#soft!aldo

[pinkslavicdoll]

obsessed with this cute Aldo bag ♡

[ranvwoop]

my funny little ocs have planted themselves in my brain again. they mean everything to me and i Member this now..

[omo-goose]

do some squats!!! get that water movin

no more squats tonight, my joints need a break babe

I will do light stretches oki ✨️

[b-courageous1010]

Barbie x ALDO

High key obsessed 😍

[alegiorgi]

Soft winter da www.alegiorgiartphoto.com Tramite Flickr: www.alegiorgiartphoto.com Become fan on FACEBOOK Follow me on INSTAGRAM 500px Follow me on TWITTER -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[searchingforserendipity25]

exorcising my list of unwritten conclave concepts from a few weeks ago i haven't written much since, in case the list is all there ends up coming out of it or anyone wants to welcome any of them into a good home:

cardinal lawrence and sister agnes won each other’s respect and trust during ratzinger’s papacy (liberals who leak church scandals to the justice system and the press stick together). everyone lowkey thinks they are having an affair. they are not, but they do keep sneaking into corners to gossip during the conclave. leaning fully into the reading of sister agnes as the late pope’s intelligence expert. incredibly jaded vatican spy. aldo is not jealous. benitez finds lawrence with the yellow canary eating from his hand and going back to his side after short flights, and has a number of franciscan emotions about it. the whole thing would ideally be about their friendship, different views and thoughts on power, what it looks like, what it ought to look like. responsibility, and doubt. also: how horrible it is the only non smokers in an european workplace.

(does this change anything materially? possibly the adeyemi and trembley situation is revealed much sooner with lawrence and sister agnes working together earlier and sharing intel, which in its turn makes him seem more competent and aggressive in taking down competitors, ergo more votes, ergo more influence? maybe bellini supports him more overtly earlier idk.) 

cardinal lawrence is dead. as a matter of fact, cardinal lawrence has been dead for a few days after the pope dies; unlike the pope, he keeps coming back to do his job. the curia covers up his death, because the dean of the college of cardinals is a ghost who apparently hated his job enough that is it his very literal purgatory is both hard to explain, and bad for the press. the fate of his unliving soul is very much at risk when steering the conclave, which is, uh, fun. cardinal tedesco's vape smoke now strongly smells of sulfur to him, which is probably not satanic in origin but then again might be. people keep voting on him and their belief in him corresponds directly to how much he can interact with the world, which is a very straightforward way to test one’s moral limits and otherwise a great torment. the one silver lining is that he can walk through walls and scoop out corrupt dealing easily, and no one can really tell he is dead. well, barely anyone. cardinal benítez and his ability to walk easily between the liminal spaces and certainties of the world is an outlier, and should not be counted.

dean lawrence keeps getting kidnapped, poisoned, blackmailed and otherwise threatened. this is an unfortunate if occasional part of being the vatican’s manager of two increasingly liberal and unorthodox papacies. it is considerably less fine and unfortunately far too normal for innocent xiv, who has a non-zero number of experiences with friends being kidnapped, poisoned, blackmailed and otherwise threatened. 

bellini/lawrence full on established relationship nonsense. as in, they have been together for thirty years and counting. conclave rewrite?? 

innocent xiv’s phone messages get leaked. innocent xiv’s phone messages consist of selfies with turtles sent to various friends and family, a good deal of memes in the santa marta groupchat, and daily jokes, complaints and affectionate messages to dean lawrence. the media has thoughts. aldo bellini, newly in charge of the papal media strategy, also has thoughts. and prayers.

a glimpse at all the people that Did vote for benítez from the start, and how much his work is or is not known outside the hermetic sphere of the vatican. he's kind of famous in religious activist circle probably! he has fans! he has a wide network of people he regularly approaches for information, resources, mutual aid and donations to his clinics and dioceses! he keeps dropping insane facts about horrifying personal experiences with unnerving serenity!

vincent benítez soft doms cardinal lawrence into taking a rest during the conclave. this incidents turns into a habit and gains new dimensions, as per the forthcoming changes in job status

pope john has an ongoing crisis of faith and also a gigantic imposter's syndrome. unrelatedly, pope john would really really really rather vincent benítez did not die in kabul and/or cause a diplomatic disaster. how convenient, then, that he is now a benevolent religious dictator who can arrange (read: wholesale invent) a number of postings and duties only benítez can accomplish. if anyone ask, this is a long-delayed move on part o the church to develop a deeper connection to on-the-ground aid organization. this can’t possibly last forever, though, can it? 

friar lawrence has shed all politics and chosen an abbey who keeps a vow of silence. friar lawrence is genuinely having a lovely time of things in his little abbey post canon. for like, uh, two months? friar lawrence keeps accidentally gaining more and more influence. manager-guy who cannot not manage. six months in he’s in charge of shelters and social associations. one year on, and he’d be archbishop again, if he were not aggressively trying to clamber down the church hierarchical rung. his friend, innocent xiv, who went from being a non-entity to one of the most famous men in the world, is sympathetic but also thinks this is very very funny. epistolary fic?? email epistolary? there is a little cat in a friar's habit and this is the most important part.

possibly related: cardinal lawrence comes back from his enforced sabbatical in a peaceful retreat freckled, healthier and smiling. people have thoughts on this, and emotions also. 

turtle pov of benitez/lawrence. literally: turtle pov. is the turtle an angel?? unclear if the turtle is an angel.

cardinal tedesco must die au.

[rodamned]

The digital alarm pierced the quiet stillness of Cardinal Sabbadin’s provisional apartments a la Domus Sanctae Marthae, its insistent beeping rousing him from a restless half-sleep.With a groan, he reached for the small device on the nightstand, silencing it with a flick of his thumb. He carried this wretched thing with him everywhere—or at least the same model. It was a cheap piece of plastic, utterly disposable, and he felt far less guilty about hurling it across the room on bad days than he ever would with his phone. Especially now, considering Aldo had practically strong-armed half the Curia into trading their trusty Nokias for touchscreens, much to everyone’s exasperation.

He blinked, fumbling for the small lamp on the nightstand and flicking it on. A soft, warm light spilled into the room, illuminating the unmade bed and the faint outline of his packed bag in the corner. Sabbadin squinted at the alarm clock’s face: 4:20 a.m. Ah, so he’d already pressed snooze. Due volte. Meraviglioso. He sighed, running a hand over his face. Oh well—4:20 would more than suffice.

Far too early by any reasonable standard, of course. He was a senior citizen, after all. He deserved peace and quiet, didn’t he? But no, today would demand far more than he was normally willing to give. Deliberately. He had chosen this.

With a faint groan, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts. It was going to be a long day.

[subskz]

Thinkin' about Channie and his lil need to nuzzle his face against things :(

And now his goose plushie </3

AND ALDO ALSO ALSO

IT'S BACK, BABEY!!!! MY PISCEAN THIRD EYE HAS WORKED thank you, thank you, i'll be here all week 🫶

the most devastating channiesm of all time it’s so so puppy of him ㅠㅠ reminds me of how he rubbed his cheek against berry too in his channie’s room ep back in australia…he loves those soft fluffy textures

THE DUCK TAIL 😭😭😭 first curly haired channie at the samsung event now this…ur pisces clairvoyance is working overtime for us curly chan enthusiasts things are looking up for us <33 now if only we can reach miroh-levels of churls (channie curls)…a full head of thick fluffy curly hair please manifest it my dearest pink!! 💫

[iwasateenagenosferatu]

Vito and Aldo 🖤🤌 -

Original Characters (Mobsters in love)

Vito Trepani & Aldo Morelli

Francesca "Frankie" Morelli

Max "The Bat" Pagliacci

From the diary of Vito Trepani, December 1945:

Aldo Morelli, my best bud. Smooth talker, ladies' man, everything I ain't. But then things got complicated. Our friendship started feeling more like something else,

I tried playing it Bogart, but Aldo saw right through me.

“Just come here” he growled. And then he kissed me.

Excerpts from Santiago Stracci testimony - 1958:

Vito Trepani, now there's a guy who's as complex as they come. He's got a mind like a steel trap, always calculating, always planning his next move. But underneath that tough exterior beats the heart of a hopeless romantic.

See, Vito never had much of a family growing up, but the Estacado Family has given him a home, a place where he belongs. And they've also given him an outlet for all that rage that simmers just below the surface.

But don't let his violent tendencies fool you, Vito's got a soft spot a mile wide, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. He's a sucker for a good love story, always dreaming of finding the kind of love he's never known.

Aldo Morelli, he's built like a brick wall, perfect for the jobs Angelo Boccino throws his way. But you know what really sets Aldo apart? His bond with his sister, Francesca. They're as thick as thieves, those two. She's his world, and he'd do anything for her. It's a beautiful thing, really, seeing how much they care for each other in our line of work.

Francesca "Frankie" Morelli, Aldo's little sister, is a firecracker, let me tell you. She's the kind of dame who could charm the devil himself with that smile of hers. But don't let her looks fool you, she's got brains to match, and she's not afraid to use 'em.

Frankie's always looking out for her big brother, Aldo. Most nights, you'll find her patching him up when he stumbles home from work, a real mother hen, that one. She's tough as nails, but she's got a heart of gold, especially when it comes to family.

But let me tell you, she's no pushover. Frankie's got a mouth on her that could make a sailor blush, and she's not afraid to speak her mind. She's a handful, that's for sure, but she's also fiercely loyal and would do anything for the ones she loves.

I just wrote my first tumblr slash fiction at 30.

[itsgrimeytime]

Magnolia in May (Part Thirty One) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Parts 1-20, 21-30...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @curlycarley @queenie32 @mgparker @misatmosfear

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TW: none.

[[A/N: girl why is he so pretty in this gif. HELLOOOOO. Aldo, hi, I couldn't leave this on a cliffhanger, so I'm avoiding hw but I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading !!! ]]

"Headmistress," you echoed out, your own nerves biting at your tongue, "-please stop pacing, it's not helping anything at all."

"My nerves are frazzled, dear," she explained, as if you couldn't tell, "-this walking is the only thing keeping me sane at the moment."

"Well, it is decidedly not helping my nerves," you frowned, voice tight, "-So, please, sit down."

Headmistress stuttered in her step, brown eyes matching yours, and suddenly a flood of guilt smoothed over her features. Sinking her shoulders and lowering her eyebrows into pity, she stood rather in awe of you for a moment.

"Oh, my, darling," she cooed, cupping your face in her hands, "-you must truly be so worried, please. Have a seat, dear."

She was, of course, referring to the urgent news that Mr. Grimes had fled to Atlanta for, just a few days ago. He couldn't say much on the matter, but he had visited briefly before leaving -speaking to you and Father about it. As you said, he didn't say much just the urgency and his return being as soon as possible.

It would have worried you normally, but now it did exceptionally so. For your wedding was only in a week's time, if that.

And it was a total possibility, that because of his vagueness, he may not even attend his own wedding. That you may not be married, and the plans go down the drain and you would be left stood at the altar by yourself-

"Hershel, dear," Headmistress called, fanning at your face, "-fetch her some water, yes? I believe she is close to fainting."

She without a breath, guided you to a chair -the comfortable one with the expensive cushions, and stood by your side. Her hand brushed across your forehead, feeling for any warmth you guessed.

"Beth," your sister stood as quickly as she could, "-get me a cool rag for your sister as well, please. And Maggie, please come to her other side, yes?"

Before she could speak another word, both sisters scurried to their duties -Maggie, resting her hands along your arm as she crouched by your side.

She spoke quietly, just for you to hear, "He wouldn't miss marrying you for the world. I know it."

Headmistress, however, had keen hearing, "That man loves you so much, I'm certain if you asked it, he'd pull the moon right out of the sky. There is no chance any news keeps him from coming, my darling."

"Yes," you sighed -trying to calm your shaky hands, "-Yes, I know that. But what if the urgent news is bigger than our... our wedding? What if it's something with the children-"

"No need to worry, my dear," Father approached, handing you water with the gentlest sort of grace, "-Mr. Grimes isn't to be deterred. If his wish is to marry you, marry you he shall."

"And," Beth spoke, soft, as she handed Headmistress the rag -which she soothed across your forehead, "-he wouldn't want you to worry, you know that."

Headmistress added, "I imagine it aches him so. All the more reason to hurry back, you know."

"Yes," you exhaled, "-I know."

The next few days passed quickly, the Headmistress tending to your every need. You were initially comforted by such a thing, but as did everything, it soon became rather degrading. She even made you bedridden for a few hours, saying anything wedding-wise would be put off until you were settled.

You couldn't imagine being "settled" until Mr. Grimes was in Alexandria again.

Luckily enough, you'd weaseled out of her grip enough to take a trip to the Grimes estate. Not that it was a personal visit, you had many plans to attend to -even this close to the wedding. It was mostly tying up loose strings, however, and wasn't much to stress upon. Your stress was elsewhere it seemed.

Maggie, wordlessly, had joined your side as you slipped out of the house -barely getting her shoes on before you were out the door.

You were now on the walk over, birds chirping and the sun shining much too bright -your bonnet, gratefully, hid it from your eyes. The dirt roads were soft under your feet and one hand reached out to drift upon the long grass to its right.

"Can you believe it?" Maggie hummed out, breaking the comfortable silence, "-You are to be married. Tied to a man for life, what would your younger self think?"

"I think you confuse me with yourself, sister," you remarked, remembering your stubborn sister who stuck her nose up at any boy who talked to her at school, "-marriage has always been in my future. I am the eldest, after all."

Maggie frowned for a moment, thinking, "Even if you... hadn't fallen in love, you still believe you'd be married?"

"Eventually," you hummed, voice a little tight at the prospect, "-I... Families get desperate, and I cannot... I will not leave my family in need."

"What if it wasn't happy?"

"None of this matters," you deflected, "-I'm in love and will be very happy with this union, so-"

"No, I-" Maggie interrupted, "-you would stay unhappily married to keep our family safe?"

"Of course, I would," you turned to her with a deep sigh, rubbing your hands along her arms, "-I would stay unhappily married for you to have the option to marry happily. You and Beth. It's a burden, that I had... chosen to bear."

"You need not to," she responded, a little desolately, "-I'm sure Father would have-"

"Look," you started, swallowing back a few words, "-it's not an issue anymore, Maggie, there's no need to be worried."

"I just wish you'd value yourself," she echoed, green eyes meeting yours, "-you do know that you are far above Mr. Grimes, don't you?"

"I wouldn't say that," you laughed out, "-Mr. Grimes is-"

"No, no," Maggie interrupted again, tone authoritative, "-you are the sun, dear sister. He is just a mere planet."

"Maggie-"

"You must know that," she continued, grabbing your hands in hers, "-you are not some... some second best prize compared to Beth and I."

"Mr. Grimes knows that," you answered softly.

"I'm just not sure that you do," she corrected, still holding your hands, "-and to not know your worth is worrying. You deserve the best, beyond what money can buy."

You smiled, eyes foggy -letting out a little laugh (you were getting married to the man you loved), whispering, "I have it."

Maggie smiled, a blinding one, before scooping you into her arms. And if you squeezed a bit tighter than normal, no one would have to know but the two of you.

The rest of the walk was pleasant. There was a gentle sort of breeze that smoothed across your skin and kept the heat from being too overwhelming. And even though the sun was a bit hot, it gave your skin a nice sort of flush, offset by the timid wind. You were very grateful for such a walk, the house was getting too confined -it felt like you could breathe again.

That being said, it was early morning, so you supposed the heat would only rise and you were glad to finally reach your destination. The expansive land always took your breath away each time you ventured upon it, and you could very hardly believe that it would be yours soon enough.

All these plants and fountains and wondrous garden, it would all be yours. You would be married to Mr. Grimes.

Something in your heart dazzled at the thought.

Before you could even knock, the door was opened for you and Mr. Dixon was immediately at your side -posture straight and professional. It was odd to get such a reaction out of people, but you supposed being the soon mistress of the home, it was all out of respect.

"Ms. Greene, and Ms. Greene," he bowed neatly, speaking to the both of you, "-the meeting room is still in the same state ya left it Tuesday if ya are inclined to use it again."

"Thank you," you smiled, curtsying back -Maggie following in your stead, "-and the children?"

You knew them to be home, Mr. Grimes had actually requested you visit them both out of worry and affection. ("I ask you to tend to them in my absence, I trust you to care for them properly if the need arises.") Promising you would, you intended to keep that promise and check on them -even if you were to do some planning in the wake of the trip.

Mr. Dixon seemed to frown for a moment, before smoothing his mouth back into a straight line, "Carl is visiting the Mettles near town, he has a friend in the household, and Judith remains here."

You furrowed your eyebrows, concern bubbling into your chest, "Is she alright?"

"She is well," he clarified, soothing your nerves slightly, "-I believe she just misses Mr. Grimes rather terribly."

You frowned for a moment, before turning to your sister -a thought forming in your mind, "Maggie, would you run to the meeting room and go down the list? I shall attend to you soon, but I-"

"Of course," she smiled, already making her way to the room (it was familiar trip at this point), "-go tend to her, I will make sure everything is in place upon your return."

"You're certain?"

"Yes," she laughed, stepping back toward you to take your hands, "-Judith is far more important than some loose ends, go."

You nodded, and with a glance, Mr. Dixon guided you down a hallway -the very same Carl's room remained in, you realized. Your eyes flickered to the artwork pinned upon his door and smiled (it was the work of Judith if you had to guess).

Messy but beautiful in that child sort of way, you wondered briefly if you could ask her for one.

Mr. Dixon stopped at a door with delicately painted flowers upon the white wood -definitely professional work. Your fingers absent-minded traced them for a moment before you turned back to him.

"Is she awake?"

He nodded soundly, "The children are up for breakfast every day earlier 'an now. Or 'ey are supposed to be, Mr. Grimes lets 'em break 'at rule often."

You smiled to yourself, sounds like him.

With a smile and the promise to fetch him if anything was needed, he disappeared down back into the hallway.

Turning back to the door, you took a deep breath in -you hadn't often had time alone with Judith, not since you first met her. You weren't afraid, per se, but nervous to do the right thing. To soothe.

You twisted the doorknob and crept quietly into the room -eyes skimming along the interior in one swoop.

It wasn't fancy exactly, but everything in her room was painted a combination of white and a dusty sort of pink. Toys laid neatly placed in the corner, untouched it seemed, and her bed unkempt as if the maid hadn't yet fixed it. Along the far wall was a small bookshelf, she could easily reach every book at the height they were, and it was quite full. Though only a few looked truly used -her favorites, you guessed. And further along, was her closet door -ever so slightly opened, with a mirror hung just beside it on the wall.

Judith herself was sat on a little rug by her bed -fingers drumming over her toys, as if she was thinking of which one to reach for. She, in corroboration of what Mr. Dixon said, remained in some pajamas with a head full of untamed curls rubbing away at her tired eyes; you fully doubted she'd been up much longer than an hour.

Whispering, you peeked your head in -not wanting to encroach on her space, "Judith?"

She spun to the noise, curls swishing in the twinkle of sunlight from her window. Her brown eyes nearly started shining as she looked at you, a cheeky little smile spread across her lips. Standing, she rushed to the door so fast you hardly had time to react.

"Woah," you laughed, as she tightly hugged the bottom of your dress -around your legs, "-hello, Ms. Judith."

She simply smiled up at you, and you saw she had a missing tooth. Mr. Grimes had said she spoke little, but was learning quite quickly and everything had that same sort of baby tone. You'd heard it just a little.

"'S Greene," she spoke slithering her 's' like a snake, and your heart bloomed in your chest.

"Ms. Greene, yes," you crouched down, pointing to yourself, "-that's me."

Judith smiled, somehow even brighter, taking your hand into hers and guiding you to her toys -it was a little awkward in the crouch but you made do.

Before she could set off to show you some of them, you moved to sit comfortably on the rug -eager to talk.

"Judith," you hummed, gently, -watching as she fished around her toys for something in particular, "-Mr. Dixon says you've been sad."

She seemed to pause, deflating a bit and you felt a tinge in your heart. Her brown eyes fell to the rug, curls hanging forward with the motion. Part of you wished to brush back her curls for a moment, but you decided to wait for her reaction.

"Daddy gone," she finally said, her bottom lip pouted out, and you thought for a second her eyes were getting glossy.

"Oh, sweetheart," you cooed, taking your hand to brush back her curls, smoothing down her cheek, "-I miss your Daddy too."

She sniffed a second, her tiny little hands coming to wipe at her eyes -making them a vibrant red. You frowned.

"Hey, no crying, princess," you exhaled, wiping the tears yourself with the soft padding of your thumb, "-he'll be back very soon. For now-"

You shifted, fingers brushing through her hair -getting stopped at the tangles, and you realized she still needed to get ready for the day. Maybe you could go for a walk?

"-you've got me," you smiled, "-Is that alright?"

She smiled, blinking away the last few tears on the cusp of her eyes, and nodding -slow and concise. The kind where you could tell she was still learning how to move her body.

"Now," you began, pushing yourself off the ground and allowing a hand to guide her up as well, "-would you like to get ready for the day? Maybe you could come help me with the flowers-"

Judith nodded much faster at that, practically bouncing on her toes, and you grinned bright.

"Okay, okay," you laughed, "-Let's pick out something then, shall we?"

Gently guiding her to the closet, you perused through her dresses -eyes darting to the many fabrics and colors. She wasn't quite at the age where she could choose solely for herself, so it was at your discretion.

With the thought that something so fancy shouldn't be worn for a day indoors, you pulled out both a green (a light minty sort of tone) and purple (your ever-loved lavender). Not hesitating, you swung to face Judith again, holding each one in your hands, poised for her to pick.

"Which one would you like?"

She seemed to grab at them both for a minute, tiny fingers pinching at the fabric widely. You patiently waited, as she settled decidedly on the green one -pointing at it with conviction.

You knew one day she was going to be quite the personality.

Before you could quite address the hair situation, Judith was leaving her room -guiding you exactly where you expected her to, the meeting room.

She'd been in there a few times, once when the bouquets were being conceptualized. In minutes, she was quite mesmerized with them -fingers holding ever so gently onto the petals and smelling them just like everyone else had. You could tell she really enjoyed them.

"Well, hello there," Maggie chimed, crouching down to greet the girl, "-you look very pretty today, Ms. Judith."

Her eyes darted to you for a moment, lingering on her little hand holding yours as Judith hid behind your leg. It was all fairly cute.

"I've got a little surprise guest, if that's okay?"

Maggie laughed, settling back into a chair, "'Wouldn't have it any other way."

You pulled yourself into a nearby chair. Just as you settled, your eyes rested on Judith, her hands reached out to you, and clenching the air, you smiled big and bright. Without a second thought, you pulled her up with you.

She sat neatly on your lap, as you pulled a stray flower off the table -previously placed delicately in a vase. Handing it to her, she smiled brightly and held it gently, fidgeting with the petals in between her fingers.

Pursing your lips, you smoothed her hair down with a loose hand, before having a thought.

"Mr. Dixon?" You called, and before you could so much as blink, he was at the door, "-Will you get me her hair products? I intend to fix it."

"Of course, Ms. Greene," he bowed, slipping out of the room.

"Well," you huffed, absent-mindedly combing through her hair with your fingers, "-Maggie, will you read through the list aloud for me? I've got my hands quite full."

Your sister smiled, nodding, and beginning, "You've sent out your invitations, the flowers are all ordered to the Headmistress's liking, and the menu has been decided..."

The next few hours were quiet ones, as you took the hair products and began your work. Because she had curls, it was quite the process to keep them presentable. You were faced with a slew of different things and found yourself at home doing so, it reminded you of your younger sisters.

"Do we know who all has said they are attending?" You offered, carefully twisting her curls into themselves, "-I know the invitation list itself was not very solid, but-"

"Everyone has responded," Maggie hummed, hands dashing around stacks of papers -you did not envy her at the moment, "-it seems all guests are attending. Not that I could give you an exact list."

You waved your hand dismissively, laughing, "I'm not certain I want it."

Maggie responded, "It's bound to be everyone in Alexandria."

"Certainly not," you smiled, readjusting Judith so you could get to the other side of her head -she was unfazed by the movement, enraptured with both the flower and the colorful paper scattered along the table.

"Certainly so," Maggie shot back before pausing, eyes flickering to one of the invitations -a delighted grin lighting up her face, "-oh my god, Mr. Jenkins is to be there."

"No," you responded in disbelief, "you most certainly are joking. Show me-"

"Right here," Maggie immediately stood up, scampering to your side and pointing at the page, "-and look, it's even got a response!"

She held it out for you to read, "'Rather morose to see such a fine lady go, but a wild congratulations is in order, I shall attend.'"

"He wishes it was him you were marrying, you know," Maggie sneaked out, biting back a laugh.

"Maggie-" you swatted at her -carefully avoiding Judith.

"Well you danced so often-"

"Yes," you huffed out, tone a little whiny, "-because you so often refused him, you know. If anything, he'll be much more devastated upon your marriage since he wished to dance with you so badly-"

"Don't start on this," Maggie chastised, "-let's just agree that not one of us dances a set with the man, yes? Ever again."

"Easier said than done," you retorted.

Maggie laughed, "Well... You can just stick Mr. Grimes on him if he asks. Lord pray for anyone who speaks so to you."

"Mr. Jenkins does not deserve to have such a measure," you rolled your eyes, "-he's been nothing but a gentleman."

"A gentleman certainly doesn't dance like that-"

"Maggie!"

After the banter ceased, she made her way back over to the chair and you continued your pattern -fingers flitting over the last few bits of Judith's hair. You weren't sure if you wished to leave it as it was, or maybe do something else. Looking at the table where the materials for it lay (ribbons and bows and bands and clips), you certainly had options.

"Excuse me," you spoke, deciding to run a ribbon through it (what color), "-did the seamstress say the dress needed one more fitting?"

"Not a fitting," Maggie recited, "-just one more try on. Where, I suppose, if necessary, it may turn into a fitting."

"And when is that?"

Maggie pursed her lips, flipping through the stacks of paper before settling on one, "Three days from today."

"Hm," you hummed, "-that's quite soon, isn't it?"

"Well-" Maggie started with a laugh and then suddenly stopped -your eyes were downcast, so you couldn't see much of her movement.

"Maggie?" You asked, twisting some of Judith's hair to be tied with a ribbon, "-Everything alright? Is something wrong?"

She must've sensed your biting nerves because she seemed to clear her throat and straighten, soothing, "Nothing is wrong, sister, everything is right on track. No need to fret."

"Good," you exhaled, shoulders sinking slightly, "-you cannot joke about these things, Maggie. You're liable to kill me."

"Now, you sound like Headmistress."

"Oh," you grimaced, quipping "-maybe you should kill me."

Maggie let out a sharp laugh, ratting through her body, and you grinned in response. Always so happy to see her laugh, to see anyone laugh, really.

"There," you sighed out, fingers cramping, as you smoothed out her hair -green ribbons peeling through the blonde, "-all done."

Judith seemed to perk up at that, or maybe something else, but nevertheless, her hands reached up to paw at her hair. You supposed she couldn't see it right now, so that was the next best thing.

"Pretty," she smiled, toothy, up at you -nose scrunched up in a grin.

"Very pretty," you confirmed with a smile -gently pinching her nose, "-Maggie, what do you think-"

Before your sister could say a word, though, Judith's head swung to the side suddenly -jumping out of your lap and squealing, "Daddy!"

Your eyes fluttered to the door, whereas depicted, Mr. Grimes stood -casually leaned on the doorframe as if he'd been there awhile. His stance however made it clear that he had only had his eyes on you and Judith for however long that may have been. Which, guessing by the gleam in his eye, might've been quite longer than you expected.

"Mr. Grimes," you breathed out with a breathless smile.

He crouched down to gather Judith up in his arms, bright grin and perfect teeth on display. His outfit was much more business than you'd ever seen him in, with layers of coats, but he suited it quite well. Though, you wondered if he had ever not suited something well. You truly doubted it.

"Ms. Greene," he smiled back like a weight shifted off his shoulders as his eyes laid upon you, before turning to Maggie, "-Ms. Greene, lovely to see the two of you."

"Oh, please," Maggie teased, "-don't lie on my behalf."

"Hardly lying," Mr. Grimes chimed back, "-your presence is wonderful."

"Very kind of you," Maggie smiled, "-but I highly doubt it is 'seeing your betrothed weeks after their absence' wonderful. Am I wrong, Mr. Grimes?"

He pursed his lips for a moment and laughed -shaking his head in disbelief.

Maggie merely guided a pointed glance to you, and you turned an unfair shade of crimson.

"Mr. Grimes," you started, leaning onto the table with a curious gleam, "-just how long have you been enjoying our company?"

"Without our knowledge," Maggie chimed.

He seemed to ponder a moment, even still, eyes swimming over your face -drinking you in, and dipping to your lips for a spare second. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the fluster that such a look would instill. You hadn't even thought about-

"Should I be worried about Mr. Jenkins?" He finally said, a grin creeping up his lips -crinkling at the eyes, "-Has he stolen your heart first? Must I fight for your hand-"

Maggie snorted, throwing her hands down on the table in a fit of indecency, and if you weren't so embarrassed, you probably would have chastised her on it.

That long?

"You heard all of that?" You nearly squeaked out, and Maggie only laughed harder.

Mr. Grimes smiled, something gleaming in his eye -yes.

"Good god, Headmistress is going to kill us," you groaned -fingers rubbing at your temples, before turning to him, "-you must never speak a word of this to-"

"I found it rather cute," he interrupted -a knowing little smile on his face, "-if you wish for honesty."

"Undignified, lacking etiquette, impolite-" you corrected, continuously.

"Cute," he reiterated, before explaining further as if to soothe you, "-plus, my presence was unknown, I hardly expect you to hold such standards of etiquette within the intimacy of sisterhood."

You suppressed a smile (he always knew exactly what to say), before sighing out, "I suppose so."

"And," he continued, shifting Judith to his hip, "-you sat through it all caring for my daughter quite intimately. I think I'm founded in my affections."

"To be fair, Mr. Grimes," Maggie spoke up, "-I truly doubt there's anything in this world she could do that you wouldn't gaze upon affectionately."

"Maggie," you chastised -cheeks blooming into a familiar warmth.

"No, no," Mr. Grimes hummed, playing with Judith in his arms, "-she brings up a rather good point, I do not think there's anythin' that you do 'at I'm not enamored by."

Enamored, your mind chimed.

"You two are joined against me now," you huffed, "-I don't believe it very fair."

"Let's think," Maggie proposed, ignoring you promptly, "-things that Mr. Grimes wouldn't be keen on from his betrothed."

"Maggie, really, let's-"

"Gardening," she offered, "-it's quite a messy thing, sweaty really. What of it, Mr. Grimes?"

He didn't speak at first, but his grin merely widened, Maggie had simply seen enough.

"That's not fair," you argued, "-it's an interest of his, anything I do that he enjoys is going to make him... happier."

"Happy," he turned to you, pulling a chair to sit into -placing Judith on his lap, "-I am very happy, aren't I?"

You smiled, something fluttering in your stomach -you were never going to truly get over these things, were you?

"I would hope so," Maggie hummed, picking at a piece of paper -something in her a little bitter, "-your wedding is very soon. It's a little late to feel much of anything else, Mr. Grimes."

Something seemed to pass over his face then, flickers in his eyes and the twitch of his mouth, his eyes dipped to yours. He was conveying something in them to you, something serious.

"Ms. Greene," he asked, much less teased, "-would you mind if we spoke for a moment? Alone?"

[admrlthundrbolt]

Some Nights (Hugo Stiglitz x Chubby Reader)

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

Being the medic for the Inglorious Bastards was one thing, but being the only woman of the group on top of that. It could be quite the challenge. Adding Hugo Stiglitz to the mix, it seemed you would never get a moment of peace.

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

Hi guys, I'm back at it again. Recently rewatched this movie and fell in love with Hugo again. I just love a deadly character with a heart. Hope you guys enjoy.

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

Your heart raced as you calmly walked down the hall. Anyone who claims you get used to espionage work was a liar. No amount of training could ever make you ok with being in a room full of nazis. Still, everyone you passed got a sweet smile and nod as you went. You were a professional after all. Being a part of the Inglorious Bastards was proof of that.

Opening the final door and stepping into your destination, you steeled yourself. There at the back holding cell was Hugo Stiglitz, the Gestapo killer himself. Your mission was to get him in a better position to be rescued. And it would take an act of God to stop you.

Going over to the only guard on duty, you placed your hand on his newspaper. A pleasent look fell onto your face. “If you would assist me with the prisoner. I would greatly appreciate it.” You were pulling out all the bells and whistles, even putting a more helpless tone in your voice. Men always did love helping out a damsel in distress.

The salacious grin that settle in his lips was down right slimy. “And why would you need to see the prisoner, Fraulein?”

Sweetening your expression a bit more, you took the paper from his hands. “I need to prepare him for transportation. They are impatient for him in Berlin.”

It seemed that would do the trick. He quickly scrambled from his seat and fumbled with the keys. “I thought they weren't transporting him for another week.” His hands shook some as he inserted the correct key.

“Like I said, they are growing tired of waiting to make an example of him.” He moved aside and let you pass him into the cell.

Hugo had paid your conversation with the guard little attention. Until you entered the cell, he didn't even give you a glance. But once you were in front of him, he couldn't stop staring. Your full figure filled his glaze in a heavenly way. A softness he had never dreamed of brimmed from your uniform.

It was a damn shame that you worked with the Nazi scum. At least that’s what he thought, until you approached him.

“You ready to blow this joint.” Then you turned to the soldier and placed a handgun between his eyes. There was a flash of something in your eyes that he found intoxicating.

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

The next few hours were a flurry of bullets and introductions. Though he found that his eyes always managed to find their way back to you. It was like you had this pull to you that he couldn't resist. He was bewitched.

An elbow bumped into him. Looking over he noticed Donowitz shaking his head. “I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you. Lieutenant sees her like a sister, so that’s not a good idea.”

He thought about it for a moment. But as his eyes met yours across the room. He decided that it was worth the risk.

Aldo noticed you eyeing the new recruit and linger for longer than he thought was appropriate. Scoffing, he guided you to the hallway. “I can’t help but notice how much attention you're already giving Stiglitz. I don’t think it’s a good idea to intermingle.”

You gave him a stern look. “When is it ever a ‘good' idea for me to mingle.” Pointing a finger into his chest you spoke a bit louder. “Really, when will someone be good enough to be with me. We are an elite band of killer and yet you still treat me like the little girl that you first met.” You went over to the near by staircase and plopped down on the bottom step.

Ludo shook his head and sat next to you. “I just want what’s best for ya.”

Patting his knee you sighed. “I know, but we're in a war. You never know when this day may be our last. So let me live before I can’t.”

He pulled you into a strong side hug and relented. “OK, but if anything happens…”

You elbowed his side. “Darling, as if anyone could do something to me and get away with it.”

Bringing you in closer he laughed. “That's my girl.”

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

A few weeks later Ludo decided it was time to make good on your conversation. So as he gave out assignments, he called your and Hugo's names for an espionage assassination. You glanced at each other in slight shock and step forward for your debriefing. It was all standard fare for the bastards. Follow a higher ranking officer's schedule, find a time to discreetly dispose of him.

Nodding at the brief, but clear explanation, you went to gather your things. Only to stop when Ludo placed a hand on your shoulder.

Leaning to your ear, he quietly says. “Make the most of this (Y/N).”

Looking up at him, a smirk slid onto your face. “I plan on it.”

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

Some days later, you were both posted at a small hotel. It was a common affair stop, you and your mistress would meet up for an hour, then part ways. It wasn’t hard finding the man’s mistress, he wasn’t very secretive about the situation in the hotel. So when she came down the usual ten minutes before him, we made our move.

The man was laying on the bed smoking a cigarette. Walking in with a few towels, you acted flustered at his state of undress. You looked down to the floor quickly. “I’m so sorry sir. I believed the room to be unoccupied.”

He seemed irritated yet curious. “As you can see, it is still in use. But perhaps it could be used a bit more.” He stood up and let the thin sheet fall from his bare body.

You went to continue the innocent act, only for the door to burst open. Hugo was supposed to wait for a distress signal, if you couldn't take him down quietly that is. But it seemed like that option went out the window.

He flew at the man, tackling him to the bed. Wrapping his hands around his neck, putting all of his weight on the fighting man.

As you took post at the door, hoping that no one heard the scuffle. You couldn't help but admire the raw strength that he was using. It filled your head with impure thoughts. Though they were quickly snuffed out as the man pulled a gun from seemingly nowhere.

Rushing forward, you started wrestling the weapon from his hands. Only for it to go off in the process. The bang surprised you both, but it gave you the upper hand. Slamming a pillow over his face, you jammed the muzzle into it and pulled the trigger.

Heavy breathing filled the room. Your eyes met for only a moment, before like a magnet you were drawn together. Lips crashing into one another, you leaned over the body and embraced.

Your not sure how much it would have escalated, if not for your hand brushing across something warm and wet. Pulling back, you smiled as he chased after your lips, but frowned at the blood on your hand. Drawing his arm towards you, there was a sizeable red stain near his shoulder. There was a rip and from a quick exam it seemed to be a graze.

“We need to get out of here and take care of this.” You pulled him towards the door. Grabbing the officer’s coat along the way, to cover his injury.

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

The next morning you woke up a bit sore, but warm. The body pressed against yours made sure of that. Smiling at Hugo in the early light of the sunrise, you sighed. Shifting deeper into his embrace, he began to stir.

He looked down at you and gave you a satisfied smile. “Good morning.” Then he squeezed you even closer.

Leaning up you pressed a long kiss to his lips. “That it is.”

As you gazed at each other in the golden light of the morning, you felt a inner warmth that was wonderful.

You just hoped that this feeling would carry you through to the tavern mission tonight. Knowing your boys it would be an interesting time.

[shilohta]

That quote by Aldo Leopold about "one of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds."

I learned to identify wildflowers as a teenager with no internet access but access to shelves of books, including a field guide to local wildflowers. I learned the words native, non-native, and invasive.

I learned about plants deliberately brought by settlers for food, animal fodder, and medicine (dandelions, alfalfa, chicory, plantain) that now grow wild. Their uses mostly forgotten.

I read my mother's gardening books about easy ground covers for shady spaces (periwinkle, lily of the valley). Prized for their pretty flowers and their ability of cover the ground beneath trees with a mat of green. So easy maintenance! No weeding! I listened to the radio call in show of gardening advice, homeowners frustrated by trying to stop the spread of these plants.

I followed the debates and arguments of local farmers about Queen Anne's lace (non-native) and milkweed (native) ruining their pastures and hay fields.

If I look on Google maps street view, I can watch a colony of black walnut trees (native) spring up in the field next to my parents house when it wasn't hayed for a few years. And then, one year, the saplings disappear. The massive black walnut in the backyard blew down in a windstorm one year. When I showed a man a picture of me next to the splintered stump, he commented on the value of the lumber. The grass under that tree used to be so soft and lush, thanks to the allelopathic juglone that the tree puts out to limit competition. Tiny hard nutshell shards hid in that grass, thanks to the many squirrels that loved that tree.

I don't remember when I learned about European buckthorn (non-native), but once I knew it I saw it everywhere. Fencelines, hedgerows, ditches. The berries have a strong laxative effect and aren't the first choice for birds, so in winter you can see clusters of wrinkled withered berries in the branches. Birds must eat them though, because those trees along fences come from somewhere. Buckthorn sprouting in hedgerows, at the bases of old sugar maples, strangling out competition. They lose their leaves later than the native species, a band of dark green at the base of the autumn reds and oranges and browns.

I was privileged to hear a talk by artist Juliana Bedoya on the paradox of invasives. It... shifted something in me. I could scoff so easily at those farmers complaining about milkweed (there's more to the world than raising beef cows! The charismatic Monarch butterfly...) but I hadn't examined my own reactions and relations to buckthorn (my nemesis, as I had started calling it). I also read the book Dispersals: on plants, borders, and belonging by Jessica J Lee. My memories of that book are distant with time, but I remember the theme that we can't turn back time. There's no feasible way to return the ecology of North America (or anywhere) to pre-colonization pristine wilderness. (And I could go on a tangent about the notion of "wilderness" and how it ties into Canadian identity but that's a whole other topic)

There's no way back, only forward. But I disagree that I'm alone in a world of wounds. When I see a ditch of weeds, I see the asparagus that escaped a vegetable garden, and the person who wrote a dandelion salad recipe that's in my Canadian historical recipe book, and the wild raspberry canes that a bird spread from a previous summer's feast, and maybe some daylilies that someone deliberately planted to beautify the space but are also edible and delicious.

The plants with habits that we dislike (aggressive growth, fast to sprout and hard to uproot) are often pioneer species. The first responders to an opening caused by disaster and disruption (a fire, disturbed soil). Left to themselves, they'd come to balance over time as the slower growing species take over. I don't see them as wounds, I see them as bandaids.

[eyeopeningarchivist]

Statement of Aldo Carnaigie

Concerning: His trip to the American northeast.

Statement taken: 18th May, 2022

Transcription by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist, Magnus Inst. London (1818)

Statement begins....

America is big. Really properly big. There’s a lot of just empty forest land that nobody’s even been through. Well, not anyone who made it out again. I didn’t even think about it until I agreed to be part of a group trip and had already booked my flight and everything. The night we got to Montpelier, our rooms weren’t ready so we went and sat in the drinks area of the hotel. They were playing a film on Netflix called The Ritual. I looked it up. Turns out it’s a book by Adam Nevill about a group of hikers who get lost in the woods in Sweden and they start getting picked off by a... demon or monster or something... Not exactly what I’d like to watch when I’m about to do something very similar.

I didn’t sleep much that night, kept thinking of the “what if’s,” y’know? What if there’s something out there that starts attacking us? Supernatural or not, I’d hate to get snatched up by something without a trace. It was never really a fear of mine until I was laying there. I guess the overthinking can really get to you. The next morning I got up and apparently I looked okay because our trip went ahead as planned. We packed up what we would need, got directed to the trailhead, checked in with our GPS systems, and off we went. I knew as soon as we started off that we were being followed by something but everyone else just told me I’d been affected too much by the film and that I was being stupid. I tried to brush it off as paranoia but I was so uncomfortable that I felt sick.

About six miles in, Freddie took a bad step and twisted his ankle, making him slightly more useless than he usually was. Andy wrapped it as well as he could but the light was fading and we had to set up camp soon or we’d be screwed. We went off trail a little ways and set up our tents and things, Freddie getting tasked with starting a small fire which he completely failed to make. That night was worse than the previous one, most of us getting pretty much no sleep even though we were already shagged out. We sat there and waited until sunrise, then we packed everything up again and started back out. Andy took up the task of trying to get Freddie back to the trailhead since he was the one with the most experience in helping other hikers who were injured (Africa trip, long story) so we went on without them.

We were a couple more miles in before the trail just kinda disappeared into trees. We wanted to go back but, when we tried to turn around and go back the way we’d come, the trail wasn’t there either. It was nowhere. Great. We decided to just pick a direction that was opposite of where we thought we’d been facing and went with it. I kept looking around for signs of life but there wasn’t even so much as a scratch in the dirt. It started getting dark again as we could see a campfire up ahead so we pushed onward until we got to it. Tents circled it and the fire burned strong but there was absolutely no one there. No boot prints in the fairly soft dirt, not food tins, just tents and a fire. We took turns keeping watch that night. I don’t know when I fell asleep but Rani was sitting by the fire when I did. When I woke up he was gone. He’d left all of his things and bailed. We tried to find him but we knew we shouldn’t split up just in case he was taken by an animal.

We finally gave up and started walking again, hoping he’d be waiting for us back with Andy and Freddie. By this time we were starting to run low on supplies and were already coming up with a ration plan for the rest. We lost two more before night fell again, Max and Barry. No idea when they broke away but at one point they were just... gone... The last three of us were myself, Cameron, and Toby. Cameron ran off into the woods, saying he could hear what sounded like Andy yelling from the trees. Toby and I tried to tell him there was nothing but he was gone. We watched him go. He just sort of melted into the trees. Toby and I kept going until we thought night should be falling but it seemed to be getting brighter instead of darker.

Toby stopped and grabbed my arm, pointing off to the right. I looked and thought for sure I was going to throw up. There was a staircase sitting in the middle of the woods. The carpet was white with a sort of floral pattern woven into it. The wood around it was painted a cool gray and it even had a bannister along one side. We looked at each other, then Toby went over to the stairs, looking back at me with an exhausted sort of smile before he started to climb the stairs, getting to the very top and then vanishing. He didn’t fall, he didn’t jump. There was no sound or anything. He was just suddenly not there anymore. I was alone in this fucked up forest. I turned away from the stairs and saw a clear, sandy path through the trees. I followed it and found myself out of the woods and back at the trailhead. No Freddie, no Andy, no anyone. The rangers asked how my hike had been and I just stared at them.

“What you mean ‘how was it?’” I’d said. “I went in with seven other blokes and you askin’ how it was?” They just looked at me with these fake pleasant looks on their faces. I called the police as soon as I got back to the lodge, giving them as much information as I could including the GPS codes since we’d all made sure they were on everyone’s person as well as back at the room. They never found the others. Not even a trace. I talked to one of the search-and-rescue guys a little while after they’d quit looking and, as soon as I’d mentioned the stairs, he’d gone real quiet. He looked around before he kinda whispered to me.

“We don’t talk about the stairs. It’s better that way.” I said the hell it was and he shook his head quickly. “No really, we’re not supposed to even acknowledge them. They’re the creepiest thing, man. People go missing and we run into them and we know it’s gonna be a shit show. We’ve lost more trails because some newbie decided to mess with the stairs than I care to think about. It can get you fired so fast...” He didn’t say anything for the rest of the night. I’ve never gone on another trip like that and I never will. Not in America or anywhere else.

Statement Ends...

Notes:

Search and rescue horror stories have been a staple of American camping trips for decades. It’s entirely possible that this individual, Mr. Carneigie, had read or listened to some of those before his trip and it added to his hysteria. This statement also bears a striking resemblance to the book “The Ritual” by Adam Neville, though without the worship of goat-headed nordic gods and, well, not in Sweden. After attempting to contact Mr. Carnaigie for a followup interview but it seems he disappeared a few weeks after he came to see us. He has no family to contact, his lease lapsed, and his job hasn’t heard from him since before the trip. It’s unfortunate but it’s not the first time something like this has happened. There’s not even a record of him at interpol, he simply vanished.

The most I can say is this: Wherever Aldo Carnaigie has found himself, I hope he’s doing alright... I seriously doubt it, but I hope he is. As for what happened to his friends, people go missing in the American northeast all the time. The woods are vast and full of predators and there is every possibility that they will truly never be found. Supernatural or not, it is most unfortunate and it is one of the many reasons I despise camping holidays...

End recording.

[syncopein3d]

The Warm One 7: Wrath

Part 6: Spring Campaign

CW/tropes: living weapon, nonhuman caretaker, female whumpee, intimate/nonsexual touch, servant caretaker, traumatic restraints, nonsexual nudity mention, gore, blood, slaughter, extraplanar abomination/monster. Fair warning, this one's going to be gory and gross and weird. After all, what good is a living weapon story if you don't get to see the weapon being deployed?

The Field of Thearn has never been tilled.  Boulders lie scattered across a knee-deep growth of bracken and heather. The crows and ravens that follow the army circle above it now, more immanent than the distant hawks. The winter heather is still in flower when the army starts pulling it up in organized squares. Space is cleared for tents and latrines, and now there is fuel for the campfires.

The camp of the Elves lies some distance away, fireless, lit by little glowing spheres that hover above it. Their snow-white faces flit across the twilight above their mail.  They’re not pink-skinned, like the Ifrits, but their ears are just as pointed.

Aldo the Orc helps pile up heather, and then goes to wash up in the stream with the maids. He recognizes a tiny gnome girl called Gella crouching beside him.

“Why are you so afraid of her, all of you?” he asks, nodding toward the black wagon with the gilded bars across the back. “Has she hurt you? I’ve never heard her be harsh.”

“Not me,” Gella says. “But we all know what happened to Merrly.”

“What happened?” Aldo asks, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“The Wrath of the King slipped out of one of her bracers and tore her into pieces. The biggest thing they found was a hand,” Gella says, glancing sidelong back at the wagon as one fingertip surreptitiously shapes the holy sickle for protection, curve across and curve down. “If the Master hadn’t stopped her she would have killed everyone. I didn’t see it, but he told Merrly’s family when they gave them the ashes. I heard him because I was dusting.”

“Terrible,” Aldo said.

“Terrible,” Gella agrees. The look she gives Aldo before she scuttles away is one of intense pity.

That night, as he brushes out the weapon’s thin hair in the cushion pile in her tent, he thinks about it for a while. Then eventually he asks,

“Do you remember a maid called Merrly?”

“Oh, yes. Human,” the Wrath of the King murmurs sleepily. She sits on Aldo’s thigh with her face resting against his chest, facing outward so he can brush with one hand and hold her steady with the other. A bony elbow digs slightly into his big soft belly. His liniment seems to be helping. She can actually tie the soft robe closed over the scar that covers much of the front of her.

“She died from falling into one of the arcane fires, the Master said. Odd thing. They only had ashes to give the family. Why?” It’s not often the Orc asks questions.

“He told the maids something different,” Aldo says.

“How strange,” she says. “Why would he bother? He doesn’t care what the servants think…” She is nodding off. Aldo doesn’t think she is lying. He’s never known her to make the mental effort to be circumspect, let alone to try and deceive him.

The next day, the maids dress her in a plain linen robe dyed the color of old blood. The kingdom’s sword and sickle is not embroidered, it is smeared in black paint on the front and back panels. Aldo wonders at this as he helps hold her up. Usually she is swathed in layers of buckram, wooden stays, heavy brocades with elaborate embroidery. Usually her hair is piled in pins and gold combs and sticks. Today it’s a simple braid with a black ribbon. She has always been weak and listless, but today she trembles with a strange nervous energy he has never seen. A fervid spot of color mounts each pale cheek. She seems to blink less often, brown eyes held wide.

“What happens today, Milady?” he asks her.

“You’ll see,” she says, voice raw and stretched. “Until you look away. I won’t blame you. No one watches but him. Just be there when it’s over, all right?”

“I will, Milady.”

“And bring the gray robe.”

“I will, Milady.”

Aldo’s voice is deep and clear and firm, like always. The weapon grieves that that must change today. When he sees what is really inside her, he will never wish to see or speak to her again. And he will not be able to go. He will hate her and be stuck here with her forever. But that grief is a painful, twanging tune beneath the symphony of hunger and want. She knows what’s coming. No amount of shame or disgust can change that she was made for this.

The general and his captains have their last diplomatic parlay with the Elves early in the morning. By the time the Master comes to get her, the military men are back again, stepping over the white chalk line poured onto the dirt as a corporal furls the white flag.

“Well, gentlemen?” the Master says. “Have they elected to surrender?”

“No. Send the weapon,” says General Izath, a rose-skinned Ifrit. Butterfly-wing ears curve back beneath his red-plumed casque. He doesn’t look at her. He only makes the sign of the sickle as he passes.

The Master smiles. His blue eyes are unblinking and intent as he steps behind the weapon and lays his hands on her shoulders. Aldo can see him all but inflate with pride in his own work, in the power he is about to wield. The two of them begin a strange litany, one voice oratorical and measured, the other high and trembling.

“In the name of Malacien, Hearth and Huntress, She Who Wieldeth the Sickle, hear thou the Word of Retribution.”

“In the Name of Malacien, She Who Chooseth the Slain, I hear.”

“In the name of the Eight Good Gods, in the name of the Kings now and past, I abjure thee. Thou shalt harm none who dwell behind this line, but all who lie in front of it are thy prey. Avenge thyself upon the foe and return to thy form of birth. Swear thine obedience.”

“By Morith, He Who Keepeth the Slain, I swear it.”

“Shouldst thou disobey, the bonds of thy keeping shall slay thee. Swear again thy fealty.”

“By Mighty Serne, King of Gods, Hunted and Risen, I swear it.”

“Before this line, before all assembled, I loose the Wrath of the Kings. Return when nothing of his enemies draws breath.”

“I am loosed,” the weapon practically screams, and the Master takes his hands away. It’s the first time Aldo has ever seen her run, stumbling barefoot through the heather, heedless of thorns or sharp stones. He winces for her feet. Across the field, the Elves are forming up lines of battle, spreading the two wings of cavalry that have proved so deadly to the armies of other would-be conquerors of these isles.

They don’t even see her at first. She has a long distance to cover for a small, sick woman past her first youth. Aldo half expects her to be slain by an arrow when they do spot her, but it is now evident to him that they don’t know what is about to happen. Spycraft has failed them, or previous encounters have left no sane survivors. There is no real disturbance in their lines as they begin their slow movement forward toward what appears to be a foolishly disordered foe behind this one little sacrifice.

A few desultory arrows flit into the bracken around her. She stops, swaying, and raises her arms in their golden bracers, spread wide as if inviting an embrace.

Even at this distance, Aldo hears the sound of flesh tearing. He knows it must be the scar, the one that never really heals. He doesn’t expect the snap of bones breaking as she folds backward practically in half. Her arms dangle, eyes rolled up into her head. Aldo is aware of everyone but the Master turning away, making signs, murmuring prayers. Only he and the Master see the arms unfurl, tendrils like a polyp starting at the width of a hand but widening as they lengthen until they are bigger than tree trunks. The weapon’s body simply shreds, crushed beneath the weight of the ever-growing knot of slimy black branches. Only the two little arms in their bracers remain, flat and dead-looking on either side of the thing’s base until they, too, are covered and crushed by the mass.

As the horror expands, Aldo can see suckers on one side of each tendril, discs as big as his head. Every one has a barbed hook in the center of it. There the resemblance to anything in nature ends, for now the arms are sprouting more arms yet, and now some have horns and eyes. He can tell they’re eyes because they are Human, round-pupiled, brown. Brown like hers. They ARE hers, he realizes, as one looks directly at him and a pupil the size of his fist expands with recognition. Wet, glistening lashes flutter, and then the thing twists away from him in its eagerness to get at the enemy.

“I think it recognized you,” the Master says beside him, his voice amused. “You should be grateful for the line. It’s come within a hair of reaching me before the pain stopped it before.”

“She would eat us, Milord?” Aldo asks. His tone is dull. It’s hard to imagine any more horror than what is now happening among the Elven lines. Aldo has seen war, lost someone precious to it, been forever marked by it. He’s never seen an Elf and a horse torn into gobbets of gore and stuffed into the toothy circle of a black maw. There are now innumerable mouths among the coils, lipless, silent.

“Oh, yes. Did you think you were the first in your preset position, Goodman Aldo?”

Aldo is silent. He can’t tell if this is another lie, or what the purpose of such a deception could be. The screaming is too loud now. He sees a single Elf on a horse try to flee up the hill behind the camp, to carry word of what is happening here, or perhaps just fleeing in panic. A tendril snaps out like a whip-crack hundreds of yards long. The Elf falls from the saddle in two directions, top half and bottom, and the horse is snatched into the air to be torn and engulfed with the pieces of the rider.

The Wrath of the Kings rolls over the distant camp. Aldo prays silently that there were no children there. He now understands that the reason this tactic keeps working is that there will be no bodies. The thing does not discriminate between flesh and armor. It’s far away now, but he can see it ripping up tents, too. Everything goes into its horrid jawless orifices.

It’s only minutes before it’s over. The sun has scarcely moved overhead. When at last there is silence, the nest of arms and eyes and mouths slithers back toward the line. It’s bigger than a house. It’s almost bigger than a castle. It fills much of the distance between the two camps. When it comes close to the line it is a writhing wall that fills Aldo’s world, towering into the orange sky. People in the camp move farther away from the shadow that has fallen over them. They cover their heads and whisper more prayers. Many brown eyes fix upon him. Some look at the Master, too. The mouth that opens in front of the sorcerer is taller than he is, drooling blood, stinking of charnel. As Aldo watches, it pulses open and shut, edging further from himself and nearer to the Master. This close, he can see into a throat of incomprehensible, impossible depth, lined with rows of teeth like a hagfish that stretch down endlessly into the darkness.

The Wrath of the Kings is still voiceless. The only sound is the glutinous slither of its movement and the awful click of many, many teeth. From the corner of his eye, Aldo sees the man’s shoulders heaving, face empty of color.

A tiny tendril, as thin as a finger, quests right up to the line, waving to and fro in front of Aldo’s face. Up close, it isn’t really slimy. It’s covered in tiny armored scales, black and shining. He can see the little hooked barb on the tip. It might be white bone like the sucker-hooks, when it isn’t bloody.

The whole mass of the thing shudders. It ripples and twists and begins to curl inward on itself, little arms folding into bigger arms, horns and teeth shrinking and withdrawing into flesh. As Aldo watches, still unable to look away, it gets smaller and smaller. Now it does make noise. There are many hissing exhalations as air is expelled from its vanishing mouths. He is half surprised that the thing actually breathes. He can’t imagine how the form of woman can re-emerge after he watched it so thoroughly destroyed. He watches with a kind of sick curiosity, hands clasped behind his back in an unconscious parade rest that hasn’t been meaningful in his life in a decade or more. The tendrils twist and twist and shrink, and as they fold around each other they sculpt one another into a human shape, at first writhing in all its components, then slick and black, then suddenly blending and fading into lighter flesh, scales smoothing away as if they were never there. At the last, the thinnest of them fold away into a jagged mouth lined with more teeth, and then that shrivels crookedly away and becomes a red scar branching over a naked woman’s breast and belly and thighs. It’s a slightly different shape than before. Of course it is, Aldo thinks. It's a new body.

The golden bracers are the same. She could not, it seems, remake herself into a form without them, however much she must have wished it. They’re not so loose as before. Her body is still thin, but less thin than before now, pink and blushing as she lies gasping in the flattened heather. The battlefield is crushed down flat over all of its width. Black steam rises and sublimes away as the moments pass. Over the fading stench of blood and death there’s a strange and unearthly smell of something Aldo can only describe as perfume, but it’s no perfume of any plant he has ever smelled. It doesn’t smell real or right. The ravens are descending, but there won’t be much for them to find.

“Well, go on and get her,” The Master says. “Be careful. She’ll be heavier.” He turns away to stalk back to his tent. He’s still smiling slightly in Aldo’s last sideways glimpse of him, but the Orc is already kneeling with the robe in his hands.

“Milady,” he says. She opens her eyes, still panting. Her hair is dry and braided. That detail bothers him more than a lot of it, for some reason.

“Oh, the robe. Yes. Thank you.” Her voice is almost normal. It’s stronger than usual, in fact. He helps her into it and then picks her up carefully in his arms. She’s heavier than usual, but not by much. She turns her face into his shoulder in the familiar way.

“How do you feel?” he asks, as he carries her into her tent. He can’t completely keep emotion out of his voice. Is this the same person that he has served and held and warmed with his body? Is it a new one every time?

“Good,” she murmurs. “It’ll be good for a little while, except for the mark. Aldo, do you – can you - ”

That note of worried self-loathing is certainly familiar. Aldo relaxes. He has his balance now. Nothing he saw will ever leave him as long as he lives, but here, now, in this tent, he is with the same person he has been with for months. Nothing that happened out there has changed that. Nothing about her has changed at all. He just understands her better now.

“Of course,” he says softly, no more “Milady” now that they’re alone. “I have my liniment still. Be easy.” He lays her in the pillow pile and turns to get it. When he turns back, she reaches for his arm. Her hand is as cold as he remembers. He lets her hold onto him, looking down in puzzlement for a moment until he realizes she is testing to see if he flinches, eyes unblinking on his face. Her hand holds him so tightly that she shakes.

He sets down the liniment for a second so that he can sit down beside her and lean over and pull her into his lap. He is still very careful. He will always be careful. He lays his arms around her and holds her face against his shoulder again, lightly, so that he doesn’t press hard on the scar.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You’re still you. That’s enough.”

“How could it ever be enough?” she asks lowly.

“He said there were others before me,” Aldo said. “Is that true?”

“No,” she says. “What a strange thing to say. He never even offered before you. I never asked.” He feels her sigh. “Aldo - ”

“You knew me,” he said. “You wanted to eat him, but just him. I don’t think he realized.”

She snorts into his tunic. “Of course.” There’s a silence in which he gently strokes her back over the robe for a little while. Eventually she says, “I remember everything. None of it is outside of my control, do you understand that, Aldo? I can’t disobey him because he’ll kill me, but – I know that I choose to obey. That’s important for you to know.”

“I think I understand that,” Aldo said. “You’re not really able to eat properly in this form, are you? This is only part of you.”

“Yes. All of me is – well. You’ve seen,” she whispers. “You didn’t look away. But I won’t be hungry for a while after the campaign is over. Then – the winter becomes long. He likes that, watching me get hungrier and hungrier.”

“It’s not right,” Aldo says very quietly.

“Nothing about it has ever been right,” she says. Her voice is fading now in a familiar way. She might be a little better fed, but it’s still been a busy and exhausting day, flailing about annihilating an entire army and destroying and remaking her own entire body. Perhaps this way of thinking about it is a little mad. Perhaps Aldo is a little mad now, too. He can’t examine that too closely. There’s work to be done.

“You’ll feel better for a rest,” he says. “Let me take care of everything. It’ll be all right.” She sighs deeply. After a moment she kisses his shoulder over his tunic very lightly. “I might fall asleep while you’re applying the liniment,” she says. “That’s all right, dear.” “You won’t leave me tonight, will you?” “I will never leave you,” Aldo says. He probably wouldn’t be allowed to. But right now, he doesn’t care about that part. He means what he says.

[arry-katt310]

I drew Maddie in her prom dress!!

Ofc Julius made his daughter's prom dress. He spent like a month designing it, probably didn't even ask Maddie what she had in mind and he was literally in the middle of sewing it when she came up to him and said "Dad me and a few friends are going prom dress shopping, I'll be home near 5." He looked at her so fcking pissed and said "what the hell do you think I'm sewing?" And she stopped and he made her cancel her plans with her friends so he could make sure the dress was what he has in mind. A cool detail was the flowers embroidered on the sleeves. He chose that design bc he remembered that she used her power to make him flowers for his birthday, he was human then, so he was an a hole about it and told her that that power of hers was useless. and as he made the detail, he realized that he hasn't seen her make flowers since. (My au is kinda a soft au, but not really)

Sullivan Aldo volunteered to do her hair, so yea.

Sullivan/Julius @sanityshorror

[edgessunflower]

Day 19 Marigolds: Voice within

Pairing: Kevin Nash x Fem reader

Description: Kevin helps you use your inner voice when the odds are stacked against you leading to a second chance for the two of you

Gif credits to @stratusfactory

"You need to take control God knows what the hell will happen if you don't" you sigh talking to Shawn and Kevin as you wait to walk out with The undertaker as his valet. You yell when you feel a sting on your rear end and laughter squeezing the cup of water you had "I told you to stop and you're gonna fucking stop now" you hit Aldo Montoya in the jaw full force before kevin stands in front of you surprised by this action since the two of you had been broken up for the past three months due to the strain of your schedules and the pull of your careers "You're not gonna put your hands on her your gonna go through me first" shawn pulls you away as kevin basically threw him across the hall opening the door to see kevin and bradshaw beating the hell out of montoya before walking alongside taker and Paul Bearer to the ring backing away when Sycho Sid started stalking towards you before throwing you into the barricade falling into the crowd when he hits you turning when you hear the horn of a truck seeing kevin deal with sid before he carries you backstage seeing the big bruise on your back sitting in his locker room with an ice pack looking up when he sets little yellow and orange flowers in your lap "I wasn't expecting how today has been but I'm proud of you for earlier with montoya" your heart melts as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I know things have been hard and how this business is but if you're in then I am on a second chance for us" your heart melts as he pulls you in his lap "You are the sun in my life it's been too damn rainy and cloudy here lately without you" you laugh before the two of you share a soft kiss with both marigolds tucked in your hair falling asleep in his lap during the rest of Raw waking up in his car smiling when you see that he had took you to his house having a late dinner along with him icing your back laying in his arms where he looks to see you asleep kissing the top of your head with a tender smile on his face carrying you upstairs and changing you into a nightgown feeling while again with you in his arms after so long both of you determined to make things work this time and not let your careers and the hours on the road push you apart again.