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nanodayowrites · 3 years ago

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always

by nanodayo

Anime/Manga: Fire Force

Pairing: Sagamiya Konro x Shinmon Benimaru (M/M)

Rating: M for now but will likely shift to E for explicit sexual content as well as violence.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut, Violence, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, somewhat graphic depictions of injuries, ill probably update this as the story goes on!

Chapters 1/?? (I have a few written and will post more soon)

a/n: like i know,,,,fire force is a shounen so theres gonna be a lotta self inserts and self shipping fics,,,,,but its not what im particularly interested in so ive decided to take matters into my own hands. Benimaru and Konro were made for each other you cannot change my mind!! ALSO PLS NOTE IVE ONLY WATCHED THE ANIME!! but it doesn't really change much. theres no spoilers involved just beni and konro being all cute n shit

also, this is my first time writing fanfiction ever, and its my first time creative writing in a while, but im pretty happy with how its looking so far!

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Konro stands by the entrance to the guardhouse, the epitome of patience. At first glance at least. Hika and Hina know better, and shoot him nervous glances between bites of their dinner. They see the tense lines of his shoulders, and the way he has not touched his food. They also see the slight tremor in his hands, but are kind enough not to make fun of him for it.

Benimaru has been away since sunrise, and the moon is now shining high above them. He was supposed to be visiting the 8th and briefly coordinating with their captain for an upcoming training session with their rookies. An hour later, Konro was informed that a large group of infernals had been spotted, and that Benimaru was assisting the 8th due to the magnitude of the damage being done. All in all, it was supposed to be a routine mission. Their captain should have been home by lunch.

The fact that he has been away for so much longer means something has gone wrong. The girls know Konro is worried sick about their captain, and in truth, they are just as scared. Logically, everyone knows that there is very little in this world that is even remotely a match for the man called “the strongest fire soldier”, but his absence is unsettling regardless.

“Hika, Hina, it’s time to go to bed.” Konro does not move from his spot. Neither do the twins. If he is being honest, Konro appreciates their company, but as their guardian of sorts, he feels obligated to be responsible. But the girls say nothing, and frankly Konro does not have the energy to push the subject. He grips his wrists tighter under his kimono. His burned shoulders ache from the strain of his tension, but he cannot bring himself to mind it.

Thankfully, the object of their concern appears in their field of view, a lone streak of flames growing rapidly larger, pushing the idea of sleep out of the trio’s minds.

They stand up straight, relief letting them breathe freely at last.

That is, until they get a closer look at Benimaru.

He grips the matoi gingerly, his right arm hanging loosely at its side. His face and robe are caked in dust and ash, with red-stained patches on his chest. The face that typically wears an apathetic expression is screwed up in what they can only assume is immense physical pain. Most distressing of all is the blood streaming down his neck, painting his shoulders a deep crimson.

The girls instantly shoot towards him, and twin balls of flame appear beside the larger streak, one going to support each side. As the girl on his right attempts to approach him however, she immediately backs off upon further examining the damage. Konro grimaces. The arm must look really bad.

Despite the commotion, they soon land in front of the guardhouse, and Konro rushes forward to help them. His stomach is in knots, and he pushes back the swirl of emotions that threaten to paralyse him. Now is not the time, not when Beni needs him to be strong.

“Beni-.” Konro is interrupted by Benimaru slumping forward, legs unable to support his weight. Immediately, Konro picks him up, one arm beneath his knees, the other under his back. Mindful of the clearly broken arm as well as the array of injuries, they walk towards the house, and upstairs into Konro’s room, as it is the most supplied for such an emergency.

“Hika, Hina, please go and get Suzume immediately. Tell them it’s Waka.” Suzume is a local medic who frequently treated injured members of Company 7. She is a strict older lady who has known Beni since he was a child. The girls depart, leaving Konro to his thoughts, alongside an unconscious Benimaru.

Beni needs you. The thought gives a small thrill, but is instantly quashed by a wave of self-loathing. He does not deserve to be happy, not now.

He places the injured man on the futon that was already prepared. Fear leaves him frozen, unsure of what to do next. Beni, oh gods, Beni. What if - no. Konro refuses to go there.

Konro is not a doctor, but at this moment he wishes he is.

Konro is not strong, but at this moment he needs to be. For Waka. For Beni.

He knows he has to move, start somewhere, do something, or else it might kill him. So he faces the man lying on the futon, red staining the white sheet, and begins to strip away the clothes that are concealing the extent of his injuries. He grabs clean towels, warm water, and disinfectant, and begins cleaning the injuries on his chest and stomach. When he goes to remove the sleeve on Benimaru’s right side, the young captain’s face tightens in his unconscious state.

Konro curses at himself for causing Benimaru more pain. He removes the sleeve the rest of the way and stares at the dislocated shoulder. At the wrist that rests at an unnatural angle. At the arms covered in cuts and cruises. At the cleaned torso, bruised almost beyond recognition.

A grunt.

“You’re crying.”

Konro starts. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the captain waking up. Stupid. How dare he turn his attention away from Benimaru. How dare he focus on his own feelings when Beni is in pain.

Konro touches his own face and feels the wetness there. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he turns his attention back to his captain’s injuries, doing what he can before the medic arrives. He again finds himself wishing that he wasn't so weak, so useless.

He shakes his head to remove those thoughts from his mind. He has no right to self pity.

A cold hand weakly grips his wrist, and Konro pauses.

“Konro.”

Konro resumes his cleaning of the wounds on Benimaru’s arm, gentle, ever so mindful of the shoulder. He can’t bring himself to look him in the eye, not after he failed to protect his captain.

“Konro,” Benimaru croaks again, firmer this time, “ ‘m fine, don’t worry ‘bout me.”

The young man can barely form words. Here he is, barely awake but despite his pain, he is trying to comfort Konro. The lieutenant’s stomach clenches painfully at the notion. He finally turns and looks at the younger man. Completely at odds with the words he just spoke, Benimaru’s eyes contain a myriad of emotions: pain, concern, but above all, panic. And that is the worst of all. It is not a look that should be on Waka’s face. It makes Konro want to hold him close, and take him far away from here, where he would never suffer again.

Konro reaches out, pushing Benimaru’s black hair from his forehead, attempting to comfort the younger man without words. Mindful of the gash on the back of Benimaru’s head, Konro runs his fingers through the damp strands, gently combing the hair with his fingers, desperate for that fear to be quashed, desperate to protect the captain in any way he could.

“I’m here, Beni.”

The captain looks so small on the tatami mats, breath coming in painful bursts, blood still oozing from the wounds on his chest. He holds Konro’s gaze until he can’t anymore, going unconscious again from the pain. It is a startling contrast from the strong, awe-inducing man who carries the weight of Asakusa on his shoulders so naturally.

At that moment, a commotion is heard from the hall. The twins have returned, with the medic in tow. The girls pull the woman by her wrists, dragging her roughly along in their haste to return to Waka’s side.

“Hurry up, you’re too slow you hag!” The twins speak in unison. Their words are cruel, but Suzume does not fault them for it, all too accustomed to the girls’ behaviour.

Konro stands and picks the girls up so they are out of the way.

“Let us see Waka! Put us down, stupid Konro!” the girls explode angrily. But they do not leave his arms, as worried about Benimaru as Konro is. He ignores them, speaking instead to the medic.

“We will leave him in your care. If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.” He hears how his voice breaks, but he chooses to ignore it for now.

“Of course, Kon-san. You have already done plenty, thank you for cleaning his wounds. I can take care of it from here.” She smiles and turns towards the injured man. Konro takes that as his cue to leave, carrying the girls out of the room and into theirs.

For the first time, Konro prays to any gods willing to listen.

***

“Konro, stay with us, please!” The girls have been tucked in, but it was obvious they are not going to sleep for a while, too upset.

Konro is hesitant, wrapped in thoughts of returning to Benimaru’s side. But the usage of the word ‘please’ holds his attention, largely because he has almost never heard the girls say it before. Maybe he needs to teach them better manners going forward. Maybe he is stalling.

With a gentle sigh and a kind smile, he sits down between their futons. Not that they need two separate ones, because they always end up sharing by morning. Be nice to them, they’re just as scared as you are. Furthermore, he is the lieutenant, and when Waka is gone, he must step up.

“I’ll tell you a story, will that help you relax?” His voice breaks the silence that has befallen the guardhouse.

“Yes!!! Tell us about when you hazed Waka!” Hika giggles.

“Tell us, tell us!” Hina pipes up.

Konro smiles in the way that only the young girls can bring out of him. “I’ve told you a thousand times already, haven’t I?” But he begins anyway.

***

The so-called proto-nationalist hazing that Benimaru had later inflicted on Shinra and Arthur of Company 8 was something Konro had once forced the younger man (at the time, a boy) to undergo as a punishment. The boy had recently begun to act up in training and was being a little shit, so Konro and the other hikeshi enacted a plan to teach the brat a lesson.

They had told him it was time for him to undergo a traditional hazing to signify his transition into manhood. It was a load of shit, but they figured the angsty young master was too far up his own ass to realise that they had made the whole thing up. They were right.

“Konro? Hello? What the fuck am I doing?!” Benimaru was currently tied to a spit and was suspended sideways over a fire, face up. His clothes were burning away, slowly revealing his backside. Not that Konro had noticed.

“Uh,” Konro stalled, trying to recall their made-up explanation, “It's uh, an old proto-nationalist hazing.” Yeah that sounds good. A simple punishment is all it was, really. And it was hilarious. Benimaru, the kid with a strength that easily surpasses most grown men, was tied up in the middle of Asakusa, roasting over the fire.

Surprisingly, Beni had gone along with being tied up without much fight, more annoyance and confusion as opposed to actual anger. Not quite the reaction Konro was going for, but he wasn’t going to read into it too much.

“Konro, it's hot. Can you untie me please?” The boy had whined.

“No Waka, you must learn to overcome your physical discomforts. This is an essential part of your training.” Konro had to actively fight the urge to burst out laughing. He bit his tongue and tried to look detached.

“This is ridiculous. What’s the fucking point. This is stupid.” Beni continued to complain.

“You’ll learn the point, kid.” A hikeshi spoke up. “We all went through this, suck it up.” Konro was grateful. He didn’t think he could speak more without laughing. A crowd was gathering, Asakusa’s inhabitants curious as to why the young master was tied like a roasted pig in the public space. Benimaru turned red. Trained warrior or no, being stared at by elderly women with his ass hanging out (because at this point his clothes had all but burned away) was a rather embarrassing scenario.

There are very few things that could be less mortifying for a teenage boy.

***

Hika and Hina giggle at the image. Konro cannot suppress his smile at the memory, the disgruntled look on Benimaru’s face is one he will never forget.

The girls yawn in sync. “Konro keep going.” Hina is impatient. “Yeah, hurry up!!” Like clockwork, Hika trills after her sister.

“Yes, yes. Let’s continue.” The knowledge that Benimaru is lying just down the hall is not forgotten, but Konro has to be there for the twins.

***

“Now what?” Benimaru had dropped his initial discontented expression and had settled for a scowl. He was starting to get rather irate. Konro knew this, but he was having too much fun to stop.

The young master was once again suspended above a fire, except this time he wore only a fundoshi, and his arms and feet were spread apart. The embarrassment had not gone away, he was a teenage boy after all. Konro thought it was too funny to stop, even if the furious younger man stood a chance against him in a fight.

Another hikeshi lit a fire at Benimaru’s feet, the flames instantly shooting upwards.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT OH MY FUCKING GOD YOU BASTARD IM GOING TO KILL YOU-” Beni launched a verbal tirade with increasingly creative language. Konro actually laughed, he couldn’t help it. That only served to piss off the young man more. “KONRO I SWEAR TO ANY GOD ABOVE THAT I WILL CUT OFF YOUR HANDS AND MAKE YOU EA-'' Beni was cut off by a gag appearing around his mouth. Fire of course. Konro’s quick thinking.

This continued until the older man figured it was time to move on to the next punishment.

***

The twins had fallen asleep holding each other close. Their breath is in sync. How they manage that Konro will never know. He stands slowly, careful not to wake them, but he knows he need not worry - they are exhausted. He is too, but now is not the time for sleep, not when Benimaru needs him.

Konro hesitates before opening the door to his bedroom. The dread he has been setting aside for the twins threatens to spill out and make an emotional wreck of him. That cannot happen. Not right now. He needs to push past his own weakness for the young master.

Pulling aside the door, he sees Suzume packing her bag. He cannot bring himself to look at the futon, not yet.

“He’ll live.” Her voice is quiet, calm. “The cuts are mostly superficial but there is still significant bruising on his chest and arms. None of it is life-threatening but he will be in a great deal of pain for the next two weeks at least.” The lieutenant almost has to sit down, relief flooding every fibre of his being.

“That being said,” she continues, “The wrist is broken and his shoulder has been dislocated. He is right handed, correct?” Konro nods. “Then he will require assistance until he becomes accustomed to using his left hand. He also has a mild concussion, but the cut on his head is not as deep as it looks.”

“How long until he is healed?”

She hesitates, unable to meet his eyes. The medic senses the lieutenant’s nervousness. Poor Kon-san. “The concussion should heal in about ten days, assuming he makes the effort to get better fully. At least six weeks for the wrist. More or less the same for the shoulder, but I will discuss all the details with you when he wakes, which might not be for a long time. I gave him some painkillers…” She continues, tactfully ignoring Konro’s obvious inner turmoil.

Benimaru will be unable to train for at least a month. He will not be allowed to fight for Asakusa. Beni’s necessity to the town aside, Konro is more worried about the emotional toll it would take on the captain, who lives and breathes to serve their district. The thought of Beni forced to sit aside and watch made his heart clench painfully.

“...and with that, I suggest you go to sleep, Kon-san. You’ve had a long night, and I will see you in the morning.” The medic withdraws quickly, leaving the two men alone.

Konro realises he needs to go to Benimaru’s side. Because really, that’s where he belongs. It’s where he always wants to be.

He kneels next to the sleeping captain, who is almost swallowed up by the robes Suzume had dressed him in. They are Konro’s, and they are much too large. The word ‘cute’ flashes through the lieutenant's mind at the image. He must be tired, he thinks, because he doubts anyone in their right state of mind would describe the young captain in such a way.

Reaching out his hand, Konro runs his hand through the hair sticking to Benimaru’s forehead, pushing the strands back. The hand lingers longer than Konro had intended it to.

The captain stirs, murmuring in his sleep. “K’nro…wha’s for d’ner…” before becoming silent again. Konro smiles gently, the tears he has been holding back finally free falling. He allows himself to just feel for a minute. The distress about Beni’s emotional state upon learning he has to put aside his own training for so long. The worry he had felt in the hours leading up to seeing Beni, only for it to come crashing down once he found out the damage done to his captain. But worst of all is the anguish. Because for a brief moment, he thought he was going to lose him. And that causes him more grief than anything else.

How pitiful.

After all Benimaru has been through, the worst emotions stem from Konro’s own fear. From his own weakness. Because if he was strong, he could have protected Benimaru. How pathetic.

Konro continues to let these negative feelings wash over him, until his captain stirs once again. This time, the younger man opens his eyes fully. They were glazed, but he appears to see Konro sitting beside him.

Immediately, Konro moves closer, hands hovering, wanting to touch him but not knowing how. Benimaru spares him the struggle by taking the larger hand in his, gripping it firmer than one would have expected given his condition.

“Stay?”

“Always.”

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takahero · 3 years ago

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in honour of finishing inkspell, here are some basta observations I picked up along the way. also, inkspell spoilers warning! i also have MANY MANY thoughts so i’d love to hear what you guys think to some of the questions raised

“He hadn’t changed: the same thin face, the same way of narrowing his eyes, and there was an amulet dangling around his neck to ward off the bad luck that Basta thought lurked under every ladder, behind every bush.” — pg.138

“Basta’s left hand was bandaged, Elinor noticed when he took his fingers away from her mouth.” — pg.139

“‘I’d have been here much sooner, believe you me, but they put me in jail for a while on account of something that happened years ago. No sooner was Capricorn gone than all the people who’d been too scared to open their mouths suddenly felt very brave.’” — pg.140 (see they never tell us WHY he was in prison, do they? the possibilities are endless. we know he committed atrocious things, like arson, but imagine if he got put in jail for something completely different…LOL)

“‘You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve told him there’s nothing to be ashamed of in going to jail, particularly when your prisons here are so much more comfortable than our dungeons at home.’” — pg.140 (OHHHTMGOD MEME IDEA)

“Basta flung his arm so roughly round Orpheus’ neck that his glasses slipped down his nose.” — pg.141

“‘Hold your tongue, Basta!’ Mortola interrupted him abruptly. ‘You’ve always liked the sound of your own voice.’” — pg.141

“‘Well, Silvertongue, I’m sorry it’s taken some time,’ he said in his soft, cat-like voice.” — pg.180

“‘My son always said revenge was a dish best eaten cold,’ observed Mortola.” — pg.181 (question. did basta find out about mortola’s true identity between inkheart & inkspell? do u think he realised it when mortola cried when capricorn died?)

“Basta passed a finger over his throat and winked at him.” — pg.186 (wink 2 LMAO)

“Basta bent down and picked up a rusty helmet lying at his feet. ‘What do you expect me to say?’ he growled, throwing the helmet back into the grass with a gloomy expression, and giving it a kick that sent it clattering against the wall. ‘Of course it’s our castle. Didn’t you see the figure of the goat on the wall there? Even the carved devils are still standing, though they wear ivy crowns now — and look, there’s one of the eyes that Slasher liked to paint on the stones.’” — pg.190

“‘So Basta was right after all. He’s dead, here and in the other world too.’” — pg.191 (interesting….so Basta knew Mortola’s plan wouldn’t work? he just wanted a ride home?)

“‘I’d really like to know what happened!’ he muttered. ‘I always said Capricorn wasn’t here, but what about the others?…What are we going to do if they’re all gone?’ Basta sounded like a boy afraid of the dark. ‘Do you want us to live in a cave like brownies until the wolves find us? Have you forgotten the wolves? And the Night-Mares, the fire-elves, all the other creatures crawling around the place…I for one haven’t forgotten them, but you would come back to this accursed spot where there are ghosts lurking behind every tree!’ He reached for the amulet dangling around his neck, but Mortola did not deign to look at him.

“‘Oh, be quiet!’ she said, so sharply that Basta flinched.” — pg.192

“‘You’re going to leave them here?’ That was Basta’s voice.” — pg.193 (at first I was like oh so he has a heart….but then he was mean to resa straight after this 🙄)

“‘Sorry, but he must have overlooked me, shut up in that cage as I was,’ purred Basta in his catlike voice.” — pg.377

“‘Wasn’t it Mortola who had you put in the cage to be fed to the Shadow?’ Basta just shrugged his shoulders and flung back his silver-grey cloak. Of course, he had his knife. A brand new one, it seemed, finer than any he’d ever had in the other world, and undoubtedly just as sharp.

“‘Yes, not very nice of her,’ he said as his fingers caressed the handle of the knife. ‘But she’s really sorry.’” — pg.377 (okay so it SOUNDS like he threatened/made some kind of bargain with his knife, but I strongly doubt that considering how afraid he seems of her?? i know he’s technically working for the adderhead but even by the end of the book, it seems he is far closer to mortola than adderhead. what is their relationship? or does he sincerely think she’s sorry/has deluded himself into believing such? UGH SO MANY QUESTIONS)

“Basta had always liked describing his own and other people’s abominable deeds in detail.” — pg.378

“‘But we’re not going to shoot you.’ Basta came a little closer to Fenoglio, his face as intent as that of a stalking cat.” — pg.378 …. living for all the cat references tbh

“‘He wants you to crawl on your belly to him, that’s what our noble lord and master likes. But never mind, he pays well!’” — pg.378 (yes basta all abt getting that bread LMAOOOO)

“He slowly drew the knife from his belt. Its blade was long and slightly curved.” — pg.379

“‘Hey Basta, I know you like the sound of your own voice.’” — pg.379 (AHAHAHAHA HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE CALLED OUT BASTA ON THIS NOW? IVE LOST TRACK)

“With a regretful sigh, Basta put the knife back in his belt. ‘Yes, very well, you’re right,’ he said in surly tones. ‘I need to take my time with this sort of thing. Questioning people is an art, a real art.’” — pg.380 (LMAOOOOOOO HE IS SUCH A DRAMA QUEEN)

“Basta. The same thin face, the same twisted smile. Only the clothes were different. Basta was no longer wearing his white shirt and black suit with the flower in his buttonhole. No, Basta now wore the Adderhead’s silvery grey, and he had a sword at his side. With a knife in his belt too, of course. But he was holding a dead chicken in his left hand.” — pg. 455

“‘Yes, they are!’ purred Basta. ‘The little witch, and the fire-eater into the bargain. It was well worth the wait. Even though I’ll probably never get that damned flour out of my lungs again.’” — pg.455 (ok….so who’s gonna draw basta sitting amongst the flour AAHHAHA)

“‘Servant? Who’s a servant here? Just listen to him. As bold as if he’d never felt my knife! Have you forgotten how you screamed when it cut your face?’” — pg.457 … don’t call basta a servant…..noted

“‘Oh, don’t look so disbelieving, little witch, I still can’t read and I don’t intend to learn, but there are enough fools around the place who can, even in this world.’” —pg. 457 (i wonder how much capricorn influenced basta’s views on reading. because capricorn said that he learnt how to read from a maid, right? so basta certainly wouldn’t have trash-talked reading in front of him. and even after living in OUR world for nine years, I’m still surprised that he never attempted to learn, given how dependent we are on it. anyway my headcanon is that he secretly wants to, but doesn’t want to give others the satisfaction of knowing they have something he doesn’t. also nobody he knows would be willing to teach him (unless he threatened them) bc of his obviously violent and short-tempered nature…and learning requires so much patience. still, though, would love a fic of basta being taught how to read in secret and having some kind of positive interaction)

“‘You’re even more talkative than you used to be, Basta.’ Dustfinger’s voice sounded as if he found this tedious.” — pg.458 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH IM DYING. honestly the animosity between them was just. A+++

“Basta was in an even worse state. He was sitting close to Mortola, his face so red and swollen that Meggie almost failed to recognise him. But he had escaped death once again. Perhaps the good-luck charms he always wore worked after all.” — pg.526

“The sunlight falling into the room made Basta’s face look like a boiled lobster.” — pg.575

“Basta put his hand to the amulet hanging around his neck. It was not a rabbit’s paw, as he had worn in Capricorn’s service, but something that looked suspiciously like a human finger-bone.” — pg.581 (THIS STILL IRKS ME SO MUCH)

“The Piper straightened his back, as ready to attack as the viper on his master’s coat of arms…He was a good head taller than Basta.” — pg.582 WHY DO I KEEP FORGETTING HES NOT TALL LMFAO

“The two men were standing so close that the blade of Basta’s knife wouldn’t have fitted between them.” — pg.582 HAHAHAJAHAAJAHAHHAAHAHAHAH PKESJENE I LOVE THIS SO MUCH … IMAGINE BASTA SQUARING UP W HIS NOSE JUST SMACK BANG IN THE MIDDLE OF PIPER’S CHEST OR SOMETHING

“The Piper struck Basta in the face so hard that his head hit the door frame. Blood ran down his burned cheek in a trail of red. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. ‘Take care to avoid dark corridors, Piper!’ he whispered. ‘You don’t have a nose any more, but one can always find something else to cut off.’” — pg.582-583 THIS SCENE WAS SIMPLY……CHEF’S KISS

are you serious is he dead??? WHAT. okay I knew dustfinger’s love for farid would be the end of him and basta being the instrument to rip that away from him was totally heartrending. i WISH it had been more climactic? like dustfinger unleashing his fury and fighting basta, blind with anger and grief. THE DIALOGUE POTENTIAL BETWEEN THEM AS THEY FINALLY TALK ONE-ON-ONE, and then some revisiting of the scene where dustfinger has the opportunity to kill basta but AGAIN withholds because killing is not in his nature….THEN MO IN SHINING ARMOUR SWOOPS IN TO DO THE JOB

now, off to inkdeath!

#inkspell #inkspell spoilers #basta #inkheart trilogy #BASTAAAAAA

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poptod · 4 years ago

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Hi! Can I have an enemies to lovers fic between Ahkmenrah and a Nubian Queen, where their territories are at war with each other (as in a war is literally taking place) 😇😇

notes: man, ive been integrating nubia/kush into my ancient egyptian stories for How long now and i havent thought of doing this? damn. anyway i sort of changed the prompt a little cause i didnt want to get too much into the politics between ancient egypt and nubia cause holy fuck was that a hyperobsession of mine for a bit WC: 1.8k

This was... unconventional, to put it lightly. You and a Pharaoh inherited a war from your parents – a longlasting conflict between Nubia and Egypt, and having it end up this way was something no one could have prepared for.

You had directed armies yourself; put yourself in battle, ridden hordes of bulls through encampments and foreign soldiers. It was a purposeful tactic to incite fear in those who opposed you, a lesson in the dramatics handed down to you by your father. He always had an eye for showmanship.

Ahkmenrah conducted undercover operations and covert raids and, at times, led his armies into battle. He was renowned for his work with swords and daggers, often using fire to get his way. By lighting your cities aflame, he weakened the power of Nubia, and destroyed precious resources and lives.

Both of you had earned your share of scars, up and down your arms, puncturing your chest and slashing your skin. You personally fought one another on several occasions – the month-long conflict in Semna, the burning of Buhen, the advance on Aswan. Your officers attested to your hatred of the man, and the people of Egypt were well in the know of the Pharaonic family's distaste for Nubians.

"That bastard cut two of my fingers off," you often recounted, and often (and coincidentally) on the same days the Pharaoh would say, "that little shit ruined my perfect skin."

What he meant by this remained, for a good while, unknown to those who heard it. His officers and advisors had asked him several times, but he never gave a straight answer. He kept it a nice secret till it was inevitably discovered to be long, numerous scars ranging all up his back. From his shoulder blades to the small of his back, scars had ruined the once smooth skin, a gift from you to him.

How you gave him these scars was also unknown, and continued to be so forever. He never answered how it happened and you never spoke about it.

However, the answer became clear, though not officially confirmed.

You looked off the side of the bed, listless eyes drifting between the different paintings lining the bedroom's walls. Unlike the grandeur of the court room and dining room, the images were not of the Pharaoh, instead displaying the wealth of a happy garden. It was art you had somehow come to miss in your time away from Egypt.

Kisses landed on the back of your neck before hands travelled to your waist, squeezing the supple skin as the kisses grew lower. You attempted to shake the touch off but he was persistent.

"No," you said, squirming in place but not bothering to leave your spot on the bed. "I came here to settle my debt and I should return to that."

"Lie here with me and your debt is settled," he murmured, lips moving against your skin as he spoke.

"That is not even close to –"

"Shhh," he said softly, and his movements continued without pause, searching the body he had gotten to know uncomfortably well.

Unbeknownst to the populace and to many of your officials, the two of you exchanged letters. Nothing of fantastic importance nor hatred, but instead a communication between two people who had no one else to relate to besides each other. Where else would you find a King or Queen embroiled in conflict?

So you related to one another, and the information you relayed in your letters was always thrice-checked, a tactic to keep Ahkmenrah from using anything against you. He did the same with his own letters, which you expected him to.

Your worst enemy and closest friend continued to kiss you as you lay in his bed, his hand wandering lower till he tugged at the hem of your skirt.

"I'm going to kill you one of these days," you said as you rolled over, facing him head-on. As usual, your words were curt, to the point, and spoken in a nearly monotone voice with complete seriousness. As usual, his eyes were glittering with the excitement you often sparked in him, the most bittersweet of smiles always tainting his lips.

"You've tried six times and you've been unsuccessful thus far," he said in a teasing manner, his grin spreading.

"Well then," you said as he moved to hold himself above you, one hand planted on either side of your head as he sat between your legs, "one more try won't hurt."

"Please don't try to kill me while I'm having sex with you," he groaned.

"I don't want undead dick in me, so I thought I'd do it before or after," you said, something he apparently found amusement in.

"If you weren't the one that destroyed my alliance with Punt, I would marry you so hard," he admitted before diving in to kiss you, aligning perfectly with your lips. You tried two times to reply, but you were entirely muted, and eventually you gave in.

You hated him from the moment you met him. Was that still true, though? Did you still hate him, the man who had taken so much from you, gifting it back in the form of a physical love. His actions in the throes of passion did not suffice as an apology, so you assumed yes––you still hated him.

After all was said and done, you didn't dare to linger. Being absent more than a day from your country never boded well, though the journey back would take up the rest of the day, as the sun had risen a short time ago. You dressed yourself and bid a hasty good-bye to the Pharaoh, who asked you to stay longer.

"If I stay any longer I'm going to suffocate you," you said as you adjusted your belt.

"Have you ever stopped to think maybe I want that?" He asked, and in pure confusion you turned to him, your expression contorted. He explained further, "I've heard choking can be very good during sex."

"Shut the fuck up," you sighed, rolling your eyes as you turned back to your reflection. He just chuckled, flopping back down on the bed.

You paused for a moment––stopped dressing yourself, and instead unwillingly turned your attention to Ahkmenrah's reflection in the mirror, his curls a mess as he stared up at the ceiling. The slow rise and fall of his chest did not match the heavy blush on his cheeks. As he turned to lay on his side, you caught sight of his back, and the numerous scratch marks lining up and down it.

"Do they hurt?" You asked softly, and though you didn't realize it at the time, they were the first soft-spoken words you had shared with him.

"Do what hurt?" He asked in return, rolling back over to face you with a curious smile.

"Those marks on your back," you said, though you didn't turn to face him, instead locking eyes with him in the mirror. "I never mean to give you them."

"You don't?" He asked, quirking one of his brows. "I've always thought of them as a memento. I mean they hurt, but... most things you do hurt me."

For as right as he was, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment for your actions. You had done many things to him and around him, and by both of your accounts, none of the things you'd done had helped him in any way. Except the sex, but neither of you thought of that as your own actions. But he was handsome, and he was kind to his people. Despite the mutual hatred between you he always ensured you were alright with what he was doing in bed. It was two different versions of yourselves––the battlefield, and the home. He was a perfect lover and a ruthless King, and you never bothered to be anything but a spiteful ruler on and off the battlefield.

"Put some lavender oil on it," you said, fixing your collar. "It helps get rid of scars.

"We don't have any lavender oil ever since you cut off our trade network," he said flatly.

"Oh," you paused, "right."

You took one more moment to watch him through his reflection before you took a deep breath.

"I have to leave now. Try not to get into any trouble, or start any, before I get home," you said.

"When will I see you next?" He asked, his cheek squished into the mattress.

"Probably when you wake up at midnight with a knife above your head."

He laughed, but before he could properly respond, you left out the door with your veil concealing your identity. So instead he sighed, turning back to the ceiling as the image of you imprinted itself behind his eyelids. He would miss you no matter how hard he tried not to, and he knew this because every time you left him in his bedroom, emptiness replaced the warmth in his chest. Your warmth.

The moment he passed the threshold of his room, however, he fell back into his natural state––the one he held around his palace officials and citizens. The man who burnt down cities. Very rarely did he ever let this facade fall, and in the following weeks he kept up with it, only breaking it for a split second on a humid evening.

Mail had come into his study, full of letters, plans, and maps all addressed to him. Usually he went through them with his advisors and vizier, but tonight was a holy night, and many of them had asked for the day off, which he of course granted.

The last piece of mail wasn't a scroll or a letter, but instead a small package with a note inside. He frowned as he tore open the sealing, curious to see its' contents. Out fell a sturdy glass bottle, followed by a slip of paper, and the bud of a dried flower.

Get a pretty girl and have her use this on you.

Signed, your friend

He twisted the cork off the bottle. The scent inside was strong enough to reach him without him having to bring it to his nose, and instantly he recognized the source.

Lavender.

He grinned, a grin that only grew larger as he thought of what to say in return. In a flash he grabbed his own papyrus and pen, scribbling down a neat response.

Use it on me yourself, coward.

Signed, your love.

A week later the mail came into your home, and for a good while you sorted through it, though what first caught your attention was the insignia Ahkmenrah planted on each of his covert letters. A lotus. You set that aside––it was not as important as other matters, and it could wait until a little later.

When you did open it, however, you went into such a fluster that a blush coated your face for a good three days.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

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Humans are Space Orcs, “I Have Seen.”

Wrote something easy and more similar to my original stories today. I hope you like it.

I have been thinking about taking a couple days off from writing these stories, since I have been working non stop on this and the book for over a year now, so I am considering taking a break for about a week so I don’t burn out. I haven’t decided yet, so we shall see, but I hope you all have a great day.

I have a job no one knows about.

I don’t think anyone would be surprised if they heard about my job. I don’t even think they would care all that much.

None of this explains why my work station is in the basement of a nondescript government bunker on a death planet…. A!36. I can’t explain why I need three codes to get into my office, or why I go through five locked doors, or why I am not allowed to tell anyone what I do on pain of termination and imprisonment.

You would assume, perhaps that I am a spy, and involved in some covert cloak and dagger espionage against other species and nations: you would be wrong.

You might assume I am a weapons developer, but you would also be wrong.

Perhaps you think I spend my time wire-tapping on important calls between species and recording important information.

None of this is really the case.

In fact, what I do is quite safe and relatively simple, plenty of other non-humans are doing it of their own accord and plenty more humans do it on a regular basis. What I do is not illegal, it is not espionage, it wouldn’t even phase you.

If that is the case.

Why do so many of my coworkers go missing?

Why are there absent desks every few months?

Why can I not make any lasting friends?

Management always give excuses to those of us who are left.

They left for mental health reasons.

THey moved on to a different job.

They are moving up in the company.

They had to be let go.

All things generic and all things that wouldn’t generally raise suspicion… unless they happen so frequently as us.

You may be wondering at this point, what it is I do for a job.

Perhaps, you think, it is very boring and unfulfilling that I would go insane from sheer boredom.

No, I actually find my job quite interesting.

Perhaps you think my job forces me to watch very disturbing and violent things…. And I suppose that could be close to the truth, though no one forces us to watch the videos if we don’t want, and no one makes us read the material if we cannot handle it. In fact, there are those of us who specialize in that sort of thing.

I do.

I am a specialist in historical xenopsychology.

I study human history.

When I say that I study human history, I do not mean as in a passing fancy. I do not simply read their school children’s textbooks and accept everything I see as truth, no, every day , I come into work and it is my job, to learn about everything that has ever happened in human history, to the best of my ability.

It is my job to know the good, the bad, the ugly, and the monstrous.

I work from day to night, cataloguing and filling my brain with all the information I can before recording it as a lecture on aura drives, which are then stored away for future use in a deep backup system under the surface of this planet.

I have followed human history since the beginning of time.

And I have marveled at it.

Much of my research is flawed, I know. Human history has always been biased, history being shaped and molded by the winners of conflict. Much of what else I know stems primarily from scholarly work humans have done on their own species, looking back the centuries and making assumptions about what they were doing.

While this is a good insite -- humans trying to explain the behavior of other humans-- it isn’t necessarily correct.

For this reason, it is my job to study every piece of information that comes across my desk.

Due to a government agreement between the galactic assembly and the United Nations of Earth, I was given access to the rebuilt library of Alexandria and all of its electronic files which include photos and information on the original documents that they keep in sealed vaults below the library.

I have read every account of human history, and every second hand interpretation of human history that I could possibly find in my time working here.

I have read Darwin and his early theory regarding evolution. I have examined his evidence, which include images and diagrams of the human body spanning centuries. My determinations were made just the same as the rest of them. Humanity was a tree-living species that found its evolutionary niche through walking and the use of opposable thumbs.

This ability to walk, in tandem with the use of hands eventually gave rise to the slow swelling of the brain in comparison to other animals. Human evolved primitive tools, and even more primitive religions, societies and rules.

They developed art early on, painting on the walls of their caves, in the darkness of night surrounded by their fires.

I have read about their befriending of animals in that same darkness. Man’s slow molding of the wolf into the dog - a species designed specifically for the needs of man.

I have attempted to read every account of every atrocity ever inflicted on humanity.

I have read of wars, and battles, Marathon, Thermopylae, Kadesh, D-day, Vietnam, Korea, Russo-Japanese, World wars I, II, III, and IV and the Panasian War.

I have witnessed in images and first hand accounts the chilling discoveries of natural disasters gone back thousands of years. Pompeii, Mt. St Helens, Katrina, Tsunamis, earthquakes, the fire of london, 1887 yellow river flood, the 3130 California earthquake, and Haiti earthquakes.

And I have studied and witnessed every atrocity man has ever committed on its own people. The Mongol hordes, the crusades, Mayan and Aztec sacrifices, The Armenian genocide, the Holocaust, mustard gas, 9/11, slavery in the America, the Trail of Tears, The Bataan Death March, the Berlin wall, Civil war, the French revolution, Nanjing, Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

I tore a hole in humanity and looked inside to see your rot.

I study the maggots that crawl under your skin.

Don’t confuse me with someone who fears you, or is even disgusted by you. You have committed thousands of horrors, yes this is true. But humanity is not a polished gem, it is an uncut stone marred by dirt and debris, but beautiful in a way that can hardly be explained.

You scrub away the rot only to find more underneath, yet you continue to scrub, in a futile attempt to better yourselves.

It is a beautiful thing if not in vain.

I do not judge you for your crimes because I have also seen your achievements. I watched you survive the dark ages, I learned your philosophy from the greek world which brought the beauty of democracy and equity in later forms. I watched the enlightenment of the Renaissance, and have seen your beautiful artwork from each period of time.

I have witnessed your great nations and empires rise and fall, Assyria, Byzantine, Rome, Britain, Egypt, Mongole, Aztek, Soviet Union, The chinese Dynasties and the Communist parties. The United States, and the Asian Co-Prosperity Collective

I have seen your bravery and your loss.

I have learned about the good that walks your earth.

Humans who stood up to tyrants.

I have even examined your stories of creation, of deities who molded humans from clay or dust, watched your world come into form in seven days, or ride on the backs of giant animals. I have seen the gods gift you with fire and learned the teaching of your martyrs over the centuries. Men and women slain and stoned or pulled away by spirits. I have learned of crucifixion, death and rebirth as well as reincarnation and a return to the very fabric of the universe itself.

I see everything.

I see everything. I see it all in my dreams laid out before me like a tapestry following each woven thread through the ages. I thought if I looked back, I could know as much as I possibly could. If I dug deep enough, I would be able to see your secrets.

And I have discovered you.

I see you hiding in there.

I know what you are.

Come out, come out.

And I won’t stop until it is all over and your cities crumbled into dust and bone.

…

I am being called into my manager’s office. Perhaps I too am ready to go up in the company.

...

I will be back soon…

Deus

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #HUMANS ARE WERID #humans are space oddities #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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greatworldwar2 · 4 years ago

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• Sherman Firefly

The Sherman Firefly was a tank used by the United Kingdom and some Commonwealth and Allied armoured formations in the Second World War. It was based on the US M4 Sherman, but fitted with the powerful British 17-pounder anti-tank gun as its main weapon.

The idea of fitting a 17-pounder gun into a Sherman tank had initially been rejected by the Ministry of Supply's Tank Decision Board. Although the British Army had made extensive use of the American-built Sherman tank, it was intended that a new generation of British tanks would replace it in the anti-tank role. First, there was the Cromwell tank, which was expected to use the Vickers high velocity 75 mm gun; this gun would have had superior anti-tank performance to the US 75 mm and 76 mm guns that were mounted in the Sherman. The second was the A30 Challenger, which was based on the Cromwell but with the even more powerful 17-pounder gun. These two tanks—and their successors, the Comet and the Centurion, which were already on the drawing board—were to replace the Sherman in British service, and so the prospect of diverting resources to mount the 17-pounder on the Sherman seemed undesirable. Nonetheless, several unofficial attempts were made to improve the firepower of the Sherman. The earliest attempt can be credited to Major George Brighty of the Royal Tank Regiment while he was at Lulworth Armoured Fighting School in early 1943. Despite the A30 Challenger undergoing initial trials at Lulworth, Brighty was convinced that the Sherman was a better mount for the 17-pounder. However, the turret of the Sherman was too small to allow for the very long recoil of the gun. In a radical adjustment, Brighty removed the recoil system and locked the gun in place, thus forcing the entire tank to absorb the recoil, but this was a far from ideal situation and there was no telling how long the tank would have been able to handle such a set-up.

Around June 1943, a colleague of Brighty, Lieutenant Colonel George Witheridge of the Royal Tank Regiment, arrived at Lulworth. A veteran of the North Africa campaign, Witheridge had experienced first-hand the one-sided battles between British tanks armed with 2-pounder guns against Rommel's formidable tanks and anti-tank guns. While at Lulworth, Witheridge inspected the A30 Challenger, and "joined in the chorus of complaints" about the tank. Upon looking up Brighty and learning of his attempts to use the Sherman, Witheridge lent his assistance. He advised Brighty on methods to solve the recoil issue. Not long after, Witheridge and Brighty received a notice from the Department of Tank Design (DTD) to cease their efforts. Unwilling to abandon the project, Witheridge, using his connections successfully lobbied Claude Gibb, Director-General of Weapons and Instruments Production at the Ministry of Supply, to make it an official ministry project.

It was W.G.K. Kilbourn, who transformed their idea into the reality of the prototype of the tank that would serve the British forces from the invasion of Normandy in June 1944 onwards. The first thing Kilbourn had to fix was the lack of a workable recoil system for the 17-pounder. The 17-pounder travelled 40 in (1.0 m) back as it absorbed the recoil of the blast. This was too long for the Sherman's turret. Kilbourn solved this problem by redesigning the recoil system completely rather than modifying it. The recoil cylinders were shortened and placed on both sides of the gun to take advantage of the width of the turret. The gun breech itself was also rotated 90 degrees to allow loading from the left rather than from on top. The radio, normally mounted in the back of the turret in British tanks, had to be moved; an armoured box (a "bustle") was attached to the back of the turret to house it, with access through a large hole cut through the turret. Kilbourn had to deal with other problems. On the standard Sherman tank, there was a single hatch in the turret through which the commander, gunner and loader entered and left the tank. However, the 17-pounder's larger breech and recoil system made it significantly more difficult for the loader to exit quickly if the tank was hit; a new hatch was cut into the top of the turret over the gunner's position to resolve this. The final major change was the elimination of the hull gunner in favour of space for more 17-pounder ammunition, which was significantly longer than the original 75 mm.

By October and November 1943, enthusiasm began to grow for the project. The 21st Army Group was informed of the new tank in October 1943. Even before final testing had taken place in February 1944, an order for 2,100 Sherman tanks armed with 17-pounder guns was placed, as the Challenger programme was suffering constant delays and it was realised that few would be ready for Normandy. Similarly it was discovered that the Cromwell did not have a turret ring wide enough to take the new High Velocity 75mm gun (50 calibres long). This left the Firefly as the only tank available with firepower superior to the QF 75 mm gun in the British Army's arsenal, earning it the "highest priority" from Winston Churchill. The nickname "Firefly" was adopted due to the bright muzzle flash of the main gun. It was sometimes used at unit level (brigade/regiment) war diaries from March 1944, along with "Mayfly". During the war, Shermans with 17-pounder guns were usually known as "1C", "1C Hybrid", or "VC", depending on the basic mark of the vehicle. In British nomenclature, a "C" at the end of the Roman numeral indicated a tank equipped with the 17-pounder.

Three different variants of Sherman Firefly served during the Second World War, each based on a different variant of the M4 Sherman. The Firefly conversion was carried out on Sherman I (M4), Sherman I Hybrid (M4 Composite) and Sherman V (M4A4) tanks. Some sources state that several Sherman IIs (M4A1) were converted and used in action, but photos allegedly showing these conversions are in fact views of the front half of Sherman I Hybrid Fireflies. The Sherman VC and IC variants are easily distinguished by their lower hulls; the VC having a lengthened hull, and a larger gaps between the suspension units. They employed the three-piece bolted transmission housing. The Sherman IC usually sported the cast transmission housing. The Hybrid can be distinguished by its upper hull, which is cast and gives it a distinctive curved look in comparison to the more boxy hull of a typical Sherman. Production of the Firefly started in January 1944 and, by 31 May, some 342 Sherman Fireflies had been delivered to Montgomery's 21st Army Group for the D-Day landings. Production was limited by the availability of suitable tanks, with the phasing out of 75 mm Sherman production. To make up numbers, Sherman I and Sherman I Hybrids were also converted. From D-Day in June to the end of the Battle of Normandy in late August, almost 400 Sherman Fireflies were converted, more than sufficient to replace any permanent tank losses during the battle. By February 1945, some 2,000 Sherman Fireflies had been built and British, Commonwealth and Polish armoured units were equipped with a 50/50 mix of 75 mm and 17-pounder-armed Shermans.

Fireflies were introduced to armoured brigades and divisions in the 21st Army Group in 1944, just in time for the Normandy landings. The timing was fortunate as Allied intelligence had begun to realise in early 1944 through statistical analysis that the Germans were fielding a much larger number of more formidable tanks (such as the Panther) than had been anticipated. Panthers and Tigers accounted for only 30% of the 2,300 German tanks deployed in Normandy; the rest being Panzer IVs, Sturmgeschütz IIIs and other tanks that the 75 mm gun Shermans were able to effectively handle. However, the importance of Caen and Montgomery's operations, which pinned German armoured forces in front of the British positions so the American units could break out to the west, meant that British and Commonwealth units had to face over 70% of all German armour deployed during the Battle of Normandy, as well as over half of the elite, well-equipped Waffen-SS Panzer units. The Sherman Firefly was perhaps the most valued tank by British and Commonwealth commanders, as it was the only tank in the British Army able to reliably penetrate the frontal armour of Panthers and Tigers at the standard combat ranges in Normandy. This fact did not go unnoticed by the Germans, who realised that these long-barrel Shermans posed a much greater threat to their heavy tanks than the normal Shermans, and German tank crews and anti-tank gun crews were instructed to eliminate Fireflies first. Similarly, the Firefly crews realised that the distinctive long barrel of their 17-pounder gun made their Fireflies stand out from standard Shermans, so they attempted to disguise their tanks to reduce the likelihood of being targeted. Some crews had the front half of the olive drab gun barrel painted white on the bottom, or white with dark green on top, to give the illusion of a shorter gun barrel.

Despite being a high priority target, Fireflies appear to have had a statistically lower chance of being knocked out than standard Shermans, probably due more to how they were employed than to the actual effectiveness of the attempted camouflaging of the long barrel. Given the high value placed on Fireflies, a common tactic was for commanders to reconnoitre the battlefield before a battle, to look for good overwatch positions. During the battle, Fireflies would stay behind in those positions and cover the ordinary Shermans as they pushed forward, eliminating any enemy tanks that revealed themselves when they opened fire on the advancing Shermans. Similarly, when on the move, troop commanders tended to position Fireflies in the rear to reduce the chance of their being knocked out. However, given the relatively unpredictable nature of battle, this setup was not always practical or possible, and many times, Fireflies were forced to engage enemies in the open. Although the Normandy campaign had priority, Fireflies also served with distinction in British, Commonwealth and Polish units in the Italian campaign. British units in Italy also used the Sherman with the US 76 mm gun M1. The Firefly's increased firepower was much valued, and during many engagements, the Firefly proved its worth, knocking out Tigers and Panthers at long range, as well as less formidable tanks like the Panzer IVs and StuGs.

#ww2 #second world war #world war 2 #world war ii #tank history #tank warfare #tanks #sherman tank #british history #british #military history #history #wwii #american tanks #world of tanks #war thunder

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kweebtrash · 4 years ago

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Kinktober #3: Face Sitting (M)

Pairing: Hongseok x 2nd Person Reader

Summary: Some kinda realer scenarios where not everyone can cum easily or have those magic orgasms but face sitting/riding may do the trick. Also Honk is excited for his victory

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I know kinktober is supposed to be S p i c y TM but idk, sometimes i just want some sugar, spice, and everything nice.

Kinktober Prompts by @immabiteyou

You always had a problem with cumming. You had no idea what it was but nothing, no matter how hard you tried, took you over that edge. There may have been some small tremors here and there and you definitely werent asking for an over the top bone rattling orgasm at this point. Just ANYTHING would be fine. It always weighed on the back of your mind, especially knowing that Hongseok tried his absolute fucking damndest to make sure you felt good.

And you did. The way his strong hands roamed over your body, spreading fire throughout your skin, always made shivers zip throughout. His kisses were full of healing magic; those soft, sweet plump lips could cure any bad day but also ignite the dirtiest of feelings to where you ended up clawing at each other. His body-well that was a given- the boy woke up and looked at his abs first thing in the morning, every morning. He was obsessed with being fit (sometimes too obsessed) and there was a prying thought of self consciousness that popped into your head every once in awhile. Comparing the way you looked on his arm to his being in general sometimes made you feel like you werent good enough for him. But that surely couldnt have be part of the problem.

Because here he was, once again devoted to your body and full of determination. He knew you enjoyed fucking, the act of being close to him in of itself was always special and exciting. It was just your stupid body that wouldnt react. It was like your brain was screaming in pleasure but your body was just like ‘meh, gonna take the one thing you desire the most and just not do it’.

Maybe there were a few traumatic things that had to be worked through, sure, but Hongsi was the only man you had every fully trusted to never let you down. He knew almost immediately the first few times you had faked it, and it offended him, but you explained the annoyance at yourself-which was a bit hard to say the least.

“I loved it. I felt great, seriously i did. The only part that was faked was…"the end.”

And why? Because you were used to it. Because it was ingrained in you to do it; always making the man feel like he had done an amazing job-except this time Hongseok actually had. From the first time to the most recent. He never failed but you did.

He wanted honesty from that point on. He wanted to work on things, try everything under the sun; from restraints, to wax, to toys, and positions that were sometimes almost impossible. But it remained a puzzle the two of you couldnt solve. Tonight didnt seem to be any different save for the fact that you had taken up residence on his face like it was a goddamn throne. His tongue was diving so deep inside you, filling you with a nice warm, wet, thickness that made the pit of your stomach clench. He had eaten you out before, that was one of the first things he tried in an attempt to make you cum, but it had never occurred to either of you to actually try face sitting. Why? Who knows. Sometimes the simplest of things slip the mind and perhaps the whole time the two of you had been overthinking it.

But with all the gadgets and gizmos and positions that made you feel like you were in a yoga class thrown out the window, you found your nails digging into the wall that you had been supporting yourself on. The scratching forced chips of paint to crumble from the wall though it was nothing compared to how fast the headboard was thumping against it. Your thighs were burning but you continued rolling your hips like it was your job. Hongseok spurred you on as he seemed to enjoy this just as much as you were. Perhaps he was enjoying it much more.

He was growling, sometimes snarling, as he paired flickers of his tongue with hot open mouth kisses to your heat and nibbles to any sensitive area he could reach, especially the junction of your inner thighs. While your fingers dug into the wall, his dug into your hips, your ass, your back, marring you with the blunt indentations of his short nails and leaving streaks of red in their wake. You were sure he had barely come up for air and the one second you pulled away to make sure he was okay he forced you right back down to his lips with his nose brushing against the bundle of nerves that had awakened with desire. You were feeling all of your lower muscles tighten to the point where your legs almost felt numb but it was all worth it.

Hongseok slid his tongue through your folds once more, the tip of it teasing your hole that you though he had finally given a break to. The slow and lazy drags, however, were making you shudder just as much as the fast ones and covered your frame with everlasting tingles. Your free hand gripped onto his sweat soaked hair as you tried to level yourself. Holy shit, was this really it? Was this really the time were it would happen? Oh god, you werent ready. Well you were- in the sense that you had been waiting for this for YEARS with him-but also you werent exactly sure what it would feel like. Would this be one of those tiny ones that just felt like a relaxing exhale or one of those wild porn ones that were so ridiculous? Were you really going to scream in ecstasy and feel like you were going insane? Hell yes you were.

“H-Hong,” you choked out as he suctioned his lips around your clit while his thumbs spread your lower lips wide apart. “I think it-it’s happening.”

His eyes flung open, wide and flickering with undertones of amber within the dim beside lamp’s light. “Whats happening?” The words came out in muffled jumbles as he refused to pull away.

“You know…it. The…the thing.”

He finally pulled away as bewilderment spread across his face. “You mean like you feel like youre gonna cum?”

“I-i think so? I mean…im assuming that’s why everything feels so tense, like im gonna explode. That’s what happens right?”

“I think its different for everyone. I get tense too, but then i feel all warm and get kinda snuggly and hold onto you tighter.” He did and it was the cutest fucking thing ever.

“Well im hoping this is it.” You sighed.

“Dont start thinking about it now or you’ll lose focus. Just concentrate on me, babe. Just like before, yeah? Can you ride my face some more?”

“You really like this dont you?” You peered down at him and giggled.

“Baby, you were literally born to sit on my face, i swear it. It sounds stupid and fuckboy-ish, I know, but Ive never wanted this so bad until i felt you grind against my lips.”

Red flushed your cheeks and you looked away in an effort to hide your sudden shyness. Hongsi just chucked and placed the gentlest of kisses to your clit. “On me. Focus.” He reminded you again and you exhaled deeply, letting your mind go as much as it had before. Through the painful numbness in your bent legs that surrounded his head, you pushed on, wiggling your hips in a teasing way that earned a small smack to your ass. The sting made you jump but feel ever so much naughtier. It kick started your chaotic grinds again which welcomed the harsh thrusts and lewd slurping. It was almost embarrassing to hear how wet your were from both your cum and his tongue but in a weird way it gave you a sense of pride and reassurance that this felt amazing.

More pressure built up within your system and you found yourself short of breath now. You swallowed hard and tried to recoup but it was all for naught as your heart thundered so loud you could hear it in your ears. You had managed to make the headboard slam harder against the wall, the top of the filigreed wood leaving its own mark in the paint much like your nails had. Your thighs tightened and you could feel him smile into your skin. He fucking loved the way you seemed so close to crushing his skull if you actually could. The yanking of his hair to shove him closer, as if it were possible at this point, also had him lifting his head as your hips dipped and the very tip of his tongue hit something inside you just as it curled.

And then you let go. Almost so fast from everything that Hongseok had to press his hands into your lower back to prevent you from tossing yourself back completely. You were shaking, your knees digging into the pillow beneath his head. Your hands that had found safety in the wall and his hair now flailed and searched for something to hold onto but it was like they couldnt. You had lost all control. Your brain was fuzzy. Your body was fuzzy. But best of all you felt wave after wave of clench and release with your first full orgasm.

He finally let you go and you collapsed to the wayside instantly curling against his side. He pulled you into his arms and speckled your head with kisses as he squeezed you tight. He was patient and waited for you to come down though he was absolutely beaming with pride. “That was…not how i imagined it would feel like but holy shit.” You managed to finally say.

“Fuck yeah!!” He said victoriously and he raised his hand for a high five. You couldnt help but laugh at his dorkiness and return the gesture. The excitement and happiness between you two was unfathomable. You didnt want to say that this was the best night with him just because you finally came. There had been plenty of other times where he made you feel so perfect and precious and completely in love with him that you almost cherished that more. But tonight was definitely like top five material.

“Im happy i could finally do this for you…” He returned to seriousness and you sighed as you began to wipe away traces of your cum from his face.

“Im sorry if you felt like i put pressure on you. I never meant-”

“Nah, it wasnt you. It was me. You know how i can sometimes be a perfectionist and i know its not like the end all be all of our relationship but…i dont know. I always felt like you deserved to feel good and happy. Like you just deserved…everything.” He shrugged and pretended to take more interest in plucking away a stray hair from your shoulder.

The guilt you had accumulated over the years suddenly lessened and you realized that it wasnt just about making you feel good sexually. It was actually, as cliche as it sounded, about bringing you two closer together in devotion and fulfilling a fantasy. The warmth in your body returned but for a different and cheesy romance movie kinda reason and you snuggled closer to his chiseled chest.

“Thank you…” You whispered. “For not being annoyed or giving up on me and helping me work through whatever was holding me back.”

“It’s what im here for, right? I think i’d be a shitty boyfriend if i wasnt.”

“Well you got that right.” You tilted your head up and kissed him gently, tasting the aftermath on his lips. “You better go wash your face before it gets all sticky.”

“That can wait. Besides i was kinda wondering if….” The both of you looked down at his cock, knocking your heads in the process. It never failed for the two of you to have an idiotic moment but he definitely needed to be rewarded after this.

#hongseok #yang hongseok #hongseok smut #pentagon smut #ptg smut #kinktomato #pentagon drabble #yang hongseok smut #hongseok fluff #pentagon fluff #ptg fluff #universe #idk what else to tag this as tbh

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percy-the-penguin · 4 years ago

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Together Apart

1/? First installment here we go! Please note: This is the intro and is pretty boring and I’m not a great writer, sorry.

Some of the queens intros are a bit longer then the others, I love all of them though-

I really hope you guys like it

I. Catalina de Aragon

It had been three years since Catalina had been reincarnated. She had originally woken up in a house that was unfamiliar to her. She had been extremely confused as the last thing she remembered was passing away due to Heart Cancer. It had taken some digging but she had eventually found out the house was in her name. It was a nice house, two stories with several rooms and a pool out back. She had spent a while just trying to figure out how things worked. Like her phone. Her phone gave her anxiety and she couldn’t even figure out how it worked. She had even thrown it the first time it rang. It was embarrassing when she thought about it. Luckily she had very little need to use it on a day to day basis. She hadn’t even attempted to figure out how to set up her computer, even after 3 years. She figured out how to use a car after a year and had been quite proud of herself for it. She could do everything she needed to function and had even gotten a job as a receptionist/office assistant at a local church. The technology there was easier than at her house. She still didn’t know much about modern life but she was learning and to the former queen, that’s all that matters.

II. Anne Boleyn

Anne Boleyn had woken up in a small run down apartment, one bedroom, one bath, a kitchen and a living room. After two and a half years she had grown to love it. It was small and cozy and she had everything she needed, including life so she really couldn’t complain. The day she had been woken up she had been extremely confused. She had noticed her scar in the mirror and immediately had a flashback. She had been entrawled and entertained by almost everything and had a blast figuring out how everything worked. Granted she still had trouble in the kitchen...she set the toaster on fire every time she used it and barely managed to stop the microwave from exploding when she accidentally left her silverware in it. She thanked god every day for fast food restaurants. And hoodies. She loved those too and always had one on or wrapped around her waist. She had also figured out different hair styles and her go-to was space buns. It had made her giggle the first time because she thought she looked like a frog. She had gotten really into listening to podcasts and music and had even started a history podcast of her own called ‘Beheaded Through the Centuries: A Look at History from the Receiving End of the Blade’. She mostly covered the Tudor era and beheadings. She had been in and out of different waitress/receptionist jobs due to her tendency not to take things seriously and her kitchen problems. She counted herself lucky that her podcast had picked up enough to cover her along with the few poems she wrote on commission. She figured she probably should start looking for a real job though..

III. Jane Seymour

Jane Seymour had been well..surprised to say the least when she had woken up one day in a small house she was unfamiliar with. She had spent about two hours just walking around. Everything was decorated so nicely. There was a beautiful view of a sparkling lake outside her bedroom window and a forest next to her house. The third queen had picked up modern life quite nicely. If she ever had trouble figuring things out she would go to her neighbor who was surprisingly understanding though she doubted they would believe she was the reincarnation of a long dead Queen. She had developed her own sense of style, usually a pastel or white sundress with sandals. She loved talking walks and had gotten the hang of driving pretty quickly. She would walk to the local market for food and anything else she needed once a week and everyone was very friendly. She had even picked up a job at the flower shop near her house. The only thing she would change was..well, she wished she had company. It got lonely especially in the late hours of the day when she was off work, home alone with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company.

IV. Anna of Cleves

Life had been good in the three years the red queen had been reincarnated. She had woken up in a fancy apartment, something she had been quite shocked existed. It was a 2 bedroom, 3 bath apartment with a lovely kitchen and beautiful living room. She was on an upper floor and the view was absolutely stunning at sunrise and sunset. The view was actually what inspired Anna to start painting. She had her own paintings hanging up around the apartment. The fourth queen was able to pick up this life quite easily. Of course, it helped that her riches from her past life had seemingly been transferred to this one. She had no need for a job but she had been taking shifts at an animal shelter near where she lived to keep herself busy. She had discovered what a thrift shop was and frequented one. She had t-shirts from bands she had never heard and loose jeans that were faded. She liked that style though. She often wore a red baseball cap backwards and had taught herself how to use a skateboard. All in all she was living her best life.

V. Katheryn Howard

Katheryn Howard, or ‘Kitty’ as her co-workers referred to her probably took reincarnation better than any of the other queens. She had been ecstatic to say the least when she woke up in a small apartment similar to Anne’s though a bit bigger, with her head attached to her body. The fifth queen was wide eyed and curious about everything and had gotten very attached to a cartoon series called Steven Universe. She picked up modern life well and had been working as a barista at a coffee place near her home for the past two years. She had been a bit shy to try new things as far as food and clothing but eventually figured out a style. Well, many styles. Her outfit was different nearly every day excluding her choker that had a small ‘K’ charm hanging off it. She had nearly passed out from pure joy when a co-worker dyed the ends of her hair pink. She absolutely loved it. Kitty was always curious to learn about new things and make new friends. She loved it in this life.

VI. Catherine Parr

Last but not least, Catherine Parr. Cathy had woken up in a small house, similar to Jane’s but with a worse view and louder neighbors. They had grown accustomed to the noise after three years and found it a happy reminder that they were no longer dead. They were no longer alone. It had taken them a bit to get used to everything around them, honestly. They weren’t as startled by technology as their godmother but they did have trouble with it. But that was okay, even if they got frustrated sometimes. They had learned everything they could about this new world and had found peace in a local bookshop where they would go for hours on end every weekend. The rest of their days were spent either at home or at the library where they worked as a librarian and tutor for young adults. The first time they entered a mall her brain had nearly overloaded. So many sights and new things. They had lost themselves there. They ended up buying a whole wardrobe and some other small things like bandannas and an adorable penguin plush they named Caesar. Their go to outfit was a formal button up shirt with a blue sweater over that and jeans with a pair of black converse or a blue hoodie with black leggings and the aforementioned black converse. Their hair was in the same style every day. Usually a side sweep tied with a bandanna. They loved it. They. That was something else Cathy had learned. There were more than two genders. And more than one sexuality. They had been fascinated by it and the more they researched the more they realized about themselves. Cathy had recently come out to themselves as non binary. They were proud of themselves for getting this far and doing so well in such a new environment.

#six the musical #six fanfiction #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anna of cleves #katherine howard #catherine parr #ahhhh

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brelione · 5 years ago

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Feild Trip with a Rich Bitch (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Part Two

Mentions of drugs,Rafe being a bitch,swearing and blow torches :)

Also,Goddess Part Three will be up by Friday afternoon.If you would like to be tagged please let me know :)

He had always hated Pogues.Then he met you.

You worked at a car repair shop in The Cut.He had come in on his bike,well,he had walked the broken piece of shit to the shop.You were the only one working that day.He couldnt help but think you looked adorable with your long sleeve yellow shirt under dark blue overalls,a backwards red hat and at least six silver chains draped across your neck.You had been extremely focused,sitting indian style as you smoothed a weird bump on a car with a nail file. “So are you gonna stare at me or are you gonna tell me what youre doing here,pretty boy?”You asked,not taking your attention off the task at hand.He blinked,surprised by your carefree yet assertive tone. “Uhh...somethings wrong with my bike.”He mumbled,attempting to smooth out his hair.You let out a small laugh as you dragged a paint brush along the smooth metal,fixing the messy spot. “No shit.What’d you do to it?”You asked,spreading more paint across the metal.His face turned red as he glanced around the shop.

There were paintings across the walls,multiple tool boxes and a wall of paint swatches.There were six other cars parked,some of them with large dents,holes or scratches. “I drove it into a tree.”He mumbled.You nodded. “Magnificent job,pretty boy.How are you gonna have a bike as expensive as that one then drive it into a tree?”You asked.He just shrugged,hands in his pockets.You put your paintbrush down into a cup of water,pulling out a blowtorch from seemingly nowhere.The flame hovered above the paint,drying and hardening it.Once you were satisfied with the paint job you stood up,brushing off your pants.You still had the blowtorch in your hand,the potential weapon swinging next to your thigh as you walked towards Rafe. “You gotta put the kickstand down,pretty boy.”You reminded him,gesturing to the bike.He nodded. “Right.”He nodded,putting the kickstand down and turning the handlebars so it would lean on the metal rod.One of the tires seemed blown out,a straight hole through the seat and multiple scratches across the metal.He watched as you looked over it.

You pulled at one of your chains. “So are you going to tell me what actually happened?”You asked,crossing your arms over your chest.That caused him to look down at your chest and the bleach stains across the front of your overalls.You snapped your fingers to get his attention back to your eyes.He cleared his throat,looking back up at you. “So how much for the repairs?”He asked.You smirked. “Well...i’d say $150 but you’re an asshole so thats an additional $15 and you’re also ruining my day so that would be another $15.”You twirled one of your chains,looking into his blue eyes.He bit his tongue,glancing between you and his bike. “And whats the fee for you not to tell anyone youre keeping my bike here?”He asked.You ran the tip of your tongue along your teeth with a devil like smile.God,this boy had never been in this kind of situation before.You werent even gonna tell anyone in the first place.You could probably charge him hundreds of dollars for all the things he’s done and he wouldnt be able to do anything about it.You were the best repair woman on the island and anyone else would go straight to his dad.It was 11 in the morning.You had pulled an all nighter for the third time that week and you hadnt eaten yet.Plus,if you sent Rafe to the store he could buy the expensive shit.

“Theres a store three blocks away.Youre gonna go there and buy everything on the list and youre not gonna question it.”You told him.His eyebrows furrowed as he watched you take a notepad out of your pocket along with a pen,jotting things down.You tore the paper off,folding it and handing it to him.He took it,frowning and confused. “Hurry up.”You told him.He nodded,no words or sounds escaping his lips as he left the garage and made his way down the street.He knew what store you were talking about,the one with the sleeping cat outside.It was awfully quiet as he walked.Most of the time all the exciting things happened at night,not 11 in the morning.Either that or all the pogues were hiding from him,his gelled hair and his ugly ass khakis.He unfolded the piece of paper,reading it.Three large lemons,two large monster energy drinks,a bag of doritos and a pack of gum.It was a strange request but he wasnt supposed to question it.He had kept his head down at the store,grabbing three of the largest lemons he saw,two random monster energy drinks,the doritos and three packs of gum.

He didnt know what kind of gum you liked but you probably had to like one of the three,right?When he got back you were using your blowtorch on a part of the bike you had painted. “Put the bag on the work table and touch nothing.”You spoke loudly,confidently.He found your confidence unbelievably attractive.He never let anyone boss him around like this but ther was just something about you.You held some sort of power over other pogues,he could tell that much by the few boneyard parties he’d gone too.The others were attracted to you,some of them held their breath as you walked by,others just kept their distance.He didnt know where such nice chains had come from.They looked like they had weight,indicating that they were real.He had carefully walked over to your work table,seeing multiple small jars of paint,brushes,metal sheets,files,nails,screws and your cell phone.It was a pretty old model.He set the bag down on an empty spot,watching as a notification came across your phone.Eighteen days sober!Log this milestone.He frowned.Sober from what?

He shook it off,walking back around to where you were with his bike. “I was worried that you’d set my bike on fire or something.”He spoke quietly,trying to make conversation.You glared up at him,eyebrows casting shadows over your irises. “What?Cause im a dirty pogue?”You asked.He shook his head frantically. “Thats not what I meant I-”He began to explain himself but you cut him off. “So because im fixing your bike im different?”You asked.He sighed. “I just meant because of the blowtorch-Im sorry.”He mumbled.You stood up,blowtorch in hand. “Know your place,rich bitch.Your bike will be done by three,save yourself the embarrassment and go home to your mansion.”Your voice was dripping in venom,eyes narrowing.He gulped. “I cant go back home without my bike,my dad will kill me.”He mumbled,looking down at you.You smirked. “Good.”You replied before kneeling down again by the bike,getting back to work. “God,could you stop staring at me?Go sit somewhere or sue a tree or some shit.”You huffed.He almost tripped over his own feet,finding a chair and sitting down.He tapped his food on the ground anxiously. “So um...how long have you been fixing cars?”He asked.

You slammed the blow torch down on the concrete. “Could you shut the fuck up?Please?”You asked.He bit his lip. “I dont like the silence.”He replied. “And I dont like loud noises.”You answered. “What are you sober from?”He asked.You sat there for a moment,eyes locked on the ground.You slowly stood up,walking towards him. “You went on my phone?”You asked.His mouth went dry and he was lost for words. “Rafe.”You snarled.He looked back up at you,beads of sweat collecting at his hairline. “I-the notification-I just saw it and I just-God,im sorry (Y/N).”He sighed,looking away from you.Your hand reached up,gripping his jaw and making him look at you. “Didnt I tell you to shut the fuck up?”You asked.He looked away from you,only looking back when your grip tightened. “Yeah.”He muttered. “And you’re gonna be good and shut that pretty mouth of yours,right?”You asked,squeezing harder on his flesh.He hummed.

“Good.”You mumbled,taking your hand away and getting back to work.You could feel him staring at you,the way your fingers moved as you grabbed your tools.He understood now.He understood the pogues’ fear and admiration of you.He felt like one of them,caught up in your beauty and the way you carried yourself while simultaneously being slightly afraid of you.You walked past him,grabbing one of the monsters.You grabbed a knife from the table.He watched as you cut open the bottom of the energy drink and shot gunned it,wiping your mouth when you were done.You grabbed a lemon from the bag,cutting an end of it off.You pulled a container of a white powder,opening it and coating the lemon slice in it. “Dont stare at me like that.Its salt,nothing you can snort.”You grumbled,taking the slice out and placing it in your mouth.Your eyes didnt squint and your eyebrows didnt furrow at the taste. “You...you eat lemons in salt?”He asked.You pulled the lemon slice from your teeth,biting the salt coated fruit as it left your mouth.

“I do.”You replied. “It helps with cravings.”You finished your thought,going to fix the bike seat.Rafe had sat on his phone until one in the afternoon when he heard someone come in. “You havent answered your phone,thought you were dead or something.”A deep voice said.Rafe heard you giggle. “Only on the inside,sunshine.I’m busy with work right now,tell the others ill be around by seven.”He heard the tone of your voice.Friendly,happy and almost excited. “Alright.Did you eat today?”The voice asked. “I had a lemon slice,ive got some doritos so dont worry too much.I’ll see you later.”You had told your friend. “Alright,sounds like a plan.”THe boys voice said before leaving.Rafe watched as you rolled a tire inside,replacing the one he had destroyed.Once you had replaced it you went back to the bag of goodies,cutting open the other monster.You chugged it,sighing as you stared up at the ceiling. “Why do you hate me so much?”Rafe asked suddenly.A smile tugged at your lips.

“You beat up two of my boys,you come around starting shit and blaming it on us,you think youre just so fucking amazing when youre really just a bitch,you ran over my fucking mailbox,you drink and drive,you gave another one of my boys a fucking concussion and a scar and you wonder why I hate you?”You ranted,fists clenching.He just sat there,hands gripping the arms of the chair. “You just fuck things up.”You sighed.He licked his lips. “You sound like my dad.”He mumbled.You laughed. “Oh dont get me started on your dad.That bitch ruined my life.”You sighed,grabbing another lemon slice.He raised his eyebrows. “What?How?”He asked.You just giggled to yourself. “You really have no idea what your father has done to my family?No idea at all?”You asked.He shook his head.You just laughed again,the sound filling the air.It wasnt like the way you had giggled with your friend.It was empty and sarcastic,hiding anger that was building up inside of you. “You wanna go for a field trip,Rafe Cameron?”You asked.

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #pope heyward #sarah cameron #jj maybank #john b #drew starkey #obx #kiara carrera #rafe cameron x you

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theirrationalzone · 4 years ago

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Yakkin ‘bout Games: Wolfenstein: The New Order

Yakking ‘bout Games is a series where I talk about games that I’m currently playing or have just finished. It can be new or old, console or PC, good or bad, it really doesn’t matter. If it’s a game worth talking about, you’ll see it covered here.

I think it’s fair to say that the FPS genre has enjoyed a bit of a renaissance over the last decade and a bit. The modern military shooters that dominated the late 2000s and early 2010s have become less common. We have seen the return of classic franchises like Doom and Half-Life, and we have also witnessed the influx of “boomer shooters” like Dusk and Amid Evil. A lot of cool stuff indeed.

With that being said, let’s take a trip back a few years. 2014 to be exact.

This was the first year of the (then) brand spanking new PlayStation 4 and Xbox One. The two consoles were not off to the best of starts though. Their early exclusives like Killzone Shadow Fall, InFamous Second Son, Forza Motorsport 5 and Dead Rising 3 had failed to impress. The only games picking up the slack were multi-platform releases like Assassin’s Creed IV Black Flag. The only FPS games available at the time (other than Killzone on PS4) were Call of Duty Ghosts (dull as dishwater) and Battlefield 4 (I enjoyed it but it was completely broken on release.)

Not exactly the most exciting of times for an FPS fan on console.

Wolfenstein: The New Order finally came along that May. It had been announced the year prior but it didn’t have much fanfare behind it. The initial E3 showing didn’t really impress anyone and there wasn’t really a great excitement for the game’s release. Perhaps it was because the previous Wolfenstein game was largely ignored by people or maybe because people were skeptical due to the game being MachineGames’ (the developer) first effort. People needn’t have worried though. The game turned out to be a massive surprise. It ended up being one of the best of that year.

Why am I covering this now? It’s because I recently got the urge to play it again after all these years. Plus I wanted to see how it would function in a post modern Doom world. So with that in mind, let’s get psyched and see how the game holds up.

Never has a smile brought terror to my heart so fast. Well this and my last dental appointment...

The New Order is set in an alternate universe where the Nazis won World War II due to their advanced technology being too much for the Allied forces. After an operation to try and assassinate the spearhead behind this growing technological evolution goes horribly wrong, Captain William “B.J.” Blazkowicz ends up taking a piece of shrapnel to the back of the head which puts him into a vegetative state. He ends up spending fourteen years in a Polish mental asylum before finally being awoken again due to witnessing a horrible atrocity committed by the Nazis. B.J. is now in the alien world of 1960 where the Nazis rule over the world with an iron fist. It’s up to B.J. to link up with the remnants of the Resistance and take the fight back to the Nazis once and for all.

The story was and still is one of the most surprising elements of The New Order. It paints a brutal picture of a world controlled by an evil and ruthless force who will stop at nothing to assert their dominance. The cast as well are very memorable. You have the plucky and likable Resistance fighters who you get to spend quite a bit of time with. You then have some memorable encounters with the evil figureheads of the Nazi regime at certain parts of the story. Anyone who has seen the train sequence in this game knows exactly what I’m taking about. I have to give MachineGames credit as well for the characterisation of B.J. himself. They managed to turn a character who was known for being a badass Nazi killer to a very sympathetic and likable Nazi killer. B.J. in this game is weary and tired after years of fighting evil and tyranny at every corner. The man wants nothing more than for the war to be over so he can hang up his guns and finally settle down. How could you hate the man after hearing something like that?

B.J. is such an upstanding guy that he would infiltrate a Nazi controlled train just to get you some coffee. Liberation and a Cappuccino, you can’t beat it.

The real bread and butter of The New Order though is the gameplay. It has held up fantastically for the most part. Combat is a blast thanks to the very meaty arsenal at your disposal including assault rifles, shotguns, marksman rifle and a Laserkraftwerk which allows you to blast enemies to smithereens. You’ll have plenty of enemy types to cut through including rank and file soldiers, big mech suit soldiers with heavy weaponry and robots that have massive lasers. B.J. has a few abilities though to help turn the tide of battle. Leaning is one such ability and it’s implemented very well. How it works is that if you hold the L1 button, it locks B.J. in place and you can then use the left stick to lean at different angles. It’s super useful. Earning a well placed few shots at a Nazi from a very awkward angle never gets old. B.J. also has the ability to dual-wield certain weapons to deal even more hefty damage to his foes. Press up on the d-pad and prepare to bring the carnage. While this is a pretty fun feature, it does limit your movement speed and it can result in you burning through ammo quite quickly. It also is restricted to two types of the same weapon. You can also find upgrades for weapons which give them different ammo types and fire modes. The Laserkraftwerk, for example, can be used to cut through certain boxes and materials which is pretty nifty.

In terms of how health works, it’s a hybrid between classic pick-ups and regeneration. You can recover health by picking up health packs and food throughout the game. Armor can be found as well to allow you to take some extra damage. If you take health damage and managed to find cover, you’ll eventually get 10 health points back. You also have the ability to overcharge your health. How this works is that if you end up picking up a health item that takes you over your max health, you get higher health points for a brief period which is quite useful. You can increase your max health by finding hidden health upgrades throughout some of the levels.

AI is decent for the most part. They will attempt to find cover in the heat of a firefight and they do try to flank you. Some of the heavy soldiers will also attempt to rush your position. I certainly didn’t notice any unusual behaviour from them. Boss fights are a bit unremarkable for the most part. The game pretty much spells out how to take them out and they don’t really put up much of a fight. The main exception being the final boss but even then, it really isn’t that hard.

The secret painting boss fight was an interesting idea though. Definitely a canvas for them to work on in the future. (Apologies for the bad pun and joke.)

The game does have a basic stealth system and it works fine. When you enter most of the areas in the game, you will be informed that there are two commanders in the area. Take them out without being spotted and you can sneak through the area without having to worry about reinforcements if you get spotted by an enemy. You can take down enemies stealthily by using a silenced pistol, throwing knives or by sneaking up to them and performing a takedown. Stealth can feel a little overpowered during some of the early sections because the pistol is super accurate and it only takes one headshot to take some of these enemies down. The game does balance this a bit better later on as areas are populated with more elite enemies that harder to kill without being spotted.

Being a Wolfenstein game, you would expect exploration to be a big part of the gameplay and it does play a part for sure. There are hidden areas to be found with collectibles such as the Enigma codes which can unlock new difficulties and cheat codes. You can also find hidden max HP upgrades and other stuff as well. Maps can be found in each level which will indicate possible hidden secrets with a question mark. Levels are definitely more linear than some of the prior Wolfenstein games so don’t expect huge hidden areas or levels.

Key and item hunting still exists of course. You will find doors that require a key or a tool needed to progress which requires a bit of skulking around to find that key or item. You see this especially in the Resistance HQ sections which occur after most of the levels. In these sections, you will be tasked with finding a certain item for a character to progress to the next level. There are also side missions where you can do the same thing for other characters in the HQ and completing these unlocks extras such as artwork. I’m mixed on the Resistance HQ sections overall. On the one hand, they’re good from a lore perspective because you can overhear conversations from some of the characters and there are newspaper clippings and notes to find which do a good job of building up the world. On the other hand, they do feel a little bit like filler. Swings and roundabouts, I suppose...

I don’t really have many issues with the gameplay as a whole. My only real gripe is how the weapon wheel works. Weapon wheels are commonplace on console because a controller doesn’t have many buttons when compared to a keyboard. Makes perfect sense. The New Order’s one however can be such a temperamental thing to use. How it’s supposed to work is that you hit the R1 button to bring up the wheel and then you use the right stick to pick the weapon you want. Sounds simple enough. In reality what happens is that the game ends up giving you the wrong weapon time after time. I can’t even begin to count the amount of times that I tried to switch to the assault rifle and the game switched me to the dual-wield pistols instead. It can be a bloody nuisance. Part of this is down to how sensitive the stick is when using the wheel. It’s way too fast. Also why do the dual-wield options even need to be there? You can already hit up on the d-pad to dual-wield a particular weapon plus I didn’t really need to dual-wield all that much so it’s just clutter. They could have cleaned this up a lot better. I also had issues with swapping back to the previous weapon. It would sometimes default back to the Laserkraftwerk even though it wasn’t my previous weapon. Thankfully these issues didn’t get me killed but they certainly got on my nerves a little bit.

Textbook schadenfreude here from one of the villains. Shouldn’t be that shocked really...

From a graphics point of view, Wolfenstein: The New Order still holds up remarkably well. It runs on the same idTech engine that powered Rage before it and it certainly looks great. Character models are well detailed and they animate well. Cutscenes are well framed and the angles are perfectly done. Environments are beautifully crafted with amazing detail so whether you are in rainy soaked London or even the friggin’ Moon, you feel immersed in the world of the game.

I wasn’t kidding about the Moon. Look Ma, I’m in space! (In a video game...)

The game is quite aliased on the consoles. You definitely see sharp and jagged edges at times. Plus the textures look a bit low-res when viewed up close, but the game still looks great, and I imagine the PC version cleans up most of this stuff anyway so there’s that.

Tumblr’s image compression doesn’t do this environment justice. Oh well. C’est la vie, I suppose...

I can’t fault the game’s sound though. All voice performances are pitch-perfect with Brian Bloom (the voice of B.J.) being the standout. The music is incredible too with a great balance between atmospheric tracks and hard edged ones when the action really kicks off. It’s composed by a guy named Mick Gordon. Don’t think he’s done anything of note since though.

In terms of length, you’re looking at about roughly 8-10 hours for a first time playthrough. There is replay value with the collectibles and the Timeline system. To briefly explain, the Timeline system is related to a choice you make at the start of the game which changes some of the characters you encounter during the game. It doesn’t drastically change much. The events remain the same. You just get some unique dialog and a scene or two. Not much else.

So as you can see, I think that Wolfenstein: The New Order is still a bloody good time. The shooting still feels great with some really meaty weapons, the story and characters are super engaging, and the presentation and sound still kicks some ass. It has some minor issues here and there, but this game is well worth experiencing. You can pick it up pretty cheap nowadays on most of the platforms and it does go on sale quite often.

It’s nice to go back sometimes and revisit a classic, isn’t it?

Check back here soon for Part 2 of this where I take a look at The Old Blood. Until then, stay safe, folks!

#wolfenstein #ps4 #video games #yakkingboutgames

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boreothegoldfinch · 3 years ago

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chapter 11 paragraph iv

What I somehow hadn't expected was a city prinked-up for Christmas: fir boughs and tinsel, starburst ornaments in the shop windows and a cold stiff wind coming off the canals and fires and festival stalls and people on bicycles, toys and color and candy, holiday confusion and gleam. Little dogs, little children, gossipers and watchers and package bearers, clowns in top hats and military greatcoats and a little dancing jester in Christmas clothes à la Avercamp. I still wasn’t quite awake and none of it seemed to have any more reality than the fleeting dream of Pippa I’d had on the plane where I’d spotted her in a park with many tall fountains and a Saturn-ringed planet hanging low and majestic in the sky. “Nieuwmarkt,” said Gyuri as we came out on a big circle with a turreted fairytale castle and—around it—an open air market, cut evergreens lightly frosted with snow, mittened vendors stamping, an illustration from a children’s book. “Ho, ho, ho.” “Always a lot of police here,” said Boris gloomily, sliding into the door as Gyuri took the turn hard. For various reasons I was apprehensive about accommodations, and ready to make my excuses in case they involved anything like squatter conditions or sleeping on the floor. Luckily Myriam had booked me a hotel in a canal house in the old part of town. I dropped my bags, locked the cash in the safe, and went back out to the street to meet Boris. Gyuri had gone to park the car. He dropped his cigarette on the cobblestones and dashed it under his heel. “I’ve not been here in a while,” he said, his breath coming out white, as he looked round appraisingly at the soberly clad pedestrians on the street. “My flat in Antwerp—well it is for business reasons I am in Antwerp. Beautiful city too—same sea clouds, same light. Someday we will go there. But I always forget how much I like it here as well. Starving to death, you?” he said, punching me in the arm. “Mind walking a bit?” Down narrow streets we wandered, damp alleys too narrow for cars, foggy little ochreous shops filled with old prints and dusty porcelains. Canal footbridge: brown water, lonely brown duck. Plastic cup half-submerged and bobbing. The wind was raw and wet with blown pinpricks of sleet and the space around us felt close and dank. Didn’t the canals freeze in winter? I asked. “Yes, but—” wiping his nose—“global warming, I suppose.” In his overcoat and suit from the previous night’s party he looked both completely out of place and completely at home. “What a dog’s weather! Shall we duck in here? Do you think?” The dirty canal-side bar, or café, or whatever it was, had dark wood and a maritime theme, oars and life preservers, red candles burning low even in the daytime and a desolate foggy feel. Smoky, muggy light. Water droplets condensed on the inside of the windowpane. No menus. In back was a chalkboard scrawled with foods unintelligible to me: dagsoep, draadjesvlees, kapucijnerschotel, zuurkoolstamppot. “Here, let me order,” said Boris, and proceeded to do so, surprisingly, in Dutch. What arrived was a typically Boris meal of beer, bread, sausages, and potatoes with pork and sauerkraut. Boris—happily gobbling—was reminiscing about his first and only attempt to ride a bicycle in the city (wipeout, disaster) and also how much he enjoyed the new herring in Amsterdam, which fortunately wasn’t in season since apparently you ate it by holding it up by the tail fin and dangling it down into your mouth, but I was too disoriented by my surroundings to listen very closely and with almost painfully heightened senses I stirred at the potato mess with my fork and felt the strangeness of the city pressing in all around me, smells of tobacco and malt and nutmeg, café walls the melancholy brown of an old leather-bound book and then beyond, dark passages and brackish water lapping, low skies and old buildings all leaning against each other with a moody, poetic, edgeof-destruction feel, the cobblestoned loneliness of a city that felt—to me, anyway—like a place where you might come to let the water close over your head.

Before long Gyuri joined us, red-cheeked and breathless. “Parking—bit of a problem here,” he said. “Sorry.” He extended his hand to me. “Glad to see you!” he said, embracing me with a genuine-seeming warmth that startled me, as if we were old friends long separated. “Everything is okay?” Boris, on his second pint by now, was holding forth a bit about Horst. “I do not know why he does not move to Amsterdam,” he said, gnawing happily on a hunk of sausage. “Constantly he complains about New York! Hate hate hate! And all the holy while—” waving a hand at the canal outside the fogged window—“everything he loves is here. Even the language is same as his. If he really wanted to be happy in the world, Horst? To have any kind of joyful or happy life? He should pay twenty grand to go back to his rapid detox place and then come here and smoke Buddha Haze and stand in a museum all day long.” “Horst—?” I said, looking from one to the other. “Sorry?” “Does he know you’re here?” Boris gulped his beer. “Horst? No. He does not. It is going to be much, much easier if Horst learns about all this after. Because—” licking a dab of mustard off his finger—“my suspicions are correct. Fucking Sascha who stole the thing. Ulrika’s brother,” he said urgently. “Which with Ulrika puts Horst in bad position. So—much better if I take care of it on my own, see? I am doing Horst a favor this way—favor he won’t forget.” “What do you mean, ‘take care of it’?” Boris sighed. “It—” he looked around to make sure no one was listening, even though we were the only people in the place—”well, it is complicated, I could talk for three days, but I can also tell you in three lines what has happened.” “Does Ulrika know he took it?” Rolled eyes. “Search me.” A phrase I had taught Boris years ago, horsing around at my house after school. Search me. Cut it out. Smoky desert twilight, shades drawn. Make up your mind. Let’s face it. No way. Same shadows on his face. Gold light glinting off the doors by the pool. “I think Sascha would have to be very stupid to tell Ulrika,” said Gyuri, with a worried expression on his face. “I don’t know what Ulrika knows or does not know. Has no relevance. She has loyalty to her brother over Horst, as she has shown many and many times over. You would think—” grandly signalling the waitress to bring Gyuri a pint —“you would think Sascha had sense to sit on it for a while, at least! But no. He can’t get a loan on it in Hamburg or Frankfurt because of Horst—because Horst would hear of it in one second. So he has brought it here.” “Well look, if you know who has it we should just call the police.” The silence, and blank looks that followed this, were as if I’d produced a can of gasoline and suggested lighting ourselves on fire. “Well, I mean,” I said defensively, after the waitress had arrived with Gyuri’s beer, set it down, left again, and neither Gyuri nor Boris had spoken a word. “Isn’t that the safest? And easiest? If the cops recover it and you have nothing to do with it?” Ding of a bicycle bell, woman clattering by on the sidewalk, rattle of spokes, witchy black cape flying behind. “Because—” glancing between them—“when you think of what this picture has gone through—what it must have gone through—I don’t know if you understand, Boris, how much care has to be taken even to ship a painting? Just to pack it properly? Why take any chances?” “This is my feeling exactly.” “An anonymous call. To the art-crimes people. They’re not like the normal cops—no connections with the normal cops—the picture is all they care about. They’ll know what to do.”

Boris leaned back in his chair. He looked around. Then he looked at me. “No,” he said. “That is not a good idea.” His tone was that of someone addressing a five year old. “And, do you want to know why?” “Think about it. It’s the easiest way. You wouldn’t have to do a thing.” Boris set his beer glass down carefully. “They’d have the best chance of getting it back unharmed. Also, if I do it —if I call them—shit, I could have Hobie call them—” hands to head—“any way you look at it, you wouldn’t be putting yourselves at risk. That is to say”—I was too tired, disoriented; two pairs of Dremel-drill eyes, I couldn’t think—“if I did it, or someone else not a part of your, um, organization—” Boris let out a shout of laughter. “Organization? Well—” shaking his head so vigorously the hair fell in his eyes—“I suppose we count as organization, of sorts, since we are three or more—! But we are not very large or very organized as you can see.” “You should eat something,” said Gyuri to me, in the tense pause that followed, looking at my untouched plate of pork and potato. “He should eat,” he said to Boris. “Tell him to eat.” “Let him starve if he wants. Anyway,” said Boris, grabbing a chunk of pork off my plate and popping it in his mouth— “One call. I’ll do it.” “No,” said Boris, glowering suddenly and pushing back in his chair. “You will not. No, no, fuck you, shut up, you won’t,” he said, lifting his chin aggressively when I tried to talk over him—Gyuri’s hand on my wrist very suddenly, a touch I knew very well, the old forgotten Vegas language of when my dad was in the kitchen ranting about whose house it was? and who paid for what?— “And, and,” said Boris imperiously, taking advantage of a lull in my response he was not expecting, “I want you to stop talking this stupid ‘call’ business right away. ‘Call, call,’ ” he said, when he got no answer from me, waving his hand back and forth ridiculously in the air as if “call” were some absurd kiddie word that meant ‘unicorn’ or ‘fairyland.’ “I know you are trying to help but this is not helpful suggestion on your part. So forget it. No more ‘call.’ Anyway,” he said amiably, pouring part of his own beer into my halfempty glass. “As I was explaining to you. Since Sascha is in so big hurry? Is he thinking clearly? Is he playing more than one, or maybe two moves ahead? No. Sascha is out of towner. His connections here are poisonous to him. He needs money. And he is working so hard to stay clear of Horst that he has wandered smack into me.” I said nothing. It would be easy enough to phone the police myself. There was no reason to involve Boris or Gyuri at all. “Amazing stroke of luck, no? And our friend the Georgian—very rich man, but so far from Horst’s world and so far from art collector, he did not even know of picture by name. Just a bird—little yellow bird. But Cherry believes he is telling the truth that he saw it. Very powerful guy in terms of real estate? Here and in Antwerp? Plenty of paper and father to Cherry almost, but not person of great education if you understand me.” “Where is it now?” Boris rubbed his nose vigorously. “I do not know. They are not going to tell us that, are they? But Vitya has got in touch to say he knows of a buyer. And a meeting has been set up.” “Where?” “Not settled yet. They have already changed the location half a dozen times. Paranoid,” he said, making a screw-loose gesture at the side of his head with his hand. “They may make us wait a day or two. We may know only an hour before.” “Cherry,” I said, and stopped. Vitya was short for Cherry’s Russian name, Viktor—Victor, the Anglicized version—but Cherry was only a nickname and I didn’t know a thing about Sascha: not his age, not his surname, not what he looked like, nothing at all except that he was Ulrika’s brother—and even this was uncertain in the literal sense, given how loosely Boris threw around the word.

Boris sucked a bit of grease off his thumb. “My idea was—set up something at your hotel. You know, you, American, big shot, interested in the picture. They”—he lowered his voice as the waitress switched his empty pint for a full one, Gyuri nodding politely, leaning in—“they would come to your room. That’s how is done usually. All very businesslike. But”—minimal shrug—“they are new at this, and paranoid. They want to call their own location. “Which is?” “Don’t know yet! Didn’t I just say? They keep changing their mind. If they want us to wait—we wait. We have to let them think they are boss. Now, sorry,” he said, stretching and yawning, rubbing a dark-circled eye with a fingertip, “I am tired! Want a nap!” He turned and said something to Gyuri in Ukrainian, and then turned back to me. “Sorry,” he said, leaning in and slinging his arm around my shoulder. “You can find your way back to your hotel?” I tried to disengage myself without seeming to. “Right. Where are you staying?” “Girlfriend’s flat—Zeedijk.” “Near Zeedijk,” said Gyuri, rising purposefully, with a polite and vaguely military air. “Chinese quarter of the old times.” “What’s the address?” “Cannot remember. You know me. I cannot remember addresses in my head and like that. But—” Boris tapped his pocket—“your hotel.” “Right.” Back in Vegas, if we ever got separated—running from the mall cops, pockets full of stolen gift cards—my house was always the rendezvous point. “So—I’ll meet you back there. And you have my phone number, and I have yours. Will call you when I know something more. Now—” slapping me on the back of the head—“stop worrying, Potter! Don’t stand there and look so unhappy! If we lose, we win, and if we win, we win! Everything is good! You know which way to go to get back, don’t you? Just up this way, and left when you get to the Singel. Yes, there. We will speak soon.”

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imagine-that-one-thing · 4 years ago

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Her Majesty. || 9

Morphine.

Pervious Chapter || Chapter Eight.

Anastasia’s POV

Growing up, my life wasn’t simple but it wasn’t exactly disastrous as it is now. Growing up, I would run through the gardens and fields, I’d love travelling through tunnels and secret passages, I’d enjoy the carriage rides and royal duties, now, I sort of despise them.

I feel like life is on a downward spiral and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. There’s nothing I can really do to fix any of the situations that have arisen from the last few days.

I haven’t been able to see Harry since we landed a few days ago, once my family got into the palace to get a few personal items, we were moved to Windsor Castle and Harry was taken to the emergency room. Matthew has done his best to keep me in the loop; Harry had surgery on his dislocated shoulder, and that’s as much as I was told. My father has us on strict lockdown, I’m not allowed to leave, even with security. For the most part, I’m not even allowed to roam the outside of the castle in the areas where the public eye can see me. I’ve had Oliver on my services, the poor fella is doing his best to learn the ropes as quickly as possible, but after the boat incident, he’s shaken up.

If I’m being honest, I am too. Oliver hid me down in the galley of the vessel, he shoved me into a small area and closed the door. I felt suffocated but I knew I had to stay tranquil. I could overhear footsteps and mumbled breaths before the scuffling of bodies caused me to hold my breath. I could detect Oliver in some sort of altercation, suddenly, a piercing gunshot silenced the altercation. I gasped and grabbed the gun Harry had given me, I wrapped my hands around it and began to silently pray, not only for my safety but for Oliver and everyone else’s. “Princess,” Oliver whispered before he reopened the door and crouched down to my level, “Hey, we need to get off the boat quickly, I’m going to ask you to close your eyes and I’ll carry you. You don’t need to see this.” Oliver softly informed, “I’ll tell you when you can open your eyes, but keep that gun in your hand, okay?” Oliver commanded, gesturing to the gun as my hands shook, “It’s okay, you know how to use it, right?”

I nodded my head, abruptly realising that this is real. My life was truly in danger and I have to rely on Oliver to keep me safe. If I had my choice, I wouldn’t have him to be the one keeping me safe at this moment, I prefer if it was Harry, I know I can trust him. But, I have to leave my life in the hands of a stranger. I barely know him but I am left vulnerable and in his hands. “Okay, close your eyes, I’ll carry you out,” Oliver directed and I did just that before he picked me up and carried me out.

I’m not sure what Oliver had to witness, I can only assume the gunshot was him killing his antagonist, but I’m grateful I didn’t have to observe the aftermath of it. I’m shaken up over it all and I’m not the one who had to fire the gun and cripple someone.

I stroll down the bleak hallways with Oliver, administering small conversation in an attempt to pass some time, for the first time in a long time, I don’t have royal duties to tend to. I haven’t had to take calls or have meetings, I haven’t even had to reply to letters. My father has completely given me some time off. And as much as I appreciate it, I’m wholly bored without Harry. There’s only so many occasions I can wander the grounds with Oliver before I know he’s getting weary of me.

I grin as Matthew rounds the corner and begins to make his way to us. Matthew glances at Oliver and nods, “Go watch the monitors for the east wing. I’ll take the Princess from here,” Matthew instructs, and Oliver immediately begins to walk off.

Matthew watches Oliver walk away and round the corner before he beings to speak, “I don’t suppose you’ve found Harry yet, huh?” Matthew beams at me.

I shake my head, “I don’t know where my father has hidden him,” I respond in all honesty. I have no clue where Harry is.. Since Harry’s surgery, for some reason, my father transferred Harry into Windsor. But to which section and room, I’m unaware of. Nobody has been able to tell me, the staff don’t know anything, my mother couldn’t give me any answers and Matthew has been in and out of the grounds trying to get things under control.

“Come with me,” Matthew directs, leading the way.

We talk for the length of our journey, essentially discussing the events of what has occurred, what will happen and he also briefed me on the fact that at any given time, I can be put into an entire lockdown due to the high risk of an attack on the family. It’s scary to imagine that for some reason, the family is being targeted. I’m not sure what my father has done, but it seems as though he has done business with the wrong people. I don’t want to know the details at this point. My mother is beginning to feel the aftermath of everything, she has secured herself in her room for the last two days because, she too, has no understanding of what is transpiring. I don’t think she can wrap her head around everything either. She was fortunate that she didn’t chaperon the event on the boat. Part of me queries if she is getting ready to go into the shadows and turn against the royal duties she has. Her assistant has been handling everything, taking phone calls, responding to emails and letters, probably teamed up with my assistant as well.

My mother is a strong-minded character, she is never truly silenced, she has nevermore before locked herself in her chambers and dismissed all duties, but whatever is happening at the moment is destroying her, it is destroying us. She has dealt with a lot when it comes to life as a Queen, she has been followed by the press, she has been scrutinised and dealt with a few haters, she has learnt many languages and always been by my father’s side no matter the cost. She makes it all look easy, being a Queen, but deep down, I know it has to be taking a toll on her by now. It is all taking a toll on my father, he still wants to step down as King and hand the crown to me in just a few months, but I don’t want it. I don’t want the strings that come with it, I don’t want the constant fears of having to look over my shoulder any more than what I already have to.

This is not how it was meant to be, this is not what it is like in all the stories my parents told me. This is not how they told me it would be when they announced I would be taking over soon.

This is not a fairytale. This is not a happy ending.

Matthew and I reach a door and he turns to me, “He won’t stay awake long, he’s getting groggy, I’ll be right here if you need me, okay?”

I nod my head before Matthew unlocks the door and allows me into the room where Harry is. I step inside the relatively small room with white walls and gold-trimmed ceilings. There is a fireplace in the corner of the room and right in front of the bed there is a dresser that has a few candlesticks on it and a glass box, from afar, I can assume it is a jewellery box of some sort. Along the walls, there are various paintings. I am not sure what it is but Windsor has more paintings than I think I can count.

I observe Harry in the bed, half up with pillows propped against his back and neck and a pillow under his left arm that is encompassed by a sling. Harry opens his eyes and gives me a meagre smile as I shuffle closer to him. “Hey,” he breathes out.

“Hey, heard you got that morphine you asked for,” I smile, attempting to lighten the mood while I kiss his forehead.

“Mhm,” he hums, “Jus’ enough to knock off the edge for a bit.”

“How’s the pain?” I question, guilt tugging at me while he does his best to conceal his discomfort.

He might be in a comfortable bed with godawful portraits staring at him and morphine at his request, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about the situation as a whole.

“They still have me on morphine, so not bad. Your father has your doctor watching me. I don’t know why you don’t like her.” Harry answers with a smug grin.

Whenever I have the doctor, she doesn’t give me pain meds, she tends to sit and watch me while hooking me up to Iv’s and taking my blood. Unlike him, I get a different treatment. Then again, I have yet to have an incident where I need strong pain meds. When I broke my ribs, she did put me on some pain meds but she made sure it was nothing strong.

I’m shocked my father has the private royal doctor looking after Harry, just as much as I’m surprised my father didn’t let Harry go back to his own private area at Buckingham, but instead made sure Harry was at Windsor with us. I don’t know why my father is being so generous, but I won’t challenge it.

I playfully roll my eyes, “You just like the pain relief.” I respond, resting on the edge of the bed. Harry takes a breath and shifts some of the covers, revealing his arm before he reaches over with his right hand and intertwines his fingers with mine.

Harry lifts his lips into a small smile, “I love you,” Harry sweetly breathes out while his thumb grazes circles on my hand.

“I love you, too. You worry me though.” I sigh.

“Why?”

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, “You… you put your life on the line for me and Dad, you could have died.”

“Jus’ a bad shoulder, Anna.”

I shake my head. It wasn’t just a bad shoulder, he put his life on the line when he went back for my father while leaving me to get off the boat with Oliver. “It could have been worse. I think we should get married.”

“We are getting married,” Harry tiredly smiles, drifting towards the ring on my necklace. “Hey, don’t cry, I’m fine.” Harry murmurs, noticing my eyes beginning to well up with tears that have been threatening to fall for days. I have kept myself together for the last few days, mainly because I don’t want anyone to see me breaking or to ask questions. After all, how am I meant to tell my parents, who have no clue about the relationship, that I am petrified of losing Harry? I am terrified of what is happening and the fact we are in danger. I am scared for us all. I never thought all the protocol and the hypothetical emergency situations would come true.

I can’t help but worry and believe that things could have been a lot worse with Harry. Things nevertheless could be a lot worse. Harry still has to defend me and do his duty, we never know when something critical could transpire.

“No, I want to get married soon. No waiting.” I inform Harry of my thoughts.

I don’t want to wait and plan a long drawn out wedding, there is no need to have some lavish wedding and spend years planning it. All I need is him, all we need is to be happy and in love. That is all it takes.

I don’t even need the dress, all I require is him— to take me as my wife.

We can get married, have a somewhat normal life together in the castle and ultimately have children, although, I am not quite sure I want my children to be subject to the royal mess that I have had to go through. The concept of children has always been iffy with me, part of me wants them but the other part doesn’t want them to grow up in this lifestyles.

But, if I do not have children, who takes the crown?

Which extended family member takes it?

“Anna… darling, ” Harry begins, “I can’t have this talk right now.”

“Oh..” I trail off, assuming he no longer desires to get married and is reconsidering everything.

I don’t blame him for aching to revise his proposal and concept of marrying me. I wouldn’t want to marry in this life. His life will never be the same again once anyone discovers that we are married. He will invariably be followed by the media— he won’t just be a bodyguard— he won’t just be my husband.

“No, no, I mean… Anna, I’m getting sleepy... I’m seeing double of you… I want to marry you,” Harry immediately reacts, reassuringly.

“Can I stay here with you?” I softly challenge, not wanting to appear needy.

It isn’t that I’m being needy, it’s more the thought of losing him doesn’t settle well with me, I was left in the dark for the first few hours he was at the hospital. Nobody told me much information and it pained me. It distressed me not knowing. If I’m here, I’ll know, I’ll be informed and I won’t be left in the dark. I know he is okay and recovering from surgery, but I don’t want to just leave him by himself.

Harry shakes his head with heavy eyes, “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Anna, I can’t let you stay with me. If-if something happens…” Harry takes a moment to take a few breaths, “I can’t protect you or get up quick enough.”

“Matthew is right outside.”

Harry shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I love you.”

I heavily sigh but respect his wishes. I lean down and kiss his warm cheek, “I love you, too,” I whisper, smiling at him as he nods his head and closes his eyes. “Get some sleep, I will be back later.”

I unobtrusively step out of the room where I’m welcomed by Matthew. “He won’t let me stay with him.”

Matthew nods his head before closing the door behind me and commencing to walk with me. “He’s groggy, Anna.”

“But I don’t see why I can’t stay? You’re right here.”

Matthew sighs, “If something happens, he doesn’t have the strength to get you to safety or to fight someone off.”

“What could possibly happen? It is the middle of the day.”

It is midday, if an attack on the family is going to happen, I believe it would be more logical if it was to occur at night. I would say the castle is moderately safe at this hour.

“Princess, a lot of things. It’s for your safety.”

Everything appears to always be about my safety, it is like the world revolves around me— but it doesn’t— there are other people in this world. “And what about his safety?”

Matthew sighs and takes a moment of quietness, “Princess, he signed up for this. He knew his life could end up on the line. We do our best to make sure we are all safe, but you are the priority and so are your parents, not us.” Matthew tries to explain, but I don’t want to listen to it.

I know that Harry signed up for this job, but it doesn’t mean he should be compromised. “He should be a priority, too. He’s going to be my husband.”

“He’s the bodyguard right now until he’s the husband and no longer on the service, he can’t be the priority. It’s something you’ll need to take up with your father. It isn’t my decision. I can’t compromise you in order to protect Harry.”

I roll my eyes and heavily sigh, attempting to understand Matthews point. Matthew isn’t in a position to make decisions when it comes to me and Harry, at the end of the day, I am the one Matthew has a responsibility to protect. He is the head of security, as much as I am Harry’s responsibility, if something goes wrong, it will all turn out to be Matthews fault, he is the head, he has the overall say and power when it comes to what Harry and Oliver do. “Do you think you could help pull off a wedding without anyone knowing?” I question, curious to whether he can help me.

“I swear you are determined to get me fired,” Matthew laughs, “For you and Harry, I’ll do my best. What do you have in mind?”

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, “I don’t know, but I want to marry him as soon as I can.”

“A shotgun wedding… you know that doesn’t look good, right?”

“What?”

“Princess, a shotgun wedding makes people think you’re pregnant.”

I shake my head instantly. “I’m not… and nobody will know, it’s a private wedding for just me and him. You can be the witness and make sure nobody sees.”

Matthew side-eyes me as we continue to walk the tranquil and aged hallways. “Is Harry onboard about this?”

“Uh…” I trail off, “Well… maybe? He’s a bit groggy and said we should have this conversation when he’s feeling a bit better.”

“Mhm, I can see why,” Matthew laughs. “Not a conversation to have while on pain meds and in and out of sleep.” … “When he agrees to it, I will see what I can do. Until then, your assistant wants you, I will take her to you before I have to go check the systems, if you need me, you call me, okay?”

I nod my head in agreement.

The most salutary thing about Matthew is that he is sort of like a second Dad. If I ever need him and I can’t get ahold of Harry, a simple call or text and Matthew will be at my side as soon as he can, it doesn’t matter what time of day it is, he will be there.

Harry’s POV

I gradually come to terms with the fact that someone is speaking. I can’t entirely hear the words he is saying, I don’t understand them. It takes me a moment to adequately open my eyes and recognise the voice that echos the once peaceful room.

The king relaxes on a chair with his back to me, his hand pressed to his ear. I do my best to adjust my focus, a little confused as to why he’s talking to himself, but then I realize. He’s on the phone.

“No, this eye for an eye ends now. I’ve paid my debts, you don’t get my daughter…. NO! You listen to me, you piece of shit, don’t come near my family. You have gotten the money you wanted, you got some of the assets, I am not giving you any more. You don’t deserve them and your son doesn’t deserve to be a royal or King. I don’t know where you evil wife is, but if she comes anywhere near my family, I will make sure my security team doesn’t let her leave with her life” The king is stern as he speaks to whoever is on the other end of the phone, I can only assume it is the Ace’s family he is talking to.

I am not sure why he doesn’t have Matthew deal with them, I am sure that there is a way to have them silenced. If I had a say, I would have their heads, mainly because they are endangering Anastasia. Unfotiently, I do not get a say, I do not get to make the commands, all I can do is listen to what I am told. If the King doesn’t want us to deal with them, there is nothing I can do. “No, I did everything I could; I changed the will and testimony as you insisted, there is nothing more I can do. If you want the wedding, get your son to sweep my daughter off her feet, simple. Don’t think I forgot that he is the reason she broke her ribs. I ought to have had Harry kill him right there and then for that stunt.”

Great, they’re nevertheless attempting to marry Anna off to that prick of a prince to accommodate the fact that his family saved the Queen. If someone saved Anastasia from dying, I would be eternally grateful, but I would be damned if I was to let some ignorant want-to-be sit there and threaten me and my family. This eye for an eye wouldn’t fly for me, I would be putting my foot down—— more so, I would be pulling the trigger on whoever was threatening my family. The king is a powerful man who knows various people, surely there is a way to settle this. There is no way this family has better ties than the King of England.

“Oh, please? What more can you do to me? I have the top security there is, you cannot get past them….. NO! You listen to me, I don’t care that you’re part of the mafia or have mafia affiliations, the only person who will be swimming with the fish will be you, I will make sure they drown you with concrete on your feet, do you understand me? You as much look at Anna the wrong way and I will have you killed. This is over.” The King’s voice booms like thunder causing me to wince and hold my hand to my head.

Fuck, I did not need a loud voice to ring through my ears.

The King turns to face me as I move amongst the sheets, he hangs up the phone and steps closer to where I rest. I blink at him a few times, striving to wrap my head around what he has said. I only wish I got the rest of the conversation and woke up sooner. “How are you feeling? How’s the pain?” the King challenges as he clears his throat, perhaps hoping I didn’t hear his phone call.

“Like shit,” I respond honestly, “I have a horrible headache and I’ve had pain for a while, just in and out of sleep from it.”

“When was the last time the doctor was in here?”

“Hours ago, I think this morning?”

I’m not quite sure what time it is now, all I know is my head feels as though I have someone hitting it with a brick, it almost takes the pain away from my shoulder.

The King nods his head and starts to type on his phone, “The Doctor will be back up here in a few minutes.”

“Sir, where is Anastasia?” I softly question.

The king stares at me and raises a brow, “I uh— I actually don’t know,” he cocks his head to the side, “Why?”

“I’m not on her service, jus’ making sure she has someone watching her.”

I might be stuck in bed and in pain, but I want to make sure she is still being cared for and looked out for, I know Matthew can be trusted, as for Oliver… He is called Eageltte for a reason, he is the baby in training.

The King nods his head, “I will get ahold of her.”

♔♔♔

Anastasia begged me to let her stay with me for the evening, once she started crying again, I couldn’t tell her ‘No’. I can’t sit and let her cry, the minute she has tears I become putty in her hands. I can’t do it. That is the easiest way for her to win an argument with me, I cave once she cries, every single time.

I felt bad for her, tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes as she explained to me that she hadn’t been sleeping the last few nights, she has been stressed and I gather she is still shocked from what has happened in the last few weeks. From Henry pulling his stunts to what happened on the boat, I don’t blame her for not wanting to fall asleep alone. I don’t blame her for not wanting to fall asleep without myself or Matthew standing at her door on guard.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t feel safe anymore unless I or Matthew are around. There was once a time she would request me to give her time to herself without being observed because she hated all the security, now she is begging me not to make her go to her room.

Against my better judgment, I let her stay. I allowed her to crawl into bed with me on the conditions that Matthew stayed outside. The last thing either of us needs is for anyone to walk in and see us. Whether it be the doctor or the King himself. I can’t trust that he won’t try to use my room as another private call area.

I’ve been in and out of sleep, mustering enough energy to check to make sure she is still asleep beside me before falling back asleep. By the time I manage to sit up and glance at her, I am about ready to knock back out again. With each time I wake up, she has shuffled closer to me, I don’t mind, I find it endearing. I will never complain about her wanting to be close to me in the bed, I will never complain that during the night she finds ways to place her hand on me. I will always do my best to make her feel safe and protected with me, and I will do my best to make sure that she has what she needs in this life. I will make sure she has the husband that she needs and merits, someone to be there for her, to support her. She deserves the world and I will do what I can do to make sure she has the world. I love her with every being in me; at the risk of seeming cliche, I love her and intend to love her until my last breath. She truly is everything to me, she is the daydreams of all daydreams.

I wake up immediately as I discover the door creak open, I force myself up immediately and reach to the side table where my pistol is, “Don’t shoot, it is me,” Matthew powerfully whispers, “Get her up and in the tunnels, the alarm has been pulled,” Matthew directs, and my heart rapidly begins to race.

I swear at this point, there is not a moment where something isn’t happening.

“Anna, Anna, darling,” I mildly brush Anastasia’s arm, drawing her from her sleep without causing her to panic.

The last thing I need is for her to panic, she already has enough trouble sleeping as it is. The poor girl doesn’t need to be woken up in a horror of a stir.

Anastasia sighs and groggily glances at me, “We need to get in the tunnels, get up,” I instruct, forcing her up and out of bed without explanations. “Matthew take her,” I command, grappling to get up quick enough as she grabs a blanket and wraps it around her.

Anastasia shakes her head, “I’m not going without him.”

“Now is not the time to be stubborn, Anna,” I mutter, taking a deep breath and pulling myself to my feet, “Matthew, pull that mirror and dresser, it’s the hidden opening,” I gesture towards the gold-trimmed mirror and dresser that I have had the privilege to stare at a few times while in and out of sleep.

“Fuck, Harry, it’s stuck,” Matthew grunts.

I step around Anna, “Anna, baby, move for a second,” I gesture for her to step away, using my good arm to help Matthew with pulling the secret compartment open, “This is why I didn’t want her staying with me,” I grunt, not too pleased with the fact that if she had of stayed in her place, she would already be safe and sound in the tunnels. “Fucking hell,” I murmur, using all the strength I have to get the passage open a little further.

“This will have to do, we can fit,” Matthew instructs.

I glance towards Anastaisa and she steps closer to me. I place my pistol in the waistband of my sweatpants and she slips her hand with my own, “Go, I’m right behind you,” I assure her, “And Matthew is behind me, we are fine,” I continue, supporting her through the passage before she freezes at the vibration of Matthew closing the passage door behind us.

“Harry—”

“It’s okay, just the door. Here, I’ll go first, it is dark and you’re already startled,” I benevolently tug her behind me and I take the lead.

I am familiar with the tunnels at Buckingham, Windsor not so much, we are infrequently here and we never utilise these tunnels, we have never needed to, not to mention, the tunnels are remarkably old and dusty. If I had to decide which tunnels I would prefer to be escorting through, it would be Buckingham’s, at least I know the tunnels there are clean. There is no telling what is down in this chilly, sullen and old passage.

I can tell these tunnels haven’t been accompanied in years, there are cobwebs everywhere, broken stones and rodents scurrying around. “Harry, this place gives me the heebie jeebies,” Anastasia whispers, gently pulling back on my arm.

I nod my head and turn to her, “I know, sweetheart, I know,” I respond.

There is something very unsettling and eerie about the tunnels we are walking through. I can’t quite put my finger down on it, but there is something not right.

The castle started to be built in 1070 and it took sixteen years before it was complete. Over the years, many King and Queens have adjusted the structures and design, for the most part keeping the stone foundations. The castle wasn’t built to be of a Royals residence, it was built specifically for a fortress, and for the most part, it has done exactly that. Windsor Castle has been in the royal family for almost 1,000 years and 39 monarchs have graced its halls, I am not surprised the tunnels are starting to decompose and are in horrid condition. This castle is meant to be one of the safest castles, after all, it has survived the bombings of World War II.

With the fact that St. George’s Chapel is the burial place to deceased monarchs and not all of them were buried at peace, some were beheaded, some poisoned, some killed by natural causes… I wouldn’t be surprised if this castle and the tunnels were haunted. Perhaps that is the eerie feeling that wraps around us as we walk.

I can’t help but feel as though we are being watched, and I know Anastasia feels the same way.

Matthew takes my attention from focusing on walking forward with the little light that we have with the flashlight on our phones. “Harry, do you know where you’re going?” Matthew questions.

“Honestly, no. We’ve never used these tunnels.”

“Thought you had a photographic memory?” Matthew mutters.

I stop in my tracks and turn to face Anna and Matthew, “All due respect, Matthew, I’m coming off a morphine-induced sleep the king put me in, we’re lucky I’m walking.”

Anastasia heavily sighs as she let’s go of my hand and puts a little space between us, “I can lead the way, I used to run around these when I was younger.”

I glance towards Anna and shake my head, “No, we can’t see a thing, the last thing we need is for a surprise attack with you in front.” I respond and she looks towards Matthew for his response, “Don’t look at him, I made the decision that it was safest for you to be in the middle.”

Anastasia raises a brow and I know by the ways her eyes stare at me that she is far from amused by my comment. I don’t tend to be dominant too much with her, I try to let Matthew make the decisions so that it doesn’t cause arguments with her and I. “Says the one who is in front and has a slow reaction time.”

“Anastasia—“

“Harry,” she cuts me off, “You two don’t have a clue where we are, that’s unsettling.”

“And you know where we are, Princess?” I question, adjusting the sling as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Don’t talk to me like a Princess, you know I hate it.”

“And you know I hate when you make my job harder than it needs to be, so let me and Matthew figure it out.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, I have bigger things to worry about than you calling me an asshole.”

I don’t want to be an asshole to her, it is not my intentions, but right now, I need to figure out how to get her out of the tunnels securely and in one piece. Matthew and I are both compromised, he doesn’t know these tunnels, and I can only remember parts of the map that I glanced at weeks ago while attempting to uncover a map to the castle in Ireland.

“Are you two done bickering? At any moment we could get attacked,” Matthew questions with his arms crossed over his chest.

I nod my head, “We came in on the far west side, very back corner of the manor, we took a right because there were too many rocks closing off the closest exit on the left which would have to lead us under the church and out into the river street car park,” I begin to retrace our steps, “Which means, we’ve been walking for around fifteen minutes which puts us around about near the kitchen. Which implies we should be travelling towards East Terrace Lawn and will come out at Queen Victoria’s walk.” I notify Matthew, attempting to retrieve the map of how Windsor is set up, but my thoughts are still a little hazy.

“There’s another entry and exit, Harry,” Anastasia familiarises me, “It’s this way.” She motions to the right where there’s a small hole in the wall.

There is no way I want her following a hole in the wall, and there is no way I want to manoeuvre my way through the small hole.

I shake my head, “There were only two on the map.”

Anastasia rolls her eyes at me and huffs, “I’m going this way.”

“Anna, you’re going the wrong way, can’t you just listen to us?”

Anna disregards me and manages her way through the space, prompting me to glare towards Matthew. “My future wife is highly fucking stubborn.”

“Are you going to go after her?” He asks, unsure of what to do.

It is a fine line between us bickering as a couple and bickering as a Princess and a security guard.

I shake my head, “I need a minute,” I respond, resting against the wall, “She won’t walk too far without us, she’s partially scared of the dark still.”

Anastasia didn’t want to sleep without me, I highly doubt she will walk too far in the dark on her own. She wants to prove a point, I understand, but sometimes she needs to just listen to us, we know what we are doing, we were hired in these positions because we are damn good at our jobs. Up until now, I have never questioned our ability to keep her safe.

“She’s right though, it’s another exit.”

I close my eyes and take deep breaths, my shoulder throbbing with pain. “Near the dungeons,” I nod, “But it’s dangerous to walk through, it leads out to the River Thames, and I don’t know about you but I’m in no position to swim for my life again,” I respond, acknowledging that Anastasia is correct, there’s a hidden tunnel that isn’t on the maps, but it doesn’t mean it’s the most trustworthy option, in fact, I’d say it’s the most dangerous. “It is cold, I don’t need her swimming in cold water either.”

“Fuck me,” I huff, adjusting my shoulder in my sling. “Matthew, call her back, if I do it, she’ll walk further just out of spite,” I command, not wanting Anna to wander any further towards the River exit. I don’t want to have to swim after her because of her being stubborn and I also don’t know what is down that tunnel. For all we know, the walls’ could cave in.

At the moment Matthew goes to open his mouth, a high pitched scream sends chills down my back. My eyes widen and I accelerate off the wall immediately, forcing my way through the hole.

#harry styles imagines #imagine harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles prompts #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles fic #harry styles one shots #harry styles preferences

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cypris-thalsian · 4 years ago

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The Gift: Part IV

[ Part I, Part II, Part III, Written with @thalsianiii ]

All through the morning pack up, Cypris had remained quiet. The rest did seem to help, though the night prior had done little to settle her nerves. She did as she had any other time she'd felt knocked back, picked herself up and pushed forward, steeling herself for whatever was to come. While it had usually been instinct to carry such thoughts solely on her own shoulders, she didn't let herself withdraw from Percival's help and comfort. If she was loosing herself, she'd fight it with her chin raised and shoulders squared.

Much like she had on the flight to the Swamp, she held firm to Percival on the last leg of the journey to Stranglethorn. Perhaps a touch tighter in an effort to keep herself grounded in mid air. It wouldn't be until they neared Booty Bay, that ever so often a body may have been seen laying splayed out along the road leading to the port town.

The planks of the harbor itself seemed to be far less bustling than it's usual. A few hands scurried about moving just enough to keep a few of the businesses going. Even the ships had taken to setting anchor just off shore rather than drawing too close.

As promised, Percival had woken up just a bit earlier to go picking mushrooms and foraging for swamp clams. All of which were tucked away in a pack so that he could get to 'cooking' once they made it to Booty Bay.

His concern for Cypris never wavered. Too much was going wrong at once for it all to be coincidence. All he could think was that it was those damned Loa of her playing some kind of trick.

Upon their arrival it was clear something was wrong here, too.

"What on Azeroth..." Percival mumbled on the back of their dragonhawk as they circled around.

"Never seen the port this quiet... and so many dead bodies strewn about on the way over...What's going on?"

Lifting her cheek from his back, Cy looked out over the Bay as further confusion stemmed from Percival. Spying the bodies and hushed overtone of the port, her brows furrowed with her own loss for an explanation. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Looking out towards the sea she tried to see the flags of the ships, or any added clues on board. The ships were just as quiet, some seemingly preparing to depart or erring on the side of caution. Shifting where she sat on the back of the dragonhawk, she tried to see towards Lairn's shop but there was little telling information to be had beyond a pair of windows boarded up.

"Shall we find out?" It was then a scream came from one of the inn balconies, a woman ran outward in an attempt to escape a shambling ghoul in the form of what appeared to be a lost sailor decaying and dripping it's disease.

"Good ide-" Percival was cut off before he could finish his statement. Starburn hovered at his command of the reins rather than go in for a landing at the roost.

"Undead? Inside the bay?" he remarked with mild confusion.

"If it weren't for the corpses outside I'd think it was a rogue necromancer causing a ruckus. This is odd."

He veered the Dragonhawk towards a higher rooftop. It seemed the safer option to make landfall before dismounting sending her away to the relative safety of the skies and trees.

"Where's Lairn's shop? Does it look like she's alright?" he asked.

"I suppose it's still possible.. certainly a point to hit with all the ships in and out... I'd heard of forsaken ships along the coast a few years back, this doesn't look like their handy work."

Cypris held firm, looking over for anything she might have missed. In the disarray of it all, only a closer look would truly remedy the lack of information. "Almost wish we'd stayed home between last night and now this..." She huffed.

"Her windows are boarded. I don't see her though. She's tough.." The last came as more of a reassurance to herself than any real explanation. The dwarven woman had seen and lived through her fair share of the world's troubles, given as much hell as she took. But even dwarves slowed with age. The thought of something perchance happening to the old bat, churned a twist of guilt to the fire-starter's stomach.

"I'm wishing the same thing..." he huffed. With a wave of his hand across his face, Percival conjured forth his battle mask.

"Well whatever's happening, we won't leave the old girl to tangle with ghouls and gheists alone," he decided with a confident tone. The last thing he needed was his wife to feel any more emotional pain than she already had these past few days.

He made a series of gestures with his hands before pressing both palms against the roof they stood on. A pair of black gates appeared and his trusty Felstalkers crawled out.

"You two, devour any undead you come across. But leave the civilians alone. This is still amicable territory for us." he instructed before sending them off and turned back to Cypris.

"Hopefully the locals won't mind a little off brand backup," he said with a nod, "Let's go see to Lairn."

Settling her footing to the roof, just as Percival called forth his mask, she drew her daggers. While he summoned the stalkers, she took the tandem of surveying the nearby surroundings.

The woman that was screaming from her balcony had backed herself to the ledge and found herself pinned struggling to knock back the creature's assault. Those that remained out of doors, didn't make a move to help, knowing it was too late as stains of crimson poured down the planks. Below where dead and ghouls lingered in the water, a few spots along the edges the once blue waters were stained red in the wash of the waves. Just beyond the clouds of blood lurked the sharks called in for a meal to chum.

Just below the walkway seemed clear, but there was little telling what lie just beneath the couple's feet. A man made his way passed to one of the huts with a pail of red paint, marking the door with a large 'X'. As the stalkers drew near on their run passed, he quickly shuddered back against the rail, spilling out a bit of the paint along the stained boards. On closer inspection a small handful of the huts had the mark, stirring Cy's attention to Lairn's door, finding it remained unmarked.

"The dead are slow... not that I need to tell you.." She'd started to explain the plan before remembering just who she was talking to. It was enough to stir a familiar grin to her cheeks, the one that came when there was potential trouble to be dealt with. It was nearly enough to chase the exhaustion from her eyes, but not quite.

Taking a few steps back, Cy gave a running jump to make it to the next roof. She was aiming to hop along to a more stable rail that would hold well enough to see her to the foot path leading to Lairn's shop. The thudding of her leather boots not quiet enough to hide her steps from the lingering souls below.

Hitting the planks of the pathway a man stepped out, his eyes sunken, sweat beading his brow but not quite gone. "Please..." Came his whimpered call for help, "You've got to help us." He slowly started outward, hand reaching out.

Percival lacked the speed and grace of his lover. Even so, he did his best to jump along with her. Stumbling a few times, making far more racket than hers did.

"Slow, and weak," he added between jumps.

The 'X' marked doors caught his attention, along with the man who was painting them. It was as if a plague had gripped the city. Gears in Percival's head slowly starting to piece things together.

The man reaching for his wife was enough to stir him into an almost irrational state. He rushed up and grabbed the man by the wrist before it could get any closer to Cypris. Not that he didn't have faith that she could handle one decrepit sick man. But after her latest weaknesses, he was on guard more than usual.

"What's happening here? Why are the dead invading?" he asked the sickly leper.

"A plague... just like before..." was all he could manage to utter before he began to fall to a fit of hacking coughs.

Percival's head turned to look at his wife. She didn't need to see his face to know the gravity of expression painting his features behind the mask.

Cy had squared her step, ready to meet the man with her blade if need be. She'd been of similar mind to ask the question that Percival pushed forward to ask first. It was the answer that followed along with the hacking near Percival that had her usually sunny tones paling. "Kill him." She said simply. "Unless you think he has more answers..."

She'd felt the gravity, she'd been in Stormwind or nearby when the last outbreak had spilled through the lands. Giving a shake of her head at the memories, worry for the elder dwarf swelled, but also that of the Ava. "Might explain the quiet last night. No patrols, that place is a breeding ground for this..."

Whether it was her nerves of the moment or something else all together, Cy started to step back with another churn of her stomach. "I've got to... Got to... Lai..." Her hand dropped one of her daggers to grip at the railing just as she turned and purged the remnants of breakfast on the landing below.

Cypris had barely gotten the kill request out of her lips before Percival did exactly that. He heard about the last plague that the south experienced, but he hadn't witnessed anything like this since the Third War. Even so, he knew all to well how bad it could get. Without hesitation, Felfire crawled up the mans arm and ran rampant along his figure until he crippled down into a hump of burning meat. Such potent fire would leave little more than ash and bone fragments by the time it was done.

"You'd be right. Suppose we were fortunate not to be caught... looks like something was on our side after all." he huffed.

His demeanor shifted when Cypris found herself growing ill. They had just deciphered the potential return of the Plague of Undeath and now she was growing sick.

"Cypris!" he shouted as he rushed to her side.

Panic was festering in his stomach, a feeling he could not afford now.

"Can you walk?" he asked, a hand placed on her back as she retched.

"We'll get you to Lairn immediately."

The hand shifted from the rail to Percival's arm, both for support to keep herself upright and to give a reassuring squeeze to his arm. When she'd given up all that she could, the back of her other arm raked across her lips before sheathing her blade. "I'm fine. I can walk... I can walk.."

She took a pair of deep breaths but found it to be a mistake with the smell of newly burnt remains along with the ill in the air. Holding firm a moment more until she knew her feet were steady under her, she eventually reached down taking up the dropped dagger.

Mustering up a wry smile, one close to the one she'd had before the announcement of the plague had shaken her nerves, "I'm a fire-starter. I don't get sick." A laugh followed, but she knew full well with her exhaustion the last weeks combined with the upset of the past days, her idea of that reality might have changed.

"There's no mark on her door." She noted, remaining close to the warlock rather than making an effort to rely on her own abilities.

If it weren't for the mask, Cypris would see Percival smile in response to her quip. A smile that wouldn't quite reach his eyes.

"If you're sure," he said with a nod. He looked around for a suitable path to make it to Lairn's unmarked door. It only made sense that the man from earlier was making doors that held sick or dead inside. Lairn being something of a healer, it was little surprise she might be safe.

"Alright, let's go," he agreed, keeping close to Cypris so she could lean on him as she needed. His free arm dripped with Felfire and cursed words were resting on the tip of his tongue. Anything, living or dead, that crossed their path in this moment would meet a swift end if he had anything to say about it.

A silent, psychic command called forth one of the rampaging Felstalkers to act as their guard dog. He was sparing no expense on his wife's safety today.

She felt the touch of his smile, but the sound of his voice let her know it was as faltered as her own. They both failed at presenting a strong face for the other when their nerves and concerns could be felt so deeply within. Mulling her lips, Cy worked to get the taste from her mouth, using it as a distraction as they pushed through the pathway.

Most were afraid to leave their homes, the ones who had considered it before had likely seen the aftermath of the man who dared to ask the pair for help. The closer they came to Lairn's door, the sound of a steady thudding could be heard along with the unintelligible growly moan of another sailor long dead.

The figure, having managed to wedge itself along the side path of the Elder dwarf's home, was repeatedly pressing forward in it's blind effort to feed on what lay within the hut. The sound of steps on the planks, however turned its attention towards the trio. As it turned, flesh of it's middle caught at a half driven nail, spilling out sun aged infection down it's front to the planks of the path.

A sneer curled at Cy's nose, as she grumbled, "Fuck..."

A bolt of fel was sent careening towards the freshly undead sailors head. Probably enough to incapacitate a simple zombie. But Percival took no chances. The hound was released to gnaw on and devour any and all of the risen sailor.

If nothing else, the Felstalkers of the Burning Crusade were incredible assets at cleaning up corpses. The two of them would be good and fat by the end of the day.

Once the simple zombie was dealt with, Percival escorted Cypris to Lairn's front door and banged on it a good three times.

"Lairn! Open the damned door before I burn it down!" he called out. He was usually much more polite when it came to Cypris's adopted grammy. But he had no patience left for niceties anymore.

#PerCy #Plot #Arc #Story #The Gift #The Plague

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ailinaline · 4 years ago

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The Untamed: unsorted

Well... I am nothing, if not eccentric, after all. Why not publish a huge post all of a sudden? :)

The Untamed (СQL) is an abyss, and I am still falling, grasping at some scattered thoughts... that tend to arrange themselves in equally chaotic blocks of thoughts, which, in turn, multiply questions successfully.

Spoilers ahead, I guess...

The timeline of СQL is more than a little blurry, and when I try to calculate, how old Wei Ying was, when he died, I come up with the sorrowful conclusion he couldn’t be more that 21, probably younger. Which, in turn, means that the post-time-skip Sizhui is, actually, of the same age or even older than Wei Ying and Lan Wangji were, when they did a lot of things I honestly can’t imagine the new generation pulling off, even physically/magically, let alone psychologically (although I wouldn’t go as far as to call young LWJ and WWX mature - they clearly were not, and that was a huge part of the tragedy foundation, in my opinion). The young disciples are referred to as ‘children’, and they truly are. Compared to 16-17 year old LWJ and WWX, they are very, very young, inexperienced and not especially capable – while still being quite skilled and smart. And it’s both fabulous and painful to watch. Fabulous because it’s a very vivid and authentic demonstration of how exceptionally gifted LWJ and WWX are (and were); and painful because, unfortunately, not all of their greatness comes just from inborn talents.

II.

I am easily charmed by languages, but СQL, being the third Chinese dorama I have ever watched, is still the first one to so profusely tempt me to learn Chinese – in order to translate the songs and to understand the subtleties of the dialogues.

III.

I can’t get rid of the impression that the concept of rules/order breaking and punishment/atonement is fundamental for СQL (and its world). As far as I am aware, the Chinese culture does tend to be quite severe in this regard, but right now I am considering the symbolic layer of the process rather than the harm/good/efficiency of any particular method. And I wonder, whether I am imagining things or Wangji’s history of ‘transgressions’ and punishments within his sect is really openly symbolic and not merely coincidental.

My interpretation certainly lacks some special cultural insight because I can’t help being of European origin, so I read all the codes as a European would, first, and only then make an attempt to switch lenses and decipher the message, taking into account my scarce knowledge of the Chinese (and Asian) culture.

And yet...

The first time (drinking) Wangji is not only completely innocent, but also a ‘victim’ of Wei Ying’s careless (and questionable) mischief. They share the punishment (and we encounter the number 300, by the way), but Wangji is obviously (and rather fiercely) on his own here, and evidently by choice, despite Wei Ying’s sincere efforts first to exclude and then to include him. Wangji, just as obviously, truly believes he deserves the punishment – not for drinking as such, I think, but for lowering his guard and being not attentive enough: internally, he substitutes one transgression with another, and the equation works for him (actually, it might be unfair, but quite fortunate for their future relationship that Wangji blames himself or, at least, blames himself more than Wei Ying). To put it in a nutshell, for Wangji, the system and order are intact and non-contradictory: he is understandably upset, even angry, but hardly shaken, and simply intends to do better than that in the future, so to say. It’s hard to speculate, if this is Wangji’s most unpleasant experience so far or not, but in any case, the psychological pressure is minimal and reproach is rather mild (and I am really surprised, Lan Xichen didn’t find all that story highly suspicious… or was it his indirect method of showing WWX that he hadn’t been told on?..)

The copying of the rules happens after a considerable amount of… experience, if not time. And the transgression is not specified, but hinted at very heavily. I also wonder, if Lan Qiren realized an additional message he conveyed through his choice as well as through his general treatment of his nephew during that meeting: a strict reminder that, a war hero or not, LWJ is still too young to have an opinion. Wangji accepts the book of rules reverently, accepts the punishment… the word, that springs to mind is ‘habitually’: he doesn’t disregard it, per se, he doesn’t devalue the fact his uncle is not happy with him, he still wants to do better, but… there are things of greater importance to him now, and LWJ is so focused on them that he makes the request about the restricted books at the least suitable moment, really. (And I believe this dismissal does cut him rather deep.) The system still works, but the seed of the conflict is already planted.

The third episode seems pivotal in itself: we actually don’t know, what the punishment for letting WWX and the Wens go was, except for having to kneel, while being lectured, but this time this is a result of a conscious choice to do something that definitely wouldn’t be approved. And I can’t remember a single second of the screen-time, when Wangji would look repentant: conflicted, upset, slapped (when Lan Qiren mentions his mother), stressed (his uncle uses some pretty cruel techniques that border on manipulation, to my mind), but not sorry at all – not for letting the fugitives go, at least. And comparing the shades of Wangji’s silence here and on the previous occasion, this one seems somehow more determined. And closed-off. And there is no intention to do better, in regard to this transgression: the alternative he is being pushed to is unacceptable.

Kneeling again, for the whole day, in the cold, lifting a… what is it, as a matter of fact? It does look like a slightly smaller version of ‘the discipline whip’ we’ll see later, and if it is really so, then it’s beyond prophetic symbolic – it looks more like a promise on Lan Qiren’s part. :/ Anyway, my impression is that, for the first time in the series, LWJ is actively absent from the scene of his own punishment: he doesn’t reflect on it (I think he expected something like that), he also doesn’t mentally substitute one transgression with another to restore the balance (his inability to help Wei Ying is not something to atone for by kneeling). He simply endures. And thinks. And feels. Just not what he is expected and obliged to be thinking and feeling at the moment. And through all of this, Wangji is utterly, hopelessly and stoically alone and unaccepted. His concerns have been dismissed and care rejected by Wei Ying. His actions and decisions have been castigated by a significant authority figure (whom he loves and respects). If I am not mistaken, in the special edition Wangji’s loss-and-loneliness are somewhat artificially heightened through the pseudo-contrast because his moments are mixed with the moments of Wei Ying’s drinking with his new family, who values and appreciates him. (In reality their situations are just the same: they are both in anguish and feel helpless to change things they wish to change.) And, a cherry on top: we don’t know, what has been said initially, and by whom, however, we see that Wangji is released not by his uncle, but by some adept (or disciple). It might be a normal procedure, but it completes the picture of being unequivocally separated from any supportive figure and hints at a lack of closure, in a way, as there was no forgivenes-and-reconnection after the punishment.

I am struggling to verbalize, why exactly, but to me, this scene is, in a sense, more bitter than the next one, despite the circumstances.

During the next punishment Wangji is as actively present as he was absent during the previous one. And if then he was frozen in sadness, now he is all fire (fueled by grief, and guilt, and fury, and despair, yes, but fire, nonetheless). And the system and order get burned down: what Wangji re-builds during his seclusion is his very own set of rules. They do coincide with the Gusu Lan set, but not fully. And this is a point of no return because, filtered through Wangji’s own system of values, now they are more than just the elders’ lessons learned and tested – they are the only valid reference point for recognizing transgressions and ‘living with no regrets’.

(On another level, I am more than a little puzzled by several details here:

1) linguistics: do they really call this thing a discipline ‘whip’ in Chinese?

2) cultural message: as literally nothing could get in the way of filming a beating with an actual whip, the type of instrument has to make some sense, doesn’t it? (For now, I can’t think of any reason to choose this tool, though. Except the number 300 as 300 lashes are hardly survivable, even with a golden core.)

3) application: I can understand, why Wangji has his shirt on (although this is a more dangerous and torturous option: such a thin layer is no protection at all, but it will be hell to clean the wounds afterwards), but why is his hair down his back like that?..

4) consequences: the scarring looks rather odd, considering. (And again: it was definitely not a problem to paint whatever they had to, so – why?)

The only (and vague) explanation I can come up with is that the type and form of the tool is not important at all: it’s the intent and sentence that count, so the wounds and pain would be the same, even if the instrument looked like a rod or a cane. (Still doesn’t explain the hair, though.) And as for the scars, perhaps, not all of them have to stay forever, especially if the cultivator is very strong.

Well, no: unsatisfactory...)

IV.

I wonder... My first impression after watching the scene, where Lan Wangji cuts off Jin Guangyao’s arm, was that he was actually saving him from Baxia, separating Guangyao from the mark on his hand. And the only reason, why the spirit of the sword attacks Jin Ling next, are the drops of the bad/damned blood on the boy’s shoulder. But after the special edition I am not so sure.

Lacunae and plotholes (or what I subjectively perceive as such) are extremely challenging and thought-provoking in this series. Right now, I wonder about the Wens: Wen Qing clearly stated she had asked one of the clansmen to look after WWX, so not all of them were going to surrender. Could it be that they were attacked at the Burial Mounds, when seeing the siblings off, and taken away by force?

...Enough. For now.

#the untamed #lan wangji #wei wuxian #suddenly #questions and more questions #just thinking

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