#it does Old Man Yells At Cloud me a bit how many small children have phones

[thedreadvampy]

I think it depends on what your worries are. If you're concerned about the information end - the data harvesting and misinformation and algorithmic manipulation - (very valid) then yes today's socials are much worse.

If you're worried about the social end - the grooming and exploitation of vulnerable young people, the hardcore mass bullying, and the surveillance-paranoia of spending your life growing up under constant observation, and also tbh the just Extremely Online Behaviour it tends to cultivate - I'm not sure how much worse it is, because I think these are just the intrinsic hazards of young people sharing public platforms, particularly with adults, and I think the culture of abuse on Myspace or Facebook was just as severe and far-reaching as on TikTok

On the other hand there's another factor which is the age from which you get submerged in those spaces and the associated degree of spillover with meatspace. And that's not because Young People Today Be On That Phone but because a) when we were 7 or 8 centralised social media didn't really exist yet and b) phone tech has moved on so fast in the last 20 years and now if you have a phone you have social media, and people on average have phones WAY younger bc the tech is way more affordable. and you can't disengage half as easily from socials, especially with the degree of monopolisation and cross-party logins that means you're constantly using Facebook to access other stuff. So obviously the culture of social media is different and more entrenched for people a decade younger than us.

sick to death of both younger and older people acting like tiktok is a unique breeding ground for grooming, misinformation and drama as if that's not the case for every majority-teenager social media site since the dawn of social media. listen. for people my age and a bit older MySpace, Facebook and Livejournal were just as fucked up. for people a couple of years younger than me yeah Twitter and Tumblr and Snapchat did just as much to screw people up.

That doesn't mean tiktok's problems aren't real or worth taking seriously. it is pretty objectively Bad the degree to which social media targeted at teenagers incentivise bullying, grooming, and living your life in full view no filters. but I don't think it's new or peculiar to tiktok. although the increasing move towards face-first platforms like Instagram or TikTok does seem like it intensifies problems that were already present in text-first platforms like previous gens.

anyway I get why ppl act like it's a Terrible New Threat. ppl my age do it because we're getting old and it's a Scary Young Person Thing. gen z ppl do it because they weren't here for the previous rounds of fucked up social media so this seems like a new thing. But like. It's a real issue but it's not new. that's actually how we know how bad it is imo, bc we now have the benefit of hindsight watching the long term impacts on the first cohort of people who grew up with social media as a big part of their teens (I would say anyone who was in their teens around 2003-2005 so like. people my age to people a couple of years older than me). and it's for sure a mixed bag but boy howdy there's some Shit in that bag.

[moral-turpitudes]

New Beginnings:

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of Adoption, Slight Descriptions of Drug/Alcohol Abuse.

Word Count: 4,122

Characters: Johnny Dogs x Female!Reader (Polly’s Eldest Daughter)

Requested by: Anon, you can find it here. This was a bit challenging but I hope you like it! :)

Summary: Y/N and Michael Gray get the surprise of a lifetime when their blinder cousin Thomas and his friend Johnny Dogs show up at their doorsteps, but little does Y/N know what’s in store for her regarding the company.

“Is she alive?” Polly asked the local medium who’d been known for telling fortunes and such. The medium’s eyes were dark beneath her jewel-toned veil as she answered the female blinder.

“Your eldest, Y/N, is in London. Go find her and your boy Michael. He’s living on a farm out in the country side.” She said flatly, her voice void of emotion.

“And what about my youngest daughter, Anna?” Polly asked, knowing in her heart that the truth wasn’t always the easiest thing to hear.

“She’s dead.” She said, tightening her grip on Polly’s hand as she shook with emotion, tears streaming down her face as she remembered the little baby girl placed in her arms years ago before her death. Knowing too that her son and eldest daughter were ripped from her arms at such a young age after their drunk of a father died lodged between a boat and a dock in the cut.

“Thank you.” Polly said shakily before leaving. Putting a few shillings down on the table as the woman nodded and watched her leave.

“What’d you expect aye? She tells you what you want to hear Pol’....”Thomas said, as she told him about her meeting with the medium earlier that morning.

“I just needed confirmation is all. God I can’t believe they’ve been out there all these years. You have to help me find them Tommy. Please.” She said, pulling her hands to her mouth nervously as she bit at her nails. Her eyes still tinged red from crying and her makeup smudged slightly.

“I’ll do what I can with the information we have. Until then I think you should take the day off unless you think you can work in the condition you’re in.” He said, looking over the papers from her son Michael’s entry into an orphanage and then glancing at the adoption papers where he’d been named Henry.

“Henry of all names...can you believe it? Disgraceful.” She said.

“Any word on Y/N? She has to be nearing 28 by now. The poor woman will probably faint when she finds out.” She said, feeling herself wanting to close herself off into her apartment as the thought of re-kindling a barely-there relationship loomed over her.

“I’ve found her adoption papers. They kept her name, but she’s in London as far as this goes. This address is where she’ll be.” He said sliding the document towards her and running his index finger over the crinkled paper.

“Alright.” She said, shakily lighting a cigarette.

“Pol’...I’m serious. You need to prepare for this if this all works out alright? Can’t have our best woman down. We still need you.” He said, looking into her glassy eyes. Tears threatening to spill once again.

“I will. I’ll go home right now. But please bring them to me once you get them.” She said. Thomas nodded as he watched her walk out the door quickly. Her nerves rattled as she sped off to her lavish apartment that had been vacant for far too long.

“Johnny?” Thomas said over the phone, the rowdy traveler making it to a payphone to report how their latest burial was going.

“Oi! How are ya Tommy? Just got done burnin’ the old bastard. What’s next?” He asked.

“You’re going to help me get Polly’s children back. She has a son named Michael in his late teens and an older daughter named Y/N who’s 28.” He said quickly, checking his pocket watch.

“Christ....alright.” He said, looking out at the burning pile in the distance.

“It’ll help her make peace Johnny. She needs this for more than just her. For the whole family really.” He said.

“I know I know. If only that poor bastard Gray didn’t die a drunk then none of ya would be in that mess aye?” He said, a long silence lingering over the phone.

“Perhaps.” Thomas said, his mind remembering all the hell their family went through as they grew up. The poverty, the fights, the nights sitting up in fear as their father yelled at their mother, their mother succumbing to her visions and bouts of depression, the feuds with the other families around them, the long nights in the trenches of France, and the whole family business being shoved onto their shoulders with no parental guidance besides their aunt Polly. She being the one saving grace of the whole family.

As Thomas and Johnny drove out to meet Michael, Polly sat at home pacing back and forth as she wondered how the next few hours or even days would go. Knowing once Thomas put his mind to something he always tried to finish it, especially if it involved family.

“I’m here for Henry. His mother wants him home.” Thomas said bluntly to the woman who’d practically raised him.

“My Henry? I have the papers...He’s mine.” She said.

“Aye, and I have the papers too. I’m his cousin. And I know his birth mother would love nothing more than to see him since he was ripped from her arms. Let the man go and meet her. Once he’s done that he can make his decision.” He said, eyeing the woman coldly.

With tears in her eyes, the woman called for Michael to come forward, the fawn-haired young man running over to him.

“Hello Henry. Your mother wants to see you.” He said. Michael’s face evolving into one of confusion.

“But she’s right here? Who are you anyway?” He asked, a sassy tone to his voice that reminded Thomas of Polly.

“I’m your cousin Thomas Shelby. Your birth mother is Polly Gray. Your real name is Michael Gray. Now you can stay here on this little farm or you can leave to meet the woman who’s fought to find you for so many years. Which one will it be?” He asked impatiently, lighting a cigarette.

Michael nervously looked around and pulled his little sister in for a hug, telling her to be good and then giving his adoptive mother a hug. Knowing she was fuming inside.

“I-I’ll ring you alright? I’ve been wondering why I never had pictures here of when I was younger...and...I’ve been wondering why you all look different than me. I-I think it’s time I go find out for myself mum.” He said, giving her one last hug before going off with his blinder cousin and his friend Johnny Dogs.

“Now on to your sister.” Thomas said, driving off towards the busy London area.

---

Your head pounded as you got up. The drinks from the night before doing your head in as a sharp knock sounded at your apartment door. You shrugged on your red laced robe and lit a cigarette as you hastily put your wild locks in a bun, your eyes burning from the sunlight streaming in through the window nearby.

One more sharp knock sounded as you neared the door, making your blood boil slightly.

“Bloody hell. Hold on a moment will ya?” You yelled out, tying your robe around your nude frame. The stranger in your room snoring loudly in the back room of your haphazard apartment.

“What’s all this then? It’s a little early to be soliciting people don’t ya think?” You asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke as you took in the men before you.

One had piercing blue eyes, who had one of the coldest looks you’d seen on a man in a long time. Knowing he’d probably seen more hurt than happiness in his past years of life.

The other two had darker eyes, one of them younger and oddly familiar as you thought about your own facial structure. You had the same eyes. Eyes that never matched your adoptive parents. Eyes that the kids in the orphanage always picked on for being too brown in color when theirs were reminiscent of the sea and the sky and all the green earth in between.

The seemingly oldest of them looked on from the distance. His cigar dangling from his lips as his dark eyes scanned you up and down. He had a rough look to him, like he’s seen more sun than anyone here. That he’d lived everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“Who are you all and why are you hogging my doorstep?” You asked.

“We don’t have a lot of time, but long story short, I’m your cousin Thomas Shelby. And this young man here is your brother Michael Gray. We only just found him. Your mother...Polly Gray...has been looking for you all these years.” He said bluntly.

“What? I thought she was dead or something. God knows father was.” You said, remembering the drunken man vaguely as well as a beautiful dark haired woman you were sure to have gotten your good looks from.

“You remember them?” Michael asked, a bit envious that his newfound sister was able to remember such a thing.

“Mhmm. Well...when do we meet her aye? I have some business to take care of.” You said, fiddling with your hands as Johnny continued to stare.

“Go do what you need to. We’ll wait out here.” He said.

“Who’s the rough looking fellow? A bit quiet aye?” You asked, pointing to Johnny.

He cleared his throat and took his cap off. His bright smile catching your eye as you blew smoke out from your lips.

“Sorry. I’m Johnny. Johnny Dogs. Traveler and helper of the Shelby family and such. Nice to meet you Y/N. Heard lots of good things ‘bout ya.” He said.

“Oh really? Like what? That I’m a drunk like me father? That I’m a whore?” She asked with a smirk, her laugh sending Johnny’s heart over the edge.

“Gods no. That you’re beautiful actually. Polly said so herself. She remembers ya well.” He said with a small smile that was soon extinguished by a cold glance from Thomas.

“Right....well I’ll be out in a moment.” You said with a slight smile, walking back inside and throwing your best clothes on and hurriedly doing your makeup.

“Well hello there love, who are you getting ready for this morning?” The man lying on your bed half naked murmured as you put on the last of your makeup.

“Get out.” You said, pulling your coat over yourself as you grabbed your purse.

“What? After last night you want me to leave?” He asked.

“What is this? A bed and breakfast? I said get the fuck out of me house!” You yelled, not even bothering to remember the lads name as you followed him down the hall, his pants put on haphazardly as he ran shirtless out the door.

“You’ll pay for this!” He yelled, causing the three men to look on curiously.

“Actually you did sir, thanks for the tip love!” You yelled.

“Fucking asshole.” You added under your breath.

“Who was that?” Michael asked as you got in their car.

“Just a joyride love. Don’t worry about it.” You said, not bothering to filter yourself as Thomas smirked slightly. You we’re definitely Polly’s daughter. There was no doubt about it.

As you all neared Polly’s house you and Michael exchanged a nervous look with each other, knowing you might as well have forgotten her since it’s been so long. Your adoptive parents never mentioning her unless you started acting up. But the vague memories you did have always swirled around in your mind.

“Here we are. She said you could stay there with her if that’s something you both want. But I’ll let you both go on.” Thomas said, helping you both up to the apartment.

You knocked hard on the door, your hands shaking as you looked to the ground. You hoped for this day for years but you never thought it would happen so soon.

“Do ya want me to help em’ wit their bags Tom?” Johnny whispered from the car as he watched the woman standing nervously with her brother.

“No. Just stay in the car.” He said, bringing the rest of the bags up to them as Polly opened the door.

“My god...” she said, her hair a bit disheveled as she adjusted her dress and shawl around her shoulders.

“Mum? H-hi. Um....it’s me...Y/N...and Michael.” You said with a small smile on your face.

She didn’t say anything, instead just rushing forward and enveloping you both in a hug as Thomas stood by awkwardly.

“Thank you. Tommy my god thank you.” She said, giving him a short hug as well as you and Michael made your way inside the lavish apartment.

“Just make sure you’re all at the office early tomorrow alright? We’ll have a family meeting.” He said, a small smile on his face that hadn’t been there in ages.

“We will.” Polly said, waving him and Johnny off as she closed the door behind her.

“Now Michael...I know you don’t know me very well. But I want you to know I’m here for you always alright? You too Y/N. I can’t believe I have you back.” She said giving you each a tight hug as you wiped tears from your eyes.

As the night went on you all both gradually settled in, Polly agreeing to let you go to your apartment when you wanted since you were of age. But for now you accepted your place here, wanting to get to know the woman you’ve searched for all your life.

“Michael...it’s alright if I call you that right?” She asked hesitantly.

“Mhmm. I-I guess it’s growing on me. Never felt much like a Henry.” He said, unpacking his things.

“Right, well I’ll leave you two for the night. I’ll be expecting you both up early for Tommy’s meeting tomorrow. Welcome to the family.” She said, her mind racing as she left the room. Her heart slowly mending back together after being torn to pieces so many years ago.

---

At the shop the next morning, Michael and you both walked in a bit on edge, having gotten the rundown from Polly about what the business entailed on the way there. The workers around you eyeing you up as you lit a cigarette and walked past them in your heels and red overcoat. Michael looking around as well but with a smug smile on his face as he made acquaintances with the younger blinders rather quickly.

“Alright so the new members of the family as you lot can see are Y/N and Michael Gray. They’ve both confirmed they preferred their natural names so that’s what you’ll all call them. The papers and everything else are being sorted to give Polly any parental rights, and Michael...I have a proposition for you.” He said eyeing the young man who had a tough-yet laid back demeanor about him. The innocence of his past life slowly fading the longer he stayed in Birmingham.

“Alright. What is it Tommy?” He asked, smoking a cigarette carefully since he’d only done so once before at college.

“You’re going with us to the races. After we see what you’re made of, I’ll consider you for an accounting position.” He said.

“Sounds good to me.” He said swallowing hard and looking towards his mother.

“It doesn’t bloody sound good to me. I’ve just gotten my children back and you want to put them through some peaky initiation?” Polly snapped at her nephew. Ada, Arthur, John, and Finn looking at you and your brother with curious eyes during the awkward silence that ensued.

“It’s the only way Pol’ he’ll be fine.” Thomas said flatly, his voice still void of emotion.

“What will I be doing? I can’t stay cooped up here all day.” You said, blowing a cloud of smoke from your lips as you stared down your blue eyed devil of a cousin.

“Well, you could work here with the rest of us or you could work with the Lee’s and the rest down at their stop. Think of it as being a liaison for us.” He said.

You looked around at the dark and cramped place, your mothers familiar eyes knowing what you’d pick. You were an adult and had been on your own for many years, knowing full well how to handle yourself for the most part and besides, if you got to get out in the open air for a while it wouldn’t be half bad.

“I can do that. Just tell me how to get there and I’ll go.” You said. Thomas handing you a map as he grabbed his car keys.

“You can still stay at the house you know.” Polly said as you gathered your things.

“I know mum. I’ll be back, it’s just work. Don’t worry.” You said giving her a hug and Michael a fake punch on the shoulder as you waltzed out the door.

“It’s better if I go with you. You don’t know them.” Thomas said, opening the door for you.

“....alright. Do I need to do anything before we go?” You asked.

“Just please tell me you know how to shoot a gun.” He said, starting the car.

“Just point and shoot right? I remember one thing before dad died and that was going hunting with him in the woods. Just that once.” You said.

“That should be good enough. Take this.” He said, handing you a small handgun from his jacket.

“Do I have to kill anyone?” You asked, the thought making a shiver run down your spine slightly.

“Only if they come after ya or the family.” He said.

You nodded your head silently as you understood. You’d heard of the blinders while being in London, and from Polly’s rundown before getting to the shop, but you’d never thought you’d be related to them in such a way. But maybe this was the start you’d needed. At least now you weren’t making a living off cleaning houses and singing in taverns.

“Here we are.” He said after a long while of silence. Your eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight that spread across the vacant land where a slew of vardo’s were parked. Bonfires lit near them as they sat around the flames. Various animals roasting on a spit as music played in the distance.

“This is where I’ll be?” You asked, not seeing an actual brick and mortar house in sight. But remembering bits and pieces of the old vardo you had grew up briefly in with your mum. Her late teenaged self doing the best she could to care for the three of you young children.

“Mhm.” He mumbled as he led you through the tall grass to the people you’d be spending most of your working days around.

“There they are! What a sight! How are ya Tom?” Johnny asked rather loudly, a smile dancing across his face as he greeted you with a quick kiss to your hand.

“Good. Y/N here is going to be staying every few days or so. She’s the new liaison between the families here. Teach her what ya know and show her where she can call from. She’ll be reporting to me about anything going on that may need our attention. Think of it as security aye?” He said, eyeing Johnny as he stared slightly at the gorgeous woman.

“Will do, will do. Say let’s get you shown around, we have a place for ya all set up.” He said, taking your hand in his which made you smile. A flush of red hitting your cheeks as you looked on at your new place of work.

“Don’t do anything stupid Johnny.” Thomas said threateningly, knowing he could sense that Johnny had some feelings for his cousin.

“No worries Tom.” He said, tipping his cap to him as he led you to a vacant vardo.

“So what’s a woman as beautiful as you doin’ round these parts anyway? Did Polly drive ya off already?” He asked, setting your luggage down.

“No. I volunteered to come out here. Didn’t wanna be cooped up in that old dusty building.” You said, brushing a stray hair behind your ear.

“Well you’re in luck, darlin’. No dusty buildings here. Just a few snakes though.” He said as you jumped slightly, eyes making a mad-dash to the ground.

“I’m just messing with ya, doll.” He said, leaning up against the back steps.

“Is it hard being out here all the time? I know a few bars in London we could go to sometime. Get ya out for bit.” You said looking into his brown eyes that glowed almost golden in the bright afternoon sun.

“Not as hard when we have pretty women such as yourself here. Say...I’ll take ya up on that offer. How ‘bout later this week after we show ya the ropes?” He asked.

“Sounds good.” You said, smiling as you helped him carry things to the pond nearby. Children running around and skipping stones as you both made small talk while washing various clothes.

“How long do you all stay out here? It’s beautiful.” You said after a while of learning how to do various chores.

“Oh about a month or so. Never too long in one place in case the coppers come by bootin’ us out. We belong to ourselves, not to them. The sooner you learn that the better off you’ll be here aye?” He said, a hint of warning in his voice.

“Did someone tip you off one day? I’d never do that. I’m just working for Tommy and me mum.” You said, never wanting to come between anyone’s business.

“Yeah. Lost a few people a couple years back. Wasn’t good. But that’s all done now. New beginnings aye Y/N?” He said raising his flask to your glass of whiskey as you all sat near the pond.

“To new beginnings.” You said, staring off into the sky as you realized you’d be here more often than you’d thought.

---

The next few weeks seemed to fly by as you got used to living half there and half at Polly’s place. It was a hard decision but one you felt deep down needed to be made as you sold your apartment in London to be closer to your mum and Michael. Turns out he wasn’t as good and innocent as he’d claimed to be, gradually going on business with the boys and coming back high as a kite on cocaine. It was something even you hadn’t done in a long while, and something you swore one night to never do again after a bad spill landed you in the doctors. So it was safe to say your hard partying days were over, except for when it came to Johnny.

Over the course of the few weeks you’d been working together and updating Tommy on the business there, you grew closer and developed feelings for the rowdy traveler. Johnny’s smile and snarky remarks always bringing a wide grin to your face when you’d hear him with the lads or when you’d both go off drinking with people at the camp. But unfortunately, good things seemed to come to an end once the month was up, seeing as Tommy visited at a bad time one night and caught the two of you together. You’d been slightly embarrassed, but didn’t think he had it in him to ruin a good thing. But ruining things was Tommy’s specialty.

The night was abruptly ended when he dragged a naked Johnny away from you and threatened to terminate both of your positions with the company if things continued. But you were stubborn and strong willed just like your mother, and kept seeing him anyways even if it meant you were out of the company.

“I don’t see why I can’t love one man Pol’ Tommy’s gone and probably fucked every woman in town! He’ll he has enough children by various women to worry about already and here he is worrying about what I do with my life and my time?” You yelled as you packed your things away. You’d discussed moving out there with Johnny to spare the family drama. Thomas could tell you liked it out there and he had to admit, you gave him good information on people you’d come across, even if it was by letter or by pay phone more often than in person. And Polly knew you were like her, wanting to be free to do whatever you pleased and as much as it pained her to see you leave for a life on the road, she loved that you were the only one who kept that spirit alive. The only one who decided to throw away the silver spoon you’d been fed with half your life, to live for yourself and for a man that made you happy, even if he worked for the blue eyed devil himself.

Johnny Dogs Tag List:

@flysafepapi, @gaytommyshelby, @ta-ka-shi-ma

If you’d like to be added/removed just send me an ask/message! :)

[yanderecandystore]

Can we have the s/o in the old eldritch one get pregnant n stuff

Oh well, it seems like the antichrist will be born-

Well not literally, but kinda.

I think… That maybe I should warn y'all about some possible disasters.

Tags?/Tw??: size difference boo; curious eldritch boy; illusions; apocalyptic world; also mentions of other entities and some of the events that happened in A Bad Dream. Also I'm a dumbass who should have took some medicine instead of writing while having a headache.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Golden Years [Yandere!Eldritch x Pregnant!Reader - Short Fanfiction and possibly a follow-up story]:

It's been five years since the Earth's sky has been broken apart. The red clouds above form a connection to the other world that creatures like him came from. A portal, in a way.

To humanity, this was the end. But to them, it was the beginning of something.

Something interesting.

Not every single entity on Ibu's home was on Earth of course, it's a really small place for so many cosmic entities. And it is not like all of them have an interest in this small rock, only a few, like Ibu himself.

Always the curious one. Most would consider him naive, and possibly childish, if the "concept" of children was commonly known throughout his "brothers and sisters".

He was only a couple of stars old. 687 stars have been born and have died throughout his entire existence, to be exact. Which was pretty young compared to his "peers".

Not that they really cared about keeping up with their age, it was mostly used to devalue each other's nonsense. Someone around his age would be considered foolish regardless of what his morals and ethics were.

But he doesn't really care, he prefers to take his time and learn than pretend he knows everything in the universe. He enjoys being curious the way he is, is more fun to learn about things if you truthfully explore them.

And learning about humans while interpreting to be one is probably the best form of learning he could have ever found!

It's extremely exciting to him, in five years he has learned so much. He learned that humans fall easily into his illusions, that humans are small and easy to carry, that even if a human is in his illusion they won't notice the odd feelings of being high up or being held by bigger hands, oh! Humans are actually pretty warm, and that their living habitats are tiny but he can kinda squeeze himself in.

Which isn't the most comfortable thing, but he knows how to deal with it.

He learned that humans call each other by names depending on their relationship status and how much a human cares for them. He learned that humans are fragile, and that they like small things, and that they-

Oh, it's just so many things you know? He could keep going on, but it isn't exactly human like to point out obvious things like that.

You told him that. You've been really helpful with helping him understand your kind better.

His companions don't really agree with his actions. While he is playing "dollhouse" (he saw small humans doing this ritual of playing with inanimate objects and pretending to have an "a family", he found that so fascinating), his peers are doing more "fun things".

Like slaving humans, or executing humans, or trapping them in pocket dimensions, or adding them to their ever growing collection (like a friend of his who is obsessed with collecting life forms), or destroying everything and everyone that they meet in the way, like his sister!

She showed him a big wall the other day, it was bigger than any human, or even house. They both didn't understand the point of such obstacle. She said it probably took centuries to put it up. She simply smashed it down like it was nothing.

He doesn't know why she does these types of things, but she still finds enjoyment in doing them, so he would just let her have her fun.

She tried to convince him to give up on understanding you and just let loose, as humans would say.

But, he doesn't find it fun at all. He tried it once on a really annoying human, he thinks it was your mate.

He can't remember for sure. He tries to forget unpleasant things. Yet, he still remembers that day.

Could you stop it please? It's getting annoying.

There he was, the annoying human, and some others trying to… Hurt him? He doesn't understand what they were trying to do, whatever it was it wasn't as effective as they thought it was. They were clearly aiming at his eyes, but it only made them itchy.

You never stop, do you?

At that time he didn't remember that they couldn't understand him. He was getting angry, and it seemed normal to speak in his own language rather than communicating on yours.

"- Hey… What is happening love?" You asked him, poor thing, he wondered what you could possibly be seeing. Considering his illusions were really effective on you, he assumes that you were only seeing your husband and a bunch of pricks trying to hurt him.

In your eyes, he looks like your true husband, and your real husband feels like a stranger. It's all that he can do for now, interpret your old mate.

Also, love, you have some bad taste at picking partners, this little human seems a little too possessive, don't you agree?

Of course there are a couple of rebellious humans, trying to survive and fight for their freedom and what not. He really wishes he could care about them, but honestly, how can they expect to win a "war" that is not even happening?

It's not a fair fight anyway, so why bother so much? And also, they don't even know that the most important part of "killing" one of his kind is completely destroying their mask. Which is close to almost impossible.

Honestly, why even bother…

"- L-love? Are you okay?"

"- Yes, don't worry about it." He learned how to perfectly imitate the other human's voice. It's not exactly a difficult thing to do, especially for the likes of him, but hey, he thinks he deserves some praises for doing it.

Anyway, they thought that they could have a chance against him. And although he wasn't looking for a fight, he almost did kill them out of rage.

While holding you in one hand, he made his way towards the crowd shooting at him. One little slap to the ground was enough to shake it and unbalance them. It's kinda silly from his perspective.

How bothersome, if I take these would you stop?

He took and broke (although accidentally) the guns in his fingers. He was actually planning on studying them but, oh well, he can always ask you later about how they function.

Even when he already lost, your ex partner still tries to pick up a fight. It's taking every fiber of his being to not put this insufferable little creature into an everlasting nightmare in his pocket dimension. He picked the annoying one up, while the others were trying to pick some extra equipment they brought.

It wasn't so difficult to trade places with you, but if you keep acting foolish, I don't think you'll exist for too long.

Yelling, after cursing, after more yelling, some crying in the mix. Ibu can't be bothered right now, you two were just going back home.

Can't a being tall as a building go home with his tiny mate in peace? The world has already ended, so why bother stoping him from living his own immortal life?

"- She doesn't love you, and ya know that."

…

Oh.

…. Oh…

"- Excuse me?"

"- Oh! So you can speak now-" He yelled after hearing Ibu speak in his own language. That prick heard every bit of suffering that he put him through, yet-

"- Repeat." Ibu already knew what he said, he just needed to hear it, again...

"- What?" … Just to be sure…

"- Repeat." … That what he heard was correct...

"- … What if I don't?" … And that he had a free pass...

"- … What would your intestines look like if they were pulled from inside out?" … To lose his patience with this one.

It seemed like he could "let loose" this time around.

If only he had payed better attention at you instead of that insolent pest.

He had closed his hands a little too harshly at that moment. Even if it was unconsciously, the damage was already done.

He closed his hand, and accidentally (he swears it was an accident!) Broke one of your legs.

He dropped the other human at your sudden scream. The low sound of something breaking wasn't really reassuring.

I mean, two legs were broken that day, yours and your ex lover's. But he didn't care about the other one, so let's ignore his screams of agony-

To his sister, breaking one of your bones wasn't exactly the worst possible thing that could happen. Actually, if it was her the one holding you, she would probably do that intentionally.

As to her, it was fun to hurt humans like you. But to Ibu it wasn't, it was terrible! He really didn't mean to.

He was plagued by the sudden feeling of guilty overflowing him. It was probably the first time he ever felt like this. It was probably the first time he ever apologized for something.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry please shhhh I'm really sorry I'm sorry I'll fix it I'll fix it I'm sorry I'm sorry

Woah, that was… A terrible experience even remembering gives him headaches. And he shouldn't even have headaches! Stress can lead to his mask breaking.

That would be really unfortunate.

You didn't seem to remember what happened the day after, so he had to help you get better slowly. I guess another thing he learned in these five years was how to fix human bones.

But that was in the past, right? It didn't matter now, right?

Yeah… It didn't… Mattered.

Or it shouldn't. He never really relaxed after that incident.

Not only did he feel incapable of taking care of you, as he started thinking a simple blow of wind could make you fall. But he also felt on edge whenever he remembered those words.

" She doesn't love you."

That shouldn't have been so impactful as it was. Maybe he truly was too soft. He knows better than to listen to the delusions of that man.

He knows that you love him. He knows that! He really… He really hopes he knows that.

He really hopes it is true.

You started acting a little weird recently, he doesn't know how you're feeling and what you are thinking, so he started feeling like maybe you don't love him…

You normally made calls to your friends, although the telephone hasn't been functional since four years ago, since if you truly were interacting with other people there could be a chance of you breaking the illusion. You would tell them what was on your mind while you thought he wasn't listening.

You haven't written in your diary, you haven't made any recent notes on your phone or computer, and you haven't told him what you were hiding.

He wouldn't know how to react if you decided to get away from him. He would probably put you inside his pocket dimension, or probably take you to his own world.

No… That place is too dangerous. What can he do??

He was sitting on the sofa contemplating this last few weeks you've been acting differently. And that phrase keeps popping up in his mind, and is starting to make him sick.

And the thought of you being sad or mad at him from when he broke your leg is starting to eat him from inside.

What can he do-

"- Love? Are you okay?"

"- Oh, don't worry about it… I'm just thinking about some stuff."

"- Is it related to work?"

Oh yeah, "work", he kinda hides outside the house whenever you think he is at work. Even if he wanted to experience a job for the first time and know how humans function under social stress twenty two hours a day through five days, each every single week, there weren't any jobs available.

As more than a half of the population was gone or dead.

"- Yeah… It is." He learned how to deal with this type of question. He saw a lot of tv shows with you, and they all mentioned how jobs are essentially torture chambers that suck the energy out of humans in exchange of money.

Those shows weren't lying or exaggerating, right?

"- Well, I… I think you should relax, and maybe take a break, I never saw you taking a vacation, maybe this is a good time, love."

"- Yeah…. I would love to spend more time inside." Although he literally just watches you doing mundane things all day everyday, because to him all of those things are incredible and breathtaking.

"- I… I have something to tell you…" You seemed a little concerned, was something wrong?

"- What is it?"

"- H-here." You were worried that his reaction might be a little negative, or not as excited as you were. He works every single day, you feel like this type of surprise you probably make him worry more.

But then again, there wasn't really a way to keep this a secret. You're still wondering how hasn't he noticed your belly or your morning sickness, but you also didn't think it was because of pregnancy, so, I guess you're both equally naive?

He is looking at the pregnancy test, not knowing it's a pregnancy test or what pregnancy even is. So he doesn't really understand what it is until you say it out loud.

"- I'm going to have a baby, love."

He is still visibly confused.

"- A… Tiny human?"

"- Pfft, yes! Of course it's a tiny human. Oh gosh, how can you be silly in a time like this."

Yeah, he is a riot, isn't he?

Stars, help him understand what is happening, please.

"- That's kinda what I like about you, you know? You're funny, you never take anything too seriously." You tell him, being fully honest.

His presence feels comforting in a world so serious and dull.

He isn't aware of how to feel, he is confused and extremely excited about this revelation.

Would the baby be human? A hybrid of some form? Would it have his own features? Would it have a mask? Would giving birth to them possibly break the illusion?

He should consider all of the possibilities but… He is just, so happy! This the weirdest most confusing experience he ever had, yet he is absolutely delighted by this outcome.

He loves you so much, he really does, and he knows that now. He knows that this is a proof of love, that there is absolutely nothing that can separate you from him.

You two would be spinning around the living room, full cliche style.

Although, again, he doesn't really fit in the living room all that well. So he can't really do that, but you get the sentiment, right?

Stars, this is perfect, absolutely perfect.

"- I love you [Y/N]!"

"- I love you too, Cameron!"

It's been five years, and yet you kept saying the same name over and over again.

At first he didn't mind, it was a nice sounding name. But as time went on, being called by your ex's name is starting to become troublesome.

"- Maybe I can fix that later." Maybe he can drop the charade and give you one of his many names.

Having you call him "Ibu" would be so special to him.

"- Hun? What do you mean?"

Oh nothing, really.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  I love your witcher in need fic! For a prompt- maybe a monster or robber or something tries to use jaskier as leverage over geralt? Or as a hostage? And geralt realizes how scared that makes him?

/shrugs. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good hostage fic.

Mentions of this fic.

Geralt and Jaskier spend the next few days in town upon Geralt’s stern insistence, the latter wishing to allow Jaskier a chance to fully rest and recover from a nasty wound received after a rather terrifying encounter with a couple of Kikimora soldiers.

However, while Jaskier’s wound slowly heals, his health takes a turn in the opposite direction, leaving him with harsh, barking coughs and a near-constant fever that’s got him bedridden, more so with each passing day. Geralt’s initial fear was infection, but Jaskier’s wound isn’t an angry swollen red, but rather a faint pink around the edges, leaving Geralt to settle for Jaskier’s insistence that he merely caught a chill after being pulled under water by one of the Kikimora soldiers, though Geralt has his doubts with Jaskier’s rapidly deteriorating condition.

Geralt’s taken to the town each day Jaskier can’t find the energy to move from bed, asking around for a mage, a doctor, any single person who has even the slightest ounce of medical knowledge, yet the small town proves sparse in the medical field. Still, Geralt goes out each day, moving along a hint of desperation, and when he’s not asking each and every person he crosses paths with, he’s trying to make sense of Jaskier’s many medical books, finally pinpointing on a section detailing an infection of the lungs. His eyes dissect each symptom, and he applies each to Jaskier: the alarming coughing, the gripping fever, the inconsistent chills, the fatigue, and more recently, the rattle coated along each wheezing breath.

When he wakes on the fourth day to Jaskier’s harsh, labored breathing, face pinched in discomfort, Geralt doesn’t hesitate to slip into his clothes and seek help, medical book in hand. He moves about the town for hours, and those who do agree to stop and hear him out only offer non-descriptive medical help, instead detailing vague accounts of their own children who were stricken down with the same illness. When one woman tears up, claiming this apparent infection of the lungs claimed her seventeen-year-old son’s life a year ago, something pulls in Geralt’s stomach, a clear sense of uneasiness and fear that twist and mold together until he’s starting back to the inn to ensure his bard is still breathing.

When he steps into the inn, despite moving through familiar motions, the uneasiness in his stomach grows into a pit, his senses chasing an odd feeling that something feels terribly off. He takes to the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, before he’s throwing the suite door open, eyes zeroing in on the empty bed.

“Jaskier,” he growls, hand instinctively moving over his shoulder, fingers brushing against this hilt of his sword. He can still make out the lingering smell of Jaskier’s illness, of sweat and pain, but there’s a second smell mixing in the air that has Geralt creeping to the bed, light and quiet on his feet. The comforter is knotted on the floor, and the sheets have been pulled half-off, revealing the old, worn mattress underneath, the bed showing clear signs of a struggle.

Geralt rests his hand atop the sheets, taking note to the faint, damp warmth that coats his palm. Not long ago, he thinks, and he moves through a quick sweep of the rest of the suite, checking every inch and coming up empty with every narrow drag of his gaze. The pit in his stomach grows, fear swirling to the center, and his fingers curl tightly around the hilt of his sword as he bounds down the steps, stopping before the inn-keeper.

“My companion is missing,” he announces bluntly, pulling the inn-keepers attention toward him with a deep growl.

“A man stopped by, said he was a doctor here to help.” The inn-keeper’s voice is distracted, her attention already flicking back to her book, but Geralt presses, voice deep, threatening.

“There are no doctors in this town.”

“Maybe he’s from the next town over.”

“The next town is three days away even on the fastest horse--”

“--look, Witcher,” the inn-keeper spits out, voice colored in a clear tone of annoyance. “I don’t know where your lover went, but maybe it’s for the best.” She drags a slow gaze back to her book, and for the briefest of moments, anger sweeps across Geralt’s vision, but just as quickly, he blinks through it, sighing lowly as he moves away from the wooden counter and out the door.

He pulls a narrow gaze around his nearest surroundings, relying solely on his senses, and he starts toward the woods surrounding the small town, figuring he would have already heard a commotion if Jaskier’s been taken through the center of town.

His instincts prove accurate when he walks around a few trees and spots a series of faint footprints in the mud, one set unsteady and pulling in a different direction compared to the other even set. He moves with the footprints, often losing them at times, but he keeps in a single direction, taking note to leaves ripped from vines, to small tree branches looking as if they’ve been unwillingly broken, a second sign of a struggle.

The uneasiness shifts to a muted burn of desperation within his stomach, moving and mixing with the fear up to his chest, past his rib cage to fight against his slower heart beat. His hand brushes against the sharp edges of a broken tree limb, and then he hears an incredibly faint yet frighteningly clear sound of muffled coughing that’s got him moving quickly toward it.

The air around him, though fresh and clear, is beginning to take to a familiar scent that has hope trying to push to the front of Geralt’s thoughts, and he chases the sound and scent, through bushes and around towering trees until he’s stumbling into a small clearing where a lean man with a pointed nose has Jaskier pinned to his chest by a knife pressed to his throat, just hard enough to warrant a small trickle of blood.

Jaskier’s eyes go wide with relief, yet they’re still clouded in fear, glassy with fever, and he mutters Geralt’s name around the cloth tied against his mouth, a few, ragged coughs following. Geralt can hear the deep rattle with each, struggling breath, the shallow, choppy inhale and exhale through Jaskier’s nose, and he tries to will his mind and heart to steady so he can fully assess the situation.

Moving may prove fatal for Jaskier, so while he keeps his shoulders squared and he tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword, he doesn’t move, only offering a small tilt of the head in silent question.

“You are quite difficult to track down, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt recognizes the voice, and he casts his eyes down to the dirt below him as if searching for an answer along the mud, brief patches of grass, and footprints.

“You don’t remember me.”

Geralt pulls his gaze back up with a frown, and the man groans, pressing the knife a little harder to Jaskier’s neck.

“Three years ago? You killed my brother.”

For a brief moment, Geralt’s mind chases the new information back to a small town three years ago, a town he had been sorely unwelcome in the second he and Roach stepped foot into their territory, specifically to a small group of men known as the tavern regulars. Though small, the town was quite rowdy, and he remembers sleeping at the inn, only to be pulled awake by a knife piercing his shoulder. He remembers moving on instinct, reaching for his sword, and then he remembers pulling a knife from his shoulder, the scar still prominent to this day. He remembers stepping over lifeless bodies, and he remembers tipping the inn-keeper well.

“Your brother and his friends tried to kill me.” He finally says, blinking away the past.

“No, they only wanted to rough you up!”

“I think my sheer act of self-defense having been woken by a knife to the shoulder was severely warranted,” Geralt presses, voice low and eyes dangerously narrow.

“They were never planning on killing you!”

Geralt remembers now, those same words being yelled at him as he had pulled himself up to Roach’s back.

“They were just,” the man starts, voice abandoning the squeaking cry and turning to a darker, malicious tone, “roughing you up a bit, just as I’m doing.” He presses the knife deeper against Jaskier’s neck, eliciting a small whimper from Jaskier that Geralt clings to, fear now gripping at his heart.

“Rough me up, then. The bard’s done nothing to you.”

“No,” the man draws out, a devilish grin tugging at the corners of his lips, “but he’s my ticket to you.”

He moves to make the final press to Jaskier’s throat, to slice clean through the small, bleeding slit, and suddenly, Geralt’s potion is weighing a hole in his pocket, but he can’t reach for it, he can’t move against the pure, icy, terrifying clutch of fear that’s pushing against him, freezing his limbs in place, but then Jaskier’s swinging his head back away from the knife, bashing the back of his head to the man’s face, and Geralt takes the brief moment to snag his potion, ripping the lid off with his teeth and dumping the contents down his throat in one, long swig.

His eyes coat to a deep black, and his veins jut out underneath his skin, and then he’s moving, drawing his sword while pulling Jaskier away from the man while the man’s staggering a few feet away, cradling a bloody nose.

Jaskier hits the ground, coughing miserably and wincing at the pain that jolts up and down his arm, his sutures pulling against the sudden jerk and pressure. He drops to his side, and he can barely watch as Geralt moves effortlessly along the effects of the potion.

Geralt moves without thinking, swinging his sword until the man’s running off into the woods, sobbing and leaving a pooling trail of blood, and only when he’s sure the man’s gone, listening closely to the fading footfalls, does he turn to Jaskier, movements aggressive, desperate. He yanks the cloth from Jaskier’s mouth, and Jaskier struggles to suck in a ragged breath, lungs quaking, failing, and then he’s coughing over and over until blood trickles past his lips.

And true, unaltered fear hits Geralt like a crashing wave in an ocean, fear of Jaskier’s condition, fear of losing Jaskier, an endless push of fear that Jaskier’s death would be his fault. He scoops Jaskier into his arms, so quickly it’s almost dangerous, and he spins on his heel, stopping when black eyes lock onto sharp, purple ones.

“Yennefer?”

“Looks like your bard’s dying,” Yennefer starts, sighing, “again.”

Jaskier’s unconscious in Geralt’s arms, barely breathing, chest moving in quick, shallow motions, and Geralt brings a gaze from Yennefer, to Jaskier, then back, and his voice is shaking despite the potion bleeding strength to every crevice of his body.

“Can you--”

“--yes,” Yennefer interrupts, already turning sharply on her heel. “I’ll save your lover.”

Geralt doesn’t think of anything other than the shivering bard in his arms, and he follows Yennefer back to the inn. His potion begins to wear off when he sets Jaskier into the bed, and he backs away, Jaskier’s ragged coughs sounding far too loud to his ears, until his back hits the wall across the room. He slides down the rough wood, hitting the floor with a low thump as Yennefer works through touch and magic. He watches with bated breath, only exhaling when he hears Jaskier suck in a deep breath, no rattle clinging to his lungs. He can hear Jaskier’s heart beat slow to a steady, rhythmic thump, and he cranes his neck to see the pained, flushed expression fade to smooth lines and pale cheeks.

“He’ll sleep for a while, but he should be well when he wakes,” Yennefer announces, heels clicking against the wooden floor as she turns from the bed and starts to Geralt. “I even worked on the wound. Some of the sutures ripped out. It’ll scar, but,” she pulls her gaze over her shoulder to the sleeping bard before dragging it back to Geralt, “it will be healed when he wakes, as will his neck.”

“I can pay you,” Geralt starts, voice still shaking slightly. “I’ll do whatever you would like to repay you for this,” but when he moves to stand, to retrieve the money he’s earned from jobs, Yennefer stops him with a single sharp gaze, a single hand raised.

“I don’t want your money, Geralt,” she draws out, sighing, voice tinged with slight annoyance. “All I want is for you to realize that your kind doesn’t mix well with his kind.”

“What--”

“You’ll get him killed one of these days.” She walks out of the room, and Geralt listens as the faint sounds of her heels disappear, her words pushing around his mind as he slowly gets to his feet. He stumbles to the bed, crawling in beside Jaskier, desperate to drift off to the comforting sounds of Jaskier’s beating heart, but then Jaskier rolls over until he’s facing Geralt, and his eyes flick open.

“Jaskier--”

“She’s wrong,” Jaskier whispers, voice thick with sleep. “You won’t get me killed. I trust you completely.”

You shouldn’t, Geralt thinks, but he only pulls Jaskier to his chest, pressing his lips to the top of Jaskier’s head. “Rest, Jaskier.”

[toloveawarlord]

Pt. 2

Wow, to be honest, I was astounded by how well received part one was! Thank you so much for loving Alara as much as I do!

This took a while and the word count is nearly 3,000 so strap in for a long one. I struggled to find the perfect spot to end this one so it’s a bit longer than part 1.

Tagging: @plumpblueberry for always supporting me and @ihavenotfallenyet who asked to be tagged! ^_^

The cracks of thunder rattled the mansion with its monstrous noise, causing her chest to tighten with each boom, as if it stepped in time with the stomps of her stepfather growing ever closer. Any second he would appear, ripping her away from this place. Alara all but jumped into Arthur’s lap when the door was thrown open. Her small hands trembling as they clutched onto the sleeve of his jacket.

“There was no need to come through my window like that!” The irritation in his voice pointed to the other resident beside him that wore clothes she was not familiar with.

“Newt, old boy, you’ve given the girl a fright,” Arthur chastised with a grin to lighten the heavy cloud hanging over the child. As her grip lessened, he hooked a finger under her chin to get her full attention. “Those two live here as well. There’s not a need for those teary eyes, yeah?”

“I’ve told you to stop calling me that. My name is Isaac.” Taking the chair beside Arthur, Isaac glanced at the child out of his peripheral vision. Sebastian hadn’t given a real reason as to why he wanted an old shirt, but it was clearly the one she wore.

The other man approached her chair directly. “Ahh, a wonderful little soul has found her way into our humble home. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Saki-chan.” He took one of her hands and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss, bringing a smile to her face once again.

“That’s not my name, mister.” Alara answered, giggling at his antics, nonetheless. Everyone that she had met were so kind to her, having so much attention had her worries scattered away. If only momentarily, she was happy.

Sebastian interrupted the commotion, wheeling out a cart of delicious foods of all varieties. “Please, have a seat, dinner is already late.” The hint of disapproval in his voice didn’t deter the young girl from returning to her pancakes.

The chatter around the table remained light, talks of their days and giving information about themselves led the child into the conversation. Allowing her to decide what she might tell them about herself. None wanted to bring that terrified expression back to her, even without knowing the extent of the circumstances.

Alara perfectly fit in with the lot, finding their professions and personalities intriguing, a mismatched bunch. Never in her short life had so many different people been in one room. The comfortable feeling settling inside her brought an ache along with it, but she didn’t know why. Like she’d been stuck in a China glass house, snatched right out of a doll shop.

Her swiping of the syrup off her cleared plate was interrupted with door opening once again. There were more men living here, and the lively atmosphere hadn’t broken around her, so a moment passed before the electricity in the air began to spark around her.

One word.

Her own name… in that voice…

It shattered the glass house around her, bringing the raging storm crashing down around the ruins. Her shoulders rose, head ducking down as if avoiding the ceiling that would crash atop her at any second.

The slush of each step like the strike of a whip against her skin. She shrunk down into the chair with every squish of his soaked shoes, lower into the seat as if wishing it would swallow her up and take her far away from him. Her fingers entangled in her raven locks, twisting hard to prove that this was real. Green eyes wide open, afraid of what happen should she shut them, but never rising from the view of her own lap.

“I’m terribly sorry for the trouble she’s caused you.”

Apologizing. Always apologizing on her behalf. Why? Why did every choice she make result in her mother apologizing about her? She followed the rules, yet it never stopped his constant shouting at her, never dissuaded that whip he wielded with the sharp tip. Begging, pleading, her mother on her knees, hands clasped.

Apologizing.

He’d never once ceased because of those words.

“I’ve been out in the storm searching all over, worried that something terrible had happened. I’m Oscar Arnette, her father, well, step-father but I love her like she was my own.” He spoke with a laugh, as if relieved to have found her. A fake smile plastered across his face.

You should have never brought her here! All she does is cause me grief!

Keep her locked in her room!

You foolish, insolent child!

Those were words of love? Words spit at her as if she were a speck of dirt marring his clean home, one he couldn’t wash away. Yelled in anger, in absolute hatred, tearing her heart and mind into crumbled pieces.

That is love?

Look at you! My beautiful girl! Come give your mama a big hug!

You are more special than any of the stars in the sky!

Her mother’s words. So differently spoken, always with a warm smile as bright as the sun itself, that chased away all the bad memories from her day. The only one who looked at Alara as a child that was wanted.

“I’m so confused,” Her whisper barely audible at all. Oscar’s calm tone explaining how he’d come to find her clashed louder than the thunder above with her memories etched with his shouting on those days he beat her till she went numb. Did he love her? Was that love?

Napoleon rose from his chair, blocking his advancement towards her. Heavy tension fell over the silent room. A declaration that they did not intend to simply let him take her. “It would be wise for you to keep your distance.

The other residents in the room were watching the intruder just as carefully. It brought a hushed pause, no one making the first move. Le Comte assessed the situation before him. The genuine fear radiating from the girl shielding herself came from years of mistreatment. This man, the source. “Shall we have a chat, Monsieur Oscar, in my study perhaps?”

“Oh no, there’s no need. Alara, you’ve caused enough trouble for these gentlemen. Come along, now.” His hand reached towards her, intent on taking her with him this instant.

So many times, those hands brought her nothing but pain. Her body reacted before she thought her actions through. Ducking under the table, the carpet caught her small frame, roughly jarring her from the impact. The very notion of him touching her crawled across her skin like a thousand bugs.

She did not want to go with him. If his actions reflected love, then she never wanted to experience love again.

A resigned sigh came from Oscar as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s enough theatrics.” He paused, searching for the perfect words to draw her out.

“I believe you’re confusing theatrics with terror, old boy,” Arthur replied, not a drop of humor in his words. No one should strike that much fear into a child. He remained in his seat, arm outstretched to the now empty chair beside him, another barrier for the man to overcome before he would ever reach the girl.

Oscar feigned a graceful smile. “You must be careful with this one. Her imagination runs extremely rampant, causing all the fuss amongst my staff and guests. Just the other day she proclaimed the maids and butlers’ demons that must be slayed by her own hands. It’s extraordinary what children dream up–”

Dazai leaned forward to rest his arms against the table’s edge, a sly smile upon his lips. He could see right through the act before him. “Alara-chan only sows the seeds of truth that are blooming in all their sorrowful beauty, grown by the pain endured. While you, sir, only reap the strongest of vines with thorns slick with all your lies.”

“Preposterous. You’re believing a child’s fantasies!”

“My job requires me to spot a fake from the real thing and you are the most blatantly fake man I’ve ever encountered,” Theo interjected, blue eyes narrowed in pure disgust. Men like him were the lowest.

Oscar remained composed, though all could see the cracks growing ever larger with the passing of every second. “It’s time to go, child. Don’t you want to see your mother?” A last resort but it yielded the results he sought.

“Mama? She-” The quivering girl didn’t come out, but the hope in her voice was evident. It drew out an ache from all the residents, her innocent belief that for once, the truth was being told to her.

“Yes, yes. You can see her again if you come with me.” Sweet and empty words twisted as skillfully as a spider’s web meant to lull the struggling moth into its clutches.

Napoleon seized his arm as he moved to reach for her again. The seasoned soldier, the emperor, could spot the deceit dripping from every inch of the man. Words always meant something, and to see them being twisted into false hope made Napoleon ill. “Tell me how you became so splayed with blood.”

Oscar’s clothes drenched with bloodstains that not even the storm could wash away from him. His irritation had grown, no more faked smiles. “I’ll insist that you release me. I am taking what belongs to me and will be on my way.”

“She isn’t–” Isaac spoke up, eyes downcast at his lap but anger rising in him. “Alara isn’t your property that you can just claim and take away.” Kids were a mystery to him, but each time she smiled and asked him a question about himself, Isaac had felt warm and… happy.

The Frenchman could hardly fathom why these strangers were protecting a brat that they hardly knew. What could they possibly gain from this? He rolled his shoulders, giving a breathy laugh. “Ah, it must be a reward you are after. Name your price and-”

“I assure you, Monsieur, no payment is required. Her well-being is our priority.” Comte cut him off, an edge to his voice.

“Her well-being?” How much had the mousy child told them? The rage boiling up inside him became too much, overpowering his need to save face.

None of them could have predicted his next choice of action.

Oscar lunged, surprising the seasoned solider, and clambered wildly to the girl under the table. From the lining of his soaked jacket, he slashed a sharpened knife at her. “I’ll punish you thoroughly when we’ve returned to my home,” He growled through clenched teeth.

Alara reeled back, squealing in pain at the slice of the blade across her shin. Her entire being petrified at the crazed glint in his eyes.

Everyone moved at the same time. Chairs were knocked backwards, slamming into the carpet. Napoleon grabbed the collar of Oscar’s jacket, roughly tossing him away from the table and onto the floor.

Vincent had taken the girl in his arms, cradling her like a bride to keep her secure. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.” he had her tight, turning his back to the scene to shield her from view. He kept his rage hidden well behind a reassuring smile.

Oscar staggered but rose to his feet, only to be at the end of Napoleon’s drawn sword. He held up empty hands. “Give her to me and this will all be over.” Oscar cursed himself letting her escape his grasp once again.

“Down, put me down,” Alara whined over and over, struggling against the painter to no avail. She couldn’t remain here. He’d ignited her fears tenfold.

Vincent held her tighter, voice soothingly soft. “You don’t need to run again. You’re safe with us.”

“I’ll advise you to take a seat, Monsieur Oscar. We will have a civil discussion.” Comte left no room for argument. He’d seen quite enough. It’s no surprise she climbed through their kitchen window seeking refuge from this man. “Vincent, take Alara up to the guest room. Children need not be present for this.”

****

Her soft sniffs were all that filled the bedroom for a moment. Arthur and Isaac had followed after the painter, who still had the girl sitting on his lap. She’d refused to be put down. He gently brushed his fingers through her raven locks, slowly calming her down.

Arthur had her wounded leg stretched out, resting against his knee. The cut hadn’t been very deep, but the once doctor took his time cleaning the blood away and wrapping it with a bandage. “There all finished,” Arthur flashed her a warm smile.

Isaac stood awkwardly to the side. He could hardly find the words to say, nothing seemed appropriate.

All three men were visibly worried about how this would end. The display of the stepfather had rattled them, too. Comte would resolve the issue, but then what? Where would the little girl go with no family to send her to?

Soft rapping at the door drew all their attention. Locked from the inside for extra safety didn’t stop the tension from rising once again, but it fell again as Napoleon entered the room. “Jean agreed to stay with Comte.” He didn’t say it, but he’d come as added protection. As if reading the room, Napoleon smiled reassuringly. “Don’t fret, Alara. He’ll be gone soon.”

Alara bit her lip. She desperately wanted to believe him, but they didn’t know her stepfather as she did. He always got what he wanted. And… he wanted to hurt her. Even in this room surrounded by strong men, she didn’t feel safe.

Arthur clapped his hands together to gain all the attention back on him. “Why don’t you play a game with me, hm?”

“What kind of game?” Her curious interest bringing a more relaxed atmosphere.

“A guessing game.” Arthur held up a gloved finger. “I’m going to guess something about you, and you tell me if I’m right or wrong. It’s very simple, isn’t it?” There were many gaps to fill in about her and how she came into this situation.

Her head bobbed in response. The writer successfully had taken her mind off the earlier events.

“I’m guessing that you came from a very different country than France.” His first question not really one that had taken much to figure out.

Alara gave a soft yes, eyes darting around the room as if imagining what her home had been before coming to France. Not a home near as a grand this, nor the one that her and her mama had been brought to. “We left home when I was three. I liked it there. It was just me and Mama.”

Three years in this country. Three long years with that brute of a man causing her physical and mental harm.

She shielded a yawn with her hand, the adrenaline wearing away and replaced by exhaustion. The hour growing later, evident in the soft chime of the clock on the wall, signaling a new day.

“Why don’t you lie down?” Vincent shifted to make room under the covers but softly chuckled at her refusal.

A soft no. Alara leaned her cheek against his chest, fingers gripping his sleeve to pull his arm back around to cradle her against him. Safe. Within his arm, she could nearly say she felt completely safe.

“My second guess is that you don’t really like France, do you?” Arthur drew her attention back to him. He wasn’t so much guessing as leading her into a topic. Kids had few filters, so maybe she’d let more slip than she would realize.

“Mm… I miss our old home. Mama would take me out to the market or to the lake sometimes. Here… I could only go in the backyard for a few minutes.”

Stun fell over the room. Not only had she endured suffering at the hands of a monster, but the little girl had been trapped inside a home where she received little more than the bare necessities to survive.

Napoleon leaned back against the wall, finding it harder to sit here and do nothing when the culprit sat downstairs sipping tea with Comte. He listened to Arthur ask her more questions, each one leading into a topic more serious than the last, and her answers growing more heart wrenching.

He says that should someone see me; he doesn’t want to be bothered by stupid questions. I’m not allowed to play with the nice dresses on.

Sometimes if I’m bad, I have to stay in my room all day. It’s small and the window is too high for me to reach. And… it’s really cold. I don’t like it in there.

By not saying many words, she said so much. Topics about her old home would light her up for a moment, remembering the times before France. In a child so young, the four nearly couldn’t bear to watch that innocence fade from her green eyes, replaced by fear and worry.

She fought against sleep as hard as she could, but the soothing petting of the painter holding her had lulled her under. Vincent carefully put her in the bed, under the warm covers, gazing down at her. “This isn’t right.”

A light rap at the door. Napoleon warily unlocked it, hand on the hilt of his sword. Sebastian stood on the other side, no changes in his typical demeanor. He’d only come to deliver a message.

“M. Le Comte has called for a house meeting. Everyone is to be in attendance in the dining hall in 5 minutes.”

[talesofpanem]

On the Wednesday Train

Author: @xerxia31

Rating: K

Summary: The Wednesday train brings a visitor from Katniss’s past, but she’s not ready to see him.

I sit on the porch swing Peeta made last fall, reading and re-reading the few simple lines scrawled on the thick Capitol paper trembling in my hands. I want to see you. And from the one person I never thought would write them.

It’s been more than five years since the end of the rebellion, more than five years since I killed Coin, more than five years since I was exiled to District Twelve. More than five years since I’ve seen my former best friend. 

More than five years since he killed my baby sister.

Behind me, our cottage door creaks open on hinges that I mentally remind myself to oil. “Are you hungry?” Peeta’s voice is low, tentative. He knows what’s in the letter, was beside me when I opened it. But like always, he’s giving me the space to come to terms with its contents on my own, no pressure. Peeta never pressures me into anything. I glance over my shoulder at him and he smiles softly. “Dinner is ready, if you want.”

I toss the letter onto the table that rests just inside the door as I follow my husband into the cozy little home we built together a couple of years ago. If the past five years have taught me anything, it’s that I can now afford to think before I act. I don’t have to answer the letter now.

I don’t have to answer the letter ever.

—–

It takes a month.

A month of thinking. Of reliving that awful day in the city circle, of nightmares and tears and hours spent staring into the void. Of missing Prim so much that my very bones ache with it. 

A month of long walks in the forest. Of reliving those quiet moments of innocence, of brotherhood, of shared responsibility but also shared triumph, so sweet in memory but gone forever.

A month of yelling and of whispered conversations. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to see him,” I confess one night, long after we’ve gone to bed. We’re on top of the sheets in deference to the heat, a faint breeze wafting through the open window to alight on sweat-sheened skin.

“You’re strong enough to do anything,” Peeta reminds me. “And you don’t have to do it alone.” He’s right, of course. There aren’t many in District 12, even still. But the few of us who are here have built a community together. Our friends, our family of choice if not by birth.

“He hurt me.” There are so many more layers to my fear, my reluctance to see Gale again. But the simplest truth is that Gale’s actions hurt me terribly, irreparably.

“I know,” Peeta says, tracing soothing circles on the scarred skin of my belly. “But he loved you too.”

-----

He arrives on the Wednesday train, which surprises me. I’d thought a fancy government job in District Two would have afforded him the means to travel via hovercraft, or maybe even private car. Instead, Gale is taking a train along the same tracks that twice hurtled Peeta and me towards certain death.

We don’t meet him at the station. I pace our porch until the train whistle echoes through the district. Then I switch to pacing our small living room.

Peeta, though outwardly calm, has covered our kitchen table with baked goods, the scents of hot yeast and sugar filling our home even with all of the windows flung wide. He’s sheepish, but I know how keeping his hands and mind busy helps him fight off the false memories that still plague him from time to time, memories that so often involve Gale and me and things that never happened between us. 

And things that did.

Despite his clear inner turmoil, Peeta abandons his baking to pace with me. “What could he possibly want after all of this time?” I mutter. It’s a hypothetical question; I could have asked in my return letter weeks earlier but I didn’t. I only wrote ‘okay’, and left it at that.

Peeta wraps his arms around me and kisses my temple. “I don’t know, love,” he says, the same answer he’s given me every time I’ve asked. “But we’ll find out soon enough.”

I know the district like the back of my hand, know exactly how long it takes to walk from the train station to the little cottage Peeta and I built about a half mile from where the fence once stood. That span comes and goes, and then a second of equal length. Peeta and I stop pacing, and eventually move out onto our porch, settling into the swing together, his arm still holding me steady, my head now settled onto his shoulder. “Maybe he changed his mind,” I say, voicing the thought I know we’ve both had. “Or missed his connection?”

Peeta merely hums above me, a sound that could be agreement but I suspect is not, and sets the swing in motion with a push of his good leg. And he’s right, because only a few minutes later a long shadow turns down our walkway. Gale, silhouetted by the sun, strange and yet somehow familiar too.

And not alone.

Peeta’s smile is genuine and delighted as he takes in Gale’s companion, my expression is likely the confused scowl I’ve spent much of my life wearing.

She has straight black hair that bounces with each step, and wide, wary almond-shaped eyes, so dark they glisten like wet coal in the afternoon light. As Gale approaches, she tucks her face into his shoulder shyly.

“It’s good to see you,” Peeta says when my own silence has stretched too long, clomping down the porch steps while I stand frozen at the top. Gale shifts the dark haired toddler on his hip to reach for Peeta’s outstretched hand.

“It’s been a long time.” I jolt a little at Gale’s voice, just the same as it always was, and yet different too. Older. More tired.

Gale’s pint-sized companion peeks out at us again, gazing back and forth between Peeta and me, her little brow wrinkling. “And who is this?” Peeta asks, smiling at the little girl and ducking to her level. She reaches out to pat his golden curls before retreating again.

“This is Iris,” Gale says. He turns to speak directly to her. “Can you say hello?” The fondness in his voice reminds me so much of how he always used to speak to Posy, and to Prim. 

Prim.

My throat closes and heavy clouds descend over my heart. I think Peeta notices, even as distracted as he is by Iris. Peeta loves children. He’d make an incredible father, if he had a different wife. Instead, he comes back to the wife he does have, me, and wraps his arm around my shoulder again, taking some of my weight as my knees tremble.

Gale follows him up, until he’s standing just feet away for the first time in so long. Solemn grey eyes regard me cautiously. “Hey Katniss,” he says and a part of me is inexplicably saddened by the loss of the nickname I always hated. 

“Gale,” I whisper. Then nothing. We size each other up like rivals before the duel, the air between us fetid with grief and fear.

“Come inside,” Peeta encourages.

We move into the living room that bears Peeta’s touch on every surface, bright pictures on the walls and soft blankets tossed over the comfortable sofa and chairs. It’s smaller and simpler than our old houses in Victor’s Village, but palatial compared to the Seam shack where I grew up. And like all of our little house, it’s warm and welcoming, just like the man who makes gentle small talk as we settle in, asking about the trip, the weather, bringing out sweet tea and plates of baked goods. 

Gale sits on the couch with Iris on his lap and my gaze is drawn to her like a magnet. She’s perhaps two, or maybe just a bit older, and admittedly adorable, her initial shyness already fading as she looks around curiously. 

A child. Gale has a child of his own. It hits me hard, the unfairness of it. That he should have a perfect family when he stole that future from my sister. That he’s built a life when there are still days I can’t even get out of bed.

Peeta glances at Gale before asking, “Do you like cookies, Iris?” Gale grins, and Iris nods, a huge smile dimpling her plump cheeks. Peeta holds out a cookie, cinnamon, the kind I like best, and she takes it in that trusting way that most kids seem to exhibit with Peeta.

We fall quiet again. Gale bounces Iris on his knees while she messily devours a cookie, giggling and feeding him bites. She clearly adores him. And the way he looks at her fills my chest with an unfamiliar longing. Not for Gale, not even for a baby of my own. But for the contentment of a life I’ve never even wanted.

Peeta carries the conversation, telling Gale about the medicine factory that is slated to open in the fall, the influx of new people we expect will follow. Gale speaks not about his life in Two, but about the new housing going up above ground in Thirteen, now that the decontamination there is complete. 

When Peeta inquires if Gale is part of that project, he shakes his head. “My mom’s house will be in the first group. Rory is on one of the construction crews.”

“They’re not with you in Two?” I ask, the first words I’ve said since Peeta’s return. Gale stiffens, a frown tugging at his lips.

“They’re not,” he says, and ever after five years I can read his pain, hear it in his gruff voice. “But I speak with them a couple of times a month.” That surprises me, Gale was always so close to Hazelle, even when the mines, and then the war, took him away for so many hours, he still made time for her. I wonder why he hasn’t brought them to Two.

Iris is getting restless, climbing over Gale and making little whining noises. When Peeta offers to take her to feed Haymitch’s geese (“they’re much tamer than the man,” he assures Gale) I feel betrayed. I don’t want to be alone with this stranger who isn’t a stranger. So much for not having to do this alone.

Peeta takes Iris’s hand, she follows him happily. It’s quiet for many, many long moments, only the soft murmur of Peeta and Iris’s conversation floating in from the kitchen as they gather bits of stale bread for the geese, and the wind through the willows just outside my window. The front door creaks again, announcing their departure.

Then Gale and I are alone. I shift in my chair by the fireplace, across from Gale, and really look at him.

He’s well put together, nice clothing and new shoes, neatly trimmed nails with no coal dust under them. But he seems so much older than his not quite 25 years, the line between his brows a permanent feature, a weariness in his grey eyes. He regards me the same way, cataloguing the changes that five years have wrought on my own face. I know what he sees. While my face was spared in the explosion and fire all of those years ago, the burn scars that mar my arms and legs are on full display. I’m no longer self-conscious enough about them to wear long sleeves, especially in the late August heat. This is who I am, and the people of Twelve accept me, faults and all. More importantly, Peeta loves me despite everything. I have nothing to be ashamed of. And I remind myself that I have nothing to fear here either.

“How old is Iris?” I start. There are a thousand things we should be talking about, but his daughter is perhaps the easiest.

“She just turned two in April,” he says.

“You didn’t mention her.” 

He nods. “Her mother was my neighbour, in Two. She died just before Christmas. There was no one to take the baby.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “She’s not your-”

“She is my daughter,” he interrupts, voice hard. “In every way that matters.”

I’m momentarily stunned, not just by his vehemence, but that he’s taken in an orphan, and is raising her apparently alone, without her mother or his own. That’s not the Gale I remember, who cared about his family, sure, but not for strangers. He never seemed upset about the kids in the community home like I was.

“She’s why I’m here,” he admits.

“You wanted me to meet her?” He could have just sent a photograph, like Annie did when little Finn was born. 

“No, I mean, yeah, I did, but that’s not what I meant,” he stutters. I bite my tongue, giving him the space to sort out his thoughts. “Having her in my life…” he trails off, and stands, walking over to the window. I can see his pained expression reflected in the glass.

“I wanted you to know that I get it now,” he says, still facing away. “I didn’t really understand, after.” He sighs, but I stay still and silent. “I felt bad.” He shakes his head and turns to face me. I’m shocked to see his eyes are shimmering. “I feel bad, I feel fucking awful, about what I created with Beetee, what they used it for. But until Iris, I didn’t really understand. I do now.”

I frown and shake my head. Having a baby shouldn’t be necessary to understand why blowing up a bunch of kids is wrong. This is ridiculous.

“I understand,” he tries again, “that there are things more important than being right.” He tries to clear the roughness from his throat. “Back then, I was always so angry, so damned righteous. I hated being so powerless.” 

“We all did,” I remind him, anger in my voice. “Nothing makes you feel quite so powerless as seeing your little sister’s name pulled out of a giant glass bowl. Of hearing her essentially sentenced to death.”

“I know,” he says softly, though he doesn’t. The only person who really understands the scars I bear on my soul is Peeta. And maybe Haymitch, on his more lucid days. “Once the war started,” he continues, “and we were in Thirteen, well, people started giving me a little bit of that power I craved. It was a heady experience.” 

“It never felt like that for me,” I grumble. My experiences with the people of Thirteen were so different. I never felt like I was being given the power to change things. I felt like a tool, or a puppet.

“I know,” he says again. “And that should have been my first clue. You knew, you always knew, right from the beginning, that Coin was using us.” 

Gale closes his eyes, head bowed while I stare, unable to absolve him. My sister is dead, as are a lot of other kids and medics. While their deaths aren’t wholly his fault, his contribution is unforgivable, despite the pressure we were both under in Thirteen. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he whispers, as if reading my thoughts. “I just want you to know that I am so very sorry. But more than that, I understand, and I pledge to you, and to Prim, that I’m going to do everything in my power to make the world a better place.”

Honestly, that still sounds like what he thought he was doing with Thirteen, and I frown. “You don’t believe me?”

“I do.”

“But it isn’t enough?”

“I guess I don’t see how it’s any different. You’ve always wanted to change Panem, Gale. You’ve always wanted to forge ahead full speed and crush anything in your path” I expect him to get angry, to defend himself. Instead he smiles, wistfully.

“You’re right,” he says. “But it is different now. I’m different now,” he emphasizes. He turns away again, leaning on the window sill. I join him, our shoulders nearly touching as we look out over my front yard, the laneway beyond it. Victor’s Village is too far to see from my house, but when the wind blows just right I can hear the sounds of children playing on the green there. Not today, though. There’s only somber silence. “I’m trying,” he says finally, the words defeated. “I may never get it right, but I’m trying.”

“I don’t understand.” Trying to get through to me? Trying to be a good dad? I just don’t know.

“Trying to be like you. I used to think you were weak,” he says, and I bristle. “I thought your compassion was cowardice.” He faces me again, and this time his tears have spilled over, twin trails tracking down his cheeks. “But it’s the opposite. Your compassion is your strength. It’s why you both survived the Games. Why you found Peeta and nursed him back to health. Why you dragged him through the sewers instead of letting him kill himself.” He turns away and I absorb his words. Compassion. It’s a word I’ve always associated with Peeta. But maybe I have a little myself too. 

“It’s why you’re listening to me now instead of chasing me down the lane with your bow,” Gale murmurs. A reluctant smile lifts one side of my mouth. Under all the bluster, under the fancy clothes and the fancy haircut, he’s still Gale, still that boy who was once my best friend. I’m not so petulant that I can’t admit, if only to myself, that I’ve missed him.

He must see the softening of my expression because he laughs quietly and wipes his face roughly with a sleeve. He doesn’t ask me for forgiveness, which makes me glad. I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive him yet. But maybe someday. 

We watch the trees wave in the light breeze in silence that feels far more companionable until toddler squeals float through the woods, approaching. Peeta and Iris returning. Reality returning. 

“Are you okay, Katniss?” I know he means more than am I all right with him being here and the things we’ve talked about. 

“I am. We are,” I say, meaning me and Peeta. And maybe meaning Gale too. 

They stay only a few minutes longer before Gale takes his tired little girl to the boarding house where they’re spending the night. Peeta offers our spare room, but I’m not sad when Gale declines. We made progress today, but I’m not ready for anything more just yet. 

We watch their retreat from our porch, Peeta’s arm again wrapped around me. 

“You were so brave today,” Peeta says when they turn the corner and disappear from view. I nod, turning into his arms, inhaling his scent. “And so was he.”

“So was he,” I agree. 

[avengerscompound]

Finding Home - Chapter 12

Finding Home: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist Previous //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x OFC (Daisy Adams)

Word Count:  3339

Warnings:  Angst, mentions of torture, violence, major character death, mentions of sexual abuse/rape, pregnancy, smut (vaginal sex, oral sex, pregnancy sex, Bisexual MMF threesome)

Synopsis:  Daisy Adams has abilities. She can read minds. Force her thoughts onto others. As a child, she is taken by Hydra and raised as a weapon. Daisy finds another and speaks to him in his dreams. He has been taken too. He wants to return to the man he loves. Can she get them back together? Will she even want to once she realizes that she’s falling in love?

Chapter 12

Time moved on as it usually does.  I found out I was pregnant again. Steve and I had not been particularly careful because, after James’ violent introduction into the world, I’d been told I probably couldn’t have any more children.  I didn’t know how to tell Steve. He was so good with James, but he was still so reckless all the time and his thoughts were rarely about being a family unless they involved Bucky.  So I kept it to myself.  Wanda scolded me constantly for it.  She told me she was going to tell him if I didn’t soon.  I knew she wouldn’t.

I was slowly working myself up to telling him when the news broke that Rumlow had escaped from prison and was basically just going on a rampage under the name Crossbones.  I became obsessed with just that. Rumlow had taken part of me when I was in Hydra.  He couldn’t just get away with it like that.

We had finally received intelligence about a target Rumlow was planning to hit and Steve had called us together to plan an attack.  We sat around the briefing table.  Everyone else was relaxed and in that boring meeting mode, people fall into when they just want to get on with things.  I, however, was buzzing.  I sat bolt upright, fixed on Steve.

“I’d like to take Sam, Natasha, Vision, and Wanda.  It should be a relatively straightforward extraction.”  Steve said.  “Any objections.”

“I want to go,”  I said.

“You know that’s not practical,”  Steve interjected.  “Until James is able to be left with other people …”

“So what am I here for?  Why even bring me into these briefings?  He’s one.  He can be left with other people.”  I yelled.  I needed to go on this mission.  I needed to get back at Rumlow for what he did to me.

“Perhaps she has a point, Captain Rogers?  It may be the perfect opportunity for Miss Adams to test her abilities in the field.  I could always stay here with the child.  He responds to me.”  Vision suggested.

“You are a fighter, she is not,”  Steve said.  “The team stands as is. We leave in an hour.  Suit up.”  

He got up and headed for the door.  I chased after him.

“You have to stop trying to protect me from this world we’re part of,” I said jogging along behind him to keep up with him.

“I’m quite confident that’s not true,”  Steve said.

“Am I an Avenger or not?”  I asked.

“Not.”

I grabbed his arm.  He stopped and turned to face me.  “Then why am I here?”

He cupped my jaw with his hand, stroking his thumb along my cheek. “Because I love you, and it’s the safest place for you to be.”

“I’m not helpless,”  I said.

“But our son is.”  

I pulled away from him.  Fucking Steve, throwing out the ‘our son’ to try and manipulate me into staying.  “So you stay with him and I’ll go.”

His hand went to my back and he ran it down my spine.  “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal to you.”

I turned and opened my mouth to tell him, but I couldn’t do it.  I didn’t want him to know about my history with Rumlow.  How Rumlow had started having sex with me while I was still too young and ill-informed to know better.  I didn’t want him to look at me differently.  “I can make you change your mind you know?”

“Daisy.” He scolded.  “I know you won’t do that.”

“Then let me come.”  I was whining like a petulant child and I hated myself for it.

“Why do you want this so badly?  You’ve never cared about going on a mission before.”

I started walking away from him.  This wasn’t going to end well.

“Daisy.” He called and this time he jogged to keep up with me.  “Convince me.”

I kept walking in the direction of our quarters.  “Back in Hydra, I knew him.  He did things to me.”

Steve caught my arm and I tried to shake him off.  He didn’t let me and I spun around to face him.  “What kind of things?”

“Please don’t make me say it,”  I said looking at my feet.

“Daisy.” He said my name softly.  Like it was a plea.  As if by saying it, I would suddenly not have had to live through the things I did.  Or that I’d tell him everything and he’d magically be able to fix it.

I tried to pull my arm away from him again but he held me in place and just stared at me.  “Let me go!  I need to go check on James.”

“No, you don’t.  I know you’re always connected to him.  So talk to me.”

“I was a child.”  I cried.  “I was a kid, Steve.  Please, I need to come.  I can’t let him get away with what he did to me.”

Steve’s face turned dark.  “Tell Vision I’m switching you out.”

I stood on the rooftops of Lagos with Sam.  I was scanning the crowd for anyone who may have seen Rumlow and not known about it.  There were a few, but they were old memories.  A good sign that he’d been here to stake things out but not helpful for right now.

Steve’s voice came through the comms.  He was using this mission as a teaching tool.  “Alright what do you see?”  He wanted to see how much Wanda had learned.  He wanted me to learn from her.

“Standard beat cops.  Small station.  Quiet street.  It’s a good target.” Wanda replied.

“There’s an ATM on the South corner which means?”  Steve asked.

“Cameras,” Wanda answered.

“Both cross streets are one way?”

“So compromised escape routes.”

“Means our guy doesn’t care about being seen.  He’s not afraid to make a mess on the way out.”   Steve paused for a second.  “Daisy?”

“No one has seen him today but he’s definitely been here,”  I answered.

“You see that range rover halfway up the block?”  Steve asked.

“Yeah, the red one?  It’s cute.”  Wanda replied.  She sounded cocky.  She knew how powerful she was.  She thought she was invincible.  

“It’s also bulletproof,”  Natasha added.  “Which means private security.  Which means more guns.  Which means more headaches for somebody.  Probably us.”

“You guys know I can move things with my mind right?”  Wanda teased.

“Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature.”  Nat scolded.

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re a little paranoid?”  Sam teased.

“Not to my face.  Why?  Did you hear something?”  Nat returned.

“Eyes on target folks,”  Steve said sternly.  I smiled at him entering dad mode on us.  “This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months, and I don’t want to lose him.”

Sam laughed, peering over the roof.  “If he sees us coming that won’t be a problem.  He kinda hates us.”

“Sam, Daisy, see that garbage truck?  Tag it.”  Steve said.

Sam let his robotic bird out to scan the truck while I focused on the driver.  The driver didn’t speak English, so shuffling through his thoughts took a little effort.  I had to sort pictures together and work out what they meant exactly.  

“He’s heading to the Center for Infectious Disease,”  I said.

“Yeah, that trucks loaded for max weight,”  Sam added.  “And the driver’s armed.”

“It’s a battering ram.” Natasha yelped.

“Go now!”  Steve ordered.

Everyone jumped into action.  This was the bit I was a little useless for.  I abseiled off the side of the building as Sam flew off in the direction of Steve.  

I met with Natasha and was sat on her motorcycle as we waited for orders.

Steve’s voice came over comms.  “Body armor, AR-15s.  I make seven hostiles.”

Sam then started counting them down.

After a little while, we saw a huge cloud of gas billowing up into the sky, glittering with the telltale sign of Wanda’s magic.  

After a few more beats Steve’s voice crackled through comms. “Rumlow has a biological weapon.”

“I’m on it,”  Nat said bursting into action.

As we headed in through the gates of the facility I jumped clear of the bike.  I hit the ground awkwardly.  Damn it.  I needed to listen to Steve more.  I clambered to my feet, as a couple of Rumlow’s men came at me.  I was dazed from the fall, but I managed to shut down their minds.  They fell to the ground unconscious.  I staggered towards the truck where Natasha was much more effectively taking out Rumlow’s men.

I saw Rumlow throw her into a truck and I went to touch his mind to stop him.  Take him out.  The familiarity of it.  The depth of hate. The remainder of my old life.  It froze me.  I just stood.  Unable to act.  Completely repulsed.  

Rumlow climbed into a truck and as it drove away he started firing on Steve. I saw Steve fall from the window and I ran to him.

“Sam. He’s in an AMV heading north.”  He said through comms.  “What just happened with you?  Why didn’t you take him out?”  He said taking my arm and running in the direction of Nat.

“I froze.  I’m sorry.”

“I knew this was a mistake.”

Shit. Fucking shit.

He pushed me towards Nat and we both climbed onto the bike again and she sped off in the direction of Rumlow and his men.  

“I’ve got four and they’re splitting up,”  Sam said.

Nat pulled the bike into a crowded market.  “I’ve got the two on the left.”  She said as she dismounted.

I looked around.  There were so many people here.  All of them in danger.  This was how I could fix this.  I closed my eyes and sent my mind out to all of them.  I touched each one, one at a time and when I felt like everyone in the square who were just there to shop, or socialize, or run their business, was connected to me I took hold. I had become a hive mind.  Pushing this group of people out of the square, as far away as possible.  The moved slowly like zombies, but they moved.   I moved them.  

There were explosions and the fight was sending people flying through structures.  I didn’t pay any attention to that.  That was all happening far away.   I just moved the people out.  

There was a huge explosion.  It broke my connection with everyone.  I looked around.  The square was empty except for a few unconscious people, Steve and Wanda.  The building in front of them had a hole in the side and was burning.  I could feel the pain from injured people inside.  Wanda looked devastated.  I staggered towards them.  My face felt wet.  I looked down at the ground, blood ran from my face and pooled on the ground.  I left a trail of it as I walked.  

“What happened?”  I asked.

Steve turned to me.  His face went white.  Everything went black.

I woke on the Quinn Jet feeling light-headed.  I had my head resting on Steve’s lap and he held a cold compress on my head.  Wanda was crying.  I went to talk to her using my mind but it was like I’d stepped in front of speakers with an active microphone.  I clutched my head at the loud shriek that filled it.  Steve looked down at me.

“Taking you was a mistake.”  He said.

I looked away from him.  

He turned my head back to face him.  “You’re going to have a brain scan when we get back.  These nosebleeds are getting worse.”  

“Stop talking to me like that,”  I whispered.

“You wanted to be on the team.  On the team, I’m your commanding officer. This is how commanding officers talk to their subordinates.”

I sat up and curled my legs to my chest.  “I saved those people.”

“You nearly got me killed and yourself.”  He snapped at me.  

“Steve, that’s enough,”  Nat interjected.

“Nat, she …”

“She did fine.  Nothing that happened today was anyone’s fault except Rumlow’s.  Least of all Daisy’s.  She cleared the plaza of everyone. I get you are scared about something happening to her.  Treating her like this isn’t helping anyone.”

When the jet had landed, I jumped up and dashed into the compound.  Vision had come to meet us holding James’ hand.  He looked so comical wearing a v-neck sweater with Jamie’s hand clasped in his.  In normal circumstances, I would have stopped and taken time to really soak it in.  I just took James offering Vision a quiet thank you and hurried to the room I shared with Steve.

I collapsed on the bed.  James sat next to me looking at me.  I felt his concern for me and tears started leaking from my eyes.  James put his hands over my face and I suddenly felt really calm.  

“Did you just do that?”  I asked pushing his hands away from me.

He looked at me and I knew that he had.  

The door opened and Steve entered.  James stood and held his arms up to Steve pushing the desire to be picked up.  Steve came and lifted him.

“I’m sorry, Daisy.  I got scared when you collapsed.  You need to stop pushing your abilities like that.  I think they’re hurting you.”

“You were right though.  I shouldn’t have gone.”  

I felt the bed shift as he sat down next to me.  He rested his hand on my ass.  “You saved a lot of people.  I’m glad you did.”  I rolled over to face him and he ran his fingers down my cheek. “You’re still covered in blood.  You should take a shower.”  

“You can talk.”  

“You have one first and I’ll watch Jamie,”  Steve suggested.

“What about Vision watches Jamie and we have one together?”

I was under the water rinsing the caked off blood from my face when Steve entered the bathroom.  I turned to him and watched him undress. He had bruises up the left side of his ribs and the right side of his abs.  There was a large one on his back over his left shoulder that stretched down and across his spine.

When he stepped into the water I trailed my fingers over his ribs.  “You worry so much about me getting hurt and look at this,”  I said.

His hands went to my face.  “Those will all heal.”

“You’re pretty reckless, Steve,”  I said trailing my fingers down his chest.  “I know you think you have nothing to live for.  Maybe you should look a little harder.”

He looked at me sadly for a moment.   I wanted to read him.  See what he was thinking.  I’d promised I’d stop doing that.  So I let him keep his privacy.  I guess I was learning to people after all.  I nearly told him about being pregnant too.  The words were on the tip of my tongue.  His reason to live.  I couldn’t do it though.  Not after what had just happened.  We’d just end up fighting.

He pulled me up into a kiss and I wrapped my arms around his neck.  He moved his hands to my back and then slid them down to my ass.  His fingers gripped my flesh briefly before he turned me and guided me towards the wall.  He stood me under the showerhead, placing my hands on the shower wall above my head.  He shifted my legs apart and engulfed me from behind.  His hands roamed my body, traveling from my throat to my breasts, down my back, and between my legs.  He stroked his fingers up and down my folds, pressing down on my clit before releasing and swiping back down again.  

I felt his lips against my back followed by his tongue as he lapped stripes up my spine, collecting the water that rolled down my skin. His teeth grazed over the back of my neck and I let out a soft moan.

I let my hands fall from the wall and pressed myself up against him. His erection pushed against my ass and he wrapped his arms around me. One hand gripping my breast the other he returned to my cunt.  He pushed two fingers deep inside of me, curling them and pressing against my internal walls.  He rolled his thumb against my clit and pinched my nipple.  

I moaned loudly and ground into his hand as he sucked on my earlobe. Heat pooled in me, making my skin prickle.  My muscles clenched and I reached behind me and began stroking his cock, pressing it against my ass and running my hand up and down.

He turned me again and lifted me like I weighed nothing.  He pressed me against the wall and entered me. I gasped and wrapped myself around him, pulling him tightly against me.  

“I love you, Steve.  I love when you’re inside of me.”  I purred, nuzzling against his neck.  

He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.  I opened my mouth letting the water from the shower pool and spillover my lips.  He bit my throat as he thrust into me.  It sent jolts through me.  My orgasm crested.  I dug my nails into Steve’s back, clinging on for dear life.  He picked up the force of his thrusts and I came.  My whole body clenching around him.  

“Fuck! Steve!”  I cried out.  

He grunted and thrust hard into me.  I felt him spill inside of me, and his whole body seemed to suddenly relax.  His mouth met mine again and we kissed slowly as he let me down.  

“I love you too, Daisy.  I’ll try and be less reckless.  You’re right. I still feel so constantly on the outside.”  He said.   It made my heartbreak for him.

“I know.  I feel the same way.  It’s like I’ve never had anyone.  I kind of had Bucky, but not really.  Now I have Jamie.”  I took his hand and kissed it stepping out of the shower.  He switched off the water and followed me.

“You have me too,”  Steve said.  It was almost like a question.  Like he needed the validation.  

I wrapped a towel around myself and looked up at him. “I sometimes feel like I have you but also … I’m not good enough for you.  You are so good.  I feel like the only thing I have in common with you is Bucky.  That that’s all you see in me.”  I shook my head.

Steve pulled me against his chest and I melted into him.  “I think originally maybe that’s true.  You were pregnant with Jamie.  I just saw you like this link to him.  It’s more than that though.  I hope you know that.  I do love you.  As for being too good for you.  People always look at me as this perfect man, who has only pure thoughts and virtuous actions.  You’ve seen in my head.  You know that’s not true.”

“You love him still.  If he came back. I’m still the second choice.”  

He didn’t answer for what felt like forever.  I nearly scanned him.  It took all my willpower not to.  All I would have to do is relax and stop blocking him and I’d know every thought he had.  Instead, I used the time to think.  What would I do if Bucky came back?  All this time I had been so set on the idea that his being here would make it better.  That we could somehow be a family together because of what I’d seen in Steve’s mind.  I’d forgotten that what people think and what they do aren’t always the same thing.

“Do you love Bucky?”  Steve asked, finally breaking the silence.  His hand went to my hair, tangling his fingers in it.

“Yes. Not the way you do though.  But I do.  He’s the only family I’d ever known.  Until now.”

“Maybe … when Bucky comes back he’ll choose both of us.”

// NEXT

[softjeon]

Devil’s Hand | Pt. 3

• Pairing: King!Namjoon x Jungkook • Side-Pairings:  Namjoon x Jimin | Namjoon x Yoongi | Prince!Hoseok x Jungkook • Genre: Angst / Smut | Royal!AU ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 7,8k | Co-Writer: Cat @cassiavioletblue • Disclaimer: alcohol, abusive relationsships, abusive behavior, (sexual) violence, major character death

↳   There had been rumors, but in the end it was not really a secret that Namjoon loved delicate and beautiful things. Especially when it came down to his lovers and his castle. It was decorated with lot of flowing, long blue curtains, colorful paintings in every room, rows of marble columns leading along every aisle. There was a large garden surrounding the palace, which was by far Jungkook’s favorite place to be – next to the king’s bedroom.

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Jungkook was looking left and right, turning the corner quickly then rushed down the corridor. A soft giggle escaped his lips, greeting a few others on his way down the stairs. When he was sure that no one else was around, Jungkook took a sharp turn, walking to the left corridor of the castle. The one side where all the guest rooms were. His breath came in short pants, his heart beating so fast, Jungkook was sure it was jumping right out of his chest. Looking over his shoulder again, he squealed when out of a sudden a tight grip on his arm pulled him inside a room.

He stayed still, his heart skipping a beat, when his gaze fell onto Hoseok’s smile. “Hey,” He breathed out, not being able to shake off his nervousness.

“There you are! I wondered what took you so long!” A guilty expression flickered over his face as he continued, “I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to come at all tonight or how late it would get and I was hungry so I got myself some food. Have you eaten yet? If not we can share. I can never finish the food here because they always bring so much. They’re probably afraid that I could cause a scene if I was still hungry - or maybe you people just eat more than we do in my kingdom.” He pinched Jungkook in the side to test his theory and then shook his head, “Although when I see how skinny you are that's probably not true. What’s your favorite food?” Hoseok lead Jungkook further into the room where there were cushions and a low table on the floor. It looked like it had already been prepared for two people and when Jungkook noticed Hoseok piped in, “Well, I was hoping you would still come so I prepared another plate just in case…”

Quickly he sat down and then watched Jungkook who seemed so shy that Hoseok reached over the table. “Please, relax. I’m not going to tell anyone. I promise. They would probably have to throw away the leftover food anyway. So, look at it as you are doing me a favor. Does that sound better? And the food is really delicious. You just have to try some.”

Jungkook was a bit hesitant, waiting and watching Hoseok take the first bite and only then allowed himself to reach for something, too. It wasn’t the first night he met up with Prince Hoseok in secret. They had sneaked into corners, or empty rooms before – always careful that no one would see. Jungkook was starting to get addicted to the rush, to the way Hoseok was flirting with him, telling him all those nice things that made him feel so good. That made him feel like he was on cloud nine. Just like Namjoon had made him feel so many times before.

It wasn’t like the king hadn’t asked for him anymore. He still did and Jungkook was there, just like the good servant he was. He still loved Namjoon. Jungkook couldn’t just stop caring about him. Instead it felt like each time he gazed up at him, his ache for him only grew stronger, his need to be held holding more power over him, making him want to lay down next to Namjoon and just never wake up again. To sleep in Namjoon’s arms forever. Unfortunately, Jimin’s visit became more regular, too and Jungkook hated it. Everything about it. Because Jimin was everything he wasn’t.

Jungkook was a little quiet, while he was taking small bites, obviously careful not to take food that was the prince’s in the first place. “Thank you for sharing your food with me. It’s more that I could ask for,” Jungkook said with a shy smile, “You’re too kind to me.”

“Jungkookie, how many times do I have to tell you to stop being so formal with me. I really like your company. So, the least I can do is give something back. And it’s not like I paid for this food. I’m just sharing. If I cooked for you, made your favorite food for dinner or took you with me to a banquet - that would be something you can say ‘thank you’ for. Though… I have to admit you’d probably prefer the latter. i’m not that great of a cook. But I have other qualities I can show you.” He winked at Jungkook before biting into a piece of chicken. “So, tell me, how long have you known the king?” He had asked for bits and pieces of Jungkook’s life before, but it was the first time he actively asked for something that involved the king. And the way Jungkook reacted would tell him if he could push further or if he had to wait and do some more flirting and trust building before he could finally get where he wanted to.

“I..I lived in the castle all my life,” Jungkook reached for the cup and sighed when the cool drink run down his throat making it so much easier for him to relax. There was nothing he needed to be afraid of. Namjoon was occupied and he had to be back in an hour or so for his duty. But until then, Jungkook could have some fun. “I basically grew up with him. We used to play as children and we even learned with the same private teacher, only at some age I started working for Namjoon, while he was still learning to become a king.” The young servant happily munched on his food, telling cute little anecdotes from his life as a kid. “My mom was the king’s father maid…so it was only natural that I would follow her footsteps. That’s all I know.”

“Oh, then you must have quite the knowledge! So much for being ‘just a servant’, hm? I knew it was just you downplaying yourself again.” Hoseok reached for a grape but instead of eating it himself he held it up to Jungkook lips who accepted it in his surprise. His fingertips just barely brushed Jungkook’s lips and he smiled. “Did your relationship with Namjoon change after he had been crowned king?” He asked casually, careful to call the king ‘Namjoon’ to make it feel more personal and less like he was asking him questions about the king. It was so easy to get Jungkook talking. He wondered why he hadn’t tried this sooner.

Jungkook almost choked on the grape, his eyes wide when Hoseok asked that question. “I…I am not sure what you mean. Of course, it changed in a way,” He pulled his legs in a little, averting his gaze, “I had to address him differently. My whole day changed when I needed to adapt to him being the king. But our relationship in general has always been close. We grew up together, you know.” Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, a rose color dusting his cheek. “But now let me ask a question,” He quickly turned the situation around and leaned closer to Hoseok. “What made you change?” The servant asked, eyeing the other with interest, “The last years you had been quite… childish, if I dare to say that…I recall a few memories of you acting up...something has changed.”

Hoseok sighed deeply, caught between the urge to just laugh it off and the need to play along if he didn't want to irritate Jungkook. “Honestly.. it’s something very personal.” He made a little pause to build up the tension making Jungkook think he wouldn't answer before finally continuing, “Though you told me about your childhood so I’ll tell you about mine. My father, the king, always had high expectations. I could never meet them, no matter how hard I tried. So, I revolted as a teenager, I just didnt give a damn. Or at least that's what I tried to make myself think. In reality I probably wanted someone to take me aside and ask me what’s wrong, to help me instead of the constant threats and yelling and all the punishing. But it only made things worse. And now my father is getting old as you might have heard and while this is unfortunate enough I realized that I’ve done nothing to prove myself worthy as potential king. So, if someday my father has to resign I want to be sure that the kingdom is in safe hands. Cause no matter if my father loves me or not - I do love my kingdom.”

Jungkook looked at Hoseok in awe, reaching out for his hand in the process. He believed him. Every single word. He had no reason not to. “I am glad you found your way. I am sure you will be an amazing king and rule your country wisely.” Jungkook couldn’t keep from smiling, keeping his hand on Hoseok’s for a little while longer. His skin was so soft and Jungkook would have loved to lean in if he’d only hold his cheeks, come closer and…his heart skipped a beat. Was he already daydreaming about kissing the prince?

Shaking himself out of his small daydream, Jungkook got up from where he sat. “I…ehm…I have to go again. I bet Namjoon is waiting for me already,” He breathed out the words, but he couldn’t move away from Hoseok. He didn’t want to. It had been so lovely to spend the time here with him. “Will…Will I see you again?” The question spilled from his lips faster than he could think about it and Jungkook averted his gaze shyly.

“Of course, you will.” Hoseok did his best to hide his disappointment. Another meet up with Jungkook and he had gotten nothing out of him. Such a shame. “As long as I’m here I’ll try to spend as much time with you as you let me.” He got up to hold the door open for him but hesitated for a second. “Just answer me this one little question please before you go. Is Namjoon the only man you’ve been with so far?”

Jungkook blushed furiously for the nth time today. He thought about how he should answer but settled for the truth, nonetheless. “Y-yes,” Jungkook said, playing with the fabric of his shirt nervously. Despite his better knowledge and not to get mingled into this game Hoseok was playing, Jungkook leaned in, kissing Hoseok’s cheek fleetingly. Just a soft brush of lips against his skin.

Hoseok smiled at that, honestly smiled. Gosh, the younger was so innocent, no wonder Namjoon liked to have him in bed; he was gorgeous, smart (about everything excluding human relationships and honest affection) and so cute that one couldn’t decide between kissing him senseless until he smiled that cute little bunny smile of his - or just stripping him down and fucking him right on the floor because his body was so damn hot. In the end Hoseok opted for kissing Jungkook back the same way, just a soft brush of lips before he opened the door and let him out. “See you soon, Jungkook. I can’t wait to explore you further… through our conversations of course.”

Jungkook’s cheeks were heating up again as he stumbled out onto the hallway. For a moment he was completely stunned, before he quickly gathered himself, walking back to his room with a stupid grin on his face.

Meanwhile on the other side of the castle, Jimin let his finger trail along the many books in the shelves in Namjoon’s room. He was bored out of his mind. Namjoon should have been back from the meeting a long time ago, but Jimin was still alone. He let himself fall onto the soft bed, staring up at the ceiling. In his boredom he flipped open his fan and closed it again, repeating it a few times.

Namjoon entered the room with slamming the door shut behind him. “Idiots! Goddamn, mindless, obstinate…,” He trailed off when he saw Jimin on his bed, face half hidden behind a fan. “I didn’t know you were in my room. Did they let you in like that?” He sighed. “Great. If you were an assassin I’d be doomed now. How reassuring to know my guards don’t give a damn about their king’s life.” He let the royal cloak slip off his shoulder to have more room to move. The satin gear he wore beneath was more comfortable and it also wouldn’t be a disaster if he ripped it. The cloaks though cost a fortune and ruining one would cost him a lot. He let himself fall besides Jimin, laying back comfortably. “Come on then, assassin. Kill me with your beauty, please. Or whatever else you have to offer. I’d do anything to not hear those fools argue over trade route placements again when the only thing they should take into consideration…,” He rubbed his face, sighing again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you. Please shut me up if you want.”

Jimin didn’t let himself be told twice, turning around and simply sitting himself onto Namjoon’s lap, pushing his hands onto Namjoon’s chest to keep him down. “Relax, you’re with me now…,” Jimin whispered and leaned over to kiss the king’s neck softly, licking and sucking lightly (to not leave a bruise but the sweet sensation). His hands were massaging over his broad chest, kneading his shoulders a little to make Namjoon relax, while he was moving on his lap sensually. He was circulating his own hips smoothly, as Jimin leaned his head back, a little moan escaping his lips, giving Namjoon quite the view. Biting his lip, he gazed down at him again, his hands finding their way under the king’s shirt. Hovering over the king’s lips for a moment, he leaned in devouring him fully, while moving on him and making him forget all about the meeting in a matter of seconds.

It was really nice to have someone like Jimin taking the lead. With all his casual flings it was always him initiating it - and it was mostly short affairs except for Jungkook.  Though Jungkook was the absolute opposite of Jimin, where the dancer was confident and almost cocky, Jungkook was sweet and almost naturally submissive, obeying to Namjoon’s every wish. Jimin didn’t even ask he just did what he thought was best. And right now, he was absolutely right. Namjoon tried to push the thought of Jungkook way back into a darker corner of his mind to fully enjoy what Jimin was doing. Because Jimin absolutely knew how to play his talent and every second that he’s miss because he was thinking about his shy valet was a second wasted.

“You like that,” Jimin said, rubbing a little harder on Namjoon’s crotch, feeling him harden under his movements, “I can feel it…” Jimin moaned sweetly throwing his head back at the sweet sensation it brought himself. He pushed himself back and off the bed, settling in between Namjoon’s legs, when he opened the king’s pants and pulling them down right away. His hardened cock sprung free right away and Jimin smiled. “You’re so...big,” Jimin licked his lips, moving closer to wrap his hand around his length, pumping it up a few times. Staring directly into Namjoon’s eyes, he licked along his cock, sucking at the tip deliciously. Blinking his eyes a few times, he pursed his lips, jerking him off at the same time. “You will stretch me out so good,” Jimin hummed, already lost in the thoughts of Namjoon taking him. He kissed the tip of the king’s cock one last time and then got up.

Turning around, Jimin was moving his body sensually, his hands following the line of his body. “Do you want me to take your mind off things?” He whispered, pulling his own shirt over his head. He was moving gracefully, using his advantage of being a dancer, while he was stripping in front of Namjoon. Jimin bend over, losing his pants easily, his hands caressing up his own thighs up until his bottom, when he arched his back beautifully.

Namjoon licked his lips, just watching, observing as Jimin put on a show. “I want you on my cock. You can call it however you want as long as you come over here and show me your talent, my little dancer.” Namjoon patted his thighs as a sign for Jimin to come sit on them, just like one would try to tempt a cat to sit on your lap. When Jimin came closer he admired the younger’s flawless form, tracing every line and dip with his eyes. “How come you are still so flawless? Even Jungkook has scars and he’s younger than you and not even a dancer, he only does light services for me. And those of intimate nature of course. But he doesn’t look as soft or as flawless as you. What’s your secret? Have you never been hit or punished?”

“You can’t be punished if you’re doing it right,” Jimin said and moved against Namjoon’s thigh, biting his lips when he felt the muscles shift underneath him. “So, you’ve always been a good b..-” Jimin’s kiss interrupted him pretty efficiently and then every possible conversation was forgotten anyways when his lust took over and the desire to take Jimin wiped out everything else. “Let’s not talk,” Jimin devoured Namjoon’s mouth, licking and kissing him so heatedly that it left the king speechless. Namjoon pushed him around and onto the mattress easily, locking Jimin in underneath him. The younger was completely naked, his beautiful body moving so sensually and soft, ready to be taken by Namjoon. When the king got up to take his own clothes off, Jimin took it as an invitation to get on all fours, one hand caressing over his own bottom as he was watching Namjoon over his shoulder. He was putting on the perfect show, moaning, whispering the king's name, while he was playing and preparing himself, moving his hips just right to let Namjoon see what he could do to him. He was the perfect tease.

It was a shame Namjoon had to get up again to get rid of his clothes (cum stains were a problem on finest satin) but it was worth it, not just because waiting made claiming the final prize so much sweeter but also because Jimin absolutely knew how to make one lose his mind with the kind of show he was putting on. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you,” He asked, half admiring his confidence and half jealousy that took over, having him picture Jimin exactly like this with other men. “How often did Hoseok lend you to other kings or kingdoms. Or am I your first?” He smirked at him, hoping that Jimin wasn’t so used to this already that Namjoon would be just one of many to him.

“You’re the first,” Jimin sat back a little, pursing his lips into a pout. “It gets quite boring to be all alone by myself. Hoseok isn’t around much. I had a lot of time to practice,” He bit his lip to keep from smiling, when Namjoon came back onto the bed. Jimin crawled back a little, his eyes gazing back at Namjoon’s hungry stare. Just when the king was hovering over him again, kissing down his neck, Jimin spread his legs, showing off his flexibility. He giggled softly, when Namjoon stopped and looked at him in awe. “You like what you see?”

“Of course, I do. And you know it, don’t you? How fuckable you look like this, how you make every man dream of owning this body when you move so fluidly on the dancefloor. I honestly can’t think of a reason why Hoseok would neglect you. You deserve all the attention one could give - and more. There’s no one in this kingdom like you. None of my other lovers could show off like you, they are all... too easy to get to. You are something special, Jimin! And I’ll take advantage of that for as long as I’ll have you.” Not knowing how long exactly Hoseok would lend Jimin to him just added to the thrill of taking him now while he still could.  

Sinking into Jimin was the most satisfying thing Namjoon had ever felt. He had growled so loudly that he was sure the whole kingdom knew now. But it had felt so good to take him. Jimin knew how to move for him, making him lose his goddamn mind over the dancer. Pounding into him, he was going all out, taking the younger roughly, only to change positions again. It would be a waste not to use Jimin’s flexibility tonight. He was leaving marks all over the younger’s body, bruising his delicate skin just like he loved to do it with every lover of his.

Riding him, Jimin moaned softly, bouncing on Namjoon's cock hard. “You feel so good, mhm,“ Jimin changed the angle again, circulating his hips and his abs twitching whenever he hit the right spot. It was the sweetest torture to let Jimin have some control, who knew exactly how to tease the king.  “I want you to cum all over me, please, my king,“ Jimin demanded, blissfully gone in a state of ecstasy, “Ahh please!“

Jimin’s dirty mouth was an absolute turn on for Namjoon and so it was easy to lose himself in Jimin and everything he entailed. The dancer was such a sight as he moved on top of him that he couldn’t stop staring, thrusting into his sweet spot on purpose to make Jimin moan and tremble and gasp. He loved the younger’s sweet voice, how vocal Jimin was when Namjoon fucked him just right. He wanted the younger to remember this because even though he would go back to Hoseok someday he wanted Jimin to think of how he made him come so hard he saw stars. So that’s what he was going for, holding Jimin’s hips down while thrusting up into him, using all his stamina to push the younger so close to the edge he could taste it on the tip of his tongue.

With the way Namjoon was fucking into him, it didn’t take long for Jimin to cum all over the king, trembling and moaning loudly while his whole body was shaking. He fell over with a whimper, not caring that he was spreading the cum all over their chest. Indeed, he loved the dirtiness of it all, while Namjoon was using him to chase his own high. He hummed with each thrust of the king, whimpering, pleading to use him just as the king desired. He was his to use and to play with.

Jimin came beautifully and as the younger kept begging him to use him, voice broken and raw, sounding so stunningly sensitive Namjoon couldn’t help but follow right after. He pulled out right before, to so as Jimin asked him to and come all over his skin. Jimin’s abs clenched when the king’s come hit him and his satisfied smile, together with the fucked out look in his eyes had the king pulling him down into a sloppy but intimate kiss. They both were out of breath, so they just laid there for a while, waiting till their hearts had calmed down and their bodies had cooled down.

Namjoon frowned when the stickiness on his stomach got uncomfortable. Jimin didn’t seem as bothered, but he nudged him a little nonetheless, gesturing for him to let him get up. Jimin was about to put on his clothes when Namjoon held him back. “Wait. I don’t like to just fuck someone and move on. You can join me in the bathroom if you want. It’s way more comfortable to clean yourself up there than in the small one at your room, isn’t it?” He took the robe from Jimin and took his hand to lead him to the bathroom.

…

Jungkook had been walking mindlessly back to his room, tracing the spot on his cheek where the prince had kissed him deep in his thoughts. Just when he reached his door, Jungkook jumped around though, remembering his duties. Turning around on his heel, Jungkook ran down the hallway and to the kings suite. Never in his life had he forgotten about him. 

Panting, Jungkook knocked on the door twice before letting himself in. He gazed around the room when he couldn't find Namjoon, seeing the ruffled up bed sheets he gasped quietly. Then he heard the kings laugh from the bathroom and Jungkook gulped heavily against the lump in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he walked up and knocked again. Jungkook couldn't help it but when he opened the door the jealousy was hot in his lungs, burning and making it harder for him to breathe. The scene in front of him made his heart stop. Jimin in Namjoons arms, cuddling up to him, while the king was cleaning the dancer with a smile on his face. Everything about this hurt. It triggered memories. The start of it all, when Namjoon had asked for Jungkook to join him one night. It had been their first night. And it had ended the same exact way. The night he had fallen in love with Namjoon.

 〰〰〰〰〰

“Your bath is ready, my king.“ Jungkook said and no matter how hard he had tried, one could still hear how nervous he was around the king even after all these years.

“Thank you, Jungkook. You really are the best at this.” Namjoon let the robe slide from his shoulders, standing there naked without any shame. He had known Jungkook for years and they had both seen each other naked a few times already so there wasn’t really something new to see. Still he caught Jungkook staring when he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, dipping his fingers into the warm water. When he turned his head Jungkook quickly cast down his eyes, the blush evident high on his cheekbones. It only made him look more beautiful. Before he could think about the consequences Namjoon just spoke from his heart, a daring suggestion that made both of them hold their breath for a second after, “Why don’t you join me, Jungkook?”

Jungkook gazed up at Namjoon with wide eyes. His heart was beating fast and the young servant quickly shook his head. “No, my king, it's your bath. The crowning...it had been a rough day...you...need the relaxation.“ Jungkook spoke fast, obviously nervous about Namjoons offer. “Do you want me to get you a mistress? I could ask for one of the girls...“

“No, Jungkook, it’s fine. I didn’t mean.. it’s alright. Maybe you’re right.” He let himself slide into the hot water, sighing as it immediately loosened his muscles. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, only when he didn’t hear Jungkook leave did he open them again. “You can prepare my bed. I will go to sleep right after my bath.” With a wave of his hand he send him off.

Jungkook nodded, turning around but he didnt move. Namjoon had almost seem shy asking him and it left him wondering. He got back into the young kings bedroom, preparing the new bed sheets and fluffing up the cushions. Jungkook took his time, humming to himself quietly and Namjoons naked body on his mind. He had always admired him but never in Jungkook's dreams would he allow himself to think Namjoon would want him to. He was just a servant after all. 

Jungkook almost squealed when Namjoon was next to him again. He hadn't heard him. “I'll get you a towel,“ Jungkook gulped and turned hastily to get one. “Here,“ He barely breathed out the words his eyes fixated on a droplet of water running down Namjoons chest. “Sh- should I...do you need me to dry you up?“

Namjoon reached out for the towel but instead he took a hold of Jungkook’s wrist. “Why are you behaving like that?” He let his gaze wander over Jungkook’s form, lingering a little too long on his lips at the end because Jungkook was biting his bottom lip nervously, making it all plush and red. “You’ve seen me naked before. You know that this is what you are supposed to do; run me a bath, prepare my bed, take care of me in general. Do you have a problem with that all of a sudden?” Namjoons voice was soft but there was a dangerous edge to it that told Jungkook to not make the wrong answer.

“My king, I...“ Jungkook wasn't sure what he was supposed to say but Namjoon was expecting an answer either way. “I'm just... I don't know I am nervous today. Maybe it is because it had been a long day,“ He answered honestly, averting his gaze to show his respect, “I want to take care of you to my best ability, Namjoon.“ He gazed up again using the kings name on purpose. “I’d give you everything. But I am just me... I am afraid I won't be able to satisfy you the way you need it now that you are king,“ He paused for a moment, feeling disappointed with himself. “I was always there for you with all I can offer, and it will stay this way until I die.“

“Satisfy me?” Namjoon couldn’t help but smile at Jungkook’s choice of words, wondering if the younger knew what he was implying here - or if he maybe did it on purpose. However, Jungkook’s shyness spoke volumes and therefore Namjoon watched in delight as the younger’s eyes widened when he got closer, so close that he could lean forward and whisper right in Jungkook’s ear. “What if I needed you to do something else for me to keep me satisfied? Something you never did before? At least not with me.” He let his warm breath fan over the sensitive skin on Jungkook’s neck before he continued. “Would you really do everything I want, Jungkookie? No matter what it is?”

Jungkook's breath hitched but he stayed still, nonetheless. He closed his eyes, shivering from the feel of Namjoons breath on his neck. The kings naked body so close to him that he only needed to reach out to put his arms around him. God, how he wanted Namjoon. Taking in his familiar scent, Jungkook blushed before finally answering: “Of course. You're my king. It’s my duty and desire to fulfil every wish of yours to my best ability.“

Namjoon sighed. “How convenient. Because right now it is my desire to sleep with you.” He trailed a hand up Jungkook’s bare arm, enjoying how easily the younger reacted. “Do you know what that means, Jungkookie? Do you think you can do what I want?” He placed a finger under the youngers chin and made him look up at him so he couldn’t avoid his eyes again. “If you can’t do this then tell me now please. And don’t lie. It’s alright if you don’t have the... experience to do what I ask of you. I can wait. Give you the opportunity to learn somewhere else if you would prefer this. I could ask you somewhen else when you’ve got time to think about this and…,” He broke off, looking at Jungkook like this, with those wide eyes staring back at him, so beautiful, so innocent - he couldn’t hold himself back. He put his arm around the youngers waist and pulled him against his naked body, feeling how Jungkook froze, a soft gasp escaping him. It was the perfect opportunity to steal a kiss from him, open his lips with his tongue and plunder the younger’s sweet, sweet mouth.

Jungkook had no time to think about this and even if he had wanted to, his body reacted on instinct. He had never tasted something as sweet as Namjoon’s lips. His warm body against his, while his hands found their way up his chest. He wasn't sure what he was doing but Namjoon would never let him fall. He trusted him. “As you...wish,“ Jungkook mumbled, completely love drunk.

Jungkook was so soft, so pliable… Namjoon loved kissing him. It was their first proper kiss and he was already hooked, drunk on Jungkook’s taste, on how innocently he let Namjoon take what he wanted. The younger was wonderfully responsive, with soft sighs and cute little sounds. Jungkook didn’t even seem to realize that he was the one making them. Namjoon gently pushed Jungkook backwards until the boy left balance, falling backwards onto the back with a yelp. The king chuckled at the way Jungkook looked up at him, surprised, confused, heated in a way that suited the glint in his eyes. “Do you want more, Jungkookie?” He teased him, climbing onto the bed and opening the belt on Jungkook’s robe without waiting for his answer. “Do you want me to make you come tonight?”

Jungkook nodded, crawling back onto the bed a little but there was no escaping from Namjoon. Not like he wanted to. It was so easy for the king to get rid of his clothes, while Jungkook felt like he was under a spell. His gaze was locked on Namjoons, not being able to tear it off of him while he was stark naked himself now. He realized it soon after when Namjoons hand trailed down his body and Jungkook blushed. His body was far from perfect. Beauty marks and a few little scars adorning his body. “Are...are you sure you want me and...,“ When Namjoon rutted up against him, Jungkook moaned softly, falling back, while his hands were holding on tightly to Namjoons arms.

“Does that answer your question, my little valet?” He kissed down the youngers neck paying close attention to the spot below his ear where Jungkook reacted the most. “Do you really think you would be in this situation if I didn’t want you? Though if you need more proof I can give that as well.” He took Jungkook’s hand and placed it on his erection, chuckling at the way Jungkook looked at him with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. “I’d really like to have you, Jungkook. What do you say?” He kissed the younger’s cheek sweetly, as if he was asking him to lend him a book or some other small favor.

“Oh-okay,“ Jungkook said, feeling out of breath already. He was doing what he thought was right, letting Namjoon use his body while jerking him off. He couldn't help but gasp each time another kiss was planted on a sensitive spot, but it only urged Namjoon on. It felt like Jungkook got tossed around by higher powers, his body only reacted to whatever the king said. He jerked, whimpering, when Namjoon’s hand found its way in between his legs. “You're playing unfair,“ Jungkook smiled up at him, “You always did. I'm standing no chance. Please, Namjoon. I want to be with you.“

He stopped Jungkook’s hand and ravaging his lips to look at him again, taking in his dark, wide eyes and the beautiful smile that still felt a bit insecure. “You really want this, don’t you? But you don’t know a thing about what I’m doing to you. You’ve never had sex before, have you?” He stole another quick kiss from the younger, smirking when Jungkook gasped helplessly into the kiss as he was starting to caress his length. “Am I the first to touch you like this? Does it mean you’ll remember me forever now?”

The blush went all the way down on Jungkooks chest, when he confessed that he was a virgin. Where could he have fallen in love anyways? He'd always been in the castle with Namjoon. Always had been by his side.

“I could never forget you either way,“ Jungkook let the king do with his body as he pleased and Namjoon was eager to show the younger all the pleasure he was missing out on. He was relaxing into his touch, dwelling in the attention and love coming from Namjoon and only did the nervousness come back when he found himself manhandled on all fours.

“Just breathe through it Jungkookie. I promise I will make you feel good if you trust me in this. You can handle a little pain, can you? You did so well till now. You’ll manage the rest. This night will always be special, not only for you. I’ll remember it too. The night you gave your most precious belonging to me. I really own all of you now, don’t I? My sweet little valet, you’re all mine.” He entered Jungkook without any further warning, trying to go slow but it was difficult because the younger was so deliciously tight and his desire for him was endless.

Namjoons love had always been different, but it was the only thing Jungkook knew. His love meant pain, softness, roughness and sweet longing all in one. It was everything he wanted, so Jungkook let the king take him apart piece by piece until he was nothing but a whimpering mess underneath him. Their moans filled the room mixing beautifully with the sound of skin on skin. Jungkook was gone in a state of ecstasy, a smile on his lips when he looked at Namjoons expression hovering over him. He reached out to cup the kings cheek, wanting to never forget how beautiful Namjoon was looking right now. Jungkook was sure that he’d give in to him over and over again, just to be able to witness this.

Afterwards they had cleaned themselves up with another bath, one that Namjoon had prepared himself because Jungkook was aching and Namjoon wasn’t cruel. So, they ended up in the bathtub together, Jungkook’s back against Namjoon’s chest as the king cleaned the sweat away from his temples, massaging his head so gently as if they were lovers. “Now I made you share the bathtub with me anyway.” He chuckled, placing a little kiss on the youngers temple. “Next time you can just give in. I’ll always get what I want anyways.”

  〰〰〰〰〰

And what he wanted wasn't Jungkook anymore.

He took in a sharp breath, trying to stay professional even though everything in him was screaming. And just like back then, Jungkook nervously stood aside the bathtub, reaching for a towel. “I am sorry I only got here now. They told me the meeting took longer than usual,“ He mumbled a quiet apology and started drying off Namjoons body. Jimin was still in the tub, his head resting on the edge, blinking up at the king. “Is that your servant you told me about?“ Jimin didn't even look at Jungkook, talking as if he wasn’t worth addressing directly, “He's adorable.“

“Yes, he is. I’ve known Jungkook like practically forever. He is the most loyal soul in the palace, aren’t you, Jungkook.” Namjoon took the fresh clothes that Jungkook had offered him with a smile and got himself dresses with the youngers help. “He knew me before I was the king - and he’ll probably be at the palace after.” He patted Jungkook’s shoulder casually.

“That's very honorable,“ Jimin looked over to Jungkook and smiled at the young servant, who was so eager to help Namjoon. He got up from the bath seconds after, the water slowly turning cold. Tip toeing carefully Jimin reached for a towel himself, noticing Jungkook’s side glances right away. But he wasn't admiring his body but eyeing the bruises and love bites on the dancers body. It hurt so much and Jungkook hastily returned his attention on Namjoon.

“Well I won’t keep you from your well-deserved slumber now my king. Thank you for…before. It was fun.” Jimin bowed his head a little, giving Namjoon his best mischievous smirk while he looked up through his long lashes. “If you want to de-stress again - you know where to find me.” The dancer got dressed quickly while Jungkook fulfilled his duties and fluffed up the pillows, brought a clean sheet. When the valet had collected all the dirty items that needed to be cleaned he almost stumbled over the linen sheet, that was too long for him. “Wait, let me help you,” Jimin took the sheet from him and bowed one last time to the king before opening the door for Jungkook and himself with his free hand.

Jungkook was surprised at Jimin’s behavior, helping him on his way out. He had thought that Jimin would be a little more arrogant and don’t care about him. He was after all a guest of the king, while Jungkook was one of the servants. He wasn’t supposed to help him. That’s why he gawked at the dancer for a little while, not sure how to respond, but settled on a quiet ‘Thank you’. Jimin made no effort to give the bedsheet back to him, instead followed him down into the cleaning room as if it was perfectly normal for him. “You really don’t have to help me. You should be resting as well,” Jungkook said quietly, trying not to show how much the affair was affecting him.

Jimin laughed softly at that. “You don’t have to treat me like a nobleman, Jungkook. I’m not. I’m lower class just as you are. And yes, I might have my own chambers here, but I am a foreigner. I don’t understand the dialect the servants speak in the kitchen. I have no one to talk to. I dance for the king and he fucks me. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.” He carefully placed a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be jealous, little one. I’m not going to take your king away from you. I’m interesting now because i’m foreign, unusual, something new. And after he’s had enough of me he’ll come back to what he truly loves. Someone who has always been there for him. Someone loyal and solid and true. He is yours as much as you are his, Jungkookie. Don’t forget that.” Jimin put the sheets into the empty laundry bag and then bowed his head a little as a sign of respect before he went back into the hallway.

Jungkook was looking after the dancer with big eyes and a fast beating heart. Worrying his bottom lip, he thought about what Jimin said for a moment, but no matter how beautiful it had sounded to him - Jungkook knew it wasn’t true. Yes, maybe he was loyal but Namjoon wasn’t and no matter for how long Jungkook would live, the king would always find someone new. Someone better and more pure than him. And he still had nothing. Only the feeling of finally belonging somewhere. The image of Hoseok suddenly came into his mind and Jungkook wondered if the prince’s interest in him was real. He had shown so much respect and love towards him, despite him being of lower status. Even Namjoon hadn’t shared his food with Jungkook in private. Hoseok had made the effort and told him many times that he was interested in him.

Jungkook’s steps gotten quicker, his breath more shallow when he ran down the hallway. The same way he took earlier. He needed to know if there was more for him out there. More than just being the fleeting servant for someone else. He wanted to live his own life and make his own decision.

He knocked on Hoseok’s door loudly and when a sleepy groan came from the inside, asking who it was, Jungkook simply opened the door and peeked his head through. He couldn’t risk saying his name out loud if someone could hear.

Hoseok was about to yell at the intruder who just opened the door to his private chamber without any respect for his privacy - when he saw who it was. “Oh, look at you, all feisty and confident, breaking the royal rules just like that!” He laughed, waving Jungkook inside. “Come in, quick before one of Namjoon’s guards sees you. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? If you were hoping for another snack then I’ll have to disappoint you, I’ve already eaten. But if you’re hungry I could order something for you.”  The prince had been sleeping so he had lost the brocade robe and put it over the chair besides the bed. The blouse that he was wearing now was transparent and half open, definitely nothing to be seen in but Hoseok didn’t seem to mind that Jungkook saw him in such private clothes.

“N-no, I am not hungry. I apologize for barging in like that...I was…,” Jungkook was stuttering a little, rubbing his neck awkwardly, while his gaze was wandering down Hoseok’s chest. He was well built and Jungkook had to fight the urge of touching him. Taking a few steps closer, the young servant stood at the side of the bed and only when Hoseok pulled at his wrist, he allowed himself to sit down. “I wanted to...to ask you something,” Jungkook’s cheeks were heating up, blushing deep red as he was fumbling around with the hem of his shirt.

“Oh, of course!” Hoseok sat up a little, the last remnants of slumber disappearing from his eyes. “What is it? Tell me what kind of favor you need from me.” When he realized that Jungkook could barely speak because of how embarrassed he was he smiled at him, nodding over to where he had pen and paper within reach. “If you’re not comfortable with saying it out loud maybe you could write it down? I’m sure it won’t be anything that will make me blush, will it? I’m really expecting something embarrassing now that you are adorably shy about it.”

Jungkook chuckled a little, contemplating for a moment if he should write it down. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, before he simply leaned in. Jungkook held nothing back, pouring everything he felt into the kiss. The fear, the uncertainty and all the new found feelings. He was leaning in further, his hand moving up Hoseok’s chest on his own as the prince deepened the kiss. And only when he felt the prince pulling him towards him, Jungkook snapped back into reality with wide eyes and a gasp that fell from his lips, stammering an apology.

“There is no need to apologize” Hoseok smile, soft and seductive. The kiss had been short and sweet, just like he had thought the young servant’s kisses would be. How should he tell Jungkook that he wanted way more of him than just that? He wanted his heart, his mind, every piece of information Jungkook could give him about the king. It would make it easier if Jungkook fell for him and apparently he was doing a very good job at it considering Jungkook had practically risked his head right now just to steal a kiss. But it was so far from being appropriate that he was honestly wondering why Jungkook’s heart wasn’t beating into overdrive already. He caressed the younger’s neck, stroking down his shoulder until he could place his hand over Jungkook’s heart. He tried to hide the smirk when he felt the younger’s heartbeat like a little bird fluttering against his fingertips.

A/N: Oh, oh, Jungkoookieeeee what are you doing??? Thank you for reading another chapter! We really hope you liked it! Leave us a comment down below or send us a message! We love hearing what you guys think! 

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[gravelgirty]

Captain Carrot Toys for Hogfather!

Captain Carrot Toys for Hogfather! Part 1

Marcia Wilson

*

This is 100% inspired by THIS POST from Thescarletpaperback regarding a Hogfather celebration with Captain Carrot action figures.

First. we’ll ask why the emphasis was all on Carrot, and not his Commander Sam Vimes, because Carrot wouldn’t take this kind of honor over his boss, nosirree.

Toymakers initially tried for Sam Vimes toys, because--reasons. That mess with the dragon and all that hoopla with Weatherwax (and we don’t mean the Wizard Weatherwax, thank you), positively begged for merchandise. It started when one of the Junior Assistants to an Apprentice Toymaker came home to find his children dressing up wooden clothespins and having small armies of The Watch parade over the kitchen table and defeat the awful evil represented by his husband’s Mystery Meat Soup. His oldest had gone so far as to pencil a cigar poking out of the crayoned mouth of the scowling clothespin.

This close to Hogfather, obviously, something needed to be done.

Veritable Upshot then went forth and on his five-minute luncheon breaks, begged for workshop scraps the Toymaker Guild was going to throw into The River, anyway. 

 (Every respectable Guild made sure to dump a certain level of carbon-based garbage into The River every week; it gave the gaseous-producing micro-imps something to eat and distracted them from too much gastrointestinal mischief. This custom was started by the Assassin’s Guild, who felt the inconvenience of a river that liked to combust at the most inopportune moments).

The toys were a Hogfather success, with all the children so delighted with their own Watch and opponents that they forgot to shake down the Hogfather Wreath for the hidden hog bladder stuffed with candied minnows. Veritable Upshot sat back weary with the delights of a Job Well Done and accepted a glass of steaming Cheese Wine brewed and bottled by his own beloved, Oregano Salsify. Together the couple toasted each other for a memorable holiday--so memorable, in fact, that the children completely ignored the lack of a decent meal on the table and were dispersing to the winds with their wooden watchmen. Unbenownst to them, their children would be soon renting out limited amounts of time for the other children to play with the Wooden Watch, and that payment was inevitably in the form of Holiday Excess. Late that night, Salsify did wonder about the slightly-gnawed ham basket left on the doorstep, but homemakers for 6 orphans and a Junior Assistant to a First Level Apprentice Toymaker learns to pinch pennies until they’re thinner than cabbage stamps.

It’s Sam Vimes who discovers the toys, because Young Sam comes back with his mother gabbling about how his father has his own ‘statue’ now in the main square. Vimes needs a little time to figure it out, but luckily for Sam and Sybil, the lad’s hand gestures approach fluent bilingualism, and legally, there is no minimal height requirement for an Ankh-Morpork statue.

He dons his oilskin against the wintry damp and takes a little stroll down to that little spot the Watch pretends to not know about 23 hours a day. It’s Midday, that one hour in which the worst of weather shows itself without pity. In summer the heat bakes the dirt into the stones; in spring the rains rinse all the collected leaves, dead mice, bird’s-nests, and forgotten Assassin’s daggers off the roofs and into the gutters. During Hogfather, the snows pile up high and deep and soft, one hour a day, around the Square, and children are there to play.

Vimes is a bit nostalgic about those dirty little urchins playing at the Square. He used to be one, and snow is nicer than playing in watery gutters or trying to bake mud pies out of horse patties in the summer. The first thing he sees by the Old Sundial is a well-assembled army of child-sized Snow Yeti, beasts the Trolls invoked to make their children go to bed at proper hours.  The dirty white lumps are lurching across the open face of the Old Sundial that rules the Square and defeating them is a small wooden collection of his very own Watch.

Sam watches from behind a cloud of fresh cigar as the villains are routed by not brute force, but sensibility. The tiny wooden Sam is marched up to warn the yeti one last time that they should obey the law, and when the yeti refuse, littler wooden Cheery Longbottom and not-littler Captain Carrot stride forth and the children are yelling proper legal imprecations because as everyone knows, it is highly illegal for beings made of snow to approach a municipal drinking water source before going to the bathroom.

Sam Vimes is both charmed and terrified at the enthusiasm of these children, and he can already see them grown into a Watch cloak. Especially that girl, who looks like she’s got a few different species and a lot of energetic output to channel in her brain.

But it is the youngest child, a tiny little thing with smoked glasses over his eyes that pulls at Vimes’ heart and copper strings at the same time. None of the kiddies have seen enough in the way of regular meals, and he remembers a little girl on his old street, blind, and her parents couldn’t afford real medical smoked glasses so they made their own by passing the lenses over a smoking wick. Later the mum went into what can only be politely called a life of crime to pay for treatment; people like her are why Vimes flexes his muscles with the letter of the law every day.

This little boy is smiling like Young Sam does when he has a very precious thing in his fingers, and those fingers are running over the carved doll that is Cheery Longbottom. Of course, he thinks, Ironwood for Cheery.

It doesn’t surprise him that the blind child knows he’s coming; his boots crunch loudly in the snow and his knees pop as he lowers himself to a better level.

“That’s a nice toy you have,” he says.

“Me Papa made it!” Was the proud answer.

“Oh?”

“Yes! Someday he’s going to be a Toymaker!”

Vimes asks permission for and gets, the chance to examine the wooden Cheery. Toymaker masters aren’t really ‘allowed’ to make toys on their own and he’s been called to too many complaints from the Guild, which they call a Sodality, not a Guild because Guilds must pay taxes. So often it means jealous old bastards against rising new talent. This has the look of talent. There’s love in these little nicks; love for the craft, the child, and for Cheery.

He’s halfway through a gentle interrogation of the toys when someone who absolutely must be a parent comes puffing up, staggering through the uneven snowdrifts. He’s got patches on his patches but everything’s clean, and the hair sticking up in all directions was hand-cut.

“Oh, dear!”

“At ease, Salsify.” Sam pulls one of his spare cigars out. “I was just admiring the workmanship here.” And he grinned. “Takes a bit of skill to make decent tools out of scroungings, doesn’t it? Because as I recall, the Guild keeps everyone’s tools under lock and key during work-hours.”

Salsify flushes, and the former lockpick lifts his chin. “A bit of a challenge,” he answers stoutly. “Did you know the dwarves just toss out their stoneware mugs when they get broken? All those wonderful high-temperature ceramics turned into flowerpots, or…or crushed into cobbles for their driveways!” He shudders. “Nothing like a ceramic tipped knife for cutting the vegetables, let me tell you. And never need sharpening!”

“I never thought about it, but that’s good to know.”

“I’m still living clean, Sam.” Salsify whispers under the shouts of the children. “I’m still at the Cheese Vineyard. Very and these children are everything to me. I’m not going to ruin it.”

“I know, Orrie.” Sam returns. “I didn’t expect to see you at all. Young Sam saw the toys and came back chirping.” He blew a smoke ring. “Glad to know Veritable finally got in with the Guild--Sodality.”

Oregano Salsify’s response is to snort sadly and look away. The children may look lean, but they’re well-fed next to the reformed criminal that lived on the next step over from Cockbill Street.  “They’re hard to work for,” he muttered. “Everything he does, they take the credit for it. I told him he would be better off with the Miniaturist’s Guild, but…well…a Toymaker gets more in sales when they finally become a master craftsman.”

“Which only takes ten or fifteen years, eh?” Sam wonders sarcastically. The two share a look that understands when one’s partner in life and love might be doing things the hard way because they think it is better for everyone.

“Tell Verry I have some work for him.”

“He’s not allowed to make toys on his own.” Orrie whispers, frightened.

Sam grins. It’s the sort of grin his wife’s swamp dragons cluster to, because they know it means fun things. Like chasing assassins.

*

Lord Vetinari is settling down to his breakfast the following morning when he gets a not-unexpected message from the City Watch. By ‘not-unexpected’ it means that it has been almost a week since Sam Vimes did something to stir things up in the city, and if anything, he’s overdue.

He’s almost finished reading it through when John Polliwog-Offal, lawyer for the Toymaker’s Sodality, comes storming in. Lord Vetinari is an excellent reader of emotions and knows when all five of the man’s chins are quivering with indignation, he’s going to approve of whatever caused it.

*

Lady Sybil is quite accustomed to her husband coming home with an acquaintance for dinner. This one is a shy, shabby little man with six various-sized tattered children, all of which are terrified of Lady Ramkin, but it isn’t long before the baby dragons and Young Sam puts him at ease. She loads them up with plenty of bacon and potatoes, and a glass of Cheese Wine from the country—his own work! Oregano learns from the table-talk that she paid far too much: the real vines hadn’t been ready to bud in the Century of the Cobra! Sybil promises to do something about that.

Young Sam charms him into teaching him how to make swamp dragons out of his mother’s linen napkins and a twist of shoestring. Sam goes to bed early hugging his new contrivance to his chest and the adults stay up a bit later to talk—well, mostly to complain about the price of food in winter. Oregano’s children are food-drunk, napping on the floor with their napkin-dragons. After drawing him out a little bit on the finer details of his life and work, Sybil makes certain Sam won’t let them leave until all are properly packed off in the snowstorm in their private carriage with one—make that two—heavy baskets of ‘leftovers from the kitchen’.

They watch his pale white hand, waving frantically good-bye from the open window of the carriage until the snowswirls swallow them all up.

“Sam,” Lady Sybil asks sweetly, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that it’s a bloody crime that the Toymaker’s Guild is the only Guild in the city that doesn’t have to pay taxes.”

“Oh? But they claim they shouldn’t because their purpose is to improve life and joy in the city.”

“That was their excuse.”

“And they’re a Sodality, which doesn’t exist in the city legal code dictionary.”

“That was their lawyer’s excuse.”

“Lord Vetinari can’t out-maneuver everyone, Sam. I’m sure he’s already plotting to get Ank-Morpork’s rightful dues from them even as we speak.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you’re right about that, dear.” Sam says blandly. And he smiles. In the barn, the dragons purr.

*

The children are delighted. There’s no warning: they get their Papa Verry home every evening in time for supper, and something good must have been added to this fortune because there’s suddenly a lot to eat. Papa Orrie’s kitchen smells like spices and seasonings, and the grease-cup holding the leavings from meals is brimming full, enough to fuel the little fat-lamps at the table at dark. Their flat is warm. Staying indoors with lessons is a lot more enjoyable than going outside and running for warmth now. They go to be full and content and believing Hogfather’s was somehow extended to an extra-long holiday.

*

Spring arrives, and with it, several things happen all at once:

1)    The snows peter off. This is a relief to deliverymen and citizens everywhere—too bad about the trolls, but they consider this unexpected cool weather a bit of a special treat. “And not long enough to bring in our relatives, either,” Detrius grins. Trolls have no illusions about peacekeeping in hot weather with 3,500+ extended relatives.

2)    The Watch has its own Siege Table. It’s as good as Lord Vetinari’s, a model map of the city and a gooey stripe of some mysterious substance caged from Moist von Lipwig’s rejected stamp glue to resemble The River. Every member of Sam Vimes’ Watch has their own carved representation, except for that dratted Imp, who is weirdly shy and wants only his camera-box carved instead. Everyone universally dubs Angua’s forms, both human and werewolf, to be amazing but there’s a moment of silent awe for Veritable’s skill in capturing the unique…nuances…of Nobby and Colon. There are also carved Guildsmasters, Wizards, and a few of the more restless political players.

3)    Lord Vetinari has his own carvings too. He puts his war table in his office for everyone to see when they come in. Especially for those who are the average height of the average Toymaker’s Master (pity about those stooped over shoulders and curved spines, they really should modify their work-tables).

a.    There are also a few ‘test carvings’, as Veritiable described them, and when Commander Vimes isn’t looking, he’ll come in to find a little Weatherwax (not the Wizard) facing a carved-cringing storekeeper, or the Cheery Longbottom standing on a wooden Detrius’ head to pull a tiny wooden cat out of a tree.

 *

“It would seem, Commander Vimes, that you are in an ineluctable position with the Toymaker’s Sodality.”

“Oh?” Asks Vimes.

“Oh. Yes.” Lord Vetinari nodded gravely.

Vimes waits for further elaboration, as usual. As usual, Vetinari humors him.

“It claims that you have taken one of their members and put him to work on…non-Sodality business, and remind you that it is quite against Sodality Law to have one of their members make toys without pre-approval of the Sodality.”

“This is police business, not toymaking. And the last I checked, I have the right to pull anyone I want out of anyone’s Guild if I so choose, for reasons of my choice, and the Guild has to pay a day’s wage to said member to compensate for each day they are under conscript.” And he grins again. “I’ll be sure to have Captain Carrot come around with all the paperwork.”

“Their lawyer may have some quarrel with that, Commander. For starters, you are claiming the Sodality is a Guild.”

“Oh, my mistake. The laws are still in effect, though.”

“How so?”

“The Conscript Laws apply to all citizens of Ank-Morpork, and whoever is conscripted, their employer, or representative of the entity represented by the lawful labors, efforts, craftsman and volunteerism must pay said conscript a day’s wage as designated by the city’s Treasurer to be adequate for holding body and soul together.”

Why was it, the Patrician wonders, it is simply impossible to pass a fortnight without the presence of Moist Von Lipwig? He glances up but Drumknott is already sliding in with a file comprised of City Law, summarized, itemized, and stamped.

“I confess to surprise, Drumknott. I am not aware that this vote was made—granted back in the Cobra’s Century—with such universal approval on part of the officials.”

“I daresay, sir,” ventures the worthy Drumknott, “It is because at the time it was still quite legal to pay someone to serve the city in one’s stead. Paying a willing fellow a day’s wage for every day they must face a crossbow or spear in the spirit of Civic Duty is really quite the bargain when you think of it.”

“An excellent point, Drumknott.”

“However,” Lord Vetari’s brows float up upon his stern Patrician’s Brow. “If we fail that point in court, there is the matter that a lowly Assistant to a Junior Apprentice in the Toymaker’s Sodality is paid nothing at all until they reach the rank of Full Apprentice.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Oddly enough, the Guild’s Lawyer is saying the same thing. Why pay a day’s wage for a conscript if they never pay him in the first place?”

Commander Vimes scratches his head thoughtfully. “That’s a decent point,” he muses slowly, “But, as I recall from the First Code of the Watch, the Watch is under no obligation to pay a conscript if the project is a matter of security for Ank-Morpork. And creating interactive models of the city, to be used in times of tactical and strategical intelligence, falls under security.”

Lord Vetinari never has to fake his disapproving look when it turns out Sam Vimes is actually reading up on the laws of Ank-Morpork.

“So you say, but it would appear from the financial pages that have reached my desk, the Watch was paying Mr. Upshot wages on top of the wages the Sodality was compelled to pay.”

“I beg your pardon, sir? We were feeding him. Can’t have a hungry man on our rolls. It looks bad and makes for shoddy work.”

Vetinari lowers his pen, because he absolutely can’t wait to hear this explanation. “Are you saying a Junior Assistant to an Apprentice Toymaker needs a meal chit larger than all of your Trolls during the month-long Limestone shortage?”

“Why, no, sir! But he’s got a family to feed, you know, and he was feeding them first before he was feeding himself. We had to strike a balance somewhere.”

“And the other expenses?”

“Perfectly legitimate, sir.”

Vetinari picks up an offending sheet of paper. “You bought him a half-gallon of Children’s Croup Syrup.”

“It is Croup Season. He has a sensitive digestion, I heard. Can only take children’s potions most of the time.”

“And the receipt for twelve pairs of socks?”

“He does a lot of walking to get here, sir.”

“Children’s socks?”

“He has small feet, I heard.”

“You heard? You mean you don’t know?”

“I haven’t seen his feet, sir. They’re always underneath the hem of his Guild robe.”

All right. This is definitely one of his more interesting interviews with Commander Vimes. “And if I approach the…dispensers of these goods, such as, say…(glances down) Weatherwax, he would truthfully assure me the croup potions are for your conscript?”

“What? No, sir!” Commander Vimes is appalled at the very idea. “That’s Miss Weatherwax, your Lordship! Not the Wizard Weatherwax!”

“Ah, my mistake. I wondered how he had suddenly re-appeared without explanation…” Vetinari rested the paper on top of the others. “Commander Vimes, from Hogswatch until a week before the approach of Creator’s Birthday, you have approved for the expenses of Conscript Veritable Upshot, food, socks, Children’s Potions, the services of a dentist no less than seven times, a cord of slightly-used firewood, a tinned sheep’s head (extra eyeballs), four all-expense paid trips to the village of Bad Ass in Lancre, trips to the Watch and back home (presumably when they didn’t feel like walking in their new socks?), a nanny goat named ‘I-am-a-Goat’, a gross of pencils, primary schoolbooks, and a standing credit account to collect broken crockery from the Dwarves at the Rocanahadplyce Quarry and Tavern.”

Sam Vimes tilts his head. “What about all that, sir?”

Vetinari’s composure becomes exponential. Anyone else would be looking for the trapdoor to the dungeon by now—praying for it. “All of this. All of it. What would you do with a tinned sheep’s head anyway?”

“He was supposed to get one, and he was working for us and couldn’t get to market on time.”

“Extra eyeballs?”

“The most nutritious part, I’m told, sir. If you return the tin you get a refund, so it’s really the same price as regular.”

“Slightly used firewood?”

“It was in a fire.”

Lord Vetinari closes his eyes for a moment. “Why would someone name a goat I-am-a-Goat?”

“You’d have to ask Miss Weatherwax, I’m afraid. She said that was its name.”

“Miss Weatherwax. Not Wizard Weatherwax.”

“Never is, sir.”

“No. No, it never is.”

“You could ask her, sir. She’s not against questions from my experience.”

“But she is against the questions I tend to have.” Vetinari reminded him. “Is she behind the trips to Lancre?”

“I believe so. Something about treating poor eyesight.”

“Pencils? Schoolbooks?”

“We were taking away his time to finish schooling.”

“A grown man taking primary schooling?”

“He grew up in the Shades, sir. These things come late.”

“Broken crockery, Commander?”

“Yes, sir. He was keen to get his hands on some.”

“And you didn’t ask why?”

“He said he’d pay us back.”

“…Of course he did.”

Silence ticks on and on as the two opponents wait for the other man to speak. In the background lurked Drumknott, who wanted to know which man would crack, because he really did want to know the story behind a market for broken Dwarf crockery.

“What, Commander, do you predict will happen when the lowliest of the lowliest members of the Toymaker’s Sodality returns to his masters considerably richer than everyone else, with the exception of said Masters?”

“I can’t rightfully say, sir. Mightn’t they be happy for their poorest member?”

“They’re claiming you are willfully trying to bankrupt them, Commander, by luring their members to the Watch.”

Sam Vimes thinks that one over. “Coppers aren’t paid that much.” He points out. “But they have food on the table and they pay their taxes all the same.”

Vetinari steeples his fingers together. “A point, admittedly. Do you have anything you wish to pass on to them? I shall be glad to give them your words on the matter.”

“Oh, that would be fine, sir.” Sam pulls out his cigar, unlit, and clamped it in his teeth. “You can tell them that the Watch considers all members of the Toymaker’s Sodality their first choice for Conscription, seeing as how they are the only Sodality that doesn’t pay taxes.”

“They are in fact the only sodality in Ank-Morpork, Commander Vimes.”

“All the more important to set a good precedent, sir.”

“Are you, the father of a young child, declaring war on the toymakers, Commander?”

“Not at all.” Sam smiles. “But, see, the way I understand it…the Toymakers can’t enjoy the benefits of paying taxes. They’re last for medicines and road-cleanup, no emergency food boxes for the holidays, because all these things are funded by taxes. Now, it isn’t so bad when you reach Master’s Level, and you get an annual income of $500 a year plus your own house and expenses met…it’s the lower members that I worry about, sir, and while we do know that toymaking is a very honorable profession that brings much joy and quality of life to Ank-Morpork, we have a bit of a…surfeit of joy with the monies. It really is a shame that there isn’t a…redistribution of all this joy and quality of life so that it is more even for everyone else.”

Vetinari is so damn proud of Commander Vimes, it is all he can do to keep his disapproving calm on his face. “I shall be glad to summarize your observations. One last question before you go?”

“Sir?”

“Your requisitioned supplies were enough that you could have made more than two Siege Tables.” The Patrician rises and runs his fingers over the model city.

“Always better to make room for human error, sir.”

“Of course.”

*

It never takes Vetinari long once he has a chip in the power game. Before the week is out, the Toymakers announce a move forward into the future and pay taxes, secure in the knowledge that there are more ways than one in which one can generate joy and quality of life.

“Which they should have done long ago.” Lady Sybil sniffs over the teapot. “Now everyone there can afford to feed their little ones.”

“Yes, dear.” Sam happily crunches his bacon. She had the burn just right this morning.

“Oh, are those lovely children coming over for Creator’s Birthday?”

“We did invite ‘em. Both the parents said yes.”

“Splendid. I’ll make certain everyone has a little gift—something not so very practical for once; something pleasing for the self-esteem, like a nice schoolbag with lots of pockets, or diaries for writing.”

Sam is puzzled. “Isn’t something for the self-esteem practical? Well, I wouldn’t know.”

“No, dear. And we really ought to have something for our guests, seeing as how Young Sam will be getting the most outrageously extravagant gift of all.”

“Now that is practical, and I’m not really giving it to him, I’m just letting him play with it.”

“You’re giving a small child the use of a Siege Table?”

“Well,” Sam grumps, “He’ll be taking over for me someday…might as well be prepared.”

*

And this is why the Toymakers’ Sodality—that is, Guild, is less than enthused over the topic of Commander Sam Vimes.

But that little matter of ‘image royalties’ is a whole different story.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

starlight! starlight!!! you're one of the few people I know who reads toby daye and pls I need to yell with someone about night and silence because IT WAS SO GOOD I'M DYING I HAD TO PUT THE BOOK DOWN AND WALK AWAY SEVERAL TIMES

@maelace​ asked:

Have you read the new October Daye book yet? Because oh my goodness I must know what you think!

Y’ALL

Y A L L

LET’S HAVE A CHAT

OKAY FOLKS

So, some FAIRLY INCOHERENT thoughts about Night and Silence, which I keep calling Nights and Silences because my brain really likes them plurals I guess:

FUCK AMANDINE!!!!!! FUUUUUUUCK AMANDINE!!!!!! I HATE HER SO MUCH!!!!!!  SHE DOES NOT APPEAR ONCE AND YET I AM CONSUMED WITH RAGE

Seanan does such amazing work on all kinds of mental illness stuff, which I think I’ve discussed before re: Toby Daye and her ongoing upward mobility, but fuck the entire Tybalt plotline was so crushing.  That’s what it’s like, is the thing, to watch someone you love retreating from you and not be able to do anything about it because you don’t want to hurt them worse, and I cheered out loud when he came back, and asking Ginevra to come stand in as regent was such a bittersweet scene because on the one hand yes Tybalt my love take care of yourself, but on the other hand I just want him to be okay.  (FUCK Amandine, by the way)

I would die for Quentin, just kind of in general, but I’m specifically really delighted with the subplot of “Quentin thinks Toby could do better than this arrogant tomcat,” and I’m so proud of my best bisexual prince son for calling Tybalt and apparently just ripping into a King with all the worst swears Toby has ever taught him.  I can’t goddamn wait for the King of the Westlands to be this charming, kind-hearted knight-ling whose impeccable etiquette and noble bearing is deeply and profoundly at odds with the fact that he has really kind of absorbed Toby’s problem-solving techniques.  

Aside: there’s nothing I want more than for this series to go on long enough for the Court of the Westlands to be scandalized by their young king jumping up from his throne and hugging a grumpy changeling dressed in a blood-drenched leather coat without regard for his fine silk shirt.  Even more than that, picture the scene.  It’s the coronation of High King Quentin Sollys, attended by royalty and the highest celebrities of Faerie, Sir October Daye grinning fit to split her face with her husband Tybalt and her adopted nephew, the recently ascended King of Dreaming Cats, all looking ready to die from pride.  Quentin’s parents are both crying perfect beautiful tears, as Daoine Sidhe do, and he’s about to be crowned and presented to the people and it’s great and then--  The ceremony is already underway when the door opens again to admit the Luidaeg, as her most terrifyingly Firstborn self, scowling like a storm cloud and gowned like a hurricane, and everyone is fucking terrified for a moment as she sweeps up the aisle toward the dais.  And then she breaks into a smile and holds out her hands to the Crown Prince, and Quentin laughs and rushes into her arms as he cries “I thought you said couldn’t make it!”  And everyone has a moment of religious fear when the sea witch pets his hair fondly and straightens his shirt and then presses a kiss to his forehead and declares to the room at large “You will be a king like none that Faerie has seen in many centuries, because you have a heart as strong and fair and kind as any I have ever seen.”

No one’s sure if it’s a blessing or a prophecy or just a moment of deeply unforeseen maternal affection from the goddamn Luidaeg, but suddenly the sea witch comes to visit the High King on a semi-regular basis and Quentin is delighted and...well, she was right.

Speaking of people I love, I love Danny?  The best rock boy?  He just wants Toby to talk about her feelings, it’s so sweet, I hope they invite him to the wedding so I can read about an eight-foot suit-wearing granite troll sobbing into a handkerchief about how proud he is of Toby.

I ALSO LOVE MAY, God, give me her and Jazz getting married please.  Also I would love to know more about Jazz--maybe a book with the core mystery including Jazz’s flock of Ravenmays?

SOME TAM LIN SHIT GOIN’ DOWN IN THIS BOOK, I GOT A LOT TO SAY

We all know I’m a fucking weak bitch for Tam Lin retellings.  Tam Lin being a lying piece of shit isn’t especially novel, but I LOVE the idea of Janet being the villain of the piece, however unintentionally?  I’m honestly enthralled.  Bitch...give me a novel...make the Luidaeg the main character and let me weep bitter tears for my beloved sea witch....

You know how I just had a whole bit about “Fuck Amandine” up there?  I stand by it.  Furthermore, FUCK JANET.  Every time she gets nasty with Toby I puff up like an angry cat.  

Incidentally, both Janet and Amandine had a (terrible) daughter they doted on, and when their daughter slipped away, they went out and got a replacement that they tried to force to be completely and entirely mortal, without regard for what their replacement wanted or what would be best for them--and ultimately, the person who took the most damage as a result of their selfishness was Toby both times.  Janet is, I guess, slightly better because she seems to at least care about Gillian, but she’s still...weirdly possessive?  She focuses a lot on how Gillian is hers, and hottest of hot takes, love and possession are not the same thing.

Sign me up for front row seats to all of Toby’s family losing their shit over how Janet treats her.  Sign me up for seats in the goddamn orchestra pit when, having started to realize that, actually, Toby did not bail on her, and that Toby is actually a great person who wants nothing more than to have a relationship on Gillian’s terms, and that Janet actively arranged events to drive Toby out of Gillian’s life and then convinced Gillian that Toby didn’t love her, Gillian fucking Comes For Janet’s Whole Life.

Again, the Luidaeg is dear to my heart beyond words, so honestly the fact that she saved Toby all the way back in An Artificial Night by breaking Michael’s Ride like Janet broke Maeve’s, right down to singing the ballad of Tam Lin to hold the magic in place...not to sound like a little old white lady, but that shit is breathtaking, yo. Talk to me forever about how Toby is the first family the Luidaeg has loved and been loved by in a long time, about how the Luidaeg used the same ancient magic that destroyed her life to save this woman who wasn’t yet her favorite niece from the man who used to be her beloved brother, about how the Luidaeg’s entire life is about taking the skins of tragedies and making something new.

Anyway, on to non-Tam Lin things.  Gillian...honey...you’ve been so lied to by so many people.  Toby is the only parent who ever gave Gillian a choice in which life she wanted to live, and it’s so sad.  All Gillian focuses on in the blood memories Toby sees is how much her car represents freedom and safety and...oh honey.  Oh baby girl.  If Janet and Cliff aren’t careful, now that Gillian knows that they manipulated the truth about Toby to completely take her away from Gillian, she’s going to straight up buck their rules and leave.  (I...want Gillian to live with the Luidaeg?  The only full Selkie in history to have the blessing of the sea witch, living with both feet in Faerie and getting coffee with her mother on weekends, turning the full count of Small Children Who Adore The Luidaeg from one to two.  Let the Luidaeg be Gillian’s weird aunt.)

LET TOBY HAVE HER DAUGHTER BACK.  On Gillian’s terms, because Toby wouldn’t want it any other way, but God, just let them have a relationship.  Let Gillian meet someone who doesn’t have Jocelyn’s blind hero worship or the Luidaeg’s ingrained sense of honor and who will tell her that her mom, A, did not voluntarily leave her, and, B, is legitimately rad as fuck.  And then let them start with awkward weekly coffee dates that turn into an awkward dinner at Toby’s house that turns into a slightly less awkward trip to the movies or something and so on and so forth until they’re close and Gillian understands how much Toby loves her and Toby understands that sometimes it’s okay to push for a relationship.  Because Toby’s willing to do the work, but she’s not willing to push for the relationship because she believes Gillian doesn’t want her around, but Gillian only thinks that way because she believes Toby abandoned her, and the only way that vicious loop is going to change is if Toby actually pushes the boundaries for long enough to explain.

It’s so adorable how Toby thinks Quentin’s gonna be her last squire.  My boy’s going to be gone for two months before Toby comes back to the house with a baker’s dozen children and a mulish expression.  Within a hundred pages she goes from “I’m never having another squire because I’m so unfit for this” to “I should reopen Home and run it myself” and I just.  I love her so much.  She’s so dumb.  She has such a good heart and she’s so dumb.  I’d die for her.  Every fifteen pages in any Toby Daye book I just end up crooning “You’re so stupid, I love you so much” to the pages while Toby fails to notice, again, what an incredible person she is.  I’ve loved watching her grow so much, I’m getting weepy here.

OH MY GOD, AND THE NOVELLA?

HOLY SHIT, THAT JUST.  DESTROYED MY WHOLE SOUL.  EXACTLY EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED FROM A STORY ABOUT A NEW SELKIE.  I FEEL LIKE THIS GIVES A LOT OF SUPPORT TO MY HEADCANON THAT SELKIES HAVE TERRIBLE DREAMS ABOUT BEING CLUTCHED IN BLOODY HANDS WHILE A VOICE WEEPS FOR THEIR MOTHER IN THEIR EAR.  I WANT FIRTHA AND GILLIAN TO BE BEST FRIENDS.  I LOVE HOW DIFFERENTLY FIRTHA OBVIOUSLY TREATS GILLIAN, THE FIRST SELKIE IN HISTORY WHO DID NOT CHOOSE THIS.  I LOVE HOW MUCH ATTENTION IS GIVEN TO THE CHOICE THAT SELKIES MAKE, TO TAKE THE SKIN AND ALL IT CARRIES OR DIE.  

I LOVE SELKIES IN THIS UNIVERSE.  I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THE LUIDAEG CALL IN THAT FUCKING DEBT.  HOLY SHIT.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Monsters”

Monsters are made, not born. Monsters forget they were once loved, nothing in their mind besides darkness and vengeance against the world. Monsters know no remorse, regret or sorrow. Monsters exist inside every person. And they will never disappear.

As soon as you enter the office with your three year old daughter, The Joker signals his henchmen to leave. After the last one exits and the door closes, he gives you a mean glare, definitely not excited about your presence.

“I thought I told you to stay away!” J sneers, tapping his fingers on the glass desk. “Why are you here, hm?” the annoyed tone makes you even more self-conscious about your situation.

“I…I need help…” you gather the courage to speak while Evie clings to your leg, scared by the strange looking man. You protectively hold her close to you with one hand, hoping she won’t start crying: that would certainly irritate The King of Gotham to the point of kicking you both out before you can explain yourself. “It’s not for me, it’s for my little girl,” you quickly add when The Joker rolls his eyes.

“Oh, you need money?” he sarcastically smirks but you know what that smile hides.

“My daughter is sick,” you inform, taking advantage of his momentary silence. “Her medications are very expensive; I work and my insurance covers some costs, but not everything. I only…” and you pause, gulping. “…I only have medications for one more week before she runs out and I don’t know what I’m going to do. Can you please help me? I’ll pay you back,” the desperate mother pleads.

“How? Are you gonna sell your body on the streets?” The Joker bluntly asks.

You really don’t want to be here; it’s so humiliating and you feel out of place.

“I’ll find a way,” you whisper, caressing Evie’s bald head.

The Joker at least realizes you’re not lying; your child does look sick: shaved head, scrawny and pale, wearing a yellow summer dress that accentuates her frail frame.

How would he know how many times you skip meals in order for your daughter to have enough to eat? Or how you struggle to pay the bills and rent, every month one step away from being homeless? How would he know how much you hate being here asking for money when it’s clear he won’t lift a finger to help? You are truly out of options, otherwise you would have gladly used another source.  

“Don’t you have a boyfriend or a husband to share the burden with?” J huffs, interrogating the hopeless parent. “Where’s her father?“

He sees the tears coming down your cheeks and your voice breaks when you answer:

“My husband…passed away… a while ago.”

“Well…” The Joker pretends to debate on the reply he received,” …one mouth less to feed, right?”

You sniffle, reaching for your daughter and lift her up in your arms: your only comfort after the cruel remark.

“Let’s go baby,” you kiss her forehead before she wraps her tiny arms around your neck.

Evie whimpers, staring at the plate full of cookies and strawberries on J’s desk.

“No sweetheart, that’s not ours. Mommy will get you something after we visit daddy at the cemetery, OK?” J hears as you rush out of his office, wondering how you’ll actually going to fulfil the promise since you have only 10 dollars left in your wallet for the rest of the week.

“Don’t let me catch you here again or you’ll regret it!” he shouts and you almost start running down the hallway, afraid he might retaliate.

The Clown Prince of Crime is not happy about your visit; he didn’t see you in years and planned to keep it that way until you showed up today, begging for a meeting; it was dumb to allow you to bother him. He should have told his men to chase you away.

J keeps on pacing around the office for minutes until finally deciding to go for a drive, the only thing that can calm him down at this point.

**************

“Where to, sir?” Frost asks, adjusting the rearview mirror inside his boss’s favorite SUV, the reflection revealing a grouchy Joker in the back seat, definitely in a foul mood. J stretches his legs, indifferently muttering:

“Don’t care, just drive.”

“Yes sir,” Jonny turns left on Gentry Avenue while J glimpses at the busy Gotham from behind the tinted windows allowing him to enjoy freedom during day time also. The ride is smooth and there’s nothing The Clown Prince of Crime envoys more when he feels restless. Frost’s excellent driving makes J close his eyes for a few seconds, relaxing after the earlier unpleasant reunion with his past.

****************

“Y/N…Y/N…” the little boy shakes you, crawling in bed by his older sister.

“What?…” you cover him with your blanket, yawning but not opening your eyes. “Did you have another nightmare?”

“Y-yes,” he whimpers, snuggling to you.

“Here,” you search under your pillow and pull out his favorite toy: a small blue car, the kind you find in cereal boxes. “This keeps the monsters away,” you give it to him and decide to open your eyes. “You forgot it here last night before going to bed, that’s why you had bad dreams.”

“Sissy,” your brother tugs on your hair, using the other to hold the toy to his chest.“When’s mommy coming back?”

“Mommy died, Damian; she’s not coming back,” you bite on your cheek, saddened when he starts sobbing.

“I want my mommy,” the 5 year old rubs his eyes, not understanding why his mother can’t return.

“Me too,” you hug him under the covers, crying because there is no one else to fill the emptiness she left behind; the children only have each other.

“I’m hungry,” Damian pouts after you managed to soothe him.

“We don’t have a lot of food,” you announce, making a mental inventory of what you’ve seen laying around the kitchen. “And daddy didn’t leave us any money.”

Your father would disappear for days, forcing a 12 year old and a 5 year old to fend for themselves. Luckily, your mom’s friend kept an eye on you, aware the two siblings were mostly abandoned in the cheap two bedroom apartment bellow hers.

“But I’m hungry,” your baby brother insists, on the verge of crying again.

His sister attempts to distract him.

“I’m jealous you have mommy’s eyes,” you caress his cheek, that clear blue gaze staring back at you.

“I do?!” Damian curiously scoots over in your arms like it’s the first time hearing the statement.

“Yes, the most beautiful eyes in the world,” and you tickle his sides while the young boy giggles, laughing up a storm under the attack. He tries to fight back without success until the growling tummy reminds him he’s famished.

“Y/N, I’m hungry,” your brother whines after you pinned him under your weight, wiggling to escape the temporary prison.

“Ok,” you sigh, releasing the captive since you don’t have another choice. “We’ll brush our teeth and then we’ll eat, alright?” “U-hum,” he smiles, jumping on the bed when you signal him for his favorite: piggyback ride.

“Come on,” you admonish the impatient kid that keeps on hopping on top of the pillows.” Hurry up!” and he finally obeys while you strain to walk with him dangling on your back. “You’re getting heavy,” you complain, heading towards the bathroom.

After the morning routine, you put together a measly breakfast: a little bit of milk and a handful of cereals in two bowls, adding water to multiply the already poor nutrition, but it’s better than nothing.

Damian gets more because you promised mom you’ll take care of him; the unfairness is striking: a child taking care of another child. Yet what choice a dying mother had but to teach her older daughter to tend to herself and the younger sibling the best way she could? Not too many willing to help or to raise someone else’s kids in a district already ravaged by poverty. Nobody cared, including their father.

You’re scarfing down your food, talking to the little boy:

“I’m gonna go and ask Auntie Jenna (your mom’s friend) if she can give me money so I can buy some stuff, OK?”

Your brother’s eyes lit with happiness, hoping he can eat more for dinner. Usually, lunch is skipped if possible, this way the supplies last longer.

“Really?”

“Yes, be good and behave while I’m gone. The grocery store is one hour away and I’ll have to walk there.”

“Can I come?” he smiles, eagerly waiting for your reply.

“No, just finish your breakfast. I’ll be fast,” you get up from your chair, already done snacking.

“OK,” he bounces his legs, anticipating the moment of your return.

Auntie Jenna was able to give you a few dollars, even if she barely had any money herself and a super excited Y/N bought a few basic groceries from the store, including a can of grape juice, which is your sibling’s favorite.

You run upstairs to let the woman know you’re back and she looks puzzled after opening the door.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?! I thought you went away with your dad and your brother.”

“Daddy was here?” the shaky voice inquires and the plastic bag is dropped on the floor by the weakened hands.

“Yes, he took Damian and a few things from the apartment …Hey, where are you going?” she yells when you start running towards your condo, panicking at the dreadful feeling creeping up in your heart.

“Damian?… Damian?…” you call out his name, searching around the small apartment and start crying when you realizes his clothes are gone from the closet, only yours left on the hangers.

“What’s going on?” Jenna follows you, stunned when it hits:

Did that piece of shit just abandoned his daughter here?

“Oh, no!” you gasp when you see the tiny blue car forgotten on the kitchen table. You snatch it and rush outside, running up the street without being able to see too much from the tears clouding your vision.

“Damian! Damian!” you scream and Jenna catches up with you, pulling on your arm in order to stop you.

“Where are you going, Y/N?” she pants and the young girl shows her the toy that was left behind.

“Th-this is for the m-monsters,” you stutter and Jenna gets down on her knees, hugging a terrified little girl that can’t stop trembling in her embrace. “H-he gets scared at night…”

“Sssttt,” she slowly rocks you in her arms. “Don’t cry honey; we’ll find him, alright?”

In the meantime, your little brother’s whining aggravates an already drunk father driving the beat-up van he stole from the other side of town.

“Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!” he threatens the 5 year old fidgeting in the front seat by him.

“I want my sister!” Damian sniffles and turns his head towards the bitter parent. “Please daddy, I want my sister!” the boy pleads and the man slams the breaks, fed up with his son’s behavior. “I want my sister!!!!” the painful tone pierces the air and…

Frost suddenly stops the SUV when the car in front of it switches lanes without signaling.

The Joker opens his eyes, abruptly woken up from his dream.

“What the fuck?! “  a grumpy King of Gotham snarls, regaining his grasp on reality.

“Apologies, sir. Some idiots don’t know how to drive,” the trusted henchman patches up the mistake, a bit startled himself. The Joker continues to watch the city from inside the SUV, deep in thought.

“Frost,” he finally opens his mouth after minutes of quietness. “How much money do we have at the warehouse on McCormick Boulevard?”

“Ummm…” Jonny counts in his mind, trying to estimate as close as possible. “Maybe… about a million dollars.”

“I want it in a suitcase, ready to go by the time we arrive,” the order follows and Frost complies, already dialing Nikko’s cell number in order to convey the message.

***************

Getting inside your place was a piece of cake for The Joker; the easiest lock to pick, flimsy and tacky just like the rest of the almost empty building. It’s all you can afford with the hardships you had to endure, one misfortune after the other, fighting to survive like you always did.

How you wish you could have offered your daughter a better life than you ever had! For a while, things were good because you had your husband and even if your baby got sick, the extra paycheck and health insurance were a tremendous help. There was no greater pain than to sink in the same deep hole of poverty after Kent died in a freak accident at work; not a lot of options but to try and make it somehow.

J cautiously enters the apartment, so small and crammed it gives out a claustrophobic vibe: a tiny kitchen with a table and two chairs, no other furniture around. The moldy smell almost makes The Joker sneeze as he opens the cracked door to the only bedroom not having enough space for more than a bed you share with Evie. He notices another door behind the bed, probably the bathroom.

You and your little girl are asleep, exhausted after walking to the cemetery and back home, not having enough money for a taxi.

The Joker quietly opens the fridge: not too much food in there, the pink wrapping surrounding the blueberry muffins you bought for Evie making him bite his lip. He’s very familiar with that color that marks bakery items about to be thrown away, sold at discounted prices a day before their expiration date. He yanks the sweet treats out of the shelf and stashes them in the garbage can, mad without knowing why: the truth is they remind him of things he doesn’t want to remember.

He closes the fridge, glaring at the pictures under the magnets: memories made with your husband and daughter, the ultrasound image from when you found out you were pregnant, the last card your husband gifted you for your birthday before he passed away, Evie’s drawings and an old photo of a 10 years old Y/N, tightly holding a 3 years old Damian in her arms like he was the most precious treasure on the planet.

And he really was.

A long time ago…

*****************

“What the hell is she doing here???!!!” The Joker shouts from behind the bars keeping the detainee confined inside the lower level of Arkham prison.

You look completely terrified, not having seen such violence and chaos in your entire existence.

His men came to get him out after he was captured six months ago during a very ambitious heist at the Wayne mansion: the guy was loaded and The Joker couldn’t stay away from such opportunity.

When you found the suitcase full of money on your kitchen table, you knew exactly who left it there, yet the note on top of it made it difficult to reconnect with the estranged relative:

Come near me again and you’re dead!

And still, here you are, risking your life to see J, aware this is the only chance you’ll ever get.

“Why is she here???!!” he growls while you seem frozen, petrified from what you have witnessed so far.

The goons are working to get their leader out, the electric saw already cutting through the thick bars.

“She paid for the extra mercenaries and insisted we take her with us,” one of them replies, commanding a large group of hired guns to swipe the premises and make sure the area is cleared for takeoff.

“She did what??!!” The Joker growls, approaching the bars and you gulp, jumping each time you hear an explosion. He gestures you to come closer and you drag your feet towards a pissed inmate. “Are you fucking stupid?!” J sneers, intensifying your anxiety.“Take her away before I strangle her myself!!!” the harsh sentence makes you snap out of trance and speak up:

“I…I wanted to thank you for…”

One of his people grabs your hand and you slap it, fighting to stay close to the bars.

“Get lost, Y/N, you don’t belong here! You have no idea what you’re doing!” J rests his forehead against the cold metal and he’s right: you have no idea what’s happening or how to handle these crazy events.

“For you, little brother,” you whisper, taking the tiny blue car out of your pocket and returning it to its owner after so many years. “To keep the monsters at bay,” you close his fist and he frowns, hissing:

“Your brother is dead!” “My brother is not dead,” you sadly smile through tears and kiss the tattooed knuckles wrapped around the toy before J can reject his sister’s affection.

He backs out, his men moments away from releasing him.

“Frost!!!!” The Joker yells when the latest emerges from the dark corridor. “I want her out of here! NOW!!!”

You know you won’t be able to fight his will and comply, following Jonny’s lead as he’s guiding you towards an escape route outside Block D.

*****************

Your daughter had a hard time getting used to her uncle, but after you two moved at the Penthouse, things slowly improved. She’s always amazed there is so much food around, brand new clothes and toys. Evie’s medications are expensive, but purchasing them is not an issue anymore; she even gained a little bit of weight and it makes you happy to see your child feeling better.

“Honey, you need to take your pills,” you walk out on the balcony where a playful little girl is having fun in her own inflatable pool.

“Ok mommy,” she gets out of the water and you lift her up, making sure to wipe the liquid on your way in with a towel: The Joker doesn’t like his carpets stained.

“You want some ice cream?”

Her eyes get big: the same clear blue as her uncle’s.

“Yes mommy,” she smacks her lips with anticipation and you bump into the glass coffee table, almost knocking down the center piece: an old photograph of a 10 years old Y/N and a 3 years old Joker, lovingly held by his sister.

He really was the most precious treasure to her.

A long time ago…

And he remembered.

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[tigereyes45]

How Death Found A Girl

Part three on my Seven Gods Tales AU series. This one focuses on Death and a young girl who knew it too well for a normal human.

The Stranger was a force many feared. Few thought of the god unless death was close for them, and even less ever pray to the Stranger for anything. The occasional soul would ask for their soul not to be taken or for one of their enemies to be stolen away. Sometimes a believer of the seven would step into the doors of the many-faced god. One that the Stranger felt was one of the same with themselves.

“You’re both dead.” The voice of a young girl whispers. A girl far too young to understand, let alone, revere death. Her voice was strong, knowing, and the Stranger had never known a little girl to understand. Once a girl prayed to death the same way a man in black did once. With a list of names spoken every night. The man had one, but the girl had many. Always adding and occasionally taking a name from the list. It was never empty, and could never feel be full. The same way as death itself will never be hungry yet never satisfied.

This young child stares up at the stranger that she followed for years, her eyes were absent of fear. Immediately the stranger thought her foolish. Only the foolish and stupid look at death like that. Turning away the stranger and the many-faced god take their form to go. A wave of their hand, a moment of breath, death moves on. No matter the name, though, or even attempt against them, they eventually reach everybody and carry everyone away. Every living thing has their strength quelled by shadowy hands. In every belief they are there, personified in songs ages old.

They had left behind the girl then. Left her knowing that they would meet again.

The next time the girl finds death it is not so direct. They are dressed differently now, and instead of meeting the force face to face she skirts by. With her needle in hand sneaking through a camp filled with the bodies of men much taller and stronger than she. This was a battlefield and it gave no living person a chance to take in what might be lurking. They collect the dead and watch as she crosses, dancing back and forth between the two possible exits. Between her hundred possible escapes. Death approached but did not take her that night. Instead, it watched her with a new realization.

One day this girl will be death.

Partly before she dies and for many years later.

Death left that night, many hours after the girl was gone. A parade of newcomers following them as the path was made. Tonight a battle was raged and all those souls could now rest. Death only takes them so far. A frozen path made of stones greets and guides them the rest of their way.

The next time the girl saw death from a ledge on a rather large hill. A dog laid down in front of death’s path. It’s bark still loud enough to reach the girl above them. Her eyes pear down. A piercing gray pair of clouds looking down. The dog knew his time was coming, it had been for a long time, yet the girl did not seem phased. Slowly she climbed down from her spot. At a crawling speed that made death wonder if the dog would die before she reached him.

It doesn’t. Once she arrives he growls and snaps, and snarls. Telling her to go, lies of what he would have done if he had just made slightly different choices, mocking her prayer to death, everything to make her run. Death wonders why the girl does not go right away. Death was here to take one name from her list, yet she lingered still. Did she want to watch him go? Death doesn’t know. She stays far longer than the other times. She doesn’t yell back or even kicks the dog while he’s down. Whispering something to him that death did not quite catch. Before she stands. As she wanders off a grey mist befitting of her eyes fills death’s gaze.

The final time death ever noticed the girl was not as she was with those who worship them as the many-faced god. It was not as a house disappeared and joined the ranks of the dead in one fell swoop. Nor was it when an assassin was killed and hanged. Their blood dripping slowly over the hold of a house. A warning. To those who would try to travel north. So Death went. Although their eyes had not met during any of those events that transpired, Death remembers them. Death knows the girl had a hand in them but had never spotted the lithe cat.

When Death went North they took many southerners with them. A march to protect the precious city that ruled them all that cost many of their lives, as even the citizens of the royal city slowly starve. Death’s conscious was there and in the far north where frozen men killed their warm-blooded brothers. With their journey down they had added and taken many from Death’s door. A welcomed thing at first, but with their trip they had taken more and more from them. An act that Death was not so pleased with. After all, a job must be done.

Death stands in the field on the eve of the girl’s last day. War was fought at a castle covered in snow, with spots of it’s melted, black brick, peaking out in places. Many souls escaped but more had fallen. The girl had spotted death during the fight. This time she did not repeat her teacher’s saying, “Not today”. The girl looked out after meeting’s death eyes and knew that this day may well be her in. So instead she turns back at the monsters who roamed about the lands of her birth. Steadying herself on top of a dire wolf, the size of one of the castle’s rooms, the girl points her sword at the closest enemy and shouted, “It will not be you!”. Death had to admit while they were there for the collection of souls it had been a sight that held them in awe. Rarely does a warrior with such a way of fighting last that long against so many enemies.

If they cared for decor they would find the pure white snow a beautiful field that hid all the hallmarks of battle underneath. As if this blanket could keep history hidden. Perhaps it could if winter was permanent here. When Death thinks back they remember a human coming forth. With him the first summer of the north had been seen. A soul that killed many and was a father too much more than himself. His soul was a burning black that made Death wince at the sight of it. Sounds of swords clashing alerts them to the girl’s presence. Would her soul be as black as his? Or would it match the snow? If death had to guess, it would be overwhelming.

Someone so easily able to spy them in the midst of battle. That was the first overwhelming thing Death had faced in a long time. She wielded her sword as skilled as the warrior, and had a fire in her Death had only seen in the red priestesses before. The way she dove and parry those who got too close to the Southern-born, north boy with dark hair was as precise and quick as the mother’s protectiveness over her children. Yet when the mortals who fell watched her with Death they all had one thought. She is their instrument. Of all her characteristics it was her lack of response to the dead that struck them the oddest. Even those who have encountered them before always have a response. Yet the girl would do little more than a glance or occasionally glare, before returning to cutting down whatever was in front of her.

The sound of metal clashing against dragonstone echoes over the field. This time it was quicker than before, more ferocity behind it. Death crosses the field in a moment and finds themselves in front of the source. In the crypts where many of the dead had risen and fallen in their stones once more. Limbs scattered about as a cornered girl climbs on top of the stone man that looks quite like her. A father, uncle, brother? It could have been any of those, or none at all. Humans were so intertwined and disconnected all at the same time after all. Who knew why she stood her back to their feet, as more white walkers file in and surround her. As spears are deflected and launched into all the space around her they leave the girl with little room to maneuver. As the situation grows beyond dire she shouts out a name and a wish. As a sword pierced through her leg the girl pulled out a bottle of green liquid. With one last look around she opens the bottle and pours it out on the head of white walkers and their undead.

Cold gray eyes look at the bottle and swishes it around to see just a little bit left. It was then death realized how this girl would die. It stands back in the shadow of a stone woman. The girl met death’s eyes then, and in two swift moments had drunk the last of the bottle's contents and swung her thin sword so roughly against the stone man’s leg that a spark was made. In moments every living being in the crypts was on fire. Even when met by death the girl was defiant and refused to go alone. One aspect Death did not share with her.

They found her soul outside of the crypts, playing in the yard of the former castle.“Are you The Stranger, The God of many faces, or are you simply death?” The girl asked as the souls walk closer to her. All silent in their presence. “Who was right?” The girl asks and Death was silent again. She throws her sword around pointing at the spirit. “Answer me!”

Death offers their hand knowing the girl would take it instead of joining the ranks behind them. When her small hand fell in place Death knew why she had been able to see them so clearly. “Today.” Death whispers as the girl disappears.

Or perhaps that is just one way Death met the girl. Perhaps that is only one way she died and joined them. In another way, she could have lived longer, happier, and not been so intimate with her time, but in this life that was what death knew. The girl who would go back and find the Smith in the guise of the Stranger. A costume she wears lazily at the chance to reach the last people she had called out for in her most private of moments. The ones who bodies she burned with herself in those crypts as the human walls all came down all around the world at once. The girl, death now knew as Arya Stark, and if they had known her spirit would be so powerful and overwhelming just maybe they would not have taken her so soon.

Part 2, Part 3(Here)

[let-the-bands-take-c0ntrol]

New Man (Part 6)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 or New Man on Wattpad

You had to break the news to both Scott and Luke and explain to them what Dr. Kay had just told you. You weren’t ready for that, but you had to let them know before you popped this baby out.

     Luke sat on your couch with a glass of water in his hands. He was confused as to why he was there. Your boyfriend, Scott, was just as confused as Luke. They were each avoiding the other’s stares, shifting uncomfortably in their spots, and trying to focus on the game that was playing on the television. Scott cleared his throat and he sat up in his spot in an attempt to look taller than Luke. “So uh did Y/N tell you what this “meeting” is about?” Scott questioned, taking a sip from his beer and turning down the volume on the television. Luke had taken noticed of how Scott acted in your home. Scott walked around as if he lived there too and it made Luke jealous.

“No but I think I have some idea on what it is,” Luke said, sending a glare in Scott’s direction. It had been three weeks since Luke had last seen you and he was still pissed at the fact that you were having Scott’s child. As Luke was staring at Scott now it took everything in him not to beat the guy into a pulp. “Problem is I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here. Like Y/N said this is something that should be between you two.” Scott’s eyebrows furrowed at Luke’s words, but before he could even respond the sound of the door unlocking and opening filled the air. Both men turned their heads when they heard the sounds of a tiny giggle. Not too long after Raine came running into the living room. Luke’s face lit up when he spotted the familiar brown curls of his daughter’s hair. 

“Dada!” Raine shouted, instantly running into Luke’s legs.

“Raine Cloud! Did you have a good time at daycare?” Luke questioned, sending a big kiss to the child’s cheek. She nodded rapidly and then peered over her father’s shoulder to look at Scott. Raine sent him a small wave.

“Hey Raine,” Scott smiled, sending a small wave back towards her. You and Danielle entered seconds later and Scott immediately stood up to kiss you in greeting. Luke sat Raine back down on her feet and gave you a look. The air in the room became tense and Danielle felt the heat. She mumbled a hello to both of the guys and decided to make her exit.

“Hey, princess come help Auntie Dani start dinner,” Danielle said, waving her hand out for Raine to grasp. The young girl grabbed her godmother’s hand and the two made their way towards the kitchen. You ignored the two men standing in your living room and went to put your stuff away. You were trying to stall and buy yourself time so you could figure out just exactly what you were going to tell them. At first you wanted to tell Luke and Scott separately, but you knew talking to each one individually would be hard. Instead you decided to kill two birds with one stone. Luke and Scott shared a look and they both stayed in their spots as you went to put your bags away. You came back and began to pace about for a minute, mumbling to yourself as you did so.

“Y/N you’re making us antsy. What’s the news?” Scott said, reaching out to grab your wrist to stop you from walking. Luke rolled his eyes and he plopped down on the couch with a sigh. 

“I already know what the news is and honestly I don’t care to hear it for a second time, so can I go?” Luke said in annoyance. Your gaze turned towards him and you looked at Luke curiously. His tongue poked out to lick at his bottom lip. Blue eyes piercing into your skin and you began to feel hot. You had no idea why Luke was making you feel weak at the knees. 

“This concerns you too, Luke,” you said, suddenly finding your voice. Luke’s eyebrows furrowed and he sat up in his spot. 

“How exactly does it concern me?” he questioned, beginning to chew on his bottom lip in nervousness.

“Can someone tell me what the concern is?” Scott said, breaking the intense gaze you and Luke were giving each other. You had almost forgotten Scott was in the room and that he was physically touching you.

“You might want to sit down,” you told Scott, beginning to suck in some deep breaths. Scott released his hold on your wrist and sat down next to Luke once again. Silence fell between the three of you and the only sounds present in your home was the television playing and laughter coming from the kitchen where Danielle and Raine were. You closed your eyes and tried to block out the cheering sounds of the crowd coming from the television. It was best if you just came out and said what you needed to say. “I’m pregnant,” you announced, you then gauged their reactions. Luke was sitting back in his spot with crossed arms and a bored look on his face. Scott was the complete opposite. His mouth parted in surprise and his eyes were wide.

“You’re joking right?” Scott said, beginning to laugh. You bit onto your bottom lip and shook your head. It surprised you that Scott didn’t find you serious. Any other time he would and you began to wonder what type of father he’d actually be.

“Y/N doesn’t joke when it comes to something like this. Besides all the signs are there she’s telling the truth,” Luke said, his voice cutting through Scott’s laughter. Your boyfriend stopped laughing and his head whipped between looking at you and Luke. 

“You’re serious? You’re actually pregnant?” Scott questioned. You quietly nodded and Scott’s expression turned to shock. He ran a hand through his hair “Wow I-we’re having a baby?” Scott fell back into his spot and stared out into space in shock. His eyebrows furrowed a second later and he looked at Luke quizzically. “Wait then why is he here?” 

“Yes, Y/N why am I here?” Luke asked, clasping his hands together and giving you a tight lipped smile. They both stared at you and you began to crack your knuckles. Luke knew this gesture all too well and his arms uncrossed. “Fuck. What’s wrong? Is the baby okay?” he asked, knowing now that something must have seriously been awry. Scott sat up straight becoming worried himself.

“Yes and no,” you replied. Your gaze dropped and you sniffled a bit. “Um I have something called a cryptic pregnancy,” you explained. Neither one of them knew what you were talking about and they both stared at you with blank- expressions. “Basically the baby is growing at a slow rate and for about four months a didn’t know I was pregnant,” you told them. “So when I say yes and no I mean it’s not really fine, but Dr. Kay says I look healthy.” The each nodded and you were ready to drop the bomb on them. Scott ran his hand over his face and let out a deep sigh.

“So then just keep a close eye on the baby. We can handle it,” he reassured. You nodded at his words and chewed at your bottom lip.

“There’s more,” you said, “Because I’m four months pregnant it puts me in a very unfortunate position in figuring out who the father is. . .” 

“What do you mean by that? I thought it would be obvious in figuring that out. I’m the father,” Scott said in a matter of fact tone. Your face scrunched up at his words and you avoided his stare. “I’m the father right?” Scott repeated, his tone raising. His jaw clenched when you didn’t respond.

“Maybe-there’s a fifty percent chance that either you or Luke could be the dad,” you admitted. Luke’s face softened at your words and he grinned.  

“H-How is that possible?” Luke asked, trying to think back to the night you two spent together. So many thoughts were running through his head now and Luke was thinking that you two may end up having even more children like you had planned to do.

“You cheated on me,” Scott spat in shock, glaring at both you and Luke.

“No-no I didn’t Scott,” you quickly said, approaching him. Scott took a step away from you and he shook his head. Clearly he didn’t believe what you were saying. His fist clenched in anger and he scoffed. 

“Then how is it possible that he’s the father, Y/N!?!” Scott yelled, pointing at Luke. “When did you even find time to have sex with him!?!” You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes and began to suck in deep breaths to calm your nerves. This was harder to explain to Scott than it was to Luke, who was eyeing Scott carefully when he had made an outburst at you. 

“It was very early in our relationship. Around the time we were first dating,” you told Scott, “Luke and I ended up being with each other for the whole weekend and things happen. You and I weren’t serious yet, so I-I saw no problem in having old feelings arise.” You sucked in a deep breath and gave Scott a pleading look. “I would never cheat on you, but the fact of the matter is that I’m pregnant and one of you is the father, and I’m scared because this pregnancy is abnormal.” You began to cry, finally realizing that everything about this pregnancy could go horribly wrong. It was too much to handle and you couldn’t go through it alone. 

“Hey don’t cry we’ll figure something out alright,” Luke cooed, pulling you into his embrace. Your arms instinctively wrapped around him and you buried your face into his chest. “Just like the first time I’m with you every step of the way okay, Suga-Y/N,” he whispered. His lips came down to kiss at your head and Luke squeezed you tight. You felt comfort being in Luke’s arms and his body heat radiated onto you. Scott watched the two of you in envy. He had never seen Luke as competition before because you had chose him. But now that there was a chance Luke could be the father, Scott could feel hatred boil up for the other man. He had nothing when it came to you and Luke. Scott was just some guy that managed to take you out and start a relationship. Luke had more. Luke had a family with you and there was nothing to replace that. Luke had years of experience and knew you better than Scott did. It made Scott feel inferior. For the first time since he’s met the father of your child Scott felt jealous. 

“I’m with you every step of the way too,” Scott said, squeezing between you and Luke. Luke stumbled back as Scott pushed him out the way. “You can count on me, Beautiful,” he said, staring at you intently. You smiled at Scott and he cupped your cheeks to bring you into a deep kiss. Luke rolled his eyes and shook his head at the action. Scott’s actions were sending a clear sign to the taller man. That they were no longer going to be cordial with one another. Luke already didn’t like Scott, but now he had all the more reason to hate your boyfriend. The kiss broke and Scott had pulled you into a hug. You looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with Luke. Though he wasn’t physically smiling you could see it in his eyes. Luke was happy to hear that you were pregnant. Seeming to be more in love with you than ever. 

“I should go help them in the kitchen,” you said, pulling from Scott’s embrace. “Luke stay for dinner?” you asked, the words coming out more as a demand.

“I’d love to,” Luke smiled, sending a sly smirk to Scott. With this new information about the pregnancy Luke was determined more than ever to get you back. You smiled at the two of them and left to help cook. The news was finally off your chest, but you were feeling a mix of emotions and wasn’t sure how else to think about it all. Before you progressed any more in this pregnancy you had to talk to Luke. The both of you needed to discuss what he said during that last night the two of you had intimately felt one another. 

[megathethirdfork]

In The Eyes of My Toddler Down A Wooded Path

In the Eyes of My Toddler Down A Wooded Path

I am a very proud, new dad. Mine came later in life, however. At 44, when my toddler was born, l was reminded my father had already had my elder sister, brother and me at this point and we were much further in life at what would have been my age.  l felt a bit old for the high school dance, so to speak. 

When my second boy was born four months ago, my looks began to match the exhaustion and wear and tear I felt inside. That afternoon, as l took my two year old for a walk in the woods behind our house, it was, in part, to get some work out for my woefully under-exercised, overweight body; and, to get him to run and yell as much as he liked—without my constant admonishment otherwise in our home.  

As we began to roll-on down the hill into our little path in the woods, we imagined we were a choo-choo train coming down a mountain, which is a scene in a book we read often (The Little Engine That Could). Along the way, we met another dad walking a dog, which, of course, was cause to stay a while and pet the fluffy creature. As we approached, the dog was slightly more friendly towards my son but began making a low growl towards me. I almost asked if the dog doesn't like bigger black men. But l kept it neutral and asked, "does he not like taller men?" The man seemed a bit embarrassed as he tried to get the dog to behave, so to avoid further discomfort, l quickly thanked him and continued our choo choo down towards our path in the woods.  After several stops to take a closer look at a creek that is getting more forceful now that its winter, and a scientific observation of frogs and tadpoles, which are always awesome to examine along with my son, while feigning a startle for every creak and rustle in the quiet of the path, we arrived at a dead-end. We made a left on the T to continue our stroll deeper into the woods.  Behind us, coming from the right side, we could hear a white family, parents along with their older boy (relative to my little one, of course) and younger girl, making their way back up towards where we came from.  Normally, if l am alone on that path, l would make an extra effort to be friendly towards people, especially if they are white.  At 6 feet tall and over 250lb, I am keenly aware that my appearance may come across as threatening to some. If l was a smaller person or of the opposite sex, l would avoid me, too, l often thought. 

Contrary to me, my wife to this day hates going into those woods even with me next to her. If there is a hint of grey clouds in a wooded area, her mind is constantly fighting the worst thought about her surroundings. The possibility of night creeping in the woods is almost a full-blown anxiety event for her.  So, l am aware of this intrinsic fear that others have as l have heard it described often enough by my wife. Combined with what l have come to learn from her and my own experience as a black man who loves the outdoors, l have come to the conclusion long ago that most people are a bit wary when they find another person on a quite trail, especially if they're alone. They are even more wary when that person happens to be black (unless, of course they're black, too, a rare occasion in most trails, sadly). It goes downhill from there when that person appears to be pushing the upper limits of "big."  Without knowing it, over the years I have adopted a certain protocol so as not to raise a flag of the other person(s) on a trail. No sudden moves while they're close. Try to walk on the other side, furthest away from them (some trails are so narrow, this is almost impossible). Last, always say hello or acknowledge something about them, like their dog, kids...etc. The hopeful message in that endeavor: Nothing to fear here.  On a hike in Pennsylvania, Rickets Glenn, an otherwise gorgeous trail full of waterfalls with a bucolic scenery, the above protocol failed miserably as virtually every person we said hello to on that trail either tried very hard not to acknowledge our existence or straight out ignored our greetings while looking at us dead faced. The few who responded seemed highly uncomfortable and almost whispered their greetings back. I felt the catharsis of not caring when l decided not to bother for the rest of the hike.  When l heard the white family coming from the other side to my right on that dead-end, l was happy to know we weren't going to cross paths. No need for my protocol, l thought. 

(These considerations are completely superfluous with my son in tow as he broadcasts the complete opposite message. With him around l get smiles, hellos or warm greeting.  There is always the older lady who wants to caress my kids curls or comment on his long eyelashes, which is a point of conversation for most women who stop to look at him.) 

Still, l was happy for us to be on our way without having to deal with these niceties. 

My son, though, had another agenda. 

Seeing the family, he lost complete interest in our walk.  Like a dog whose ears are perked up when he hears rustling in the woods, he stopped his frog-like bounce and began to quietly observe this new, interesting interruption behind us. I could almost hear his thoughts:  "Hmm. This running and yelling at the top of my lungs and frolicking in the woods with Dada is great but over their l see kids older than me who l can play with. Let's go make some new friends! Woo hoo!" Without any warning, he began to yell at the top of his lungs, "Stop! My dad and l want to come and play with you! Wait up! We're coming!" What came out of his mouth, instead, was a shrill "Da doo!  Doooooo!"   Even though the family had moved up much further than us at this point, it was clear to them this little tyke was interacting with them. They stopped and waived, thinking that would stop my son's protestations.  Nope. That wasn't enough. He wanted to catch up to them, so he began hustling up the path, barking his baby-talk, while l tried to keep up some steps back.  The family, now understanding he's clearly trying to get their attention, politely began to waive back and slowed down their walk.  As soon as Matty caught up to them up the hill, he made a bee line and collapsed while hugging their son, cooing and laughing while doing so as if he’d known him for years, which had the whole family laughing at this surprising turn of events.  Their boy hugged my son back and they were already old friends in the thirty seconds it took for me to catch up.  Grinning sheepishly l shook hands with the father first, who also matched my expression.   "What a sweet boy," he said. "Thank you, " l replied, as l introduced myself, while telling the family my son's name.  I explained l don't want him to fear new people, at least not yet. There is always time later to break the news about interactions with strangers. The father eagerly agreed with that philosophy.  My boy's vocabulary is a total of 80 or so words, which doesn't include his full, first name.  "We call him Matty, l said, short for Matthias.  He can say Matty but when he meets new people, he's often too distracted because there are so many things he wants to say." I told their son 'Gabe' that he shares my best friend's name. The daughter, a very precocious six-year-old said, "he's adorable. But l think he likes Gabe more than me." I told her that boys look for other boys to play with at that age.  But my preference was to have a girl as my first child. "Gabe wanted a little brother, too," she replied. "Don't worry, he will learn to cherish you as he gets older," l said.  Because we were now walking back in the same direction as where we came, we were all compelled to walk at the pace of Gabe and Matty, and the discoveries they were making along the way. There was no point in walking away from one another; we were now locked into walking the rest of the path together.  I struck a conversation with the mother asking if they lived in the area. They do but they moved from Florida a few years back, from the gulf side. I told them l saw a shark there once but when l told folks on the beach, they didn't seem too concerned. Both parents chuckled and agreed that is probably how that news would be received there. I asked if they were from Florida originally. She said she was "from all over" but was born in Kansas. "Ah! My wife went to KU," l said. "I did, too," she exclaimed.  "What a small world, " we both mused. Though University of Kansas is a big school, the chances of meeting someone who attended this Midwestern university in a bedroom community of the nation's capital is rare, especially on that trail that day (I am not sure why University of Kansas is called KU as opposed to UK).  By the time we reached the opening of the trail, our sons were bonded, Gabe patiently indulging my son's feeble attempts to befriend him with his gibberish; the daughter, who, according to the parents, was complaining of her feet hurting shortly before we joined them, had completely forgotten about it, cheerfully jaunting along with us; and the parents and l had bonded on the challenges of lack of sleep, the monotony of our lives after having had children and other, shared banalities that are universal to middle class parents raising a family in the US.  The mother, noting that we just had another boy four month ago, and probably seeing the circles around my eyes, kindly looked into me and said, "it will get better when they begin to speak. Communication is wonderful." I agreed. I stated my yearning for the day when l can get to speak to them both freely and be understood.  As we began to leave the woods, my son suddenly took off to trek up the choo choo hill we climbed down earlier. I abruptly apologized to the family and followed him, and once l held him in my arms, we both turned and waived a heartfelt goodbye to all of them.  As l was entering our complex with my son sitting in his favorite position on my shoulder, with his hands beating my head like a drum, something my dad used to do for me on long walks around our home in Ethiopia, the family passed by in their car. Both kids waived. I heard the daughter yell, "bye Matty!" Take my toddler out of the equation that afternoon, and what would have transpired would have been my "trail protocol," a careful choreography of staying as far away from each other as possible. Ships passing in the night. And in this day and age, when we are all so bifurcated along virtually every category possible, sliced and diced into our corners of society like chopped onions sitting in a Tupperware of a fridge, it was a welcome respite to have a delightful time off from it all and actually be compelled to meet "the others."

[fictionfactorygames]

Boardwalk Fried

Over Memorial Day weekend, my family went on a classic beach vacation — rent a house, go crawl the boardwalk, eat food that’s 87% grease by volume, things like that. And ~as is tradition~ for these outings, I took this opportunity to visit some boardwalk arcades.

I’ve got happy childhood memories from mid-atlantic beaches and their arcades. Notably Hampton Beach, up in New Hampshire, which had several absolutely stellar arcades in the late 80s and early 90s. I remember wiling many an hour away on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, after bopping from classic to classic, experiencing a wide variety of games. Fumbling with lightguns that were just a bit too large for me. Having Dad work the gas pedal while sitting on his lap and playing RoadBlasters. Good times, good times.

But that’s through nostalgia goggles, and many a decade gone by. How fares these beach arcades in 2017…? Let’s just say I went in with bottom-tier expectations and they did not entirely disappoint. (More below the click. Lots of photos, so I wanted to give you a chance to not load ’em if you’re just browsing the blog…)

Although I visited three different arcades, all three were basically identical — prize games (UFO catchers, string cutters, Stacker, etc) which are no doubt fixed as hell, ticket-based redemption games of varying skill and chance, and not a single joystick in sight. Seriously, none. Not even one of those re-release cabs of Ms. Pac-Man / Galaga that every arcade seemed to use as their obligatory nod to the past for dads to play while kids went crazy in a thinly veiled casino. Each game cost $1.00 for about ten seconds of play and a questionable amount of tickets, which could be exchanged for an extremely questionable array of cheap junk. (For some reason these arcades had a LOT of kitchen equipment priced at 30,000 tickets. Who goes to the beach and says “I gotta win me that cuisinart”?)

Want the worst offender of the lot? Here you go:

This is Frogger. This is also decidedly not Frogger. For starters, there are no controls. None. When you touch the frog-shaped button… Frogger automatically starts jumping forward at a steady pace that you can’t actually control. Meaning invariably, he’ll end up plopping in the water, because the only skill in this game is deciding when to start him jumpin’ in hoeps that you can time it to reach the end safely. Oh, and unlike the original game where the first half of the board are cars to avoid, now it’s bugs you have to grab. So the entire point of the original game, to dodge every moving hazard, is gone.

This is Pac-Man. This is also decidedly not Pac-Man. It’s a “medal game” or “coin pusher”, where you drop a coin in, and it plinks around a bit, adding to the hoard below. There’s a miniscule chance it’ll push some coins off the edge… and that gives you tickets. If you’re lucky. It gets by claiming to be a game of skill because you can sort-of time your coin release to try and push the hoard, but with all the plinko-like bopping around, it’s 1% skill and 99% dumb luck.

I saw this in common with pretty much every “game.” A tiny, tiny amount of skill (deciding when to release the frog) and a hell of a lot of random chance, resulting in a few tickets. It’s a slot machine, pure and simple. Amazing that this is legal, considering it’s straight-up gambling for kiddies — and just like Vegas, the house always wins.

Now, before I sound too Old Man Yells At Cloud, I understand why this is the arcade of 2017. It sells. It makes money. In a ruthlessly pragmatic view it provides small children the rush of gambling in a sketchy but legally safe way, and that translates to earnings. Even back in the joystick era earnings ruled the roost — it’s why the market crashed, to a degree, because of the glut of new games as operators rushed to replace games that kids got bored with, trying to keep those earnings up. We live in a capitalist society, and it’s eat-or-die.

But that merely explains the situation, not excuses it. And there are no excuses… not when I found two pretty good examples of how to make money and provide a satisfying game.

This is Crossy Road, a port of the popular mobile game. This is actually Crossy Road, with the only concession made being a lack of left-to-right movement. Otherwise, it’s the same game — like the actual, factual Frogger and not the bastardization above, it revolves around timing your movements to weave through traffic and across rivers. In the end, you get tickets based on how far you got.

Why does this work? Because it’s a fun game, and a ticket producer. It provides a satisfying game experience for the person playing, it earns money, and it still integrates into the ticket-driven casino economy. You can play this just for the sake of playing it, to see how high a score you can get, for the white-knuckled thrill of juuuust squeezing between two cars. It’s an honest-to-goodness video game, which rewards skill more than luck.

And then we have the grand champion of the entire 2017 experience…

This is Space Invaders. This is actually a supremely amazing re-imagining of Space Invaders. You sit down in front of a future space laser gun, and directly blast the hell out of trippy techno-graphic invaders, glowing with rainbow colors, gradually getting more and more intense until it lives up to the new name it’s been given: Space Invaders Frenzy. And as you can see here, it’s score-driven, providing an amazing skill-powered video game experience. And like Crossy Road, it rewards solid play with solid tickets.

I played this game multiple times not just to get more tickets to buy more plastic spider rings but because I was having fun.

And this is, ultimately, what I want from arcades in 2017. Games. Real games, which challenge and reward your rise to that challenge with a fun and engaging experience. I don’t want to just hit the lever and get a random amount of tickets based on a ridiculously rigged casino game, I want to sit down and put my skills to the test against a game’s rules, and be rewarded for getting better and better. You can do that and integrate into the prize structure of the 2017 arcade, as these two games prove.

Sadly, designing a game to be a game first and a slot machine second takes, y’know, effort. And a lot of these “game” designers just do not want to bother, not when they can increase earnings by slapping any old licensed property on top of the same Vegas mechanics they’ve been using for twenty years. And that’s unfortunate…

…but it does give me plenty of fodder for designing the villain in Arcade Spirits. So, thank you, lazy game designers and lazy arcade operators, for making my job even lazier.

[demi-angel-novel]

Chapter 2 where are my bells

I woke up to a splash of ice-cold water. I instantly jolted up and whipped my head from side to side. 

“Finally! Your awake took ya long enough.” A girls voice said. 

“Hm”, I turned behind me and saw a girl, she had messy choppy shoulder-length bronze hair paired with olive skin and polished silver eyes, resting on her head were a pair of black goggles with gold designs. Her body was slightly toned with a large feminine chest. She wore a black coat with a white tank top with splatters of oil. Under that, she wore a pair of faded baggy blue jeans and brown steel-toed work boots. On her hands were a pair of brown worn gloves. On her waist were a blacksmith hammer and a chisel. The most notable thing about her was her wings, they were entirely metallic. They were connected to a bronze cog and beams that made the outline of the wings under them were a section of bronze metal feathers and under those were silver beams that acted as the rest of the feathers and wings. 

“Okay, I’m seeing mechanical angels…you know what, I’m gonna lay back down and wake up.” I said as I literally leaned back down. 

“Oh no you don’t orphan boy, get back up.” She grabbed my arm and yanked me up. 

“There that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” I went back down.  

“why you, gah!  Get up or I throw the bucket at you!” sighs 

“fine” when I stood up, I looked around. “What the the bakery is”-

“back to normal?” She finished for me with a smug grin. 

“Uh…yeah”. It suddenly hit me, “hold on where’s the family!” I cried out. 

“Calm down, they’re fine” she motioned her hand to the family each asleep in a booth. I breathed out the biggest sigh in my life. 

“Whew, I’m glad. Hey angel, who’re you?”

“My names Ariana, Ariana Flores.” She said proudly. “What about you orphan boy?” 

“Thomas Thomas Di Angelo, nice to meet you, Ariana.” 

“Likewise”.

 “So, what are you, my guardian angel or something?” 

“Nope, I’m a forger, warrior sometimes”

…“huh?” 

“Oh sorry, I’m a Demi-angel, half angel half human, and so are you. 

“Uh huh, and I’m the emperor of mars.” 

“I’m serious, don’t you see the wings?” 

“Yeah, I still think this is a dream.” She pinched me “ow!” “That feel fake to you?”

“Fine, you're real. So what does this have to do with me?” 

“You know that big scaly demon? There’s a lot more of them out there, and now that you’ve seen them you’ll be even more noticeable. So please let me you.”

“Sure”,

“huh?”,

 “I really don’t have anywhere to go, so, yeah. I’ll go with ya, I mean you saved my life, y'cant be all that bad. Maybe a little hot-headed…”

“don’t push your luck, Thomas”. 

“But I trust you so…how are we getting there?“ Her face grew the same smile I usually have and it sent shivers down my spine. 

"Step outside and I’ll show you hehehe” she said in a sly tone. I don’t like the sound of that I thought

I walked outside “okay so now wha-”. I couldn’t finish my sentence as I was rocketed into the air 

“woah!” I yelled “a little warning next time would be nice!” 

“Oh don’t be such a baby. You’re fine, just enjoy the ride”. After a few minutes of silence and me getting adjusted to being in the air I spoke again 

“so you said you were taking me somewhere right? Care to explain it?”

 “Sure, to be honest, it's more like a school. It’s basically where we learn how to fight, survive, protect people, and learn about the supernatural. It has a headmaster his name is Achilles. He’s preeeety old, but all around a nice guy.” 

“You sure your not talking about Hogwarts ? Oh let me guess, he’s Dumbledore.” She snickered,

“ironically enough that’s his nickname, but! Don’t say it to his face.” 

“Why?” Her face paled 

“just don’t, okay?” I rolled my eyes 

“alright. So how is no one shouting out, look there’s a human metal wombat?” 

“Do you want me to drop you? Sigh, but to answer your question a long time ago Demi-angels went all over the world and made a gigantic sheet of magic that masks the supernatural from regular people. We call it the veil, but it can go by many names, like mist or glamour. Most people can’t see past it, except for a few reasons one God speaks to a person shows certain things but, that is the absolute rarest, two people who’re born with extremely high amounts of spirit energy”-

“okay, and what’s tha-” 

“please save your questions until the lesson is over, mr.Di Angelo.” 

“Yes miss Flores.” 

“Now, the third is that if a person becomes an oracle. That’s it, for now, I’ll leave the rest to your teacher.” 

“What? It just got good” 

“too bad we’re here.” 

“You can’t just waltz on in with a but load of information and just cut it off like that.” 

“Yes, I can and this is a school you’ll learn everything eventually so why worry.” 

“Ugh” I grunted as we descended I saw a grassy field with several trees peppered around the plain with multiple mountain spires jetting out of the ground carved in with weird glowing symbols with one for each mountain. We finally landed. 

“Uhhh…gear head”? 

“Don’t call me that!” 

“You sure you got the right place? There seems to be a large amount of nothing.” 

“That’s because you're looking too low, look up”. 

“Great, a whole sky of nothing no wait!” 

“Finally!” She exasperated 

“no, wait, it’s just a cloud”. “Ughhh” Ariana sighed I’m gonna kill him she thought

. “Thomas. Focus. And. Look. Again.” She said weighing every word. “The veil is still affecting you just focus okay, so I don’t smack you with my Hammer trying to fix that head of yours.” 

“Alright alright, geez what has the world come to when no one can appreciate good humor.” I focused my eyes and the sky shimmered as if there was an intense flame ablaze. And it slowly separated revealing a giant cathedral floating atop a cloud. I felt my left eye twitching 

“h…how HOW that shouldn’t even be physically possible!” Ariana was having a good laugh at my expense 

“hahaha! You should see your face it’s hilarious haha…she stopped for breath o..ok I’m better”. She took off her goggles and reflected the sunlight in Morse code that I couldn’t understand. 

“Oh, you might wanna step back a little bit” 

“alriiight” I said being skeptical as soon as I stepped back a gold staircase crashed at the exact spot I was standing creating a goat smoke cloud 

“WHAT "cough” “What the heck was that!“ 

"They should really fix that” Ariana muttered as she flapped her wings dispersing the dust. 

“I would have been a pancake if you didn’t tell me that”. 

“Yep! Come on slow poke we’re burning daylight”. As we ascended the stair I saw the cathedral better the walls outside of it were decorated in platinum and silver with linings and a roof made of gold. The base was made of bronze as were two giant doors. With designs of giant outstretched wings stretching out from the middle with rays beaming off of them. On the sides of the doors were giant stone statues of angels decked out in armor with broadswords pointed to the ground. Around the buildings were metal gargoyles in the form of birds hawks eagles owls etc, etc that look extremely dangerous. And with each statue appearing to be ready to move at any moment

Ariana stepped forward and opened the doors 

"welcome to your new home". I think my mouth touched the floor again because Ariana had another laughing fit. The area was beautiful, the floor was made of polished marble, the walls were decorated in platinum and the ceiling in gold with multiple marble columns darted everywhere. In the sky and floor were a rainbow of colors and varieties of wings and colors some were regular feathers some reptilian and some like Arian not made from a feather or a animal. And some with what appears to be made of energy. I felt a pain in my cheek as Ariana pinched me 

"ow". 

"Stop gawking and let's get you registered". 

"You love hurting me don't you." 

"I will neither deny or agree with that statement" she said in a mocking tone I rolled my eyes, we walked up to a large woman sitting behind a brown desk. She had cocoa brown skin with black hair tied into a fluffy ponytail. She wore a purple business suit. On her face she wore a warm smile and welcoming brown eyes. She noticed us walking up to her and said 

"welcome back, Ariana, how're you doing?" 

“Pretty well, ms.williams, you?" 

"Oh child, fabulous as always, oh and who are you handsome?" My fave heated up in a small blush. 

"He's the fledgling I was assigned to pick up." 

"Well, welcome to the family as I'm sure you heard from Ariana I'm ms.williams and you must be, 

“Thomas Di Angelo ma'am". 

"Oh, nice name," 

"thank-you". 

"If you couldn't guess I'm in charge of most of the regular schoolwork, but I've taken enough of your time. Ah speak of the devil it appears Achilles is ready for you both. Thomas just follow Ariana she'll show you to his office". 

" Sure see you later ms.William" Ariana said "have a good day children" she answered back. We walked through the wooden doors with headmaster over it and I saw Achilles' office and just like everything in this school is bigger on the inside he had multiple shelves stacked to the brim In books quills pens pencils styluses and any other thing you could think of. I front of him was an oak wood desk with many papers stacked to the ceiling and between the stacks sat a man in blue and gold robes. He had a bald head with an extremely shiny head that reflected every light in the office. Across his forehead is a large scar. He had small eyes most likely due to age with red and orange eyes that reminded me of the sun. And in each still held the same energy of a young man. On his skin were literally as many wrinkles as time itself. His skin was extremely dark brown most likely from sun exposure. He had an extremely long beard that touched his stomach. He sat on a silver throne with black wheels on the bottom with a wooden cane resting on the side. And currently he is drinking from a mug that read #1 angelic headmaster. On his back were two extremely large gold wings. That were extremely bright so much so that I nearly had to cover my eyes. He finished his drinking and noticed 

"ah, delicious oh my apologies children". 

"No worries headmaster". 

"Ah that's a relief oh, and it seems that with the appearance of this young man it appears your mission was a success." His voice was very deep and ancient with a hint of an African accent. 

"That's right sir, this is Thomas Di Angelo". 

"Welcome Thomas, we are happy to have you attending our school. 

"Thank-you sir". 

"We'll get acquainted later. Now let's get you registered. I already have your name, age?" 

"15". 

"Mhm,angelic parent?" 

"Uh, I don't know, sir" "well that's fine we can...". I got another headache and saw a rushing storm cloud and it was coming in fast. 

"Thomas, what's wrong?" Ariana asked 

"Move." I muttered," 

"what?" 

"I said, move!" I yelled as I pushed her out of the way of the storm but I ended up taking her place. I got rammed by the storm and got dragged through hallways,walls,classrooms,and numerous other things. Until it finally flew me through a window, shattering it causing me to gain many cuts and plenty of bruises. It didn't stop as it started slamming me through trees and rocks. I started clawing my way around the cloud until I began mounting it. I heard a voice echo in my head, 

"get off,get off!" 

"Wait, you can talk?" I said in my mind 

"of course I can you idiot. Now get off!" 

"No not until you let me down!" 

"And get captured again? No way in hell kid. Looks like I'll have to kill you." 

"What?! Don't you dare!" He suddenly shot into the sky, the already present clouds turn grey and stormy from the storm I'm riding suddenly sparks with lightning shocking me which in turn caused the surrounding clouds to join in making me a human lightning rod. The pain was excruciating I felt and smelt my skin burning and my body being destroyed. Some how it subsided and eventually I felt better my body was being healed. My mind cleared and my eyes became a thousand times sharper and I felt something shoot out of my back but for now I ignored it. With the air smelling of ozone and all the anger I held inside I yelled in a voice I didn't know I possessed. In a booming thunderous voice I said. 

"YOU SHALL LISTEN TO ME! My name is Thomas Di Angelo, child of the archangel Ramiel The Thunder of God, and I command you to let be down!" If clouds could smirk this one did. 

"Heh, yes sir" he said as it shot back down to the ground. Where there was an army of people gathered around in a circle waiting for me to land. As I got off the storm he said 

"the names cyclone, by the way, see ya later boss." And right after he said it he dissipated. I saw all of the students gawking at me until I saw Achilles break through the crowd. 

"Thomas how are you are you hurt?" 

"No sir not as far as I can tell." 

"That's good to hear now, WHO LET THE STORM SPIRIT OUT THROUGH THE SCHOOL!" He roared. A person who presumed was a teacher stepped forward. He had a shaved head with a brown suit and black goatee. 

"I did sir, it had to do with a lesson and this one broke free." 

"Ah, I see now" he struck the ground with his staff gaining everyones attention your all dismissed the shows over return to your classes!" I saw Ariana race up to me with a shocked look on her face. 

"Hm what's wrong?" I asked. 

"Thomas you-you have your wings!" 

"I do? Where?" I looked to my sides and saw two wings. On the rounded tip of the wing were pure white as it went down it turned into grey and finally black feathers with blue tips. They resemble the progression of a storm. I noticed upon closer inspection that they were round and fuzzy like a baby chicks wings. 

"Woah cool" I said astonished myself. I heard hearty laughter as Achilles clapped me on my shoulder. 

"Seems old Ramiel finally had a child." 

"Wait...you heard me?!" 

"My boy! Your voice boomed as loud as thunder the whole school heard. 

"Yeah, I didn’t know you had it in ya stormy" Ariana teased. 

"Thanks, gear head~" 

"I told you not to call me that!" We both entered into an argument while Achilles laughed as we all walked back to finish registration.