#this is fantasy military fanfiction after all

[carnivorousmossbeast]

Transit

no content warnings

Summary: John “Soap” MacTavish & Simon “Ghost” Riley wait for a military convoy. Ghost finds out Soap knows a song that isn’t “Anarchy in the UK” by the Sex Pistols.

The only thing cutting through the silence of the pre-dawn darkness was the lieutenant opening and closing his mouth, clacking his bloody tongue piercing against his teeth — mindless and heedless of the phantom pain shooting through Soap’s mouth every time it happened. The wet sounds of lips parting, smacking, tongue licking and detaching from soft, spit-slicked gums were driving Soap up the walls.

“Gum?” There lieutenant’s voice cut through Soap’s unease.

“Gum- what?”

“Did ye want any?” Ghost asked, producing a sliver-wrapped strip from somewhere. Mysterious pocket candy, as likely to be fresh as it might have been plucked from a dead Russian operative seven months ago, and Ghost had simply forgotten to empty his pockets before laundry. Juicy Fruit mixed with old pocket sweat stains and Persil detergent didn’t seem like a flavour to chase the miserably watered down and microwaved coffee sachet he’d called his breakfast because mess didn’t open until five. Two full hours before they were scheduled to leave. Soap sighed and turned his face towards the window. They were supposed to be out on the road already, but the fucking convoy of course ran late — and now all they could do was stare at the silent radio and wait. He hated these hours wasted in limbo.

Ghost seemed oddly calm, for once. Aside from the whole mouth-smacking of course. Soap wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. Perhaps the situation had him more on edge than usual.

“Bother ye if I start the motor?” Soap asked. The windows were fogging up and the used air was making him sleepier than it should, although given the three thirty wakeup call he decided to cut himself some slack. Still, being this tired without the convoy having reached base yet, let alone getting a move on, it didn’t seem like his best idea.

“Keep the lights down. Lieutenant Morrison gets weird about his boys and they’re facing us.” The lieutenant wiggled his leg. “Tell me about your basic,” Ghost finally asked.

“Wot? Story time because ye’s types didn’t have a good sergeant in basic?” Soap snorted. Ghost did that thing he liked to do where he could be staring at Soap, at Soap’s bones and nerves and delicate blood vessels, or something not-Soap which just so happened to occupy the same space as Soap. The eery glare didn’t really do it for Soap so he turned the key in the ignition and took a second to appreciate the warm red and orange lights popping up before he twisted the key one notch further and the old jeep coughed back to life. The machine was loud in the pre-dawn silence, cutting through the dreams and exhausted half-comas that their comrades surely still tried to escape in.

“Used to ah. We used to sing a lot. Had an Irish boy in our group, he knew all these songs from his ma’s pub.”

“Sing like a bird, the lot of you?”

“Ever heard a shoebill, Lt?” Soap asked.

“On YouTube,” his lieutenant admitted easily. Soap sniggered to himself.

“Surprised ye know what that is, sir.”

“Had to take basic somewhere, didn’t I?” Ghost asked mildly. The weirdly wet mouth-noises stopped, and instead he started popping one of the buttons on his thigh pocket.

“Yer right mad if ye think for a second I believe that Sir, all due respect.”

Ghost only hummed to Soap’s indignant reply. “Sing us a song then, Soap.”

“Ever heard a Kiwi?”

“Had one run up to me in the middle of a night training with Aussie SAS,” Ghost replied with what sounded like a grimace. “The poor sods that were sent to populate that continent really had to think they were being sent to hell.”

“They didn’t know how America would turn out,” Soap replied absently, trying not to focus too hard on the repetitive metallic plop of Ghost opening and closing the buttons on his trouser pockets.

“A right comedian before sunrise.” At least Ghost seemed amused by his disgruntled, short replies.

“Aye, Dante had shit on me,” Soap agreed easily and wondered for the umpteenth time why Ghost would be so fucking awake at this ungodly hour. He wasn’t used to superiors sitting awake while they waited for a convoy, wasn’t used to conversation beyond talking shit at the CO passed out snoring in the passenger seat.

“Not quite, Soap,” Ghost said with what sounded like a smile. “Promised me a song, sergeant.”

“Nae danger did I promise ye anything,” Soap tried.

“Don’t get cute with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

“Go’an then.”

Soap sighed and rolled his eyes for good measure before adjusting the fan to heat the windows.

“There are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl,” he started and then stopped himself to clear his throat. “But give me a ramblin’ rover frae Orkney down to Dover. We will roam the country over and together we’ll face the world.

“If you’re bent with arthritis, your bowels have colitis, you’ve gallopin’ bollockitis, and you’re thinkin’ it’s time you died,

“If you’ve been a man of action, though you’re lying there in traction, you may gain some satisfaction thinking ‘Jesus, at least I tried’.

“Oh there’s sober men and plenty, and drunkards barely twenty, there are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl.”

“Missed your true callsign, didn’t you?” Ghost asked quietly, as if he regretted breaking the silence after Soap’s voice cracked on the last line. “Sing like a lark for me, Soap.”

“Not a happy song, Lt.” Soap exhaled through his nose, and tried not to think too hard about the way his voice had cracked. On how many notes he had missed. Why he had chosen that particular part of the song to sing.

“Doesn’t change that you sing it nicely, sergeant. Sound like a choir boy.” Soap bit his lip, uncomfortable with how easily Ghost had spoken about Soap’s childhood, regardless of if it stemmed from Soap’s personnel file — which Ghost has full access to, it would just be weird — or if it had come from conjecture — also weird to think of himself as so easily fitting into patterns, Soap thought.

“Think that’s the convoy up ahead, on the service road?” Soap noticed movement to his left, half hidden behind his lieutenant’s bulky form. Desperately wished for the moving string of lights to be his reprieve from Ghosts eery perception. Ghost turned in his seat, twisting his entire spine. Soap thought to himself that he’d have been both more and less surprised at the same time if his lieutenant had just swivelled his head like an owl.

“You good to drive, sergeant?” Ghost asked.

“Tell you when it changes, Lt,” Soap promised and watched Ghost’s satisfied little nod.

“Then hit the road,” he ordered lightly and started fiddling with that stupid pocket again.

“Yes, Sir.” Soap smiled to himself while he turned on the lights and pulled out of the parking space to slip between the guard vehicles of the MP.

We will roam the country over and together we’ll face the world.

He hummed to himself, quietly of course as to not disturb the night any further. If Ghost joined him, Soap pretended not to pay any attention to it and weaselled the soft sound away to keep safe in his breast pocket.

[pinguwrites]

Kinktober 2023 | Day Ten — William Killick + uniform kink, dirty talk

Pairing -> dom!william killick x wife!reader

Warnings -> smut (minors dni), dom!william, sub!reader, mention of military duty, use of good girl, sir kink, captain kink, william in his uniform>>>>>

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

“I knew you liked it,” William said sweetly, resting his forehead against yours. He cupped your cheeks in his hand, caressing it with his fingers. “I can see the way you look at me when I wear it. All bothered-like. Just want a strong man to take care of you, hmm?”

You shuddered. William was right. You did like it when he wore his uniform, especially now that you were finally seeing him against after his deployment. How was it your fault he looked so damn good in it? It complimented his skin tone, it matched his dark brown hair almost perfectly, and it outlined his body, showing that he was strong and muscular and fit. When he wore it, it was like he commanded respect, and when you were by his side, it felt like no one could hurt you, that you were under protection, William’s protection. That you were his. 

“Yeah,” you admitted, trying not to get all flustered about it. If you didn’t downplay the situation you were sure you’d be in for nights of teasing. “It just, it looks nice on you. It’s a pretty colour.”

Images of fantasies you’ve had came up in your head. You tried to push them down, but you couldn’t stop thinking about them, especially now . . . William, holding you in his arms, shielding you from the dangers of the outside world. He would command you and dominante you, but in the loveliest ways — in a caring way. In a way that said he loved you. Sometimes he’d be on top, fucking you so good, but with his uniform on. He’d ask you — no, demand you call him ‘Captain’, and you would.  

William kissed you softly, his lips brushing up against yours. “I know it is. Is this what you want?” he asked.

“What?”

“Is this what you want?” he repeated. “To make love to you in this uniform?” His hands trailed up under your shirt, aiming to touch your breasts. “I can do that. Only if you want it.”

“Yes!” you immediately said, then averted your eyes, embarrassed at how eager you sounded. “William, I want it.”

“Darling,” he cooed. He picked you up in his arms, bridal style, and carried you to the bedroom, laying you gently on the mattress. “I’ll give it you. But first we need to lay some ground rules, okay?”

You looked up at him, curious, while he unbuckled his belt. What a wonderful sight.

“It’s not William anymore,” he said sternly. “You’ll call me Captain Killick. I deserve it, don’t I? For my wife to respect my position?”

“Yes, sir.” You could feel your body getting hotter, and the area between your legs wetter.

“You’ll be obedient, too. No brattiness,” he said, as he pulled his fat cock out, “no pleas or cries. Just ‘yes, sir’, ‘I’ll do anything to please you, sir’. I’ve served you all those years out there, fighting to keep my darling girl safe, and in return you’ll serve me. On your knees with your mouth, legs spread with your cunt — whatever I ask.”

Your response was filled with lust, “Yes, sir. Whatever you ask.”

“Good girl.” He gave you a proper kiss this time, a passionate one, with his tongue sweeping over your lips and pushing its way into your mouth. He let out a muffled groan, hiking up your skirt and pulling down your panties. 

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he said in your ear. You hesitated. He had never taken you in that position before, but you obeyed nonetheless, waiting in anticipation.

“Ohh,” William moaned, pushing his cock into your wet pussy. He immediately started thrusting, hard and fast, without giving you a chance to adjust. 

“William!” you yelped, clutching onto the bed sheets for some stability.

He swiftly spanked your ass.

“C-captain Killick,” you corrected, little whimpers leaving your mouth. 

“Good girl. Ah, fuck — I can feel you clenching,” William said, his balls slapping against your skin, but you could also hear the sound of clothing shuffling. “Like it this much? Being—under my control? Dirty.”

You squirmed and tried to cover your wanton moans by placing your hand over your mouth, but William pinned your hands behind your back the moment he noticed what you were doing. “No, I want to hear your moans. Don’t hide them from me . . ."

He slowed his pace down and leaned over, his stomach touching your back. His thrusts were now more stiffer, and rough, pushing his way deep inside you. “Need to do this more often. Getting you so wet . . . I’ve missed you, it’s been so long since I’ve been inside of a woman.”

He cupped your bouncing breasts, pinching your nipples, eliciting a squeak out of you. “My darling wife. I love you . . . Now, stop squirming," he chastised, "and let me fuck you good."

Taglist:

@rainyforest777

@thatwitchybitch420 

@madeinuk

@gentyleman

@henrywintersdearestgirl

[catmomjudy]

Did Eddie Run Away to the Army?

(Fox Publicity Still)

I commonly see it phrased (in fanfiction and in some posts here) that Eddie “ran away” to the Army.

What does canon say?

In “Eddie Begins” (s3e15), canon states that Eddie “will be back to Afghanistan next week” when they talk with their parents after Christopher is born.

When they are arguing about Eddie’s reenlistment (which he did without telling her), canon also has Shannon saying “I got pregnant, and you signed up. Surprise!”

In s6e16, when they are talking about proposals, Eddie says, “Shannon got pregnant. When she told me the news, I said, ‘We should get married.’ I barely even asked.”

So, it is very clearly canon that Eddie did not enlist until after Shannon discovered that she was pregnant. They got married, and he was already stationed in Afghanistan when Christopher was born. 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 So, how did we get from Civilian Teenager Eddie to PFC Diaz, duty station Afghanistan? Let me tell you a story.

Teenager Shannon absolutely knows she is pregnant the very first day she missed her period. She runs straight into Eddie’s arms and tells him. (That’s the 4 week point of a 40 week pregnancy.)

She and Eddie go down to the courthouse the Very Next Day to get married. That same day, Eddie then goes to a recruitment office.

His recruiting and training process goes through the system “Like Magic,” and he quickly progresses through each of the steps. For 68W (Combat Medic):

Recruitment: 2 weeks

Basic Training: 10 weeks

Advanced Training (AIT): 16 weeks

Prep for deployment: 3 weeks

Total: 31 weeks

(Based on: 68W (Combat Medic) training requirements at goarmy.com; Personal stories and Ask/Answers posted by real soldiers online)

Eddie arrives, duty-bound and healthcare coverage obtained, in Afghanistan, 35 weeks after the stick turned blue.

When Eddie reports to his very first duty station as a PFC (Private First Class, or E3), he asks for leave (“I need to be in Texas in about 4 weeks because we’re having a baby!”), and his very nice commanding officer says, “Why sure PFC Diaz! Let me arrange your military airlift right away!” And off Eddie goes, arriving in El Paso in advance of Christopher’s birth.

It’s a lovely fairy tale, but this is what canon says happened, so we have to accept it as truth. 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 Now, I could tell you all of the ways that this is a TV fantasy. I was in the Navy for 11 years, so I already took it with a grain of salt. I did some poking around (because, as former military, I know that what goes for the Navy doesn’t necessarily go for the Army where it relates to duty assignments), and found various Reddit chats where enlistees were asking questions about recruitment and 68W training, and I skimmed through a bunch of answers to get a general idea of timelines, and then meshed that with my own experience.

The numbers above are an Absolute Minimum. No delays in processing; no wait for the next Basic class start date; no gap after Basic (and no picking up trash and cleaning toilets at Ft. Sam) while awaiting for the next Combat Medic course to start; no leave taken after AIT; and no training or medical period at his first duty station before deployment (and troops are deployed from stateside commands as a group—you don’t just get on a plane and show up in Afghanistan). Eddie would need to take leave and return to Texas for the birth. He would have earned 14 pay periods worth of leave at this point, which would add up to 17.5 days on the books, so he would have enough days to go home for 2-ish weeks. However, he is NOT EVER going to go to Afghanistan and then fly back 4 weeks later. That’s a pipedream. If they’re nice, they’ll keep him stateside and send him for additional training at Ft. Sam Houston (where 68W AIT is held). But, if, as canon states, PFC Eddie is already in Afghanistan, it is highly doubtful that he’d be back for the birth.

And this is even assuming that Teenager Shannon knew she was pregnant on the very first day she missed her period. 🤔 Yeah, probably not.

[This is also not even getting into the fact that, based on the birthdate on her tombstone, by Texas state law, Shannon would have entered kindergarten in September 1998, at the age of almost-six. She would have graduated in 2011 (the year Christopher was born), which would totally turn the above timeline into an unreachable fantasy, unless she and Eddie were in different grades (maybe someone else can figure that bit out). So, we’ll assume she moved to TX from a state that had a December 31 cut-off (which, in the 90s, was most northern states—I’m from PA, and currently live in CT, and, until recently, this was the date in both places), and that Eddie was born sometime before September 1, 1992 (so he could start school in September 1997). Then they would have both graduated in May 2010. There, that fixes it. 😁]

🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 🇦🇫 🇺🇸 So, did Eddie “run away”?

I think, to even make the Fantasy Timeline happen AND result in placement in the career path Eddie chose (because it’s a selective field with a much higher-required ASVAB score and more training requirements than other high-demand fields like Infantryman), he needed to have been considering it anyway. The military is a really good choice for a boy (or girl) from Texas who doesn’t want to go to college right now, but wants to learn job skills and earn college benefits. If he already was thinking about it, he would already know that the military dependent health benefits (and housing benefits) are pretty darn good. Not perfect, but then, no insurance plan is these days (I could tell you a story about where I, active military, gave birth, vs. the jacuzzi-equipped birthing suite my coworker’s military dependent wife got to use, but this is already too long).

Viewer opinion of Eddie’s enlistment in the Army is very much colored by his memories of Shannon in “Eddie Begins” (see quotes, above), and their argument in “Haunted” (s2e07–and, yes, I did notice that it’s a Ghost Title 😁).

Eddie: What did you need that I didn't give you?

Shannon: You! I needed a husband and a co-parent. And instead, all I got was a life alone in Texas with a baby and you on another continent. I needed someone to have my back.

Eddie: I always had your back.

Shannon: No. You were in Afghanistan.

It’s also colored by civilian opinions on and stereotypes of military personnel and military life.

Military people have families. Many of them have children and good, solid marriages. They rotate back and forth between stateside and forward deployment, so they aren’t always gone (except when there’s an actual war, like in the early 20-teens, so bad timing for Eddie). During peacetime, you don’t deploy over and over again without being assigned to what the Navy calls “Shore Duty” without volunteering for it, usually in writing. Career military people enter service and stick around for 20 years, because the benefits are good, and the retirement pay is good, too. Retiring on half pay at age 38 is not a horrible thing.

Eddie’s fatal character flaw is not that he ran away: It’s that he internalizes his decisions, and makes knee-jerk decisions without discussing them with anyone. Join the Army. Reenlist. Move to LA. Leave the 118. Yep. And I can see why Shannon was royally ticked off. He should have talked with her, but, really, I’m thinking the conclusion would have been the same in the end—she just would have felt better about it. Having your child diagnosed with a major health issue is NOT the time to lose your health insurance, even briefly. If they talked, they could have discussed Eddie rotating stateside at his next opportunity—duty station assignment doesn’t align with enlistment period, after all—closer to Shannon’s mother. A compromise.

I guess what really annoys me is when people use Eddie “running away to the Army” to justify Shannon’s actions (even, or especially, when Eddie says this himself). Eddie’s military service gained him health benefits for his pregnant wife and subsequent child, and health coverage for that same child; he went home on leave when able; and he video-chatted with his wife and child routinely. As Eddie says in s3e15: “I was in Afghanistan, not Cancun.”

Let’s not compare that with Shannon ghosting her own child for two years. Per s2e07, this is also canon, folks.

There’s a reason for the Ghost-themed title, after all.

P.S. I know I’m going to take flack for this one, but “Who Cares?”

🤷🏻‍♀️

[weirdworldofwinnie]

A Darling Distraction

Cillian Murphy as J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Wife Reader NSFW 18+ only Oneshot

(Mood board by Selene Shelby @forgottenpeakywriter, this fic is especially for you, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks for the initial idea and support💕)

Summary: Robert's been married to you for a while and now in Los Alamos, after the last few years of hard work and a 'successful' Trinity Test, he desperately needs something he won't admit: his wife in pink satin lingerie and sexual stress relief.

Word Count: ~3,703

Warnings: Smut, unprotected and oral sex both ways, light daddy kink + breeding kink, some angst, mention of infidelity, period stereotypical gender roles, unspecified age gap (less than 10 years)

Disclaimer: Obviously NOT historically accurate to real life and is inspired by Cillian Murphy's portrayal of Oppenheimer in the film. It isn't supposed to be in total support and a complete reflection of the man's character, only my interpretation. Scroll away and DNI if you are uncomfortable or take issue with this; it is primarily for entertainment purposes only and it is just fantasy/fiction!

This is strictly a one shot story, no more will be added to it. If you want to read other Cillian!Oppenheimer fanfiction, check out my Masterlist

Tags: @happysparklingshadows (@forgottenpeakywriter wanted me to tag you), @frozenhuntress67, @immyowndefender, @szde8-blog, @bypurple, @irenethewoman, @noirrose21-blog, @gridmouse86

It had been less than 24 hours since the denotation of the gadget and Dr. Robert Oppenheimer's eyes had been engulfed in fire; the aftermath of a hot white flash as bright as a hundred suns blowing out his pupils, followed by a colorful mushrooming cloud that was somehow simultaneously beautiful and horrific. Between the hours before and after Trinity, he had thought of Jean and her influential poetry, and you of course, but now the bomb had become him and only that one vision filled his mind, haunting him.

All day he had been at the lab and offices, but mostly at the main mess hall celebrations that flowed with chatter and too many drinks shared amongst the military and scientists alike whom many believed had been witness to a great success, a miracle, but also the worst of humanity had just been born into creation. Oppenheimer had become what he supposed he had been destined to be all along: Prometheus, doomed to bring great power and advancement to humanity at a steep cost. He was the destroyer of worlds, but not technically yet, and that was the worst of it. The early morning test was exactly that; a trial, a preview of what was to manifest, and very soon would the world get to see such power he had helped birth. He desired peace, but the trick was he was only attaining that through warfare like never before. The stress was far from over and he was afraid to become a nervous wreck by the end of the decade with all these dark pervasive thoughts and doubts. Depression was nigh on the back of pressuring anxiety and there was no way anything would ever be the same again. He had changed, the world had changed, seamlessly overnight.

As he clumsily unlocked the front door to his home with slightly shaking fingers and stumbled inside, reaching up to remove his porkpie hat and hang it up on the coatrack, he called out your name hoarsely. After a beat of listening and there was no response, he sighed... Maybe you'd already gone to bed or were tucking in the children, whatever it was he didn't know and didn't care because he was too wrapped up in his own emotions. He felt ecstatic that all the hard work had come to fruition and they cemented history, but he was also at a paradoxical point of great accomplishment and great moral failure; the duality of man. But most importantly: it worked. Now what they would do with it was another matter he couldn't quit thinking about.

He reflexively twitched for a cigarette in his shirt pocket, but he was empty, so he walked to the bedroom single mindedly and fumbled for a box in the side table, yanking out the drawer and shifting through to pick up a pack of Chesterfield's.

"Darling?"

He jumped, spinning around with a huff and hand on his hip to see you standing in the shadows of the entryway and draped in a pink robe snug around your frame and he noticed your feet were bare as if you'd just been dressing.

"Y/N, I thought you were... Are the children in bed?"

"An hour ago, they were fussy and very insistent with missing Daddy, but once I read to them they finally settled down. You've been absent all day because of the test, what made you actually come home?"

He shook his head, finding relief and refuge in taking a long drag on the cigarette and blowing the smoke out, gesturing at you with the butt of it.

"You brought in the sheets like I told you to?"

"Of course, I knew."

"Good."

He moved to the edge of the bed and sat down heavily, rubbing his forehead and you noticed the tiredness he exuded for a man who usually was so attentive with higher energy levels, and how sunken in and sad his wide ocean eyes were. These past few years had taken a tremendous toll on his wellbeing more than ever... His jutting cheekbones and general gauntness were more pronounced with the unhealthy loss of weight and crinkles of wrinkles were all he truly kept gaining in eventual amounts; crow's feet, forehead lines, nasolabial folds, and etches under his eyes. His dark hair, kept meticulously cut short, was greying at the sides. Even his teeth, if inspected closely, were on a fast track to faintly showing signs of aging decay from all the smoking and drinking he did on a daily basis.

Robert was not the picture, nor rarely the temperament, of boyish youth you remembered from Berkeley.

Truthfully, you and him hadn't had proper sex in many months; it just wasn't very desirable or convenient between his never ending work that created distance between him and anyone who wasn't a scientist, the continuing socializing and parties with many other faces in town, and you personally spending days cleaning up and minding after little (often crying) children who did not have a clue of what their parents were doing out in the middle of the New Mexico desert surrounded by barbed wire fencing and uniformed men always patrolling. Life here was anything but boring, but the bedroom sure had become so. More often than not, Robert couldn't sleep soundly while you kept to your designated side of the bed and tried to ignore his tossing and turnings until eventually he doped himself up on sleeping pills to cope. He also hadn't been the same since the news of Jean Tatlock's passing and you highly suspected - no, knew - he had an affair during his trip to California once he had his security clearance approved. Of course it upset you he could be so idiotic and unfaithful, yet it wasn't shocking given his womanizing track record, but what made you more concerned was knowing how psychologically troubled Jean had been and if Robert thought he could offer her some consolation, he may have just made it worse and partly done her in. If he blamed himself for her death, you couldn't imagine carrying around that kind of guilt in addition to what he spent his time creating to end the war.

He stood now, restless, and began to pace an invisible groove into the flooring as he continually smoked and muttered to himself. You drifted away into the bathroom and shut the door, shrugging off your robe to the floor. You were completely nude underneath, coming off of a fresh bath and you had spritzed yourself with the best perfume you owned, hoping to surprise Robert, but something was clearly missing here.

Yes, and you know obviously what it is. It's his happiness, the spontaneousness that he has lost ever since he ran those calculations and went to Albert Einstein about a chain reaction igniting the atmosphere and blowing us all to bits. It was less than 0.1% chance, but it reminded him of the bigger issue... creating such a weapon with the power to destroy oneself was mighty weighty on any half decent man's conscience and even a rotten one's, for he too would be annihilated in the process if ever taken far enough. Everything these days was pure existential dread, no doubt about that, and no wonder Robert wasn't in the mood for love. His heart was being drained of it daily and you wanted to help, to fill him again even if just for once. It was difficult to watch him continually self-destruct and negatively affect those around him.

So you plucked up the ready matching pink folded satin lingerie he'd gifted you for the fifth wedding anniversary off the countertop and slipped into it, banking on the fact that it made you look sexually irresistible... And oh, it certainly did dial the appeal up to ten. You sauntered out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom where Robert was now seated on the bed, nose deep in a book and paperwork, clearly engrossed and a permanent frown was driven into his skin between his sculpted eyebrows.

"I have something for you, love," you announced softly as you leaned in the doorway, letting your body be on full display in such a loose, risqué little number.

"Hmm?" he murmured distractedly, haphazardly fluttering pages.

"Are you even reading any of that?" you asked flatly and he accidentally dropped it to the floor, hands still quivering and he tried to get up, wavering on his feet as you watched him in a strange state of both nerves cracking and drunkenness. You ached to make him better and by golly, tonight you would even if you had to throw yourself at him.

"Robert, don't you want to look at me? I have a surprise on..."

"I should pick this up and go to bed with a pill," he said to only himself, bending over and scooping the paperwork and book into his arms before standing unsteadily and he turned his back, carelessly dumping the materials onto the side table. You quickly strode up behind him and slid an arm around his waist, fingers drumming on his metal belt buckle splashed with a tinge of turquoise design.

He froze as you wound a bare leg around one of his and he reached behind his back, brushing your scantily clad silky bottom, fingers gliding over the fabric and making you moisten.

"The lingerie, you're wearing it," he stated and you couldn't quite tell if he was delighted by this or not.

"So I am, I know it's been a while since you gifted me with it, so tonight I thought I'd finally return the favor after the amount of stress we've been under, especially you."

"You-you're proposing I need... oh no. No, I don't know if I'm, uh, ready-no, I don't know if I-I can, I mean do-handle it-" he stuttered out and you fought a laugh. Oppie the great improviser, the genius, the man always in control of the proverbial cockpit was ironically clearly not thinking all that straight tonight and for once in his life, absolutely tongue-tied. You may not have much power as a housewife (that earned psychology degree had been so far deemed useless once you moved with him and had children) in this godforsaken place, but you had this way of melting your husband to molten lava that no one else was capable of. His mouth utterly agape, you ran your hands around the leather of the belt and snaked another leg around his, squeezing gently into his side as you put your lips close to his ear, murmuring.

"You know that we both need it, so just let me work my magic like a good old fashioned whore..."

He bristled, catching your hand still fondling his belt and pushing away lightly.

"I would never refer to you as that," he said, completely unamused and perhaps with a veil of disgust too that you thought seemed unnecessary.

"What am I, then, just the stoic scientific director's wife who will be at your side when you receive a Nobel for your work in stopping the world from global conflict with explosions and implosions?"

His sharp jaw clenched and in one swift motion, he abruptly fell over sideways onto the bed and you startled, leaning over and gripping at his shoulder, worried.

"Oh, Robert, are you sick? I was just being a bit sarcastic."

He closed his eyes, obviously in some sort of internal turmoil that didn't merit sharing fully.

"No, I just... We don't need to do this, not now, not when I'm having a pretty bad time. I'm fatigued, probably drunk, and I should talk to the General tomorrow about the schedule. I'll be wanting to fly to Washington soon; the President will be expecting a briefing and they need to determine the exact target and then once it's all over we'll need to settle somewhere else and..."

He began to murmur anxiously about all the engagements he was expecting (postwar and not) and you shook your head, pushing down on his chest.

"But don't you want a distraction, a temporary all consuming joy for one night?" you pressed and he finally looked up at you, really gazed at you, and a genuine buttery smile spread across his mouth.

"Come here, my love," he whispered while tugging at the lingerie panty bow unsuccessfully and you clamored onto the bed beside him. He paused, licking his lips, and then spoke too briskly.

"We'll get straight to it and once I finish, it should help me sleep naturally better than those prescriptions."

You sat up, shoving him playfully and scowling.

"That has to be the least sexist statement you've ever said to me in the bedroom. Don't you want a marathon, not a sprint? Enjoy me, Robert. That's what I'm really here for anyhow, your darling distraction."

He took this in, then rolled over on top of you, his hot alcohol and nicotine infused breath on your cheeks as he breathed heavily, and you made a cringing face.

"How many drinks have you had today? You smell of a bar and I'm thinking you should rinse your mouth out before you get the luxury of having me."

"You do, hm? I guess that's a command, Mrs. Oppenheimer," he smirked and sat up, shoving off to the bathroom and you went to go put on a record on the turntable in the living room. The classical music crackled through and you walked back to the bedroom, laying into a seductive position onto the bed, one leg propped up with a bent knee and your arm draped across the headboard.

When he came back, his eyes widened at the sight of you as though it was finally registering and he wet his lips again, unapologetically hungry. He moved to the bed, shrugging his suit jacket off to drop to the floor, taking off his black tie, and mindlessly undoing the buttons on his white shirt. That was quickly discarded as you waited for him to remove his socks and shoes, pretending to be impatient by switching position to cross your legs and checking your manicure.

"Hurry up, Oppie, I have a time limit here."

He shook his head disapprovingly, kicking the shoes under the bed and whipping off his belt, tossing it to the floor with a clunk before wrestling out of his trousers and you stared at his boxer clad skinny frame, the cock not even engaged yet... Looks like he's making you do all the work again. A petulant sigh escaped when you rolled your eyes and he pointed a finger, chastising.

"Patience, my love. Hasn't Daddy taught you anything at this point?"

You bit your lip as he leaned over and his bare chest collided with yours... You pulled him into an antsy kiss, mouths crushing each other needily and he tasted of tobacco and toothpaste, a strange combination, but better than before. You felt the slight sheen of cold water he had splashed on his skin transferring to yours and you gripped his neck, fingers splaying across the back of his head.

His own hands went to fondle your covered breasts and you pulled away from his kiss for a moment.

"You are divinely doll like in this, I love such feminine expression," he murmured in a kind of rapture.

"Shame it has to be stripped of me," you whispered with raised eyebrows.

"It's only garments, what really counts is here..." He suddenly squeezed both your breasts and you let out a spurt of high pitched noise, allowing him to remove the top, shimming it off your body in one motion and tossing it over his shoulder where the strap caught on the bedpost.

He thumbed over one nipple and then transferred to the other, teasing you to rock hard nubs. He moved to your panty, slipping it down and off to expose you, and you kicked it to the end of the bed. Then, in turn, you yanked down his underwear and his cock sprung out into your ready grip. You began to pump on it and getting him to a more erect state, rising up. He groaned lightly and you pulled the oozing tip to your mouth, parting lips and flicking your tongue out to carefully lick a strip along the length before taking head, making him grow stiffer and wetter by the minute. Your mouth popped of his length, swallowing, and he gripped your waist as he focused hard on you over his throbbing member.

"What do you want, my love? Do you want me?" he whispered huskily and you shivered in anticipated arousal.

"Yes, darling, I want you... I need you, you own me and I own you."

"Sounds like a fair arrangement," he breathed before crushing into you and began to rub, purely animalistic, all over your smooth body. His head burrowed down into your freshly shaved pussy just like how you and him liked it clean, licking at your folds and massaging your lower abdomen in a desperate frenzy. You dug nails into his hair, curling, and bucked your hips to meet his appetite when he slowly slithered on top. You groaned as you took him, all of him, and let his penis expand and stretch out your core to the fullest extent, clenching instinctively around the shaft as he thrust repeatedly until you were sent easily right over the edge in freefall.

"Mmm, Robert!" you squealed in ecstasy and he muffled you, hand slapping down over your mouth and shushing insistently.

"Shh, don't need to wake the children now. God knows they'll find Mommy and Daddy intimately together one of these days and be scarred for life at the sight." He chuckled as you whined behind his palm and grooved further at a pace you both knew very well. After years of marriage and sensual exploration, he knew all your sweet spots and sensitivities, when was too much, and yet it was taking all his self control not to completely plow you apart right now. His skin smacked against yours as he ground into you, hands everywhere at once and he peppered wet kisses all along your jaw to nape.

When his warm cum finally jetted into you, flooding in your cervix fully, you were unable to constrain a loud moan and he growled primally, his whole small frame shuddered through his own climax as you gripped his back, using his boney spine as placeholders for your fingers as he rocked further at a steady pace, not going to come out right away.

More orgasms came fast and one after the other, especially as you rolled over and he took his place beneath and you rode his cock in a fervor, letting the peak hit all over again and he watched in a dazed nirvana as you pleasured. When he finally pulled out from your used leaking hole, you could tell how satisfied he was having been able to hopefully successfully seed you and that signature smugness was so evident.

You laid panting at his side as he took up another smoke, struggling to keep his eyelids from closing and drifting off to sleep. You interweaved legs, soaking wet with combined fluids dripping onto the sheets, and he flit a free finger down to your soaked pussy, groping and nearly overstimulating you with another orgasm you didn't think could be as strong as the first. He grinned at the effect and cupped your mound with his palm, dominant of it as he spoke softly.

"Groves pointed out that I have no knowledge of birth control, which is true. By this rate, you'll be having yet another baby in nine months and I can only hope we are far from this current landscape and political climate then, never to return. You know, I'm hoping for another boy this time."

You sighed with a smile, rubbing your belly and his hand joined yours, rubbing circles over your navel.

"You make a wonderful mother," he commented in praise and you laughed lightly, bitterly, and glanced at him.

"I'm not perfect, I can barely hold it together these days when they're hungry, tired, and upset for no reason I can physically see at all... Sometimes I wish to wring their necks quite honestly. And you're very hardly the model father yourself when you are always away and hardly take care of them. I know the work is everything, but they need genuine paternal love more than your science to save them."

He shrugged, nonplussed, and then set his wispy cigarette to the ashtray before leaning his head against yours.

"We are probably horrible people, but I wouldn't have it any another way. To create life with you is more than I could selfishly do alone, for obvious reasons untold."

You laughed again at his dry humor and intertwined your body with his own, wishing you could crawl inside his skin and live in his bone structure. He was absolutely everything to you, even on bad days, and maybe his prestige and stability contributed to that, but there was real love underneath his flaws.

"Whatever you face, I'll be here to try to mitigate it," you whispered seriously and he nodded, appreciative.

"I trust you and I love you, Y/N. It won't get easier for me, for us, and I'm afraid the future may be as horrifying as I imagine it."

"That's why we have sex, to stave off the inevitable for a little while," you told him, tears pushing out and slipping down your cheeks. He caught one with his finger and wiped it clean off, staring at the translucent wet spot at the tip of his fingernail sadly. It wasn't unusual for you to weep after sex, but this felt different.

"Kiss me," he murmured and you leaned forward as he grabbed the back of your head and smooshed in, tongues writhing together for a few seconds before you both pulled away, breathing in the same air together.

"Tonight is good enough for me," he decided and you snuggled into his neck, closing your eyes to succumbing exhaustion.

In an uncertain frightening world full of variables, you vowed to be his one constant for life.

Thanks for reading 🖤

[stormkobra-5]

It’s Been Awhile

So, I know a lot of you (or maybe none of you) have been wondering about my sudden disappearance.

No, I am not dead (Yet–don’t wanna jinx myself). In all reality I just reached a point in my life where I just couldn’t find the spoons to write (or interact with anyone, either). A combination of work, worries about school, making plans for the future with my boyfriend, and trying to decide on a new career since my health problems won’t allow me to join the military– they all just kind of overwhelmed me. Personal circumstances also dragged me down.

But– my irl friends have inadvertently gotten me back into practice-writing on Tumblr. Them always talking about their TikToks or Snapchats have made me want to keep going with my social media.

So.

I’m.

Back.

Updates and new stories will be few and far between. I have no idea when a new chapter of any series will come out, or when any one-shot will or anything. Most stuff starting out will just be reblogs. Interactions– even with my friends (@rosecentaur1916, @leh2393, @vermillionsails, @poeticsorcery, @bobfloydsgf, @marc-spectorr, @toracainz, @lovely-cryptid, and all the rest of you) will be limited, because a lot of the time I won’t have the time/energy to interact with people after dealing with work, and during the morning I’m usually with my boyfriend.

First thing’s first: I’m also going to have a new side-blog. Stormkobra-55. In this blog I’m going to have stories varying from Star Wars shorts (with original plots/characters) and various fantasy shorts. Neither of which will have anything to do with my Star Wars fanfictions on my main blog (well… a lot of them might be based off of a Mandalorian Jedi OC, buuuuuut that’s just because I’m ridiculously obsessed with the idea. A few might also involve characters like Poe, Rey, Finn, and the like, but that’s also because the Sequel Trilogy is my favorite period. A lot of the ideas might sound like House of Fett or Heir of Djarin, actually…).

(Sorry not sorry lol)

Secondly: Before I write anything, I’m gonna do a whole makeover on my blog. The whole theme needs updated, or it’s gonna bug the hell outta me.

Anyyyyywayyyyyyyy…… I just wanted to let you guys know that I’m back, if intermittently.

I love you all 😘

[biblicallyaccuratepigeons]

37, 34, 27 for the ask game :p

I see you've not only asked them in descending order, but also order of ascending difficulty

37. Dogs or cats?

I like well-behaved dogs to visit, and cats to live with

34. Favorite flower?

My answer is very normie and I'm sorry

I always thought black flowers were cool-looking because they're so iridescent and interesting to look at.

Symbolically, my favorite is the hyacinth.

If we take aesthetics and symbolism together and meet in the middle, I'd say gardenias.

As for usefulness, I really love dandelions; they're also pretty in a very nonconventional way, and they carry dreams with them on the wind so. Dandelions are just the ultimate flower.

27. Favorite book?

You know I have trouble with these kinds of questions Ciphey-wiphey

My favorite "adult" book is Armor, by John Steakley (pronounced "steek-ly," which I just learned today; been pronouncing it "steak-ly" forever). It's a great military sci-fi that my dad leant to someone so I can't read it anymore and I'm so fine with that really it's not a big deal- anyway it's about a lot of things, including the effect of violence on humans and it's very good and everyone should read it

I also really liked Dracula, but because of Reasons I still haven't finished it, so I don't count it as a favorite. Yet.

My favorite "children's" book is. Well, see, it's complicated. When I was little, it was Little Pilgrim's Progress. When I was a little older than that, it was The Chronicles of Narnia. After that, it was, on paper, Warriors by Erin Hunter; but in secret it was a comic series called Bone by Jeff Smith. I was... going through a lot. After that, I was reading a lot of library fantasy books, my favorite of which were Children of the Lamp and Peter and the Starcatchers (I was very upset when Pan came out. Still haven't watched it).

And then I discovered Percy Jackson, and lemme tell you, that was the most obsessed with a book series I ever was, for a few reasons:

1. It was a Greek mythology fanfiction. During the time that I was reading Bone, I was also poring through all of the mythology books I could find in the school library, most of which were Greek. This meant that Rick Riordan had reawakened in 14-year-old me a hyperfixation that had lain (almost) dormant for... *counts on fingers* nine years (edit: i was wrong i counted wrong i'm sorry it was five). And he did it well (I will fight anyone who says otherwise).

2. It was about a guy who'd switched schools a lot, and had nowhere to call home really, finding a place where he belonged with people who were like him. It was a literal power fantasy for me.

3. Even though he'd found a place, he was still very different from his new extended found/actual family. This was something else with which I could connect, as someone who'd often felt like a stranger in my own home.

4. Cool action and magic and fighting and blood and hero complexes and swords and secret swords and secret magic swords and did I mention the swords and also there was Nico di Angelo, my son, my everything, my favorite boy-

Right. Back to the question. Um. What was it again? Right! Favorite book: there are too many throughout my life for me to decide.

[thetiniestkris]

A Fourth Wing DNF Review

⭐️

Only made it to page 63 and had to DNF. I picked up this book with genuine expectation to enjoy it; the concept itself sounded really interesting. I love a good dysfunctional family dynamic as the basis of character development. I love dragons. I love an enemies to lovers. I especially love Epic Fantasy.

Sadly I think this book, in the 63 pages I read, failed on all of those (except maybe the dragons. I only read so far to see them char a couple students.)

On the dysfunctional family dynamic: I expected more. I expected threats. I expected actual stakes and consequences. All I took from Violet's interactions with her mom were that her mom is a bit cold and bossy and Violet is a pushover.

"If I become a scribe she'll just drag me back into the riders!" That's it? That's the whole reason you're okay with facing an incredibly high death rate? I expected years of emotional abuse, a past failure, a burning need to prove yourself, and all I got was "mom told me to". It's incredibly weak motivation.

On dragons: even though the book takes the trouble to spell out why the dragons work with the humans, it was a forgettable, contrived reason. "They need humans because then they can amplify their power". Okay? But they still have power on their own? It begs why and how the first human/dragon pairing even happened, when there is no obvious benefit for the dragons until after the bonding has happened. Maybe the human/dragon relationship is expounded on later, but I doubt it.

On enemies to lovers: it was really anticlimactic to have her sister warn her to stay away from a rebellion leader's child because he will kill her on sight, only to immediately have her meet him and have him not even try to kill her. Also why even allow rebels kids into the most exclusive military academy? Also why is he even given authority within that academy? Again, nonsensical. It would have made much more sense within the story to have him be the child of one of her mothers political opponents.

On being an epic fantasy: I guess it technically passes this bar, but to be honest it feels like the book was conceptualized as a love triangle fanfiction first, story with a plot and setting second. Absolutely no hate to fanfiction. I've looked at other reviews that said this would have been better in a modern setting and I completely agree. The quasi medieval setting felt rote and dispassionate.

Other notes: lazy dialogue. Lazy writing in places; some scenes feel cut short just to jump to the next one with the hot guy. F- on the exposition. Exposition stole the show for all the wrong reasons. I mean absolutely destroyed any tension in the scene it was shoved into, which should have been a pivotal scene. I'm genuinely amazed an editor left that in all the way to the final print.

I'm exhausted by books like this. I want to enjoy fantasy, and I want to have epic fantasy with modern views on sexuality, and epic fantasy with young women leads, but I'm exhausted by every female lead being a blend of "bland self insert character" and "girl boss chosen one 💅". Give me character development! Give me struggle! Give me subversion and flaws!

[idle-brit]

10 Fandoms, 10 characters, 10 tags

Thank you @baepsrae for tagging me!! ♡( ◡‿◡ )

This is everyone's preemptive warning to skip past if you don't want to read a long and rambling post, I'm about to go wild lol. I'll also include the 5 people (not 10 oops) I'm tagging here at the top so they don't have to scroll; I'm interested to hear your answers but obviously there's no pressure to do it (･ω･)b

@koscheiy, @breitzbachbea, @runmild, @toffeeanddragons, and @yatzuaka!

1. Loki (Marvel)

My poor little meow meow. My silly rabbit. My sweet darling babygirl. Picking 9 other characters was honestly hard because there's few I truly consider a favourite like Loki. Between his 2011-2013 appearances in the MCU, the comics, and the pre-Thor high-fantasy-novel-esque fics on AO3, the ideal version of this character lives in my head rent free, and has done since 2012. I picked this gif from The Avengers because it was the moment that made me want to see the film again just for his scenes, and it remains the only film I've seen in cinemas twice. He's quite literally the reason I got Tumblr, for The Avengers fanart, and my very first post was some (bad) fanart of my own haha. While the rest of this list is in no particular order, Loki is absolutely my number one, for all time, always. I could talk about him forever.

2. Evy Carnahan (The Mummy)

I had to choose the scene I got my blog title from. While Loki might be my favourite character, The Mummy is my favourite film. I think I saw it at the exact right time of life when I was a kid in my Ancient Egypt phase, but also far younger than the recommended viewing age the film suggests lol. Ever since then I've rewatched this and the sequel (yes, sequel, singular. I said what I said) more times than I can count and further developed my interest in actual Egyptology. Evy is intelligent and an academic, kindhearted, a little bit clumsy, but uses her knowledge and quick thinking to be an absolute badass and save the day multiple times. I've always wanted to be at least half as cool as her and also marry Rick O'Connell.

3. L (Death Note)

Everyone here is lucky that I got Tumblr after the height of my weeb phase that started in 2008. Death Note was the first manga I ever read and I expected to enjoy it and move on, but as soon as I got to the Lind. L. Taylor event in volume 2 my young mind was blown and I was obsessed. One scene of L outsmarting Light kept me reading manga, got me into anime, introduced me to fanart, was the first fanart I ever drew, introduced me to fanfiction, and years later I would take Japanese classes at uni. L is an amazing example of a morally grey character, wanting justice to prevail but perhaps not for the right reasons, and no matter what it takes to get there.

4. Leon S. Kennedy (Resident Evil 4 Remake)

Okay I'll admit Leon is the first babygirl on the list who is mainly here for aesthetic reasons. I had a passing knowledge of the Resident Evil franchise but never took an interest because military-gun-shooting-series are boring as hell... Until RE4R came out last year and I saw this scene in a playthrough. Where do I sign up for him to do this to my neck. Then I learned Leon's backstory and actually appreciated his character too. He hates and distrusts the US government, he was blackmailed into service for them at 21, he's haunted by being used as their weapon, and he's the most cringe fail man who thinks he's suave when he says "Nighty night, knights" as he's killing sentient suits of armour. I need him.

5. Astarion Ancunín (Baldur's Gate 3)

Ah, a non-human in a high fantasy world, using knife skills and sharp wit to protect himself from a deeply traumatic past, but still good at heart and willing to open up to those who appreciate him for who he is, rather than living up to someone else's standards. Now where have I seen a similar character type before... When the game came out it shouldn't have been a surprise who my favourite would be lol. The whole cast does an amazing job, but the real draw of Astarion is the phenomenal work put in by Neil Newborn to really bring this character to life, and I don't think Astarion would be the same without him.

6. Kagome Higurashi (Inuyasha)

Inuyasha is one of my all time favourite anime/manga. It's got time travel, a historic setting, magic, action and adventure, and romance between a human girl and a supernatural being who's down bad. Basically all of the tropes I adore and still look for in new favourite series haha. And Kagome has been That Bitch from the start; arriving in a village that fears a half dog-demon, freeing him from his imprisonment to help her, and then ordering him to sit when he pisses her off, knowing he's wearing a magic necklace that forces him to obey. No one is doing it like her.

7. Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen)

Yes this is a basic bitch pick, I'm well aware. But no matter if it's the book by Jane Austen, the 1995 BBC production, or the 2005 film by Joe Wright, I love this story so much! There's just something so romantic about it that no modern romance book can capture, and that's not without my trying to find one (just follow my trail of 1 star ratings on Goodreads). Elizabeth and Mr Darcy just read as complete and real characters, and I love how much Elizabeth cares for her family, refusing Darcy's first proposal in part because he insulted them and tried to separate Jane from Mr Bingley.

8. Lin Sukai (The Drowning Empire Trilogy by Andrea Stewart)

Now we're getting into the realm of books without adaptations so I cant use gifs anymore, and I honestly couldn't find any fanart of Lin either. Which is a crime! My girl is out here being extremely intelligent and driven (and badass in some of the later scenes), using her familial magic as daughter of the Emperor to try and dismantle his tyranny despite craving his approval, and trying her best to gain allies even though she was raised within the walls of the palace and is slightly out of touch, and she doesn't have a fandom here on Tumblr? And that's only in book one of the trilogy!

9. FitzChivalry Farseer (The Realm of the Elderlings by Robin Hobb)

I haven't even finished The Realm of the Elderlings yet (16 thick ass books, nay, tomes) but I already know this is my favourite fantasy series of all time, and Robin Hobb is beyond doubt a master of her craft. One of her main talents is writing the ultimate poor little meow meow because good lord, Fitz just cannot catch a break no matter what he does or who he's trying to benefit. The pacing of these books can be quite slow but I promise it's always worth the emotionally devastating pay off. (It's also a tough call between Fitz and The Fool on who my favourite Hobb character is!)

10. Sancia Grado (The Founders Trilogy by Robert Jackson Bennett)

The final one is also my most recent addition to this list, seeing as I'm only just starting book two after finishing Foundryside late last year. While that shows how much I loved Sancia after just one book of her, I also hope the rest of the trilogy delivers! So often books will state characters are masters of their craft and just expect readers to take their word for it, but Sancia gets to show off her skills multiple times on page, so you get the impression she really exists and belongs in this world rather than just being a set piece for it. Not only that, she defies the usual lone-wolf-asshole stereotype that's so common in these gritty fantasy books, and it's heartwarming to see the found family she's gathered by the end of the story compared to where she began.

So uh, thank you all for coming to my TED talk about all my blorbos, see you later!

(￣▽￣)ノ

[carnivorousmossbeast]

Layover

no content warnings. but this is long. Sorry!

Summary: Ghost and Soap are waiting for a flight to take them home.

There's a delicious ache crawling through his thighs, his veins, settling into his biceps and shoulders in that very delightfully restricting way that reminds him of the exhaustion after a good workout. His arms are leaden and tired, straining against the knowledge that he will have to lift them again, he will have to shoulder his gun and pack and march on with his head held high once they clear customs and get their shit returned, because somewhere higher up someone messed up and forgot to bring them back home. When they had arrived at the airfield, all that was left was a bedraggled looking civilian charter that brought them to the closest long-distance hub, and the only available flight had been fucking Paris. Soap's personal hell in the making. He's sure there are blisters on his heels and under his toes, there's concrete dust and plant detritus everywhere from his armpits to his arse-crack, it's wearing down his teeth and tickling inside his ear where he can't quite reach. And now he's sitting in the gate lounge under artificially white light, waiting for a plane that should have dropped them off four hours ago and instead hadn't shown turbines nor wings. It's enough to make a civilian rstless, but Soap feels a little off-kilter, a little unstable and he's ready to claw the concrete walls apart until he finds a high-voltage cable to chew on – or strangle one of the more annoying flight guests with. There are about five too many that fit that category for his taste, and he knows the odds are stacked against him while their flight gets delayed and delayed again, and they remain stuck on these plastic seats like brittle, dry gum and rubber sole stains.

"You know..." Ghost wiggles his knee gently, touching it against Soap's own sore ones. The heavy duty straps of his thigh holster creak and the thick fabric of his uniform creases and protests the movement. Sand and plant bits fall from his legs, creating a halo of debris at his feet. A distinct trail of destruction, in the realm of violence where Ghost is the embodiment of lust and insanity. It's a temple where Soap has learned to worship, a voice he's grown to trust for guidance in a twisted perversion of their own blood-soaked spirituality. There is no arguing with Catholic priests on the rights of gay men, and it hasn't proven particularly effective once Ghost confirms he has the target locked.

His eyes perceive the world in shades of blue-ish grey and with black and red crosshair markers overlaying the view. Soap has watched Ghost's trigger finger caress cold metal with a deranged sort of care, like he's chasing the sensation of the warmth he's about to terminate. Soap has watched Ghost watch bodies cool from orange-red to green-blue in the limited, grainy viewfinder of thermal tactical goggles. As if Ghost waits for those forgotten, listless souls to be consumed into his domain, never quite remembered after a nameless, faceless terror pierced their cerebrum and left their lives shattered across the field.

"I know a lot of things, Lt," Soap answers Ghost's question dutifully, like any good sergeant would his lieutenant, and lays his head back against the stiff collar of his coat. The plate carrier pushes it up awkwardly, and normally he hates the way it bunches on his nape, the way it feels all thick and restricts his movement, but right now it's like a more comfortable cervical spine collar, a pillow to rest his weary soul. "Mainly chemistry and gun maintenance." He turns slightly to look at Ghost, breathing through the ache that shoots down his neck and past his shoulder.

"Smart boy, aren't you?"

"Yeah well, army didn't put me through college for nothin'," Soap drawls and puts on his best and broadest smile for his Lt. Puppy love, they call it, hero worship. They call Soap a dumbass for attaching himself to Lieutenant Riley like a feckin' barnacle, but Soap likes that he got to burrow into the hard shell that makes Ghost bullet proof, that he gets these moments where Ghost knocks their knees together and strikes up a conversation.

Well. He throws Soap the promise of a kibble and Soap hunts it like a particularly stupid blood hound, tripping all over himself while chasing for whisps of conversation that he can uphold.

"Army put ye through college too, sir? Ye one of 'em rare smart boys from Manchester?"

"Careful, sergeant," Ghost says, easy and gentle. It's not really a reprimand as much as it is a reply, a request for Soap to continue this conversation in the hell that is the Charles de Gaulle airport, where they rest their tired, weary bones on the shitty plastic seats and keep themselves alert with full bladders and shitty airport coffee cart coffee. Ratty old dishwater that tastes like the watered down dirt of plates left to sit in the sink for far too long – at least it doesn't upset their stomachs the way sucking on an old dishrag would.

"Always careful, sir," Soap falls into their banter, imagines the smirk distorting the lines on his lieutenant's scarred face. "So, what about ye, then?"

"What about me?" Ghost asks. He sounds amused, knocks his knee into Soap's again. "Got any more of that coffee, sergeant?"

"Ye want more?" Soap asks.

"Not really. Could go for some grub but..."

"The French have a thing about their sauces. Hollandaise, béarnaise," Soap trails off, uncertain about any other French cuisine that isn't escargot and grenouille – and he has feelings about those. Multiple, and all solidly on the negative spectrum. It reminds him a little too much of staring at rats and geckos and wondering when the gnawing pains in his abdomen turned despair into reason.

"Can't name the four staple sauces of the French cuisine?" Ghost clicks his tongue, mock annoyance colouring the air like a joke. It still tastes like heavy-duty cleaning agents and old sweat, typical airport manure coating their lungs like tar and diesel, the civilian version of military vehicle exhaust and cigarettes. It's sweeter somehow, more pure, more peaceful – everything they can't have and that they chase regardless. The promise of peace coating the wisps of used-up civilian space air, hot and humid and covered in the exhales of fried chicken, chips and cheap booze. There's a thrill in how mundane they are here, in this liminal space, where they can be just as all the others. Waiting, tired, caught in overlays and transits and with overpriced food that barely takes the edge off.

"Mirepoix and rouge," Soap says.

"Close." Ghost's eyes crinkle when he leans his head back, legs splayed open. One knee knocks into the dividing wall partition, the other into Soap's. Despite everything that is said about Ghost, he is as human as the rest of them, and he craves human contact just like any social creature. Even if his way is considerably more stilted, and littered with landmines of dark sarcasm and bone-grinding cynicism. Ghost is a bit of an arsehole like that, but Soap is reasonably certain that it's just a wall to protect Ghost from heartache. "But no. Béchamel, Espagnol, Tomate, Velouté and Hollandaise."

"How do you know so much about French cuisine? And what is Béarnaise?"

"Mum used to uh. She used to cook. Taught me a bit."

"She teach you the difference on Hollandaise and Béarnaise?" Soap tries tapping his heel, but the sharp pains and aches from the long mission have him stop with a pained hiss. Ghost pauses before digging in his chest pocket to reveal what looks like a single use packet of sugar, but ends up being aspirin.

"Take this. It's mostly the wine and Béarnaise is just Hollandaise made with shallots and tarragon."

"And here I thought they were entirely different things," Soap hums.

"They're not." Ghost hands Soap the small bottle of water to chase the aspirin, and Soap nods, grateful to be able to wash the taste of stale powder and citrus from his tongue. "They're both oil in water emulsions. One just tastes better."

"Oh ye are a rocket," Soap scoffs and knocks his knee back against Ghost's. "First thing to do back on home soil?"

"Steak and Stout pie. Maybe some Scotch Eggs, nothing fancy." Ghost works his jaw beneath the mask. "A pint, maybe. Sleeping Giant has a new cook that's halfway decent."

It's not an invitation.

"That right, Lt?"

"Could join me. Pay fer your own drinks, though. They don't pay me enough to make a Scottish liver swim."

This, on the other hand, is.

And Soap pretends not to see the crinkle under Ghost's eyes, but cherishes it anyway as he turns away, hiding the mirth playing over his face from the world and the airline passengers that sit with them on the god-awful plastic chairs in the gate lounge, while their flight is gallivanting off somewhere.

[shrunkupthejams]

hey! it's been a hot minute and my writeblr intro could use some refreshing, so here we are!!

my name is achilles! im 18, and im a hobby writer. im in university right now, but i still try to make time to write when inspiration strikes! just here to share my stories, have fun and goof around! my target audience is always, first and foremost, myself.

my favourite things to write are high fantasy and world building!! mostly, my stories all take place in the same universe, an archipelago on a planet named dirt. in my works, i like exploring trauma, sappy fluff, and unconventional relationships.

when it comes to storytelling formats, i'm most often just holding handfulls of writing snippets and hoping for the best while i piece them together. i tend towards short stories, or short story collections, though most of my works will probably become novels or novel series. (im just a bit allergic to structure.) (though, i think i might just hate chapters.)

i also dabble, just a little and very self-indulgently, in fanfiction! inspiration for fanfiction tends to strike me very randomly (in frequency and in content), though i do have a few small finished fanfics! fanfiction is actually what got me into writing, way back in middle achool. it's all very much an exercise in cringe and heartfelt silliness for me.

with my wips, i tend to bounce rapidly all over the place and not get much done for it, but here's what i've been working on! some old (since middle school!!), some new!! (for my sanity and the sake of the length of this post, none of my fanfic wips will be included in this list.) (however, i refuse to exclude any of my original wips, so buckle up!! there are a LOT.)

working title: camilla marie & co.

the gist: what starts as a sort of chosen-one magic school shenanigans becomes a wild goose chase around the archipelago of dirt when camilla is taken by the knights of the capita. a high-fantasy coming of age story about chosen family, fate, and figuring out who you are in the face of adversity and others' expectations.

[☆ intro post]

working title: double a batteries

the gist: an accident that leads to kesh discovering they have superpowers turns their life upside down. a sci-fi/fantasy story that explores morality and familial obligations.

related aus: the adventures of jet astriak, jaiw au

[☆ intro post]

working title: isr: afters

the gist: two childhood friends, moriah and charo, reunite years later after becoming affiliated with the same magical gang. explores parental issues, with a healthy helping of childhood friends to lovers, organized crime, and vague religious trauma.

related aus: moriah & the greasters, cutiepete future au

[☆ intro post] (none yet!)

working title: shielda x dlade

the gist: follows the relationship between shielda, a reluctant chosen one, and her friend sabine as her newfound status moves her up through the ranks of iroma's military. explores intimacy and the line between right and wrong.

related aus: théqet & ardain, apartment neighbours modern au

[☆ intro post]

working title: seeing ghosts

the gist: when rea moves to calderine city to finish her practicum, she isn't really looking to make any friends or connections, not even with her very sweet new roommate, madden. but when she begins to be physically haunted by ghosts of her past, she is forced to learn to trust and rely on the people in her life, madden included. a fun little exploration in being haunted by your past (physically), self-sufficiency borne of trauma, and intrusive thoughts, maybe.

[☆ intro post]

working title: nnsei

the gist: existing on the fringes of the teenage academy population in their own ways, victoire, félix and aeliane all have their own problems in addition to clawing their way through their last year of school. victoire won't stop exploring the catacoumbs below the academy, even at the risk of his own health and safety; aeliane is still grappling with the trauma of her mother drinking herself to death; and félix, well, félix won't ever tell his friends what's going on behind that ever-present smile, but rumour has it his sister was offered up as a blood sacrifice in a solar cleansing ritual a few years ago. and in addition to all that, there might just be something sinister going on behind the closed doors of the academy, especially if the monsters stirring in the catacoumbs are anything to go by.

related aus: the sacrifice of brinelle somer

[☆ intro post]

working title: of sea jewels and great lords

the gist: after being tasked to find a group of missing villagers, geo finds themself responsible for imprisoning chad, a lackluster, troublemaking magician beneath a mountain. the trouble is a) finding such an uninhabited mountain, and b) travelling with said troublemaking magician. the trouble is also a third secret thing: the choice between duty and love once geo finds themself falling for chad against all odds.

[☆ intro post]

working title: as cherry wine

the gist: rosy is killed the night before she is due to return from her bride's pilgrimage to marry leisel. she awakes as a vampire and is forced to reconcile with her new identity and eventually, to reconcile her relationship with her former fiancée, who still believes her dead.

[☆ intro post]

working title: waldosia

the gist: after seven years at sea, wallie fischer, the last person shia wants to see ever again, returns to their hometown and all the things he left behind with a warning for shia of an imminent threat to their smuggling outfit and loved ones. shia is forced to work with wallie against the threat, but they can't seem to let the past rest, especially given they had been wallie's fiancé before his abrupt departure seven years before.

[☆ intro post]

working title: bentley

the gist: how bentley met her wife, and how her loss led bentley's descent into madness and misfortune. (could probably be considered an au off of waldosia)

[☆ intro post]

working title: giselle & darius

the gist: not long after her marriage to darius, the vampire king, giselle decides she must get her hands on the crown, through any means necessary. *any* means. (could be considered au of [REDACTED] <- literally the only thing i will ever fuss abt spoilers for lol)

[☆ intro post]

working title: timekeeper kiddos

the gist: the life and times of oaken and her friends, beginning with their discovery of a door between worlds that takes of the appearance of pvp battle arena, where they take on the roles of otherworldly deities called 'timekeepers'. when the lines between reality and the arena begin to blur and people begin to get hurt, they're forced to figure out how to send the timekeepers back to their own reality. beyond that, the web that connects these six friends, and chaz, flows them through adulthood, as they go their separate ways.

related aus: jungho at psu au

[☆ intro post]

working title: jmg

the gist: when enki and akira fight to help sora and his siblings escape their abusive and negligent father, they're surprised to learn sora has been dead the entire time.

[☆ intro post]

working title: cymothoa exigua/modern au

the gist: a tragedy about socio-economic and individual power, gender roles, and self-censorship; leaving behind the rigid expectations of a conditional parental love, only to leave yourself behind in the pursuit of romantic love. despite getting out of the negligent household of his childhood with several of his siblings in tow, zenith fails to escape the patterns of his parents, repeating his mother's sacrifice of individuality for love.

[☆ intro post] (none yet!)

☆

[hydrangeapartridge]

The Ishval and the Alchemist - A Miles x OC FMA fanfiction (One-Shot)

Cross posted on AO3

Summary:

Miles only ever attended one State Alchemist Exam, earlier in his career, when he was still a lieutenant in Central. He remembered the sunny and warm weather of early spring, and mostly, he remembered her: Avril Abott. It was on that very same day that she earned her title as the Forest Alchemist. He remembered how her fiery red hair danced with her, full of petals and leaves as she twirled in the middle of her creation; the mesmerizing picture of a Fae queen out of a fantasy book unravelling before his delighted eyes. Miles never expected to meet again with the woman who moved his heart that day, nor did he expect that when he did, the smile he remembered so dearly would have vanished from her pretty face.

Or

Sel-indulgent Miles x State Alchemist OC fanfic that takes place in Briggs between the end of Ishval Civil War and the events of FMA Brotherhood

Rated E/R18 - Minors don't interact

I realized I didn't post this on tumblr in full so here is some dead fandom fanfic! I had fun doing a little banner...

Story under the cut

Miles only ever attended one State Alchemist Exam, earlier in his career, when he was still a lieutenant in Central. He had been part of the event’s organization and supervision, and he was sure that he would never forget that day. He remembered the sunny and warm weather of early spring, and mostly, he remembered her: Avril Abott. It was on that very same day that she earned her title as the Forest Alchemist.

Miles would never forget the radiant smile on her freckled face as she transformed with a clap of her hands a dull examination room into a lush summer garden. Fragrant flowers and ripe fruits invited themselves between the wooden chairs and desks. He remembered how her fiery red hair danced with her, full of petals and leaves as she twirled in the middle of her creation; the mesmerizing picture of a Fae queen out of a fantasy book unravelling before his delighted eyes.

Miles never expected to meet again with the woman who moved his heart that day, nor did he expect that when he did, the smile he remembered so dearly would have vanished from her pretty face.

- - -

Ishval was red.

Everywhere Avril looked, every building, every woman, man, child, soldier was covered in blood. The sand she used to grow the plants that fed and healed the Amestrian army was soaked with it. She was disgusted with how she was using the minerals in these innocent people’s blood to to produce the resource allowing the massacre of their starving red-eyed comrades to continue. The Amestrian army was devouring Ishval; figuratively but also literally. She felt like she was killing those poor souls twice.

When Avril pictured her life as a state alchemist, before she joined the military, she imagined working for science and making progress and discoveries that would help her country. She knew that becoming a soldier could mean being forced to harm people, but she always naively imagined the enemy she would have to resort to killing would be ruthless, evil or dangerously fanatic. Not children or elderly barely able to stand on their own two feet. She never saw herself as a warrior, but she quickly learned that the alchemy she studied for research only purpose could become a deadly effective weapon. A sharp wooden stake could pierce skin and bones, a well placed vine trap could prevent men from fleeing a bombing area, and tight lianas could suffocate a person in less than 30 seconds. That was how she performed her duty, killing Ishvalans from a distance, never dirtying her trembling hands, but always feeling sick in the stomach.

At night, when the agonizing whimpers of the injured and the cries of the Ishvalan children could be heard, Avril tried to find comfort in the idea that she didn’t kill as many innocent civilians as her fellow alchemists. After all, she was mostly assigned to support and supplying tasks, and never put on the front line, where they lost count of the casualties. She tried to hold onto that silver lining so she wouldn’t hate herself too much when returning to what couldn’t possibly be a normal life again. Thankfully the short war that seemed to last an eternity ended, but the nightmares of those hellish days and nights didn’t. Haunted by what she saw and did, Avril requested a transfer. She wasn’t good enough an actress to pretend that she was still the person that she was before the war. Leaving Central wouldn’t bring back the part of herself that she left in the desert of Ishval, but she clung to the hope that a fresh start, and a lot of time, could help her forget what she couldn’t undo. To punish what her superiors saw as cowardice and weakness, she was sent to yet another wasteland: Fort Briggs.

- - -

“It’s the first time Central sends an Alchemist here” Major General Armstrong had told Abott upon her arrival. “I don’t know what you did or who you crossed to end up so far north and I don’t care. I’ll be the judge of your worth and make my own opinion of you State Alchemist. Now to work”

- - -

Working in Briggs took some time getting used to, but Avril ended up deeply enjoying the transfer that was supposed to punish her. If Olivier Armstrong was admittedly an intimidating woman, Avril found her to be a fair, franc and strong leader. Avril enjoyed working under her orders, and also appreciated the lack of intrigue and drama at the Fort. It was a refreshing change from Central and its power plays. Here in the north, the soldiers were fighting as a team to survive against the hostile climate, and the threat of Drachma further north of the wall.

Avril’s field of research and its use for the military had convinced Armstrong to give her more and more freedom for her alchemy experiments. She worked hard on designing plant based lyophilized powder rations that contained the appropriate nutrients, carbs, proteins and fat to feed entire platoons of soldiers, allowing them to survive for days without having to carry heavy and fresh food supplies with them. The subject was fascinating, and meaningful, and Avril was grateful that she could finally pair her passion for alchemy with providing scientific breakthroughs that would help her country. She often was left alone with her researches, but from time to time, she was lucky to work on the subject of military intendancy with none other than Armstrong’s second in command: Major Miles.

Avril found Miles to be a dutiful, intelligent and capable man. He was serious without being cold, and sensible without being pompous. Avril was grateful and admittedly a little excited every-time that she got to partner with him, whether it was during field or office work. Miles was polite and a more agreeable company than some more extravagant soldiers of the fort (she found a man named Buccaneer for example, to be a little scary). As if those qualities weren’t enough, he was also a handsome man.

In the dark hours of the night, when soldiers felt most lonely, Avril sometimes told herself that he was the only man in the fort that she wouldn’t refuse would he proposition her. That would never happen of course; a man like that was way out of Avril’s league. But in brief, she enjoyed his company. Avril sometimes wondered what his, and the other men of Brggs’ opinion was on Ishval Civil War. None of them fought in that desert, and none of them ever talked about it. If she ever told them how many Ishvalan she killed, would they would consider her a war hero, or would they stop smiling at her in the mess hall? Maybe it was for the best if she never found out.

- - -

When Miles saw Avril Abott again, upon her arrival in Briggs, he almost didn’t recognize her. She carried herself with slouched shoulders, an invisible weight dragging her down and darkening the eyes that he remembered clear and bright. The freckled cheeks that he remembered plump and rosy were hollow, her skin turned sickly grey. Her wild red hair was tamed, trapped into a tight bun and pinned into her scalp. And mostly, the radiant light he remembered was gone from the polite smile that she gave him upon introducing herself.

Despite all these changes, Miles was glad that he was able to meet her. If her physique was what struck him first during the alchemy exam, getting to know her in the fort, he became even more taken with her personality. Miles expected a state alchemist to be selfish and arrogant, but Avril was none of those things. He discovered her to be a hard-working bright young woman, with a kind and dutiful heart. He came to deeply enjoy working with her on improving the lives of the soldiers on the field.

Miles wished he could get to know her better, and sometimes wanted to share more about himself with her too. But he knew from her status as a state alchemist that she served during Ishval Civil War. The hurt and gloomy part of him sometimes made him wonder if her petite and pale hands might have been the ones to kill his relatives. But he always refused to follow those dark thoughts that only fuelled the path of hatred and vengeance. After all, he promised himself that he would change this country from the inside. Yet, he couldn’t tell her who he truly was. The risk was too high; the consequences could be considerable.

In short, he often thought about Avril, even when she wasn’t working with him. Sometimes, in his bed, or under the warm water of the shower, he would think of her. He would think of the way her white shirt clung a little too tight around her bust when she forwent her jacket in the warmth of her laboratory, a peak of the lace of her bra visible between two buttons. He would think of the way she licked her chapped lips after taking a sip of coffee. He would think of the intensity of her clear gaze as she looked up, starring at him from under long lashes.

He would hope she wouldn’t notice his reddening ears the next day when she would bid her “good morning” and he would nod while remembering how he imagined her whispering far less appropirate words into his ear the night prior. He knew he had to stop thinking about her so much, but he couldn’t. He tried to find comfort in the fact that fantasies never hurt anyone. And he convinced himself that it was for the best if his fantasies remained unfulfilled.

- - -

Avril nodded her head at the officers saluting her while she walked the cold corridors of Fort Briggs. As a state alchemist, she was ranked Major, but she never got used to it. She felt weird being the same rank as someone like Miles. He had a lot more experience as a soldier than she did, and was also better at leading men. She was supposed to be a war veteran, but it sounded wrong to her ears. She was a coward, a fake and an impostor. At least that’s how she felt on bad days. But thankfully there were brighter days where she felt braver, especially when the results of her researches were positive. Today was one of those days.

Avril was impatient, for she was supposed to go out on the field to test the viability of a new cold resistant fruit-tree variety that she engineered with the help of alchemy. After gathering all the required equipment, she left the fort, escorted by Miles and two newly enlisted soldiers. The two newbies, named Wolf and Taki, carried the supplies, and Miles, who was more expert on the topography of the area, led the way. Even the best trained soldiers never left the fort alone, for the area was dangerous, prone to quick and deadly climate changes as well as attacks from Drachma or wild animals. A special spot, well hidden at the base of the mountain was reserved for the Forest Alchemist’s experiments. In the sunny but cold weather, it only took the group a few hours to reach it.

Once they reached their destination, Avril set to work while Miles and Taki kept watch. She monitored the growth of previous seedlings that they planted, and added the new variety to the small culture patch. The alchemic circles on her fingers, arms and chest started glowing when she used them, their light slightly visible despite the thick and numerous layers of clothing she was wearing to fend off the cold. Wolf watched her work in awe, very curious and interested by her experiments. He asked a few pertinent questions and Avril happily explained what she was doing, delighted to share her knowledge and passion. From time to time, she could see Miles sending her quick glances. He wore a slight frown, but said nothing. Maybe he disapproved of her sharing so much information with a rookie. Avril saw no harm in chatting with Wolf. From the young soldier’s sheepish expression, she could tell he didn’t understand one third of what she was telling him. But what Wolf lacked in cleverness, he made up in goodwill.

“Major Abott, I heard your alchemy was at risk of dehydration. You must be thirsty, please take a break and have some water” Wolf told her during the afternoon, offering her his own gourd to drink from.

Avril smiled at him. He was well informed; to grow plants with alchemy, a high amount of water was required. In Ishval, she remembered often using the water from her own body, and drinking litre after litre of the normally rationed drinkable water to quench her thirst. But in the north, going to such lengths was not needed.

“Thank you, but I am fine” Avril declined Wolf’s offer. “I came prepared. And beside, I have all the water I need here” She said, pointing at the fresh snow under their feet.

“Are you sure?” Wolf insisted, but Avril repeated that she was fine.

The soldier put his gourd back into his bag, under Miles’ attentive gaze.

After a couple more hours of work, Miles approached Avril and pointed at the sky, where dark clouds were approaching. “A storm is coming. Let’s head back” He calmly told her, and the alchemist ordered the soldiers to quickly gather the supplies.

When they were ready to depart, the wind started howling. Snow soon started to fall, heavy and icing, blocking their vision and slowing their progress. Avril put her hood higher up to cover her nose. She hated how cold it could get. It would freeze one’s feet and chill ones bones in mere minutes. Her vision was filled with white and she couldn’t see at more than 3 meters before her. The wind caused a ringing in her ears, preventing her from hearing anything but the sound of the growing blizzard. She did her best to follow the blurry form walking in front of her. Blinded, she didn’t realize Miles had stopped, and soon collided with his back.

“Sorry” She apologized, voice almost completely muffled by the wind.

With the falling snow and under his goggles, Avril couldn’t read Miles’ expression when he turned to speak to her. “What would normally be a couple hours walk could take us half a day in this weather. If we spot a place to shelter ourself from the blizzard, we must stop there”

“And if we don’t?” Avril asked.

“We continue to walk” Miles replied, calm as ever. Avril trusted him to lead them back to safety, despite the harsh weather. He knew these lands like the back of his hand. Taki, who was a little behind joined their side, but Avril realized there were no signs of Wolf. She asked the men when they last saw him, but with the lowered visibility, they didn’t notice him getting astray.

“We have to find him” Avril said, but Miles shook his head.

“No, we must continue. I can’t risk getting us lost too”

“But we can’t abandon him!” Avril raised her voice, her hands shaking. It was a simple mission, they weren’t supposed to loose anyone. He was so young, they couldn’t leave him to die like this.

“As a soldier he knew the risk like we all do. We’ll have to hope that he’ll find his way out or at least a place to wait until it is safe to go look for him”

Avril knew the chances Wolf would survive to be more than slim. Hell, she wouldn’t find her way in this storm without Miles.

“Here” Miles took her hand in his and placed it on his belt. “Hold onto me so we don’t get separated”

Miles was the voice of reason, but Avril’s heart refused to listen to it. “No!” She took her hand back. Miles clicked his tongue, but didn’t scold her.

“Let’s wait a little more” Avril asked. Miles was about to argue, but before he could, she placed a hand on his arm. “Please Miles”

Miles felt his cold body warm up under her touch. He couldn’t resist her. He sighed before taking out his watch. “Five minutes, then we’re leaving” He granted. The storm was growing too fast to allow more.

The three immobile soldiers’ bodies were prey to the unforgiving cold. In less than a minute without moving, they felt their limbs grow numb. Avril’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably but she refused to move before the five minutes were out. She was shaking, and the wind on her cheeks felt like she was being whipped. After a couple minutes, she pointed to a shadow she thought she saw a few meters away. Someone was coming closer. “There he is!” She exclaimed, glad that they waited.

The second after she closed her mouth, a gunshot was fired, and Taki’s lifeless body heavily fell to the ground, the noise cushioned by the snow.

“Get down!” Miles shouted, grabbing Avril and pinning her to the floor under him. When Avril opened her eyes, she had to hold back a scream as her gaze met Taki’s lifeless orbs. Red blood trickled from the gunshot wound on his head, staining the white snow as the last of the young boy’s warmth left his body.

“Major, surrender the alchemist and I’ll let you live” Wolf’s voice was carried by the wind, dangerous and grave, far from the caring words he spoke earlier that day.

“Damn Drachma spy. I’ll have his head” Miles grunted, his warm breath close to Avril’s cheek.

The young girl’s heart pounded against her ribcage; it was her first encounter with the enemy since her arrival in Briggs. How she wished she had stayed in her lab today. A clicking sound reached her ears when Miles loaded his pistol. Only Taki and Wolf headed out sporting riffles. One was used by the later to kill the former, and the second riffle was now trapped under Taki’s dead weight.

Another shot just above their heads. Miles cursed. “I can’t aim like this!”

They couldn’t die. Not like this. Avril had survived Ishval, had killed hundreds of people. She couldn’t let Miles be killed here by one insignificant man. Wolf gave them a second warning, accompanied by another gunshot. Avril closed her eyes and focused to determine where his voice came from. If she trusted her ears, he was behind them, opposite from the shadow that she spotted earlier. It sounded wrong, but she had to trust her instinct. She couldn’t exactly pinpoint Wolf’s location, but her alchemy could produce long and wide ranged attacks. She would have to rely on that and hope for the best.

Shaking her sleeve, Avril let one of the seeds she kept there for emergencies fall onto the bloodied snow. She internally thanked Taki for the extra alchemic material and hoped for him to rest in peace. She concentrated and then slammed her hand onto the seed to make it grow. Her tattoos started glowing blue, completely giving away their position. But no shot was fired, and she knew that she had caught her target.

Miles helped her getting up and they followed the large wooden root that grew from the snow where Avril planted her seed. A couple meters away, they found the previously clear area was covered in large dense bushes of bramble. The thick and long thorns formed an inescapable prison in the middle of which Wolf was trapped, riffle at his feet and blood trickling from his numerous scrapes. Avril’s heart sunk in her chest upon seeing his enraged glare.

“Curse you you witch!” He spat. “Release me you alchemist bitch!”

Avril looked away as Wolf struggled in vain to set himself free while insulting them. She almost jumped in surprise when Miles put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“If we can bring the spy back to the fort we can interrogate him and get useful intel. Good job in getting him alive”

His kind words didn’t lift Avril’s spirits. And they wouldn’t bring Taki back.

Avril was about to ask Miles what they should do, but stopped when she met Wolf’s suddenly frightened gaze. The next moment, a shadow spread out over them, darkening their already restricted vision. A loud growl filled Avril’s ears and she turned back, coming face to face with a giant bear ferociously standing on its hind legs. The animal raised a large paw to attack them, deadly claws out and sharp teeth bared. Avril clapped her hands together in haste to do something but she was too slow, too late, they wouldn’t be able to avoid the attack. A gunshot was heard just before the bear struck, hitting Miles who had stepped forward first, and sending both him and Avril tumbling in the snow. Feeling dizzy, the alchemist tried to get back up and orient herself, but exhausted by the hit and her previous attack on Wolf, she fell back into the thick layer of snow, sinking into it up to her knees and elbows.

Looking over her shoulder, she could see the bear’s tall figure looming over Miles who was fumbling in the snow in search for his pistol. The angry animal roared, blood trickling from its injured maw, where Miles’ first shot had hit it. Avril tried to turn around while reaching for her own pistol, already knowing that she was too slow. She had to watch, powerless, as the bear got ready to strike again, this time a deadly attack. She closed her eyes before the horror of the scene. Then she heard one last gunshot. And when she opened her eyes again, the bear was dead.

Battling against the deep and too soft snow, Avril managed to crawl to Miles’ side. Lying on his back in the snow, his breathing was shallow, but he was alive. Avril inspected his body as best as she could in the blizzard. On his left side, his uniform was torn, and a large gapping wound was bleeding profusely. If nothing was done quickly, he would bleed to death. Putting her first aid training into practice, Avril quickly finished ripping the torn part of Miles’ uniform and folded it into a makeshift compress. She pressed the cloth hard against the wound and Miles let out a pained grunt. She took his hand and placed it on the cloth to replace hers.

“Keep pressing hard to reduce the bleeding” She told him.

She couldn’t dress the wound out in the tempest. Night would soon start to fall so she couldn’t see clearly enough. They had to find a shelter where she could tend to the wound, and where they could hide from the storm and the animals that fresh blood would attract. Avril had no landmarks in the area, so she decided their best chance was to follow the bear’s footprints back to its den, hoping it wouldn’t be too far away. She had to be quick, before the night fell, and before the traces were covered by the falling snow. In his state, Miles could not walk or even stand by himself, and he was too heavy for Avril to carry. Using another seed that she kept in her bag, Avril transmuted a makeshift wood stretcher under Miles, with vines as ropes to pull it like a sledge.

“Miles, I’ll get us somewhere safe, so stay awake. Listen to my voice” Avril told him before she started pulling the sledge following the bear’s traces

. She wasn’t as strong as a man, and the whole contraption was heavier than she expected. Despite the cold, she was sweating profusely, and her progress was slow. But during the whole walk, even out of breath, lips split and bloodied by the cold, she kept talking to Miles, insisting, nagging him until he would answer, to make sure he wouldn’t fall asleep.

“Hang in there” She would say. “I’m sure the bear’s den is near”

More than once he would tell her to leave him, like she left Wolf to die in the unforgiving cold. But every-time she refused. “I won’t abandon you”

The wind had calmed down but the night was dark when Avril started losing hope. She walked for hours and didn’t even know where she found the strength to still be standing. Unshed tears were freezing on her eyelashes when she finally spotted the bear’s den.

- - -

Once inside the den, Avril sealed the entrance with her alchemy. A thick wooden door closed the cave’s entrance, preventing the cold and intruders from getting inside. She then lit up a distress light to check that the cave was empty. Thankfully, there was no other bear in sight. She took advantage of the slowly dying light to quickly light a fire near a side of the cave. Producing dry wood with her last alchemical supplies, she then lit the fire with a tinder lighter she found in Miles’ bag. If upon entering the cave, renewed hope helped Avril regain energy, there was only so much she could do with how exhausted her body was. The warmth of the fire made her drowsy. She fought to keep her eyes opened. She still needed to tend to Miles wound. But before she could reach him, she collapsed from exhaustion.

- - -

When Avril opened her eyes, she was lucky to find the fire still burning. But despite its warm flames, she felt deadly cold. In her snow soaked clothes, she was shivering. It took her a second to orient herself and remember where she was and why. When she remembered Miles, she got up in a haste, ignoring her aching limbs. She kneeled before the wood stretcher, and let out a relieved breath when she found him still alive. He was alive, but he was in a very precarious condition. His body was trembling under his cold wet clothes, and he was barely conscious; eyes tightly shut and features contorted into a pained expression. He had lost his goggles, probably during the bear attack. His hand was still pressed against the bloodied clothes, but in his weakened state he didn’t apply nearly enough pressure on his wound to keep it from bleeding again.

Avril was freezing despite the fire, but she had to tend to Miles first, or else he wouldn’t make it. She took the first aid kits out of both of their bags, hoping she would have enough gauze and bandages to cover the large laceration wound the bear inflicted him. When she moved the fabric and Miles’ hand away to get a better look at his flank, he let out a concerning grunt.

“How bad is it?” He asked, voice hoarse and breathing uneven. He was still conscious enough to form coherent sentences. It was a good sign.

Avril examined the wound and gently placed one hand over it to keep the bleeding in check until she dressed it. It was messy from how the bear’s claws tore away the skin, but it didn’t look infected or necrotic, and there were no traces of frostbites either. Avril looked up to Miles’ face, about to give him a rapid report about his health, but she stopped dead in her tracks, mouth opened on a breathy gasp when her eyes met his now opened one.

Red.

His gaze was red.

It couldn’t be real. She was still sleeping, and the cold was giving her nightmares. Or maybe she was dying in the blizzard and her regrets were catching up to her at death’s door.

Miles saw Avril’s face turn livid in an instant, saw the tired expression on her face go from focused to terrified. She looked down onto her bloodied hands, stained with Ishvalan blood again. They were trembling as she raised them towards her face, completely forgetting about the wound she was supposed to treat. Despite him being in the worst state, worry still filled Miles upon seeing Avril’s shaking form. She looked like she had seen a ghost, and he didn’t understand that sudden change in her attitude.

She glanced down at his face with a look of horror in her eyes. “No” She whispered, barely audible. Assaulted by memories she didn’t want to relive, she was frozen on the spot.

Miles blinked and suddenly it made sense. She saw his eyes. Realized who he truly was. She recognized him as Ishvalan, and now she probably regretted saving his life. Now there was a chance she would stop helping him and leave him to his fate.

Avril took a deep shaky breath and closed her eyes. It was her fault, she was the one who asked for an outing today. It was her fault; he took the bear’s attack to protect her. Was it fate’s twisted way of punishing her? To make the man she cared for the most suffer at her hands? To have her kill yet another of these innocent people? She was a monster, a cowards, an impostor. Avril startled when weak and cold fingers gently brushed her knee. Her spiralling dark thoughts vanished as she opened her eyes to find Miles’ hand on her thigh. Even when hurt, he was trying to comfort her. Even when she didn’t deserve it.

The reality of the situation dawned onto Avril. This wasn’t Ishval. She was at Briggs, trying to help a fallen comrade. Sobering up, she grabbed the bottle of antiseptic from the first aid kit.

She looked to Miles’ face, but avoided meeting his eyes for too long. “This is going to hurt” She warned before emptying the bottle’s content on his stomach. Miles gritted his teeth to hold back a wince of pain.

- - -

Once the wound was properly dressed, Avril deemed that the next important step to their survival was to dry their clothes. Exhausted by the treatment of his wounds, Miles let her undress him without protest. Avril spread out their coats, jackets, shirts and pants before the fire, and then added more wood to it. It was the last of it, so she hoped it would be enough to keep them warm until the end of the storm. Outside, she could still hear the wind howling angrily. Their absence would surely be noticed in the fort by now, but no rescue team would be sent out in this weather. Avril took out two of her lyophilized plant based rations and fed one to Miles before eating one herself. She helped him drink a little water before she took out two small blankets from their bags. She laid one onto the floor and helped Miles roll over it. When he moved, she saw how her makeshift wooden stretcher had scratched his back, leaving angry red marks everywhere. Her fault again.

A shiver ran down Miles’ body, his skin erupting in goosebumps. Avril was starting to get cold again too.

“I’m sorry but we have to sleep close to each other, to keep warmth” She told Miles as she clumsily settled beside him on the blanket, trying her best not to hurt him in the process.

“Someone remembers their survival training well” Miles teased her, his voice a low whisper. “A true Briggs soldier” He commented when Avril placed the second blanket over both of their bodies.

Miles let out a content sigh, welcoming the warmth of both the blanket and Avril’s body. He was glad that she pulled herself together earlier. He would have to explain why he hid his origins from her, and from the others too. But later. Not when he was in this state; now wasn’t the time.

Avril’s smaller figure was pressed to his uninjured side, and instinctively, she nuzzled closer to his warmth with each passing second. “I’m sorry that we don’t have any morphine” She told him. “That wound must hurt like hell”

Miles tried to smile, but admittedly, even that hurt. “It’s fine, I’ve seen worse” He replied. “Besides, morphine shots always make my mind foggy”

Silence felt uncomfortable to Avril. She didn’t want to close her eyes, for fear of the nightmares she could meet. But she didn’t dare looking at Miles face either. He was so close. She could feel the hard muscles of his arm against her chest, could see the sharp, well defined angle of his jaw; his dark skin, his snowy white hair. Why didn’t she notice before? She thought every Ishvalan soldier had been purged from the army at the start of the war. So many impolite questions burned on her tongue. But in the end, what she wanted most was to apologize again.

“I’m sorry. This was supposed to be a routine outing…”

Miles cut her before she continued. “Don’t apologize. We all know the risks of the field so far North. We simply tend to forget them when Drachma attacks get less frequent.” He reassured her, taking long pauses between every sentence. In his condition, he quickly felt out of breath. After one even longer pause, he added: “I must thank you. For not leaving me behind”

His gratefulness was met with silence on Avril’s part. She was nervously chewing on her bottom lip. It was her fault they ended up in this situation in the first place, so it was only natural that she helped him. One life saved was nothing compared to the many she took. But to her, it still counted.

“Well. I need you to find my way back to the fort” She ended up replying, trying her best to hide how troubled she was with humour.

“Right” Miles said, slowly blinking. He wondered how much of that answer betrayed her true feelings. He still wondered if maybe she regretted helping him. “You’ve never been very skilled in orientation” He opted to tease her back. They were too exhausted to speak open-heartedly, and the tension between them was too thick already, no need to fuel it more with serious discussions.

Avril shifted beside him, but he didn’t say anything when her cold feet met the skin of his leg. He let her get as comfortable as she wished.

“That Drachma spy… Wolf.” She said, eyes glued to the cave’s ceiling. “I left him to a horrible death”

Even if he was a spy, that young man didn’t deserve to freeze to death. Her thoughts then went to Taki. They would have to inform his family of his death serving the nation. She imagined how affected his mother would be, losing her precious son.

“Survival of the fittest” Miles told her, not one ounce of emotion in his voice. “You know that’s the rule here”

Avril knew him well enough not to mistake his collected attitude for heartlessness. Maybe in a few years she would have abandoned those useless feelings and second thoughts too and she could be as pragmatic as Miles. But for that to happen, she would first have to make peace with her actions in Ishval.

“Tomorrow, once the storm is over, we’ll shoot a distress rocket outside, and then hope that Briggs soldiers arrive before Drachma men”

Miles��� voice was soothing to Avril’s ears, and making plans for what would come next was grounding. The change of subject was welcome: focusing on the future instead of dwelling on the past made her feel better. It also meant they were in a good enough condition to survive the night. She admired how calm and collected Miles was despite his injury. A true soldier.

“I used various varieties of wood with very different colours of barks to seal the cave’s entrance. White, golden, brown, ebony; it looks so unnatural that there’s no way Briggs men wouldn’t recognize my work if they came near it” She informed him of her own effort to facilitate their rescue.

“Clever girl” Miles praised, voice deep like a croon.

Avril felt her cheeks grow warm. If her body wasn’t so tired, between Miles’ low voice and the warmth of his strong body, she knew she would have felt aroused. She was a little ashamed by that prospect. How could she pretend an Ishvalan man would want someone like her?

“Sweet talker” She falsely scolded him before she gave into the need to hide her reddening face into his broad shoulder.

Miles draped his right hand over her shoulders, bringing her warmth ever closer. She let him, and soon he could hear her breathing getting calmer, betraying how she was slowly falling asleep. He often imagined having her in his arms, but of course, never in such circumstances. Yet, even with his left side hurting like hell, it felt perfect.

- - -

Avril woke up with a startle and in cold sweat. She dreamt of dead fair-haired children again. Beside her, Miles was sleeping too. He was sweaty and shivering; burning up with a fever. Tgis wasn’t good. Avril puts on her now almost dry clothes. She couldn’t hear the wind anymore. She materialized a small opening in the makeshift wooden door of the cave to survey their surroundings. Outside, the sun was rising. Dark clouds still filled part of the sky, but the snow had stopped falling. She launched a distress rocket, as Miles instructed, and hoped for the best.

She was busy running a wet cloth on Miles’ forehead to stop the fever when she heard Buccaneer’s voice on the other side of her wooden creation. The fire was starting to die. Their rescuers were just in time.

- - -

Miles only stayed two days in the fort’s hospital wing. He still had to get his bandages changed every three days, but he was free to go back to work. Desk work only though; he was forbidden from going on the field for at least one month. He considered himself lucky. Things could have been far worse.

Avril didn’t visit him in the hospital wing. He didn’t expect her to, but part of him would have appreciated it. Recent events aside, he always enjoyed her company. However, he soon discovered that he would have to do without said company, for Avril now refused to have a drink or eat her meals with the other officers. Avril stayed cloistered in her lab, pretexting she had too much work and needed to eat quickly and preferably alone. At first, Miles thought that maybe she needed time to digest the events that led them to sleep in that cave, or that she suddenly felt embarrassed that he held her almost naked body close to his. But after two weeks, she didn’t come around and it became clear that she was avoiding him.

“What did you do to the poor girl?” Buccaneer asked once during lunch, having realized that Miles was the one Avril didn’t want to see.

“I’m not sure” Miles replied. “But it could have to do with my heritage” He carefully told the other man. Of course Buccaneer knew of him being from Ishval.

“I wouldn’t have pictured her as a racist” The soldier with the metal arm said, tactless as always. “But she did serve in the war, and god knows how much that can impact a soldier”

Buccaneer’s eyes narrowed at Miles silence. He only told him one more thing: “Address you issues. I miss her company”

And so did Miles.

- - -

Avril reported to Armstrong about the spy. She couldn’t keep anything from the superior she respected so she also told her that she discovered Miles was of Ishvalan origin. Of course, the major general already knew it.

“Whatever his origins are, Miles is one of my trusted men. I’m glad and impressed with how you both survived, even if I wouldn’t expect less from my soldiers” Armstrong told her, and before Avril left her office, she added: “Abott. What you learned doesn’t change anything. It’s as I told you; here we do not judge people from what we are told. We judge them with our own eyes”

Of course Miles had judged her the second he learned about her status as a state alchemist, from her actions during the war. That night he didn’t say anything, and didn’t push her away because he was injured, delirious from the fever and close to death. But he must hate her. Of course, he always hated her. From the beginning. Since her arrival in the Fort. It couldn’t be otherwise. He only acted professional with her because he had to; because he was a good man when she was a monster. Because he was an actor hiding his true identity to survive. And she had been delusional enough to believe that she could escape the consequences of her sins.

- - -

Major Miles believed in the power of discussion. In war and in other matters, diplomacy was the first courteous step between civilized people. He would talk with Avril, who was a reasonable young woman; understand what bothered her, and they would sort things out.

He waited until the evening, when the other soldiers were asleep or otherwise occupied to knock and unceremoniously enter the alchemist’s lab before he was verbally allowed to. A look of surprise crossed Avril’s features when she turned back from her reading to see who was disturbing her peace at this hour.

“Major Abott, I think we need to talk” Miles gently told her, hoping that being formal and professional would help diffuse the tension between them.

He hoped to talk, but Avril visibly refused to talk to him. Without even sparing him another look, she gathered the books she was reading and headed towards the exit, walking by him with her head bowed down, completely ignoring him. She operated on fight or flight response, and instead of fighting him, she decided to flee.

When diplomacy was of no use, as any soldier of Briggs, Miles believed in the power of brute force (and he also believed in the power of powder and steel in last resort, but that was reserved to the battlefield). Now seemed like a time where a little physical strength was necessary to get his point across. So Miles unceremoniously slammed shut the door that Avril was trying to open to leave. He kept his gloved palm pressed on the wooden surface, preventing the girl’s retreat.

“We need to talk” He told her again, this time more assertively.

Avril turned back to face him, her back against the closed door. When she finally looked at him from under her eyelashes, her expression and posture reminded him of a cornered animal. She couldn’t see his eyes under his snow goggles, and he loomed over her almost menacingly, preventing her from exiting the room, or going back to her desk. Had she always been so small compared to him? Miles didn’t mean to intimidate her, but he wanted her to listen to him. At least now he had her attention.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He asked, straight to the point, but without any anger in his voice.

Avril bit her lower lip, refusing to look him in the face. She remained

silent. Of course that was it; her reluctance to look at him said it all.

“My grand-father’s Ishvalan heritage runs strong in me” Miles decided to explain, hoping she would open up if he did the same first. “The war is still too close for me to be able to proudly show it everyday. It is not out of personal grievance that I hid it from you.” He told her, imagining, and hoping that maybe she resented him for his secrecy, and not for his ethnicity. But her attitude didn’t change. Did she truly hate his people that much? He needed to know.

“Do my origins change things so much?” Miles tried to coax her into answering him, though rather abruptly. “Do you see me differently now that you know about my ancestors? So much that you can’t bear even sharing a meal with me?” He confronted her.

“You don’t understand” Avril bitterly replied. She shook her head, gritting her teeth until her lips turned white.

“You’re right, I don’t. I can’t understand if you don’t explain it to me” Miles immediately retorted, his still relatively cool temper making Avril’s blood boil.

“You want me to keep inflicting you the ordeal of sharing food with the murderer of so many of your people?!” Avril burst out, eyes dark as she glared at him. “I’m saving you the trouble of having to spend time with me knowing what I did and acting like you don’t care! That must be a relief after all this time wearing a professional façade when forced to work with someone you despise”

Miles frowned at her biting words but stayed as calm as ever. “What are you talking about?” He asked more surprised than angry “I do not despise you”

His fake honesty and imperturbable placidity enraged Avril. “Liar! You cannot be unaffected by what I did. I helped decimate them! The women, the children, the elderly. I used their blood to grow the weapons that killed their families!” Her voice was so loud and high pitched that the people next door must be hearing her shouting. She barely caught her breath before she continued questioning him. “So what is it that you feel? Tell me! Is it Disgust? Condescension?”

“None of these things I assure yo-”

“Disdain then?” Avril cut him.

Miles’ expression darkened “I think the only one here who hates you enough to downgrade you so is yourself” He raised his voice at her, slamming his fist against the wooden door to shut her up.

Avril’s eyes widened and submerged by emotion her hand moved on its own. Miles didn’t see the slap coming. The alchemist’s palm collided with his high cheekbone in a sharp noise. He turned his head under the blow, the force of it sending his goggles falling onto the floor. When he turned back to look at Avril, there finally was a hint of anger in his red eyes. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes when she realized she managed to break his facade.

“You cannot expect me to believe you when you pretend that you forgive what I did” She told him lowly, like she was the one seeing through him and not the opposite.

Miles’ free hand grabbed her wrist, holding her firmly but not painfully so she wouldn’t try to harm him or herself any further.

“I do not forgive the actions of your past” He declared, and Avril looked down, ashamed.

Her small body started trembling under the weight of his red gaze.

“And I see that you don’t forgive yourself either” His grip on her wrist softened and Avril felt his fingers brush the inside of her palm. “But you chose to live with that burden. And you can work to make this world better. You already do” His simple touch was incredibly soothing, and when he intertwined his fingers with hers, she accepted to hold his hand like this.

Avril shyly looked up to this impossibly resilient man’s face. He was smiling at her.

“I simply accept you for who you are now” Miles said, looking straight into her clear teary eyes.

What she first interpreted in his gaze as anger she now recognized as compassion. “Can you accept that?” He asked, his voice as soft as a comforting caress.

Fat tears started rolling down Avril’s cheeks as the truth she saw in those ruby red eyes submerged her. “You cannot be serious. I’m a terrible person, unworthy of your company” She sobbed, lips trembling.

“Isn’t that for me to decide?” He asked, the corners of his lips slightly lifting up.

Avril let out another ugly sob and threw herself against his chest, crying all the tears of her body. Miles took her in his arms, letting her expel all the self hatred and guilt that she accumulated while alone in her room these past few weeks. When her frail shoulders stopped shaking and her tears started drying, he helped her to her desk and let her sit down on her chair. Her eyes were red and she looked exhausted.

“I’m sorry” She whispered. “For everything. And for hitting you”

Avril looked down to her hands that were resting on her laps, shy and ashamed.

Miles crossed his arms over his chest. “You are lucky that I am mature enough to know that hate and violence only lead to a vicious cycle of sorrow” He bragged, exaggerating on purpose. “And that one of my principles is to not hit girls outside of the battlefield”

Miles delivered his line with his trademark calm and seriousness, which baffled Avril. It was never a facade. He truly was the man that she learned to appreciate so much. His behaviour towards her was always honest and natural, even with the knowledge he had of what state alchemists did during the war. She still couldn’t quite believe it. It was too good to be true.

She ran a tired hand through the hair that escaped her bun when she got angry earlier. “I can’t believe that someone like you really exists Major Miles”

“Come and have breakfast at the officer’s table tomorrow and you will see it is the truth” Miles shrugged. “Buccaneer is eager to see you again”

Avril sighed and Miles placed a comforting hand on her still tensed shoulder. “You should rest. I’ll see you tomorrow” He told her before taking his leave.

Miles collected his goggles from the floor, wiping them clean before putting them back on. He was about to open the door when a pair of arms encircled his middle from behind, and a warm body pressed itself against his back. He froze on the spot as Avril hugged him, whispering against his uniform jacket.

“Thank you”

- - -

That night, Avril slept like a rock. Exhausted by her crying, she didn’t have any nightmare. Getting ready on the following morning, she checked her face in the mirror. Her eyes were still puffy and a little red, but it could pass as a lack of sleep. Once she was properly dressed, she headed to the mess hall for breakfast.

After taking a tray and helping herself with her favourite food, she took a deep breath and walked to the officer’s table, where Buccaneer and Miles where already sitting. Approaching them, she heard snippets of their conversation.

“Oh… didn’t ask you to stay the night?”

“Buccaneer...”

Miles’ voice sounded threatening. Avril wasn’t used to hearing him talk like that.

“Good morning” She greeted the men as she placed her tray on the table.

“Abott, good morning. Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence” Buccaneer replied while she sat down.

“Sorry I abandoned you for a while, but I had a lot of work to do” Avril apologized, deciding that telling a small white lie did no harm.

But Buccaneer didn’t seem convinced. “Work hmmm….”

“Buccaneer” Miles warned him again, his arms defensively crossed over his chest.

The tall dark-haired man gave the major a wide smile. He then suddenly got up.

“Sadly Abott, I’m done eating. But I’ll see you for lunch” He told Avril, weirdly wiggling his eyebrows. He took his tray and left, leaving the alchemist clueless.

Avril turned to Miles, noticing that his plate was almost empty. “I guess I slept in a little too late” She told him, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly.

Miles pushed his glasses back up onto his nose with one finger, arms still crossed over his chest. “Take your time, I’ll wait for you” He said, and Avril hid a content smile into her coffee mug. After taking a sip from it, she licked her lips like she always did. She didn’t notice the major observing her, nor did she notice the small blush dusting the dark skin of his cheeks.

- - -

Things went back to what they were before. Avril’s nightmares also became less frequent, but new dreams appeared to trouble her nights. In them, red eyes were on her, but never in a scary way. Rather in a way that forced her to take a shower and change underwear when she got up. She couldn’t get Miles out of her head. She caught herself multiple times gaze lingering when Miles was training, admiring his toned arms, and his broad shoulders. She was annoyed with herself. That crush that she developed was stupid and useless. She did her best to ignore those improper and counterproductive feelings.

A few months later, a visit from a lieutenant she new from the academy distracted her. Avril was glad to see that person again, and Armstrong generously offered that she escorted her back to the station in North city so they could get more time to talk. Miles accompanied them of course. He was always the one entertaining guests in the fort. Mainly because Armstrong was too busy, and mostly because she didn’t want to bother with guest too much. Also Miles was good at organizing things and despite his taciturn exterior, he was surprisingly good at small talk (better than Armstrong at least). If needed, he also was good at gathering intel while staying discreet about it.

Avril waved her friend goodbye on the lonely train station’s platform. She pulled her coat tighter around herself when snowflakes started falling at an unusual speed. Looking to the sky, she was that clouds and fog covered the mountains of Briggs. The station’s controller made an announcement that the train was the last to leave, the next ones cancelled due to an upcoming snow storm. Avril headed back to the car that Miles drove to bring them here and found it already covered in snow, its wheels completely buried underneath it. The wind was rising and when she found Miles, he told her that the weather wouldn’t allow them to go back to the fort before nightfall. Miles hurriedly found a phone booth and informed the Briggs that they wouldn’t make it back tonight but were safe. The last thing they needed was to worry their superior again. After hanging up, Miles turned to Avril.

“Seriously what is it with you and snow storms?” He asked, mildly miffed. “Are you sure your alchemy isn’t about conjuring them?”

Avril shrugged, trying hard not to smile in this inconvenient situation. She had come to deeply enjoy Miles’ dry sense of humour.

“Let’s see if we can find a place to sleep”

The military quarters were small and full, most of the soldiers being stationed in the fort and not in the city, so there were no available barracks for Miles and Abott. Compared to Central, there are not many inns in North City. The north of the country wasn’t what one would call touristic, and of course, because of the conflict with Drachma, no travellers came from further north. Miles and Avril finally manage to find a room to rent in a small inn. They thanked the old lady at the front desk and took the keys. Unsurprisingly, when they entered the room, there was only one bed.

“I’ll sleep on that armchair over there” Miles said right after scanning the room, seemingly unbothered. He took off his coat and carefully placed it on said old armchair.

Avril took off her coat and her jacket too and then took a look outside. The storm was ragging, the wind making the old windows of the room creak. Frost and snow covered the glass, making it impossible to see outside. The young alchemist sighed. She had crops waiting for her at her lab. She hoped that someone would at least think to water them. She turned back to inspect the bed. It was clearly big enough for two people. Maybe even three.

“The bed is big enough for sharing” She stated, turning to Miles.

“It’s fine. I’m used to sleeping in worse places. Take the bed” He said, folding his coat more carefully and getting rid of his gloves.

“You know I’m a soldier too, even if I’m an alchemist. I can sleep anywhere too, and I don’t mind sharing the bed.” Avril insisted, wanting to be nice to him. He was always so selfless.

“I don’t doubt it, but I was raised to be courteous. And it’s more elegant to leave the bed to a lady”

Avril felt her cheeks flush. She didn’t understand how Miles could spout such words with a calm and straight face.

“Why thank you for your consideration but I insist. The bed is huge. We can share it and both be comfortable so why not do it?” Avril said, arms crossed over her chest. The gesture was pushing her breast up, making it strain against the buttons of her shirt. Miles gulped. This was torture.

Miles considered himself to be a rather perceptive man. But he felt lost. Was she discreetly propositioning him? He wasn’t sure. Even if she wasn’t, heat was rising under his cool exterior, treacherous thoughts of getting her out of her shirt invading his mind. He would then get rid of her vest to finally see the lace underneath.

“Besides, I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re on that chair facing the bed” Avril continued, completely oblivious to Miles’ internal struggle and how he barely listened to her. She didn’t understand his stubborn refusal. Was it because it would remind him of that time when he was hurt?

“I said no” Miles finally cut her, his answer sounding very definitive.

Avril felt kind of offended. Was she such awful company that he didn’t want to get too close to her ? Politely refusing once was enough to prove his courtesy, and he should have accepted to share the bed when she insisted. His reluctance was proof that he didn’t want to be near her. Avril was disappointed. Since their discussion in her lab, she thought they became friends, or at least more than simple colleagues. She was obviously wrong.

“Fine” Avril scoffed, wrapping her arms tighter around herself to hide her chagrin. “Your loss. Idiot”

Insulting him was childish, but in that moment, if felt good.

Miles sighed at her attitude. He rubbed his temples and then surprisingly removed his goggles and placed them atop his coat on the armchair. Avril curiously watched as he walked up to her. Was he pissed? She couldn’t quite read his expression.

She opened her mouth to talk but before she could speak, Miles grabbed her chin between two fingers, and lifted her head up to force her to look at him.

“I want to be a gentleman, but I’m only a man” He told her, his expression dead serious. “A man who hasn’t been with a pretty woman in a very long time. Were I to sleep next to you, I’m not sure I would be able to hold back. Do you understand?”

Avril’s whole face reddened under the intensity of his gaze and the low rumble of his voice. He was holding her face firmly, but not hard enough to prevent her from looking away and escaping. He was leaving her with a choice. Yet she couldn’t believe this was happening.

“You cannot be serious. You can’t want me that way” She whispered.

Miles’ eyebrows rose, taken aback “And why not?” He asked.

“You’re all composed and strong and handsome” She blurted out, cheeks burning. “And I’m… I’m just awful. I’m not supposed to attract you”

Miles smiled, amused by her agitated state. He was glad to hear how she felt about him. It confirmed that he didn’t interpret the signals wrong. “Isn’t that for me to decide?” He asked quietly, his breath close to her face; his eyes falling to her lips.

Avril was at loss for words. She wanted to ask what he saw in her repulsive self, but having Miles’ handsome face so close was distracting, and she soon lost the thread of her thoughts. Why was she arguing with him instead of kissing him? She wanted to. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she leaned forward, her bottom lip almost brushing Miles’ chin.

All protest died on her lips when he took the hint and properly kissed her. Miles’ hand moved to carefully cradle Avril’s cheek and the alchemist relaxed under his touch, melting against him. Why did they wait so long to do this again? Miles kept that first kiss gentle as not to scare away the woman he had wanted for so long. He smiled when she tried to follow his lips as he pulled away for air.

“How could I not be attracted to such a beautiful and clever woman” He whispered against her lips.

Avril pressed her forehead against his, their noses brushing. His words warmed her heart but made her shy too. She didn’t dare open her eyes. “Kiss me again” She requested, and he gladly complied.

That next kiss was less careful, less polite and more passionate. Miles held the base of Avril’s skull in the palms of both hands; his fingers tangled in the red locks escaping her carefully pulled together bun. He held her in place while he repeatedly tasted her lips, leaving them both breathless and panting. The alchemist’s hands grabbed onto the lapels of Miles’ jacket, holding on tight as her knees buckled under the skilful caress of his tongue against hers. Their kissing grew more and more heated, and Miles soon made them move back until Avril’s back was against the bedroom’s wall.

The alchemist gasped when Miles’ strong body pressed her against the hard surface behind her. As Miles started ardently kissing the side of her neck, her fingers eagerly pushed open his jacket before quickly undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. Miles let out an approving hum when her palm pressed against the bare skin of his chest, exploring the defined muscles there. Fuelled by Avril’s touch, Miles’ desire spiked up, and he found it difficult to take his time and be gentle with his lover. It had truly been a very long time since he felt the warmth of a woman against him like this, and it was very intoxicating.

Miles’ lips explored Avril’s skin lower and lower, reaching the hollow of her neck and then her collarbones. His hand followed his mouth there and he resisted the urge to tear her shirt opened, instead making quick work of opening the outrageous buttons that dared keep her chest hidden from him. Only her vest remained underneath, the swell of her tattoed breast and that lace he dreamed about so many times peeking from underneath it. Miles couldn’t hold back anymore and started kneading one of her lovely breast into his large hand. She was so soft under his palm, but it still wasn’t enough. He unceremoniously helped both of her breasts out of their lacy prison, cupping one in his eager hand and rolling his thumb over the hardening nipple of the second. Avril let out a loud moan under his ministrations, arching into him, urging him to continue. Miles was happy to provide, increasing the pressure of his thumb on her nipple and greedily taking the other one into his mouth. He committed the pretty noises his partner produced to memory and diligently worked to increase their volume. Usually cautious by nature, in this moment Miles didn’t care if the whole inn heard them. He was drunk on Avril’s pretty sighs and moans, and couldn’t wait to hear her scream his name as he took her.

After releasing the alchemist’s breast with a popping sound, Miles crashed his lips against hers again, taking her breath away. His pants felt too tight and there was an uncomfortable wetness staining his briefs. As if she felt his discomfort, Avril snaked a hand down his chest, fingers caressing his abs before her palm pressed against his arousal through the fabric of his uniform. Miles groaned and reflexively thrust into that agonizing touch. Avril smiled against his lips, shushing him with a kiss while she unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers. Before she could do anything else, Miles grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her up, placing her legs around his hips. He pressed her harder against the wall, their hips meeting in a perfect friction of their groins that had them both sighing in abandon.

Avril’s arms snaked around Miles’ neck and shoulders, the nails of one hand deliciously scratching the smooth undercut at the base of his skull.

She drove him made and he wanted nothing more than to get rid of her underwear and take her on the spot. At this rate they wouldn’t make it to the very bed that was the catalyst of this situation. It would be a shame. For all his pent up desire, Miles still wanted to act courteous with his lover. He wanted her to be comfortable, and wished to treat her better than the common harlots that soldiers were known to sometimes appreciate. Besides, he didn’t know when another opportunity to spend uninterrupted intimate time with his fiery fae queen would present itself. They had to make the most of it.

So it was with nerves of steel that the major detached his lips from Avril’s body and with renewed determination that he carried her to the bed where he gently lied her down. He straightened up over her, sitting on his heels, kneeling on the bed with her hips between his legs. He didn’t regret the sight he was rewarded with.

Her hair fell onto the covers in a mess of red locks, their intense colour matching the redness of her flushed, heaving chest. Her clear eyes were on him, glossy and heavy with desire. She was truly perfect. Despite his ever growing desire, Miles’ head felt cooler admiring her under him like this. She wasn’t going anywhere. They had the whole night to themselves. And for that, he would have to thank the capricious northern weather. He took advantage of this small break to get rid of his clothes, and then helped Avril out of hers, exploring every part of her supple body with his hands in the process. Once both naked on the bed again, Avril suddenly felt shy under Miles’ blazing gaze. Still on her back atop the covers, she closed her legs, feeling very exposed. She was wet and her core was pulsing with need, but worry had seized her when she got a glimpse of what awaited between her lover’s thighs. He told her it had been a while since he last slept with someone. It probably had been even longer for her.

Miles, observant as always, noticed her hesitation. Tenderly caressing the side of her face, he asked her if she still wanted to continue. Avril smiled. He was ever the gentleman.

“I want you” She told him, her lips meeting his in a short tender kiss. “It’s just…” She peaked down between them before shyly meeting his eyes again. “It’s been a while for me too”

Miles nodded his head and gave her a reassuring peck on the lips. To her surprise, he then started kissing his way down her body, making an extended halt on her chest that he came to love so much before moving lower and lower. When he kissed past her navel and moved to the top of her thigh, Avril weakly protested.

“You don’t have to” She told him between ragged breaths when she understood where he was heading.

Miles’ only answer was place a kiss on her centre, right where she needed him most. They had all night, and he wanted to pleasure her to the best of his ability, and prepare her well for what was to come next.

Avril whimpered when her lover’s tongue traced her opening, squirming in pleasure with every stroke to her neglected and hypersensitive womanhood. Miles was quick to place her thighs over his broad shoulders so he could reach her easier and prevent her from moving too much. With one hand on her stomach to keep her in place, he had enough room to caress her with both tongue and fingers until she turned into a sobbing and begging mess above him. One of Avril’s hand gripped the sheets so tight they might tear while her other hand found anchor in Miles’ white hair, her fingers ripping the hair-tie holding them back in the process.

After only a few minutes of kissing her lower lips, she was already welcoming his large and long fingers, pleading for more with the sweetest, most submissive voice. It was music to Miles’ ears, and pride filled his chest when she soon tightened around his fingers and came on his tongue in an abandoned wail. He let her ride her high, gradually slowing his ministrations and caressing her inner thigh with his thumb.

When he let her legs down to place them around his hips instead, he saw the blissful expression on her face. Her satisfied gaze met his hungry eyes and she smiled, chest still heaving.

“That was perfect” She huffed.

Miles smirked but not for long, his lips parting on a moan when Avril’s hand started stroking his flushed length. Miles considered himself to be a patient and well behave man. But his patience was running thin; and he just couldn’t wait to feel the tightness that he experienced with his fingers around his achingly hard shaft. He gently took hold of Avril’s wrist, taking her hand away from his length and placing it above her head, almost like a warning. “You feel divine. But I won’t last if you keep doing that” He said and it was her turn to smirk.

“Then take what you want” She purred, drunk on the cooling embers of her orgasm. “I’m yours”

Miles was a patient man, but he didn’t wait for her to ask twice.

- - -

Miles had been greedy. He took Avril more times in one go than was reasonable. But he just couldn’t help it. He dreamt of having her to himself so many times that he couldn’t be satisfied with only one coupling in one position. He had to see her face while he entered her, had to hold her breast when he slipped inside her wet heat from behind, had to watch her tits bounce and lips part on those beautiful moans as she rode him. And mostly he had too see her clear eyes boring into his red ones as she rode her high, tears of emotion rolling down her cheeks before he kissed their salt from her lips. She didn’t seem to dislike the sleepless night; far from it.

After what felt like hours of losing themselves into each others body, exhausted and vulnerable, Avril’s naked huddled form pressed against Miles’ side, seeking his warmth and contact after such an intense and intimate moment. He draped his arm around her shoulder, his fingers playing with a stray lock of soft red hair. He sighed contently when she rested her head on his chest, his breathing gradually slowing down.

He was about to close his eyes and get some rest when her concerned voice made him look into her worried eyes. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing”

Miles exhaled through his nose, slightly shaking his head in disbelief. She truly had a very low self esteem. He held her closer, taking one of her hands in his free one and bringing their linked fingers to his chest, close to his heart.

“During our next permission, let me invite you somewhere nice” He promised, placing a sweet kiss to her sweaty forehead.

He hoped that promise conveyed his feelings for her. Back at Briggs, they would be soldiers and colleagues again. They would need to be professional, and they couldn’t let their feelings distract them from work. The next occasion to be alone together could be very far away, but it was something nice to hope for. Especially knowing that they would wait for each other.

Avril smiled, visibly relieved. “I’d love that”

That same smile that he remembered from years ago in Central. He finally got to see it again.

[weirdsociology]

okay this is a sideline to the daddy dom thing but something really interesting is happening on tiktok i’ve never seen before which is like… a bizarre and oddly adorable sort of… abstract sexual marketplace exchange?

first, some background: the population of women users on tiktok who present themselves as either alt or girl next door types (both images perceived highly desirable already) who consume an enormous amount of smutty, often kinky reading material is huge. “cute girl discusses insane dark romance novel” appears to be like a top-ten genre for the app.

there are smaller but also very present pockets of men on the app who occupy the same ecological niche as alt or girl next door from the masc side: bikers, tattoo artists, etc. and on any social media platform they would be popular with the booktok girlies for obvious reasons.

what i’m not sure i’ve ever seen before is the sort of mutual recognition and like… digital play-courting. these dudes are trying their hardest to figure out how to leverage the female sexual gaze. they’re out reading lines from popular romance novels/erotica in their growliest voices and staging playful conflict between like, bikers and military larpers, about who gets the booktok girlies’ attention. and the booktok ladies respond, often indirectly, but alluringly in various ways.

i of course remember the days of tumblrinas running around after “daddy doms” but i feel like the successful ones were few and far between. this is like… mass-scale, reciprocal, relatively safe semi-fantasy sexual play. i am an Old now, but if i were nineteen and on tiktok i would be enthralled to the idea that men in general might want to know more about what turns me on, and then do it on purpose.* it is both often cringe and very cute to watch.

(also i hope this leads to more experiences like the one i had a few years ago where i asked my partner at the time, “ where did you learn to dirty talk like that?” and he grinned and said “fanfiction.”)

* all of this comes with the usual caveats of, like, of course there’s a focus on conventional attractiveness, some of these books have sort of horrifyingly reactionary politics, etc.

ah i see all the shitty “daddy” “doms” that disappeared from here have migrated to tiktok

[creature-wizard]

So I've found out that Admiral Richard Byrd's supposed voyage into the hollow earth was only recorded in this "secret diary" that is the most transparently obvious RPF ever written. (And that's the least of its problems, honestly.) Despite this being a "diary" it writes about Byrd losing control of his plane as if he's narrating the event in real time, rather than writing about it after the fact like a real person would be doing. Oh, and notice the symbol on the hollow earth people's aircraft: 11.30 Hours - Countryside below is more level and normal (if I may use that word). Ahead we spot what seems to be a city!!!! This is impossible! Aircraft seems light and oddly buoyant. The controls refuse to respond!! My GOD!!! Off our port and starboard wings are a strange type of aircraft. They are closing rapidly alongside! They are disc-shaped and have a radiant quality to them. They are close enough now to see the markings on them. It is a type of Swastika!!! This is fantastic. Where are we! What has happened. I tug at the controls again. They will not respond!!!! We are caught in an invisible vice grip of some type! The subterranean beings turn out to be tall and blond. They speak German and call themselves "the Arianni." Can we say yikes? The author of this forgery displays an incredibly limited imagination when it comes to foreign architecture: Soon we arrive at a large building that is a type I have never seen before. It appears to be right out of the design board of Frank Lloyd Wright, or perhaps more correctly, out of a Buck Rogers setting!! Hmm, yes, I'm so sure a bunch of scientifically advanced foreigners would have architecture that matches a 20th century American perception of what "futuristic" would look like. </sarcasm> Tell me you know nothing about the history of art and design without telling me you know nothing about the history of art and design. Because this is bad fanfic, they kiss the protagonist's ass: “We have let you enter here because you are of noble character and well-known on the Surface World, Admiral.” Oh, and we get the usual New Age hand-wringing over nuclear bombs: You see, we have never interfered before in your race's wars, and barbarity, but now we must, for you have learned to tamper with a certain power that is not for Man, namely, that of atomic energy. Our emissaries have already delivered messages to the powers of your world, and yet they do not heed. This dude they call the "Master" tells Byrd that nuclear weapons will plunge the world into a second Dark Age (never mind that the first "Dark Age" wasn't even a real thing). The Master says that in many years, whatever's left of humanity will search for their "lost and legendary treasures," and the Arianni will step forth to "help revive your culture and your race." Yikes on trikes. Once Byrd gets back to the Pentagon, he is bullied into silence in the most cartoonish way ever, in the way protagonists of bad fanfictions are. This bit gets me in particular: I am interviewed intently by Top Security Forces and a medical team. It was an ordeal!!!! This is so grandiosely melodramatic. Who are these "Top Security Forces"? Which department do we come from? We don't know, because it doesn't matter in this fantasy of grand victimhood.

Doesn't this guy's writing style really remind you of Donald Trump playing the victim on Twitter? I am placed under strict control via the National Security provisions of this United States of America. I am ORDERED TO REMAIN SILENT IN REGARD TO ALL THAT I HAVE LEARNED, ON THE BEHALF OF HUMANITY!!! Incredible! I am reminded that I am a Military Man and I must obey orders.

So yeah, TL;DR: Admiral Byrd's "secret diary" is a transparently obvious forgery and shows strong Nazi sympathies, because... that's just New Age for you, honestly.

[potatolordofficial]

About Me

My name’s Ella, I’m an adult, my pronouns are xe/xir. I'm aroace and gendervoid. I’m an artist and writer. I tend to have a queue going so stuff will be posted at all hours. I'm beginning to post about my own work and ocs, and will tag those. Asks are welcome

Current WIPS

INFERNO: A supernatural western, following a lone gunslinger seeking revenge for his murdered family, to the point where he forgets to focus on his new one.

(This world also comprises some short stories and another novel, INHERITANCE, a gothic horror/noir about a private detective trying to outrun a generations-deep curse)

MAW OF THE DEEP: Low flintlock fantasy. A group of pirates seeking supernatural treasure, and an end to occupation of their home by an empire across the sea.

DEMONBANE: Coming of age/urban fantasy. A young demon hunter leaves her order to go home, and ends up entangled in a demonic war thats been brewing for centuries. In doing so, she has to also help her own people make a new course from their current destructive path.

THELIA: low fantasy. Chronicles several different groups headed towards a singular point and includes

FOOLS LAUREL, following the servants of a corrupt king for several years as they attempt to survive the bloodthirsty nobility of Banovo

GLADIATOR, following the warlord heir of the kingdom of Valdna and a young peasant boy as they fight for their lives as prisoners of war in an Aurelian arena

IRON UNBREAKABLE, following an Aurelian military general, the high priestess he's married to, and their king seeking to conquer the entire continent of Thelia.

DEAD GOD, the culmination of these three threads.

Fanfiction on AO3

CRAWL OUT THROUGH THE FALLOUT: Delilah Edwards, a veteran of the army, wakes up in a Vault 200 years after the bombs dropped. She has to contend with both the monsters on the surface, and her own demons, as she searches the Commonwealth to find her son; and in the process, creates a united front against the threats this new world holds.

NEW VEGAS: Courier 6, or Marshal Cigarra as he later learns, hunts down what others assume are his enemies. However, he isn’t interested in bloodshed, instead seeking to heal the Mojave wasteland as best he can. After all, he’s a doctor first, the king of Vegas second.

If you feel like it, consider dropping me a kofi or subscribing to my patreon

[ckneal]

There’s a midam AU idea that’s been living in the back of my mind for months now, but it’s been slow going. Mainly because I suspect that doing the idea justice is going to mean doing more research than I’m used to, and maybe even rewatching the series proper to help me fill in some of the weak spots, and I have so many other story ideas that are frankly just easier to work on, two of which are already slated to be multi-chapter works. . . But I’m in the mood to type up something longwinded, so here we go. Keep reading if you’d like to see a rough outline of the first few chapters of this story I really hope to write out properly sometime.

(Warning, this is a long one.)

So, this story is loosely based on the Hundred Years War that took place between England and France from 1337-1453. But it’s only very loosely inspired. Very, very loosely. As in, I was reading a book, I read about one thing that happened, it germinated in my head, and then suddenly I had a plot developing that featured my current favorite ship. Additional sources of inspiration include one of my favorite fantasy series, and a personally beloved trashy romance novel. Because it’s fanfiction, folks. There are no rules here.

Of course, in this AU, the entire world is going to be made up, with neither side of the war distinctly being assigned the role of England or France—or Flanders or Burgundy, for that matter. I barrowed an inciting incident, and few smaller details from history to help things along here and there, but with no regard for keeping all the French things assigned to one group and the English ones to another.

That said, the inciting incident took its inspiration from the Battle of Poiters, a conflict during which England not only won against the French, but also took their king hostage. King Jean II was later ransomed back to his people, but at a sum that was so high, France could not afford to pay it all at once. England still returned France’s king, but new hostages were provided to serve as collateral during the interim, including the King’s son.

So. . .crown Prince Michael Shurley completely decimates King John Winchester on the battlefield, and sends his demands to John’s queen, Mary Winchester. The two kingdoms have been locked in a territory dispute for several decades, and this is one of the more humiliating events to befall the smaller kingdom yet, especially since they are unable to meet all of Michael’s demands. When the Winchesters begrudgingly admit this to the Shurley representatives, they’re caught off guard when they’re offered a trade: John Winchester will be returned, so long Dean Winchester takes his place as collateral.

Things are less than stable in the Winchester kingdom however, with more than a few factions quietly scheming for power. John and Mary were an arranged marriage that was originally held up like a fairytale when the two seemingly fell madly in love during their mandated courtship, but the years afterward had changed them. Civil unrest sparked by the war had brought out a lot of disagreements between the Winchesters and the Campbells and their approaches to governing.

John’s supporters are the ones to step forward with a plan, and convince Mary that it’s vitally important the people are not alarmed by their king’s capture. Mary initially finds it distasteful, but it’s talked around and adjusted and reframed, as John’s people ferret out more and more information about the vital party involved, until she finally agrees.

Because John Winchester just happened to have a bastard son. The resemblance to Dean might not be particularly remarkable, but no one at the Shurley court has ever seen the Winchester heir before. Plus, Adam Milligan has spent the entirety of his teen years studying to become a physician, of all things. He’s perfect for their purposes. 

Ten years prior, the Shurley court had had to deal with its own bout of civil unrest, when King Chuck Shurley’s second eldest son had attempted to overthrow him with the support of several nobles from one the kingdom’s richest providences. Lucifer had allegedly been driven into exile following his defeat, and Chuck had been said to have contracted some sort of mysterious illness. According to rumors, the king had shut himself up in his private chambers and refused to admit anyone apart from his remaining children. Even servants were barred from tending him directly.

They snatch Adam away from his studies and force him into compliance by dusting off an archaic law left over from before the start of the war, when the kingdom relied on a conscription military force rather than a standing army full of career military professionals—this law empowering the crown to call on any of its citizens for a minimum forty days of military service per year. They tell Adam that his mission seems more dangerous than it is—really, all he has to do is pretend to be Dean, and use his medical knowledge to figure out exactly what mysterious illness has bedridden the enemy monarch.

Sam and Dean—the proverbial heir and spare of the kingdom—are not at court to meet their younger brother, when he’s hastily fitted for a royal wardrobe and put through a crash course on court etiquette. Sam is very publicly put on display at a holiday festival in another part of the kingdom, while Dean is sent orders to quietly stay behind at a country estate while his valet, Kevin Tran, is sent on to court. Neither of the princes is told about the plan until after Adam has already been shipped out, with Kevin in toe to help Adam along with the impersonation.

No one involved is in anyway comfortable with the mission. But it was only supposed to be for forty days. Adam was assured that the necessary funds to pay off the ransom would either be raised by the end of the minimum mandated service, or they would make contact to extract him. The Campbells and the Winchesters both allegedly had spies in the Shurley court, and they would make themselves known when the time was right.

Adam is given the impression that the latter had been told to him with the intention of making him feel safer. It did not work.

He’s terrified when he arrives—almost would have preferred being promptly thrown into a dungeon upon arrival, instead of a room full of foreign nobility who one and all give off the impression that if cut they’d bleed straight silver, and look at “Dean,” the hostage prince and purported military genius from the tiny, vicious country across the channel, as a curiosity to be studied. He’s assigned two guards (who I decided will be Anael and Samandriel, based entirely on the tags I threw together at then end of this post, during which I decided that I love these three together), who follow him around relentlessly, but beyond that, he’s. . .pretty much treated like a guest. If a stiflingly monitored one. There are limitations on where he can go and what he can do, but for the most part he’s just sort of. . .there.

Most unnerving of all, however, is the small package that Adam finds in his room when he first settles in. Kevin swears he has no idea who left it. It has the Campbell’s insignia clearly worked into the pattern of the paper it’s wrapped in, and inside he finds a knife small enough to conceal on his person, and a number of different herbs and powders that he recognizes from his studies—though of course, he’s more familiar with remedies to counteract their effects.

In other words, he finds an assassin’s-first-kill-job kit, and instructions on how and when to use it, if opportunity arises. This had not been part of the deal when Adam reluctantly signed on.

Unbeknownst to Adam however—though suspected by some parties in the Winchester court—Adam cannot assassinate Chuck Shurley, because Chuck is not there. Shortly after Lucifer’s insurrection, Chuck had quietly disappeared. Michael had only been a teenager at the time. He invented the story about Chuck being ill on impulse, certain that Chuck would be back sooner than later, and Raphael had gone along with it because, being twelve years old, Raphael was not yet old enough to question Michael’s judgement. It is now an awkward point between them.

Adam soon becomes another.

Michael regularly checks in to see how Adam’s getting on, in a way that Kevin assures Adam is entirely appropriate, since Michael is under the impression that Adam is going to be a fellow monarch someday, and is likely trying to be courteous. Adam inherently feels somewhat flustered around Michael though, which is not helped by the fact that Michael is somehow always present whenever Adam puts his foot in his mouth socially. On more than one occasion, he’s thankful that almost no one has actually been to his homeland, allowing Adam to blame an astonishing number of fuck ups on cultural differences.

Michael and Adam’s early one on one interaction are intensely awkward. Adam will forget to wear gloves, and then Michael will comment that Adam’s hands are oddly devoid of callouses for someone who’d practically been raised with a sword in his hand, leaving Adam to scramble for some flimsy excuse about hand cream. Adam will inquisitively ask questions about what sort of illness would be severe enough to leave someone bedridden for a decade but not kill them in that time (Kevin frantically motioning over Michael’s shoulder to convey that that is NOT the right way to fish for details on such a sensitive subject), and Michael will struggle to find an excuse around the quietly bubbling panic, because he hasn’t had to try to explain anything about his father since that first year, and he is not a particularly gifted liar.  

And then there’s Raphael.

Unlike Michael, Raphael is suspicious of “Dean” right from the start, pulling Michael aside to point out things that don’t seem quite right according to what their informants have told them about Dean Winchester.

“Doesn’t he look a bit young?”

“Some people look younger than they are, Raphael.”

“I was told Dean Winchester had dark hair.”

“Dark blond is dark.”

“Aren’t his eyes supposed to be green?”

“They’re obviously blue.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

The forty days come and go with Adam and Kevin nervously waiting for some sort of sign from home. Roughly two weeks later, a messenger arrives with unexpected news for Michael’s court: the Campbells have officially broken ties with the Winchesters in a violent bid for power that has left the kingdom at war with itself.

According to Kevin, the civil war has probably slowed things down a bit, if it’s as bad as the rumors say. . .

Adam and Kevin are stranded.

“Don’t worry though—I know Dean, and he knows our necks are on the line. He’ll keep out of sight until they manage to get us out of here.”

Adam finds it difficult to put faith in the virtues of a brother he’s never met, but doesn’t have it in him to question Kevin’s faith. He worries about his mother, who might have been safe in the countryside, but also might have made the trek to the capitol when it came out that Adam had been abducted for the sake of persevering the royal family's throne. He can’t be sure.

And to top it off, Michael takes to stopping by Adam’s room every couple of days to privately talk about the movements of the various factions—who has been sighted where and in what condition, where they’re rumored to be headed. Adam interprets it as an attempt to shake out inside information. One day, Adam finally tries to set him straight by saying it doesn’t matter how many ugly details Michael throws at him, Adam can’t help him because he doesn’t know anything—and is promptly put to shame when Michael looks at him in surprise and says, “You misunderstand. I assumed that you would want to know these things, because they are your family.”

Michael leaves, and Adam’s guards exchange a look. When asked, Samandriel awkwardly tells Adam that the royal family used to have a fourth child. Gabriel. He was lost during Lucifer’s insurrection. Pirates overtook his ship. They’d never received a ransom. Michael had purportedly offered a standing reward for any news of Gabriel, and put an unwise amount of resources into searching for him until it threatened the war effort.

Adam and Michael start talking more frequently from there, starting with an apology on Adam’s part. It’s tricky at first, because Michael starts out asking questions about Dean Winchester's military exploits—it is the most likely common ground between them, after all—and Adam has to hastily change the subject every time. By the two month mark, they’re talking affably, and rumors start to circulate through the courts as Michael's routine check ins on Adam start getting less formal and more frequent.

On the four month mark, rumors get even worse. Raphael finally sits Michael down and really gets into all of the things about “Dean” that don’t add up, item by item. If he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t know anything about his country’s military exploits, he’s far too convincing given his reported record, and Raphael has it on good authority that more than half of those “cultural differences” in etiquette that keep cropping up are completely unfounded—and look here, three different informants have sent lists of Dean Winchester’s physical characteristics, and the foreign prince DOES NOT MATCH.

“Michael, something is not right here.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him about it now.”

And Michael storms off to address “Dean,” while Raphael calls after him that he should wait until morning. Because it is the middle of the night.

Adam just happens to be up reading. Michael’s familiar with the book. Michael gets distracted, and they talk all night. The sun’s coming up when Michael finally leaves, and a servant happens to see him slipping out of Adam’s room. Suggestive conjectures promptly follow, and Raphael exasperatedly admits they only have themself to blame.

And this only gets worse, because now Adam and Michael have transitioned into being friends. No more guarded conversations where one is convinced the other is about to catch them in some sort of lie. When Raphael mentions that some of the lesser nobles are starting to think Michael and Adam are courting, Michael’s fidgeting is not at all lost on them, as Michael assures them that of course that isn't the case. He and Dean are merely establishing friendly relations that will serve them well down the road politically—

“After the war is over?”

“Of course, after the war is over.”

Adam’s been stranded in the Shurley court for almost a year by the time that he finally slips into his room and sees a sealed message set out on his bed. Adam doesn’t recognize the insignia as belonging to either the Winchesters or the Campbells, but it’s signed with the initials “SW” at the bottom. It mostly contains a lot of vague phrases that make Adam wonder if he was supposed to be versed in some sort of code. As far as he’s concerned, the only important information comes at the end: Kate Milligan has been safely relocated for the duration of the civil war.

Relieved, Adam goes down to dinner, where some sort of seasonal holiday is being celebrated, and has a bit more wine than he normally would. The Shurley court is one of those stuffy courts where seating is stiffly dictated by tradition. As a foreign prince, Adam’s assigned seat is at the same table as Michael, although, according to Kevin, his placement's much further down due to his being a hostage. After a few drinks, and after most of the nobles have cleared off from the table to talk and celebrate elsewhere in the hall, Adam sees no reason not to get up and relocate down the line of chairs to sit closer to Michael. It was against the rules, but Adam was aware enough not to sit in Raphael’s empty seat, and he’d been seen with Michael so often that Anael and Samandriel barely even blinked, because Adam obviously wasn’t about to attack their prince or anything.

However, it is worth noting that while talking to Adam, Michael consumes a decent amount more wine than he would normally have as well.

Later that night, Michael’s walking Adam back to his room, and he starts to comment that Adam seems happier than usual. But even when sober, Michael would struggle to say something like that—if he’d even attempt it while sober—and Adam winds up biting his lip as he watches Michael’s mounting embarrassment, as a simple compliment inexplicably morphs—words seemingly forcing their way out as Michael tries and utterly fails to stop them—into a compliment about how Adam is beautiful—that is, he’s always beautiful—that is, Michael can’t help noticing Adam most days—that is. . .

. . .Michael is adorable. And in a moment of pure, thoughtless impulse, Adam leans in and kisses Michael right there in the corridor.

Michael is profoundly shocked, and his reaction delayed. Adam had only gone in intending to briefly press his lips against Michael’s, but as he’s pulling away Michael abruptly leans in and reseals the kiss, and Adam in turn takes that as an invitation to pull Michael closer. And a few minutes later, Raphael happens to walk down the hallway and find the two of them enthusiastically kissing against the wall.

And Raphael promptly turns around and goes back the way they came, only stopping at one point to flag down a servant and order them not to let anyone else walk down that particular corridor for at least an hour, hoping that Michael and Adam’s “friendly relations” wouldn’t result in anything too inappropriate.

As it happens, nothing particularly inappropriate happens. Nonetheless, Michael still wakes up the next morning, fully clothed in his own bed, in panic because the first thought to distinctly make its way through the ungodly pain in his head is that he’d taken liberties with a guest the night before. The heir to a foreign power at that, a peer, a hostage! Michael never thought he was capable of something so dishonorable--he’d had Dean pressed up against the wall as if they were a couple of ill-bred urchins, and how does one even go about apologizing for something like that?

(Of course, if Michael were thinking clearly, he might have remembered that Adam had actually been the one to back himself up against the wall, with Michael obligingly following along, quite malleable to whatever positioning Adam wanted so long as Adam kept kissing him.)

Michael’s behavior was beyond unacceptable. If his father hadn’t already abandoned them, he’d likely disown Michael out of pure shame. There was no telling what kind of damage he’d done to the relationship between their kingdoms. At best, Michael’s uncouth actions would be a dirty secret between them in the years to come, after Dean married, and Michael was left barely able to look Dean’s spouse in the eye. If Michael were a lesser noble, his parents might demand he married Dean outright.

And suddenly Michael sat up in bed, realizing he could marry Dean. His mind begins racing, because of course he could marry Dean! It made perfect sense. They enjoyed each other’s company, and with both of them being heir to their respective kingdoms, their union would effectively end the war. It might be complicated—especially given some of the odd customs Dean had introduced to Michael’s court—but marriages had been used to cemented alliances often enough, and the thought of marrying Dean elicited a curiously hot feeling in Michael’s stomach, remembering the way Adam had pulled him close the night before.

(Fun fact, England and France actually did try to do this with the Treaty of Troyes in 1420; it did not go as planned.)

Michael goes through the rest of his day in an uncharacteristically upbeat mindset, because now it all seems to just be a matter of organizing things, and he is good at organizing. He would have to write to either John or Mary Winchester as soon as the situation in their kingdom settled, and formally ask for Dean’s hand, and he and Dean should have a chaperone present at all times moving forward to avoid scandal--though there would be no way to sidestep scandal altogether, of course. Adam was still technically Michael’s prisoner. 

More than likely, the Winchesters or Campbells would demand Michael relinquish his claim to at least half of the territories that they’d spent the last few decades fighting over, but that would be fine. It’s traditional in Michael’s country to give gifts to one’s in-laws, and Dean is a future monarch. Anything too little would be insulting, and all would be consolidated eventually when Dean and Michael assumed their respective thrones. . .

Michael is still walking around delightfully living in his own head when Raphael pulls him into an empty room to discuss what they witnessed the night before. While not the most shocking scenario they could have imagined, they were not expecting to hear their brother announce that he and Dean Winchester would be getting married.

“And how are we to explain away our father’s absence during the proceedings, Michael?”

Michael’s good mood promptly withers. Because of course Chuck would be expected to play some part in arranging his son’s wedding. Ill or not, at the very least, he would be expected to make an appearance at the wedding. To have no part in it at all would be suspicious, not to mention rude.

While Raphael intended to snap Michael back to his senses, they had not meant to shake Michael into an immediate depression. They try for a gentler tone.

“You know, Michael. Our father has been gone for over a decade. He left no formal plans, he's sent no word. By any standard, he's abdicated. Perhaps this isn’t the right time to introduce a political marriage. Perhaps we should consider your assuming the kingship, and then come back around to formalizing your relationship with Dean—”

Michael, of course, is against this. Because their father is alive, and he will come back, and it will not be to find that another one of his sons had greedily tried to usurp the throne.

Seeing Michael about to fall back onto a familiar tangent, Raphael chooses the lesser of two evils and takes the conversation back to “Dean.” They ask which out of the two of them proposed to the other.

Michael abruptly realizes that he's forgotten something.

Meanwhile, Adam starts his morning on a much happier note. His headache is less punishing than Michael’s, and while feeling the normal amount of embarrassment that comes with drinking a little too much, the feeling does not extend to kissing Michael. His mother’s safe, he’s nailing his Dean impression, and Michael apparently likes him. Things could not be better. Until Adam remembers how the latter two items on that list are linked.

Michael is not like a classmate back home, who he could chat up, get a drink with, and maybe start seeing regularly if all things went well. Michael is, in fact, the acting ruler of one of the most powerful countries in the world, which just so happens to be at war with Adam’s, and under the explicit impression that Adam is similarly situated in the world.

Adam promptly begins freaking out.

And then Michael finds him.

Adam’s in the library at the time. Michael walks in and quietly dismisses Adam’s guards, and Kevin, leaving the two of them completely alone. Adam doesn’t realize what Michael’s doing right away, though he’s spent enough time with Michael to recognize how nervous he is as he starts talking about a proposal to end the war—selling the idea, as if Michael wouldn’t be enough on his own—and then sheepishly tapering into the idea that both he and Adam seem to have feelings for one another. And if Adam were able to go back in time and strangle his tipsy past self, he would, because then he wouldn’t have to see the look on Michael’s face when he says no.

And no, Michael does not understand.

Adam can hear years of living in the public eye at work in Michael voice, as he just manages to keep his voice level in asking, “Even if it would mean peace?”

"I'm sorry, I just—I can't."

". . .I see."

Michael excuses himself, and Adam collapses onto a couch, assuring himself that no was the only right answer, and he shouldn’t feel terrible—which, of course, since Adam’s spent the last couple of months flirting with Michael while posing as someone else, is not an easy idea to buy into.

Michael and Adam avoid eye contact at dinner, even as Raphael—who has zero doubts as to who initiated what the night before—practically burns holes into Adam’s skin with the looks they shoot down the table.

And then a messenger comes in. One of the wealthiest duchies in the kingdom (the same one that had once supported Lucifer, and of course would be populated with demon characters in the narrative) has declared its independence, having formed an alliance with the Campbells, and has launched an attack not far from the castle. Several villages have already been attacked along the way. Michael accompanies the armed forces he sends out to quash the uprising.

Raphael is left behind to fortify the castle and take in the refugees, who the messenger assured them are not far behind. Unlike Michael, Raphael rarely saw combat. Officially, it was because Raphael had adamantly insisted on training as a healer rather than a warrior, which was true enough. Unofficially though, Michael and Raphael are both fully aware that if anything happened to Michael, Raphael is the only one left to inherent the crown.

Samandirel and Anael escort Adam back to his room. Samandriel assures Adam that no one thinks he had anything to do with the duchy double crossing them, but it would probably just be safer for Adam to stay out of sight until things calm down. Anael is more closed-lipped about the situation.

From his window, Adam watches the first of the villagers come trickling in, and even from his vantage point he can make out burn wounds, makeshift bandages and hastily thrown together tourniquets, and he’s in hell, because it seems the only two options in front of him are to worry about Michael, or feel absolutely sick with guilt because he’s a trained physician and he should be down there helping.

Finally he pokes his head out into the corridor and asks if someone can find Kevin for him. Anael raises an eyebrow that “Dean,” who’s usually inordinately self-suffice for a prince, is suddenly insisting that he needs to see his manservant, but Samandriel is already helpfully heading down the hall. A few minutes later, Kevin is in Adam’s room, confused, as Adam asks him to take off his clothes.

“You can have mine, just switch with me, okay?”

“Uuh. . . Don’t you think mine will be a little tight on you—”

“Less talk! Strip!”

Michael had probably errored in assigning the same two guards to watch over Adam. After a year, the three of them had gotten to be on fairly familiar terms. Adam waited until Samandriel started to get chatty, and slipped quietly out of his room when Anael was distracted—neither of them having had any reason to think Adam would try to escape, because he had been nothing but compliant since the day he arrived.

From there, he goes straight to the infirmary.

Raphael had set up tents in the courtyard to accommodate the high number of people in need of care. Adam was a year out of practice, but the atmosphere was still familiar to him, and he slipped into the chaos unnoticed. Raphael doesn’t notice him until they are well into the thick of things, and Adam’s as covered in grime and gore as anyone else present. Adam had just gone for more bandages and the two of them nearly ran into each other, and for a split second Adam thinks Raphael just might not recognize him until hand closes around his arm like a vice.

“What exactly are YOU doing here?”

Then Raphael notices the stitches Adam had just finished putting in for his latest patient—and Adam’s stitchwork is immaculate, not the clumsy, half-hazard work of a solider who picked up the mechanics of it over the course of their career.

"YOU did that?"

Adam starts to fumble out an answer, but they are interrupted because then Michael is being brought in. The fighting is over. Raphael and Adam promptly drop everything.

Michael has a concussion. He’s also been lightly stabbed. You know, just lightly. Needs stitches though. Raphael is adamant that Adam leave immediately, but Michael, who is delirious, sees Adam and absolutely refuses to let Raphael send him away. Raphael winds up patching Michael together while Adam—annoyingly, to Raphael—is sat next to him, holding Michael’s hand. Adam winds up sitting next to Michael all night, because it’s the only way to keep Michael from getting up and tearing his stitches like a feverish moron.

Initially, Raphael refuses to leave too, not trusting their brother’s suspiciously competent love interest, whose family was purportedly allied with the traitors who’d just attacked their people. There are still more wounded to tend to, however, and Raphael begrudgingly has to step away—making sure to leave orders that a guard be present in the room the entire time that Raphael is gone.

Little does Raphael know, Adam would have lowkey given a limb to have Raphael stay. Michael’s demeanor is a lot less closed off when he’s feverish and concussed. Shortly after Raphael leaves, Michael starts apologizing for proposing earlier, and Adam feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut. And as he’s lying there, looking at Adam’s hand in his, Michael starts saying things he would not normally blurt out—like that ending the war was not the main reason he wanted to marry Adam, because the last year has been the best he can remember, and it is entirely due to spending time with Adam—even if Adam was only there by obligation—and he would do anything to make Adam happy, even if they weren’t together—and Adam is just stuck there, highkey dying on the inside.

Then Michael sees his face.

"I apologize, you’ve already said you do not want to marry me, I should not have brought this up—”

Michael starts to get out of bed completely unconcerned about his stab wounds, and as Adam’s pushing him back down, the words “That’s not true!” just sort of. . .fly out.

Then Michael’s suddenly looking at Adam, and his face is suddenly very sober, and Adam can feel his own face turning red.

"That is, I. . ." Adam realizes, suddenly, that he’s fucked. Telling Michael the truth is somehow both the right and wrong thing to do at the same time, and Michael is definitely in no condition to hear it either way. “How about, if you still want to marry me when all this is over, then I’ll say yes?”

The next morning is a string of stressful events for Adam. Raphael shooed him out of Michael room at dawn, and Adam went straight back to his own. Kevin, Samandriel, and Anael had all been reprimanded for Adam’s escape, with the latter two being replaced as Adam’s guard under Raphael’s orders. His first interaction with Ishim and Maribel does not bode well for them becoming friends.

When Adam tells Kevin that he’s thinking about coming clean to Michael, Kevin panics. News from the Winchesters had dried up weeks ago, even for Michael and Raphael’s sources. Kevin argues that they’d be better off attempting to escape on their own if the charade was getting to be too much for Adam, especially after last night—but even then, they should wait awhile longer. Why take any chances right now? And Adam doesn’t know how to go about explaining the why. . .

And it gets taken out of his hands anyway, when they step out of the room and find that it’s somehow leaked that Adam and Michael—who had completely misunderstood what Adam meant by “when all this is over”—are engaged.

Kevin doesn’t get another moment alone with Adam to discuss how stupidly dangerous this whole situation is, and Adam, no matter how hard he tries—can’t seem to get a moment alone with his fiancé to try to explain that the situation is not what he thinks it is. Everyone had vastly underestimated how far the rumors about Michael and Adam secretly courting had gone, and Adam can barely take three steps without a noble or courtier or someone pulling him aside to offer their congratulations, and as Adam gets closer to Michael’s chambers, there’s Raphael, circling like a shark and Adam does not want to make his confession to Raphael before he sees Michael.

Come dinner time, Adam finds that his seat had been reassigned. He now sits directly to Michael’s left. He keeps trying to convince Michael to step out into the hall with him for a second, while Raphael, seated in their normal place to Michael’s right, continuously circumvents him, firmly believing that Adam has done more than enough in private.

Then there’s a scream. A servant comes running out into the dining hall, carrying a bloody knife. They run up to Michael—up until the guards step forward to stop her, but she’s not attacking. Instead she hands over the knife and says that she found in the corridor outside the king’s chambers. She had been worried, so she broke protocol and went in. The king’s bed was drenched in blood.

Adam looks over and feels a chill when he recognizes the same knife that had been included in the murder kit he found in his room on day one.

If Raphael had looked up, Adam had no doubt that Raphael would have read something in his face, but they didn’t get the chance to. Michael and Raphael are busy staring at each, the only ones in the room who know beyond any doubt that the implication could not be true, because there had not been anyone in that bed to assassinate in over ten years. Neither of them is given the chance to try to spin the knife’s implications in any direction, however. While the court is still reeling in shocked silence, a guard walks in—completely oblivious—and announces that a messenger has arrived with urgent news.

Adam looks up, and finds he has room to panic more, when he sees Anna Milton walk in, a serving maid in the Winchester court, and as she drops a curtsey to Michael, she identifies herself as one of Raphael’s spies. She had held her place in the Winchester court for as long as she could, but when her real identity had been uncovered she’d had no choice but to flee, and she’s come with monumental news. The civil war across the channel has ended, the Campbells having been forced to seek asylum with their allies outside the kingdom, John Winchester deposed, and Dean Winchester installed on the throne in his place. She had witnessed his coronation herself the very day they identified her.

And Adam feels very cold, as if his blood had actually managed to turn into ice, which would have explained why he couldn’t seem to move, as every eye in the room immediately turns to him.

 And that would be the end of part one.

[shellhawk]

Thoughts on Destiel

I think about the whole Destiel thing more than someone with as many irons in the fire as I have, should. I mean, there’s Real Life™ to think about, right?

But then people in the fandom start hating on Destiel, and start pouring out their bigotry on this greatest of love stories, the story that was snatched away from us by cowardly producers. Jack help you if you mention it on a regular SPN fan page on Facebook; you will be piled on with so much hate and vitriol, it's insane.

Still, we believe. We know. Destiel is Canon.

We believed even when they killed our Angel of Thursday after the most heart-rending confession of love I have ever witnessed. When they left The Righteous Man on the floor of the dungeon, in shock and weeping because he couldn't say, "I love you, too, Cas," back, and it was forever too late for him.

I mostly think about it while I’m drifting off to sleep, after reading some really good fanfiction.

I see myself at the con that’s coming up in Hawaii in 2023. On the beach, I somehow run into Jensen, Misha, and sometimes Jared, and we strike up a conversation. (Since Dean always talked about retiring on a beach, somewhere, in my head, it fits.)

Sometimes I ask them if they’ve been to the Buddhist Temple up North on the Island, the one behind the big graveyard on the hill, and tell them that they should go, and take the kids to see it.

More often, in this almost dream, I see myself explaining to all of them (because they're a captive audience, now) about Destiel, and why it’s so important to me, and so many others.

So I tell them:

Look, guys, here’s the thing. I feel like in every part of the multiverse, these characters are always connected, even if some of the relationships are different from the ones in the Supernatural 'verse.

Sam and Dean are always brothers. In the Supernatural 'verse, they’re brothers and shield-brothers, shield-brothers being men who fight together as a team, who always have each other’s backs, like you find in the military with men who are in combat together. And Sam and Dean are lucky enough to have this blessing as blood-related siblings.

Sam always has an Eileen, a Ruby, a Jess, though my preference as his partner is always Eileen, because she understood the Hunter’s life and could defend herself. He would never really have to worry about her as she would never have “damsel in distress” as her first option.

I believe that in the multiverse, Dean and Castiel always had each other. And I believe that in the Supernatural Universe, Dean and Cas are mates and shield-mates. Men who fight together, would die for each other, always have each other’s backs, and happen to be deeply in love with each other. True mates, like they say in all the best fanfictions.

Even though smutty fanfiction is the go-to for Destiel, it's not the entire appeal. (Don't get me wrong, that has its place, too!) I'd hazard a guess that it's not even the lion's share of the appeal, but it's not all about "pervy housewives" letting their repressed sexual fantasies loose (if that even is a thing), if you catch my drift.

If it were just about the sex, it wouldn't be so enduring, it wouldn't have over 100k fics on A03. No, baby, it's about the L-O-V-E.

I don’t buy into the homophobic garbage about Dean and Cas loving each other like brothers because Cas was an angel and angels don’t think about sex, yadda, yadda.

I think that Castiel, as an angel, would have thought nothing of Dean’s gender, because he saw his soul, first. The body would be incidental to the brightness of the Soul of the Righteous Man. It's just a vessel, as it were, and why get hung up on the vessel when the important part was so bright, so pure?

I've seen some theories that Cas can't see anyone's real physical bodies with his eyes. Only their true selves, like he can see demons. So it makes sense that if he fell in love, he fell in love with Dean's true self.

And Cas's hard-wired program from Chuck is to love and help mankind, even if it costs him his life, so again, why wouldn't he fall in love with a man?

Why on earth anyone would believe God could program an Angel like that and then have that angel not fall in love with the true human inside the vessel is beyond me. I think that Chuck in his early days of creation, before he was a bitter jerk with a penchant for breaking his toys, wouldn't have batted an eye at that.

The show’s theme is unconditional love. No matter how many times you mess up, no matter how badly you mess up, you can still redeem yourself. It reminds me of that quote from 2005's Constantine, by Gabriel:

“You're handed this precious gift, right? Each one of you granted redemption from the Creator - murderers, rapists, and molesters - all of you, you just have to repent, and God takes you into His bosom. In all the worlds in all the universe, no other creature can make such a boast, save man.”

And in Supernatural, you can repent and can still have the love and support of these people, this incredible family who aren't blood, for the most part. Sure, they'll be pissed at you and call you a dumbass, because family does that, too, when you need it.

But even when you mess up, all you have to do is to try to fix things. You just have to ask for help. And you get that unconditional, all-encompassing love and forgiveness. Just like God said at the beginning of time.

Both Dean and Cas had epic screwups, epic lapses in judgement, but they still came back to each other and made things right. Like all the best couples do.

In the Supernatural Universe, Cas was the one “off the line with a crack in his chassis.” He was the one who didn’t do what he was told, what Chuck made him to do. Somehow, in that universe, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, touched Dean in the Pit of Hell, and Castiel was “lost.”

But when you think more deeply about it, in every part of the multiverse, Chuck made these characters for each other.

Like, they were literally made for each other by God, himself.

You have only yourself to blame, Chuck.

We just got lucky that this Cas and this Dean were the stubborn ones. The ones who refused to let go of each other, to kill each other when Heaven and Hell were doing everything they could to force them to do just that.

They overcame Naomi’s programming of Cas to kill thousands of Deans so he could kill the real one when she commanded it, and they overcame Dean’s subjugation to the Mark of Cain because of love. Because at the moment when they could strike at each other’s hearts, at the time they could end each other's entire existences, they dropped their knives and walked away, rather than destroy the one person they loved above all others.

They gave up everything for each other, over and over again. And they saved each other, over and over again.

Destiel is important to us because we all crave that kind of loyalty, that kind of safety with another person, that kind of love and forgiveness.

We crave it so very deeply because most of us have never had it. Some of us have had abuse and betrayal, instead.

We look at Dean and Cas and their profound bond and we want that more deeply than we have ever wanted anything. Because that profound bond is more important than anything. That profound bond with one another is what makes humanity unique. Worth saving.

We want that happy ending for them, when their trials are done and they have earned peace and each other, a thousand times over. We need it because we need that for ourselves.

Cas and Dean as Destiel, gave us the hope that we, too, could experience a profound bond, and with it, unconditional love and acceptance.

And in my dream - because by now I’ve drifted off and can hear the ocean and the sea birds and see Diamond Head off in the distance - the guys nod and smile, not because they’re being polite and they need to run to a signing, but because they get it.

They just get it.