#otherwise i may just have to do it myself once I run out of horses

[cedric-k-rossignol]

Undertaker + ressusciter les morts

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 15:  The Calm Before the Storm - Is this... a date?

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

[Left blank]

Personal comments: One hundred and twenty breaths represents a very long period of time, I have discovered. Deployment of strategy postponed until I am able to discover a method of keeping Okatsu still. Consulted Nobunaga and received following suggestion. “Tie her up.” Am not certain this was in jest. After leaving Nobunaga, I came across Hideyoshi, who stopped to help one of the maids carry a heavy vase. Hideyoshi believes in protecting the people, especially those he loves. I will take that idea from Hideyoshi this afternoon, as Okatsu needs protecting. I believe I have an idea, one that will be allow me to rescue her, and keep her still for, I hope, one hundred and twenty breaths.

Lady Mai is an excellent co-conspirator. Not only was she willing and able to help me with my strategy to prevent Okatsu from having to enter the silver mine, she suggested that I use the free afternoon to take Okatsu on something called a “date.” Per Mai, a good date includes spending time together, going out for a meal or tea, finding activities you both enjoy together, and at the end of the “date,” you might share a kiss.

I will kiss Okatsu today.

If she permits it.

I hope she permits it.

 “Perhaps you and I should run off.”

I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. “Run off?” Did he mean just disappear for good? I’ve already done that once. “Hideyoshi and Nobunaga would be worried if we did that.”

“For the afternoon. Explore the terrain around Genba. You would enjoy that, would you not?” He carried me over to where Moonlight was tied to a tree. Then with not much grace, plunked me onto her back. “I believe we are not far from Takayama. We could have tea in the castle town.”

“What about your work?” The desire to spend more time in the sunlight warred with the responsibility to help Mitsunari.

“If we had stayed at the mine, I would not be working. We could ride to Takayama, explore, and still return before the others.” Mitsunari was already turning his horse northward. Moonlight, who apparently had become very good friends with Mitsunari’s horse, followed suit. I had been outvoted. But I was ok with that.

“On the condition that if Hideyoshi finds out, you tell him this was your idea.” I was in enough trouble with the Azuchi housemother as it was.

“Hideyoshi would agree that it is good sometimes to get outside.” He leaned across his horse and nudged me with his shoulder… then caught himself in a balance check. “He often reminds me to take care of myself and to take breaks outside.”

“How long have you worked for Hideyoshi?” Mitsunari had a positive view of everyone, even the permanently grouchy Ieyasu, but his relationship with Hideyoshi seemed to be long-standing, and almost brotherly.

“You are asking me questions? Perhaps we could exchange answers to thirty-six questions.” Before I could figure out where that non sequitur came from, he continued. “Over ten years. I was a temple page – because otherwise I was an unwanted second son. Lord Hideyoshi realized my skill with numbers and asked me to join him.”

“Before you were a messenger – and an observer – what did you do?” Mitsunari ducked under a low hanging branch and ended up with pine needles stuck in his hair.

“I was a maid.” It wouldn’t be useful to mention my pre-time travel life. There wasn’t an equivalent to the University system here, and likely if even if there had been one, women wouldn’t be permitted to attend. Nor was there any way to explain gymnastics or snowboarding. I mean… I suppose I could say I was raised in a circus or something, but even that was stretching the truth a lot. “It was not terribly interesting. I was lucky that my master allowed me to train with his male apprentices.”

The trail narrowed slightly, but not enough to force us to ride single file. Our legs brushed. “You became a maid after your parents died?”

Right. I had let him think my parents were both dead. “My mother had died. I never knew my father. She would not say who he was.” This was less of an issue in modern Japan than it might be here. But immediately after I revealed that to Mitsunari, I regretted giving him such personal information. The last person I had trusted with my life story was Iekane.

He reached over and touched the back of my hand, just a quick brush of his fingers, but I felt calmer to receive it. “I am sorry to hear that Okatsu. I am certain he missed much by not being part of your life.”

I waved that away. “Where I come from, people don’t really care all that much anyway.”

One of the pine needles in Mitsunari’s hair drooped into his eye. He swiped at it, but only succeeded in embedding it more deeply. “Nobunaga wants to create a future where people don’t care about that here either, however that was not what I meant. I am sorry that you grew up without something that many people take for granted.”

That pine needle kept dangling in front of his face. I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Let me get that.” I reached over and pulled the pine needle out of his hair, combing my fingers through to make sure I had gotten all of them.

“Thank you.” He reached up and touched his forehead.

The pine needle had been covered in sap and ended up stuck to my hand. I grabbed my handkerchief and wiped it away. Then I folded up the pine needle into the handkerchief and put it back in my kimono. I promised myself I would toss it away later.

Takayama was nowhere near the size of Azuchi, although it did seem to be bustling, with people hurrying through the streets with baskets of fresh food. I could see an open market area off at one end of the town, as well as more permanent buildings with small shops. “Do you want to see if there is a bookseller here?”

He pulled his horse to a halt in front of an inn with a public stable yard. “Why don’t we walk around and see what we find? Sometimes it is good to explore without having any other motive than to enjoy the day.”

I agreed with the sentiment, although I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent a day wandering a town without having a specific purpose in mind. I wasn’t sure if I ever had in this era. There had always been a mission, a reason. This felt almost… well, almost like a date.

Backing away from that thought – we were simply playing hooky  – I fell in step next to Mitsunari as we wandered through Takayama. And yes, there was a bookseller, though it was not large. I paused by the entry. “Do you want to go inside?”

Mitsunari hesitated. “Don’t let me start reading.”

“It’s a bookseller. You’ve spent hours in them – I know, I’ve watched you do so.” I smiled inwardly at the memory of watching him practically camp out in Aki’s shop, and how I had ended up feeding him rice crackers that first afternoon.

“That is what I meant. I want to enjoy this time with you, and you know what will happen if I find a book.” If it had been anyone else, I would have said Mitsunari was afraid to go into the booksellers. And while it was sweet that he wanted to be a good host and make sure I enjoyed myself, I wasn’t supposed to be having fun.

Mitsunari frowned at me, his brow furrowed in concern. “Did I say something wrong? I did not mean to give you the burden of guarding my behavior. What I meant is that I won’t start reading because I want to spend time with you.”

I wanted to sooth away the worry from his forehead, but I held back and simply nudged him with my shoulder. “If you find something you want to read, you could, and this is simply a suggestion, purchase it.”

“Yes, that is a good – you are teasing me!” He smiled, and I grinned at the image of someone – more than likely Hideyoshi - sitting down with him and trying to explain gentle sarcasm.

“Maybe a bit.” I made a grand gesture in the direction of the military books. “Go ahead. Go forth and shop.”

The Bookseller was near the front of the store with a young woman who looked enough like him to be his daughter. No… it wasn’t simply the resemblance, it was the way he looked at her with a combination of love, protection, and pride. Or… maybe my earlier conversation with Mitsunari was simply putting an idealized father-daughter relationship in my mind? I watched them for a moment, then realized that they were examining a freshly bound book – and rather than the pages folded one inside the other, the way most Japanese books were bound, this book was in the new Chinese string bound style.

It was surprising to see such a “newfangled” book in such a small town, especially one this far from any port, that I headed over to them to ask where they had found it.

“My daughter made it,” the Bookseller said proudly. He introduced himself as Tokuro and his daughter as Sani, then showed me that the inner pages were discarded paper given to them by Takayama’s castellan.

“I’m learning the bookbinding trade.” Sani gave me a shy bow. “This is for practice. I used to make them with blank pages, but that was too much of a waste of paper.”

In my time, people were willing to pay for books with blank pages, from the cheap exam books all the way up to beautifully bound leather journals… and… I pictured in my mind Mitsunari juggling all his unbound notes, scrambling with them daily as he shuffled them about. “I might be interested in-”

Mitsunari joined me and I stopped midsentence. What I had in mind, in fact, would be a gift for him and I didn’t want to spoil the surprise. “Mitsunari, this is Tokuro and his daughter Sani, who is learning the book binding trade.”

They all bowed to each other, then Mitsunari asked Sani, “Do you not get distracted by wanting to read the books?”

She shook her head. “Thus far, I haven’t worked on any real books, so it’s been sewing, not reading.” That made sense. In the learning process, if she were using real books a mistake would be expensive. “I imagine that could happen at a later time.”

“It would happen to me.” He smiled at her, and Sani was not immune to the power of that sweetness. She blinked a few times like an animal blinded by headlights. “I wish you good luck in your training.”

“Th-thank you,” she eventually stammered.

He took my hand and squeezed it, and I was so surprised the spontaneous touch, and the zing of awareness that went through me, that I nearly missed his question. “Do you want to go to the metalsmith?”

“Why don’t you go on, and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. I have a couple more questions about book binding that I want to ask her.” As an excuse, it was not terribly elegant, but Mitsunari didn’t protest. With a slight look of confusion on his face, he let go of my hand and left.

Eep. I had hurt his feelings, but as soon as I gave him the gift, it would explain things. I turned back to Sani. “If you still have the practice books you made – the ones with blank pages, I would like to purchase them.”

“Purchase empty books?” Tokuro and Sani looked at each other, exchanging a glance that probably said, ‘this chick is nuts, but we’re not going to turn down money.’ After a moment, Tokuro suggested an amount. “That will cover the cost of the materials, and Sani’s labor.”

Possibly he expected me to bargain, but it was a fair price. Sani retrieved her practice efforts from their living quarters, and once Tokuro wrapped them up, I headed for the metalsmith where Mitsunari awaited with a wrapped bundle under his arm – I wondered if it contained more weapons for Azuchi to test. “Did you find something interesting?”

“I believe so.” Mitsunari thanked the smith and the two of us headed out to look for a place to get a snack and something to drink.

The town’s only teahouse was crowded, and we ended up sitting at a table behind the building. “Thank you again for preventing me from having to go into the mine. It would not have been pretty.”

“What happens when you are in places like that?” Mitsunari took a sip from his tea, then very precisely placed his cup in a spot in the center of the table – where, I figured, he would be less likely to spill it.

“I start to feel like I can’t breathe or I’m going to faint. And I start remembering everything about being trapped in that box.” And… even talking about it in the outside sent a shiver through me. “Mitsunari, I’m sorry, but I really dislike talking about it.”

He was instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Because he seemed so horrified at that thought, I reached across the table took hold of both of his hands. They were warm from holding the tea, and the skin on his fingers was slightly calloused, reminding me that even with all the time he spent reading, Mitsunari was an experienced fighter as well. “It wasn’t your fault. Remembering sometimes makes me feel like I’m about to be sick, and … it’s too pretty a day out to be ill.”

He held onto my hands for a long moment, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I will talk about something pleasant instead. When something worries me, I think about books… or Kitty’s fur and the sound she makes when she is happy… the smell of Hideyoshi’s rooms when he smokes his pipe… and how holding your hands… holding you… makes me feel … honored.”

Oh. Wow. Well.

Where do I go with that?

And now it was my own turn for a BSOD. Mitsunari’s sweet confession sent a wave of … something through me. The thought that I could make him feel like that was both flattering and frightening. I didn’t want to inspire feelings in him. I was leaving when the job was over.

I didn’t want to leave something broken in my wake.

Ugh, Hideyoshi is right to distrust me. Not because I intend to harm anyone… but intentions count for nothing if harm happens anyway. My inner voice told me to let go of his hands.

But… I couldn’t.

He focused that sweet expression on my face, and I could neither let go of his hands, nor look away from his eyes. Until I realized… “Are you counting again?”

He stopped instantly and looked away. “Apparently it has become a habit.” He shook his head, then withdrew his hands away from mine. He picked up the package he’d purchased at the metalsmith shop and handed it to me. “The smith did have something I thought you might find useful.”

A present? Like the just-because gifts my brother and I used to give each other on non-occasions? I focused on the phrase ‘something useful,’ which might mean the Sengoku equivalent of socks? The package was somewhat heavy (Duh, Katsuko, it’s from the metalsmith!) and I hefted it a couple times before opening it up to find an iron war fan inside. “Oh. This is really cool!” Whoops. Slang. “I mean, this will help cool things in the weather we’ve been having.”

“I noticed you often forget to take a fan with you and thought you would be more likely to remember one that doubled as a weapon.” He picked it up and stabbed it toward me and – the teacup went flying.

I caught it before it could hit the ground. “You thought correctly. I can’t wait to figure out how to use it. Thank you!”

“I could teach you.” He seemed excited by the prospect.

“You know how?” I unfurled the fan to admire the sharp metal spokes – and the pretty Sakura pattern as well. Mitsuhide had wanted me to wear pink? Well, pink this!

“I have read about their use. Also, though I did not read about it, it is said that Takeda Shingen once fought off an attack by Uesugi Kenshin by using his war fan.” A faraway look was in his eyes. “I would have like to have witnessed that.”

Huh. Me too. I’d never encountered Lord Shingen, but I had indeed seen Kenshin in battle. Anyone who could successfully fight off his attack – with a fan, no less – had to have mad skills. Of course, now that they were allied against Nobunaga, I imagined they made a terrifying duo.

After a few flutters of the fan in front of my eyes, I put it aside. “As it turns out, I purchased something for you too.” I handed him the parcel from the bookseller.

“A book?” His eyes sparkled. Then when he pulled out the blank books, he seemed confused. “Is this printed in secret ink?”

“No. These are for you to write in. That way you don’t have to keep track of lots of scraps of paper or keep rolling and unrolling a scroll to find what you are looking for.” I’d watched Mitsunari re-ordering his notes often enough.

“Ah yes, these will be handy.” He ran his hand over the bound covers. “Thank you, Okatsu.”

For a long moment, he was quiet, and I didn’t rush to fill the space in between with useless commentary, because I knew he had more words and would speak them when he was ready. And after a few breaths, that is what he did. “Okatsu, why did you buy me a gift?”

Did there need to be a reason? “I thought it was something you would like. Is that not why you got this fan?”

“Oh. In fact, yes. I did think that you would like it.” He looked around for his teacup, and I moved it back to the center of the table. He picked it up, then put it back down, as if belatedly realizing he’d finished it a while back.

We sat there without speaking, simply looking at each other, until a cleared throat and glare from an old man alerted us to the fact that there were more people interested in sitting down than there were places to sit.

Mitsunari took my hand again as we strolled back through Takayama, which was nice. Too nice. I must not ever forget that I was only here as part of a charade. And so, I destroyed the comfortable silence. “I wanted you to have something to remember me by – when this is all over.”

There was a soft sigh, and he was close enough that it tickled my cheek. “I would not forget you, Okatsu. I want to-”

Whatever it was he meant to say next was lost when someone collided with me.

“Oh, excuse me!” I said it automatically, though I was not sure if it had indeed been my fault. The collider pressed a scrap of paper into my hand, but when I turned to get a better look at him, he was already on his way. Had that been a ninja?

No. It had been a woman. A kunoichi then.

Frowning, Mitsunari watched her melt into the crowd of a busy outdoor market.

“Should we go after her?” If I ran, I could possibly catch her, but I might lose Mitsunari in the process.

“Do you have a sister?”

“No.” He ought to know I only had a brother. “Why?”

“Because, she reminded me of-” He seemed to be struggling to put it into words. “She had your eyes.”

“Really?” I shrugged that off. I have brown eyes, like most of the population. Then I remembered the scrap of paper and opened it. It was short and to the point.

Hikosane is in danger. Protect him at all costs.

Note, if you've read "Twelve Lies I Told Shingen Takeda" the encounter with the kunoichi at the end corresponds to Chapter 45 when timeline A Katsuko overhears the following:

In the distance, someone’s phone chimed an alert, and I heard a female voice, sounding like it was on speaker say, “I gave her the message, but I think Mitsunari recognized me.”

Then, as I took a hesitant step along the path, I heard, “Theoretically, that would be ok, if that means they’ll take the message seriously enough to protect Hikosane.”

It's not necessary to have read "12 Lies..." before this story, but if you have, that was one of the Easter egg payoffs.

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7

[nickgerlich]

ROYGBIV

We’re already halfway through our blogs for the summer term, and rapidly approaching the halfway point of the term itself. Time flies when you’re having fun, right? As it turns out, since I normally teach this course each June, I have unwittingly found myself with a plethora of discussion topics thanks to Pride Month. After all, it has become the basis of the MBA Group Project this term. Come back next year—not you, mind you, but other students—and I suspect it will be same song, different verse.



I easily could have made every blog focus on some aspect of the controversial topic, but have chosen to limit myself. I don’t want to beat a dead horse. Besides, there are other things going on, not just yet another boycott.

But this one begs to be discussed if only because it involves one of America’s most prominent sit-down restaurant chains. Cracker Barrel—can you believe it?—is now under the gun. It was one thing last August when they innocently added Impossible sausage patties to the menu and an uproar ensued, but when they announced on 8th June this year via their Facebook and Instagram feeds that they welcomed the LGBTQ+ community to dine there, heads started exploding and threats gushed forth.

Heck, even Congressman Ronny Jackson, a local Texas Panhandle politician, chimed in. Good grief, Bro. Must have been a slow day in DC.

Vocal opponents screamed that “you have been welcome all along, so why do they need to announce this?” Or something to that effect. The rainbow rocker, though, is what really pushed some folks off the cliff.

To Cracker Barrel’s great credit (as well as Target, they too feeling the wrath of consumer bullies), they have continued to use their social media accounts since then. Bud Light? Crickets since April. Their continued use speaks volumes, because life and business go on. Furthermore, by not allowing themselves to be pushed into silence, they are effectively uttering a barnyard epithet initialized by FTS.

As for the ultra-conservatives loudly orating their farewell speeches, I’m pretty sure they’re running out of places to shop and dine. Except for maybe Chick-fil-A and Hobby Lobby. Heck, even Walmart observed Pride Month, although significantly more muted than others. I guess whispered is the word.

To be fair, the Left has excoriated some through the years too, most notably Chick-fil-A and Hobby Lobby. In an effort to remain an equal opportunity critic here, I’ll just say that anyone boycotting a place they otherwise once loved—until they saw something they did not like—is kind of like biting off your nose to spite your face. You are only hurting yourself by eliminating someone or some thing from your choice set.

But as for the current crop of naysayers, they are wrong for trying to bully companies to do their bidding. This is not a battle on Christianity or your values. It’s a battle on having not done such a good job through the years in granting everyone the same rights and privileges.

I have had to suffer through the usual litany of twisted logic from more than one person. “Why don’t we have heterosexual pride month?” How about because it is heterosexual pride month all 12 of the months? I have even heard the same question asked of Black History Month. Really? You’re not good with it being White History Month every single month of the year?

While we’re at it, maybe we should bring Native Americans into the conversation too, because we’ve done an even worse job disenfranchising them. Christopher Columbus wasn’t the shining exemplar of European heritage and seafaring adventure he has been made out to be, nor would President Andrew Jackson and the Trail of Tears that happened in the wake of his actions.

Before you say I’m just feeling the effects of white guilt, I’ll say that I don’t see treating people fairly as a Left or Right issue. It is a humanitarian issue. I doff my hat to Cracker Barrel for at least voicing their support and rolling out a welcoming rocker, even if others may argue they are just band-wagoning.

And maybe it is appropriate that we have this discussion on the day in which we observe the nation’s newest holiday, Juneteenth. Put that on your biscuits and think about it.

Dr “It’s Time To Move On” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[kenobster]

honestly I wouldn’t put too much stock in follower counts and activity pages. obviously we have no idea how many followers users have but I’d wager it’s around 50 for most people, and depending on how long you’ve been on here, a good chunk of them might be inactive or lurkers.

furthermore, this used to be the reblogging things site, which has since been plagued with likes only. it’s like that for a lot of posts, big blog or otherwise. but the problem with that is, if no one reblogs things, there’s less opportunity for more notes in the first place.

the moral of this story is, do whatever you want and don’t worry about adding your voice on anything! the numbers do not matter at all

Thanks so much anon, that's very kind of you to say!!! I love every single one of my followers, even the inactive ones and even the scandalously dressed ladybots that I haven't reported & blocked yet. XD Like, I seem to be miscommunicating lately, and it feels like maybe I'm coming across as upset/stressed out/angry without meaning to? So I'm gonna take this chance to needlessly describe my activities for the last 24 to 48 hours to prove a point lmfao.

Yesterday morning, I was reintroducing my grumpy timid cat to a super friendly cat I will be cat-sitting for the next month or so, which was super fun and one of my special interests. After that, I was chillin with my fandom homies while we played Jackbox and heard each other's voices for the first time ever (voices that were audibly referencing Vader's Uterus lmfao so I was pretty ecstatic). After that, I played around with my INCREDIBLE Vader bop-it toy that I bought yesterday based on a friend's recommendation. My first Hasbro merch ever. :) I'm in love and I still can't believe it's a real thing that exists.

At that point, I checked Tumblr and... yeah, admittedly I panicked a little because I was a bit scared I'd soon get a bunch of angry asks screaming at me for being a meanyhead (to beat a horse dead, this is just a regular run-of-the-mill anxiety of having a fandom blog and it is absolutely nobody's fault). So I spent an hour or so chatting with a friend until I felt better and then I quickly made the post in question regarding my follower count so that, despite the bewildering attention Five Peggats Each has gotten, everyone would know the truth about my lack of influence lmao. (This is a compliment. From me to me. I like my lack of influence. I'm not fucking kidding lol. I actually have panic attacks sometimes about the idea of becoming internet famous. I literally don't want that lmao. Fifty to a hundred followers is an A+ amount imo, so it's about time I guess it's about time I start losing those pornbots lmfaoo.) Anyway, last night was probably the first time I've checked my follower count in the entire history of this blog tbh. So like, you're being super sweet, anon, and I'm hoping other people will see this too because it's absolutely true and I think your words would be very encouraging and reassuring to anyone who sees this!! But I promise you that my activity log statistics and teh amount of followers I have are not things I spend time thinking about.

Once that was all taken care of, I wrote/edited a little bit for my fic for QuinObi week (SO EXCITED! Literally just a few more days!). Then at around 4am, I woke up with middle-of-the-night epiphanies on how to phrase a couple things/finish/tidy up my thoughts for that Fox opinions post, and I lay in bed working on that for an hour or so. After that, I went back to sleep, woke up, chatted with the fandom homies again, and then, ever since, I've been playing a video game I've been dying to play all week. Until about an hour ago, I literally had no idea what may or may not have been going down on Tumblr, and I wasn't thinking about it at all. And now that I've enjoyed myself on Tumblr for the day, I'm probably gonna invite my mom up tonight so she can spend time with the cats while I use her as a captive audience to talk about Vader's Uterus lmfao. And then at about 10pm, I'm gonna head bed because I work for a living and I forgot to ask if I get the holiday off.

All of this to say I am fine!! I'm just chilling, living my life, doing my own thing. For me, Tumblr is like a fun thing to check out every once in a while, the same way I spent time playing my video game, enjoying my Vader bop-it toy, hoarsing around with the cats, or anything else that strikes my fancy. Kidney stones and abusive ex-bosses are the things I worry about, not like.... a pixelated number on a screen lmao. In other words, this is a hobby to me, not a livelihood, and if I wasn't enjoying my time here, I literally would not log on (and sometimes I don't log on! For days and days at a time. Because I'm enjoying other things more!)

But anyway, I will say that the thing that makes it the most fun for me here? People like you!! Who send me asks. Who share their thoughts on my posts. Who became friends that give me the confidence to make the posts that I wanna make. Who have other fun lil interactions with me. So (1) Please don't worry about me. I'm fully medicated, my back is sore, and I'm too old to be upset over fandom things lmao. And (2) I really cannot thank you and everyone who makes my fandom experience so enjoyable!!! :D Y'all are great and I'm thrilled to be able to have fun here. I'm living my best life.

[recurring-polynya]

Do I mind if I ask how you approach writing longer fic? I've always struggled to write anything more than maybe two chapters long and I'm curious if you have a particular method to how you approach such stories.

Thank you so much for this ask! I absolutely love it when people ask me for writing advice because it makes me feel like a Smart Person Who Knows Things.

Before we start, here is one grain of salt to take all of this with: I have a naturally long-form brain. It is very hard for me to write something less than 1k. Short fiction is great, and there is nothing wrong with sticking to short things if that's what your brain likes to do.

So. You have decided to write a story. This is going to focus on "stories". Some people write fic that's more freeform or whatever, I am not going to cover that. What I mean by a story is this:

It starts

Some stuff happens

It ends

It is highly probable that your story contains a change of state, which could be that a villain is defeated, or a goal is reached, but it could also be that character falls in love with another, or someone learns to like broccoli.

I like to start out by completing the sentence, "This is a story where _______". This is basically like coming up with a summary for an ao3 post, except that it doesn't need to be catchy. Lots of different kinds of things could go in that blank! It could literally be what happens: This is a story where Ichigo goes back in time and punches young Aizen in the nose. It could be about what you want to explore: This is a story where Hitsugaya gets a better understanding of his zanpakutou. It could be about the vibe you want to achieve: This is an AU where everyone is in a punk rock band and has cool hair and outfits. The idea of this is to clearly define what you, the author, is interested in writing. Make sure it feels right! Maybe you pick the first one, but when you say it out loud, you say, "You know, I really just want Ichigo to go back in time so he can horse around with young Renji and Rukia and punching Aizen in the nose is just an excuse for that." That may sound dumb, but it's fine, actually! Most people don't read stories strictly for the plot, they read stories for the implications of those plots! Will my favorite two characters kiss? Will there be funny interactions between these two groups of characters? Will there be sick fights? Stories are excuses to have scenes. Sometimes, you will have a story where the interesting sequence of events is the draw, but the point is to know what you're about.

Once you feel happy with your "mission statement", you need to decide the bounds of your story: where it starts and where it ends. It may be easier to start with the end. In some cases, it may be obvious from your mission statement: everyone gets home, a villain is defeated, Kenpachi realizes the meaning of friendship. On the other hand, let's look at that punk rock AU. You've picked a vibe, but you don't really have a natural story arc. It has to have a destination, though, otherwise, it's not really a story, it's a recipe for 3 chapters of an abandoned fanfic. So brainstorm a little: Maybe they get a record deal? Maybe they win a Battle of the Bands? Maybe Byakuya accepts that the band is actually good and tells Rukia he is proud of her. Do not settle for a plot just because it works. Pick something that makes you excited! You're the one who is gonna have to write it!

I said that we needed to pick a beginning point, too, but I'm actually going to skip that for now. The next thing I do is think of all the Big Scenes I want to write, the ones you are hype to write, the ones that pop in your head as you think about the premise. Make a bullet list. They don't need to be in order. The descriptions don't need to be super detailed, but write down anything about it that is important to you. If there's a mood or a snippet of dialogue or a joke you want to make, go ahead and jot that down so you don't forget it later. What you're doing now is putting broad blotches of color on a canvas, filling in space and leaving the detail for later.

Once you are pretty happy with what you have down, try to arrange it in chronological order. Put your end at the end (if it wasn't one of your big scenes, add it now). The next task is figuring out how to traverse your scenes. You've already picked out where you want to spend the majority of your energy. The rest, I regret to tell you, is your slog writing. Now, it often happens that you will find joy in some of these scenes and your best writing may occur there, but that's serendipity. These are the scenes that you are gonna have to make yourself sit down and write, so you honestly want to limit them to just the ones you need.

So how do we do this? Look at the first thing on the list. Can you start there? If so, congrats, that's your beginning. If you can't, what needs to happen to get to there? Where can you start so that you can get to your first fun scene as soon as possible? There. That’s it. You’ve picked your beginning, good job! Now, go through the rest of your list, and add in things that must happen, even if you don’t particularly look forward to writing them. The characters need to travel from geographic point A to point B. Shuuhei needs to say something that Izuru hears and misinterprets. The Central 46 makes a new law. If you have a good idea of how these things happen, go ahead and write them down, but it’s okay if you don’t know yet. Fill in all the blanks so that if you think of each bullet list as a scene, you could read it as a story, start to end. Once you get writing, you might add more scenes, or move things around or whatever, but you should have a thing that functions as a story.

If you struggle with this, an alternative is a story with a very strong structure that is going to guide you though what you have to write.Here are two examples from my own stories Hold On, Hold On (which is only one chapter, but the principle is the same) is structured around the 5 stages of grief. Not Broken, Just Bent takes place over roughly a week, and I just decided what happened every day of the week. See You on the Other Side takes place in the middle of a bunch of canon events, which worked at mile markers.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a rough outline!

Special note for avoiding burnout!: I am a slogger. I will drag myself through the broken glass of an interminable plot to get to a single thirsty scene. That's why, at this stage, I try to look at the ratio of what I want to write to what I must write. It's gonna vary for everyone, but this is a hobby, and if looking at this proto-outline makes you feel deeply tired, maybe this isn't a good story to be devoting your time to! Can you carve it down? Can you chuck two scenes you really want to write and get rid of 80% of the slog? Or maybe you can't! In that case, just write that thirsty scene as a standalone drabble! Or just go work on something else! Maybe in the future, this one will come back to you and you’ll have a fresh idea or a renewed enthusiasm for it.

Another thing I sometimes like to do at this point is to write out some notes about my characters and their motivations and moods. Character A is homesick. Character B is so determined to defeat the enemy that they are having a hard time being sympathetic to Character A. Character C cares for both A and B and is trying to support them both. This is sort of background info that you want to keep in your head as you are writing. Depending on the type of story you are writing, this might actually be the main plot, or it might be happening subtly, but adding to the emotional impact of the story. It’s very easy for me to write these sorts of emotional arcs, but if you struggle with that, you may wish to go ahead and made a more detailed outline for that, too.

Now, it’s time to start writing! I am great at beginnings-- it is very often the case for me that the opening scene was one of my Big Tentpole Scenes. (Before you hate me too much, I make up for this by being double horrible at endings; just let me have this) Usually, I will start at the beginning and write linearly for as long as I can until I get stuck. Then, I will look forward on my outline and do the next chronological scene that I feel like writing. In general, if I sit down to write and there is something I have an urge to write, that trumps everything else. Inspiration is a precious commodity, and you should embrace it when it hits! You can slog any day. I will occasionally hold off writing a scene that I really want to, because I am saving it, like a prize for myself for getting that far. This is a very personal process of figuring out what motivates your brain and then giving your brain what it needs to be its most productive.

Eventually, you will run out of things you are excited to write, but the good news is, you’ve got a bunch of story now! Odds are that what’s left is going to be a lot of those connective tissue scenes, and you’re just going to have to do them, except that now, because you’re connecting two concrete points instead of two abstract points, it will be a lot easier. You can continue running jokes you’ve started. Maybe you invented a cafe in an earlier scene where your characters hang out and you can have them return there. Try to think of ways to make these scenes more fun, both for yourself to write and for your reader to read. 

Around this time, I like to start refining that rough strokes outline into what I will call an “as-built” outline. (This is an engineering term where you update your plans or models for something to reflect any changes that had to be made along the way). This is a great activity to do at times when you feel like you have writers block. I write down every scene I have written as a 2-3 word blurb, in order. I break the scenes into what I think makes logical chapters, and I will do a word count on those prospective chapters and write it down. As you do this, you will realize that maybe you can move a scene from here to there, which will make it 1000% easier to write. Things may be happening too much, or you’ve got the characters eating three times in the same chapter. If you have subplots and dangling threads, this is where you make sure they get closure. I know this sounds very headache-y, but you are so far along in the story at this point that it’s really not-- it’s a way to look at the problems you have left. Use some sort of formatting (I like to bold things I haven’t done and sometimes I put them in red) and it gives you a very visual to-do list.

You specifically mentioned multi-chapter fanfics and I admit that I don’t tend to think in chapters, I tend to think of the story as a whole and just break it up where it feels natural. The as-built outlining I described is very helpful in making sure that my chapters feel balanced. They don’t necessarily need to be the same length, but I like them to have the same amount of stuff in them. One chapter may basically contain one long scene, and other may contain many short ones. I don’t tend to, but you can certainly have a fanfic that varies between short and long chapters, that can actually be an interesting effect. But like I said, I always like to know what I am doing, and so having it mapped out, you can say “welp, this is what I’ve done, how do I feel about that?”

Polynya, you may be saying at this point, do you write the whole fanfic before you post any of it? and I regret to inform you, the answer is yes. A lot of people write as they go, and I have made one attempt at this and I didn’t like it. I don’t like locking myself in, I just need to be able write out of order and go back and change things. Here is the story of a little in love: someone gave me an AU prompt and I got mildly obsessed with it, and wrote 5 snapshots drabbles in that universe, ending with a slight cliffhanger ending. I probably should have stopped there, but I decided to keep going. I wrote out an outline of 5 acts where the first act was detailed to the degree of each chapter being specified. The chapters here were much smaller than I usually make chapters: 1-2k. I wrote act i and ii and it was actually great, and then I hit act iii which required a lot of set up for misunderstandings and a mini romance arc. I couldn’t wing it, but nor could I figure it all out with outlining. I write dialogue in almost sort of an improv “Yes, and...?” style, so until I do it, I don’t know what’s going to happen. So, what I did was treat the second half of act iii as a complete story in the process I describe above, wrote the entire rest of it, and then posted it. One might notice that the chapter lengths grew to 3-5k each. I have two more acts to go, and I haven’t decided how I am going to do them yet, but I suspect I will treat each of them as their own mini-stories.

(I will admit that in Heart is a Muscle, I tend toward chapters that are about 10k long, and this is honestly too long, someone should smack me. If you like punchy chapters, 1-2k is good. I think 3-6k is probably an ideal chapter length. Is this how long the chapters are in my latest fanfic? Absolutely not.)

Okay, so there’s one more step, which is quality control. I am habitual re-reader-- I read my fanfics-in-progress over and over and over while I am working on them. I understand that not everyone does this, but I am usually the primary audience for my own writing, and this is the actual fun part for me. Nevertheless, you should re-read your work at least once, to make sure it hangs together.

This is purely optional, but I recommend it: get a writing friend (if you don’t like re-reading your work, I recommend this even more strongly). If you can get a full-service beta reader, that’s great, but if you can’t find someone, or if receiving that level of critique stresses you out, it’s perfectly valid to just find a friend who will read your stuff and a) shower you with compliments, b) reassure you about parts you aren’t sure about (or suggest ways to help) and c) point out any huge problems you missed. When I am writing a long fanfic, it is a huge motivational factor for me to be able to send my beta chapters as I finish them. If you are already an established writer, and you have people who consistently comment on your fic, they might be overjoyed to get a sneak peak at your work.

And that’s it! That’s the way I do it, anyway! Some people are able to sit down and write a very detailed outline and the write it start-to-finish. Good for them, I say! I have tried this and it doesn’t work great for me. I will admit that some of my fics (especially my early ones) I just sat down and banged out whole-cloth like an insane person and they are generally better than the ones I actually plan out, but that’s not a reproducible process.

As one final mechanical note, I usually write in Google Docs, which I can access on multiple devices (I used to write a lot on my phone), has convenient sharing functionality, and I use the ao3 html formatting script add-in. I generally have two documents for a single story-- one is the outline, and any other notes I want to have handy. I’ll usually put a trashcan space at the bottom for scenes that got cut but I don’t want to lose. The other is the fanfic itself.

I hope this is helpful! Please feel free to follow up with other questions and good luck with your writing!

[momolady]

Elf Boyfriend: Estelar

You’re happily married to a wonderful man. But his family seems to think otherwise. What will they think when a baby is on the way?

Female Reader x Male Monster

For the last few months your husband has been away. His father has become ill and he was asked to come home to make amends as well as help the family. Years ago, when he married you, his family did not approve. You were not of a certain social standing that they associated with, and you were not a regal elf like them. They saw you as a tramp and a social climber, and during the first few months of your marriage they tried to prove that to your husband.

Estelar put his foot down. He hoped they would grow to love you over time, but when he saw no change in their attitude, he cut them off. You bought a house in the country where you had grown up, allowing your family to be nearby and help care for the estate. They loved Estelar and welcomed him like their own. For the first few years, he was happy with his decision, but recently, you can sense there is something troubling him. When his family asked him to come home in order to begin mending those bridges, you told him to try.

His letters home are hopeful. He is making progress, especially with his father who was sick. Talking to his mother is like chipping away at stone, and is going to take time. He promises you he will return home soon, and hopefully, together you could visit once his father’s strength has returned. He will be coming home just before the harvest begins. Your property has an extensive vineyard, and Estelar takes pride in it. Wine has always fascinated him, so making his own is a dream come true.

Anxiously, you wait to see his carriage come over the hill. For the past few weeks you have been doing your projects by the window to be able to see him right away. Finally, when the day arrives, you race outside, knocking over a table in the process. You run the length of the house and down the stairs to meet him as soon as he comes out of the carriage.

The door is flung open before the horse even stops, and Estelar flings himself from within and into your arms. “My freckle-faced angel! How I have missed you so!” He kisses your face over and over, picking you up off the ground to spin you.

“My star! I am so happy to see your beautiful face again!” You kiss him happily, barely able to contain yourself. “It has been too long!”

“It has, it has! But I bring gifts from home, including myself.” he says with a flourish. He carries you up the stairs and into the house. “I also bring good news with me.”

All you can do is stare at him. All this time apart just makes you realize how beautiful he is. You had gotten used to him before he left, finally allowing yourself to believe such a handsome elf would love you. Now, the giddy palpitations of disbelief are back. He has such sharp, fine features, elegant limbs, long beautiful hair, that it’s almost too much.

“Dear wife,” he says with a knowing, dastardly smirk, “your cheeks are quite red.”

“You countenance is fairer than I remember,” you giggle. “It will take me time to get over it again.”

Estelar kisses you, still carrying you through the house. “I know there is something that will cause me to glow so beautifully, I have dreamt of nothing else since I left your side.”

You could lose your breath from the anticipation. “My star, I too have imagined our reunion.”

He sets you down on the stairs so you’re a head higher than him. He kisses you, then presses his soft ears to your lips. “It will be like our first union, remember?”

You give him a playful shove. “Do you have such a thing in you still? We were both so young back then.”

His lips drag down your skin, and his skilled tongue traces the curves of your ear. “It has been months since we have seen each other. If I do not have you I may very well burst.”

You take his hand, kissing his palm before leading him up the stairs. Once inside the bedroom you lock the door, and Estelar is already half naked.

“You’re not eager, are you?” you tease, coming up behind him to pepper his bare back with kisses.

He moans deeply from your touch. “I told you, I may die.” He opens his belt and drops his pants. He turns around and his beautiful pink cock is already half hard. He lifts up your skirts, rubbing himself against your bare thigh as he kisses you. “I keep picturing you in that old hayloft,” he moans. “Your freckles like the stars in the sky, your bare breasts, your soft lips.” His tongue darts over your lips before he bites. “Your beautiful hair.” His cock pressed against your soft thigh is growing harder by the second.

Your trail your hands down his pale, smooth body and gaze into his red eyes. “You tasted so delicious that night.” You take his cock into your hand.

He groans. “That beautiful mouth of yours. My freckled angel, please, even for a second will you...?”

You kneel without hesitation. His glans are such a pretty shade of pink, it reminds you of the cakes they serve during festivals. There is no hair on his body aside from his head, so his near-white skin looks almost like frosting.When you kiss him, he shudders. When you lick him, he moans.“I don’t want you getting too excited, you owe me lots of love.” You lick down the shaft then lap his balls onto your tongue. You suckle him, grabbing hold of his thighs as he shivers.

“I know,” he pants. “Don’t worry. I have saved three months worth of love just for this moment. I do not intend to waste it.”

You kiss back up the shaft, swirling your tongue around the glistening end. You squeeze tightly around the base, kissing and licking his glans as it slowly becomes cherry red. Estelar’s sounds fill your head, causing a great wetness between your legs. You take him deep into your mouth, letting his cock slip into your throat, just the way you like. You gag for a second, pulling back and moaning with pleasure. “It’s been a while.”

Estelar strokes your curly hair, pushing it from the face so he can see your eyes. “Your lips have gotten so plump.”

You wink at him. “So has something else.” You take him into your mouth again, suckling and moaning before you let him into your throat again.

You gasp as he pulls out and squeal with delight as he picks you up off the floor. He throws you onto the bed, undoing the belt holding your dress together. He lays you bare upon the bed, then gazes at you with a feverish expression. His fingers tease your nipples and smooth down your belly. He drags his fingers through the fluffy patch of fur between your legs and he grins. “Before I take you, my angel, I have a request.” He spreads your thighs open and rubs himself against you.

You bite your lip and strain so that your back arches, making your hips meet his thrusts. “Right now?”

“It’s important,” he pants. “With harvest coming, there is a seed I wish to plant and sow with you.” He places the end inside. “I want a child.”

“My star,” you whimper. You take his face in your hands. “I do too.”

He slips in deeper, a grin on his face. “Besides you, while I was away, I kept dreaming how sweet it would be to see a babe in your arms.” He thrusts hard, making his way deep inside you.

You grab hold of his shoulders, throwing your head back against the bed. He’s driven today, of course he would be. You tighten around him, feeling his pulse, his veins. You pull him on top of you, his smooth, silken body pressed against yours. “I want every drop of you,” you cry into his ear. “Everything you have. Do not leave me until it is inside.”

He moans loudly from the passion. “You’ll have it. It’s all yours.”

You kiss him, sucking on his tongue, then biting his neck. His long, soft hair falls against your face. He smiles warmly at you. His soft pink lips are glossy, his eyes wide and dark.

You touch his face, letting him nip at your fingers. “So beautiful,” you pant. “I cannot believe you are mine.”

He licks his lips. “I always will be. You’re too perfect to share.”

You strain and arch your back off the bed. “Oh gods! Your cock! Right there!” You grab hold of his arms. “Don’t stop, my star! Stay there! Stay!”

He’s breathing harder, and his face is turning red. He thrusts his hips, faster, faster. He lets out a wild roar, craning back his head, tossing his hair into the air. He thrusts, he stills, he seethes through his teeth.

Your lashes flutter, and you feel faint. You flop against the bed, thighs wide open, body limp, soul shot out from the top of your skull. Estelar jerks a few more times, crying out in a pitiful, lusty way. He falls on top of you, breathing hard against your breast. After a while, he rolls off and lies beside you, his cheeks flushed, eyes glazed, and a dizzy smile upon his lips.

“My, my, my,” you breathe. “I do not know if it has been the time alone, or the fact you came inside me. I can barely move or think!”

You have no idea how he manages to prop himself back up. “Perhaps both.” He leans over and kisses you. “I know it won’t take just once to succeed in your new goal, so all throughout this harvest, I will give you my love and fill you full of it.”

You feel overly sensitive all over, and tremble at his touch. “You get so tired during harvest. Are you sure?”

“I have my goal, my love. I will not let anything get in the way of it.” He sits up and stretches until his back pops.

You yawn and raise your arms over your head. As you do, he bends back over and kisses your belly. You run your fingers through his hair. “Now that we have reacquainted ourselves without one another, my star - tell me, how is your family?”

He looks up at you. “Annoying, but fine.” He lies back beside you, and you curl up at his side. “My father is much better, and he waits for word when he can come visit our home. My mother still makes her comments, but I think if she saw us together and the life we have made, she will see that both of us are honest in our love.”

You frown. “She still believes I only want your money?”

“I am sorry, but yes. She still thinks I’m just sowing my wild oats.”

You giggle and rub your belly. “Oh, I hope they are not too wild.”

He grins, kissing your cheek. “I want my mother to see we love each other. When I met you, I was starstruck. Those freckles, that hair, that lovely smile. And you offered me a flower just because you said I was beautiful.”

“I liked giving my flowers to people who looked sad,” you murmur. “I remember thinking it was such a shame that you looked so unhappy. I thought perhaps a flower would make a smile grow.”

“And it did. It still does.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “You bring me joy every day, and that is what I wish my family could see.”

You hide your face against his chest, smiling brightly with tears in your eyes. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.” He hugs you tight. “I am overflowing, which is why I want this baby with you.”

You nod. “Me too. The timing is right. The vineyard is thriving, our love is strong, and the house is beginning to feel empty.”

“I hope I have another curly-headed freckle-faced angel. Nothing would bring me more joy.” He kisses you again before the two of you succumb to sleep.

You wake late that evening and enjoy a quiet meal together by the fire. Estelar goes over the books, sipping coffee and fighting to keep his hair out of his face. You come up behind him, taking his luxuriously soft hair into your hands and braiding it. “I missed this feeling,” he sighs dreamily. “No one does it right back home.”

You kiss the top of his head. “I was thinking - why don’t I write back home to your parents Perhaps if I reach out, it will seem more genuine.”

“My father would appreciate it,” he sighs. “Maybe it will work on my mother.”

You kiss the tip of one of his pointed ears. “I’ll write a letter tomorrow morning and send it out with the post, first thing.”

He glances out the window. “We should not have napped so heavily today. I will be out in the vineyard first thing tomorrow. I will not last the whole day.”

You wrap your arms around him. “Don’t forget about the promise you made to me, also,” you tease.

Estelar chuckles. “Oh, I will not forget. I plan to fill you up just before I leave.” He bites your finger playfully. “Or maybe even right now?”

You bite his ear in return. “Right here?”

He leans his head back. “Why not?” He pats his lap. “It’s been months. You think just once was enough?”

You move aside the books and ledgers and sit in his lap. He opens your robe, exposing your breast for his mouth to explore. He takes you there in front of the fire, his pale skin glowing rosy warm before the flames. He looks mesmerizing above you, so elegant and sculpted.

Once the sun rises, Estelar sets out to work in the vineyard and you prepare to write to his family. You’re a bit worried about what to say or how you’ll come across. It’s been a long time since you last saw them, and you’ve had very few experiences with them, aside from Estelar’s brother. You manage to write something you hope sounds sincere and send it off.

Estelar is positively radiant when he returns from the vineyard. He boasts of an exceptional crop, and he’s even brought in grapes so you can see how delicious they are. Already Estelar is beginning plans to expand for next year. “This may be the finest wine we’ll ever make this year. I think this is a sign, my angel!” He kisses your cheek.

“We can only hope so.”

The crops are harvested and prepared to make the wine. The large vats are set up, and the stone oven is being prepared so a large feast can be cooked when the first batch is done. It is around this time you receive word back from Estelar’s family.

“My father is well enough to travel,” Estelar murmurs. There is a strangely sour look upon his face.

“But?” you urge him to continue.

He huffs and rubs at the back of his neck. “I am nervous. I don’t want them to treat you horribly again. I couldn’t take it if they did.” He scowls. “Especially if...” His eyes flick to your belly. “They could be grandparents soon.”

You sit down on the arm of his chair and kiss his forehead. “I will have words with them if they say anything.”

“If they do, they are gone.”

You prepare labels for the bottles, drawing pretty designs and having Estelar use his calligraphy skills to write the dates and the name of your vineyard, Starlight Valley. You have ink and paint on your hands, so of course, this would be when a carriage pulls up before the house.

“It’s my parents,” Estelar says urgently. He rushes about, unsure what to do until he steps outside to greet them. You follow after him, trying to hide your dirtied hands. Estelar’s father, Ellisar, is the first to emerge, handsome and tall like his son, but his features are smoother, more androgynous than his son’s. He looks tired and much thinner than the last time you saw him. Estelar kisses him, then moves to help his mother in the carriage.

Ellisar looks up at you, red eyes focusing before they soften with his smile. “I understand if you are hesitant to welcome us, but I want you to know how happy I was that you sent that letter.” He bows. “Thank you for inviting us to your home.”

You step down the stairs and show him your hands. “I would shake your hand, father, but I am afraid your son and I were preparing the wine labels when you arrived.”

He smiles, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “He was bragging about your vineyard! How goes the harvest?”

You smile, feeling a bit relaxed in his presence. “It went well, father. Our best crop to date! We will be stomping our first vat tomorrow if you’d like to see.”

Estelar’s mother, Wynather, steps down from the carriage, holding her son’s hand. Her features are sharp like Esterlar’s. She looks dangerous upon first glance, almost villainous. She is tall and regal and seems to float when she walks. She takes one look at you and her eyes widen. “My god.”

“Mother!” Estelar snaps.

She gives him a severe look. “When were you going to tell us she was with child?” She jabs him in the ribs. “Look at her!”

“What?” you gasp in alarm. “Mother, we would have said so if...”

“I have an eye,” she says. “I can see it instantly.” She approaches you and cups your cheeks in her long, cold hands. “I can feel it.”

“Mother,” Estelar scolds again. “We are trying to have our first child, but it is far too soon to tell if...”

She snaps her fingers at him. “I know what I see, and the flower girl is pregnant. Argue if you want, but in a month’s time I will be proven right by the swelling of her breasts and the ache in her feet. She is going to carry heavy!”

“What wonderful news!” Ellisar says joyfully.

“Get my bags. I wish to nap,” Wynather commands.

You follow after her. “I’ll show you to your room, mother.”

“You do not call me mother,” she scoffs. “You call me Wynather, is that clear? You may be pregnant with my grandchild, but while my son deserves an heir, he deserves one of noble bearing.”

You stomp your foot. “Now listen here! You are in my home, you do not get to speak to me in such a manner. I love your son, and that should be all that matters to you! He is my world, and this baby is proof of how much we adore one another! I would have loved him if he were penniless.”

Wynaher is smirking and giggling.

“Do not laugh at me!”

“My child,” she places a hand upon your shoulder. “I believe you. I just wanted to hear it.”

You frown. “You could have asked!”

She nods. “I could have, but I still enjoy poking the bear, as they say. Now, where is my room?”

That evening, they both join in on the feast. Ellisar even stomps grapes with his son. The event is festive and bright, and you enjoy wine from the previous year, which Wynather forbids you to drink since you're pregnant. You humor her, even though the wine looks delicious.

During their visit, Wynather instructs you on the perfect nursery for the child, even though you are still uncertain about her prediction. She sends for furniture that is stored in their home, ones used when Elestar was born. “He was a very fat baby, so pink. The doctor had to grease him up because he got stuck.” She smirks at the memory. “I will make sure to send that same doctor when your due date is close.”

“You seem so certain.”

“I am positive!” she scoffs. “Give it a few more months and I can tell you if you should prepare the room with knights or princesses,” she titters.

You roll your eyes. “How can you even tell that?”

“It is an ability the members of my family possess. A special gift that built our fortune as midwives long ago.” She gazes out the window, where Estelar and Ellisar are corking the wine bottles with your family.

“If you came from such humble beginnings, then why did you hate me so?”

“Because a mother wants only the best for her children, you’ll understand.” She glances back at you. “I still worry, but you have grown on me. Perhaps you will suffice.”

“Thank you?”

She pats the top of your head. “Now! As for a nanny, I would not recommend letting her sleep in the nursery. Let her have nights off, and let the baby sleep with you and Estelar in your chambers.”

“Why do you say that?”

She looks down at you. “Because I regret not taking my own nanny’s advice.”

As the weather becomes colder and harsher, you realize that Wyanther’s prediction was true. Your belly is growing, as do your appetite and feet. With her prediction confirmed, Wynather and Ellisar ask to stay until the birth of their grandchild. You and Elestar agree, especially since traveling for them now could get dangerous. Months go on, and one day, Wynather gives you a look.

“You know!” you gasp.

She lifts her hands. “I won’t say a word.”

That night as you get into bed with Elestar, he is all grins and giggles. You glare at him and pull his pillow away. “She told you!”

“Who told me? Told me what?”

You hit his face. “You know what our baby is!”

He takes the pillow and tries to yank it from you. “Maybe I do. So what?”

You scowl and release the pillow. “So...” You pout. “So?”

He grabs you up in a hug and kisses you. “With any luck, we will be having a child as beautiful and adorable as you. Freckles and more.”

Tears well up in your eyes and you begin to sob onto his chest. “Are you sure?” Your voice squeaks.

“Mother is positive.” He cups your wet cheek in his hand. “Are you happy?”

You nod. “Of course! I just hate her being right.”

Estelar laughs and hugs you tight. “Me too, my star. Me too.”

The baby comes in the black of night, when Estelar and Ellisar have gone away to help a neighboring family whose house had been crushed by a tree felled by snow. You cry out in pain, feeling the baby moving in a strange way. Wynather calmly comes into your room, and the entire night she stays by your side. The rest of the world is encased in snow, but the room you are in is alive with a roaring fire. Wynather coaxes you, helping you through the pain until the doctor arrives. The baby comes in the morning, as the embers of the fire go out. Her cries fill the chilled air as Wynather places her in your arms.

Estelar comes in as Wynather is mopping your brow, and the baby has taken to your breast. The room is quiet until he breaks into sobs. The baby already has thick white curls, and her skin is mottled pink and peach. She’s heavy already, just as Wynather said.

You take hold of her hand before she leaves. “Wynather, thank you.”

She kisses your forehead. “Of course.” She leaves the room to let you rest.

Estelar holds the baby, tears still in his eyes. “Do we have a name yet? I can’t remember anything.”

“I was thinking of Estella, but that might get confusing.” You close your eyes. “I am so tired. You decide.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “No. Estella is perfect,” he smiles. “That’s mother’s middle name.”

You reach out and hold his hand. “Not that.” You both smile and he kisses you, placing baby Estella back into your arms.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers.

“She is.” You kiss her, and she starts to coo. “So are you.”

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 148

This chapter got... long. In a good way. I mean, who objects to a chapter that is practically double-length?  Right.

Speed-run shout outs this week go to: @nagisa-666, @crimson-faith27, @colornotes23, @theronisengard, @gam3rgur1.

Beta-reading thanks go to @baelpenrose, along with general thanks to @the-raven-fae, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog for being amazing people.

A few things I want to note: the technology behind these suits is NOT my creation. They are very strongly based on the suits used by Rifters in Peter Watts’s Rifters triology. I wish I could take credit for them, but honesty is the best policy.

I hope all my readers are okay wherever you are.  There’s been a lot of severe weather in the last couple of weeks, and I just want you all to be safe.

Once we had Charly, Antoine, and Maverick on board to help with our project, Grey and I agreed that a meeting of the Council would be necessary to cover what we were hoping to achieve - especially once we discovered that the original plan behind the bivouac suits was only waiting for our votes for full approval.  For once, I was looking forward to a full, in-person meeting so that I could glare down every one of my peers, face-to-face.

Glaring over video just lost a certain…. je ne sais quoi.  Even Tyche and Arthur agreed.

As I entered the rarely-used Council chambers, the sheer lack of people caught me off guard.  Grey and Pranav had not arrived yet, but the only others present were Xiomara, Eino, and Huynh.  Eino seemed to notice as I stopped short, and smiled gently. “I know it has been quite some time, but it is protocol that when the Council is voting to override our hosts, or one or more Councillors actually oppose an initiative that impacts the entire ship, only the sitting members and Miys are included in the meetings. Not even administrators are allowed.”

I blinked slowly. “When did that start? Even Arantxa’s trial had administrators in attendance.”

“Witnesses,” Huynh shrugged. “This isn’t a trial, it’s a debate, and our votes cannot be influenced by outside parties.”

“And, thanks to you and Grey, we’re sequestered until we reach a unanimous agreement,” Xiomara added, glaring.

“I disagree, Xiomara,” Grey responded as they breezed into the room. “The entire reason we have a Council is to ensure that the needs of the many are being considered.  Sophia already has a back up plan in the event that our hopes do not pan out, one that is quite more agreeable than what you initially took into account I dare say.”

Eino, ever the peacemaker, held up one pale hand. “Please. Let us save our arguments for the actual debate. Instigating hard feelings will only extend these proceedings, and I believe several of us have lives outside of work we would like to return to.”

“What are the two of you bickering about now?” Pranav sighed as he took his seat.  I hadn’t seen him come in after Grey, but apparently he had been in the room long enough to secure a plate of biscuits and what smelled like tea.  The look I gave him only garnered a wink.

“Before they start in again,” Eino responded as loudly as he ever got - which was a firm tone but not terribly loud in all honesty, “The entire Council is present, so we will be starting shortly. I would like to confirm that our esteemed host is present as well?”

“Indeed,” the reply came from the ceiling. “And per human custom, I have only myself to consult with. Councilor Emeritus Rodriguez is not present.”

“Thank you. With that, we may call the session to order.” Eino stood, acting as parliamentarian for the duration. “As you are all aware, Miys recently brought to our attention that humans are, in fact, considered a Class III Biohazard within the greater Galactic community. To protect the Eko-mari fleet that will be escorting us, we are asked to comply with safety protocols which ask that we wear the bivouac suits.”

I stifled a giggle when, rather than showing a projection to the group, he pulled out one of the ridiculously tiny suits.  The only one who apparently heard me was Xiomara, who sat in her customary seat to my left and kicked my shin gently.  For all that we were at loggerheads on this topic, it was apparent that we were both ready to lay it to rest and celebrate-slash-commiserate over a meal.

As he handed the sample-suit off to his left, Eino flicked up a schematic. “For the edification of the group, the bivouac suits are structured from a reflex-copolymer sheath which is selectively permeable, hydrophobic, and resistant to extreme temperatures. Oxygen and nitrogen are able to pass through the suit from the outside, while carbon dioxide is able to pass from the inside. They seal in the back with a semi-intelligent macromolecule, with a second macromolecule across the mouth that allows us to attach nutrient packs so we can eat while in the suit.”

This was so much worse than I expected, and I could feel my heart beginning to race and my gag reflex kicking in. I wasn’t even claustrophobic, but just the idea of putting one of those suits on made me feel like I was suffocating.  Glancing around the table, I could visibly see at least Huynh’s opinion changing from apathetic to… sweaty and fidgety.

Eino continued, dismissing the schematic. “The vote today is whether this is the correct solution for the situation, or if other options should be considered.  Xiomara Kalloe, as you are defending the majority opinion, you have the floor first.”

“Thank you,” she acknowledged as she took the floor. “Council, my acceptance of the bivouac suits is quite simple - this is standard Galactic safety protocol when interacting with a sentient species that could be considered harmful to your own or others simply by virtue of existing in the same atmosphere. As our species is the one considered to be the biohazard,  custom expects that we would be the species in containment.  Otherwise, there is a possibility of danger to not only the Ekomari, but also any other species that stepped on their ship until it is properly decontaminated. While decontam is a simple process for the Ark - as Hujylsogox ships are designed with such measures in mind and largely handle the process themselves, at all times - records indicate that decontamination of an Ekomari ship would require near-complete disassembly, along with replacement of any porous surfaces.”

Even I had to whistle softly at that. Okay, then. We are that gross, got it. Not surprised, given the number of plagues humanity had experienced, combined with some of the people I had dated in the past.

“I believe the impacts of your statement are quite apparent, Councilor Kalloe. Thank you,” Eino stated. “Dissenting opinion is being provided by Councilor Sophia Reid. Questions will be addressed after dissenting opinion has been provided and a fifteen minute recess has been taken to allow consideration. Sophia? Your floor.”

“Thank you, Eino.” I smiled gently before composing myself. “While mine is being considered the ‘dissenting’ opinion, due to the exact reasons that Xiomara herself provided, I entirely agree with the need to be careful and considerate of other species, especially regarding the potential to repeat the smallpox-blanket mistakes of our past.” Without fail, the entire group winced.  “Exactly. We all agree that we aren’t doing that again - not should not, are not.  All that I am asking the Council to take into account is the potential to traumatize members of our own group by only considering the bivouac suits as a possibility.  Yes, the bivouac suits have proven themselves out by the entire galactic community, they are completely safe from a physiological perspective, et cetera.”  

This is where I had to take a deep breath, since this was literally my entire argument, and I had already admitted as much. “I am not arguing the use of them entirely, I am arguing the use of the suits, strictly.  Selfishly, I find myself experiencing a panic response at the idea of wearing them, and that is only by being more familiar with them - I’m sorry, Eino, but before you gave more details, my personal opinion was ‘I will sweat, but I can suck it up’. Now it’s ‘oh hell no and I’m not even claustrophobic, eff this’.”

“Understood,” he conceded gently.

With a nod, I forged on, encouraged. “However, that is just for myself. There are members of the Ark who cannot bear the feel of clothes, who fear restrictions, or the dark… Valuable members of our crew who will experience severe psychological trauma if forced into one of those suits.  And that, I cannot let go unspoken of, or unnoticed, without being remiss in my role as Councilor.” I steeled myself from glancing at Xiomara; she was over Health and Safety, and any form of addressing her directly would be considered a direct attack on her competence. “I have alternatives, to be used in conjunction with the bivouac suits, so that we can all keep those escorting us as safe as possible while also protecting our own people.”

I took my seat, and as soon as my hands dropped to my lap, Xiomara grabbed one and squeezed my fingers. The debate was over, the rest of the Council just had to figure that out.

“Thank you, Sophia,” Eino nodded seriously. “We shall take our break, and then convene for questions. Xiomara and Sophia, we ask that you remain at that side of the room. Councilors, you are asked to stay on the opposite side of the room. You are allowed to speak among yourselves, but any questions for Sophia or Xiomara are to be held until we as a group can consider them at the same time.”

Xiomara leaned over. “Derek,” she whispered sadly.

“Or Nixe,” I admitted. “Can you imagine forcing her into one of those?”

“Not without reinforcements and enough sedative to drop a horse,” she admitted, squeezing my fingers one more time before releasing them.

The break ended quickly, and Pranav was kind enough to quickly-but-silently set snacks and drinks, along with an enormous pitcher of water, in front of me and Xiomara before we picked up with the questions they were allowed.

Without hesitation, Huynh’s hand shot in the air to ask the first question.  While I never quite got around to actually liking him, I could very much appreciate his tendency to get straight to the heart of what he wanted to know, with very little patience for anything he deemed less important. “Clearly, you both agree on the need to quarantine ourselves, there is no argument there. Sophia, you mentioned alternatives to the bivouac suits. What are those?”

Grey gave me a pointed look with a slight squint. They were smug in the knowledge that we had already turned one vote, and I resisted the urge to grin in response. “Absolutely. As I mentioned, there is a significant portion of the population on the Ark that would be psychologically triggered by the bivouac suits. I have already spoken with members of the medical and engineering teams, and there are several options that we can adapt for our use, all of which are already in use within the Galactic community.”

With a flick, I brought up one example on the table emitter. “First, we have portable bioelectric fields, similar to what was used in medical when we first came on the Ark. Our teams have seven-nines of certainty that they can have these ready before rendezvous.” Flick, another example. “For more drastic situations, or simply so that we are not required to wear the suits at all times, even when we are back on the Ark, quarantine procedures in specified areas - similar to an airlock - so that anyone who does not or cannot wear a suit or personal field can remain safely in quarantine to keep the fleet away from our general biological ick.”

Nods circled the table. Xiomara went from drumming her fingers to pressing them down hard enough to turn her nail beds white - she was literally gripping for dear life to keep from laughing. I coughed to hide my smile, and forged on to the third option. “For the next example, I want to be clear: this is an entirely serious suggestion, regardless of how comical it looks.  Even without knowing the composition of the bivouac suits, we did practical tests with the sample that Noah was kind enough to leave with my office. Again, I am entirely serious, this is not a joke, no matter how much it looks like one.”

Despite my warning, I heard a round of snorts and no few giggles as I put the next example up on the emitter. I ignored them, completely understanding how comical it looked, allowing them to compose themselves. Gesturing at the nearly-spherical generic-human shape that was being projected, I soldiered on. “This is one of the bivouac suits, with added atmosphere to avoid claustrophobia.” With both hands, I pivoted the image to point at the back, just where the neck met the spine. “An atmospheric generator has been added here, to re-inflate the suit in the event that the person wearing it needs to eat or otherwise breach the suit.  Obviously, this would be done in one of the aforementioned quarantine areas, not on the actual Ekomari vessel.”

Huynh’s grin was nothing short of feral.  “These are all quite solid suggestions. Thank you.”

“Wait,” Pranav sputtered. “You’re quite serious about the… balloon man?”

Grey slid a pocket-sized atmospheric generator over. “Practical demonstration, if you want to try it on.”

Shaking his head with a smile, he slid it over to Huynh. “I am certain his department can do more with it than mine, but it should prove to be… quite an introduction to our stellar neighbors.”

“Any further questions?” I asked, feeling significantly more confident.

“I have one for Xiomara, and possibly Grey, actually,” Eino asked, clearing his throat. “Despite the fact that this will be readily apparent, I feel like I should preface this would not have been something I previously considered, but now I must know.” Oh, shit. My glance down at Xio revealed a very similar sentiment. “It has been mentioned that humans are considered a Class III Biohazard? We have put a lot of effort into defending the Ark from the potential of pirates, looting, and possible enslavement. If we are a Galactic biohazard, what value would there be in any species abducting us only to potentially die or experience at least a plague if we are encountered? Would that not… deter? Species from attacking us?”

Xiomara pinched the bridge of her nose. “I see where this is going. Please convey this to the person who I am reasonably sure you are asking this for:  Yes, being a Class III biohazard also makes humanity a Class III bioweapon. And while that would initially make others hesitant to abduct us, eventually there are groups that will figure out quarantine protocols, just like we have, and will realize that they can just… smuggle a human on a ship, wait for everyone on board to die or get to ill to function, and then sweep in to just… I don’t know, blow the locks. Who thinks of a weapon as a person? It’s not like they’ll worry about what happens to the human who gets swept into space.”

“And all of ‘the humans’ are on this ship, eventually on that colony,” I added, with all the gravity I could include. “Meaning we all know that ‘bioweapon’. There are seven ‘bioweapons’ in this room, alone.”

The room fell into silence, until Eino was brave enough to clear his throat. “So. If the debate is over, let us vote.  We will await suggestions for stepping up drills and defense training.”

The motion carried quickly in favor of using the proposed combination of containment measures, with unanimous agreement. 

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[cutesilyo]

no place in the world (like manila) — an amephil fanfic

A few months after the outbreak of the Philippine-American War, Alfred falls in love with and is betrayed by a bright-eyed teenager with the prettiest smile on this side of the Orient in a single night. 

This is not a love story.

Also available on AO3.

—

"Sir, I don't think it's safe for you to leave the camp," Major-General MacArthur warned. "I don't know how, but the revolutionaries know your face. They could attack you!"

"Pshaw," Alfred snorted. "I'm a nation. What could they do that could take me down, huh?"

MacArthur's mustache bristled in displeasure. "Be that as it may sir, might I remind you that you only arrived in Manila a week ago? Knowing you, you'd just get lost and I'd have to put together a whole squad of troops just to hunt you down. You could get captured, Alfred. I don't know how to tell you just how badly that would bring down morale."

Alfred just wagged his fingers, a bright grin on his face. "Look, if I get captured, I'd bust out of whatever crappy holding place they'd put me in without barely breaking a sweat! And knowing our soldiers, that's just the stuff that would make a great story to tell at dinnertime. How's that for morale?"

The way that MacArthur simply stared at him blankly told Alfred that this was not a convincing argument.

"I hate it when you do that," he groaned, slumping back on his seat. The leather was hot with the heat of the tropical sun and it stuck uncomfortably to his skin. Oh, how badly he wanted to just finally get up and leave. "I'm just saying, I can't stay inside here forever just waiting for you to dictate our next move."

"It's part of our strategy—"

"And it's boring. I'm bored, Major-General. I might as well look around." Alfred's eyes glinted dangerously. "Besides, you'll capture the whole nation for me soon enough, won't you? No harm in wanting to see what we're winning once this war is over."

The silence lasted for a few seconds before the major-general sighed in defeat.

—

Private Patton R. Wilkes was assigned to “accompany” Alfred while he roamed around Manila, but he knew that MacArthur just wanted someone to make sure he would actually return to camp instead of getting lost or, God forbid, taking the next ship back to America. Though the both of them were dressed in civilian clothing, the private carried himself with a strict stiffness that just screamed hardened military man. If Alfred wanted any chance of escape, it looked like the private would be hard to shake off.

Alfred tried to stay optimistic about the trip anyway. He hadn't paid much attention to the city while he was on the way to the American camp, but he certainly expected it to have an air of exoticness. He was a bit disappointed not to see anything like the palaces of Japan or the distinctly oriental architecture of China. Instead, he found street signs written in Spanish, the excited chatter of fast-talking brown-skinned people, and the cacophony of guitars, church bells, and the sound of horse-drawn carriages trotting along the stoned roads. Walking around Manila was like looking at a funhouse mirror version of Mexico: more or less the same, but with just enough differences to make his head spin.

"Uh, you alright there, sir?" Patton asked.

"Was just thinking about a bad memory, is all," Alfred grimaced. He's sure that Alejandro would have his head once he returned to the continent. He's been pissing off a lot of Spanish-speaking nations recently, that's for sure. "Come to think of it, the Philippine Islands must have its own personification too, right?"

The private's face darkened. "He's a force to reckon with, sire. Haven't seen no hide nor hair of him myself, but some guys in the other squadron barely survived after fighting with the kid."

"A kid?" Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't know there were still nations out there who were that young. Then again, he was only a teenager himself, and he was even younger when he fought against Arthur as well. "I don't know how I feel about fighting a kid. Couldn't I just give him a lollipop or something and this could all just work itself out?"

He meant it as a joke, but Patton seemed to take it seriously and started furiously shaking his head. "Don't think you could even try negotiating with him sir, the kid's a savage. Hacked and slashed his way through the guys with some kind of golden knife, they said. We're lucky our medics are so darned fast, otherwise, we would've been down almost a dozen men from him alone."

Something in Alfred's resolve hardened at the thought of losing his soldiers to someone so brutal. He clapped the other man on the shoulder and said, "Don't you worry, Pat. We'll end this soon, and when we win, we'll make sure that nobody from these islands ever lays a hand on any of our own."

That seemed to comfort Patton somewhat, though he was still shaking with anger. "I'll give them a good walloping right by your side, sire."

"Now that's the kind of patriotic determination I wanna see!" Alfred crowed. He then immediately scrambled for his wallet and hurriedly gave the private a wad of bills. Some onlookers openly gawked at seeing the number of dollar bills in his hand. "Tell you what, why don't you buy some booze, head back to camp, and inspire your fellow soldiers, eh? God knows we need some fun around here."

"Um," Patton blinked, caught off-guard. "I don't know if Major-General MacArthur—"

"Tell Major-General MacArthur that I'm just trying to boost morale," Alfred winked. "Also, tell him I'll back by next morning!"

He didn't get to hear Patton's response as he took off running wildly in the opposite direction. He barely registered running past the stores, wet market, and the cathedral; he just wanted to be alone and independent, exploring this new land to his heart's content. The buildings were shorter and the roads were narrower here than in his own country, but Alfred was just so glad to finally be in a place filled with people just like he was used to.

Alfred collapsed on his knees, winded. When he looked up, he was surprised to see that he had apparently made it to one of Manila's many ports. Past the numerous small fishing boats and trading boats, he could see that the sun was already beginning to set. The sky was painted in a pretty combination of pinks and oranges in contrast to the ocean's blue, the stars already starting to twinkle faintly into appearance one by one. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the rocks seemed louder than everything else around him — a stark reminder that no matter where he went, there was always something bigger to discover.

He stood there for a moment, mesmerized when a loud grunt startled him out of his stupor.

He turned to find some kind of bull staring at him with its beady eyes, its long horns curving towards the back instead of to the front. It was pulling a wagon full of leafy vegetables that Alfred couldn't recognize, and the old man riding it looked startled to come across a foreigner.

"Hijo, padaan naman po," he said, with a strained smile.

"Oh, sorry, I don't know what you mean," Alfred tried, but the man just continued smiling at him. He was starting to think that maybe abandoning Patton, who wasn't fluent but at the very least conversational in Tagalog, was a bad idea.

Luckily, someone came to his rescue. A teenager with bright eyes approached him, an amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. He was dressed simply: unlike the suit and tie ensemble of the richer Filipinos he'd come across or the pale blue uniform of the Philippine Army, he wore a thin white top and trousers cut just above his ankles. The scabbard on his hip would have been concerning if Alfred didn't know just how many Filipinos carried knives in their daily lives. All in all, he looked just like any other street vendor, but the red handkerchief tied around his neck was vibrant enough to make him stand out. "You are American, yes?"

"Ah yeah," Alfred flushed, a bit flustered. The way the stranger leaned in was a little too close for comfort, but he looked harmless and at least he spoke English. "Can you help me? I think that man is talking to me, but I can't understand what he's saying."

The teenager grabbed his arm to pull him to the side. The old man tipped his straw hat in thanks, and the teenager smiled, saying: "Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito."

The two of them watched the wagon pass them by. They stood there in silence for a moment, and then Alfred blurted out, "I didn't know I was in the way, I swear."

"You did seem quite distracted." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other boy laugh. The both of them turned to each other at the same time, a small smile on each other's faces. "Not that I blame you. I am sure you have sunsets in America, but it is different here than in other countries. I think the colors are more vibrant, do you agree?"

"Certainly takes my breath away," he admitted. "I do have to ask, how come you speak English so well? I've only been in Manila for a few days but I don't think I've met another Filipino that's as good as you are."

The teenager only laughed again and held on to Alfred's arm tighter. As he looked up at him, his eyes and grin were equally bright with mirth; and despite himself, Alfred was a bit charmed. "Us Filipinos are not as stupid as you think, señorito. Now, you say you are a stranger to Manila, yes? Come with me, and let me show you around my city."

—

They ended up hailing a tranvia, a carriage made to carry a whole group of people instead of just a pair. Alfred found it small and quaint, making an internal note to build tram lines in the city once he was able. Yet the energy that the teenager had with him was larger than life. He had apparently noticed the other passengers giving Alfred a suspicious side-eye, and immediately launched into a round of jokes to dispel the tension. Though he barely understood the jokes due to them being told in a mix of Spanish and Tagalog, the way that the whole tranvia burst into loud laughter was enough to assure him that his companion was quite the comedic performer.

When they got off, the driver even thanked them for the entertainment and told them not to pay the fare anymore. Alfred let out an excited whoo! as the teenager did an exaggerated bow.

As the carriage rode off, Alfred turned to his new friend and exclaimed, "Wow! The way you handled that was amazing! I mean, I've been through worse than an awkward train ride, but you definitely saved my ass back there."

The teenager blushed slightly. "Think nothing of it. I would rather see my companions happy and comfortable in my care than anything else."

"Still, that thing you did was certainly a swell sight." Alfred breathed in the cold evening air and let it out with a contented sigh. He looked straight into the other boy's eyes as he said, "And it's really nice that you're going through all the trouble to be with me tonight too! Like, we don't even know each other's names but you just whisked me away like some kind of fairytale hero! That was really awesome of you, I have to say."

"You are a man of sweet words," the teenager said, with a smile that looked almost bittersweet. Then, as if he had completely forgotten about his melancholy, he grabbed Alfred's arm again and dragged him towards the next street corner. "But let us not waste time talking! Most of these shops close soon, and I would hate for us to miss them!"

Helpless, Alfred let himself be strung along.

Sadly, most of the shops they went past had already closed for the day. Still, the teenager cheerily talked his ear off about what wares they sold and the local gossip about the people who ran those stores — like Pepito, owner of the clay pottery store, who had apparently given away all his lotto winnings to the next city's blacksmith. The one time that they had actually been able to buy something was when they came across a small, brightly-colored cart that apparently sold the Filipino version of ice cream. Both the vendor — Mang Tomas, as he was introduced — and the teenager had chuckled when he brought out a wallet full of dollars, so the teenager had to reach into his own pocket to pay with a few coins. As they walked past yet another cathedral, Alfred caught his friend singing the hymns under his breath. When they reached the plaza, the teenager then asked the lady standing nearby — Aling Nena, he was told — to give him a jasmine garland, the scent of the white flowers so powerful that it immediately made Alfred sneeze on his friend's face when he put them around his neck. Yet instead of getting mad like he expected, the teenager had only laughed and told him he looked handsome.

No matter where they went or who they talked to, his friend always seemed to know everyone's names. Alfred had no idea how he had the time to possibly get so familiar with all the people around him, but he certainly understood the sentiment; he loved talking with all the Americans that he came across with too. Personally getting to know the people who made his nation always made him feel more connected with them in a way that war and politics never could.

And if the Philippine Islands was truly to be his someday, Alfred knew he wanted to treat them similarly. More than anything or anyone else though, nobody in the archipelago had intrigued him most than the young man beside him whose smile was brighter than any star.

Yet all his experience in small talk failed him tonight, and not for lack of trying. Every time he asked questions about his friend, he was always diverted away from the topic.

Which part of the city are you from? was met with a vague Do you ask the flower which vine it came from? You are better off simply enjoying the whole garden.

Where is your family? had been completely ignored as his friend said You must be hungry, yes? I know a place with the best empanadas this side of Binondo.

What is your name? earned him a cheeky wink and a teasing If your mind still ventures to inane questions like that, then I am not doing very well in completely impressing you.

How old are you? made the teenager burst out into loud, hearty laughter that lasted for more than a minute. Alfred didn't even bother to try asking anything else after that, choosing to focus on his empanadas and arroz a la valenciana for the rest of the meal.

Later, when they were served a bottle of gin to share along with a bowl of peanuts, his friend had the grace to apologize for his behavior.

"I truly am sorry," he said, but the playful grin on his face made it difficult to take his apology seriously. "I simply do not think that you knowing more about me is more important than us having a good time together."

"How am I supposed to find you again if I don't know who you are, huh?" Alfred couldn't stop himself from whining. He ignored the glass in front of him, taking a swig straight from the bottle and letting the alcohol burn down his throat. His friend watched him in bemusement. "This has been the best night of my life in a long time. And if this is the last time we see each other, I don't think I'm going to forgive myself if I don't push you into giving me a hint."

This time, it was his friend's turn to take a drink: he filled his glass half-full and downed it all in one go. "You are certainly bold, señorito, I will give you that. A good friend of mine warned me about how loud and annoying Americans were, but it seems he neglected to tell me about how forward you all were as well."

Alfred resisted the urge to roll his eyes; of course, he would get deflected yet again. "Alright, I'll bite. Tell me more about your friend."

The teenager looked surprised. "You wish to know more about a man that insulted you?"

"If this is the closest I get to you telling me more about yourself, I'll take it," he shrugged. "Besides, I'd love to know how this friend of yours thinks. Americans are the greatest people in the world! He must be stupid if he doesn't know that."

The other boy laughed. "Of course you would say that, you biased brute. And I will have you know that my friend was quite smart, actually. One of the smartest men I have ever known."

Alfred felt like he wouldn't like the answer, but he asked anyway: "Was?"

All traces of laughter from his friend's face faded away into a hollow smile. "Killed by firing squad a few years ago."

Silently, Alfred poured gin into both of their glasses. They drank in solemn solidarity.

"My sincere condolences," said Alfred, and he meant it: he had lost too many friends himself over the centuries. "And I'm sorry I called him stupid."

His friend waved it off. "No worries. Pepe was incredibly intelligent, but he definitely had his fair share of stupid moments — you wouldn't believe how many times that man fell in love over the course of his short lifetime. Still, I miss him terribly and I wish he was still around. God only knows what he would have thought about everything happening at present."

"Oh, I know the feeling." Despite him dying decades prior, Alfred still longed for George Washington's steadfast guidance sometimes. He reached, a bit messily, for another drink. "It's uncanny, yeah? Some people just have this weird ability to analyze the present and predict the future. I certainly don't know how they do anything like it, really. I kind of just talk big and hope for the best."

"Funny that you talk about the future," the teenager chuckled. "Somehow, my friend even managed to predict that you would come here, Alfred. I did not believe him at the time, of course, but here you are."

"Here I am," Alfred repeated faintly. "Hold on, how did you know my—"

"Why were you all alone in my city, señorito?" His friend interrupted, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He leaned closer, close enough for the skin of their arms to touch, and Alfred suddenly forgot about all his worries. "I was very surprised to see you on your own, looking every bit like a lost little lamb. You are very lucky that I found you."

"Lucky indeed," he murmured, adjusting the collar of his shirt. It felt like the temperature in the room had risen by a dozen degrees. "Just wanted to explore, is all. MacArthur told me we had to stay low for a few more weeks, I got bored, and he let me out."

Those bright eyes were practically glittering as the teenager looked up at him, his fingers slowly tracing up his arm. "And you were alone? I always thought American soldiers traveled in pairs, but perhaps I was mistaken."

"No! No, you're right, you're definitely right," Alfred stammered out. He was sure his face was completely red by now. "I was with Private Wilkes earlier, but we, ah, got separated. He must be on the way back to Bulacan by now."

"How unfortunate," the other practically purred, clearly delighted. "Say, tell me, how did this Wilkes look like? Because I am sure that he does not look as handsome as you do."

That damned smile, now coy instead of kind and sweet, was tantalizingly close. If only he had the courage to lean down—

Alfred, trying desperately to distract himself, grabbed the bottle again and took a long swig.

There were about a million promises that threatened to spill from Alfred's lips, each one more outrageous than the other: Come with me. Stay with me. I'll keep you safe. I'll love you. Yet at the moment, he found himself tongue-tied. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or the atmosphere or the way the young boy across the table had so effortlessly allured him, but he felt like he was about to go insane. He barely registered the both of them standing up to leave, didn't question why they didn't need to pay at the restaurant, paid no heed to what his friend had whispered to the men standing guard by the door. His mind was in a muddy haze, and all he could focus on was the fact that his friend was holding his hand as he was led into the dark streets.

Dimly, Alfred thought that however striking he looked by the setting sun, he looked much more ethereal bathed in moonlight.

He must have said this aloud because the teenager laughed.

"You are a man of sweet words," he said, and there's that oddly bittersweet smile again. "And I wish we could have met in better circumstances."

"What's wrong with the way we met today? I had fun," Alfred argued. He swayed slightly on his feet, and his friend held on to him to keep him from falling. "Didn't you have fun?"

"You forget we are at war, señorito. And you forget that you are seeking to control me and my people, not find a lover." Despite the harsh words, the way his friend said this was soft and sad. Almost like he was somehow hurt. "It does not matter what we feel today if we are bound to fight each other tomorrow. Should you not know this by now?"

They walked together in silence, each supporting the other. Slowly, Alfred's alcohol-induced dizziness began to subside. It was replaced by a growing emptiness in his chest — and a heavy, heavy realization.

"You knew I was America this entire time." When his friend deigned to respond, he continued. "Then, why...?"

At this, the teenager laughed — broken and wistful and desperate, all at once. "I do not know myself. I was ready to attack you, but for some reason, the look in your eyes as you watched the sunset stopped me. I thought, if you could look at my country with such amazement, then you could see that this war is unnecessary. That if you could know my land and my people the way I knew them, full of vibrancy and color and light, then you could realize that they did not deserve to die.

"Yet as the night went on I began to realize my efforts were fruitless. It was not them you were looking at anymore, but me." Here, his friend faced him; Alfred barely catching a glimpse of his wet eyes before the teenager looked away. "Believe me, I would love to spend another night like this with you. But you have your responsibilities and so do I."

"Fruitless," Alfred repeated hollowly. The cold night wind was in stark contrast to the hot rage he felt bubbling inside him. He forcefully wrenched himself away from his friend, yelling: "You made me tell you classified information!"

In seconds, he watched the teenager's face go from shock to hurt to an angry glare.

"Do you not understand how badly I need to win this war? My people did not give their lives to free me from Spain just so you could swoop in and take over! So forgive me, señorito," his friend spat mockingly, "for trying to find whatever advantages my poor nation can get against such an imperialistic nation like you!"

"And do you not understand what we're trying to do here?" Alfred shouted. "We are fighting this war to save you! Don't you see that your country is a mess? That you're underdeveloped, uneducated, and unfit for self-rule? I was the hero who helped save your people from Spain, jackass, and—"

"—and you promised to give us independence, and yet all your countrymen seem to do is kill." The teenager finished, both his eyes and the hilt of his knife glinting golden under the moonlight. "Is that what freedom means to you, America? I beg to differ."

As Alfred stepped away from him in furious, furious betrayal, all he could think about was that the other boy looked so small.

"I thought of you as my friend," he said.

"And I thought of you as my liberator," the teenager said coolly. "I see we were both wrong."

A harsh whinny interrupted them both. Alfred turned to find Patton riding a chestnut brown horse, his face red from exhaustion but seemingly unharmed. The private stopped in front of him, dismounting without grace on the pavement. His face was red from exhaustion and his clothes looked considerably ruffled, but otherwise, he looked unharmed.

"It ain't my position to say this sire, but don't you dare ever try to run away from me like that again," Patton panted, giving a quick side-eye to the other teenager before dismissing him. "We best hurry now, because those two won't be happy about their stolen horse."

Just as he was about to ask who those two were, a pair of Filipinos with muskets turned the corner and ran towards them. He vaguely recognized them as the same two men who were standing guard at the restaurant. They shouted loudly, a mix of Tagalog and Spanish expletives that Alfred could barely recognize, and a phrase distinct enough that he felt like it was something significant: amang bayan.

Patton evidently recognized the words. He looked at him in a wide-eyed panic, saying, "Sire, we need to leave—"

And as quick as lightning, Patton fell to the ground with a sickening crack. Caught completely off-guard and his arms restrained, he was helpless against the teenager who had a knife at his throat: a knife that, as Alfred began to realize with a horrified lurch of his stomach, was engraved with golden flowers and the insignia of an eight-rayed sun.

"You must be Private Wilkes," the Philippines smiled. "I do hope you are enjoying my country."

"Get off him or else!" Alfred screamed, the combined events of the night making him feel like he was about to reach his breaking point. He reached for the pistol he kept hidden on his belt and took aim, hoping to God that the other nation wouldn't force him to shoot. Even after everything, he didn't feel like he had the nerve to hurt Philippines after the hours they spent together; maybe some other day, but not tonight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the two men had caught up to them. They angled their muskets at him from a distance. The horse, which Alfred had been planning to use for escape, had already taken off running in the commotion.

Patton stared up at him with fear in his eyes, a bleeding gash on his forehead, and Alfred's hands began to shake.

Above all else, Philippines was still smiling: eyes bright, amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. Slowly, he stood to approach him.

Like a switch had been flicked, his features turned soft and kind again — more like the boy that Alfred had met earlier, the boy who had dragged him around the streets of Manila with lighthearted laughter, the boy whose smile was brighter than any star. All Alfred could do was stand there, mesmerized once again, as his hand was gently pried away from the gun.

"Alfred," Philippines said this quietly, almost like he was invoking a prayer. He motioned the men to stand down. "I do not wish to fight."

"I don't want to either," Alfred admitted. Maybe there was hope... "C'mon, we can talk this through, right? Look, we haven't had a battle in months. It should be really easy to negotiate, yeah? I'll set up a meeting with your generals and mine, we'll have a civil discussion with no weapons allowed, and we'll reach a compromise."

The other nation was leaning in, and this time, Alfred took his chance. He held Philippines' cheek in his hands and they kissed, soft and quick and chaste.

"Of course," Alfred said, as he pulled away. "I would need your complete surrender—"

He was swiftly kneed in the stomach, disarmed, and shot.

"Alfred, I do not wish to fight," Philippines said, as he watched Alfred collapse to the ground. "But I have to. I hope you understand."

He vaguely registered Patton reaching out to him as his eyes closed and the blood pooled around him, but all he could focus on was watching the other nation walk away into the darkness.

—

When Alfred came to, he was already back at camp. Without thinking, he immediately trudged to the general's war office.

"Good morning, Major-General MacArthur," he smiled, bright and cheery. "Gather the troops. I want to destroy Manila immediately."

—

Notes:

This is set in October 1899, during those months when there were no battles or skirmishes between the two armies. On the first day of November, the Americans launched a major attack on the Filipinos. This attack happened in San Fabian, Pangasinan, not in Manila, but let's forget about that.

Major-General MacArthur is, of course, Arthur MacArthur Jr., who was a major military figure during the Philippine-American War. I also claim artistic license in hinting that the American camp was in Bulacan because it probably wasn't.

Alfred's comments about Manila looking like Mexico are based on a comment by former president Manuel L. Quezon when he visited Mexico back in 1937: "Everything was the same." He meant that very, very affectionately.

Here's a nifty map of modern Manila. Alfred and Patton start out in Quiapo, which is basically the heart of downtown Manila. Alfred runs all the way to Muelle del Rey, which, coincidentally, happens to be the same place where the Jones Bridge stands today. Alfred and Phili take the tranvia to Binondo, Manila's business district and home to the world's oldest Chinatown.

The names of the store owners and vendors that Phili talks about are references to assorted media in Philippine pop culture. Pepito is a reference to Pepito Manaloto, a long-time comedy show about a man who won the lotto. Mang Tomas (Mang being an informal way to refer to a male adult older than you) is the name of a popular brand of gravy. Aling Nena (Aling being an informal way to refer to a female adult older than you) is a reference to the song Tindahan ni Aling Nena, about a boy who falls in love with a storeowner's daughter.

The garland of white jasmines that Phili puts around Alfred's neck are supposed to be sampaguitas, our national flower. They're usually sold near churches and are given as a sign of respect.

I have no idea if there are actually empanadas and valenciana sold somewhere in Binondo, but let's jot that down to artistic license. But these are very much Filipino foods that were adapted from Spanish foods, which is why Phili brings it up when Alfred asks about his family.

The old friend that Phili keeps talking about is Jose Rizal, our national hero. He is primarily known for being a great writer, whose novels inspired the Philippine War for Independence, and for being killed for it. He is also known for being having a long list of lovers, many of them not even Filipino. Lesser known is the fact that he visited America, hated it, went on a train ride with an American, and hated it. He wrote a whole diary entry about how much he didn't like America and Americans. He had also predicted that out of all the world powers, it would be America who would probably take an interest in conquering the Philippines when Spain was out of the picture. Go figure. Rizal was also affectionately known by his nickname, Pepe.

I imagine Phili to be particularly proficient in arnis, which is also known as kali or eskrima. It's a kind of Filipino martial art, most easily recognizable as that one martial art where everyone is dual-wielding a pair of sticks. The sticks are actually for training. Traditionally, arnis is fought by dual-wielding knives or swords, and it's meant to be quick and efficient in defending, attacking, disarming, and killing. Phili's fictional ornately designed knife is inspired by this very real ornately designed knife. The detail of the eight-rayed sun is a reference to the eight-rayed sun in the Philippine flag.

Lastly (phew!), some Tagalog to English translations!

Hijo, padaan naman po - Young boy, kindly let me pass Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito - Sorry, grandfather*! He's not from around here. Lolo literally means grandfather but is a general way to refer to any elderly man regardless of any actual blood relation. Amang bayan - Fatherland

[limerental]

Here we go, my first @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo fill, for the prompt, Romeo and Juliet

Relationships: Ciri/Dara

Rating: T

Content Warnings: referenced genocide, briefly assumed threat of sexual assault, minor head injury, canon typical fantasy racism & misogyny

Summary: Canon Divergent. Ordinary princess Ciri (no elder blood, no child surprise) is dreading her upcoming political marriage when she meets Scoia'tael Dara in the woods outside of Cintra.

Ciri urged her mount on through the tangles of the undergrowth, leaning to cling to the mare’s neck as she surged up inclines that scattered loose soil underfoot, leaning back again as they dropped into vine-choked valleys. 

The horse was sure-footed and hot and could sense Ciri’s rush of adrenaline and frustration, the overwhelming need to flee and flee fast. Whoever dared to chase her would not keep up, not with the reckless route that she took through the landscape. 

But no one was chasing her. Not yet, at least.

“Go take that new mare out,” her grandmother had said after Ciri’s frustration bubbled over into snide words unbefitting of a princess. Her lips had pursed with pale tightness, but the softness of her eyes said that she understood some of what Ciri was feeling. She and Queen Calanthe only fought so fiercely and so often because of how similarly stubborn and rebellious and bold the both of them were. “I trust that you’ll come back with a clearer head.”

She could pretend for a moment while hugging the mare’s muscled neck, that this headlong race was part of a much grander, more exciting adventure. That her life was not spiralling utterly out of her own control in ways that were so mundane.

Princess Cirilla of Cintra, having been of age for nearly a year now, was to be married off before midsummer. 

“We have delayed long enough,” said her grandmother. “If it were wholly up to me, I would not have you marry at all except for love. But the threat from the Scoia’tael increases by the day, and a marriage will strengthen the coalition of our allies. You have known your whole life this day would come.”

Ciri’s whole life made for a dreadfully boring story. Nothing exciting or interesting had happened to her even once or ever would.

Even a harrowing flight through the forest in defiance of her Destiny was nothing more than a cliche. The newest feminist literature told similar tales over and over. Stories of bold maidens who spat and brandished swords and cut their hair short and fled from the marriage bed were all the rage in the more forward-looking areas of the Continent.

But this was Cintra, and Ciri was not a girl but a Princess. No one would ever write a story about her except as a footnote to some arrogant prince, further noted in the lineage of her sons and grandsons. 

Probably her name would be misspelled. <i>Princess Serilla of Cintra</i>, it would say. <i>Producer of prodigious heirs and otherwise simply not of note even a little bit.</i> 

The rugged landscape suddenly opened up as the mare charged ahead, and Ciri found herself on a beaten track, cutting off a rider on a grey stallion who scrambled desperately to avoid a collision. 

Her mare skidded in a great cloud of dust and veered one way while Ciri veered the other. She soon found herself sprawled on the path observing just how much faster her mount could run without a rider as the horse disappeared around a curve in the path, her hoofbeats fading.

Something nudged Ciri in the stomach.

“Ow,” she said, touching the velvety nose of the grey stallion who snuffled at her abdomen. The horse’s face was fine-boned and dished along the curve of its profile, and it wore a bridle embroidered with intricate stitching and hung with tassels. The reins jingled with miniature bells. The horse’s ears were pierced with golden barbells. 

This was no Cintran horse and certainly no Cintran rider.

Mustering all her courage, she forced herself to squint up at the towering rider, the dappled sunlight through the trees casting a mottled glow on his figure. A young man dressed in earth tones, his skin dark and jawline bare of facial hair. He looked down at her with brow furrowed, as though confused by the series of events that had led to a girl lying flat on her back on the path before him, dazedly stroking his horse’s muzzle.

Most distressingly, he wore a cap sitting askance on his head, a squirrel’s tail slung across his right shoulder.

“You’re a--” Ciri wheezed to clear the dust from her lungs and sat up on her elbows. “You’re an elf.”

“I’d say so, yes,” said the young man. "Have been since I was born.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” Ciri shoved herself up to stand and found herself much less fine than expected. The world spun.

“You alright?” asked the young man.

“No, of course not,” said Ciri. “What a stupid thing to ask.”

Her brain a bit addled by the fall, Ciri was not sure whether she should be more fearful that the elf would leave her alone in the forest or that he would take her with him. There were said to be Scoia'tael encampments scattered throughout the countryside, but she had not expected any so close to the outer wall. 

She didn’t notice the rider dismount until he was standing beside her at the stallion’s head.

“His name is Wyn,” said the elf, lying a gloved hand on the horse’s face, “and I’m Dara. How about you?”

“I’m--” She stopped herself. “I’m no one. I’m an orphan. A brigand. Nobody.”

“A brigand? Did you plan to rob me? By flinging yourself from your horse?”

“Well,” said Ciri, “I’m not a very good brigand.”

“That was a well-bred horse for an orphaned nobody,” said Dara. He was smiling, the slow sort of smile that touched his dark eyes first, though she didn’t know what exactly about this situation was anything close to amusing.

“I stole it.”

“I thought you weren’t a good brigand?”

“Suppose I just go lucky,” said Ciri. She drew a deep breath and felt a twinge in her ribcage. Ignoring it, she squared her shoulders and faced Dara with all the bold nobility she could muster. “Or not. I know all about that cap you wear. I know who you are. I know you hate my kind and want me dead. So go on, get on with it. Try to strike me down. I'll defend myself."

“Your kind?”

“Humans,” said Ciri simply. “You wish to wipe us out and claim our castles for your own and muddy our bloodlines.”

Dara bent over his knees to laugh, a startlingly loud noise in the quiet forest.

“I think you may have some things a little backwards," he laughed. “Is that really what’s being said about us these days?”

“Yes. In all the… brigand camps.”

“I didn’t know brigands cared about castles and bloodlines.”

“No but--” Ciri felt her cheeks turn pink. 

“You’re Princess Cirilla of Cintra,” said Dara, and Ciri’s heartbeat leapt in her throat.

“How did you--”

“You’re wearing the seal of Cintra at the clasp of your cloak. Your hair is as pale as they say. And you speak like a princess.”

“I damn well do not,” said Ciri. “Fuck you,” she added for good measure.

Dara laughed again, a sound both light and musical, a warming sort of laugh.

“Princess Cirilla,” he said, stepping closer to her. The horse between them seemed bored of the affair of standing in the middle of the road, his eyelids fluttering closed. Her head felt too muddy to know what she was meant to do in this situation. She expected that she should flee. Call for help. At any moment, a gang of Scoia'tael could burst from the trees and claim her for ransom.

“Ciri,” she corrected. 

“Ciri,” said Dara, smiling. “I’m not going to leave you alone in the woods.”

“Right,” said Ciri, suddenly dizzy. She found that it was not as gratifying as she thought it would be to be a part of a more exciting narrative. “You’re going to kidnap me and take me back to your camp and make my grandmother give in to all your sick and twisted demands for my safe return. Or worse, you aim to defile me and force me to bear your children which will ascend to the throne. Or you--”

Her dizziness overwhelmed her.

The forest pitched to and fro, and when she became aware of her surroundings again, she rode on horseback with someone’s arms clenched around her, the undergrowth a green blur and the horse’s pace swift and sure. 

Cold fear gripped her until she saw a familiar outer wall rise up from the forest. She knew if she craned her neck, she would see the glittering spires of Cintra’s main keep far away on the hill.

“You took me back,” said Ciri, her voice scratchier than expected. Dara’s grip tightened as she shifted to look round at him, and he reined the stallion to a halt. He had removed his cap, and she was struck by the strange urge to touch the line of his pointed ear. She realized a second too late that she had given to the urge and snatched her hand back, face burning. 

“I took you back,” said Dara. “I’m not an animal or a monster. I don’t kidnap or defile distressed maidens. None of my kind do. We want reparations, not slaughter. We want our relics returned to us and our history respected.”

“How boring,” Ciri mumbled. “The other story’s much more exciting.”

Dara dismounted and shifted to help her do so as well. Ciri swayed on her feet but managed to stay upright, distracted by the warmth of Dara’s hands on her arms.

“I’m sure you know there’s a gate not far from here. Follow the wall. I can’t go farther than this.”

He gathered up Wyn’s reins and turned to lead him back into the forest, and Ciri felt her heart clench strangely.

“Wait,” she called. “You saved me. You’ll be rewarded.”

“I don’t think that’s how this works, Princess,” said Dara and smiled his soft smile.

Ciri breathed deep, holding herself upright and summoning all her bravery, and strode with only some unsteadiness to stand before him. 

“Thank you, Dara of… the woods. For your service and protection.” 

“Very formal for a brigand.”

“Yes, as is taught at brigand school.”

Being almost of a height, Ciri needed only to rise slightly onto her tiptoes to brush her lips against the line of Dara’s brow. His fingertips touched the curve of her elbow, and she rested a palm on his chest. Small and lingering touches that she would remember with perfect clarity long after.

“Have you read any of the latest stories? With defiant maidens who flee from the marriage bed and learn to fight with swords and ride swift horses and cut off all their hair?”

“I can’t read,” said Dara simply, “but they sound like good stories.”

“Yes,” said Ciri, and with all the stubborn rebellion that was her birthright, she ducked forward to kiss him on the bow of his lips. 

[megsironthrone]

Meg's Game of Tales: Tale 12

*Familiar Characters are NOT mine! The original story of "Sleeping Beauty" was written by The Brothers Grimm.*

Warnings: Sleeping Beauty AU, kissing w/o explicit consent(consent is sexy people!), magic, angst. POV switches

Pairings: prince!Edmure Tully x princess!reader

When you were but an infant, an evil mage placed a curse on you. You were cursed to die at the age of sixteen by pricking your finger on a spinning wheel. It sent your father and mother into a panic. While destroying every spinning wheel in the kingdom, the king turned to three other magical creatures in hopes they could remove the curse. They couldn't. But they were able to change it. Unfortunately, that still meant you were in danger. So even though it killed them to do it, your parents sent you away into hiding. You were not to return until after your sixteenth birthday.

*sixteen years later*

Edmure rode away from the castle, desperate to get away. After traveling for days to get there, Edmure had been immediately stifled by the planning of his wedding. To a princess he'd met once! When she was a baby and he wasn't much older! Edmure hadn't understood when he was young why the princess had suddenly disappeared and now that he was older, it didn't matter. He didn't want to marry you. Sometimes he hated being the only prince in the family.

Edmure urged his horse to stop when he reached the woods. He didn't know what he would do out here, but he needed the breathing space. He dismounted and lead his horse over to the nearby stream. After splashing water on his face, Edmure heard a sound. It was soft at first but gradually grew louder. Singing. Someone was singing.

Although he wasn't curious by nature, Edmure found it odd for someone to randomly be singing in the woods. After giving his horse a pat on the neck, Edmure followed the sound of the voice. It didn't take him long to locate the source. A woman. She was walking so gracefully, it was almost like a dance. A soft song escaped from her lips and called to him like a siren.

Edmure shook his head at himself. He'd always been something of a romantic as a younger man. It seemed that hadn't stopped as he grew older. He watched for a moment longer before deciding he was being creepy and decided to leave the young woman to her devices. Unfortunately, as Edmure moved to return to his horse, he stepped on a fallen twig and snapped it, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet woods.

"Who's there?!" Edmure cursed under his breath before revealing himself. "My apologies for startling you, Miss. I heard you singing." The woman let her shoulders lower. "I didn't realize I was singing so loudly. I should go and leave you to your plans." She turned to leave, but Edmure called out for her to stop. He wasn't sure why exactly. Maybe he just wanted to talk to someone outside the palace life.

YOUR POV

You faced the strange man and bit your lip. You knew you should return to your cottage with your aunts, but you NEVER got to talk to anyone outside of the three of them. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you nodded and set your basket down. You followed after and patted the grassy space next to you.

Your stranger sat with only minor hesitation. From there, the two of you spoke at length. You learned your stranger was a prince. It seemed you learned so much about him in such a small amount of time. As the sun began to set, you found yourself not wanting to part from his company. Still you knew you needed to return home before it got too dark. The woods was a treacherous place in the dark.

With a sigh, you got up and brushed off your skirts. Your prince rose as well with a frown on his face. "I'm afraid I must go." You moved to leave, but he gently took your hand. "Will I see you again?" You smiled and nodded lightly. "Tomorrow is my birthday. Perhaps you could come then? I live in the little cottage in the glen." He agreed happily. You bid him farewell and quickly returned home.

The smile never left your face as you enjoyed the evening with your aunts. It even stayed as you began making your way to your bed. And when the questioned you, you didn't want to say anything. You knew they'd be upset and you'd always been a terrible liar. They kept on until you finally admitted that you met someone. "He's coming here tomorrow to meet you all." Your aunts exchanged worried glances. "I-I think you'd better sit down. There's something you need to know."

EDMURE'S POV: The next day

There was a spring in Edmure's step as he headed out. He couldn't wait to see his mysterious woman again. As he was about to ride off, Edmure's uncle stepped out. "And just where do you think you're going? The princess is returning home this evening!" Edmure grimaced. He had honestly forgotten about the princess.

"Sorry, Uncle. I shall return later, but I have an engagement elsewhere." His uncle's eyes narrowed. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your disappearing act yesterday?" Edmure tried to keep his expression neutral. "Because you are getting married," his uncle continued, "You have no time for mucking about now." Edmure clenched his fist by his side.

"Uncle, for once in my life I have something to look forward to. I met a lovely young lady. One I could see myself being wed to and happy with. I don't know the princess and I may refuse to wed her once we finally do meet. I want this one thing." Edmure's uncle scoffed. "Then take the girl on as a mistress, but you will marry the princess." Edmure watched his uncle walk away without giving him the chance to retort.

Anger coursed through Edmure's veins at his uncle audacity. His new friend was too good to be a mistress. He wouldn't do her the dishonor of even suggesting such a thing. He hoped the walk to the cottage would help him calm down enough to enjoy her birthday with her. With that hope in mind, Edmure headed out to the woods once again.

When he reached the cottage, something seemed off. The inside was dark, not even a candle in the window or smoke billowing from the chimney. Edmure drew his sword as he entered the cottage. Not that it did any good. A trap had been set. He couldn't believe it. Had she done this?

"Well, well. This is a surprise. I set my trap for a peasant and instead, I catch a prince. We have much to discuss, Prince Edmure." Edmure recognized the mage from the stories he'd heard. This was the mage that had cursed the princess. Edmure didn't have a chance to ask before he was pulled from the cottage toward the dark, towering castle that loomed in the distance. The mage didn't speak again until Edmure was chained to the walls of a cell in the dungeon of the crumbling palace.

The mage stood across from him with a smug grin. "Why am I here? What does the girl from the cottage have to do with this?" Edmure growled out. The mage looked surprised for a moment before laughing. "You haven't figured it out? She is the princess! And my curse will come to fruition tonight!" Edmure shook his head.

"No it won't! Even if she is the princess, true love's kiss will wake her!" Another dark chuckle escaped the mage's lips. "Except her true love is right here. And here is where you will remain until you are too old to make the journey back to the castle. Oh, you'll try, of course, but you will be weak. Still, you oh valiant prince will not give up. I have seen it. After all, in the case of true love, 100 years is but a day. So, you will leave here and you will make the journey. And you. Will. Fail. The princess will sleep for an eternity!" The mage's cackle echoed through the dungeons as they left Edmure alone.

Edmure's thoughts bounced all over the place. If what the mage said was true, there was no hope. But he couldn't believe that. There had to be a way to save you. Edmure sat, ignoring the clanking of the chains, as he thought of ways he could get out. He had no idea what time it was or how long until sunset. Even if he did manage to escape, who's to say it wouldn't be too late? As every hour passed, Edmure's hope began to dwindle.

Just as Edmure's positivity was running out, a small flash of light caught his attention. As he looked up, two more flashes had him blinking rapidly. When he could see clearly again, Edmure nearly jumped out of his skin. Three obviously magic-wielders stood before him.

"Prince Edmure. We've come to rescue you. The princess is already sleeping. You're the only one who can help her." Edmure stared for a moment. "But, what if I'm not her true love? What if I am?! I don't want to force this on her…on Princess Y/N…I can't believe that the girl is actually the princess."

"We really don't have time for this, my prince. We have to move before the mage discovers we're here. If we can get out without being noticed, you would not have to take on the mage without reinforcements." Edmure stood as one of his saviors used magic to rid him of the chains keeping him in the cell. They all used their magic to summon a sword and shield. Edmure felt powerful(though he was grateful they hadn't summoned a bow. He wasn't really good with those) and he felt like he really could save his mystery girl. That he could save you.

Unfortunately, Edmure's exit wasn't exactly quiet and he ended up having to handle all the mage's little minions and then the mage themselves. It took everything in him and he was certain he nearly died several times. But eventually, Edmure was victorious. He was coated in sweat and dirt, but that was the last thing on his mind. He had to get to you.

The magic-wielders, who Edmure learned were the people that raised you, told Edmure where they'd placed you. Edmure stopped short when he saw you laid out on the bed. You looked so different than you had in the woods. Still, beautiful, but different. Edmure knew what he had to do next, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. He didn't exactly have your consent in this.

With a sigh, Edmure at least decided to clean his face first. He moved to the basin and washed quickly. Once he was cleaned up, he came back over to you. "I am so sorry for this. I hope you will be able to forgive me," he whispered. Leaning forward, Edmure pressed his lips to yours in a soft and quick kiss. Your eyes fluttered open and you gave him a smile.

"I forgive you," you said softly, "But if you ever kiss me without permission again, I will hurt you." Edmure let out a relieved chuckle. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Princess." You sat up and threw your arms around him. "Thank you for saving me."

[mxpseudonym]

Just Good Business II

Pairing: Tommy x Reader

Reader Gender Expression: She/Her pronouns, "wife”

Summary: After your arranged marriage with Tommy Shelby, Tommy is MIA while you become one of the Shelby’s

Length: 1549 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Overtones of forced/arranged marriage, otherwise strong “My husband is clueless” vibes

A/N: Part III is very likely!

Part I | Part III

--

As far as things that sounded interesting went, marriage wasn't one of them. Sure, the lead up was fun enough, but a wedding wasn't a marriage, that was for sure. Your first few months with Tommy only confirmed it. 

You'd consummated your marriage on your wedding night, and even once more, when you decided that sharing the master bedroom was a must. But after that, Tommy was always gone. Over three months, you could count the number of times Tommy came to bed on two hands, and the times you actually woke up next to him on one. If he wasn't in London or Birmingham, which was nearly always, he was locked away in the home office. More than upset, though, it made you curious.

"He does everything on his own, for better or worse," Polly said when you got the Shelby women together for tea.

"Head as hard as a rock," Ada tsked Tommy, who wasn't there to defend himself. 

In Tommy's absence, you found yourself getting to know the rest of the Shelby's. It wasn't just relocating from many of your friends and your dubious relationship with your own family that made you cling to them. On occasion, when they allowed themselves to be, the Shelby’s were a lot of fun. 

"I can't!" You jumped back from the horse troughs and the goldfish swimming inside with a laugh. 

"Stop being a scaredy-cat, y/n," Finn teased, expertly picking up a fish with his bare hands. "You can't even touch one." 

"Lady's aren't used to slummin' it, Finn," Isaiah said, nudging his friend with his elbow. Along with meeting Ada for talks about politics and occasionally drinking John under the table, you'd gotten into the habit of throwing big picnics for your new nieces and nephews birthdays. John's small army allowed for two in a month, but that didn't stop you from rallying the troops. Between getting to frolic around the gardens barefoot and teaching the children how to catch fireflies, this was your favorite part about being married. Fish, however, was where your steady nerve stalled a bit.

"It's not too bad, sister," Arthur urged you. Tommy's older brother was sweeter than you imagined. You weren't a fool, you'd asked about the Peaky Blinders during your London escapades. Arthur being comparable to a rabid dog was amongst the rumors. But here he was, kneeling by the troughs and guiding your hand into the paths of goldfish. 

"You're okay. Just take a deep breath," Arthur said when you almost pulled away. The soft scales brushed against your fingertips making you shiver, but Finn and Isaiah's cheers of encouragement kept you going until you did it yourself. Arthur cleared his throat while you tried cupping your palms around one. 

"How's my brother treatin' you?" he asked.

"I don't see him much, but pretty well, I suppose. Big house, lovely new brothers, who's to complain?" You shrugged. 

"If Tommy gives you any trouble, you let us know," Finn said, high fiving Isaiah, who was shaking his head.

"Alright, simmer down, Finn," Arthur murmured, then turned back to you. "He's right, though. We'll talk sense into Tommy."

"Not that you can't do it on your own, Mrs. Shelby. The way Tommy talks about you, I bet you're keeping him in line," Isaiah joked. Arthur gave him a warning look while you raised an eyebrow. How did Tommy talk about you?

"Aunt y/n!" Katie came running around the corner, stopping any questions you may have had.

"Hello, birthday girl!" You hugged her when she was close enough. She really was a spitting image of John. 

"Can we eat cake?" She asked. 

"Yes, we can eat cake." 

The cake was eaten, gifts were opened, and Ada had just joined the children in a game of tag when Francis, the head of the house staff, came to you with word that your husband was home. 

People of habit always stay that way, so finding Tommy in his office was easy. Tommy was just about to pour a glass of whiskey when you entered after a brief knock. 

"You know, knocking doesn't mean you can just enter," Tommy said, looking over your birthday attire. It included a flower crown from Katie and no stockings. 

"Oh? What does it mean, then, Thomas?" You asked with more snap than expected. You did actually tell him about the birthdays. Whether or not he showed up was dependent on the stars aligning. He sat down the glass and turned to you with a sigh. 

"Alright, have at it. Go on and tell me your grievances."

There were so many things to say, you hardly knew which to choose first. Where the hell have you been? Where do you get off not greeting anyone in the house before hiding away? Are your manners lost somewhere alongside your damn mind leading to such a greeting? But the bridge of his nose was pinched between his thumb and forefinger, so you weighed your options and chose the most important one.

"Did you wish Katie a happy birthday?" You asked. He wasn't expecting that, you could tell. 

"No, not yet."

"Come on, then." You walked to the door and held it open until he walked out first. Seeing Tommy kiss Katie's cheek and slip her a coin was satisfactory enough, so you quickly got swept into the shenanigans going on by the gramophone. Polly told you that you looked wilder that day, and like one of the family. She also mentioned on her way out that Tommy stayed for a bit and could hardly take his eyes off of you while you danced with the kids. 

"Polly," you warned. The all-knowing matriarch put her hands up as a white flag.

"There are worse things than your husband loving you and vice versa," Polly said, ever so sly.

Love? After washing up, you thought about what she said while browsing the downstairs library. Of course, there was nothing wrong with loving your spouse, some would even say it was preferred. Even if one of you had something to confess, what did it matter?

"I'm sure you have some things to say to me," Tommy's voice broke through your thoughts and gave you a start.

"Fucking hell!"

"I did knock," he said, smirking a little. You looked over the robe and slippers you'd gotten him, knowing it made him feel too posh but not being able to resist a bit of teasing in retaliation for being ignored. 

"It's alright, I was just grabbing a book." You picked one up and walked towards him. "All I have to say is I don't like the way you talked to me earlier. I don't care how stressed you are." 

"I'm sorry," he apologized with no hesitation. You nodded and went to leave, only for Tommy to stop you. He pulled you back, his hands on your waist. Nothing prepared you for your husband wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his cheek against your belly. You slowly wrapped your arms around his shoulders. 

"Are you alright? Has something happened?" 

"I've got blood on my hands, y/n. Done things I'm not proud of," he murmured. You could only just make out what he was saying. "And I don't stop. I want you to be angry with me for bringing you along with this and putting you up in my house then leaving you alone. Talking to you how I did and putting you and everyone in danger." After a moment, you let out a chuckle.

"Thomas, what the fuck are you talking about?" You couldn't help it really, even when you looked down to see those distressed blue eyes. You pressed the back of your hand on his cheeks and forehead. "Are you ill, Sir?"

"I'm not. I mean it y/n, you've no idea what's gone on." Tommy shook his head and rested it on your stomach again. You scoffed at the man. 

"First of all, you haven't put me up in your house, you've put me up in my house, remember? I just let you live here sometimes," you reminded him of whose name was on the deed. It was for the sake of business, but it was also a gift. Tommy let the corner of his mouth tug up a bit. 

"Second, if you think your wife is dense, think again. Did you think I wouldn't do a bit of research? Ask around? I don't just sit around all day, Polly does like to keep me active, Tom. Plus, one of my mates works at that rum bakery, you think I don't keep tabs on you?" You gave him a knowing look. If you could catch him before he was out the door, you'd have already given him a lecture on getting involved with Alfie Solomons. 

"Ah," Tommy hummed. "That's why you told me to tighten up on security."

"Mmhm. Third of all," you grasped Tommy's face and made him look at you. "When I agreed to marry you, did I ask you where your hands have been?"

"No." 

"No." You shook your head. "And maybe that's my burden to bear, but I'll always look out for myself, don't worry. And I'm not scared of blood, Mr. Shelby." You leaned down and kissed his forehead. 

"Clever, bloody woman," Tommy murmured. 

"The cleverest," You agreed.

--

Tommy Tag List: @soleil-dor

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Cowboy - Part 4

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol) --- there’s a bit of angst in this part

Word count: 2078

This series will be updated every Thursday and Friday.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

“That was delicious, thank you!”

“I hope you have room in your stomach for apple crumble,” Mr Jung said, leaning across the table towards you. “June is a mighty fine cook but an even greater baker.”

“The reason he married me, so he says.”

You smiled warmly, enjoying the banter between the pair. Their love for one another was evident. You hadn’t seen such a genuine display of affection in years. The city had jaded your parents and kept them looking for the next big project instead of cosy nights curled up together.

They’re professionals, you reminded yourself when you felt a sense of sadness for your parents. They don’t have time like they do out here.

“Were the heifers put into the bottom field?”

You had almost forgotten Jaehyun was sitting at your side until he cleared his throat then, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, I moved them this morning.”

“By yourself?”

“You had Caleb up in the high fields with you and Avery was otherwise preoccupied with someone,” he continued, and you felt eyes boring into the side of your head on the latter half of the conversation.

You smiled brightly. “It must take a lot of people to run such a big ranch like yours, Mr Jung.”

“We make do with the help we have.”

“We could do with three more men,” Jaehyun muttered, and you looked at him, pausing in saying anything in response when you noticed the dark look within the elder’s eyes.

Blayne was under-populated. You already knew this from the basic land per capita estimates online and in the business proposal for Blayne’s development. If more jobs were created here, then the farms that were struggling would be able to hire more help.

But Blayne also lacked housing. It would need to supply appropriate accommodation for new workers. You stewed over the thought of how many changes would be needed to not only make Blayne easily accessible but also improve the existing community until a dessert plate was placed in front of you.

Blinking out of your reverie, you beamed up at June. “I cannot wait to try it!”

After dinner, you thanked both your hosts generously. “I’ve not had a home-cooked meal quite as tasty as that before.”

“Your mother?” June enquired.

“She’s a professor at the School of Commerce.”

“Ah, she would have been too busy to make meals a priority.”

“It’s okay! I admire her for her work ethic. She’s taught me a lot. Both my parents have always been busy, but that’s how it is in the city.”

“Busy people don’t often see the bigger picture. I can tell by how eager you were to take up the position out here,” Mr Jung mentioned gruffly and you nodded despite his expression. “A woman of marrying age coming up here all alone is usually unheard of.”

“Perhaps Blayne will leave an impression on Y/N, honey.” June offered, patting her husband’s lower arm fondly. She then smiled at you. “You seem quite confident.”

“I’m hopeful I can make a positive change here,” you stated, your own smile fading when you heard a scoff, and then feet moving across the gravel behind you. Darting your focus to the disappearing man that had been waiting nearby, you looked back at his parents. “Thank you again!”

“We’ll have you over anytime, sugar!”

Turning on your heel, you took the pathway that Jaehyun had just departed down, finding him strapping up the horse that had brought you here earlier in the evening. You stopped near his side, frowning at his efforts. “Should you be asking the horse to work again?”

Jaehyun looked in your direction before returning his gaze back to his efforts, not answering your question.

“Your mother said it was too dark to ride last night. Shouldn’t we take the truck since the moon is now up in the sky?” you prompted, shifting your eyes to the heavens. You gasped in awe. “Wow, I’ve never seen such a clear night sky before!”

“Pollution inhibits that,” Jaehyun explained curtly, yanking on a strap and tightening it into place.

“It’s so beautiful out here, though. It’s a shame not many people have experienced it outside of a postcard.”

“Why don’t you save the speech for someone who is interested?”

“Excuse me?” Staring back at the man beside you, you tilted your head to the side. “You’re awfully moody tonight, Mr Cowboy.”

“Back to that name, huh?”

“Well, since you’re feeling a little cold towards me, I don’t know if it’s my place to call you by your first name,” you explained. Jaehyun didn’t respond again, and you sighed. “What did I do wrong?”

“Are you always this self-centred? Can’t you see the bigger picture than the goal inside your head?” Jaehyun questioned, sliding his hands onto his hips and finally facing you. He looked you over again, much as he had earlier when he first saw you as he jumped down from the wagon. Instead of the kindness you had experienced then, it was laced with scrutiny this time. You lowered your gaze to your outfit and stepped back.

“Hey…” you started, and then squared your jaw.

Just who was this guy to act so blunt with you? You should have stuck with believing he was the rude and full of assumptions jerk just as you had thought of him earlier in the day. Perhaps it was the fresh air and gentleness of the wagon ride that had softened your heart to him somehow. You should have known better to trust in your instincts.

Turning on your heel, you started walking down the drive towards the field you had travelled across from your place to the main homestead on this land. You didn’t get far before a hand reached out and yanked on your forearm roughly. “What are you doing?!”

“Going home!”

“Oh, is that so? Through a darkened field? See, this is why you belong in the city, Y/N. You have no idea about the dangers of a working farm. You’re used to living in tiny apartments and navigating mazes of streets and buildings and-”

“I didn’t come here to have you tell me what you think about me, Jaehyun.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t. But you did come out here all alone with zero understanding of how the country works. You’re here to change how we are? What a joke. You have no concept of what Blayne is about. You’ve not even stopped to take the time to listen to those around you. Instead, you’re dreaming up something big that none of us wants. Can’t you tell that? We might be showing you some country hospitality right now, but don’t go thinking people want you here.”

“That’s incredibly evident, don’t you worry,” you bit back, shaking his grip off your arm.

Jaehyun ran an agitated hand through his hair before looking at you again. “I’ll take you home. Come on.”

“I’m good with directions. I’ll take myself back.”

“What you see during the day changes at night around here. Hate me all you like, but I’ll take you home so I don’t have to worry about you falling in an open drain pipe.”

You opened your mouth to refute the offer, but the image he had painted was enough for you to silently march back over to the wagon. Jaehyun checked everything over again and jumped up into the seat, his hand reaching down to help you up.

Stubbornly, you ignored it and heaved yourself into the seat.

The ride back home was silent, and you preferred it that way. After the outburst in the field, you had little to say to the man. You were grateful he seemed compliant of such silence and didn’t offer any conversation from his behalf either. All the same, you were somewhat holding out for an apology.

You gained none, however.

Leaping down from the wagon, you merely tipped your head as Jaehyun did in farewell and then headed inside without a single word. You watched as the wagon disappeared thereafter, and finally, let out a string of incoherent cursing and annoyance.

You blew a strand of hair away from your face and glowered out the window. “God, I hate him.”

When the morning rose, you got up with a new plan in place. The night before, you had spent the first part of it packing your belongings and then unpacking several times over. You were done with Blayne. If the people didn’t want you here, then you would take heed of their warning and leave.

However, you had been too confident when your boss assigned you with this project.

“They will resist change, you know.”

You nodded. “Of course, but I’m equipped to handle it.”

“Are you?”

“You wouldn’t have pitched the proposal to me if you didn’t think I was the best to acquire the deal, Pierce.”

That, along with the fact that everyone seemingly had bets on when you’d depart played into your new resolve. You would show them just how capable you truly were.

First, however, you needed more information. “Is there a local library or archives here, May?”

“Library?”

You nodded. “Or a town hall? Surely the public can access the information there?”

“Our town hall was burned down ten years ago,” another person at the diner counter mentioned, despite May’s obvious hand swatting him off. He smiled at you. “You’ll have to go to the town over for anything like that.”

“Thank you, you’ve been a great help. Thanks for the coffee, May!”

Once in your car again, you headed back down the country highway and took the forty-five minute drive to the closet township. You cried with comforting relief when you heard the usual bleeps of your phone notification ring in succession.

“Ah, I’m back in a place of proper civilisation!”

Although this township had most amenities, you still were surprised by how small the town hall was. Having no luck there, you went next door to the equally quaint library and piled up all the documents and texts you could find on Blayne.

With a pen in hand ready to take down notes, you picked up the first journal and began to read.

You weren’t aware of how long you spent perusing the history of the area or familiarising yourself with the generations of family lines that were born and bred in Blayne. Stopping on an interesting line in the Jung family, you let out a low whistle. “June and May aren’t originally from Blayne?”

“Perhaps Blayne will leave an impression on Y/N, honey.”

June’s comment from last night pulled a smile onto your lips. At least there seemed to be one person rooting for your stay in Blayne.

It was then when you saw how late into the afternoon it was and you collected up your belongings, asking a clerk if you could take a couple of the history logs with you. After registering with the library and checking them out, you stepped into the warm air, smiling triumphantly at your discovery.

You then pulled out your phone, browsing through the messages you had received. Natalia had contacted you the most, and you pressed call instead of replying, waiting for the call to connect.

“You didn’t let me know if you got there safely!”

“I couldn’t really, the signal out in that place is something else,” you admitted with a grin as you headed to your car. You climbed inside it and then sighed. “I miss you, Natty.”

“Not enough to assure me that you’re alive!”

“Come on, it’s only been a few days, and I’m talking to you now. Isn’t that enough?” you humoured, watching a family cross the intersection up ahead. The little girl skipping across the road seemed so carefree compared to what you had been at that age.

You wondered if the city environment had made you cynical or if that was just who you naturally were.

Natalia cleared her throat and gained your attention again. “Yeah, yeah. So, any hot cowboys out there?”

The image of Jaehyun immediately appeared in your mind, and it ruined your mood entirely. “No. Not a single one.”

“Aw man, here I had you pegged for having a hot summer romance with some farm boy out there.”

“I’m here to work, Natty,” you reminded, both for hers and your sakes. “Even if there was someone handsome, he’s not going to do anything for me.”

_________________

Part 5

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[oceanid-writes]

hi-hi, may i have a mha matchup, please? otherwise just ignore me lol.

bisexual | girl | INTP

appearance: I'm 164cm(~5'4) tall, slim&athletic, and I usually give off the 'cute good girl' vibe, so ppl are shocked when they hear me cursing a lot lol. Long brown hair, my deer eyes have the same color, I have purple circles under them - I wear eyeglasses. My clothing style is very girly, mostly wearing skirts and dresses(soft girl/light academia - kind of a mixture of them). There's a tiny, barely visible scar above my right eyebrow, I've opened our car's door on my head lmao.

personality: I have a confusingly dual, hard-to-like personality. First impression is either a stoic resting bitch face bitch or the awkward, cute and polite girl.

I'm faking myself and good at keeping my emotions under control, I'm really adaptable(sometimes full-stoic, other times talkative) too. I HATE showing weaknesses, I'm hiding them from even people I love, I simply can't stand emotional vulnerability. Making me talk about my issues, problems? Nearly impossible.

My way of thinking is quite realistic and highly critical, I have opinions about everything, I get passionate while sharing them, deep conversations are keeping me alive. Though, I rarely share these lol. Sometimes I'm even told that I'm wise? Kind of.

I'm the CLUMSIEST person, and kinda awkward too, cringe situations always find me. Quite easily get jumped/scared/pranked. My humour is colorful: TEASING, dark, morbid, absurd, trollish. Sometimes I can come off phlegmatic, rude and very-very mean. Gonna roast the shit out of you. Also, I zone out a LOT always asking back 'what did you say?'

I'm generally a kind, polite, caring and patient person tho. I take loyalty quite seriously, but I don't get attached easily. I have a kind of unapproachable, 'emotions ew' vibes, but I have a softie side who adores cuddling and giving love, affection to people - it's kind of a selfish coping mechanism for me at the same time, bc the feeling being needed is incredibly comforting for me - so I it's a mania, an inner-pressure for me to be a reliable figure. Also, I can be just a dumb idiot and loosen up with my little gang if I'm in the mood. Once my close friend told me that I'm an unpredictable person. I need a lot of alone time&space.

I'm also vain, snobbish, pro procastrinator, lazy and selfish just to mention some negative traits. I have massive self-hatred spirals, thinking I am a burden, unworthy for love, useless on my bad days; slight imposter syndrome I guess.

My love language is words of affirmation&quality time, and when I have to express it, I'm best with acts of service. I'm not so romantic, valentines day and similar stuff just gonna make me roll my eyes, but I'll adapt to my partner's needs.

hobbies/likes: classical literature, theatre, politics, hiking, sightseeing, travelling,  mysteries, reading about disappearances(crimes, like Sodder siblings, Tara Calico etc.) and (unsolved) crimes, trying out new things, yoga, running, horse riding, table tennis, listening to music, cats, thunderstorms, rainy days, cider, tequila, going out and drinking with friends, smoking sometimes, family time, psychology, sexual psychology, reading trash/funny FB comments, massaging others, deep converstaions, surrealism, anything indie

Hi! Based on everything you said, I think the yandere best fit for you would be Miruko! Sorry if this matchup is a bit short, I am not feeling well but I’m trying to push through these and it’s hard to write a ton when I can’t think completely straight.

Warnings: Kidnapping, yandere behaviour.

Boku No Hero Academia Yandere Matchup

With most other yanderes, it does matter who their darling is, but Miruko won’t care if you’re a civilian, villain, or pro-hero. She still finds you adorable. Even if she meets you will your mean-looking resting face first, the second she sees how polite and cute you are, it’s all over. Miruko is a very confident person, so I do see her getting along best with some more awkward and less happy-go-lucky. It’s a good thing that she’s also pretty realistic (being a pro-hero who has to risk her life on a daily basis can do that to you) and she loves to talk about important matters with you and get feedback. You better show her your soft side though, because sometimes after a long day of work, Miruko just wants to cuddle with you. 

The other great thing about Miruko, is that she does not care what you’ve done, or how you act. If she wasn’t a yandere sure, she might not see you in the same light, but Yandere Miruko completely infantilizes all of your bad actions and behaviours. She thinks of it as “oh y/n’s negative traits are so adorable”. Of course, this does expand to worse things too, like if you need to be alone or just have time away from her, she will twist it into being a joke or you being in a bad mood. She’s completely delusional, and while she will listen to what you say, if it’s something she really doesn’t want to hear, she ignores it and continues on. 

She will totally kidnap you too, (it doesn’t matter if you’re ignoring her or accepting her feelings, she’ll just want you all to herself) and make sure you can’t see anyone else. Miruko gets very jealous easily, and she likes being the center of your attention.

When she’s home just look at her, ok? She wouldn’t want to take away your tv and book privileges, again.

[sirius-archive]

Heatwave (The Mandalorian x Reader) SMUT

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, rough sex, light choking, dom/sub (Mandalorian dom, Reader sub)

Word count: 🤷🏽‍♀️

Summary: You’re a thief with sexy fire powers. He’s a sexy bounty hunter who you’ve been playing cat and mouse with. When he catches you, Baby Yoda decides to play match-maker. It works. For once.

A/N: I found this baby after scrolling through my notes and had to post it. I wrote this when I was drunk so forgive the spelling errors. Baby Yoda is literally that one criminal dude from tangled (I think?) who bangs the two tiny wooden horses together. lol. 

Also, am I wrong in saying that I think everyone wants to fuck the Mandalorian in his sexy Mandalorian armour?

(Not my gif)

***

You can’t deny that there’s something sexy about being handcuffed and taken prisoner by the Mandalorian.

While inconvenient to say the least, there’s still an undercurrent of sexual tension that demands to be felt, charging the air between the two of you as he straps you into the seat beside him. It’s why he always chases you, why you always allow yourself to get caught, and why he lets you escape into the night. It’s the longest, most amusing, most sexy game of chess you’ve ever played.

“Every time you handcuff me, I always imagine it in an entirely different context,” you purr, smirking up at him as he tightens your handcuffs.

As usual, he doesn’t say anything at first. Its becoming all too predictable.

The fancy, expensive, definitely-not-a-sex-toy handcuffs dig into the skin of your wrists, though not enough to make it arousing. He’s done it deliberately; he’s surmised you like it rough from your previous encounters with him. It’s a type of torture he’s managed to master exceedingly well. Which is arousing in itself. What a paradox the two of you are.

“Jokes on you, y’know,” you tease, tilting your head up at him, “I’m very much into the idea of you torturing me.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he warns, his voice tinny and deliciously husky.

“So he speaks.”

The Mandalorian remains silent, though you can somehow tell he’s glaring at you from behind his helmet.

“You’re not the first Mandalorian to come after me,” you say as he kneels to bind your ankles, “And you won’t be the last. I’ve killed your predecessors and I won’t hesitate to kill whoever they decide to send after you. You’re lucky I’m into you otherwise I’d have my legs around your neck right now — and not in a good way.”

The Mandalorian is silent at first. Then, when you think he isn’t going to grace you with a response—

“So you’re just going to keep running? What kind of life is that?”

You chew your bottom lip, considering his question thoughtfully, “It’s a life and it’s far better than the alternative.”

The Mandalorian rises, straightens the broad line of his shoulders, “Is it really a life? If you can’t settle down to enjoy it?”

You gracefully arch an eyebrow at him, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mandalorian.”

He doesn’t say anything after that.

****

The strange, tiny child gazes up at you with large, innocent inky-black eyes and blinks owlishly.

He’s managed to scramble into your lap, blocking your means of escape while the Mandalorian hastily fixes the engine of his ship. You can’t help but smile at his innocence, contrasting the weight of your criminal ways.

Regardless, you focus on funnelling the spluttering ball of energy in your core to your ankle cuffs. The heated metal bites into your skin as it begins to glow bright orange, but you can take it. You’re one of the last Phoenixs — or Nixes, for short —  in the universe; cosmic fire and heat is what you are, what you’re made of.

The child, however, doesn’t seem afraid of the heat rising from your skin, turning your hair a bright, fiery red.

“Look, little guy — or girl — I need you to get off my lap so I can bust out of here!” You hiss, imploringly, “My distraction will only last so lo—“

The Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps echo into the cockpit of his ship. You immediately stop melting the metal, allowing your natural hair colour to bleed over the reds and oranges, disguising your true heritage.

He stops, spotting the child now stroking your hair.

“He’s cute,” you remark, beaming down at the child, “Didn’t realise you had a kid.”

The Mandalorian marches forward and snatches the child from your lap. He cradles him protectively, eying you with what you suspect is suspicion as he safely places the child on the far side of the room.

“Don’t touch him.”

“He was touching me first.”

“I don’t care, don’t touch him.”

“My god, you’d think I’m infected with some hideous, flesh-eating disease.”

“No, you’re a criminal—“

“—Thief—“

“—you’re a criminal and I don’t trust you.”

Something about that stings. Your expression shutters, schooling into apathy.

“So why keep me around?” You ask, coolly, “Why don’t you just carbon freeze me?”

You have a feeling you know the answer. He doesn’t carbon freeze you for the same reason why he doesn’t bother stopping you as you escape the slippery clutches of the ego-bruised men you’ve stolen from. It’s the same reason you haven’t burned him to a crisp as soon as you’ve seen him, the same reason you allow him to drag you back to his ship, cash you in for his bounty, and disappear.

There’s tension, but it’s more than tension. It’s something you can’t articulate because you’ve never quite felt it before. You doubt he has either.

The Mandalorian doesn’t answer. He seems to be staring down at the ankle cuffs, the metal twisted and deformed from where you’ve been heating it. He steps forward—

Suddenly, an invisible force loop around your waist and hoists you up, pulling you toward The Mandalorian. His arms are forced around your waist in jerky movements almost like an invisible puppeteer is pushing and plucking the strings. His helmet is yanked up over his neck, past his chin, stopping just above his nose, revealing plush lips and stubble and—

Your lips are forced together in the most awkward kiss you’ve ever had.

Both of you have your lips pressed tight, and the Mandalorian is rigid and tense, unsure of what to do. Still, energy blinks to life inside of you and you open your mouth just a little, embracing the kiss.

It lingers. It’s still awkward.

But then, he begins to kiss you back, his lips moving slightly, carefully, enough to taste hints of fine whiskey and your head begins to spin, embers sparking your lower belly, travelling up your spine, across your chest, down your arms—

It ends all too soon.

“Stop it, let us go,” The Mandalorian orders over his shoulder. You allow your eyes to follow his line of sight, snagging on the kid.

His tiny, pudgy hand is raised, his round eyes closed and you realise with a shock that he’s controlling you, bending the air around you both and forcing you into this kiss.

At the sound of his voice, the child stops, releasing his hold on you. He staggers a little, exhaustion seemingly crashing over him, dragging him under into unconsciousness. He collapses and the Mandalorian rushes forward to catch him, holding the child to his chest.

The Mandalorian disappears for a moment, giving you time to recover from your bewilderment. You’ve never seen anything quite like that before, and you’ve seen a lot of things. You have a feeling that in your past life, you may have witnessed a similar phenomenon, but you’re not giving enough time to dwell on it, however, because the Mandalorian comes storming back.

“So, you gonna tell me what that was all about?”

The Mandalorian ignores you, hunting around the cockpit for something.

“You’re not going to make me beg, are you?”

The Mandalorian stops, slants a look over his shoulder, “Maybe I will.”

You roll your eyes, “Please, Mando. Please tell me what the fuck just happened.”

The Mandalorian grasps a black bandage and whips it, stalking toward you, “Not what I meant.”

“What—?”

“—I’m sick of chasing you,” he growls, manoeuvring you around so he can fasten the bandage around your head; a makeshift blindfold, “It’s time you got what you deserve.”

Your stomach curdles, blood roaring in your ears. Carbon freezing. Your worst fear. You try to swallow, but it gets knotted somewhere in your throat.

“Kinky,” you rasp, trying your best to recover your slipping facade, “I hope my punishment involves whips and chains.”

The Mandalorians voice is in the shell of your ear, Mississippi hot and molasses thick, “Oh, you have no idea.”

Suddenly, he spins you around, and you barely have time to recover from the whiplash before his lips are on yours.

He’s ferocious, unforgiving. Just the way you like it.

He kisses you with a fiery passion, tongue darting into your mouth, tasting, teasing, his teeth digging into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. You moan, arching against him, wishing he’d free you so you could tug him closer but the Mandalorian keeps you bound and at his mercy.

You pull away, panting, as the Mandalorian trails kisses down your neck, sucking and biting and bruising the tender flesh. He’s obviously taken his helmet off while you were blindfolded. Curiosity strikes you but is dissolved when he finds the spot on your neck that makes you gasp.

“If—if I had known this would happen, I would’ve allowed myself to get caught a lot sooner,” you tease, a little breathlessly.

The Mandalorians fingers grasp your waist, pulling you closer, gripping you with bruising strength that dampens your panties. He chuckles against your skin, breath hot, tongue wet as he licks along your jugular.

“God I hate that mouth of yours,” he breathes, scraping his teeth across your skin, “It gets you into so much trouble.”

“It’s good for other things, too.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he grasps your waist with strong hands and spins you around, breath fanning across the back of your neck.

Your spine shudders and melts. He makes quick work of your clothes, starting with your sleeveless turtleneck top. He pulls it over your head and tosses it aside and unclasping your bra. With one hand pawing at your breast, he uses the other to tug on the zip of your skirt, pulling it down until the fabric pools at your feet. He helps you out of your thigh-high boots and undoes the holsters strapped to your thigh. Next, he uncuffs your wrists and ankles until you’re wearing nothing but skin. His breath audibly tangles in his throat.

You snicker, biting your bottom lip, “My, my. Have I rendered the great Mandalorian speechless?”

A sharp stab of pain ripples across your ass cheek, followed by the rough ministrations of a strong, calloused hand. You gasp, relishing in the sting of pain and burst of arousal.

You moan. Your darkest fantasies have spilt from your daydreams and splashed themselves against the backdrop of reality. Finally, after three years of chasing and catching, the sexual tension sizzling between the two of you is resolved.

He steals the breath from your lungs as he kisses you deeply, your moans melting on his tongue. His fingers grip your breasts and you gasp, head lulling back as he rolls them in the palm of his hands.

“God,” you sigh, “You’re good at this.”

Suddenly, his lips are biting into your nipple and you arch into his mouth, fingers combing through his hair as he slurps and sucks on your nipple. Your thighs quiver as you tug on the roots of his hair and he groans. You can feel him poking into your thigh and your excitement builds quickly, your fingers pulling at his cape.

He steps away from your grasp with a low, drawling chuckle, rich with husk and desire and pure sex appeal.

“I’m in control,” he snarls, “You obey me. You hear?”

“Yes, master,” you whimper, skin crawling.

“Good.”

You hear the rasping of fabric and the whirr of zipper teeth being pulled apart. His footsteps, heavy with purpose, move around you; there's a clang of metal and then he’s behind you again, loosening your blindfold until it falls away.

The Mandalorian whirls you around, pushing you up against the control board. He’s still fully clothed and his helmet is now fixed onto his neck and while you had been curious about the face that hides behind that helmet, you can’t deny that the thought of him fucking you in his bounty armour is unbelievably sexy.

The only thing that’s missing is — of course — the codpiece. Your shiver completely rattles your entire frame, anticipation bubbling deliciously in your veins.

The Mandalorian steps forward and reaches into his pants, pulling out his cock.

You salivate.

He’s...huge. Probably the biggest and thickest cock you’ve seen (and you’ve seen a lot in your lifetime — part of the job). It makes you wonder how he jams that beast into his pants without damaging something. You slide your tongue over your lips as you watch him stroke himself, smearing precum over the bulging, purple helmet.

“Touch yourself.”

You obey, spreading your legs far apart so he can watch your fingers dance. Behind his mask, you can feel his eyes smouldering as you tease your clit, rubbing the pearl of nerves with your index and middle finger. You moan, tossing your head back, building up quite the rhythm while the Mandalorian watches.

You startled slightly when the Mandalorian runs his hands over your smooth thighs, mapping you out with his fingers. He’s gentle, appreciating the warmth of your skin, how you glow with desire and emit a natural, golden aura common among Nixes.

“It’s been a while since...” he trails off, shaking his head.

With a sudden burst of strength, he grips your legs and hoists them around his waist. And, impatiently, unceremoniously, he slides inside of you.

“Fuck,” you curse, gripping his broad shoulders.

Moans spill into the air as the Mandalorian begins to move, rolling his hips against you. The cool metal of his armour shocks your hot skin but the contrast of steaming heat and icy cold makes your eyes roll back and your heart hammer impossibly fast.

“Yes, yes, oh Jesus yes!”

The Mandalorian’s pace begins to build as he slams into you. He’s rough and unapologetic and reaching depths inside of you that you didn’t know existed. He pounded with frenzied, sharp movements, his hand snaking up your side to your neck where his fingers hugged and tightened. His other hand stays secured on your hip, bruised already starting to form from where his grip burns into you.

Your fingers skim across your damp skin, trailing down to your clit where your fingers circle and pinch. The Mandalorian — silent until now — groans as he watches you, his pace speeding up ruthlessly.

“I’m close,” he grunts, giving your neck a squeeze.

“So am I,” you hiss, locking your legs around him.

The friction of his armour against your hot skin, the pressure of his strong hand gripping your begging neck, his cock ploughing into you with incredible strength; it’s an overwhelming indulgence to the senses and you feel your hot core begin to glow, crackling with cosmic energy.

The air, thick with sex and insatiable heat, shimmers and ignites with tiny tongues of fire like hovering fireflies. The Mandalorian hasn’t noticed yet, but it doesn’t take him long until he does.

“(Y/N)––“

He’s cut off by the cry that issues from your swollen lips. Your pussy clenches and quivers around his cock as you tumble over the edge, crashing into a release that completely drowns your body in mind-numbing pleasure. The Mandalorian is right behind you, grinding out pieces of your name as he meets his own release.

Panting, you sit up and he rests his head on your shoulder. Around you, the small flames have exploded into tiny fireworks, lighting up the air with vibrant light.

You slide off the control board, climb back into your clothes and pull on your boot. You reach for the other boot but the Mandalorian grabs it first, kneeling to slide the boot onto your foot. You watch, mesmerised, as he pulls the inner zip up your leg and along your thigh.

Moments later, the electronic doors to the cockpit slide open and the child waddles forward, gazing innocently up at you. You step forward and give the Mandalorian a questioning look. He nods.

You bend down and scoop the child into your arms and he snuggles against your chest.

“I really love this kid,” you murmur, beaming down at him.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” The Mandalorian shrugs, approaching you so he can tug at the child’s cloak. He pulls it over the child’s face, keeping his neck warm.

“We have to name him,” you decide, “I can’t keep referring to him as the kid.”

You say it like you’re staying with them, trapesing across the universe together.

The Mandalorian, however, doesn’t disagree.

The handcuffs and ankle cuffs stay in their place on the floor.

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 13/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

Mulder can tell something isn’t quite right when they roll up to the ranch.  The chickens are up in their coop and none of the goats are roaming around.  The barn is shut up and Queenie doesn’t run to greet them as she usually does.

“Can you handle the team on your own?” he asks Jesse.

Jesse nods in the affirmative and Mulder clicks at Blondie and squeezes his calves against her sides.  The horse starts galloping up the dirt road towards the barn.  Mulder spots Melvin and Richard together on the rise behind the barn as he approaches.  Melvin takes his hat off and waves.

Mulder pulls the horse to a stop and slides out of the saddle in one fluid move.  He runs to Melvin and Richard, his heart galloping in his chest about as fast as the horse just ran.

“What’s happened?” he asks.  “What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s alright,” Melvin says.  “We just had ourselves a little visitor yesterday that’s caused a bit of a hubbub.”

“Who?”

“Not who,” Richard says.  “What.”

“A panther come by,” Melvin explains.  

Mulder feels his knees weaken.  “Where is she?” he demands.

“Who?  The panther?”

“Katherine!  Where is she?!”

“I think she’s up in the house.  Let me tell you, you married yourself a regular Annie Oakley.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She shot him dead,” Richard answers.  “Maimed him on the first shot, kilt him on the second.  All quicker than you can say boo to a ghost.”

“And the two of you just stood by?  Why weren’t you protecting her?”

“Well, hey now,” Melvin says, but Mulder doesn’t wait for any explanations or excuses.  He turns tail and runs to the house to find Katherine.

When he bursts through the back door, he finds her immediately in the kitchen, setting the table.  She’s clearly startled and drops the cutlery she’s holding onto a plate.  He’s so glad to see her, glad she’s alright, glad she’s going about her day with normal things like setting a table.  He throws his hat down, walks around the table to her, grabs her by the waist, and kisses her.  Not on the cheek, not on the brow, but on the lips.

Between the two of them, he’s not sure who’s more shocked by the kiss.  When he initially pulls back, her eyes are wide and that single eyebrow of hers is raised higher than he’s ever seen it.  He can’t believe he’s done what he just did, but he’s not sorry for it.  He shakes his head slightly, preparing to stammer out an apology anyway, but her eyes drop down to his mouth and the only thing he can think about is kissing her again.  Instead of apologizing, he does just that.  His arms wrap themselves fully around her, bringing her against him.  She squeaks a little and her lips part against his as though she’s going to say something.  He moves a hand to the back of her head to hold her just a little longer.  Her hands come up his back to his shoulders and then drop down under his arms and around to his chest before he breaks away.

They’re both breathing hard.  He holds her wrists where her hands rest at his chest and runs his thumbs up and down over hers.  They stare at each other until she pulls one of her hands free and touches his jaw.  She strokes the whiskers that have grown out since his week away and he reaches up and holds her hand to his cheek, squeezing her fingers.

“I, uh...,” he says.

“Is that your way of telling me you missed me?” she asks.

He almost sighs with relief that she isn’t angry.  There’s a small part of him that took her hands in his so she wouldn’t slap him, though he would agree that he deserved it if she had.

“I did miss you,” he answers.  “Did you miss me?”

“I...kept myself busy.”  She smiles at him and he has to give a little laugh.

“Yes, you did.”  He nods.  “Killing panthers, I hear.”

“Yes, well.”

“You’re alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine.  Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.  I actually didn’t stick around to hear the full story, I just know we had a panther on the property.  And that you shot it.”

She snorts a little.  “Yes, a panther showed up, Queenie was fit to be tied over it.  I was in here about to bake a pie when I heard her.  So, I grabbed the rifle and I shot the panther.  That’s all.”

“And you’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“My shoulder might be a bit sore from the recoil.  It’s been some time since I’ve shot a rifle, but otherwise, I’m fine.”

He hugs her to him and sighs.  “Kate, I think my heart tried to escape my chest when Melvin told me you had to kill a panther.”

“I suppose that’s why you came in here all crackpot and kissed me then?”  

“I’ve actually wanted to kiss you for quite some time, I guess getting a bit spooked just gave me the courage.”

She’s slow to answer.  “Well, it was nothing,” she finally says.

He loosens his embrace on her and leans back, keeping his hands at her back.  “Killing a panther isn’t nothing,” he says.  “I wish I’d been here.”

“Why?  What would you have done?  Tried to reason with him?”

“No, I’d have shot him.”

“Well, that’s exactly what I did.”

“Yes, you did.  Melvin and Richard seemed mighty impressed, too.”

“Can we please move on from the panther?  Tell me how things went in Fort Worth.”

“Good.  We brought eight horses back with us to train up.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I got something for you.”

“I told you, you don’t need-”

“I know, I know.”  He steps back to fish the pouch and the ring box out of his pocket.  “I don’t need to get anything for you, but sometimes I just can’t help myself and I’ll work on that little problem of mine, but it truly did brighten my day to do some shopping for you and I hope you’ll receive this with the intent in which I give it.”

“What is it?”

“Here.”  He opens the pouch first and drops the gold band into her hand.  “I wanted us to have wedding bands.  We are married after all.”

He holds his hand out to her and she hesitates for a few moments, but then takes his hand and slides the band onto his finger.  He smiles and pockets the pouch before he shows her the ring box for her band.

“I just don’t know that I can picture myself wearing something fancy,” she says.  “I know you mean well, but I’d be terribly afraid of losing it or damaging it somehow and with all the work here, I just think…”

“I thought of all that.”  He nods in understanding.  “And let me tell you, the salesman had me on the hook for a beautiful blue stone called a sapphire and I wanted to get it for you more than anything, but I didn’t think it would speak to you in the same way it spoke to me.”

“I’m sure it was beautiful.”

“I got this instead.”  He opens the box and holds it out to her.

She opens her mouth and then looks up at him before she turns her eyes back to the ring.  She touches it softly with her fingertip.  “A claddagh,” she says.  “How did you know about these?”

“Well, I didn’t.  Not until I noticed how unusual it was and asked about it.  When I saw the stamp on the inside, I knew I had to get it.”

She takes the ring out of the box and tilts it to read the inside.  “I will wear it,” she says, and gives him the ring and then her hand.

Mulder puts the box down on the table and holds her left hand with his.  He moves to put the ring on, but she stops him and shakes her head.

“We’re married.  The heart should be pointed down towards my hand.”

“I didn’t know.”  He flips the ring between his fingers and then slides it onto hers.

“Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.  I have a few other things that I need to get from the wagon.  Speaking of which, I should probably go on and help the boys with getting the horses settled.  And I owe some apologies to Melvin and Richard.”

“What for?”

“Leaping to conclusions.”

“See if you can’t get things done soon, supper is almost ready.”

“I can smell it.”  Mulder lifts his head and sniffs the air.  “Meatloaf?”

“And mashed potatoes.”

“My favorite.”

“I know.”

“And I believe you said something about a pie?”

“Apple.”

“It’s good to be home.”

“It’s good to have you home.”

“So, you did miss me?”

She closes her eyes briefly and smiles.  “Go on and help the boys.  I’ll ring the bell when supper’s ready.”

He nods and turns to go.  He picks his hat up off the floor and when he looks back, he sees her looking at her hand, touching the ring on her finger and smiling softly.

↭

When she thinks about that kiss Mulder gave her, her lips tingle.  It was entirely unexpected, but not unwelcome.  She may have presented a nonchalant response over it, but her insides had felt fluttery and jittery in a way she’s never experienced before.  And then he gave her that ring.

She touches the ring now, twists it back and forth against her finger.  It fits her perfectly and it’s exactly what she always wanted.  Her grandmother had a claddagh ring that she had hoped would be hers one day.  Those hopes were dashed four years ago.  The wedding band she’d worn through her first marriage, until Jack sold it, was plain and simple.  Just a gold band with a solitary opal.  She thinks it had once belonged to Jack’s mother.  Still, it always felt heavy on her finger.  Unnatural.

After supper, she goes to her room and finds the new valise he’d promised her sitting on the bed.  Inside, there are new clothes and fabric, a copy of The Taming of the Shrew, and a set of magazines.  She has to sit down when she sees they are science journals, overcome with gratitude and awe.  She’s hugging them to her chest when Mulder comes to the doorway.  He’s trimmed his beard down and looks like he’s freshly washed.

“Thank you,” she says.  “I know I keep saying that you don’t have to do anything for me, but I appreciate this more than you know.”

“I’m glad.  It’s my pleasure.  I was just about to head out to the porch for a bit.  I’ve missed our talks.”

“Oh.”  She hesitates and looks down at the journals.  She’s eager to start reading.

“I’ll bring the lamp out.  You could read an article or two to me from one of the magazines.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

She takes her new shawl and wraps it around her shoulders and then follows Mulder outside to the porch with Popular Science under her arm.  He puts the lamp on the table and she moves her chair a little closer to see better.  She thumbs through the magazine for something that might interest them both.

“Here’s an article entitled ‘Origin of Color in Animals,’” she says.

“Sounds like a fable.”

She puts the magazine down on her lap.  “That reminds me, I had lunch with Susannah and Monica, as you said I should do.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Monica told me what auras were.  She said that all people emit colors that tells you what kind of person they are, and that she can see these colors.”

“Huh.  Well, that’s very interesting.  What color do I emit?  I’m sure she must have told you.”

“Blue and red, is what she said.”

“Those are good colors.  I think.  How about you?”

“Tan and crystal.”

“That must be very interesting for her.  I’d like to see an aura.”

“You believe her?”

“If she says she sees them, why wouldn’t I believe it?”

“People can’t emit color.”

“Why not?”

“Because...because they can’t.”

“What if some scientist somewhere writes about it for one of those journals in your hand?”

“They would have to have proof.”

“Couldn’t someone’s word be proof enough?  If you trusted them?”

“Well...no.”

Mulder chuckles.  “Alright, Kate.  Tell me about the animals and their colors then.”

She hesitates for a beat, but then smoothes the page of her magazine and brings it closer to read.

“Oh wait,” he says.  “Before you start, I actually wanted to tell you that while I was in Fort Worth I met with a man who’s going to come out in a few weeks and survey the land.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve hired him to take a look at things and do some designs for an addition to the house and bigger stables, a new corral, that sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed for some reason.  Are you disappointed?”

“Not exactly.”

“In my experience, that means yes.”

She twists the wedding ring on her finger back and forth with her thumb.  “I guess I thought I just might have some say in the matter.”

“Of course you’ll have say in the matter.  To an extent.”

She frowns.  “I guess that means all your talk was just that.”

“What have I gone back on my word about?”

“Nothing.  I just thought that...I thought that it was my land too.  I went and paid the mortgage on the first.”

“With money that I gave you.”  He chuckles as though it’s a silly joke, but she bristles at how condescending and placating what he’s just said feels.  Her eyes begin to water and she angrily grits her teeth and knits her brow to push back any tears.  She is so damn tired of being beholden to the whims of some man.  Mulder had led her to believe he was different.  She was foolish enough to think that he could be.

“It’s always been about the land hasn’t it?” she asks.  “The job you gave me, it means nothing.  My name on the lease is just a...just a farce.”

“Kate-”

“Don’t call me that.  You only seem to call me Kate when you think I’m being unreasonable or foolish.  When...when you’re referencing The Shrew.”

“I don’t think I do, and, well, you are being a little unreasonable, don’t you think?”

She gets up out of the chair and he grabs for her hand, which she yanks away, causing her to stumble backwards.  He jumps up quickly and she flinches as her immediate retreat causes her to bang her hip into the porch railing.

“Sit down, honey,” he says, gesturing to the chair and holding his arm out towards her, but not touching her.  “There’s nothing to get worked up about.  You’ve dropped your magazine.”  He bends and picks up the journal from the ground, flattens the bent page, and then brushes the cover free of any dirt.

Her wrist throbs from ripping it from his grasp so quickly and her hip smarts where she hit it.  She holds her hand, rubbing the top of her wrist lightly and praying she hasn’t given herself a sprain.  Cautiously, she perches at the front of the chair, takes the magazine from Mulder, and places it on her lap.  

“Go ahead and do what you’d like,” she says.

“Kate...Katherine, I don’t understand why this has upset you, I really don’t.  All I’ve done is hired a man to do a survey.”

She says nothing and stares out at the silhouettes of the treetops and the hills in the distance.  The land is so vast it seems illogical that it should make her feel so claustrophobic, but it does.  Knowing there is nowhere to go and that she’s trapped, once again.

“Talk to me,” he says.  “Even if it’s just to tell me to go to the blazes, please say something.”

“I would like to go to bed.”

She doesn’t look at him, but in her periphery, she can see him twist his mouth.  He grits his teeth and the muscle in his jaw jumps and quivers.  She turns her head away just slightly.

“You don’t need my permission,” he says, and the sarcasm in his tone is more than a little obvious.

She doesn’t trust her knees not to give out on her if she gets up in that moment.  She’s feeling so many emotions at once that she’s rendered almost paralyzed by the intensity.  Anger, disappointment, sorrow, shame, regret, confusion.  She doesn’t even know if she has the right to feel so hurt, but still, it’s how she feels.

“Fine,” he says, after she hasn’t moved for some time.  “I’ll go.”

She swallows, the tightening of her throat a tell-tale sign that she may finally be powerless to keep from crying after so long.  She will not do it.  She will not cry over this.  He slaps the arms of his chair as he gets up and she startles, shrinking a bit in her chair.  Even his shadow in the lamplight feels overbearing to her right now.

“Do you really think I feel that this is a farce?” he asks.  “If it was only about the land, I would’ve paid off the option as soon as we were married.  I left the mortgage as it is because I thought you would enjoy the responsibility of it.  Surely you realize it makes no difference in the end whether you make those payments or if I do if the money is coming from the same place.”

He pauses and then puts his hand on his hips and kicks angrily at the floor with the toe of his boot.  “Dammit, Kate,” he says.  “I bought you a ring.  And you want to try to tell me I’m not taking this seriously?  Or...or to imply that I don’t value or respect your opinion somehow?  I don’t know how this conversation took such a turn, I truly don’t.”

She doesn’t know how it is, but words seem to hurt just as much as slaps.  Her gut clenches and her hands curl into defensive fists as though she were about to fight off the blows.  Her knees feel even weaker now than a few minutes prior.

Without another word, Mulder turns and goes back inside the house.  It takes her a good ten minutes to be able to stand and go to her room.  Her arms are still shaking and she has to hug the magazine tight and carry the lamp with both hands, very slowly.  The door to Mulder’s room is closed and she shuts hers quietly as well and then curls up on her bed.  She shivers and pulls her shawl tight around her like a blanket.

[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

Destiny Calling

"ow." "Hold still." "Ow!" "Aragorn I swear to—" "I apologize but it stings!" "Maybe if you didn't get caught in a solo battle with goblins on your way here, MAYBE it wouldn't hurt!" You huffed. He winced as the cloth touched the wound. "Ow- Y/n I love you but that is killing me here!" He sighed. You put down the cloth, crossing your arms. "If you don't stop with the theatrics I'm going to give you a new pain from my foot kicking your ass!" You huffed. He sighed, picking his shirt off the counter and putting it in his lap. You sighed, turning back to the bowl of water, him wrapping his arms around you and kissing your cheek from behind.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Mime mel." He said. You sighed. "You need to be more careful and that's coming from someone who's usually reckless." You said. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck and you turned around. "Promise your safe out there when your alone?" You asked. "I promise." he said. You kissed him and he smiled. "We're going to be in Bree tomorrow ." He said. "is there something in particular you need to do?" You asked. Aragorn nodded. "... Gandalf needs our assistance. That's the reason I've been absent as of late. Why I was near Mirkwood." He admitted. "What were you doing?" You asked. He put his hand on the back of his neck. "...Do you remember Gandalf speaking of a creature by the name of Gollum?" He asked. You frowned. "I do." You nodded. "I had to deliver him to Mirkwood." He admitted. "Are you insane!?" You gaped. "Y/n-" "You could have gotten yourself killed!" You said, clearly panicked. "I am fine! Truly I am!" He assured. "Your chest wounds say otherwise!" You huffed. "My conscious state says I'm alright." He assured. You sighed. "Aragorn. Normally I love hearing of your adventures. But by valor, would it kill you to be SAFE!?" You huffed. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I'm sorry I was reckless." He said. "You're past reckless, bordering suicidal." You muttered.

Nearly fourty years had passed and you two were still together, stronger than most thought you would be. Aragorn, while only taking you away once a month, now spent a lot of his free time in Rivendell with you, though he went on a quest that lasted a long while. You were so in love, it pleased Arwen to see you this happy. Elrond however, was not exactly thrilled with his daughter being infatuated with a human. He knew it was coming though and didn't bother to stop it, he just gave very passive aggressive responses.

"I'm beginning to worry you might not live to see Gondor again." You murmured in his arms. He rested his chin on your head. "I don't have a particular need to go back to Gondor. I have a home and it lies with you." He said softly. You looked up at him and sighed. "Aragorn you do realize I want you to take the throne one day." You said. He nodded. "You've reminded me. But you have to understand that I do not feel prepared to do so. I may have proven a strong heart to you but I haven't proved it to myself." He said. You sighed. "I admire your carefulness but often wonder if it's more stalling than actual caution." You said. "It is a mixture of both" he replied. You sighed again, looking at his face. "you're tired." You said. "indeed." He yawned.

You walked into your room,  Aragorn already laying down. You laid next to him, tracing circles on his hand. "Tell me... What is Gondor actually like?" You asked. He let out a chuckle. "It is a vast, large kingdom." He said, his voice tired but his hands playing with your hair. "The walls are white... It's beautiful just to look at but the lands... Gods, the lands are beautiful." He said, you smiling. "One day we will see it. When I'm ready... To..." He seemed to dose off in his sentence.

You smiled, watching your lover sleep comfortably next to you as you put your head on his chest. You drifted into a deep sleep, something oddly rare for an elf unless they were having a vision. "There is impending danger... Get to Bree before they do." A voice said in a low whisper. "What is in Bree? What's going on?" you felt yourself ask. All valid questions for a mysterious voice telling you to go to Bree. "It is time." was the only response before you heard that noise.

That horrible noise. Shrieking that made you snap up and gasp, Aragorn leaning up with you. "What's wrong?" he asked, putting a soothing hand on your back. "I need to find my father, you need to pack and be ready to leave, do not leave this room unarmed." you said, him giving you a confused look. "Y/n, what's going on?" he asked. You clutched your necklace, seeming rattled by whatever dream you had. Arwen knocked and you opened the door. "You had the vision?" She asked. "More like rumblings of one, do you know how close they are?" you asked, walking with her. Aragorn quickly packed his things before rushing off to the horses. "I'm not sure how close they are, but judging by the tension in the air, they're close. Y/n, that vision you had... Fourty years ago—" "I know." you said softly. "Does father know?" you asked. "I do." Elrond said, standing in front of you. "The voice told me to go to Bree, that's where I'm going. Is there anything you know that can help?"  you asked. "Stay off the roads, Gandalf is going to be looking for you and Aragorn, stay safe and guarded. Do. Not. Separate. Unless. You. Absolutely. Have. To." He said. You nodded and Aragorn walked over, handing you the reins to your horse. "Who's leading?" Aragorn asked. "We can't take the roads, I will have to." you said, mounting your horse. Elrond grabbed Aragorn's hand. "Keep her safe." he said. Aragorn honestly had no idea what was happening but he found himself nodding anyway.

You didn't even speak as you rode through the woods. "Y/n, what is going on?" Aragorn asked. You swallowed hard. "You know the story of the twenty rings?" you asked. "Yes, there was one to rule them all, one that ended up with my heir, of course I know it." Aragorn said. "Gandalf told me a very long time ago what Gollum had in that cave. A ring. At first he thought that it was a regular ring, perhaps one of the ones issued to the men but then..." You shook your head. "I had visions. Suspecting otherwise. And then Gollum ended up with the orcs, meaning that they were looking for what he had." You explained. Aragorn looked at you. "You aren't saying.." "I'm saying that this is it Aragorn... It's the ring." You admitted.

You looked at him with a terrified glance and he frowned. "...No." he breathed. Aragorn clenched the reins of his horse, his heart filling with dread as he rode. The sun was slowly rising on the horizon, you finally leaving the woods and rushing as fast as you could through the lands. You entered through the gates of Bree, practically falling off your horse as you ran into the inn. Gandalf sat at a table, looking up.

You sat down at the table, looking at him. "My dear girl, you are very fast to be at this table." Gandalf said. "The ring, tell me that you know." you said. "If the ring is truly the one ring, Frodo will be here in days time." Gandalf said. "How many?" you asked, Aragorn sitting next to you. "I'd estimate two months." He said. "Where will you be?" you asked. "I should be here to greet them. Though we need you with us to keep us alert and safe." He said, motioning to the both of you. You sighed, running your fingers through your hair. "This is it Gandalf. I can feel it." you warned. "With Saruman's help, we can fix this quickly." he assured. You sighed. "And you're sure that you have this under control?" You asked. "For the time being." He said. "...Then I trust you." you said. Aragorn looked at you, seeing the anxiety in your eyes. He put his hand on your back, assuring you silently that he was there. You put your hand over his, closing your eyes. "None of us will be ready for what's to come." you repeated words that Galadriel told you in the Fade. "What's the name again?" you asked finally. "Frodo. Frodo Baggins." Gandalf said.

Three days later, Aragorn brought you back to Rivendell. You pressed a kiss to his lips, looking at him. "If anything happens..." you let out a shaking breath. "Y/n, I will be fine... If I need you I will find you, I promise." he said. "Next month?" You asked. "I promise you, hell on earth would not stop me." he assured. You nodded, hugging him tightly. He hated this, absolutely hated this. He wanted to be able to have you with him. Not leave without you.