#just make it stop pleas pear please make it stop please just make it all stop I can’t do it his

[dionysuswearsanorangetracksuit]

I can’t think anymore I can’t fucking think I can’t breathe I’m forgetting everything I’ve missed three fucking assignments THREE assignments and not even because they were just late and I procrastinated but bc I completely fucking forgot about them my brain is broken what am I supposed to do with this how am I supposed to survive or keep going or do anything with my life at all I was always smart and responsible and good and that was who I was that was my personality that’s why people liked me but what am I if I’m not smart and responsible and good anymore what the fuck am I supposed to do who the fuck even am I what is wrong with me I used to be so good at this I’m useless now I have no skills I have no money I can’t do the simplest fucking academic assignments anymore and for what

[babbushka]

Love On Me

Ancient Emperor!Kylo Ren x Goddess!Reader 

4k ; N S F W (ritual sex, public sex, festival sex, oral sex, PIV, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, come eating, come as lube, body worship, appeasing the gods, crying during sex, conception/trying for pregnancy)

It’s golden, in the temple. He is the only one alone now, although he has been there all day, has shut himself away and has laid his palms bare before the goddesses above. His loyal subjects have done the same, have filled this space with flowers, with fruit, with bread, with the bounty of the goddess’ blessings, have kneeled and prayed themselves hoarse through the course of the day. But now, the sun is setting, and as it smooths across the sky it shines a buttery light thick over the land, the kingdom, the empire.

Kylo’s empire.

It is the last day of the harvest festival, the day that the entire empire has been looking forward to, and as soon as the sun disappears beyond the ocean horizon, they will get the show they have been waiting for. Nine days of feasting, of grand parties, of sweat-slick orgies citywide, and it all comes down to this, this final act of consummation to officially begin the harvest season. With reverent hands, Kylo kneels before the altar, the shrine, in the temple.

Your shrine, in your temple.

He prays, eyes closed and head bowed, prays to the goddess of the harvest, to the goddess of fertility. He prays that this festival might please them, that the worship might catch their attention, might make them look favorably down upon the empire. It is imperative that this goes well, or else the festival will all be for naught.

Kylo was granted the vision in a dream, a great and glorious dream one evening many moons ago. In it, the goddesses stepped forth from the stars and called out to him, gave him the instructions for how to appease them, what he must do in order to secure prosperity for his people. The instructions were clear, and as he awoke in a cold sweat in your bed, he immediately roused you to speak them to you, but you already knew. It seemed as though the goddesses had told you both in the same dream, a dream which neither of you were willing to ignore.

And this is how Kylo finds himself here, before your shrine which is so populated with offerings that he can barely see you, for your statue is almost buried in piles and piles of gifts. Cuts of wheat and leavened bread, grapes and apples and pears, rich citrus fruits like oranges and limes, cherries and strawberries among fig leaves and vines, and a multitude of flowers, beautiful and blooming.

This is how Kylo finds himself, half naked and kneeling, head touching the marble floors as he chants and whispers prayers, asks the goddesses to hear him, hear his pleas for fertile subjects, fertile lands, prosperous wealth and a bountiful harvest.

In his prayers, he can hear the parade ascending the mountain where your temple is built. It sits atop the highest peak in access to the Nabooian people, and they are making the journey up the many many steps carved out of the middle of the stone, so that they might bare witness to this ritual.

Kylo stands then, for the sun is beginning to set quicker, the sky turning from a blazing orange gold, to a softer orange pink, the hint of purples and blues creeping around the edges of the horizon. His ceremonial trousers jingle slightly as he walks through the temple straight down towards the entrance. He is in deep rich red robes, the edged trimmed with gold rope coils and beads made from diamonds. He wears only these and a sash which holds it against his skin, his torso and arms completely bare.

He passes a large ceremonial bed, which has been placed in the center of the temple so that all who come may get a good view of the ritual. It is covered in lush cushions and soft sheets, plush pillows filled with downy feathers, that Kylo might prop underneath your hips when he comes inside you. He passes this bed and makes his way to the entrance, where he stands and waits.

The parade is close, he can hear the procession much more clearly now. What the goddesses had demanded in the dream, Kylo has made a reality. First are the acrobats and the gymnasts, who cartwheel and jump and skip with long ribbons in their hands, moving in formations that took months to rehearse. Following them are rows and rows of musicians who beat their drums and blow their trumpets to a steady march as dancers twirl and move around them, their red dresses flowing with every step.

Behind the musicians and dancers come the military guard, fifty soldiers atop white stallions all dressed in red and gold ceremonial armor, which is polished so brightly that Kylo can see the glint of the setting sun reflected off of the breastplates. They are led by Captain Phasma, head of the military and Kylo’s dear friend, up the mountain.

Then there is Goliath, of course. She is decorated with golden earrings and her collar is even more impressive for this ritual. She stalks behind the military, prowling and snarling, roaring performatively. She likes being the center of attention, likes baring her teeth for all to see how sharp they have grown. She protects you always, and she protects you now, for close behind Goliath are the six chosen warriors which have been given the honor to carry you through the streets.

You are reclined on a cushioned couch, your body thinly veiled by red silk so sheer that it looks as though you’re not wearing anything at all. Of all the sights, of all the display of this power of his empire, you are always the most gorgeous, the most impressive. Behind you, finally, is the entirety of the kingdom.

Some will be so lucky as to fit inside the temple and watch, but the rest will not. They will sit outside, crowd against the temple walls, stand on the steps in the mountainside, line the streets as they do their duty in bearing witness to this ritual.

As the parade comes ever closer, the temple begins to fill. The acrobats stop cartwheeling, the musicians change their tune, the dancers line the perimeter of the temple floor, the military dismount their horses and climb the steps and wait on the third story of the temple, looking down over the railings to ensure no danger will befall you. Goliath gives Kylo a deadly glare as if a warning that if he hurts you, he’ll be a dead man, before lowering her head and allowing him to scritch just behind her ears. If tigers could purr, Kylo thinks, she would.

And then – then then then there’s you. You, in your divine beauty, you, your body which glows like the sun itself, atop a cushioned couch that is carried up the steps of the temple. You are wearing nothing but a ceremonial skirt, a thin scrap of fabric which is slung low on your hips. You are completely covered in golden body chains, arm bands, bracelets and rings, and Nabooian pearls drip off of nearly every piece. Your face is covered by the red veil, but he can still see you, and oh how he is breathless at the sight.

Kylo doesn’t allow your feet to touch the ground when the couch is put down. He picks you up and carries you to the altar, and as he turns to enter the temple once again, all the loyal subjects which have followed the parade do as well. They cram in as much as they can, lovers seating one another atop their laps so that there might be more room for as many people as possible.

The drummers begin then, a slow and steady rhythm. This drumming is unlike that of the parade, which was festive and fun – no, no this is serious, this is important, this cannot be fucked up in any way shape or form, lest the harvest will fail and many will perish.

“Ready?” You ask him, voice barely above a whisper so that only he may hear you, and he nods.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” Kylo replies, as he lifts the veil from your face, revealing you to the goddesses above.

He unclasps the piece of fabric which provides you any semblance of modesty. You in turn, untie the sash which holds up his ceremonial trousers, the both of you bare to one another before the altar. Stepping before the altar together, you hold your hands and kneel, press your foreheads to the floor and send prayers as loudly and as hopefully as you can, up to the goddesses.

 Bless us, o Goddesses above, hear our pleas.

Bless us, o Goddesses above, recognize our efforts.

We thank you for the fields in which we till, for the seeds which we plant, for the fruit which we eat.

We thank you for the children which grow healthy, the mothers who live to rear them.

We ask for this once again, we come before you and we ask for these blessings.

Bless us, o Goddesses above, with these gifts – fertile soil, fertile subjects, prosperous wealth and bountiful harvest.

 Kylo’s subjects begin to chant then, in the ancient tongue reserved for such rituals, such occasions as this. The sun has gone down entirely now, bathing the temple in the moonlight and the glow of a thousand candles which have been lit earlier in the day.

You and Kylo rise, turning towards one another and smearing sacred oils across one another’s body, slicking each other up so that neither of you may chafe or grow sore from the long night of sex that’s about to happen. You smile, for Kylo’s hands are shaking as he cups your breasts, rubs oil across your nipples, and then carries you once again.

He leads you to the bed in the middle of the temple, lays you down upon the sheets and climbs up after.

Your legs part easily for him, settling yourself on your back on the bed. It is comfortable, you sigh out happily and Kylo’s heart soars. He did well, he has pleased you in this small way, and that will surely please the goddesses, for they act through you. He wants to provide for you in all things, as you provide for him, for his people.

He pushes your knees aside and kisses down from your knee to your inner thigh, hot wet kisses which suck harsh bruises into the flesh there. He builds this path with his teeth and tongue on both your legs, until he takes a deep breath and shoves his face against your pussy.

Immediately, your hands twist in the sheets, and your legs flatten down against the cushions which surround you. Kylo drinks down your juices, lets your slick run in rivulets down his chin as he eats your pussy well, eats it right. He drinks from the well of your body, directly pulls the wealth out of your pussy, sweet and golden and all for him.

“Oh!” You moan loud loud loud, and the audience jumps, claps once, the sound of thousands of feet landing upon the temple floors a boom like thunder in the night -- they will get the goddesses attention this evening, if it is the last thing they do.

The dancers begin to move on the temple floor. They do not dare come any closer than a step away from the walls, do not dare interrupt or invade your space, but they are overcome with the awe inspiring power of the goddesses which flow through you, and as you moan again, the audience jumps again, begins to stamp their feet in time with the drums which beat steady.

“Kylo – yes! Yes, oh yes!” You gasp high and breathy, and with each noise that spills from your lips, the entire kingdom chants, they clap, they stomp their feet and rumble the earth. Even those outside the temple, even those down the mountain, in the city, they all move in time, all participating in this ritual.

Kylo’s tongue plunges into your cunt and he rubs at your walls with the thick tip of it, his nose pressing against your clit. He shakes his head back and forth, rub rub rubbing your pussy with his lips, his goatee scratching up your inner thighs, and you cry out your first orgasm of the evening.

When you come, the drums seem to beat louder, as your mouth drops open and your eyes shut tight. The light from the candles seem to blaze brighter, as those standing in the temple link arms with people next to them and sway and stomp their feet in time.

Kylo needs to coax two more orgasms from you before all these citizens, before these goddesses, and he does not waste time.

“Kylo – Kylo I want more, give me more.” You command even as your chest heaves, as your lungs gulp down as much air as they can.

He pulls back enough to rest his cheek upon your thigh, and instead of his tongue now fills you with his fingers. You are relaxed enough that he can push three in with no problem, you take them easily, you moan out loud, and like thunder, the audience claps.

“Yes! Oh yes, faster, harder, more more more,” You plead, you order, you demand.

He fingers you open, fingers you good and long, the sound of your come pushing around his fingers and fucking back into you is intoxicating, the smell of your body covered in the oils and Kylo’s own pheromones drives him insane.

He lowers his mouth back down to your pussy while he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, sucks on your clit good and hard, until you cry out a second orgasm, let it shatter through you, your thighs trembling, knees turning inward.

But he’s not done with you yet, not yet, so he pulls you and pushes you around, so that he can bend your legs up over his head, so that he can get into you deeper, in a new angle that has you sobbing loud. Your cries spill down your cheeks in hot tears, and the audience jumps to the sound of it, earth rumbling beneath your feet, buildings rattling as you take four of his big thick fingers, harder rougher fast fast faster, chest heaving, nipples so stiff as Kylo bends down to suck on them, to pull them hard between his teeth.

“Kylo!!” You scream, your third orgasm comes quickly after you’re so blissed out from the first two, and your body convulses at being pushed to a third.

It is while your body is wrecked with orgasm, that Kylo carefully, quickly rearranges your legs once again so that he can push his cock into your waiting pussy. It is spasming around him and clenching down hard, and you wail out in pleasure as he fills you so wholly, so completely.

“Oh stars, stars (Y/N) – oh!” His voice booms out through the temple, and now the audience shifts from clapping their hands to rubbing their palms together, and this makes it sound like thick sheets of rain, as hundreds of hands slide together.

He fucks you on your back like this for a while, nothing fancy, nothing elaborate, just long and hard and hot and heavy. He bends himself over and suckles at your breasts, bites deep dark crescent shapes into your flesh – not just on your breasts, but your upper arms, your rib cage, your stomach. He covers you in them, laves his tongue over them as his cock pounds into you, draws out the most wanton and passionate noises from you.

The first time he comes, he groans through it, hips stuttering still against you, spilling into your wanting pussy. He grunts out your name, and the sound of rain cascades all around him, though it is a product of the audience, and not real water, he knows.

But maybe, maybe the goddesses will bless you both with rains this evening. The temple ceiling is cut away just above the bed, this is why it is positioned in this particular spot in the middle of the temple. Perhaps if they hear you, they will let it rain and the harvest will be exponentially strong and fruitful this year.

With shaking hands and sweat slipping down his body, his arms and his legs puddling and beading in the pit of your throat, he reaches for fruit which has been placed on the bed. He eats it and regains his strength, his stamina, and he feeds it to you in turn, feeds you as his hips push his come deeper inside your cunt.

He is still hard, he must come two more times tonight before the ritual can be complete, so he down the food and lets the fuel fill him as he slides out of your fluttering pussy only long enough to roll you over onto your stomach.

“Ahh – oh! Oh yes, Kylo, please, don’t stop, don’t ever stop -- !” You chant, beg, plead as he fucks you from behind, as the sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the air.

With each of your moans they jump and clap, with each of his, they wisp their hands together, the drummers drum and the dancers dance, and they all chant chant chant deep in their throats, low hums which fill your skull with the pleasant buzz of noise.

“Please please please!!” You’re sobbing so loud that Kylo nearly worries for you, worries that he’s hurting you or causing you distress, but every time he pulls away to check, you reach behind yourself and grasp his wrist, grasp his hip and push yourself right back onto his cock, desperate and wild for more.

Your toes curl in the sheets and your back arches so that your ass is in the air, your shoulders pressed down down down against the mattress as you drool into the pillow.

Kylo grunts and groans and snaps his hips hard and fast, chasing his second orgasm. A loud yell tears itself through his throat when he reaches it, when that white hot ball of pleasure bursts through you, when he cannot contain how good it feels, how transcendent.

But he cannot revel in it for long, no, for he must come a third time and the ritual is complete. He reaches over for a jug filled with sweet juices, guzzles it down and tries not to choke. Something in the fruit and in the juice acts as a means to keep his cock hard, though by now it is throbbing and pulsing, dumping come into your cunt with wild abandon. He makes you drink too, so that you might be strong, as he rolls underneath you onto his back.

“R-ready?” He asks, as you straddle his hip, your entire body loose and pliant, shaking shaking shaking as thick tears make tracks down your cheeks.

“Yes, please, please Kylo, one more I need it, I want it.” You nod, eyes clear and present even though you’re fucked out of your mind.

Your legs settle around his sides and you ride him, bouncing on his cock. This is the final time, the last round of the ritual. He splays his hands across your breasts and holds them so that your jewelry might not accidentally hurt you from the effort, and he groans out loud, shouts his moans up towards the heavens.

The drums beat beat beat, and the audience stamps their feet and claps and whooshes their hands, a storm with no water, thunder with no lightning. Your throat is open and moans spill out, his name hot on your tongue as you rock your body onto his cock.

“Yes! Yes oh – right there, right there – harder, fuck me harder!” Your head tips back and your hair cascades down your back, all your jewelry glowing in the light of the candles, the room so hot, smelling so strongly of your sex, of the perfume you were bathed in. You cry cry cry on his cock, desperate for more and overwhelmed, overstimulated at the same time.

Your pussy has never been so filled, as it is when he comes into you for the third time of the evening. It is dripping everywhere, sloshing down your thighs in big sticky ropes, thick and viscous and making such obscene noises that Kylo’s cock throbs and pulses out another load just because he can’t help it.

He quickly rolls you onto your back and pulls your legs up, shoves some of the pillows underneath your hips so that you can remain propped up, so that anything that can’t fit doesn’t get lost. He needs every single drop inside of you to appease the goddesses, to appease you.

He then rubs your clit so hard and fast that you scream out one final orgasm, scream out Kylo!! – and lightning strikes across the sky, read and bright, electric in the evening sky. Thunder cracks and booms, and the skies open up as a torrential downpour drenches the temple, making the drummers crescendo their rhythm, making the audience shout and yell and cheer, all the candles blown out by a strong gust of wind, as rain soaks the ceremonial bed.

“They’ve heard us.” You grin, manic with your eyes too bright.

The rain is not cold, no, it is warm and welcoming, and Kylo presses soft kisses all across your face in the dark as the audience continues to cheer and cheer. They all slowly begin to file out of the temple, off to dance in the rain, to bask in the glory of the goddesses who have blessed them with the promise of a successful harvest season.

You and Kylo laugh against one another’s lips, completely caught up in your own bubble, as Kylo lifts wet fruits to your lips and feeds you once again, joy sparking through his veins like the lightning which crackles in magnificent streaks across the sky.

“You did it my Emperor.” You grin at him, grasp his face in between your hands and kiss him there in the rain, kiss him as you close your eyes against the downpour as it shallowly floods the temple.

“No, no my blossom, we did it together.” Kylo grins back, kisses you and lets himself be kissed, elated, and so in love.

When the last of the audience has gone, and all the musicians and soldiers and even Goliath herself have left, the temple doors are sealed shut, and the rain moves west, down across the city towards the fields which will drink up the water and use it to grow luscious crops.

“We must do this every year,” You say, your eyes bright, little droplets clinging to your lashes as the pitter patter of rain fades from the temple, “Every year as they demand it, we must do it.”

“It would be an honor.” Kylo agrees. He rubs your stomach, wills it to happen, wills for you to get pregnant. His people will have beautiful and healthy babies, this he knows, but he wants that for you too, wants that for the both of you.

And as you two both look up through the roof of the temple at the stars as they shine brightly, you thank the heavens once again. Exhausted, you move from the soaking wet ceremonial bed, through the temple on shaky legs, legs which can barely hold you up. Come trickles down your thighs but neither you nor Kylo mind, you had been propped up on the pillow for long enough, you’re both sure.

You lead him behind the altar, through a secret passage and into a secret room, where there is a small bed in which he normally lays you down to worship your body. For now, it is enough to curl up against one another in the warm dry sheets, to lay your love down upon one another, and fall into a deep sleep.

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

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[secret-rendezvous1d]

how about an alex first christmas home with his wife or gf? if your uncomfortable writing this prompt i completely understand

Hello, hi!

Welcome to Blogmas 2020. A couple of days later than I promised, and I apologise for that, but here we are. 

Hopefully, the idea of how Blogmas 2020 is planned out will become a little clearer than how my very poor explanations explained it, haha.

Many more blurbs, many more chats and a lot more festivities to come; my inbox will be open all through December this year for blurb prompts for Blogmas so don’t feel afraid to pop in a prompt to get written for tis year; all I can say is that if you’re asking for a lengthy prompt, I’m not the right person right now, haha. 

I’m welcoming absolutely anything for this year; any AU, any characters, any ideas.

Reblog, like, comment and share your thoughts with me. Please let me know what you think because feedback is always appreciated on here; much more appreciated now given that I’ve not written a lot in a long while. Please let me know what you think.

Enjoy! 

A song to listen to throughout the second scene; Bing Crosby, I’ll Be Home For Christmas

“Look at the size of those toms,” Alex gushed in awe, rushing from his place at the kitchen cabinet, where the kettle was whistling on the stove, to grab the woven basket full of fresh garden vegetables from his wife’s arms, saving a couple of apples and pears from becoming bruised by the floor. “They’re massive.”

“There’s something in the soil, I think,” YN teased, wiping her soil-covered fingertips on the pink and white polka-dot apron tied around her waist. Traces of wet mud and dry soil clinging to the material, tiny specks falling to the floor but nothing bad enough that couldn’t be sweeped with the brush and pan. “You should see some of the runners growing in the corner. Nice and long, they are. Perfect for dinner tomorrow eve.”

“How are the potatoes coming along?”

“They’re good, I was going to dig them and the carrots up tonight before the nighttimes cold comes in,” she said softly, standing beside her husband as he unpacked the fruit and placed them in the empty fruit bowl. The kettle coming to a gentle boil, soon being warm enough for them to make a warm cup of tea to drink by the fire to warm themselves up.

The vegetables left in the basket - varying from cabbage and cauliflower to Brussels sprouts and onions - needed a good brush down and a wash under water but looked good enough to enjoy as part of their meal the next day. A meal that would be enjoyed by her parents, Alex’s parents and a couple of good friends who hadn’t had time to make it back home for Christmas, missing the last train out of London for a few days and unable to find a kind-hearted soul to take them two hours up north. It was also a meal that YN had been panicking over for almost the entire month of December… her first time cooking a Christmas dinner and she wanted it to be as perfect as possible to end a year that needed some cheer.

With the war coming to an end, for a second time, she felt safe and happy. Much safer and much happier than the last time a war was declared to have finished.

Maybe it was the fact that the four-year long terror of air raid sirens and bombings and unexpected blackouts had come to its end; maybe it was the fact that Britain had won the war and there was no more fear to live by; maybe it was the fact that her husband had been one of the lucky ones to come home safe and sound, able to celebrate Christmas as normal without worry that he was going to be called back to fight in the trenches and on the frontline; maybe it was the fact that everything was slowly going back to how it had been and life was on track to getting better.

“Dad’s always saying they taste and cook the best after a night in the cold,” Alex shrugged, taking a bite of an apple and feeling the juice trickle down his chin, something that YN’s thumb caught and wiped away, “I’ll go and dig them up tomorrow morning.”

“I wanted to start peeling and cutting them now,” she frowned, looking at him with furrowed brows, “go dig them up for now, please, darling?”

He mirrored her expression and folded his arms, half-bitten apple still in his hand, a smile toying his lips.

“Do I have to? It’s getting cold out there, I’ve got no jumper on and I’ve just put the kettle on,” he playfully whined, pouting his lips.

Her own eyebrows furrowed deeper on her browline, a silent plea for him to do what she said because she was stressing enough and didn’t want to be panicking so early tomorrow morning. All along he was going to do what she asked him to do, no word of a lie, but he found pure enjoyment in giving her the idea he had no intentions of helping. He placed his half-eaten apple on the kitchen counter and took a step towards her.

“Alright, as long as you do me the best cup of tea possible.”

“Of course, aren’t all my cups of tea the best?” To which he nodded and she grinned, squeezing his cheek and leaving a blush pink behind on his cheekbone, “I love you.”

“I love you the most,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to her cold forehead, reaching around her to grab the basket and tuck it under his arm, “I’ll have a look at these nice, long runners you’ve been speaking so highly about, too.”

*

“Mum called earlier. She’s grown some strawberries and rhubarb and said she was making a pie for our dessert tomorrow. I told her that with how hard you’ve been working with the garden, on all the veggies, we won’t need a pudding to eat because we’ll be so full of Christmas dinner,” Alex chuckled, peering over the newspaper in his hands to catch a glimpse of a smile on her lips, eyes still trained to the book she was reading in the gentle, almost, silence.

The radio crackled quietly in the background of the living room, playing a Christmas song that had a frequent place on the station they had programmed to work properly. Adding a sense of merriment to the room they were sat in; tinsel hanging on a scarce Christmas tree, with ornaments made from paper and cardboard, and Christmas cards on the windowsill from family and friends. There wasn’t much they could do but it was enough for them.

“Your mum makes a good pie though,” YN admitted, placing her finger between the pages she’d gotten to, “she didn’t have to do that though. She’s already done a lot for me this year and the last four so tomorrow is, kind of, all about giving back to her and your dad and my parents, too.”

Alex’s family had been a huge constant in her life during the wartime.

His mother had been non-stop on the phone with her about new gardening tips that her friends had told her about and seeds to share amongst themselves to grow a healthy batch of fruits to bake with - because they baked, a lot, and his mother had sent her back home with a brain full of new treats to bake and recipes to try out - and they took care of a flower patch in the front garden of Alex’s home, which seemed to pass the time. His father had been just as helpful to her, whenever he wasn’t in factories or working in machinery, coming by to put shelves up for her or to fix a hole in the roof that had begun to leak. Always popping by with a loaf of bread from the bakery and a tin of meat, that YN would put together as a sandwich and they’d eat until he knew his wife would be questioning his whereabouts. They allowed her to stay when she was feeling lonely, always looked out for her during the raids and insisted she stayed with them to wait it out, always insisting that she stayed with them until Alex was home so she wasn’t suffering with loneliness or panicking when blackouts occurred.

It had always been his mother cooking a Christmas dinner, promising she didn’t have to do anything but sit at the dining table and enjoy a healthy meal with family, with no worrying or getting upset that her own husband wasn’t there to enjoy the family festivities.

So it felt surreal when YN saw Alex dressed in his uniform, on the train station platform with a bag swung over his shoulder, in and amongst crowds of reunited families, knowing that they were about to have their life back on track. A Christmas together.

“My dad’s made a good sherry for us to have. Mum said he’s been working on it for almost a year now. Growing currants in the front garden and chasing kids away when he saw them picking at his bushes as they passed,” Yn giggled softly, because the image of her father chasing active youths down a street was rather amusing to her, reaching for her bookmark to keep her place in the book resting on her lap, “she says she’s barely seen him because he spends his time at the allotments, with his friends.”

Alex snuffled a laugh and folded his paper up, setting it on the floor beside the crackling fireplace.

“We should get an allotment. Could build a shed there to hide in when it rains, have you come and sit and watch me dig the veggies up, let you grow some flowers there. We’d be the best there,” he grinned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea, baby.”

“Christmases only get better from here,” he stood to his feet and wiggled his fingers in her direction, “let’s have a dance.”

She smiled shyly and stood to her feet, toes all toasty and warm from the fire, reaching for his hands as he twirled her under his arm and let her dress, all dark green and red (which she insisted was her most Christmas-y dress in her wardrobe) billow out at the knees. With the occasional step on his bare toes, and a trip over his own feet, they managed to move themselves around the room with such an elegant sway to their hips as the gentle voice of Bing Crosby filled the room, with the ever so delightful song that YN imagined must have felt so personal to so many around Britain. And she couldn’t help but think of how many others were dancing, singing and crying as the tune filled merry homes, both happy and sad.

And she didn’t want to let her mind wander to the agonising pain of not having a loved one, let alone a husband, arrive home safe for Christmas… but it was planted there and she never ever wanted an experience so heartbreaking.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he hummed and it was in that moment that he felt a dribble of tears against his neck, his feet coming to a stop as the music carried on behind them, “hey now. No crying, we said. This is a happy end to the year, eh? A happy one.”

“I know but,” she choked on a tear and pulled away to look at him, “I’m so lucky you came home to me. To us. But, some women, they never got to say goodbye to their husbands, their brothers, their fathers and grandfathers. They never got to see them for Christmas this year, last year and the years before that. They never knew what was coming,” she whispered with a hushed voice that felt like if she spoke too loud, she’d have the entire country hearing her, as if the music was bad enough to bring out the emotions.

“I promised you, didn’t I, baby?”

She nodded softly and his thumbs wiped away her tears, collecting moisture on the tips of his pads, their eyes locking for a brief second.

“I promised you I’d make it back to you and I did, safe and sound,” he held her face in his hands and brushed the tip of his nose to hers, his warm breath flushing over her face as she sniffled and sobbed, “I’m never leaving you again. Never ever. I promise, no selfish bastard is going to keep us apart, not even for Christmas.”

[fericita-s]

Lessons

This Agduna story takes place in the All is Found series , a roleswap AU idea that @agdunaavenger​  came up with and that @the-spaztic-fantastic​ and I wrote.  Iduna and Agnarr are enjoying being married and alone in the forest. She tries to teach him how to fight with a wooden staff, and they both win.  You can thank @the-spaztic-fantastic​ for this one; it is purely through her encouragement and beta-ing and influence this became a finished product instead of something we just messaged about forever. Also blaming @thegeekogecko​ because she tagged me on some swordplay stuff that I couldn’t get out of my head, so here is my contribution to some sexy fighting with weapons that could kill you. So tag you’re it for the next sexy fighting story, @thegeekogecko​!

“Are those apples? I didn’t know there were apple trees in this forest!” Agnarr reached to pick one but drew back, looking to Iduna to be certain it was actually an apple and edible, and not one of the many plants that she assured him could kill on contact.

Shortly after their boska harvesting, he had picked some wolfsbane for its bright purple flowers, thinking to decorate their bleak cave with something beautiful.  But she had kicked it from his hands and then made him wash in the river even though it was already frigidly cold, all the while explaining with increasingly frantic speech that it was only to be touched while wearing gloves. Its only purpose was for a coating on arrow tips meant for wolves.  Not animals they could hunt and eat.  The poison would kill anyone who tried to eat game felled by a wolfsbane arrow.  

He then spent the rest of the evening feeling his face for drool and his hands for numbness, imagining it there, and feeling the need to vomit even though it was surely from nerves and not his brief contact with the plant.  

It was not a fond memory.

Iduna nodded to him and he pulled two off of a low-hanging branch.  “Yes, some English monks planted them generations ago.  They told some confusing stories about bearing fruit for a god that no one could make sense of, but we appreciate the fruit all the same.  There are sweet pears somewhere too.”

He tossed an apple to her and they bit into them, Agnarr watching as some of the juice dribbled down her chin and she swiped at it with a finger and brought it to her lips to taste the sweetness.  He loved being able to look at her this way, admiring her openly without worrying she would catch him at it. Since the winter, their closeness was intimate in a way that brought him much satisfaction. 

And just like he had made a study of the forest and the ways to survive in it, he had made a study of his wife and what gave her satisfaction.  The sigh she made when he ran his hands from her ankles to her hips, the way she pushed at her leggings, annoyed, when fabric separated her from him as they pressed against each other at night.  And best of all, how she would move against him and then stop for a moment, her eyes fixed on his and her mouth open with a silent plea that he answered with a caress and a movement of his own that led to his favorite sound yet.

He took another bite of the apple and watched as she continued to eat hers in a perfect line around the middle of the fruit, her even bites marking a white trail. “I’ll make a ladder so we can get the ones high up.”

“No need, I can climb and get those.”  She tilted her head looking up. “Though, I haven’t climbed much without the wind to help.  A ladder might be wise.”

Agnarr smiled, pleased to have a useful idea, pleased that the forest which had been so starkly bare during the winter was now blooming again.  Sometime over the course of the winter, loving his wife had begun to feel like an act of hope instead of an act of desperation.  And now the blooms of spring were proof that hope was justified. 

He took another bite.

***

Iduna watched as Agnarr used the knife to peel a layer of bark off of a tree branch. He had a pile of evenly cut pieces of wood that he promised would soon be a ladder, but this branch was thicker than the others.  He frowned, turning the branch over in his hands.  

She enjoyed watching him work.  He was so serious about it, yet somehow still playful.

Even in their first few weeks, he had worked hard to learn how to hunt and trap and build, yielding to her expertise and offering up silly stories of cotillions and tea parties and festivals that made them both laugh.

She smiled, remembering how awkward he was the first time she showed him how to fly on the wind. Nervous, but willing to follow her lead, trusting her to teach him and keep him from plummeting to the ground.  He’d been scraped and bruised a bit, but exhilarated.  The joy in his face when he first flew above the canopy, the way he reached out his hand to hold hers, it had given her heart a lightness that she carried even now. If he had started like a drunken duck, he had finished their lesson like a reindeer calf.  Perhaps unsteady on his legs but carrying the promise of future usefulness.

There was a litheness to his body and an eagerness to learn that had made their nights a delightful exploration.  And mornings.  And afternoons.  What had begun with awkward and eager fumblings, with whispered questions and breathless assurances, had become practiced and adept. Now when his hands moved to her hips and he pressed against her, it was heat and desire, their laughter for the joy of the act and not to cover embarrassment.

Yes, she was glad to have a husband who learned so well. And though he was more skilled in the pursuit of their shared pleasures than he had become at spear fishing or assembling the wooden slats into their kota, she supposed some endeavours were more rewarding in their accomplishment.

She might have blushed at the thought if anyone had been around to see, but it was just the two of them in this part of the woods. So instead, she walked over to him and took the branch out of his hand and ran her hand up the length of it.

He motioned to it. “This one’s thicker to start with.  Should I peel more layers away or look for a different branch?”

She shook her head. “It’s too thick for your ladder.  But perfect for a staff. For fighting.”  She handed it back and sat next to him.

“You’ll have to show me how.  I only know how to fence and wrestle.  Some of that might be helpful, but what I saw the day of the battle…” He shook his head and covered his hand with hers.  “I don’t know how to do that.  But perhaps I should learn to help keep us safe.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder and he stuck the knife he had been using in the ground. Then he brought that hand up to cradle her cheek, running his thumb up and down her cheekbone as they breathed in and out. “I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know.  We have nothing to fear from my people now, as long as we stay away. But I think it’d be good for you to learn.” She sat up smiling, pushing away the darker thoughts that would take hold if she let herself think for too long about what their banishment was intended to do to them. “It will be fun.  I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. You’ve told me all about fencing.  This isn’t so different.”

***

“This is very different,” Agnarr groaned as Iduna pointed the pointy end of the fishing spear toward his neck, her foot on his bare stomach and his body splayed in the dirt.  “And why do you get the pointy one?”

“Because you didn’t want to make two staffs and I’m improvising.  Which you should do more of, stop thinking about the foot patterns from fencing.  Look at your terrain and your environment.  Use it.”  Iduna removed her foot and offered a hand to Agnarr, who instead of using it to pull himself up, pulled her down so she was lying on top of him, the bare skin of his chest warm and wet with sweat through the borrowed shirt of his she was wearing. She lost her grip on her spear in the sudden movement and sensation and shrieked.

“That’s not fair! I was offering mercy!”

“Well, I am a Southern bastard.”  He laughed as he held her tight against him and winked.  “You should have listened to your brother’s warnings.” His old shirt billowed away from her leggings in the breeze and his hand moved from her hip to her exposed back.  He ran his hand up and down her spine and felt her shiver under his touch before gripping his arm around her waist and flipping them so that she was the one with her back against the earth. He raised himself to his knees and smiled at her triumphantly. “Improvising.  I rather like it.”

Iduna slid her hands from where they were pinned under his legs and moved them slowly up his thighs, smiling at him. “Very good. And what else do you like?” One hand continued its climb towards his hip while she used the other to lightly scrape her fingernails on the underside of his arm.  Her smile grew wider as her hand reached the wooden staff now loosely held in his hand and she pulled it from his grasp, knocking him on the side of the head and scrambling out from under him as he brought both hands to cradle his temple and groaned. 

“Now who’s not playing fair?”

She stood, bending her knees a bit to brace for a new attack as he reached for the fishing spear and twirled it about his head in the way she had demonstrated at the start of their lesson. “I think I like the pointy one better.  It’s quicker.  Deadlier.”

Iduna lifted her staff in swift motion, knocking at the spear and succeeding in making Agnarr fumble it so it landed in the dirt.  She stood her staff in the ground and leaned against it. “I think we’ve learned that I’m the quick and deadly one.  Not the weapon.”

Instead of leaning down for the spear, Agnarr lunged toward her and kicked at the staff. Iduna dodged his foot by rolling into a patch of grass. She tucked herself so her arm didn’t take weight in the fall and jumped back up. As she rose, she saw that Agnarr had the spear in hand again and was holding it in front of himself like a shield.  She advanced on him, knocking at his slender piece of wood with her heavier staff, and they traded blows only twice before his spear snapped in half and he looked at the two pieces splintered in his hands, laughing. He threw them at her one at a time and she knocked them away with the staff. 

“What now?”  She grinned.  “Are you ready to call mercy?”

Agnarr dropped to his knees in front of her. “I’m always at your mercy.  And do not regret it at all.”

Iduna raised the staff above her head. “Victory! Let the spirits witness it!” She lowered it again and then let it fall in the dirt, as Agnarr’s mouth found the skin on her stomach, his bearded face tickling her as he burrowed under the voluminous shirt.  His hands moved to clasp her backside and she lifted the sweaty shirt off of her head, the warm spring sun welcome against her exposed skin. He took the shirt from her and placed it like a pillow on the grass and as Iduna laid against the soft earth, she asked “Best of three?”

He pressed against her and laughed. “Let’s do what we do best instead.”

Iduna pulled him down so he lay on top of her, the heat of their skin so alive against each other she thought it might be their bodies that were calling Spring into life. His face was an inch from hers, his breath was the same as hers, and before he covered her with his lips and tongue and feverish fingers, she nodded.  “Yes, let’s.”

He kissed her neck and traced a line from her collarbone to her neck before his final words for a while. “It’s my turn to make you demand mercy.”

She laughed and then gasped, grateful again that he was so determined to get this right.

[salty-apples]

Under lock and key

The sky was a vibrant blue today. More blue than I've known it to be in the three months that we've been living here. It was a clear blue on a hot day with no clouds to break up the monotony of sky and sun. No ripple or disturbance. Nothing. 

The sky was blue yesterday but it did not move Agav. "Rain's on its way," he'd sniffed when I noted the blinding brightness of the day. Agav offered nothing more than his thoughts on the weather. He was right. It rained last night. 

Mama had told me it was best what she and Uncle were doing. "It is not good that you should still be unmarried at your age," Mama had whined the day after my graduation. "Look at Leila," Uncle chipped in. "Your sister is happily building her family. You could have that. You should have that." My happiness was all that mattered to them. So they chose Agav to give it to me. 

The rain began an hour ago, sinking my mood lower than an anchor. Hunched over on the window seat, my book laid carelessly aside, I watch Agav as he taps away on the computer. He says nothing. He hardly makes a sound. In this house of many rooms, Agav and I are like wandering ghosts. We say few words to each other, all at the right times of the day and nothing more. In an hour, I will ascend the stairs and retire to a room where I will sleep alone. Just like I've been doing for three months. Just as if I was never married. 

"Come Mahdi," Uncle had tried to pacify me when I railed against Mama. "You ought to be thankful and happy. You know Agav. You've known him since you were children."  My anger had boiled over that afternoon. It had not been enough to see my employment letter thrown into the bin and hidden under piles of rotten bananas. Agav had stood outside the door quietly waiting until Uncle invited him in. Leila had smirked, one hand resting on her swollen belly while the other cradled a toddler. She needs to stops giving birth, I had thought at the time. She needs to leave me alone.

Agav won't come to bed. Not when he doesn't see it as his. I sleep here alone, going through my daily ablutions without so much as a friendly word. 'Good morning,' 'Here's your food,' and 'Good night' are all we say to each other. Mama had promised me that things would improve. "He's just shy," she had chuckled the day after the wedding. He's not, I wanted to say. I am.

A loud thud wakes me up in the middle of the night. I search for my watch, turning it over in the darkness to check the time. I can't see anything and I can't hear anything either. Not the sound of Agav walking from the living room to the kitchen for coffee. Not the constant tapping of his pen on the desk as he mulls over something. The corridors are empty as I tiptoe out of the room. "Agav?" I call out tentatively. The scarf I tie to bed has slipped, pooling around my shoulders and providing some warmth on this wet cold night. "Agav?" I call out again. No answer. I don't expect one anyway. It's just like him not to answer quickly. 

Leila had prided herself on being the town beauty. Her conceit had grown even worse with marriage. "Mahdi dear, marriage would suit you," she laughed as I fumed. Five pregnancies and counting and yet, she had lost none of her youthfulness. Every time I came home on holiday, it seemed as if she was only growing fresher. Motherhood suited her, I believed but not marriage. Wearing a veil in the morning because you spend your nights crying is not a way to live. But she approved of Agav and hers was the only opinion Mama cared to hear.

The lights downstairs are off. Agav likes to work in darkness. I never complain about it as I find myself suited to this arrangement. But now is not the time. The silence in the house is choking me, pushing me forward into the living room until my leg hits something and I stumble. I pick myself up and start to feel around to find the offending object. Instead, I find a hand. It is Agav. An unconscious Agav. 

The wedding day of a woman of Dacca is said to be the crowning day of her life. For me, it was the lowest. Each step towards the temple had been torture, bringing me closer to a man whose presence in my life I had not agreed to. The road to sadness is paved with happy smiles and Uncle and Mama and Leila had the brightest ones. It had been a bright clear day and I had cursed the sky for not sending the rain.   

My back strained as I dragged Agav upstairs. All the lights were on. What a wonder it must have been to the neighbours to see our house lit up like a Christmas display. Slow progress I made pulling him up, each tug and lift sending sparks of pain dancing along my spine. I, who had always looked so small beside the Agav, the giant of Dacca was heaving like a pack animal to haul my husband to a bed he had never claimed. 

A hand on Agav's forehead had told me that things were horribly wrong. He was running a fever. His face and lips were ashen and his breathing laboured. What could have happened between the time I went to bed and the time I heard him collapse? Had he been sick and I hadn't noticed? Perhaps if he was awake, he would have grudgingly volunteered some answers. Now was not the time. Emergency services would not be able to reach us in time. The riots had cut us off from the rest of the city. If I waited till morning, I was risking an early widowhood. We were alone. All alone in this house of many rooms with no one to turn to. 

On the day we left Dacca, Mama had begged me to give Agav a chance. "I gave him many when he courted me," I retorted. Uncle only shook his head and left to speak with my new husband. Our flight was called and I began to tear up. A new life in a new country with a new husband I didn't understand. "A child will make things better," Mama promised me as I hugged her goodbye. I snorted at her words. A child? Ha! If only she knew that Agav has been sleeping on the floor. 

"Mahdi, is that you?" Mama sounded groggy with sleep but I couldn't bring myself to apologise. "It is Mahdi, Mama," I wept into the phone, "Agav is dying and I need your help."

Agav had gotten the house for free from a friend of his father. It had been a lucky stroke for him, one in a series of many. When we had first arrived, the neighbours were curious. Most tried to gain entrance, to be able to brag that they had been welcomed into the home of the strange new neighbors. Agav had been polite but firm. 'We did not want any company' and  'yes, we were thankful for the casserole,' he would answer with a small smile. Those smiles were rare. Rare for a man who preferred to look like stone than to risk cracking his facade to reveal softness. 

He was smiling now in his sleep. Mumbling as well. My eyes are tired from watching him for two days. Mama had given me instructions, directing me on which plants to pluck from the garden to administer to him. A ginger root poultice on his forehead and a hot drink of strained Shasha water every two hours. Anxiously, I waited for the herbs to work, to show me some proof that Agav had not left the land of the living. His eyes had twitched first and then his lips. His breathing evened and I relaxed my shoulders. Agav would live. I would make sure of it. 

"Won't you say hello to Agav, Mahdi?" Leila would taunt me whenever  Agav passed by our house. From my hideout under the window, I would shush her, a plea for her to leave me alone. Why would I want to say hello to Agav? I was too little to be noticed by him. Too young. Too flighty. Leila would laugh and speak even louder. "Agav!" She would yell. "Mahdi says hello!" I never knew what his response was. Crouched under the windowsill, I would burn from embarrassment and pray for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. 

I rouse myself from my memory just as I hear Agav mutter my name. Little Mahdi is gone and in her place is an older one, the wife of her childhood neighbour. The wife who is worn down from lack of sleep from looking after a sick husband. The wife who is lifting his head to give him a drink of water. Agav's eyes are yet to open and I am so so tired. Bone tired. I move to the other side of the bed and crawl between the sheets. I keep my distance from Agav, knowing he would have wanted it just so. Just as Agav's breathing stabilises, I drift off into an exhausted sleep. 

Agav had been quick to get workmen to fix up the parts of the house that needed fixing. I had been quicker to send out my resumes. Staying inside was not an option. Agav had known this. "I won't stop you from pursuing your dreams," he had informed me on our wedding night. An hour later, he was bundled among blankets and soundly asleep. 

Offices are closed but not my ambitions. Despite caring for Agav full time, I have found time to look up work. My hands are itching to do something, to be in another place that is not here. I want to be busy. The kind of busy that let's you forget that yours is a static marriage and the knowledge that you might never grow to like your partner. 

It's been a week since Agav fell ill and two days since I began to notice clear signs of recovery. It pleases me to see the colour slowly return to his face. He has stopped murmuring in his sleep and I have begun to sleep a little easier. The doctor I had called over the phone has assured me that Agav will be fine. "It was merely fatigue," he'd informed me. "Must be the riots. Everyone's on edge these days." I agreed with him. It must be the riots indeed. 

"You can't play the game if you don't have a partner!" Leila had yelled from the edge of the field. Surrounded by the other children in our age group, she was the unofficial leader, the one who set the rules for the games and split up fights. As her younger sister, my duty was to tag along and support her decisions. I rarely joined their games but that day, I wanted to. I looked among the others, searching to see whose hands were unlinked. And then I saw Agav, an elder among children, sitting quietly under the pear tree and observing the world around him. He was only one without a partner. Shyly, I had shuffled up to him, hoping he would not be upset with me for disturbing his peace. "Brother Agav," I had ventured with a tiny voice, "Leila says it's a game for two. Would you be my partner?" Agav said nothing. His eyes like those of a hawk looked me over and fixed themselves to my ear. Slowly, he reached up and held the lock of hair that had escaped it's bindings. Tucking it gently behind my ear, he answered. "No." 

The brush goes through my hair repeatedly, the familiar motions calming me. It's been a few days since I have let down my hair and taken care it. Since Agav's illness, I have let my morning routine go to rot as I spent my time between brewing Shasha water and applying cold compresses to his fevered brow. My hands move from scalp to tip, gently untangling the knots which have managed to form. I pull the mass of hair over my shoulder to oil and braid when I hear a groan behind me. I turn sharply and find Agav blinking against the sunlight and attempting to stand up. "Don't!" I caution him and move to his side. "Don't get up. Whatever you need, I will get it," I tell him. His eyes, though unsteady, hold mine. His mouth opens as if he wants to speak but he says nothing. Instead, he reaches out to touch my hair and tuck a wayward lock behind my ear. 

Mama liked to give lessons on the magic of coconut oil while she made it on the weekends. Aunty Alia, my uncle's second wife would sit with us and help to mash the coconut shafts to extract the water. "You want to trap a man, my girls, use coconut oil on your hair." Aunty Alia would laugh long and loud at the statement, enough to annoy Mama. "You laugh," Mama would scoff, "How do you think I snagged a husband? One whiff of my hair in the market and I was married within a month." A wistful smile would find its way to Mama's lips while Leila and I giggled. 

Agav has been awake for two days, slowly regaining his lost strength. This morning, I heard him pick his way down the stairs while I make our breakfast. I can tell that movement makes him dizzy but he does it anyway. That is his way of handling it, of fighting back and making sure his muscles don't waste away from a lack of motion. I hear him as he picks his way to the kitchen, his hand making noise as he feels his way down the corridors.  I hear him as he pulls back a chair from the kitchen island and lowers himself into it. I can feel his eyes boring into my back while he says nothing. I continue with my work and attempt to ignore his brazen staring. 

"I like your hair," he says suddenly. I stop beside the range, startled. When  I turn to look at him, I see him smiling. Smiling at me. Self conscious, I pat my head and take hold of the end of my braid which grazes my waist. "I like your hair," he says again. "I like how it shines under the light. It has a very nice colour." My hair is reddish brown, an embarrassment in a family of raven haired people. I lower my eyes as heat spreads from my belly to my cheeks. "Thank you," I whisper and go back to my tasks. 

"How is he doing?" Mama asks when she calls. "He is better now, thank goodness," I answer. It's been a week since Agav complimented my hair. He is moving around without holding on to the walls, rearranging rooms so that he has something to do. Occasionally, he will call me into a room to ask my opinion on its furnishings. I would give it and he would smile. "Be honest, Mahdi or are you scared you'd hurt my feelings?" His chuckling would cause me to crack a smile. "He is better, Mama. Better than ever before."

Agav comes to bed now. When I leave for bed, not too long afterwards, he's in the room as well. At first, he looked unsure of staying here. "I've never shared a bed with anyone," he admitted with shyness written on his face as he looked around. His clothes have always in the room but not him. He sees nothing of himself here in a room made up to my tastes and preferences. "It is fine, Agav," I tried to reassure him. He nodded and looked away, a blush staining his cheeks. I laughed at him, at his bashfulness and embarrassment. Eventually, he got into bed, staying on his back to look at the ceiling. He turned to look at me, to really look at me for the first time since we had had our hands bound with red cord in front of the entire town of Dacca. "This is nice," he said with a smile as he stroked my hair. He continued to stroke my hair until I fell asleep.  

For the first time since we were shut at home, we hear news that the riots have begun to disband. The chaos outside is lessening and the roads will soon be opened. It's been a month and half now for us at home. A time of laughs and secret smiles. While I work in the garden, Agav stands ready to help or extend a glass of water. In the kitchen, he joins me to cook. Last night, he'd made me sit while he made dinner. "But Agav, you don't know how I arrange the spices. You'll scatter the rack!" He'd grinned when I complained. "You forget that I lived in a house full of women for most of my life," he'd countered, "I would never scatter a spice rack." Resigned, I watched him put our meal together. Amazed, I had watched myself finish every morsel on plate. 

I come home later than Agav. My days at work are long but fulfilling. The riots have at least done something good. More jobs have opened and more people are needed to work. Agav however, is lucky. He gets to work from home if he wants. I open the door quietly, not wanting to disturb him if he's asleep in the living room. "Surprise!" I hear from behind me and I jump, screaming at the top of my lungs about demons in the dark. When the lights come on, I find Agav rolling with laughter on the floor. "Happy birthday, Mahdi," he wheezes between chuckles. I chuckle along with him and shake my head. When I enter our room, I stop in surprise. On my dressing table is a vase of fresh roses and a large bottle of coconut oil. Gifts from Agav.

Agav and I are lying awake. Dinner was hours ago as was our card game. Agav is a trickster, I've come to know, using sleight of hand to spirit away cards. It's raining outside and cold but in here, it is warm. Life has long since gone back to normal outside. No more riots, no more impromptu lock downs. Inside is where the changes have happened. It's almost the end of the year and in a few days, Leila, Mama and his mother will be coming to spend a month with us. We have rooms enough for them. Agav's eyes are sparkling with tears. He's not one to be ashamed to cry. I've seen him a few times shed a tear when looking at my flowers and herbs. There's no space between us on the bed now. His hand is on my belly, as it has been these last few months. "Are you happy, Mahdi? Tell me the truth," he asks in a soft voice. My eyes stray to where his hand sits, on the large swell marking the presence of a third human. My hand meets his and grasps it. This is our life now. All this is ours. "Why wouldn't I be happy, Agav," I answer in a voice thick with unshed tears. "Why wouldn't I be?"

[cheion-writes]

A Valentine’s Special!

Sidestep and Steel really do care for each other. They just need some help recognising that. 

Thanks @auroriane for being an awesome beta as always! Any remaining mistakes you see are my own. The complete list to all my fics can be found on my Tumblr :)

1. Sick Days

With Sidestep: 

Your cough harshly as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself, feeling utterly and completely miserable. You shouldn’t be sick; you aren’t supposed to get sick. But yet, here you are, nose stuffed, head pounding, and throat as scratchy as sandpaper. Of course, it wasn’t as bad this morning – not until you got caught in the rain on your way to the Rangers base. 

You had arrived drenched, sneezing and coughing, and Steel had taken one look at you before hustling you into one of the private rooms to rest. You blame your fever-addled mind for agreeing to his offer. For letting you actually fall asleep. For imagining that look of concern on his face when he came in to check on you. 

Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you swing your legs off the bed with a sigh, sending out a prayer that you can sneak out without alerting any of the others. 

You freeze as your eyes land on the doors. There’s a blue flask on the table next to it; it wasn’t there before. Where did it come from? Who put it there? The only one that came in was Steel a couple of minutes ago, and… 

...

Oh. 

Cheeks reddening, you slide off the bed and patter to the door to pick up the flask. Your eyes immediately find a handwritten note by its side: 

‘Here’s some apple and pear pork rib soup. It’s good for your throat.’ 

You don’t notice the smile on your face as you pop open the cap and enjoy the steam that curls comfortingly around your face. As you slowly sip the admittedly good broth. 

As you tell yourself that increasing warmth you feel in your belly is simply because of the soup.

---

With Steel: 

“So, Soup, huh?” Ortega’s face sparkles with amused delight as he stares at you. 

“It’s. Just. Soup.” you growl, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Right…” he drawls. “Let’s ignore how you drove all the way to that expensive Chinese restaurant to get it, shall we? How worried you looked when they first came in... how you oh so gently covered them with that blanket when it had fallen off the bed…” 

“I would’ve done the same for any of you.” 

“Right…keep telling yourself that Chen.”

2. Mods 

With Steel: 

You grimace as you step into the base, your arm joint aching and throbbing dully. You’re trying to hide it as well as you can but obviously it isn’t enough, for their lips instantly pull down into a worried frown when they notice you. 

“Are you alright?” You shake your head, your candid honesty somewhat surprising you. “Bad joint,” you mutter. 

Their concerned eyes scan you for a moment before they rise to their feet and gesture to their chair. “Sit,” they say. “I think I can help.” 

You’re surprised when you acquiesce without a single protest. As their gentle touch brushes against where mod meets skin, you hope they can’t feel the shudder that ripples through you. Throughout it all, they pointedly ignoring your gaze, and you can’t help but notice their pulse fluttering tremulously as they tinker around with the mod.

 “There,” they say after a long while. “Is it better?” Slowly, you try moving your arm, heaving a sigh of relief when you realize the bone-deep ache has vanished.

“Yes, much better,” you reply, a fond smile of gratitude spreading across your face. They beam in turn, and it’s a long while before you both turn away.  

---

With Sidestep: 

“You two looked comfortable,” Herald’s voice is the epitome of glee as he corners you in the hall. 

You roll your eyes. “I just don’t like to see any of you hurt.” 

“Really?” he grins. “I mean…you were looking at each other for such a long time. And I haven’t seen you smile like that before…” 

“I’m just relieved he’s fine.” 

“Right…” 

“There’s nothing more to it, Herald. Nothing at all.”

-

3. Nightmares 

With Steel: 

 It’s the whimpers that first alert you something is wrong. They’re lying curled up and vulnerable on the couch, tears streaming down their cheeks as they whisper a plea for help. You hear Ortega’s name upon their lips, and once or twice, you think you hear yours as well. 

“Please… Ortega… Chen… please, please don’t let them take me,” they sob. “I can’t go back, I can’t…” 

You swallow hard as their sobs intensify. Silently, you reach out and gently slide a hand under their shoulders, lifting them slightly off the couch. Their head falls into the nook of your chest, but caught in the throes of the nightmare, they do not wake. A wave of fierce protectiveness overwhelms you as you feel the shudders and sobs wracking their fragile form. “Be calm,” you hear yourself saying. “I’m here. And I promise you: nothing – no one – will harm you, not as long as I’m here.” 

Slowly, impossibly, you feel them relax in your embrace, their breathing slowly evening out. You don’t let go; not until the choked words stop, not until their whimpers finally quieten. “Sleep well,” you whisper as you lower them back down and drape the blanket over them once more. I’ll be here when you wake. 

---

“So… Care to tell us why you spent such a long time with Sidestep last night?” 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Angie.” 

“Of course not. We all know what’s going on.” 

“For the last time, nothing is happening between us.” 

 - 

4. Even Heroes Need Saving

With Sidestep: 

 It's a particularly nasty part of town and as luck would have it, you had all bumped into an anti-Ranger group as soon as you arrived. Apparently, their dislike of the Rangers was particularly intense for a certain Marshal. 

As you trail worriedly behind the stoic man, you note the clenched fists and locked jaw, the supremely-concealed pain in his eyes as the crowd continues to jeer. 

"He should retire." 

“Even the others are all better.” 

“Just an old soldier pretending to be a hero.”

You find your rage rising at their poison-barbed words, until you can take it no more. 

“Shut the hell up!” you yell as you whirl around, eyes dark and terrifying and blazing with fury. They immediately fall silent and take a step back at your outburst, but you are far from done. 

“Marshal Steel saved my life and the lives of hundreds of others in his time as a Ranger! He saved hundreds more in his time as a soldier! He probably saved your sorry asses countless of times, not like any of you deserve it! He cares more for others than for himself, he always strives to do his best, and he will always be there for anyone no matter the cost to himself!" 

You take a deep breath, your voice rising as you bellow out the final words. “He is the most courageous, compassionate, and self-sacrificial man I've ever known, and he's a better hero than any of you will ever hope to be! So don’t you dare speak otherwise!" 

At the end of it all, the thoroughly chastised and intimidated group is tripping over themselves to escape your wrath. 

Satisfied, you nod, dust your fingers and turn to face Steel… only to see him staring open-mouthed at you. “I never knew you felt that way about me,” he says quietly as a blush creeps up his neck.

“Yeah, yeah," you reply, turning away so he won't see the heat upon your face. "You better remember it because I’m not saying it again." 

You don't need to look up to feel the shy smile that spreads across his face as he hurries after you. 

---

“You do know there are videos of you defending the Marshal going viral online, do you?” 

“It’s just because those people got on my nerves.” 

“Sure…. if you say so…” 

“Why doesn’t it sound like you believe me?” 

- 

[Interlude] 

 i. 

“You got me… a cactus plushie?” 

“It’s for Spoon. You did say he always ruins those.” 

“Oh… thank you, then. I’m sure he’ll love this.” 

---

“Hey Sidestep? I heard you got something for Steel-” 

“It’s just a plushie! For Spoon!” 

 ii. “I’m fine, Chen. You don’t have to stay.” 

“It’s alright. You look like you could use some company.”

 --- 

 “So... I saw you sitting so close to them in the park today.” 

“They looked like they needed a friend… why are you looking at me like that?”

- 

5. The Rangers Act

With Sidestep: 

“You’d best come at once.” 

Ortega’s terse voice rings in your ears as you tear down the sidewalk towards the Rangers base, as does a single thought that echoes on repeat  in your mind: 

"Please, please let him be safe.”

Ortega had sent you that call an hour ago, informing you that the Marshal was hurt and that it was of paramount importance that you turn up at the Rangers base as soon as you could. Subsequent attempts to contact them had failed, and you found your anxiety growing as time ticked by. 

Please don’t let him be hurt. I can’t bear it if he is. 

It’s a startling revelation, but it doesn’t make it any less true. 

As you screech to a halt in the hall, a sigh of relief escapes you as you spot a rattled but otherwise uninjured Steel. 

"Chen, you're alright!" you sigh as you dash to him, wrapping your arms around his broad chest. He hugs you back just as tightly, and you miss the moment his fear melts into relief, and then into confusion. 

“Wait… I thought you were the one injured?” 

���Me?” you repeat. “Ortega told me that you were hurt so I had to come here at once!” " 

His eyes widen in confusion. "But Herald called me…. He told me you were hurt and that I should prepare the ops room for surgery..." 

"What?!” 

The word escapes you in an undignified, high-pitched yelp. Just what are they playing at? What's with telling you and Steel such crazy lies, getting you both here alone and- 

Oh. OH. Oh no they didn't.

You see the moment Steel comes to the same realization as you do. 

“They set us up, didn't they?” you moan as you bury your face into his chest. 

“It would seem so,” he chuckles in fond exasperation. You notice he makes no move to push you away. 

You groan even louder. "I'm going to kick their ass for this.”

Steel laughs. "That’s something we can agree on." His eyes soften. "But for what it's worth… it’s made me realize what I should have long ago: that I can’t bear losing you." 

You heart skips a beat at his words. Exhaling lightly, you pull him in close, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat as you finally allow yourself to admit the truth you’ve been denying for so long. “I can’t bear losing you too.” 

He smiles softly at that. His fingers cup your cheek in a gentle touch, and his voice drops into a tender whisper you’d never once heard him use before. “You know… I think I like you very much.” 

You huff out a breathless laugh, your cheeks heating up as you gaze into his earnest eyes. “I think I like you very much too.” 

He chuckles and leans in close until your foreheads meet; you’re closer than you’ve ever been before. There you remain for a long while, simply drinking in the presence of each other. Then, his fingers grasp your chin, and you find yourself gazing deep into his eyes once more. Slowly, you feel your eyes drift shut as you lean in even closer, as does he. 

 When you finally press your lips upon his own, the touch is gentle yet deep, hesitant yet intimate. 

And when the kiss finally breaks off, you realize that his cheeks are just as flushed as yours.  “So…does this mean you’ll go out with me?” he asks with a small smile. 

You find yourself smiling back. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

[mangled-dreams]

Sins of the Mother: 8

Chapter 8: Visions

Previous: Collection, Agreement, Terms, Truths, Accident, Goodbye, Grieving

Over the next few weeks when you're not doing your normal duties for your family and work  you find yourself pouring over the book. You read wild and crazy spells, ingredient lists, learn the purpose of each piece of a spell and why even the smallest variant is important to make a spell pack more of a punch or even just go right. At first it all seemed foreign and ridiculous, but the more you read and learned the more it made sense.

You learn a spell dose not have to rhyme in order to work or be powerful. Most witches use rhyming to remember their spells better and to help future generations learn them. You notice that the majority of spells midway and further in the book do not rhyme.

Either your ancestors were really talented or specifically dropped rhyming to keep other from memorizing their spells. You also note that as you look deeper into the book the less ingredients and supplies are listed. You wonder if it indicates the creator's skill level or if they didn't list for secrecy purposes.

While you don't have a want or real need to learn everything in the book, you do wonder if you could reach such a level of proficiency and skill to the point you wouldn't need ingredients or very many supplies.

Flipping through the book with little interest on any one particular page you pause when a spell name in elegant script catches your eyes. Flipping back three pages you look at the yellowed page with keen eyes.

To Banish A Demon

Scanning the text the spell seems pretty straight forward compared to others you've read through. It's basically an incantation using various religious entities and symbols respectively to banish just about any kind of demon known to mankind. Idly you wonder if it would work on Dark.

Thinking it over a few minutes you come to the conclusion it's not a priority at the moment. While, yes, you don't particularly enjoy being tethered to Dark against under such events, he's not the worse thing in your life and for the present time you have bigger concerns.

Mainly seeing into the past to view Trinity's last day. You pray seeing her last day will bring  you closure.

It takes another week before you have confidence in your first attempt to step back in time. To be safe you sent Ollie and Fern to a friend's house for the weekend and ensured your father would be busy with a camping trip you set up with your uncles for the weekend. Even as much as you need your closure you will no put your family at risk.

Shutting the power off for the whole house you carry a melon and cucumber scented candle with you as light to guide your way. Shutting the door to the basement you walk into the dinning room where everything is set up and ready to go.

Electricity won't affect positively or negatively with the spell you've chosen to attempt, it's purely for aesthetic. You've seen one too many movies or shows where the witch, whether modern or ancient prefer the void of modern comforts.

So, you sit at your dinning room table in the pitch black, with a few candles to light your way and your supplies spread before you including the spell on a slip of paper. You haven't memorized the spell to absolute knowledge so it's written down to help you along if you get lost.

Among your supplies is a locket your father gave to Trinity after your mom died. Inside are photos of your mom and Trinity and on the opposite side is a family photo. Trinity never took it off and you had to have it removed from her body.

Picking up the oval locket your thumb runs over the old gold. It's a family heirloom passed down through the generations. You never quite knew who brought it into the family but Trinity felt honored it came to be in her possession. Smiling bitterly you fight against the way of mental pain that washes through you.

It takes everything in you to set the locket down again and focus on your task. After a few minutes you finally feel a sense of calm and clarity needed to cast the spell. Taking a steady breath you open your eyes and push forward.

Reciting the spell--almost from memory, you pick up Trinity's necklace and holding it tightly in your hand. With a soft whisper, "Please, grant me closure." It's not part of the spell but you need to say it, to remind yourself this is for closure to move forward.

Silence surrounds you and for a long, heart pounding minute nothing happens. Peeking around you expected something to happen, a flash of light, or maybe the world would whiz past you throwing you back in time, but nothing happens.

Then, in the darkness of the room a deep voice echoes around you chilling you to the bone. "Heed this warning young witch; Be mindful of what you ask. If it closure you desire then it is the truth I shall show you."

Before you can formulate a response the world shifts from under your feet. The chair you're on disappears leaving you to free fall in the inky black. You cannot see anything except your own body. Your make no sound while you fall, despite air leaving your frightened and tense body.

Bracing for the inevitable impact of land your hands clutch Trinity's locket painfully, the unforgiving metal digging into your palm and fingers. You don't know how long you've been falling at this point and it scares you more than the actual fall.

Could you be trapped in this cycle of endless falling? What will your family think if you never appear again? Between thought you notice the locket, despite keeping your painful grip on it, seems to disappear from your hand.

Shocked and scared you open your palm and look at your now empty hand. Searching the darkness you try to find the locket. Nothing,  you see absolutely nothing.

There is no impact of feeling to landing to single the ride is over even as the pitch blackness slowly releases you. Beneath your feet you feel the texture of dew covered grass, there is a chill in the still night air, and a thin blanket of fog rising up from the river to your left.

Looking around you come to realize you know this plot of land. it's not as well manicured or as enclosed as you remember but you know the grounds. It's the Scarlet estate only years and years before your birth, probably even before your great-great-great grandmother's birth.

Gazing around your location, eyes sweeping the physical ground beneath your socked feet, you hesitantly take a step forward. You're still trying to make sense of where and when you are. Being thrown back to an unknown time period without reason is confusing and disorienting. All you wanted was to get answers to your questions.

You hear a door of the large menacing looking manor slam open with great force pulling your attention to a tall younger looking man briskly walking out followed by a shorter young woman puling at his coattails. Her voice shrieks and at first listen sounds genuinely mournful, "Henrik! Please, please, you know it was an accident. Please, stop!"

It takes a moment in the dim light of the fully moon, but the longer you focus on the woman the more you realize it's your long since dead Great-Great-Great-Great Grandmother Savannah Scarlet. She look identical to the portrait handing in the halls of the family mansion. You pause looking at the building before you and come to the conclusion you're on the estate.

Looking back to your dead grandmother you note she's shorter than you would have thought, probably around five foot even slim feminine build with flowing brown curls. She's dressed in fine robes, a long dress with face and pears from what you can make out.

From your spot across the grass you see picie like features, small perfectly painted lips, big doll eyes, and pale clear skin with hits of pink. She honestly reminds you of a beautifully painted doll. Everything about her seems to be utterly perfect except one thing.

Clutched in her arms is a blanket wrapped child. You can't see the gender or many features but it doesn't seem to be making any noise despite how loudly Savannah is wailing and quickly she's moving after the male. Panic for the child propels you across the rain covered grass.

"Savannah! Enough! I cannot continue like this. I could forgive you for the first child, but I cannot for two. My heart would not take the death of another child should we continue." The handsome, distinguished Irish gentleman, you assume to be Henrik says.  Tears shimmer in his broken blue eyes, looking sadly at the infant laying dead in his lover's arms.

"Please, Henrik, surely there is something you can do." Savannah pleas pulling at his coat.

On the surface Savannah looks and acts like the distraught mother, but you see through the mask she wears so well. Reading her body language and hearing her tone and choice of words it's obvious to you she's faking. You've been around your aunts long enough to know the difference between the genuine article and a phony.

Savannah cares nothing for the baby, only that Henrik does not leave her. Silently you encourage Henrik to pull away, to leave and never return. To your relief he does just that.

Closing his brilliant blue eyes Henrik turns from Savannah, pulls his coat from her grip, and walks away to the carriage waiting. He ignores the first real sound of sorrow you've heard since arriving emit from Savannah's throat. She collapses to her knees nearly dropping the child. Maids swarm her rushing to help their mistress and the child.

As soon as Henrik is out of sight Savannah practically chucks the child into a maid's arms scowling at the long gone carriage. Her face is completely dry and perfect as it was before. It's as if nothing has happened and she is simply a woman scorned by her former lover.

"Mistress, what should we do with the child?" The young woman holding the infant asks, you can hear in her tone she's numb to the question. Her tone makes you question just how often Savannah has children and then kills them. Even from Henrik this is not her first child to die.

"Dispose of it. I'm sick of looking at it." Savannah responds coldly, refusing to look at the blanket. Her voice sends shivers through your whole body. She's just so cold and dejected from the life she took.

"As you wish."

Before you can make sense of it the scenery changes. You stand inside the mansion now. Candles give light as Savannah stands in the center of a diagram or pentagram you've never seen before. Runes are either etched or drawn in dark chalk on the ground. You do have enough sense to see the scene for what it is; Savannah is preforming a ritual.

Taking a better look around you, you note there is another child before Savannah. She has it laying at her feet on the ground wrapped in pink. From what little light the candles give off there is color to this child's cheeks and it appears to be sleeping, but knowing your ancestor like you do now, you doubt the child is still alive.

Crudely you wonder how many more children died before this one. You wonder if she is attempting a resurrection spell, or if she's sacrificing the child for some end game. Whatever she is doing you feel sorrow for another life that is loss. These children are your family, you would died before causing the death to any of your siblings, let alone your own child. You despise Savannah for her lack of respect for life.

Continuing to watch Savannah with pure disgust in your heart for her actions you see her slice a long thin line into her palm. Blood pools in her hand before spilling over, dripping on to the design wrapped around her and the infant. For less time than you believe to have passed you only hear the sound of her blood hitting the concrete.

Then, in a burst of cold air and a flash of red, as if something from a cheesy TV show the candles are blown out and before Savannah is a demon bowing respectively. Out of instinct you fan the smoke and smells away from you, your head turned away from the flash of red. When it's cleared you look back over at the demon and Savannah.

For whatever reason you were not expecting this. Dark straightens his spine, towering over Savannah easily, his gaze cool as they stare at each other. His eyes flicker away from her for a moment towards you as if knowing you're there despite it being impossible before looking back at Savannah to finally address her.

"I believe you said it would a cold day in hell before you'd as for my help, Savannah. Yet, here I am." Dark says in a way that curls your toes a little. He's deep voice registers wonderfully with the room, echoing and pulsating through you to the point you have to remind yourself you're at odds with the man in your present.

Savannah crosses her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes at him like a spoiled teenager, and in part you believe her to be one. Her actions are not that of an adult, but of a child trying to get exactly what she wants. "I did not summon you for the pleasantries, Damien. I have a proposition for you. One I know you will not pass up." Savannah informs him. Her smile unsettles you.

More than her unsettling smile a detail, well, a name strikes you. Damien? Is that Dark's real name? In the near year you've known, well been forced to know him, Dark has never mentioned any other alias to you. Not that it's the focus of this little venture.

"You have my attention." Dark--Damien responds almost eagerly.

"Bring the child there to life again and take my memories of its death away. In return you may have the change to take a scarlet as your payment." Savannah says sounding almost irritated at the whole exchange despite being the one to summon Dark.

"I see. Lost you patience for another child. I presume another lover will leave if the child does not make it." Dark chuckles at the predicament. Within just a split second Dark's amused expression changes. "Is it simply the memories or the impulsion to kill the children you wish to rid yourself of?" Dark asks seriously.

Savannah glares at him. "What are you getting at Damien?"

"Simply that erasing your memory of the child's murder will not stop you from doing it again. Even as powerful as I am, there is limits to bringing a soul back from the grave." Dark responds.

Savannah pauses in thought. "What more do you wish for taking the impulses away?" She inquires.

"You know of what I want." Dark responds coldly. "Do not think I will accept this deal lightly should it be struck despite it's temptation. My kind has come to trust that a Scarlet is not to be trusted.

Rolling her eyes again Savannah groans, "Fine! You are unexpectedly cautious this time around, Damien. You've learned you lesson. This is my offer. Bring the child to life, take my memories of its death and this encounter and impulses to kill from me, and in return you may court one of my children, however many generations from me, to take as your payment. This child of mine must give themselves over willingly, whether you choose a man or woman. Do as you please with them." Savannah thinks for a moment. "Court as many as you wish. I care not, but know a child cannot be conceived unless it is desired by both." Savannah smiling wickedly at Dark knowing he will be bound to the words she's spoken.

Dark's expression never changes but you can see her words have gotten under his skin. It will be a difficult task to convince a Scarlet to bare or seed a child with a demon, but he has no other choice. This is one and only chance otherwise another demon will be summoned. He is counting on Savannah to spin the tale in her favor, to lie and say that he tricked her, forced her even into making the deal.

"Is that all?" He asks as if a little unimpressed at her conditions.

Glaring at Dark, Savannah add, "Ah yes, since you did ask. Once you have taken a Scarlet as your bride or husband, you can never take another into your keep. Whatever poor soul throws themselves into your arms will be bound to you for the extent of your lifespan."

Renaming silent a moment longer Dark bows slightly his hand out to Savannah to take. "A deal is struck." Dark responds smiling just as wickedly. It's a little unsettling to see him in such a state. The image doesn't last long, the scenery changing once again as you are whisked away. The last thing you hear is the cry of a child echoing in the darkness.

"Mistress as you requested." You see the maid from the first memory step out of the darkness of a bedroom this time. Looking closer you see it's a hidden passage hidden behind a bookshelf. The maid walks to a confused Savannah with a folded note in her hand.

Holding it out to Savannah she takes it, reading it a moment, then crumples it up. "Excellent. Where is the child?" She asks walking to a candle and lights the paper on fire, dropping it into the fireplace.

"Asleep and well in his crib." The maid reports seeming a little relieved but spooked at the living child she'd just fed. Savannah nods her head.

"We will proceed as planned. I assume the chamber is as it should be." Savannah asks sitting at her vanity.

"Of course my mistress. Would you like me to fill the bath and fetch your nightgown?" The maid asks. Savannah nods her head waving the maid away. You watch as Savannah stands the moment the maid leaves and pulls out her book of spells. It's almost identical to the one Dark gave you but in much better condition.

Looking over her shoulder Savannah scribbles down the banishing spell you'd found earlier in the book. It takes her the better part of an hour before stopping when another maid knocks at her door. Hurriedly she stashes the book away and orders her maid in.

Nodding at the news her bath is ready Savannah dismisses her maid. Standing up she looks at her palm then her reflection. "What once was dead is now a live. Let the clock reverse and turn back time. What once was broken now be mended. What once was old let now youth take hold." Savannah whispers.

You watch as her already youthful feathers take on a new radiant glow. Watching her reverse age you get the feeling she's been using this spell for years to remain young and desirable to men. You fear how long the spell actually takes hold for, and just how powerful Savannah really was, if she even died at all. With a rejuvenation spell with this much power, you doubt she would ever allow herself to age.

[berfometalpha]

Legacy of Eternity Chapter 1: The Adventure Begins Part 1

The year is 4119 it has been 13 years since the end of the 2nd War of Creation and ventured to the Frontier in hopes to find a new place to call their own. All in thanks to the Effort of the first and second born son of the Redridge Family. 

Many dead worlds were brought back to life by the newly established Zerrohnian Kingdom of the Frontier under the new leadership of Victor Redridge and his new Queen Charlotte Sentinel Redridge. 

Though the total population of the Dragon-wolf Legion was dubbed to be 22.36 billion combined with the number of legionaries that joined them from all other legions that still believed in the word of their founder. 

The Dragon-wolf took many years and many worlds were colonized and reborn into a new Kingdom worthy of remembrance to their former world of Requiem. 

 Thanks to the never ending Hope and Prayers the 1st born son Kent Redridge and his Strike Fleet Zero dawn was able to find a Gaia class Titan world known as Ren’veil. Much similar to Requiem or Old Earth this planet this planet was 40 times larger than earth in diameter. 

An emissary Envoy was sent to the planet to asses the planet’s life reading and it’s intelligence. According to the Knight Envoy the planet was not past it’s 2nd age of culture meaning they have not developed technology for spaceflight. 

Reports from the Envoy the planet was currently facing a war that more of a one sided slaughter. One of the Envoys tried to plea with the King to end the Conflict between his rule and the people that he should be serving. 

Instead the king boasted in front of the Envoy You dare to come to my land bringing peace when your so called ships are waiting high above the sky and aiming your weapons against us... As a king I will not entertain such folly...

The King immediately used the same weapon that the demons used during the 2nd war killing the Envoy and his marine escorts with blue lightning. Kent learned about the deaths of his comrades as their life signature flat lined during the peace talk. 

This angered him and many other knights and demanded justice in order to avoid more of his friends dying he personally went to the rebellion’s side in hopes to find answers. 

He looked into the culture of Ren’veil the Vai-lien as they call themselves are a proud peace loving race who uses magic for the better not to take life. 

Though many knights agreed to help fight the mad king they were only providing trust with in arms length to the Vai-lien and their trigger finger at the ready should they turn against them at any time. 

Kent along with his Strike team and his knight vanguard the Iron Wolves a frightful knight clan composed of 50,000 Knight venerates and it’s elite the 300 Primal Wolves the most elite among their clan followed their master into battle with blade, tooth, and claw straight into the Heart of the New Kingdom’s armies and started ripping them apart at the seams. 

He mercilessly showed the fury of the Vai’len citizens that died by their king’s negligence and ego. Many of the the Knights who are above the rank of Grey wolf and Bloodwolf saw the rebel’s desire to finally end the madness.

Though they were still merciful to those who surrendered but Fenris Runewolf  his second in command in the Primal Wolves and a close friend since the days of the Academy. 

My dear friend these humans who surrendered may be willing to suffer humiliation but what would stop them from taking a blade out of their backs and stabbing you with it... You need to be firm with your choice to kill these traitors... 

Kent looked to his friend with a heavy heart telling him Fenris my dear friend and my brother in arms... We never experienced battle like this before in our lives sure we were trained to kill the enemies of the people... But this is not the Empire... The frontier is our second chance to find a place to call home... You were lucky to see Requiem before it got destroyed my dear friend... I was not... This place called Ren’veil may become our new home if all goes well... I plea to you brother... trust in the choice I make... should I make a mistake you are free to kill me... 

Fenris knew that after he entered Hell’s gate in the academy he was different in a way that he was not a cold and heartless man anymore. But he was more of a leader and a friend than a heartless soldier as many of his pears said he was.

As the war reached it’s height during the Battle of Angel city this was a key area to take before reaching the capital city of Shiun. 

Kent’s team the Strike Team Zero headed by Captain Razor “Rex” Sigfield Crosswolf, Captain Lilian “Lily”Star Seeker, Lieutenant Willow “Wraith” Andersmith, Sergeant Clayton “Clay”Carmive, Corporal Markus “Marky” Endshot, Private Benjamin ”Genji” Carmive, and Private Micheal B. “Micheal”Andersmith along with the Heroes of Ren’veil Infiltrated Angel City to open the gate and link up with the first marine team that infiltrated the city ahead of time. 

By the time they reached the hidden rebel hide out their was something amiss about the city. The civilian population were turned into the undead proceeding to attack the hide out. 

As the undead ignored the marines and focused on the civilians and ripped them apart though they were able to save one of the elders but he was about to die due to the multiple bites. 

Before he died the elder said The Red haired... Swords.. Hero... lies... The elder 

Many of the Marines held their ground buying time for the Strike Team and the Heroes enough time to escape. Kent Unleashed the Fury of the Primal Wolves into Angel city using the hidden path ways that were revealed by the surviving citizens of Angel city before they died due to the Undeath plague. 

Though Angel city that proved difficult for the marines to take and even the Iron wolf legionaries along with their brother faction the Crusaegrum Templars led by Kent’s Brother and half dragon Chimera Zero Dawn. 

Like a surging tide of blood Angel city was cleansed of the fallen civilians over night though the battle was won. 

Grief and sadness filled the hearts of not just the Primal Wolves but all of the Iron wolves clan disliked killing civilians who were not suppose to be involved in the conflict but were merely used as fodder in the madness of their king. 

As Fenris quoted to his friend and master My dear Friend this was... No Battle... Their was no Glory... No honor... No dignity and pride in facing these... Undeathly foes... What type of leader would use his people as fodder... My blood along with the rest of our clan... Desires... Not blood of the king... but vengeance for the Fallen... They shall know justice soon enough... My Friend you must finish this fight...

Kent turned to his friend with a smile on his face telling his friend My friend... For now we rest let the others take this time to grieve we lost many friends and family... You also lost a friend or two... 

By tomorrow we shall take the fight to the king... I have sensed a traitor in our midst my friend... Let the others rest tonight... For the hunt for this traitor ends tonight.

Kent said as he wore his helmet picking up his Trail Blazer mk7 sword and made his way back to the encampment outside angel city to confront the Traitor. 

As he entered the camp the Heroes of Ren’veil along with the Civilian warriors and marines were celebrating their victory Kent looked around and saw the heroes were sitting around a table enjoying their victory. 

The young knight cut the celebration short as he grabbed the neck of the Hero of the red sword Rio Swordtaker and threw him across the festival ground. 

Rio stumbled before he got back up and aimed his swords at Kent stating what he did to earn his fury. Kent held his helmet and started to laugh as his anger slipped through his many mental fortitude and discipline. 

As he spoke darkness swallowed the entire camp as the lights of the camp exploded into a black fire. 

You Dare sell out your own people to feed your hunger for power! How dare you call yourself a HERO... You even had the gull to sit next to your friends after what you had done... By the law of the Astray Knights of the Strike Fleet you are here by under arrest... Do make things hard for me Rio... make things fun for me... Please... 

Kent said with a smile when the other heroes tried to break the fight when Rex and the rest of the strike team stopped them. 

One of the Heroes named Aisha Ayekawa the High Mage, A high spirited and every emotional 18 year old girl who like Rio sword taker is one of the heroes of Ren’veil who killed the previous Demon lord. 

Aisha was distraught of what her new found friend said to everyone as she asked how did this came to be and if their was any proof. 

Captain Rex, Handed a letter to her from the last citizen of Angel city revealing a dark truth to their friend. 

Aisha’s heart crashed as everyone learned the letter came from none other than her Grand Father as the seal below the letter proves it to be true.

How Could you volunteered to protect the city... You told us that their were too many and even my own Grand Father!!! you told us that everyone willingly submitted to the King when he unleashed his fury on the city!!! HOW COULD YOU!!! Aisha cried her heart out knowing that the truth she was told was all a lie. 

Aisha looked at Kent knowing that she called him a monster and yet he still continued to help them despite Miss Arriandale’s Comments and Praise about him.

Kent looked towards Aisha for a moment and turned back to face Rio as he told everyone in the Camp. We came here to find a home for our people my lady... When your people including yourself asked us for help... We never hesitated not once to help you be free... From the madness of your king... We tried to use politics to settle this peacefully... But I am to blame for this... If only I heeded my friend’s advice maybe they would be alive right now... I will not let their sacrifice be in vein... I will make things right...

Kent pulled out his Blades Excaliburst repair mk2 the weapon hearts ignited unleashing a powerful roar enveloping the blades with a bright blue light. He then looked at Rio hoping that he would surrender but another part of him wanted him to fight. 

The Marines surrounded the former hero now traitor Rio looked around him to see that his only chance to survive was to surrender but he simply smiled at them and summoned his cursed blades Muramasa infinity to his side and laughed at him and the marines.

Well it was fun while it lasted... Aisha, I love you... Things would have gone smoothly if you just accepted my offer and I would have saved those stupid uncivilized people... They are just fodder for the strong Aisha... I am giving you an offer... With my new power I can make this world kneel before me... As the rightful King... With you by my side We can rule this world together... What do you say? 

Rio extended his hand towards Aisha with a demonic aura coming out of him the knights of Iron Wolves and their leader Valoran Runewolf who ignited his HF magna claws. 

Aisha could only look at Rio with terrified and disgusted eyes and hid behind Kent and his team. 

The young knight ordered the rest of the heroes to be taken to safety as he and many others dealt with the betrayer.

The Swordtaker immediately summoned more blades than anyone can count trapping most if not all the marines some were skewered by the multitude of blades that pierced almost a dozen marines into pieces. 

Kent immediately charged in and danced around the blades as they came out of the ground left and right as if he was dancing to the Sonata wind of the last kiss. 

His sword swings followed the flow of the sonata as the Excaliburst blades danced with her wielder’s hand and body. Cutting through the cursed blade’s like a leaf falling a top the lake Rio tried to kill Kent it was as if he was playing with Rio instead.

Rio then formed a massive lade wall around him when Kent swung at the former hero he disappeared. They all heard a terrible laugh over the distance telling them This is far from over Kent Redridge... I will have my revenge... Aisha you bitch I gave you everything... Money, power, all of it! and you couldn’t even think of joining me to become the new gods of our world! I will kill you all... 

Kent pulled back his blades as they retract back into his body looking at the damage done by Rio was no joke. 

Master Valoran, please have your wolf Shielder’s help with clean the area... Have your Primal Wolves also search the entire area... Do not let this bastard escape if he further resists like tonight... Kill him I am authorizing extreme prejudice...  I shall join you in a moment... I need to deal with another matter... This is going to be a long night... 

Valoran agreed as 6 of his best followed him in pursuit of the traitor with a heavy sigh Kent had to deal with another issue. 

The young knight found the heroes inside the Angel city as marines stated that after they took them to the secure zone. The marines who secured the city saw a group of individuals heading into the heart of the city. 

Commander we tried to stop them but they are moving fast and they high-jacked one of our transports and is moving to the bridge leading to the capital city... they will reach the capital in about 30 minutes sir...

Kent ordered the marines to stop them with none lethal means he pulled out his intercom and contacted the rest of the team despite being exhausted they had to get to the bridge head leading to the capital before it was too late.

They got into high gear as soon as they could Clayton was a very angry as he shouted WHY THE EVER LIVING FUCK DO THESE HUMANS PUT US INTO SO MUCH FUCKING WORK DON’T THEY HAVE A SENSE OF DECENCY TO GIVE US A FUCKING BREAK FOR CRYING OUT LOUD... 

Marky smirked at his friend stating that even though they are human they show spirit that rivals a knight as he quoted that I guess that’s why Kent is very protective of those two... no matter how you look at it... Despite Kent being called the Demon King of Hell’s gate... Even if he keeps getting called without his humanity... What he is doing is pretty human to me.. Commander you need to rest... We all know that Lady Aisha and Miss Arra are important to you but your body will soon break down if you keep going... 

Kent, as a Friend you once said that we should trust you in making the decisions but we are asking that you trust us as well... You haven’t slept in about a week or two now ever since the incident of Hell’s gate you had not been the same since then... 

They kept trying to reach out to him while trying to figure out the entire situation from the marines all across the city. Kent still kept on running to the other end of the city since a Knight’s stamina is comparable to 1000 physically activate human male.

Rex and the others were left behind by Kent as he kept on moving forward Clayton looked around to find an abandoned Armored personnel carrier during the first assault on Angel city by the Crusaegrum’s. 

Clayton boarded the transport and it seemed to be in full function but the fuel cell core was damaged and rendered inoperable. 

How long can you get it working Clay? Rex asked.

In a few minutes I’ll take out the plasma cell from my plasma cannon and fix it up here... I think... Give me 2 minutes with this bitch and Ill get her up and bouncing in no time! Clayton said as he ejected the plasma cell from his rail cannon.

We need to hurry Kent’s not going to stop for anyone... General Charlotte will kill us if we don’t catch up to him... Not even the marines will try to stop Kent they will just get trampled. Rex stated as he handed a plasma conductor to Clayton.

Well he is called the Demon king of the Academy after all... But damn Rex I never imagined that Kent would go that far for Miss Aisha... Well technically speaking its the first time I saw Kent in love to be honest though he might have a few screws loose because of how he was brought up... But then again he does mean well but he often at times doesn’t do well... you know what im saying? Clayton said as he placed the plasma cell into the engine core.

Some how Clayton managed to somehow jumpstart the transport and double timed it to Kent’s location. As they moved through the ruined roads Willow and Marky used their scopes to find a way through while Genji stood on the hood of the APC and sliced the debris that were in the way. 

They saw Kent’s Handiwork with the roads ahead of them had clean cuts and diced to the point it was easily carried by a 90 year old man.

One thing is certain... The boss sure makes things easy for us to move about... I think that is going to be a problem to be honest... Genji said as he jumped back into the APC. 

[nanostuffs]

Okay - so I have this idea for a book, it’s completely sane characters stuck inside really bad stories and they have to get of the bad fanfiction like story. The problem is that I would need to have an A plot and a stupidly fun B plot happening t the same time. Or maybe there doesn’t need to be a “B” plot. I mean, bad fanfics don’t really have a “plot” to speak of. I may just do an actual bad fanfic first for funsies.

So who are the leads?

I want there to be a male and female lead. I want them to be best friends and for the B plot to joke about them dating even though they are platonic.

So, a B plot?

Because I’m trash, I want to write a B plot myself and post it on AO3, then write the A plot or what I’m tentatively calling the “Oh God, stop” plot.

Tell me more about the B plot.

Well, okay. Like I either wrote or implied earlier, I want the B plot to either be bad fanfiction, or feel like it. I’m tempted to use Star Trek as the base, but I don’t know that Star Trek would make for a good first project. My Immortal would be fun, but I’m confident I want to write my own bad fanfic. I could use something I have already written, but honestly I want to write a new B plot. Though, since I’m thinking about it, I have a really old fanfic.net account that might have a story or two that could work for this. I should write the B plot for a fandom I’ve never written before, in the future, but one where absurdity isn’t the norm. What I mean is that Gintama would not be a good fandom for this, because Gintama already has good “B” plot, and any B plot I write for it would be more or less stupid in this instance.

So what would be a good fandom for the B plot?

Harry Potter, The Hobbit, and Twilight take themselves too seriously for the B plot to be common ground, thus would be fitting. I have never read Twilight in it’s entirety, and I don’t plan on it, so a B plot for it would be okay, but the A plot would be missing a plethora of in-jokes.

I could use Gravity Falls, but the fandom back lash scares me.

I’ve brought Star Trek up several times, but like I said, I don’t think it’d make for a good first project.

Code Geass could be fun, but doesn’t sound like a first project either.

Homestuck is something I’m comfortable with, and has an in cannon example of what I’m trying to do via Roxy, but I don't want people in the fandom to accuse me of stealing Husies’s idea, which is not what I’m attempting. While I’m positive my idea is not original, I find the execution to be unique, and I hope my A plot proves to be truly unique.

Oh dear, I went on a tangent there. I was supposed to be picking a fandom. The Adventure Zone could be fun, and the meta-ness of the A plot could be fun, but I know that sometimes the McElroy brothers read fanfics, and I would just about die if they put me on blast for the B plot before I have a chance to work on the A plot. But, I am still flirting with the idea of Taco being the one to help my A plot leads to figure out what’s going on. And I’m half in love with the idea of writing really bad Merle/Lucretia smut, and in the A plot having my male character freaking out about the age difference. If you are reading this and have no idea what I’m writing about, it’s major spoilers and go listen to The Adventure Zone either on Max Fun, or on Google Play, or wherever you download podcasts. Except sound cloud. I’m not sure they post stuff on sound cloud. Most people cite I-tunes, but I’m a google play user. In any case, even if you aren’t into RPGs or DND you should give it a listen to, because in truth Griffin McElroy wrote a fantastic story, and I believe good stories and goofs are better than any problem people may have with RPGs. I firmly believe that you can enjoy TAZ without being into DND or any RPG game.

Another fandom I’d like to work in is possibly X-men. But, since one version of the movie-verse set Wolverine and Saber-tooth up as brothers, anything I could create would pale in comparison. I could write an A plot about that alone.

I also kind of want to work in How To Train Your Dragon animated verse, but I seriously ship DagCup, and as a member of that row boat, I just couldn’t write a B plot involving them because that B plot could hurt the ship.

Enough about fandoms for B plots, talk about the leads.

My A plot leads are just shells right now. Currently they just have place holder names, just so that I can talk about them without having to cal them Male, and Female, which reads as just awkward for me. The female shall thus be called Mela, and the Male shall be called Giovanni. These names are just temporary, and are subject to change.

So, my basic idea is that Mela and Giovanni are BFFs, but often joke about being a couple. I just hate the idea of two characters of opposite genders to be a couple in one of my stories, because romance subplots are dumb, and there really aren’t enough opposite gender duos who are just friends. Before you point to Zootopia, I’ll remind you that Judy and Nick had a lot of romantic sub-text. I really just want the couple thing to be a joke for Mela and Geo. I might not even write any jokes about it, just so that the idea isn’t planted in anyone’s mind.

I know what sort of woman I want Mela to be. I want Mela to be compassionate, but stubborn. I want her to be the kind of person who knows exactly who and what they are, but still be insecure about making the right decisions. I want Mela to be bubbly, but smart. I still wonder if maybe I’m too impractical about my female lead. If it seems like I’m trying to hard please SJWs, while still trying to be unique. Ultimately, I’m fearful of being too traditional with Mela, but I’m worried that she comes across as too “main-stream.”

As for Mela’s appearance, I want her to have short hair, and I’m liking the idea of her being blonde. I think she should have dark brown eyes, but I’m still playing with how I want her to look. I think I want her to be pear-shaped, and tall for a woman (5′9″).

Giovanni is even less planned out. I like the idea of him being a mix of Deanna Troi, and Spock.  By that I mean I want Geo to have the presence of Deanna Troi, but to have the logical reasoning of Spock. In Homestuck terms, I want him to the the Sylph of Mind to Mela’s something (Maid?) of Heart.

As for Geo’s appearance, I’m flirting with him being 5′4″ and not having a complex about it. As fun as it is to write short bad-ass characters, it’s an overdone trope, and I don’t want to have my work be a cliche. I very much like the idea of Giovanni being being an appearance foil to Mela. If Mela has short blonde hair, Geo should have long, dark hair. If Mela has dark eyes, Geo should have light eyes.

Astute readers will notice that I haven’t given either Geo or Mela a race. Traditionally Mela is a Polish name, and Giovanni is Italian. But Mela and Giovanni are place holder names. What this means is that I haven’t planned either’s race. Because of the wonderful world of human genetics, I could decide they are both Mexican or Hispanic and real life would be fine with that. Before you argue genetics with me, I beg you do do your own research into the shear ridiculousness of human genetics. It’s expansive and there’s a reason why some geneticists believe humans will all look Brazilian at some point in the future. In any case, giving Mela and Geo a race isn’t something I consider necessary. My personal belief is that if you give your characters enough detail, letting the reader decide what race they want the characters to be is perfectly fine.

So, how bad would the B plot be?

If I’m going to pre-post the B plot by itself, sort of as a prelude, then you can expect bad spelling, no grammar, and Mary-Sues. Expect the B plot to be simple and poorly executed. It’ll be the fanficiton version of a botched Mac’n’cheese, or burned and frozen fish fingers a’la Lisa Simpson having a mental breakdown. In contrast, the A plot should have zero spelling and grammar issues. The A plot leads need to be complex and well developed in comparison to the botched B plot characters. If the B plot is dumb, the A plot needs to be brilliant. If the B plot has a major dose of Miller Time, the A plot has to be the fix it.

The issue with not having a B plot written and posted prior to the A plot, is that there won’t be a true comparison. A way to reconcile this is to write a B plot chapter, write a comparison A plot chapter, and post both on the same day. I do not like this idea. It sounds needlessly complicated and messy AF.

Tell us more about the A plot!

Well currently I’m planning it to be first person while the B plot will be 3rd person. I plan on alternating between Mela and Giovanni's point of view. I want this because I write a lot of 3rd person limited, and have learnt that I have a hard time describing my lead unless someone else talks about them. I do not like the idea of someone talking to either Mela or Giovanni about how they look. Here’s my example for why:

“Damn Mela, why is your blonde hair so short?”

“Mela, I love your brown eyes.”

“Your pear shaped body is banging!”

Those lines sound forced, and I’d like to think I can write better dialogue than that. Writing alternating first person allows me to give both Mela and Geo well rounded descriptions without being obnoxious about it. Geo in his chapters can describe Mela’s blonde bed-head, and think about her eyes sparkling in joy, while Mela in hers can think about how bothersome Geo's long hair must be, and about how his [insert colour] eyes look when he concentrates on something. Making the descriptions sound natural would be challenge, but certainly wouldn’t have the issues that 3rd person limited has.

The more I think about it, the more sense it makes for the B plot to also be first person, so that my Mary Sue can talk about how she looks, a’la My Immortal and Forbiden Fruit. I also like the idea of playing with some Gary Stu's for fun, because I’ve noticed a distinct lack of them in bad fanfiction.

Basic Plot Summary, please!

Mela and Giovanni are two humans who find themselves thrown into bad stories with no logic or reason. In these stories there are poorly written characters, purple prose, and dumb plots. Mela and Geo must attempt to escape the B plot taking place before them.

Any closing thoughts?

Umm... expect a bad fanfic from me in the future? Currently I’m hoping to write some short bad fics, just because those take less time to write than entire multi-chapter plots, but my first two projects are going to have multiple chapters. I mentioned earlier that I have a really old FF.net account. I won’t share the name of it just yet, but after writing the rough draft of this post, I went looking for it and found it almost immediately. I am so embarrassed that it exists, as I wrote the two stories on it when I was in the 8th grade and they are so freaking bad, but I kind of want to work with them anyway, just to show how much I’ve improved my writing over the years. I’m thinking of it as a critique of what I did wrong as a child. All in all, it should be fun.