smelling pink-skin around like a war trophy” - she continued

“Again, right here” - mumbled the prince

“Oh, I suppose ye know what’s best f’ him then don’ ya? Shall we just march off into the sunset and leave him t’ his own devices? He’ll get killed by some tiger o’ something if we let him go now” – Gerdam replied angrily

“I can take care of myself” - said the prince, more confidently this time

“Quite hun, grown-ups are talking” - replied Mileasia.

The prince stayed quiet.

They eventually decided on a small plan for him, he would travel with the “quiet weird cart lady”, the name Gerdam had given to the lady they were supposed to escort until the next town, where most likely some wizard would pick him up and take him to his nearest castle or whatever. The lady suddenly became very talkative when the prince got on her cart, despite his broken appearance and smell, asking him a whole range of questions. Gerdam commented on this, stating that “she’s either a racist or very horny”. The prince assured the elf and dwarf that no harm would befall the lady nor him. Mileasia gave him a potion of confusion anyway, with explicit instructions to “throw in the general direction of the assailants and they shall leave with haste, with thoughts of wild beasts raining death upon them”. If they survived, the mission would be completed. If they didn’t survive, then more than likely, they’d receive a very strong worded message from some guild leader that they would promptly ignore.

When they turned around and started walking back to the closest settlement, they heard a loud noise. One of the bandits had snuck onto the cart and was holding a knife to the lady’s throat. The prince, was hiding a basket, trying not to be seen. Before Mileasia could teleport over there, the lady got up, grabbed the bandit by the arm and flipped him like a pancake into the dirt ground in front of her with a satisfying *thud*, crushing his back and knocking him out instantly. She turned around, waved at the 2 and shouted “I DON’T LIKE FIGHTING BECAUSE I ALWAYS WIN”

“So, she’s just horny then?” – Gerdam said

“Yes” – Replied Mileasia

 The fifth mission was Gerdam’s favourite. Many dwarves love going underground, and while Mileasia much preferred to stay with her feet firmly planted on trees, she didn’t ‘hate’ underground, more what’s found underground. A Dwarf had simply lost her wallet in a chasm, and was too busy to go get it. “You can have whatever you find in it, there should be a few hundred golden pieces. Consider that your reward. I need the documents that are in there. I’ll give you 50 more pieces if you don’t read them.”

This one they thought would be absurdly easy. At first. As dwarves have night vision, it wasn’t hard for Gerdam to walk around and search the bottom most tunnels for a missing wallet. Mileasia, however, needed to use a magic made light source to walk around without falling down a few hundred meters. They split up after an hour of searching and went in opposite directions. Mileasia has a fantastic sense of direction so she had no problems navigating the tunnels. Gerdam, like most dwarves, has no problems walking underground either, but was bored and opted to ´follow her nose´ and blunder around aimlessly.

Eventually, Gerdam found a small hole in one of the underground tunnels, thinking it to be strange, she walked in and was greeted with an interesting surprise.

Mileasia, after getting annoyed with finding nothing, retraced her steps and realised that Gerdam was missing, and when she found a trail that entered a wall with no opening, she knew that there was only one thing that could have happened to Gerdam.

“Gnomes” – she uttered.

 There are 4 magical races in the world, humans in the south, dwarves to the east, elves to the west and orcs to the north. They are called the “4 magical races” because they fulfil 3 specific criteria. They can all use magic, they are self-aware and no 2 creatures are the same. While other creatures can use magic, they aren’t all self-aware. Gnomes fall under their criteria. They are very magical, and yet they share a hive mind. They can talk freely, and yet if you’ve met one gnome, you’ve met them all. They don’t care about any race but themselves, and are more than willing to live underground or in small locations, sucking moisture from rocks or stealing supplies from the surrounding areas without drawing much suspicion. They are genius level mathematicians and will be found working in banks or loan companies on occasion, but they will never even consider being friendly to any race that talks to them unless they want something. Even then, “hello” and “goodbye” aren’t in their vocabulary.

Mileasia blasted open the hole in the wall and held out her hand, with 4 knives floating around it, ready to be shot at full speed and walked in, expecting the worst. What she found instead surprised her, but didn’t shock her.

Gerdam was in the middle of an arena of rock, set up like a very large and crudely made boxing ring. She was without her armour and had her clothes ripped up. The light sources around the room were stolen human and dwarven candles. She was bloody, covered in scratches and had been bruised. Her sleeves to her shirt were ripped and her muscles bulged out. Surrounding the underground rock ring were a large gathering of gnomes, all shouting and cheering. Facing Gerdam was a giant tunnel bear. Similar to a brown bear but completely blind, black fur, had reenforced claws that are used to tunnel and was considered a “very scary predator” underground, feasting on dwarves and other underground inhabitants frequently. And yet, Mileasia simply made the knives disappear, sat down next to the ring and pulled out a book. Gerdam had been working hard these past few days, she deserved a break.

“Come here ya big black fucker!” – she shouted “I’ll scream at ya so ya know where I am, make it fair!”.

The bear obliged. Swinging down and towards Gerdam, she dodged out of the way to the side and swung up with a fist, punching the bear straight in the jaw and knocking its head upwards. The bear growled and swiped again blindly, scratching across Gerdam’s chin and causing her to reel backwards. The gnomes cheered in unison.

“That it? I’m not even hurt!” Gerdam screamed, rushing the bear with her arms outstretched, picking it up by the waist and sandwiching its arms against its body flipping it over her body, pile-driving it into the ground headfirst. She rolled out of the way and stood back up in a fighting stance, ready for the next swipe.

The bear rushed her from the ground, jaw open, baring all its teeth. It got around Gerdam’s neck and tried to bite down, but Gerdam had already put her hands in-between the rows of teeth and was pushing back with force.

“Nice try ya bastard! But you gotta try harder than that!”. Gerdam screamed and pushed the bear’s face away, punching it again straight in the nose, breaking off a piece of the bear’s tooth and forcing it to recoil, howling.

Gerdam at this point ran back to the corner of the stone ring and started to climb, reading the top of the stone wall and looked down at the bear, as it was getting up again with a little bit of difficulty. And yet, Gerdam showed no mercy, as she jumped off the wall and kicked the bear in the face, slamming its head against the ground with her foot still in its face, crushing its head against the floor and then jumping off, doing a small front-flip and landing. The bear lay unconscious and Gerdam was met with overwhelming applause from the surrounding gnomes.

Gerdam raised her arms triumphantly, bowed and went to talk to one of them, who gave her the armour back, as well as an extra present, a small black wallet, which Mileasia knew probably belonged to the dwarven woman they spoke to earlier. Gerdam placed her armour back on and walked towards Mileasia. She simply nodded, put her book away and stood up. Clearly taller than everyone else in the cavern by at least a full metre. She then chanted for a few seconds, outstretched her arms and formed a small portal, which they stepped through and arrived back on the surface, only a few hundred metres from the home of the Dwarven girl that gave them the mission.

“Underground gnome fighting rings aren’t very common, are they?” – said Mileasia.

“Nope, they wanted some fun in exchange for the wallet. I gave them a fight they’ll tell their grandchildren” – Gerdam replied.

“Gnomes live to about 600 years old, you’ll be long dead before they even consider having children, let alone grandchildren”- Mileasia replied, casting a spell and hovering her arms over Gerdam’s head

“And yet they won’t forget my performance for a second, was the best bear fight I’ve had in weeks!” – Gerdam replied, her wounds starting to close and heal, while her clothes began to nit themselves back together. – “Let’s deliver that wallet and head back to camp”

“Agreed” – Said Mileasia. Smiling.

  [GB1]Female Dwarf, Gerdam. Female Elf. Mileasia Crowguard. Gerdam rought, violent, big club, big temper, big ego. Fun.

Mileasia. Soft spoken. Wears robe constantly. Leather skintight armour underneath cloak. Ex-guard to the king. Best friends. Go somewhere. Do something. I know what they do but I don't want to tell you

[stealinghero]

Okay so imagine this! The Lupin crew are relaxing at a cafe after a successful heist. The s/o says they have to use the bathroom and they leave. But after about five minutes, the s/o comes running out of the back door with a dehydrated body in their arms yelling that they need to go, there’s no time to explain and it’s not their fault, all while some shady looking people chase after them.

Finally.... after losing my first draft (about 4 pages) because of my stupid self overwriting it, it’s finally done!!

I did it a bit different than before to get the vibe of an episode, showing a few more aspects than just the view of the reader.

I hope you all enjoy it!!  It’s under the cut for length.

It had been a busy week. But now it was time to finally relax and come down. You were sitting in your favourite café, surrounded by your friends.

“I dare you to eat a whole Sundae in under 5 minutes.”

“Do you think I can’t do this?!”

“Hundred bucks against it.”

You snorted and had to laugh out loud when Jigen showed you the Sundae in question on the menu. It was huge!!

“Excuse me for a second. Don’t start without me!” You had to see Lupin try this dare, but nature called you with an urgency you seldom had.

“If I win, I’ll get a kiss!”

You turned around to your boyfriend and grinned.

“And if you lose, I get a kiss from Jigen!”

The gunman snickered and nodded. “Deal.”

“No deal! Don’t touch my precious love!”

You let the guys bicker while you made your way to the restrooms.

 A moaning was heard as soon as you entered. Some people had no shame! But something was off with it. Didn’t it sound painful? All stalls were open but the last one. Another moan, this time a man, more breathless but also kind of… breathless?

Curious about those sounds you got into the stall next to it and thought about taking a peek over the wall into the next cabin.

“That’s a good girl. Die for me.”

With a jump you pulled yourself up the wall of the stall and looked into the next cabin, only to see a black dressed guy with a syringe on the neck of a young girl.

“Unhand her, you freak!” you demanded.

He was quicker than you, already running out of the restrooms when you got down and hurried into the stall with the girl.

“Are you okay?!”

She was unconscious and very pale. The small holes at her neck almost looked like a vampire bite. Who was that freak?!

An uproar let you just get the girl out of the stall and run. Not a second too late as you could see the black dressed guy and a couple of his friends drawing their weapons, aiming for you.

 “Get up! We need to run!!” you shouted at your friends as you hurried past them with the still unconscious girl in your arms.

“What did you do?!” Lupin asked, already on his feet and fumbling for the car keys.

“No time to explain!!”

You heard a shot and felt the pain when the bullet hit you in the calf. Those guys were serious! Limping, you made your way to the car, followed by your friends, Jigen already shooting back and Goemon protecting you from a hail of bullets.

 Breathlessly you had told them everything on the way to the hospital where you had laid the girl in front of the emergency room. Just like the rest of the gang you were wanted so you couldn’t exactly just walk into any building without the fear of being arrested.

During the dressing of your wound, Jigen questioned you about the scene.

“This is crazy. Tell me again, did you recognize anything?”

With a huff you told him the story once more. You knew it was crazy! A side-glance towards your lover made you aware of the mess you had brought yourself into. He had decided to call Inspector Zenigata to get some information. It seemed quicker than to get into a disguise and just get to the nearest police station.

“A vampire? In broad daylight?” Goemon seemed incredulous.

“It wasn’t a vampire, Goemon! It was a man with a syringe. I saw it,” you replied.

“But where was all the blood? Even a kid her age should have at least 4 litres of blood. And she lost at least 2 of it.” Sometimes Jigen scared you with his medical knowledge.

With a grim face Lupin joined your round.

“You disturbed a serial killer. Pops says there were at least 5 different cases of this vampire. It’s always the same. A kid is lured away from its parents and sucked dry.”

You suddenly felt uneasy but you had to know.

“They survived, right?” you asked.

He shook his head.

“The girl is the first to survive. All of them had marks like a vampire bite. All of them sucked dry.”

Jigen spat and lighted a cigarette. A sure sign he was getting irritated.

“This is a disgusting thing to do to someone,” Goemon decided and grabbed his Zantetsuken. His own form of irritation.

“Pops is thankful for your information, but he also says there aren’t enough facts to get to a clear culprit. To think there were 4 of them...,” he left it unsaid, but you felt his uneasiness as he watched you.

“I will be okay. It’s not like they followed us.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Jigen slowly raised his hands, followed by Lupin. Both of them stared at a point behind you.

“I hate this,” you mumbled and turned around to find yourself surrounded by black dressed men, all of them aiming their guns at you.

 “I still don’t get why you don’t simply kill them.”

“It’s an order from above.”

“Fuck this. I know a bit about them. They can be dangerous.”

“Do you doubt your superiors?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then shut the fuck up and do your work.”

“Yes, Sir!”

You looked around in the dark cell to find something to get a clue where you were. After getting threatened you had to follow their orders. A blindfold, different cars, you were separated from the others. Were they in the same building as you? Were they already dead?

You swallowed your tears. Lupin wasn’t that easy to be killed. He would come and rescue you, right? He would hug you and kiss all those fears away. He would… maybe… surely… no! You had to get out of here! Think! What information do you have?

A dark cell, 3 metres long, 2 metres wide. A bucket in the corner. The door was solid metal, a small flap in the middle. No lock to be found. It had to be outside on the door. Maybe something simple as you hadn’t heard a key turn when you were thrown into this cell. You didn’t have a window. No blanket to cover yourself with. And it had to be soundproof, because the only things you could hear were the guards directly in front of the door even if you pressed your ear to the other walls.

 ~~~~

He gasped for air and coughed when he chocked on his own breath. Water ran down his face, soaking the bag over his head, making it harder to breathe.

“You will do as we say.”

He shook his head and tried to fight the strong grip on his neck as it pushed him down, into the water, once more. He was a good diver and counted the seconds with a clear head. But it was longer and longer, his lungs started screaming for air and he was still under the water. Two minutes had passed when he was pulled up again, again gasping for air in a desperate fashion.

“You will kill Lupin the Third.”

Again he shook his head. He was a stubborn idiot, getting drowned for his convictions.

 ~~~~

A sharp pain rushed through his whole facial nerve system as the wound opened and the nerves were exposed to the fresh air. Still, he wouldn’t admit it with a sound. It had be a short hit but still hard enough to rip open a huge gash on his cheek.

“It is easy, Lupin. You will steal the disc and we won’t hurt your little lover.”

He watched his partner through a monitor. They were collecting information on their cell, listening to sounds, checking the stability of the door.

“No.”

He had known it from the start. The whole day had been spent with an uneasy feeling. Why had he proposed a visit to the café?! By now he should know to trust his gut. But the face of his partner had been so gloomy and he had wanted to cheer them up… and he had endangered them with his recklessness.

“I will kill them,” the shadow promised.

Lupin shook his head. He had to trust them now. And he had seen a familiar face around those guys. What was more important to this person? Friends or the job?

“You’re right! I won’t kill them. He will,” the shadow laughed a bit while saying this, showing Lupin the familiar face getting tortured.

“Let them go!”

“Get me this disc and I will let your friends leave.”

The disc in question was unknown to him. Surely it was dangerous enough to destroy the world if people like the shadow wanted it. He had calculated the outcome and still hadn’t found a way out of it. Normally he would swap the disc with another, fooling those idiots. But with his friends in their hands? He would risk the death of his beloved ones. Manipulating the data on it was also out of the question, he had seen their work before. One or two skilled hackers were in this team, he knew. They would know any tampering before he could get away.

He had to trust his friends to save themselves. How could he gain time for them?

“Still no answer, hm? Fine. Then you’ll get to know the consequences,” the shadow threatened, pushing down a button.

Jigen appeared on the monitor. He was bound and gagged and seemed to be seriously hurt. Lupin snorted. It was likely the gunman had given his captors a rough time and got himself into trouble.

“Kill him.”

A gun was pressed to Jigen’s head. Lupin wanted to close his eyes but couldn’t.

The trigger was pulled and Jigen fell out of the reach of the camera.

 ~~~~

Was that a shot?! It had been too loud to be far away. Some clattering. You pressed your ear harder to the door but couldn’t hear anything. Silence fell. Maybe your friends came to your rescue??

After 5 minutes there was still silence and you fell down into sitting opposite of your prison door, staring at it, willing it to open with your thoughts alone.

 ~~~~

They had enough of drowning him. Wet and cold he was submitted into a cell, next to their other prisoners. He knew those cells. They were constructed specifically to be escape-proof. What a bullshit.

They had broken two of his fingers and this made it harder for him to work on the small gap between door and door frame. He was sure they watched him through the camera system. It was a game of time to get out of here.

A jolt of electricity rushed through his fingers and threw him on the floor, muscles cramping from the current. Damn, they had upgraded the security system.

 ~~~~

“One down, two to go. Get me the disc.”

He still couldn’t believe it.

“Your answer?”

They had shot him. Point blank, no room for tricks.

“Do you prefer to see the next death?”

“Don’t.”

“Get me the disc.”

He let his head hang and swallowed. They would kill the rest of his gang with him watching.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let me give you a gift before you go.”

Another button was pushed and he stared at the monitor. A hand, a leg…. A severed head staring back at him.

He threw up, emptying his stomach on the floor before him. He couldn’t stand the accusing stare of Goemon’s lifeless eyes.

“Please…,” he begged in a small voice.

The monitor went black.

“You have 24 hours.”

 ~~~~

You rubbed your temple as the flap in the door opened and a small tablet was shoved through, falling down, spilling all your food on the floor. A harsh laughter was heard and the flap closed. At least the water was bottled and didn’t spill.

You crawled towards the door, smelling iron. Blood on the other side of the door? You placed your face on the floor, trying to see through the small gap between the door and the floor. With a scream, you scrambled back to the opposing wall, shaking with fear. Did you… the… hi… you couldn’t understand what you just had seen. Lifeless brown eyes staring at you.

 ~~~~

It had been a matter of time until they had grew bored with him sitting in his cell, doing nothing. He was prepared when three of them came to get him. Two of them were entering his cell, getting him up on his feet, the third pointing a gun at him, ready to shoot without a warning. A really good work and he felt a small pride. He had been one of their instructors after all. And they were doing a good job, he had to admit.

“Are you ready to kill?”

He spat into the face of the man before him and earned a fist to the face for it. Blood dripped from his broken nose.

“Lupin is on the way already. There’s no need to be so hostile, old man.”

Damn. How had they made him go?!

The man before him laughed and hit him again, this time the fist hit his solar plexus, making him throw up in pain.

“You still have a chance to kill him if you’re fast enough.”

“I won’t.”

“I gave him 24 hours. And there is no rush.” A short gesture and the two men dragged him into another room, making him dread the things he and the other instructors had taught them, when he saw the instruments.

 ~~~~

Interpol headquarters. It would have been easier if they had allowed him to disguise himself as Zenigata!

Cursing he checked his uniform he had taken from a passed out officer. Well, passed out wasn’t that right, he admitted with a grin.

He would get the disc, bring it back and take his partner and get out of there. Far away from those maniacs.

“Officer, what are you doing there?”

He snapped back into reality, donning a smile and saluting in front of the captain.

“I was checking the premises as I was asked to do,” he answered.

A nod from the other man and he was free to go. He would need to be fast to get to the right floor. The shadow had told him the exact coordinates of the disc, making him suspicious. Why did the ICPO hide a disc with nuclear codes in their best guarded safe? Why did they have something like this in the first place? Something wasn’t right.

He thought about it the way through the building. Maybe the disc was something else? Briefly he remembered a different disc, containing the secret identities of all the MI6 agents. Maybe the ICPO had something similar?

No time to think. He had to get to the right floor and find a way to get into that safe, guarded by a difficult security system.

 ~~~~

You had enough! There had to be a way to get out of here?! Those bastards had killed Goemon! You threw yourself against the door for the fourth time when it swung open.

Shocked you couldn’t even react and fell to the floor, surprised by the sudden change.

“You wanted to get out?”

You blinked, silent – were you dreaming?

Zenigata grinned at you with a bruised face, missing two teeth.

“We need to get you out of here,” he told you, grabbing your arm.

You blinked again, and then the memories came back. Frantically you searched the floor for the head you had seen.

“It was a puppet. A scheme to break you. And Lupin.”

You shook your head. How!?

“Interpol’s special unit. They are specialized in anti-terror… well, I thought that.”

“Interpol?!” you had found your voice and were now eyeing the Inspector in front of you. He was a bloody mess, shirtless and bruised. Several deep cuts were on his body and you thought that a few fingers of his must be broken.

He growled before answering.

“I had a feeling about that case you were involved in. Seems I was right.”

“Inspector!”

You and him turned your heads towards the voice, seeing Yata dragging a half-conscious Jigen with the help of a hurt Goemon.

With a heavy weight falling from your shoulders, you rushed to your friends, hugging them and carefully looking over them for injuries.

“I found them where you told me. Inspector, what is going on?!” The young assistant seemed distressed.

“Doesn’t matter. Get Jigen and Goemon out of here and keep them safe,” Zenigata ordered, taking a short glance at you. “And you will need to help me here.”

You nodded. He had saved your friends and there was no sight of Lupin.

“They told me Lupin is on his way to steal something they want. We need to know where he is. And what they want.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Your brain was too slow to catch up.

“What bad feeling with the case I was involved in?!” you asked him.

He began to walk and you followed him, curious.

“After the second dead kid I had a hunch and followed a trace. A man of the Special Unit had been sighted near the crime scene.”

“They were 4 men,” you told him.

“Five. A sniper to keep trouble away.”

“But he didn’t shoot.”

“Then why are you limping?”

You stopped and stared at him. You were a sniper yourself and knew the priorities.

“Why didn’t he shoot me then?”

“He wanted to be found out.”

You shook your head in disbelief but Zenigata grabbed your hand and dragged you with him.

“His brother was the one to come to me after the fourth case. He was killed before he could confess his crimes. The sniper was the younger brother, I think he wanted to end the secrecy of this.”

“Why kids?! Why the blood?”

Zenigata dragged you into a room full of monitors and flicked through the different cameras, searching for something.

“To sell it to some rich guy. They all had the same blood type. Some special thing from India or something. I am not a scientist.”

“The Bombay Blood group.”

He turned around and looked at you surprised.

“Lupin is the same. He can give blood to anyone but he needs a donor from the same group to receive blood from.”

“And how do you know that?!”

You grinned a bit, remembering him telling you one evening and your search for a few pints of this blood group to have a stash safe if he would ever need it.

“He’s my love after all.”

Zenigata rolled his eyes and turned back to the monitors.

“Stupid love-bugs,” he grumbled.

 ~~~~

There hadn’t been a problem so far. The guards were wearing masks but he still had gotten around them and used the sleeping gas he preferred. Right now they were in the land of dreams, leaving him the peace to deal with the security system.

Modern electronics, an elaborate laser system and an old fashioned safe that was safe from the newer generation of thieves because it was too outdated to be used anymore. Luckily his grandfather had taught him his first steps in cracking a safe with a similar model. Even then this model had been old.

“Show me your secrets…,” he said to the computer as he was cracking the codes and disengaging one system after another. The instructions of the shadow had been precise and worked. He must be an insider. But still the main thought of the thief went to the disc. What was on it?!

 ~~~~

He had found a camera in front of a door that he wanted to investigate.

“If I’m right this is the main office. And we will find our…”

His voice was drowned in a siren.

“Don’t tell me we were discovered,” you said, growling. He said he knew the Unit! Then he should know their security, right?!

A gun was thrown into your hands.

“You have the permission to kill.” His voice was toneless and you knew how heavy this decision was on the Inspector.

“Because they won’t hesitate to o the same to you,” he explained and loaded another gun.

“Are you really okay?” you asked him, eyeing his still bleeding wounds.

“I won’t back down now.”

 ~~~~

“My, aren’t you a beauty…,” he purred and let his fingers caress the metal of the safe. A quick glance on his wristwatch told him he still had 12 hours. He would need 5 to get back to his captors. 2 hours were planned for escape and getting on a plane or hijack a helicopter. Something like this. This left him with a good few hours to crack this safe. And he would need them.

Kneeling in front of the safe, he got out his equipment. Those old models were often rusted but this was clean and cared for. The lock would be easy to pick, but any mistake would reset the code of the safe, making it harder to crack each time it was resetted. Those old safe makers sure were a crazy bunch.

A brief thought to his lover made him smile. He had to be extra gentle with this lock, just like with them.

 ~~~~

So far you had killed 3 men and still hadn’t left the floor. The office was still far away and those men pestered you with their skills.

“Trained by the best.”

“Didn’t you say you trained them?”

He had the nerve to grin at you.

“I taught them…” his grin vanished as he remembered who he was talking to.

“We should hurry.”

You nodded and took cover in another room, watching out for any guards. Gaining metre by metre you made your way to the stairs, followed by Zenigata.

 ~~~~

The door swung open without any sound. He whistled by this care. Whatever was in there must be really important if they took such good care about the safe and the security. Maybe his theory on the missile codes was right after all?

He stopped in his tracks when he saw the contents of the safe. There was nothing. Just the disc. No money, no important documents, not even a weapon. What the hell was on this disc?!

He took it and turned around.

“This is as far as you go, thief.”

He grinned at the guards in front of him.

“I am not a thief. I am THE thief,” he told them as he activated a button on his shirt, enveloping them with a smoke screen and slipping past them.

“The great Lupin!” he added as he activated the security system behind him and trapped the guards inside the safe room.

 ~~~~

Zenigata pointed to the door in front of you and you nodded. The plan was simple. Storm the room, get as many hostages as possible and try to find Lupin. Or at least a way to communicate with him.

After counting down, you two moved as one as Zenigata kicked in the door.

A single man lifted his gaze from the papers on his desk, watching you two.

“I underestimated you, Zenigata,” he simply said as a shot cracked through the room.

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t move much. He just broke down on his knees, falling forward, leaving you to catch him before he hit the floor.

“Zenigata!” His name escaped your lips as you held his heavy body. The blood flowed from the wound and in a few seconds there already was a pool of it under him.

“Do you care to follow him?” the man asked you. You stared at him. He hadn’t even flinched!!

“Who are you?! What do you want?!”

“Of you? Nothing. But I need your lover to get me something that is mine.”

The way he spoke the word ‘lover’ was disgusting. He seemed emotionless.

“My friends will come back and you will….”

He snapped his fingers and a huge curtain was lifted behind him, revealing a cage with Yata, Jigen and Goemon inside of it.

“Will do what exactly?” the man asked with a raised brow.

“Fuck you!” You raised your gun and shot at him without properly targeting. Even if the magazine was empty and the gun just clicked at your efforts, you couldn’t stop yourself to pull the trigger time after time at this unmoving man.

“I spared you from torture in order to get this stupid thief to move on my will. But now that he’s moving, I don’t need you anymore. Do you know what that means?”

You growled.

“Your men are dead!” you told him.

“Do you really think I need help to deal with you?!”

He got up and walked around his desk towards you, pointing the gun at you which he had use to shoot Zenigata with.

“You pissed me off. I won’t give you a quick death. And there won’t be tricks anymore.” He turned and shot in the direction of the cage, hitting Goemon in the shoulder.

“I will deal with you properly.”

You screamed your frustration out of your system and launched yourself against him.

 ~~~~

The whole building was in high alert and he had to change his disguise three times to leave it without raising any suspicions. What a work! He scratched the Interpol headquarters from his list of buildings for a planned heist. He would never get into there again if he could avoid it. Too much trouble.

By now there had to be a warrant for him to all the officers on patrol, right? He should avoid the crowded streets and stick to the alleys to get away unnoticed. This would cost him another hour at least! Slowly it was becoming a hassle to work in such a short time.

He cursed and quickened his pace. From a man he stole the hat, a woman lost her scarf while passing him. A new shirt was snagged from a clothes line and he changed while running though the streets. He would need to steal a car to get to the airport on time.

 ~~~~

Everything hurt. You had trained with the gang on most days and you weren’t weak either, but still you were struggling to keep up with a trained soldier. He was fast and stronger than you, but you used your quick reflexes to avoid the heavy punches. He had lost his gun during the fall and had resorted to a fist fight with you.

A punch hit you on the side on your head, making your ears ring and your head spin. This would leave a bruise… or worse. You felt the nausea and tried to ignore it.

A knee to his side had him grunting in pain and you threw your weight on your side to roll him over and get him under you.

His fist punched your side and left you breathless while you worked on his face, landing a few hits there.

Was he a monster?!  You were sure you had broken his nose and most of his ribs and he was still beating at you like a fresh man!

“Kill him.”

You heard the order from behind you and nodded. There was no other way anyway!

Slowly, with a bit hesitation, you placed your hands on the throat of your enemy and pressed them into the flesh.

 ~~~~~

He had seen the roadblock from far away and decided to test his luck. After all this would bee the fourth time he turned the stolen car around to find an unblocked road. He would never mess with Interpol again, Lupin swore. How could someone like Pops join such a stupid thing?! He would need to talk to him about that.

He accelerated and held the steering wheel in an iron grip with the eyes glued to the roadblock. Hopefully the officers there would get out of the way of his car… he closed his eyes in the last second and broke through the roadblock.

 ~~~~

He didn’t move anymore and still you pressed your hands on his throat until your knuckled turned white.

“He’s dead. Let him be.” A bloody hand reached for yours and when you looked up you could see Zenigata’s pale face mere centimetres away from yours. Slowly he eased every finger each away from your victim. You had shot people. You had seen them die at your hands. But you never had killed someone so closely. It changed you and you could suddenly understand why Jigen had sometimes scoffed at you for saying killing was quite easy. You would never say that again.

“The others. Help them.”

Blood ran over the Inspector’s chin and you wiped it away with your bare hands. He flinched a bit, leaving it to you to judge the reason.

The nausea had started to push into your consciousness and left you crawling towards the cage to free your friends. Where was the key…?

 ~~~~

From then on it was easy. Get to the airport, steal an unguarded helicopter, start it. He still had enough time to make it back to them, to give them the disc and just run. He felt like shit. What would happen if he came back? His partner would hate him for obeying those terrorists. For letting his friends die… Jigen’s execution and Goemon’s dismembered body came to his mind and made him sick to the bones. He was scum for letting this happen. The lowest point in his life had been reached today.

With numb fingers he tipped the coordinates of the hideout into the GPS and let out a sigh. He had seen Zenigata on the monitors. At least the Inspector was still alive to arrest him for his sins.

 ~~~~

You watched the sunset with a cigarette and the hip flask of Yata while the man himself cared for the injuries of the others. You had seen enough blood for today.

The alcohol burned its way from your mouth into your stomach, making you feel alive and to warm you from inside.

You got up when you heard the helicopter and strolled back to the makeshift sickbay.

Yata looked at you and you had to stifle a laugh. His hair was a mess and his clothes had stains of blood and grass.

“Seems like the missing thief is back,” he said, also hearing the helicopter.

You nodded and kneeled next to Goemon, placing a hand on the bandage around his shoulder. The Samurai huffed and said nothing. He was ashamed of being caught like that and had a puppet made of him to make Lupin believe he was dead.

“How’s Jigen and Zenigata?” you asked the officer opposite of you.

“Jigen’s stable and I stopped the bleeding of the shot wound of the Inspector… what about you?”

He had offered to take care of your wounds but you had dismissed him to care about the more severely injured.

An engine roared and several cars appeared on the horizon.

“And here’s the cavalry,” you said surprised at how slow Yata’s colleagues showed up after his cry for help before storming the secret base of his former associates.

“Better late than never,” he replied but you could see the disappointment clearly written on his face. He had to be saved by someone of Lupin’s gang instead of the police. That must have hurt.

 ~~~~

He was surprised to see the small group on the ground after landing. And two of them were supposed to be dead…

Not caring about the police cars coming at him, he went straight for his friends. He wanted nothing more than to hug his partner and never let them go. He would never let them go again. His walk broke into a run and he closed the distance to them.

 In the end the Police let them go. There would be no case regarding this slip-up. The disc was safe with them again and they had other problems than to deal with a third-class thief and his band of misfits.

All of you were checked into a hospital with completely false names and history, courtesy of Interpol. The cracked skull of yours would need some time to heal up, but when you saw Lupin standing in the doorframe to your room holding a huge get-well-basket, you had to smile. The time would fly faster than you would like.

[the-original-b]

Archangel: Brimstone

Format: Prose / Fiction, one-shot

Word Count: c. 4,200

Summary: Authorities begin to investigate the shootout at the Nyne Circles club, and discover last night’s violence wasn’t the first time the establishment bore witness to mass bloodshed.

Warning(s): blood, violence, implied sex crimes

Nyne Circles club, Monday morning.

A man in a dark suit and white shirt stepped off the lift as the gate opened; his tie loose around his open shirt collar. He strode down the short hallway, stepping over a covered body on his way to a note written in chalk on the wall that separated the entrance from the main atrium. “Abandon all hope, ye who enter,” he read in a gravelly, masculine baritone. He slid his hands into his pockets and snickered to himself as he noted the signs pointing toward the Gomorrah and Sodom levels. “A little on-the-nose with that one,” he noted as he headed down to his right toward Sodom.

He was met by two uniformed police officers watching over the room. “This is a crime scene, sir,” the younger of the two said. “I’m gonna have to see some identification before you come any closer.”

“Sorry, gentlemen,” the newcomer in the dark suit added with a wry smile. “Where are my manners..? I’m Agent Peter Cross,” he said. “United States Government.”

“Is that right, Agent?” The officer put his hands on his hips, challenging the man. “And who are you with exactly? FBI? CIA? Homeland Security?”

“I’m OGA,” Cross replied after a two-second pause. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back, and his jaw sported a manicured pale gray two-week beard accented with black hairs. “And your crime scene here is the latest in a series of interconnected incidents, so I’ll be taking over your investigation of it.”

OGA, as in Other Government Agency. “Yeah? How’s that?”

“Earlier this month, local law enforcement pulls a headless body out of the driver seat of a pickup across the street from Saint Vittorio’s. Fast forward a few weeks, and a poor lady out for her morning jog on the Margaret Pace Park Bywalk stumbles over what’s left of two bodies. And then just yesterday NYPD collects half a dozen more in a Bayside alleyway.” He shifted his weight. “Including this, we’re looking at four acts of extreme gangland violence in three different states. That made this a federal matter even before fire and sulfur destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah here.”

“This is all good and lovely, but I still have no idea if you’re real, Mr. Cross. Do you have ID?”

“What I have, Officer Lindbeck, is a cell phone. I so much as utter a vowel to the right people, and that possession charge that was expunged from little Davey’s record quickly and decisively becomes un-expunged. So if you’re done showing your partner how big your dick is, please let me in so I can do my job.” His lips curled upward into a sly smirk.

“You leave my son out of this, creep,” Officer Lindbeck snarled. “Or I’ll make you regret ever showing your face here.”

Cross retracted his head, raising both his eyebrows and widening his hazel-brown eyes. “Well pardon the shit out of my goddamn French, young man,” he said, “but did you just threaten me?”

Officer Lindbeck’s older and more seasoned partner got between the two men. He had some familiarity with OGA-types and knew exactly what kind of people they were. “Let it go, David,” he suggested. “Go take a walk. Get some air, maybe a coffee.”

Lindbeck eyed his partner, then Cross. He shook his head and cursed under his breath as he walked away from them, toward the lift.

The other officer turned back to Cross. “Forgive David,” he finally said. “He hasn’t been with the Force long enough to know ‘OGA’ is shorthand for stop asking questions… how can I help you, Agent Cross?”

Cross looked over the room briefly. “You can bring me up to speed on what the actual hell happened in here.”

“We’re working on that,” he said, leading him deeper into the area with a head tilt. “All we know for sure is the carnage we see wasn’t planned. If it were,” he noted, “we’d be looking at a lot more DBs than what we got.”

“That counting the one in the lobby?”

“No, there were no gunshot wounds on that one. She was probably just trampled—like the others on this floor. Gunshots are all upstairs.”

Cross turned his gaze up to the mezzanine floor. “What’s your name, Officer?”

“Blake,” he said.

“Well, Officer Blake,” he suggested, a grin tugging at his lip, “why don’t we take a look up there and see what we find?”

 ~~

Blake followed Cross back toward the lobby and up to the catwalk across from the mezzanine. He stayed behind looking over one of the bodies as Cross proceeded toward the back office, stepping over another corpse to examine the damage done to the wall adjacent to the doorway.

“Blake,” he called, curling his first and second fingers twice and beckoning the other officer. “Come check this out.”

Blake arrived shortly afterward, standing to Cross’s right and bending over to look at what Cross was focused on. “Bullet holes,” he noted. “They came from down the hall and hit the wall at an angle.”

“That they very well did,” Cross agreed. “But they’re different.”

Blake squinted a little to see what it was he was talking about. “Yeah, I see what you mean… calibers aren’t the same.”

“Right you are again. This here looks like a nine millimeter. The other…” Cross shut one eye and inspected the damage. “Forty-five or bigger, if my eyes serve me.”

“So, two different guns?”

“At two different times. Check out the wear in the drywall where the bullets hit,” he noted. “Nine is fresh from last night,” he observed, “Big Boy’s been around for a while.”

Blake looked back at the notches in the wall. “So you’re telling me last night wasn’t the first shootout in this place?”

“That, my friend, is exactly what I’m saying…” Cross stepped away from the wall, peered into the Red Room at the covered bodies on the floor and kept going to find a spot on the catwalk to lean over the handrail. “Do you know what this place used to be?”

“I’ve read reports,” Blake said, standing a few feet from him. “It was some kind of luxury club for criminals.”

Cross nodded. “It was called Brimstone, and it was the crown jewel of the Teller crime syndicate five or six years ago. We all knew it, but no concrete evidence was ever dug up connecting it to Mr. Teller. Everything we had was circumstantial but even I knew it was enough to nail him for this place. Higher-ups didn’t agree, though. They withheld the raid order.” He laced his fingers together as he continued. “Then one night an ex-Special Forces operator-turned-fixer gets a tip from somebody in the loop about a human trafficking operation run out of the place, and he shut that shit down… Couldn’t get Teller himself, so he settled for the wife instead.”

“How do you know all that?” Blake asked, a few feet from the other man.

Cross shot him a look and smirked before looking back across the floor at the mezzanine. “I’ve read reports,” he said. “Keep an eye on this venue, Officer Blake” he advised, straightening back up. “If I were a bettin’ boy, I’d say this place’ll be up and running again in no time at all.”

 ~~

The Brimstone Lounge (currently known as Cloud Nyne), five or six years ago.

Three men approached the door that one night, and a broad-shouldered fellow in a dark suit and shirt with an open collar knocked on the front door three times, then two more in quick succession. A mail slot slid open for the doorman to look through and accept three invitations from the men outside, and after a few seconds the door swung open to let them in. They checked their coats as they walked in, then made their way toward the main floor, a spot-lit open space with a bar on one end and a stage on the other. Pole dancers on stage moved evocatively to club beats for the entertainment of the patrons there, who watched from a number round tables with their drinks and other mind-altering substances.

The trio stopped to acknowledge the stage performers, but kept moving toward a wide staircase that spiraled upward at concentric 90-degree angles which led to the VIP area upstairs. When they got there, they presented their invitations to the bouncers there—dressed in black suits and shirts with cerulean blue ties—and opened their jackets to show them they were carrying handguns. Such was the understanding; handguns were allowed as long as they were concealed and nobody caused trouble. Since all the staff and most of the patrons were carrying anyway, trouble was seldom started.

After passing a quick search, the trio made their way upstairs and found their seats in the quieter lounge area. At the wall opposite the staircase was a well-appointed bar at which a handful of people enjoyed their drinks, and at the other side of the room was a seating area and smaller stage where a procession of young, specimen men and women dressed in very little would be presented to and bid upon by the seated observers. Behind the bar and around the room were a handful more men in black suits and blue ties.

The auctioneer—a middle-aged woman in a classy off-the-shoulder cerulean blue gown—gave exposition for the merchandise on display and accepted bids before breaking for twenty minutes. She reclaimed her place at the podium. “The intermission has concluded, ladies and gentlemen,” she said into a microphone. “Please find your seats again and we’ll continue with this evening’s auction.”

One of the patrons, an athletically built fair-skinned fellow around the age of forty reclaimed his seat with a gin martini is his hand. His fingers moved absentmindedly around the stainless steel garnish pick as he placed occasional bids, not exactly looking to win but more to maintain the illusion of interest. His tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, rosewood red tie and matching pocket square garnered enough attention; if the staff got the slightest hint he wasn’t there for the same reason as the other patrons, the evening would take a turn too far ahead of schedule.

~~~~ 

The emcee brought the auction to a close an hour later. “This concludes the evening’s fundraiser, ladies and gentlemen! Congratulations again to our winners; you may claim your prizes at the back entrance. Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As the patrons began clearing out, the man in the red tie stood up and made his way to the bathroom, concealing his garnish pick in his closed hand as he moved and holding it between his teeth as he washed his hands. He ran them through his combed-back light brown hair and stroked his graying stubble in the mirror while he waited for all but one of the other men in the room with him to leave. The other one—a staff member identifiable by the cerulean blue tie thrown over his shoulder—was urinating in one of the stalls.

The man in the red tie made his way to the door, undoing his jacket and engaging the bolt-and-barrel lock in the ceiling before turning back to the staff member. He retrieved the pick from between his teeth and reached around to stab the other man in the neck with it, then punched him in the ribs and swept his feet backward to have him fall face first into the toilet, where he held the man’s head in place under the water until he stopped moving.

Then he washed the blood and toilet water from his hands and got to work. He found the air vent mentioned in his briefing and unscrewed three of the cover’s fasteners with his fingertips, letting it hang from the fourth, then reached up to retrieve the box his contact had smuggled there the day earlier. On it was a post-it note that read,

Krueger,

Here’s a little extra firepower, as promised.

Krueger lifted the lid off the case and examined its contents—a loaded SPAS-12 and bandolier with eighteen extra shells, along with earplugs, two spare .45 ACP magazines for his Mk. 23, and a single M84 stun grenade.

“Ausgezeichnet,” he said to himself.

He fastened the ammunition belt to himself under his jacket and unfolded the shotgun’s stock, pressing it against his shoulder and raising it to his eyes to look down the sights and acquire the picture. Then he placed his earplugs in, disengaged the safety, switched the action from pump-operation to semi-auto, and went back towards the door, resting his hand on the bolt lock for a moment. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and released the lock when he opened his eyes again. He swung the door wide and raised the shotgun, acquiring his first target behind the bar.

Krueger dropped the bartender with a single well-aimed blast from his shotgun, and adjusted his angle to find his second target by the stairs who he dispatched just as quickly as the first. Peripherally to his right he spotted a third staff member reach into his jacket, and before he could shoot Krueger half-spun and dropped to one knee to line his shot and fired twice. He rose back up to his feet just as he sighted a fourth staff member and squeezed the trigger a fifth time.

He quickly scanned the room and found no more threats, then made his way to the stars as the music below stopped and the patrons began to evacuate. He descended half of them then vaulted over the banister to land in the lobby, where he targeted the doorman next; he fired before his target could draw his gun.

Krueger got back to his feet and slipped behind a wide load-bearing column, peering over it at the staff members he could see shepherding the patrons out the emergency exit at the back of the space. He took this moment to catch his breath; he turned the shotgun upside down, took four rounds from his ammo belt and slid them into the magazine tube one at a time, then put two more into his gun to top it off.

The room was considerably emptier now, and Krueger could more easily spot the bright blue ties of his targets as he peered around the column again. He knew he had to move soon—the body armor he wore under his shirt would stop anything smaller than a .44 magnum, but it only covered his chest and back. His best bet was to stay mobile and not give them a chance to shoot him.

He stayed low behind the half-wall partition separating the lobby from the main atrium, moving away from the bar area along which he knew the staff would begin their patrol. He knew engaging them in the open would mean his peril, so he readied the stun grenade and took a moment to prepare himself for what it would do to him in an enclosed space.

Krueger laid his shotgun on the floor, then pulled the pin on the bomb and tossed it backward over the half-wall in the direction of the bar. He curled up, turning toward the floor shutting his eyes while he cupped his hands over his plugged ears.

By the time the others realized what was about to happen, it was too late.

“Oh, shit—!”

The deafening boom filled the space, reverberating from the walls and disorienting everyone within direct exposure. Krueger slowly opened his eyes after dealing with the shockwave, and took a second to find his balance again before reaching for his shotgun. Unlike him, his targets were neither trained nor prepared for the concussive device, which put him at a distinct advantage over them.

Krueger stood back up and raised his weapon, dropping each of his dizzied, staggering targets with blasts from his shotgun as he moved out from behind the partition and headed towards the stage. He cleared the weapon, firing nine times before reaching the stage, and drew his Mk. 23 one-handed from inside his jacket as he approached the space behind it.

He held the .45 out in front of him in his right hand while he held onto the shotgun with his left. He peered into the open doors of each room, clearing them quickly until he came across a closed door. He kicked it open and held the handgun out, scaring five dancers hiding there.

Krueger lowered the weapon, knowing they were no threat to him. “Get out,” he ordered.

The dancers wasted no time; they darted past him toward the exit.

As he turned he was ambushed by one staff member in the uniform black suit and blue tie; Krueger slapped the gun in his hand with the shotgun muzzle and shot him twice in the throat with his .45, then once more in the head once he hit the ground. He turned back around to clear the final room before holstering his handgun to reload the shotgun and return to the main atrium.

Krueger raised the shotgun again from behind the backstage corner, looking through the sights at the handful of people left alive in the space with him as they gathered their senses in the wake of the stun bomb. He scanned their outfits for the cerulean blue ties he’d been shooting at all night, and when he found none he stepped out from behind cover and moved toward the emergency exit.

Peripherally he spotted one rise from behind the bar; he and Krueger got their shots off at the same time, but Krueger’s vest saved him while the other man had no such protection. He shot the dying barman again as got back to his feet, cursing as he proceeded onward to the emergency exit.

He stepped through an employees-only door to his left and proceeded down a hallway. In the dim light he spotted the sheen of the auctioneer’s cerulean blue gown. She turned to lock eyes with him; in her left hand was a compact handgun.

Krueger held the shotgun steady, training the sights on the center of her chest. He’d been shooting at that color all night—the staff color—but her gun was lowered. She had a chance to walk away, so he offered it to her.

“Put it down,” he ordered, his finger resting on the trigger.

Her eyes narrowed, and she raised the gun.

Krueger fired before she could take her shot, and lowered the shotgun as life escaped the auctioneer with a sigh, her eyes still open.

He took a step over to her and, recognizing who she was, knelt down beside her. This was Maria Teller—the wife of local mob boss Christopher Teller, the man whose establishment this was and the one he was sent in to kill. He reached over to close her eyelids, then thumbed the blood trickle from the corner of her mouth before continuing down the hallway and reaching a lift to get to the basement level.

He elbowed the switch to activate the lift and placed the last three shells on his bandolier into his shotgun as the lift descended. After them he still had the spare magazines for his handgun—whatever was waiting for him in the basement, he was confident he had enough ammunition to kill it.

 ~~~~

The lift gates opened, and Krueger raised his shotgun again as he walked forward scanning the dark, dank cellar. Shafts of light permeated downward from stage lighting assemblies hanging from the ceiling, illuminating passing dust. In the quiet he could identify footsteps in the space before him; carefully he approached the far wall. To his left was a set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine floor, and to his right was a walkway that emptied into the open atrium where a dozens of massive plywood boxes were arranged.

Clearing that maze, he knew, would be a nightmare. He moved to his left and quietly ascended the stairs; the moment he crossed a pair of hands took the shotgun by its pump and pulled it away. Krueger managed to get a shot off but hit the wall instead of his target. Immediately he threw his right fist at the man’s jaw, and grabbed hold of his lapel to throw him into and over the banister. He drew his Mk. 23 and peered into the atrium below, firing twice at the fallen man.

Gunfire from two more down in the storage-box maze erupted upward, and Krueger threw himself back into the wall to catch his bearings. He traced the wall back toward the stairwell, holding the handgun close in his left hand for when they inevitably came up to engage him.

He fired twice at the first man to cross the threshold, and kicked him back down the stairs into the other. He fired a third, fourth, and fifth time at the two men to finish them.

Krueger’s vest caught a round meant for his left shoulder blade, spinning him around to face the catwalk opposite the mezzanine. Immediately he raised his handgun and emptied the magazine in the direction the shots came from. One of his shots struck the last staff member in the hip—he lurched backward, retreating deeper down the catwalk and tucking himself behind a doorway.

Krueger swapped the spent magazine for a fresh one from his bandolier, and slowly, methodically approached the catwalk with the gun raised. He spotted the other man as he popped out of cover to fire, but Krueger shot twice, hitting both the other man and the wall near the doorway. The staff member fell backward through the door.

Krueger closed in on the fallen man, kicking his handgun out of reach and keeping his weapon trained on the man lying on the floor.

He mustered the strength to tilt his head and look Krueger in the eye. “T-Teller,” he croaked. Blood came out of his mouth along with the name. “Where’s Missus—”

Krueger shot the man in the head before he could finish his thought. He relaxed his stance and exhaled.

“Better now,” he put forth, holstering his gun again. “Better.”

He moved back down the catwalk to reclaim his shotgun, and started limping as the adrenaline began filtering out of his blood. He bent over to pick the gun up when he heard movement coming from one of the plywood crates below.

He snapped the shotgun back to his eyes and descended the stairs one more time, stepping over the bodies. When he arrived at the crate making the most noise, he fired at two of the hinges at the corners of the crate’s façade , then ripped the front of it off to look inside.

His expression softened as he lowered the shotgun and looked upon a naked woman holding her knees to her chest, her makeup tracing dark lines down her cheeks. She shot a horrified look back up at him, not daring to breathe.

He knelt down before her and placed the shotgun on the floor of the crate, then took his jacket off to gently place around her shoulders. Looking at her again, he recognized her as one of the people Maria Teller was auctioning off just over an hour ago.

“Are the others here as well?” he asked her. His tone was warm, fatherly, even.

Quietly the woman nodded.

Krueger stood up and looked around him at all the plywood crates in the room with him. Who knew how many other people were trapped in crates with them, or for how long they were there? Who could say for sure how many young men and women the Tellers and their associates kidnapped off the streets and sold for the people who bought them to do God-only-knows-what to them? How many more did he save from this; how many didn’t he?

He looked back down at the scared, naked woman. “I was never here,” he told her. Then he turned to head back to the lift.

 ~~~~

Krueger made his way back up to the top floor restroom to reclaim the case his weapons were stored in after freeing the other young men and women auctioned off earlier that evening. After placing the SPAS-12, Mk. 23, and bandolier back into the box and shutting the lid, he made his way to the ground floor again and stepped behind the bar to make a phone call on the landline there. He hit 9 to reach an outside line and dialed 9-1-1.

“Send police and EMS to the Morrow building on Park Avenue,” he said as soon as the operator picked up the phone. “There are at least two dozen men and women in the basement level who’ll need warm clothes, hot food, and cool water. Find out who they are, whether they have family, and send them home.” He hung the phone up and went back to the front to collect his coat, then headed to the back of the room to leave through the emergency exit and disappear into the night.

(Masterlist)

[chiseler]

Myrna Loy: Keeping Cool

If an actor is said to be “underplaying,” what does that mean exactly? It might mean not doing the obvious thing and not displaying the obvious emotion. Or it might mean feeling various emotions but holding them back and only sharing a tiny portion of them. This is a risky strategy, because most audiences might just think you can’t “act,” at least not in the expected way. When Myrna Loy made The Rains Came (1939), she was thirty-four years old and an established star. The film is what used to be called a “well-mounted” production, filled with dramatic incident and exotic settings and lots of extras and love crises and natural disasters. The role of Lady Edwina Esketh, a dissolute, promiscuous noblewoman who redeems herself through sacrifice and love, would seem to provide a juicy opportunity for showboating. It’s easy to imagine Bette Davis in the role, her eyes popping with restless desire. Whereas Loy had the kind of eyes that always seemed half-closed even when they weren’t.

Loy’s playing of Lady Esketh is cool, modest, almost non-committal, and this approach can seem alienating at first, but if you focus closely on what she’s doing, her under-the-radar work starts to pay dividends. The film’s producer Darryl Zanuck called her into his office midway through the shooting and complained about her performance, but Loy stuck to her own interpretation. She was known for her dry handling of light comedy, high comedy, even farce, and she refuses to play Lady Esketh full out as temperamental or mercurial, as practically any other actress of her time would have done. Instead, Loy keeps her cards close to her vest and lets her knowing attitude do the rest. Her expressive voice is light and almost fey, but very grounded, with ringing intonations, and this makes it different from a huskier yet more vacillating voice like Jean Arthur’s.

Even when Lady Esketh changes her tune, Loy doesn’t go all Noble. In fact, underneath the self-sacrifice her Lady Esketh seems to be as flip and above-it-all as ever, somehow, and this works well for the film. “I hate scenes,” she tells her lover George Brent, and this would be a laugh line for a Davis or a Joan Crawford, but Loy is an actress who actually does hate “scenes” or drama. She’s basically detached, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings. It’s just that she doesn’t parade them around as other performers do.

This instinct Loy had for underplaying didn’t always work out so well. In Parnell (1937), Loy and Clark Gable do a lot of walking around and talking quietly to each other, and they come off like zombies in period dress. But her moderation in many other films was so unusual and original that Loy fashioned her very own type of screen character. She was almost never a working girl, but more usually a wife, a mistress, a lady with money and time for play, so fetching that she got away with lots of nose wrinkling and eyelash fluttering without ever seeming coy.

As a young girl, Loy had seen Eleonora Duse on the stage, and she had admired the restraint of that fabled actress. “Oh, I could have cried all over the place in many of my films, but it just didn’t feel right,” she said in her charming 1987 memoir, Being and Becoming. “The audience loses respect for the character. It seems that instinctively I’ve done this kind of underplaying a good deal in my work. That brand of acting had impressed me since first seeing Duse. She had an inner light, you see; you’ve got to have it…You can’t be thinking about how many people you’re having for dinner.” According to Loy in her book, nearly all of her leading men and many of the other men she met developed crushes on her, and that’s understandable. She had the damndest nose, turned up at the end and elaborately structured, and that reserved, hard-to-get manner that promised the deepest bliss if you could melt some of her reserve.

Loy was born in Montana, and she began her career early as a dancer in live prologues for silent films. She was an extra in the original Ben-Hur (1925), and for the next nine years she made eighty-odd movies, mostly in bits. As a maid in Ernst Lubitsch’s So This Is Paris (1926), Loy just walks across a room. She’s a lady in waiting to Lucrezia Borgia in Don Juan (1926) and a chorus girl in the first talking movie, The Jazz Singer (1927), and she was continually cast as vamps and tramps, often of Chinese, Latin or all-purpose “foreign” extraction.

In her first full talkie, The Desert Song (1929), Loy plays Azuri: “That name means tiger claws!” she informs us, in a hilariously BEEG! accent that she came up with herself. She’s very sexy in that movie, but she’s also making a kind of joke of sex, and this campy attitude also informs her Yasmini in John Ford’s The Black Watch (1929) and her gypsy temptress Nubi in The Squall (1929). Loy is enjoyably over the top in these roles and in some of her other vamp parts of this time, and she worked so often in this exaggerated fashion that maybe she was just all tired-out by the time she became a star in 1934 with The Thin Man, and so she made a low-key style out of this tiredness.

Loy is a hoot in The Truth About Youth (1930) as a gold-digging singer with a temper, and she was time-stoppingly lovely in her brief role in Ford’s Arrowsmith (1931). She had one promising scene with Robert Young in New Morals for Old (1932), but then the film drops her entirely. Loy steals Rouben Mamoulian’s Love Me Tonight (1932) with just a couple of naughty lines, socking them home in an attention-getting way that’s rather far removed from her later laidback delivery, but she was still being cast as vixens in racist concoctions like The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932), where her Fah Lo See delights in having men whipped, and Thirteen Women (1932), where her hypnotic half-caste takes methodical revenge on a bunch of sorority girls who spurned her. It must have taken much stamina and patience to wait out all these years and all these small and unworthy parts. She had a lead in a modern dress version of Vanity Fair (1932), which was shot in ten days at a poverty row studio, sometimes from 4AM to 4AM. Loy does an intriguingly subdued Becky Sharp, but maybe she was too exhausted to play it any other way.

The speedy director W.S. Van Dyke took her in hand in 1933 at MGM, and her parts began to improve. She thrived with John Barrymore in the sophisticated comedy Topaze (1933), and she fell in with her best partner, William Powell, in Manhattan Melodrama (1934), where she also tussled with Clark Gable. The Thin Man was made by Van Dyke in sixteen days, and it set up a long-running formula for Powell and Loy that proved irresistible. As Nick and Nora Charles, a private detective and his heiress wife, Powell and Loy struck up a bantering attitude with each other that still feels like a fresh and attainable ideal of marriage.

The mystery plots of their six Thin Man films were usually perfunctory, but that didn’t matter because audiences really came to see Nick and Nora verbally jousting and keeping each other entertained. Just listening to them is a pleasure: Powell with his deep, plummy voice and Loy with her bright, high, tinkling one. “They hit that wonderful note because he always did a wee bit too much and she underdid it, creating a grace, a charm, a chemistry,” observed George Cukor.

Nick and Nora are party people, and the running gag in their films is that they always want to get a rest or take a break but they never seem to, and that suits Loy’s Nora just fine. She married Nick for excitement and great sex and teasing that always goes right up to the edge of being dangerous but never topples over into hurt feelings (it did just one time, in After the Thin Man (1936), when Nick drunkenly mentions making a mistake and Nora for a brief moment thinks he means he was mistaken in marrying her because her family is so stuffy). Nora can be slightly dizzy, but she is also flexible and tough. “There’s a girl with hair on her chest!” says a cop in The Thin Man, after Nick and Nora have just gotten out of a scary scrape with a gunman and she comes out blithely crying for more action.

As she watches Nick shooting the ornaments off their Christmas tree in The Thin Man, Loy shoots Powell an only semi-loving “You are beyond belief” look, a very modern kind of juicily sarcastic look that is also in some sense unreadable. Nora’s love for Nick is a private and multi-leveled thing, and Loy will only reveal a small bit of it. They both see the fun or absurdity in practically any situation, even things that would irritate most of us. “We were married three years before he told me he loved me,” Nora says in The Thin Man Goes Home (1944), and she relates this in an admiring way, because they both like to avoid the obvious, or look askance at it.

The seven or so other films Loy made with Powell were often ordinary, but they were always redeemed by their give-and-take, their rapport, his two-drinks-in silliness and her quizzical, nearly deadpan reaction to him. Loy is at her peak in Libeled Lady (1936), playing a quasi-bitch in the first half but then softening beautifully when she falls for Powell. It’s clear that she’s a former dancer because she always moves gracefully, and distinctively: there’s a difference between the louche posture of her call girl in Penthouse (1933) and the ramrod straight posture of her rich playgirl in Libeled Lady, which suffers from unimaginative direction from Jack Conway. Loy too seldom worked with top directors. She’s at her womanly best in Test Pilot (1938) with Gable and Spencer Tracy, and she brought all of her tenderness to the smallish role of the wife in her most famous movie, William Wyler’s The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), but it seems a shame that she never worked at length for Lubitsch, or Preston Sturges, or Howard Hawks.

As an older woman, Loy concentrated on progressive politics as her career wound down. She played one hilariously timed scene where she fussily picks paint colors in Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948), but she had little chemistry with Cary Grant, who needed a more extreme woman to react to. Loy was a mother and feminist heroine in Belles on Their Toes (1952) and she worked in a more histrionic vein in Lonelyhearts (1959) and From the Terrace (1960), proving that she could play this way if she wanted to, but it isn’t much fun seeing her argue with a nasty Robert Ryan or stumble around drunk as Paul Newman’s mother, so far from her usual context.

She worked on stage and bowed out gracefully with Summer Solstice (1981), a short teleplay about an aged married couple where she was still teasing and fun loving with her mate, Henry Fonda. They called Loy the perfect wife, but her own four marriages didn’t work out, and the second one, to rental car heir John Hertz, Jr., was particularly bad. Hertz gave her a black eye once, and surely there is a special place reserved in hell for the man who gave Myrna Loy a black eye. As so often with these stars, real life did not live up to screen life, and she herself did not get enough of the pleasure that she gave to us.

Loy was one of the rare stars who seems to have been much like the person we see on screen: tolerant, sophisticated, nice without being sugary, dignified without being rigid, treating life with amused sang-froid. She was the sexiest and smartest of role models, all the more attractive and suggestive for keeping so many things to herself.

by Dan Callahan

[everlarkficexchange]

Incubus

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 49: He has spent centuries coming at night and sleeping with as many humans as possible, many dying from childbirth with no child to bear, or because his lust overpowered them. He needs to find a women that can live through his lust and birth an healthy offspring and after centuries, he thinks he found the one, the sixteen year old Katniss Everdeen. Dark incubus!peeta Angst Old times. [submitted by @animekpopxx​]

RATED: EXPLICIT for disturbing themes, imagery and adult situations.

WARNINGS: Dark!Peeta; Creepy!Peeta; Stalker!Peeta. Demon!Peeta; Dark!Toastbabies; minor character’s death, Canon compliant violence, Non-con/Rape. Stockholm Syndrome-ish.

TAGS: Supernatural AU; Under 16K words; Smut (Underage!Everlark, non-everlark)

Acknowledgements: Thanks to @animekpopxx for the great prompts, you never cease to inspire with your ideas for stories… sorry if I didn’t completely adhere to all the specifications listed on the prompt.

Many thanks to my amazing beta @wingletblackbird, who’s insights made this story 10 million times better.

@xerxia31 and @javistg for their dedication to Everlark Fanfiction, you keep the creative juices pumping with this events, and I thank you both for that… and thank you for reading my One Shot. Hopefully is to your liking! 

  KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

I’m thrusting vigorously into the wet, hot and loose pussy of a married woman who summoned me by name to get back at her cheating husband— who apparently has sired no less than 4 bastards, each from a different woman— by fucking a demon.

  She’s also awake, which is fairly unusual for my encounters, but I couldn’t refuse an invitation such as this when the woman is so willing and eager, and the call comes laced with the delicious odor of arousal.

  The problem is, she talks too much!

  I’ve done my best to tune out her asinine remarks on how big and intimidating my cock is compared to human penises, how much watching my member excites her, and makes her greedy pussy flutter in anticipation; I’ve heard stupid comments like those for millennia from women with the same wicked gleam in their eyes. They think that calling me to fuck them is some kind of thrilling game, as if the stories of how most of my partners don’t survive their first encounter with me, how their bodies can’t take the stress I put on them when I’m really overcome with lust, are mere jokes passed down from generations. But this woman really is testing my patience.

  Everything was alright until she asked a question that enraged me above anything she’s said so far.

  “My lord, is it true you impregnate every one of your victims?” There is that psychotic glint in her beady eyes again.

  I grunt and push away onto my haunches.

  The woman tries to sit up quickly, chasing my retreating form desperately with a pleading apology taking shape in her mouth. She doesn’t get to voice whatever idiotic excuse she was about to spew.

  With a flick of my hand, five silk ropes spring up from the floor and wrap around both her wrists and both ankles; the last one gags her mouth. She whimpers and the sadistic gleam in her eyes finally gets replaced with fear when the ropes pull back her legs bringing her knees level with her ears and her thighs spread wide open to me.

  Without stopping to look at her, I ram into her ass with so much force the legs of the bed groan and break under the punishing pace I’m keeping.

  The woman cries out in terror or pain, maybe both, I don’t care. I don’t stop driving into her until my release is imminent. When it’s time, I pull my cock out of the woman’s rectum swiftly, and spill all my cum on her face, chest, and part of her stomach. I take great care not to let even a drop of my precious seed fall into her reproductive organs.

  I sigh in relief once I’m done.

  The woman strains against her restraints, and moans pitifully. I look down at her tearful face with spite.

  Pathetic.

  Finally, I answer her question, “No. I don’t impregnate every one of my partners. Some aren’t worthy of carrying my offspring.” I stand from the broken bed and give her a disdainful glance, “You should count yourself lucky you don’t rate as a good partner, otherwise I would’ve taken your life, as well as your pleasure.”

  I dissolve into dark mist leaving her in that shameful position, tied up like a hog and covered in mess, to be found by her husband.

  ——

  It is not my custom to glide aimlessly through a human town after I’ve fed my lust, yet tonight’s encounter left a bitter taste in my mouth I just can’t shake off.

  I’ve been cursed into existence with the sole purpose of mating with as many women as there are sand grains by the ocean until one of them births me an heir to… to replace me, I guess, until he too has successfully produced a replacement of his own. Regretfully, I’m still here, after thousands of years, fucking my way through humanity. Not one woman has been strong enough to carry my spawn to term, so the careless curiosity of a self indulgent idiot got to me a little too hard.

  There have been a handful of promising cases, but at the end they just amount to female corpses too weak to bear my child. Every single woman I’ve copulated with either dies in the throes of passion, unable to whistand my consuming lust, or has complications with the pregnancy, either because the creature simply sucks the life force out of the host, or because labor pains put too much stress on their mortal bodies and they just give out with internal organ failures.

  On this depressing thought, I come to the center of town where I would never be if there was any sun in the sky right now. I’m about to turn myself into a small smoke tornado that will project me back to my den for a while, before my night starts anew on the other side of the globe, but a small, hopeless sob attracts my full attention.

  I’m a creature of darkness; therefore I’m drawn to and strengthened  by human pain and calamity. The whimpering continues guiding me to an alleyway, behind a lane of brick buildings, housing an amalgamation of shops.

  I notice three things upon arrival. First, the soft sobbing is coming from a little girl, much too young to be outside alone at this time. Second, it is dark, very, very dark; a moonless night, that should frighten a hardened man, a night in which specters like me come out to play eagerly with unsuspecting humans too dumb to stay safely in their beds. And lastly, this is the loneliest, creepiest alley I’ve ever been to. It’s cold, muddy, echo-y and reeks of death.

  My kind of place, I realize.

  Not at all where a tiny child such as this one should be.

  At first glance I determine the child is frail and almost to the doors of death. A female of around 10 or 11 years old, judging by her skeletal frame. It looks like she hasn’t known the taste of food in quite a few days, and she’s giving up her life in this cursed place.

  It is not in my nature to care whether she expires sitting on the hard ground, against the scraggly apple tree she leans on, or not, but for some reason, I speak to her. Soft and soothing.

  “What are you doing here, girl? It’s dark, late, and scary.”

  Deadened, sunken eyes stare at me suspiciously, “I could ask you the same. But I’m not nosy!” She replies turning her pert nose up at me.

  I chuckle and lower myself to the ground. The little brat is a piece of work! “I’m nosy and I don’t care if that’s rude.”

  The girl cocks her head sideways, slightly curious, not the least bit afraid.

  “I ran out of coin.” She finally says, “I can’t to go back home to my little sister, Prim, without food. She’s so tiny, and her lips keep crackin’ and bleedin’ every time she cries, asking if there’s anything to eat.”

  Normally, humans never see my true form if they happen to get a glimpse of me. They would die of terror on the spot, so their minds only see what they can handle. For women, they see every feature they find attractive in a male, making me irresistible for them, in the very, very seldom instance that they see me while awake. Men, on the other hand, tend to see someone non-threatening, a friend who would never hurt them. I’m not sure what this child sees me as, but clearly she sees someone worth opening her heavy little heart to, because the floodgates of her troubled life seem to have opened up, and she sobs telling me the rest of her story.

  “I can’t remember the last time I ate something that I had to chew with my teeth. My tummy started to ache a few days ago, but I didn’t want Prim to ache too, so I’ve been giving her all the little food we had left. Yesterday, all I found in the cupboards were a few dry mint leaves, I boiled them in water and told her it was soup. I came to the market to sell Prim’s baby clothes, but nobody wanted my ragged wares. I got so dizzy after walking all day trying to sell them, and my arms were so tired, I accidentally dropped the clothes on the mud somewhere yonder; I’m not sure where. I couldn’t pick them up, even if I’d wanted to. I knew that if I leaned down, I’d just kilter over and wouldn’t be able to get up again.”

  She takes a ragged breath and paws the soaked tendrils of black hair sticking to her forehead away.

  “I didn’t wanna die like that in the middle of the street where anyone could see. They would’ve known mother hasn’t been taking care of us. They would take Prim to the Community Home. Children in the Community Home get crushed by sadness and red marks on their faces from angry hands… I couldn’t do that to poor, delicate Prim. But this place here…” her eyes take a glassy quality, and her lips curl into a slight smile as if daydreaming of better days. “It used to be the bakery, before the owners moved away and abandoned it. The smell of freshly baked bread still lingers here, and if I inhale hard enough, I swear I can feel the smells fill my tummy.”

  She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, as if truly she could get her empty stomach filled with the long gone fragrance of yeast and flour that used to permeate this alley before.

  “My belly doesn’t hurt no more,” she sighs, opening her eyes and fixing them on me, “in case you were wondering.”

  My head cocks to the side, staring at her curiously.

  “I stopped feeling the hunger aches without noticing. Mamma’s a healer, I once heard her tell a woman, whose children had stopped crying out for food, that those are actually dangerous times, when the body needs food, when it’s so far gone, it starts eating itself out. But I’m not scared about that… dying here, where bread used to be baked… won’t be so bad, would it?”

  Something tugs at me in the back of my mind. Without thinking about it, and barely feeling anything at all, I conjure up two steaming loaves of hearty bread out of thin air. At first, my instinct compels me to take a bite out of the bread, taunt her, mock her, chop off pieces and lug them over the falling link fence of an old pen, where the odor of some kind of animal still persists, and watch her climb over the muck to devour the soiled bread. But then, my hands move of their own volition, offering the loaves to the girl.

  Her eyes follow my every move, stuck on the delectable food she’s been deprived off for so long, just staring at my gift.

  Suddenly, I’m aware of how cold and wet everything around me is.

  “It’s pouring.” I muse flatly.

  The girl’s eyes tell me she clearly thinks I’m stupid, but my clothes cling to my body uncomfortably, and now I’m aware my body feels oddly smaller than usual. I look down at my arms, realizing I have the arms of a child myself.

  I guess the girl is projecting her age and features on me, like humans do.

  “Take the bread before it’s too soggy to eat.” I grunt in aggravation.

  “I—Are you sure? I couldn’t… I don’t have anything to pay or trade—“

  I shove the two loaves into her lap, and kick off from the ground where I had come to sit, next to her. “Go home.” I command. “Get out of this darkness and this cold rain.”

  The girl looks at the food on her arms with disbelief and awe, then she looks up at me, as if I had given her the moon, the clouds, and her very own star. She murmurs. “Thank you…”

  In a second, she’s running away as fast as her scrawny little legs can take her, while I stand here stunned and confused. There was a strange reaction I got when the little girl’s gray eyes met mine and I could see the most appetizing fire within. I knew the little girl would not only survive, but thrive.

  I won’t ever see the little human again, so what do I care what’s in her future? I melt back into the shadows, already putting the incident behind me.

  ——————

I’m particularly fond of nubile virgins, which probably accounts for how poorly their bodies perform when I impregnate them, but I digress… teenage girls have the softest skin. Their budding breasts, still unaware of the effects of gravity, retain an innocent perkiness I could kill for. But, while all this is true on my normal hunts, one prepubescent human has become a most incomprehensible obsession of mine ever since the night I gave her the bread.

  My girl with the braid and gray eyes is now 14. She had to mature in extreme circumstances, before her time, making her exquisite in resilience and a strength her peers lack. I find myself attracted to her dormant… sturdiness.

  But at 14– in human years— her reproductive system is not mature enough even for a monster like me. She has not the means, nor the skills, to sustain the demands of mating with me, let alone carrying my spawn, so I admire her from afar and more often than I should.

  Tonight for example, I watch her sleep for a short moment, then I let myself slip through the same crack in the window I slithered inside, and go on my merry way to find a more fitting host.

  The girl will sleep untouched tonight, meanwhile I still need to bury myself into a warm, available body.

  —————

  “My name is Katniss Everdeen. What’s yours?” She asks the night a come across her, when she’s stuck on the other side of an electrified fence, in a dark, dark forest.

  “Peeta.” I say emotionless. It’s my given name, although her kind has given me a different, more sinister name I’m not terribly fond of. “Why are you out here?” I ask.

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but my papa taught me how to hunt. That’s what I’ve been doing every day for the last two years to feed my family. I come everyday before school, and most days I return even after.”

  “Why come twice in a day?” My voice is flat, but she doesn’t seem to mind it.

  “Well…” She scowls looking at the ground, as her answer comes together in her mind. “My family has to eat, but we also need other things, like paraffin, thread and needles, matches… things for school, soap for the washing. People in town will pay coin for fresh meat, or trade with other goods. It’s a good system.” She states proudly. But then, she looks nervously around, and stutters as if remembering herself. “But you can’t tell anyone about any of that. I could get punished if word got out that I hunt illegally.” Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Promise you won’t say anything, Peeta.”

  I want to roll my eyes at her, but she’s staring at me with those eyes full of stars and warmth. I have to admit, it felt amazing to hear her use my name. Very few beings even know it, humans can’t even imagine I have an actual name, which suits me, since they fear the one they gave me. It almost rivals the strange pleased sensation I got when her gray eyes widened in pleasant recognition when she saw me approach her tonight. Still, I know not why she’s out here on her lonesome, and I much rather have her go home, to bed, where I have control.

  “I don’t have anyone to tell. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tattle. But why are you here so late?”

  She frowns. “The part of me getting stuck out here is actually unintentional, and happens very seldom.”

  I arch an eyebrow— I had no idea I could use the muscles in my forehead in such manner— and wait for her to elaborate.

  “The fence is a pre-war inconvenience, supposed to act as a deterrent for wild beasts, but is almost never on. Animals know to stay away from town, and people like me get to climb under it to gather apples and berries that grow in the wild. Only a few of us hunt, because it’s still illegal to poach. Today I slipped under the wires at dusk to collect some herbs for mother— she’s got to make half of her poultices and unguents with herbs only found in the woods, mind you— anywho, when I came back, the fence was live.” She shivers, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just have to wait it out. It’ll eventually shut off and I’ll be able to cross back into the district. Prim’s already come by to check on me and knows I’m safe. I’ll climb a tree or something while I wait.”

  I grunt my understanding and shake my head in aggravation. I wave my hand carelessly, and the electric buzz dies instantly. “I think you can come back in again now.” I tell her needlessly. “Hurry up. You never know how long this will last.”

  The girl, Katniss, narrows her eyes suspiciously at me momentarily, but finally shrugs, “As you say.” Then sticks her arm through the links of the fence, holding up her game bag to me. “Hold this for me.” She crawls under the fence and then stands in front of me.

  We are the same height I realize. But then, I grow an extra inch or two above her. The corner of her lips curls up, and I’m certain she’s figured something out about me, I just don’t know if it’ll help or hinder my advances.

  “I’ll see you around, Peeta. Thank you for keeping me company while I was out there. It’s the first time I got caught out at night. It was nice seeing a friendly face.”

  “Mmm. Be more careful next time.” I grunt, and walk away from her.

  —————-

I come back to Katniss’ bedroom for reasons I can’t readily comprehend.

  She’s not very big or particularly pretty; she’s not even ready to copulate! But there’s a certain vulnerability in her subconscious self that calls me to her.

  During the day, she sports the scowl of a thirty year old single mother of two working with only the skills of poaching, handed down to her from her dead father, in order to sustain her family while putting herself and her younger child through school. Of course, she is not really a mother, but everything else is true; so the rest might as well be true also, since she’s had to care and provide for her mother and younger sister for the last two years, taking the mantle of breadwinner all on her slim, little shoulders. Her determination is her own type of brawn in my book.

  I hover above her sleeping form, just studying her face; so sweet and tender, free of the premature worry lines and that perpetual scowl that plagues her features in wakefulness, but then again, it is that intimidating scowl of hers that grants her the respect of any adult she does business with.

  In sleep, Katniss looks more her age. Innocent and soft, like the velvety petals of a rose bud.

  I breathe in the clean smell of her recently bathed body, and wonder if I could just slip my palm up her thigh, just to feel her soft skin under my fingers? But her mother stirs and sighs in the other bed, shutting the thought to Hell.

  My eyes cut to the woman right away, but she’s asleep, just rearranging her position in the sagging mattress next to the one I’m floating over.

  Mrs. Everdeen suffers melancholy. Her emotional illness almost killed her and her daughters; I’m not sure how I feel about her. She’s better now, but the months of starvation and near death have permanently damaged Katniss, emotionally and psychologically, more than she lets on.

  The Everdeens never had wealth or means to afford but the barest of necessities, so when Mr. Everdeen passed, he left nothing behind but a small house with a tiny living area, kitchen, bathroom, and a single bedroom for his surviving family to live in. Another reason I don’t act on my urges to fuck sweet Katniss; the poor thing shares a room with her mother, and more often than not, shares a bed with her little sister.

  Tonight is a rare occasion, in which the sister hopped in bed with the mother, leaving the object of my fascination to battle her recurrent nightmares alone. This only exacerbates the troublesome dreams for Katniss, which aggravates me, since her sleep patterns turn irregular and shallow, making it hard for me to infiltrate her subconscious. She’s more prone to wake up when her mind is occupied relieving the bad days. But I don’t complain much, seeing that while she’s is bed alone, I can leisurely hover directly above her sleeping form, instead of by the side of the mattress like I’m usually confined to.

  I go back to gaze at my sleeping beauty, and decide that this won’t do.

  I have to figure out a way to give Katniss her own room.

  I want privacy when the time comes I can do all things I yearn to do. But there’s still time! Katniss has a couple of years ahead of her to grow and mature. I’ll just bide my time until that glorious future.

  Before leaving her side for the night, I kiss her forehead. I plant a thought there as my lips touch her skin: ‘Don’t pull the covers up too high. Loosen the sheets around your shoulders. Relax your breathing… rest.’

  Then I’m gone.

  —————————-

  I’m inside sweet, beautiful Lavinia, pounding away in glorious ecstasy.

  She’s an absolute delight with a soft, pliable body, with swells and dips in all the right places and shapely legs that go on forever.

  She moans sensually every time I enter her. She clenches her pussy muscles around my cock deliciously, and I lick the perspiration off her pale, luscious flesh to give my tongue something to do.

  For the first time in months, my mind doesn’t drift to fantasies of an older version of Katniss while moving into the designated warm body of the day. I’m thoroughly satisfied, and at the end of the tryst, just when I’m about to pull out of Lavinia’s tight crevice, she seizes, shakes, arches off the bed with her mouth forming an agonizing O, dipping her head back so her auburn hair brushes the mattress beneath and her torso finally collapses on the bed heavily.

  My chest feels the familiar little stir of excitement.

  Every woman I’ve successfully implanted with an embryo has had a similar physical reaction. Some are more violent than others, but it’s always the same and I’m cautiously content this time was so mild on the host… mother… whatever she is to my heir.

  I stay maybe another hour, just staring at Lavinia’s stomach, wishing I could see beyond the skin and muscle, deep into the womb, take a peek at the creature starting to take shape in her tissue. But alas, that’s not one of my many abilities and powers.

  At the first crow of the rooster in the predawn, while it’s still inky dark out there, do I finally see it happening.

  It starts as a small, dark red stain growing on the white linen sheets covering the still sleeping redhead. She doesn’t move an inch, but I know from experience the pregnancy failed. Despite the fact that the girl is still breathing, I can’t help thinking she’s already dead.

  Lavinia’s hemorrhaging fast; the mess covering her clothes and bedding is now reaching her shoulders; her eyes flutter behind her closed lids, and I regret ever putting my hands on her, because now she’s another girl I’ve sent for death.

  I don’t linger to see her last breath.

  None of my partners survive a pregnancy. But the night just began in the other side of world, and my loins call for another lover to replace the child I just lost.

—————————

  Katniss is 15.

  Her dark hair reaches her waist even braided. She hides her budding breasts and the slight curve of her ass, under her father’s old shirts and leather jacket, which are at least 3 sizes too big for her. She’s also taken to wearing  trousers instead of skirts and dresses, but even I’ve grown used to her clothing dwarfing her slight frame.

  The fact her developing womanly figure stays camouflaged serves two purposes; one, is purely practical, people seem to forget she’s a child— female at that— and take her seriously for trades and bartering; the second one benefits both of us, by keeping unwanted male attention from bothering her.

  But there’s no escaping nature, and there’s no stopping puberty. Katniss’ body is maturing nicely, and with that comes torturous growing pains.

  Today was hard for her, I can tell.

  She’s squirming in her sleep, doubled over at her tiny waist with her nimble arms wrapped around her middle. The downy hair at her temple is damped with perspiration, and her sweet lips are pale and dry.

  I kiss the dewy skin of her forehead, murmuring an incantation to numb away her aches. After a few minutes of me trying to soothe her with small caresses, the awful grimace falls off her face, and a relaxed sigh leaves her chapped lips. Her arms loosen, allowing her hands to curl softly beneath her chin.

  Her menses started a few months ago, and they have been rough on her. The cycle wipes out most of her strength, leaving her in cold sweats, dizzy, and unstable on her feet. The reaction really worries me. I don’t want there to be a problem I have not foreseen.

  I lean my cheek against her soft abdomen and whisper an enchantment. Given my nature, I’m not capable of healing ailments, or granting blessings, nor am I allowed to praying to the ones who could help, but I’m allowed to cast spells and conjure old magic, and lastly, I’m allowed to bear certain illnesses in a human’s stead, so I try to take her pain upon myself. I need my girl to be strong and healthy if she’s to carry my offspring in the future.

  I nuzzle her navel for a moment before taking a step back.

  A sharp pain wreaks through me, becoming acute near my groin. I claw at the air as the searing pain pierces through me, and then is gone as fast as it came.

  That’s that.

  I’ve never felt pain before, and I truly hope I never have to suffer it again, but Katniss is resting now, free of deliberating aches, sleeping soundly and peaceful. The unsavory sensations were worth it, just to watch my girl fall into blessed oblivion.

  That should do it.

  I leave her to rest, wiping off tonight’s nightmares from her subconscious as well.

  —————-

  I used to worry that with Katniss’ struggle with starvation and malnutrition, her body would become useless as a vessel. Then the day her first bloods stained her undergarments arrived to my everlasting relief, and that to the added improvement of her hunting skills that fetched her better game, and her gathering double portions of wild vegetables and herbs in the woods, where doing wonders to her health.

  I was delighted to see her filling in her scrawny bones with meat and muscle, and her cheeks get rosier. It’s the best indication that at last, her womb is ready for procreation!

  There’s still the pesky issue of her shared lodgings, so I decided to bide my time until her healer mother gets called to tend an overnight patient, and eager to learn, little Primrose would tag along her mother to help, leaving the house all to myself. Unfortunately, something else happened that I didn’t see coming.

  To my everlasting fury, I discovered her trips to the woods aren’t as solitary as I had believed. It so happens that sweet, capable Katniss, does have a hunting partner, and for some reason I ignored this fact completely until today.

  The fence is electrified again, but this time Katniss has made camp in the branches of a tall, sturdy tree. In a branch below hers, a lanky, older boy made his bed under the canopy, tying a rope around his waist to anchor him to the tree limb, same as her.

  “Hey Catnip, you get some shut eye for now. I have first watch. I’ll wake up when I get tired.”

  “Unless you see something worth shooting!” She tells the boy scowling. “Wake me up right away, Gale. Not like last time you saw a deer and tried to down it by yourself.”

  The boy lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, Catnip. Whatever you say.” He sounds almost playful. Almost, but then he finishes with a firmer command, “Now go to sleep. I’ll call if I see anything interesting.”

  I feel anger, jealousy, and righteous indignation boiling all over me. I feel my true form emerging, ready to show myself in all my glorious horror, but then I remember Katniss is a mere two feet up above the boy’s branch, and instead of attacking the mortal, I simply explode back to my dwelling, deep in the dark recesses of the Earth.

  Meanwhile, in the human world:

  “Did you smell sulfur?” Asks Gale sitting up straighter on his branch.

  “No. But smelling sulfur out of the blue isn’t a very good omen, Gale. I think we should call it a night, and head back home as soon as the fence is dead.”

  “Yeah. You may be right. We don’t wanna be near any toxic gas leaks, and we know next to nothing about the minerals in the mines yonder.” He points into the dark, in the direction of the old abandoned coal mines that used to be the only source of income to people like Katniss’ family.

  The teenagers descend the tree quickly, with loaded bows aloft, heading in the direction of town, praying the fence is no longer active.

  Oblivious to the angry roar resonating in the empty spaces of earth. Full of vengeance and jealousy.

  —————

Gale Hawthorne gets visited by my female counterpart, the one humans have named Succubus, courtesy of yours truly.

  She does not take his life unfortunately.

  She makes him sick enough he’s bedridden for a week, but he recovers.

  When I confront my demoness comrade, she simply says “The boy is 17, and he’s the sole provider for his family of 5. He’s mother is living enough hell as it is, so I just gave tall, dark and handsome a good ride and a touch at nirvana.”

  I don’t think that was the truth behind her reprieve at all; I’ve seen her take the lives of teens younger than that, who indulge in self molestation a little too much. I believe she let him keep his life as petty revenge on me, for disrupting her other encounters that night.

  The only consolation I have for now is that Gale Hawthorne will have an unexplainable aversion to sex for a few months, which means he won’t pursue my girl in the interim.

  But Katniss is starting to look more like a woman and less like a tomboy. It’s only a matter of time before she gets noticed by other boys. I don’t exactly need my partners to be virgins, but the thought of someone else taking Katniss’ purity drives me into a murderous state I really can’t afford.

  So, tonight, when I slip into the crack of the window to visit her, I dip my hand under her covers, into her threadbare camisole, to caress her supple, soft breasts. I pinch her nipples to erection and watch her react to the sensations.

  I plant suggestive thoughts in her subconscious. She blushes in her sleep and I murmur into her ear reassurances about her beauty and worth, and incredibly, I’m truthful about those.

  I close my eyes to savor the moment. It’s the first time I put my hands on her erogenous zones, and she does not disappoint. Katniss’ breast fits perfectly in my palm.

  “Sleep well my dear.” I whisper in her ear, “Dream of Incubus babies suckling at your tits. That will become your future at some point.”

  ———————-

  I’ve been stalking Katniss for the better part of five years, and still I fail to make her mine.

  She will be 16 in a few days time, and I’ve had plenty of opportunities to lay claim to her body, yet I keep finding excuses to prevent me from going any further than a few caresses on safe places. On nights she spends in the woods alone, I fabricate reasons why I shouldn’t touch her: ‘She’s fully clothed’, ‘A coyote is three miles away and could attack her in her heavy sleep’, ‘She looks uncomfortable on this tree branch; I want her first time to be somewhere she’s comfortable.’

  That last one became obsolete the moment Katniss hiked to a cement shack far into the woods, a place she excitedly canvassed for days, then fitted with a makeshift bed of dry grasses and hay to sleep in. Apparently the place had actually been discovered by her father in his youth, and he shared the place with his elder daughter, a secret location all to their own. Being the sentimental human she is, Katniss only recently found the courage to return without her father, and face the fact that her once happy childhood is gone.

  I blame my lack of progress on a disturbing thought: fucking Katniss in her sleep and leaving her to incubate my offspring after without any explanation, amounts to rape, and although it isn’t in my nature to operate under the moralistic customs of humans, I find the notion troublesome and appalling. I would never cause Katniss such pain and humiliation.

  So I’ve been stalling. Buying time, trying to find a way to make this union less… morbid. More consensual.

  I tell myself this is all for Katniss’ benefit, but the truth is, I think it would be rather nice to be able to look at her beautiful gray eyes while spilling my semen into her womb.

  To my chagrin, I’ve realized that while trying to consort with this girl, her humanity has bled into my very essence. I’m just afraid I cannot conform to mortal morals too long. My sole reason to exist is to procreate and satisfy my ever growing lust. My nature will win at the end, and I fear I will lose her when it happens.

  ———————

  It’s raining a monsoon outside, yet Katniss is sitting on the porch crying quietly into her hands. It’s past her bedtime too, so I’m sure this is something she’s trying to hide from her family.

  I sit next to her on the creaky step before even realizing my physical body has materialized out of thin air of its own volition.

  “Gale, my best friend and hunting partner, kissed me today.” She says without even looking up at me. “I pushed him away and told him I didn’t want to be with him that way. That I never wanna get married and have children. He walked off angry, and now I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’m… sorry?” And I am, I just don’t quite know what it is I’m sorry about, yet.

  “I just don’t understand why he had to go and ruin a good thing!” Her gray, tear-filled eyes find me, and I’m surprised at the fire, anger, and betrayal in her gaze. I’m mesmerized. “Why did he have to go and complicate things that way? Isn’t he happy we are friends? Isn’t it enough we go out into the woods and feed our families together like partners? Why mess it all up?”

  “Because you’re beautiful. Because you’re worth the try. Because he’d be an idiot if he let it pass and never confessed his feelings for you. You are extraordinary, Katniss. You have no idea the effect you can have…”

  “What does that even mean, Peeta?” She demands angrily.

  “It means, men look at you and see someone worthy. Someone valuable. Someone they can’t help but admire and want to pledge their loyalties and affections to.”

  She snorts, pawing the tears off her cheeks. “You’re just saying that because you are my guardian spirit.” She says dismissively.

  “Your what?” I ask in disbelief, astonishment and an edge of offense.

  Katniss rolls her eyes, letting me know she thinks I’m being unnecessarily obtuse. “Come on, Peeta. You only show up on moonless nights when I’m in trouble, to help me with whatever supernatural powers you possess. I’ve known who you are since my friend Madge let me read her father’s old books from before the first rebellion of Panem. People back then believed in spirits and those kind of things. I just found one that fitted your description, and it came up as ‘Guardian Angel’ which mostly protect humans… you don’t have to deny or confirm it, but I’m pretty confident I got you identified!”

  She smiles through her tears. There’s a glimmer of satisfaction and playfulness deep in her eyes.

  I’ve never been confused with a Being of Light before, and to be honest I’m doing everything in my power to hide the disgust I feel at that. At this point, I find it counterproductive to correct her preposterous assumptions, so I bite my tongue for the time being.

  “Katniss,” I sigh, “Many boys are going to like you. You are an incredible young woman. That said, you don’t have to choose any of them, especially if you’re not comfortable. If Gale Hawthorne knows what’s good for him, he’ll come back and apologize for imposing himself on you. Otherwise, you did nothing wrong and you don’t owe him anything. Be sure you are happy and safe. Even… even when I’m around. You have such an incredible power to you. Don’t be sad about any of this. Chin up and be a great example for little Prim.”

  “Thank you, Peeta. You always know what to say to make me feel better.” She reaches for my hand taking me by surprise, and squeezes.

  My eyes fall to our entwined hands, and I marvel at the sight; there’s a fluttering of emotions in my chest. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never been touched by a human willingly, in friendship or otherwise. It’s extraordinary to say the least.

  I clear my throat. “You should go inside.”

  I watch her duck into her house, and for the first time since the inception of Earth, I remain frozen in one place for the night without seeking a mate to pollinate.

—————

  Two weeks after Gale kissed Katniss, and they still aren’t on speaking terms. They avoid each other and start hunting separate parts of the woods in different schedules.

  Gale is 18 and can opt for a job at the medicine factory that opened up after the rise of the New Panem some ten years ago. He can also apply for a farming license and get a lot with fertile soil to work. Katniss is still too young to apply for any of that, but she’s old enough to marry.

  I will never understand the arbitrariness of human’s law regarding age of consent. A girl of marrying age, should be a girl of independent working age. But what do I know? I’m just a Being of Darkness; such conundrums are beneath me.

  Yet, I’m standing here in the other side of world, pondering on it!

  She doesn’t own me! If I’m going to obsess over a human, I still want to be me. I don’t want her to turn me into some angel I’m not.

  I don’t want to be a piece in this girl’s involuntary game.

  So, on my sweet, beautiful Katniss trudges to the woods teeming with game and wild herbs, waiting for her clever hands to pluck, either the string of her bow, or the greens off the forest floor; it matters not. Her family will eat better than her many neighbors, who sadly still live in poverty despite the new era of freedom.

  Ugh… curse that resilience and strength of hers! She’s irresistible!

—————-

  It’s late in the evening, the last remaining rays of sun just disappeared in the distance, not quite moonless, but dark enough to make anyone uneasy.

  A greasy, disgusting man spots Katniss slinking away from the dead electric fence, and lunges at her like a fiend. He takes her by surprise, and gets a hold of her game bag, which is quickly discarded carelessly on the ground. Katniss tries to fight the man back, gritting her teeth and growling like a rabid animal, but it’s no use.

  Despite how heavy set the man is, he’s quick on his feet, and has restrained Katniss by the wrists.

  The man reeks of white liquor. His balding head has a few long hairs combed to the side, which does nothing to hide the shine of his scalp. The disgusting creature is talking filth into Katniss’ face when I finally step out of the shadows and stalk his way. He doesn’t see me, too distracted on Katniss… MY Katniss.

  She’s doing everything in her power not to show how terrified, how trapped she is, but her eyes are filling with tears and this miserable maggot is feeding off it.

  The man presses his disgusting body into hers, and she tries to kick him off, snarling a threat that doesn’t reach him. The brute shoves her against a tree; she chokes a small sob back and begs him to stop, while shaking like a leaf. The man laughs, then sticks his nauseating tongue out of his mouth, and licks her face, from her chin to her temple … That’s the last thing I remember cohesively.

  I blink, and the next thing I see, there are blood, guts and gray matter splatter everywhere.

  The ground, the trees, my hands and clothes, everything is covered in gore. The man’s corpse lays shattered on the ground in two pieces ripped straight down the middle, from his head downward.

  I gasp her name, scanning the scene frantically until I see her, huddled up behind a tree with her head buried into her arms that rest on her knees.

  I call her name again, but she doesn’t respond to my voice. She mutters something I don’t catch, so I try to touch her. She yelps as soon as my fingers brush her shoulder, and scoots away from me like a crab running from a seagull.

  “No!” She yells batting my hand away.

  “Katniss—“

  “What are you? You’re no angel at all are you?” She stumbles to her feet shakily. I try to follow but she stomps her feet like a toddler in mid-tantrum. “Stay away from me! Monster. Mutt. Whatever you are!” She takes off running home, snatching up her game bag as she goes.

  The only evidence linking her with this horror sight is gone, so it’s time to cover my own tracks.

  I extend my arms straight, at my sides, I close my eyes summoning nature to me. When the hair covering my arms stand with static and my fingers tingle with tiny shocks of electricity, I clap my hands way above my head bringing down a mighty flash of lighting that scorches the ground and singes the bark of the nearest trees.

  Looking at my handiwork with satisfaction, I leave Panem behind. It’s the last time I stalk Katniss Everdeen, awake or asleep. Anonymity is my gift to her.

  Sure enough, when morning comes, the death of that awful man, gets attributed to lightning.  

——————

Plump, bodacious Delly Cartwright is as opposite in looks and personality to Katniss as humanly possible. I chose her painstakingly for that very reason. Her hair is a mess of yellowish curls that remind me of the majestic mane of a lion. Pretty enough face, with fair skin dotted with freckles, thin pink lips framed by laughing marks and wide set blue eyes full of trust and kindness.

  Delly’s had a sheltered, pampered life, and is very free with her affection. She is engaged to be married come Spring, but she’s by no means a pure, innocent virgin. I go at her like a dog with a bone.

  I’m in the process of covering her eyes with my special heavy sleep scales, to ensure she won’t wake in the middle of our tryst, but I feel the tug overpowering my whole body before I hear Katniss’ voice calling me by my proper, given name.

  Delly stirs in her sleep, while I try to hold on to the bedposts, refusing to answer the summon, but Katniss says my name again. It’s too powerful a pull. My fingers slip off the polished wood and my body pops out of existence in this room, and snaps back into being outside the familiar tiny shack the Everdeen women call home.

  The air crackles around me with electric pulses and a cloud of fog surrounds my body.

  Once the fog clears, I can see the single oil lamp sitting on the porch railing, illuminating the slim figure of the girl I’m trying to avoid with all my might.

  She’s beautiful though. I take her in hungrily.

  She’s standing barefoot on the old doormat that’s seen better days, wearing a white, threadbare nightgown I’ve never seen her in before. An equally threadbare shawl that can’t be providing any warmth in this chill wraps around her shoulders. Her hair falls loose down her back, but she keeps fiddling with the end of a lock she’s twisted around her fingers.

  Her pink lips tremble slightly from cold every time she exhales a foggy puff of breath from her mouth.

  Without really stopping to think of what I’m doing, I glide up the porch steps until I’m in front of her and tighten the shawl over her chest with both of my hands.

  “You’re shivering. You shouldn’t be outside in this cold with so little clothes on.” I try to sound stern, but my voice is too soft and caring.

  Her lips twitch up at the corners. Her gray eyes shine in amusement. “I wouldn’t have gotten so cold if you hadn’t taken so long to show up. I called you over 120 seconds ago!” She admonishes in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

  I narrow my eyes at her, trying to figure her out, but I give it up when her teeth start clattering together. She speaks before I can comment further.

  “Come inside with me?” It’s not really a request, since she’s holding my hand like a vise and dragging me towards the door.

  “Is that wise?” I ask her arching an eyebrow. “I’m not the Being of Light you previously thought I was.”

  She scowls at that, “No, you ain’t. But you’ve still saved my life more times than I care to remember. I owe you, and I’m not very comfortable having a debt so steep hanging over my head.”

  “Consider the balance void, Katniss. It’s safer that way.”

  She purses her lips and tightens her hold on her shawl. “We’ll see.” She pushes the door open and in we go, without hesitation.

  “I spoke to Greasy Sae,” she tells me, as we cross the living room and kitchen area, into the bedroom with the two beds, both empty tonight. “She’s the oldest person in the District, you know.” She states as if that explains anything.

  “There’s a wealth of wisdom in the elderly’s counsel,” I comment looking at her profile curiously.  “What did this Sae have to say?”

  Katniss pulls a chair from a writing desk and motions me to sit. I obey without questioning it.

  Katniss shrugs, “I asked many things, really. Sae talks a lot, and she knows everyone, so people come to her for advice.” She sits on her bed opposite me, yet her eyes shy away from mine.

  “What advice did you ask for?”

  “No advice. Just information.” Her eyes flick to me quickly, then go back to a point over my shoulder. “You know, what you did to Cray… well, it wasn’t subtle at all.” She finally pierces me with a glare, but that only lasts a second. “I mean, you tore his body in half with your bare hands and left his carcass to rot in the meadow. Who does that?!” Another glance, this one I can’t tell if she’s disgusted or terrified. She should be both.

  “I made it appear as if had been a lighting strike.” I protest.

  “It wasn’t storming that night, Peeta. We had beautiful, clear skies the whole, entire week. People knew something supernatural was behind that monster’s death.”

  “He was about to do terrible things to you, Katniss. Have you thought of how scared and devastated your sister would’ve been if something awful had happened to you?”

  “Of course I have!” She interrupts me. “It would’ve destroyed her. Don’t get me wrong, people are happy to see the bastard gone, because he’s always had a history with harassing girls, but everyone is scared now of something they don’t understand and can’t start to explain! The whole district is so shocked they close their shutters earlier, hide their youngsters fiercely, walk in large groups when going places like school or the market. Even at school teachers step out of their classrooms to make sure the students milling around the halls are safe. It’s horrible and traumatic…”

  “Then you know why I had to take care of that predator.” I spit venomously.

  Her shoulders sag, “I know.” The pinched look falls off her face.

  She stands up and walks towards me.

  In a surprising move, she lowers herself sideways on my lap. My arms go around her waist immediately, in case she changes her mind, but Katniss leans her head onto my shoulder and sighs deeply.

  In all the centuries I’ve fucked my way through humanity, I’ve never been this close to a girl before. I do not mean merely physically, but intimately. I’m not sure how to respond and reciprocate the affectionate gesture, so I settle for resting my cheek on the crown of her head.

  “Where’s your family?” I ask.

  “Tending to a birth. Twins. There’s some kind of complication, so mother took Prim to help her. They will be out all night.”

  I accept her explanation with a sound at the back of my throat. After a minute of easy silence, I ask, “Were you satisfied with the information you yielded from Mrs. Sae?”

  “No.”

  She doesn’t elaborate for a few minutes.

  “How did you know Cray was attacking me?” She finally asks shuddering in my arms.

  I scowl. “That kind of evil. It comes from me.” I tell her. “I recognize the ones who maim the soul and hurt the spirit, because that’s my job. That perversion originates from the same darkness I come from, and responds to the same urges I do.”

  Katniss tries to appear unperturbed about my words, but she can’t hide her trembling.

  “Sae said she didn’t recognize any spirits by my descriptions. I tried to remain vague and distant, as if asking on someone else’s behalf, but she was troubled by my questions, and I think she knew I’d witnessed Cray’s disembowelment. I had to stop my inquiry.”

  “I’m right here, Katniss. You can ask me anything you want to know. Isn’t that why you called me here tonight?”

  She shakes her head in denial. “Sae said it sounded like a dark one was protecting his mate, or maybe grooming a prospective mate. But of course, she’d never heard of something quite like you. She didn’t know who or what you were. She couldn’t tell me how to proceed.” Katniss straightens up, and stares into my eyes apprehensively. “I have an idea of how you may like me to pay off my debt to you.” She says blushing violently, averting her eyes and fiddling with her shawls fringe.

  She breathes in deeply, and lets the shawl fall from her shoulders. She takes my hand and brings it to her clavicle; her fingers interlace with mine, to venture under the neckline of her nightgown. Before I can make sense of what’s happening, I brush the soft skin of her full breast with the pad of my digits.

  Katniss presses my fingers to her delicate nipple, and I surrender my will to a human, for the first time in the memory of creation.

  I trace her areola gently, with practiced ease, until the nipple puckers up in response. Her own hand falls away, leaving me to my own devices.

  Katniss shudders a little, clenching her eyes closed. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” She asks me, not quite in accusation, but unsure and fearful

  “Yes.” I tell her. No sense in denying the truth. I lean into her ear to whisper, “Katniss, you should have left that debt alone when you had the chance, Sweetheart.” She shivers in my arms, but presses her torso against my body.

  “This is the price isn’t it?” Her voice wavers.

  “Partially. The price I’m charging is something you already told me you were unwilling do. Now we will have to come to some agreement.”

  “How long have you been touching me like this?” She’s holding back tears, but not stopping the pinches and kneading of my fingers on her flesh.

  “I’ve only done this twice to be honest. I palmed your behind once. Somehow, touching you without your knowledge feels… wrong.” She nods, a stray tear trails down her cheek. I nuzzle the sensitive spot behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Katniss. I’m not a one mate being. I go around the world, taking women such as yourself during their sleep, oftentimes impregnating them with my spawn. It’s not my custom to groom my partners, but everything about you has been different from the beginning.”

  “Aren’t I the lucky gal?” She spits bitterly, yet her breathing is getting shallower and a pretty blush is starting to color her skin from her face to her chest. She’s actually enjoying my ministrations on her breasts. “What makes me so special?” She asks.

  “You’re strong minded. One of my powers is to whisper things into a human’s ear, and plant ideas, orders, images… you’re too stubborn to listen to any of that. I’ve command you to cut all of your ties to that Hawthorne boy at least thrice, but you’ve refused to forsake his friendship and companionship each time.

  “I’ve tried to get you to wear dresses and shifts to bed, but you keep wearing your father’s clothing even to sleep.

  “Every time I try to induce a sexual dream into your mind, you clam up, and never stay asleep long enough to get too far into the dream for it to affect you the way I’d want it to. But, things seem to be changing right now.” I pull my hand out of the neckline of her gown and place it on her knee.

  Once I make to hike my hand up her thigh, Katniss clenches her legs together, whether she’s doing it to deny me access, or because she can’t handle the arousal, I am not sure. I drop my hand off her knee all the same.

  “I can’t take you without your consent, Katniss. That much is clear after my failed attempts at wooing you while unconscious.” I whisper into her temple, dropping a sweet, barely-there kiss. “This ‘grooming’ debacle has happened both ways.” I state. “Katniss Everdeen, you’ve tamed the feared and despised Incubus.” She gasps. I suppose, Incubus she’s heard off before.

  “I’m still a demon.” I say solemnly, “A sex fiend. My nature hasn’t changed, despite your domesticating me. You could reject me right this second, and I’d go away without ever touching you. But, once out of your snaring presence, I’d have to prowl around in search of other women to satisfy my needs.”

  “You’re saying that other women and girls well-being rest upon my shoulders?” She asks looking a little green in the face. “You couldn’t possibly do anything to them without their express permission, would you?” She sounds hopeful, and her eyes are pleading.

  “You’re the only one with power over me, Katniss. I only care for your wants and dislikes. I am yours to command, anyone else is disposable.”

  “How am I supposed to agree to these terms, Peeta? You… you’re- you molest women in their sleep! You get them pregnant against their will and nearly every one of them dies as a result of your encounters with them.” Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t look away from my own. “I never want to have children. But that’s what you want from me, isn’t it?” She murmurs shakily, her body sagging into my chest. “I don’t want to die either. My sister needs me.”

  “Katniss, I’m obsessed with you, because you’re the sturdiest girl I’ve met. You’re a survivor. You don’t give up when you know the difference between death and survival is you. I’ve been investing my own powers on perfecting your body and preparing your internal organs so you’re in top condition for mating, sustaining a pregnancy and delivering a live half human, half demon child.”

  This stuns her a second. “You really were grooming me for years.” She sounds devastated. “I told you I didn’t want marriage, loving a man that could die and take away my will to live to his grave with him. It happened to my parents. I can’t abandon my children to their fate the same way my mother did to me and Prim. You knew all this. I told you all about it before… you still want me to… to—” she chokes back a sob and clams up.

  I’m aggravated with her. I had walked away from her, left her alone, freed her from my presence, yet she summoned me back here because she can’t let some fabricated debt go. I growl lowly, trying to keep my temper under control. She really won’t be able to survive my wrath, and I don’t want to harm her in an angry rush.

  “Since you insisted on calling me here, then I must inform you, you will become pregnant if we mate. That’s a guarantee. But I’m no man. I can’t die. I will never grow sick and time will never age me. My children won’t suffer human needs either. They’ll be strong and capable of hunting their own meals, much like you do now. If you can’t mother them properly, I will take them away and raise them myself. We have little room for negotiations at this point. Mating and childbearing are inescapable if you pursue the debt route.”

  “Kill me now then!” She snaps, trying to push away from me, but I keep her in place with my hands.

  “I will not kill you.” I say it like it is a command.

  “If I refuse to m-mate?”

  “Will you?” I counter. “Mating will happen on your terms. On your time.” My voice sounds gentler now, like it was before. “Then I’ll leave you alone for good if that’s what you want.”

  “You… you would?” She’s shaking all over.

  “My word is my bond.”

  “What should I call you? Master? Sir? Lord?”

  “Peeta. Just Peeta. That is my given name.” I tell her simply.

  “Why me? Why now?”

  “I don’t quite know. I just know you’re the one strong enough to stand the physical toil of carrying my offspring which has caused all the previous hosts’ demise.”

  She nods absentmindedly. I’m surprised when Katniss starts undoing the tiny buttons at the neckline of her gown, and slowly slips off my lap, to stand between my legs. I lose no time pulling the soft material covering her body down her arms, to pool at her feet. I stare at her naked torso and then at the apex of her thighs, drinking in her beauty with relish.

  “I’ve never seen you nude before.” I tell her in awe, rubbing my hands up and down her arms.

  “Let’s do this now. No sense delaying it. It would happen eventually anyway.” She says, shyly.

  She most see the greed and lust in my eyes, because she tries to cover her chest and the curly, black hair covering her sex. I remain seated on my chair, until she starts squirming under my heated gaze.

  “Do as you must, Peeta. Do it quickly.” She says after forcing her eyes back to mine.

  “You need to be more specific, Katniss. Otherwise I’ll stay planted here until dawn slashes me away.” I tell her arching a brow. I burn with desire for her, but I cannot move without her permission.

  She grunts and taps a foot impatiently. I smile at that. She’s still so strong willed even now, and so pure deep down; it’s endearing.

  “Take me, Peeta. Now. Mmm… sexually.” She punctuates.

  I can’t help smirking deviously. I stalk up to her and reach my hand to rest on the curve of her waist, gently pulling her forward.

  “I am going to kiss you now.” I purr into her ear.

  Kissing my partners is unusual for me, but this is Katniss. I take her lips with mine in a searing kiss that burns down my body. I lay her on the bed blindly, caressing her velvety skin tenderly.

  I’ve master the art of masturbating my conquests to assure lubrication, but other than that, I’ve never given thought to foreplay for the sake of pleasing my partners. I’m doing things here, I’ve never done before. Human lovers may be more adept at romancing, but I’m doing my best to pleasure Katniss with my hands, lips, tongue and words.

  I taste, kiss and nip at her skin. I tweak, pinch, knead and caress her flesh; I suck on her nipples and nuzzle the cleft between her thighs. She tenses, melts, and chokes back sounds on intervals every so often, not quite sure if she should resist me or enjoy the sensations I’m evoking in her.

  “Relax, Katniss. Clear your mind. Enjoy the moment.”

  She lifts her head in time to watch me take a long swipe of my tongue along her labia. Her head falls on the flat pillow and a soft moan escapes her sweet mouth.

  “You smell and taste divine.” I tell her while inserting my middle finger inside her warm, wet pussy.

  Finally, Katniss cries out my name, and I swear it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever experienced.

  A second and then a third finger find their way inside her making her bow off the bed. She’s moaning loudly now. My thumb makes contact with a small kernel of flesh I haven’t really paid much attention to while with other women.

  Katniss shouts with the first few passes of my thumb, she begs me not to stop, to “please, please, please, keep doing that!” And I can’t resist lapping at the copious arousal bathing my hand and Katniss’ thighs.

  I’ve made women orgasm before, unintentionally of course. They cum just by the sheer size of my shaft, but it’s never been as extreme as this. My sweet, little Katniss arches off the bed, her shout dies in her throat, and then she falls on her back, convulsing and twitching.

  At some point her fingers tangled in my hair. She pulls on it every time she shudders her release, until she lays still.

  I sit up and catch my reflection on the oval mirror propped on Mrs. Everdeen’s night table, next to the blade her late husband used to shave his face. Both items remain in the same spot they were left at 6 years ago. Young Primrose polishes the reflecting surface everyday, readying it for a father that will never use it again.

  As I take a minute to inspect my appearance, I’m surprised I don’t have Gale Hawthorne features. I’m taken aback at how young and kind my face is. I guess I must be 16 or 17 in her mind’s eye. Blond, wavy hair. Warm blue eyes. Chiseled jaw, defined upper lip and a strong straight nose. I rip off the simple white button down shirt covering my upper body to find lean, defined muscles over a wide set of shoulders that look strong and used to manual labor. My skin is fair with a smattering of freckles and light blonde hair cover my arms. I realize this is what Katniss finds appealing. Whatever she’s attracted to.

  I look down at my trousers, and see flecks of flour on dark brown sturdy material. I find it amusing that she’s dreamt me off to be a baker of all things, but I guess in her mind, it makes sense. I did give her bread in the backyard of an abandoned bakery the first time we met.

  I will the rest of my clothes gone, and it disappears on the spot. I kiss her navel sweetly, and hook my elbows under her knees. When I sit up, I pull her hips towards mine.

  “My turn.” My voice is raspy and needy. Katniss nods, widening the opening between her thighs for me.

  “Will you… fit?” Her voice wavers, her gray eyes watch the turgid appendage between my legs nervously.

  My cock twitches. “I will fit, Sweetheart. Don’t you worry about it.” I assure her sweetly, caressing her outer thigh.

  She nods. “Okay.” She breathes out softly. “I’m ready.”

  Katniss gasps when I run the head of my dick through her wet, swollen folds, and without much ado sink my full, long girth into her in one swoop motion. She releases a breathless, long, drawn out moan once I’m seated all the way in. She’s so tight and warm, I wish I could freeze this moment, here, right now, and live in it forever. Alas, time is not something I have control over, so I give into my need and start moving.

  Katniss keens breathlessly every time I rock into her. She’s digging her blunt nails into the skin of my shoulder blades, after having hooked her slim arms under mine. Her face is practically buried into the hollow of my neck, letting me feel the brush of her lips and her hot breath against my pectoral with every thrust. Having her awake for this was the best decision ever!

  I kiss her sweaty forehead, and bury my nose in her hair. She always smells so good, like lavender and fresh rain. I kiss her temple, and then her cheek; lastly I kiss her lips and she sighs into it.

  “Does it feel good?” I ask her, genuinely interested in her answer.

  She nods faintly. “It feels… wonderful. Different. Strange. I feel so full, like I’m stuffed to the brim, yet I need more of you, of your… hmmm…”

  “Cock,” I supply. “Call it a cock.”

  “Alright.” She breathes out. “I- I think I like the feel of your… cock, in me.” She says rubbing her cheek against mine.

  “Good. Let me know when you get tired, and I’ll finish.”

  She gives me a frowning look. “You can do that at will?” She asks.

  I shrug. “Usually. Sometimes, when I’m to keyed in, I just explode after a few pumps. It’s not very often. But it’s happened.”

  “Well, I don’t want to rush you, but, my legs are starting to cramp up, so…” she winces.

  I chuckled and kiss her mouth again. “Alright, Sweetheart, your wish is my command. I’ll fill you up with my thick cum right away.”

  She’s trying to smile at my jesting words, but I pick up my pace before she can respond, and soon I’m driving into her like a possessed madman. It only takes a few pumps, but it takes almost a full 2 minutes to finish spilling my load into her. My hands aren’t idle during my release though.

  My thumb presses tight, fast circles against her clit, and my sweet, beautiful Katniss starts clenching and shaking with her own orgasm. I nearly mistake her body obviously reacting to my semen because she’s riding her release at the same time as her organs start knitting the embryo of my heir deep in her womb.

  Her body tenses, and breaks out into a high fever. She shivers and her lips turn pale and dry, her skin is ashen and papery, and her eyes are closed. She’s convulsing in my arms, but not in blissful orgasm anymore. Since I’m still inside her, I can feel every one of her muscles contract on my cock, and it is too much for me to bear, I pull out of her quickly and spill a second load just shy of her pussy. I gather her into my arms, and mumbled an incantation into her hair, holding tightly to her.

  I’m not allowed to pray, but that doesn’t stop me from pleading for her life over and over as I sit on the bed with her limp body cradled to my chest. “Please, don’t let her die. Please, don’t let her die. Please, don’t let her die…”

  Fuck! I don’t care if the child lives as long as she does… and I keep rocking her until morning surprises me, and Mrs. Everdeen walks in on me holding her almost dead daughter.

  ——————

  Katniss gives birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

  The child looks completely human with a mop of dark hair on her head and the bluest eyes a child can have at that age. Still, rumors break out of the origin of the child, and people start attacking both Katniss and the babe when things start getting too weird for them.

  Mrs. Everdeen reluctantly accepts her daughter has mated with a demon, and has a very hard time looking her in the eye. I’m sure the fact that she sees me as an exact replica of her dead husband, has to have caused some psychological disturbance for the healer. It must have been unpleasant to walk in on her obviously freshly fucked daughter, limp and unresponsive in the arms of a man that looks just like the father of said daughter.

  Primrose is not allowed to stay in the same room with her sister and niece without Mrs. Everdeen present, and Katniss is livid about it.

  “I’ve practically raised Prim on my own at the age of 11, when you were too sick to care for anyone, least of all yourself! We are all alive thanks to Peeta!” She yells at her mother one day while bitter tears slide down her cheeks.

  Mrs. Everdeen asked Katniss to leave the house, after catching my reflection on the window glass while the baby nursed. The healer can’t stand my presence, let alone the appearance my body takes in her mind’s eye, particularly when I can’t hide my lust for Katniss regardless of the face I’m wearing.

  On top of the obvious, understandable reasons why Mrs. Everdeen wants nothing to do with her oldest daughter, she claims to be afraid I’ll go after Primrose as well, as if I could have the faintest interest in the young girl, when I only have eyes for the mother of my child.

  “Please don’t say that cursed name in this house, Katniss. That monster will be drawn to it.”

  “I can call his name whenever I want, because he’s the father of my child, your grandchild!” Katniss argues. “He has never done anything to harm us. He’s saved my life numerous times, and he’s fed us, and kept our health when he didn’t have to. You’re being unreasonable!”

  “She really is not.” I say in my most gentlemanly voice, as I shimmer into existence in the middle of their room. “Your Mother has reason to distrust me, but to displace her own daughter and brand new grandchild is cruel.” I say turning eyes full of fire to the woman cowering away from me.

  I go back to Katniss and smile, showing her only placid blue when she looks into my eyes. “Do not worry, Katniss. You’re mine to care for, and that I will do. As for your family…” When I shift my gaze to Mrs. Everdeen, my pupils have taken over the blue of my irises, leaving only a pool of empty darkness. “We will figure something out.”

  ————————-

  The babe nurses with vigor, and my favorite time of day is when I sit and watch the evening feedings. My fascination with the baby is offset by my ever growing lust, sparked by Katniss’ exposes breasts.

  When the child is asleep and safely tucked in her crib, I take Katniss to the living room of the grand house I built for her in the middle of the woods. I strip my lover of her clothing, piece by piece and drag her to her own bedroom, where the softest, most comfortable bed waits for us.

  She doesn’t want to be pregnant again so soon, so she bends over and lets me take her in the rear.  By the sounds she makes, I dare say she enjoys it greatly. Her pussy doesn’t stay neglected though; my fingers keep my sweet, beautiful mate satisfied and relaxed.

  I seldom need another body to satisfy me anymore, but until I have a mature offspring to take my place devouring the sleeping women of the world, I’m bound to keep prowling the Earth seeking to douse a dying lust for other cunts; my conquests all fall flat and insipid compared to the vivacious woman I have waiting on me back home.

  I’m not sure when Katniss’ place became Home for me, but it is the place I always return to.

————————

  Katniss starts hunting again six months after the baby is born.

  On the second day, the child sits in her pen while Katniss skins the game. The baby cries and cries until her mother picks her up and sits her on her lap as she works. Katniss shrieks when the child’s chubby hand plunges into the bucket of entrails next to the stool they sit on, and tries to bring the gore to her open mouth. The little girl throws a mighty tantrum, until she’s fed meat from a squirrel Katniss cooked. After that, the baby only wants to feed on game, not on vegetables and milk like normal babies.

  Katniss thinks it’s unnatural to feed a child so young meat, but she wasn’t truly frightened until a few days after the child’s first birthday.

  Primrose visits with her pet cat, Buttercup. Our baby grabs the feline by the tail and tries to strangle it with a choke hold worthy of a professional wrestler. Primrose nervously laughs it off as childlike curiosity and lack of force control, but Katniss knows better. Our child tried to kill and eat Buttercup.

  I knew it was time to take charge of the toddler.

  Katniss cries with guilt, because she now understands her own mother’s fears, but still hands the little girl over to me, to take to my realm. They get to see each other every day, and our daughter loves her mommy to death. They just don’t understand each other’s natures, and know it’s better to remain separate.

  Our daughter’s growth has accelerated in my realm, so she’s now at the level of a 5 year old child.

  “Will she kill humans?” Katniss asks me tearfully one night after my seed is drying between her thighs.

  I lean down and kiss her temple. “She might. She may become a Succubus. She may become something totally different. She’s still half human, darling. Only time will tell.”

  That’s poor comfort for Katniss, so she cries in my arms until fatigue takes over her. I can’t help myself. I fuck her again while she’s asleep, and this time I don’t pull out when my release is imminent. That’s when it happens again. Only this time the reaction is different. Obviously supernatural.

  Her breathing picks up, her mouth falls open, her skin starts to glow. I place my hands on her abdomen, where the glow is more intense. I push my erection inside her pussy, because I want to feel it happening from the inside, and the heat leaching from her walls is almost unbearable. Her forehead breaks into fat beads of sweat, her skin is burning up, and she shivers uncontrollably under my weight. I’m involuntarily cumming again. My hips can’t stay still, so I give in and piston into her at a frantic pace, digging her slim frame deeper into the mattress.

  Poor, exhausted, Katniss, passes out before I can pull out of her. Much like the first time, my mate is in a short coma for the next week.

  I make her mother tend to her like I did the first time as well. This time, Katniss delivers twin baby boys.

  There’s absolutely no doubt at all the infants are my spawn and hold the powers of the incubus. When Katniss holds them, they look exactly the way she sees me: soft blonde curls that fall on their forehead in waves, pleasant blue eyes like summer sky, long eyelashes that brush chubby, rosy cheeks. The boys look cherubic, and she can’t stop kissing them and showering them with attention.

  They’ve won over their grandmother completely as well. When Mrs. Everdeen takes them, the boys look just like Katniss: straight dark hair, gray eyes, olive skin. They have Mr. Everdeen’s chin. But if Prim is the one to hold them, they look completely different.

  The twins breastfeed exclusively, refusing any other nourishment well into two years of age. The boys are cunning, not showing any demonic tendencies, or habits that’ll scare Katniss away. Mommy— as they call her affectionately— is way too fond of them, and barely leaves their side. She’s lost weight and her skin and hair turned brittle, but her children come first all the time.

  They can’t fool me though. I catch them whispering thoughts into their mother’s head, planting ideas and fears she’s never had before, and I know it’s time to take them away when they don’t even try to hide their wrong doing from me, just staring boldly into my face, sporting identical smirks as they sing into Katniss’ ear they’re the only ones that love her in this world; they need her to care for them.

  Katniss fights me over them, until I show her how manipulative the little fuckers are: I’m fucking her in our bedroom while the boys are supposed to be soundly asleep in their own warm beds, instead, they sneak into our room and watch in fascination as I take her hard and fast. They snicker when my hand makes contact with their mother’s romp and I make the curtain fall, revealing their presence after casting a protective block on her mind against the boys’ trickery.

  Katniss scrambles to cover up her nakedness, but the boys ask excitedly when will they be able to do the same?

  I sit them both on my lap— that my mate has hastily covered with our sheets— and lovingly explain to my sons they will have their chance once they reach puberty. And the best part is, I’ll be able to retire!

  Katniss leaves the bed to wrap herself with a robe and watches my exchange with the boys disgusted from a corner of the room. Her limbs are tied into a tight ball, and her distress is palpable enough for the boys to pick up.

  “Not you mommy,” one of the twins clarifies.

  “Mommy belongs to you, father.” Adds the other one helpfully.

  “And she’s too sweet to break.” Explains the other.

  Katniss does not oppose me taking the boys after that.

  —————

  The third pregnancy nearly kills my Katniss.

  The baby’s aura is just too evil for her body to sustain. I conjure up my most powerful sleeping magic and cover her eyes with scales so heavy she stays asleep for three days.

  I take the child from her womb before she can wake up, but the little demoness survives.

  Katniss never gets to see her new daughter, and the child hates her mother so much I have no choice but to send her to the one place that can hold a being as dark as her. Deep into Hell.

  I tell Katniss the baby was stillborn and she never asks questions about it.

  ——————

  Katniss is 25 the day she becomes pregnant for the last time. She delivers a second set of perfectly healthy twins; a boy and a girl this time. Both completely human. Both looking exceptionally normal and nothing like me, except for their bright blue eyes. That trait could’ve come from Mrs. Everdeen and Primrose for all I know.

  I’m so out of my mind with rage, I terrorize poor Katniss by pretty much destroying everything in the house. I accuse her of sleeping with human men while I was away, Gale Hawthorne perhaps, since the babes have that Seam look to them.

  She denies it vehemently, bawling and pleading, so scared for her life, but shielding the newborns with her battered body after labor.

  I push her aside and stride to the crib, ready to smite the infants with a blow of my hand. She falls on her knees begging me to believe her, screaming her innocence, crying out my name pitifully. “Peeta, please, you have to believe me!”

  “Why should I?” I yell in her face.

  “Because… because… I love you, Peeta!” She cries out loudly, hanging from my wrist, my hand lifts her body off the floor wrapped around her delicate neck, squeezing it tightly.

  I see the petechiae forming in the white of her eyes. The oxygen in her brain will soon be too scarce to function.

  But she’s stunned me into silence.

  “No you don’t.” I slam her down to the floor gracelessly.

  Katniss’ tear stricken face looks up. She crawls closer to me ignoring her sore throat and neck. She tugs on my pant legs, pitifully. “I do, Peeta. It’s the truth.” She rasps painfully. “I’ve loved you since I was a little girl. I could never let any other man or being lay a hand on me. I’m in love with you.”

  “Well…” I struggle for something to say. I’m choked up, words won’t come to my aid. “You shouldn’t, Katniss. Nobody loves me. I’m a demon.”

  “And my body is your temple.” She pleads.

  But the imprint of my fingers marring her neck, are a reminder, not even living a thousand lifetimes atoning, would be enough to deserve her. “And look how well I look after my temple!” I speak mainly to myself, my voice dripping sarcasm and regret.

  “I am yours for eternity.” She vows placing my hand on her chest, where her heart is frantically pounding. “I give you my soul. Please, Peeta. No one has ever touched me, but you. I swear on all of our children. The infant twins included.”

  “Katniss! No!” I lament deeply, falling heavily on a chair the farthest away from the crib.

  “No what?” She murmurs, coming to caress my shins, then she massages my knees, and her nimble hands creep up my thighs, making a beeline for the fastenings of my trousers.

  My cock becomes hard as steel in a second. Katniss Everdeen has been the first and only human to perform oral sex on me. The way she falls on her knees to worship my cock with her mouth, and when it is evident my length will go down her throat only so far, her hands join the cult to my phallus and I loose all my faculties, along with my will to lord over her; I become her slave when her sweet mouth is around me, even when she’s the one in the servitude position. It’s one of the many reasons I know for a fact I could never leave her, is one of the reasons I know she’s my one true mate.

  But I ignore my erection and the all consuming need to be in her mouth. She’ll convince me to anything if I let her suck me off, then where will we be? There are more pressing matters than the gratification of my lust to consider.

  “Katniss, you shouldn’t have pledged your soul to me. That was foolish! Reckless. A gigantic mistake!” I tell her pulling at the roots of my hair, soft and silky, the way she likes it. “Now you truly belong to me, for eternity.” I tell her, and finally cup her cheek in my palm, tangling her dark tresses in my fingers.

  “Peeta, I live in the woods. Everyone has shunned me because I’m the Incubus’ whore. No one talks to me, but everybody fears me. I’m an outcast in this place. My mother barely stands to see me, let alone talk to me. My sweet sister is the only person who loves me and my children. In her eyes the kids are just her nieces and nephews despite their dark inclination, but Prim’s reputation suffers every time people remember we’re related, so I’ve been trying to keep my distance from her.”

  Katniss shakes her head sadly, and sits back on her haunches. “I chose you a lifetime ago. I knew the price of being your lover would be steep. I still choose you. Do you still not know this?”

  “Nobody has loved me before.” I mutter sadly.

  “Well, I do. And I will until you take me from this earth.”

  I nod, my mind resolved on what needs to be done.

  “The day the twins are completely independent, living their own lives, happily according to their own expectations, I’ll come for you, my beautiful mate.” I tell her. “Since these babies are human, they belong to you, and you will care for them until they reach maturity.

  “To makes things easier on you and them, no living human will remember anything about me. The children’s father will just be a foggy memory no one can quite recall. You will be safe, and I’ll be gone until time brings me back to you.”

  “And what of me? Do I sit here pretending I don’t miss you? Feeding our children lies about their father?“ She argues scowling at me angrily.

  “Sweetheart, I’m afraid you won’t remember much about me either.” I tell her firmly.

  “Peeta, you can’t! Peeta—“ She tries to catch my arm, her voice is full of anger and betrayal, but my enchantment is already done.

  “Until then… my love.”

  —————-

  The girl with dark hair and blue eyes dances on tip toes in the meadow. The boy with blonde curls and gray eyes tries to twirl like his sister, but his chubby legs can’t keep up.

  Katniss laughs merrily from her spot on the picnic blanket. I’ve never been good at staying away from her, but I’ve made an art of longing from afar without touching her, our the children. This time I can’t resist the temptation, and reach my index finger to brush away the lock of gray hair that has escape her loose braid.

  She shivers at my touch, and gathers her coat around her.

  “Children,” she calls, standing up and already folding the blanket, “it’s time to go home for the evening.”

  “Do we have to, Grandma?” Whines the little girl.

  “Yeah! Woo ve haf too?” Pipes up the toddler.

  “Remember, we promised mommy and daddy we’d come home early enough to take baths.” Says Katniss with a sweet smile.

  The little girl groans and kicks a pebble. Her brother tries to imitate the behavior, but can’t quite get the sass. Katniss rushes at them both, and takes them in her arms for hugs and kisses. The children laugh until they forget to grumble about cutting short their playtime.

  I gave my family new memories. Then I gave the whole district a similar version to complement.

  Katniss lives with our son and his family above the bakery we met at when she was a child. The walls leading up the apartment are covered with family pictures, full of love and happiness. There’s one single portrait of Katniss’ late husband among the pictures: a wide shouldered baker, with a riot of blonde waves on his head, summer sky blue eyes that match his twins’ perfectly, and a sweet lopsided smile that makes his widow’s heart swoon even now.

  “Tell us a story, Grandma!” Begs our grand daughter after her mother and father tuck her in bed.

  “Stowry!” Shouts the boy from his side.

  “Tell us about Grandpa and his watercolors!”

  Katniss laughs, and sits down on the children’s bed. She tells a beautiful story of how her husband used to paint beautiful pictures of flowers and plants for her, how her husband was a painter, and a baker, how he never put sugar in his tea, slept with his windows open, and always double knotted his shoelaces. I stare at my beautiful mate from the shadows, recounting a romance of great bravery, that defeated odds and trials, just to emerge victorious and true.

  I wish her memories were as real as the sweet smile they bring to her face.

  Rumor has it the baker died attacked by tracker jackers. A horrific and tragic death. Nobody wants to think about it, so they don’t. All anyone knows is that the Mellark’s are a respectable, loving family of bakers that had to survive without their beloved husband and father.

  Katniss learned her husband’s trade and passed it down to their twin children. Both very creative and skilled bakers in their own right. The boy married first at the age of 20. His wife is sweet and devoted and had her first baby the following year. The twin sister, decided to stay single and travel the world, learning culinary secrets from other places to improve the business back home. She returned recently with a dog in tow and has been trying to adopt an orphan girl she befriended in one of her travels.

  Katniss is almost 50 years old now. Tonight I’ve come for her. She’s lived a full, happy life reflected in the laugh lines around her lips and eyes. Her hair has streaks of gray all over; wrinkles and soft skin have appear on her face and arms, but she’s as beautiful as the day I left her.

  She’s asleep, and content. I almost regret waking her… but she’s mine, and I’ve missed her. The world is such a lonely place without her waiting for me everyday. Sure, I have my demonic clan to keep me company in the dark realm, but they’re all wreaking havoc on their own now, and fuck it, no other pussy compares to my mate, despite her human age. I haven’t taken another woman since I released the boys onto the world, they’re even more devious and manipulative than I ever was.

  The girls are the truly scary ones to be honest; they can kill any man with precision and never get a speck of gore on their pristine outfits. Deep down I believe it’s because of their mother’s hunting skills and stubbornness.

  I smile fondly at her, while hovering over her bed. I kiss her forehead, whispering the command into her mind. “Wake up, Sweetheart. It’s time to go home.”

  Slowly, her eyes open, and I see the bright gray hue I’ve missed so much all this years. A sweet, soft smile curls her lips slowly.

  “Hi, handsome. I’ve been waiting for you.” She says and accepts my kiss on her lips.

  “The adoption was approved.” I tell her quietly, of our daughter’s last pending matter. “The twins are already independent and have everything they’ve ever wanted. You did a beautiful job raising them. I’m here to collect you, darling.”

  “You look so handsome.” Katniss says “That silver hair suits you, and your wrinkles match my own. I always knew you’d look devilishly beautiful in your mature age. I’ve forgotten how striking you truly are, though.” She says caressing my cheek and smiling. “The children would loved to meet you.”

  “The children know their father loved them enough to give them a good life. They’re happy and have filling lives, It won’t do them any good to know me.” I tell her without self pity. “Now come, It’s time.” I take her hand, and help her up.

  “Oh!” She exclaims when her soul separates from her body. The wrinkles in her hands smooth out, her hair turns black as night and elongates to her waist that shrinks and tightens. She could be 16 again.

  She looks down at her old body lying peacefully in her bed, now an empty shell. Her eyes widen. “Am I dead?” She asks.

  I nod. “You pledged your soul to me, Katniss. It’s the only way we can be together for eternity,”

  “Will I get to see our children again?” She asks.

  “Any time you want.” I promise. “You’ll see and talk with the ones that live with me every day, but the ones we leave here, in the human world… They will feel your presence, but they will never see you again.”

  She looks sad about the news.

  “It’s the way of mortals, my love.” I tell her caressing her face tenderly.

  “It is.” She acquiesces, leaning into my touch, and then kissing the palm of my hand.

  “You gave them a good life and sweet memories to remember you by.” It’s not much, but it’s enough to get her to move on.

  “That I did.” She looks up at me, gifting me with a bittersweet smile. “Take me away, Peeta. I have so many hugs in store from the grand babies to give you.”

  “Then let’s not delay.”

  “You will really be content with me for eternity?”

  “Always.”

[nuttyrabbit]

Well, this is a long, LONG time coming.  Updated b io under the cut

Name: Gambit the Weasel

Age: 24

Occupation: Mercenary, though technically he’s more of a hitman than anything

Continuity: Post-reboot Archie Sonic, though he can work in  the main Sonic verse as well.

Location: Empire City (Born in Empire City, but moved to Westopolis with his birth father at around a year old)

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Species: Weasel (African Black-footed Weasel is the main design inspiration)

Sexuality: Bisexual leaning more towards men

Personality: Cynical, jaded; an absolute fucking pessmist, always seeing the worst in everything and everyone. Is an absolute shit-stirrer, and will actively antagonize people for shits and giggles. He’s got a real big mouth and will freely and openly speak his mind to anyone, regardless of who or what they are. He loves banter, and will banter with just about anyone on just about anything. He’s always got a comeback or a snarky one-liner for any given situation, you cannot shut this man up.   Generally emotionally detached from most people and events, which lends itself to an incredibly dark sense of humor.  Also a very “shoot first, ask questions later” sort of person. Cocky, stubborn, and just an all around asshole, Gambit’s not really the kind of guy most people would want to be around, much less befriend.

Skills:  Gambit is incredibly accurate with his revolver, seemingly able to pull off near impossible shots when the occasion calls for it, and in general is able to make just about every bullet count.  This is helped by his impeccable quick draw ability, making him able to draw his gun and fire in the blink of an eye.

Gambit’s power is luck manipulation, signified by his eyes taking on an intense glow. This power enables him to turn the odds in his favor, sometimes to insane degrees; however, it requires his concentration or it will deactivate. When the situation is life or death, though, his powers will kick in on their own - when this happens, his powers short out and become unusable for a short time after.

Gambit is also impeccably good at games of luck, especially blackjack. Even without his powers backing him up, he can make an absolute killing at the blackjack table, or even something like the slots, although he has gotten kicked from casinos before due to his luck powers letting him “cheat” .

He can be rather charismatic if he wants to be, letting him seduce people or even get information out of others, though more often than not his big mouth and inclination towards antagonism betrays him. Well, that and his stench because he smells BAD

Hobbies: Hobbies: Drinking, gambling, smoking cigarettes and sleeping around are his vices, with alcoholism and gambling outright addictions he has. Gambit’s preferred beverage is beer, though he’s also partial to rum and whiskey. He drinks several times a day, becoming irritable and suffering withdrawal when he goes sober for more than a day.

His gambling addiction is where he sinks most of his money, alongside the booze. He will spend hours at the blackjack, roulette or poker tables. He often wins big due to his luck powers, but gets cocky, neglecting to keep up the act and losing out. Many times he is simply thrown out of casinos, most often for starting fights or cheating.

The other things Gambit typically blows his earnings on are ammo for his signature revolver, and cigarettes. Due to his vices and the need for ammo to do his job, he doesn’t always have enough cash left over to afford a pack. When he can, he goes through one or two packs in a day; so, more often than not, he has to bum a cigarette off of someone else.

Gambit is never seen without his trusty revolver; modeled after a S&W 44 magnum, it’s the most valuable item he owns. He treasures the gun above all else, going so far as to have gotten a custom engraving.

Gambit sleeps around, and does so often. While he is bi, he has a preference for men.  He is far from picky, however; his standards are low. If he’s not antagonizing someone, he’s flirting with them, trying to get them either to a cheap motel or back to their place for a few rounds. He never sticks around after, bailing shortly after he got what he came for. Gambit is nigh impossible to commit to a relationship, and will have flings with multiple people a night when given the opportunity. He is, for all intents and purposes, a slut in every sense of the word. Emotional intimacy? Never heard of her.

Fears: He doesn’t fear much, though deep down, he does fear betrayal, which feeds into his complex about trusting people.

Flaws: Gambit’s morality is almost nonexistent, his apathy lending itself to him taking on jobs others may deem too damning. Much like in gambling, his hubris can be his downfall while on the job; he sometimes gets too cocky, counting his chickens before they hatch, and can wind up blowing the contract. He is also at the mercy of his vices, the expenses of which have him living on the streets without food or shelter, often sleeping in the city’s many alleyways and rummaging for food in restaurant dumpsters. Naturally, he smells like garbage. But his biggest flaw, above all else, is his complex about trust. Gambit doesn’t trust anyone or anything outside of himself to the point of paranoia.  He outright rejects the idea of joining a gang or teaming up with someone because he’s always anticipating the moment when they turn on him. His past experiences with partnerships have only made this worse. It is why he leaves someone after banging them, it is a huge reason as to why he’s emotionally detached from people, and it is the biggest reason as to why he seemingly cannot form any meaningful relationships with anyone or anything.

Physical appearance: Gambit is 3′5, making him slightly taller than Sonic. He’s rather lanky and lithe, there isn’t much meat on those bones. He’s got crimson eyes that take on a distinct glow whenever his powers are active.  He’s got a few scars, with his most prominent one being a chunk ripped off of his right ear. His fashion sense leans towards classier attire with influences from the styles of the 1920s. Akin to his typical outfit pictured in the ref, he usually goes for suit+pants combos. He doesn’t wear vibrant colors often, though he’s not opposed to the idea; he does typically stick to greys, white and/or black for most occasions.

Bio: Gambit was an accident; the result of a careless fling between a corrupt politician and the unfortunate conman who thought he could blackmail her. When the situation wound up with Artemis getting pregnant, she was forced to carry the child to term due to fear of tarnishing her reputation. Artemis forced the child’s father to play along the role of her husband, faking a happy expecting family for the press. Once the baby was born, he was given the name Tai, and he and his father were moved from the public eye. Artemis told the public it was because she wanted to keep her family safe from the stress and exposure her career would bring, but behind closed doors, her plans for her new “family” were much more sinister.

Artemis, in her desperation to rid herself of the problem she created, and stumbled upon Empire City’s darkest truth: the Underground, a sprawling, far-reaching network of criminals, mercenaries and hitmen hidden in plain sight. It was there she would find the solution to her problem, forging a contract that would solve all her problems. It was the perfect crime - Artemis would leave the city on a “business trip”, and during her absence, someone would break into her home and murder her husband and child. The public would eat it up, bless their hearts, and Artemis, the victim, would stay strong in the face of tragedy, boosting her ratings.

Of course, things so seldom go as one plans. Artemis left on her trip, but when the hitman came for the boy and his father, Tai’s powers kicked in. The gun jammed, and his father took the opportunity to take down the would-be assassin. Tai’s father, piecing two and two together, grabbed the young boy and fled out of the city, to Westopolis. Artemis returned to the city, and by that time, the Underground had cleared out the hitman’s body. With the father and son nowhere to be seen, Artemis was told the job had gone off without a hitch, that they had been killed and just like that, all her problems were gone.

Once Tai and his father were in Westopolis, they lived in utter squalor, barely supporting themselves off of what meager money his father could scrape up with his “trade”. Tai’s father was a very angry man at this point, drowning himself in alcohol,  constantly screaming and ranting about how the world is full of bastards, how you can trust nobody and how there is nothing good in this world,  and often beating and shouting at  the young weasel,  blaming him for his current circumstances. He barely even fed the young boy, forcing Tai to live off of what meager scrap were left from his father’ meals, and whatever food or water he could manage to sneak  away for himself.

The young boy lived like this until he was around 8 years old, when his dad went out for a drink one night and never came back. Several days passed, and the weasel desperately scrounged around the house for what little food he could find, waiting for his dad to come home. Soon, someone did come through those doors, but it was not his father, but instead the cops, investigating his father’s death. They simply told him his father was dead and that he had to come with them.  Tai, who at this point had the message of “don’t trust anyone” figuratively and literally beat into him, instead chose to run away, with the cops not even bothering to give chase. “Less paperwork” they said.

From there, the boy lived on the streets, scrounging by on what little food and water he could find, sleeping in alleyway and most of all, avoiding anyone and everyone he could. “Don’t trust anyone, don’t bother anyone, keep your head down low and out of sight, out of mind” are the words that he lived by, the words that were literally beaten into him. And so he lived like this up until he was around 10 or 11 years old, when everything changed.

A local low level gangster, looking to obtain power and prestige within his organization, stumbled across the young Tai. Soon realizing that the young, wide eyed boy could serve as a valuable bargaining chip, decided to try and take him under his wing, and after several attempts, Tai went home with the man.  For the first time in his life, Tai lived in an honest to god home. He got served three meals a day, he had actual clothes , there were things to do here other than scrounge for food and stare at the walls.  He even got a new name: Gambit

But all was not well. The man intended to use Gambit as a tool, a bargaining chip, and that he very much did. The young boy was passed around to other gangsters, mobsters, lowlife scum, who did unsavory things to the young weasel, who had these fake smiles, comforting words that did the exact opposite,  had touches that lingered too long in bad places, who told him things he had never heard of and  talked about him in ways he didn’t understand. These made the weasel’s skin crawl, it made him feel wrong and dirty, but his “father” assured him that this was all normal, this was how the world worked.

As the boy grew, so did his knowledge of the world he had been swept into. The man taught Gambit everything: he taught him how to shoot, how to gamble, drink, eat good food, survive,  to indulge in the “good things in life”, to use his powers, and again, he hammered home a single, central message: “Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust anything, the entire world is out for ya.”  The growing weasel internalized all of this. Soon, Gambit began to imitate his old man: his mannerisms, his way of speaking, his worldview, even his jokes. Gambit followed his old man in every sense of the world, completely unwavering.  He trusted him, seeing him as the father he never truly had, and perhaps hoping the old man saw him in a similar light.

However, things began to take a turn for the worse as he got older. His old man saw him as a tool after all, and he began to have Gambit take care of his dirty work, which went well at first. But soon, Gambit started showing a more rebellious side. He began to not follow orders, indulge in his vices more and more, even blowing the money he got from these operations on said vices. Sooner rather than later, the weasel turned from a useful tool into a complete liability, and his father realized this.

One night, when Gambit was around 18 years old, after yet another failed mission, his father snapped, screaming and ranting at Gambit about how he was a failure, how he was a “useless fuckin tool”, how he never actually gave a shit about Gambit, how  he was just a pawn who served no purpose anymore and needed to be gotten rid of. In his fury, he attempted to kill his adopted son, but Gambit got him first, killing him with the very revolver the old man had given to him

Panicking, Gambit took the gun, took some money the old man had lying around, and booked it.  He once again returned to the streets, quickly blowing through all the money he had managed to snatch up, spending almost all of it on his newfound addictions, trying to drown out all the horrible feelings that were coursing through him. But in a last act of defiance towards his old man, what little money he had left went towards getting his revolver engraved, something to make the gun truly his. But his mind was teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown: his life had gotten completely upended again, everything he knew was wrong, he was barely to handle it. So, in a desperate attempt to keep him sane and functional, his mind forcefully and deeply repressed almost all of his prior memories, only keeping what he needed to stay alive: his mentality, his skills, his given name, and his attitude.

After blowing through all of his money, and at a loss for ways to make more, Gambit teetered on the edge of starvation and death. But then it hit him: He was real good at killing people, and there were people who’d pay for that shit, so why not just do that? It wasn’t easy, as he failed quite a few of his early jobs, but soon he got into the groove of things, and from then on, his fate was sealed: Gambit the Weasel was a full blown mercenary.

And so things went for a few more years, with Gambit honing his skills, falling deeper into his vices, and being consumed by the all-encompassing bitterness, cynicism and snark that would come to truly define Gambit as a person and help him come into his own. But once again, everything would be upended.

When Gambit was 21, the Black Arms invasion wracked Westopolis, and in the midst  of the chaos, Gambit decided to book it to the nearest city, just trying to survive. Soon, he ended up in the City of Dreams: Empire City.  Here he would continue to hone his skills, his vices, and his personality.

Today, he continues to eke out a living the same way he always has (or at least how he thinks he has): taking whatever jobs he can, killing people, then blowing it all on his vices. As far as he knows, this is how things have been, and how they will always be.  But fate certainly has other plans for him, and one of them comes in the form of a cheeky little spaniel ( @pidgeonspen ‘s Carey) and a  certain green asshole (Specifically @frecklefacefromouterspace​ ‘s Scourge)

Misc: Shout outs to @pidgeonspen for creating the ref sheet, helping to create the design, and basically being my beta reader for the entire thing.

[archieimagines]

As Long As She’s Happy | Peter Parker One Shot

Originally “Imagine Steve and Bucky finding out you’re dating Peter Parker.”

requested by: @thatbandchick39 !! thanks for requesting <3

“I haven’t seen ‘em,” Tony offered up with a shrug as he walked down the hallway. “Isn’t that your two’s job, to keep tabs of the kid? That was a part of the whole, ‘we’re taking her in as one of us?’”  he followed up as he turned around to face and point to the two men behind him.

“Yes, but it’s just getting late, and I’m not big on her being out at night without someone near.” Steve tried to explain.

Raising an eyebrow, Tony tried to reason with him, not necessarily to help you, but to help educate on what the general youth did nowadays. “It’s 8pm. On a Friday. And knowing her, I highly doubt she’s alone.”

Knowing that last bit may have struck the wrong cord with Steve- God forbid anyone say a harsh word against you in front of him- Bucky got to the point. “It’s nothing major. We were just wondering if she had said anything specific when she left this afternoon.” Bucky said. “She’s been more vague recently, especially when she leaves here.”

Hearing this, Tony acted as if he had already raised 5 teenagers, “Well, that’s 17 year old’s for you. Never know what they’re gonna do. Maybe she finally reached that rebellion stage. I think we were all wondering whether or not she’d would with you two watching her.”  

With a deep sigh Steve frowned, not really wanting to ask for many reasons, but his worry for you outweighed those reasons. “Do you have a tracker on her?”

Giving a look of ‘you should know better,’ Tony nodded, “Of course I have a tracker on her. I have a tracker on all the young ones.”

“Can we just check on her real quick?”

“Cap, I’ve learned from past experience that kids don’t typically like it when you snoop on them. You know, breaching of trust or whatever. They get snippy and sneak around more; not always a great decision,” Tony tried to warn him.

Getting to the point, Bucky spoke up. “We just want to make sure she’s safe. That’s it.” It’s not that they didn’t trust you; they didn't always trust the people around you, and most of the time neither he nor Steve really knew who you were with. Tony was right, seldom were you alone- solitary was never something you enjoyed, and so they both worried who you may be with.

“Fine, fine, but if she finds out and gets upset; this is not on me.” Stark gave the disclaimer before pulling out his phone and bringing up the tracker hologram. “There she is. Queens.” he pointed to the small dot on the projection.

Glancing at Steve, Bucky shook his head, “Why is she all the way out in Queens?”  

“I don’t know.”

Hearing this, Tony paused for a moment looking at the screen, specifically at other tracker that was commonly in Queens that was right next to yours. Narrowing his eyes a bit, he nodded. “Right, I think I might know why she’s been sneaking around you two.”

“What? Why is she there?”

“Well, she’s with Peter.”

Lying overlapped in a chair, you held onto one of Peter’s hands as the two of you only partly watched the movie on the screen. Gently tracing the outline of his hand with your thumb, your mind was too preoccupied to focus on the movie. “I really don’t like you being all by yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to come back upstate with me?” you admitted. It seemed that all of Peter’s friends are gone out of town for the week, leaving him by himself. Even Aunt May had to go a short trip for work, so except for you, he was all by himself, and even you were going to have to go back home relatively soon.

With a look down two you, he shook his head and gave a soft smile. “It’s fine. Don’t worry; I’ll find stuff to do by myself. Patrol, study for that AP exam, maybe try to learn how to cook chicken right?”

You frowned. “But you don’t have to. C’mon. You know you’re more than welcome in Stark Towers. I know for a fact Tony would rather have you there then some of the other Avengers that are there now,” you tried to persuade him.

A small sigh came out of him, “Yeah, but if I went up there with you, then we’d have to sneak around, cause yeah…” he trailed off, well aware that neither of you had really gone public on your relationship to anyone on your side. Almost everyone on Peter’s side knew you two were together, but no one on yours, and it got tricky when he would go up to Stark Towers and see you there, because he had act like you were just another person there and not his girlfriend. “I just- I hate acting like I don’t care about you as much as I do- I just don’t want to treat you like you mean anything less to me, and we have to do that whenever we’re up there. I know how protective they are of you.”

Feeling your heart drop a little, you shook your head, not liking him feeling like this.  Sitting up so you could look directly at him, you spoke. “You know, maybe we should just tell them. I don’t sneaking around and hiding from them either,” you admitted, fidgeting with Peter’s hand as you held it within your own. “And I know we’ve hid, because we didn’t know how they’d react to me dating you, but I know, they’ll think you’re great- I mean they already do, but you know, I want them to think your great not only as Spiderman, but as my boyfriend.” You tried reassuring him with a smile.

For a moment he paused, not knowing what he should do next. Now, it wasn’t that Peter didn’t want everyone to know that you were his girlfriend; it was never that. You made him so happy and if he could, he would let everyone know that you were the one who made his days better that he could have ever asked for. The only thing that really stopped you two from admitting your relationship to everyone else was the fact that you were under Steve and Bucky’s guardianship; two men that he had fought against as opponents. It was something to meet your girlfriend’s guardians, but it was another thing to meet your girlfriend's guardians knowing very well that they had already beat the shit out of you, and could do it again.

Then squeezing your hand, he nodded. “Well, it has been almost two years since I kicked Captain America in the face. That’s enough time to heal before I admit that I'm dating you, right?” he joked.

With a smile beginning to form, you laughed, “Right, and if you’ve gotten past the fact that he dropped an entire bridge on you, then they both should have gotten over everything you did. ”

Remembering that moment, Peter looked away, “Yeah, that was a hell of a first impression,” he mumbled.  

“And this can’t be worse than that!” you laughed, only partially joking.

Quickly snapping back into the current moment he smiled at you, “Ok, let’s get ready then.” he said before giving you a quick kiss.

And within the hour the pair of you were pulling into Stark Towers. Getting out the car and beginning your walk into the complex you reached out and grabbed Peter’s hand- something so simple, but something that the pair of you hadn’t been able to do here before. Making your way onto the elevator that led up to the more residential part of the building, the elevator stopped two floors before your destination. Stepping onto the elevator Tony nodded to you two. As the doors closed he, nodded, “I’m gonna help you two out by letting you know that Cap and Bucky know something’s up.”

“Huh, what-?” Peter asked.

Pointing at you two, Tony shook his head, “Oh, I didn’t tell them anything about you two dating. Though if they would have looked in your room and noticed that you have at least 4 of Peter’s sweatshirts, they could have figured that out.”

Instantly turning to Tony, you narrowed your eyes, “You let them see the trackers though, didn’t you?”

“That I did,” he admitted as the elevator stopped one floor before yours, “Oh look! Here’s my stop! Have fun you two!” he smirked before stepping off.

Looking up to Peter who was already looking down to you, both of you just shared the silent thought,  “There goes plan A.”  And with the doors opening, you both knew that you hadn’t any time to come up with a plan B, but you honestly didn’t need one. Getting off the elevator, you called out, “I’m home! Peter’s here too!”

Turning to see you two walk off the elevator, Peter’s hand intertwined in yours, both Bucky and Steve already had a feeling about the answer they were going to receive.     

“Welcome back,” Bucky offered giving a soft smile to you, instantly seeing that you were more tense than normal. He was never a fan of you being uneasy, and in that particular instant he knew it was because of him and Steve that you were more unsteady that normal, so he was trying to be easy on you.

Standing up, Steve looked to the two of you and nodded, “Hey Peter,” he offered before looking to you, “Do you mind if we talk real quick?” he asked.

Suddenly feeling nervous, you gave one final glance to Peter who looked equally as nervous as you, but still nodded, encouraging you. “Actually, can we talk to you first?” you asked.

“Yeah, of course, always.” Steve replied.

“So, we’re kinda….” you trailed off, squeezing Peter’s hand as you spoke.

“Together.” Peter finished for you. “We’re together.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Together,” you affirmed again.

“Oh- ok. Thanks for letting know.” Steve smiled, a bit caught off guard that you fessed up without him having to say anything, but also glad that he wasn’t going to have to have an even more stressful talk with you.

Slightly taken aback by how calm he was about it, you continued, “Sorry I didn’t say anything about it earlier. I just wasn’t sure how you’d guys be with Peter being, you know, Spiderman and stuff.”

“As long as you’re happy, that’s all we care about. That’s our main goal with you, that you’re happy.” Bucky  tried to reassure you.

And at that moment, you could help but smile, a weight lifted off of you. Stepping a little closer to Peter, you held onto his arm and looked to him, “And I am.”  Then looking back to your guardians you nodded, “Well, we'll leave you guys to it; we were gonna go finish a movie.”

Steve nodded, “Ok, let us know if you need anything.”

You two nodded, both saying, “Thanks!” simultaneously.

“And- uh- Peter you know Tony has your room one floor down. Make sure you use it.” Steve added, ensuring while both him and Bucky were fine with you two dating that there were certainly still rules.

“Right- Right! Won’t forget, Captain!” he quickly replied, conscious of staying on Steve’s good side. Then putting an arm around you and pulling you in close as you two left the main room, he whispered, “Is this a trap…?”

“I have no idea,” you admitted.

“Is he gonna drop another bridge on me again…?”

“Also- no idea; let’s just keep walking…” you hushed before quickly turning around and waving, “Night! We’ll see you later!” you offered before the two of you left the room.

Hearing the door lock after the two of you, Steve nodded to Bucky, “He’s a good kid...”

“And she’s happy with him, and that’s what matters,” Bucky finished.

written by: kk

[fournierbak0-blog]

5 Points You're Possibly Doing Wrong In The Shower.

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When they started providing turmeric doses twice daily, they saw preventative benefits appearing in the skin of the computer mice. Every one of these factors aid maintain your skin hydrated and also minimize the formation of wrinkles. For instance, hydrate your skin initially and utilize an orange and environment-friendly concealer palette to deal with an unequal complexion. Check out anti-aging item testimonials from our professionals that will give you the genuine info on anti wrinkle and anti imperfection creams and supply understanding on which anti aging skin treatment items are most likely to give you a radiance as well as which ones to avoid. Since the skin and pulp are seen to be good as cathartics, the fruit is likewise valued for irregularity.

[moonfirebrides]

‘In this country in 15 or 20 years’ time the black man will have the whip hand over the white man.” ― Enoch Powell, River’s of Blood’ Speech, Birmingham 1968

I don’t normally like explaining my art process, as it can differ according to my mood and the topic of my work. I prefer to leave it open to interpretation but I’ll attempt to just this once. I was asked by Nottingham based magazine Leftlion to create a front cover and middle page poster for their June 2018 Issue. For a while I was wondering what imagery should I create for this cover? I needed to embark on a journey in search of fresh inspiration.

Leftlion Editor, Bridie Squires, sent over a list of some of the featured articles, notably black British poetry legend and activist Benjamin Zephaniah, an article on Female Genital Mutilation featuring Valentine Nkoyo, a feature on artist Jasmin Issaka, Human Rights Lawyer Usha Sood, activist and Jamaican WW2 veteran Oswald George Powe and a play by a local Nottingham playwright Mufaro Makubika called ‘Shebeen‘ about the 1958 race-riots in Nottingham. All of which made for a very culturally important edition of Leftlion. Now, I see myself as being relatively deep, I knew that I wanted to say something colossal and powerful with my art… but what?

Then the news of the Windrush Scandal hit, basically the UK government have been steadily kicking out Caribbean’s who immigrated to the UK in 1948-1971 (of whom were deemed them British Citizens according to the Nationality act of 1948). For more info on the Windrush see link What is the Windrush scandal? How the Windrush generation got their name and why many fear deportation by Ann Stenhouse

My blood boiled after seeing Prime Minister Theresa May and Former MP Amber Rudd’s faces in Parliament drowning over facts, figures, tepid apologies, and pathetic last minute attempts to save political careers. David Lammy MP delivered a brilliantly emotive, soulful, parliament shaking speech and after hearing a tsunami of stories of deportation being reported in the national press and not only in black newspapers such as The Voice, Gleaner or as merely word of mouth amongst PoC communities. I decided that I was going to channel the nauseous concoction of pride and disgust I was feeling into creating a collection of pieces of illustration inspired by the Windrush Scandal.

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The Windrush Generation, Navigating Britain, How to Convey Them Visually

Excited fearfulness, queasy vulnerability, disappointedly chilly, a seasick loneliness, a war torn run down realisation, relieved to be safely on dry land, eyes searching for familiar faces. I have gathered info from the Windrush generation, those that I know personally and have researched in interviews. Above are a few of the emotions that would have been running through the youthful minds of people first stepping foot off the ship Empire Windrush in England, ‘fresh off the boat’.

I decided to base my illustration on a freeze frame taken from footage shot by the BBC of the literal moment that a young black Jamaican man had first laid eyes on England (see slideshow above). He’s a young dark skinned black man, smartly dressed in a trilby, pinstripe suit and bowtie. Though in slight wonderment you can see that he is hopeful.

My parents are a part of the Windrush generation, they came from middle class backgrounds in Jamaica, my dad arrived in 1958, as a detective in Jamaica he was only able to be a Traffic Warden and Bus Driver in the uk. Likewise my mother arrived in 1962 as a teacher and had to start off working in a factory, but why?

Which brings me to what has to be one of the single most cruel plot twists for Caribbean British citizen’s in post WW2 British legislation. My parents had always drilled into me that ‘Education is key’ and that I have to work at least twice as hard as my white counterparts. I later learned why they were so adamant. The British government ran Jamaica’s education system but even so; Britain disallowed by law all the qualifications of Caribbean British citizens (down to age 11). The effect was that it acted to ghettoize; you cannot have access to higher paid jobs, which would afford you better places to live. Even though on average middle-class and many working class Caribbean’s knew a lot more about stuff like… ‘the Queen, Buckingham palace, William the Conqueror, Shakespeare, Sheffield Steel, Clive of India, The Brontës, David Livingstone and how he ‘civilised the savage’ in Africa, industrial revolution’ etc more than your average white working class Brit. To convey this element in my art, I created conflict within each image in terms of their mood. The imagery I created is deliberately jam-packed with contradictory information that my parents and other Caribbean’s had to navigate and survive under.

  “White privilege is an absence of the consequences of racism. An absence of structural discrimination, an absence of your race being viewed as a problem first and foremost.” 
― Reni Eddo-Lodge, Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race

  Channelling The Caribbean Perception of Post War Working Class White Britain & My Feelings on The Windrush Scandal

  ‘We were taught that the streets were paved with gold and that most white people were rich ’. Caribbean’s were generally taught whitewashed version of history, religion and a blind allegiance to British nationalism. All of this was a effective tool to insure that many Caribbean’s would

well behaved

subscribe to conservatism, meritocracy, respectability politics

aspire to be like white people

Be non-critical thinking servants at Britain’s beck and call, that would be compelled to come running just like the ‘good old days of Empire and slavery’. Then could be disposed off as the Britain Government and white ruling class saw fit. Though many did not adhere to all of the above and fought against the indoctrination by re-educating, decolonising and rebelling in a myriad of ways. I conveyed the clashing views of the Black British Caribbean self under the narcissistic paternal rule of Britain by using dissonant imagery, such as religious iconography, 19th century etchings of the torture of slaves calling for abolition, photography of Caribbean’s toiling in plantations, Caribbean war veterans both men and women, BlackLivesMatter protests of Nottingham, Nottingham Riots of 1958, interracial couples, the permanent influence of Jamaican culture on popular British culture and the English language, Caribbean nurses, Brexit scaremongering and racist signs.  

I incorporated the beauty of paradise, sunsets, palm trees, houses with red tin roofs into my art. I wanted it to represent rose tinted memories of belonging, innocence, the memory of being a part of an ethnic majority and the confidence in ones stride that brings. A saturated use of colour was used to convey paradise and to appear diametrically opposite to the overcast aesthetics of Britain. I tried to convey that Caribbean people comment that they were shocked to find that in reality they found Britain to be smoky grey, old, dirty, dank, shoddy, ignorant, unhygienic, depressing and hostile. Caribbean’s and notably Jamaicans were instantly deemed as troublemakers, criminal, smelly, ugly, noisy and inferior in every way. ‘No, Blacks’ was a regular sign that would be seen in most accommodation available for rent and in places of employment. Most white churches would ask Caribbean’s not to return in a most polite and very British fashion. Many Caribbean people would have to defend themselves from attackers, which helped fuel riots and protests for basic human rights in Britain. I chose to represent these elements by incorporating real newspaper headlines and riot photography slashed into the imagery.

  Black British Caribbean women have arguably been the anchor of the Black British families and community, a much needed ‘big up’, acknowledgement and appreciation of the beauty and strength of those women. Hence my depiction of the black caribbean woman as queen, plus I wanted to convey the 2 figures as ‘the Adam & Eve’ of the biggest influx of Black people in Britain since its creation.

  Scandal is the word for this malicious act of the British government effectively wanting to get rid of the Windrush Generation now they 50+ and their children and in some cases grandchildren, after all of our great sacrifice, great contributions to Britain I wanted this art to be a visual smack in the face, machete chops and cuss words in visual patois, a beautiful explosion of consciousness.

‘If you are the a big tree, we are the small axe, sharpened to cut you down, ready to cut you down’ – Bob Marley & The Wailers

  As big black women of Jamaican descent taking up room in the uk in any sense can be treacherous, often greeted with backlash; be it via my art on the cover of a magazine, singing self penned songs, navigating unemployment, voicing my opinion or merely walking down the street. I have personally have never felt a part of Britain and the recent scandal comes as no surprise to me, is it any wonder why? Most black Caribbean’s seldom talk about the moment they encountered England for the first time. I hope my art can act as a mouthpiece for their feelings, mine and for those no longer with us

The beautiful struggle continues…

If you are interested in buying any of my work please click on this link https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/THEHONEYEFFECT . Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think and thank you for reading my blog.

Middle page poster of the June 2018 Issue of Leftlion Magazine

Middle page poster of the June 2018 Issue of Leftlion Magazine

Front cover of the June 2018 Issue of Leftlion Magazine

  What To Do When ‘The Mother Country’ Wants To Send You Back On The Windrush: Navigating The Hostile Environment of Brexit Britain ‘In this country in 15 or 20 years' time the black man will have the whip hand over the white man." …

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Burned Part 24

Summary:  Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there the two step into a dangerous dance together.

Part 23: 

           “Fucking hell, Tommy, you really need glasses don’t you?”

           It took Alfie a full breath to realize he hadn’t been shot and was still very alive. He heard the bullet zip right by his ear but never made contact with flesh. “You’ve gone blind or have you got the shakes now?”

           Tommy didn’t say a word, instead, he simply waited.

           “Alfie?” Louise came running out of the cottage only moments later. She was holding her gun, ready to shot Tommy Shelby if need be. But she was relieved to see both men were still standing and unharmed.

           “It’s alright, Louise, I was just showing Alfie this new pistol,” Tommy called back to her standing on the dunes.

           Alfie’s wife looked irritated. “Well, I don’t appreciate you both firing off without warning. The baby is trying to sleep.”

           The Jewish gangster became choked up and couldn’t speak. He simply stared at her standing there with a gun in hand.

           “Sorry, we’ll keep it down.” Tommy nodded and fiddled with his gun, letting the last bullet left in the barrel to fall out into his palm.

           “Breakfast will be done soon, Alfie.” Louise continued. “Come inside when you’re done.” And with that, she returned inside.

           Tommy walked over and placed the bullet in Alfie’s hand. “See that? She would’ve come out and shot me for what I did to you.” He explained in a low voice. “Then, what’d you think would happen, aye? I’ve got a family of fucking animals, ‘ccording to you.”

           Alfie was speechless, something he seldom was. His fingers curled around the bullet in a delayed response.

           “Arthur isn’t dead.” Tommy continued speaking as he returned the gun into the inside of his coat. “Luca Changretta is. Whatever you’ve done, you did it to protect her and your son. I can understand that. I would’ve done the same thing. You’re retired now so we can put this matter to rest. I can mentor Ollie, if you’d like, let him work your bakery back up. That’ll be the end of fighting between the Blinders and the Jews. But if I hear you’ve been involved with the business again, I won’t miss.” Tommy said firmly. “Trust me when I say Louise would much rather have you around for the time you’ve got left. Because you don’t know how long you have. Could be years. Years that you would be better off spending with your wife and boy.”

           Alfie slowly pocketed the bullet as if he were accepting the terms of Tommy’s new lease on his life. “You’ve got more planned, Tommy?” He asked.

           The Blinder reached for a cigarette. “I do.” He answered curtly. “Business you won’t want to be involved with, too legitimate for your liking.”

           Alfie nodded and sighed. “Done with doing all the dirty work, aye? Think you’ll get tired of it, mate.”

           “Well, until then, I’ll be alright. As will you.” Tommy held out his hand to shake.

           The other man obliged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           The walk up the dunes was much longer than it appeared. Alfie kept his palm wrapped around the bullet in his pocket. His heart was still beating unbearably fast. He’d nearly gone through with taking his own life via Tommy Shelby. According to plan, he shouldn’t have been walking back up to the cottage.

           But Tommy was dead on. Had Louise seen Alfie bleeding out in the sand, she would’ve shot him without hesitating. Whether it be because of a broken heart, revenge, or in fear she and Teddy were the next victims. Then what next? The Blinders would be after her for killing their kin. Alfie felt stupid for not even considering retaliation from his wife. Without question, she would seriously injure or kill anyone who attacked her family.

           Things were just as he’d left them. The moment he walked out the door assuming he wouldn’t walk back. Louise was finishing up in the kitchen and Teddy was still fast asleep in his bassinette.

           “Honestly, sometimes I wonder about that man.” Louise huffed. “Shooting a gun when he damn well knows Teddy is up here. Scared me half to death, I thought he’d killed you!”

           Alfie felt like he couldn’t breathe. He was overwhelmed with the feeling of happiness. Being given a new lease on life with the woman he loved. “It were my fault.” He excused weakly.

           “Hmpf, men and their guns.” She shook her head and placed two plates down at the small breakfast nook.

           He smiled and hugged her. “You’re lovely.” He murmured softly and kissed her cheek. There didn’t seem like any other route he wanted to take. He thought disposing of himself would be easiest for everyone involved. But perhaps Tommy was right. Louise kept him stronger and kept him fighting. With her, by his side, he had a chance of living out at least a few more years. Maybe even a bit longer without the stress of the bakery on his shoulders. Still, it didn’t matter if he dropped dead the next day. As long as he knew he was going peacefully with Louise. For so long he assumed he would die by the sword, die by the lifestyle he so viciously pursued. But maybe cancer was just a bigger sword. A bigger battle he had to face. And he had faced so many battles with Louise by his side. What was one more?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Retirement was a lot easier when you had a growing baby to raise. Alfie was sure that if they didn’t have Teddy he’d be driving himself and Louise crazy with boredom. He had grown into the role as a family man and by Hanukah, he felt perfectly comfortable as a father.

           They hadn’t been back at Camden together since Louise gave birth to Teddy. It was nice to be in the countryside or on the shores in Margate but it was also lovely to be back with family and friends. Back to the place where Louise and Alfie fell in love.

           Ollie’s house sparked with noise when they saw Alfie enter with a little bundle in his arms. He smiled and nodded. “Alright, alright, start the bidding at three pounds, who wants him first?”

           “Oh, Alfie.” Louise sighed and rolled her eyes at him auctioning over their baby.

           Tante Raisa managed to get a hold of Teddy first. She cradled the baby close and whispered soft Yiddish blessings to him. “Alfie, such a handsome boy!” She exclaimed while Alfie took his wife’s coat. “You both must be so proud.”

           “What’s the name then?” Ollie walked over with two of his kids hanging off his legs. “Alfie Jr?”

           His former boss laughed and shook his head. “Louise wouldn’t let that one happen. Theodore Solomons. We call him Teddy.” He answered and looked fondly at his son in Raisa’s arms.

           “But we gave him a Hebrew name as well,” Louise added with a smile. “Tovi.”

           “My good,” Alfie explained the meaning of the name.

           Raisa smiled warmly and touched Teddy’s cheek. “I’m sure he’ll bring you a lot of good.” She turned. “Eva, come see the baby!” She exclaimed.

           “And he’s not our problem for the rest of the evening.” Alfie teased and wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist. She smiled and allowed herself to be tempted away by Vera and Evelyn. Alfie watched as she happily fawned over Evelyn’s engagement ring. Ishmael had finally proposed once he got a substantial cut from Alfie’s retirement.

           The small apartment was full of good spirits and warm hearts. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood and reflecting on the year. After the meal, Ollie stood up to make a bit of a toast.

           “I just wanted to say another congratulation to Evelyn and Ishmael for their engagement. It’s about time.”

           Ishmael’s face turned red but he smiled and wrapped an arm around his fiancée who looked overjoyed.

           “And Alfie and Louise. Who knew a little boy would be the thing to make him retire.” Ollie joked.

           Louise laughed softly. Teddy was fast asleep in her arms despite the celebration around him. She glanced over and half expected Alfie to be there but she didn’t see him. Frowning, she scanned the party in the parlor to find her husband. Still, there was no sight of him.

           “Alfie?” Ollie realized the man wasn’t in the room either. “Did he step out?”

           Louise sighed. “Shay, will you take Teddy?” She handed the baby to Ollie’s wife before stepping out of the apartment. The winter air was a big shock after being in the warm company of family.

           She shivered and pulled on her coat, wrapping it tightly around herself. The streets of Camden were empty; most were inside celebrating the holidays. The apartments lining the streets were all lit up, casting a glow over the freezing, gray streets.

           There was only one place Alfie would be in Camden. So she began walking down the lane to the bakery, which wasn’t too far from Ollie’s.

~~~~~~~~~~

           The doors were still as heavy as always when Louise pushed her shoulder against them. She was relieved to see her husband standing in the center of the bare bakery. His heavy black coat and wide-brimmed hat making him the largest thing in the room.

           “Alfie?” She spoke quietly so she didn’t startle him.

           He turned and smiled weakly. “What’re doing here, love?”

           “You came up missing and I assumed you came here.” She walked over to him, her heels clicking loudly across the concrete floor and echoing. “Ollie was toasting you.”

           He chuckled and ran a hand over his beard. “That right? Well, glad I wasn’t there. Don’t usually like being called out like that.” He shrugged sheepishly and held out a hand to her.

           She took it and let him pull her close, burying her in his warm layers. His scent had changed after his retirement. No longer did he smell like rum on a daily basis. Instead, he had taken on the scent of Margate, even if he didn’t realize it. Louise inhaled softly and relished in the comforting scent of sandalwood. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his chest. Alfie kissed the scarf covering her hair.

           “What are you thinking?” She asked quietly. It was so strange being inside the bakery again. It didn’t feel like the same place now that it was so empty. It felt like a ghost town without the shouts of the bakers, sounds of heavy boots, the loud clanging of machinery, and the occasional barking from Alfie. The building had lost its soul. But it didn’t make her sad; it only made her nostalgic in a way.

           “First met you here, didn’t I?” He murmured. “Right out there, standing like a lost little flower.”

           She smiled and looked up at him. “With a few missing petals.”

           He nodded and ran a thumb down her cheek. “This is where I fell in love with you.”

           Louise gratefully leaned into his touch. “Mhm…”

           “This is where I killed that fucking terrible excuse for a human.” He grumbled and subtly glanced over to the spot where Daniel had finally fallen after stabbing him.

           Louise hardly even thought about her ex. Barely even considered him her late husband anymore. He was simply a man she had unwittingly fallen for and learned the hard truth of life. She didn’t want to waste time thinking about him when she had such a beautiful family in the present moment.

           “And I thought I lost you for good because of what I’d fucking done.” He sighed quietly. “Just thought it would make things better.”

           “I know.” Louise murmured softly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

           He shook his head. “Lou, all I’ve ever wanted, right, was for you to be happy.”

           “I am happy.”

           A chill rushed through the drafty building and Alfie tightened his arms around her to keep her warm. “Maybe I don’t know what’s best for you. Everything I’ve done…”

           “Alfie,” She touched a finger to his lips. “What’s really on your mind?” Sometimes it was much better to interrupt his long rambling speeches because they were merely words that covered up his true thoughts.

           He took a deep breath. “I’m scared of leaving you.”

           “You’re not going anywhere, love, you’re right here.” She grazed her knuckles over his beard.

           His throat tightened. “What if I only have a few months left, Louise?” He whispered. “Hardly enough time for Teddy to even remember me fucking face.”

           “I would never let him forget you.” She insisted firmly. “I know we have more time together, I can feel it. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon. And no matter how much time we have left, I’ll be taking care of you, right by your side the entire time.”

           He dipped his head down and touched his cheek to hers. “I’m scared.” His voice was weaker than she’d ever heard it. “Lou, I’m so scared, don’t want to leave you and Ted.”

           “Sh, it’s okay, love.” Louise held him close in the center of the bakery. “Whatever time we have left we’ll make the most of it. I’m just so glad you’re here with me now. You're allowed to be scared, I am too. But in the end, we'll all be okay.”

           Alfie nodded and realized Tommy made the right decision for him. “I’m glad you’re here with me too.” He held his wife. His beautiful wife. The woman who had given him his son. It was one thing to wait for Death to arrive and take him by the hand, it was another to turn his back to the devil and focus on the things he loved in the living world.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​

Tag list: @vehement-care​ @kimmietea​ @eleventhdoctorsangel​ @fire-treasure-iii​

Masterpost

Masterlist

[imagine-loki]

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter One Hundred and Seven

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

NOTES : So, as stated already, Brian Boru was the first undisputed High King of Ireland, he defeated the Vikings in battle and was all and all, one bad ass and brutal man. Domhnall (pronounced Do-nal and as many would recognise the name from the lovely Domhnall Gleeson who plays Hux as well as Bill Weasley among other things) was indeed one of his sons.

Maebh, Loki and Thor sat analysing the men in front of them, who, in turn, were analysing them. Behind them, Thodin and Nafi would not be forced from the room.

‘Are they not young for this?’ One of the men asked, indicating to the boys.

‘No.’ Thor answered bluntly, the men looked at the two others in question.

‘Thodin,’ Maebh indicated to her nephew, who nodded at the mention of his name. ‘Is the future king of Asgard. As you can tell from his appearance, he is Thor’s son.’ She then indicated to Nafi. ‘Nafi is the future king of Svartalfheim, and he is our son.’ Nafi nodded, though he scoffed slightly as the men looked at the boy and then to her in confusion. He did not know what Midgardian words Maebh had spoken exactly, but there was no denying their meaning. ‘As two future kings, and as men, they are very much encouraged to be here, regardless of the language spoken.’

‘They are fine youngsters, and no doubt will be formidable warriors and rulers.’ Lord Brendain stated.

Maebh folded her arms and stared at him. ‘Lord Brendain I am not sure if you are overplaying because of fear or because you want to lull me into a false sense of security, but regardless, I am in no mood for either of such. I have dealt with too many of my old realm’s men of late, in fact, I have to say merely speaking this tongue makes me want to wound something terrible, with a force not befitting this conversation.’

‘Understandable, of course.’ Brendain gulped. ‘We hear stories of what was done to you and your daughter in Laigin, the anger and indeed resentment you feel is very just, but we truly mean no malice or harm, we only want peace.’

‘All say they want peace, but when have you ever truly seen it?’ Thor commented.

‘Peace is an ideal, it is not always possible, but we should strive for it nonetheless, hence why we are here today to speak with you.’ Brendain stated.

Thor looked to Loki and Maebh, the second of which, gave a slight nod. ‘Maebh believes that your Boru is a man worth considering listening to and you claim to have terms, let us speak of them, and see if we can arrange a truce.’

‘Thank you.’ The lord bowed before he turned to the man next to him. ‘This is Domhnall mac Briain.’

Maebh sized up the man introduced to them. ‘Are you a son or a brother of Boru?’

‘Son.’ The man confirmed.

‘Part of me is suspicious, this can be interpreted two ways as far as I can see. That your father instilled a great deal of faith in you, wanting you to be to the fore of these discussions, or that you are the one he can sacrifice to here, and were we to slaughter you, permit his coming here with an army.’ Maebh stated.

The men gathered looked at each other in terror. ‘I swear to you, I am not here for a fight, quite the opposite. My wife is on Midgard, she will birth our first soon, I want to make it back to her as swiftly as possible.’ Domhnall explained.

‘I know that feeling.’ Loki declared. ‘I too have walked into the home of a sworn enemy, my wife heavy with my child, and me anxious to return home to her. Let us see if we can get you home in time. I was somewhat disappointed I did not.’

‘Did the talks take a long time?’ The Midgardian prince asked.

‘No, not overly. The stab wound I took from those who thought to doublecross the King of Svartalfheim and us, took longer than I would have liked to heal.’ The men’s eyes widened, looking for a moment to Nafi, having been told that he would be king of that realm. ‘So, if this is truly a peace talk, we can ensure that.’

Nodding, the men sat in a more relaxed manner, and they began to discuss matters that would need to be ironed out between the two sides to make such agreements work. After a time, the Warriors entered the room and gave a nod to Loki, Thor and Maebh, telling the trio that the nearby area had been scoured for possible surprise attacks, but nothing had been found. When the men gathered looked at the other Aesir worried, Maebh unashamedly admitted to them what was occurring, though mildly insulted, the men understood the reasoning for such. By the end of the day, those gathered were able to come to agreement on most everything. With the men given a place to rest for the night, they were invited to eat with Loki and Thor’s families. Though Nafi and Anna were supposed to return to Svartalfheim, they agreed to wait until after the Midgardians left, if for nothing other than to see what was agreed to report it to Ásvaldr and keep the other king in the loop of the situation with Asgard.

The men watched in awe as the Aesir families sat together, the notably sized brood of the Ulaidh born princess and the Aesir prince being the first thing they noticed. ‘Is there….how many children had you that so many survived?’ Domhnall asked in awe as the twins sat beside one another, both eyeing the foreigners warily, Kushtrim not letting Danu out of his sight.

‘Only two were lost, one before birth, another to disease.’ Maebh stated solemnly, thinking of her unborn daughter and beloved Liulf.

‘Just two, in that many years?’

Loki looked to his wife for an explanation. ‘On Midgard, more than two making it to adulthood is noteworthy.’ She explained.

‘I see. Having heard from Maebh what you call childbirth care is, what we would call, barbaric. You see it as sordid and filthy when it is the most honourable and great thing a woman can do. On this land, should a woman die during or because of it, she is automatically welcomed to Valhalla in the same manner as a fallen warrior.’ Loki explained. The men stared blankly at him. ‘Valhalla, it is…..what did you call it?’ He looked to his wife.

‘Heaven, they call it heaven. And if a woman died in childbirth, she is not seen as any great fallen martyr and the child cannot be buried on sacred ground, it can only be dumped like a dead animal.’ She explained. The Aesir stared at her in disgusted shock.

‘Is this true?’ Sif looked at the man that spoke Aesir in utter horror.

‘I, well, the child is unbaptised, so it is not deemed a child of God.’ Lord Brendain explained, though highly sheepishly.

‘Norns, I have never heard something so horrific.’ Frigga had been silent for the most part, unhappy with Midgardians having been so rude as to merely turn up for talks rather than checking with a messenger.

‘They also stab old women, I would not put such an act passed them.’ Vali stated, glaring at the men from beside his grandmother.

The men, bar Lord Brendain, did not know what Vali had said, they did, however, get the general gist with the tone he was using. Domhnall asked Brendain to translate, Maebh saving him the bother and did so before the Midgardian Lord could recall the words. ‘What can I say, my children cannot let go of the actions again our family just yet, perhaps they will with time, Frigga will never walk unaided again, her life has been shortened by this, she is the matriarch of this family and none of us can truly forgive what happened her, or the good men that fought and died to protect us the day Danu and I were taken from here, they were not warriors or fighters, yet they tried regardless.’ She explained unapologetically as Einar began to fuss for some milk. ‘You also are about to learn something else of here, we are not as prudish as you. This is not going to be done to offend you, it is simply timing on my son’s behalf and I am not finished eating.’ The men went from frowning to wide-eyed as Maebh moved her dress enough to allow Einar to feed from her. Loki and Thor looked on with amused faces, the children with confused ones and the men gasped and winced.

Mother?’ Kushtrim looked at her worriedly. ‘What are they doing?’

‘No one has harmed them.’ Anna commented.

‘It is because I have the audacity to feed Einar here.’ The children looked amongst themselves, failing to see the issue. ‘Midgardians see such things as sordid, to be done in private.’

‘But…..he has to eat.’ Danu commented.

‘Did you not say that that is why girls have them and not men?’ Vali asked.

‘Yes, but to men who embrace the God that these men have embraced, women are subservient and are required to act in a manner that does not tempt men.’ Maebh explained.

‘How is feeding a baby tempting men?’ Modi asked, utterly confused by the situation.

‘Because some men feel that their urges need be justified by the actions of a woman. Women are seen as the downfall of man, and need to be treated as such.’

‘According to whom do these women lead to the downfall of men?’ Sif asked curiously. They knew of the God that Maebh had been raised on, but they seldom asked of the teachings and ways of the God and life she had lived before she came to Asgard.

‘Men, ironically enough.’

‘There is little shock in that, is there?’ Thor scoffed, looking at the men. ‘Here, women are accepted for what they bring to our people. They are capable of something men cannot do. They grow and birth our children, an act as good as the strength of the Gods themselves, they can farm, tend homes, weave nets, cook, teach and even, scarily enough, tend to accounts, as such, they are not subservient to the men they marry and a nursing mother is the earthly depiction of the Goddesses of life and childbirth. Though Maebh does hold a title on Midgard now I believe, of an old Goddess.’

Brendain cleared his throat, his eyes very much looking everywhere bar at Maebh. ‘Yes, well, we have heard such, and talk of a raven….’ He paused when Danu sneered and pointed up. The men looked up to see Morrigan on the beam above them, having been there the entire time, watching them closely. ‘Oh, God.’ The man blessed himself.

‘So it is true….’ Domhnall stated. ‘You invoke the old Gods?’

‘I invoke no one, though I believe they seem to act as though they work through me.’ She smiled, sitting Einar up to wind him. As soon as she did, he reached for Loki, making small attempts to get to his father. Smiling at his son lovingly, Loki took him and winded him, Einar dozing off again as he did, leaning in against his father, surrounded by his natural scent, something that settled Einar every time. The men frowned again at that. ‘Men here are aware of what their offspring look like before they reach puberty.’ She informed them after placing herself inside her dress again. ‘You really have no idea the drastic and severe chasm of difference there is between these two lands, and while you think that this one is barbaric and uncouth, please be reminded that that sentiment is shared and reversed to you on this one. All peoples tend to see themselves as better than others and the most advanced, and any that differ from that are wrong and less enlightened, but in truth, there are many ways to skin a rabbit, as long as the rabbit is skinned, not many of them can be accused of being wrong, can they, but those who do not agree with others ways of doing it more often than not tell them they are wrong.’

The men remained silent, thinking over her words as Domhnall analysed her more. ‘You are seen as an equal here?’

‘No, for there are none to equal her here.’ Thor scoffed, causing Loki to laugh also.

‘But you are a man’s equal?’ Maebh nodded. ‘What age are you? You do not seem overly old, your youngest is not more than two months.’

‘I am, on my last recollection, not yet three decades. I was brought here when Nafi was five, and I was just two decades, he is now thirteen, you do the math.’ She smiled.

‘On Midgard, as you know, for a man to speak that wisdom, he often studies for years at a monastery.’

‘Yes, that is because he is a man, were he a woman, he probably would have been born with it.’ She grinned, causing Thor to bellow in laughter and Loki to be forced to translate for the rest of the family, who laughed along with him and Thor.