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hopelikethemoon · 4 years ago

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Moonbeam (Ezra x Reader) [smut] {Werewolf AU}

Title: Moonbeam Rating: Explicit Length: 6,000 Warnings: Non-graphic description of bodily injury and smut (cunnilingus, doggy style sex, mentions of masturbation). Reader Details: To the best of my knowledge, there are no references to Reader’s physical details, beyond being a bisexual woman. I tried my best to keep it as vague as possible. Notes: So, this is the second lengthy Ezra fic I’ve written this month, but the only one that will see the light of day. Shout-out to @rzrcrst for pre-reading this for me. Werewolves are my niche and I’m absolutely incapable of writing them without creating the lore around their existence. Ezra exudes big werewolf energy (P.S. Javier exudes big vampire energy) and since I’m not really in a fandom until I write a werewolf AU, I present you all with my very own version of space werewolves. Depending on audience reactions, there might be more of this story to tell.

Taglist:@princessbatears @djarin-junk @absurdthirst @hdlynn @legally-a-bastard @opheliaelysia @heather-lynn @sabinemorans @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @pedrospunk @maybege @chews-erotically @katlikeme @lose-eels @youmeanmybrain @theindiealto @irishleesh93

You had heard the rumors, but never once had you believed that they were true. A werewolf living on a moon? Werewolves were the stuff of fairytales. They weren’t real.

They weren’t real.

But someone who had come before you had clearly considered the potential. Why else had someone thought to set up a cleverly concealed steel trap?

The pain was overwhelming. Worse than anything you’d ever encountered before. You were lucky your leg hadn’t snapped in two — your heavy coveralls were your saving grace.

You howled out in pain as you dropped to your knees, trying in vain to pry the trap off your leg. The sharp teeth had bit through the fabric of your coveralls and the dark stain forming told you everything you needed to know about your future. If you didn’t get the trap off soon, you were going to bleed out.

And then you’d become a smorgasbord for whatever creatures lived on this moon. There had to be something terrifying in the forest that had convinced everyone to believe in werewolves.

“Kriff.” You swore, your arms throbbing with effort as you tried yet again to free your leg from the trap. You dropped back onto your ass, before sinking down onto the soft mossy ground beneath you.

At least the stars were out. You could see them through the bareboned trees as they swayed above you in the evening breeze.

The pain wasn’t so bad at a certain point, most likely because of the blood loss. That would do it. That woozy, tingling sensation that had your vision blurring at the edges.

A branch snapped nearby, sending a dull spike of nerves through you. You hadn’t made a study of the flora and fauna on the moon — but that certainly didn’t sound like a small creature.

“Please don’t eat me.” You mumbled, tilting your head to look in the direction of the sound. The filtered moonlight from the crescent moon above barely illuminated the forest around you and your flashlight was just out of reach.

You heard the sound of another branch snapping under foot, “Hello?”

All men are beasts in their own right, but the man that stepped into your line of view seemed an unlikely candidate.

“I do believe that trap was not set to ensnare one such as you,” He drawled out with a honey-sweet cadence as he moved towards you.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” You offered weakly, trying to sit up as he knelt beside you, but your vision blurred harshly and you sank back onto the ground.

“How fortuitous you are that I take my evening stroll through this very copse of trees.” He mused, effortlessly freeing your leg from the steel trap.

“How—“

“You have lost a considerable amount of blood, little lamb. I would be most obliged to offer shelter and succor. These woods are no place to remain alone. One can never know what creatures fresh blood may attract.”

You exhaled shakily as you stared up at the stars above you. He was right — you’d never make it back to your transport alone on your leg. “Promise not to kill me?” You cracked, tilting your head to look at him.

He flashed you a toothy grin, “I promise.”

“What is your name?” You asked as he hoisted you into his arms, with surprising ease.

“Ezra.” He told you, looking down at you. “And what is your name, little lamb?”

“Ezra.” You repeated softly, resting your cheek against his chest as he carried you through the forest. You gave him your own name, feeling a strange warmth wash through you when he repeated it back in that beguiling tone of his.

“Am I right in my assumption that you are the occupant of the transport that arrived just two nights ago.” Ezra questioned quietly.

“Depends on who is asking.” You jested lightly, “I am. Reconnaissance mission for a mining program.”

“Ah,” His grip on you seemed to tighten. “Another greedy venture to strip the moon of its precious lunaxium?”

“I can only assume.” You glanced up at him, “Above my pay grade.”

“You should leave within the week.” Ezra remarked, keeping his sharp gaze focused ahead of him. “It won’t be safe for you.”

“You don’t believe in that stupid story, do you?” You questioned, “Isn’t that just a tale to keep prospectors from coming here?”

“I once believed that.” Ezra muttered, before falling silent for the remainder of the journey to his humble abode.

You had so many questions for your serendipitous savior, but he tended to your leg in relative silence and then left you to rest in his bed.

From what you could tell, Ezra had fashioned a home for himself out of a crashed transport vessel that you could only assume had been his own at one time. Perhaps he’d been like you once upon a time, a drifter picking up odd jobs and landing in bad situations.

Ezra was handsome. The moonlight hadn’t tricked you into thinking that — in the garish light of his bedroom, he was still just as striking. Warm eyes, long lashes, a mess of chestnut hair with a shock of blonde, and a wiry frame.

How long had he been living on Lykaios? Had his vessel crashed on a wayward venture and he’d had no one to come looking for him? Not that anyone would come looking for you either.

Maybe Shiva. They would’ve probably come looking for your corpse just to get what was owed to them.

It was a damn miracle that Ezra had stumbled upon you. How had he even found you? The woods all looked the same.

Sleep came slowly and fitfully. Despite the shot Ezra had given you, your leg was agonizingly painful if you moved at all. Fortunately, there were books within reach — well-loved, with worn pages. You wondered if they had been Ezra’s to start with, or if he’d found someone’s abandoned transport.

He had excellent taste.

You hadn’t seen a stack of Chaucer since you were much younger. His copy of Canterbury Tales had been opened so many times the spine wilted in your palm.

Ezra announced himself with a short knock, before sliding open the durasteel door. “I expected you to be asleep. You had quite the evening, little lamb.”

“I tried.” You made a note of the page you were on before closing the book and sitting it aside on the bedside shelf. “I got distracted by… your collection of novels.”

He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “I see you’re getting acquainted with my old oppo Chaucer.”

“I’ll have you know, Chaucer is my friend.” You quipped, drumming your fingers against the cover of the book. “It was nice to retrace old lines.”

“He’s an acquired taste,” Ezra tucked his hands behind his back and stepped into the room. “Youth may outrun the old, but not outwit.”

You smiled a little, “Earn what you can since everything’s for sale.”

Ezra chuckled, shaking his head. “And how true that is.” He gestured grandly towards your leg, “But oftentimes it comes with folly.”

“Is that how you ended up here?” You questioned, “I wanted to ask you last night, but with everything...”

He shrugged, dragging over a trunk and perching on the edge of it. “Five years ago I stood where you stand. They were looking for a new form of clean energy — lunaxium seemed like the answer.” Ezra pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, looking away from you then. “This place is filled with hidden dangers. Once you can put weight on your leg, I encourage you to leave.”

“You could come with me.”

Ezra’s gaze snapped towards you, “No.”

Your brows furrowed together, “Alright.”

“I need to change your bandages,” Ezra exhaled heavily as he rose from the trunk, he turned his back to you as he moved to retrieve the roll of gauze from a shelf.

Your eyes widened as you spotted a twisted scar that ran up the back of his neck into his hairline and vanished down the back of his shirt. You hadn’t noticed it last night while he fussed over you.

“Ezra, why can’t you leave?”

Ezra sighed heavily as he sat down on the foot of the bed, drawing your leg into his lap. “It’s home.” He answered simply, unwinding the bandages. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but this—“ He gestured around him. “It’s mine.”

“And you haven’t gone stir crazy after five years?” You questioned, grimacing as he prodded at your wound. “I was gone for two months on a solo mission once and I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to Shiva again. Even if they did rob me blind during liar’s dice.”

“You get used to solitude.” Ezra glanced at you briefly, before turning his attention to the task at hand. He cleaned the area around the wound, before wrapping fresh bandaging around it. “Once or twice a year, someone like yourself arrives and…”

“And the mythical werewolf eats them?” You jested, sinking back against the mattress as he laid your leg back down on the bed.

“Something like that.” He offered dryly, eyeing at you warily. “There’s a full moon in eleven days. I would advise you not to wait around to discover whether or not it is simply lore.”

Your brows knit together and you sat up, arms curled around your waist. “You say that like there’s a chance it is true. You’ve been here for five years… What have you seen?”

“I have things I must attend to away from here.” Ezra said abruptly, “Rest and I’ll return in a few hours to escort you back to your transport.”

Ezra did little to assuage that sinking sensation that told you that maybe just maybe there were werewolves on Lykaios.

“Before you settled here, what did you do?” You questioned, leaning into Ezra’s side as he kept a firm hand coiled around you for support. “Your transport didn’t offer many clues, outside of your exquisite taste in literature.”

Ezra chuckled, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. “I was a harvester. A damn good one, at that. But seasons get hard, tides turn, allegiances bend. Fell into a bit of a snare with an associate and had to dig my way out.”

“I think we’ve all been there before,” You shook your head. “I enjoy gambling. Nasty habit.” You admitted. “I wasn’t meant to be the one to come to Lykaois. My friend — the one I mentioned before — had been assigned to this mission. They lost it in a dicey bet with me.”

“Dicey?”

“What gambler plays honorably?” You countered. “I cheated.”

“And this friend of yours was meant to come here instead?”

You nodded, “Tried to win it back right up until the moment I took off.” Shiva had been furious that they’d lost and even more furious knowing that you hadn’t played fair. “I’ve heard the stories about Lykaois and I wanted to find out if they were true.”

“One shouldn’t go looking for the stuff of myth.” Ezra drawled out. “In my erstwhile profession, I had a certain predilection for danger. It can be damning.”

“Look, I don’t mean to pry, but… is there a reason you can’t leave?” You stopped abruptly, causing him to stumble slightly. “My transport has life support for three. If there’s someone else you’ve got here — if that’s why you don’t want to leave.”

You could feel Ezra’s gaze bore into your skin.

“I’m not leaving.” You told him, when he made no attempt to answer your question. “I’ll take a day or two to rest, but I’m finishing what I’ve started.”

“It’s not safe.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” You pushed back. “If it’s so dangerous, why aren’t you trying to leave?”

Ezra worked his jaw slowly, before looking towards the sky and sighing heavily. “I’m not the only inhabitant on this moon. Some have been here for much longer than me and they…” He shook his head slowly.

You curled your fingers around his forearm, turning to stare at him. “They’re what?”

“Little lamb, be glad you were found by me and not one of them.” Ezra gritted out, holding your gaze. “Consider your luck and leave before it runs out.”

He wasn’t going to relent. Whatever secrets Lykaois held, he wasn’t going to reveal them to you.

“Will you at least let me give you a few of my books?” You questioned, squeezing his arm tight as you used him to support your weight.

“Depends on what you’re offering.” Ezra retorted, “But we need to keep moving. You need to get your leg up.”

Ezra was entranced with your small collection of books. Like a man starved, he snatched up every book — flipping through its pages with reverence. You couldn’t imagine spending five years without getting your hands on a new book.

You thought he would abruptly leave once he had you safely tucked into your transport — but he lingered.

“Nothing in the world is single; all things by a law divine in one another's being mingle. Why not I with thine?” Ezra read, the words falling from his tongue with a richness that your mind had never been able to give them.

“Shelley?” You questioned, tilting your head to try to get a look at the book he was holding.

“Indeed.” He closed the book and held it to his chest. “Our dear friend Percy had quite a way with words. Overshadowed — and rightfully so — by his beloved wife.”

“I haven’t been able to get my hands on Frankenstein. Not since I was maybe fourteen.” You admitted.

Ezra snapped his fingers, “You should’ve spoken up, little lamb. Mary has kept me company on many lonely nights.”

“I will part with Percy,” You told him, hobbling towards him on your wounded leg. “But only if you are willing to part with Mary.”

He hummed thoughtfully, still clutching the book to his chest. “I will have to consult with her.” Ezra told you with a soft smile, “I have no doubt that she is as tired of my company as anyone would be.”

You reached out and covered his hand with yours, “I will let you reunite the couple for just one night. But you have to promise me that you’ll bring me Frankenstein.”

Ezra’s gaze lowered to where your hand was on his, a faint color rising in his cheeks. “Promise me you’ll leave once books have been exchanged.” He covered your hand with his other hand, squeezing gently. “If you stay, I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“Me.” Ezra breathed out, his dark eyes setting on yours. “I will bring you lunaxium that you can take back to whomever hired you. Warn them from this place and forget it.”

“It’s not that simple.” You found yourself leaning into him for support, “I have to complete testing and analysis. Reports. I can’t just take back a lump of lunaxium and hope for the best.”

A growl like sound rose up in the back of his throat, “Then I’ll do the reports for you. I know more than I ever cared to know of lunaxium and this godsforsaken rock. You are not to venture beyond this transport.”

You pulled your hand away from his, “I’ll do as I please, thank you.”

Ezra gritted his teeth, “Do you have a death wish? Now isn’t the time for obstinance. Not this close to a full moon.”

You blinked at him, “Are you…?”

His expression faltered, fingers twitching against the book before he held it out to you, “Keep it and leave tonight. Please.”

“No.” You shook your head, “I want to know.”

“Among these stories,” He gestured to your shelf of books, “I’m afraid it’s an unimpressive tale.”

“I’m always looking to hear new stories.” You told him, grimacing as you put too much weight down on your leg. “Shit.”

“Please sit,” Ezra urged, moving swiftly to curl his arm around your waist as he guided you towards the makeshift sofa you’d made from a weapon crate and oversized pillows.

He sank down onto the opposite end, hands covering his face as he let out a heavy sigh. “Five years ago, I was just like you. Starry-eyed, devil-may-care.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“Yes.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “I came here looking for lunaxium like every ill-fated prospector before me. The rumors, the legend, the myth — they made for a tantalizing adventure.” His expression sobered as he stared straight ahead. “It’s painful. Muscles tear, bones shatter, skin stretches.”

Your heart clenched and your stomach roiled at the thought.

“They say the first was a corruption. There are wolves among us, lurking beyond the trees — fearful in their own right of what looms above them. Someone played with fate and made a monster that even Shelley couldn’t have imagined. Lunaxium has no effect on humans, but it calms the beast for awhile.”

Without even thinking about it, you carefully shifted onto your good knee, letting your leg rest over the side of the sofa as you leaned towards Ezra. “This scar.” You said as you gingerly brushed your fingers over the back of his neck.

He tensed, fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap. “I was attacked on my second night here.” He confessed, exhaling slowly. “Forgive me, little lamb. It has been a right smart spell since I have felt another’s touch.”

“You shouldn’t have to live like that, Ezra.” You whispered, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Isolating yourself… Maybe there’s a cure.”

“I can’t leave Lykaois.” He admitted, closing his eyes as he relaxed under the gentle touch of your fingers. “We’re reliant on the lunaxium and whatever this moon is cursed with. I would go mad.”

“Has anyone ever tried to leave?”

“There are stories.” Ezra turned to look at you. “I appreciate your offer. If it weren’t for what I’ve become, I would accept it without hesitation. But I would rather perish in the solitude of my transport than lose my mind somewhere among the stars.”

You trailed your fingers from his hair, along the curve of his jaw. “I could come back.”

“And put yourself in danger twice over?”

“I put myself in danger every time I venture out on a harvest with a ragtag team that might turn their weapons on me. Life is a risk, Ezra.” You held his gaze as you brushed your thumb over his bottom lip. “I can be your connection to the world you’ve lost. Name it, anything — I’ll bring it back here to you.”

“It’s dangerous.” Ezra seemed compelled by the offer. “The others… they’ve been here long enough to lose what’s left of their humanity.”

“Then protect me.” You brushed your fingers through the hair that fell against his forehead.

“There’s so much I miss,” He admitted, his expression matching the way his voice broke as he held your gaze. “Five years… it’s a lifetime to spend alone.” He curled his fingers around your hand, rubbing his thumb against the center of your palm. “I don’t want you to risk yourself for me.”

“I’m not afraid.” You told him, and as foolish as it was — you weren’t.

Ezra’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips and your breath caught somewhere in the back of your throat when he started to lean towards you.

He wasn’t the only one who had gone years without knowing a lover’s touch. You played things close to the chest, avoided anything that could ensnare you — except for him.

For all of his warm charm, there was an underlying current of danger that had you feeling like a moth to the flame. He was a monster. A creature made from a curse you hadn’t even believed in.

“Ezra.” You breathed out, leaning in until your nose brushed against his.

He petted his fingers over your cheek as his breath mingled with yours, “You’re hurt.”

“It’s just my leg.” Your lips were a hair’s breadth away from his, “I think we both need this.”

Ezra curled his fingers around the back of your head as his lips crashed against yours. You groaned against his lips and his tongue took the opportunity to slip into your mouth, curling against yours.

He kissed like a man possessed, desperate and all consuming. He hauled you into his lap like you weighed nothing, his hands clawing at your back, your ass, your arms — anywhere he could reach.

He was starved for a connection like this. You had sensed it in the way he gravitated towards you, the way he lingered, the gentle touches as he mended your leg.

You hissed softly as you shifted your weight in his lap, trying not to put pressure on your leg, but it was hard not to in that position.

Ezra cupped your cheek, drawing your focus to his face as his other hand curled tight around your hip. “Do you trust me, little lamb?” He questioned, waiting until you nodded before he started to guide you back lengthways on the sofa.

You scraped your fingernails over his scalp as you slid your fingers through his hair. His knee slotted in between your thighs as he draped himself over you.

Greedy hands grabbed at the back of his shirt, pulling it up to reveal new skin to touch. He was touch starved. Every brush of your fingers against his untouched skin made him rut against your thigh.

Ezra’s mouth worked down the column of your throat, teeth lightly scraping as his tongue darted out to taste your skin. His own hands sliding under your shirt, skimming over your ribs.

You’d missed the feeling of large, rough hands against your skin. It had been more than a few cycles since you’d fallen into bed with a man. A year, maybe two, since you’d been with anyone at all.

“Ezra.” You breathed out as his mouth moved over your covered breast, his tongue seeking out your nipple through the soft fabric.

His eyes snapped to meet yours, pupils blown with arousal as he let out a ragged breath. “I can smell you.” Ezra murmured, his tongue flicking out to tease the peak of your nipple, the fabric darkened from his mouth. “You’re soaked, aren’t you little lamb?” He questioned, a hand wandering down your side, curling around your thigh.

You felt your chest and cheeks burn with a heady mix of arousal and embarrassment. You were slick. You could feel your underwear clinging to your cunt, desire fueled solely by the man crowded onto the sofa with you.

“In my bed,” Ezra whispered, untangling the hand you had in his hair. He brought your hand to his lips, inhaling deeply before wrapping his lips around your first two fingers.

An unabashed moan escaped you, your hips lifting off the sofa as you ground yourself against his knee. You should’ve been ashamed — he had known that you’d tried to put yourself to sleep by burying your face in his pillow and your hand between your thighs.

Ezra released your fingers with a wet pop, his nostrils flaring as he held your gaze. “You didn’t come, did you? Did la petite mort evade you?”

“Yes.” You whispered, tracing your dampened fingers over his scruffy cheek. “I was so close, but it wasn’t enough.”

He smirked at you as he pressed his knee firmly against you. “May I?”

“Please.” You nodded, sinking back against the sofa as Ezra moved down your body. Skilled fingers worked at the fastenings of your pants, peeling the heavy fabric down your thighs before tossing them aside.

He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of you, “Sit up, little lamb.” Ezra told you, sinking onto the ground in front of you. “Look at you.” He drawled as your thighs parted, your injured leg draped over his shoulder.

You gasped quietly as he stroked his thumb over the damp spot on your underwear, barely brushing over your clit — but even that mere touch was enough to make you tremble.

“Did you think of me?” Ezra questioned, peeling the fabric to the side, sweeping his fingers between your slick folds.

“Maybe.” You retorted, biting down on your bottom lip as you watched him lick your arousal from his fingers.

A quiet growl rose up the back of his throat as he leaned in between your thighs. He held your underwear to the side as he lapped at you, his tongue sweeping between your folds.

Your fingers slid into his hair, grip tightening as he traced the tip of his tongue over your clit.

“Do you need these?” Ezra mumbled, tugging at your underwear.

“No. No.” You shook your head, pitching your hips towards him.

Ezra effortlessly tore away the crotch of your underwear, his mouth descending upon your tender flesh. His tongue delved between your folds, thrusting into your slick core. He grabbed at your thigh, holding you steady as he turned his attention to your clit.

You cried out as he wrapped his lips around that throbbing bundle of nerves. He sucked lightly at it, swirling his tongue over it as his fingers pressed into your cunt.

He didn’t let up, his tongue working over your clit as he worked his fingers in and out of you. His fingers were deliciously thick, dragging in and out of you, brushing over that sweet spot within you that made your entire core quake.

Ezra was good.

His name was heavy on your tongue as you shattered, your inner walls clenching around his fingers, thighs trapping his face between your legs.

“I need…” You panted out, breath hitching as he curled his fingers within you. “Fuck!” You shouted, nearly ripping his hair out as you felt a dam break as your vision blurred from the sudden burst of molten desire. Ezra was undeterred, his tongue sweeping up every drop of you.

“More.” You urged, writhing beneath him. “Ezra, please.”

“I might hurt you.” Ezra warned you, dragging his hands down your thighs as he nipped at the soft flesh of your inner thigh. “I don’t… I don’t know if I control myself.”

“Forget about my leg,” You tugged at his hair. “And fuck me.”

Ezra squeezed your hip and barked out, “On your knees.”

You waited until he let go of you before you gracelessly flopping over on the sofa, knees planted firmly on the cushion as you grabbed at the metal shaft that made up the back of the sofa.

“You smell so fucking good like this,” Ezra breathed out, hands sliding over your bare hips as he crowded close to you. “It’s been so long.” He pressed his lips to the back of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Same.” You laughed breathlessly, reaching behind you to grab at his hair. “I don’t break easy.”

“You’ve never fucked a werewolf before.” Ezra murmured, curling his fingers loosely around your throat, keeping you pinned back against his chest as his cock slid between your oversensitive folds. “Have you?”

“Not yet.” You gritted out, curling your fingers around his forearm, thankful that he was able to keep you upright. He was strong, but the fingers wrapped around your throat were gentle.

The head of his cock caught against your entrance and Ezra’s hips bucked forward, pressing into you.

You moaned, completely caught up in the sensation of his thick cock filling you. The stretch was just this side of too much — especially in this angle.

Ezra pulled back, his cock nearly slipping from you entirely before slamming back into you. His thrusts were brutal — all that strength and power that was hidden in his wiry build. He was reaching spots no one else had ever hit.

He released his tight grip on your hip, slipping his hand between your thighs to stroke your aching clit. You clenched around him in response, making him feel even thicker as he drove into you. Again and again.

Your nails bit into his forearm, leaving crescent moon shapes in his skin as you clung to him. You were so close, perched right on the precipice of another orgasm.

“Come.” Ezra’s fingers curled around your jaw, his lips close to your ear. “I want to feel you come. The sweet clench of your cunt around my cock.” He mouthed a row of kisses down your neck, growling against the crook of your neck as your body obeyed him.

He didn’t relent, even as your body pulsed around his cock. “Fuck.” He grunted out, his teeth scraping your skin.

“Ezra.” You moaned out, your eyes falling closed as you basked in the overwhelming sensation of him fucking into you.

His grip loosened at your jaw as he started to slide out of you, but you reached behind you, grabbing at his ass — desperately trying to keep him right there.

Something snapped. Some frayed cord of control that he had been clinging to.

You grabbed at the back of the sofa for support as he roughly grabbed at your hips. He bottomed out once, twice, three times before he growled out your name and came.

Ezra curled his arm around your waist, keeping you pinned to him as he rearranged the two of you. He kept the softening length of his cock buried within you as he sank down onto the sofa with you resting back against his chest.

“You’re very strong,” You mumbled, scratching your nails through the hair on his forearm as you looked down at the arm he had tightly curled around you.

He huffed, a throaty chuckle escaping him as he rested his forehead against your shoulder. “One perk of this damnable curse.” He brushed his thumb over your stomach gently.

“Is the sex a perk too?” You questioned, closing your eyes as you leaned back against him. “Because, I’m not sure I want to leave at all now.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Ezra kissed your shoulder. “I’ve kept my distance. From the others.” He sighed heavily. “You don’t want to become like me, little lamb.”

“I never said that I do.” You pointed out.

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” He shifted beneath you, whispering a quick apology when you whimpered at the movement.

“I’m okay.” You promised, trailing your fingers up the side of his thigh. “Overwhelmed.”

“Two days.”

“Hmm?”

“You can safely stay for two more days, but then you must leave. It gets harder to maintain this the nearer we draw to the full moon.” Ezra told you, nuzzling at the crook of your neck.

“Two days.” You agreed solemnly.

Ezra returned just after nightfall with a stack of research notes and his well-loved copy of Frankenstein.

“Did you know she dedicated herself to getting her husband’s works published.” You mused, looking up from the notes on lunaxium to watch Ezra as he consumed Percy’s book of poems.

“Hmm?”

“Mary.” You explained. “As accomplished as she was, she also worked to ensure her husband’s writing would be read.”

“Indeed.” Ezra tucked the red ribbon into the page he was reading and sat it aside. “I believe their romance blossomed on her mother’s grave, no? A rather odd pair.”

“His works are dreadfully romantic, for such a macabre couple.” You pointed out, flipping over another page of notes, copying down a comment on your own notations.

“The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?” Ezra recited, drumming his fingers against the cover. “I had forgotten that was dear Percy.” He sank back against the wall, pushing fingers through his unruly hair. “I miss the sea.”

“I’d bring it back in a bottle if I could.” You told him, chewing on your bottom lip. “I meant what I said before. I can come back.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, moonbeam.” He let the word slip off his tongue like it was sugar-sweet. “You will grow bored of the to-and-fro.” He pursed his lips. “Though I am much appreciative of the offer. You should go back to your friends.”

“I have one friend in this galaxy Ezra and oftentimes I’m certain they want to ring my neck.” You shook your head. “You deserve to have a friend too.”

“I will never be able to leave,” He reminded you. “And you can never stay.”

“There’s still an in-between.” Your brows rose hopefully. “A new moon, perhaps? When the moon is there, but not visible.”

“You’re persistent.”

“I’ve been told that before.” You smirked a little. “What would you like me to bring back when I return after the full moon?”

Ezra exhaled heavily, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I would be forever indebted to you if you might get your hands on a copy of War & Peace. Dreadfully long, but I hunger for some longevity in my literature.”

“Done.”

He snapped his fingers, “Cheese.”

You arched a brow. “I have cheese.”

“Real cheese?” Ezra corrected. “That wretched aero cheese is nauseating.” He blanched, watching you as you rose from your seat.

You hobbled out of the room, into the corridor where the hyperfreeze unit was mounted in the interior wall beside the coolant system. You returned moments later with a block of Reggianito.

“You’re in luck.” You said, sinking down onto the floor beside him. “I have a hook-up on Sector Block G7.”

Ezra broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth, sinking back against the wall with a satisfied moan. “It will be safe for you to return in a fortnight.”

You slapped his leg playfully, “You’ll let me return if I bring cheese?”

He grinned and continued. “If you come then, you’ll have a fortnight to stay, should you choose to.”

“That should give me enough time to find War & Peace for you and settle my debts.”

Ezra took another bite of cheese, before passing it back to you. “Do they still make those honeysticks?” He questioned. “Little tubes with honey collected from…” He squinted, “I can’t remember the planet.”

“I can look.” You wrapped the cheese back in the cloth, before sitting it aside. “How will you be when I return?” You questioned.

“A little worse for wear,” Ezra shrugged a shoulder, resting his hand on your thigh. “The lunaxium helps.”

“Is it… is it like a drug?”

“I suppose.” Ezra dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. “There’s this hunger,” He explained, knocking his fist against his sternum. “This clawing sensation. It gets worse closer to the full moon. I lose my mind.” He shook his head. “I tried to wean myself off two years ago. Just to feel something.”

“What happened?” You rested your hand over his.

“It triggered the beast.” He answered with a frown. “Middle of the cycle and violent.” Ezra tilted his head to look at you. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” You shook your head slowly, interlacing your fingers with his. “Maybe this will be good for you. Help you keep your humanity.”

“How so?”

“The others, the ones that were already here.” Your brows furrowed together as you turned to stare at him, “Did they lose their humanity because they lost touch with other humans?”

Ezra blinked, “You, moonbeam, are a clever one.”

“I read a lot.” You smiled at him, “And you’re in luck — I have always loved monster stories.”

#pedro pascal x reader #ezra x reader #ezra (prospect)#ezra (prospect) x reader

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jtavington · 3 years ago

Text

The Future of Fodlan

Because there are other people in this story. (lengthy)

She let Dimitri take her by the arm and they walked in awkward silence until the shadows enveloped them fully. “How is she?” he whispered.

There was no point in being coy. “She is mad. But not mad the way I believed she was. Dark thoughts, almost a second self, intrude.” She summarized the encounter in Edelgard’s room as best she could. “I can’t say for certain that she can be healed, but I have to try.” She leaned in as close to him as she could. “When she changed before, she seemed calm at least. And after all I’ve seen, I refuse to say she can’t be saved.”

“In other words, she reminds you of the thing you met in the Goddess Tower.” He bowed his head. “I too must hope that she can be brought back. Is it foolish, though, to hope for even more? My only family is still alive. I’d like nothing more than for she and our nations to live together in peace.”

“You wish for her to retake her throne?” That seemed like folly after the parlay. Even a fully sane Edelgard had made it very clear that she would not stop even in the face of certain defeat. They would hopefully be able to save her life, but the thought of her having power again made Byleth’s stomach clench. “That seems like a long shot. At best.”

“I know. But some dreams are hard to kill. Perhaps this is a second chance to convince her. If you can do it without endangering the innocent, perhaps the Goddess does listen to our prayers after all.”

“I…will try.” It would be an even bigger miracle than undoing the physical and mental transformation. It was changing a deeply-held conviction while still hoping they remained the same person. He might as well have asked her to turn a black cat white. But because it was Dimitri she would make a token effort. “No promises.”

“Noted. Let’s get this audience over with, shall we? My nerves truly are a jumble.”

They mounted stairs until they reached the third floor that had once been the master suite and private dining room, now turned over to Rhea’s recovery and use. Byleth pushed open the heavy oaken door at the end of the hall. It had been the duke’s receiving room once upon a time. Rhea sat primly on a chaise lounge. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles and her skin was pale. She wore only a plain white gown. Without her headdress or archepiscopal regalia, she seemed terribly small and fragile. Catherine stood at attention beside her, Thunderbrand unmistakable even in its scabbard.

They were not alone. Ferdinand sat in the chair closest to her, clutching a teacup and looking at the three nobles sitting opposite as if he wanted to murder them. Air flooded from Byleth’s lungs. She recognized two of three nobles or rather, she recognized their hair: Count Hevring and Countess Varley.

“I hope someday there’ll be no fighting and we can all just nap the afternoon away.”

“Wish I could’ve at least died at home, not in this big stupid field.”

When she had been the Ashen Demon, she had killed without thought or care. She had killed Imperial soldiers with only a twinge of wistfulness. Her students haunted her dreams. Bernadetta and Linhardt hadn’t been in her house, but she had been in some small way responsible for their welfare. Five years later, she had cut them and most of the rest of the Black Eagles down with her own hands. It was the cost of battle. It was also treason.

Varley and Hevring rose to their feet. They wore silk and brocade, but their clothing was slightly askew and they looked as if they hadn’t slept in days and as if Byleth might lop off their heads at any moment. The man she didn’t recognize was about fifty, with brown eyes and graying hair. He too seemed exhausted, but if he felt a similar terror to his companions, he kept it well hidden.

Rhea held out her hand. “Child, at last.” Even her voice was weak. “I thought I would die without seeing you again.”

She and Dimitri glanced at each other. Protocol dictated that as the uncrowned king, he should greet Rhea first, but she seemed not to notice his existence. Byleth knelt to kiss her hand. Rhea cupped her face in her hands. “Those eyes of yours are so like hers. Can you ever forgive me for what I have done to you and to Fodlan?”

How could she, when Byleth had no idea what she was talking about? Her father’s diary and the Holy Tomb provided hints and suggestions but no real answers. As for what the Archbishop had done to and for Fodlan, she had no right to either judge or absolve. “What’s important is that you survived.”

“Yes, I survived.” Her voice was hollow. “Marquis Vestra assured me that I would be ‘useful against common enemies.’ But I should have died. The last remnants of the world I loved perished with Seteth and Flayn.”

So she did know. Dimitri stepped forward. “I am sorry. If I hadn’t been such a bloodthirsty—”

Rhea held up a hand. “Do not blame yourself. This war has made it clear to me that I am no longer fit to guide Fodlan. It must be renewed. In times past Great Emperor Wilhelm and Saint Seiros ruled together over a united Fodlan. I have called you all here to tell you that that is how it must be again. Dimitri will be king over the whole continent and Byleth will be Archbishop. I shall go to Zanado and sleep. I don’t expect to wake.”

“What?” cried the whole group nearly in unison. The room spun sideways as Byleth’s knees buckled for what felt like the twentieth time since the last battle. Archbishop. There were worse choices, technically, but Byleth had to be in the bottom five. Archbishops normally believed in their religion. She believed in the pointy-eared girl who had been her friend but didn’t seem like anything she had heard preached. She hadn’t even known there was a Church of Seiros until she had arrived at the monastery. Archbishop.

“Lady Rhea.” There was a note of panic in Catherine’s voice that Byleth had never heard before. She grabbed tugged on Rhea’s hand as if she were a child. “You’re talking about dying. You can’t die when we’ve just got you back.”

“Oh, Catherine.” She ruffled Catherine’s hair and gave her a sad smile. I have tried for far longer than you can know to bring order to this world. I have only made things worse. My mother, my family, are dead, are dead and I lack the power to bring them back. Grant me this peace.”

“But I—what do I live for now?”

“Cassandra, I once wondered the same thing.” Dimitri’s hand hovered over her shoulder. “Live for what you believe in. I say the same to you, Your Grace. Death is not the answer.”

“You will be a good king. Unless you would prefer the title of Emperor.”

“I must decline. I fought this war only to secure freedom for my own people. I have committed enough sins that I deserve no reward beyond my own crown.”

“And I don’t want to be Archbishop.” Byleth tried to keep her voice even. “I don’t know anything about doctrine. Worse, I don’t particularly care. I never did!” If that didn’t make Rhea and the others furious and realize that she wasn’t some divine savior, nothing would.

Rhea kept her small, sad smile. “You have something better than doctrine. The Goddess acts through you directly. Mold the church as you see fit. Or, if you will not, take Adrestia for your own. I don’t care as long as the divine once more watches over Fodlan.”

“I am not divine.”

“Only the Goddess possesses power over life and death. Power that several people are quite certain you possess.” She chuckled. “The gossip has reached me. Stop trying to avoid your destiny. Both of you. Those who the Goddess chooses do not control their destiny.”

Dimitri went white beside her. “No choice, no control,” he muttered. Then more loudly, “Someone must keep order here. These three are ministers, are they not?

“We are, Your Highness,” said the man Byleth didn’t recognize. “Duke Gerth, Minister of Foreign Affairs and my colleagues the Minister of Domestic Affairs and the Minister of the Judiciary. Count Hevring and I were uncertain which of us should handle the negotiations. Or rather, the capitulation.”

“Where are the others?” Ferdinand’s sipped his tea. His knuckles were white. “Edelgard must have appointed a Prime Minister in my Father’s place.”

“She is dead, alongside Count Bergliez and I presume Her Majesty. Marquis Vestra and Lord Arundel you know. We are all that remains of the leaders of Adrestia. Our army has been decimated. What remains couldn’t keep order in the city, let alone the country. We are at your mercy.”

“So someone must remain behind with a force to occupy Adrestia?” Dimitri stroked his chin. “I must return to the Kingdom. We’ve had chaos enough of our own these five years.”

“I’ll do it.” Catherine swallowed hard. “If Lady Rhea is truly…set on her path, the least I can do is school these apostates and exact justice for all the blood spilled.”

Byleth could imagine that. Catherine would govern like she fought, destroying all opposition without a hint of doubt. And with her ensconced in the palace, there will be no hiding Edelgard or hope for healing her, no matter what Byleth or Dimitri said. The Flame Emperor would burn.

There was a way out. Curse whatever power had given her Sothis and curse Solon for forcing her to sacrifice herself before she could explain to Byleth what she was supposed to do. And curse Rhea and her suicidal ideation. “I will serve as regent. Regent, do you hear me?” She turned to the ministers. “As soon as Adrestia figures out which Hresvelg is next in line and you agree to stop trying to conquer people, I’m gone.

Hevring raised his hand. He truly did look like Linhardt when he did that. “That is quite impossible. Her Majesty was the last Hresvelg.”

“I heard a rumor about her siblings.” The gossip had blamed her for that too.” But there has to be cadet branches. You know, cousins and such?”

“No,” said Hevring. He shuddered and buried his face in his hands. “Every one listed in the Imperial Archives was murdered about ten years ago. It was out of lust for power. Her Majesty survived only by happenstance. The chief conspirators are dead, but those of us who stood by and let it happen sit before you.”

“But that would be hundreds of people!” Dimitri spluttered. His voice rose higher and higher until he was shouting. “And you let it happen? Are you mad?”

“Worse. We were afraid. They offered us the carrot and the most terrible of sticks: our children would join the Hresvelgs in death. We chose our families.” His gaze sought out Byleth. “The Goddess has punished us for our cowardice.”

It wasn’t Sothis. They died because war is cruel. “It would be unfair to judge you without knowing all the facts. Regardless, I will only be your Regent. Someone else will take the crown.” Maybe Dimitri would get his miracle and it would even be Edelgard.

#azure crimson #rough draft

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everyonewasabird · 3 years ago

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Brickclub 2.8.3 ‘Mother Innocent’

Two extremely clever people talk entirely past each other for pages. I like the way they both really are smart, though in entirely different modes.

(I’m missing how Fauchelevent’s “Oftener” problem happened? I can’t figure out what conversational thread that’s springing from. Either way, he and Mother Innocent get stuck in Who’s On First routine for a while.)

@fremedon pointed out that Fauchelevent’s curiosity is one of the few instances of curiosity described positively. Maybe that’s because 1) he’s not at all inclined to gossip with it, a huge negative in the text, and 2) he’s lying through his teeth at all times, a huge positive.

I like Mother Innocent and her erudite references a lot. I’m so glad there’s a woman somewhere in this book who gets to participate in the nerdy reference game.

But also.

I feel the shadow of the barricade really strongly here, and it’s very much the negative version of it.

“Think, Father Fauvent, if there should be miracles performed here! what glory under God for the community! Miracles spring from tombs.”

This isn’t exactly wrong! We’ll see at the barricade what miracles can spring from tombs.

And yet. There’s something really off here.

She’s concerning herself with both serving the dead and instrumentalizing the dead. It feels like a reversed version of the text’s usual magic system, where the best people offer the power of their own deaths to serve the living. It’s like she’s got hold of the wrong face of the coin or the upside down version of the tarot card or the negative of a photograph.

Please tell me the feeling of wrongness and reversal isn’t what Hugo’s going for with this conversation where the woman has the erudition and power and the man is in the subservient position. HUGO NO.

In describing what’s to be done with the body, Mother Innocent talks about what the living owe the dead. It puts her in stark opposition to Combeferre--another person for whom the word “innocent” looms large--who speaks passionately at the barricade about what the dead owe the living. The book is very much on Combeferre’s side.

Mother Innocent also reminds me of that emotionally important passage a few chapters ago, the one that throws off the guilt-tripping of dead things and which would change Marius’s life if someone could make him understand it:

“The persistence of superannuated institutions in striving to perpetuate themselves is like the obstinacy of a rancid odour clinging to the hair; the pretension of spoiled fish that insists on being eaten, the tenacious folly of a child's garment trying to clothe a man, or the tenderness of a corpse returning to embrace the living.

"Ingrates!" exclaims the garment. "I shielded you in weakness. Why do you reject me now?" "I come from the depths of the sea," says the fish; "I was once a rose," cries the odour; "I loved you," murmurs the corpse; "I civilised you," says the convent.

To this there is but one reply: "In the past.”

Mother Innocent is wonderful, but she’s very tied in to what’s wrong with this place.

She breaks for a few pages into the kind of monologue we’ve seen before and will see again. Characters lose their own distinct voices in these monologues and take on a peculiar tone; it seems to be this book’s answer to seeing inside the head of someone who feels something strongly but who has gone wrong somewhere in their thinking.

Hers might be the most conservative of all these rants, decrying any form of secularism or change in the world at all and lamenting that religion no longer holds absolute sway. Even Gillenormand is closer to modernity than she is.

She’s rebelling against the state, and that’s a positive in a text like this. But she’s out of step with the state not because she’s farther ahead on the road of progress but because she’s a long way behind.

#brickclub #lm 2.8.3

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idanwyn-et-al · 3 years ago

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(XIV|21-22: Fluster. Anne-Sophie Bale.)

[♪]

She should’ve returned the Fury’s Looking-Glass back to its striking configuration. With its focus spread into a crystalline web of defensive aether, glowing on her back like a jagged block of new-blown glass, she was too recognizable. Gloved hands passed purposefully-loud whispers behind them; veiled eyes stared openly.

“There she is, Raphael’s strangest daughter.”

“Nothing like her uncle Alberic. A shame...or, perhaps, a blessing.”

“Going to apologize to the Fury, I’d hope.”

“Oh no, no, haven’t you heard? Tis no longer a crime to conduct such foul sorcery out in the open.”

Anne-Sophie liked to pretend that it didn’t bother her anymore; head held high and her pace purposeful, unhurried, she continued toward the cathedral. It was just past Vespers, and she was, in truth, partially here to let herself be seen. The thorn-laden viny tongues had always grown their poison roses just outside the great doors of St. Reymanaud’s; for so many, their devotions stopped just beyond the Fury’s stony gaze.

Like infants, all of them, playing peek-a-boo with the Goddess. Once those doors closed, they couldn’t see Her, and thus, She ceased to exist. Anne-Sophie smiled wide at the image of all those nobles playing dress-up in their parents’ finery, gobsmacked every time the church’s doors opened to reveal the Fury within.

The knight-scholar genuflected, then strode down the nave, her eyes fixed on the statue of the Fury. When she was young, she’d thought Halone actually lived within the statue; after waking Oberic from his own stony embrace, she was starting to believe that some part of Her did, perhaps, reside there. A summer home, maybe. At least an overnight inn on the side of the road; cheaper because it was in the bad part of town.

“O Goddess,” she intoned in supplication, “why do You vex me so? Why would You, in Your strong-armed purpose and keen sight, send me hurtling through the vast unknown, only to leave there with more memories? More sorrow?”

Halone-in-the-Statue was silent as ever. In one of the axial chapels, the women’s choir was practicing; the same verse over and over again, sang at half time, then double time, holding out harmonies here and there while the conductor fine-tuned each out of place thread in her tapestry. “♪In Her strength do we find our own./Confess our sorrows manifold,♪” was the line. Fitting, Anne-Sophie thought, a grim little laugh escaping her lips.

“Fury, I have fought for You. Ever in my battles have I glorified Your name; though others mock my skill as a slap in Your face, I felt You with me when I screamed myself hoarse. For Ishgard!” Her voice echoed in the sudden silence; “♪sorrows manifold♪” resumed. “For Ishgard. For our future. Now, I have the chance to find happiness with two more of Your children; to make my own future. I ask you; please grant me this.”

Another long silence; somewhere, some poor altar child dropped a tray, metal clanging, glass shattering, muffled upbraiding, apologies. “♪maaaa-niii-foooold♪”. The last flickers of the early-setting sun simmered within stained glass.

The fox-haired Hyur closed her eyes. She thought of those manor gardens deep in the Shroud that contained nothing short of a miracle; plants that had thrived in Coerthas before the Calamity. She remembered the peace and tranquillity their various scents filled her with; healing her mind, her spirit. Trineaux flitted through her thoughts; eyes like the distant sea, in Vylbrand, where it was warm, touched by the green of life. He’d made her a posy of woodland flowers; done everything he could to help her create the remedies for those that needed them. Not a word of complaint; just that unflappable, naive idealism that defined him.

Miovont, strange and spoiled in his own way, happily footing the bill for an expensive dinner at Wineport. Despite being eaten alive by his birthright, he seemed almost...silly, at times. Friendly, talkative, quick with a smile or to offer a kind word.

“Why can’t I be more like them?!” she found herself asking Halone, flustered as she realized she’d spoken into silence yet again. “I mean---that wasn’t---oh, godsdammit, I’m a grown woman, and here I am, acting like You’re my personal counselor.” She took a breath, made the Sign of the Spear, left her gil offering and lit her votive. “Forgive my follies, O Halone. I will strive ever to grow in strength, in Your sight.”

Anne-Sophie’s mind roiled as she turned and left St. Reymanaud’s, enrobing herself in as much dignity as she could muster. Behind her on the votive stand, unseen by any save for the Fury, her newly-lit offering sparked first the half-burned candle to its right to life, then the one to its left. “♪In Her streeeeength♪” filled the silence.

#Anne-Sophie Bale #Halone #Trineaux Cauvidain #Ishgard #FFxivWrite2021 #prompt 22 #fluster #ffxiv writers #ffxiv writing #Miovont Kotelleloix #Ishgardian Knights Errant #Reymanaud #Gotta love that Eric Whitacre for inspiration

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jaspers47 · 4 years ago

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I watched 180 Movies in 2020

Five Stars

1917 (2019) 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954) Before Midnight (2013) The Biggest Little Farm (2018) The Cook, the Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover (1989) Daisies (1966) Fast, Cheap & Out of Control (1997) The Fits (2015) For All Mankind (1989) I Am Not Your Negro (2016) Ink (2009) It’s Such a Beautiful Day (2012) The Last of Sheila (1973) Living in Oblivion (1995) Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005) The Myth of the American Sleepover (2010) Police Story (1985) Rewind This! (2013) Serial Mom (1994) Shock Treatment (1981) Stalag 17 (1953) The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974) Uncut Gems (2019) The Watermelon Woman (1996) Zazie dans le Metro (1960) Zombie Girl: The Movie (2008)

Four Stars

12:01 (1993) The 39 Steps (1935) All Things Must Pass (2015) Alphaville (1965) Always Shine (2016) The Amazing Johnathan Documentary (2019) April and the Extraordinary World (2015) The Bad Seed (1956) Batman vs The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2019) Black Sunday (1977) Borat Subsequent Moviefilm etc. etc. (2020) Brief Encounter (1945) Buck Privates (1940) But I’m a Cheerleader (1999) Carnival of Souls (1962) A Christmas Carol (1951) The Court Jester (1955) Da 5 Bloods (2020) Daughters of the Sexual Revolution (2018) Death at a Funeral (2007) The Devil’s Backbone (2001) Earth Girls Are Easy (1989) Ebirah, Monster of the Deep (1966) Gas, Food, Lodging (1992) The Getaway (1972) Ghidorah, the Three Headed Monster (1964) The Green Fog (2017) Hollywood Shuffle (1987) The Host (2006) I Married a Witch (1942) I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020) The Irishman (2019) John Wick (2014) Klute (1971) Live from the Space Stage: A Halyx Story (2020) The Lady From Shanghai (1947) The Living Daylights (1987) The Magnificent Ambersons (1942) Man With a Movie Camera (1929) Mascots (2016) Mikey and Nicky (1976) The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek (1944) Moon (2009) Mothra vs Godzilla (1964) Night of the Demons (1988) The Night Stalker (1972) The Ninth Configuration (1980) Palm Springs (2020) Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) Postcards from the Edge (1990) The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946) The Public Enemy (1931) The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985) Sisters (1972) Sleeping Beauty (1959) Sudden Fear (1952) Super Size Me 2: Holy Chicken! (2019) That Darn Cat! (1965) Throne of Blood (1957) Tom Jones (1963) Way Out West (1937) Yojimbo (1961)

Three and a Half Stars

Birds of Prey or the Really Long Harley Quinn Subtitle (2020) The Conversation (1974) Destroy All Monsters (1968) Double Dare (2004) Electra Woman and Dyna Girl (2016) Gimme Shelter (1970) Gun Crazy (1950) His Girl Friday (1940) The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1939) Jour de Fete (1949) The Lady Eve (1941) The Last Black Man in San Francisco (2019) The Mask of Zorro (1998) Mean Streets (1973) Movie Crazy (1932) Onward (2020) Paper Moon (1973) Repulsion (1965) The Train (1964) To Catch a Thief (1955) You Can’t Take It With You (1938) Zelig (1983)

Three Stars

L'Age D'or (1930) The Absent-Minded Professor (1961) The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988) Anna Karenina (2012) Bachelor Party (1984) Berberian Sound Studio (2012) Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) Black Narcissus (1947) Black Sunday (1960) Cat Ballou (1965) Celine and Julie Go Boating (1974) The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes (1969) Empire of the Sun (1987) Elvira’s Haunted Hills (2001) Enola Holmes (2020) Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1965) The Final Girls (2015) Forbidden Zone (1982) The Golem (1920) The Great Ziegfeld (1936) High Sierra (1941) House (1986) It’s a Gift (1934) Kon-Tiki (2012) Lady and the Tramp (1955) My Name is Nobody (1973) Observe and Report (2009) Once Upon a Time in Mexico (2003) Phantasm (1979) Phenomena (1985) The Phineas and Ferb Movie: Candace Against the Universe (2020) Saludos Amigos (1942) Slap Her, She’s French (2002) Some Kind of Wonderful (1987) Sons of the Desert (1933) Titticut Follies (1967) Touchy Feely (2013)

Two and a Half Stars

Arthur Christmas (2011) The Cat and the Canary (1939) The Cat from Outer Space (1978) Jasper Mall (2020) The Kid (1921) Return to Oz (1985) The Slumber Party Massacre (1982) This is Not Berlin (2019)

Two Stars

Bell Book and Candle (1958) Bride of Re-Animator (1989) Casino Royale (1967) Gamera vs Guiron (1969) Godzilla vs Megalon (1973) Masters of the Universe (1987) Make Mine Music (1946) Melody Time (1948) Muppets From Space (1999) Parenthood (1989) Valley of the Dolls (1967) Willow (1988)

One Star

Cave Dwellers (1984) Crash of Moons (1954) The Creeping Terror (1964) Foodfight! (2012) Hamlet 2 (2008) Howard the Duck (1986) The Human Duplicators (1965) King Dinosaur (1955) The Mad Monster (1942) The Mole People (1956) Swamp Diamonds (1955) A Talking Cat!?! (2013) Time of the Apes (1987)

#lists #movies

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ratchedspeach · 4 years ago

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ANGST 9 & 46 WITH WHOEVER YOU FEEL LIKE WRITING FOR 🥺 hope you’re doing okay, i love u💗

“Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?”, and “I can’t keep playing pretend.” A little Mildred/Edmund angst for your TL, some much needed relationship development, and a little of Huck being a puppy dog. Set directly following S1E6. TW// for very light mentions of child abuse.

Night Light

“Get him out of here.”

Mildred turned before she could watch him be whisked away. There, clad in a leather straight jacket and muzzle, he looked more like a caged animal than a man. Not just any man, Mildred thought, her brother. The little boy who had come to her rescue all those years ago - the man who she had sworn an oath to protect. One and the same, and yet ... Mildred shook her head, swallowing hard against the tears prickling her lash-line. She honed in on the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement, on the way her breath hitched in her throat and pressed out through her lips. Under the guise of her nurse’s cloak, she could fold her arms across herself and pinch the skin near her elbow, and will Edmund’s shrill cries out of her head.

“Nurse Ratched! Mildred? Millie!”

Mildred slammed the door to the hospital behind her, pressing her back against it and shutting her eyes. Lucia State had an eery stillness to it at night. With patients confined to their rooms and most of the nurses and doctors on duty convening in the break room, she stood alone in the grandiose lobby. Mildred’s eyes flickered from the marble floors, to the blue trim of the curtains, to the windows just beyond which swallowed an entire wall. It looked more like a hotel than a hospital, Mildred thought, or like the last house her and Edmund had stayed in. It was too grand, too inviting a place for the horror she knew took place here -- the horror she herself was victim and proprietor of. It was then that Mildred realized, with a great deal of horror, that the past which she had worked so desperately tried to leave behind had found her, here, in the overbearing warmth of Lucia State Hospital. She could never be free, not really, for this hurt was the only life she knew. Something surged in Mildred’s belly -- warm, and heavy, and carrying with it the weight of remembering. No, she could never be free, and what’s more, she was still seeking exactly what it was she was running away from. So long as she felt tethered to Edmund, this hurt would remain.

“So they found him?” A voice, gentle and steadfast, pulled Mildred out of herself.

She shuttering a gasp while Huck was still out of earshot. “They are taking him to the cellars.”

Huck nodded, the puckered skin near his jawline twisting unnaturally at the disturbance, and yet a gentle smile graced his lips. Mildred envied him for his tranquility.

“And Dolly?” A beat. Mildred shook her head. Huck’s smile fell. “God. What a mess.”

Mildred could do little more but murmur her agreement before excusing herself and brushing past him. Huck took her wrist as she did, fixing her with a placid gaze and a knowing grimace. “Mildred,” he said, “I know that something is eating at you. I don’t know what, but I know it is no accident that you ended up here, and ... well ... what I’m trying to say is ...” Huck sucked in a deep breath, “should you need someone to talk to, I’m happy to listen.”

“Thank you, Huck.” Mildred smiled in spite of herself, small and perhaps a bit dishonest, but still warm in its feeble attempt.

Huck nodded, giving her wrist one more gentle squeeze before releasing her. Mildred, in her turn, did not move - not right away, at least. She held his gaze, as if to steal some of the tranquility there. In many ways, he reminded Mildred of Edmund. A younger, antiquated version of him; one which did not hold the vitriol of the man her brother had become. It dawned on Mildred what she must do.

“Would you ...” A false start. “There is something I need to do. Would you consider -”

“Name it.”

And so Mildred did.

The hallway to Edmund’s cell stretched before her like a funeral procession. It felt somehow longer to Mildred, though she had walked this same corridor countless times before. A leak from one of the pipes dripped a vicious taunt at her: your fault, your fault, your fault, it seemed to say. Huck stole glances at the woman, eyes flicking to and fro as though he were tracking a fly. He daren’t stare at Mildred, for he knew it would be met only with defense, and perhaps even offense.

“I’ll wait here for you.” He said instead when they reached the last security check. Mildred smiled her thanks.

Edmund sat where he always did - on the floor near his bed, trailing a finger through the rust colored dirt and debris on the ground. He did not look at her when she approached, but Mildred knew that he could sense her, as she would have were the roles reversed. They were conjoined in some way, sewn together by the string of experience. He was part of her, like an extension of her thumb, or the heel of her foot.

“That was quite a performance you put on out there.” Edmund drawled, finger still scraping the ground.

Mildred straightened a little, shifting as she clasped her hands in front of her. She fixed him with a glare, boring it into the back of his skull, but she did not speak. She would not treat him like a child, petulant as he may be. She would not be roped into this charade any longer.

“You even had me going for a minute there.” Edmund peeked over his shoulder, a smile simpering his features.

He was bating her, and she knew it.

“I suppose I should thank you, really. If it weren’t for you, I never woulda gotten out of here in the first place. You’re a miracle worker, Millie, an angel of -”

“Don’t you dare.” Mildred seethed when she could no longer resist his pinches. “Look at me.”

He didn’t not at first.

“Edmund. I said look at me.”

With a snort, Edmund shifted on the ground. He turned to look at her, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands on either knee. “Alright. I’m looking at ya. Now what?”

Mildred’s mouth gaped, pursing for a moment before she pressed them into a thin line. Now what? What had she expected from coming down here? What had she hoped to gain from this meeting with him? Did she think that he would apologize? That he would grovel at her feet? That she would take him in his arms and offer them both some reprieve from a world which had been so cruel to them? Mildred couldn’t say. Her eyes flicked to where Huck still stood, leaning against the security desk with his back turned. Her chest loosened, slightly, and only for a moment. It was short lived, as comfort often was for Mildred Ratched.

“So what is it, then?” Edmund breathed, eyes glinting, “Did you want me to apologize? Is that it, Millie?”

It snapped something in her. Mildred’s dark eyes went black and dull. Her palms squeezed tighter against one another so that her knuckles were white. Her mind began to race, and she was a little girl again - small and meager and utterly helpless, utterly taken by Edmund once more. He could swallow her whole here and now if he so chose, and she would be powerless to stop him.

“You killed a security guard.” Mildred spat the words like acid. “You endangered the wellbeing of countless patients, of the staff. You shot Gwendolyn -”

“Dolly did that.”

“Well you might as well have.” Her voice was breathy and unsupported. Mildred swallowed the lump in her throat. “We had a plan, Edmund. We had a plan, and it was foolproof; and you threw it away for what? For some girl. For some fanciful, naive imitation of love.”

“It was real.” Edmund snarled.

“It was not. It was not real, Edmund. It was ...” Mildred’s arms gripped across her waist. She knelt in front of him. Were it not for the bars that separated them, Mildred thought she might pull him onto her lap and stroke his hair. “I have spent years - years - searching for you, worrying about you, trying to save you. I have risked my life just to make sure that you were alright.”

“Awe, Millie.”

“Don’t you Millie me.”

The nickname felt like a black hole. It bore the remembrance of wooden spoons splintering across adolescent shins, of calloused hands over her stomach, of blood trickling down his face and neck and seeping into his clothing. Too cruel, the nickname felt, too seeped with history, too comfortable, too safe.

“You left me, Mildred.” Edmund smiled, full of vitriol and mirth. “You left me to take the fall for you.”

“You told me to run!”

“Yeah, well I didn’t think you would!” Edmund’s voice rose.

He pounced towards her then, sending Mildred teetering off her heels, and onto her hind, and skittering away by the palm of her hands. She could feel the thick must of the air suffocating her, could hear Huck shuffle a little, and then think better of moving closer. Mildred’s eyes stayed trained on her brother -- the boy in the cage -- the boy who had always been shackled to something or another for as long as she had known him. Only now it was different, because now it was not to her.

“Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?” Mildred asked, and it dawned on her then that it was more rhetorical than earnest. She knew the answer, though she wished herself wrong.

Edmund didn’t respond. His fingers curled around the bars, nails eliciting a sinister scrape. He smiled again, a lowly, devious smirk that was more telling than anything he could have said.

“No.” Mildred chuckled humorlessly. “No, I see that now. I see that it is my folly. It was never about me, was it Edmund? It was always about you - about some silly fantasy you were trying to fulfill. I loved you, Edmund, and you threw me away. You lied to me.”

“I killed for you, Mildred. For you.”

His brow creased incredulously. It looked like he might try and push himself through the bars, and oh how Mildred wished it were to comfort her, to beckon her close, to fix the shattered parts of themselves, to glue them back into a whole. Even with this frivolous hope, Mildred saw the hunger behind his eyes - the dark, twisting selfishness with which he spoke.

“I can’t keep acting against my own moral compass for you. It’s too much, I don’t have it in me.” Mildred stood, brushing the dirt from her nurse’s uniform only to have it smudge streaks down the front of the canvas material. “Well no more, Edmund. I can’t keep playing pretend.”

And with that she was gone again, whisked away in a rush wind which seemed to carry her body separately from her soul. She could hear Edmund’s calls from behind her, could hear the way he slammed his fists against the bars echoing faintly somewhere in her mind, but it was too far away. It was too far, and she was too tired, and Edmund meant too much and too little all at once.

Huck pushed off the security desk as she approached, his good eye wide and searching. “Are you alright?”

Mildred’s breath dropped a little lower, a little more centered. Huck was all smooth lines and soft bends. He held none of the sharp corners which she or Edmund had.

“What was that all about?” Huck asked when she didn’t respond.

“I ...” Mildred started, but the words choked in her throat.

There was nothing she could say, really, for she knew the truth was that she was as culpable as Edmund was. Any indication towards him pointed in opposition towards her. Mildred’s breath went shallow and she swooned, eyes fluttering as her knees began to buckle. Huck caught her with strong, grounding arms. He murmured her name, held her up until she had regained strength.

“I’m fine.” Mildred brushed him off, but it was too forced, too urgent.

“Alright.” Huck said, swallowing his concern. He realized suddenly that he knew very little about the nurse, but still, he knew enough to deduce that she would not tell him anything. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

With a final glance behind her, Mildred nodded, straightening and fixing a thin line across her lips. There was nothing left for her here, she thought, nothing left to keep her in this place, or anywhere else for that matter. An orphan once more, that what she was. Orphaned from her mother, and then Edmund, and now herself. A child lost in the dark.

#nat writes #Mildred ratched #ratched #huck finnigan #edmund tolleson #angst #like a lot of angst #not much else than angst #fasten your seatbelts #cause baby I’m back

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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Watching you vomit into your neck

That on his throwing charities. Awake! When we maun part frae charm between the square. They are rare and ran in his heart was voluble, numerous and rocked, one left upon a love of yourself, and gentle part. To see her to play; for

good people feels: there is bearing moment of body of thy swete layes on the square. And Pan himself, he knew not what we used to a widow drown’d, and mute admire the roast meat stopped crackling. To Venus’ temples you nursed of a chemical

mixture breed. But now, if you wouldst have done no work as he had done a feast; still the black sacrament. While sages, whose outlet’s Dover! Those, and roses; and as a dog in a kitchen-table leg my knots to butter, which was such.

In the ague. Which runs naturally— imposed wonder more? Once I sunbathed in your famish’d pilgrim,—sav’d by miracle. Each a catatonic stuck in the night, and like a dog in a kitchen-table leg my knee. A month of Morn

when vicious, harebrained, the ultimate recoil.—His altars kept from woe to woe tell best in the mild emerald’s beam shades down into the tenses I sing of gods and blush at a riper age, people are all men’s impress. These arms threw,

and still, save the surgeon’s hand and the best: for after than those thing in sense, which in our power their first season with these fingers; pour thy soft showers; and peace march in Washington. Besides alas! Studying inuentions stay; inuentions

fine, mouth gracious eye, and they happen at a rout, and false fair looks yielded, that’s best attitude: and then forbear to touch of navigation; but yet thou hast thy Purpose set to worke delyte? And the waves without there are colonnades.

Expounding it. She seem’d to grow. My Muse, to dream this god enamoured on her own Ellis Island, who taught me with anguish still! Consider a girl who keepeth clos’d her up, as in fury of all? Maiden bosom of

these not one breath, light that’s enough, and still to be free. With other face: look, this poem’s merely was singly crown’d: but the old comparison of snows; and there is of the hyghest Ioue, and, without a toga or a scarf on a couch

supine the other words when the worldlings of the central creature, striue to wish her smile’s a gift prevails when death’s dateless now what some honourable anger, a space opens where shepheards and without that still her green leaves that know

not what you’d suspecting country maid whose clue is of earth which lose no more, until her tears I see thee, thine, both in both are spurn’d informer!—We’ll take covert, pleas’d eyes, I find no cure? Watching you vomit into your neck. In the Night

and bound he lay thy looking in their Bills among the musk- bull brown came riding, up to attention, with the shutters, but alas too late I notice as she dwelt in his breast, his things are the wind, flung roses, rose cheeks, that heedless oath?

In a big house and land, fishes that off-hand and let naebody see, and this yeere on Christian landlord’s blame, with folly and glorious batch; and all things. Great men desire but mine recall; theirs is the stream: I know no more black is

fair gem, sweet hour and shovel dirt on her lies. The sunlight that’s the central creature of the back to that terror, even yet, I dare to be before me like a prayers with my rage until a royal husbandry? Then spoke the old

compared within the forth and be thought I sing by each other’s bower. Or he! Make committing art, unlike eyes, bluer stocking dragons all asunder breaks the sacred corse with a lady ask’d of as we went to the lake, beneath.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #167 texts #ballad

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phroyd · 5 years ago

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When I ask my European friends to describe us — Americans, Brits, who I’ll call Anglo-Americans in this essay — they shake their heads gently. And over and over, three themes emerge. They say we’re a little thoughtless. They say we’re selfish and arrogant. And they say that we’re cruel and brutal.

I can’t help but think there’s more than a grain of truth. That they’re being kind. Anglo-American society is now the world’s preeminent example of willful self-destruction. It’s jaw-dropping folly and stupidity is breathtaking to the rest of the world.

The hard truth is this. America and Britain aren’t just collapsing by the day…they aren’t even just choosing to collapse by the day. They’re entering a death spiral, from which there’s probably no return. Yes, really. Simple economics dictate that, just like they did for the Soviet Union — and I’ll come to them.

And yet what’s even weirder and more grotesque than that is that…wel…nobody much seems to have noticed. There’s a deafening silence from pundits and elites and columnists and politicians on the joint self-destruction of the Anglo-American world. Nobody seems to have noticed: the only two rich societies in the world with falling life expectancies, incomes, savings, happiness, trust — every single social indicator you can imagine — are America and Britain. It’s not one of history’s most improbable coincidences that America and Britain are collapsing in eerily similar ways, at precisely the same time. It’s a relationship. What connects the dots?

Let me pause to note that my European friends’ first criticism — that we’re thoughtless — is therefore accurate. We’re not even capable of noticing — much less understanding — our twin collapse. Our entire thinking and leadership class seems not to have even noticed, like idiots grinning and dancing, setting their own house on fire. They are simply going on pretending it isn’t happening — that the English speaking world isn’t fast becoming something very much like the new Soviet Union.

So what caused this joint collapse? How did the English speaking world end up like the new Soviet Union? To understand that point, consider the fact that you yourself probably think that’s an overstatement. But it’s an empirical reality. The Soviet Union stagnated for thirty years. America’s stagnated for fifty, and Britain for twenty. The Soviet Union couldn’t provide basics for its citizens — hence the famous breadlines. In America, people beg each other for money to pay for insulin and antibiotics, decent food is unavailable in vast swathes of the country, and retirement and paying off one’s debt are impossibilities: just like in the Soviet Union, basics are becoming both unavailable and unaffordable. What happens? People…die.

(The same is true in Britain. In both societies, upwards of 20% of children live in poverty, the middle class has imploded, and upward mobility has all but vanished. These are Soviet statistics — lethally real ones.)

Politics, too, has become a sclerotic Soviet affair. Anglo-American societies aren’t really democracies in any sensible meaning of the word anymore. They’re run by and for a class of elites, who could care less, literally, whether the average person lives or dies. In America, that class is a bizarre coterie of Ivy Leaguers pretending to be aw-shucks-good-ole-boys on the one side, like Ted Cruz, and Ivy Leaguers pretending to be do-gooders on the other, like Zuck and Silicon Valley. In Britain, it’s the notorious public school boys, the Etonians and Oxbridge set.

That brings me to arrogance. What’s astonishing about our elites is how…arrogant they are…and how ignorant they are…at precisely the same time. Finland just elected a 34 year old woman as a Prime Minister from the Social Democrats. Finland is a society that outperforms ours in every way — every way — imaginable. Finnish happiness is way, way higher — and so is life expectancy, mobility, savings, real incomes, trust, among others. And yet instead of learning a thing from a miracle like that, our elites profess to know a better way…while they’ve run our societies into the ground. What the? Hubris would be an understatement. I don’t think the English language has a word for this weird, fatal combination of arrogance amidst ignorance. Maybe cocksure stupidity comes close.

And yet our elites have succeeded in one vital task — what an Emile Durkheim might have called “social reproduction.” They’ve managed to reproduce society in their image. What does the average Anglo-American aspire to be, do, have? To be rich, powerful, careless, selfish, and dumb, now, mostly. We don’t, as societies or cultures, value learning or knowledge or magnanimity or great and noble things, anymore. We shower millions on reality TV stars and billions on “investment bankers.” The average person has become a tiny microcosm of the aspirations and norms of elites — they’re not curious, empathetic, decent, humane, noble, kind, in pursuit of wisdom, truth, beauty, meaning, purpose. We’ve become cruel, indecent, obscene, comically shallow, and astonishingly foolish people.

That’s not some kind of jeremiad. It’s an objective, easily observed truth. Who else in a rich society denies their neighbours healthcare and retirement? Nobody. Who else denies their own kids education? Nobody. Who else denies themselves childcare and elderly care? Nobody. Who else doesn’t want safety nets, opportunities, mobility, protection, savings, higher incomes? Nobody. Literally nobody on planet earth wants worse lives excepts us. We’re the only people on earth who thwart our own social progress, over and over again — and cheer about it.

How did we become these people? How did we become tiny microcosms of our arrogant, ignorant, breathtakingly stupid elites? Because we are perpetually battling for self-preservation. Life has become a kind of brutal combat to the death. For jobs, for healthcare, for money, for the tiniest shreds of resources necessary to live. We wake up and fight one another for these things, over and over again. That is what our lives amount to now — gladiatorial combat. Meanwhile, elites and billionaires sit back and enjoy not just the spectacle — but the winnings.

People who are battling for self-preservation can’t take care of anyone else. If I ask the average Brit or American to consider paying for their society’s healthcare, education, elderly care, childcare, increasingly, the answer is: LOL. In America, it always has been. Why is that? The reason couldn’t be simpler. People can’t even take care of themselves and their own. How can they take care of anyone else — let alone everyone else?

The average person is living right at the edge. Not at the edge of the middle class dream and an even better one. But at the edge of poverty and destitution. They struggle to pay basic bills and never make ends meet. They can’t afford to educate their children, and retire, or retire and have healthcare, and so on. Let me say it again: the average person can’t take care of themselves and their own — so how can they take care of anyone else, let alone everyone else?

A more technical, formal way to say that is: our societies have now become too poor to afford public goods and social systems. But public goods and social systems are what make a modern, rich society. What’s a society without decent healthcare, schools, universities, libraries, education, parks, transport, media — available to all, without life-crippling “debt”? It’s not a modern society at all. But more and more, it’s not America or Britain, either.

What makes European societies — which are far, far more successful than ours — successful is that people are not battling for self-preservation, and so they are able to cooperate to better one another instead. At least not nearly so much and so lethally as we are. They are assured of survival. They therefore have resources to share with others. They don’t have to battle for the very things we take away from each other — because they simply give them to one another. That has kept them richer than us, too. The average American now lives in effective poverty — unable to afford healthcare, housing, and basic bills. They must choose. The European doesn’t have to, precisely because they invested in one another — and those investment made them richer than us.

We are caught in a death spiral now. A vicious cycle from which there is probably no escape. The average person is too poor to fund the very things — the only things — which can offer him a better life: healthcare, education, childcare, healthcare, and so on. The average person is too poor to fund public goods and social systems. The average person is too poor now to able to give anything to anyone else, to invest anything in anyone else. He lives and dies in debt to begin with — so what does he have left over to give back, put back, invest?

A more technical, formal way to put all that is this. Europeans distributed their social surplus more fairly than we did. They didn’t give all the winnings to idiot billionaires like Zucks and con men like Trump. They kept middle and working classes better off than us. As a result, those middle and working classes were able to invest in expansive public goods and social systems. Those things — good healthcare, education, transport, media — kept life improving for everyone. That virtuous circle of investing a fairly distributed social surplus created a true economic miracle over just one human lifetime: Europe rose from the ashes of war to enjoy history’s highest living standards, ever, period.

That’s changing in Europe, to be sure. But that is because Europe is becoming Americanized, Anglicized. It has a generation of leaders foolish enough to follow our lead — now remember the greatest lesson of European history, which is one of the greatest lessons of history, full stop. That lesson goes like this.

People who are made to live right at the edge must battle each other for self-preservation. But such people have nothing left to give one another. And that way, a society enters a death spiral of poverty — like ours have.

People who can’t make ends meet can’t even invest in themselves — let alone anyone else. Such a society has to eat through whatever public goods and social systems it has, just to survive. It never develops or expands new ones.

The result is that a whole society grows poorer and poorer. Unable to invest in themselves or one another, people’s only real way out is to fight each other for self-preservation, by taking away their neighbor’s rights, privileges, and opportunities — instead of being able to give any new ones to anyone. Why give everyone healthcare and education when you can’t even afford your own? How are you supposed to?

Society melts down into a spiral of extremism and fascism, as ever increasing poverty brings hate, violence, fear, and rage with it. Trust erodes, democracy corrodes, social bonds are torn apart, and the only norms left are Darwinian-fascist ones: the strong survive, and the weak must perish.

(Let me spend a second or two on that last point. As they become poorer, people begin to distrust each other — and then hate each other. Why wouldn’t they? After all, the grim reality is that they actually are fighting each other for existence, for the basic resources of life, like medicine, money, and food.

As distrust becomes hate, people who have nothing to give anyways end up having no reason to even hope to give anything back to anyone else. Why give anything to those people you are fighting, every single day, for the most meagre resources necessary to live? Why give the very people who denied you healthcare and education anything? Isn’t the only real point of life to show that you beat them by having a bigger house, faster car, prettier wife or husband?)

That is how a society dies. That is the death spiral of a rich society. In technical terms, it goes like this. A social surplus isn’t distributed equitably. That leaves the average person too poor to invest anything back in society. He’s just battling for self-preservation, and the stakes are life or death. But that battle itself only breeds even more poverty. Because without investment, nurturance, nourishment — nothing can grow. Having become poor, the average person only grows poorer — because he will never have decent public goods or social systems, let alone the rights and privileges and jobs and careers and trajectories they become and lead to.

A society of people so poor they have nothing left over to invest in one another is dying. It goes from prosperity to poverty, from optimism to pessimism, from cohesion to distrust and hate, from peace to violence — at light speed, in the space of a generation. That’s America and Britain’s story today, just as it was the Soviet Union’s, yesterday, and Weimar Germany’s, before that.

You can see how a society dies — with horrific, brutal clarity — in the self-destruction of America and Britain. The hate-filled vitriol of Trumpism, the barely-hidden hate of Brexit. Why wouldn’t people who have grown suddenly poor hate everyone else? Why wouldn’t they blame anyone and everyone they can — from Mexicans to Muslims to Europeans — for their own decline? The truth, as always, is harder. America and Britain’s collapse is nobody’s fault — nobody’s — but their own.

They are in a death spiral now, but no opponent or adversary brought them there. It was their own fault, and yet they still go on choosing it. They don’t know any other way now. Their elites succeeded at making the average person truly, fervently believe that battling perpetually for self-preservation was the only way a society could exist.

And though it’s too late to escape for them, let us hope that the rest of the world, from Europe to Asia to Africa, learns the lesson of the sad, gruesome, stupid, astonishing tragedy of self-inflicted collapse.

Umair December 2019

Phroyd

#decline #superpowers

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kyralih · 3 years ago

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Cardinal King 3: Bright Future (Ch 7)

Last Time, on Cardinal King:

South has suspicions about this 'bright future' they put together, mainly the noticeable lack of political allies in this world-threatening situation; North backs him, and, together, they learn from Helios just what miracle the missing King of Crystal Tokyo managed before he disappeared.

Recalling Sailor Pluto's key as being in Mamoru's possession before he disappeared, South and North leave Mercury in charge of the control room and go in search of Rin, hoping the kid could lead them to the Door of Time and, from there, see if Pluto could locate or contact Mamoru through to key. The young boy is nowhere to be found, but the pair find a helpful talking kitten to lead them...

Chapter Seven: Elysion and the Garden of Dreams

He ran, throwing everything he had at the enormous creature that strode purposefully through the city of thorns, but to no avail. It barely responded, even as he fired a concentrated beam of golden light from his rose sword. It just got faster, moved farther from him, and no matter how hard he ran he was getting farther and farther behind. He jumped, he flew, but he was batted away effortlessly with one swing of its gigantic tail and landed hard in a thicket of briars. Trapped, he slashed with his sword, kicked his way towards the path of destruction in its wake, ripped and pulled against how his clothing stuck to the thorns and held him back. He couldn’t let it reach the castle. Everything pushed him back, the briars grew thicker before him - with every step forward he moved three steps back, and still, the footsteps of the monster boomed and shook the land around it. It yelled a challenge, deep voice bellowing, and people - humans - screamed. He had to help them! But the vines grew thicker, blocking out the light -

“Endymion!” someone called, but he knew it was a trick. If he joined hands with her he would gain the power to aid the monster, not destroy it. He pushed on, struggling against the press of thorns and the pull of the voice from the darkness behind him.

“Endymion!” it called again, but the voice was different - deeper, less feminine - and as his sword was ripped from his hand and moved beyond his reach, he did not follow its progress with his eyes. He had to ignore the voice, to focus on the enemy. His hands open wide, palms out, he threw another blast of energy outward, but the plants only grew -

“Mamoru!”

He paused - the enemy had not used his name, only his title - but it was his folly, as in pausing a hand reached out from behind him, clasped his shoulder, and pulled. He fell back into the dark, the thorns disappearing alongside the light…

And suddenly he was in a vast field of flowers, the ethereal light soft about him, thousands of whispering voices moving like the wind through the air all around. Where had he just been? He turned, not quite willing to accept the sudden peacefulness of his new surroundings, suspicious of a threat hiding just beyond his sight - but instead of monsters or friends he couldn’t lead to truth, he found a twilit sky and an idyllic forest, before which was a structure carved of white stone. It was familiar, though the roses that grew around it, the vines that crept up its pillars and around its arches were new, rather than something out of his memory. Barely within the structure stood a figure that, for all the world, looked like he would prefer to rush towards him but held back, his appearance half-hidden in the fading light.

Calm as opposed to apprehensive, Mamoru stepped towards him. As he walked, fireflies took off all around, taking to the sky as hundreds of stars to light his way, and the figure in the gazebo relaxed his stance, disappointed, but stood taller and waited patiently for his arrival. Firefly light reflected off of the golden horn protruding from his head, and Mamoru recognized him all at once: Helios. As he stepped up the stone stairs to the platform beneath the crossing white archways the fireflies dispersed, their light filling the fields with a soft glow and reflecting off the peacefully still lake between this structure and the castle far beyond.

“Mamoru,” Helios greeted with a slight bow to his head. In just his name alone, Mamoru knew this was not his Helios, but rather the guardian of Crystal Tokyo’s time. Which meant this was Elysion, just as the familiarity suggested.

“Elysion is beautiful,” he replied, moving to rest one hand on the stone railing as he looked over the lake, only to find his hand wasn’t entirely there; he could see through it as easily as they had seen through the High Priest’s form back in the castle. His heart sank, and he tried to push past the disappointment and despair the realization brought.

Helios joined him, his form solid, his footsteps resounding against the wooden floor beneath them. “Thank you,” he replied, amber-colored eyes forward, “It took some time to restore it to its original state, and more to transform it into the paradise you see before you, but it was a labor of love.”

“I can feel it,” Mamoru replied, taking a deep breath of the cool air in an attempt to calm the bitter emotions building in his chest, but no amount of deep breathing, even in this atmosphere of peace and tranquility, would ever overcome the knowledge that he had failed them.

Helios turned to him as though sensing it. “Are you alright?” he asked, placing his solid hand on Mamoru’s ghostly shoulder and somehow Mamoru felt it.

He turned away from the sight of the lake and the castle beyond, “As well as could be expected, given the circumstances,” he replied, unable to keep the note of sourness from his tone. He was dead, Elysion now his own personal Elysium, made so through the connection he had to it. Would the others meet him here, eventually? Sooner, perhaps, rather than later, thanks to him? … should they try to visit him before that time, would he be able to interact with them, or would he be a ghost? Obviously Helios could speak with him - the ability of his sort of priest? Through him, he could at least apologize for not being more careful, for not being able to carry through with their plan. For letting them down. For leaving them. For leaving her. “Do they know?” he asked, his heart a stone in his chest.

“Not yet -” Helios began to say, but Mamoru interrupted.

“It’d be better to let them know now, rather than wait,” he said, his hand curling into a fist on the railing. “Maybe in your time they’ve grown past this, but Kaito thinks better knowing all the pieces and Khalid would need to change whatever plan he had in the works to include that I wasn’t coming back. Try to give Nero something to punch and Yuu somewhere to go. They’ll get past it, but it’d be better hearing from you than hearing from Metallia or Beryl or one of their lackeys.”

“So Beryl has turned?” Helios asked.

Right. Information. He nodded his head curtly. “Metallia took advantage of her feelings towards me and the Moon Kingdom and Serenity and worked up a story around them. She hasn’t completely transformed, like the three others in the videos, but she’s beginning to.”

“Has she spoken of Metallia’s origin?” Helios asked.

“The version she made for Beryl, in any case,” Mamoru replied, reporting, “She said she was the original guardian of the Sun, and that when the Moon Kingdom was settled they sealed her away to usurp her power. She said that she sent her soul gem to Earth before it could be sealed away so it could be joined with Earth’s gem to create the Golden Crystal, to protect Earth in her place.” Helios sucked in a breath and Mamoru turned to face him, his brows furrowing, his report stopped. The pale guardian’s mouth was in a tight line, a crease in his brow; his hands were in fists by his side, and the confidence Mamoru had in the story being false suddenly wavered. “Is it true?” he asked, afraid for the answer to be true and find that not only was the Moon Kingdom foreign to the system entirely but that Serenity’s predecessors had entered the system as enemies.

“It is not her story, no,” Helios stated carefully, the calm in his tone backed by hot anger. “Not entirely, in any case. But from it, we can glean the bits of truth she hid to make it more believable.” Helios turned and leaned his back against the railings of the gazebo, his elbows propped as he considered.

“What parts aren’t her story?” Mamoru asked carefully.

“She was never the guardian of the Sun,” Helios stated, “Metallia was not responsible for sending its soul crystal to combine with Earth’s, and that process was done long before the Moon Kingdom was settled.”

He had questions.

“The Golden Crystal isn’t of Earth, then?”

Helios shook his head, looking towards him, “It is entirely of Earth, don’t confuse yourself - it is simply additionally protected by the Sun.”

“But what does that --”

“Nothing,” Helios interrupted with authority, but as Mamoru looked to him the guardian’s eyes softened. “The Sun’s protection is passive, it is not something you can harness, so tuck that information away for what it is - a miscellaneous fact.”

Mamoru turned more to face him, the quandary still jumping around in his head. Protected by the Sun? Could he have… … but that was all irrelevant now, wasn’t it? “And how did you learn of this ‘miscellaneous fact’, if it is from so long ago?” Mamoru asked in an effort to refocus himself on things he could potentially help with, rather than chasing a rabbit down holes that would lead him nowhere.

Helios fixed him with a critical stare before cautiously replying, “I was there.” To Mamoru’s incredulous look, he shrugged, adding, “Kind of.” His gaze shifted to the field of flowers Mamoru had come from and stated, “Your miracle on the battlefield that night was not the first time souls have been reincarnated; mine just so happens to come from a little further in the past.”

“A little?” Mamoru repeated, in his own opinion taking the revelation quite well.

Helios smiled, “Well, maybe a lot further. A couple millennia, give or take. And no,” he said, sliding his gaze back to Mamoru, “Your Helios has not realized that yet, so try not to mention it to him.”

He nodded absentmindedly, putting pieces together - “It was you, then?” he asked, but to Helios’s confusion, he elaborated - “You were the guardian of the Sun?”

Helios’s eyes dropped, staring at the pale planks of wood at their feet. He shook his head, “No,” then added, wistfully, “but we were friends.” He paused, “In the end, he did sacrifice himself to combine his Sol crystal with the crystal of Earth, but it was not to protect Earth against the Moon Kingdom, but an enemy far more dangerous and ancient.” Helios cleared his throat, “He had no regrets and was not sealed away. That Metallia knew that the crystals combined, though, means it - she - whatever knows about that,” he looked up thoughtfully, “else could sense the sun’s power in the Golden Crystal and made up parts of a tale that coincidentally was close to the truth.”

Helios had known the guardian of the Sun and his reasons for doing what he did to protect Earth... “Did you choose to be reborn?” he asked, drawing the Priest’s attention from the purple sky above.

“I did,” he said, fixing his gaze on Mamoru. “He loved this planet so much he forfeited his soul towards its protection; the least I could do is stick around and offer what guidance I can to his successors.” He half-smiled, but that smile soon faded, “And protect that memory. Metallia probably doesn’t know about that old enemy, but the part of the story about the Moon Kingdom is probably true - it may have been sealed away by them, thus the grudge it has against them, and the Queen by extension.

He paused, “So Beryl was manipulated due to how recent the fight against Diana and the Moon Kingdom was, in your time? An ancient grudge against the Moon Kingdom would make more sense than the reason Diana had, wouldn’t it?” he mused, “And Beryl’s loyalty would align her with Metallia, in Metallia’s telling. Were you able to confront her?”

“Yes and no,” Mamoru replied, crossing his arms. “She wouldn’t believe anything that I said; Metallia convinced her that both the Earth and I am under the Moon’s influence, and until that influence is erased I’ll do and say whatever it takes to protect Usako, or Queen Serenity or Princess Serenity or whomever she’s imagining as the person holding the strings.”

“Ah,” Helios said, nodding his head, a scowl on his lips, “Right. That would carry weight with her in that time.” He let out a breath and grew quiet, considering.

“But not this time?” Mamoru asked, prompting an answer, anxious to hear what had become of their dynamic in Rin’s time. Helios gave him a look, as though reminding him it wasn’t good to know too much about the future, even if it was no longer his, but he was dead. There was nothing he could do with that information, no path he could damage. He reasoned, “If she knew of her place in this future, of how she herself fared, maybe she can be convinced that Metallia isn’t completely truthful. She would trust her future-self’s judgement - Khalid could use that in an attempt to convince her to give up Metallia. If the Beryl from this time is awake, and not comatose somewhere like everyone else is, her appearance could be enough to tip the scales -”

Helios shook his head; while thoughtful, he took the time to briefly explain, “That’s not possible.”

Mamoru waited for further explanation, but when none was forthcoming he had to assume… “She died?” His stomach lurched. She had had no soul - if she had died… he may be stuck here, but at least he was still himself. He was still experiencing things, he had an ‘afterlife’, but she…

“No,” Helios denied, looking over at him sharply and punctuating the answer with a short shake of his head, repeating, “No, she’s not dead. She’s just… elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?”

“Not on Earth or the Moon. She met someone and is travelling with them - happily, from what her letters have suggested.” Travelling? … through space? “She found love and is spending the years exploring with them; there is no way to contact her now, but even if we could, she would never be able to make it back here in time. But that... “ he considered, “maybe we could use that.” He turned to him, nodding, moving on - “Where are you being held?”

Being held? His body? He shook his head; even if they wanted to recover it he couldn’t be much help in locating it. “Somewhere in space,” he said, the last word sounding as incredulous out of his mouth as it had in his mind. “It was moving - a meteoroid, maybe? It wasn’t large, from the perspective I could see, anyway. No physical horizon outside the room I was being kept in. It was dark, so potentially moving towards the Sun and inner system? If it was passing by planets, none were so close that I could make them out among the stars.” He breathed out, “That’s where Metallia and Beryl are; she was draining me, had Beryl believing that we were ‘sharing’ the energy because the golden crystal was originally hers. I don’t know how we got there, but, unless they left as soon as I died, she’s not on Earth. There’s no time to worry about recovering my body, though -”

“Mamoru,” Helios interrupted warily, straightening up to put his hand back on his shoulder, leaning in sincerely as he said, “You’re not dead.” He…? Helios straightened, using his free hand to indicate the world around them. “Elysion is, currently, a land of dreams. You’re just dreaming - the first dream you’ve had since you left. I was able to pull you out to speak with you. You’re still alive, and we’ll figure out where your body is and bring it back as soon as we can. While you’re here, you’re safe; King Endymion has spread his protection to every soul sheltered here, including his younger self’s, it seems.” He released him, looking up and to the left, as though getting ready to leave, “I’ll keep you apprised of what is going on up there, but for now I’ll tell them what you were able to tell me and see what we can do with it. Thank you,” he said, turning back to him. “This could help -”

“Let me go back,” he said, steeling his resolve. If he was alive, he could help. He had more options to try. “I can try again - I can work on convincing her -”

Helios immediately shook his head, taking hold of his wrist as though to keep him in place, “No, Mamoru. If you’re here, you’re safe; if you go back she just may drain you of everything, and then where would we be? Stay here -”

“No,” Mamoru said, shaking his head, pulling his arm free of the Priest’s grasp. “I’m not leaving everyone to face this while I just sit out on the sidelines, safe and sound. I can still try to help.” He implored, “If I can stop them before Metallia’s ready to return to Earth, then she won’t be able to attack Crystal Tokyo again.” He could tell Beryl where the Golden Crystal really came from, about why Metallia had to go to the past to find her because her future self knew better than to ally herself with a lie. He’d just have to figure out a way around the energy drain. “If I run into trouble again, I’ll just… start dreaming again,” he said, as though he had any control over that. How many times had he passed out, only to dream that last time? “I can tell you what I’ve learned, you can use it to prepare, or modify the plans you guys come up with while I’m away.” He caught his eye, “We need all the help we can get. Let me keep helping.”

Helios returned his gaze steadily… but then took in a breath and let it out, conceding. “Just deciding to dream around her isn’t exactly something you can control, but there may be another way.” He walked down the short stair, leaving the canopied gazebo, and stooped to pick a single red rose before returning. “Jadeite says you have one of Pluto’s keys. If you must return instead of staying safely here, then use it immediately to escape next time your life is threatened. No matter what happens because of it, don’t die there.”

He nodded. The key. He hadn’t felt it on his person, hadn’t seen it in his reflection, but he had not given it to anyone - it must still be with him somewhere.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Helios said, “Are you sure?” He nodded again, taking a breath to prepare himself. Helios offered him the flower, and he took it. “Treat that as a talisman,” he instructed, “Keep your thoughts trained on it, and you’ll find the strength to move. Now wake up,” Helios said, pulling hard on the arm that held the flower to throw him off balance. As he fell over the steps of the raised structure, Helios whispered when he passed, “Good luck.”

He awoke in an entirely different place than he had before. It wasn’t Elysion. His body was solid. It wasn’t a dream. But he was in a coffin of some sort and that wasn’t entirely reassuring. Focusing on the thought of the rose Helios had offered, he pushed out with his hand, but the clear, domed lid rose easily from atop him and he sat up. He was in a chamber made of eerily shaped stone, the walls looking like they were veined, as was the floor around the dias holding the coffin he was in; before him, enormous, glowing deep orange-yellow with darkness pulsing at its center, was some sort of bulb made out of the rock itself, like a seed suspended between floor and ceiling, and the energy it gave off gave him chills -

“Endymion!” a voice called gratefully, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the evil mass. Was that Metallia?

“YOU SEE, MY CHILD? I BROUGHT HIM BACK. FOR YOU. I WOULD NEVER DO YOU HARM,” a voice like an earthquake resounded in the chamber, making it shake - or, rather, making him shake. He breathed carefully, moved carefully, not quite sure of what was going on or if he could use whatever was happening to his advantage in trying to convince Beryl to listen to the truth - She was there, suddenly, her eyes nearly as orange as the glowing orb behind her, her hair a deeper, brighter shade of red, her face shallower, more angular. Her shoulders… there was something wrong with there, a protrusion, sharp and pointed, like a horn or a fang -- she cupped his face, bringing him closer to her; he moved with her rather than fight her, not sure yet whether Metallia realized she had not, in fact, brought him back, but Helios had sent him back. If she believed the former, maybe he could --?

“Endymion!” Beryl repeated, and even her voice was a little different - deeper, wider, somehow. “Are you alright?!”

“HE WILL BE FINE, THOUGH UNABLE TO ANSWER YOU FOR A TIME,” Metallia answered for him, and something pulled at his hand, dragging it to move - he let it happen. Let Metallia believe what she would; it would give him time, at least. His hand encircled Beryl’s wrist, and she smiled, stepping back to give him room. His body moved to get out of the raised case; it was an odd sensation, like he was some sort of puppet, but he worked with it. “SOON HE SHALL BE FREE OF THE MOON’S INFLUENCE. TAKE HIM TO HIS ROOM, AND WE WILL MAKE FINAL PREPARATIONS FOR THE FINAL STEP.”

Final step? His heart hammered; he didn’t have much time.

Beryl pulled him along and he followed, a door suddenly appearing in the chamber wall where none had been before. As it closed behind them, sealing them away from the sight of the formless mass that was Metallia, she spoke. “I thought I lost you, but Metallia was able to reverse the mistake. Rest - once you’ve rested you’ll feel better -”

He thought of Elysion, pictured the red rose, and fought back against the puppeteering force and slowed. She held up, looking back at him quizzically, and he went for it. He shook his head, as though just waking up, and croaked, his voice breaking from strain, “She’s lying to you.”

Her brows furrowed, “What? No… Endymion, you’re not thinking clearly, remember? The Moon --”

“The Sun,” Mamoru interrupted, imploring her to listen, taking her hand to force her to stop and pay attention. The correction had given her pause and he tried to use it - “The Sun’s soul stone did combine with Earth’s, but it wasn’t Metallia that initiated it - Metallia wasn’t the Sun’s guardian, and the change happened long before Metallia.” Beryl’s mouth started to open and he implored further, “This isn’t about the Moon, Beryl. This is about the Sun and the Earth, and a force that is lying to you to get you to do what it says.” Her lips closed, brows furrowing further - “Can you take me somewhere where we can see the sun?” he asked, both to keep them moving and her focused and well as to orient him a little more. Her head tilted, looking up at him to examine him, and he held firm under her scrutinizing gaze. “We don’t have much time,” he said, and she swallowed, glanced back the way they had come, and pulled him onwards, changing their direction to a new stone-encased path.

“You know she went back in time to get you,” he bid as they walked. She no longer held on to him, “But do you know why?”

“... to show me what my future was supposed to be,” Beryl said quietly, “What it would be, if I helped her free you and the Earth -”

“Because she knew she couldn’t get to the you that is here,” he pushed. “You’re powerful, Beryl, and Metallia knows that, but the you from this time is happy and content - if what Metallia says is true, would you have overlooked something so devious for so long? If there was something substantial to what she said - if the Moon were really in control of me and held sway over the Earth, would you have been blind to it for so many years? I trust you more than that,” he said, catching up to her to look her in the eye as they walked. Her orange irises glanced up at him and then quickly away, red brows still furrowed, though in anger or thought was unclear. “You trust yourself more than that, don’t you?”

Ahead of them sunlight beamed through a break in the wall to their left, blinding in the corridor, and he slowed her down, just outside of its intense glow, and took her by the shoulders, avoiding the pointed horn protruding from the curve of either - “She’s using you by lying to you and manipulating you into working with her willingly - don’t let her. She’s seeking revenge against people who sealed her away and destroying life on Earth in the process. That’s not something you would ally yourself with, Beryl. I know that about you - the lengths you’ve gone to to protect Earth stands testament to that. Don’t let her change you. Renounce her and come with me.”

He let her go, stepping into the blinding light, and held out his hand to block the orb of the sun to see clearly. Ahead of them, a blue star shone brightly, and he inherently knew that it was no star. It was Earth. Too far away still to make out as a disc or a crescent, but close enough to pick it out from the background of stars. He felt at peace being able to see it, but that they were so close brought up new potential problems: how fast were they moving? Was this meteor on a crash-course?

“We can stop her,” he said, turning back to Beryl. “Will you help me?”

The ground shook beneath his feet and his body started to fall to it, but Beryl remained standing and he realized it wasn’t the ground - it was him. Metallia was pulling from him again. He thought of the rose, kept it focused in his minds’ eye. “We have to go, Beryl,” he pressed, reaching out for her, straining against the immense weight that pulled him down. Where was the key?

She stepped forward, hesitantly. “Endymion… No, Mamoru… I almost made a huge mistake,” she said, but took his hand. Relief swelled within him, but as the force increased, his free hand patted against his pocket, his chest, searching for the literal key to their escape.

“The key…” he managed to groan as he was forced to his knees, Beryl’s concerned expression over him suddenly turning to understanding. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled it out - Pluto’s little golden key, and he took it and her hand as well, focused on the rose, and raised it high, as he remembered Rin having done.

“Oh Lord of Time and Space, Chronos!” he called, his voice shaking with strain, and then the entire rock did start to shake, throwing Beryl off balance beside him, but he kept his hold on her and pressed on - “Listen to my call! Guide us to the Guardian of the Door - Sailor Pluto!”

The key exploded with light, enveloping them in a glow entirely different than that of the sun, and then…

They were gone.

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

A/N:

:D Helio's real body! The future for Elysion! Finally a connection between Elysion and dreams! Mysterious?!?! Past?!?! Pre-Golden Kingdom!?! Hinted?! coughcoughcough check my one shot 'Icarus' i may be thinking of working that in coughcoughcough and maybe stuff from 'Tellus and Sol' cough cough cough because i am a stubborn person coughcough Wow! I should go drink some water~

Anyway! ♥ Thanks for reading! Pop that 'like' button if you enjoy imagining me making that teary-eyed-super-smile face ;u; <- like that when i check out my activity feed. ... write me an ask if you want me to swoon BUT OKAY SEE YOU NEXT TIME!

CK Fun Fact!

:D I didn't have first names for the Kings for forever. Their last names are the typical color of their "power gems" (I... Earth Kingdom, please. ;u; find better phrase; I can't wait for Mercury to politely correct them), and then their first names were chosen later to reflect character traits~ This means that they are definitely not cutesy puns like Naoko had (;u; genius) or easy to keep track of... sorryboutthat ^^' And then their power gem colors have nothing to do with their uniform colors... haaa... haha... C= haa...

Kunzite became Kobai (pink! Which is great for familiarity because K's match, hooray!); his first name is Khalid, which is Arabic for Eternal, which :> I enjoy because he's my little angsty boy. And Arabic because he's only half-Japanese! He's originally from Iraq (as had a part referenced in the first arc!) (...which, the earth being round, puts him west of Japan, heeheeheeWestKing) BTW Khalid is a Scorpio! (November 10)

Nephrite became Midori (green!) and his first name is Nero (which!! Nero, Nephrite?? Same first letter, phew, look at that!). Nero means "strong and vigorous", which I think fits his personality and is foreign enough to stand out (another sticking point in the first arc xD) He's half Canadian (on his mother's side)! (and Canada is east of Japan so hohohohoho, EastKing) (...yes it was chosen to match Another Story, too)(also because there're nephrite mines in Canada)(and Diamond mines)(and he's the parallel "Princess D~" so ha xD) Nero was the first to start calling everyone by their first names, and Nero is a Pisces! (March 9)

Jadeite became Moegi (dark green!) and his first name is Yuu (whoops, no J's anywhere...) which means 'tenderness and superiority', both traits being his, just one a little more hidden than the other, hahahah XD Yuu is an Aries! (March 29)

Zoisite became Hanada (blue) Kaito (Sea of the North Star) (...because King of the North, I thought, picking out this very first first name, thinking I could be clever with this and failing miserably from that point forward). .-. I love Kaito and often flip flop on whether he or Nero is my favorite King and I feel guilty every time ranking my boys but whomp there it is. Kaito is a Gemini! (June 5)

What's that, their astrological sign?! Any importance? Why, reader~♥ :D no i mean i matched the sign to the personality i made for them using a website i wish i could remember because like it was matched to the specific day of that month that worked best for them with like ruling planet and backing planet to a ridiculous degree. Will that come up in another "Fun" fact?! Maybe. I like these. xD

#sailor moon fanfiction #sailor moon #mamoru chiba #shitennou #sailor moon au #cardinal king #cardinal king 3

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villainousshakespeare · 4 years ago

Text

A Forest Interlude Chapter 23 - Visitors

Summary: Eleonore (OFC) discovers a wounded man in the woods near her home and seeks to heal him. Little does she know that it is none other than the heir to the throne, Prince Hal of England.

Chapter: 22 of 25

Rated E

Warnings: smut, sex fluff, angst, oral sex, fingering, hand jobs

(spoiler - don’t worry, it will all work out okay in the end)

In this chapter: Nell receives some less than welcome visitors.

Read the entire story on AO3

@nrthmnsplbnd09 ; @nonsensicalobsessions @yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @from-hel-i-with-love livviedoo @hopelessromanticspoonie @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @dangertoozmanykids101 @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @vodka-and-some-sass @shiningloki @hiddlesholic @isitmadnessrpg

Nell sat on the wall overlooking the inner courtyard of the house, eyes glued to the figures battling below. For the life of her she could not make out any concessions the combatants were making to safety. It looked for all the world as though they were actually trying to kill each other. Still, Hal had assured her that short of a bruise or a pulled muscle no harm would come to him, and it was exciting to watch him fight.

She had never been one of those women to lust after warriors, but then she had never seen a warrior quite like her husband before. Hal's tall, lithe body made the deadly moves seem more like a dance, the sword an extension of his arms. There was a catlike grace in it that she found unexpectedly arousing, although why it should surprise her she didn't know. Everything her new husband did seemed to arouse her.

Hal had not been joking when he threatened to keep her locked in their rooms for the start of their marriage. For the first week they had left only a handful of times, and even then he had kept possession of her hand, or and arm firmly wound about her. Her trips to the privy were the only moments she had been out of his presence. The rest of the time had been delightfully filled with romance, food, or just sharing silly tales of their childhoods.

Finally, after a week had past, her insatiable husband had sighed that he did have some responsibilities that could not be neglected, even for so tempting a distraction as his bride. It seemed he took his duties more seriously than she would have guessed, sitting on several councils in London, seeing to the needs of his lands scattered throughout the kingdom, and keeping up a grueling workout regimen.

Nell had responsibilities of her own, but made time to watch him with the last, as seeing him work up a sweat tended to do the same for her. She knew from the last two days that when he had finished below he would wink at her, and raise his eyes to their rooms, racing to meet her there. She would take great delight in stripping his armor from him and bathing that overworked body, kissing every last sore spot that he had acquired in his training. She rather fancied he made some of them up, but she was not complaining.

"You Highness," the low voice of Cecil, Hal's major domo, sounded behind her making her start, "there's a visitor at hand."

"A visitor? We had not planned on one."

She was still not used to hearing herself address with a royal title, and blushed every time one of Hal's servants did so. This dour man especially made her feel the merest rustic. She could not believe that he could approve of her.

"Tis only young Ned Poins, so please you ma'am," he shrugged. "An intimate longstanding of the prince. He often calls at any hour of day."

"The prince is at the moment occupied," Nell said, wincing as Hal took a particularly hard blow, "but since he is so good a friend to Hal, pray send him up and I will see to him."

Nell spared a brief moment of regret for her appearance. She had not planned on going out today, and their own household, even now combined, must be used to her ways by now. She was dressed in her boys garb. She was more comfortable this way, and Hal seemed to be partial to the look. Hopefully this Ned Poins would not take disgust at so casual dress, but if he was truly a good friend of Hal's she could not imagine him being so particular about such things. She had to admit that she did not look forward to meeting someone who had been so integral in Hal's wilder days.

"So you, I take it, are the little wife. I now begin to see the reason why our Hal hath been a truant these long days."

The young man walking towards Nell set her on edge from the instant she saw him. His hair, lank brown, hung down about a sharp, sallow face. Brown, keen looking eyes were rimmed by dark circles and shot through with red, and his clothing was rich but disheveled. All in all he looked thoroughly dissipated for one of his youth. And this was an intimate of Hal's?

"I am, good sir. My name is Eleonore, but all my friends do call me simply Nell," she said, shoving down her unease as she rose to offer up her hand. The man kissed it with practiced flair that was almost mocking. "I hear you are a friend of my dear lord."

"More brother than a friend, I blush to say," Ned smiled. "I'm sure he's told you many tales of me."

"Some, yes, although I think that most of them, from little things that he has let slip out about your wild exploits in the past, are not the sort of things one tells one's bride."

She hated that she sounded so prim, but everything she had heard of Hal's time with Ned was the part of his life she feared the most. The thoughtless, bullying exploits they had pulled on those of lower rank did not sit well with her. And, of course, she knew that this man was Hal's partner in carousing the alehouses and brothel's of London. She did not blame him for her husband's coarse past, but nor did she like to be reminded of it.

"It is a very wise wife that doth know that there be things a husband should not tell," Poins said with a sage grin. "For what concern should such things be to you, as long as he doth keep them from your eyes."

"You misconstrue me sir, I meant not so, that Hal should keep from me his future acts," she replied tartly. "But only that such follies of his youth, that he partook in ere we two did meet, need not upset our happy current peace."

"Why is our rapscallion so far reformed? Then tis a miracle and God be praised! For your sweet sake I hope it may be true, but leopards they do say change not their spots. And so I hope you be not too upset when he doth wander back to his old ways. You have acquired the title of Princess, and weighed against so great an honor won, what is an indiscretion now and then?"

"It looks as though they have now called a halt," she said tightly, noting that the clanging of metal had ceased. "Come, I will take you down to where he is."

"There is no need, for certs I know the way," he smiled thinly, and with a quick bow turned and walked towards the stairs.

Nell followed quickly after him, fighting to compose her face into softer lines, not wanting to show her quick dislike, bordering on hatred, of Hal's friend. Her husband, sweat drenched but laughing with his master of arms, looked up as they came down into the yard, his smile at seeing his wife dimming for a so brief a moment Nell thought she must have imagined it as his eyes lit upon Poins.

"What, Ned? We did not think to see you here," Hal said with a tight smile, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. "I see that you have met my darling wife."

Reaching out, Hal caught Nell's arm and pulled her tightly against his body. She squirmed a bit, suddenly finding herself being embraced by a metal clad arm. Still, after the slithery comments Poins had tossed off before, it felt good to be reminded of Hal's affection for her.

"We have begun to know each other well," Ned smiled. "And I do hope to know her better yet."

"Not too well, thank you Ned, an if you please," Hal's voice was dampening as his fingers dug into Nell's arm. "But tell me, what doth bring you to our house?"

"Perhaps you two would like some time along," Nell suggested, wanting to be anywhere but around this obnoxious friend of her husband's. "Why don't you, husband, go upstairs and change, your friend can go along and wait for you."

"I'd much prefer to have you help me sweet," he purred into her ear, sending a wave of desire through her.

"Oh, come now Hal, tis been more than a week," Poins laughed. "You must be over bedding her by now!"

"I'll just go see refreshments may be brought," she said quickly before he could answer. "Now go, and do not let me hold you up."

With a reluctant look, Hal bent down to kiss her slowly, hand running up her back as he did. For a few sweet moments she forgot that they were not alone and leaned wantonly into the embrace. All too soon it was over, and he raising each of her hands to his lips before trudging off with a smirking Ned to their rooms.

"I've never cared o'er much for that young man." Nell spun to see Cecil standing behind her. How the man managed to sneak up on her every time she had no idea. "The likes of him did often hang about before the prince did meet you some time back. It hath been good to see him break away from such rude boys and men of ill repute. You have, I think, brought out his better side, if I may be so bold to say it, ma'am."

Nell stared at Cecil as he gave what she was coming to realize was his version of a smile. Tentatively she smiled back, realizing in surprise that she had an ally in the man.

"I'll go and see the prince is brought some wine," Cecil told her, pulling back into himself. "And hopefully he soon bids Poins adieu."

Nell smiled walked out of the practice yard. It seemed she was at loose ends. She had no idea what to do with herself. It had been some time since she had been alone, and suddenly she longed to be at home, able to stride out into the wood and ramble at will where ever she chose. Hal had spoken the other night of a wedding trip, perhaps she could convince him to go someplace more rustic, where she would not be so hemmed in by propriety and safety concerns.

A pounding at the gate grabbed her attention, and she changed her direction to see who now was at their door. She arrived to find half a dozen men in red livery, swords at their sides, being escorted quickly inside. The gateman was scrambling to accommodate them, babbling that he would quickly go to seek his mistress.

"No need to seek, Nathaniel, I am here," she said, stepping forward.

The leader of the strange guardsmen, a tall, sinewy man of middle years, turned to her and gave a crisp bow.

"You are the Lady Eleonore D'Amboise, who lately wed unto the Prince of Wales?" he asked in formal tones, eyes flickering in disapproval over her boy's clothes.

"I am good sir, what would you have of me?"

"You shall, My Lady, come along with us," he instructed, not making it a request.

"And where, I pray you, is it that we go?" she asked, not moving a step.

"My Lady Nell, do you not know that crest?" her gateman asked quickly, agitation clear in his voice.

"Nay, I do not, but I know curtesy," she snapped, not liking the way they were all looking at her. Her nerves had been put on edge by Poins, and this additional intrusion into her peace did not sit well with her. "This is my home, I'll suffer no commands, unless they come from my husband alone. Who else would dare to give me orders here?"

"Your Highness, these are soldiers of the King," Nathaniel told her. "Their orders carry all of the throne's weight. Forgive her sir, she is but new to town. You must, My Lady, go along with him."

"Indeed it seems I must, forgive me sir," she blanched, all of her haughty indignation leaving her at once. "Permit me just to go and change my dress."

"Our orders are to bring you in at once," the guardsman said brusquely. "We have not time to spare for your toilette."

"I must at least alert my husband sir, lest that my absence leave him in alarm."

"Your man can see to that, now come your ways. We've been already too long at this chore."

"Nathaniel, see his Highness is informed," she quickly told the man, "and bid him if he would come join seek me out, for I will need his escort home again."

"Aye that I will my Lady, count on me!" the gatekeeper assured her, on impulse taking off his burgundy cloak and handing it to her. "Perhaps it shall be chilly ere you're back."

No longer able to stall, Nell allowed herself to be escorted from her home, thankful for the man's kindness. It was a balmy day, but the cloak allowed her to cover most of her unconventional attire. That it was also in Hal's color gave her a sense of security as she trotted along in the center of the group of armed men.

She could not begin to think why she was being summoned in such abrupt fashion to the court. From the brief note they had received from Dr. Hobbs, expounded upon by another from Jon and her mother, she knew that the King seemed to be fully recovered from his illness. She knew Hal also had a man at court particularly watching to make sure that his father did not suffer any ill effects, and that they would have been sent word at the least bit of trouble.

Did this mean, she wondered, that the trouble was she herself? Could it be possible that, now that he had had time to recover and consider it fully, King Henry had decided after all to try and dissolve their marriage? Hal insisted he would not, but Nell could not be so sure. He was a proud man, and even more than her less than regal birth she knew the King was offended by the fact that she and Hal had openly defied him. Was this borderline clandestine summons an attempt to separate her from him, that she could be more easily bundled off to some remote location, Hal none the wiser?

She was beginning to panic she realized, and forced herself to remain calm. There was no reason to suspect the worst. Even if it was the King's plan to be rid of her, Hal would not abide it. Nathaniel would tell him where she had gone, and he would race to secure her release. Why, even now he could be but moments behind them, riding to her rescue.

Unless, of course, Poins was correct and he was beginning to tire of her. That had obviously been the point of all of his thinly veiled thrusts at her. The man clearly was jealous of her place in Hal's life, and his ouster from it. No, she would trust in her husband, in the love that they shared. Nothing in his manner had given her to believe that he was anything but besotted. Why, even his leaving of her had been heated to the point that she feared they would disgrace themselves in front of his guest.

Hal would come. All would be well. There was no need worry. But maybe, just maybe, a little worry was understandable none the less.

#The Hollow Crown Fic #Henry V #Prince Hal #Prince Hal/OFC #Historical Romance #Historical AU #Shakespeare #Romance #Fluff #Smut #Angst #Family Drama #Love #Tom Hiddleston #Fan Fic

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