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smolvenger · 2 years ago

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Miss Narracott and The Captain Part Seven (Cpn James Nicholls x fem! Reader miniseries)

Fandom: War Horse

Word Count: 4K

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of sex, but it fades to black and no actual smut. Some fluff but LOTS of angst. Discussions of war and battles and death. Mentions of pregnancy but no pregnancy tropes.

Series Summary: It is 1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven//Part Eight Finale coming soon!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Hi y'all! I intend this to be the penultimate chapter-this Baby is almost complete! I hope you guys enjoy it! Comments, reblogs, asks, and dms about my works are always appreciated!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510

“Can’t I at least scratch my arm! It’s beginning to itch!” you teased, though you did feel an itch on your arm.

It was a peaceful late afternoon. James had returned from work. When he announced himself, you immediately ran over to throw your arms around him and kiss him, something he enjoyed. As he changed into his everyday clothes, he asked if he could draw you. You agreed.

The sun was setting with its orange glow melting through the windows. You felt it behind you as the red curtains tickled you and the sunlight warmed your back. The inside of the sitting room looked lovely in its light. You looked down on the main sofa as James sat on a chair opposite. He was working on a sketch of you as you sat there, your hands folded on your lap. James looked at you from behind his sketchbook and smiled.

“Right now, I am focused on the details of your face- of course you can scratch your arm!” he answered.

You put a hand to move your sleeve up to scratch on it. Then you put your sleeve back. You heard his drawing more. His eyes dated from you to his page. The clock began to tick.

“How is it going- I only hope I am a decent model for you!” you said.

You heard him make a flourish. Then he lifted his pencil, checking between you and him.

“Y/N with the light pouring out behind you, you seem to glow like an angel, Mrs. Nicholls.” He rolled the last two words with the enthusiasm for a foreign language understood and learned.

You looked down briefly, feeling tingly from the compliment.

“Such high praise….” You murmured in your giddy joy.

“It’s only the truth-you’re a natural model…come look…” he urged.

You got up from your seat and walked over to where he sat to see the sketch. He had gotten your face and sitting position on the couch. You worried it would be unflattering. You were human after all, you didn’t like what you saw in the mirror some days. But it was James’s view of you- and you were glowing with a smile that spoke of love, joy, and life.

“James-it’s wonderful! I love it!” you said.

He set it down and took your hand.

“I must tell you-have I shown you the painting, yet?”

“Painting? I never knew you painted-what is it?” you asked.

He took your hand and walked over to a cabinet. He unlocked it and opened it up, showing an almost complete painting sitting in it. You gasped as you took in the sight. It portrayed a beautiful brown horse looking wistfully into the distance. His ears perked as if hearing someone approaching. But his gentle, dark eyes and the white diamond on his face could mean it was only one horse you knew of.

“You’re making a painting of Joey!?” you cried.

He shrugged with a low smile.

“I’m no Stubbs, but I’m doing my best. He’s too beautiful a fellow not to- and it’s been too long since I painted. I hope to give it to the town hall as a gift. I should be able to finish it before I leave.”

You clasped your hands to admire it.

“Oh-James, that’s wonderful! It’s going to be beautiful! Albert will be beside himself!” you cheered.

You went over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. You began to work on dinner-working on what you knew of cooking and from the few groceries you got today. James offered to help. You chatted as you ate your meal.

“How was recruitment today?” you asked.

He nodded.

“It went astonishingly well. It seems almost every able man is signing up. To think riding school begins so soon. I hope they are ready for it.”

His tone darkened. He set his fork and knife down, his food half-done. He folded his hands together and sighed.

“Y/N…I do my best to be brace, but…I am scared. I have never seen a battle before. I’ve never even listened to a gun being shot. I’m a leader for them…but I’m no better than any of them…” he confessed.

You blinked, leaning forward. He perked up to look at you.

“You are good. Do you see your own hands, James?” you asked.

It was a small table. You reached over and took his hands.

“They’re kind hands…gentle hands…You act because you care. That is what leaders do! Do you remember when Joey first plowed the field? You gave me orders right there!” you recalled.

He laughed and nodded at the sight.

“And when you’re with Albert, you see my brother shying himself. He knows your station. But the way you speak to him…you speak with reason and wisdom, and do you know what Albie does? He listens! And Albert never listened to Mother tell him to eat his peas when he was seven! It was why I loved you. Why I married you and not Lyons…”

Both of you broke into a small laugh at that notion. A flood of gratitude that this was your picture now. Not an unhappy wife to a rich man but a loved companion of a good one.

“James- you will know what to do. And people already listen to you.”

He went over and gave you another kiss. You then stopped him from another by putting a hand on his chest.

“Please let Albert see Joey this week before riding school begins! Do this for me, at least!”

He smiled.

“I will, my dear.”

The days were quiet. Peaceful. Your friends and family would stop by and visit when they could. Your mother gave you a recipe book to enjoy meals of your own in your new home. New meals to make with new memories of your new marriage. All of you got to go to see Joey in his new stables and Albert petted and caressed him. Never wanting to leave the stables. James put a bucket down to sit and drew you petting Joey. It did not take long for him to finish the painting. It was given to the town hall with much joy. It would be opened there with a bronze plaque around it.

Things were quiet as a wife-other than visitors and looking after things, you couldn’t wait for your husbands’ return. Call it the honeymoon phase, but you always wrapped your arms around him. Enjoying every minute, every ticking of the clock that gave him to you. After he finished his painting, he would help you with dinner. You would eat and talk for a long time. He sometimes even set the gramophone music so you both could dance slowly to it. Some nights, you made love beneath the quilts as the grandfather clock ticked by and the owls hooted in the night sky. Then you would hold each other close and sleep as the coals in the fire faded. Or you would read to each other or hold each other and chat until you both fell asleep.

They waned slowly. You wanted them to be slow. To savor every minute of James before he had to go.

Your last day in that cottage and with it your last dinner before his conscription.

“There’s a parade for us. To celebrate the boys going over to fight-they’ll drive me in my motorcar. And they’ll show the horses-Joey among them as we all go off to riding school. Poor chaps. They’ll have to learn how to take orders soon.”

You cut your pork chops into bits. But James had not touched his dinner.

“May I confide something in you, Y/N?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He looked into your eyes with a hardened face. His jaw was tight and as he folded his hands, you saw the knuckles turn white from how hard they clasped together.

“This is going to be a nasty war. They say the Germans are armed with machinery. The English- not all of us, but my calvary have silver swords and horses,” he confided.

You set down your knife and fork.

“Then…why can’t you fight with machinery?” you questioned.

He nodded.

“I agree. If two men go to a fight and one has a sword and the other a gun…you know how it’s going to end,” he said.

“Then shouldn’t they be armed with guns and not swords? How do you hope to even win the war? You might as well bring a toothpick!” you argued.

“We do not lack for guns in our army’s division. I will have to teach them to shoot straight. But the riders, the calvary-they must do what they did during the Boer war. Point straight and keep charging.”

“But with an army full of guns, how is that going to work out? Why do this- why agree to this?” you asked. You felt your voice begin to rise.

It was anger, in a way. That so many men, your husband included, were sent to fight guns with swords. It was worry, fear, dread.

James shook his head.

“This is how we will fight. We will follow our orders- if we play our cards right. If we surprise them, we have a good chance. We will do what we must around it. The times the idea of the calvary having weapons other than guns, the superiors called it ‘rubbish’ and ‘defeatist.’”

“Why is this defeatist? This is how to win-you shouldn’t be the one at the Calvary. You need to adapt! You need to play the same game the Germans are, James!” you cried.

He folded his arms, but his voice never raised a decibel. His eyes looked sad.

“I must follow the tradition. It is how it is done, Y/N,” he said.

“You are a captain-a leader. The men will look to you to make decisions! Tell them otherwise!” you suggested.

“Others shall mock me. My superiors-the majors and generals-will criticize me. Or call me a traitor. And that would be risking my neck.”

You paused. You leaned closer to him.

“My mother once told me that women tend to silence our own thoughts to please others. I see now it’s no different with men too…Do you think it is possible you could…talk to your superiors? Change their minds, James!?” you asked.

“I married you so you would have protection as a widow.”

You bit back the urge to cry.

“I do not want to be a widow, James? How hard is it to understand?”

“Must I demean the military’s glory and question it?”

“There will be no military alive left if they keep it at and adapt…”

“It could be fruitless.”

You retreated to your seat. You found your own voice softening. You had never argued with him before. To think it would be one of your last conversations. So, you made your tone match his in gentleness, quietness…but never losing strength.

“You could try! This is your life and the lives of your men. And I would like to see you come home in once piece and not in a casket. I’m sure their own wives and families will say the same.”

You went over to the chair next to James and took both of his hands. You kissed them, and you found yourself tearing up. You felt him relax at your touch.

“Promise me James- you will talk to them. You will convince them a mounted calvary won’t be successful. You could ask for a change. Arm them with guns, not swords. Please…Jaimie’s your friend and he’s a senior officer. He’ll listen to you. Talk to him-you don’t have to be honorable, you only must be alive, James… talk to him! Tell him you know it’s useless to fight guns with swords!”

He wiped a tear from your face with his finger, cupping a cheek of yours. He then looked at you, his eyes shining and sad. But he gave you a small, trembling smile.

“I promise…I will go to Stewart. See if we can adapt in our weaponry,” he replied.

You kept clutching his hands.

“And promise me…you will survive…you will survive for me…James-for us. For both of us…I don’t want to spend my life mourning you. I want us to live together and grow old and bicker like any other couple!”

You both laughed a little. You began to speak despite the mixture of laughter and tears.

“Promise me, James,” you begged.

“I…I promise…”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Who knew how long the war would last? Every man would brag about how they would kill every German in sight and be home in time for dinner. But you knew they were only bragging about their prowess. You knew the truth of the matter. Everyone knew. No one wanted to say what the truth was. That it would be months, perhaps years if you ever saw your dear husband again.

You awoke to the birdsong as he kissed your face.

“I’d like to see the countryside…. Could we walk there. Before the parade?” he asked.

You both walked to the fields, seeing the beautiful country in his clothes like an ordinary man, not a soldier. He wasn't in uniform yet. It would be your last walk for a while. Mountains stood proud in the distance like giants. You both walked to where the grass was as tall as your waist. James then embraced you. He kissed you with ferocity, and he held you tight. Needing you, clutching onto you, keeping you to him. He looked around. He began to hike up your skirts, feeling your legs.

“No one is around….” He assured you.

You said yes. There, among the tall grass, you led him down. You lifted your skirt, and he undid his pants. You both made love one final time there, hidden in nature. A wedding bed from God himself. Only the birds heard you cry your husband's name when oblivion broke you. They flew up in the commotion- the only stirring that signaled you were there. He did turn red with blushing, but he held you tight. Panting as it ended, holding each other tight.

“Thank you…thank you, Y/N. It was beautiful…you are beautiful…a beautiful last moment…at least for now…” he said, kissing the top of your head.

You both got up over the flattened area of grass. As you helped him up, you brushed off grass from his clothes as you both laughed.

You returned home. He changed into his uniform for the parade and went to the town square. The other soldiers Before the parade Jaimie began to chat with him about parade particulars, then James took off his cap. He looked at you, a small smile on his face. Your own family let you, keeping a few steps away.

"I would like to kiss my wife before I must go...."

You were far from the only couple doing so. But he went to you. He wrapped his hands over your cheeks. He then kissed you deeply and you widened your arms around him, joining other couples in the last literal seconds of physical intimacy. You tasted the sweetness of his breath and felt its heat. You felt him breathe right into you. You didn't know how long it lasted. But he let his lips go.

"It's time. Y/N,” he said.

You handed him the sketchbook, a small picture of the both of you at your wedding, and the glove as well.

"You will always have a piece of me with you, James." Your own family came up, each wishing the new son and brother-in-law goodbye. His parents hugged him goodbye. Mrs. Nicholls brought up a handkerchief and was wringing it in her hands.

"I may be fighting the war, but all of you are soldiers of your own. You will face your own battles- but all of you will be brave and fight them,” he guided.

He turned to Albert.

"Joey is only being leased to me. I will pour all of the love and care you have given that horse on him and return him when this is done- I swear it."

Albert nodded. The horses were behind, and Albert then turned to run up to Joey's place.

He got into the motorcar. Someone else would drive as people would cheer for their marching boys for the parade. One could feel the heat of the sun and the murmur of the crowds. Stewart then ran up.

"It's time, Jim. Say your last words."

He gave an embrace to you, good and tight. You made sure you memorized each small touch and the smell of him. He cupped your face and spoke directly. Words for you alone. He was tearing up himself.

"Goodbye, Y/N. I will fight bravely. For you and our families. I’ll write to you as often as I can. I love you-I love you with everything I am. I will never regret marrying you.”

You smiled, leaning into his hands. Smiling and crying as you heard the words.

“No matter what happens-know I love you more than I love life. And if I must give my life for you to be safe and happy, I will give it without question.”

He gave you a last kiss and then let go.

You walked slowly behind the car- he kept an eye on you. You held onto James’s hand in the car until it began to speed up. If you kept on, you would have been dragged in the dirt. Finally, fighting hesitancy, you let go.

Always dashing in his uniform, he turned around and began to relax in the chair.

The parade began.

The people flooded Devon today. And it struck you. They were celebrating James, in addition to the other men. They threw confetti from their windows. They cheered and waved even more flags. The soldiers were marching to the tune of "The Jolly Plowboy." Some were even humming and singing along, and it moved the young soldiers- an entire generation of young men- off to the battle. It kept their speed. It was an anthem in everyone's heart.

To think it was a little over two years ago you worked at that shop and were tasked with returning a missing sketchbook. That he gave you a handkerchief when you were crying over the unstable future of your farm. There was the town hall you danced in once. There was the church you were married in just over a week ago. The town was so full of him as it was of you. The parade continued. You did your best to show support and cheer. You cried plenty of tears and they ran down your face like a cold river. Your parents hugged you and comforted you.

But you remembered- you were a grown woman. You had another family to see. And a new life in a new place. You enjoyed the last comfort but now...without James...without your family...who were you?

You would find out. You would go to Somerset and find out. And there wasn’t time to lose- his parents were driving you there today.

You indulged in a last look around the cottage. Around each room that was the start of your new life. You let yourself feel the dent of his body on the mattress. You missed the sound of James' pencil scratching the paper. You missed hearing his footsteps throughout the house. Seeing the way he bent under the doorframe. How he would caress you at night as you discussed what happened today.

You put on a traveling dress. Blue with a hat and gloves. You packed your bags and recounted your things. Then You hugged your mother, your father, and your brother. You told them to say goodbye to the animals and give Harold extra nice seeds to munch on. For you would miss that goose and his antics. As you got into the car, you took around to notice all sorts of things- like the greenery and how pretty it looked against the houses. The white birds fly above the smoking chimneys. How truly hilly and sloped the place was as the car began to drive through the town.

You wished it a last goodbye as the car broke into the roads of the countryside.

The hour slew by, surprisingly. The countryside was not too different over there. Somerset was only a little bigger in size.

“You’ll be delighted! We’re going to serve you a dinner in your honor-My wife is going to bake a cake herself for your arrival-most delicious thing you’ll ever eat!” Mr. Nicholls said.

He helped you out and into that house. A far bigger house and far nicer than your farm. Already there was one maid who took your coat and a servant who carried your suitcase in. Mrs. Nicholls went up to you.

“I’ll show you to your room, dear…oh- what’s the matter! You look frightened!” she said.

You looked around the ornate wallpaper and mahogany furniture.

“This house is so nice…And I’m just…just a farm girl who chases geese.”

“Y/N, you are our daughter in law. You’re family now. It’s your house as much as ours. We aren’t lords, but…we’re comfortable…” she explained.

That evening they did serve you an incredible dinner. And the cake was delicious- rich and topped with buttercream and walnuts. Then that evening, the Nicholls showed you how they would entertain their children. Mr. Nicholls read a story dramatically, Mrs. Nicholls would play music fitting the mood for the story. When it became scary, the chords were dissonant and jumpy. When happy, they were light. You laughed and clapped your hands.

It was a quiet life. Three servants to do the chores and cook. Meeting visitors, including family and friends who wanted to meet James new wife. You did your best to smile and greet them. No one was terribly rude. If they objected him marrying a lower-class woman, they didn’t say it to your face. It was nice. They liked to speak of James. What a shy little boy he was and what he would do growing up. This house. So filled with reminders of him.

But they left. And your worries screamed inside you.

It was the third day it got to you. You ran up to your room to cry again. You let yourself sob and mourn the man you loved. Let yourself sob and miss him. Mrs. Nicholls would return to embrace and comfort you.

As the month passed your courses arrived. Announcing that despite your passionate nights and the last morning in the tall grass, you would not have James’s child. Part of you lamented that there wouldn’t be one last reminder of him left.

But the other part of you knew the practical truth- a baby would make things even more complicated than they already were. It would be worse to be left a single mother to fend for herself and her child. It would be worse to have a baby who would never really see what the man their father was. To have a little child who would never know what Papa’s voice sounded like. To never meet their father- their actual wonderful, kind, genuine, father.

It was only one less thing to deal with. With those thoughts, relief flooded you as you fetched rags.

A letter arrived from James at last announcing that by the time you got it, he would be in France fighting the first battles. That the painting was done and sent to the town hall. Inside was a small sketch of Joey. You smiled and kissed it. Then you sat and realized…there was only so much you could do. You couldn’t run to France and save him. You couldn’t be a soldier. But what could you do…

That morning, you joined them for breakfast. Your father-in-law poured over a newspaper and greeted you warmly. Your mother-in-law was putting jam on her toast.

“Mrs. Nicholls…are there any groups where women can…can do something for the soldiers?” you asked.

“Hmmm…I know there is a group that is planning to gather to knit socks and scarves for them. I’d like to join it-would you?” she said.

“Oh-yes! Yes, I can do that!” you said. Even if it was small, it was a start.

Mr. Nicholls then turned to a page in his newspaper.

“Oh! Have you seen the papers, dear Y/N?”

He showed you an advertisement. It featured a picture of women in aprons and caps. It had blue letters on the bottom reading “URGENTLY NEEDED.”

“Here…there is an advertisement for something called The Voluntary Aid Detachment. They’re with the Red Cross. Setting up in a big manor house nearby. They’re assistants for nurses and doctors for the war, should soldiers arrive and need help…no need for years of studying.”

You looked at the advertisement and then nodded. Feeling the pull over to you. Even if you couldn’t save James…you could help someone else’s loved ones survive. And who knows? Maybe one day, he would be the one pulled up there and you would save him. He saw his call. And you saw yours.

“I’ll answer it,” you replied.

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the-pastel-wolf-sys · 5 months ago

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🎀~Welcome to our blog~🌸

This is our DNI/BYF list aswell as our intro post

⚠️-Content warning for flashing lights because of blinkies, banners, and dividers! Please also be cautious of our posts and account going forward if you have color sensitivities!-⚠️

⚠️This blog is ran by a traumatic polyfragmented DID system. Please read our DNI before following!⚠️

~DNI~

-Terfs

-Bigots

-Racist

-N@zis/Zionist/Pro-hate/Pro-War

-Radical religious people {no your faith is not the only one that's right}

-Antisemitic/Anti-Palestinianism

-P3dos/P3doshippers {we do not use the terms proship or comship we call it what it actually is}

-Zoos/Zooshippers {Again we don't use proship or comship we call it what it actually is}

-Minors

-Bulliers

-Ableist

-Pro-ana/thinspo

-Anti-abortion

-Radqueers {i.e. Transmeds & MAPS}

-Anti-LGBT

-Anti-fandom

-Anti-ship AKA ship haters

-Anti-Selfship/Anti-selfinsert

-Ship critics {i.e. those who criticize someone for their ship. If you don't like it scroll away or don't int with that person}

-Anti-furry

-Anti-therian

-Anti-agedup characters who are actually aged up

-Anti-littles/Anti-Agere or Petre {we personally don't mind the existence of the ddl/mdl or pet play things considering it is two consenting adults. BUT do not get the wires crossed agere/petre are only SFW where as ddl/mdl and pet play are NSFW}

-Demonizers of "dark" kink {i.e. cnc & knifeplay, if it's not your thing fine but don't demonize those who do partake in it consensually}

-Endos & Endo supporters

-Fakeclaimers/FakeDisorderCringe

-Syscource anything

-Anti-in system relationships

-Anti-recovery and in that similar vein those who believe you need to go through recovery

{More can and will be added to to this DNI list as needed.}

~Extra BYF~

-We don't read DNIs unless we have the intent to follow, the account follows us, or we suspect the account may belong to a minor, Zoo, MAP, or N@zi

-We are a traumagenic polyfragmented DID system

-We will not be putting alter intros on here, most of our alters are listed on Simply Plural and are set to trusted friends only for a reason we won't be changing that here please do not ask

-Bodily we are an adult however we have alters ranging between many ages

-We try to make the socials of ours that we coustomize as accessible as possible however they are made for our enjoyment. If there are flashing lights, clashing colors, or other things we know will or or think might mess with light sensitivities or color sensitivities we will put a warning as a precaution. We will also put warnings for any gore or horror related thing we may post. If there is anything on our account that is a trigger that might need a warning please kindly inform us and we will look into it.

Now that DNI & BYF is taken care of...

🎀~Intro~🌸

We are

The Pastel Wolf System

🎀Host/Body 🌸﹕

ㆍ🌸 Name﹕ Jesper Dean Brekker

ㆍ🎀 Age﹕ An adult via body and mind space

ㆍ🌸 B-Day﹕ Jan 12th

ㆍ🎀 Pronouns﹕ He/They/It/Wolf

ㆍ🌸 Sexuality﹕ Pansexual, Demiromantic, Polyamorus

ㆍ🎀 Gender﹕Trans-masc Non-binary

ㆍ🌸 Religion﹕☦︎ Pagan/Satanist 𖤐

🎀System 🌸

ㆍ🌸 Origin﹕ Traumagenic

ㆍ🎀 Type﹕ DID

ㆍ🌸 Polyfragmented﹕ Yes

🎀Frequent Fronters 🌸﹕

ㆍ🌸 Malliki Jester - He/Clown/It - Gatekeeper

ㆍ🎀 Westley Stone - He/They - Co-Host/Persecutor

ㆍ🌸 Raven Blade - He/Him - Co-Host/Protector

🎀Other Known Disorders 🌸﹕

🌸Depression

🎀Anxiety

🌸Insomnia

🎀CPTSD

🌸AuDHD

🎀Misc 🌸﹕

🌸Into ~"problematic"~ fandoms

🎀Fictive heavy

🌸Gamer

🎀Writer

🌸Cosplayer

🎀Artist

🎀~Our collective system blinkies & banners~🌸

Disclaimer: We didn't make any of these! We found them on here over the past few months and entirely forgot to grab the credits of who made them however all credit goes to the original creators and we don't claim any of these as our own creations! This goes for all banners, blinkies, and deviders unless otherwise stated. If you happen to be or know know who created these we encourage you to nicely inform us so we can give rightful credits.

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fictionkinfessions · 7 months ago

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I would love it if the ghost that keeps screaming in my ear about how I am dar’vod’e and a horrible man would sound less like my older brother. But I guess that’s… the point. To remind me of how shit a vod I was. I killed one of Captain Rex’s men because of an order I could not refuse, and was branded a traitor to our brothers along with my men.

But let me put it this way: It was Fives’ life, or the lives of my Guard. The life of an assumed traitor to save the lives of your men. I am not proud of it- was not proud of it, could never be proud of it. The blood of a brother stains my hands. But… wouldn’t you have pulled the trigger too?

We were dropping like flies on Coruscant. It was just as much an active warzone as any the GAR fought in, just… a different kind of battle. Not with clankers, but with living breathing beings. Sent to break up riots and anti-war protests, making the anti-clone sentiment worse. Patrolling the senate, where they saw us as nothing more than meatdroids and livestock. Guarding the prisons, when CSF decided it was no longer their duty.

There was no help for us from our brothers. Our batchers and squadmates who just made things worse when they arrived on leave, with their drunken messes that we’d have to clean up. Vode An was a myth, a sentiment that faded as soon as you were no longer part of the “frontline”. We had it so ‘easy’ compared to them, didn’t we. Cushy placement on Triple-Zero, natborn food… schmoozing with the senate.

There was no need for the inhibitor chip for me to do what I did to Fives. The blaster wasn’t set to stun.

I may have loved all of our brothers, but I loved my men more.

I’m sorry. I wish that could make up for it.

- CC-1010, “Fox”/“Tens”

[fictive, clone wars]

#fictionkinfessions #clonewarsfictive #starwarsfictive #cc1010fictive #foxfictive #tensfictive #prevabuse #apology #murder cw #death cw #wars cw #mod party cat

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xkaminarix · 1 year ago

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⚡Hiya, Charge Bolt here! ⚡

I'm going to set some rules so everyone knows what they are getting themselves into. ~ This is a fictive blog. Please be respectful of it. ~ If you are a system and want interact, that is totally rad! If you want to personally talk, send me a direct message. This goes for everyone. ~A real person is behind this account. Please respect them as you respect me. ~ No flirting or s3xual stuff. I will not respond to any of it. I will also not roleplay. ~ Ship wars are NOT allowed on this page. Go take it somewhere else. ~ Ask me anything you like. (nothing personal please.) ~ If I don't respond right away, please be patient. You will be answered. With all this said, let's have some fun and share good vibes!

#bnha #denki kaminari #hanta sero #kaminaridenki #boku no hero academia #charge bolt #ask blog

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moved-accounts-btw · 1 year ago

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Oof I’m very sorry someone was mean to you about you’re rewrite, as a Bright fan myself who doesn’t support his author people need to realize the discomfort goes both ways just as some people are uncomfortable with Shaw and rewrites others can also be uncomfortable with character Bright but it’s important to show respect to everyone regardless and simply block and move on if you feel uncomfortable. This whole situation has been very stressful on everyone and it sucks it had to reach so far.

Even if we do that,

Most of the fans have painted some of us in a bad light just for making rewrites. I have been attacked because I was 'following the herd' or because I want to kill off 'Dr. Bright'.

I have a list of people who support this claim and preach how rewrites are bad, or even here to ruin Tumblr. As you said, you can either block us or not interact with most of us (which a lot of people disrespect our wishes by still interacting. One of my friends keeps telling people not to tag their rewrite as "Dr. Bright" because of fictive or traumatizing (victim) reasoning.)

I don't know what the rewrites or the anti-bright people have done, circling around the death threats. I'm purely sorry about that. No one deserves to be in that situation or have their life threatened over a matter that can be avoided. I just think people just need to calm down if this is pushing them to have a full-on war.

In fact, I think people need to get off of Tumblr for a week or until they're mentally stable enough to think about the situation. Also, don't try to add fuel to the flame just because you want one side to be better or worse than the other. Because at the end of the day, no one is going to fucking win. It's a dead character that the site and victims want to push to the side, as many people were harmed by it, and keep the ball rolling. It's not to hide the past; it's not to simply ruin the stories; it's to keep the ball rolling and rewrite a character that was based on someone's kink and lack of common knowledge.

If you want to write bright and give him this arc of 'hey, I'm a good guy who won't do this.', I can't stop you. I'm just a person who is trying to focus on my own mental health and my anomalies, along with my arc. Just respect the victims list and make changes like 'Don't let him possess children' or 'don't let him do this'. Limit the character and basically remove the parts that have become fetishized. Not saying, like, remove anything about him, just you know? Make him better for the sake of not glorifying his possession kink and allowing him to become a minor. A rewrite doesn't even need to be extreme or anything to change; a rewrite can be minor and have the bare minimum of changes.

But in the end, respect doesn't only fall under this; mental health also falls under it. If you're depressed, stressed, or even suicidal about the whole situation, or even attacking someone, you need to get off of Tumblr. You don't have to make a post about leaving; just get off of Tumblr and focus on something else that's much better. School, life, work, writing—everything is better. Don't keep writing if you're not in the best mental state; you're adding fuel to the fire in both situations and setting yourself on fire.

#drama tw #mention of bright

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memwazz · 2 years ago

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MASTERPOST - Short summaries of all my Original Stories and links to their own dedicated Masterposts

SEVEN : DIVISION UNITED

This story is the one I currently focus on.

It follows the Seventh Division, a dysfunctional superheroes team protecting a fictive, slightly futuristic version of the USA ruled by a martial law. Most of the plot revolves around them and the teenage MC Erwan fighting different antagonists with or without special abilities, while trying to handle their chaotic daily life together.

Created circa 2019.

B-CLASS

B-Class is the only project I've completed so far, taking the form of two French novels and their spin-off.

The setting is a contemporary dystopia with a cast system discriminating and exploiting a group of people called the "B-Class". The main character Icare is a privileged journalist from the A who will change its viewpoint on oppression after falling in love with his own domestic slave Riùn. Then comes Abys the ACAB Boy and they all start a revolution 🔥

Very very queer and politic.

Created circa 2017 and completed in March 2018.

[B-CLASS Related] POUR UN RAYON DE SOLEIL

The spin-off I mentioned above focuses on Icare's past relationship with Ryse, a major antagonist in B-Class.

They used to date 5 years before the story and PURS explains how Icare became depressed and suic!d@l after a whole year of abuse.

Created and completed between November and July 2018.

AN EYE FOR AN EYE

This one has a special place in my heart since it's the first story I've ever created back in middle-school. Many things changed in 10 years but it still tells the journey of Daniil who rebels against and has to run away from his former boss.

At the beginning, Daniil works as a bodyguard for an important member of a criminal organization; but he loses his temper and tries to unalive him when he discovers Akito murd€red his late girlfriend 3 years before. And then they both chase and try to k!ll each other 🤷

May include shit like war flashbacks and Japanese mafia idk

Created circa 2012.

DE A à Z

Zephyr and Adriel are two angels who've lived as a couple in Heaven for thousands of years.

But when Babel, an artificial angel, is created by humans and sent to Heaven to communicate with God, everything collapses. Babel manages to kill God and takes Their place to impose his vision of right and wrong, influenced by the humans' misinterpretation of the Bible. From then on, all romantic and sexual relationships are forbidden, forcing the couple to hide.

When Babel discovers Adriel's love letters, he is kicked out of Heaven and has to find allies on Earth to overthrow Babel and get his lover back.

Created circa 2019.

42 tells the story of Mat, a young woman searching for Sara, her little sister who disappeared years ago. Her investigations lead her to "Number 42", a man who just escaped from a lab experimenting on humans. Since Mat's sister seems to be prisoner from the lab as well, the two of them helped by the amoral Director's oldest son, will try to save Sara and 42 himself.

Created circa 2015.

MINIUM Part. 1

This one is pure heroic fantasy; its universe and lore are my most extended so far.

Gailin, the adoptive son of Kel'Daran's king, passed a deal with him and has to save Kel'Daran from the Selv, an humanoid species invading the Kingdom. A mystic prophecy tells the war can't be won without a half-blooded Selv with mysterious powers.

Due to coincidences and quiproquos, Gailin is manipulated by Aldanys, a teenage thief who pretends she's the Chosen One.

Created circa 2015.

MINIUM Part. 2

According to my writing plan, Minium is supposed to have a second part taking place 5 years after the first one.

After Gailin killed his father/king at the end of Minium 1, he is exiled and his mentor Edelia takes Kel'Daran's throne. When a new war is suddenly started against the kingdom, Edelia realises someone she thought had died wants her dead too.

On the other side of the plot, another protagonist named Lavaan predicts a major antagonist's return through weird prophetic dreams.

Created circa 2017.

[Minium Related] ST-ANRIEL

In Minium, Gailin and elves his kind believe in an entity named Altea and the Gods they gave birth to.

The Anriel is the equivalence of their Holy Bible and tells the story of the Gods and how the world was built from the beginning to the end. It takes the form of an anthology of poems and prayers.

Created circa 2017.

[MINIUM Related] JADE ET MOI

Another Minium spin-off, focusing this time on Osvald's coming out and transition as a trans man. The story takes place on sea as "Jade"/Osvald starts his journey as a pirate after running away from home.

Created circa 2018.

[MINIUM Related] GOLDEN-EYED BEAST

GEB is a Minium spin-off telling the backstory of Lavaan, a 12 years old protagonist. Born with a golden eye in a village who fears this feature after a terrible incident with a cruel golden-eyed enemy, he is treated as an outcast since his childhood.

His life changes when Kalras, a mysterious elf with black magic, destroys his village and murders everyone. Being the only survivor, Lavaan is made prisoner and tortured by Kalras but develops a Stockholm Syndrom and falls in love with him.

From then on, Kalras who turns out to be a cult leader, uses him as a slave a pet in a toxic relationship.

Created circa 2017.

[MINIUM Related] LA SAISON DES BOURGEONS

In Minium, Edelia has a little brother named Veidin who cursed himself to save her as a child. The curse caused him chronic pain, blood, heart and bones fragility and he's doomed to a very short life expectancy.

LSDB tells his love story with Jyëlven, another young man who was cursed and has flowers and thorns growing out of his skin.

Created circa 2017.

[MINIUM Related] THE WARMTH OF OUR COLD LANDS

Just like for the Anriel, Genkhìs will have their own religious texts written.

Inspired by vikings, the people of Genkhàr honour Gods similar to Scandinavians. Each one represents a value, the most worshipped one being Ero, God of Bravery.

Created circa 2017.

ODE TO ODD

My first and only story ever to look like a shonen anime lol--

One of the main characters Naemi is a highschooler with anxiety who just wants to live an ordinary and peaceful life.

But her goth and spiritism-obsessed best friend Sayaka accidentally summons Evelgard, a young necromancer in her living-room. Evelgard decides to befriend her and live in her closet, while trying to open a portal to the World of the Dead to save his late sister's soul. The two girls discover a whole new world after meeting necromancers, exorcists, witches and demons.

Created circa 2016.

SACRED DUST

Another heroic fantasy setting, but this universe is different from Minium's !

In this story, each kingdom worships a God-dess supposed to grant it their protection. When Lidala, the Goddess of Telaman, is murdered by a rival God, she turns to dust and leaves a devastated kingdom behind.

Fortunately, one of her ashes gives birth to a child, Saljän, who soon has to become the priest of Telaman. Aged 16, Saljän hates his responsibilities so much he finally runaways and travels around the world with a little demon named Orgos. Their goal is to gather all the Sacred Dusts to resurrect Lidala before it's too late.

Created circa 2016.

BAD ROMANCE

How to define Bad Romance without telling it's my most fucked-up story ? You can't. The two main characters are such assholes I can't name a protagonist, they're both antagonists.

Derek, a criminal, gangster and drug abuser, kidnaps Jay who sent him to jail 8 years before the story. He aims at mistreating him enough for Jay to kill himself, but he soon discovers that this guy who seems to live an ordinary and boring life is as much of a sociopath as him.

They start making each other's life hell then become addicted to each other, fuck, engage in a toxic relationship and even create a gang together at the end of the plot.

Created circa 2017.

LE ROYAUME DE GAHS

My first attempt to deal with astronomy eventhough I don't understand anything about it-

The story takes place in the sky and is about two stars and their father trying to discover why the Cosmic God decided to kill/destroy all the stars. Meanwhile, there seems to be a perturbation in the cosmos and some shooting stars start turning evil for no apparent reason...

Created circa 2024.

WE ARE THE WILD

The Lion King but with wolves, mixed with Prince of Persia and the COVID-19 pandemic before it existed--

The plot follows Sôkah, a 15 years old werewolf and the son of the Alpha, who's accused of murdering his big brother. The responsible is actually Akbar, his father's counselor who evicted the two sons to take his place when he dies.

Sôkah is banished from the pack and wandering in the forest, discovers the human world. Most humans are dying from a deadly virus nicknamed "white plague", and Sôkah gets rescued by the cousins Ludwig and Weiss. Weiss is a scientist who tries to find a cure to save Ludwig who caught the white plague, and soon discovers werewolves are immune to the disease...

Created circa 2018.

STAR-716

This story's plot is not very developed and I don't know much what will happen through it. But it's once again about someone looking for a missing family member, a mother this time.

Sacha is 13 and grew up in a circus, his mother being a dancer there. But she disappeared a year before (probably after a kidnapping) and Sacha doesn't know where to start his researches. He will be helped by Novak, an irresponsible sex-worker and hopeless romantic who fell in desperate love with the mother after sleeping with her once.

Created circa 2016.

DIMENSION OF DESPAIR

Are you surprised if I tell you this one is about another dimension ? No ?

Well, the MC Megane is a single mother who works hard to raise her 4 years old alone. One day, she wakes up in an unknown dimension ruled by Master, a mysterious person with psychic powers who created the dimension with their own mind.

Turns out it's actually a "harem" where Master gathers people and things he loves or wants. Megane will look for a way to escape and save a little girl named Kadd as well as Zoé, Master's "favorite".

Created circa 2018.

UNTIL SEPTEMBER

A more simple and less fucked-up story, I swear !!

Some sort of teenage literature, Until September focused around Nero, who's having hard times as a bullied 9th grader and discovers he has water powers. From then on, he befriends the other elementaries and has to deal with Hilda, the air elementary who wants to sacrifice all the children to create a Philosopher's Stone.

Created circa 2021.

SCARECREW

Another under-developed lore !

It's a basic apocalyptic/zombie novel with a disease turning all the adults into monsters. A bunch of pre-teens who survived and don't even know each other decide to fight together against the threat and to rebuild their own world.

Created circa 2020.

VIC'TEAM

Mostly shitpost, I don't want to turn it into a novel but more like a bunch of comic strips.

It follows the daily life adventures of highschoolers with teenagers problems like love, exams and family with a comedic tone. The MC's main problem is to be named Volvic (nicknamed Vic) and there are a lot of jokes about it, as well as absurd humor.

Created circa 2016-17.

Undeveloped shit with OCs waiting for their twisted up plot

Yeah, I love creating OCs and some of them have a background and design but no story for the moment. I'll just put them here and share random facts about them.

[PERSONAL DAILY LIFE SHITPOST] The ABSOLUTELY UNCHILLING Adventures of a Smol Angry Emo Birb

The parenthesis speaks for itself, I'll gather a few billets or illustrated jokes about funny things happening in my life.

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perpetual-peace · 5 months ago

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Black September (September Hitam)

I finished the reading challenge #BacaBukuSejarahBareng on September with 4 books: 1984 by George Orwell, Bumi Manusia by Pramoedya Ananta Toer, Berita Kehilangan from KontraS, and TEMPO's Investigation Report titled Pengakuan Algojo 1965.

Keep reading to find the review of each books.

1. 1984 by George Orwell — 5 stars

I wasn't a fan of George Orwell until this year, so I haven't had time to delve deep into his political ideology. My very first introduction to his work was when I read Animal Farm. That book's genius enchanted me so badly that the next day I immediately ordered "Homage to Catalonia" and "1984". Despite having both of them since April, only 1984 screamed loudly to me when September came. As an Indonesian who loves history, September was an important month. Although in 1984, Indonesia was mentioned only once, the political satire from this book is actually relatable to what happened in Indonesia in 1965.

If my ego as a politics student speaks, then this book is a good satire toward totalitarianism and not only that, but also to my country's current political situation (as of 10/10/2024).

There is one thing that we as humans do almost all the time, and it is incorrect: separating politics and culture. I wasn't going to talk much about Newspeak and how its grammar can help people to become dull and unintelligent, but I'm going to highlight the brilliance of Big Brother (if he is even real and not a fictive figure made by The Party) and The Party in using politics to redefine cultures, and by saying cultures, it also means the change from Oldspeak (Standard English) to Newspeak. The culture reset The Party was trying to do can determine every aspect of everyone's life.

The Party knows tremendously well the importance of controlling and remaking the culture as they like with their political power. And this narrative that Orwell brought is so genius as to even touch the surface of the most fundamental thing in everyone's life: language. Changing the language can change habits and perspectives. And The Party wasn't even finished with language as the main tool of control. It also uses psychological manipulation and brainwashing. I mean, how many times did we see that Oceania (the country where The Party resides) changed its war enemy from Eurasia to Eastasia? And how fast can the news be changed so that no one can trace that there was an error made by The Party?

I was foolish to think that Orwell would go easy on this book, by giving the reader a slight romance and sweet forbidden love. I was also naïve to think that Winston and Julia would go hand in hand, meeting the Brotherhood and- Jesus, I really was naïve. But of course, it is really Orwell's book when he won't give the wonderful and happy ending closure to the reader.

2. Bumi Manusia (This Earth of Mankind) by Pramoedya Ananta Toer — 5 stars

In these times, it is an enviable privilege when someone possesses the Buru Quartet series by Pramoedya Ananta Toer. Those who have read 'This Earth of Mankind,' the first book of the aforementioned series, should rejoice for being able to enjoy this magnificent novel in its original language. We should also be proud that our nation's dark history was still willingly written with such skill by Pramoedya Ananta Toer, who was continually oppressed by the state through imprisonment and marginalization.

'This Earth of Mankind' is an excellent opening book for the Buru Quartet, providing a solid foundation for understanding Indonesia's journey through this historical fiction. Set in the late 19th century, this book tells the story of Minke, a native Javanese youth (inlander) born into the aristocratic class (priyayi). From the beginning, Minke's character is left mysterious and unclear in origin, though said to come from a priyayi family background. Thus, readers are made curious about Minke, and this curiosity grows along with Minke's journey as a student at HBS or Hogere Burger School.

A spotlight often shone on Minke is how he, as a native, was able to attend HBS and achieve excellent rankings at the school. This was an extraordinary achievement for a native because HBS was mostly filled with totok or pure Dutch and Indo or mixed Dutch. Not only that, Minke was also praised by many for his fluency in Dutch, like a native speaker. This fluency even made his own mother doubt his Javanese-ness.

The main conflict of the novel begins when Minke meets Nyai Ontosoroh, a concubine who, according to Minke, is unlike typical concubines. Nyai Ontosoroh has a very strong character, supported by her proficiency in Dutch and her ability to read Dutch magazines. Minke had never known a Nyai or concubine capable of speaking and (seemingly) being as educated as Nyai Ontosoroh. Minke's heart is also stirred by the beauty of Nyai Ontosoroh's daughter, Annelies Mellema. The meeting of these three is an unusual one, causing all mouths in their town to gossip about them.

'This Earth of Mankind' itself was inspired by Tirto Adhi Soerjo, the Father of Indonesian Press. He was a journalist, writer, and nationalist who lived from 1880 to 1918. Tirto Adhi Soerjo also founded several newspapers such as Medan Prijaji, which in its time became the first newspaper operated by natives in the Dutch East Indies.

This novel writes a scathing critique of Dutch colonialism that occurred in Indonesia, as well as the complexities of racism and classism during Dutch colonialism. Not only that, Javanese traditionalism is also challenged by the modernity brought by Dutch knowledge, making this book not simply place one party in the black camp and the other in the white. In fact, some argue that the Dutch East Indies Government and the Javanese Priyayi who held positions in the Dutch East Indies government were two giant pillars that suppressed the lives of people without positions and noble blood.

Minke's own morality can be questioned. On one hand, he is greatly advantaged by the noble blood flowing within him, allowing him to attend a good school, but on the other hand, he is also disgusted by and curses Javanese aristocracy which he feels greatly demeans other humans. From Dutch school, he learns about individual rights and freedom of thought and opinion, but at the same school, he realizes that no matter how free a person is, they cannot be freer than the colonizers who come to colonize.

Buru Quartet, series which Pramoedya Ananta Toer narrated during his exile on Buru Island, has been praised for many years yet the availability of these books remain limited. It is why I am hoping that may the rumors regarding of Pramoedya’s works’ reprinting in 2025, truly happen. Because it is such a shame for everyone in Indonesia to not knowing this great roman.

3. Berita Kehilangan from various writers compiled by KontraS and Ultimus — 4.5 Stars

Inside of the reading communities spread across X (formerly Twitter), many have agreed to give September a moniker: Black September. This is done to commemorate the enforced disappearances and killings that occurred in September-October 1965 and many that followed during Orde Baru (New Order) Regime. There's also hashtag going online titled #BacaBukuSejarahBareng which then motivated me to pick up history-themed books available on the bookshelf in my room.

I've owned "Berita Kehilangan" since 2021, but as per my usual habit, I waited for this book to "call out" to me to be read. At the right moment, last September, I finally decided to break the seal of this book to enjoy its contents.

But how could I enjoy what I read, if it contains an anthology of heart-wrenching short stories inspired by enforced disappearances to cruel murders? Throughout all the short stories, the main perpetrator consistently points to the government. The government through its racist policies, through its brutal and cruel military apparatus, and through the cultures of enforced disappearances deliberately perpetuated to create an atmosphere of terror, so that society remains submissive and obedient to the government.

This anthology of short stories originated from the "Berita Kehilangan" short story writing competition held during the Week of Enforced Disappearances 2021 (held by KontraS) and participated by 280 writers. There are 15 selected short stories from 15 writers through the competition and 5 short stories from 5 guest writers, that fill this book. All of them stem from real events and experiences of people who witnessed or became victims or were affected or also those who studied the dark history of this nation.

One of the short stories in this book that made me pause for quite a while is the fact that there were forced relocations/abductions of underage children from East Timor during the conflict with Indonesia from 1975-1999. These children were taken by military personnel to Indonesia. Many children then lived in neglect and grew up in poverty, and not a few experienced sexual abuse and forced religious conversion.

There's also a story inspired by the true story of a young Chinese activist, who was found murdered in her home. Ita Martadinata Haryono was a key witness who was to testify at a UN hearing in New York in October 1998. Ita was about to testify about the mass rape of Chinese Women after the 1998 reformation.

4. Pengakuan Algojo 1965 — 4.5 stars

"That ideology (Communism, Marxism, and Leninism) has long been bankrupt. The Soviet Union is in shambles, China is now as capitalist as America. The idea of a classless society is an outdated and futile utopia... In other words, face communism with relaxation. Because that ideology is actually quite ordinary."

This book contains 10 pages dedicated to a "disclaimer" stating that Tempo's investigative report is intended for a higher purpose and not merely to "corner" certain groups or perpetrators of violence. This report is published and compiled to inspire national reconciliation for the victims and families of the 1965 Incident. The book also provides historical facts that many Indonesians have almost forgotten about how military personnel, religious organizations, and thuggish actions could unite to kill hundreds or even millions of people.

This institution was called the Operational Command for the Restoration of Security and Order (Kopkamtib), established on October 2, 1965, to crush the PKI and restore state order that had just been hit by the September 30th Movement. The National Commission on Human Rights, through its investigation, found that Kopkamtib was the main perpetrator of gross human rights violations in the 1965-1966 events.

The format of this book is quite interesting, as it provides a series of interview results and investigations of people who were once involved in the killing of party members and PKI sympathizers, and also highlights the experiences of people who directly witnessed these events. Not only that, several articles from historians and researchers are also included to add insight into the events that occurred 59 years ago.

Nevertheless, this book does not focus too much on cases that befell women at that time. Most of those interviewed as victims were only men (there is only one article with a female source).

#reading #history #indonesian history #book #books #investigation #september hitam #baca buku sejarah bareng #booklr #bumi manusia #1984 #berita kehilangan #pengakuan algojo 1965 #george orwell #pramoedya ananta toer #KontraS #TEMPO #book review

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connectionxterminated · 6 months ago

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carrying on! i think all our 'humanized' mtmte fictives would get along with mash fictives (my source? i am literally rewind and tailgate) (also - post/during war setting 🤝 during war setting [the delphi crew have seen the horrors{their boss fabricated a disease DURING WARFARE to traffick organs and none of them have recovered (im writingabt it)}])

YES. YES THEY SO FUCKING WOULD.

Hm? -Hawkeye Pierce

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kitsune-mika · 1 year ago

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Hi first post i don’t have fans though. Anyways Hatsune Miku more like Kitsune Mika

PLEASE FOLLOW ME IM COOL I COSPLAY IM PRETTY PLEASE

I’m Kay/Mika I use it/its pronouns!!

I am a Mika fictive in a did system and i’m OBSESSED with Shu i’m a giant ShuP I also really like 2wink

Interests:

I like taboo topics specifically like s/h (in a fictional setting), vomit, abuse, noncon, that stuff. EVERYTHING IM INTERESTED IN IS IN A FICTIONAL SETTING🔥🔥🔥

idgaf war winners

theres also some bot creators I REALLY want to be friends with so please do talk to me 🩷🩷🩷 I want to show off my cosplays to u guys

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smolvenger · 2 years ago

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Miss Narracott and The Captain, Part Two (Captain James Nicholls x fem! Reader Miniseries)

Summary: It is 1912. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Link to Part One

Fandom: War Horse

Chapter Word Count: 6K

Chapter Warnings: Some angst and some fluff. Light Slow Burn. Mrs. Narracott being badass. I turn Lyons from Neutral Jerk to Mustache twirling villain. Because it's my fic and I can do what I want. References to lines and scenes from the movie. Nicholls is an angel. Some references to violence.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! Thank you!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp

Spring, 1912

This whole past week you did not see Captain Nicholls back at the shop. He likely had business. You wished to enquire what soldiers were doing here…but it was peacetime. And that was being quite nosy.

A farm never really had a weekend. But Saturday was the only day you could sleep in just a little. Dad insisted that for you.

“Come on, Y/N! I need help with the laundry!” mum called out from the yard.

“Coming in a bit!” you called back from the chair.

You had been repairing clothes that had tears. So far, it looked like Dad’s working pants were decent. Setting down your needle and thread in the basket by your feet, you walked out. As you entered the laundry area, you heard Joey mimicking an owl’s hoot. Both of you jumped and looked around.

“Oh, for goodness' sake!” Mum yelped as she checked around her.

Albert had trained Joey to trot up to him at the sound of it and the horse would bolt from wherever he was. Heaven help whoever was walking about at the same time Joey pranced in the yards! Everyone had to jump out of the way as Joey would hurry to Albert’s call.

But no, you did not worry about getting run over by a horse this time. Both Albert and Joey were standing in the field. They were in the circled off ground before the stable.

Mum lifted a white shirt from the basket of washed clothes. She put it on the line. You found another and did the same.

“Y/N, I want to have a little chat with you…it’s easier to chat when you’re doing laundry, …” Mum announced.

Nervousness soured your bowels. She glanced out at your brother. He went to the stable and retrieved the plow. Then she turned to you.

“You do know I love both of you,” she said.

“Of course, we do!”

“Your father and I tried our best to teach you some good lessons. And there’s one lesson I see Albert applying all the time, but I’ve yet to see it from you…”

You tilted your head as you found a wet apron that needed to dry.

“What do you mean?” you asked as you pinned it up.

Mum went over and cupped your cheek, looking into your eyes.

“Y/N, you cannot keep sacrificin’ yourself for others. Getting a job for all of us is very noble, and yes it has helped…but you cannot keep silencin’ yourself or what you think…I don’t think you really wanted to give all your wages to us…”

“I don’t mind the work, mama, I don’t! And that’s why I got it- to support everyone!” you replied.

She glanced at a dry bedsheet that was pinned up.

“Of course, you don’t. But, let me tell you something…”

She gestured for you to get to the other end. Freeing it from pins, both of you walked forward to fold it up.

“If there’s one thing, I teach you and Albert, it’s this! Everyone all your life will try to tell you what you should think, what you should do!” she guided.

“Why aren’t you telling both of us, then?” you questioned.

“As I said- I see Albert doing it and you not! I know why- I know you’re a woman in this world! I know what they teach us. I’ve been through it when I was your age too, don’t think I did not!” she explained.

She folded the bedsheet sideways and up, placing it in an empty basket.

“But what if it’s a situation where it's not polite to?” you asked.

“I love that you’re a polite girl, Y/N. No shame in good manners or treatin’ others good. There are plenty of times for politeness. Then there are the other times… if someone’s threatenin' or hurtin' you-politeness ain’t always gonna work! You got to fight back!” she said.

“Fight back…” you repeated as you hung up one of your blouses to dry.

“You cannot let others tell you what should or shouldn’t make you happy. And you shouldn’t sacrifice your own self for others all the time. Soon there won’t be anything of you left to sacrifice! You must stand up for yourself, Y/N! Speak your own mind! And tell others what it is you want, especially if they don’t agree with you!”

She got down another dry shirt and pinned it up.

“They tell us to do this or that. I’m sure even the King of England has to do what he’s told sometimes! But as a woman, they’ll try and pressure you to do what pleases them and not yourself! All the time! Y/N…you got to insist on what you want, what you think!”

Albert put the reins on Joey and led him out to the bottom field, vanishing from vision.

“They always tell us women to cut ourselves into bits to make others happy. And I’m telling you, Y/N- don’t! Don’t let them!” mum ordered.

The chickens clucked in the next yard over. The goose crawled under the fence and explored the horse-free circle of grass. You took down a dry sock to fold it.

“Their opinion, what if it…”

“You don’t have an opinion too? Why should anyone else’s matter but theirs? Unless you realize yours is downright stupid!” mum cried.

You chuckled.

“I guess you’re right…”

She put an arm on your shoulder.

“Whatever you think will make you happy…we’ll support you. Albie, Dad, and I…” she promised.

You pressed the sock into your chest. Letting out a deep sigh, you confided to her.

“I haven’t figured out what, I guess…haven’t found my place. I wondered if I could work at the shop for the rest of my life. I...I confess I even wondered about marrying rich! It would help everyone. But that won’t happen, not in Devon. I think I might spend my spinster days here…”

“You don’t have to marry if you don’t want to. I’d rather see you a happy spinster than a miserable wife, Y/N!”

The goose wandered in to nibble at your mother’s petticoat. Mum shooed him away.

“I think I’d like to fall in love. Fall in genuine, real love, have it work out, and marry someday…” you confessed.

“You always were the romantic, girl! If you do marry, it better be for love. I’d want a good man who’ll love you over a rich man any day!” mum responded.

“But I…I don’t know if I want to leave…not yet…” you continued.

The goose went over to the basket and sniffed at it with his orange beak. She opened her arms and let you hug her.

“Then stay here, my dear girl, and figure it out…but don’t let some people order you about just ‘cause you’re a woman! Ain’t nothin’ that makes foolish men quiver like seeing a woman happy on her own terms!”

You smiled as you looked up at her. She pressed a kiss to your forehead before you continued your laundry. You noticed the goose walking under the fence. He began waddling about the yard. He found dad going about his chores and nipped at the ends of his pants. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · That Sunday, you did see Captain Nicholls at church. Many of the new soldiers had come in, filling up the pews with young men. He was not in uniform but in his three-piece suit and tie. And beside him was another gentleman with a mustache. You wished to speak to him, but your family scuttled in when the service began. As everyone gathered hymnals and sang, you eyed him. He let out a smile and a nod of acknowledgment. You did so back. Once the service ended with the final amen, the crowd broke. As you went up to chat with your friends, you noticed Nicholls went up to you between the pews.

“Oh! Y/N…there you are!” he greeted.

“You remember my name?” you asked.

“Oh, of course!” Nicholls said.

“Is this your first church service here? Do you like it?” you asked.

“Yes, indeed! It’s excellent! The choir sounded lovely- never heard one like it! I’ve shaken two dozen hands already. Complete with tea invitations. I’m sure my colleagues can say the same,” he said.

Yes, dozens of families and couples were welcoming the new soldiers in town. The young men were nodding next to the bright eyes and wide smiles of old people who were thrilled at newcomers.

“Nothing like a first church visit to make you feel famous!” you commented.

“Though I confess I would like it more if they had a picnic. I’m quite hungry,” Nicholls said.

“Oh, we have our share of picnics!” you assured him.

“Mrs. Collins promised me a welcome basket next week with her own famous bread, even!” he said, pointing her out.

The very old lady, next to her equally old husband, was shaking the hand of the mustachioed soldier.

“We could spare a few of the crops and eggs. It’s not much of a welcoming basket, but it’s something,” you offered.

“Crops? Are you from a farming family?” he asked.

Mouth frowning a little, you nodded.

“I’m a farmer’s daughter,” you confirmed.

You knew Nicholls was several stations above you. He had a genteel occupation versus the lowly farming Narracotts. Some of the upper-class people you met in the past were polite, but arrogant in their knowledge of who held the upper hand.

Nicholls was neither. His face remained soft and smiling. If he had any bad opinions about you, it was hidden.

“I think any welcoming basket is better than none! Especially with some grown, natural produce fresh from the ground! I would enjoy it…and the horse. If I recall correctly, there are horses with your family?”

“On our-our farm? The horse-oh-we call him Joey! I barely mentioned him!” you remembered.

“You said your brother had a horse, Miss Narracott! I am dearly fond of the creatures myself if you haven’t guessed from the sketchbook,” he added.

“I should hate to be repetitive, but perhaps you should come over for tea and see Joey- a beautiful, beautiful horse! He’s gentle for the most part unless he hears a commotion, or the mood fancies him!”

“Then I shall be glad to, Miss,” he replied.

He then said his goodbyes and left. But where on earth was your family? It was far too crowded today. You already made your rounds to greet your friends who went here. You began to head outside the doors.

Though as you left for the entrance, who did you run into, but the Landlord. His red, walrus mustache looked combed today. Overdressed in his black and white plaid coat and waistcoat, not a surprising fashion choice for him. He held his bowler hat in one hand. You saw attached to his waistcoat an ornate, golden pocket watch dangling. He picked it up and examined the time and then turned his head to you. Steps skidding out of bumping into where he stood.

“Oh- I’m sorry, Mr. Lyons!” you excused.

Feet shuffling backward, you bowed your head. He turned to see you.

“None taken! Only glad the service ended on time for once! But you did nothing at all wrong,” he said. He spoke with warmth. Not like when he discussed matters of rent with your father.

“Mr. Lyons how are you today?” you asked.

“I am well. And may I say, you do look radiant today, Miss Narracott. Is that a new dress you have on today?” he asked.

Something about the way he was smiling at you felt wrong. It was too wide. Too friendly. Too...nice. You glanced down at your dress. Attempting some form of modesty though you were entirely covered with hat, dress, and gloves.

“Just a hand-me-down from mum’s family,” you responded.

“Lovely on you all the same.”

It struck you that though he did have a wife, she died long ago. And the mourning period was long since over, which meant…

Slight panic gripped your turning stomach. Dear Sweet Jesus- the man was actually flirting with you! You held your gloved hands. But, considering that he had money and a higher station…was he using his position to do what he wanted? How crude! What would your family think?

For now, you only smiled, gripping your hands tighter.

“Mr. Lyons, I thank you for your generous compliment. And I hope your son is well too. Though I am afraid I must leave- there are still chores to finish back home,” you excused.

“Ah, so Sunday is no day of rest?”

“No, it is not,” you confirmed.

You wished you could have added “thanks to your prices!” at the end of that. But you bit your tongue instead.

You dipped your head and left. Despite the familiar faces you passed, your mind spiraled elsewhere. Questioning if this was reality or some odd dream you had. You caught mum gossiping with some friends. Dad and Albert were behind her. Dad turned to you.

“Hey- there you were! Was bout wonderin’ if you vanished, Y/N! Ah- let’s head home, girl,” he greeted.

As the four of you began walking, you kept your head down. Replaying the moment with Mr. Lyons a dozen times.

“You got a troubled look about you. What is it?” Albert asked in your ear. He slowed his pace to meet yours.

“I’ll tell you when we’re alone…” you said. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · “Flirting!” cried Albert.

After some chores, you two would go for a walk outside. Especially on a sunny day like today. It was the hour you and Albert could discuss anything. Especially without snooping, overhearing parents.

It was a day that had gentle sunlight as it glided across the sky. The breeze was cool, but slight. The green grass swept through eternity like a green ocean. Tall blue mountains rose from the ground a distance away, kissing the blue sky above you. In the distance from the hill, the town looked so small. One could crush the church bell tower with their thumb and forefinger. You could even see the blue line of the river stretch out from your view. The forest skittered away, keeping the town and hills snug like it was a wall. They went on forever until they vanished to the horizon. Across the green fields, hundreds of white sheep grazed about for their Sunday lunch of fresh spring grass. Ignoring the whistles of their shepherds to feast and bleat about each other. The church bells pealed the hour from far away, but it echoed up here.

This time your company had a third party. Albert held Joey by the reigns as he walked. But the horse’s ears did perk towards you as if this interested him as well.

“I could have sworn it, yes…” you answered.

“Well, what do you think of him?” Albert asked.

“Mr. Lyons is…prosperous. He…you see how he runs things. It’s not fair dad doesn’t pay his rent. It’s not fair he wants to take our Joey too. But it’s what Lyons has to live on. That’s how his occupation works," you replied. It could be worse.

Joey brushed his lips as if in dismissal of his potential owner.

“But, Y/N, do you like him?” Albert asked.

You paused.

“Not really.”

You looked down at the town below. Birds sang their carefree songs over your head. You noted a few blue wildflowers.

“Lyons has a son, doesn’t he?” you asked.

“Yes- David’s his name!” Albert responded.

You bent down and began picking a few. You put them in your apron pocket and then went up and looked at Albert.

“Every meeting that boy stands there. Doesn’t even do anything! He just sneers at everyone all the time!” you commented.

“Andrew calls him air-nose! Cause his nose is always in the air, the big snob!” Albert teased.

He mimicked the gesture with a perfect sneer. You smiled. But then your original idea caught you. You put a hand in your pocket to touch the flowers as your smile faded with your words.

“How old’s David?”

“Fifteen-Same as me,” Albert replied.

So that meant Lyons was old enough to be your father. You let out a sigh.

“Maybe it was just flirting and he'll move on and forget it. Maybe it’s my imagination…” you dismissed.

Joey flicked his tail behind him. Albert kept one hand to pat his long snout.

“If it ain’t, don’t worry, Y/N. If he or any old goat ever tries something funny with you, tell me. I don’t care if he owns the place or not. I’ll box his ear off!”

“Thank you!” you wished.

You stopped to pet Joey, gently touching his long, copper neck. Grateful the horse was now used to you and softened at your touch.

“And please train Joey to kick him. Hard,” you added.

“You bet!” Albert laughed.

Your brother stopped petting his horse to give you a half-hug. Then you both continued walking your path. Your skirt grazed past some long grass and floated in the breeze with it. Noticing another bunch of pretty wildflowers, you both paused to gather some up and put them in your apron pocket.

“So, Y/N I finally got a name for Goose- Harold! What do you think? Fits him, doesn’t it!” Albert announced.

“He definitely looks like a Harold to me!” you agreed.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · Summer, 1912.

It was a hot July day. Still hot as your shift ended and you left. Grateful for the breeze as you left town and walked up the hill to home. Much to your surprise, you saw two horses before the stone fence you did not recognize. One was a speckled one that chewed on dandelions. The other was an intimidating black stallion that shook its mane and kicked the grass.

As you opened the gate, Albert came running up.

“Y/N! Y/N! We have guests! Guests for tea!” he cried.

“Who?”

“These fellows- soldiers! They were watchin' the lands on duty! Then they found our farm and stopped by! One says he knows you!”

“What!?” you cried.

You immediately walked inside. There was your mother just putting the kettle on.

But there he was, Captain Nicholls, still in uniform. Sitting right at your table! And next to him was the gentleman with a mustache. As you walked closer, you saw the mustachioed man take off his hat. He was only barely shorter than Captain Nicholls. You took note more of his appearance- he had dark hair, as opposed to Nicholl’s auburn hair. But both had high cheekbones.

“Oh- more company!” replied the mustachioed man.

But Nicholls himself stood up, as did his companion.

“Miss Narracott! We’re glad you’re here in time!” Nicholls greeted.

“We’re glad to have you- both of you!” you replied.

Your head turned to the gentleman.

“And may I have an introduction, please?” the gentleman asked.

He smiled and then reached for a handshake.

“Stewart. Major Jaimie Stewart,” he introduced himself.

“Miss Y/N Narracott, pleased to meet you.”

The kettle boiled, the leaves brewed, and tea was served. Father even came in to talk. Everyone sipped as everyone began to question the two soldiers. They didn’t brag about their triumphs in battle. They spoke of their daily lives.

“Fell off him! Then the horse only galloped away! I fell right on my bum in front of our general- there!” Steward finished.

Even Dad laughed. He got out a pipe and lit it.

“So, tell us, where do you fellows both come from? Your families?” he asked.

“Parents both fell ill and died when I was a child,” Stewart explained.

You set down your white and blue porcelain cup.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you commented.

“I was raised by my aunt and uncle in London. I had a small family. But that’s not the case for Jim, here!” Stewart said.

He patted Nicholl’s back. He smiled, his eyes bright as he explained.

“I was born in Somerset. My mother was once a pianist and would still give lessons in the town and play at church. Father is a lawyer, but he had a soft spot for books and plays. They met at a little theatre club- she would play piano, and he would act. I’m the oldest of five brothers and sisters.”

“Five!” you cried. It was a lot to have just one, headstrong brother!

“You get quite used to it! We still write to each other all the time!” he replied with a small laugh.

You then smiled.

“I bet it was quite busy!” Mum said. She went to the kitchen and pulled out biscuits on a plate.

“Yes, indeed it was!” He replied.

Nicholls then accepted a biscuit and put it on his saucer. It was the plainer kind. The cheaper kind. He bit into it but showed no grimace. Stewart helped himself to two.

“Sorry it’s not much, we weren’t expecting company…” mum apologized.

“Oh, not at all! These are very good!” said Nicholls.

“You do make an excellent tea as well, Mrs. Narracott,” Major Stewart complimented.

She beamed at them as she finished her drink. Then mum began to return everyone’s cups to the kitchen.

“Now that we’ve had tea, may I see the horse, please?” Nicholls asked.

The soldiers, your brother, and you all walked out to the field. Albert opened the stable door and out trotted the horse.

“Joeys got a brushin’ today! Shiny as a smile on a weddin’, he is!” Albert bragged.

“Leave him to Jim, here. He’s the expert!” Stewart said.

“Yes, I’d love to look at him!” Nicholls added.

Out to the small field, guarded by the stone fence. There Joey stood, eating grass and brushing his tail.

“Ah-here he is!” Albert pointed out.

He put his hands to his mouth and let out the owl call.

“Gentlemen-watch out!” you warned the soldiers. You put out an arm to keep them back.

Joey’s ears picked up. Thankfully he didn’t break into an overexcited gallop. Only a cheerful prance. Nicholls walked forward to the horse. He offered out a hand. You wondered if Joey’s head would buck or make a sudden reaction. He did none. He allowed Nicholls to pet his muzzle. He smiled as he studied the horse- his eyes and his shape.

“He’s an excellent fellow. Very fine!” Nicholls praised.

“Nowhere near Topthorn,” muttered Stewart.

He looked down at the horses’ feet and then the teeth. How touching to see such an excitable being would be calm in the presence of this man. Allowing for gentle pats without resistance.

“Does he ride?” Nicholls asked.

“Not yet- almost there. Got to teach him to plow, is all!” Albert explained.

Not is all. He had to. All bets were on this animal. If he failed, there would be no more of the home you knew for so long. You and your family would have to beg relatives to squeeze you in. Or beg on the streets…

“He’s going to make a fine plow horse we…we hope…” you finished.

The two men turned to you.

“Hope?” repeated Stewart.

You nodded. Tears welled in your eyelids.

“The Landlord says he’ll take the farm and horse too if Joey’s unable to plow the crops for our rent…excuse me…” you said, feeling the sadness overwhelm you.

You turned around, taking three steps away. You began wiping tears with your hand and sleeve. Then you looked up and saw Nicholls offering a handkerchief from his pocket.

“Here, Miss Narracott,” he said.

You accepted it and began to wipe it off. You turned back around. Albert let go of the reins to let Joey trot around.

“My sister was always the worrier-but she’ll be grinnin' and laughin' in no time! Why? Because Joey is perfectly able to! He’s almost there!” Albert declared.

Stewart folded his arms and looked up and down the horse.

“He definitely has the strength to. how is he doing?” he asked.

“Just won’t move, sir- just trots around the bottom field. Or stands. He doesn’t like the plow on ‘im, sir. But I noticed somethin’- he likes it when I imitate things! He ate oats after I’d pretend to eat ‘em!” Albert explained.

Both Nicholls and Stewart returned to the horse. Joey stopped to snack on some grass.

“If he won’t move, try a bit of the horsewhip. Just a light touch. It will keep him moving,” Nicholls advised Albert.

Stewart looked around.

“Where does he have to plow?” he asked.

“The bottom field,” you replied, pointing that way.

The four of you walked there. It was a long, large field with dead grass and filled with rocks. How pitiful and impossible it seemed to you. Stewart leaned down to the ground, inspecting the dirt.

“Don’t you think if there’s water, it’ll be better? Make mud, make the blade move!” Stewart suggested.

“Well-did you hear that, Albie! Those are good ideas!” you said.

Albert nodded.

“Will keep them in, sir!” he vowed.

“Well, we’ve overstayed our time! Should we start going back, Jim?” Stewart asked.

“Of course, we should!” Nicholls replied.

Stewart went back inside with Albert to say his goodbyes. But still outside, gazing at the rocky field, Nicholls turned to you.

“Don’t fret about it, Miss Narracott,” he said.

You returned his handkerchief, which he placed in his breast pocket.

“I’m so sorry for crying in front of you officers,” you mumbled.

“There is no need for shame, Miss. You’re in a frightening position,” he comforted.

“I’m afraid…we’ll lose our home, our life…” you added on.

“Joey is more than capable of plowing. He has the ability- Albert just has to train him in the right way. He must figure out what works.”

“I just think sometimes my life’s slipping away from me and I can’t do anything about it,” you confessed.

The chickens passed the front yard, clucking away. The wind whistled in your ears, cooling you from the sun.

“Do you know of any way you can help Albert?” Nicholls asked.

You blinked.

“I could…I could pick up on some of the chores Albie does. I can feed the chickens more and check on Joey’s stable for water and food. To buy him time to train. It isn’t much…” you sighed.

Nicholls smiled at you.

“It will make a difference. That will make you feel better. And in control.”

“Thank you, Captain…for the handkerchief, your words, everything,” you said.

Both of you began to walk back inside. The gentlemen put their caps back on their heads.

“When are Albert and Joey going to continue to try plowing?” Stewart asked.

“Tomorrow morning. Starting at dawn,” you answered.

“Then…by all means, if we can be there to help, we shall!” Nicholls promised. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · You hurried from work back home. You had to see how plowing was going- you had to. But to your great surprise when there was a crowd of people already at your property. And normally you weren’t used to massive company on your lands! Men and women, rich and poor and between, old people and little children, all gathered to see the field. They leaned against the fence that protected the bottom field. They were watching the attempted plowing like a circus!

Albert was right there with Joey. He put on a mock plow like the one around his horse. Albert’s shirt was drenched with sweat. If they began at dawn, they must have been at it for hours by now. Joey was not motivated to run. The horse stopped. The crowd all began to gossip, stare, jeer, and cheer. Some were even taking bets among them, swapping prices for if the field got plowed or not.

“Come on…come on- the whip!” you urged.

Albert used a whip and that made Joey move. He trotted forward. The blade moved across the field. But it only dug a few inches. Not deep.

Then Joey stopped.

In the back, you saw dad and Lyons sitting on a rock, watching. Lyons turned to your father.

“I’ll give you a day to gather everything even, make the arrangements…” the landlord reasoned.

You scowled, but only gripped the fence tighter than say anything. Then you ran forward to the shed and retrieved a water can, still heavy with water.

Walking out to the field, you watered the ground before the blade. Then you turned to Albert and Joey.

“Here…it should help…Albie, cup your hand, you need it!” You offered.

You already smelt the stench of labor from your brother. He cupped his hand and drank. Cupping your own palm, you offered the water to Joey. You noticed the sweat on the horse’s coat too. He lapped his large tongue on your mouth. You couldn’t help but smile at the tickling sensation.

“I can keep pumping from the spout- just holler!” you offered.

You dumped the rest of the water in a path before the plow blade.

Looking around the crowd. You heard that most were cheering the two of them on.

“Go on, Albert! You can do it! Come on- you can do it!” they shouted.

When you looked in the group, sure enough, you saw Stewart. Nicholls was right beside him. Still in uniform from being on duty. Nicholls then turned to you.

“Miss! How are you- how was work?” he asked.

“Very boring compared to this! But look!” You pointed.

The blade sunk better into the ground you managed to water. It was a little, but better than nothing. You heard a couple of claps and whistles.

“Your ideas- they’re working!” you thanked Stewart.

As Albert brought on the whip. He cracked it a little harder. It made Joey trot forward for a minute. But he was still struggling- it was difficult, rocky land. You noticed this time the horse was struggling- he was using his strength to the weight of the plow. Perhaps it was too heavy for him in the first place!

“Oh, dear god, I cannot stand it!” you cried.

Your house, your future, everything was on this! Nicholls then looked at you.

“Then you know what to do- keep watering the ground, Miss Narracott!” he reasoned.

“But…”

“Consider this an order from a captain,” he added.

You nodded.

“Then yes, Captain Nicholls, I will…”

You then ran to the pump in the front yard. You put the can under the spout and began to pump out water. Your movements were quick and desperate. Your family’s life depended on it. Nearby was a bucket empty of chicken feed. You added it below and pumped water into it for good measure. You were grunting from the effort. You were sweating and the bottom of your work skirt was dirty- but did that matter at that moment? Dirt could wash off later.

“It’s heavy- here- would you like help?” Nicholls offered, walking up.

“Yes…I would- carry it out to the field and back, that’s all!” you pleaded.

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Narracott!"

He followed you out and both of you watered the ground near the blade of the plow. As you backed off, sure enough, Joey moved under Albert’s whip and the blade dug. Some dark clouds gathered above you. Many stopped squinting from the shade.

Then once it got to dryer ground, it was harder to go through. Joey struggled to move the plow, neighing with the effort. The crowd was beginning to disperse. There was a smirk on Lyons's face. How you wished you could strike him and wipe it off! You grabbed your skirts and frowned.

But as a few people walked away- some stayed. There was Si Easton and his son, Andrew- your closest neighbor and Albert’s oldest friend. A few optimistic locals. Lyons, David, their servant, and the motorcar. Stewart and Nicholls remained, their faces both white. Your feet screamed for you to sit after work, but you were frozen in place. Dad slumped as he sat on his rock. Mum ran out, her knitting still gripped in her hand. It felt as if your fate was sealed when…

There was a boom of thunder. You looked up. The dark clouds covered the sky. There was a first putter of drops. Lyons and his son fled to their motorcar for shelter. You looked at the two soldiers.

“I’ll fetch some umbrellas- we have two!” you suggested.

You ran and got them out, already your legs were tired from all the dashing about. You handed the umbrellas to them.

“Here, stand with us- where it’s dry,” Nicholls offered.

“Thank you,” you replied.

He held the umbrella and opened it. You were grateful for the shelter. Rain pelted from above against the umbrellas. You stood next to Nicholls as Stewart began to cup his hands to cheer.

It then hit you how close you both were to Nicholls. Too close for just a brushing of clothes. He could touch you with his bare hands. You felt warm and shaky and nervous. Your stomach burst into a hundred butterflies dallying about in your guts. You glanced at him as he looked at the field. How handsome his profile was- a triangular nose, thick lashes, pink lips. You could smell the sun from his uniform. Then you forced your eyes forward. You remained standing.

Stewart then shouted.

“COME ON, ALBERT! JOEY! NOW! Now while it’s wet! Look!”

Albert looked around. The ground was moistened by the rain. And movable.

With a determined shout, Albert gave the whip another crack. Joey broke into a gallop. You gasped-the blade cut through the ground like a knife cutting chocolate cake.

It was getting plowed properly. Joey kept running. Some shouted at him to avoid the bigger rocks. But they shouted in vain. The blade cut clean through the biggest rocks on the field!

The leaving crowd then returned. They whistled and broke into applause that rivaled the thunder. Men tossed their caps into the air and caught them. Joey kept running, Albert behind, cheering along. Dad was smiling- the biggest smile you had seen in ages. No one seemed to care about the rainstorm drenching them. Lyons pursed his lips beneath his red mustache. His servant held his umbrella once he left his motorcar, jaw hung low. Mum clutched her knitting to her heart and grinned.

You broke from the umbrella and ran to give her a hug. She hugged you back.

‘He…he did it…the bottom fields going to have crops! It’s getting plowed!” you cried.

“Oh, you helped them- that’s my girl and my boy- that’s both of you!”

“I’m so relieved, mum!”

“So am I!”

You ran to the rock, taking dad’s hands.

“It’s plowed! It’s plowed!” you cheered.

“It’s plowed! And I’ll need help seedin’ it! Might as well start after the storm!” he said, blinking as rain pelted him.

With a laugh, you hugged your father and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll help you dad- be glad to!”

Glancing back, you saw the soldiers smiling. They walked forward, offering shelter from the umbrellas.

“As I said- he’s a fine, strong horse,” Nicholls said.

“You were right Captain, thank you.” You replied.

“Then we’ll see you about. Give Albert our congrats,” Stewart said.

They returned the umbrellas, which you held with both hands. Nicholls smiled at you as he tipped his cap and left with the Major. Your mother returned to the fence to watch, clutching her knitting in one hand. She did not care for the wet strands of hair blowing in her face.

Lyons, his servant holding his umbrellas at his heels, approached her.

“I’d not let a child of mine slip in the mud alongside a plow blade. He could lose a foot!”

Mum turned to him. With the fury of an ancient goddess, she aimed the sharp knitting needles at Lyons. Both Lyons and the servant backed off. You couldn’t help but keep smiling.

“You’ll likelier lose an eye, Mr. Lyons, if you carry on prating at me how to manage my son! Or my family Or my plow or my horse or my field or my farm!”

She ran back to the gate. You opened one umbrella for both of you. But she kept, running out of the way of the shelter. Cheering on boy and horse.

“Come on Albie! Push on through!” she yelled.

You glanced back at Lyons from beneath the umbrellas.

“You will listen to her. She’ll do it.” You added on.

“I’ll say this- the Narracott men are stubborn fools, but at least the women have some sense in them- both of them,” Lyons replied.

He tipped his hat and smiled, still watching from his window as the motorcar drove off. You tried to keep your eyes on the field finally getting plowed at last. Though to how much he was looking at the field or looking at you, you’d rather not think about.

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fireandspiceland · 3 years ago

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Nation America discovering hes gay in a war scenario? (Doesnt have to be with another nation bit if so Russia)

okay so it took me a while to find a good way to approach this because due to my lack in interest while I was in school and very boring teachers I have like zero knowledge about american and russian history. but uhm. heres a fictional little war setting :)

-> mentions of war (duh), feelings, this is kinda sad tbh, first kiss, absolutely no historical accuracy or relations to any real life events

"Fuck!" America cried out, but immediately gritted his teeth when the sharp pain eased slightly. He took a few deep breaths through his nose, trying to relax his body and calm down. By now he should be used to this, but the thick girth of Ivan's cock spreading him open still always came as a surprise.

It’d been nearly a year since he had left home, about 9 months that he knew Ivan, and precisely 147 days since they had come up with this arrangement. It had been winter, the freezing cold gnawing at their clothes, their skin, their bones. It had been the biggest cliche Alfred could imagine to happen, but if they hadn’t wanted to freeze to death they had had to share the little warmth that still was radiating from their sore bodies. Getting out of the layers of clothes and wrapped up in each other’s limbs, a pile of dirty uniforms, and worn out sleeping bags had been a fight on its own. But it had saved their lives that night, which was more than some of their comrades could claim.

When morning had approached, the storm had already subsided and Alfred had woken up to the sound of Ivan’s uneven breath and squirming. Only when the sounds coming from Ivan had started to become a little louder, Alfred had identified them as moans rather than whines. He remembered how he had suddenly felt a cold shiver run down his spine when Ivan’s rather prominent erection had been rubbing against his thigh. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, the exhaustion, the constant fear of dying or just overall insanity taking over, but Alfred wasn’t grossed out then. And he wasn’t grossed out now.

Now that he was clawing to the edge of the sink he was bent over in the small tent that served as a bathroom, while his comrade repeatedly thrust into him.

Alfred tried not to focus on the act itself, as he always did. Thinking about how they were two men who fucked each other for the sake of it, for the lack of better options, and to forget about the world outside for a moment.. it wasn't something he wanted to put too much thought into.

A quick look back confirmed that Ivan's eyes were pressed shut, tongue darting out to wetten his lips that were dried out from panting. Alfred wondered who Ivan had on his mind while he fucked him. They never talked much about their private life. Was there someone waiting for him back home? A girlfriend? A fiancé? Maybe even a wife? Did he have childre-

"Ah! That's.. god.."

Alfred's entire body had jerked forward when Ivan grazed his prostate, hitting the edge of the sink into his lower stomach, but the pain was immediately overridden by pleasure. Strong hands gripped Alfred's hips and pulled him back, thumbs caressing his spread cheeks as Ivan's thrust became faster and deeper.

With a muffled groan Ivan spilled into the condom, his grip bruising Alfred's pale hips. When Ivan's cock had stopped twitching inside him, Alfred cleared his throat, pulling Ivan from his orgasmic bliss.

"S-sorry.."

Ivan shakily removed his hands from Alfred's body and slowly pulled out before getting rid of the condom. Alfred took a moment to catch his breath before straightening up from his crouched position and pulling the bottoms of his uniform and underwear back up.

"Wait, Fredka.. You're.."

With a vague gesture Ivan referred to the obvious bulge straining Alfred's pants. He tried to dismiss the comment with a gesture of his own and a forced smile, but when Ivan approached him and freed his erection again, his throat went dry.

"What are you..? It's really not.."

"No, Fredka. We are comrades. We have each other's back, no? I shall return what you did for me. I don't like being indebted when I don't know how long I'm alive to return the favour."

For a moment Alfred studied the look in Ivan's eyes, but he couldn't find anything else than genuineness. He gave a curt nod before Ivan sank to his knees and took a hold of his hard cock, stroking it slowly.

The ground was cold and uninviting, but Ivan's pride and sense of duty didn't allow him to leave Alfred behind without taking care of the other man's needs as well. It didn't matter if it was out there on the battlefield or in here in the small tent, Ivan wouldn't leave his comrade behind. He wrapped his lips around the tip of Alfred's length, sucking gently while he kept stroking the shaft. His eyes were closed, but he looked up when he felt fingers gently carding through his hair.

Alfred's eyes were pressed shut, his mouth covered by one hand to avoid letting the entire company partake in their activities, when he felt Ivan's hand on his own at the side of his head. His eyes flew open at the gentle touch, but Ivan kept sucking and stroking unperturbed, only showing Alfred that he can use his mouth just like he had used him a few minutes ago.

Gradually, Alfred tightened the hold he had on Ivan's head, fisting his hair as he guided his mouth up and down his cock. He wanted to close his eyes again and think of.. what did he want to think of again? Watching his length disappear between Ivan's lips was almost hypnotic, strands of fair hair whipping back and forth, his nose close to touching the curly pubes.

Ivan opened his eyes when Alfred forced himself deeper down his throat, making him choke and tear up. The way Ivan's mouth and throat constricted around Alfred's cock sent a hot wave of pleasure through his body. He kept watching Ivan as he quickened his pace and couldn't stop looking at the man at his feet. He was beautiful. The glassy eyes, flawless skin, soft hair, plush lips.. Oh, those lips. He wondered how they would feel. How it would feel to kiss the man who had saved his life a few times since he met him. The man who was always at his side, who he trusted with his life.

"Ivan.. Please.."

Alfred yanked him off his cock at the collar of Ivan's jacket and up into standing position, before pulling him into a heated kiss. Ivan stiffened for a moment, too shocked to do anything but let Alfred kiss his wet lips. When the initial surprise had worn off and Alfred was about to pull back, Ivan grabbed the back of his head to kiss him again. His other hand was still stroking Alfred's cock, movements now getting faster as Alfred thrust into his hand.

"Fuck, I'm gon-"

The sentence ended with a moan that Ivan swallowed. He kept his focus on the sensitive head of Alfred's cock, rubbing it with his thumb until he had to bite Alfred's lip so he wouldn't let the entire company know about his climax.

Alfred had quickly cupped one hand over the tip of his cock so as to not stain their uniforms. He fell back against the sink, making it the one thing that kept him on his legs once again. Only when Ivan was sure Alfred had ridden out his orgasm, he let go of his lips and stepped away.

He gave Alfred a lopsided smile and straightened out his uniform, while the other man could only watch him in shock and awe. Awe about Ivan's effortless beauty, and shock about the realisation that he was about to fall head over heels for a man who he might spend the rest of his life with.

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blorbosexterminator · 3 years ago

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Can you recommend books written by contemporary authors that you consider good literature?

Sure! As contemporary is such a wide-term, I'll try to stick to books published within the past two decades (with inevitably a few books from the 80s and 90s making their way in) or whose author are still writing/still alive.

Zabor or the Psalms by Kamel Daoud (2017). It's a flawed book, as many on this list are. It's originaly in French, being its first flaw. And it slightly loses orientation towards the end, in my opinion. But it's still very much worth the read. The story concerns "Zabor", who believes (or is!) that he holds peoples' lives in his hand, or more accurately in his writings. So the entire book is very much concered with the art of writing, with literature, its power, limitations, etc. Being set in Morocco, it's also concerned with colonialism, religion, faith and God and all that ordeal, and it's tied pretty well with its main themes. Things become more complex when Zabor's father, who abandoned him as a boy, gets fataly sick and his other family members recluse to Zabor as a last chance to prolong his life. It can be a tedious read in a way, the prose is obsessive, repetitive, elaborative, urgent, and frantic. Which as ostensious as it can get, fits REALLY well with the book (and are all words that describe the main character). Perfect form and content complementing each other to serve the same end. I haven't yet read anything else of Daoud, so I'm not sure whether it's his personal style or designed like this for this one particular novel, but what matters is that it works really well. The novel is overall really enjoyable.

Tyll by Daniel Kehlmann (2017). A pretty ambitious novel that covers the Thirty Years' War through the use of the Jester Tyll Ulenspiegel. That sounds slightly wrong. Tyll isn't a mere propp here to allow the largely non-linear narrative to jump from one place to the other. He's an incredible depiction of a resilient, mocking, cruel, ambitious trickster. The novel crosses roads with superstition, folklore, magical realism, the pursuit of science, art, and power, all while covering a pretty turbulent period that's difficult to grasp. It's somewhat funny, dark, and also emotional without ever getting sentimental.

The Plains by Gerald Murnane (1982). This is a book difficult to speak or write about. It's just an experience I highly recommend you go through. It's a book concerened with obscurity, and more originally than anything I've ever read, disfamiliaries anything possible; I can't promise you that you would have any idea what the narrator is talking about at any given point, but that doesn't matter. The premise is deceptively simple: a filmmaker takes a journey into a fictive inner Australia to research his original screenscript titled The Interior and to receive patronage for his film that is sure to depict "The Plains" in a way nothing has ever had before. There's very little plot, dialogue, or even named characters (not even the narrator is named) but that doesn't make it at all a boring or tedious read. And it creatively concerns itself with a myriad of themes regarding culture, borders, the obsession with distinctinvness, the endless search for meaning, uttering the unutterable, all within a mirage. The prose is beautifully, neatly, elegantly and complexly clear, without ever forsaking the Obscure it's dealing with. (In the back of my head there's a connection with Conrad's Heart of Darkness that's yet too elusive to capture.)

The Last Wolf & Herman by László Krasznahoraki. ( 2009): I'd recommend a lot by Krasznahoraki but this is a good place to start. There are two short novellas in the 2016 translated edition, this one and Herman, thematically somewhat connected but are pretty much stand-alones. The Last Wolf is a 70 pages one sentence of an ex-philosophy professor telling a bored Hungarian bartender in some deadbeat German bar the story of how he got a really generous invitation to Extremadura from a foundation that wants him to write about the region in its new transformative age, which leads him to a rabbit hole with the last wolf of the region that's proclaimed to have been killed in 1983 but which has a much more complex story the narrator gets increasingly obsessed and affected by. The thing about it is this inexplicable melancholy that takes over the narrator is very easily transmitted to the reader as well. The style is just Krasznahoraki really, you either like it or you don't, but it's definitely not this indecipherable, difficult or tedious style I've sometimes seen it proclaimed as, it's actually really gripping and does a really good job of crystalizing the inarticulable without persistenting on articulating it and thus mutilating it. Also again, is emotionally honest without ever nearing sentimentality.

The Dove's Necklace by Raja Alem (2010). This is a pretty peculiar novel that might not always be easy to stay on the same line with yet definitely worth it. It starts with a woman found dead and naked in a Meccan gritty alley, and you're being told the story by the alley itself. Then it just gets more and more complicated in every possible way, with dozens or so characters, different povs, etc. It's really grand in scope and lives up to that ambition in every way and in my opinion does every theme it takes (which are are a lot of them) justice. The prose is some of the best I've read in recent years. I would recommend though, if you are fluent in another language than English to look up that translation. The English translation is fine if it goes down to it, but it hardly does the original (especially the tone) justice; it takes a lot of liberty in "casualness" where the original is very refined, careful, and sparse.

The Neapolitan Novels by Elena Ferrante (2011- 2014). This one is self-evident lol, but if you haven't read it, I highly recommend you do. The Neopolitan Novel's place in literature and specifically Italian literature, I'm still unsure of. Elena Ferrante is maybe a a better narrator/storyteller than she is a writer (which is not to say she isn't a good writer, she's an incredible one) and it's evident in how gripping this entire story is. And with the wide-range of history and themes it covers, with dozens or so fully formed characters (not even mention the spectacular creation of the two main ones), you're abound to come across something that will particularly pique your interest.

The Door by Magda Szabó. Actually, Szabo's narrator in this novel reminds me a lot of The Neopolitan Novel's Elena. As different as it (really, not many mode points of comparison beyond the similarities between Elena and the Lady Writer), it also concerns an indecipherable relationship between two women; a young, important writer and her eccentric housekeeper. As much mutual love as grows between them, this is no wholesome novel and the book is all the better for it. The narrator is not at all likable; she's naive, selfish, irritating, self-righteous, self-victimizing, and as often aware of it all as not. The housekeeper is no angel either. Essentially, really, what is most interesting about this novel is how it deals with doing the unforgivable and the impossiblity of its resolve, yet with the inevitability of just having to live with it. Though the prose isn't really my cup of tea, and I'm sure I wouldn't actually read much by the narrator-writer [Ironic as I think the character is at least somewhat autobiographical], it's really well-written, and as far as I can tell, really good translation.

The Notebook Trilogy [The Notebook/The Proof/The Third Lie] by Ágota Kristóf. (1986-1991). I think, if you're going to read only one book on this list, this should be the one. Narrated by a nameless pair of twins (in the first one), the book starts with them being moved to their grandmother house in the (Hungarian-not a single country in the book is named, no revolution or war either. But it's clear) countryside somewhen during the last years of WWII, and carries along onto the first period of communist Hungary. The first novel uses the first person plural, the twin boys are inseparable and indistinguishable. They think, behave, and act as one. Though they are anything but naive, the style of writing is as concise as a fable's. Those kids, for all means and purposes, are what I would imagine biblical angels (TM) would be like as human children; terrifyingly ethical with complete detachment, and willngess, alongside the intelligence and capabilities, to do just about anything. And it only gets more interesting and much more complex from here. You can stop at the first and it'll be a perfect novel on its own accord. If you do continue though, be prepared to the have the story altered, affirmed, rejected and interogated in every possible way. Or you can continue, and take a page out of the book by dissecting yourself into two versions, one who did continue and one who didn't. I do believe reading this is an experience worth having in whatever case . Do read a little about the content before you read it if you do, though; the book is set during the war and doesn't shy away from anything, alongside a pretty fair amount of sexual perversion.

#that's all that comes to mind for now #I hope you end up enjoying any of them!#I've not actually read that much recently published novels and a lot of the ones I've read are too mediocre to recommend lol #read A Little Life as a teen and decided contemporary literature isn't worth it actually #my origin story atakwkwk #Book recs

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lilyrachelcassidy · 4 years ago

Text

Summer Nights (3)

A/N: INDEX

Warnings: alcohol, language, sexual alludes, and... that’s it??

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags: @war-sword @paradigmax @winnsmills @idkatee @bforbroadway @okaydraco

So her name was Y/N.

Draco couldn't help himself but wonder about her for the past few days, after their encounter in the restaurant. As he thought more and more of her, he decided she was more of a changeable person, judging on what he had learned about her; timid and coy one day in the lobby when he first arrived, and plainly confident on another when she approached him to return his fucking wand.

And did she believe in that fictive tale about him playing a magician? Did she sense his sudden abashment when she started to question him on the subject?

He blamed himself for the whole situation, which could have never happened if he only were more careful. He assumed he had lost the wand when his mother furiously dragged him back to his hotel room from the bar he had stopped by for a while. Perhaps, it was when he had handed the receptionist, Y/N, the letter, and it just dropped out of his pocket as he was taking an envelope out.

Fortunately for him, it found its way back. So he didn't have to trouble his head with that now, right?

One issue, however, stuck to his thoughts and vividly came back every time he glanced at his hand, only to see blurry words written with a hard-to-efface ink. Of course, by none other than Y/N.

A few days back, she had scribbled her name and a number on his palm, and since then, he tried to figure out what it was for. He knew he couldn't walk out to the city and stop people in the middle of the pavement to ask for an explanation for the note because it would be as irrational and bizarre as it sounds. The second thought was to ask his mother for an additional conjecture about that by sending an owl. But then he quickly remembered, he didn't have access to any of owls here and -- so and so -- he didn't know the address Narcissa was staying at.

So both options were excluded.

Soon enough, however, the situation cropped up. Someday around six in the morning, still sound asleep and immersed in the dreams, the strange, alarming sound rang up in his bedroom, echoing off the walls and waking half of the death of him as he heard it. He flopped off his bed with the sheets falling along with him, and he began looking for the source of the noise. Then he noticed: a white handset and a set of ten digits next to it; he picked it up -- it was only a hotel checking up if he needed anything.

From then on, everything lined up and made a perfectly logical sense in his head -- it was a muggle device to communicate with each other. If you were desperate enough not to meet up with somebody in the real-life, you were likely to click nine digits and either meet with the receiver's voice or voicemail on the other side. So here was a purpose of the number.

Draco also discovered these things were so-called phones. And they were sold in various forms and types like the models of brooms in the Wizarding World -- from less to most exclusive ones. Little did his consciousness helped him, but after an hour, he was already out in the city and walking next to the shops' exhibitions and searching for an electronics store to buy himself one of those.

Why did he want to buy the phone? He could lie and say that it was only in case of emergency. But admitting truthfully to himself, he felt a nagging curiosity about those devices and wanted to understand this part of the muggle world. And something, more of a hunch than reasoning, told him that he soon might be needing one of those.

Later that day, after wandering for almost an hour and stepping into some cafeteria for lunch, he was finally holding a fucking iPhone in his hand. It had a lot of fancy shining buttons and a small, black partly-bitten apple on the back, and some kind of virtual assistant (at least that's what he had heard from a salesman) Siri with a very posh British accent. Having been advised to purchase it, Draco did so even without a second thought.

He paid for it with some muggle money his mother provided him before her departure, and walked out of the store, having it packed in a nice paper bag with a receipt and a SIM card. He decided on opening it when he reaches his room, and meanwhile, look around the area for some entertainment or something in those terms, to preoccupy himself.

Actually, Draco hadn't been too much in foreign countries, and hauling him out to Muggle London was a miracle, much more to Muggle Paris. He could find a similarity, but it was much different here -- cars honking at each other at the traffic jam; countless shops with clothes; restaurants with delicious food; people babbling at one another in French but also in Italian and German, and English. It was chaotic; it was loud, and he had to watch his feet in order to not trip over by someone else.

Draco felt lost in that mess. Random people encouraging him to visit the shops he would never intend to drop by, strangers pushing him in a rush and mumbling indistinct 'Sorry' for stepping on his shoes, some even too bothered to even look at him. Partly, he wished he had never listened to Narcissa and instead spending time with Thoe, Blaise, or whosoever and talking about irrelevant stuff like the score of the last Quiddich match (Banchory Bangers against Falmouth Falcons) or about the latest affairs with the Ministry of Magic.

And what was he even doing here?

In mere seconds, he decided on changing a route back again to the hotel instead of meandering aimlessly and optimistically, waiting for some godsend to find.

What he wasn't, however, considering was actually finding some godsend in front of the revolving doors of the hotel building.

Yet again, as if some supernatural powers brought them to the same place every time, he was standing on the opposite side of the door where Y/N. It was the late afternoon, so instead of wearing the usual white shirt in the composition of black jeans, she had a green top and striped, yellow shorts with a small watch on her wrist.

She was turned, slightly to the side, so it was her profile he saw as she waved probably at one of her friends, smiling broadly. Draco never really paid much attention to the girl, especially to her looks, but now as his eyes roamed over her standing figure in those a little too revealing clothes, he felt a gulp forming in his throat. Her hair was falling on her shoulders, the beam plastered to her face, and she seemed to be a radiating sphere of positivity.

For the last time, she blew her friend a kiss, and then she was looking at him, infinitely shocked at the sight of him behind the window, staring at her. Draco blinked, snatching out of thoughts.

Y/N made her way out, gripping her big handbag and throwing it hastily on the shoulder and a glowing grin waving over her face again. "Nice to see you again," she said. "I thought you would call."

He furrowed his brows, detecting the faint trace of hope in her voice and feeling his heart take up on the speed. "Well... I was just about to. In the room. I bought a phone..." He lifted the sack in his hand. "...and was about to dial your number."

"Really?" she asked, slightly startled and happy at the same time. She brushed some of her hair behind the ear. "Didn't you have the phone?"

"I left it at home." It was the quickest lie he could conceive. He playfully rolled his eyes, indicating the slight amusement at his alleged absentmindedness. "Just heading back from the shop."

She laughed at that. "Right." Suddenly, her cheeks were covered in a light scarlet, and she dropped her gaze at her feet for three seconds, as if she was about to share something very, very secretive with him. Then she was eyeing him again. "Listen... I've just ended a shift. Maybe you would like to go somewhere? I promised I'll show you around the most interesting spots. Are you up to that?"

Draco contemplated, taking in a small breath. Some part of him really lingered to give it a shot and go out with her, seeing where it carries them, as spontaneous as it was. It wasn't a date, and she was practically a stranger, but... what kind of a stranger! A quiet voice in his head told him this was what kept him away from the idea; disclosing his doubts -- her sparkling with joy eyes and the effect she had on him. A mere fact of him pondering the question was pure evidence it mattered to him, and he definitely tried to kick in with a good impression.

That left him with no more answer than: "Yeah, sure."

For some reason, Y/N let out a sigh of relief and relaxed a little, looking as if she was about to hear bad news but heard the contrary instead. "Great!" she exclaimed cheerfully. A little too cheerfully, she realized, as soon as she spoke up because the embarrassment welled up on her face. Yet another blush brushed her cheeks, and she chuckled at herself. "Sorry. Bad habits from the reception."

Now it was his turn to chuckle. He liked it, actually, but obviously wasn't going to say that out loud. "Don't mind," he assured her. "Shall we--"

"Before we do," Y/N cut him in, already guessing the upcoming rest of the sentence. "I suggest you leave that stuff..." She pointed her finger at the bag he was carrying. "...in the room. We might be wandering some hours in the heat. So it might not be the best idea."

Draco nodded, silently agreeing with her pertinent advice. "I'll meet you downstairs in... five minutes, then."

She shifted a little, still grinning like a maniac and watching him with sparkling eyes. "Okay," she said, as Draco was making to walk past her, feeling the strangest hint of excitement creeping in his chest. As he was nearing the doorway, he heard her shouting behind his back, "I'll be waiting here!" And the tiniest of his rare smiles formed on his lips.

XOXOXOXO

"So tell me something about yourself, Draco." Y/N looked at him, a light of interest entering her eyes.

As decided, they had met up a few minutes later in front of the entrance to the hotel and then took on the route. Draco had asked her about any potential propositions of where there should go, to which Y/N only smiled mysteriously and said it was a surprise.

So now they were walking hand-in-hand, taking almost the same pace as they strolled in the rhythm of the roads. The buzz still could be heard, and people prattling loudly, but this time -- as Draco noted -- instead of crowding in the center of the noise, Y/N led him through some stealthy alleys only a real dweller could know about. There were still laughs and talks coming, but much quieter.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, not quite comprehending how he should answer her question. He had been in some relationships, some successful and some not, but no one had really paid much interest in him. Not really him.

"Uh, you know. Where do you hail from, what are your hobbies, why did you come to France? Whatever you want, actually." Y/N chortled, offering him a small smile of encouragement. The sun rays were smoothly emphasizing her beauty; skin glistening under the daily light. Draco couldn't help himself but think of how her hands would feel on his shoulders and--

'Focus Draco,' he scolded himself for drifting far, far away with his imagination.

"Well," he started. "I'm from England, what you can guess by my accent. I play piano, learned Italian and Spanish, and...you know, basic stuff." He omitted the part he was a captain of his Quidditch team at school for almost five years which was his biggest pride. "My mother forced me to come here."

"Oh," Y/N seemed to be a little surprised by his confession because she made a fish-like face. "Didn't you want to come?"

"Not quite," Draco admitted truthfully. Before she was able to ask him for a reason for that, he outstripped her. "Had a tough time lately. My friend...died."

Y/N stared at him, mouth slightly agape, and in an instant, her expression turned from cheerful to a regretful one. "I'm sorry," she said, massive uncomfortableness visible on her face.

He shrugged, making his faultless poker face to the game as if it didn't affect him at all -- blank and uncaring. But it hit him. Always did. He didn't like to talk about his post-war experience; even recalling it in his mind was torture.

'If she only knew,' Draco thought. 'She wouldn't be so eager to get acquainted.'

Before he could pay off with as much interest as she did to him, Y/N was gesturing excitedly to the name on the corner of the building, located right next to the extensive, artificial beach with impeccably clean water. There were quite a few people enjoying themselves and sitting on the warm sand, but not throng as Draco could expect from a place like that. "Here we are!"

Not only the sand, but a minibar was there as well: a small deckhouse in the midway of the shore and pavement; a few wooden stools; and the bartender who was shaking a cocktail mixer in his hands.

Shortly after, however, the man behind the counter noticed them approaching. He shot Draco a brief look, and then his gaze landed straight at Y/N, who also perceived him glancing at her. He seemed to be happy at the sight of her, and his eyes swept momentarily over her figure, perhaps identifying if it really was a person he thought it was, and then he gestured for her to come closer. Y/N seized Draco's forearm, tugging him to come along with her, and Draco, left without any other choices, followed.

Y/N began speaking something French with him, and he heatedly answered her back in a sort of enthusiastic voice. Apparently, they must have known each other because, after seconds, they started joking around, laughing, and patting each others' shoulders like old friends. It took quite a moment, but the bartender eventually focused his attention on Draco, who was standing next to Y/N and was trying to make any sense out of the conservation. The man asked something, curiously arching his brow yet again at Y/N, who flushed suddenly. Clearly flustered with his question, she playfully smacked him at the top of his head and turned to face Draco.

"Sorry for that," she said, putting both of her elbows on the countertop and making a slight pout of guiltiness. "It's just an old friend of mine. I used to come here a lot in the past, so we know each other... pretty well, I guess."

That arose Draco's curiosity, and he didn't miss a chance to ask her. "Don't you come here anymore?"

"No." The readiness of this reply surprised him a little bit. She bit her lip and let her eyes drift at her shoes, which -- Draco noticed -- was her typical reaction when she was nervous. "I... I used this place to meet up with my boyfriend. My father didn't approve of our relationship -- he assumed there was something iffy about him and that he had bad intentions." Chuckling dryly, she tried to cover up her emotions, though the sadness was hitched to her voice. "He was right. He used me and then dumped me, saying it meant nothing."

Although he felt an urge to hug her, he held it back and stared at her, not really knowing what to say. Should he console her by telling her the man was a pig and she clearly deserved better? Or should he keep silent, only proving himself to be a good listener? It was very confusing for him to be around girls who cry and complain and expect reassurance in their words. He witnessed Pansy weeping a lot of times, but she was the one to instruct him what to do by throwing herself at him and lingering in the embrace. But Y/N was new to him, and it was no easy way to find out what she wanted him to say.

"Sucks," he uttered under his breath before the awareness kicked in.

What the fuck, you dolt?! Is it how you want to comfort her?

Fortunately, Y/N didn't receive his words as critically as he because her eyes lighted up, and she giggled softly. "Yeah... But I learned from that. I try to be warier now."

The bartender poked her suddenly on the shoulder, making some mumbling and incomprehensible sound. Y/N nodded and slightly tilted her head to have a better view of Draco. "Jean asks if you want a drink. He recommends Brave Bull. Brags that he can do the best one in the country."

"Mhm... Let it be it," he agreed, giving up on his usual liquor and dipping into more muggle-like specials. He attempted to force a smile on the lips, trying to give it more of a tone of a request than a demand.

She reciprocated the gesture, and then she turned to her friend, leaning casually against the bar and expertly translating the conversation. He only nodded, smiling, and grabbed the nearest bottle of some booze to pour the contents into the glass along with some other ingredients.

"Here you go," the bartender, Jean, tried out his amateur English, but remnants of French accent could be heard. He laid two glasses of alcohol -- one fiercely brown; the other one, blue with a cocktail umbrella inside -- on the countertop and grinned. Before Draco could take out some cash to pay, Jean's voice echoed again, still with a little stammering accent. "Free!"

Y/N and Draco made their way to a nearby bench, both calmly sipping their drinks and looking at the horizon as the sun set down, disappearing out of your sight. It was strange for Draco how comfortable he felt in her presence; the comfort he hadn't experienced for years in anyone's company. Although he was aware you had met a few days ago, something in your relationship gave him enough space to be himself. And he liked it.

Draco chanced to glance at Y/N, and she was already looking.

"I like coming here," she started hastily, as to conceal she was staring. "It's calming."

As an excuse to tear their eye contact, Draco scanned the beach again, and he could definitely get her point. The place was nothing but charming. "Agree."

"You know... It was my inspirational area when I drew. I first found it when I got into a huge fight with my father. Since then, I have used it as an escape from the outer world. It was a mistake that I shared it with my ex, but... you seem to be a proper person."

Draco didn't miss the compliment, and a barely visible blush danced on his cheeks. He felt his pulse speeds up, heart pounding at the sudden realization of their proximity. "You drew? Is it past tense?"

"Yes." Y/N nodded swiftly, grunting. "I love to capture the moments I find beauty in: people, places, specific objects. I even aspired to go to art studies. But..." She exhaled deeply, preparing herself to continue. "...they are too costly. My father says so... I don't blame him; I know he tries. But I stopped myself from having hopes."

Draco listened, and the pity churned his stomach. Taking a nip of his drink, an idea popped up in his head. "Do you have those drafts?"

"Right now?" Y/N asked, shocked, to which Draco responded only with a short nod. "Yes, I usually carry them --er-- in my bag. I had to throw them away... but I just couldn't."

"Can I see?"

Surprisingly, for the first time, as Draco saw, reluctance appeared on her face. She deflated, apparently battling with doubts. "Ummm... Yes." And then she slipped her hand into her motley bag, rummaging intensely. After mere seconds, she finally found what she was looking for -- the set of papers bound neatly around by a fine twine and clip, to the additional perseverance.

Y/N passed him, what seemed to be many hours of her solid work, and he examined them closely. What Draco could say is that he wasn't an expert in the field, but he unconditionally believed that those sketches required a lot of talent to draw as precise as they were. He was in awe, really -- the accurate contours given the best preciseness; the attention paid even to the smallest details; gradings made with soft touches of a pencil. The drawings presented a lot: random people walking in a rush, natural landscapes, some sculptures lined up in front of a building, even the least relevant objects like shoes or an apple. That, of course, didn't discourage Draco from watching further -- he flipped the pages, soundlessly, and a little too fascinated to utter a thing.

"And what do you think?" asked Y/N, nervously tapping her fingers on her thigh and (unnecessarily) preparing herself for a flow of criticism. Her gaze darted between Draco's face and the sketches.

"I... think you have a gift," he complimented her, weighing the great truth in his words.

"Really?" Y/N asked him in disbelief, blushing profusely. "Thanks! But --er-- you can take them if you want. It'd be easier for me to know I give them in the good hands than throwing them away."

The 'good hands' comment flattered Draco, and he felt almost honored to accept the offer. "Yes. Thank you." He buried the works deeply in his pocket.

He would definitely make good use of those. He had a plan.

XOXOXO

A/N: Okay, hi everyone! It was supposed to be longer, but I decided to divide it into more chapters with less word count instead. Nothing is happening yet, but you can already feel some tension, right? :D The next chapter is going to be super, super short. So I might be posting it within two days or so??? Idk yet, and it’s not a promise because I have a nice surprise (spoiler! a new one-shot) coming and a few requests to answer, so it might also take a moment. But please, stick with me :D If anyone wants to appear on the tag list, write in comments, DM, or wheresoever!

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creature-wizard · 2 years ago

Text

First of all, Svali claims that "for countless centuries," children in the Illuminati are taught history by being brought into rooms full of adults dressed as historical figures, whereupon the children learn that these figures were actually Illuminists.

Considering that the actual Illuminati was founded in the 18th century, I think that those centuries would be quite countable, Svali? Surely, Svali, you can count to two?

Supposedly the scene will have some sort of moral attached to it, like a traitor getting executed or something.

Svali also claims that before television, children would be programmed with fairy tales or other stories, being told that the stories had hidden meanings and that they needed to remember these hidden meanings. But now, she claims, Hollywood films are being used for this purpose.

Svali claims that Walt Disney was an Illuminist, and that Fantasia, Sleeping Beauty, The Little Mermaid, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast are particularly used. She claims that both the Wizard of Oz film and book have been used for programming. And she claims that any movie with "Illuministic themes," such as E.T. and Star Wars, can be used.

Now I think we can all agree that Disney isn't exactly good, but that claiming that their movies were created to program children into a global satanic cult is just a little out there.

She claims that trainers will create blank alters, then show children these movies so the new alter can identify with a character, and teach the new alter the "true meaning" of what they just watched. She claims:

Military programming may be linked to Star Wars. Total recall programming may be linked to Data in Star Trek. Computer programming may be linked to Hal in 2001 A Space Odyssey; internal labyrinth programming may be linked to the movie "Labyrinth". The possibilities are quite varied and will depend on both the child and the trainer as to which direction script programming will go. Music from the show, or scene, will be used as a trigger to access the programming inside or bring forward these personalities.

Yeah, so this claim that there's cultists out there programming fictives into people? It literally came from this lady who claims that there's a global satanic conspiracy running the world and the only way to defeat it is to choose Jesus.

In chapter ten, Svali gets even edgier. She claims that the Illuminati teaches children that "betrayal is the greatest good" and learn to idealize betrayal as the true state of man.

So basically, she's claiming that Illuminati member are being taught to sabotage each other, and ultimately, the cult.

Early on she claims that the Illuminati has this strict hierarchy, and now she's claiming:

The child will be placed in situations where an adult who is kindly, and in set up after set up "rescues" the child, gains its trust. The child looks up to the adult as a "savior" after the adult intervenes and protects the child several times. After months or even a year of bonding, one day in a set up the child will turn to the adult for help. The adult will back away, mocking the child, and begin abusing it. This sets in place the programming: adults will always betray a child and other adults.

The thing about hierarchy is, they it kinda doesn't work if nobody trusts the leaders. But Svali is an edgelord obsessed with the idea of brutal efficiency, to the point where she thinks brutality is efficiency.

Next she claims that the Illuminati practices "twinning," where they tell two children that they're each other's twin and encourage them to form a close bond. Then one will be forced to harm or even kill the other. Thus the children supposedly learn that it's betray or be betrayed. So y'know, more cult practices that only make sense in the twisted imagination of Svali.

Next she claims that the Illuminati will implant structures into childrens' minds, so that their alters have places to hang out. Some of them are allegedly used for torture reasons - like the carousel, which is supposedly used to torture alters by spinning them. Internal walls are supposedly used to separate alters from each other.

Since the next chapter is gonna get darker, I'm gonna end this post here and continue in the next.

In which a fake ex-Illuminati programmer makes up some weird shit about cult programming

Hey folks! Have you heard terms like "jewel programming," "metal programming," or "color programming"? Did you hear about an evil cult that intentionally induces dissociative identity disorder in people in order to control them? Did you know that all of this traces back to woman who claimed to be a former member of a global Satanic conspiracy, whose story followed the template laid out by known frauds like Mike Warnke and whose claims about the Illuminati are just repackaged antisemitism?

Over here I discussed the first three chapters in an e-book that supposedly details the activities and methods of this cult. Now I'm moving on to chapter four, where she describes the supposed methods the Illuminati uses to begin the programming process.

Svali's obsession with the idea of early training gets even weirder. Now she's claiming that the Illuminati gives DID to unborn babies in the 7th-9th month of pregnancy:

Techniques used include: placing headphones on the mother's abdomen, and playing loud, discordant music (such as some modern classical pieces, or even Wagner's operas). Loud, heavy rock has also been used. Other methods include having the mother ingest quantities of bitter substances, to make the amniotic fluid bitter, or yelling at the fetus inside the womb. The mother's abdomen may be hit as well. Mild shock to the abdomen may be applied, especially when term is near, and may be used to cause premature labor, or ensure that the infant is born on a ceremonial holiday.

She claims that trainers look for signs of dissociative ability in newborn babies, and will subject the infant to various abuses to induce fragmentation. And like... y'know, maybe the kinds of abuses she describes might induce dissociation and DID, but let's be real - these are not guaranteed results. However, the kinds of abuses she describes would certainly give a lot of kids issues so severe that you have to ask yourself how the hell it could possibly be worth it.

But the thing is, Svali's comprehension of trauma and DID are cartoonishly pseudoscientific. She essentially sees them as a brutal, yet efficient means to an end. Because alters don't always share memories, then this is clearly a perfect means for a global satanic cult to keep itself hidden. There's simply no awareness of other trauma-related disorders or common co-morbidities with DID. The fact that severe trauma tends to damage's a child's ability to learn skills and retain information, and therefore undermines her claim that all these kids are groomed into various forms of hypercompetence, doesn't seem to occur to her.

For Svali, DID appears to be a plot device, nothing more.

In chapter five, Svali begins to describe color, metal, and jewel programming. Supposedly, colors are associated with different alters, while metals and gems are awarded upon certain achievements - for example:

Emerald will often come later (ages 12 to 15). This is considered very precious, and is linked to family loyalty, witchcraft, and spiritual achievement. Emeralds will often have a black cat, or "familiar" linked to them.

In chapter five, Svali claims that the Illuminati also uses brain wave programming, which entails "having a young child go into a deep trance state, where they then learn to dissociate into a certain brain wave pattern." Supposedly, trainers give children hypnotic drugs and monitor their brainwaves. This only makes sense if you, like Svali, think that DID is the perfect cover for a global satanic conspiracy. Otherwise, it looks like a bunch of overcomplicated nonsense in a quest for questionable results.

Different brainwave states (alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon, and phi/theta/omega) are associated with different skills/behaviors, which are mostly unrelated to what we actually know about brainwaves. For example, Svali claims that:

Delta: this is one of the more cognitive brain wave states, and will often be highly dissociated. It may also be the "ruling" or controlling state over the other brain wave systems.

In reality, delta waves are associated with deep sleep - the exact opposite of "cognitive."

In chapter seven, she claims that children undergo "military programming" from age three, and are gradually taught to kill actual people. And in this chapter, we can see another problem with Svali's claims emerge - she describes an Illuminati that is fatally self-defeating:

Exercises for older youth will include games where groups compete against each other, and the older teen leads, with the help of an adult advisor. Groups that win are rewarded, groups that lose are punished. The youth are taught to leave behind the weak, or slow members. Unfit members are shot or killed, and the youth leader learns to do these tasks.

Meanwhile, the actual military does not work like this, because this is a really fucking bad way to operate. You know what does work this way, though? Shitty fiction written by edgelords.

In chapter eight, Svali claims that some children are given CIA programming, where they basically learn spy shit, and all that photographic memory stuff. (Reminder that there is no evidence that photographic memory is even real, much less that it can be trained through the kinds of abusive methods Svali describes.)

And here we can see that Svali gets at least some of her ideas of what spies do from pop fiction:

An older youth, or adult, will also be taught not only how to lure a target into bed, but later how to kill them, if they are an assassination target, while they are asleep or relaxing after sexual relations.

And then it gets even weirder with:

Often, before an assignment for an assassination, the cult member will be indoctrinated with reasons why killing the victim is a service to humanity. They will be lied to and told that they are the head of a porno ring, a pedophile, or a brutal villain. This will engage the assassin's natural anger towards the person, and will motivate them, while helping to overcome their natural moral reluctance and guilt at killing a human being.

But... wait, Svali, aren't you contradicting yourself? Didn't you just claim that the Illuminati was pro-all-of-that shit? Didn't you claim that CSEM was "big business" in the Illuminati? Haven't you been claiming that brutality is just normal training methods here? Why would someone programmed to see these things as normal and good have a reaction like this?

And then she claims that there's governmental programming, where people are trained to get into government for the purpose of overthrowing it. She claims that they infiltrate and subvert both local and national government, and support whoever's sympathetic to the Illuminati.

Next she claims that there's scholarship programming, where children are taught ancient history, languages, and all the stuff a scary world dominating satanic cult would want to learn about, I guess.

With that done, I think this is a good time to end the post. In the next chapter, Svali's going to start talking about the alleged satanic purposes of one of Evangelical Christendom's favorite boogeymen: Hollywood movies.

#svali #svali is an edgelord #satanic panic #sra #satanic ritual abuse #conspiracy theorists #conspiracy theories #conspiracism #fictive programming

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