#almost forgot the mustache several times

[crystalblast]

enjoy these sparks warmup drawings i have been doing the past week ✨ ron edition because i really hate drawing hair and russell has a lot of it whereas ron's hair is more convenient and practical.

[gvfgal]

Bound- Chapter Six

Chapter Five (Interlude)

This story is 18+, minors dni

A/n: Nothing to say here except sorry this took so long and I hope you guys enjoy!! Leave a note if you’d like to be added to the Taglist <3

Warnings: Angst, more relationship dynamics with reader and someone else (this will be an ongoing theme for the rest of the story), heavy alcohol consumption… think that’s all.

Word Count: 4.7k

March 13th, 1977

Nashville, Tennessee

Present Day…

The moment your eyes caught his, it was as if time itself came to a stop. Your heart was beating in your ears, and you could feel the pace of your breath quicken.

Just like the movies, the world around you faded to black, and all you could see was Jake.

And all he could see was you.

You blinked several times to make sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you, part of you hoped they were.

But he was there, he was really there.

He looked handsome, but you came to the conclusion that it was impossible for him not to. He almost, almost, looked like the same old Jake, but there was something unfamiliar peeking from behind his eyes as they bore into yours.

Before you could assess it any further, August placed a cool hand on your shoulder, causing you to jump back into reality. You averted your eyes from Jake before August could trace your line of sight.

“Everything alright, darling?” he leaned in so you could hear him over the elevated music.

Your eyes flicked back up to Jake, his eyes still fixed in your direction as he watched the exchange between you and August.

“Y-yeah. I just… I forgot I told my mom I’d call her before we came in,” you lied, “I’m gonna step out and do that real quick.”

August leaned back and smiled at you, placing a peck on your lips, “okay.”

Jake felt sick, he already wanted to burn the sight of August’s lips on yours from his brain, but when he saw you head towards the door, and August in the opposite direction, he pushed it to the back burner.

Without even thinking, he began moving towards the exit in hot pursuit. He knew it was probably a bad idea, and it could’ve very well ended terribly, but he had to try.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your heels clicked rapidly against the pavement as you rounded the side of the building to get as far away from Jake as possible.

Once you were pleased with your distance, you fell against the brick wall and began fumbling through your purse for a cigarette (a horrible nervous habit you picked up). Your breathing was ragged, but you tried your best to gain control.

You cursed yourself for allowing Jake to make you react this way. And you cursed yourself again for how your body was reacting to the new mustache and goatee he was sporting.

After several attempts, you lit the end of your cigarette, and took a long drag of an inhale, letting the nicotine course through your body and melt away the tension. But just as you began to relax, you heard heavy footsteps running towards you, and you began praying.

Please God, please don’t let it be Jake.

Then he appeared, jogging around the corner, his head swiveling around in search of you.

When he saw you glued against the wall, he slowed to a stop several feet away.

He was staring again, and you stared back, bringing the cigarette up to your lips for another long hit.

Finally, he took a step towards you, “Y/n—”

“Jake, don’t,” you cut him off, causing him to stop his movements.

Your tone was clipped, and Jake raised his hands in defense.

“I… I just wanted to ask how you were doing,” his eyes scanned your body, then back up to your face, “you look amazing.”

Your stomach turned at the way his voice still carried that southern accent that you adored. Five years away from the south couldn’t take the country out of him.

You wanted to be mad at his wandering eyes, but you couldn’t. You’d never admit it out loud, but it felt good to be the object of his gaze again.

Too good.

You crossed your arms over your chest, keeping your eyes trained on the ground, “thank you Jacob. I’ve been fine.”

He smiled, and you looked back at him, “how have you been?”

A fucking wreck without you, he wanted to say. But instead, he shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets, “I’ve been alright.”

Silence lingered for a moment.

“I’m… sorry to hear about your dad.”

Once again, your eyes looked anywhere but at him. You figured he’d have to know about it by now, but him bringing it up took you by surprise.

“Yeah… thanks.”

Thanks? Really?

You swallowed down your embarrassment and puffed the cigarette again.

Jake sighed, “Hey, look I—”

“Jake, if you’re about to apologize, just stop. It’s far too late for that now.”

He scoffed, running a hand over his mouth, “there you go again, never letting me get a word in. Who says it’s too late, huh? What if it’s just the right time?” his voice was raised, but not in a way that alarmed you.

He took another step toward you, a sense of urgency in his tone, “you gonna tell me that this doesn’t feel like fate? You and me, standing here right now, after not seeing each other for five damn years? Is that just some funny coincidence to you, or do you feel exactly what I feel right now?”

You couldn’t deny that the same idea was running through your head.

What were the odds that you and Jake, with your busy lives, would stumble into the same bar, on the same night? There was no way in hell it didn’t mean something.

And yes, whatever it was Jake was feeling at the moment, you felt it too. A pulsing wave of energy surrounding the two of you, it’s force so strong you could feel it physically effecting your body.

When you didn’t answer, Jake threw his arms up in defeat, “I mean Christ, y/n. You never even gave me a chance to explain my side of things.”

“And what good would it do now, Jake?” your composure crumbled, and you were now sounding just as burdened as he did.

“After everything that happened in these past years, these past five years, Jake. I mean you’re a fucking rockstar, for crying out loud. And me, I’m engaged now and…”

Jake physically recoiled at your words, the pain that struck his chest almost knocking him off his feet.

He felt his world shattering all over again.

“You’re…engaged?”

Before you could answer, his eyes fell to the diamond ring on your left hand, the light from the lamppost making its shine in the night.

Impressive ring, Jake thought.

Bastard.

When his eyes found yours again, he was surprised to see them brimmed with tears. It appeared as if you were guilty, a child about to be scolded for misbehaving.

And as completely foolish as it was, there was a trace of guilt lingering inside.

You nodded slowly, your voice airy and distant, “yeah… since December.”

Jake’s eyes flicked back and forth between your face and the ring, wishing desperately that this was all a bad dream, one brought on by a night of endless drinking.

He hoped he’d blink his eyes and wake up on the floor of his hotel room, completely hungover and dead to the world. Even that sounded much better than the pain he was feeling right now.

“Look, Jake,” you snapped him out of his trance, “I’ve gotta get back inside. August is gonna come looking for me soon.”

August…

Jake nodded, “okay.”

You flicked your cigarette to the ground, “you take care of yourself.”

Without waiting for him to reply, you turned to head back inside to your waiting fiancé.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You plopped down into the booth next to August with a huff, your head still spinning from the encounter you just had.

With the best smile you could muster, you greeted all of August’s friends and coworkers who you’d gotten familiar with since your move.

Being the amazing fiancé that he was, August already had an iced cold glass of water waiting for you, and you began chugging it to get the bitter taste of tobacco out of your mouth.

“You okay, baby?” August whispered in your ear, placing a hand on your thigh.

You forced a tight lipped smile, “I’m fine. Never better.”

On the other side of the bar, Jake sat smoldering in his seat as the celebration roared on around him. He couldn’t tear his eyes from you, watching the way you fidgeted in your place, trying your best to engage in the conversation at your table.

He found himself watching August too, trying to find the things that may have attracted you to him.

He was tall, for one, but Jake knew height wasn’t a deciding factor for you, (clearly).

August was a conventionally attractive guy, tan skin, freckles, cut jawline, silky, tamed hair. But in Jake’s opinion, he didn’t seem like your type. He seemed like another anybody. An average Joe. He knew for a fact that a guy like August couldn’t light your fire the way he could.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Danny brought a strong hand down on Jake’s shoulder.

He was really getting tired of his younger brothers manhandling him.

He shrugged Danny’s hand off, “nothing. I’m cool.”

With a shrug, Danny placed a shot in front of him and sauntered off. Jake’s eyes fell on you again, and when he saw August throw a hand over your shoulder and pull you snug to him, he slung the shot back.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Are you sure you’re alright babe?” August asked as he swayed with you on the dance floor. It had been about an hour since your interaction with Jake outside, and nothing you had done since then made you feel any better.

Your nerves were still bubbling inside you the same way they were when he was standing right before you, and your limbs were rigid as you danced with your fiancé, mind clouded and elsewhere.

You were staring off into the distance, but your eye’s found August’s as he spoke to you, crowded with uneasiness.

He pressed his forehead to yours, “Baby, what’s the matter? Are you not feeling well?”

For a moment, your eyes wandered over his shoulder to where Jake was seated with an untouched drink in front of him, staring you down with a look of anger stirred with sadness.

His cheeks were glossed over and cherry red, the way they usually were when he’d had one too many drinks.

You saw Josh pass behind him speaking animatedly to someone else, unaware of your watchful gaze, and another sharp pain struck you. When you lost Jake, you also lost his brothers, and that hurt almost as much.

When you looked back at August, he was already watching you with concern, waiting for you to answer him.

“Well I didn’t wanna say anything,” you began, gripping his waist a little tighter, “but my stomach has been bothering all afternoon. I think it might’ve been my lunch.”

August poked out his bottom lip sympathetically, then pulled you to where your check was pressed against his chest, hand rubbing soothing circles just above your ass.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel the heat of Jake’s eyes on August’s hand. It left a physical sensation in your body, like a lazer beam shooting straight through August’s flesh and into you. You wondered if August could feel it too.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have made you come out if you weren’t feeling well.”

Because it’s a lie. It’s all a lie. Your stomach was fine, but your heart on the other hand…

Well that was a different story.

You hated lying to August, but how could you even begin to explain to him what you were feeling right now?

With eyes sweet as sugar, you placed your chin on his chest to look up at him, “I didn’t want to ruin your night. I know how excited you were about coming out with everyone.”

“Baby,” he glanced back at the table crowded with his rowdy coworkers and their significant others, “those knuckleheads can wait. What matters most is your comfort. There will be plenty of other nights to hang with them.”

He was already pulling you from the dance floor without giving you a chance to argue, “let’s get you home and feeling better. You wanna play nurse?” The cheeky grin he was giving you did little to ease your tension, but you grinned back anyway, giving him a bashful nod.

“Leaving so soon?” August’s most rambunctious acquaintance Jared slurred out as the two of you approached the table, August handing your purse off to you.

“Yeah, we’re pretty exhausted. Plus I’ve gotta be up pretty early for a client meeting.”

You were eternally grateful that August didn’t place the blame on you, though you definitely deserved it. Ever your protector.

He draped his denim jacket over your bare shoulders, and you all said your round of goodbyes before heading towards the exit.

As August held the door open for you, you took one more look back at Jake, not knowing the next time you’d see his face.

Of course, he was already watching. Watching you walk out of his life again.

His face was cold and expressionless now, as if to say, ‘you already walked away from me once, what’s one more time?’

Something in you stirred, urging you to run to him, as fast as you could, and crash.

But a much more logical something in you had you instead turning on your heels to make your escape.

Your head was to the ground as you walked hand in hand with August through the parking lot, tears pooling at your ducts and threatening to rain down.

You croaked out an almost silent ‘thank you’ when August opened your door for you, and as he shut it, it triggered the first tear to spill.

By the time he rounded the car and climbed in, plenty more had followed, and you were wiping harshly at your face, feeling completely frustrated.

Frustrated at Jake, frustrated at yourself.

August didn’t notice your crying at first, but when he did, he froze in place.

“Baby, why are you crying?” He dropped the keys to his lap and began rubbing one of your quaking shoulders, his touch breaking whatever was left standing of the dam behind your eyes.

“I just, I feel bad. Whenever we go out with my friends you’re such a good sport. And now that we’re out with your friends, I’m just being a big baby and ruining all the fun.”

In a way, you were being truthful. You did feel guilty for ruining the night, but the reason you were guilty was a different reason than what August was thinking.

“You’re not ruining anything. You aren’t feeling good, yet you still came out for me. That’s a good sport If you ask me.”

You smiled now, though tears were still falling, and you wiped a few of them away.

August's expression was full of adornment. You’d never know what your smile did to him.

“Y/n, I love you. Don’t feel guilty okay baby? I promise it’s okay.”

This only made your guilt grow, but for another reason completely.

How could you sit here and lie to August’s face when he’d been nothing but honest and devoted to you when others hadn't? And how could you let one of those others be the cause of all of this? You felt wicked, and suddenly angry at Jake. But even angry, you couldn’t ignore the aching swell of love you still felt when you thought of him.

Wiping away the last of your tears, you gave August your best smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Okay.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead that sent waves of warmth coursing through your body.

Then he started the car.

Then he backed out of the parking spot.

Then he drove out of the parking lot.

Then you left Jake behind.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Josh was forever thankful for the seemingly supernatural anomaly that allowed him to be so in sync with his twin. It was especially helpful on nights like these when Jake refused to verbally tell him what was bothering him.

All night, Jake was quiet and stand-offish, and no matter how many times Josh tried to question him about it, he was met with distasteful backlash.

This was no average meltdown, he knew, it was a you based malfunction. But what could have lit that flame that burned so devastatingly inside his twin when it came to you? Unfortunately, he and Jake weren’t that in sync, so he’d have to get that information from the horse's mouth.

He watched Jake carefully as they made their way through the hotel lobby. Danny and Sam were being their usual hyper selves, laughing and horse playing all the way to the elevator, and he could tell it was only souring Jake’s mood further.

On the ride up to their floor, Josh’s eyes stayed trained on his twin, and when Jake caught him watching, he glowered at him.

Such a child sometimes, he thought with a chuckle.

The group thinned one by one, everyone trickling off into their rooms as the boys headed to their rooms at the end of the hall. When it was just him and Jake left, without making much noise, Josh slipped into Jake’s room behind him.

“Josh, leave,” he grumbled as he stormed into the room, but he made zero effort to actually see that he did.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” Josh protested.

Jake plucked a half finished bottle of whatever from the mini bar and slouched down into the loveseat positioned in front of the window.

“It’s nothing.”

He used his teeth to remove the lid before taking a swig, and Josh rolled his eyes.

“Obviously it’s not nothing. You only act moody like this when it comes to her.”

Jake tensed at the mention of your name, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Josh, “Jake what’s going on?”

Jake sighed, refusing to look at his brother. Instead he glanced out the open window at the people passing below. He wondered how many of them could be hurting as much as he was, though he couldn’t imagine anyone ever feeling his pain.

“I saw her,” he finally spoke into the silence, “y/n… I saw her.”

Josh’s arms were crossed over his chest, leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

“What do you mean you saw her? You mean the way you ‘saw’ her on the roof of our hotel in Atlantic City?” he threw up air quotations around ‘saw’.

Jake scoffed humorlessly. “No. She was at the bar. With her…” he paused to take a swig from the bottle to regurgitate his next word, “…fiancé.”

Josh gulped. “She’s getting married?”

Jake nodded, “looks that way.”

Josh felt the sudden urge to hug his brother, the pain he was feeling must have been gut-wrenching. But Instead, he sat opposite of him in the arm chair, leaning forward to study his face.

“How are you feeling?”

Jake didn’t answer verbally, but the look in his eyes was answer enough.

Annihilated.

“I’ll be fine though,” he drank again, “I mean that’s life right? Some people aren’t meant to stay around forever.”

Jake didn’t believe a single word that left his mouth.

Josh didn’t believe a single word that left his mouth.

But neither of them said anything.

“Do you need anything from me?” Josh offered, trying to find any way to ease his twin's burden.

Another drink, and a shake of his head.

“Just need to be alone for a while.”

Josh stiffened. Leaving Jake alone when he was like this had proven to be a bad idea time and time again, and Josh wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with another night like that.

And Jake was more than privy to his hesitancy, so he lent him a reassuring half grin, doing his best to swallow down his growing discomfort.

“Really, Josh, I’m cool.”

There was no use in arguing, so Josh threw his hands in the air, rising from his seat, “well I won’t push,” he gestured towards the bottle Jake was holding, “let’s not finish all that tonight, yeah? And you know if you need me I’m right next door.”

Jake shrugged, “no promises.”

Josh left him to his wallowing, but once in the hallway, rather than returning to his own room, he knocked swiftly on Sam’s door.

After several seconds, Sam swung the barrier open, a towel wrapped around his waist and his head.

Without giving him time to speak, Josh yanked him from the room, then crossed the hallway to Danny’s, knocking in a similar frantic fashion.

Sam gaped at him in disbelief, “nice going. You just locked me out of my room, Josh.”

Danny was opening his door by then, and Josh shoved Sam into the room, causing the two boys to bump into each other, their long limbs flailing about as they both tried to stop themselves from hitting the ground.

Once they were upright, and Josh had shut the door, Danny threw his arms up, “what the hell, Josh?”

Josh snapped his fingers and pointed towards the bed, “sit. Now.”

The big brother authority in his tone was enough to make the boys obey, and they perched themselves on the edge of the bed, and watched in confusion as Josh paced in front of them.

Danny looked at Sam.

Sam looked at Danny.

They both shrugged.

Josh stopped in front of them, his tone and expression serious, “I’m worried about Jake.”

“Aren’t we all?” Sam joked, slapping Danny on the chest, and Danny began snickering.

Josh frowned, “I’m serious, guys. Y/n was at the bar tonight.”

Their laughter ceased and they froze in place.

“Oh shit,” Sam mumbled, did Jake see her?”

“‘Oh shit’ is right. Of course he did. And I’m guessing they spoke too because he found out she’s engaged.”

“Oh shit,” Danny gasped, “she’s engaged.”

Josh nodded.

It was Sam’s turn to pace now, prompting Josh to begin again, and Danny sat and watched as the two moved back and forth past each other like two swinging pendulums.

“So what do we do?” Danny finally asked.

“That’s the problem, Daniel,” Sam practically shouted, his nervousness now matching his brother’s, “we can’t do anything when she happens to Jake. It’s all futile.”

“He’s gonna do what he usually does. Drink himself into oblivion and make us deal with it for the next couple weeks,” Josh added.

Danny was standing now too, and the three gathered into a small group huddle.

“Yeah only this time is different. I mean think about it. Jake drinks himself into oblivion just at the thought of her… He just found out she’s getting engaged…” Danny trailed off to allow the boys to process what he was getting at.

Josh rocked back on his heels, blowing a ragged breath from his mouth, “I hate to say it guys… but I think this is gonna get ugly.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

October 5th, 1975

Palm Beach, Florida

2 years ago…

Josh’s leather boot tapped rapidly against the marble floor of the hotel lobby as he eyed his watch.

Sam was outside smoking a cigarette, Danny with him.

Their manager and security guards stood around impatiently.

Jake was nowhere to be found.

They were supposed to meet in the lobby almost 30 minutes ago to head off to some upscale industry event, and if they didn’t leave in the next five minutes, they’d be rudely late.

Josh glanced up towards the elevator doors as they opened. A group of people poured out into the lobby, and he scanned the crowd for Jake.

No such luck.

“Is he still not down here?” Sam shouted across the room as he entered, his voice echoing off the tall ceilings.

Josh shook his head, “I’m gonna go check on him.”

He was the only one aware that Jake had gone down the rabbit hole, some nightmare about you being the cause.

When Josh left him earlier, Jake had promised him (as best as he could while completely sloshed), that he’d be down in time for them to leave.

He felt dumb for having that much faith in him.

His foot continued to tap as he rode solo in the elevator, and when the doors opened to the 19th floor, Josh rushed into the hallway and towards Jake's room.

His heartbeat began picking up when he saw that the door was slightly ajar, and what appeared to be his foot was peaking out from the inside.

“Shit,” Josh picked up his pace. Once he made it to the door, his heart sank at the sight of his brother sprawled out in the entryway, half dressed and sweating bullets.

“Jake,” he called out softly. He didn’t know why he was being quiet, he should’ve been yelling, but he simply couldn’t.

Jake’s eyes creaked open, and he blinked several times to bring his vision into focus.

No such luck.

“Josh,” he groaned, trying to sit up, but his own body was heavier than he could carry at the moment, and he fell back to the ground.

“I was… I was trying to…”

“Shhh, it’s okay, Jake.” He managed to get himself into the room and close the door behind him.

With all the strength he could muster, he hoisted Jake from the floor, and steadied himself against the wall as Jake rested all of his weight on him.

He reeked of alcohol and regret.

“I was comin’,” he slurred while Josh wrestled to get him on the bed. He fell to the mattress with a thud, “ijusneededamin…”

Josh was reaching in the mini fridge for a bottle of water, “you aren’t going anywhere. Not like this.”

He sat the water on the nightstand then disappeared into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and grabbed a washcloth, soaking it in cold water.

When he entered the room again, Jake was sprawled out on the bed like he was on the floor, his breathing labored.

Only half of the buttons on his shirt were fastened, and his tie was tangled in some loose knot around his neck. His fly was undone, and while he wasn’t 100 percent sure, Josh suspected he wasn’t wearing underwear either.

But it’s a lot further than he expected him to get.

He sat on the bed beside his twin, removing his wrinkled jacket and propping him up on a pillow.

Jake’s limbs were like putty, so Josh had to aid him in drinking from the bottle, most of which spilled down the front of his shirt.

After that, he swapped the bottle for the damp cloth, and began wiping the beads of sweat from his temples.

“Can I ask you somethin’ Josh?”

Anyone else would’ve had a difficult time deciphering what he just said, but for Josh, it was no problem.

“What’s up, boss?” He continued dabbing at his skin.

An unsteady hand grabbed him around his wrist, halting his movements.

“You think she’ll ever forgive me for what I did to her?”

There was no need for clarification, Josh knew exactly who and what Jake was talking about, but he didn’t have an answer for him.

He found it odd that as easily as the words flowed when he was writing music, he never had the words when this situation arose.

But even then, he didn’t think anything he could say would patch the hole in his heart.

Luckily for him, there was no need for an answer, because Jake was beginning to drift off to sleep, upright as he was.

He was mumbling as he drifted, words like ‘sorry’ and ‘fucked up’ and ‘love you’ spilling from his mouth on repeat.

Josh rubbed his shoulder, “get some sleep, Jake.”

Jake’s eyes popped back open, and he peered up at Josh with a desperate expression.

“You know I never meant to hurt her…”

He was pleading, begging Josh to believe that his words were true.

He patted his shoulder, “I know Jake… I know.”

Only a few minutes passed before he was in a deep sleep, and once Josh was sure he was unconscious, he picked up the phone on the nightstand, calling down to the lobby.

“Hi yes this is Josh Kiszka… Tell my manager I’ll be down shortly,” he looked down at the frown on his sleeping twin’s face, “… and tell him that Jake won’t be joining us tonight… Thanks.”

· · ────��── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Chapter Seven

Taglist: @jakesgrapejuice

[sternrakestudio]

Are You Alone?

I've written several posts, I call "Passing Encounters," on Deviant Art. They're short memoirs of when I've been hit on by women in the most over-the-top way.

Below is my first entry:

One of the biggest lies my toxic, alcoholic first ex-wife told me was that I was lucky to be with her. No other woman would have me, or be attracted to me, she said. This deception came to a crashing end due to a chance encounter with a beautiful brunette.

I was stationed at an airbase on the west coast, serving as an aircraft maintenance technician. My first wife had a job with the local news agency, operating studio cameras and other devices. We only had one car at the time, that she mostly drove.

One night, I got lucky and managed to wrestle control of the car from her, but only after arguing with her for most of the day.

In return, I had to pick her up when she got off her night shift. Being late would be an excuse to resume our earlier argument. I set out early, but most places in town were closing down. So there was only one place nearby I was willing hang out: The town’s p*rn theater. (Back in the early 1980’s, video tapes were still new, and cellphones were only seen on episodes of Star Trek).

Since I didn’t plan on going anywhere fancy, I was dressed in my sloppy home clothes; rumpled T-shirt, and frayed blue jeans.

But when I stepped in to the theater’s lobby, I spotted the woman pictured below, and a guy who looked like a male p*rn star from the 70s. (Lots of body hair and a big mustache). The skirt was a bit longer, while her blouse was considerably looser. (The form of her attire are deliberate fabrications on my part, but I forgot to tell the AI she had small breasts and a trim figure). She looked like the stereotype image of a librarian or school teacher.

I thought, “What’s a woman like her doing in a place like this?” And I was immediately self-conscious of my slovenly appearance.

I sat down near the back row, and this couple entered shortly afterwards, sitting several seats away to the right of me. I can’t remember what movie was playing, because I was more interested in the real woman attending the show.

When the movie ended, she beckoned me to sit next to her.

As I sat down, she asked, “Are you alone?”

I responded, “For the moment, yes.”

She grabbed my right wrist and asked me, “Would you like to party with me, while my husband watches?”

As she propositioned me, she brought my hand under her skirt so I can feel her legs, encased in a pair of thigh-high stockings and supported by a garter belt. After feeling the tuft of her pubic hair, she brought my hand out and slipped it into her low-buttoned blouse so I could caress her soft breasts and hard nipples.

Meanwhile, her husband was leaning forward wearing a big grin of approval.

After a minute or so, I sighed in exasperation. I was almost willing to take my chances with this Naughty Librarian, even if it meant being watched by Mr. P*rnstar. (Or deal with some other dire consequences). Instead, I thanked her for her offer, but explained I had to go and couldn’t spend any time with her.

She sighed in return and said, “Oh, that’s too, bad. I was looking forward to someone spending the entire night with me.”

Well, as much as I was aroused by the idea, on this particular night, her party plan wasn’t going to involve me.

I’ve seen enough p*rn to be excited by the idea of a threesome. However, I needed to steer clear of this “opportunity” for the time being.

It’s not that I had any moral qualms at the time. My marriage was on a definite glide path to Marital Hell , so I felt no sense of loyalty.

However, despite the temptation, I walked away because:

I had to pick up my wife in less than 15 minutes.

And I couldn’t think of a lie big enough that would explain my absence for an entire evening. Not to mention, leaving her high-and-dry at work. (My ex knew my schedule down to the minute).

Much later, I realized this encounter could have been what spies call a “honey trap.” Luring gullible men (like me at the time) to their doom.

But in the end, I avoided both a sketchy situation, and an all out war with my wife, which I wasn’t prepared wage yet.

So I’m happy the way this encounter turned out.

Ultimately, I’m left with a fond memory of "Theater Girl.”

[kitwalker02]

The Evan's favorite flavor of milk

Tate

Tate is a basic, emo alt boy and likes his milk dark like his soul

Aka true moo chocolate milk is a staple in his fridge

Tate also only uses chocolate milk in his cereal and that is a really specific pet peeve of constance's

His afternoon snack is a bottle of chocolate milk and string cheese

Lactose intolerance? Tate doesn't know her.

Kit

Actually severely intolerant to all milk so he either had to take lactaid or suck it up and drink almond milk

He only likes the chocolate almond milk

Something about almond milk makes him really passive aggressive though so he'll drink a lot of strawberry milk with Julia and act like he made a great fatherly sacrifice when he gets really sick

Truth is Kit REALLY just has a thing for strawberry milk

So it feels like a betrayal when Julia gets her hands on some of his chocolate almond milk and decides that it's her new favorite drink

She literally refuses to drink strawberry milk from then on and Kit wonders what he did to hurt her so much that she'd do this to him

Kyle

Kyle is definitely a basic white milk drinking boy

However he prefers to drink juice rather than milk and only uses it for the basics like cereal and dipping oreos

Although one time he almost killed himself trying to chug a whole jug of milk at a frat party

Jimmy

Jimmy is a simple 1950's boy and drinks a glass of milk breakfast, lunch and dinner

His calcium levels are through the roof and bones are very strong

Milk is his preferred beverage and he's totally the type of guy to act all tough and sexy and then order a glass of milk

James

James has never even heard of different flavors of milk

He literally lives under a rock lol

Every night before bed he drinks a glass of warm milk because his mom use to make him do that and now it's the only way he can fall asleep

But it gets in his mustache and is kinda gross cuz he drinks it after brushing his teeth

#milkbreath

Rory

A strawberry milk guy through and through

Every Saturday morning he goes and gets a Boston cream donut and a bottle of strawberry milk

It is his favorite ritual and one time he did it every morning for like 6 weeks straight

But then his agent called him fat

He also has a weird obsession with strawberry icecream

And don't even get him started on Starbucks' pink drink....

Edward

Definitely has an oil painting of it

Idk if chocolate milk was even a thing then (lol don't call me dumb) but it would totally be Edward's jam

Also believes chocolate milk comes from brown cows

Kai

(Ngl guys I wrote this whole thing and didn't realize I forgot kai until I was doing the hashtags lol that's what he gets)

Kai likes white milk but only because it is basic and boring and restored his eye sight or whatever

Brings back fond memories of when he was little and with his mom

Puts a shit ton of whole milk in his coffee

Mr. Gallant

He likes the pink milk

He calls it aesthetically pleasing and takes a picture of it for his social media

There's like a month old bottle of half dranken strawberry milk on his dresser

It's absolutely disgusting

Not even the Apocalypse was able to get rid of it...

Jeff

He'll only use the powdered milk so he can snort it up his nose

Jk jk

Eats coco puffs every morning for breakfast and uses one of those edible straw things to drink all the milk out of the bowl

Likes that the milk starts off white but then becomes chocolate milk

This never ceases to amaze him

His taste in cereal is not superior...

Austin

Milk is a very important staple in Austin's diet. He needs that calcium to keep his teeth sharp and strong

He likes chocolate milk the most though

Only drinks Yahoo chocolate milk

In elementary school the other kids would bully him and steal his chocolate milk and make him drink strawberry milk instead

This made him so sad

Strawberry milk has a very bad connotation to him because of that

[savethelastdan]

Yashahime Is Over Party: Contribution #2

“All right, all right!” 

The crowd of villagers quieted (some with a wince) as the high-pitched shout rang around the village entrance. Ten-year-old Moroha gave them one last warning glare for good measure. 

With, as her Great-Grandpa on the other side of the Well would say, “more gusto than should be necessary”, she then leapt upon the nearest height-offering surface - one of the tourists’ suitcases, emblazoned a dozen times on every side with “FRAGILE” - and began her welcome speech. 

“Shut your mouths and hold onto your butts, folks, because this is a real treat! The coolest village ever to exist in any timeline, on a sunny day! Since my big brother is at kitsune academy today, you all have the honor of yours truly acting as escort around this prime piece of feudal real estate!” 

Dramatic pause for emphasis. (Yes, she’d taken some liberties with the script that Shippo had left, and she didn’t quite know what ‘prime piece of real estate’ actually meant, but her cousin Towa agreed that it sounded fancy and fancy always worked with humans.) 

A soft-faced young woman glanced around the crowd self-consciously before raising a hand. “You mean, this is the village where priestess Kikyo - “

“Ahem!” Moroha held up the wooden sign hanging from her neck, tapping the carved-in letters spelling ‘Village Tour Guide #2” with one nail. “Are you wearin’ the sign?”

“Oh. Uh, sorry.” The woman blushed. 

After a moment, Moroha cleared her throat. “Okay, yeah, it is. But there’s a bunch of other super-cool people here, too! If you wanna meet them - follow me!” With that, she jumped from the suitcase to land solidly in the dirt. A few tourists reared back from the cloud of disturbed dust, putting them at the back of the moving crowd. 

“First up, the sister of the blah-dee-blah-famed-priestess-blah-dee-blah Kikyo - Lady Kaedeeeeee!” She swung both arms in a dramatic half-circle towards the healer woman’s hut; the crowd ooh-ed and ah-ed appropriately. “On days like these, she’s either healing a sick patient, birthin’ a new baby, or taking a long nap! Since she’s awfully old, the napping’s more frequent.” Hooking an arm around a teenage tourist’s shoulder, she hissed in a spooky tone, “Some say she’ll live forever, getting older and older until she’s like a living zombie-” 

“I heard that.” With a cross expression, Kaede leaned out of the window.“Don’t think I won’t curse you for those bad manners.”

Moroha waved the group on with a nervous chuckle. 

“And this is the home of the most famous demon slayer known to womankind - Sango!” Cupping both hands around her mouth like a bullhorn, Moroha drew out the last syllable of the woman’s name to emphasize her coolness. Several of the humans perked up with excitement; it wasn’t hard to imagine that they had themselves benefited from some of the woman’s work. 

“Her husband Miroku lives here too. He used to be a monk, but now he’s a family guy! My papa says -” She straightened, putting on a deep, gruff tone - “it’s a damn miracle -” Dropping the tone, she grinned cheerily at the group - “nobody will tell me why!” 

As if on cue, the door to the house opened to reveal a group of tall, bickering young adults. The loudest were two women with matching features, the only visible difference to a stranger being that one’s slayer outfit was trimmed in pink and the other’s in green. Behind them trotted a younger boy, also wearing a slayer outfit in red.  

“I’m taking the kusarigama, you’re taking the wakizashi!” The green-outfitted slayer said, ignoring her sister’s attempts to talk over her. “Otherwise you and Mom will have two long-range weapons, and that makes no sense!” 

“Plus that’s Uncle Kohaku’s specialty!” Their brother piped up; he dodged the twin elbows that swung back at him as easily as if they’d warned him. “She wants to impress him with it so he’ll take her on his trip to the mountains with Rin this summer!” 

Through the left-open door, came the sweet smell of treats baking - one of the many hobbies Miroku had taken up with his time, now that he wasn’t going to up and die (Moroha knew she wasn’t technically supposed to know about that. Or probably phrase it like that… But if her godfather Koga said it that way, why was it any different for her?)

The group of slayers stopped short upon seeing the crowd; with awkward bows, they quickly skirted their way around the gaping tourists. 

““That’s Sango’s kids; every one of ‘em demon slayer prodigies.” Slinging her arm around the same teen from earlier, Moroha shook her head with a dramatic sigh. “Makes me almost want another sibling. Except then I’d have to share my room, nooooo thank you!”

“Excuse me.” A mustached man in the middle of the group raised one arm curiously. “I heard one of those women mention Rin - is that the human who died twice and was resurrected by the sword Tenseiga?” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. That’s Rin.” Moroha tapped her own head thoughtfully and muttered under her breath, “Was it really only twice…”

“Does she still live here?” The man’s mustache drooped in a frown. “Or did she go to live with that dog demon?”

“Dog demon? Ohhh, you mean Uncle Sesshomaru!” A smile stretched across her face. “I almost forgot about him! Nah, after she got married she decided to stay in town -” 

“Married?!” The group erupted in murmurs of horror. One kerchiefed mother clapped her hands over the ears of her daughter; the mustached man turned green.

Moroha’s face fell. “Well, yeah. She wanted to keep taking healer lessons from Kaede, and even though he travels a lot, she wanted to stay by Kohaku’s side when he comes home. Be a team, and all that.” 

“Ohhhh, so she’s Kohaku’s wife!” The human mother’s shoulders slumped with a sigh. “How lovely and age-appropriate.” 

Moroha wasn’t sure what that meant, but if it made the negative energy go away then she was all for it! “Rin’s super cool, anyway. She knows how to heal demons, not just humans, and she tells really good ghost stories, and she’s actually really good at arm-wrestling -” 

Suddenly she ducked her head to whisper, “She’s probably my favorite cousin, if I’m bein’ honest with ya.”

 “Do you have other cousins?” A man who appeared to look a thousand years old squinted in her direction. Perhaps in confusion, but it was hard to tell with all the wrinkles. “I doubt a full-blooded dog demon like that Sesshomaru fella would leave his legacy in the hands of a human girl.” 

“My mom would say that’s prejudiced,” Moroha said helpfully, causing the old man to blanche. “But Rin’s got two little sisters, who you can see riiiiiiight now!” 

With a dramatic twist, she whirled around to point in the opposite direction with both hands, adding a low growl that was meant to mimic the roar of an excited crowd. 

The moment was slightly underwhelmed by the confused looks of the tourists as they took a moment to figure out where exactly to look. That’s okay; she’d work on it. 

Down the road, her twin cousins leaned against the wall of a house (Moroha’s house, which she was saving for last because you always save the best for last). Towa was smiling and pointing out something up in the sky, while Setsuna wore a very predictable scowl. From this far away, the red streaks in their hair were little more than smudges. 

The extremely old man with an attitude problem made a weird hacking noise, most likely in surprise. 

“Did he adopt them like your other cousin?” asked a teenage girl. 

“Kinda!” Both hands landed on her hips; Moroha then modeled her expression on her Uncle - stoic, dismissive, oh-so-cool. “On a cool spring night, Uncle Sesshomaru walked into the darkest, deepest forest on the planet, waved his sword over a really old and creepy tree, and when he cut it open - there they were. Two lil’ hanyou babies.” 

Dramatic pause. 

“Just kiddin’.” Laughing loud enough to bring back the wincing from the group, Moroha slapped her knee. “They’re full demons. I can still take either of ‘em in a fight, though. Oh!” She pointed up in the air with a wide, excited smile. “There’s their mom right now!” 

Murmurs of confusion filled the air as the tourists moved their heads this way, that way; only when a chilling breeze morphed into flesh and bone, right before their eyes, did the group exclaim in collective understanding. 

Moroha waved. “Hi, Auntie Kagura!” 

“Yo.” Clearly taken aback by the crowd, the wind demon gave a tiny salute. The side of her neck bore a half-moon symbol tattooed on the skin; Moroha thought it was neat, even if her dad thought it was a dumb, archaic wedding ritual. “Do your parents know you’re doing this?” 

“Uh, duh!” She held up the sign with a cheeky grin. 

“Fair enough.” Upon spying her daughters across the way, Kagura’s expression softened a bit. “Well, I’ll see you later.” 

“No, wait! We’re actually heading the same way.” Gesturing to the not-moving crowd, Moroha repeated, “The same way. Meaning the best part of the tour - come on, folks, work with me here -” 

Kagura snorted, walking quickly as though to avoid the gawking humans and their nosy questions about how she had been resurrected or could still live now that Naraku was dead or got Sesshomaru to admit he had feelings much less have kids with her. A curt “none of your business” was all they’d get, no matter how much Moroha tugged on her sleeve and whined about “giving people their money’s worth.”

Luckily, once they reached Moroha’s house, it was easy to escape. After all, a much more awe-inspiring attraction awaited the group of lucky, lucky tourists. 

“And now! The Greatest Love Story Of Our Time!” With a winning grin, Moroha landed a kick on the door, sending it slamming open. 

“Oh.” Kagome blinked at the group from where she sat on a futon in the middle of the house, surrounded by magical artifacts. A scroll marked with ink rolled from her lap all the way to one side of the room. Behind her, halfway through helping her put her hair in a bun, Inuyasha froze “Uh, hello?”

“My parents! Dumdedumdummmmm!” The warmth of her pride felt like it was going to burst in her chest. It was the absolute best to come home to people who loved her! Whether it was tickle fights before bed, or her dad taking her and Shippo out on demon-tracking trips, or her mom humming a lullaby if she felt sick on the full moon night, Moroha was certain her family was the best of anybody’s anywhere. “One fell through time, and one fell -- fell, uh, for her -- sorry, I’ll work on it.” 

Inuyasha huffed in the way that meant he was going to complain later. Kagome just chuckled and waved. 

For once, the humans reacted exactly the way Moroha wanted them to - smiling, clapping, appreciating the wonder of her super-beautiful-and-also-hella-powerful mom and grumpy-but-still-amazingly-brave papa. She launched into the story she knew by heart, of how they had come to be together and saved the whole world while they were at it. Some parts were probably missing or misrepresented, from the laughter in her mom’s eyes, but she had enough of it right that half the tourist group was in near tears by the time she was done. 

“And now, they have one more accomplishment to add to the long list - parenting the greatest warrior this world has ever seen. Moro-uh, Beniyasha!” Swirling the ends of her fire-rat robe, she twirled. “The Crimson Slayer!”

“Slayer of my patience, maybe,” Inuyasha snapped, though he was unable to hide his smile as he marched over to grab her by the collar. “Come ‘ere, kid. You’ve got chores to do!” 

Tossing her over his shoulder, he waved dismissively at the group of humans. “Sorry folks, the show ends here. Yeesh...” 

Moroha cupped both hands around her mouth, screeching to be heard over her parent’s laughter before the door shut.

“Make sure to leave your comment cards in the box at the entrance!”

[fanfiction-funtime]

Self insert oc: Alexander Vodka

AKA: Eis Cay'zar

Author of fate

A writer from Schneznaya who was driven from his home for his anti-Tsaritsa paper.

_____________________

Physical description:

A chubby fellow in a 1950's style noir trenchcoat and hat, some would even say he looks like he jumped right out of a noir comic book and into reality. He has brown hair and green eyes, a cowboy mustache, and a pointed beard like some kind of comic book supervillain genius.

He often acts confidently and even a bit egotistical when in places he's recognized and famous in, however in newer places he often seems distant and shys away from almost all contact.

Noone knows where his vision is, but they know he has one because of the cold aura that surrounds him.

At night he'll often trade his outfit for one more reminiscent of demons or vampires.

_____________________

Abilities:

Weapon type: Catalyst

Basic attack-truth: uses his catalyst to shoot a short burst of up to 3 ice shards, can attack in fast succession.

"Truth hurts, especially in bursts"

Charged attack-Bifrost: Alexander quickly makes an ice clone behind the enemy and fires 6 shots, this can increase to 3 clones if charged enough(times: 1 for 1 second, 2 for 2 seconds, and 3 for 2.5 seconds)

"I hate crowds, best company has always been myself"

Elemental ability-ice wall: creates an aura of sheer cold around himself that will damage enemies the more they stay in it, and apply the normal sheer cold to them. Does not affect party.

"My therapist said I put up walls because of trauma, but I couldn't hear them through the wall I had just built"

Elemental burst-a story to be told: Alexander takes out his book and opens to a random page, then randomly summons ice sculptures of one of 8 beings:

"Aster": this summon looks like the flatwoods monster, it surrounds the party in a swirl of ice blades that deal 2X damage as the character for 10 seconds.

"Who needs brawn, when you got brain"

"Ultimate foe": a demonic, pointy being of shadow. Will independently deal 25000 damage to three random foes.

"Meet my penultimate friend"

"Beethoven": a sculpture reminiscent of a ww1 zombie general, calls down a barrage of ice bombs that deal 5000 damage to enemies hit for 7 seconds.

"Good scifi doesn't predict, it prevents"

"Sorrows Joy": an angelic, faceless, robot like humanoid that spawns 25 angel shaped traps that freeze enemies around the character.

"With any luck, you're the only real one I've made"

"Death rider and the magic prince": two statues, one of a mummy like Schneznayan mystic of ancient barbarian times and the other an elven cavalry knight from the myths of mondstadt. The knight gives the party a 45% boost to speed and attack while moving, and the Schneznayan gives +10% damage bonus to elemental skills and +55% damage bonus to Catalyst.

"Feel the wrath of honor long passed"

"Zero point and Lion queen": a knightly man of spiked armor and a golden ottoman warrior woman whose golden chain completely obscures her head. Your enemies become inflicted with pyro and you are surrounded by thorn bushes that deal continuous damage of 1000 for 10 seconds.

"Walk down the way on a moonlit day"

The traveler: a child in a red straight jacket, his binds become undone after 4 seconds at which point all enemies take 10,000 X Alexander's level of damage.

"I uh,wont have to pay any copyrights will I?"

"Giota": a child in pyjamas who looks ready to sleep, this summon is very rare. It fully restores all party members and gives a 200% boost to both defense and damage of your characters.

"This fella's been with me since I was a kid"

"If it is a soldier's duty to escape the confines of a prison, is it not every person's duty to escape reality if even for a moment? A wise man said that, pray that I may one day be like him."

Passive-part the wasteland: Alexander is immune to sheer elements, and Grant's 50% resistance when in the party to all members.

_____________________

Story

Abandoning a dream

As a kid, Alexander was always put down when he said he wanted to write fiction, "there's no money in it" they all said.

He couldn't get into any art schools without support so he focused his mind elsewhere, a place he could hopefully use his writing to do just as much good: the first newspaper in Schneznaya.

Horrible truth

He didn't start as a trouble maker, but the more he sought out the truth the more he couldn't stand back and watch. He published numerous papers about the Tsarista's wrongdoings and the crimes of the fatui, how they would harass merchants in other nations, the unfair taxes many shipping businesses had to keep quiet about, all the way up to the war crimes the Tsarista had done in direct contradiction to her own laws.

Sadly, not many believed him even with evidence, but some got his message.

Those who fight

One day Alexander was approached by a man who claimed to have formed a resistance against the fatui. Alexander had inspired many people to disrupt the organization, and have even begun working with those outside Schneznaya.

With their help he didn't just publish some crimes, he published them all, he even got information that turned the general public against the fatui even if just a little.

In a way h had achieved his dream of helping others with his writing, even if it wasn't how he wanted.

Stop the presses

When the Tsarista started her big move of taking gnosis, she brought the hammer down on dissent like a boulder on a ten year old's wrist. One day a squad of thirty fatui stormed Alexander's home and business to silence him, and while they shut down his business they couldn't catch him.

Alexander fled into the wastelands of ice and snow and wasn't seen for several weeks.

Deus ex Vodka

One day Alexander showed up in Inazuma, a nation that had been oppressed for some time now and had recently reached it's height, yet no resistance had formed.

That was until Alexander came along.

Alexander published numerous books, spreading them throughout Inazuma. All of them spoke of freedom, of bravery, of rising up to achieve your ambitions.

And with those stories he inspired countless to take up arms, and in turn inspired countless to join the resistance.

And with mere fiction he had brought about hope,

And with mere fiction he shall do it again, in every form, and in every nation.

Vision: cold hearted

While wondering the waste Alexander fell down and looked to the skies.

He did not ask celestia why, he did not grieve or blame that he did not do more, instead Alexander did something he hadn't done in a long time:

He imagined.

And after he imagined he took out his notebook and wrote. In the freezing cold for seventeen days he wrote stories of hope and freedom.

For seventeen days the cold did not so much as cause him to flinch as he wrote tales of bravery.

For seventeen days Alexander Vodka lived how he wanted to live.

And at the end, he lied down to die.

Then a light shown, and when he opened his eyes to look he saw that the storm parted around him, and in his hand was an ice blue gem.

But Alexander was too paranoid from years of abuse from his peers as a child to wear it loosely, and far to extra to just get a lock. So instead Alexander shouted to celestia "if I shall have this Vision for my art, then it shall not kill me no matter what I do!"

He then shoved the vision into his heart and fell down.

Before he could bleed out however, a woman appeared.

"Hey Tsari, how ya doin." Alexander said as blood poured out his mouth.

"You dramatic fool," the Tsarista sighed as she put a hand on his chest, "you have my element, do you know how bad it'll look for me if you die by shoving your vision into your heart?"

"Why do you care? We hate eachother, in case you forgot."

The archon sighed, "you're just rebelling against what you see as unjust, just as I am. To be honest I feel a sort of rivalry with you, so it'd be a shame if you just died. Also," she painfully shoved the vision all the way in, painfully, "if your going to die it better be because of me, got it?"

Then Alexander sat up, and the god was gone. Along with the hole in his chest.

"Rival of a god eh?" He sat up, putting his gat back on his head, "I like the sound of that."

_____________________

How is this an insert?

Well his story can't be the exact same as mine, so I took my life and goals and made predictions, then fictionalized those predictions and expanded.

His appearance is pretty close to how I'll likely look based on my current appearance, and his dramatic attitude is exactly how I wanna act.

Him being shy in new places with strangers is me exactly as I am now really, however I do believe I'd act confidently if I were famous so he does as well.

Him being Catalyst is because I'm not athletic at all, and I figured a dps Catalyst would be cool. His main ability and resistance/immunity to sheer cold is based on how I wrap up in warm blankets when it's cold, and his ultimate is made up of characters I've made.

_____________________

Tagging: @genshin-obsessed, @golden-wingseos, @storytravelled, and @love-psxlm

[writeblrfantasy]

i am thrilled to present to you another short from acogs: khyris mi'hail, or khyris the beloved in my conlang!

i'm especially happy with this one, but i say that about all of them, don't I? this one is inspired by the story behind the hanging gardens of babylon, how the king had them built for his homesick wife.

like most of my shorts, you don't need to know acogs to understand this <3 enjoy!! word count about 5k

~

“Everybody wake up, c’mon, everybody up!” The sound of pans banging together accompanies Major Malika’s shouts.

Khyris has been awake for an hour already, but he still groans at the thought of leaving his warm cot. The other corporals in the tent with him grumble and swear at the major with more colorful language than Khyris would dare risk.

Khyris sticks his head out of his blankets, bracing against the freezing winter air and squinting into the bright morning light of the tent. A few bastards who wake with the sun are sitting on the floor drinking coffee, the smell of which finally draws Khyris out of his warm cave.

“We were afraid you were dead,” says Eric, mumbling like he’s half dead himself. “You don’t move at all.”

“Nice to know you’re watching me sleep,” Khyris retorts, pulling on his three extra layers to fight back the biting chill. “Give me some of that.” Coffee in his system makes him feel a little more human, enough to make him realize there’s a group huddled around the morning campfire just outside.

Khyris joins them, coffee in hand, and finds them all staring at a map. “What’s going on?”

“Big news today,” Aeron says, grinning, full of energy no matter the time. “The queen’s visiting.”

Khyris almost spills his coffee. “What? Why? That man couldn’t lift a sword to save his life, what does he want with us?”

“Stow your hatred for a moment, my dear Khyris. He’s here to pick a spouse.”

Khyris stares, then laughs. “For a moment I thought you were serious.”

The other’s smiles slowly fade. Delia stares into her coffee like it holds the answers of the world—or more accurately, an escape from Khyris.

“You are serious. Sweet Cai.” Khyris buries his head in his hands. “Explain.”

“He’s here exactly because he can’t lift a sword to save his life. He wants someone who can. Solid strategy, I think.”

Khyris shakes his head. “He has hundreds of willing options back at court, the experienced soldiers paid too well to be out on the field. Why doesn’t he pick from them and leave us alone?”

“He doesn’t want a lazy court soldier. He wants a fieldman. Someone he knows he can trust with his life.”

“So he wants a bodyguard for a spouse, is what you’re saying. I thought he already had a team of those.” Khyris looks around. “Do you think Major Malika would notice if I disappeared for a week or two? Tell her I was indisposed. I was longing for home. Let me be a deserter, anything but having to see that bastard’s face.”

“Why are you so against him?” Aeron asks.

“Because he doesn’t give a damn about any of us. He just throws money at us, gives us more orders to build more cities, and every year checks in to see how we’re doing. He’d rather entertain the fools and artists of his court than pay mind to us.”

“So you don’t want to see him, but you’re mad he hasn’t come yet? Make up your mind, man!”

Khyris sighs. “I just don’t think you all should be kissing his ass, is all. He should be appreciating what we do for him. We just finished building him al-Hasa, he should be grateful.”

“We’re not kissing—” Aeron breaks off into a devious grin Khyris has seen before, and it’s never ended anywhere good. “You like him, and you’re mad he doesn’t like you back?”

Whistles and laughter go around the fire. “What?” Khyris sputters. “This is the queen we’re talking about, not some barmaid. You lot are ridiculous.”

Apparently happy with being labeled ridiculous, what Khyris thought were friends begin singing, “Khyris the Angrily Smitten” in an off key parody of a song he can’t remember.

“You sound like you’re drunk and it’s only sunrise,” he says in disgust, burying himself in coffee, his only friend this morning.

Later that day, he’s in the middle of a group training session and managed to forget about the queen’s newest joke. The stress of the major’s shouts during exercises in the middle of winter doesn’t leave much room for Khyris to think about anything else, though Aeron finds a way around it as always. Aeron’s only here to support his family’s farm—cooperation doesn’t matter much to him as long as he still gets paid.

In the middle of another round of hot yet cold push-ups, Major Malika calls for a sudden stop. “His Majesty is here,” she snaps. “I want to see some salutes, hear some respect. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Major,” they chorus, lining up to watch His Majesty Amoun’s brown and gold carriage pull up to the campsite. Khyris’ left hand goes to the side of his head like all the others, trying to keep his eyes in line as the carriage stops in a cloud of dust. The door opens with a click, and out steps a shadow cloaked in black, unusual for Kadar. Khyris’ eyes drift despite himself.

Khyris forgot how young the queen is, and how attractive, despite his own dissenting opinions. A dark, neat sheaf of hair and mustache frame a smiling face. His long winter cloak shows hints of Kadar yellow in ribbons and pins, but otherwise everything from the fur to his shoes is black.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” Malika says with a deep bow.

“Thank you, Major. I’m delighted to be here.” Queen Amoun approaches the line of soldiers with his coat sweeping out behind him, just short enough not to get dirty on the sand. The soldiers drop their salutes as Amoun slowly walks in front of them like he’s inspecting them. Khyris fights not to close his eyes and disappear into a safer, less ridiculous world. He has many choice words for the queen, but keeps them all wisely to himself.

Amount is just passing Aeron and Delia, about to pass a stiff Khyris, when he stops and looks him up and down. “What’s your name?” Amoun asks.

Khyris swallows, cursing Cai in every way. He can feel Aeron’s traitorous, poorly smothered grin on his profile. “Khyris, Your Majesty.”

“Khyris,” Amoun repeats, slowly, like the sly tongue of a snake. He grins. “What a beautiful name.”

What to say to that?

Amoun solves the problem for him. “I look forward to seeing your face during my trials, Khyris.”

Khyris’ mind races, thinking of the Cairic Trials of Taru. They are Kadars, dammit, not Cairic. But, if the queen wanted to find a spouse who could defend him, there is not a much better way than that. “Trials, Your Majesty?”

Amoun laughs, a gentle, warm sound. “Wipe that fear off your face. I am not referring to the Trials of Taru, as thrilling and testing as they are. The trials I have created are much simpler, and will be much more to your taste, if that quiver on your back means anything.” He takes a step back so more soldiers can hear him.

“I wish we had a forest to do this, but alas, we are not in the north or in Tel Cairis. As you can see, there are three targets there.” Amoun gestures grandly to the three red targets being set up several hundred paces away, in the middle of the desert. “Whoever can perfectly hit the three targets”—he pauses for effect— “will get a private dinner with me.”

Khyris struggles not to laugh.

“The trials begin immediately, for all of you,” Amoun says. “You are soldiers, I’m sure you’re used to quick thinking and quicker requests. Come on, now.”

Khyris shuffles into a single file line with the others, Aeron at his back. “Not a word,” he hisses.

“Not a word,” Aeron echoes, but Khyris can hear his grin. Worst of all, he begins humming that awful song, Khyris the Angrily Smitten. He actively wishes for death even as he’s pulling his bow off his back and nocking an arrow into it.

Fail Amoun’s stupid target challenge. The easiest task in the world. He’ll be officially taken out of consideration, free to go back to the idiots at the campfire in the morning.

His focus drifts in and out while waiting for the other soldiers to shoot, even if they’ve never touched a bow before. Evidently Amoun believes miracles are possible. He seems like the type.

Amoun stands to the side of the line drawn in the sand where the archers must stay and shoot, his presence undoubtedly helping no one. Ever since he was a child, Khyris couldn’t stand people watching him practice or hunt. He savored the quiet of the northern forests where he grew up, savored the peace and focus in his heart while he hunted his family’s dinner. To have anyone else watching him, waiting, judging if he shot wrong, would ruin that sacred peace.

He sighs and shifts his weight impatiently.

“Relax, would you? You’re the best archer here, I have more reason for nerves than you do,” Delia says from somewhere behind him.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Khyris says. “I’m afraid I’ll do well.”

Someone scoffs ahead of him. He doesn’t keep his dislike of the queen private, but the way Amoun looks back toward the sound makes Khyris flush. Please don’t notice me, don’t notice me, look away.

“Then miss and make a fool of yourself,” Delia says. “You’ll be known as the army’s best worst archer, but not the queen’s spouse, a title I wouldn’t mind having. It’ll be a steady source of income for my family, at least.”

Khyris smiles. He and Delia became friends because of their similar situation. Aeron barged his way into their lives with no possibility of leaving. “I’ll be in the front row at your wedding.”

“I’d prefer your blessing on my bow.”

Khyris watches sorry swordsman after swordsman point their bows at the targets only for their arrows to land somewhere far off in another direction. Major Malika barks at them that they’ve failed, which is not an unusual thing for her to say, but they’ve never had to perform in front of the queen before.

People who have never touched a bow in their life still stutter and apologize for wildly missing. That’s the effect the queen’s presence has—not that it affects Khyris, of course. He glances sympathetically at the losers and thinks, I’ll be joining you in a minute.

At last, it’s his turn. Major Malika orders him forward with her usual grit, but Amoun is smiling with his big brown eyes and it’s every bit as unnerving as Khyris predicted.

“Let’s see what you got,” he says quietly, where only Khyris can hear. Khyris grits his teeth, mentally ordering him to shut up and let him focus.

Why is he trying?

Because it’d kill him to miss, he decides. He hasn’t missed since he was eleven, and he won’t start now. He has too much pride in his finest skill to be a laughingstock. Major Malika would know he wasn’t trying and would make him try again. He’s too good an archer for his own good.

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore Amoun’s presence, and lets the bow do the work.

The first arrow hits. He doesn’t stop to check. His focus is on the second target, and a minute shift of his position readies him for the next shot. Khyris disregards all other sound but the grip of his fingers adjusting on the bow, the whoosh as the arrow flies free. He can’t quite block out the gasp Amoun makes, but shaking it off is easy.

The wind begins picking up just slightly, hardly noticeable to anyone else, but Khyris knows the song of the bow like his own skin, and it’s not what he needs.

You’ve done well, says the voice in his head. No one will believe you purposefully failed if you miss. You will be free, and your dignity will be intact.

The other archers shot in quick succession, too eager or humiliated to wait. Khyris knows he’s already taken longer than anyone else, but he waits another few seconds before nocking another arrow and letting it fly.

Khyris opens his eyes to find his arrows in the center of all three red targets. He sighs in relief.

Relief for what?

All is deadly quiet, and then some idiot begins cheering. Khyris shuts his eyes again.

Aeron. Of course it’s Aeron.

Soon, everyone is cheering or clapping, Amoun loudest of all. Khyris flushes hot, looking around for him, who’s grinning like someone just handed him all the wealth of Kadar.

Khyris goes over to him and wraps him a hug, drawing laughter and ‘aw’s from the onlookers. It’s just an excuse to whisper, “I hate you to the skin of your bones,” in Aeron’s ear, who just laughs louder.

#

Khyris stands in front of a little pond where some fool spilled water outside Amoun’s tent, turning left and right to inspect his outfit. It’s the only fine thing he has, provided by the army, meant for rare banquets at the palace.

It’s a velvet jacket in Kadar yellow decorated with the few gold medals he has to his name, one for exceptional scouting, another for bringing down the largest hog anyone had ever seen, large enough to feed the whole camp for an evening.

The yellow tent flap opens and Khyris quickly snaps to a stiff position, relaxing when Amoun gestures for him to. “Khyris,” he says with a warm smile. “Thank you for joining me.”

You didn’t leave me much of a choice, Khyris thinks, though even he’s not bold enough to say that to the queen’s face. He’s wearing a thin golden circlet with soft brown gems embedded, the crown of Kadar. Khyris has never been close enough to see it; it sparkles in the evening sunlight.

He’s never been close enough to see the queen’s face like this—the kindness deep within earthy eyes, his short, well-trimmed beard and mustache, the single lock of black hair hanging down on his forehead. His black cloak doesn’t have a smattering of dust, and the long fur hairs poking out of the collar make Khyris ache for the crude fur coat he made himself the last time he was home—these velvet jackets don’t do much in the way of warmth.

Amoun even smells like the forests of the north, Khyris’ home, with a hint of soft incense.

“Please, come in.” Amoun steps aside to let Khyris slip past him. He takes a quick look around. Amoun’s tent is nicer than any camp tent he’s ever been in, a colorful carpet covering the sand, a table of golden wood with two chairs set up in the middle, a white curtain hiding what’s presumably a bed in the corner. Even the lanterns, burning with blessed warmth, are polished and new compared to the grimy ones in the tent Khyris shares with five others.

“Sit,” Amoun says softly, latching the tent flap closed to keep out the abhorrent wind. Khyris sits, happy to be out of the cold with a plate of hot food in front of him, if nothing else. The faster he can fail this and get it over with, the better.

Amoun sits opposite him and unclasps his cloak, revealing a finely woven black waistcoat over a long sleeved yellow shirt.

“Ah, so His Majesty is capable of wearing color,” Khyris says before he can think about it. He refuses to go back on it, even as Amoun looks at him in surprise. Khyris won’t be the timid little soldier afraid to even look at his queen. He respects himself more than that.

“I admit my dress is rather unconventional for Kadar,” Amoun says, slipping into a relieving smile. He picks up a white teapot and pours them both steaming cups. From the smell, it’s coffee—in the evening? Another oddity. “It’s one of many reasons for people to distrust me—or worse, dislike me.” He smiles again over the rim of his cup.

Khyris is holding his for warmth until he remembers that he’s not in the tent waking up to Aeron jabbering in his ear, he has manners. He quickly puts it back on the table. All the manners he learned from his father and his one visit to court suddenly leave him. Hopefully his country boy ignorance doesn’t show too much.

No, he wants it to show, doesn’t he? He wants Amoun to be disgusted with his choice and let him go.

Khyris grips the handle of the coffee cup again but after a few seconds of indecision, leaves it on the table.

“I do hope you’ll enjoy this meal,” Amoun says, oblivious to Khyris’ inner turmoil and the fact that this is the best meal Khyris will ever have in the field in the middle of winter. “Have you ever been to a palace banquet? Forgive me for not remembering your face—you all look the same in those jackets.” He shovels a forkful of something into his mouth—wait, what are they eating?

Khyris gathers himself and picks up his knife, reminding himself to breathe. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says after what’s probably too long of a pause. “I have been to a palace banquet once, shortly after I joined your army.” He focuses on cutting what he now discerns to be lamb, a delicacy they don’t get out here at the building sites, laying on a bed but of golden rice. It’s hot and warms him to the bone, but it’s not as spicy as the kind his father used to make.

Amoun laughs, speaking with a full mouth. “Let’s not pretend it’s my army. Cai knows I don’t pay enough attention to it. Oh, forgive me”—he smiles sheepishly— “when I’m alone with someone, especially here instead of the palace, I forget my manners. My upbringing is coming back to haunt me. Perhaps that’s another reason people detest me.”

Khyris pauses. Suddenly the food is vastly less interesting than Amoun. “You grew up humble, Majesty?”

“Please, call me Amoun. I am here to court you.”

The reminder makes Khyris bring his eyes back to his plate. Make him throw you out.

“Yes,” Amoun continues, “I came from the forests of the north. My parents were well off, and I have no siblings, but it was not a glamorous childhood by any means. Not compared to what I’m used to now.”

Khyris chews slowly, hyperaware of everything. “I also came from the forests of the north, M—Amoun.”

“Really?” Amoun’s silver clatters against his plate. “I knew I chose well. Where exactly were you raised?”

Khyris tells him about the cabin his mother built, four young siblings and a father too crippled to hunt, a mother too overworked to cook, the privilege Khyris considered hunting.

He loses track of time as Amoun talks about those same forests, hiding from great imaginary beasts that were only the howls of the wind in the trees as a child, the warmth of the curry Amoun’s mother made—the same one Khyris’ mother made for his birthday.

Khyris has never met someone who grew up in the north forests before, and he soon finds he can’t keep the smile off his face.

Before Khyris knows it, they’ve both finished their meals and wine has replaced the coffee. No attendants come in to bring them dessert, Amoun only gets up and accepts plates from them through the tent flap.

Khyris doesn’t have to leave his chair the whole time—he feels like the queen here, dipping a spoon into the bowl of warmth honey cake soaked through with cream. Amoun asks him about his friends, his family, laughs at every story of his siblings, goes somber when Khyris tells him why he joined the army.

Amoun makes him feel like everything he has to say is worth something to him, that his nods aren’t the polite, diplomatic ones he’s no doubt used to putting on. Khyris is only too happy to return the favor and admire the reflection of the lamplight in Amoun’s eyes.

And then it’s ending. The wine has faded from Khyris’ system, and the warmth of Amoun’s hand as he helps Khyris to his feet is bittersweet. He doesn’t know when he stopped trying to make Amoun dislike him, if he was ever trying at all, but now he’s foolishly praying that Amoun will ask him back.

“Thank you for such a wonderful evening, Khyris,” Amoun says, smiling like the witches of legend are said to do—so strong, so beautiful, they make it impossible to look away. Khyris’ limbs seem to draw closer of their own accord before he realizes and quickly puts distance between them.

“Thank you,” Khyris says, a shadow clouding over his heart as he turns toward the tent flap that Amoun holds open.

“Would you like to go out with me again?” Amoun asks as Khyris is about to leave. He stares in hopeful disbelief. “It’s perfectly alright if you don’t. I would never force you into anything you would not want—I have heard the stories your companions tell. Khyris the Angrily Smitten.” Amoun’s lips curve into a smile with an unescapable hint of pain. “I think the angry part is more prevalent. You are one of the ones who would detest me at court.”

Khyris is again mad at Aeron, for an entirely different reason. Has this whole magical evening gone to shit?

“Majesty—Amoun”—he takes a deep breath— “I—I was wrong about you. I would like to go out with you again. It is possible for minds to change.” He laces his own fingers behind his back, arms held taught in the stiff jacket.

Amoun’s answering grin is brighter than the sun.

#

Amoun has to go back to Ramia, of course, and Khyris back to the city building corporal’s lifestyle, but they spend every chance they could get together, alone, in a welcome relief from life for both of them. Aeron and Delia have been nothing but evil about it, but it’s no less than Khyris would expect.

His and Amoun’s second outing comes mere weeks after their first, when Khyris thought he might go mad from anticipation. Would their next meeting be just as perfect as their first? He frets, despite Aeron’s relentless teasing about the fact that so recently, he’d despise himself for fretting about this.

He made the mistake of addressing the queen as Amoun in Delia and Aeron’s presence. At the risk of his own sanity, he’s been careful to censor himself since, though Aeron probably sees right through it.

Their second date is every bit as good as the first and more. Amoun invites Khyris to the camp where he’s staying, visiting another battalion of soldiers in the north. Khyris was happy to go just to escape Aeron’s teasing, but the smile Amoun gives him upon arrival did things to him he didn’t know were possible. After a few days together and the blistering kiss Amoun gives him when they part, Khyris knows his mind is made up.

It should not come as a surprise when Amoun proposes only a few months later. The whole purpose of Amoun’s visit, after all, was to find a spouse to court.

He’s not just falling for the queen of Kadar for all the perks of being his lover. when Amoun first announced this challenge, Khyris thought the steady income for his family would be the only reason he’d ever agree if miraculously chosen.

As soppy and awful as it sounds, as much as he’s becoming the very lovestruck fool he loved to hate, he enjoys Amoun for him, not for his money or his power or his safety. His company. His smile. His mix of ease and nerves, how he both seems to know exactly what he’s doing and has no clue at all.

Now, he’s in Ramia again for the first time in four years in the part of it he never thought he’d get to visit in his lifetime: the queen’s private palace apartments. Amoun is looking at him the warmth of the sun in those eyes and asking if Khyris will be his forever. What can Khyris say but yes?

Khyris might hang around court more often than he ever thought he would, but he still can’t bear to leave the army. He sees past the humor in Aeron’s voice when he asks, “Don’t forget about your fellow corporals when you’re the queen’s husband, alright?” Khyris spends half of the days leading up to wedding with the soldiers, working hard and crashing harder just like he did before, and the other half in some kind of paradise of luxury with Amoun.

He invites Aeron and Delia to the palace when he visits—he’s learned, as the queen’s betrothed, there’s little he can’t get away with, including sudden leave for any soldier he likes. Seeing the raw awe on Aeron’s face makes his own adjustment a little easier to bear.

He and Amoun decline to get tattoos of betrothal—that’s a Cairic tradition at heart, and the queen of Kadar couldn’t be seen with that, especially since they’re trying to move away from Tel Cairis’ traditions.

Being suddenly waited on and served food even better than the stuff in Amoun’s tent on their first date is nice, but jarring. He’s so used to the humble life, getting everything himself, being independent. The army only enforced that, even when he gained friends.

Now the clothes he wears puts his yellow dinner jacket to shame, and every bit of building has been made by hundreds of men compared to a few. He can only wonder how Amoun adjusted.

Amoun is a sweetheart, empathetic and sensitive. Unfortunately, this means Khyris can’t keep a secret around him, and he quickly notices Khyris’ discomfort.

“Mi’hail, please,” he implores one night, because of course he’d be the type to use old fashioned terms of endearment like that. “Tell me what I can do to make this place feel as much as your home as it is mine. All I desire is to make you happy.”

Khyris sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. His cheek is pillows on the silk nightshirt covering his arm, so light and soft and decadent you can hardly call it a shirt. His feet are made warm by the sheets of Amoun’s bed, the warm orange glow of candlelight turning Amoun’s skin the most beautiful gold.

This is not the first time Amoun has asked, but Khyris always tells him not to bother, he’s busy enough, he’s done enough already. “If we are to be married,” Amoun tries, “it cannot be on unequal footing. I will not have you be a sacrifice to be with me. You grew up with so little—let me repay you now.”

“Oh, and you grew up in luxury?” Khyris counters.

“Stop trying to switch the subject.” Amoun sits up against the cushioned headboard. “Tell me, or I will not leave it alone.”

Khyris knows how capable he is of that. He manages a small smile.

“A garden,” he settles on at last, thinking of the northern forests, how he loved the trees but always wished for a more glamorous, well-tended grove. “Remind me of the north, where we are from. Give me a version of our forests that’s neater, that shows the nicest parts without all the ugly ones.” He sighs, already picturing it, almost able to smell the richness of the tree sap if he concentrates. “With a fountain,” he adds. “Is that too much?”

Amoun’s eyes are shining. “Not at all. I will do it, mi’hail.”

Amoun builds him a garden. He commissions a fountain. He brings the forests of the north to Ramia.

Khyris underestimates him once again.

It takes so long and takes up so much space, Khyris is eventually banned entirely from the west side of the palace in case he catches a glimpse of Amoun’s hard work. All he knows is that Amoun is always beaming and giddy with excitement and anticipation of Khyris’ reaction.

The damn thing takes so long to build, Khyris doesn’t get to see it till three weeks after their wedding, when they get back from their trip alone to the forests of the north.

When everything is finally done to Amoun’s liking, Amoun can’t let go of his hand as he leads him out to see it. He even makes Khyris close his eyes, an incredible trust exercise. When Khyris is allowed to open them, his jaw falls open.

He’d been prepared by the sound of flowing water, but nothing could truly brace him for this. From the top of the steps leading inside where they stand, Khyris can see the whole thing: the fountain of himself holding his bow, quiver at his back, free hand reaching up to fix his hair. “Wh—how did you get a statue of me commissioned without needing me there?”

Amount just grins.

None of the trees are old enough to provide shade yet, but stone beds with soil inside house several young, green trees that will grow up to be the great sprawling ones of the north. The floor is stone, not dirt, and it’s much nicer and cleaner to look at than the leafy forest floor. The smell of the trees is absent, but it’s more than made up for with the greenery tucked into every spot, the rare pops of pink flowers from the east. Everything is well tended and trimmed, from the hedges to the plants to the shape of the trees.

Each layer up to the palace entrance is covered in some of potted plant, and an artificial river runs around every bit of it to feed them, the channel carved into the stone.

Khyris can’t fathom how he imported everything and how it’s stayed so fresh—the wont of a queen, he supposes.

“The gardens of Khyris,” Amoun says quietly at his back, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to pull him closer.

After another minute of silence, he laughs nervously. “Speechless, mi’hail?”

“Uh, yes.” Khyris turns his head to kiss him. “I don’t know how to thank you. it’s absolutely gorgeous. I—seriously, all of this is for me?”

“I would be happy to ban the public if you asked,” Amoun confirms. “Does it take you back to the north forests as it does for me?”

“You know it does. It’s perfect in every way.”

Amoun walks him down the steps to the garden itself, showing him every carefully chosen detail. Khyris is happy to stand with him near the fountain, enough for the sound of the rushing water to lull him into a sense of calm. He wonders how he could’ve ever hated Amoun.

“Khyris the Angrily Smitten, they called you all those months ago,” Amoun murmurs. Khyris’ ears burn hot.

“I find it endearing,” Amoun confesses, “but I know you find it rather—embarrassing. I’d like to call you something else.” His fingers curl around Khyris’ neck, soft and warm. “Khyris mi’hail? Khyris the Beloved?”

Khyris fights the smile threatening to break out and fails. “Better than Khyris the Great, or something awful like that.”

Amoun laughs. “I am great enough for both of us,” he says, and pulls Khyris to the sound of the water mingling with the wind. An earthly heaven without Cai.

shorts taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @lunarmoment @missingpeace

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring

[themurphyzone]

Pinky the Snowmouse Ch 1

Summary: On a lonely Christmas Eve, a lab mouse finds himself unable to concentrate on world domination. When an ACME scientist claims to own a magic silk hat, Brain initially dismisses it as superstitious nonsense, but finds that this boast could hold more truth than he could ever imagine.   

AN: So I posted this idea back in May (I know, nowhere near Christmas season) but it made for such a viable fic that I had to do it. Besides, I wanted to write a great Christmas fic since I focused more on Halloween last year. 

This fanfiction is also a tribute to all the Christmas specials we love so much every year, from the Christmas Carols to the holiday specials in our favorite cartoons to the Grinches and Rankin-Bass features.

Ch 1: That Old Silk Hat

AO3 Link

It was Christmas Eve, the day bolded and highlighted on the calendar, topped with a picture of Snoopy and his doghouse decked out in festive accessories.

Impossible to miss the overly cheerful music, the jingling bells, and the calls to be charitable to the poorer, less fortunate beings of the world.

Except humans never practiced what they preached.

No matter how much they claimed to care, Brain knew they never would. All of those charitable feelings would vanish as soon as Christmas was over, and they’d go right back to wallowing in their ignorance.

If they truly wanted to be charitable, they’d recognize Brain as the indisputable ruler over the world. But since humans always looked down on non-humans, it was an uphill battle with no end in sight.

But that was just fine with Brain. He wanted to be recognized for his merits and intelligence. He wanted to accomplish something other than achieving the lowest times on maze runs.

In time, his efforts would be rewarded. The bitter defeats would gradually transform into sweet victories.

But for now, he was unable to make headway into world domination since all the ACME employees had gathered by the main entrance, waiting for 3 pm to roll around like a class of bored schoolchildren who desperately wanted to go home.

If the higher ups were expecting all these mediocre scientists to show up for work and be productive on a snowy Christmas Eve, they were sorely mistaken. They were only here to collect their paychecks and didn’t care about scientific progress at all.

One lab tech popped a CD full of classic Christmas songs into an old stereo, and a chorus of Feliz Navidad began. Several scientists spun in their chairs, absentmindedly sucking on candy canes.

Brain was just as impatient as they were, but at least he’d be productive with his time once they all left.

“So ya got any plans, Bill?” a scientist asked.

“Go home,” Bill replied with a shake of his balding head. “Sleep because there’s no way I’m getting any shuteye with the twins bouncing off the walls for their presents tonight.”

“Kids are gonna be like that,” a lab tech spoke up. “I had to stop mine from taste-testing the cookies she wanted to leave out for Santa.”

Laughter rang out from the group, everyone taking turns to relate Christmas mishaps with their families. Soon almost every human joined in on the camereradie, except the most eccentric and inept scientist of them all.

Dr. Henry Hinkle was a man who claimed to bridge the fields of science and magic. However, he was woefully mediocre in both departments, and Brain had long ascertained the man had faked his credentials. Even Hinkle’s fashion sense was peculiar, as his gray lab coat was cut into the style of a magician’s fanciful tailcoat. With his brown handlebar mustache, he seemed more like a harried time traveler from the 19th century than a modern citizen.  

His most prized possession was a tall silk hat with a pink flower attached to the band. Hinkle often claimed it was a magic hat, one that performed wondrous and mystifying deeds far beyond human comprehension. Hinkle was attached to that hat, and nobody had ever seen him in public without it.

Hinkle stood apart from everyone else, an outsider from the science clique. He frantically paced back and forth, desperately trying to get the so-called magic hat to perform properly.

"Say, Hinkle? Didn't you have a gig at the elementary school last week? How'd that go?" Bill called, and all eyes turned to Hinkle, whose eyes nervously flicked back and forth at the sudden attention.

"Swell, very swell," Hinkle mumbled as he nervously fiddled with his hat. "Those little ankle-bi...I mean those delightful, darling angels were floored by my magic."

A woman scoffed and rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Yeah, right. My son was part of that class, and he thought it was the worst Christmas party he'd ever had. How embarrassing that you can't shuffle a deck of cards."

“Madam, I will have you know I can shuffle a deck with my eyes closed and one hand behind my back!” Hinkle retorted. He flicked his left sleeve, and an entire card deck slipped out and spilled onto the ground. As Hinkle bent down in a hasty attempt to get the cards back in order, a small wand, several rubber balls, and colorful scarves tumbled out his other sleeve.

Nobody bothered to help Hinkle out with his misfortune. His coworkers elbowed each other, pointed fingers, and snickered among themselves instead.

The situation was far too pathetic to be humorous.

Brain wasn’t surprised by humans anymore. Peace and goodwill toward their fellow men didn’t exist, though the holiday season claimed otherwise.

It was now 2:40 pm. Only twenty minutes left in this humiliating performance, and Brain could formulate his next plan for world domination without further interruption.  

Hinkle quickly stuffed the mess into his coat pockets. Then he straightened up, pulling on both ends of his bowtie in a vain effort to appear calm and collected once he was finished.

“If your hat really is magic, show us a few tricks!” Bill jeered, and the other employees joined in with challenges of their own.

“Oh, I will. And all of you will feel silly for doubting me after I’m through! Silly, silly, silly indeed!” Hinkle shouted. He tried to remove the hat from his head with a graceful flourish, but clumsily dropped it instead.

He chuckled nervously, a bead of sweat running down his forehead despite the chill.

“As with any exercise, a good magician always warms up with the basics,” Hinkle declared as he showed his audience a small red ball. “For my first trick, I will put this red rubber ball into my magic hat like so, and presto change-o, I have five red rubber balls to-”

He tipped the magic hat upside down. A single red ball bounced out, rolling along the floor before it hit an unimpressed lab tech’s shoe.

“-go,” Hinkle finished dejectedly. He peered into the hat, futilely shaking it as if the other four balls would pop out. Once he realized that wouldn’t be the case, his shoes scuffed the ground in shame as he picked up the single red ball and dropped it back into his hat.

“Look on the bright side, man! You produced invisible balls without trying!” someone called, garnering laughter from the rest of the audience.

Hinkle’s face turned red.

And while the scorn wasn’t directed at Brain, he thought the heckling was an unnecessary endeavor. There was little point in prolonging the man’s misery, no matter how incompetent or delusional he was at magic tricks.

“N-now, as I said before, that was just a warm up,” Hinkle said, nervously tugging at his collar. Then he pulled a small pink scarf out from his pocket, spilling several cards and dice onto the floor again. “But my second trick is sure to amaze you! Watch as I place this scarf into my hat and let the magic focus, now hocus pocus I say, and out come green, gold, and...gray?”

To nobody’s surprise, there was only a lone pink scarf in Hinkle’s hand. “There were supposed to be endless scarves attached to this…” he muttered. It fluttered out of his hand and back into the hat.

But nobody was paying attention to Hinkle anymore. The clock struck three, and the dull atmosphere changed to a holiday-induced fervor as everyone pushed and shoved their way to the front so they could card out and leave.

Brain crept to the front of his cage, one hand resting on his crooked tail as he prepared to unlock the cage and make headway into his plans as soon as they left. He was brimming with viable ideas, and they needed to be written down before he forgot them.

“EVERYBODY, WAIT!” Hinkle bellowed over the noise, and his colleagues turned to him with annoyance written all over their faces.

Brain gritted his teeth. Just let them go already! Was that really so difficult?

“I have one more trick, yes, just one more teensy trick up my sleeve! A real one, I assure you! You won’t be disappointed!” Hinkle said, rubbing his hands together frantically. He emptied his pockets, tossing props everywhere in a vain attempt to find something useful.

Then Hinkle donned a pair of white magician’s gloves, his eyes falling right on Brain. And Brain realized he was about to be conscripted as an unwilling volunteer.

Since his usual tactic of biting fingers until he was left alone wouldn’t work on gloved hands, Brain beat a hasty retreat to the back of his cage, intending to use the exercise wheel as further cover.

But he only made it halfway to the wheel when the door opened and gloved fingers pinched his tail, dragging him out of the cage and dangling him over the magic hat for everyone to see.

“Watch as I transform this ugly lab mouse into a beautiful dove!” Hinkle yelled, and just as Brain processed the insult, he was unceremoniously dropped into the hat. He fell right on top of the rubber ball, knocking the wind out of him. “Abracadabra alakazam!”

Brain pressed himself against the inside folds of the hat as he tried to catch his breath, but he was only given a moment of reprieve before he was snatched up and thrown into the air, as if Hinkle expected him to grow wings because of a nonsensical phrase.

He slammed against the window and fell to the table below, shaking his head to clear away the stars circling in his vision. Every part of his body ached, agony starting from the tip of his tail and snaking up his spine. Slowly, he sat up and checked himself over in the window.

There was a distinct lack of avian features in his reflection, as he expected. He had a new break in his tail from the rough treatment, but there weren’t any other new markings.  

Everyone stared at Brain in silence, and the only sounds were barely suppressed squeaks of disbelief from Hinkle and a chorus of Deck the Halls.

Then there was a booming laugh.

“Prettiest dove I’ve ever seen!” Bill said, to the mirth of his coworkers.  

Brain’s ears flattened, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear forever.

His fists clenched at the sound of their mockery. He never chose to be involved in this ridiculous demonstration. Or deal with their scorn and stupidity every day. Or live at ACME Labs at all, where he had to suffer through experiment after experiment on top of attempting world domination and failing every single night.

“Come back! I have trick cards! Magic 8-balls! I’ll saw something in half and put it back together, I swear!” Hinkle shouted at the scientists’ retreating figures as they all carded out and stepped into the bitter chill of winter. They shuffled through the snow-covered property and into their vehicles, not wishing to be delayed any longer.

The prized silk hat crumpled in Hinkle’s hand.

“Bah! The only thing this junk hat’s good for is the trash can!” Hinkle snarled as he hurled the hat at the wastebasket by the door, but it only hit the nearby wall instead.

Then he stomped out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Brain peered out the window, his breath forming a small patch of fog against the cold glass as he watched Hinkle trudge towards the city. He waited a minute to ensure Hinkle wasn't coming back, then rushed over to a drawer where he'd hidden a roll of blueprints and writing utensils.

He was finally, blissfully alone.

Strands of colorful Christmas lights twinkled along the walls, casting a festive hue onto the unfurled blueprints.

Solve for x. Cube the most wonderful time of the year. Multiply by pi.

Peppermints, candy canes, and chocolates were mixed together in a snowflake-patterned bowl. Brain snacked on one of the chocolates as he scribbled a preliminary design for a machine. The candy was bittersweet on his tongue.

Sodium and chloride to form an ionic bond. Three irons needed to balance the equation. Symbol H stood for the hap-happiest season of all.

Only the scratching of his pencil, the hum of a heater which barely worked, and an old, droning carol. The Christmas bells subdued, the computers shut off.

And hearts will be glowing when loved ones are near. Loved ones are near. Loved ones are near...  

There was a wet spot on the blueprint, directly over where he was trying to write. Frowning, he rubbed out the excess moisture, but only succeeded in smudging his numbers. He started over in an empty space, only for the wetness to appear again. Annoyed, he flipped his pencil around and rubbed the grayed area with his eraser.

The blueprint ripped.

Though the hole was tiny and didn’t affect the rest of his work in the slightest, it seemed that his plan had failed before he’d implemented it.

And it occurred to him that he’d never considered how the machine would function or how it would help him accomplish his takeover.

His face felt strange, so he rubbed his cheeks to get rid of the sensation. His hand came away damp.

Oh.

He was crying.

It was that stupid song’s fault. He dropped his pencil and walked over to the stereo, slamming his hand against the stop button just as the song reached its end.

The sound cut off immediately.

Only the dying thrums of a malfunctioning heater now.

The silence was overwhelming.

Christmas media always said the holiday season was a joyous occasion for family and friends, a time for reflection and rebirth as the year wrapped up and began anew.

But it was just propaganda. Nothing more than lies so people would praise themselves as right and virtuous and loving when they were nothing of the sort.

Brain splashed cold water onto his face, ridding himself of the useless tears. Then he looked out the window. A light flurry had begun, the clouds low and dreary gray. The land was already blanketed in snow from the blizzard on the winter equinox, and temperatures hadn’t warmed up since.

And while there were footprints in the snow from passersby, much of the surrounding property was untouched.

Maybe that’s what he needed.

An opportunity to numb himself, to walk around in the cold and discard these useless, empty aches in his chest.

He tore up his blueprint and threw it away. He was better off starting over after his stint outside.

Then he put on his winter gear, nicked from a doll somebody had brought in as a donation to a toy drive, but now lay forgotten in the lab.

The thick white jacket was comfortable and padded with extra fluff. He threw the hood over his head and tucked in his ears, then pulled on his snow boots and gloves.

As he wound a long piece of string around the window latch, he caught sight of the silk hat that laid beside the wastebasket, considered nothing more than trash since it wouldn’t do what Hinkle wanted. The rubber ball and scarf was still inside, crumpled and forgotten.

Magic wasn’t real. It was simply the art of misdirection and illusion. Or a word the uneducated used to describe occurrences they couldn’t explain with science.

Despite his beliefs, Brain built a simple pulley system with thick yarn and an empty spool to haul the silk hat up to the counter.

He could use the hat for extra fabric. Repurpose it. Shrink it so he could have a formal hat for himself.

He opened the window, allowing the cold wind to numb the exposed fur on his face. With all the flurries, he’d probably regret this decision later, but that wasn’t anything new. Then he dropped the loose end of the string outside and tugged the knot around the latch. Once he was satisfied with the knot’s tightness, he dropped the silk hat into the snow-covered bushes below.

It was ironic, how he experimented with chemicals and complicated machinery every night, but didn’t know what he was doing with a simple hat.

Maybe that humiliating demonstration had messed with his mind, overriding all his logic and planning capabilities.

But it seemed like such a flimsy excuse, not providing a satisfactory explanation as to why he’d dragged a so-called magic hat outside on what was supposed to be a simple break.

Brain slid down the string, his boots crunching against the snow as he landed. He stuck out a gloved hand, catching several flurries.

No two snowflakes looked alike, they always said. But their crystalline structures couldn’t be seen without a microscope, so they were nothing more than white powder to the naked eye. He rolled the flurries in his palm until they formed a tiny snowball.

It gave him an idea.

But...it was childish. Stupid.

Yet he found himself rolling snow anyway.

This patch of the property was completely undisturbed, so he had a nice layer of clean, white snow untouched by human footprints to work with.

Nobody was around to see him. And it gave his hands something to do instead of remaining idle.

He quickly found that rolling snow into a spherical shape per the typical snowman wasn’t as easy as television depicted. The snow didn’t want to move in the way he wanted, and it came out as a lumpy, ovular mound that happened to be the same size as him.

He kicked aside a thin, whiplike twig that had broken off from one of the nearby bushes as he gathered more snow to form the head. Then he reconsidered and picked up the twig.

In his hands, it looked very similar to a mouse’s tail. One that wasn’t broken by mishandling.

While he didn’t have the height or the tools required for a full-sized snowman, maybe he could create a snowmouse instead.

He carefully threaded the twig into the backside of the mound, curling it around so it resembled an actual tail.

Then he brushed extra snow away from the front, smoothing out the mound until it had the snowy equivalent of legs.

The head was more difficult to sculpt, but he managed to create something that would be recognizable as a mouse’s head, with two small snowballs forming the ears and a muzzle that jutted out. He would’ve made the muzzle smaller, but the increased size was necessary to counterweight the ears. Lastly, he slid two sticks into each side of the snowmouse to serve as arms.

The snowmouse was twice Brain’s height, and while it had the proportions of a mouse, it was ultimately just a cold white body with three embedded twigs. No personality, no splashes of color.

Anyone could easily miss or step on it.

The snowmouse would be gone by next week, once the temperature rose above freezing. No trace of his handiwork would remain.

Such was life. Short and brutal, with nothing to show for it.

The faceless snowmouse seemed oddly alone, the only other thing besides Brain in this wintery courtyard. There wasn’t anything for either of them here.

“Sorry,” Brain said, unsure of why he was apologizing to something that couldn’t hold a conversation. He’d wasted far too much time here. He had to get back to his plans. “I’m going inside.” 

A chilly breeze blew, and Brain held fast to his hood so it didn’t come off. As he turned to the lab, he saw the silk hat become airborne, flying several feet until it landed by Brain and the snowmouse.

He didn’t think the breeze had been that strong.

But the strangest part was how the hat was much smaller than before. It wouldn’t fit a human anymore.

Even the red rubber ball and pink scarf shrunk. And there were several pebbles that hadn’t been there previously, though Brain guessed they could’ve just gotten inside when he’d dropped the hat.

Brain stared at the items, then back at the snowmouse.

“Just this once,” he sighed as he draped the scarf between the main body and head, then placed the rubber ball at the end of the muzzle for a nose.

Two of the pebbles became unseeing eyes, though Brain was at a loss of what he should do with the other two pebbles. He tried using them as a replacement for buttons on the body, but that didn’t seem right. And placing them on the cheeks just looked awkward.  

Brain held a pebble in each hand, stepping back to determine the placement. But he didn’t find anything satisfactory.

He was about to discard the pebbles entirely, but then he noticed that the snowmouse seemed to have an odd pair of buckteeth sticking out at the end of its muzzle with the way he held the pebbles.

Perhaps he should’ve left it as a matter of perspective. It was stupid. It was silly.

But Brain stuck the pebbles on the underside of the muzzle anyway.

The snowmouse looked ridiculous with its red rubber nose, pink scarf, and pebbles for eyes and goofy buckteeth.

Another breeze picked up, and one of the snowmouse’s stick arms waved, moving up and down like it was saying hello.

Like it was...friendly. Alive. Happy.

Slowly, Brain approached the snowmouse. He placed one hand on the snowmouse’s body, balanced on his tiptoes, and threw the silk hat on top.

For reasons Brain couldn’t explain, the hat just seemed to go with the rest of the snowmouse.

And then he caught himself.

What a ridiculous concept.

Creating a snowmouse wasn’t his worst transgression, if he’d just left it at the creation process. No, instead he had to go personifying it! Assigning qualities that shouldn’t be designated to inanimate objects!

Snow wasn’t alive. It was water. That’s all it was.

“You’re snow. You’re just a pile of frozen water!” Brain yelled, turning away from the snowmouse. Enough with these idiotic fantasies. He was going inside, back to the cruel reality of trying to take over the world. “You’re not alive, so just leave me alone! Quit toying with my perception!”

He stomped towards the window, but only made it a few steps before an odd sound gave him pause.

“Toys? Narrrrrf! That sounds like jolly good fun! Can I play with toys too?”

Brain looked over his shoulder, and promptly tripped over himself in surprise.

A pair of bright blue eyes was looking back at him. Actual eyes, not pebbles.

And the snowmouse was talking.

End AN: I feel really bad for calling Brain ugly. *sobs*

I actually kinda find writing Hinkle’s dialogue fun. A bit of a strange character to crossover with, but fun. Hocus Pocus the Rabbit won’t be making an appearance. 

Also some changes will be made from the original Frosty the Snowman cause some parts of the cartoon don’t make sense. A greenhouse at the North Pole, really?

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 23

First  -  Previous  -  Next

Hey..... a member of my household just tested positive for Covid-19, and I am displaying symptoms sooooooo hopefully that won’t affect posting but it has made this chapter a little shorter than I had wanted. Basically if the next chapter isn’t out on time that’s why.

cw: b a d parenting, references to trauma

~

Remus chewed on the end of his pen. Riley, Alberts, Robertson, Robinson, Richards, Allison, Reese, Arlowe . . . something that started with an 'A' or an 'R'. But what? Why couldn't he remember his own last name?

Logan was always saying something about brainwashing and trauma, but Logan knew his own last name! Stupid Logan Sanders and his calm explanations for everything in Remus's life. He didn't want someone telling him how he felt or why, he wanted to move on. He wanted to figure himself out for himself. He wanted out.

The trip to the library a couple weeks ago had been even worse than expected. Logan hadn't even let go of Patton, despite how uncomfy the kid looked. It had to suck to be twenty-something and have your dad drag you around by the shoulders everywhere you go.

Patton had only wanted one book, for some reason. There were so many books in that building, and Logan had pulled like a hundred from the shelves just to show him. He'd signed so quickly about the book that Remus couldn't keep up, but Logan had frowned and talked to the librarian for a few minutes, before eventually presenting Patton with a book—which was probably the one he'd been asking for. His face looked weird after receiving it, happy, but also seriously depressed. It looked pretty old, Remus had no idea why he'd wanted that book.

Rivers, Albright, Abbott, Ramsey, Russell, Reed, Rowell, Austen. . . . Nothing. Not even a smidge of anything. Well, if he couldn't remember his last name, what about the name of where he used to live?

The city came to him almost instantly.

Sharon.

Remus snorted. That was a stupid name for a city. Actually, he could remember joking about it with his brother, about how their mom shared it.

Energy flooded to his limbs with a suddenness, and when the bell rang from the door opening beside him he literally fell out of his seat.

“W-welcome to Chevron,” he said, straightening up. The customer nodded barely at him, making a beeline for the refrigerators in the back. Remus quickly wrote on the scrap of paper he'd been doodling circles onto so far: 'sharon – town and ma'.

Now he just had to figure out which state sounded the most familiar, and if Sharon was a city there. He'd spent days just driving around town with friends, he probably still knew his way around.

The customer paid for a few jugs of Gatorade, then left, dust puffing up behind his truck as he pulled out of the parking lot. Remus sat back down, scratching his mustache with his pen. He could google the city when he got home, then. . . .

Then he'd figure out how to tell Patton and Logan he was leaving.

-

Patton sighed, flipping through the first half of the book again. Summer, it was called. This copy looked almost identical to the other one. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers along the slightly indented title, like Virgil would. He'd had it for almost two months now, asking Father to renew the book instead of allowing it to be returned. He really wanted to finish it, after all.

Not that he could ever get himself to read past around the middle.

Patton's notebook was almost full now, but he couldn't ask Remus for another. Not after how much Remus was already doing for him. The pages were filled with studying mouth movements, bad jokes, and journal entries that mostly were about Virgil and what they'd do when they were together again. In tiny, cramped handwriting was a detailed recollection of everything Patton could remember that Virgil told him about where he lived—which wasn't much. It was hard to hold on to any memories from there. His therapist said it had to do with trauma memories being stored incorrectly, and said he might have flashbacks about it. So far, none had happened, but sometimes he wished one would—just so he could see Virgil again.

He wasn't good at drawing, but here and there in his notebook were vague sketches of Virgil. Some days, Patton woke up not sure what he looked like. He couldn't forget him. Patton would never forgive himself if he forgot the lovely mistiness of Virgil's eyes, the way his hair fell into his mouth and made him sputter, the stark paleness of his face against his black hoodie. . . .

Patton wrapped the hoodie around himself. He needed to think about something else, or else he'd start crying again. Crying made his head and ears hurt, which his doctor said would probably always be the case. So he mostly did his best to not cry, ever.

Patton cast his mind around for something new to think about, and landed on the trip to the library several weeks ago. The trip wasn't . . . optimal?

No. The trip sucked.

Father wouldn't let go of him, which just made him feel like a toddler having to be guided around. It was bright, and had a lot of people, and was a little startling, but Patton was sure he could have handled it. Why didn't Father trust him?

It wasn't just that. Father made him go to bed at a specific time every night, wouldn't let him have any say in what he ate, wouldn't even let him pick what to watch on the TV. It was . . . it was stupid! It was awful, it was embarrassing, it was demeaning! It made Patton feel worthless, like he wasn't even a proper member of society! He wasn't a boy anymore, he had even had a job back at the Haven, he wasn't helpless!

Maybe soon, with all that he'd been learning, he could prove to Father that he was capable. And if Father wouldn't believe him, well . . . Patton would have to make him.

Again, that anger was right at the surface, ready to spill out into the air. At least he had the book.

-

Somehow, Logan had let Remus convince him that he didn't need to go to every therapy appointment with Patton, so Logan was at home alone. For the first time in months. He was exhausted, but he did not have time to sleep.

Patton was hiding something. Logan was undeniably certain of it. And when Patton hid something, he hid it under his bed.

Logan didn't get up immediately. This was a matter of privacy, after all. He understood that he was likely being a little too restricting with his son, but who could blame him? He'd almost lost him. So if Patton was hiding something, it was likely best to know what it was. Patton didn't seem to realize the amount of danger he was in. It wasn't his fault, he was just a child. Children weren't supposed to worry about this sort of thing, it was their parents' jobs to care for them. So, naturally, he had to make sure that whatever Patton was hiding wasn't going to bring harm in some way. If it was, he could gently confront him about it, and explain why it was not acceptable.

With that plan in mind, Logan stood from his desk and made his way to Patton's room. His door was always open, even when he was inside—it made sense, all things considered.

The room still had almost precisely the same setup as Logan had put together, down to the making of the bed. He'd told Patton that he was allowed to customize his room and ask for personal items, but so far he had done neither of those things. The only difference was that the small closet now had a few more pieces of clothing in it.

Logan bent to his hands and knees beside the bed and peered beneath. Sure enough, there were items underneath the boy's bed: a battered blue notebook, the singular book that he had wanted from the library last month, the jacket that had belonged to the other other prisoner. Logan reached for the notebook, grunting when his back popped.

He pulled himself onto Patton's bed to open it. It was confusing, at first, some jokes in his son's handwriting, rather poor sketches of an unfamiliar face. Then. . . .

Oh.

That—that was bad.

Logan took a few deep breaths, then flipped another page, then another. More of the same. This wasn't good. This was not good at all.

These diagrams and instructions, clearly for lip-reading? These would get Patton taken away from him. These would hurt him. These would make Patton want to leave the safety of home.

These were dangerous.

~

Taglist: @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog  @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides @awkwardandanxiousfander @thekitchenpan @im-an-anxious-wreck @larkiaquail

[starlocked01]

Do You Love the Color of the Sky

(pls don’t scroll it’s not that post)

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: Not being able to see green must suck, but Patton pitied his soulmate more for being stuck with him.

Content Warning: Swearing, Food

Day 26 Queerplatonic Intruality, background Logince-  You can't see shades of your soulmate's eye color until you meet and look into each other's eyes for the first time.

Do you love the color of the sky?

Patton scrolled through the ridiculously long post and sighed. He liked most of them but the shades of blue always looked so dull. A lot of people reposted this particular picture set because it was the easiest way to tell what color eyes your soulmate has. Which led to a lot of bored scrolling.

If not for the lack of blue in his life, Patton would have assumed he didn't have a soulmate. It just didn't make sense to him as a concept. He loved all his friends and cared about the people he met in his day to day life, he didn’t feel like anything was particularly missing.

Other than the color blue, that is. He stared at his own green eyes and chuckled sadly. His poor soulmate had never seen summer leaves or blades of grass, probably never liked Luigi as a character, hated driving, and wouldn't recognize Patton's pride flags. Patton had learned about the aromantic spectrum and a lot of his feelings had clicked into place. Romance just wasn't his thing and he was happy. He did worry about disappointing his blue-eyed soulmate. How awful to be tied with someone who won't love you romantically.

Patton's best friend since middle school had managed to find his brown-eyed soulmate at a local cafe. Logan didn't say much but Patton could tell he was ecstatic under the calm exterior. And from the sound of it, Roman was quite the romantic which flustered Logan. Patton was happy for them, really.

"You know, Pat, I could try to set you up on a blind date," Patton looked up at Roman with confusion.

"Oh no, they're blind?" Patton couldn't imagine not being able to see at all.

"Why would you suggest that, Roman. His eyes are only green," Logan interjected from the kitchen where he was preparing dinner for his soulmate and friend. Roman had been the one who insisted on inviting Patton and this idea was probably the reason why.

"No, they aren't blind. A blind date is when you go on a date with someone you haven't met before. I could set everything up! I've got the perfect man in mind-" Roman started rambling excitedly.

"Don't tell me it's your brother," Logan scolded.

"It's my brother, but that's not the point!"

"Don't you think you've put Remus through enough humiliation?" Logan turned, shaking a wooden spoon at Roman menacingly.

"I mean, I doubt he's my soulmate and I'll probably disappoint him, but I'll meet your brother if he's okay with it," Patton fiddled with the napkin holder, trying to diffuse the argument by agreeing. What did he have to lose?

"Fantastic! I'll call him right now!" Roman jumped up from the table, phone in hand.

"Roman! Dinner's almost done, just leave it alone!" Logan called with an exasperated sigh, "sorry, Patton. He does this to everyone."

"It's fine, Lo. A low-pressure date might be nice?" Patton shrugged.

Roman had the whole date set up before dinner was even done. He decided the two would meet for a picnic at the local park that weekend. Patton didn’t even have to say a word and it was all planned out. Logan shook his head but gave his soulmate a small smile.

The day of the picnic arrived. Roman had done everything to get this set up for the two, excited at the possible connection for his brother and new friend. Patton just rolled with it, bringing a small cake he'd made to share.

He found the picnic and spotted Roman talking with a man who looked oddly similar and dissimilar to him at the same time. Patton figured they must be brothers and hesitated several yards away.

The man couldn't look any more different from Patton if he tried. His hair was dyed and Patton thought he spotted the glint of a piercing on his lip just under a trim mustache.  For some reason, he'd decided on a black and green mini skirt and fishnet stockings with a ripped My Chemical Romance shirt. It certainly contrasted with Patton's sky grey polo, grey cardigan, and khaki slacks.

Patton took a few deep breaths to try and remember that this wasn't likely to work and was mostly to humor Roman. He'd be nice to Remus. Maybe meet him again at a Christmas party where they both laugh at Roman's poor matchmaking. End of story.

Roman spotted him and waved Patton over, more excited than a puppy brought home from a shelter.

"Patton! Let me introduce you to Remus," Roman grabbed his wrist to yank him the rest of the way over, "I think you guys are really going to hit it off!"

Remus stared at the ground, looking embarrassed. Patton felt really bad as Roman must put him through this all the time. He offered a hand and a warm smile which he took but Remus wouldn't meet his eyes. He was fine with that.

"Alright, I'll leave you two alone to start building chemistry. Good luck!" with that Roman turned and left and Remus let out an exasperated sigh before sitting down on the blanket.

"You don't have to stay. I know he probably paid you or something," Remus muttered at Patton.

"No, I agreed to try, no bribes. I'm sorry if I'm embarrassing you," Patton smiled sadly, kneeling down on the other side of the blanket.

"It's not you, Patton. It's him. He's obsessed with finding my soulmate ever since I told him…" Remus got very quiet, picking at one of the threads of his sock.

Patton urged him to continue, "you told him what?"

"That I'm ace. No one is ever gonna be happy with me so why try?" Remus picked up a rock and threw it hard, "he doesn't believe me and thinks I'm just giving up. I wish he'd just fucking listen to me!"

"Oh, is that all? Gosh, I'm sorry, Remus. I totally get it though! Have you asked him to stop putting you in uncomfortable situations?" Patton was so relieved he forgot that Remus wouldn't know why.

"Don't you think I've tried?? And yet here you are, probably telling yourself you can change me because all anyone would need to do is get in my pants- skirt- whatever and I'll change my tune! Right?" Remus glared at Patton who looked away quickly.

"N-no… I mean I actually get it. I'm aro and I hear a lot of similar stuff from people who don't get it," Patton explained himself softly.

Remus hit his forehead and flopped down onto his back, staring up at the sky, "oh! Oh, of course... I'm sorry for assuming, Patton."

"It's okay. Let's just enjoy this lunch and what I assume is a beautiful day," Patton laid down and stared at the sky, "is it cloudy today or is the sky actually blue?"

"Oh, it's a brilliant blue today, Pattycake. Have you never seen the blue sky?" Remus asked in amazement.

Patton chuckled, "nope, never seen it. My 'soulmate'-" he used finger quotes "-has blue eyes."

"Oh, well it's about the color of your shirt today," Remus grinned, "so I guess you know the difference between leaves and clouds, huh?"

"Green is a beautiful color," Patton smiled, "I hope someday you get to see it with someone who appreciates you for who you are, Remus."

"Thanks, Patton."

They both laid there in silence for a few minutes before Remus broke it, "so what do you think of horror movies?"

"Too scary to watch alone, but I'll watch with a friend," Patton smiled, "opinion on Bob Ross?"

"A treasure, but I wish he drew fewer happy trees and more sad ones," Remus grinned. They continued bouncing questions off of each other, a few starting heated debates as they ate the picnic and just talked.

It was wonderfully non-romantic. Patton felt understood for the first time in a long while.

Remus became more and more animated as their conversation drifted from movies and games to tattoos (Patton showed him a Spongebob tattoo on his ankle much to Remus' surprise) and careers. Patton was shocked to discover that Remus worked in daycare most days, something he would have never guessed from his attire.

"You like working with kids?" Patton asked cheerfully.

"I get to give them back to their parents at the end of the day and sleep like a rock," Remus laughed and took a bite of cake, "let me guess, you're a baker?"

"Not quite, I help run my parents' Mom and Pop diner and they stick me on dessert duty way too often," Patton happily patted his stomach, "I bet chasing all those kids burns about as many calories as I can bake in a day."

Remus snorted, "maybe I should stop by and find out some time."

"Yeah! I make the best cheesecake- if I'm being humble," Patton laughed.

"I love cheesecake! Can we go now?" Remus sat bolt upright with a large grin on his face.

"Don't we have to clean all this up or wait for Roman?" Patton asked, happy but a little nervous to make Logan’s soulmate upset with him.

"Oh come on!"

"I can always just make you one," Patton replied carefully.

"That would imply seeing you again," Remus smirked at him.

"You seemed to like the idea," Patton smiled hopefully, picking at the grass.

"I love that idea. You're so easy to hang out with, Pat. You really do get it, and I'm sure we could have lots of fun together," Patton looked up, tears in his eyes. He took off his glasses and wiped them with the sleeve of his cardigan before meeting Remus' gaze with a smile.

Something in the back of his head clicked. He watched as Remus blinked in confusion and started looking around wildly. Patton felt just as confused until he noticed the sky.

He fell back down on the blanket and stared up at the brilliant depths of blue in the cloudless sky. He could almost feel how far it stretched into the void of space and was utterly in awe, tears streaming down from the corners of his eyes and down his ears. It was magnificent.

Patton lay there crying until his view was blocked by two navy blue eyes, sparkling with joy and streaming tears as well. Patton smiled and opened his arms for a hug which Remus gladly fell into.

Roman came back and found them in each other’s arms, laying on the blanket and talking about everything they couldn't tell anyone else before. Patton made sure later to tell him off for how he'd treated Remus but also thanked him for setting up the date.

They weren't dating. It was something different, but they were happy. And Patton really did love the color of the sky.

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

[fandomficsnstuff]

A love left behind -Chapter 5

Charles Smith x Reader

Summary: Your dad owns a ranch in between Thieves Landing and Armadillo, doing business with both Blackwater, Armadillo and Tumbleweed. One day three strange men show up on your land, a man with a scar across his face, an old bearded man whose horse has a literal mustache, and a tall and handsome man, both black and indian you think. What are they doing here and how will you deal with them?

Chapter 5

(Found this on elenafishersps1 , I absolutely adore it, hope it’s alright that I use it, if not then let me know:D)

It had been a few weeks since you had gone into town with Charles, and the both of you had spontaneously visited each other, but lately you hadn’t seen much of him. You were getting ready for going out when you heard the sound of galloping hooves, and looking over you saw a familiar horse and a very familiar man approach you, but unlike before, you weren’t smiling brightly when you saw him. You felt… sad. That he hadn’t visited you and when you visited him he didn’t have time or wasn’t around, but you didn’t know why you felt like this, you weren’t courting, there was nothing between you, at least you had to keep reminding yourself that there wasn’t. So you looked back at (Y/H/N) and continued to brush (Y/H/N) down, getting ready to put the saddle on. 

“(Y/N)” oh, well at least he remembered your name. You didn’t even turn at the sound of his voice, merely giving him a short ‘hm’ to show that you acknowledge him, that you were aware of his presence and that you had heard him. “I uh… I wanted to see you but-... I can come back if you’re busy?” You wanted to sigh heavily, it wasn’t his fault that you were mad at him for nothing, and he sounded so defeated at your cold shoulder already, so you turned around, facing him. “I’m not busy right now” you admitted, making him look much more relieved “I uh… Abigail told me you’d been to the farm a lot, asking for me. I’m sorry I wasn’t there” you visibly softened at his words, nodding “it’s alright, you’ve been busy” you forced a smile, but dropped it as he stepped closer “still, I-... I wanted to give you something, to say sorry”

“Charles there’s nothing to be sorry about you don’t-” you were cut off when you looked down into his outstretched hand, a beautiful bracelet in it, it was made of twine and string, tiny figures hanging from it, made out of wood, it had colored pearls adorning it, and when you picked it up, inspecting it, you took your time looking at the little figures. A bear, and eagle, a doe and a horse, that looked oddly a lot like yours. You gasped and looked up at him “it’s beautiful” you whispered, a large grin forming on your lips and he blushed, this tall, strong, bulky man who you had seen throw another man like he was nothing, was giving you a bracelet and blushing. “Did you make it yourself?” you looked back at it, hearing a ‘mhm’ in response “it’s amazing… so beautiful… and the small details…” you were talking more to yourself than him now, looking over all of the tiny, beautiful details, this was clearly something he had put a lot of work into, and it was for you.

“May I?” you looked up at him, staring at him before nodding, stretching your hand out as he took he bracelet, he was so gentle, carefully wrapping the string and twine around your wrist, he treated you almost as if you were glass, like if he handled you too roughly you’d shatter into a million pieces and he’d never be able to put you back together. Once you had the bracelet on, you admired it, he had gotten the pearls to match your (E/C) eyes and the twine and string matched your skin tone. You twisted and turned the tiny figures, feeling the small details with the pads of your fingers, and you giggled a bit when you reached the horse, showing it to him “is this (Y/H/N)?” he blushed even more and nodded, scratching the back of his neck nervously “it’s beautiful, it really looks like (Y/H/N)...” you looked back up at him again after a few more moments of admiring the bracelet.

A comfortable silence fell between you two as you just looked at each other, taking each other in and studying every detail. After a while you thought of an idea “I-... I was about to ride out, would you join me?” he looked hesitant, glancing at your house where your father were, but eventually looked back to you “sure” he smiled, and you saddled up (Y/H/N), doing everything to not jump and giggled excitedly, and you were quickly up in your saddle, seeing him already on his horse and waiting for you, and another brilliant idea sprung to mind.

“Catch me if you can, Mr. Smith!” 

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

You breathed heavily as you slowed your horse to a stop at the edge of the water, looking back and seeing Charles doing the same “I won” you giggled, making Charles chuckle slightly, and you realized that you loved the sound of his chuckle, you loved hearing his voice.

“Alright, alright” he dismounted and you did the same, letting (Y/H/N) go wander off somewhere, probably going somewhere with more grass to graze. Charles walked up beside you by the water, admiring the view “it’s pretty, huh?” you mumbled, going over to a particular spot, the ground was lifted up just a bit, only about 3 feet, and it was more rock than sand and bushes. You sat down, your legs over the small edge and you felt Charles sit down next to you, with a proper distance, like the gentleman he is.

For a little while, you two just sat there, in comfortable silence. You closed your eyes and enjoyed the sun, unaware of Charles looking at you, almost longingly. “So” you opened your eyes at his voice, looking at him “what does the winner get?” he smirked slightly and you could swear that it wasn’t the sun or the heat that made you melt. You shrugged “well, how about the enjoyment of seeing you eat my dust?” you joked, making him laugh, grinning widely at your response, making you chuckle as well. You shrugged again “I don’t know, what would you want if you won?” you looked out over the calm water as you let him think, another small silence falling over the two of you “no idea, the boyish thing would be to ask for a kiss” he half-joked, shaking his head at the stupid idea. “Well, would you want it, if you had won?” you blushed heavily, feeling awkward as you sat there, not even daring to look at him as you waited for his answer “want what?” well alright, ouch, his response wasn’t exactly what you had hoped for, not that you had hoped for anything, of course. You shrugged “the kiss?...” you mumbled, now even more embarrassed as he didn’t say anything. About to tell him to just forget it, that it didn’t matter and that it was a joke, you opened your mouth but he beat you to it “yes…” you looked over at him and saw him blush as he looked down, fiddling with his fingers and you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he was.

“Well, then I-... want a kiss” you half asked, seeing how his eyes shot wide open and how he looked at you with an even darker blush “if, the loser wouldn’t mind, that is” you added quickly, about to tell him to once again just forget it when he got you by surprise. You felt his large hand cup your small cheek, his soft lips pressed to yours and your heart didn’t just skip a beat, it straight up stopped, your eyes slowly closing on their own as you kissed him back, your hand going to rest on his shoulders as the both of you deepened the kiss, your cheeks burning up as you moved closer, his free hand moved to your hand that wasn’t on his shoulder, and he held it, gently taking your smaller hand in his. Once you finally parted you hesitated to open your eyes, and when you did, you saw a fire in his eyes, one that he saw in you too, and for a moment, a split moment, you were at peace. You forgot all about Albert, you forgot all about your father, all about everything except him, how his thumb gently stroked your cheek, how warm his chest was, how he looked at you with such kind eyes, how you felt, it had been so long since you had felt like this. And then it all came back, the way you were feeling, Albert and how he made you feel at peace as well, and you retreated, looking away from Charles as you thought about all of the sweet things Albert said, how he was such a gentleman, how he was so romantic, and then one day you found him with not just one, but several other women two days before your wedding. A part of you knew that Charles wasn’t like that, but then again Albert didn’t seem like that either at the start.

“(Y/N)?” you glanced at Charles before gently shaking your head, snapping yourself out of your thoughts “I’m sorry I-... I’m sorry if I overstepped-” you shook your head “no it’s-...” you glanced at him, how worried he looked, afraid he had offended you, done something wrong or somehow managed to mess up. You sighed heavily as you thought for a second, biting your lip in thought “I-... I was once engaged” you admitted, not looking at him, your gaze locked on your hands in your lap, not wanting to see his reaction “I was engaged once, a fella named Albert Wallace. He was-... he was so sweet…” you exhaled, fighting back tears, even after three years, it still hurt, it hurt so much, “he was so kind to me… he never did nothing to me, always treated me with respect, complimented me, gave me gifts. And then one day he asked me… asked me to be his wife and I said yes… we were engaged for a few months and then, two days before our wedding, I caught him with multiple women… two of them were my best friends, they were supposed to be my bride’s maids” you admitted, still not daring to glance at Charles.

You were being suffocated by the silence, afraid of some form of rejection from him, so you nearly jumped when his hand found yours, making your gaze turn to him as you felt tears prickle the corners of your eyes, and the way he looked at you, with such kindness and, if you dared, adoration. He held your gaze with such understanding that it made a single tear spill from your eyes, which you only noticed when it hit your hand. You looked back down at your hands, though his much larger one was covering one of yours, and you found yourself gently squeezing his hand, not wanting to ever let go. And you both just sat like that, for a long while, holding each other’s hand and just staring at the water, sometimes glancing at each other, but it was nice, peaceful and calm, serene almost. You decided to lean your head against his shoulder, happy to find that he, in turn, leaned his head on yours, and you once again just sat in comfortable silence.

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

Hours later and you had fallen asleep against his shoulder. You didn’t even wake when he managed to pull his hand from yours, picking you up and whistling in a low tone, both of your horses coming. He managed to sit you up in his saddle before getting up himself, your legs on one side of his horse as he tied (Y/H/N) to his horse, gently riding you back home.

When he arrived it was even darker out, but the sun was still setting. Your father came out, about to say something when Charles signalled him to be quiet, and once he was close enough he explained in a quiet voice that you had fallen asleep. Your father allowed him to carry you into your own house, of course following with him. Charles looked around briefly before locating your bedroom, walking in and gently laying you on the bed, taking off your boots and pulling a blanket over you. Once that was done, he went outside and with your father and saddled off your horse, your father helping him guide which stall was (Y/H/N)’s and where the gear should be. Charles then saddled up, wishing your father a good evening and rode back to Beecher’s Hope, a satisfied smile on his lips as he continued to think of you, how sweet you looked when asleep, and how happy you had been when you received your gift, how you tried to hide your excitement at the prospect of going on a ride with him at your side, and Charles found himself even grinning at the recent memories.

[kathyprior4200]

Welcome to Wacky Wally Wackford’s World!

Greetings, I say, greetings demons of all ages! The name’s Wally Wackford, an oh so suave man of business! You may not know me, but surely you’ve seen me…pretty much everywhere. Yes, I’ve never been the type to stay in one place for long. Life can be pretty wild at times. But that’s what makes it oh so fun!

 So what’s my story, you say, you say? Well look no further, ‘cause I have a tale to tell.

 I’ve been doing freelance work off and on, laboring at one job, moving onto the next. The jobs vary a lot, but I’m a Wally of many trades. (Yes, I’ve been fired many times as well, figuratively and literally…it is Hell after all.) Early on, I found out that living in poverty is never a lot of fun. I quickly learned how to scam other people…and boy did I enjoy it! It was the only way I could inch toward the top, get some power of my own. I’d make a few deals here and there and then when clients got desperate, I’d say something like, “Oh I’m so sorry but there’s an extra fee you have to pay. Forgot to mention that.” Then I’d point to that small scribbled section on the contract I added in moments ago.

 “I’m starving, sir!” they’d say. Or, “I left my money at home,” or my favorite: “Shove it up your trickster rear!”

 Sometimes they did pay me extra. Other times they didn’t…and those were the ones who soon forgot about everything forever. (chuckles).

 Anyway, moving on.

 Sometimes when my days got long and hard, I’d go to saloons for a nice bottled drink. The emerald colored Greed Mead is my favorite. Twirling my thin black mustache, I’d wink at some pretty imp gals nearby and say, “Hey there. You’ve been in Hell for a long time. Is that why you’re so hot?”

 Most of the time, I’d get a swift punch to the face in response. The glares on their pretty faces, “Take that remark to the Sloth Ring, lazy bootleg fucker.”

 So many aggressive people these days. I could tip my black hat to many imps and they’d either fall to my charms or roll their eyes. I was fine with that. There’s not much else to do in Hell then to live your life and amuse yourself with watching others struggle. In fact, pretty much every sin is encouraged, so why not keep going?

 After stalking around looking for more people to scam, I came across Loo-Loo Land in the Ring of Greed. I’ve always loved that place, its vibrant atmosphere emitting joyful fun and chaotic flair. I walked on over and asked the vendor, “I say, you have any jobs here?”

 “I’ve heard of you, Wacky Wally,” he said at the ticket stand. “You may be a good pick-pocket, but your skills are nothing compared to Mammon. In fact, this whole place is a fucking rip-off of Lucifer’s Lu-Lu Land!”

 “All the more reason to love this place!” I exclaimed.

 “Robo Fizz is putting on another show at 7pm tomorrow,” said the beefy imp vendor. “Made in Mammon’s factory and modeled after the famous imp Fizzarolli.” He then spoke in a low whisper, “It includes some behind the scenes moments for the VIPs…you know, with tentacles and ‘special features.’”

 “Oh that sounds delicious!” I said with a slow grin. “It’d be great to see how his…mechanics work someday…”

 The imp vendor rolled his eyes and flinched at my lighthearted comment. Always know what to say to get that grimace reaction.

 “Anyway,” said the vendor, “We’re running low on staff, so you can go sell those torches over there.”

 The imp pointed to a pink cart with Mammon’s jester face on it. I shrugged and got to work.

 I happily rolled my cart around, selling torches wherever I went. I could honestly stare into those mesmerizing green flames all day.

 “Torches here!” I drawled in my Foghorn Leghorn southern accent. “66% off when you buy four! Parties, decoration, destruction and more!”

 One time on my break, I got to talk to Robo Fizz about money, shows, sex and chaos. We even cracked some jokes together. The robot seemed a little nervous in my presence but then again, he was very unpredictable on a daily basis.

 “A duck, a frog, a demon and a skunk go into a bar. The bartender told them that the drinks were one dollar each. How did they pay for them? Answer: The duck had a bill, the frog had a greenback, the demon had a soul…but the skunk only had a scent!”

 “Hahahaha!” Robo Fizz laughed, sparks flying near him. “Your jokes are much better than Blitzo’s corny puns!”

 “Why thank you,” I replied. “But nothing beats your organ-playing animatronics in your ‘Wonderful World of Evil’ puppet show you did last month.”

 Robo Fizz grinned at the compliment. “You do anything else besides selling torches?”

 “I scam, I kill, I do a little bit of both. Oh and I’m also a great inventor!”

 “How marvelous!” Robo Fizz grinned. “Perhaps if you have enough mayhem in you, you could perform with me at the next Fizzarolli N Friends show!”

 “I say, I’d love that! I’m sure your show will be top notch, copyright be dammed…won’t it?”

 Robo Fizz smiled widely, hiding a strain. “You bet it will!”

 It was during one interesting day when I pushed my cart by a large tent where several Robo Fizz posters were posted. I held up a troch with a hand and called:

 “Torches, I say! I say! Get your inconvenient torches here!”

 Then before I knew it, the robot and a random imp crashed right into the cart.

 “Ow, I say OW!” I cried as the green flames quickly spread around. After getting the flames off me, I ran for the hills out of the burning park. I sat, dejected shortly afterward. So much for that job. Along with figuring out what to do next, I also happened to watch the imp fight off Robo Fizz…and the robot falling into the dragon’s mouth.

 How unfortunate.

 After helping Robo Fizz from the dragon’s insides, (killing said dragon, pulling out said robot, cleaning and making quick repairs), I inched closer to him and said, “You made some new friends, I say.”

 Robo Fizz stood tense with just long wires for his body, a metal skeleton of his previous appearance. “Yes…an old time co-worker of mine. A clown of an imp named Blitzo. He and his sisters were once part of a circus act called “The Amazing Imp Siblings. A bit dowdy if you ask me. ”

 Robo Fizz looked around. “Hahahaha! That was some chaotic fun. But now the park is ruined!”

 “I say, if I were you,” I told him, “I’d do all I could to get this park repaired and back on track. Costs a whole lotta money. The last thing you need is to have your boss disappointed in you.”

 A brief look of fear came on his face. “Oh yes, yes, good idea, Wally.”

 “And your friend…whether you upstage him or what, you’d best be sure Blitzo stays out of trouble. I lost my job and almost my life because of that fight!” My yellow eyes shined in a show of sadness.

 “I-I will not let master Mammon down…not that I have a choice.”

 “Let Asmodeus know what’s up as well.”

 Robo Fizz nodded, spun away and laughed. “Time to find that rodeo clown imp!”

0 0 0

 Later on after leaving Greed, I got a brilliant idea. It was after I saw some old fashioned 1800s snake man in Pride plow down buildings with a metal bulldozer vehicle. That was it! I could start my own business!

 I walked over to 666 News station. “Oh Katie,” I said in my sweetest voice.

 “What is it, scum?” she asked, sitting at a mirror and doing her hair. “Can’t you see I’m preparing for a back to back broadcast right now?”

 “I was considering doing my very own commercial about me exploiting…erm, employing other demons for my new factory.”

 Katie barked out a laugh. “Good luck with that, filthy old man! Now get out of my studio.”

 “Very well,” I said. As quiet as a hell mouse, I snatched a camera with an eye at the center and made my way out the door. The rest of the materials I needed came from a nearby junkyard. (Thankfully I avoided the wrath of some hungry kangaroo parasitic queen demon). I was running out of money fast; with no job around the corner, I figured I’d start my own!

 Even I don’t really know where I got my inventing skills from. Many say it was my natural trait. Others say I learned from other experts in the trade. After all, one of the quickset ways to a man’s wallet is through the latest technology.

 But I, Wally Wackford would not settle for your standard modern devices. No. I preferred to make things…well, wacky.

 In no time at all, I had built myself my own mini studio where I could film my commercial! Now, what to call my company? Hmm…

  The Onceler One In a Lifetime Opportunity? No, not enough Ws.

 Wowing Whimsical Wonderous Wonders? Nah, too many Ws.

 Ah…of course! What is a company if you don’t have your name on it?

0 0 0

“Uh huh, keep going, keep going, keep going!” Blitzo insisted at the I.M.P. office.

 Moxxie switched the channel again. This time, an imp appeared wearing a large black top hat, a white shirt and pants, gray vest, black bow tie and black boots. He held a cane in his hands and he also had a thin curly mustache. A mischievous grin of sharp teeth appeared on his face.

 “I say, I say!” the imp exclaimed, briefly pointing his cane at the camera. “Are you looking to get work making crazy contraptions and goofy gadgets?” “Crazy Contraptions” and “Goofy Gadgets” appeared in bold spiked icons to the imp’s left and right. The imp twirled his cane.

 “Well call me at Wacky Wally Wackford’s Wacky Idea ‘Factory!’”

 He pulled down another screen. The title appeared in bold red, gray and white letters surrounded by pinkish circles reminiscent of classic cartoons. “Factory” appeared in quotations. Wally Wackford appeared again.

 “Where you make the things and I make the money!”

 Wally Wackford then got up closer to the camera with a pleading look. “Please, I’m very desperate!”

 “Bingo!” Blitzo called, shooting and exploding the TV again.

 0 0 0

 It was actually really easy to find where Blitzo was and the new sinner inventors. The killing company of imps had me very curious. If they could start a business, why shouldn’t I? And being in the company of amazing inventors…

 I could almost see the soul dollar bills floating into my hands.

 I snuck up to the building, merged into the floor, eavesdropped on their fascinating conversation…

  0 0 0

Crash!

 A metal plank crashed into the room from above as Moxxie scurried out of the way. Loopty Goopty strolled down the plank. “Blitz!”

 “Loofa!” Blitzo called, saying his name wrong. “We can explain everything. I was…”

 Crash!

 Millie pulled Moxxie out of the way before another metal plank landed in the spot where he would’ve been. From on the floor, Blitzo’s butt was very much in view. Blitzo glanced down at him and remarked, “Oh chill out Moxxie, if you kiss my ass any harder you’ll go right inside me.”

 Moxxie turned beet red in the face and scooted further back. Millie helped him up again.  

 “Thanks for saving me again,” Moxxie said. “I would’ve foamed at the mouth and maybe died again.”

 “Why would you think I would ever ignore you?”

 Moxxie shrugged.

 Just then, the demonic form of a man rolled down the plank. His body was black and spherical, with a mint green head wearing a black bowler hat on top. He had a large bushy light gray mustache and pince-nez goggles with dark red spirals on the lens like Loopty. His grinning teeth resembled piano keys.

 “Lyle Lipton?!” Millie, Moxxie, and Blitzo asked in unison.

 “I don’t understand,” said Millie. “We thought you went to Heaven.”

 Lyle Lipton chuckled. “Heaven?” He rolled toward Loopty Goopty. “You don’t make millions in technological advances in robotics by not experimenting on the poor!” He laughed.

 Loopy Goopty grinned as he unleashed his weapons in front of Lyle Lipton. “Finally! We meet again at last! Now that you’re dead, you have no money to keep from me!”

 “Well, I’m a better inventor than you!” Lyle scoffed. “And I’ll make the most money here first!”

 “Nonsense you no good son of a bitch!”

 “Tie yourself in a knot, loony Loopty!”

 “Roll in your grave, fat shit inventor!”

 “Two robotic inventors?!” called a nearby voice. A steampunk blimp hovered in the air and a well-dressed snake demon appeared from a hole in his ship.

 “Who is that guy?” Lyle Lipton asked.

 “I’m the one and only Sir Pentious!” he declared. Several Egg Bois were steering his ship. The eye on his dark top hat peered at the other sinners in curiosity. “With my dominating machines, I aim to take over all of Pentagram City!” Then he muttered, “The repairs were a fucking nightmare to endure.” He glanced at the leftover cracks and holes on the metal sides of his ship.

 “Oooh!” Loopty exclaimed in admiration. “I’ve only seen such inventions in old time history books. How long have you been here?”

 “Since eighteen eighty eight!”

 “Love the loopy numbers!” Loopty grinned, making three small eights with his contraptions. “I’m Loopty Goopty! Lyle is my could’ve been partner in crime but actually rival!”

 “When you’re rich as me, who needs a dead partner!” Lyle exclaimed.

 “You’re dead too, you know!”

 “Where did you cowardly sinners get here?” Sir Pentious asked.

 “Well we just got here,” Lyle called. “Experimenting on the poor made us millionaires! Just…be careful when messing with anti-aging machines. Made us both old.”

 “A machine that changes one’s age?” Sir Pentious pondered. “That could prove to be ussseful in the future,” he hissed.

 “Oh, you should join us, snake man!” Loopy suggested. “Or me, rather.”

 Sir Pentious briefly glared. “Hmm. While I’m perfectly capable of spreading my constrictive terror on my own…I suppose having some…lackey sidekicks would suffice.”

 “Don’t call us lackeys!” Lyle sneered. “And I’m not working with him!”

 “Maybe if we briefly collaborate as a team…”

 Lyle grumbled in annoyance.

 After a moment, Sir Pentious sighed. “Okay, you may join me, but…”

 He spread out his hood, revealing pink eyes. “Don’t even think about crossssing me.” He pulled his hood back. “Now go gather your contraptions and help me manage those scrambled fucking eggs!”

 A bunch of eggs in top hats and suits rolled out and jumped on the two inventors, who were stunned.

 Loopty then laughed evilly. “Inventors to inventors it is!”

 Just then, I popped out of the ground in the room.

  “Did someone say, I say inventors?! Name’s Wally Wackford, and I am lookin’ for creative new people to exploit! I mean employ.” I twirled my mustache with an evil grin.

 At last, a chance to expand my business of the mass production of robotic Fizzarollis! All of Hell will go crazy when they get a chance to buy all the sex robots, the merchandise, everything...and all to profit ME!

 “Everyone, stop fucking up my walls!” Blitzo yelled. “Moxxie’s gonna have to fix all this shit! Satan’s balls! First we deal with Heaven’s table-scraps, now this?”

 I smiled. “Well I guess you can say, you say, you have a holey operation here, Blitzo!”

 I slapped my knee and laughed at my own joke.

 “Get out,” Blitzo muttered.

 Soon I doubled down on the floor laughing. “Oh! I said, ‘o’!”

 Blitzo yelled, “No, I’m serious, get the fuck out!”

 Everyone in the room looked at Blitzo in shock and surprise.

0 0 0

 And then, that one other time where I helped host the Harvest Moon Festival Pain Games!

 Wally Wackford a.k.a. me…stood on the wooden stage, holding a gray microphone decorated with an eye in the center and small horns on the top. I wore my usual white shirt, vest, white pants and dark boots. I twirled my black cane and tipped my black top hat.

 I spoke dramatically through the microphone.

 “Welcome, I say welcome all to Wrath Ring’s annual Harvest Moon Festival! To kick things up, we have the great prince Stolas-a here to user in this here Pain Games!”

 Stolas took the microphone from me and chuckled in slight embarrassment.

“How kind, Wackford.”

 Stolas then addressed the audience. “Greetings tiny Wrath Ring imps. I hereby welcome you all to another year of celebrating the spoils of your labor that continue to feed the citizens of Hell!”

 A crowd of imps glared at him and several boos were heard. Many of these Wrath imps were impoverished farmers who lived on scraps, meat or good crops if they were lucky. The food they worked so hard to produce was consumed by royalty and those in the other Rings. But the reward for their work was being underfed, underpaid and underappreciated instead. The unbalanced cycle had lasted for generations.

 I, too, stared at Stolas with a glare in my eyes. That rich royal thinks he can parade around, doing whatever he wants. Well unfortunately for him, I have plans of my own. Once he sees what I’m capable of…

 He will know who really rules the roost.

 Stolas obliviously continued. “I’m happy to kick off the start of these games that will challenge the toughest imps to show their skill and dominance.” He did a little wave with his fingers. “Good luck to you all!” He noticed Blitzo in the crowd beside Moxxie and Striker and spoke lower. “Especially that sexy little one there! Yoo-hoo, Blitzy!”

 “Oh fuck me,” Blitzo scowled.

 A gun went off and the games began.

 The first event was the race. Moxxie was instantly trampled by the other racers.

 The second event was the high jump. Striker climbed over the high wooden ramp structure with ease and raced after Blitzo who jumped past him. Moxxie struggled to keep his balanced as he reached the top. He slipped down, trying to use his claws to hold on. He fell with a splash in a small puddle…and was promptly chewed on by a monstrous black and white shark with several red eyes.

 The third event was an event with rope. Striker grinned as he held a tied up Blitzo. Blitzo’s arms, legs and horns were all tied up. Moxxie gulped as a stronger grinning imp tied him up with ease.

 The fourth event was tug of war. The crowd cheered as the two teams pulled hard. Striker, Blitzo and Moxxie were on a team. Moxxie stumbled and fell into nearby water, where the shark attacked him again.

 The fifth event was mud wrestling. Blitzo and Striker grinned as they wrestled each other, Striker getting the upper hand as he held Blitzo down, arms locked. Moxxie was instantly crushed in a football hurdle by a group of imps. As they got off of him, Moxxie sat up. And the shark leaped out of the water and over the fence.

 “Mother fucker!” Moxxie screamed as the shark crushed him. (Moxxie somehow survived all this.)

 I hopped back on stage.

 “I say, I say for the first year ever, we have a tie, for the winner of the Harvest Moon Pain Games!”

 Stolas took the microphone from me again.

 “The winners are…Striker, and my darling Blitzy!” Stolas did a one-legged pose as the crowd cheered.

 “Just say my name right!” Blitzo complained. He muttered “Fucking dick,” as he and Striker walked onto the stage.

0 0 0

After the event, I noticed that I.M.P. and Stolas had left. After sharing an undiscernible look with Striker, we parted ways.

 I soon returned to a special place in Greed, tired but determined. I walked alone down dark hallways, torches burning green flames on either side. I wagged my pointed red tail.

 I pushed open the double doors and came across a marvelous sight.

 Gold. Heaps of it, just shining brightly all around the vast spacious chamber. Gold pillars held up the cavern-like ceiling, a chandelier made of bones and diamonds hung from above. There were chests of necklaces, precious gems, goblets and weapons of every shape and size. Hanging on a far wall, concealed in shadow were angelic weapons…at least half a dozen.

 I stared around in amazement. Even Lucifer would be surprised if he could see this place.

 I raced around and tossed the gold coins into the air. In a craze, I rolled around in a nearby pile of green dollar souls. With a grin, I stood up and stared with pride at the grinning face of the jester printed on there.

 A face confident in his ability to deceive others, pursue wealth and bask in endless entertainment.

 The grinning face was all too familiar…

 …because it was my face.

 Wally Wackford leaned his head back, mouth open in a high pitched shriek as dark magic flickered around him. The imp form fell and morphed into shadow. In the imp’s place, a large black beast with thick fur, razor sharp claws and red eyes decorating the body. The figure stood up on two powerful furry legs and sat comfortably in a giant golden throne that occupied the center of the chamber. Angular jester clothing of red, gold and purple stripes adorned the wolf body. And finally, a large spiked black crown sat atop the dark loopy jester hat with bells at the ends. A white and gold jester face showed sharp white teeth and glowing yellow eyes. Dark clawed hands juggled fresh demon skulls into the air and popped them into his large mouth. He crunched loudly before swallowing every bit.

 My imp disguise was perfect. Literally no one else save for Robo Fizz and a few elites knew who was underneath. And even then, my magic was so powerful it could easily confuse anyone around me.

 Being an imp has its advantages; you can travel anywhere and gather information along the way. You can track imps from a killing company and find out where they’ll likely travel to next. You can affiliate yourself with your own robotic creations, some slave imps and succubi…and then in your own form, work with a fellow Deadly Sin on the next stage.

 A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

 Funny, really. Wally Wackford could easily be a separate being, born into poverty, learning to scam others at an early age and go up from there. I, however, didn’t need to learn anything…deceiving others and attracting material wealth was a natural talent. As was shapeshifting.

 Lucifer might not be happy with me coping his idea of a theme park…but business is business…and in Hell, anything goes.

 That incompetent prince Stolas would be dead soon enough. No more Goetia showoffs to get in the way of my rule and reputation. At least the prince’s wife was rightfully concerned with maintaining tradition that has existed for centuries. Aside from my dear friend Lucifer, I was, and should be, the most powerful being in Hell. I’ll keep exploiting those I choose because money is money.

 Those I.M.P. assassins have no idea who they were dealing with.

 I let out a crazed evil laugh, intermingled with a wolf’s howl. With a single touch of my hand, my nearby scepter turned into gold. I admired its shiny flawless sheen. Asmodeus, Leviathan, Lucifer, Satan, Belphegor, Beelzebub and myself…the Seven Deadly Sins…circus-loving rulers of the Overlords and in charge of maintaining chaotic order in our respective Rings.

  I, Mammon, had much to do.

[teamsarawatshusband]

Word Of Honor - 1st watch insta thoughts - Episode 7

Here's my name overview, in case you're new to this: Zhou Zi Shu = Baby Zi Shu/ Zhou Xu lord guy/alcoholic tanned tragic hero lord guy; Wen Ke Xing = Smirky Xing/Smirky fan guy/Kissy Xing Gu Xiang = Purple Girl/my Purple Love/my Purple Queen Smirklord is my personal ship name for Zhou Zi Shu and Wen Ke Xing.

Also, here are the previous episodes.

Before we get started, just FYI, I went back to have a look at the red masked ghost guys gang scene with nuts guy in episode 1, and it’s finally confirmed that it's 100% Kissy Xing, because, now that i've been hearing his laughter for some eps, I can't not recognize it. Actually, he’s not just part of the ghost gang, he’s their boss. :O

Okay, so that is settled.

Let’s move on to episode 7:

Luo Mansion. What is that? Where is that? Who are these people? There's one with a joker grin, and several with weirdly upturned eyebrows and darkened lips. Are they from the ghost gang?

And why is everything red, is this a wedding?

There's a white haired woman with long golden fingernails and she's referred to as tragicomic ghost.

Oh it IS a wedding. Something tells me this might not be a voluntary one... Maybe it's the amount of gagged people in cages who don't look joyful.

Is the gagged guy who's gonna get married unconscious magenta leader guy from when that other ghost lady dropped her face?

He's getting married to a memorial tablet? What?

Ah, back to more familiar people in familiar circumstances. Baby Zi Shu is drinking alcohol. Now this I recognize.

But he can't get more because somebody bought all the remaining bottles. Should I say that this has Kissy Xing written all over it?

Ooooh, the kid is there!!! With a-hole-uncle Shen and uncle Zhao. And the kid notices Baby Zi Shu right away, and thinks it's his master. He's better at recognizing people than I am, but he's mislead by Baby Zi Shu's lack of tan and scar. That's a shame. But he clearly misses his daaaaads! Awwwww.

Side note: I cannot stress enough how much I need to focus on not misspelling Baby Zi Shu’s name. I’ve typed Zi Shi, Zu Shi, Zu Shu, Zhu Si, Zhi Shu already... and now I almost typed “Baby Sushi”, because my brain is WEIRD. In case it happens in the future and I miss it, you have been warned. Maybe I should just go with Baby Sushi, because that one would be easiest to remember. I should also change my tumblr handle to “face-blind-and-name-stupid”.

Meh, back to the ghost gang wedding ceremony.

Whoever speaks dies. That would have been a good rule to know in advance, I guess.

So what's this list of the unfaithful? Is it like Santa's naughty and nice list?

Everybody who is unfaithful gets killed by white haired gold finger girl. Got it. Everybody who speaks gets killed too. This seems like such a shady set of rules, I bet more people get killed just for fun.

Ooooh, it's celebrity death match. But with friends of the groom.

I feel like this guy who says that the ghost folks never break a promise, while being a jerk, might be telling the truth.

:O WTH? Did a-hole-uncle Shen just seriously call our kid useless??? He just assumes that our kid is a liar??? The audacity!!! I feel so outraged on the entire fandom’s behalf.

Huh, the kid is eavesdropping on all of it. I feel so bad for him to having to hear this, but at the same time, I feel so proud of his spying nature. He's already picked up some of his adopted dads' talents.

Back to the wedding deathmatch. A red wedding indeed. Everybody's dead.

Two guys talking at Youyang sect, alright, whoever that is, I forgot. But, they have nice dragon decor. Ah the younger guy is the leader of Window of Heaven while the older guy with the mustache is the 5 lakes final boss. Top boss, I mean. I might be playing too many computer games, sorry. Anyway, so Youyang is 5 lakes, also confirmed by the pleated skirt soldiers around. K, k.

So, pretty heaven's window leader guy wants to get the scoop on the glazed armor situation.

Whoa, did mustache final boss guy just really say glazed armor is just a rumor? Does he think people are stupid? Even I know that it's not. Tsk. He makes Window of Heaven sound like a super power spy agency.

Everybody is after our poor kid. Ooooooooh, Baby Sushi is following the uncles plus kid through the bamboo woods. Nice. He won't let the kid get harmed, I'm sure.

There's a girl kid who looks kind of like TopTap (if you're familiar with Thai TV shows).

She seems nice, but... looks like they're just trying to get our kid out of the way to discuss stuff. Pfff, they always complain about him not knowing stuff, but how is he supposed to when he's constantly left out?

"The martial arts world won't be peaceful anymore" LOL, whut? It hasn't been peaceful from the start of the series. What is 5 lakes final boss guy even trying to say?

:O what? Baby Sushi wants to genuinely leave the kid there and thinks he's safe there?

Oh, he's onto the spy situation and Window of Heaven being involved. Cool, cool.

Aaaaand spontaneously kills a spy guy, k.

Wheeeeeeee Kissy Xing is back. Has also been following around. Nice nice.

Ah, the dead guy was from the scorpion gang. And both Baby Sushi and Kissy Xing know. Oh, so Window of Heaven is an assassin organization. Alright, the more you know. Okay!

He's so daring, talking about how everybody is after the glazed armor while wearing a piece of it openly over his clothes. And he keeps hinting at how much he knows about Baby Sushi but never outright says it.

It's always the same with those two. Kissy Xing points out how good a person he is and then flirts with Baby Sushi who then gives him the cold shoulder.

LOL, I love how the subtitles really translate EVERYTHING. A random note of Tofu Pudding, not plot relevant at all, but BAM in your FACE!

(joking aside: I am so grateful for all the subs and translations. Whoever is doing this stuff, you guys will always be my heroes. <3 )

Oh, somebody looked at them, and Baby Sushi recognized him? And Kissy Xing is like a marching band, stomping onto the scene, parading around with banners that say "Look at this glazed armor!" lol.

Ooooooh, Kissy Xing is in cahoots with the merchant lady. He's planned something. This is exciting. Seems like he's trying to set all parties up against each other: 5 lakes, scorpions, window of heaven and whoever else wants to participate.

Okay, so he let that spy guy steal his piece of glass on purpose, right? And it must be one of the fakes, I assume.

Oh, the heroes conference... I remember the name, but what was that again? Was it a 5 lakes thing? Anyway, Baby Sushi and Kissy Xing are gonna be there on uncle Zhao's invitation, alright.

See, when Kissy Xing calls the kid dumb, it kinda doesn't feel offensive to me. I don't know. It just doesn't. It's like somebody affectionately calling their pet dumb or something.

Waaah, there's another beautiful tree. Please don't burn it down this time.

There's some morse code thing going on with lots of people that I don't know. Everybody's drumming on stuff and passing along messages.

:O my Purple Queen. The love of my life. There she is. ahhhhhhhh. <3

She's also drumming on stuff, but I'm not sure it's code with her, might also just be frustration, lol.

There's a bunch of drunk guys and they're requesting the traditional DJ guy to put on some song that probably has explicit content or something, because he doesn't wanna play it.

:O they snatched his daughter from DJ guy! Right under the eyes of my Purple Queen. Ooooh, she's gonna clean up that place, lol.

Yup.

Yeah you show them! Heh.

Oh, she's got herself a fanboy. Who is he?

She still keeps drumming away on the dishes with her chopsticks. Hmm, maybe it is a code after all.

LOL, they're having this awkward conversation about double standards for guys and girls, and my Purple Queen is not having it. She is the best.

Not gonna lie, every time the series cuts back to smirklord, I get all excited.

Ok, Baby Sushi places some... nut or whatever on his chopsticks obviously some code, Kissy Xing watches and looks confused. Oh, and he almost gave away that he doesn't understand the code.

LOL, what is happening? Kissy Xing looks so pissed at my Purple Queen making friends with her fanboy.

Seriously, does he have some sort of beef with fanboy guy? LOL, won't even let the poor guy finish his meal. A+ in cockblocking.

Awwwww, and my Queen still gets it. Pinpointing smirklord in one sentence. Baby Sushi brings out Kissy Xing's humanity. And now he looks sad. It must be true.

Ahaha, "I will pay. A Xu, where is your wallet?" Comedic genius.

Oh, what a clever way to bring the subject to the "thief" guy. Man, Kissy Xing is GOOOOOOD at this. And Baby Sushi is so amused that he admits to knowing thief guy too.

My queen doesn't recognize Baby Sushi. Whaaaaat? I would have expected her to feel the sparks. Oh, wait, no, she does get it. Hehe. And Kissy Xing instantly has to praise his crush's appearance and beauty. Everything's alright again in the world.

LOL, the way she goes right in to touch him. No inhibition. No etiquette. And Baby Sushi is so surprised that he lets her, lol.

Ahaha, Kissy Xing has to stop her from touching his baby. Awww

XD, I can't deal with this. He even flat out asks why he's not allowed to touch.

And Baby Sushi replies with a compliment to my Queen and a rebuff for Kissy Xing. It's funny, but I do feel a little bad for Kissy Xing. He did not deserve that.

LOL, waiter guy wins quote of the day, "Can you all pay first? Then you can touch whomever you want, however you want." This episode is gold, man. Also, I'm all for the touching. Yes, touch each other. Go go.

Heh, nice. Baby Sushi threatens that the money is a loan and he'll expect interest. And Kissy Xing does not seem sad about owing him at all but goes and buys even more food. After all, owing Baby Sushi gives him reason to stay in touch, doesn't it?

Aww, why do they always end on smirklord scenes? I want more. :(

Okay, this was a really nice episode. I can't wait to continue.

What I learned: The ghost gang enjoys torturing people. Kissy Xing is definitely nuts guy (well not learned from this episode, but I still learned it). I need the kid to return to his dads because I miss their interaction, as does he. There's a famous  thief wandering around and he stole Kissy Xing's fake Glazed Armor. The Heroes Conference is coming up.

Goals for future epsidoes: still to figure out how Kissy Xing and Baby Sushi know each other, understand the purpose and connections of the ghost gang and why Kissy Xing is part of them. Also, just generally, get to watch more smirklord interactions. ;)

[darth-salem-emperor-of-earth]

Day Two: A Gentle Heart For a Noble Soul [Orion x Sabina]

I’m slow with writing all of my entries for @ockissweek but eventually, I’ll get to them all, even if takes me weeks. XD 

In Day 2, this story features Sabina Peg’asi, one of my Andromeda Six traveler and Orion, @julikidmxns's Dead Space OC. There’s a little bit of crossover going on but I believe I made it work. Hopefully, I portrayed your boy right, @julikidmxns! :)

Summary: He signed up to be a princess’s bodyguard to take a break from all the horrors he’d seen in space. Compared to his previous line of work, guarding royalty was small potatoes. And yet, Sabina Peg’asi was definitely not the type of royal he was expecting but now, he’d protect her to the ends of the galaxy and back. Day 2 of OC Kiss Week 2021. Prompt: Courtship. [Orion x Sabina]

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

“When I love

I become liquid light.”

― Nizar Qabbani

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

He never expected his next bodyguard gig would wind him up a royal palace, almost a galaxy away from his own home, but at least the job was straightforwardly easy enough and the pay was absurdly lucrative. As long as he kept his new charge safe, he would be set for life.

His new charge was a princess, a far jump from all the wealthy business people who hired him for clout and to look intimidating to all their enemies and allies. This princess was dressed in a long, slender beige and silver gown decorated with such elaborate geometric designs and needlework that Orion wondered how long it took the dressmaker to produce such an intricate (and expensive) article of clothing--if the young royal’s wardrobe was indeed handmade. Next to her, he felt severely undressed. 

Resisting the urge to check his clothing for any pressed lines or wrinkles, he opted for staring ahead like a typical stoic guard and repeated the name of his charge in his head while he wanted for the princess’s mother to arrive. She was the one who contacted him about her request--albeit technically, one of her secretaries called him on the Stellar Queen’s behalf. This would be the first time he spoke to the queen, assuming she would make an appearance. 

Princess Sabina Peg’asi, youngest child of King Fenris and Ta’jean, the Stellar Queen. Hopefully, you won’t be too much trouble. 

Bright pink eyes stared up at him with uncertainty and Orion shifted a little in place, keeping his back ramrod straight and his expression completely neutral. Standing in such an opulent room with a young royal scrutinizing him in only a quiet, curious manner was an alarmingly drastic change to his previous stints as a mercenary, especially with some of the weird, inconceivable shit he’d seen in his line of worth and some of that included the dead coming back to life as beings even more monstrous and voidless. At least there wouldn’t be any Necromorphs lurking in the hundreds of crystal chandeliers or underneath the vivid, elaborately woven and designed rugs that probably cost more than a year’s worth of his salary. He quickly glanced down to make sure his boots were polished and clean along with no traces of scuff marks or muddy footprints on the plush carpet. 

As he rose his head to face his new charge, the young princess quickly curtsied, her long navy blue braids dipping down with her while the perfectly round twin buns on either side of her head never wobbled or wavered during the slight movements. Her buttery yellow skin glowed briefly, a testament to her half-Tiljanni heritage. Her behavior confirmed Orion’s suspicion that there indeed was someone important behind him because no princess would curtsy to a bodyguard in greeting. 

“Hello, Mother,” the half-Tiljanni princess greeted, only resuming her full stance after her mother boredly bid her to rise with a wave of her hand. His charge stared hopefully at her mother, a small smile gracing her slightly round and youthful features. “I’m so overjoyed to see you today!”

The Stellar Queen barely paid Princess Sabina a glance as she settled her cold, crossed gaze on Orion and crossed her arms. Several of her own guards, as well as a close confidant, and secretary, were right behind her. Silence permeated the area and just when Orion was about to introduce him and list off some of the credentials, the Tiljanni queen nodded stiffly at him and snapped her head back at her secretary, a human who appeared at least twenty years older than him.

“He’ll do. Set him up in a room near Sabina’s quarters so he can reach and protect her at a moment’s notice.”

Both of Orion’s eyebrows rose up but he uttered nothing. That was the fastest job interview he ever had his entire life. Either Queen Ta’jean read his list of qualifications and experiences or someone else did and told her about them because her mind was already made up. Besides, he had a feeling how peeved she would be if he decided to tell the Stellar Queen he had a change of heart and would not be accepting the royal family’s offer to guard one of their precious children. 

Ta’jean’s secretary nodded, bowing his head. “It will be done, Your Majesty. I’ve already discussed the terms of payment to the mercenary and he is more than satisfied with the salary we assigned to the position.”

“You daughter will be in safe hands,” Orion spoke up, disliking how they were talking around him as if he wasn’t standing right there. “There is nothing I can’t handle.”

The queen shot him a bored look before adjusting the long sleeves of her dress. “I hope you’re right. Someone needs to keep Sabina on a tighter leash since she has a penchant for wandering off and letting her curiosity get the better of her.”

The said princess glided to her mother with such poise and grace Orion nearly mistook her a fairy. “That was one time, Mother, and I was horribly lost! Plus, I hadn’t seen you in weeks and I wanted to visit you.” She bit her lip at the last admission, her hands gripping the skirt of her finely wrought gown and twisting the fabric as she stared at her mother tearfully. “Last time you cancelled our private dinner. Do you think we can have some time together tomorrow?”

The Stellar Queen unleashed a heavy, burdensome sigh as she gifted her daughter an exasperated expression. “You know how busy I am lately, Sabina. Tomorrow most certainly will not work but…” She sighed again, as if she was a long suffering martyr. “But we can try at the end of this week.”

A wide, elated beam immediately stretched itself across Sabina’s soft features and her pale yellow skin seemed to illuminate from her recent joy. “Thank you so much, Mother! I can hardly wait! We have so much to catch up on!” She embraced her unwilling mother tightly, the hope in her pink eyes painfully evident. Orion’s gut twisted as he observed this uneven display of affection, of a young daughter so desperate for her mother’s attention and time that she was merrily settling for scraps of it. In the back of his mind, he wondered who he really should be protecting Sabina from: foes against the Crown or Sabina’s own family.   

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

Orion, her new bodyguard, was definitely easier to get along with than she first anticipated. 

Besides her oldest sister Nerissa, the Crown Princess of Goldis, her only other friends were Maristela, her half-sister who was a year older than her, and Vex, a palace guard assigned to the protection of both her and Maristela but now was focused more Maristela’s safety now Orion was hired to be her personal bodyguard. It was weird having someone new follow her around, making sure she wasn’t alone with strangers, palace staff members, or even relatives (a Peg’asi could never be too careful Sabina once heard). She was so used to just having Vex be at her and Maristela’s side for so long that she forgot Vex was still essentially a palace guard instead of being her first true companion that wasn’t a blood relative. 

But Orion was surprisingly easy to get along with, once she got him to open up. She could still recall his confused face when she gave him a tour of the palace, asking him he was faring in his new role, and later, inviting him to a card game with her, Maristela, and Vex. Even after her assurances he didn’t have to come if he had no desire to so, he still showed up and awkwardly sat next to her, somehow winning half of their games thanks to his mastery of emotions. Sabina observed at him through every game, vainly trying to search for a hidden tell or a crack in his distinguished, staid visage. Even his striking grey eyes revealed nothing but there was a warmth in his eyes when he congratulated on her first win. Later, Maristela teased her on how much she had been staring at her new bodyguard, her grin widening at Sabina’s flushed cheeks and vehement protests. And when she tried to explain her reasoning, Maristela simply smirked some more and bantered that she didn’t expect her to be interested in men with streaks of silver in their hair. In an uncharacteristic bout of frustration, Sabina hurtled one of her pillows at her older sister but Maristela merely dodged and kept laughing, even as another pillow hit her arm.  

Despite her sister’s teasing, Sabina didn’t distance herself from Orion. Even though having a bodyguard reduced her already dwindling amount of privacy, Orion was her friend now and found ways to give her some semblance of freedom. She was always grateful for his kindness. 

With a bounce in her step, she rapt on Orion’s door, hugging the books close to her chest as she swayed back and forth in anticipation for his arrival. She truly hoped he was free and in the mood to go outside. She relished spending time with him, even if he didn’t reveal a lot of details about himself. 

The door cracked open and Orion’s head appeared, followed by two muscular arms as he opened the door wider once he saw Sabina was alone. Sabina’s rosy eyes roamed how some of his dark hair was parted to the side in soft waves, his full, finely groomed groom and mustache sprinkled with strands of white and grey. For a second, all words failed her and Sabina drew blank on what to say.

He peered at her curiously. “Your Highness? Is everything all right?” The hint of concern in his tone yanked her back from her trance and Sabina smiled reassuringly at him. Next time, she’ll compose herself better around him and not randomly get lost into gazing at his handsome face and kind eyes---

Focus, Sabina! 

Fixing her stare at his forehead instead of his eyes, Sabina managed to finally form some words without being hopefully distracted. “Everything is just fine, Orion! And remember, you can call me Sabina when we’re out of the public eye.”

He ran a hand through his hair--it looked a little bit damp, Sabina noticed. Did he shower recently? “I’ll try to remember that, Your--Sabina. Did you need something?”

Remembering the real reason why she initially knocked on his door, the half-Tiljanni princess stood briefly on her toes as she bounced a little, unable to contain her good cheer. “Since the weather is proving to be quite pleasant and promising, I wanted to stroll along the gardens and find a nice place to read my books.” She glanced down, a sudden shyness creeping into her while her cheeks heated up. “And, well, I was wondering if I could give you a tour around the gardens. You mentioned you never witness gardens so enormous and well groomed before so I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to rectify that. The flowers have bloomed perfectly!”

His mouth twitched into a small smile, the warmth in his eyes remaining. “If that is what you wish, Your High--I mean, Sabina, then let me gear up and I will escort you to the palace gardens.” 

Still bouncing on her feet, Sabina beamed brightly at her minor victory. “Wonderful! I’ll be waiting in my room when you’re done. And no need to rush on my account, Orion. I have my books to keep my company until you’re ready to resume your post.” 

He bowed his head at her respectfully. “Of course, Sabina.” 

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

Reading in the gardens with no one but Orion standing by worked in her favor much more than she expected it too. Besides the entrance of the royal gardens, her and Orion hadn’t run into anyone from the palace, particular her siblings. The unexpected privacy pleased her, for she didn’t have to worry about anyone popping out of nowhere and rebuke her for the way she was oh so casually leaning up against Orion as she read her beginner’s medical text and snuck glances at her bodyguard to see how he was faring. He was still hard to read, something Sabina wished she could do better. Her mother wouldn’t often criticize her for how open she was with her emotions, always wearing her heart on her sleeves and trying to make friends when she should be distancing herself from everyone and analyze what they want from her. 

Unbidden tears swam near the brim of her eyelids and furiously, she rubbed her eyes, forcing herself to focus on the words on the page before her and banish the last conversation she had with her mother over dinner. One that ended far too soon for her liking. 

“The sooner you harden that fragile, weak heart of yours, Sabina, the better. Or else this world will chew you up and spit you back up and you won’t be able to recover from it. And I won’t be around to tell you ‘I told you so’.” 

Inhaling deeply, Sabina fiercely flipped the text page, trying to ignore how blurry the text was starting to look as her treacherous eyes became watery once more. Her mother was wrong, she wasn’t weak! ...Was she?

“Next time we talk, Sabina, I hope to see evidence that you took my advice to heart.”

Her concentration evaporated, Sabina dejectedly closed the book and aimlessly stared at a rose bush across from her, drawn to all the various colors in each flower while blinking back the unshed tears. Today was a perfectly good day for her and Orion and she would not ruin the peaceful mood by crying! 

Beside her, Orion shifted. Out of the corner of her eye, Sabina saw his body was pointed squarely at her. Keeping her head down, she tried dabbing her eyes and ended up sniffing a little in the process. She didn’t need to look up to see his alarmed reaction, his concern for her was practically rolling in waves. 

“Sabina...what’s wrong? I thought you’d be excited to be outside, in the gardens.”

“It’s not that,” she choked out, thoroughly humiliated when a hiccup or two escaped her in the middle of her explanation. “Everything here is perfect. The weather is beautiful, you’re here, and I have some semblance of privacy, but…” Another hiccup came and several treacherous tears trickled down her cheeks. 

In a flash, he in front of her, one knee on the ground and his kind grey eyes fixated directly at her, searching for any signs that caused her distress. “But what?” he gently prodded. 

Shame flooded her yet Sabina couldn’t deny him. In such a short timespan, Orion became one of the very few people who understood her and when they were alone, treated her like a normal person, without a hint of judgement. If anyone could give the truth straight to her, it would be him.

“Am I weak, Orion?” she whispered hoarsely, leveling her vivid pink eyes with his grey ones reluctantly. “Am I just an useless paper doll that can't do anything right?” She reached out, searching for Orion’s hands, to hold onto something real and stable, and he complied, wrapping his gloved hands around her dainty yellow ones. 

“Whoever told you that is wrong, Sabina,” he replied, not even bothering to inquire where this disparaging musing of hers came from. He most likely heard snippets of her mother’s scathing words during their private dinners when he was outside, guarding the door until Sabina was ready to return to her chambers. “You are not weak. You have more strength than you realize.” 

She squeezed his hands a little for solace. “But how? I don’t have the vast knowledge or skill set like many Tiljaani have to help people nor do I know any useful things to contribute to my family or to Goldis in general! There is so much I can’t do or understand, even with an advanced royal education!”

“Your compassion is not a weakness.” The sharp edge in his tone startled Sabina but she listened, feeling herself drawn to Orion and whatever he may say next. “Don’t let anyone else convince you otherwise. There is a shortage of people with a gentle heart like yours, who just want to help and make everyone’s lives a little better. With little or no success, I’ve beheld how you try to reach out to your siblings, the ones who you hardly have interacted with, for a chance to be a real family. And even when you don’t get the result you hoped for, you try again. You’re far too determined to give up so easily.”

Her lips cracked into a tiny smile and she sniffed, trying to clear her nose while a few more tears leaked out even as she blanked them back. Her hands were still collapsed inside Orion’s and she had no desire to retract them back. She liked the way he was holding her--or her hands, in this case. 

“You really think so?” she asked carefully, inwardly wincing at the temor in her voice. She slid down from her stone bench to kneel down in front of Orion, craving to be closer to him and whatever else he had to say. Maybe she was just searching for validation but his words were beginning to bring her some comfort. 

He nodded his head firmly. “I do. After all, you’re one of the very few people here who went out of their way to welcome me and always wanted to know how I was doing or if I needed anything. Do you think I’ve forgotten the time when I reminisced what my favorite dish was to you and magically, the very next day, the kitchens were serving that meal to me for supper?”

“Your face seemed so wistful, so nostalgic that I just had to find a way to give a little piece of your home back to you. All I did was inform the cook of what was in the dish and she did the rest. She did all the work, not me.”

Orion’s visage was now barely an inch away from her, his sincerity blazing freely in his gaze while the corners of his eyes softened ever so slightly. “Yes, but you’re the one who listened to me and took the initiative to make me feel a little bit more welcomed and at home in this new world. No one gave you orders, you just executed that on your own.” A ghost of a smile danced on his mouth, so close to her own lips that for a fleeting second, Sabina was breathless. “That’s just one of the many reasons that make you so beautiful.”

No sooner did that admission left him, did Orion realize his slip and jerked his head back, eyes wide in alarm. Inwardly, Sabina bemoaned the loss of their proximity and with what little physical strength she possessed, she tugged him back to her before he remembered to release her hands. She was so used to his touch and how warm and safe his own hands were.

Peering up at him through her eyelashes (a trick she was glad Maristela taught her), Sabina leaned her body closer to him, saying, “You really mean all that? Even the beautiful part?”

Orion coughed awkwardly, his gaze now on their joined hands, which appeared much more romantic given to how long they were simply kneeling together, holding hands. Finally, the tension melted out of his broad shoulders as he slumped forward, as if conceding. “Yes...yes, I do. I mean every word of it.” 

Her skin glowed like the sun at his confession yet Sabina hardly cared enough to notice. Instead, she leaned in nigh enough for their noses to first bump into each other before she angled her head to its side to plant a chaste but lingering kiss to his cheek. Traces of his beard tickled her skin, a sensation she enjoyed far more than anticipated. The princess thought his beard would be scratchy but its thick smoothness pleasantly surprised her. 

Orion’s breathing hitched but he didn’t yank himself away from her. “Princess, Sabina, are you sure…?”

She kissed him again, this time on the lips. “I’ve never been sure of something my entire life.” Embolden, Sabina planted a third kiss on his forehead and was rewarded with an encouraging, soft smile from Orion. “Consider this a very special thank you from a very grateful and smitten princess.” 

And when Orion’s hands cupped her supple, round face to dry away any remaining tears from her cheeks, he wasted no time to kiss her slowly, steadily, and full of tenderness, causing her poor heart to burst with elation while she encircled her arms around him, feeling the muscles on his back clenching momentarily beneath her fingertips. That last kiss rendered them both breathless, unable to remove themselves from each other’s arms. Sabina was content to sit there, listening to her bodyguard’s heartbeat while he absentmindedly stroked her back.

“You don’t mind that, I, er---?”

“Kissed me?” Sabina grinned as she cocked her head up to face, unable to conceal her glee. “Not at all! I hope you didn’t mind either.” 

His chest rumbled with a chuckle and he tucked one of her long, thin braids behind her ear. “You don’t have to worry about me, Sabina. Unexpected as those kisses were, I enjoyed them as well.”

A coy grin spread itself across her refined features. “Then does that mean we should resume said kissing or if not, at least plan on getting back to it in the near future?”

Orion cocked one bemused brow at her, entertained by her sudden boldness. “I may not know much of Goldis customs but are you attempting to woo me, Princess Sabina?”

Her cheeks darkened by a deep blush, more evident by the vibrant illuminance from her skin. “Yes...? Do you not like that?” Her voice came out rather tentative and nervous. 

Shaking his head, he let himself smile for her again prior to kissing in the center of her forehead, reassuring her that his feelings hadn’t changed or were a fabric of her imagination. “I just wonder what I did to deserve such a kind soul like you.” 

“Just give me a day and I’ll have an entire book filled out on why you’re a noble, wonderful man with a caring heart, sweet eyes, and very nice beard.”

He gave his pepper speckled beard a quick stroke. “Just nice?”

Sabina pouted, crossing her arms. “Don’t tease me, Orion! I really do like your beard!”  

After a few more minutes of banter and blissful enfoldments, she was due to return to the palace and get ready for one of her musical lessons. Smoothing out the creases in the chiffon fabric of her pale pink gown, complete with tiny golden stars decorating the attire from top to bottom, Sabina glanced up in time to watch Orion snap off a brilliantly crimson rose from the nearby rosebush and present the striking flower to her. He scratched the back of his head, an awkward tic of his that Sabina found to be rather endearing.

“I’m not really good at romance or know the correct steps to sweeping you off your feet, but if I’m going to secretly court you, I’m going to do this right,” he explained, looking a little self-conscious as he held out the red rose to her. “And I remember you remarking earlier in our tour of the gardens that roses are one of your favorite flowers so---”

He never got to finish his sentence. Sabina had already tossed her arms around his neck and covered him with at least a half-dozen of airy kisses, all followed by the words: “Thank you thank you, Orion!” 

The next day, Sabina snuck a fresh tulip containing the same color of her rose into one of Orion’s spare holsters. After all, she shouldn’t be the only one to receive gifts in this covert courtship.  

[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Prologue: The Portrait

AN: Another Old Guard fic that has been in my head since I wrote my first one. Which you should go check out, by the way. Once I created the moodboard for my OC it was over, I knew that I had to write a story about her. Fair warning, this chapter is kinda of dark, it’s definitely the complete opposite of my first chapter in my other story.

Here’s the moodboard that inspired this fic.

Summary: Most people would find the very thought of looking forward to one’s own death as morbid, but not for Sabine. Death, was something she longed for, it was the only way to freedom from the chains of slavery. And one day, she finally got her wish and she was finally put out of her misery.

Until she wasn’t.

And Sabine learned a dreadful secret about herself from the experience, setting in motion a life altering event that included four immortals who would take her on several journeys that spanned many lifetimes.

Word Count: 1.8k

Trigger Warnings: violence, slavery, abuse, racism, racial slurs, colorism

Chapter One: My Story Is Much Too Sad to Be Told

At age five, Sabine's life changed irrevocably in an instant.

She remembered that day crystal clear, the traumatizing experience was seared into her young mind. 1845, that was the year Sabine's world was turned upside down, the exact day she didn't know, slaves weren't given calendars. That day, the afternoon sun was high in the sky and there weren't any clouds to shield her from the harsh and unforgiving rays of the sun as she worked the never ending fields of cotton. Tirelessly, Sabine labored next to her mother, Anne, as they picked the prickly plant from the row they were assigned to.

Often times, Sabine would admire her mother's appearance to take her mind off the grueling labor she was forced to do. She thought her mother absolutely was beautiful with her rich brown skin, her round shaped dark brown eyes that somehow still oozed kindness and warmth with everything they are put through, and her black curly hair that was always tied up.

A lot of the slaves on the Dillon Plantation commented on the fact that Sabine's older sister, Emile, favored their mother unlike Sabine who resembled her father, Gabriel. Like her father, Sabine's skin was a warm, golden brown shade that had darkened slightly due to working in the sun. Sabine had noticed that her hair didn't have the same loose curl like her mother's hair, instead her hair resembled her father tight curls. The one feature she did inherit from her mother was her eye shape and color.

Doing this had become somewhat of a game to her, it was better than the alternative which was focusing on how many times she pricked her fingers with each hour that passed. This was the routine that Sabine had become accustomed to, from dawn to dusk, she and the rest of the hundreds of other slaves would toil away in the fields to pick the cash crop of the South.

Until one day, that routine was broken.

Sabine could hear hooves beating down on the ground and the sound of a carriage behind her. She didn't pay attention to it, the sound of them passing by on the dirt road between the fields was not uncommon. The sound grew louder and louder as the carriage drew nearer and nearer and suddenly a strong gust of wind blew past her. Sabine expected to hear the rhythmic trotting of the horses continue as they passed by her, but realized she didn't. The carriage had stopped next to her, her mother, and other slaves.

"You, girl!" Master Dillon shouted. "Turn around!" he ordered.

At first, Sabine didn't move, she wasn't sure if Master Dillon was speaking to her. She had heard Master Dillon address slaves much older than her mother and father as either 'girl' or 'boy'. It wasn't until she felt her mother lightly tap her that Sabine finally turned around to face Master Dillon. Temporarily, she was blinded by the glaring light and lifted her hand to protect her eyes from the rays of the sun.

"Yes massa'?" she asked softly.

Sabine looked up at the man that stood outside the carriage. He was tall, had short, raven-colored hair, blue eyes and angular features. Master Dillon was pale albeit with a slightly tanned complexion. A thick, bushy mustache rested between his narrow nose and thin lips, the facial hair reminded Sabine of a caterpillar.

"Oh, isn't she adorable!" a woman gushed, in a high pitched voice.

Sabine turned her head to look at the owner of the voice, a young woman sat in the carriage holding a white, lace parasol. The woman appeared to be the same age as Emile, if not older. Her skin was fair and an oval shaped face which was framed by her chestnut brown, braided chignon. The woman's small lips were curved into a smile and her blue eyes seemed to twinkle in delight as she stared down at Sabine, like she saw a new plaything.

"Brother, bring her closer to me," the woman requested, almost bouncing up and down in her seat.

Master Dillon beckoned Sabine over, "Come on girl!" he demanded impatiently.

Sabine hesitantly placed her sack of cotton on the ground and made her way to Master Dillon and the woman in the carriage.

"Pierre," the woman cooed, looking over at her brother. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she chuckled, shifting her stare back towards Sabine. "She's much too light to be working in these fields," she commented, shaking her head in disapproval.

"She's not that light, Genevieve," Pierre disagreed, his eyes scanning over Sabine's skin complexion.

"Well, you're right about that," Genevieve acknowledged, nodding to herself. "Still, she's not a darkie,” she pointed out, scrunching her nose up in disgust. “The girl is....an acceptable shade for a house negro," she continued, twirling her parasol. "Now, give me your inspection brother," she demanded lightly, waving her free hand.

Master Dillon moved to the side of Sabine and forcibly used his fingers to pry open her mouth, showing off her teeth.

"You see here, her teeth are surprisingly healthy," Master Dillon began, before pulling down her lower lip more. "I'm sure some of her teeth are about to start falling out soon," he informed, and removed his fingers from her mouth. "Spread your arms out girl," he ordered, Sabine immediately did as she was told and he roughly pushed the sleeve of her dress up. "She's already got some muscle on her," he stated, squeezing her small biceps. "It's like she was born to work the fields," he added, a proud grin on his face. "So, what do you think?" he asked curiously. letting go of Sabine's arm.

"Oh Pierre!" Genevieve cried happily. "Give her to me, please, please, please, please," she begged, giving her best puppy dog eyes. "This one here will make a nice addition to my collection back home," she explained excitedly, eying Sabine once more.

Sabine's eyes darted between Master Dillon and his sister, completely terrified at the thought of being separated from her family. Unconsciously, her breathing started to increase, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. Master Dillon rubbed his chin in contemplation and after a long moment of silence the man clasped his hands together.

"Aw hell, I can't say ‘no’ to my baby sister, can I?" Master Dillon asked, smiling at Genevieve. "Go ahead and take her, think of her as an early birthday gift," he continued, sticking his hand out towards Sabine.

Sabine's eyes went as wide as saucers.

Genevieve laughed giddily, "You're the best Pierre!" she exclaimed, excitedly clapping her hands together.

Sabine felt her blood run cold just as she heard hurried footsteps approaching from behind her.

Two hands gripped her shoulders and Sabine's body tensed, "Yous can't take her massa!" Sabine's mother cried, and she felt her body relax, slightly.

Master Dillon scoffed at Anne, "Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what I can or cannot do with my property?" he asked, a sneer on his face.

Anne pulled Sabine closer to her, "She's my daughter!" she insisted.

Master Dillon narrowed his eyes at Anne as a deep scowl formed on his face, "I guess you forgot girl, that you're my property as well," he stated, taking a menacing step forward and Anne stepped back pulling Sabine with her. "So anything that you expel out of your womb is mine by law," he reminded, moving closer to the mother and daughter. "I own both of you," he finished, his tone turning sinister.

Anne held Sabine a little tighter, "Sabine is not yours to give away," she stated, a defiant look in her eyes.

"Hand over the girl, now!" Master Dillon demanded, his face slowly turning red from anger and Sabine felt her small body begin to tremble. "If you make me repeat myself, you're going to be in a world of trouble girl!" he threatened, his scowl deepening.

"No!"

Suddenly, Sabine felt herself being violently yanked away from her mother and loud cries of pain erupted from her, piercing the still air of the cotton fields. Tears fell from her eyes as her mother held her tighter in her arms. A battle of tug war ensued over Sabine with Master Dillon yanking on her thin arm in the direction of his sister while Anne tugged in the opposite direction. The horrific sound of flesh hitting flesh resounded in Sabine's ears as she tripped over her feet from the force of her mother losing her grip on her.

"Mama!" Sabine yelled, as she was roughly picked by Master Dillon. "Mama!" she shouted again, thrashing her small body in the man's arm.

Sabine's struggle in Master Dillon's grasp was futile as he unceremoniously dumped her into the carriage where his sister resided, seemingly unaffected by what was unfolding right in front of her. Sabine's head snapped to the ground where her mother lay collapsed on the ground, soft groans escaping her lips. Out of nowhere, Sabine's chin was yanked to look straight ahead at Genevieve.

"Sabine, that's what your mama called you right?" Genevieve asked curiously, rotating Sabine's head around as she inspected her.

"Yes, Mistress," Sabine answered, her voice hoarse.

Genevieve slightly frowned and twisted her nose in distaste, "What an ugly name," she commented, shaking her head. "We're going to have to change that," she continued, releasing Sabine's chin. "What am I going to name you?" she mused, tilting her head. A short moment passed. "I got it!" she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "From here on, your name is Cecile!" she beamed, clearly proud of herself.

Sabine didn't bother to argue about her new name, she didn't have any say in the matter anyways.

"Yes Mistress," Sabine replied hoarsely, in acknowledgement.

Genevieve grinned at the young girl in front of her, "Good!" she cheered, with a nod of her head. "Now, Cecile, take this parasol and shield me from the sun," she ordered, sticking her arm out that held the parasol.

"Yes Mistress," Sabine answered, gently grabbing the parasol from her new mistress' hand.

"There's a good girl," Genevieve complimented, and moved her eyes to her brother who was currently gripping Anne by her hair. "Thank you Pierre!" she smiled. "I think Cecile and I are going to get along just fine," she stated, patting Sabine's head as if she was a dog. "Take me home Cyril," she ordered, and the coachman nodded at her before tugging on the reins.

The carriage carrying Genevieve and Sabine slowly moved further and further away from Master Dillon and Anne when a loud, agonizing wail penetrated the atmosphere. The heartbroken wailing made the hairs of Sabine's neck stand up and it took a few seconds for her to realize who those wails were coming from. It was her mother's. Sabine turned her around in her seat to see that Master Dillon was forcing her mother to watch her being taken away.

"Cecile, pay attention!" Genevieve snapped, making Sabine swivel her body back around. "You're letting the sun hit me, I don't want to get as dark as you!" she sneered, and Sabine adjusted the parasol to protect Genevieve.

As the carriage turned out of the Dillon Plantation, Sabine had only one thought in her mind.

She knew at that moment she would never see her family again.

Chapter Two: Life Being What It Is

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Do you accept horror? If so, “ This place gives me the creeps. ” reader to Arthur after he had saved her from Edmund Lowry jr. They could be hunting in the middle of the night or exploring and reader was captured, taken to his cabin. Arthur ends up finding her but she (while having a handkerchief wrapped around her mouth) tells him to run but he gets hit from the back of the head and you decide what happens next from there.

I have dabbled a bit in writing horror, but never got very far. That said, I am no Stephen King! However, I did have fun writing this. I hope you enjoy reading this. 

Warnings: gore, blood

Masterlist

Read on AO3 

There it is again, that horrible smell. You’re wandering around the edge of the Dakota river, your pole in your hand. Arthur’s not far away, hunting a moose that he’d seen earlier. The two of you came down here earlier, needing a break from camp. Horseshoe Overlook’s a beautiful place, but sometimes you need to get away. 

When you got to the river, you saw the conditions of the water were perfect for fishing. The sun’s nearly set, the shadows of the mountain casting over it. Swarms of insects flitter above the river, a tempting feast for the fish below. Arthur had fishes for a while with you, but he wasn’t getting any luck (you had some), and then he’d seen that moose. 

Not long before he left, you caught a whiff of something foul. It smelled like decay mixed with the odd combination of cologne. You thought maybe, since it was coming from Arthur’s direction, the cologne had been coming from him and maybe there was a dead deer down the river. But you’ve been best friends with Arthur for years, you knew he didn’t wear cologne. You brushed it off and then Arthur headed off for that moose. 

You sigh as you haven’t had a nibble on your bait for the past few casts. Perhaps the fish are done eating for the night or maybe they’ve lost interest in your bait. Hard to say. Then that smell came again, but Arthur’s nowhere near so no part of it is coming from him. Where is it coming from? 

You look around for the source but can see nothing. As you return to looking at the river, an unsettling feeling settles over you. Once you’d been riding out near Owanjilla and were stalked by a cougar. Luckily you’d had some poison arrows and managed to shoot it with one before it could get you. You never forgot that feeling of being hunted though. This feeling is the same, like a predator is targeting you and preparing to strike. 

Just as you’re about to collapse your pole and call for Arthur, something hard slams into the back of your head. Stars erupt in your vision and you collapse. The last thing you feel is your cheek digging into the soggy sand and someone grabbing your wrists, then everything goes black. 

********************************

That horrible smell wafts through your nose only it’s a hundred times stronger. It’s so powerful it forces you back to consciousness. You blink several times, your vision slowly returning. It’s then that you realize how uncomfortable and sore you are. The back of your head’s tender from where you’d been hit and your upper arms feel slightly stretched.

Your vision returns and you look around. You’re tired to a wooden pole, forced to your knees, your elbows pointed up and your hands tied behind your head on the other side of the pole. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dim light, but when they do, you wish you couldn't see anything. 

A grizzly scene sprawls around you. It appears that you’re in a cellar of a small cabin since dirt and small roots of plants is coming between the logs acting as walls. The floor’s made of hard, compacted earth. On one part of the wall are letters and crudely drawn pictures. You can’t see them well enough to see what they’re of. Near the pictures are several strings dangling from the ceiling, tied to severed hands and feet. A bucket of red liquid you suspect is blood sits on the table next to the wall. In the corner on the farside of the room is the worst bit: the headless, disemboweled corpse of a man, still tied to a post similar to yours and in the same position as you. 

Your heart is pounding and you look away from the corpse, despite your eyes constantly flitting back to it. In the corner closest to you is the strangest thing: a camera on a tripod. Whoever is responsible for this is clearly sick enough to record his “work”. The smell is perhaps the worst part of the whole thing. It chokes you nearly to the point of making you vomit. 

You’re beginning to hyperventilate. Fear rips through you and it takes all your power not to scream and cry. You twitch your arms a little and feel the rope around your wrists catch on something. A nail? It’s hard to say since you can’t see. You continue rubbing the rope against it, hoping to fray it. 

After a few moments, you hear a door open somewhere behind the wall with the dangling arms. Someone begins shuffling out of your line of sight, but then a new source of light appears. A lantern appears, followed by an arm and then the body of a man. For a homicidal psychopath, he’s the last thing you’d expect. You’d think a man with only three teeth and eyes that stared in opposite directions with wild tangles of hair. 

Instead, you see a man wearing a crisp white shirt with clean black pants. His hair is slicked down and parted so perfectly, and he has a long, curled mustache. His dark eyes land on you, but it’s almost like they see through you. 

“Oh I see you’ve woken long enough to see my collection before I started my newest piece,” he says in an uncomfortably steady voice. “I thought you might not get the pleasure. I was sorry I missed your friend. Maybe he will look for me, or maybe he’ll not worry about you. Or maybe he’ll do both.” 

His eyes hover on a spot above your head. His lips tremble as though he wants to say something and then, stiffly he turns around and puts the lantern on the table. He looks at the pictures for a minute. He bends down and you think he’s about to dip his hands into the bucket of blood, but then he changes his mind at the last second. 

“I want to introduce you to a new friend. Perhaps you’re already acquainted with them, but you’re about to take it to the next level,” he says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bandana. He approaches you slowly, your breath picking up. How can he not hear your blood pumping in your ears? He reaches for your face and ties the bandana around your face, stuffing it into your mouth. 

“I want this to be a quiet introduction for your new friend. They are the most intimate settings. He’s my friend too, though I think you’ll get a much better understanding of him than I. He’s all our friends, we meet him from the moment we’re born and yet he’s the one we run from the most. Perhaps you should think about all those times you spent running from him. His name is Pain.” 

He goes back to the table and picks up a long, rusty knife. He turns back to you, his eyes on that spot above your head again. He starts walking slowly towards you. Straining your wrists against the spot that might be your escape, you try to scream but the cloth prevents you from doing so. His lips spread in a faint smile as he gets closer. 

The sound of the door in the adjacent room makes the man stop. He lets out a long breath and then, as silently as a ghost, he slides into the shadows of the room and vanishes. Heavy footsteps approach and you hear Arthur’s voice. 

“Jesus,” he says. 

“Arthur!” you try to scream through your gag. “Arthur, run!” 

Arthur comes around the corner and his eyes land on you. “Shit, Y/N! Thank God I found ya.” 

He sets his lantern down and is about to run towards you, but the crazy man appears from the shadows and slams him in the back of his head. Arthur falls as you try to scream again and you can tell he’s been knocked out. You start rubbing the rope around your wrists against the nail again, trying even harder to cut yourself free. Tears leak from your eyes as you stare at Arthur’s motionless body, desperate to get free and terrified you won’t be able to. 

“I didn’t expect your other friend so soon,” the man says. “I had his own session planned but it was for after yours. I thought he might like to see how pretty your hands are away from your arms. Still I can manage with this. I’ve never had an audience for my work. Maybe I’ll change that. You will be my new experiment.” 

The man flips Arthur over onto his back. You wish he’d open his eyes. Just wake up, you think, please just wake up. He doesn’t though and the man unbuttons his shirt and then his union suit, exposing his chest and stomach. Sure, you’ve wanted to see him undressed before, but not like this. The man exposes Arthur’s chest and then takes his knife. He swipes the tip along his skin, not cutting it. 

“You never realize how strange and wonderful the body is until you see the insides doused in light. When you see the way a heart beats, you will want to see it again and again. Let me give you a demonstration. Watch closely, it’ll only beat for a few moments after I get down to work.” 

You wrench and pull your arms as hard as possible and, somehow, through some miracle, the rope snaps. You fall on your front, your hands catching you. They slip a little in some drying blood, but you quickly recollect yourself and launch yourself at the man. Your hands wrap around his throat and he begins pressing the knife towards you. As he’s about to thrust it into your belly, you kick his knee. He winces and bends down, allowing you to get the knife out of his hand. Unfortunately, since one of your hands has released his neck, he takes the opportunity to loosen your grip and he throws you against the wall. 

Your breath bursts from your lungs and then he slams his arms into your throat. 

“I see our friend Pain has come to visit us all today. I must admit I have missed him, but he is not here for me.” 

He begins to press hard against your neck. You try fighting him off, but you’re quickly losing strength. His eyes are on that spot above your head again and his mouth’s open a bit. Suddenly a massive form rises up behind him and grabs him around the middle, yanking him off of you. It’s Arthur and he slams the man into the wall, knocking him out. He quickly pulls out his rope and ties the man up. 

“Shit,” he says quietly as you cough and gag. You look up at him, massaging your neck. 

“Arthur. What happened?” you say in a rough voice. 

He looks at you and sees tears in the bottom of your eyes. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Take this bastard to the sheriff in Valentine.” 

He picks the man up and heaves him over his shoulder before offering his hand to you. You take it and the two of you leave the cellar of the cabin, walking out into starlight. Arthur throws the man onto the back of his horse and then turns back to you. His chest’s still exposed and you can’t help but stare at it, thinking you almost saw a part of him you never want to see. You can’t blink or close your eyes and your lip trembles. 

“Hey,” Arthur says. He gets close to you and puts a hand under your chin, lifting your eyes to his. “Hey, you’re okay, darlin’. You’re safe.” 

By now, the shock’s setting in and you’re trembling. Arthur wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close. You don’t care that your face is pressed against the bare skin of his chest. In fact, it’s kind of nice, despite the horror of what nearly happened. His skin’s warm and soft and he smells good. You’re glad that the two of you have been friends for so long that he’s not put off by this. You’ve been secretly in love with him for nearly as long and have dreamed of doing this with him a hundred times. You just wish the circumstances were different.

“Thank you, Arthur. For coming for me.” 

“Of course, darlin’. I couldn’t not. When I saw your fishing pole lyin’ in the sand, I knew you was in trouble.” He pulls away from you and rebuttons his union suit and shirt. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get this bastard to town.” 

You nod and Arthur grabs your hand to lead you over to your horse, as if he knows you're badly shaken. 

"This place gives me the creeps," you say, looking around at the trees and back at the cabin, which you see is nothing more than a burnt shell with the cellar intact. 

Arthur agrees with you and then the two of you mount up. The man on the back of his horse groans a little as he starts to wake up. Arthur runs his horse even faster, but luckily Valentine isn't far. Within two minutes, you're both pulling up to the sheriff's office.

After dismounting, Arthur pulls the man off his horse and back onto his shoulder. You follow him with your pistol drawn as the man's fully awake at this point and you don't trust he won't try something. Fortunately, he says nothing, as if he's taken a vow of silence.

Arthur hauls him in and the sheriff stands up from his seat. After dumping the man onto the ground and cutting the bonds around his feet, Arthur and the sheriff talk about why he brought the man here. You say nothing as you stare coldly at him, wishing for nothing but his death. Your finger flicks over your trigger. Arthur yanks him to his feet and pushes him towards the sheriff.

"Go look in the cellar, sheriff. I think he killed quite a few people." 

"Will do. Now you come with me, calm as you be," the sheriff says to the man. It's clear by his tone that he finds the man disturbing.

"My name is Edmund Lowry Jr., sir," he says in his creepy, even tone. "You will remember that." 

He looks at a spot above the sheriff's head, just like he did with you. Part of you wonders if he's blind, but you can tell by the way his eyes flit about that he's not. Not only that, but when you were tied up in his cellar, he was too coordinated.

The sheriff slowly walks the man towards the cells. "Oh I'm sure I shall. You are one frightening fella." 

Before you and Arthur can say anything, he cuts the ropes binding Edmund's hands and it's as quick as lightning. The man snaps around and launches himself onto the sheriff, knocking him down. He makes a strange "aye aye" sound over and over again as he tries to sink his teeth into the sheriff's throat. You quickly raise your pistol and shoot the man in the back and he goes limp.

Arthur walks over and shoves the body off the sheriff and helps him up. 

"My God," the sheriff says. "What a monster. I'll uh I'll pay you two for your troubles and uh get this… get this cleaned up." 

He sits down at his desk and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and then two clips of money, tossing one to you and the other to Arthur. You both thank him and then head out. You're grateful to put space between you and that awful man, even if he is dead. 

Once outside, you stop and tilt your head back, letting out a deep breath. It's impossible for you to count how many times you've been shot at or thrown from your horse. Tonight was not the first night you've been inches from death, but it was definitely the most terrifying out of all of them. Sure, you've had people wish for your death, but never has anyone wanted you dead purely for the act of watching you die. That man was pure evil.

"You okay?" Arthur asks, bringing you back to reality. 

"Y-yeah," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. 

Arthur looks down the street and then back at you. "Come on, let's stay in town for the night." 

He grabs his horse's reins. You do the same with your horse and then Arthur surprises you yet again. He offers his hand to you. Part of you wonders if he's doing this because he knows you're shaken and need a comforting hand, but you wish more than anything that he was doing it because he feels something for you too. 

Walking down the street, hand in hand, Arthur says nothing. Perhaps tonight was as frightening for him as it was for you. Not that you blame him. Big, tough and scary as Arthur can be, he's still capable of fear. 

After hitching the horses, you both walk inside and Arthur offers another surprise. He orders only one room. You give him a curious look to which he doesn’t respond. Heading upstairs, you wait for him to say he’s going to simply make sure you’re able to settle in fine and then head back to camp alone. Instead, he goes into the room and walks over to the bed. There’s only one. You stand awkwardly in the doorway as he starts taking off his boots. Maybe he meant for you to buy your own room. 

“Uh, I guess I’ll… um, get my own room,” you say. 

Arthur calls your name softly. “You don’t need to. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought maybe you could use some company for the night. What happened tonight was… well, it weren’t good.” 

You sigh in relief. Oh, if Arthur only knew how many nights you wished to share the same bed with him. You did once before, months ago. You’d been out camping with him and he’d forgotten his tent and it rained that night. You invited him to sleep in your tent, which was barely big enough to fit two people. You had to try so hard that night not to appear too much like you wanted to cuddle up with him. 

You stare at the bed, realizing it’s going to be a tight fit for the two of you, and Arthur’s a broad guy. 

“You sure?” you ask. 

He smiles a bit and hides his eyes beneath his hat the way he does when he’s embarrassed. “Sure. Besides I… I don’t wanna spend the night alone either. I hope you don’t mind or think I’m bein’ forward.” 

“Not at all, Mr. Morgan.” You sit beside him and remove your boots. The two of you lay down and stare at the ceiling for a moment. As if on cue, your brain starts to replay memories of the cellar. You see the dangling hands, the pictures, the camera, the corpse. Arthur lying on his back, a knife’s tip centimeters from his bare chest. You begin to shake. 

“You okay?” Arthur whispers in the dark. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.” 

“You, uh, you can come over if you want.” 

You look over at him but can’t see his face in the dark. Is he serious? Is he inviting you to cuddle? If you hadn’t just survived such a disturbing situation, you would turn around and put your back to him, but you’re freaked out enough that you roll onto your side and slide your head onto his chest. His arm winds around you and settles onto your shoulder. Normally you would flinch, but the heat from his hand feels so warm and comforting, you try not to enjoy it too much. Your hand slides up his body and settles on his upper peck. As you do, you hear his heartbeat pick up slightly. 

The two of you lie entwined around each other for a few minutes. Arthur’s free hand settles on his stomach and you move yours from his chest and over his hand. 

“Thank you for this, Arthur,” you whisper. “I… I didn’t know I needed it.” 

Arthur responds by placing a soft kiss on your head. “Any time, darlin’. I… I hate to admit this, but I been lookin’ for an excuse to do this for months.” 

“Really?” you say, looking up at him. 

“Really.” 

You smile and lean down a bit, placing a kiss on his lips. He responds instantly, his lips moving with yours. It’s as if he was thinking of doing the same thing. You cup his cheek with your hand, the stubble of his chin rubbing on your palm. He tastes good, his breath moving across your face. His lips are slightly chapped like your own. After a moment, you pull away. 

“Sorry. I had to do that,” you say. 

He chuckles a bit. “Don’t apologize for that, sweetheart. If you hadn’t done it, I would’ve.” 

You kiss him again and then lay your head back on his chest. His arm winds even tighter around you. As you lie in his embrace, you know those horrible memories won’t be able to haunt you. Not tonight. Not like this.