#drawings of long-haired middle-aged bearded men

[burrcapts]

Furry Midnight Haul

Nobody really knows how such places come to be, but it typically doesn't take very long before they are noticed by those who had the misfortune of living nearby. Most of the time it starts with people simply having a strange, uneasy feeling if they happen to get too close. But with time, the stories behind them begin to grow and fill with new, frightening details. The locals start whispering about those who went missing after going there on a dare, or just because they did not believe the rumors and had something to prove. Unfortunately for Quinn and Leo, they weren't locals at all and heard no such warnings.

After Leo's gps sent the two of them on a goose chase across the countryside, suggesting an apparently far more optimal and 12,7% faster route that eventually turned out to take them through a good handful of different dirt roads, they somehow ended up in the absolute middle of nowhere. Somehow even despite that the duo was still in a pretty upbeat mood, chatting merrily about the amazing concert they were at earlier that evening. Unfortunately it was already well past midnight and Leo was starting to feel really worn out after all the different excitements of the day so driving much further did not seem like such a great idea.

The closest town on the map was almost an hour away and even then, it was so small that Quinn and Leo doubted they would have found an open motel there anyway. Instead they decided to spend the night in the parking lot of this old truck stop they happened to be passing at the time. It looked abandoned, but most of the lamplights around the property seemed to still be working so they hoped that at least no animals would be disturbing them till morning.

Quinn needed to take a quick leak before bedtime but Leo was so wiped that he wasted next to no time reclining his driver seat all the way back and rolling up some old sweatshirt he found on the backseat for a makeshift pillow. Of course he agreed when Quinn asked him to try and stay awake until he was back in case something were to happen. But it wasn't even a full minute after his friend closed the car door behind himself that he began dozing off.

Quinn was only planning to run behind the building and have a piss there, but as he got closer, he realized that he could see a faint light flickering behind one of the windows. Maybe this place wasn't really as abandoned as they originally thought… Upon closer inspection, he found the door to the public toilet at the side of the building, that's where the light was coming from! 

Much to Quinn's surprise, while not spotlessly clean by any means the bathroom wasn't a complete sty like he would have expected and after taking a small peek, he decided to try going inside, not knowing that nobody had been there in ages. He noticed a bit of a funky, musky aroma in the air, but honestly, that wasn’t a total dealbreaker. He walked up to the stalls and found them in a more than acceptable state as well. Those were going to be useful in case that double sized chili hot dog he got at the last gas station came knocking…

But one thing that caught Quinn's eye in particular had to be graffiti that covered the walls inside the stall. He giggled, wondering if he accidentally stumbled upon some secret gay cruising spot. The drawings were pretty simple and rather crude, depicting numerous beefy, burly men, with big cocks and even bigger beards! Quinn giggled when he noticed just how much care and attention was put into drawing their junk and their body hair, but how little anything else. 

Upon a closer look, it was almost like a comic book of sorts, showing the lives of a pair of particularly hairy, bearded truckers (but really, mostly just the two of them fucking each other and the men they met on the road.) One was drawn almost like a round ball with how huge his gut was and while the other had a pretty hefty potbelly too, someone definitely put the most effort into making his arms look as big and muscular as possible. 

Back in the car, Leo could see those same two arms in a much greater detail. As soon as he'd fallen asleep, he found himself having a very strange dream... In it, he was also reclining in front of the steering wheel in the middle of this same parking lot, only he was inside of a huge semi truck, rather than the old sedan he got from his dad. When he tried to move, Leo realized that he was occupying the body of someone else.

Someone big… really big. Those furry arms he saw waving in front of him were just enormous! He also had a beard, and it must have been really long and bushy because Leo could see its end brushing all across his meaty, ridiculously hairy chest whenever he looked down! He immediately blushed when he realized that wasn't the only thing he could see… This guy's fly was popped wide open with a fully hard, beercan of a cock sticking straight out of it!

And the freakiest thing was that as soon as he saw it, Leo began feeling so damn horny, as if he'd just been beating it off himself… suddenly it was almost getting hard to keep himself from wrapping this furry paw that he now had for a hand around the engorged, leaking piece of meat. Why not give it a few strokes? It wasn't like he was planning on cumming before the huz was back… that thought came so naturally to Leo that it didn't really occur to him to ask who was this ‘huz’ that he was talking about.

The burly trucker whose body Leo was now inhabiting did not like to think too hard about things, especially not when he was this hard and horny himself! If Quinn had still been around, he would have seen Leo squirming in the car seat, moaning pleasurably as the coating of stubble around his mouth began sprouting darker and thicker. But what was going on inside Leo's dream in that same moment was far less tame…

After giving his swollen meat a few timid strokes, he quickly discovered just how good it could feel to jerk off in the body of such a hulking, furry beast of a man. By now he was completely consumed by lust, grunting loud and beating it so hard that his huge, hairy balls were swinging in the air. Leo could actively feel himself growing dumber, but it was impossible to resist all that pleasure. As if this mind, limited to only the horny, brutish thoughts was experiencing them with that much more intensity.

Some of this horniness must have been rubbing off on Quinn because as he continued to study the lewd graffiti, his cock started to tent up in his pants without him noticing. His eyes were so tightly glued to the drawings that he also failed to realize that little by little, the space around him was changing. Paint was losing its vibrant color and peeling off the walls, the white tiles on the floor turning to shades of grey and freely overgrowing with grime. The unwashed smell of sweaty, wild sex was allowed to fill the air, opening the door to numerous, dirty and perverse thoughts that were just waiting for an opportunity to sneak into Quinn's head.

He found himself picturing what those two bearded truckers might have looked like in real life. Somehow not finding it strange at all that his interest was gravitating particularly towards the drawings depicting the most explicit sex scenes. They both had such massive cocks… the one belonging to the beefier trucker was hella thick, but so was the meat of the guy with a huge gut, and it might have been even longer! Quinn let out a moan as his cock started to grow even bigger, pressing uncomfortably against his jeans. 

Ugh, why the fuck was he wearing something so damn tight while on the road? It always felt best to ride in nothing but his jock so he could always whip out his cock whenever he got horny and give hubby a hot show… and since the jockstrap was right there, he would always have something around to wipe up all that cum off his belly too! Suddenly Quinn had the perfect image of a blonde, big bellied trucker with an enormous, matted beard pressing a nasty, yellowed jockstrap straight into his face. He grinned and gave it a snort, then, a moment later, Quinn found himself making that exact same sound, his hand tightly squeezing the bulge sprouting from his crotch. 

Fuck yeah, horny manstink always got him so damn hard! Quinn started to lift his other hand towards his face, he felt something between his fingers… its crusty fabric was soaked with so many  old loads that he could already smell it… his ripe, old jockstrap… suddenly Quinn was pushing his face right into it, taking a deep snort as his faint, weekend's worth of stubble started to grow longer and denser. Already making him look like he hadn't shaved in well over a month, and probably hadn't bothered to comb his shaggy mess of beard in about as long too. 

Oh damn, this manly stink was really getting him going! Quinn was in the process of trying to clumsily undo his belt and get ahold of his cock. But fuck, he needed more! His mouth was opening, the tongue sticking out further and further, something was telling him that he just had to give this rank jock a good lick… he could already almost taste those salty, countless loads spilled into it… but then suddenly Quinn opened his eyes, asking himself just what the fuck he was doing?! He tossed the jockstrap against the wall, pushing the stall door open and bolted outside.

Unfortunately for Leo trying to resist the influence of this place was proving to be far more difficult while asleep. Even despite his dwindling intellect, he could tell that this was no ordinary dream. Everything was too real… the inside of this cab, this hulking, beefy body covered in coarse fur, the way it felt when he squeezed this beer can thick cock that constantly dribbled with pre. He had this sudden urge to give it a taste and once he did, he simply couldn't stop! He was such a horny pig! Constantly beating off and huffing his ripe pits.

Leo was still able to tell that the deeper he sank into this lustful frenzy, the harder it was getting to recall ever doing anything else, ever being anything else than this massive, furry trucker! But who cared? He was so fucking hot now! Leo wasn't able to resist tilting the rear view window towards the cabin so he could see more of himself in the reflection. Getting so damn turned on admiring his broad, meaty chest and caressing the enormous beard that was hanging down from his tough, brutish face. 

Back in the real world, Leo's body was moving in that exact, same fashion. Fingers combing through what was now a full beard, densely covering his cheeks while his other hand tugged on his swelling cock. Somehow Leo knew what was happening to him, that his real self was changing to resemble this burly, constantly horny, hirsute beast of a man but he was powerless to do anything about it. Completely trapped inside this horny wet dream and unable to wake up. 

Even his best efforts amounted to little more than making himself shift from side to side in his seat. Except by now, it was a tall and wide driver's seat of a massive semi truck and with every stroke of his cock, Leo was getting closer to filling it completely with his furry bulk. He knew that the only hope he had left was for Quinn to quickly get back and wake him up before it was too late!

Unfortunately for Leo, his friend was going through a major crisis of his own at that same moment when he ran out of the bathroom stall and saw himself in the mirror. He was so unrecognizable that at first Quinn screamed, thinking that someone else was in here with him, but when it finally sank in that he was looking at himself, he was far too freaked out to make even a peep. His puffy face was completely covered in shaggy, matted hair! The only thing that Quinn could think of was that he must have been having some kind of an allergic reaction because the rest of his body was suddenly so swollen that his normally loosely fitting hoodie was ready to burst at the seams.

Quinn was panicking so much that despite having felt the messy hairs against his fingers, he still refused to accept that such a huge beard could have sprouted all around his mouth just like that. He rushed towards the sink, convinced that it was something he could simply wash off. Turning on the rusty tap and splashing his face in such a hurry that it was only when his beard was completely soaked wet, that Quinn got a good whiff of just how badly this water reeked. 

It was so unbelievably ripe and musky, as if someone made a whole bunch of brawny construction workers wipe themselves with only a single towel after their shift, and then wrung it right above his face. Quinn let out a strained groan as he tried to hold his breath, but it was too late, his chest started to swell so rapidly that it felt like he might suffocate if he didn't pull off his hoodie. Only to find a massive, round gut flopping down onto the sink alongside a pair of fat moobs when he did.

It was just immense and it was still swelling larger and covering in thick, sweaty hair right before his eyes. Quinn’s gaze constantly darting back and forth between it and this massive, unkempt mess of a beard that was now cascading down his chest. Quinn had no idea what to do now, he only knew that somehow, watching it all happen was getting him so unbelievably horned up that he was only moments away from tearing his pants open to whip out his rock hard cock and start beating off.

But then it turned out that he won't even have to wait that long. Suddenly a big, muscled arm covered in thick, dark fur appeared on top of his belly, with another one undoing his belt and grabbing his cock from behind.

“Fuck huz, should have told me ya wanted to stick around cruisin’ for some cocksuckers round here, would have joined ya earlier! Or maybe even taken care of that gigantic schlong myself!”

Quinn moaned when he felt the grip tightening around his meat as the visitor's broad, rough fingers began massaging its entire length. He looked up and saw the gruff face of a hulking trucker brute with a beard almost as massive as his own. After a moment and a closer look Quinn recognized him, and of course he fucking did! It was his husband Leo, the horny pig couldn't even wait till he was done having a piss and had already stomped here with his cock out, wanting to fuck! But that was why Quinn loved that bastard so much, the only man he'd ever met who was as much of a horndog as himself! He grinned and pulled down his pants all the way, opening his hairy ass wide and sliding it onto Leo’s thick, throbbing cock.

“Yeah, give it to me you hot fucker! Yer gonna be tasting that load when ya rim my arse at the next stop!!!”

Wait… why was he saying that… Quinn wanted to tell Leo to stop but instead only kep spewing more dirty, perverted things and encouraging him to fuck him harder. God, that felt so damn good, seeing just how much his gut was turning this beefy trucker on! Leo was moaning even louder than he was when he caressed this furry, swelling beach ball with his meaty paws. Inside, Quinn was still desperately trying to tell his friend that he had to stop, but the only thing leaving his mouth was a horny litany of the dirtiest curse words ordering him to keep going until eventually even he was too turned on to talk at all.

Only grunting wildly as he tugged on his big nips and pushed his ass deeper and deeper onto Leo's beer can thick fuckstick. After all those years they've spent on the road together, fucking multiple times per day, they could both tell without fail just how close the other was to blowing his load. And with how loud and savage Leo's groans were getting, Quinn knew that the huz was already on the edge.

“Do it fucker! Blow that load in my… HNNGHHHHH!!!

He couldn't finish before he felt Leo squeezing his cock as hard as he could take it and jerking it rapidly until it began spewing thick globs of prime trucker spunk all over the floor in front of them. Then thrusting his cock as deep up Quinn's ass as he could before he started cumming as well, completely flooding the big bellied bear's insides. As always, the intensity of the orgasm leaving them heaving and panting loudly, completely dripping with sweat. After Leo slid his cock out, Quinn gathered some of the cum still oozing from its tip onto his tongue and pulled his man into a sloppy kiss, already looking forward to finding out just how much better this load was going to taste after marinating inside his hole until the next truck stop.

If you liked the story and would like to read more bear themed transformation fiction, or have something written for yourselves consider subscribing to my Patreon! This one in particular was a request from two of my subscribers!

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[littlesparklight]

Got the (foolish lol) idea to go through some of the works I know give physical descriptions of at least some Trojan war characters and collate them. They aren't in alphabetic order, sorry, but the works/authors are colour coded, at least!

I'll do this in two parts; this one for Achaean characters, the next one for Trojans. Watch Philostratus fanboy over Palamedes and Protesilaos (why????) and marvel, when compared to basically everyone else's description, across all works!

Helen The Iliad: 'terribly does she seem like the immortal goddesses to look on' (spoken of her, not narration), divine/shining/noble among women In Hesiod and other works she is given the xanthos = blond/auburn/etc epithet Dares: Helen resembled Castor and Pollux. She was beautiful, ingenuous, and charming. Her legs were the best; her mouth the cutest. There was a beauty-mark between her eyebrows. (Castor and Pollux: they were twins, blond haired, large eyed, fair complexioned, and wellbuilt with trim bodies.) Malalas, Chronographia: full-grown, well-dressed, with fine breasts, white as snow, with beautiful eyebrows, a beautiful nose, shapely, curly-haired, blonde-ish, with big eyes, charming, with a beautiful voice, a formidable sight among women. She was 26 years old. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: white, with soft skin and beautiful eyebrows and nose. Her skin was so white and bright as if it was made of snow. She had lovely breasts and a pretty face; she had languishing and large eyes and a melodious charming voice; she had long, curly, blond hair; she was well-behaved and perfect in everything she did; she was a lot more beautiful than all the other women, just like the moon is brighter than all the stars in the sky. At that time she was twenty six years old.

Agamemnon The Iliad: '[…] tell me the name of this gigantic man. […] To be sure there are other men even greater in height, […] handsome, nor so majestic, for he seems a kingly man.' Dares: blond, large, and powerful. He was eloquent, wise, and noble, a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: Agamemnon and Menelaos were alike neither in appearance nor strength. […] He looked majestic and magnificent and like the sort of person who offered sacrifice to the Graces. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: white, big, of a wide chin and dark hair. He was well-bearded, well-educated, resembling the blessed ones.

Menelaos The Iliad: xanthos = blond/auburn/bright, 'standing towered with his broad shoulders. Dares: moderate stature, auburn-haired, and handsome. He had a pleasing personality. Philostratus, Heroicus: Agamemnon and Menelaos were alike neither in appearance nor strength. […] [he] wore his hair boyishly long, as was the Spartan custom, and the Achaeans made allowance for him when he was visiting, since they did not mock those who came from Euboea even though their hair was ridiculously long. He says he conversed most easily and very concisely, mixing pleasant speech with his discourse. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: the bodily frame smaller [than Agamemnon]; he had a breadth, though. He had a red skin, dense beard and blond hair.

Odysseus The Iliad: 'lesser in height than Agamemnon […], but he seems broader in the shoulders and chest.' (Also shorter than Menelaos.) Dares: tough, crafty, cheerful, of medium height, eloquent, and wise. Philostratus, Heroicus: extremely skilled in public speaking and clever, but he was a dissembler, a lover of envy, and praised malice. His eyes were always downcast, and he was the sort of person who engages in self-examination. He appeared more noble than he was in military matters; surely he was not well versed in preparing for war, in commanding naval battles and sieges, or in drawing of spear and bows. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: middle-aged, pot-bellied, white, with plain hair, nose looking down and fiercely glaring.

Achilles Dares: a large chest, a fine mouth, and powerfully formed arms and legs. His head was covered with long wavy chestnut-colored hair. Though mild in manner, he was very fierce in battle. His face showed the joy of a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: For Achilles' physique appeared startling and divine […] When he became an ephebe, a brightness radiated from his face, and his body was beyond natural size, since he grew more easily than do trees near springs. […] hair is thick, lovelier than gold, and becoming no matter where and how either the wind or he himself may move it. His nose is not quite aquiline, but almost so; his brow is crescent-shaped. The spirit in his eyes, which are bluish-gray, casts off a certain eagerness even when he is still; when he is rushing on, they spring out along with his purpose, and then he seems more lovely than ever to those who cherish him. (long hair until Patroklos dies) Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall, of a beautiful chest, graceful in everything, white, of blond curly and thick hair. He had a big nose, melodious voice and the eyes of a woman. His glance was terrible, in a race was swift-footed; he had long legs and scanty beard.

Patroklos Dares: handsome and powerfully built. His yes were gray. He was modest, dependable, wise, a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: Patroklos, although he was not much older than Achilles, was a divine and sensible man, […] In size and bravery he was between the two Ajaxes. He fell short of the son of Telamon in all things, but he surpassed both the size and bravery of the son of Locris. Patroklos had an olive complexion, black eyes, and sufficiently fine eyebrows, and he commended moderately long hair. His head stood upon his neck as the wrestling schools cultivate. His nose was straight, and he flared his nostrils as eager horses do. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: middle-aged, potbellied and well-bearded. He had blond hair, red skin and lovely face.

Ajax, the son of Telamon The Iliad: 'outstanding among the Argives in height and broad shoulders' ; repeatedly called only second to Achilles in everything but looks. Dares: powerful. His voice was clear, his hair black and curly. He was perfectly single-minded and unrelenting in the onslaught of battle. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: brave, great, quick, with a nice nose and curly hair; He had a dark skin; he was well-bearded and grim-looking. He was more beautiful than everybody, except for Achilles.

Ajax, the son of Oileus The Iliad: lesser [than Ajax the great] by far, for he was a small man […] Dares: stocky, powerfully built, swarthy, a pleasant person, and brave. Philostratus, Heroicus: appeared less intelligent [than Diomedes and Sthenelus] […] looking fierce, and throwing his long hair back Malalas, Chronographia: tall, strong, tawny, squinting, good nose, curly hair, black hair, thick beard, long face, daring warrior, magnanimous, a womanizer. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall and had bright eyes. He was nice, had long face and dark curly hair.

Diomedes Dares: stocky, brave, dignified, and austere. No one was fiercer in battle. He was loud at the war-cry, hot-tempered, impatient, and daring. Philostratus, Heroicus: steadfast and having eyes that are blue-gray and not black at all and a straight nose; his hair was woolly and dirty. […] modest upon rebuke, checked the eruption of his anger, and refused to insult the troops or to be disheartened. He himself considered it appropriate for an army to appear unwashed, and he commended sleeping in any opportune place; his provisions consisted of what was available, and he did not take pleasure in wine unless troubles came upon him. Diomedes and Sthenelos were the same age. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: [he had a] body that was worth of four young men. He was in good shape with a flat nose, narrow neck and blond hair.

Sthenelos Philostratus, Heroicus: a good size and towering, gray-eyed, with an aquiline nose, fairly long-haired, ruddy, and hot-blooded. […] lacked Diomedes' insight, his power of speech, and his patient endurance which belong to both soul and body. He gave way to anger, was contemptuous of the throng of battle, was savage upon being rebuked, and was prepared for a more delicate lifestyle than was needed for a military camp.

Nestor Dares: large, broad and fair. His nose was long and hooked. He was a wise adviser. Philostratus, Heroicus: (statue, but also the real man?) with a beard that is majestic and well-proportioned; his ears display what he went through at wrestling school, and his neck is restored to its strength. In truth, Nestor stands upright, not defeated by old age, with black eyes and without a drooping nose. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: big, had a nose looking downwards and a fiercely glaring. He had a long face, flame-coloured skin, blond hair and he was wise.

Antilochos The Iliad: Younger than the rest. Philostratus, Heroicus: Because Antilokhos was still young and not mature enough for war when they assembled at Aulis, his father did not agree to his wish to serve as a soldier. (he arrives in the fifth year.) For Achilles' physique appeared startling and divine, but that of Antilokhos seemed to all to be pleasant and gentle. […] Antilokhos resembled Nestor, but that he was swifter, trim in physique, and paid no attention to his hair. He gave me the following details about Antilokhos: He was most fond of horses and hunting with dogs. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: younger than the other Achaeans. Almost a boy, he was white, with a beautiful neck and a big nose. He was storm-footed, provoked fear with his eyes and a beard just sprouting. He was blond with beautiful hair and grey eyes.

Neoptolemus Dares: large, robust, and easily irritated. He lisped slightly, and was good-looking, with hooked nose, round eyes, and shaggy eyebrows. Philostratus, Heroicus: he was good-looking and resembled his father, but was inferior to him in the same way that beautiful people are inferior to their statues. Malalas, Chronographia: of good stature, good chest, thin, white, good nose, ruddy hair, wooly hair, light-eyed, big-eyed, blond eyebrows, blond beginnings of a beard, round-faced, precipitate, daring, agile, a fierce fighter. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: red hair, that's why many had called him Pyrrhus. He was of young age, white or somewhat grey, the colour of the milk; He had beautiful nose and chest, hair curly and was daring; He hadn't ever been hurt, embittered, reckless and of a too wild temper; Thin tiny hair was growing from his beard.

Palamedes Dares: tall and slender, wise, magnanimous, and charming. Philostratus, Herocius: So then in height he was the same as the greater Ajax; in beauty, Protesilaos says, he vied with Achilles, Antilokhos, Protesilaos himself, and with the Trojan Euphorbus. His soft beard was springing up and with the promise of curls; his hair was cut close to his skin; his eyebrows were noble, straight, and came together above the nose, which was perfect as a square and stately. The resolve of his eyes appeared unshaken and fierce in battles, but when he was at rest their gaze was full of comradely affection and affable; he also is said to have possessed the most marvelous eyes among mortals. And in truth, Protesilaos also says that when he was naked, Palamedes weighed halfway between an athlete and a lithe person, and that he had a toughness about his face that was much more pleasant than the golden locks of Euphorbus. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: He was tall, white, with his hair blond and filthy; he was slim and had a long face; he was a servant of wisdom and of Ares. His hair was blond and visibly dirty, because he didn't trouble himself with stupidities like his hair.

Podalirius Dares: sturdy, strong, haughty, and moody.

Nireus The Iliad: the most beautiful man to come beneath Ilion of all the Danaans, after blameless Achilles. Iphigenia in Aulis: repeats the 'most beautiful after Achilles' description.

Machaon Dares: large and brave, dependable, prudent, patient, and merciful.

Idomeneus The Iliad: Older than most of the rest, gray-haired. Malalas, Chronographia: above average height, dark-skinned, good eyes, well set, strong, good nose, thick beard, good head, curly hair, a berserker when fighting. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: quick, had a dark skin, of middle age. He had a short curly hair, wide chin and beautiful nose.

Meriones Dares: auburn-haired, of moderate height, with a well-proportioned body. He was robust, swift, unmerciful, and easily angered. Malalas, Chronographia: shortish, wide, white, good beard, big eyes, black hair, curly hair, flat face, bent nose, quick-moving, magnanimous, a warrior. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: short; he had wide shoulders and beautiful curly hair. He was white; he had crooked nose, nice chin, wide face.

Philoctetes Philostratus, Heroicus: his hair was gray because of age (he was about sixty years old), he was more vigorous than many of the young men, his gaze was most fearsome among mortals, his words most brief Malalas, Chronographia: a good height, well set, dark skinned, eyebrows meeting, brave, good eyes, good nose, black hair, hairy, sensible, accurate archer, magnanimous. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall, beautiful, of dark skin and with meeting eyebrows

Protesilaos Dares: fair-skinned, and dignified. He was swift, self-confident, even rash. Philostratus, Heroicus: He is about twenty years old at most. Because he sailed to Troy at such a young age, he has a full, splendid beard and smells sweeter than autumn myrtles. Cheerful eyebrows frame his eyes, which gives him a pleasant, friendly manner. When he exerts himself, he looks intense and determined. But if we meet him at ease, ah, how lovely and friendly his eyes appear! He has blond hair of moderate length. It hangs a little over his forehead rather than covering it. The shape of his nose is perfect, like the statue's. His voice is more sonorous than trumpets and comes from a small mouth. It is most enjoyable to meet him naked, since he is well built and nimble, just like the herms set up in race courses. His height is easily ten cubits, and it seems to me that he would have exceeded this had he not died in his early twenties. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: a lovely face and courage in his eyes; his hair was blond and long; his skin was smooth and dark; he was bold, graceful, with beautiful body and beard; he was vigorous, although much younger than Antilochus.

Calchas Malalas, Chronographia: short, white, all grey, including the beard, hairy, a very fine seer and omen-reader. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: small, white, thin and shaggy-haired. He had his hair grey in the front and white the rest of it.

[daryldixonfanfiction]

What you fight for! Pt.4- Claimed

Masterlist

Summary: On the road Daryl is forced to join a motorcycle gang in order to survive Whether he likes it or not.

Warnings: age gape, mentions/ attempt to SA, groping, creepy men, kidnaping, angst, possessive Daryl, protective Daryl, fluff and typical twd violence and gore.

WC: 8.9k

Daryl was so tired he didn't realize he had fallen asleep, sitting in the middle of the road with his head hanging in exhaustion. He had just lost the last person he cared for and the point to keep on felt lost. It was that same heavy feeling of defeat when the prison had fallen. His newfound family was gone, his brother and then Julia. He didn't care for walkers nor the world around him, nothing matters at this moment. He just wanted to deseper, ses to exist into nothing.

He wakes when seven men surround him.

Daryl glances as one of the men thread forward, he wasn't gonna get killed by some assholes after all.

“Well, lookit here.” The man spoke.

Daryl proceeded not to move, but when the man got too close Daryl clocks him in the face, aiming his crossbow at his head. The men surrounding him pointed their guns, but Daryl showed no indication of stepping down.

“Damn it, hold up!” The man on the ground ordered.

He looked to be in his mid fifties, rugged with untrimmed hair and beard, the man was the leader of the motorbike gang.

“I’m claiming the vest. I like them wings.” A man from behind spoke, but Daryl’s only focus was on the man in front of him.

“Hold up.” The leader ordered again, and laughed as he stood to his feat. “A bowman. I respect that.” He compliments. “See, a man with a rifle, he could have been some kind of photographer or soccer coach back in the day. But a bowman’s a bowman through and through. What you got there, 150-pound draw weight? I’ll be donkey-licked if that doesn't fire at least 300 feet per second. I’ve been looking for a weapon like that. Of course, I’d want one with a bit more ammo and minus the oblongata stains.”

The abnoxes man from behind spoke again, “Get yourself in some trouble, partner?” And this time Daryl did notice him but ignored him, narrowing his eyes at the leader before him.

The leader continued, “You pull that trigger, these boys are gonna drop you several times over. What you want?” No response, he continued. “Come on, fella, suicide is stupid.” Then he smiled and asked, “Why hurt yourself when you can hurt other people?......Name's Joe.” The leader offered.

Daryl knew how dangerous it was to be on your own and to be truthful he couldn't stomach the idea just after losing Julia. He knew they were bad right off the bat, but what he also knew was he would easily fit in with these types of men, because that was what he did hanging with his brother when he wasn't locked up or wherever the hell he was when he wasn't around. So he stands down, and so does Joe's men.

Daryl looks at Joe, “Daryl,” he offers his name in return and joins them. But only for the time being he tells himself.

The day went by fast, he hanged back, none of the men showed any interest in talking to him along the road, he wasn't much of a talker himself, he rather be left alone. The group reminded way too much of Merle and his life before everything was overrun, but he rather not think about that. He thought of her, of Julia, over and over again. Twisting everything that went down before losing her. Meaby If he had done something different or just been fast enuff, just maybe Julia would be here, walking by his side.

They set up camp in the wods to rest for the night.

The forest floor sadly reminded him of her, her soft snores, the little sounds she would make and how easily she found comfort in him; he had taken it for granted because he thought they would have more time. It felt like she would appear right there beside him, that yesterday was no more than a bad dream.

He didn't long for sleep to take him but neither did he want to be awake.

Daryl woke at dawn.

Unable to stand the way he was feeling, he went off to fend for himself, leaving the stuff he had scavenged on the road at camp.

It was good game for rabbits, he could tell by the tracks. Patiently waiting for the rabbit to come within shooting distance. He kneeled, steadily aiming, elining the crossbow to get the perfect shot. One steady breath and he fired. His bolt hit the target but so did someone else from behind. Daryl gets up and looks at the same man that had wanted to claim his west, holding a compound bow, giving him a smug smile.

“What the hell are you doing?” Daryl said angrily.

“Catch’n me some breakfast.”

Daryl walked towards the dead rabbit, “That’s mine.”

“My arrow’s the one that hit first. Cottontail belongs to me.” The man insisted as of fact. Daryl kneels, taking out the arrows of the rabbit and continued, “Been out here since before the sun came up.”

“You see, the rules of the hunt don’t mean jack out here. Now that rabbit you’re holding-,” Daryl tossed the man's arrow, he could care less about what he had to say, it was his and he could tell him nothing. “Is claimed, boy. Claim whether you like it or not. So I was you, I’d hand it over. Now, before you get to wishing you ain’t never even got out of bed this morning.” The man threatened.

Daryl walked up to him, closing their distance, caring himself with confident strides. He knew what this was but he could care less, he wanted simply to be done with the conversation, “It ain’t yours.” Daryl told him. But the man had sensed Daryl's sullen demeanor ever since he joined them, the man began, in knowing.

“You know, I’ll bet this bitch got you all messed up, hmm?” Daryl ignores the man's insinuation “Am I right?” The man said, smiling, Daryl gave him a glare and prosedes to walk past him.

“Got you walking around here like a dead man who just lost himself a piece of tail.” He taunts, and that got Daryl to stop in his tracks, angel wings facing the man. “Must have been a good’un. Tell me something. Was it one of the little’uns? ‘Cause they don’t last too long out here.”

Daryl had always struggled keeping his temper at bay, controlling it. He could feel that dark part of him slowly coming back, that part of his past he thought he had left behind sins finding his newfound family. But they were all gone. He had tried to control it, to refrain himself from giving the abnoxes man the satisfaction of getting a raise out of him. He tried to stay calm, and at some point it seemed easier. He had been more in control of himself - hiding his emotions from enemies and friends alike. But every word leaving the man's mouth made him feel pure, burning, animalistic rage. He didn't care about the repocations his actions would have. If he wanted to rile him up, he would show him exactly what happened to those who crossed the line. The urge to simply make the man shut his fucking mouth -to inflict pain. He could see himself doing it, enjoying it even.

If Julia knew what he was thinking, what he was about to do, she would surely fear for what his hands were capable of. But Julia wasn't here, so what did it matter?

Slowly Daryl reached for his knife, unholstering it, gripping the hilt as he had become completely clouded by rage. Every muscle in his body was tense with adrenaline pumping through his veins. Daryl charged towards the man, but in the same second Joe held him back before he could even attempt to stab him and calmly stepped between the two men, breaking up the fight that was about to unfold.

“Easy, fellas, easy. Let’s just put our weapons down. See if we can’t figure out what’s really the problem here, huh?” Joe spoke with calm.

Daryl held a cold unforgiving gaze upon the man that only could be described as a death glare. The man kept smiling that shit-eting grin, his reaction had clearly satisfied him as if this was all a game. But this was no game for Daryl, If Joe hadn't stepped in the moment he did, he would be a dead man right now.

The altercation that morning had him a lot to think about. There were rules so things wouldn't get so tense within the group. As Joe had put it, "Going it alone, that ain't an option nowadays. Still it is survival of the fittest. That's a paradox right there." When the members wanted to mark something as their own they said the word "Claimed." And Daryl had denied to claim anything, he thought the whole thing was stupid as he believed there were no rules no more, he had his own code of course that he followed like the law itself.

The day continued, Joe and Daryl walked along one another along a raile road with the grope infront of them. Daryl thought the leader was alright by him, it didn't mean he liked him, he could stand him and hold a conversation, though Joe was the one who mostly did the talking as Daryl was a man of few words. Their conversation shifted focus to Daryl when Joe asked,

“So what’s the plan, Daryl?

“How so?” Daryl asked in return.

“You're with us now, but you ain’t soon?”

“Yep.” Daryl confirmed looking at the ground as they walked. Joe continued trying to get a concrete answer out of him, “So what’s the plan?”

To be truthful, Daryl didn't have a solid plan yet, but now when Joe asked him he found his first thought was of Julia. He didn't know what had happened to her other than being kidnaped. He didn't know if she was dead or alive. But he had convinced himself that she was alive somewhere. Maybe her optimism had rubbed off, it wasn't like him to be hopeful, but it was what had kept him going so far. Daryl shrugged trying to find the right way to put it, without giving too much away.

“Just looking for the right place is all.”

“Oh, we ain’t good enough for you, huh?” Joe sarcastically remarked. Daryl scoffed thinking of his altercation this morning with Len, “Some of you ain’t exactly friendly.”

Joe smiled, “You ain’t so friendly yourself. You know you need a group out here.”

"Maybe I don’t.”

“No, you do.” Joe insisted. “You should be with us.”

A walker snarls ahead, the men in front take care of it and their pleasure of taking it down doesn't go unnoticed by Daryl. Joe continued, “People don’t got to be friendly. We don’t have to be nice. We don’t have to be brothers in arms. We just got to follow the rules. You claim. If you steal, you keel. I know that sounds a little funny, but nobody laughs when something goes missing. And you don’t lie. ‘Cause that’s a slippery slope indeed.”

"What happens if you break ‘em?” Daryl asked.

“Oh, you catch a beating’. The severity of which depends upon the offense and the general attitude of the day. But that doesn't happen much because when men like us follow rules and cooperate a little bit, well the world becomes ours.” Joe looks ahead to an auto parts garage aside the track and orders the grope, “Right there. It’s our abode for the evening.”

Everyone began to head towards the entrance but Daryl doesnt follow, he looked to Joe and said “Hey. There ain’t no us.” Joe turned and faced him, “You leaving right now?” Daryl doesn't answer. “No?” Joe questions him, “Then it sure seems like there’s an us.” Joe turns and heads towards the entrance, then turns again,

"Are you a cat person, Daryl?" His words made him freeze, and he looked up at Joe. "I am," Joe continued, "Loved 'em since I was three years old. Vicious creatures. Anyway, I'll tell you, and this is true. Ain't nothing sadder than an outdoor cat that thinks he's an indoor cat."

Daryl thought about that for a moment before he followed the others into the building.

Daryl knew what Joe was getting at. Daryl had always told himself he was better off alone, but deep down, he knew in his heart he wasn't. The more he twisted and turned the idea, if he decided to join these men maybe it was the right thing to do. And he was gonna find Julia, he was surely gonna spot a lead of her along the roads they seemed to stick by. Daryl was never gonna tell the others of his plan, he didn't trust them in that sense. The moment he finds a leed he's going to ditch them without hesitation.

The others had claimed the vehicles as their bed for the night and his reluctance to give in to this claim thing they had going. He still thought that keepers' find mentality was stupid and therefore left him no other choice than to simply lay down on the cold cement floor. But Daryl was too tired to care, he just wanted to be in his own thoughts for a while, chewing on one of his cinnamon sticks, calming the urge for another cigarette after he had smoked some with Joe earlier that day.

One of the men approached him. It was Len. Daryl could tell he was up to no good. Ever since he had run into these guys, Len had been set on making his life hell. Len began with an accusing tone, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Christ.”

Daryl glanced up at Len from where he laid on his back and sat up fully, his attention now on him.

“Give it here.” Len ordered, stepping into his personal space.

“You step back.” Daryl said warningly.

“My half was in the bag. Now it’s gone. Now ain’t nobody around here interested in no half damn cottontail except you.” Len points an accusing finger towards the now standing Daryl. “Ain’t that right?”

“You’re the only one still thinking about that crap.” Daryl groweld back.

Len stepped towards his stuff and demanded again, “Empty your bag.” Daryl takes his bag and steps back in the same motion, creating a distance between them, Daryl warns again more firmly this time, “I said step back.” Len gives him glare. Joe interferes like last time and snatches the bag to investigate Len’s accusation and questions, “Did you take his rabbit, Daryl? Just tell me the truth.”

Daryl could feel anxiety bloom in his chest, because he knew this could gow south, though he had done nothing of what he was accused of. Liyn was strictly forbidden, if Joe decided he was guilty or suspected him he would be punished by the group or as Joe had put it,’kach a beating. And that fact alone made him even more angry towards Len.

“I didn’t take nothing.” Daryl hissed in defense.

Joe emptied Daryl’s bag on the floor, revealing the other half of the rabbit was indeed there. Daryls head snapped to Len. He fucking new that muther fucker had planted it there when he whasen’t looking.

“You put that there, didn't you?” Daryl confronted Len angrily, stepping closer. “When I went out to take a piss! Didn’t you?!” Daryl pushed Len back enuff for him to stumble back a step. But Len keeps on his accusation pointing a finger into his chest, “You lied. You stole. We gonna teach this fool or what, Joe?” Len said through his teeth like venom.

Always the calm and composed leader he was in these situations, Joe calmed, “Whoa, whoa.” Stepping between them with his attention to Len who was the most railed up at the moment, “Now, Daryl says he didn’t take your half of the rabbit. So we got a little conundrum here. Either he’s lying, which is an actionable offense, or…” Joe smiled and laughed, “You didn’t plant it on him like some pussy, punk-ass, cheating, coward cop, did you? ‘Cause while that wouldn’t be specifically breaking the rules, it’d be disappointing.”

“It would.” Len nodded in agreement, “I didn't.” he insisted.

“Good.” Joe said with a nood. He looked at Daryl and breathed, “Well…” Joe throws a right hook in Len’s face making him descend to the ground.

“ …teach him a lesson, gent’s. He’s a lying sack of shit. I’m sick of it. Teach him all the way.” Joe commands and the men begin to kick and beat Len on the floor.

Lens grunts of agony filled the garage.

A part of him didn’t agree with Len getting punished or more how he was beaten by the others, the unfairness of it. But then he turned his back, the commotion behind him. Daryl was a man of survival and knew to play his cards right. Daryl blocked the relentless kicks and grunts from the commotion behind him, laying back just like he did before Len had interfered. Everything became background noise, blocking it all out like many times before. And when the men Dragged Len outside, closing the door behind them to continue whatever they were doing, everything was quiet again.

Daryl dreamt of Julia that night, a common theme since he'd lost her. He dreamt of holding her like he never dared to do, he wished he had. But he had always been too shy to act on his feelings. So he held her just a little tighter knowing when he woke, Julia would no longer be in his arms.

In the early morning the group heeded out. Daryl was shocked to discover they had beaten Len to death and left him in a ditch outside, impaled with his own arrow. For a moment he was taken aback. He had seen cruelty before the world became what it was but it never meant it didn't affect him. Len was an asshole but this didn't feel right.

Just as he was about to cover Len's body with a blanket, just like what he had done for Julia back at the golf club, he remembered what he had done, framing him. That this would have been him, lying in a ditch, with his bolt through his eye.

Whatever pity he had felt was gone and he went along with the others, hanging back with Joe who seemed to like talking to him and to be honest he didn't mind. It distracted him from the ace that only seemed to have grown each passing day.

Passing Joe’s white lightning between them as they conversed or mostly Joe conversating as Daryl preferred to listen, but Joe didn't seem to mind, he seemed like one who liked to talk. Daryl took a swing frome the homemade alcohol,

“I ain’t been lit at dawn since before everything fell apart.” Daryl confessed.

“Fell apart.” Joe ecod. “I never looked at it like that. Seems to me like things are finally starting to fall together. At least for guys like us. Living like this, surviving. We’ve been doing this from the start, right?”

And Daryl had. He had been living in this world before walkers roamed the earth. Fighting and surviving he had done as long as he could remember, it was the only thing he really knew. Back with his group they described it as the end of the world, as if the world had stopped and their lives had come to an end. But for him it had only just begun, he was free, more free then he had ever been before. Maybe he was made for how things are now, like Julia had said that night. He tried not to think about it too much, because if he was, Julia wasn't.

Upon a road, the forest now behind them, one of the men in front looked at the road sign, “Just a few more miles.” The man informed the group.

Daryl was the last to pass the sign. He looked to Joe beside him as he grew curious, “So is that where we’re headed?”

“So now you’re asking?” Joe questioned and Daryl confirmed. “That’s right.”

“We don’t like to stay in the same place, we like to be on the move. It keeps us from losing our edge. But that doesn't mean we don’t rest our legs once in a while. I think you will like it. Last time we found a neighborhood like this one we got lucky.”

Daryl thought that made sense. Before the prison they survived going from house to house, then went on the road when they had enuff to last them for a while before doing it all over again.

“Claimed.” Daryl said before the man in front could grab the wild strawberry plant. The man said nothing and continued along as Daryl picked up the plant by the road, then shoved the lone strawberry in his mouth, “What you mean by lucky?” Daryl asked Joe.

“That got your attention?” Joe said, amused.

"Yah."

Joe continued. “You should have been there. Got our hands on a little bunny, pure as snow I tell you. They are very hard to come by these days if you know what I mean? She gave a hell of a fight but you know how women are saying the opposite of what they want, and I know she wanted it, they all do. Shure wished she lasted longer, but you know how those little ones are?”

Daryl didn't say a word, he couldn't seem to find them. Because what was there to say when someone talked so freely of such horrific actions that made you physically ill?

An unsettling feeling settled in his gut. He knew then he needed to ditch these guys, sooner than he had planned but he had to play along for now.

It’s jarring, the ringing in her ears and the sharp pain coming from the back of her head. Her eyelids felt heavy as they slowly fluttered open to darkness. The ringing in her ears fade as the hum of an engine slowly wakes her oriented body. A seat belt was strapped over her chest, her body tilted towards the passenger's side window, eyes slowly found focus of the night through the window, watching trees speed by along the lone country road, clouds were wisebulle by the moon's soft light and she tried to remember why she would be in a car but it hurt. The last thing she remembered was the prison, but then a low voice, a voice of a man she hadn't taken notice of speaks, her whole body goes rigid to the stranger beside her.

“Worried you were never gonna wake up, you took quite a hit.”

The man was dressed in a clean police attire, fully equipped. It was out of place. Groomed and was clearly well taken care of with short kept hair, his receding hairline indicating he was in his late 30s. Julia looked at the man and spoke in a small timid voice.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta.”

“How did I end up here?"

The man looks at her, giving her a smile she finds difficult to read, but it makes her skin crawl and her heart pound. His focus returns back on the road ahead.

“Had a lead on some guns that were pretty far out. That’s when I spotted you, wiggling in the road.

And Julia says nothing, she just stares perplexed, trying to remember past the blanks she tries to fill, but it’s all so difficult.

“Can you remember your name?”

“Julia.”

The man echoes her name to himself, he looks at her, his gaze taking her in.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl.” He muses in an unsettling way making her avoid his lingering gaze.

But then…. She does remember something or more like someone.

Daryl

She remembers fighting a walker but then everything went black and now she's her. Clearly the hit to her head had been hard enough to affect her memory and she hoped it would all come back. Trying to process everything she looks down and blinks a couple of times before her gaze falls on the man once more and speaks more desperate this time, with the thought of Daryl in her mind.

“The man I was with, did you see him?”

The man glances at her, clenching the sterling weal enough for her to notice, but his expression does not change and he tells her without looking her way.

“You were alone.” Her stomach drops and her eyes grow wide. “If I didn’t save you when I did, you’d be dead right now.” Julia’s strong reaction goes unnoticed. “One was eyeing your thighs when I showed up. But I got there first.”

His hand travels along her thigh, feeling her over the fabric of her skirt, slowly revealing her skin underneath. She lets out a small noise of discomfort and freezes just like many times before, like when boys in school had touched her, or smacked her ass in the corridors. Freezing like a deer caught in headlights, she doesn't dare to move a muscle.

“Jacket that rotter up.” He said and Julia could hardly breath.

A sickening panic blooms in her chest that travels through her whole body. Recoiling from his touch in discomfort and disgust he only keeps on feeling her up with his fingers slowly traveling up her thigh. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to move away from the man's groping hands. And when he spoke once more she wanted to throw up, crawl out of her own skin, because his words were just as sickening as his hand on her skin, that was now dangerously close to the hem of her panties.

“It would be nice to have a pretty little thing like you. You're like a little girl. A pretty little girl. I bet your mother told you ‘don’t talk to strangers. But I’m no stranger. I’m Gorman. I wouldn't hurt you…mmmh…your skin is so nice and soft.”

Julia couldn't speak but she was screaming inside of herself for him to stop, to not be touched without consent like many before had dune. Julia's heart hammered in her ears, her breath rapid as she trembled in terror beneath his touch.

Often Julia struggled to tell the difference between good and bad people -but that look in his eyes and the unsettling way he touched her, ignites an instinct inside of herself, screaming she has to get out, she’s in danger, that this man wants to do something against her will. Her hand reached for her knife, but he of course had taken it. And she knew she could not kill him nor had the will to inflict pain to another person. She was nothing like Daryl, fearless and strong but that made her only think of him more and grew more desperate as she all but whispered.

“Please turn back, he must have made it.”

But Gorman turned angry and grounded out “As I said, you were alone! And I think you're safe here with me!”

Julia didn't know what to do, she felt so lost and scared without Daryl and she knew she had to do something. She begged again and again to stop the car, for him to turn back, to let her go. But he got so angry and aggressive towards her, making Julia turn to complete fight or flight when she for the first time acknowledged her arm was locked up in handcuffs in the car's door handle. Realizing this man had locked her up, to do what she did not dare to name, and that look in his eyes of evil and lust, Julia knew he was a sick, sick man who would and had done unspeakable things.

In an attempt to somehow stop the car she threw herself over the steering wheel, desperately fighting to take control. But he was so much stronger. The tiers made an awful squealing sound as Gorman fought against her. He looked away from the road to pull her free hand off the sterling weak but the next second everything stopped…

Daryl was hanging back as they reached their way to the rich neighborhood, big houses with overgrown yards that once had been neatly kept by the owners were now abandoned.

The plan was to slowly disappear as they began looting the area for supplies and he would be on his merry way to find Julia. But just as he was about to slip away something ahead caught his eye. And for a moment he thought he had miraculously. Somehow. Found her.

A black car with white a wight cross.

Daryl's stomach plummeted, his steps slowing down.

The others walked past the car and began to clear the first house on the block, not notesting their newfound companion lagging behind.

Slowly, Daryl approached the car, he had to know.

There were tire marks on the asphalt indicating something had gone wrong, something terribly wrong. The car had crashed into a tree, the front window was cracked and the hood was all buckled up by the impact. When he rounded the car to investigate the inside, he swore his heart stopped beating. His head was pounding and his body began to sweat. He felt so stiff, but at the same time like his legs were going to turn to jelly. He had felt this feeling before, back when he found Merle reanimated as a walker and when he thought Carol was dead.

The interior was smeared with gore and guts. Both front seats were bloodied, there were no bodies, just bits and pieces indicating there had been a walker feast, likely the same night he’d lost her.

Daryl picked up a knife that had fallen to the floorboard on the drivers side, not far from it lies the diary. With the last traces of Julia in his hand, Daryl knew enuff of what had happened.

A part of him accepted it, as all the evidence was there, but the other part of him was in denial.

Knees buckled beneath him, he couldn't feel the pain of the ground digging into his skin. He felt like throwing up, guilt pounding in his head, telling him over and over, another death was on his hands, his fault, only adding to that mental list of all the people he'd lost. It feelt so heavy he didn't know if he could stand up again. No tears were shed though his eyes were burning, it was like he couldn't cry.

Hollow and empty -he was nothing again. Because what was he when he couldn't protect the ones he was supposed to? He couldn't protect his blood, his family, his friends, his people…He couldn't even protect Julia.

All he wants is to see her again. Hear that sweet voice and tell her what his sorry ass really wanted to say. There were so many things he wished he had done differently now when he knew he had last her. He regretted the cruel way he had spoken when they got drunk, how he had been so ruff and cold towards her when all she had been was nothing but kind.

Julia was too good for this world and he was a maid for it.

Daryl could recall every moment they'd shared. He didn't realize he had become so attached to someone he had known for such a short period of time. But he had never met anyone like Julia before. Julia was the first girl who was genuinely nice to him, who so deeply cared for him. No questions asked and she was there. She never blamed him when he said cruel things, because she understood he never meant them. She was never uncomfortable to be close, embracing him, holding his hand, seeking comfort or to give him comfort, and it had all felt so good. It was like she could strip him bare with her eyes and truly see him for who he was, and that feeling, he had longed for his whole life.

Just when he began to believe in hope, even when he had lost her, he believed there was that little chance he could find her. Because that was what he did -he found people. But this was not what he had in mind.

Beneath all that hard exterior his heart aced teribully as Julia's soft voice rang in the back of his head.

"I’ll be gone someday…" "Stop…" "I will. You're gonna be the last man standing. You are. You're gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone Daryl dixon…"

If she only knew how much he missed her now.

"There are still good people Daryl…" "I don’t think the good ones survive…"

And Julia….was one of the good ones.

Daryl didn't know how to face what had just happened, finding the car the way he did. For selfish reasons he wanted to forget her -all of them. So he pretends he doesn't care, that he isn't broken once again.

Killing the cigarette against his skin, Daryl felt a sense of relief from the pain in his chest, but it lasted only for a moment. He had opted to venture to the other part of the neighborhood until he stumbled upon a few walkers in the mostly walker free eria, and it was strange as it was clear that there had been evidence there had been more just days ago. They were snarling, dragging their feet towards him from the garage door they had been banging on.

He could have easily just jogged off and they would have left him alone, but the anger inside of himself didn't let him. There was this satisfaction in his outlet when killing them, and it was a much needed relief, much like bak at the golf club.

The walker's body’s lies on the yard of the house, he scans the abandoned houses around him then looks to where the walkers had been trying to get in and heads towards the garage. Inside he realizes he's stumbled across a car, he removes the tarp of the truck and opens the hood finding the battery is missing, making him sigh in frustration slamming the hood shut. He shakes his head leaning against the hood, then notices a green refrigerator that seemed to be working. Stored batteries and containers labeled Sulf and Sid inside and Daryl knew he could get it back running again. Going back outside he finds one of the walkers carrying the key to the truck, the owner of the house was smart but not smart enough to get infected.

Going through the stuff inside he finds an All Purpose Charger and hooks it up to the truck battery. Estimating it would be fully charged in the early morning as the truck was in a fairly good condition like the battery itself. But the thing was he didn't know where he would go, did he even want to go now when he found a good truck that would take him wherever he pleased? Maby new Mexico? He had always dreamed of going there bak when he was a kid. But what was the point?

He couldn't find one.

The late afternoon sun glowed on him as he walked down yet another street until finding where the men had settled in one of the bigger houses. And why Daryl decided to join them inside, he didn't question, he just did, his body moving on its own.

The men gave him a look but didn't dare to say anything of his ruffed up appearances, it was obvious something had happened. They notest him, then went along with their business. They got the message to not ask, it was his business and it was clear this group did not not care for one another like his group had, the only thing they cared about was claiming and keeping to Joe's ‘self proclaimed rolls’.

Joe was held up defusing a quarrel in the living room and Daryl opted to one of the bedrooms upstairs, shutting the world out but his mind would not let him rest.

Daryl had lost many along the way; it was nothing new, it was inevitable. But this time was different. It hurt more, the pain was straight up unbearable. It didn't make sense why this time would be different, but it was, and there was no denying that.

Sinking into the comfort of the bed he reached for his back pocket and began to look through the diary, flipping through pages. There was an artistic streak the way she had written small poems and drawn sketches of animals, flowers and people from the prison he supposed. The writing was crooked, a little hard to read with the misspelling, but he didn't mind.

Soon the exhaustion of los had caught up to him, he fell asleep with the book over his heart with the map Marlene had given to him all the way back when she had begged him to take her, and he had promised to keep her safe. He had failed her too.

Daryl didn't know how much time had passed, the setting sun outside told him he had slept at least an hour. Comotion down stairs had escalated, something about one of the men lying and getting punished for it.

Joe telling him “his rules” was effective, putting them in line or whatever he had said seemed like bullshit. Sitting up with his legs off the bed, arms resting on his knees he could hear arguing and pleading from the man that was accused of lying.

“No, no, no please. Please, don’t. Please!"

A loud thud followed by a pained scream of the man down stairs filled the house as the others laughed in amusement. Daryl could have interfered if he wanted to, but he couldn't find it in himself to care, it wasn't his place to interfere nor his business.

“Oh, God!” The man groans in agony.

“You plan of finishing the job?” One of the men said. “Yeah. I’m getting an earache and I know he’s just gonna let his ass squeal.” Answered the other.

“After what he did, the man deserves to bleed.” The third man said.

“Y’all stay down there if you want.” The fourth man said and began to walk up the stairs to claim one of the two bedrooms left before the others could, still handling the man down stairs. The man searched the rooms until he settled for the one next door to him. The door must have been locked but eventually he heard it open and close.

Daryl opted to busy himself looking through the room knowing he wasn't gonna find sleep again. Engrossed in the impressive Metallica collection Daryl didn't pay much attention to the mens chatting frome down stairs, not hearing one of the men halloring.

“There’s a woman shaking up in here.”

Immediately it got the rest of the men's attention. Finding a newly washed shirt disappointed some, but Joe ordered them to be ready for anything in case the owner of the shirt would return and possibly cold return with others that could be a threat. The four men dispersed, Joe watched the front porch as the others gathered their guns to watch the sides from the inside of the house.

A thud from the other room caught Daryl's attention for just a second, but didn't think anything of it as no other sounds were made; he turned his attention back to some motorbike magazines. Flipping the third page there was another thud, it was distinct, more like a struggle. Strange. Then there was another voice, a faint, muffled, ‘No -coming from a woman.

There was clear sense something was not right, his gut told him so and it had never proved him wrong before. The instinctive feeling of something wrong was enough for Daryl to step out from his room to approach the door where the noise came from. Then he listened in just like he did when hunting, tilting his head he heard trashing coming from the bed inside, making him draw his knife by muscle memory, his hand was around the door knob, turning it, pushing the door open. And there was nothing that could have prepared Daryl for what was unfolding behind that door.

His world stopped.

In a span of mere seconds, Daryl went through three intense stages of emotions. From shock taking in what unfolded before him, Julia very much alive lies on the bed, with a man on top of her holding her down with one hand strangling her and the other hand groping her between her legs, as she does everything in her power to escape. Then came the realization. There was the smallest choking sound as her face was filled with such terror and fresh tears streaming down her face, making his eyes sting. Lastly, came the rage. His hand tightened around the hilt. Rage scratched at the back of his skull right at the base. Right where emotions turned to turmoil, he could feel himself giving in to that anger, that darkness. The man had almost exposed her under the skirt, her panties on soon to be ripped off. While one hand was pressing around her throat his other hand moved aggressively between her legs. The man had the most vile expression Daryl had ever witnessed, making his blood boil, vision turning red and he demands, his voice low and deadly.

“Get your fuckin hands off her.”

Julia tried to escape the man's hold, trashing beneath him with her feet, kicking and scratching fingernails in an attempt to free her throat. The lack of oxygen made her vision turn blurry, darkening round the edges, she could feel how her limbs weakened and her strength slowly leaving her.

Julia had hoped it was all just a bad dream. But there was so much pain, it hurt too much to just be a nightmare and she knew the horrifying truth…This was real. The idea to simply let it happen, to get it over with seemed like a better option at some point.

It would happen but it would be over, she told herself.

Just as Julia was about to give in to her fate, the pressure was gone and she could breathe. In and out. Fresh air filled her lungs as she gasped and coughed, fingers gently touching the sore skin on her neck. Julia struggled as she moved carefully to the center of the bed, vision returned though it was still a bit blurry she could make out the commotion on the floor in front of her. She saw the back of another man on top of the man that had attacked her just seconds ago. There was grunting, heavy breaths drawn along with the unmistakable sound of knuckles thudding against soft damaged flesh.

Julia stared wide eyed, her breaths heavy, she was no longer coughing but a hand remained on her throat. The man below the stranger didn't fight back nor move, the man had been beaten to death, a pole of blood expanding on the floor of crimson red. The stranger stood to his full height turning to her, but Julia didn't look at him, her eyes were fixed on the monster that had tried to force himself on her in the vulnerable state of sleep. As if she waited for his limp body to come back from the dead and do it all over again.

But that moment never came.

Daryl had been lost in his anger but the moment he remembered Julia was there, very much alive, he stopped. Daryl stands there watching her, she is disheveled, her beautiful curly hair is a mess, her cheeks raw and soaked in tears, and her eyes have blown wide. She was still in her skirt and camisole. She didn't notice he was standing there, and all he wanted was for her to look at him, to know he was here, that the man would no longer harm her.

“Julia.” No response, he tries again, “Julia, look at me.”

And slowly he can see her reacting to his voice, finally acknowledging his presence. Her eyes landed on his bloodied hand then the knife in his other. Their eyes met and all he saw was fear, fear of him. Panic bloomed in his chest, realizing Julia didn't recognise him, as if he was the same man as the one bleeding out on the floor. The thought of her being afraid of him was devastating, unbearable even.

Daryl didn't know the way his hair covered his eyes, the way the knife looked in his hand as the other was drenched in blood, all Julia could see was a monster. .

In Daryl's eyes Julia looked like a wounded fawn, and maybe that was what she was in that moment? And just in that way he said carefully.

“It’s me. It's just me.”

Desperately he tried again when she didn't respond, putting his knife away, his palms facing her, being as non threatening as he possibly could.

“You know me. Daryl. Remember?"

And Daryl could see the shift happening behind her fearful eyes to recognition. He didn't move, just simply stayed where he was, afraid he would only frighten her in her timid state.

Stiffly Julia crawled out of the bed, slowly but carefully standing to her feet. She felt so shaken from the way she had woken, in the most terrifying way possible. It was difficult to stand, even to draw in air. But hearing the voice she never thought she would hear again, and she had to know the man before her was him, she wiped the tears away, moving towards him.

Daryld watched her slowly approach him, and he had to strain himself not to grab her, pulling her into his arms, knowing he had to let her come to him.

Julia grabbed the fabrike of his shirt looking up where his eyes would be, covered by dark strands of hair that had fallen to a mess. When Daryl looked down, his dark pools of blue met hers and Julia knew then it was him, it was real.

Julia reached for him, both hands now grabbing at his shirt, face buried into his warm chest, his beating heart thumping under his skin.

Julia inhaled shakelly…And said.

“Daryl.”

It was fragile the way she said it and immediately relief washed over him. Finally Daryl dared to touch her, holding her close with both of his big arms swallowing her smaller form. She smelled of her natural scent, with a hint of shampoo and all the sweet things that reminded him of her. All of her was soft, welcoming and full of life, just how he remembered her, and he said softly in return.

“That’s right.” he breathed out, cradling the back of her head with a hand, “It’s me. It's just me.”

But their reunion was cut short by the men down stairs growing impatient with his absence, and the man he’s just beaten to death. The evidence on the floor and the blood on his knuckles.

Daryl knew the moment they realized what he had done, they would surely kill him, ‘teach him all the way’, like they did Len. The chilling feeling of knowing, knowing and knowing what these men had done, what they could do, knowing Julia would suffer a horrific fate she almost did just moments ago settled a sense of horror in him.

But nothing was going to happen to her, he was going to make sure of it.

Julia dried her tears once more as Daryl grabbed her pack and gray cardigan that had been thrown to the floor, then approached her feeling a sense of urgency and panic even though he stayed calm for the sake of her.

“This all your stuff?”

Julia could only nod as she put on the cardigan and Daryl noticed it was more in a need to cover herself up after being exposed in such a way she had been.

The relief she had felt dissipated the moment she recognised voices of men, coming from down stairs growing lowder and impatient.

“I thought Dan and Daryl got that.” one man said, then the other, “What the hell are they doing up there?”

Daryl listens closely to every word shared below, with his eyes never leaving her, as if she would be goon if he did.

“Get them the hell up.” Joe ordered urgently.

Julia froze in fear as Daryl turned serious in contrast to her, hugging her pack in a death grip to keep her shaking hands at bay. Julia could feel herself becoming smaller, as if she couldn't follow along with what was happening.

The gears were turning behind his eyes, then Daryl nodded to himself, a decision had been made. And he said while keeping his voice down, yet firm.

“Hey, you see that clawset?”

Julia acknowledged it across the room, but no verbal response was made. It was difficult to register when dissociation began to wash over, preventing words from forming. But she forced it down when she could feel his hands grabbing her shoulders, groundingly, pulling her both figuratively and physically back to reality.

“You’re gonna stay in there, and you don’t come out until I say, okay?”

And Julia could not say anything in return, as if she was mute. But when she heard footsteps heading upstairs she could feel that twisting feeling in her gut she had felt in the car, finding herself spacing out once more, no longer looking up at him.

“Dan, Daryl, get your asses down here!” The man heading upstairs said, but of course got no answer in return. “Yo, you hear me?!”

“They’re not gonna come anywhere near you.” Daryl firmly told her, shaking her by her shoulders, “Look at me.” It was an order, an order that demanded attention. “They're ain’t gonna come anywhere near you. All you gotta do is stay put, stay quiet and don't come out until I say. Can you do that for me?

Julia stairs and stairs, pleading with her eyes for something -she didn’t know. It was about seconds before the man would enter and time was running out, she knew. But Julia didn't want to be without him, to be separated. But at the same time she knew it was something she had to do.

Even though she was scared, scared out of her mind she reletend. To do what he had asked of her. Julia trusted him with her life. Before she moved, to hide, Daryl’s hand cradled her face affectionately, as if he needed to touch her, to remind himself she was indeed there, what was at stake. His thumb moved, caressing her cheek gently as he provided, softly.

“Good girl."

If the situation had been different, Julia was sure she would have smiled in return.

Never had Julia seen the look Daryl had in his eyes as he had now. It was worrying, it went beyond protecting her, and it looked like he was -well like he was about to do something very terrible, and she knew there was nothing that could be done to stop it.

His touch didn't last long as he urged her to hide. When she was consumed by darkness in the safe space of the closet, Julia wished she had said something more than simply his name.

There was now way of telling how much time had passed.

The screams and the fight from down stairs had stopped and Julia wasn't sure she wanted to know what Daryl was doing, what he had done. Knowing Daryl could beat a man to death with his bare hands, Julia knew that was probably what had happened and it made her feel -well, she didn't really know.

The house was completely silent, it was unsettling in a way, not knowing if Daryl was alright, or hurt. Even though she had been told to stay put, she couldn't. The silence was too unnerving, making her leave the safe space of the closet, stepping out into the bedroom, cracking the door open, Daryl had closed when leaving.

“Daryl.” Julia called out, “Daryl, are you alright?”

Then there was movement down stairs, sounding as if something heavy was being dragged across the floor.

"Stay! Don’t come down here!”

His order made her flinch, he wasn't angry but it was clear he didn't want her coming down. Julia assumed it had something to do with the unmistakable dragging on the floor. Doing as she was told once more she stayed put, and she couldn't help but stare at the dead man on the floor. She was still coming down from what had happened, welding herself to get it together. Crying was not gonna make it better and she was no child, she was a grown woman, it was time she acted as such.

Drying the evidence of her face as she sits on the floor, Daryl emerges, wearing a different jacket and a red machete attached to his belt. And Julia couldn't help but stare as Dary was - well. Covered in blood.

Pt.5 Masterlist

[tamaruaart]

aghhhufhfhfhghfhh i hate drawing fucking monkey furries why couldn't macaque and monkey king be depressed middle age men with beards and long hair and shit

[sins-of-the-sea]

Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

Uncommon Questions for OCs and their creators:

Oh, I had to edit how they look MANY TIMES throughout the years.

The only one who retained the same physical appearance from Day 1 is Abena as a tall, voluptuous, dark-skinned booba lady with a teeny weeny afro, hypnotic smile, and big alluring eyes. The only change I think I did since her original design was define her jawline and cheekbones, and even then that was just me being a better artist and not just drawing her as a generic anime girl with toned in skin. I guess updating her outfit and changing how she covers her hair counts.

The men, on the other hand:

Josep was initially significantly young, leaner, and had a different hairstyle (rounded hairline with bangs and a ponytail). His face was also smoother. As my art improved, he'd eventually gain the sharp cheekbones, defined jaw, and unique eyes, as well as a bulkier physique to compliment his spooky theme. It's actually fairly recently (the past few years) his hair was most defined: slicked back with a few stray strands and a widow's peak hairline with trepanning scars on his skull. The braided queue slung over the shoulder like an anime mom's side plait is perhaps the most recent change (because I'm sick of trying to decide how his hair falls over his flipped cloak collar), as well as self-flagellation scars on his back because Catholicism, yo.

Rashid also had a major change. Like Josep, he was initially younger, almost identical to Amir but with the stereotypical genie look (so a shaved head with a ponytail, smaller beard, etc). That was why Rashid's original name was "Jinni"! Then later one he was made middle-aged and thoroughly bald, with a fuller beard and body hair everywhere, and a hooded cloak. Later still changed his physique to be "strong fat" to contrast the Adonises that fill up the Devil's Eye roster lmao (others also fattened up like Robert and Isaac). His hooded cloak is also changed to a general assymetrical cloak styled after Cassim from Aladdin and the Forty Thieves. Most of the recent changes onto Rashid nowadays is just defining and redefining how I draw his face and his beard. God, his beard is hard.

Ruixiong's physical design is mostly on just his hair and face. In one of his earliest drafts, Ruixiong was originally a very disabled beggar with a shitton of congenital deformities who was approached by the Master to be made abled and beautiful… only to have half of his face burned and an eye gouged out by Sing-Lung (hence the strap of cloth under his hair in some of his icons). But this is absolutely gross writing so VERY THANKFULLY it is dropped; however, Ruixiong was without a justification as to why he often covers half of his face with his hair for a long time until recently--he just has a birthmark on his face he thinks is hideous lmao. Which I eventually adjusted too--his attitude about that birthmark evolved to something he finds ugly but also prideful over, thus his reluctance to keep it covered dropped and his full face shown more often altogether. So the peek-a-boo bangs is just stylization nowadays.

Also, the top knot. Ruixiong previously didn't have the Ming-dynasty styled top-knot. That's also a recent change to his physical appearance. Ruixiong feels weird whenever I draw him without it now.

Phoebus and Guy are a special case, and I'm lumping them together as identical twins. Initially they WEREN'T twins: Phoebus was originally 23 and Guy 21 before I decided upon making them twins and moving them to 22. They also had different hairstyles; Guy was thoroughly white with weird stylized shapes while Phoebus had the symmetrical auburn Sephiroth bangs. Upon deciding to make them identical (barring Guy's white hair at the time), I altered Guy's hair to have Phoebus' shape and Phoebus' face to be just like Guy's (Phoebus' face was originally much more significantly "generic anime bishonen").

Originally the only way you could tell them apart, besides their personalities, was their color scheme--otherwise, left uncolored, you weren't supposed to be able to tell who is who at all. But this also changed over time. Guy nowadays has muscle, and he dresses more formally or "sexily", whereas Phoebus is a skinny twig and dresses like a lazy slob. There is also Phoebus with the birthmark on his elbow as the congenital trait that distinguishes him from Guy.

Special mention goes to Guy's hair, which has gone all over the place from full white to auburn to the current auburn with a single white streak. I am contemplating one more physical change to Guy, but I am still deciding if it's a good change or not first.

Giovanni's radical design changes is mostly on his hair. He had a really stupid looking ponytail with the Idiot Hair string plus sideburns and… all over the place. Later it became a slicked back wavy shoulder-length hair but still with the Idiot Hair strand sticking out on top of his head. Then that Idiot Hair relaxed and covered his right eye for a time as I changed the hair once again to have assyemtrical parted long bangs wherein his right eyebrow tends to be covered. Finally, that Idiot Hair was dropped altogether as I gave Giovanni his trademark sideburns instead, a decision I'm glad to have because I'm so sick of his cutesy face being so bland otherwise (the sideburns make him appear more masculine without changing his face).

Giovanni's heterochromia was entirely by accident--he was originally just blue eyed. But before I boarded the plane to go to the Philippines for college, I had an unfinished drawing of Josep smacking Gio on the head for stupids, and only one eye (blue) was colored. The other (green) was colored on the plane, but it was dark and I picked up the wrong Sharpie. When the lights brightened and I saw my mistake, I decided to keep it. And that is why Gio has two differently colored eyes!

The last major change to his physical design is probably a couple years ago, regarding the massive number of scars on his body due to self-harm during psychotic episodes in the cellar.

[nehirceliknews]

How a Tiny Island in Europe Sold Its Soul to Online Gaming

SLIEMA, Malta – It’s a Friday night at one of Malta’s larger upscale hotels in a fishing village turned sprawling town called St. Julian’s, and in the ballroom on the lower ground floor a woman in a silver dress is performing a not-quite-acoustic set, seated beside a guitarist whose long, dark hair is pinned back by a pair of sunglasses. 

“So good, so good,” she sings. “I’ve got you.” Before her are two dozen tables of wine bottles, tuxedos, and dresses. Most of the male guests appear middle-aged and some are mildly intoxicated, while the women present are mostly younger. A large advert at the side of the stage proclaims that a digital consultancy called MYC will ensure that your business images are distinctive, bold and respected. “We can be extraordinary, together,” it adds, helpfully. 

In the foyer outside, another tall display features the name of a group established by the Maltese government and the country’s gambling regulator to promote the island as a destination for businesses that develop, market, operate and profit from online gambling websites and apps. In front of that, a small strip of red carpet has been unrolled, where a photographer waits, lights raised high on stands, to capture the departing guests. 

Four older men in jackets, all clutching awards, surround a woman in a dark top. The event photographer snaps several formal group shots, then grabs a spotlight in one hand and, with the other, rattles off a short series of photos on proffered smartphones. There are high-fives and backslaps, and a young British guy in a grey jacket enters stage right, shouting “I won it” to a possible acquaintance with a beard and a large disc earring, before walking on and quickly pulling out his phone, suddenly oblivious to the surrounding melee of hugs, squeals and whoops. 

The evening’s Malta iGaming Excellence Awards had recognised excellence in a variety of categories, including top software platform provider for web-based betting and online gambling CEO deemed “best” – most effective, friendliest, or whatever, it’s unclear. The Intercontinental St. Julian’s may not quite rival Los Angeles’ Dolby Theatre, the traditional venue for the Academy Awards, but Malta has in recent years become to online gambling what Hollywood has been to the movie industry, drawing entrepreneurs and executives from across the European continent to this sun-blasted island. The EU’s smallest member state is home to one of the world’s greatest gambling booms since 1960s Vegas. 

Someone who has enjoyed a front-row seat to Malta’s blockbuster growth is Emanuel “Eman” Pulis, a club promoter turned conference planner, whose own career transition mirrors the transformation of the St. Julian’s neighbourhood that he describes fondly as a former “mecca for nightlife, clubs, bars.” It’s early afternoon and outside the temperature has just spiked to 30 degrees Celsius, as he offers a fist-bump before heading into his frigid conference room. He takes a seat under the fluorescent lights, his tan contrasting with the white piping on the collar of his dark blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt. 

“I used to be a party organiser,” he says. “I ditched that because I realised the only people who were spending money buying bottles at my parties were the gaming crowd.” His attachment to the dance party life ended conclusively during the summer of 2012, at an enormous house music event inside a venue called Amazonia. About 7,000 tourists and locals were enjoying a set from headliners Dimitri Vegas and Like Mike, the half-Greek, half-Belgian fraternal DJ act that’s collaborated with artists ranging from Wiz Khalifa to Paris Hilton. In the partygoers’ midst an elevated area served as the VIP bubble, which Pulis realised was “full of Swedish, Norwegian, Scandinavian, great-looking people having a great time,” he recalls, smiling. “They were having fun on their own, spending a tonne of cash. And I realised I needed to be in that bubble.” He pauses, tucking his long, well-conditioned hair behind his ears, drawing attention to several small scars on the side of his left eye. “Why waste time bringing 10,000 people to my party when I can just focus on these few 100 people?” he says with a smile. 

The free-spending swarm of Scandinavians and other Northern Europeans had been drawn to Malta by an online gambling law passed several years earlier that provided the fledgling industry with legal protections and operating rules, which did not yet really exist anywhere else. “You can come to Malta,” Pulis says, summarising the official message from local authorities at the time, “and have the peace of mind that we’re not going to arrest you next day because you’re operating illegally.” 

And while gambling revenues have undoubtedly boosted the country’s tax revenues, their consequences are often most visible in concrete. Lots of it. Pulis now runs well-attended annual conferences centred on internet gambling that depend on industry participants from around the world travelling to Malta, but he’s also not blind to the local economy’s extraordinary transformation over the past two decades. “It did change the landscape of the Maltese islands,” he says of the new nexus. “Restaurants don’t struggle anymore, and the real estate market shot up, especially in certain areas.”

Sandwiched between two small bays named for figures of Catholic devotion, St. Julian’s and nearby St. George’s, the Portomaso marina development includes a subterranean casino that has hosted European poker tournaments and live events for some of the world’s largest gambling operators. It was one of several luxury projects thrown up to cater to Malta’s burgeoning expat population, and the family behind it has ridden the island’s boom to become one of Malta’s wealthiest. That makes sense when high-end real estate agent Trevor Gauci Maistre starts describing the increases to the area’s sale and rental prices, while sitting at the edge of the sprawling Portomaso estate, outside an elegant cafe. It’s all tidy palm trees and high-priced espresso, and it’s named for the two owners, who made appearances in offshore leaks known as the Panama Papers.

Maistre is charming and candid about his success over the past 20 years in the explosive commercial property sector, attributing it to “sometimes hard work, but also the right place, right time.” He closes around six or seven deals a month and “three-quarters of the rental market is iGaming.” He says that in one five-year period, an internet gaming company he worked with went from spending €6,000 (about £5,000) a year on its office lease to €200,000 (about £168,000). In the Sliema neighbourhood, a promontory just down the coast, some prime commercial building rents have almost quadrupled, from €160 (about £135) to €600 (about £500) a square metre. And for those looking to buy high-spec homes, the values of most nearby residential properties have “doubled, even tripled” since 2015, Maistre says. Inside the complex looming over the estate, a large three-bedroom penthouse apartment with a sea view might have been worth €200,000 15 years ago but will now sell for 10 times that amount.

At a new office building nearby, one of his clients – a Swedish-owned gambling firm – rents a floor with dozens of desks in several rows, and large windows at one end. Its Malta-based workforce totals 150, half of them local citizens and 32 other nationalities among the rest. “There are hundreds of millions of rules” in Sweden, says Marie-Louise Theobald, the company’s Maltese head of HR, explaining why so much of the operation is here. “It’s not worth it for a company of our size.” (After this article was published, Theobald messaged to clarify that the company is not opposed to the rules, and seeks to “operate responsibility wherever we offer our services” – but the level of regulation in Sweden makes it “harder for operators like us.”)

She sounds confident her own firm remains committed to the island, but expresses concern about the potential for public corruption in her homeland. “Companies are not as tied down in Malta as they used to be,” she acknowledges, for the reasons that first attracted such firms, like minimal taxes and low wages. She pauses and casts around for other explanations for their continued presence, and comes up with good schools and flight connections. “Besides that, the weather?” 

Robert de Marco is the company’s chief financial officer, a relaxed older man whom Theobald jokes is the office grandfather, since he’s twice the age of many of the younger game designers. Leaning in a doorway between the open-plan space and a well-appointed kitchen area, he laughs at the evolution of the industry. During his first trip to a big internet gambling confab in London many years ago, “it was guys in ponytails and tattoos,” he remembers. “Now it’s all suits.” 

Few participants in the iGaming industry lament that shift, but the easy money in Malta has had a broader impact on its reputation, says Alexandre Tomic, founder and chief executive of a gambling provider called Alea. Raised in France of Serbian heritage, he had planned to travel to Malta for a conference this summer. But COVID-19 kept him at home in Barcelona, where on a video call he runs through several notable instances of malfeasance involving the island’s financial sector. 

In the volatile period that followed Libya’s uprising and the death of Muammar Gaddafi, European investigators reported Maltese authorities had done “very little” to determine the origins of more than a quarter of a billion euros in cash that arrived on the island during 2013, of which they found “substantial amounts” were used to buy yachts and properties. More recently, prosecutors in Sicily and southern Italy have repeatedly linked arrested individuals to gambling-business licences in Malta – several of which were subsequently revoked. 

And then there was the closure in late 2018 of Bulgaria’s Satabank’s Maltese operations. The island’s financial regulator took unprecedented action to shutter the institution, with an extraordinary directive that insisted the bank could no longer welcome new customers, take fresh deposits, or process withdrawals. Assets were seized, paperwork forensically examined, and an independent auditor placed in charge of all operations, after investigators identified that safeguards designed to prevent terrorism financing or criminal financial chicanery at the bank were “lax and at times inexistent.” The European Central Bank eventually withdrew the Bulgarian-owned bank’s licence in mid-2020, and while under the control of auditors it was late last year forced to pay hundreds of thousands of euros in fines to Malta’s financial regulator. 

But perhaps a greater challenge to operators in Malta, Tomic explained, will happen away from the island, with the introduction of gambling regulations in countries like Germany, Sweden and the Netherlands, where until relatively recently Malta-approved firms could legally target customers. The island hosts and licenses dozens of businesses that operate online casinos and sports betting sites marketed to gamblers all over the world, known as B2C (business to consumer) firms. But there are also hundreds of licensed ancillary suppliers like game providers, platform providers and payment providers that are contracted by those operators, known as B2B (business to business) companies. Tomic argues the larger B2C companies won’t stay much longer in Malta, since it no longer offers the low cost of living and correspondingly low wages of a decade ago, and will instead move portions of their workforce closer to their consumers, to newly regulated countries like Germany or Sweden. “Who’s going to stay in Malta?” He asks rhetorically of B2C businesses, before answering his own question. “The dodgy ones who are going to try and address unregulated markets.” 

Those unregulated markets include countries like Brazil and Argentina, where there are no laws on the statute books that govern online gambling, at least for now. But at least half a dozen people with a professional interest in Malta’s online gambling sector acknowledged that more and more developing countries will eventually introduce iGaming regulation. This would hamper companies licensed in Malta from targeting their citizens legally, limit the number of accessible players, and thereby reduce the benefits of holding a Malta gaming licence. And that could mean, argues Tomic, that Malta becomes simply a back-office hub for internet gambling, with its low taxes offering some measure of protection for the profits of B2B companies.

His own business, Alea, allows online casinos to access thousands of prefabricated games through its portal, and he insists its location in cosmopolitan Barcelona is an attractive consideration for would-be employees. The workforce he’s previously encountered in Malta was under-motivated – “lazy” was the word he used – with young employees of the larger firms drawn by the beaches, parties and corporate perks. “They move from one company to another without learning anything,” he says, calling it “an industry of spoiled kids who were earning an insane amount of money.” 

His Norwegian friend, Tobias Svensen, turns 30 this year, and as one of the youngest gambling CEOs on the island, he largely agrees with that characterisation of his peer group. Boasting a minor belly and a major beard, he’s often bullish about his own prospects, having left a role running a team of 35 telemarketers near Oslo when he answered an online advert for a job in Malta five years ago. Less than five months after he arrived, he was overseeing all Norwegian gamblers on his employer’s platforms. “I actually got promoted into the management group while I was technically still on my probation,” he says with a laugh. “That’s a cool story.” 

The Bosnian waiter at the steakhouse where Svensen sat greeted him cheerily and, without producing a menu, listed some of the Norwegian’s preferred dishes, including a generous cut of wagyu beef. Svensen explained that his full-time focus, recording video feeds of internet gamblers to usher interested viewers through to online casinos themselves, had once been merely a side project. He began to use YouTube and Twitch to garner traffic and eyeballs, and these efforts won him enough recognition that he began attending conferences from London to Las Vegas, Amsterdam to Asia, often as a speaker. “When I realised that it’s a serious and achievable goal to actually end up in my position within years,” he continues confidently, “I did put a lot of effort into making sure that you network and hang out with the right people.” He went to great lengths to stress that “the networking opportunity in Malta is amazing.”

It’s a network that exists, at least in part, thanks to Olga Finkel. She’s a computer scientist from Kharkiv, Ukraine, who long ago moved to Malta for personal reasons she doesn’t race to divulge. 

Her 60-person law firm was the first to specialise in servicing internet gambling companies in Malta. It has since helped hundreds of businesses apply for, win – and, during several regulatory disputes, retain – their gaming licences. In a bright orange conference room, she explains her role in designing much of the legislation that governs online gambling in Malta, but she doesn’t hesitate to highlight what she considers past deficiencies in its application.

She recalls a time in the mid-2000s when she used to accompany officials from the island’s gambling regulator to buildings that hosted her client’s gaming servers. “There’s all kinds of security cameras everywhere,” she remembers noticing, as the designated functionary went around marking individual servers – each one had to be located in Malta – with numbered stickers, designed to seal them from possible tampering – something that now seems absurd. “Fifteen years ago, the industry was an unruly, impulsive teenager,” she says, suppressing laughter. “Now it’s a responsible adult.” Some firms do see their licences revoked by the island’s regulator, though – are some of the unruly teenagers she mentioned still kicking about? “You can’t guarantee anything 100%, obviously,” Finkel responds. “But by and large, I think it is a very serious regulated industry.” These days, with the use of cloud storage and blockchain, “there is no cash that they give you across the table,” she said of online gaming firms. “It’s not allowed and it’s not possible. Everything is traceable, everything is checked.” Any problems with the island’s international reputation these days are simply “clouds” that will go away at some point. “We just hope,” she says, “it will happen sooner rather than later.”

Outside Finkel’s building, a few yards from the waterfront, a line of boats glints in the heat from a cloudless sky. Across a small dusty park is a kiosk selling chartered water tours around the capital Valletta, visible in the distance on the right. A striking jumble of sandy-coloured buildings on a peninsula, it was constructed in the 16th century by the Knights Hospitaller, a Christian organisation originally established to help sick pilgrims in the Holy Land, which later grew wealthy plundering foreigners’ vessels offshore. 

[newsforukuse]

How a Tiny Island in Europe Sold Its Soul to Online Gaming

Malta, the EU’s smallest member state, is home to one of the world’s greatest gambling booms since Las Vegas in the 1960s.

SLIEMA, Malta – It’s a Friday night at one of Malta’s larger upscale hotels in a fishing village turned sprawling town called St. Julian’s, and in the ballroom on the lower ground floor a woman in a silver dress is performing a not-quite-acoustic set, seated beside a guitarist whose long, dark hair is pinned back by a pair of sunglasses. 

“So good, so good,” she sings. “I’ve got you.” Before her are two dozen tables of wine bottles, tuxedos, and dresses. Most of the male guests appear middle-aged and some are mildly intoxicated, while the women present are mostly younger. A large advert at the side of the stage proclaims that a digital consultancy called MYC will ensure that your business images are distinctive, bold and respected. “We can be extraordinary, together,” it adds, helpfully. 

In the foyer outside, another tall display features the name of a group established by the Maltese government and the country’s gambling regulator to promote the island as a destination for businesses that develop, market, operate and profit from online gambling websites and apps. In front of that, a small strip of red carpet has been unrolled, where a photographer waits, lights raised high on stands, to capture the departing guests. 

Four older men in jackets, all clutching awards, surround a woman in a dark top. The event photographer snaps several formal group shots, then grabs a spotlight in one hand and, with the other, rattles off a short series of photos on proffered smartphones. There are high-fives and backslaps, and a young British guy in a grey jacket enters stage right, shouting “I won it” to a possible acquaintance with a beard and a large disc earring, before walking on and quickly pulling out his phone, suddenly oblivious to the surrounding melee of hugs, squeals and whoops. 

The evening’s Malta iGaming Excellence Awards had recognised excellence in a variety of categories, including top software platform provider for web-based betting and online gambling CEO deemed “best” – most effective, friendliest, or whatever, it’s unclear. The Intercontinental St. Julian’s may not quite rival Los Angeles’ Dolby Theatre, the traditional venue for the Academy Awards, but Malta has in recent years become to online gambling what Hollywood has been to the movie industry, drawing entrepreneurs and executives from across the European continent to this sun-blasted island. The EU’s smallest member state is home to one of the world’s greatest gambling booms since 1960s Vegas. 

Someone who has enjoyed a front-row seat to Malta’s blockbuster growth is Emanuel “Eman” Pulis, a club promoter turned conference planner, whose own career transition mirrors the transformation of the St. Julian’s neighbourhood that he describes fondly as a former “mecca for nightlife, clubs, bars.” It’s early afternoon and outside the temperature has just spiked to 30 degrees Celsius, as he offers a fist-bump before heading into his frigid conference room. He takes a seat under the fluorescent lights, his tan contrasting with the white piping on the collar of his dark blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt. 

“I used to be a party organiser,” he says. “I ditched that because I realised the only people who were spending money buying bottles at my parties were the gaming crowd.” His attachment to the dance party life ended conclusively during the summer of 2012, at an enormous house music event inside a venue called Amazonia. About 7,000 tourists and locals were enjoying a set from headliners Dimitri Vegas and Like Mike, the half-Greek, half-Belgian fraternal DJ act that’s collaborated with artists ranging from Wiz Khalifa to Paris Hilton. In the partygoers’ midst an elevated area served as the VIP bubble, which Pulis realised was “full of Swedish, Norwegian, Scandinavian, great-looking people having a great time,” he recalls, smiling. “They were having fun on their own, spending a tonne of cash. And I realised I needed to be in that bubble.” He pauses, tucking his long, well-conditioned hair behind his ears, drawing attention to several small scars on the side of his left eye. “Why waste time bringing 10,000 people to my party when I can just focus on these few 100 people?” he says with a smile. 

The free-spending swarm of Scandinavians and other Northern Europeans had been drawn to Malta by an online gambling law passed several years earlier that provided the fledgling industry with legal protections and operating rules, which did not yet really exist anywhere else. “You can come to Malta,” Pulis says, summarising the official message from local authorities at the time, “and have the peace of mind that we're not going to arrest you next day because you're operating illegally.” 

Since then, tens of thousands of coders, marketers, game designers and gambling fanatics have settled in a handful of neighbourhoods that extend north along a series of coastal inlets from the capital Valletta, with names like Ta’ Xbiex, Sliema, St. Julian’s, Paceville and Pembroke reflecting the island’s unique history of Arabic, Catholic, and British influences. And that vast workforce in this chain of former villages has helped create what many of the gambling executives VICE World News spoke to inside and outside Malta described as a formidable ecosystem that they hope will secure the island’s place as a longtime constant in the world of online betting. The exponential growth that derives from this kind of congregated talent and expertise is what business strategists like to call a “cluster effect.” 

And while gambling revenues have undoubtedly boosted the country’s tax revenues, their consequences are often most visible in concrete. Lots of it. Pulis now runs well-attended annual conferences centred on internet gambling that depend on industry participants from around the world travelling to Malta, but he’s also not blind to the local economy’s extraordinary transformation over the past two decades. “It did change the landscape of the Maltese islands,” he says of the new nexus. “Restaurants don't struggle anymore, and the real estate market shot up, especially in certain areas.”

Sandwiched between two small bays named for figures of Catholic devotion, St. Julian’s and nearby St. George’s, the Portomaso marina development includes a subterranean casino that has hosted European poker tournaments and live events for some of the world’s largest gambling operators. It was one of several luxury projects thrown up to cater to Malta’s burgeoning expat population, and the family behind it has ridden the island’s boom to become one of Malta’s wealthiest. That makes sense when high-end real estate agent Trevor Gauci Maistre starts describing the increases to the area’s sale and rental prices, while sitting at the edge of the sprawling Portomaso estate, outside an elegant cafe. It’s all tidy palm trees and high-priced espresso, and it’s named for the two owners, who made appearances in offshore leaks known as the Panama Papers.

Maistre is charming and candid about his success over the past 20 years in the explosive commercial property sector, attributing it to “sometimes hard work, but also the right place, right time.” He closes around six or seven deals a month and “three-quarters of the rental market is iGaming.” He says that in one five-year period, an internet gaming company he worked with went from spending €6,000 (about £5,000) a year on its office lease to €200,000 (about £168,000). In the Sliema neighbourhood, a promontory just down the coast, some prime commercial building rents have almost quadrupled, from €160 (about £135) to €600 (about £500) a square metre. And for those looking to buy high-spec homes, the values of most nearby residential properties have “doubled, even tripled” since 2015, Maistre says. Inside the complex looming over the estate, a large three-bedroom penthouse apartment with a sea view might have been worth €200,000 15 years ago but will now sell for 10 times that amount.

At a new office building nearby, one of his clients – a Swedish-owned gambling firm – rents a floor with dozens of desks in several rows, and large windows at one end. Its Malta-based workforce totals 150, half of them local citizens and 32 other nationalities among the rest. “There are hundreds of millions of rules” in Sweden, says Marie-Louise Theobald, the company’s Maltese head of HR, explaining why so much of the operation is here. “It’s not worth it for a company of our size.” (After this article was published, Theobald messaged to clarify that the company is not opposed to the rules, and seeks to “operate responsibility wherever we offer our services” – but the level of regulation in Sweden makes it “harder for operators like us.”)

She sounds confident her own firm remains committed to the island, but expresses concern about the potential for public corruption in her homeland. “Companies are not as tied down in Malta as they used to be,” she acknowledges, for the reasons that first attracted such firms, like minimal taxes and low wages. She pauses and casts around for other explanations for their continued presence, and comes up with good schools and flight connections. “Besides that, the weather?” 

Robert de Marco is the company’s chief financial officer, a relaxed older man whom Theobald jokes is the office grandfather, since he’s twice the age of many of the younger game designers. Leaning in a doorway between the open-plan space and a well-appointed kitchen area, he laughs at the evolution of the industry. During his first trip to a big internet gambling confab in London many years ago, “it was guys in ponytails and tattoos,” he remembers. “Now it’s all suits.” 

Few participants in the iGaming industry lament that shift, but the easy money in Malta has had a broader impact on its reputation, says Alexandre Tomic, founder and chief executive of a gambling provider called Alea. Raised in France of Serbian heritage, he had planned to travel to Malta for a conference this summer. But COVID-19 kept him at home in Barcelona, where on a video call he runs through several notable instances of malfeasance involving the island’s financial sector. 

In the volatile period that followed Libya’s uprising and the death of Muammar Gaddafi, European investigators reported Maltese authorities had done “very little” to determine the origins of more than a quarter of a billion euros in cash that arrived on the island during 2013, of which they found “substantial amounts” were used to buy yachts and properties. More recently, prosecutors in Sicily and southern Italy have repeatedly linked arrested individuals to gambling-business licences in Malta – several of which were subsequently revoked. 

And then there was the closure in late 2018 of Bulgaria’s Satabank’s Maltese operations. The island’s financial regulator took unprecedented action to shutter the institution, with an extraordinary directive that insisted the bank could no longer welcome new customers, take fresh deposits, or process withdrawals. Assets were seized, paperwork forensically examined, and an independent auditor placed in charge of all operations, after investigators identified that safeguards designed to prevent terrorism financing or criminal financial chicanery at the bank were “lax and at times inexistent.” The European Central Bank eventually withdrew the Bulgarian-owned bank’s licence in mid-2020, and while under the control of auditors it was late last year forced to pay hundreds of thousands of euros in fines to Malta’s financial regulator. 

But perhaps a greater challenge to operators in Malta, Tomic explained, will happen away from the island, with the introduction of gambling regulations in countries like Germany, Sweden and the Netherlands, where until relatively recently Malta-approved firms could legally target customers. The island hosts and licenses dozens of businesses that operate online casinos and sports betting sites marketed to gamblers all over the world, known as B2C (business to consumer) firms. But there are also hundreds of licensed ancillary suppliers like game providers, platform providers and payment providers that are contracted by those operators, known as B2B (business to business) companies. Tomic argues the larger B2C companies won’t stay much longer in Malta, since it no longer offers the low cost of living and correspondingly low wages of a decade ago, and will instead move portions of their workforce closer to their consumers, to newly regulated countries like Germany or Sweden. “Who's going to stay in Malta?” He asks rhetorically of B2C businesses, before answering his own question. “The dodgy ones who are going to try and address unregulated markets.” 

Those unregulated markets include countries like Brazil and Argentina, where there are no laws on the statute books that govern online gambling, at least for now. But at least half a dozen people with a professional interest in Malta’s online gambling sector acknowledged that more and more developing countries will eventually introduce iGaming regulation. This would hamper companies licensed in Malta from targeting their citizens legally, limit the number of accessible players, and thereby reduce the benefits of holding a Malta gaming licence. And that could mean, argues Tomic, that Malta becomes simply a back-office hub for internet gambling, with its low taxes offering some measure of protection for the profits of B2B companies.

His own business, Alea, allows online casinos to access thousands of prefabricated games through its portal, and he insists its location in cosmopolitan Barcelona is an attractive consideration for would-be employees. The workforce he’s previously encountered in Malta was under-motivated – “lazy” was the word he used – with young employees of the larger firms drawn by the beaches, parties and corporate perks. “They move from one company to another without learning anything,” he says, calling it “an industry of spoiled kids who were earning an insane amount of money.” 

His Norwegian friend, Tobias Svensen, turns 30 this year, and as one of the youngest gambling CEOs on the island, he largely agrees with that characterisation of his peer group. Boasting a minor belly and a major beard, he’s often bullish about his own prospects, having left a role running a team of 35 telemarketers near Oslo when he answered an online advert for a job in Malta five years ago. Less than five months after he arrived, he was overseeing all Norwegian gamblers on his employer’s platforms. “I actually got promoted into the management group while I was technically still on my probation,” he says with a laugh. “That's a cool story.” 

The Bosnian waiter at the steakhouse where Svensen sat greeted him cheerily and, without producing a menu, listed some of the Norwegian’s preferred dishes, including a generous cut of wagyu beef. Svensen explained that his full-time focus, recording video feeds of internet gamblers to usher interested viewers through to online casinos themselves, had once been merely a side project. He began to use YouTube and Twitch to garner traffic and eyeballs, and these efforts won him enough recognition that he began attending conferences from London to Las Vegas, Amsterdam to Asia, often as a speaker. “When I realised that it's a serious and achievable goal to actually end up in my position within years,” he continues confidently, “I did put a lot of effort into making sure that you network and hang out with the right people.” He went to great lengths to stress that “the networking opportunity in Malta is amazing.”

It’s a network that exists, at least in part, thanks to Olga Finkel. She’s a computer scientist from Kharkiv, Ukraine, who long ago moved to Malta for personal reasons she doesn’t race to divulge. 

Her 60-person law firm was the first to specialise in servicing internet gambling companies in Malta. It has since helped hundreds of businesses apply for, win – and, during several regulatory disputes, retain – their gaming licences. In a bright orange conference room, she explains her role in designing much of the legislation that governs online gambling in Malta, but she doesn’t hesitate to highlight what she considers past deficiencies in its application.

She recalls a time in the mid-2000s when she used to accompany officials from the island’s gambling regulator to buildings that hosted her client’s gaming servers. “There’s all kinds of security cameras everywhere,” she remembers noticing, as the designated functionary went around marking individual servers – each one had to be located in Malta – with numbered stickers, designed to seal them from possible tampering – something that now seems absurd. “Fifteen years ago, the industry was an unruly, impulsive teenager,” she says, suppressing laughter. “Now it’s a responsible adult.” Some firms do see their licences revoked by the island’s regulator, though – are some of the unruly teenagers she mentioned still kicking about? “You can't guarantee anything 100%, obviously,” Finkel responds. "But by and large, I think it is a very serious regulated industry.” These days, with the use of cloud storage and blockchain, “there is no cash that they give you across the table,” she said of online gaming firms. “It's not allowed and it's not possible. Everything is traceable, everything is checked.” Any problems with the island’s international reputation these days are simply “clouds'' that will go away at some point. “We just hope,” she says, “it will happen sooner rather than later.”

Outside Finkel’s building, a few yards from the waterfront, a line of boats glints in the heat from a cloudless sky. Across a small dusty park is a kiosk selling chartered water tours around the capital Valletta, visible in the distance on the right. A striking jumble of sandy-coloured buildings on a peninsula, it was constructed in the 16th century by the Knights Hospitaller, a Christian organisation originally established to help sick pilgrims in the Holy Land, which later grew wealthy plundering foreigners’ vessels offshore. 

t’s early afternoon in Siggiewi, a hilltop town in the island’s northeast. The houses lining the streets are butter-yellow, with beautifully carved doorways, and – shutters drawn – they are mostly silent, with only agricultural trucks juddering past and occasionally overwhelming the quiet speech of Robert Aquilina. He’s a public notary but also president of a civil society group called Repubblika, which advocates for greater political transparency in Malta’s democracy. Compared to the baking tarmac outside, his office is as cool as his own demeanour, with a long glass-fronted cabinet, traditional tiled floor and a small wooden table. 

The discussion focuses on the public corruption that several iGaming executives have by now mentioned, and he is narrating the example of a former attorney general who ultimately resigned. When faced with requests to investigate a Maltese bank for illicit transactions, he had advised senior police officers to act with caution because, as he paraphrased, “this could create problems in the country.” The bank’s Iranian founder was later charged by US prosecutors with bank fraud and money-laundering, though he was subsequently acquitted. Aquilina points to another case where the office of Malta’s then-chief of gambling regulation had helped prepare documentation on behalf of a casino operator as part of a casino license renewal application. “In any other civilised country, that would lead to prosecutions,” he says, matter-of-factly, of such collusion. “In Malta, there is no interest at all from the police force.” Aquilina is not alone in Malta for demanding that “people of integrity” should apply the island’s laws, but it sounds like an often lonely task, given the “sense of decay of values in public life” that he describes. “What wasn't acceptable 10 years ago now is acceptable.”

Tal Izhtak Ron is a keen student of the intersection of Malta’s gaming sector and its governance. “The only thing that we are reading all the time,” he tells me from Tel Aviv, "is regarding what's going on with the politics. That is actually, actually, actually just causing damage to the reputation.” As the named partner in an Israeli law firm focused on online gaming, with clients across Europe, including Malta, he says none of the criticism should matter. “Everybody's praying that Malta will continue being a hub on the B2C operation,” Ron says, “that banks will continue to work and the money will be continued.” And however much reputational damage or competition from other jurisdictions the island faces, he is adamant successful gambling executives and workers, “just want to stay in Malta because Malta is like an ecosystem.”

Authorities this summer sought to further strengthen that ecosystem, introducing a digital-nomad visa scheme that allows freelancers from outside the EU to work from the island for up to a year, so long as they can prove a sufficient source of income. This should attract more affiliates or “affiliate marketers” to the island. They’re another important constituency in the internet gambling world – bloggers, influencers or vloggers, like Norwegian video gambling aficionado Svensen – who take internet users on their own sites and usher them through the virtual doors of online casinos.

On the Thursday night of a three-day internet gambling conference this summer, as the sun began to set, a seventh-floor rooftop played host to another awards dinner for online slots developers. Nearby was Ivan Filetti, an advertising executive working at Malta’s main iGaming trade body, who described several educational programmes that had been created to prepare young Maltese for a job in the gambling sector. Several of the larger firms on the island had established academies or graduate training programs, like large banks on Wall Street or tech giants in Silicon Valley. The Malta College of Arts, Science & Technology meanwhile had signed an agreement with the gambling regulator to offer the country’s 18-year-olds a one-year diploma in iGaming, with classes on “data analysis, marketing, SEO,” Filetti said. "The cowboys will always exist,” he said, unprompted. “But they won't last here forever.” Moments later the country’s top regulator sat down to the far side of Filetti, in a cream summer jacket without a tie, a reminder once again of the island’s small-town feel. 

The host, an English woman named Trudy, welcomed the crowd to the awards ceremony, which, she enthused, “represents all that is great about online games and casino.” The first category was “Game Performance – Slot Studio Debut” and a parade of competing companies’ logos and game titles whooshed up one by one on a big screen at the back of the stage. A firm called Alchemy Gaming’s Wheel of Wishes slot emerged as the first winner, and a woman behind that effort clasped her award and a bottle of champagne on stage, thanked the crowd from the mic, then made sure they knew her game’s payout was "17.5 million” – presumably in euros. “Give it a try.” 

In a Hollywood twist, the companies that design these games are known as “studios,” but COVID meant not all studio heads had made it to the event in person. A Swedish executive appeared by pre-recorded video, followed by an Englishman in a white shirt who mumbled his gratitude. A retro-style game called Rainbow Riches Race Day, from a company called SG Digital, was described by the judges as a slot game that “really pulls you in, and one they did not want to stop playing,” surely a key quality in an industry often criticised for encouraging addiction. Depeche Mode’s Personal Jesus heralded the winner of best art and design, called Dinopolis, which its designers explain “takes players into a world that could have been, had dinosaurs continued to live on.” A check revealed the slots were decorated with anthropomorphic dinosaurs dressed like the denizens of Rat Pack-era Vegas. 

The crowd’s applause was faltering slightly by the time a British executive in a red seersucker suit, pink waistcoat, polka-dot handkerchief in his top pocket and blue suede shoes approached the stage for a game called Cherrypop – his company’s other nominated titles were Tikipop and Hippopop, forming part of an “arcade slotscape that sees African chimeras come to life, merging with a kaleidoscope of sculpted totems and mysterious Amazonian landscapes.” The Michael Jackson track Smooth Criminal played as a woman handed him his champagne bottle, and at that point just a handful of award categories remained.

“Game marketing – streamer of the year” was one of them. And Svensen’s firm Casinogrounds was announced as the winner. Svensen sauntered up to the front of the gathered tables before bounding on stage with a massive grin. He thanked the night’s party planners for “doing a great job” and returned to his seat. After the final category was announced, to a huge cheer from the relevant table, all the winners were invited back up on stage for further photographs, cameras flashing from several angles at once. Svensen stood there beaming in the glare, alongside nine women in more glamorous attire than his own white T-shirt, before fist-bumping his fellow winners as they stepped down off the platform. Later on he could be found in conversation with several others. The networking looked amazing.  

[finngualart]

Ed was on my mind today

[kintatsujo]

Fuck it guys here’s some more CoRA art while I’m on my mother’s internet

[image description: A round faced Gerudo man from the shoulders up.  He has dark skin, and bright red hair.  His hair is in many tight braids, his eyebrows are thick and he has a goatee beard.  He is wearing a dark shirt, large circular gold earrings and an adorable smile. He is labeled “Rhondel.”  End ID.]

Rhondel!  I wanted to smack people in the face with the idea that there’s more Gerudo men than just Dinravi in this fic so this is Ghirahim’s guide from Lorule to Gerudo City.  He is also Very Concerned about this Precious Boy (he doesn’t know Ghirahim is a demon sword he just knows he’s a mess).

[Image Description: A middle aged Hylian man with a streak of gray in his long dark hair; he is wearing a cap and a high collar, conical earrings and a frown.  He is somewhat pretty.  He is labeled “Astramorus” with the same rewritten in a version of Hylian script underneath.  End ID.]

A random little illustrative doodle of Astra I did while writing some of the opening scenes in prose.  I’d kind of like for the final version of CoRA to be a multimedia fic but we’ll see how much trouble I have figuring out how to do that on AO3.

[Image Description: Two slices of cake wrapped in paper, labeled with single letters in sloppy Hylian script.  End ID.]

There’s this little scene where Astra, Link, Maurice and Serenumbra are celebrating Link’s seventeenth birthday early and neither Link or Astra finish their cake so Astra wraps them in paper and labels them in his sloppy ass handwriting.

I actually fell into a couple days of hyperfocus wrt to Hylian script; there’s repeating letters in both the Skword version and the BoTW version and my prissy ass went THAT won’t DO so now CoRA has its own version that’s a complete one-to-one cypher:

[Image Description: A chart of Hylian Script with letters and punctuation, drawn as if on a sheet of notebook paper.  Hylian is in black, the translations are in in green, and there are blue alternatives noted with “Common Alternatives.”  It includes, alongside the English Alphabet and some common punctuation, a symbol for Hylia (wings), the Triforce, Holy (triangles), Respect (angled brackets), and Feared (triangles with slashes through them).  It is noted that it is “Mostly based on Botw/SkSw, Drawing from OoT for special characters.”  End ID.]

Parts of this are completely reworked and other parts are my own invention.  The “Hylia, Triforce, Holy, Respect, and Feared” symbols are all basically used like brackets and I did that entirely because I thought it’d be kind of fun if you could always pick out Hylia’s name or the Three Goddesses because Hylia’s got those little wings and the Three Goddesses have Triforce sigils bracketing their names.

And the idea for THAT actually came from the Oracle games since Impa keeps talking about the “triangle” on Link’s hand and it’s literally a fuckin’ triangle symbol in the text.

I now have half a notebook with conlang scribbling in it XD

Here’s the scene break image I’ve been using since I don’t want to screw up my word-count with ascii:

[image description: The Triforce in gold with a pair of stylized white wings to either side.  End ID.]

Also this pretty picture of Ghirahim and Dinravi having a nap, which I’m sticking under a cut just to be safe:

[image description: Ghirahim lays across Dinravi’s bare chest and over the blanket covering Dinravi’s hips, wearing Dinravi’s white shirt which is too big for him.  His face is hidden, tucked against Dinravi’s neck.  They are both asleep.  Dinravi has an arm wrapped around Ghirahim’s back, the Triforce of Power visible on his hand.  End ID.]

[write-r-die]

Prisoner - Part 17

March 1067, Norman Conquest of England 

Masterlist

A/N: Drama!!

gif from demivampirew

For the first time in a long time, Thomasin felt safe.

Henry made her promise never to remove the pendant he gave her. It seemed terribly important to him, though Thomasin didn’t know why. Still, she agreed without question.

Henry never did shout at her. He didn’t like being angry, especially with someone he loved. Instead, he sat his wife down like a child and looked very deeply into her grey eyes while simply telling her she would never disobey him again, nor would she disagree with him in public. She was welcome to shout and scream and call him all sorts of names when they were alone together, but their situation was precarious. They had to present a united front so no one – just Lawrence, really – would think to pit them against each other.

Lawrence, though, seemed the same as ever. Maybe even scarier. He always had that awful grin on his face. He never got red; that’s what really worried both Henry and Tom. He was too calm, too self-assured. He planned out what he would do to them; now they were stuck in fear until he decided to act. It had only been a week since the wedding, and there was no telling how long Lawrence would wait. But he wasn’t a patient man.

Henry didn’t let Thomasin see his fear over Lawrence’s retribution. Since the wedding, she’d become all soft and willing. He thought she showed something akin to vulnerability. When they were alone, she would sit on his lap or press herself right against his side. They needed to be touching when they went to sleep, either with Henry spooning against her back or Thomasin lounging across his chest. She demanded his attention and affection. Henry obliged her, even going beyond. He’d kiss her in public when he thought no one was looking. She didn’t even mind.

He met her vulnerability with steady confidence. He’d sworn to look after her more times than he could count, and now that she was finally allowing it, he didn’t want to show any weakness. That was what husbands did for their wives – they remained strong and sure.

Henry asked a baron sailing back to Normandy to deliver the message to his family that he was wed; he was quite sure his mother would cry upon hearing the news.

“Should we send someone to tell your family?” he asked that night as he and Tom lay in the dark together. He was pressed tightly against Thomasin’s back. She used one of his arms as a pillow, and his free hand roamed over her body.

“I haven’t got a family,” Thomasin replied.

Henry nuzzled her rosy gold hair. “Yes, you do.” He kissed the back of her neck and sighed into her hair. “And you’ll never be rid of me.”

**

When the king finally summoned Henry, it wasn’t to chastise him. If he did mean to shout at Henry, it was low on his list of things to do. Henry found himself in something of a war council among other barons and knights of high praise.

“It is time to execute the Saxons,” William announced. “I’ve kept them alive for too long. It will embolden other rebels to attack if they believe I won’t kill them.”

“The rebels are all but gone,” a middle-aged baron said. “Even that young baron from the north has disappeared.” He looked at Henry from the corner of his eye; everyone knew he was referring to Hammond.

“Permanent imprisonment is not much better than death,” another put in. 

“All the same,” said the king. “The surviving Saxon prisoners will be put to death by hanging this afternoon. I expect you all to bear witness.”

“What about our wives?” a knight asked. Henry was grateful someone other than him asked the question. “Should they attend?”

William shook his head. “Tis no sight for a woman’s eyes.” He took a deep breath before declaring, “It is warm enough now to travel. We will hunt down the other rebels. If we cannot capture or kill them, we will at least run them out of England and keep them in exile for the rest of their lives.”

The men started shuffling out, murmuring to each other about the Saxon threat. Henry lagged behind the crowd, too lost in his thoughts to keep a fast pace. He was so distracted that he didn’t even notice when Lawrence sidled up beside him.

Lawrence made a sound like a sigh. “I do hope poor Tom won’t be too broken up over Cerdic’s execution.”

Henry felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. How did he find out about Thomasin’s relationship with Cerdic? How much did he know about it? What execution? Was that why the barons and knights were gathering?

But the true source of his fury was the fact that Lawrence had referred to his wife as Tom.

Lawrence looked at Henry from the corner of his eye. “Are you broken up, dear Henry?”

He turned his gaze to the other man, a savage look in his eyes. “You will never speak my wife’s name again. Do you understand me?”

Lawrence bowed his head in mock apology before moving along.

Henry paused in a nook in the corridor and ran his hand over his face. Damn.

Coming to England was like stepping in dog shit that one could never quite wipe away. Meeting Thomasin was like stepping in dog shit. One bad thing followed another like a cloying stink with that poor girl.

No, Henry realized. Thomasin meeting him when the troubles started.

***

Thomasin was grateful that Henry had been able to spend both his days and his nights with her. She knew it could not last forever, but she was sad all the same when he was called away, no doubt to discuss matters of war.

Now she would have to spend her days embroidering with other ladies or pursuing some other womanly hobby. She was never terribly good at that, though. At one point, her governess simply gave up trying to make Thomasin a proper lady. Her father let her have free reign of the estate so long as someone was always nearby and she returned to the keep by dark.

She imagined having a similar arrangement with Henry, but they first needed an estate of their own. Everyone assumed the king would give them the estate Thomasin grew up in, but she secretly hoped he would not. It would be haunted, at least for her, and she was sure she would never feel comfortable there. It wasn’t her home anymore. Just another conquered fortress.

The couple spoke a little of returning to Normandy so Tom could meet Henry’s family and there were some vague mentions of estates near his brothers that might be suitable for their needs, but they hadn’t had a real conversation about it.  What they wanted didn’t matter; William would likely keep Henry in England to fight his endless war against Thomasin’s way of life. Maybe they would be dismissed in a few years when things were calmer.

She would have to figure out how to spend her days. Her only true friend at court was Elaine, but the healer was often busy during the day. Thomasin accompanied her on a meeting with an elderly baroness with a horrifying rash; she would never do so again. 

She was returning from a brisk walk when she nearly crashed into her husband and his friends on their way out.

“Henry!” Thomasin bounced forward and grabbed onto his hand. She waited for him to kiss her while Charlie and Roger were pretending not to look. She knew something was wrong when he didn’t. “Are you well?”

Henry’s expression was as hard as it had been the day Thomasin tried to escape from him. She resisted the urge to step back. “Thomasin, go back to our rooms. Wait for me there.”

His clear agitation alarmed her; she spoke as calmly as she could. “Is something amiss?”

“Do as I say. I’ll be along soon.” He turned to Kal. “You go with her.”

Something must be truly wrong if Henry was willing to part with his shadow, even for an hour or two. Thomasin’s eyes flickered to Charlie for some hint of what was happening, but his expression was as stony as ever. Roger hadn’t stopped when Thomasin intercepted them so she could not look to him for clues.

She glanced at Henry one more time. He didn’t look all right. She wanted an explanation here and now, but she remembered her promise not to disobey him in public. Staying and demanding something from him would certainly count as disobedience. “Of course,” Thomasin said, forcing a mild tone of voice. She gave a shallow curtsey. 

She was chattering to Kal as they walked up a tight staircase when she heard a ruckus outside. There were no windows in the stairwell, only thin slats from which archers inside the castle could shoot at enemy soldiers in case of an attack, but they would do. 

Thomasin rocked up on her tiptoes to peer through one of them. There was a large cluster of men spread out across the field. They stood in clumps of three or four, talking among themselves as a handful of servants erected some makeshift structure she couldn’t quite make out. Perhaps if she had something to stand on, she would be able to see more clearly . . .

Kal made a grumbling sound. 

“I don’t mean to ignore you, Kal,” Thomasin said. “I just want to see what’s going on.” 

She never thought it unusual for one to speak to one’s pets, and Henry regularly held complex conversations with the bear, so she wasn’t embarrassed to talk to him in public as other women might be.

Thomasin pushed up a little further and caught a glimpse of fresh scaffolding, then of a handful of shackled men making their way over to it. The Saxon prisoners were finally being executed, then. Thomasin couldn’t blame Henry for not telling her. He was only trying to protect her.

She was about to turn away when she glimpsed a familiar silhouette and an even more familiar red beard. She squinted into the fading light as the hangman put a rope around the Saxon’s thick neck. 

She hated that neck. She once joked to Justina that she’d like to strangle him, but his neck was as sturdy as a thick branch on a tree. She’d only tire herself out trying to kill him.

Cerdic.

Thomasin was so shocked and upset that she pushed away from the window too hard and fell backwards; Kal softened her fall somewhat.

For a moment she couldn’t move or even draw in a lungful of air. Kal was breathing in right in her face, but she didn’t care. She felt removed from somehow, as if she weren’t truly in her body.

Cerdic was a ridiculous oaf, but she’d known him all her life. She’d cared for him not as a lover or brother or even a friend, but in the way a woman was expected to care for her husband-to-be. And he was all that was left of her life before.

It was easier when she thought he was dead, that he’d died in the fray along with most of the other Saxon men. She’d grieved him in her own strange way and put his memory behind her, but now everything swelled up again and tightened her throat. 

This was the last straw. She was strong but she wasn't made of ice. There was only so much someone could endure before they broke.

And Thomasin truly did break.

She ran to her rooms barely holding back tears. Her throat was sore with the effort of holding in sobs and her hands were shaking so hard that she almost couldn’t open the latch on the door to the antechamber. 

She barely made it through the antechamber and into the bedroom before she fell apart. She slammed the bedroom door before Kal could follow and fell forward on her hands and knees into the rushes scattered on the floor; she couldn’t hold herself together a moment longer, not even long enough to reach the bed. She began to weep so hard that she could barely breathe. She made choked, ugly sobbing sounds she couldn’t control that shook her shoulders as snot and tears ran down her face.

Kal whined and scratched at the door, desperate to comfort his mother.

Thomasin kicked the door hard enough to shake the hinges. “Go away!” she shrieked. Her throat was already raw.

She was too tired to move anymore, even to get into bed. She fell to her side and curled in on herself, shivering like a dog left outside in a storm, still whimpering and gasping for breath. 

***

Henry stood with Charlie and Roger as they waited for the executions to begin.

“You look unwell,” Henry remarked to his brother-by-law.

Roger heaved a sigh. “It’s always said when something beautiful dies.” 

“What, the men?” Charlie asked.

Roger turned to face his friends. “Their lives. Their spirits.” Their physical forms, too, of course. 

“That’s the nature of conquest,” Charlie said. “The old ways must end for the new ones to begin. If people cannot accept change . . .” He shrugged.

“I do not like the end part. You must feel some grief on behalf of Thomasin, Henry,” Roger said. “I cannot imagine. . .” he trailed off.

“I didn’t tell her,” Henry said. 

“She’ll find out,” Charlie said neutrally. He still didn’t like Thomasin by any stretch of the imagination, but he was coming to accept her. “Assuming she hasn’t already.”

Henry knew that, knew it would be better to tell her himself. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I know,” he said. 

***

Cerdic had no last words – or if he did, Henry didn’t hear them. 

The men were strung up all at once, the nooses looped around their necks and the wooden bench kicked out from under them. A crueler king might have removed their heads one by one to heighten their fear, but William just wanted the business done with. He’d likely cut their heads off afterwards to mount on spikes near the city gates, though.

Henry left the first moment he could. Thomasin was probably fuming quietly in their room, probably repeatedly stabbing herself in the finger as she furiously embroidered something or other.  He hoped so. 

Charlie was right: Thomasin had probably found out about the executions somehow. He prayed that she didn’t know Cerdic was among the dead. He wasn’t sure what reaction to expect.

He tried to enter the antechamber quietly, but the room was deathly silent; every small sound he made seemed to echo. The first thing he saw was Kal stretched out in front of the door that led to the bedroom, his chin resting on top of his paws. He looked downright pensive.

“Kal.”

The dog leapt to attention as Henry knelt to scratch his ear.

“Good boy,” Henry murmured.

Kal whined, trying to communicate that something was wrong with Thomasin. He’d been guarding her as best as he could, but she wouldn’t let him into the bedroom.

Henry scratched Kal one more time before steeling himself. He opened the bedroom door. His wife lay on her side on the floor, still sniffling and hiccupping from weeping.

“Tom?” he knelt on the ground beside her. 

She moved her head the slightest bit to look up at him with bloodshot eyes. “You knew that Cerdic was here. That he was alive.” She was too exhausted to inject an accusatory tone into her raspy voice.

Henry took a deep breath. A lock of her rosy golden hair had gotten free of its braid; he gently tucked it behind her ear. “Yes.”

Her chin quivered as her eyes filled with tears. She shut them and turned away. “It was easier when . . .”

“I know.”

Her chin still moved. “I wish William had never come to England,” she said, voice high and tight. “I wish I’d never laid eyes on a Norman.”

Henry took a deep breath. “Tom, you can’t blame every Norm –”

“Yes I can!” She shouted, jumping to her feet. Henry stood, too. On the other side of the door, Kal whimpered. “It’s your fault! You came here and you took what wasn't yours and you killed the men and raped the women. My country is dead!” Her voice cracked. “I have nothing left! You took everything from me!”

Henry’s voice was low but strong. “You have me.”

“I don’t want you!” she shouted. Her words cut Henry like the blade of a knife. “You or your bastard king and your merciless countrymen! I wish I’d never met you! I – I –” 

I want to go home. 

“Enough, Tom,” said Henry. “You’ll give yourself a fit.” Thomasin reached for the back of her neck; Henry caught her hands in his and stopped her before she even touched the necklace’s clasp. “Don’t,” he said softly. 

Thomasin shoved away from him so hard she nearly fell backwards. Henry, who had the build of a stone wall, hardly budged. That made her so furious that she slapped him – tried to, anyway. Henry caught her wrist in his hand and used it to tug her close. 

“Let go!” she shouted. “Henry, let me go!”

But he held her to his chest and would not unlock his grip. She kept shoving and hitting him until he finally released her – only to capture her again.

Somehow, she was suddenly lying back on the bed, her wrists firmly locked in Henry’s grasp as he pinned them above her head. He hovered over her on his knees, locking her legs between his strong thighs to make sure she didn’t try to kick him in her anger.

“Thomasin, enough!” he shouted.

Exhausted, she finally gave up the fight. She sank limp against the bed and started to weep. 

She’d never cried in front of him before, Henry thought. He wasn’t even sure if she cried when she was wounded on the road. There were tears in her eyes on their wedding night and the day she tried to escape from him in the forest, but he didn’t think they ever spilled over.

He couldn’t stand to watch but he couldn’t look away. Thomasin needed him now. She was in mourning – for her father, her former betrothed, her relationships with her siblings, her country. She was mourning her own life, too, and what it might have been if William had never come.

“I hate you,” Thomasin whimpered through her tears.

“No, you don’t.” Her husband’s voice was tired but kind as he released her wrists and climbed off of her.

Her eyes were already shut; her outburst at Henry and fit of emotion after seeing Cerdic hanged drained her of all energy and she was on the very edge of sleep. “I hate you, Henry,” she insisted weakly. 

Henry knew she wasn’t sincere, that she was just speaking out of anger, but the words still stung him all the same.

It wouldn’t hurt him at all if she’d just say out loud that she loved him. He only needed to hear it once. None of her accusations or insults would bother him if he knew beyond a doubt that she loved him even half as much as he loved her. With those words, he’d be invincible.

But she didn’t say it. Maybe she never would. She loved him, Henry was sure of it, but she was too proud to admit it.

Tom’s tears had slowed and turned from sobs to sniffles to deep, loud breathing.

Henry stayed beside her in bed, both of them still fully dressed, and soon drifted off. She turned to him in her sleep, unconsciously taking her rightful place in his arms and against his chest. Henry didn’t wake; his body knew instinctively to put his arms around her.

[sweetpeasgirl]

Treat You Better | Sweet Pea

Description: Based on the song “Treat You Better” by Shawn Mendes, Jughead and Y/n’s relationship is at it’s bittersweet end and Sweet Pea, her best friend, is there to defend her

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Female!Reader

Warnings: Kinda angsty but not really

Tags: Angst, FLUFF

The White Wrym is not where you thought you would spend your Saturday night but Jughead had said that he needed to take care of a few things and you didn't want to be blown off again. You understand that he's busy, you really do. He's the son of the former Serpent leader; of course he's going to have a lot more on his plate. You just didn't think he'd push you off of it- the plate.

Sweet Pea had warned you about that. It was the latest topic of argument between you. For best friends, the two of you fight a lot. You know he's just trying to look out for you, that's been his role since the two of you were kids. He's in the grade above you, and was originally your older brother's friend, but they fell out a couple years ago. He never left you though.

He's always been the one watching your back. At first he just kept you out of harm's way, whether that be from grade school bullies or the men who lurk in alleyways when you're trying to walk home. Now, though, he has to watch out for boys who say they care about you but don't. He has to watch out for heartbreak.

That's where Jughead comes in. Sweet Pea is just being his overprotective self, like usual. Sure, you've had your fair share of walking out into the busy street with your head down, and he's had to pull you back quite a few times, but this is different. He can't save a heart that's supposed to break. Jughead does care about you, or at least he did when you first got together last year. Some things, however, just aren't meant to last forever.

Forever is a long time and time has a funny way of changing things.

"Juggie, it's your turn," your voice is quiet as you hand him the wooden pool cue, trying not to draw attention to yourself.

It's cold in the bar and you had been alerted so suddenly that date night was getting moved here that you didn't have time to grab a sweater. You can feel the stares burning into uncovered shoulders. It puts you on edge as Jughead accepts the cue from your shaky hands and takes his shot absentmindedly. Something's going on in his head, you can tell by the way he furrows his eyebrows and watches the people around him.

You, meanwhile, are trying hard not to look anywhere but the green felt of the pool table. There's commotion all around you. Shouts can be heard from the bar and the sound of smashing bottles that accompanies them. There's laughter coming from somewhere else but it doesn't sound friendly. Whatever it's about is cruel; it’s something that should not be made a joke of.

You're definitely way out of your comfort zone. Hell, you're way out of your un-comfort zone. You're just plain scared and, with the lack of conversation that Jughead is providing, the regret is bubbling quick in your chest. You almost wish he would just break up with you so you can cry and move on already.

"Jughead," a loud voice breaks the awkward silence around the crowded pool table, "there you are boy. We can finally discuss what you wanted to talk about now."

A tall, middle aged man with light brown hair and a weeks worth of beard growth pats your boyfriend on the back. Jughead shoots you an apologetic look as he passes the pool cue back to you once more. Your blood runs cold as he starts to walk in the opposite direction with the newcomer. He's seriously leaving you alone, in a room full of people who honestly aren't the safest characters, on what was supposed to be your night. Something happened to the boy you first knew and this just settled what you already thought. It’s over.

Your eyes blur with unshed tears at the hurt and fear circulating through your veins. He disappears from sight and the dark atmosphere gets hazier as you grip the side of the table to keep yourself steady. You can once again feel the stares burning into your back. It's like they were waiting for you to be left unattended. When you're with Jughead, the heir of the Serpent crown, you can't be touched. When you're with Sweet Pea, their deadly warrior, you can't be touched. When it's just you, though, anything goes.

You don't know what to do. It's only a matter of time before someone approaches you and when that happens you'll be in a situation that you probably won't be able to get yourself out of. That's the one thing your mother always told not to do; never put yourself into a situation that you can't get out of. Sweet Pea would not be happy.

"Y/n, what the hell are you doing here?"

Case in point. You jump at the sound of his voice but spin around instantly and bury yourself into his chest nonetheless. The tears fall down your face before you can stop them but you really couldn't care less. The smell of leather and pine surrounds you and warmth finally fills your body. Apparently you're colder than you had originally thought.

The relief that fills you is unmeasurable and you cling to Sweet Pea tightly, "It was supposed to be our night but-” you hiccup, tugging on his jacket- “I didn't want to miss another date night-” another hiccup- “I didn't want to-” you rub your forehead against his chest, your voice now just a whisper- “he left."

Your thoughts come out scrambled and between ugly sobs but it's enough for Sweet Pea to gather the overall picture of what happened. After all, he has been doing this for a while. He tightens his arms around you, the anger radiating off his uncovered skin in heated waves.

"He left you? Here?" Sweet Pea is seething when he pulls back.

He lifts you to sit on the edge of the pool table, the game laying discarded behind you. The visual reminder only makes the tears come faster and the warmth leave your bones again. You start shivering but this time you can't steel yourself enough to stop, the realization dawning before you can lie to yourself again. You and Jughead are done. You have been for a long time now and everyone else saw it before you did.

"Pea, we're over," you can't raise your voice above a harsh whisper, covering your raw face with your hands to suffocate the onslaught of cries you can feel bubbling to the surface, "we're over now. You were right."

You close your eyes to avoid staring into Sweet Pea's murderous chocolate ones. All you feel now is the ice circling your veins.

"Baby, hey," a large jacket that smells too much like Sweet Pea to not belong to him is draped over your shoulders, "it's okay. We'll go home."

The anger seeps out of his voice and you peer up to see the concerned face of your best friend once more. He's looking at you in the same way he was the time fell out of Jughead's tree house. You had blacked out from the fall and woke up in the hospital with a broken leg. He was so scared that he didn't leave your side for a minute. But it's different now, you're not physically hurt, so he shouldn't look worried.

You let out a sorrowful breath and just nod your head, a deep weariness settling over your being. At least you're getting what you had wanted. A clean break.

"Y/n, can we talk?"

You hadn't noticed Jughead come back but now he stands a little behind Sweet Pea who is still in front of you. Sweet Pea instantly turns at the sound of his voice, the rage back and in full swing. You just lower your head, too tired to keep it up.

"Jones you're so lucky I'm not beating the crap out of you right now. I didn't think you were stupid enough to leave her here but I guess I was wrong! You're just lucky I happened to be here. And that she doesn't hate you." Sweet Pea spits his words at Jughead

"Look, man, can I just talk to my girlfriend?" Jughead's voice is monotone, both of you knowing he's just calling you his so that he can officially end it once and for all.

It's for the best and you both know it. His phrasing, however, doesn't go over well with Sweet Pea.

"Are you serious right now? Or is this a sick joke? You forfeit that title when you left her as free game for anyone in this place,” Sweet Pea steps towards him and you hold your breath, knowing quite well who would win the fight if one were to ensue. “You're dating the most beautiful girl in this shitty town and you treat her like she doesn't even matter! If it was me she wouldn't be crying on a damn table, she would know damn well just how much I love her!"

Your head snaps up at his words, your breath hitching in your throat. The commotion of the bar is drowned out around you and all you can see is Sweet Pea's back. He can't really love you, can he? He's just making a point, being the best friend he always has been. The logic makes sense to you but you can feel your heart breaking for the second time tonight because of it.

You place a hand on Sweet Pea's shoulder, drawing his attention back to you, "it's okay Pea, I should talk to him at least."

He doesn't look happy but he nods, helping you off the table and moving to the side to let you pass. You look at Jughead and toss him a melancholy smile. It's wrapped with bittersweet memories from all your late night's at Pop's and early mornings coming back from the drive-in. Jughead and you had some pretty good times despite your inevitable end. Maybe, just maybe, though, you can make it a peaceful end.

"Y/n I do love you," Jughead takes his beanie off and runs his hand through his already messy, raven locks, "but not like I did before. Somewhere between moving here and, well, taking on the role of my dad I let us fall apart. I'm sorry."

"It's okay Juggie. I probably wasn't putting as much effort in as I could have," he scoffs at that, a guilty smirk on his face.

You both know that you gave this relationship your all. But, standing here now with Sweet Pea's eyes searing into your back, it's pretty clear that your heart was forming attachments with another person. Which means that sooner or later you and Jughead would have fallen apart anyway. Sometimes these kinds of things are no one's fault. It's a mutual heartbreak and when it needs to happen, it needs to happen.

"You know, y/n, I don't feel too bad about losing you to him."

You furrow your brows at his comment, your voice cracking slightly when you speak, "what do you mean? He was just saying all that stuff. Pea doesn't love me."

Jughead rolls his eyes and glances quickly at Sweet Pea before walking closer to you. You can tell he doesn't want him to hear what he's about to say.

"Y/n that boy is in over his head. It's a feeling I can relate very much to but listen to me," his eyes capture yours in a serious stare, "he's going to treat you better than I ever could. He's not going to leave you in dangerous situations or bail on plans. Can't you see he'd take a bullet for you?"

Your heart races at his words and you spare a glance at Sweet Pea. He's already looking at you, the worry back in his mesmerizing eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you, pulling a smile to your lips. Maybe Jughead is right. Maybe you love Sweet Pea as more than a best friend.

Looking at him now, his tanned skin glowing under the dim lights and his dark brown hair pushed behind his ears, there's no doubt in your mind that you're attracted to him. Sweet Pea has always looked handsome in your eyes, even after a fight with purple bruises staining his face. You think back to all the times he's been there when you needed him most. That boy drops whatever he's doing when you call; no matter if you're just bored or looking for someone to nap next to he’s there next to you. You've always felt at home when you're with him. Hell, you have a drawer in his room devoted to your clothes.

Sweet Pea loves you and you're pretty damn sure that you love him too.

Turning back to Jughead, you nod your head, "I'd take one for him too."

"Good. I think I'll leave now. Thanks for everything, y/n," Jughead pulls you into one last hug before heading out the door.

You pull Sweet Pea's jacket tighter around you as you walk back towards him. He gathers you once more into his chest and you let the last of your tears fall. There will never be a time when parting isn't such sweet sorrow. It's the beginning of something new but also the end of something that you once thrived on. However, wrapped completely in Sweet Pea's scent, you've never felt like you belonged somewhere so much.

"Ready to go home baby?"

"Yeah Pea. Let's go home."

[putflowersinmyhair-callmepretty]

Dove (Finan x Reader)

A/N: I wanted to challenge myself and writing a short smut seemed about right. Hope you enjoy it, baci baci. Cate. WORDS: 2341 Warnings: Lot of fluff, smut smut smut: oral, dom!Finan, just a lot of love making :)

18+ only please

“For the love of God, Sithric, stay still!” Y/N screamed, turning his head to make him look straight ahead. He was sitting on a block of wood and she was standing behind him, comb and knife in her hands. Traveling with men is never easy but is even worse if the men in question are warriors. Y/N, however, had grown used to them and most of the time she enjoyed her time. An exception being that particular day. While riding in the wild, she had noticed that the warriors’ hairs had grown out of control and kept falling on their eyes, frustrating them; therefore, when they had stopped to rest for the day, she had forced Sithric down on the block of wood, deaf to his protests. He was the one with the wildest hair, thin as feather but dense. It was hard to cut it with the unsharpened blade of her dagger, and, as if that wasn’t enough, Sithric was acting like a child and he could not sit still. “If you don’t stop moving, I swear to God, I will cut your throat. I swear on your gods, even.” she hissed and he laughed chugging a cup of ale “I apologize my Lady” he sang, turning around to send her a wink “I’m positive that the gods would love the bloodshed but I do love my pretty face where it is, right over my neck. Don’t you?” “I will make you the ugliest Dane alive, Sithric. Do not provoke me” she mumbled and cut a big strand of his dark hair, Sithric screamed outraged. Meanwhile Finan was enjoying the view, resting under the shadow of the old oak. Y/N heard him laugh and turned around to shot him an amused look “I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Irishman. You’re next.” Sithric’s hair turned out good, the left side of his head completely shaven, the right full of long, untangled curls that she had cut irregularly until the middle of his neck. She had also braided a strand between the two section, adding the jewellery she had so often seen on Vikings and he had smiled at her gratefully; she knew how much his culture meant to him and she did want him to honour his people, how he could. She was now cutting his beard, who had grown to long for his fresh features; she did not know exactly his age, but she was sure he looked younger that he really was. “You look very handsome, Sithric” she then said, patting his cheek “Your wife’s a lucky woman” “You know you’re always welcome in our bed, Y/N” She laughed and winked at him “I’ll keep that in mind” “Oy! I’m still here, ye know?!” Finan shouted and stood up; with two long strides, he was behind the woman and wrapped his strong arms around her full hips. He buried his face in her neck and growled, high enough for Sithric to hear “I do not like to share.” Y/N blushed, still not used to this part of Finan. They had been companions and friends for years and Y/N had been in love with him since the first day, suffering for her unreciprocated love. What she did not know was that Finan was just as deeply in love with her. And so they fought and tried to find other lovers, and cried and shouted until their friends, sick and tired of their behaviour, forced them to face each other and their reciprocated feelings. Again, they had screamed and fought as always until Finan had crashed his lips against hers. They had made love then and there for the first time and had finally found each other. They were still discovering each other, but Y/N had soon found out that Finan was a very affectionate man, always touching her as he could, and she loved it. She shivered, when he kissed her softly just under her jaw and she raised a hand to graze her nail through his beard. “Very well” Sithric interrupted their flirting “It’s my cue to go, thanks for the cut Y/N.” “Anytime” she mumbled at short of breath, and she spun in her lover’s arms smiling at his cheeky smirk and he patted her bum, making her squeal embarrassed and sneak out of his embrace.

He tried to catch her again, but she stepped away quickly, laughing. “Behave, Finan. And sit down, let me cut your hair.” Finan’s hair had grown a lot in the last year and she liked how it framed his strong masculine face, softening his features. He was the most handsome man in England, she was sure of it, and the more she fell in love with his personality, the more handsome he became for her and the harder it was for her to refrain to kiss him and touch him and make love to him. She placed herself between his legs, not caring about invading his personal space, wanting to be as close as possible to him. He didn’t seem to mind, though, quite the opposite: he smiled widely, looking up to her, and put his large hands on her waist, squeezing jokingly her flesh. “Hi, dove.” “Hello to you, handsome.” She was watching him with a piercing gaze, chewing hardly her bottom lip and he freed it with his thumb. She smiled sweetly recognizing his hungry gaze. “I really like your hair, I just want it to be neater.” She mumbled and scratched his beard again, drawing a deep animal growl out of his throat “and I certainly like your beard.” “I know that.” He said, squeezing her hips “You like how it feels on your skin” his long fingers caressed her inner tight, over the soft leather of her trousers “Especially here. Don’t you, dove?” “Shut your mouth” she growled with a little smile on her full lips, blush spreading from the neckline of her red vest, which was actually Finan’s vest. “Kiss me than and I shall be quiet.” She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let him stew for long; she lowered her mouth on his and he immediately opened his lips in a deeper, more intimate kiss. He caressed her tongue with his and she moaned, before capturing his lips between her teeth. “Sweet, Jesus Christ” he mumbled, breaking the kiss just for the time necessary to catch his breath and grip the back of her tights, guiding her to straddle him. With a hand on her back, he pushed her against his groin and she moaned loudly, feeling how hard he had already become. She put her hands around his neck, pushed with her thumbs on his chin to raise his face and kissed him harder, then pulled away abruptly. He pouted and leaned for another kiss but she pushed him away laughing; defeated, he dropped his forehead on her chest “You kill me, woman.” he murmured against her skin, biting lightly her collarbone; she scratched his neck with her nails, under the hem of his green vest and he groaned “Lord, cut my hair. Now.” and here he was, his dominant side finally bursting through his controlled behaviour. She had already met that part of him, which he hid remarkable well on normal days, and she adored it. Not only he looked ferally handsome, but he also made her feel desirable as no one had ever before. Moreover, living as a warrior, the chances letting herself go and be at the complete mercy of another human being were slim to none and Finan helped her discover that she liked to be pushed, now toughly now kindly, to her limits. “Do as I said, Y/N. Ye know I don’t like to wait.” “Yes, my lord.” she obeyed swiftly, standing up and positioning her body once again between his knees. It wasn’t the best way to cut hair, standing in front of him, partly because she wasn’t free to move, partly because his eager gaze made her hands shake. However, she managed to shave the sides of his head and even his beard before dawn. “All done.” she whispered lowly, dropping comb and knife in his open hand. He smiled sweetly, brushing his knuckle on the apple of her cheek “Good girl” he pinched her skin lightly “Ye hungry?” Of you, Finan “Not at all.” “Good, we’re skipping dinner.” Thanks God they hadn’t wear they armour that day; stripping out of all that chain and leather was always hard, boring and ridiculous. Most of the time, they ended laughing, all their energy drained out. But that particular day, they were only wearing their vests and trousers and, as soon as they entered their shared tent, Finan took of his green vest. “Sweet god!” Y/N exclaimed, never used to his magnificent body, and Finan laughed, pulling her against his naked chest “Just me here, dove. Am I not enough?” She run her fingers through the soft hair on his pecs “ ‘M not complaining, am I?” His cold hands dipped under her vest and found her hardened nipple that he twisted harshly making her moan loudly, for the surprise and the pleasure “Seems like ye enjoying it, actually” her vest dropped on the floor and just moments later he lifted her from the ground and dropped her on their bed. It was not the widest nor the softer, but Y/N couldn’t care less, she just wanted Finan. To keep kissing her and to finally push himself inside her. He was in no rush, though, and slowly bit and kissed and licked every inch of her scarred skin “Beautiful creature, ye are. Can’t get enough of ye” he mumbled, removing her trousers. “I don’t want you to” she breathed out and he shot her his sweetest, happiest smile before burying his face between her tight with a low, feral growl. The deep strokes of his tongue on the most intimate part of her body clouded her mind and tighten her stomach; she gripped and pulled his hair, screaming his name when he dipped a finger inside her. At some point, the pleasure became too much, and she closed her eyes ready to reach the peak of her pleasure, but she knew he wouldn’t let her cum so easily. As she expected, he stopped and stood on his knees, watching her with a wide, glistening smirk “Ye a’right there, dove?” She groaned frustrated and found in herself the strength to pull him on his back and crawl over him. He got comfortable on the furs, letting her hungrily strip him out of his trousers. When he was finally naked, she shot him a shy look, asking for permission; he pushed his thumb through her agape full lips and moaned loudly when she swirled her tongue against it, sucking lightly. “Ye want to taste me, dear?” she nodded eagerly “Go for it, then” He was big to the point that her lips painfully stretched around him; it was a sweet pain, though, and she moaned, trying to take him as deeper as possible, to the point that she could not breath anymore. “Oy!” Finan pulled her hair harshly and she found herself face to face with the warrior “Ye have to breath, understood?” She nodded quickly and he gripped her face “Words, Y/N.” “Yes, lord.” He patted her cheek lightly “Good girl. On yer back now, I want to be with ye” he ordered, but didn’t let her time to obey, slapping her bum harshly, making her scream in pleasure, and spinning around, so that she laid where he was before and he stood above her on his knees; she couldn’t even catch her breath before he sunk inside her, slowly. They both moaned and Finan leant down to kiss her deeply, her hand wandering down to his full arse; she dipped her fingers in his flesh and guided him to push deeper inside her, until their body became one. And when the man of her life bit down on the skin of her shoulder, she came with a loud scream of his name and he followed her soon after, murmuring her name in a low pray. They had fallen asleep when the moon was already high in the sky. Finan didn’t sleep for long, though, and soon he found himself wide awake, lost in his thoughts. She was deep in her sleep, mouth slightly open. He watched her until the sun started rising, too scare to touch her, not wanting to wake his beautiful woman, who he knew was a light sleeper. It was what the life of a warrior does to you, it strips you of many things, one being a good night of sleep. Finan had always found it hard, but now that Y/N slept next to him, his nightmare were gone. She had had more trouble than him to adjust to the new situation, but now she slept well too, without screams nor cries. And she slept for long, profoundly, until the sun was up in the sky. He decided to run his finger on every feature of her lovely face, until the caresses woke her up; with a slow fluttering of eyelashes and lazy smile “You all right, Fin?” “Good morning, dove. It’s well past noon.” She slipped closer to him, wrapping her leg around his hips, her hands on his chest, and she closed her eyes again, shivering against the warm of his body “No worries. Did you sleep well?” “I did, but not for long.” “How so?” she murmured against his jaw, curling her lips in a lazy kiss. “Too excited to sleep.” “Why’s that?” “ ‘Cause I can’t wait to marry ye.” She opened her eyes again, now fully awake “Are we getting marry?” He smiled down at her sweetly, completely enamoured “If ye want me, I’d love to wife ye.” “Well, thank you for asking.” she joked, pinching his nipple lightly, then she straddle him with the happiest, widest smile on her red lips “Guess I’ll marry you, Finan the Agile.”

[idjitlili]

Shrimp Dick Azog.

Kili x reader, requested by anon.

Summary:  Kili convinces you to to join him on hiding from his royal duties as a prince.

Word count: 2899

Warnings: Language , sorry watched Moulin rouge.

So, you hadn't actually grown up with Kili and Fili, more like bloody thrown from the sky a year ago, into their world. Not their world, middle earth. Was not the best thing you wanted, you had just been walking down the stairs with a lightsaber,why a lightsaber? You knew the answer, whether it was yours or someone else's, you knew.

Oh, the dwarves did not like that at all. Surrounding you in a circle a circle , most under average height men, one tall old man and a cute curly haired toddler. Activating the lightsaber, glowing blue, humming as you held it, several confused faces around you.

"Witch!" The men definitely did not know of the modern world, you thought you had landed right into 17th century.

"I do not know what your game is, kidnapping me , but I will use this, stay back!" Feeling like Wendy from the shining, swinging the lightsaber.

Swoosh.

Woosh

Pssshhew

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvVVVVVVVVVVVv

vvvvvvvvvvVVVVVVvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvWWWVV.

Yeah wasn't long after that you were a part of the company, you had a higher purpose according to Gandalf, so be it. Okay, it would've been horrifying if you had accidentally hit one of the dwarves when you first met them, not long would they have killed you. Why? Because some how it had became real getting into this world.

Basically you were a padawan and a Jedi master at the same time, highly dangerous with no experience. Was this necessary for the Gods to do this? No it was not, however , Lili just misses Obi-wan, okay?

Being very young, not a minor, but young in the eyes of the dwarves being between the ages 60 and 300. You had been befriended by Fili and Kili quickly;even if you were shy and made friends difficultly. They welcomed you and made you feel comfortable, oh don't get me started on little Ori. He knitted you a blanket within an hour of your arrival, he wasn't just the youngest , he was the sweetest.

Kili right off the back he was a teasing, you weren't sure if he just wanted to get a hold of the lightsaber.  Of course you couldn't just be Fili or Kili's friend you had to be both, they were not just brothers, they were best friends.

You did end up being best friends with both, Kili on a slightly higher level.

At the battle of the five armies, no one stood a chance, the orcs struggled to defend themselves from the lightsaber. Though, you should've let Thorin killed Azog he would not have made it. So, you had simply cut Azogs shrimp dick off and then sliced him in half.

Thus, the battle was won, saving the line of Durin was your greater purpose.

Though, once Azog was defeated Fili and Kili had run into the ice ,unharmed mostly , towards you and their uncle. Kili had slipped pretty fast, smacking his face right into the solid ice, you were surprised he didn't break his nose. Fili went to stop but his younger brother was already back on his feet grinning larger than ever running again.

Your lightsaber still on, humming in the background, stuck out to the side. Thorin heavily breathed, his arms crossed like he was not exhausted , thankful his nephews were safe.

"Oh, OH, who did that?" Kili and Fili smiling up to their uncle and you briefly before Kili had noticed the tiny dick on the floor. Maybe Kili had trouble distinguishing what the small thing was, Fili and Thorin joining in to look. Thorin's face snapping back to yours with disgust ,sighing.

"Y/n, you cut Azogs cock off?" Jabbing Kili in his ribs, at his language , Fili had let out a snort of laughter, patting you on the back.

"I'm sorry, who killed him? Me? So,"

Kili hadn't hesitated picking up the small dick, with two fingers, holding it up to you, too close, stepping back, he had stepped forward.

"Stay back, stay back, I'll kill you with the lightsaber or I will run away with Legolas I always wanted to taste a princess's puss- STAY BACK."

The rest of the company not long after had made it to the four of you, and the shrivelled dick was taken and put on to a cocktail stick . Placed in a glass box on display to present their power towards the Orcs. You were not sure really why they thought that would be a good idea.

Imagine bomber comes in and mistakes it for cocktail sausage.

Erebor was reclaimed, you Bilbo welcome to stay for your contribution to the quest, not just because you saved their stupid arses. Anyone could have seen that was a trapped. Bilbo had went home not long after, promising he would come back, he just really wanted to check on his hole. You having nowhere else to go you stayed.

Though it was a good idea to start, as Erebor filled up the less time you spent with the brothers. The royal duties pulled them away constantly. It was not like you exactly fitted in, you were human, you didn't have a beard to your hips, you were a 'warrior' now but that was because you a had a fucking lightsaber.

Most days you'd be in your chambers with a book, good from the kitchen, or taking your little money from the quest to the now rebuilt markets of dale. It was hard to make friends, so, you were alone. Sometimes you'd visit Bofur in his toy shop or Ori in the library.Frankly , you went to Ori often, he gave the best book suggestions.

You rarely saw Fili or Kili anymore unless they were rushing by you in the halls in a hurry , not even glancing at you.

A whole month of being alone had went by, on that night you began to pack. You figured to go visit Bilbo before heading Gondor, it had been without an heir for years, with Ecthelion II as the steward. Minas Tirith was the city of man, you had no where else to go. Unless you lived in Mirkwood as a witch.

With your bag packed, you left your chambers, during the night, early morning, so that you would not be questioned. Your shoes tapping against the stone , leading yourself out of Erebor quickly.

At the top of a set of stairs is when you head it, the pounding against the stone someone was running. Rushing down the stairs , at an increasing speed, trying not to trip. "Y/n?"

Your face. Your race. The way you talk, I kiss you are beautiful. You knew that voice, the voice of a flirt now panic, as you ran towards the entrance of Erebor.

"Y/n, wait!" But you didn't you continued running as fast as you could, ignoring Kili's pleads that echoed through the empty halls. Well, until you tripped landing flat on your face, against the cold stone, just as Kili had.

"Y/n!" Rushing towards you still, he had knelt by you, flipping you on your back, your eyes shut and motionless. "Please , don't be dead." His voice soft, letting out a load dramatic sob, you were not sure if it was real, his hands on your cheeks squishing them. Pushing his hands off you forcefully, sitting up to look at him. The moon light brightening his face from the sark halls, only a few candles were lit.

"I'm not dead; just wanted you to go away." His shoulders sank , as did the smile he gave you, his chestnut eyes dulled looking over your form and your bag.

"Where are you going...y/n?"

There was no point lying, you were clearly going somewhere, no I'm not going anywhere bullshit.

"Gondor."

"Gondor? Gondor?! Why would you go there? What do you have there?" He was not happy, you both just sitting on the cold floor, staring at your feet as Kili stared you down.

"What do I have here? I've done what I was meant to." Kili had scoffed in annoyance his face scrunching up as you stood from the floor.

"You cannot be serious. Y/n/n, please, I was coming to see you before I saw you in the hall. Don't leave."

"Well, that's lovely."

"Y/n, please don't leave me, please..." The voice soft, cracking into a higher pitch, your feet halted in place.

"Walk me back to my room."

With that, Kili did a bright smile on his lips, grabbing your bag, and your hand. As he skipped to your room, pressing a large kiss to your cheek.

"See you in the morning, love!"

You were alone again, sleeping in your bed with all the furs over you, you fell into slumber. What only felt like minutes had been hours , waking up from your door being slammed open. You forgot to lock it... Jumping out of sleep to see who was there, your hair stuck to your face , your eyes sagging.

Closing the door, there stood Kili smiling at you panting, his hair wind swept, leaning against your door. You had let out a groans falling back onto your pillow, your eyes slamming shut. For a moment there was no sound no nothing, but you knew you would not be able to go back to sleep. Especially when Kili had jumped onto your bed, specifically onto the pillow next to yours.

Turning your head to the side, there laid Kili his head held up by his hand with his arm in a triangle. Yeah on his side, that pose, grinning at you.

"Good morning."  Half tempted to grab your pillow and cover his face with it you had let out a moan again, flipping to face the other way. The bed got lighter, Kili had left no he had not, he was going to do something you wouldn't like. Seconds later, the squeaking of draws being opened , hit you, you were not getting more sleep.

Your eyes now wide, after rubbing the sleep from them, sitting up against your pillow- You could clearly see Kili going through your draws picking items of clothing out. Wait, what was he wearing? He had a long brunette wig on. Hold on he was not picking out one outfit, but two. Did he think you were the same size?

"I'll buy you more." Like he knew what you were thinking, he turned and threw some clothing at you. "Hurry up, I need you to help me." His tone serious, not harsh nor loud just differently his flirtatious usual tone. There was no point arguing, the stubbornness of dwarves.

Going behind the divider after peeing you had gotten dressed quickly. "Take your tunic , and pants off, put on the undergarments for when I'm done."  Standing still for a moment Kili watched your shadow, opening his mouth to disagree but quickly closing it. He wondered about how you did not even question what was going on.

After it was clear for you to come out, Kili had thought you would laugh, but instead you loosened corset lifting it over his head and over the shift. "Do you want it tight?" Your casual tone,  caused Kili to become distracted, your hands gripping the strings waiting.

"I'm sorry, did you say t-tight?" Kili looked at you in the body sized mirror his cheeks pinched pink noticing you holding the corset strings.  "Oh, just believable not too tight." Kili's mind was somewhere else. Letting out a dramatic cough at the slightest pull you had decided that was enough, he'd moan for the rest of the day.  You hadn't been used to these dresses either , you rarely wore them, only since you had been in Erebor. That was only for special events, today must be one of them.

The petticoat already on him, helping him into the hoop. Keeping his own shoes, you had pulled the final dress layer on him, helping him with his wig no gloves his hands were too big. Okay he had thick arse, muscular chest so he looked like dam. Kili stood before you, dressed in your clothes, he had only stubble , passing as a Darrow dam would not be hard.

"Truly beautiful, Kee." As he spun around in front of the mirror before stopping in front of you, grinning widely. "You think?" Nodding at him, he spun again. "As do you ,my lady." You had scoffed, as you brushed your hair.

"Why did you need me do this?"  Dramatically he had turned back to you with his mouth open. "You of course, how else am I supposed to get out of my duties, if everyone can recognise me?" That was very clever for Kili anyways, had he been thinking about this for a while?

“Well, what are you going to do today, Miss?”

“We are going to flirt with old men.”

“What?”

“Come on, we have some mischief to cause.”

That’s how you ended up at a ball, which Thorin was fuming because he could not find his nephew, Fili had told Dis that Kili had went to Dale for Bofur. She did not believe it. A ball without a Prince? Disgraceful.

Whereas he was there, with you. Pretending to be well behaved woman as you ate food and drank. Music playing in the background...wait was that Jareth singing? Yes it was, sorry about that, oh and Freddie Mercury? What? I’m sorry Kenobi too?

Men approaching the both of you, Kili laughing along with their jokes, and slapping them ‘gently’ on their shoulders, one had dropped their glass, rubbing their shoulders when walking away.

It was very embarrassing when both of you were facing the food table when you had been tapped on the shoulder. “Can I have a dance, my lady?” Both of you turning around, at the same time, Fili’s eyes widened when seeing it was you.

“Oh, Y/n, you look absolutely lovely, and who is your friend?” His eyes meeting Kili as he sipped his drink, spitting his drink all over Kili. His eyes travelling up and down his brother in shock and disbelief.

“Kili?!”

“Shh! I am Keanu, of the blue mountains.” Fili had looked back at you covering your face from trying not to cry with laughter, his face reddened snorting out a laugh too.

“This was his idea wasn’t it?” Nodding at the Prince he had bust out with laughter, lifting your hand to his lips pressing a kiss to your knuckles before travelling away, towards Dwalin...

“Would you like to dance, y/n?” It was not strange for woman to dance together, nodding, he had grabbed your hand as the song changed, leading you to the floor. Heroes tune playing , anything is possible.

‘And you, you can be mean.’

‘And I, I’ll drink all the time.’

‘Cause we’re lovers’

The two of you elbows locked as you swung around together, dancing around , Kili had even lifted you above his head like he was Patrick Swayze. You told him you couldn’t do that back. Eventually ended up become tired really fast, your heads in each other’s shoulders, careful Kili’s wif did not fall off.

Swaying together, your eyes locking as smiling at each other, giddy. Kili’s eyes flickered down to your lips for split second before returning to your eyes, trouble is what comes from that smirk.

“You know what would really cause a scene?” Shaking your head slightly, frightened, well not really.

“If we kissed, right now.” Your heart pounding in your chest, he wasn’t seriously surely? His hand reaching to cup your chin, his chestnut eyes glistening in the yarn light.

“What are you are you asking, Kili?” You weren’t sure if he even heard your whisper over the noise of the ball.

“Y/n/n, darling, can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” His lips were upon yours pressing a long peck against your soft lips, before pulling away from them. The cold air hitting your lips from the loss of warmth. Cheeks pink ad you looked at Kili. “You know, I love you, Y/n.”

“Yes, I lov-“ Though your confession was cut short, as several gasps had alerted Thorin and most of the original company, as well as Dis. Who all saw some of what had just happened, yes lesbian relationships did happen in middle earth just not often. Nor were they so public.

“Y/n!” Thorin called you other, your hand intertwined with Kili’s you pulled him with you, towards Thorin, Dis, Fili , and Dwalin. Thorin’s disproving gaze on both of you, jealous not disproving, he longed for a certain small fellow.

“I am sorry to disrupt your night with your date, but for your safety I must advise you do n-“ “ Kili?!” Dis had interrupted her brother, Dwalin had sighed under his breath. Thorins head had snapped to his sister looking around for Kili with no luck. Until, he had followed her eyes, to next you.

“Kili?!” Smirking at his uncle, oh gosh he looked like he was going to have a stroke, how could he not see it, this was like Clark Kent with no glasses just a wig.

“Sorry, this is Keanu, Kili is in Dale at the moment.”

[100hearteyes]

First chapter of a fic I will likely never continue. Canon divergent. Unedited and riddled with typos. ~5k words.

Lexa straightens her posture as her horse halts just after the forest and at the first sign of civilization ahead. It huffs and hits the soil with one of its hoofs, expressing its disquiet. She shares the sentiment; Skaikru are very much an odd and unpredictable body in the grand scheme of things still.

The Sky clan had been at war with Trikru for over a decade since falling to earth, seeing as they had occupied Lexa's people's land,whrnh the Ice Nation offered them an alliance. Trikru yielded, aware that fighting both clans at once would be foolish. At the time, the Commander was from the Blue Cliff clan and no more than a religious figure, indifferent to the quells between clans. Lexa has changed that over the past few years — and is intent on continuing to do so.

"Heda." She turns her head only slightly to her right, just enough to be able to look at Gustus from the corner of her eye. "I do not have a good feeling about this."

"We both know that if it were up to you I would be locked up in the tower and never come out." She softens, regards her bodyguard fully. "You worry too much, Gustus. The Sky People will be a valuable asset for the Coalition."

"They think themselves superior just because they have guns and tech," he counters with distrust. "They are dishonourable in combat and gloat about it."

"The Coalition needs them," Lexa snaps, and that is the end of it. "And, hopefully, they need the Coalition, too."

Arkadia, capital of the Sky clan, is by all means an impressive sight, very different to anything Lexa has ever seen. Everything is metal and a heavy grey; from the wall protecting it to the pair of guard lookout towers, to the massive gates with the 'Arkadia' lettering on top. From her elevated position, Lexa can see a main building that rises slightly above the wall and takes up about a quarter of the whole area, and other smaller buildings sprinkled about the space left vacant by it. It is evident that while the Arkadians had no say on the positioning of the main building, they planned the city around it, since everything else is so geometrically placed, including the grey dirt roads that trace an intricate cobweb that winds through the empty spaces and gives the city an air of concrete orderliness. However, everything pales in comparison to the giant wheel propped just to the side of the main building, presumably what was once meant to surround the ship that Sky People lived in up in space before they fell to earth. It is clearly one of the few things that have resisted the decades unadulterated, even if it has been repurposed, as Lexa assumes from the sillhouettes of people climbing up and down its inner arms. It is a formidable sight, even for those more averse to the marvels of the world that Skaikru left back in space and have ever since tried to recreate on Earth. Nonetheless, Arkadia as a whole is an obtrusive presence in the midst of the greenery and unwavering power of nature. It makes Lexa almost squirm on her saddle, uncomfortable with such a demonstration of stubborn inadaptation — no village, town, or city should be so violently at odds with its surroundings.

They approach the city slowly and with only half the warriors she brought along, so as to indicate that they mean no harm — and make sure no one will frame it otherwise. Lexa's retinue is mostly made up of warriors, amongst them her personal guards, but she was also careful to include two of her most trusted diplomats; people who will negotiate in her stead when need be and will work to make sure that those on her side remain there. They are people who work the complicated web of politics and favor better even than her.

As they come closer to Arkadia, its inhabitants crowd close to the walls, looking at Lexa and her crew as though they are wild, fascinating animals. Such is the consequence of isolation. Lexa watches as a small group gathers just outside the walls and recognises Marcus Kane, chancellor of the Sky People, at the head of the greeting party.

Finally her group come to a stop just a few feet from the Arkadians and Markus of the Sky People steps up to greet Lexa with a genuine, welcoming smile. "Commander," he says in greeting and extends his hand. "It's such a great honor to have your visit."

She nods and grips his forearm. Marcus of the Sky People is a pleasant man, both in appearance and personality. His luscious hair and thick beard frame kind eyes and a jovial smile that make him extremely likable. Soft-spoken and invested in every conversation he takes part in regardless of its actual importance, Marcus of the Sky People is a dependable fatherly figure. He is also fierce and wise, however, and Lexa likes him even more for that.

"Chancellor Marcus Kane," she greets back, careful to use his full name, as Sky People do. "Thank you for receiving us on such short notice."

She lets go of his arm and lets her hand rest on the pommel of her sword. "We're just lucky you're here at all," he replies honestly, then turns to the rest of his group. "Please give your warmest welcome to the Commander, Lexa kom Trikru." She appreciates the effort to use her mother tongue — details like that can make the difference between a successful deal and a failed one, for it builds bridges where there are none. Marcus is a proficient builder of diplomatic bridges.

The first person to step forward is a woman in her forties like Marcus, though the lines of her face are more tired and severe. She looks like a woman who looks death in the face every day and when she extends her calloused hand for a greeting, Lexa realises that is exactly the case. "I'm Abby Griffin." Lexa clasps Abby's forearm and she spies a special brand of kindness in brown eyes that tells her that this woman is not only a caretaker, but also a mother. "I'm a council member and Chief Doctor of Arkadia and Skaikru in general."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lexa says as Abby takes a step back and a new member of the greeting party comes forward. "Raven, I assume," Lexa nods, clued in by the girl's oil-splattered cheek. "Your fame precedes you, tech master."

The girl beams, dark eyes shining brightly, and salutes. Her ponytail swings with the movement. "At your service, Commander. I hope your visit proves fruitful."

"That makes two of us, Raven of the Sky People."

"I'm Bellamy Blake." Lexa turns to the man that has stepped forward and clasps his outstretched hand instead of his forearm. She can tell that this is a man who likes things done his way; insecure enough to need to underline his status. "I'm in charge of all things military and security."

"A general, then," Lexa recognises. "Are you Octavia Blake's fabled brother?" She is careful to use her Sky People surname and not her Trikru suffix lest he become even less friendly.

His nose crinkles and his freckles dance angrily beneath dark eyes and unruly, short curls of hair. "Haven't seen her in almost a year since she got it in her head that she wants to be a barbarian."

Lexa lets the comment slide. "She is a fine warrior. My people are very lucky to have her."

He grunts and gives way to the next council member, a middle-aged woman with a gentle smile but a fear of the unknown in the way she clasps Lexa's forearm. "Hannah Green. Farming, hunting, and other resources," the woman greets. "Council member, too."

Lexa nods her acknowledgement and watches as Hannah kom Skaikru steps backward. Her replacements are two tall, robust men, their dark skin, eyes, and mannerisms nearly identical, though the younger one is more genuine while the older one has an air of arrogance about him.

"I'm Wells Jaha and this is my father, Thelonious," the young man says pleasantly, and Lexa likes him right away. She clasps Wells's forearm, then Thelonious's, and even their grips are different. How can two men look so alike and yet behave so differently?

Just from the introductions, Lexa is slightly worried. Bellamy, Abby, Hannah, and Thelonious will vote against entering the Coalition; a number that exceeds that of Marcus, Raven, and Wells. The chancellor has the deciding vote, but it will be for naught if the numbers do not even out.

The final person steps forward at last. A girl around Lexa's age, with blonde hair and determined blue eyes. "My name is Clarke," the girl greets, her voice husky and only moderately welcoming. Lexa studies the girl, looks for twitches and tells, but cannot read her at all. It is worrying; the last thing she needs at this point is a wildcard. She can tell, however, that her own first impression is lacking. "I'm in charge of urban and regional planning, and foreign affairs." Lexa extends her arm for greeting, but Clarke leaves her hanging. A golden, sceptical eyebrow is quirked and Clarke's eyes are narrowed, and it is all Lexa can do not to growl at such insolence. "Let me decide first if you're worth shaking hands with."

Lexa takes a deep breath and tells herself that punishing Clarke kom Skaikru's impertinence is not worth wasting the chance to draw the Sky People into her Coalition. So she purses her lips and clasps her hands behind her back, letting her posture straighten and her chin rise with defiant authority. Her eyes burn into Clarke's. "Very well." She turns to Marcus, who seems to have blanched considerably. "Please lead me to my quarters, Marcus of the Sky People. The day has been long and we have much to discuss tomorrow. I would like to rest."

~~~~

Arkadia isn't home. But it also is, because she has never known another place. Nevertheless, she has never felt at home inside its dull grays, angry lights, and obstinate refusal to fully mesh with its surroundings.

Clarke isn't one to fantasise about what could be; she locks her dreams inside drawings of another life and lives what is instead. There is no space, no time to wonder on the ground.

Still she can't help musing about a world where she would be able to travel between clans freely and adopt another as her own. She can't help musing about a world where they wouldn't have to fend off attacks from the other clans, even if the Ice Nation has helped them through the more difficult times. That is exactly why she finds the idea of a coalition so appealing — it's eating away at her, however, to entertain the idea of it being led by a tyrant like Commander Lexa.

She's heard all the stories and she knows which ones are true. She knows of the Commander's thirst for glory and power. She knows of her ruthlessness and disregard for human life. She knows of the Commander's penchant for spilling blood and autocratic style. She knows and she saw it all in the Commander's conceited bearing, in the cold press of full lips, in the raised chin of a despot; she saw it in the way the Commander's eyes flashed with anger, the only display of emotion during an otherwise frigid interaction.

Yet the cry for change reverberates through the halls of Arkadia, which thrums with the need to be more. And Clarke... Clarke wants the best for her people. Always. So if she deems joining the Coalition the right step to take, she will vote for it no matter how tough a pillow it will be to swallow.

Another tough pill to swallow? Kane's reproach for the way she talked to the Commander.

"It was unacceptable, Clarke. You embarrassed the Commander and risked being beheaded on the spot." It means something when Zen Kane gives you such a talking-to. "You shamed us all."

"Stop right there, Marcus." Oh, yes. Your mother defending you does make the situation a hundred times better. It's not at all ignored for being biased. "I think you're being unfair. Yes, Clarke should've minced her words, but she didn't same us."

Kane's eye roll is exactly the reaction Clarke's expected. "Look, Abby. I know you're her mother—"

Abby's affronted look is even more predictable. "This has nothing to do with—"

"Enough!" Kane and Abby as well as the rest of the council look at her. Clarke looks at each of the six other faces sitting around the semicircle-shaped table and then at Kane, who stands alone at the straight side of it. She sighs. "I made a mistake. I put us in a difficult position. I'm sorry."

Kane nods his approval. The small, dark room lends him a more solemn, even poetic appearance, and the way he cups his bearded chin while he thinks makes him look like a philosopher. "Thank you for acknowledging your mistake, Clarke," he says kindly as he lays a companionable hand on her shoulder. "There will have to be consequences, however."

She expected nothing less. Despite the little show she put on before the Commander, Clarke knows her place. "I understand, Chancellor," she nods, and feels more insecure the moment his fatherly hand leaves her shoulder. Her dad died years ago and no one will ever replace him, but the way Kane behaves towards her reminds her a little bit of what it was like to have a father. She's grateful for it; she misses the comfort of her dad's hugs and the pride in his smile.

The moments before he finally doles out her punishment remind her why she doesn't like this room — it's cold and dark and has an ominous feeling to it that makes her feel trapped. Like everything discussed in her is always too serious. It often is. She much prefers the strategy meeting room with its rectangular, waist-high table that causes them to stay standing and its glass-like boards with maps and notes written into them with colorful pens. It's also larger — so much larger. It's better illuminated, too.

Finally Kane stops thinking and meets her eyes. "You will be the Commander's shadow. An ambassador. You will show Arkadia and whatever else necessary to her and you will be her guide around here. You will make sure she has everything she needs and you will handle everything relating to her presence here."

Clarke can't help but scoff. "You mean I'll be her damn babysitter," she challenges.

"Yes," Kane acquiesces, not giving in an inch. "That's exactly what you will be."

"You can't be serious," she presses, because this is too heavy a punishment for her offence.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then scratches at the side of his beard. "Look at it this way: you will be able to get to know her and her culture better and it might help shape your vote. I know you're the only one of us who hasn't made up her mind yet," he notes with a meaningful look. And yes, he's right. Actually, her vote is pretty damn important because with the way things are it will decide the Sky People's fate altogether. "It might help you decide that being a part of the Coalition is nothing but trouble for us, or it might actually change your mind and show you that the Commander's intentions are not so bad after all. Whatever the outcome, it will have been a good experience."

Clarke knows he's right, but she can't imagine spending two weeks with the Commander and not confirming that she is indeed a bloodthirsty savage. Alas, she owes it to her people to at least try.

"Fine."

~~~~

Lexa is not unused to the bustle of early morning, the sounds of the city rousing to life outside, the doors that open and close and the voices that speak in hushed tones so as not to wake those sleeping. They often wake her anyway. What she is unused to are the boots that clank on metal, that fans that whir along the halls, and the flickering, buzzing light provided not by candles but by a hollow opening in the ceiling.

She left Anya outside of Arkadia to set up camp with the rest of her retinue. Gustus came with her, along with a handful of warriors and diplomats. Despite reason, she does not think they will be at risk inside the walls of the ally of their enemy. Besides, having Gustus by her side — or in this case, in the next room — is like having an army of twenty. Lexa trusts him with her life and that of those she loves most. There was only one time when she trusted him and he could not keep someone she loved safe. It wasn't his fault, despite the tears of guilt and regret that ran down his face when he came back, battered and bloody and without Lexa's lover. It took weeks for his wounds to heal enough for him to leave his bed. Months later, he would finally admit that it had not been ten warriors he had had to fight off, but thirty. Lexa never blamed him, never even imagined blaming him for what happened. There are only two people she has ever blamed for it — one of them is herself.

Lexa gets ready for the day in motions automated by the years. She resents Skaikru for not having proper bathtubs; she doesn't dare touch what the server girl from last night called a shower, so she foregoes washing altogether. There is a river nearby she can bathe in anyway. Once her pauldron is resting on her shoulder, its weight and looping red sash a permanent reminder of her station, Lexa leaves her bedroom, only to register with disapproval that the Sky Council did not assign anyone to guard her door. Instead she finds Gustus waiting for her, no doubt already having sent whoever he assigned to her door away. "Heda," he greets with a bow. "How was your night?"

"As would be expected," she replies, keeping her face neutral as she notices Marcus's approach. He sends her a warm smile.

"Commander." They clasp forearms with comfortable formality. "I hope you had a good night's sleep."

"The mattress was stiff. But I have spent much worse nights in foreign clans." It is both criticism and a compliment, and she knows it leaves Marcus slightly disconcerted albeit resolute to make sure her next night is better. It keeps him on his toes without outright insulting his hospitality.

"We'll look into the matter." A pause, then another smile. "In the meantime, I'm sure you would like to eat, Commander?" He waits for Lexa to nod before leading her and Gustus through numerous halls, walking by doors left and right. Lexa peers curiously as they pass by a by room lined with tables and people eating. "That's the mess hall, where almost everyone eats, but I'm sure you'd like to have a more... discreet meal, if you will. I've arranged for breakfast in my office."

"I wouldn't mind eating with your people, Marcus," she says truly as they come to a stop at a door, two staircases later. He fishes a key from his pocket and inserts it in the hole.

"Of course, Commander. But just for today, for your very first meal here, I thought you would appreciate something not as overwhelming."

"I do," she nods.

He opens the door for her and she stops into a room with a wooden desk and a mismatched chair next to the far wall. A battered couch sits against one of the walls to one side and on the other are several maps and eerily realistic paintings nailed to it. A lamp hanging from the ceiling provides light to the entire office and an open door near the couch leads them to a more open, free space. Marcus motions for Lexa to enter it and she is pleased to find a small, semicircular room with large, tall windows on the round wall that oversee Arkadia from two stories above. There is a round table in the middle with three chairs around it and several dishes waiting for Lexa's hungry stomach. Looking out the windows again, she wonders if this is a room they had up in space before the Sky People fell to the ground and if they could see the stars and the Earth from there.

"Did you live there? In space?"

Kane is now standing next to her and looking out the windows with his arms being his back, a pose that very much mirrors her own. It takes him almost a minute to reply; when he does, it is not without a sigh she cannot decipher. It sounds like nostalgia laced with relief.

"The Ark fell down about thirty years ago. I was just a kid then, twenty years old and sure that I would become someone important one day. Which I did," he acquiesces with a rueful smile, "but not for the reasons I wanted it then. The ground shaped me. I've spent more years on the ground than I did in space already. I have... changed a lot since then. I was eager, too ambitious, and too overzealous in following the rules. The ground taught me that rules need to be interpreted. I'm still eager," he chuckles, and Lexa almost lets a small smile escape her lips, "but what drives me now is love for my people. I want what's best for them, not for myself. And that," he turns his torso to her with a raised eyebrow and a kind smile, "is why I want the Sky clan to be a part of the Coalition."

"What do I have to do to make sure our common goal is achieved?" Lexa asks with caution as he turns back to the windows. She needs to tread carefully.

"Convince Clarke," Marcus says easily. It is as she thought. "Everyone else has their mind set. I have the deciding vote, but right now we are at a disadvantage. We need her yes to tie with the no's and activate the deciding quality of my vote. Otherwise, it's just a vote. Anyway." He turns to her again and extends an arm towards the table. "Shall we eat? Food's getting cold."

Lexa eats mostly in silence while Marcus tells her stories of the Ark, the stars, and their planet seen from space. She keeps her expression neutral, but is secretly fascinated and hangs on to his every word. She barely notices when she has finished eating and Marcus leads her out of the room. She is shocked out of her awe when he opens the door to his office to reveal none other than Clarke kom Skaikru.

"Commander, I'm sure you remember Clarke Griffin," Marcus says pleasantly. Lexa's eyes do not leave their new company's.

"Yes, our first meeting was... quite memorable."

Clarke has the decency to lower her gaze to the floor in a clear sign of shame. When her eyes return to Lexa's, she sees honesty in them.

"I wanted to apologize for that, Commander. I was unnecessarily rude," Clarke admits, and Lexa has to fight off a triumphant smirk. Instead, she dips her head in wordless assent. An uncomfortable silence spans for several long seconds, before Marcus clears his throat.

"So. Clarke will be your guide here, Commander. She will be at your disposal for anything you need and will help you acclimate to Arkadia. I genuinely hope that all your future interactions will be better than the first." He finishes with a warning glare at Clarke, who once again ducks her head in embarrassment. His attention shifts back to Lexa. "Commander," he nods. She nods back wordlessly and then he's off to somewhere else, leaving her alone with Clarke.

Lexa is not a fan of employing clichés, but the silence is deafening. Neither she nor Clarke know what to say or do now that Marcus is not there to act as a buffer. Eventually, Clarke clears her throat, thus ending their torture.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in Arkadia, Commander. Today, I would like to show you what each sector does around here."

~~~~

First, Clarke takes her to see the farms. Lexa is impressed with the technology they employ, some of it simple enough that the other clans can replicate. They lack the knowledge earned through years of experience, however, and Lexa can visualize how the other clans can help the Sky People complement their scientific expertise with conventional wisdom. The same would be true for hunting if her people were keen on using fire guns. Instead, it is a foregone conclusion that the Sky People have much to learn before they can hunt in an effective way that will truly allow them to live fairly comfortably through the harsher seasons.

During the day, Lexa realises that Clarke is bright and ingenious, though judgemental and opinionated. Lexa can see that the Sky Council member is making an effort, however, so she does not make her job too hard. Clarke talks her through her clan's decision-making process, some general laws and traditions, the way religion evolved on the Ark, and how the ground contributed to diminish the gap between classes.

"We all need to work to survive," Clarke explains. "Some people will always be lazy, some will work more than others, but opportunities are never amiss. If you work hard enough, life will be merciful. Or as merciful as it can be on the ground," she adds as an afterthought. Lexa takes the chance to point out that life can be easier for the Sky People if they ally with her. Clarke counters with a smirking 'maybe' and moves on.

Lexa feels a quiet sense of wonder, muted also byba slight prickle of fear and discomfort, when she first enters the medical aisle. Everything is white and pristine, and there are machines as big as Lexa that both sit the patients down in comfortable seats and lloom over them with big, mechanical arms. There are beds everywhere, an organised chaos of machines, healers, and patients. Lexa feels miserably out of place, but she can't help but marvel at how advanced the Sky People seem to be in terms of medicine. This her people can learn from.

"Raven has managed to build more equipment and make our medical aisle as effective as it can be." Clarke's husky voice provides pleasant commentary on all the technological wonders around them. "A lot of the doctors are still in training, but soon we'll have a hospital ready to answer everyone's needs."

Lexa turns to Clarke, dips her chin in a slight nod. "Our methods are more traditional. We answer many needs, but often find ourselves lacking the means to further our expertise. Our healers could learn a lot from yours," she says. Clarke turns to her with a pensive crease between her eyebrows. "And maybe they could teach your healers how to draw from nature to cure many ailments."

"That's... not such a bad idea," Clarke concedes, and a smile ghosts over pink lips, making the beauty mark above them tip upwards. "But we would have to think things through very thoroughly. That is, if we joined the Coalition."

"Of course."

Their day draws to an end when the sun has already hidden behind the walls of Arkadia and the sky is the same purple that colours its flags. Clarke explains to her that each of their cities is represented by a colour and together they form a rainbow. "I may have had a hand in that," Clarke confides, although the meaning of her sly smirk is lost on Lexa.

Clarke takes her to the door of her quarters and it is not until Lexa is about to nod her goodbye that the Sky leader clears her throat and extends her arm. Lexa's eyes take in the proffered arm, then find Clarke's gaze with a raised eyebrow. Clarke purses her lips and takes a deep breath.

"Look, I am— genuinely sorry for... for what happened yesterday. My behaviour was unacceptable."

Lexa is tempted to punish Clarke a bit further, but decides to offer an olive branch instead. She clasps Clarke's forearm and feels soft fingers wrap around her own. "You are unwaveringly protective of your people, Clarke. I can appreciate that."

Clarke's small, grateful smile is worth the concession.

~~~~

The next morning, Lexa leaves her quarters to find Marcus and Clarke waiting for her. Once all pleasantries are exchanged, the Chancellor invites her, with an eager tilt to his voice, to have the first meal in the mess hall.

Lexa accepts the invitation with polite words and Marcus takes the front of their little group of four, Gustus included. Lexa and Clarke walk side by side just a few steps behind.

"I hope you are liking your stay here, Commander," Clarke says after several seconds of silence.

Lexa gathers her thoughts before she answers carefully: "It is in many ways an experience unlike what I am used to. The sounds are different, the clothes too. There is no shortage of metal."

Clarke hums in agreement. "Technology has its pros and cons. Against it is the fact that you find yourself turning your back on your surroundings." Lexa's eyes must hold a question in them, for Clarke answers it immediately: "When everything you need is inside a wall, you end up exploring the world outside less and less."

"Maybe I can help your people find their balance."

Clarke shrugs noncommittally, but Lexa spies indecision in her eyes. It is not until some seconds later that Clarke decides to voice her thoughts.

"The problem with alliances is that they only last for so long. Eventually one clan's needs trumps the alliance's and everyone falls back into their old, warring ways."

Lexa understands Clarke's doubt; it has plagued her sleepless one too many nights. However, it is not just a matter of conviction. Lexa knows that if she manages to find a balance between codependency and independency, she can keep the Coalition alive for many ages. She wants her legacy to be enjoyed by many commanders after her.

"Clarke, I am trying to build something that will last for many generations. An alliance that will stand the test of time, a brand of peace that will outlive all of us," she says, unable to keep a thread of passion from her voice. "Something much stronger than the Pauna's fist and far greater than a hero's glory. War breeds legends, peace feeds civilisations."

Clarke's smile is teasing, but Lexa recognises it for the deflection that it is. "Nice speech, Commander."

She shrugs and lets her eyes glint with mirth. "I am not above making rousing speeches to sway your vote, Clarke."

~~~~

(there was more but it was incomplete so I figured this would be the best place to cut)

[joshslater]

Escape from Al Moazaz

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Another bunch of disgusting old Arabs, drinking sweet tea, eating dates, smoking hookah, pointing finger, and chatting excitedly. It doesn’t look like they talk about me, but ever so often I think their chatter circles back to me somehow, and they point and wave and chatter in that cackle they call language. They never talk to me, never ask me to do anything. I’m free to do as I please, go where I want, but I’m sure they are lying to me. I have to leave tonight, or it will just be more of this. It’s already been over a week, several days after he said this would all be over. I think so at least. I wouldn’t be surprised if the old geezer lied about the days as well.

I arrived on a Thursday at least. I checked out from Sheraton in central Dubai Thursday morning. There are no taxes and the workforce is underpaid African or Indian guest workers on rotation, so hotel rooms are cheap. The rental car was cheap too, and gas is practically free. It literally comes out of the ground here after all. I had severely overestimated how long it would take to drive from Dubai to Abu Dhabi. It was just a straight highway and I had padded the time table way too much. I was getting close after just one hour, too early to check-in, so I decided to drive around a bit in the outskirts. Free gas, as I said. That’s when I saw the fucker.

The buildings were spaced enough that by the time you saw one, the last one was gone from view, so it qualified as a rural area. Mostly rocks in between though, so I don’t know why anyone would like to live out here. But there he was, the old man, dressed in his white dishdasha robe and picnic table cloth around his head, smiling and waving towards the car to stop. I pull up in front of the house and exit the car. It’s a decent house, none of the luxury on display inside of Dubai. I’ve never been inside anything but hotels, mega-malls and skyscrapers here, so I have no idea what the interior layout would be, but the size is roughly what a suburban family house for four would be back home.

He bows and asks me to join him for tea, in really bad English. I realize this is a bit off the beaten track for tourists, and perhaps this is a good learning experience for both. I’d love to see some authentic middle eastern hospitality, and I’d be happy to talk about whatever the reason for him to invite me. I accept his invitation and follow him through the portal. Although only one story it is quite high up to the ceiling. Interestingly we only pass through a sparsely furnished room and back out again into some sort of shaded stone garden in the middle of the building. It looks very lived in, much more so than the room we just passed through. Tables, chairs, potted plants, and hookah things. There he beckons me to sit down on one of the most decidedly western garden chairs.

He disappears back into the building and I have a look around. I guess all rooms in the building have a window into this central garden. That explains why the house had so few windows on the walls facing out, and makes total sense with all the sun they get here. The man is back with a small tray with two small glasses with amber liquid. He places one glass in front of me and takes one for himself, and without saying anything invites me to take a sip. It’s sweet and tastes of apple. I’ve had this kind of tea before, and don’t really like it. It’s not tea in my opinion, but it's drinkable and it would have had to be something far worse to offend this old man in his home. That’s when I blacked out.

I’m not sure how long I was out, but it was evening when I came to. I was lying on a thin mattress on the floor in one of the almost unfurnished, completely white rooms. It wasn’t cold, it never is here this time of year, but I could feel air touching my body. The sun is setting fast here, but the light made an orange square on the wall opposite to the high window. Murmurs and sounds of people having a pleasant time filter in. I still am not completely awake, going through different scenarios like fainting of dehydration, when I realize that not only am I completely naked, but I look very different.

Instead of my lanky, pasty body, I have a much bulkier frame covered in deeply tanned skin, in turn covered in thick, black body hair. I slowly sit up, mesmerized by what I see. The tan is perhaps a trick of light, but the bulk and the hair is not. As if there is any doubt left, the dick and balls make it clear this is a different body. As with the body both are thicker and heavier. Unlike my familiar dick this one is also longer, circumcised, and weird looking.

I ought to freak out, flail and scream, but it is all so surreal and unexpected that I either am in disbelief or shock. Slowly I get to my feet. My much heavier body compensated for and more with extra muscles. There are no mirrors in the room, or really anything but me and the mattress, so I have no idea what I look like. Very different of course, that much I can tell. I feel my head and my face. I have no idea what my face should feel like, but I have a beard now. I have a nose and a mouth and ears. The hair feels the same as always.

As I move my hands down I feel a small chain around my neck. A thin necklace with no pendant and no clasp or mechanism I can find with my fingers. It sits loose, but tight enough that I probably wouldn’t get my head through it should I try.

I don’t know what to do next. It is like the first room in an adventure game and I’ve just figured out the controllers. Just as I am about to exit I see a piece of white cloth on the white floor in front of the door. A pair of tight shorts that I put on right away. It looks obscene, almost worse than being naked. The white fabric stands out against the dark skin, drawing attention to the big dick and balls wrapped in tight cloth.

The house on the other side of the door is mostly deserted. Some furniture, but I suspect he lives alone and only uses a few rooms. It doesn’t take long to follow the sound and find a different exit into the courtyard than the one I entered through the first time. It looks the same as when I entered, but with a completely different feeling. Instead of the harsh sun everything is bathed in the orange glow of dusk. A few lamps are lit around the courtyard, and around a table sits the old man together with a few similar looking old men.

One of them sees me and utters a few Arabic words, and they all turn towards me. There is a short beat of silence and then they all burst into chatter. One of them is laughing, one of them continues staring at me, but they all appear happy. The focus shifts to the old man. They treat him like it’s his birthday or he just won a bet. One of them jumps up, spry for his age, and walks up to me. He inspects me, giving remarks back to the seated group. It’s when he prods me with his finger it feels like a spell breaks. Suddenly I’m not walking through a dream, but this is actually happening. I’m actually in this place, with these men, looking like this.

I tell him to stop. He just laughs. The old man waves at the table, inviting me to dates, harees, and flatbread. That for some reason angers me. Hunger is the least of my concerns right now. I demand to know what he has done to me. The men go from smiles to laughter. The angrier I get, the funnier they think it is. It’s only a joke, the old man tells me. It only lasts for a few days, he says. I storm back into the house and out the other side only to find my rental is gone. I quickly realize that standing in just underwear outside is not going to go down well with the police, or anyone, so I return back into the house to look for my clothes.

I don’t know what the rational thing to do is. None of this follows any reason. Perhaps I can squeeze into my old clothes, run away and then figure out who to contact. I freeze. The local police would probably be useless. The embassy would laugh me out. I might be able to convince someone back home, but I don’t even have a way to call them. All of that is true if I stay here as well.

I search the entire building, room by room. Despite the large house, it doesn’t look like the old man has much. The rooms are sparsely furnished, if not right out empty. A few rooms, like the kitchen and his bedroom, looks more normal. Nowhere do I find my stuff though, or any other clothes that would fit for that matter. We only share the same size in sandals and head scarfs.

I’m stuck, I realize, in a soft prison. Even if I could leave the house, I couldn’t leave the country. Even if I could leave the country, where would I go? Dejected I walk into the courtyard again. Some of the old men look my way, but largely ignore me as they talk about something. I sit down on a remote chair and watch them. I could kill them all. They are all really old, but probably not that frail. It would probably be a drawn-out fight with leathery, hard to kill old Arabs, but I’m sure I could do it. But that wouldn’t do me any good. I would still be here, stuck, and wanted by the police. A hard prison is worse than a soft prison.

[lisinfleur]

Bears

Author’s Notes | It took me too long to post it and I hope you can forgive me for taking so long. I did my best! Hope you like the final result and it can worth the wait. Universe | Vikings Pairing | Björn x Reader x Rollo         Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon Words | 2098 ⁑ Warnings: SMUT, Explicit content.

The little giggles coming from his nephew's room attracted his tired ears. That visit to Ragnar's hall wasn't his favorite - it was not that Rollo wasn't an established duke in Frankia with all his richness and a marriage to be envied, sprinkled with three beautiful children enough to prove his manhood as fair and strong as his older brother's one. Plus, the sureness of his paternity over his brother's elder "son" in his heart, Rollo couldn't say Ragnar's success over Kattegat was really a thorn in his foot. Yet, to be there wasn't his favorite trip - after all, he wasn't the one to raise the boy he saw turning into a man under his brother's fatherhood and, despite his skills on Björn's way to fight, it was still as a son of Ragnar his firstborn would die asserting himself.

However, he couldn't deny what he learned. Björn couldn't deny Rollo was there for him when Ragnar wasn't and the many things his "uncle" had to teach him maybe weren't over yet.

Sweet Y/N.

The door was semi-open - almost an invitation, maybe deeper than your eyes over him the whole party he just left. Björn's new woman was gorgeous, but you were too much of a woman for a single man, and Rollo could see it in your eyes. He could hear it in your sighs inside Björn's room he slowly invaded to find his nephew exploring your beautiful naked body bathed by the light of the moon from outside.

Your eyes landed on him, but you didn't say a word. If you want him out you would have yelled or at least said a word that could call Björn's attention from your skin to the invader in his room. But you didn't.

Instead, you kept that heavy gaze, and your silence was what caused Björn to raise his eyes towards his audacious uncle standing beside his bed.

"I didn't know you liked to see, uncle," Björn provoked.

An ironic tone that Rollo didn't answer, not even turning his eyes from yours to look at the cub barking at him from between your legs.

You were too much of a woman for him. Surely for any man alone.

"I don't really believe she wants me to see, Björn," he answered, firm.

And so, Björn noticed your eyes straight into his. Of course, his pride was wounded - his woman so openly showing her desire for another in front of him. But the idea of the night the three of you could have together was bigger than his jealousy. The younger one smiled.

"Then I think you gonna have to make a decision, duke of Frankia... Will you stay and give her what she wants, or will you go back to your room as a good and meek Christian husband would do?"

Björn was taunting.

Rollo just giggled.

"Step aside, little bear," he said, causing Björn's smile to become bitter. "Let me teach you what that old boar never did."

You liked the sound of this. Björn wasn't like his brothers indeed. Maybe the rumors were true and Björn was indeed a bear instead of a little pig - as his brothers were used to call themselves. You liked to think about him like that, maybe as much as you liked his uncle's warm hands embracing your waist, bringing you closer to his body as your hands took care of undressing him from the heavy clothes the Christians were using to cover his toned body from their eyes full of fear.

A second pair of warm and big hands embraced you from behind, roaming to your breasts, massaging them as you could feel Björn's lips kissing the crook of your neck before mumbling towards his uncle, defiant:

"I have no intention to leave her for you only, old one."

But there wasn't a challenge into Rollo's eyes when they turned towards his nephew behind you, smiling.

"Nor I want to steal her from you, boy," he said, as you leaned your head opening your neck for Björn's kisses while your legs were embracing Rollo's waist. "She's too much of a woman for just one of us..."

"Something in which we agree..." Björn completed before spreading a trail of wet kisses on your skin.

His fingers teasing and pinching your nipples as you curled yourself for him; your giggles becoming moans as Rollo's hand went down between your legs, touching the right spots to get you wetter under his fingers.

He smiled - a sexy curve you knew from Björn's lips.

"She's soaking wet," his hoarse voice observed and Björn smiled the same way at him from over your shoulder.

"Who am I to deny a treat to a visitor who came from so far..." he joked, "Go ahead. Drink and feast."

You watched helplessly as Rollo went down between your legs, embracing your thighs and getting a symphony coming out of your mouth as his eager tongue explored you with the desire of a thirsty man coming from the desert. You could bet his wife wasn't as wet in a while...

Your hand went up to the back of Björn's neck, grabbing his braid firmly, pulling it for support, causing him to grunt low against your ear, taking your hand towards his hardness so you could caress him as well.

"Fuck... I love the sound of your moans," he muttered, causing you to feel free to moan louder for his uncle's tongue, squeezing his hardness between your fingers when Rollo made you cum between his lips.

Licking your wetness from his beard, Rollo giggled when the sight of his nephew's hips jerking against your hand reached his eyes.

"So eager, lil' bear..." he joked.

"You can't blame me," Björn answered, gently biting the crook of your neck, causing you to squeeze him tighter. "She's enough to drive any man insane."

"It seems we agree in more things than you could think, Björn," Rollo joked back, caressing your face gently. "Why don't you give him some relief as I take care of your need a little more, sweet Y/N?" he asked.

His thumb drawing your lips, his eyes mesmerizing yours as he gently opened your mouth.

"Use this pretty little mouth of yours and let me take my time with your sweet flavor."

Your hand abandoned Björn's throbbing dick to embrace Rollo's neck and the two of you exchanged a deep kiss as you disengaged from his hips to turn yourself in bed, leaving his lips only to smile at Björn's satisfied expression when your face aligned with his hips: there were few things in Midgard that Björn would like more than having your lips wrapped around his hardness like that, sucking his sensitive tip and needy shaft as your hands would gently caress his balls, milking his pleasure slowly.

But this time, it wasn't good for him only. You felt his uncle's firm hands getting your ass cheeks together, lifting your hips enough for him to sink his tongue on your wetness once again, feasting on you as you were sucking Björn, causing you to lose the control of your mouth's pressure, getting Björn's cock deeper into your mouth, sucking him tighter than you were used to doing.

His fingers were tight into your hair. You couldn't say you didn't like the sound of his voice so full of desire.

"Shit!" he cursed, to what Rollo answered with a small laugh.

"Too much for you, little bear?" he taunted, getting Björn's middle finger showed at him before you could feel his fingers entering your tight channel. "I believe she can teach you some more respect."

His fingers curled inside of you and you moaned against Björn's dick, sucking him tighter, causing both of his hands to grab your hair, supporting your head so he could thrust his hips forward, inside your mouth.

"Fuck, love, just like that!"

You sunk your nails in his hips, pulling him deeper as Rollo sunk his fingers down through your channel, hitting your spots, curling them to brush your g-spot, getting you cumming for his fingers almost at the same time as Björn filled your mouth with his thick seed you swallowed whole, as usual, not spending a single drop.

Rollo smiled, sucking his fingers from your pleasure.

"A sweet and good girl, not wasting a drop. Let us get you properly filled now, uh?"

You felt his hands pulling you back; your hips towards his. But you wanted more and you pulled Björn with you, mutely demanding him to fill you with his uncle, wanting to feel them both together.

Both of them giggled this time.

"I told you... She's too much for a single man, little bear," Rollo boasted as you could feel his hand straightening his tip against your tighter hole.

And Björn didn't deny his fire, coming forward in the middle of your legs, straightening himself in your wet entrance.

"Then let us give her what she wants and see if your old body can still follow my pace," he taunted again before you could feel both of them coming inside, slowly.

It was impossible to hold back the satisfied moan that escaped your lips as you could feel your internal rings filled by Björn's hardness almost at the same time your back was stretched by Rollo's mast. Surely, he was thicker than the men you ever had and you couldn't deny how delicious it was to be so full like that.

The two of them started moving and you felt those thick arms embracing your body, your back against Rollo's chest with his heavy breast on the back of your neck while Björn's lips were against yours with your arms around his neck and your breasts pressed against his chest.

He swallowed your moans, but the sounds were locked in the back of your throat as you became tighter around them both, dripping and wetting Björn's thighs with your juices as they made you cum repeatedly stuck in the middle of them. Despite their heavy pace and intense thrusts, your body was barely moving with their strong arms keeping you in place, allowing you to feel the friction of their members moving inside of your holes, sliding tighter and tighter as they were closer to their apex.

Björn came first - whether a lack of control or the tightness of that situation got him losing the race to his uncle who took a little longer to fill your body with his seed as well. But in the end, you remained laid on the bed, heavy breathing, feeling your thighs sticky with the loads you couldn't hold into your body full of them.

"You don't intend to stay for the night, do you?" Björn said, almost impolite, causing Rollo to giggle: the younger one would never admit the two of them were better to get you satisfied than he would ever be alone.

Yet, the older one just smiled.

"I told you I don't intend to steal her from you," he said with an ambiguous tone that Björn didn't let pass: the older one's presence would never be enough to take your interest from him, right?

Rollo got himself clean, dressing his clothes back and smiling at the two of you as Björn kept himself naked, lying beside you in bed.

"Have a good night, little bear," he said, teasing and smiling at you before caressing your chin. "You too, sweet Y/N."

You didn't answer as he left and you could feel Björn's possessive arm around your waist in a tight embrace. But you just nestled against his chest, causing him to relax from the visible jealousy.

"I like the way he calls you a bear," you muttered against his neck, peppering little kisses on his skin before he pulled away to look at you with a curious expression. "It fits you better than a little pig," you continued, drawing his lips with your fingers as his eyes were still curious over yours. "A bear is bigger... Tougher..." you got closer.

Your lips pecking his slowly.

"I like to see myself inside a bear's hug," you completed, nestling your body against his, fitting inside his arms so well and feeling as he embraced you a little tighter.

"Let this thing of little pigs to my brothers then," he said, smiling at you. "I like to be your bear."

Rollo smiled from the door before leaving through the hall.

Ragnar could have his many pigs. Raised in the mud or not, a bear is always a bear after all.

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