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solinarimoon · 4 years ago

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Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 6

A Sihtric x OC story

A/N: So I realized I was spelling Aelfwynn’s name incorrectly so I have corrected for this chapter and moving forward. Also, I have shifted some of the dialogue around for some of the cannon scenes to help it flow better for this part. I was originally going to keep this chapter paired with what I have planned for the next chapter but the natural break seemed to be earlier so this chapter is a bit short.

Read the previous chapters here.

Warnings: Threats of violence and references to past abuses/crimes, all in line with my OC and the cannon story.

Word Count: 1754

Photo used with permission from @fairyw1ngs

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And then they were there, in front of them. Mercian soldiers. And at their center, the man who haunted Cwen’s dreams, Eardwulf.

“Aelfwynn, Come with me. Or I will kill all of these people then I will find your mother and I will kill her too.”

Cwen heard Aelfwynn gasp a small breath then sniffle and hold back tears before trying to take a step out of her arms towards the soldiers.

“Save your friends and leave with me,” Eardwulf told her.

He spoke to her with guile and manipulation in his voice. He was a serpent. Cwen’s monster.

“No, Aelfwynn.” Cwen cried in a panicked voice at the same time that Sihtric brought his ax arm up in front of the girl baring her way.

Uhtred spoke up, also placing his arm in front of Aelfwynn, “She will stay where she is.”

Eardwulf continued to speak to Aelfwynn, using his words to scare the girl into compliance.

“Aelfwynn, we are betrothed.” With a nod, he instructed two of his soldiers to dismount and approach to take Aelfwynn by force.

At seeing the soldiers advance upon her, Aelfwynn turned her face to Cwen and grabbed onto her, panic stricken.

“Don’t let them kill my mother!” She pleaded to Cwen.

Cwen shifted Aelfwynn to be next to Aethelstan, close between herself and Eadith.

She could feel the terror rising in not only Aelfwynn but in herself, but she knew she must remain strong in the face of it.

Cwen stroked the girl’s hair and whispered calm words. But her eyes lay trained on Eardwulf.

She felt the bile rising in her throat being confronted with the man who had stolen so much from her. And who would now steal from Aelfwynn.

Just as the tension reached its peak, as the two soldiers were close enough for Uhtred or his men to strike them down, Eadith pushed herself between Finan and Sihtric.

“No, no do not do this man’s bidding.”

“Eadith, what are ya doing?” Finan balked at the same time Cwen explained, “Eadith, no!”

Eadith took a quick glance at Finan but continued speaking to the Mercians.

“He has betrayed you all. He murdered Lord Aethelred! I witnessed it.”

“So speaks the traitor of Mercia,” Eardwulf countered.

Eadith continued to speak her truth, “As he lay mortally wounded in his bed,”

But still her brother interrupted her, “This is the word of a whore!” He shouted rising off the saddle of his horse.

“How dare you!” Cwen yelled. “You dare to call her a whore after all you have done!” She raged.

Sihtric’s jaw flexed and he reached behind himself to place the arm holding his ax against Cwen. It was half an embrace and half a restraint. Cwen gripped onto his shoulder and through ragged breaths placed a fierce kiss to the top of Aelfwynn’s hair.

“I will swear to it on the book!” Eadith pleaded, throwing her arms into the air towards the heavens. Cwen saw the soldiers on foot take a step or two back towards their horses.

“Aethelred refused to allow my brother to marry this poor child. So he killed him. That is the man you serve. Ask him why Aethelred was late to the fight at Tettenhall. Because this man lied to you!”

Cwen saw as Eardulf’s head dropped to his chest. Was this confession to be enough to convince his men of his treachery.

“Days he delayed telling you your fellow Mercians were dead! Days you could have had to travel home and save your families.”

It’s working, Cwen thought with astonishment. She now saw the archers disarm their bows and begin to look to their captain.

“He killed the messenger that Edward sent alerting us to the trouble.”

“My men will not be fooled by your lies,” Eardwulf countered, but one of his men demanded they let Eadith continue.

“I have proof of his crime. Look inside the pouch he wears around his neck. Inside you will find a ring bearing Lord Aethelred’s seal. It is a ring he stole from your lord as he lay dead.” She continued while daring to take a few steps closer to her brother.

“There is no truth to this,” he stated while glancing at the men at his side.

“If there is no truth to it, then prove it. Show your men what’s inside.”

“Seize Aelfwynn or I will have you executed for treachery.” Eardwulf commanded. When none of his soldiers made a move to oblige him, he screamed out for them to do his bidding.

“Do not threaten your own men,” came the rebuke of one of his soldiers as they placed a sword to his neck.

Another soldier ordered him to show them his pouch. If Eadith lied, then there would be nothing to hide.

Having no other choice, Eardwulf handed over his neck pouch and his soldiers saw the truth in Eadith’s confession for their own eyes.

The soldier’s arrows now trained on Eardwulf and Eadith told him to flee before his own men killed him for his crimes.

With a final glance, Eardwulf looked past Sihtric and Finan to lay his eyes on Aelfwynn. Then he shifted them to meet Cwen’s eyes and he spat before turning his horse and riding off.

The rest of his soldiers soon followed leaving the companions behind them.

As the soldiers crested the hill in the field and were lost to sight, the warriors sheathed their weapons.

Watching Eardwulf retreat out of sight, Cwen released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Her body finally able to react began taking more and more shuddering breaths.

Sihtric replaced his weapons in their sheaths and turned to place his arm properly around Cwen. He kissed her temple then he shifted himself to bring her eyes to meet his.

“He is gone, Cwen. Slow your breaths. He is gone and we are here.” When Cwen’s eyes began panicked searches over the horizon past Sihtric’s shoulders, he brought his hand up to her face and moving his eyes again to meet hers. “I am here. Breathe.” He commanded her in firm but gentle tones. As he saw her eyes focus on his, Sihtric felt the tension melting away from her. “There, Cwen. Breathe and see me. Breathe.”

After a few more moments, Cwen’s breathing had indeed returned to normal and their attention shifted to the children.

Aelfwynn was still clinging to Cwen’s skirts while Aethelstan held on to the woman’s arm and gripped the knife from Sihtric in his other hand. Sihtric bent down to meet Aethelstan and Aelfwynn’s eyes.

“It is over. You are safe,” he told them with the gentle soothing calm that Cwen had come to cherish.

“Aye, Eadith saved us.” Finan said while ruffling Aethelstan’s hair. But Finan’s eyes never left the back of Eadith as she stood staring where her brother’s horse had disappeared from view.

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

Uhtred walked into the barn with Osferth and Sihtric close behind.

Cwen sat on the floor with Aelfwynn, her head on her knees. Eadith had a damp cloth and was touching it to the girls temples and wrists to cool her fever.

“How is she?” Uhtred asked while crouching down to meet Cwen’s eye.

“I fear for her. She is getting worse.”

“Can you help her?” Uhtred asked.

“I do not know. None of us are healers. We will do all we can but…” Cwen trailed off and brought her gaze up to meet Sihtric.

Eadith continued where Cwen’s words lingered, “if it is in our power we will do it.”

“Good,” Uhtred replied. “She is the future. I will be returning to Aelesburg with Finan, Stiorra, and the boy. Sihtric and my son must ride on to Ceaster in hopes of finding Aetheflaed and Aldhelm on the road. I would have you ladies remain here with Aelfwynn and Osferth until we can return for you. She should not be moved if she is to get well.”

“Why do you return to Aelesburg?” Cwen questioned. “You will not be welcomed. What purpose does that serve?”

“The Mercian people must know of Eardwulf’s deceit and treachery. I cannot let this lead to wars and infighting. Not when the Danes remain a threat. I feel it is where my fate leads me.” Uhtred finished softly, while gently grasping Aelfwynn’s small hand.

“Since I was a child, I have known the Lord Uhtred is a man worthy of honor and respect. I pray that those with influence and power will finally see that too.” Cwen spoke while meeting the older man’s gaze. After a moment's pause, Uhtred nodded to the lady then rose and retreated out of the door followed by Osferth.

“We leave now and ride hard.”

Before following his lord, Sihtric knelt down to bring his forehead to meet Cwen’s own, his hand cupping the nape of her neck.

No words were exchanged between the pair. But after several heartbeats, Sihtric opened his eyes. And his eyes saw her. And Cwen saw him.

Sihtric brought his lips to leave a kiss on her forehead before quickly rising and leaving the barn.

Cwen’s gaze followed him until he was no longer in sight and then remained frozen watching the breeze ripple through the field blanketed with wildflowers beyond the barn's doorway.

Her reverie was broken when Eadith gently cleared her throat.

“I do not think I have ever witnessed a passion like his for you.”

Startled, Cwen turned to look at Eadith.

“He sees you. Not simply watches and lusts for you but sees you,” the woman emphasized.

“But we…” Cwen started and then trailed off not knowing what to say. She thought for a few moments, “we have not confessed anything or made any promises to one another. We only just kissed before the encounter with your brother. It was a fit of..” but again Cwen let her words trail off.

“Passion,” Eadith finished for her.

Cwen glanced back to the field of wildflowers and felt her lips turn to a slight smile.

“Yes, passion.” She agreed.

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

To be continued...

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cora-vizsla · 4 years ago

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Hypnotic (Taking Over Me)- Chapter 3

Pairing: Eventual Jedi!OC x Sith!Obi Wan

Word Count: 3.7 K

Story Rating: E (18+)

Chapter Rating: I’m just gonna move these up to E now because I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Warning: Swearing. Threats of violence. Cannon typical violence. Calm kidnapping. There was only one bed. Almost naked cuddling. Dare I say fluff??

A/N: Please let me know if I missed any tags!

Zara was unable to fall back asleep. She could feel when Obi Wan finally succumbed to his own exhaustion and it set her on edge. She looked around quietly, keeping tabs on his signature across the building. There had been hope she could find her saber, but he must have stashed it away somewhere.

When she looked down to see her boots by the door, she decided she had no other choice. She couldn’t stay with her captor. There was a lack of clarity she wanted to rip out of her head even if it meant doing something risky. She told herself that Anakin wouldn’t sit around and wait at the mercy of anyone. It wasn’t her normal avenue of actions but hers obviously weren’t working. She shut her eyes and spoke like a mantra that Anakin would want her to fight. He would want her to escape.

Zara quickly pulled on her boots and grabbed a large jacket by the door. She could feel the chill coming through the door but knew that was the only time it was going to happen.

“I am a Jedi knight. I can do this. I can get back and warn the counsel. I can save Anakin.”

She winced when the cold hit her face and she realized then Obi Wan would feel the air change. She pulled the door shut and started running off in the direction she thought they had come from. There were still some footprints, but it was hard to follow. Snow had drifted over part of their journey, so she stopped to look around. Between the cold and running, her chest was heaving trying to pull in air.

“Zara! Zara you are going to die trying to run off like this!”

She whipped around to her captor having already caught up to her.

“I can’t stay here! I can’t let you manipulate me and hurt Anakin. I won’t!”

“You’re smarter than this!”

“Let me go! If you have one shred of decency in you, let me go!”

He stood up tall and shrugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the ground. He tossed something to Zara, and she caught it quickly, gasping when she realized it was her saber. She looked back up at him as he ignited his blood red blade.

“Fight me. If you can best me, I’ll deliver you back to the temple myself.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you stay here and stop trying to get yourself killed.”

She looked down at her saber and considered what he was saying. She had yet to actually see him fight.

“Letting me go would be directly going against your Master.”

“It would.”

“Then why offer me this?”

“If I can’t best a new Jedi Knight then I don’t deserve to keep her captive.”

Resolution washed over her. She ignited her blade and a sick smile spread across the Siths face. She carefully pulled off her own jacket and set it down, not taking her eyes off her enemy. He spun his saber a few times easily and fluidly.

“Come on, darling, it’s cold out here. Time to get this over with so we can get back in the warmth of our home.”

Zara wanted to snarl but instead closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath. She let herself feel everything within the force. She trusted herself and her abilities. When she opened her eyes, she had a new look of determination. She no longer looked at him as Obi Wan, lost Jedi. He was Lord Veth and he needed to be defeated.

Veth was the first to move forward, quicker than she expected, and their sabers clashed together. He gave her a dangerous smile and broke away, quickly striking again with a fury she was not prepared for. She was able to block every swing, but it frustrated her she couldn’t turn it, so she was on the offensive. She could tell he was holding back and only pushing forward to keep her unbalanced. He felt her frustration and laughed when they locked their sabers together again.

“Darling, have I told you how stunning you look in my clothes?”

In frustration, Zara shot her arm out, using the force to push him back. He was able to keep himself on his feet as he immediately moved forward again. With a grin, Zara raised her hand again and a bright light emanated around her. Veth shielded his eyes, temporarily caught off balance.

“Little knight you surprise me.”

“Stars, do you ever shut up?”

“How rude, we were having such a good conversation. How long are you going to keep this up? I’m stronger than you are, sweetheart. You aren’t going to best me in battle.”

She knew he was right. Between fighting off the cold and trying to use the force so much she was getting exhausted. She stepped forward a few steps, hoping the blinding light would protect her movements just a bit. When she dropped her arm and ceased the blinding light, she quickly brought her saber down. Veth seemed to be expecting it when his arm shot up, using the force to wrap tightly around her throat.

“Now, now. That wasn’t very admirable. You are so much better than cheap tricks.”

He kept the force on her long enough that she dropped her saber and clawed at herself. He watched her struggle until tears welled in her eyes.

“Do you yield, darling?”

She shook her head and he sighed in annoyance. He let go, letting her crash to the ground with a thud. When she tried to move further than up to her knees, she realized that he was still using the force to keep her in place.

“I’m not killing you. Nice try though.”

He held his saber up to her chest and watched as the red danced off her face.

“Yield.”

“Why? You said you won’t kill me.”

“I can maim you. Maybe cut one of your legs off so you can’t run anymore. You only really need one hand. Hope you get my point.”

She glared up at him in defiance. He sighed and moved the blade forward, pressing it against her shoulder. Zara cried out from the burn and he shifted his weight, clearly annoyed.

“I’m not really into torture, dear. Please just yield so we can go inside.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

He reached forward and touched her head, rendering her unconscious instantly. He caught her and pulled her limp body close to his. Once he made sure he had both sabers he started towards the cabin.

“You have so much to learn, little knight. Hopefully you can accomplish that without many more scars.”

---

Zaras eyes fluttered open to immediately seeing the fireplace. She took inventory of her body and other than the tingle of warming limbs, she seemed to be okay. There were blankets under her as padding on the hard floor and a pillow under her head. When she shifted, she realized that the blankets felt way too soft against her skin. She peeked under the blanket to see that she was wearing nothing but her breast band and underwear.

“Your clothes were wet. Not that you believe anything I say but nothing unfavorable happened to you. I may be a monster, but I am not that type.”

She turned her head to look at him. He was sitting leaning against the wall wearing fresh clothes and his hair was wet where it fell in front of his eyes. She sat up slowly making sure one of the blankets was wrapped around her still.

“I placed a bacta patch on your shoulder. It shouldn’t scar too badly.”

She nodded and continued to look at him.

“Surprised you didn’t put force binders on me.”

“Why? The force is the only reason why you didn’t die out there. I don’t think you understand how inhabitable this planet is.”

“You’re mad at me.”

He sighed and brushed his hair back, finally making eye contact with her.

“I’m disappointed that you would be that reckless. You easily could have died.”

“What does it even matter? You accomplished your goal either way. Anakin is at the mercy of your Master and I am out of the picture.”

“You.. Zara I have met many beings in my travels in my life. I have traveled to many planets and seen wars rage around me. Up until I saw you on the battlefield, I had only ever known of one person that cared so deeply for life. It.. got her killed and the galaxy is darker for it.”

“The one you were in love with?”

He nodded and pulled one knee up so he could rest his arm on it. Zara caught herself wanting to console him but kept still. Master Windu had told her multiple times that her compassion could be dangerous. She didn’t want him to be right, but she was trying to figure out how to console her Sith captor.

“S-Satine. Her name was Satine. I was a padawan still when I went to Mandalore to protect her.”

“She was a Mandalorian?”

“Yes, the leader actually. She needed help because she saw a brighter future for her people. A future free of war and loss. She saw peace when no one else could, myself included.”

“Is that why you fell?”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“No. I told you, the Jedi did that to me. Though finding out she was gone did contribute to my anger.”

“I still don’t see how this connects to me.”

“The first thing I noticed about Satine was the fact that she cared so deeply. When faced with opposition she didn’t want to raise a weapon, she wanted to figure out how to stop everyone else from doing so. I followed you and Anakin on one of your first missions. It was the first opportunity that I could get to you without a Jedi Master sensing me the moment I landed.”

“That was nearly two cycles ago.”

“I know. I stood where I could keep the high ground in case you two noticed me. I expected you two to run in with absolutely no plan.”

“That’s what Anakin wanted to do.”

He nodded and she smiled softly at the memory.

“You though, darling, you had a plan. You had a plan to keep every one of your clone troopers safe. Clones. Quite literally made to be dispensable and replaceable. Yet you talked to them and listened to them. Your plan was good. Not strategic or quick, but it was the path of least resistance.”

Zara’s face fell and she sighed.

“I lost three troopers that day. The counsel let me know it was a success but all I felt was heartache. Life had been lost.”

“I saw that too. You don’t look like her nor do you act like her. Not really. You have the same heart though. I thought it was one of a kind but here you are, shining so brightly it’s sickening.”

Zara laughed and wrapped her covered arms around her legs, resting her head on her knees.

“Wont your Master find you weak for not killing me?”

“No. I told him I could turn you to the dark side.”

“I won’t.”

“I know that, sweetheart. I knew that from the beginning. I also knew that his greed and lust for power would see two incredibly young and strong force users under his control. He only needs Skywalker. He won’t pay as much attention to you. You’re just a bonus.”

“That’s.. devious.”

He chuckled and finally smiled fully.

“What else do you expect? I thought that’s all you saw in Sith.”

“You’re openly deceiving your Master.”

“The end goal of a Sith is to overpower their Master. We don’t work with them. We don’t trust them.”

“That sounds like a very lonely life, Obi Wan.”

He gave her a genuine smile. It was free of malice and ulterior motives. Zara couldn’t help but smile back at him, feeling a strange sense of peace flowing between the two.

“So is a life devoid of love and connections. We have two different types of master’s that lead us to the same cruel fate.”

Zara wanted to argue with him. She wanted to tell him that she was happy being a Jedi and didn’t mind the compromises she had to endure because of it. There was a line she had recited a thousand times when faced with questions about her chosen life. At that moment she couldn’t seem to form it into words.

“Your silences speak volumes, Jedi.”

“So do your actions, Sith. Where does that leave us?”

“I suppose we can figure it out tomorrow.”

“Why rush it? Doesn’t seem like either of us are going anywhere anytime soon.”

“How right you are, little knight. A Jedi and a Sith climb into a ship.”

Zara laughed and grinned at her own joke.

“And somehow find a way to understand each other.”

“For now.”

“Right. For now.”

---

Zara wished she wasn’t comfortable. As she laid next to the fire wrapped in comfortable blankets, she felt warm which was something she had been missing for days. The two had fallen into a comfortable silence. When she heard Obi Wan sigh, she turned to look at him. He looked much less comfortable than when she had woken up.

“Are you okay?”

He startled and looked at her, nodding.

“I’m fine, darling. Don’t fret about me. It’s unbecoming of a Jedi Knight.”

She huffed out a sigh and looked at him closer. She noticed the small tremors in his hands.

“You’re cold.”

“You are so rather perceptive.”

“Is your room warm?”

“Not particularly.”

She looked at all the blankets she was wrapped up in and felt guilty.

“Why don’t.. why don’t you come over here?”

His head snapped up at her question and it made her stifle a laugh.

“I can see that you’re cold. Instead of being warm in your own home you’re making sure that I am.”

“What kind of host would I be if I let you freeze to death.”

“Veth.”

“Again, not that kind of monster. Can’t imagine freezing to death would be very comfortable.”

“Can’t imagine? Looks like you are right now.”

He chuckled and went to retort but Zara wasn’t having it.

“Obi Wan.”

He fell silent and looked at her.

“If you can’t look at it as an act of kindness, look at it as an act of self-preservation. You want me to make smart choices, right?”

“Self-preservation.”

“If you die, I’m stuck on the planet with no idea where your ship is. Sitting in the house with a frozen Sith doesn’t sound fun.”

He chuckled and got up, walking over to where she was curled up by the fire. He slipped his outer shirt off and hesitated. Zara held open the blankets, so he climbed in, making sure he wasn’t touching her. When he let out a sigh at the heat she smiled.

“Between the fire and how warm it is in here you should be comfortable soon.”

“It’s already leagues better.”

“Good.”

He looked at her steadily enough that she could see all the shades in his eyes. When he wasn’t threatening or yelling at her she thought that they were almost beautiful. He reached up and gently pushed her hair back, his fingers grazing her skin.

“Stars, Obi Wan, you’re freezing.”

“I’ll survive.”

“You’ve really got to stop running out into the cold chasing stupid Jedi.”

He smirked and nodded, looking down as Zara took his hands in hers.

“Not to be crass, but you would get warmer if you weren’t wearing your clothes.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re taking all my lines, sweetheart.”

“Just self-preservation, remember?”

“Right. Not an ounce of kindness.”

“For you? Absolutely not. Never.”

He hummed and slipped his shirt off before doing the same with his pants. He was left wearing only his own underwear making it easier for Zara to see just how discolored his skin was.

“Veth, now who is being foolish.”

“I like it better when you call me Obi Wan.”

“Well, Obi Wan doesn’t sound like a fool. So, when you’re acting foolish then I’ll call you by a foolish name.”

He chuckled and shifted closer. They both told themselves it was to get more heat. Both were convinced that the only reason the other was close was to ensure they survived. Survival was smart. Sharing a bed with a sworn enemy was not. So, the easiest way to deal with their situation was to convince themselves that everything was simple.

“Then what do I call you when you’re being foolish?”

“Hmm. You usually call me Jedi.”

“It is one of the worst insults I know.”

“Watch it.”

They both laughed and Zara yawned.

“Get some sleep. Please don’t bolt out the door again.”

“I couldn’t escape without waking you regardless. You’re on the outside of this blanket cocoon. I’d have to uncover you.”

“Very true.”

“Turn around. Face the fire so you can get some heat from it.”

“You could just tell me I’m ugly.”

“Shut up, Veth.”

Obi Wan chuckled and rolled to his right, reveling at the heat of the fire on his face. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had been rather cold. When he felt a small arm wrap around him and Zara’s body press against his back, he had to stop himself from flinching. He felt her rest her forehead against his upper back and nestle in. He could have groaned at how warm she was but absolutely didn’t want to scare her off.

“Maker you’re cold. Next time you kidnap someone bring them to a more temperate planet.”

He chuckled and gently moved his arm, so he could place his hand over hers.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.”

He felt her nestle in deeper, getting comfortable up against him. He smiled to himself when her sigh danced across his skin right before she fell asleep. He knew that he should be trying to turn her to the dark. His Master would be furious at his weakness. The idea of trying to corrupt someone so light and kind was repulsive to him.

He could feel her breath steadily fan across his back as she slept peacefully. He hated the Jedi, that much was true. He would never be able to go back nor would he be able to escape the darkness that held him so tightly. Zara didn’t make him forgive the Jedi, but he found himself forgiving her for being one.

It had been a very long time since Obi Wan felt anything but contempt for another living being. He could hardly remember what it felt like to have someone’s arm wrapped around him, no matter the circumstance. He tried to tell himself that he shouldn’t feel anything but the physical sensation of warmth.

The truth though? That warmth meant everything to him.

---

When Zara woke, she didn’t want to open her eyes. She felt warm and comfortable regardless of how sore her body was. She nestled her face into the warmth in front of her and let out a sleepy sigh. When she felt something shift, she froze.

“Did you forget you fell asleep next to me?”

She opened her eyes and found herself looking directly at Obi Wan’s bare chest. He had his arms wrapped around her, holding her close to him.

“I guess I did. Uhm. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. We are both warm. Survival, right?”

She nodded against him, tentatively letting herself nestle back into the heat surrounding them.

“I didn’t.. I didn’t wake you at all I hope?”

“If you had any nightmares they didn’t show. Do you have them most nights?”

“Sleep isn’t something that is usually peaceful for me.”

“Perhaps there was enough darkness around you that your mind didn’t need to manifest any of it.”

Zara looked back up as he looked down, locking eyes with her.

“Your darkness is.. different.”

“Oh?”

He had an amused look on his face but the hesitance in his eyes told Zara that he was uncomfortable. She shook her head and looked back down. They had come to a tentative peace, but he was still dangerous. A different type of darkness didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. Obi Wan gently hook his finger under her chin, tilting her head back up.

“You have nothing to fear, darling.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

He hummed as he ran his thumb across her bottom lip.

“I suppose you are correct. I don’t want you to fear me though. I will not harm you outside of necessity. Now tell me, what did you mean?”

Zara took a steady breath, willing down the nervousness and trepidation. She wasn’t used to being close to people, let alone someone who was an enemy of everything she stood for. She was vulnerable which was something she just was not comfortable with.

“That first day that I saw you, when you confronted Anakin and me. I felt your darkness. I felt it long before I saw you. I’m no stranger to the dark side but I also have never felt it the way that you carry it. You’re dark but.. you’re not chaotic. I see you calculating everything. As much as you say that I am different for my reverence for life, you are different too.”

“You picked all that up when we met?”

“I picked up on it but the longer I’ve been around you the more I see it. I’ve run into other Sith. I’ve fought them. Their energy was hard to be around because it was so unstable.”

“Are you saying I am less of a Sith?”

“No. Your eyes let me know that truth. It’s not that you’re light.”

He chuckled and moved his hand, so he was cupping her face.

“Your darkness is strong. It’s powerful but it isn’t all consuming like the others I’ve come across. You have a control over yourself that rivals even some of the strongest Jedi I have known.”

“Hmm, that almost sounds like a compliment.”

“I guess it is. At the very least it’s an admittance of me being taken by surprise. You are.. not what I expected.”

“Neither are you, darling. Neither are you.”

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#sith!obi wan #sith!kenobi #sith!Obi wan x OC #Jedi!oc #jedi!zara #ZaraFross #star wars imagine #starwars #star wars #there was only one bed

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bobasheebaby · 4 years ago

Text

Cordonia 101- Cordonian Ruby chapter 8

Pairing: Olivia x Bastien; Ruby Rys x Beau Larkin; Jo Ellen Larkin (OC)

Word count: 1,849

Warnings: a touch of angst

Summary: The family readies themselves for the battle to come.

A/N: When I was writing the chapter that was omitted I created a lot of the history for Cordonia and Auvernal in this series. I had written that chapter long before it was revealed that Isabella was the one with the royal blood, in this series Bradshaw is the one with the royal blood and you will learn in this chapter why he covets Cordonia so badly.

A/N2: I tried to remain mostly vague when describing the map in this chapter and that’s mostly because when I looked at the map from TC&TF I realized that many places were off from where I cannoned them. Lythikos as I see it is not surrounded on three sides by water the way Abanthus was. This is the way I canon the history since we never learn much concrete from TC&TF, RoE, TRR, TRM and TRH about the exact forming of Cordonia or where duchies are located.

A/N3: Lovett took over, I have zero control over him and well I’m lucky I was able to take back over. This kid is a serious pain in the ass but I still love him.

A/N4: A major thanks @sirbeepsalot for all your graping, prereading, editing, and telling me when to let go. I love you boo! Thank you to my snippet reader @loveellamae who screamed appropriately.

Series warnings: character death, blood, surgical procedures done by non medical personnel, may go NSFW in the future. May contain gun violence, knife violence, threats, not sure how dark this will go. By requesting to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I own Ruby, Galen, Lovett, and Beau, I’m borrowing Bastien and Olivia from PB.

“Are you sure Mama Jo doesn’t mind?” Ruby asked, worrying her lip, “I can find time to do both …”

“Ruby, she’s excited, she wants to surprise us. She said we had more important things to worry about than something as trivial as planning a wedding.”

“I wouldn’t say our wedding isn’t important … I don’t want her to think I don’t care …” she idly twisted her ring. Her heart pounded in her chest, she didn’t want his mother to think their wedding wasn’t just as important to her.

“RuRu, relax.” Beau covered her hand with his, stilling her movements, a soft smile spreading over his lips as she met his eye. “She only meant compared to saving a country from a dictatorship. Trust me, Mom knows and loves you. She’s over the moon about you joining the family and the fact that she gets to plan a ‘surprise wedding’ as she calls it. The only thing she’d tell me was that it’s going to be held at Nan and Pop’s.”

“That’s perfect.”

“That’s exactly what I told her. Now, tell me everything I need to know about Cordonia, this asshat, and the country that grew the asshat.”

Ruby fought to keep a straight face. “Did you really just call King Bradshaw asshat?”

“I’d say Asshat suits him better,” Beau replied with a shrug.

Ruby shook her head as her hands smoothed out the large worn map. “Okay, so Mama said that originally Cordonia was five separate kingdoms; well actually more than five but the first five, Abanthus, Fydoria, Stormholt, Bellmere, and Ebrimel were united under one queen, Queen Kenna Rys.” She pointed to five large duchies on the map. “They are now known as Lythikos, Krona, the Capitol, Castelsarreillan, and Portavira.”

Beau nodded for her to continue as she raised her head.

“Aurelia, the Blackspine Mountains, and an area called the Foundry were later united under Kenna’s leadership forming the entirety of Cordonia.” She circled three large areas on the map with her finger. “They formed Ramsford, Domvallier, and several other duchies.

This,” she pointed to a large country across from Cordonia, a large span of ocean the only ‘border’ between, “is Auvernal. That’s the country that King Bradshaw is from.

Auvernal was called The Iron Empire or Ductoria when Kenna united The Five Kingdoms.

Ductoria was led by Empress Azura. She was called ‘She Who Shines Brightest’ or ‘Her Radiance’ by her people.

Mama said there are a lot of stories about The Five Kingdoms, Blackspine Mountains, and Ductoria that include wielding powers of fire, powers of electricity, and even humans who could transform into dragons.

It was said that Empress Azura had powers and ruled Ductoria for over one thousand years. She was able to maintain both her youth and abilities by siphoning the life force from her subjects who saw it as an honor to give their life for hers.”

“She sounds twisted.”

“She does. Fifty years before Kenna united the Five Kingdoms Azura approached each of the leaders and ‘peacefully offered’ a share of Ductoria’s wealth if they pledged allegiance to her. The leaders declined and Azura declared war against the Five Kingdoms which Mama says was the beginning catalyst for Kenna to unite the kingdoms.”

“Okay, twisted and power-hungry, bad mix.”

Ruby fought back a giggle. “Very bad mix. So Ductoria and the Five Kingdoms fought for fifty years before Kenna united them. The king of Abanthus had tried to ‘unite’ the kingdom’s in his own way, though he used force. After uniting the kingdoms, Kenna was able to defeat Azura with the help of Azura’s daughter and heir, Lia.”

“Wait, Azura’s daughter helped Kenna?”

“Yes, she wasn’t power hungry like her mother and saw the importance in each life. She was said to also possess abilities though she rarely used them, and never the way her mother did. After Kenna killed Azura, Lia pledged both her allegiance and her wealth with no stipulations.

Just as Cordonia grew and prospered under Kenna, Ductoria grew and prospered under Lia.”

“But Ductoria is known as Auvernal now.”

“Yes, one of Lia’s descendants changed the name to distance the country from Azura.

Mama and Papa said that every year there was a Five Kingdoms celebration to honor Kenna and her allies who helped end the violence with Ductoria and unite the kingdoms. The stories of magic and dragons were told through every generation.

Queen Eleanor, King Liam’s mother, and my grandmother was from Auvernal and just as Cordonian children learned the history through stories of magic wielders and dragons, so did Auvernalese children.

Eleanor said some of the stories told about Kenna and Azura were told in a much darker context. To some, Kenna was the villain who took their majestic empress and left them with one they deemed weaker.”

“So that’s what Asshat was told, that Kenna was the villain and Azura was what, an innocent victim?”

“Most likely, apparently to some the magical abilities that Azura was said to have were revered and just as she had compared herself to a goddess, so did some of her subjects who of course passed it on through the generations.”

“So all of this, your parents dying, all the devastation Cordonia faced since then was because of a ‘wrong’ committed centuries ago?”

“That’s what Mama and Papa believe. We can’t know for sure why Bradshaw was so determined to have a betrothal alliance that he then murdered my parents, but they suspect that Bradshaw was merely using the alliance to gain Cordonia and when my birth parents refused … he killed them.”

“Shit, okay. How do we do this?”

Ruby blew out a breath, she’d been asking herself the same question since deciding to reclaim her country and birthright. “I’m not sure. … Mama said knowing the past would help us unearth any weaknesses. She also said she had some loyal contacts who should be able to help us understand the current state of Cordonia which will help us in planning.”

“So,” he pulled her into his lap, “after you Kenna his ass, then what?”

“Then you and I get to decide what we want.”

“No matter what you choose I’m in, all in, always.”

- - -

“Awesome! Swords!” Lovett exclaimed as he tore across the basement they used for training.

“Lovett, remember, they are weapons.”

“And they should be treated with respect.” Lovett heaved a sigh as he dropped his outstretched arms to his sides. “But it’s not like these are real.”

“They can still really hurt someone, remember my cracked ribs?” Ruby said, ruffling his dark auburn hair.

“Oh yeah, I think Beau was more upset than you were.”

Ruby shrugged, “wasn’t my first broken bone, probably won’t be my last. Besides you know what Mama always says.”

“If you can breathe, you can stand. If you can stand, you can fight.” Lovett replied, standing prouder and straighter with every word.

“So do you really think a few cracked ribs could keep me down?”

“I guess not,” Lovett replied with a shake of his head. “So … swords … are we dueling? Can I duel Ruby?” His dark smokey eyes sparkling with excitement as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

“We are dueling. Papa and I thought it best you go against Beau while Ruby faces off against Papa,” Olivia said, lifting a practice sword from the table. “Papa and I are still trying to form a strategy, but I remember from a ‘friendly’ visit to Auvernal that Bradshaw is more bark than bite, so being able to duel might come into play.”

“What do you mean ‘he’s more bark than bite’?” Ruby questioned, the more she knew about her opposition the better.

“Your mother and I went on a little ‘girls trip’ that Bradshaw’s wife Isabella planned. It was merely a show of their strength, nothing more than a thinly veiled threat while trying to humiliate your mother. Isabella failed, your mother was more capable than many of the court had thought.

Over the course of the evening we learned that while Bradshaw would brag about his medals he won, that he had never seen battle. I’m sure as the crowned prince he had learned to duel, but he is arrogant and I’m sure he would be an easy enemy to defeat one on one.

While Ruby is the rightful ruler and would make the challenge, Bradshaw is a sexist piece of shit who will likely refuse to duel against a girl. As her spouse, the role would fall to you Beau, so we need to make sure neither of you are rusty.”

- - -

Ruby shifted in closer into Beau’s warm embrace, in a few short weeks they’d be leaving Texas behind and heading toward an uncertain future. In that moment everything felt safe and perfect, snuggled into his side encapsulated in his woodsy scent, her brothers sitting on the floor laughing and joking.

Would she and her brothers still have moments where they could be happy and free or would everything change the second they all boarded the plane? So many questions hung in the air nearly casting her decision to reclaim her birthright in doubt.

“Ruby,” her youngest brother's voice pulled her from the depths of her thoughts. “Are you and Beau going to have babies now?”

Ruby stifled a groan, she knew she’d be getting asked that soon enough, but from her younger brothers? “That’s not polite to ask Lovett, not everyone who gets married wants kids and sometimes those who do can’t and the question just reminds them of what they wanted and couldn’t have.”

“Oh …” The silence hung just long enough that she thought the subject was dropped. “Well you guys do, right? Why aren’t you planning the wedding Ruby?”

The urge to scream and tell her brother all the ways he was being rude bubbled up. “My mom thought Ruby and I had enough on our plate.” Ruby looked up at Beau with a grateful smile.

“Okay, but —”

The doorbell chimed breaking through the awkwardness. “I’ll get that,” Ruby said as she quickly stood, thankful to be pulled away from her brother’s incessant questions, though she could sense him following close behind her.

Ruby opened the door, her eyes quickly sweeping over the unfamiliar man on the other side, “Can I help you?”

The stranger’s mouth fell open in surprise as he took in Ruby’s blonde hair and sparkling sapphire eyes. Olivia wasn’t kidding.

Ruby’s brow furrowed as the man stared unspeaking and slack-jawed. “Wolf, go get Mama.” She casually moved her hand around her hip as she heard her younger brother rush off.

“You’re a spitting image.”

“Should I know you?” She asked, her hand ready to pull her hidden dagger. He didn’t seem to be a threat, but the way he left each of her questions unanswered left her on edge and ready to act.

“Sorry, I’m just …” he brushed his shaggy chestnut locks from his face. “I wasn’t expecting …”

“Do you have a name?”

“I’m Drake … I knew your dad.”

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

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Bound by Choice ― V.i. Men Who March Away

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ PART V ⥽

— Belgium, 1918. She made him promise to bring their love home. This was not their first war, it would not be their last—or so they thought. Cynbel's demons have finally caught up with him as a familiar face plays judge, jury, and executioner.

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

“Just this one,” he promises them, “and I’ll have my fix of war for a long time to come.”

[READ IT ON AO3]

They kept him from the War as long as they possibly could.

They punished him for it to be sure. Physically, emotionally; he skirted along the very edges of his promises to them and worse he knew what he was doing. When he plotted and planned and incited a War to span continents, nations, and history.

And they know there is no altruism in the way he begs them to let him go off to the battlefield. “I deserve this as punishment,” he says but doesn’t really mean it, “what kind of man would I be if I watched others die for the conflict I started?”

“An alive one.” She had said. And he had agreed. They nearly didn’t let him because they knew forcing him to miss the entirety of his love letter to the twentieth century would be the final punishment to force him to get his act together.

But he shines so bright; their Golden love. And this time, like many times before, they are blinded.

They kept him from the War as long as they possibly could.

But it just wasn’t enough.

Belgium, 1918

They are supposed to be his regiment but they are strangers like any other. Food, cannon fodder; he’s called them so many things over the years and none of them pretty but they haven’t gotten any prettier so why should his words?

The poets say absence makes the heart grow fonder but the eyes a mite weaker. The poets can choke on their own tongues. As if he would not recognize a piece of his soul; even if he’s caked in layers of dirt so thick he can’t see a face.

But Valdas isn’t caked in dirt. The journey — and only by night as it’s been — shows in grime on his face but it’s so very clearly him that the noise he lets out is nothing at all like he planned.

Men who served together and have the incredible luck to have survived yet embrace as companions; as brothers. That’s what makes it all the more difficult for Cynbel to restrain himself as he runs towards the truck.

Aren’t you proud of me? Because he stands before Valdemaras towering over him like he always has but also so very different, so very changed. He’s been working on himself so they don’t regret letting him come to the front lines. Do you see what I do and all of it for you?

They cannot kiss here — and perhaps the older Cynbel would and just have peeled the eyes of the witnesses out for his trouble. So how they kiss it is with hands clasped together, soil from the leagues they have traveled apart folding into the lines on their palms. Heart line and fate line and all the other bullshit that has never kept them away from one another before. It certainly will not now.

Cynbel’s eyes flutter closed in euphoria. The hum of approval is low but Valdas knows he can hear it.

“When I got your letter…”

“You’ve taken too many hits, my love, if you think I would not come for you.”

Then those fingers are running through his hair — make him want to drop to his knees and pray as he has prayed every fucking day and every fucking night. Prayers old and righteous and to his God, his Valdemaras.

Who else to champion a battlefield if not the divinity of death?

When he opens his eyes it’s to the sight of his lover in strange reverence. “I joke of how war has changed you,” he answers of Cynbel’s unasked question, “but you have changed, Cynbel.”

It makes him hesitant. “Does it suit you still?”

“It makes me wish we’d shipped you off sooner.”

Just like that. Like no time has passed at all. Cynbel grins.

The War could end right there and neither of them might notice. Cynbel wants to reach up, to touch him; wipe the tears from his Lord’s cheeks even if it dirties him further because nothing else matters.

And judging by the misting in Valdas’ eyes he feels very much the same way.

“Oi, Claude!”

The jagged French accent jars them both out of the world of Him they had nearly been swallowed by. Cynbel is two thousand years old — he has the force of will to stop himself from shedding a damned tear, and thank the Made-God for that.

They don’t—won’t, physically can’t, they cannot please cruel world do not demand it of them they would rather lose those hands if they remained together still—break away even as Cynbel turns to the source of the voice.

Fucking Frenchmen. No doubt even miles away Isseya’s still having a laugh that the French were the only army they could forge him into.

“Have you got your new orders yet?” He’s been suffering the language for seven months now, and each month more he’ll torture his darling girl so divine.

Another jerks his thumb to the back of the supply truck steadily filling up with eager alcoholics. “A couple of us were going for drinks, Claude — should we save you a seat?”

He doesn’t miss Valdas’ stifled laughter behind him. “Later, maybe.”

“Oh come now, Claude,” purrs his lover’s voice low and decadent in his ear, “I could use a drink. All this travel has left me famished.” Of course he follows; as if he could deny his Divinity’s first request in months. And Valdas knows it.

They fall into familiar step. A quick glance is all it takes — has Cynbel reaching out the barest whisper of a touch to the inside of Valdas’ wrist. A touch he receives in kind.

He leans in to whisper low. “I would warn you of how much you’ll come to regret this but you’ll see it yourself soon enough.”

“Good to know you haven’t changed utterly.”

“You think I’m kidding.”

“I think you’re a touch dramatic.”

They are the last to step on and sit across the aisle facing one another. Valdas takes his opportunity when the truck’s heavy engine roars to life and fills the already acrid air with the choking perfume of industry; “I seem to recall a vehement hatred of the name Claude. Didn’t Iss’ set you up as Philip, or Percy? Something with a ‘P.’”

Cynbel nods reluctantly. “Yes, but when I got here I was… already missing the pair of you so much. You know I half thought about turning around and running back to the train?”

Good to know he can still surprise his beloved after all this time. “No, I… really? And after all the moaning and begging you did to get here in the first place?”

“What can I say? I stepped one foot in Paris and was filled with nostalgia.”

Valdas leans back on his side of the bench. Conversation in various regional French all about them and now with human ears more at ease with the rumbling of their vehicle towards town. They trade looks, certainly they don’t need words.

When his God answers it’s in a familiar albeit old tongue. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this has changed you more than our beloved or I could have thought possible.”

“You’re being vague on purpose. My question remains the same.” Please still want me. All of this — for you.

Their boots meet toe-to-toe on the plank floor. Another kiss only they share.

“Long gone, I think, are the days where change frightened me. I’m just glad to see they are gone from you as well.”

When he laughs Cynbel lets his head fall back against one of the canopy supports. That fear of progress did not go quietly; as they both well know. But of course he would if it would bring him back to them.

Preferably with spoils like the wars of old.

His regiment is familiar enough with the pub by now (though were there any word for something smaller they would readily give it such) that they have claimed seats. Which leaves very little option for the men now dissolved into their company — Valdas included.

“Best you find somewhere else to sit.” Cynbel’s hand falls heavy on a burly man’s shoulder beside his usual seat. From the meat of his muscle and the deep way his frown settles familiar in his features the man isn’t used to being the one asked to move.

His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. A screeching noise that silences the rest of the company and leaves them waiting a little too eagerly for men who have their daily helping of violence.

But Cynbel is immobile, his smile unwavering and unnerving as he continues to look down. The burly man’s mistake isn’t new to him — and the entire room lets out a sigh of relief when the seat is given up without needing to come to blows.

Valdas gives him a chiding look as they settle in, but the Golden Son refuses to feel shame for it. “If I changed too much you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Well your head makes it a challenge.”

Cynbel finds himself running his fingers through his close-cropped hair; grown out from the time gone but nothing like his lovers used to prefer.

By the time they get their drinks the pair have yet again found their own secret methods of intimacy. Lucky that the chairs are small but the tables are smaller. It makes the press of their legs from hip to toe reasonable — if excessive.

But they would risk everything for this.

Cynbel takes a long drink of the swill and watches carefully as Valdas does the same without hesitation. Only… he’s gotten used to the piss-water taste of the stuff. Forced his memories of finer liquors down in order to get through the ordeal of stomaching it. Valdas hasn’t.

He watches with no small amount of amusement; takes in the disgust as readily as he does the affection. And has the decency to wait until his Maker is finished choking on air he doesn’t need to ask the inevitable question.

“So… how is she?”

The Made-God is slow to answer and isn’t that enough to jump-start Cynbel’s long-stilled heart.

“She misses you.”

“As I miss her — as I’ve missed you both.” He does it without looking, without drawing attention. The creep of his hand over the sticky wooden surface to rest their littlest fingers together. Their smiles both wistful, wanting. “How have things been? I mean — the others get scarce letters from home and with such varied accounts of what the world is thinking, doing. Some are bleak, others hopeful.”

Valdas nods. “Sounds about right. The world is split down the middle. The more politicians and commanders-at-arms tout their new strategies and plans for a final confrontation the more foolhardy they sound.”

“You’ve both kept safe, though.”

“Safety is relative. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, darling, but the world is at war with itself.” With a scoff Cynbel shoves him by the shoulder; reaches out just as quickly to make sure the man doesn’t fall. This filthy floor could never be worthy of Him.

“We moved on about a month into your tour,” he continues, “to Zürich. The plan was to find a change of scenery in the Americas — somewhere near the equator, somewhere the nights were warm and calm. But we could not stomach the thought of such distance from you.”

Of course he feels as they do. Even the shadow of the thought—of a sea between them—ignites a jealous spark; selfishness. But it’s just that; selfish. And they didn’t. Valdas is right here. Isseya is closer now than she was in Tuscany.

“Cynbel,” Valdas risks more than he knows when he coaxes Cynbel’s chin up with a two-fingered touch; but he could care less, “You were right. The country becomes her.”

“And is she practicing?”

“She tries where she can. But most doctors still see only a woman—a nurse.”

“Isseya is to a nurse as a nurse is to a butcher!” exclaims Cynbel, bewildered. Valdas finally dares to gamble with his life and a second sip of his drink. It goes down about just as easy as the first.

They trade stories well through the night. Cynbel can’t help but wonder if Valdas, too, finds it incredible and strange just how much there is for them to share. What are mere months compared to the rest of their lives? What makes these more or less than any other?

He’s had ample opportunity in the trenches to think about this very thing, and has come to the conclusion that it must be how fast the world is turning now. Well, not literally, though there were now words, definitions, numbers for that sort of thing. But his eyes—their eyes—have seen much of human history and to deny it would be foolish.

Industry, innovation; mankind is using a new kind of imagination the likes of which their old blood has never seen.

The palm that cups his cheek is warm. The waning candlestick that once was on the other end of the bar now rests dangerously close to Valdas’ sleeve. He pushes it away with an absent finger but soaks in the unfamiliar feeling graciously.

“I travel all this way and you are still so far from me.” The longing drags out in his voice like a single note from a violin. Cynbel dares to hold that hand exactly where it is. He catches himself in a smile as the tips of Valdas’ nails tickle at what they can reach of his earring.

“I think I owe the two of you an apology.”

“Likely,” two fingers tug at Cynbel’s earlobe now and such a simple intimate touch thrills him utterly, “but what for this time?”

“It’s different this time —” —how can he put the feelings into words, he would have more luck composing them of raindrops or the miasma of death that lingers at every soldier’s back— “— or perhaps I’m the one who’s different.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m still determined to see this through.”

“I should hope so.”

“But I think… had Iss’ come with you — had the pair of you arrived together… I may very well have thrown it all aside and deserted with your hands in mine.”

Running is such a cowardly thing. And the Golden Son is no coward. So it’s completely understandable that he leaves the Made-God speechless at his confession. There’s a fragment of Cynbel that can’t quite believe it himself.

“Those are strong words from you, Cynbel,” Valdas admits, and at least one of them is steady enough to speak, “and I won’t say I’m not glad to hear them. She would be too. We’ve both long believed your eyes were bigger than your stomach when you set all this into motion.”

They share a laugh between them; not enough for two but they make do. They always have. Having something wholly to himself feels too gluttonous now.

“How many years do you think she’ll hold that over my head?”

Lips so very familiar curl into a smirk. “What, that we were right? Oh — the full century at least.” Anything less would be an insult. “But you deserve it.”

“Yeah, I do.”

They pull away slow at first; the magnetism of their hearts resisting the sanity of their heads. But the separation ends all at once to the grinding chair legs and rising steps uneven with drink and the headiest of drugs called respite.

Cynbel catches one by the arm before he can stumble out of reach. “So eager to return to the trenches?”

The soldier shakes his head. “Non, Claude. Patrick says he was solicited not five days ago. We’re gonna go see if we can find them.” The Frenchman drags his eyes to Valdas with great effort; focuses on him through the drink and it is suspicion, yes, but not the kind that worries him. He’s grown too used to humans and their funny notions.

“You two want to join us?”

“I don’t think my friend’s fiancée would like that very much.” Though she would wholeheartedly approve of the sharp kick Valdas gives to his shin.

But this is just another part of the ruse and Cynbel’s had months to build it well. Soldiers would always be soldiers would always find themselves wary of brothers-in-arms who don’t join them.

“Mother of Christ,” comes the hiccoughed reply, “another pious one?”

But Valdas takes his answer for his own; though his usual French eloquence is beset with a strange accent — makes it difficult for drunken ears to hear him proper. “Not at all. Unless you count my devotion to her inheritance as religion.”

The vampires watch the tiny wheels turn with shared amusement. Cynbel’s not altogether sure the slurred laughter and “Atta man!” of praise isn’t just to fill the space and carry on.

And there it is; that expectant look and single dark brow raised with it. Cynbel’s sigh is weary on the subject but, of course, his Maker can never be denied.

“I had to tell them something,” he fishes a handful of coins from the breast pocket of his coat and leaves them as payment, “since soldiers are as they’ve always been. They treat fidelity like social treason and only scrape together respect for those they’ve deemed surrogates for their own lack of faith.”

The Made-God and his firstborn walk out of the dingy building with arms linked. Most of the others are either gone or distracted with one another now and the lovers are more than happy for the chance. Even a second is better than not at all.

Though apparently Valdas doesn’t have an opinion on his unorthodox means of staying faithful to them — which, no, that’s utter bollocks; when has he never not had an opinion on anything — “Don’t give me that face. Technically I didn’t lie when I said I was given to my God. They just assumed their God and mine were one in the same; their fault, not mine.”

“I said nothing against it, beloved.”

“Your silence speaks volumes.”

“Good to know you can still listen.”

Listen, indeed. He can listen quite well as his Maker — his lover well knows. And though the warmth of the candle’s flame has left Valdas’ hand Cynbel still takes it in his own because he’s never needed warmth.

All he’s ever needed is the weight of them. Heat can linger but weight is proof something is present; that it exists.

“And it makes me feel like I exist for the first time in months.”

The dark-haired man realizes quickly that Cynbel hadn’t meant to speak his thoughts. Still he takes them just as hungry, just as craven, and refuses even a letter of them back.

That same weight tightens and they’ve moved; beheld to his Holy One’s will. Out of the open and near-abandoned cobbled streets and away from the gas-lit lamps and into a place darker than the night itself.

The brick catches, clings to his uniform. He couldn’t give less of a damn. Valdas could rip the fabric to shreds (and that’s quite the idea and visual that comes with it but practicality wins out) because he’s there. In person.

The weight of him is a sermon and prayer.

“Our darling girl sends her love.” Valdas’ breath croons wet against his ear — with the close-cut of his hair he feels it more. “She sends me.”

That weight shifts to a firmly pressed thumb on his hip. “What a perfect gift, belated from the Dark Solstice maybe?”

“There was a delay with the post —” he falls to his knees (and in that action all other gods, faiths, prophets are banished by the radiance of His humility) as he speaks; the mere sight leaves Cynbel breathless, “— It may have escaped your notice but there’s a war on.”

He throws his head back hard enough for the brick behind to crack. Stifling their laughter is a near-impossible task but somehow they manage. “I… I…”

It seems Valdas has had his fill of Cynbel’s words, though, and his appetite is left wanting.

But only for about as long as it takes for him to undo his progeny’s belt.

The rest of the world may weep for the events of the twentieth century but Cynbel simply cannot remember the last time he felt so much zest for life.

“And she really agreed to it? Surely she’ll miss you.”

Valdas huffs, certainly unamused. “You make me sound like an object to which you’ve shared custody.”

“You know what I mean.” Cynbel knocks their boots together against the aisle. Unlike the rest of the men they don’t need to shout to one another as the truck takes its sweet time trekking them out of town. “Just as you know I would rather you be with her safe and out of harms way.”

“She would rather I here in it — holding tight to that leash of yours.”

“You brought the leash?” Cynbel’s eyes immediately alight almost boyish and giddy. A sight that gladdens his Maker but definitely earns him a long-suffering sigh.

“The leash of your recklessness. Of course I’ll be staying by your side until this War is seen done. All the more swiftly we can get back to her. Oh, and Cynbel, watch your tongue, I won’t say it twice.”

But to say it is unlikely that any of the (very drunk, very boisterous) soldiers riding with them might recognize their tongue last put to print in Alexandria and last spoken on stranger’s tongues a century before that — well that’s giving the French far too much credit and that Cynbel will simply not abide.

He casts a look out into the darkness of the trees and sparse land. Can’t help himself in either his smirk or his wicked thoughts. “Glad I did not ask the same of you, my deliciously talented Divinity.” He braces himself for a blow that never comes — but if Valdas wishes to pretend he’s hiding his smile slowly growing, then pretend they both shall.

It’s such a rare and beautiful moment. Fleeting like youth and innocence but there’s always the potential of it. And Cynbel has missed that smile so much more than he ever thought he would, has taken the distance between them so much harder.

So he dares to allow himself a dangerous thought. Dangerous because the size of it eclipses everything else; the soldiers, the engine, the entire war around them.

I deserve this, Cynbel thinks.

And the war takes up the mantle and reminds him otherwise.

The first shell lands just shy of them; the boom so loud that Cynbel’s ears are ringing far too much for him to hear the cries of enemy soldiers, the firing of enemy guns. And now that they have gotten a decent measure of the distance the second shell doesn’t dare miss.

The first sends dirt and rocks raining down on them with the shots. Cynbel watches with a growing concern as suddenly Valdas is… lower than him? Then his side of the truck falls back to the earth and everything evens out. Until the metal stands on and looses its last legs in the same breath and sends the tire rolling into the dark oblivion of the night.

On the second Cynbel can’t tell if the blood that tacks up dirt on his face is a Frenchman’s or his own and he frankly doesn’t care. All he cares about is Valdas. Reaching for Valdas clawing for him sinking his grasp deep into bone if he must to keep him close and keep him safe.

To his horror there’s nothing on the other end of his hand. Just flesh packed tight under his nails and a blood-smeared palm.

“VALDAS!”

A blinding light suddenly pierces the darkness. A third shell lands lucky on the truck now tipped over. Sends shrapnel and shells and bone and dirt and blood flying out into the smoke-choked air.

Then the engine catches fire.

“VALDAS!”

There are no trenches here. They aren’t safe. And fuck if he will allow cowardly mortals who wait for the cover of midnight to attack.

One brave idiot fires at his back; drives the bullet through his body and makes the honorable sacrifice of being the sustenance he needs to close the hole it leaves. Cynbel isn’t so gracious in the holes he leaves. Another kicks one of the Frenchmen from the end of his bayonet and swings it so wild and unpracticed—amateur—that he feels a little bit like a bully when he shatters the metal in a single fist and shows him how to properly stab a man.

The next one has a brass pair; well he must — grabbing the Golden Son’s shoulder hard and desperate. Cynbel turns with fangs bared, the rest of the jagged bayonet in hand, and thank the fucking Made-God he stops himself before dragging it across Valdas’ throat.

Frozen they stand, each man holding a lover at arms’ length with the same frenzy and fear in his eyes. He feels the tentative touch of Valdas’ fingertips at his brow and sees them come back sticky with blood. Not his own. Cynbel brushes his thumb over a cut in his Maker’s lip and watches it heal before his eyes.

They are fed. They are alive. They are together.

And how many times has one or more or all of those things not been true? What the fuck were the doing out here exposed and in the line of fire — it didn’t matter what they wanted to do. Not when the reality was going to leave Isseya widowed and with no fucking word.

Cynbel grabs his lover and kisses him hard. Feels resistance only for a moment and only because they leave themselves vulnerable like this but the very thought of a quick peck of lips in a dirty Belgian alley being their last settles inside him about as well as acid.

Are Valdas’ ears still ringing? Cynbel’s are. His eardrums not yet healed and giving him cause to shout. Though perhaps he would have shouted it anyway. Perhaps it was just as much a proclamation to the world that would never stop trying to tear them apart as much as it is for his Lord and Light, his Divinity; his Valdas.

“I want to go home.”

He already had the face the idea of an existence without the man and for the sake of what little sanity he clings to Cynbel will never do so again. End this here and now. Before there is nothing left of us to love.

Valdas grips his hair until it hurts and further still. “As if I could ever deny you. My Golden Son.”

On a midnight much like this so very very far away — though not such in distance but in time — where locusts gave their choir to the air and to see the universe one need only look up to the heavens… Cynbel had found himself accosted by a peddler urchin boy.

“Domine so powerful and strong, but does he know his future?” And Cynbel had only humored him because his mind was not with his body or the starving hand that urged him along but in that very future he spoke of. His world ripped out from under him because his Made-God had not made himself at all, but had one he called Maker too. “My sister will know his future. Three sestertius, three sestertius Domine.”

If he’d known then what would come of it he might have commissioned the boy’s likeness in golden effigy.

He could smell death clinging to Nona from the moment they exchanged hellos. He did not feel pity or sympathy or affection at her. She was only as valuable to him as she was useful.

From her sickly bed Nona peddled her seer’s tricks. Things Cynbel had seen long ago in the shamans and envoys of the old tribes. Nothing so concrete as meeting true divinity and knowing it with intimacy.

“Enough of your sleights and suggestions,” he had snapped; because if he had been dragged all this way off the beaten path he would have expected something interesting from it at the least, “you cannot even fathom how little of my time you waste here yet still I am left feeling robbed from it!”

They needed his coin for bread. He didn’t care. Yet still she tried to grab him — one last chance to beg, perhaps — and that’s all it took.

“You slept under an apple tree. You did not know he watched you; the sunlight of you. You only knew the life you had carved into your bones. Some part of you knew he admired you from afar… it woke you — it destined you and he to meet. You asked for him. And like a long-time lover he came to you. Beheld you with his eyes and body even as they blistered for you.

“You blinded the Made-God and it made you weep. You offered yourself to him, pure hands that had spilled blood. And you have been his ever since. From that moment on — to now — to farther than I will ever see.”

At first he kept her company for the feeling of memories hazy with the passage of time. Of his death-into-rebirth; of Isseya’s too when the time came. He did not understand the like of her but there would always be things new and unknown to him. That was what made life worth living eternally.

Then long-ago memories became that which had passed a day before, or that very evening. Surely that, too, would progress. And it did.

And at first the idea of the future thrilled him. No one—not even the mighty Godmaker—could have imagined what civilization, culture, humanity would eventually become but he was so young and wide-eyed and had already seen so much that the Cynbel of that idyllic time was certain there could not have been anything greater than that moment.

And maybe there wasn’t.

“He Made you, named you, claimed you. And you gave—give—everything. But it isn’t enough. It won’t be enough.” She was frail, feeble; human. And he was terrified of her.

“It’ll be the death of you.”

Night after night he drilled her, dug into her, begged with tears in his eyes for the answer. “Why would my love kill me? When? How? Please, Nona, please. I beg of you. You promised. You promised.” But he never did get his answer. Not when Augustine happened, when Sayeed happened, when he had to sacrifice his only chance at knowing why his Beloved God was going to kill him to a bunch of fae folk masquerading as priestesses. Time kept urging them forward, backward; he hoped that if he loved them enough he could prove her wrong.

“Just once,” she said, “I hope I’m wrong just once. All it will take is once.”

So Cynbel finds it pretty fucking hilarious that only now — two thousand years, countless empires and nations, corpses they made high enough to drown in later — does it occur to him that Nona had never said Valdas would kill him. Not word for word. He just wouldn’t be enough.

It’s him. It’s Cynbel… Cynbel wouldn’t be enough.

Based on the uniforms that decorate the body count it’s unlikely that any of his regiment will survive the night. Cynbel intends to make himself among the dead — but that takes a little more these days than leaving a faceless body in his own bed.

“You said you would take me home.”

“Trust me, Cynbel my love. Trust me now more than you have ever trusted me in all our lives and all our years. Please… do that and I vow I will see us both home and whole with her again.”

That’s what had done it — sent him spiraling into all sorts of thoughts on old seers long dead and visions to which he was never given full understanding.

“Do you trust me?”

When a God is made vulnerable the very foundations of their faith are shaken. It shows in his hands and the glassy fear in his eyes and every muscle tense uncertain; unsure. Why does the Golden Son hesitate, asked in every tremor, what has changed?

He needed only see the question to know the answer.

“I’ve always trusted you. Now, and all our years remaining.”

Such silly creatures they were kissing in the middle of a massacre. Not the first time for the likes of them… and though normally Cynbel might find his thoughts wandering automatically to the next time it would be such he can’t say he would mind if it were not for a lifetime or more.

He trusts the Made-God. He trusts his Maker. He trusts Valdas. He trusts one of the pieces of his own soul that just happened to live in a different body.

They flee the ambush in opposite directions. I trust him. Valdas towards the town and supplies and Cynbel back to his station. Not for sentiments or material things but for stripes and colors; what little recognition he’s put effort for in seven months hiding in holes. I trust him.

But it was not that their enemy was lurking on the roads waiting for a truck of soldiers made complacent and easily picked-off.

Their station is burning. Alight with flames that seek to meet one another around corners and bends. Scattered remnants of shells, shots, bodies both together and pulled apart by the explosions and when he slows down in the spaces between leaping fires he can hear the wails of the ones unfortunate not to have died on impact.

He pities them only in that torture is only made enjoyable when there is someone there to enjoy it. But the enemy has moved on by now. This is their warning.

One fallen innocent is a message.

A slaughtered horde—that’s a warning.

Where has he heard that before? Those words sound uncannily familiar.

“They are familiar because you spoke them. Or wrote them, rather, in a letter of intent that should be known better as a declaration of war.”

Ah, yes. Now that strikes up his memory like the tolling bells of Notre Dame. Cynbel forces the recollection upon himself because that voice—too familiar—could not possibly be there with him now. In the middle of a trench station in Belgium where the only living are the souls not yet dead.

“I think I wrote it drunk,” yes, yes he’d definitely been hammered — it was the only way he’d humor the idea, “since we’d always preferred our fists to our words, mine enemy and me. The Order of the Dawn, the Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn, the Mars Tributa, and whatever other nonsense they called themselves… something-Ares. Funny to find something from before even my time.

“But it was the age of chivalry re-imagined wasn’t it? Frock coats and bogged-down brocades and fucking dainty little gloves and duels of honor. I wrote my letter and when I did not receive a swift and gentlemanly reply… I took matters into my own hands.”

Tumultuous; a good word to describe the evening. Isseya would be proud to hear him use it. She’s been nagging him since the turn of the century to try and be a little less… crass.

But the figure across the smoke, that takes up arms against him? Even in a tumultuous night Cynbel can’t say he expected this.

“I led them to the catacombs,” he continues; bats carelessly to smother any spark the embers hovering around the air might think to start, “I made sure they would feel their deluded righteousness and bring the best fight they could because I was bored of waiting around for their next big front. That night was my version of a gentlemen’s glove thrown down.

“And as I seem to recall, Mademoiselle Dupont, I saved your life. You’re welcome, by the way.”

In the middle of a trench station in Belgium, Cynbel wants so badly to be anywhere else. In front of a hearth in Zürich with his fingers tangled in Isseya’s hair. Hidden away in a dirty Belgian alley clinging desperately to Valdas’ coat. Because that Cynbel; he’s enough. But the one here, now?

He isn’t.

And it will be the death of him.

note: each of the titles of Part V is taken from a poem written about WWI read Men Who March Away by Thomas Hardy

#bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices fanfiction #bloodbound #choices bb #serafine dupont #oc: cynbel #oc: valdas #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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starfaring-princelotor · 5 years ago

Text

The Prison Kingdom

Chapter 1: The Empty Legacy

Summary: The world is becoming more and more dangerous, both on land and sea. It’s time for you to face this fight, and dragon, on your own terms. Even if it means siding along with the kingdom who would condemn your kind without mercy.

Warnings: Mention about decapitation.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Lotura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

A/N: It’s a medieval-ish AU with dragons. What more could you want?

1 . 2 .

[There’s an old saying among renegade sea folk: The pirate that counts their booty are mere thieves.

War and death have pillaged the water and dirt of the planet for centuries, costing innocent lives from both sides. It was easy to paint the enemy as the enemy, as the one who needs to die before their sword cuts down your soul. It was easy to defend what you righteously believed needs to be defended, whether that be gold or the treasures that come with family and friends. It was easy to embrace that the laws of the sea were, at best, just rumors among the free people.

And such laws, such rules whispered by the dead man, don’t apply to the mystical wildlife. They don’t apply to creatures who have no loyalty, who have no other moral besides kill and eat for survival. From the trolls of the mountains, to the mermaids of the sea, to the fae of the forests, to the very dragons who control elements with ferocity matching the epitome of death itself, it would do well to remember that a set of fangs have no set order to kill.

But while beasts and monsters roam, and kingdoms rise and fall to the tests of time, and legends become lingering myths by the breath of the wind, it is the folly of prideful ignorance which murders countless more than the culmination of every bloodthirsty demon known in existence. With that in mind, tread carefully around those you would call allies or friends or like-minded folks. The Codex of Life may preach all-for-one and one-for-all, but deep down, it is a beautifully written lie for the over-eager martyrs.

Do not fall for such false speech regarding the dichotomy of good and evil.

Severing a hydra’s head will not kill it. Mana spells are useless against the naga’s of the Ice Plateaus. Beware of the volcano whose smoke takes form of two lovers, for no weapon or mantra can quell their rage should you cross them on a full moon. This collection of knowledge will help spread death, strike fear and hope in the hearts of many, and I leave this to you, my child.

You will have no legacy to follow. You are the bastard child I left behind to reach that unreachable freedom. You will make your own name amongst the farthest edges of the sea with every gale that blesses your sails.

You are a pirate.]

Closing the leather-bound journal, you skimmed your thumb over the pressed design of crossbones and cutlass’ on the cover. A legacy forgotten and one you would never know about? Dead men tell no tales, indeed. But regardless, this book would help with the bounty you were debating on facing. The paper was flimsy, hastily ripped off the pole to save for later, but the words were clear as day. And if you were able to complete this task, pocket enough shiny coin to support your entire crew with all the rum and pleasure they could want for years on end, leave behind your own legend, then that’d be enough for you.

“Seeking Dragonslayers of all kind! Report to Altea, Blessed Kingdom of Oriande!”

Then, hastily scribbled at the bottom.

“Speak to Paladin Takashi of the Black Mane Guild.”

Hefting yourself from your seat, you downed the rest of your mug reeking of ale and moist wood. The jovial band played, the patrons danced, the entire room was filled with fighting life, and it was impossible to not let it flow through you. It felt wrong to hold such a book in this place, the taboo writings from death’s bleeding quill. And so, with a tip of your hat and a silver doubloon for the ever so diligent barkeep, you stumbled out into the chill of the night with nothing but your guns, your sword, and the magical warmth of ale to keep you steadfast and eager towards your freedom.

But freedom always came with a cost and you paid a leg to chase it.

When you passed through the heavily fortified gates of Altea, shimmering in that pristine metal forged only by the elves of old, nothing came as a surprise. This place, this kingdom, the people here, were rich with elegance and practically congested in an air of royalty. Prim and proper. Clean, lethal, and ready to strike while looking mystical by default. Alteans, they called themselves. A long generation of the ancient Elven deities, granted with the dwindling power of magic.

The book states they do not share their secrets with outsiders. Not even to those stupidly loyal to them.

Imagine the raised brow of confusion when you saw their captain, that Takashi fellow, was a werewolf. So far from his pack, this one. Though, it made sense. Ferocious, fierce, werewolves were not meant to be trifled with, full moon or no. The loyalty of the wolf combined with the logical reasoning of man? Smart. Now, the real question was where did his allegiance lie?

“Paladin Takashi, I presume?”

Grey eyes, like the foggiest of winter nights, met yours and you saw him size you up with but a flash. Not lecherously, no, more like how a soldier would assess a fight, a situation, a potential ally or enemy. With amusement glistening in YOUR eyes, you found that he couldn’t pinpoint you down. A pirate on land? Joining the fight for a good cause? Yes, yes, you heard it all before. Walking ironies were always meant to be suspicious.

But pirates had charm and you knew when to use it.

With a flourished bow, both exaggerating in mock and respect, you spoke through a grin, “Allow me to introduce meself, ser. I be known as Peg-Leg the Kegmaster, cannon crafter and duelist extraordinaire of The Mermaid’s Doom, here at yer service.”

“A pirate?”

“Aye, a pirate, and if ye gunna be needin’ a slayed dragon, then yer gunna be needin’ what I have’ta offer.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised the guards didn’t detain you at first sight. But, desperate times call for desperate measures,” he replied freely, not at all with a judgmental tone but one of legitimate concern for you, for a stranger.

“An’ I be the perfect one fer those desperate times, mate.”

You placed the bounty parchment on the table in front of him then slid into the seat, onlookers tending to their own business. Coming here, to the central command of the vigilant army, there were all sorts of different kinds of folks around. Some wielding spears and donning turtle shells on their backs, others like Shiro with ears and tails and even fangs of werewolves, feathered harpies whose talons looked lethal enough to kill a shark, and even dwarves armored with fine metal from top to bottom.

A ragtag group of people, all coming together to fight one monster which has been blighting their landlubbing surface for who knows how long. An honorable cause, but as they say, there’s no honor amongst thieves. That’s why proving yourself right now would be pivotal to your aligned goals.

“By order of Her Majesty, Princess Allura, I have been bestowed the task of ridding the quintessence raged dragon of the north. Because of this, we can not allow magic-wielders to join our group. I know Peg is not your real name - “ you grinned cheekily, not at all affected by the admonishing tone in the truth, “ - but if you use quintessence to fight, I’m afraid you’re of no use to us on the frontline.”

“Nay, I t’aint one for hocus-pocus witchcraft. You start mutterin’ curses and voodoo gobbledee gook, I scatter like-a flock o’ gulls fleeing from the slimy tentacles of kraken itself.” With a nod to the paper, you continued, “If I were to be speakin’ the truth, matey, I’m here fer the gold. Nothing more, nothing less. Anything to do with yer kingdoms rubbin’ elbows with ya fancy silks are of no concern to me.”

Shiro leaned back, arms crossed, then tilted his head just a bit, not at all unlike a puppy trying to understand some strange phenomenon. He wasn’t a fresh soldier from the pack. Battle scars under his fur showed that this isn’t the first time he’s faced a foe bigger than himself. It was only by his strong connection with his righteous virtues and a debt owed to Altea, more specifically Honerva, that he was appointed captain of this draconic crusade.

But his trust in his instincts were always on point. That made him invaluable and right now? With watching you smile that smarmy smile, his instincts told him that, yes, you were good. Rogues were a recipe for trouble, add that with the lot of pirates, and you get chaos. An ace up the sleeve, a random boon that benefits all based on the law of uncertainty. Shiro would take a draw rather than a loss any day.

And he’s dealt with pirates before. Closely, in fact.

The Paladin rubbed his chin with his prosthetic arm, the smooth surface of quintessence run mechanism offering a small calm for his thoughts. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”

“The wind in the sails took ‘em to the sea. I chose t’stay. ‘Tis only a matter of time before this dragon o’ yers starts roosting in other lands and I ain’t one for facing more monsters below and above the waves,” your voice trailed off for a moment before your eyes snapped from his arm to his face, “Nor am I lookin’ to be noosed by yer masters. If this alliance can not be, I’ll be on me merry way an’ ye won’t need ‘ta worry about one more pirate on your plate.”

But he was no fool. Word of the growing stress between kingdoms reached even overseas in the last decade. News about the alliance between Altea and Daibazaal falling out with King Alfor’s death, or rather, “assassination.” It was rumored that the Galra leaders unleashed an ancient dragon, created of pure quintessence, to attack the Elven empire and cripple the nation. After the destruction which nearly annihilated the royal family, it fled to the Kral Zera holy lands, never to be seen again.

Until now. Shiro repeatedly told himself that perhaps this was just a dead end, a fairy tale told to keep kids safe and sound inside. A story meant to induce fear that the evil dragon can sense wrongdoings and will come eat you to gain more power. All leads he followed led to different answers, and this may be an unaccomplished quest in the end, but if that were the case, then he will serve to protect the innocent at the highest cost.

“The Black Mane work with several nations, not just one. If you can prove to be useful, be battle ready when needed, and are willing to help all, then consider yourself part of the pact,” he pulled out a folded paper from his pouch then slid it to you, “It’s a contract, rules to be followed while commissioned by the guild.”

“Yer giving me a set o’ rules?”

Now, this is where he let slip a grin hiding familiar mischief, “They’re more like guidelines should you choose to follow them, for your safety and the successful completion of this quest.”

“Tell me something, cap’n,” you asked, eyes reading but mindful of his attention, “Have ye ever broken one o’ them rules of yers?”

“Yes.” Straight answer with a tone of finality, a tone of that is all I’m saying on the matter.

You signed across the line, temporarily giving your time and life over to this noble cause, “Then do we have an accord?”

Shiro shook hands with pirates before. He’s taken more hands before, too. But what most people would suspiciously think about making deals with pirates were wrong. Honor and loyalty weren’t definitions they followed by their very soul, not like he did, yet as he firmly grasped your offered hand in agreement, his instincts told him one jarring fact.

This deal was empty, but oddly promising.

#spacestories #lotor x reader #hoist the colors!!!

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hazbinextgeneration · 5 years ago

Note

I know Palettepainter confirmed that Lou x Amalfia is cannon, but are any of your other ships cannon? Like Iridatch or Goldenlover?

Mun: Ok. Firstly, there will be absolutely NO shipping wars because of my answers. People are aloud to ship their ocs how they want so no attacking them. And to answer your questions, yes we both equally agreed that would be cannon. Guys I'm tagging yall in case you all want to add something or get the same question.

The other crackships with @palettepainter No. Because we just came up with them for fun. And I have ships for Angel-Cake, Maizy, Chesire,already and Clocksy is a single pringle.

Goldenlover- is just a silly crachship between @ellen-jello and myself not cannon.

Iridatch and Snakelover- I dunno, @theblankbri probably wants to do her own thing with Patch and Trish so it’ll probably be a separate au thing unless she says otherwise.

Dragoncat- Like I said, @undertalesokemo might want to do something with Charlotte so it’s up in the air.

I can and WILL not force anything on them. And I do not wish to get attacked for ships again please.

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thefoxesraven · 6 years ago

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Ship Tag

Tagged by @diamond-auri-el sorry I didn't get to this sooner I'm still pretty sick.

Tagging: @iigingerspice @socobin @queergaymer @dykeserana @nerevarbean @theraysoftamriel

1.) First Ship you Ever Wrote Fic For?

I have never wrote a fic for a ship. It hasn't happened yet. I'm going to guess it's going to be Violetta × Brelyna. As I'm currently writing out Violetta's story, so I can have a bible so to say for her.

2.) Ship you Write Most Now?

Definitely Violyna (or Breletta? I'm not sure which name to use yet.) I've written little blurbs about them and they make me happy.

3.)Ship you Read the Most Now?

I read a lot of ships but the last ship I read about was Percabeth. Or Percy x Annabeth. I'm a ride or die Percy Jackson fan so Percabeth is one I can always go back too.

4.) Newest Ship?

Ulfinwein? I think I spelt it wrong. But Ulfric x Lumnwine. (I'm sorry if I butchered the heck out of her name @diamond-auri-el)

5.) Rare Ship you Wanna Read More of?

I want to see more fics about Barley x Ravenpaw. They are a cannon gay cat couple that doesn't get much following yet Tallstar x Jake does and they are not together.

6.) Your Taboo Ship?

If this means NOTP then it would have to be anything unhealthy. But a specific ship that came to mind was Veeonica x JD. It's just so unhealthy. It makes me cringe when I see stuff about it.

7.) They never met in Canon Ship?

Out of all the fandoms I'm in I can't think of any. But then again I do love those OC x Cannon character ships a lot.

8.) Your unexpected Ship?

Definitely Zoey Redbird x James Stark. I always thought he was too arrogant for his own good. But then he went threw all that pain to save Zoey, and now they are a ride or die ship for me.

9.) The Ship you Always Forget to give Love to?

Firestar x Sandstorm. The og ship that started my shipping career. They are really cute and so pure. How can you not love them. I just for get to give love to them.

10.) Ship your OC with a canon character?

Yes I do! Violetta × Brelyna! They are the purest beans around. Honestly, they just love each other so much. Yet the do have the Idiot x "Oh crap that's my idiot" ship about them.

11.) Ship you’re embarrassed to Ship?

I used to ship Spottedleaf x Firestar. But then realized it was a really awkward more by the Erins. Like what were they thinking?

12.) Your most Romantic Ship?

Either Zoey Redbird x James Stark, or Violetta x Brelyna. They both are extremely romantic. I just love this to ships so much.

13.) Your Sexiest Ship?

Um I don't know? Jack Twist x Damien Manson? They gay fledgling vampires. I cried so much when Jack died.

14.) Your most Tragic Ship?

Oh that's Zoey Redbird x James Stark. Their entire story is filled with so much tragedy. I love it.

15.) A Ship You want more Content For?

I want more content of the OC ships I see from a lot of these people that I tagged. I love your ships!

#ship tag #tes #percabeth #house of night #zoey redbird x james stark #jack twist #damien mansom #Violetta x Brelyna

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thequeenofcronuts · 6 years ago

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Justify My Love - Chapter 4 - Be OK, Pressing On

Book: The Royal Romance Word Count: 4,835-ish Pairing: Maxwell x MC (Kristina Hampshire), Hana, Drake, OCs

Warnings - Language

A/N In this TRR kinda sorta off cannon Series: Kristina (MC) decides she cannot stay in Cordonia after the events of the Coronation Ball. Not so much caring about her own reputation, but caring for the life of the man she has been falling for, which is not the prince. She returns to New York and is faced with her heartbreak and regret while Maxwell is left in Cordonia struggling to understand the truth behind his feelings. Will they let each other go?

**All characters and named places are owned by Pixelberry Studios. Rights to the songs lyrics and titles in this series belong to:

Justify My Love (Madonna) - Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group, Reach Music Publishing, BMG Rights Management

Be OK (Ingrid Michaelson) - Cabin 24 Records

Pressing On (Relient K) - Universal Music Publishing Group

Series Tags @littleblossom357 @alj4890 @cosigottahavefaith

——————————

Kristina's POV

- Be OK -

Kristina still hasn't opened up to Daniel about her time abroad…at all…and it's been weeks since she returned. They do talk every day, but it's mainly because Daniel calls her. She goes to work and comes home, and that is it. Except for her days off when she chooses to just stay home the whole time. Truthfully, he is starting to get rather nervous about her lack of socialization and her apparent lack of any true emotion. She just plasters on a fake smile for work. It's been awhile since he has seen a glimpse of the real Kristina he knows is still in there somewhere. It's time to call in reinforcements, he decides.

He reaches out to his best friend from back home, Stephen, and his wife, Lisa. The first time Kristina met the couple, over a year and a half ago, they instantly became friends. They all share the same dry and sarcastic sense of humor, enjoy lots of witty banter, and are all around Kristina's type of people. Daniel decides to make the FaceTime call to the couple. During the call Stephen quips, “Ok, so Lisa and I get that you're telling us that Kris is currently an emotional wreck without the emotions part…” Lisa cuts off her husband, “but can you give me an example. Girls are better suited to break down these kind of things.” Daniel chuckles with a sound thick of disbelief. “Ok Professor Reader of the Female Mind, last week I brought a box over filled with one of her all time favorite treats.” “Ok, so we’re talking cronuts.” “Lisa, let the man speak before you go all girl detective. Proceed Daniel.” “Ok, yes I thought a box of them could help her mood. Boy was I wrong. She basically went from tears, to sobs, to yelling, and then stormed out of her apartment to the laundry room in the basement of the building.” “Dude, I know I’m just a guy here,” Stephen shoots Lisa a look of feigned cluelessness, “but why the basement laundry room? Oh magnificent Lisa, explain this piece of your investigative puzzle.” Daniel jumps in, “When you see the size of her studio apartment you’ll understand why she sought out her privacy in there.” “And that's it Daniel” Lisa asks, “she ran from a box of cronuts? … Yeah, I got nothing. I’ll concede that this is way above the girl code of understanding.” Stephen tries to contain his triumphant laughter, but just can't. “Way to go all things woman super sleuth!” “Ok, ok, but we have to figure this out. Who knew a delicate pastry would be our beginning lead? We’ll be there asap.” Lisa says then ends the phone chat.

Daniel got the exact reaction from Kristina he expecting as he told her the couple was coming for a visit, “I know I always do the itinerary for their visits, but this visit it is up to Lisa. So have her plan it since I am adamant about not being apart of any of it.” Kristina said coldly. A few days later Lisa took the duty on and planned Operation Crack Open Kristina. This was meant to crush the shell that was becoming Kristina; and by the time Lisa had finished the itinerary the plan was set into motion. Unbeknownst to Kristina she was heading on a weekend trip to Atlantic City. The Hotel was booked, Daniel had a rental car scheduled, and the choices for entertainment were set.

The day Lisa and Stephen’s flight landed Daniel took them straight to Kristina's for the ambush. They stood in her doorway telling her that the weekend retreat was imminent. Which Kristina calls it a friendly form of forced kidnapping. Lisa just giggles as she she packs Kristina’s overnight bag as Kristina was strongly voicing her concerns as a protest for the trip. “I don't “go” out to places any more and I don't want to start now….. Atlantic City is too far from the city for just a couple of days and one night…..I hadn't planned for something like this so I don't have the money….” All to which Daniel, Stephen, and Lisa easily counters.

Daniel - “Kris, it's just roughly a two hour drive to Atlantic City, so a weekend trip is completely doable.”

Stephen - “The three of us are splitting the trip. Two adjoining rooms and the rental car are easily covered by Daniel and us.”

Lisa - “Today is the day you go from “don't go places” to getting out of this apartment, now.”

Lisa tosses Kristina the overnight bag while Stephen claps his hands with a triumphant look, “And……mic dropped…so off we go.”

Not too long later they’re on the road while Kristina is shaking shaking her head thinking to herself, I really love these people, I do, just not so much this weekend. She settles into the passenger seat with a dramatic sigh which is completely ignored by her companions.

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

As Kristina watches through the window, of the surprisingly nice and comfy rental car, the world whizz by while chatter fills the vehicle. She puts in her earbuds to drown it all out and picks a playlist that she recently made tapping shuffle. The music cancels out all the noise when the first song plays, which is one of her current favorites. Sometimes song lyrics coincide with the exact emotions of your thoughts and heart. She closes her eyes and gets lost in the song….

‘I just want to be okay, be okay, be ok I just to be okay today I just want to be okay, be okay, be ok I just to be okay today

‘I just want to feel today, feel today, feel today I just want to feel something today I just want to feel today, feel today, feel today I just want to feel something today’…

Daniel looks over and lightly smacks Kristina's knee to get her attention, so she takes out one earbud to pause the song. “What Daniel?” She looks over and arches an eyebrow at him. He looks over again and answers, “Kris, are you going to join us in our amazing conversations? Maybe sometime soon?”. “Daniel, just please watch the road,” she answers, “we don't need to add an accident to this crazy weekend.” Stephen yells from the backseat, “Yeah, crazy awesome weekend here we come!” Kristina looks over her shoulder while narrowing her eyes in a glassy stare, “ Stephen, that wasn't the actual sentiment I was going for with my statement.” He retorts jovially, “ I know, but we gotta get you out of this funk you’ve been swimming in girl!”

Kristina crosses her arms and huffs, her mind answers, It's not a funk and you have no idea. “Just because you and Lisa have a wonderful marriage and Daniel is now serious with Mitch, doesn't prove that ‘There's someone for everyone’. Every hopeless romantic likes to remind their single friends this. ‘Just wait and see, it will happen for you.’ Well I hate to spoil the dream, but waiting for the person that makes you whole is a crock of shit.” Daniel looks in the rear view mirror at Lisa and Stephen and Lisa throws them a knowing look…they just witnessed a bit of Kristina's shell cracking.

“Speaking of couples, why am I going on this trip? Shouldn't this be a couples thing? Where's your boyfriend Daniel?” There's a slight tone of disgust in her voice. Daniel blows air through his lips, man she's even more stubborn than when she decided that it was a fabulous idea to fly off to a distant country on a whim. “Mitch couldn't get off work.” Daniel stated while he shrugged his shoulders. Unbeknownst to Kristina, the group never intended for Mitch to go. And since they had a “can't be cancelled” reservation, they “needed” her to come. They explained that because the trip was bit expensive it needed to happen. Lisa pipes into the conversation, “Reason number one: Look at it this way, Kris, you need to get out and live, Mitch’s inability to go provides the opportunity! Just going to work doesn't count as going out and experiencing life” Stephen adds “"Reason B we needed you to come to have an even number.” I know you all think this is some intervention type thingy, but not going to work. Kristina internally says to herself. Kristina sends icy daggers to the group.

“Man Daniel, can you turn the heat on because it just got cold in here!” Lisa smacks Stephen’s arm and whispers, “I don't think the brand of humor you’re attempting is going to work right now, so can it.” Daniel continues, “While Mitch’s job comes with vacation time Kris, it doesn't mean he gets to take it on a whim. It's not like that in retail.” “Oh riiiight,” she says with an almost playful but still flat tone, “That’s right, Mitch is a manager at a big time department store.” Kristina gives a rye smile, “So I guess while he works, you get to go out and play. Sounds like you're a ‘gold digger’ to me Daniel.” It's silent in the car for a moment and Stephen can't hold it in. “Shit Kris, that was….an actual joke. Hold the presses we have breaking news! Kristina Hampshire almost cracked a smile as she totally dissed one of her BFFs!” He wears a sarcastic, mocking look of horror and when Kristina sees it over her shoulder she throws a balled up wrapper from her breakfast sandwich, hitting him right in the mouth. “Shut it Stephen.” “Sweet Kris, looks you still do human emotions! Man, Lets go PAR-TAAAAAY!!

Party…of all the words he could say, any other word, he yells party. Shit, really?! Why do the gods torture me? Kristina's mind goes immediately to Maxwell. Well honestly there really isn't a moment he doesn't consume her thoughts. Her face instantly sours. “Ugh, I so LOVINGLY HATE you all! So just drop it. DROP.IT. Drop ALL of it.” Lisa reaches from the backseat and gives Kristina's shoulder a gentle squeeze, as she understands that patients is the only way to crack through more of Kristina's shell. So she changes the subject. “Sleeping arrangements. We have two adjoining rooms. Kristina and I will share one and have some girl time. If you see the adjoining door is shut stay the fuck out. Got it boys?” They nod as if their mother had just grabbed them by the ear for a good scolding. “Otherwise we all can enjoy time together.”

Quite fills the cabin of the car again. Daniel turns on the radio for something to listen to, while the other three put in earbuds. Kristina has ended all conversion…for now. She rests her head back onto the window and closes her eyes while the song that paused picks up where it left off and her mind drifts…

Maxwell had his phone connected to a pretty decent pair of portable speakers in Kristina's room. The music is blaring as it was a rare night with no scheduled court functions due to the day being a travel day, to Applewood Manor. And….what made it unbelievably more awesome was Bertrand decided to forgo any lessons or lectures for the night. He had a fairly bad headache, and while they felt sorry for him, Kristina and Maxwell decided to use every second of this unexpected and glorious freedom. They moved some furniture around the room giving them a nice space as a dance floor, and with the music pumping, pajamas donned, and snacks acquired the private VIP party began.

Kristina nearly lost all of her composure when she got a glimpse of Maxwell's sea blue pajamas with an orange squid pattern. She was uncontrollably laughing at the sight and asked, “Where is the calypso music, Maxwell? Are we under the sea?” He just sauntered to the center of their “dance floor” spinning on the ball of his left foot stopping to face her in a ‘Charlie’s Angels’ type pose. Kristina's collapsed on the bed laughing so hard she could barely speak. She managed to get out, “H-how…do…you…know…” huge breath then continues to cackle, “How…you do know…Charlie’s…Angels….?” Maxwell puts his hands on his hips, looking at her with a serious face, and he answers matter of factly, “ Come on Kristina, hello, the internet. You might want to watch some videos on there sometime. Maybe one of these day you can look at some tutorial videos and manage to keep up with my smooth moves.” His eyebrows wiggle and Kristina throws a pillow at him. “I think my moves are more than acceptable. Thank you very much.” Maxwell walks over to the bed, bows dramatically and offers her his hand. She takes it and she began to shimmy and shake to the beat, while Maxwell stood back with his arms crossed shaking his head in a mock of disapproval. “Not bad Kristina, my young grasshopper, but let the master teach you his ways.”

After a while of dancing they were breathless and decided to take a break. Sitting on the floor with Kristina rested her head on Maxwell’s shoulder he began to show her some of his favorite internet videos and memes that left them both in stitches. Neither one had laughed like they did that night in so long. It's not Bertrand sets aside time for frivolity in his daily agenda. Laughing until they were in pain Maxwell spontaneously jumped up and pulled Kristina up with him. “I’ve got a second wind, so it's time for the master to test the moves he so masterfully taught you.”

Kristina soon was mesmerized by Maxwell and the way his body moved. She stepped back to observe, okay possibly ogle him as he was going seamlessly from one form of type of dance moves into another. While he wasn't quite as muscular as Liam or Drake, dancing certainly did benefit his physique. Between that and his carefree spirit with a heart of gold he pulled her in unexpectedly. Finally he again grabbed Kristina by the hand bringing her close to dance. Bam, she feeling butterflies in her stomach and was a bit dizzy. Problem was this dance didn't seem to affect him the same way. Kristina don't go there. Keep this as the easy, happy friendship it is. While thinking all of this and losing her focus she ends up tripping falling to the ground while they both uncontrollably giggled. Just as Maxwell leaned down to help her up, while he was looking right into her eyes, there is a rather loud thumping on the door. Maxwell went to turn the music down and grabs an apple from the nightstand while Kristina jumps up and opens the door to find a rather grumpier than usual Drake. How can he be even more grouchy than usual. Must be a natural talent.

Drake stands outside her door in a white t-shirt, and lounge pants, with his hair tussled in all directions. “Ummm, hi Drake. Were we bothering you?” Kristina tried so hard to stifle her snickers as his disheveled appearance. Maxwell yelled, “Hey buddy, want to join the party?” and Kristina stepped aside to let Drake into the room. After three steps he finds Maxwell lounging on the bed munching on the apple. “Beaumont, I should have known.” Drake says with bite to his tone. “Do you two know what time it is? Some people are trying to sleep.” Drake exasperatedly taps on his wrist watch, while Kristina notices something odd in his balled up hand.

“Watcha got there, Walker?” Drake uncomfortably shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Uh…well what the hell? Might as well tell you…ear plugs.” Maxwell eagerly jumps into the conversation. “What do you need ear plugs for, Drake?” He looks at him with half a smirk. Nervously Drake tries to find his words carefully. “Uh, well, um,…” Drake closes eyes so he won't have to look at either of them while he explains, “When traveling with court you never know where your assigned bedroom will be located. And you know how a lot of nobles are. So, earplugs are always good for not having to listen to all the sounds of their, uhhh, extracurricular activities.” Before Kristina can even start to laugh at poor Drake, Maxwell turns to her and quickly lets out, “So, Kristina, what Drake is telling us is we’re louder than two nobles.” He wiggles his eyebrows. As she and Maxwell burst into fits of laughter Drake turns a deep shade of red, curses under his breath while turning back on his heel leaving, slamming the door behind him.

Kristina can't stand it any longer as she is laughing so hard it is literally painful. She falls back onto the bed next to Maxwell and it takes what feels like forever for both to get ahold of their composure. After a few minutes of comfortable silence Kristina turns her head towards him. “Hey Maxwell, I really enjoyed tonight and hanging out with you.” Maxwell turns to respond and Kristina notices how close they are, almost noses touching. “Awww Kristina, me too.” For just a few seconds Kristina feels the anticipation of a kiss, but Maxwell, in no way catching the drift, ruffles her hair and sits up. “Well, we should get some sleep. It won't be long until I’ll be knocking on your door for your morning wakeup call. I’ll come by a little early and help you get the room back together.” Kristina nods, and gets up as he does. Walking him to the door he gives her a big bear hug as he tells her good night while he walks out her door. Kristina quietly leans her back against the now close door and sighs. Her heart flutters as she thinks about being so close to him, and thinking they were so close to a moment. She walks over to turn off the light and flops down on the bed. Staring at the ceiling with a dreamy smile. She knew she was now seriously in trouble. The Crown Prince was the furthest thing from her mind.

Kristina is brought back to the present by a bump in the road and opens up her eyes seeing her reflection in the window. A small smile fades as fast as it graces her lips. She didn't even realize that while she was reliving that night she had subconsciously replayed the song.

‘Open me up and you will see I’m a gallery of broken hearts I’m beyond repair let me be And give me back my broken parts’

‘Just me back my pieces Just give them back to me please Just give back my pieces And let hold my broken parts’

——————————

Maxwell’s POV

- Pressing On -

Drake as never been so happy to be off a plane, and even more elated when Maxwell spots Hana in the baggage claim area. Seeing her, leaving Drake behind, he runs to pick her up and swing her in a circle. As Hana giggles, “Maxwell put me down. While I am happy we are untied again, save that enthusiasm for Kristina.” Maxwell complies and steps back mouth agape. “How do you know that I was thinking about what you know, that I didn't know, but now I know, and you know that I know, but you just found out that I know what I didn't know which you already knew?” Hana shakes her head and squeezes Maxwell's shoulder. “Just a guess seeing your current enthusiasm, and manic force of energy.” She winks at Drake who has caught up to them giving her a “save me” look.

“Now let's get our luggage, check-in to the hotel and grab something to eat.” Hana gently takes control. “And Maxwell,” Drake says seriously while looking into the hyperactive eyes of the guy in front of him, “absolutely no caffeine in any form for the rest of the day. I’d rather not strangle you…today at least.” Hana gives Drake a pointed stare.” “Guys, all of this is to clear Kristina's name and hopefully bring her back to Cordonia. We all miss our best friend so much, and hopefully we can also give her and Maxwell chance to figure things out. So let’s all get along.” “Fine” Drake huffs. “But you are responsible for him.” She sighs a happy sigh, “It's good to be back together. Now onward and upward to get our girl back.” Hana skips ahead.

The three settle into their hotel rooms ordering room service delivered to Hana’s room. While eating they catch up on their lives since the Coronation Night, which mainly meant letting Maxwell know what has been happening while he locked himself away from the world. Drake was actually there for it all, so he was tuning in and out of the conversation.

Hana explains to Maxwell that once she returned home to Shanghai her parents were less than pleased with what they considered the most major failure of their family’s life due to her fruitless Social Season. Soon after her arrival home her parents started working on finding a match for Hana themselves. Fortunately a few weeks later she was called back to court with the offer that there were possible “advantageous matches” she shouldn't miss. She knew without a doubt the invitation was facilitated by the new King.

Her parents were quite pleased and allowed Hana return almost immediately when the offer was received. With Kristina gone and Kiara as the future queen they saw a perfect opportunity for her return. When back in Cordonia she spent her time working with Drake to find Tariq and hopefully Kristina. Several “potential matches” Kiara knew that would appease Hana’s parents gave them time for their search. Maxwell showed his concern for Hana, but Hana knew she would deal with the consequences from her parents. She also thought a real match might be possible since there was no more pressure to marry a prince. Really she desperately wanted her best friend back and to happy together more than anything. What Hana kept to herself was the hope that she might be able to stay as Kiara had briefly mentioned a place for her in the palace. It was allowed for Drake, why not her too?

Once they had finished eating Hana explained the events of the Royals since Kristina was dragged out of the palace. Some parts Maxwell knew, as there news that was impossible to escape from with Bertrand around. For instance, Liam had chosen Lady Kiara, a surprise to all for certain, for his queen. More surprising was that the King Father was quite happy with the match. With her intelligence, diplomatic background, communication abilities, and her father’s connections Lady Kiara brought more to the position of queen than any of the other suitors. Plus she had, what Liam sensed of the remaining suitors, the best temperament for the role of his queen. The Queen Mother on the other hand was not as pleased with the match of course, as Madeleine lost the crown for a second, and final, time. Though she couldn't deny the qualities Lady Kiara possessed, which meant ultimately she had no say.

Then Hana began to patiently answer Maxwell's incessant questions on things important to him which he did miss while ignoring his friend’s attempts to contact him. “Hana, has Liam really fallen out of love with Kristina? I mean I find it hard to believe considering all I saw with him in New York, and with her beyond. Bertrand and I were certain he was going to, well going to propose to her.” Maxwell looked at Hana in disbelief. Hana continued, “While Liam was certainly heartbroken losing the chance of possible true love, he still put his country first.” Drake added in a sort of bitter tone, “I don't think there was any surprise in that. Country and responsibilities first. No matter the circumstances, even if the love of his life was literally dragged out of the palace and sent back to America. Of course he would still choose country.”

Maxwell looks out the window before he speaks again. “Yeah Drake, but I still seriously cannot believe he just falls out of love and lets her go. That there was a Prince, going to be King, who seemed to be head over heels for Kristina, but she doesn't end up loving him or wanting him. That she supposedly loved me. Things like this don't happen. Especially for screw ups like me.” Hana saw the hurt the behind his his eyes and lightly put a hand on his knee, while Drake went to the mini bar. “Did I just waste that whole damn plane ride. You got off the plane on cloud nine and now we're basically back to square one. I need whisky.” Drake just shakes his head. Hana turns sharply to Drake while in a calm, even voice. “What, do you expect Drake. That Maxwell, who is just processing all of this would immediately suspend all his disbelief and uncertainty. Don't we all question the prospect of love even if we are hit with it by a two by four?” Drake turns to the window, “Fine, fine. Just get on with this.”

Hana continues. “With Kiara’s abilities made obvious to court, and figuring that he and Kiara were amiable, Liam decided that there was no way to know what the future could hold for himself and Kiara. She is a lovely woman with fantastic qualities for his Queen. So yes Maxwell, no matter if it was love or infatuation he had with the new possibilities of love I can believe that he chose Kiara honestly.” Maxwell contemplated the answers he was given and went to his next question. “So, if we find Tariq, get him to give the statement and convince Kristina to come home, how are we certain this works…” he hangs his head, “…for her and me?” Drake takes this one, “You don't. Who ever does, but if you give up after all I’ve done up to this point I will leave you here in LA, and have you find your own way back home. So quit the moping again, and just press on with all of this.” Hana sighs, “While Drake has a somewhat harsh and tangled point, we do just have to go by faith. But we know you love her, and as her best friend I truly believe in my heart that I’m right about her loving you.”

Hana continues. “ I can't deny that Liam will always hold a special place in his heart for Kristina, but things do change with time. Much to our surprise, Kiara amazed him by understanding his need for Kristina in his life. Not to be mistaken as any kind of “arrangement”, but Kiara sees a friendship for both Liam and herself with Kristina.” Maxwell interrupts, “But why? That makes no sense. Well, none of this sounds believable. Especially when there are kings and queens involved. How can I even have a place in this story? So Kiara is just ok with all this, and Liam accepts it all?” Drake looks at Hana and thinks to himself, How on earth is this woman so patient with him? “Maxwell, during the Social Season Kiara became to enjoy Kristina, and even formed an alliance with her. She also saw the bond that we,” Hana points to the three of them, “that we all share. Plus she is not a fool. She saw the spark in Kristina's eyes whenever you were together. You've got to admit you two spent pretty much everyday together. Reading people and their body language is kind of a major part of the diplomatic side of her. And with that Kiara doesn't see Kristina a threat. Plus, if we get Kristina back to you, we all benefit. That works for a woman with a diplomatic mind, like Kiara.”

Maxwell thinks for awhile, trying to believe all this information. Finally Drake breaks in, “Beaumont, I need more whiskey, so think on your own time. I say we walk the area to see where we are in reference to the locations we have for Tariq and then find a bar. With lots and lots of whiskey.” The two agree with him and leave the hotel. While Hana and Drake look at maps on their phones and discuss where they will start the search in the morning, Maxwell drops behind them with his mind going in a thousand different directions which are on top of the normal thousands of thoughts he has all the time. So, I need to try. Going home now would just be wrong, right? Yeah, I can do this. It may actually work out, and I’m already here and can't sit back anymore or I lose her for sure. Ok. Drake is right…I’m pressing on.

#the royal romance #choices trr #choices the royal romance #maxwell x mc #maxwell beaumont x mc #maxwell beaumont #trr maxwell x mc

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ishouldprobablybewriting · 7 years ago

Text

Heavy Hitters- Chapter Two

Heavy Hitters: Outlaw Country pt 2

Sara convinces an old friend to join the Waverider team- as research and tech guru only, or so she said. As the newbie struggles to adjust to the team and the team struggles to adjust to her, Sara is playing a different game all together. One the new girl might not like too much.

Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow (or Flash or Arrowverse since it’s Mick Rory, but specifically LoT)

Pairing: Mick Rory x Plus Size OFC (cause Mick totally likes thick ladies)

Word Count: 3909

Tags/Warnings: Language, Cannon violence

Part one | Masterlist

A/N: Bit more action in this one. And a lot more Emily. Starts out with 2x6: Outlaw Country and follows it almost word for word with the new OC of course. Still not much interaction between Emily and Mick in this one. The next one will be much more action packed. And prolly up within the week. Maybe this weekend. I’ve actually got most of the rest of this chapter typed. At nearly 9k words it just seemed to long so I decided to cut it in half. Lemme know what you think.

It didn't take too long for everyone to suit up again. Emily made sure to check on the professor before the others left. She found him in one of the engineering work rooms tinkering with something on a desk she couldn’t quite see. He had books spread out open to various pages and was hunched slightly with his back to her. She could just barely make out his voice as he mumbled, talking himself through whatever problem. She smiled softly. “Professor?” Emily called, her voice low. He still jumped.

“Huh? Wha-?” He turned finally catching her eye, “Ah, yes. Ms. Kyteler. What can I do for you?”

“Emily is fine, Professor.” He smiled at her and she knew he’d ignore her like he did the last dozen or so times she had corrected him. She took a step closer, careful not to invade his personal space. “I wanted to check on you. Jax said you weren’t feeling alright.”

Stein huffed lightly making a mental note to thank Jax for covering for him. “Yes, yes, dear. No need to worry. Liberty 1874 is just a young man’s town, that’s all. And I’m feeling a bit strange today. Thought it best to let the others handle this.”

Emily nodded. “Well, Pluto ‘ere is good company if you need it,” she gestured to the medium sized white dog with too-intelligent eyes sitting patiently at her feet as always. His ears perked up when she looked down to him. The click click click of his nails echoed slightly in the empty room before Pluto settled next to the desk the Professor was working on. “And, he’s really good at problem solvin’. Always helps me work mine out.” She looked back up and met the older man’s stare. Emily always like that no matter how much his irritation showed on his face, his eyes and words always seemed to be kind to her. She was sure it had something to do with her being a younger woman- and not an assassin. He treated Amaya the same way. She smiled fully at him, “Alright, then. An’ just for the record,” she started, her grin skewing itself and eyes growing mischievous, “You an’ I both know you could prolly handle half the men in that town by yourself.”

He laughed at her as she turned on her boot heels and strode quickly towards the bay doors to meet up with the others.

Finally as the group arrived in Liberty, the Waverider crew was struck by just how empty it had become. There were still a handful of people, maybe a dozen, milling around but it looked mostly like older shop owners and their porch dogs.

Emily looked around hummed lowly. “Or all of them.” She caught the questioning look Mick gave her. She let a nervous smile twitch onto her face and shook her head quickly before ducking slightly and looking around again.

“Where is everybody?” Clearly Jax, at the front by Hex, noticed the same emptiness.

Hex grumbled a bit. “Well, ever since Turnbull set up shop six months ago, everyone’s been run outta town or made ta work in the mine.”

“Mine?” Mick stepped forward, “What kinda mine? Gold?” Emily rolled her eyes as a corner of her mouth turned up.

“Hell if I know.”

“Nobody’s been mining for gold near these parts for half a century,” Nate recited as he watched a man on a horse walk closely by. “Listen to me, ‘these parts’. I sound like I’m a cowboy.” He couldn’t keep the boyish excitement out of his voice.

“He must of pulled something from under the ground that’s makin’ him rich- Turnbull owns the saloon.” Ray pointed out.

Hex spoke up as he continued to lead the group through the all but barren brown on slightly lighter brown landscape, “An’ hotel, laundry and the whorehouse.”

Sara didn’t skip a beat, “The answers ‘no’, Mick.”

The group slowed to a stop with Hex in front of a building, “Turnbull’s gotta office above the saloon.” He shot Sara a look, “He’s also got about a dozen men makin’ sure no one gets close to ‘im.”

“Well, I think we can.” Sara dug a hand into her pocket as she faced her crew. “Mick,” she tossed something at him, “Why don’t you mosey on in there- have yourself a good time?” Mick looked slightly confused for a second, instantly realizing that Sara had just tossed him a small bag full of coins used in the town. And was asking him to go blow it all on liquor. Emily smiled to herself as she caught onto Sara’s plan.

He wasn’t about to ask questions though. “If you insist.” Emily watched him walk into the saloon before Sara could change her mind.

Amaya, ever the voice of reason, questioned Sara, “I'm not sure I understand you plan. You just sent a match to a powder keg.”

“That is the plan,” Emily answered quietly.

Sara nodded. “And if Turnbull doesn't want his saloon to burn down, he's gonna have to come out of his office and deal with it.” Jax started nodding along, grinning in agreeance with the plan.

“Yeah, get your boy to get into a fight with Turnbull and pull ’im out here to the streets.” Hex suggested.

Seems everyone’s catching up now. Emily lips pulled up again, not quite into a smile.

“Amaya,” Sara continued, “Your job is to make sure Rory keeps his pistol in his pants until he’s outside.”

“Well. Clearly, I drew the short straw,” she sassed at Sara as she walked towards the saloon.

Emily glared a bit after her, lips pursed slightly. That’s no way to think of your teammate.

Jax stepped forward. “So, what do you want us to do?”

“Reckon I could set up close with a long gun,” Ray spit on the ground.

“Are you chewing tobacco?” Nate asked.

Rays eyebrows lifted, “Mm. Tootsie roll.”

“Get rid of your hats, and your guns,” Sara ordered.

“What?” Jax followed his orders anyways, but not before spinning his gun on his finger. “I thought we were supposed to be badass cowboys.” He aimed his gun dramatically.

“You boys wanna know why Turnbull went from a cattle wrestler to owning his own country? Imma need you to infiltrate his base of operations.”

“As what?” Nate was less than impressed with this prospect.

Sara raised her eyebrows and grinned. “No one says no to the tax man.”

All three echoed a small groan. Emily held back a laugh.

Once the three boys were sent towards Turnbull’s accountant, Emily stepped closer to her companions. They were in a comfortable silence for a few beats, simply waiting on the powder keg of Mick in a saloon to explode. Hex looked between the two women. “What? You useless or something?”

Emily eyed him for a second. The turned and shot a look to Sara. “Or something,” Emily shrugged at Hex. He stared at her before shaking off his confusion and falling into companionable silence with the women.

At the accountant’s office, the boys, looking slightly less rough around the edges now, introduced themselves to a nervous, well-dressed man with round glasses. “Ya’ll tax collectors?”

Nate smiled reassuringly, “We’re here to go over your books and make sure everything’s in order.”

“And we’re in a bit of a hurry so, uh...” Jax rushed.

Ray confirmed, “Yes, we're on the next train back to Washington,D.C.”

The accountant looked even more confused. “Well, there ain't no train to Washington. Pass won’t be open til spring.” he nodded at Nate. Nate in turn smiled and forced out a laugh preparing to cover Ray’s blunder.

“He means mule train.” Ray grit hit teeth but didn’t disagree. “This guy.”

Nate walked through the threshold of the office. “How'd we go from desperado to accountant?”

“Well at least Micks having fun,” Jax grumbled following in after him.

“Stuck here doing research while everyone else is out drinking,” Nate complained, pulling open a random drawer. “It's like high school all over again.”

Mick made a beeline for the bar. He slapped a coin on the wood and ordered a beer. A well- if not over- dressed woman at the end of the bar made eyes on the large gruff man. Amaya walked up and stood between them. It was clear she wasn’t happy with her assignment. Mick looked at Amaya. “Make it two,” he sighed.

The bartender gave them both a look. “You’re with him?”

“Unfortunately,” she nodded.

The boys continued to, as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, tear apart the office. Ray was closing a cabinet when he looked over and noticed a tan book, “Ledger” written diagonally across the cover. He opened the cover and took a quick look at some of the pages before calling for the others. “Guys, I think I found something. According to this ledger, Turnbull's stockpiling some kind of ore in a nearby mining camp.” He snapped the book closed as heavy footsteps turned the corner. Two large, armed men walked into the room.

Jax’s face pulled as the men looked at them, trying to scare the time travelers. “And you are?”

“I work for Mr. Turnbull.” Ray noticed a third man enter from the other door, effectively surrounding them as the first man spoke. “Who’re you?”

Ray cleared his throat. “My friends and I are with the Internal Revenue Service-”

“Uh-uh-uh. Mr Turnbull don’t like no taxmen.”

“Well nobody likes paying taxes,” Nate's voice dropped just a bit, “But they are an essential part of the Federal Government. And-”

“Mister Turnbull don’t like the Federal Government, neither.”

Jax tried a different approach. “Is that why he’s trying to start his own country?” It may not have been the best approach.

The man in front squinted at the “IRS agents” while the other two pulled deep frowns. “Oh see, now. Why’d ya have to go and say something’ like that?” He pulled his pistol from its position and made a show of cocking it as the other two men raised their guns as well. “Now I gotta pump some lead into ya so ya don’t go blabbin’ to the wrong person.” His eyes grew a little, making him look crazy.

“Hey, hey,” Nate tried to reason, “Would you shoot an unarmed man?”

The three hired men laughed amongst themselves. “I think that’s a ‘yes’.” Ray said just before all three leaped into action.

Jax lead the charge. He threw a mean right hook and caught the bearded man straight on knocking him down and unconscious. Nate didn’t wait for Jax to even stand and he leapt over both bodies to knock out another one before he could get away. Ray lunged to his right and too out one holding a rifle with strong left punch.

All three stood and smiled at each other, impressed with what they had done.

Hex wasn’t very good at waiting patiently for Rory to pick a fight. He walked across to the laundry. The saloon was still within eyesight but at least there was some shade and a place to sit. He crossed his arms and Emily sat stiffly beside him, while Sara stood a few steps aways. Each kept their eyes on the saloon.

“So what’s your relationship with Turnbull?” Sara asked.

“Come again?” Hex finally looked from the door. Sara turned and joined him at the table.

“Well, you’ve had dealings over the years.” She sat on the other side of Hex. “I can tell a vendetta when I see one. Kinda an expert when it comes to revenge.”

Hex looked towards Emily, just to look away from Sara and her truth. Emily just nodded along, agreeing with Sara’s statement. Hex huffed. Damn fillies “Is this what it's like- working with a woman?” Sara turned to face him more now. Emily turned her head and raised a challenging eyebrow. “Ya’ just, sit around and talk about your feelings?” Hex wouldn’t look either of them in the eye.

“Well, if your feelings are what almost got you hung- then yeah. I’d say they’re worth talking about.”

Hex finally looked Sara in the eye. “Not in this century,” he whispered.

While these three waited for Mick to finish his party, the other trio had swapped clothes with the unconscious outlaws. Though, Jax did find it a little creepy that they apparently had to undress unconscious men.

“Well,” started Nate, walking through the threshold to join the other two, “Now that we got some outlaw outfits, it’s time to find out what Turnbull’s stockpiling at his mining camp.”

“Or we can do the responsible thing and go back to the ship with the rest of the team,” Ray offered, hat in hand.

Nate scoffed lowly. “You’re joking, right?”

The three stared at each other for a tense moment. Ray cracked first, a smile lighting his face as he put his hat on his head. “Time to cowboy up!”

Jax hit his shoulder and they laughed before Jax turned out the door. Ray and Nate slapped each other on the arm a few too many times to be just friendly before following suit.

The dealer laid down cards in front of Mick, a pretty blonde on his lap and Amaya beside him with a bottle in her hand. The pianist continued to play some jonty old tune to fill the bar along with the sounds of other patrons drinking and talking. He flipped over one card- an ace of diamonds- and sighed dramatically. “Ahh…” His smug smile gave him away to anyone who knew him. Mick never smiled like that. Not unless he was planning something.

“Another blackjack,” the dealer commented as he continued placing cards on the table.

“Must be my lucky day!”

Amaya leaned in, “You’re cheating.”

“I’m winning.” He tossed back the shot in front of him. Mick handed the whore that had just gotten off his lap a bill. “Sweetheart, that's for you.” She giggled and took it smiling at him. “I’ll see you around.” He wasn’t done sharing his wealth yet. “Piano man!” Mick slapped another bill on the wooden top of the instrument, “Play something else.” He continued past the musician. “I’ve had more fun at a funeral.” He hit his hand on the bar top a few times. “Bartender!” Loud and obnoxious, this was the Mick Rory the Waverider crew knew and, well, kind of loved.

He turned to the older man beside him at the bar who had started giving him a strange curious look. The man's white eyebrows drawn up as he took a small step back to appraise the unfamiliar man. “And who might you be?” Mick roughed, turning up his glass again.

“Names Turnbull.”

Mick looked unimpressed. “Never heard of him.”

“That’s my name on the sign in front’a the saloon.” Turnbull’s unbelieving face never wavering. “Can’t you read?”

“Ha Ha Ha. So it’s your money I’m winning? Well, that's interesting.” Mick plucked his ever-present lighter from his pocket and took a bill from the bar top. He made a show of flicking open the lighter and bringing it slowly to the corner of the money.

Amaya, who had been watching from her seat, groaned silently. Mick always knew what buttons to push. Then again, that

why Sara sent him into the saloon to begin with.

“I’d say your luck ‘as run out, partner.” Turnbull quipped.

Mick paid no mind, by now transfixed on the golden flame. He broke his gaze and dropped the now useless money.

“Ya’ just gonna stand there and make threats?” Mick challenged. Amaya silently got up. She positioned herself closer, ready to back up her crewmate if necessary. ”Or ya’ gonna do something ta back it up?”

Both men took a step back, reaching for the pistols on their hips.

“Amaya,” Sara’s voice crackled over the coms, “What’s going on in there?”

She pressed her finger to her ear and turned slightly from the piano player. “You wanted Mick to start a fight. Looks like your plans working.”

As the now properly- or rather improperly- dressed trio made their way into the mining camp, dirty bandanas covering their faces to help them blend in more, Jax groaned loudly. “Man, people didn’t wash in the wild wild west?” He could hardly handle the stench of the stolen clothes they were now baking in.

“Well, we’re criminals, remember? It's important to smell the part,” Ray reasoned.

An older outlaw dressed in all black, save his off white bandana tied around his neck, looked up as the boys walked into the camp. He stood from his spot by a fire pit. “Hey boys, we got company,” he alerted the other outlaws as he grabbed his gun. He aimed it directly at Nate.

Jax crossed his arms in a challenging stance. Ray and Nate held their ground, not even blinking. All three played their parts to perfection hoping this would work and they wouldn’t get shot all to hell in a time when “modern medicine” was “puttin’ a lil’ dirt on it”.

“I dun’ reck-on-ize you,” the man drew.

Nate thought fast, “Ah well that’s probl’y because’a our new bandana.” He pointed to his face.

The outlaw looked towards Ray. “This one off ‘is rocker?” He gestured towards Nate.

Ray just shrugged. He lowered his voice deeply, “You could blow ‘is brains out,” Nate sent him a questioning glare. “Only, he hasn’t got any.”

Apparently, the play worked. The outlaws laughed loudly and patted Nate roughly on the shoulder and back before walking off.

Nate returned the favor to Ray. “Nice work.”

Back on the ship, Professor Stein walked into the medbay with a slight limp. “Gideon, let's run the neuro-imaging scan again. Th-There must be something you missed,” He asked taking a seat in the second chair. Pluto, who wouldn’t listen to the professor’s command to “stay put and leave him alone” stopped just after the first chair, careful to be out of the way but still obviously present despite the dog’s silence.

“The odds that I misdiagnosed your condition are infinitesimally thin,” the AI litted. “The algorithm programmed into my medical diagnostic systems-”

“Oh just do it,” the professor grumbled.

“As you wish, professor.” She fired up the scanner and its blue lights came to life with a soft whir. He breathed heavily while the machine completed its short scan. “Biometric scan reveals all brain functions are within normal parameters. Physiologically, there's nothing wrong with you.”

“A-are you implying that my symptoms are psychosomatic?” He got up from the chair, “Because- ah-” A splitting pain ripped through the professor’s brain. He tried to breathe through the pain and pressed his hand to his head, closing his eyes as images of a young woman flashed through his mind. She had short brown hair and bright blue jacket and smiled at brightly at him like he was her world. He could hear her laughter. Stein’s breathing became labored and he sunk back down into the chair. “Please,” he gasped, “I need you to run another test, again.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. The lights began to glow again as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly.

Nate, Ray and Jax grabbed lanterns and began exploring the open, and surprisingly not guarded at all, mine shaft. Jax shuffled through a few papers on a crate as they passed but nothing stood out. Ray went to one side to investigate an open crate. A large glittering rock poked up from the edge of the wood. Multiple, small dark points caught the light from Ray’s lantern as he stepped closer. A look of realization crossed his face when he recognized the rock. “Oh my God.”

Nate continued looking while Jax stepped over to see what Ray found, “What is it?”

“It’s dwarf star.” His eyebrows up, eyes wide and a small smile on his face as he spoke, “One of the rarest minerals in the universe.”

“How does this help Turnbull take over the west?” Nate asked.

“I used dwarf star to power the A.T.O.M. suit. The piece I had was the size of your little finger!” he exclaimed. “There's enough potential energy here to power the entire wild west!”

“Or blow it up,” Jax reasoned, eyes cutting to Ray.

“Question is, how does Turnbull even know what it is?”

Nate took a few steps forward towards another crate with another large ore sitting inside. And a glass disk with two white rectangles on either side, no bigger than the size of his palm, sitting on top. “Bet ya’ it has something to do with this.” Nate picked up the device and beeped as it came to life showing a red grid with a large “X” in the center of the crosshairs. The device glowed as he showed it to his teammates. Somehow Turnbull had gotten his hands on future technology. And was using it to his advantage, apparently.

“Its some kind of tracker,” Nate explained, “Definitely not from the 1800’s.”

“Probably stole it from a time pirate,” Jax reasoned.

“We’ve gotta get this out of here.” Ray didn't waste time waiting for confirmation from his teammates as he turned to leave.

Jax sat down his lantern and squatted to pick up the box with the dwarf star. He tried lifting it, groaning a bit under the strain.

Ray turned back, “Oh, I should have mentioned- it’s also the densest material in the universe.” Ray shrugged a bit as Jax glared at him. “Let's get the rest of the team.”

“Amaya,” Sara called, still sitting on the table with Emily and Hex, “Its been forever. What the hell is going on in there?”

Amay pours herself a drink before she answers. “Plans hit something of a snag.”

That didn’t sound right to Sara. “Explain.”

“It’s hard to but,” she paused, “Mr Rory and Mr Turnbull,” Amaya glanced back watching Mick and Turnbull laughing at a table over a bottle of something, “like each other.” The men clicked their glasses together before downing the shot.

“What?” Sara hissed. “What happened to Rory starting a fight?” Mick Rory never turned down a fight.

Amaya tilted her head, “I think it's more likely that him and Turnbull get matching tattoos.” She took a sip of her own liquor, needing something to handle this situation.

Mick’s gruff voice was loud in the busy bar. “So they told me to put my hands up,” he raised his hands mimicking the action, “And my pants fell down,” he lowered his hands smoothly as Turnbull let out a booming, cracking laugh, “Because a’ all the loof I was carryin’!” Mick joins Turnbull in his loud laugh; Turnbull laughed hard enough to make himself cough a bit.

Turnbull gestures a pointing finger towards the door then towards Mick, “Ya’ see! That’s what them damn fools back in Washin’ton don’ understand! That men like you an’ me,” his hand flew wildly between the two of them, “We weren’t meant ta live in cages!” Micks eyes had gone a bit wide making him look a little crazier than usual with the small frown on his face. “Hell!” Turnbull continued, “Tha’s why our forebarers busted away ta begin with! So we could be free!” Mick nodded in agreeance, “An’ that's wha’ Turnbull Country’s all about!” He leaned in about on the table, Turnbull finally lowering his voice back to a normal talking level, “It’s about keeping the wild west, wild!”

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! I’d be up to start doing that especially since my upload schedule is not consistent at all.

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blue--green · 7 years ago

Text

FAQs

GENERAL

You didn’t write back to me! Yes I know and I am SO sorry! Believe me – it’s not you. I never stop writing to someone because of them – if I don’t want to write to you, I will tell you. I stop writing because I am mentally ill and sometimes (more often than I’d like) the world gets on top of me.

Why do you have anon on? anon hate, babe. But I’m shy and I want to send you a message… Send it anyway! Just tell me not to post it, and unless you’re being a dick to me, I won’t. But please understand that I might not reply. Not because of you! But because I just don’t always have it in me to reply. I have literally hundreds of messages in my inbox and dozens of unanswered personal messages. It’s killing me – you all deserve answers. I’m mentally ill. Sometimes I just can’t. And just know that I can’t remember my own birthdate or how to spell my surname – there is nothing you could send me more embarrassing than that!

WRITING

You’re a writer? Yes and I have had some things published under a pseudonym that I will never reveal – don’t bother asking. But that was a long time ago. I write fanfic and my own original work as well. Here’s a masterpost of what I’ve put up online and here’s my AO3 I’m not the greatest writer, but I do love writing.

Will you tag me in your writing? Yes but only if you like one of my tagging posts. Please don’t just tell me to tag you on the end of one of my stories – I’m terrible at keeping track of everything, so those posts are my way of doing it. - Here’s the post to like if you want to be tagged in everything I write (this has links to all the other pages too) - Here’s the post to like if you want to be tagged in my MMFD writing only - Here’s the post to like if you want to be tagged in my Skyrim writing only - Here’s the post to like if you want to be tagged in my Elsa stories only

Are you ever going to finish X story? Yes. My brain is run by a dozen angry goblins who fight and squabble over who gets to drive the meat sack body at any given time. Each one of these goblins has their own idea for a story and they won’t shut up until it’s completely done. However sometimes one goblin is more in control and sometimes another goblin is more in charge - and I have no choice but to listen to whatever goblin is in charge. I always finish every story I start – it just takes varying degrees of time. I’m usually working on at least half a dozen different stories at any given time – it’s the way my brain is – I have to get the stories out.

I love your OC can I do a faceclaim? Please please please do! tag me in it. I love seeing who you think would play them in a movie / tv series. I generally love all faceclaims unless you whitewash my oc. Generally the race of my oc’s can’t be changed because it matters to their identity and the way the world treats them. but if you are wanting to change the race of my characters – don’t whitewash.

I head cannon your oc as trans / queer / not-white AWESOME! Tell me all about it!! Love it!

I have this little head cannon drabble about your oc… Write it and send it to me – I bet I’ll love it! I get so excited for this stuff!! If you decide to post it, just link back to the work of mine you got inspired by!

How do you come up with ideas? How do you write so much, so fast? I honestly don’t know. my head is a jungle (with goblins in it). I often wonder how people don’t write like me - how do you keep all this noise in your heads?! (But apparently not everyone has this much noise in their heads.) I have a lot of insomnia and night terrors – some of my ideas come from those. \ But some just come from the goblins in my head. And for writing I just – plant the seeds and let the characters take me where they will. Sometimes they go places I didn’t expect. I might have a trellis set up for them, but it sometimes (often) grows elsewhere and I have to move my trellis. It’s why my stories are so messy and long. I just trust myself / my head / my shitty typing fingers to tell the stories.

Why do you write so many love triangles? I know – that evil love triangle trope! I hate them. if I have to see one more conventionally attractive, thin, white, woman in a love triangle I might punch someone named Jennifer… Yes we get it – the skinny white girl is what every man wants and no one has ever heard of a healthy polyamorous relationship - ever! BUT! there are women out there that are never told that they are beautiful or desirable. Big women (fat or muscular). Women of colour. Disabled women. etc. I like seeing them be loved by lots of people. Sometimes that ends up in some poly love. Sometimes it ends up in a love triangle or love circle or love square or whatever. I want women that are never seen in positions of being loveable and desirable to see that in my writing.

Why do you write about so many traumatic things? I may have experienced a little trauma in my life. Writing about traumatic things is free therapy for me. I try to do it in a responsible way.

Why do you write about bigotry etc so much? Because it exists in the world and I refuse to pretend it doesn’t or that it isn’t evil. I’ve experienced bigotry, I’ve witnessed it, I want bigotry to die in a ditch. As with trauma, I try to write about it in a responsible way.

How do you write such great sex? 1. I write what turns me on. 2. I’m not embarrassed by sex or by being turned on or by my own lusty thoughts. 3. I’ve had a lot of sex and sometimes (a little too often) I just write something I’ve already done.

Why do you never edit your stories? My brain can’t focus on that – I have to get the next story out. I try not to make too many typos, but I know I do make them and I’m sorry.

Can I make a donation to you? I am so poor – yes please!!! I made one of those ‘Buy Me a Coffee’ accounts - here

PERSONAL

You’re sick? What happened? Are you ok? I had a staph infection (beginning of September 2017) and it went through my whole body and I went into multi-organ failure (heart and lungs). I’ve been in and out of hospital and am still quite sick, but I’m also on the mend. Photos of me in December 2017 with my oxygen thingy Name? Emma. Star sign? Scorpio

What’s your personality type? Here’s a bunch of tests I took and results: MBTI - INFP-T 4 Temperaments – melancholic Hogwarts House – Ravenclaw Moral Alignment – Chaotic Good RHETI (Enneagram) – Types 1,2 & 4 were tied and all apply to me. Type 5 was also tied, but applies a little less.

Country ‘Straya mate (Australia)

Do you have any pets? A kitty named Vincent – he’s the best.

Age? Probably older than you (in my late 30s.) If you’re a minor and you don’t want me to follow you – just let me know.

Relationship status? well after ten years with a guy named ben, he cheated on me for a year with a girl literally 20 years younger then me, and less than a month after he’d dumped me he went overseas with her to celebrate their 1 year anniversary. he left me while he was my sole care (multi-organ failure and severe mental illness) and the only source of income and also while i was at high risk of suicide. he told me he loved me every day of our relationship - even on the day he left me. i thought we would be together for the rest of our lives, i believed in our vows and working through our problems, but on the last day of 2017, he ended it all. needless to say 2018 has been pretty fucking shitty. i am at risk of homelessness and i have zero income and i’m sick as fuck. thanks ben.

sexuality? I realised I was bisexual when I was about 15. In my late 20s when I heard of pansexual I found that I liked it and it applied to me, but I couldn’t let go of bisexual. So I kept it. they are both mine mwahahahaha – oh those greedy bi’s! also happy to be called queer. and on that topic - every word in the mouths of those that hate us is a slur. i will not give them back ‘queer’ when i spent so long claiming it as mine. they don’t get to control me.

Are you actually fat? Some of your pics don’t make you look fat? It’s just angles. Last time I got weighed I was 188 kilos (414 pounds) – that was at fertility doctor’s office and she told me that I shouldn’t’ be allowed to have kids cos I was fat, that fat women produced malformed kids, and likened fat parents to abusive parents. Awesome day – I didn’t at all cry on that day. Not once. I put on a bit of weight then lost some since then, so I have no idea how much I weigh now and I don’t care. I follow Health at Every Size principles and since I’ve been doing that my health has improved so much over what it was when I was hating myself and trying to lose weight. Even my doctor admits that and he was staunchly against me quitting dieting and going HAES. Now I’m trying to love myself. And for reference – here are the pics of me

Don’t you know that you’re killing yourself being fat? I didn’t know being skinny made you immortal?? Amazing! Fuck off. Or if you want to educate yourself on why I think the way I do – start here (big fat science)

You’re mentally ill? Yep. Diagnosed by doctor and psychologist (although I did self diagnose beforehand. I was right so *shrugs*)

I have - C-PTSD (formally diagnosed as PTSD because C-PTSD is not recognised by the DSM, but my shrink thinks it should be and thinks I have C-PTSD), depression, anxiety, agoraphobia, depersonalisation disorder, pain disorder, excoriation disorder, claustrophobia, nyctophobia and a bunch of other things - she actually just had to write a massive letter to support me getting a disability pension - there was so much stuff on it! i’m messed up apparently!

It’s super fun being me.

How did you get PTSD? (C-PTSD) Boy is that a story!

My half-brother Is ten years older than me raped me repeatedly when I was a child – until I was about 12 – my earliest memory is when I was about 4 and I was pleading with my parents to not make me go camping in the back yard with him alone, because I knew he’d do it to me again – but I told them it was because I was afraid of the dark. I told my mother when I was 10 years old what he was doing – I said he ‘got on top of me and went up and down and it hurts’ – she didn’t believe me. It kept happening. He also like to lock me in dark closets for hours and he tried to set me on fire a few times. Fun times (sarcasm)

My father Huge temper problem – like to use his belt to beat me – my half-brother would sometimes protect me and take the beating for me. Wanna guess how much that messed me up? One time he nearly strangled me to death for wearing too many necklaces (which according to him made me look like a slut) – my mother had to pull him off me as I passed out He had a problem with me closing doors – my bedroom, the bathroom… which wasn’t a problem until I went through puberty. Then he’d comment on how my body was changing – my breasts coming in, my pubic hair etc and of I was beautiful yet (I wasn’t – I never was) Always made me feel a bit icky when he hugged me, like he was copping a feel, squeezing too tight – those sorts of things. But I always distrust these memories. Bottom line – I don’t like believing all this bad shit about my dad. so I always try to minimise it. Every time my mum did something bad to me and I asked him to protect me, he’d agree she was wrong, but tell me he loved her more than me so I was on my own. The first time I remember him telling me that – I was 7. Calls my mother stupid and hard to live with, constantly puts her down to her face and to me. Punched holes in walls when I upset him. Told me doing drugs was fun – when I was 10. Guess who did a lot of drugs? Me. Verbally harangues and abuses me to this day. My current partner says that’s he very demeaning and terrifying when he gets going. Makes excuses about his horrible child-hood giving him temper issues. He’s been telling me horror stories from his childhood since I was a kid – it was too much for a kid to deal with. When I told him (as an adult) what my half-brother did to me he said he hadn’t known and if he had he would have done something – he agreed to never mention my half-brother’s name again or talk about him to me, and to try and get mum to comply – I’d been asking them for years to stop talking about him to me. I had a shining moment of feeling like I had an actual real father for once. And then a few weeks later he told me that my step-brother had been raped by his father as a child and it messed him up. I said it didn’t excuse what he did to me. So he went on to say that when he (as in my father) was a kid, his father had raped all of his sisters, and since he was the only boy, he wondered why his daddy didn’t love him. Then he started naming my rapist repeatedly. I’m not sure what he was trying to say with all of this – but it painfully reminded me that I in fact do not have a real father.

My mother Was an alcoholic (sober now), who beat me, made me do all the housework (and she liked the place to be hospital clean – I was doing housework from about 5 or 6 years old), told me in detail about her sex life, and then her lack of sex life when her and dad stopped having sex (they stopped having sex when I was 16), emotionally manipulated me, used guilt constantly – even to this day, screamed and cried at me constantly… lots of emotional and mental abuse at her hands.

Fun family. My therapist said I was surrounded by three abusers and had no safety except when one of my abusers chose to protect me from one of my other abusers. It’s left me with a few problems. To say the least. I moved out at 18 by marrying a guy so I could get the fuck away from my parents. He was emotionally distant and judgemental of my sexuality. I stayed with him far too long because he was safe in comparison to what I’d had so far. I did the strong, repression, that childhood didn’t get me down until I was in my 20s. had lots of sex and friends, did career things I loved in theatre and writing. Eventually needed to make real money do got an office job. Got bullied there. Got into another job. Got bullied there. Ended up having a mental breakdown and all of this stuff came flooding in on me. Because I never had dealt with it all – I’d just repressed it. Now in my 30s I am finally trying to actually deal with it all. I married another guy who i thought was a good guy - who promised me everything. who told me i was safe with him, and that i coudl trust him and that he’d be with me forever. but he cheated on me for a year and dumped me after 10 years together. knowing the trust issues and trauma background i have, he knowingly and willingly added to it by cheating on me and lying to my face for a whole year. so that’s added to my problems! and that’s without going into the details of the problems in the relationship. like i did things sexually for him that i woudln’t have done for anyone else because i felt like i didn’t deserve him. and he knew that... and it kept happening anyway. i need so much therapy!

I have real problems forming normal healthy relationships, but I have built up some close friends around me that I think of as my family, cos fuck my blood my blood relatives. Seriously.

Can I ask you a question about your mental health / trauma? You can, but I might not answer. It depends on where I’m at when you ask, what you’re asking, and how you ask. It also depends on how much anxiety my inbox / messages are giving me – sometimes I just can’t look at it.

If you have any other questions you’d like added to this, send me a message!

I love you all – thank you for reading this!!

#personal #FAQs

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ishouldprobablybewriting · 7 years ago

Text

Heavy Hitters- Chapter One

Heavy Hitters: Outlaw Country pt 1

Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow (or Flash or Arrowverse since it’s Mick Rory, but specifically LoT)

Pairing: Mick Rory x Plus Size OFC (cause Mick totally likes thick ladies)

Word Count: 2806

Tags/Warnings: Language, Cannon violence

A/N: Yall. This shit is legit, just the first ten mins of the episode. Anyways. Starts out with 2x6: Outlaw Country and follows it almost word for word with the new OC of course. Not much interaction between Emily and Mick in this one but more to come soon. Lemme know what you think.

Sara watched the young woman who recently joined their merry band of misfits from the desk in the library. Her arms crossed tight across her chest and the blonde took in the soft figure of the newbie as she spoke quietly with Gideon on her tablet, pulling books here and there.

“I know you’re staring,” the brunette smiled over her shoulder.

Sara chuckled softly and pushed off the desk leaving the Ray and Amaya to discuss Nate’s findings with him. Her accent never seemed to stand out but it never quite let her fit in either, especially with everyone else on their team being from the city. It always made Sara smile, though. Steady steps brought her closer to her friend and the hologram she was talking to. “Adjusting alright?”

The larger woman shrugged a shoulder and twisted her body, “As well as can be expected I s’pose.” She bit the inside of her cheek, a tick Sara knew meant she was her considering her next words carefully. Her green eyes shifted slightly behind Sara, towards the others and back quickly. A small smile on her lips, she spoke softly “I uh… I don’ think the others like me very much.”

“Nah,” she drew, “just gotta give’em time. They’ll get used to you before you know it!” Sara’s easy smile did little to ease her companion.

“You’re wrong, Sara. Sweet, bu’ wrong. They can tell, ya’ know. That I’m not like them, I’m notta fighter-”

“Yes. You are, Emily.” Her voice soft but tone leaving no room for arguing- not that never stopped the other woman before.

“Sure, I am.” Sarcasm clear in Emily’s tone, “ A fighter tha’ don’ fight. Helluva lotta good Imma do when shit goes tits up.”

Sara opened her mouth to rebut when Nate’s machine went off.

Nate rolled dramatically back in his chair, “Saved by the aberration!”

“Oooh! What's the trouble-alert say?”

“I told you not to call it that, Ray,” Sara sighed as she took a few long strides to join them.

“Where’s the problem?” Emily calls, stepping up quickly and standing by Sara.

Nate gives her a sideways glance as he grabs the tablet attached to the machine. “The time quake’s epicenter is Liberty, Colorado, 1874.”

“Huh! Back to the wild west,” Ray beamed.

“You guys were in the old west?” Nate glanced between Sara and Ray.

“Yeah, town made me sheriff.” To his credit, Ray was at least attempting to control his pride.

“That’s cool, huh.”

“Alright,” Sara stood, “Well I will go tell Jax and Stein. Who wants to go tell Rory?”

“Not it” the boys chime, making a swift exit and leaving a confused Amaya and Emily in their wake.

“What?” Emily just shrugged her shoulders at Amaya’s question and turned to seek out Rory. “Okay, guess we’ll do it,” she muttered following Emily out.

While Nate had his hat fabricated, Ray walked in and joined him in the small silver room. Ever nosy, he picked up a folded paper he spotted by Nate’s clothes. “Huh, whats this?”

Nate turned hastily as he heard the paper crinkle, “Oh that's nothing,” taking a quick step towards Ray, “Don’t open- you don’t have to open- and you opened it. Okay.” The paper unfolded to show a rather impressive sketch of a masked superhero with a star on his chest and boots on his feet. “Commander Steel!!” was scrawled beside the character, underlined twice. He placed his hands on his hips and waiting for Rays comments on his drawing.

“Did you draw your own superhero costume?”

Nate shook his head in denial, opening his mouth and shutting it again a few times before he finally got out “Absolutely not- yeah I did. And I only did because when I steel-up my clothes stretch out and they fit all weird and besides,” he still couldn't look at Ray, though, looking at the door seemed an improvement to the floor, “ Don’t I deserve a suit?” He finally chanced a glance at Ray. “I mean, am I just the research guy here or? Ya know. And isn’t that what we have Emily for now?”

“No, no. I- I know what it’s like to be the rookie. Just uh, just follow my lead and you’ll be fine out there.”

That struck a cord in Nate. Specifically, a competitive one. “Well, I know a few things about the old west.”

“Like for instance,” Ray casually cleared his throat, “Nobody says ‘Howdy’,”

“Uh huh,” Nate nodded.

“And uhh… You know how to ride a horse, right?”

“Yeah, I can figure it out.” He waved the revolver in his hand a bit, “Is this loaded?”

Ray mostly held in his scared expression, “Yes.”

“It is? Oh!” Thankfully that was enough for Nate and he put the gun down, shooting a wink at Ray.

Emily knocked softly on the door to Mick’s room, Amaya standing just behind her. “What?” He barked at the opened the door, beer in hand.

Amaya stiffened slightly, still not used to his loud mannerisms. Emily had adjusted to that her first day on the ship. “Nate’s machine found an aberration,” she told him, “Epicenter is in Liberty, Colorado, 1874.”

A large grin split the large man's face, “Hot damn! I love the wild west!” Emily nodded and Amaya give him a questioning look as they both took a step back to leave. Mick chugged the rest of his beer and let out another cheer as the girls walked towards the fabrication room to get dressed themselves.

With everyone suited up and the Waverider successfully hidden away, the seven saddled onto horses and trotted towards the town. Or at least, six of them did. Nate seemed to find horseback riding impossible. “Uh guys, I think my horse is broken!” he cried as they stopped at a clearing overlooking Liberty. Luckily, his horse followed the others regardless.

Emily rolled her eyes a bit and pulled up next to him. “Calm down, Nate. He’s reactin’ to ya nerves.” She reached out and grabbed the reins to steady him. “There. Now tuck your hips a bit and try to keep your balance. You should be fine as long as you don’t spook ‘im. Alright?”

Nate sent her a small but grateful smile.

Mick glanced back at the scene before looking towards Jax, “Where's the professor?”

“Uh, he's feeling a little off.” he covered.

“More whiskey from me.” Mick rasped.

Before he could finish his sentence, the group heard loud hollering from down the hill. “Sounds like a commotion of some kind,” Amaya pointed out.

Sara started to dismount, “Pull back, let's get a better look.” The rest of the team followed suit, Nate with a little annoyed huff, as she grabbed her rifle. The team crept towards the sounds.

Emily kept her footsteps silent. It looked like three men standing around one on a horse with his hands tied and a noose around his neck. “Ha ha!” one let out, “Lookit him up ther’ boys!”

Mick stepped up beside Sara as she pulled out a spyglass. “Ah! It's a hanging!” Emily sent him a short glance, Did he sound happy about this?

Sara watched as one of the men ripped a pale bag from the captive’s head, “Is that Hex?” She lowered the spyglass in disbelief.

Amaya looked from Sara to the man and back, “You know that man?”

“We gotta help him,” she sighed.

“But we gotta take this crew out first,” Jax spoke up.

Ray shook his head slightly, “They look armed.”

“Don’t worry guys, I got this.” Nate stepped up and ran off, Jax glared after him but couldn’t react quick enough to stop him.

Emily hissed, “Nate!” She groaned when he ignored her.

One of the crew- the ring leader, Emily figured- spoke up. “Well, well, well! You look a loooot less mean with tha’ noose around ya’ neck. Don’cha’, Hex?”

Emily couldn’t quite make out what the man- Hex- said, but his voice was deep and rough.

“Looks pretty finished to me!” the ringleader yelled, “Do,’cha’ think boys!” They all laughed loudly, until Hex’s boot caught the man hard in the jaw. Emily spotted Nate walking calmly and purposefully up from behind the horse. “You sonnova bitch!” the man hollered towards Hex.

“You might wanna slow down there,” Nate said, drawing unnecessary attention to himself.

Emily shook her head, Welp. Good thing he can “steel up”.

Taking a few more steps towards the small mob, Nate attempted a terrible “western” accent, “These here parts aren’t big enough for the-” he quickly counted- “five of us.”

Emily and Sara both groaned silently at their teammate.

“Who tha’ ‘ell are you?!” the ringleader sneered.

Hex looked over his shoulder, “What he said.”

“On second thought, I dun’ give a damn!” he screamed as he cocked and aimed his pistol squarely at Nate’s chest. Just as he fired, Nate flinched and brought up his hand, steeling just in time to block the shot. Not to be deterred so easily, the ringleader, along with the rest of his men, continued shooting at the metal man. Nate began to laugh as he continued to block each bullet.

Emily inwardly cringed as each bullet bounced with a high pitched ting and the group looked on to see how Nate handled this.

Unfortunately they couldn’t wait for long, or rather, Hex couldn’t. All the shooting had spooked the horse which ran off without thought of the man on its back. Hex let out a strangled cry as the rope tightened around his neck and he began to swing in the gunfire. Sara cocked her rifle and took aim just above the swinging man. “Hold still, Hex” she muttered as Nate caught a bullet aimed at this head between his teeth and turned back into a flesh and blood man grinning proudly. He spit out the bullet.

Emily pursed her lips at his antics and everyone waited as Sara took her shot, hitting the rope. It wasn’t enough to sever it clean through but it was enough to fray it so the weight of Hex’s squirming body would break what was left. Hex fell to the ground with a loud thump.

Ray smiled at the scene. Mick looked mildly impressed behind Sara, “Nice shot.” Emily nodded silently in agreement.

Hex scrambles to his feet and charges the ringleader knocking him to the ground and kicks him hard when he tried to regain his footing. Nate shows up beside Hex, his shitty accent still in place, “Now you get up on that horse and you ride till you feel like you can’t ride no more,” Hex, still catching his breath, turns to glare at the stranger. Nate continues, “And then,” he cocks his gun waving it enthusiastically and ignoring Hex’s incredulous gaze, “Ya’ ride some more. Now go on! Get!” Nate hollers and fires towards the man’s knees then twice more into the air hooting as the man ran away. He lets out one more holler as he turns to face Hex, “Ooh! Aaahhh- face.”

Hex looks at him openly, “What?” It was a silent dare. One that Nate was at least competent enough to recognize.

“Nothing,” Nate shakes his head pulling a tight expression to keep himself from saying something he shouldn’t, “No, nothing.”

Hex huffs and turns towards the footsteps of the approaching team. “Aw, hell.” he growls. Sara lead the way, her life-saving rifle over her shoulder. “They’re back!”

Sara nodded her head towards him. “Always a pleasure, Jonah.”

“Wish I could say the same. The hell’s wrong now?”

Sara smirked and nodded her head back towards the Waverider. “Hoping you could tell us. Let's head back and chat at the ship.”

The ride back was mostly silent, save Nate gushing as nonchalantly as he could to Ray about how cool his little stunt was. Emily, who Nate was riding with in order for Hex to have his own horse, had half a mind to take off in a canter knowing that Ray probably couldn’t keep up and that Nate would be too terrified to brag. He’d be too busy screaming. The fact that it would have been directly in her ear was the only thing keeping her from doing it.

Their boots clanked against the metal flooring as they walked through the ship. “Saved by a filly,” Hex remarked, “Ain’t that somethin’?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice.” said Sara, half a step in front of him.

“How’d ya’ know I needed savin;?” he asked.

“Because,” her steps slowed as they reached the bridge, “we got an alert that history was about to be changed and the coordinates lead us to your hanging.”

Hex followed Sara into the study as Mick and Amaya joined them, “Well I guess it’s nice to know tha’ I matta’.”

“Leaving already?” Mick gruffed as he walked up the steps with Emily a few steps behind him. “I didn’t get to shoot anybody!”

Emily let out a soft laugh and covered her smile as she took her place by the round table in the center of the room.

Hex looked at some of the new artifacts on the shelves lining the walls and made his way over to the liquor cabinet. “I need a drink.” he muttered. “Where’s Rip?”

Sara’s head whipped towards him then she stole a glance towards the other two women in the room. Amaya gave a soft nod while Emily raised her eyebrow in difference. “Hes MIA.”

“Damn,” he drew, “How the hell’d you miscreants manage not ta get yourselves killed without him?” He picked up his glass as he turned to face the rest of the room.

Amaya narrowed her eyes a bit and straightened her back, “Miss Lance has be serving as captain.”

Hex’s eyes went a little wide as he pointed towards Sara.”But- she a lady.” He looked at her, “You are a lady, right?” Emily liked his deep gravely voice a hell of a lot less when he used it to say stupid shit like that.

Sara tilted her head with her hands on her hips, “Ya’ know know I could take your life just as easily as I saved it, right?” A small smile played on her lips as she blinked up at him. It would have almost looked kind, maybe even innocent.

Emily chuckled biting her thumbnail with a small smile. Even Mick let out a small huff of a laugh from his seat in the corner.

“Oh. Flattery.” Hex raised his drink to his lips, “Looks like this breakers in for a wild ride.” He took an appreciative look at Sara.

“Too bad this filly's into other fillies, right? Ha ha ha ha.” Mick grinned despite his laugh being fake. Emily took a mental note, narrowing her eyes slightly at him, and filed it away for later.

Hex flinched in shock, “Ya’ don’t say?”

Tired of the topic of conversation, Sara rolled her eyes and took it over, “So, how’d you end up in the noose?”

“Well, was collectin’ a bounty on a pissant by tha’ name a’ Quentin Turnbull.” He set down his drink and turned his full attention to the captain.

“As in Turnbull country?” Nate asked jogging up the stairs.

“Never heard of it.”

“Thats because its not supposed to exist.” He help up the thick blue book in his hand. “This book has changed since the last time I saw it. Check this out, Gideon-”

“Right away,” the AI answered.

“Thats a map of the United States from 1876.” Gideon projected an old map onto the screen. The western most third outlined in red with “Turnbull Country” written in bold black letters across it.

“Well that’s not right,” Emily deadpanned under her breath, earning a small laugh from Mick. She looked over her shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow. He took a sip of his beer and maintained eye contact, refusing to back down even from something as small as this. She hummed softly to herself. Interesting. I’ll file that away too, then.

“Alright,” Sara leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk in front of her, “Who’s Turnbull?”

“Some two-bit, yella-bellied, cattle wrestler.”

“Who,” Nate interjected, “controls all the land west of the Rocky Mountains.”

“Looks like we found our aberration,” Amaya stepped closer to the screen.

Hex knotted his brow, “Am I supposed to have the faintest idea what that means?”

“It means that we need to stop Turnbull,” Sara explained, “from taking over the west.”

That got Mick up and out of his seat. He stepped up to the table between Nate and Amaya, “Looks like you got yourself a posse, partner.”

Hex closed his eyes and blinked slowly at his comment. Sara just smiled, finding Hex’s forced cooperation just as funny as everyone else did- save Hex, that is.

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