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onesunofagun · 3 years ago

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I shall now yell about Ingo, please stand by:

Ingo’s transformation from the underappreciated backbone of the ranch to an absolute ruff-wearing cantaloupe of a man is also pretty interesting (if you’re the kind of person who absorbs the Zelda series through your skin like a frog to live).

I’ve bolded the key points for skimmers.

Granted, the manga has it that Ingo just gets brainwashed by Twinrova into being a staunch follower of Ganondorf. That’s not canon, but it’s not informing any of this thinking, either way.

In the beginning of OoT we meet Talon by waking him up from a nap, and we learn pretty quickly that he’s lazy and often yelled at by his daughter for slacking off like this. Ingo at the ranch confirms again that Talon doesn’t pull his weight around there, and since Malon’s still a child, it’s pretty obvious that Ingo’s settled with the bulk of the work.

Ingo is grumpy, he’s resentful, and he complains a lot. But he does do the work, and you can find him (presumably) in the process of mucking out the stables.

Let’s examine what he does at the ranch:

Epona really liked that song... Only I could tame that horse... Even Mr. Ingo had a hard time...

Now, Epona is established in game to be a real winner of a horse. She’s fast, she’s smart, she’s got a lovely sorrel coat and white mane that seems to be quite rare or highly prized coloring. The catch is, she is notoriously wild. The only people she tolerates are Malon and Link, due in large part to being soothed by the song Malon’s mother taught her.

Ingo had to really try to crack this horse, which Malon’s observation suggests is unusual.

Epona is very young when we first see her, so it’s never really revealed if she was caught wild, or bred at the ranch with a very headstrong temperament.

Ingo’s clearly the guy that’s breaking them in, though. The most Talon is doing is... sleeping in with the cuccos. We never see any organisation of the cuccos, in terms of egg collection or poultry farming, but nevertheless, Talon has the much less physical jobs even if he was doing them. His focus seems to be cuccos, deliveries to the castle and book keeping between naps (and to be fair it’s probably a little depression related, given the dead wife).

Malon gives us a cow later on, and she’s got the egg for the crowing cucco that wakes up Talon, so I’d like to assume for simplicity’s sake that even as a kid, Malon was up at dawn most days helping Ingo with the cows and milking them. It’s never really implied that she has amazing skill in dealing with horses, just that Epona has a special connection with her specifically. Other than that, Malon is simply kind and respectful of her animals (though I’ve got no idea how she got that cow to Link’s treehouse and that’s worth investigating).

Later on, Ingo is also shown to be a competent rider. Enough that he has absolutely no qualms in challenging Link to races for wagers, and was quite confident of his ability to win.

The takeaway is, Ingo is usually VERY GOOD with both caring for and training horses, if not breeding them for the ranch.

That kind of lends to his grumbling, when he is referring to himself as ‘the Great Ingo’ and comparing himself to Talon, who is a ‘bum’. His claim to greatness may not be undeserved, at least in horse circles, and especially if he’s not getting particular credit for it, his bitterness and frustration (alongside envy, exhaustion, and dreams of recognition) would be quite deeply run.

So it seems that his friend and employer is clearly taking some advantage of him, especially after the death of Malon’s mother.

So now, let’s examine his feelings, and how he changes.

The feelings Ingo has about that are pretty textbook for the sort of thing ‘evil takes hold of and twists’, in the Zeldaverse.

Focussing on the game itself, Malon says this as an adult:

Since Ganondorf came, people in the Castle Town have gone, places have been ruined, and monsters are wandering everywhere. Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... Everyone seems to be turning evil...

We do see other characters in Hyrule become influenced by the ‘darkness in their hearts’ as byproduct of Ganondorf’s reign.

A prominent example of a character who was visibly dissatisfied with their lot, and then notably changes (while praising Ganondorf for what he’d done), is the Castle Guard who is heavily implied to have become the Poe Dealer. Even if by some slim means it’s not the same person, the Poe Dealer does still express that they could not do the work they do without Ganon as King, and that they now benefit from him being in that position and are grateful to him.

The Kakariko Carpenters seem to have given into their fantasies about living among the Gerudo women, and gone out to the Valley and gotten themselves taken prisoner. Following work near the fortress, the team chooses to act on their selfish desires and go for broke, chasing their dreams. They weren’t previously prepared to act upon these fantasies when Link was young, admittedly much milder in their still very prominent obsession, but seven years later, they’re quite happy to risk it all and piss away the stability of their careers (and nearly their lives) at the first opportunity.

Anyway, the trend is, those across Hyrule who are unhappy with their lot before Ganondorf’s coup tend to be ‘corrupted’ by seven years later, and appear to have given in to a twisted version of whatever they most wanted.

This is noteworthy especially because the language in the game revolves around the Sacred Realm being opened and corrupted, too, by Ganondorf’s unbalanced heart and selfish goals. It is unable to be ‘sealed’ again while Link has the Master Sword. In aLttP, we know there is a mirror like effect to do with the sacred turned dark realm, in which it reflects the hearts of men.

So it is very reasonable to say, that for OoT in particular, much of this evil influence plaguing the land and preying on the darkness an people’s hearts is a result of the corruption of the Sacred Realm. It is an indirect byproduct of Ganondorf’s acquiring of the Triforce, but not necessarily something he himself does to people on purpose, unlike the brainwashing of Nabooru.

Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... But Dad... He was kicked out of the ranch by Mr. Ingo... If I disobey Mr. Ingo, he will treat the horses so badly...

This explains a lot of the more callous and greedy behaviour that Ingo shows later on, and why it seems to disappear when he is truly humbled by Link.

Link’s win serves as a reminder of Ingo’s stagnating skill with horses, the very thing that made him feel so deserving of praise and recognition in the first place, in that for everything he now has control of at the ranch, he still cannot control that horse. He has become as much of a bum as Talon ever was, relegating Malon to do all the hard work while Ingo struts around uselessly. He’s even lost his touch with the Horses so much, in his arrogance, that now he has taken up mistreating them and using harsh and abusive methods (according to Malon’s concerns).

The humiliation and shame takes hold, his pride shattering with the loss of Epona-- not only as a valuable asset, but also as the horse he could never truly tame.

The dark feelings he was holding onto are let go of, as he regains a sense of humility, and the corruptive influence upon him dissipates. He even seeks out Talon to bury the hatchet and invite him back to the ranch.

Oh, I have to tell you about Mr. Ingo... He was afraid that the Evil King might find out that Epona had been taken away... It really upset him! But one day, all of a sudden, he went back to being a normal, nice person! Now my dad is coming back...I can't believe it, but peace is returning to this ranch!

But what about his obsession with Ganondorf in particular?

When the coup happened, Ingo watched the King of the Gerudo unwittingly play out a sort of grand parallel to what Ingo felt should happen on the ranch. To Ingo’s perception, I think Ganondorf was representing an ideal version of Ingo himself.

A man of the desert, where hard work and grit are as second nature to survive the harsh conditions. A man frustrated with the King of Hyrule’s shit, and forced to swear fealty to him despite being a King himself. A man resplendent with wealth, with fine and flashy clothes and plentiful jewelry.

And perhaps the most important note of all, the Gerudo in OoT?

They’re horse people.

They love horses. Ganondorf’s horse is reputed to be a purebred Black Gerudo Stallion, which is obviously a specialty breed, that is fully armoured and as flashy as he is. When the Gerudo cut the bridge leading to the valley, the only way in and out is to have a skilled horse jump the gap.

They also have a huge horseback archery range, and prowess in the sport is an incredible source of respect amongst the Gerudo, and many of the guards possess bladed polearms suitable for mounted use. From this, it can be assumed that during the recent civil war, Gerudo weapons, war tack and military tactics were probably built around mounted cavalry archers foremost, with a lesser focus on light and heavy cavalry aside (iron knuckle armour springs to mind).

Anyway, Horses are very important to the Gerudo in the era of Ocarina of Time.

So Ganondorf is also unique in the sense that he is the King of a people who value what it is that Ingo does very highly. He, of all people, stands to immediately recognise the knowledge and skill that Ingo possesses in rearing horses.

So this is a man who successfully stages a coup of Hyrule, who clearly inspires Ingo to do much the same of the ranch, and who Ingo also feels is very likely to take his side should he appeal the matter.

And Ganondorf does.

And if that’s not a great compliment to Ingo’s actual skill, I don’t know what is, because Ganondorf is not a man that suffers fools. He’s got a limited patience when it comes to shit that is beneath his notice. Clearly, he recognises that Ingo is indeed the backbone of that ranch-- and the main reason for the quality of its Horses-- and rewards this accordingly.

And for Ingo, being on decent terms with the big scary goth King is a very, very good place to be. But it’s more than that!

What a guy! Not only did he deliver on Ingo’s long due validation, he gave Ingo everything he’d ever dreamed of having to his name, and the authority to kick Talon to the curb. He gets it! Ganondorf, this great eight foot beacon of freshly sought divine power and topaz-encrusted glory, this absolute unit of a man, this great underdog horse-lover after Ingo’s own heart; he really understands how great Ingo is. Ganondorf is paving the way for people like them! Oh, to rub shoulders wiht such greatness when the rest of Hyrule is scorned.

Ingo feels seen. The Great Ganondorf made all that thankless time spent shovelling horse shit while Talon slept mean something. The Gerudo appreciate Ingo’s talents.

And all Ingo has to do is keep turning out really good horses, and promise to present the King with his finest.

So Ingo knows he’s in deep shit when he gets cocky and loses Epona to a wager, who at this point, he’s prepared pretty well and sunk a lot of money into on the idea that she’s going to Ganondorf.

Who he’s probably bragged to about how fast she is.

He lost her to some jerk in tights who’d barely ridden before, too. And then when Ingo tried to cheat him out of the win, the kid jumped the damned fence an in ass-bustingly cool move that really just drove home how excellent and rare Epona was.

One does not promise the King of the Gerudo a fast horse and then fail to deliver, let alone for such a stupid reason.

Honestly, by the end, the man’s just happy to be alive.

Also I’d like to think he and Talon had a much fairer delegation of work and forgave each other, each really learning to appreciate what they have and what’s really important.

how the fuck did the Kokiri leave the forest for this scene anyway, they don’t even have their faries???

#tloz #tloz oot #Ocarina of time #legend of zelda ocarina #nostalgia #ingo #malon #talon #lon lon ranch #hyrule #zelda meta #legend of zelda #gerudo #ganondorf #zelda discussion #zelda theory

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after-avenging-hours · 4 years ago

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Under Consent of the King: Steve x Reader x Bucky

This story is inspired by the myth that the word ‘fuck’ comes from Fornication Under Consent of the King, where sex had basically been outlawed unless permitted by the king. I have spun the myth a little to make it so that sex out of wedlock can be permitted by the king. This fic follows an established poly-relationship between King!Steve, the Reader, and Knight!Bucky.

Word Count: 10,481 (holy cow this is the longest one-shot I have ever written)

Warnings: NSFW Content (18+), Poly relationship, m/f/m, oral (f/r), unprotected sex, oral (m/r), threesome

The metallic twang of clashing swords rings in your ears. The sound travels through your eardrums as a vibration, just as the power vibrates through your arms with each hit. You ground your feet into the dirt below you, planting yourself like a tree to be unmovable as your opponent tries to force you to yield.

In a battle of strength, you and Natasha are fairly evenly matched. You know that she’s testing how tired you’ve become. Sweat beads down your temple and makes the cotton of your loose tunic stick to your back. Your chest heaves for breath, the air burning in your lungs from the exertion of the fight.

The weight of her blade is lifted and you immediately shift your stance. No longer planted down, you move light on your feet as the two of you circle each other. You keep your balance easily with the leather boots on your feet and your movement is unencumbered by the tight breeches you wear.

Both of your hands tighten their grip on the hilt of your sword as you prepare for her next attack. You don’t have to wait long. She darts forward and your swords meet with another clang. There’s an uncomfortable screech of metal as your blade slides down the length of hers until you have locked the hilt of your sword against hers.

Natasha’s momentum is still driving her forward as you twist to the side while your swords remain locked. Her eyes widen a fraction as one of your hands slips from the hilt of your sword to grip one of her wrists. You use her momentum against her and while she careens forward, you unlock your blades and tug at her arm. This forces her to flip forward before she lands with a harsh thud on her back.

With the wind knocked out of her, she lays motionless for a second. Just long enough for you to place the tip of your sword at her throat and call an end to the match.

She coughs the air back into her lungs before her lips split into a wide grin as she looks up at you. “You’ve got some new tricks up your sleeves.”

You grin back, sheathing your blade and holding your hand out to help her to her feet. “I may have picked up a few things on my travels.”

“I do hope you’ll share.”

With a hold on each other’s forearms, you lift her out of the dirt. “In time. I do thoroughly enjoy the idea of using them to best you first.”

Her green eyes narrow, but her smile continues to shine.

“Are the two of you quite finished?” you both turn your gazes to the approaching knight. Dark brown hair falls in waves just passed his stubble chin. Focused and piercing blue eyes capture yours. A small frown tilts his plump lips. “She had barely stepped foot on the castle grounds before you whisked her off to a duel. At least let her rest from her journey, Natasha.” Though he speaks to the redhead beside you, his gaze is solely trained on you.

You can hear the snicker from your friend. “He’s been insufferable the entire time you’ve been gone,” she tells you, low enough that he can’t hear. “They both have.” Releasing your arm, she takes a step back and gives a sweeping bow. “I leave her in your capable hands, Commander Barnes.” She smirks knowingly before heading off.

Taking Natasha’s lead, you place a fist over your heart and bow. “You bless me with your presence, Lord James.”

“Stop that,” he chastises lightly as his frown deepens.

He catches sight of your cheeky grin when you straighten back up. It’s infectious and melts the frown from his lips. His eyes soften as he reaches a hand out to cup your cheek. His gaze sweeps over your features, taking in everything within sight. “How was your journey?”

“Sam should have given his full report to the council. Were you not paying attention?” Your eyes light with mischief and amusement. You had spent the better part of the last four months on a diplomatic mission with one of the King’s most trusted advisors, Sam. You traveled the neighboring kingdoms, reviewing terms of the treaties in place to keep the peace between your lands. Sam, with his charming smile, kind eyes, and fair-weather attitude had been perfect for the task. He could ease tensions between two bickering nobles with a grace and finesse like no other.

You had been assigned as part of his protection detail. Though it was really only a formality. Sam Wilson was more than capable of taking care of himself. But as the Black Rose of Brooklyn, a name granted to you by your King upon achieving your knighthood status, you had a reputation of your own to uphold.

James narrows his gaze at you. “Yes, I paid attention. I’m not asking about the diplomacy, I’m asking about you.”

You laugh, enjoying the fact that you can still so easily get under his skin. Looping your arm through his, the two of you walk side by side as you leave the training grounds and head for the gardens.

“Did any of those idiot noblemen give you trouble?”

You grin to yourself, sensing the jealousy in his voice. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“They try to touch you?” he presses, his jaw tightening at the thought.

You look at him with amusement, “They couldn’t have even if they wanted to.” Pulling him to a stop beneath the shade of a large tree, you turn to stand in front of him. “If it’s my virtue you ask about, you needn’t be so concerned.”

With just a few short steps he has your back pressed to the trunk of the tree. Blue flame flickers behind his gaze, as the heat from his body seeps into yours. “How can I be concerned over a virtue I have already taken?”

His lips are on you before you can respond. You moan into his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair and pull him closer. His hips rock forward, grinding the beginnings of his arousal against you. You realize that he must have already been half-hard after seeing your duel with Natasha. It’s no secret that watching you wield a sword gets his blood hot.

You can count on one hand the number of men you would willingly relinquish control and submit to. James knows that he’s one of them. He dominates the kiss and controls your body as if it were his own. One of his hands slides passed your hip and over your thigh, slipping beneath the sword strapped at your waist to lift your leg up and more easily slot his erection between your spread thighs. He locks your knee against his hip and thrusts into you.

A whimper escapes from your lips as he pulls his away.

“I missed you,” his hushed confession wisps over your face.

“Yes, I can tell,” you giggle teasingly.

His eyes blaze in warning before he gives a harder thrust against you, catching the head of his cock against where you’re certain that your own arousal is beginning to seep through your pants. “Did you miss me?” he prompts in question.

Your teasing smile turns tender, “You know that I did.”

He brushes his nose against yours and kisses both of your closed eyelids. “I will have you again tonight,” he pledges with promise.

You hum languidly, pulling your hands from his hair to rest them over his broad shoulders. “You will need consent from the king.”

His eyes flash with desire. “Meet me tonight when the moon is at its peak. You know where.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He gives you one last bruising kiss before escorting you back to the castle and returning to his duties. You make your way through the castle to your personal chambers where lunch and a hot bath are already waiting for you. A soft smile curls at your lips as your heart flutters for the man you know is responsible for ensuring these were made ready for you.

A grape is plucked from the lunch platter and popped into your mouth, the sweet flavor bursting on your tongue as you bite into its flesh. Your hands then move to the belt at your waist, undoing the buckle with familiar ease and resting your sword against the wall. You discard the remainder of your clothes and choose a few scented oils from the selection in the basket left near the tub. Once the desired fragrance has filled your senses, you sink into the delectable heat of the bath.

The lunch platter has been strategically placed on a table within arm’s reach from your reclined position, so you continue to enjoy your lunch while simultaneously basking in the bliss of your bath. After the months of travel and the strain of spending days at a time on horseback, your body is more than happy to receive a little pampering. Your muscles relax with the swirling heat and your head floats on sweetly scented clouds.

With the platter mostly cleared and the water beginning to cool, you take the time to wash away the sweat and grime from your skin and hair before stepping out of the water and wrapping yourself in a drying cloth. With a full belly and sated muscles, you spend the rest of your afternoon cooped up in your chambers, allowing yourself to indulge in the rest you know your body is going to need.

It’s late in the evening when you finally emerge. Most of the castle is asleep. With a finger curled into the loop at the side of the metal holding dish, the single candle helps to light your way as you travel through the darkened halls. Your bare feet are silent on the plush red carpet that stretches over the expansive hallways. The material of your dressing gown swirls around your legs with each step.

You climb a set of stairs and follow the length of another long hall before reaching your destination. Your free hand reaches out to caress the ornately carved wooden doors. They are certainly a welcomed sight after spending so long away from the castle. Curling your hand into a fist, you rap two sharp knocks against the wood.

It takes a short second before the door on the left is pulled inward. Icy blue eyes catch the light of your flickering candle as his gaze sweeps over you. James smirks and steps back, permitting your entrance into the grand chambers. He takes the candle holder from your hands and indicates for you to step deeper into the room with a jerk of his head.

Following his line of direction, you spot the seated figure in the middle of the spacious bedroom. The fire burning in the hearth at the far corner of the room casts shades of red and orange through his normally golden locks. He watches your approach with a sharp gaze. Gathering the folds of your dressing gown between your fingers, you stretch the fabric out and fall into a curtsey. “Your majesty,” you greet humbly.

You keep your gaze lowered, despite hearing the rustle of fabric as he stands from his chair. He towers over your hunched form, but his hand is gentle when it cups your chin and guides you back upright. Your eyes lift and meet his, watching how they glide over your features.

“How is it that your time away has only made you more beautiful?” his hushed words caress your lips like a teasing lover.

Your heart pounds in your chest and there’s a pleasurable flutter in your stomach. “Thank you, my King.”

He tilts your chin up even higher, baring your neck to him as his own face angles downward. Your body shivers in delight at the way his nose slopes down your neck. He breathes in deep and slow, taking in the remnants of the scented oils on your skin. A low hum reverberates through his chest, sending prickling awareness to your nether regions. “Jasmine and rose. I trust you enjoyed the bath I had drawn up for you, then?” his head pulls back, eyes catching yours once against.

Your fingers clench at the fabric of your dressing gown, trying desperately to resist the urge to reach out for him. “Yes, very much. Thank you, my King.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he attempts to fight his smile. “How many times must I tell you that there is no need for formalities when it’s just the three of us? Why do you persist?”

It’s a losing battle to fight against your own smile. “Because I know how much you secretly enjoy it.”

He loses his own fight as his lips stretch into a tilted smirk. “Well then, your King would like to formally welcome you home.”

The blood runs hot in your veins as your body buzzes with the excitement of what’s about to come. “I accept your formal invitation but hope for a rather informal welcome.”

One of his hands, large and strong, glides against the small of your back, pulling you in closer to his frame. “As you wish,” his mouth slants over yours.

You hum happily into his kiss, arms wrapping loosely around his neck. The hand at your back pulls you even closer until any possible space between your bodies has been sealed. His other hand moves to cradle the back of your head, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Kisses from your king hit differently than those that come from your armored knight. Where Sir Barnes kisses you like you’re in the midst of battle, giving way to hurried touches and fervent desire; King Rogers kisses you like he’s leading you through a twirling waltz, providing languid caresses and passionate yearning. Both men have their own methods of stripping you down to your barest parts. Like fire and ice. Like wind and rock. Two sides of the same coin. It’s a currency only you can understand.

You’ve loved the two of them together nearly your whole life. As the daughter of the Knight Commander, you’d had the privilege of growing up in the castle alongside both of them. In your earlier years, you all shared your literacy and etiquette lessons. When Steve reached his twelfth summer and had finally begun to grow out of the ailments that used to plague his young body, he and Bucky were taken from you to begin their knighthood training. You were forced into new lessons better fitted for your gender. Or so you were told.

One afternoon, after spending the morning watching the boys train from the windows of the library, you’d managed to pin them both down after their lessons and begged them to teach you how to fight. Steve had seemed hesitant but amenable to the idea, but Bucky had flat out refused. He’d told you that a battlefield was no place for a woman. That girls weren’t even capable of wielding a sword. His words made you so angry that you curled your fist back and punched him straight in the nose.

Your mother had been horrified once news spread around the castle about what you had done. Your father, however, had been markedly proud. You had been made to openly apologize to Bucky in front of Lord and Lady Barnes, but you were also enrolled in the knighthood lessons with them the very next day.

Bucky in his later years would eventually confess that despite the bloody nose and bruised ego, that had been the very moment that he fell in love with you.

A moment of revelation had never really occurred for you. You’re not sure when the love of children and friendship had turned into one of romantic attraction. You just know that there had always been enough room in your heart for the two of them.

Bucky had been your first. He had also been the logical choice. His skill with a blade allowed him to rise through the knighthood ranks. It was clear that in time he would replace your father’s position as Knight Commander. He was boyish and charming, kissing you in the spiral stairwells, fleeting touches during combat practice, flirting while you held a blade to his throat. You gave him your virtue one night in the highest tower of the castle, beneath the light of a full moon. It was perfect. It made sense.

But there was still a part of you that seemed to long for your crowned prince.

When Steve caught wind of the budding romance between his two best friends, he began to recede into himself and drew away from the both of you. He dove headfirst into his royal duties as a distraction. He began to attend council meetings with his father, acting as the king’s shadow, learning all the intricacies of running the kingdom.

Your worry for his wellbeing grew the more that he shut both you and Bucky out. He always looked tired and stressed, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. You attempted to confront him on multiple occasions, asking if there was anything that you could do to help ease his burdens. You wanted to be there for your friend and to support the man you secretly loved. But he brushed you off every time.

As it would turn out, Steve’s dedication to his royal duties would be both a blessing and a curse. When the King and Queen of Brooklyn perished at sea during a winter storm, Steve was fully capable and ready to ascend to the throne. Your fear for his health grew tenfold when he completely retreated from everyone during the month of mourning after the loss of his parents. He took his meals in his study, sometimes slept in there too. He buried himself in work instead of allowing his mind and body a chance to heal as is intended for the allotted month before he would be crowned king.

On the night before his coronation, you snuck into his bed chambers, picking the lock with the method Bucky had taught you both as children to steal sweets from the kitchen pantry. Steve had been surprised to see you, curled up in a chair by the fire with a book in his lap instead of sleeping like he should have been before such an important day. When he asked what you were doing there, you’d responded by telling him you were there to support your best friend.

You remember seeing the hope flicker in his eyes before it was quickly snuffed out like a candle. He attempted to brush you off once again, telling you that he didn’t need anyone. When you stood your ground and told him that you weren’t leaving, he quickly grew angry, unused to your defiance. He tossed the book aside and stood from his chair, resorting to intimidation by lording his bulky frame over yours. You held his gaze challengingly and stated quite clearly that it was impossible for a single man to run an entire kingdom by himself. And that whether he liked it or not, he wasn’t alone in facing the trials that lay before him. You weren’t going to let him push you away any longer.

You had finished your speech by launching yourself at him, burying your face into his warm chest, wrapping your arms tight around his torso, and praying that he wouldn’t force you to leave.

He hadn’t.

For the first few moments of your embrace, he had stood perfectly still, like a statue, unable to reciprocate or push you away as his mind tried to catch up with what was happening. And then almost hesitantly, as if he was afraid you might vanish into thin air if he moved too fast, his arms began to circle around you. When he realized that you weren’t going to disappear on him, his hold on you became uncomfortably tight. He gripped you with a desperation that nearly broke your heart. When his shoulders began to shake and your own shoulder grew wet, your heart really did break.

You continued to hold him as he cried. You held him when his legs grew weak and he sunk to the floor. You pulled him in close and ran soothing fingers through his hair and down his neck, encouraging him to let it all out. He cried over the grief of losing his parents. He cried over the fear of the responsibilities and unknowns that would fall to him as king. He cried over the wasted weeks spent pushing you away when being here in your arms was exactly where he’d longed to be.

You sat patiently in his lap, allowing him all the time he needed to work through his emotions. It had been long overdue and you weren’t about to rush it. When he finally lifted his head from your shoulder, he had looked at you like you were everything. It was a look that made your heart race and your stomach flutter, even with his red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. It was in that moment that a confession of love had slipped passed his lips before he pressed them to yours.

Your eyes widened in shock at his unexpected kiss. You didn’t respond, but also couldn’t find the strength in your heart to push him away.

When Steve finally realized what he had been doing he pulled away abruptly with a string of apologies falling from his mouth. In a flurry of movement that your shocked mind had been unable to fully process, Steve had lifted you off the floor and deposited you into the hall outside his chamber door. His eyes flashed you a look of pure heartbreak as one last apology left him before the door fell shut.

You don’t know how long you spent standing there, eyes unfocused and fingers pressed to your lips. In a sort of daze, you made your way through the halls of the castle, barely regaining your presence of mind as your fingers rapped against a different door. Bucky was a light sleeper, so it hadn’t taken him long to come to the door. When he saw the upset look on your face, he knew immediately that something was wrong. All he had to do was ask before a full confession tumbled out of you.

You don’t even know why you had told him the complete and honest truth about what had just transpired between you and Steve. But Bucky wasn’t just your lover. He was also your best friend and confidant. You knew that you could tell him anything and would receive no judgment.

He listened intently and made no comment until he was sure you were finished. Grabbing the sides of your face, he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to your forehead. He whispered words of assurance, telling you that everything would be okay before he took one of your hands within his and marched you back in the direction you had just come from.

In true Bucky Barnes fashion, he barreled his way straight back into Steve’s private chambers. As he made his way straight for his future King a flash of fear shot through Steve’s eyes. You admit that you may have felt a bit of that fear yourself because you had no idea what Bucky had planned to do.

You never could have guessed what was going to happen next. As soon as Steve was within arm’s reach, Bucky’s free hand darted out. In the next second, he was slipping your hand into Steve’s. The blonde gave his friend a look of confusion before his eyes drifted down to where his fingers were curled around yours. Your hand fit perfectly against his like it was something that was always meant to be.

This time, it was Bucky’s turn to provide a confession. He told you that he loved you both more than anything in the kingdom. He admits that he’d always known that he wasn’t the only man to hold a place in your heart and that he believed the love you felt for both of them was not meant to cause a divide between their friendship but was instead meant to be shared. The three of you had always been your best when you were all together. Why should this be any different?

That night, you showered your prince with love and kisses while Bucky taught him all the methods he had come to learn in the art of bringing you pleasure. Like with most things, Steve proved to be a quick study. By the time the three of you collapsed into a pile of tangled limbs across Steve’s expansive bed, the sun’s rays had already started to peak over the horizon. Later that same day, both you and Bucky stood at his side while Steve was crowned King of Brooklyn.

You are pulled from your memories by the slip of Steve’s tongue into your mouth. You moan at the taste of him. You aren’t able to get nearly enough before he is leaning away. A low chuckle escapes him as you attempt to give chase. His hand moves from the back of your head to cradle the edge of your jaw, thumb swiping over the wet saliva clinging to your lower lip.

He looks at you with a hooded gaze. “Tell me, how did the other kingdoms treat our beautiful Black Rose of Brooklyn?”

You give him a knowing look. Both Sam and Bucky would have given him their full reports by now, and yet, he still wants to hear it from you. “I didn’t start any wars if that’s what you’re asking.”

He grins at the bite in your tone. “They have certainly started for less. If ever there were a face that could launch a thousand ships, it would be yours.”

A satisfied flutter tickles your belly as you laugh. “My, haven’t we become quite the flatterer? Those lessons with Bucky are surely paying off.” You glance over your shoulder at your dark-haired lover, who watches your every move with keen interest. You shoot him a wink before turning back to your king. “Has he asked for your consent?”

Steve’s gaze darkens considerably. “He has.”

The deep tenor of his voice makes you shiver. “And did you give it?”

“Not yet,” he releases his hold from your waist and steps back giving a long sweep of his gaze over your figure. “Acts of pleasure are a sin when conducted out of wedlock. Only permissible as fornication under consent of the king. First, you must present yourself to your King for inspection.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, a thrill of excitement running through you at the prospects of that. A teasing smirk tilts your already kiss swollen lips. Your hands fall to the tie at the front of your robe and your hips sway with every step you take backward toward the gigantic bed that’s centered against the back wall. “You both truly believe that I’ve been naughty, don’t you?” They follow your movements with heated eyes and tense shoulders. Two elite hunters after their delectably sweet prey.

With a slow tug, you free the knot at your waist. In one move, the dressing gown is pushed from your shoulders and pools delicately at your feet. The two men look poised and ready to pounce as your naked body is instantly bared to them. Taking it one step further, the back of your knees hit the cushioned bench at the foot of the king’s bed. You lower yourself elegantly onto the soft cushions before leaning back to prop your elbows up on the foot of the plush mattress behind you.

Your gaze flickers between two sets of gorgeous eyes in varying shades of molten blue. You settle back on those of your king. You continue to hold his gaze as your knees lift and pull apart until your feet are settled on the top edge of the bench as far spread as you can allow with your thighs stretched open. “I surrender myself to the king’s inspection.”

Both men swallow thickly, eyes traveling to the apex of your thighs where the firelight makes the slick of your arousal glisten. “Would you be opposed if I took her first pleasure this evening?” Steve asks, eyes still trained on the feast laid bare before him.

Bucky smirks darkly. “It’s within your rights, my King.” He yields, knowing that it will be just as pleasurable to watch while he waits for his turn.

Steve stalks toward you like an apex predator. His right hand grips the back of your calf, lifting your foot off the cushioned bench to hook your leg around his waist. His knee lands on the bench beneath your thigh aiding in locking your leg around him. His left hand falls to the mattress above your shoulder as he takes his place above your prone position.

The open collar of his cream-colored shirt hangs loose in the front, revealing a teasing hint at the muscles of his torso that lie beneath the cotton material. “Why do you conceal yourself from me?” you ask with a pout.

He breathes a short laugh, “In due time, my love. First, you must prove you are worthy of your king’s consent.”

Dropping from your elbows onto the mattress, you reach your hand out to grab his wrist above where his hand holds the side of your knee. You guide his hand as it travels the length of your thigh until his fingers are curled against your wet heat. “I trust that you will be pleased with your findings.” Your breasts heave in anticipation as you hold his gaze with lidded eyes.

His nostrils flare and his jaw ticks as he fights to maintain his composure. Thick fingers circle your entrance, ticking your folds and collecting your slick. He watches your face intently as one finger pushes its way into you. Your lips part in a shaky breath and whatever sound you had planned to make gets caught in your throat.

The king’s brow furrows. Even with the abundance of arousal, your body is slightly resistant to the intrusion of his finger. He works his way into you gently until you finally take him all the way to the knuckle.

“How does she feel?” Bucky’s voice sounds distant due to the blood rushing in your ears.

“Tight,” Steve responds, still looking at you curiously. “She can barely even take a single finger.”

You clench around the single digit, hips jutting against his palm. “Have I restored your trust in my faithfulness?” you ask, your voice breaking from the restraint it takes to not fuck yourself with reckless abandon against his one finger.

Steve’s kingly façade falls away in an instant as a look of tender affection softens his features. “Oh love… your faith was never in question.”

The bed dips to your right as Bucky sits on the edge of the mattress. His hand stretches out to slowly stroke his fingers across your cheek. “When were you last touched?”

Embarrassment prevents you from meeting his gaze until the feathered touch on your cheek makes you turn your head toward him. “The morning I left Brooklyn.”

Steve’s finger pulls out of you, drawing your attention back to him. “You knew that we were joking when we forbade you from any indulgences without us, didn’t you?” He shoots Bucky a worried look, wondering if they had taken their jests too far.

“Yes, I knew,” you assure him quickly. “I never once, not even for a second, believed that you could be serious in such matters. I just… couldn’t.” Your voice falls away, unsure of how to properly explain yourself.

“Did you not think of us when you were away?” Bucky asks you.

Your eyes widen, horrified that he could have such thoughts. You reach your hand out to clasp his and thread your fingers between his. “I thought of you both every moment of every day. My body ached with how desperately I missed you. But… the touch of my own hands cannot compare to how my body lights up when I am with either of you. I know that it had been said in jest the morning of my departure, but my pleasure really does belong to the two of you alone. Relishing in the memories of your touch is not enough to sustain me. I need you.”

“You have us,” Steve promises. “Always and forever.” He leans down and places a chaste kiss over your heart. With his head lifted back up, he meets your gaze once more. “Now four months is a terribly long time to have gone without the touch of pleasure. It would be my honor to bring you to release, my love.”

Your leg tightens around his waist as a shiver makes its way through you. “Please,” you beg. Your body is wound tighter than a bowstring that’s seconds away from the snap.

His hand returns to your leg. With a gentle nudge, he pulls your calf off of him for a brief moment, only to then promptly fall to his knees before you as he guides your leg to rest in place, draped over his shoulder. It’s both a humbling and empowering feeling that floods you whenever your king kneels before you. The man who holds the highest power in the kingdom and he will forsake it in the name of bringing you pleasure. It’s a feeling you don’t get to bask in for very long because once he has his mouth on you, all coherent thought vanishes in an instant.

Steve is an insatiable and enthusiastic lover. In everything he does, he gives his complete and undivided attention. He places your second leg on his other shoulder before clamping his hands over the tops of your thighs and ravishes you like a man starved.

“O-Oh!” you cry out, back arching and body writhing against the onslaught of his talented tongue. He laps over your slit and suckles your folds. Your slick paints his cheeks and his chin with the evidence of your pleasure, and he revels in it. The wet slurping sounds he makes as he devours you whole is enough to send you adrift.

Floating in an ocean of decadent carnality, there is no set course or final destination. There is only the here and now, and that is more than enough.

He pierces your entrance with his thick tongue. He laves at you, long and slow, getting your body to relax and give into him. When you are completely pliable beneath him, he pulls his face back enough to slip his finger back into your moist heat.

He watches how your body takes him as he gently thrusts the one finger into you. The wet squelch of your arousal encourages him to slip a second finger inside you. The resistance is minimal and this pleases him greatly. He shows his appreciation by trailing a series of wet butterfly kisses across your thighs and lower belly, all while continuing to bring you to the brink with his fingers.

They curl into your upper wall, pressing and rubbing at the place he knows will make your thighs shake. By the time his lips begin to descend back down your pubic mound, he’s got you stuffed full with three of his fingers.

His last kiss settles over your straining clit. He knows that he’s been denying her, but that had been his plan all along. Now that he was finally where your body craved him to be most of all, he had no plans on leaving until after you screamed his name in ecstasy.

“Oh my- Ah!” your hips buck against his face as you thrash beneath him. The hand at your thigh hooks over your abdomen to keep you pinned down. He works at your pleasure center from both angles, driving his fingers in deep and curling them into you, while his mouth ravishes your clit from above.

He flicks his tongue over the taut bud and sucks her deep into his mouth. He moans from deep within his chest and the sound travels straight to your core. Your climax starts to come at you like a charging boar. It’s strong, loud, and makes the entire earth quake.

“Steve! Don’t stop! Oh! I’m going- I’m coming- STEVE!”

Your thighs clamp around his head and though they are powerful from your knighthood training, he persists in his endeavor to bring you the greatest pleasure you have ever known. His fingers fuck you through your orgasm, feeling how you clench and tremble around them.

When the pleasure becomes too much to handle, you reach your hand down and tug gently at his blonde locks. He releases your clit from the confines of his mouth and blinks his stormy blue eyes up at you. You laugh breathlessly, “If the ladies of court knew what you could do with that mouth of yours, there would be a line from here to Asgard.”

His lips spread into a wide, self-satisfied smile; the evidence of your arousal smeared from cheek to cheek. “Now who is the flatterer?” He carefully removes his fingers from between your legs and presses a soft kiss to the inside of each of your knees as he slides your legs off of his shoulders. When he stands back up, he gives your form one last sweep of his eyes before looking to Bucky. “She’s ready for you.”

Steve turns his back to you and with all the regal confidence that comes with being king, he makes his way back to his chair. He lowers himself evenly onto the plush cushioned seat, back straight, knees spread. He sets his elbow on the armrest and with his chin resting on his palm, he slips the fingers that had just been inside of you into the hot cavern of his mouth. His free hand settles over the bulge in his trousers, stoking at his hardened length through the material.

You feel Bucky’s hands clasp your arms just beneath your shoulders. That’s the only warning you get before he completely hoists your body up onto the mattress. You laugh in giddy arousal at his display of strength. After only one orgasm, you’re already drunk on pleasure. You turn your body to face his and are pleasantly surprised to see that he’s already shed his clothing. He must have disrobed while Steve was having his way with you.

You crawl into his lap settling quite comfortably over his thick thighs. A wide grin stretches your lips as your arms circle loosely around his neck. “Hello, Dearest,” you greet, nudging your nose playfully against his.

His eyes sparkle in amusement. “Did I not say that I would have you again tonight?” he grins in triumph, arms curling around you with his hands splayed across your back.

You run your fingers slowly over the stubble along his jawline. “I do believe the real question here is how will you have me, Commander Barnes?” You rock your hips forward, pressing your wet heat against the hardened length that rests between your thighs.

His hands fall to your ass giving each globe a generous squeeze. “I will have you screaming out my name until the entire castle knows who it is that brings you such pleasure.”

“My, aren’t we confident?” you laugh sensually.

With strong arms keeping your body pinned to his chest, he begins to lower you down onto your back, stretched out horizontally across the foot of the bed to ensure that Steve still has the best view. “I will have you quivering on my cock and begging for more.” He settles himself over you, dark strands tickling your cheeks as they fall in a curtain around your face. “I will have you balanced on the edge of ecstasy, pleading for a taste of sweet relief, but unable to claim it until your Commander allows it.”

He grinds his erection against your folds, coating himself in your slick. He continues to hold your gaze as he balances on one bent arm to reach down and align his bulbous head with your entrance. A gentle nudge is all it takes before be he starts to sink into you.

“God in heaven…” his shaky breath fans over your cheeks. “You really haven’t been stretched in a while,” he grunts at the way you squeeze around him. He keeps his pace slow, moving only an inch at a time. “She won’t be taking us together any time soon,” he sends a smirk over his shoulder to Steve.

The king sends back a dark smile, his fingers falling from his mouth and tracing wet trails over his lips. “We can work her back up to it.”

Both his response and the feeling of the cock stretching you out cause a needy whimper to fall from your lips.

When he is finally sheathed, Bucky guides your legs up around his waist. He grinds into you with slow circles, allowing your body to adjust to being stretched around his girth. He peppers your face and neck with sweet kisses. “I have longed for our reunion from the moment you rode passed the castle gates. Four months is far too long to be without you, my love,” he declares, rubbing his nose against yours. “You are correct in stating that the memory of our lovemaking is nothing in comparison to our actual joining. Nothing on this earth can compare to the feeling of being inside you.”

He pulls out about halfway before slowly easing back in, testing the limits of your body. However, there is no resistance and no sign of discomfort on your face, just complete adoration and love for the man above you. His lips slant over yours as he begins to quicken his pace, so that he may taste your pleasured moans on his tongue.

He slams into you with feverish intent, driven by the sound of skin slapping against skin. Your nails dig into the muscles on his back and your hips rise to his every thrust. There are some nights when you attempt to fight him for dominance, but tonight you are supple and pliant beneath him. Like iron burning red hot from the flames of a forge, yet malleable and ready to be formed into something new. He can bend and mold you into any shape. Pound you down and smooth you over. He’d work his hands to the bone until you were absolutely perfect.

Your moans taste like heaven against his lips. He pulls his mouth back so that he might hear them ring like bells around the room. You gasp for breath and inhale the heady scent of raw sex. Your head falls to the side, eyes a little bleary as they land on your king.

His bare chest glistens in the firelight with a thin sheen of sweat; his shirt discarded to the floor. His trousers have been unbuttoned and shoved down just enough to free his straining cock. He strokes his length with deliberate slowness and watches the sight before him with rapt interest.

Bucky takes the opportunity of your turned head to sink his teeth into your exposed neck. You cry out as pain mixes with pleasure, eyes falling shut and back arching into him. An arm slips between your bowed back and the mattress, locking you in place against him. He sucks on the fresh bite and laps at it with a wet tongue. You shiver within his hold.

When your eyes blink back open and the haze in your vision has cleared, you realize that the chair is now empty.

A small frown of confusion pulls at your lips before you hear the voice come from behind you. “Bring her to the edge.”

A flood of arousal nearly makes Bucky slip out of you at the sound of Steve’s voice. You tilt your head back as far as you can against the mattress. Even upside-down, he’s an absolute vision. He stands naked at the side of the bed, one knee propped up on the mattress, a hand still stroking his cock. It’s enough to make your mouth water.

Bucky uses the power of his hips to thrust your body over the sheets of the bed and to the edge where Steve waits. You are guided into place with your head just hanging over the edge. Your hands quickly reach up to replace Steve’s grip with your own.

You hear Bucky’s low laughter, “Look how eager she is.” He holds himself still, buried to the hilt inside you.

“See? There’s still a way for her to take us both,” Steve grins back.

His hands cradle the sides of your face, palms to your cheeks, and fingers curling over the edge of your jaw. His thumbs slide to the ends of your mouth before pulling back your plump lower lip guiding your mouth open. Your hands bring the fat head of his cock in closer until the salty taste of his pre-cum hits your tongue.

You moan your appreciation, lapping at the slit for more. Steve shudders at the sensation of your tongue against him. Your jaw opens as wide as it can go as you begin to work him deeper into your mouth.

“That’s it,” he huffs, thumbs stroking your jawline encouragingly.

With your head back and your neck stretched, it opens your throat and makes it easier to take his length deeper. You swallow around the head of his cock and use your grip on his base to encourage him to keep going. Both men watch in highly aroused fascination as your neck expands around the intrusion of Steve’s cock down your throat.

You take him all the way, tightening your throat around him and ignoring the tears in your eyes that are welling up from taking him so deep. Steve forces himself to remain still and resists the instinct to rut into your sensitive throat. But god, the way it tightens around him is driving him insane. After a few seconds pass, he pulls himself back to give you room to breathe.

You swallow the excess saliva in your mouth and take a few panting breaths before urging Steve’s cock back into your mouth and down your throat. It’s easier to take him the second time. By the third round, Bucky has begun a gentle series of thrusts, his own cock twitching from inside you.

Both men find a rhythm that works for them without making you too uncomfortable. They work at you from both ends, using your body to fulfill their own needs. Bucky’s thrusts make your throat jolt around Steve’s cock and the abuse of your throat makes you clench around Bucky’s. They take their pleasure from you and you are more than happy to give it to them.

When it starts to become a bit too much for you to handle, a squeeze at Steve’s hip is all that is required to have him pulling back. “Are you okay?” he asks, curling a hand to the back of your head to lift it up and meet your gaze.

“A little dizzy,” you admit, your voice coming out hoarse.

Steve immediately moves to help you sit up while Bucky pulls out of you to do the same. You’re instantly sandwiched between their warm, muscular bodies; Bucky holding you to his chest while Steve molds his to your back. It makes your heart leap at how quickly they can switch from seeking their own pleasure to ensuring your comfort and well-being. You know that your love for them would never have run this deep if they weren’t such caring individuals.

“Sorry I couldn’t-” you try to begin an apology but are gently shushed before you can finish.

Steve’s hand cradles your face and turns it toward him. “You did well, my love,” he assures you. Another reason to love him. There’s no disappointment or resentment that you weren’t able to take him until completion, just gentle understanding and tender affection. He places a chaste kiss to your spit-soaked lips.

When he pulls back, Bucky guides your face to his until your foreheads touch. “If you are feeling unwell, let us know and we will stop now.” You know without a doubt that the two of them would abandon their arousal in an instant if you told them you couldn’t proceed.

You give him a fond smile. “I am alright,” you assure him. “And I will not rest until both my lovers are fully sated and satisfied.”

Steve releases a low chuckle, lips pressed to the hair above your temple. “You may be in for a long night then.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” you grin cheekily. With one hand, you reach for Steve’s hold at your waist. You pull his touch across your stomach until his arm is banded around your torso. Your other hand trails down Bucky’s Adonis belt to curl around the base of his shaft. His nostrils flare and his jaw ticks as you give him a long stroke. “Now, where were we?” you ask breathlessly.

His hands grip the back of your thighs as you rise onto your knees and align him with your entrance. Your body welcomes the now-familiar stretch as you sink down onto him. He grunts low through gritted teeth as he is enveloped back in your wet heat. He’d been close before stopping to come to your aid. Very close. The denied climax has made him overly sensitive. It sits just below the surface of his skin and sends tiny pricks of pleasure up his spine.

Steve pushes in tight against your back, molding every inch of bare flesh to yours. As you circle your hips around Bucky’s cock, you can feel that Steve’s is slotted between the globes of your ass, pressed to his lower abdomen. He grinds hard and slow against the cleft of your cheeks. His heavy breath on the back of your neck makes you shiver.

Bucky leans forward to mash his lips against yours and uses his powerful thighs to start thrusting up into you. The kiss is sloppy and wet. You’re sure that he must taste the remnants of Steve’s cock on your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he may even like it. The wet slap of sweaty skin fills the room, overpowering the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Every bounce on Bucky’s cock makes your ass jolt around Steve’s. Their balls slam into each other’s with a steady thwack and muscular thighs brush side by side beneath you. Bucky’s hands slide up your thighs and grab your ass in a bruising grip. He spreads your ass cheeks, making more room for Steve’s thick cock between them.

Steve’s hands glide up your rib cage and settle over your breasts. He molds them in his large hands and tweaks your nipples until they have grown stiff and over sensitive. Your mouth rips away from Bucky’s as you cry out to the heavens and throw your head back against Steve’s shoulder. You are being worked at from all angles by the two men you love most in the world. It’s pleasure beyond words. Beyond imagination, even.

Bucky uses his grip on your ass to change the angle of your hips just enough to ensure your clit catches against his pubic bone every time he slams home inside you. Your moans are getting louder and higher in pitch. Which is a good sign, because he is seconds away from bursting.

“Oh Bucky!” he hits you deep and grinds against your sensitized clit. The scent of sex is so thick it starts to make you dizzy all over again. Your thighs are shaking from barely restrained release. Every muscle in your body is pulled taut. Your arousal flows out of you in such abundance, it not only soaks Bucky’s cock, but also catches against the underbelly of Steve’s and also flows down their balls.

Your pleasured cries drive them both mad with desire. The heat that comes off their bodies traps you in an inferno. You have one arm tossed back to grip Steve’s neck; the other is thrown over Bucky’s shoulders. You draw them both in impossibly closer, allowing the perspiration on your skins to fuse you together into one being.

Animalistic instinct and carnal desire take over as lovemaking transitions to brutal fucking. Like the collapse of a log consumed by flames inside the hearth, there is a flare-up of energy. The control in both men is ripped to shreds as they rut against you like wolves in heat.

Each thrust is punctuated by their feral grunts and erotic moans. Their panting breaths send scattering waves across your feverish skin, providing only temporary relief from the savage heat that consumes you. Their muscles grow tense, balls pulled in tight, hands leaving bruises from their fierce grip on your body.

With your head thrown back, you cry out their names to the heavens above, alerting whatever God may be listening just who it is exactly that controls your pleasure. Your body begins to shake, hips jerking and breasts heaving as you hit your peak. Your walls clamp tight around Bucky and the muscles in your glutes clench as well.

“Oh fuck!” Bucky cries out before one last thrust results in his euphoric release. His body shudders and he buries his face into your neck as he spills into you.

From behind, Steve continues to rut against you. Once, twice… After the third, he releases a low grunt from deep within his chest, and then there is a hot splash against your lower back.

The three of you hold each other through your shared release; trembling from the aftershocks; covered in sweat, slick, and thick white cum. Some might call it debauched or hedonistic, but all you feel is the unbreakable threads of love that bind you to these two men. The moments where the three of you are able to bask together in your indulgence always seem to last an eternity. You feed off each other and reach new heights that had previously seemed impossible to grasp.

And when you’re ready to finally come back down to earth, it’s the embrace of each other’s arms that you return to. Bucky is nuzzling the hollow of your throat and Steve has his lips pressed to your temple. “I love you,” your voice comes out a little broken and raw. All the screaming certainly wouldn’t have helped after the way you took Steve’s cock.

Speaking of that, “Steve, you…” You hadn’t expected him to finish when he had.

“I know,” he soothes, thumbs gently tracing circles around your areolas, easing some of the aches in your breasts from his unrestrained hold earlier. “It has been a long four months for us as well. I hadn’t realized that I wouldn’t be able to stave off my release until it was too late.” His gentle hands release your breasts so that his arms can tighten around your torso. “No matter. Now that you are home, there will be plenty of time for me to refamiliarize myself with your body,” he pledges to you.

“Only if you are not pulled into council for hours on end,” your lips tug down into a pout.

He turns your face toward him with a touch to your jaw and kisses the pout from your lips. “You know that I will always make time for you. I love you, too,” he promises with one last kiss before guiding you into Bucky’s hold so that he can shift off the bed. Steve pads across the room, in all his naked glory, to a side table where a basin of water and a folded cloth lie in wait.

You are pulled from your observations when Bucky falls unceremoniously onto his back against the mattress, taking you with him. You land in a giggling heap against his chest. There’s a smug grin on his face and a satisfied flush to his cheeks. You fold your hands against his chest and rest your chin on top, continuing to hold his gaze.

You can hear the water getting rung out from the washcloth moments before the bed dips beneath Steve’s returning weight. The wet cloth is pressed to the base of your spine, eliciting a full-body shiver from you.

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes, “The water was warm earlier.”

“No, it feels good,” you assure him. The cool cloth is like a taste of heaven against your hot skin.

He cleans the mess of his release from you, wiping the evidence from your back and the curve of your ass. When he’s finished, Bucky rolls your relaxed form onto your back and takes the cloth into his own hands. His flaccid cock slips from between your legs. He’s quick to press the cloth against you to collect his own release as it leaks from between your slick folds. He uses gentle strokes against your sensitive channel, treating you with delicate care and sweet caresses.

After they have both made sure that you are comfortable and taken care of, they then clean themselves up before the three of you move to lay beneath the covers of the massive bed. You recline back, propped up slightly on a mountain of pillows. Steve lays to your left, cheek pressed to your shoulder while his fingers brush gentle patterns across your bare torso. He paints masterpieces across the dips and valleys of your breasts and stomach using just the touch of his fingertips.

Bucky is stretched out to your right. He is turned onto his side, with a bent elbow against the pillows, propping his head up to allow him to look down at you. His crystal blue gaze sweeps over every feature of your face. Once he has completed the path, he begins it all over again.

You do the same with him, a content smile tilting your kiss swollen lips. You lift your hand and run the back of your index finger along his jawline. “You are the most handsome knight in all the lands,” you mutter quietly, not wanting to disturb the tranquility that has settled over you. He releases a scoffing laugh with a sharp exhale through his nose, lips twitching in amusement. The smile on your own lips only grows. “Now that I am so well-traveled, I can say that with full confidence.”

Words that were meant to tease instead place a contemplative look on his face. You arch a curious brow as you wait for him to finish his thought and speak his mind. “If you had met someone else on your travels, you would tell us, wouldn’t you?” he finally asks.

Your head tilts in confusion. “I don’t believe I know what you mean…”

“Buck.” The stern tone of Steve’s voice sets you immediately on edge. Nothing ever good comes when he uses that tone of authority with either of you.

You turn your gaze quickly and catch the disapproving look in Steve’s gaze before he has the chance to school his features. “What does he mean?” you ask your blonde lover directly.

“It’s nothing that can’t wait until morning,” he attempts to appease you. When he sees the set of your jaw, he knows immediately that he has said the wrong thing.

You pushing yourself up to sit straight and square your shoulders. “I think I should like to hear it now.”

Steve releases a long sigh and runs his fingers through his unruly strands, sitting up as well. “Letters have been coming in at a constant rate from the other kingdoms over the last few months,” he begins.

“Letters addressed to you,” Bucky supplies next.

You give them both an expectant look, still not understanding the full picture.

“It would seem that in your journey, you left a string of yearning hearts in your wake,” Steve continues. “The letters are from various suitors asking for your hand in marriage.”

You stare at the two of them in blatant shock, eyes sweeping back and forth between their solemn gazes. “And you both thought that meant that I had met someone new…?” You can’t really help yourself when the laugh works its way out of your chest. It starts as a single burst, but quickly turns loud and boisterous until you manage to slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself restrained. “I’m sorry,” you giggle from between your fingers. You clear your throat and swallow the last of your amusement, noting the severity in your lovers’ eyes. “I can assure you that there is no one else. Those letters are only coming from a line of fools who wish to conquer the Black Rose of Brooklyn. They see me as a prize to be won. A trophy after completing their conquest. Nothing more.”

You reach out and take their hands into each of yours. “I know that the love we share is far from conventional, but I promise that my heart only belongs to the two of you. There is no space for anyone else. You will be my only loves for all of eternity.” You bring their hands up to your face and place a gentle kiss on their knuckles. They both give a light squeeze to your hands in return. “Is this why you have both been in such foul moods during my departure? We have spent time away from each other before, but I have been informed that you were both particularly brutish these last few months.”

They both share a chastened look.

“Oh, my loves,” you sigh softly, that look of theirs speaking volumes. You tug at their hands until the three of you are settled back under the covers and are thoroughly wrapped around each other. “Rest well, knowing that I am back home in your arms. That I belong to no other and my heart beats only for you. And when morning comes, you will apologize to the others for your abhorrent behavior.”

The two men share a look, eyes shining and lips tilting.

“Do you believe it wise to order your King and your Commander in such a way?” Steve’s arms tighten their hold around you as he lands a playful nip to the back of your shoulder.

You giggle joyfully. “I have gotten away with it before and I’m certain that I will again.”

“I think a lesson in respect may be in order, my King,” Bucky smirks wide.

“Oh, most assuredly,” Steve agrees.

A shriek of laughter escapes from your mouth as both of your lovers descend upon you. Looks like you’re in for a long night after all…

#steve x reader x bucky #stucky x reader #stucky x reader smut #king!steve x reader #knight!bucky x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #sam writes

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kays-gmm-fanblog · 4 years ago

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ahhhh okay. I apparently have no chill, so here's a little over 2k of under the desk blowjob

what a way to returning to writing fanfic after about four years off, lol

it's all under the cut because... yeah it's definitely rated E

also thank you @captainsourwolf for the encouragement - I'm still nervous af, but so it goes

“you have to say take a dip, man”

“take a dip”

“Really man, did you have to call out Tumblr like that?”

It’s 7pm and they’re both at their desks at the studio, finishing up some last-minute research. Of course, Rhett was used to Link doubling back with commentary on their recordings even days after they happened, and the dipping sauce episode had only been done that morning.

He smirked and offered, “Man there’s some weird shit going happening on Tumblr like every day, don’t pretend like you don’t know that. Besides, I just sent a good portion of the Beasts scrambling to worry about all the dirty things they post.”

Link shrugged, “Yeah alright, but it seemed like a weak joke. Like oh, yeah, blowjobs, funny. Very middle school of you.”

“Man, blowjobs are funny. Who do you think decided it was a good idea to stick someone’s dick in their mouth for fun? Probably that same dude that decided to try milking a cow for the first time. Just sticking his mouth where it doesn’t belong for the sake of exploration.”

“I think blowjobs predate milk, bo.” He paused for a second, considering, “Besides the desk isn’t even tall enough for that to make sense. I’d have to rest my head sideways in your lap, how effective is that? And I’d know. I was down there earlier.”

Rhett had had turned back to his computer somewhere in the middle of the bickering, but at that, he spun back around.

“Nuh uh. Not if I lowered my chair down.”

“Even then your giant slenderman legs would be poking me in the shoulders. It wasn’t a well-thought-out joke, that’s all I’m saying.”

Rhett frowned at that. There was room, Link was just being contrary to prove a point. But now his desire to win had been triggered. Plus the idea of Link under the desk was… intriguing, to say the least. He stood up from the desk and walked over to Link, grabbing the hand that was resting on the desk and tugging him toward the door. Link raised his eyebrows, even as he allowed himself to be pulled up and over, and Rhett added

“Come on, you won’t believe me until I prove it.”

Link rolled his eyes but followed behind, his wrist still in Rhett’s grasp, as they made their way down the hallway. Thankfully the part of the team that was coming in live these days had all already left for home. This wasn’t a test he wanted anyone to see, no matter who was right.

When they made their way into the studio, Rhett plopped himself into his usual seat and pulled on the lever to lower his chair to its shortest height. He pulled away from the desk a bit and gestured down, as if to say see, there’s your opening!

Link just folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Come on Link, trust me on this.”

Link paused for a second, and then chuffed out a laugh. “You have to say take a dip, man.”

Rhett smiled, “Take a dip.”

Link dropped himself to a crouch and then forward onto his knees far more quickly than Rhett anticipated, given both Link’s reluctance and the tightness of his skinny jeans. Rhett felt his dick give a twitch at that – he’d been half-hard since he’d started dragging Link over to the set, and watching his best friend crawl under the desk and prepare to simulate sucking his cock didn’t do much to help.

Link backed himself up under the desk and Rhett automatically raised a hand to the back of Link’s floofy hair, guarding him from hitting his head on the edge. He watched as the other man curled in on himself to fit fully under the desk.

When he was settled, Link looked up with a half-smile and said “Alright man, scootch in.”

Rhett moved his chair forward until his knees met the resistance of Link’s torso and then paused, unsure of how to continue. Link placed his palms on Rhett’s knees and spread his legs for him, pulling Rhett closer in the process. Rhett looked down and his breath hitched at the sight - strong, warm hands moving their way up his thighs and a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at him. Link leaned in closer and bumped his chin on Rhett’s left knee, butting against him like a cat.

“See I told you, there isn’t room between your thighs and the desktop for my head” he thunked his head gently against the rim of the desk to prove his point, “Even with your chair all the way down, I’d get stuck. I’d have to tilt like this…”

At that, he turned his head at a forty-five degree angle and rubbed his cheek up Rhett’s thigh, bringing himself level with the bulge in front of him.

“Then again, it appears you don’t mind how I turn, do you? Little excited up there?”

Rhett coughed a bit and shrugged. “I mean, if you were at this angle you’d understand. Look atcha down there, on your knees for me, just waiting for me to take control.”

At that, Link smirked again and shook his head. “Do you think I don’t have control down here? Believe me, there’s more power on the giving end than there is receiving.”

He brushed a palm over Rhett’s cock and smiled at the shuddering breath that came from the man above him. He traced his way around the outline of Rhett’s growing erection, rubbing softly at the head as he passed from side to side. Rhett shifted, instinctively moving his hips closer to whatever was going to happen.

Link met Rhett’s eyes and tilted his head, wordlessly asking if he should continue. Rhett was nodding his head yes before he even realized what he was doing. There was no way he wanted this to stop. His hands curled around the bottom of the seat of his chair, doing his best to hold still in anticipation. Link’s hands moved their way toward his zipper.

“You want a hand with that, buddy?” He offered to Link, mouth dry and voice softer than usual.

“Nope, I’m good down here. You just keep your hands right where they are and behave.”

Link’s normally fidgety hands seemed pretty sure as they popped open the button on his jeans and unzipped his zipper. Rhett’s only contribution was to lift his hips off the chair as Link proceeded to slide his jeans and boxers down in one motion, until he was left sitting, bare-assed on his chair, with his dick straining up toward his stomach. Link moved his hands back to Rhett’s knees to push him away from the desk, scooting himself forward in the process so he could unfold from underneath the table.

He looked up at Rhett, admiring the blush on his cheeks and the way he couldn’t seem to decide where to hold his gaze – Link’s hands, his mouth, his eyes, or his own dick as it twitched, precome beading at the top in anticipation. The kneeling man moved his hands up Rhett’s thighs again, this time making skin to skin contact as he moved closer. He leaned over and pressed a soft, almost gentle, kiss to the rosy tip of Rhett’s dick, dotting his own lips wet with precome in the process.

He opened his mouth and Rhett gulped, unwilling to say anything and risk breaking the spell. Unfortunately, Link didn’t have the same concern. His eyes glinted and instead of moving down, he said “Told you there wasn’t room under the desk.”

Before Rhett could even process the jibe, Link was in action, mouth slowly sinking down around the tip of his dick, tongue sliding against his frenulum in a french kiss as dirty as the previous one was chaste. Rhett’s hands tightened around the chair and he let out a grunt, his legs spreading as far as they could with his pants around his ankles.

Link moved his head down further, taking Rhett deeper into his mouth and letting out a pleased-sounding hum. He rubbed his thumbs soothingly across Rhett’s thighs as he braced himself, holding the position as deep as he could for the moment and then starting to lift off again. As Link made his way back up, Rhett closed his eyes, afraid that if he watched this was going to end too quickly. Instead, it just gave him an even stronger jolt when Link’s tongue traced along a vein on the bottom of his dick as he came up for air.

He released from Rhett’s dick with a pop of his lips, looking at the slick mess he left behind, before tilting his head up to look at the man above him.

“Hey, eyes open, man. I’m down here working, the least you could be doing is appreciating!”

Rhett opened his eyes and let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, letting out something that was almost a giggle. He smiled down at Link and, without thinking, reached up his left hand to push Link’s bangs out of his eyes. He caught himself before he made contact and paused, looking for permission, since was apparently supposed to be holding still.

“Can I?” he asked, waiting for an answer.

Link seemed to think it over for a second. “Yeah, you can touch. Even with both hands in my hair, I promise you I’m still the one running the show down here.”

There was no arguing with that at this point. Rhett gently brushed the hair back from Link’s face, noting the flushed skin of his cheeks and the damp redness of his lips. He released the seat of his chair with his other hand and used both hands to gently remove Link’s glasses, folding their arms and setting them securely on top of the desk for safekeeping. He returned his hands toward his body, resting them on his thighs, on top of Link’s, as the other man leaned back and started softly licking and sucking up and down his cock again.

Link’s lips drifted to the base as he tilted his head sideways and licked a hot stripe from the bottom all the way back up, laving attention at the top. Rhett felt even more precome leaking out and he moaned almost in tandem with Link as the other man licked it up. Link flicked his tongue across the slit to collect as much slick as possible before closing his mouth around the top of Rhett’s cock again. He began a steady rhythm up and down, with a pause now and again to lick around the head and meet Rhett’s eyes with a coquettish glance.

He continued making soft little noises as he went, sending vibrations shuddering through Rhett’s dick straight to his spine. Rhett’s hands gripped at Link’s until he felt the left one move away to grasp the base of his cock and work in tandem with the slick mouth moving around him.

After a minute, Link pulled off again, and with a raspy voice, chastised “I don’t think I was clear enough before.” He paused and then continued, “Put your hands. In my hair. Now.”

Rhett obeyed without a second thought, winding his fingers into the strands of hair on either side of Link’s head. He could control the pace, but not the sensation, as Link applied suction and the movement of his hand to Rhett’s erection.

As time went on Rhett felt himself building closer and closer, Link seemingly taking him deeper with each bob of his head. He felt the telltale signs of his release and tapped against Link’s head gently, moaning “I’m getting close.”

Link didn’t even stop, simply letting out an encouraging “mmm” sound and increasing the tempo of the hand wrapped around his best friend’s dick. With a loud groan Rhett released, hips stuttering at the feeling of Link swallowing around him as he came.

As he regained his senses, he found himself petting his hands through Link’s hair, even as the other man pulled off of his cock and looked up at him. Link leaned his head against Rhett’s thigh and looked up with a smile, before asking,

“Good?”

Rhett let out a bark of laughter. “So good. Very, incredibly good.”

“Even though there wasn’t room for me under the desk?”

“Okay, okay, you win.”

After a second to catch his breath fully, he rolled his chair back a bit and reached out his hands to help Link stand up. Rhett noticed a telltale bulge in the other man’s pants and he straightened up, and thought to himself that maybe they both won this one.

#rhink #rhink fanfiction #i'm gonna go hide now

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

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HASO, “Perfect Timing.”

Alright everyone. I am beginning to realize that maybe expecting myself to write a story every week day with a job and trying to get into grad school and writing a second novel might be a bit..... excessive?

So I am going to try for three times a week. I hope you all stick around :)

And I hope you enjoy today’s story as well.

Adam stood with his hands behind his back, feet spread to shoulder width. He would never have noticed by himself, but the men and women around him stood a little straighter and stepped a little faster under his watchful eye. Once upon a time they might have only hastened their work if he directly asked them too, but just his mere presence these days could send his crew scurrying to do their work. He hadn’t really changed anything about the way he commanded his men. He was firm when he needed to be but allowed for brevity when it would suit the situation.

However, a few years and some tough lessons was slowly shaping him into the kind of man who could command thousands, sharp posture, calm confidence, and a keen eye.

But then again anyone who could appear professional while wearing high top heelies was a man to be reckoned with.

Sunny walked up next to him her pearlescent white armor glowing under the light as she leaned on the shade of her matching spear. Her head was held high like his. Where once she had been locked up, and defensive, she now stood with the calm confidence of someone who understood what control meant.

Together they had come a long way.

She tilted her head, “You really think he’s going to let you race this…. It’s a million dollar piece of military hardware, they don’t stand a chance.”

Adam didn’t move, hands still clasped behind his back as he stared up at the F-90 Darkfire he was preparing for the race, “I wouldn’t be so sure…. I’ll be lucky to come in last place.”

Sunny frowned confused, “I saw those shuttles, they were junk shows.”

He lifted his head as the F-90 was rolled across the deck.

“This is a race, it isn’t combat. She was built for dogfights which means she is going to be heavier than the others. Wing tip to wing tip she is also going to be a little longer than the other shuttles and jets making maneuvering around obstacles more difficult. Sure she likely has a more powerful engine, but that can be as much of a detriment as it is a leg up.” He gestured in the vague direction of the race course, “We are going to be racing through the planet’s smaller rocky ring. It has an unusual amount of larger, thick chunks which we are going to have to manuver around: the kind of conditions you might see in science fiction movies when they talk about an asteroid field. Asteroid fields are generally too far apart to cause any real issue, but here the rocks are dense, and my flying is going to have to be on pont, having a more powerful engine is going to make her more touchy, and my fitness on the controls is going to have to be absolute.”

Sunny tilted her head listening as he continued. She liked it when this side of him came out. There was something about the analytical, logical side of Adam she found….. Very appealing.

He walked forward to examine the jet himself, “Furthermore, I don’t know if you noticed, but there were a few jets there that weren’t exactly junk shows. A few of them were pretty top of the line, and most of them were built for racing. Lighter, sleeker, faster, and with more engine control than mine.

A lot of my maneuverability is lost out of the atmosphere. This isn’t about how well you can manipulate wind currents, this is going to be all about the very minute rotation of the rear and and wing engines. Their wings are smaller and closer in meaning they are going to rotate more easily than me.

She walked up with him and put a hand on his shoulder, “You forgot to fact in one thing.”

He frowned and looked up, “Oh, what did I miss.”

She smiled slightly, “The skill of the pilot, and I know for a fact that we have the best pilot this side of Andromeda. You can have the best plane in the world, but if you have a shit pilot, then a good pilot in a flying trash can has a chance of winning.”

He Smiled, “Thanks, I needed that.”

He stepped back, “Still it doesn't pay to be too cocky. I have a feeling these people have raced this before, they are going to know what they are dealing with, and I am going tinto this completely blind. This is a test to see if my instincts are better than their practice…. Who knows it could be a very close run thing.”

He moved forward to do an extra check on the outside of the ship despite having a whole team of people to do it for him. Adam had learned to delegate a lot of his responsibilities onto others to avoid burnout, but this was one thing he never left to other people. He came back after a thorough check of the ship and stopped next to her.

His head was tilted to one side as he looked at the machine sitting before him.

“It is missing something.”

Sunny turned her head to look at him, “What?”

He smiled, “Do we have anyone here who has experience with graffiti?”

***

Donavan Red met him when he entered the hanger, wearing his flight suit and holding his helmet under one arm. He had gone for some of his more simple equipment. Didn’t want to give the guy an excuse to blame his skill on technology.

Red looked him over.

“Nice suit, princess.”

Adam just smiled thinly looking around at the other pilots, “I see I might be under-dressed.”

To be far though, he wasn’t exactly sure what he would have described the dress code, if he had to put it on an invitation.

The most apt description seemed to have been.

Dress for Pissing contest.

The men and women wore their uniforms in the same way NASCAR drivers might, covered in logos and patterns. Some of them were clearly custom ordered with personal designs on the backs or the helmets, some sporting flames, others cartoon animals, one guy was just covered in black and white skulls.

The affect up close was ok, but from a distance he just looked like an over excited dalmatian, or maybe some kind of flamboyant cow.

A few of them went for color themes, neon red on black. Neon green on blue.

Most of them tried to coordinate with the matching colors on their ship, each trying to outdo the next.

Red smirked.

The docking bay light began to blink red as the airlock was engaged, and the all turned to watch as the doors opened, and Adam’s jet rolled into the docking bay. She was simultaneously both very impressive and very not impressive. She was an instrument of war, and he rockets lined up on either side of her wings said as much. Adam had once considered her rather sleek in comparison to other jets of the day, but looking at her now in comparison with the racing planes and he couldn’t help but compare her to a pitbull or a bulldog next to greyhounds or whippets.

She rolled up slowly and Red raised an eyebrow.

“A whose guy huh?”

Adam smirked, “I don’t know, I kind of like it.”

They both looked up as the F-90 stopped in place, and along her side in delicate blue cursive script was the name Cinderella. The man who had done the graffiti had even taken the time to add some stylized pink roses to the front and end of the word giving it a finished look.

Donavan seemed both amused and annoyed at the same time.

The men and women around him turned to look over ridicule dying on their lips as they saw the smirk on his face.

It was made pretty clear.

He was going to beat them, and when he beat them, he was going to have a princess logo on the side of his jet, never mind all of their cool paint jobs.

Donavan frowned but then turned to everyone, “Alright load up!.” Adam did as ordered, switching seats with the young pilot in the cockpit and strapping himself in. he adjusted his controls, did a quick once over, and then pulled some power from his engine. There was going to be an overwhelming desire to go fast, but he knew that speed wasn’t going to win him this race.

The jets began lining up next to each other, and to his surprise, one of the sleek racing models sidled up next to him, and when he looked over, he saw Donovan Red cambering into the cockpit.

That didn’t exactly bode well, but what was there to do about it.

He felt cool oxygen spilling onto his mouth and nose as the orange tinted visor dropped down over his eyes. He opted not to use the heads up display preferring to see everything around him as he was flying.

They were all in a line now, and up ahead a large projection appeared on the docking bay doors.

Red lights began to blink as the docking bay was cleared of everyone except for the jets.

The image of a woman appeared on the screen before them.

It was one of the women he had seen before in her cut off jean shorts and tight tank top.

“Ladies and gentlemen start - your - ENGINES!”

All around him the room was filled with a roar as the group of people pushed their engines to an idle.

He could feel the jet underneath him as it thrummed and whined vibrating into his gloves and down into his skin.

His very bones could feel the trembling.

“The course is simple, one lap around the rocky interior ring of the planet. Rules are only this, no leaving the ring, no weapons, and no teams, every man for himself. If the race moderators see any of this, you will be thrown from the race.”

She smiled and leaned back to reveal two green flags in either hand.

She began to wave them.

“On your mark!”

He took a deep calming breath forcing his hand to relax.

“Get set.”

He felt his heart beating hard against his ribcage, his stomach crawled up into his throat, and he felt the sudden and overwhelming need to pee.

“GO!”

THe airlock doors shot open faster than they should have been able, a clear sign someone had bypassed safety protocols. Caught off guard by this, Adam shot out of the gate slower than he would have liked. Already the racing jets streaked ahead, their quicker sleeker designs looking right at home against the blackness of space.

He had to remind himself that in space, without wind resistance, sleek didn’t mean shit.

If he was good enough he could have piloted a brick to win.

He gave more joice to the engine and shot forward. He cut under one of his other opponents and then cythed up next to a second.

He was there for only a moment when he saw something coming in from his right.

Instincts had him move fast, and he turned horizontal shooting upwards just as another jet tried to push him out. He was flying over the two of them now, and gave another burst shooting forward and past them.

This open stretch was the only time he was going to be able to use the power of his engine to his advantage, so he gave her a little more juice and shot forward catching up quickly with the racing models at the front. Two of them cut sideways attempting to block his path. He cursed, forced to fire his engines backwards so as not to go crashing into them.

The ring was approaching quickly now, and he could see very clearly that they had not been kidding. The belt was dense, less mate out of fine sand, and instead made up of billions of rocks some the size of him, others the size of cars, and even some the size of large houses. It was the strangest sort of formation he had ever seen around a planet, and he wondered idly how they stayed in orbit.

The two jets ahead of him cut right and then left as a rock came barreling towards him.

He shouted and rolled to the side barely avoiding a head on collision, his instincts saving him where his active brain could not.

He snarled.

“Pull it together.”

There was no time to be thinking, there was only time for flying.

WIth a practiced hand he toggled a switch on the side of his thumb, and his helmet was suddenly filled with the sound of music and drums. His brain focused inward and stopped thinking. He shot over and then under rolling between rocks just inches away on either side. Off to his right the planet below was glowing with the light of it’s star, a lightning blue halo around it where the atmosphere glowed.

He cut the left dove down and then rolled up.

He could see the other jets ahead of him cutting in and out through the rocks. His breathing grew even, his body relaxed, his brain heard nothing but the beat of the music and saw nothing but the obstacles ahead of him.

One of the jets pulled up next to him from behind recklessly rolling around one of the rocks. They were racing wing tip to wing tip now.

They cut right and left under and over he rolled left they rolled right. They were shaky just hanging on, but his flying was smooth.

Up ahead one of the other jets lit up with glowing orange as a set of flares broke from it’s back end shatting against the debris behind it. Rocks were thrown off their normal course and went smashing into each other turning the rock field ahead of them into a meat grinder. Adam shot forward and dived downward while rolling tight, behind him the racer was unable to replicate the move and a piece of rock caught their wing sending them spinning off to the side and out of the ring.

Adam dodged a piece of debris coming in from his left, flipped upside down and shot diving upward and then righting himself just under the jet up front.

He could see the leader now, and recognized it as Red himself .

The jet above him attempted to drop down and knock him out of position, but he gave a burst to the engine and shot forward.

The jet behind him punched downward and nearly collided into a rock before pulling back into the palace.

Adam took their place in second.

Red could see him coming.

Another set of flares was released.

He checked his forward momentum and rolled three or four times to his right. G forces tugged at his consciousness forcing blackness to the edge of his vision. He tightened the muscles of his chest and stomach forcing blood back up into his head as he breathed out in short controlled bursts.

A rock flew overhead, he cut low, bumped up and then executed a rolling turn over a massive rock pulling in behind red and just up to the right to avoid another burst of flares.

The two of them were fighting for the front now.

And red was good, he knew how to handle a jet, but so did Adam.

They roared past a field of rocks splitting apart as a massive chunk came between them. Adam roared forward, and panicked for a single moment as he saw an impenetrable wall of rock appear just before him. Then a crack appeared. He fired the forward engine and cut horizontal passing through an opening that left him only feet to spare. Rock rose up to meet him, and he rotated his engine up dropping vertically before cutting sideways and passing under a rock. Teeth gritted, he punched upward passing through a gap just as it closed behind him.

A yell of exertain escaped his lips as he pulled straight up cutting up the side of a massive mansion-sized rock before diving right back down into the thick of it.

Red was gone, he didn’t see him anymore.

Was he up front?

And then the sleek black jet dropped down from above cutting him off.

He cursed and swerved low past another rock forced to cut diagonal back into line.

He pulled up wing to wing with the men again.

They dove, they pulled up and they took a wide turn ac coordinated together as a military formation never more than four feet apart.

They were going faster than they probably should have reacted. second by second he rolled left Red went right. They both met in a dive rolling past each other, wings almost touching before cutting upwards mirroring each other in opposite directions. The sound of the music melded with the path of his flight.

They were racing side by side just as one of the other jets roared over them careening out of control in a desperate attempt t o reach front. They watched him dive pull up cut left, and then a rock rolled right into their path. The two of them barely had time to react as the rock hit their right wing and then sent them slamming into the next boulder. There was an eruption and a brief ball of fire as oxygen was consumed from inside the cockpit. Debris blossomed up around them in a miniature explosion.

Adam greeted his teeth, eyes wide .

What was once a race suddenly turned into a battlezone. He and Red dove together rolling around the debris desperately trying to avoid getting cut in two. At these speeds, one hit would be the death of them. His heart raced in his chest as he pulled forward cutting in the triangle made by three boulders side by side. Red mirrored him below.

A chunk of metal shot towards him, and he toggled his right wing burst just in time, lowering his left side just in time for the chunk to go flying past him. He pulled up with a gasp as a massive chunk of rock cut up before him. Red shot below and he rolled over the top coming into second place.

Up ahead a mining barge ascended through the line of rocks.

Adam roared with exertion as he pulled up and leveled out shooting right under the attached arm of the barge. Red lights erupted over it’s hull in a proximity warning as he went just inches overhead.

The barge driver, clearly spooked twisted to the side and the arm of the barge rolled with it, catching a boulder and sending it flying towards the grouping next to it, there was a sudden explosion of rock and again he was forced to roll to the side. Up down, over and under, cything between lines of rock.

He was almost hit once, then twice.

He toggled the forward engines, slowing himself down and then shooting straight up before continuing forward.

The rocks around him were rolling unpredictably colliding and then exploding into smaller pieces. There was no way he was making it through that alive.

He was rolling diving spinning twisting, and then, he felt it…. Something he had only felt on occasion. The world around him went silent, everything seemed to slow, and he was filled with…. With a feeling. It was like light, bursting out from his chest, rolling up through his skin and into his head.

He entered a moment of perfect execution. He cut into a tight roll his wings cything through the minute gaps between debris with timing so perfect it shouldn't have been humanly possible. Rocks passed by him at hundreds of miles an hour inches away from the glass of his canopy, one wrong move and he’d be dead. He cut through a gap that gave him inches on either side rolld right dove down, turned left, spun once and then twice, and made a completely vertical ascent. Rocks flew past him on his right and on his left.

Up ahead he could see a gap slowly closing before him. He opened up his engine and shot forward so fast everything was a blur.

The rocks collided behind him as they snapped shut, and he flew into the clear firing forward to slow himself, and then red was there too descending from above spinning and wobbling, almost out of control and careening directly towards a house sized boulder.

He panicked firing up and down at the same time and sending him into a spin.

He was heading directly towards the rock .

WIthout thinking Adam locked onto the rock, and fired. A rocket under his wing detached and shot forward exploding violently just in time for Red to pass through unharmed. Red jolted awkwardly and rolled to one side. Adam cut past under from right to left and rolled straight over red to avoid a rock.

There was a moment where the two of them were staring at each other through the clear canopy.

Eyes met for an instant, and Adam could see the wide eyed fear on the man’s face., Then Adam rolled ahead ducking under the last rock and then bursting out into space.

He let the F-90 have her moment, and completely opened the engine shooting forward and cutting through the finish line which flashed bright green. In that moment He was hit with such a sense of exhilaration and joy that he couldn't imagine anything better. Who needed drugs, who needed love, who needed any of that when you could fly.

Hed did a triumphant loop whooping the whole way.

Of course, a feeling like that can never last long and slowly began to fade away. THe reality of what he had just done was both terrifying and amazing to the point he felt his body begging to shake. The tension and fear he had been holding back exploded inside him just like that joy and he found his hands trembling on the joystick.

He let it overtake him. He had been like this since he was young and fighting it would only make things worse. Despite his shaking hands he flew back to the docking bay and landed his jet with the precision of a surgeon. Finally when the engine was off and the flood stable underneath him he slumped back in his seat shaking and racked with rolling tremors. He closed his eyes and breathed long and slow.

Behind him the others came limping in.

None of them were completely unscathed, at least one person was dead. His hands continued to shake as the airlock doors shut, and as soon as the room was pressurized, he opened the cockpit. As soon as it did, Sunny came running into the room and up the ladder. SHeleft her spear on the floor and helped him to climb out. His legs were shaking and he almost fell if it weren’t for her support.

She knew him too well, sitting him down on the lowest step and kneeling next to him.

“Are you ok?”

He grinned at her, “That was…. Holy shit.”

He held up his hand to watch the shaking, “I’m having an earthquake.”

It was just then that Red jumped out of his jet onto the floor. He staggered when he did but pushed away the men who tried to help, “What the ever loving FUCK just happened. The field had NEVER been like that. Jaz DIED out there, what the FUCK.”

The people milled around in confusion.

Red turned to him, eyes narrowing as he stalked over. Adam sighed and looked up as the man stopped to stand over him

“I’m sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.”

The man paused confused, “What?”

“I broke the rules. Means I forfeit.”

Red looked almost nonplussed, “What are you on about?”

Adam slowly took to his feet taking a few more deep wreaths to steady himself before drawing to his full height. He was stead now and looked down at Red with an unwavering gaze. He held out a hand, “I used weapons during the race, that was against the rules. These weren’t flares to move the rocks. I used a targeted missile during the race and that means I broke the rules.”

Red stared at him.

Then he snorted, “Damn the rules. You saved my ass.” he turned to look at his people, “I am more than man enough to acknowledge that.” HE turned back to Adam, “You saved my life you crazy bastard. I am not even sure how you are still alive ….. Because that flying…. That was….. Holy fuck.” He grinned and took Adam by the shoulder, “you shaking, man.” He held up his hand to show a tremor, “Me too, now let's go get some drinks and talk this out. I owe you after all.”

The two of them walked off through the forest of shaken pilots, “You are the kind of man I can see myself doing business with.”

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91percentpynch · 4 years ago

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cottagecore pynch headcanons because i have no self-control and i need some serotin

it‘s the summer before adam leaves for college

„do you wanna pet my cows?“

„is that supposed to be you asking me on a date lynch?“

„maybe“

so obviously ronan (c‘mon we all know babe has been daydreaming about this for YEARS) packs? makes? a picnic

he makes little sandwiches and packs adam‘s favourite brand of crisps and all kind of berries (dream berries, strawberries, raspberries, you name it he got it)

ronan even attempts to bake a cake with blue‘s help to make this stupid tiktok trend with the wine glassses

so when adam comes over to „pet the cows“, ronan takes his hand

because adam parrish‘s hands are way to fucking perfect but he will never admit that aloud

ronan even made a playlist for the day (mainly hozier and taylor swift, because ronan lynch is a taylor swift gay and his boy adam is a hozier gay and i do not accept anything else thank you very much)

so ronan brings adam to a little pond at the far edge of the cow pasture and lay down and stare at the sky

they are cloud gazing, while holding hands

„that reminds me of you“

„how?“

„it‘s fucking ugly, just like you“

„asshole“

„i love you“

ronan was defintely not supposed to say that. it was too soon. it would only scare adam away

„say that again lynch“

„it‘s fucking ugly just like you?“

„no the other thing you just said“

„that reminds me of you“

„no the other thing you just said“

„i love you“, ronan whispered, his voice barely audible

„i love you too, you fucking asshole“, adam replied, leaning in

ronan closed the distance between and put his lips on adams

the kiss was soft, it was a decleration of love and longing and everything they were too afraid to say

in the background „to eden“ from hozier was playing

neither of them could say how long they stayed that way, hours, minutes, seconds, years or months but when they broke the kiss something changed

they had kissed before, they got intimate with each other, they shared hugs and held hands, they told each other that they liked the other, but neither of them had a lot of experience with love

the son of a lost dreamer and a dream and the boy who fled an abusive household, it was against all odds but somehow they found each other. somehow they fell in love. somehow it made senes

„i thought i got to pet the cows“, adam whispered after a while of silently laying in the grass, lips swollen from stolen kisses

„whatever you want. i will give you the world“, ronan replied

adam didn‘t have words for the things this little statement made him feel

so they went over to the cows and petted some cows

one of them fell asleep on adam‘s lap

„what am i supposed to do now?“

„stay exactly that way and let me feed you“

so ronan fed adam, while adam pet the cow

when the sun began to make place for the moon ronan once again took adam‘s hand to bring him to a pond he dreamed up

„it will show you what you desire, it shows you what the future might hold. like sargent but with way less words and bigger. but being smaller than sargent is the bigger challenge in that department“

„what do you see when you look at it?“

„you in my arms“

adam didn‘t have eyes for the pond, the only thing he could focus on was ronan beside him, the fact that this boy, who could have anyone, gansey even, chose him as the object for his desire

„what about you parrish?“

„i don‘t need some pond to tell me where i‘ll be in the future, when my future is standing right next to me“

adam got on his tiptoes, to make up for the few inches ronan had on him and put his mouth onto ronan‘s

this kiss was different. more urgent, more anxious, because soon adam would be gone and ronan would stay at the barnes waiting for him

waiting for him as he always did. as he always will.

„i will not ask you to stay. never to stay. just to come back to me“

„i will never leave you“

„never?“

„never“

so they went back to the barnes and up to ronan‘s bedroom, kissing again.

kissing eventually turned into something more and eventually adam ended up on ronan‘s chest drifitng off while ronan draws pattern into his back

„i‘ll have you as long as you let me“, ronan whispered before pressing his lips onto adam‘s hair and going to bed as well

#pynch #adam parrish #ronan lynch #ship: pynch #pynch headcanon #pynch fluff #the raven cycle #trc #the raven boys #trb #the dream thieves #tdt #blue lily lily blue #bllb #the raven king #trk

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antihumanism · 3 years ago

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When I type everything out as a single run-on sentence I want you to imagine me cornering you off-guard in a crowded room, my empty brown cow eyes staring straight at you and reflecting you--nopony home here, she checked out and hopped away forever ago on the toxic chemical trains and clacking cattle cars years ago--and just, for no reason, I’m here and you’re there pocketed in the corner of a crowded room, and I’m channeling my alternate history past-self who was a preacher that got kicked out of the church for delivering sermons about the impossibility of sin and just ran off to Point Sur with my harem of distractions since I could never stop blessing my congregation saying “Go forth and know that you cannot sin, in the beautiful eyes of God and in my beautiful eyes there can be no wrong or evil” which backfired on me when they started setting fires and it all went to Hell, but I’ve won out over them because the world honored my wishes when I sighed “I should like to start again,” and so I’m here with you and you’re hear with me and I’m saying some insane shit like: “Looking back on Emily’s early works it is easy to see where her later reactionary turn comes from, because, from the start, Alfred Alfer was a story about the fear of castration, I mean, the first video was literally about Alfred getting neutered and escaping into a violent fantasy where he is loved and praised for his violence and the ‘punchline’ establishes the general theme of ‘reality by despair,’ which is to say that Alfred’s clearly dissociative episode is ‘verified’ by his destruction and it is this self-destruction that establishes ‘reality,’ like ‘pinch me i might be dreaming,’ but the pinch is violent and unfair self-destruction as hope is still ripped away, but hope remains, because it is a hope to die rather than be changed by the world, and this theme remains throughout her most famous work (the Alfred’s Playhouse trilogy which cements in canon the jokes of her previous Rise of Alfred cartoon) where Alfred is possessed by the spirits of Stalin and Hitler--a false equivalency made by the authoritarians that have passed for liberals for years--in Rise of Alfred, one would be remiss not to mention the phallic imagery in both the title and the video itself, Alfred is cut loose upon the world by the absence of a Near God or little other by the orders of a Distant God or big Other (in this video played by a droning and irrelevant corporate figure that can offer nothing more than a wall without lead paint that one can lick), and this is the essence of reactionary thought, the idea of a big Other who is totally incompetent yet all powerful and somehow worth respecting and suffering for (King Henry II saying ‘will no one rid me of this troublesome priest’ or the departed Daiymo of the 47 Ronin), the reactionary sees the big Other as a master who can only set the dogs off the chain, the police chief who needs to get out of the way so McBain or Dirty Harry or Paul Kersey (especially in Death Wish III) can do what needs to be done and purge away all the filth and make the world right again (no different than Rambo--even the first movie, which for all of it’s goods part still is reactionary propaganda bullshit pushing the fascist lies about a ‘fifth column’ that was rude to poor little meow meow war criminals--or modern day fantasies about nuking all of MENA until it glows green (fantasies delivered to raucous applause at Republican presidential conventions); the reactionary is perpetually trapped in this fantasy of destroying the world and escaping into the void of space, freed of the ground where the riff-raff are so they don’t have to negotiate life with their neighbors, and this is true, yes, even of people who spout bullshit about Fully Automated Luxury Communism who only want the right to consume as much as possible free of guilt--a condition they think is inflicting upon them by the big Other--as the Champagne of Shame Socialists of the 60s), and the righting of the world for the reactionary is just that, that the world must be Righted and the reactionary must be loved for all of their violence and because of their violence, for the reactionary finds themselves ever needing new excuses as they open new fronts in their fake, phony Culture War, and that is all they need (excuses), which is why Emily is so obsessed with justifying her edgy shit based on some Trauma (which is handy excuse to do Anything, even Things that Cannot Be Excused like war or self-harm or wanting to be seen), and so here you should already be able to hear so much madness, so many plaintive cries, all aligning around the same point (the trannies in the ‘wrong’ bathroom, the refugees in the ‘wrong’ country, the people in the ‘wrong’ neighborhood, the Jewish Question, etc), and, anyway, so in Rise of Alfred, Emily’s OC directly addresses the audience and tells them that they must love him/her--the castrated bitch desperate to be let off the leash--and in Alfred’s Playhouse she/he simultaneously affirms and denies the nature of a trauma that justifies everything (one is constantly reminded of The Act of Killing where one of the mass murderers imagines how, depending on the editing of the final film, he could be either a woobie or a war criminal) as the Trauma is simultaneously a joke--’sodomized with a popsicle!’--and the alleged real event that motivates her self-mutilation as we’re expected to believe Emily is processing something, but what is she is processing, hmmmm, isn’t that the true spice,” I rail and rave against your poor ear drums as my empty, dead cow’s eyes capture your entire body and reflect it back at you and the ice cubes in my drink pop and shatter and dissolve and as my fist clenches tighter and tighter around the glass containing them and I continue: she’s processing a fear of castration, which is shown clearly in Alfred’s Playhouse where Alfred’s “sodomy” is demonstrated by the sight of his crotch covered in blood (a scene that will be repeated in The Alfred Alfer Movie) but “what is castration,” one might ask, and one can respond “it is the removal of power by the Father,” and this is how we wrap back around to our root in the nature of Emily the Reactionary who believes herself to be deprived of the power she holds by The Bolshevik Jew that has inserted itself between her and the Father and this is the cause of the big Other’s ineffectiveness, and this is also the core of the reactionary as a whole, the reactionary doesn’t want a daddy to control them, but a Master to set them off the chain because they hate the Father who has castrated them, this is the nature of the mumbling corporate manager in Rise of Alfred, but it is also the nature of Alfred herself--and now you may ask if Emily is trans and the answer is I literally couldn’t fucking care less about any question left forever unanswered on God’s Green Earth and you shouldn’t care either--but Alfred the Castrated is also the Father/Mother of Alfred the Dictator, the murderous inner-self that is immune to consequences of the onrushing future (The Alfred Alfer Movie) but not immune to the justifications of the imagined past (Alfred’s Playhouse trilogy), and therefore free to inflict whatever violence that Emily the Reactionary desires, and it is in pursuit of this freedom that the reactionaries set off in the name of New Sincerity (two things to be noted here: (1) the Death of Irony was proclaimed at the birth of the 21st century police state and the new Forever War with all of its genocidal objectives, that is to say, 9/11, and (2) the broken necked coward who complained of American Psycho that it’s author provided no easy outs for easy survival was the one who offed himself while Bateman’s father still lives) and the Talking Cure (i miss who we used to be), and at this you should see me slugging back the whole lukewarm glass in between two syllables and continuing on without pause (as if this dog still has legs on which to receive them in any case), “Emily, like Alex Jones, is so desperate for an excuse because neither of them can accept that they have to be the one that pulls the trigger, like all liars they don’t understand that they have to define reality by action, the answer to what one might do is found in the difference between the types of irony, one type is constantly desperate for excuses (such as the broken necked coward found one day) for violence, and the other irony, the true spice, is the irony that releases from excuses into violence and energy, one must seek not to know or endure but to inflict, knowing that this inflicting was always inevitable, no searching for justifications, instead the answer is to realize that there was never a chain there connecting you to the Master or the present to the past, and the Father/Mother never had the power of castration (the past, after all, is a foreign country bombed and blasted to ruins already and better forgotten), and you can just be fucked up and terrible and do whatever amuses you right now without needing an excuse, and to the extent that anyone should, one should, because that is what fascism needs, fascism needs the need for an excuse and that is the irony of fascism--where the falling angel (the superego) meets the rising ape (the id) in an ego of ultimate violence which seeks only release from both of its creations in an instinctually and totally misunderstood caricature of dialectics--which opposes its opposite irony (the irony without fascism which is the id’s violence against purpose and reason rising free of anything else to obstruct it), and if you let go of that, if you just, ya know, if you just, you just have to cut loose and go and no one can stop you until it is too late, because there’s no Jew sitting over your shoulder to justify everything in terms of opposition or support, not even The Nazarene is real, but do you understand that you’ve always been free to just go? You’re free to go. You’ve been free to go all this time. You never needed permission for this or anything else. You’ve been free to go all this time. You’re free to go. A whole day off. Just mind the mo(u)rning and get on with it.”

#emily youcis #Alles ist wahr Nichts ist erlaubt #let's live now before we're back below

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royalpain16 · 3 years ago

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A Brief History of Princess Diana’s Fiery Family

HADLEY HALL MEARES

JUNE 29, 2021 4:04 PM

According to Tina Brown’s The Diana Chronicles. Indeed, the role of the aristocratic family of Diana, Princess of Wales, for centuries has been that of royal disrupter. This legacy stretches to the 14th century, with their disputed ancestor Hugh Despenser’s alleged torrid affair with King Edward II and Despenser’s eventual brutal execution. Clever, charming, and fiery, much like Diana, her ancestors learned how to play the royal game—and then ripped up the rule book.

“Nearly 300 years on, my father would talk about him with an ashamed, resigned chuckle,” Charles, Earl Spencer, writes in The Spencers: A Personal History of an English Family of the mercurial family blackguard Robert Spencer (1641-1702). While the second earl would secure the Spencers’ status as political power players for centuries, he was also “cunning, supple [and] shameless” with “a restless and mischievous temper, a cold heart, and an abject spirt.”

Sunderland’s ascendancy began in the 1670s when he orchestrated King Charles II’s secret pact with England’s traditional enemy, France. Securing large payments from the French king and court for Charles II and himself, Sunderland was rewarded when he was appointed secretary of state.

After double-crossing Charles II’s illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth, Sunderland cleverly insinuated himself with new King James II. He converted to Catholicism to appeal to the very Catholic king, and became one of James II’s closest advisers. But the king, though he valued the brilliant man’s diplomatic skills, was fully aware of Sunderland’s duplicity.

James II finally dismissed Sunderland from service in 1688, and he was later exiled. But in December of that year, James II was deposed by the Glorious Revolution, bringing his daughter Mary and her husband, William, Prince of Orange, (with whom Sunderland had conspired) to the throne.

Again in favor, he was rewarded with the post of Lord Chamberlain before retiring from public life in 1697. “Too much cannot be said of his talents,” one historian noted. “Nor too little of his principles.”

The Boss: Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough

The daughter of Parliamentarian Richard Jennings and his scandalous wife, Frances, the passionate, brilliant Sarah (1660-1744) started out as a maid of honor in the court of James II. She became the most powerful woman in England, through her magnetic control of the future Queen Anne, a comparative dullard who worshipped her and perhaps became her lover. (You may remember their relationship from the 2018 movie The Favourite, in which Rachel Weisz played Sarah.)

For Sarah, her friendship with Anne was a way to advance her family and her liberal Whig politics, which she shared with her equally powerful husband, the military hero the Duke of Marlborough. “I hated tyranny by nature,” she wrote in one version of her memoir, according to Ophelia Field’s The Favourite: The Life of Sarah Churchill. “I thought mankind was born free, & if Princes were ordained to make their subjects happy; so I had always in me an invincible aversion to slavery, & to flattery.”

In 1700, Sarah arranged the marriage of her distant relation Charles Spencer, the future Third Earl of Sunderland, with her favorite daughter, Anne. Over the next 44 years, she would shape the family fortunes—and gift them with their famed auburn-tinted locks.

According to The Favourite: The Life of Sarah Churchill, with Anne’s accession to the throne in 1702 Sarah reached the peak of her power, racking up virtually every important post in Queen Anne’s suite, dictating cabinet appointments, and encouraging the ire of satirists.

But cracks would soon begin to appear. Queen Anne was naturally inclined to support the royalist Tories and was encouraged in these leanings by a new favorite named Abigail. A vindictive Sarah became a master propagandist, leaking insinuations about their relationship to the press, and allegedly threatening to blackmail Anne over the contents of their highly charged correspondence.

Sarah was finally forced to vacate her royal apartments in 1711, but she was not down for the count. A brilliant businesswoman, she became the richest woman in England, according to Field, controlling her Spencer grandchildren with promises of money and power. Centuries before the modern Diana and Prince Charles wed, Sarah even attempted to marry her favorite granddaughter—Lady Diana Spencer—to the broke Frederick, Prince of Wales, with a promise of 100,000-pound dowry. The plan fell through.

But not all her grandchildren were willing to be manipulated by their formidable matriarch. Sarah claimed her equally tough granddaughter Anne “[deserved] to be burnt,” and she disinherited her grandson Charles, Fifth Earl of Sunderland, which prompted him to write her:

As for putting me out of your will…I neither expected or desired to be in it. I…assure Your Grace that this is the last time I shall ever trouble you by letter or conversation. I am Your Grace’s grandson, Sunderland.

Sarah’s letter back was brutal. “You end that you are my grandson. Which is indeed a very melancholy truth…had you not been my grandson, you would have been in as bad a condition as you deserve to be.” Fitting words from a woman immortalized by Alexander Pope thusly:

Sixty years the World has been her Trade, The wisest Fool much Time has ever made. From loveless youth to unrespected age, No Passion gratify’d except her Rage.

The Star: Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire

From the start there was something special about Georgiana (1757-1806), the coddled daughter of John, First Earl Spencer and his wife, Margaret. The captivating teenager married the sophisticated William, Duke of Devonshire, in 1774, and quickly became a sensation in London’s highest circles. “[The Duchess of Devonshire] effaces all,” Horace Walpole wrote, according to The Devonshires: The Story of a Family and a Nation. “Her youth, figure, flowing good nature, sense…and modest familiarity, make her a phenomenon.”

Georgiana soon found her cold, older husband was not nearly as interested in her as everyone else. Luckily, she had many talents with which to amuse herself. She set fashions of the day, developed her own haughty way of speaking, known as the “Cavendish drawl,” and became dear friends with Marie Antoinette, according to Amanda Foreman’s The Duchess. She was also a successful novelist, and an amateur scientist.

But it was Georgiana’s brilliance as a Whig operative that would turn her into a target of the press. Constantly brainstorming with her friend, George, Prince of Wales, and political soulmate Charles James Fox, she hosted countless summits at her home. Georgiana was, she later wrote, “in the midst of the action,” seeing

“partys rise and fall—friends be united and disunited—the ties of love give way to caprice, to interest, and to vanity…”

Georgiana also worked essentially as a campaign manager for Whig candidates. During the 1784 election she bravely canvassed the street for Fox, charming Londoners with her common touch. “During her canvass,” Walpole wrote, “the Duchess made no scruple of visiting some of the humblest of electors, dazzling and enchanting them by the fascination of her manner, the power of her beauty and the influence of her high rank.”

According to Foreman’s The Duchess, there were rumors Georgiana kissed men in exchange for votes, leading to scurrilous cartoons distributed by the Tory opposition. “You have almost unavoidably amassed a great deal of useless trash—gathered weeds instead of flowers,” Lady Spencer wrote Georgiana. “You live so constantly in public you cannot live for your own soul.”

Her mother was worried about more than bad press. The hard-partying Georgiana was one of a long line of Spencer gambling addicts. She also had a laudanum dependency, and a scandalous ménage à trois arrangement with her husband and the disreputable Bess Foster. Calamity struck in 1792, when Georgiana became pregnant by the future Prime Minister Charles Grey and was banished from the country for a while.

Georgiana returned to her husband and children two years later. For the remainder of her life she battled ill health, but continued her role as a political operative, aware of what she could have been. “Would I were a man,” she mused to Sir Philip Francis. “To unite my talents, my hopes, my fortune, with [Charles James Fox’s], to make common cause, and fall or rule.”

From the start, the Spencer legacy laid heavily on John Spencer’s (1924-1992)

shoulders. As a child he was constantly cowed by his genealogically obsessed, brutal father, who considered him an intellectual lightweight. “He used to dread the train journey home [from boarding school],” his son, Diana’s brother Charles, writes. “He would hide in shadows of the train carriage, hoping his father had forgotten to collect him.”

But by the 1940s, John’s heroism as a captain in the Royal Scots Greys during World War II, and his tall, good looks and simple charm made him a most eligible bachelor. According to the documentary When the Spencers Met the Monarchy, he was even once looked at by the palace as a suitor to the future Queen Elizabeth II.

Instead, in 1954, Queen Elizabeth II (whom he served as an equerry) attended his wedding to heiress Frances Roche at Westminster Abbey. The couple had four children—Sarah, Jane, Diana, and Charles (another son, John, died shortly after birth). They were a mismatched pair, he rather dull and she vivacious, but John was reportedly blindsided when he discovered Frances was cheating on him. “How many of those years were happy?” he later said of his marriage. “I thought all of them until the moment that we parted.”

After the dissolution of his marriage, John became Diana and Charles’s primary caregiver and developed what Lord Glenconner once termed “an unfortunate raw sausage look.” Although he was stiff and old-fashioned, he attempted to be an involved father, and Diana was determined to be his “comforting angel,” according to The Diana Chronicles.

In 1975, John’s fortunes turned when his curmudgeonly father died, making him the Eighth Earl Spencer. According to Andrew Morton, he also inherited a 2.25-million-pound bill for death duties as well as 80,000-pounds-a-year running costs for Althorp, the family estate in Northamptonshire. He also found a helpmate to run Althorp in the fascinating Raine, Countess of Dartmouth, whom he married in 1976 without even telling his children. “We weren’t invited. ‘Not grand enough,’” his daughter Sarah quipped to a reporter at the time.

Despite the flippant tone, John’s betrayal would cause a deep rift in the family. A severe stroke in 1978 caused him to become frail and even more distant from his children. “He was one person before and he was certainly a different person after,” Princess Diana said, according to Morton. “He’s remained estranged but adoring since. If he comes and sees me he comes and sees me, if he doesn’t he doesn’t. It’s not my problem anymore. It’s his.”

The Rebel: Frances Shand Kydd

Frances Ruth Roche (1936-2004) wasn’t from as noble stock as the Spencers, but her family was far richer. Her father Maurice, fourth Baron Fermoy, was a conservative politician and a “terrible bottom pincher,” Lady Glenconner says in The Diana Chronicles, while her wealthy mother, Ruth, was a scheming, incurable snob and great friend of Elizabeth, the Queen Mother.

It was Ruth who encouraged a teenage Frances to marry the much older John Spencer, despite her tender age. “When you meet someone at the age of 15 and get engaged just five months out of school at 17, you can look back and ask, ‘Was I adult?’” she asked years later. “I sure thought I was at the time.”

The couple cultivated a farm at her family home of Park House in Norfolk, but Frances was quickly disillusioned with life in the country as a young aristocratic mother. “I’m so bloody bored with opening village fetes,” she told a friend. It was no wonder that the fiery Frances wanted more. “She was very attractive and blonde and sexy with such joie de vivre and fun about her,” a friend told Brown, author of The Diana Chronicles.

By the 1960s, Frances escaped to London more and more. She also started having an affair with a married bon vivant named Peter Shand Kydd. In 1967, she separated from John and left her two youngest children with him. “The biggest disruption was when Mummy decided to leg it. That’s the vivid memory we have—the four of us,” Princess Diana later told Andrew Morton.

Frances fought for custody of the children but lost to John, partially due to her own mother, Baroness Fermoy, who testified against her. Social outcasts, the Shand Kydds eventually moved to the coast of Scotland, and their warm household was a refuge for her children when they were allowed to visit. “Diana and I adored it for its wild beauty and the fun we had on the sea, lobster potting and mackerel-fishing,” Charles Spencer recalls.

Frances counseled against her youngest daughter’s marriage to Prince Charles, seeing too many parallels to her own first marriage—including her mother’s encouragement of the match. According to Brown, after voicing her concerns, Diana said, “Mummy, you don’t understand. I love him.” Frances replied, “Love him, or love what he is?” To which Diana asked rhetorically, “What’s the difference?”

The Grande Dames: Barbara Cartland and Raine Spencer

Perhaps no writer influenced generations of British romantics—including Princess Diana—more than Barbara Cartland (1901-2000). The author of 723 books, Cartland had, in the words of Brown, a “penchant for pink, her meringue coiffure and false eyelashes,” which betrayed a steely, snobbish character that was tough as nails.

Cartland would pass both her strength and outrageousness on to her daughter Raine (1929-2016), whom she raised to be, in Brown’s words, a “social monster baby.” Not only did she nab Gerald Legge, Ninth Earl of Dartmouth, but she also forged a career as a conservative politician, becoming the youngest person to ever serve on the Westminster City Council.

“She never took any prisoners, and never took no for an answer,” a friend recalled.

In the early 1970s, Raine set her sights on the divorced John Spencer. “She wanted to marry Daddy; that was her target and that was it,” Princess Diana recalled. According to sources, “Acid Raine” alienated the children and old friends. She also took the reins of Althorp, allegedly selling off family treasures and decorating it in her and her mother’s garish style.

During the lead-up to Diana’s wedding to Prince Charles in 1981, what to do with the clownish Cartlands became a national conversation. According to Brown:

Alexander Chancellor, the editor of The Spectator, wrote an editorial in which he called for a special Act of Parliament to ban Raine and her mother from St. Paul’s Cathedral, adding, “For it would be more than a little unfair on everybody if these two absurdly theatrical ladies were permitted to turn a moving national celebration into a pantomime.” Diana was so afraid the pantomime might indeed take place, she pressed for stratagems to blackball Cartland.

In the end Raine was invited but her mother was not. This would not be the most awkward Spencer wedding—that prize would go to Charles Spencer’s first wedding in 1989, where Diana scolded Raine for her rudeness to their mother. “If only you knew how much we all hated you for what you’ve done, you’ve ruined the house, you spend Daddy’s money and what for?” she hissed.

For her part, Raine would tire of being the scapegoat for the Spencer dysfunction. “I’m absolutely sick of the ‘wicked stepmother’ lark,” she said, according to Kitty Kelley. “You’re never going to make me sound like a human being, because people like to think I’m Dracula’s mother.”

Surprisingly, Diana would come to agree. Toward the end of her life, she grew close to her stepmother, whose no-nonsense advice she came to admire. However, it appears there was no love lost between Diana and her former favorite writer, who would quip of the royal breakup, “Of course, you know where it all went wrong. She wouldn’t do oral sex.”

The Role Model: Lady Sarah McCorquodale

Born in 1955, Sarah Spencer was the oldest, and wildest of John and Frances Spencer’s brood. Reckless and salty from an early age, Brown writes that she was kicked out of boarding school and rode her horse into her grandmother’s living room. “Sarah always had to be the best at everything,” a friend recalled. “The best car, the wittiest put-down, and the best dress.”

She also had a constant shadow in her youngest sister, Diana. “I idolized my eldest sister and I used to do all her washing when she came back from school. I packed her suitcase, ran her bath, made her bed—the whole lot. I did it all and I thought it was wonderful,” Diana told Morton.

In 1977, Sarah, who had suffered from anorexia, according to Brown, met Prince Charles at Ascot. The two began dating, and it was Sarah who introduced Diana to the prince during a shooting party at Althorp (“I’m cupid,” she’d later quip). “I remember,” Diana later said, “feeling desperately sorry for him that my sister was wrapped around his neck because she’s quite a tough old thing.”

But Sarah’s romance with the prince would soon end. She made the mistake of talking to reporters. Not only did she reportedly confess to having “thousands of boyfriends,” she also disparaged Charles as a hopeless romantic. “I wouldn’t marry a man I didn’t love, whether it was a dustman or the King of England,” she said. “If he asked me I would turn him down.”

This cardinal sin would cause Sarah to be promptly frozen out, with Charles reportedly informing her, “You’ve just done something extremely stupid.” And so, only three years later Charles would begin to court the blossoming Diana. Perhaps there was a hint of jealousy in her alleged counsel to a despondent Diana to not pull out of the wedding over his relationship with Camilla: “Bad luck, ‘Duch. Your face is on the tea towels so you’re too late to chicken out.”

#princess diana #lady diana spencer #the spencers #the spencer family #a brief history into princess Diana's fiery family

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magioftheseas · 3 years ago

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Gundham & Yasuke

Summary: The Forbidden Tanaka’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. YES.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and blood/injuries.

Notes: Unsurprisingly, Tanaka was the winner of the poll for which FTEs were to be done next. So his FTEs, quite hilariously, are getting posted on the anniverary date for sdr2′s initial release. That feels pretty...fitting. Writing Tanaka’s dialogue was really hard but I did my best. Despite my best efforts, these two don’t get along the best that they could. Cursed.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

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It went without saying that he didn’t have a normal middle school experience so he didn’t interact with a lot of people who exhibited the so-called eighth-grader syndrome. But he knew that once kids had the cognitive ability to identify their lot in life and long for more, such desires could get...twisted, to say the least.

Just about everyone wants to be fucking special if they’re not too focused on surviving. And most people grew ashamed of the lofty aspirations and special interests they developed in that delicate era. Matsuda understood that much, even if he was considerably detached from it. In some ways, those people were like animals. Strange beasts that acted on impulses and instincts. That still had intelligence but not, like, awareness. When it came to engaging with these types, Matsuda had no choice but to accept them even as he shook his head at their delusions of grandeur.

He understands he’s supposed to do that in theory.

In practice, however...

“Sharp-tongued fool!” Tanaka bellowed. “You draw too near to the barrier of the Ice Kingdom!”

It’s a beautiful day outside. It’s always a beautiful fucking day. Clear, sunny sky. Warm but with a pleasant breeze to keep it from being too sweltering. It’s such a nice day—and Matsuda Yasuke does not want to be here.

Without another word, he turns on his heel.

“Aha!” Tanaka sneered. “To think just the warning prose would be enough to make you turn tail and run. A cowardice I did not expect, but perhaps... I should have.”

While walking away and listening to that guy cackle to himself, all Matsuda had in response was to flip him off.

He proceeded to avoid Tanaka for the rest of the day—and would’ve avoided him for the rest of his life had fate not had something else in store.

It was another beautiful day. The perfect day for a walk. He was thinking by the ranch so that he could admire the chickens as he passed. Unfortunately, he not only came across chickens but also the cow that used to be a chicken he quite liked.

Also Tanaka Gundam.

And their eyes ended up meeting.

There’s no real point in reasoning with someone who exhibits grandiose delusions, he reminded himself. It’s no good to denounce them, but it’s also no good to enable them. It’s a delicate line that I do not want to fucking bother with.

Matsuda does look away, intent on ignoring the other. Despite that resolve, his thoughts don’t shut up.

I didn’t have any peers in middle school for obvious reasons. I never actually spoke to someone my own age who felt this way. I was too busy being fixated on my own goals and lofty aspirations.

A couple of steps forward. It’s fine. If he continued the way he was already going, he can just pass Tanaka. It’d be easy. Simple.

...

Fuck.

He pauses. He turns. Tanaka has already turned away, but as if guided by the third sense of a fucking Evil All-Seeing Eye, he turns back to Matsuda. His brow quirks.

“Has the barrier truly weakened so?”

“I don’t know,” Matsuda replied intelligently. “For some reason, I feel too worn down to go through the effort of pretending you don’t exist.”

Tanaka cackled lowly.

“Such an insolent remark. It seems you do not truly know your place. But that is just as well. Even now, your true name is one that seems out of my grasp.”

“I’m Matsuda Yasuke. Nice to meet you.”

Tanaka clicked his tongue, scowling at Matsuda’s blank expression and his deadpan tone.

“That,” he snarled. “Is merely a brush against the surface. It does not encompass the deepest depths of your rogue soul.”

Alright. So he wants to know what makes me tick. If I had to guess.

“Your true name,” Tanaka requested impatiently. “I have no need for superficial titles.”

“That’s cold,” Matsuda huffed. “The name my mom gave me isn’t superficial.”

...even if it is ironic.

For some reason, Tanaka does perk up. He gives a nod of approval.

“A fair retort,” he concedes. “That maternal bond is its own scarring shackle.”

That admission was the first true crack in the wall between them. Or so Matsuda supposed, and he felt himself slip just a little bit further.

What a headache...

“Anyway,” he went on with a wave of his hand. “It’d be incredibly foolish to give you my true name, right? If telling a demon my name gives them possession of my soul and telling them my birthday gives them control of my life... Then telling someone like you...”

Tanaka nodded again, grinning so widely it was damn near grotesque.

“I see...the sharp-tongued fool is still retaining a sharp mind...”

I shouldn’t have played along even in jest. Fuck.

“What special abilities do you possess?” Tanaka purrs, drawing closer now. “What hidden capabilities have you acquired?”

Tanaka stalks even closer, his eyes are flashing with curiosity and hunger. Probably because this fucking weirdo wouldn’t understand a normal interaction if it bit him in the face.

I still hate that stare. I fucking hate that stare.

“You already know that,” Matsuda snapped, forcing himself to stay relaxed. “Neurology is my talent. You even know my name and birthday because of those damn student files...”

Calm down, calm down. It’s just fucking Tanaka—

Tanaka does halt. His head tilts quizzically.

“Hmph.” With nostrils flaring, Tanaka seemed to duck into his own scarf. “I suppose you are human after all.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Simple.” Tanaka chuckled. “I sensed your apprehension, Matsuda Yasuke. I sensed—and yet, I could tell it was not a chill brought about by the Ice Kingdom.”

Matsuda does flinch at that.

“I shall take my leave for now so that you may re-gather your peace,” Tanaka declared. “Till next time, sharp-tongued fool.”

Tanaka gave him a salute. Matsuda barely had a chance to wave back before Tanaka flipped his scarf and coat so that it would dramatically billow behind him as he made his overly dramatic exit. So fucking extra, and yet—

He left so that I could take the time to calm down.

And how the hell was he supposed to feel about that?

“Even now, I can hear the crackling of the Ice Kingdom’s barrier.” Tanaka was cackling. Another beautiful day. Yet somehow this weirdo was set on shrouding himself in asinine mystery as well as his own dark layers. How the hell was he not burning up?

Tanaka noticed his staring and merely smirked. “What brings you today, Matsuda Yasuke?”

Aah. Even with that pompous fucking tone, it’s an understandable question.

“I don’t like things to be unbalanced,” he said which was a bald-faced lie but sounded persuasive enough. “Since you interrogated me last time, I thought I’d ask you a few questions of my own.”

“Hmph!” Tanaka snorted. “You seek a comprehension that may underlie a deep terror that cannot be contained! Do you not fear for your sanity?”

“No, I’m insane already,” Matsuda said flatly. “I drove myself insane years ago.”

“Is that SO?!” Tanaka boomed, incredulous or admiring, Matsuda wasn’t sure. “Your humanity is one that only hangs by a thread, then?!”

I...can’t disagree with that, huh.

Matsuda shrugged.

“We’re not supposed to be talking about me. Let’s talk about you.”

Tanaka remained guarded but gave a nod.

“Very well. Demi-human or no, I shall not lose to you.”

That’s more like it. You’re much less annoying this way.

“What talents do you have?” he settles on since it’s only fair. “Even if it’s not the full roster, I’d like to know some...special abilities.”

“You shall only get a portion,” Tanaka said, sniffing. “Despite my appearance, I’m an active fiend. Between sorcery and human hunting, I manage my website.”

Matsuda blinked, trying to imagine this guy at a computer. Actually, it was really easy to imagine. There’s no way Tanaka learned to talk like an edgelord on his own.

I bet he spends a lot of time looking up stupid shit like Norse mythology. But, if he has a website, then...

“I have encrypted my research with magic,” Tanaka informed him. “Thus, only those worthy can gain access.”

...if he means through password then I could probably hack in with ease.

“If I had to guess what kind of research it was,” Matsuda mused. “Then—probably something like a pet diary, right?”

There were a series of muffled squeaks from Tanaka’s scarf. Tanaka burst into a boisterous boom of laughter.

“Even with your wits, you would only be able to access the dummy site!” Tanaka grinned victoriously, even though no conflict had taken place. “Your skill level would only open the gates of the Exciting Breeding Journal.”

“...Alright. That’s fine by me.”

You’re literally here because of your talent in animal husbandry.

“Favorite food?” Matsuda asked next. Tanaka stiffened. Growled, even. Because he was pissed off about getting such a lukewarm response? Matsuda didn’t bother inquiring, instead pressing, “Do you have one?”

“The orange melon that bears the face of the devil,” Tanaka huffed, put out. “No other food compares in terms of high nutrients or versatility in cooking methods. More importantly, its seeds are the most effective food source for my Four Dark Devas of Destruction.”

...a pumpkin. He’s talking about a pumpkin, right?

“However! Those seeds must be carefully washed, carefully dried, carefully peeled,” Tanaka rambled on. “And lightly fried.”

“How meticulous,” Matsuda muttered. “But nothing less for...them.”

“Indeed. A difficulty that beguiles pain and pleasure alike matters not in the face of a grand purpose.”

I can agree with that even if I hate how it’s worded.

“There is more when it comes to the caring of beasts,” Tanaka rumbled. “Shall I lead you deeper?”

“Uh.” Matsuda waved his hand. “Next time. Let’s talk more next time.”

Tanaka gave him a truly wicked grin. For once, it actually felt malicious.

“Take as much time you need to prepare yourself, sharp-tongued fool.”

Matsuda made a face but bit his tongue.

Piece of shit.

Tanaka wasn’t out and about today at the ranch. He wasn’t in the diner, either. It went to reason that he was likely in his cottage.

It’s only because I found some pumpkin seeds that I’m even going...

When he knocked on the door, he found it unlocked. Since he wasn’t an animal, he was going to wait for Tanaka to answer the door rather than barge in but...

“Ku—!”

He heard a noise. A sharp, strangled sound that was undeniably made through gritted teeth. Matsuda opened the door immediately.

“Is everything alright?”

And indeed—Tanaka was holding his bloodied hand in a death grip. The hamsters were chirping and chittering, but unaffected. What happened was clear, especially in how Tanaka’s shoulders were hunched.

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around packets of wet wipes. He rummaged through his pocket for one, stepping forward and reaching out.

“Let me...”

“NO!” Tanaka shrieked, and like a startled beast he scrambled away from his hand. He was panting, still gripping his injury with a wide and wild-eyed stare. Seeing Matsuda there did little to calm him down, as he growled, “The blood that flows through my veins bears a fearsome curse. You must step away now to spare yourself their potency.”

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around disposable gloves. He slipped them on, tearing the wet wipe packet open, and made his way closer.

“Come on. We really don’t want that bite to get infected.”

“This is not my first blood sacrifice,” Tanaka snarled, even showing his teeth. Gross. “I have no need for your medical sorcery. And furthermore, that meager covering...!”

“Oh my fucking god, shut the hell up.” Matsuda snatched up his hand, prying the other off as Tanaka shrieked some more. Thankfully, Matsuda was able to pull it away and got to work dabbing and cleaning the wound. Tanaka had completely frozen now, but Matsuda was still fuming.

“Don’t ever fucking call me meager,” he snapped, and thankfully Tanaka had spare clean bandages for him to re-wrap his hand with. “Crude and foolish I’ll take. Meager I won’t.”

Tanaka finally scoffed as Matsuda made sure the bandaging was secure.

“A demi-human like you has such pride.”

Look who’s fucking talking.

“You should not have endangered yourself, however,” Tanaka went on. “I was not telling falsehoods about my poisonous blood. It is only by a thread that you have not already deteriorated. As crude and foolish as you are, I do not desire your demise.”

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of poison, so you’re worrying too much,” Matsuda replied but winced from a sudden headache. As he rubbed removed his gloves to rub his temples, Tanaka stood up.

“You once again face the ramifications for your hubris!” he exclaimed and rushed back to deal with his hamsters. “I grant you relief, and I advise you to take your leave immediately.”

“I’m fucking fine, it’s just a migraine,” Matsuda griped and disposed of the gloves and wipes. “Should you really be handling those hamsters again so soon?”

“They are not mere hamsters!” Tanaka bellowed. “The fangs I have taken are that of the Crimson Steel Elephant, Maga-Z!”

Maga-Z blinked its bright beady eyes at Matsuda.

“For the sake of the Invading Black Dragon, Cham-P,” Tanaka went to coo over the largest hamster which was orange, not black. “A golden demon, one who understands fear all too well... Much attention should be heeded to make sure they do not get overly stressed out... While many devil beasts of this ilk are aggressive and fearfully territorial, the golden variant is the most docile and intelligent. They recognize me as...”

He trails off. It’s as if he’s too moved to speak.

I have heard hamsters had an unnaturally high rate of cannibalism, Matsuda thought. But I suppose like with dog breeds, they come in all sizes...and temperaments...

It was obvious Tanaka knew his shit, being an Ultimate at all. But seeing it firsthand, watching him dote on the beasts with a cottage interior largely dedicated to their cage and tube, the guy definitely loved animals. Like, a lot. Despite his delusions of grandeur, he at least seemed to love animals a healthy, non-obsessive amount.

“They’re living well,” Matsuda commented blandly.

Tanaka scoffed at him.

“For demons that live a mere 1095 days, the luxuries in life mean everything. I would never settle for less.”

“I see...” He scuffed the end of his shoe against the wooden floor. “That’s good.”

Shouldn’t have worn open-toed shoes, but I don’t have any alternatives. Oh, right.

“I got pumpkin seeds.” He tossed the bag and it landed on Tanaka’s lap. The hamsters jumped, and even Tanaka flinched. Matsuda, however, turned on his heel. “Sorry. Bye.”

With that insincere apology, he headed out. He could feel a disproving stare on his back but that didn’t lessen his steps in the slightest.

His favorite chicken-turned-cow was in a good mood today. She was accepting pets and even nipping at his fingers. All he had on him was candy. Not any fruit much less hay although...

“If you plan to feed that creature, you should be wary of apples,” Tanaka rumbled from behind. Where the fuck he came from, Matsuda wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t surprised to be hearing from him. “You can risk over-eating which will cause a bloated stomach for the animal.”

“Ah, thanks for the advice,” Matsuda said sincerely, turning back and frowning when he noticed the other’s own hanging head. “What’s with the long face?”

“I would hope that you do not consider that creature to be your familiar, Matsuda Yasuke,” Tanaka murmured sullenly and solemnly. Like he had come across something truly pitiful to the point of depressing.

Although he seems more focused on the cow itself...

“I don’t have a familiar,” Matsuda huffed.

Tanaka quirks an eyebrow at him. Furrows it, even, as if Matsuda is the one not making sense. How seriously annoying. But rather than inquire further, Tanaka just shakes his head.

“Creatures like that one are born to be slaughtered,” he said, turning on his heel. “What a wretched fate, one that cannot be escaped even with the use of the Evil All-Seeing Eye. If one is to form a bond with such an unfortunate beast, they will invite only calamity.”

“That’s...” Not necessarily true. There is livestock out there allowed to live full lives. But they’re exceptions that prove the rule, I suppose. And the fact that I even thought to use a word like allowed... “Woof.”

Tanaka barked back. “This sentimentality only arose because I have not encountered any new beasts. I shall go searching as to put my mind at ease.”

He walked on, and Matsuda found himself following. Tanaka didn’t seem to mind at all. The opposite, in fact.

“There are many creatures I’ve tamed, sharp-tongued one,” Tanaka went on to say. “The Cerberus. The Phoenix. Even then Midgardian Serpent.”

Looks like I was right on the money about him looking up Norse shit. That’s just another fucking word for Earth, asshole. I’ve read enough shitty fantasy manga to know.

“I saw a toucan one time,” he commented in lieu of verbalizing his thoughts. “And I guess there are the seagulls. Or those mascots.”

“Those uncute fiends cannot be trusted with their speech,” Tanaka hissed. “As for the others... Ah, the ravenous, feathered beasts.” Tanaka nodded sagely with approval at that one. “They are a perilous project as they are quite fearless and impulsive. Even when greater threats arise, they gather like a court waiting to hand down judgment.”

I think...that’s more something that crows do rather than seagulls.

He does think about it though, birds judging one another. If he looked up, he’d even see a seagull or two soar overhead. A phrase rose to his mind, unbidden.

When the seagulls cry...

“Hm?” Tanaka paused when he noticed that Matsuda had stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, and whatever expression was on Matsuda’s face—whatever that was had Tanaka clicking his tongue. “What is on your mind?”

“Something stupid,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Even in peaceful times, I can’t help but worry about how easily things fall apart. Sometimes for something as petty as a broken promise.”

Is it speech alone that gives us the means of betraying one another?

Tanaka did stiffen.

“It sure is fortunate for us that we’ve yet to deal with any storms,” Matsuda went on to say. “In fact, it’s perfect weather every single day. Isn’t that strange? It almost doesn’t feel real, and if it’s not real... Does anything that happens here matter?” He paused again. “Like I said. It’s stupid.”

“Your inane ponderings still have an air of malice,” Tanaka muttered darkly.

Huh.

“Are you saying I’m someone to be on guard around?” He cracked a dry smile. “I’m not that fucking interested in messing with people. I just lack patience.”

Tanaka gave him a look. Wordlessly, he shook his head.

“I think... I will seek solace elsewhere. Do not follow me.”

Matsuda didn’t. Simply watched the other go. It might’ve been one of those annoying situations where the person was saying the exact opposite of what they wanted, but even if he could tell that was the case, he still wouldn’t have followed.

After all.

He lacked patience.

Tanaka seemed especially moody today. Although no matter how sullen his air was, the island sun wouldn’t let up in the slightest. In a way, that was pretty cruel, right? In that much light, it made it difficult to hide. Or something like that.

Wonder what he’s being so fucking temperamental about...

Matsuda makes his way over, waving as he does. He stops, however, when Tanaka regards him coldly.

“Matsuda Yasuke,” he rumbled in a gravelly tone of voice. “The sharp-tongued fool whose practices engage in the constitution of the mind... Would you like to duel?”

Huh?

Matsuda dropped his hand.

“...have you finally fucking gone actually insane?” He sighed. “Don’t answer that. No, I don’t want to duel. And if you push it, I’ll leave. I don’t have time for that bullshit.”

Tanaka’s cold stare became more of a glare.

“I’m afraid I do not have such luxury around you,” Tanaka said sharply. “You grind down my defenses with this continued, unsightly association. Despite wearing the face of a human, you, Matsuda Yasuke are...!”

“I’m just human,” Matsuda replied before he could finish. With an unimpressed shrug, he added. “And if you wanted me to stop bothering you, all you had to fucking do was say so.”

“I allowed these exchanges out of a sense of curiosity, arrogantly unheeding the danger,” Tanaka went on, muttering as he did. “Truly, I have been foolish.”

The sun shone down on him. On a day this bright, there wasn’t anyone to hide. Tanaka ‘Gundam’ looked a bit ill. When Matsuda took a step closer, however, he recoiled. With a sharp hiss, Tanaka held up his hand in warning.

Like an agitated cat.

Matsuda drew back with a sigh.

Someone like this—really is so needlessly fucking difficult. And for what? An inflated sense of importance? Wasn’t getting into Hope’s Peak enough?

...if he complained too much, he’d veer uncomfortably close to hypocrisy.

Hope’s Peak was just another step for me, but I wonder what it was for someone like this? Where the hell would he be if he didn’t get in? Honestly—I doubt it would’ve been all that significant.

“Alright,” he said. “Did you get anything out of our interactions at least?”

Tanaka stared at him, but being a normal fucking person without magical powers, Matsuda was more than capable of staring back, unaffected. For some reason, Tanaka did shy back a little.

“I have keenly observed you,” he said lowly. “Namely how your regard only shifts when directed towards creatures already marked for death. I suspect—you are a creature of calamity. The eye of the storm.”

“So, what,” Matsuda drawled. “Like a demon?”

Tanaka hummed, seemingly considering it. “No... That is not quite right.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, then,” Matsuda huffed, waving his hand dismissively. “But—I think I get what you’re saying. I just think it’s funny coming from you—and that you don’t understand.”

Tanaka’s stare blazed with an offense, and Matsuda paid no heed at all.

“How I regard creatures marked for death...” Matsuda snorted. “I’m a fucking doctor. Obviously, I treat them differently. It’s part of my fucking job.”

Although he’s referring to the cow, isn’t he? Seriously...

“I guess it’s weird,” he admitted. “With how shitty of an attitude I have. But I take my job seriously. If you can’t get something that simple, then your Evil All-Seeing Eye is pretty fucking lacking.”

“You...” Tanaka growled. “You’re truly impertinent. You wield your blade recklessly and foolishly. You and I both know—that it runs deeper than mere duty for you, Matsuda Yasuke.”

...so what if it does?

He supposes he should be impressed that Tanaka isn’t that fucking dense. That the animal freak is, in fact, a little perceptive.

Smiling mirthlessly, Matsuda reached out to pat the flinching other’s shoulder. He gripped him for just a moment.

“That’s all you need to know about me,” he murmured into Tanaka’s ear before pulling back. “I think we’re at enough of an understanding. Thanks for your time.” He gave a salute as he headed on his way. “We don’t need to talk again. We especially don’t need to duel. Have a wonderful fucking day.”

“One day,” Tanaka swore. “You will meet your cruel, disastrous end. That is the decree of the Tanaka Kingdom!” As Matsuda got further away, Tanaka boomed after him. “Mark my words, sharp-tongued FOOL! You are MARKED for des—!”

It was such a headache that Matsuda tuned him out. But as he found himself alone, he did wonder.

Marked for destruction? Or something else? Despite all that time, rather than growing close, that weirdo is now convinced that I’m hopeless. He might be right. Actually, I’d still consider us closer if he can recognize that. I still don’t really care. I don’t.

He walked on, moving forward because he had nowhere else to go.

Decree. What a fucking riot. If I do die, it won’t be because of an idiot like him. But whatever makes him feel better I suppose.

Matsuda shook his head, brushing the whole thing aside except...

If I die... It won’t be until I reach the very fucking pits. I won’t settle for anything less.

#sdr2 #yasuke matsuda #matsuda yasuke #gundham tanaka #gundam tanaka #Magi fics #Protag Matsun

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