#harlots! she devils! women of the night!

[urgaydemise]

I've been fighting back sexbots left and right for days now

Theyre after my virtue, my INNOCENCE

I'm not sure how much longer I can go on

[themidnightcrimson]

nosferatu ࿏ wm

summary: in which you are much too trusting of a creature who wants more than a dance with you.

words: 6.0k

warnings: blood, supernatural, horror, gore, dubcon/noncon, top!wanda, fem!reader, biting, oral, breastplay, bondage, victorian era

this is a dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

Your corset was so tight around your waist that you could not breathe. It was a sickening shade of pink that was supposed to portray girlish innocence about you. It was made specifically to match the color that imbues your cheeks, though now it was more of a sharp crimson red.

“I cannot believe your impudence,” your mother breathily spoke in a vexed air as she stiffly ripped the white gloves from her hands. “Your audacity.”

Rolling your eyes, you threw your head back against the wall of the compartment, feeling the familiar but nauseating shake of the carriage, the click-clack of the horse’s hooves going as fast as your heartbeat. Biting your lip to ward off any retaliating remarks towards your mother, you reached behind your waist and fiddled for the bow of your corset, snapping the ribbon undone and inhaling the first large breath of fresh air since the night began.

“At this rate, you’ll never be wed,” your mother continued to grumble as she neatly folded her gloves in her lap and looked out the window of the compartment door, the tree-lined field flickering past her eyes as the carriage moved on down the sandy country road. “I wouldn’t know what gentleman in all of England would wed such a usurping, galling, exasperating little—”

“Please, Mother, I haven’t had my vocabulary lesson yet this week,” you sarcastically battled as you ripped the matching pink ribbon out of your hair, letting your long waves flow down your shoulders. Your mother especially hated when you wore your hair freely down like that, citing that it reminded her of the harlots of Dorset Street.

You had to admit that your behavior was not the most ladylike this evening, but that was your entire mission. Your mother had been trying to marry you off to every man that comes across your path since you were of age. What she didn’t know (or rather was entirely aware of but simply unable to comprehend or acknowledge it under both societal implications and her own personal dogmas) was that you actually preferred the company of women.

It was just another fancy political ball she’d dragged you to. As always, she put you in clothes you didn’t want to wear, made you speak to people you didn’t want to speak to, and expected you to take it all with sugar and a big smile.

“Is this how you behave at those other parties you attend? Those invalids might be able to handle your inexcusable behavior, but I certainly won’t.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t like parties at all. You actually very much enjoyed going to the parties you liked to go to with people you actually liked to be around. Could these parties become a little unsavory if warranted? Yes, they could. But you yourself never participated in those things. You just thought the people there were nicer and didn’t have giant sticks shoved up their bums. Plus, the food was always better.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, young lady, but there will be no more attending these parties of yours.”

“Mother!” you exclaimed, looking at her with eyes of disbelief. “I am a grown woman. I will go wherever I please!”

“Not with what’s been happening,” she argued, glancing at the folded newspaper sitting on the cushion beside her that she had picked up on the way to the ball. The Old Post. The front of it read Vampyres in the Village.

“You can’t be serious,” you grumbled, turning away from her with a pout. “You really believe in that stuff?”

“It’s devil-work, dear,” she said in a quieter, more serious tone. She stared at you for a moment from across the compartment before slowly leaning forward. “I’m not saying this to try and… control you. I’m saying this to you because… because you are my daughter, and I want to keep you safe.”

You could tell she was biting back vomit at saying kind words to you. “And things have been… happening in the city. Horrible things. And it seems to be happening only to people like you. Pretty, single, young girls. But most importantly, naïve girls.”

You rolled your eyes and turned further away from her. “You say my head is full of air, but I’m not the one who believes in fairytales here.”

“Miss Margaret’s daughter is still missing.”

Miss Margaret was a close friend of your mother’s, which you found surprising because Miss Margaret was one of the kindest women you’d ever met. Her daughter was your age, maybe a year or two older. She hadn’t been seen for two months now since she attended one of the parties you liked to go to in the city.

“She probably ran off with a boy,” you argued even though you knew that was not her daughter’s character.

Your mother didn’t even bother to argue that because you already knew. She only shook her head and turned back to the window, taking a deep sigh. “I’m only trying to keep you safe. It’s one thing to have an unwed daughter, but it’s entirely another thing to have one that’s dead.”

“I’m sure that’s what you’d prefer.”

You shouldn’t have said that, and you didn’t even need to look in your mother’s general direction to feel the look of shocked hurt on her face.

Maybe if your mother hadn’t fought tooth and nail to keep a noose around your neck your whole life, you might have listened. You might have heeded her advice.

Things might not have ended up the way they did.

If only.

࿏

You knew exactly how to scale your own house by now. Granted, you had to be barefoot while you did it.

Clutching your shoes in one hand, you teetered on the edge of the windowsill of your room, carefully stepping down on the ledge of the roof. From there, you could set your foot on the top sill of another window, and then catch the vine-wrapped lattice going up the side of your parent’s estate, and it was a breeze from there on. You always enjoyed this feeling. The chilly autumn night air breezing between your legs as you wore a more casual dress that did not require a skeleton of its own. The wind fluttering through your loose locks of hair. The light of the full moon above you guiding your way down. Feeling agile and smart, free and unfiltered. Sometimes, your favorite part of these nights was just the sneaking out.

You always enjoyed the feeling of the dewy grass on the bottom of your feet when you finally hopped down to the ground. You’d jog like this, barefoot and wild like some kind of heathen, all the way down your country driveway to the main road where your friends had a carriage waiting for you.

When you said these parties could be a little unsavory, you meant it. While you mostly stuck with your friends and did not participate in these acts, all around you people were doing all kinds of unknown drugs, being lude with each other, engaging in certain dares or pranks. Sometimes there was a theme to all this, and tonight happened to be a masquerade, except instead of socialites and rich people, it was the ones of society who yearned a more stained quality of life.

This party was especially sex-driven, you realized with an air of shock as you walked in behind your group of friends. They were handing out masks at the front, and beyond that, you could see people basically eating each other at every sitting area in the large auditorium. Someone was throwing this at a large estate where everything around you seemed to be made of gold.

See, there were a select few rich people that participated in and most importantly, funded and housed these parties. There was a group of people, higher on the social ladder, who liked to throw these unsavory parties sometimes in their own homes. You could tell that this party was definitely one of them. They always seemed to get much more extreme when one of these people hosted it in their own home. The odd thing about it was that no one really knew who they were other than that they were seemingly nocturnal and rather pale, possibly as a consequence. Nightcrawlers, they sometimes called them. They always infested the local bars in the later hours of the evenings.

“My Lord,” your friend whispered under her breath as she eyed the couples (sometimes multiple couples all in one cluster) all around. “I think I’ve seen three bare buttocks already.”

Uneasiness settled into your stomach. While you normally enjoyed these parties, you usually tried to stay away from the ones that appeared to have a more carnal purpose, mostly because you did not want to have to fight off random men under the impression that you wanted to be a part of it. To your surprise, though, you actually saw a few women together, and a few men together also.

A mask was flung in your direction, and you took it. It was black and gold with a sharp nose, covering the top half of your face and leaving your mouth exposed. Trying to clear your vision as you stared out of the eye holes, you followed your group of friends into the party. It became denser the further they led you into it, and soon you could feel bodies touching yours.

“Wait!” you called when your mask slipped and covered your eyes, blinding you in the thickly packed room. You stumbled over someone’s foot as you tried to adjust your mask, and by the time you finally corrected it over your eyes, you could not locate your friends. Starting to panic as you were packed in a sea of people, feeling eyes behind odd foreign masks staring you down, you looked around for your friends, frantically calling their names.

You were turning in circles, growing dizzier and fainter by the second. This was a horrible idea. You should have listened to your instinct and turned around as soon as you walked in and saw what was going on at the party. Even now, in the crowd of people dancing to the oddly calm music that did not match the strong energy of the dancers, you could hear faint moans and the vague smell of sex drifting in the air.

You were about to melt to the floor and curl yourself into a sobbing ball when suddenly you felt a purposeful hand press into the small of your back. Gasping, you turned sharply, ready to slap the man who dared think he had a right to touch you, when you were faced with something unexpected.

The only thing you saw that was expected was pants—a men’s dark red velvet suit, decorated with lacy white wristcuffs and a rather poofy white chestpiece beautifully ruffled. But instead of seeing broad shoulders, you saw softer ones, and a curve at the chest and hips. This person wasn’t as tall as you expected, though they were several inches taller than you. Instead of a cropped cut, or perhaps a shaggier cut with handsome curls around the ears, this person had long, silky, wavy red hair that went down to their chest, flowing like a beautiful lake of deep rust.

A pitch-black mask covered the top half of their face, but instead of whiskers, or a beard, there was smooth, pale skin and delicately soft pink lips. The jaw there was strong, but there was a feminine curve to it.

A woman. This was a woman who was now curling your hand around the small of your waist, somehow enveloping it completely around you, pulling you against her and taking your hand in her other hand.

Gasping, you stumbled as she strongly started pulling you into a gentle dance through the crowd that seemed to make way for her.

You struggled to see her face, as the mask covered the top half. Those deep pink lips curled into a cupid’s smirk that brought some sort of chill up your spine. Even in this crowded room, with all the unpleasant noises and smells, your entire focus was on this woman pulling you to her breast and holding you with an iron strength that shocked you.

Though her mask, like the others, had carved holes for eyes, the lighting cast a shadow over the material that kept her eyes from view, and it was rather dim in the room anyway.

You opened your mouth to speak but failed to find words as the redheaded woman in a man’s suit spun you in a circle, and as she did, the source of light from a chandelier above finally glared through the holes of the mask, and you jolted in shock when you saw a flash of red eyes behind the mask.

Instinctively, you tried to pull away, but her arm would not budge. Had you ever known a man to be this strong, let alone a woman?

“Who are you?” you asked, but it came out in a tiny, hoarse whisper that surely only you could hear. Somehow, she heard it.

“Your dream woman,” she smoothly husked with an impish smirk, and you saw another flicker of red in the eyes of the mask as she spun you again before it went dark again.

Sewing your eyebrows together, you stumbled to keep up as she spun you. “Why won’t you let me go?”

“Because it’s so much more fun when I don’t,” she said with a small chuckle. You noticed that her hand holding yours was ice cold. “Besides, you looked a little lost back there.”

“I was perfectly fine,” you argued, finding it incredibly rude that this woman would not let you go, though being so close to her was making your spine tingle with something that bordered attraction and the urge to run for your life.

“You were far from fine, though you sure look fine,” she said, and you noticed how nice her voice was, such a pleasant cadence, like honey to your ears. Suddenly her arm around your waist disappeared, and she was spinning you around. Losing your balance, you let out a gasp, feeling yourself about to fall until she spun you back into her, wrapping her arms around you and leaning you backwards in her strong hold.

She grinned down at you, and you almost didn’t notice.

“What—” you said, startled. Her teeth, ivory white, were sharp. Like, as sharp as your father’s hunting knives. Glistening even in the dim light. Some unsatisfactory stain of red between them that made your stomach uneasy. It was strange, to see such a pleasant pair of lips stretched around teeth that looked so deadly.

“You’re beautiful,” the woman whispered, her eyes lowering down your neck and to your chest left exposed by your dress. You’d picked this dress because your mother hated how particularly revealing it was.

You saw the flash of scarlet irises again through her mask. They seemed to glow as she drank you in with her eyes.

“You can’t even see my face,” you whispered with a tone of playfulness at the fact that the woman was obviously staring at your chest with a look of hunger that you could see even through her mask.

Glancing back up to your face, she smiled handsomely and reached towards your face. Your instinct was to push her hand away, berate her for daring to take off your mask without asking, but for some reason your body did not budge. You involuntarily let her remove your mask, her eyes drinking you in.

“I didn’t have to take it off to know that you are the most beautiful woman in the room,” she flirted shamelessly, her hand on your back gripping you. She was still holding you in a leaning position.

Deciding to have fun with this odd woman, you smirked and said, “Your turn. Remove yours so that I may see who is holding me so.”

The woman hesitated but smiled again, reaching up and slowly removing her mask.

She was beautiful—like the kind of beautiful you had never seen before. An alien, strange beautiful that did not feel real. Something churned in your gut, some kind of knowing, a fear, but it was muffled. Her red eyes, her sharp smile, it was suffocating down the instinct in you that was telling you to get away from her as fast as possible.

She cocked her head, her eyes never leaving yours. “Come with me,” she spoke, and it sounded like many voices at once. Her grip on you was hard now, and if she hadn’t been compelling you with her magic, you would have seen the bloodlusting look on her face.

You didn’t remember leaving the party. You also suddenly couldn’t even remember arriving at the party. All you knew was that suddenly you could hear the click-clack of hooves against cobblestone and the cold night air blowing through your hair, and something else in your hair, too.

You sharply turned your head to see the same redheaded woman walking next to you, her hand in your hair, stroking it softly, playing with the strands between her long-nailed fingers.

“Where are we?” you questioned, slowing your walk and looking all around you. You did not recognize this street at all.

“We’re on a walk, my love,” the woman cooed, cradling her arm around you and pulling you into her. “You were becoming faint at the party.”

Your head felt fuzzy. Muddled. Like you needed to remember something that you just couldn’t remember, but you knew you desperately needed to.

“I’m… I’m confused…” you cried, clutching your hands to your face. You wanted to ask her where she was taking you, what she was going to do to you, why her teeth were so sharp and her eyes so red, but something was stopping the words from coming out of your mouth and even stopping these anxious feelings from being realized by you. There was a false blanket of calmness over you that was not coming from within you. It was suffocating you.

“Do calm down, beautiful girl,” she said in a velvet tone in your ear, suddenly very close to you. The moonlight rained down over you as she pressed her lips to your ear in a soft kiss. Something hard grazed the skin there, but it wasn’t enough for you to really notice.

The street was nearly empty. There were a few shops that were all closed down at this time of night. As you passed one that had a string of garlic hanging down over the door, which a lot of shops had now with all the rumors flying around, you felt the redhead stiffen beside you. When you were far enough away, she let out a breath as if she had been holding it.

Stupified, you hadn’t noticed this.

You also didn’t notice the way she walked faster, goading you forward with a hand at your back, as you passed by a church with a large cross on its steeple. The church also had garlic over the door, and had even built a fence of sharp whittled stakes all around the front. This city was so paranoid.

“Where are we going?” you question, noticing finally that the more garlic-protected doors you passed, the more the false sense of security lifted from you. Unbeknownst to you, the protections were interfering with the woman’s magic on you. “Where are you taking me?!”

“Be quiet!” she hissed at you suddenly, her red eyes fiery in the dark night. She looked monstrous now, albeit beautiful, and you finally realized the fear inside you.

“Get away!” you yelled, slapping her hand away from your waist and stepping away from her. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you!” You glanced around to see if anyone was around, but there was no one.

“Don’t yell!” the woman said louder this time, and her teeth started to look even sharper than before.

Finally, with all the garlic and crosses and stakes preventing her from being able to stop you from thinking your own thoughts, you could hear the instinct, loud and clear within you, telling you to run from this woman, this witch, this monster, this…

Vampire.

You ran as fast as you could on the uneven cobblestone. You were a very agile girl, thanks to so many times sneaking out of the window and running away. You always impressed people with how fast you could run, and you knew you could definitely outrun a woman in a stiff suit.

Until she appeared right in front of you with lightning speed. You didn’t even have time to be shocked. Her hand passed over your eyes, and you were asleep, falling limply into her arms like dead prey.

The last thing you thought of was if your mother had noticed you were gone yet or not.

࿏

You could tell it was dark before you even opened your eyes. When you did manage to finally flutter your eyes open, the first thing you saw was candlelight. A dark room with red carpet and black walls. Candles, everywhere. Some semblance of a bed that you lay on, naked. Something wooden in front of the bed on the floor which you realize to your sleepy horror is a coffin. And worst of all, to your upmost terror, standing to the side of the bed you lay on staring at you with a vile look of hunger, the redheaded woman.

She was holding a glass in her hand that held what appeared to be red wine, but it was way too dark. As the last memories flood back into your mind as she takes a slow, sickly sip, you realize that it is not wine in her glass.

“I know you’ll be much sweeter than this,” she thickly says after swallowing, lowering the glass and grinning at you with reddened teeth. “I could smell your blood as soon as you walked in.”

You attempt to sit up but there was an invisible force keeping you pressed flat on the bed. “Please let me go,” you whisper, your eyes welling with tears. You can’t exactly feel the fear inside you, not with whatever magic this vampire was putting inside you, but your body felt it and informed you of it in the form of hot tears rolling down your cheeks in an emotionless cry.

She laughed and started towards the bed, the movement causing you to jump. She set the glass down on the table beside the bed, eyes flickering at you as she slowly leaned over you, the weight of her hand on your pillow tipping your head closer to her. She was so close now. Deep scarlet eyes, pointed teeth, locks of her rust hair grazing your bare chest and tickling your nipples which you realized now were erected. Her breath smelled of iron, of old iron that had been sitting out in the rain. It smelled of flesh and of blood casting over your face for how close she was to you.

“Don’t be so frightened,” the vampire cooed, reaching her hand under you. You gasped at her cool touch, her oddly delicate and soft hand which glided across your back which arched for its way, coming to the other side of your waist and holding it gently so that her arm was completely curled under you. She had you trapped now, hovering over you, holding you. There was a crazed look in her eye now as her skin touched yours, as she smelled your scent and felt your warm flesh in her hand and listened to your heart beating so fervently, so frightened.

“You will enjoy this, love,” she continued, her nails digging slightly into your side as she lowered herself down further on the bed. She parted your legs with her knee, and it made you gasp in shock as she slid her other knee between them also, forcing your legs to spread. You felt the cool air of exposure in your middle, feeling now the strings of wet between your folds. She could smell it, you knew, by the way her nostrils flared and her beautiful lips twisted into a knowing smirk. This woman was an animal, a beast with senses that far outpowered yours. She could smell and hear and feel and see everything, down to the hairs on your arms that stood on their ends.

Were you enjoying it already? Why was your skin basically vibrating as she laid herself over you? Why were you slick as if you were with a lover? Why was your back and hips arching towards her hungrily as if you were the one thirsting for her and not the other way around?

Was she persuading you? You had heard of these vampyres being skilled in the art of witchery, particularly in the use of persuasion. It was heard of vampyres luring their victims to them willingly, as if the humans were offering themselves to them. Was that how she got you outside of the party in the first place?

You could feel the radiation of her powers vibrating through you, her red eyes seeming to glow in the dark room. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, bringing her hand up to your face and caressing your cheek. Your cheek was burning hot against her cold hand, which only invigorated her more.

“Your body is so warm against mine…” she murmured, her eyes trailing down your body to your bare chest. Lowering herself, she moved her head towards your neck area.

“No!” you instantly screamed, jerking your body against her as her face disappeared below your face. She dug her nails hard into your side, causing you to squeak, and then her mouth was on your neck. “Please! Stop! Don’t!”

You writhed and shrieked until you realized that you felt no intrusion of teeth into your veins but rather just a forceful yet gentle kiss of heavenly lips on your neck. The vampire’s breathing was heavy and thick, blowing hard against your skin as her entire body went rigid over yours like a predator. Her hips were the only thing that trembled, pressing hard between your legs.

“Fuck,” you heard the vampire curse into your neck as she pressed more kisses, letting her body push harder into yours. She was salivating, leaving your neck slick as she pressed more and more flurrying kisses against your soft skin. “So soft and warm,” she murmured, rubbing her entire face into the expanse of your neck, digging the bridge of her nose into your collarbone.

You were shocked when a gentle moan left your lips. She was kissing and rubbing her face all over your clavicles and chest, rolling her hips into you with a steady rhythm. You were starting to feel dizzy with warmth and lust that throbbed sinfully through you as this monster had her way with you.

She lowered further and finally was met with the pillowy hills of your breasts. She nuzzled herself right into them, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your flesh there that was so tender it gave way to the slightest of her touch. It felt like she was vibrating against you now, breathy and rigid and drunk. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth and lapped over the peak of your nipple, earning a loud gasp from you. Her eyes flickered open, alert at the sound, and looked deviously at you as she started to lap at your tit, the points of her fangs sticking through her lip like a kitten.

Sewing your eyebrows together, you squirmed under her, unsure of what, if anything, was going through your head. There were your thoughts, and the thoughts she wanted you to think, and thoughts your body was sending up your spine to your brain, mostly sinful and desirous.

Chuckling throatily against your nipple, the vampire grinned, which caused her fangs to scrape your skin.

“Ow!” you exclaimed at the tiny but strong sting you felt. It only felt like a papercut until the woman’s pupils went large, and she sunk her fangs into the soft flesh of your tit. You gasped in shock at first, watching the readhead’s long fangs sink into your breast, blood immediately streaming out of where she bit.

The scream that left your mouth was loud and burned your throat. The vampire grunted and groaned as she tasted your blood, her hips fully grinding into you now, her body melting on top of yours as she moaned huskily into your wound that she drank from.

You were at a loss for words as you thrashed against her strength and clawed at the pillows and blankets around you. The worst part was that, as much as it hurt and as much as you feared for your life, your middle was throbbing and more slick than ever as she ground herself into you, turned on from the mere taste of your blood.

Finally, the woman retracted, gasping open-mouthed, her lips and mouth smeared with the bright red of your blood. Her pupils were blown, red barely visible, your blood dripping from her fangs. She breathed heavily against you as your blood streamed down your breast, trailing to your stomach.

“The sweetest I’ve ever tasted,” she breathed almost inaudibly. She looked completely different now, like drinking from you had changed her features in some fundamental way that you couldn’t describe. She looked more beautiful than ever, and whether it was her persuasion or the sinner that had been hiding somewhere deep inside you, it made you even more slick to see this woman so beside herself, hovering over you, her mouth and chin covered and dripping with your blood, declaring you to be the best.

Seeming to still be gasping for breath, the vampire lowered herself more down the bed until her shoulders were what kept your legs spread open.

“My heavens,” she breathed as she inhaled the scent of your arousal, her eyes focused between your legs. “You sick little thing.”

Shame blushed across your face, but it was replaced with the blush of pleasure when the woman put her mouth over your clit. Her hands curled around your hips, holding them with iron strength as she devoured you. Your cum mixed with your own blood over the vampire’s mouth as she lapped at your soaked folds, somehow masterfully avoiding nicking you with the blades in her mouth. Her tongue plunged inside you, supernaturally long as it curled to reach your pleasure spot deep inside.

You were the one absolutely beside yourself now, grabbing at the sheets, at her soft red hair, arching your back off the bed and pushing your hips into her face. Any thoughts of life or death, the risk of it, being a prey trapped with its predator, your blood leaving your system through the deep bite on your breast, were all gone. All you knew now was this beautiful woman’s tongue deep inside you and the bridge of her nose digging against your clit.

A burst of pleasure exploded inside you, and you found yourself screaming out, blinded, only urged on with a more vigorous effort from the vampire’s tongue. Her nails had dug so hard into your hips that there were ten bleeding marks in the shape of fingernails on your skin, unbeknownst to the vampire who was joyously overwhelmed with the taste and smell of your blood and juices in her mouth.

Finally, when you had relaxed, she pulled away, looking up at you from between your legs. The blood on her face was still there but had been wiped away in most spots, turned pink by the mixing of your wetness which glistened over the bridge of her nose and down her chin. Her long tongue came out from her mouth to lick at her lips, her throat clenching as she swallowed.

You had never felt such physical bliss in your life. Your entire body throbbed and ached wonderfully, churned with the duality of it being so sexy and so morbid at the same time.

In fact, you’d nearly completely forgotten about the morbidity of it all until the vampire, eyes crazed even more, gazed down at your fleshy thighs. Her lips twitched in a smirk before she dove down and bit right into the inside of your thigh.

Reacting with a shriek and kicking your legs, you could feel her bite this time was much more painful and aggressive. She was not just biting you, she was sucking your blood.

“Stop!” you exclaimed, trying to kick at the vampire that seemed to be made of steel. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

She did stop. She pulled away sharply, face bloodier than ever, and lunged upwards. In a flash faster than you could realize, she grabbed your jaw and snapped your head to the side, digging her face down into the crook of your neck and sinking her teeth into your throat. The weight and strength of her body naturally held you down against the bed as she devoured you now in a more real way. You could feel your blood draining from your veins, leaving them cold. You could feel your head get lighter and lighter, your arms and legs feeling more and more numb until finally you went limp in her arms like a lamb. Vision blurring, you were moments away from death when finally the monster pulled herself away from you with a heavy sigh.

The redheaded woman had to stand up out of the bed to restrain herself. Your blood streaked darkly down her chin, staining the white lace of her chestpiece which she clawed at to give her throat room to breathe. You were a pathetic thing now, covered in your own blood at your breast and thighs, laying limply on the bed, eyes rolling as you tried to jolt yourself awake.

“My dear, I believe I’ve found heaven in you,” she whispered, recovering herself as she approached you again. You were half-conscious as she easily picked you up in her arms, holding you bridal style. Your head and arm hung down limply, the both of you blood-streaked and throbbing with different sorts of feelings that were somehow mutual. She carried you to the end of the bed where, at the floor, was the wooden coffin with the lid open. Gently, she laid you down into the soft red velvet of the wooden coffin.

She was about to stand up before you weakly grabbed at her collar. She paused, something glistening in her eyes as she stared down at you with a sewed brow.

“I don’t want to die,” you coarsely whispered. Most people wouldn’t have been able to hear you but, either because of the kind of monster she was or because your blood was running through her body, she understood exactly what you said.

“Don’t worry, my lamb,” she said with a crimson grin. “I wouldn’t let a treat like you go to waste. I’m going to keep you, pet. You’ll sustain me for as long as your body can take it. For now, you must sleep and rest, for my satisfaction is brief, and my thirst comes in quite short intervals.” She paused and stood up, letting your hand fall away from her collar. “Sleep well, little lamb.”

She closed the lid on your bleeding body, leaving you locked in the dark coffin.

[bettyfrommars]

it’s the a7x anon 😘

imagine stripper harlot reader and eddie falls for her (obviously) and he follows her to a club one night. it’s an underground club (got me thinking blood rave from blade) but shes deadly, she sucks the soul out of men in the clubs, poisons them for fun, the club is filled with different types, vampires, wolves, ghouls, but none are more desired or feared than her.

Sympathy for the Devil

eddie x demon!fem!reader

It's the mid-90's and Eddie has moved to Seattle with the rest of Corroded Coffin to get in on the music scene. He sees you one night dancing at a bachelor party and can't seem to stop thinking about you. His hunt for you takes him to a dark part of town where only monsters dare to go. wc: 2.5k

18+ONLY, grunge!eddie, descriptions of monsters, eventual smut, star-crossed lovers, Gareth, reader described as having thick hips and tattoos, exotic dancers, alcohol consumption, breathing fire. Readers dad is basically Hellboy.

Part 1: Great Balls of Fire

Part 2: Mark of the Beast

Part 3: Burn it Down

A/N: There is just so much I want to explore on this topic, I had to turn it into multiple parts. No smut in this chapter, but there will be in the next two, if there are people who want to read it. I love any reason for a good Blade blood shower. I love this anon, and I hope I did some justice to your idea.

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Eddie dropped down into the dark venue on a wing and a prayer, hoping you were working that night.  He didn’t know your schedule, he only knew you from that one night two weeks ago when he was there for Jeff’s bachelor party.  

Out of a sea of beautiful, scantily clad women, you stood out like a flash of  lightning in a pitch black night.

“I can’t believe we’re here again, man,” Gareth complained, swiping his hair out of his face.

“What are you afraid of?” Eddie shouted over his shoulder, hoping to be heard above the throbbing, electronic music. His eyes scanned the crowd for you, or any one he remembered seeing you talk to that first night.  Ahead of them, down the shadowed alcove of the venue were several dancers gyrating on poles and spreading their legs out wide for customers at the rack to hook dollar bills into their g-strings.  

“I’m afraid my girl will cut my nuts off if she finds out I came here with you,” Gareth responded.  

Gareth's hair was shorter than it had been when they were in high school. It was just long enough to tuck behind his ears, but still so full and curly that he had to slick it back.  Eddie’s hair was much longer now, almost to his nipples, and he’d grown his bangs out, so it was more grunge rather than early 80’s metal.  

“We went to see Mudhoney at the Crocodile,” Eddie confirmed. “That’s all you need to tell her.  We only came here to look for someone.”  They had done exactly that, and the Mudhoney show had been amazing. Corroded Coffin’s relocation to Seattle was the best decision Eddie had ever made, and he was grateful his band made the journey with him.  They were all renting this old house on Capitol Hill and getting paying gigs a couple times a month—it was a dream.

But since he’d laid eyes on you—he could barely function.

You had bewitched him in the best of ways.  

So, there he was---dragging Gareth back to the same strip club to look for you.  He honestly didn’t expect to get your number, or even talk to you—he just needed to see you again.   

Once he reached the dimly lit red cocktail bar, Eddie froze.  “She’s not here,” he wet his dry lips, getting on the balls of his feet to scan the crowd. “I mean, I don’t see her.”

“Okay, great, "Gareth tried to avert his eyes from the women on stage so that he wouldn’t feel guilty.  “Can we go now?”

But Eddie wasn’t ready to give up that easily.  

“Hey,” he called over to one of the servers he remembered from the last time. She was about to carry a tray of drinks over to a table when she caught his eye and her face lit up.  

Eddie was awkward when he didn't want to be, but on every other occasion—he possessed a decent amount of charm.  Plus, this particular server was a fan of his band, he just didn’t know it.

Eddie stroked some hair behind his ear and leaned closer, giving her your full description, right down to the color of your eyes, and the details of a few of your tattoos, and then asked if you were working that weekend.

The server shook her head, her cheeks burning hot under Eddie's attention.  “Sorry, she’s not here. I think she’s at the Devils Den tonight.”

Eddie squinted at Gareth and the both of them mouthed “the devils den” with a question mark, like they had never heard of it in all of the 2 years they’d been there.  

The Devil’s Den did not advertise.  You could not find it in the phone book.  It was a word of mouth or friend of a friend only, and security was tight.

“Be careful,” the redhead server offered a warning, passing Eddie her phone number on the inside of a gum wrapper with a wink. Gareth rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

Eddie drove Gareth back to his car first.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with?” Gareth asked Eddie over the hood, strumming his fingers on the metal.

“Nah man, I’m good,” Eddie assured him, twirling his keys on his finger as he walked backwards. “You go home to your girl.  I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He remembered the directions the redhead told him as he sucked down a cigarette with the window open, blowing smoke out into the crisp city night.  It took him down through the east end of town, along a tunnel, and then shot him deep into the industrial district.  Vacant buildings loomed like faceless gargoyles as his van rolled along the dismal expanse, void of human life.

The building was unmarked, but the address was correct; he checked it with the numbers inked on his palm several times.  He parked a block away and walked over with his fists shoved deep into the pockets of his leather while scraps of paper and leaves skidded across the pavement.  His long hair flew across his lips and clung there until he peeled the strand back and tucked it behind his ear again.

He could hear the music now, thudding low from inside the building as he rounded the corner.  

There was a purple light coming from the open doorway, and a minotaur man with a thick tail and broad shoulders sat on a stool blowing smoke out his nostrils.  Eddie heard him ask the couple ahead of him to see their IDs, so Eddie got his ready.

You just happened to be on your way out for a smoke when you saw him—-

Him.

The one you couldn’t take your eyes off of two weekends ago. The grungy boy with the long hair you couldn’t stop thinking about.

What was he doing at a monster bar? Did you want him to see you like this? 

Self-consciously, you spun around, ducking your head so he wouldn’t see your horns, wondering if you should try to cover them with your hood and retract your claws. 

Eddie handed the Minotaur bouncer his ID.

“What the fuck you want me to do with this?” The bouncer asked, aggressively standing up to his full height which was close to 7ft.  His voice bellowed, “no humans allowed, can’t you read?” Sure enough, there was a black and white sign on the door that said: NO UNAUTHORIZED HUMANS ALLOWED.

Eddie tucked his ID back in his wallet, about to offer to try and pay the guy off when he saw you appear in the doorway.

“Oh shit,” Eddie whispered to himself.  You were even more stunning than the night he first saw you. Now you have horns? He hadn't noticed them the other weekend at the club; maybe you had them tucked under your wig. He could tell you were different, but he had no idea you were what was known in human circles as a Beastly.  

“He’s with me,” you told the enormous Minotaur man, and Eddie watched him cower before you.  He sat back down on his stool and bowed his head, muttering his apologies.  

He had to remember not to let his jaw hang slack as you walked closer, swaying your hips as you did so, plucking a cigarette out of the pack to pop it into your mouth.  He noticed that what he once thought were tattoos were actually designs that seemed like they were burned into your flesh; they glowed orange in the night as if there was lava flowing in your veins.  

Eddie patted his jacket and his back pockets, forgetting where he put his lighter. Once he found it, his hand was trembling, but he took a breath and cupped his palm over the flame, leaning forward to offer it to you.

You hesitated, searching his rich brown eyes.  His very human eyes: you wanted to watch them sparkle.  “Do you want to see something cool?”

Eddie lowered his hands and poked his tongue out between his teeth. “Always.”

“It might freak you out,” you warned.

“I love getting freaked out.”

You held the cigarette out and blew on the end of it, producing a string of fire from your lungs.  It was a soft, blue flame and Eddie watched the tip of your smoke light up and crackle with embers just as the fire disappeared behind your lips again.

“Party trick,” you took a drag, squinting one eye at him playfully.  

“Can you do mine?” Eddie opened the top pocket of his jacket to pull out a smoke from his pack, while a few more bodies shuffled by on their way to the door.  Two had chalk white skin with fangs, one had the snout of a pig and a green mohawk, and the other looked like she could’ve passed as human, until she stuck her tongue out at one of the other men and it was long and forked, falling almost to her chest.  

They each gave Eddie a suspicious look, but when they saw you standing there, they quickly jerked their stares away.

Eddie gripped the cig between his full lips, and his eyes never left you as you leaned in.  You could’ve produced a flame long enough to reach him where he was, but you decided to step in close, so that your mouth wasn’t far from his.

Your eyes met as you breathed a steady stream of fire.  The thought occurred to you that you could take him right then; you could suck his soul out like juice from a Capri Sun and he’d never know what hit him.  You could drink his essence like oxygen and fill your stomach with his charming warmth—but then you wouldn’t have him anymore, and your heart was screaming louder than your hunger.  

“That’s so rad,” Eddie chuckled.  He took a drag and then blew the smoke out sideways.  “What other tricks do you know?”

“I think it’s your turn to do a trick,” you raised an eyebrow. 

“What could a human possibly do to impress you?”

“I’m sure there are lots of ways you could impress me,” your smile was coy, and it made Eddie’s pupils widen with admiration.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

But then one of the ghouls with skin that looked stapled on stepped out of the doorway and said your name.  

“What is it?” You snapped.  Your demeanor changed—your eyes narrowing on her.  

“Sorry,” the ghoul stammered.  “Um, it’s Drucilla—she says there’s a phone call for you.”

“I’ll be right there,” you grumbled, waving her off, but when you turned back to Eddie, your face softened.  “I have to go.  If you’re around later we can—-”

“Yeah, I’ll wait,” Eddie said quickly.  He didn’t know how long the wait would be, and he didn’t care.

You motioned for him to follow you inside, and as he entered, the Minotaur bouncer grumbled: “Sorry about earlier, man.”

“It’s all good,” Eddie clapped him on his big, beefy shoulder.

There was a band at the back of the venue playing something that reminded him of Alice in Chains, and Eddie felt right at home.  Everyone turned in his direction, and he followed close behind as you traveled down a few carpeted steps to the long, low-lit bar along the wall.  Your tail flicked from side to side as you walked, and he smiled to himself when he noticed it.  

You swatted the bar with your hand to get Danny’s attention.  The wolfman bartender stopped the conversation he was having mid-sentence and rushed over, a furry hand swiping hair away from his beard.  

“He’s with me,” you told Danny, motioning over your shoulder to a bewildered Eddie.  “Anyone fucks with him, and I’ll rip their head off.”

You meant it literally, and Danny knew that.  

“I’ll keep an eye on your pet,” Danny nodded as he cleaned a glass with a towel.  He made eye contact with Eddie and ran his tongue over his sharp canines.

Eddie sank down onto a stool at the bar and watched you go, his heart hammering in his chest.  There were two exotic dancers in cages on either side of the dancefloor, and one looked like she had reptilian skin with an alligator tail.  The action on the main floor was more of a mosh pit than actual dancing, and he knew the guys from his band would dig this place.  He wondered what you would think of his music if you saw him perform; maybe he could do a few tricks for you on stage. He wanted to look out and see you in the crowd and know you were his.

“What can I get you?” Danny asked, flipping a coaster in front of Eddie with a flourish.  

Flustered at his choices, Eddie ordered a beer, and then he leaned in.  “Hey, what is her story? Why does everyone seem so…afraid of her?”

“You mean you don’t know who she is?” Danny raised both bushy eyebrows at him as he popped the cap on his beer. 

Eddie shrugged, eyes dancing over the wall of bottles.  “I have no idea, man.  This isn’t my scene.”

Danny came forward and put his hairy forearms on the bar.  “Yeah well, her dad is the head Devil in charge of all of this,” he gestured around.  “He runs the underground Beast Mob, and everyone is scared shitless of him.”  Danny scooted Eddie’s beer forward, giving him a pointed look.  “And you should be too.  He hates humans.”

Eddie swallowed hard.  “I’m pretty good with parents,” he mumbled. 

He sat there for a while and sipped his beer, taking in the scenery and the other monsters, when he caught sight of you weaving your way back through the crowd.  Everyone you walked by seemed to beg to touch you or talk to you; a couple of them even bowed.  He wanted to have you on his arm, to feel the fire from your lungs burn his skin.

“Hey,” the person behind Eddie tapped his shoulder, and Eddie spun around to find an orc-looking guy with two tusks jutting up from his bottom teeth.  

“Yeah, man, what’s up?” 

The bartender glanced over Eddie’s shoulder at you, and then regarded him with a nod.  “Be careful with that one, son.  She will feast on your soul and drain you dry.”

Eddie turned to see you watching him from across the way, and you offered a shy wave.  Your short horns looked sharp and ready for battle; the marks in your skin glowed like neon.

Eddie sighed wistfully.  “Damn, I really hope so.”

[triviareads]

Do you have favorite tropes that are hr specific?

ooh good question.

Purposeful ruination: It gets the plot moving and I do like this variation on the enemies-to-lovers trope.

Books with this trope: Marquess of Mayhem by Scarlett Scott (he purposely compromises her with the aim of fucking with her war criminal half brother EL CORAZON OSCURO who does get a book of his own), Beyond Scandal and Desire by Lorraine Heath (compromises her to get to his half-brother who is engaged to her), The Chief by Monica McCarty (she gets herself compromised on purpose), Secrets of a Summer Night by Lisa Kleypas (heroine and her friends scheme to engineer a compromise)

Lower-class hero (or a hero of lower-class origins) who hates himself because he thinks he isn't "worthy" of the heroine or whatever and will SULLY her with his FILTHY PAWS

Heroes/books with this trope: Nicholas in Her Husband's Harlot by Grace Callaway, Rhys Winterborne in Marrying Winterborne by Lisa Kleypas, McKenna in Again the Magic by Lisa Kleypas, Dom Kilburn in A Rogue's Rules for Seduction by Eva Leigh

The Repressed Aristocrat: A gentleman in the streets, a freak in the sheets— to clarify, he's either actually repressed, or acts like he is in public.

Heroes/books with this trope: Granby from The Design of Dukes by Kathleen Ayers, Stone from Always Be My Duchess by Amalie Howard, Lockwood from The Duke Gets Even by Joanna Shupe, Harrison from The Truth About Cads and Dukes by Elisa Braden, Westcliff from It Happened One Autumn (how repressed he actually is is debatable but I'm basing this off his "once a week is enough" thing), Carlisle from The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway

A Knowing Virgin: If she has to be a virgin, then let her be a knowing one. It could be because he had An Education of sorts, or maybe she just has a "natural sensuality" that's inevitably commented upon by the hero. Ultimately, if she breaks the hero simply by performing a middling handjob, she's a winner.

Heroines/Books with this trope: Jess from Lord of Scoundrels by Loretta Chase, Rosalind from A Recipe for a Rogue by Kathleen Ayers (her late rake dad left behind a bunch of dirty books), basically every Grace Callaway heroine who inevitably performs her first blowjob like a champ

Kidnapping: I don't care who does it but if an author writes it well enough I'll love them.

Books with this trope: Outrageous by Minerva Spencer (the heroine kidnaps the hero to make him stop harassing/kidnapping her brother and his wife), The Last Crimes of Peregrine Hinds (m/m, he's soooo down to be kidnapped), Lord Holt Takes a Bride by Vivienne Lorret (her besties kidnap him), The Lady Who Came in from the Cold by Grace Callaway (listen, she needs to set her husband straight somehow), and of course, It Happened One Autumn by Lisa Kleypas.

An immediate, aggressive proposition: When you know, you know, plus again, it moves the romance along

Books with this trope: Surrender to the Devil by Lorraine Heath, I'm pretty? sure The Theory of Earls by Kathleen Ayers has this

Workplace relationships: This might be the one where my feelings differ the most in that my bar is a lot lower in HR than contemporaries (or alternatively, if it's well written, I'll read anything). But idk I'm more fine with powerful men "taking advantage" of The Help in historical than in contemporaries. This is what happens when The Sound of Music imprinted on you early, I think.

Books with this trope: Duke of Depravity by Scarlett Scott, The Duchess Hunt by Lorraine Heath, The Raven Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt, A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel by K-J Charles, Married by Morning by Lisa Kleypas, Millionaire Marquess by Scarlett Scott

Age gap romances: I just really like these and it goes both ways (I'm forever looking for well-done older women romances)

Books with this trope: The Chasing of Eleanor Vane by Sierra Simone (he's her betrothed's uncle), Wicked Again by Kathleen Ayers (she's 49, he's 40), My Dirty Duke by Joanna Shupe (he's her dad's best friend), What I Did For a Duke by Julie Anne Long (hero is around 20 years older than the heroine), A Recipe for a Rogue by Kathleen Ayers (he's like twice? her age?)

Childhood sweethearts: I just really like the idea of people finding love young but Things keep them apart (maybe it's the Persuasion lover in me). I distinguish it from one party having a childhood crush on the other because that's unrequited and this... very much isn't.

Books with this trope: Again the Magic by Lisa Kleypas, The Legend of Lyon Redmond by Julie Anne Long, Bed Me, Baron by Felicity Niven (okay so they weren't "together" but they had feelings for each other at different points during their youth)

More niche tropes:

That thing where they're having hate/farewell sex but they know she's gonna end up pregnant anyway (ex: Bed Me, Baron by Felicity Niven)

A deranged blond man (ex: Valentine from Duke of Sin by Elizabeth Hoyt, Godric from Outrageous by Minerva Spencer, Nikolas from Prince of Dreams by Lisa Kleypas)

Heroines with objectively dumb schemes and plenty of hubris (ex: Constance in The Earl I Ruined by Scarlett Peckham Lillian Bowman in Secrets of a Summer Night and It Happened One Autumn, Margo and Matilda Halifax in Alexandra Vasti's Halifax Hellion series, Emma Kent in The Duke Who Knew Too Much by Grace Callaway)

Taking about their first sexual experiences..... while having sex (ex: The Rogue Not Taken and Bombshell by Sarah MacLean)

Characters getting turned on via music/instrumental playing (ex: both The Theory of Earls by Kathleen Ayers and M Is For Marquess by Grace Callaway have heroes who deffo get hard watching their heroines play the piano, and there is piano sex stuff, and Always Be My Duchess has a cello-playing duke who also plays her like a cello)

Sad old people (possibly reuniting)

That thing where there's a hot older person living their best life in the background and I frantically look them up on the interwebs to see if they have a book and am usually disappointed that they don't :(

[just-gay-thoughts]

Saint Pelagia of Antioch

Sorry for all the saints lol

Saint Pelagia of Antioch was also called Pelagia the Harlot, her feast day is the 8th of October

She lived as a monk under the name Pelagios for many years in the 4th or 5th century. until she died due to extreme asceticism (living off the very very base necessities required to live, eating very little, drinking very little, and wanting very little) and was buried in her cell. After her death her identity as a women was attempted to be kept a secret but gossip spread and she drew pilgrims from far around looking for her relics.

Legend goes that she was a harlot living in Antioch, who after sermon on hell and paradise decided to repent. When a priest then tried to deny her access to the church, she said if he should do so all her sins would be held against him at his judgment. Needless to say it worked.

Then as legend states, after her baptism the devil arrived to complain, but was driven off when she made the sign of the cross and breathed on him

A few nights later she snuck off to Jerusalem disguised as a male and lived for 3 to 4 years as a recluse

Again though, much like Wilgefortis it's unsure if she was an actual person in history. According to Britanica, there was a 15 year old girl named Pelagia, who in 311 threw herself from a rooftop in an effort to save her chastity, and died instantly, and it's thought she might have inspired the above legend.

It does fascinate me to see a prevalence of women who either defied gender norms in their legends or lived as men in their legends becoming semi well known saints, there's likely an aspect of religous prosectution and sex based oppresion that helped such figures resonate with people at the time. I do recommend reading the wikipedia article linked below, I very much paraphrased it but there were spots that made me laugh a little, specifically when she turned some priests heads going by on her donkey, all bejewled out

[nityarawal]

9/13/2023

Is Your Midnight Song Worthy?

Morning Songs

Washed Out River Folk

Sitting In The Sage

Fields

Can See Why

They've Been Sung 

For

So Long

"Glory Glory Hallelujah,"

Yeah

You'd Sing It Too

If You Saw Their

White Blossom Horns

Blooming In

Your Hood

"Glory Glory Hallelujah,"

Yeah

You'd Sing It 

Too

If You Saw 

Delicate Fibered

Thin

Flowers

Blowing

Delicately

Growing In Your

Midst

Thin Skinned

Tempral

Yeah You'd Sing

Too

With The Birdies

If You Felt Free

For A Moment

Yeah You'd Sing

With The Birdies

Too

Humbled

By Our Nations

Grace

If You Were Free

You'd Sing Too

And Join Me

Instead Of

Sending Court

Contentious Harlots

If You Were Free

You Wouldn't 

Wake Me In The 

Night

You'd Know

It's A Sin

To Disturb Sleep

Of The Divine 

Kids

Mommies

Go Away I Said

I'm Sleeping

Some Lady

Wanted To Chat

Probably Another 

Court Social Worker

Rat

Old Blonde Waspy

Dried Out

Cowgirls

All Dressed Up

My Name Is 'G' She

Told Us

I Met You

When You Were

Singin' Campin'

Here Last June

No G

I Don't Know You

No G 

I Don't Remember You

No G

I'm Sleeping

You're Not My Daughter

Not My Sister

Not Someone I 

Want To See

Any Time

A Civil Domestic Terrorist

Gaslighter

I Don't Want To Be Woken 

Mrs. Handler

Oh G I Hear You

Work At Lumber

Mill With My

Good Friend

Radar

Oh G

Do You Take Out

The Trash

Like I Did

Oh G Are You Above

Your Station

Like Most Civil

Servants

We Think Cleaning

A Lovely

Discipline

Oh G

Do You Like To Drink

With Carmel Benson

At Idyology

And Long To Close

More Kitchens

With Health Department

Spreading Covid

To The Chef

Like All The Other Rats

Oh G

Want Us To Shut

Down Your Kitchen

Yahoo Review It

With Prudent Moms

Oh G

Have You Got Mold

And Rats

Oh G

Have You Got Court

Contentious Addicts

Hawking Out

Our River Friends

On Collateral 

Oh G

We're You Behind

Radars Car Stolen

Oh G

Did You And Your

Ladies

Get Liz Arrested

Oh G

Is That Your Girlfriend

At Village Market

Smearing The

Customers

Oh G

I Heard

Your Boss Is Out Of 

Jail

Oh G 8 Pedophile

Trials

Oh G

You Must Be Scared

No Megans Laws

Oh G

Is That Why

You Wanted To Talk

Heart To Heart

Oh G

At 11PM

While I Was Sleepin'

Oh G

Long After I Went

To Rest

Into Samadhi

Meditating

With The Devas

Oh G

What Did The Devil

Hire You To Do

Oh G

To Meddle In My

Business

Oh G

Yeah You Rattle

My Heart

And Brain

Numb

With Nonsense

Is It Worth It

For A Camp

Site

For A Plea

You Call Me A Girlfriend

Insincerely

But You And Accomplices

Shun The Campers

In California

For Your Drugs

And Alcohol

DUIs

Gay Pimps

We'll Wait For

Eternity

Not Long For Some

You See

We'll Wait For 

Eternity

Nena

And My Sisters 

Said

In Detention

Hollocaust

"More Of Dat!"

Gals Back Me

Just Take Your Drugs

If You Must

Go To Bed

Elsewhere

And Mind My Boundaries

In Drug Free Mommy

Zones

And Get The "F"

Away From Me

Met So Many 

Mammas

Who Survived

Horror Stories

Like Your

Weaponising

Not Even A

Coveted Hooker

Worn Weary

Leathery

Or Cleaning Women 

For A Pedophile

Restranteur

Did You Sell Radar

Out To Broker 

Shane Stewart

Camping

Hardworking

Feeding You

Trangulating

The Gay Sheriff's Too

Did You Sell Radar

Out And His

Teddy Bear Dog

Ryder

For Collateral 

My Dear

I Don't Want

To Hear Your Story

I Don't Want

To Hear Your

Midnight Tunes

Lies

For Bribes

I Don't Want To

Know Your Saga

Call Me Rude

But You're Not

Enticing

Ready For Song

We Know

How Militia

Bought Another

Hells Angel

How Your Plea

Bargain Was More

Important

Than Me

Than Any Other 

Sister On Earth

Any Kid

You See

Don't Come Around

Trying To Sell My

Soul

With Your Demon

Eatin'

Streetwalker Friends

Met Gemma

G

Down The Road

Put Some Sage

In Your Pants

For Your Scabies

Sister

Bedbugs

Get Your Glow Back

Go To Bed

At 9PM

Detox

Don't Let The Devil

Rule Your World

Want Some

Advice

From Nanny

At Night

Go To Sleep

It'll Look Better

In The Mornin'

Your Ama Reeks

Poisons 

Leaking Out

Go To Sleep

You Seem Schizophrenic 

Near Death

Frantic

Go To Sleep

Your Ama Reeks

Put Some Himalyan Salt

In Your Mouth

Gargle

Sage Down Your Pants

And In Your Bra

Ciao!

-Peace

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

[emerald-echeveria-plant]

[[Part 4 of ???]]

Stuck with you

//Baozhai and Islay walked through the jungle. Islay cutting down leaves in their way with her sword.//

Baozhai, looking at the map: You think we'll find any skeletons through here??

Islay: How should I know? I Never heard of this place before.

Baozhai: Oh well, then allow me to tell you about this place!

Islay: please don't-

Baozhai: The Paititi was a civilization that were known for having tons of gold and practically living in it everday! Everything they had was made out of gold. Bowls, statues, and even clothing! Isn't that amazing to know??? Then one day the the civilization just disappeared! As well as the gold items and riches they had. Once outsiders arrived, all they found were statues and the abandoned villages. The weirdest thing they found was murals, depicting where they supposedly hid their treasure...

Islay:

Islay: How do you know all that? I thought you were supposed to be stupid or something.

Baozhai: Oh Ironbeard told me- HEY! I'm not dumb! I have the intelligence of a highschooler thank you very much! >:(((

Islay: Yeah, yeah whatever you say.

Baozhai, still angry: I could literally wire your mouth shut if you said that in front of a crowd of people..!

Islay, stop walking and turns to Baozhai: Baozhai, let me get one thing straight with you. I don't care for your threats and I'm not afraid of you. Everyone else on the ship might cower in fear when you brutalize someone but I've seen other pirates with less anger issues do worse. You're just a temperamental brat who gets offended at the slightest comment that criticizes you. Now all I want to do is get this treasure, leave, and ignore the fact that you still exist... You think you can manage shutting your mouth for once?

Baozhai:

Baozhai, pouts: fine I'll be quiet but I won't be happy about it >:(

Islay, rolls her eyes: Just make sure you don't loose the map.

//Islay took a few steps forward. She pushed some giant leaves out of the way. In front of them was a stone path with strange runes drawn on them. Baozhai looked at the map. She took a step forward and put her pressed her foot down on the path. Immediately, arrows came flying out from the walls. Baozhai quickly backed away before one of the arrows could pierce her.//

Islay: The classic arrows coming out of walls and trying to figure out the correct pattern on the floor... How cliche.

Baozhai: Good thing this map shows you how to cross.

//Just as the two were about to cross, a gunshot fired near their feet. The two women jumped back. A few feet from the left of them, stood Flint and Billy. Flint had the gun pointed towards the women.//

Flint: Not so fast ya' harlots.. give us that their map and we'll let ye both walk free..

Islay: Fuck off mate! This is our map and we're getting to that treasure!

Bones: Islay, we all know where this is going. Ye really want to risk a limb over that map?

Islay, holding her sword towards them: I'd rather die for it then let ye rats have it!

//She rushes towards the two. Unfortunately, she was taken down by Billy with a swift kick to the stomach. Billy put himself on top of her, putting her arms behind her back. Preventing her to do anything else harmful.//

Islay, struggling underneath Billy: Doesn't matter! My accomplice will tear you both apart!!

Flint: Well then I guess we'll have have pry it from their cold dead han-

Baozhai, hands him the map: Here you go :)

//Flint, Bones, and Islay all stand there completely stunned for a few seconds. Islay stared at Baozhai with her mouth gaping. Flint snatches the map out of Baozhai's hand.//

Flint: Seems like yer accomplice is more accommodating than ye..

Baozhai, hugs Flint tightly: you're so handsome..

//Flint stared, unamusedly at the small woman. He tried gentle pushing her off of him. But alas, Baozhai stuck to him like glue. Flint attempted to shove her off but still she stuck onto him. With all his strength, he tried to shove her off.//

Flint: LET GO OF ME!

Baozhai: 💕

//Flint grabbed Baozhai by her shoulders. He put his foot up against her, trying to pry her off of him. Fortunately, he managed to get her off of him.//

Baozhai: sorry... Couldn't help myself from wrapping my arms around your big, beefy, frame~

Flint, obviously disgusted: ...

Flint: tie em' both up Billy..

//Billy nods as he takes out some rope. A few minutes later the two women are tied, back to back to each other. Flint and Billy leave them behind as they successfully cross the booby trap.//

Islay, eye twitching angry: I cannot ... BELIEVE YOU HANDED OVER THE FUCKING MAP! WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO IT YOU FUCKING IDIOT. YOU COULDN'T DO THAT BRUTAL SHIT YOU LIKE TO DO TOWARDS THEM?? DID YOUR TWO FUNCTIONING BRAINCELLS GIVE UP ON YOU???

Baozhai: I'm sorry! I couldn't help myself.. he was just so dreamy💕 I feel like we had a real connection there!

Islay: HE PUSHED YOU OFF OF HIM! HOW WAS THAT A "REAL CONNECTION"????

Baozhai: it didn't seem like through his actions but I could feel it.. emotionally 🥺

Islay: OH I'M GOING TO SHOW YOU A REAL CONNECTION YOU STUPID SON OF A BI-

//Cut back to Billy and Flint walking through the jungle. Flint was holding the map.//

Bones: you think those two ladies will be fine..?

Flint: I'm sure they will. If they don't, too bad.

Bones: I mean, I feel a little bad.. I knew Islay for a few years and seeing her again was pretty nice... Until she tried killing me. That other girl seemed to like you a lot too..

Flint, sighs: They're the enemy, Billy. Don't think you should feel bad for em'. If the captain was here, he'd smack you on the side of the head.

Bones:

Bones: but he isn't here..

Flint: I can clearly see that-

//Suddenly, Flint fell through the ground. Flint was clinging to the edge of the ground. Below him was molten lava... Seemed as though it was another one of the booby traps. Unfortunately they had overlooked it. Billy, quickly began to pull Flint up. As he began to pull him up, the map slowly slipped out of hands. Flint, just now realizing this, tried grabbing the map. Unfortunately, the map fluttered down into the lava.//

Flint: No, no, no!

//Map: disintegrates.//

Flint: GODDAMNIT!

//Billy successful pulls Flint out of the hole.//

Bones: You okay??

Flint: No! Damnit I lost the FUCKING map!

Bones: It's okay maybe we can-

Flint: No, it is not okay! I lost the fucking map because I chose to talk instead of looking where I was walking! GODDAMNIT, GODDAMNIT, GODDAMNIT!

//Cut back to Islay and Baozhai. Baozhai was trying to figure out a way to untie them.//

Baozhai: maybe if we... No that wouldn't work.. how about! No, no, that wouldn't work either.. HUH! I've got it!

Islay, dying on the inside: what is it...?

Baozhai, slowly tries to use her knees to get up: we'll... Stand up.. and walk to the treasure tied together!

Islay: Sounds stupid.. but by this point what choice do I even have..?

//Islay uses her knees to also get up. Struggling but successful the two were able to get off the ground.//

Baozhai: Okay! Now we just run across the trap!

Islay: If I die doing this... Tell the crew... I hate you more than that warden that almost killed me..

Baozhai: I'll keep that noted!

//Together the two began to run towards the trap. Immediately tons of arrows flew out of the walls. They screamed in terror as the arrows came close to piercing their skin. With luck on their side, they managed to get across without any arrows sticking to them.//

Baozhai, breathing heavily: see.. that.. wasn't.. so bad..

Islay, white as a ghost: I think I may have wet myself there.

Baozhai: ... Gross...

Islay: I SAID I MAY HAVE!

//Cut back to Flint and Billy. After Flint got over his breakdown of losing the map, him and Billy began to walk around the jungle.//

Bones: uhh, let's take this direction..? *Points to a path*

Flint: we already walked through there...

Bones: Oh, um, then how about through here-

Flint, facepalms: we already walked through there too... ten minutes ago.. WE'VE BEEN WALKING IN CIRCLES FOR FUCK SAKE!

Bones: um... how about we try to walk back and retrace out steps?

Flint, let's out a long sigh: ... Fine.

//The two walk back in order to retrace their steps. Behind a bush they saw, Islay and Baozhai. Who were still tied up together.//

Baozhai: I'm telling you, if I was captain I'd be great at it!

Islay: if you were captain, the ship would immediately blow up from your incompetence.

Baozhai: Hey at least I'm the one who memorized the map! That has to count for something when it comes to leadership or captainship..

Islay: Since when do you have photographic memory???

Baozhai: Ever since I could remember ever little detail of me getting "treated" at the mental asylum I was forcefully put in. Like how they'd lock me in a padded room for hours on end in complete darkness and isolation or how they stuck a needle into my eye and into my brain to get the bad spirits out of me.. god it was painful.. haha! Those were the worst times of my life..! :D

Islay:

Islay: Let's just try to get to the treasure in one piece.. and maybe figure out a way out of these ropes.

//Behind the bush, the two clearly heard what they were just talking about. Billy nudged Flint.//

Bones: I've got an idea..

Flint: Let me hear it..

//Baozhai and Islay continued to walk together. It looked like the sun was starting to set. Islay took notice of this.//

Islay: Damnit, night's gonna arrive soon. As if we need any more problems..

Flint, comes out from behind the bushes with Billy: Stop right there!

Islay: Speak of the devil.

Baozhai, gasps: You came back for me! :D

Flint: I'm not here for you, you stupid cow!

Baozhai: yes you are~! I knew you couldn't resist me..

Flint, groans: I swear I'm going to punch you again.

Baozhai: Ooo, sounds hot..

Flint:

Bones:

Islay:

Flint: you know what nevermind... Tell us how to get to the treasure or we'll cut out your tongues!

Baozhai: Oh okay! Make a-

//Islay hits her head with Baozhai's head.//

Baozhai: Hey! Ow...

Islay: Don't tell him anything you idiot! The last time you did that you got us into this mess! Who knows if they'll do it or not!

Baozhai: okay fine

Flint, holds a knife against Baozhai's neck and growls: Talk..

Baozhai: I'd love to but I'm caught between wanting to tell you or possibly being strangled to death by my crewmate..

Flint: I'm going to count to three and if you don't tell me I'm going to kill you and her..

Baozhai:

Flint: One...

Bones: don't you think we should torture it out of them at least?

Flint: two.. *puts the knife and his head closer to her*

Islay: Whatever you do, don't tell him anything Baozhai!

//Baozhai with precious seconds passing by did the only reasonable thing imaginable. She gave Flint a kiss.//

Flint, cutting him off from saying three: *proceeds to gag and quickly step away from her* WHAT THE HELL??

Baozhai: I'm sorry you were getting close to my face and I couldn't help myself~ It was worth it~! Albeit your teeth did kinda cut my lips..

Flint: FUCK THIS *pulls out his flintlock pistol and presses the end against Baozhai's forehead* I'm gonna put a bullet in this cunt's head!

Bones: What about getting to the treasure???

Flint, growls: ... We can figure that out later..

Islay: Hold on now! How about we all get there together..

Flint: What are you talking about?

Islay: I'm saying how about we NOT kill each other until we arrive to the treasure..? You help us get out of these ropes and we lead you guys to the treasure.. then when we get there we can go back to hating each other as normal... That sound like a deal..?

Flint: Why would I trust you.. you could betray us or strand us at any moment when we let you go..

Islay, looks at Baozhai: even if I wanted to, I couldn't because of the simp next to me..

//Flint stared menacingly at Islay. He took out his knife again and held it against Islay's neck. Islay tried moving her head away her from the knife. Instead of slicing her neck open, he swiftly cut the ropes.//

Flint, puts away his gun and his knife: let's get a move on then. The sun is getting low and I'm not planning on carrying the either of you.

Baozhai: ha, I knew you would do that. You care about me too much to ever do such a thing..

Flint: talk one more time and I'm throwing you down a lava pit.

Baozhai:

Baozhai: my lips are sealed..

//The four walk off straight ahead with Baozhai taking lead.//

To be continued...

[3pirouette]

Fic: 40 Weeks (1/1)

Title: 40 Weeks By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: First Avenger, that’s it. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 4601 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Rated teen to mature due to content.

Story Summary: Every week farther away from him is a week closer to a new beginning.

A/N: For Steggy Bingo Bash Sentence Prompt: “I have eagerly been awaiting the day I could finally meet you… and I am not disappointed. You are beautiful.” Also, I’m sorry. Set during CA:TFA. 

TW: while I hate to give away the plot, this story is about Peggy dealing with an unplanned pregnancy while believing Steve is dead after going down on the Valkyrie. This may be a sensitive subject for many, please read or skip accordingly for your own mental health.

I have never been pregnant. ALl info is from the internet. 

Also, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. This made me cry. You’ll probably need tissues.

~*~ Week 0

He’d almost died.

It was all she could think of as she pressed her body into his, their lips meeting with force, battling to be dominant, the air charged with lust and fear and relief as they shed their clothes as quickly as they could.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw it: she saw the way the tank aimed at him, how his shield barely made it up in time to deflect the load from the great barrel, how it exploded and pushed him back in a way he didn’t expect, how he landed near the great rotating treads, shocked, and his head just an inch away from disaster as the tank rolled forward before Dugan slid in and pushed him farther under where the treads could do no damage.

He couldn’t hear her when they finally triumphed, blood slipping from his ear. He looked shocked, dazed. She’d never seen him like that before.

Even small, before the serum, he’d seemed invincible to her. This reminded her that even Captain America could die.

He could hear her now as she moaned his name, his lips slipping against the flesh between her legs, licking and nipping and biting as she fisted her hands in his hair, pulling him up to her. That realization had made her feel lost, broken, and she needed him in a way she’d never needed anyone before. The touch of his hand was too little, the wrapping of his arms around her in a simple hug not enough. She’d slipped them into an empty supply room, locked the door, and pressed him against it. “I won’t let either of us die without knowing what it’s like to love one another.”

He’d held her face in his hands, gentle, and tried to reassure her. “That’s not going to happen. I won’t let that happen.”

She hadn’t argued with him, didn’t have it in her to play devil’s advocate. Instead, she kissed him. Surprising him, it took a moment for him to kiss her back, for him to let them melt together, but slowly his body started to vibrate on the same frequency hers was, it started to pick up on her need and desperation and it left them as they were now, him clutching her shoulders, sliding inside her sloppily as she balanced on the edge of an old desk, her legs wrapped around his hips and her lips marking him at his collar bone.

It was quick and frenzied, sloppy and amateur, but Peggy couldn’t help but feel a little more put together, a little more reassured as they lay on the creaking table, his head pillowed on her breasts, the both of them gasping for breath.

“I love you, Peggy Carter,” Steve whispered, kissing the flesh closest to him, “and I’m never letting you go.”

“And I love you,” she croaked out, her voice raw. She tangled her hands in his sweaty hair, her heart pounding in her chest. “But you and I both know that neither one of us is in control of what happens during this bloody war.”

He pressed up on his arms, hovering over her, his dog tags cold against her skin as he pushed a curl behind her ear. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he kept it to himself. Instead, he kissed her gently. He pulled away softly, his brow furrowing as he looked down at her. “How am I supposed to go back to that lonely tent without you now?”

She let her hands slide over his shoulders. “Needs must, you know,” she whispered, letting him gently help her to sitting. “I suspect my own bed will be quite disappointing.”

Steve bent, kissing her thigh as he picked up their discarded clothing. “Peg, we should…”

“We shouldn’t,” she stopped him as he stood, eyes serious. “if we want to keep working together, no one can know. They’ll toss me out of here in a second and you know that.”

He kissed her gently, handing her her slip. “I hate keeping us a secret.”

“I’d hate even more not knowing if you were alive or dead.”

~*~ Week 3

She hadn’t managed a night’s sleep since he went into the water. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him drowning, saw his hands reaching up for her. Saw his lifeless body floating away.

She wasn’t his widow, she wasn’t his anything, not officially. His belongings were put in storage and his name was mourned. Only the men that knew them best, the ones that saw the snuck kisses and hand holding, gave her any real sympathy.

Dugan sat with her, Pinky said a prayer with her, and Phillips had even hugged her.

There was no body, no funeral, no remembrance beyond that given to any other soldier when there was still so much more work to be done.

She could barely eat, couldn’t sleep, felt sick and tired all the time, and yet, she knew she had to march on.

There was a war to win. She was going to win it for him.

~*~ Week 6

She was shaking, and only partly due to the fact that she’d just thrown up most of what she’d eaten today quite violently. She held the phone to her ear, trying desperately to slow her heart rate.

She didn’t want it to be true, and yet she desperately did.

And if it was, she was absolutely beyond terrified.

There was another long ring before a polite English voice she’d never heard answered.

“I need to talk to Howard, please. Peggy Carter calling.” She was proud that her voice sounded almost steady. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest, the seconds it took Howard to get to the phone felt like hours.

“Peggy!” he called, excited. “It’s good to hear from you. How can I be of service?”

She took one shaky breath, then another. She’d never been ashamed of what they did, would never be, but the impact it was going to have on her life, the way it was going to change everyone’s opinion of her… she wasn’t ready for that.

She heard her mother’s voice in her head, criticizing the women at church who work skirts that were too short and who flirted to shamelessly. Harlots, Margaret. Girls like that give smart, determined women like us a bad name. All for what? They should be on their knees for praying, not for…humph!

“Peggy? You there?” Howard asked, his tone softening.

She wasn’t ready to lose them all. She didn’t know how she could avoid it, though.

“Howard. I… I need your help.”

~*~ Week 7

He met her in London, his eyes tight and worried as she disembarked the troop transport with her usual aplomb, not a hint of the desperate woman he’d spoken to on the phone about her. He watched her closely as they got in his car, as he introduced his new butler, as they drove far away from the base and to a small house he’d rented.

She managed to keep her composure through lunch, telling him how she and Steve had shared one moment of unrestrained passion, how neither of them had thought anything could come of it, and how, three weeks after he was pronounced KIA she realized that he’d managed to make sure she’d never be alone, even without him.

Though she hadn’t taken a test, Peggy Carter knew with certainty that she was pregnant with Steve Rogers’ child.

She swallowed, looking at Howard frankly, her eyes clear. “I don’t mind being called a whore or a harlot, that I can take and have brought upon myself as my mother would say,” Peggy quickly relayed. “My job is lost, I’m sure.” She steeled herself, but it didn’t quite work. “But I can’t…” she teared up, wrapping her hands around her still flat belly, “I don’t know how to protect it. The Army… they’ll want…”

She dissolved into tears, sending Howard to his knees beside her. “I’ll help you, Peg. You don’t have anything to worry about.” He took her hand in his, waiting until she wiped the tears from her eyes to look at him. “Nobody’s going to touch that baby, ok? If I have to marry you myself, no one is going to touch that kid.”

~*~ Week 10

The guest house at Howard’s New York home is more than suitable for her, and she takes to wandering it aimlessly as it is quite large.

She resigned her commission, citing personal reasons much to Phillips chagrin.

How am I supposed to win this war without you, Carter? Phillips’s voice echoes in her mind.

Once, she would have bristled at that, would have rethought her decision to leave and felt the pull of duty.

She had only one duty now. It had been easier than she thought it would be to say goodbye.

One day she’d tell them the truth. Phillips, the Commandos, they were her friends, too. She still was barely thicker around the middle than she had been, not enough to show and not enough to be suspicious. But right now, she held the only living genetic sample of Steve Rogers, and there were nations that would kill for that, including her own. For now, she could still hide in plain sight.

Their baby’s safety was all that mattered to her.

She made another round, checking the windows and doors and making sure the gun by her bedside was loaded and ready to go if need be. She’d already pulled it twice on poor Mr. Jarvis, but he seemed to be getting used to her paranoia.  

~*~ Week 12

Ana is a godsend.

She’s funny and quick-witted, and thankfully good with a needle and thread. Peggy’s clothes all need letting out at the seams now, and Ana entertains her with silly stories of her day and tales of the farmer’s market in town as she makes alterations.

She’s become her only close friend, and Peggy is ever grateful that not once did she see pity or judgement in the woman’s eyes.

Her mother continues to refuse to speak to her.

~*~ Week 16

Howard has proposed no less than three times since he’s been back from the front.

His simplest solution is to not give the Army any reason to believe the child belongs to Rogers. While Peggy can see the wisdom in this, she can’t quite seem to get on board with the idea of denying the man she loved his only true legacy.

“I’m thinking about it,” she would tell him nearly twice a day.

And she was thinking about it.

~*~ Week 18

She’s glad the doctor Howard has found her is knowledgeable and discrete. She knows, because Howard refuses to lie to her, that they take an extra vial of blood for him at each visit, and he runs his own tests.

She’s relieved that the midwife Ana finds her is sweet and kind, and that the woman simply holds her hand when Peggy breaks into tears when the woman asks about the baby’s father.

“I’m so sorry my love,” the midwife whispers gently. “So many young women have lost so much in this war.”

If her midwife believes her to be anything other than a war widow, or notices the lack of a ring on Peggy’s finger, she never says.

~*~ Week 20

Ana has to take Peggy shopping for maternity clothes now. She’s showing and can no longer get by with letting buttons stay undone and letting out seams. The lacy frocks and pastel colors turn her off of the small section in the department store.

She can’t help but watch the women around her, some barely showing, some looking ready to burst, and wonder what their lives are like.

Do they have doting husbands at home? Indifferent husbands? Men overseas who may never see their child’s birth?

Are they like her? Lost and alone and so very, very unsure of how even tomorrow will go?

Ana gently guides her through the store despite her daze, and helps her choose some sensible tops and dresses.

She doesn’t plan on leaving Howard’s estate other than for doctor visits any time soon, so the design matters little in the long run.

~*~ Week 21

Lying in bed she can feel it.

Little flutters.

They’re easy to ignore during the day, but at night they’re positively maddening. She rubs her stomach, hands gliding over the tightening flesh, closing her eyes and imagining they were Steve’s hands.

Tears come to her eyes.

Would he have been happy? Excited? Scared? She’s imagined each emotion a million times over. She’s never really been able to decide.

Some days she barely knows how she feels about it.

The flutters get more insistent, no real kicks or punches yet, just little backflips. She imagines a little boy, lithe and graceful as his father, or a little girl, smooth like a ballerina.

She smiles.

“Bide your time, little one,” she whispers, and the movement calms down. “You’ll be out here with all of us soon and there will be little time for rest.”

~*~ Week 23

Her days are the same now: mornings to herself to prepare for the day, afternoon tea with Ana and a rousing walk along the grounds with Mr. Jarvis. There’s the occasional doctor appointment or meeting with the midwife thrown in, but dinner is steadily at 7 and she indulges in warm baths and a book before bed.

Lying in bed is when her day turns.

She’s never really quite sure what’s going to happen after she turns the lights out.

Some nights she talks to her baby, having decided on calling him or her simply “My Little One” for the time being. If her child’s restless she knows her voice will calm it: stories, lullabies, or just rambling about her day.

Some nights all she can do is cry. Usually, it’s gentle streams of tears falling from her lashes quietly as her mind drifts to the man who will never know his child, who she imagines never understood how much she loved him, who had plans for a life after the war with her…

Sometimes she sobs; big, heaving sobs that seem to come up from the depths of her soul. This happens often after the nightmares. She has the nightmares less and less, but they’re no less dark, no less graphic for the time that’s passed. She wakes up, gasping, feeling like she’s drowning herself, and lets the tears come.

Some nights she sleeps, deep and dreamless. Those are the good nights, when she can rest and rejuvenate, when she can wake up the next day feeling like she just might be ready for whatever will come next. They’re few and far between.

Most night she simply misses him. She’s started talking to the darkness, telling Steve, who she desperately needs to believe is watching over her and their child, of all she’d done that day, even though she like to think he’s seen. Sometimes she balls up the quilt, imagining the weight of the fabric is his body behind her, wrapped around her, holding her close and keeping her warm, running his hand over the swell in her belly and whispering in her ear as he kisses her neck.

She whispers into the night, wondering what she should name their Little One.

She doesn’t get an answer back.

~*~ Week 25

Peggy’s indigestion keeps her from enjoying dinner more nights than not, and it has both the Jarvises and Howard worried.

Peggy reminds Howard that he should be less worried about her indigestion and more worried that if he asks her to marry him one more time she will literally punch him. He opens his mouth to make the proposal, but stops when she simply raises her eyebrows at him, the challenge clear.

The midwife tells them all it’s perfectly normal, and stays with Peggy to talk about where she wants to give birth.

Peggy and Howard both agree the main house will be the safest, and neither is willing to risk a hospital.

By the end of the week, Howard has one of the downstairs wings converted to a hospital wing: a birthing room and a fully equipped surgery ready and waiting.

~*~ Week 27

“Howard says he’s officially put me on the payroll as a security consultant.” Peggy sighs into the darkness. “I asked him what that means and he said it just means I don’t need to worry about anything ever again.”

She rubs her belly, looking up to the ceiling. “For what it’s worth, I almost punched him again. He still has a bit of a bruise from the last time he proposed.” She chuckles. “But he did promise that when I was ready, he thought Stark Industries could use someone like me, and that my pay was merely a retainer fee.”

She turns on her side, pulling the quilt up around her shoulders. “Nearly two-thirds the way there, my love.” She squeezes her eyes shut, pretending his arms are wound around her. “Ana wanted to throw me a baby shower, but I couldn’t think of anyone to invite. We’re going to go shopping for the bassinet and such tomorrow, instead. She and Mr. Jarvis have already bought me more than enough bottles and diapers to last well until the Little One is walking.”

Her voice cracks, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “I can’t believe you won’t be here for this.”

~*~ Week 30

She doesn’t fit into her bras anymore, and Ana has never been more of a godsend. The woman brings her a bag full of options from the department store and sits with her, chatting calmly as she sews little cotton pads to go in them while Peggy sniffles, unprepared for the leaking and the soreness that’s accompanied this new stage in her pregnancy.

Even when feeling her lowest, with washcloths stuffed in her slip and her face red after bidding Ana a soft farewell, the back of her mind tells her that Steve would have gathered her in his arms and held her close, telling her she was beautiful and amazing and carrying a new life.

She wraps her arms around herself, weeping, and sinks to the floor, crying for all she’s lost and the things her child will never know.

~*~ Week 32

Her mother still refuses to speak with her, and she’s resorted to letters.

She hasn’t said who the baby’s father is, or that there is a good chance her grandchild will be the genetic carrier of an abundance of useful information that could cure disease or lead to another generation of super soldiers.

She mails what she tells herself is the last letter, the contents telling her mother that, should she care to know, Peggy has found a wonderful group of friends that will make sure her and her baby are protected and cared for no matter what happens.

Peggy sits, staring out the window of her guest house, rubbing her belly and thinks it’s a shame that the baby won’t have a grandmother to bake it cookies.

She laughs when she realizes Mr. Jarvis can fill that role very well, and that his cookies are far better than anything her mother managed to cook from scratch.

~*~ Week 35

She wakes up the whole household at three in the morning, convinced she’s having the baby too early.

Jarvis resorts to making tea and a full English Breakfast despite the time.

Ana holds her hand tightly, sitting by her bedside in the birthing room in the mansion as they wait for the midwife.

Howard paces a rut in the floor outside her room, smoking like a chimney and muttering to himself.

“Braxton Hicks,” the midwife tells her cheerfully despite the ungodly hour. “That baby isn’t quite ready to come out, yet.”

Ana sits with her for hours after the midwife leaves, never letting go of her hand.

~*~ Week 37

She sits with a list of names. She tries to imagine his reaction to each of them, but can’t.

Howard has become insistent that she put him down as the father, he notes that it won’t spoil his reputation any and that him as the legal father will afford the baby a comfortable life and there will be far fewer questions.

She thanks him, then threatens to punch him.

She’s already decided that the father’s name on the birth certificate will stay blank. Better no father than the wrong man, she thinks.

The baby will have her last name.

The rest, she hopes, will come in the next three weeks.

~*~ Week 38

She paces the halls of the big house through the night. Howard and Jarvis, much to her and Ana’s amusement and chagrin, have become insistent on her staying in the mansion. They want her close as the big day nears.

She tries to picture what Steve would be like, tries to guess which pieces of her friends he’d put together: Jarvis’ anxiety and preparation, Howard’s determination and excitement…

Steve was always a very tactile person, and she misses every hug and touch she knows he’d have given her. She can feel them burning on her skin in their absence.

The Little One is active and low, ready to come any day now.

What was once fear and confusion is starting to transform in her belly into excitement.

~*~ Week 39

“Mr. Jarvis,” Peggy calls from the hallway just after dinner on a quiet Tuesday, “I’m afraid I’ve made a bit of a mess.”

He moves out of the kitchen, his usual placations ready to spill from his lips until he sees the sight of her: puddle below her, legs dripping, one hand gripping her belly and one holding the sideboard to keep her standing.

Peggy thinks, as she watches Jarvis and Howard turn into tornados of commotion around her, that perhaps Steve would have been the calm one. He always did manage to have his head about him in a battle. Jarvis is slipping in her mess as he tries to get her over it without incident, Howard is on the phone, yelling incoherent sentences at the midwife.

Ana, thankfully, takes her hand and helps her leave them behind, guiding her back to the birthing room that had become her bedroom for the last few days.

Yes, she imagines, as Ana helps her into a dry nightgown and pull her hair back, he would be calm and certain, slow and deliberate, making sure she had everything she needed. Ana’s helping her into the bed as the midwife arrives, and like before the woman stays by her side, talking softly as the midwife examines her and declares that they’ll have a baby sooner rather than later.

Peggy thinks it might be the pain, but as she’s enduring the worst of the contractions, she swears she can hear his voice in her ear, telling her to keep going, that she’s strong, that she doesn’t need him, or anyone, to do this.

When they sit her up to push, she imagines it is Steve’s strong form behind her, not pillows and a bedframe holding her up as she yells with each effort, the midwife between her legs and Ana at her side.

When the baby slips from her body she imagines he catches her as she falls back, limp, his strong arms holding her up, his lips at her ear, his cheek next to hers.

But when the midwife hands her the baby, swaddled tight and eyes opening gently, any ghost of Steve is gone. Her heart pounding in her chest, she hears the words over and over in the back of her mind, and she’s wondering if it is him, if he was with her. If he’s left her this gift and this knowledge.

You can do this.

“A little boy,” the midwife says as she hands Peggy her son. He squeals a bit, lets out a soft cry, then settles, opening his eyes.

Peggy smiles at him, eyes filled with tears. She presses the blanket back from his chin, taking in the radiant blue of his eyes, the tiny eyelashes that surround them, the strong set of his still barely there jaw.

She knows, one day, there will be no question about his parentage.

She presses a soft kiss to his head, cradling him close as he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a cry, her heart more full of love than she could have ever imagined. She can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying as she speaks. “I have eagerly been awaiting the day I could finally meet you… and I am not disappointed. You are beautiful.”

She gazes at her son as the midwife finishes her work, feeling but not registering the passing of the afterbirth and the older woman’s gentle washing of her legs and thighs. Ana gently cleans the child as she holds him, unable to look away. Finally, the midwife sits by her side, papers in her hands. “I’ve filled out everything else. All that’s left is his name.”

Peggy gulps, hard, undecided for a moment, but his eyes gaze up at her and she knows. “Michael Steven Carter.” She expects tears when she says it, but they don’t come, and that’s how she knows she’s made the right decision. “For two important men that I wish he could have known.”

The midwife sets a caring hand on her arm as Ana turns away, sniffing. “A beautiful memorial.” The older woman fills out the paper and leaves it at Peggy’s bedside. “I can bathe him for you, if you like?”

“No, I don’t think I can bear to let go just yet,” she whispers, still in awe of the small movements he’s making. Each stretch, each wiggle she can almost feel coinciding to a movement she felt from the outside. To have him in her arms is a blessing she won’t overlook.

“Then perhaps we should try feeding him?”

Peggy nods, smiling up at the woman. “Please.”

~*~ Week 40

She stares at him, asleep in his little bassinet. He’ll be waking soon, she can tell from how swollen and tight she feels that he’s due for another feeding, even if she hadn’t looked at the clock.

When she woke, she could have sworn that she saw Steve standing over the bassinet, his form strong and stoic in the moonlight.

She blinked, and he was gone.

Peggy didn’t have time for fantasies of lost loves any longer. She still wondered at how Steve might react, what he’d say, but she’d been too busy to wonder too much, or miss him too deeply.

Michael was her whole world right now, and keeping him safe was her first, and only, job. Howard said it was for too early to know if he’d exhibit any of the traits his father had been endowed with, but any and all tests they’d run showed that he was a healthy, normal little boy.

She still hadn’t figured out how she’d tell him about his father, or what they’d do if he was stronger and faster than all his peers as he grew, but every time it popped through her mind she reminded herself that was a problem for years down the line.

Tonight, when she held him tight to her breast, she could tell him unedited stories of the bravery of his father, knowing that the boy would never remember her words.

Tonight was all that mattered.

Tonight, and her beautiful boy in her arms.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 8)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 7

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt seemed to always get involved for a royal favor; no matter how he avoids it, they keep slithering back until he agrees to accept. Though, the sorceress wants you involved in it as well. After the unlucky incident back in the marketplace, the witcher was keen on bringing you back to where you belong; sparking up an argument with the bard as Jaskier could feel that there was something palpable and precious with the odd like care you were receiving from the Butcher of Blaviken. Destiny just knows how to play the game well. 

Warnings: Sorceress and Tybalt being touchy feely. (I know you want Geralt being touchy feely as well. You’ll get it soon I promise. HAHAHHA) Jaskier spitting some truths. Geralt being hot and then cold again, you just can’t understand what he wants. *sigh* I can see y’all planning to get a razor and make Geralt bald. XDDDDD

Words: 5.5k+

A/N: DANG. GERALT OF RIVIA. YOU’VE TAKEN THE CURSE OFF ME. I usually lose all my ideas after chapter 5. But, here we are. This will freakin’ take 30 chapters (I said 25 in the last chapter? DID I? OH. AHIHIHIHIHI) and I think I won’t regret it because of how slow paced I am. AHAHHAHAHAA. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING ON THE LAST PART OF THIS CHAPTER? HEEHEE! WHAT ARE YOUR HUNCHES?

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

In the other side of the town where it is all serene and neglected, a red carriage has been waiting in silence for the return of her aide. The sorceress peered out of the tiny partition used as a window to see people outside where her glowing purple eyes can only be seen.

Tybalt sat beside her with a grimace, huffing out breaths full of vexation at the events that has happened which ruined all of his plans for the night with the Duke and some noblemen who wanted their maidens.

"Is he---??" The sorceress trailed off, sounding fascinated as she squinted her glowing, purple eyes out in the open as she saw a child, a bard and a witcher who was carrying a small bleeding woman in his arms. Tybalt grunted his approval, acting so stingy by the change of events, "The witcher we'd been looking for,"

The vampire was heaving deep breaths because of his boiling wrath for the witcher; feeling a sudden need to feed was tempting him to calm down and he would. There were tons of maidens in the castle and he would take one or maybe a pair to satiate his hunger as always.

He rarely does this. Only when he was triggered or frustrated about certain things that kept his anger at bay.

"---Slaughtered all of my men for the sake of saving that little harlot," he continued with a grumble and a tight knot of his brows. The sorceress scoffed to the news that was given, expecting a successful gather of the women who were used as debts to serve the royalty or noblemen. "Even Terrowin?" she questioned with utter interest, raising a brow as she scrutinized the arms that surrounded the witcher who had ruined all of Tybalt's plans, "Even, Terrowin."

"Such a shame. He was one of the best horsemen for the king," Sorceress Ingrith tutted to her disappointment, sighing as the knight's death was nothing but a passing of the winds. Her wavy hair fell on her hips, swaying as she turned her head to watch you leave before loudly closing the partition.

"---But, not better than the witcher," the firm announcement was enough to tell Tybalt that the sorceress considered Geralt's skills as remarkable. She comfortably sat on her carriage and laid her glowing purple eyes on the vampire who had bowed his head as a sign of respect, "---Get me the witcher," she commanded with authority, "---and also the small maiden,"

Tybalt shook his head, a wince forming his features as he tried to get the witcher to accept his favors for years and years end. But, he was too obdurate. Never wanting to get involved by their hierarchy because of certain reasons he won't tell. The event that has happened was just a lucky shot for the vampire as it doesn't happen often, "He won't comply that easily because he has been avoiding us, my lady." Though, his opposition seem to be invalidated as she continued with a strong will to have the witcher walking to the path towards the castle, "---King Viduka must be mirthful for the news ahead," she ignored his statement, "---the prince will be healed soon,"

Sorceress Ingrith languidly blinked at Tybalt who was giving her a tight frown for her commands, "---As long as the witcher will be promising,"

The sorceress tutted for the second time, noting his foul expression that made her cross her legs as a sign that she was stronger and powerful than the latter; like her word is the law. She'd gave him a life back; even better than it ever did and now he wasn't hiding as he did back in his hometown.

Ingrith licked her cherry red lips and could feel the vampire's hunger grow more as she'd swiftly brushed her hair to the side, showing her delectable neck to him as a sign of approval to be used for his satiation again whenever it was full moon, "Use the maiden for him to comply," a sly smirk and a way to give him pleasure was all it took for him to nod in submission, "She...seems important for him to not hesitate and kill my men,"

The sorceress pondered in front of him, seeming to be in deep thought other than the fact that her men has been killed with just one man except for Tybalt because of his abilities. The latter languidly maneuvered till he'd given her no space in their carriage, their warmth embracing each other in a way that could get the devil laughing for their souls. "She...also feels different," Ingrith breathed in a deep breath, feeling Tybalt lean in close to that favorite spot of his on her neck, "What do you mean?" he mumbled against her neck, lightly giving a soft kiss to her sweet spot.

She exhaled a breath of pleasure as she felt his sharp, wet tongue licking a stripe from the line that connects her shoulder till the back of her ears as Tybalt groaned in satisfaction and from her delectable scent, "Her...Her body is an embodiment that makes me feel baffling," Another hitch of her breath. "What are you suggesting, Ingrith?"

"Give her to me when she comes to the castle," she firmly pressed and felt him sucking her soft spot that made her whimper, "---I just need to be sure,"

They hurriedly taken you to a healer and it was the right time because in any more minute you would've lost a lot of blood that can get death defying for a mere human like you. After bandaging you up and with Geralt's persistence that you should be taken home rather than to stay with a healer got you what he wanted. The healer has given herbs to be taken to numb the pain when it hits you like a train.

The princess wasn't doing good as well; mentally. Thinking that it was all her fault that they had to play hide and seek with the kids and happened to hide on a part of the town that had been deserted. Geralt reassured her that it wasn't her fault and she should stop crying because you wouldn't like it that she would be weeping for your selfless integrity; especially that he knew you were there in Cirilla's room last night, comforting the princess.

The witcher was actually impressed that it only took you hours for her anger to die down rather than him and Jaskier who managed to have a block of wood thrown to them as they coax her to stay calm.

Jaskier was sat on the witcher's bed where he has laid you upon; Cirilla was in her room and trying to relax from all the events that has happened. Geralt stood on the wall next to his door; his hefty arms crossed as he was giving the bard a scowl as he continued to pat your sweat-filled face.

The bard's ocean blue eyes gave him a once over, grinning in the process of his continuous soft pats on your temples because of how vicious he appeared to be.

Jaskier puckered his lips and gave a low chuckle; swiftly throwing the towel in the bucket of water. He shifted on his side of the bed and was face front towards the brooding witcher trying to drown in his own shadows. "Oooh, the scary face," the bard gestured with his index finger; drawing a circle far from his face before abruptly rising to his feet and ushering to you whom was resting on Geralt's bed; looking slightly dull from all the blood lost from you, "---Will you do the honors? It seems like you're throwing daggers behind my back as I clean her face with a face towel,"

The witcher grumbled a rough hum, his eyebrows raising as he lifted himself off the wall and languidly passed by Jaskier with a frown etched on his face. To Jaskier's surprise, Geralt dubiously sat on where the bard has been seated and reached out for the towel drenched in the bucket of water; mindlessly squeezing the excess with one hand before turning and actually planning to wipe those cold sweat running down your forehead.

The witcher ceased his actions before the towel even touched your skin. He'd cursed beneath his breath and deeply groaned to himself, scrunching his nose for his peculiar gestures, "You could've said something!" Jaskier crowed as a matter of fact and gave him the stink eye as he was restlessly cussing like a sailor.

He was just taking care of you because of the guilt that it was his fault for bringing you with them at the marketplace. It wasn't because his senses were telling him to do it because it was the natural thing to do.

There he was again, acting strange like he'd been when you've first arrived in their lives; offering to bandage your wounds for you when you could've done it without anyone's help.

Was this destiny fucking with him? He shouldn't have listened to the part where Durriken has spat shit about his destiny like he knew what was about to come.

The old man was probably inebriated when he had the talk with Geralt. Definitely had too much ale.

"You know what, Geralt?" Jaskier suddenly thought out loud, leaning on the wall where Geralt has been as he watched the witcher softly pat your forehead with the towel; like you were some fragile little thing. Though, the bard was sure he hesitated at first because it took him a minute of self meditation before cleaning to your aid, "This rat..." he trailed off as Jaskier had his arms crossed over his lean chest; voice solemn and with regret, "---I was actually frightened to have lost her,"

Geralt hummed in understanding to tell the bard that he was listening. But, his words made the witcher's bushy eyebrows knot together in intrigue; waiting for Jaskier to continue as he continued his gentle gestures; incapable of not studying your relaxed features as you slept.

You were at peace and utmost looking adorable as you slept, he was sure of that.

But, nobody needed to know his opinions about you. It was better kept unsaid because of the bothered feeling inside of him that wanted to swallow him whole; just like his soul, not like he even had one anymore.

The bard continued his comments and watched the witcher give care to another person without any second doubts aside from Cirilla and him. He never said it out loud but he does care for him, Jaskier was sure of it. That was just how he is, he never tells anything. Never wanted people to see through him because it would be a tough flaw. Other witchers grew old with having no emotions because of their brutal trials, but not Geralt. He had everything. The feeling of love, anger, lust, sympathy, joy, fear and a lot more. However, reading his emotions would be as difficult as to climb over that wall he was using for cover.

It takes years and expertise to read him like a book, and the bard knew that for sure.

Jaskier had a small smile written on his face as he honestly blurted out loud, "---But, not as scared as you happened to be,"

The witcher ceased his actions on cleaning your face. Jaskier's words echoing inside his head like a damn bell from a church. He languidly blinked and calmly breathed out of his nose at his accusations towards the witcher's feelings. Another feeling boiling that strange void inside his chest.

"You know that berk?" Jaskier managed to ask; completely unaware of the witcher deeply sighing before him. The bard held his chin as he looked at the ceilings; seeming in deep thought, "---If I remembered correctly, his name was Ty...Tyran---"

The latter evidently exhaled a deep; loud grumble of a name he started to hate since the moment he saw him again. His lips flashing a scowl in a way that says he wanted to burn the guy alive after all he's done, "Tybalt. He's a vampire feeding off the castle,"

Jaskier nodded as he lifted himself off the wall, puckering his lips as he hadn't let the thought process inside his head, "Oh, a vampire." Abrupt pause. Before his eyes grew thoroughly astounded, "---What?! You're not serious?! I thought vampires were much more...uglier and not looking like humans?"

"He's a more higher form of a vampire; much more higher than a Bruxa, Ekimmaras, Alps, or Katakans. A very rare species. It doesn't need blood to survive, but they drown in it preferably in full moon,"

The witcher straightened his back, hovering away from you as a soft, light snore resonated from your lips, putting back the towel inside the pail; thoroughly relaxed unlike when he had you in his arms, bleeding like a waterfall. It was a feeling he had been dreading as he'd already felt that fear before and the witcher didn't like it one bit as the hollow feeling that was knocking on his doorstep agitated him; thus, which leads to vulnerability that he never had after those events before you came along.

"He's the most trusted of the king," Geralt bluntly answered for the bard's question, trying to distract himself from those thoughts that would consume him like a never ending nightmare, "---Other than the sorceress leeching off the castle as well,"

Jaskier wandered across his room like he'd never before; he already did but he was trying to see if there was some new changes. Yet, there was none. Sadly.

"You know the sorceress?" The bard's question consists of shock, hearing Geralt tell him stories about the people in the castle like he'd known them when he never did. However, the way Jaskier said it seemed to be like it had a double-meaning, "---Of course, you do." he chaffed; voice lacing with sheer sarcasm.

Geralt gave him a look, shifting on his bed as he tried to force himself to shift his eyes away from you. It was the only time he could look at your face without you blushing like a virgin, "No, I don't." the witcher uttered; unenthusiastically.

"Well, that's a first!" the bard squeaked and stumbled from the witcher's sword that was leaning on a particular wall; snapping a lackadaisical glaze of his glowing golden eyes towards the bard who was muttering his apologies and actually hopping on one foot because it was heavy and it hurt his pinky toe.

Jaskier continued his hops of protest, ceasing once he'd heard the witcher surprisingly share something other than sparing one word answers to people's questions. He was finally sharing something other than the word 'fuck' or those displeased hums.

"I never wanted to get involved with their pestilential hierarchy," the witcher murmured, staring at the walls to his room. It had the same design as to what Cirilla had; but his was much more doleful. Technically, a room that couldn't give him comfort and warmth as he sleeps.

Geralt knew what happens around the kingdom. He knew how wicked and utter evil the castle can get; no matter how he tried to refuse their favors, he'd heard a lot of gossips about the king and queen, especially their son who happened to be the prince.

They were a family who outgrew the kingdom with fiend, corruption and selfishness. No kingdom has been perfect; though theirs were the worst of everything.

The witcher continued; heedful of the steady heartbeat of yours as you slept on his bed, "---It's their culpability to have a witch in wrath for their wrongdoings," he gruffly shared, a small smile creeping his face as he exhaled a sigh out of his lips; remembering the real reason why the prince was cursed; with jealousy being the actual reason of it all, maybe also a stab to the ego or dignity for the queen of Kaedwen, "--and I have no will to help people drowning in malevolence,"

Jaskier hasn't realized that he was gawking at the Witcher's back for so long as he talked; sauntering to the other side of the room where Geralt was as he weirdly eyed him with a judging look, "That's...the longest I've heard from you. It makes me want to shed a tear,"

"Hmm,"

The witcher's smile instantaneously fell at the ridicule that was sent. He firmly shook his head at the bard and huffed a breath before turning his head to inspect your state; calmly breathing like you had no worries in your life.

His lips straightened into a tight thin line, roughly saying his next words with those careless thoughts slipping out of his mouth and quickly staring back at the bard who was grinning, "The quicker we find a djinn, the faster she returns to her home,"

Jaskier's facial expression molded into disbelief. Exhaling one deep, heavy breath as he had his hands on his hips, eyes fluttering repeatedly from the words that left the witcher's lips like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, "Wait, wait, wait," he scoffed, "Why the sudden hurry, witcher?"

Geralt gave him a look that had hostility shading his eyes, "I thought you wanted me to help her?"

"I do, I do!" Jaskier nodded and uttered as a matter of fact before side-stepping till he was completely face front at the brawny witcher who had his normal grumpy face on show, "---But, I didn't thought you'll be tossing her away that easily,"

Geralt gave him a subtle frown, looking away from the bard as he sighed in tiredness because it seems like he didn't want her to go away as soon as possible; unlike the first day that Y/N appeared like a woman from the swamps; all soiled and dirty like she has been drowned by a Kikimore. "Do you really hear yourself right now? Are you sure you want her to leave?" it was a question he expected from the bard, yet a query he didn't want to hear from another person because it was frustrating him in some ways, "---After seeing you cradling her like a bairn, I suppose not."

The witcher ignored his protests and lowly emitted a groan that vibrated off his chest, his eyes sharp when it landed on Jaskier again. "She needs to leave," he sternly mentioned with emphasis and firmness. Jaskier noticed how the sentence was actually not for him, but actually for the witcher himself. He sounded like he was in need of thorough persisting about the fact that you needed to leave and so, the bard went on with his jabbers, "You don't sound too sure of yourself now, are we?"

Geralt hissed back, his brows in a tight knot; body posture turning rigid as he carried on. "Jaskier, she doesn't belong here. She never will," he gave a dour to his friend, "Have you seen what happened?"

"---and you handled it very well, might I add. Very heroic of you,"

"I can't always be available whenever she gets involved by whatever troubles she may bring,"

Jaskier lifted his eyes off from checking his nails, landing them on the rhadamanthine witcher who had a grim expression on his pleasing features, "Why do you sound scared?" he suddenly spat a question towards the upset trunk of a man. He'd seen how Geralt's nose scrunch in agitation, making the bard step back when the latter began to stand on his feet, towering before him with a nasty looking grimace, "It's because I am not, bard."

Jaskier probably struck a nerve this time because he was looking at him very differently; like he's done with everything; tired of even living.

He tried not to let him see how he swallowed the nervous jitters that stuck inside his throat; trying to confidently straighten his back as to not back down from his irk towards him, trying to stand for his point, "You always have a habit of shooing people away when you're actually already caring for the latter,"

Geralt's mouth twitched in exasperation; his annoyance coming out of his nose in deep breaths as he obviously struck a nerve.

"Jaskier."

Maybe, Jaskier's timing really did suck all the time.

Unaware of the witcher's piqueness and cynicism, the bard couldn't stop his mouth from trying to prove a point. Technically not disturbed that the witcher's nose was flaring in displeasure.

"Oh, alright! Whenever you're in the midst of questioning yourself, you always answer people with violence or brutally hurt their emotions!"

Jaskier didn't mean for it to go there. The bard's facial expression immediately scrunched to regret because of how it sounded out of his mouth. Harsh. Truly, it was better inside his head rather than being said out in the open. The bard couldn't help but flinch when Geralt stepped a cautious foot closer to him; his jaw tense and teeth clenching from complete vexation at what he has been saying. His golden eyes blazing in ire.

"What do you want me to do, bard?" he raved as he was trying to burn him with his death stares, "---What are you fucking implying?"

Jaskier has been avoiding his eyes at all costs, stepping back when the witcher stepped another foot close to scare him off; but the bard never does. He side-stepped to escape from his wrath when he was close to being cornered and opened his arms as he threw another fact that he'd already seen when he was with the witcher and his journeys before:

"Go on. Do your foolish actions by pushing her away or leaving a woman when she's in the right state of mind of being in her vulnerable best!" the truth was said without any pauses nor did the bard inhaled a breath, "---Treat the midget like how you've treated Yennifer and wait for her to leave you as well in the end because of your utterly boorish attitude!"

It was an utter mistake. Jaskier shouldn't have said that out loud because he could see fire burning behind Geralt as he heavily marched to where he was. He didn't intentionally wanted to mention Yennifer and what happened to his relationship with her before; and it was one ounce of patience that was snapped from the witcher himself when Jaskier began to even recall his mistakes in the past like having nightmares and that void inside his chest wasn't enough for his sufferings.

The bard shrieked as he dodged Geralt and slid under his arm; his lean body being an advantage from the wrathful witcher. "It...was a mistake! Although, it's not! I am sorry to have hurt your very much virile ego! You left Yennifer then! Not the other way around---Geralt!" Jaskier shrieked and contemplated whether or not to jump on the bed when he'd seen you laying with your bloody bandages; sequentially raising his arms in surrender and tightly closing his eyes shut for the blow; waiting for another strong punch in the gut for his rotten mouth.

Thanks to Cirilla who has entered the room, Geralt has ceased on choking the bard alive; sensing that the princess was irked by their foolishness as she entered with a frown on her face, "This is why you both must not be in the same room together," she scoffed and dashed her way towards where you were, seeing your bandages with blood made her upset yet again, "---I don't know when you're foolishly sharing banters or actually fighting already!"

The witcher was fiercely glaring at the bard, his cat eyes not helping the image that would certainly give Jaskier nightmares because he'll worry that Geralt would choke him in his sleep. Cirilla promptly sat beside your bed, scanning your wounded body as your eyebrows suddenly twitched together, straining your forehead in disturbance.

The bard continued his relentless, rational reckons while Geralt went on with giving him the stink eye. Your head was hurting with Jaskier's nonstop blabbers which adds more pain to your aching head as you felt a brisk, chilly wind caress your feet till it traveled in every part of your body.

You were breathing heavily. Dry chapped lips quivering like you were trapped outside the brumal night. Your consciousness knowing that your body was also trembling from the chills with a fever that came with the wound.

"Geralt," His child of surprise muttered, entirely alarmed by your noticeable quivers, "---She's shaking,"

Both men instantly snapped their heads from where Cirilla was. Geralt's senses catching your unstable temperature as he roughly spat coherent profanities; shaking his head. "Ugh--fuck,"

Geralt let out a baritone of a snarl which caught everybody's attention as he promenaded to where you rest. Cirilla promptly dragging herself out of your side as the witcher took place; covering your forehead with the back of his palm to check how hot you were.

You've keened before his touch; the witcher's hand so comfortable for you which aids to your shivers and sighing when he'd used his palm to check you better, a rough huff of breath escaping your lips as you've momentarily felt the warmth scurrying away.

The princess was kind enough to help Geralt, squeezing the excess towel out of the cold bucket of water. Her, being the good child she was; volunteering to wipe cold water all over your face. The witcher gave the child some space for her as you shivered like you were being thrown in a bath tub full of ice.

"---And now he cares again, ladies and gents,"

Geralt swiftly turned his head to Jaskier and gave him a scowl; thoroughly pissed off by his nonsense already and Cirilla did as well. Snapping back at the bard with tired pleads, "Jaskier, will you please?"

Soon, silence has engulfed the trio. The bard has already shut his mouth and actually pondered his regret on even uttering out those foolish things to the witcher with no reason. But, he'd given a little bit of positivity in it that maybe he'll actually consider that you weren't just an animal that he wanted to shoo away with no goodbyes.

Cirilla gave a soft sigh as she'd seen your shivering die down a bit; though, if you look closely, there was still some tiny quivering because of the cold wind coming from the opened windows.

She'd wondered out of nowhere, staring at the candle that was lit beside Geralt's bed before a shocking suggestion was said out loud to cease the trembles, "You need to hug her while she sleeps!" the princess excitedly announced like it was the best idea ever; standing in haste and spinning on her heel for effect to give her attention to the witcher who seemed to be staring back at her, unfazed.

"Hugs...aren't my forte,"

She raised a questioning brow at him, remembering how they hug whenever he goes somewhere and comes home safely, "She's having chills!"

Geralt sapped, languidly blinking back in exhaustion as he shook his head in negation, "It'll pass, princess."

Cirilla stubbornly crossed her arms; demanding in a way that sounded like how she was back in her castle, "Hug her!"

The witcher exhaled a long, heavy, perceivable breath. Sometimes, her requests could get to his head and make him want to just utter the deepest blasphemy he could ever say out loud. But, he always fought himself not to and tended to what she wanted as per usual before she throws woods at him again.

Geralt reached his arm out to gently pat on your arm, making your nose scrunch as you rested on his bed; wanting to wake up because of those warm pats on your arm, yet you had no power to as you wanted to continue and rest.

Jaskier and Cirilla stared at the witcher like he'd grown three heads, figuring out what the heck he was even doing. The witcher eyed them back with a look that tells them what was wrong.

"Is that a hug to you, Geralt?!" Cirilla managed to finally commented out loud in disbelief. Geralt shrugged his thick shoulders and cocked his head to the side, still tenderly patting you like he was dusting off some dirt on your clothed arm.

"It's close enough."

The princess of Cintra wanted to protest out loud, even wanting to start a petition about how patting someone on the arm was as close as to giving a warm hug for comfort, but no words were spoken as she massaged her temples like she was close to being stressed out already, "You're just patting her on the arm like an old man!"

Thus, it was Jaskier's time to shine. The bard took his time and started to tread towards where you were; "I can hug her, if you want? No malicious thoughts perceivable through the naked eye---" he was hastily stopped by the witcher who happened to clasp his strong fingers around his lean arms, ceasing him from circling around towards the space on the bed where he could give you a hug while you rest.

The ivory haired witcher gave another one of his snarls; voice grumbling so deep they could mistaken it as a growl, "It's my bed, bard." he lackadaiscally said, stating the obvious and that there was some kind of hindrance that shouldn't be stepped over.

Jaskier subtly gave Cirilla a once over, stopping himself from smirking as he tried to appear salty and just nodded back at the witcher. Leaving him to whatever solutions he had for you to stop from shivering.

Perhaps, finding a Djinn was not the best solution for you. It was a secret avant-garde for the witcher's heart as you started hopping inside that void with all smiles, ignoring the darkness that could possibly consume you as it was the only world he may bring.

Unbalance.

You felt like floating in thin air. Vision all blurry and hazy from an unspecified fog that made you squint your eyes shut as you walked into the sweltering path that had no possibility of reaching an end. It was murky and had no end; like a maze that give you entrance but promises that it has no return. There was voices reverberating like an echo in the deepest caves. Some voices were definitely unfamiliar and also sounding to be in rage while the last echo sounded a lot like Jaskier and Cirilla's laugh that made you snap your head towards where they were coming from.

Another delicate step along the path dusted in twigs, mud and rocks; the scene unexpectedly changed, bringing you to a glorious looking banquet. Scrumptious looking food plated in the most rakish way as strangers sat in front of you; their barbarous laughter and prattles completely opposite of how you were acting in the middle of it all. Thus, you've heard singing all around the place. Your curious self studying the whole setting as you noticed that you weren't in just some hostelry but rather in a huge great hall inside an unknown castle you've never seen before.

Your eyes immediately snapped to where the singing was all happening as you saw a familiar face who was strumming his lute with a smile. You've wanted to giggle at how he appeared to look ecstatic on entertaining everyone in the large room, yet from the moment you've opened your mouth; no voice could ever leave your lips.

One blink was all it needed for the event to change, seeing a silhouette of a man who stood beside you which caught your attention as your vision scanned the man who hurriedly snatched your cup of ale on your hands.

It was Geralt of Rivia and he was surprisingly dressed in something flamboyant that could keep him camouflage amongst the circle of people; though he appeared to be maddened by something as his golden eyes were flaring in hostility.

But, there was an eerie, disturbed feeling deep inside of you as he was smiling back at someone who he was toasting for. You wanted nothing but for him not to drink the liquor on his hands with no particular reason. The next two cups full of ale sat in front of you on the wooden table.

"For your imperishable, spectacular prosperity that runs in the castle," the witcher took a swig until it was empty as he gently lowered the cup with a soft thud. You've noticed the hesitance he held when it appeared to be like he didn't want to grab onto the second one; yet he still did as he gave you a once over with a strange, tender gaze that you weren't accustomed with.

You couldn't move, nor could get your fingers twitching as your head was the only thing motile. That eerie feeling molding into something greater; fear for what was about to come. Geralt grabbed onto the second cup of ale without blinking an eye, his smile falling for one second; only for you to see as he deeply stared onto the cup on his hands, "May...you have strength and faith for your majesty. For the fraudulent happiness you've always envisaged,"

Everybody was staring at the witcher who was giving wishes and you couldn't look at anywhere but Geralt who'd scoffed before chugging down the second round of ale. He'd subtly shook his head from whatever he was thinking, a forced smile lifting his lips that seemed phony.

"Your highness," he lifted the last cup for everybody else to see, giving a toothy grin as his smile consists of mischief and dread that only you could muster, "---and this...is for your son's shitless death to the fore,"

FEEDBACKS ARE SO MUCH APPRECIATED! Y’ALL ARE PROBABLY HATING GERALT RIGHT NOW. AHONHONHON. PATIENCE, BB’S. PATIENCE.

Taglist: @alyxkbrl​ @himarisolace​ @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @hellodevilslittlesister​ @vania-marie​ @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​​ @marvelousell​​​ @kingniazx​​​ @angelias134​​​ @tapismyforte​ @chook007​

[randomoranges]

and here we are for part two of the Beast hahaha

do you like supposed heartache???? because this is where it’s at. also fair mention of minor character death? 

this is legit the fic of “have you ever wondered things about étienne? fear not for i may provide answers!)

toobadnoonereadsthesehahahahaha

The Five Times Étienne Fell in Love

PART II

 They both quiet at the sound of her name and Edward is convinced he feels Étienne’s hand shake in his own. He rubs soothing circles with his thumb on Étienne’s hand and gives him the time to gather his next set of thoughts, letting him know that he’s here and that there’s no hurry.

  “Do you still think of her?” He finally asks after a while, his curiosity getting the best of him, while also wondering if Étienne hasn’t decided that this little venture down memory lane is over.

  “Sometimes,” Étienne answers after a beat, “If I hear her name, or out of the blues. Not as often as before, but – sometimes... Is it silly that I still have my wedding band?” He asks, touching the spot on his finger where the band must have sat, once, years and decades and centuries ago, quiet, as if afraid Edward will tell him that it is indeed stupid for him to still be attached to it. He doesn’t mention the grave he can no longer visit or the memories that seem to fade with each new year. He keeps those thoughts to himself and focuses on what he can still remember.

  “No; I don’t think so. She was your wife, after all – you clearly cared for her.” He reassures him, offering him a soft smile.

  It still comes as a shock to him, so many years later, that Étienne had been married. Willingly. That he’d had a wife and played house for a while. It’s such an un-Étienne like thing to do, but then again, Étienne had been a different person at the time. He tries to picture his boyfriend as a married man and wonders what he would have looked like; what he would have worn and such and mourns the fact that there are probably no images of the event.

  “I did,” He admits, serious as all else. “I still remember how I met Charlotte,” He starts with a small smile ghosting over his face, his look far away as he thinks back to the encounter. “Ironically, we met at church. I was leaving mass and she was outside, begging someone to help her out. She – didn’t look good; ratty clothes, dishevelled and no one went to her, which was ironic, considering we were leaving church. There was something about her that pulled me to her – wanted me to help her. She was a little hesitant at first, but she came home with me. She was able to change and wash and after I made sure she ate something; I was able to get part of her story out.”

  “She was from out of town – a day’s ride away, more or less and she was in the city since she’d gotten word that her brother was supposed to arrive that day. I never found out if her brother was real or not, but I never questioned it. She had no money, so she couldn’t stay anywhere in the city and when we went to check out the convents and such, they were all very full. The idea of letting her out on the streets was out of the question, so I let her stay at mine despite of what others could say. It just felt very – un-catholic to leave someone in need out in the cold. Charlotte obviously didn’t want to inconvenience me, but I really didn’t mind. I had space, we could make it work. I didn’t think it would turn into a semi-permanent thing, but the alternative didn’t sit well with me.”

  Edward isn’t surprised; Étienne’s always been generous with his time and has had a tendency of looking out for others, in his own way. Étienne doing things his own way, regardless of what others could think also doesn’t surprise him. He supposes it’s one of the many qualities he’s admired in him.

  “I still remember waking up that first morning and finding out that she’d made breakfast for me, as a way of thanking me for letting her stay. It seemed unnecessary, but she wanted me to know that she wasn’t taking advantage of me and that she really did appreciate it. I wasn’t about to complain – she was a good cook and even if I managed better then, it’s always a treat to have someone make food for you.”

  “We struck a friendship from that day on and I soon realised that it was nice coming home and having someone there to unwind with and talk. It was incredibly less lonely. Even without the sex, I enjoyed her company and didn’t mind having her around. She was vivacious and had a sharp mind. We could talk for hours on end, really.”

  Edward’s read many of Étienne’s letters about his feelings of being alone and it strikes him that then that his friend has always been after companionship, in one way or another, just to feel a connection. He even remembers Étienne writing to him about a new type of celebration they had in his city and how wonderful it was to welcome the first boat back to the port towards the end of winter. He’d thought it endearing at first and maybe a little silly, but he now realises that there had always been more to it and that Étienne has played a careful game of disguising his real feelings behind frivolous, silly things.

  “Of course, everyone in town thought she was the devil, or at the very least that our arrangement was improper. Her hair was the colour of fire, they said, or an unaccompanied woman arriving out of nowhere was a bad omen. Hell, they even went after me, saying that I had bedded her and taken her virtue. Or that we were both going to hell for being unmarried and living together. I thought that was very hypocritical of them, considering the Son of God had befriended all sorts of people and had welcomed them all in his circle, but regardless what the people said, Charlotte was none of those things. She was better than all of them combined.”

  “Growing up, marriage wasn’t what it is today – you know that; it was an arrangement of convenience – a best move made between families and such. There was none of this love garbage to it and frankly, it sounded a lot less complicated to me. I thought maybe being a city meant romantic love wasn’t something we could feel, since we represent our people or whatever – but then Jacques fell for Suzette and if anything, theirs was real, so surely, there had to be a way...” He trails off for a moment and sighs.

  “Even after my talk with Jacques I didn’t get how it worked for him and at first, I didn’t even consider or think Charlotte and I would get married. She was my friend and she was staying with me until she could figure something out. On top of that, I saw what marriage did to some and I didn’t want that. Young women married off to older gentlemen, forced to have a slew of children, not ever able to do what they wanted – to explore the world and be who they wanted to be... No wonder Élyse didn’t have any interest in that either! I didn’t understand what the appeal was! But then, for all the horror stories I heard, I also heard of – feel good stories. People who married someone their parents had set them up with and then learned to love. I remembered some of my friends who’d seem happy in their new lives and – it didn’t look so bad. I thought that was it! This was how I was going to fall in love! If they could learn to love their partners, then maybe that could happen to me as well.”

  Edward gives him a sympathetic smile. It’s endearing, to a point, how hard Étienne believed that eventually these “norms” would apply to him and yet, he also feels a little bad for the young man Étienne had been at the time, full of hopes and frustrations as he tried valiantly to fit in and be “normal” in his own way. He gets it, though, having gone down similar self-doubt patterns and having tried to “fit in” as well. He supposes it’s a mutual struggle many like themselves have gone through, but it still remains jarring to hear that even someone like Étienne, who was usually so self-assured and confident, had gone through such a phase.

  “We became mutually attracted to one another a few months after Charlotte had shown up in town. Ironically, neither of us had wanted to bring it up, afraid the other would take it the wrong way. I didn’t want to seem like I expected her to sleep with me because I was letting her live with me and she didn’t want me to think that she was a harlot. Still, one night, after we’d each gone to our own quarters, we both found ourselves back in the kitchen around the same time, unable to sleep. I put on the kettle to make something warm and we started chatting, as we often did. It was relatively dark and between the oil lamps, waiting for the water to boil and everything else, we found ourselves huddling closer and closer for warmth. Somewhere along the conversation and the waiting, she leaned in close to me and made a grab for my hand.”

  “It was all very hesitant – halting touches, curious looks, but it was clear what we both wanted and finally, I asked her – if I could kiss her – she was so close to me and so beautiful, but she could have said no and it would have been that. I wasn’t about to force something she didn’t want – never have and never will. Instead, she pressed closer to me and kissed me first. It was a beautiful thing, really, and it’s a good thing I had half a mind to shut everything off, because we never did get around to tea and instead we went back to my bedroom.”

  There’s a soft smile that blooms on Étienne’s face; nostalgic and sweet and Edward dares to think that that in itself is a thing of beauty. Étienne’s hands get lost in Mercury’s fur and for a moment, he remains silent, most likely reliving his memory and whatever images his mind can still conjure of Charlotte. Edward doesn’t interrupt, knowing how powerful these memories can be.

  “Afterwards, she quietly admitted that she wasn’t a virgin, afraid I would judge her for it, as though that was supposed to be the end all of things and I reassured her by telling her that I wasn’t either. It must have been the right thing to say, because she laughed and laughed. At the time, it was the greatest of sounds and I wanted to hear it often.  We stayed up all night, spending our time together and navigating this new thing between us. One moment we would be kissing, the next we would be talking and in the end, we stayed up to watch the sunrise together.”

  “I can’t say that it’s when I fell in love with her, but it felt as though I had found an equal of sorts. In fact, I’m not really sure when it happened, but I know I did come to love her over the three years we were together. She was free to do whatever she pleased during the day and I never demanded to know her every whereabouts. I liked that we could each do our own thing and see to our own occupations and that we could coexist side by side. We always made it a point to have breakfast together at the very least and it was so beautifully domestic and peaceful. For the first time, I felt – happy. Truly happy. It was a good life, really.”

  “The rest of the community eased up on her when they saw that no ill had befallen me and that no illegitimate children had appeared nine months later, but – they never fully welcomed her. She was still cast out and I could tell it bothered her. She tried to immerse herself in the city; tried to find work and do something of her days, but few were the people who genuinely tried to connect with her and it angered me.

  Charlotte was so kind to them – never had a bad word to say and she was always aware of the families that were struggling or those who were in need, but no one ever showed her an ounce of that same compassion. She had never done anything wrong to them – she’d just been an unfortunate woman down on her luck. I could only imagine what would have happened to her had I not stepped in that day. And yet, even if I never really knew her real story, even if sometimes I felt as though she was keeping a secret from me, something old and ancient still pulled me to her and I never quite understood where that feeling came from. A sort of – connection. She never offered any background on herself, other than a brother who was supposed to arrive that never did. She had no family she spoke of and I never pried. We were happy together in our arrangement and that worked for me.”

  “A little over a year after we started sleeping together, she came to me one day, frazzled and in obvious distress. She’d been out all day and I had noticed that something had been preoccupying her for the past few weeks. Every time I had asked her, she had brushed me off and told me that it was nothing, but now she sat me down and announced that she was with child. I – didn’t believe her. It was impossible. I couldn’t have children – people like me couldn’t have children. Clearly, I would have known if it was possible. Jacques and Suzette didn’t have a flock of their own and lord knew they were enthusiastic enough about the process of it – so there had to be a mistake.”

  “Charlotte assured me that she was – the doctor had confirmed it for her earlier that day and for as much as I was scared shitless, I was also – excited - giddy. At whatever fluke had caused this. It didn’t matter to me if I wasn’t the biological father – I never forced her to stay with me, even though she repeatedly told me that she hadn’t gone behind my back. I would figure out the logistics later, but for the briefest of moments, I felt legitimately like a real human – I was going to have a family. I was with a wonderful person. I’d make it work out – somehow. At the time, it didn’t matter that eventually, both Charlotte and our child would grow and look older than me. All those issues were secondary to the immense joy I felt.”

  It still surprises Edward to hear this part of the tale, much as it had when he had read about it, years and years ago. Not only because of Charlotte’s pregnancy, but by Étienne’s reaction as well. He had never considered his friend to be one who’d want children, if he could and he tries to picture Étienne with kids he’d be responsible for.

  “Of course, the first proper thing to do was to marry her. This was my chance to try this very human ritual and so I made sure to be real proper about it. I think it cemented the fact for Charlotte that I wasn’t about to boot her out because she was expecting. It reassured her in a way and the idea had never crossed my mind. I cared for her deeply – I loved her even and we would be a real family!”

  “We went as far as making the proper announcements of our engagement, but we were quick to marry. Élyse was our only witness. I didn’t want Charlotte to be met with more scorn and I wanted everyone to know that she was a wonderful person and that if they gave her a chance, they would also get to see that.”

  “Beyond that we were giddy – at being together and married and at this child we’d be welcoming into the world. It felt surreal, like a fever dream – too good to last. There was so much to do that I didn’t even bother letting anyone know – only El and you in my letter. Élyse was just as surprised that Charlotte was expecting, but she didn’t buy into the idea that it was mine. Still, she let me have this happiness, but warned me that both Charlotte and the baby would age. She knew I would be wrecked when they’d go. I ignored her and told her to mind her own business. I would cherish this family. I would watch over each generation if I had to. I logically knew they’d grow old and die – that anything could happen to them, but it was a problem for later and I pushed it aside. This time around, I wanted to focus on my new growing family and found happiness.”

  Edward wants to interrupt the story and make a comment or two at how it still sounds like the wildest of tales, however when he spares his boyfriend a glance, he still has that faraway look on his face. He seems happy and Edward doesn’t want to change that, even if it seems as though Étienne is no longer talking to him and simply reminiscing out loud.  

  “It seemed as though everything was working in my favour, but once more, winter showed up and took away everything I liked.” And just like that, a cloud comes crashing over Étienne’s previous good mood and chases his smile away. Edward wordlessly reaches for his hand and holds on to it, knowing what comes next. “Charlotte was six months pregnant when she woke up one morning in intense pain. It was snowing hard and when I went to find the doctor or the midwife, there was no way I could make it out. The snow was up to my knees and Charlotte wasn’t doing so good. Even having cleared the snow the night before, a freak blizzard had trapped us in and no matter how fast I tried to remove the snow, it wasn’t fast enough and Charlotte went from bad to worse.”

  Étienne’s voice wobbles and breaks and when he next tries to take in a breath, it’s shaky at best.

  “You don’t have to tell me the rest, if you don’t want to...” Edward offers gently. The last thing he wants to do is to put Étienne through even more heartache. That wasn’t the point of his initial question. He appreciates that his boyfriend is being open and is sharing this information with him, but not to the point of causing distress.

  “It’s fine, really – this part always gets me. I want to tell you.” Étienne’s smile is watery and Edward gives his hand a tight squeeze. His boyfriend holds on to it as he goes on with his story and Edward finds himself wishing he could free Étienne of his burden.

  “I knew nothing of childbirth, but I – I tried to save them both. I did what I could. I really did. The neighbour, bless her, came to help me out, having assisted with births all her life and – despite our best efforts, we lost them both. The baby was stillborn and Charlotte died a little later; whether her heart gave out or she lost too much blood is irrelevant. They were both gone. Taken away from me before I’d even had a chance to cherish them properly. I thought I’d have years with them – that we could be a proper family. Instead I barely had a taste and I finally knew what real heartbreak was.”

  Edward finds his own eyes clouded with tears and he tries to be discreet when he wipes them clean. He notices Étienne do the same with the sleeve of his sweater and he brings an arm up to his back to rub gentle circles on it. Étienne leans into the contact and into his side and Edward kisses the top of his head as his boyfriend takes a moment to recompose himself. He says nothing when he feels Étienne’s shoulders shake and when Étienne excuses himself to blow his nose, he says nothing about it either.

  Even after all these years and centuries, Edward feels as though this is only the second time Étienne has opened up about this chapter of his life. Already, his boyfriend isn’t one to share the emotional details of his life and he supposes that this had been a story he’d kept closer still to his heart.

  He’s convinced the conversation will come to an end after that, but despite Étienne being too vulnerable and raw, he decides to continue on, now that he’s started, once he’s disposed of the tissue. The dam has been opened and he may as well let everything out. He resettles against Edward and the next part comes out like a whisper, a confession he makes to him and that Edward listens to attentively.

  “I never wanted to live through that ever again, so I did my best to veer away from relationships. They weren’t my thing anyways. People fell in love left right and center and I didn’t have the heart to be the bearer of bad news. So I kept to my flings and figured this was the life I would lead. It would be easier for everyone, in the long run.”

  Edward would like to believe that Étienne’s plan had worked out, yet he knows there is still much more left to the story.--

Part I

Part III

[missingartist]

The Witchers Mate- Chapter 2

Brightwater was a large town hanging upon the end of the coast, surrounded by an impenetrable forest, a solid defence from the raging war. Yet, the quaint town nestled a busy port that never slept bringing new trader at every hour possible and with it more money and new faces. That was till the attacks started. At first, they were few a far between, a stray villager wandering off in the forest ripped apart by a bear, a dock worker having to be butchered by bandits in the dead of night, a couple of merchants devoured by a pack of wolves. The excuses came in thick and fast; people did not know what to believe. A monster was within the only thing that could attack in the dead of night before slipping back into the darkness unseen. In the last month, 13 people had been attacked at the claws of the creature. Men, women and children, the thing held no prejudiced, it disembowelled any that crossed its path without care or mercy. Even in the light of day, people seemed to hover in the doorways on their houses as they watched their children play, fear ever-present in their mind.

Though the mass of houses and business Adva stared out from a crooked window as she watched children play on the cobbled stones. Bone knuckles seemed to be a favourite, as they giggled on the patch of mud that they had drawn a pitch, they seemed so carefree and light-hearted in the face of so much death, an element that Adva had become far too familiar with. A pained groan broke her thoughts, turning a young girl coughed and spluttered her way to consciousness. The child was one of the latest victims, found barely alive among her family, a father and a heavy pregnancy mother. Adva cooed and shhhhed as the girl began to struggle against the grips of the healing spell. A pale, freckled thing with stringy red hair that looked more like a doll than a child, she hadn’t moved in 3 days since she was bought to the healer’s hut in the dead of night. The victim’s blood was tainted with some toxin, seeping into every cell and draining their energy, teetering them on the edge of death. Adva had filled the room with the heavy incense of rosemary and nettles that burned wildly behind her, a bitter and unpleasant smell, but a necessary one to purify the blood and the body. The damage to the tiny body had been significant- three deep gashes on the side of her body, but they were clean and smooth, easy to bind and tend. The man on the bed next to the small child had not been so lucky; his back had been ripped apart, jiggered and raw. It had taken all three of healers to rescue the man from the grips of death. It took several minutes to calm the child and redress the bandages before Adva tucked her tenderly into the bed.

Sighing, Adva pulled herself up and over to the water butt next to the door and ladle the cold water into her parched mouth.

‘Adva!!!! Vivian sent me to get you! The Witcher arrived! Exciting, isn’t it?’ a bright-eyed woman squicked, sending the wooden ladle clattering to the floor. Adva harshly shushed the women as she pulled the shutter across the makeshift sleeping quarters. Originally, the healer’s hut was abandoned for most of the year, used when a bout of fever or illness passed through which was few and far between. When the devil arrived at their door, the city was not prepared, no official healer and no stock of potions, tinctures or bandages. The people of Brightwater went to either Cersi or Tradi for their aliments, those who could not afford them went to Adva. The hut was now depleted and not fit to house the injured citizen and certainly not with a shrill woman bursting in on her.

‘Very… the sooner this thing is sent back to whatever hole it crawled out of but keep your voice down. It has been a hard night; you wake them, you will kill them.’ Adva scolded lightly.

Nesta of Perth was a good-hearted woman but one too fond of gin and pleasure of men, well as long as they gave her the fee of course. By the smell of it she had already been at the bottle, and the state of hair suggested that she had already been at her other vice. Once upon a time, she had been the daughter of a noble but upon finding the pleasure of the flesh, her life had taken a different turning from the expectation of being a wife and mother. Now she was a whore and a harlot, but a very well paid one at that. Nesta beauty was stunning, a pixie nose on a heart-shaped face, intense green eyes framed by feathered lash toped of the layered locks of mahogany hair. She looked younger than her years, could easily pass for a blushing virgin of 16, her body slender and firm with large breast openly on display in a tight corset dress of fine satin.

‘If they can sleep peacefully through Tradi’s righteous rants and monologues they can sleep through me, getting a little bit excited about this devilishly handsome Witcher. Bela saw him going into the Lord's manor, says he looks like a god, tall and broad. Exactly my type. Let's go see him together.’ Nesta pleaded with an adorable look on her face as she clutched at of Adva’s hands.

‘Anything that breaths is your type. I can’t leave…I need to make sure they are okay.’ The healer spoke softly.

‘It won’t do. Vivian has ordered me to bring you. The Witcher is to stay at the Tavern; I think the Lord doesn’t want any funny business so had paid for everything, even ourselves, Viv need you back… she was angry you weren’t back last night, she wants all of us ready and waiting. I, for one, will only be too happy to supply it, I’m sure he might even be persuaded to have a nibble at you, god knows you can use the coin, I don’t know how you live. Working as a maid, singing and healing are never going to make you have a comfortable life. Why not let Viv auction off your virginity, she might even get that Witcher to buy it, I'm sure he needs to be entertained.’

‘Speak for yourself, if he wants to be entertained, he can do it with the girls that are already there. I have told you and Viv before. Besides I cannot leave, there will be no one to look after them.’ Adva rolled her eyes at her friend, gods she loved her, but they wouldn’t be more different. Nesta sort out the intention of men and Adva avoided them.

The Mahogany whore rolled her eyes and wandered over a large chest of draws and settled upon it, skirts riding immorally high. ‘I thought Tradi was supposed to be taking over from you? How come you still here?’

‘He didn’t turn up, but his only a day late. You know how he doesn’t like to be pulled away from his crafting.’ Adva laughed as she watched her friend dangle her to fit in the air, like the child who watched their mother flit around her kitchen.

‘Well, then it lucky for you Cersi was in the town centre with Viv. She sent Tradi off with a flea in his ear; I saw him matching across the square with a sour expression on his face, not that he has any other expression…’ Nesta laughed, and Adva could not help but join in. Tradi was an unbearable ponce but good at his craft which made him bearable, especially to the recent violent epidemic.

Their merriment was cut short when the door burst open, and a man appeared at the door. A deep stubble graced his face giving him a defined look; some would call him handsome, other beautiful but it was hard to take in his exquisite feature with an ugly look of annoyance that stained his face. Once a prominent sorcerer at the court of powerful kings but no reduced to being a simple town mage, cast off from the guild. Tradi didn’t acknowledge them but marched pas and ripped open the shutters.

‘I take it from Cersi insistent demand that I come a relieve you; you have managed to kill someone. Can we not leave you alone for more than a day before you go running for help. No wonder Lord Fagen refused to send you to Lodge of Sorceresses.’

Adva glanced at Nesta who gave a silent snort as she hopped off the draws and straightened her skirts before grabbing a corse grey cloak and slipping it around the healer's shoulders and raising the hooded against the bitter weather outside.

‘It was soooo nice of you to come and relieve Adva, even though it's your dicking turn, so graceful of you.’ Nesta snapped sarcastically, weaving the healer to the door, ignoring the mages murderous gaze.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Nesta walked through the streets of the town, dirt had already covered an inch of her new embroidered dress, as she jumped over a rather large muddy puddle she observed her friend as Adva tugged her grey cloak tighter around her body. It was a shame that she didn’t want to become one of the girls at the tavern, Adva reminded her of the old pictures that her father would collect, classically beautiful, ethereal, Vivien would joke that if one was to look too deeply into Adva eyes, they would drown in the limpid pool lost forever. It was a tale the madam would purr into the ear of travelling merchant to entice them to relieve their pockets of the coin, Sirens of Brightwater she would call them, for Adva she wondered if that was true. Often, late at night, when the toil of the day was done, men snoring safely upstair, balls empty and stomachs full, Nesta would trot downstairs for a nightcap and her and the other girls would sometimes keep Adva company as she tended to positions or prepared balm and ointments for the customers of the tavern. In those nights sometimes she found herself staring into Adva’s eyes finding herself lost, waking only when the spell lifted. Sometimes time she would be talking to the group in the kitchen then find herself in her room, standing in darkness with no idea how she got there and not a drop of gin had passed her lips.

The tavern whore dodged a pie seller as he barged through her calling his wares, the city centre had never seemed so busy, families lined up the street and women leaned out of windows, even the respectable ones seem to be dangerously dangling their assets for all the world to see, Nesta was sure that word of the Witcher rugged good looks would spread fast. For the most part, Adva seemed to be unaware, her hood shielded most of her vision, but something hung heavy in the air, and it was not the pies, something different, an earthy smell, spiced with something Adva could not put her finger on. The young healer followed her friend as she marched with determination through the thickening crowd. With a sigh of relief, Adva pushed her way through to Cersi who stood a fair distance from the podium; she was smiling up at the stand, a genuine smile then lit up her face, a shine that was on equal to the diamonds that adorned her neck.

‘Adva! I am glad to see Tradi final relieved you of your post. Vivian has been frantic with a need for your tender manner. It seems Vivian isn’t as good a cook like you, my dear.’ Cersi beamed as she held her hand out in a greeting.

Adva could not help but smile up at the woman; she had an infectious good nature. But there was an odd edge in her eyes, a deep concern with an unwavering gaze but her curiosity was diverted by Vivian the raven heard temptress.

‘And why should I be? I have made my way in life on my back in the bedroom, not on my feet in the kitchen.’ Vivian bite out appeared through the crowd and standing next to her. ‘Once this wretched place gets of that… thing, the order will be restored and business as usual. How are you, Adva? You look tired.’ Vivian asked tenderly. ‘Soon you’ll be back with us, might even help take some coin from the Witcher.’

Vivian was a middle-aged woman, the bloom of youth had withered and died long ago, but still, she was considered a handsome woman. The fine lines that were carved into her face had not detracted from her beauty. Always wrapped in corn gold cotton, hair curled and placed into an elegant top do — a mother figure to the girls but a first and foremost a businesswoman.

Adva smiled at the women before observing the crowd who were captivated by the podium, nudging each other and whispering, eyes darted toward the wooden structure in the middle of the square. Fagen Brightwater looked on at the crowd, while one of his guards whispered in his ear. Adva eyes glided over to the bulking figure next to the lord; he was clearly several inches taller than the rest of the men, a set of broad shoulders and muscles that strained against leather amour and fitted tight against his body. Tanned skin glowed against the dull figure flowing hair of purest white and glowing amber eyes. A violent vibration took over her mind, and an immense pressure gathered at the bridge of her nose, the feeling overwhelmed her sense to the point she was only slightly aware that Lord Fagen had begun to address the crowd.

Blinking rapidly Adva tried to clear her mind of the dense fog that seems to decent upon her, in slow motion, her eyes followed his eyes as they scanned the hoard of villages with an intense gaze. Pulling her hood down, Adva’s could now see the full figure of the Witcher, as soon as the hood fell the golden orb zeroed in on her as he inhaled deeply, his chest rolling primally. The penetrating scrutiny of the Witcher’s stare forced the curly-haired healer to cast her eyes downward. There was a heavy air that surrounded her that made her dizzy; she felt drunk; her body felt light and lethargic.

‘Adva…. Adva’ a voice called in the distance.

Raising her vibrant aquamarine eyes, they meet the warm brown of Vivian’s eyes. ‘Gods she is dead on her feet. Nesta takes her back to the tavern. Get her to bed straight away. No arguing, she needs to be at her best, the Witcher will be at work tonight, we best be prepared.’

Nesta looked at her friend with a critical eye, she looked half-stunned, it surprised everyone when she led the girl away without any defiance, Adva was too dazed to argue and let herself be led through the crowd without a sound or a glance back at the golden orbs.

‘Interesting.’ Cersi cooed as she continues to watch the Lord give his rousing speech about unity and the promise of the swift and bloody revenge at the hand of Geralt of Rivia, who remained stoic and deep in thought, but the tell-tell signs of deep shock where his wide eyes as he looked on ignoring the confused annoyance of his companion.

‘Interesting? More annoying…Curse that Tradi, if he had followed the agreement Adva wouldn’t be so frazzled she looks like she had been run over by a cart. Look I need to get back, sort this shit storm out, can you keep the Witcher entertain for a couple of hours, take him to the healer's hut, take him to the armoury, take him to the god damn beauty parlour if need be, just keep him out the way till I sort out this shit show.’ Vivian growled as she marched off after the girls.

Cersi rolled her eyes at the furious madam’s panic and continued to watch the Lord's epic speech that finished with a flourish. The crowd cheered and applauded and departed happily singing out their praise and love for the Witcher and Fagen, even the chorus of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher could be heard as the peasants made their way to their home in preparation for the night to come. A night of barring their windows and hiding under the tables.

‘Ahhhh Geralt. Long-time no sees. We have much to discuss.’ Cersi purred brushing invisible threads of her cuff as she smiled at her old friend.

‘Hmmm’

‘Hello pretty lady. I am Jaskier, Geralt’s personal bard. Can I interest you in a drink?’

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #212: Men of Deadly Pride!

October, 1981

Here they are -- the new Avengers!

But not the New Avengers (the difference is that the hairy monster they have is Tigra instead of Wolverine).

And they are having difficulty.

I don’t know what they did to piss off Galadriel over here (I mean yes I do, she says it right on the cover) but she is kicking their asses.

A dark queen indeed.

Not much to actually say about the cover. Uh, the composition looks neat! There we go. A thing.

So lets jump inside.

Where in a moody dawn scene, Jarvis walks alone through a nearly empty Avengers mansion, little knowing he is being stalked until

RAWWR! IT IS CAT!

Tigra jumps out to do him a startle.

C’mon, Tigra. Be nice.

You’re the only Avenger actually staying in the mansion so try not to terrorize the butler.

And he was bringing you a glass of milk for your breakfast!

Although he says that he’s dealt with a lot of unsettling things and he’s learned to maintain him composure. He didn’t even spill a drop.

Jarvis: “I must say, madame, that I find you rather more unsettling than our previous resident Avengers!”

Tigra: “Oh? You a cat-lover, Jarv?”

AND DON’T FLIRT WITH HIM EITHER TIGRA GEEZ

Poor Jarvis is even allergic to cats which seems to include giant cat women.

Jarvis asks how she got this way, prompting Tigra to give a very laconic backstory that once there was a human Greer Nelson who got almost dead and then the cat-people saved her life by turning her into a cat-person.

Tigra: “And, so, here I am, one pretty kitty! But, c’mon, Jarv, does it matter how I got this sexy?”

Jarvis clarifies that he meant how she got this way as in her upbringing. Like, why you so rude.

I guess I’ll just be grateful that this is just playful Tigra flirtiness as opposed to ‘i must make out with someone 24/7 oh hey a supervillain sure I’ll make you with you’ hypersexuality she’d have while on the West Coast Avengers, in the future.

Elsewhere, Tony Stark is decompressing from his one night stand, Teri. Admiring her very comfy couch, grateful that she’s still asleep so he can sneak out (Tony, you cad), and lamenting being on the wagon. When all that’s left to drink is scotch, bourbon, and half a can of warm, flat Dr. Pepper, you drink that Dr. Pepper if you’re Tony Stark.

Tony calls his secretary to have a janitorial crew clean up after the party and to send up a dozen roses for Teri.

And then he flies out the window as Iron Man, the Man Who Kisses and Runs! as Teri wakes up and is like ‘hey tonykins what the hell was that whooshing sound?’

Tony, you cad.

And elsewhere meanwhile, Steve Rogers wakes up promptly at six o’clock in the damn morning bright as the sun and raring to go. Disgusting. Truly disgusting.

I joked about Steve getting up at 6 to run ten miles and whatever because of him criticizing Beast that time but its sickening to see it in action.

Anyway, after he damn sings in the shower like the perky morning man he is, he bounces out the window to the first Avengers meeting since the roster shake-up, musing how little they know about Tigra and how he’ll have to keep an eye on her because he doesn’t know if she’ll crack under pressure or not.

And then onto, ok wow, we are just having full pages of individual Avengers going about their mornings.

So we’re onto Normal Human Man Dr. Donald Blake reaching the end of the night shift he just pulled at a hospital.

Nurse Wilson pretty blatantly flirts with him (thinking to herself “C’mon, doc! Notice that I’m a woman! I dare you!”). Normal Human Man Dr. Donald Blake doesn’t seem to notice but his thoughts are on her, wishing he could take her out for lunch but that he has important Avengers business.

He then taps his walking stick and transforms into Thor and flies off towards the mansion.

And that brings us to Cresskill where Janet van Dyne aka the Wasp and Hank Pym aka Yellowjacket are going about their morning.

Befitting her blase attitude last issue, Jan just wants to stay in bed longer and cuddle but Hank is desperate not to be late to his first meeting as a newly active Avenger again.

So he’s in costume and ready to go while she’s still choosing which of her many many costumes to wear. Albeit with the ulterior motive that she’s trying to look good for him. She does put in like 90% of the effort into the relationship.

So she’s narrowed her choices down to a red and blue costume and a green and purple outfit that looks like maybe she raided the Green Goblin’s wardrobe. She asks Hank to decide for her.

And he does. In a sense.

He blasts the green and purple number to shreds and yells “Wear the other one!” and when she protests the destruction of her stuff he goes “So what? Like you said you’ve got lots!”

Hmm. We haven’t seen Hank in a while. And he didn’t talk much last issue what with all the Moondragoning. But he’s taken a bit of a level in being a jackass.

And then on the ride to the mansion, the limo gets stuck in traffic.

Yellowjacket: “That does it! You can ride in your blasted chauffeured limo so your two-hundred dollar hair-do doesn’t get mussed -- but I’m flying to Avengers Mansion under my own power!”

And then he ditches. He ditches hard. Leaving Wasp to fly after him begging him to wait.

You’re a bit of a rude, Hank.

Like Hank feared, the two do arrive late to the meeting and he is gently ribbed by sudden class clown Captain America.

Captain America: “Well, look who’s finally here! Now the Wasp has arrived with her new partner -- uh, Yellowjacket, right? We can get started!”

Is funny joke. Its been a time so they’re pretending he’s a new guy and ha ha he’s being described as Wasp’s partner instead of vice versa. What an upset.

And it is an upset. Tigra notices what the other Avengers seem to miss, that Cap’s joke just pissed Yellowjacket off.

And its not helped when Cap mentions that its time to elect a new chairman but Iron Man interrupts to say that he and Thor have agreed that its better for Cap to remain chairman. They did just reorganize the roster and all. Some stability is fine.

Thor: “We choose to waive the elections! Such is our right as founding members!”

And this sets Yellowjacket right the hell off.

Yellowjacket: “Is that so? Well, I resent not being consulted! As the Ant Man I was a founding member, too!”

Iron Man: “uh, of course Hank... you and the Wasp! But you came in late... we’d already decided...”

Yeah! The Wasp too!

But Yellowjacket has some kind of insect in his bonnet and he yells that he’s done being forgotten and treated as a has-been while Janet just silently cringes.  She wonders what’s happened to the man she loves. And why he won’t let her reach him anymore.

The meeting continues but the scene transitions.

To a cottage in an isolated glade among the wooded hills of Virginia. Where the olde talking power couple of Gorn and Linnea wake up. Linnea wants to lay in bed with Gorn a while longer but he decides NAY TIME TO GET UP NOW.

Hey wait.

Hmmm.

I’m sensing... thematic parallels. I’m sure its nothing, though.

Anyway, Gorn is tired of living a quiet idyllic life in a beautiful glade with a woman who dearly loves him, as they’ve done for ten thousand years. His dander is up and he wants battles to fight and glory to win! He’s tired of being safe in the glade, protected by Linnea’s power. He’s a warrior, not a farmer!

(I see no evidence of farming around the cottage, just saying)

And since its either be ditched or go with him, Linnea decides to go with him.

Gorn: “You are beautiful in that gown, Linnea. Men shall again call you Elf-Queen as they did in ancient days!”

Linnea/Elf-Queen: “They also called me witch and devil-spawn! They are ever so cruel to my kind!”

Gorn: “Aye, and once we fled them! This time, if we must, we shall fight them!”

Ah, geez, Gorn. The cover implies this won’t go well for you.

So Gorn and Elf-Queen, him on foot and her on horseback) wander into Washington DC literally looking for trouble.

But before trouble, something to eat. Looking for an inn, they wander into a random restaurant.

Gorn, being Gorn, immediately starts yelling at the maitre d’, who he assumes is the innkeeper.

And here’s a bit of an interesting and not often used touch. Even though all speech bubbles are rendered without <> as is sometimes used to denote someone speaking a different language, Gorn and Elf-Queen Linnea are in fact speaking an ancient language.

Nobody can understand a thing they say.

And they can’t understand modern English.

This is a perfect setup for some farce.

Gorn ends up just yelling that he wants food and the maitre d’ gets the gist even though he doesn’t understand the words. This is Washington DC. A lot of people from other countries wander through. So he shows them to a table.

Linnea and Gorn decide that the maitre d’ is probably the innkeeper’s idiot brother. I mean, that’s probably why he can’t understand normal language, right?

And there’s more culture shock to be had. Linnea is realizing how differently dressed everyone is in this era. None of the men are even wielding swords!

Elf-Queen Linnea: “And the women, Gorn -- ! The way they’re dressed --! Like -- like harlots!”

Gorn: “Aye! Hmmm...” -totally staring at a butt and not paying attention-

Linnea: “Gorn... ?! I-if we stay here... would you like me to dress so? I do not know if I can learn the ways of these women... but for you my love, I would try! Gorn... ?”

Gorn: “Mmm...” -still not paying attention-

Linnea: (Oh, Gorn! For ten thousand years we have dwelt together in solitude, as one in our love! Am I to lose you now, here in this city of temptresses?)

Hmmm.... this reminds me of something.... but what?

A Barry Kaplan interrupts her inferiority anxiety by coming up and trying to hire her as a fashion model.

And neither Barry nor Linnea can understand each other still.

But she senses something of his intentions and warns him that this isn’t a good idea since she’s sitting next to a warrior and all.

Barry is like ‘maybe if I try other languages?’

And then Gorn notices. And Gorn is displeased.

Gorn: “NO ONE TOUCHES GORN’S WOMAN!”

Barry: “I warn you, I’ve had six jiu-jitsu lessons!”

Wow!

So Gorn gets up from that and just bodily lifts the guy over his head (Barry lamenting that he dropped out before jiu-jitsu lesson seven). But if you get the barbarian or warrior dropped into a modern setting trope they’re usually just way better than any soft modern man. So its funny to see this random dink get the better of Gorn, even if its just the preamble to what would have been Gorn delivering a thorough beatdown.

Its just not what you expect to see in this story.

Linnea magics Barry out of Gorn’s hands, trying to defuse the situation but Gorn interprets the situation as her ‘unmanning’ him.

Gorn: “Why, Linnea? Why do you seek to unman me? Is it not enough that your power has preserved my youth and kept me for centuries? Must you now interfere in my battles?”

Linnea meekly apologizes.

And then the maitre d’ comes pissed off that this loud, shouting weirdo started a fight and is going to call the police on them. Until Linnea goes ‘oh right we should pay for the damage we caused’ and gives the maitre d’ a gold and diamond necklace.

And the maitre d’ mentally goes cha-ching and reroutes an order about to be served to give to the big spending non-English speaking weirdos.

When Gorn and Elf-Queen finally leave the restaurant wouldn’t you know it, someone stole their damn horse!

What kind of city is it where you can’t leave a horse tied to a parking meter without someone making off with it??

Linnea once again is like ‘hey lets go home to our nice glade where nobody ever stole our horse’

Gorn: “It is your home, Linnea, where I am but a guest -- nay, a pet kept by your grace. Ages ago, I was a renowed warrior, honored and feared by nations and kings! If I am to be a man in my own eyes I must regain the glory I once knew!”

And then a cop comes up to Gorn because you can’t just carry a sword around Washington DC.

Gorn: “Eh? His words are gibberish but the intent is clear! This blue-clad warrior issues me a challenge! Have at thee scoundr- AHH!”

And then the cop just maces Gorn.

Its not funny like the talent agent tossing him into a salad bowl because: cops. Its still a little funny because: Gorn.

Anyway, while Gorn is screaming and coughing the cop just slaps some handcuffs on him.

And Linnea magics the cop away from her boyfriend and worries over him.

Given this new horrible thing that has happened to them, another in a line of horrible things happening to them once they left their home, Linnea begs Gorn again to give up this quest to fight a random thing to make himself feel manly.

Linnea: “I am so worried, Gorn! The world has grown so strange! There is so much here that we do not understand! Please, let us go back before something terrible befalls us!”

He again refuses and she asks if he would die for his pride.

So he slaps her across the face.

And after all that she’s meekly gone along with his whims and tantrums and whatever else ways to describe Gorn’s exceptionally gornish way of being, she draws the line here.

Linnea: “Go ahead, Gorn -- stay! Win your stupid ‘glory’! I do not care! Farewell!”

And she just walks away into the sky, twinkle, because she can do that.

When she’s too far to hear he whispers an apology but its too late and he sadly trudges off alone into the city.

Wow, that was six pages of just Gorn and Linnea, Elf-Queen. That’s nearly a fourth of the whole issue! We spend a lot of time with these two new characters!

Back at Avengers Mansion, Iron Man and Yellowjacket prep the Quinjet to fly.

Wasp: “You mean we’re going all the way to Washington, D.C. just because somebody there claims they saw a woman walking on air? What’s new about that? I do it every time my sweetie Hank gives me a wink! Then, again, they do have some wonderful stores there! Last time I went there I bought six fur coats!”

Tigra: “Sounds expensive! I’m lucky! Mine’s built in!”

Iron Man chimes in that the air-walking woman also assaulted a cop so clearly this looks like a job for the Avengers.

But when they finish up checking the Quinjet, Yellowjacket says that he’s discovered the ‘sonomodulator circuit’ on his disruptor gun is acting up.

He’s pretty sure he can fix it but Wasp chimes in with a more different idea.

Wasp: “I’ll just ring up Jeeves over at the East Side Penthouse! He can grab one of those doohickies from your lab there and zip right over in the limo! It’ll just take a few minutes!”

Yellowjacket: “You love doing that, don’t you? You love taking every opportunity to flaunt your blasted money! Well, I don’t need your butlers, your cars or your money -- and I don’t need you!”

And Wasp runs off crying that she only wanted to help. Yellowjacket storms into the Quinjet telling the other Avengers to forget Wasp and get going.

Making the other Avengers feel very awkward about witnessing this fight. Cap even feels as if he should do something but doesn’t know what since its a personal matter.

A suggestion? Mandated couples counseling since this kind of thing could affect the team, will be the reason you give? Like. This clearly is something that’s going to cause trouble. Get ahead of it, Cap.

Meanwhile, back in Washington D.C. because yes Gorn didn’t just walk out of the book forever alone. He walked into a very honestly uncomfortably stereotypical gang who decide hey maybe we should mug that guy with the sword, it’ll probably pawn for something.

Gorn still can’t understand a thing anyone says but they’re carrying weapons and finally here’s a situation he understands. And finally he also doesn’t get played for a chump. He just wades into the crowd of six and starts laying them out with his bare hands.

This is what you’d typically see for a warrior type dropped into modern world thing.

Oh and then the cops hear the fight and go hey its that guy with the sword that there was an APB about.

And Gorn goes, hey its guys wearing the same livery of the guy that got me with that stinging vapor. Time to run at them with a sword.

So they shoot him five times.

And he dies.

It turns out that Linnea has been watching Gorn from a distance this whole time, apparently unwilling to actually ditch. So she sees him get gunned down.

She floats down from the sky to his side and realizes that he is already dead. The cops mistake sky woman for an angel (but there was an APB out for Gorn so why didn’t the flying woman warrant a mention?) but if Linnea is, she’s an avenging one.

She turns on the cops with her magic and makes them sink up to their necks into the concrete.

Elf-Queen: “Are you begging? It is for naught! He’s dead! DEAD! My love is dead -- and this city, this world shall PAY!”

And she turns her magic on Washington D.C., blasting a building and a helicopter, lashing out in grief at the world that killed her dickbag boyfriend.

This is when the Avengers finally arrive to the Plot, in this Avengers book.

The Avengers just see someone breaking property and go to stop her.

Captain America: “Avengers... attack!”

Of course, Tony being Tony, and kind of a loose man immediately gets distracted at the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Iron Man: “Excuse me, miss! Couldn’t we discuss whatever’s bothering you... say, over dinner at the diplomat club?”

Its... not a bad idea. A little bit of empathy. Its just his motive that’s bad.

And also, his inability to speak ancient languages. Elf-Queen still can’t understand a thing anyone says. She does think a flying man in armor is something Gorn would have liked. But that just makes her mad.

So she magics a railing to wrap up Iron Man.

Thor grabs Elf-Queen from behind, pulling her arm behind her back. Its strikingly reminiscent of the Standard Female Grab Area trope but Elf-Queen doesn’t believe in that trope.

Elf-Queen: “You are strong, jackal! Your strength might have been enough to hold even me -- had you not presumed I was as frail as I appear!”

And she throws Thor into what is probably a monument.

Hmm, Iron Man and Thor got dunked so far because they really underestimated this woman because she’s a woman. Maybe don’t do that?

Meanwhile, Yellowjacket is thinking that this is his chance to prove what a star he is, if he’s the one that takes the threat down with his disruptor blast.

While Elf-Queen distracts herself with the dropped Mjolnir, Yellowjacket tries to shoot her with his disruptor from behind.

But it shorts out again!

Maybe he should have gotten the replacement part instead of trying to jury-rig a repair!

Elf-Queen senses the power in Mjolnir and tries to pick it up to better smash the world but finds she can’t lift it.

She guesses that there’s some enchantment on it since it doesn’t crumble the ground beneath it.

SO

So she magics the ground to form a hand to grab and lift Mjolnir.

And then she hits Thor in the face with his own hammer. Hah.

Another for the list of silly Mjolnir loopholes.

Linnea monologues about her backstory because. Look. She may not be a villain. And people may not be able to understand a word she says. But people in comics have to comic.

Elf-Queen: “I am Linnea, called Elf Queen and great is the power I was born with! It transported my love and me across the ocean to this land ages ago in search of solitude! It preserved our youth! It kept us hidden when civilization spread its taint hither! The forces, forms and sustenance of the world bend to my will -- but all my power cannot help my Gorn now! Now, my gift serves only as a means for vengeance!”

Iron Man manages to tear free of the railing wrapped around him just as Tigra loudly pounces at Elf-Queen.

And Elf-Queen just gestures and sends Tigra flying into the air. High, high into the air. So high, so into the air that Iron Man has to fly after her to make sure Tigra doesn’t end up asphyxiating in space.

With all of the other Avengers out of action (or standing around uselessly like Yellowjacket), Elf-Queen turns out wrath on Captain America.

She blasts a building, sending a whole wall at him.

Cap dodges through the rain of rubble and berates himself. He realizes that he should have attacked sooner but he’s been holding back, trying to figure things out.

She’s speaking a language that doesn’t sound like any he knows of. Her clothes seem to be of ancient design. And he’s wondering if she maybe just popped out of the past, somehow surviving from some age undreamt of.

And hey, relatable, kinda. He spent decades in suspended animation.

Elf-Queen throws a lake of fire between her and Cap and Cap figures hey she’ll expect me to go around. So he jumps over it, doing her a startle.

Cap: “Good! I took her completely off guard! This is a perfect chance -- to show her that we want only peace!”

So he stands in front of her, hands to his side, palms showing. Showing no aggression.

Elf-Queen: “You did not strike when you had the opportunity! I could slay you easily now! Unflinchingly you face death! How like... my Gorn... my brave warrior!”

The fight could have ended here. Could. Could have. Could’ve.

Because Yellowjacket has been focused entirely on fixing his disruptor this whole time and has not paid any attention to how the fight has been going.

So when he gets the disruptor fixed, he doesn’t think ‘oh hey Cap is standing there and nobody is currently fighting!’ he thinks ‘wow this is a really easy shot’ and shoots Elf-Queen in the back.

And turns out that Linnea - a person who can toss Thor around - can also weather a disruptor. So she’s just mad. Furiously.

She figures that Cap’s courage was just a bold ruse. So she’s going to kill him. AFTER she throws a car at Yellowjacket.

Yellowjacket: “Oh, no! My sting’s shorted out again! No time to dodge! I’ll be crushed!”

But before Hank can be crushed like some kind of insect, can’t really think of a specific example, he is saved by Jan, who comes out of nowhere and blasts the car away with all of her might.

And apparently car blasting is under that umbrella.

But it takes it out of her and she weakly flutters to the ground.

Hank has mixed feelings about not being dead.

Yellowjacket: “You -- you saved me! You shattered the truck with your bio-electric sting! You saved me! You! She must have followed us down here... probably chartered a plane! She followed us down here, and when I was dead meat for sure, she saved me! Why her? WHY?”

Where are you in your life where you have to ask that, Hank?

Elf-Queen is like well that just happened but I’m just going to try to kill him again.

But Cap jumps in front of her again and very assertively non-aggressives.

Captain America: “Don’t do it! Don’t you see? It was a mistake -- an accident! If only you could understand me! Don’t kill him!”

Elf-Queen: “You dare stand in my way? Can you not see the rage in my eyes?”

But nonetheless, she subsides. The Avengers all re-assemble, ready to rush her but Cap tells them to stand down.

Elf-Queen Linnea starts crying and just walks away from the team.

Feeling a bit awkward, Cap decides to follow her to see what’s what. And they find her crying over Gorn.

Thor: “A fallen warrior! Her husband, perchance?”

Captain America: “Somehow I -- I think I knew! I mean... I’m not surprised! She seemed... grief-stricken!”

Iron Man: “I -- I wonder how this all came to pass?”

They’ll probably never know. The shot isn’t wide enough to say for sure but I think that if the Avengers saw, they’d say. I’m pretty sure those cops Linnea sank into the concrete have finished sinking. So it goes.

Cap says he’s sorry for what happened, knowing that his words will probably mean nothing to her. Language gap and all.

Linnea: “I hear compassion in your voice, brave champion! Is there such a thing in this cold, cruel place, save in your own heart? I cannot forgive your world for what it has taken from me.. but, for you, who are so much alike my beloved... for you, I will go in peace... for now!”

Yeah. She’s never coming back.

This is her and Gorn’s only appearance.

So despite Tigra wondering if she’ll be back and despite Iron Man’s suspicion that she might be a mutant, it doesn’t matter.

She’s done her role in the narrative and she’s gone.

But as the Avengers try to figure out what this was all about, Wasp looks at Yellowjacket with worry. For the issue ends with him still consumed in bitter thoughts and oblivious to Wasp.

And the big next time teaser says COURT MARTIAL! so. Yeah.

We’re coming on to a storyline that anyone who knows at least two things about Hank Pym knows. You probably already know it or will be able to guess it.

I was familiar with this story but only the moment where Hank shoots Elf-Queen in the back and makes things worse for himself. I hadn’t absorbed via osmosis how much of a shit he was being throughout. And nobody ever talks about Gorn.

Which is a shame.

The title of the issue comes right out and connects the obvious dots.

“Men of deadly pride!”

And that can only be Hank Pym and Gorn.

Much of this issue doesn’t actually feature the Avengers. There’s this long stretch in the middle that just has Gorn and Linnea leaving their home, traveling to the big city, Gorn’s attitude getting worse and worse, and finally his death.

Its clear enough that Gorn represents Hank Pym.

Hank rails against Janet for flaunting her money and emotionally withdraws from her and even becomes angry with her. He rankles at the idea he might be perceived her partner instead of vice versa. Feels he’s not being given the respect he deserves.

While Gorn resents that Linnea is the one caring for him. He emotionally withdraws from her. He perceives himself a pet to her. That he was once renowned and desperately needs to regain his glory.

And he just gets angrier when Linnea has to rescue him from his dumb mistakes.

Much like Jan had to rescue Hank in this issue, something that basically made Hank check out of the rest of the issue.

I don’t know what Gorn may have been like ten thousand years ago that Linnea sees him in Captain America most, but he’s a shadow for Hank Pym.

And what’s interesting is how the story looks at Gorn and his machismo. His obsessive preoccupation with proving himself. The story highlights the problems he creates for himself eventually leading to his death. It shows a person that just can’t live in the modern world.

And then the story looks at Hank Pym. One of the 60s style manly men holdovers. Paints him in much the same light. And seems to ask. “Can you live in the modern world?”

The question is in the air.

Its not particularly deep symbolism. But it surprised me that nobody ever mentions it.

Interestingly, if Hank is Gorn then Jan is Linnea. Their personalities are different enough that this might seem strange.

But they both draw the line in a similar place with their partners.

And there was a What If? based on this issue What If? #35 where Hank did die, much as Gorn did. And Wasp became an avenging angel of her own. Taking the identity of Black Wasp and brutally attacking criminals.

She even contemplates letting Cap be killed by falling debris, blaming him for Hank’s death.

All I can say is that this has been one awkward first day for Tigra.

Follow @essential-avengers​. Like or reblog this post. Stay tuned for more of this sort of thing.

[klywrites]

Harlowe, 27

“For the record, if I didn’t find your resting bitch face so attractive, I’d’ve punched it already.”

all the devils are here (working title) | WIP page | tag |

After three consecutive months of late payments on her rent, Harlowe comes home from a closing shift to find a letter of eviction. Despite begging for another month, the landlady refuses, and Harlowe finds herself packing up her life in the backseat of her car. 

Not that there’s much to her life anyway besides knocking back shots, mindless make-out sessions, and the occasional hookup. She heads downtown, hits up a bar, and loses herself in a club.

At the end of the night, Harlowe witnesses an attempted assault. She intervenes and the guy runs, leaving her with an inebriated girl. Harlowe stays with her until an ambulance arrives, and manages to slip away before anyone can ask questions.

In the morning, on the spur of newfound motivation to get her shit together, Harlowe goes to the local women’s center to apply for a new job. She thinks maybe she can stop being a waste of space and actually do some good for people. 

And she does, in a way, but it’s not exactly... good?

info:

works as a barista

loves dancing, gummies

is $5k in debt

photophobia

has a dead podcast where she talks about weird stuff she sees around the city

listens to audiobooks but has to follow along with a physical copy

some quotes:

(after being called a harlot) “It’s Harlowe, actually, and no one says harlot anymore. Puritan.”

(Enver: “She’s your superior.”) “Yeah, you know, that only makes me want her more--and that’s all I’m saying on that.”

(Crina: “Will you take off your sunglasses? I’d appreciate it if you’d look at me while I’m speaking.”) “I am looking at you! I’m always looking at you.”

[hereticalxenos]

Devil’s Claws.

[AU of my Necromunda character]

Kana stood behind the great wheel of her ship, looking out over the vastness of the ocean. She’d been patrolling this stretch of the Caribbean for ten years now and had grown rich on the plunder she ripped from Navy vessels and merchants. Her ship The Devil’s Claws was well equipped with three tall masts, 40 cannon to a side and 200 strong men and women to crew it. They made their home base in a secluded cove on one of the many islands that dotted the area. It was to here that they were returning now, laden with plunder form their latest conquest, a Navy frigate chartered to carry a wealthy nobleman home to England. The nobleman now sat at the bottom of the sea with the ship, his treasure was in pirate hands and his daughter had joined their crew. 

Just before the sun began to set Kana steered her vessel into the cove and dropped the anchor behind a jutting outcrop of rock that protected the cove from the worst of the ocean’s wrath. The crew rowed ashore with their loot, intent on spending it in the town on the other side of the island. Kana came with them, accompanied by the nobleman’s daughter who defected to her crew so recently. She’d already ditched her fine dress and donned a spare pair of tattered trousers and billowy shirt that Kana had laying around. The pirate captain herself cut a fine dash in deep red trousers, black boots buckled in gold, a shirt of purple silk ruffled at the neck and all topped by a great coat she’d stolen from an Admiral of the English Navy she’d dueled to the death. 

The pirates hit the town like a gale of drunkenness and lechery. They poured into their favourite tavern and the drinks were flowing moments. Kana poured down tankards of rum with the best of them, roaring with song and laughter as they set about spending a nobleman’s fortune quicker than they had acquired it. Kana paused in her revelry, pushing the new recruit off her lap as she moved towards something that had caught her eye. It was a wanted poster for her and her ship. She ripped it from the wall and laughed at the size of the bounty on her head. £20,000. She returned to her crew with the poster high and was rewarded by a roar of laughter that the local government were getting so desperate to stop her strangle hold on the shipping lanes. 

As the night became dawn and the pirates were their third tavern now, those who hadn’t slipped into the darkness with a harlot of some sort, a timid looking barkeep slipped over to Kana. He whispered into her ear that apparently a group of five ships had found the location of her cove and were moving towards it with the intent of claiming the bounty. They’d be there by dawn the next day he warned before scuttling off in fear of the rowdy pirates.

Kana waited for until noon, alone by this point save the noble’s daughter who clung to her like a shadow for now. She got up, went to the rooms upstairs and began kicking in doors and dragging her crew out with curses and laughter. She went all about the town, rounding up her crew and supplies before taking them back to The Devil’s Claws. Once everyone was aboard she explained they’d be facing a fight and that she intended on ambushing their would be assailants. They slipped out the bay and sailed down the coast into another inlet in the opposite direction from the that the attackers would be coming. Now they waited for night before slipping back out the inlet and heading back towards their home cove where the other ships should be slipping in. 

Sure enough the bounty hunters were all in the empty cove, cursing loudly that they had found no sign of Kana and The Devil’s Claws. They got their wish when with a roar of 40 cannons firing broadside the night became day and the first ship was raked across its stern. The crew of the The Devil’s Claws were well trained and turned the ship around so the other side could fire its payload of iron into the second ship. The hunters were beginning to fire back now but their cannonades were patchy and rushed. Kana ordered the heated shots loaded next and soon bright comets of death were spitting across the bay and lodging in timbers and rigging. The third ship was swiftly aflame, the first already beginning to slip beneath the waves. The fourth exploded as a lucky hit from a heated shot punctured the magazine and lit off the ship’s store of gunpowder. The second ship was limping out the cove, it’s crew and captain deciding not to try and duke it out with the ferocity of The Devil’s Claws. That left the last ship to face kana’s wrath. Her own ship was battered now, one mast gone and holes punched in her side. But still she floated and while it did she would fight. Her crew launched a rippling broadside into the other ship, the rest of her crew firing rifles from the deck and remaining rigging. The noise rumbled and thrashed across the island and the flashes of cannons and rifles lit the darkness with death. Kana was howling with mad laughter as she came alongside the final ship and unloaded pointblank into them with all 40 cannons. Blood was running from the gunnels of her foe as it finally began to sink beneath the waves. 

With victory taken and her supremacy certified Kana ordered her ship ran aground before it could sink beneath the waves. As they headed towards the beach she screamed after the fleeing ship “You should have turned back sooner! For the Claws owns this bay! You can’t out run her and you can’t out gun her and you know you’re gonna pay!”

[immortalgothgirl]

Alright lads, I’ve finished my Aelswith x OFC fanfic. Because I don’t want this to get flagged by tumblr, Imma post the vanilla version here, if you want the full version with the smut, then check it out on AO3. 

Thank you for reading!

"You stand too close, girl!" Lady Aelswith scolds as the young girl pours the King some wine, so biting that Kela can't help but flinch, half out of shock and half out of hurt. 

"It's alright." The King mumbles, but she's looking at her. Glaring at her, he is mine! her burning gaze seems to  scream. 

Kela daren't make even the slightest move for the way her stomach flips and her heart quickens. 

"You stand too close." She chides again, failing to notice the reddening of the serving girl's cheeks, and outright refusing to acknowledge that her own cheeks begin to burn with the same vigor when their eyes meet. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- That very same night Kela was told the King summoned her to his chambers. And it takes every fiber of her being not to act on the notion of beating Alfred senseless for disrespecting his wife in such a way.  A wretched fool if ever I saw one, the young serving girl rages as she all but drags herself to the King's private quarters. If I were Alfred, I would never leave the Queen's side, every inch of her would be adored,every single inch, from head to toes I would anoint her with my love.

She slumps against the doors in a desperate attempt to collect her thoughts and restrain herself from letting out a deep throaty sigh as her sex pulses hungrily between her thighs, her swollen bud throbbing in tandem with her hammering heart.

She deliberately issues a weak rapping on the bulky oaken doors, at least then she can tell herself that he didn't hear her and she can walk away, free to walk about the palace awaiting her Queen's command. 

Alas, Alfred hears. 

"Enter." An order if ever she heard one.

"Lord King." She inclines her head, if only to conceal what will no doubt evolve into an onslaught of previously unshed tears later in the night. 

Kela's head snaps up to meet Alfred, much, much too close and eyeing her with an insatiable lust. She wants to be sick. She longs for the arms of her Queen. 

"I need you." Alfred husks, pulling her into him. His lips are but an inch from hers and as much as she detests the thought of a union between her tongue and his, she realises with an unrelenting sadness that this is the closest she will ever get to kissing her.

There is nothing of Aelswith on his lips. He tastes rough and brutish. How dare this man lay claim to such a perfect creature night after night? She rants. What injustice that this beast is able to call the most noble lady on God's earth his wife!

"What troubles you, my love?" Kela did not even know she was crying until Alfred wiped a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb, "Have I took liberties I ought not to?"

Kela barely suppresses a laugh. If only he knew just how many times she had envisaged herself in this very same position with his wife. How time and time again she thought of little else other than kneeling before the Queen and hiking up her skirts, lavishing her with all the love Alfred had deprived her of. 

Instead she settled for: "My Lord King, I love another. Forgive me."

He only nods. Refusing to meet her eyes. She takes that as the opportunity to take her leave. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The next time she is in the presence of the Queen is at the Lady Aethelflaed's wedding feast. Wine is flowing and the choir chant in perfect unity. Never did a more heavenly sound exist, thought Kela.

But then she heard the Queen let out a hearty laugh from the other end of the hall, full of mirth and an inextinguishable warmth. The only thing that shakes Kela back into the present moment is the feeling that her heart may have stopped for the briefest time.

She realises she must have been staring at her for quite some time, because the one they call Uhtred Ragnarson appeared at her side undetected, looking like he had been standing there for a while. He leans in so that his lips are a breath away from her left ear, Kela doesn't have to look at him to know he's smirking. She can feel that knowing smirk churning up her insides. "Does the Lady Aelswith know you care for her in such a way?"

She didn't have it in her to deny it. Anyway,  it wasn't as though Uhtred was bound by the intolerance of her god-fearing brothers and sisters.

 "Do you think I would still be breathing if she did? It makes no matter. She will never be mine." It knocks the  breath out of her to admit it, and before the first tear falls and plops into the jug of wine like the beginnings of a downpour, Uhtred places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Be careful, Kela. For if I can see how your gaze lingers on her then in time Alfred surely will too."

This time she met his gaze, "I reiterate, Lord Uhtred. There is no point dwelling on hypothetical’s. She-" Of Uhtred and Kela, it was hard to tell who was more shocked when her breath hitched and caught in her throat, "She will never be mine."

"It is a pain like no other, lady.”

"Will you please leave me alone, Lord Uhtred?"

He says nothing. Only pats her on the shoulder, but the look he gives her is enough.

Kela spends the majority of the evening flitting from one table to the next pouring wine and, despite herself, laughing at crude anecdotes overheard from Lord Aethelred's men. Yet a sliver of laughter is not enough to sate the melancholy that plagues her, rotting every organ, dulling every sensation. 

The sight of her Queen is her only salvation.

"Girl! Wine!" The voice belongs to Alfred, a voice she hadn't heard since the incident in his chambers, when she had inadvertently told the King that she was in love with the Queen. She can feel the Queen's gaze burn her cheeks as she pours, almost spilling the wine over the brim of the goblet as she tries to remain calm under her gaze. 

As a courtesy, Kela dips her head ever so slightly. But Alfred isn't convinced, Aelswith even less. "Is that everything, Lord King? My Lady?" Alfred only nods his head pensively, but it isn't his needs she is concerned about.

The Queen does not even acknowledge her with a response. A pain like a fresh forged dagger plunging into her heart hits her with an immeasurable magnitude. Without another word she melds back into the gathering, setting the jug of wine on the nearest table, and within moments she has left the hall, slinking off into the chapel. 

Little did she know, the Queen of Wessex was following close behind. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Chapel was eerily silent. It was almost as if sound did not exist within the walls of The Lord's domain. It felt almost as if speaking would profane the walls and the air around her. Maybe if she prayed silently? No. If she didn't say it aloud she feared she would lose her mind. "It is a cruel jape you play, Lord. To offer up my love to someone who can never return it." She whimpered into clasped hands.

"So you do know your place then." Said a voice from behind her.

 Kela suppressed a mirthless cackle, oh, The Lord's wicked sense of humor. She stood immediately and turned to face the Lady Aelswith. "I suppose you think the pair of you are being rather discreet." She growled, edging closer to Kela with each word. "I know my husband called you to his chambers some days past."

"Nothing happened my Queen, I swear it."

"You will be silent!" The words echoed off the stone walls for what felt like quite some time. She is hurting and Kela can see it, to know that she is, in part, the cause of The Queen's sadness, a thorn in the side of the woman she loves, creates a deep dull ache in the chasm of her soul. 

"I see the way you look at him. With your harlot's gaze and your wanton smiles, trying to lure him away from me. You may desire him, as I'm sure a great number of women do, but you will never have him." Aelswith had the girl backed up against the altar. The Holy Bible rested there, left open from the Morning Mass. 

She's so close that Kela swore she could hear the beat of her heart. How easy it would be, to cup her cheek, to take those perfect lips between her own, to rake her teeth across her bottom lip.... "It is not the King I desire."

In that very same breath her lips connected with the Queen's. It was chaste, unsure, but full of love. Kela was scared to break apart for fear of what would be the inevitable onslaught of Aethswiths anger, how she was of the Devil, how she was condemned to hell because of her unnatural inclinations.

But she was not met with wroth, she was met with the tender kiss of Aelswith of Wessex. 

[pcwpolwrestling]

The Go-Home Show for Loose Cannons Unleashed: PCW Extreme Political TV

THIS WEEK ON EXTREME POLITICAL TV -It’s the final show before Loose Cannons Unleashed -Nicholas Tarkowski has an evening of podiatry -PCW Women’s Champion Yosemite Samantha learns who her opponent at Loose Cannons Unleashed will be: ‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot or C.J. Lewis -Champion of the Political Universe #1 Contender’s Match: Charlie Blackwell vs. Ultimate Social Justice Warrior

================================

[ON SCREEN GRAPHIC: Blue background. The top of the Capitol Building occupies the left hand side of the television screen.

Centered in the middle of the screen: “P-SPAN. THE POLITICAL CHANNEL.”]

P-SPAN Announcer (off screen): The P-SPAN Network bring you long-form public affairs programming from the nation’s capital and are a public service of…

[ON SCREEN GRAPHIC: Logos of twenty three different cable and satellite television companies replace the Capitol Building and P-SPAN graphic.]

P-SPAN Announcer (v/o): …your television provider.

[ON SCREEN GRAPHIC: Returns to the blue background with the top of the Capitol Building occupying the left hand side of the television screen with “P-SPAN. THE POLITICAL CHANNEL.” centered in the middle of the screen.]

P-SPAN Announcer (v/o): P-SPAN. The Political Channel.

===============================

Johnny Suave (voiceover): Last week on PCW Extreme Political TV on P-SPAN, Jerrold Nadler (NY-Progressive Alliance) intern Nicholas Tarkowski returns for a third straight week to bring ‘oversight’ to PCW.

REPLAY: Nicholas Tarkowski with PCW Owner Dawn McGill

Nicholas Tarkowski: Mr. Nadler says if I don’t come back this time with some dirt on you and PCW, then I can kiss my internship goodbye.

McGill puts her arm around him.

Dawn McGill: I’m sure we can find some dirt for you.

Johnny Suave (v/o): Tarkowski would later find the dirt he was looking for…

REPLAY: Tarkowski Searches McGill’s Office

Tarkowski looks through her bag and finds pictures inside. His eyes widen (looking at the pictures) and then finds a letter. His eyes widen again (thinking about the ramifications).

Tarkowski pulls out his cell phone and dials Nadler.

Nicholas Tarkowski (excitedly): Mr. Nadler? I think I’ve got it!

Johnny Suave (v/o): We’ll get back to what happened afterwards in a few minutes. Also last week:

Buzz Aldrin destroyed Conspiracy Theory Guy.

CNN’s Jim Acosta gets royally pissed that CEO of the Political Universe Donald Trump wouldn’t pay any attention to him.

Then the big tag match…

REPLAY: TAG TEAM #1 CONTENDER’S MATCH-The Sports Entertainment Coalition (‘Dastardly’ Dave Miller and ‘Dangerous’ Dan Williams) vs. The Dork Dynasty (Leonard and Sheldon Robertson)

Leonard hits another sling blade and runs the ropes. Miller ducks a lariat. He pushes Leonard towards the other side.

*WHAM*

Dickinson potatoes Leonard with a steel folding chair.

Johnny Suave: HOLY CRAP! ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson snuck in and just walloped H-Bomb with the chair.

Williams yanks Sheldon off the ring apron and slams him into the ring post. Miller gets Leonard to his feet and stands back to back. He lifts him up and bends over, slamming Leonard to the mat.

Johnny Suave: SOUTHERN CROSS!

Miller hooks the leg. Referee in for the count. One. Two. THREE!

*DING-DING-DING*

Johnny Suave (v/o): So, it will be the SEC versus Rah and Halitosis for the PCW Tag Team title at Loose Cannons Unleashed.

This went down during the PCW Television title match between Big Oil from Jill Berg Enterprises and Heartland champion Jack Fraiser ©.

REPLAY: Heartland Title Match- Jack Fraiser versus Big Oil of Jill Berg Enterprises

Big Oil gets back up but Fraiser’s Oootlander Blaire Rendell slips into the ring and smacks him in the back with a steel chair.

Johnny Suave: HOLY CRAP!

Big Oil staggers. Fraiser small packages him…one…two…Big Oil kicks out and gets back to his feet. Then he gets tackled from behind.

Johnny Suave: THAT’S ‘REDNECK’ BILL DICKINSON! IT’S THE S-E-C!

‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson “The 330 Pound Southern Brawler.” ‘Dastardly’ Dave Miller and ‘Dangerous’ Dan Williams attack Big Oil and Jill Berg Enterprises.

Dickinson mounts Big Oil and pounds him with fists.

Miller clips Tanaka’s leg and then drives Walstreit head first into the steel barricade.

Williams locks P.M.C. Banks in the Devil’s Triangle and chokes him out.

Johnny Suave: Well? We knew ‘Sports Entertainment Genius’ Mr. McMann was waiting for the right opportunity. He got it tonight.

==============================

PCW Extreme Political TV on P-SPAN Monday April 1st, 2019 Mayo Civic Center Rochester, MN

Announcer: ‘The Voice of PCW’ Johnny Suave ==============================

The camera pans all over the Mayo Civic Center as PCW is on the air!

Spotlights move back and forth through the crowd.

Crowd: PCW!…PCW!…PCW!…

Cut to ringside where ‘The Voice of PCW’ Johnny Suave stands inside the ring.

Johnny Suave: Hello everyone! Welcome to Political Championship Wrestling!

Crowd: PCW!…PCW!…PCW!…

Johnny Suave: I am Johnny Suave. ‘Low Level New York Times Report Trying to Make a Name for Herself’ Colleen Crowder will not be here tonight because she’s been banned after all the Russian Collusion stuff that went down last week. Tonight, we are at the Mayo Civic Center in Rochester, Minnesota for another night of political wrestling action!

Suave says with less one week to go before Loose Cannons Unleashed, tonight we will fit in the final piece of the puzzle.

Johnny Suave: ‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot will meet former Hooter’s waitress turned pro wrestler C.J. Lewis tonight. The winner gets the SEC’s Christa Carmondy at Loose Cannons Unleashed for the Women’s title.

Suave runs down the PCW portion of the Loose Cannons Unleashed card…

LOOSE CANNONS UNLEASHED CARD (as of now)

PCW Title Match ‘The One Man Anti-Hollywood A-List’ Stone Chism © vs. ‘American Citizen’ Kevin Scott

PCW Women’s Title Match Yosemite Samantha © vs. The winner of the ‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot vs. ‘former Hooter’s waitress’ C.J. Lewis

PCW Tag Team Title Match The Island of Misfit Wrestler: Rah and Halitosis © vs. The Sports Entertainment Coalition: ‘Dastardly’ Dave Miller and ‘Dangerous’ Dan Williams

But first, Suave goes to PCW owner Dawn McGill’s earlier arrival at the Mayo Civic Center.

EARLIER TONIGHT McGill exits her rental vehicle. In one hand, she has her carrying bag. In the other, she appears to have a whip.

Nicholas Tarkowski also exits the car. He absolutely does not want to be there. Why?

REPLAY: The Final Insult

Adam Schiff (CA-Progressive Alliance) calls out Dawn McGill and Corrina Romanov. Schiff states he doesn’t care what Robert Mueller says, he’s found proof of Russian Collusion right here in PCW. He accuses McGill of being blackmailed by Russian referee Romanov into giving her job back and giving her a promotion.

Jerry Nadler (NY-Progressive Alliance) says Tarkowski found evidence in McGill’s office of Russian Collusion. Salacious photos of McGill and a letter that references both McGill and Romanov demanding money.

The Guild of Low-Level Reporters and Conservative Inc. both believe it’s collusion.

Jerry Nadler: There’s collusion all right…there’s collusion everywhere, I tell ya…everywhere!

Now the spotlight turns to McGill and Romanov.

Dawn McGill: it’s not Russian Collusion, you dolt. It’s a makeover. Both Corrina and myself got makeovers.

McGill holds up the ‘letter demanding money.’

Dawn McGill: This is a ‘past due’ letter from the spa because…oops…I forgot to pay the bill on time.

McGill holds up one of the ‘compromising’ photos.

Dawn McGill: And this is a photo from a recent photoshoot I had taken to celebrate the fact that I’ve lost over thirty pounds…

Tarkowski just wants to go home and crawl into a hole.

Dawn McGill: No. You snuck into my office when I wasn’t there and rifled through my stuff. It’s not going to be that easy.

Nicholas Tarkowski: But-

*CRRRACK*

Tarkowski jumps several inches into the air at the sound of McGill’s whip cracking by his ear.

Dawn McGill (in no mood to debate this): Now!

McGill leads the former intern past the half-hearted protest from the Guild of Low Level Reporters Trying to Make a Name for Themselves: Colleen Crowder (NY Times), Dan Miller (Washington Post), and Sharon Johns (CNN)…

The Guild (monotone, unenergetic): Let us in…let us in…

…and enters the building.

Cut back to Suave.

Johnny Suave: What does McGill have in mind for Tarkowski tonight?

*CRRRACK*

Nicholas Tarkowski’s Voice: ARARRGGHHHHHH!

Johnny Suave: We’re going to find out soon enough. Back after these messages.

========================

**COMMERCIAL BREAK**

A package of Skank Mitchell’s Awesomely Awesome Beef Jerky is superimposed in the middle of a supermarket checkout line.

Announcer: Skank Mitchell’s Awesomely Awesome Beef Jerky presents *BLEEP*-ing with McGill.

Dawn McGill is pushing a shopping cart towards the express register for 10 items and under. Her four year old daughter Eva is riding inside the cart. Just as she’s about to reach the cashier, some guy barges through with a full shopping cart and literally pushes the other customers out of his way. He bangs into Dawn’s cart and cuts in front of her.

Eva McGill: Ow, Mommy! That man ran into us!

Dawn McGill: It’s okay, dear.   I’m sure it was just an accident-

The guy then turns to Dawn and sneers.

Jerk Man: Hey, do you mind keeping your kid quiet. I’m in a hurry here.

Dawn begins to fume as the man turns back around and starts loading up the express lane with his groceries. Of course, the express lane register isn’t built for people with an overabundance of groceries so he quickly runs out of space to put his stuff.

The guy then turns on the poor girl running the register.

Jerk Man: Come on, let’s go! I don’t have all day.

Finally, Dawn taps the man on the back of his shoulder.

He whips around.

Jerk Man (nearly shouting): WHAT-oooooooooof…

Dawn knees him in the groin. Then she takes a side headlock and DDT’s the jerk on the hard grocery store floor.

The surrounding customers waiting in line break out in applause.

Final scene: a package of Skank Mitchell’s Awesomely Awesome Beef Jerky superimposed over the man unconscious on the ground with blood coming out of his forehead.

Announcer: Skank Mitchell’s Awesomely Awesome Beef Jerky. Feed your irrationally foolish side.

========================

PCW ON THE ROAD April 6th – Loose Cannons Unleashed PPV @ the D.C. Armory / Washington, D.C. April 12th – Buccaneer Arena / Urbandale, IA April 13th – McLeod Center / Cedar Rapids, IA April 14th – McElroy Auditorium / Waterloo, IA April 19th – Owensboro Sportscenter / Owensburo, KY April 20th – SIU Arena / Carbondale, IL April 21st – Gibson Arena / Rolla, MO April 27th – Berry Events Center / Marquette, MI May 3rd – BMO Harris Bank Center / Rockford, IL May 4th – Joseph J. Gentile Center / Chicago, IL May 5th – Grossinger Motors Arena / Bloomington, IL

========================

Johnny Suave: We are back. Let’s go backstage for this word from the SEC.

SEC SEGMENT At the Corporate Sports-entertainment Programming Nation’s special SEC-only set backstage, Reese Anderson and Rebecca Morris first bring out the challengers in next week’s PCW Tag Team Title match between the champions Island of Misfit Wrestlers…Rah and ‘The Luchador with Insanely Poor Oral Hygiene’ Halitosis and the SEC’s ‘Dangerous’ Dan Williams and ‘Dastardly’ Dave Miller.

‘Dastardly’ Dave Miller HT: 6’ 0” WT: 240 / HOME: Columbus, GA FIN: Southern Cross

‘Dangerous’ Dan Williams HT: 6’ 2” WT: 252 / HOME: Wemberly, TX FIN: Devil’s Triangle (Triangle Choke)

Williams and Miller come out with a…victory cake?

‘Dangerous’ Dan Williams: That’s right. We know that come hell or high water, the SEC is leaving the ring next week as the new PCW Tag Team champions.

‘Dastardly’ Dave Miller: It ain’t premature if it actually happens. We’re exhausted from training. We’ve put the time in. It’s going to be an open and shut thing. Make my words, we are the next PCW Tag Team champions.

Williams says they’ll take Rah and Halitosis on now and save them the trouble of showing up at MVWA 89. Miller adds that Rah and Halitosis are too chicken to show up here and-

‘The Luchador with Insanely Poor Oral Hygiene’ Halitosis HT: 5’8, WT: 170 / HOME: Chattanooga, TN FIN: Breath of Death

Rah!: The Sunshine God – motivational speaker by day. Pseudo deity complete with eclectic entourage by night. HT: 6’-8” WT: 295 / HOME: San Diego, CA FIN: Eye of RAHHHHHHH! (Jackknife Powerbomb)

And as if they were magically summoned, Rah and Halitosis appear on the set.

Rah slams Williams face into the ‘victory’ cake.

Halitosis unleashes his horrible bad breath on Miller. Miller grabs his throat and falls off the set.

Regina McGill rips the microphone away from Rebecca Morris while Halitosis shoulder blocks Anderson off the set.

Regina McGill: Well, the party seems to be winding down Rebecca. But it feels so good to be here tonight in Rochester, Minnesota!

McGill says the SEC will be formidable. But if they think Rah and Halitosis are just going to hand their belts over to them at Loose Cannons Unleashed, they are dead wrong.

Regina McGill: We wouldn’t standing here today if we simply gave up at the first sight of adversity. We’ll see you next week. Take our titles…if you can.

Cut back to Suave.

Johnny Suave: The SEC have a ton of momentum on their side right now. But do not underestimate Rah and Halitosis. Both Rah and Halitosis has made a career over being underestimated. They’ve played the underdog role and parlayed that into championships. And Rah is in the best shape of his career.

DAWN McGILL’S OFFICE The camera is situated behind McGill. She reclines comfortably in a black Barcalounger Coss II Wall Proximity Hugger Lay Flat Recliner Chair with a wash cloth covering her eyes, her right foot propped up on the foot rest and adorned with cotton balls in between each toe and the left foot soaking in a foot bath. We see a pair of hands carefully applying red polish to Dawn’s toenails.

Her phone buzzes. Dawn answers.

Dawn McGill: Okay. Send them in.

The door opens and in walks Pelosi (CA-Progressive Alliance) and Grassley (IA-American Patroits). Both stop midway and gaze at something off camera with weird expressions.

The camera pulls back. It’s Nicholas Tarkowski who’s painting Dawn’s toenails and taking great care not to get any polish on her skin.

Nancy Pelosi: Okay. I’m sure there’s something wrong with what I’m watching but I don’t have time to talk about it.

Getting right to business, Pelosi and Grassley have a HUGE favor to ask of McGill tonight.

Dawn McGill: A HUGE favor?

Pelosi explains. The #1 contendership for the Political Universal Title is a complete mess.

Dawn McGill: Wait. I’m sorry, didn’t we have a match here last week that the Ultimate Social Justice Warrior walked out of in a snit?

Nancy Pelosi: Yes. But he did so in protest of you throwing the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals out of the building.

McGill says that should settle the issue then.

Pelosi tries to defuse the situation.

Nancy Pelosi: Charlie Blackwell has already agreed to redo the match.

Grassley confirms Blackwell has indeed agreed to redo the match on the condition that there’s no Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals chicanery and the match is held here.

After a quick two seconds to think about it, McGill agrees. Then her head snaps around…

Dawn McGill: Dammit Nicholas! There better not be any polish anywhere other than on that toenail!

Nicholas Tarkowski: Sorry. Miss McGill. Sir-er-ma’am.

Cut back to Suave at the broadcast desk.

Johnny Suave: You know, I would be willing to volunteer for that job.

Suave moves on to the #1 contender’s match for the PCW Women’s title.

Johnny Suave: Both Lani Harlot and C.J. Lewis have worked real hard to become good at what they do. They are not the most polished wrestlers. They’re still a little rough around the edges. But Harlot and Lewis have built themselves up into the PCW Women’s title picture.  And the winner here tonight faces Yosemite Samantha for the title.

Suave sends it to Kimber Marshall in the ring.

MATCH #1/PCW WOMEN’S TITLE #1 CONTENDER’S MATCH: ‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot vs. ‘Former Hooter’s Waitress’ C.J. Lewis PCW Ring Announcer Kimber Marshall is in the middle of the ring and ready to go.

Kimber Marshall: Ladies and gentlemen! Our first match tonight is a one fall-

Crowd: ONE fall!

*“Shake Your Foundations”- AC/DC*

Lewis slinks out wearing her “Hooter’s half t-shirt on the ramp.

‘Former Hooter’s Waitress’ C.J. Lewis AGE: 31 / HT: 5’7 WT: 135 / HOME: Conway, NH FIN: Last Round

Lewis heads down to the ring.

Kimber Marshall: And her opponent.

*“Queen of My Double-Wide Trailer”- Sammy Kershaw*

The White Trash Posse lead the ‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot out to the ring.

‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot AGE: 33 / HT: 5′ 10″ WT: 118 / HOME: Magnolia, AR FIN: White Trash Compactor VALETS: The White Trash Posse (Shayne and Jaxson)

*DING-DING*

Both women waste no time and exchange heavy blows. Harlot cleans Lewis’s clock and the match quickly degenerates into an all-out free-for-all with no structure whatsoever.

Johnny Suave: This is a brawl- which is a typical Lani Harlot match.

Harlot appears to have the momentum on their side when she unceremoniously dumps Lewis out of the ring. The White Trash Posse (Shayne and Jaxson then get in a few cheap shots on Lewis outside the ring and toss her back in. Harlot lines Lewis up for her submission hold- “The White Trash Compactor.”

Johnny Suave: She’s got Lewis set up. Can Lewis escape?

Yes. At the last second. Lewis tries to play keep away long enough to clear her head and walks right into a Harlot clothesline and falls on her back with a splat. Harlot goes top turnbuckle.   She leaps from the top of the turnbuckle and splashes Lewis.

Johnny Suave: Harlot is all over Lewis. Lewis is having a hard time getting any offense in.

Harlot hooks the legs. One…two…Lewis kicks out. Harlot again hooks the legs. One…two…again Lewis kicks out. Then Harlot blatantly chokes her. The referee tells her break the hold or she’ll be disqualified. This provokes Harlot to the point where she yells back at him but finally complies with the referee and releases Lewis. Lewis can barely get back to her feet. The White Trash Posse get up on the ring apron and jaw with the referee. Harlot sneaks out of the ring and swipes a steel folding chair from ringside. The crowd, sensing that Lewis has no clue what was going on behind her, stands and tries to warn her as Harlot raises the chair in the air with two hands and blasts Lewis over the head with it.

Crowd: HOLY @#$#! HOLY @#$#!

Lewis lingers on her feet for a couple seconds and then collapses to the mat.   Why didn’t the referee see that? He’s still arguing with the White Trash Posse. Harlot covers…one…two…NO!

Johnny Suave: HOLY CRAP! HOW DID C.J. LEWIS KICK OUT OF THAT?

Angry, Harlot cinches in the White Trash Compactor. The referee asks her if she wants to give up. Lewis frantically shakes her head no.

Johnny Suave: It’s not looking good for C.J. Lewis but she’s really close to the ropes.

Lewis tries to free her arms but Harlot has them tightly pulled behind her.

Thunderbolt throws it to a commercial break and promises the conclusion of the match when they return.

=======================

**COMMERCIAL BREAK**

PCW RANKINGS

PCW Title Champion: The One Man Anti-Hollywood A-List’ Stone Chism #1 Contender: ‘American Citizen’ Kevin Scott Contenders ‘Prairie Populist’ William Daniels Bryan (Les Miserables) ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson (SEC) Ken Worth-American Trucker (Truckin’ Average Company)

PCW Women’s Title Champion: Yosemite Samantha #1 Contender: ‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot Contenders ‘Former Hooter’s Waitress’ C.J. Lewis ‘Queen Cool’ Leah Iris Ninja Kitty

PCW Tag Team Title Champion: Island of Misfit Wrestlers: Rah and Halitosis #1 Contender: The Sports Entertainment Coalition: ‘Dastardly’ Dave Miller and ‘Dangerous’ Dan Williams Contenders The Dork Dynasty: Leonard and Sheldon Robertson Weapons of Mass Destruction II: Frank Bomb and Newt Tron Bomb Bi-Partisan Dream Team: RINO-The Wonk Machine and Blue Dog D

PCW Television Title Champion: Jack Fraiser #1 Contender: SNAFU Contenders Big Oil (Jill Berg Enterprises) Average Joe Ultratron-Five ‘The New Age Cybertronic Criminally Insane Rogue Sentient Robot Wrestling Machine’

===========================

MATCH CONTINUED Suave says they are back. But nothing has really changed. Harlot continues to have Lewis stuck in the White Trash Compactor and she’s putting pressure on her back.

Johnny Suave: Lani Harlot has developed over the years a fantastic submission move with the White Trash Compactor. The question here is now…how long can Lewis hold out. She’s been in the White Trash Compactor for a few minutes now.

Harlot continues to shout ‘ask her…ask her’ to the referee. Lewis stubbornly refuses to tap out.

Johnny Suave: I don’t think there’s any chance C.J. Lewis survives this. Lani’s going to bend her into a pretzel until she finally gives up.

*”Ah Leah”- Donnie Iris*

Johnny Suave: WAIT A MINUTE!

“Queen Cool” Leah Iris AGE: 26 / HT: 5′ 9″ WT: 125 / HOME: Pittsburgh, PA FIN: Pittsburgh Rocker Dropper

Johnny Suave: HERE COMES C.J. LEWIS’S TAG TEAM PARTNER!

Iris is met by Shayne and Jaxson outside the ring. Iris boots Shayne in the balls, then Jaxson. That causes Harlot to release the hold. Iris jumps up to the top turnbuckle and leaps at Shayne…scissors his head…and slams Shayne’s head forward impacting with the floor. Jaxson tries to throw a couple punches. Iris goes to whip Jaxson into the steel ring post but Jaxson reverses at the last second and it’s Iris who hits the ring post.

Back in the ring, Lewis tries to pull herself up. Harlot goes back over to her. White Russian legsweep to Lewis and she’s back on the mat. Harlot wastes no time and slaps on the White Trash Compactor again.

Out of energy, Lewis finally taps out.

The referee immediately calls for the bell.

*DING-DING-DING*

WINNER AND THE #1 CONTENDER FOR THE PCW WOMEN’S TITLE: ‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot @ 12:25 (9:15 for television)

Johnny Suave: Lani Harlot picks up the dominant victory tonight on PCW Extreme Political TV and she now has her golden ticket to Loose Cannons Unleashed. Harlot gets her rematch with Yosemite Samantha.

Suave sends it backstage.

BACKSTAGE Paige McGillicutty has ‘American Citizen’ Kevin Scott with her.

‘American Citizen’ Kevin Scott – former 2 time PCW Champion, PCW Television Champion, and PCW Tag Team Champion (as Starz N. Stripes). PCW’s Original ‘Rookie Sensation.’ HT: 6′ 3″ WT: 250, HOME: Ottumwa, IA FIN: American Stars and Fujiawa Arm Bar

Topic #1- ‘The One Man Anti Hollywood A-List’ Stone Chism

Scott says Stone Chism is a very good wrestler and will be a tough opponent.

Kevin Scott: But I don’t think about Stone Chism. My focus is getting ready and being in the best shape possible next week. I want the PCW Title. I’ve worked hard to put myself in a position to win the title. And at Loose Cannons Unleashed, I intend to leave the ring as the new PCW champion.

Scott thanks Paige and exits.

PAIGE McGILLICUTTY TALKS WITH YOSEMITE SAMANTHA The challenger for the Women’s title, Yosemite Samantha steps into the shot flanked by all three Hanson Sisters.

Yosemite Samantha “The roughest, toughest, rootinest, shootinest cowgirl who ever crossed the Rio Grande” HT: 5’1″ WT: 105 / HOME: Dodge City, KS FIN: Shotgun Knee/Cannonball Combo

Yosemite Samantha looks as focused as she’s ever been.

Paige senses that and asks her if she’s too focused about her upcoming match at Loose Cannons Unleashed with the ‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot

Yosemite Samantha: No.

Paige waits for further elaboration. There’s none coming. She continues on and asks if she’s concerned about Harlot’s White Trash Posse interfering in the match.

Yosemite Samantha: No.

Again, Paige waits for further elaboration. Again, there’s none coming. Paige moves on. She asks Yosemite Samantha if she’s going to make any changes in her game plan based on the earlier match she had with Harlot.

Yosemite Samantha: No.

No further elaboration. Finally, Melissa Hanson pipes up.

Melissa Hanson: Paige, Yosemite Samantha will show up with her army at Loose Cannons Unleashed. We will be there as well. If the White Trash Posse wants a war, we’ll be right there fighting.

And with that, Yosemite Samantha and the Hansons depart.

HARLOT BACKSTAGE PROMO ‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot cuts a promo backstage and talks about Yosemite Samantha’s comments a couple minutes ago.

‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot HT: 5′ 10″ WT: 118 / HOME: Magnolia, AR FIN: White Trash Compactor

Harlot says Yosemite Samantha didn’t say much of anything.

Lani Harlot: It seems to me that Yosemite Samantha is letting the pressure get to her. She’s unhinged. She’s deranged. She’s not going to be able to keep it together. I’ve traveled all over the Midwest. I’ve wrestled in just about every atmosphere there is. I know what it takes to be a champion. When Yosemite Samantha loses it, you can bet that I’ll be there and ready to react.

Harlot adds it takes a lot more than funneling pure rage and emotion to win a match. She says you need heart, a gameplan, and composure.

Lani Harlot: When going gets tough, who will prevail? Brains will prevail over brawn everytime.

Cut back to Suave.

Johnny Suave: We are definitely looking at a brawl next week between Lani Harlot and Yosemite Samantha. But Lani is right. You can ride emotion a long ways but Lani’s goal is to take Yosemite Samantha’s emotions and somehow turn it against her. This is where Harlot has really improved over the past couple of years.

Cut to:

BACK IN DAWN McGILL’S OFFICE Dawn continues to recline in the black Barcalounger Coss II Wall Proximity Hugger Lay Flat Recliner Chair. Now, both feet are propped up and Nicholas Tarkowski is now using a pumice stone and shaving off the calluses and dead skin from the bottom of her feet.

Dawn McGill: Oh yes, yes. That’s good.

Cut back to Suave at the broadcast desk.

Johnny Suave: I’d like to point out again that I would love to volunteer for that job. Back in a moment.

========================

**COMMERCIAL BREAK**

JETFUEL EXTREME DO IT YOURSELF TAX COMMERCIAL [SCENE: the back yard.

A man holds a garden hose in his right hand and is filling up his above ground pool with water. In his other hand, he holds his cell phone and looks down at it- seemingly confused and perplexed.]

Announcer: This is Tim. He thinks you have to be a mastermind to figure out how to do his own taxes.

[A large brown wooden fence encloses the yard. The right wooden gate opens up and Ray McAvay’s manager, ‘No Frills’ Chris Escondido, enters Tim’s back yard. (GRAPHIC: “’No Frills’ Chris Escondido, professional wrestler manager)]

Announcer: So we flew in pro wrestling mastermind ‘No Frill’s’ Chris Escondido to help him.

[Escondido peers over Tim’s shoulder to look at his cell phone.]

Escondido: Dude. What does it say there?

[Close up of Tim’s phone. ‘Did you buy a home?’ Press here.]

Tim: It says…did you buy a home?

Escondido: Did you buy a home?

Tim: Ummm…

[Out of nowhere, ‘Tin Cup’ Ray McAvay runs in and whacks Tim in the back with a Singapore cane.]

Tim: YES! YES! I BOUGHT A HOUSE!

Escondido: Then I’d press there.

Tim: There?

*WHACK*

Tim: AARGGHH! THERE! OKAY, OKAY…I’M PRESSING THE BUTTON!

[Tim, in immense pain and anguish, presses the button. The display turns to a green check mark to indicate that he was successful and a message appears that reads: ‘Congrats, you get a big tax break…and a trip to the emergency room.]

Tim: Huh?

*THWACK*

Tim: AAARGHHHHH!

[Escondido nods down at Tim who’s fallen to his knees in excruciating pain.]

Escondido: Okay then.

[He then turns and walks away.]

Tim: Thanks.

[Graphic on screen: ‘It doesn’t take a f@#$ing genius to do your taxes.’ Tim looks down at his phone and winces in pain from the Singapore caneshots.]

Announcer: Jetfuel Extreme Do It Yourself Tax. Taxes done to the extreme.

*THWACK*

Tim’s voice: ARGGHHHH! OKAY! STOP! PLEASE!

========================

PCW ON THE ROAD April 6th – Loose Cannons Unleashed PPV @ the D.C. Armory / Washington, D.C. April 12th – Buccaneer Arena / Urbandale, IA April 13th – McLeod Center / Cedar Rapids, IA April 14th – McElroy Auditorium / Waterloo, IA April 19th – Owensboro Sportscenter / Owensburo, KY April 20th – SIU Arena / Carbondale, IL April 21st – Gibson Arena / Rolla, MO April 27th – Berry Events Center / Marquette, MI May 3rd – BMO Harris Bank Center / Rockford, IL May 4th – Joseph J. Gentile Center / Chicago, IL May 5th – Grossinger Motors Arena / Bloomington, IL

========================

FINANCIAL GURU DAVE RAMSEY TALKS WITH NANCY PELOSI (CA-Progressive Alliance), MITCH McCONNELL (KY-American Patriots), KEVIN McCARTHY (CA-American Patriots), and CHUCK SCHUMER (NY-Progressive Alliance) Ramsey talks to the group about getting out of debt.

Ramsey describes in depth the steps needed in order to not only balance the budget but also pay off the national debt.

Pelosi, Schumer, McCarthy, and McConnell all return vacant stares.

Johnny Suave: And that explains everything.

STONE CHISM INTERVIEW Paige McGillicutty talks with PCW Champion ‘The One Man Anti-Hollywood A-List’ Stone Chism about his title defense next week against ‘American Citizen’ Kevin Scott.

‘The One Man Anti-Hollywood A-List’ Stone Chism –3 time PCW Champion and 2 time PCW Television Champion HT: 6′ 2″ WT: 225 / HOME: Hollywood, CA FIN:  Anti-Hollywood Blockbuster

Paige McGillicutty: At Loose Cannons Unleashed, you face an old rival Kevin Scott.

Chism has nothing but good things to say about Kevin Scott.

Stone Chism: Kevin Scott is a two time PCW Champion, a TV Champion, and a Tag Team Champion. He was PCW’s ‘Original Rookie Sensation.’ He’s a great wrestler. But I’ve got a pretty track record of my own. Three time PCW Champion. Two time TV Champion. So what are you going to see. Two great wrestlers vying for the PCW title.

Paige asks about his split from Big Hollywood and does he have any regrets?

Chism says yes. He regrets not breaking away from them when he had the chance in 2014. He knows how they operates and he’s never going back and he’s much happier in PCW.

Stone Chism: So next week, in Washington D.C.- it’s going to be ‘The One Man Anti-Hollywood A-List’ Stone Chism versus ‘American Citizen’ Kevin Scott. Period. The best man is going to win the match and I believe that man is me.

Paige thanks the PCW Champion.

NANCY PELOSI BACKSTAGE Executive Committee President Nancy Pelosi chats with the Ultimate Social Justice Warrior before his match.

She tells him to forget about California’s Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals rules. Pelosi explains in PCW, they are lax when it comes to disqualifying wrestlers unless it is absolutely necessary.

Nancy Pelosi: We can use those rules to our advantage. That’s why Professor McCathy’s Flock will be at ringside for the match. Do you understand?

The Ultimate Social Justice Warrior nods.

Cut back to Suave.

Johnny Suave: All right. PCW Owner Dawn McGill is in the ring to make the special announcement about the Blackwell-Ultimate Social Justice Warrior match.

McGill stands in the ring while Nicholas Tarkowski is trying to center Dawn’s left foot into a bowl to continue the foot bath he was working on before McGill came to the ring.

Dawn McGill: Tonight, we have a special treat for you all. As you know, last week these two men were scheduled to wrestle but a little irritant called the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals tried to horn into match and I had them removed. The match broke down from there. This week, they’re back and we are going to see a number one contender’s match for the title that our own ‘Red Solo Cup’ Ray McAvay has- the Champion of the Political Universe.

McGill says it’s time for the main event. She hands off the microphone to Kimber Marshall…

MAIN EVENT/CHAMPION OF THE POLITICAL UNIVERSE #1 CONTENDER’S MATCH: Charlie Blackwell (Main Street USA) vs. The Ultimate Social Justice Warrior (Progressive Alliance) Kimber takes the cue and goes.

Kimber Marshall: Ladies and gentlemen, our main event tonight is a one fall…

Crowd: ONE fall!

Kimber Marshall: …with the winner becoming the number one contender for the Political Universe Championship title! Introducing first, representing the Progressive Alliance, Professor McCarthy’s Flock, and the Blue Brand…

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Professor McCarthy and his Flock come out. The Green World Order (PeaceNick/GreenPete/’Extreme Vegan’ Brock Cole Lee/Peta from PETA), The Young Jerks (Zenk Cryger/James Idahola/their foul mouthed valet Anna), The Deep State, The Antifa, Codee Pink, Emily S. List lead the Ultimate Social Justice Warrior out to the ramp.

The Ultimate Social Justice Warrior HT: 6’ 2”, WT: 245 / HOME: Washington, D.C. FIN: Justice Bomb

Kimber Marshall: And his opponent, representing the American Patriots, Main Street USA, and the Red Brand…

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Charlie Blackwell walks out and turns his back to show off his robe which says ‘Charlie Wrestling’ on the back.

Also coming out, Blackwell’s fellow Main Street USA teammates Mike the Mechanic, Farmer John Deere, and ‘American Girl’ Sarah Mae Smith.

‘Charlie Wrestling’ Charlie Blackwell HT: 6′ 4″ WT: 215 / HOME: New Braunfels, TX FIN: Tazzmission (Katahajime)

Johnny Suave: The winner faces ‘Red Solo Cup’ Ray McAvay for the Political Universal Title at Loose Cannons Unleashed.

Referee Ron Martin checks both wrestlers and calls for the bell.

*DING-DING*

Johnny Suave: And here we go!

1st MINUTE Blackwell comes out and extends his right hand. USJW left hand meets it. Brief test of strength follows…Blackwell dives to the ground and sweeps USJW’s legs out. Blackwell drops an elbow. Right hand by Blackwell keeps USJW on the deck. USJW up…Blackwell’s right hand sends him right back down.   USJW back up. Blackwell rears back and goes for the haymaker. But he misses. USJW sends Blackwell to the ropes and ‘Extreme Vegan’ Brock Cole Lee of the GWO grabs and holds him in place.

2nd MINUTE USJW jumps and spins, he catches Blackwell with the spinning heel kick. USJW covers…one…t- Blackwell kicks out. Both exchange right hands. Blackwell sends USJW to the corner. Blackwell charges at USJW and drives his shoulder into his midsection. In the corner, Blackwell lands a couple more rights to the midsection. USJW spins him around. Hops on middle rope and hits a Springboard back elbow that backs Blackwell up. He calls for a chair. Zenk Cryger of the Young Jerks throws one to him.

3rd MINUTE USJW throws it at Blackwell and catches him in the face. Knife edged chop to the face by USJW. A second knife edged chop. Three knife edged chops. Blackwell staggers back. Cryger delivers a forearm shot to the back of Blackwell while USJW sets the chair up. He jumps on the chair to the top rope and flips backwards onto Blackwell. Cover…one…two…Blackwell kicks out. Blackwell’s Main Street USA teammates are screaming at the referee about the repeated outside interference.

Johnny Suave: This is going to be the tone for the match. Professor McCarthy knows that PCW allows a little more than the Blue Brand does and they’re going to toe that line as closely as possible.

Boots by USJW. Blackwell tries to get to the ropes.

4th MINUTE USJW takes off from the chair again and drives his legs into Blackwell’s chest. Blackwell drops to a seated position. While USJW occupies the referee, Brock Cole Lee tries to choke out Blackwell. USJW pulls him out from the corner. Cover…one…Blackwell kicks out. ‘American Girl’ Sarah Mae Smith shouts encouragement to Blackwell. Blackwell rakes USJW’s eyes and shoves him back. Blackwell flies in and levels USJW with a forearm shot.

5th MINUTE Blackwell hovers over USJW and flips him off. Then he starts laying in the boots and angrily stomps the hell out of USJW. Blackwell picks up the steel folding chair. *WHAP* He waffles USJW with the chair. *WHAP* USJW spins like a slow moving top. Chair on the ground. Blackwell maneuvers USJW over. DDT!

Thunderbolt Smith: DDT ON THE CHAIR! USJW’S BUSTED WIDE OPEN.

Cover. One…two…USJW kicks out. Blackwell climbs up to the top turnbuckle.

Johnny Suave: Now it’s Blackwell who’s going to fly. But he doesn’t see the GWO nearby.

Actually Blackwell does and realizes the mistake he’s just made. Before he can react, GreenPete and Brock Cole Lee shove Blackwell off the top rope. USJW gets his boot up and Blackwell’s balls run right into it.

Johnny Suave: HOLY CRAP!

Blackwell is bent over at an angle.

Johnny Suave: Yeah, that’s gotta hurt.

6th MINUTE USJW hits a swinging neckbreaker. Cover…one…two…NO! Mike the Mechanic rushes in and makes the save.   USJW grabs the chair. He surfboards it and lands on Blackwell. Cover…one…two…again Mike the Mechanic makes the save. USJW turns to Mike and slugs him. Brock Cole Lee and GreenPete slide under the ropes and also attack Mike the Mechanic.

Farmer John Deere jumps in for Main Street USA.

The Young Jerks, The Deep State, and The Antifa hit the ring.

Johnny Suave: And now the numbers game swings against Blackwell.

Sarah Mae Smith gets flipped into the ring by Codee Pink and Emily S. List. They start stomping away at her.

7th MINUTE-8th MINUTE Professor McCarthy’s Flock maul the outnumbered Main Street USA for the next two minutes until…

Johnny Suave: HERE COMES THE CALVARY!  IT’S THE PCW LOCKER ROOM!

Champion of the Political Universe Ray McAvay, William Daniels Bryan, PCW Champion ‘The One Man Anti-Hollywood A-List’ Stone Chism, ‘American Citizen’ Kevin Scott and the rest of the PCW locker room rush out.

Professor McCarthy’s Flock and the PCW forces battle on the outside. …

9th MINUTE USJW takes an armbar on the left arm of the prone Blackwell. USJW yanks at the arm to deaden it and gets back to his feet. Blackwell also tries to stand but USJW keeps the pressure on the arm. A couple boots keep Blackwell down. USJW pulls him up and whips Blackwell into the ropes. Boot to the gut by USJW doubles Blackwell over. Right hand by USJW sends Blackwell walking back to the ropes. Irish whip sends Blackwell across the ring. USJW bends over for the back body drop- Blackwell stops and DDT’s him.

Johnny Suave: DDT BY BLACKWELL! The Ultimate Social Justice Warrior telegraphed that move badly and you can’t make mistakes like that in a match like this.

10th MINUTE Leg drop by Blackwell. Covers…one…two…NO! USJW gets his foot on the ropes at the last possible second.

Johnny Suave: That was oh so close. So close.

USJW pulls himself up and looks out for help. Professor McCarthy’s Flock is occupied on the floor. Blackwell launches himself forward, arm outstretched, and decapitates USJW with the Lariat.

Johnny Suave: HOLY CRAP!

Blackwell rolls him over into a small package. One…two…THREE!

Martin calls for the bell.

*DING-DING-DING*

WINNER AND THE #1 CONTENDER FOR THE POLITICAL UNIVERSE TITLE: Charlie Blackwell @ 10:26

Suave quickly runs down the updated card for next week’s Loose Cannons Unleashed.

LOOSE CANNONS UNLEASHED CARD

MAIN EVENT: Champion of the Political Universe Title Match ‘Red Solo Cup’ Ray McAvay © (Les Miserables/Independent) vs. Charlie Blackwell (American Patriots/Main Street USA)

Women’s Champion of the Political Universe Title Match Christa Carmondy © (American Patriots) vs. ‘Canadian Cyborg’ Sheline Carrigan (Progressive Alliance)

Tag Team Champions of the Political Universe Title Match P.M.C. Banks and Kirk Walstreit © (American Patriots/Jill Berg Enterprises) vs. Big Labor: Union Jack Taylor and James the Auto Worker (Progressive Alliance)

PCW Title Match ‘The One Man Anti-Hollywood A-List’ Stone Chism © vs. ‘American Citizen’ Kevin Scott

PCW Women’s Title Match Yosemite Samantha © vs. The winner of the ‘Queen of the Trailer Park’ Lani Harlot vs. ‘former Hooter’s waitress’ C.J. Lewis

PCW Tag Team Title Match The Island of Misfit Wrestler: Rah and Halitosis © vs. The Sports Entertainment Coalition: ‘Dastardly’ Dave Miller and ‘Dangerous’ Dan Williams

[‘Trumpet Concerto No. 2 in D major – 3 Allegro assai’ begins to play in the background and P-SPAN quickly cuts away to another political event.]