#how well he grows a beard is unfair to other men

[andy-clutterbuck]

AMC Networks' Upfront | April 18, 2023

[forthehpfanboys]

Three is a Crowd

Pair: Remus Lupin x Reader x Sirius Black; he/him.

Summary: Sirius, you and Remus weren't scared to hide your relationship, but when it came to more.. Private matters, they obviously preferred keeping it personal. Plus, who doesn't love teasing Remus?

Warnings: SMUT (MDI), dirty talk, poly relationship, Wolfstar (but is that even a warning?), hair pulling, short mention of daddy. use of a collar at the end. If I missed any, please dm me.

Notes: Me, knowing damn well I have a busy life, but takes every request I get because I can’t say no. Oh, and the gif by me using other people's gifs- Might make a part two. Top Remus tho. 

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

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It wasn’t hard to catch the boy's attention. James and Lily loved to joke that they were wrapped around your finger, which they were. All you had to do was sway your hips a little bit or bend over right or just lick your lips innocently. They really were, they weren't afraid to admit it and of course you used it to your advantage, but you still love them. That always came first.

 Sirius and Remus had fallen head over heels for you during their time during Hogwarts. Both could pinpoint it exactly. The two men were already an item when you showed up at the school- a transfer student. You were introduced to them by Lily, something about you being a distant cousin of hers and you quickly became a new founded Marauder. 

Remus fell for you first. It was around the time they were all studying to become animagus and he discovered you were bloody brilliant! After months of struggling with the stupid ritual, you were the final piece they needed to figure it all out. And you didn’t judge him over something he couldn’t control, so that was a bonus to him, of course. But how could you judge him for his lycanthropy? Almost everyone in the wizarding world hated him for this one simple thing, 

Meanwhile, Sirius’ was a lot more simple. He noticed you by your slick comebacks. Like holy Merlin’s beard- Sirius was convinced your words could cause someone to physically combust. He’d never seen that happen, but he has seen you make 8th years cry. He’s also a hundred percent certain you have a thesaurus lying under your pillow. He didn’t know the word ‘imbecile’ had so many synonyms. And you helped him help his best friend so of course he fell in love with you.

So, when you fell for them, a natural love for being between both boys formed. This random craving would kick in whenever you were around the two of them. Whether it was you three walking to the next class or sitting in the Gryffindor common room, you just had to be between them. It was quite literally your favorite place on this planet. But there were rules- of course there were.  

One of the main rules was no teasing in front of friends. Believe it or not, James had a limit on how much sexual tension he could sit through in one lunch period, so he enforced the rule, which was.. Unusual to say the least. Usually Remus created the rules to keep you and Sirius in check. He had a switch and a sub under his belt and it could be a struggle, especially when they were bratty and they’d team up against him.

Which is exactly what you two had been doing all day; harassing poor Moony despite whoever was near. During potions, Sirius had palmed Remus while you playfully whispered in the werewolf’s ear, calling him daddy and asking for help with your most innocent voice. Watching your boyfriend squirm and slap Sirius’ hand away was genuinely humorous. It became down right funny when he threatened to punish both of you by not talking to you, but you both knew he’d do more than that. Knowing Remus would drag you both by your ties to the dorm room and straight up ruin you two, you both eased off him, letting him continue his notes in peace, but once potions were over, the teasing immediately continued.

Soon enough, classes were over and the three of you were walking back to the dorms. It was easy to see Remus was sick of your shit, so while he led you to his prefect room, you and Sirius were looking at each other. Sirius shrugged, looking as laid back as he felt, but you were a tad more nervous. Sometimes Remus could be downright mean. 

“You two are insufferable!” Remus hollered, his hand rubbing his temple as he shoved open his door. “I know you love my reactions, guys, but seriously? Was grabbing my ass over my robe necessary?” He had his arms crossed over his chest and turned around to glare at you and Sirius. 

“You know it was, baby.” Sirius winked while shutting the door behind him. He walked around you, dragging a hand across your lower back before diving onto Remus’  bed. He laid on his back, spreading his legs and placing his hands behind his head. Your eyes shamelessly dragged across the sliver of pelvic bone peaking out under his white collared shirt.

“I thought it was a bit much.” You shrugged, looking over to Moony’s glowing eyes. A smirk grew across your lips when he pointed at you, his eyes narrowing at you.

“Being a kiss ass does not mean you’re free, mister. You’re in just as much trouble as that one.” His point moved to the man laying on the bed, who clearly couldn’t care less. He ran a hand through his hair and plopped down onto the edge of the bed. He even smacked Sirius’ hand away when it gripped his hip. “Down, boy.”

“Ouchies! My pride.” Sirius mocked your voice and rubbed his hand, a chuckle leaving his lips. He couldn’t help but lick his lips. His dark eyes flicked over to you, his smirk growing as he nodded his head in the direction of Remus’ back.

“Good. I’m mad at you.” The werewolf ducked his head down before running a hand through his hair, making the curly locks messier than usual. He beckoned you over with two curling fingers and waited patiently for you to stand in front of him. Once you were in arms reach, he cupped both of your cheeks in each hand and smiled at you, bringing your face closer to his. “What am I going to do with you?” He whispered, his breath fanning over your lips. 

“I’m not sure, but I know Sirius technically did more damage than I did. I’m your bestest boy.” You grinned, grabbing his wrists and kissing a palm. Your grin turned into a side smirk when Sirius let out a weak ‘hey!’ behind your brunette boyfriend. 

Suddenly, Remus’ arms were twisting around your waist and he was falling backwards onto the bed, taking you down with him. You let out a yelp while colliding with your soft boyfriend's chest.

“I think I know what I’m going to do with you.” Remus’ head was resting on Sirius’ tummy, allowing the animagus to run his fingers through soft hazel nut locks, which Remus easily ignored. Meanwhile, Lupin was cheekily slipping his hand under your shirt. His calloused palms glided across your skin, rubbing your hip gently before moving up to your belly. “I’m going to ignore the little bastard behind me and I’m going to focus on you, pretty boy.”

“Hey! (Y/n) messed with you too, Rem! You’re being unfair!” Sirius sat up a little, bracing his body weight on his elbows as he glared down at his freckle covered partner. His jaw dropped when Remus flicked his nose before skillfully tugging your shirt over your head. “Un-fuckin’-believable.” Sirius grumbled, laying back on the bed and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Your smart mouth is why I’m ignoring you.” Remus spoke nonchalantly, one hand slipped into your back pocket, gave your butt a tight squeeze, while the other steadily began climbing toward your chest. His hand in your pocket held your hips down while his hips grinded up into yours. His eyes darkened at the needy whine that left your lips when his rough thumb pad ran over one of your nipple.

See, Remus always enjoyed seeing you react to him. He could write down all of it. He could fill enough books with his favorite things about you to cause an empty Hogwarts library to overflow. How your eyes would roll back into your skull, how your jaw would go slack with need and how your breath catches in the middle of your throat, leaving you breathless, how you’d moan his name. He loved wrecking you, utterly destroying you.

His scar covered hand moved up to your hip, getting a steadier grip so he could really raise his hips and roll them against yours. The hand on his chest delicately rolled a nipple between the thumb and forefinger. He thought you were a piece of art, painted just for him. Your heart was pounding in your ears. Remus was quickly becoming the only coherent thought in your head. You could smell his perfume and it was only fogging up your head worse than his touch. You let out a moan, your eyelids drooping a tad.

"You like that, baby?" he whispered into your open mouth, kissing the corner before sliding his lips down to the corner of your jaw. He licked a fat, flat line across the point, running up to your earlobe before sucking on it. 

The werewolf grinded up into you harder, a growl emitting from his throat that would scare even the toughest of creatures. He let out a loud, breathy loan when you nodded and copied his hip movements. 

"Of course you do. You're not a brat or a whiney bitch- you're perfect." 

Suddenly, Sirius was sitting up and Remus was going silent, almost frozen in his place. Both were listening quite intently over your heavy breathing when loud, stomping footprints made themselves known. Sirius watched in amusement while Remus threw you on to the empty bed space next to him and magicked a blanket over the both of you.

James was pushing open the door about as loudly and hazardously as his footsteps. The door bounced off the wall and collided with his still outstretched arm. You sat up, slowly coming back from the pleasure filled bliss, and slowly becoming more and more pissed you just got cock-blocked by one of your more oblivious friends.

“James, sorry, mate, we’re in the mi-” Sirius was rudely cut off by the messy haired idiot. Spit flew from James’ mouth as he spoke aggressively, his hand waving around as he spoke.

"Can you believe him?!" the Seeker hollered, acting as if his friends, best friends knew immediately what he was talking about. He strode into the middle of the room, pacing in front of the polygamous couple, clearly pissed. It didn't take long for Peter to follow in after, either. 

"No, Prongs, you're not exactly telling us anything." Remus spoke up, acting as if he totally wasn't just grinding against you. He was good at keeping his voice level and that it had you confused. 

"Little Sour Grape Snape thinks he can try to push that whole fiasco on me like I meant for it to happen?" James yelled out again, almost completely ignoring Remus. Peter sat on the bed across from the trio, his eyes glued to James as he paced. You looked at Sirius, who turned to you, and shrugged, scooting to sit right next to Remus.  

"Wanna share what's goin' on, Pete?" Sirius asked, finally scooting to be face to face with the soft boy, and sitting on the other side of Remus. His hand landed on Remus' thigh, gently rubbing over the blanket.

The chubby boy played with his fingers, his mouth opening quickly to tell the tale of Snape and his stupid complaining and blood status shit. However, Remus, nor you, could focus because Sirius’ hand was moving under the blanket and going straight between Remus’ legs. 

The sun was setting behind the vast forest, effectively blocking natural light, leaving the room slightly colder and darker than before. Sirius knew it was hard to see what was going on under the blanket, so all carefulness got thrown out the window. 

Sirius' hand slid between Remus' thighs, using a hand to hide his smirk. He nodded his head along, as if he was really listening and invested in the story. You turned to Sirius, following his arm and the lump under the blanket and got the idea- and it only became reinforced when Sirius gave you a dramatic wink.

Your own hand slid under the blanket, landing on your werewolf boyfriend's knee, you thumb caressing it gently. Your hand didn’t stay there long. You began to move it up, moving slowly, just inch by inch, stopping suddenly when Remus’ hand clamped around your wrist.

“Boys, stop it.” Remus growled out, but it seemed more directed to Sirius. You were worried for a second that James or Peter heard, but when they kept going on and on, delving deeper and deeper into the story, you realized they were absolutely clueless. You decided to test the waters, slowly running your hand down and then back up, a tad higher, but Moony left his hand on your wrist.

“I said, cut it out. Now.” The brunette’s voice was deep enough to cause a shudder to go down your spine and it went straight to your dick. You jumped when his hand landed on your thigh, giving you a warning squeeze that you once again ignored and moved your hand closer to the inside of his thigh. 

You felt fingers run over yours at the top of his thigh and suddenly Remus’ thigh muscles were tightening. Padfoot had run his fingers over his hard-on. You knew you were both pushing it, but you kept going. You heard the brunette groan into his hand, his eyelids fluttering for a second before his gaze hardened and he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. You could hear the low growl emitting from this throat.

So while James and Peter told their elaborate and stupidly long story, you both teased your partner, enjoying how he tried to sit still and refused to even look at you two. Remus’ jaw was pulled tight, his eyes darker than the night, and his lips drawn into a thin line. Eventually, it came to an end, and the two left, James complaining loudly that no one cared like he did and suddenly the blanket was thrown across the room.

Remus stood up, giving you a glare that you couldn’t help but find hot as hell. You always loved riling him up, but you also loved managing to wiggle out of punishments. Sirius always bitched about you getting away nearly scot free, but you’d just blow raspberries at him. It was funny, honestly, not that you were laughing now. It was clear both of you took it too far.

“You two are in a whole heap of fucking trouble. I can not believe you today, especially you. You’re such a bad influence on my baby.” Remus pointed at Sirius, his brows drawn tight together in pure anger. His eyes were lit up like with fire and the veins on his neck were protruding from underneath the skin in the sexiest way. The simple feature had you clenching your thighs, hoping to release some tension or get a touch or something.

“Our baby. Besides, you’re overreacting Rem.” Sirius shrugged, leaning back on his hands. He blew a stand of hair out of his face, acting like everything was fine and dandy while his boyfriend had steam blowing out of his ears.

His simple sentence caused the brunette’s eye to twitch and you knew he had dug himself a bigger whole. You put your hands in your lap like a good boy and sat, watching the two argue, knowing it was going to be a very long night.

“Oh. I’m overreacting, huh? Do you wanna say that again?” His tone was so flat, almost like he was talking to an idiotic teenager who did exactly what he was told not to do, the messy haired animagus was sitting up quickly, realizing he fucked up- again.

“No, no. That’s not what I meant, baby, you’re getting my words twisted. I meant it’s my fault and that you might be getting a tad carried away. Please don’t be mad at me.” Sirius put on his most dazzling smile and softest voice. He was trying to do what you did so well and wiggle his way out of punishments. “Have I ever mentioned how hot you look when you're mad?”

It was funny, really, how Sirius was saying exactly what you were thinking.

“No, dove, I’m not mad at you.” Remus threaded his hand slowly through Sirius' wavy hair, a small, sweet smile spread across his cheeks. Sirius let out a sigh, a huge grin matching his boyfriends, his eyes sparkling with pure joy in the dim light.

"I'm glad you're so understanding, honey bunches. I love you so, so, so much." Sirius spoke, leaning forward, lips puckered to plant a kiss to the brunettes. You really thought he had known Moony better. Moony very, very rarely let either of you off the hook for something like this. 

However, Remus didn't let him move very far. His fingers latched onto the hair at the top of Sirius' head and ripped it back, causing his neck to bend backward and a whorish moan escaped his lips. Siri’s hands shot up to grip the one tugging his head back and he had to strain his eyes to look at his Moony.

"I’m fucking livid, Sirius. You're such a slut. Surely you know me better than that. Have I ever let you get away with behavior like that?” Remus waited for an answer. He wasn’t very patient though, because soon, he was pulling on the long locks again. “Well?”

“No.” Sirius groaned out. He seemed grumpy he couldn’t cute his way out of this like he was sure you could. You figured you could probably avoid the punishment by sneaking out, knowing Remus wouldn’t send a search party after you. And if you made a good enough excuse, he’d let you go with a harsh spanking and the promise of no orgasms for the day, which didn’t seem too terrible.

“Do I have to treat you like a slut?" his lips pressed against a pulse point but didn't place a single kiss to Sirius' lips. "Maybe I should put a muzzle on your filthy mouth and tie you up. Put you in the closet while I fuck our dearest silly, hmm?"

Remus pulled away, this time tugging Sirius' eyes level with his. The werewolf let out a snicker, enjoying the way tears of pain had gathered in his boyfriends eyeline.

"I should teach you who's in charge. What do you say pumpkin?" Remus turned to the spot where you were seated and noticed it was empty. "Pumpkin?" He turned around and saw you trying to sneak out of the dorms door.

He reached into his pocket, tsking all the while casting a spell that caused a collar to appear around your neck with a pop. You let out a squeak, your heads going to the new leather.

"Do I have to put both of you in your place?” Remus pushed Sirius away and walked swiftly over to you, grabbing the d ring on the front of your collar. He gave it a tug, effectively keeping your eyes on his. “You’re not being my good boy, are you?”

“No..” Unlike Sirius, you answered quickly. You looked up at Remus, eyes wide, owlish and feigning innocence. “But I-”

“Quiet. You’re usually so good for me, darling. I bet you picked up the disrespect from our boyfriend, didn’t you? I’m gonna have to fuck the attitude out of you.” He tugged on the d-ring, dragging you with him as he walked back over to the bed. “Sirius, against the headboard.”

Without hesitation, the niorette shuffled toward the headboard, resting his back against it. He learned quickly to keep his mouth shut. With the new space made, Remus pushed you forward and laughed when your hands came out in front of you to catch your fall, but slipped on the silk bedspread. Your chest collided with the plush mattress, a pained cry leaving your lips when your knees collided with the wooden floor.

“Owie, Rem!” You turned to look back at him, but he grabbed your hair and forced your cheek against the mattress. You looked back at him, your cheeks turning pink with embarrassment and you tried to pout your way out of this, like usual.

“Shut up, bunny. Daddy’s not going easy on you this time, so be a good boy and take what I fucking give you.”

[professional-benaddict]

Opposites Attract - part ll

CEO Tony, Mafia boss Peter, Mafia Beck, Mafia Steve, Mafia Bucky, Pepper is good as always, blackmailing, threats, guns

part l

Tag list: @lilcoffeecup @carelessannie @starkeristheendgame @yasha1215 @the-mad-starker @bluestarker @snowstark @sinditia @just-a-good-name @just-things-things @callmebill @skystar87 @justslightlycrazy @sarcastich @sydneyshipsstuff @lokitonypeter @thequeenoffish

“You’re not the party type.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re not the party type. It’s not like you to throw a party all of a sudden.”

“I felt like it.” I was blackmailed, Tony thought to himself, swallowing thickly.

The man was wearing the tuxedo as instructed, but he had not had the time nor the mental capacity to prepare an excuse if anyone questioned his behaviour or well being tonight. He was nothing but adrenalin and fear, and trembling like a leaf in the wind. Or so he felt.

“Is everyone here?”

“Most are here, I think. I’ll check.” Pepper said, unlocking her iPad. Her perfectly manicured fingers danced over the screen. “The Simmersons are here, Hart, Dickens and his plus one. All of our people, and then- Hm… The Stephens brothers did not show. Nor did Samantha and her wife.”

The hall was buzzing. Usually, Tony hated parties, and especially his own. He would much rather have more intimate meetings with a handful of people than mingle meaninglessly with a hundred people, pretending to care about their lives only to never see them again. This sort of setting did not match his idea of a productive meeting between people. It challenged his own perception of himself as a trustworthy and honest man who people came to for help.

Then again, he had good reason to hate this party. He was blackmailed to host it, and no one else knew.

The letter had stated that they, whoever they were, would come and find him. Tony knew the Mr Beck he had met was involved in this, he was sure of it. But, the letter was not signed, nor did it have a return address. There was no connection between Mr Beck and the threatening letter that Tony could bring to the police for aid. The men in blue would dismiss it without a care. CEO received a threatening letter, and so what? The sun shines and water is wet.

“Any other hiccups so far?” Tony asked, his gaze fixed on the well-dressed crowd in front of him.

“Catering is on schedule, and there is enough drinks. Security has not mentioned anything so far, but… Kathy came to me earlier-“

“Kathy?”

“She’s in charge of the waiters tonight. She said that one of her waiters got sick, but she got a friend of hers to fill in. I don’t remember the name, but she said it’s a guy. He has experience as a waiter, so I think we will be all right. And then…”

Pepper’s voice faded from Tony’s mind. It sounded like she was going far, far away, until he could not hear her at all. In the crowd, Tony zoned in on one man in line outside. That beard, the bright and clear eyes… Mr Beck.

“… We’ll be about 150 all together, and- hey, Tony?”

Tony shoved his way through the crowd as politely as he could, apologising and shooting forced smiles at his guests. He made it just in time before the security guard was going to let Mr Beck in. From experience, Tony knows that invitation checks are rare, and not exactly bulletproof when it comes to stopping uninvited guests at private events. But, this he was sure of. He had not invited Mr Beck, since he had no address to send it to. Tony had hosted his party, as was demanded in the letter, but there was no demand about letting certain people into his party.

Tony felt clever, brilliant even, as he put up his hand to stop Mr Beck from entering.

“Mr Stark-“ The security guard said, a little startled and confused. Mr Beck looked the same.

“I’m here for the party.” Mr Beck said, a half grin tugging on his lips. Tony wanted nothing more than to punch him.

“Check his invitation, Gary.” Tony said to the guard, his eyes fixed on Mr Beck.

“Your invitation, sir.” Gary requested politely. Tony wanted to grin at the look on Mr Beck’s face. Say it, say it.

“I don’t have one.”

“Then, I’m afraid I cannot let you in. This is Mr Stark’s private event.” Gary informed, gesturing for Beck to step aside so that he could let in other guests.

Tony definitely noticed the foul look Mr Beck gave him when he stepped out of the line and headed down the stress. Nothing made him happier.

“Is everything all right, Mr Stark?” Gary asked.

“Everything is fabulous, Gary! It’s a party!”

Tony felt like he was walking on clouds as he returned to his party crowd. He had successfully turned Beck away without causing a fuss, and fulfilling the demands in the letter. He was spotless, no one could pin him down for anything. This time, Tony’s smiles and chatter with his guests was genuine. Perhaps he could grow to like parties, even if they are his own. He is quite the brilliant host.

“Champagne?”

Perfect timing.

“Yes, thank you.” Tony replied, taking a glass for the tray. He did a double take on the waiter before sipping the bubbly drink. “I don’t remember seeing you here before. Do you happen to be the one filling in today?”

“Yes.” The waiter answered. “I’m filling in for Susan.”

“Kathy mentioned it.”

“You’re Mr Stark.”

“Now this is unfair.” Tony groaned playfully. The champagne was going directly to his brain along with the high of his clever trick with Beck. Besides, the waiter was pretty. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

The waiter smiled, and Tony was drawn to his lips which were stretching over his teeth.

“It’s Peter.”

“Peter, and where have you worked before? Kathy said-“

Something hard hitting Tony’s back made him pause in his flirting with the waiter. At a party, it is inevitable for people to bump into each other, feet clashing and elbows flying. But, Tony wished this was an elbow instead.

Without looking behind him, Tony was painfully aware of the man stood behind him. And he was pointing a gun into Tony’s back. The glee and happiness evaporated in an instant, and that icy cold fear came rushing back into Tony’s limbs, leaving him paralysed.

“Quite the stunt you pulled off there, sending Beck away. You thought you were clever, huh? Mr Stark?” The waiter cooed mockingly. Tony did not know what to do, only gape like a stupid looking fish thrown onto land.

“How did you get in here?” Tony asked, trying his hardest to keep his tone steady.

Two ladies came over to Peter for two glasses of champagne, so he only replied once they were out of earshot.

“I came in to fill for Susan, I told you.” Peter answered, acting coy. He was enjoying this far too much, Tony thought.

“And this one?” Tony asked, flickering his gaze to gesture at the man behind him. Another one appeared at his other side as well.

“Oh, Dick and Harold Stephens were kind enough to give their invitations to Stevie and Bucky. I promise you, they are having a fun evening at home.”

Tony did not trust that in the slightest.

“What did you do to them? And Susan?”

Peter did not answer, only smiled again like before. However, this time it made Tony’s stomach turn.

“Shall we go somewhere and talk, Mr Stark? It’s too crowded down here.”

[asweetprologue]

Geralt decides to retire to Toussaint. He takes Jaskier with him.

Words: 4360, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Retirement, Getting Together, Domestic, Fluff

I promise I’m still writing stuff!! this is a soft little one shot I wrote a while ago and just cleaned up. read on tumblr below the cut!

In the end, it’s the weariness that does him in.

Once when they were both younger men, Jaskier had asked him about retirement for witchers. If they retreated to Kaer Morhen in their old age to train the new pups, or if they settled down across the Continent, or gave up the hunt to have families of their own. Geralt had snorted. “We don’t retire,” he’d said, mixing potion ingredients by the light of their camp fire. Jaskier had looked at him with wide, curious eyes. “We get old, and slow, and something kills us. We don’t - buy seaside cottages, or whatever.”

Jaskier had hummed at that, a mournful note that seemed to resonate in the air. It was unfair, Geralt had thought, that his friend managed to convey so much in such a sound while the witcher always managed to say so little. “Seems a bit unfair,” Jaskier added.

Geralt had blown out an amused breath, not quite a laugh. “That’s life, bard.”

But now, three decades and countless battles older, he just felt tired. Jaskier no longer traveled with him as frequently, and the Path was a lonely place. He and his brothers no longer met at Kaer Morhen to winter, not once Vesemir had passed. They would stop occasionally to meet up on the road, but never for too long. Even Ciri was going her own way nowadays, though he saw her the most frequently. As the years wore on, Geralt found himself visiting Oxenfurt more and more often. Itching for companionship, for a cease in the ever grinding motion of the Path. The routine that had once been a comfort was now grating.

Maybe it was time to take a break.

It was with this mentality that he turned to Jaskier on the last day of his stay in Oxenfurt and said, “Come to Toussaint with me.”

Jaskier blinked at him owlishly, the expression making him look ten years younger. These days his hair was streaked with gray at the temples, and when he chose to grow out a beard it was as silver as Geralt’s. “What’s so important in Toussaint?” he asked. They were seated at a table in the rooms Jaskier had been provided, for accepting a temporary lecturing position. The term had ended a few weeks ago, hence Geralt’s visit. Jaskier shuffled his gwent deck as he spoke, the cards weaving together like a cascade. Geralt found himself watching the bard’s slim fingers dance through the motions with an old fascination.

“I have an estate there,” he replied, pulling his gaze from the cards. He meant to look Jaskier in the eye, but a brief moment of contact with the bright cerulean had him turning his head, his heartbeat growing ever so slightly faster. It was too hard to ask this if he could see Jaskier’s face. Instead, he looked out the small window, overlooking the red tiled roofs of Oxenfurt. The city was painted a rich gold in the light of the evening sun, reflected warmly off of the river beyond the docks.

Jaskier spluttered across the table. “You have an estate? Since when?”

Geralt felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. “It was payment for a job,” he said. “There’s a vineyard, gardens. I can send word ahead for them to start renovations on the guest bedroom. Come with me,” he said again, softly. He wasn’t above begging, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Jaskier looked at him with a confused but affectionate look spread across his fine features, and said, “Okay.”

~

Geralt sent a letter ahead to warn the staff of their plans to summer at the estate, and they began their journey to the Duchy.

It was a long journey, but not an arduous one. For once, Geralt allowed them to stick to the main roads, and at this time of year even Velen was bearable. The sweeping fields spread out around them in swaths of green and gold, punctuated here and there by defiant patches of wildflowers. Jaskier wasn’t as quick as he used to be following Geralt on the Path, but they weren’t on the Path anymore. They purchased a second horse and rode side by side at a leisurely pace. When the day grew hot, they would post up in a convenient spot of shade and let the horses graze, lunching on sun warmed bread and sweetmeats. Jaskier rambled the hours away with stories of his students and old antics at Oxenfurt, and Geralt responded with his own tales of hunts and growing up in the keep with his brothers. It was good to have another voice on the road again after months of traveling alone. It was good that it was Jaskier. Geralt had missed him. Once he wouldn’t have been able to admit it, even to himself, but it seemed silly now to hide it. A wall put up against someone who had been inside for years.

They slept beneath the stars and in cramped inns, sharing small spaces like they had for decades. It was different, Geralt thought. Something had released in his shoulders when Jaskier had agreed to come with him. They weren’t in a rush - there were no contracts to fill, no galas to play at. Jaskier’s purse was heavy from his time spent lecturing, and Geralt was able to pick up a few simple contracts as they went. Easy jobs that would put some extra coin in his pocket and lift the tension from the shoulders of the locals. But for the most part it was just the two of them, drinking sweet summer mead and browsing morning markets, getting accustomed to each other’s presence again.

Sitting across the fire from him one night as they camped, Jaskier said, “You’re different, you know.”

Geralt lifted his head from where he’d been skinning the pheasants for supper. “Hmm?”

Jaskier smiled, his eyes soft. “Well, maybe not that different.” At Geralt’s odd look, he went on. “You told me once that witchers never change. That they’re set in their ways. I think you were talking about something like your potions routine when you said it at the time, but I thought it applied to the whole of the witcher experience.”

Geralt hummed again. “It’s true. We age slowly. Get set in our habits.”

“But you changed,” Jaskier said. “I’ve seen it. After Ciri, and now, since we’ve left Oxenfurt. You’re different.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. They’d never been on the road together like this, just the two of them as companions. Before Geralt had been focused on the Path, and Jaskier had been cataloguing his deeds as if he were some kind of hero of legend. He knew Jaskier admired Geralt’s drive, his ability to push on towards the next contract. Maybe the bard would think less of him, knowing that he was content to leave the Path behind for so long. “I’m still me,” he said aloud.

Jaskier gave him another smile, warm and honeyed. “I know it’s you, daft man,” he said. “It’s good. To see you… put down the torch for a bit.”

Geralt wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just gave an agreeable rumble in his chest. And then, because he’d spent so long learning how to use his words around his daughter, he said, “I’m glad you’re here, Jaskier.”

A brief moment of surprise passed over Jaskier’s features, his eyes widening. Though Geralt had become better at voicing his affections over the years, he knew that the bard was always taken aback by the behavior. After a second Jaskier’s smile became a grin, and Geralt felt something in him relax even further. “I’m glad to be here, my friend. You know I can’t resist an adventure.”

~

They arrived in Toussaint quickly after that, both eager to end their days on the road. The countryside spread out around them slowly transformed from the muted colors of the north into the vibrant greens, purples and reds of the vineyards and forests. Geralt always forgot how stunning the Duchy was, with its colorful houses and flashy clothes. For once Jaskier fit in with the crowd flawlessly; it would take more than a bright doublet to stand out in Toussaint. Geralt had always liked it here. The peasants tended to be less prejudiced against non-humans, witchers included, and the knights he’d met always treated him as a brother in arms rather than pest control. The winters were mild and the summers sweet, and the wines were rich even if they were impossible for him to pronounce at times.

Of course Jaskier proved to be fluent in the local language - “What do you think the Seven Liberal Arts even entail, Geralt?” - which was helpful when they passed through smaller villages. Those away from the common crossroads or larger settlements tended to have fewer people who spoke the common northern tongue. They made their way to Geralt’s estate through a series of inns, barns and guest bedrooms as Jaskier relentlessly charmed the locals in grandiose displays of hospitality.

As they approached the estate, Geralt pulled Roach to a stop at the top of a hill. “This is it,” he said, nodding to indicate the view.

Jaskier gaped, craning to look out over the small collection of buildings and the dozens and dozens of grapevines that were nestled in the valley below. Geralt could see several workers out tending to the fields; his majordomo must have been overseeing things as agreed upon. They would have to get to know the rest of the staff while they were here. “This is all yours?” Jaskier asked, snapping Geralt’s attention back to the present.

“The house, most of the fields. I’ve not paid all that much attention to it before now, honestly. The house needs work. Never had any reason to sink funds into it before now.” He’d sent a fair sum of gold ahead to Barnabas-Basil to get started on renovations, but it likely would have only been enough to make the main complex habitable. Geralt was confident that he could undertake much of the repairs himself, in time. It would be good to have a project.

“It’s expansive. You produce wine here?” Jaskier asked, turning back towards him.

“Yes, but you’ll have to ask the majordomo which ones.”

Jaskier nodded to himself as they continued down the hill, soon approaching the main gate to the small villa. Members of the staff bustled throughout the property, though many stopped to look as the two of them passed by. As they settled their horses near a storage shed, the majordomo approached them, apparently already made aware of their arrival.

“Ah, Master Geralt, I trust that your travels were smooth? Please, come inside - I will have someone come and tend to the horses.” Barnabas-Basil Foulty was a clean shaven, bald man with sharp, almost bird-like features, and the head of the estate in Geralt’s stead. He stood at perfect attention at all times, shoulders back and head held high. A proud man, if not also an extremely polite one. Geralt liked him immensely, because he was good at his job and could keep up in the cups the one time the two had drank together.

“Ah, this must be the famous Barnabas-Basil. Fantastic to finally meet your acquaintance, my good man,” Jaskier said, jumping in to give the majordomo’s hand a firm shake. “Geralt has praised your skills from here to Redania and back.”

Barnabas-Basil inclined his head towards Geralt, though his spine did not stray an inch. “I thank you, sir, for your kind words. Please, allow me to show you the progress that we have made on the main house so you might get settled.”

The domo walked them through the estate, giving Jaskier a brief tour and pointing out new additions to Geralt. He’d not been to the estate in at least two years, but it was clear that the workers were making good use of the space. The small collection of colorful houses down the road had fresh coats of paint, and children played in the courtyard below the main house. A garden flourished in the space between the manor and the vineyard, dominated by root vegetables and herbs.

“If you would like, we can have it cleared out so that you might use it for your own purposes,” Barnabas-Basil said. His face betrayed no feelings on the issue.

Geralt grunted. “No need. The staff can use it as they wish.” He refused to meet Jaskier’s gaze as the bard beamed at him proudly. After decades of friendship Jaskier still seemed to find it a delight anytime Geralt did something he thought was particularly chivalrous. Geralt was not eager for him to meet the knights, with their virtues and heroic deeds.

The house, as he suspected, was functional but only just. “We’ve done what we could in a short amount of time, sir,” Barnabas-Basil said, his tone politely apologetic. “I assure you renovations are far from complete.”

“It’s fantastic,” Jaskier said, already darting off to explore the other rooms. There was a small kitchen, a bedroom, bathroom and an upstairs loft that could be made into a second bedroom. The additional bed wouldn’t arrive for another week or two.

“We can share,” Geralt said without looking at Jaskier, and did not elaborate further. “Show me what else needs done.”

~

They fell quickly into a routine. Geralt spent his days working with the locals on renovations, slowly breathing vitality back into the old manor. When he grew tired of working with lumber, he waded into the vineyards, to help pluck the delicate grapes from their twisting vines. A pair of women admonished him for his sloppy work on the first day and taught him how to gently cut the branches away and check the grapes for ripeness. Jaskier fluctuated between helping out with the building work and composing, though he also made the occasional day trip into the city to perform. In the evening they would retire to the house to eat, drink and chat over games of cards. At night they would curl up in Geralt’s bed, as they had when sharing quarters on the road.

It was a strange new intimacy, to learn what Jaskier was like in his bed. They had shared bedrolls many times over the years, but never with any consistency. When the nights were too cold or the inn too full, they would sigh and grumble and agree to share a space for the night, as a matter of convenience. But as soon as they had the coin or the resources to do so, they would always put distance between themselves again. Geralt supposed it had been a kind of self preservation instinct, but he now found little threat in the warmth of Jaskier next to him at night. He learned that some days Jaskier woke before the sunrise, throwing himself out of bed in a tangle of limbs to scramble for a quill. Other days he slept late, sprawled out across the sheets and dozing until the heat of the day forced him up. Often Geralt woke to the bard curled around him, an arm thrown across his broad chest, nose tucked under the witcher’s jaw. Those times always made something tighten in Geralt’s throat. No one should trust a witcher like Jaskier did, but he was grateful for the bard’s foolishness. Jaskier had always believed that Geralt would keep him safe, even when the witcher had refused to even admit that they were friends. Jaskier deserved better, but it didn’t stop Geralt from turning into his warmth each morning, wishing to reach out.

When the second bed came, Jaskier made no effort to relocate to the guest room. Geralt didn’t bring it up.

It only took a month for him to openly think about it, but when he finally did he was surprised it hadn’t come sooner. He looked up from where he was carving a notch in a new post for one of the fences and saw Jaskier sitting on the steps of the manor, the end of his quill hovering near his lips. His mouth moved around abstract syllables as he reached for the next lyric in a new song. The soft, repetitive notes rose and fell in the still summer air, and Geralt could see a small spot of ink on Jaskier’s cheek where he’d tapped himself with the quill by accident. Later that night, Geralt would point it out and they would both laugh, and Jaskier would play at being angry Geralt hadn’t brought it up sooner, and then Geralt would offer to help him clean up. Jaskier looked up from his place on the stairs and met his eye, feeling the attention on him as he always did. When he saw Geralt looking he smiled, as brightly as if he’d not seen the witcher in months, instead of moments. Geralt’s chest swelled with an unspeakable feeling, thick and heady affection and trust and something else even beyond that, and he thought, Oh, I love him.

~

Geralt suggested a picnic. Jaskier was ecstatic, though he tried to act as if he had to consider the notion.

“Will there be wine?” he asked, eyebrows raised playfully.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, fondly exasperated, “we live on a vineyard.”

So they grabbed some bottles from the storeroom, packed a light cotton blanket and some food leftover from lunch and set off up the nearby hill. It took them about twenty minutes to reach the top, but once they did they were quite near the place they’d first stopped to look over the estate. It was nearing evening, the sun hanging low in the sky and making the shadows of the workers coming in stretch out long across the fields. The two men spread out their things, sitting to watch the landscape move below them as they uncorked one of the bottles.

Geralt let Jaskier chatter away about nothing for a while, letting the sound wash over him as they shared the bread and wine. After a while Jaskier fell quiet, leaving them both to gaze out at the beauty of the land around them. Geralt turned to look at Jaskier. The sweep of his brow, the soft bow of his lips. The smattering of freckles he’d collected from weeks on the road, lying in fields and letting the sun kiss his cheeks. To be jealous of the sun, Geralt thought wryly.

Jaskier turned to meet his gaze, realizing that he was being watched. “What is it?” he asked.

“Why did you come with me?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier chuckled a bit, leaning back on one hand. His shirt was unlaced a ways down the front, leaving his dark chest hair exposed. Geralt wanted to put his nose in the hollow of his throat and just breathe there for a while. “I’m not one to turn down a free holiday, my dear.”

“No,” Geralt said, trying to ignore the way the pet name made his stomach flip. “I mean, why did you always come with me? Everyone… People come and go. But you always came back. Why?”

Jaskier gave him an admonishing look. Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. “You know the answer to that,” he said, and his tone held a warning that the witcher didn’t understand.

“I know you value our friendship,” Geralt replied, “but I could say that of many. It’s not the same.”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, his face full of fondness and exasperation and, strangely, an old sort of grief. “You truly are the most unobservant man in the land. You’ve been far more than a friend to me for many years.”

Geralt felt his heart rate pick up at that, the slow thud speeding up to match Jaskier’s. “You’re saying…” He found himself unable to complete the thought. Even after so many years of trying to do better, it was still impossible to form words past the thundering in his ears. This moment felt delicate, like the wrong phrase might shatter it apart.

“I assumed you knew,” Jaskier said with a shrug. The line of his shoulders was just slightly too tense, his body radiating faux casualness. Anyone else may have been fooled, but Geralt had been watching Jaskier for years. “I would never have let it change anything between us, you must know that. You were always involved with someone else - Yennefer, and then Triss and Shani… I didn’t want to get in the way of that. Something that could make you happy.”

“I thought it would,” Geralt said honestly. His gaze flickered over Jaskier’s impassive face. The bard rarely showed his nerves in his expressions, too much a performer for that. Instead it made its way to his hands, twitching over his thighs and worrying the fabric of the blanket, and his heart, which raced in his chest. “I wanted to be the right person for them. Yen wanted me to be useful. Triss wanted me to be a knight in shining armor. They made me feel like I was better than just a witcher.” Jaskier’s lovely mouth twisted slightly, a note of bitterness in his gaze as he looked out over the vineyards. Geralt hurried on. “But you’re the one who made me feel like being a witcher was already good enough.”

Jaskier turned back to him, blinking in surprise. “Well of course it is,” he said, and naturally the bard had missed the point, honing in on his favorite subject: the reputation of witchers and Geralt’s sense of self worth. “You’re already useful, and noble, and good and kind besides all that. You don’t have to be more than what you are to deserve - fuck, basic human connection and love.” He settled slightly, his gesturing hands falling into his lap once more. “Is that why you left them?”

“The Path always calls,” Geralt said with a shrug. “No one but you ever wanted to follow me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, blushing. Geralt watched the color rise up over his cheek bones with something like fascination, or maybe hunger. “Well, now you know why,” he continued, with obviously false cheer. He gave Geralt a rueful smile. “I promise I won’t make things awkward. I’ve had decades to practice. I mean, it’s been thirty years. If you were going to fall in love with me you probably would have done so already, hmm?”

“You’d think so,” Geralt agreed. “Sorry it took me so long.” And then he leaned into Jaskier’s space and kissed him.

It wasn’t a very good kiss. Barely a kiss at all, really, considering that Jaskier had frozen under him. Geralt pulled back, lifting a hand to run it gently over Jaskier’s side. The bard was absolutely still, his eyes closed tight. There was a small crease between his eyebrows that Geralt wanted to kiss away, but he wasn’t sure if he should. “Sorry,” he said softly.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. It was unfair that a man could have beautiful eyelashes, Geralt mused, but here they were. “You mustn’t toy with me, witcher,” Jaskier croaked. His voice was raw, as if he’d been singing for hours.

Geralt moved his hand to the bard’s face, his thumb following along the line of his jaw and up to trace across his cheekbone. Freckles like stars under his fingers. “I’m not,” he rumbled. “I swear it, Jaskier. I just -” He paused, trying to marshal his thoughts. “You were always there. No matter how shitty the Path was, or how miserable people were to you because of me, or how much I pushed you away. You stayed. You made me feel like I was worth something, and you made other people think that way too. Every day without you on the Path was always misery. I should have realized sooner, but I’m not… good at this. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier’s head dropped forward, his brow resting on Geralt’s collarbone. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you apologize in the span of a minute,” he said, voice thin. “This is a lot to take in. Are you saying that you… that you love me? You, Geralt of Rivia, are in love with me?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, smiling into Jaskier’s hair. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Jaskier pulled away to stare at him. Geralt tried to let his affection through, drinking in Jaskier’s beloved face like he hadn’t allowed himself before. The last rays of the sun played over Jaskier’s hair, turning some of the strands to brilliant amber. His eyes were over bright. Whatever the bard saw in Geralt’s expression must have been enough, because the next moment they were kissing again.

It was, Geralt thought, a miracle that he had ever gone so long without doing so. Now that they’d begun, he never wanted to stop. Jaskier’s lips were warm and soft against his, and when Geralt licked slowly into his mouth he tasted of old wine. They stayed like that for a long time, Geralt holding Jaskier close, decades of tension not so much breaking as releasing like a quiet sigh of relief.

Finally they pulled apart, Geralt nosing at Jaskier’s cheek as he hummed contentment into the bard’s skin. He could feel deft fingers petting through his hair, easily working around the tangles that had formed on the walk up the hill. “I love you,” he said, pressing the words below Jaskier’s ear as if he could speak them into his core that way.

Jaskier shivered once under him. “I love you too,” he said, and Geralt could feel him smiling in the way his jaw moved. He knew Jaskier in his bones. “I’ll follow you wherever you go, you know.”

Geralt pulled back, pushing Jaskier’s fringe back with one hand as he met his eyes. “Maybe I’ll just stop running from you,” he said, smiling. Jaskier grinned back, and neither of them mentioned that his eyes were slightly damp. Geralt pushed himself to his feet and reached down a hand to his bard. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

[mallickshah]

A GATHERING

YEAR 2021 ; MAY 1ST

There was a gathering in a part of the club's faction that not many had ever been to. Behind the tavern that held the name of Yureif, Mallick’s brother, a name that not many knew of either. Mallick’s name had started to make its rounds through the faction though and not just on clubs' lands, but in the entirety of Kadeu. The main reason behind it, at first, had been his new gain of the title of Ace, of course. The manner in which it was obtained, who he had been associated with when it was obtained; the name of The Resistance muddled with the name of the Ace of clubs did not seem to please many, clubs included.

Despite all of that, the new Ace had kept quiet about his whereabouts for two entire weeks. The rumor mill might have enjoyed this absence, this lack of leadership, if it wasn’t for the small things that were also being done while he all but let himself be a simple whisper, or a harsh critic from the mouth of those who wanted this new impostor to reveal his cards. Mallick had learned many things from the man he’d been and the one he now was though, the most important rule he’d himself instilled in his own operations was to move in the shadows.

To many, this title would just be a power trip, something to hold onto while they barked orders and let the rest of the world see how much control they could exerce because of their rank. To many, this title would just be another way to subjugate an already overtaken faction. So Mallick had needed to think about the course of action to take before taking a different path. Because he would certainly not fall into the trap that had led him to fight the last Ace of clubs.

Things needed to be different; many conversations and consulting with his family afterwards had proven this fact correct. It didn’t matter how it was formulated, Mallick had a sense that even his parents had at one time dreamed of an opportunity as such. However, no matter how dire, how urgent it seemed to reveal what he had in his mind, what he knew would be better suited for clubs, without breaking the order of things in which they operated. Or rather, the disorder they thrived in. In order for him to do so, he had to mull, he had to think, to meditate on the matter, to play behind the curtains.

He’d let the rumor mill play its advocate, both for and against him, while Mallick simply let himself use connections he’d never known would find themselves useful for such a thing to tie himself further into this fate. It all brought it down to a statement plastered in clubs' streets, and only in clubs' streets. For one, they were not allowed in other factions, but even if they had been, Mallick would have still excluded all that were not part of this faction.

One sole goal ended up prevailing from the stapling of loose ends and the unifying of alliances needed to be of the same sound mind to better the lives of the people of his faction; their faction. Mallick was not alone in this, he had many other heads he could count, aside from the makeshift council that The Barbarians saw themselves create after the havoc they wrecked on the faction.

They had not been the easiest to reach, or to talk with, or to negotiate with, but Mallick had learned something about himself he’d always feared could rear itself back up. Something that had stayed dormant, and only manifested itself whenever Saiyah could not see him act upon them. Mallick had once been a very domineering young boy, and young man, but by the time he was all but embracing that step in his life, the woman he would never cease to love and adore waltzed in his life and shook the very core of that foundation.

During these two weeks, Mallick had admitted to himself that Saiyah was no longer and would never be again, so it was time for him to reconcile with the man he had been. The one who had been the cause of her death, for the foes that he’d gained along the way not forgetting his old ways. This man could now come at the forefront, and the ire he would instigate would be more than justified. It had once been unfair to try to coerce him out, but it was now the perfect fit for these gloves.

Or for this stand, among the clamoring of the crowd.

The sun was too high for it to be the beginning of May, but maybe this spoke to the urgency of the current situation. Mallick was aware of many things. One, the only reason why so many people were here was because of the allies he’d decided to take with him, his name only would not have been able to draw such a crowd. Two, the crowd was growing restless with the heat, their gaze too focused and their bodies would soon find themselves needing some type of action to relieve themselves of the heat they were enduring. Three, that release when it came to clubs would simply end up in a brawl rather than a quiet disapproving grumblings.

He knew these people, he was one of them. So it made him feel less and less apprehensive as he took his time to exit his brother’s tavern and walk up to the wooden stand. Yureif had taken some pride in his tavern being the place of the gathering, and Devjay had appointed himself as the man one would have to cross first before they could get to him. They were still debating on whether they should label him a right-hand, or a brother in arms. For now, he was simply all but Mallick’s shadow.

Mallick had only ever been a lover of the light, or rather, ever since a certain one slipped in uninvited and brought in even more than he’d ever thought could possibly be found. But he’d picked the black panther as his emblem for a good reason, Mallick had always been a man of the shadows.

It was commanding to see how the moment he stepped into view, the clamoring quieted, and when he rose behind the stand, the crowd took a stance. Mallick had made himself ready for what he knew of these people, his people. If a fight had to break while he was talking, or even before, he’d simply let it unfold and do this at another time.

However, a single line on the posters had advised them to not start a brawl if they wanted to be given anything they wished from the tavern, free of charge. Mallick had shamelessly bribed his way into making sure they behaved, or tried to at the very least. His brother might suffer a few losses for a bit, but it’d quickly come back compensated if this took flight the way Mallick hoped it would.

The heat of the day was now sitting atop his head, his shaved beard was no longer leaving him with a vulnerable feeling. He was long past that sensibility to the sight he was used to showing to his reflection.

Mallick started speaking and hoped to the gods that this would not derail in another civil war.

THE SPEECH (THE ACTIONS & REACTIONS)

I come to you with something we’ve never thought we could have, something none of us probably ever think of now, because we are not used to it being offered; peace. I do not mean peace by giving to others what we have and wishing that they treat us right, or giving up who we are and what we believe in to be the way they wish us to be. I mean peace in being ourselves, peace in giving to the people of this faction something better than the bloodshed they’ve been enduring, generation after generation. We are crumbling! But look at you, you are warriors, fighters, better than soldiers, some of you are the most fearless merchants! We have the power and we have the skills it takes to make us better together. That is where I want you to start, when you think about what can be done for the future.

(The crowd was still attentive, but some were slowly leaving their position, dispersing as Mallick stepped off the stand to walk among them; and as his voice grew louder, some did halt and turn around. Perhaps begrudgingly, perhaps simply to enjoy the spectacle, or who knows, get a pass in to take down this new Ace.)

I come in peace, because I realize I might not be the image of what you would think to be a strong representation of us, but I am not a weak man and no men in clubs are weak. None! WE are what WARRIORS were meant to be and WARRIORS do not fight dishonorably, nor do they kill for the thrill, we kill to feed our families, we FIGHT to show our strength. We can still do that and do it to have BETTER for all of US. Don’t you see it? The other factions do not care about us, they will jibe, they will insult, they will mock us and we let them do it by continuing to act like WE are NOTHING else but the WEAPONS WE CARRY.

(The crowd has not entirely dispersed, some newcomers have found themselves walking forward because of a sudden clamor of a lone man now carrying the hammer of another, Mallick is that lone man. He is all but arm wrapped around the shoulders of the weapon’s owner and somewhere, someone finally does something that shows less disinterest; a scream is heard.)

But first--I wish to say that it almost brought me to a path none wishes to carry. To work in the shadows of a rebellion that might have tainted my reputation for your eyes. But I did it for the union of this faction. Because I was a lost man, and for that, I will never use their name, because they should remain in the shadows, where they belong. WE do not belong in the shadow, we BELONG in a light that has long been shining on others because they casted us their clouds.

When I say WE, I mean all of us. The weak, the poor, the rich, and especially the STRONG.

(It has to come to this; Mallick walking among the crowd and the crowd walking with Mallick. They make rounds, they move with something akin to a trance. Maybe something has been sprayed in the air, maybe it is simply that the heat has finally gotten to them all. The Ace and the people, the ones that are left and the new ones, they might as well just mesh and become one.)

ARE YOU NOT TIRED OF BEING AT THE BOTTOM WHEN YOU ARE THE MIGHTIEST?

(Now the chaos is present; but it is not a chaos of weapons brandished against each other, it is of weapons held up and clinking, the way one would cheer with pints; not the delicate touch of a wine glass. Mallick was yanked somewhere in between; his brother all but wearing a disapproving scowl when all it did was make him laugh heartily. There’s this glee in his eyes that has Devjay letting him go then, there’s something more potent than anything else Mallick has ever felt in his life. It feels alive and like it will consume him, but if it comes to that, then he’ll let it be. The crowd quiets when the silence stretches for longer, without Mallick’s voice, without his words and suddenly as he’s back behind the stand, they all look confusedly for a second. Weapons are held, the tension seems to return. Mallick clears his throat and holds them with a steady gaze. He’s all but one man against a crowd, but there’s an undeniable power and confidence in him that tells them if he has to, he will fight every single one of them if they dared to challenge him. Mallick waits. The silence stretches. Then a grin pulls the corners of his lips.)

Well if you are TIRED, then rest assured that I’ll make sure to remind them they shouldn’t have underestimated you.

(The end might feel anticlimactic for many, but it is also the beginning of one promise being complied with. One promise that put them all right where they are needed, in the Panther’s den. As they gather in the tavern once it is made clear that they can by the owner of the tavern, Mallick follows suit; ready to put on his best suit; and gather all the information he can from the ones who he noticed stayed from the beginning to the end. It is not all the members of the faction that need convincing; it is the ones who could turn out to believe in him and in what he wants to do more than they would in anything else; those are the ones that he needs on his side. Mallick is aware of this and he will not lose this opportunity to build the threat that will lead him where he needs to get. Like his emblem of choice, The Black Panther prowls; stays quiet; strikes when it is ripe to do so.)

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (9/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8]

When she opened the café the following week, Clarke didn't expect the first customer to be Gustus. He walked toward her with a slight hunch in his shoulders, holding a large paper bag in front of him.

"Hello, Clarke."

"Hi, Gustus. How are you?"

"Lexa said you were looking for help in the kitchen. Am I too late?"

Clarke blinked in surprise. "Not at all."

Gustus set the bag on the counter. "I don't have much of an education and I don't know proper baking terms. I haven’t worked for anyone in twenty-five years, but I have made and sold baked goods on my family's apiary since my childhood."

He pulled out several containers. "I've brought honey muffins, blueberry tartlets, and a chocolate-walnut pie. Please, have a taste when you can."

"You're… applying to work here?"

Gustus nodded. "I'd like to help in the kitchen."

It was certainly unorthodox, but they had yet to find anyone and Clarke's mouth had already watered at the smell of the pie.  

"Gustus, are you sure this is what you want? The hours can be long and we can't afford to negotiate on salary for now."

"Money doesn't matter to me. I have my own land and grow my own food."

"What about your apiary?"

"A hobby more than a business these days. The market made me realize how much I miss…" His eyebrows furrowed as he thought of the word.

"People?" Clarke guessed.

He stroked his beard. "But not so much that I would leave the kitchen."

Clarke chuckled. "I see why Lexa likes you."

"She may pretend otherwise, but Lexa enjoys company too. She would not write the way she does if it weren’t the case."

"No, I don't suppose she would."

They both looked toward the entrance when a customer walked in. Gustus moved to the side.

"I won't keep you longer. Thank you for humoring an old beekeeper."

"Wells will have the final word, but he's badgered me to get more of your honey so the odds are definitely in your favor."

Gustus inclined his head gratefully, a heartwarming sight given he was a foot taller than Clarke and quite intimidating at first glance.

"Have a good day, Clarke."

"You too. And thanks for the treats!"

* * *

Clarke walked over to Lexa's table later that afternoon, finding her deep in research on her laptop with her half-eaten croissant on her plate. They hadn't been able to speak much between orders, but Lexa had looked her way at times and Clarke had managed to catch her eyes. Each time made her stomach swoop, but Clarke was determined to be the one to surprise her for once.

She put her hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

"Hi, you."

Lexa turned her head with a slight blush. "Hello."

Clarke sat in front of her, propping her chin on her hand. "Oh I get a hello today. Very formal."

"Is hello formal now?"

"With that tone and those glasses? Yes."

Lexa took off her reading glasses. "Am I being kicked out?"

"Not at all. Stay as long as you want. You can even stay after closing hours."

Lexa's eyes fell to her lips- Clarke's knowing grin. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Mm probably not."

Lexa closed her laptop. "So. Saturday. Doors open at 7pm."

Clarke sat up. "I'm excited. Though Wells has already warned me he'll poison my coffee if I drop any spoilers."

Lexa had offered tickets to Lincoln's play again, though this time she had made it very clear she intended it as a date. Clarke was thrilled to go to the theater after so long, especially since the play was fully booked for a solid six months. Nowhere Ground was a critical darling and word of mouth had worked like a charm.

"I was thinking we could hit Cocoa Street after," Lexa suggested. "Try some of the food trucks?"

"A woman after my heart."

Lexa smiled, her hand inching toward Clarke's on the table. "I figured I'd keep the upscale restaurant for our third date."

"Oh there'll be a third date?"

Lexa looked up from their hands, fingers not quite yet touching. "I would hope so."

"Well I don't know, I'll have to see if you have game."

"I thought you'd gotten a preview already." Lexa's fingers brushed against hers.

Clarke bit her lip. "Not that kind of game."

"What kind, Clarke?" Lexa asked smoothly as her thumb brushed over the back of Clarke's hand.  

Clarke shook her head and sat back, letting go of Lexa's hand. "Nu-uh. I'm not falling for that again."

"What's that?"

"That- look. And your voice. You know what."

Lexa let out a small laugh. "I really don't."

"It's like a switch you have. It drives me crazy. But I'm not falling for it. I see you."

"Alright, I'll just be broody and quiet then." Lexa cleared her throat, amused. "Did Gus stop by today?"

Clarke brightened. "Yes. Speaking of, very sneaky of you. Wells is already raving about the chocolate-walnut pie."

"I'm glad. Gus kept asking me if he should make more. I'd never heard him so nervous."

"I didn't even know he baked."

"Never in a professional setting like this, but I can vouch for his impeccable manners. And his food."

"How did you meet him anyway?"

Lexa picked up the last bite of her croissant. "When I was doing research on the Mountain Men, I found out his property is the closest to the bunker site. A few miles down the mountain but still - I figured he had some information that could help me. I introduced myself; said I wanted to honor their story…"

"And you charmed your way into his life," Clarke guessed in a fond tone.  She still had a few minutes before Gaia started side-eying her for flirting on the clock (not that it was a regular instance, but Lexa did come in often these days…) and then got Harper to ask endless questions to fuel their gossip mill. "I'm glad you did. I think he'd fit right in."

Lexa nodded, giving her a soft smile while they lingered in their last few seconds of privacy.

* * *

When Saturday night finally came, Clarke thought she might burst from the anticipation. Lexa lived close to the theater, so Clarke had suggested she be the one to pick her up before they walked over. She'd settled on her fancier boots, tights and a red dress, ever aware of the increasingly cold nights. She had her coat on but left it open when she finally arrived, fully leaning on the power of her own cleavage tonight. Slow didn't mean she couldn't have her fun.

"Wow. Um. Hi," Lexa breathed out as soon as she opened the door, eyes darting south of Clarke's lips.  

"Now I get a hi," Clarke replied with a grin. She extended the flowers she'd brought on the way. "For you."

"Oh they're beautiful," Lexa said, genuinely surprised. Clarke wondered if she’d ever gotten flowers based on that expression alone. "Thank you," Lexa murmured.

"You're welcome," Clarke hummed. She waited for Lexa to come closer to reach for the sleeve of her shirt. "This is new."

"You don't like it?" Lexa asked.

Clarke almost scoffed. She was fairly certain Lexa knew exactly what she was doing, with her tight slacks and her dark green shirt just a hint sheer enough to see the outline of her bra. Paired with her loose curls and faint perfume, Lexa was already making her dizzy and it was incredibly unfair.

"I didn't say that," Clarke replied, pretending not to notice Lexa was going to kiss her. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Lexa frowned briefly, only to smile a second later as she realized what game Clarke was playing. She'd asked for slow and it seemed like Clarke was taking it to heart. Perhaps a bit too much.

"Please, come in."

While Lexa went to find a vase, Clarke looked around. The apartment was on the small side, but during the day it was most likely brightly lit thanks to the two large windows. The balcony was filled with plants and flowers just as Gaia had once told her, but she hadn't mentioned the various hanging pots throughout the living room. Of course she couldn't have known. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was the first date Lexa had invited here since moving, but the progress in their relationship wasn’t lost on her. She’d never imagined being inside Lexa Woods’ apartment; not even when they’d started their little dance. It had seemed like another world. 

Lexa came back with a vase that she set on the table by the window. "They're lovely," she reiterated.

"If I'd known you were so into plants I would've gotten a succulent or something."

Lexa looked around. "Oh those - the hooks were already there when I got here. Indra said the woman before me used to hang candle lanterns. I think she's relieved this place isn't a fire hazard anymore."

"Gaia said you're her favorite tenant."

Lexa smiled sheepishly, but didn't further comment. She glanced at Clarke's neckline before clearing her throat.

"Are you ready?"

Clarke nodded. "Very."

Lexa stepped closer. "You know… I sort of imagined this going differently."

"Oh?" Clarke asked, rooted in place.

"I figured after we'd kissed things would become easier," Lexa explained as she stopped inches from Clarke.

"You imagined us kissing?"

"Yes," Lexa answered honestly. "But I told you that before."

Clarke remembered the confession Lexa had made that night at the café and felt desire pool in the pit of her stomach again. How she’d thought about her; how she’d wanted this- them. She reached for Lexa's shirt, pretending to toy with one of the small buttons.

"It seems like we imagined a lot of things you and I," Clarke replied, swallowing. 

Lexa brushed her nose against hers, testing her. Clarke felt her warm breath on her mouth and nearly tasted sweet mint. Her heart beat loudly in her ears until finally she gave in, tilting her head and pulling Lexa in.

The kiss was slow at first; Lexa's full lips pressing firmly against hers. Then Clarke felt her hand cup her neck and Lexa angle for something else, something deeper. She moaned when their tongues brushed and Lexa played with hers, chasing, teasing, while the lingering smell of the flowers mixed with her perfume and saturated Clarke's senses. It felt like she was drunk.

It wasn't the small hello or goodbye kisses they'd exchanged in the week; the hesitant pecks that had preceded the date that had seemed so far away on Monday.

"Are you sure this play is good?" She asked, slightly dazed.  

Lexa shook her head, kissing her once more. "It's horrible. Mediocre. Let's bail and stay in."

Clarke let out a small laugh before kissing her again, deeper and slower, wondering if her heart would ever calm down tonight.

"If only."

-

[part ten]

[lu-undy]

Chapter 94 - SBT

Here it is!

"Mundy, non, I will not let you play this."

"But, Lu', it's a guaranteed win! And then I can get you that massive teddy bear."

"Mundy, if you do that…"

"What? What'll you do, eh?" 

"I will spend my nights with that teddy bear and you sleep on the sofa!" 

"But Lu'...!"

Both men were arguing not far from the shooting stand. 

"Alright, let's do it another way." Mundy suggested. 

"Hm?"

"We both try it. If you do better than me, you choose whatever you wanna embarrass me with."

Lucien's eyes lit up. 

"Deal?" Mundy extended his hand. 

"Deal." Lucien shook it and they both approached the shooting stand. 

"Gentlemen! Get closer, c'mon, don't be shy! Here we are, here is your rifle, and here is yours!" The manager of the stand handed them both a plastic gun. "Shoot only on the wolves and avoid the sheep! Are we all ready?" 

Lucien and Mundy exchanged a smile. 

"Yeah."

"Yes." 

"Then leeet's go!" 

The cardboard targets started sliding left and right, slowly at first. Both hit them consistently. 

"Oh! We have good contestants today! What about a little faster, huh?" 

The cardboard cutouts slid more irregularly, some fast, some slowly. But still, both men hit the targets without fail. Lucien and Mundy moved almost in sync left and right, their eyes catching the position and speed of the target a fraction of a second before they would rotate and align the iron sights of the plastic rifle on them. 

The stand manager kept on increasing the speed of the moving targets but both men managed to match the challenge until the end of the round. 

"Well, I'll be damned…" The poor man said. "It's not the first time it happens, but it's the first time I see it happen with both people!"

Lucien and Mundy chuckled. 

"What reward would you prefer?" 

Mundy was the first to answer. 

"That big teddy bear."

"And for you, Sir?" 

"The black panther, please." 

Each of them took their prizes and exchanged them. 

"There, now you will have someone to sleep with on the sofa, hm?" Lucien winked. 

"C'mon…!" Mundy pleaded and both walked away. 

They wandered through the alleys, passing by families, children with balloons, through the cheers and shouts of people enjoying their time as much as the couple of older men.

"Lu'?" 

"Oui?" 

"Want some cotton candy?" 

"If I share it with you." 

"Right, c'mere." They went to a cotton candy stand. "What color d'you prefer?" 

"Pink." Lucien answered. 

"Then can we get a pink one, please?" Mundy addressed the man in charge who nodded and they waited there, their eyes riveted on the cloud of sugar growing bigger and bigger with every spin of the stick. 

"There." 

"Thanks, mate." Mundy paid what they owed and they walked away. The Aussie held the candy while both bit into it. "Oh God… Hahaha!" He burst out laughing when part of it stuck to the Frenchman's moustache and beard.

"What?" 

"You got a pink beard now!" 

"Oh…" Lucien cleaned himself as best as he could. "Is there any left?" 

"Nah, you're alright… Let's go." 

They continued their walk through the stands. 

"Do you know what we call cotton candy in French?" 

"No, what?" 

"Barbe à Papa." 

"Somethin' of dad?" 

"Dad's beard, literally." Lucien answered and both laughed. 

"I can bloody well see why, eh, Papa?" Mundy said. 

"Indeed. Oh, here, a bench." 

They both sat down and put their prizes next to them. Lucien took the cotton candy and held it for both of them while Mundy stretched his arm on the bench's back, to end up wrapping it around Lucien's shoulders.

"Gosh, I didn't remember it was that sweet…"

"Well it is only sugar, what did you expect?" Lucien chuckled. 

"You're the other way around." Mundy answered. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You're not only sugar but you're sweet."

"Pff…" Lucien rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

"What? It's true." 

"Maybe, but it is very… uh… what do you say in English again for this...? Ah! Cheesy." 

"Well, I'm tryin', eh? We can't all get born seductive'n all…!" 

"Very true. But what you lack in the art of seduction, you more than make up for with other skills of yours." 

"Oh-ho boy, what skills, eh?"

Lucien gave that trade-marked smile of his. 

"This place is full of children, it would not be decent to answer." 

"Ooh, I get it…" 

They exchanged a smile and finished their cotton candy, lazily watching people pass by. 

"I wish I could just…" Mundy started. 

"What? What do you wish you could do?" 

"Just… Y'know… Hold your hand or just hold you close."

"I am right next to you, mon loup. Also, I did not take you for one who would be comfortable with public displays of affection."

"I'm not. I just don't care about people, I only see you and uh... I need to hold you."

"Is something the matter?" 

"No, no… It's just me, I need you." Mundy looked at people passing by. "Feels a bit unfair that they can but we can't." 

"Believe me," Lucien answered. "A lot of them would give away their lives to have what we have." 

"What d'you mean?" 

"I mean that we love each other sincerely, not for pressure from our families or any other constraint that life might have thrown at us. I love you for who you are, and vice versa. We have gone through hell and back, and that did nothing but strengthen what we have between us."

"Yeah, you're right." 

"The way I see it, we envy them for their ability to show their love, but they would envy us much more if only they knew the strength of the bond between us. It goes beyond a ring on a finger, or a promise. You saved me and I saved you, in more instances and more senses than they will ever understand." 

Mundy took a deep breath and when Lucien raised his eyes to him, the Aussie was smiling. 

"And they would envy me for that delicious smile you have, amongst other things." Lucien added and Mundy chuckled and lowered his head to hide his blush.

"You got a pretty smile too, Lu'. I like it when you smile and uh… Y'know, you do the thing with yer teeth." 

"What thing?" 

"It's like when you laugh and uh… I like your teeth, they're like in the ads."

"Like in the ads…?" 

"They're perfect and they shine and… I just love your smile and laughter."

"Oh, I know…" Lucien raised lovestruck eyes to Mundy and gave him a flash of his pearly white teeth.

"Gosh, you're gorgeous… I'd kill to hear your laughter more often." 

"Well, that doesn't sound too hard to do."

"Huh?" 

"You want to hear my laughter? Make me laugh then." Lucien answered. 

"Right… Uh… I mean… Hold on, I gotta remember a joke or two… Uh…"

And while Mundy squeezed his brains out in search for any joke he could remember, Lucien burst out laughing. 

"But I didn't say anythin' yet?!" Mundy exclaimed. 

"I know but you don't have to. Your effort alone is touching, mon amour…" 

"So I just have to look like I'm looking for jokes to make you laugh, eh?" 

"Non, just be yourself."

"Find me funny?"

"In your own way, oui."

Mundy looked down at Lucien and they exchanged a sweet smile. 

"Let's put the plushies in the van and come back." 

A few minutes later they were back in the fair, looking left and right at what they could do. 

"Wanna try this?" 

"Mundy, it's archery." 

"Yeah, and?" 

"Are you going to make me do all those things that you are an expert at?" Lucien asked. 

"Why not? You can take me to stands where they make you wear a mask and do spooky stuff, eh?" 

"That is a good idea. But fine, let us proceed to the archery stand." 

They approached and queued. When their turn came, they each took a bow and five arrows. 

"Ooh, I see both gentlemen know their ways with a bow and arrows, eh? But are they good sharpshooters?" The stand manager asked and the people waiting in the queue observed them. 

Lucien and Mundy were about ten metres or so away from the large circular targets.

"Ready…? Set…? Go!"

Both pulled an arrow and placed it against the string of the bow. They pulled, Lucien closing one eye, Mundy keeping both open and-

"It's a bullseye for both!" 

"Think you can beat me, eh?" 

"Non, I am sure of it - gnh!" Lucien pulled a second arrow and shot it right next to the first one. 

"Ha, you're cute…" Mundy took two and put them against the string of the bow. "Watch and learn, Princess." He pulled the string and released it. 

"Mon Dieu… How did you do that?!" Lucien gasped. One arrow went to the centre of Mundy's target and one to the centre of his own. 

"I'm just that good, heh." Mundy arrogantly answered and wiggled his eyebrows. 

"Tu ne perds rien pour attendre…" 

"Say whatever the hell you want, you've lost, darl'..." Mundy took two arrows from Lucien and while still staring at him, he aimed and shot both in the middle of his target. 

Lucien sighed and lowered his head to bite his lip. If only… If only they were alone, he would have kissed the soul out of Mundy right there, right then. But too many eyes were on them and he decided against shocking all these people. 

"Fine, you won… I cannot possibly do better than that…" Lucien admitted. 

"Well," The stand owner approached them. "You both know what you're doing, but you…!" He turned to Mundy. "Are you a pro or something?" 

"Yeah, sort of." 

Lucien rolled his eyes and chuckled at the arrogance of his lover.

"Alright, you get to choose your prize then!" 

Mundy looked at the plastic toys and other knick-knacks. 

"Can I get two?" He asked. 

"Uh, alright, go for two! What can I get ya?" 

"This one, and that one, please." Mundy pointed at a French and an Australian flag.

"Sure thing!" The stand owner gave him both his prizes and Lucien followed him out. 

"So…" Mundy asked when they were sufficiently far from the archery stand. "Impressed…?" 

"Taken aback and twice amazed." Lucien answered.

"Here, that's for you." Mundy handed him the Australian flag.

"Hm, they really give the citizenship easily in this country." The ex-Spy laughed. 

"Yup, and so does France. Look at me, I've got a flag now, I'm French!"

"Pfff!" Lucien laughed. "You need more than that to get the citizenship, I'm afraid." 

"What if I was livin' with a French bloke?"

"Living?" Lucien repeated. 

"Can't say more cause there are kids around." Mundy wiggled his eyebrows. 

"Oh, I see…" Lucien chuckled. "And who is the lucky one?" 

"Can't tell you his name," Mundy answered as they both went on wandering in the alleys. "But I can show him to you. I'm about to buy him somethin'." 

"Ah, lucky man he is." Lucien went on.

"Yeah, and he has a sweet tooth, so I'm gonna get here and - hey, mate, two caramel apples please… Thanks." Mundy paid what he owed and handed one to Lucien who blushed and raised an eyebrow to his lover. 

"Do you know what these are called in French?" 

"Is it somethin' about your beard again?" 

"Non, we call them 'pomme d'amour'." Lucien answered. 

"Somethin' of love…?" 

"Apple of love."

"Ooh, I see… Well, here we are then, I just offered the bloke who's got me an apple of love." 

"I like this arrogance of yours, it's new." 

"Well I just beat the world's best spook, let me enjoy this, eh?" 

They both tipped their apples and bit into them. 

"Mh… As sweet as your lips…" Lucien raised lovestruck eyes to his lover. 

"Listen to you, and you told me I was cheesy."

"Because you are." Lucien answered and gently bumped his lover with his shoulder. Mundy wrapped an arm around Lucien's shoulders. 

"Right, so I'm cheesy but you're not, eh?" 

"Exactement. You are cheesy and I am seductive."

[Exactly.]

"Pfff, doesn't make any sense, why can't I be the seductive one?" 

"Look into my eyes." Lucien said and Mundy obeyed. His breath calmed down and his pupils dilated. His jaw slowly relaxed and he lowered his caramel apple. Lucien gave him a slow flap of his long black eyelashes and Mundy felt a soft punch in his guts. "This is why I am the seductive one." 

"Uh? What-why?" 

"I can bring your heart rate down with only a blink of my eyes, Mundy." Lucien answered and they went on eating their apples. "The day that you will be able to do that to me, you will be the seductive one." He gently tapped Mundy's chest. 

"Right… Tss…" They shared a chuckle and continued walking around. "Anything you want to play with me?" 

"Plenty."

"Oh? What d'you wanna do?" 

"It is too early and crowded for my kinds of ideas, mon loup." 

"Lu'... I meant in this fair."

"Ah…" He winked. "Well, to be honest, I can barely remember the last time I went to a fair, mon loup."

"It's alright… I just want you to choose somethin' you'd like to do. So far, I've been deciding, doesn't seem fair." 

"Hm…"

"You like fast stuff? Adrenaline rush and that kind of things?" 

"Not really. I only ever liked the adrenaline rushes at work. Well, I learnt to like them, not that I had much choice."

"Right, so none of these fast spinny thingies…" 

"Non but… I suppose there is one thing we could do. I have always wanted to try it." Lucien answered. 

"What is it?" 

"This." Lucien pointed straight ahead and upwards.

"The ferris wheel?" 

"Oui, if you are comfortable with heights." 

"Sure, let's go!" Mundy squeezed Lucien's shoulders tighter and off they went. 

They queued and finished their apples while watching the gigantic wheel slowly turn. When their turn came they hopped in the cabin and took a seat one in front of the other. A few moments later they started taking off. 

Lucien waited for them to be sufficiently far from the ground to gently move seats and sit next to Mundy. The Aussie wrapped an arm around him and squeezed him close. 

"Mmh… Mon loup…" 

"Yeah, luv'?" 

"Look at this sight… We can see the entire city, the river…" Lucien's head was on Mundy's upper chest and shoulder. 

"And I can see the most gorgeous bloke I've ever met, eh?" Mundy brushed his lover's hair and Lucien moaned happily. He raised his head and they exchanged a kiss.

"Mundy?" 

"Mh?"

"I want to stay in your arms." 

"You will. Nothin'll pull you away from me, eh?" Mundy kissed Lucien's head. "And I'm keepin' you. All the guys and sheilas in the world look at you like you're an ice cream and it's the middle of the bloody summer. But you're with me." Mundy laced his other arm around Lucien and pulled him impossibly closer. "You're with me and I'm not lettin' go of you." 

"Thank you." Lucien left a few kisses in his lover's neck and Mundy smiled with his eyes closed. 

The ferris wheel was such that they were at the top most position now. 

"Look at this, luv'." 

Their arms were laced around each other. The noise of people's cheers and chatter, as well as of the other activities in the fair were muffled by the distance. Lucien only heard Mundy's gentle breath and his gravelly whispers. 

"All this city… And the desert over there, beyond it… Beautiful, eh?" 

"Oui, it is." Lucien answered. "And I am grateful to see it all with you, mon loup." 

"Same… I never… I never did stuff like that before, I mean, not with someone I love. Happened with friends, with my parents, never with someone special." 

"Neither have I." Lucien said. "But I feel lucky that somehow, in this weird and nonsensical life, I eventually did, with you." 

They pushed their smiling lips against each other and stayed there for a while. Mundy brushed Lucien's hair behind his ear and pulled him closer still. 

"Lu'?" 

"Oui?" 

"Thanks." Mundy took Lucien's hand and held it against his own chest. "I know there's still stuff to do, I need to tell Dad about us and stuff, but… With you, I feel like I can do it." 

"Of course you can, but by no means do you have to." Lucien answered. 

"Yeah, I know. I'm glad Mum's alright with it all." 

"She wants you to find your happiness more than she sticks her own definition of it on you. This is a rare quality."

"Yeah… Mum's great, she's the best, really." 

Lucien smiled. 

"I remember you told me your mum and dad wanted to force you into medicine or law and you ran away…?" Mundy asked.

"Oui. My mother was a saint, an honest, hard-working and faithful woman. The rumours of my father's death were well spread but she still refused to find another man. She insisted on being sure about it. I think she loved him more than she loved my step father. When my father's death was confirmed officially, she grieved for years…"

"I can understand." Mundy brushed his lover softly. "But she found another bloke eventually?" 

"She did. Although, to be nearer the truth, one should say 'she accepted another man'. My mother was gorgeous, blond, long hair with kind, blue eyes. She refused more men than she ever showed me, a young boy. But I was growing up and started to understand that if men were complimenting her, it wasn't just out of kindness. I was defensive, very much so. I wouldn't let her go out of the house alone."

"How old were you?" 

"About fifteen or so. I would hold her hand in the street and act almost like her companion. And she treated me like her guardian, her little man. I started to feel the responsibility of carrying a family, a woman whose heart was too pure to be taken by anyone else. But of course, one day, it happened. I think she didn't like him like she loved my father. She liked the feeling of safety, of having a proper man at her side."

Mundy moved on his seat to better hold Lucien, as they were slowly going down. 

"Within a year, they were married, living together. He slept in her bed and acted as if he owned the place."

"You didn't like him?" Mundy asked. 

"For some things, I am grateful. He treated my mother well, never raised his hand on her and treated her like an equal. But the speed at which he invaded our lives scared me and what pushed me away was the day that my mother, who was otherwise compassionate and understanding towards me, sided with him."

"For your studies?" 

Lucien nodded. 

"I told my mother that I wanted to become something else, someone else. Of course saving lives or defending people are noble causes. But my call was elsewhere, maybe as a policeman?" 

"Oh… You wanted to become a policeman?"

Lucien nodded. 

"I kept thinking that if I had been old enough to be one when my mother was being whistled and harassed by those men who came back traumatised by the Great War, I would have been a policeman and arrested all of that scum." He sighed. "My mother had nothing against me entering the police forces. My step father however disagreed. He knew me very poorly and thought that I was doing that just for the nice uniform, the status and nothing else. Besides, he thought I wanted to put my aggressiveness into something that would allow me to get it out."

"You were aggressive?" Mundy raised a curious eyebrow. 

"Frustrated would be a better way to put it. I hated that he prevented me from doing something that I wanted. He kept telling my mother that it would be better if I became a doctor or a lawyer… He said it so many times that it became the truth to her, even though she knew I never wanted that.”

“So you went away, on your own?”

“Oui. It happened on a night that as usual, I argued with him, my step-father. We both ended up raising our voices at each other and… I saw my mother’s distress and I swore to myself that I would never see it again."

"Gosh… You really loved her, eh?" 

"More than anyone else for a long long time." Lucien answered. "When I was old enough to find a woman myself, I struggled."

"W-what? But you're gorgeous…!"

"Oui. I did not struggle to attract women, I struggled to accept them, because the responsibility was gigantic, and what if someday they went away like my mother? I could not place my trust in any women. So I… You will find this horrendous…"

"Hey…" Mundy took Lucien's chin between his fingers and lifted his face upwards. "It's alright, it's behind you now, don't be ashamed or anythin', we all make mistakes, even gorgeous spooky men like you." He gave him a tender smile and Lucien gently nodded. "So go ahead, if you want to." 

"Well… I used women… for the physical needs. I didn't have an ounce of sentimentality for them and could not care less if they did to me. For most of them, the arrangement was suitable. We would have a night, maybe a couple more but that was it."

"I guess some wanted more, didn't they?" 

"Oui, unfortunately so. But I was a spy and a prudent man. I knew how to disappear, so it wasn't much of an issue." 

"Were you like that all the way till you met Mary?" 

"Oui, pretty much." 

"Wow… I knew you could be like that, I mean, makes sense for a bloke as good-lookin' and with the manners and all as you… But I never imagined you actually were like that."

Lucien pulled himself out of the embrace. 

"Well, I was. I enjoyed the privileges that Mother Nature gave me, shamelessly and recklessly. Part of me never thought I could make it out of the war anyway. I was young, inexperienced, and everyday I learnt of the death of people who were much more used to the chaos of war, people who trained about it for years. So I gave everything I had to taste life as best as I could, before I would get caught."

"Jesus… C'mere." Mundy pulled him into a hug but Lucien pushed him back. "W-what's wrong?" 

"Are you…" Lucien wiped a tear at the corner of his eyes. "Disappointed in me?" 

"No…? Why would I?" 

"Why wouldn't you?" Lucien answered. "You would be right to have doubts about me or… distrust me." 

"Lu'." Mundy's voice was assertive enough to make Lucien's eyes move up to meet his. "You can tell that nonsense to someone else. I've been through hell with you and without you. I've seen what you're capable of doing, I know you and even with all that, I love you. Every day when I wake up, I don't even ask myself about it, I don't question it, I don't have the slightest doubt. I love you. Now you take all that bullshit your mind's been cookin' up for years and you throw it out your head, ok?" 

"But Mun-"

"No, there's no but." Mundy cupped his lover's face and pushed his forehead against Lucien's. "I'm takin' you and I have taken you. With all your story, with all your problems and with everythin', ok?"

"D'accord." 

[Fine.]

"Lu', d'you hear me?" 

"Oui." 

"Lu', I know you, I know the ex-spook, I know the singer, I know the fighter, I know the stubborn, arrogant piece of a liar that you might have been before." Mundy brushed his thumbs on his lover's temples and Lucien sniffled. "But I love every bit of you. Doesn't matter what you were in any other way that it helped build you as you are now. And y'know what? Now, you're my Lu', ok?" 

Lucien gently nodded. 

"Say it."

"I am… I am your Lucien."

"No, that's not what I said. Say it properly." 

"I am… your Lu'." 

"Good. You got that in that beautiful head o'yours?" 

Lucien nodded again, his forehead still against Mundy's. 

"You sure?" 

"Oui." 

"C'mere, now." Mundy hugged him and this time, Lucien did not push him away. He clawed in his lover's sides, his back, everywhere his fingers were planted, and buried his head deep in his chest. "I love you, Lu', I love all of you." 

"Merci." A muffled voice answered. The Frenchman wanted to let tears run down his face but the cabin was getting closer to the ground and he didn't want to cry in public. 

Beyond Mundy's words and the comfort he was bringing him, what touched Lucien most was that feeling of achievement, of reaching somewhere that he did not know he could reach. He had been taught to grow up, get married to a lovely wife, have equally lovely children and work to support them. But life gave him an outstanding partner, a couple of beautiful cats and some years to go still. 

When he broke the embrace and looked up at Mundy, his eyes red and his throat burning as it held back his emotions, he smiled. In the Aussie's lagoon blue irises, he saw all the versions of himself, the little boy, Maman's guardian, the young homeless teenager, the rookie spy, the father, the fiancé, and now, a man better than what he thought he could ever be. 

"Merci, Mundy."

[helpinghanikan]

James “Bucky” Barnes A-Z

James “Bucky” Barnes A-Z NSFW head-cannons 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

The second time you had slept together had resulted with bruises, and bite marks and groans from you that was anything but pleasurable. It had been intense for the both of you, and there was no use in blaming Bucky for it.

Ever since then he’s been on the little obsessive side of being careful with you. After finishing he doesn’t let himself fall to the side like others would. Instead he immediately focuses on you, asking if you were okay or if you needed anything. Even though your eyes were still rolled back in your head and your knuckles hadn’t released their grip on the sheets yet.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you: He loves your breasts. He’s always been more of a boob guy, doesn’t matter if they’re so small they’re flat or so large no shirt could be considered appropriate. There’s nothing better than innocently letting you lean against him. His hand just so happening to land over your breasts, cupping it and squeezing gently.

On himself: He loves his neck, how you nibble at the clean-shaven skin or you scratch through his beard. Your kisses are gentle, like cleaning away any tainted feeling there might have been, and you bites are just enough to distract from any intrusive thoughts.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

After years of ice and murder and no physical contact other than pain a soft touch has more effect. Sometimes he will cum quickly when with you. The old man jokes and the “happens to a lot of men” don’t really help the situation.

What does help is how he’s ready to go after a few minutes of kissing and exploring. Using his fingers and tongue over his dick. Making a new game out of “training”. Which has, so far, favorable results.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Way back in the day the ideal date was the last showing of a movie. Where the theater would be mostly empty, the lights were low, and the employees were too tired to care about enforcing the rules. It was here that he learned to enjoy the female breast, and the joy of forbidden nookie in the dark. Whispering in her ear and getting permission, then his hands would begin to wonder.

With the new age it would be awkward to ask you to do this. As he would have to specifically ask you to wear a skirt, a long one, like the girls way back when. That would most of the fun. But it might be worth it if he gets the chance to cover your mouth in the dark of the theater, the other hand curling and rubbing under a hitched-up skirt.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

When he was young and before anything mattered Bucky got around. Slut might be too strong of a word, but more like the local tom cat most would pet but no one wanted to let inside.

With his experience with women before easily transferred to you now. Although hindered by his fear of new strength and arm he started to find himself again. Although it’d be a little weird to admit, doing the same things with you as he did before helps with finding the good memories.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

On a hard surface, where your butt is barely on the edge and most of your weight being supported by him.

It’s here that he can be engulfed by you. Bury his face into your shoulder and hair, inhale deeply and groan as you run a hand through his hair. Where you can cross your ankles behind his back, pulling him closer, tighter and groaning as it’s deeper.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He’s more serious when it comes down to it. Preferring to get you in the mood with a nice hold and a sweeping kiss then with a goofy grin and silly movements.

Sometimes he’ll play with you via a cute nip or taking you up in his arms. Where you’d scream and laugh but succumb to his charms in the end. Using that chance to be the one who kisses him deeply, groaning while doing so.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

During his time as an asset he had to clean shaven everywhere; from beard to chest to lower it had to be gone and smooth.

Now, with his freedom, he started to his chest and arm hair grow out. The same with below the belt but that he tries to keep a little more groomed then just going wild like his hair and beard. Even those aspect he has considered a trim or more.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

It varies from situation or even time how he treats the moment. Where quickies and the slightly tipsy sex are treated with more “get in and get done” attitude. When it’s early morning or there is time carved out of the day it’s slower and a stronger connection with more kisses and less rutting.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’d rather have you but there are times when he just can’t handle being with someone right now. It’s nothing personal, everything has just become too much and he needs a little time away from you, from everyone.

It’s there that he usually finishes himself off. Better to jerk one off then to live with blue balls during this episode.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He loves a woman in uniform; lingerie, stockings, a little soldier’s uniform or nurse that wouldn’t be appropriate in the field. Hours could be spent running his hands over the fabric, touching skin, and then finding more tight fabric.

The difference between Bucky and others is that the ‘uniforms’ aren’t immediately removed for the prize underneath. Instead he pulls and tugs at the strings until the goods are within his grasp.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He doesn’t have an exact location he likes to steal you away to. Anywhere that’s private, an office or your room, even your kitchen or living room. Just so long as there isn’t an audience. Or there isn’t an audience he can’t glare away.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It’s not an exact thing you do, or that he sees. It’s a growing feeling that starts in the morning with a head kiss, or when you walk towards him with that smile. All innocent things that he hangs onto throughout the day.

It’s amazing that you haven’t broken a nose being bent over when he gets his hands on you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Restraints on his wrists and ankles, he can’t handle anything holding him down. Even too hard of a grip on his wrists are enough to send him into a bad place.

To avoid this you jokingly hold him down by intertwining your fingers. Pressing them Into the bed with a little squeeze, making sure he knew that, if he wanted, he could switch things around. A few times he has taken advantage of that. Slipping an arm around your back after his eyes go slightly glasses. Moving into a different, better, scenario of being with you rather then slipping into the past.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

There’s nothing more beautiful than seeing you before him. How his hands look through your hair, gripping and holding it, control that guides you through the paces.

It’s not that he’s unwilling to go down on you, get and give and all that. But it’s being able to sit back and let himself be pampered that makes the relationship the best he’s ever had.

 P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

What he’s capable of and what he delivers are two different things. He’s slow, he takes his time, and is gentle to the point of teasing.

It took some time before you could convince him to go a little faster, maybe a little rougher. It’s only when you take control that he realizes he wants to have more. The experimenting of his thrusts and grabs and little smacks on your backside as gradual but it’s growing.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Most of his trysts back int eh day were quickies, and he’s continued to tradition into the modern day. Wanting you whenever he has a moment, or when his blood starts pumping from the smallest, dumbest things.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

A surprisingly vanilla guy it takes some coaxing to get him to try new things. Using little bits of negotiation; “It’s a different position, you’re on top.” “we’ll be gentle, with eachother.”

There have been several times where he’s said no to things, like restraints or chains or anything of the like. But he’s willing to try other things; new positions or maybe some food play that didn’t go as well as you thought. Although, going from sex to eating sundaes in your underwear was a fun experiment.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Although he’s had issues of premature arrival he’s like a horse. Ready to go again after a few minutes, kissing and massaging you in the meantime.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Bucky has never been big on toys. You have your own, a vibrator or something else to keep you busy while he was gone. But he’s always made a little face when you would bring something in or suggest something to be added.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

When he teases you it’s almost always by accident.

He almost crushes you, laying chest to chest with you. Nuzzling into your shoulder and neck, his hands and fingers sliding past quivering thighs into your center. Being gentle but taking his time to the point that the red on your face wasn’t just a blush.

“If you don’t-I swear…” Words are hard to find when the man above you is taking your breathe away and refusing to give it back. “If you don’t do anything…I’m gonna rip your other arm off.”

After a second he smiles against your neck. Probably only now realizing what he was unintentionally doing.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Bucky was a quiet man from both his training and just his personality. Trying to coax the sounds from him wasn’t working nearly as well as people had suggested. The best you could get was a grunt and a groan, maybe a few grumbled words.

It takes a conversation away from the bedroom to learn he just doesn’t like making noises. He’s not the kind of person who will scream and “oh yeah, oh yeah” all night.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Sex was the closest thing he could get to an effective drug. Where nothing existed in that moment except for you and how it felt to have everything about you as his. In this same vein he was addicted to you.

In the middle of the night, when the dreams were sliding into his mind, he would reach out for you. So long as he could find you, his drug of choice, before the dreams took hold everything could and would be fine.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He never really cared about the size of himself. No one had ever mentioned whether it was smaller or larger than average. He was thicker than most, something he could only tell by your face when he enters, it’s only then that he truly cares.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

As previously mentioned his want for you would build and build throughout the day. But he never went out of his way to ask you, or pressure into have sex. It’s only when you ask or drop enough hints that he gets it.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s had trouble sleeping since Wakanda, but when he does sleep, he sleeps like the dead. After finishing he stays against you, holding close to your body that had fought away nightmares and memories alike.

It’s random who falls asleep first. Either of you feeling the other start to breathe deeper; Bucky seeming to take comfort in the smell of your sweat and living body. You finding the metal arm and holding it close, hoping to make the metal warm enough to be mistaken for a hand.

[movienotesbyzawmer]

April 18: Rocky IV

(previous notes: Rocky III)

The Cold War one! I was in high school when this came out, and it seems like the Rocky movie that has most endured in pop culture for people my age, and even younger maybe? I haven't seen it in a very, very long time so I'm wondering if the Rocky-versus-All-Of-Communism logline is going to seem like a pathetically irrelevant conflict. Or, frankly, if that sentiment is going to sound like the dipshits that attacked the US Capitol just a few short months ago. It's definitely going to feel like just a slight twist on a formula that's been working, right? Let's see…

Totally different intro from the rest of the series, and surprisingly the recap of the end of the last movie also includes the hit single from the last movie. But also there is a thing about an American-flag glove and a Soviet-flag glove punching each other into an explosion.

They were so happy with the chummy chit-chat at the end of Rocky III that they just gratuitously include that whole scene here. It is a cheap way to eat up a couple of minutes.

Oh My God. The first actual new scene in this movie serves the important purpose of documenting for all time how dazzlingly technically advanced things were in 1985. For Paulie's birthday party, he gets a ROBOT! It talks… ROBOT-style! Paulie is whelmed by how robot-y it is.

"Open your prize," Rocky tells her when asking Adrian to open her PRESENT. Why did he say "prize".

MEANWHILE IN SOVIET UNION… They do a quick montage that only vaguely suggests something about a boxer and the USSR.

Apollo Creed spots an innocuous news story about Russian boxer Ivan Drago coming to America to participate in sportsmanlike fighting. AC is PISSED! A Russian being competitive, oh hell no.

At least Drago has a female companion so there will be an actual female character who isn't played by Talia Shire.

"Commies Are Evil" isn't the only theme of this movie; there's also "The Marvels of Technology". Drago's unmatched strength is demonstrated for the press in a very electricity-filled gym. And the robot has been in three scenes already in the first fifteen minutes! Oh I hope they aren't going to get me to fall in love with Robot Character only to have it lose in a boxing match to The Commies.

Big press conference to announce that AC will be fighting Drago in an exhibition match. AC is all cocky and Drago literally says nothing the whole scene. He is characterized as perhaps yet another robot character. But his wife and some other Russian guy do all the talking, and if they're supposed to seem like the Bad Guy, I don't see it. They are perfectly diplomatic and AC is just acting like a tool.

0:23:23 - I remember this scene, we all do, oh yes we do. The Fight That Does Not Go So Well. It starts with a super flashy intro; they're at the venue in Vegas and there are showgirls and pretend fighter planes and Actual James Brown singing this movie's legit hit single, "Living in America", singing it all At The Russians as AC descends in front of a monster thing in spangly Uncle Sam garb. AC actually dances alongside James Brown and around Drago. What they're doing, these diabolical filmmakers, is going to make what happens next sting the audience pretty bad.

Right before the fight, Drago's first line is "you vill lose". Monotone. Robotic. Technology! #1985

Drago beats him to actual death, he twitches on the floor as Drago robotically says things like "I will not be defeated". It is a bummer, this turn of events.

New press conference. Rocky is going to fight Drago. "No money. It's not about the money." That's weird, addressing money in this press conference. They're not really addressing the monumental fact that Rocky is sitting next to the guy that killed Apollo Creed.

This time, the Soviets are less diplomatic. Rocky barely says anything, but the old Russian dude calls him little and weak. They have a good point, though, about how Drago gets death threats in the US on account of he is a killer of an American hero, even though the wife also says he is not a killer. But that's why the fight will be in Russia.

New montage with a very 80s pop song. Worth noting that we have not heard any of the famous music from the first movie. This montage also looks very 80s, with it's flashbacks using a lot of different, highly techologically sophisticated frame rates.

0:42:41 - Adrian eye-close sighting! Thank you so much for that, it is what we all want and only you, Rocky-movie, can provide it.

Flashbacks to all the other movies. He is thinking about it all as he anticipates The Hell Of Going To Russia. Remember when he pointed to the jacket in the window that one time? Rocky does. Remember when he looked at his statue? Rocky does. He even somehow remembers Adrian closing her eyes. This is a music video with mostly recycled footage from the whole series.

0:48:35 - Another "modern" pop song, I think it's the band called Survivor again. Were we supposed to love all the catchy tunes and go out and buy the soundtrack? We only remember the James Brown one in 2021.

It is snowy in Russia ha ha! Paulie has joined him on the trip because he is part of Rocky's staff, but he doesn't like how cold it is ha ha.

Rocky's quarters consist of a log cabin dripping with icicles at the foot of some really pretty mountains. I play Geoguessr a lot and I don't ever see pretty mountains like that in Russia, but they must have them, right?

Rocky has been assigned minders. He is told they will go wherever he goes. I'm pretty sure that's not an unfair characterization.

He's got Apollo's trainer guy there with him, but Rocky makes it clear that he just has to do this training stuff on his own or whatever blah blah.

Now a montage going back and forth between Drago training and Rocky just running through the snow-covered countryside. ON HIS OWN. Plus also sawing wood and displacing boulders on his own. Oh and being the dog in a dogsled pulling Paulie! Locals look at Rocky because, look, a man doing something, that's new and confusing. Drago has electric machines. Rocky fells trees! Drago is inside comfortable facilities. Rocky is growing his beard out! The minders observe it all. The minders observe it all.

There is a subplot about how Adrian is dealing with this whole thing. She had been unconfident earlier, and did not join Rocky in USSR. But surprise, she is now there in Russia suddenly because love! Rocky continues to train, not so alone-y now and with a new rock song with more major chords. That is Drago's weakness! Communism hates major triads.

Gotta have inspired running, right? This time Rocky runs up a snowy mountain, running so hard that the minders can't keep up! At the peak he does his trademark cheer howl in that pretty place… but he is saying "DRAGO!!!!!!!!!"

Just like that, we're at the big fight. This time it's in Russia and it's mostly uniformed soldiers in the crowd.

Ugh. Quick cut to Rocky's kid watching at home on TV with friends. He says "that's my dad" and one of them replies "what do you think we are, nerds?" Ladies and gentlemen, the wit of Mr. Stallone: Screenwriter.

Do we need to talk about Drago's hair? He has very styled hair. I think it looks like Vanilla Ice hair. Is that a strange choice? I don't know how to think about hair, I guess.

"I must break you". That's what Drago says to Rocky right before they fight. I remember it. It is an above average dialogue choice compared with other Rocky-movie-right-before-the-fight dialogue choices.

Drago punches Rocky a lot, and the commentators make sure we know that Rocky might lose and they may even have to stop the fight. But also, yes, it does just look like Rocky is taking a lot of rough beating.

"He's not human. He's a piece of iron." So speaks Drago in unbecoming monotone. I don't know what that means.

It's a montage now, an appealingly edited summary of a whole bunch of rounds. The two boxers are both doing well and maybe not doing well, both. Montage.

I guess I'm experiencing what I remember noticing back when I first saw this in the 80s, which is that they really did convince us that Drago was indestructible, and now we're seeing him be damaged and it's kind of satisfying.

1:21:15 - Whoa, I forgot about this. The Soviet Diplomat Man is giving Drago a hard time about not winning yet, and Drago lifts him up violently by the neck and says something about I Will Win For Me, For Me. It's a little like we're supposed to think Drago is increasingly inspired by American Freedom, maybe? But it won't help him if he's still the bad guy in a Rocky movie.

This fight is taking a long time. A lot of this movie's running time is being consumed by this fight.

Eventually Rocky wins, because it turns out that he is just better because Freedom, and it's that same tiresome "Rocky-won" music, maybe arranged a little differently.

What does he say in the mic at the end? What is his message? "During this fight, I seen a lot of changing…" he says that during this fight, like during the actual boxing match, they all grew to appreciate each other. And it's better to do boxing than do nuclear annihilations. The whole crowd cheers for Rocky! Even the important Soviet Boss Men, startling even themselves with their abrupt adoration of The Wise American. Then when he says Merry Christmas Kid to his kid at home, well this whole entire crowd clearly thinks Rocky is better than their whole entire country. We don't see Drago any more. We don't know if he, too, is moved by Rocky's profound monologue. And we never find out what Drago and Robot Character think of each other.

So that's it, that's the end of Rocky IV. I get why it fires people up in a simple way, but I don’t think it's good. It totally assumes you'll understand that Rocky wins because the USSR just kind of sucks. Or you won't care that it's improbable that Rocky wins because it's just so gratifying to see Drago falter. Which they achieve by making him look very perfect, and having no charming characteristics.

It's true, though, how cocky we were about technology in the mid-80s.

(next: Rocky V)

[thebiasrekkers]

Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 04: The Winding Road

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: series | historical!au | fantasy!au | angst | romance | drama | tragedy

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,795

Tag List: @luxekook​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @stillcopingxx​, @taevkimchi​, @aroseforyoongi​, @vivpurple7​, @happilystrongthroughthedark​, @sw33tnight​, @nikkitane​, @mini-coop25​, @taegiq​, 

AN: Just a reminder that this series is going to be updated slowly. Please be patient with me. I promise you that it will be worth the wait. If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to drop me a line!

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“Roads were made for journeys, not destinations.” - Confucius

The soft clink of cups rang out through the silence encompassing the gazebo. The King drank from the white porcelain, watching as Dojin turned to sip from his own cup. After they finished, the two men set their cups back on the table and continued to remain silent. Beams of moonlight filtered in through the space and the King took a moment to simply bask in the serene atmosphere. There was no need to rush this conversation, but it was a talk that needed to be had.

Like the faithful servant he was, Dojin remained silent until the King decided it was time to break said silence.

Sighing, he reached his hand to grasp the handle of the liquor jar but was halted when Dojin grasped the neck of the bottle first. 

“Allow your servant the honor, Your Majesty,” came his former bodyguard’s baritone voice as he lifted the bottle off the table, “and please allow your servant to inquire as to what is weighing on your mind.”

The clear liquor filled the small cup. Dojin poured himself a drink and waited for the King to drink first. Instead of drinking, he merely set the cup back down on the table while pinching the bridge of his nose. 

It had been a long and taxing week. Between dealing with his officials in court and the looming threat from Japan ever on the horizon, the King was fighting the urge to sleep more and more. He had so many edicts to place his seal over and he felt he had so little time to prepare. The sorceress, Kalina, predicted that a harsh famine would hit his country in the coming years. If she followed his instructions to the letter, the people of Joseon would not starve.

Despite all of these problems, the biggest concern sitting at the forefront of his mind was the well-being of his son.

“How is he doing these days, Dojin-ah?”

He watched a wistful smile form on the other man’s face. “He is very intelligent, Your Majesty. And strong.”

The King quipped a curious brow. “You have trained him in martial arts?”

Dojin nodded. “Since he was a young boy, Your Majesty.” His smile widened a bit further. “Soon the master will be forced to yield to the student.” 

The affection that radiated from Dojin’s words showcased the amount of love his former attendant had for the prince. If the King could, he would have wanted nothing more than to spare him from the life of a commoner. He was meant to live in luxury and comfort, able to study anything he wished to learn. He could have even become a scholar if he desired. Living a hard mountain life wasn’t supposed to be his destiny.

But what could he do? The law would not let him live in the palace and his Queen could not bear to see his innocent life taken from him in such an unfair manner. With the Noble Factions breathing down his neck, sowing seeds of corruption in the court, it left the King with his hands tied. The less of a foothold he was able to give them, the safer his throne would be. He did not wish to be a monarch that governed through fear and bloodshed. 

The dark ages of his grandfather’s rule was over. It was up to him to maintain balance and keep the peace.

Why hadn’t he asked Dojin about his son’s educational progress until now?

The King lifted his cup from the table. “Has he shown any interest in marriage yet?”

“No, Your Majesty.” He could see apprehension reflected in Dojin’s eyes. He gestured with his cup for him to continue. “There is one person he likes, but I’m sure Your Majesty would not approve of their union.”

“But you do?”

Dojin lowered his head quickly. “N-No, Your Majesty!”

The King bit back a smirk. It was so easy to tease his former bodyguard, even now. Raising the prince up as well as he had, what right did the King have to complain about Dojin’s parenting methods? There was sincerity in his words and the King had no reason to doubt his attendant.

“Is she a good woman?” he asked, sipping from his cup and savoring the sweet taste of the alcohol. 

“She is, My King. But she is also a dangerous woman.” Dojin lifted his face slowly. “I worry over the sort of influence she has over the prince.”

Frowning, he abstained from speaking right away. The King could only think of one person who was both a good woman and a dangerous woman. If that were true, then this was something the King would, indeed, need to concern himself with. Kalina was a woman who possessed much power and she didn’t age in all the years he’d known her. Ever since she first came to Joseon, when he’d been heralded as the Crown Prince, he believed there was a reason for her arrival. It became even more apparent when she continued to help him advise from the shadows. Since the impending famine was looming ever closer, he valued her council above the others in his court.

She was a woman shrouded in mystery and intrigue. No fool could ignore her when she passed on the streets, purchasing odds and ins for her own personal reasons. But that also bred a level of mistrust and hatred of her arrival. Even the King was not privy to the true source of her power, or her origins.

Troubling still? The Crown Prince was tangled in her orbit as well.

The King set his cup down and sighed. “Would you have me banish her from the kingdom? Even though she’s done nothing but aid in the country’s development?”

“I would never, Your Majesty!”

“The Crown Prince is fond of her as well.” Dojin’s eyes appeared to tremble in the moonlight. The King’s brows furrowed. “Do you still think she should be allowed to stay?”

“Y-Your Majesty…” The warrior leaned back, averting his gaze. There was nothing else to be said. The King knew this and he knew that Dojin did as well.

“The heavens will decide what becomes of their fates, Dojin-ah.” Craning his neck, the King peered up at the moon, basking in the silence for a little bit longer. “It is not our place to intervene, no matter how much we may want to.”

“HA!”

Sweat fell in rivulets down Yoongi’s neck and back with each swing of the wooden sword. Calluses and blisters bubbled in his palms, his fingers screaming from pain. But even so, Yoongi continued to swing. It was the only thing he could do to keep his erratic emotions tethered to the ground. The only thing keeping him from running to Kali’s home and begging her to run away with him. 

If they left the country and traveled to some faraway land where no one knew their names or faces, wouldn’t they be happy? Couldn’t they forget the rest of the world? They could be happy, couldn’t they?

The more logical and reasonable parts of Yoongi’s mind knew that this was impossible. Kali was a sorceress. She was also a woman who didn’t age. Having children or sharing a life with someone was impossible for her and, as such, it was her own curse that she carried on her shoulders. In time, Yoongi would grow old and she would remain unchanged. He would force her to suffer through a different type of agony - the pain of watching him fade away from the world as she was left behind; youthful and untouched.

Yoongi swung the sword across his body, his heart thundering against his chest and ribs. His breath came out in harsh intervals. San was sprawled out across a rock, his head moving back and forth with the sword’s movements. But he didn’t move or fuss at being ignored. It was like the wolf could sense that something was emotionally off-kilter with his master.

“Yoongi-ah!”

San suddenly stood on all fours, his head turning in the direction of where the voice was coming from. At first, his ears flattened along his skull - hackles raising and tail puffing up in response. San’s lips curled back to reveal teeth, but he made no noise. Yoongi paused to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. 

“Yoongi Hyung-nim!”

Smiling, he reached out to stroke San’s back to soothe the wolf’s aggression. He immediately relaxed, barking and leaping from the rock to tear off toward the woods. Jogging after him, Yoongi quickly followed, exiting the forest in minutes and seeing two people lingering around the house. One of them was a young man with a shallow beard and top knot, a bamboo fishing rod draped over his shoulder. The other was even younger, his long hair pulled back into a high ponytail. The two of them were bickering, but stopped immediately when they saw Yoongi approach.

“Hyung-nim!’ called the younger one, waving his arm back and forth in excitement.

Yoongi rolled his eyes as San barked and ran circles around them. “Jungkook-ah. Seokjin Hyung-nim.”

Seokjin held out two large fish tied to a hemp rope. “Brought you a present.”

He eyed it suspiciously. “Both of them?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t they both be yours?” Seokjin flashed a knowing grin as he scratched at his beard.

“No.” 

Yoongi brushed past them both and started making his way into the house to retrieve the bucket. The two of them followed him inside, griping between each other and yelling for him at the same time.

“What are you saying no for?” Seokjin’s tone was clearly put out. 

Grasping the hemp rope, Yoongi lifted the large bucket and knocked them both out of his path. “To whatever you’re about to ask me to do.”

“Hyung-nim! Don’t be like that!” Jungkook called after him. 

“The answer is no~,” Yoongi sing-songed as he draped his sword over his shoulder, the bucket swinging off the end. San was immediately at his side, craning his head every so often to peek back at the other two who were in hot pursuit.

“Yoongi-ah, come on,” he heard Seokjin whine behind him, “at least hear me out, will you?”

Pausing in his steps, he pivoted on his back heel and whipped around to glare at his two friends. “Is it worth getting flogged by my father over?”

Both Jungkook and Seokjin looked at each other, then their gazes shifted toward the ground. The fact that they weren’t immediately answering meant that there was a good chance that whatever they were asking would get him caned so hard, he wouldn’t be able to walk right for at least two days.

Sighing, he placed a hand on his hip. “What is it you want me to do?”

Again, they didn’t answer right away. Ultimately, they didn’t want to get him into trouble. Yoongi knew this. They were residents of the village, but were the first friends he made when he was a child. In a sense, they were like brothers. But he also knew what kind of mischief they liked to get into. There was no such thing as a free lunch. Seokjin bringing two large trout to his doorstep only meant one thing.

They needed Yoongi’s help with something. That something would most likely get him in trouble with his father. He was not about to tempt fate while his father was away.

“Well?” he snapped, causing both of their shoulders to jump. “Out with it.”

“It’s Namjoon Hyung,” murmured Jungkook finally. He fidgeted with his bangs, still avoiding Yoongi’s gaze. “He sprained his ankle during practice.”

Yoongi bit back another irritated sigh. Instead, he waved with his hand for him to continue. 

Seokjin cleared his throat loudly, stepping in when it seemed Jungkook was losing his voice. “Do you think you could fill in for him in the troupe?”

He could feel his lip curling into a slight snarl. “Come again?”

Clapping his hands, he rubbed his palms together in a pleading gesture. “They were asked by the magistrate to perform for the Crown Prince as a form of entertainment to celebrate his journey to Ming! If they get acknowledged, they’ll be able to perform in the Crown City regularly!” 

Jungkook stepped forward, clasping his own hands together. “Please, Hyung-nim? It’s not like the troupe are strangers to you! They could really use your help!”

Yoongi dropped the bucket at his feet and San skittered away from it. His two friends swallowed the lumps in their throat as he advanced on them. “Do you realize what you’re asking me right now?” He swung his wooden sword around, pointing the tip of it at them. “My father is currently at the Capital. If he finds out, I’ll be lucky to see the morning after!”

Seokjin quickly ran up to him, clasping his wrist so that Yoongi was forced to lower his sword. “That’s alright! The others know how strict your lifestyle is and everything will be fine!”

He scoffed. “Oh yeah? How?”

Jungkook ran to his other side, placing both hands on one shoulder. “You’ll be wearing a mask! No one will know what you look like during the performance.”

“What about rehearsal?” Yoongi narrowed his eyes at both of them. “Won’t they see my face during rehearsals?”

“They’re planning to rehearse in the large field just outside of the Crown City!” His whole body shifted when Seokjin clapped his hand against his back, causing him to cough slightly. “It’ll be fine! I promise!”

Yoongi hung his head in defeat. Truthfully, he had no real reason to deny the request. The members of the performance troupe were his friends as well. Mostly in part to Seokjin and Jungkook introducing them to him. He’d been feeling a little ill while his father was away a few Winters back and they came to cheer him up by performing tricks and acrobatics in the freezing snow. Yoongi wanted to believe that part of his healing process stemmed from them coming to bring a smile to his face.

Brushing his fingers through his cropped hair, he tugged at the fringe until a soft stinging sensation pulled at his roots. This was a pretty big risk he was about to take. On one hand, he would be in very big trouble with his father if he got caught. There was a good chance that he wouldn’t be able to leave to visit the small village at the foot of the mountain for several months. His martial arts training would be literal torture. 

On the other hand, he would be helping his friends out and he would also get to see the Crown City, a place he’d always longed to visit. 

Releasing his hair, he lowered his hand to his face to bite at his thumbnail. If I’m wearing a mask, it should be fine. Even if I run into Father, he’ll never recognize me with my face covered. He gave his two friends sidelong glances, roughly dropping his hand at his side. I’ll probably never get another chance like this again…

Yoongi shook his head, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Get the horses ready. I’ll meet you down at the village.” 

Seokjin and Jungkook jumped into the air, yelling with excitement. They both rambled at once, speeding off with the promise to have traveling gear ready by the time he made it down the mountain. San barked after them, his tail wagging happily as they disappeared through the forest. Groaning, he motioned for the wolf to follow him.

“I need to bathe and get you some food ready.” Yoongi picked up the bucket, gripping his training sword in the other hand. “You’ll have to stay here, San. If you’re with me, Father will discover me immediately.” 

The wolf seemed to understand his words, his ears folding back slightly as he whined. Squatting down, he pet San between his ears and the wolf licked his wrist in response. 

“I know, I know. It can’t be helped.” He smiled. “Besides, who knows how the citizens in the city will react when they see a wild wolf roaming through the streets. I don’t want anything happening to you.”

San stepped forward, licking Yoongi’s cheek. He felt a small measure of relief when he saw the wolf wagging its tail. Now that he thought about it, this would be the first time in four years that he wouldn’t have San at his side. 

“I’ll see if Kali-ssi can check on you tomorrow.” Bringing San close, he hugged his neck and nuzzled his face into his fur. “Don’t worry, you fool. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

[hillbillied]

OH could I have Andyeddie 35 and 39 AU and trope please?

35. Pirate AU + 39. Star Crossed Lovers

(apologies for the delay and the fuckin length of this, i got a little too into it and binged PofC, thank you so much for sending this in!)

They say there’s a pirate on the Seven Seas who everybody knows. A Captain Haldane, they say, who once bested Davy Jones himself and now cannot die at sea. Rumour has it he’s over a hundred years old, more rumours say he’s far too handsome for that.  He’s a gentleman and a fighter, a hero to the common and a menace to every Empire that dares fly its flag across the waves. He’s fearsome and beloved, a name that sends shivers down the spine.

It begins at the end, his story (if you believe it’s true, of course).

It begins with Andrew Haldane sinking towards the ocean’s depths. Another corpse drifting ever downward. He’s young and stupid enough to swear revenge on the most feared pirate Captain of the time. He’d hunted the man down but lost the ensuing fight. (You can’t fight an entire crew by yourself.) They tie his hands behind his back and make him walk the plank. He watches the sunlight disappear as he sinks down, down, down.

That’s when the Sailor’s Devil appears. The voice of Davy Jones, asking him if he wants to make a deal. Serve the sea for a hundred years and get whatever you want in return.

Andrew asks for another chance at revenge. Jones agrees.

~

Mr. Haldane finds himself on a ship unlike any other. Blistering with barnacles, draped in seaweed, rotting like a wreck, yet it sails faster than anything. The Flying Dutchman. Its Captain is the same, his clothes rotting and his curly hair always dripping. A tall, tall man, looking down on him coldly. (With a deep scowl that can’t hide his pretty blue eyes.)

“Welcome t’ the crew.” Jones says. Andrew gives him a charming smile and asks “Davy Jones, I take it?” He recognises the voice. What he doesn’t recognise is how a man can look equal parts rotten, fearsome, and attractive in one fell swoop.

The taller man grunts, half a smirk taking his lips. He leans over his newest crew member with a glare. “Tha’s Captain Jones, Mr. Haldane.”

Captain Jones, as Andrew comes to know him, is a mystery and a half. Since they’re going to be spending a hundred years together, however, it’s not like Haldane is short on time for study.

The first thing he learns is that Jones is a man of his word. Whilst it terrifies Andrew the first time the Dutchman submerges, sinking beneath the waves yet leaving the crew breathing salty water like it’s nothing, the destination is worth it. Jones gives him a front row seat as the man unleashes the ship’s fury onto Haldane’s target. They board the dying vessel together and cut down those who remain.

Andrew gets his revenge much sooner than he’d expected. Suddenly, a hundred years seems like a very, very long time. He thanks Jones regardless. The man simply shrugs; “Don’t bore me with y’ reasons.”

The second thing he learns about Jones is his strength. It’s a tidal wave; slamming against a body, it’ll break you in two. Demonstrated when one crewman attempts to rile up some kind of mutiny. It fails, of course, long before Jones comes sidling over the deck. He doesn’t draw his rusty sword, Andrew notes. Doesn’t have to; grabbing the boy by the collar, he slams him into the rail. The deafening crack has even Andrew flinching. Jones doesn’t even seem angry, just unimpressed.

The third thing he learns about Jones is that he has a large, mottled scar across the left side of his chest. Right over his heart, but books don’t survive on the Flying Dutchmen unless you can read water damage, so Andrew has no research prospects. He notices the scar the same day he learns the fourth thing about Jones; The man takes off his shirt in the sun, hat gone but bandana keeping his curls at bay. Working the rigging with his muscles straining and those worn tattoos running over his arms. (What Andrew learns is that he enjoys seeing this. Not so much a Jones-thing as a him-thing.)

The fifth thing he learns is that Captain Jones can play guitar. And he’s really fucking good at it. The crew don’t cheer for an encore because they fear him, they cheer because his tunes and singing make the days pass a little easier.

The sixth thing he learns about Jones is that his crew are never permanent. Once their service is up, they disappear. Everyone is happy for them, except the Captain. Andrew notices how tired the man looks when another crewman vanishes. Haldane wonders is Jones is lonely.

The seventh thing he learns about Jones is that he is lonely. Andrew’s his first mate by then, they spend time together in the Captain’s cabin. It’s always a drunken delight. Andrew has asked all the pointed questions about the afterlife; Jones has dutifully shrugged and told him to ‘fuck off’.

“What made you Captain of the Flying Dutchmen?” Andrew asks instead. “Why’d y’wanna kill that pirate so bad?” Jones counters.

The first answer is Andrew’s; “Because he killed my matelot.” He says, “But I’ll be with him again when my time’s up here.” The words have Jones’ shoulders clenching, his drunken eyes wandering elsewhere for a moment. Then he says; “Y’can’t be with someone in death who ain’t dead.”

If Andrew hadn’t staggered to his feet, demanded to know what he meant by that, he might have noticed Jones avoiding the original question.

The eighth thing he learns about Jones is that the man is never cruel. Unfair, perhaps, but never cruel. He tells Andrew that if his matelot died at sea, he would know. Would probably have appeared to him, offered the same deal he gave Haldane. “I only deal with good men who come t’bad ends.” Jones says.

The ninth thing he learns about Jones is that the man has no heart. Literally. When they stumble into each other on another drunken night, chests pressed close, Andrew can’t feel a heartbeat to match his own. (Their slurred laughter leads to some hilarious wrestling before they both collapse in a pile to sleep.)

Which is a shame, because figuratively, Jones is a big softie. He always lets the crabs he finds in his boots go free. He never lets his beard grow longer than a stubble to ‘avoid lookin’ scarier than he already is’. He works the sails with his men just as much as he steers the ship. His blushes when he laughs as Andrew’s jokes. (He didn’t always do that one.)

The tenth thing Andrew learns is that Jones’ first name isn’t 'Davy or even anything close. The Captain has long since stopped calling his first mate ‘Mr. Haldane’; it’s ‘Andy’ now. But when Haldane tries to reciprocate, he just gets a laugh. “Edward.” Jones says, “M’name’s actually… Edward…”

Andy covers the crushing sadness that consumes him with a forced laugh of his own. “Eddie, then.” He says. How come nobody even knows your real name?

Eventually, in his ninety-ninth year of service aboard the Dutchman, Andy strikes gold. A new crewman who knows the legends of the sea appears. They play dice together and Haldane offers him as much rum as he needs to keep talking. All about how Davy Jones (“Eddie Jones.” Andy quietly corrects.) swallowed the heart of the sea, only to cough up his own instead. Now the man is cursed to an eternity on the waves, only able to set foot on land once every ten years. And if you were to eat Jones’ heart, just like he did all those years ago, you could be the Dutchman’s Captain. And Jones? Well, he’d die the same as any other man.

“He’d be free…” Andy wonders. “Sure,” The crewman says, “But who’d be stupid enough to take on that burden? Better him that us.”

Andy knows where Jones keeps his heart and the key to open it. Because Eddie has told him, never once suspecting things might turn out so strangely. Or that Andrew might be almost at the end of his hundred years’ service and, instead of joy, feel only panic.

That’s how it ends. Just the two of them, under a moonlit sky, on the deck of the Dutchman. The only sound is the quiet tha-thump, tha-thump of the heart in Andy’s hand. He’s never seen Jones’ go pale like that. (Paler than he already is, he supposes.) He’s never seen his Captain with fear in his eyes.

“Andy.” He says, the cold tone ruined by the tremor in his voice, “Put tha’ back. Y’don’t want immortality, trust me.” And Andy has to laugh at the accusation. Because Eddie really can’t imagine that someone might be doing this out of compassion rather than for selfish gains. “I don’t want to be Captain, Eddie!” Haldane cries. “Then why’re y-?” It eventually sinks in.

“I want to free you.” Andy says. “I won’t let ye’.” Eddie shoots back. He takes a step forward. Haldane raises the heart closer to his lips. The stalemate keeps them both still.

“You’ll be trapped f’ eternity.” Jones says. He pretends that it’s the curse that is making his cheeks wet. “You’re already trapped for eternity.” Andy laughs, “And I won’t leave you like this.” “Put it back in the chest, Andy…” Eddie whispers. His voice can barely be heard about the waves. “Please.” He takes another step and Haldane opens his mouth.

Those are definitely tears on the face of the fearsome Captain Jones. “Please, Andy, I love you!” He cries, “Don’t do this f’ me! I’m not worth it! Put it back in th’ chest!” The words bring tears to both their eyes now.

“I love you too.” Andrew says. He glances down at the heart in his hand, steeling himself to swallow the damn thing. The heart of the sea, held so close to his own, beating safely within his chest. “Oh…” He says as realisation takes him. He looks back at Eddie. He’s smiling. His hundredth year is almost up.

“Does it have to be in a chest?”

~

Captain Andrew Haldane is the pirate on the Seven Seas who everybody knows. A man with a scar across the left side of his chest, where they say he cut out his own heart to best Davy Jones. Rumour has it the deal made it so he could never die at sea; an eternity of freedom, threatened only were he to step foot on land. Fortunately, the man doesn’t seem to do that much. He mainly visits quiet islands, once every ten years, with his first mate as company.

Rumour has it he’s over a hundred years old, more rumours say he’s far too handsome for that.  He’s a gentleman and a fighter, a hero to the common and a menace to every Empire that dares fly its flag across the waves. It’s said he once took out an entire armada with only two ships; his beloved Peleliu, and another that rose from the depths itself to fight by his side. Apparently, he threw his first mate overboard before the battle as a sacrifice to the sea, and in return he received this terrifying ghost ship.

He’s fearsome and beloved, a name that sends shivers down the spine. Sceptics say the scar is just an old wound, that if you listen to his chest you can hear the beat of a heart within.

Of course, when asked, Captain Haldane just smiles. “How do you know if the heart’s really mine?” He’ll say. Some are inclined to believe him. Particularly his crew, who have each glimpsed the similar, jagged scar across the chest of his first mate. A tall man named Edward, who is always chosen to watch the ship when they reach port. The crew might feel bad for him, always being the one ‘stuck at sea’, were it not for Captain Haldane always quickly returning so they can be alone together. Every pirate is a little jealous of those two, what a perfect matelotage they must share.

[curiosity-killed]

and if she leads

Pairing: Altaïr & Maria (platonic) Word count: 2028

                 Discovering he’s kind is the worst mistake of Maria’s life.

                 Hating them, disdaining them, has been easy especially after Robert’s death. She bore no undue fondness for the man, an ass who paid her no favors and only brought her on because her wages cost less than a man’s, but he had given her opportunity where no one else would. Continuing his grudge was easy tribute.

                 “Here.”

                 She looks up, hands already forming fists, to see the Assassin offering out a waterskin.

                 “You haven’t drunk anything and your face is” — he fans his fingers across his face as if to indicate a flush — “red. You need to drink.”

                 “I’m fine,” she snaps.

                 “Drink it,” he insists. “You’ll be ill.”

                 She takes it from him mostly to get it out of her face and scowls for good measure. Her face feels hot as a fire iron, dry and cracking from the heat in this cargo hold.

                 “I don’t need you babysitting me,” she snaps in Arabic, “and I speak your tongue better than you speak French.”

                 He doesn’t protest but only holds his hands up in placation and takes the skin back when she’s done. They sit in silence a long while, only broken by the sway of the ship and the slosh of waves against its sides. The Assassin seems unbothered, his arms resting over his knees and eyes half-lidded as if dozing. She doesn’t share his patience, and watching him only makes irritation crawl up her spine like spiders’ legs.

                 “What are you running from?” she asks at last.

                 “I am not running from anything,” he retorts.

                 Raising an eyebrow, she looks pointedly to the dismal cargo hold. No one chooses to travel in such accommodations unless they’re desperate. The barrels lashed to the floor groan with the swaying of the ship, scraping against each other with tired whines.

“I’m looking for something,” the Assassin finally mutters, grudging.

                 He doesn’t offer any more or ask what she’s running from, and so the swaying silence settles in again. It isn’t any more welcome the second time around, and Maria tilts her head back against the wall to keep from smacking her forehead into it just to relieve the tedium. She’s never been one for sitting still, for waiting for something rather than reaching out and making it happen herself. Growing up, her mother berated her for her lack of patience and her bullheadedness, as if reprimands could reshape what nature wrought.

                 “Is is true your leader is a prophet favored by old gods?”

                 That earns a sound almost like a laugh from the Assassin, a snort that is equal parts amused and tired. Running a hand back over his hair, he drops his white hood to his shoulders and leans his head against the wall in a mirror of her pose.

                 “I do not feel like a prophet,” he remarks, quiet, “nor favored by any gods.”

                 With his face out of the shadow of his hood, he looks surprisingly young and his answer stops Maria short. Even with tired shadows under his eyes and the whisper of stubble along his cheeks and jaw, he looks young. Far too young to be the Old Man of the mountain. He cannot be much older than her, if any at all, and the stories of the Assassins’ leader stretch far into antiquity.

                 “You?” she demands. “But the stories are of an old man, a long white beard — you cannot be the great Mentor of the Assassins.”

                 His lips twist, displeasure in their curl.

                 “He was old,” is all he says.

                 A sneer curls Maria’s lips before she can think better of it. Haste has ever been her saving grace and downfall all tied together.

                 “So that’s it,” she says. “You killed the old man for glory and ambition, to steal his own seat. How base of you, to turn like animals against your master.”

                 “There was no glory in it,” he snaps, straightening. “I did not do it for ambition.”

                 He’s straightened, turned toward her with jaw tight and amber eyes hard. His hands have tensed to fists, and she half expects that wrist-borne dagger to jut forth and cut her throat for the asking. Lifting her chin in challenge, she meets his stormy glare with her own. He looks away first, turning sharply from her and pulling his knees back close to his chest. His shoulders are still tense, hiked up, and he flicks his hood over his head once more with a sharp gesture.

                 It’s not like she cares what he thinks or what his motivations really are, but Maria can’t swallow down the strange guilt that worms up her chest. His fury seemed genuine, lashing out as if to protect an open wound. She doesn’t care about him, but it still feels wrong to have probed a hurt like that with so little finesse. He’s a far cry from a gentleman, but in all their interactions, he’s seemed an honest man. It seems unfair to have questioned that so rudely.

                 “Was he your father?” she asks after a moment, trying at a gentler tone.

                 The Assassin exhales, short, and doesn’t answer immediately. There isn’t any surprise on what she can see of his face, though, only the tight-lipped look of someone unsure of the right answer. That, more than what he says, gives her the answer she sought.

                 “No.”

                 Close enough to one, though, if she judges right. That hesitance didn’t come from an easy answer. Lacing her fingers together, she toys with the ring on her middle finger and lets her questions die. It was a gift from Robert, a token from a man she killed for him. It’s morbid, perhaps, but it was the first time he commended her for something other than simply not being in the way.

                 “Why did you join the Templars?”

                 The question startles her, pulls her gaze from the past to the Assassin instead. He watches her, patient, the temper gone out of his posture and expression. He doesn’t look any happier, either, just — blank. There’s a coldness to his expression, a mask of impassivity. He can’t have scrubbed the fatigue from his features, but he seems to have found some way to coil it into armor, that earlier vulnerability bound tightly away.

                 “I was looking for something,” she replies, dry, before sighing and releasing the ring to interlace her fingers. “Back in England, I was expected to be a — a very specific image of a lady. To dress well, to mind my tongue, to bear sons for my husband. I wanted something else.”

                 “And did you find it here?” he asks.

                 He sounds genuinely interested, as if he’s truly asking for the answer rather than just to be nosey or needling. Seeking an answer to his own search? she wonders but doesn’t ask aloud.

                 “Yes,” she answers truthfully, “in a way.”

                 The life she’s lived here in this desert land has been rough and bloody, rarely honorable and never glorious. Still, it’s given her freedom, raw-fingered and dirty as it is. She thinks back to England, to the girl she was on her wedding day, and knows that that girl would be proud of the bared-teeth grin she sports now instead of a bridal veil.

                 “And you? I hear the Assassins recruit from cradles,” she says, trying not to make it sound like she’s provoking him. “Or did you join of your own will?”

                 “There is always choice,” he says, as though it’s an automatic response.

                 Dropping his head back against the wall, he tilts it to one side as if in thought. He’s quiet a moment, though she’s starting to get used to these pauses. Before now, she would not have called him a thoughtful man, but then, she hardly knows him at all.

                 “I was born to the Brotherhood and joined when I was of age — some years out of the cradle, at least.” He shoots her a look, half-teasing, before carrying on, “But I have chosen this life.”

                 If she was looking for any answer in particular, that wasn’t it. She doesn’t know what would be. It seems too mild, too settled an answer for a bloody young leader chasing the unknown as a stowaway. Perhaps she is more romantic than she wants to admit.

                 “So you believe your Order is right, then?” she asks.

                 “Yes,” he answers before pausing. “I believe that we carve the path to truth, and that the path is as fallible as the men who make it but the pursuit of freedom, of truth, is worth the errors. Plato himself believed in the pursuit, even within his—”

                 “What, are you a monk now?” Maria demands

                 She’s heard strange tales of the Assassins, but never that they would wax poetic about dead men’s beliefs. The stories around them were ever of the mystical and bloody sort, about their ability to vanish from thin air and reappear in places no man could reach. Magicians, she would not be surprised by, but scholars?

                 Now, the assassin pauses, looking surprised. The bemusement on his face is enough to make her almost laugh, and she stifles the smile that threatens her lips.

                 “You do not care for philosophy?” he asks, in the same tone as someone shocked that she does not like fish or incense.

                 “For the thoughts of long-dead men who believed all the answers of the universe were contained in their own minds?” She scoffs. “Show me one who did something with those grand thoughts, made some real change in the world, or better yet, show me a woman, and perhaps I will care for it.”

                 He stops short, seeming to process her words before relenting with a slight inclination of his head, something like concession in the gesture. Amused, Maria offers out her hand.

                 “My name’s Maria, by the way,” she says, “Maria Thorpe.”

                 He cants his head, eyeing her hand as if uncertain of the gesture. Instead of shaking her hand, he clasps her forearm instead, hand firm even if his attitude isn’t.

                 “Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad,” he replies, releasing the hold.

                 By now, she’s become used to the descriptiveness of the names here, and her eyebrows rise slightly at his own. How handy of their titles to provide such information, though she does wonder at the thought of an orphan being made a leader of his people.

                 “I’m sorry about what I said earlier about you,” she says, folding her arms over her knees, “and your French isn’t really that bad.”

                 “It is fine. Your Arabic is” — he pauses, wiggles his hand as if in ambivalence — “passable.”

                 Startled, she looks to him sharply and finds a grin pulls up the corner of his lips, curling the pink scar cutting through them. The start of her irritation fades, irrationally won over by something like amusement. She probably deserves it, anyway.

                 As the ship docks and they separate to steal onto land, she has a feeling a bookmark has been placed in this conversation, that the final chapter is not yet written. Despite her better judgment, she likes the thought.

                                                        ---

                 “Aristoclea!” he calls the next time they meet.

                 She freezes with one hand on the top rung of the ladder and twists around to squint at him. Is he having some sort of attack? Is it a code for a band of assassins to trap or kill her? He’s two arms’ lengths below her, scaling the wall instead of the ladder like some overgrown spider.

                 “What?” she demands.

                 “A female philosopher, who did more than sit and talk,” he says, leveling with her. “The teacher of Pythagoras.”

                 Before she can form a reply, his quick hand has snatched the Piece of Eden from hers, and he hauls himself over the edge of the roof with a single fluid roll. Before he’s fully on the roof, his feet are under him and propelling him forward. She scrambles after him, irritated at being duped, but she can’t fight the smile pulling at her lips. Even without seeing his face, she knows he wears a matching one as they race across the rooftops.

[irikahkrios]

i've talked about this before but postcanon emmett goes to college, gets a degree that lets him teach theatre and becomes a high school theatre teacher. and boy do i love that for the aesthetic alone, considering how emmett looks and acts at this point postcanon

so picture this chubby, hairy guy, scruffy red beard, long (mid-back) curly red hair in a ponytail with a bit of gray at the temples, shows up to work every day in either 1) hawaiian shirts with cargo shorts or 2) elvis-style jumpsuits (which isn't actually that weird for the sci-fi setting. jumpsuits are very much A Thing in mass effect just like they're A Thing in 90's star trek, but most probably aren't as shiny and flamboyant as the ones this dude is wearing), mechanical prosthetic arm and leg, generally kinda looks like he's Been Through Some Shit but in like, a cool uncle kinda way. personality-wise, he's a riot. insists students call him by his first name (because, he tells them, he hyphenated his last name when he got married and hoo boy is it a mouthful), shows the class videos of his cats and the students all know his cats by name, his little office in the back of the classroom is plastered with more cat pictures, as well as pictures of him with his wife and two husbands, and their three or four kids (there's an adult drell who's obviously his husband and wife's son/his stepson, but his students aren't sure if that big-ass krogan is really His Kid Who He Raised or if he's just fucking with them. attempts to ask him have not cleared this up in the slightest) who are all different species. he's openly bi and trans, has pride flags hanging on his classroom walls (shhh it's the future public schools won't be so shitty in 200 years) and wears pride flag pins to match. he tells bad dad jokes. he's the warmest, funniest presence who makes you feel so seen and listened to and appreciated. if you're being bullied he'll fight like hell to get the "little shit" responsible (also he is capable of swearing like a sailor in front of his students and it's great) to answer to the school's higher authorities. he's that teacher all the "weird kids" bond with. he's every cool teacher you had in high school rolled into one sweet, jolly bastard.

and the funniest part about this silly, loving dude who makes learning about the history of theatre fun? he's the greatest, most famous, most profoundly respected war hero in the history of the galaxy. he led the team that saved the galaxy from total annihilation on no less than three occasions. he personally detonated the device that destroyed the reapers, fully prepared to sacrifice his own life in the process. he has literally died once before and was brought back to life after his stalker stole his corpse and gave it to a terrorist organization that spent two years rebuilding him to fight the reapers, because they knew that he was the only one who could. he's space jesus, in the flesh, he saved the lives of everyone in the galaxy and now he's working at your high school going off on a pre-class tangent about the musical cats and its unfair treatment after some bad vid adaptation in the late 2010s-early 2020s. one of his own cats is named after the model of shotgun he used the most during the reaper war. one of the husbands he tells silly domestic stories about so fondly is garrus goddamn vakarian, his famous right-hand man and lover, a respected war hero in his own right and, depending on how many decades this is post-canon (i feel like he needs 20-30 years to grow into it/get the experience required/become comfortable with the idea), possibly the fucking primarch of the turian hierarchy. and your theatre teacher talks about him like it's no big deal, "oh garrus did this," "oh garrus said this funny thing to me the other day," "oh we were at disney world this past summer and they had dextro churros so garrus got to try a churro for the first time." you try to picture the turian primarch eating a churro. you cannot. not until your theatre teacher shows you a picture, himself and his husband with their levo and dextro churros, respectively, in hand. they are both wearing mickey mouse ears. these men stopped the reapers three times.

this man walked into your school and asked for a job teaching theatre to high schoolers. hell, he probably wouldn't even have needed to go to college and get a degree for it if he didn't want to, he could have just walked up to the front desk and said "hi i'm emmett shepard, i want a job here teaching theatre, my qualifications are that i'm emmett shepard" and they would have fucking given him the job. it's surreal. it's something out of a comedy vid. you can't fucking believe it. his wife, irikah krios, is the brilliant doctor who singlehandedly jump-started research into the treatment of her species' most common terminal illness, all while on the run from batarian slavers who wanted her family dead. you just learned about her accomplishments in your biology class yesterday. she and her husband thane fought in the reaper war too. there's a picture on your theatre teacher's wall of her holding up a corgi that's dressed like wonder woman.

your theatre teacher, emmett fucking shepard (shepard-vakarian-krios, he is quick to correct people), saunters into class today, his wild red hair pulled into a bun and his cargo shorts a camo pattern in garish rainbow colors. ("found 'em at the thrift shop the other day! my size, rainbow as hell, only thing is i fuckin' hate camo. stood there for twenty minutes tryin' to decide if i should get 'em or not. eventually thane said i should go for it, that it was meant to be or somethin'. so here they are!") thane, as mentioned before, is their other husband. he is one of the most deadly assassins in the galaxy. through your teacher, you know that he is now retired and spends his time tending a garden of succulents and practicing yoga. you have seen pictures of him somehow managing to balance six cats on his body at once. emmett fucking shepard-vakarian-krios, the hero of the galaxy and the guy who teaches your fifth period theatre class, starts on one of his characteristic pre-class tangents. he calls the phantom of the opera a "creepy incel." you like him very, very much.

[darkangeldesignstudio]

Dark Horse

It’s back!!! Hope everyone had an amazing Halloween, I know I did lol. Here’s my little treat for you guys since my favorite holiday gave me the boost I needed to start writing again. I hope you all like it. As usual, I wouldn’t have been able to do this without my lovely Beta @sexykitty96​. So, shoot her some love in the comments/reblogs as well!!

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Attempted Rape, Strong Language, Mentions of Animal Abuse, and Eventual Smut and Fluff

Setting: Post Civil War era USA. Marvel Cowboy AU.

Preface: Your home is attacked by the Hydra gang and you are rescued by Steve, Bucky, and their group. The government agency, known as Shield, wants them captured and Hydra wants them dead. With nowhere else to go, you join their ragtag group and set out on the adventure of a lifetime. Helping those less fortunate along the way, your small group grows and so does your affection for these two rough and tumble outlaws. When the chips are down, will you all be able to escape unscathed? Or will the boot drop and leave you heartbroken and alone again?

Song: Gunpowder and Lead by Miranda Lambert

Previous / Next

Chapter Nine: Calm

After a miserable three days of searching for Pepper, the group decided moving on was the safest option. If they stayed in one place for too long, Hydra or Shield could find them and attack. So, with that in mind, you all packed up camp together and moved on towards your next stop along the never ending road to home.

Moving for hours on end was tiresome enough, but the air was thick and melancholy with your recent failure. It hung most heavily around you and Tony, keeping you from being able to enjoy all of nature’s beauty that surrounded you on the road.

If you had bothered to look, you would have seen the immense green landscape full of wildlife. Housing was sparse here and traffic from other riders and wagons were virtually nonexistent. It was peaceful. No shouting from townsfolk or ringing of bells from a church. No noise pollution at all. Just the chirping of songbirds and the constant sound of rock and dirt beneath your horse’s hooves.

But, with everyone’s spirits so low, it was hard to enjoy anything at this point. You sighed, slumping in your saddle as Boda nickered at you, trying to cheer you up. You smiled a bit, rubbing his neck in thanks before Bucky pulled everyone to a halt and sent Soldat into the trees, putting you all on high alert.

Steve looked at you quizzically from Star’s saddle, but you only shook your head. You had heard nothing, but you sidled up to Bucky and Sergeant, anyway. Murmuring quietly, you tried to get Bucky’s attention. “Bucky? What’s going on? Did you see something?”

He shook his head before tapping his ear. He had heard something.

A rustle in the brush caught everyone’s attention and hands began to reach for pistols in their holsters, before Soldat came bounding out again shaking water out of his fur. Everyone gave a sigh of relief.

“Well, looks like there is a stream nearby. How about we take a break?” Boda seemed to agree as he nickered at Bucky. Chuckling softly, he dismounted and began leading Sergeant into the trees with Soldat following behind.

Everyone followed suit, making a single file line through the closely packed trees and down to the stream. Jarvis and Bruce brought buckets out to the cart horses and everyone took a few minutes to relax before moving on.

You sat by the slowly flowing stream, soaking up the tranquil atmosphere while nursing your newly filled canteen. The water was cool on your tongue and refreshing after such a long ride, but your heart seemed heavy. Exhaling, you hugged your knees to your chest, resting your cheek upon your jean-clad legs.

“You doing okay there, doll?” Steve’s deep voice was filled with concern as he took a seat in the cool grass.

Turning to him, you observed his profile as he stared at the lazy stream, unable to stop the small smile that crept onto your face. It really was unfair, how handsome he was. “I’ll be fine, Steve. Just a bit disappointed. I was hoping we could help her.”

Your tired voice was strained with sadness and stress. Steve turned to look upon you as you stared into the stream’s crystal water. He wanted to reach out, wanted to reassure you and make you feel better, but he wasn’t sure how. For once, he had nothing to say.

So, instead, he acted. Leaning into your space, he placed his hand on your shoulder before pulling you into his side. You squeaked in surprise, but settled into his warmth with a small smile on your lips and a blush in your cheeks.

Steve watched you as you viewed the water flowing across the rocks. His smile growing with yours as you snuggled into his side. His heart swelled with his thoughts. Yes, this is where she belongs.

Before either of you could question what was happening, you felt the warm pillow of his lips connect with the top of your head, just above your temple. Your heart began to race, tingles running through your body at the contact. This was different, more intimate than the touches he usually bestowed, you had a fiery heat rise in your blood just before a shrill scream echoed through the trees.

_______________________________________________________________________

Bucky saw from the clearing as Steve settled in the grass beside you. His heart ached for you, knowing how tired and sad you must be from not being able to help Pepper, but he was unsure. A fear gripped his heart, a sadness so deep that it was crushing. What if he couldn’t help you? What if he wasn’t enough?

So, when he saw Steve move to comfort you, he got a sense of relief. Steve was always the more sensitive one in their long-standing friendship. He found it easy to show his emotions, from shedding a tear to flying off the handle, it all came easy for Steve. Bucky was the stoic one, the man with no emotion. Thinking back on it, that’s probably the most logical explanation for Tony’s nickname for him.

He chuckled under his breath, brushing a hand over Soldat’s ears when his head bumped against Bucky’s thigh. Peering down at the overgrown pup, Bucky watched Soldat’s ears prick forward. He was checking out you and Steve with interest and it made him smile.

A small squeak pulled Bucky’s attention back to the stream, just in time to see you curling into Steve’s side. His heart stuttered a beat, a small pang of jealousy taking root. For a moment, he wished it was him. He wished he was the one that was comforting you. His fists clenched as he saw Steve lay a kiss upon your head. A heat rose in his chest, making his blood boil in anger.

His heart raged at him, as disappointment and self-hate flooded his mind. You missed your chance, Bucky. All because you can’t get over your past. And now you’re losing the one girl you thought you could love and your brother is the one that will take her.

Bucky struggled against the hateful thoughts, trying to push back against them. There was no way he would lose you that easily, Steve wouldn’t do that to him. They were partners. Best friends in everything. Brothers till the end of the line.

Taking a step towards the stream, not sure of what he would do once he got there, but a deep growl interrupted Bucky’s thoughts. Soldat’s hackles rose, teeth bared towards the path they had just come from before a shrill scream echoed through the trees and everyone froze.

_______________________________________________________________________

Everyone in the clearing froze before jumping into action all at once. The heat in your blood, forgotten in an instant as fear for whoever just screamed took hold of you.

Mounting up, you all headed towards the sound of fighting that was coming from just up the road a ways. It only took seconds to reach the fracas ahead of you, but what you came across sent everyone spiraling.

A lone woman, with strawberry blonde hair, was currently surrounded by men. They were on all sides of her cart, one held the reins of her horse, keeping him immobile as another man had the woman by the arm. He was dragging her from the cart, trying to forcibly take her down as she struggled.

Her face was shielded by a large-brimmed hat, probably meant to hide her face from the sun, and other people. But a hard slap from the large man sent it flying into the grass.

Her head whipped to the side with his force. Turning back to him, she begged for her life. “Please, Obadiah. Just leave me be.”

An inhuman rage settled in your gut as you drew your gun, aiming it at the man’s head. You put your finger on the trigger, ready to fire, but a hand on the barrel stopped you.

Turning to the owner of the offending hand, you connected eyes with Tony. He shook his head, pushing the barrel of your gun towards the ground as he dismounted.

“Obadiah, what is the meaning of this?” You watched as Tony sauntered towards the group, his jaw clenching repeatedly with every step he took.

Obadiah sneered, rubbing his bearded face as Tony approached. “Well look at what the cat dragged in. How are you, Tony?”

Overlooking the man, Tony looked up to the woman on the wagon. “You wanna go with him, Pepper? Or do you want to come with us?”

The men around the wagon shifted, but all eyes were on Pepper when she spoke. Her eyes narrowed on Obadiah’s form as she rubbed the sore place on her cheek where he hit her. “I never want to see him again as long as I live.”

Tony took a step between Pepper and Obadiah, creating an opening for her to escape the circle of men. He smiled over his shoulder at her before nodding towards the group. “Well, I’d say you better get over there. Y/N’s been looking for you since we met in the store.”

You smiled at Tony as Pepper joined you and the rest of the group on the road. Mark II nuzzled her shoulder as she stood behind you, shaking.

“What do you think you’re doing, Tony? Never known you to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. You were always too cold to care.” Obadiah squared his shoulders, standing tall as he talked down to his former colleague. Tony just smiled, that cocky grin that was so infuriating.

“Well, Obadiah. Let’s just say, things have changed since the time you knew me. Today, I plan to teach you a lesson. A lesson that a man should never lay hands on a woman, like you have today.” Pulling out his gun belt, Tony tossed it over to Bruce before raising his fists and squaring his shoulders for a fight.

“You just made a big mistake, Tony.” Obadiah drew a knife from his belt, smiling maniacally as he nodded to his men to back off.

Tony just smiled and waited for the larger man to strike, confidence rolling off of him in waves as the men surrounding them backed away a few feet. Your group flanked the other men, determined to keep them out of the fight by any means necessary. Tony would get a clean fight, even if you all had to get a little dirty to keep it that way.

Obadiah swung wildly with his blade, trying to catch Tony in the gut. But Tony evaded him easily, causing the large man to stumble into Pepper’s cart. Her horse spooked a bit from the jostling, but held still as the men continued to fight. Pepper looked on in fear as the men took shots at one another.

Slashing with his knife again, Obadiah missed twice more before Tony hit him with a well placed punch to the face. Obadiah was sent sprawling onto the ground, but he got back up quickly, aiming for Tony with another slice of the blade.

He dodged, grabbing the large brute by his arm and twisting it behind his back to disarm him. Once the blade hit the ground, Tony spun the man around and punched him across the nose and blood began to pour down Obadiah’s chin.

In a dirty move, Obadiah picked up a rock and chucked it at Tony’s head, making him have to hit the ground to avoid the stone. This gave Obadiah an opening. He launched himself at Tony, kicking him hard in the chin as he tried to rise. Tony rolled away only to get kicked again when he tried to stand.

Obadiah’s kick sent Tony reeling into the side of Pepper’s horse, who startled again but refused to move. Using his momentum, Tony pushed off the horse’s flank and grabbed Obadiah around the head, trying to push the man away. But Obadiah was bigger and he pushed Tony into the trunk of a tree, holding him in place as he tried to choke him out.

Tony struggled, pushing back just enough to be able to punch the man across the jaw. Obadiah went reeling again, falling upon the ground before jumping to his feet again.

Both men were breathing heavily, hunching a bit from the pain of their injuries, but neither wanted to back down. Obadiah came at Tony again and again, but Tony managed to dodge many of the man’s punches while also landing a few of his own.

Finally, it seemed Tony had won. Obadiah laid on the ground as the surrounding men stared in surprised horror. One muttering, “I didn’t know Obadiah could ever be beat.”

Nodding to the nearest man, Tony pointed down to the defeated man in the dirt. “Get him out of here. And never come after Pepper again.”

The man nodded, grabbing Obadiah around the shoulders as he went to load him into a nearby wagon. Tony smiled as he approached your group, cocky as ever.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder, pulling a pained grunt from Tony. “You did good, friend.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “I think I’ll take tomorrow off if it’s all the same to you guys.”

Breathy chuckles filled the space around you as Tony approached Bruce and Pepper. They were still standing off to the side of the road unwilling to move. Seizing the initiative, you went to collect Pepper’s horse and cart so she wouldn’t need to approach the men that were still lingering from the fight, trying to get a now conscious Obadiah into their wagon.

Sweeping your hand along the cart horse’s neck, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye and looked on in horror as Obadiah pulled a gun from the holster of one of his men, aiming it at Tony’s back like a coward.

You tried to shout, tried to warn the group, but your throat constricted in fear as Obadiah’s finger touched the trigger. Everything was moving in slow motion until it wasn’t. You clenched your eyes shut when the gunshot rang out. The thud of a body hitting the ground pulled you back to the light, and you opened your eyes to see Obadiah on the ground.

A gasp left your lips, heart racing with fear as you looked up to your friends and saw Pepper. Her beautiful hair flowed with the breeze as she stood with her arm tossed over Tony’s shoulder, a smoking gun pointed at the dead man on the ground.

Pepper’s cart horse snorted with nerves, his legs and muscles twitching as the men under Obadiah’s orders began to shift their focus between your group and their leader’s body. The few seconds of silence seemed like years until one man reached for Obadiah’s body and finally forced its limp form into the cart.

Everyone sighed in relief as the men left, with their boss’s body in tow, and never looked back to your little group.

_______________________________________________________________________

Night falls just as you are finishing your setup of camp. Deciding that now would be a good time as any, you call everyone over to the fire and begin introducing your group to Pepper. Everyone is extremely welcoming to your new addition. Tony even flirted, making you smack him in the back of his head for his trouble.

Pepper blushed and giggled at everyone’s antics, making herself right at home within the group. You and Nat forge an instant, sisterly bond with her and invite Pepper to sleep in your shared tent. “No reason to sleep on the hard floor of your wagon when you can bunk with us. Right, Y/N?”

“Oh yeah,” you giggled. “It can be like a sleepover.”

Snuggling together in the night, you all sleep better than you had in a while and when the sun rose the next morning, you felt as if you were one step closer to your goal.

Tiptoeing out of the tent, you put on a pot of coffee as you wait for the others to wake. Pepper is the first to emerge from the tent and you offer her a cup.

“Would you like some coffee, Pepper? It’s fresh and we have sugar if you would like some.”

Choosing a seat beside you, she took the steaming cup from your hand with a sigh. “Right now, I will take it black, cold, and too weak to defend itself.”

Her answer starts you both laughing until tears form in your eyes. Once you finally get yourself together, you lean into Pepper’s side, hugging her tightly. “I have a notion you will fit right in with us, Pep. And feel free to smack Tony if he tries to get too fresh with you.”

“Hey, don’t encourage the need to hit me, Short Stack.” You chuckle as Tony’s grumbly voice cuts through the flaps of his tent and into the cool morning air. He’s sore and grumpy from the fight so you let him get away with the nickname, at least this time.

Soon, everyone joins you for coffee around the fire and you all have a nice time before packing up to move on. Kansas City was the next stop on your list and you hoped it would be a much easier go than the past one had been. Everyone deserved a bit of a break after all the ruckus.

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 27

Your Skin: Part 2

You will be surprised to see what great biological activities take place in the epidermis. Even when a person dies, this layer does not die right away. After death the nails and beard continue to grow. This occurs because of the activities in the germinative epithelium, which makes up the basal layer of the epidermis.

Beneath the epidermis is the dermis, a relatively thick layer. This is the layer which keeps the skin lively and firm and which produces the color. Many works of arts are present in this layer to complete my splendid structure. This layer consists of connective tissue with fiber bundles that is made of collagen protein. As people get older, their skin dries up and starts to lose its collagen proteins. Once the fibers start to decrease, I lose my firmness, and then I start to wrinkle. Although people are not happy with wrinkles, which are inevitable, I don’t think this is something to worry about; wrinkles are also a sign of maturity and experience. In the structure of my dermis there are other parts that have very important functions: The sweat glands, which are in the shape of coiled tubes, spread throughout the body act as ventilators; in addition, the hair follicles, the sebaceous gland, which helps to nourish and moisturize the hair, the chromatophores (pigment-containing cells) that determine the skin color, the hair muscles that give your hair flexibility and the blood vessels that nourish me are all important. I also have special receptor cells that can sense temperature, pressure and pain and there are nerve endings scattered among these cells.

In different parts of the body I am more sensitive to particular sensations. My sense receptors (corpuscles) vary in shape and you human beings have named them after the scientists who discovered them. There is Pacini’s corpuscle, Meissner’s corpuscle, Ruffini’s corpuscle and Krause’s corpuscle. Each of those receptors is thought to be receiving independent stimuli, but this has not been proven by experiment yet.

Do you ever wonder why you and your friends have so many different skin tones? This is the result of the work of the chromatophores (cells that contain pigment) which are located in the dermis, at the point closest to the epidermis. These cells, which have a number of branches, move in relation to the intensity of the light, and their branches can stretch and shrink back. These movements cause the pigment granules (melanin granules) to disperse within the cell or aggregate towards the center. This is how they can lighten or darken the skin color, causing you to get a “tan.” The seasons, the length of the day and the intensity and duration of the sunlight all affect the movement of these cells. These cells darken your skin color during the summer and lighten it during the winter. But, why is this necessary? This is a wonderful physiologic mechanism that has so many amazing purposes and meanings. I am sure you have noticed that people who live in Northern Europe and North America have a lighter complexion than those who live in the more southerly regions of the earth. This is because the countries in these northern regions are exposed to a less intense sunlight for a shorter time. The further north you go the more rainy and cloudy it is. However, sunlight also plays a very important role in the synthesizing of vitamin D in your body. The molecule known as 7-dehydrocholesterol can be converted into vitamin D only with sunlight. Vitamin D is a fat-soluble vitamin that is highly important for calcium absorption and bone metabolism. If you do not have enough exposure to the sun, then vitamin D cannot be produced; this could result in disorders like rickets (most common), as well as several other bone diseases and skeletal complications. However, it is interesting that sunlight is a two-edged sword. Neither too much nor too little sunlight is good for you. Too much exposure to the sunlight damages my health, causing such diseases as skin cancer and eye disorders. Our Lord God Almighty has made all parts of the earth suitable for human life. He knows well, of course, what people need in order to be able to live in places that have less sunlight and in other places that have a great deal of sunlight. In order to allow people to benefit from the sunlight everywhere, He has given the necessary qualities to my chromotaphores and the melanin granules that they contain. In places that have less sunlight, my chromotaphores synthesize less melanin. The melanin disperses throughout the cells or the cells move downwards, and my color lightens. This allows more sun absorption and this sunlight is used for vitamin D production. In sunny places, however, people are more exposed to the ultraviolet rays of the sun as well as other forms of radiation. This is why the risk of my cells becoming mutant and cancerous is greatly increased. In order to avoid such a situation, more melanin is synthesized in people who live in sunny places. The melanin in the chrotaphores gathers towards the center of the cell and my color darkens. Thus, excess sunlight is absorbed by my melanin pigments thanks to their special structure and function. This prevents other sensitive cells from becoming damaged and cancerous.

During hot weather, in order to balance your inner body temperature, the blood vessels that pass through the skin expand and more blood is carried through the skin. I give off the water in my blood through my sweat glands. While this warm water called “sweat” spreads over my surface and evaporates, an important amount of heat is released into the air. Thus, your inner body temperature does not increase and you remain cool inside. Thanks to the work of my sweat glands, I can also get rid of some nitrogenous waste and thus support your kidneys. During cold weather, however, the activities of my sweat glands decrease, and this helps you to stay warm. The blood vessels narrow so that the blood in me is reduced. More warm blood is channeled into your body so that your important inner organs do not become cold. The muscles of my hairs contract and the hairs straighten, thickening the layer of hair that covers me. It feels like you are covered with a blanket. If your body temperature falls off significantly, my receptors stimulate the muscles that lie under me and these muscles produce heat by vibrating. That is why you shiver from cold! Women have fewer hairs on their body. Do you think this is unfair? Of course not! Unlike men, women’s bodies are created in such a way that they can store a greater percentage of fat among the tissues under the skin. This hypodermic fatty tissue not only protects women from cold, but it is also used as extra storage for nutrients that they use when breastfeeding. It also helps protect women’s muscles and bones against bumps and shocks from the outside. So, this tissue works both as a temperature isolator and as a “shock absorber.” There is nothing unfair about this. And, it proves that God gives each of His creation exactly what they need and deserve.

Some people say that the skin is a mirror of the body’s health; this is true. The fact that I am visible and can be examined easily makes me the first organ to display symptoms of many diseases that lie below. Abnormalities that appear on me are usually a sign of metabolism disorders, ulcers and other glandular disorders in the body. For example, if your liver is being affected by a poisonous substance, this shows up as red spots on the hands. But not only physical ailments affect, me; I am also affected by your spiritual condition. Of course, the opposite can happen, too. That is, diseases on the skin can affect your inner organs.

I have mentioned before that my ability to renew and repair myself is very great. God willing, I can repair mild burns, bruises and cuts easily under normal circumstances. However, if the bruise goes as deep as my basal layer, there might be a scare there to remind you in the future and to give thanks to God for your health. In addition, in diseases like diabetes, my ability to renew and repair myself is weakened and I cannot easily heal. In such cases, you have to take the utmost care to keep me clean so that I do not get infected.

Well, I think that I have said enough about myself. I will not continue to go on about the many symptoms of diseases that can be seen on me, including, allergies, itchiness, and infections. However, it is important for you to know that I can demonstrate hundreds of different conditions that are caused by a great range of factors, such as genetically transmitted diseases, immune system disorders, and bacterial, viral, and fungal infections. But don’t worry! As you can see, the majority of people live a healthy life despite these risks. The Creator has provided your body with a protective mechanism and has taught you how to take care of yourself. My job here is to indicate the Creator and how He has made me a flawless work of art that demonstrates deep meanings behind its complexity. Rather than continuing to give you a lecture on dermatology, it would be better if you were to live according to God’s consent. If you do so, you will be protected from diseases; even if you do become ill, you will have greater patience and moral strength. You will also be more thankful to God for your health.

[lisinfleur]

Angel

Author’s Notes | I hope you like this one cause it was really sweet for me to write it! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ubbe x Blind! Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by @babygirl-lunarose for 5CW4 Words | 2906 ⁑ Warnings: ANGST, some fluffy, romance.

It wasn’t like he never had seen it before. Battles are cruel and the suffering of the enemies is commonly appreciated among warriors. But those people weren’t enemies. They weren’t even warriors! They were defenseless women and children and old men that were praying and singing a moment before they came, shattering their peaceful chants with iron, fire, and blood.

How in the nine realms could that be called a victory? How could those men be seen as honored and glorious warriors among his people when they were fighting defenseless people, winning an unfair battle with nothing but merciless horror?

Ubbe’s heart clenched in agony looking around, seeing all that cruelty and suffering. It wasn’t like this his father wanted them to behave. His brothers weren’t animals! It wasn’t his people’s way and it was sickening him to see so much innocent blood spilled in vain.

But nothing clenched his heart harder into his chest than seeing that Saxon girl so lost in the middle of that battle; her head shaking from side to side whenever a scream echoed higher, as if the sounds of everything around were terrifying her more than the whole horror spread all over that place. She had tears covering her face and her mouth was calling a name, probably someone who was already dead in the middle of so many bodies. Yet, she was there, calling for help. Her asks echoing unanswered.

Ubbe came closer, intending to help that woman, but something clenched his heart even tighter: her face turned towards him as soon as his steps came closer as if she could feel his approaching, and so he could see the grey coverage spreading over her eyes, leaving nothing but a dark contour where it was supposed to be a colored circle in her eyes.

The girl was completely blind... Completely lost in the middle of that cacophony of horrifying sounds, searching for someone she couldn't see, probably sure she was surrounded by the demons the Christians were raised being terrified with.

Poor woman.

He couldn't leave her there to die that awful way.

Trying to remember the best of what his father taught him about their language, he came closer, not touching her to avoid scaring her even more.

"You're not Theon... Who are you?" she said, feeling the different presence by her side, embracing herself.

But Ubbe just touched her hand, softly.

"Come with me. I'll take you to somewhere safe," he spoke slowly, trying to make her focus on his voice in the middle of so many terrifying sounds.

"My brother... Theon is not answering me. I can't leave him into this hell," she cried.

But Ubbe held her hand a little firmer.

"This is not hell. The church is under attack. Many people are dying around you... We need to leave now if you wanna live," he insisted, seeing the way the tears thickened in her eyes.

She understood... Dear Theon wouldn't answer anymore. Ubbe felt her hand holding his and she came closer, accepting his guidance.

He took her away from the church, from the battle, towards the streets. There were still people around being locked or slaughtered and he could feel the cold sweet in her delicate hands while he was guiding her through the town. She was surely frightened, afraid of the unknown man guiding her steps away from the screams but into a hollow silence.

With her hand between his, no men dared to touch her: he was claiming the girl and no one would dare to touch the claim of a prince, he knew it.

Walking in the counter-hand of the battle, Ubbe took her to the entrance of the city, to the small watch towers where his men were already taking places to guard the newly taken territory. Soon the battle outside would be over, and that place was safer for now.

He helped her to reach the bed of straw on the second floor and called up the man at that tower, ordering him to protect her and not to touch the girl. She quietly heard the strange language they were using to talk to each other, feeling when he came closer once again, sitting by her side.

"What is your name?" he asked, straightening her hair away from her face.

The sounds of the battle were far away from there and so, her breath was stable, calmer.

"I'm Y/N," she said, almost muttering. "May I ask you a question, sir?"

Ubbe nodded, for a second forgetting she couldn't see him before answering in a low voice.

"Yes. Anything."

"Are you one of the Norse demons?"

Her voice didn't sound full of hate, but he could recognize those words. The way the Christians had related them to the evil figures of their religion wasn't something so stupid after all. They were, in part, some kind of demons, destroying everything the Saxons knew, stealing gold and lives, and making them slaves... What was the difference, after all?

"I'm Ubbe. Son of Ragnar Lothbrok. I'm one of the commanders of the Great Heathen Army. But I didn't want to see this much blood. It wasn't my intention the things turn out the way they did."

Somehow, he felt the need to explain himself, his brothers, his men...

"My brothers and I, we came to avenge our father's murder by killing the men responsible for his death. I never wanted to hurt innocent people this way".

Her hand touched his and Ubbe noticed she was smiling. A very small and relieved curve in her lips.

"I'm glad you're not one of them..." she said, causing Ubbe's expression to twist in doubt.

He had just said he was a son of Ragnar, one of the commanders of the army that was attacking her town and bringing all the destruction and horror around her... How could he not be one of the men her people called "demons"?

Y/N seemed to feel his confusion and her smile became a little bit bigger. Her voice echoed melodic and calm, despite the situation he took her from:

"During my life, I knew some Norse people. I was a child when they first came and their settlement wasn't so far from my home. My father and mother told me to be nice to them, for they were coming to live in our lands from a place where the lands weren't so fertile. She told me King Ecbert became friends with their leader, Ragnar Lothbrok, and they had a deal for those farms."

Her story started to make sense into Ubbe's mind: his father's settlement. She came from the places around that cursed land...

"I used to play with the kids from that place. Theon and I used to play with a pair of brothers from the farm beside ours. I heard about the way our people used to call the Norsemen as demons and say they were a curse upon our lands, but those families weren't evil. They were normal mothers and fathers, and their children were usual children. They had different names for our games but it was hide-and-seek and catch." she sighed, still holding Ubbe's hand into her fingers as if she was mutely asking him to hear her until the end of the story.

A story he knew very well how would end…

"When prince Aethelwulf came with those revolted farmers to hurt those people and take back the lands king Ecbert had offered to them in goodwill, I was at the settlement with Theon and the brothers, playing. Some farmers invaded their house, killed the family and my friends, but Theon and I were able to escape through the back door. But not before one of those farmers had broken a vase on that family's altar to their gods. I don't know what was into that vase, but it splashed on my face. My eyes started burning and from that day on, I gradually lost the light of my eyes until everything dove into the darkness."

Ubbe swallowed dry. So, she wasn't blind from birth. She became blind probably because of something into that offer to the gods the farmer broke near her face.

"My mother said it was a curse from the Norsemen's gods for what our prince did... My father used to affirm it was a curse from our god for he allowed his children to get involved with the kids of the heathens. It doesn’t matter to me what they said about this: from that day on, I started to understand how things really worked in this world. There were demons everywhere, not only coming from the North. And not all the Norsemen were demons as people wanted us to believe. There are demons among your people, but you're not one of them. You're like those families, those boys I used to play with. You saved my life. You're not a demon... I would risk saying you were my angel today."

An angel.

Ubbe could remember hearing about these creatures as well. The opposite of the demons. The creatures of pure light and goodness the Christians believed were servants and messengers of their god.

"Thank you," she said, softly caressing his hand, causing his heart to fill with relief. There were so much destruction and horror, but even then, something good came from that terrible day.

"May I?" Y/N asked.

One of her hands rising in the air. Ubbe understood she wanted to know him and so, he softly guided her hand to his face. She slowly touched his skin, feeling where the beard started, knowing the traces of his jawline, his nose, even his hair, and his braid, and the bald part of his head.

"If what I can imagine is real, then you're a gorgeous man," she smiled, causing him to smile as well.

"Have you ever seen Ragnar Lothbrok when he was alive?" he asked and she nodded lightly.

"Once. When I was a child. I can remember his face," she said and so, Ubbe smiled bigger.

"The people from where I come always comment I'm the one among my father's sons that most looks like him. My eyes are blue, like his. The only thing different is my hair, that's kinda red, like my mother's." he said, remembering nostalgically how people of Kattegat used to say he was growing into a copy of his father's appearance.

"He was a handsome man. You must be handsome as well," she said, noticing the sounds outside was silencing. "The city is quiet," she observed, with fear.

But Ubbe caressed her face softly with his free hand, gently pressing her hand with the other, supportively.

"Don't worry. You were right: there are demons among my people, but I am not one of them. I'm sorry your brother Theon is not here anymore. But I'll take his place. My people took your family, so I shall care for you from today on. You won't be alone. I promise."

At that night, among his brothers, Ubbe claimed Y/N as his own, ignoring the evil comments from his younger brother about how useless would be a blind thrall or what kind of kinks Ubbe was developing with that idea. It wasn't like this and Ubbe wouldn't give a damn to his little brother's opinion, especially when the major destruction and cruelty from that day came from him.

Despite what Ivar said, the girl was special: the lack of her vision made her other senses better and with some patience, she would deliver things even better than a common slave - although Ubbe wasn't really treating her as a servant or a thrall, but as a company.

A company he was really starting to enjoy.

Ubbe was starting to like having someone always near to talk, disposed to hear his tales, sometimes laugh with him, sometimes simply be there, listening attentively. Sometimes even have a kind word, a gentle touch to comfort his saddened hearth.

She wasn't able to sew, knit or crochet as fast as his other slaves, but yet, her works were always more precise and sometimes last longer than the rushed ones due to the fact she was patient and doing everything slowly, counting the stitches, feeling the lines, applying the right pressure to each stitch not making them too tight nor too loose, sometimes asking Ubbe about the colors to be sure she was doing everything right.

She could take a longer time to braid his hair but her braids were the tighter ones and her fingers were like a light massage he was starting to get used to feeling.

A few months and Ubbe caught himself falling for her sweetness, her kindness, the way she was gentle to everyone around, always offering herself to help.

With time, Y/N got used to his manners. She already knew when he was coming by the way his feet would make the wood crack under his steps towards the room. So, when everything went wrong with the Saxons that day, she knew something was wrong even before he got into his room. However, when Ubbe crossed the door, Y/N got up immediately touched by the smell of his blood.

"You're wounded," she stated, coming near him.

Her gentle fingers touching his shoulders, his face, feeling the drops of blood in his beard with surprise and sadness. "Oh god, they hurt you! Hvitserk..." She mumbled, not hearing the younger one coming after him, as always. Her heart scared something had happened to his beloved brother, "How's your brother?"

"Alive, but hurt as well," Ubbe said, touching her hands "Y/N, listen to me closely: I'll pack our things and tomorrow morning, we'll leave."

"Leave?" she said, surprised.

Where would they go?

Why were they leaving this way?

Ubbe's tone was nervous and it was causing Y/N to feel afraid.

"Ivar took the leadership of the army to himself. They won't answer me anymore. I cannot stop them from keep raiding and I couldn't make the Saxon king hear me. Instead, his bishop hit me and his men threw stones on us while expelling my brother and me from their camp after murdering the men that came with us."

"Christ, forgive them!" She mumbled, sad, but not surprised by the cruelty of those men.

She knew after Ecbert, prince Aethelwulf took the crown and so, it wasn't such a surprise this kind of cruelty coming from someone who ordered the execution of women and defenseless children in that settlement years ago. It was a risky bet; she knew since the beginning. Ubbe bet on the Saxon King’s honor. And he lost.

"I'll pack everything we have and tomorrow we'll leave back to my homeland, with whoever wants to come with us." he continued "I won't leave you behind. I want you to come with me."

To leave her birth lands and go into the unknown.

Her mother would call him a demon and say he was luring her into hell. But she knew it wasn't like this. The time by his side, his tales, his laugh, and his tender ways towards her had caught Y/N's heart and she was sure Ubbe was an honored and valuable man.

She caught his hands, gently kissing both of them before smiling.

"You once saved my life. It now belongs to you, Ubbe. I'll go wherever you will go," she affirmed, filling Ubbe's heart with courage.

He cupped her face softly. There wasn't surprise in her face. Instead, she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and sighing, so safe.

So his...

Gently, Ubbe covered her lips with his, surprising her with a loving and slow kiss.

Her first kiss, marked by the touch of his beard and the tenderness of his fingers caressing her face.

"I want you to be mine, indeed. But not as a slave or a servant. I'll take you from these lands and you shall step on my homelands as my future wife. But one step at a time..."

"First, I'll care for your wounds," she said, caressing his face.

Her touch full of love so as her heart was, calming Ubbe down as she seemed to accept his offer with a beautiful and bright smile.

"Nothing will make me happier than be your wife, my angel. But I can feel your pain... Allow me to bring you relief as you once did to me."

Ubbe kissed her forehead, allowing her to prepare what was needed to care for his wounds and Y/N did everything with a smile in her face.

Her sweet angel could be hurt, but she would be there to care for him whenever he needed. And there was nothing better than be by Ubbe's side.

At that night, she cared for Hvitserk’s wounds as well. And after packing everything, Ubbe brought her to his bed, laying by her side. He fell asleep before her, with her sweet hands caressing his head, relieving the pain in his face and the tiredness of his body. She spent a long time awake by his side, just caressing her wounded angel, thinking about how things had changed in her life.

Of course, there was the fear of the unknown world unfolding in front of her. But nestling into Ubbe's sleepy arms, Y/N's heart found everything it needed to feel safe once again.

Everything would be fine.

As long as her angel was by her side.

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