#adding it to keep the angry mob at bay

[bewitchedmold]

Love how the fandom has really only like 3 forms of Kakyoin: soft uwu femboy twink(he shits eggs), weird creepy "milf hunter" who is ok with p3dos(so bad this is somehow my least fav), and greasy toxic gamer who talks to sans moreso than real people outside his friend group(somehow the most normal).

[thran-duils]

Lost In Zero Gravity (P.13)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Thirteen) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 4,867 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: Tony and Steve starting to keep things from each other 👀 An unintentional good cop/bad cop routine between them. Also, the reader is far more susceptible to Tony’s bullshit than his wife is.

Part Twelve || Part Fourteen || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You threw yourself into the back of the limousine, moving to the front of the seats, trying to send all the body language signs that Tony should just stay at the back away from you. You picked up one of the full glasses of champagne and downed it to chase the two other shots you had taken as he got in. It was really starting to hit you now.

He saw you were sitting against the wall by the driver window, and he scoffed, sitting down by the door. Thankfully he could still pick up on hints. He took off his suit jacket and tossed it on the seat next to him. His arms stretched across the back seat, the two of you squaring off on opposite ends of the SUV.

Tony finally spoke, “I know what you think. That I proposed that bet.”

“You didn’t?” you snapped. “Because excuse me if that wasn’t clear to me since you were speaking in fucking French and I couldn’t understand a damn thing! And you told me not to worry! I apparently should have been worrying! And you know when I realized that? When I saw you on TV getting into that racecar and remembering what that guy said about hoping you win! Watching your stupid ass get into a racecar like you’re a professional!”

Tony turned his head, his eyes narrowing at you. “You were worried about me?”

“Oh, shut up!” you retorted pissed off. “You don’t know how to drive a fucking racecar—”

Tony threw his hands up, shrugging against the seat. “Apparently, I do.”

“Fuck—” you snapped before inhaling deeply, closing your eyes. You tried to focus on your breathing.

You heard him moving and your eyes shot open seeing him coming down the car to sit next to you. So much for reading body language or seeing boundaries. Again, he stretched out along the wall of the car, watching you closely when you did not verbally protest to him being so close.

“You’re not even letting me explain the situation, love.”

Sinking into the feeling of the new alcohol hitting the blood stream, you tried to breathe.

“I don’t want you to—”

He was closer now and he was touching you. “Sweetheart, you don’t understand.”

Angrily, you opened your eyes and tried to say, “You were going to hand me over—”

“I was not going to do that. Are you kidding me?” Tony demanded, his voice raised. You recoiled at his expression and he asked again, “Do you seriously think I was going to do that?”

“Then why do it at all?” you asked weakly.

“Because Y/N, there are things in my business arena that you are obviously not – and will never – be privy to if I have anything to say about it to keep you safe,” Tony snapped back. “I had to do it to prove a point.”

You were silent, trying to watch the city go by in the dimmed windows.

Tony’s hand was soft on your jaw as he turned your head back to him, you meeting his gaze. “Do you really think I was going to just hand you over to him? Even if I lost?”

Teeth grinding, you stared back into his eyes, silent. He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows, expecting you to respond. You said shortly, shrugging aggressively, “I don’t know, Tony. I’m not privy to how those types of transactions work.” He looked amused at you turning his choice of words against him. In retaliation, you added angrily, “I’m a person, Tony! In case you forgot, wrapped up in your ego!”

Tony’s mouth spread into a closed mouth smile, staring into your eyes, not breaking contact.

“My, my. You are very upset with me, aren’t you?” he asked in a low voice. His fingers relaxed on your jaw, caressing gently.

He was getting off on it.

He was trying to turn your anger back on you.

“What gave it away?” you snarled trying to turn away from him again, but he grasped at your chin again, forcing you to look back at him.

His pupils were darkening, and you tried to pull away again, knowing he was rousing himself up but he held you tight.

“I know you’re a person, love. What would make you think I would forget that? And that’s why I had to do it. That’s why I had to drive. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I did it to make sure I won – I couldn’t put you in the hands of some fucking idiot – and to make sure to not put you in that situation where we would have had to do something drastic if I somehow miraculously lost.” He scooted closer, pouting his bottom lip out. “Y/N, come on. I would never knowingly put you in harm’s way like that without an escape plan.”

You tried to scoot away from him again and his hand moved from your jaw to cuff you around the neck to stop your movement and the other came to your thigh, tight. In your ear, he breathed heavily, “Look. If my racer had lost, it was a guarantee he would’ve come to collect. Me refusing him from the get-go would have started a whole other issue and I don’t even want to think about that. I had to accept. And like I have said, I had to make sure I won, so I raced myself. For you.”

His hand at your thigh moved up further, pressing up your dress and you turned your head away from him feeling his hand relax to allow you to do so, but did not move further. His fingers there even caressed gently, like he was expecting and enjoying it.

He took it as invitation, his hands leaving you completely. You did your best to not turn quickly but you felt him leave your side. Carefully you turned your head, seeing him sink to his knees in front of you. You swallowed sharply as he pushed your legs apart. And you barely had time to react before he pushed your skirt up to your hips.

The next move though you were prepared enough for and you slapped at his hand as he reached up to grip the hem of your underwear.

“If that’s how you wanna play, then fine,” he chuckled darkly.

His hands came up to you again in the blink of an eye not giving you time to react and he ripped your lace underwear down the middle in one swoop, leaving you exposed to him. You tried to close your legs, but he was too quick again, slamming his hands to your inner thighs and holding you at bay.

The two of you were in a stalemate, both breathing heavily, watching the other. You were turned on by what he was proposing, there was no doubt about that, but you were still so angry with him. The desire though…

Tony made the first move, his fingers releasing tension from their press on your thighs. He slowly lowered his hands and watched you keep your legs spread for him willingly.

His breath was hot on your pussy and he inhaled deeply, causing you to shiver, your fingers digging into the leather of the seat. He pressed his nose in and your breath hitched as he dragged his tongue from top to bottom, tantalizingly slow. He groaned, his hands coming up to grip your thighs as he repeated the movement, sucking at your clit this time. You keened, bucking towards him and he hummed in approval.

“Do you forgive me?” he husked, laying soft kisses along your wet folds before pulling back. You tried to brush your pussy back against his face and he pulled away out of your reach further.

Settling back on the seat, you glared down at him and he met your glare. His fingers dug into your ass, massaging and you reacted grinding into the touch involuntarily, much to your annoyance. You stopped immediately, trying to be strong. His expression went unchanged, still challenging.

One of his hands fell away from your thigh and came to your pussy, his finger running down before dipping in. You grit your teeth as he slipped another finger in, his thumb circling your nub. You were trying to not react, but he could see your breathing change as he stroked, his eyes flicking to your fingers digging into the seat as his fingers drew wetness.

His hand fell away, and you whined pathetically. He repeated with more force, “Do you forgive me?”

“Yes!” you snapped, annoyed with him stalling. He smirked at your impatience.

Tony’s mouth was back at your dripping pussy, lapping. Your hand came to the back of his head, holding him in place, your hips rutting towards him rhythmically. He drank your cum in as you came undone around his tongue, shaking. Your hand went lax at the back of his head and he ran his tongue up once more, laying soft kisses on your sex.

“Well, that tasted simply divine. Thank you for that,” he said, wiping at his mouth as he pulled away. “What do you want for Christmas in return, baby?” He tore your shredded panties down your leg, tossing them haphazardly in the trash bin.

“Was that not it?” you asked sarcastically, pulling your skirt back down, covering yourself back up.

“Brat,” Tony responded, smirking.

“A break from you and your antics would be nice,” you quipped. He chuckled amused, straightening out his dress shirt. “And a tree. Fully decorated.”

“You got it, love,” he said coming up and his lips meeting yours. His hand came up behind your head, holding you close as he kissed you deep. When he pulled away, he vowed, “I’ll have it delivered in the next couple days and you can decorate it however you want.”

You put your hand on his chest and said, “I have ornaments in storage in Brooklyn.”

Tony cocked his head as he turned around to sit on the seat beside you and asked, “You have a storage unit?”

“Yes. When I moved… out of Jared’s, I couldn’t store anything at the brothel. I pay for it. It’s small.”

He sat down next to you, reaching forward and grabbing a flute of champagne. “Hmm. You haven’t mentioned that.”

“I didn’t think I was staying long term in the apartment,” you told him honestly.

Tony took a long drink and said, “Interesting. Well. Give me the address and you can give me the key. I’ll have one of my guys fetch it for you.” You nodded and bit at your lip, feeling a wave of emotion. Tony noticed. The flute rested on his knee and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head and straightened out your dress. “It’ll just be nice. I haven’t had… those ornaments for a couple years.” He was still waiting expectantly, and you added strained, “A lot of them are my mum’s. Christmas was important.”

Tony made a small noise of acknowledgment and then finished off his champagne. He placed the empty flute back on the counter and turned to lean in close to you. You turned your head to meet him, and he smiled softly. “It’ll be there by the time we get back. Cross my heart.”

He laid a kiss on your shoulder. When you did not pull away, he continued kissing up your bare shoulder, sucking at your neck. His lips pulled you in, his teeth digging in right below your ear, and you inhaled sharply. He was going to leave a mark.

He laid a soft kiss on the sensitive spot before whispering in your ear, “You are so special, sweetheart.”

<><><>

“Be nice to her,” Tony said into the phone Steve. He was sitting in the back of his town car after having dropped Y/N off at the apartment. “And compliment the tree.”

“Right,” Steve responded, looking over his shoulder at Cecile reclined on the couch. He walked towards the patio door and let himself out, closing the glass door behind him. Looking out over the city, he asked, “How is she?”

“Fine. She just hung out and swam at the villa while I got the guns moved.”

“Good. I saw you raced,” Steve scoffed. “How’d that go over?”

“Pepper is pretty pissed. Still. I told her I didn’t crash, which you know is the most important thing, and she got the face of the company on the track, so it’s good media if anything.”

Steve laughed, “Yeah, I guess. I’m glad your stupid ass didn’t crash.”

“I’m a professional,” Tony retorted. “You’ve seen me on the highway.”

“Unfortunately.”

“How’d it go with Cecile?”

Steve sighed heavily and said, “Sex is different.”

“Yeah, they get that way when they’re pregnant,” Tony commented.

“It was needed though. Time alone. Away from everything.”

“I’m sure.”

“Still can’t stop thinking about the possibility of the kid not being mine. But… what the hell am I going to do? So, that’s that. Um,” Steve trailed off, noticing Cecile was signaling him to come back inside, pointing at the TV. He had promised a movie. “Well, I am being beckoned. I’ll go see Y/N tomorrow. Good luck with Alessia.”

“I don’t think all the good luck wished at me could help me right now, unless something has dramatically changed, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Tony replied honestly.

<><><>

Olivia was chanting ‘Disneyland’ when she saw Tony walk in the door. He laughed in response, bending down to pick her up as she ran up to him. He cuddled her into his shoulder and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

“Yes, sweetheart, Disneyland. You, me, Forest, mommy, Mickey, and Minnie. And even better, it’s Christmas time!”

“Presents?”

“Not yet. It’s only December 8th, Liv. Christmas isn’t until the 25th. We have two and a half weeks. But we can have a lot of Christmas fun there, right? Just to get ready for the big day?”

Tony spotted Alessia standing on the staircase, arms crossed, glaring down at him. He started walking up the stairs and as he got close, Alessia said, “Our bedroom” before turning and walking up the rest of the stairs away from him.

Refraining from scoffing, Tony continued up the stairs and stopped by Forest’s bedroom where he was sitting on the ground playing with their nanny. He put Olivia down and said, “Here, go play with brother and Francesca. Mommy and daddy need to talk.”

Tony straightened up and continued down the hall towards his room, closing the door behind him when he entered. Alessia was standing by the open patio door, glaring him down.

“Do you just not give a shit about anything anymore?”

Cocking his head, Tony asked, “What makes you think that?”

“Oh, don’t play stupid, Tony! How could I miss your stupid little publicity stunt?”

“I don’t think it was stupid. I think I pulled it off marvelously.”

“What if you would have crashed? What if you would have died?” Alessia exclaimed furiously. “Do you even think about consequences? Because it feels like you just don’t give a shit anymore! You’re being reckless!”

“I can assure you, Alessia, I was very much in control of the situation.”

Alessia inhaled deeply before spitting, “You are driving me absolutely insane!”

“Do you want separate rooms at Disneyland? Because I can arrange that.”

“No, I don’t want separate rooms! That is a terrible look!”

“Can you even stand sleeping next to me though? That’s the real question here,” Tony jeered.

“You haven’t come home. It’s like you prefer being there in that small apartment.”

“You asked me for space! And I was giving it to you!”

“Don’t act like you are doing me this huge fucking favor! You asshole!”

“I am!” Tony shouted, losing it for a second. He closed his mouth, taking a few deep breaths. Alessia kept her eyes trained on him at the outburst. When he looked at her again he said, “You told me you didn’t want me here, so I said fine. And I left. Did you want me to stay and just force my presence here? What do you want Alessia? Really? Because I can’t figure it out!”

“You had her in Monaco with you! Not me!”

“There it is,” Tony chuckled, shaking his head.

“Don’t patronize me!”

Closing the space between them, causing Alessia to tense at his close proximity, Tony retorted forcibly, “Yeah, I did Alessia! And you know why I had to have her in Monaco with me instead of you? Oh, right, because of you!” Alessia took a step back at his ferociousness. “When you decided to go Rambo on her face, you scared the shit out of her, and she took off! You made Steve and I waste our goddamn time tracking her ass down and bringing her back! So, we can’t trust her to be at the apartment by herself in case she tries to do that shit again. So, it’s your fucking fault she had to come with me. I had to keep an eye on her since Steve was out of town!”

Alessia was staring at him dumbstruck.

“Let that sink in. You fucked up her whole life by losing your shit on her instead of me. She was doing just fine, acting well, being good for me before you came in fists swinging and scared her off. If you wanna be mad at anyone about it, be mad at your fucking self!”

He straightened his shirt and pulled away from her. “You think with how smart you are you would have pieced that shit together but apparently not. Anger does make people blind as we have clearly witnessed.”

Alessia could have killed him with her stare.

“What? You gonna hit me? Again?” Tony laughed dryly, trying to push her buttons even more.

Alessia looked away from him, her jaw clenched.

“Do I prefer the apartment? Yeah, right now, I do. And I do prefer her. Because she is far more docile and behaves better. She gets sassy but I can mold her so easily, usually with just the prod of my cock against her cunt.” That caught Alessia’s attention again immediately, her eyes widened, lips parted in shock. Tony snorted at her expression, wagging his finger at her. “You… you go off the rails far too easily.” He shrugged and gave her a cruel smile before he added, “Plus, she’s got a cuter moan when she comes. Not that you got to hear that because you tore her off my dick before it could happen.”

This time Alessia did wind back and slap him across the face. Tony again ate it, sucking at his teeth. He had gotten the reaction he wanted.

“Daddy?” a small voice asked from the doorway.

“Look at you, striking out again,” Tony drawled quietly, winking at Alessia before he turned towards Olivia and cooed, “Yes, baby, what is it?”

“Are you okay?”

Tony frowned dramatically ignoring the incredulous stare Alessia was giving him, coming over towards her. He swooped her up into his arms and said, “Yes, daddy is fine. Mommy is just upset. We can leave her be for a minute so she can chill out, can’t we? Do you have your bag all packed, sweetheart?”

He looked back over his shoulder seeing Alessia looking murderous and he shrugged as Olivia nodded, “Fracessa helped!”

“Francesca,” Tony corrected playfully, his attention back on her.

“Fracessa,” Olivia repeated, focusing.

Tony gave her a kiss on her forehead, “Close enough. Let’s go make sure everything is ready to go. Francesca better have packed that adorable Elsa costume mommy got for you so you can match her in the photos. She sent me a pic before she bought it.”

<><><>

You tensed at the door opening behind you and buried yourself deeper into your quilt on the couch. You were lying on your side, watching Christmas Vacation. The door slammed closed, and you did your best to not flinch. Steve had not left in the best of moods when you saw him last, and you tried to make yourself as small as possible.

There was movement around the island in the kitchen and then you heard him moving down the hallway. You stayed in your spot, trying to focus on the movie.

<><><>

Steve grabbed the sleeve of pills from his bag, throwing a look back at Y/N, making sure she was still watching the movie on the couch. She had not moved and he wondered if she had fallen asleep to the movie before he turned to go down the hallway towards the bathroom.

He closed the door behind him and locked it for good measure. He dug into the cupboard and found her pills, looking at where she was in the pack. He began popping the ones in his placebos out to match.

<><><>

Steve came to the end of the couch by your head, and you peered up at him. His eyes were fixated on the TV, ignoring you, a beer in his hand. You narrowed your eyes slightly, remembering he could not get drunk. Maybe he still just enjoyed the taste. He openly smiled at Eddie pouring the RV sewage into the sewer. Maybe he was in a better mood and the time apart had calmed him down.

You scooted your legs in towards you to give him room to sit at the other and he took the offer, blocking your view only briefly as he moved past. You wondered where he had been since he was dressed in tweed pants, dress shoes, and a nice cashmere sweater. It was not out of the ordinary for him to be dressed smartly; he was just like Tony. But it was a Saturday.

He sat there watching he movie for a good amount of time, allowing you to relax.

“How was Monaco?” Steve asked, not looking at you.

“Okay.”

“’Okay’? You got to go overseas.” His tone was not one of someone who was really engaged in the conversation, more so like he was forcing it. It set you on edge.

You stopped from saying you had been overseas before and instead said, “I hadn’t been there before, so that was exciting. It was nice enough for not being able to understand anything anyone was saying. The villa was nice.”

“That’s what Tony said. You enjoyed the pool,” Steve said, bringing his beer to his lips, taking a drink. You nodded, not saying anything. His eyes moved around the apartment, taking in all the Christmas decorations. He commented lightly, but there was something still lurking, “You decorated.”

“Mhmm,” you said, not liking the tone of his voice. Clearing your throat, you asked, “Are you hungry? There are leftovers from lunch. Fried rice and some egg rolls.”

“I already ordered dinner to show up but yeah, I could use a snack,” Steve responded, not looking away from the TV now.

You got up, trying to look calm. He was on edge and you were waiting for the dam to break. Moving to the fridge, you opened the door, taking out the box from your lunch and putting some onto a plate. You stuck it in the microwave, pushing to reheat.

Steve moved from the couch and you tried to remain relaxed, standing in front of the microwave. You heard him place his beer bottle on the island and then he was behind you.

“That’s not the type of snack I was talking about,” he said quietly.

His hands were at your hips, moving up underneath the hem of your crop top to move towards your breasts, bare from not wearing a bra.

The microwave beeped.

“Well,” you said thickly as his hands cupped your tits. “I already reheated it. And the food is really good—”

Steve yanked you away from the counter trying to maneuver you towards the bedroom, but you jolted away from his grasp in the momentum of the movement. You turned, facing him now as you stumbled backwards.

“Steve, let’s just eat first,” you told him.

“Oh, I’m about to. You’re just delectable, dove,” Steve told you, fixing you with a stare as he advanced like a predator following its prey, his hunger set in on you.

You made to turn around again, a mistake, putting your back to him. He advanced quickly and was on you in a second. He half lifted you up off the ground, wheeling the both of you back around. Steve tossed you up against the corner of the kitchen table. You let out a small, surprised cry at the impact and grunted when his hand came down on the center of your back, flattening you against the table.

“You still need to apologize to me,” Steve grated. “Tony might be easier to please, but I can assure you I am still very much pissed off about the whole situation.”

Your heart was racing, worried about what he was going to do. But who were you kidding? You knew what he wanted.

“I-I’m sorry. I won’t leave you again. I promise,” you said, trying to placate him.

He ignored or just simply did not care what you had said. Steve’s fingers hooked into the waist of your pajama pants and underwear, yanking them down to your ankles. “Kick them off,” he ordered you, his hand coming back to hold you down in place. You did as he asked, biting at your bottom lip.

The noise of his zipper coming undone and him shifting out of his pants tore through the space between the two of you. He was pressed up close, stroking himself, running himself up and down your pussy. “You better get yourself wet for me, Y/N.”

With a shuddered breath, you brought your hand up, working at your clit. You closed your eyes, trying to relax, find some serenity in the moment. Fingers working, you fell into the rhythm as best as you could and thankfully you felt yourself getting wet. Steve’s fingers were digging into your back as you rubbed at yourself, trying to prepare yourself.

He shifted and you felt his head pressing at your entrance. He groaned softly as he pressed in and you bit at your lip, still circling your clit. Steve reached underneath, hooking one of your legs up to rest on the table, adjusting you. You breathed steadily as he resumed his slow pace, working deeper into you with each thrust.

“Say it! Promise me!” Steve demanded.

“I promise!”

“You promise what?” he asked rolling his hips, his hand at your own hip pressing in.

“I promise I won’t leave again,” you got out, your voice sharpening at the end as he bottomed out, settling deep.

Steve let out a heavy breath, feeling your tightness fully enveloping him. He adjusted only a little to cause you to clench again and he breathed, aroused.

“Tony said you were good for him, just like I told you to be. That’s good. Can you be good for me?” You nodded against the table, your cheek rubbing against the wood. Steve jolted his hips against you, and you keened. “Yes or no, Y/N?”

“Yes! I’ll be good for you!”

He had been gentle up until that point. But Steve quickly abandoned that route though, pulling out and slamming back in. You braced as he started to move quicker and deeper, using more force. You staggered against the table on your one leg, your hand at your pussy being squished between your body and the table. You whimpered, your hand falling to prevent it from being injured. Steve did not seem to notice, or he did not care.

You hated his stamina because it went on for far too long but finally you felt his signature pull back, shallow thrusts taking over, his breath quick. When he released, he pressed harder down on your back and you whimpered again against his palm digging in.

“God, fuck, yes,” Steve husked, his cock twitching inside you. You relaxed against the table, worked up with no release. Steve though was all praise, “That’s a great start, dove. You did so well. You’re good… so good.”

Steve breathed heavily his hand falling from your back and you breathed in deep at the relief from the pressure. His fingers traced at your still shaking legs, his cock pulling out fully, leaving a trail of his release. The air shifted behind you as he stood up straight, taking steps back from you. You moved your leg down slowly, relishing in the release of your hip at the straightening of it.

“The tree looks nice by the way. Beautiful placement of the ornaments and lights,” he commented as he moved down the hall away from you, towards the bathroom to shower you surmised. “I ordered us Italian. You know, the stuff we like? Not that nasty, fancy shit Tony tried to shove down our throats. I already told Daryl to get it. When you’re ready, you can join me in the shower if you want. Or you can wait until after. Whatever you want.”

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics @agustdowney @fanofalltheficsx 

[ampleappleamble]

—

"There she is! The Watcher of Caed Nua! It's her!"

The trek back home had been a difficult one, somehow seeming longer and more arduous than it ever had been before, and the struggle was duly reflected in the party's overall mood. Gone were the jokes and songs and lively chatter of journeys past. What little conversation had taken place amongst the travelers during this long walk had consisted mainly of curtly delivered instructions, whispered speculation about the immediate future, or carefully constructed reassurances which were invariably met with stony silence. Morale had never been lower.

And now, upon finally making it to their destination, they were met with what appeared to be an angry mob, replete with the customary torches and pitchforks.

Of course, Axa thought numbly.

"Reminds me of home," Edér quipped, drawing up protectively close behind her.

"Little Mistress! Oh, thank the Flame ye're back!" Eld Engrim hobbled out of the chapel to meet her and her retinue, his speed defying his age and physical condition, and he grasped desperately at her, his knobbly old hands shaking. "These'ns shew up some days back, howlin' fer ye, an' it's been all me 'n yer stone stewardess can dae t' keep 'em from teerin' doon th' place!"

"Fye, am sure ye've been battlin' fer yer life from th' bottom o' yer bottles, ye coxfither," Iselmyr spat, narrowing Aloth's eyes at the drunken old priest.

"And from behind your pulpit as well, I imagine," Pallegina added.

Engrim's bloodshot, rheumy eyes darted nervously between his Lady and her unimpressed companions. "Well what ought I done, Mistress? Call the Holy Flame doon 'pon 'em? They're yer subjects, ye ken!"

"Subjects?" Kana blinked in shock as he turned to regard the group of peasants and farmers and merchants that were now starting to gather up around them. "You mean to say these are all people who live and work in the lands surrounding Caed Nua?"

"Appears so," Sagani answered, casting her keen eyes over the mob while Itumaak growled softly at her hip. "And by the look of them, they're not very happy with us."

"And by the smell of them, they're not only pissed off, they're also piss drunk," Hiravias muttered, sniffing at the air. "Literally, in some cases. Axa, take it from me: being surrounded by inebriated Dyrwoodans is never a good thing. I know you're not exactly feeling up to it, but I think it'd be for the best if we dealt with this swiftly."

Of course. Of course. She stood silently for a moment, gathering what scraps remained of her tattered patience before finally turning to face the crowd. The shouts of the disgruntled commoners quickly dwindled to a soft grumble under her gaze, piercing and unflappable, and when the din of the crowd had grown calm enough, she spoke.

"I am Axa Mala, Watcher and Lady of Caed Nua," she announced, her voice smooth and even despite her frayed nerves, her crippling fatigue, her utter frustration with her lot in life thus far. "I take it you're all here because you have grievances you wish to discuss with me? Well, you have my full and undivided attention."

The mob shifted to and fro, mumbling amongst themselves, until one folk woman, brawny and ruddy-cheeked, stepped forward and thrust a thick, calloused finger at the orlan. "Alright," she snarled. "Alright, fine. Since the rest of y'all's too chickenshit to start, I'll do it. Now you're damn right we got grievances with you, Little Miss Wildcat. 'Cause it's you, you and your ruffians, been terrorizin' all us honest workin' kith this last week and some. And why's we're here is 'cause we ain't havin' it no more."

"My companions and I have been in Defiance Bay and parts beyond this past two weeks," Axa countered gently. "What exactly did these 'ruffians' do or say to you?"

"Somethin' about some horseshit 'crop tax' that I ain't never heard of since ol' Maerwald were around," the farmer retorted, scowling at the memory. "Tried to get money outta me they knew damn well I ain't had, and when I told 'em so, they set my whole field ablaze. And when my boy..." She paused suddenly, her face contorting with rage and sorrow, and when she continued, her voice was thick with unshed tears. "...when he tried standin' up to 'em, they went 'n knocked him in the head but fierce. He can still stand and he can still talk, but he can't think straight no more. Damn sure's he can't work. Now how's me and mine s'posed to run the farm like that? Ain't we pay enough money in taxes for you? Now you gotta make us pay in blood, too?"

Another from the crowd stepped forward, a well-dressed dwarven man. "They came after me for some sort of 'road toll,' they said. I've been traveling these roads for decades and never heard of any toll, but I paid up, just trying to keep the peace and get to my destination on schedule. And as thanks for my cooperation, the bastards went ahead and executed my guards! Ran them through, right in front of me! Those were good people, men and women with families to support. How am I to compensate their spouses and their children? I can't even continue on my way without proper protection from bandits, and I'm carrying sensitive merchandise here, perishables! How am I to recoup my losses?"

Axa winced. "Not that I'm accusing anyone here of lying– far from it, actually– but what exactly gave you all the idea that these armed thugs were working for me?"

The farmer woman planted her hands on her hips. "Well they said they's workin' for the Lady of Caed Nua. Ain't that you?"

"It is. I am. But I didn't order anything like what you're describing, and I never would. Someone is probably trying to–" As the words left her mouth, the realization struck her like a bolt of lightning between the eyes. Of course. Of course. Of course it'd be him again.

It seemed that Aloth had had the selfsame revelation at exactly the same time, and she heard his leather armor creak behind her as he balled his hands into fists. "Gathbin," he hissed.

Axa was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. "Listen carefully. The people who assaulted you were not sent by me. And as your thaynu, you have my word that this will not happen again. Not to you, and not to your neighbors. I'll see to it." She turned to Engrim. "Increase patrols on thoroughfares and backroads both. And make sure our people are recognizably ours. My orders are to kill anyone who dares impersonate a representative of Caed Nua." The old man nodded nervously, briefly searching his robes for something to copy the orders onto before Kana eagerly thrust parchment and stylus at him.

The crowd murmured amongst themselves at this, torches and farming implements lowered ever-so-slightly. Even the farmer woman sounded more desperate than angry when she next spoke. "That's a start, yeah. But what about what's already done? What about my burnt crops, my boy?"

"And my spoiled wares," the dwarf merchant cried. "And my guards' families!"

"A fair point. It is my duty to protect my subjects. Failing that, the least I can do is compensate you for your losses." Axa turned to Engrim again, untying a pouch the size of an aumaua's fist from her belt. "See to it that this is distributed fairly amongst these people," she instructed, setting the purse atop the parchment still in his hand with a heft that made his eyes bulge.

Edér leaned close, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Uh... Axa, I know you're one of them generous types and all, but that's– there's gotta be at least a thousand–"

"Yes," she stated calmly. "By my reckoning, it ought to cover any damages done as well as a bit extra for the trouble. Wouldn't you say?"

All pretense of violence dissipated in an instant as the pouch was opened and the glittering coin inside revealed, and Aloth couldn't help but chuckle at the predictability of it all. "Isn't that always the way of things? Words and deeds speak loudly, it seems, but coin speaks ever louder," he murmured, turning to smile at the little Watcher. But she was already gone, trudging wordlessly toward the main doors to her keep, the crowd behind her uttering their thanks as they gathered around Engrim with their hands outstretched.

He clenched his teeth hard, swallowing the lump in his throat, and reluctantly followed her.

By the time he joined everyone else in the great hall, Axa was half collapsed in her throne, the rest of her traveling companions standing between her and a man Aloth recognized as Marshall Forwyn, advisor to Erl Bademar and one of the officials who had been present at the initial hearing regarding Caed Nua's rightful ownership in Defiance Bay. Considering what Gathbin had been up to, both here and in the city just before the riots, Aloth feared that Forwyn's presence was very much not indicative of good news.

And he was right. "I'm afraid what Warrin told you is true, Lady Mala," Forwyn declared soberly. "Lord Gathbin has been taking full advantage of your absence to undermine your reputation with your subjects, and it seems he now feels bold enough to move on Caed Nua herself. He is slowly building an army of mercenaries near your territory at Yenwood Field, and it seems he means to fight you to the bitter end. While Erl Bademar has chosen not to officially ally himself with either side in this conflict, he has seen fit to send me to offer you my military expertise and advice, including but not limited to any assistance you might need forming a fighting force of your own."

"And yet he refuses to just make my claim on Caed Nua official," she retorted hotly. "Why? Because I'm an orlan? An unmarried woman? A foreigner?"

Forwyn frowned. "Despite what Gathbin himself might have you believe, the reasoning behind the Erl's decision is more complicated than mere prejudice. In short, the people of Dyrwood are not ones to bend easily or happily to distant authorities, and this extends to her noble families as well. When lands and titles are stripped from lords or ladies with even the flimsiest claims upon them, it tends to spark outrage and indignance that spreads throughout the whole family, leaking into their subjects and their political allies, encouraging civil unrest. Fiercer battles are fought over milder matters than this. Sometimes even wars. In truth, it would be a simpler matter to kill the man in a private challenge than to risk stirring up the ire of his entire bloodline by disregarding his unfortunately entirely legitimate claim to 'his' ancestral land. At least then the only retribution we'd have to worry about would be from those individuals in the family with a personal fondness for Gathbin– which, according to what we've heard, should prove rather sparse indeed." He allowed himself a tight little smirk.

Axa sighed heavily, slouching down in her seat, and the Steward provided what little comfort she could for her Lady, a metaphysical hand on the woman's shoulder. "Don't suppose I could just stay put behind my castle walls," she muttered. "Let Gathbin and his goons come to me."

"An understandable position to want to take, considering your recent hardships," Forwyn sighed, casting a sympathetic look at the orlan. "But unfortunately, Gathbin's not quite so foolish as to destroy the very keep he wishes to take in his attempt to do away with you. And if you simply hide from him in here, he'll be more than happy to simply carry on tormenting your subjects in your surrounding lands. Refusing to confront him is as good as refusing to perform your duties as Lady of Caed Nua, and the people will take notice and adjust their support for you accordingly." He paused for emphasis. "And that includes Erl Bademar."

She grimaced. "So what you're saying is I have no choice but to fight him."

"You claimed Caed Nua by strength of arms the first time around," Forwyn pointed out matter-of-factly. "If you wish to truly legitimize your claim in the eyes of the rest of the nation, you must prove yourself able and willing to defend her again. That is what it means to be noble in the Dyrwood."

"Might makes right, then," Aloth sneered, disgusted. "How barbaric."

Hiravias shrugged. "Honestly, it's a more meritorious system than I was expecting from a bunch of morally bankrupt slave traders like the Dyrwoodan nobility. I mean, no matter how you slice it, having the strength to fight and the charisma to convince others to help you do it is better proof of right to rule than any multisyllabic, hyphen-laden surname wielded by a pack of inbred blue-bloods could ever hope to be."

"So you're here to be my advisor," Axa grumbled, peering up at Forwyn. "Then advise me. Gathbin has an army. What do I have?"

Forwyn crossed his arms over his chest, sighing deeply. "In truth, not much. You've your hirelings here on the grounds proper, and I've put out a summons for volunteer soldiers throughout your territory. Now that you've set your subjects straight on who was behind the attacks on their homesteads and mercantile convoys, hopefully they'll decide they'd prefer your rule over Gathbin's. Other than that, you're effectively on your own."

"If the city weren't on fire, I'd suggest roping the Dozens into this," Edér grinned, gesturing with his pipe. "Have 'em make themselves useful for once."

Forwyn cocked an eyebrow. "I'll keep that in mind. Knowing them, they'll still be as ornery as ever once the smoke clears, and more than eager to fight the good fight alongside an ally. Additionally, I am acquainted with a modestly-sized group of military veterans who would prove quite useful in training and leading any new troops we can recruit from the countryside. However, it would also be rather pricey to retain their services, I'm afraid– about ten thousand copper or so."

"Ten thousand!?" Axa balked, burying her hands in her hair. "But I don't– gods, I'm still rebuilding the walls, here!"

"Time, also, is on your side, Lady Mala," Forwyn reassured her. "Rumor has it that Gathbin has been suffering some... loyalty issues as of late, and his inner circle is currently undergoing some rather severe restructuring due to that, slowing his progress significantly. Not to mention the fact that his army seems to be beset left, right, and center by misfortune and misunderstandings– lost or discarded paperwork, unexpected tolls, bounties placed on the heads of his most accomplished mercenaries... It's almost as though the powers that be don't wish him to march on Yenwood Field either." He winked at the little woman. "Or, at least, they wish to make it as difficult as possible for him to do so."

"Yes, yes, I take your meaning," she sighed, massaging her temples. "I'll thank the erl once Gathbin is dead. So I have some time at least. But do I have enough time to earn ten thousand copper? Wael help me, I don't even know where to start."

"My Lady, if I may?" The Steward's voice echoed softly but clearly through the hall. "Thanks to your efforts thus far, we've recently been able to restore the Warden's Lodge, and even staff it with a seasoned game warden. Although his duties mostly revolve around the wildlife surrounding Caed Nua, he does also keep track of bounties for wanted criminals in the area, and his contacts pay quite handsomely. And..." She hesitated. "And then there's the matter of the missive we've received."

"Missive?" Axa straightened up a bit, curious. "From whom?"

"From one Renengild, the mayor of a small mining town called Stalwart nestled deep in the snowy north of the White March. She has sent a request for your aid, my Lady. It seems she wishes to gain access to... to Durgan's Battery."

"Durgan's–" Kana practically tripped over his own jaw. "The legendary forge that fell to ruin and hasn't heard a single footfall in its halls in nigh on two centuries now? The source of Durgan Steel, the steel for which there is reportedly no peer, neither in this world nor the next? That Durgan's Battery?" His wide-eyed expression of wonder quickly melted into a gigantic smile, and his hands flew to and fro as he gestured enthusiastically. "The lost treasures inside alone must be worth a fortune! Not to mention the forgotten history behind the place, the enigmatic tragedy of her Pargrunen founders and their downfall, the mystique..."

Sagani folded her arms and smirked. "Can't imagine why anybody'd want in there."

"The fruits of such an endeavor could prove very beneficial to both our campaign against Gathbin and our overarching goal of subduing the Leaden Key," Pallegina mused thoughtfully. "And if we were to actually render the forge operational again, a new and quite lucrative trade route could be established between Stalwart and the Republics." Her nictating membranes flicked across her eyes. "...And throughout the Dyrwood as well, of course."

"Speaking of the Leaden Key," the Steward added cautiously, "there's another reason I thought to bring this to your attention, my Lady. Of those who have responded to Renengild's call, a certain sect of masked Woedicans is rumored to have been sighted amongst them. I can't claim to know exactly what they might be seeking in the Battery, but I can't imagine it's anything approaching noble."

Axa felt her heart plunge into her stomach like an icy rock hurled into a sea of acid, and she slumped forward, defeated. Of course. Everywhere I go. Gods, no matter where I look, I'm trapped. Well, I did want to try and break my habit of running away from my problems...

"Not a bad idea," Forwyn agreed. "Someone with your unique abilities and admirable tenacity might actually have a decent chance at breaching the Battery, and the monetary rewards and prestige would be considerable. Although if you should head up that way, I'd recommend giving Crägholdt a wide berth."

"Crägholdt? Archmage Concelhaut's stronghold?" Now it was Aloth's turn to flap his hands about excitedly, awestruck at the mere mention of the man. "Is there– but he's– w-what exactly is going on there that we ought avoid?"

"The situation at Crägholdt is as steeped in secrecy as the Archmage himself, I'm afraid," the Steward replied. "All we know for certain is that the Torn Bannermen, an infamous band of highly renowned and ruthless mercenaries, have been stationed outside of his tower for some time now apparently attempting to gain entrance, but it appears that the two parties are so evenly matched as to result in a stalemate– at least, for the moment."

Aloth chuckled nervously. "That's not entirely surprising, considering how powerful Concelhaut is rumored to be. But still, that one man's efforts could bring the entirety of the notorious Torn Bannermen to a standstill..." He turned to grin ruefully at Axa. "Would that either of them would fight for us instead!"

She didn't respond. She had felt cautiously hopeful for the first time in a long time, thinking about her prospects in the White March– fantasizing that it might be like a little vacation in the snow, far away from all this madness– but upon learning of the Leaden Key's presence there, Axa had completely given up on listening anymore and had instead elected to stare blankly at her hands folded in her lap, mired in self-pity and mortal terror, trying hard to think of nothing. It seemed there was still a way for her to run away after all, even if only in her mind. But as she knew all too well, her problems weren't going anywhere. They never really did, even when she thought for sure that she'd finally managed to outsmart them. Everything was just like it was before she'd left Ixamitl, except worse. External, internal, trivial, crucial, personal, systemic: No matter the nature of the conflict, no matter how far or how fast she ran, they'd follow her to the ends of Eora, burning down every sanctuary she tried to hide in, smashing every barrier, mental or physical, until nothing stood between the two of them, between her and her fate, and then she'd have no choice, no choice, no–

"Alright, you." She snapped out of her reverie as Sagani rather abruptly muscled her up and out of her seat. "Up to bed. Right now."

Axa was almost too stunned to react, but she somehow managed anyway. "What– but– hey–"

The huntress shook her head, her thick black braids whipping about her face. "No buts, young lady. Let's go. I'll explain to the others later." Itumaak helpfully nipped at Axa's heels, and the rest of her party simply watched, helpless, as Sagani frog-marched the little Watcher out of the great hall.

"Uh... meeting adjourned, I guess?" she heard Hiravias mumble as the doors swung shut behind them.

Once they were outside, away from the ears and eyes of the others, Sagani leaned close, her voice low and gentle and patient. "Now it isn't usually like me to pull this act on an adult, but you need it. I know that look, Axa. You're overwhelmed, you're terrified, and you're exhausted. You think you're just barely keeping your head above water, but the truth is, you're drowning. You're burnt out, bad, and you're in no condition to be making any big decisions right now. Fatigue kills, and fatigued leaders have a habit of killing their followers before themselves. And I know you don't want that."

Axa opened her mouth to protest, but no argument sprung forth. Only tears that she quickly blinked away, and a vague sense of guilt– accompanied, oddly, by relief.

Sagani pushed open the door to Brighthollow and lead Axa inside. "Go and take a nice, long,  hot bath. Have your staff prepare your favorite meal, a lot of it, and eat. Have a smoke and a drink, put on your comfiest nightclothes, crawl into that big, soft bed of yours, and get some sleep. Caed Nua won't crumble into dust while you're doing what you need to do for yourself, and when you wake up, you'll have a clearer, sharper mind to work with." She only let go of Axa's arm when they stood before the stairs, but she still stood close, never once breaking eye contact. "And we'll all be here when you get back. Got it?"

Axa blinked at the other woman, a maelstrom of emotion churning inside her. "How is it you're a better mother to me than my own mama ever was?" she whispered, her usually bold voice wavering.

"Something to do with perspective, I'm sure," the huntress chuckled, smiling sadly and patting her shoulder. "And anyway, I don't mind getting the chance to flex my mom muscles a little, keep my skills sharp. Kinda lets me pretend I'm home, for a moment. Now– get up there and unwind, damn it."

"Thank you, Sagani," Axa murmured, only barely holding back her tears. "I'll try."

—

[rosesareviolentlyread]

Elias

Put together a little ditty for Elias being rescued because I couldn’t watch him suffer without giving him a rescue. The original idea this was based on belongs to @deluxewhump so thanks for letting me rescue the poor thing! This piece belongs in the BBU-verse, but not perfectly, as you’ll see if I end up continuing with it. Let me know if you’re interested in seeing more of this or want to be tagged!

Thanks to the lovely @sableflynn for beta reading & @straight-to-the-pain for helping me flesh out this idea 

CW: vague mention of torture, slavery, gore, infection, body horror

Elias isn’t sure how long it’s been since they last came down here. In fact, he’s not quite sure how long he’s been down here. Wherever here is. For a while he had tried to piece together where he might be. He’d known for a long time no one was coming for him, but still, he thought he might get out. 

Elias doesn’t think that anymore. 

The worst part is he can’t even blame his brother. It wasn’t like they were really that close anymore. Or ever. Whatever fucked up family loyalty the mob guy who’d taken Elias had thought they’d had since being abandoned by their parents was wrong. All Elias had ever been for his brother was a scapegoat, a lookout, a cute younger face he could use as an excuse and an advantage to get out of what he was in. And Elias had worshipped him still.

Please officer, I was just stealing so I could pay for a room for my brother to sleep in.

When the officer let his brother go, he used the money to buy heroin while Elias shivered with him in the cold decrepit opium den. 

Please judge, my brother is just a bit disturbed is all. He has a good heart, he’s trying. 

Elias had taken the fall, because he’d get off easier as a minor, and spent six months in Juvie before he’d learned better.

HA. Go fuck yourself. 

The last words he heard over the phone before his brother skipped town, leaving him to once again pay his debts. 

Only this time, he feared it would be his last. 

No, this time, he knew. 

He feels foggy, but it’s nice, comforting. The bite of metal cuffs digging into reopened wounds is less present this way. Which is fine, since he no longer has the strength to hold himself up, sagging into exhaustion against cold damp concrete. His eyes focus on nothing, taking him to  that place between pain and sleep, where he can drift endlessly, never awake enough to be aware but never falling fully unconscious. 

The nightmares down in the dark depths of his mind are worse sometimes than the torture that came from the flourescent lights being flipped on, buzzing a silent call of impending doom. No, he knows the boys upstairs will get bored, but the monster in his head that reminds him of the useless wretch he was, is, will always be, never seems to run out of steam or ideas.

So Elias sits, or slumps, hoping to keep the real darkness at bay with pain and fog and emptiness. 

Which is why he groans when he feels the tell tale warmth of hands on his face, demanding he crawl out of his tender reverie. 

“Hey buddy, you in there?” The words sound gentle, not with the mocking tone he’s used to. And there’s no telltale flash of lights igniting the pain behind his head that seems to never stop aching. Instead there’s just a gentle pat, no, a supportive hand holding his lolling head, manhandling him to sit upright.

“Parker just fucking help me with the cuffs dammit. We gotta go fast. God this kid is fucked do the ass wipes not even know first aid?” Now that, that is the tone, the look he knows. 

The familiar lookalike to his captors cuts through like a knife in red hair, perfect white teeth, fashionable clothing, and self-righteous anger that reminds him of why the dark is better than the light. He should be good, he knows, but he’s so tired. If he’d known they’d come so soon he would’ve slept, but instead all his exhausted, fevered mind can do is pull away and let the cry rip from his throat, a plea for mercy in the animalistic way that seems to be all they ever respond to.

Instantly a meaty hand slaps over his mouth, sweat coating his face and the air, making it hard to breathe. “SHUSH kid, it’s ok, it’s ok, we’re getting you away from these asshats” A hand carts through his hair in what’s meant to be a comforting gesture, but Elias trembles under the thick warm grasp. 

“Got it!” 

Suddenly, there’s a click, somehow audible over the thumping sounds of bodies and people above, the rain that he now realizes is louder, more present. The hands squeeze as another sob loudly comes from his chest at the feeling of metal peeled from his skin, irritating open wounds. 

“Jeeeeesus Christ that’s nasty. Fucking leave it, the fuckers can use it for their own kinky shit from now own.” The gentle voice sighs at the angry voice’s harsh whisper. 

“Keep your commentary to yourself, Sean. Alright buddy, you gotta be quiet ok? We’ll make this as painless as possible. Can you do that?” 

He nods. Being quiet in exchange for relief is something he’s used to. Less lashes. A scrap of food. A drink of water instead of vodka. He can be quiet, he can strangle his voice into tears that will slide down his face, silently, mockingly for his own uselessness. For his own inability to face the only life a wretch like him could hope to have. 

“Alright. We’re gonna lift you up, and they’re gonna pull you through alright? Just reach out your arms” His head spins as the boys move him around, the angry one grabbing at his waist while the soft one gently grips his feet. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand what torture this will be, and it sets his heart thumping, reserves of adrenaline making him breathe faster. “We gotta move fast little buddy. On three. One, two, three” 

Suddenly he’s lifted through the air, as images of superheroes flying come into his mind from the place in his mind that is far away and long ago. His blurry vision sees the rectangular window, usually boarded over, ripped open with the sharp glass covered in a thick jacket. But Elias obeys, not matter what, and he uses his strength to keep his arms straight, and he feels- grass. Rain. Cool, fresh air on his face. 

Outside.

Wet slippery strands of greenery slide through his hands, tickle his face, and for a moment, he feels something like hope flutter in his chest. Hands grab his wrists and pull, pull against grinding bones, skin barely healed that rips alongside the pieces still tender and open. The confusing peace is ripped from him, and he muffles his screams the best he can as black creeps into his vision. 

It’s all Elias can do to try to breathe through gritted teeth as the world sits far and away, rain washing away any other sensation, overpowering as it soaks the last of his strength and warmth. Still, he tries to get up, pressing hands into mud - mud outside he’s out - before pain lances again through his wrists, his arms, every part of him and he collapses, shivering. 

It’s not fair. He’s close, so close. That must be what this game is. A chance to escape, and he’s too weak to take it, like he always feared. The failed attempt to get up means he can’t even crawl, muscles twitching with exhaustion. A sob lingers in his throat as hands are on him again, lifting him. 

This time, he’s draped over a warm, wet back, soaked fabric touching his bare chest. Hands grip him under his knees while another rests on his back to keep him balanced. Rain patters above him but not on him anymore, a blissful reprieve from its incessant pounding. He blinks heavily, trying to shift away from his aching muscles, trying to escape from going back inside. The hands on him press tighter, stilling his protests. 

“Just rest, buddy. We’re getting you out of here” The gruff voice sounds less angry now, for some reason. It sounds..tight. Upset, but...different? He’s too tired to tell.

They start moving, and the words tumble in his confused brain, nonsensical. Elias didn’t get to leave. He failed the game, he failed escaping. He is going back into the basement, he knows that. But he’s too tired to worry now. The gentle swaying, the gentle contact is like a balm, the first small comfort that isn’t completely painful in what feels like an eternity. So Elias lets go, lets go the last of his hope of ever getting away, and slips away to the patter of rain and the warmth of another person. 

Tagging some people who mentioned interest: (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed) @killtheprotagonist @greatandquestionablecontent @nowhumponmain @bleedingandfeverish

[drethanramslay]

Chapter 2

Pairing: Cassian X MC ( for this chapter)

Warning: Slight swearing and violence

Word count: 3.2 K words

Chapter 1

Taglist: @choices-love-affair @miyakokurono @openheart12 @trappedinfandoms @noboundariesplease @nooruleman @madampugzalot @sekizincimektup @dailydoseofchoices @choicesfanatic86 @kaavyaethanramsey @junggoku @flyawayboo @whatchique @vampiregirlsblog @squishywizardhq @lilyvalentine (let me know if you want to added or removed from the taglist 😊)

Song: Cross your Mind by Niall Horan

forgive if I make any mistakes

I am an early bird.

I love the period just before the sun rises. To see the sun slowly come out of the cover of darkness and illuminate every thing in its wake is truly beautiful. The chirping birds, the cool breeze which blows against my face and to see the sky slowly become a mixture of different hues almost makes it feel like it heaven on earth.

Dawn. The start of a new day. The chance to rewrite your slate. To have a fresh start.

Just like the way the sun paints the night sky with a variety of colours, I try to bring the different shades of happiness in my life. I have seen so much violence and gory as a US Marshall that I am still surprised I haven't gone for therapy.

I think it's because I try to find the happiness in everything? I know sometimes it feels like finding a needle in haystack but no matter how ever small that reason is, it's always enough to hold on to.

I was sitting on the beach, crossed legs as I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of the rising sun on my face and the sea breeze which whistled through my shoulder length brown hair. The feeling of the white sand in my hands and smell of the ocean made me feel alive. It's only during moments like this that I feel like the original me.

It's short, it's fleeting but a great reminder on how different I am now.

"Cassian?"

I turned and saw Adira walking towards me in nothing but my shirt and runner shorts. A smirk was pasted on her face as she sashayed towards me.

Being the lead on this case was... Interesting.

I learnt many quirks about her and the one which stood out the most was that, she was a grade A spoilt brat.

I am usually very respectful towards woman but damn, she drives me up the wall. Hell, she threw a fit when I tried making her wear a life jacket.

When we were on the houseboat to Nantucket, I debriefed her on the case and her identity. "So Adira, they finished putting together your cover. You'll be Adira aka Maliha Johnson, a working class girl who just lost her parents. The money your parents left you allowed you to purchase a small house on Nantucket, where you'll be working odd jobs to pay for the contractor helping you repair the weather damage on the place."

The look of aghast which painted her face almost made me wheeze. "Working class? Me?" I thought she was being comical and I just gave her grin. "What is wrong with that?"

I thought wrong.

"You want me? Adira Lockhart.. daughter of the CEO of Lockhart industries, the girl who has a motherfucking MBA, to scrub barnacles of yachts? Excuse me while I puke."

I observed her. Her hands were smooth with no callouses and her skin was flawless, with not a single scar. She was definitely one of those obnoxious rich people who thought that they were above everybody and that the poverty was a disease.

Yup, I hated them.

Serves her right, maybe she can learn a thing or two about humility.

"Yes, Adira that's how it's gonna be and I'm sorry you are going through this. We can't put you in some big place like your old job because that will be the first place they will look for you. We need to rework your entire cover identity so that it's completely different from what Adira Lockhart is."

She sighed and looked out on the ocean. "I was supposed to be settling into my new position at work... Not start a fresh."

I reached and squeezed her hand, conveying my empathy the best way I could. "It's hard to not feel like this is a punishment, but believe me you are doing the right thing. Not only will you be protecting yourself but, you will also be protecting the countless others when you testify."

She turned towards me, her hair whipping her face. "I hate it when I am not able to be in control of my life.." I turned towards her and gave a small smile our eyes meeting.

We stared at each other's eyes, the air between us cackling with lust and the need to be close to each other.

She was about to lean in when an icy gust ripped across the desk, spraying water all over her back.

She shrieked and I swear I momentarily became deaf.

"You need something to cover you up." As I was reaching for my jumper she stopped me.

"I'm fine without it." She said in a voice as cold as the ocean water.

"But, you are shive-" she stopped me with a hand up.

"No, I don't need it Cassian."

And it had been like that since the last week. The hot and cold moments. At one time she is all open, carefree and flirty and then suddenly like a flipped switch she will give Elsa a run for her money at being the coldest person. The silent treatment would be so harsh that it felt like my ears would ring.

She would throw major tantrums and I would have to end up doing maximum amount of work, but then she would profusely apologize by sucking my dick and ride me seven ways to Sunday.

Cassian, don't you love the challenge? The thrill of tasting the forbidden fruit? Don't be so harsh in judging her... She is going through shit.

But, it was surely a new experience. It felt natural to wake up next to her and it was natural to make breakfast in the morning, even if she didn't eat it. I felt like I was the mother hen, trying to make sure she ate and was physically fine so that she won't slip into depression.

And it's a proven fact that exercise get the endorphins rushing through your veins so, I have taken up the responsibility of teaching Adira how to fight so that if I'm compromised, she can at least defend herself.

"Good morning, your highness. Shall we begin?"

"I'm sorry I'm late... a certain someone kept me up till late night." She said with a smirk as she picked up the jumping rope near me.

I just rolled my eyes playfully and started skipping rope.

We did our warm ups which included running and basic stretching. There was teasing and playful shoving which made the entire thing fun. Her eyes would trail to my abs whenever I picked up my singlet to wipe the sweat of my face. And my eyes would trail to the sweat trailing down her chest into her cleavage.

I am not one to deny the view.

"Okay Adira, we have mastered basic punches and blocks but, it's not always gonna be that easy... Have you watched 'Knight and day'?"

"The Tom Cruise movie? Hell yeah."

"Great. So do you remember the part when the bad guy wrapped his arms around-" I went behind her and wrapped my arms around her chest tightly, trapping her hands there "-like this?"

She started breathing heavily. "Yeah.."

"Good. Hands like Houdini. Put your palms down and all at once, throw your hands to the ground and move your hips back."

She did that but, ended up falling on the ground with a smile.

"Nice. The other guy won't know what hit him."

I reached forward and held my hand out. She grabbed and stood up, dusting off the sand on her ass.

"Are you ready for work?" I asked as we started walking back home.

"Ugh nooo." She whined.

I chuckled. "Adira its-" a sudden crash and bang sounded from the house and I stopped in my tracks, my shoulders tensing.

Adira was going to open her mouth to say something but I help up my hand to quieten her.

"There is someone in there." I quietly whispered as I picked up the gun which I had buried in the rose bushes. I stepped in front of her. We entered through the back door and tip toed in.

"The place could be surrounded, stay close to me."

"What if it's them?"

I reached down and squeezed her arm. "I will protect you."

I grasped the gun tightly and Adira just clinged onto my arm. Stepping into the house, I noticed every nook, corner and shadow. Another bang resounded and Adira shrieked and my eyes narrowed onto the open front door.

Moving slowly, I led her to the door and checked the handle.

"No signs of forced entry." I said as I let go of the door.

"But why... Oh." As realization dawned on her.

"What do you mean by oh?" I asked as I turned towards her.

She looked away, guiltily and stared at her feet. "I may have opened the door for getting the newspaper... Guess I never shut it."

What.. the FUCK?

I take my hand down my face, trying to keep my anger at bay. Can't she understand that even the smallest mistake and she could die? Just the smallest feeling of security and she could be on the floor with her throat slit? Is it so hard to understand that this is WITSEC and not some fucking vacation in the Hamptons?

"Adira, how am I supposed to protect you when you're literally leaving the door wide open for the people who want to kill you?" I asked through clenched teeth.

She just crossed her arms and let out a huff of frustration. She just turned the other way.

How dare she have the audacity to get angry?

"Fine. Nice chat. Go for a bath and we are going to work."

She stomped up the stairs and shut the bathroom door so hard that it resounded throughout the entire house.

Well, annoying Adira is back at it again.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I trailed behind Adira, trying to match her pace, but she just kept stomping on the sand, full steam ahead.

"Walking angrily on sand doesn't have the effect you're going for. Unless you're trying to look cute." I called out to her.

She just huffed and walked even faster. I ran a couple of steps and fell into stride with her. "UGH! Can you not?"

"I'm just trying to do my job ya know? Try to protect you from a mob that is after your life?"

"I hate this. I'm sick of being escorted around."

"But Adira-"

"Shut the fuck up Cassian." I raised my hands in surrenderance, not wanting to ruin her mood even more.

"I'm sorry Adira."

Apologizing will make it better, right? Even if it isn't my fault?

"And you should be." She said haughtily.

I could have given a fucking powerpoint presentation on how this wasn't my fault but I would really like to keep my balls intact so I just shut the fuck up. Avoid conflict, they say. The shit we men go through...

We reached the lobster shack but, Adira didn't slow down her pace. This resulted in her feet getting tangling in the fish nets on the deck. She let out a huge groan and stared at the sky as if to ask "Why is it happening to me?"

What a drama queen... But, I still like her.

"Do you want me to help you?" I asked, preparing myself for a brutal rejection.

She just sighed and looked up at me with her tired blue eyes. "Yes please."

I bent down and slowly untangled the net out if her ankle. After I was done, I slid my arm up her calf and smiled up at her.

"There."

She gave me a soft smile. "Thanks Cassian."

I was going to say something when Renata called out to us. "Why are you both standing there doin' nothin'? The lobsters aren't going to shuck themselves!!"

Adira rolled her eyes and said lowly. "Well, that shucks."

Barking out a laugh, we both headed to the shed to get on with our work.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was outside the shed doing my work when I heard Renata sigh with frustration. "This... Is really getting my goat!"

I couldn't help but snort. Who even says that nowadays?

"Anything I can do to help?" Adira's voice spoke up. I stopped my work so that I could hear how their conversation goes.

I heard a loud crash and bang which made me flinch. Renata really must be pissed.

"Rockport Dining needs fifty-seven ounces by tonight, and I keep losing track. Numbers have never been my strong suit."

Please Adira don't blow your co-

"Well, you're in luck. After years in finance, there's nothing I can't keep track of in my head." I heard her gleeful smile.

I sighed and pinched my nose in frustration. This is just like Jonah all over again.

I heard Renata's loud boisterous voice which I swear, the entire town could have heard. "Aren't you full of surprises!"

"Everyone has their surprises."

Yeah and your fucking surprises will be the death of me.

"I knew you had that smart look about you. Any other secrets locked away in that head of yours I should know about?" Renata asked in a teasing manner and my eyes started surveying the area, to see any suspicious activity.

You never know when your enemies can creep up on you and one stumble, boom you are dead.

But it was crowded and it was hard to narrow in on any suspects.

I creeped close to the door of the shed and peeked in. Adira had a fake smile plastered on her face and said, "No of course not. I'm an open book."

Renata laughed. "We'll just have to get our hands dirty together then Let me get you a new pair of gloves." She headed for the door and I blended myself in the shadows so that she couldn't notice me.

She leaves and I storm inside the shed and throw the bucket of crabs on the floor.

"Grab your things and tell Renata you are quitting." I said as I started taking my own gloves out.

"WHAT? Why?'

I took a deep breath, trying to prevent myself from breaking out. "She's going to start asking questions about how someone with your work history ended up here. Your cover is blown, Adira. Let's go." I reached for her hand but she just pulled away.

Rolling her eyes, she turned to her work station. "Nothing will happen, you are just being paranoid."

She. Just. Didn't.

I was just gonna speak up but Renata came in, bustling. I casually leaned against the wall, staring at Adira with hard eyes. "So tell me more about your talents. My son is finance so he might know more about this topic."

I smoothly cut in. "I'm sorry Renata but Maliha needs to leave. There has been a family emergency."

Adira's eyes widened before she played along, stammering." Yeah.. uh there has been an emergency. I have to quit."

She was heading out when Renata grabbed her hand, eyes full of compassion. "Maliha, I'm a mother too. And I know that look in your eyes is sheer fear. I don't know what it is, but I hope everything is okay."

Without saying anything, Adira turned and fell into step with me.

We biked back to the house, but I still couldn't shake off the feeling that we were caught. That maybe, just maybe they are on to us.

And that's because she couldn't keep quiet.

I saw Adira peek at me from the corner of the eye. She opened her mouth to say something but ended up not saying anything.

And I'm damn glad she didn't because I swear to god, I would have snapped so hard.

After a few minutes, Adira blurted out. "How many times have you done this? You must be an expert in helping other people leave their lives behind."

I sighed. "Don't get comfortable. The moment you do, you'll make a mistake you can't take back."

Adira stayed quiet as we peddled the rest of the way. We parked the bicycles and I bent down to put the chain on the wheels.

I entered the house and headed to the kitchen while, Adira went up the stairs. I sighed and started getting dinner ready. The sun was setting over the ocean and the sky was a mixture of pink and blues, as if it was confused as to which colour it wanted to show. The sun gleamed a vermilion hue and it painted the entire house orange in its wake.

I heard the shower run and I took out the cutting board to cut some vegetables. I was thinking of making stir-fry with a side of noodles. And I didn't care if Adira didn't fucking like it or not.

I cut the vegetables, pouring in all my day's frustration into massacring them. I took a break and grasped the counter tightly as I let out a sigh.

I stood up and looked out fo the window, to see the dying sun. But that's not what caused me to grasp the knife tighter.

A reflection.

A reflection that was not Adira.

I ducked and the crow bar whistled over my head. I turned and flipped the knife so that I could hold it tighter. Let's call the intruder Thing 1.

Thing 1 tried to go for my head again, but I blocked his hand and punched his face with my left hand.

Disoriented, his grip on the crowbar loosened. Seizing the opportunity I twisted his arm and disarmed him. A parry of blows were exchanged but I managed to stab him twice in the gut. Moving like water I ended up behind him and got him in a headlock.

"Lights out motherfucker." I said as I snapped his neck, ending his life.

But that wasn't the end of it.

I was tackled to the ground by another person. I ended up hitting my temple on the counter edge and I swear, I heard ringing. Things were blurry and I saw the guy lift a knife, trying to stab me but I was quick.

Making an 'X' with my hands, I blocked the knife and it stopped inches from my face. “Oh you just. did, not....Not the face asshole.” I reared my leg up and kicked him as hard as I could on the balls.

"Fuck." Thing 2 said with a thick Irish accent as he writhed on the floor.

"Take this you cunt." I kicked him hard in the ribs and picked up the crowbar.

"Say hello to Thing 1, when you meet him in hell." That being said I hit him hard on the head which ended with him having a cracked skull.

"ADIRA!" I called out as I ran up the stairs, tightening my grip on the crowbar.

The bathroom door was open but I heard the crash of the lamp and a high pitched scream from the bedroom.

I kicked open the door and there was Adira.

But that's not what made my blood boil.

The asshole was standing there, his arms around her, trapping her.

With a gun pointing at her head.

well well... guess who is going to have his ass handed

can we just say that angry Casian is hot yeah?

I will probably post the third chapter next week? because currently I'm taking writing requests for hitting 400 followers and to fill the void of Ethan Ramsey in my heart

maybe you might get to see the character I have been raving about next week?

like, comment and reblog!! tell me what do you think will happen?

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

Aftermath Part Two

Here is part two of my apocalyptic TMNT story Aftermath

Read full story here

Raphael and Reader

The next morning came quickly bringing the morning sun streaming though the blinds. After the long drive sleep had come rather quickly but you had woken up at least 4 times thinking you heard voices. It had to have been your head playing games again, like it always did. God someone to talk to would be nice.

A modest breakfast was made and consumed allowing you to get out deeper into the city earlier than later. You wanted to get a few miles covered before lunch with a quick trip back to the camper with your goodies then a later afternoon trip before you settled in for the night. You never wanted to be out past dark in the city nor more than 5 miles from home base, just in case.

The first few houses gave very little to your supply cart, a few canned goods, a small supply of liquor and an interesting medical book that wasn’t in your library already. But off in the distance on top of a 4 story apartment building shined a beacon of hope. The sun hit it just right, a rectangle mirror of solar energy, oh happy day! Already this trip was proving to be worth it, as long as the panel wasn’t damaged.

As your reinforced cart bumped and thrashed along over the uneven pavement you hurried your pace, if you were lucky you could get it unhooked and off the roof before lunch.

The door to the building was already toppled over, the earth’s moister taking care of the unmaintained door hinges. You took extra care climbing over the rotting wood door making a mental note to try and remove the old intricate door handle before you left, the carved metal was exquisite.

Inside was a complete mess, the roof had failed years ago and there was a hole eaten away by the elements from the roof to the main floor. Thankfully the decomposing floors looked to be far enough away to keep the integrity of the stairs intact….mostly. You wanted…no needed that panel and by god you weren’t going to let a little rotting wood keep you from the very thing you came to New York for.

Each step you took up those steps was taken with extra care. Each foot set down adding pressure gradually listening for creaks and groans from the wood. The first three flights gave no trouble but the fourth gave some protest to the added weight. Thankfully nothing crumbled beneath you and you reached your destination. The roof access door was rusty and gave some resistance but a few shoulder slams broke the rust sediment allowing you access to your prize.

There it sat, a fully functioning (but dirty as fuck) solar panel ripe for the picking. Kneeing down to accesses how the panel was connected you pulled your tools out and got to work.

A few minutes into the process your heart skipped a beat hearing sounds that you hadn’t expected. The rusty door to the roof creaked open and the sound of shoes grinding down gravel into the roofs surface brought everything rushing to the present. You were no longer alone, ten years of solitude and now you weren’t so sure you were ready for company.

“Hey there beautiful, whatcha doing?” a not so pleasing voice crooned just behind you.

Yep not ready at all.

With a shift of your hips your hand slid down your calf resting on the hilt of your hidden blade and your other clutched your wrench just a little tighter. Slowly you rose from your knees turning to view your first look of a human in 10 years, keeping your blade to your back.

Five, there were five dirty gross looking men standing at your only exit off this building, and the way they were eyeing you up didn’t bode well for a peaceful interaction.

“We haven’t seen you around here before? We know every body who walks these streets. It’s always nice meeting new people in the area, you know, get to know them.” The man with a beard dressed in dirty cargo pants and a black t-shirt coed stepping closer. You watched his smile widen revealing a brown rotting set of teeth. Thankfully he was far enough away for now to keep the smell at bay.

“Donavan is really gonna like her.” One sneered under his breath to his friend unaware that you hadn’t been accustom to other people talking for quite awhile so his subdued speech came in loud and clear to you.

The sudden need to leave rose rapidly but you were unsure if you could take all 5 of them, maybe two……maybe. It had been a while since you had spared with another person so you could only guess your hand to hand skills were a bit rusty.

The one with the beard broke you from your thoughts and you stepped back unaware he had moved closer…..shit.

“What do you need the panel for sweetheart? Ain’t no one used that kind of technology since the virus wiped out most of the planet?” his eyes were soft but his body language was stiff and on edge, he was getting ready to pounce.

“A table.” You blurted out quickly. “I’m gonna make a table out of it. Wood rots, glass doesn’t, plus I like the design.” The lie was weak but you put on your best ‘I have no idea what’s going on’ smile and shifted your body in a defensive crouch.

“Hey, I know it can be lonely out here, why don’t you come back with us. We got food, a safe place to sleep and people starting over in life. We have our own little society, where people live in harmony.” His hand came out reaching for yours, fingers curling for contact.

“I appreciate the offer fellas, I really do, but I think I’m good on my own. I’m just gonna take my new table top and head back home. I’m fine though guys, you can head back to your new society.”

All at once all five moved, encircling you, eyes dark with dubious intent. “You see honey, we have to insist, you see, this is end times and its our duty to replenish the human race. We need more woman in our ranks, it’s your job as a woman to carry our children. And you’re a very pretty little lady and Donavan likes them pretty. We’ll get a handsome reward for handing you over.”

Ice water flooded your veins, fucking great, they wanted you for breeding? Fucking breeding?! Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, what do you say to that? ‘Sorry fellas I’m not interested in your dirty cocks and baring your bastard children’? Would that work? Probably not…

Before you could retort, two of them moved, faster than you anticipated. You were able to dodge the first assailant and the second caught you around the waist and took you down with an angry huff.

You quickly rolled backwards with the momentum extricating yourself from his grimy hands and rolled back to your feet. Hands up you readied for another attack and it came with a howling roar.

The bearded man came next swinging wildly like an untrained baboon. You spun on your feel sending the back of your foot into the side of his cranium getting an undignified squeak from the man. The neanderthal of a man went down like a sack of potatoes and the rest of his crew were unimpressed by your actions.

“Brad! You fucking bitch!”

Adjusting your footing you turned to the angry mob and spat on their comrades unconscious body, “Not so fun when your prey can fight back is it?” You hissed angrily keeping each one in your sights. “You make me sick, abducting woman for your pleasures against their will. Is this what is left of the human race? Rapists? I want no part of your new society!”

“Grab her! Donavan will enjoy breaking this one. He likes them feisty.”

They came again but your growing anger made you more focused. The first one came easy, your hand came out swiping the business end of your blade across the mans cheek distracting him with pain. Your foot slamming down on his knee sent him howling to the ground next while his second friend came at you screaming like a god damn banshee.

“Dude what is your problem?” He was easy to subdue, flailing about like an octopus on crack. You ducked as he roared over you landing on his face in the gravel. While he rolled to his back a quick punch to his temple sent him directly to dream land. Three down, two to go, go you!

The last two were not as easy to outwit unfortunately. One moved in front and the other moved to the back, both coming at you at the same time. The first few minutes of the struggle were in your favor but it had been years since you had, had this much physical activity so you weren’t fairing so well as the fight continued.

Shit.

One sloppy move and you were down, both males covering your body with theirs pressing you face first painfully into the gravel. One of them grabbed your hand and slammed it it repeatedly into the ground making you lose grip on your knife sending it flying a few feet in front of you. The wrench was next.

“We got you now you little cunt.” One of them growled into your ear shifting this body in between your thighs. “Maybe I’ll take the first ride as my payment?” His hips began to gyrate into your backside making you uncomfortably aware of his growing excitement.

“Get off of me you fuckers!” This couldn’t be how it ends, your freedom lost over your need to better your life. Your first interaction with humans in 10 years and you were about to be raped? Enslaved to pop out baby after baby?

Then the atmosphere changed on the roof. Four heavy thuds were heard behind you stilling the men on top of you.

“I don’t think she likes to be touched fellas, maybe you should let the pretty lady go.” A deep voice growled just behind you, a thick Brooklyn accent on the tales of his words.

One man got to his feet and stopped mid sentence, “And what are you gonna do abo……..fuuuuccck.”

“What is it Chet?” The man still pinning your down squeaked at his partners sudden loss of words.

“It’s them.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

All of a sudden the weight was gone and you took the opportunity to get to your feet. You came face to face with the terrified gazes of your final two assailants trembling in fear.

Ever so slowly you turned around and every ounce of breath in your lungs came out all at once in a excited wheeze. There before you stood four gigantic turtles standing on two legs and tree trucks for god damn arms. Each one dressed in black pants with different attire adorning their upper bodies. Wrapped around each of his their bald crowns sat different colored bandanas and each held what looked like ancient Japanese ninja weapons.

They must have been seven feet tall weighing nearly 400 pound each. They were intimating as hell but something about them sent a warm familiar rush of heat throughout your body. Especially the big red one that was currently eyeing you up. He was the biggest of the four and the swing of his hips as he neared made your mouth dry.

Out of habit you took a few steps back as he advanced still unsure of the new additions intentions. You were beyond intrigued but your track record for the day wasn’t the greatest.

“Hey, hey wait stop moving.” He called reaching out but it was too late. The ground beneath you gave way sending your body hurtling to the ground floor crashing against the rotting floor boards and trusses as you fell.

As the floor came rushing up to meet you, you saw the red turtle come down after you trying desperately to stop your descent. But his efforts were for not as you hit the ground succumbing to the darkness.

Every once in a while you would hear voices as you rolled in and out of consciousness. Soft but unknown voices floating over you.

“Is she gonna be alright Don”

“She should be, she has a concussion and a sprained elbow. God knows she should be dead, but thank the gods for those other floors slowing her fall. It could have been a lot worse.”

You tried to open you eyes but the pull of sleep was too great but before it took you honey colored eyes and red engulfed your vision before the darkness came claiming you.

@blossom-skies

[picardonhealth]

It doesn't help to virtue-shame youth for gathering in parks

ANDRÉ PICARD, The Globe and Mail 

Monday, May 25, 2020

The sight of thousands of people gathered in a downtown Toronto park as the city and Ontario are still struggling to get the COVID-19 outbreak under control was disconcerting to say the least.

Equally troubling was the response: a chorus of shaming, name-calling and threatening everything from a police crackdown to park shutdowns.

When thousands of urbanites, stir crazy after eight weeks of confinement in tiny, yardless condos and apartments, flock to a green space such as Trinity Bellwoods Park for some fresh air, as happened on Saturday, there are two ways to respond: 1) Damn, those hipsters/covidiots/insert-condescending-moniker-here, are selfish. We should self-righteously post photos of them on social media and fine/ jail them for not respecting gathering and physical-distancing rules.

2) Obviously, there is not enough public space to meet the needs of residents so we had better figure out how to free up more space, as well as do a better job of managing the space we have to ensure the safety of citizens.

One of the many truisms this pandemic has exposed is that the cities we have are not the cities we need.

Toronto, as with everything related to COVID-19, has been slow to admit and act on it.

Vancouver had its socio-cultural park crisis several weeks ago when crowds flocked to English Bay and Kits Beach as the weather turned warm.

Montreal had a similar outbreak of angst when a couple of its downtown green spaces, Parc La Fontaine and Parc MontRoyal, were also perceived to be overrun.

So what did B.C. health officials, led by Bonnie Henry, do? Urge people to keep going outside, all the while reminding them to not congregate.

What did the City of Montreal do? Open up an additional 1,200 kilometres of bike lanes, double the width of sidewalks and ban parking at parks so locals had more space to walk and play.

In other words, they responded with education and alternatives, not virtue shaming.

On Saturday, the City of Toronto issued an unusual press release calling the behaviour of citizens "unacceptable," with its Medical Officer of Health adding "selfish and dangerous." Premier Doug Ford and Mayor John Tory had similar messages.

Public health is all about harm reduction - keeping people as safe as possible, while respecting their circumstances.

Calling out people's perceived moral failings doesn't fit that philosophy.

What all the park "incidents" - Kits Beach, Parc La Fontaine, Trinity Bellwoods - have in common is that they clearly involved young people. That teens and twentysomethings feel invulnerable and tend to flout rules is no surprise.

It's also clear that public-health messages aren't reaching them. That must be fixed because this is the demographic that will be the first back to work when we ease restrictions on retail shops and restaurants.

The way to get people to respect physical distancing and limits on group size is not with contempt and condemnation.

We don't need to send in the cavalry.

We don't need to have a cow because people are sitting in groups of eight instead of five, or because they are 1.72 metres apart instead of two metres distance.

If we want people to follow the rules, the rules have to be clear and easier to obey than disobey.

Trinity Bellwoods Park is an obvious gathering spot. How did the city prepare for a sunny post-pandemic weekend?

Was entrance to the park controlled?

Were circles painted on the grass to reinforce physical-distancing rules?

People flocking to parks is actually a good thing. The last thing we want to do is chase groups underground.

We aren't going to find our way out of this pandemic with the measuring-tape police, with heavy-handed policing or a mob mentality.

Rage at perceived scofflaws is not useful either.

Casual outdoor transmission of the coronavirus is possible, but it's the least of our worries.

If people have energy to spare to be angry - and apparently many do - they should aim their daggers at the continued inability of the province to meet its COVID-19 testing targets, its bungling of contact tracing and the total absence of data on where transmission is occurring.

These failures are fuelling the continuing outbreak in the province - 458 new cases Sunday - more than park visits ever will.

So, politicians and public-health officials, ensconced in their glass houses, should be careful about throwing stones at sun worshippers and Frisbee players.

[denisehil0]

2020 Watch: Has Trump surrendered to the coronavirus?

Presidential politics move fast. What we’re watching heading into a new week on the 2020 campaign:

Days to next set of primaries (New Jersey and Delaware): 1

Days to general election: 120

___

THE NARRATIVE

We’re moving into the heart of summer, but if you’re expecting the traditional summertime slowdown in presidential politics, don’t. The coronavirus pandemic is raging, family vacations are on hold, cable news viewership is booming and President Donald Trump is inflaming the nation’s culture wars to keep his base engaged.

Much of the political world, including people we speak to close to the Trump campaign, believes that the Republican president is facing the prospect of a blowout loss in four months unless the political landscape shifts dramatically. Recent history suggests there is time for a turnaround, although Trump is taking no steps to expand his coalition.

He briefly celebrated stronger-than-expected jobs numbers late last week, but he ignored the economy in a series of Independence Day appearances focused instead on what he described as “angry mobs” of radical leftists trying to destroy cultural monuments.

Meanwhile, Joe Biden handled his first news conference in almost three months last week without any major stumbles. The gaffe-prone former vice-president will continue to face difficult questions, but until Trump manages to get the pandemic under control, it may be hard to hear them.

___

THE BIG QUESTIONS

Has Trump surrendered to the coronavirus?

Biden last week accused Trump of surrendering to the pandemic, and given the president’s apparent lack of attention to COVID-19 as infections skyrocket, it’s worth asking whether the Democrats’ presumptive nominee is right.

Millions of voters saw images of Trump addressing thousands of unmasked supporters at Mount Rushmore on Friday, ignoring the guidance of his own administration’s medical experts — and his daughter. In case you missed it, Ivanka Trump urged Americans to practice “social distancing and wear a mask when in close proximity to others” just before her father faced a large South Dakota crowd that was doing the opposite.

The U.S. reported at least 50,000 new infections for three consecutive days to open July, staggering numbers fueled by a surge of cases focused largely in Sun Belt states that backed Trump four years ago. More people in America have died from the disease, and more have been infected, than in any other country in the world, according to figures compiled by Johns Hopkins University.

Trump has offered no comprehensive national strategy to contain the pandemic. Despite evidence to the contrary, he’s blaming the surge on increased testing, and last week he suggested the coronavirus would “sort of just disappear.”

Will Trump’s culture wars move the needle?

The nation is facing a public health crisis, economic devastation and a national awakening on racial disparity. What did Trump focus on over Independence Day weekend? “Angry mobs are trying to tear down statues of our founders, deface our most sacred memorials and unleash a wave of violent crime in our cities,” he warned.

The dark and divisive language is a fresh example of the kind of race-baiting that has defined Trump’s rise in politics, but political operatives in both parties tell us that it’s unlikely to help the first-term president improve his weak standing with key constituencies — women, minorities and college-educated voters, among them.

Still, absent any other consistent reelection message, Trump is leaning hard into white grievance politics to help energize his base of white, working-class men. He’s doing so even as a broader shift takes place in American culture away from symbols of white supremacy. Mississippi Gov. Tate Reeves, a Republican, signed a bill last week to remove the Confederate symbol from the state flag, while Republicans and Democrats on Capitol Hill support changing the names of military bases named for Confederate military leaders.

Trump’s instinct to stoke culture wars fueled his victory against Hillary Clinton in 2016. He’s betting everything that he can win the same way against Biden in 2020.

Will the job growth continue?

The economy took a big step forward last week after we learned the U.S. added 4.8 million jobs over the previous month. That was significantly better than most analysts expected, and it smashed the previous one-month record as the nation begins to restore some of the 30 million or so jobs it lost because of the pandemic.

Economists tell us it’s far too soon to celebrate, however, given the explosion of new coronavirus cases across the country and the number of businesses that have permanently closed.

Trump badly needs significant job growth to continue if he hopes to convince voters the nation is moving in the right direction by Election Day, even if it’s not back to normal. He’s got a lot of work to do. Several Republican officials have rolled back reopening plans in recent days because of the explosion of infections. And a Monmouth University poll found last week that only 18% of registered voters believe the country is moving in the right direction. For context, Republican pollsters we spoke to were worried about Trump’s reelection when the right-track number was in the 30s.

Et tu, Kanye?

Kanye West has been teasing a run for a while now, but the enigmatic rapper formally declared over the weekend that he was joining the 2020 presidential race.

There are more questions than answers about West’s plans at this point. (His agent didn’t respond to our email requesting more information.) West has already missed the deadline to qualify for the ballot in several states, and it’s unclear if he has the ability or willingness to collect the signatures required to qualify in others. But to be a significant factor in 2020, he doesn’t necessarily need to appear on the ballot.

Democratic leaders may try to laugh him off, but the celebrity candidate could emerge as a real threat to Biden if he attracts even a small portion of the African American vote through a write-in campaign this fall. Remember, Trump won Michigan, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin by a combined 107,000 votes four years ago in no small measure because Hillary Clinton failed to energize voters in those states’ minority strongholds.

Biden’s allies were already worried about his standing with younger Black men. Even a half-hearted campaign from West could make his job harder.

___

THE FINAL THOUGHT

Lest anyone think Trump might refocus his campaign message on the economy following last week’s better-than-expected jobs numbers, the president uttered the word “jobs” just three times combined across two major speeches over Independence Day weekend. He referenced “statue” nine times.

In doing so, the Republican president sent the political world a resounding message: Even on a national day of unity, he cannot or will not change his instinct to embrace culture wars and race baiting. Not surprising perhaps, but light years away from what the GOP recommended just seven years ago when it commissioned a report highlighting “the importance of a welcoming, inclusive message in particular when discussing issues that relate directly to a minority group.”

___

2020 Watch runs every Monday and provides a look at the week ahead in the 2020 election.

___

Catch up on the 2020 election campaign with AP experts on our weekly politics podcast, “Ground Game.”

Steve Peoples, The Associated Press

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[askauradonprep]

Council Meetings

Okay, so, while I’m not doing fanfic requests, this plot bunny will not go away, so let’s have a little fun for myself.. 

This is ostensibly a Buma (Ben/Uma) fic but it’s not actually featuring much shippy activity (like, at all), so it should be good for my non-Buma loving peeps as well. 

Behind a Read More for length. Part 1 of 2.

The clock ticked by endlessly while the council droned on and on and on. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. It was hard for Uma to resist the temptation to lean into her hand and close her eyes, but she was supposed to be keeping relatively engaged. What she wouldn’t give for Harry to be in this stupid meeting with her, but her crew wasn’t allowed in. It was just as well. It wouldn’t look good for her to get thrown out for whispering comments and mockery to her first mate when she was meant to be paying attention to the councillors talking about tax collection or something like that.

Thankfully, Uma didn’t have to say anything about this, which would give away how dead bored she was. She was just supposed to be an observer and learn by watching the councillors. Shame they couldn’t make this interesting if their lives depended on it. It faintly occurred to her that it may have BEEN interesting if she understood what they were talking about, but they didn’t pay taxes to the Crown on the Isle. The closest they had was protection rackets like her crew had had. Ben had been quick to assure her it was not the same thing, so here she was, bored out of her mind.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, went the clock. Uma wished it would stop mocking her. She wished the councillors would get to their point already. She slumped into her hand, unable to keep herself awake without doing so.

“I think that about wraps this up. Unless His Majesty has any objections to this plan?” finished the elderly monarch presenting the finished plan that the council had come up with. Uma had to stop herself from yelling ‘Finally!’ So many different rulers from different kingdoms in Auradon had asked to give input on this stupid tax collection plan for the year that Uma thought it would never end.

“I have no objections,” Ben answered and Uma could have kissed him in that moment. “But there is one more thing I’d like to discuss with the council before we adjourn,” he added and Uma had to bite back a groan. He was definitely not getting to take her home tonight. 

Ben stood up before the assembled royalty and said confidently, “I want to begin establishing a formal government for the Isle of the Lost.”

Immediately Uma came awake, sitting straight up and staring at her boyfriend intently. They had been discussing the current situation on the Isle more and more lately, but he’d never brought up anything like this. A formal government on the Isle instead of people or gangs vying for territory constantly? Was that possible? Uma had her doubts - and judging by the concerned muttering around her, she wasn’t the only one. Even Evie looked surprised.

“Your Majesty,” Evie began, looking intensely uncomfortable, “Can we discuss this later? Privately?” 

Ben nodded to her, “Of course, but I wanted to bring it to the council and - .” 

Immediately there was an uproar.

“Your Majesty, please reconsider!”

“I think it’s a fine idea! We should have done this from the beginning!”

“They’re too unruly for a civilized government!”

“We can’t possibly!”

“We should at least try!”

“I’m sure the King has a plan!”

Ben raised his hand for silence. Slowly, the ruckus quieted down and Ben spoke, calmly but firmly.

“My councillor, Evie of the Isle, and I started talking about this recently, but I wanted to gauge how you all felt about the idea.” The King’s eyes briefly twinkled with amusement before he turned serious again. “It seems about even, so please allow me to tell you all what I had in mind and see if we can’t come up with something.”

Uma sat back in her seat, watching intently. Now she really wished Harry were here, if only to see the look on his face. She kept her eyes on Ben, intrigued and wondering where he was going with this.

“We realized very quickly that trying to impose a ruler on the Isle - whether from there or from Auradon - wasn’t going to work. The people of the Isle are very independent and we didn’t think the inhabitants would handle having one person in charge of all of them,” Ben explained, locking eyes with various councillors and royalty in turn, watching their reactions. A round of hushed conversations went on between councillors and various royals, trying to determine their positions on what the King was saying.

Uma barely stopped herself from snorting. Ben’s explanation was being diplomatic. Any one person trying to claim the whole Isle for themselves was basically signing up as free target practice. Even with her own territory, her crew was constantly fighting people who wanted to take it from her. She gave it a week before someone found a way to either kill or depose them, even if they waited longer to do so. Maleficent had been powerful and influential, but there was no such thing as an all powerful person on the Isle. Not when she could be shot, stabbed, poisoned, or bashed and die the same way as almost everyone else, aside from a god or two.  The kindest way the Isle would deal with some Auradonian interloper or someone from the Isle being up jumped that way was maybe some pirate crew or angry mob would hang them. The really nasty ones would make sure they suffered a slow, painful death for daring to try to subjugate them.

“So here’s what I was thinking,” Ben continued, “I was thinking we should form a council, like our own Royal Council. To ensure stability, it would consist of the ten most powerful and influential villains on the Isle, except Maleficent, obviously. I was thinking Pete, Grimhilde the Evil Queen, Chernabog, Jafar, Hades, Captain Hook, Ursula, Dr. Facilier, Lady Tremaine, and Cruella De Vil.” 

The moment he’d mentioned a council, Uma’s blood had gone cold. She could feel goosebumps raising, and her legs went numb. All she could think was ‘NO’ and all she could picture in her mind’s eye was angry mobs, baying for blood, violence in the streets, and terrified children searching for a place to hide until the dust settled. Before she could think about what to say she’d blurted out “You CAN’T!”

Ben blinked, clearly not having expected her outburst. “Uma? What’s wrong?”

Uma tried to get a hold of herself but her stomach was in knots at the idea he was proposing. “You can’t,” she said again, hating how shaky with emotion her voice sounded. She forced herself to relax. “I mean, you shouldn’t. Your Majesty,” she added, seeing Evie mouthing the stupid title at her. Thankfully, she looked just as horrified as Uma felt.

One of the councillors - an older, red faced man with a big nose and a history of anti-VK policies - spoke up then, “Your Majesty, the Lady Uma is supposed to be an observer. A silent observer.”

Uma was about to tell him exactly where he could shove that when Ben raised his hand for quiet and replied, “It’s alright. I’ll allow it. Uma is from the Isle and she’s been there until very recently. I’d like to hear her objections.” He looked back to her and said encouragingly, “Go on, Uma.”

Uma swallowed hard. “There’s just no way that that’s a good idea. Villains don’t share turf. Either a power struggle would break out for control on the council or a turf war would break out in the streets. With each other and the council. There’s been a storm coming for a long time, and things have only gotten worse since Maleficent got turned into an undersized iguana! This would just make things even worse! You do this and - and the gutters will run red by the end of the week! I guarantee it!” 

Another round of anxious conversation broke out amongst the councillors. One - a woman with white hair, a long neck and long fingers - asked, “What if, instead of assigning specific territory, we assigned constituencies? Such as, for example, Captain Hook leading the pirates?”

“That’d be even worse!” Uma insisted, trying and failing to keep her voice down, “Do you really think villains are going to listen to someone because you tell them to? It doesn’t work like that! You have to take everything you get and then you have to fight to keep it, because everyone else wants it too! Do you really think Davy Jones or Barbossa are going to take orders from Captain Hook?! Long John Silver might, because he’s afraid of him, but there’s dozens of pirates who aren’t afraid, and they’d hang him from the closest tree they could find! And it’ll be the same no matter how you divide up the people. NOBODY would accept this!”

“Uma, she’s only trying to help,” Ben intervened. Uma took a deep breath and forced a smile at the councillor, who kept opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of shock. Then she looked back at her ....well meaning boyfriend.

“Ben, do you remember what you said before? About how you didn’t think about hurting the people you didn’t pick to come to Auradon?” Ben nodded and so Uma went on, “Well this is kinda like that, only worse. Think of the villains you’re not picking. Shan Yu has an army and they WILL march if they think you’ve slighted him. Claude Frollo will burn everything he can get his hands on. We ALL know what happens to people who make the Queen of Hearts mad,” she ran her index finger across her throat to make her point, “and I hate to sound cliche, but nobody riles up an angry mob like Gaston! And that’s just FOUR powerful people you didn’t think of. You can’t have the council include all of them, there’d be too many and the town’s not big enough to make any meaningful constituency for all of them. This whole council thing, it’s -it’s just not a good idea,” she finished, finally starting to relax, a little bit of tension leaving her muscles.

“I thought you didn’t care about the villains on the Isle?” Mr Big Nosed Councillor questioned, his eyes squinty with suspicion. “Worried about your mother?”

“Forget about my mother, I have sisters still on that Isle!” Uma snapped, the tension rushing back as thought it’d never left. “And if you think they’d be safe in the gang war that broke out over this council, you’ve never been to the Isle of the Lost. You think Hook’s enemies aren’t going to come after his daughter, Harriet, and her crew? That people won’t try to use Lady Tremaine’s grandchildren to make her do things for them? That people wouldn’t hurt Jafar’s niece if they thought it would hurt him? Keep dreaming.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously and she practically snarled, “If you do this, you may as well put a target on the back of every single VK related to your council.”

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Finally, Evie spoke up. 

“I think that creating a government for the Isle is worth looking in to. But slowly - over time. I think Uma is right about what would happen if we tried this idea right now or anytime soon. That said, it’s getting late and I’m sure we all have a lot to discuss and our royal guests have all come a long way. Can we table this for another day?”

Ben looked like a thoroughly scolded, thoroughly horrified puppy. Uma felt a twinge of guilt but she smothered it - there were too many kids on the Isle at stake for her to feel too bad about this. It needed to be said. Ben meant well, but she’d seen what ‘well meant’ Auradonian ideas did all her life. She could soothe Ben’s upset later, when images of an angry mob breaking down the door so they could use her sisters as hostages left her mind. 

He swallowed hard again and nodded. “Alright, we’ll table that discussion for now. If there are no objections, meeting adjourned?”

There were no objections. 

[ambronite]

3 Moments when Hanger Ruins Your Day and How to Avoid Them

Written by Simo T. Suoheimo

Have you ever had your day ruined by a sudden crash of mood or focus, caused by hanger - the irritating combination of hunger + anger?

Ever felt irritated for almost no reason, had difficulty thinking straight, or said something you wish you hadn’t because you were hangry? I certainly have.

Feeling hungry and angry is so common that you can spot a person possessed by this scourge from miles away (and maybe save that request you had on your mind for a more favorable time). Being hangry has become so common that it was recently added into the Oxford Dictionary, described as: "Bad-tempered or irritable as a result of hunger.“ To beat hanger permanently, I've found steps that I now follow regularly to stay on top of my game throughout my day (starting right after I wake up). In this video I’m sharing some insights into how and when hanger strikes, including what I do to conquer it and prevent it from ruining my day.

After watching the video, you’ll know how I defeated hanger for good. With a few simple moves, you can finally start enjoying your morning and afternoon hours with uninterrupted focus.

What I’m sharing is based on my own experience, science, and what our team has learned by helping thousands of people beat hanger permanently. Click on the video above to learn more!

What does HANGER feel like?

You’re sitting at your desk. It’s 3pm and that tired feeling starts to creep in.

The morning was great. Your head was bursting with ideas.

Over fresh coffee, you ticked off an overdue report off your todo list. At lunch, you felt you were on a roll.

"Nice."

Now, it's 3 hours since you had lunch and you have trouble keeping your eyes open.

You're hunching over your desk, but you're not getting ANYTHING done.

Clear thinking feels impossible.

"I still have work to do, but I can’t think straight..." 

...you think to yourself, and feel the anxiety and anger setting in.

 Coffee makes you more stressed by spiking cortisol and anxiety through the roof.

"What’s happening?"

Fear not! With my team, we've talked to hundreds of people who have solved this problem with our tips. I'm going to share how.

 We know this situation well through our own experience - also, because we've found ways to keep our own hanger at bay. 

In fact, without these fast hanger fixes that work even when we feel lazy, we'd be one mob of hangry, grumpy school kids in the afternoon...

You've fallen prey to hanger and the brain chemical called Neuropeptide Y.

When nutrient and energy levels fall, it causes us to…

crave carb-rich foods (that only make it worse)

feel zero motivation for anything else but eating

feel angry and aggressive

lash out with no emotional control

Neuropeptide Y causes us to lose willpower. 

It makes us grumpy, anxious and make worse decisions. Research shows that poor emotional regulation is not our friend, and we should NEVER make decisions when hungry.

In fact, many people don’t even take phone calls in this state, and for good reason.

When does hanger ruin your day?

According to research and what we’ve learned, most people experience hanger in 3 key moments that can ruin the rest of the day. 

10 am in the morning.

Typically, after a poor, low nutrient density breakfast (or even skipping it entirely).

This is the time hanger hurts the most.

If you fall prey to hanger already in the early hours, it can ruin your willpower and productivity for the rest of the day.

3 pm, around 3 hours after lunch. 

Think you’re safe from hanger because you just ate a big meal?

Wrong.

Research shows that those hanger-triggering blood sugar swings occur independent of calories. In fact, a meal lacking the right nutrients from plants, greens and whole foods is a recipe for hanger.

As is eating meals and snacks high in fast carbs and simple sugars.

On to the third moment:

6 pm, after leaving work or exercising

Hooray! It’s time congratulate yourself for a good day’s work and feel accomplished.

Instead, making your way back home, you feel upset and empty.

This is a common time to run out of nutrients and get hangry.

Positive stress has kept you going this far. Now it’s released, and your body’s hardwired alarm for low nutrient levels goes off.

And you DON’T want to bring that grumpy, agitated and moody version of you back home to your partner, kids or any social setting.

Carry an emergency hanger quenching snack in your bag, desk and car. Prepare a real food snack beforehand and carry it in your bag trough the day. When the clock reaches 5 pm, I can refuel with hunger quenching Whole Foods and replenish my nutrient levels and focus for a great evening.

How to avoid and beat hanger before it surprises you with my 10 + 4 Hanger Busting Tips

Morning and lunch

I boost my breakfast with nutrient rich whole foods, 20g protein and healthy fats. 

General rule: I load up on nutrients before I run out and hanger strikes and any damage gets done. Otherwise, it’s too late!

I stock my bag, gym bag, car and even coat pockets with tasty whole food snacks I can fall back on in case of emergency

I eat the right combination of whole food nutrients with a focus on plants. I load up with leafy greens and veggies, a good fiber and protein source, together with a dose of healthy fats from a whole food source like walnuts, almonds or flax seeds for maximum sustained satiety.

Replenish regularly. You can even set a recurring calendar alarm with the note “Refuel now to avoid hanger!” if you feel you might forget to refuel in time.

I choose micronutrient dense foods with dark colours and avoid sugar and processed foods with ingredients that are not recognizable whole foods. 

For quick hanger-busting on the go, I choose dark plants, walnuts, wasabi soybeans and almonds with some dried berries. 

I double down on soluble fibre for lasting satiety. Oats and dried figs are rich in soluble fibre. Soluble fibers bind with fats, slow down the emptying of the stomach and provide a satisfied feeling. They also balance blood sugar and defend that balance from swings, providing lasting satiety for longer than other food combos. 

Berries like dried cranberries and blueberries taste and work great: they’re high in plant nutrients, vitamins and anti-inflammatory compounds and also improve digestion. 

If you’re having trouble eating in the morning, munch on a real food snack around 10 am before lunch.

Afternoon and evening

I enjoy a sizeable post-work and post-workout snack with sustained energy from low-GI carbs like oats, quality protein and lots of plant nutrients at around 300-400 kcal before heading home. 

I munch on snack sized whole food bites: In addition to the ingredients on the Morning and Lunch list above, in the afternoon I often boost these whole veggies, like carrots, seeds, Brussel sprouts, broccoli and cauliflower chunks in snack sized bites.

I carry an emergency hanger quenching snack in my bag, desk and car. It’s invaluable to have these around to save the day. “In case of emergency, break glass.”

I’ve noticed that there’s no such thing as “refuelling too early”. I listen to my body, but make a note of replenishing nutrients in time, before I’m caught in the moment, flying on fumes. When you’re on the street or commuting, feeling hangry and surrounded by artificial crap, it’s already too late. You’ve lost the game. You increase the risk of poor hanger-induced choices and ruining the rest of your evening. Just when your loved ones deserve you at your best. So strike first!

In the next video: I’ll give you my hanger quenching recipe that’s healthier and more convenient than fast food.

[meenasmoon]

Can I have a prompt please? How about that this time is Johnny who has fangirls always looking for him? How is this situation going to affect Meena? (They're not dating yet ;×; ) thank youuuu

Hello artificial-children! I made this prompt a little bit deeper than I thought because that was where my muse led me. I love the concept of body positivity no matter what you look like and I think that this story explores it in a way that I myself did not too long ago. Thanks for the ask and enjoy!

Pesky Fangirls

Another successful show, another whirlwind night and Meena wassurrounded by flashing lights and the cheers of her fans. She always got kindof lost in the flurry of butterflies that rose up in her stomach, steadilyascending into a frenzy until she released them with her performance. Meenagave every song her all and this night was no different. The only way to calmthe storm of butterflies was for her to sing her heart out, to let herinhibitions fade away in her song and to just be free. As a result she wasthoroughly exhausted after the show when Buster insisted that they go out intothe lobby to sign autographs and greet the crowd that was waiting there.

Meena hadn’t been expecting quite so many people to be waiting for themin the lobby but as soon as they came in through the double doors a great cheerwent up as they were immediately mobbed by fans. The sheer volume of peopledemanding for her attention immediately overwhelmed her. She tried politely toanswer all of their questions, but they were so rapid fire that she just endedup backing away in an effort to escape. She jumped slightly when she bumpedinto the wall and had a sickening realization. Not only had she successfullycornered herself but she had also been separated from her friends and any kindof assistance.

Just when she was starting to feel like she couldn’t breathe andthe room was closing in around her; her savior arrived in the form of a smallbut formidable koala. Buster had seen her struggling the moment she walked intothe lobby and had worked his way over to her area. He quickly made the eagerfans form a line and began coaching her through the autograph signings andinteractions with her fans.

She was still shy and quiet but she was having fun making people smileand signing various objects that they thrust at her. After a few hours thecrowds were dwindling and Meena was finally free. She nearly collapsed againstthe wall in relief and looked around to see how her friends were faring.

Ash was packing up her guitar while a few stragglers admired it fromafar. Rosita was dashing out the door, calling back about how she needed to behome to tuck her kids into bed. Gunter was leaving, accompanied by a crowd ofhis admirers and Meena made out that they were headed for some clubs downtownand she felt herself marveling at the fact that he still had the energy to goclubbing right now. Ms. Crawley was ambling back to the stage to start shuttingeverything down and Eddie had bowed out long ago to pursue his scheduled videogame marathon.

Finally there was Johnny who was standing in the middle of the lobbysurrounded by a bunch of girls who were fawning over him. The gorilla was toopolite to push them off but by his smile Meena could see that he was actuallyenjoying their attention. There was a beautiful antelope with lots of makeuphanging on his arm, rubbing his bicep through his jacket while a sleek jaguarwrapped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear. There were a fewother girls surrounding him, touching his clothes and gushing over hisperformance, his looks, his clothes, his hair, everything. 

And Johnny was lapping it up.

Meena felt a twinge in her chest as she watched him interact with thegirls and suddenly the pleasant feeling that she got from hanging out with herfans was replaced by a cold feeling that seeped into her bones and made herfeel like she wanted to throw up. She fumbled around for her stuff and gatheredit into her arms haphazardly. She rushed past Ash who was waiting for her witha tired smile on her face. When Meena just rushed past her and burst out of thedoors her face morphed into confusion and she gaped after her friend.

A few seconds ago when she had glanced at her to check on her she hadbeen absolutely fine, happy despite how many people she had been exposed to.Ash frowned and looked around for the source of her friend’s emotions andfrowned when she found exactly what the source was. She stomped over to whereJohnny’s fan girls were fawning over him and shooed them away rudely, pushingthem out the doors. She shoved them out and gave them a glare that made eventhe most tenacious of the girls hurry away.

Then she turned around and focused her glare on Johnny who had beenwatching her in confusion. He froze in fear and looked around for help buteveryone else was gone and he was alone with a vengeful Ash.

“You idiot!” She pulled him down to her level so that she couldslap him upside the head and then shoved him away.

“Wot… why are ya hittin’ me?” Johnny asked as he rubbed the back of hishead.

“Because you’re an idiot and those girls are bimbos. You know that.” Shepointed at him accusingly and Johnny held up his hands in surrender, hoping tofend off another attack.

“I was just tryin’ ter be nice.” He shrugged innocently and Ash rolledher eyes.

“Yeah well it sure didn’t look like it to me or to Meena.” sheemphasized her friend’s name, giving Johnny a look. He stared back at her inconfusion and then looked around for Meena. When she was nowhere to be foundhis face drained of all color and he looked down in despair.

“Ya mean she thought I fancied all these girls?” He mumbled and Ashnodded, relieved that he finally got it.

“I suggest you go find her and make this up to her before she doessomething drastic. That is if you ever wanna ask her out.” She winked at Johnnywho turned bright red and smiled shyly.

“Thanks Ash.” He said as he dashed out the doors of the theatre to hiscar. Ash threw her guitar case over her shoulder and began her short walk home,mumbling to herself about oblivious gorillas and sensitive elephants.

The whole bus ride home Meena stared at the stylish bunny posing for amakeup ad on the wall of the bus. She was thin, had on lots of beautiful makeupand was dressed in clothes that Meena never even thought about wearing. She wasthe ideal woman and until now Meena hadn’t realized just how far she fell shortof those ideals. She spent the rest of the bus ride comparing herself to thebunny model on the ad. When she finally got home she crossed the streetand hurried into her room, trying to be as quiet as possible because her familymembers were asleep in their beds.

Once she slipped into her room she wandered over to her closet andexamined her clothes distastefully. Suddenly the t-shirts and jeans that sheusually wore weren’t flattering and everything made her look fat. Even thedress that she had worn for her performance, a beautiful A-line dress with alace top, suddenly emphasized all of the wrong features. She pulled it offhastily and slipped into her fluffy pajama pants and a tank top. Meena threwthe dress into her closet in distaste and walked over to the full-length mirrorthat was propped up in one corner of her room.

She examined herself critically, breaking down every flaw that didn’tseem to match up to the woman that Johnny wanted. She wasn’t tiny and sleek, orskinny by any means, she didn’t dress in tight clothes or short skirts, and therewasn’t one ounce of makeup on her face unless it was a very special occasion.She turned away from the mirror, feeling confused and upset, and knowing thatshe could never look like those girls that hung onto Johnny and looked sobeautiful. She laid down on her bed with a sigh and sniffled, tryingdesperately to keep the tears at bay, despite how they insisted on breakingfree and running down her face.

She was reaching over to turn off the lamp on her bedside table whenthere was a light rapping on her window. She nearly fell off of the bed insurprise and looked at the window in confusion as if she was imagining thenoises. But the knocking came again and she was too curious to turn out herlight and ignore it. She picked up a hairbrush as a weapon and inchedcautiously towards the window. She threw it open and thrust out her brush inwhat was supposed to be a threatening manner. Much to her surprise, it wasJohnny standing outside her window and holding his hands up in surrender.

“Daan’t shoot.” He chuckled nervously and Meena quickly put down thebrush, her cheeks coloring slightly with embarrassment.

“Johnny what are you doing here?” she whispered, looking back at herdoor nervously. If her mother or her grandparents caught her talking to a boy thislate at night she was dead meat.

“I wanted ter clear up somethin’ that I think ya might have been upsetby.” He sheepishly kicked at the grass, looking at the ground momentarilybefore looking back into her eyes.

“Oh I-I don’t know what you’re-“ Meena fiddled with the hem of herpajama shirt and looked anywhere but back at Johnny.

“Yer ten times prettier than any of those girls tonight.” Johnny justblurted out and Meena was struck silent, gaping slightly at him.

“I kna that ya thought I was flirtin’ wif those girls but I was justtryin’ ta be polite.” he said earnestly and Meena could see that he spoke thetruth in the way that his gaze held hers and he gripped the windowsill. 

Beauty queen of only eighteen

 She had some trouble with herself

 “Y-you don’t have to say that I’m pretty Johnny.” She looked down inshame, her own self-consciousness getting in the way of her happiness that hehadn’t been flirting with those other girls.

“Wot are ya talkin’ bout Meena?” He looked confused and slightly worriedand Meena couldn’t help but spill out the angry, unhappy thoughts that had beeneating away at her self esteem since she saw him with those girls.

He was always there to help her

 She always belonged to someone else

 “I don’t wear any of that pretty makeup and I don’t wear any clotheslike those other girls do and I know I’m not thin or small or even attractive.You don’t have to lie to me.” She dissolved into tears and Johnny quicklyclimbed through her window to pull her into his strong embrace, cradling heragainst his solid chest.

I drove for miles and miles and would up at your door

I’ve had you so many times

 But somehow I want more

 “Meena,” He whispered and she looked up at him, her eyes red from cryingand her cheeks stained with tear tracks, “Ya are the most beautiful girl in theworld.” Meena tried to protest but he put a finger to her lips and kept talkingin that low, soothing whisper, never releasing her from his embrace.

I don’t mind spending every day

 Out on your corner in the pouring rain

 “None of those things; makeup, clothes, and body shape, none of thosematter ter me. That’s not wot makes ya beautiful.” He leaned closer and restedhis forehead against hers, making sure that she couldn’t look away from him ashe pulled the words out of his heart.

Look for the girl with the broken smile

 Ask her is she wants to stay awhile

 “Ya are beautiful cause ya have a smile that loights up a room and makesme want ta smile too.” He took her hand in his and squeezed lightly, giving hera physical manifestation of his presence and his words.

“Ya are beautiful cause yer laugh is loike pure sunshine and it’sinfectious as hell.” Meena let out a little giggle which made Johnny’s smilewiden

“Ya are beautiful cause when ya sing I can’t hear anyone else.”

“Ya are beautiful cause-“ Meena cut him off by putting a finger to hislips and listening intently for any movement in the house. When nothing movedfor a few seconds she turned back to Johnny, her eyes glistening with happinessand gratitude instead of tears.

“Yer beautiful cause yer Meena.” He whispered in her ear and hugged hertight, “And na pesky fangirl is evah gonna outshine ya.”

“Thank you Johnny.” Meena whispered and returned his tight hug for a fewminutes before finally pulling away and glancing at the still open window. “Youshould go. It’s late.”

Johnny climbed carefully out the window and Meena leaned out the windowsillto say goodbye to him. To her shock and utter joy he leaned forward and kissedher cheek ever so gently before winking at her and running off to where histruck was parked.

She felt beautiful.

And she will be loved

She will be loved.

[gardnerffox]

Read chapter One from Rebel Wench

Chapter One

The key turned in the lock and the door opened on the room he had not seen for more than four years. The low ceiling, slanting slightly where it reached out toward the gable window, the faded pattern of the Chinese wallpaper, the big spool bed with its crazy-quilt covering, all were as he remembered them. Gray dust lay thick over everything, as if to hide his secret from the world.

The man moved into the room and closed the white pine door softly behind him. A smile tugged at the corners of his wide mouth. Ben Leap had oiled the hinges, as he had been told to do. The man paused a moment, his eyes sliding to the heavy iron-banded chest that stood below a long Elliott mirror on the wall. Then he was striding to the dormer window, lifting the shade, letting sunlight come into the room. He set the long Kentucky rifle he carried gently on the floor.

The sunlight gilded the white buckskin hunting shirt he wore, with its fringes at sleeves and back, and slid across the green sash about his middle that marked him for one of Morgan's Rifles. Under the sash was a wide leather belt that held his shot pouch and long knife. He was a tall man, and lean. The breadth of his shoulders stretched the buckskin tight to the muscles that rippled as he lifted the hunting shirt and threw it from him.

He knelt and worked at the lock on the big chest. Dust rose in a little cloud as he threw-back the iron-bound top and revealed the blue velvet jacket and breeches and lawn shirt, the riding boots and frilled jabot. A smile twisted the corners of his mouth as he drew out the frock coat and held it up.

Billy Joe Stafford felt a twist of regret for the might have been. Four years in the North, fighting in Morgan's company against the English lobster-backs, from Quebec right down through Monmouth and the seemingly endless little fights that followed that debacle. That long, endless winter in Valley Forge. His arm twitched where a white scar marked it: the scar a British saber had put in his flesh on Christmas night of '77. Four years! Four years without Laura Lee in his arms, without her wide, moist mouth to spot he away his hurts and hungers, without her pale body to entice his senses in the great bedchamber at Stafford Hall.

The thought of Laura Lee Stafford, that sultry beauty who was his wife, put a tempest of impatience in his blood. He stood and worked at the green sash, at the wide leather belt and deerskin leggins. Naked, he bent to the chest and drew out linen shirt and cravat, breeches and boots.

He dressed, remembering the day in 73 he had brought Laura Lee Moulton to Stafford Hall, which his grandfather had built in 1723. Lord, but she had been a temptation in her nightrail, laughing and running from him, bringing him-French wines in a crystal beaker and goblet, standing like that in a shaft of revealing moonlight, maddening him. For three years, he and Laura Lee had been lovers. Then word had gone south from Lexington and Concord: The colonies were in rebellion. He himself had been eager to get away, to ride to Fredericksburg and join the company Dan Morgan was gathering: Virginia rifles, and each man of them a sharpshooter. His wife refused to let him go. Laura Lee was a royalist, a Tory.

Her white face swam before his remembering eyes. Her full mouth was pinched to a thin red line and her dark eyes blazed hotly at him. Her voice was rasping. "You're insane. Insane! You know that, don't you?”

Her ringed hand gestured, making him see the pillared majesty of the Hall, its white outbuildings with their blue roofs and trim, the fields of wheat and cotton, the sleek, fast horses in the west meadows and the herds of cows that would be ambling now through the early dusk, back to their big, clean barns.

"You'd give up all this to ride with a pack of ragamuffins to fight against your king! With a rag-tail mob! And what for? To find yourself face down someday on a field or in a ditch, with your blood oozing out! Dying! You don't expect to gain anything from this little rebellion?”

His smile had been a patient thing. In the years of his marriage to Laura Lee, he had learned patience. “The King taxes us blind. His ministers come stalking with their noses in the air, arrogant as peacocks. They take our pride as they take our money. Our English agents conspire with each other to short-change our every shipment. They treat us worse than we treat the slaves!"

She flung mocking laughter at him. "Tell the rest of the world all that, Billy Joe. Tell me the truth! Tell me that the Stafford blood runs hot in your veins! The same blood that drove your grandfather into seven duels, until the eighth one killed him. The same blood that haunted your father through the last two wars with France, in '48 and '56! That gave him the chest trouble that killed him.”

He-said softly, "Because of all that, you find yourself mistress of the richest plantation in the Dan River country.”

“And I want to keep what I have, Billy Joe!s Not just the plantation, but you as well!”

She had thrown herself into his arms then, and the weight of her soft, fragrant flesh and the touch of her hungry mouth had silenced him. He had been a coward. He had crept from her bed in the early hours of the morning while she lay sleeping placidly, had donned this blue velvet riding suit and written her a letter, then ridden off on one of the plantation's big stallions to his room at Ben Leap's ordinary.

Now he was coming back, unheralded and unannounced, four years later.

Billy Joe Stafford stared at his reflection in the mirror on the wall. He had put weight on his chest and arms and legs in those four years. His shirt and jacket and breeches were tight to bursting with his added bulk. The pale yellow of his hair seemed almost white against the dark mahogany of his tanned face. The Stafford nose, high and thin, and the Fairfax blue eyes and dimpled chin, which were an inheritance from his mother, mocked at his beating heart.

Will she be waiting? The words that came up from his very depths, in answer to each throbbing heartbeat, taunted him. He knew the pride that ran in Laura Lee. He had hurt that pride by running away. Now, in this November, 1780, he was coming home, to learn if her pride was still as fierce.

With steady hands he set the gold-laced tricorn more firmly on his head, then paused for one last glance about the little room that had been his since his sixteenth birthday. His father had paid a year's rent on it, giving it to him for a birthday present, telling him a man needed to get off by himself once in a while, away from his troubles. He had sat on the edge of that big canopied bed, staring as he saw his first woman undress for him, remembering the bayberry candle hanging on a rung of the ladder-back chair where his foot was propped, casting shadows across her slender thighs. Beyond it in a nook under the slanted ceiling, was the writing desk where he had sat for three hours the day his father died. It had been on that desk that he had first composed the letter he had slipped under Laura's pillow, the night he ran away. Aye, he told himself bitterly, the room was filled with memories for him, but it was not those memories that held him here. It was the fear in his middle, the fear that made him linger.

He was afraid to face Laura Lee. “What will she be like?” he whispered. “Will she welcome me back or turn me over to the Tories? Is the plantation a ruin? Did she go back to Charles Town, where I married her?”

A hand on the knob of the door, a wrench, and he was out in the hall, breathing harshly, feeling the lawn shirt cut into his shoulders from its tightness. “She's my wife!” he told the heavy canvas floor cloth on the hall plankings. Then the stair was underfoot and he was leaping downward, anxious now to see her, and to learn what was waiting for him at Stafford Hall.

He came into the taproom from the inner hall, not seeing the huge brick fireplace with its brassland irons and fire back gleaming from their years of polishing, the long fowling piece and carved powder horn on leather thongs and wooden pegs above it. A few fiddle-backed rockers stood between the hearth and a large trestle table in the middle of the room. In the west corner, taking up more than half the wall, was the planked bar, its slatted corner railing reaching upward to the beamed ceiling.

Stafford moved through the room and out onto the stone slabs that served as steps to the entry door. Early afternoon sunlight showed him the road stretching off toward the Dan and Stafford Hall. Bermuda grass and low evergreens made a sea of green beyond the road, as far away as the Blue Ridge Mountains. The sound of trotting hoofs and the whinny of a horse made him turn and come down onto the graveled carriage drive.

Ben Leap, who ran the Black Thistle ordinary, came around the corner of the house, the reins of a big bay stallion in his large hand. A grin distorted his plump cheeks. His white head bobbed, but not before Stafford saw a fresh bruise on his lined cheek.

"A new horse every month,” he told Stafford. "Brought by Old Gem, who comes every week to curry him, and exercise him on the road yonder.”

Stafford smiled to cover the lump in his throat. Old Gem had been slave to his father and his grandfather before him, and had taught him to sit a saddle and handle a frisky mount. It would be like Old Gem to keep coming back, week after week and month after month for four years, certain that his master would return someday.

He was reaching for the black leather rein when a man shouted with laughter inside the tavern. There was something lewd in the manner of that laugh. It was followed by a sob and the sharp cry of an angry woman.

Ben Leap flushed. The bruise on his cheek stood out darker against the tide of blood. When he caught Stafford's inquisitive glance, the old man grimaced. "A damned Yankee. Roaring drunk last night, sir. Put this mark on my phiz with a beer cup when I asked for manners.”

The woman screamed, and Stafford relaxed his grip on the rein. He said softly, staring at the door of the ordinary's long room, "There's teacher's blood in me at the moment, Ben. I've a mind to show this Yankee how we behave to a woman this far south.”

The old man said, "He's a mean one, sir. Big and heavy. With a slant to his eye that I mislike.”

Stafford nodded. "I've seen his kind before. First to join when the battle is won, first to go when the fighting gets rough.” His hands rose to his blue velvet frock coat. He removed it and put it across the saddle. As he walked toward the long-room door, his fingers worked busily, rolling up the sleeves of his lawn shirt.

He came into the long room, with its twin fireplaces and small trestle tables, ladder-back chairs and hanging Betty lamps. A blonde girl in a homespun dress of green wool that was ripped from a white shoulder and torn halfway up her leg was sprawled across the knee of a big man, whose fleshy face was thrust deep in her throat. His big hands were fondling the girl even as her fingers clawed at his shoulder. Her right hand left his arm and tangled its fingers in his thick black hair, tugging savagely. Her breathing was hoarse and frantic.

Whether it was her hand in his hair lifting his head or the sound of Stafford's top boots on the floor that stayed the man, Stafford never knew. The big man raised his head and stared at him, and his loose mouth sneered. He was fleshy, with tangled black hair and pig eyes, and his teeth showed rotten when he sneered.

"A gentleman farmer come to save your virtue, girl. As if you've any left to salvage!”

He pushed the girl from him, thrust her rolling across the floor with a foot. With a curse for Stafford, he brought his big pewter beaker to his lips and swallowed noisily. Before he was finished drinking, he took the beaker from his mouth and hurled it in a movement curiously fluid for such a big man.

Stafford heard the girl scream as the beaker caught him at his cheek and gashed a bloody furrow. Then the big man was coming for him, rolling the table from his path with a big hand at its edge, his feet pounding dust from the floor boards as he came.

Stafford slid aside from the bullish rush, and his fists went out, left and right, slamming into the big man at jaw and belly, turning him around to face him. A fist brought blood from the wide nose and opened the corner of his lips. The fleshy man blinked a little stupidly. Slowly, the stupidity of surprise gave way to a rush of anger that mottled his cheeks. He roared and lowered his head and charged.

The Staffords were big of bone, with thick sinew on them, but this Northern giant outweighed Billy Joe by twenty pounds. He was fat, but the ease with which he had swung the table from him showed he was strong under his blubber. Stafford rode before his rush, fighting as he had fought in camp fights from Canada all the way to New Jersey. He used his fists as a duelist uses his point. He jabbed until blood trickled from an eye and gushed from a nose. He flailed at the man's belly until he fought for breath, wetly, bent far over.

The big man was a knowing fighter. He gave out punishment too, so that Stafford felt on fire where a huge fist raked the side of his face, and where an iron poker tore a gash in his side as the man swung it wildly.

Vaguely Stafford was aware of the blonde girl, crouched on the floor and staring at them with wide eyes: Once he saw her rise to her knees, when two right-hand blows doubled up the big man. Her fingers fell from the torn green gown they held together over her bosom to ball into a fist, and he caught a flashing glimpse of a thin golden chain and the locket it suspended.

“Kill the pig!” he heard her whisper. “Kill him for what he did to me!”

Stafford did not kill him, but he beat him to his knees, and when the big man stood again he felled him with a left hook that almost broke his jaw. Standing-over him, fingers slowly unclenching, he gulped at the air.

"You'll find a pistol in my room, Ben,” he told the old man, who had sidled in to watch the fight with awed eyes. "Load and prime it. If this beast isn't gone when he's washed off the blood, put a ball between his eyes.”

"Aye, sir. That I will, with pleasure!"

The girl was at his elbow then, a dirty hand reaching out to touch him fearfully. As he swung on her, she recoiled, blase eyes shading themselves behind long yellow lashes. She was a pretty thing, with a thick mass of blonde hair spilling across white shoulders, her hips straining the Lindsey-Wolsey of her dress. Her features were grimed by a splash of dirt from ear to mouth and a smear of oil lay above her left eyebrow, but her mouth was ripe and red, and there was a creamy texture to her skin that made his eyes dip to the torn bodice where her breasts pressed their roundness into the homespun.

Thank you, sir. Thank you for saving me from—from that."

He had seen camp trulls before. They followed the armies from camp to camp, and waited for the men, sometimes, within smelling distance of the cannons. This one was a cut or two above most of the wenches who knew the blackberry clumps and buttercup fields with such easy familiarity. Something inside him answered when she let him see her blue eyes fully, for the first time.

“I don't require your thanks.” He smiled, staring at his torn sleeve and blood-spattered shirt. How could he ride to the Hall-like this? He said almost unconsciously, "I did it for Ben, it you must know.”

Her gasp told him he had been rude. He flushed and explained, "At first I did it for Ben, because he hit him. Then, later on—“

Her chin tilted. There was pride in those blue eyes, he was discovering. "Just the same, I thank you.”

The big man stirred, groaning, and the girl trembled and stared down at him. She moved closer to Stafford, and now he could sense the fright in her. "He'll be after me again, soon's he comes to his senses. After you go, he'll get me.” The girl put a grimy hand on his wrist. "Please, sir, could I go along with you, for just a little way?”

“I’ve only one horse. I'm sorry.”

“I could ride behind you!” she pleaded eagerly. "I've done that before. Ridden behind a man on a horse, without a saddle under me.”

"Yes, I rather suppose you have.” Stafford was staring at the big man on the floor, and so he did not see the deep-red flush that slid from her throat into her cheeks. He said reflectively, "He'll be vicious when he comes to. His kind always are, after a beating. Perhaps you'd best come with me, after all.”

Her gaze was steady on his face. "You'd take a dog with you, to save him from a beating, wouldn't you?”

Stafford was surprised. “Why, I suppose I would. Yes.” For a moment, he thought she was about to slap him. Then she whirled on a heel and moved toward the door. For the first time, Stafford saw that she was barefoot. He wondered, idly if she wore anything at all under that thin Lindsey-Wolsey thing. He turned to Ben Leap.

"Get the pistol, Ben Put it handy when he washes up.”

"I will, sir. And—it's good to have you home again.” The girl was standing beside the stallion waiting for him, smoothing its nose with a palm, speaking to it in whispers. Grimy though she was, with a trace of the street urchin about her, the sunlight on her golden hair and face seemed to soften the dirt with an earthy honesty. Her slim white ankles made him curious as to the shape of the legs the green homespun skirt hid. His eyes traced her round hips and slim waist, and the firmness of her bosom.

When she felt his eyes on her, she slid away from the horse.

"Mount up,” he told her gently. "I'll walk beside you.”

"No," she whispered, letting him see the gratitude shining in her eyes. "No, I won't let you do that. I'd rather ride behind you.”

Stafford put on his blue velvet jacket and studied himself. The coat would hide the tears in the shirt and the blood that flecked it. Then his toe jabbed the iron stirrup and he rose easily into the saddle. He bent and grasped the girl by her wrist and helped her swing behind him.

She straddled the stallion, skirt pulled to mid-thighs. As he turned back, Stafford reflected that the promise of her slim ankles was fulfilled in the shapeliness of the legs she bared by her action.

"Hold to me,” he told her gruffly, and felt slim brown arms creep about his waist. A toe moved the horse into a Canter.

They rode through the Virginia afternoon with the cry of a blue heron in their ears, with the scents of fall wildflowers growing in little bunches beside the dusty road touching their nostrils. The sunlight made a haze of the Carolinas to the south, and dappled the forestland stretching as far away as the mountains with golden splinters.

The girl was warm and soft behind him. His back was aware of her unbound breasts prodding it, and his waist tightened against the occasional tug of her young arms when the stallion broke stride to avoid a rut in the road. Once a thick yellow strand of hair brushed like a soft whip across his face, its perfume faint and disturbing. Against the back of his neck, he felt her soft breath.

She was a camp trull, though the most attractive one he had ever seen. If he wanted, he could turn the horse aside into the flanking forests that made this southern edge of Virginia a vast woodland and draw her down and enjoy her. She would not put up such a fight as she had with the big man—in the ordinary. There was tenderness in the clinging of her arms around him, and a hidden hunger in the sudden hardening of the breasts on his back that told him she might even be eager for the caresses he could give.

Stafford thought of Laura Lee in the Hall, hoping she was waiting after four years to welcome him home, and put such thoughts from him. He urged the stallion to a faster pace.

When they came at last to the crossroads between the Dan road and the Carolina settlements, he turned in the saddle and smiled at her. “Where will you go now?”

“To Charlotte Town.”

Charlotte Town. That was where Dan Morgan, recently made a brigadier general by the Continental Congress, was gathering the remnants of the army Horatio Gates had allowed the British to smash at Camden. A camp girl like this one, with her pert face and comely body, would find good pickings there. Men from the Maryland and Delaware regiments, mountaineers with their long Deckard rifles, and the army moving south with Nathaniel Greene would furnish her with an unlimited clientele.

She was very near. An arm hooked about her waist would crush her softness against him. Those full lips, pouting a little under his regard, would taste sweet to his starving mouth. As if sensing the hunger in him, she sat waiting, breathless, her blue eyes locked with his gaze. Four years is a long time, he told himself.

And then the moment was gone, and she was sliding ground-ward, her skirt lifting nearly to her hips. She paused on the ground, shaking out her dress, ignoring the fact that her bodice gaped where it had been torn. Her smile was bright as she raised her head, and he fancied that her blue eyes mocked him.

"I wish you luck, sir,” she said softly. "All, the very best of luck.”

Then she was moving away, with the dust rising in little puffs about her bare feet, her hips twitching to each stride, the long yellow hair falling almost to the small of her back. Stafford stared after her, motionless, until she was gone out of sight around a bend in the road and under the sheltering branches of the towering pines.

He sighed and toed the stallion to a gallop. Eagerness beat in him with a rising pulse. Less than a dozen miles from here was Laura Lee, and home.

Ezra Whipple bent to the wash pan, sloshing cold well water onto his bruised face, Fire ate in him, a roaring flame of hate and frustration that called on his pride for vengeance. No man ever before had stood to the thud of his meaty fists. He had fought fair and foul more times than he could remember, with all manner of men. Once his thumbs had gouged the eyes from a Pennsylvania farmer. Once his teeth had chewed off the ear of a New York merchant in a Fly Market tavern.

He did not like the taste of his bruises. He toweled his face gently, aware that Ben Leap watched from the planked bar, a long-barreled horse pistol primed and cocked in his hand. The old man had taken the pistol from an upper room, from a room that belonged to the man who had beaten him so savagely.

“A good man, that one,” he said grudgingly to Ben Leap, pretending affability. “At another time, I might have been his friend."

Ben Leap spat across the bar. “No friend of yours, you scum. He's a plantation man, a gentleman. The Staffords have been here in Virginia for near a century.”

"Still and all, he's a man. A good man with his fists. He never let me get close enough to hug him once. If he had, I could have snapped the ribs of him like dry sticks. A good man.”

“They come no better.”

Whipple chuckled, and held his shirt aloft. "Tore it to tatters with his knuckles. Now where'll I get me another?" Ben Leap eyed the big man curiously. He was an ordinary keeper, and his trade was buying and selling. He said slowly, "I could sell you one, for a shilling and tuppence.” The big man put a hand in his breeches pocket and brought out some coins. Placing them carefully on a tabletop, he backed toward the stair. "Fetch me one. There's your money. I'll stay near the stair, to prove I mean you no harm.”

Ben Leap reflected. The grip of the pistol in his hand was reassuring. "I'll fetch one from the storeroom. No tricks, mind. I'd as leave shoot as not. I may be old, but I can use a firearm still.”

Whipple laughed. “No tricks.”

When the old man was gone, Whipple whirled and went up the stairs, three treads at a time. Impatiently he hunted, opening bedroom doors until he came to the room with the slanting ceiling and the dusty furniture. With the instincts of the burglar he once had been, in New York town before the war, he knew this for the room he sought. On silent feet he went to the mahogany dresser, opening and closing drawers and finding them empty. He turned to the writing table, but abandoned that after a glance. His eyes touched the iron-bound chest, slid away from it, and then returned.

He knelt. The lock was open. As his hands pushed up the chest top, he gasped. A hunting shirt and leggings, a carved powder horn marked with the Stafford name, a green sash and moccasins lay piled before him.

Wonderingly he lifted out the white buckskin hunting shirt. "One of Morgan's men! Ah, now why should he be so sly about the fact, unless he wants to keep it secret?”

Ezra Whipple knew the South was torn apart by strife between Tory and rebel. Fathers fought sons and daughters fought mothers. It might be that Colonel Billy Joe Stafford—the fringes on the hunting shirt told Whipple his rank—would be hurt by having his secret exposed.

The big man rolled the powder horn under the hunting shirt and tied them both with the green sash. His loose mouth twitched in a grin. Moving to the window, he tossed his little package out onto the grass of the side yard. He would cozen Ben Leap into telling him where the Stafford plantation was located. After that, he'd trust his ears and his tongue and his nimble wits to turn this secret to his advantage.

His fingertips touched the swollen bruises on jaw and cheeks. Billy Joe Stafford would pay for the beating he had given Ezra Whipple, in the way that would hurt him most.

[greggeverman-blog]

Star Trek, Another Generation. 4. Captain of the Best Men

“WHAAAAAAAAAAAT!!” the Starfleet Admiral Janer Cooner yelled in Mclintrix’s face. “What do you mean ‘New Shoes’!??” “It wasn’t Silver Krag’s fault, Admiral”, the ex-captain explained, holding up his hands defensively. “That fleet of prison barges was just asking to be attacked by the Klingons. Silver Krag is just the guy everyone always blames when something goes wrong.” Admiral Cooner and the two other Federation representatives looked at each other exasperated. “But-but-” “Besides”, Lab interrupted enthusiastically. I don’t think General Krag meant to attack the barges anyway. He just couldn’t fight the temptation when the time came.” “Yes!” Mclintrix applauded. “Listen to the Lab-rat!” “The Lab-who?” “No, Not the Lab-who. The Lab-Rat”, Mclintrix corrected. “And don’t try to convince me you haven’t ever had a new pair of shoes! I don’t believe that for one second!” “But, listen, Mclintrix”, Admiral Jase Looney said irritatedly. “This type of offensive is something we’ve gotten rather used to from the Klingons recently. These flash attacks are lately becoming old hat- if you will.” “I won’t”, he answered. “And what exactly does the fact that we’re at war with the Klingons prove?” “Captain, it proves that these brazen attacks must be answered imminently.” “I call ‘em ‘flash mob’ attacks!” Mclintrix replied, proud of himself. Then he paused for a minute. “What does ‘imminently’ mean?” he asked. “It means: Rather soon”, Vulcan ambassador Gluck answered. “Thank you, alien buddy”, Mclintrix bowed. “Those are funny eyebrows you’ve got there.” “I am a Vulcan from the planet Vulcan. There we speak Vulcan and possess that good old Vulcan know how.” “Always an excuse, isn’t there?” Mclintrix smirked. Gluck shrugged contentedly. “That’s logic for you.” He and Admiral Curtis high-fived playfully. “Who says logic can’t be fun, huh?” he asked. “Not I”, Mclintrix responded. “One thing you have to remember though, ambassador Gluck, is that humans are pretty fun too. On a scale of 1 to 10 they’re a 7.3.” He nodded. “Only Bejorans and Oxi-mights- who I like to call Oxymorons- score higher, scoring 8.2 and 9.7 respectively. Now bear in mind, that only counts if you’re respective of them- which I’m not.” “We Vulcans believe in respecting everyone, Captain”, Gluck contradicted him. “Because of the crimes of our long gone Mind-Lords, we have grown to respect all peoples. But especially our friends- and more notably our ‘friends-with-benefits’!” “Not as much as I respect My friends-with-benefits!” Mclintrix affirmed. “Why just before I got tossed in the cookie I-” “Captain, can we Please return to the subject!” Admiral Looney interrupted. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last minute-and-a-half!” Mclintrix replied, equally angry. “Looks like you minstrels can’t seem to get your heads on straight!” “SEEMS LIKE A LOT OF CONFUSION!” a new voice boomed out. “MAYBE I CAN CLEAR IT UP!” A man then stepped out into the room. He was smirking smugly as the three admirals and the Vulcan ambassador trembled in fear. “Captain Evart Demoral!” Admiral Cooner exclaimed nervously. “That was a wallopingly dramatic entrance you did right there!” “Thank you, good sirs”, Demoral said upon entering. “Glad to be of comical-relief.” Admiral Looney introduced him to Mclintrix with a shaking hand. “Captain Mclintrix, this is Captain Demoral! Captain of the USS Cowboy! A very good friend of mine!” “I’ve got Two problems with your sentence structure”, Mclintrix pointed out, raising two fingers. “One: You said Captain a few times too many, and two: It sounds like you’re saying the Cowboy is a very good friend of yours, and not Captain Demoral.” “That Is what I was saying, Captain”, Looney replied. “I love the Cowboy Destroyer. It’s my fav’ ship of all our ships! Captain Demoral I hate.” “So, why is He here?” Lab asked Admiral Cooner, concerning Demoral. “He always intrudes on our confidential meetings”, Cooner explained; but the instant Demoral looked over at him, he added, “Which we love! Heh heh!” “Somebody has to!” Demoral bloomed out approaching the two. The man had to be almost 6 feet 2 inches tall! (Now, that’s Tall!) “It’s the only way to keep you power-hungry nepotists on your leash!” Looney was able to crack a smile. “Yes, we’ve heard all those nepotism allegations before, Captain Demoral.” Demoral marched over to him to stare down on the wimpy human. “Have you now!?” Looney pretended to think back. “Uh…yes, we have.” “Repeat them then.” He walked away to sit down behind Admiral Cooner’s desk and put his feet up. The three admirals and the Vulcan ambassador lined up in a row before his desk, and said in one voice, “Every member of the Starfleet council was only able to achieve his rank because his mommy or daddy is rich.” Looney was the only one who felt brave enough to add- though it was disguised by a fake cough- “Most- of- them-! Cough! Cough!” Demoral popped up out of his seat! “What did you say, Looney Bin! (his nickname for the admiral)” “Nothing! Nothing, nothing!” was the chicken’s answer. Demoral rounded the desk and approached the comparatively tiny human (Demoral was a full inch-and-a-half taller, you see; and with at least 12 pounds of solid muscle on him!). “No; you said something! I heard something in that cough distinctively!” he placed his HUGE(ish) hands on the pipsqueak’s shoulders. “Spit it out, Tiny! Or I’ll turn you into what resembles more of a Pounded human than a real one!” Cooner stepped forward bravely to confront the slightly bigger man. “Please, show some mercy, Captain Demoral!” he pleaded. “For pity’s sake, show your compassion on this poor fool!” Demoral made a backhand swinging gesture at the brave duck, causing him to duck and roll himself into a defensive ball on the floor, whimpering, and muttering what sounded to Mclintrix and Lab like what one would repeat to a baby. “NEVER SAY THAT AGAIN, COONER!!” the Brute Demoral thundered, “demoral”izing them all (I’m so sorry about the pun. It won’t happen again, I promise). “NOW, WHAT DID YOUR FILTHY TOUNGUE JUST UTTER, LOONEY BIN!?” “Please, oh great Demoral!” Looney replied, sinking to his knees. “Ask anything of me, and I shall gladly pay it and more! Just spare me your punishment!” “Finish the twerp!” Mclintrix exclaimed to Demoral. “Thank you, Captain!” was his answer. “I think I will!” He reared back a noodle arm to strike! “SHOW ME MERCY!!!” Looney hollered, holding up his hands before his face. “TAKE YOUR VENGEANCE OUT UPON EITHER THE OTHERS OR THE WALL OUTSIDE! OR EVEN THAT GUY WHO KEEPS BARGING INTO MY OFFICE DAY IN AND DAY OUT, WANTING A LONG TERM, AFFORDABLE HEALTH CARE PACKAGE!!” Demoral slapped him around a few times!! (Oh! The horror of it all!) When he had finally had his fun, he allowed the guy to slump down to the ground, cherry-cheeked! (I hope this isn’t too disturbing of a part for my viewers; because I know I sure had a hard time writing it down!) Looney ended up beside Cooner, who was by now singing lullabies to himself, while covering his eyes in an attempt to block the awful memory from entering his mind. Even the steel-willed Mclintrix couldn’t help but feel for them. “Captain…” he began slowly to Demoral. “I know it had to be done after all they did, but… Did it have to be so violent…?” Demoral looked down at his hands- those tools of such bitter violence! Finally he responded- his voice trembling- “I just… I just wanted to make them pay for their nepotism so bad, Donovan!” Mclintrix placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know. And they definitely deserved it. But not like this, best friend… Not like this…” Demoral threw himself into a big emotional hug with Mclintrix. “I’m so sorry, Donovan!” he exclaimed, breaking down into sobs. “I let evil overcome me! And, yes, I purged this horrible evil from our world! …But at the cost of losing myself!” He cried pathetic tears for a few minutes while Mclintrix patted his head like a puppy. “I’m so sorry!” “I know”, the good captain answered consolingly. “It wasn’t your fault, Evart… It was mine… I should have been there for you… I should have been there…” Lab put a hand on Mclintrix’s shoulder. Tears were in his eyes. “It had to be done, and you know it, Donovan”, he said. “Those admirals are better off this way (lieing on the floor, wallowing in self-pity)… We must go…” “C’mon, Evart”, Mclintrix said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go back to the Cowboy.” Demoral looked down sorrowfully at the two whimpering admirals. “I don’t want to leave them like this”, he wined (and dined). But he came with them anyway. *“ALL HANDS, BATTLE STATIONS!! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!!”* an alarm blared. *“IT LOOKS TO ME LIKE IT’S THOSE STUPID KLINGONS AGAIN!! I’M GUESSING IT’S GENERAL SILVER KRAG’S FLEET!! I’M ALSO ASSUMING THAT HE’S HERE FOR THE MUNITIONS DEPOT- BUT DON’T TAKE MY WORD FOR IT!!”* Everyone popped to their feet, Admiral Looney and Cooner just to dive under their desk. “Under attack!?” Vulcan ambassador Gluck exclaimed. “I’m bailing!” He dived down a hallway. “Follow me, Captain!” Demoral ordered, wiping his eyes. “Let’s get to my uber-awesome ship! It’s called the- wait for it… Cowboy!” “Yes, Captain!” Mclintrix replied, clapping him on the shoulder. He, Demoral and Lab headed after the Vulcan. “Sounds to me like Krag is accidentally attacking us again!” “Yeah!” the huge (sort of) captain shouted back, nodding. “Let’s make this the last mishap he ever makes!” “Let’s!” he reaffirmed. “Because- as we all know- after we teach him a lesson, he’ll get to go home and be more careful next time!” Demoral spun around on him! “NOT WHAT I MEANT AT ALL!” he roared right in the poor man’s face! Mclintrix covered his eyes in the hopes that Demoral wouldn’t even see him there. Demoral snickered as he backed off. The three continued down the hallway into the hangar bay. Docked in the bay were three Galaxy-class cruisers as well as one much smaller Constellation class vessel. Mclintrix and Lab automatically headed toward the first big one- Demoral grabbed the two of them by their coat collars, hauling them back. “NOT THAT ONE, YOU CIRCUS CLOWNS!!” He redirected them towards the next giant vessel. “THAT WAY!!” Mclintrix and Lab didn’t dare resist. They bolted down the docking platform towards the next boarding ramp and began to make the turn- “NO!!” Demoral growled like a ornery shift supervisor! “NOT THAT SHIP!! THE OTHER ONE!!” They bolted down the platform ahead of the mad dog towards the last big ship in the bay. Once at the ramp they turned- “STOOOOOOPPPPPPP!!!” Demoral was screaming. Mclintrix and Lab curled up into a defensive ball in an attempt to ward him off! He dived into their ball throwing fisticuffs! Seconds later Mclintrix and Lab burst out screaming as they ran for the tiny Constellation class vessel, leaving a battered and bruised Demoral lying on the boarding ramp. Once there they wasted no time in pushing and shoving their way up the thin ramp- both trying to be the first to reach the protection of the destroyer. Mclintrix sealed the hatch door as they entered, and then bolted after Lab towards the elevator. The two stuffed themselves into the small doorway and slapped the ‘up’ button. “Whew!” Mclintrix said at last. “We escaped that guy!” Lab was panting heavily. “I don’t like humans!” he moaned. “I wanna go home- AAAAAA! What are You!?” he screamed at a third person in the elevator- if Person is even the right word for the thing! It had no mouth, two blue eyes staring out from in between a think nose bone (which carried down below his collar!), and a weird, braided fohawk atop his thick forehead! “ROOOOOOOOAAAAR!!!” he howled at the two of them! They both pasted themselves onto the far wall of the elevator, panicking big time! Before two seconds passed, they were scaling up the side walls! “Gets ‘em every time!” the alien exclaimed, clapping and giggling (though the sound wasn’t coming from any mouth, but rather a small disk-like indent in his nose-bone). “You Terrans will be so easy to conquer one day.” “You’re an Oxi-might, huh?” Mclintrix said energetically, hopping down from Lab’s shoulders. “I thought you guys had a truce with the Federation?” “Only until we see an opportunity to destroy you, Captain”, the Oxi-might replied, shaking Mclintrix’s outstretched hand. “My name is Q.L: son of A.R, and First in the line of Oxi-might Monarchs.” “EX-Captain Donovan Mclintrix”, he introduced himself. “First in the lineup for hotdogs.” “Ah, I see you are being funny, Captain Mclintrix”, the alien laughed. “But don’t worry, it will be your last.” “Thank you”, was his answer. “I’ve had enough hotdogs today, anyway.” “Can you just drop us off in the prison bay, please!” Lab moaned. “I’m scared!” Just then the doors opened. They were on the bridge! “Q.L!” the acting captain exclaimed. He was a dark-skinned Terran, wearing a ‘what-else-could-go-wrong-today?’ look. “Where in the name of all the Guys is the captain!? We’re all prepped for takeoff, and the fleet’s taking a pummeling out there!” “I’m not his babysitter!” Q.L retorted. “I looked everywhere for the dunce!” “But we need a captain!” the officer said frantically. “I’m too squeamish to do the job! Not to mention I can’t handle the responsibility! Do you guys have any Clue what happens to captains who make mistakes!? I’d probably end up like that presumptuous walking-pig Donovan Mclintrix!!” “So you guys need a captain, do you?” Mclintrix said, stepping forward. “Didn’t you just hear my speech- which included what a fool that Ex-Captain Donovan Mclintrix is!?” the executive officer of the ship asked aghast. “I did”, Mclintrix answered. “And I do believe I’m your man!” he sat down in the captain’s chair confidently. “I’m a Starfleet prisoner anyway, so I’m expendable.” “I wish I was expendable!” the first officer wined. “Alright! You’re in charge, Captain…uh?” “Donovan Mclintrix.” The guy snapped his finger. “Hey! I was just Thinking about that presumptuous…uh- Guy. Yeah. My name’s Drey “Jugular” Sapairo (pronounced Sap-air-o). I’m Number One on this ship.” “You mind if I just call you Jug?” Mclintrix asked. “I love it!” he replied, slapping the back of Mclintrix’s seat so hard his teeth rattled. Mclintrix felt good being back in the captain’s chair again, though. “All hands!” he called over the intercom. “Prepare for launch! Helm, Release docking clamps!” “Uh, Captain?” the helmsman said, turning around to face him. “We’re not back in the early 2000s. We don’t use docking clamps anymore.” “I was just testing your knowledge on history, son”, he replied. “I’m an expert on every single year of the 2000s- up until the year 2018, sir. I don’t know what happened in that year or any after.” “Me neither”, the new captain responded, pointing out the front viewer. “Engage impulse!” Standing directly behind Mclintrix, Drey clapped his hands together merrily. “Ooooh! An impulsive engagement!” he cheered. “So…who are you getting married to anyway?” “This guy Jug is better than me a that!” Mclintrix grinned. “Helm, at least You know what to do!” “Plan the wedding, sir?” the helmsman asked. “Activate impulse!” They guy broke out into song and dance, singing to the tune of Mississippi Moon-base! (Actually he did a heck of a rendition!) He stopped and turned red in the face when he realized the entire bridge crew was staring at him. “Why did you do that!” Mclintrix demanded angrily. “I activated my first impulse, sir, just like you ordered. Was it not to your liking?” “I hate humans!” Lab complained from a corner. “LOOK OUT, CAPTAIN!!” Jug screamed, pointing out the front viewer. A Klingon Bird of Prey blew the front hangar door open, and entered guns flaring! It’s heavy disrupter cannons ripped off the lower warp core of one of the Galaxy class vessels! “MOVE, HELM!!” Mclintrix ordered. The ship’s impulse engines flared into life and their vessel zoomed out passed the Klingon vessel. “Fire phasers as we pass!” he ordered the gunner (Q.L). “Oh my goose!” Jug jubilantly screamed just above a whisper, jumping for joy. “We’re actually gonna Pass at something! Mommy would be so proud!” Their Constellation class vessel poured fire into the Bird of Prey as they passed by it, ripping off the end of its right wing! *“OOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!”* a loudspeaker on its nose screamed. Mclintrix looked stunned as their ship zoomed out into the space outside the space-dock. “I don’t believe it!” he cried out. “That sounds like Silver KRAG!” he spun his chair around to face the communications technician. “Communications officer!” he said to the woman. “Patch me through to that Klingon ship quickly! It’s urgent!” “I can’t allow that, sir!” she replied, leaning lazily on her desk. “Starfleet protocol won’t allow communication outside of expected parameters, without an official on-site representative’s or ambassador’s compliance with the matter, due to subsection 8 protocols on a preliminary basis.” He paused for a second. “Please! It’s urgent!” “Well, why did you wait till Now to tell me that!??” she patched him through. “General Krag’s face should appear on the screen now, sir.” His face appeared all right, except the zoom-in feature wasn’t adjusted properly, so all they could see were a set of Klingon teeth in front of a flapping tongue. “Uh, who is this?” Krag asked (or rather Krag’s mouth asked). “I am Captain Donovan T.T.Y.L Mclintrix of the Federation starship- uh… What ship are we on?” he asked Commander Jug. “Cowboy, sir. And may I just say that you are my role model and hero of-” “The Federation Starship Cowboy!” Mclintrix continued to Krag. “We come in peace-out. We want no trouble with your people.” “Mclintrix!” Krag shouted. “No way, my man! You did it, right? You talked to the Federation big shots? Well, what’d they say? Am I allowed to continue this gravy-train raid? I mean, like…we got over a hundred Federation credits on that last raid, my fellow creature of the cosmos! That’s almost enough for me to buy back-braces for all my guys, so they can do their stretches in comfort and quiet, man. Peace and harmony, man.” His Klingon mouth curved up into a dreamy smile. “We can finally become one with our inner star-shine! And peace? …Well, dude, peace is just the next step, my cousin. We’re gonna ride the train carried by the wind from here on… The Love train… Dude, this is happy in a can, man! And it is So awesome!” Mclintrix had to bury his inner compassion as he replied, “No Krag. I’m afraid I can’t allow this to continue any longer.” He tried to look resolute and brave, but his insides felt like Terran deep-fried salami (Ewww!). The Klingon’s jaw dropped on the screen. “Whu-uuhh!” Krag exclaimed. “But we’re Besties, dude-man! No way would my best friend ever say that to his chum! I’m almost not even able to believe you’re my best friend, Mac’n’cheese… Or uh…Mclintrix!- that’s it! My best friend Mclintrix wouldn’t even consider hurting his besty by saying something rude and mean like that!” The crew all looked to their heartbroken captain to respond. It took him awhile to answer- as his mouth was stuffed with comfort food (Cheesy cupcakes! Yum-yum!). “Listen Silver Krag…” he began slowly- his mouth full. “We might be the best friends time and space ever created- although I, for one, don’t even believe time and space actually created us- but I must stand firm in my resolution… You and your ships must…” He took a deep breath and swallowed hard (The cupcake took a lot of effort to get down). “Back off…” “AAAAAA!” Krag exclaimed, biting his fingernails. “No way!” The teeth on the screen began making wild crunching motions and he began to blow giant bubbles with his bubble-gum. Finally a big one exploded all over the part of his face that was visible. “So, this is how it’s gonna roll, huh!?” he said angrily. “You’re making my peace thing hurt, Captain! So prepare yourself to get a lil’ HURT back!” The screen went dead as the camera zoomed into the blackness of his open mouth, and the transmission was cut. Mclintrix slumped down in his seat. The Cheesey bag dropped from his greasy hand. Lab came over to comfort him, as did all the other officers. There ended up being a large pileup of bodies around the captain’s chair. (The scent of Cheeseys called to them. The “comforting” was just a ruse to get at the delicious snacks!) “Helm!” Mclintrix screamed out from inside the group. “Prepare deflector shields, as well as regular shields!” The helmsman returned to his post, having had his fill of Cheeseys. “Shields…up, Captain”, he said between gulps. “Photon Torpedoes ready as well.” “Good”, Mclintrix replied, reassuming his commanding posture. “Then get ready for the fight of you life!” The Klingon Bird of Prey burst out of the hangar bay, and zoomed right at them! The Battle of General Silver Krag vs Captain Donovan Mclintrix (which later became known as the Battle between Lifelong Friends) was about to begin… (This is so Epic, man!)