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janbirdie20 · 3 years ago

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Rays of Sunlight

Altan Hussan was not a wolf to be trifled with. He was old and tired of the ennui brought on by age. He came to the Alpha of all Alphas to die, but his wish was not granted. Altan was a warrior in every sense of the word, but what happens when his cold, isolated heart meets the hurricane that is Sunny Redfeather, a Navajo Skinwalker from Arizona.

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

Chapter One: There She Goes

Can you remember

Who you were,

Before the world

Told you who you should be?

K.w.

Being named after the sun was a hard thing to live up to. Sunny couldn’t decide if she wanted to be a raging inferno destined to burn the world down with her fire or a sweet, simple beam of light to warm the dark places in others. It really depended on whether or not she had any coffee that morning if she was going to blind the shit out of someone or just be a subtle discomfort. Like if you fell asleep in the sun for too long.

Like seriously who names their kid after a freakin’ hot ball of gas in the sky that, in like eight hundred billion years, would swallow the earth in a fiery explosion and kill any life on it?

Well at least she wasn’t named after the floating rock in the sky where that one guy's missing left testicle was, wait that’s Lance Armstrong the cyclist, not Niel the astronaut, whoops. But damn all those white guys looked the same in her opinion. Sunny was hardly the worst name in the world, cough North West cough, she could live with it.

“Sun, whatcha thinking about?” Moony, said child named after the floating rock in the sky, asked her. Maybe she could change her name? Bethany? Barbara? Something starting with a B maybe?

“Lance Armstrong’s missing left testicle and if he is related to Neil or not.” She responded plainly, ignoring the startled look the woman in seat 2-B sent her. If she didn’t want to hear about Lance Armstrong’s missing left testicle she should stop eavesdropping like a hoe. Little bitch was sending goo-goo eyes at her twin. Moony, her twin Moony, who has never kissed a girl in his life, let alone seen one naked. Which was what this white woman was thinking about if the disgusting smell of lust redating off her was anything to go by.

Over her dead body would this woman pop Moony’s cherry! She giggled and shot Hussie Number Two a glare she had been working on for the 1.58 hours it took to fly from the Navajo Indian Reservation in Arizona to Stevensville, Montana. The woman looked back down at her Vogue magazine and if Sunny wasn’t feeling so possessive she would have admired the chick’s tastes. On magazines, not men. What about Steph? Nah, that sounded like an STD. Tiff? Tiffy?

“Sounds fun, but let’s call that a personal topic.” Moony drawled, smirking at 2-B and causing her to blush. Which is why 2-B was Hussie Number Two and not number one, as that lovely spot was permanently taken by Jacy Redfeather. AKA Moony.

“Why, Lance Armstrong will never find his missing left testicle if the general public is not informed of its… missingness,” Sunny smirked, she was good at that and blew a strand of bubble gum pink hair out of her face. The look on Catori Redfeather’s face when Sunny came home from Europe with pink hair was priceless, god did she wish she had a camera.

“If you say Lance Armstrong and missing left testicle in the same sentence again I will throw you out of this plane and laugh,” Moony growled. Sunny gasped and jutted out her bottom lip. She was good at pouting too. She had lots of talents.

“What if I said Lance Armstrong’s misspaced not the right ball but the other one, instead?”

“How can you misplace a testicle? I can’t believe we came from the same womb.”

“Me either, have you seen my face, God was mean to you Moons.” Sunny shook her head in sympathy and placed a tan hand on his broad shoulder for comfort. Moony pressed his plump lips together in disgust and shrugged off her hand. Rude.

“God was mean to me in more ways than one. Giving us you as a family member proves that there is sin in the world.” He droned, shifting his long legs, careful not to kick the seat in front of him. Moony was considerate like that, unlike Sunny who knocked the hell out of the seat in front of her when she did the same thing. Why the guy had to glare at her she had no idea, it’s not like she meant to give him a bloody nose. Baby-backed bitch, she thought, sticking a tongue out at the back of his seat, like an adult.

“I am so telling Amá you said that!” Sunny whined, channeling a very accurate Kim K performance. She thought she should get a Grammy for her work. She already had her acceptance speech planned. I would like to thank my legs for getting me places, my arms for feeding me….

“Go ahead, she’ll agree with me,” Moony said, totally unaware she had just cut him out of her will. He took a sniff and furrowed his brows. Sunny smelled the air too and only came up with the scent of airplanes and feet. “I wonder what her name is?” He whispered, barely a sound came out from his lips. But Sunny could hear, could still hear it even if he was in the bathroom at the very back. Mountain lions had very good hearing and so did their Skinwalker counterparts.

“Brenda or some other white name. Why do you care? It’s not like you’re gonna see her again.” Sunny glared at her once more.

“Casual fun, ain’t nothing wrong with it, Suns.” Moony tilted forward to smirk at Hussie Number Two, letting the full might of his Navajo features overpower the woman’s delicate sensibilities. Moony was handsome, even though she had to admit it, with gorgeous long black hair and piercing brown eyes, he could stop a heart in its chest. Then again the same could be said for Sunny, though her features were wider than her twin’s. She had their mother’s Hopi face.

“Moon, we’re Baptist, no diddles before marriage, remember?” Moony sighed and sat back, closing his eyes for a moment. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his unconscious tick he did when he had a headache. Sunny reached down, rummaging through her brown bag, and slipped two Advil into his large palm. Moony took them without saying anything, he didn’t have to, Sunny felt his gratefulness.

“Attention passengers, we will be landing in Stevensville Memorial Airport in ten minutes, please fasten your seatbelts, raise your tray tables and prepare for landing. On behalf of Delta Airlines, we thank you for flying with us.”

Ten minutes before landing. Ten minutes before they were in Merrick's territory. Ten minutes till Sunny’s life would change.

#my story #excerpt from a story i'll never write #stories #written update #rays of sunlight #chapter one #funny #romance #romantic couple

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years ago

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Heart and Liver

Stephen and Crane are getting ready to uproot their lives and move across the globe to Shangai. Which means Stephen needs to get his mouth around an entirely new language, something he clearly isn't very comfortable with.

But Crane has a way to get him to loosen up.

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I apologise for any mistranslations in this text, I've used online articles and am very aware it won't reflect the dialect used in Shangai in the Victorian Era. Sometimes you just hear the song Sunrise from In The Heights early in your adolescence and your taste for Person A teaching Person B their language fics is solidified.

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Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 and reblogging! <3

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Stephen Day was a very good teacher.

Crane had seen the evidence himself multiple times. He’d seen him talk Miss Saint through the drills he gave her, the way he would correct her mistakes in ways that built her up rather than made her feel small, that steered her towards improvement rather than smacked her down, the way he would praise her effusively even after she’d just launched a gust of wind that had knocked him back on his arse. He’d seen the way that Saint looked at him after she’d mastered some new technique that was incomprehensible to Crane, after hours and hours of patience and encouragement from Stephen. Even through her street sharpened exterior, she would look at him like he’d hung the moon.

And he’d felt it himself, whenever the vast gulf between the worlds they knew would mean Stephen had to explain some magical phenomenon to him. His hands would twitch and turn as he spoke, like he was physically untangling the words themselves to make them understandable. Even if after he was done Crane could only smile and shake his head and shrug, expecting his lover to give up, Stephen would just launch into a slightly tweaked version of his explanation. He’d liken it to something Crane would grasp, analogise etheric currents to stocks and bonds or, in one memorable instance, translocation spells to this thing Crane would do to Stephen in bed whenever he’d either been very good or very bad. And then suddenly things would click in his mind and what, a few years ago, would have sounded like a fairy tale made sense to him.

He’d even seen him do it with Merrick a few times, the usually gruff manservant had taken one look at what Stephen could do with a pack of cards and began watching his hands very, very attentively whenever they’d all sit down to play of an evening. Even then, Stephen had recognised a different, slightly more hesitant student and adjusted his teaching style accordingly. He’d said nothing, he’d just made his movements slower, clearly telegraphed every twist of his slender wrists, casually dropped the names of the maneuvers he was making into conversation. He’d even deliberately flubbed the shuffles a few times, just so Merrick could see the mechanism more clearly as he righted it. It had worked as well as any of his other methods, Crane felt sorry for the boiler room lads on their boat to Shanghai, likely the first people his friend would approach with his new skills.

Stephen was indeed a brilliant teacher. He was patient, kindly when needed, firm when it was called for and always gave everything he had to helping his student achieve their goal. He cared, as simple as that.

So it was both a surprise and a shame that Stephen was such an appalling student.

Crane shifted on the bed, trying to fidget away his growing impatience, along with the growing cramps in his long legs, “Try again, you’re putting too much emphasis on the second syllable. Hunzhang.”

Stephen huffed, arms folding tighter, “I’m putting emphasis on the second syllable because you told me I was putting too much on the first!”

Crane stamped down an urge to laugh that would definitely get him kicked out of the bedroom. Stephen was just inexplicably adorable when he was irritated, it was like watching a puppy bare its teeth.

“Come on, listen to how I say it. Hunzhang.”

Stephen gave him a truly devastating eye roll but he sat up straighter against the bolsters and tried again, “Hunzhang.”

Crane grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Not something he’d ever dare do in one of his fine suits but the sun had long since gone down and he was in his shirtsleeves. Stephen was considerably less dressed, wearing nothing but an older shirt of Crane’s he tended to sleep in. Or get fucked in, more often, but that was having to wait for the language lesson.

“Hark at you! You’d fit right in, any trading floor in Shanghai,” Crane beamed appreciatively. He was being generous, Stephen’s pronunciation was dire but that shirt was riding up and he could see enough freckled thigh to earn some praise, “And what does it mean?”

His little witch pulled a face, “Bullshit. Because, for some reason, you think learning how to curse up one side of someone and down the other is going to help me in Shangai.”

“It’s how I learned,” Crane shrugged languidly, “And you’d be surprised how far a few well placed insults can get you.”

Stephen’s mouth tightened at the corners, his tone staying mildly irritated but that slightest pull of muscle betraying his anxiety, “I’m going to stick out enough on my own without accidentally calling someone a stupid egg of all things.”

Crane’s teasing smile softened. Their departure date was now less than a month away and he could tell Stephen’s nerves were growing by the day. As they prepared to pack up their lives and move to the other side of the world, he could see those lines around his tawny eyes deepening. Part of the reason for this language lesson was to get Stephen more comfortable with the idea, give him some sense of control over the situation so he didn’t feel so much like he was being thrown into deep, unfamiliar water.

Part of the reason why Crane wished it was going better.

“You’re not going to stick out,” he said firmly, reaching over and taking one of Stephen’s hands that had started to twitch and fidget nervously on the bed, “We’re going there so we can belong. You’ll see.”

Stephen nodded slowly, his anxious hands stilling as Crane’s slender fingers stroked the hills and valleys of their calluses and knuckles. Any attention to his hands and the younger man instantly melted, becoming pliant and gentle, receptive to even more language lessons.

“Let’s run through a few words that won’t get you punched in the teeth then?”

Stephen blinked warily, “God, how likely is that?”

Crane had to laugh, “Honestly, quite likely someone will swing for you. Impossible that any will actually land seeing as I’ll be knocking them into the dirt.”

That made him grin toothily, “Defending my honour?”

“The amount of time I spend defending you from people you piss off, might as well call it my profession,” Crane raised his eyebrows teasingly, “But you’re not changing the subject that easily, darling. Let’s see…”

Crane’s cool grey eyes wandered the room. They hadn’t started packing yet- that would be a job for the next few weeks- so the evidence of their secret shared life was still scattered all over the place. There were a few ties carefully hung on the back of the door from Crane choosing which one he wanted to wear that morning, draped next to Stephen’s ratty old coat. There were Stephen’s books on the occult stacked neatly alongside Crane’s stories of far flung places and grand adventures that he’d been reading since he was a little boy, for escape back then and for nostalgia now. There was the scuff marks on the carpet where Stephen would pace whenever some case had been bothering him or the twin marks running parallel to those where Crane would pace with ledgers in hand. Behind these walls, their lives could get hopelessly, wonderfully tangled like they were meant to be. And given that neither man was particularly good at keeping things neat, that left plenty of items and plenty of words.

Crane took a moment, considering before giving him an easy one, “Xié.”

Stephen sat up a little straighter, eyes brightening now he actually had an answer, “Shoes.”

Crane nodded, gesturing towards their shoes, standing side by side at the foot of the wardrobe. Crane’s significantly larger and better made, Stephen’s smaller and far more scuffed from running.

“Shūjià,” he chose next, smile turning challenging.

Stephen clearly stumbled at that, brow furrowing for a few minutes before answering hesitantly, “Book?”

“Close!” Crane said encouragingly, “Bookshelf. Book would be Shū but you can hear how the words sound similar.”

His tone didn’t seem to have done it’s job, Stephen’s face crashed, “Right. I only missed half the damn word.” He took his hands back, folding his arms tightly around his narrow chest again.

Crane knew if Stephen felt dejected, if he felt like he had failed even in the slightest respect, it was so hard to get him going again. For someone who could do impossible things, he didn’t have a lot of faith in himself.

“Come on, one more,” he said, quickly veering away from that word, “You’re on one and a half already! Try...um...Chuáng.”

Stephen opened his mouth, closed it again, cast his eyes around helplessly. After a few moments he groaned, shoulders dropping, “Lucien, I don’t know…”

“You do, you’re just tired,” Crane sighed, a little lost on how to sound encouraging but not patronising, that would absolutely bring this to an end if Stephen caught the slightest hint of pity in his voice, “Chuáng, it's right under your nose. Right under all of you, actually.”

His witch frowned at him, frustration clearly kindled and flaring behind his eyes, “What? Lucien, if you have to give me hints I clearly don’t know the word.”

Crane rather felt like somehow who’d realised that was in fact a waterfall his boat was about to topple over. He cleared his throat and learned back, reevaluating. He was starting to worry that maybe Stephen wasn’t such a bad student, maybe he was just a terrible teacher.

So he would go for something they were both good at instead.

“It was the word for bed,” he skipped lightly over it, his confident smile reignighting, “But I have a new game.”

Stephen exhaled, eyes closing in exasperation, “Lucien, I’m burned out on language learning, can’t we just go to sleep? It was hard enough for me to read and write English, let alone a completely different tongue.”

That very obvious, very heavy shift in the air between them, the kind that only happened when someone had let something slip, when some words had bolted and run loose when they really weren’t meant to. And if it wasn’t obvious already, Stephen’s face had turned roughly the same colour as his hair.

Crane proceeded carefully, so carefully, “What do you mean by that, love?”

His lover seemed to fold in on himself, like a nocturnal animal caught out in the daylight, “I...it’s a practitioner thing. They call it word blindness, I think. When I was a child, I...I struggled. Reading, writing, speaking, all of it. They just wouldn’t stay still on the page or stick in my head. Esther had the same thing when she was a girl and you know Saint’s never got the hang of it but she gets along fine. I...I thought I was just an imbecile for years, that's what all my teachers said, until I realised what I actually was. Until I realised I can manipulate metal and make things levitate easier than I can write my own name.”

Crane watched his love’s face carefully, making certain to keep his own free of any trace of pity even when his heart ached a little for the boy Stephen had been, “Just when I think I can't admire you any more, you go and surprise me.”

If Stephen was red in the face before, he was positively vermillion now, though the hope hesitantly creeping into his eyes offset it nicely, “You find it admirable that I was nearly illiterate until I turned twenty?”

“That you tried,” Crane said simply, warmly, “That you didn’t give up even when you were put through so much. That you’ve gotten through everything life threw at you with sheer determination and spit.”

Stephen didn’t have an answer for that, squirming in that adorable way he did when he was overwhelmed with praise, like it all went straight to his nerve endings, “I mean...it’s making learning Shangaiese a pain.”

“And if you want to take a break, of course we can,” Crane shifted forward, moving into a crouch not unlike a hunting animal about to pounce, close enough that he caught every millimeter as Stephen’s pupils widened, “But I think I have one more idea I’d like to try. If you’re willing?”

Stephen had stopped squirming, pinned under that gaze, swallowing hard, “One more?”

Crane felt that twinge in his chest, the spark of triumph whenever he got this little witch who could throw him across the room with a single thought to bow to his whims.

He deliberately lowered his voice until it was a rumble in his chest, leaning closer until he could graze Stephen’s earlobe with his teeth, “Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to say?”

Stephen’s exhale was shaky, the want rolling off of him, “How...how do you say ‘kiss me’?”

Crane chuckled roughly, “Wěn wǒ. Though I don’t think that’s really what you want, sweet boy. It’s a little...chaste?”

He heard his lover’s coy answering laugh echo through his through, “To start. Wěn wǒ.”

The pronunciation could still use a little work but that was the last thing on Crane’s mind as he answered the request eagerly, moving back and pressing his lips to Stephen’s. He felt his little witch moan and melt into it, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders and anchor them together. The scrape of stubble against his chin as he deepened their kiss told of the hectic few days Stephen had been having, so much happening at the justiciary that he hadn’t even had time to shave. Crane knew how lucky he was to be getting a whole evening with him and didn’t intend to waste it.

He could feel Stephen’s hands pulling at his shirt, trying to undress him, so he moved away and took hold of those skinny wrists, “You need to ask me.”

Stephen moaned in frustration but Crane rather thought it was his cock talking, the gleam of competition was still shining in those eyes rapidly turning golden, “Fine. My lord, how do I ask you to take off your clothes so you can fuck me silly?”

Crane had to laugh at that, “Well, I’ll shorten it for brevity but...Tuō diào nǐ de yīfú.”

Stephen’s eyes widened for a moment but then his face set determinedly, “Say it again? Slower?”

A mix of relief and pride in his lover made him smile down at him before obeying. He saw that fight in Stephen, the one he’d always admired, the one that had saved their skins on multiple occasions. Granted, it was a little different given that he was clearly aroused and sprawled out on the pillows like a half unwrapped gift.

“Tuō diào nǐ de yīfú.”

Again, the pronunciation was a horror and he wobbled his way through the unfamiliar sounds but he would have been understood at least. Not that he’d be saying it to anyone but Crane, in China or England.

Crane didn’t try to hide his delighted grin as he swept his shirt grandly over his head, followed swiftly by his trousers and everything underneath. He folded it all neatly before returning to the bed, he was never going to understand his lover’s willingness to just toss his clothes all over the place.

The way Stephen’s eyes blew wide at the sight of him was enough for even Crane to plumb new depths of vanity, “God, Lucien…”

“You see me sans modesty most every day, love,” he pointed out, though he wasn’t complaining.

“And I use my magic every day,” Stephen tilted his head slightly so the lamplight caught in his hair and turned it to gold, “It doesn’t mean it’s any less like having a weight taken off my chest.”

Crane didn’t know how he did it, how Stephen somehow found the right strings to pull and send him reeling out of nowhere. How he pulled the ground out from under him without a thought, how he looked right under his skin to the very soul of him and, somehow, found reasons to love it.

How he left him with no answer but to rush forward and kiss him again, forgetting the rules of his own game. Stephen made a noise of happy surprise, moving to match him, hands beginning to wander eagerly, leaving tingling trails across his lover’s skin to mark their passage.

But apparently Crane had sparked some curiosity.

When Stephen took his cock in his clever champagne fingers, he gasped against Crane’s mouth, “And what would I call this?”

His words came out significantly breathier as that fizzing, popping sensation wrapped around him, “There’s a few terms. I’d say jība…”

“Jība,” it was impossible to care about the shaky syllables when he rolled it around his mouth in that unbearably sensual way, when he stroked a calloused thumb across the underside of the thing in question as he said it, “But there’s other ways of saying it?”

“A few more colourful phrases,” Crane admitted, “As in every language I expect but- oh God, Stephen…”

“We can review a few of those later then,” the smile on his face was nothing short of cheeky and he was going to be paying for that very shortly, “And...what exactly are you planning on doing with it, my lord?”

Crane smirked, it’s wickedly sharp edge making it clear that he was very much in control of this lesson and Stephen could just take a step back and remember his place, “Xìngjiāo. Hard and fast and thoroughly until you can’t walk.”

The effect was immediate, his lover turning pliant and wide eyed as Crane put a hand on the small of his back and dragged him closer. The hand snapped away from his cock and instead hovered around his chest with the other like nervous birds waiting for commands.

“Shì de…” he whispered after a moment of thought, eyes sparking with pride in himself though his face stayed carefully obedient.

Well, that went and did it.

Stephen was on his back in an instant, Crane seizing his ankles. Stephen cried out as his knees were shoved to his chest, as the shirt he wore rucked up around his stomach, all of him exposed and ready to be taken. So beautiful, so fragile and given to him so willingly.

“Xīngān…” The word escaped him even without thinking, like it was his heart speaking instead of his head.

Stephen’s lips parted softly, his eyes liquid amber, “What does that mean?”

Lucien’s smile softened slightly, even as he parted his legs further, as he let his hunger flow to the surface.

“Why don’t I show you first?”

After, everything was hot and heavy and heaving, Stephen reclining in Lucien’s arms and waiting for the room to stop spinning around him.

There was so much he wanted to say, as ever, thousands of emotions he wanted to name in the wake of feeling so completely loved but he knew they’d come out muddy and less than what he felt inside him.

Instead he reached up a still trembling hand and traced the line of Lucien’s jaw with a fingertip, “So...what does it mean?”

His lover’s eyes had been closed but now one opened slightly, like a contented cat lying in the sun, “Hm? What’s that, darling?”

“That thing you called me as you took me. Xīngān. What does it mean?”

An uncharacteristic edge of coyness slipped into his voice, one that would only ever come out when it was just the two of them, “Ah. Well. Literally? It means ‘heart and liver’.”

Stephen barked out a raspy laugh, incredulous and delighted, “Excuse me? That was what you chose to call me?”

His laughter was clearly infectious, Lucien shook under him with helpless chuckles, “I know how it sounds but…”

There was a moment, one of those moments where Stephen felt his lover made a choice. They happened often when they were alone together and it would have been so easy to read them as hesitancy. Before, when Stephen had been new to this, when he’d been less sure of himself, that’s exactly what he’d thought it was. He’d taken it to mean Lucien’s heart was already wandering, already thinking of the next man in his bed, fixing a mask in place before every term of endearment.

But he knew better now. He knew that pause, that moment where Lucien chose, was the breath he needed to go against everything he’d been taught. The choice he made in those moments was to open himself up and soften when the world had always forced him to stay out of sight and harden against everything that hurt him.

He moved slightly, letting Stephen turn so they could look into each other’s eyes, “It means ‘heart and liver’ because those are organs you can’t live without. And your Xīngān is the person you can’t live without, the person who you aren’t whole without. And for me, well...that’s you, sweet boy.”

“Lucien…” Stephen murmured, pressing a hand to his chest, “You’ll never have to live without me. Not here, not in Shanghai, nowhere in this world. I’m yours.”

“My heart and liver,” Lucien chuckled softly, cradling Stephen’s face in the softest touch.

“Xīngān,” he breathed, in the moment before their lips came together.

Stephen Day was a terrible student. But he was learning.

#charm of magpies #stephen day #lucien crane #lucien vaudrey #smut and fluff #com #k j charles

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delldarling · 4 years ago

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become the traitor | merrick

chasing truth | chapter two male faerie x gender/body neutral reader 5005 words lemon | crushes, mild flirting & masturbation chapter index? or chapter one?

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

“So we aren’t fighting then,” Garrick says as soon as he stops laughing, wiping away the single tear leaking out of his left eye. He sighs, still smiling, shoulders still lax. “That’s a relief.”

Merrick can’t say he’s entirely ruled it out, so he doesn’t answer. Instead he looks away, repeating your name silently to better commit it to memory. He’s quietly thankful that Garrick had been willing to share it, after all, he counted you among his friends, and he’d been willing to fight for the humans here.

“I’ve been a bit out of the loop,” Garrick finally explains, straightening and crossing his muscled forearms over his chest. He looks… comfortable. Full of the same ease and kind manner he’d displayed both times Merrick had found him amidst his group of humans. Merrick doesn’t understand how he does it. He’s been here for nearly a month, and talking to most of the quick-lived creatures continues to instill a sense of frustration in him.

“Which means I am very curious about why an assassin from the Court of Air has come for a Land- well. For me. Am I really that important?”

“You go by Garrick?” Merrick asks, finally sheathing his blade. There’s still plenty of time to carry out his task - but he wants answers.

“I do,” he says, bobbing his head. A winsome smile appears on his face. “But my friends here call me Gar.”

Merrick’s nose wrinkles. He even sounds like the humans. He definitely has made a home for himself here. “If you go by Garrick at all, you're the one I’ve been seeking. The Queen of Land came to my King with a proposal - eliminating the gardener, now living under the name Garrick, was part of it.”

“But I’m not a gardener,” Garrick insists, shrugging as if to say: obviously you’re mistaken, so this is the end of your task. There’s something there though. When Garrick says gardener, there’s a… a heaviness to the word.

“Are you human born?” Merrick blurts, frustration building in his veins. Garrick has to be lying. He has to be, though how he’s doing so-

“Not at all,” Garrick says, one of his eyebrows raising. “You did say something about lies earlier, didn’t you? I don’t know what lies you think I’ve been telling. I haven’t gone mad now, have I?” He gestures to himself, the hooded sweatshirt and the human jeans and shoes. If Merrick couldn’t see through the low level glamour hiding the green tint to the skin of his hands, or the sharp points of his ears, he would assume he was nothing more than human. There’s no evidence of hallucinations, or of withering or sickness.

“Mad enough to live among humans,” Merrick shoots back and his frown only grows more and more pronounced the more Garrick’s grin widens.

“Don’t give me that,” he says, jovial, like they’re friends. “You’ve a crush on one, and you look like you’ve done a fine enough job of living among them too.” Garrick licks his lips, hesitating, eyes darting to Merrick’s sheathed blade. He still takes a step closer, deciding that pushing his luck is worth the danger. “Now, what should I call you?”

“Merrick,” he says with a smirk.

That halts the tall Fae in his tracks. “Funny,” Garrick says. The smile stays on his face though, and there’s no hint of a lie around the curl of his mouth. He means it. “You were.. attempting to be funny, weren’t you?”

It’s almost irritating that Garrick understands what Roran couldn’t. Merrick nods and asks, sarcastically: “However did you guess?”

Garrick rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to answer- and then seems to think better of it. He shakes his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Now that we’ve gotten past humor- did the Queen say why I needed to-”

“The usual reasons,” Merrick interrupts with a shrug. “Betrayal. Being a traitor. She seemed quite convinced of the fact that you’ve been telling lies, actually. Now, if you weren’t a gardener, what did you-”

“I’ve only ever spoken the truth,” Garrick snaps, and Merrick has to stop himself from tensing at the tone. The gentle happiness has all but faded from his expression, eyebrows drawn together. He looks earnest, but they all do, really, when they want to beg. A chill seems to coat Merrick like a blanket and his shoulders loosen. If he was only a bit closer, Merrick knows he could slip a blade between his ribs. He could eliminate the threat, here and now. “I tried to help the Queen, and she didn’t like how I chose to do it. If you-” A tinny sounding tune erupts from Garrick’s pocket - a phone, Merrick notes - and Garrick raises a finger in a wait a moment gesture.

“Ooh, perfect timing!” Garrick says when he answers, all the tension easing from him with a single breath. He sounds like an actor, like he believes what he's saying - or rather like he has a lot of practice hiding his true feelings. He doesn’t press the phone against his face though, there’s almost an inch of space between his ear and the device. The man made metals still affect him too, then. “I was just talking to your new friend-”

Merrick’s stomach twists. Garrick is talking to you.

“We went on a walk is all. The music there was-” Garrick makes a face and a soft hum of a noise. Apparently the sound must convey his meaning clearly, because even from here, Merrick can hear you burst into laughter. “But you know Em.”

Merrick turns his head away, scanning the park, purely for something to keep him busy. He feels like he’s intruding on a private conversation. Like he should be giving Garrick some kind of deference. Which is honestly ridiculous. This isn’t some private human chat over drinks, or a meeting with a friend in Court. If anyone should be deferential, Garrick should-

“Ah. Possibly,” Garrick murmurs, turning his back and pacing a few feet away. “I’ll get back to you if we do, but, uh, I appreciate you- with Em, I mean-” Garrick lets out a heavy breath, and it takes everything Merrick has not to turn and stare. By the way Garrick fits in, by the way he talks, he never would have known he was part of a Court. Not if he hadn’t been looking for him.

This- all of this hesitation, the infatuation with a human, even one so lovely as you- Merrick knows he should give it up. He should complete his task and head back to Court. He can do it, he could do it tonight. Right now, even, with a rush of speed and the blade he’s carrying. He’d never have to go back to the motel and listen to drunkards through the walls. He’d never have to walk through the press of people again and listen to them argue about inane things like the cuteness of animals or the state of one's outfit or phone service.

He’d never find out what, exactly, a strong Land Fae like Garrick is doing running from his Court. He’d never have another sip of that blackberry cider from Corner Pocket, or watch the sun rise, turning tall boring looking buildings into a city of glimmering light. He’d never have this amount of space and quiet at his disposal again, not if he returns to the Court a hero. He wouldn’t ever get to hear you speak to him either, or see that soft smile on your lips as you waited for him to order his thoughts.

You’re a maudlin fool, he tells himself, gritting his teeth as he glances back at Garrick. The Land Fae taps a button on the phone, ending the call and pockets the little thing like he’s done it a thousand times. The only thing that should matter to Merrick, that has ever mattered, is doing as his King bids.

But truth? As a child of Faerie, the truth matters too.

Merrick tells himself he’s staying because he wants to find out the truth - and he does. His King deserves it, if someone under the Queen’s thumb is lying for her and she’s given them false information. His King will want to know the full story. Merrick does what he does in his King’s name, after all, and if the Queen is hoping to unite their Courts under false pretenses? Then the King should have every fact available to him.

Merrick can stay for a while. He can find out exactly what it is that Garrick is hiding.

And if he wants to pass any free time he has with a lovely human, well- no one could blame him. Not even Roran.

That’s not to say he wouldn’t try.

“Back to business then, hm?” Garrick says. “Are you going to kill me, or not?” He asks like he doesn’t care, expression pleasant, shoulders lax, but Merrick knows differently now. He’ll fight, and fight hard, if Merrick tries anything to harm his person. All the more reason to stick around and get to the bottom of things.

“At the moment? Or tonight even? No. Whether I do in the future depends entirely on what you end up telling me.” Merrick tilts his head back a little, glancing at the moon, and breathes out heavily through his nose. “Are you willing to agree to my terms?”

“Give me some time,” Garrick says, smiling, even though his hands are tapping nervously at his sides. “We’ve been invited back to the house, if you’re willing to go. And seeing as you aren’t going to slay me in front of the human you like-” Garrick laughs, but he dodges the rock Merrick snatches from the ground and tosses his way. He’s ridiculously fast. Kiera couldn’t have gotten out of the way. He files that information away in the back of his head. “Oh, and please, call me Gar in front of them. They’ll know something is wrong between us if you don’t, and I don’t think either of us wants to explain why.”

His heart thuds unevenly.

He can play at being friends with Garri- Gar for the time being. Gar might grate on his nerves after a while, as he’s entirely too pleasant, but he’s spent time with more irritating creatures. And he’s already getting the chance to see you again, so he won’t complain.

Merrick doesn’t really have more than the vaguest sense of a plan, so he isn’t sure how long all of this information gathering will take - but it shouldn’t be much longer. By the time he gets the truth out of Gar, this infatuation should have run its course. By that point he'll either send word to the King about the Queen and her falsehoods, or he'll bring Gar back to Court, bound hand and foot.

"No, I wouldn’t want to explain," he agrees, nodding his head. His hair falls into his eyes and he has to brush his curls back out of his face to meet Gar's steady gaze. "I definitely don't want to explain. I'll be on my best behavior," he adds and then frowns when Gar grimaces. "What?"

“Did you just-” He licks his lips, sparing himself a moment, like he can’t believe he has to ask. “You ripped off your shirt and threw it on some random street corner, didn’t you?”

Merrick doesn’t give Gar the satisfaction of glancing down at his shirtless torso. “If you haven’t realized, I was in a bit of a hurry to catch you.”

“Are you prepared for questions about tattoos?” Gar asks, jerking his thumb at Merrick’s bare shoulders. “The whole lot of them are going to want to ask about it, because any tattoos of that caliber-”

Merrick grunts. “I’ve had a conversation about tattoos with humans already. Don’t worry, I will do everything I can to avoid another one.” He fumbles about with the strap for his bag, cinched tight around his chest. “I won’t embarrass you by going half dressed.”

“I’m not going to comb the streets for the shirt you lost,” Gar adds quickly, arching an eyebrow when Merrick shoots him a disgusted look.

“I have others,” he clarifies, and pulls out the shirt that Kiera had given him.

Gar whistles. “Quality craftsmanship. Not human though.”

“I take it back,” Merrick mutters, setting his bag on the ground carefully between his feet. He pulls the shirt over his head and corrects the sit of his cap. He’s no longer hiding from Gar, so he could use the glamour to hide his ears- but he’s already showing up in a different shirt, and it’s fairly cold out. There’s no need to expend the energy, and he’s no desire for any of the humans to ask about the change. He can’t lie, and it’ll be difficult enough to think of a reason for changing his shirt that doesn’t involve one.

“Take what back?” Gar asks, leaning against the children’s slide as he waits for Merrick to finish up.

“I’m not sure I can put up with you for any length of time,” Merrick says, slinging his bag back over his shoulder once his shirt is settled. “Your demeanor is off-putting.”

“If you can keep that tone of voice, they’ll all think you’re using your sarcasm for humor's sake,” Gar tells him. That infuriatingly charming smile is back on his face, and he’s completely ignoring Merrick’s insult.

“I didn’t ask for any tips. Are we going, or are we parting ways for the evening?”

Gar holds up his hands in surrender, though that maddening smile doesn’t diminish, not at all. “If I showed up without you, I’m afraid someone would be most disappointed. I’m nothing if not kind to my friends.” Gar pushes off of the slide, brushing his hands off against each other. “Now where are you staying? If we stop there on the way back, we can explain your clothing change.”

Part of Merrick says he should ignore Gar - but his reasoning is sound. There are any number of human motels or hotels he can stay at afterwards. He doesn’t have to stay in the same place. When he names the motel though, Gar shudders.

“No wonder you’re a grump,” he says, sounding almost in awe. “Merrick, if the only good thing you take away from this evening is this, all the better: Don’t stay in human fleabag motels. There are plenty of nice establishments that would be much less likely to give you some kind of human itch.”

Merrick grimaces. Gar is far too jovial for his tastes. It doesn’t matter though, all too soon, he’ll be done with this. He’ll get the information he needs, get this silly little crush out of his system and be back on his way to his King and Court.

Merrick miscalculated.

Another month passes him by in what feels like a blink, and he’s no closer to getting any of the information out of Gar. The other Fae treats him like some kind of sibling, teasing him endlessly about crushes and somehow drawing him into debates or getting him to participate in tasks that have little to no meaning in the lives of Fae. He doesn’t care about the outcome of the serial entertainment that Gar is so fond of. He isn’t interested in viewing any of the gardens or museums that will help immerse him in human culture. He doesn’t c-

Merrick hasn’t spoken, hasn’t even opened his mouth, but the thought is enough to turn his mouth sour. He.. does care about what the humans think of him. He is coming to care about what Gar thinks of him, even though he doesn’t want to admit it.

He’s coming to discover that human lives are lovely things. Despite their Quickness, despite the dirty streets and living he’s been witness to, human lives?

Gar can put it into words better than Merrick can. He likens humans to growing things at first, to flora. Humans grow quickly, as brilliant as the colors in a riotous garden. They’re bright and fragile and so eager for every day, opening up to face the sun-

“Perhaps fire would be a better analogy,” Gar mutters, reclining on his living room floor one afternoon, book dropped carelessly to the side. He taps his feet, restless, like he has too much energy. “They blaze so bright, it almost hurts to look, but the afterimage of them is burned into you. It lasts, long after they’re gone, long after they’re dust.”

Merrick’s grimace catches Gar’s attention, makes him choke on laughter, though the melancholy isn’t quite gone from his face.

“It’s true, you know. And I think that’s why we so rarely have contact with them now, as a whole. The pain of their passing stays with us, and it’s- it’s hard, looking at their faces and knowing that none of them recall the humans that were once special to you.” Gar sits up, completely oblivious to the way his hair is sticking up in the back, and rests his elbows on his knees.

“You sound like you have experience,” Merrick murmurs, glancing down hesitantly at the book Gar had insisted he read this afternoon. He’s eager for any tidbit that Gar will give him now, has nearly given himself whiplash when he thinks Gar is going to spill a secret. If Gar wants him to read the damn book, he’ll try, if only in the hopes that something might slip. Anything he can gather, anything he can put in a letter to the King is welcome, is needed. Because soon there’s going to be worry, soon someone will come looking and Merrick can’t figure out why he has this desperate urge to keep that from happening.

“Rude,” Gar says with a laugh, shaking his head. “You talk all the time about how the humans are so intrusive with their questions, and you’re trying to ask me about past traumas?”

Merrick scowls. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to feel bad for you,” he mutters, focusing overly intensely on the book in his lap.

“Don’t want to, but you still do. Look at Merrick,” Gar teases, “feeling bad for lil’ ol’ me-” He catches the book, rather than letting it fly past his head and risk hitting something else in the room. “I paid for this,” Gar points out, narrowing his eyes and shaking the book in Merrick’s direction. “It’s not kind to throw things. Especially when they’re not your own.”

He isn’t sure when he stops keeping track of the days.

Time with you is… Both better and worse than time spent with Gar. You’re curious, you can’t help it, and neither can Merrick. He’s terribly inquisitive about everything you do, about who you are. Neither of you can keep from asking each other questions. Unlike the others, you don’t badger him about them though, you- You rephrase them. He can see the way you track his wording, mouth silently repeating his words or brow furrowing as you listen.

The first time it happens, you leave Merrick backed into a verbal corner. He can either lie - and he won’t do that - or he can just refuse to talk. He takes the latter option, not even considering that he might tell you the truth.

What could you possibly say if he did tell you?

Hello, Merrick is my recent name, not my only one and I came here with the intention of killing Gar. I was under orders-

For that alone, never mind the fact that he hasn’t done it, you might turn away from him, and- He doesn’t want to risk it. He can’t even bring himself to risk voicing his feelings though either. He second guesses himself, and Gar is truly no help, for all his apparent knowledge of humans. Merrick will let his hand brush against yours and you jump like he’s burned you. You lean your head on his shoulder sometimes if you’ve had just a bit too much to drink and the way you look at him, the smile you turn his way-

He dreams about it. About you.

What it would feel like to have you kiss him, to wrap his arms around you for more than just momentary greeting. What it would sound like, to hear you whisper his name against his mouth while you-

He wakes, pulse thundering, cock trapped between his abdomen and his bed, pulsing at the thought of his dream, of bare skin and warm mouths. It was all vague images and feelings and just the barest hint of you whispering Aodhfin.. Merrick rolls over, breath leaving him in a rush as he takes himself in hand. He doesn’t know what he wants more: to touch, or be touched, but he would happily take either. Would take your eyes on him and your voice in his ear, just your attention.. Even the thought of a single shred of it, of your eyes turned his way, has his cock straining in his own hand.

Merrick wants you to wrap your hand in his curls and pull back his head- The thought has him aching, thumb brushing over the head of his cock, and for a moment the hotel room is far too bright. He clenches his hand, gasping, and forces himself to reel the gleaming of his skin back in, to steady his breath as he strokes, slow and steady.

He probably shouldn’t be doing this. There’s probably some kind of rule he’s breaking, but he’s too far gone to stop. His thighs tense as he gets closer and when his free hand presses into the sheets, he has a momentary, fleeting thought about you on top of him, telling him how good he feels and then there’s a spill across his stomach. The tension leaves him, and Merrick stays where he is until his pulse isn’t racing, wiping his hand awkwardly against the sheets and feeling like a mess.

His phone rings, and it’s Gar on the caller ID, but as soon as he answers, it’s your voice on the other end. He has to press his cock back down against his thigh when it twitches at the sound of your voice, and Merrick- He’s breathless with want and mortification in equal measures.

“Merrick? Are you there?” You ask, and for a moment he’s afraid he’s going to blurt out exactly what he’s done. Especially when you pause and the softest whisper of your breath echoes down the line. “We’re headed out tonight, and I didn’t want to steal your number without permission, so I borrowed Gar’s phone. If you’re free-”

“Yeah,” he starts, mouth dry, his heart still racing. “Yeah. I’m free,” he says and rubs his hand harder against the sheets, as if that will erase the evidence.

He sees you that night, and forgets all about the slight awkwardness of the phone call. He sees you and Em and Red again the next night. And two days after that.

What follows is a slow, awkward slide into an entire year of longing looks and dodging questions, the bitter tang of lies in the back of his throat whenever he has to bite down on answers he can’t give. And with every day that passes, Merrick realizes something: He doesn’t want to leave. Human lives pass so quickly, and if he leaves, even for a moment, he could miss so very much of yours. For the first time in Merrick’s long life, he wants to be selfish.

He finds himself coming up with excuses to stay, ones that he knows very well hold no weight. Gar hasn’t told him anything, he needs to convince Gar to come with him - because he’s not sure he wants to- No. The King will expect results and he’s lingered for far too long, by this point he’s-

Merrick can’t bring himself to think about the words.

Like a human child putting off their work, he lets himself be distracted by any and all things.

He’s towed around with the group of you like he belongs. Bars: where he accidentally pushes a woman into the bushes to keep her from kissing him. Movies: where he feels electric, thigh pressed against yours as the lights flicker over your faces and he thinks, he dreams about sneaking his hand into yours. Clubs - and those he’s not fond of. He has no issue arguing with Em about going, because of the thumping bass and the cloistered atmosphere and the way he can’t help glancing at Gar and thinking about that night. About what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped to listen.

You all leave town once, on an impromptu camping trip that leaves both Merrick and Gar highly amused by human constitutions and their hopelessness when it comes to lighting a campfire without aid. While he’s sitting across from you that night, he finally lets himself think about it.

He is being selfish. He’s going to continue to be, because you are the first, the only thing he believes he’s ever truly wanted. Working in the Court all seems so silly now. For years, all Merrick did was rush to complete his orders. He completed things so fast, learned as he was about Faerie and how she worked, how she changed to fit the needs of her people, he never had the time to consider what his targets might be feeling. He doesn’t even know if- if he was feeling, doing what he was, going as fast as he was. Flitting between targets the King declared unfit like they were nothing more than deadheaded flowers. Weeds, to be plucked from the garden for its own good.

Roran and Kiera tried to make him slow, tried to get him to see that there was more than work, more than being at the King’s beck and call. Muiren gave it a passing chance as well, but none of them got through. They tried, but tied to their own jobs as they were, it didn’t exactly spell out that there could be more for him.

Going back to the Court, with or without Gar or the information he possesses, doesn’t quite seem worth it. Not anymore. He can’t think of a single thing in Court that made him feel or yearn for anything, not the way he does here. Just being in your presence lightens his mood. Arguing with Em makes him eager to look things up, to try and keep up the debates. Red shares silent looks with him whenever Em pushes too far or tries heavy handed flirting with Gar. Gar’s arm slung around his neck is irritating and strangely warming and.. He doesn’t mind it. Not always.

He realizes, later, that this vein of thinking is exactly what caused such unhappiness in Roran. Merrick… Aodhfin didn’t feel. He burned, only so long as he had work to do, and then his fire was banked until he was given another task. Roran so desperately wished for Aodhfin to burn for him and he just- he couldn’t.

“Thinking hard, hm?” You ask, smiling at him from across the fire, and his heart leaps. With wanting, with the simple joy of knowing you exist. “Did you leave the coffee pot on back home, or-”

“He’s staying with me,” Gar claims and Merrick has to rein himself in or risk making a fool of himself as he turns Gar’s way, eyebrows raised in surprise. “And there’s no coffee pot at my place-”

“Here we go,” Em grunts, slouching in her camp chair. “You have so much to say about how they’re grown-”

“And you should listen to me!” Gar insists. “I’m good with plants,” he adds, brown eyes glittering with humor and Merrick wants to sigh.

“Let’s go back to Merrick staying with Gar,” you interrupt, grinning. “How is that going? I thought you weren’t - and I’m quoting here now - overfond of him.”

This hadn’t been planned, but Gar had said it without even a hint of a lie on his face. That means.. That means Gar’s home is open to him. It means that he has to accept staying there, if only for a night. The knowledge sits strangely in Merrick’s chest.

“I suppose he’s… Grown on me,” Merrick mutters and wants to wither when Gar starts cackling. Em starts shrieking that she hasn’t forgotten about the coffee beans thing, and then you and Red are shaking with silent laughter.

Merrick hasn’t ever been a part of something like this before. Roran cared, and Kiera cared enough for Roran that she tried. Muiren found them entertaining, but he didn’t care for the way Merrick had turned Roran down. He’d admitted to a mild case of jealousy, to disliking Aodhfin no matter how hard he tried so.. The thought of the Fae back in the Court of Air only leaves his insides twisted about in loops. He’s not sure he ever wants to go back to those days. Counting down the hours until he could sleep, or seek out his next assignment and then- starting it all over again, ad infinitum.

Merrick can’t help it. He gets to his feet, trying not to crack the smile that wants to steal over his face, and gives an awkward little wave when you all call after him. Red says something about letting people take leaks in peace, allowing Merrick to escape without any further issues. He makes it into the line of trees before he starts laughing lowly, wheezing- panicking. He’s made his decision to stay, to make a life here, alongside Gar, with you. With a bunch of ragtag humans that the King would sooner use as puppets than allow them to- to live.

He’s become the traitor. And someday they’re going to send someone else for Gar, and for him too, and he’s… He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do about that. And that scares him.

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

...turn the page?

#exophilia #male faerie x reader #faerie x reader #fairy x reader #male fairy x reader #d.darling writes #faerie boyfriend #fairy boyfriend

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virignium · 6 years ago

Note

2,4,6,17

2. Who was your first muse? Were they an OC or a Canon Character? Did they belong to a fandom?

Tya, actually. She was the first character I ever roleplayed, both here and in general. The first time I wrote her was wayyy back in the day, on myspace, when her name was Tiana Uzumaki. And I used badly edited photos of anime girls to represent pictures of her. Ah, the good ol’ days.

Anyway, yes, she was originally a Naruto self insert, and when I started her up on here, that was after I finished the first draft of all three of her books. By the time she hit tumblr, she was fandomless and no longer a self insert.

4. Have you ever roleplayed a canon character?

Yup! Quite a few, actually. I’ve written for Morrigan from Dragon age, Julius from Harvest Moon: Animal Parade, Reaver and Ben Finn from Fable, a canon divergent Jeff the Killer, Brian Thomas and Jay Merrick from Marble Hornets, and also a headcanon based Operator / Slenderman mix thing, Master Neloth, Teldryn Sero, and Argis the Bulwark from Skyrim, and I’m currently roleplaying Vanitas off tumblr. I’m considering bringing him here though because I adore him. I feel like I’m forgetting someone on this list, and I very well could be. Not sure though. I’ve considered writing for Ghirahim and Link from Skyward Sword, Isa from Kingdom Hearts, and Mary Shaw from Dead Silence.

6. Are their any roleplaying bias’ that you have that you’re aware of?

I’m not entirely sure what this question entails, like bias toward themes? people? genres?

17. What is your favorite thing to roleplay and which is your current favorite thread that involves those themes?

My current favorite threads on here are the one I have with @ infeliicis and @ dionsblood because I fucking ADORE adventure threads with the potential of some nice BONDING and also Tya getting super excited about historical shit aslkjdalksj I strive for it. I’m also really really really looking forward to my thread with @ caelumobscura because I can’t WAIT to see Tya and Roxas bond. It’s been discussed in private and I’m dying to see the way they interact.

Of all of my threads, my absolute favorite that I’ve got over all is my private thread with Alex, of course. To no one’s surprise, its a thread with that loser. But again adventure, and bonding with a long convoluted story that we discuss all the time, and then also VANITAS IS THERE and we all know how I feel about Vanitas.

#ᴏᴏᴄ | ᴀᴍ ɪ Qᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ʏᴇᴛ ?#scottiehateschili

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sirkkasnow · 5 years ago

Text

08 If You’ve Gotta Fight, Fight Dirty

Ao3 link

07/17/13 Wednesday

Most of the old tools turned up in Soos’ usual closet, packed away into a not-new but well cared for hinged toolbox. The manual-crank drill and a batch of bits came easily to hand. Tracking down the hardware took a little longer. Staying in motion was automatic, his brain whirring all the while, settled by the steady incremental progress of physical labor.

There were a hundred good reasons not to get involved. He counted them off in the back of his head without much regard for keeping track as he sifted through jars of salvaged bolts and screws.

Stan padded down a few steps to the sublevel at the back, an odd space whose roof was too low and too slanted to be good for much of anything but stuffing boxes into. The great purge of last autumn had cleared out an eccentric pile of junk. Potentially useful odds and ends of machinery and materiel accumulated over decades had been rendered moot overnight. Between Soos and the brothers they’d hauled most of it out over the course of a few sweaty days. There wasn’t much left to clear from the center.

He was living the dream right now. Everything was going well and there was no reason to screw with a good situation.

The hand drill bit into wood in near silence. He routed out holes in each corner beam and mounted heavy screw eyes there, twisting until the steel squeaked. Absent, precise twitches of his fingers braided eye splices into the ends of the heaviest nylon rope he’d been able to find. Those got crossed at the corners of the room, bound and padded with strips of salvaged bubble wrap and triple thicknesses of packing tape.

Baltimore might as well be on the moon relative to the places he’d been in the last year and the places he and Ford were planning to visit next.

Stan looped S-hooks into the ropes’ eyes and set it all up, spanning from corner to corner. By the time he finished it was a bare suggestion of a boxing ring. When he leaned into the lines they stretched and shifted, the screw eyes groaning faintly in protest, but everything held to his satisfaction.

Complicating everything right as it was all going well for once should have been the very last thing on his mind. Fuck’s sake, she was just a tourist.

The background rattle of his thoughts ground to an abrupt halt. Stan sat on one of the crates he’d pushed off alongside the door and plucked off his glasses, laying a hand over aching eyes. He knew lies, he knew perfectly damned well when he was lying to himself, and that right there was a thin lie poorly told.

She hadn’t been just a tourist since she’d stuck her neck out for him the night he’d made some reckless choices regarding car repair and home décor and dragged her along for the ride. Hell, that had pretty much gone out the window the minute she started spitting bad lawyer jokes back at him. Dammit.

The thinking had tired him out more than the improvised engineering but he was, at last, worn down enough to snatch a few black and dreamless hours of sleep well after midnight.

Intensifying sunlight through the curtains kicked him out of bed again earlier than he would have liked. Stan managed to get halfway to respectable before he decided coffee pretty much had to trump everything else and dragged himself down to the kitchen. The kids were already up, empty cereal bowls ignored on the table as they bickered out their plans for the day. “Mornin’, gremlins. Anyone else up yet?”

“I think Grunkle Ford is still passed out in the lab,” Dipper volunteered. “At least no one’s gotten around to making coffee.” Stan set up the coffeemaker with fresh grounds and dumped in a potful of water.

“And Clary was here for a few minutes, then said she was heading down to Greasy’s for breakfast. Craving bacon or something.” Mabel’s chin rested in both her hands, her smile uncharacteristically sly. “How did you sleep, Grunkle Stan?”

“Just fine, sweetheart.” Stan reached way up for a mug. Both niece and nephew looked at him in disbelief. “What?”

“You like her.” Mabel was showing teeth in a wide knowing grin. Dipper tapped fingertips anxiously against each other, but nodded in agreement.

Stan leaned against the counter with a groan - god it was too early for this. “That woman’s been nothin’ but trouble, I’ve caused her nothin’ but grief, and if we’re both lucky I’ve got that junkheap of hers fixed enough that she can get the heck outta here and never look back. We both got places t’go and things t’do, kids.”

“Responsibilities,” Mabel sang, syllables stretching out, and Stan’s eyes narrowed a little. “So I guess you didn’t spend half the night running around to do something nice for her.”

“You two were supposed to be asleep.”

“I might have been working in my journal,” said Dipper. “Mabel might have been a little wired on sugar and getting stuff down in her scrapbook.”

All three of them eyed each other, Stan weighing the possible merits of turning this into a lecture on minding your own damn business and discarding the idea as way more trouble than it’d be worth. “All right,” he grumbled. “Yeah, I’m tryin’ t’do somethin’ nice since yesterday went completely sideways. If you wanna make plans for the day that get you the heck outta the house, then I might overlook your total failure t’go to bed on time.”

“Deal,” they chorused, sweeping up phones and notebooks and vacating the table in an instant.

“Library first, Mabel?”

“Yup! I’ve got a couple of confidential stops to make after that.” Mabel shooed Dipper out ahead of her, spun on her heel in the doorway and winked at him on her way out. “Have a swell day, Grunkle Stan! See you at dinnertime!”

Stan grunted in vague assent, pouring a cup of coffee and sloshing in a little milk. Yeah, that wasn’t ominous at all. He killed time collecting the twins’ breakfast debris, finished off the first cup of coffee, then headed upstairs to scrub his carcass a little closer to presentable.

He was well into the second cup of coffee half an hour later and getting restless when his phone, stuffed into a back pocket and forgotten, buzzed. Startled, he fumbled it out for a text message from Mabel - a contact, he realized after a moment’s confusion - CLARY trailed by a bunch of winged hearts and smooches. After a few false starts he stabbed enough buttons to save the thing to his tiny contacts list. It twinkled there at the top, above DIPPER and FORD and then MABEL.

Indecision made his fingers twitch. Finally he punched the number and jammed the little chunk of a phone, thick in its waterproof case, up between ear and shoulder.

After two rings he got a reply, all cool professional velvet. “C.J. Merrick.”

For a long second that didn’t compute at all. “Uh, Clary?”

A startled pause hung there before she replied, voice warming. “Why, Mr. Pines. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

That voice did things to him. He shoved the thought down. “Listen, I know you’re out but I’ve got a surprise for you back here at the Shack. Can y’wander back in when you’re done with breakfast?”

“Sure. I just got done, actually, let me settle up and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“So you know, it’d be worth your while to get out those tennis shoes again. And maybe a t-shirt.”

She chuckled darkly, a low rumble that made his toes want to curl. “If this is another round of errands, I’m out.”

“Absolutely not, we’re stayin’ on house grounds this time.”

“Thank mercy. See you at the Shack, then.”

Stan shoved the phone back into its pocket and paced the kitchen for a minute, knowing he needed something else, trying to remember it and finally settling on a plastic pitcher full of water and all the ice he could scrounge out of the freezer. By the time he rounded up that and a couple of glasses, he’d heard the door and footsteps heading off towards her room. In another minute or two Clary stuck her head in at the doorway. His jacket was draped around her shoulders and she looked amused as hell about something. “Good morning, Stan.”

“G’mornin’, Clary. You doin’ all right? Got some sleep?”

“I did, thanks. I was pretty worn out last night. What’s up?” She shrugged out of the jacket and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. Today’s kerchief was some kind of patterned yellow. The bike shorts, tennies and faded t-shirt she’d changed into - this one read ‘REAL MEN PLAY GAMES’, right under a crudely rendered 38-sided die - would do fine.

“You’ll see.” Stan handed off the two glasses and led the way back through the house, pitcher heavy in his hand. “How was breakfast? You look like you enjoyed it.”

“I met a man from Washington state,” she said, and he looked away because he didn’t trust himself to keep a straight face. “His name’s Mike, he has a lovely new speedboat, and you wouldn’t believe how glad he was to talk to someone who isn’t a local. His SUV is stuck at Gleeful’s while they fix a flat tire.” There was a tiny wicked smile curling a corner of her lips. “He has been having a little trouble making friends in town.”

“Damn shame, that.” Stan tugged open the storage room door with a flourish and she swanned past him only to come up short against the rope lines a couple feet inside. He eased in after and set the pitcher down on a crate, then plucked the juice glasses from her nerveless fingers to put them alongside. “So I was baskin’ in the glow of my shiny new Klouneng, thinkin’ about last week….”

“You weren’t kidding,” Clary murmured, looking over the sketched-out boxing ring.

“Well, no, of course not! Anyway, you said - uh.” Stan put an awkward hand at the back of his neck, watching her carefully. Her expression had gone flat neutral. “I know a few things about how t’stand and fight, you know? Thought I’d show you how to throw that punch.”

The silence stretched for one or two seconds too long, one of her hands absently flexing. He was beginning to think he’d really stepped in it when she bent and slipped between the ropes. “Let’s do it.”

“All right.” His chuckle was half relief as he scooped up the spare handwraps and the old gloves, ducking in to stand beside her. “Gimme the right one, let’s make sure you don’t go bustin’ a knuckle here.” Clary laid her hand into his, the other tucked behind her back. He started binding across the palm, then between the fingers, with a bit of exaggerated care he couldn’t seem to help. She watched him all the while from behind downtilted lashes. “So this’s all about protectin’ the little bones. Whole thing goes under the gloves. Not that you’re gonna do a lot of hittin’ here, but these are your livin’, so….” The end of the wrap sealed off neatly at her wrist. “Next.”

“I could probably type with a pencil clutched in my teeth if I had to.”

“Let’s make sure y’don’t have to.” The outside fingers of her left hand twitched delicately as she gave it over into his grip and he frowned down in brief confusion. There was a notch in the outer edge of the palm, a long-mended scar from some deep, sharp cut. Stan wrapped her up with the same precise care he’d given the right hand, watching the pinky and ring finger twitch again as he cut between with the wrap. “This gonna be a problem?”

“It hasn’t been. The nerves never quite came back.”

“You’ve seen the handwraps before?”

“I did take self-defense classes for a while. Never boxing.”

“I can tell. You can’t hit worth a damn. I’m just gonna step behind you,” which he did, letting the thump and creak of his steps telegraph his position.

Clary huffed a soft laugh and he felt a bit of the tension ease. “The whole principle was to let gravity and concrete do most of the work, then run like hell. Besides, you were singing a different tune the other night.”

“I was tryin’ to make you feel better about bloodyin’ my nose!”

“Liar.”

“Prove it.” Stan tapped Clary at back and hip and wrist with the bare pads of two fingertips, guiding her gently as he explained the stance. She actually had a little understanding of the basics, weight well distributed, pivoting to let force flow all the way from core to knuckles. There was some wiry strength to work with in that square-shouldered frame. A lot more leg than arm, he absently noted, his bicep brushing hers as he reached to straighten her wrist. “Elbows in, that’s it. Snap it back.”

Defense came easy to her. Getting her out of the shell was clearly going to be the problem, so he coaxed and cajoled and got her to take swings at empty air - decent jab, he decided, but hesitant on anything stronger - until she was just bored enough with it to stop thinking so damn much, then reached for the gloves. “Not bad! So now you get to actually hit somethin’.”

Clary’s glance skittered around the mostly-empty room, then back to him, narrowing. “What, you?”

“You can try.” Stan dangled the gloves, read the doubt sketched in broad strokes across her features, and considered. “I’ve had a lot of practice at this, Clary. You just tag me real light - “ He held up a palm, and at the expectant sidelong flick of his eyes, she grudgingly jabbed him there. “Yeah, like that, easy. I can read you like a cheap paperback.“ She snorted, and he laughed, keeping it light. “Okay, okay, you’re a terrifyin’ enigma in all other ways, don’t worry ‘bout that. But you are not gonna hurt me.”

The flicker of her expressions was complex, but after a moment she released a held breath and offered her right hand. “Attagirl. Now, this won’t be so bad, I promise, you’ll learn somethin’. Just think of it as a dance.”

“With fists.”

He pulled the laces on the first glove wide and eased it over her fingers. “Sure, with fists. You watch me, I watch you. A shift in weight, a twitch in the shoulder or the eye, you can see where your partner’s goin’ an’ react. Get enough practice an’ it’s reflex, straight from the gut.” The gloves were a little too big, no shock that, and Stan took his time snugging down the laces. Clary flexed the right hand, testing the glove’s give, then offered him the left. “Not that one round of practice is gonna get you the reflexes.”

When he was done he looked her over. She’d been silent the whole while, watching with teeth set lightly into her lower lip and a line drawn between her brows. Stan enfolded her wrist in his hand, a fleeting squeeze of reassurance, and her smile flickered for a bare instant. “I’ve had some practice in taking an opponent’s measure, you know.” Clary stepped back to give him some room. “Go on, Stan. Wrap up. Let’s give this a try.”

“Right, right.” His own wraps took a minute to slap into place, fingerless sparring gloves over those since he wasn’t expecting to hit anything. Relaxing into the familiar half-coiled posture was almost comforting. “Come an’ get me.”

She was stiff as hell at first. Reluctance dragged at her limbs, and it took a good few minutes of him catching or deflecting her tentative strikes before that began to improve. The worry on her features chipped away with each swing, replaced by furrowed focus as sweat began to bead at her temples.

Dusty sunlight tracked along one edge of his improvised ring. By now it must have been close to lunchtime, the room heating up.

“I know you can put a little more force into it than that.” Stan caught another jab. “You don’t have to move quite so much. If you’re gonna run, then run, that’s the right response sometimes an’ you’re fast, but if you gotta stand up an’ fight you’ve gotta commit to it. Conserve your energy, ‘cause you’re gonna need it to hit.” He held up a hand to signal stop and left her standing there while he retrieved cold glasses of water for both of them. “Drink up.”

“Thanks.” Clary clutched the glass between both gloved hands and sucked the water down in long, relieved gulps, dumping the last couple tablespoons over the crown of her head. “I think I’ve got one more round in me before I collapse.”

“Tough bird like you, worn out so soon?”

“Mmhm. How’re you holding up, old man?” She licked her lips and grinned up at him, all brass despite the sweat and her obvious weariness.

Stan plucked the glass out of her awkward grip and dropped it off back on its crate. “Old age an’ treachery will beat youth and enthusiasm every time, kid.”

“I’m not that young.” Clary came at him warily at first, then loosened up - he almost felt it as something clicked behind those grey eyes. Damn it, she was younger and probably a little more fit and she’d finally figured out how to get her legs into it. One solid swing whiffed way too close as she poured her weight in from toes clear up to knuckles. It was an overextension and he had ways to counter that weren’t strictly fair, but she took advantage of his hesitation and followed up with a couple of well-angled jabs that forced him back a step.

They were both breathing in hard gasps at this point. She still had some juice in reserve, not much, but enough to push him back once more. When he caught her next blow it was a sharp, stinging impact, and he grinned to see her satisfaction. “All right,” he got out, catching her other fist as she lunged in to follow through. Momentum nearly smacked her into his chest; she pulled herself up short just in time. “Whoa, easy! Nice work - you could maybe get decent at this if you wanted to.”

“We done for now? Because that’s about all I’ve got.” Clary backed off a bit, which was just as well because cripes she was close, and Stan remembered to let go of her gloves.

“Yeah, we’re done before one of us keels over of heat exhaustion or somethin’.” He beckoned and she gave over the right hand, tugging with her teeth at the laces on the left glove while he worked on the other. Once those and the wraps were off they both collapsed gratefully onto the couple of crates by the door.

“Thanks for taking it easy on me.”

“Didn’t take it that easy. Your instincts aren’t bad.”

“So how’d a - “ He watched her sift through words, lips half-shaping a few options until he chuckled at her struggling to be tactful. She canted a brow at him in reproach. “How’d a showman of your caliber pick up all this expertise in fisticuffs anyway?”

Stan winced, peeling off his handwraps one by one. “You know Jersey. Town didn’t have much goin’ for it other than the boardwalk. Neither one of us fit in real well - I mean, you’ve seen Poindexter in action, an’ he’s always been like that, maybe worse, so focused on whatever that big brain can get goin’ that he loses track of the practical end of things, y’know? So it was my job to protect the both of us. Somebody had to be the tough one, and it’s what I was good at, ‘til Ford an’ I - “

He caught himself, swallowing words that’d just be too much - man, they’d both really worn themselves out, his guard was down - and when he continued it was with more caution. “When I left home I spent a fair few years on the road. I was a worse trouble magnet than you are. Knowin’ how t’fight is what got me through. I mean, it wasn’t all bad - “

Clary watched him with a sort of quiet weight, like maybe understanding, which made no damn sense. He tugged up the shoulder of his damp shirt and dabbed uselessly at his upper lip. “It wasn’t all bad, you stay tough long enough and you kinda forget how not to be - and hell, at least I was in the right place to run into you - “

Stan stiffened in his seat, blinking. “Oh,” he said. “Damn. That’s what I forgot. Towels.” He made to rise and bolt to the kitchen. That’d buy a minute to clear his head, because he really needed to shut it. “I’ll be right - “

Clary pressed something into his hand. Distracted, he stared down at it, registering yellow, then plucked at the fabric. Tawny gold, a soft and heavy weave, patterned with tumbling circus strongmen and their tiny barbells. Her kerchief.

Stan shook it out, patted down his neck, and only then ventured a glance.

Clary sat on the edge of the crate with elbows braced on her knees, hands loosely interlaced. The scar was…not so bad, as clean-cut and faded as the one in her palm, until she turned her head away and a little tension made its twisting length and angle along the left slope of her throat clear. The worst of it stutter-stepped to cut sharp and deep over the sheltered thrum of her carotid artery.

That had probably come close to killing her.

Something protective and furious sparked behind his breastbone.

He tilted his chin to indicate his focus, and saw her eye swivel to track him.

“That of a piece with the hand?”

“Yes.”

“Plate glass?”

“Yes.”

“Accident?”

“No.” Clary straightened where she sat, watching him with subtle apprehension.

“There a face I should be lookin’ to break?” he said at length.

“He’s dead. He’s been dead a long time.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I punched a dead man.”

Her lips parted. She blinked twice, then dissolved into low shocked laughter. He smoothed the fabric of her kerchief between his fingers and felt his heart lift a little. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“Oh no. I believe you completely.” Her hand slipped into his for a quick squeeze that lingered. “You’re a treasure. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He squeezed back lightly and found he didn’t feel like letting go just yet. “What’cha doin’ after dinner?”

“Didn’t have any plans, really.” A faint tired smile softened the line of her mouth. “Got something in mind?”

His throat was dry, her hand was still linked into his and come on he’d been done with being nervous over this kind of crap when he was like fifteen. “Movie?”

A huff of surprise caught on her teeth and she tipped back until her shoulders hit the wall. “Yes,” after a still moment. “Sure. Please.”

Stan let out a half-held breath, pressed the kerchief into her palm and closed her fingers over it. “G’wan now. That’s enough dancin’ for one day. You should go get a shower, drink as much water as you can stand, get some aspirin because you are gonna be feelin’ it by nightfall, I can tell.” He waved shooing hands at her. “I’ll handle cleanup and it’s someone else’s job to cook tonight, you got it? Go get a nap or read a book or actually make like it’s vacation. I’ve put you through the wringer enough the last couple days.”

She didn’t argue. Clary snapped out the kerchief and tied it loosely around her throat. Habit lent precision to the process - she centered the widest part over the scar, brought the ends around, offset the knot to the left without a hitch. “I can tell I’ll barely be able to move tomorrow.”

“After our fishin’ trip, I’m surprised you got outta bed.”

“Places to go. People to see.” She came to her feet with a sigh and pressed his shoulder in passing. “That nap sounds like a great idea. Thank you, Stan, that was fun and educational.”

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Clary doesn’t say a word and doesn’t look back at you, studying her hands, vulnerable with her neck bared.

At least you got out alive!

Is there someone I can punch?

Silent support.

#gravity falls #gfdatingsim #DDtMMW #Swooning Over Stans #Stanley Pines #OClicious #fanfic

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roninhunt0987 · 6 years ago

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Krys, Scratch and Aqua meeting their new siblings

Krys, Scratch and Aqua meeting their new siblings By: Roninhunt0987 X3 a cute and adorable story of Krystal, Scratch and Aqua coming home finally after college and such and meeting their new siblings... :3 half of it was by via rp but i've taken the liberty to do the rest of the dialogue for kip... =3 so i suppose this something for me to do for her and such... =3 so yea.. anyways enjoy folks.. X3 this takes place in m.e.g.a chronicles 3 and such hehe Characters©belongs to their rightful owners Melody: -a teenager now excited that Krystal, Scratch and Aqua are coming home- Kotone and Misty: -same- Fuji. Ayame, Chetan and Nipaham: :?| Melody: X3 you'll love them... X3 trust us on that Kotone and Misty: X3 yea Krystal, Scratch, Aqua: -just pulled into the driveway of the house and starts getting out bags and suitcases out of the car- Lyric the fox: -coming out of the kitchen- I think I just heard a car outside. I think the Agons are home finally Merrick: -opens the door and gets on the front porch smiling- Melody: -smiles ready to glomp krystal- Kotone and Misty: -same- Krystal: -looks over and smiles- Hi Dad! Scratch: -carrying a couple of bags and hops onto the porch- were back!! Aqua: after the longest drive of my entire life. -giggles- Lyric the fox: -walks out onto the porch- hey guys, in sure some certain siblings of yalls are waiting for all of you inside. -he chuckles- Melody, Katone and Misty: -glomps krystal soon as she walked in- X3 hehehe Fuji, Ayame, Chetan and Nipaham: -looking to the reunion there and sees what Krystal, Scratch and Aqua looks like for the very first time- Krystal: gah! -glomped by the girls, giggles and hugs them back- I missed you girls too! Scratch: -pulling bags through the front door- Aqua: -giggles at the girls- well, I'd say they certainly missed you Krys. -looks at at the 4 others, smiling- oh, well who might these 4 be? Fuji. Ayame, Chetan and Nipaham: -looks to them cutely- Merrick: =3 these are your siblings Fuji, Ayame, Chetan and Nipaham... all 4: -walks up to them and opens arms- Hug?? Flynn: -pokes around the corner and pokes back in- Aqua: oh! Well of course! -she smiles and hugs them- its always good to gain more siblings! I'm Aqua Silver Agon. Krystal: -pulls all the girls up, her being extremely strong as usual, laughing- we have new Siblings?? Scratch: -comes back downstairs- whats going on? Merrick: ^~^ you been away for 3 years and well.. X3 lets just say your mom kimiko gave birth to Fuji and Ayame there... X3 they're 3 now.. X3 however their twin brothers Chetan and Nipaham are adopted... Fuji and Ayame: -smiles cutely to krystal which is the same cute smile melody does when melody was their age- Chetan and Nipaham: -smiles cutely as well- Kimiko: X3 mmhmm Krystal: -giggling- well its nice to meet you new siblings! I'm Krystalia, but just call me Krystal or Krys. -she smiles with her fangs- yall remind me so much of when Melody was little Aqua: -smiling back at them- Scratch: cool! Do any of you like hot sauce??? Oh, sorry, im Scratch by the way! All 4: ^~^ hehe well met Melody: X3 hehe Flynn The Horsefly: -yells in Krystal's ear- AYHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! Krystal: -jumps and then grabs Flynn by the neck, ears flattened- and who is this annoying idiot?? Aqua: oh boy Scratch: welp looks like another soon to be dead man to me Merrick: ahh yes... thats new local idiot of the house now... O.o sonic wised up as well as the wario bros while you were away for a while.. his name is Flynn The Horsefly- Flynn: ACK!!! GAHHH!!!! WHAT THE F**K!!! Fuji: thats a swear Ayame: yea Chetan and Nipaham: mmhmm -smiles as they sit back to watch Krystal and Scratch beat the hell outta flynn- Fuji and Ayame: ^~^ Melody: =3 just watch Krystal even told me by via text message they picked up some new abilities with their powers and were gonna see it first hand Merrick: -smiles as he sits back to watch- Krystal: figures. Well, I guess its time to issue the usual warning, not that you will be smart and listen to it. But we dont play nice, Flynn, so you better watch it, or you might just lose a few organs~ Scratch: let's just say your playing with Fire, Water, and Electricity when it comes to us. Aqua: you got that right. -giggles- Krystal: -throws him to Scratch- would you like to go first little bro? Scratch: smirks sure thing! -his fur flares orange and yelling before trapping Flynn in a fire tornado that's slowly closing in on Flynn- Flynn: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! FIRE FIRE FIRE!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Fuji, Ayame, Nipaham and Chetan: OwO cooooooooool Melody: X3 told ya Misty and Kotone: X3 Aqua: -does a water blast on flynn- Flynn: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! -wet and knows whats coming next- oh geeze Krystal: -smirks and fires her lightning blast at Flynn- Flynn: -getting electricuted- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! -on the floor hurt badly and says ow like shrek did on the first movie when he had the arrow yanked from his butt- owwwwwwwwwww Krystal: well whatcha think?? Fuji, Ayame, Chetan and Nipaham: XD THAT WAS TOTALLY WICKED!!!!!!! Krystal: -giggles- Scratch: -does the peace sign- XD yup Aqua: -giggles- Krystal: -smiles and sees something off from merrick which is his cyber eye and cybernetic arms- whoa... O.o dad.. how Merrick: I guess ya missed a lot so I might as well explain -sits down- -after a long talk of explaining of the current events that has already happened such as meeting with his friend tom and etc- Scratch: Dang... X3 I have to be honest but you look way cooler with those cybernetic enhancements dad Aqua: =3 yea Krystal: =3 though it has to getting used to and such Merrick: -chuckles- I know Lillacia: -comes on in and smiles as she is a teenager now and also same height as she was- X3 Heya Krys Krystal: X3 Lillacia you're all grown up Aqua: X3 hehe Scratch: X3 yea hehe Sans: -walks on in- heh.. good to see you again Papyrus: -comes from the kitchen as he was making pasta and meatballs for dinner- X3 ahh welcome home Krystal: heh thanks guys Lyric: X3 we been making sure we ya bedrooms are well maintained and such Scratch: XD thats good Aqua: so.... where did that horsefly came into the picture Merrick: oi... O.o probably since after the events I been through and such so yea... well.. yea.. he's not the only idiot around Jack: OH MY GOD THEY KILLED FLYNN!!! the other 7 idiots: YOU BASTARD!! Krystal: wait.. 9 idiots... oh boy... -facepalm- figures... Scratch: :3 well more people to toast up Aqua: mmhmm Merrick: yup Jared: -walks on in- X3 Ahh Krys welcome home Krystal: X3 hey Jared thanks hehe Scratch: X3 how the wife and kids Jared: =3 doing very well Kit Prower: X3 heya guys welcome home Krystal: X3 thanks kit Aqua: =3 hehe Scratch: X3 guess for now krystal, aqua and I can get to know our new siblings Merrick: X3 you go ahead and do that k hehe -a lil later after Krystal, scratch and Aqua unpacked- Fuji, Ayame, Nipaham and Chetan: -looking at the photo album of Melody at her age of 3 having time with krystal and etc- X3 hehe krystal: -chuckles and points to the photo where she and melody did an april fools joke on sonic of squirting him with a squirt gun- XD hehehe good times Fuji: -turns page and looks at the photo where Jared and scratch pranked sonic in the shower of pink hair dye- XD hehehehehe Scratch: XD oh god I remember that.. XD jared and I got sonic good on that one Jared: XD yup Ayame: XD hehe I never knew ya were a prankster there Chetan and Nipaham: XD yea Jazz: -walks on in smiling- X3 welcome home Krystal, Scratch and Aqua Krystal: X3 thanks Jazz Aqua: X3 hehe Scratch: XD hehe Jazz: -has made some muffins for the three of them as a welcome home present- X3 hehe Scratch: XP sweet Krystal: =3 awesome Aqua: XD hehe thanks Jazz Fuji: -turns page and sees a pic of Jazz yelling at Scratch of saying stahp eating mah muffins- :? Ayame, Chetan and Nipaham: :? Scratch: XD oh hey I remember that... O.o I was kinda hungry and then I swiped jazz's muffins while she was not looking and she yelled at me Jazz: :3 and ya gave me that look of saying no Scratch: -rolls eyes and chuckles- so how ya been doin Jazz Jazz: =3 been doing well hehe Papyrus: X3 everyone Pasta is now served... XD Bone apitit -realized he did a pun- O_o;;;; Sans: XD hehehehehehehe Papyrus: SAAAAAAAANS ITS NOT FUNNEH!!!! Lillacia: XD yes it is hehe you walked into that one Paps Papyrus: -double facepalms- -later after dinner- Scratch: -in his room snoozing as he needed to sleep after that long trip and never had any sleep- Aqua: -in her room relaxing- Krystal: -watching a movie with Fuji, Ayame, Chetan and Nipaham- X3 enjoying the movie so far all 4: -asleep close to Krystal- Krystal: -noticed and smiles- awww -Flashback- Krystal: -before becoming an adult and watching a movie with melody at age 3- X3 enjoying the movie so far Mel melody(age 3): -asleep on krystal's lap- zzzz Krystal: -smiles- awww -end of flashback- Krystal: -smiles as she relaxes petting all 4 of her siblings and also glad to be home and such after being away for a long time and then falls asleep with them- Merrick: -walks in and also chuckles as he tucks them in with the blanket and then goes to sit down on at his recliner chair and starts playing some Devil May cry 5 with the volume turned down on the x-box one and looks to all 5 and goes into a flashback back when was flesh and bone fully- -flashback- Merrick: -tucks in Melody and Krystal and sits down on his recliner chair and plays some Devil may cry 3 with the volume turned down and looks to both kids- -end flashback- Merrick: -chuckles and also glad that Krystal, Scratch and Aqua are home finally after being away for a good while as he continues to play his game- -later in the night- all 9 idiots: -raiding the kitchen- Lyric the fox: -turns on the lights as he is in his pajamas and etc not amused- =w= all 9 idiots: O_o uh oh Lyric the fox: =w= all 9 idiots: -sheepishly smiles- Lyric The Fox: =w= ya no -presses button- teleport pad: -shows up on all 9 idiots and sends them to the moon- all 9 idiots: -sent to the moon- Lyric The Fox: =w= sigh... darn horseflies and kingdom hearts villans and final fantasy villian and sonic boom villian... geeze -uses her magic to restore the kitchen and sees its no longer a mess- ^^ there we go -turns off lights to the kitchen and heads back upstairs- -on the moon- all 9 idiots: -warps in onto the moon- Astronant: uhhhhh Houston... uhhh we have a problem all 9 idiots: MOTHERFU- Scene: -blacks out in random fart noise- TFS Nappa: .w. the end -XD END XD- -RH0987 PRODUCTIONS 2019-

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candomblemistress · 6 years ago

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You outsmarted two men that thought themselves quite clever. Neither David or Louis saw what you had planned coming. Do you have any similar stories of trickery using your powers?

One would believe that after a large quantity of novels where the master says “don’t celebrate too early” and “always be humble” they would’ve learned that the more you raise your nose, the less you can see the creatures crawling on the floor; to believe yourself intelligent and powerful is a reflection of exactly the opposite, and as a witch we’re taught that, if not by your master, your experience will definitely show you.

I didn’t fool them, they fooled themselves the moment they decided they knew it all.

I assume most of you imagine that I sit in front of my cauldron and plan what its going to happen, but truth is I just dance along, letting the energies of it take me where I want to be, sometimes the use of aggressive rituals is not necessary.

That being clear, let’s continue to a story about little Merrick.

Great Nanane’s golden years lasted for a very long time, sometimes I failed to see the elder woman she was becoming, because her spirit continue to reflect the youthful looking witch with penetrating gaze. Great quantities of customers, coming from all types of places and economic situations would gather requesting her services, but she often decided to refer them with her other apprentices because she considered not all of them were worth her energy, one day she got a job she couldn’t refuse.

A young man was possessed by an entity whose name hadn’t been discovered yet, and it had become so powerful that she decided to take him to our home in New Orleans rather than her workshop in the swamps because she feared it would earn strength from the nearby water, at the same time she sent me to sleep with one of her apprentices to avoid exposure.

By that time I had already discovered my favorite protection way, crystals mixed with scented strings, hanging from the walls in the oldest and most basic protection signs, locking my room to avoid most entities to enter, because let’s be real, no protection is unbreakable, but it can take away most headaches.

Zain Amina was Great Nanane’s favorite apprentice, she was a middle aged witch who had decided to cut her own hair entirely to avoid it being used in rituals, she would also burn almost anything that could be used for this purpose, kind of rare for a witch who loved used her period blood for magic, but anyhow, I didn’t want to stay with her, my soul wouldn’t be able to rest in a place not prepared to shield me from any interruptions, and my great idea to go around it was to astral project my soul to my bedroom; they wanted my body at Amina’s house, said nothing about my soul.

I astral-projected myself, tricked my own protections and entered my room, but as soon as I did I saw him sitting in a corner and I quickly realized what had happened; Great Nanane’s had decided to use my room’s lock as some form of barrier to keep this thing from breaking anywhere else.

His eyes were red, and he was tall and strong, I know the man I was looking at wasn’t the mortal boy she was taking care of: I was looking into the face of the demon itself. Evidently and pardon the word; I knew I was fucked.

I remember his laugh, penetrating and macabre, able to make the bravest man cry in fear, it shook my entire self. He didn’t waste time in running towards me, trying to get me, but then it was as if my instinct kicked in, I placed my hand on his chest and couldn’t help looking into his eyes; he was mad, but he couldn’t move. I put him to the ground, just with my hand on his chest, and I thought about it over and over, thinking “ I am just touching your chest, why can’t you move your hands? Not like I’d like you to, but I’d like to know why”

I knew no spell to eject him, I knew no spell to return him to the realm he came from, and he had taken the form of one of our most beloved deities, the few words he could speak, he asked me to set him free, because I was being such a bad child, you know? acting against my own superiors.

Then it just came to me, and I started screaming at him. “I am Merrick Mayfair, this is my home, and I don’t want you here.”, over and over until his red eyes turned back, his skin started burning and even my hand felt terribly bad, as if it were burning with him. I don’t know for how long I repeated, praying to my protectors and my ancestors to help me defend myself as I knew the moment I stopped the tables would turn.

What can I say? I woke up in my body, but I felt how it vibrated still from the events, I could feel the heath in my hands and my heart continued racing, however everything seemed normal, everyone acted normal, or so I thought.

By morning, overhearing from the kitchen as usual, Great Nanane explained to Amina that she had left the demon locked with oils, hoping it would weaken enough to be ejected on a better moon phase in some nights, but when she checked the man in the morning he was free, however, he had a severe burnt on his chest with the shape of a hand.

“You were lucky it was just a parasitic demon.” She would tell me years later, explaining me that the greatest test on that occasion had been facing what I love the most and continue destroying it, being able to recognize what was real from a very realistic imitation.

#sorry for the delay #thank you :)#antoineandthepiano #solved #drabble #merrick

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liambaileyjournalism · 6 years ago

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“There will be no extraction. You find him? You kill him…those are your orders.“―Draven to Cassian Andor

I recently managed to catch up with Alistair Petrie and ask him some questions about his time working on Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. Alistair played Davits Draven, a human male who served as a general in the Alliance to Restore the Republic during the Galactic Civil War. He was stationed at the Great Temple on the moon Yavin 4 when Jyn Ersowas given the task of stealing the Death Star plans by Mon Mothma, a leader of the Rebel Alliance. Extraction Team Bravo, the team responsible for Jyn’s break out of a labor camp on the planet Wobani, was under Draven’s command. (Source – Wookiepedia)

How does working on Star Wars compare to all your work on other projects?

Its History, Scale, its legacy. The iconography you see every day at work. Sorry, did I say ‘work..’?

How did you get the role?

I got a call from my agent saying that Jina Jay, the casting director had called her and said that “Gareth Edwards would love you to join his Film”. I remember where I was when I took that call. It was all very secretive and early info was scarce but I said: “give me a line and a cool name, I’m in”. Didn’t need to know anything else.

When you were given the role of General Davits Draven, were you given any info to accommodate this?

In practical terms a schedule, in character terms, initially what the character ‘represented’ which was the hawkish, military side of things. Diplomacy is not his area, a military response is. The amazing thing to subsequently find out is all your life details; where you were born, your whole backstory.

Can you describe your time filming scenes?

We had ‘high stakes’ scenes. Dramatic stuff to do but whilst you focus on all that as you go about shooting scenes, on cut, there is still time to mess about with your fellow actors and crew. It can be repetitive but then every time you film a scene from another new angle there’s new things to discover: a way of delivering a line, a nuanced glance… But if you keep thinking “This is A SW movie, this is a SW Movie..” you’ll lose your mind, your focus and probably your job. You zoom in on the real things: who am I? what do I want from this scene? You have to treat it the same way you tell any other story. And you drink a LOT of tea and try to avoid too many doughnuts at the Craft Service table.

What was the Yavin 4 set like?

Huge. They wanted to build big sets and not rely on Green Screen and SFX. Awesome in the truest sense of the word.

What was it like being in costume?

To spend all day in an SW Costume – especially the iconic 70’s costumes? Like. A. Rock. Star.

Was there much interaction between yourself and the directors, if so, what sort of things would you discuss?

Absolutely, all the time. It’s one of the closest relationships you have. You discuss things beforehand, in the moment between takes, your ideas, their ideas. It’s a collaboration. Character arcs, why you say what you say. Everything is – or should be discussed – so when he or she yells action, you are ready to go and every nuance and detail is figured. Then you take all that, throw it away and let your (informed) instincts take off. That, at least, is the plan. Then you listen to The First Assistant Director, the mighty Toby, who runs the show. He’s the real boss.

You had quite an important role in Rogue One, delivering the command to Cassian Andor to kill Galen Erso, what was it like filming that scene, and how is Diego Luna to work with?

I just loved saying that line. It was a relatively new addition to the script so when I read it a couple of days before shooting it, I did go a bit weak at the knees. “You find him, you kill him..”

Then I had to watch the ship take off. Or rather I had a leaf blower in my face and followed the line of a crane to mirror the takeoff trajectory.

I’m like a kid when I’m working. I take it very seriously but never forget the complete joy and privilege of doing what I do. Diego is similar. He’s relaxed and completely charming but fully engaged when it’s time.

If you could play any other character, who would it be and why?

I always wanted to be an X Wing Pilot. How utterly heroic. My father was a fighter pilot in the RAF and so maybe that’s in there somewhere.

Who are some of your favourite characters from the franchise and why?

R2. Somehow you just understand what R2 is saying. I love that. Obi-Wan Kenobi – far too cool and kinda old…and can fight…Vader: the most terrifying villain. And Porkins. Honestly. A larger gentleman but good enough to be an X Wing Pilot. Damn right – it’s an inclusive Galaxy. Leia, of course. For all sorts of reasons.

What does Star Wars mean to you?

Gareth and I talked about this. I remember the cinema I saw A New Hope in and where I sat. Old velvet flip down seats… Truly, I feel like the kid who stood up from that seat, walked down the aisle climbed onto the stage and into the screen. It’s magic.

Did you ever think your work would lead you to be in a franchise like Star Wars?

I never think work leads anywhere. I heard a great story recently that an actor who won an Oscar couldn’t get any work, I mean ANY work, for a year after their win. I always say if you ever think “I’ve cracked it’ in this business, it will come and bite you on the arse. Hard.

What are some of your highlights filming Star Wars?

We were in Cardington and it’s such a vast cavernous space. They had built the huge Yavin 4 set but still, as a building designed to build a Zeppelin airship, it was almost swallowed. I was walking back from my trailer to the set and came across R2 parked up, just tucked away in a corner. Of all the characters I first saw in SW, R2 I loved the most. I stopped, looked around and it was just the two of us. I said…’Alright R2..?”. In my mind, he whistled and rocked from side to side. My Pal. Messing about with General Merrick (Ben Daniels) almost finished my laughing supplies for the year and I loved working with Gareth Edwards.

What are some of your favourite scenes from Star Wars and why?

So many for so many different reasons. I pride myself on my Alec Guinness Impression, so any opportunity to roll my hand and say “these are not the droids you’re looking for”, I’ll take it. I once called pulled over for speeding and used it on the Policeman. He thought I was mad.

Do you attend many comic conventions, if so, what does fan interaction mean to you, and do you have any appearances coming up?

I did about 4 last year and honestly, I was unsure what to expect. But I loved it. People share their stories with you about their love of the films. You get some commercial collectors who are ‘doing a job’ but they come and go; the real interaction is with the people of all ages who have found something that means so much to them. It’s completely wonderful. It is a community of which we are all a part of. A safe place where people can be exactly who they want to be and nobody judges you, you all have a common bond.

Are you open to doing more work for the Star Wars franchise in the future?

Of course, If the Rebellion calls, you don’t say no.

I would like to say a huge thank you to Alistair for answering these questions, and another one for playing the epic General Draven in Rogue One, it was a brilliant performance!

May the force be with you all!

"There will be no extraction. You find him? You kill him…those are your orders."―Draven to Cassian Andor "There will be no extraction. You find him? You kill him…those are your orders."―Draven to Cassian Andor…

#actor #alistair Petrie #featured #film #general draven #interview #rebels #rogueone #star wars

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poeticandvaguelysweet · 7 years ago

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Til Kingdom Come

Jurassic World

Summary: Claire and Owen learn to understand each other.

Part: 4/12

Words: 3,556

Y’all encourage this weakness and I want to hold you accountable. Love you. But, for real guys, I need to get on a one a week basis.

AO3

TIL KINGDOM COME - PART FOUR

There was nothing to do at Castle Grey. Claire kept to herself, taking initiative in the gardens as she buried her hands deep in the soil of flower beds. On days where it was too hot, the sun high in the sky, Claire cured her boredom in the library. She curled herself into a large armchair and disappeared into another world on the page. The Citadel held the largest library in The Four Kingdoms and yet Claire found herself pleasantly surprised in this modest space.

She started with a familiar text, something that made her feel safe and comfortable in her new home still filled with mysterious shadows.

The skies outside were sunny and bright as the thick air tried to suffocate her. Inside was cooler, especially between the rows of books and the dim lights. Zara left her to do laundry, trying desperately to find her niche as Claire did, amongst the other staff of the castle. Claire was sure she wouldn’t need her and in that allowed her friend to go, buying herself some spare time alone.

It was his wolves she spotted first, smaller of the four curling itself around the door as it padded into the room. If the animals were there, Owen wasn’t going to be far off. The creature stepped towards her, second slipping into place behind the first, both of them stalking down low. Claire pulled her legs tighter to her chest, glaring at the animals as she did so.

‘Shoo!’ She flicked her wrist towards them. ‘Go on, go away!’ They didn’t move, noses mere inches from her skin as a third came through the door. Owen followed with the fourth, Claire turning large blue eyes in his direction, seeking out help. ‘Tell them to leave me alone!’ She cried, voice shaking as her eyes jumped back to his beasts. Claire didn’t want to be scared; not of wolves. They were murderous beasts, harmful hunters with sharp eyes. She had not seen them in action but nevertheless, all she saw in them was blood dripping from their thick teeth.

Owen chuckled, the loud sound filling the room. ‘They won’t hurt you.’ He told her, smile fond as he looked at her, the woman practically a child curled in on herself.

‘I don’t care. I want them gone.’ Claire spat, trying to convey how much she didn't like them as Owen stepped around their bodies to seat himself in the chair beside hers.

‘Claire.’ She was starting to like the sound of her name on his lips. Her mind wandered back to her birthday, ears picking up on the faint way he sighed against her, Claire still in control as she rode him, on top with no assistance and only his hands on her hips encouraging a more torturous rhythm. ‘Here.’ She missed him leaning over the arm of his chair, hand reaching out to wrap around her wrist. ‘This is Blue.’ He pulled her hand towards the biggest of the wolves, creature bowing its head as her fingers made contact with fur so dark it was as blue as midnight. ‘Charlie,’ He moved her hand to the second wolf, dark brown. ‘Delta,’ The third was a patch between the others, splotches of black, brown and grey. ‘And Echo,’ He pulled her hand towards the head of the last wolf, the pelt grey as Owen let go of her hand, leaving her fingers threaded in the wolf’s fur. ‘They're my girls.’ He beamed proudly, her eyes pulling away from the creature to catch his wild smile. ‘They keep an eye out for me and as my wife, you are under their guard too.’ She felt her heart jump into her chest. ‘I want you to feel safe with them.’ Claire scoffed, unable to help the sound as insult flashed across his face and each of the animals lifted their heads to look at her.

‘I would feel a lot safer if they didn’t come so close to me.’ Owen made a noise in the back of his throat and the wolves retreated. They listened to command.

‘I’ve been told you haven’t bled in some time.’ Claire felt her skin flush, cheeks beating red hot as she dropped her eyes to her lap. She hadn’t in weeks, and that fact alone hadn’t escaped her notice. Zara was trying not to smile every time she looked at her, appearing each morning a little more hopeful than the last with each absent day of Claire’s period. She shook her head. ‘Do you feel any different?’ There was an interest in his voice, concern almost, that she couldn’t quite place. Like he cared but was too scared to admit it.

Claire shrugged, cheeks burning hotter. ‘I certainly do not feel pregnant.’ She told him, eyes jumping to his for a split second before tearing away. She wanted to be defiant, to smack him over the head and tell him to mind his own business. In fact, she wanted to find Mae and Zara to request they didn’t speak to him about whether or not she was bleeding. Everyone in the castle was anxious for news. This was why she was here. To marry the heir to the East throne and provide him with children. It was just a bonus that she was pretty enough to cause gossip just on her looks, beyond that, nothing else was discussed. They had been married for a few moons now, it was only going to be a matter of time before they knew. Claire just wished her personal business could be kept to herself and not shared with everyone at Castle Grey before she had time to come to terms with it. She thought, in marrying below her station, getting whisked off to Grady land that it would come with a little more privacy and less urgency. By all accounts, Claire was wrong.

Owen hummed, ‘Maybe not?’

‘It is possible. We have only been married three months.’ He nodded. Owen couldn’t remember the last time he heard anyone talk about babies. Not recently. Faintly, he could remember his first marriage and his grinning wife, the woman coming to him with words of a child mere weeks after their ceremony. They had lost it days after. Owen was desperate to not get his hopes up. Claire took it as disinterest. ‘I promise,’ she started, ‘When the time comes I will give you strong sons.’ He nodded easily, taking her word and strong conviction.

Claire felt she needed to say it. Felt like it would add to her worth and his kindness. She knew what was riding on this, for him, for the both of them. If she did not get pregnant and soon, with a male heir Owen risked losing everything, Claire too. She wondered if her father and brother knew that when they sent her away. Surely, they would not have pushed her into the arms of someone whose stakes were so high. Owen was still hesitant with her, to the point that Claire worried he saw no worth in her. She wondered if he would have preferred to die at the hand of his father than live eternity with Claire Dearing.

‘My sister —‘ She started, watching Owen rise from his chair, not quite ready to lose the company. ‘—Karen, she lives in the West. She gave her husband two sons. I hear they are beautiful boys that are already making great lords.’ The oldest was no younger than eight by now, but already, her sister had shared in letters that he was taking on his lessons and duties with a fine commanding spirit.

Owen smiled, amusement small on his cheeks. ‘No offence, but Dearing men are not known for their strength.’ He told her, dismissing Claire once again as he stood, his back to her as his wolves looked for a command.

‘Our sons will not be Dearing men. They will be yours, Gradys, the strongest in The Four Kingdoms. Your seed in my womb will bring the world the most powerful leaders it has ever seen. With them, you could see your house overruling my family, The Grady’s could become The Keepers of the Kingdom within a generation.’ She stood, urging him to believe her as the wet nose of one of his wolves tapped at her hand. Claire didn’t know what compelled her to impress him so much, desperate for the man to see her worth as to not so readily discard her. They were already married, she did not need to do this bargain plea. She did not know what Merrick promised Theon in their trade, but she needed to make her worth known to her husband. She wanted to have his sons to save her own life. ‘We need this.’ She told him with a quiet whimper so small he might not have heard her.

She did not want him giving up on the fight.

Owen turned, facing her full-bodied, wolf pelt sitting strong and wide on his shoulders as he stared at her with hollow green eyes. ‘I don’t want you to be miserable.’ He told her with the most care she had seen pour out of him since they met. It rivalled their wedding night. Claire nodded. ‘Get out of this room, go do something, be busy. I don’t care what it is, I just don’t want to know that you’re moping.’ She didn’t know how to tell him it was too hot for anything else and she certainly had not been moping.

There were a few choice activities she wanted to partake in but was unsure how accepted it would be now that she was away from the support of her home. ‘I want to help with the civil court.’ Claire spoke before Owen left the room. ‘I want to help.’ She had sat and paid witness to the weekly and sometimes daily opening of the court where those who belonged to Grady land could air their grievances, ask for assistance or warn their Lords of what could potentially be a threat inside their territory. Owen took the place of his father on the throne for court and often went out first hand to deal with any issues that had arisen. Claire wanted to take his place or at least be allowed to sit with him and offer her assistance. ‘I can be kind and cruel. Let this be a way for your people to get to know their lady?’ She asked, eyes hopeful as he stared at her.

Owen shrugged, face soft. ‘I will see what I can do. Father has never had a woman hold court before.’ She couldn’t forget that this was still his father’s castle and until the man was dead it would remain that way. In time, if she gave Owen children — and she was certainly praying that she could — it would become theirs. ‘Is there anything else?’ He asked her, waiting for his permission to leave.

‘I would like to get to know you better, My Lord.’ Claire offered, feeling a little hopeless. They spoke on occasion. Nonsense little things, nothing about their selves. They had sex, Owen adoring the spitfire woman who took command in their chambers. She knew nothing of him. ‘We are married and yet I do not know the faintest thing about you other than your wine is horrible and you assure me your beasts are tame.’ His smile was wide, splitting up his face as he chuckled, nodding at her softly.

‘Anything, My Lady.’

[…]

He chose to walk, leading Claire out of the library and back to the castle grounds.

‘Don’t you have any brothers?’ She asked, walking beside him as a wayward breeze caught her hair. Owen decided he liked it out there, with her, the wolves playing in the grass a few feet away.

Owen shook his head. ‘I had a sister.’ The tense was not lost on Claire. ‘She died when she was a girl. She was a sick little thing, had a terrible fall and her poor body couldn’t heal itself.’ He paused, eyes caught in the line of trees over Claire’s head. Her hand found him gently, fingers gracing his palm and pulling back before she committed to holding on. ‘My parents married late and they struggled to conceive. It has been a source of great anguish for my father and why he never remarried. He’s too afraid to find out it was his fault and not Ma.’

‘What happened to your mother?’ She pried gently, hand squeezing his. He promised to let her in, to share his life with her but he didn’t need to divulge everything immediately.

‘She died a year or two after Sarah. I was fifteen. She never was right after we lost her, missed her dearly, cried all the time. My father lost his patience after that, once Ma was gone there was no one to hold him back. I think he wants me dead most days because it would be easier for him. He could let us all go if we were all gone.’ Claire pulled herself into him, her head finding his shoulder as they walked in step. Owen faltered, staring down at her gentle touch like she was some kind of wild animal acting out.

‘And your first wife? What happened?’ Claire knew a line was approaching, one she couldn’t cross, risking Owen’s comfort in storytelling and a possible wrath. He only took a deep breath.

‘Margot.’ He breathed. ‘We were married when we were eighteen. She was a fisherman’s daughter, really no one my father could use for personal gain but he allowed the union when I asked.’ Claire could imagine her family was thrilled to hear their daughter was promised to a prince. That didn’t happen to just anyone. ‘She kept me sane in this crazy world. The East Court was a marvel to her and she embraced it about as fearlessly as baby birds learning to fly. We were married three years before she died. She got sick. Mae said it was the baby.’ Owen hesitated, caught on the small gasp Claire tried to hide. She was still beside him, steps mechanical as a twig snapped under her foot. ‘I’ve never seen anyone that ill. The baby died before she did and when Margot realised that, she let go.’ Claire couldn’t imagine what that must have felt like. Her heart ached as they stopped to watch the wolves in silence, her hand still in his, her head lightly resting on his shoulder.

She tried to find her voice after minutes of silence, conviction returning as she squeezed her husband's hand. ‘You’ve lost a lot of women in your life.’

Owen hummed, once again not looking at her as he took in a deep breath revelling in the sweet smell of her beside him. ‘They all die.’ His mother, his sister, his wife — Claire was starting to understand why the man had an apprehension for her but always managed to let it go when she lured him in with an easy wink. It wasn’t just that he was weak. She never missed the clench in his fist or the tick in his jaw that willed his body not to move.

Claire shook her head. ‘Not me.’ She stopped, feet planted firmly on the gravel. ‘I’m not dead and I’m not dying. Not unless I say so.’ She saw the same tick in his jaw, his hand clenching down on hers before he stood in front of her, face to face, his spare hand raising to cup her jaw. Owen didn’t want Claire to know of Theon’s demands. He gathered that she would understand the importance of an imminent pregnancy and had the mouths of the castle’s court for that. But, if she understood that Theon would throw her in a cell to use her as he pleased for not complying within a year of their marriage; Owen feared it would break her. She was too pure for that, too sweet to be tainted.

‘I could fall in love with you.’ When their eyes met, his thumb stroking soft circles on her cheek, Claire swore he peered right into her soul. Like a window, it moved both ways. She saw the hesitancy in his words and understood.

She stepped away, his hand falling to the empty air as Claire wrapped her arms around herself. ‘But you won’t.’ It was the sting of rejection that cooled her. He would have sex with her, of course, he would, she was beautiful and she was his wife, but he would not let himself love her. ‘You’re scared that if you love me, you’ll lose me like all the other women you’ve loved.’ She was hurt. ‘I am different but instead of waiting to see that for yourself, you’ve put me in a box with the rest of them without giving me a chance. May as well start digging my grave if you’re going to commit me to a loveless marriage.’ She huffed, temper rising and falling without apology. Owen reached for her and Claire allowed his hand to stay. ‘My brother will not accept this peace trade until I have proven my worth to The East. The only thing that will do that is a baby, Owen. Your father will not be held up to any promises until you have been given an heir.’ She would not tell him that Theon had threatened her. Mae warned her husband would do anything to keep his young wife safe and she feared if he knew of his father’s intentions for her, Owen would act. There was no telling how many people in The East Court would support Owen upon the murder of his father, or how many would out him the second it happened. They could not take that risk. She would not allow it. Not now. ‘It is on me, on us to ensure your father does not go back on his word. My brother will renounce me. I’ll lose my title, my place — I’ll be worthless.’

Her fears centred there. Being without the support of her great Dearing name. If Merrick renounced her, Claire would just be Claire, considered an orphan at nineteen with no family. Her father will be forced to stand before the kingdoms and claim that she was no longer his.

Owen was aware of the tears in her eyes and the fear tangled in her fingers. If her family did that, Theon had every right to throw her away. She would be worthless to him in more than one way. ‘My mother always told me, love is born from love and you cannot have children without it. If we have any chance at giving our families the solidity that they want, we need love. You need to love me.’ Claire stared him down with wide blue eyes, ‘I’m not asking for you to say it or even mean it wholeheartedly, I just need you to understand that you cannot refuse to let me in because you’re scared of getting hurt again.’

He was scared of how his heart would feel when Theon made him watch what they had in store for Claire the second he got tired of waiting for an heir. Owen wouldn’t be able to take it, wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. He did not want to love her for fear of spending his dying moments worrying about her. It was going to happen regardless, the worry for the innocent young woman he called a wife. Whether she hated him or loved him back. Owen felt as though he could die easier knowing she hated him in that moment rather than mourned him.

Love made a person blind, stupid, deaf to the heinous crimes of the world. He did not want to find that Claire was the kind of woman to go soft after love struck her heart. She was fierce and independent, she marched after those who displeased her. But, what of the woman in love? Would she let things go? Would she cry in the cell Theon threw her in? He wanted to know that she raged loudly, made a racket like his wolves during the full moon and never gave up her spirit. He was scared that if he touched her with his love she would lose the fire.

‘I’m trying.’ He told her quietly. Trying to let his hardships go. Trying to get his father’s voice out of his head. Trying to rid himself of Margot’s sickly pleas. He was trying not to love her and trying to slip into her love a little faster all at once. His head was torn in two, feet moving in different directions as Owen asked what he wanted from this life.

He wanted to suggest that they wait for her family to renounce her before they run, escaping into the long hills beyond and off of Grady land. His father would not let him live, even if he stepped down from his title. The only way out was on foot, running for freedom as they screamed into the wind. Claire would never accept. Not with so much at risk. She wouldn’t take to that life. She was destined to be a queen, the whole world set to watch her conquer.

#clawen #claire dearing #owen grady #jurassic world #claire x owen #owen x claire #til kingdom come #my fic

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jobsearchtips02 · 5 years ago

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News Outlets Want More Marketers to Imitate Hamburger King

The Home of the Whopper, Verizon and Amazon are amongst the relative few that haven’t been afraid to run ads near protection of the coronavirus.

Rather of shunning posts with terms like “Covid-19” or “pandemic,” Burger King focused its message on contactless food shipment and pickup. Credit … Leah Frances for The New York Times

May 7, 2020, 10: 27 a.m. ET

The majority of companies regularly take actions to ensure their ads don’t run near headings that might distress prospective customers. News companies weren’t amazed when advertisers canceled projects in current weeks or demanded that their ads be placed far from coverage of the coronavirus pandemic, costing publishers considerable profits.

Hamburger King was an exception. Rather of shunning posts that consisted of terms like “Covid-19” or “pandemic,” the company behind the Whopper focused its message on contactless food shipment and pickup. That way, its marketing would not seem out of place in a grim news cycle, said Marcelo Pascoa, the company’s head of brand name and communications.

” It isn’t damaging for the brand name to appear within the context of the crisis, because the brand is playing a role,” he said.

To keep away from problem, marketers typically turn to a method called blacklisting. It allows airlines to avoid running advertisements near plane-crash coverage, and companies with wholesome images to keep away from short articles consisting of words like “murder” or “sex.” In a time of political polarization, regularly blacklisted terms consist of “Russia,” “impeach” and, amongst the most prevented, ” Trump.”

Lately, the most-blocked terms refer to the infection. Blacklisting during the pandemic has actually kept more than 1.3 billion ads from being shown beside content featuring the word “coronavirus” on sites, according to the advertisement verification company Integral Ad Science. That has had a devastating effect on ad-dependent news organizations, a lot of which have actually been required to lay off employees at a time when the pandemic has controlled coverage.

For quality journalism to survive, more companies ought to behave like Hamburger King, news publishers and marketing executives say.

Image

Isolation-themed ads, like this one from Burger King, have actually popped up more regularly on news sites as the virus lingers. Credit … Hamburger King

Steven Brill, a veteran news executive who is working to eliminate false information and propaganda through the journalism verification start-up NewsGuard, said business had started “an unintended boycott of major news” through their avoidance of coronavirus protection.

” There’s a method to support genuine journalism and not be embarrassed,” Mr. Brill stated.

However there are issues, aside from business squeamishness. Numerous companies are struggling to stay afloat and have less to invest in marketing. Further, they fret that their advertisements could wind up on sites that pitch incorrect information or conspiracy theories related to the virus.

Mr. Brill stated business ought to put aside their fears, provided the hazard to the news industry.

” Advertisers can continue to make thoughtful choices about ad placements on Covid-19 content while supporting major journalism and remaining positive their advertisements will not appear on false information sites,” he said.

In a recent essay for the trade publication The Drum, Jerry Daykin, a media executive at the pharmaceutical company GlaxoSmithKline, advised his peers to support deserving news outlets. The heading for his piece was blunt: “Marketers– stop blocking the best parts of the internet or they will not exist any longer.”

” If we cut the funding from premium content and journalism,” Mr. Daykin wrote, “it merely will not exist for us to promote versus in the future.”

Some business, such as Slack, Geico, Netflix and the telemedicine business GoodRx, have actually continued to place ads with news publications despite the awful news cycle.

Verizon likewise went against the trend, spending more than $4.5 million on marketing on news websites like The Wall Street Journal and CNN given that mid-March. That was more than double what it had invested over the very same duration in 2015, according to the advertising analytics platform Pathmatics.

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Verizon has spent more than $4.5 million marketing on news sites since mid-March. Credit … Jeenah Moon for The New York City Times

” Instead of pulling back because of the overwhelming nature of the narrative, we’ve leaned in,” Diego Scotti, Verizon’s chief marketing officer, stated in a statement.

Likewise, Amazon, which has dealt with criticism for pushing nervous workers to work, has spent $2.3 million to promote in The Wall Street Journal, in The Washington Post and on CNN because mid-March. Over the exact same duration in 2015, it invested $506,200 on those websites, according to Pathmatics.

But almost 90 percent of wire service stated companies had actually canceled advertising campaign since the crisis began, according to the trade group IAB

Many marketers entered into “panic mode,” stated Michel de Rijk, the chief executive of the digital marketing company S4 Capital

” Their first action was to stop whatever,” he said. “They didn’t want to be viewed in the wrong way or associated in some way.”

When print was the dominant medium, advertisements were placed by human beings able to make judgment calls. In the digital age, custom filters and algorithms guide advertisements into position along with online articles.

Some companies have thousands of blacklisted keywords and subjects. The blocking method is a “blunt tool,” stated Daniel Avital, the chief strategy officer of the advertisement fraud prevention business Cheq.

” Keyword blacklisting sees whatever in black and white,” he stated. “Covid is being discussed in every post, good or bad, but there is no spectrum, no subtlety, differentiating a dreadful post about old people dying from a benign short article about a musician carrying out from their living-room.”

Stringent filters are less expensive than sophisticated algorithms that scan stories for context, Mr. Avital added.

If the pandemic lasts through June, keyword stopping will drain more than $1 billion in income from online news publishers in the United States, according to a research study conducted by Cheq and the University of Baltimore’s Merrick School of Service. News publications are two times as most likely as other platforms to have actually ads scrubbed because of coronavirus-related material, IAB stated.

As the virus sticks around, isolation-themed ads have actually increasingly appeared on news sites. Numerous business continue to funnel the bulk of their online advertisement costs to Google and Facebook, which have struggled to include conspiracy theories and sketchy merchants.

An example is the e-commerce company Overstock. In Between March 11 and April 9, it invested more than $136,000 on news sites but $362,000 on Facebook advertisements, according to Pathmatics.

News publishers are promoting a larger share.

” Trusted wire service are the ultimate safe space for brand names,” stated Happiness Robins, the chief earnings officer for The Washington Post, “however trust and scale are not enough. Publishers can likewise guide brand names on how to responsibly speak with their highly engaged readers.”

Upgraded April 11, 2020

What should I do if I feel sick?

If you have actually been exposed to the coronavirus or think you have, and have a fever or symptoms like a cough or problem breathing, call a doctor. They ought to offer you advice on whether you should be evaluated, how to get evaluated, and how to seek medical treatment without possibly contaminating or exposing others.

When will this end?

This is a difficult question, due to the fact that a lot depends on how well the virus is included

How can I assist?

The Times Neediest Cases Fund has started a special campaign to assist those who have actually been affected, which accepts contributions here Charity Navigator, which examines charities utilizing a numbers-based system, has a running list of nonprofits working in communities impacted by the break out. You can offer blood through the American Red Cross, and World Central Kitchen has actually actioned in to disperse meals in major cities. More than 30,000 coronavirus-related GoFundMe fund-raisers have begun in the past few weeks. (The sheer number of fund-raisers suggests more of them are likely to stop working to satisfy their objective, though.)

Should I use a mask?

The C.D.C. has advised that all Americans use fabric masks if they head out in public. This is a shift in federal guidance showing brand-new concerns that the coronavirus is being spread out by contaminated people who have no symptoms Previously, the C.D.C., like the W.H.O., has advised that ordinary people don’t require to use masks unless they are ill and coughing. Part of the factor was to protect medical-grade masks for health care workers who desperately need them at a time when they remain in continually short supply. Masks don’t replace hand washing and social distancing.

How do I get tested?

If you’re sick and you think you’ve been exposed to the new coronavirus, the C.D.C. suggests that you call your health care provider and explain your symptoms and fears.

How does coronavirus spread?

It seems to spread very quickly from individual to person, particularly in houses, healthcare facilities and other restricted areas.

Is there a vaccine yet?

No.

What makes this outbreak so different?

Unlike the flu, there is no known treatment or vaccine, and little is understood about this specific infection so far.

What if somebody in my family gets sick?

If the household member does not require hospitalization and can be cared for at home, you must help him or her with basic needs and monitor the symptoms, while also keeping as much distance as possible, according to standards released by the C.D.C. If there’s space, the sick household member ought to remain in a separate room and use a different restroom.

Should I stockpile on groceries?

Plan 2 weeks of meals if possible.

Can I go to the park?

Yes, however make sure you keep 6 feet of distance in between you and people who don’t live in your house. Even if you simply hang out in a park, instead of choose a jog or a walk, getting some fresh air, and ideally sunlight, is a good idea.

Should I pull my cash from the markets?

That’s not a good concept. Even if you’re retired, having a balanced portfolio of stocks and bonds so that your money stays up to date with inflation, or even grows, makes good sense. However retirees might want to think of having adequate money reserve for a year’s worth of living expenditures and big payments needed over the next five years.

What should I do with my 401( k)?

Watching your balance go up and down can be frightening. You may be wondering if you should reduce your contributions– do not! If your company matches any part of your contributions, ensure you’re at least conserving as much as you can to get that “free money.”

from Job Search Tips https://jobsearchtips.net/news-outlets-want-more-marketers-to-imitate-hamburger-king/

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