#he is a good few inches taller than lance

[autisticlancemcclain]

keith is forever 5’7” in my heart but how tall do you think he is?

depends on my mood tbh. sometimes he is a short 5'4 king sometimes he is 5'7 sometimes he is 6 foot even often he is whatever he needs to be to be one half inch taller than lance post space whale

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Lick Back by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Angst, Cheating, Unprotected Sex, Illicit Extramarital Affair, Adultery, Pregnancy Sex, Breeding Kink, AITA!Terry Richmond.

Summary: Terry Richmond is stationed at the Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Base where he teaches incoming soldiers close quarters combat techniques as a MCMAP instructor. While hanging with rowdy fresh blood recruits at a bar, he meets Nova, the new wife of a fellow soldier who recently moved to Oceanside from South Carolina. Nova and her husband Jordan seem close at first, but Terry knows that Jordan cheats on her every chance he gets with secret weekend trysts. When Nova becomes pregnant and struggles to keep her marriage together, Terry steps in to cheer her up from Jordan's indifference. But he unintentionally embarks upon an illicit affair with Nova that turns his life upside down.

Word count: 18.2K

"In this world, concrete flowers grow

Heartache, she only doin' what she know

Weekends, get it poppin' on the low

Better days comin' for sure"

Kendrick Lamar & Sza – "Luther"

Terry never planned on having an affair.

Like the cliché excuse used the world over, it just…happened.

He'd been drinking and playing pool with his marine buddies Kevin and Von when Jordan Patterson stumbled into their favorite off-base dive bar with a group of rambunctious grunts that disturbed the peace of other patrons.

"Hey, Patterson…pipe down," Terry called out.

Jordan raised a hand to wave at Terry before his jarhead crew stopped at the bar to order drinks. Their loud laughter and conversation sounded celebratory.

"Cut him some slack, T. The man just got married," Kevin said.

"Patterson? Married? To who?" Terry asked.

He noticed several women near the bar rolling their eyes at Jordan and his party. Sticking his thumb and index finger in his mouth, Terry whistled and gestured for the rowdy group to join his side of the bar where he could preserve the peace.

"Hey! Sergeant Richmond! You're back!" Jordan said.

"Yep. My leave ends in two days."

"How was Louisiana?" Jordan asked.

"Same as I left it."

"Family good?"

"Yep."

Jordan had a gregarious personality that came off bigger than life. He was about four inches shorter than Terry, with a chiseled, penny-brown face that turned heads wherever he went. A natural lady-killer. Terry liked him well enough as a soldier, but away from work, he wasn't much for running around in the streets like the younger Lance Corporal was. He gave dap to Jordan and the others, and the quiet calm he exuded filtered down to the others. Terry bought a round of drinks for the newlywed and his friends. They settled into a good time quickly.

An attractive entourage of women walked in and joined their group. Most were girlfriends or wives of the men he hung with. That's when Terry first noticed Nova. She was taller than a few of the other women who were Filipino and Black. One Mexican woman mixed into their group pointed toward them in the back, and Nova caught his eye. She looked unsure of the surroundings and he could smell the country aura she exuded. A loose ponytail held back her black hair, and she wore a cute orange jumper that showed off slender legs. She was light brown like him, but the type of brown that would get darker in the California sunshine given time. Terry sipped his glass of whiskey and concentrated on the pool game he played with Von.

"Sarge…sarge…lemme introduce you to my wife…Nova. Nova…this is the baddest MCMAP instructor on base…Terry Richmond."

Nova's warm brown eyes twinkled. He held out a hand to shake. She took it.

"How are you doing, Mrs. Patterson?"

Nova giggled.

"That still sounds so strange to hear," she said. "Pleased to meet you Terry."

Her southcack accent sounded like warm honey molasses on thick buttered toast, and for a second, he couldn't believe Jordan's wild ass could pull a sweet country girl clear across the nation. Terry glanced at Jordan, but the younger man already had his eye on some other beauty playing pool at another table. The youngin always had a wandering eye, but Terry figured he'd shut that shit down with a wife present.

"You coming to the spot tomorrow? We're throwing a barbecue to celebrate me and Nova," Jordan said.

"I'll be there," Terry said. He looked at Nova again. "Enjoy your time here."

Von missed a shot, and Terry returned to his game, soon forgetting about Nova.

The bar had a small area where a live band played, and the music was a mix of millennial R&B and pop hits. Terry left tip money on a nearby table for his server and headed for the door. He glimpsed Jordan dancing with Nova, and they appeared happy. In love. He wished them well in his heart and went home.

Little did he know that their brief encounter would morph into something bigger than he could've imagined.

Terry wasn't hurting for companionship. Six-foot-three, fit, good looking, and single, he enjoyed a wide variety of women from Long Beach to San Diego. Living in Oceanside long enough had him looking away from the small seaside town for women. Military life attracted a certain kind of woman he wasn't interested in near the base. He was pleasantly surprised that Nova was nothing like the husband-hungry women his military buddies dealt with. For one, she was a university graduate. He found that out on the weekly flag football game he played at a park with the guys and their partners.

Playing flag football with men and women was something he and Von started seven years ago to create a tight bond of friends, especially for the younger men coming into the fold. It soon became a casual mentorship that fostered goodwill and was a lot of fun. It also helped the women find friends to help deal with homesickness for those who were far away from home for the first time. They became a support system when the men were called to do their tour of duty.

The crew played before eating, and Terry covered quarterback duty for Team A. He brought his friend Angie, who everyone thought he was fucking, to hang out and play. She was his beard to keep the other women from setting him up with their female friends who were desperate for a marine to marry. Angie was gay and always played her part well, plus she was a skilled football player.

Nova played with Jordan on Team B, facing a man twice her size. The sun beat down on them, and the odor of grilled ribs and brown sugar barbecue sauce flared his nostrils at the start of the game. Von and his wife Bethany started cooking early before everyone else arrived so that the food would be ready after the first quick game. Kevin played the role as ref and blew the whistle to start the game after Terry took a long huddle to explain to a new soldier's girlfriend her position. Her name was Cath, a white-looking mixed Filipina who seemed more interested in looking cute rather than actually playing. She kept batting her lashes at Terry and fiddling with her stringy dyed hair the color of a bleeding sunset.

"Let's go Team A, we ain't got all day!" Kevin called out.

Terry clapped his hands, and his teammates spread out. Angie hiked the ball to him, and Terry took a step back, cradling the football in his hand, ready to spring his powerful arm forward. His two wide-receivers, a man and woman, jetted down the grassy field and—

Nova snatched his blue flag from around his waist in less than six seconds.

Terry stared at her with an incredulous expression as Jordan danced around and talked mad shit. Nova grinned and twirled his flag belt in her hand. Terry glared at Conner, who was supposed to block her.

"Aye, she's fast, man," Conner said. "I pushed her back, but she got around me."

Team A huddled again. Terry glanced at Nova. An impish smirk creased her pretty lips. Angie hiked the ball, and Nova gunned it for him, blowing past Connor's bulky frame like he was a toddler. Terry ran and threw the ball fast. In fact, Nova kept him running and switching up his plays. When Team B finally had their chance to move the ball around, Terry and the others witnessed Nova's athleticism. Her lean build and speed were amazing. They switched up the teams after eating, and Terry took a break to watch and drink beer from the sidelines. He thought it was cute the way Jordan slapped his wife's butt each time she made a huge play. They were lovey-dovey and Terry hoped she would curb his explosive temper that he sometimes brought to the games. Jordan could be hard on new guys hanging out to play with them, and the addition of alcohol with testosterone didn't help.

Nova skipped playing the last game of the day and sat near Von's wife and Angie, chatting. Other women joined them as the guys stood or sat around arguing about their fantasy football picks or why Bronny James should ride his nepo ass on the Laker team bus. Terry ate another rib and licked his fingers, listening to the clash of several conversations. Jordan pulled a folding chair next to his wife and threaded his fingers with hers.

"Tired of them niggas arguing about the same shit every weekend," Jordan said.

"What do you think of California?" Angie asked Nova.

Jordan kissed her hand, and Nova fixed her eyes on Angie.

"It's different. A little faster than what I'm used to."

"You'll get used to it, baby," Jordan said.

The football landed in his lap. Kevin jogged over.

"You wanna play a quick game? These cholos nearby want to play," Kevin said.

Jordan glanced at Terry.

"You in man?" Jordan asked.

"I'm good."

Jordan bounced up from his seat and darted out to the field.

"He is so happy," Bethany said.

Nova gave a winsome smile while staring at her husband.

"We both are."

"How long were you dating before getting married?" Angie asked.

"Oh, Jordy's been my childhood sweetheart since I was thirteen."

"Really? Oh gosh, that's so cute," Bethany said.

Bethany gave a look to Terry. They both knew Jordan had been seeing other women while stationed there.

"We'd been on and off since high school. I went to the University of South Carolina in Columbia and got my degree in communications. I have to wait a year to get residency here, and then I'm going to apply to SDSU and get my masters in communications."

"What do you want to do?"

"News broadcasting. I'm starting an internship at KGTV next month. That means a lot of commuting to San Diego."

"It's not bad, thirty to forty minutes," Angie said.

"Jordy proposed to me last year when he came home to visit. I told him I wasn't getting married until I had my degree in my hand first."

"I know that's right," Bethany said, tossing back her Senegalese twists. "Von and I were married ten years ago. Two kids later and I'm still wishing I finished my education. I'm thinking about doing some online classes next year."

"Do it!" Angie said, patting Bethany's leg.

Nova sighed and watched Jordan play football.

Terry discreetly studied her and wondered if she knew her husband cheated on her all the time while she was in South Carolina. He couldn't let go of the disappointment he felt in Jordan who'd been his pet project for three years because the big brass felt he had the potential to be an outstanding soldier, but needed a personal hand to keep him in line. Terry took on that responsibility and kept the man under his wing. Jordan's biggest problem was his immaturity. At twenty-five, he was only two years younger than Terry, but their maturity levels were worlds apart. Nova seemed like a smart woman and had to know her man wasn't up to her level. He didn't want to assume anything because men often acted differently around their women sometimes. Terry just hated seeing good Black women choosing lames.

She caught him looking at her.

"You play football well," he blurted.

"Jordy and I played all the time back home. Our families are close and full of boys, so I got in to fit in. I ran track too, so that helps."

"Yeah, it does, cuz you did not let me rest out there."

They all laughed.

She kept him laughing. The others, too. Nova fit the group perfectly. She was funny and encouraging and smitten with Jordan.

While packing up, Bethany cornered Terry near his truck.

"Did you know Jordan was engaged all this time?"

"No."

"That man was at my house last month with some random woman. I feel so icky talking with his wife knowing he's been unfaithful with other women."

"Maybe they had an understanding while they were long distance."

"Stop making excuses for him, Terry. You know that's some janky ass shit to bring a wife around us out of the blue. No Black woman from here to Timbuktu is going to accept that."

"That's why we're all going to mind our business."

Bethany moved closer to him, her hard light brown eyes almost glowing in her dark brown face. She lifted an accusatory finger at him and wagged it.

"You need to have a talk with him, or else I will. You're his leader that he respects and listens to. Von would just curse him out and make things worse. Nova is a beautiful woman who deserves respect. We're lucky he brought none of those other women to our football games. Suppose one of those birds popped up today?"

"Alright…alright…I'll check in with Jordan, but I won't lecture him."

"Good. Let him know I'm watching out for Nova."

Von wandered over, carrying leftover bags of supplies.

"What are you fussing about over here?" Von asked.

"Jordan," Bethany said.

Von grit his teeth comically.

"You didn't say anything to Nova, did you?" Von asked.

"I'm not hurting a woman I just met on the first day. Terry's going to talk to him."

"Babe, we gotta stay outta other grown folk's business."

"Jordan and the word 'grown' do not compute. The man runs around town like a horny teenager," Bethany complained.

"He's married to a good woman, and she's living here with him now. Let's all be cool and act like we don't know a damn thing."

"Terry…check that man or I'm pulling the pin and blowing his shit up," Bethany said, climbing into their mini-van.

Von and Bethany left him standing alone.

Jordan and Nova embraced each other near their car.

Maybe Jordan got his dick wetting season over with and would finally settle down.

Six months passed by, and Terry didn't feel the need to say anything to Jordan. The man fell into a marriage routine that convinced even Bethany that matrimony cured his loose dick. The couple invited everyone to their new military home for a housewarming party and, seeing them together, Terry had to admit there was some growth in Jordan's behavior. He was attentive to his wife, and didn't hang at the bars with the single men as much anymore. When he did pop out, he brought Nova with him, and they left early. No more bar crawls or skirt chasing. Domestic bliss. Kevin married his fiancé during a winter wedding, and Jordan gave a moving speech about how marriage changed a man for the better. Babies were born, and other men in his circle got engaged or settled into long-term relationships. The more he looked around, the more he felt like the lone bachelor clinging to singledom.

Terry didn't want to think about a wife and kids until after he was out of the military. He had a good gig going with MCMAP. A decent wage. The respect of his peers. The freedom to come and go as he pleased with no strings. Pussy was easy to come by, and no woman was special enough to entice him into monogamy.

His schedule grew hectic as the military geared up for a new deployment. He never had to go anywhere because the Marines recognized his value in training. An elite soldier in his rank, the higher ups wanted Terry to mold thousands more just like him during his stint. He went in hard on his charges, building up the best trained soldiers he could.

Nova adjusted to California life. She and Jordan had to share the use of one car to save money for her future schooling. She'd drop Jordan off to work and make the drive to San Diego for her internship. After a month, he heard from Bethany that Nova quit the internship because it became too stressful to meet the requirements with Jordan's schedule. They couldn't afford another car at the moment because the cost of military housing had gone up.

Nova ended up taking a part-time job at a public library as she waited for her residency to kick in for school. She'd gained weight and Jordan didn't seem too happy about it. Terry thought she looked good, filling out more from living a slower lifestyle than when she was running around on a university campus. At the flag football games, they bickered a lot, and Nova stopped playing altogether, sometimes not even showing up at the park. Bethany gave Terry a look at the absence, and he finally pulled Jordan aside.

"Hey man…what's going on with you? Everything cool at home?" Terry asked nonchalantly on a park bench.

"Aw man…y'know, life is lifing. Things aren't going the way we planned…or rather, the way she planned."

"What's up with Nova?"

Jordan glanced at the grass on the ground and picked at a scratch on his knee that he injured earlier that day from falling. Terry had to pull him away from another player before a fight broke out. A dude named Marcus had simply tripped over his feet and fell into Jordan, but Jordan flipped out about it, shoving Marcus in the chest.

"Man…this marriage shit is for the birds."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't wanna talk about it, Sarge."

"That's what I'm here for, Jordan."

He gave an exasperated sigh.

"I love Nova…I really do…but lately…she's been getting on my nerves."

"How?"

"Always asking me about shit that ain't really important right now. She wants another car for school, and I told her she should postpone going to SDSU, at least until I make a higher paygrade. She got a job to pay for a new car herself. Her library gig is within walking distance, so she doesn't need to have my car during the day. I need to use it more than her."

"For what? She drops you off and picks you up every day."

"Sometimes I wanna go to the bar with the fellas after work to chill."

"Then ride with them and hitch a ride home with 'em too…or catch an Uber or a Lyft."

"Man, I ain't doing all that."

"You expect her to do that, then?"

"She don't need the car every day," Jordan grumbled. "Walking will do her good, anyway. All she's doing is getting fat."

"That's how you talk about your wife?"

Jordan sucked his teeth.

"Her ass used to be fine as hell when she first got here."

"She's still fine."

Jordan glared at him.

"You lookin' at my wife funny?"

"No, what I'm saying is, Nova is still a beautiful woman. She's a lil thicker and in case you haven't noticed, no one else is complaining when she rides on base dropping your ass off early in the morning."

"I'ma get her a gym membership on base and whip that ass back into shape."

"You foul man."

"Not trying to have a sloppy booty wife."

Terry's jaw tightened. He thought Nova looked even better with the weight gain. She started wearing large T-shirts and sweatpants more, but he and the other guys on base appreciated the extra jiggles when she walked by. His daddy always told him a well-loved woman put on weight the first few years of marriage. That's how a man knew he was taking care of his wife.

Jordan looked off into the distance and Terry turned his head to see what he was checking out. One guy had brought an extra female friend to play football, a lithe Black woman from L.A. who modeled for department store flyers.

"Jordan, I hope you're staying true to your vows with Nova and not stepping out on her."

Jordan's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"What are you talking about?"

"You heard me. We all know you were fucking around before you brought her out here. None of us knew you had a fiancé, and you brought her back like a prized jewel. Now you're acting like you want to trade her in for some outhouse pussy cuz she put on a few pounds. You shouldn't have gotten married if you're acting like this."

"Jumping to conclusions and shit—"

"Nigga, I know you. Seen with my own eyes how you move. Is that why you want the car for yourself? To sneak around on Nova?"

Jordan wouldn't look Terry in the eye.

"You really are a piece of work. Here I am thinking you finally became a real man," Terry huffed.

He stood and narrowed his eyes at Jordan.

"Get your shit together. Stop trash talking your wife and take your ass home. Buy her some flowers and candy. Spoil her for even choosing your ungrateful ass."

"Whatever, man. You wouldn't understand… you ain't never been with anybody long-term."

"Because I have the maturity to know I'm not ready to settle down. Do better. Respect your wife. Don't let me catch wind of you fucking around on her."

"You her daddy or something?"

Terry held his tongue.

Shit hit the fan on a fourth of July cookout at Nova and Jordan's house.

Terry arrived, bringing ice and his homemade salmon croquettes. He mingled with the joyous gathering of co-workers and friends. Nova played the cheerful hostess, wearing a red, white, and blue summer dress that accentuated her new curves. Her face looked rounder, and she kept tugging on the back of her dress.

"This thing keeps riding up," Nova joked with Bethany.

"Welcome to the world of big booty life," Bethany said, patting her own high shelf donk.

Terry played d.j. with the music, synching his phone with the sound system. He put together a Black Barbecue playlist and let Frankie Beverly and Maze remind people of their childhoods. Bethany shouted and raised her hands when Roy Ayer's "Everybody Loves the Sunshine" popped on and the music fit the vibe of Black folks getting brown in the sunshine of the Patterson's backyard cookout.

Kevin handed Terry a glass of beer from the keg someone brought for the occasion. He gulped it down to cool off and watched the ecstatic faces around him. Life was good.

Terry's friend Raymond arrived with a bunch of people bearing drinks and lemon meringue pies. Jordan and Nova stood near him and greeted the new guests. Terry noticed Jordan's shifty eyes as he tried to ignore Lourdes, a Mexican chick known to Terry's crew as a pass around good time.

"I remember you," Lourdes purred, rubbing her hand up Jordan's arm.

Jordan grinned and nervously threw an arm around Nova's waist.

"Hey, good seeing you at another cookout…this is my wife, Nova," Jordan said.

"Hi," Nova said.

"Wife?" Lourdes squeaked.

Nova's lips pressed tightly together and Lourdes fluttered her eyes back to Jordan.

"Haven't seen you at Ringer's for a minute. Thought you got deployed," Lourdes said.

Nova glared at Jordan and stomped away.

Terry switched the music to upbeat, loud fun, and a few people started dancing. Jordan went after Nova. Lourdes grabbed a glass of beer from Raymond and flitted among the men, ignoring the other women completely.

Terry heard shouting from in the house and he followed behind Bethany and Von to check it out. Inside the kitchen, Nova screamed at Jordan, who only leaned against the kitchen island with a grim expression.

"Nova…Jordan? Everything okay in here?" Bethany asked.

Nova's wet face and agitated state told the complete story. Terry looked at Jordan.

"He's a liar…and a cheat. His hoe is walking around my home!" Nova screamed.

Jordan lowered his head. Terry was glad the man had an ounce of shame in him.

"I told you that bitch was from a long time ago. You're making a big deal about a past relationship," Jordan said.

"Past relationship? Jordan, we've been together forever! You promised that you were done disrespecting me. I should've listened to my friends and never come out here!"

Nova grabbed a glass from the dish rack near the sink and threw it at Jordan. It clipped him in the head.

"Nova…fuck!" he screeched.

Jordan lunged forward to stop her from throwing a dish, but Terry stepped between them, blocking him with his back.

"Okay, let's all calm down," Terry said.

Von put an arm around Jordan's shoulder and walked him out of the kitchen. Bethany stayed behind.

"I'll tell Raymond to get that woman out of here," Terry said.

Bethany nodded, and Nova burst into tears.

"Oh, sweetie…let the men handle this," Bethany said, hugging Nova.

Terry sought Von and Jordan.

Lourdes and Raymond left in a hurry with their group, and everyone at the party gossiped in hushed tones as music continued blasting. On the side of the house, Von cursed out Jordan whose only response was, "I know…I know…I know…"

"Are you still fucking Lourdes?" Terry asked.

"That shit is old. Ain't my fault Raymond brought her over here. I didn't invite that woman."

"How old?" Terry asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I dead that shit back in January."

"January? Nigga, you're married!" Von shouted.

"Keep your voice down," Jordan said.

Terry stuck a finger in his face.

"You betta not trip when she leaves your ass," Terry said.

"She ain't going nowhere."

"Why not?"

Jordan closed his eyes and rested his head against the side of his house.

"She's pregnant."

Von and Terry groaned and rolled their eyes.

"See, niggas like you is why Black women hate us now," Von barked.

"I'm gonna change…watch and see. I gotta man up now…I'ma be a father and my kid needs his father."

"If she were smart, she'd abort and go home," Von said.

"Von…yo…ease up, man," Terry said.

"Nah, T…Jordan doesn't want a wife…and he damn sure don't deserve no children with how he acts toward Nova. I wouldn't be surprised if Bethany is in there now telling her the same thing! I oughta kick your punk ass."

"Stand down, Washington," Terry said, using Von's surname in a tone used at work.

Von threw up his hands and walked away. Jordan pushed past Terry and entered a side door that went into the garage and back into the house. Terry followed.

Nova stood in the kitchen with Bethany. Terry nodded his head for Bethany to leave, and he posted up by the fridge to watch over Jordan.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Please…don't make that face. I know I'm always sorry about shit and I hurt you. Don't abort my baby."

Nova glanced at Terry. The pregnancy had been a secret, apparently.

"Get out of my face," Nova said.

"Nova—"

Terry put a hand on Jordan's shoulder.

"Give her some space, c'mon."

He led Jordan back to the party. Everyone else partied on, ignoring the messy marital discord. Jordan drank some beer and joined Kevin and Von in a corner with some married men. Terry sauntered over to the food table and made himself a plate. Bethany had smoke coming out of her ears, commiserating with other women.

The mood had soured within the hour, and folks gathered to-go plates and said their goodbyes. Terry made himself a plate of pork ribs and macaroni salad with a couple of hot links thrown on top for good measure. Kevin took Jordan to his house for the night with his wife, Vivian, to keep him away from Nova. They both needed to sleep apart and figure out their situation in the morning.

Terry held up a hand to everyone left behind and headed out. Two blocks down the street, the glare of the sunset struck his eyes. He reached for the top of his head and couldn't find his sunglasses. Pulling over, he searched the truck seat to see if they fell off. Then he remembered. He put them down on the patio table at Jordan's. If they had been cheap drugstore shades, he would've let it go. But they were three hundred dollar wrap-around Oakley's.

He made a U-turn and parked in the Patterson driveway. Sneaking toward the side of the house, he crept toward the high wooden gate that led to the yard. He wanted to run in and out of the backyard without disturbing Nova.

The gate was locked.

He walked back to the front and rang the doorbell.

Nova answered with pink eyes, still wearing her holiday dress.

"Hey…Nova…sorry to bother you, but I left my shades in your backyard. Can I go get them?"

"Sure," she said, stepping aside.

Terry moved through the living room and into the kitchen, pushing on the sliding glass doors. He found his shades perched on a speaker. He tucked them into the neck of his t-shirt and looked at the other speaker.

"I can move these back in the house for you," he offered.

Nova nodded. He didn't want her straining to carry them. It took him less than a minute to move them and the cords inside the living room. Jordan could set them back up when he returned home.

"All done. See ya next time," he said.

Nova nodded with her back to him, facing the kitchen sink. Her shoulders shook and Terry felt awkward being there while she cried.

"You'll be okay, right? Maybe call a friend over?" he suggested.

"What friends? Everyone is Jordan's friend."

"Bethany?"

She shook her head.

"I can't bother her. She has kids and stuff to do. I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks for bringing the speakers in."

"No problem…alright. I'm going to bounce."

Nova turned her head to the side.

"Everyone knew, didn't they? That he's been cheating on me this entire time?"

"Nova…uh…"

She glanced at him with glossy eyes and a crinkle in her forehead.

"You don't have to lie to me, too, Terry. I've always suspected, but couldn't prove it back home. He swore up and down that he's been faithful and only loved me. Jordan made me look like the biggest dumb fool today. How many other women have come through my house and fucked my husband while smiling in my face?"

"We thought he would change…we didn't even know about you until you arrived a year ago."

"Not one of you said anything."

Terry moved over to the sink and stood next to her.

"Look, a few of us talked about it. Bethany wanted to tell you from day one, but we…the fellas…we thought Jordan would shape up. It became a matter of us not wanting to hurt you."

She closed her eyes. A single tear ran down her face. He felt like shit.

"Bros before hoes," she said.

"It's fucked up, but…yeah, that's what it came down to. None of us wanted this for you."

"Well… I got it, anyway."

Her face crumpled. She covered her eyes with her right hand.

"He's not attracted to me anymore…I've gained all this weight…now I'm pregnant and can't trust anyone around me!"

Her cry of pain bruised his insides.

Terry stood paralyzed next to her, not wanting to be inappropriate, although he thought he was supposed to hug her or something. No comforting words came to mind that sounded good enough for her. He pulled out his cell phone and called Von.

"Yo…man…can you put Bethany on the phone? I'm at Jordan's place and Nova is having a hard time…Bethany? Hey, can I ask for a big favor? Could you come over to Nova's? Yeah…it's bad…okay. Okay. Thanks."

He swiped his phone and stuck it in his back pocket.

"Bethany is coming over right now—"

Nova pushed her face against his chest and wept. The top of her hair tickled his chin, and he held his arms out, not knowing where to place them. He finally hugged her, and she broke down more, her warm tears soaking his shirt.

"I'm sorry you're going through this, Nova…I really am."

He stroked her back as she poured her wounded soul into his broad chest.

"Shh…shh…it hurts bad now, but it'll pass…I promise…" he whispered to her.

She nodded and leaned back, wiping her face.

"You're too pretty to be scrunching up your face like you tasted some lemons," he teased.

Nova laughed and blinked away tears.

He became cognizant that he still held her close against him. She smelled like sugar cookies and all the weight Jordan complained about felt good in his arms.

"Your smile lights up a room, and if that fool can't appreciate it, someone else will," he said.

Nova gazed into his eyes. With her hair up in a bun, Terry could enjoy every part of her sweet face. They'd never been that close together, and he became self-conscious. He dropped his hands to his sides, but kept his eyes on hers. Nova stood on tip-toe and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you for caring so much," she said.

Uncomfortable. That was the first feeling that ran through him. He shouldn't be there with her. Alone. Seconds ticked by and they both stood there, looking at one another. Her eyes focused on his lips and she kissed him on the mouth.

Like an idiot, he kissed her back, parting his lips so her tongue could probe his mouth and find the comfort she needed. She didn't hold back, circling his neck with her arms and pressing into him hard, wanting to feel his muscles against her heavenly frame. Terry tilted his head more and thrust his tongue further into her mouth. He swallowed the soft moan Nova released against his lips. He licked her bottom lip and kissed her fully until they both started moaning from the illicit encounter.

One nasty thought kicked around in his brain.

He could fuck her raw and cum all inside her. Since she was already pregnant, there'd be no need to have a condom barrier to prevent knocking her up. His breeding kink revved up, and he seriously thought about fucking Nova in her marital bed to teach Jordan a lesson. Fill her up with his cum…treat her the way she deserved to be treated by a real man who appreciated a woman no matter what her size was. Jordan was crazy to think a once slender Nova didn't compete with the thicker one in his arms. And she was about to get even bigger while pregnant?

His dick got hard.

Nova felt it poking against her.

"We gotta stop," he whispered into her mouth.

"Why? I should be allowed to get my lick back with someone better than my husband."

Terry pulled away, afraid of the consequences if Nova kept talking to him reckless like that.

His erection tented his pants. It was undeniable how much he wanted her. Nova licked her lips, staring at the thick bulge she could have. She boldly reached out and touched it…squeezed it to see how big it was. He moaned, and she ran her fingers up and down his length, teasing him until she reached the wide head that strained against his zipper. Pulling her fingers away, he had to take a stand or else they'd do something that couldn't be undone.

"Bethany will be here. I better go."

Terry swiftly parted from her and rushed to his truck. The irrational part of his mind wanted to lay some good pipe down on her. He wiped her lipstick off of his mouth once he sat in the driver's seat. His dick throbbed in his pants.

Nova was married. Calm the fuck down.

Yes, Jordan Patterson was a selfish knucklehead, but that didn't mean snatching up the man's wife because he dogged her out.

Terry started his car and drove away before Bethany showed up. He spent the next two days relaxing in his bachelor's quarters on base. At work, he ran into Jordan briefly, but it was in passing to teach one of his martial arts classes. Jordan looked sheepish and apologetic, and Terry just gave a nod and kept on moving.

He skipped two weeks of flag football, not wanting to hear gossip or run into Nova. No one questioned his non-socializing. He sometimes dropped out of sight when his workload increased to cover staff leave or new training.

A third week of avoiding his friends continued, and his phone rang with a number he didn't recognize. He answered without thinking.

"Hello?"

"Hi Terry. It's me…Nova."

"Nova…hey…I don't—"

"I'm sorry. If you're avoiding everyone because of me…you don't have to stay away from your friends. I kissed you and it was wrong. I made things weird for you."

Terry sighed.

"I don't want any problems, Nova. You and Jordan have to sort your relationship out without adding more trouble."

"I don't know why I did that, Terry. You were just being kind, and I liked how you made me feel…wanted. Seen. I'm two months pregnant and my hormones could be messing with me, too. I want to apologize and ask that you not hide anymore. It makes me feel awful, like I chased you away being inappropriate when I was feeling low."

"It's understandable…but I really have been busy. Don't stress out about anything. That night has been forgotten."

"Good."

"See you around," he said.

He hung up and deleted her number from his phone.

Hearing her voice did something to him. He called up Von and went to his house to have a beer and catch up. Bethany wasn't home, so the men could chat openly without her chiming in or judging.

"How's Jordan been doing with Nova?"

"Hard to say, really. They seem okay. But he's at the bar after work a lot. Kevin hung out with him a few times. Tried talking sense into him. Looks like they're going to work things out."

"Good for them."

"He's being deployed to the Indo-Pacific at the end of the year."

Terry exhaled with a loud breath.

"Damn, that sucks. He'll miss the birth."

"Yep. But distance has a way of making the heart grow fonder. That's what they say, right?"

"With Jordan, it seems to do the opposite."

"He wants Nova to go back to South Carolina while he's gone. She wants to stay here."

"She doesn't have a support system here, though."

"Bethany has adopted her as the little sister she always wanted. Nova is good people. We'll look after her."

Terry left Von and took a drive up the coast to see a friend in Long Beach. He returned to Camp Pendleton and got a fresh line-up from his barber and hooked up with his buds for a baseball viewing party at an on-base pub. The Padres lost, and he ended up playing pool for the rest of the night, listening to tall tales and body counts among his peers. Unexpectedly, Jordan and Nova showed up to hang out.

He couldn't look at her the same way.

She'd fixed her hair into a sexy new pixie cut that had soft gelled waves making her look like a starlet and even more attractive. Their eyes met and something definitely changed between them. All he could think about was their kiss, and the way she wanted to feel on his dick. Her dewy gaze told him she was thinking the same thing, too. Terry avoided saying too much to her, giving a polite 'Hello' to them both before locking into his pool shots.

Jordan guzzled down beer and hammed it up with a few officers. Nova wandered over to his pool table, nursing a soda. She sipped and watched him play against his friend Luis, then slipped a quarter onto the end of the table, signaling she had the next game against whoever won. Of course, it was him because Luis was a lousy shot most of the time.

Nova chose a pool stick and chalked it down, eyeing him curiously with a playful smile. Terry glanced around, hoping someone else wanted to play instead, but the guys were too busy drinking and talking loud. The pub overflowed with patrons, blocking him and Nova from view of the others. He checked the watch on his arm.

"Gotta run. Early day tomorrow," he said.

He placed his pool stick on the rack and wiped his hands of chalk dust. Nova pursed her lips and her shoulders drooped. He forced himself to leave. Looking at her only increased a forbidden desire, and he'd be damned if he fell for a woman simply for lust. He had a roster of willing women on his phone if he needed sexual relief that badly. Nova was danger, and he read the warnings clearly.

He walked toward housing with hands shoved deep in his pants pockets. All he had to do was stay away from Jordan and their mutual friends until he deployed. Then he'd have no reason to worry about ever seeing Nova. By then, she'd have a baby and no longer feel like hanging out anywhere he'd likely be. The woman dredged up feelings he wasn't used to, like longing and nesting up with someone away from his male companions on base. Jordan Patterson had to be the luckiest motherfucker in the world and couldn't even appreciate what he had at his fingertips: a good woman who loved him with a pure heart.

Terry's parents raised him with morals and values. Thou shall not covet and Thou shall not commit adultery. Such simple tenets and yet his salacious mind quibbled over semantics, searching for loopholes. Could he really covet someone if the husband didn't really want the wife? If a husband broke the marital bond first, should the wife stay beholden to the rules? He shook his head, blaming the rambling thoughts on all the beer he drank. His brain marinated in liquor. Any unscrupulous thoughts he entertained weren't to be taken seriously. He believed that for a full thirty days, Nova-free.

Until the day Von called him over to hang out.

Bethany was out for the day with friends, and his kids were at a summer camp for the week. Von wanted to enjoy a house without his family in the presence of his best bud, and Terry was all for it. Bethany always bought the best snacks, so Terry and Von hunkered down, stuffing their faces with chips, Ding Dongs, string cheese, and Pepsi. They watched some action flicks and talked shit about their jobs and the people who irked them that week. Von and Terry had joined the marines on the buddy system. They were friends back in a small Louisiana parish and had each other's backs ever since. Terry was the one to introduce Von to Bethany. They attended a beach party in Mission Beach and Bethany hemmed Terry up, asking about his friend with the big chocolate malt ball-looking head and thick muscles. From that moment on, Terry, Von, and Bethany had become a family.

Von tapped his TV remote and flipped through a series of military espionage flicks. Terry leaned back and shoved a Hostess cupcake down his throat. The front door flung open and Bethany walked in carrying bags with Nova.

"Time to go," Terry said.

"No…stay. We've got Chinese food and wine. Where you been, stranger?" Bethany asked.

Von jumped up to help put the bags in the kitchen. Bethany gave Terry a kiss on the cheek. He nodded at Nova.

The woman glowed.

Ringlets of shiny black curls crowned her short cut and her skin looked like someone had dusted it with a light bronzer. Her white baby doll tank top and jean shorts reminded him of the Creole girls back home who walked to the corner store looking cute and summery.

"Wash up you two. We'll eat and catch up," Bethany ordered.

Terry headed for the nearest bathroom, and Nova followed him. He let her wash her hands first while he waited against the doorjamb. They switched places. She stared at his reflection in the mirror.

"It's good seeing you again, Terry. Jordan asks about you a lot."

"Been busy…work…y'know."

"Yeah. Guess you heard the news, huh? He's being shipped out. Bad timing for us…with the baby coming, and all."

He nodded and dried his hands.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping past her into the hallway.

"I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable…still."

"We're good."

He walked into the dining room where Bethany set up plates and Von poured white wine into three glasses.

"We put sparkling cider in your glass," Von said, winking at Nova.

Everyone sat down and passed around different containers of shrimp fried rice, chow mein, garlic paper chicken, and sweet and sour pork. They chowed down and talked, and Terry settled into falling for Nova against his will. A year of living in Oceanside had made her appear more confident and comfortable, and she didn't seem all that daunted by the idea of Jordan leaving. He listened to her and Bethany talk about having a baby shower before Jordan left, and they discussed birthing centers and hospitals. Nova genuinely looked happy, and Terry relaxed being with her. Any lascivious thoughts he had in the past about her left his mind. Bethany and Von treated her like family, and he fell in line with the sentiment. One indiscretion didn't doom him. He could turn the page and start fresh with Nova.

After dinner, Nova and Bethany went into the garage while Terry and Von cleaned up the dishes and put away leftovers. They sauntered back into the living room to watch more TV. Bethany and Nova passed them carrying boxes into the den.

"What's all that?" Von asked

"My old maternity clothes. I told you there was a good reason to keep them. Nova and I are going to look through these and find some things for her to take," Bethany said.

"Take it all, please!" Von joked.

Terry lounged on the couch, half watching the TV. He peeked at Nova and Bethany. The women chatted with excited voices and Bethany held up old clothing against Nova's body. Bethany kept drinking wine and snorting as she told maternity stories about birthing her own two girls. Nova sounded nervous and excited about welcoming a little one. He overheard her telling Bethany that the baby wasn't planned, but she hoped it would bring Jordan around to be a better man. Bethany tried to reassure her, but Terry doubted she believed a word she said to the younger woman.

It grew late, and Terry didn't want to overstay his welcome.

"I'ma head on out."

He slapped hands with Von and grabbed his keys from the coffee table.

"Terry, can you drop Nova at her house with the clothes?" Bethany asked.

Terry stood at the front door like a deer caught in headlights.

"I've had too much wine to be driving, plus it's on your way back to base," Bethany said.

She handed Terry a box to carry. Nova carried the second box.

"I can call an Uber," Nova said.

"Save your money, girl. Terry is right here and he can carry the boxes for you. Do you want to take some leftover Chinese food with you?"

"No thank you," Nova said.

"Terry?" Bethany said.

"No, I'm full and Chinese doesn't taste all that good heated back up to me."

Bethany took the large box from Nova and followed Terry out to his truck. They placed the maternity clothes in the truck bed. He opened the passenger door for Nova and she climbed in using the grab handle on his truck. Bethany patted his back.

"Thank you for taking her home. I don't feel safe taking a chance, plus it's supposed to rain in twenty minutes. Your truck is a battalion. Baby on board!"

Bethany hugged him. He accepted the affection.

"I owe you," she said.

Bethany tapped on the window, getting Nova's attention.

"Make sure you wash everything," Bethany said.

Nova nodded. Bethany leaned in toward him so Nova couldn't hear.

"Check on Jordan, will ya? Vivian told me he's been hanging with Kevin after work. I don't know why he's acting like he doesn't want to go home, but Nova needs his support."

Terry sighed and nodded.

"Truth is, I can drive, but I know if I see that man, I'll hurt his feelings. You know how to get through to him," she said.

"Night," he said.

Terry walked to the driver's side and climbed in. He started the car and lowered the air conditioning he had blasted earlier.

"Ready?" he said, trying to sound chipper.

"Yep."

They rode in silence, listening to the radio. It started sprinkling and traffic on the I-5 freeway slowed. By the time they neared her home, there was a full on downpour with sonic booms of thunder that rattled the truck. Nova cowered in her seat. With each thunderous clap, she jumped and trembled. The storm gathered gray ominous clouds that pressed the bolts of lightning lower in the atmosphere. Silver heat sliced erratic zig-zag lines across the horizon. The weather even made Terry feel uneasy. They arrived at her home just as a heavier shower drenched the roads.

"Go open the door, and I'll bring the boxes in," he said.

She hopped out with a mad dash to the front door. He lifted both the wet boxes from the back of his truck and strode indoors, expecting to see Jordan. No one else was in the house.

"Just bring those back here," she said.

She led him to the second bedroom that they were turning into a nursery. He placed the boxes against the closet door.

"Thank you for doing this…bringing me home and carrying all of that."

"No problem."

He glanced around and noticed cute little cartoon animal pictures on the walls. A brand new crib sat in an unopened box near the wall.

"I see you two are getting ready for the new bundle of joy," he said.

"Yeah, Jordan has a few things to put together for me. I am terrible at assembling stuff. We have a whole shelving unit and a baby play center waiting in the garage, still in boxes, too."

He followed her back into the living room. Nova shook rainwater off of her and checked her smartphone. She frowned. Her fingers flew across the text pad.

"Something wrong?"

"Jordan was supposed to be here by now."

She tapped her phone, and Terry heard the dial tone ring. A voice recording came on.

"Jordy, I'm back home. Where are you? Call me and let me know you're on your way back."

Nova placed the phone on a side table and wrung her hands. Hard rain pelted the roof. She pulled a curtain back from the front window.

"It's really coming down," she said.

Her voice carried the strain of worry.

"Jordy isn't a good driver in the rain…" she murmured.

She tried his number once more. Voicemail again. She didn't bother to leave a message.

"You mind if I use your restroom before I go?" he asked.

Nova nodded and sat down on her couch. Another powerful rumble vibrated across her roof. She turned on her TV and tried to ignore the sound outside. Her shoulders trembled.

Terry went to the guest bathroom, closed the door, and pulled out his phone. He called Jordan. The line rang four times and Jordan picked up.

"W'sup, sarge? Where you at? Come through Kevin's way, we're chopping it up over here."

Terry's jaw grew tight. The man ignored his wife but answered his phone for a friend? Trifling.

"I dropped your wife off at home. She's worried about you. You sound drunk and it's raining."

"Why did you drop her off? She's supposed to be with Bethany."

"Bethany was too tipsy to drive and asked me to drop Nova off on my way home. You need to answer your wife's calls."

"All she does is nag me. Every time I turn around, she wants me to put stuff together. We got six more months until the baby gets here."

"Call your wife…now."

Terry hung up and called Kevin.

"You missing out over here, Terry. Got a good spades game—"

"Kev, how sober is Jordan? Is he good to drive or nah?"

"That dude is buzzing."

"Don't let him drive. When the rain dies down, put him in an Uber and send his ass home."

"What's going on, man?"

"He needs to be with his wife. She's worried, and he's not answering her calls. The storm is scaring her, too."

"He said he talked to her."

"He's lying. She called him twice in front of me and he ignored her. I called, and he picked up."

Kevin sighed on the other end.

"This nigga…I'll have him call her."

"Right now, Kev."

"Okay. On it."

Kevin hung up. Terry flushed the toilet. He quickly washed his hands in the sink.

"I should not be babysitting a grown ass man," he mumbled to his reflection.

He took a deep breath and left the bathroom. Nova paced in the living room, arguing with Jordan on her cell. He eased his way toward the door, happy that they were at least talking to one another. Terry's phone vibrated in his pocket. Kevin.

"Aye, I'm going to keep Jordan here for the night. He's talking crazy to Nova on the phone," Kevin said.

Terry could only hear Jordan's muffled voice and Nova's bawling.

Fuck.

"What's he saying?"

"He's drunk off his ass…blaming her for fussing all the time and putting us in their business. All bullshit. Vivian thinks he might act up if he goes home."

Nova threw her phone on the couch and dashed down the hallway.

"Okay. Make sure he's back here in the morning."

Terry swiped his phone and waited by the front door.

"Nova? Kevin is going to keep Jordan at his place until tomorrow. He won't be driving in the rain."

"He can crash into a pole for all I care!"

He heard footsteps and the bathroom door slamming shut. The shower ran. She had a right to be upset. But it wasn't good for the baby. Terry's sister had miscarried from stress in her first trimester. Overactive hormones and an unhappy home weren't a good mix. He walked into the kitchen and searched a few cupboards and a pantry until he found some hot cocoa packets and tea. The cocoa seemed like the best choice for her. He turned on an electric kettle and ripped open a cocoa packet. Finding a decent mug, he mixed hot water, milk and cocoa together. Thunder kept rumbling and a flash of lightning streaked outside the kitchen window.

Nova stepped out of the bathroom wearing a thick red bathrobe. She smoothed back her damp hair, and he held out the hot cocoa to her.

"This should help you calm down," he said.

She padded over to him and took the mug, cradling it against her robe.

"Thank you. For everything."

He nodded.

"Could you stay here for a few more minutes and talk? I don't want to be alone just yet…I get scared of thunder. Jordan usually calms me down, but when I'm alone listening to it…I get nervous…scared. I know nothing will happen to me, but the booming noises…I've always been afraid of that sound. You can watch TV if you don't feel like talking."

Her tremulous voice brought out the protector in him.

"I'm sure there's a late-night horror movie I can watch to go with the weather," he said.

She grinned with relief all over her face.

He joined her on the couch and picked out the Twilight Zone on a streaming service. They watched a couple of episodes while Nova sipped the cocoa. The TV froze for about fifteen minutes, and they chatted about her day with Bethany. She jumped with each thunderclap, but having him next to her seemed to help her deep-rooted fear. Eventually, the TV started working again.

"A lot of these episodes have soldiers or talk about war a lot," she said.

He nodded.

"Rod Serling fought in World War Two. I read a biography about him a few years ago. He used war themes as an allegory in a lot of his episodes."

"Interesting," she said. "Oh! This is one of my favorite episodes…that guy is a prisoner on a planet and has to live with a robot."

"I remember it. He falls in love with her."

"But he can't keep her when he's freed…not enough room on the return space ship."

She put the cocoa mug on the end table.

"So sad. Do you think you could love a robot?"

"Maybe…if it looked real enough. People fall in love with all kinds of things."

"Like in that movie 'Her'. When that guy fell for an app program," she said.

"That was a good movie. Had me looking at my phone apps different. I have one that does a guided meditation and the A.I. voice has a female British accent. I think it's a Black woman…the voice sounds so sexy, telling me what to do."

They both laughed.

"I think your voice would be good for a guided meditation," she said.

"Maybe. People tell me it's deep enough to do voice overs."

"Let's try it."

"What?"

"Do a guided meditation for me so I will fall asleep and you can go home. I know you're tired of sitting here with me being a scardy cat."

"I don't think you're a scardy cat. A chicken maybe…"

She tossed a decorative pillow at him.

"Lay back in a comfortable position," he said.

He moved away from the couch and planted himself on the loveseat, allowing her to stretch out.

"Close your eyes," he said.

She did.

"Imagine that you're on a faraway island somewhere…there's a warm, sunny beach with clear waters for as far as the eye can see. Lie down on the soft warm sand…let the warmth of the sand cover you completely in a blanket of peace. No storms…no worries about thunder…just peace and tranquility…"

Terry kept talking and Nova settled into breathing deeply and relaxing her limbs.

"You can feel yourself floating to a safe place of calm…"

Nova drifted off to sleep.

Terry sat on the loveseat, quietly watching over her. The tension in her face relaxed while she slept. He glanced around at the other furniture, looking for a blanket or throw cover. Nothing caught his eye. He lifted Nova and carried her into a neat bedroom. The curtains were open and another pass of rolling thunder shook the window. Fat drops of rain smacked against the glass, fogging it up with condensation. He placed Nova on the high, queen-sized bed and closed the curtains. Feeling around for the lamp on the nightstand, he turned on a light and pulled the covers back. He reached across the bed and lifted her again. The bathrobe looked cumbersome on her. He untied the belt to make her more comfortable and didn't realize she was naked underneath. Embarrassed, he covered her back up and tied the belt, tucking her in.

Nova's eyes fluttered open.

"Jordan?" she said.

Her eyes adjusted to the light and peered at him with surprise. She glanced at the bed and then the room. Her eyes watered.

"He's probably with someone else right now," she whispered. "All of his friends cover for him."

She squeezed her eyes shut. Terry sat down on the bed and held her. He stroked her hair and murmured comforting words in her ear. All he wanted to do was erase the sadness in her eyes.

A slow-burning anger simmered in Terry's chest. He couldn't understand Jordan. Couldn't understand the neglect of a good woman. What was the point of getting married if you didn't want to be around your wife?

Terry kicked off his shoes and socks and climbed onto the bed, resting his large body next to Nova. If Jordan didn't want to be there, then he would take his place and comfort a lonely wife. She tucked her head under his neck and he rubbed her back with gentle hands.

"You deserve so much more, Nova," he said.

"I think I'll go back home," she huffed into his chest.

"Do what you think is best for you and your baby."

"I've tried my best…but he won't stop…I don't know what he sees in those other women. Why would he ask me to marry him? Why get me pregnant if that isn't what he wanted?"

"All you have to do is rest. In the morning, you can call your people and decide what you want to do."

"Okay," she said with a shuddery breath.

She snuggled against him, and he moved the blankets to make more room for himself.

That's when she did the unthinkable.

Took off the bathrobe.

Terry froze.

Nova tossed the bathrobe on the floor and tugged on his shirt.

"Take it off. You're still a little damp from the rain," she said.

He pulled the T-shirt over his head. Fuck it…he took his sweatpants off, too. He tossed his boxers and sweats on the floor, and in the lamplight, Nova looked over his body with heat in her eyes. She traced his right pec with her finger, and then curled against his side, hugging him. Her breasts pressed against him like soft, fluffy pillows. He looked down at her pretty brown areolas and dared to touch a nipple. Nova leaned back so he could get access to both breasts.

God…she felt so good in his hands. Her nipples stiffened like cute little buttons, and his dick thickened. Any thoughts of right or wrong flew away from his mind. Jordan didn't want to be in the bed with her. He did.

He fondled her breasts, getting more aroused as she sighed with pleasure, enjoying his large hands. What a difference a year made in her body. The once slender physique filled out into a new form, one that had his dick propped up saluting her. He glanced between her legs. Her trimmed thatch of pubic hair looked so pretty, especially with her inner labia plumped up and waiting for his touches. He kissed her first, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She moaned and her legs fell open wider. The pink of her pussy glistening with arousal had him gripping his dick and stroking himself. Nova's eyes widened, looking at the size of his erection out in the open. Whatever she thought his dick length was didn't match what her eyes feasted on.

She started playing with her pussy, and Terry groaned so loud that her opening throbbed at the sound. Nova pushed him back and crawled on top of him, letting her wet pussy lips slide up and down his erection. She made the veins on his dick shiny with her slickness.

Up and down she went across his length, teasing the bulbous head of his dick. His pre-cum spilled out, adding more lubricant, and that's how she pleasured herself, grinding slowly on his dick, letting her delicate inner labia slide across the hardness.

She rose and wound her hips, moving that wet pussy in circles, teasing his hardness, making him pant like a desperate man. Her tits hung in his face, doubled in size from the first time he met her. He thrust up to get more exterior friction from her labia. The inner pussy lips spread across his girth, making slippery sounds. She looked at his long dick slathered in her clear sticky fluid. He watched threads of it shine in the light. She rubbed those sticky lower lips against him harder, rocking her hips forward and back.

Nova liked what she felt.

Her mouth became reckless.

"It wouldn't be wrong for us to fuck, Terry. I want to feel you inside of me," she said.

He grabbed her breasts and squeezed them. "Nova…shit," he said.

"Will you fuck me?" she asked.

She started gyrating on his dick and her labia hit a spot that curled his toes. The thick ridge of his frenulum rubbed against her clit, and Nova kept that slow, tortuous grind going.

The woman courted danger. Offered him married pussy on a platter. He'd already wandered into sketchy waters by climbing into bed with her. What the fuck did he think was going to happen doing that? He finally had to come clean with himself.

He wanted Nova.

Wanted her the first time they met. He'd been in denial about his feelings for her. Somehow she got under his skin, and Jordan made it easy by neglecting a husband's duty. He adored her from afar, always waging an internal battle to stay away, so afraid to confront what he tried to hide. Now Jordan's wife humped Terry's dick, asking to be fucked.

"Can I cum inside you without a condom?" he asked.

Nova's glassy-looking eyes were full of lust for him.

"You can cum as much as you want inside of me."

He shut his eyes. Asked God to forgive him for the disrespectful mess he was about to make in that woman's pussy. Her man wasn't due back until morning. Terry was built for long strokes and going all night. His erection grew stiffer with anticipation.

He flipped her over and kissed her passionately, allowing himself the luxury of taking his time. All pretense of being a dutiful wife left Nova. Her man had scorned her, and she wanted the forbidden fruit of new dick.

Terry kissed down her throat and in between her breasts. He sucked both nipples, using his tongue like a brush to paint the most delightful shapes all over her tits. Delving further down, he licked her pussy and kissed her clit, claiming it all for himself.

"This is all mine now," he said, while staring at her with his disarming green eyes.

Nova nodded and whimpered, "Yes…yes…yes…baby it's all yours."

He groaned into her vulva and her legs wrapped around his head. Nothing would stop him from pleasing her. He ate her pussy like a charcuterie board, smacking his lips and sampling her clit, tasting her delightful opening by thrusting the tip of his tongue in, then gliding his full lips down the middle, giving her gentle kisses. Terry gazed at her while doing it with sensual eyes that dared Nova to give in to his cravings for more. He pampered her vulva as if that night would be his only chance to have her. She came so hard on his lips that they dripped with her natural lubricant. Spent from her orgasm, Nova cried, turning her face toward the pillow.

"We can stop…if you can't handle this…we can stop and forget it ever happened," he said, trying to soothe her.

She shook her head.

"I don't want to stop. I'm just…happy. Haven't had an orgasm like that in so long. I forgot how good they can feel," she said.

She hugged him tight and bawled in his arms.

"It feels good to be wanted again, Terry…thank you."

A smidgen of guilt tried to latch hold, but he threw it off like his morals.

"Don't cry, let me make you feel even better…I'll make you forget all your troubles," he whispered in her ear.

He gently pushed her legs back and draped them over his biceps. Nova watched the head of his dick rub on her clit, testing her sensitivity. She hissed and clamped her lips together when he pushed the tip in. Her pussy was tight at the entrance, and he waited for her to relax before he pushed in further.

"Ooh…Terry…its big…oh…wait…wait…oh God…oh God…"

Nova's eyes rolled back as he thrust in deeper. She tilted her hips, and he hit the bottom of her pussy so fast that he groaned out her name. Her walls clenched around him.

"Oh, fuck, Nova…baby this pussy is so tight…you're gripping me so good baby…you been wanting this dick, huh?"

"Yes…yes…yes…"

He pumped inside of her with assured thrusts, making sure she felt every inch dedicated to her pleasure.

"Oh, you feel so good, Terry…"

He hunched down lower, wanting to feel her breasts against his chest. Everything about her made him feel giddy and alive. He wondered if this was what love felt like while making love. His heart swelled with so many emotions. Happiness, desire…even revenge. Revenge for the lack of care Jordan had for his wife. He wanted Nova to get the best dick he could offer her.

They kissed while he gave her deep dick. Their tongues colluded in an illicit affair of their own, and Nova whimpered his name inside his mouth, casting her love magic all over him. He wanted to clap her cheeks and helped her turn onto her hands and knees as his balls slapped against her ass and clit with each doggy-style thrust. She gripped the sheets tight and looked back at him with a shocked face.

"You're stretching my pussy…Terry…it's so big."

"You're taking it so good, baby…I got you."

He reached around and played with her clit, giving it slow, circular strokes. Her ass bounced with his pounding and she locked her eyes on him, wanting to watch the satisfaction on his face.

"You like it?" she asked.

She knew damn well he did by the way he grunted and cursed with each stroke.

"I love it."

"You want to cum inside me?"

His mouth fell open, and his eyes narrowed. Her walls yanked on his dick. She had something to prove. He wished he'd been the one to put a baby in her. She threw that ass back on him and his nutsack pulsed, already gearing up for a release. He wanted her on her back. He wanted to nut deep inside of her in missionary. Pretend he was making a baby with her.

"Turn around…yeah baby…on your back…ooh yes, leave your legs wide open like that," he said.

Terry made love to her like she was his woman. Nova whipped her head back and forth and when he pinned her down, they locked eyes.

"Cum inside me…please…Terry…"

Nova touched his cheek, and he closed his eyes, unable to take the intensity she poured out from her gaze. She let him get deep in her guts. Her pussy stretched around him like she belonged on his dick and no one else. He stroked her clit, and she chewed on her lip. A look of ecstasy danced in her eyes and he begged her to cum on his dick first.

She broke apart easily…endlessly. Her orgasm flushed her light brown skin in a sheen of sweat that soaked his body and the sheets. Terry watched her climax with a feeling of gratitude. God allowed him to witness her pleasure, and it captivated him.

"Nova…I'm cumming…fuck…I'm cumming…all deep in your pussy baby…you're making me nut so hard! Fuck..I want to get you pregnant myself. Ohhhhhhh! Fuuckkk!"

She babbled something incoherent, but it didn't matter. Her tight pussy rocked his fucking world. The first spurt of semen made his anus clench and a heavy outpouring of cum spilled into her like it would never stop. He dug his toes into the mattress and rode out the wave of orgasmic pleasure that flowed out of him and into her like electricity. Knowing he was filling her up with so much jizz brought on another surge of semen that knocked him off his feet. He hollered out her name and jammed a hand on the headboard to keep from falling over as a rush of contractions squeezed his balls into pussy submission.

Gasping for air, Terry blinked sweat from his eyes and leaned back, pulling his dick out.

So much cum ran out of Nova's glossy pink opening. He stretched her open so much that he could see the tunnel he made in her walls. It was all flooded with white.

"Damn," he said.

He kissed her on the lips and held her close until she had to pee. She left his side briefly and returned, giving him soft kisses on his cheeks and lips. He took a restroom break and cleaned his dick for round two. Nova was up for it. She was over three months pregnant and her body acted like it wanted to get knocked up again. He let her ride his dick, and he enjoyed her so much it made his heart ache. Perhaps it was the illicit nature of the sex and the danger of Jordan walking in on them, but Terry and Nova made wild love like the night would never end.

"You're so beautiful. Look how pretty you look fucking my dick…such a good girl riding this big dick like that. Oh, bounce on it…yesssss…just like that. Let me stretch you out some more. Go up…all the way up…hold it…now slide back down…yes…you love this dick…dontcha? Tell me…tell me you love this dick."

"I love this dick…oh Terry…I love this dick…harder…fuck me harder."

"You sound like you want me to make another mess in that tight pussy."

"I do…oh! Right there!"

"Right there? Like that?"

"Yes!"

The give and take was unreal and by their final tryst, he'd drained his balls while holding her breasts in reverse cowgirl. He imagined her big tits spurting milk for the baby and nutted so hard that his eyes crossed. Nova leaned forward so he could watch his cum flow out of her in creamy rivulets. She helped push it out. He wiggled his fingers inside her to feel his liquid warmth coating her walls. He helped her change the ruined sheets afterward, and they snuggled up like husband and wife.

He put her to sleep and spent the last hours of the night watching over her and stroking her hair. By morning, he gave her a big kiss on her forehead and snuck away as she slept.

He thought their night together would be a onetime thing.

How wrong he had been.

That one night created a bond so tight that it was difficult to function anymore around their friends with normal interactions. He hated for her to be stuck with Jordan, and he hated being around them together because his eyes never stayed off of her. She was the same way. Any mention of leaving Jordan and going back to South Carolina never happened again. They had embarked on something that neither of them wanted to end. Her pregnancy didn't hamper anything. It actually enhanced their encounters.

At flag football games they pretended to be casual, but the longing gazes between them became overt and he ended up wearing his Oakley shades a lot. Von and Bethany threw more late summer barbecues at their home and he'd sneak into the bathroom to meet up with Nova just to kiss and fondle her body.

"I miss you," she'd whisper.

"I miss you more."

She sat on the closed toilet seat and sucked his dick, squeezing his balls and swallowing his load.

Her baby bump started showing by early fall, and he fucked her from behind in her own kitchen while Jordan sat outside in his backyard talking to their mutual male friends.

Terry was brazen about it.

Nova washed dishes in the sink, and he pretended to make a private call on his cell. He unfastened his jeans. The guys joked around outside, getting drunk and telling bawdy overseas stories. He lifted Nova's dress and slid her panties to the side, stuffing his heavy dick inside her pussy. She panted and begged for more. He clutched a breast with one hand and palmed her rounded belly with the other.

"You miss this dick?" he breathed into her ear.

"Always, baby. You make my pussy feel so good."

She watched the back of her husband's head as Jordan laughed it up, not knowing his wife's pussy was getting smashed to smithereens three feet away. He pumped in and out, listening to the squelching noises and enjoying the tight squeezes she gave him with each lewd thrust.

"The baby okay?" he asked.

"It's okay…oh Terry, you feel so good. I wish we could fuck in the bed. I want to ride your dick so bad right now."

"I know, baby. But we have to enjoy this for now."

She whimpered and clutched the sink for balance. He tried to control his moans, but her pussy weakened him.

"Ready for me to cum inside you?" he rasped in her ear.

The root of his dick pulsed, and he stopped holding her belly to stroke her swollen clit. It was sinful. So wrong. They didn't care. It felt good…felt right. He bit into her shoulder to stifle a loud groan as he spurt into her pussy. She came with him and they struggled to keep quiet, knowing that all it took to court disaster fully was for Jordan to turn around and see him pressed against his wife.

Terry pulled out, and a bit of semen fell to the floor. He didn't care. Nova fixed her panties, and they stepped away from the window so they could secretly kiss.

"I'm getting a new place soon," he said.

Her eyes lit up.

"Nothing fancy, just a one bedroom where we can be alone. Can't have you sneaking on base again," he said.

A week previous, Nova came on base during the night and they fucked in his truck. His buddy Ken walked through the parking lot to his car, but stopped when he saw Terry lifting Nova up and down in the pushed back driver's seat. Luckily, Ken didn't see her face in the darkness. Getting his own place seemed like the smartest move. They didn't want to risk hotels or motels.

Terry walked back outside with his phone in his hand and watched Nova walk out ten minutes later, bringing Jordan a beer. She sat next to her husband and Terry secretly loved the fact that Nova was full of his cum, acting like they didn't just bump uglies. He didn't care anymore. Nova was his woman…she just happened to be married to another man.

During her third trimester, Nova and Jordan planned a road trip to San Francisco for Thanksgiving. All of his friends had trips to other places. Von and Bethany planned for a trip to Indiana to see her family. Terry finally had his own place, and the day before she was to leave, Nova snuck away to see him. Their hookups became few. She waddled to the condo he ended up leasing. He waited for her by the elevator, and once she reached the third floor, they hugged each other so tight that he thought he'd never see her again. Her plump face and swollen feet made him smile.

He held her hand and walked her to his tastefully furnished home. Inside, he rubbed her feet and listened to her litany of body complaints. He didn't mind her complaining. Listening to her voice poured life into his spirit. Terry didn't realize how alone he was until Nova came into his life. Everyone in his clique had someone to come home to. He longed for the same.

He cooked Nova a healthy dinner of baked chicken and sliced squash with homemade garlic mashed potatoes the way his mama made it.

"How come you aren't going home for the holidays?" she said, stuffing her mouth with a second helping of potatoes.

"My family is going on a cruise out of New Orleans. Plus…I don't want to be far away from you."

Nova put down her fork and wiped her mouth with a napkin. He put away the food and helped her rest on his bed. She slept for a long time and he spooned around her, rubbing her belly. He loved her. Loved the child inside of her.

Terry secretly wanted her to divorce Jordan and marry him instead.

She woke up and checked her phone on his nightstand.

"Baby, I'm sorry I slept so long," she said.

"I don't mind. I just want to be with you sleeping or awake."

"My doctor said I can still have sex…we can fool around before I go."

"You feel up to it?"

"I want to make you happy."

"You lying next to me makes me happy."

She hugged him, and he cradled her in his arms.

"I feel a kick," she said.

Nova moved his hand to where she lifted her maternity shirt. He spread his long fingers across some stretch marks on her side. He smiled.

"Somebody is punching up a storm in there," he said.

Nova clutched onto his arm.

"I want to be with you for Thanksgiving. I'm going to be miserable in San Francisco," she said.

"You get to see your parents."

"I know, but then they'll be down here through Christmas. That means…"

She pushed her face into his chest.

"Aw, Nova, I know. Our time is narrowing down. We knew it would happen the closer it came time for your birth," he said.

"When the baby comes…will you leave me?"

Terry wiped tears from her face. Their whirlwind affair was taking a toll on them both. What sane man starts a romance with a married pregnant woman?

"Let's enjoy right now. Don't worry your beautiful mind about the future. We're here…now."

They kissed. He helped her undress slowly and then shook off his clothes, anchoring himself around her. Pillows eased the weight of her belly. She turned on her side further and he entered her slowly. He squeezed and fondled her breasts that were engorged with milk, ready to feed an infant. Terry imagined himself being with her while she fed the baby, imagined what it would be like to hold it in his arms. He pinched her nipple and rocked into her wet softness. Her pussy still took care of him.

Nova moaned with pleasure, and the sound heightened his arousal. Life played a cruel trick on them, bringing him the love he never knew he needed at the wrong point in time. He should've been the one to have her first. Terry would've run home to Louisiana with her in triumph, showing his family the love of his life. He would've set Nova up in a big country house and put a ton of babies in her. Her nipples leaked milk. He pinched one of them, letting the liquid express in a messy drizzle down her breast. The sight of it caused his balls to throb, and he pushed hot cum into her pussy.

"Ooh…it's so warm," Nova said.

He pinched her other nipple, and another trickle of milk wet his fingers.

"Fuck…fuck…Nova…"

His body tensed, watching her big tits drip milk while his dick pulsed inside her, shooting cum deep in her womb. He hollered out his climax loud enough for the neighbors to hear through the walls. His pelvic muscles contracted rhythmically, taking the thrusts of his hips out of his control. Another urge to ejaculate built up again, like the snapping of a rubber band back to square one.

"Soak that pussy, Terry," Nova urged him.

He obliged by resting for a minute to indulge in the sensations coursing through him by being inside of her. His ability to get another erection quickly was a blessing. He didn't worry about falling asleep on her because his refractory period was far off. Their time together was precious, and he was going to savor every second with Nova. His dick understood that and acted accordingly.

She left the bed to urinate, and they got right back to it on her return. He held her leg up the second time and she cried, telling him she loved the way he fucked her. She looked back at him.

"I love you, Terry…I love you…"

Her words struck him hard, and he roared his satisfaction by flooding her walls.

Nova's phone vibrated. They both peeped Jordan's avatar.

Terry turned away from her. Nova answered the phone, her voice flustered.

"Hey, I'm out shopping. I'll be home soon. Okay…yes, everything is packed. I put your blue tie in it with the red one… I'm calling an Uber now," she said, with rushed breath.

She hung up.

"Jordan's home. He wants to take me to dinner and leave early. It's supposed to rain tomorrow, and he wants to avoid all the traffic."

"That's smart. Gotta get you and the baby to your parents in one piece."

"I'm going to use your shower."

He nodded and watched her leave for the bathroom. The guilt and gnawing jealousy worked his nerves. He slammed a fist on the mattress and fought back uncontrollable tears.

Nova gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

Terry heard about it through Bethany. He didn't communicate with Nova while her parents were staying in Oceanside for a month.

"Your godson is on his way," Bethany said on the phone.

Terry lifted weights at the gym. He had a martial arts class to teach in an hour and needed to finish a leg day before instructing.

"Oh, yeah?"

He tried to sound normal, but his heart thumped worrying about Nova.

"This boy must've known his daddy needed to see him before he shipped out. I'll call you when he gets here. I'm in the hospital waiting room with her parents."

"Okay, thanks."

Terry grew nauseous with anxiety. Nova was a strong woman. He wanted to be by her side, but it wasn't his place. He showered and went to his class on auto-pilot. His students put it all on the mat and he compartmentalized his thoughts to focus on them and not on his lover.

Godson.

Jordan Patterson Jr. came into the world at six pounds, two ounces. Bethany sent him pictures, and Terry stared at the little wonder with awe. Jordan approached him about being the boy's godfather after they did an ultrasound and found out they were having a son. He begged off from the title, but Von and Bethany insisted he couldn't let the couple down because they looked up to him. It was a punch to the gut, but he reluctantly accepted with Von's urging.

"That man needs guidance, T. Being a godfather means you can be his role model on another level," Von said.

Terry laughed from crying. Jordan Jr. should've been Terry Jr.

He sucked it up.

Nova stayed in the hospital for two days. Terry went to visit her late in the evening, after he hoped everyone was away. Unfortunately, her mother and mother-in-law were there, fussing over Nova and the baby. He walked in carrying rainbow balloons and a powder blue teddy bear.

The new mother rested in her hospital bed breastfeeding Junior. He watched her for a moment until her eyes rose to meet his. His vision grew blurry staring at her. She was so beautiful. Nova lowered a blanket on her shoulder over the baby's head and her breast. He knocked on the door, getting the other women's attention.

"Momma, this is Terry, Junior's godfather."

Mrs. Easton, Nova's mother, smiled and welcomed him in. He greeted Jordan's mother and handed her the teddy bear and balloons.

"I can sleep on my stomach now," Nova joked.

She pulled her hospital gown back over her breast and removed the small white blanket covering the baby's face. She burped him on her shoulder first, then held him out for Terry to hold.

"Hey little dude…look at you," he said.

Nova's lips trembled, and her eyes welled up. She blinked back tears and her mother came over to kiss her goodbye.

"Visiting hours are about to end. I'm going to go have dinner with Cindy," Mrs. Easton said.

"I should go, too," he said, pretending to leave.

The two older women left first, and he waited a minute before sitting down next to Nova, cradling the baby against his chest.

"He's a beautiful boy, Nova. You did good, baby."

"Thank you."

They hadn't seen one another for over a month. He would've given the world to scoop them both up and run off to his place. She was a mother now. His fantasy romance had to end. He sat quietly with her, unable to say anything of significance. She knew it was over, too. Her energy and time had to go toward the bundle in his hands. He leaned over and kissed her. Their love lingered in the space between their lips. All the unsaid things lived in the kiss.

Terry studied Junior's face. Tight black curls and cocoa brown skin. All Jordan. A nurse stopped by and he handed the baby back to Nova. He lowered his head and kissed her forehead. Neither of them said goodbye.

Jordan left for the Indo-Pacific tour a week later.

Nova's mother stayed in town, and her father flew back home. He stayed busy with work and flag football. Von and Bethany invited him over for a birthday dinner in his honor two months later. Nova showed up with the baby. She looked stunning. The new-mother weight had shifted and morphed into something different. She looked like a sexy coke bottle bombshell. Without the maternity clothes, her new wardrobe highlighted her wider ass and fuller breasts. She still had a little belly fat with her stomach, and he liked it. The changes gave her a maternal shine that he couldn't get over. She seemed delighted to be around him again, and they both acted with decorum, despite his yearning to hold and kiss her.

Jordan Jr. was round and chunky, like the Michelin Man. Terry walked around with the boy like the proud godfather he was. Everyone at his party complimented him on how comfortable he looked with a baby and kidded him about getting married like everyone else. He only grinned and bounced Junior in his arms. At one point, folks started dancing, and Terry playfully grabbed Nova's hand and spun her around among their friends. Bethany held the baby, and it gave him the opportunity to touch Nova. He swung her out with some old-fashioned partner dancing to SWV and they lived inside a liminal space carved out just for them. Watching her laugh, feeling her warmth against him, having her catch his hand after he released her in time to the music was the best birthday gift he could have.

Von introduced him to a woman named April, and Terry became annoyed at the attempt at setting him up on his birthday. When the party became more raucous in the evening, Nova left. Terry followed her down the street to her car. She carried Junior in a car seat.

"Do you have to go?" he asked.

Nova placed her son in the back seat.

"Junior is a light sleeper. The noise will get to him. I had a great time today seeing everyone all together again. Happy Birthday, Terry."

She hugged him.

The moment they touched, everything felt the same. He sighed while holding her. Their lips couldn't stay apart and they kissed out in the open.

"I want to see you again," he said.

"We can't… things are different. I have the baby."

"Bring him. Let's just have dinner at my place. I'm supposed to spend time with my godson, right?"

She smirked.

"Bethany has someone more your speed waiting for you back at her house."

"April? She's cool, but she's not you, Nova. No one compares to you."

She shut the back passenger door and walked around to the driver's side.

"Dinner and nothing else?"

"Promise."

He kept the promise.

He cooked fettuccine with steak and played with the baby. Nova left with her dignity intact and they continued seeing each other without sex. He grew comfortable settling into a non-sexual relationship with her. Unfortunately, that only encouraged the stronger emotional attachment that grew between them. They acted like a couple raising a child together whenever they were alone.

When they hung out with their mutual friends, he gave off Big Uncle energy to his godson. On his days off, he offered to babysit so Nova could have a few hours to herself.

They didn't start sleeping together again until Jordan returned. The six-month tour changed him. He bonded with his son and, of course, this cut off Terry's time with Nova. She snuck away when she could and their relationship headed for a conclusion he didn't want to face. Nova knew they were about to plummet over a precipice, but he was determined to stay calm about it. The baby grew bigger and looked just like his daddy. He sensed the ambivalence in her about maintaining their affair. It was only a matter of time before he expected her to end it. He dreaded that moment.

One afternoon, he fucked the curls out of Nova's hair. She showed up wearing a sheer red negligee under a long coat and he sent her home dripping with semen in her panties. An hour later, Jordan came knocking on his door.

Terry stared at him through the keyhole and braced himself for some bullshit. He never gave Jordan his address. Other than Nova, only Von and Bethany knew that he'd moved off base.

"Who is it?" Terry called out, pretending not to know.

"Terry, it's me, Jordan. I need to talk to you…man to man."

Terry inhaled and opened the door, keeping his right leg behind him in case he needed to stick and move. Jordan had creases in his forehead and the whites of his eyes were pink.

"I need your advice," Jordan said.

Terry widened the door and invited Jordan in. He sat on the couch, and Terry sat on his recliner.

"What's going on?"

"It's Nova…I think…I think she's cheating on me."

Terry swallowed thickly and rubbed the back of his neck.

"What makes you believe that?"

Jordan stared at the floor.

"I've suspected it for a few months now. Since I came back. She's different, man."

"Motherhood changes women."

"Nah. Not like this. She's probably getting back at me because of Lourdes."

"Lourdes?"

"Some letters and a care package got forwarded to our house."

"You're still seeing her?"

"She was just a placeholder when Nova first got pregnant. I didn't have sex with Nova because of the baby and, well…shit…I got a blowjob here and there from Lourdes…ate some coochie and jerked off. I left overseas, and she started emailing and sending me shit. Nova didn't know until this fucking box showed up at the house today. But me and Lourdes were done…been over. That bitch stalked me with mail and gifts. Nova stormed out after we had a fight about it and left me with the baby. She came home smelling like sex and claimed she went to the gym and that I'm just projecting onto her. My wife is fucking another nigga and it's all because of that dumb bitch."

"So, none of this is your fault? Sneaking off to get your dick sucked? Constantly making poor choices?"

Jordan closed his eyes.

"Terry…listen to me. All that shit is over. I came home, and she put my son in my arms and I just…he looks just like me. Nova held it down by herself and now I'm gonna lose her to some fucker knocking her box out. She walks around humming and doesn't care if I go out anywhere. She don't nag or fuss at me like she used to. It's like she's plotting to leave the house every moment I turn my head. I'm thinking about dropping one of those Apple AirTags in her purse to track where she goes when she claims she's shopping or having lunch."

"Have you talked to her about it?"

"And say what? Stop cheating on me? She's getting back at me and I can't say I blame her. But I'm different. I'm willing to do anything…in fact, I'm getting out of the marines and taking her and the baby back to Charleston. I'm not re-upping. I gotta get her outta Oceanside and away from whoever she's seeing. This nigga done shifted her entire personality. I know he's fucking the shit outta her cuz her body is ridiculous. She's probably been banging him since I've been gone. I snooped around the house and found Plan B and spermicides in her personal bathroom cabinet."

Jordan held his head in frustration.

"Nova ain't never used spermicides with me. I bet she's letting this fool raw dog her."

Terry tried not to grind his teeth and sat back in his chair.

"I can't lose my family, Terry!"

Jordan burst into tears and moaned in great pain. Terry could only watch him with pity and feel dirty about the whole situation. All three of them were moving foul. But now a baby was involved.

"I have loved that woman for so long," Jordan said.

"You have a weird way of showing it."

"I know…I can't make any excuses for it anymore."

Jordan rolled into a ball on the couch. He looked like a hurt little boy that got his ball taken away…a ball he kicked away himself.

"What am I going to do?" Jordan pleaded.

"Can I ask you something personal? I want you to be truthful with me, though."

Jordan lifted his head, teary-eyes and lost.

"What?"

"Why did you marry Nova? You could've spared her suffering if you didn't get married."

"I loved her."

"Beyond that, though. What were you thinking when you asked her? Why didn't you just leave her be until you'd got your hoeing out of your system?"

Jordan glanced around Terry's condo like he was searching for the shadow of an answer in the corners.

"She was always my girl."

"Dig deeper."

Jordan closed his eyes in thought. He sat up and looked at Terry directly.

"If I didn't snatch her up soon, someone else would take her. I didn't want to leave her in South Carolina single. I thought…if I locked her down, I'd be set. No one else would touch her. I got her pregnant, and I figured we'd work through the kinks and things would get better."

"How did that come through your pea brain, Jordan? She's not someone you can put in a box and ignore until you're ready to grow up. You sidetracked her life—"

"I didn't want to lose her, Terry. Maybe I wasn't ready…but we'd been close for years. Our families are locked in. I didn't…I can't lose her."

Jordan jumped up and angrily paced.

"I swear to God if I catch this nigga she's creepin' with, I'll kill him."

"If she's happier, let her go."

"Nigga what? Are you crazy?"

"You're getting care packages overseas from a woman you claim was a past side piece a year ago. Nova did nothing but love you, and you shit on her every chance you get!"

Terry stood and stared Jordan down with flared nostrils and narrow eyes.

"That woman has cried over you…prayed…done everything to keep your marriage together. Fuck, man! She had your baby! Gave up school because of it. You haven't thought about what she's sacrificed to be with you… everything revolves around your needs. I want her to divorce you!"

Jordan gawked. His mouth fell open, and he inched back. His eyes went up and down Terry's body. He held up a hand.

"Why would you want her to divorce me, Terry?"

Exasperated, Terry exhaled and put his hands on his hips.

"You can't make Nova happy if you keep hurting her. That's all I'm saying. Let her go if you can't get your shit together. For her sake, and your son."

Jordan glared at him.

"Are you fucking my wife?"

Terry mustered all the calm he could find in his bones.

"No."

Jordan closed his eyes and huffed.

"I love her. I love my son. He's the best thing that's happened to us," Jordan said.

Terry's legs shook. His stomach twisted in knots, and he tasted a sour liquid at the back of his throat. He wanted to blurt out the truth, but he probably would've vomited had he done that, knowing that Nova would suffer the consequences. So would Junior. He clamped a hand on Jordan's shoulder. His godson deserved to have a father who wanted to make things right once and for all.

"Jordan, go home to your wife. Beg her for forgiveness and show her with your deeds—not words—that you're deserving of her love. Don't worry about who she may or may not be fucking. This is your only chance to come correct."

Jordan nodded his head and started crying. He was a child in a man's body with the emotional intelligence to match. Terry had no faith in him to do better. However, every man deserved the opportunity to try. He wouldn't stand in the way. Terry knew he and Nova would hit a brick wall once Jordan came back. It was time for fate and Jordan to take over.

Terry reached over and hugged Jordan.

"Go home to your family."

Jordan stayed true to his word and didn't re-enlist. Von and Bethany threw them a going away barbecue at one of their flag football games. Nova played on an opposite team and snatched Terry's flag off a few times for old times' sake.

They spoke on the phone privately the night before and cried together. Despite her anger and bitterness toward her husband, Nova loved Jordan. Terry didn't reveal that he spoke with him in his condo. He also kept his opinion about having no faith in Jordan's ability to man up to himself. There was no need to pressure her into giving him what he wanted. She had to leave her husband on her own when she was ready. Pushing her to do it would cause resentment.

"I love you…always baby," he told her.

"My heart hurts…I love you—"

"Go hold on to that beautiful baby for me."

"Terry…please don't hate me for trying again."

"I could never hate you, Nova. Put that thought out of your mind."

"He stopped drinking. Most of his infidelity issues and unacceptable behavior came from that. We're starting counseling back home. Getting back into church again. I think he was so disconnected from who he was…maybe Junior helped remind him of who he used to be."

He respected her decision. Had he been in Jordan's position, he would've begged God to give him another chance, too.

"Nova?"

"Yes?"

He should've bitten his tongue, but he said it anyway.

"When you want me to come get you. You let me know. Okay?"

She stayed quiet.

There were so many friends at the park that it became easy for him to drift along and keep busy with other people. He wandered to his truck to get a jacket, and Nova thought he was leaving. She chased him down in the parking lot and threw her arms around his neck. He lifted her up and held her, their tears mixing in person. Emotionally drained after the sad goodbye, Terry drove home and cried.

Nova and Jordan flew out the next day with their baby, and it didn't surprise Terry at all that Nova left Jordan four months later. Bethany let slip at a cookout that Nova filed for divorce and moved in with her brother- and sister-in-law. Terry minded his business and hoped Nova would finally find happiness. She was with her people and had a strong, supportive family to carry her through. Inserting himself into her life in the middle of new turmoil was something he wouldn't do. God took her away for a reason. Terry worked on closing that chapter in his life, no matter how painful it was.

Another summer was upon him, and he made vacation plans to visit his family on a road trip. He cleaned his condo, dropped off some spare keys for his friend Angie to watch his place while he was gone, and gassed up his truck. The only thing he had left to do was collect his travel bags. He collected mail from his mailbox in the condo lobby and found a large white envelope addressed to him by name, but with no return address.

Terry took the elevator to his home and tossed the junk mail aside. He opened the envelope and pulled out a large color photo of a cute brown baby girl with green eyes so bright they seemed to leap off the photo paper. His heart thudded in his chest. He sat down on his couch and flipped the photo over. There was only a name and a phone number.

Terrina Richmond.

The phone number had an unfamiliar area code. He looked it up on his smartphone.

Charleston, South Carolina.

Terry's hands shook so badly he had to press them on his thighs. He stared at the photo again. The baby had wispy waves of dark brown hair like him, but the eyes…God the eyes were his, too. Especially the long curling eyelashes.

He picked up his phone, and with trembling fingers, called the number.

"Hello?"

"Nova?"

"Terry—"

"I have a photo in my hand. That's why I called this number…Nova—"

"Come get me…come get us."

"Send me the address, baby. I'm on my way."

He asked no questions. Didn't worry about how he would explain to his relatives that he had to make a detour from Louisiana to South Carolina. His prayers had been answered.

Terry Richmond booked a flight to Charleston. He had to get his woman back and meet his new daughter.

A.N: Hey, shit happens. Just needed to write this one to see where it would go!

Part 2 dropping Christmas Eve!

[klance-headcanons-official]

How my galra general!Keith looks :33

There’s this one fic on ao3 (‘who are you in the dark’ by discordiansamba) (go read it 😔🙏) that started this whole thingy and I wanted to talk about how I think Keith would look !! (Similar to how they said :3) tho he ain’t seven feet tall, just a few inches taller than lance now

His skin is a light purple (cause he pale asf) with marks on his cheeks just like his mothers, claws that can retract, slim irises, white pupils, yellow sclera(white part of eye), iconic mullet, SHARP CANINES, his eyes and black hair look like they have a purple tint to them in certain lights, AND A LION LOOKIN TAIL !! And yk, lotors general uniform

Then when working with Voltron he looks the exact same but his tail is constantly around his waist or leg, because he doesn’t 100% trust them yet, and a BoM uniform. Plus his hair is braided (cause of lance)

I think it takes Keith years to genuinely trust Voltron. Like he didn’t trust them with his middle nor last name. He eventually HAD to tell him his last name, but whenever they asked for his middle name he’d always make up a random ass name that starts with an ‘A’ (it’s akira) (WHICH IS ALSO IN THAT FIC 😋)

- Vee 💜

aaaaaAAAAAHHHH!!!!!

EEP

I LOVE IT

To be fair though, I live everything related to Keith

BUT I ESPECIALLY LIVE UR GALRA KEITH

IT TICKLES MY BRAIN IN A REALLY GOOD WAY

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Brotherhood (1)

Directly following the events of Double Helix, Danny enrolls in Bayville High school and joins the Brotherhood of Mutants. He's not sure if they actually believe he's a ghost and not a mutant, but at least they don't care enough to challenge him on it, and that's good enough for him.

Written for @crossoverdanuary Week 2024, Day 5: The Owl House X-Men Evolution | Shell

I have seen exactly two episodes of The Owl House, and that was like four years ago or something, so I was not confident in my ability to write a crossover for it.

The one word prompt doesn't actually appear until the second chapter, but I tried to work in a theme of both Danny and Wanda "coming out of their shell" throughout the fic. You can also read it on AO3.

Chapter 1: Halfway House

Next

[Warnings for mild violence and mentions of mental health issues]

Danny never realized how much of a pain in the ass it was to enroll in school by himself. Jazz really deserved a lot more credit for dealing with all the stuff their parents forgot to do. It was so much paperwork. Nevertheless, with some effort, Danny got himself enrolled in Bayville High and slipped right in under the radar. Since his human form didn't stand out, he just showed up on his first day and figured things out from there.

Just like he'd suspected, there were several mutants at the school, meaning none of the other students picked up on Danny's weird vibes. 

The guy who never took off his stupid sunglasses and the German kid whose hands were in a permanent Vulcan salute were perfect camouflage. At least, they helped him hide from the normal students. The mutant students picked up on him within the first week.

"Hey, new kid!" A group of students cornered Danny at his locker while he was switching out his books before heading to lunch. 

He recognized most of them from his classes, Lance, Pietro, and a kid everyone called Toad, but Danny didn't know his real name. There was also a huge guy with a blond Mohawk who was about the same size and Danny's dad, maybe even a few inches taller. Danny had seen him around school, since he was kind of hard to miss, but didn't have any classes with him, and so didn't know his name.

"Can I help you?" Danny asked.

"You're a mutant, aren't you?" Lance asked him.

"No. What's it to you?" Danny responded.

"We're called the Brotherhood of Mutants," Pietro explained. "Or just the Brotherhood for short. We've seen what you can do and we want you to join us."

"Unless you're already one of the X-Men," the big guy said. "You're not, are you?"

"Of course he's not. We would know if he was!" Pietro snapped. "So, what do you say?"

"Join you?" Danny raised an eyebrow and gave them a skeptical frown. "What exactly would that entail?"

"Oh it's great!" Toad told him. "You get to live at the board house where there's no rules, fight the X-Men... I mean... we always get our butts kicked, but it's still cool!"

"Free room and board is enticing," Danny admitted. 

He was currently squatting in a for-sale home and only getting away with it because he was already gone for school before the first tour of the day and he thought of locks as more of a suggestion than a rule. 

"But I don't join just any mutant group that offers me an invitation. What are your actual beliefs, your goals? What do you stand for?"

"Uhh...." Toad put a finger to his lip thoughtfully. "You know what, I don't really know."

"We stand for ourselves," Lance told him, pushing Toad aside. "Because when it comes down to it, nobody else will, and we freaks gotta stick together. You in or what? 'Cause we ain't gonna waste our time with you any longer than we have to." 

Lance extended a hand to Danny, and Danny just looked at it for a long moment before accepting the handshake.

"I'm in," Danny agreed. 

These guys seemed like dicks, to be honest, but their ideals aligned with his a whole lot better than professor goodie two-shoes. Plus, maybe it was just a coincidence or an accident, but they hadn't actually called him a mutant. They'd asked if he was, but hadn't pushed when he said no, not like that stupid professor had.

"Great," Lance said. "I'll pick you up in my jeep after school, but be on time because I'm not waiting for you."

"Oh, by the way, Tabitha's part of our group, too," Pietro told him. "You may know her as Boom Boom. Hope you don't mind if there's a girl in the house."

"Why would I mind?" Danny asked. 

Pietro didn't answer, just sped away.

After school, he waited by what he assumed was Lance's jeep. It was the muddiest jeep in the school lot, so he was only guessing, but he was pretty sure. He ended up being right, and Lance drove them all to the Brotherhood's boarding house. The place was a disaster area, and a complete mess. There were still a couple of free rooms, but Danny opted to lay claim to the attic and moved one of the free beds up there.

"Why would you want the creepy old attic?" asked the big guy, whom everyone called Blob.

"Because, a haunted attic is objectively cooler and spookier than haunted bedroom," Danny told him matter-of-factly. "I'm not gonna be some lame bedroom ghost. What am I, an eight-year-old girl whose depressed mother drowned her in a bathtub? No! I'm a science experiment gone wrong. Besides, this place doesn't have a basement, so I have to settle for the next best thing."

"Oh... I guess that makes sense," Blob said, though he was scratching his head.

"Uh, no," Pietro disagreed. "It doesn't. This new guy is a straight up weirdo."

"So's Toad and we let him stick around," said Tabitha, climbing the stairs to drop off her backpack before heading out again to meet the X-girls at the mall. "At least Danny showers."

"Hey! I shower!" Toad argued indignantly. "I shower every month!"

—

"There's a new mutant at school. The Brotherhood just recruited him yesterday. Should we have invited him to join the Institute instead, Professor?" Jean asked. 

She and some of the other X-Men had noticed that the new kid who'd just enrolled in their high-school had strange powers. He was pretty sneaky with them, and none of them could seem to figure out exactly what they were, so they'd just been keeping an eye on him. But now, he'd started hanging out with the Brotherhood mutants, so Jean had convinced the others to bring it up to Professor X for guidance. 

"He might still change his mind," she continued. "He doesn't seem like a bad guy. I saw him turn invisible to avoid a group of jerks at school seeing him walk past."

"What?" Scott asked, quirking his eyebrows at her. "Invisibility? But I saw him use a power just like Kitty's to open his locker when it jammed."

"Like, no way!" Kitty argued. "The guy's totally a telekinetic!"

"Maybe he can replicate powers, then?" Rogue suggested. "Because I'm pretty sure I saw him trip Duncan on a patch of ice when he was being a douche."

"Hmm... interesting," Professor X said thoughtfully. "What was this boy's name, did you say?"

"Oh, no I didn't, it's Danny Fenton," Jean answered. 

The professor's eyes widened in recognition. 

"Do you know him, Professor?"

"Indeed," he confirmed, steepling his fingers as he considered his memories of the boy. "Daniel Fenton is a mutant with an incredibly powerful and versatile set of abilities, notably similar to the abilities ghosts are thought to have—flight, invisibility, intangibility, the ability to create cold spots, move objects telekinetically, and warp electrical fields, among others.

"I first met him at a mental care institution for mutants where I perform regular evaluations on their younger patients," he explained further. "Because of his particular range of powers, Danny is under the delusion that he actually is a ghost, rather than a mutant, and as such, he believes that he cannot die, which causes him to sometimes be reckless with his own life. It also upsets him severely to have his delusion challenged by others.

"I was informed of him escaping from the institution, not long ago, but I never would have expected him to come here. I'm even more surprised that he would be willing to align himself with a mutant group. He always showed clear disdain when I mentioned my school to him, and even more so when I tried to imply that he was truly a mutant, rather than a ghost."

"Sounds like Danny will end up being a powerful enemy," Scott said.

"Indeed," the professor agreed. "He's one of the most powerful mutants I know of, and to make matters worse, he has a tendency to lose control over his powers when you do or say anything to upset him."

"So basically, don't try to argue with him about being a ghost," Rogue surmised. "That about cover it?"

"For a start," Professor X said. "You'd also do well not to get in a debate with him about ideals, he's rather... passionate about his."

"I take it he doesn't agree with yours?" Scott guessed.

"You're quite correct," the professor confirmed. "You would all do well not to engage with him. Offering to let him join the institute at this juncture would no doubt end poorly. Best to leave him alone for now. But keep an eye on him. He could be dangerous."

"Understood, Professor."

—

"So, Lance," Danny crossed his legs and floated in the air by the couch in a way that he knew unsettled the rest of the Brotherhood, which of course meant he thought it was dreadfully funny, "care to explain the rumbling this morning? I'm pretty sure Bayville isn't on any fault lines."

"Kitty asked him to the dance," Toad answered for him, making mocking kissy faces at him. 

Lance shoved his face away, but all five of them had already devolved into teasing Lance mercilessly.

"Stuff it, Toad. It's not a big deal," he said. 

Danny snickered at him as the teasing continued, Tabitha seating herself on the arm of Lance's chair and leaning into his personal space to ask if Kitty was gonna be his girlfriend while he sat there with a resigned expression on his face.

"We wouldn't be caught dead at that stupid dance!" Blob declared, and Danny laughed even harder.

"Really Freddy?" Tabitha asked, tapping her finger on his nose with a teasing pout. "Aw, that's too bad. 'Cause I was thinking of askin' you."

"U-uh... you were?" Blob asked dumbly.

"Yeah, but if you don't wanna go..." she raised her arms as if giving up on the idea.

"Ooh! Ask me! I'll go!" Toad volunteered, jumping up and down with his hands raised.

"Pathetic," scoffed Pietro, always pretending he was too cool for the rest of them, like he wasn't sprawled out of the same greased stained couch the rest of them sat on.

"Hey, speedy." Tabitha turned to him and put her hands on her hips. "You think you're too good for me?" she asked, leaning down to him with laughter on her voice."

"Nah, you just couldn't keep up with me," Pietro explained. "I mean, I can keep four girls busy dancing at the same time." He did a lap around the room at super-speed to prove his point. "Ha!"

"What about you, cold spot?" she asked Danny.

"You're nice and all," he said with a light-hearted smirk, "but I'm only interested in people who don't know I'm alive, don't want me alive, or have actively tried to kill me in the past, whether or not they succeeded doesn't matter though."

"Is that so?" 

Tabitha tossed one of her little bombs in his lap, but he turned intangible and let it blow up on the floor below him. 

"Now that that's settled, let's all go! And show that school how to party!" She whooped and just like that, everyone was on board, even Lance seemed happy about it, although admittedly, Danny still wasn't really interested in going. A school dance sounded like a really boring way to spend his evening, and he didn't even have a suit.

Luckily, Danny found some nicer clothes in a box in the attic. They were a little big, but they'd do. 

And like that, the Brotherhood all went to the school dance. Pietro actually showed up arm-in-arm-et-cetera with four different girls. 

Danny wasn't much for dancing, but in the end, the dance was a lot more exciting than he'd thought it would be. That kind of thing happened when weird little dinosaurs tore up the dance floor—literally.

He was thrown off  for a moment when one of them jumped at a girl and went right through her, thinking maybe the creature was some kind of ghost. But then a table went right through her too, and he made the connection. The girl was Lance's date, meaning she must've been Kitty, who was a mutant. Intangibility had to be her mutant ability. It was a good one, came in handy a lot. Good for her.

They looked scary, but the creatures weren't too hard to take down, especially not once Danny got his hands on one and could sense it was from another dimension. He'd never had much luck making portals before, but it was easier to send stuff back where it came from than it was for things to be in dimensions where they didn't belong, and after almost dying a second time, he finally managed to send one of the creatures back to its own dimension.

"How did you do that?" shouted the guy who always wore sunglasses—and after seeing him lift them to shoot lasers out of his eyes, Danny finally understood why.

"Uh... luck, mostly!" he answered.

Danny was getting the chance to see a lot of their abilities for the first time tonight. That red-headed girl had telekinesis. The German kid teleported away with his date after Lance ripped up the gym floor to corral the creature back Danny's way. These kids seemed to be pretty powerful.

Now that the gym was basically evacuated, it was just Danny, the mutants, and one more monster.

"Can you do it again?" Lance asked.

"Are you kidding? I barely did it the first time!" 

While they were arguing, the creature forced its way into the hall. 

"Shit! We better go after it!"

The remaining Brotherhood members and X-men left the gym, chasing after it. Down the hall, they ran into a guy Danny didn't recognize, but the X-men called him Forge, and he was carrying a strange device. 

"Whatever that thing is, don't point it at me!" Danny said when he saw where Forge was aiming it, albeit probably unintentionally, and he stepped aside, out of the blast zone.

"It's a portal maker," said Forge. "It'll send them back to the dimension they came from."

"In that case, definitely don't point it at me," Danny said.

"My scans indicate traces in the gym."

"I already took care of the one in the gym, sent it back myself," Danny said. "We need to get the one that ran down the hall." Much to Danny's relief, Forge didn't question him, and instead, they all got back to running.

By the time they found the one that got away, Tabitha, Blob, and Toad had already taken care of it, and were sitting on it to keep it down.

"Hey, I recognize that thing!" Toad remarked, pointing to Forge's portal-maker.

"I modified to to sent these things back to the dimension they came from," Forge explained. "Everyone step back."

The three of them were more than happy to do so. The creature barely had time to get to its feet before it got zapped back home.

"That should be all of them," Forge said. "My sensors aren't picking up anymore traces from that dimension."

"Thank the Ancients," Danny said, half-sarcastically. "Does this kinda stuff happen a lot around you guys? Cause I may have to rethink my membership."

"You'd be more than welcome at the Xavier Institute," Scott started to say, only to get elbowed by Jean.

"He doesn't want to join Institute," Jean hissed. "Remember what the professor said?"

"Yeah, sorry, but she's right," Danny said. "Professor Xavier and I don't exactly see eye-to-eye. It was fun fighting monsters with you, but I'm gonna stick with the brotherhood. See ya around."

They two groups parted ways, The X-Men to their institute and the Brotherhood to their board house.

"I didn't know you knew Professor X," Tabitha said as they headed toward Lance's jeep. "How'd you meet him."

"At a mental institution," Danny answered, trying to keep his voice casual. 

The casual tone did not prevent the rest of them form turning to stare at him when they stopped at a red light.

"It's nothing you guys have to worry about," he assured them. "I'm not crazy. It was just a misunderstanding."

"Some misunderstanding," Lance scoffed. "Let me guess, it was the ghost thing, right?"

"Are you really gonna go there?" Danny asked, his tone warning.

"Ha! No," Lance replied. "You may be a ghost, but I don't plan on joining you any time soon." 

"Good call," Danny said.

He had no idea if these Brotherhood folks actually believed he was a ghost, or if they were just playing along, but it didn't actually matter. They respected him enough not to call him delusional, and that made them better than the X-Men and their fearless leader.

[screamxqueenx94]

So, just for the fun of it, I'm going to do my own casting of The Batfam and who I would like to see play these particular characters in a movie (yes, I know some are already portrayed in Titans or other onscreen adaptions, but again, just for fun lol) if you guys agree with my picks or have your own opinions, feel free to comment or reblog, just no reposts please! [I don't own any of the gifs, so shout out to the creators]

Batman/Bruce Wayne- Josh Hartnett

Hear me out! So many bigger stars have played Batman and if I'm being honest, only one of them was actually good at it (looking at you, Michael Keaton) Josh isn't as big as some of them and is such an underrated actor. He has range! And he's very handsome. He could easily play the Caped Crusader and would really be dedicated to the role. He was offered the role in Batman Begins years ago, but turned it down due to fear of being pigeonholed, but has actively said he regrets that, so I feel if he was given the chance, he'd absolutely nail it! And he wouldn't have to change his voice too much since he has a naturally deep voice!

Nightwing/Dick Grayson-Dylan O'Brien

Now here's another actor with range! Not only that, but he has proven on many occasions that he can do action scenes despite suffering from Osgood–Schlatter disease. He and Josh have the perfect age gap to match Bruce and Dick perfectly. He also has a very similar build to Dick Grayson and has done enough comedic work that he could pull off Dick's more laid back persona versus the others. Dylan is also a huge comic book fan with his favorites being Spiderman and Batman, that he would know how his character would react naturally to different situations. Plus, Dick Grayson has the best booty in comics and Dylan has the best booty in real life. You can't just let stuff like that slide!

Red Hood/Jason Todd- Matthew Daddario

Okay, so I know that technically he's a couple years older than Dylan, but Matthew would be a great Jason Todd post Lazarus Pit, think about it. Jason died as a teen, but was reintroduced as an adult (22 years old) and was suddenly ripped and shit. Matthew fits that to a tee. Admittedly, I don't know much of his acting besides a few episodes of Shadowhunters and in Delivery Man, but I enjoyed his work in both, and now know he can do action. I do believe he could play a dark and brooding character such as Jason Todd if given the opportunity.

Red Robin/Tim Drake- Lance Lim

[Couldn't find any gifs of Lance Lim]

Some of you might find this one surprising, but it totally makes sense if you think about it. Let's start off with stature; Lance is 5 ft. 4in., Tim is the smallest built of all the Robins (apart from Damien who is a literal child). He's also on the more slender side, which, again, makes him physically perfect for Tim. While Tim can throw down, he was always more brains than anything and I think Lance could really bring that to life. Next, Lance is also not as well known, but has the potential and the time to grow as an actor and playing Tim Drake would really do that for him since he is not utilized in media as much as Jason or Dick. Hopefully he's also comfortable playing a bisexual character since Tim Drake has been confirmed as bisexual.

Oracle/Barbara Gordan- Emma Stone

I noticed she is a fan favorite, but I really do think she would be perfect. I talked about range a few times, and she's another actor who has that. Barbra is a very smart, sassy feminist type of woman and Emma just gives off those vibes to me. She fits the physical look too. Lean, redheaded, blue/green eyes and is literally only an inch taller than what Barbara is in the comics. She's also close enough in age with Dylan for Babs and Dick's canon relationship to either be current, or part of their past. Her playing Babs would be semi different for her. She did play Gwen Stacy in The Amazing Spiderman, but to be an actual hero rather than just a love interest, I really think would be a huge step up for her. Plus, like I said before, she's a fan favorite and I think that also says a lot.

Catwoman/Selina Kyle- Dania Ramirez

Dania is very familiar with the superhero world due to her being in Heroes and X-MEN 3: The Last Stand. She, like four of the other actors I mentioned, has range. She can be a hero or a villain and that's perfect for Catwoman since she is, in fact, an antihero. Also, I'd like to mention that she has a great body for a catsuit! Since she has done action before, she would have no problem getting into the roll and being dedicated to said roll.

Huntress/Helena Bertinelli- Vanessa Morgan

Tbh, I don't really have an explanation for this one. I just really wanna see her in the roll. I think it could really help skyrocket her into stardom.

Batgirl/Cassandra Cain- Lana Condor

Okay, I know most people want her to come back as Jubilee again, and rightfully so. But I think getting to play Cassandra would be perfect for her. First of all, she's the one who's the most familiar with action and superheroes out of everyone on the list so far with her work in X-MEN: Apocalypse, Deadly Class and Alita: Battle Angel. Cassandra is a character who's a little rough around the edges, but is determined to be a good person and do the right thing considering she was raised around assassins and was trained to be one, with how much there is to unload there, I think Lana's got this in the bag.

Spoiler/Stephanie Brown- Chloë Grace Moretz

I swear this girl was born to play action roles! She literally trained with Jackie Chan and his crew to play Hit Girl, and still keeps up with it. She's also close enough in age to match with Lance for a canon relationship. Stephanie wouldn't be all that different from Hit Girl, but she would be playing someone with a more positive outlook on life and I definitely think she could pull it off.

The Signal/Duke Thomas- Chosen Jacobs

Okay, so I've only seen him in the It franchise, but I feel like with him being so young, not only could he pull off the roll, it'll also give him a chance to really widen his range as an actor. He still looks young enough to play Duke as well.

I think I'm going to make a part two, but tell me what you guys think! Again, feel free to comment and share and like to let me know what you think of my casting choices!

[everpeacat]

Resort Indulgence Chapter 1

Everett, a leopard peacock from a royal family, was just recently married to a ferret of nobility named Lance. After their extravagant wedding and too many formalities to count, they are ready to spend the next month at a private resort to unwind. Eager to indulge in themselves and start the next chapter in their lives.

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

A door swings open to a lavish resort room, grand expensive decorations cover the walls and furniture that fill the vast living space that is to be the living area of a newlywed couple. Everett, a blue peacock leopard with purple and gold spots, slowly walks through the door, eyes half open, exhausted from not only the travel to their honeymoon resort but from all the socialization endured from the wedding and event that followed. Not too soon after Lance, a green ferret, comes in behind with the bellhop and a cart carrying all their luggage. Lance pulls the cart into the room and tips the bellhop with a warm thanks and quietly shuts the door to the room. Walking up to Everett he wraps his arms around him and rests his head on Everett’s fur and feathered shoulder squeezing him gently.

“It’s just you and me now, babe” Lance would softly say turning his muzzle to Everett’s cheek.

“Thank god… I really need the alone time right now” Everett says in a hushed tone as he relaxed in Lance’s arms. Reaching a paw up to hold the side of his husband’s head, turning toward him to give an affectionate kiss. After a moment Everett spins around in Lance’s arms, so now his arms held at his lower back, Everett taking his own arms up over Lance’s thin shoulders and behind his slender neck.

“I’m about ready for a nap, are you?” Everett asks, looking into Lance’s emerald green eyes with his own eyes of gold. A light smile showing on his blue and white muzzle.

“Just don’t start snoring” Lance teased, giving a quick kiss before leading Everett over to the king sized bed laying under a silk canopy. He crawling into bed and laying on his side, Everett following suit and laying facing him. The peacat curled up a bit and nuzzled up into the ferret’s chest as Lance wrapped an arm around Everett. Once they got themselves cuddled up it wasn’t too soon until they drifted off to sleep, resting for the events to come.

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

It’s a little past noon before Everett and Lance wake up the next day. Everett being the first one to stir, uncurling himself from his lovers gentle arms. Stretching his arms up toward the headboard, avian feet lightly clawing at the air as his legs stretched out. Giving a soft sigh and blinking his eyes open before scooting himself to the edge of the bed, making sure his peacock feathered wings didn’t brush up against Lance to not disturb him. Not like it mattered too much as now that Everett wasn’t in his arms he began to wake up soon after, rubbing his eyes and pushing the covers down. He lay there just staring at the ceiling for a moment before taking his gaze toward Everett as he began getting ready for the day. Watching him adjusting his deep red corset and tying up his sash and flowy clothing. Lance scooted his way out of bed to come up behind Everett. Standing a good 4 or 5 inches taller than the 5 foot 8 peacat he was able to easily rest his head right on Everett, wrapping his arms around him in a firm embrace.

“Good morning, love” The ferret said with a happy but sleepy smile.

“Mornin’, hun” Everett replies with a soft purr, “How’d you sleep?”

“Well enough, the bed isn’t as luxurious as the rest of the resort looks” He smugly remarks in a half joking manner

“Sorry, I got you too spoiled on my bed back home hm? You’ll get used to it in a few days, after all… we got a whole month ahead of us, Im sure we’ll end up breaking it in” The peacat raising his paws up to rub along his ferret’s fluffy cheeks as he makes his flirtatious remark. Then pulling himself out of Lance’s arms and rubbing his chest for a moment. “Now get ready sleepy head, we got a long day of fun ahead of us”

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

Everett and Lance make their first outing to the endless all you can eat buffet that is catered at the all-inclusive resort, having slept through breakfast they were feeling pretty hungry by the time the left their room in the afternoon. After having more than their fill of food, leaving the table quite stuffed, Everett and Lance make their way to the bar for a quick drink. Everett sipping on a margarita and Lance on a Rum and Coke, getting a little buzz on before leaving the resort area for some sightseeing around the town. As they cab around the local town, visiting some murals and popular landmarks, they grab a snack every so often wanting to try as many of the local cuisine as their stomachs could handle. At this point Lance’s stomach is bloated as one eating so frequently would expect, however it doesn’t show too much through his loose clothing. Everett however had needed to loosen his corset a couple times already. He already having a bit of an appetite normally but being in an environment where he can ease up and relax without judgment of the royal staff is making him eat even more than his appetite should allow. Having spent a good many hours out and the sun begins dipping toward the city’s skyline they decide to head back to the resort. When they arrive back Lance offers to take what souvenirs they bought back up to their room while Everett got them a table back in the main dining area. On the way there Everett grabs a drink for them both to take to their table, making sure to order them a bit stronger than normal. By the time Lance arrives in the dining area, Everett has already drank though half his margarita and was chowing down on a big plate of food, seemingly having grabbed a little scoop of everything he hadn’t eaten  earlier in the day.

“Damn babe, I know you’re a foodie and want to try as many things as you can but you don’t need to eat it all in a day” Lance teases with a light snicker walking up to the table picking up his drink on the other side of the table.

“oh-m sh-owwy” Everett attempts to apologize through a maw full of food, taking a moment to chew it and swallow it down “I-im sorry, it’s just so damn good. So much better than my chef makes in the palace!” He leans back in his chair and drinks a little more margarita down to chase the food down into his stomach.

“No need to apologize, just don’t need you getting sick on the first day here, babe” Lance says around the straw in his lips as he sipped up some of his rum and coke. Taking a look down at his husband’s middle and giving a slight smirk “Plus, your corset is getting tight, how much more can you loosen that thing before you just gotta take it off?” He teases once again

“Fair enough” Everett laughs “I’ll try but no guarantees”

Everett would go back to eating from his plate as Lance walked off to go grab his own, sitting back down with a more sensible sized portion of various foods. The two of them eating together and sipping though their strong drinks while having a waiter top them off when they got low. They would finish off their food and chat while they drank, discussing things they should do while at the resort and talking about the places they had been that day. A few drinks soon became many, their glasses cluttering the table as they very soon went from a buzz to a much more drunken state. Everett would have requested the waiter to grab him a plate of food a couple times by now while he talking with Lance, who seemed to have not really noticed having been too focused on the conversation and the alcohol dulling his senses. Soon enough, just as Lance had guessed, Everett had loosened his corset so much that it just about became unlaced. He having to excuse himself to the bathroom, with a drunken waddle he make I in and leans himself forward on the sink counter taking a few heavy breaths. With a muffled burp in his maw he stands himself up and fully removes his corset to reveal a heavily boated belly. After tying the laces of his corset to the sash around his waist so it can just hang at his side he takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror. Being as drunk as he was it was very much like looking at another person, never had he seen himself so massively bloated before, even on his most gluttonous days in the palace. His stomach sticking far out in front of him, solid and round as can be. Nearly the size of basketball. He stood there with a blank stare at his reflection in the mirror, taking his paws to his distended stomach and in that moment becoming mesmerized. Rubbing his belly for a good while before realizing he needed to head back out. He slowly made his way back to their table where Lance was having a conversation with another fur that was staying at the resort. Everett managing to sit back down while Lance and the other person closed up their conversation.

“Sorry I took so long, I may be a little more drunk than I thought” Everett would bashfully say, not wanting to admit the real reason for his extended absence.

“I didn’t think you were gone that long were you? I must have been too caught up in talking with that guy, he had some interesting ideas for us to do the rest of the night, there’s apparently an entertainment show of some sort happening soon at some place here” Lance would say in a slurred excited tone “you wanna go?”

“S-sure sounds fun, they still providing drinks and stuff there right?” Everett would ask hesitantly as he subconsciously decided back in the bathroom to see just how far he could push his stomach tonight.

“I think so, I’m sure that we can order whatever we want” Lance assures and slowly stands himself up with an un easy wobble as the alcohol rushes to his head, taking his glass and downing what’s left in it.

“Let’s go then, lead the way good sir” Everett replies, chugging down the rest of his own drink and taking an arm around his husband’s waist for support. Lance holding his own around Everett’s shoulders as they slowly stumbled their way to the resorts grand stage area. Dimly lit for mood lighting with tables and booths lined all along the wall and throughout the enormous room. They taking a booth somewhat close to the edge of the stage and ordering another round of drinks, and Everett taking a couple orders of some appetizers, playing it off as some light snacking for the show. Not too soon after the food and drinks arrived the room darkened and the stage lit up, performers come on the stage and the first act of what they can assume to be an elaborate play begins. While Lance was focused on the entertainment Everett focused on the food, bite by bite all the appetizers platters emptied out into his gluttonous belly. Sitting himself back into the booth and belly brushing up against the edge of the table, he silently panted to himself. Taking heavy breaths as he slowly got used to the pressure in his stomach. Eventually motioning to the waiter for another round of drinks and a refill of the platters right around when the first act came to a close and the audience began to cheer. The lights come back to their previous dimed state as the intermission begins before the second act. Lance taking the time to get up and quickly rush off to the restroom. The waiter soon coming over with arms full of new plates of food and another waiter at his side carrying the drinks. After they place them down and walk off Lance stumbles back and eases his wobbly well wasted self down back into the booth. Taking a glance at the table with a very drunken confused look.

“E-everett… w-why have you ordered food if ya not gunna eat it, babe” Not being aware that his husband had already eaten through the entire spread once already, nor having even noticed or at least fully acknowledged the size he was becoming.

Stifling a burp and slumping himself down into the booth to hide his belly somewhat, Everett grabs a morsel of food from one of the platters and gulps it down.

“Y-you’re r-right, im shorry” Everett replies in just as slurred a tone as Lance, grabbing yet another bite. Soon he lights go dark again as the next and final act of the show begins and the performers begin their play once more. Just as before Lance was entranced by the performers and Everett was gorging on his food. Although this time he was struggling. The bites became hard to swallow as his stomach was stretched far beyond its limit, pushing so far out now that he had o sit sideways in the booth just so he wouldn’t get stuck as he kept greedily eating. It takes a while but he eventually manages to push down every bite of food from the platters on food that covered the table along with the many glasses of emptied alcoholic drinks. Everett now sat there leaned back against the wall and his belly spilling into his lap, wheezing as he barley retained consciousness. That basketball sized bloat he had been entranced by in mirror earlier now resembled that of a huge well ripened melon. His body feeling too heavy to even attempt to rub his aching stomach. A waiter comes by to pick up the dishes from the table, eyeing Everett quite heavily and turning to whisper to another waiter that came by. The room began to light up as the play finally reached it finale and the curtains closed with a massive round of applause. One of the waiters leans over to Everett.

“S-Sir, are you alright?” They say with a concerned tone, this grabbing the attention of Lance who now can see Everett in the full light of the room now

“E-Ever? J-jeshus ever I-I… told you to e-ease up!” Lance barley stammers out. Now turning to the waiters to apologize to them and has them help Everett up to his feet. The two hold each other up and with the guidance of a staff member they very slowly make their way back to their room. Once they make it there Everett heavily steps his way towards the bathroom, wheezing the entire way. He can hear some slight conversation outside the room of Lance and the staff member talking mostly out of concern for Everett and to make sure he’s fine, Lance assuring them he just had too much to drink much like himself. Everett sets his belly up on the sink counter, giving a loud moan of relief. Then a knock on the door.

“Babe, y-you elright in there?” Came the heavily slurred question from Lance before he slowly opened the door to peek inside. He could hardly believe the sight he was looking at, his husband ever so slightly on his avian claws so that is stomach could rest on the marbled counter. To say he was over engorged was an understatement. Everett had somehow eaten himself to what Lance had previously thought to be an unattainable size purely on bloat. Lance knew Everett loved to eat but never had he done something like this.

“E-ev?” was all the ferret could say in the state of shock he was in. Using the counter to support himself to drunkenly stumble toward his partner, he would come up close and hold a paw to Everett’s belly. He was packed solid and skin stretched so tight it’s a miracle he managed to get so huge. The feeling of Lance’s paw on Ever’s stomach made the peacat flinch a bit, but even so he made the slightest rubbing motion for him, unsure of what else to do. Everett could only stand there and heavily pant and wheeze, even with his belly fully supported it was almost too much to handle still.

“I- im…. Gunna see if the front desk has medicine, just hold on” with a little pet behind the peacat’s head and concerned kiss he stumbles back out to the room’s phone. Lance would call the front desk and have then bring a bottle of some sort of digestive aide, telling them he would be in their bathroom when they brought it up. With a little hurried goodbye and thank you the phone is hung up and followed by a stumble back to his partner’s side. “It’ll be ok” Lance would softly say as he moved up close to Everett, wrapping one arm around his lower back in an attempt to support the peacat’s body and another paw on his melon sized gut. Little whimpers would be heard among the soft moans of relief from the new support and easing rubbing to his engorged stomach.

Fairly soon a staff member would knock at the bathroom door and slowly allow himself to enter, their eyes wide in disbelief as they hand a bottle to Lance. A thank you and apology for the situation is exchanged and the staff member quickly leaves and closes the doors behind.

“This should help” the ferret says opening the bottle and bringing the nozzle up to Everett’s lips. There was a struggle to sip the medicine at first but soon Everett would take a few heavy gulps with a loud whine after. Lance would put the half empty bottle down and old Everett a little firmer, now sliding a paw under that heavy belly and softly whispering some words to try and calm and soothe the man in his arms. It takes a little while but eventually Everett’s whines subside and are replaced with some slow heavy breathing, he relaxing in Lance’s arms and standing himself back on his own claws. Even the belly held up in one of the ferrets paws seemed to relax and feel less tense. A sigh of relief comes from Lance as he slowly removes himself from Ever and sits himself on the edge of the tub nearby “I swear….” Lance begins in his slurred tone “yer appetite is getting out of control” he starts out and then begins a little grin. “Keep it up and we will have to start hiring a team of tailors dedicated to you and a growing waistline” he would snicker at his own teasing remark. Taking a look over Everett, who now seems mostly recovered and was now idly rubbing over his distended gut, and then gazing to his face reflected in the mirror. Ever looked half asleep as he stood there just looking at himself in the mirror, a hint of pride under his drunken silly face that was fighting the impending food coma he would be facing later tonight.

Lance would stand back up with a slight sway as he came up behind Ever, glancing to one of his sides as he reaches his paws forward. Rubbing over one of the gold and purple spots close to his white furred belly that was now looking a bit stretched out to match the belly the peacat was sporting. “Alright big boy lets get ya in bed” Lance would tease. Everett seeming to take it a little too well as a grin spread on his drunken face. The ferret would slide his paws under Ever’s stomach and gently lift, with a little moan from him they get it off the counter and suddenly Lance was carrying its full weight.

“Oh my god, Ev! Y-you’re so heavy…! How did you even manage to eat so much?” Lance complained as he stumbled with Everett towards the bed, one paw holding his gut and the other behind his back gently pushing them along. With Lance was so focused on trying to get them to their goal he hadn’t noticed Everett beginning to purr. Something about being called heavy and a remark to his appetite seemed to please him. He’d never been called heavy in his life and even though it normally shouldn’t be taken in a positive manner, it almost felt gratifying.

Once they approached the bed Everett would begin heavily stepping on his own, turning around and slowly easing himself down on the edge of the bed with a groan. Being careful of his wings he lays back, both paws at the sides of his stomach now sticking straight up in a solid mound from his torso, unable to see anything beyond. Tilting his head to the side he looks up to his partner with a longing expression and reaches a paw out for him. With a little eye roll from Lance he places his paw in Ever’s, then gets gently pulled towards him and has him sit next to him on the bed. He would place that paw on his belly and then gently sliding his own up along Lances arm, then along his side and back.

Everett would just affectionately rub and scratch along his husbands back and side while looking up to his face with a loving smile “I’m sorry for making you worry… I don’t know why I got so out of control”

Lance would return those affectionate caresses to that belly he sat next to, taking a glance from it to Everett’s face. “Just stop eating to the point you look like you’re full term… please” He would joke with a warm smile. Leaning down and giving Everett a soft kiss before tending back to his partners stomach.

“Oh I look pregnant do I?” Everett would laugh a bit, ears a little perked and the tip of his tail flicking around excitedly.

“Very~” Lance laughs back as he takes his paws away and positions himself to lie next to Ever. One of the peacat’s arms comes around behind him and firmly pulls the ferret into his side. Lance would cling himself up against Everett now, a position they rarely found themselves in. Normally Everett would take the role of little spoon but something about those days when Everett managed to find the time to eat himself bloated he would take on a more dominate presence. Lance never really thought about it much but in this moment it showed more than usual. Everett was more confident and truly feeling himself, even more so now that he was a size he had never been before. And something about that was drawing him in, taking a paw back to his lovers belly and tenderly rubbing along its taut surface. “T-though a pregnant belly isn’t normally befitting of a king” Lance would tease a bit looking into Everett’s eyes with their faces close enough their breaths could be felt.

There’s a slight moment of silence as Everett looked deeper at Lance with a little hint of lust in his eyes, gently pulling him in a bit closer for a kiss. As they pulled away Everett would say “Guess that’s a role for you to take up then~” in a sultry tone. With that Lance melted a bit in Everett’s arm. He gently pulled into another kiss, one with much more emotion. Deep, passionate, filled with a need that could only be quenched by each other. Time seemed to stand still as they just felt more connected than they have ever felt before, only them existing in that moment. Lance reaching a paw up to caress along Everett’s jaw as they kept their lips locked in a trance neither of them wanted to be broken from.

Moments became minutes, then hours as they lose themselves in desire, Lance exploring Everett’s bloated body and Everett to Lances in return. Everett slowly taking more control, Lance more than willing to submit to Ever's new found confidence. Emotions climb and clothes fly, eventually in the night a climax is reached where the seed of their love is planted and a new spark ignited.

[ironlime]

60 Years After

So somebody in the tumblrverse posted about their headcannon in which Ned Coats was Sam Vimes' kid having traveled through time. I am a fan of this. It explains a lot. So when I read it back in... April? I then sat down and wrote up this little fanfic thing. And assumed that I could not only get it posted today, but also edit it so that it's not filled with so many of my own headcannons. And is closer to the original material. But L-Space is my job, and it really does do crazy things to time (and space.) On top of that I was really hoping I could post this to that original headcannon post but... I can't find it. So, OP, if you come across this... Well, I'm sorry. I'm more sorry to Sir Terry (GNU), though.

Quick note: my friends and I have found it easier to call Vimes' kid "Wee Sam" than "Young Sam" because "Young Sam" is one of the names (along with Vimesy and Lance Constable Vimes) that Vimes calls his younger self and... yeah. We find it confusing when nerding out about a single series with two different characters called 'Young Sam'. So we Feegle it up. Even though I wouldn't be surprised if 'Wee Sam' is actually a bit taller than his dad.

~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

“What happened just then, Sarge? You blurred.” Wee Sam said, while he thought Oh so that’s what that looks like.

“You only get one question, Ned,” The man who would be his father looked a little seasick, and Wee Sam knew exactly how he felt. “Now, let’s show Snapcase where the line’s drawn, shall we? Let’s finish it--”

To the majority of people there that day, Sergeant-At-Arms John Keel stood, turned towards the enemy, and charged. To two people, Commander Sam Vimes ran towards Carcer, ready to drag him kicking and screaming into the past. Or the future. Depending on who you asked.

That was what gave Wee Sam his frame of reference, actually. He remembered hearing stories about Carcer, about how his dad had arrested the bastard the day Wee Sam was born. But was this actually May 25th for his dad? Was this weeks before the arrest? Hours? He couldn’t ask. Not yet.

“Glad to see you’ve joined us and are getting along with the Sarge, Coats.” Fred Colon said, touching him on the shoulder as they ran towards the fight.

“Yeah, Fred.” Oh, Fred. Fred Colon had died a few years ago, happy and surrounded by great-grandchildren. But here and now he was young and actually capable of running. And he was running towards the fray.

Sweeper had told Wee Sam to stay away from the center of the fight, and to try not to actually kill anybody, so he stayed on the edge near the unconscious Lance-Constable Sam Vimes who had been hidden by his older, more cynical self. Three men in a battle with the same name, and two of them were the same person. Good thing Wee Sam was the only one who had to really keep track of which of them was where. He certainly didn’t trust anybody else to.

So he fought, in a very curbed way, knocking his adversaries unconscious when he could and doing his best not to step on Nobby Nobbs, who was doing his best to very slowly inch away from the battle while simultaneously pretending to be a corpse. Over by the Watch House, Reg Shoe was doing a much better impersonation of a corpse, seeing as how he was one, but in a couple of hours he’d discover that it just didn’t work for him.

“You’re nicked, my ol’ chum.” It was probably because he had been listening for it, but his father’s whisper carried. Nobody else seemed to hear it, and nobody but Wee Sam turned in time to see the two men vanish. In the same instant, a single body appeared on the ground near where they had been. So, now that he had seen that through, there was one more…

A dark grey-green shadow passed by his shoulder, and his mind registered Uncle Havelock before adding the word Young.

Havelock Vetinari ran into the fight, cutting down Carcer’s men much more brazenly than the Assassin's Guild would like, a lilac bud between his teeth. Even in Wee Sam’s time, when Vetinari’s wardrobe consisted entirely of black and everything he did was in moderation, the Patrician indulged in a little drama on a regular basis.

He chose to have Commander Sam Vimes in his life, after all.

There was a sound to Wee Sam’s left, which he recognized though his mind didn’t associate any words with it. It was a sound any human would recognize, even those who first approached the Delta where the Ankh River met the Circle sea thousands of years ago. If Wee Sam had to find Morporkain words for it, and as a Vimes he did like to use his vocabulary, they were Confused, followed by Hurt followed by… wait for it… there it was. Anger.

Wee Sam could make that noise, though he rarely did. His father’s upbringing, on the other hand, had been considerably less balanced. The kid who was the source of the sound ran into the center of the fight, and Wee Sam deftly stepped out of his way while pushing an adversary in his way. The boy chopped down the Unmentionable with one graceful movement, and Wee Sam felt that he could safely say that he hadn’t been the one to kill the bastard. And nobody had been so foolish as to tell him to prevent his father from killing anybody.

Vetinari didn’t pause, but he did turn to look at this vengeful newcomer. Vetinari hadn’t been there when young Sam Vimes participated in the first part of the battle, and Wee Sam recognized the young assassin’s look of interest.

Tell me, Uncle Havelock, will you recognize him in 15 years? Or will you need to get him well and truly angry to realize you’ve found him?

Wee Sam knew this wasn’t the first time Havelock Vetinari saw Sam Vimes, but this was probably the first time he saw the potential. That he was more than just That Kid Who Follows Keel Everywhere. I bet you didn’t actually expect him to be so damned smart. His father still didn’t think of himself as intelligent. It was infuriating, especially when he and his father were having a disagreement. A drawn out, decade-long, disagreement.

Young Sam Vimes sent a lot of the Unmentionables running, and Wee Sam cut down any of them which could be seen as ‘coming towards him with a drawn weapon’. Since they were escaping a fight, that was anyone who came within reach not wearing a lilac.

Time travel really can get to a man. He thought, feeling a little cold. There would be no arrests here, just death and fleeing and at the end of the day Sam Vimes, Havelock Vetinari, Fred Colon, Gaskin, and, less literally, Nobby Nobbs and Reg Shoe would all be left standing. That was all that mattered.

He saw Vetinari turn away from young Sam Vimes, who then spun, and for the briefest moment they had their backs to each other, and Wee Sam wished he had his paints. It was a gods awful place to paint, there was a reason battles were always ‘immortalized’ after the fact, but the color and everything was just perfect--

And then the color faded.

“You should have fallen by now.” Sweeper observed from behind him.

“I wanted to see them fight together.” Wee Sam admitted, not turning. He had a notebook on him, and a pencil, but he knew that even with Time paused he didn’t really have it. Not to sit down and do a proper preliminary sketch. He was just going to have to remember.

Vetinari had a stiletto, an assassin’s weapon used to kill up-close. Young Sam Vimes hadn’t learned to dual-wield yet, but he had good instincts for the sword. Wait until you discover the axe.

Sweeper sighed. “Fine, and now you’ve seen it. I’m going to put the time back on and you had better be prepared to drop.”

“Yes yes alright.” Wee Sam shifted slightly, so he could seriously inconvenience the man who he was blocking before he dropped.

“Oh and stop killing people.”

“I’m a Vimes. You knew that when you hired me.”

“Indeed.” Sweeper said, and it took Wee Sam a moment to realize it was an attempt at a Vetinari impression. Before Wee Sam could reply, the color came back, and his adversary frowned in confusion.

“Oi, you blurred!” The man cried.

“This just isn’t your day.” Wee Sam gave the man a wound which might heal, if somebody tended to it within the next 10 minutes, and then fell over in a needlessly complicated way, specifically so he wouldn’t hit Nobby Nobbs.

And when he landed, the boy was looking right at him, frowning. Damn, Nobby was always the brains of Colon & Nobbs.

“You ain’t injured.” The boy hissed at him.

“Try to pick my pockets and you’ll regret it.” Wee Sam whispered back. Of course he wouldn’t dream of hurting Nobby, but the kid didn’t know that. Besides, picking the contents of his pockets back would be a relaxing way to end the day.

Nobby was still frowning at him. “You got eyes like the Sarge...”

“Nobby, get out of here before you get stepped on.” Wee Sam growled in his best imitation of his father, the Sergeant, within the past three days. The kid’s eyes went wide, and he took off running. Wee Sam glanced over to where Vimes and Vetinari were taking care of the last of Carcer’s men, and the color faded once more.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself.” Sweeper said, which Wee Sam took to mean he could stand up and dust himself off.

“Young Vimes and Vetinari live to grow up and become two of the most powerful men in Ankh-Morpork history, Carcer went back to his time more or less accompanied by my my dad so the one can be arrested by the other, your rogue ‘Time Vigilantes’ have been sorted out, oh and I don’t cease to exist either. My work here is d--” He stopped, and watched as Q and some other Technical Monks lay down a man about the same age, size and coloring as Wee Sam. “Wait, so there really was a Ned Coats?”

Sweeper had walked off without him, and Wee Sam jogged to catch up. The old monk didn’t turn to look at him when they were side-by-side, but he did start talking. “Of course there was. He was also from Psudopolis and knew the real Keel.”

“How’d he die?”

“The Agony Aunts, on his first day here. He was the real reason the real Keel accepted a job in Ankh-Morpork. The real Ned Coats was not a good man.”

“Keel... left his home to track down a criminal…” Wee Sam slowed. “That’s what my dad did! As Keel! Only, it was Carcer he had to catch.”

“Time likes continuity.” Sweeper nodded, and thanked Wee Sam quietly for holding the door open as they entered the monastery. Once in the building, color returned, with motion and sounds and smells. They were back in the Present.

The walk through the building was in relative silence, the rumbling of the procrastinators keeping it from ever becoming truly quiet here. Wee Sam could sleep almost anywhere, but the rumbling reminded him of the steam engines back home and Susan’s offer to help him find a job in Sto Lat ‘if he really couldn’t stay in Ankh-Morpork’.

Not long after his parents first met his dad had gotten fired for a couple of days, and his mom had offered to get him a job working for Susan’s parents. Susan had been young then, and sometimes he wondered what kind of person she would have grown up to be with his dad as part of her household staff.

Of course, with his parents living in two different cities, he would have never been born.

His mother would have never left Ankh-Morpork.

Then again, his father had chosen not to leave. He had stayed on the case. He… sorted it out, more or less. He kept Vetinari from getting killed. Had he done that during the battle? Young Sam and Vetinari had been facing opposite directions, had Vimesy blocked any blows aimed at the future patrician?

There was the crunch of stones under his feet, and Wee Sam consciously acknowledged they had arrived at the Garden of Inner-City Tranquility. His eyes swept the space, falling on and acknowledging the Cigarette Pack of Air, the Cat Doings of Disharmony, the Sonkie of Organic Harmony, the Cabbage Stalks of Dim Comprehension, the Discarded Fish-And-Chip Wrapper of Infinity, the Beer Bottle of Pissing Off Sweeper, and….

“The Cigar of Capriciousness is still here.” Wee Sam said, stopping between the door and the bench Sweeper always went to. He tilted his head slightly. “Or… Another cigar. Same brand, same style, smoked the same amount, probably by the same man, at the same angle... but it’s wrapped just a little differently.”

“Is it? I’ve stopped noticing.”

“You haven’t noticed the cigar that’s been smouldering here for the past month?” Wee Sam turned to Sweeper in disbelief. “I understand not paying attention to the condoms and cat doings, but time passes in here!”

Sweeper shrugged. “There is always a cigar. Even if we get rid of it, a new one shows up. If the new one lands closer to the wall, the garden always pushes it to the center.”

“Always? Since, what, the dawn of time?”

“Oh no. Since the day you were born. Or thirty years before. It’s hard to say.” Sweeper was looking at him evenly, and Wee Sam suddenly realized his reaction was being gauged.

“My dad. But…” Wee Sam looked at the cigar. “He doesn’t smoke them anymore.”

“He does. On special occasions.”

“Like what?”

“Your birthday. And when he pays certain visits.”

“He talked you into not keeping me on?” His gaze moved swiftly from the old man to the cigar, and with purpose he stalked into the middle of the garden and brought his foot back, prepared to give the thing a swift kick.

“You did that just fine without his help.” Sweeper’s voice was quiet, but it froze Wee Sam where he stood. “Corporal, we both know you don’t want to do this.”

“The mission is over. Coats is dead. I’m not a corporal anymore.” His foot fell heavily, not coming into contact with the cigar but still sending a spray of stones ahead of them. He scowled as they came sliding back towards him, settling where they had been around his foot. “This job is the closest I’ve ever gotten to what I was made to do.”

“I realize that. I’m sorry.”

There was some silence as the last of the stones slid into place. The procrastinators here were small, used only for the bathrooms in the far right corner, even though the city’s sewer pipe system now meant that they were just inconveniencing themselves in exchange for saving very little money. Wee Sam had done the math.

“Did you tell Susan?” Wee Sam didn’t want to be the one to tell her, but he also didn’t want anybody else to explain that he had squandered this opportunity.

“No. That is your problem, my boy.”

“Good.” Wee Sam squatted down, getting a closer look at his father’s cigar. The smell brought him back to his childhood, and it was comforting if not at all healthy. His mother had never allowed them in the house, but his father smoked them all the time outside and in his office, so the scent clung to his uniform like… Well like Wee Sam had back then. “Please don’t hold… me... against her. She was just looking out for me. She does that. Wish I knew why.”

“She is aware of your potential.” Sweeper said, and Wee Sam was so surprised he looked over his shoulder at the old man. “You’re good at investigating and putting the pieces together. And, some day, you will once again make a very good cop.”

“Someplace other than Ankh-Morpork.” Wee Sam grunted, but the old man shrugged, and he asked, hopefully “In Ankh-Morpork but in the future?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“No, it’s for my father to say.” He glared at the cigar, and then pushed himself to a standing position.

“You know, I didn’t just take you on because Susan asked and there happened to be another Vimes-shaped opening.” Sweeper said as Wee Sam turned towards the door.

“No?”

“I wanted to get to know the man the Theives Guild deemed ‘too dangerous’ for membership.” Sweeper sounded amused, and Wee Sam turned to look at him.

“I keep killing people. Assassin's school graduate, and all.” Wee Sam reminded him, but Sweeper waved the comment away.

“We both know neither of those things are relevant to today’s theive’s guild.” Sweeper shook his head. “Your father is afraid of you becoming him; and, well, so is everyone else. Vimeses walk in and take control. Especially under Vetinari’s influence.”

“And how do you know what my father is afraid of?” Wee Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. He was choosing to ignore the comment about Vetinari’s influence because it was true. After 300 years of cops and / or drunks it took Havelock Vetinari telling his father ‘not’ to investigate three deaths to bring his family name back to the list of the city’s gentry.

“You should ask him.” Sweeper did not ignore the narrowed eyes, but he did meet them evenly. “What he’s afraid of.”

Wee Sam turned towards the door, intending to stalk out, then thought better of it and spun so he was completely facing the old man. “You know what? I think I will.”

Then he ran, took a leap to place one foot on the bench beside Sweeper and jumped so his hands easily grasped the top of the wall. His own momentum brought him sideways, and he hurtled over the top. There was an alley on the other side, and he landed lightly. He was exactly where he expected to be, of course, and took off at a run towards the Cemetery of Small Gods.

And slowed to a walk before he reached the gates. It would not do for him to be out of breath when he arrived at the graves.

Twilight was falling, so his dad would be there, but so would Uncle Havelock and maybe Reg Shoe. Wee Sam was less concerned about how Reg saw him, especially now that he had seen Reg alive, but as far as his family was concerned he wanted to take steps towards appearing dignified. Even though they had known him his whole life, and knew better.

Sure enough, he passed Reg first. The Zombie was carrying a long-handled shovel over his left shoulder, and nodded in acknowledgement. Wee Sam managed to nod back before they passed each other.

He had expected Reg to recognize him. Reg had never noticed him behind the barricade, his father never noticed him behind the barricade, but Wee Sam had been playing Ned Coats for a full month before Sam Vimes had shown up as John Keel. Maybe Reg had never noticed that his father was Keel? How did Zombie memories work, anyway? Their brains certainly weren’t making new pathways… Did vampyre brains make new pathways?

This train of thought kept him pretty well occupied, along with the question of how he could politely go about getting some answers, when he noticed Uncle Havelock and his ‘cane’ striding silently towards him. A simple nod wouldn’t do.

“Good evening, Uncle Havelock.” Wee Sam called, since his mother had drummed into his head that you always greeted your superiors first. Admittedly, this sometimes meant that he approached his uncle with a question about what he would call the color of the sunset above a specific building at that exact moment, or if there was a poison which exploded in a particularly satisfactory fashion, but the patrician never complained. Nor did he complain if Wee Sam wandered in his office and started talking about alternative methods for coding clax messages or an unusual bird he had noticed riding the thermals above the University. And, thank gods, Havelock Vetinari knew that a formal greeting from Wee Sam Vimes meant that he didn’t want to talk.

“Happy Birthday, Wee Sam.” His uncle replied, “I trust you’ll be on time for dinner?”

Oh. That was a reminder. And a warning. “Thank you. Yes, we won’t be long.”

“Good. See you then.” The Patrician nodded, and then passed him.

“Yes.” Wee Sam muttered, and then reached for his pocket watch. When he pulled it out, he saw the time was all wrong and swore quietly. Well, from the graves he would be able to see the Tower of Art, and set his watch to the present. The battle of the lilac boys had been in the mid-morning, and it was most definitely not a quarter to noon.

John Keel’s grave marker was wood, and though it had been replaced often it had never been strong enough to support the weight of an average-sized man. Reg’s, on the other hand, was granite, and he apparently didn’t mind that Commander Sam Vimes leaned against it more and more every year.

Wee Sam didn’t make any noise, he never made any noise, but he could never sneak around his father. Commander Sam Vimes turned his head ever so slightly, and Wee Sam tooka good look at him.

Oh gods, he was so old. When had that happened? True, the last time he had seen his father he must have been about 50, but before that Wee Sam had spent three decades watching his father age and yet… It had never struck him so hard. He never could quite reconcile his memories of young Sam Vimes, that kid who had joined The Watch for three square meals a day and a little extra cash for his family. But he hadn’t thought his father had changed so much.

The old man looked him up and down. “How’d the battle go? After I left?”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly, and looked down at his outfit. He had forgotten to change into the clothes he had left at the monastery. This outfit was a uniform the Monks had given him, so he wouldn’t have the problems ‘accidental’ time travelers experienced with their clothes and meals and things staying in the time they came from. He even still had his lilac, somehow, even though that had come from the past.

“Don’t you remember?” You kicked ass.

His father shook his head. “I remember the original timeline, when Keel died at the barricade. I was pretty sure Coats wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he was, either.”

“I guess Vetinari showed up?” His father smirked. “Had a lilac in his teeth and everything?”

“I thought you didn’t remember it.” Wee Sam frowned.

“I don’t, but he tells me about it sometimes. I think he’s waiting for me to remember, or maybe now he’s wondering why I don’t.”

“Because time travel is a mess.” Wee Sam turned away from his father and looked across the city. He could see his family’s house from here.

“So Sweeper explained it to you?” The interest in his voice was practically tactile.

“No, but I had to run around for a month foiling somebody who had been sent to kill Havelock Vetinari. And it gave me time to wonder.”

“Why it was different the first time around?”

Wee Sam shook his head. “Would I have survived being born if you didn’t go back and meet Lawn?”

There was absolute silence between them, until Commander Sam Vimes quietly swore.

“Sweeper told me you have to think of things as one event in front of another, which is fine, except if you hadn’t gone back in time you wouldn’t have known Lawn was competent. You had heard of him, sure, but he would have never crossed your mind.”

“So we owe your existence to the damn time monks?” There was an angry edge to his father’s voice, but Wee Sam already knew his father was protective as hell. That was how he had gotten into this mess. Sort of.

“No. As far as I can tell, we owe it to some modern young idiots who thought they could go back and kill Vetinari. Time tries to fix things, and so you were sent back in time, to meet Lawn and Carcer went with you and killed Keel so there was a place for you to be and when you were done my life got saved and the monks were able to send me back to save Vetinari’s life and… Time is what it should be. Go us.” There was something about owing his life to terrorists that made him feel sarcastic.

“For all we know Vetinari or Rosie Palm might have recommended Lawn.” His father pointed out, which wasn’t a bad alternative. But it wasn’t what had happened, and there wasn’t really anybody they could ask. At least, nobody who they could ask who would give them a meaningful answer. They both knew Vetinari was a capable doctor, but apparently neither of them could imagine Vetinari getting involved in a problematic birth when there were other competent people around to do it.

More silence. Wee Sam noticed the time on the Tower of Art, and pulled his watch back out. If they were going to avoid talking about the massive argument they had that morning, he may as well take the time to re-set his watch.

“There was the sound of dice.” His father said so quietly that it didn’t initially register.

“Hm?” Wee Sam pushed the pin in, and watched with satisfaction as his watch and the tower struck the time at the exact same minute.

“Before the Library got struck by lightning. There was the sound of dice. Were the people who wanted to kill Havelock associated with a specific god?”

“I… Don’t know. They didn’t say anything about one.” He shut the watch, and shoved it in his pocket. ‘Havelock’ meant his dad was worried. “But there was a thunderstorm, right? Was the sound of dice rolling at the exact moment as the thunder?’

“Yes.”

“Io!” They both said it at the same moment, and Wee Sam felt his heart fall to his stomach. The self-proclaimed King of the Gods had been trying to subjugate their family for a long time. The only reason he had eased up lately was because Wee Sam had trained with the witches in Lancre. And so, to a lesser extent, had his father. It made them harder targets. But Io was still The Thunder God because he had murdered all the others. And then there was the question of who he would be forced to answer to. And how. Neither of the Vimes men had an axe sharp enough for that.

“Damn, why didn’t I realize that?” His father asked the night at large.

“The gods are always playing games. And besides, you had no reason to think Io was responsible for… Well he’s probably not responsible for the Dragon Incident, at least. Or the Goblin Incident.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been operating under the assumption that he was involved in that Dam Slam.” He was rubbing his thumb thoughtfully over the inside of his left wrist, where the Mark of the Summoning Dark had been. When Wee Sam was 8 it had changed, to a symbol generally called the Guarding Dark by anyone who cared to reference it. His father never talked about either Mark, but Wee Sam didn’t blame him. The Marks were indicative of 7 year period which did a number on his view of magic, and his identity.

Speaking of.

“I haven’t told Susan yet, but the monks kicked me out.” He tapped his toe against the grass, bringing it down as softly as he could so it wouldn’t damage the grass. Leggy would be so mad if he damaged his precious ‘terf’.

��Do you want to be a Monk?” His father asked quietly.

“No, I want to be a Watchman.” He whispered. Today was his 30th birthday, though technically he was a month older than that. He felt so much older than that. “But you’re apparently so terrified of me getting myself hurt that you’ve been doing Every Damned Thing you can think of to get between me and that and so I went ahead and tried to join almost any guild in the city and quite a few refused me and I’ve been kicked out of Each. And. Every. One. which would take me and now the only thing I can think of is taking Susan up on her offer to put in a good word for me with the Sto Lat Watch unless you’re going to step in and mess that up too and I wish you would knock it the hells off because as much as I love mum and her dragons I cannot spend the rest of my life working at the damn dragon sanctuary so--”

“Corporal.” His father’s voice was conversational, and somebody who had spent less time listening for the Commander’s voice probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“I’m not finished! Will you--” Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “Is that why you made me a Corporal? You couldn’t have recognized me. I hadn’t been born yet!”

“I recognized potential. And I was right, though you didn’t have as much control as I originally thought. Was all that sparring really necessary?”

“You’ve been standing between me and what I’ve been made to do!”

“And how would 50 year old me have known that?”

“It was easier to fight… him… than you.” Wee Sam grumbled, then realized he was starting to dig up the sod with his toe. Feeling bad about the grass, he brought his toe down in the other direction, to flatten it back down.

“Easier? I kicked your ass. I’d probably have a harder time of it now.”

“I never wondered if I should hold back.” Wee Sam admitted.

“Ah.” The 80 year old nodded. “I know that feeling. I’ve often wondered what it would be like if Vetinari and I had a proper fight when we were young.”

“You could sell tickets and solve all the city’s financial problems.” Wee Sam shifted his gaze to his father. “Actually you probably still could--”

“No. Your mother would have a conniption.”

“Oh right. Yeah, she would. Shame.”

“Do I want to know who you think would win?”

“No.”

“Your faith in me is staggering.”

“Well I figure either it would be a draw or he’d kick your--”

“Yes I understood your answer to my question, thank you.” But he was smiling ever so slightly.

And then the city’s clocks started chiming 9 in the evening. His father pushed himself slowly to his feet, and Wee Sam offered his arm. Cheery had offered to get his father an axe to use as a cane, but Commander Vimes would not hear of it. He did touch Wee Sam’s arm briefly, but once he was standing straight he let go, and the pair of them headed towards the exit.

They didn’t bother to try talking until the clocks had stopped, about five minutes after Wee Sam’s watch struck the hour.

“Did those people who tried to kill young Vetinari have any friends who stayed in our time?”

“I believe so.” They were walking slowly, and Wee Sam waited a full block before he added. “You want me to turn all my information over to anyone in particular?”

“I’m not afraid of you getting hurt.” It didn’t seem like a related response, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. “I mean, of course I am, but that’s not why I’ve been saying no.”

“Really?”

“I don't want people treating you like a target for their hate for me. If you could join the way Carrot or Angua or Cheery did, that would be fine. But it’s gotten so big since they joined up.”

“Ah.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t think it would be any better if you joined anywhere else within the Clacks network.”

“Which is pretty much the whole world at this point.”

“And there’s all this scrying now.”

“Which doesn’t need towers.”

His father glared at him, but didn’t tell him to knock it off. “So I suspect your joining a Watch anywhere would ultimately be just as risky.”

“Which is your reasoning for why I shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat.”

“No, my reasoning for why you shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat is that we pay better and have the best medical benefits on the Sto Plains.”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “What.”

“You survived the Watch I started out in. As far as I’m concerned, you can handle today’s watch.” The old man stopped and looked back at him. “You’re going to be the oldest cadet though. Because I’m not going to let you jump straight to Corporal. We’re not at war.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s fine.”

“We’re going to be late if you don’t get moving.”

“Right.” Wee Sam managed to keep himself from skipping, so the pent up energy became a jog to his father’s side. They walked in silence, Wee Sam’s mind racing as he wondered if there was some way for him to accidentally mess this up.

“You should give your mother two week’s notice though. It’s only fair.”

“You didn’t run this by her first?” Wee Sam turned to him, shocked.

“Oh we’ve been talking about this for years.” The unspoken word ‘decades’ hung in the air between them. “Her, Vetinari, Carrot, Angua, Cheery--”

“Cheery?”

“She and Igor think you should be in forensics. I mean, it’s your choice of course-- after you pass the tests.”

“Forensics would be great.” He agreed, and thought about how fun it could be to put his Medical and Alchemical and Assassin training to something useful for once. Which reminded him “You know, there is a smouldering cigar in the center of The Garden of Inner City Tranquility at the Monastery.”

“Yeah, it hit me after you left. I had called you ‘sunshine’ during our fight, and Vetinari basically asked how you were handling turning 30, and seeing him standing there with the lilac pinned to his shirt it hit me.” He paused for a moment. “He wore it in the original timeline too, you know. I wish I had asked, but we didn’t get along as well then.”

Wee Sam felt his mouth tug into a half-smile. For his father and the patrician, ‘getting along as well’ involved an increased number of arguments. Also, he remembered ‘Keel’ using that ironic term of endearment during their spar. “You realized I was Ned Coats.”

“So I… walked as fast as I could… to the Monastery and… knocked on the damned door… And threatened to make one hell of a scene if Sweeper didn’t let me in.”

“So of course he did.”

“Of course.”

“And he took you to the garden. And… you told him what you worked out?”

“Actually I just told him that if anything happened to you I was holding him personally responsible. I knew Ned Coats died. I just didn’t know if he died the way John Keel died. I hadn’t stayed long enough to find out.”

“And what did he say?”

“He asked if my holding him responsible was more or less lethal than Susan Sto Helit holding him responsible.”

Wee Sam laughed. “Sweeper hasn’t met mum.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” His father chuckled quietly. “Anyway, Susan will be at dinner so you can tell her all about how the monks kicked you out with an audience. Your mother will find it interesting, I’m sure.”

“Does mum know about you going back...”

“Oh yes. Vetinari can’t keep a secret from her.” And neither could her husband.

“Will there be anybody at the dinner who doesn’t know?”

“Hm, no. I don’t think so. You were the only one who wasn’t in a position to make conversation then, and while Susan wasn’t involved in my adventure as far as I can tell…”

“But with Susan who knows. In any case, I think I’ll wait until we can get some privacy.”

“Suit yourself, but be warned. Everyone knows I told you I was ok with you joining the Watch. They’ll make a big deal about it. You know how they are.”

Wee Sam looked up at the big, brightly-lit, house as they waited for his dad to fully get his breath back. “I’ll try to be strong.”

Commander Sam Vimes snorted. Wee Sam opened the door, held it while his father entered the house, and followed right behind him.

[rocorambles]

Unpredictable

Pairing: Bokuto x reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Toxic Relationship, Violence, Non-con, Dub-con

Summary: You know his mood swings aren’t normal, aren’t healthy, but when he holds you like you’re the most precious person in his life, when he lavishes you with more love than you’ve ever felt before, it’s easy to forget the negatives.

Requested by Anon  

You recline on the futon your husband had left on the cold basement floor as you look boredly at the pipes on the ceiling. Shivering, you pull your blankets higher up over you until only your face is peeking out and you silently curse yourself for getting stuck in this position again. Bokuto had just been so needy and you were busy! You had been in the middle of cooking dinner when your husband had slipped his arms around your waist and started peppering your face with kisses. At first, finding it endearing you had just giggled, but when he kept on going for ten minutes, you had turned your face away and gently nudged him away as you tried to ladle out the food onto plates. Bokuto did not take that well. 

You realized your mistake when he practically wilted besides you. His arms went limp, he started to pout, and tears began welling in his eyes. You frantically turned off the stove and tried to reach for him, to console him, but he just stepped away from you and started crying about how you didn’t love him. Did you ever love him? You must hate him. The moping tirade went on and on and you cringed when the line you had been trying to get him to avoid saying comes out. 

“Go to the basement. I don’t want to see you for a while.”  

You released a deep sigh as you brought a plate of food and a cup of water with you before trudging down the stairs. You know better than to try and resist or convince him otherwise. An angsty Bokuto is better than an angry Bokuto, so you decided to just settle down in your cold cell until his temper evened out. His mood changes so fast you know it won’t be long before he lets you out. 

Sure enough, barely a few hours pass when you hear the basement door open and energetic steps bound towards you. You sit up only to be playfully tackled back down and you lace your arms around Bokuto as he embraces you in a giant bear hug and nuzzles his face in your neck. He enthusiastically kisses every inch of your face again, but you know better now and you just lie there and affectionately ruffle his hair until he’s done. You let yourself be dragged by the taller male and rearranged until you’re both lying on your sides on the couch, Bokuto acting as a big spoon, while you curl into him with your back against his chest. You chat about how your days were. He raves about how delicious dinner was. One of his hands plays with your hair, while his other arm wraps around your waist, holding you snugly against him. These are the moments you cherish. You know his mood swings aren’t normal, aren’t healthy, but when he holds you like you’re the most precious person in his life, when he lavishes you with more love than you’ve ever felt before, it’s easy to forget the negatives.

You slowly feel yourself drifting asleep the longer the two of you recline, but suddenly something hard insistently presses into your back. Sleepily, you turn to look at Bokuto and are met with golden eyes intensely staring at you. He swoops in for a hungry kiss and you moan as you instinctively lean in, but you break it off with a yawn. He starts to nip and suck down your neck, hands beginning to pull at the hem of your shirt, but you whine and place your hands over his. “Koutarou, I’m tired. Can we just go to sleep? I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise.” You close your eyes again ready to finally drift off when you’re jolted awake by your clothes being ripped off of you. You try to blink the drowsiness from your eyes as you frantically flail in an attempt to stop him, but Bokuto’s so much stronger than you, it’s not even a fair fight.

Your face pales when you finally look at your husband’s face and see his features hardened with anger. You try to appease him, tell him you were just kidding, of course you wanted to have sex with him, but it’s too late. He manhandles you until you’re face down on the couch, your ass perfectly placed in his lap, the rest of your body sprawled out. You barely have a chance to catch your breath when a howl echoes throughout the room. You don’t even register that it’s your own voice as a lancing pain spreads throughout your body. Bokuto rains down hit after hit, not holding back in the slightest. He uses the same strength he’d use in any professional volleyball match. There’s nothing sensual about this. He doesn’t care how much it hurts you. He doesn’t care how hard you cry. He doesn’t care how many times you tell him to stop. This is about him taking out his anger on you. This is about him showing you how much it hurts him when you reject him. 

You let out a body wracking sob when it finally stops and you don’t know if you’re crying in relief or pain. Probably both. You gingerly try to push yourself up, careful to not move your bottom unnecessarily, but you screech when hands roughly grasp your bruised cheeks and you collapse back down from the searing pain. You wail as Bokuto shoves his length inside you, not bothering to take the time to let you adjust before starting a brutal pace. It burns as his palms continuously knead your still extremely tender and bruised skin. It burns as his large shaft forcefully stretches you open. But you’re still aching from your punishment and you know from the way he’s pounding into you that Bokuto is still being fueled by rage, so you just dig your nails into the couch and try to relax your body as much as you can. 

Maybe it’s survival instinct. Maybe it’s your body adapting to the years of sexual activities with the man on top of you. But your broken cries soon turn into moans as your walls loosen enough that the uncomfortable stretch turns into intoxicating pleasure. Seeing you writhe beneath him, seeing you feeling good because of him dissipates the remaining embers of fury in Bokuto and he smiles as he adjusts his angle until he’s hitting the spot inside of you that he knows will have you hurtling towards the edge. His fingers sneak under your body to furiously rub your clit and you open your mouth in a silent scream as you fall apart beneath him. You moan as he continues to thrust in and out of you, chasing his own end, but he’s already so close from the beautiful sight of you climaxing that it only takes a few sharp snaps before he’s sinking one last time inside of you and spilling hot liquid into your quivering hole.

Bokuto’s careful when he moves you, making sure to keep your pain to a minimum, and soon he has you lying on top of him, chest against chest as he rubs soothing circles into your lower back. The pain is still agonizing and you’re completely drained emotionally, mentally, and physically from trying to keep up with all aspects of your husband’s unpredictable mood swings. But as you lay there, wrapped in his warmth and scent, enveloped by his sweet words of how much he loves you, you blissfully fall asleep with a smile on your face.

[anarcoqueer1994]

4th of July, 1932

It was Steve's 14th birthday, not that anyone would remember, not when he shared a birthday with America's number one day to blow up things. Sarah even had to work today, regretfully telling him they would have a little birthday dinner tomorrow. She gives him a plate of deviled eggs to bring down. He doesn't give her trouble, he knows his ma has to work any shift she could get to support them. He'd bring in a little doing free lance drawing in the park, but not nearly enough.

Anyhow, the neighborhood was having a block party for the holiday, so he decided to go down and enjoy, knowing Bucky would be there. In fact, when he opened his door to head out, Bucky was already on his steps waiting for him.

"Happy Birthday, Stevie!" Bucky smiles at him before pulling him into a big hug, carefully maneuvering as to not drop the eggs. Usually this would be fine, he and Bucky hugged all the time. But Bucky turned fifteen a few months back and had had that growth spurt, putting him almost 8 inches taller than his friend. That's when Steve started to realize that he may like Bucky more than a friend, spending countless nights praying to God to fix him, to make that feeling go away.

But when Bucky hugged him, all those feelings flooded back in as usual, prayer not working. He wanted to pull away, remind Bucky that guys their age aren't supposed to be that affectionate with each other(at least that's what Mr. Barnes had said), but he didn't. He just leaned into it for as long as Bucky wanted.

When the hug finally did break, Bucky was beaming at his friend. "So ready to get down there? Mrs. Horvat made hot dogs, and I don't trust there to be too many for long."

The golden haired boy couldn't help but smile back drawn in by warmth radiating from his best friend. "Sure thing, Buck. I'm ready." Bucky throws his arm around his shoulder as they walk down together.

When they get to the festivities, Steve drops his plate off at a big table(actually crates with some old boards laid across them) on the side walk. They walk around, enjoying the day, gorging themselves on food. Steve notices that Bucky's arm barely leaves his shoulder the entire day. The increased height difference though, made him more conscious of it. It felt like Bucky was pulling him, closer than usual. But he couldn't find it in him to complain.

Unfortunately, Steve isn't the only one who noticed how close the boys are. Walking past a group of women, some being mom's of a lot of the guys they had gone to school with(both having dropped out to help their parents back home, who needed more than an 8th grade education anyways?) Steve heard one whisper to another "Do you think their mothers know?" The other replies "Seriously, boys that age shouldn't be so cozy..."

Steve could feel his cheeks going pink, self conscious as they keep walking. He pulls away from Bucky. Bucky for his part looks...sad, like Steve had hurt him by suddenly pulling away. He has been wrapped up in telling Steve about some pulp novel he had swiped the other day and was reading, he hadn't heard the comments.

"What is it, Stevie? Are you okay?" Worry coats Bucky's features.

"Uh...yeah Buck, just um...guys out age can't act like that, don't, um want anyone to think we are pansy's." Steve tries not to look hurt by his own words but is impossible when Bucky looks like he just got kicked in the stomach.

But he recovers, flashing a fake smile to his friend. "Yea...I guess you're right, Steve."

Steve decides to leave it at that even though he's known Bucky long enough to know his friend's feelings are hurt. They continue to walk the streets, conscious not to touch each other. Unfortunately this isn't enough for some of their ex-classmates.

A group of them sat on some front porch steps of a brownstone. There were a couple of guys and few dames, all who had been in school with the two boys. As they walked by, a boy, Danny Vesely, whispered something into a pretty little redhead's, Mary Anne Smith, ear, pointing at Steve and then to Bucky. Steve knows he should keep his mouth shut, but when he pointed at Bucky, it became personal. But before he can say something, Bucky is already in action. He had seen them point at Steve.

"What's so funny, Danny?" He snaps at the boy making the comment.

"Nothing Barnes, just commenting how cute you and your best girl look."

Steve turns red, looking at the ground. Steve knew he didn't look as strong or manly as other boys his age, his ma assuring him he was just a late bloomer. That didn't make it feel any better when he would be called a girl.

He can feel heat radiating of his friend, anger surging through him. Steve may be embarrassed but he looks up again, ready to back his friend up if their is a fight, putting on a tough face.

Bucky shoots back "You better shut your ugly mug!" Bucky looks ready to kill, hating that Danny is trying to humiliate him.... humiliate Steve.

"Calm down, Barnes. It's nice that you are defending you girlfriend's honor and all but you are being a little dramatic." Danny smirks. "I guess my big brother was right, all you guys who are light in the loafers are so dramatic."

Mary Anne and few of the other kids sitting there chime in in a sing-songy voice. "Bucky and Steve sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

Now Bucky is red as the girls start to giggle. Bucky knows he can't hit girls, but Danny and the three other boys laughing are fair game. He steps closer and before Danny can react, his fist makes contact with Danny's nose, causing it to bleed. One of his friends steps up to retaliate, but Steve steps between him and Bucky and by some grace of god actually lands a pretty hard punch in the face. But Bucky sees this and knows that the two other guys will soon be coming to back up their friends. He understands they will be out numbered and refuses to let Steve get hurt.

Without out thinking, he grabs Steve's hand, pulling him away from the group. They run until the others stop chasing them, hiding in an alley, and then...Steve laughs. The adrenaline of the fight and running away from guys together, felt good. Honestly doing anything with Bucky felt good. He feels silly for pulling away from Bucky earlier. Bucky smiles, because of course he does. Those mean words didn't mean anything, really, as long as his Steve was happy and smiling.

Darkness is starting to fall, and the fireworks show over the water was supposed to start soon. As they stood in the alley, still holding hands, Bucky spots a fire escape ladder. "Hey Stevie?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?" Bucky asks plainly.

"Don't be stupid, Buck. Of course I trust you, punk." Steve replies like it is the most obvious thing in the world. Steve can't think of a single person he has ever trusted more than his best friend from preactically the day he was born. Their mother's had been friends and Bucky, who was a who was a whole 16 months older, wanted to hold "the baby" all the time. It was "his baby," Of course not realizing he was a baby himself, but as he got older, he never stopped wanting to hold "his baby," even if Steve was too dense to realize that.

Bucky drags him to the fire escape. "Follow me,Jerk." He smiles and of course Steve does follow him, They make it the top, until they are on tha roof. "What are we doing up here?" Steve questions.

"Watching the fireworks." Bucky replies simply with a smile that Steve can't help but mirror back. Bucky hesitantly takes Steve's hand again, and when Steve doesn't pull away, he laces his fingers with his friends, taking him to a spot on the roof that seemed clean enough to sit.

They wait for the fireworks, and when they finally start, Steve can only focus on Bucky and the way his face lights ups as the colors explode in the sky. He isn't sure what compels him to do this, but he rests his head on Bucky's shoulder. He feels the brunette tense for a moment, before he wraps his arm around Steve's shoulder.

He whispers softly "Hey Stevie?"

"Yea?" Steve's voice equally as quiet.

"Did you know that these fireworks aren't for the Fourth of July? Who cares about a dusty old country anyways? They are for you to celebrate the birthday of the best fella in the world." Bucky says in a matter-of-fact manner, you would be forgiven for thinking he actually believes this.

But he has been saying this to Steve every year since he learned to talk, so Steve was expecting this. It still didn't change the way Steve ended up blushing, this year feeling like there was more weight behind his words. "Thanks, Buck..."

"Don't thank me, it's true." Bucky insists before continuing. "One more question, Stevie."

"Shoot." Steve responds, head still firmly planted on Bucky's shoulder.

"What do you want for your birthday?" Bucky asks plainly, but Steve could feel Bucky's hand lazily stroking his shoulder.

Steve takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He know what he wants...and he figured after the events of today, he could ask. If Bucky is repulsed, he can play it off like a joke. In a voice almost too small to be audible, Steve answers "A kiss..."

Bucky's hand stills on Steve's shoulder before pulling away. Steve begins to panic, lifting his head off of Bucky's shoulder. He starts to make up a lie in his head, to brush this off, and never talk about it again. But when he looks up at Bucky, he had adjusted so he was sitting in front of Steve now, smiling. He softly replies "Okay." And Steve feels like his heart will beat right out of his chest and fly away. He wonders if Bucky would catch it for him.

His hands go clammy as he is watching Bucky lean in, slowly, almost too slowly. Steve closes his eyes, nervously leaning to meet Bucky, and their lips connect and it's better than the fireworks going off around them. It's chaste, and awkward, the awkwardness of a first kiss for both of them but unbelievably sweet.

When they pull away, both are smiling contently. Bucky takes his place back next to Steve, wrapping both arms around him now, threatening to never let him go. As they watch the rest of the show, he says "Happy Birthday, Stevie."

[sylvanfreckles]

I’m Sorry I Didn’t Know (FebuWhump 10)

Fandom: The Witcher (mix of book and show canon, set after season one and based on events in Blood of Elves) Summary: Jaskier finds himself in the hands of the enemy, being tortured for information about Geralt's location. Unfortunately he hasn't seen the witcher since that horrible day on the mountain. All seems lost and hopeless, but he has an ally on the way that even Jaskier doesn't know about...Yennefer of Vengerberg.

(Yes it’s more of torturing Jaskier, but he does get comforted this time. Just not by the big lug. See the AO3 version for my full rant :D)

* * *

The first thing he was aware of when he pulled himself out of the spiraling blackness was the pain in his wrists. Pain that lanced down his arms to his shoulders, and even his chest and stomach when he tried to move.

The second thing was the burlap sack over his head. It smelled faintly of old potatoes and dust, and he  choked and coughed when he tried to catch his breath.

Then it was the taste in his mouth and the back of his throat. The faint remnants of wine and something like the odor of water lilies and incense.

Now Jaskier remembered. The pudgy little man with the greasy forehead and too many rings on his thick fingers. He'd offered to buy the bard a drink, claimed to be a patron of the arts, but he'd only asked about the songs Jaskier had written about the witcher.

“Oh, good, you're awake.”

The sack was tugged off his head in one swift movement and Jaskier found himself blinking in the hazy light of a few candles. There were two or three other people in the room, but they were nothing but vague shapes as he tried to shake the last of the muzziness from his head.

That was a mistake. The movement pulled on his shoulders and sent a shock of pain spiraling up his arms to his wrists, which he now realized were bound above him. No, wait...his wrists were bound together and he was hanging from them. His fingers were nearly numb but he could just feel the metal curve of the hook between his hands. There was just enough slack in the rope for his lower legs and knees to rest against the ground, but that was it...and the drugging had left him without the strength to pull himself up any farther to rest his abused shoulders.

Someone had asked a question. Jaskier tried to focus, but the terror pounding through his brain at being caught in this situation was making his blood roar in his ears. Oh, gods, no one knew where he was. No one was expecting him. He had an open invitation to lecture for the summer semester at Oxenfurt, but if he didn't show up they'd assume he just had other plans. He was utterly alone and at the mercy of men who had drugged and kidnapped and strung him up like a side of meat to cure.

The bucket of water flung into his face snapped him out of his panicked thoughts with a splutter. He coughed and spat and shivered, every movement agony on his wrists and shoulders. “Wh-what is it?” If he didn't think about it, maybe he could convince himself his teeth were chattering from the cold and not fear.

“We're looking for the witcher,” the man said, with the impatient tone of someone repeating himself. It wasn't the pudgy man from the inn; this one was taller and darker. Jaskier couldn't make out too many details in his woozy state, though his eyes seemed to fix on the red brooch on the other man's cloak.

“Sorry?” Jaskier tried to clear his head and looked up toward the man's face. “I don't know where he is. Haven't seen him for months. Not since...not in a long time.”

Red Brooch gave a simpering smirk and nodded to someone behind Jaskier. The rope creaked and Jaskier bit back a cry of pain when he was hauled upward by his wrists, the movement pulling on every joint in his body until...he stopped.

Heart in his mouth, he craned his head back to look at his legs. They were wrapped in heavy chains, one behind his knees and the other across his ankles, and the chains were staked to the ground to hold his lower body in place. Every haul on the rope pulled his body between two opposing forces, threatening to tear or dislocate his joints.

A slap across the face brought his attention back to Red Brooch. The man was obviously impatient. “Everyone knows you follow the witcher around like a simpering maiden,” Red Brooch sneered. “All you've done for most of a decade is sing his praise from one end of the continent to the other and you expect us to believe you just lost him?”

Jaskier swallowed and tried to work a little moisture back into his mouth. “I don't know,” he said, voice weak. “We-we haven't seen each other since the mountain, since the dragon hunt. He doesn't...I don't know.”

Red Brooch sighed and gestured again. This time the pull on the rope was sharp and fast and Jaskier tried to scream, only to realize his captor's upraised hand was glowing as he cast a spell that muted Jaskier's voice.

The stretch was horrible. The coarse rope tore at the sensitive flesh of his wrists and his left shoulder, which had been injured in a fall out a window a few years before, was already very close to being pulled out of socket. The sudden release of tension brought only mild relief, as the man behind him simply let go of the rope and Jaskier fell a few inches before he was caught by the bindings around his wrists. It was all burning and pulling, like he was being torn apart on the inside.

Closing his fist, Red Brooch released his hold on Jaskier's voice. “You wrote that ballad about the Child Surprise.” He leaned in, one hand on Jaskier's shoulder, pushing down just enough that a new spike of agony shot down his arms from his wrists. “So you know he found her. The Lion Cub of Cintra.”

Jaskier shook his head. That had been...that had been poetry. “Just a story,” he gasped. “I made it...made it up.”

Red Brooch opened his hand again, sealing Jaskier's lips, and nodded to the man behind him. The pull was slow and agonizing this time, the world around him erupting into bright explosions of pain as his left shoulder finally gave under the strain and dislocated. He wanted to scream, but the spell on his mouth made it difficult to even suck in a breath.

And through it all Red Brooch just studied him with a calculating expression. When the chains around his knees and ankles creaked, Jaskier was suddenly grateful Geralt had used such cruel words to send him packing all those months ago. He would have said anything, given up anything, to make the pain stop...but he had nothing to give.

Then the rope was released, and the sudden drop against his mangled wrists and dislocated shoulder was enough to make his mind go white for a few seconds, while Red Brooch went for another bucket of water to dash over Jaskier's face and chest.

“I don't kn-know,” he stammered, when he could finally speak again. “Please...”

Something rustled just outside his field of vision. Red Brooch glanced over his shoulder, then nodded at the man behind Jaskier, who lumbered off into the darkness to check. For the first time Jaskier realized they were in some kind of dilapidated barn or stable, which meant they couldn't be too far from civilization. If he was careful, he might be able to shout for help if Red Brooch got distracted.

The other man came back—a big, hulking brute with tangled hair and Nilfgaardian armor—shaking his head.

Nilfgaard. Of course. He could still remember all of Queen Calanthe's rather colorful insults during her daughter's engagement ball all those years ago. The night when Geralt had mistakenly asked for the Law of Surprise and wound up with a child of destiny he had no intention of claiming.

Jaskier was just trying to screw up the courage to scream for help while Red Brooch glared at his companion when the door blew in under a burst of flame. The soldier let out a cry of fury and charged, but another ball of fire caught him in the chest and knocked him back.

A lone figure strode into the darkened space. Dressed in a dark tunic and trousers, rather than the striking black-and-white ensembles she favored, Yennefer was no less intimidating as she released a second searing blast at Red Brooch. He had the sense to throw his hands up to ward off the damage, then he was diving behind Jaskier to put the bard between himself and the approaching mage.

Her violet eyes flicked up to make contact with Jaskier's, then a streaming gout of flame was arcing toward him, only to bend and flow around him without singing even a hair on his head. Red Brooch cursed and kicked Jaskier in the back of the legs, making the bard cry out in pain at the tug against his wrists and shoulder, then there was the warping twist of magic and the smell of ozone and Jaskier could just see a portal forming out of the corner of his eye.

“No you don't!” Yennefer hissed and fired another blast of flame at Red Brooch, but he was already diving into the portal. She started to follow but hesitated, eyes flickering at Jaskier for a fraction of a second, and sent another stream of fire after Red Brooch. For a brief, satisfying moment he thought he heard a man scream, and then the portal snapped shut.

The soldier was still moving, though his armor and part of his face had burned off. Yennefer stalked over to him, one hand alight with the glow of magic, and seized the front of his leather jerkin with her other hand. “Who sent you?” she demanded.

Jaskier tried to call a warning as the soldier lunged up with a knife, but Yennefer had seen it coming. She doubled back, retrieving her own knife from her boot, and dashed in to cut a long gash in the soldier's arm up toward his armpit, right in the unarmored space where his bracer buckled.

The man fell with a gurgled cry, and Yennefer stood over him for a moment with her face twisted in disappointment as blood spurted out of the man's wound to darken the floor beneath him. “Cut the artery,” she commented over her shoulder. “Damn.”

Too relieved to comment, Jaskier let his head rest against his uninjured shoulder. “Yennefer?”

She studied him, eyes going from the rope holding his wrists up to the chain binding his legs down. “When I cut this, let me take your weight. Don't try to catch yourself on your knees, got it?”

He nodded. She wrapped one arm around his chest, almost tenderly, and reached up with her other hand to slice through the rope connected to the hook he'd been hanging from. Jaskier collapsed against her, the hook striking a glancing blow on his hip on the way down, and fought down a sob of mingled relief and pain as his shoulders went slack.

Yennefer muttered something and the chains across the back of his legs went limp, letting him slowly drag himself up until he was standing, with Yennefer supporting most of his weight. She stared up at him for a moment, as though reading the map of his injuries, then twisted partly away to summon her own portal with a gesture.

“Two steps and you can lie down,” Yennefer promised.

“Why...” Jaskier coughed, the movement jarring his wounded body, and felt the sorceress pull him inexorably forward. “Why are you...”

“We'll talk later,” she promised. “Just come with me for now.”

He let her lead him through the portal, and the last thing he remembered before darkness flooded his senses was a warm, cozy room with a roaring fire and—most importantly—a soft, clean bed.

* * *

Waking up was much more pleasant this time. Jaskier slowly sat up, well aware that his clothing still stank of the barn and sweat and blood...but the rest of him seemed pleasantly recovered. He flexed his left arm, surprised and relieved that the shoulder had been reset and even the swelling abated.

“You're finally awake,” Yennefer called. She was sitting at the room's little table, a meal spread out in front of her in half a dozen dishes that smelled heavenly. “Come, join me.”

Jaskier slowly approached. The table had two benches that faced each other, but while Yennefer was seated on one the other was covered with what looked like the detritus of a night's spell work. Yennefer rolled her eyes and made a show of scooting to the end of the bench, patting the empty wood beside her. “I won't bite,” she teased. “At least, not after spending a day and a night putting you back together.”

“Ah.” Jaskier awkwardly sat on the edge of the bench. “Um, thank you. For that.”

She rested a hand on his arm in an almost tender gesture. “I've been looking for you.

He stiffened. He should have known...escaping one danger to fall into another. “I don't know where he is,” he explained slowly. Maybe she'd just let him go, they didn't actually have a reason to hate each other, did they?

“Oh, Jaskier,” Yennefer shook her head, one dark curl falling across her shoulders. “I was looking for you. If I wanted to find Geralt...I have my own ways.”

Jaskier nodded. His stomach was cramping, reminding him it had been at least a day since he'd eaten, but he just couldn't bring himself to fill his plate. “I haven't seen him since...since...”

“Since the mountain,” Yennefer finished. “I'm so sorry, Jaskier. I didn't know. If I'd known he'd said something like that to you, I would have come back. I'd have slapped him across his self-righteous face and taken you straight to Oxenfurt, or wherever you needed to be to get away from him.”

For some reason, her words made his eyes prickle as though he was fighting back tears. This couldn't be real—not the unfeeling sorceress, hero of Sodden Hill, the woman so powerful she'd nearly bound a djinn to her will—people like that didn't care about people like him.

“Poor Jaskier,” Yennefer sighed and scooted across the bench to lean her head against his shoulder. “I hate seeing you like this; you're no fun to tease.”

He laughed at that, and the sound almost surprised him. He hadn't had much to laugh about lately. Yennefer smiled up at him and reached out to fill his plate, piling it up with the delicate food the sorceress preferred over the rough meat and bread that was Jaskier's usual tavern fare. He couldn't complain, though. After the events of the last few days a few pieces of fruit and some light, toasted bread sounded a bit more palatable than a joint of mutton.

“You must know I don't hate you,” Yennefer began. “We don't see eye-to-eye, but I would never want to see anything like that happen to you.”

Jaskier gave in and let his head rest against hers, her dark hair soft against his cheek. “I think you're the only one.”

“Geralt was angry,” Yennefer replied. “For a man who claims to have no emotions he has a tendency to let his passions override his self control.”

She rested one hand on his arm and shifted her head so that she was looking up at him. “Don't let this break you, Jaskier. He blames himself for the harsh words he spoke to you; don't take them on as your burden as well.”

To his shame, her thumb brushed over a tear that had escaped from one eye. He cleared his throat and pulled away, taking his plate to stand closer to the fire to eat. “What are your plans now?”

Yennefer pretended not to notice the sudden change of topic. “I have a few things I'm looking into for a friend,” she lied smoothly. That was all right. Jaskier didn't really want to know the sort of things the sorceress got up to. For all he knew she was the spy mistress for an underground movement to liberate Cintra from Nilfgaard control. The less he knew about her life the better.

“I need to get back to Oxenfurt,” Jaskier said, though she hadn't asked. “I've been asked to teach for the summer semester, and walking those hallowed grounds would be a nice respite from life on the road.”

The mage gracefully stood from the table, her movements making even the rough tunic and trousers she still wore seem elegant. “I can send you there by portal whenever you're ready,” she offered, holding a hand up when he started to protest. “Please. I would be happier knowing I'd left you somewhere safe.”

Jaskier placed his empty plate on the mantle and gave a curt nod, emotions welling up in him again. He focused on the fire, knowing that a kind look from Yennefer would break him down again.

She seemed to sense his discomfort and crossed the room to throw a cloak over her shoulders. “I'll see if I can retrieve your belongings from the tavern where you were playing,” Yennefer said. “Eat your fill and I'll send you to Oxenfurt when you're ready.”

Yennefer had her hand on the door before Jaskier had pulled himself together to speak. “Thank you, Yennefer. I really...I mean it.”

The sorceress smiled, a soft expression that he'd never seen on her face. “Eat something. You've lost so much weight you look like a plucked chicken.”

The familiar, sarcastic bite to her tone hand him leaning against the mantle as he laughed, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes rather than the pathetic, pitying ones he'd been fighting back moments before.

Well. Another plate or two wouldn't hurt.

* * *

I actually have trouble watching the show because Geralt is just kind of mean. He's so much better in the books...even if it is a lot of fun to send my friend pictures of Henry Cavil every time she complains that she's thirsty.

[alexandenigtscreations]

Summary:

Tim Stoker stumbled into the archives, bloody and hurt. Demanding to talk to Jon. Having just escaped the clutches of the circus.

Jon dropped his pen, sitting back in his office chair rubbing itchy eyes.  Another day done, another statement recorded.  Another step closer to bringing down the circus- the Unknowing-

Hopefully-

He sighed.  Sending a silent curse towards Elias and his cryptic messages.  Why couldn’t he just give Jon Gertrude’s notes on the Unknowing?.  He was tired of feeling like a naughty child being led around by an ear.  His eyes prickled again and he stared blankly at the computer screen.  It would be best to call it a night.

He began to pack up, tucking papers into a briefcase, pulling on his coat and giving a fond pat to the lucky cat figurine on his bookshelf.  

“Here’s to hoping no one’s interested in the Archivist tonight, eay?”

The lucky cat cheerfully waved a paw.

“Right.”  

The only thing Jon hated more than coming into the Archives was leaving them.  The number of times he’d been snatched bordered on comical, if it hadn’t hurt so much.  Time had really gotten away from him today, then again, that wasn’t exactly new.  He considered calling a cab.  There hadn’t been any statements concerning cabs or cabbies that he knew of.  The underground, delivery vans and walking home felt perilous this late, but a cab- Of course, he knew just because a statement wasn’t in the archives, that there weren’t entity tied cabbies; but it provided the illusion of safety all the same

Jon opened the door and came face to face with-

“T-Tim!”

“We need to talk-boss.” he said, sagging against the door jam, teetering forwards in an unbalanced fashion.  

Jon hurriedly put a bracing hand on his chest, “E-easy now.  What on-”

“Don’t touch me!” he exploded, shoving Jon back, so that he nearly tripped over the spare chair, briefcase and folders sent flying.  Then, softer “don’ t-touch-me.” He was shaking now.

It hurt.  Course it hurt, but Jon couldn’t help feel that it was deserved.  Jon couldn’t remember the last time Tim had willingly sought him out, yet alone used the old nickname of ‘boss’.  Every inch of him screamed that something was wrong.  

“Right.” he said, holding his hands placatingly in front “I’m not touching you-” something damp and sticky on his fingers caught his attention. 

Blood.

There was blood on his hand, Tim’s blood.  He was hurt!

“Y-you’re bleeding.”

“It doesn’t matter!” he was shouting again “God, why can’t you just-just Listen!  T-The Circus-  Christ!” he stopped abruptly, clutching at his front.

Jon froze.  “The circus?” breath hitching as the ghost of calliope music echoed through his skull.  Hands, hard and plastic, grabbing him, holding him down, while he…he…lord  “Tim!  What happened-what-”

“Stop with the Questions!” Tim shook with the force of his voice, visibly distressed.  Jon snapped his mouth shut in horror.  The compulsion- he hadn’t meant too-

“Sorry, sorry Tim- I-I didn’t mean-”

“Shut up.” He was swaying dangerously, the door no longer sufficient in keeping him upright.  Resisting the compulsion had taken what little strength he had left.  

Tim tipped forwards, swearing, Jon rushed to catch him as his legs caved.  Never known as a strong man, Jon nearly buckled under the weight of his assistant.  A confused tangle of arms and clothing.  This close, the scent of blood was overwhelming.  Tim made a pathetic sound, clinging to Jon with surprising force.  For his part, Jon willed himself to get the man to a chair.  He could do that much.  He had too.  

It was less than graceful.  He jostled the taller man something fierce.  What little color there was, fled his face and his eyes started to flutter.  

“Tim.” Jon said, carefully holding his head, keeping him steady.  “Tim, I need you to breath.  Are you with me?”  He blinked blearily, until he focused on Jon’s face.  

“Unfortunately.” 

“Good.”  Jon’s eyes drifted down to the dark stain spreading across the hawaiian shirt, the cream flowers shaded red.  He slid the coat open wider, finding Tim’s entire front was covered.  He started at the buttons, wanting to get a clear picture of what they were dealing with. Tim grabbed his wrist.  “We need to stop the bleeding.”  Jon explained.  

Tim shook his head belligerent.  “We need to talk-” 

“And we will.  Just, let me help- first.” 

Tim held him a moment longer before relenting with a surly “Fine.”  Jon eased the coat off his shoulders and started at the buttons once more.  Each fastening undone revealed more of the goary scape of Tim’s chest.  That’s when he caught sight of- Christ- lettors! 

There were letters crudely carved into Tim’s flesh.  Jon felt sick reading the message.

COME DANCE~

N.O.

Nikola Orsinov had…

“Oh- Tim-” Jon felt a sharp pang lance through him as he stared at the ragged skin.  “I-we-” he took a breath, his stomach churning “I’ll be back, we need the first aid kit.”  He got as far as the door before turning “Just… stay put.” then took off towards the employee lounge.  

Jon braced himself on the sink, feeling as though he was going to be sick.  The Circus and-and skin-

“Christ Tim.”  he caught sight of the blood streaked cross his hands.  He had to wash it off, just had to.  He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed them under hot water.  Wanting to wash away the dirt, the grime the-the grease-

It had looked so… bad.  He scrubbed, hoping the cuts were not too deep, hoping the muscles would be untouched, hoping that there wouldn’t be any-lasting-damage.  The memory of plastic across his skin made him shudder.  Stupid of course there would be lasting damage, they’d cut into his skin.

Skin-

Jon shuddered.  The Circus was toying with them!  And Tim!  He was his boss, he was supposed to protect his assistants!  

A nasty little voice in his head quirried “Like Sasha?”

More guilt twisted his insides.  

This was not alright.  

Tim needed looking after-  Jon swore, wishing Martin hadn’t left for the day- wondering if it would be okay to call him back.  He quickly dismissed the idea in favor of imagining how Martin may treat the wounds.  The first aid kit- he needed to start there.

Martin always seemed to know where it was.  Now that Jon needed it, it was nowhere to be found.  He searched the lower shelves first.  No first aid kit.  Did find a large bowl and a few flannels.  He remembered Martin washing him up with such things and decided they were useful.  It wasn’t in the cupboard by the fridge, or the one over the microwave, wasn’t in the tea cabinet either, damn- Martin would already be back with Tim by now, helping-

He glanced at his phone, wondering if he should call him after all.  That wouldn’t be fair though.  Martin deserved time away from this place.  They all did.  

At last he found it on the top shelf above the electric kettle.  Of course it would be there.  The Archival staff were the ones who used it the most these days, Martin wouldn’t have trouble accessing it there.  

“Right.” Jon sighed and hopped up on the counter, pulling himself upright with the cabinet frames until he could wriggle the kit out of it’s lofty position.  Before he left with his burden, Jon tucked a water bottle under his arm.  The Circus consisted of beings of plastic and stuffing, they never thought about the needs of human bodies.  

“Didn’t run away then?” Tim quipped, hunched over Jon’s desk.  

“And miss your cheery face?” Jon shot back, words lacking any true bite.  Jon sighed “Was trying to remember what Martin would do.” he cleared a space on the desk, carefully arranging the items.  

“You didn’t call-”

“He’s gone home for today.” Jon said simply, offering the water to Tim who took it gingerly.  “Didn’t think it would be fair to call him back.” 

Jon repositioned Tim so that they were facing each other and started to dab away at the bloody mess.  Tim hissed and twiched under his attention, but remained quiet, for once.  

In truth, Jon was much more adept at this sort of care than his assistance would have believed.  He just never had patience for his own care.  It was all so….tedious and easy to forget.  But when it came to other people, Jonathan Sims was perfectly capable of providing treatment.  It was just that he lacked Martin’s comforting presence, Sasha’s wit or Tim’s charm.  In short, he lacked people skills.  He chose to leave such tasks to others.

“So” Jon said, continuing to clean the mess, “You said we needed to talk.” No compulsion this time.

“Yep.”

“Will this talk explain what happened here?” 

“Yep”

“Right.” he paused over the discoloration along Tim’s ribs, sure something had been damaged.  “Whenever you’re ready.”

“What, no tape recorder?  No statement.”

“Do we need a tape recorder for a talk?” In truth, Jon was itching to turn it on, to compel Tim to tell him what happened, take his statement.  But the last time he’d turned it on around Tim, things had gotten….difficult.  Given the state of the man, Jon decided it could wait.  

Tim nodded, eyes closing and Jon resumed his work.  

“I- I went back, to where it began.” he was speaking so softly Jon almost couldn’t hear, almost.  

“Back where?” A small stroke down, over his ribs sent a shiver through him.

“C-Covent Garden Theater-” he admonished.

“The Royal Opera House?”  Jon’s mouth went dry.  Martin had sent him the tape, express mail.  It was the place Tim’s little brother had been taken by the Circus.  Danny.  

“One in the same.”

“Thought you said you didn’t expect they’d let you go a second time.”

“Welp, they nearly didn’t, did they?” he was shaking again, “We needed leads.  And with you galavanting cross the globe and Martin strung out on Statements, that left the follow up to me, didn’t it?” 

“You shouldn’t have gone alone, you could at least of taken Martin, Melonly, Basira even or-”

“Don’t pretend to care.” Tim burst out “You thought I’d murdered someone!  Followed me to my home!  I can’t believe y- ugh!” he doubled over.  The pain giving way to a choked sob.  

Jon floundered, wondering what on earth to do.  He had to get used to so many different Tims- the cheerful one that gave good hugs and annoying practical jokes, the angry one Jon had pushed into a corner and now, this- this defeated one.  

“W-We’re in the same boat, you and me.” he said softly “There’s no one in this p-place to trust. Heh- Maybe t-trust was an illusion all along-  Last time I saw Sasha, he was already dead.  With something else wearing his skin.  Didn’t even notice.”He hiccuped “I was supposed to protect him- they trusted me to protect him.  And he’s dead.”

Jon was deeply unsettled by the broken quality to his voice “Tim, who are you talking about?”

“You listen to all the tapes, don’t you.  You said as much.”

“Tim-”

“How many people are already dead, with something else wearing their skin.” he seemed to be spiraling, this was why Jon didn’t do this kind of thing!  He didn’t know what to do or say in this situation “They wanted to wear you too, didn’t they?” 

It was like a punch to the gut.  Jon didn’t know what was going to be said next, all he knew was that he didn’t want to hear….or did he?

“They wanted to wear you more than they wanted me- And you know what?  It sang to me as it cut me open, put a m-mirror above- made sure I could see the whole show-” Tim was crying now, rocking back and forth.  “Sang to me about the archivist- about how it wanted its skin.  Your skin.”  another sob racked through him “H-h-how c-come- how come it didn’t finish me off?  How come it didn’t take me like it did Danny?!  Or Sasha!  Jesus!”

Jon didn't know what to say. Perhaps there would have been a time before all of this started, back in research- Tim had been diffrent then,they all had been.

The silence stretched on while Jon resumed the treatment.

[uniasus]

Battle Fatigue

Check on him, Black said as Atlas opened the doors to Voltron's hangers.

Of  course, Keith sent back. Both of them needed that post-battle reassurance.

Black never called Shiro by name, no surprise as the Lions didn't use those anyway, but she also never referred to Shiro by any other description either. Not ex-paladin. Nor captain or commander. Yet Keith always knew when the Black Lion meant Shiro. There was a fondness every time she mentioned him, a sense of openness Keith associated with the astral plane, a shadow of worry.  

Keith tried not to pry into the relationship Shiro and Black had, both in the past and present. But he knew that unlike Keith's faint tether to Red, Black and Shiro had completely cut ties. Both of them missed the connection, Keith could feel as such from Black and Shiro had mentioned it, but the choice had been made in unison.

It didn't stop Black from worrying, especially with her misgivings toward Atlas. Unlike with the other Lions, Black couldn't communicate with the large ship. She couldn't yell at him, or teach him how to work with a bond. Atlas had nearly drained Shiro of quintessence once.  Black would never forget that.

Nor would Keith.

He'd been worried for Shiro ever since Atlas took the first hit.

Seconds after he landed, he walked out of Black and toward the hanger exit. He quickly glanced over the rest of the team. They'd have nothing more than bruises. Keith exchanged a quick nod with Lance before walking out the door. They all knew where he was going. They'd check in later.

Keep reading on AO3. Or below in the Tumblr UI.

Keith made his way to the nearest wall screen.  Where's Shiro? He typed. Pidge, Hunk, and Coran kept tinkering with a better way to talk to Atlas, but there were limitations. The cameras didn't always allow him to read lips, and the text-to-speech ability he had didn't work outside of select spaces. The chat program Pidge had built worked best.

On his way to quarters,  Atlas answered.

Without prompting, Atlas pulled up a list of damages. Keith ignored the list, eyes going straight for two metrics: repair time estimate at the top – twelve hours – and the reading of Atlas's energy stores – 70%.  

Blanking the screen, Keith headed for the personnel floors. In his mind, Black retreated. She'd been with him the past five minutes, desperate for information, but feeling Keith's reaction to Atlas's report calmed her down. They could estimate what condition Shiro would be in, and it wasn't worrying.  

Keith reached their bedroom the same type Coran and Shiro did. Coran had Shiro's natural arm around his neck, his own arm around Shiro's waist. Shiro's Altean arm hung from his right shoulder in standby mode and he leaned onto Coran a fair amount.  

"I got him," Keith said, taking Shiro's weight from Coran. He grunted, Shiro was taller than him and he'd been leaning more onto Coran that Keith had guessed.  

"You good?" Keith asked the Altean, giving the older man a quick wellness scan.

"Fine, fine. The crew barely felt the drain, nor will we." Coran twirled one end of his orange mustache. "The other paladins?"  

"Allura's fine," Keith said. Coran worried for them all, but Allura would always be his main concern. "They should still be in the hanger."

"Take care of Shiro." Coran left before Shiro could grumble out an answer.

"I can take care of myself," Shiro said. He stumbled on his next step.

Keith shook his head fondly, shifting his grip to help Shiro walk the few steps to their door. Atlas opened it, revealing their room exactly as they'd left it not two hours before. That is to say, sheets and blankets and pillows scattered across the floor. The alarm had sounded in the middle of the night and woken them, there'd been no time to care for the thrown aside covers.  

Now though, it was an extra step to do before Keith can make Shiro comfortable. He guided Shiro to the bed, then scooped up a pillow. "Lie down. Sleep."

"Tell Black I'm fine," Shiro said, flopping over sideways.

Sighing, Keith knelt to take off Shiro's shoes. "Already did. You only have to deal with my worry."

"I'll be fine." Shiro yawned widely. Keith figured he had a minute, maybe two, until Shiro passed out.

Gently, Keith lifted Shiro's feet and guided him into a more comfortable sleep position. He gathered the tossed aside bedclothes and dumped them on Shiro. The pillows he tossed on the bed too. Shiro didn't even grumble when one hit him in the face.  

"How bad do you feel?" Keith asked, crawling into bed.  

Shiro hummed. "Moderate fight sore. Tired."

Sleep was the only cure for times like this. Atlas had been designed to collect power from multiple sources, but the most powerful and plentiful was quintessence. To repair himself, Atlas would take energy from the almost hundred crew aboard and use it to erase any damage he'd occurred in the short fight. Spread out, the drain was minimal. Well, for anyone but Shiro. As captain, Shiro insisted that Atlas take quintessence from him first before tapping into the crew. He also insisted on offering up at least a double helping, and that on top of any small quintessence needs that cropped up during a battle. An extra burst of speed. An extra three seconds for the shield. Shiro put his life on the line in more ways than one every fight.

In a way, it wasn’t much different from working with the Lions. But Atlas was a hundred times bigger than Voltron and needed a lot more power.  

Keith tugged on Shiro's prosthetic arm, giving himself the space to scoot further into Shiro's warm. While the danger was slight, he still wanted to monitor Shiro's breathing and heart rate. He shimmied down an inch, laying his ear against Shiro's chest. The prosthetic settled on his shoulder.  

"I'm fine," Shiro said, half asleep. "Just need a nap."

Atlas's damage might be minor, but it was enough to knock Shiro out. He'd sleep for a few hours, no doubt through breakfast, and they'd stumble into the canteen for lunch where Hunk would force food onto Shiro and everyone else would not-so-subtly make sure Shiro ate it all.

Keith closed his eyes. Black hummed in satisfaction in the back of his mind. Shiro’s warmth seeped into his chest. It’s been a minor battle, but they were all safe. Shiro pulled him closer, Keith kissed his chest, and together they settled in to sleep.

[calligraphist-artemisia]

11 | Love Potion

Written for Kidgetober 2020. Week 2 Theme: Myths & Magic. Day 11: Love Potion/Cauldron.

Summary: Alternate Universe - Magic.  An unusually serious class on love potions has Pidge and Keith seeking comfort from one another during the entire lesson.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune. Titled as “Magic of the Season”.

- - - - -

11 | Love Potion/Cauldron

The classroom was buzzing with excitement when Pidge finally made it through the door and took her seat at her usual table. Her partner, Keith Hawkins, was already there with a notebook and pen sitting in front of him rather than the usual heavy iron cauldron.

“No brewing today,” he answered her unasked question.

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “That's unusual for Professor Shirogane. Any idea why?”

Keith shook his head. “He hasn't said. It may have something to do with the officer he's been talking to since I came in.”

Pidge glanced to the front, where Professor Shirogane was in deep conversation with someone in the deep black-and-plum uniform of the Marmora Special Task Force. Thanks to the mask and hood they wore, all Pidge could really tell was that they had a masculine figure and stood a little taller than her favorite Professor.

“It must be something serious...” Pidge murmured.

They didn't have to wonder for too much longer as the last of the stragglers hurried through the door and took their seats, which seemed to be what Professor Shirogane was waiting for in order to begin class.

“I'm sure you've all noticed that there will be no brewing today,” he began, his tone unusually serious. “That is because I have received permission to cover one of the most heavily restricted potions. Because of those restrictions, we will not be brewing nor covering how to brew this potion. You'll also notice that we have been joined by Officer Ulaz of the Marmora Special Task Force, who will observe and ensure that none here abuse the privilege that has been granted to us.”

The class was dead silent at his words, no one daring to break it even to whisper to their desk partner.

Professor Shirogane gestured towards a locked chest on his desk that was roughly eight inches long and five inches wide and stamped with the Marmora emblem on the top. “Within this chest is a single vial of the strongest love potion to have ever been created.”

A ripple of unease went through the classroom. Even Keith couldn't stop a shudder from running through him as he leaned a little closer to Pidge, who reached over and took his hand.

There was a good reason love potions were so heavily restricted. They'd been used in the past with devastating results, causing wars that ruins the lives of hundreds of thousands and, on a smaller scale, used to exert control over others. No matter what type of love potion, at its core it would strip away a persons free will, leaving them vulnerable to suggestion and unable to refuse anything, even if it meant going against everything they believed in.

It was going to be a rough class for all of them, but especially their friend Allura, who had recently been the victim of one of the milder forms of love potion at the hands of someone she thought was a friend.

“Each pair will be given a small portion, which we will study for this class period. I also have different types of food and drink that you will apply small amounts of potion to and see if you can tell any different between laced or unlaced food. None of this is to be consumed and it will be properly disposed of at the end of class. Should any of you be caught in the act of endangering yourself or others, you will be banned from my class and will be thoroughly investigated by the Marmora Special Task Force. If they find that you acted intentionally, the punishment is a minimum of ten years imprisonment.”

Professor Shirogane regarded his class with an unchanging gaze and then stepped aside to allow Officer Ulaz access to the chest, which he unlocked with a few flicks of his wand. Nestled inside a molded velvet interior was a bottle containing an innocuous-looking swirling pink potion.

“It is important that you do not allow a single drop to touch your skin,” Ulaz spoke up, his voice much deeper than expected. “While it is at its most potent when ingested, you may still experience some effects should it touch your skin. If you think you have come into contact with it at any point, tell myself or your professor so we may administer the antidote.”

Pidge could hear several of her classmates exhale in relief and she comfortingly squeezed Keith's hand before chancing a quick glance in his direction. He relaxed a little at the news of an antidote and managed to give her a small smile before focusing back on the lesson.

It was the most nerve-wracking potions class she'd ever sat through, but the promise of cuddles with Keith later was well-worth the stress they all went through as Professor Shirogane led them through the most obvious signs of love potion abuse and taught them the subtle ways it changed the scent or texture of foods and drinks.

They all left at the end of class feeling unsettled, yet pleased by the promise of learning to brew antidotes during their next lesson.

It was as she and Keith hung around to wait on their friends that she realized Allura hadn't been in class that day.

“Professor Shirogane excused her for the day,” Lance told them, abnormally quiet when he and Hunk finally joined them. “I took notes. Want to go with me to give them to her?”

Pidge and Keith agreed, continuing to hold hands as the four of them walked to Allura's room.

Things would take time to get back to normal, but they would all get through it together.

[astroellipse]

chronicles of me crying over fictional characters for the second time now: part who even knows

:((( I only came to like Papalymo even more playing the second time, especially starting in Gridania. I actually can’t recall if his death got any tears out of me the first time around but this time sure did. I understand better why they got rid of him, too... it would have made Lyse’s development in the coming expansion a lot more awkward, I think. There needed to be a focus on her, not her and Papalymo. They were too dependent on one another and tackling that codependency could have been done and resolved in a natural way, though it would have taken too long I think and wouldn’t have been terribly interesting.

They needed to continue with pruning the main cast, anyhow, I guess. Part of what made ARR so bad is that I didn’t care for any of the Scions, there were just too many to conceivably get enough screen time for them to have an impact... not that the writers tried very hard on that front. And honestly Papalymo didn’t have much going for him. Alisaie is here to be cynical, Y’shtola becomes the snappy black mage, and any wisdom or insight he could provide can be covered by either Y’shtola or Urianger.

Actually, on that note, I’m kind of surprised that Urianger has been kept in the cast for so long? I don’t think he does much in SB, and he could have easily been cut out around now, maybe in some bid to redeem himself or for the greater good or whatever. They gave him a big role in ShB and is now Y’shtola’s dedicated exposition partner, but before that... anything he had to provide could be delivered by either Krile or Y’shtola.

And on THAT note, I’m even MORE surprised that Krile is still here! She has taken a back seat for the longest time, it’s easy to forget about her. Not that I do. I don’t think I’ve said so yet but I LOVE Krile. She’s one of my favorite characters in the game, I like her more than even Y’shtola. She has just gone through so much, all of her friends being slaughtered by Ascians, being subjected to all that comes with the Echo, having her one dearest friend be summoned to the Mother Crystal’s side to serve as Her mouthpiece and subsequently give her life for a parallel world, violent experimentation by Garleans, watching over her dearest friends’ near-lifeless bodies for who knows how long. The story barely acknowledges her suffering, though... she’s been written to sound a lot more tired in the more recent stuff. Or maybe it’s just the voice acting? Her voice sounds incredibly weary to me. She’s usually pretty snappy but amicable herself which I like a lot. She’s pragmatic and smart and helpful, and despite this wears a bright yellow coat with built in cat ears for some reason. It is very silly but I LOVE it. She is such a good character.

Oh man I was on a roll there and then I almost fell asleep in my chair. Pity. Anyways have I talked about Urianger yet? I also love Urianger I think he’s my favorite character in the game. He’s just. Stupidly pretty. Very pretty bookish elf man who wears a stunning dress and jewelry with his silly old-timey speak and incredible amount of exposition and self-hatred and everything... and still manages to be incredibly funny in his own sarcastic way. I do not get fictional crushes often but god. Elma will live in my heart forever but for the moment Urianger has a seat next to her. I Love him. Very good character. I refuse to use Alphinaud in trusts bc it would mean I don’t get to hear “I shall protect thee”, and it would be sad. Secret is 7 inches taller than him. It is so so cute. In the current instance of the Rising Stones all the characters actually look at you whenever you come near and seeing him have to crane his neck is adorable. Just from his character archetype I think he’s supposed to be the tallest in the main cast but to have the WoL beat him in that is hilarious. And Man. Why doesn’t the WoL ever get the chance to truly forgive him for what he did on the First? And he still blames himself for the deception during post-HW. It hurt every time he brought it up :(

Ok. I’m slowly but surely waking up from my impromptu nap. There was actually something I meant to do with this post primarily and it’s taken four overly long paragraphs to get to it. I took very bad screenshots of Doran’s current outfits. Like the pictures are Not Good. But that’s alright bc you can see the outfits in full.

1. Overdesigned nonsense outfit, technically canonical as he’s a Bard first and foremost. Mostly the lvl 60 artifact set, with a bow from a dungeon and mask off the market, which honestly was a god send. The gems on it nearly matches the body piece, and the metal matches both the bow and armor. I think it looks pretty good all in all, at least better than the undyed set all red and with the turban and all.

2. Casual, lazy glam, literally a copy paste + recolor of one of Secret’s outfits. Doing the dragoon idle pose bc it’s funny. Will probably change this later, if anything the lance bc it’s currently not even glamoured. I really like these pants but they morph super weird when actually in action, like the joints become unnaturally pinched when sitting down.

3. When you bring a musket w you to the beach in case a primal decides to emerge from the water’s murky depths. Also cheap and low effort though I don’t plan to take gunbreaker seriously. That queensguard nonsense is silly. which is why he’s standing like that.

4. a better look at his face, taken just now

I still have not decided what I think of how he looks. I don’t immediately hate it like I do most Hyur faces, but there’s still something... off. His eyes are pretty dark blueish green, which isn’t obvious in most lighting. But in some cutscenes they just pop and it looks nice. To me he looks... almost constantly happy. The opposite of resting bitch face. Chosen sort of specifically to contrast Secret, who appears to be always frowning. Anyways. This face looks really weird on lots of lighting, but then again so does Secret’s. The lighting in some of these cells is just atrocious, notably The Solar which unfortunately is also where several cutscenes take place.

But anyhow. It works. His face, I mean. Looks just a bit uncanny, in a different way than I usually find Hyur to be, which is fitting. This particular face comes with a few options for the sharpest cheekbones I’ve ever seen but I could NOT give him any of them. His face is purposefully soft, with those nice freckles and gentle brow. But still the small irises and eyes of a color you actually have to look close to make out, pale skin and thin lips. The scar’s main purpose is to invoke symmetry. Similarly, Secret’s face is built to be round, or I guess as broad as I could get it, with dark gentle eyes and warm skin, but still with down turned lips and pointed eyebrows and the face with eyes scrunched at the corners in what I’ve seen described as “angry eyes”.

Buuuuuuuuuuttttttttt I’m gonna get back to it I’m nearly back into Stormblood!!! :)

one day though. one day i will write more about Secret and now Doran. about their own stories. maybe the other reflections too if I ever get to it. eventually.

[raynellalaria]

IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH

(( New expac, new story! Never mind the fact that I’ve effectively abandoned past stories due to disinterest, lack of time, etc...gonna try to write more for Shadowlands...I hope >_>;; ))

And yea, though I walk through the valley in the shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil, for you are at my side...

They rode through howling, ice-driven winds, cloaked in black furs to shield themselves from the harshness of Northrend. Hooves trampled over scarred earth, three black warhorses galloping through rot and ruin, brittle bone cracking beneath their hooves. They rode deep into the very seat of death, undeterred by the towering spires of Saronite built walls, the long abandoned necropoli looming in the distance, and the shattered machines of war strewn about, along with the bodies that once manned them, many of which still drew upon life through unlife as they shambled aimlessly, shackled by the dark powers that sat high above the scarred glacier, upon the citadel itself. What little light cast down upon Icecrown had to contend with the oppressive dark clouds that had long lingered even after the fall of Arthas, for light had long abandoned this place.

“We’re close,” said one of the figures in a firm, feminine tone. “We’ve but a mile or so to go.”

“How can you tell, Lady Raynell?” chimed another woman, gazing ahead with her bright blue eyes, head cloaked well beneath the warmth of her furs against the oppressive winds.

“It has been over a decade, I believe...but I still recognize the markings, the tattered banners.”

“You’ve a keen eye, adept, even if I question the keenness of your motive...” spoke the third, a deep, weathered masculine voice that cut through the howling gale. “Steady yourself, Ravaina. If she says we are close, then we must trust her instinct.”

“Yes, father.” The other woman tucked low on her warhorse, riding to keep pace with the other two. They fell quiet once more, only the thunder of hooves and the howl of frostbitten gales carrying around them until they rounded a clearing, circling their warhorses around a desolate patch of snow before each came to a halt. They each dismounted, heavy plated boots crunching beneath the earth as Raynell drew back her cloak. She brushed a hand through her freshly cut blonde hair, the once obscuring bangs of her original cut now shaved along the sides, leaving the top cut and styled. She gazed about, her once golden eyes now revealing the wear of wars past as the once enchanted false right eye had now faded, leaving a pale grey sphere that only had traces of the magic it once held. Kneeling before the snowy patch, she brushed aside the dirtied snow and dug her hands into the dark soil, her hand emerging with a pair of golden signet rings. She gazed upon them, her throat tightening and her brows furrowed, drawing a deep sigh. 

“This is it. This is where I left them all those years ago.”

As the other two figures made their way to Raynell, the tallest among them drew back his hood, sporting golden eyes of his own that shone bright in contrast to his dark skin. He had not a hair upon his head, clean shaven across every inch of his scalp, yet sported a thin, dark beard across his chin and a moustache to match just above his lips. His ears were shorter than those of the other two, and scarred along the tops, and as he approached Raynell, his eyes fell upon the rings as well, his own expression darkening in sorrow.

“Fiyeran, Aliana...my friends. I am so sorry, Raynell.”

“They were lost to me, Ozmin, long before the final blows here in Icecrown,” she murmured, clasping her hands around the rings before placing them into a pouch on her belt, “but even the curse of the San’layn could not cloud their last look upon their daughter, nor the love they harbored before dying.” 

“So this is why you chose this place, then?”

Raynell rose silently to her feet, leaving his inquiry unanswered as she looked back to the last of the three figures, a woman a few inches taller than Raynell, gathering a large sack from the back of her warhorse and setting it upon the earth below. “Is everything accounted for, Ravaina?”

“Yes, Lady Raynell,” she called out, opening the sack and beginning to rummage through the contents. The first to be removed was a rolled up carpet made of fine red and gold silks. Ravaina quietly cursed under her breath about the dirt ruining the silks, but dwelled no further on it as she continued to gather other items; from the sack, she produced a box of enchanted candles, a couple vials of bright golden liquid, a brass brazier accompanied by a tightly packed and bound pile of firewood, and a long sword, sheathed and wrapped in burlap cloth. Both Raynell and Ozmin approach the assorted items as Ravaina drew back her own cloak, long flowing black hair spilling across her shoulders, and part of it even tied high above her head in the ever popular ‘thalassian chonmage’ style. Unlike the other two, her eyes shone a light crystal blue, and as she took the sword in hand, she knelt and offered it to her father, Ozmin, raising it up and bowing her head. 

“Shorel’belore-Zaram, Blade of the Sunspeaker...of your once student, Diliandra Sunspeaker.”

Ozmin looked upon the wrapped blade, hit with another pang of sorrow as he took it upon his clawed, gilded gauntlets, unfurling the burlap wrap to reveal a simple scabbard and an unremarkable hilt. As he drew the blade, however, the steel seemed to hum brightly through the howling gale, gleaming silver cutting through the darkness around it. His eyes examined the golden glowing script engraved in the blade, etched in the days of the Highborne.

“Diliandra was among the first class of knights brought up through the Order. To think she held such power in her lineage...” 

His gaze paused on a break in the script, his eyebrows perked in surprise. “The blade is scarred. How did this come to be?”

Raynell looked to Ozmin, rubbing the back of her head. “It was...shattered in battle during the campaign against N’zoth. Both it and her sister blade, Shela’Luneth, clashed in Uldum, splitting both blades in twain.”

“Clashed? Shattered!?” He frowned, sheathing the blade. “How could you let an artifact of such import be shattered!?” 

She cleared her throat. “I underestimated both blade and opponent, I suppose, but that is neither here nor there. Thistlebreeze was able to repair both blades after the campaign’s conclusion. Honestly, a story for another time...”

Ozmin sighed and shook his head. “You’ve much to explain after this, adept...but aye. For now, the ritual must be prepared. Ravaina, lend me a hand...”

The other woman nodded, joining her father as she took up the rolled silken carpet, laying it across the scarred earth. Ozmin set the candles around the carpet in a wide circle, then set the brass brazier in front of it, carefully untying the bound rope that kept the firewood packed together. Through the thick wood at the base, he stuck the unsheathed Shorel’Belore, then lit the wood around it with a flicker of holy flame. The wood flared alight, though remained unscarred by the magic. Warmth permeated the unforgiving cold around them, and in the relative darkness, light prevailed, the candles aglow as the resonating magics lit them in succession. Raynell watched the ritual with a sense of awe. Normally, the ritual of communing would be held back home, among the relative peace of Quel’thalas. In the dire lands of Northrend, it looked all the more impressive.

“Step forward, Adept Raynell, and kneel, for when you rise at the end of this ritual, you rise a knight once more.”

A knight once more. The words stung a little for the Sin’dorei. She was a knight, once, but the burden of Teldrassil’s fall, the swaths of death left in the Banshee Queen’s wake, and the misdirection of the Horde’s war effort, pushed her to make the difficult decision to step down, to abandon the Order, in order to find herself and her purpose. The journey, as it turned out, had a roundabout conclusion among the shattered landscape of Icecrown, now on the cusp of returning to the Blood Knights as an act of contrition. 

She stepped forth, kneeling atop the silken carpet as she cast aside her fur cloak, clad in simple Thalassian half-plate. Ozmin towered over her opposite the roaring brazier, casting aside his cloak to reveal resplendent plated regalia, his armor resembling a grand robe, and his shoulderguards bearing glowing medallions that floated above the mantle, each one emblazoned with the symbol of the rising phoenix. He looked to Ravaina, clad in black armor as she cast aside her own cloak, the vials of golden liquid held in each hand, and nodded.

“Bring forth the blessed waters of the Sunwell. It is here, in the shadow of death, that we shall stand in the Light of the Eternal Sun, in defiance of death itself.”

Ravaina nodded, stepping forth to hand one vial to each person. As she did so, she turned her head to her surroundings, feeling a chill run through her spine. A small host of shambling skeletons and ghouls passed their roaring flame several feet away. Some even looked upon the display with cold, blue eyes, before their dead-eyed gazes were drawn back to the looming spire of the citadel in the far distance. She reached back for her lance, grasping it tentatively as if ready to strike before her father spoke once more. 

“Pay no heed to them. They remain shackled to the crown’s will, and shall do us no harm.”

Ravaina gulped, but relented, releasing her lance and standing by. Ozmin then cast his gaze upon Raynell, opening the vial. Raynell, in turn, opened her vial and nodded. 

“These blessed waters were drawn by your own hand, Raynell. Did you go about the proper measures to filter and infuse them for your Trial of Light’s Vision?”

“I have,” she answered.

“Good,” he curtly responded. “Let us drink.”

Both Ozmin and Raynell drank from their vials as Ravaina stood by, lance drawn this time, but planted in the ground astride of her as she held the shaft, her other arm positioned in parade rest behind her. She glanced sidelong at the shambling audience of undead. Not a moment before, the deep canyon running through Icecrown was quiet. Now it stirred, and its denizens shuffling with gazes cast toward Icecrown. It unsettled her, the grip on her lance tightening as the ritual continued unabated, both participants setting aside emptied vials. Ozmin’s eyes glowed brilliantly as he reached for a large tome latched to his belt, unclasping the gilded, leatherbound cover and quietly turning the enchanted pages.

“Excellent. I feel our spirits in ascent. Now is the time, Raynell. Reach through the flame and take hold of the blade, so that we may explore the past, conquer its challenges, and carve forth a path to the future.”

Raynell nodded, her own eyes glowing brilliantly. Even the faded false eye shimmered alight, completing the woman’s gaze. She rose up on one knee as she reached through the golden flames rising from the brazier. Though it burned hot, she felt no searing pain, her flesh unmarred by the billowing holy fires. Her fingers lingered for a moment on the hilt of Shorel’Belore, gazing upon the sword with a sense of awestruck sorrow. This was her mentor’s blade before her passing, and though it was passed down to her, she never felt fully worthy of its power...nor of its burden, which weighed heavily both on her and on Diliandra before her. She took a deep breath, gathering her resolve, and she grasped the blade in one hand...then the other, locking herself in a sort of prayer kneel before the fires of the brazier, her eyes drifting closed as the light faded into darkness around her vision. 

Satisfied, Ozmin drew a hand forth over Raynell’s head, closing his eyes as holy power teemed from his brilliant regalia, shining forth upon his adept as the two began their trial...

“Focus, Raynell, on my voice, as your spirit is drawn through the trial ahead of you. Focus on maintaining your will throughout, never letting it waver or break from the path ahead. Focus, Raynell...focus...”

Focus.

Focus!

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

“Focus, Raynell!”

Raynell gasped with a start, her vision clearing to the Farstrider’s Square in Silvermoon City. She stood in the center of the square, a training blade and shield in hand, the high ivory towers of her home casting shadows in the mid-afternoon sun over the red cobblestone. Before her, a host of her fellow knights stood, training weapons at the ready to strike out at her. The voice that called her to focus was that of a stern woman’s, and as she looked toward the voice, she saw the imposing stature of her former mentor, clad in resplendent gold, black, and red armor, and bearing the tabard of the Blood Knights. 

“Stay focused, Raynell, and do not strike out too quickly, nor too late. Maintain your timing, and keep your shield level. They will come to you...”

She nodded, setting her feet under her. I remember this, from the days leading up to my knighthood...

As do I, Raynell. Diliandra was growing into her role as a true Master of the Order, and you were her pride, even if she boasted more talented students.

Raynell heard the words of Ozmin echo in her head and smirked. She twirled her blade, shifting her stance to keep her opponents in her line of sight as they circled. With a shout, one of them charged forth, and two more followed him. Raynell felt time slow around her briefly as they struck forth, and to Ozmin’s backhanded compliment, she responded.

Then let me show you how talented I truly am.

The first strike slipped across her parrying blade, using the attacker’s momentum against him as she struck high across his throat, knocking the wind out of him and onto his knees. The next strike bore against her shield, and she charged into the assailant, shoving both him and the knight behind him to the ground. Her gaze turned to a charging woman with a training blade held high. She shoved the edge of her shield flawlessly into her gut, twirling to intercept her with a quick-footed response. Another pair of women struck out for her, and with another twirl, Raynell hurled her shield like a frisbee, the projectile bouncing off of one, then striking the other, before swinging back to her grasp. The scattered knights lie around her, grunting and groaning as they gathered themselves from Raynell’s valiant defense.

“Augh...you rotten -bitch-. Did it have to be in the throat!?”

Raynell turned to see the first rise to his feet, a man with long black hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She gazed at him for a moment, briefly awestruck by the vision playing out in her head, before laughing softly. 

Nalithas Vin’sarin. I knew him.

“I’m sorry Nal. I guess I was caught up in the moment.”

“Oh don’t be sour, Nal. We all got our asses handed to,” spoke another, a blonde haired fellow with well tanned skin, as he helped up his compatriot, a man with bright orange hair and paler features. 

That’s Sarenval Starsaber and Ben’erah Thistlebreeze. Belle never liked Ben much, but I know it pained her to lose her brother...

Raynell’s thoughts lingered a moment on the fate of Ben before another voice called out. 

“What the hells was that? Where was my support? We had a clear vantage out of her line of sight!”

Raynell twirled around to a woman with short cut raven locks and a scowl on her features. She grinned as she watched the woman complain to her compatriots behind her, the ones that she caught with her shield throw.

Avanaya Sunherald and the Dawnfeather sisters, Tiralin and Teralin. Avanaya would later cross the Dark Portal and train under the Illidari, becoming the Killherald...

“Oh come off it, Ava! How were we supposed to know Raynell was going to toss her shield?”

“Yeah. Next time, she ought to toss it at you, you -twat-.”

“That’s enough, everyone...” Diliandra strode forth to the gathered knights, a bit of a bemused smile on her face. “You all did well, today, though your approach in our last spar left a lot to be desired. Remember your drills and techniques, and make ready for tomorrow. Dismissed.”

The others nodded and made their way past Raynell, each giving her a firm pat on the shoulder and a word of congratulations, even if defeat stung for them. As Raynell watched her compatriots depart, she turned to look to her mentor. Another woman was with her, one of regal stature with silver earrings hanging on the lobes of her ears, and an inscribed scimitar at her side. Her hair was pulled back in a neat, black ponytail, and she spared a brief glance at Raynell, furrowing her brow in a sense of disdain before looking back to Diliandra, offering a few words of departure before bowing politely. Raynell scowled a bit, her form tensing as recognition dawned upon her.

Lunisara Silverblade. Traitor.

Raynell felt a sense of regret echo in her head in the form of a heavy sigh from Ozmin.

She deceived us all, Raynell, and the Order suffered for it.

Raynell dwelled quietly on Ozmin’s words, looking a bit downcast before Diliandra approached. “Something the matter, Raynell?”

“Oh! N-nothing, Master Sunspeaker.”

Diliandra smirked. “Well, your performance today was far from nothing. A bit overdone, but impressive, none the less.”

“Thank you, Master Sunspeaker,” she replied, bowing deeply. “Will that be all for me, today?”

“Not quite. You have one more challenge awaiting you, and she made certain to be here to make good on it after her patrols.”

Raynell tilted her head a moment, then heard another voice call out from behind.

“Sorry to have kept you all waiting! You best be ready, Raynell, because I am coming at you with all I’ve got.”

Raynell smiled, feeling a soft flush rise to her cheeks and a renewed sense of vigor in her form. She gripped her training blade tightly and readied her shield, bristling with excitement. 

“Oh, I’m ready for -anything-.”

She twirled around with weapons at the ready, steadying her stance.

Here I come, Fi-

SCREEEEAHHH.

Raynell nearly leapt out of her skin as her vision filled with the lunging visage of a ghoul. She raised her shield in time to repel the leaping corpse, then cut it down with her now sharpened silver blade. The Farstrider’s Square was gone, replaced by rotted fields of brown grass, gnarled trees, and a brown, darkened gloom in the sky. Her nostrils scrunched, and she briefly retched at the stench of rot and undeath around her.  

What’s happening!? I don’t understa-

Relax, Raynell.

The voice of Ozmin echoed in her head once more.

The Trial of Light’s Vision is ever shifting, turning through the pages of your story and revealing them from chapter to chapter. This is but another chapter in that story...

Raynell looked around once more, seeing another swarm of ghouls approaching her. She struck the ground with her blade, consecrating the desecrated earth as holy flame ripped through the gibbering mass of risen corpses, then drew her sword from the earth and charged forward to cut down what remained, taking a moment to catch her bearings. 

This is not a great chapter to end up in. This is our battalion’s fateful foray into the Eastern Plaguelands, the one where...

“Raynell!”

The voice of her mentor called out from behind, riding atop her warhorse and flanked by a pair of other knights, their faces concealed by black hoods, and Diliandra’s concealed by a hood and mask, which she quickly drew back as she spoke.

“The battalion is falling back to the Ghostlands border. The captain is ahead in pursuit of the death knight and his legions. I need you to intercept her and bring her back! We’ve suffered casualties, and I fear Vin’sarin hasn’t much time...”

“What do you mean?” Raynell asked. “What’s happened?”

Diliandra fell silent, her expression dark and downcast as she took a breath before shaking her head. “Go, Raynell. Do as I’ve asked, and return swiftly, before you are overrun!” 

Raynell tried to speak once more, but the thundering hooves of the warhorses turned away, charging back to the border. Raynell stood alone, silent in the midst of the plaguelands, a surging panic rising in her throat as it tightened, hands shaking and cold sweat trickling across her brow.

Focus, Raynell. Do not let your vision waver. Remember, you must go -forward-.

As Ozmin’s voice called out to her, she paused, took a knee, and drew in slow breaths. In and out, in a state of balanced trance, quieting the swarm of thoughts in her mind’s eye as she opened her eyes once more, looking forward on the path ahead. She heard a scream in the distance, perking her ears, and nodded firmly. 

There.

She brought her fingers to her lips and let forth a sharp whistle. The whinnying cry of a horse sounded in the distance, and from the gnarled wood, a proud steed rode forth.

Darktreader. Ever my ally in battle. He was cursed with death’s touch during the battle for Icecrown, but found redemption at Light’s Hope during the battle with the Legion.

Raynell took quickly to the horse, lifting herself upon the saddle, then urging him forward through the Plaguelands, across wretched earth and through abandoned villages toward the cry of anguish. As she closed the distance, she could hear more voices, many of them her companions, and that of the captain that led them, calling for them to rally back.

“Hang on, I’m almost there!”

She cracked the reins hard against Darktreader, breaking into a full sprint across the deadened landscape, their destination just over the ridge.

I’m almost there, Fi-

Suddenly, her weight shifted backwards, as if someone had lassoed her from behind, and her vision darkened. She toppled and rolled against the earth below, rolling against what felt like snow. The metallic taste of blood sat bitter upon her tongue, and shooting pain suddenly seized her. As she gathered herself and opened her eyes, she saw a human woman, clad in black armor, her skin as pale as the snow around them, and a runeblade draped over her shoulder. 

Gwenlien Allendare. She was a knight of Alterac raised by the Lich King, and was terrorizing Forsaken caravans passing between Tarren Mill and the Undercity. In truth, it was a ruse meant to lure me...

Raynell gathered herself and her blade, this time a greatsword, and brought her unsteady legs into as steady a stance as she could. 

I...lost this battle. Perhaps another chance...

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

The silence unsettled Ravaina as she watched both her father and her new ward locked in trial. At the very least, Ozmin had awareness of his whereabouts, quietly turning a page or two of his tome on occasion as minutes passed like hours in the frigid north. She held tight to her lance, ever vigilant as her ears picked up more movement some distance from them, the sound of cracking limbs and schlorping, rotted flesh passing by.

“Father, how much longer must this go on?”

“As long as is necessary to fulfill Raynell’s visions. I am providing her with guidance, but it is her task, and hers alone, to complete.”

Ravaina scowled, looking away as she watched another group of undead shamble across the wastes. She noticed the throngs growing ever more prominent, all with their glowing eyes raised to the spires of Icecrown Citadel in the distance. She shivered as the howling gales seemed to pick up, cutting even through the insulated plate.

“Something feels off. The other knights have told us that Icecrown has long been quiet and desolate...”

“Most of them aren’t aware of the lingering presence of the Lich King. The new one, that is.”

Ozmin glanced briefly over his shoulder at the shuffling masses. One ghoul turned his slobbering gaze to the knight. He scowled as they met gazes before the ghoul continued shuffling away.

“They say Fordragon sits upon the Frozen Throne, now, keeping the Scourge tamed and at bay from ever overwhelming Azeroth again.”

His eyes returned to the tome, then lifted slightly to regard Raynell.

“Still...something -is- off.”

“Father?” Ravaina lifted her gaze to Ozmin, eyes betraying a sense of worry.

“These visions are jumping all over. They test Raynell’s focus...and mine. I should be able to control the pace, and yet I find the trial slipping through my grasp.”

He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them once more, brilliant Light teeming from his aura as he fought the cold, oppressive dark around him, along with his fears of losing control.

“We should be fine...but stay vigilant.”

Ravaina nodded, gulping softly. She held firm to her lance and steadied her stance, remaining at parade rest...and yet around her, a scene began to unfold, and in the distance, Ravaina could swear she saw flashes of something happening atop of the citadel...

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

In the snowy drifts of the Alterac Mountains, among the long abandoned ruins of Alterac itself, a clashed played out. Raynell, clad in red and black, her blade clashing against runecarved steel. Gwenlien, the death knight, towering over her and laying down brute force as bitter frost swirled across her saronite-clad form. Swirls of fiery Light followed Raynell’s strikes, trying to fend off the sickly frost of the Death Knight’s runeblade. Fighting through searing pain, through struggled breath, Raynell gained a brief advantage and struck out with all her might, bringing her blade crashing down against the Death Knight’s armor. The human reeled back, down to a knee, open to one last strike. Raynell lifted her blade high, ready to strike down the Death Knight...only to have herself intercepted by dark magic, a clawed, black spectral hand rising from the Death Knight’s outstretched grip. She could feel the air being strangled out from her, struggling and flailing in panic as she tried to rip the hand free from her throat, even as the Death Knight trudged forward, runeblade dragging across the snow.

“You’ve given me enough trouble, elf, and now your story ends HERE.”

Concentrate, Raynell! Do not let your vision fade!

Ozmin’s voice cut through clear in her mind, and Raynell felt a surge of desperation as she found purchase in the dark magic, prepared to break free. As the runeblade thrust forward, however, a sudden flash of Light struck the Death Knight, causing her to reel away. As Raynell freed herself, she hit the snow hard, coughing in fits and coughing up blood as her dazed vision looked up to see a blurry clash unfold. Another had come to her aid, an elven woman with long, braided black hair, bearing the Blood Knight tabard and an ebonsteel zweihander.

Valaane Duskbanish. She came to save me that fateful night, having followed Gwenlien’s trail to the mountains...

She continued to watch the clash unfold, both knights, one of Blood, one of Death, locked in ferocious combat. In a decisive strike, the Blood Knight, Valaane, ran her sword through Gwenlien, drawing it out with dripping ichor splashed across the snow before planting it in the ground. The Death Knight fell to her knees, sputtering in her weakness as final death approached.

“Your wicked reign of terror ends today, cur.”

Valaane’s hands glowed with teeming holy flame, prepared to put an end to the Death Knight once and for all. The human only responded with a bitter laugh and an eerily prophetic warning. 

“You...will join me...in DARKNESS!”

Suddenly, the elf found herself blindsided by a shadowy strike, the same shadowed claw that gripped at Raynell’s throat now slashing through Valaane’s. The once glowing hands suddenly lost their shine, the Light dissipating in sickly, pale violet embers, and the Death Knight charged the woman, sending both toppling over the slopes of Alterac and unto a fate previously unknown. Raynell staggered to her feet and rushed to the edge, huffing and panting as she shook her head and silently cursed herself. 

Gone. Like last time.

She looked to Valaane’s blade, left to the wayside, and drew it from the snow.

Little did I know I would see her again...but immensely changed. The shadow cut more than her throat. It cut through her very being, tainting it so that she eventually became Ren’dorei...a void elf.

She slung the zweihander over her back, then gazed out over the cloud-darkened foothills and peaks below. 

I thought I had lost her that night. Lost her, like I had lost...

She scarcely had time to finish her thought before the hum of a flying blade cut through the air. Raynell quickly ducked it and drew the greatsword once more, charging forth to clash with the serrated glaive of another: a Night Elf this time, clad in the armor of the Wardens...and bearing a fiery fel green gaze in the eyes of her helm. 

Shiane Blackgrove.

The two backed off from their clash, heavy plate boots crunching on the snow beneath them. This time, Raynell was surrounded by the towering pines of Winterspring, the same ones which she found shelter in during her days of reclusion before the Legion invasion. Raynell stared down her new foe, quiet breaths carrying in the cold winter air in soft, misty vapors. Once more, Ozmin’s voice echoed through, though it seemed to hint at confusion.

You...will have to bring me up to speed on this one. I had departed before the Cataclysm to train my daughter afar.

Raynell smirked, raising her blade at the ready as she locked eyes with the corrupted Warden. At the Warden’s side, a pair of snarling felhounds emerged, their bone white faces starkly contrasting the long, black, wiry manes across their heads and backs, and the deep red skin that surged with fel blood. Following them, a pair of burly felguards stepped from the shadows, bearing axes in their massive grey hands, and clad in demon-forged armaments from head to hoof. At Raynell’s side, new allies came to the fore; first, a woman from an earlier vision, the very Avanaya Sunherald, returned as the Killherald, a demon huntress with long horns jutting from her forehead and skin that was scaled and deep red; and to Raynell’s other side, a tall, muscular elven woman with long red hair and a pair of axes in hand, clad in red platemail.

“Ava, Belle.”

“That name is dead to me, as is the woman who once bore it,” the demon huntress replied, “but call upon the Killherald, and she shall lead the hunt...”

“Oh wow, lookit’ you bein’ all cool and edgy...” the warrior, Belle, chimed. “Come off it and let’s just knock some damn heads.”

The demon huntress shot a glance at Belle, or at least as much a glance as one with a blindfold could offer, then grunted. “Let’s...”

Wait, that’s Avanaya? And the other woman, that’s...that Daroen’s youngest! How did that scrawny wretch get to be so...ferocious!?

Ozmin, focus. This is still a trial.

Don’t turn this around on me, adept! You are the one on trial, here!

Raynell chuckled softly to herself. Both Ava and Belle stared at her, then at each other, shrugging indifferently, as if being left out of a joke.

Fine, then. In that case, let me show you how it’s done, Ozmin.

“ASHAL THORI’ANORE!”

The trio of women charged forth, with Raynell leading the way. The Warden and her demons responded in kind, a clash imminent as they rushed forth on a collision course. As Raynell raised her blade to strike the Warden dead on, the scene suddenly faded, and Raynell found herself in a dark, empty void. She looked about in a brief panic, having to take a few steadying breaths to gain her bearings before asking for her new mentor’s guidance.

Ozmin, what’s going on? I seem to have lost the vision.

No response. The void lingered in unsettling silence around her.

Ozmin, can you hear me?

Another long pause. Nothing. Suddenly, a warm, orange glow settled in the distance. Raynell began walking toward it, trying to get a better view.

Ozmin, do you see this? Ozmin? What’s happening out th-

Raynell stopped dead in her tracks as the vision became clearer. She was no longer in snow driven landscapes, or tranquil Thalassian forests, or even among the rot of the Plaguelands. What transpired before her was far worse than anything she had experienced thus far, and just a few paces away, a hooded figure gazed across a firelit expanse of sea, and high above it, a towering tree smoldered and blazed in unquenching flame. Screams of agony echoed throughout, and in the sea, the drowned floated across the surface.

Teldrassil. No...

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

Ravaina stirred as the undead nearby began to wail. The startling cacophony even unsettled the stoic Ozmin, whose focus wavered as he looked back to his daughter.

“What’s going on!? My connection to Raynell is unstable! No, no...this can’t be happening!”

Ozmin flipped through his tome rapidly, as if searching for a solution to his predicament. All the while, Ravaina looked up toward Icecrown Citadel, noticing something stirring in the distance, signs of distant battle as it appeared pieces of the glacier were falling from it.

“Father, it’s the Citadel. Something is happening up there!”

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

Raynell quietly approached the shore, recognizing the besieged Lor’danel nearby, but still drawn to the great tree collapsing under the all consuming flame. The hooded figure stood quiet as she approached, not even turning to regard her approach. As she stepped within a foot or two of the figure, a sharp pain spiked through her skull, and the knight reeled back, holding her temple as a harsh voice whispered in her mind.

Behold, all of your sins laid bare. The culmination of your failures, your lack of loyalty. A doomed world, created by your own hand.

Raynell hissed in frustration, raising her head to glare at the figure. “Sylvanas...” she spat, before reeling again as the figure seemed to respond.

No. She is carrying out his will, as am I. What she does will save your doomed world. What I do, I do to save you from yourself...

The figure turned, revealing herself as an elven woman, raven hair tied back in a neat ponytail, silver earrings sitting at the lower lobes of her ears, and an inscribed scimitar at her side, drawn now in her hand. Raynell’s eyes widened, staggering backward.

“No...Lunisara? You...you fell at Winterspring, after you tried to ambush us with Blackgrove in tow...”

The woman raised her blade, the tip pointed at Raynell. Again, the shooting pain bombarded her head, more agonizing now. 

You have been chosen. All must return to him. All must return to the Maw. You will usher them forth, as one of the champions of death, as a liberator of The Jailer.

“Ozmin! Something is wrong! Ozmin! Ozminnn!” 

Raynell stumbled backward, suddenly losing her footing. She felt herself plummeting into a dark pit, flailing about as she sought to catch herself on anything around her, even though there was naught but black surrounding her. 

You will be reunited with her. Don’t you want to see her again? Don’t you remember what happened? Or has she become Nameless to you once more...

THUD.

Raynell once again found herself on solid earth, groaning softly as she picked herself up from the ground. Her vision cleared, and she jolted as the familiar stench of rot assailed her senses. The dull brown sky, the gnarled trees, the tattered grasses. She was back in the Eastern Plaguelands.

I don’t understand. Why am I here, again, of all-

“There’s...nothing you can do for me, R-Raynell...”

The knight snapped around quickly at the sound of a pained whisper nearby, accompanied by familiar, mournful sobs. She stepped around a ruined tower wall. Huddled against it was a woman with short, golden locks, and in her arms, she cradled another woman, this one with silvery white hair. The woman in her arms lay wounded and pale, and a sickly looking green vein seemed to stretch up from her neck to her cheek. Tracing it back down, one could see the wound causing the most suffering, what appear to be a grisly clawing of her side, tearing through armor and flesh. The silver haired woman reached up, a shaky hand gently stroking the cheek of her sobbing compatriot.

“You’ve grown so s-strong...you’re going to...make a fine knight, Ray.”

The other woman shook her head, tears streaking across her cheeks as the sobs grew louder. Raynell watched the scene in helpless awe, her face pale and her eyes filled with the same sense of sorrow that gripped the grief-stricken blonde before her. 

“I can’t...I can’t! Please, Fia, you have to hold on! Lady Sunspeaker...sh-she can...”

“No! No...she won’t make it in time...I can feel it...t-turning me!”

The silver-haired knight began to seize up, wracked in agonizing pain as she let out a hoarse, dry-throated cry, the sickly paleness of her skin beginning to turn a dull shade of green. Raynell choked back a sob, reaching out in vain to the pair as she stumbled back. The blonde cradling her only mourned all the more passionately, hugging tightly to her dying compatriot in her waning moments. She sobbed into her ruined tabard, running a hand through her silver locks as they came undone from her ponytail, unwilling to let go, even as life quickly faded from the woman’s eyes. 

“F-Fia...I love you!”

“Raynell...I...”

The words remained choked in her throat, the woman suddenly pushing herself off of the mourning blonde and staggering backwards with inhuman speed. She began to rise with an unsteady gait, her voice croaking out in a wordless, thoughtless cry as she gazed back with glazed over eyes, the rot crawling up her form as the last of her conscious life slipped away, overtaken by the madness of undeath. As Raynell drew her blade once more, she steeled her gaze on the shambling corpse that was once her Captain, her friend, and her first love, fighting through tears to see her clearly.

“I’m sorry, Fia.”

Before she could strike, though, the sickly woman burst into holy flame, her body consumed by it. She collapsed in a skeletal husk, left to smolder in embers as across from her, the blonde stood wide-eyed, hand outstretched as embers of holy flame flickered from her fingers. The shrill whinny of a warhorse sounded in the distance, and charging from the north came a trio of familiar knights rushing to the young woman’s side, the forefront of which threw off her hood. 

“Raynell! What happ-”

The knight reeled back at the sight of the fallen captain, her body left in smoldering bone, the tattered tabard slowly burning away in smoke and ash. The blonde looked back to her mentor, her surrogate mother, and cried out in a broken voice.

“What have I done...what have I done!?”

She fell into the other’s arms in mournful wailing. The woman knelt aside her, holding her tightly in a comforting embrace, even as the dark, rot-filled air around them offered no comfort. The other knights stood back, unsure of how to respond, if they could at all.

“Lady Sunspeaker, what-”

“Leave us.”

“Pardon?”

“LEAVE US! NOW!”

The other knights stumbled back in shock before returning to their horses, riding off into the distance as mentor and ward remained to mourn their loss together. Raynell watched on, sorrow heavy in her heart as she gazed at the smoldering corpse left by her own hand all those years ago. 

“I’ve seen enough, Ozmin. Take me back.”

She watched and waited. No response.

“Ozmin, the trial is over! You’ve made your point! Take me-”

Behold, all of your sins laid bare. 

Raynell reeled again, feeling the sharp pain strike her head once more. As she raised her gaze, she noticed that the two mourners, her younger self and her mentor, were staring at her. 

“Is it not fitting?” said the shade of Diliandra, her expression menacing as she stared daggers through the knight. “All you have ever laid hand upon, wreathed in fire. You leave naught but destruction in your wake.”

“No,” Raynell stammered, “No! That wasn’t...my fault. She was turning...I had to!”

“You didn’t save her,” said the shade of Raynell, raising a hand to point at her future self. “You didn’t even -try-. You let her burn, like you let Teldrassil burn.”

“No! NO! Stop it...STOP IT!”

She shut her eyes, trying to force out the voices laying accusations upon her. She suddenly felt a cacophony of accusations fill her head, so many that she could not discern their origins. She gripped her head, nearly screaming as she pleaded them to cease, and as she opened her eyes, her gaze suddenly settled on a new, unsettling visage: that of the skeletal remains of her long lost Captain, her lost love, Fia’delis Brightblade, now bathed in a new flame, one of eerie blue lichfire.

“All must return...to the Maw.”

The visage suddenly became clad in dark steel. Ebon wings burst forth from her shoulders. A clawed gauntlet grasped at Raynell’s throat, choking the air from her as the Death Knight did before. As she flailed and struggled, a deafening boom sounded above, and like shards of glass, the sky began to splinter, opening toward some desolate expanse high above, and from the black, a menacing spire emerging from on high. As the figure ascended, carrying Raynell in tow, a flash suddenly blindsided the winged knight, loosing its grasp, and Raynell began to fall once more, and for a good while as the ground below gave way to an infinite, ethereal expanse, her vision quickly fading as the figure above seemed locked in battle with another...

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

BOOM.

The howling winds suddenly died out. A sound like booming thunder echoed across the stillness, followed quickly by a terrible shrieking. High above the Citadel, and across the darkened expanse of the Icecrown sky, tendrils of energy shot across the expanse like ghostly strands of lightning. Ravaina reeled back at the sudden surge, and Ozmin flinched, losing grasp of his tome as it tumbled to the ground. Raynell’s eyes shot open, but were no longer gold, but a brilliant white. A chain suddenly appeared around her throat, tendrils of shadowy purple stretching along its length, and above them, the sky splintered into glass-like shards, opening to a great chasm above as the darkened sky split to reveal a new endless chasm, surrounded by dull orange and brown coloring, with a spire much like Icecrown’s just barely cresting past the breaking point. The chain seem to stretch to the tower itself, and in the ensuing moments of panic, Ozmin called upon his greatsword to shatter the chain, reeling back as the dark energies repelled him in a powerful rebuke. 

“RAVAINA! WE HAVE TO SAVE HER!”

It didn’t take long for the daughter of Ozmin to leap into action, channeling all her strength, both physical and Light-blessed, to drive the end of her lance into the chain. She, however, met the same rebuke as the edge of the lance struck the chain without so much as denting it, sending her reeling back once more. 

“FATHER! SHE’S BEING TAKEN!”

As the two looked on in horror, Raynell’s body began to rise with the chain, slowly bringing her up from the silken rug she once knelt upon. Both knights hurled bolts of Light, along with a myriad of elven obscenities, in a vain attempt to break the shadowy chain. In their clamor, they failed to notice the shambling undead suddenly begin to turn against them, and as they began to swarm, both father and daughter had to now contend with the swarming undead, leaving Raynell to her fate.

In that moment, the blade of Sunspeaker began to float above the brazier, the clarion call of Shorel’Belore humming brightly as the blade drew from the flame below it. In one miraculous stroke, the blade cut through the chain, the shadowy energies engulfed in shining flame before dissipating into dust, and Raynell fell back toward earth, collapsed against the silken carpet...

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

Fear not, for in the shadow of death, I shall always be at your side...

Raynell awoke with a start, hearing the shriek of undead pierce the suddenly still air of Icecrown. Raynell scrambled to her feet, grabbing Shorel’Belore beside her and rushing forth to Ravaina and Ozmin, driving her blade deep into the desecrated earth and unleashing a surge of consecrated Light. The undead around it shuddered and burst into holy flame before collapsing, and with a heavy sigh, Raynell collected herself before quickly turning to Ozmin.

“Something’s wrong! The trial’s been compromised. What’s been-” 

Ozmin raised a hand to quiet the panicked knight, then pointed to Icecrown and the shattered sky above. Raynell’s eyes went wide, seeing the familiar broken shards of sky, the gaping maw above, and the shadowy spire at the center of it. She nearly stumbled, taken aback by the sight high above the Frozen Throne.

“Icecrown...what does this mean, Ozmin?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, his faced locked in a firm scowl, “all I do know is that the fate of our world hangs once more in the balance, and the knights will once more have to march into the heart of death itself.”

Their gazes lingered upon Icecrown Citadel. Ravaina joined them, as awestruck as they were at the sight before them, and further unsettled by the wail of the undead in the distance around them, thrown into a sudden fit of chaos. Raynell heaved out a sigh, bowing her head, then looked back to Ozmin.

“This is probably neither the time or place, but...have I passed the Trial?”

Ozmin smirked, glancing sidelong at Raynell.

“As I said, Azeroth is going to need the knights once more. Considering the circumstances...I’d say you’ve more than qualified.”

She motioned quickly to Ravaina. “Ready the horses. We leave everything but the blade. The Argent Grounds are not far. They will be preparing as we speak...”

Ravaina nodded, collecting her cloak and quickly throwing it over her shoulders. Raynell and Ozmin followed suit, and as the three rode off, Raynell looked back at the abandoned ritual, then toward the trail ahead, riding through the valley in the shadow of death that lingered high above...

[alolanrain]

Could you do anything with a jealous Raihan? #fangshipping

Raihan sneered at the rich old man touching his sweet Applin. His fangs, bared behind his hand, pressed against the skin of his fingers as he tried not to snarl in public. It wasn’t fair! If Raihan had the chance, he would shred Rose to pieces.

He felt a snarl build up in his throat, which forced him to grab his glass of water and swallow a few mouths full. Raihan felt Nessa jab at his side, a reminder that he can’t just get up and go to Ash’s side. Not if he wanted to face the Head Chairman’s consequences.

His eye strayed back to his sweet, sweet Applin. Who looked absolutely uncomfortable with the rich old man invading his loves space. As the man turned away, Ash looked all over the room. Searching for someone to come save him. That’s when their eyes met and Raihan felt an untapped rage at the look Ash gave him. Ash looked up at Raihan, who was on the open second floor of the ballroom, with pleading eyes.

‘Save me!’ Ash mouthed, before his lips turned into a strained smile when the rich man turned his eyes back onto Ash.

Raihan stood up suddenly, ignoring both Nessa and Kabu’s warnings, before making his way over and down the stairs. Before he reached the middle, a hand reached out and grabbed at his bicep.

“Raihan,” Rose’s called his name tersely, “think about what your doing.” His voice held disappointment to the ninth degree.

Raihan turned back slightly, his sudden sneer turned into a cold smile. “Chairman Rose, please unhand me.” his own voice wavered with slight anger. Raihan was never the one that was able to hide how he truly felt. His eyes darted up to where Champion Lance and half the Council sat on the second floor. All of them were glaring down at them, or glancing between Raihan and Ash with worried expressions, heavy frowns marred their faces.

Rose immediately let go of the gym leaders arm, a nervous smile played on his lips. “You wouldn’t!” Rose hissed between his lips, the Chairman’s own eyes darting between Raihan and the second floor.

“I didn’t do anything,” Raihan pleasantly smiled at a group of passing Kalosian Chairmen. He waved in greeting towards Clemont, the engineer gym leader had a dark look as he waved back. Every friend of Raihan and Ash knew what was going on with Chairman Rose.

The man mist be catching on as he also spotted who Raihan was waving to. “How many.” Rose growled, coming a bit closer with a sharp friendly smile.

Raihan at that exact moment knew just why Leon tried to never anger his main sponsor, the anger in the older mans eyes would have freaking Raihan out if he hadn’t already met Ash’s lovely parents beforehand.

“I don’t know what you mean?” He asked happily, bouncing on his feet to show the other guests that the conversation the two were having was nothing but friendly. When in fact it was the starting of the domino effect that Rose caused when he ripped Raihan away from Ash’s side.

“How many know Raihan.” This time Oleana stepped in, moving gracefully in her red silk dress to stand next to Rose. Like the dutiful assistant that she is. Raihan smile wilted a little before coming back at full force.

“Almost everyone.” Was his response before he felt a different, much larger, hand drop onto his shoulder. Raihan winced internally when he saw Rose and Oleana blanch slightly in fear.

“Good evening,” Council member Koke rumbled next to Raihans left side, “I hope I’m not interrupting something.” The man standing at an even seven feet tall towered over Raihan with a few inches.

Council member Koke was one of the tallest on the Council over all, only head Council Ace and Yvette were taller. He was quite frankly terrifying at full hight, and Raihan was damn lucky that ferocious smile full of sharp teeth wasn’t aimed at him. Raihan had enough the first time Koke and Gia, his husband, hand threaten Raihan when Ash asked him to come to dinner with the couple.

Before Rose or Oleana could get their bearings back, Raihan smiles up at the man. “Oh not at all!” He stated, backing up a little as the hand on his shoulder fell down and back to the Councilman’s side. “In fact, I was just about to leave.” And just like that, Raihan was already down the stairs and into the ever moving throngs of people.

It wasn’t hard to leave Rose behind, the man deserves every bit of vicious anger the Council gives him. But right now Ash needs him, and it wasn’t hard for him to find his precious Applin. Having his height is a blessing and a curse.

Spotting Ash and the old man, Raihan easily slipped through groups of people before coming to stand a little bit away from the pair. Noting that Ash’s shoulders were tense and his muscles would spasm a little when the man would reach and graze his fingers on any part of Ash.

Raihan almost saw red when the rich man cupped Ash’s cheek, thankfully his boyfriend jerked out of the grip with a slight sneer on his lips. The dragon tamer chose that moment to step in.

“Ash!” Raihan gasped, coming over and sliding one of his arms around the smallers waist. “I’ve been looking all over for you my love.” He Ben this head to carefully nuzzle the black fluff of Ash’s hair that pushed out above the flower crown the shorter trainer had chosen to wear that night instead of his actual metal crown.

The rich man sneered at Raihan, “I don’t think we’ve ever met,” the old man raised a hand up for a handshake. Raihan smile sharper as he gripped the hand hard, giving it a firm shake before dropping it. The man grunted a little, his skin on the hand turned a little pink and Raihan could feel Ash pinching at his back.

“Im sorry to be so rude,” Ash’s voice was so sweet and polite, though the taller trainer knew the other wouldn’t like anything more than to hit the man over the head with a bat, “but it seems my boyfriend needs to tell me something.”

Oh, Raihan and Ash are going to do something that more than talking. But only once they fucking leave this stupid ballroom. “What G-men are guarding the doors?” Raihan bent down to whisper in Ash’s ear, feeling the tension in Ash’s shoulders easing with every step he lead them away from the mass of people.

“Every door like normal,” Ash hummed, eyes darting around before spotting a smaller door near the back where less people were gathered, “Cynthia and Malva have are backs, so we’re fine if we go missing for a few hours.” The lights above them made Ash’s eyes almost turn golden. The shorter trainer looked up at his love through his lashes. batting them prettily before lightly biting at his lips, the multiple tips of Ash’s pearly white fangs was a beautiful contrast to his red lips.

It took all of Raihans strength not to bend down and kiss Ash silly right in front of everyone right then and there. Arceus! The Gods are going to kill him one of these days because of how sexy and gorgeous Ash is. 

“Oh?” One of Raihans eyebrows raised up, “just ‘a few hours’?” He leaned down when they got to the back wall. All the while making sure he blocked Ash from any prying eyes.

“Baby boy,” Raihan growled, his lips ghosting across Ash’s lips with a small smirk when he felt Ash’s breath stutter and the other leaning up on his tip toes to chase of Raihans mouth, “I’m not going to be done with you after a ‘few hours’.”

Ash whined quietly and pitiful, one hand coming up to clench at one of Raihans lapels as the other dropped down to press against his own crotch. “Rai,” Ash’s needy gasp was like heaven to the others ears, “Raihan, please.” Raihans sweet, sweet Applin groaned quietly into the taller’s ears.

Smirking in victory at just how much he already got Ash worked up. Raihan curled an arm back around Ash’s waist before leading him to the small door and out into a secret hallway.

And if Raihan turned back enough to send a wink at mod of the Council on the second floor, then that was for him to know only.