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#dead plate rod
cupacoat · 3 months
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So I was talking to a friend the other day, and they saw I was randomly scrolling through Dead plate content
They saw a picture of Rody and after staring at him for an approximate 2 seconds they said to me "He looks like a humanized cinnamon toast crunch" and since that moment it has taken my every waking thought.
I knew what I had to do
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art · 1 year
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Creator Spotlight: @scottlava
Scott Campbell has illustrated numerous children’s books, including SKULLS!, Sleepy the Goodnight Buddy, and Zombie In Love. He was author/illustrator of the much-loved HUG MACHINE. He enjoyed a long career in video games, where he art directed the critically acclaimed game Psychonauts and Brutal Legend for Double Fine Productions. Great Showdowns is his ongoing online series. Scott’s work has appeared in galleries and publications around the world. You can see more of his work at ScottC.com.
Check out our interview with Scott below!
How did you get your start in art, and more specifically, with Great Showdowns?
I went to art school in San Francisco and have been painting, making comics, and designing video games ever since with Double Fine Productions. The Great Showdowns began at the first Crazy 4 Cult exhibition at Gallery 1988 in Los Angeles back in 2007, an exhibition of artwork inspired by the cult classics of cinema. The first 10 little paintings were intended to be snack-sized pieces for people to easily collect. They began with perhaps the most iconic of wild west showdowns from A Fistful of Dollars with Clint Eastwood. I pulled some of my favorite moments from films like Ghostbusters, Predator, Exorcist, and Planet of the Apes and placed them all in simple little dust-colored squares as if they were in the dirt streets of a wild west town. They began as good versus evil but grew to all kinds of showdowns between people and objects and often moments of great love between people. I started a tumblr for them a few years later, and I have been posting them ever since. We have published three Great Showdown books and have had 3 solo exhibitions along with worldwide scavenger hunts. There are over a thousand of them up on the site by now, and i do not plan on stopping any time soon.
Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?
I would like to gather Jim Henson, Walt Disney, and Richard Scarry together for dinner and chats. They have all created my favorite and most joyful worlds. I think we would have some of the most delightful chats.
What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?
I love collage, but every time I try it, I get frustrated and just quit. Someday I will get into it when my kids are old enough to really mess around with various mediums. I plan to have boxes of textiles and magazines for them to just annihilate.
What does your work set up look like?
Oh, it’s just a table with an old mug for water and an old plate for my watercolors and not much else. I share a studio with a bunch of very inspiring people who make wonderful things, from fabricated creatures to VR experiences and films. I have probably the simplest little area in the space. I do have an old oak flat file that I love to look at.
Advice you would give to an aspiring creator?
The biggest thing I would push upon everyone would be to not fret about one’s visual style. The style will grow and present itself as you experiment with mediums and expose yourself to various cultural delights. Just have fun and try all kinds of things.
What is one interaction you had from a fan of yours that has stuck with you over the years?
I gave a game design presentation many years back on a game I had art directed at the time called Brutal Legend at a game conference in Leeds. The game followed a roadie to the age of metal in the land of metal, with demons and chrome volcanoes and hot rods growing from the ground, and rivers of happy and cheering fans. After the talk, I spoke with someone whose work I had seen in earlier portfolio reviews at the conference. She was very shy but incredibly talented. She came up to me after the talk feeling pretty emotional and inspired to the point of tears and sobbing. It was probably the most extreme reaction I have ever gotten from someone, and it touched me deep down in my guts. That’s why we make things! To bring on the tears!
From video games, to illustrations, and children's books, you've worked on many projects. What was the most challenging, yet rewarding one?
Video games take an enormous amount of work over a long period of time and rely on the skills and talent of many like-minded people. It is sometimes difficult to corral such an effort, but it is incredibly rewarding to see it all come together to create such epic worlds. That said, though, children’s books are very enjoyable in a cozy way. It’s just me right there working on a world and all the pressure is on me. I cannot rely on all the talented people around me to make it look great.
Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?
I love perusing old fashion and film blogs and artists like Bob Jinx and Neil Sanders and collections like Its Colossal.
Thanks for stopping by, Scott! Be sure to check out the Great Showdowns over at @scottlava!
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crying-fantasies · 4 months
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We'll meet again
Masterlist
"Rod"
"..."
"Please move, I'm getting worried"
"...hm"
"Roddy?"
"Yeah yeah" his ventilation system quicks in, his frame finally giving signals of life, you see at his sides, his pedes, it doesn't seem like he is going to move soon so you take your opportunity and come near him, "I'm online, don't- don't worry"
Most bots are way more delicate when getting near the humans in the ship, always looking where they are going or moving before they acclimate to the tiny lifeforms around, now, Rodimus, is an exception, you've seen him be like this more times than not, half of his body on the berth and the rest on the floor, you don't have to ask anymore, everyone has already told you: "Hot Rod has a problem with high grade" while experiencing it first hand.
Does that stop you from going to him and probably be squeezed under his foot? Not really, you like him, and you want to be with him, even when he keeps on brushing you away when he hits rock bottom again.
"Here", you are holding, dragging, a bag big enough to fit on his servo, full of energon in order to help him get rid of the headach you know is present without asking, this has happened more than once and now you're ready, even encouraging him when he refuses with a whiny sound that puts your nerves on edge, "if you want to feel better then purge that from your system by drinking this".
"You've way too much cruelty on such a tiny body" he finally pleasess you, downing the energon in one go, trying to throw away the bag on the nearest trash deposit in the room, failing by meters and making him groan, covering his face plate with his arms and finally moving along so his back strut could be on the berth properly, "what a pain in the-" ah, he fell to recharge again.
It was best than before, at least, you don't have the power to move him around, way too big for something so squishy as you, there is the option to call out for someone else, but that's out of the question, they would immediately call Thunderclash and while you like and respect your captain to pieces Rodimus has this strange disgust towards him, last thing he would want in the middle of his migraine is to hear or see the captain or, worst, have a reprimand from his part so early in the afternoon, you're sure your captain wouldn't exactly reprimand him but give an inspirational speech, one that Rodimus would still hate with all his soul.
Some people say that what Thunderclash did was the right thing to do, you are grateful, humanity is in verge of extinction, the war has nothing to do with it, no matter how many protestants say otherwise, earth is just changing, faster than before, at first you didn't have any idea of why, no one did, but your captain told you what was really happening and why every new human facilities were topnotch, he expected you all to live fully, happily and without lies on his starship.
Sometimes you wonder if, in these kind of cases, you should talk to him about this, you care for Thunderclash and every bot aboard after all, maybe it would be good to give a few comments here and there on how good it would be to have a grief councilor on the ship, since Rodimus has just got news of the deactivation of a close friend, the memorial ceremony didn't go all that great for what you could guess, he was there just a few minutes and still returned like this.
Still, no matter how good of a mech your captain is, you aren't sure or thrusting enough in how he or anyone could react if any got to ask why you cared for Rodimus so much, you aren't sure if they could really see you two in a good light.
"Roddy" you climb to his face plate, he is recharging so deep and the way cybertronians sleep still scares you because they look dead, only difference is that his derma and armor aren't gray and you feel the pulse of his spark after pressing yourself against his neck cables, it's slow but that is a result of his rest and the unholy amount of liquor on his system, "Rodimus", you climb up as you can, this time you give a little kiss on his intake, where his lips are, and you finally get an answer in the form of a groan and the sound of his ventilation system working properly, "wake up, sleeping beauty".
"What time...?", He raises his servo over his sensible optics, then places it just at your side to give you leverage and prevent any fall if he moves wrong.
"Almost noon" you give a stroke over his cheek, he moves along with it and feel your warm touch on him, it takes a moment to really let your information sink and when it does his ventilators short cut, sitting way too fast but stopping a second before throwing you with his actions and fall back on the berth, he is groaning again, letting you slide slowly when he gets up just to lay again with what you can only assume is pain on his brain processor.
"I'm so sorry", now both servos are over his entire face, you take seat on his neck guard, you know he is being honest, "we're supposed to be on duty now"
"It's fine", he knows it is a lie, you've been talking about sector 3408, the so rumoured floating mountains that can be found there and how incredible would be to take samples of the magnetic rocks that could create such natural phenomena, Rodimus was supposed to be your companion since no human could be let alone out of the ship in an strange planet.
But the pod already left in the morning, and you are still with him.
"It's not, not at all" his tone is getting meaner by the second, he looks mad, it's not at you, but himself, "you should have gone without me"
A movement of your head, a negative, "I don't want to go anywhere without you".
Is it really that strange to feel like this? Maybe, if your family knew, well, there's nothing they could do with you in space, no one can say much, maybe some of your human comrades have noticed something new with you, as for Rodimus, some were happy he was starting to take better care of his physical and inner health, it was showing on his now bright red paint job, rougheout dents fixed up, taking portions of his energon while you took your own rations, ingesting less high grade, until two days ago that's it.
"I'm sorry", maybe he referred to the fact he made you lost the pod, the fact that he is drunk again, that now you have to deal with him and all his problems, "it's my fault", you won't let him go down that spiral of self deprecation and abandon he has fallen into once again, you don't want to hear more of this.
He looks broken, as if all the progress both of you've done so far is now gone, you won't have any of that, "Hey", sometimes this isn't easy, hell, even moving him so you can tal eyes to optics is hard if he doesn't follow, being impossible to move a being so big as him, "there will be new and better things to do up here", he will say something again, something mean you bet, so you do the best that you can and move on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on his partially open intake.
Jokes on you, landing your lips on his front dentae and almost falling face first on his glossa when he goes back, still, it's worth it, to see his optics go all round in surprise before he starts to laugh sincerely at your occurrence and own expense, laughing like a chuckle at first and then go full on almost madness by the second that brings blood rushing to your cheeks by the embarrassment.
Still, you really prefer this, Rodimus laughing from the spark, it's worthy.
"What was that?!"
"My last attempt to be romantic for the day"
"Nooooo~ give me more", his servos raise you once again, just above the start of his helm, what you could call the forehead, "make the pain go away, babe"
"Quit it, you big baby"
Far from stopping his whining he now looks at you with his lips between his dentae, "I love it when you call me that".
Maybe it was fine, spend the rest of the shift here, others won't notice your absence (there isn't really anything else to do), and you can stay with him, protected by the four walls of his habsuit, you only need to get him more energon supplies and giving his tired stabilizers Rodimus still can't get up, "We should get a mattress", is what you say while landing on the hard surface of the berth.
"We can get one in the next stopping point", he doesn't let you go, no so easy, one of his digits is inside the neck of your work uniform and he is tugging at it, "don't leave me alone for too long", it could've been clingy in any other circumstances, but he really needs encouraging words now, his sad and almost offline optics tell you about his vulnerability, his fallen wings of tiredness and his digit clinging to you shout out of his necessity of having you near.
What has happened to such a great bot to be like this? It's not a good question, because he isn't perfect, you also aren't, everyone is broken to some degree, Rodimus has still so much to tell you about him and you have so much to tell about yourself.
"I'll not" you take his digit between your hands, giving it a kiss to give more power to your promise, "I'm not leaving you forever, so wait for the fifteen minutes I'm away".
"You promise?", Just how drunk is he?
"I swear, I'll come back to you"
It's cheesey, it's embarrassing, but those words do get out of your mouth and are apparently all it takes to make a big and childish smile appear on his handsome faceplate, but you mean it, you mean every word and can only wish he heard them right and gets to remember them because you'll need to be drunk to say those words again or accept the way he is looking at you now without feeling strange inside because being so wanted isn't something you are familiar with.
"Me too, I'll always find you"
.
This is a way of ending the story of Rodimus (of course I'll still post the extras), while it's sad how in the main timeline he gets hit hard by his own reality he gets to meet the very same human that in the other reality is his conjunx endurae (the terraformers reality), and maybe in this timeline they'll get to have their happy life for as long as it can last, maybe they could get to meet their own Sunset.
Thanks for this great year, expect for more little pieces while I'm still on my transformers strike, every comment and reblog is appreciated, have a great new year.
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butmakeitgayblog · 1 year
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Medusa and the Blind Woman
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Come to me, my love
Across fields full of lilies at night
The stars shining overhead 
Are witnesses to our love 
As bright as the sky.
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(Coming sorta soon to an AO3 tab near you)
She crashes in on an easterly wave. 
One that threatens the bare spindles of a long dead port. The wind bites at stilts gnarled by sea salt and the negligence of time, threads of frayed twine whipping in retaliating lashes against the onslaught versus sturdy grecian wood. 
Lexa watches from on high, eyes on mastheads and white sails in the distance when she takes a moment to admire her only non-hissing companion, the sea. She stands an eagle in her nest of serpentine thorns, as the speck of a sailor draws near from the horizon, boat marching on the back of winds that carry it onward. The ocean howls of intruders long before they arrive, the swishing churn of embattled rip tides announcing the threat among rustled gusts and spits of algae foam. 
It's all become so painfully predictable. 
Lexa sighs at the sight of them marching on toward her fortress. 
A sinking weight floods her stomach, weary resignation presses heavy against her throat.
The grip of her spade tightens as she reminds herself they mean nothing to her morning, to her schedule, that must be kept. What with the chill slipping through the cracks of a waning afternoon sun setting quick on the intruder's horizon. 
She doesn't bother to watch their approach further, instead keeping her thoughts to steady hands that churn earth and crumble stone, driving her blade against charcoal and turning it to soot. She checks her moorings to the west and fells a few fresh saplings for kindling. Nuisances in that particular corner of her nest of thorns, ones she's been waging a losing battle with for ages.
Her thoughts scatter like the seed and silt that pour through the calloused cracks of her fingers, wondering—
A sharp whine fills the air below, followed by a screech and crash of splintering wood. A thunderous boom echoes along the rockside loud enough to shake the very gravel under her feet followed by a full chested bellow.
"Gods damn it all!"
Lexa straightens from her work at the cry of anger, loud enough to have her dropping her tools where she stands. Loud enough to send a shiver across her scalp that hisses and spits its welcome in return. 
She slips past brambles and thickets of overgrowth. Moves between boulders and shrugging aside the hang of vine, winding her way to the edge of her oasis. The sweet scent of honeysuckle mixes with sea water as she moves close to the rocky ledge of the cliff shore. 
Careful to stay hidden, tucked neatly in the shadows, she lifts a few leaves on the tips of her finger to see her would be… captors…
Or. Captor.
The waters are littered with floating bits of dock and warped wood, now useless and broken into a thousand tiny shards that bob their way back out into the wild. 
In its place is a boat. 
A rather meager boat, Lexa notes to herself at the feel of a nose nudging her cheek. A vessel of one lonely single seat, barely a rod for a mast, with two matching oars on each side. 
The very sight of its paltry build makes her frown. Her lips drop open shock as she looks past the debris of the wreckage to the fleeing white sails receding into the burgeoning twilight distance. 
Another screeched caw from a circling bird above makes Lexa jump, ignoring the snap and hiss in her ear at the same time the air fills with a strained, "Oh shut up!"
Well.
This is certainly not what she had expected. 
Because…
She's blonde. 
Her apparent assassin is… blonde.
And decidedly less muscular than she'd become accustomed to. Not the type bearing rippling muscles, or the thuggish brawn born of beating one's own chest.
This assassin is downright… dainty. 
Dressed in a simple white shift in place of the bronze and pounded silver chest plate that Lexa is used to, stands a woman with sun laden ribbons of spun gold hair, bare of the usual swords and shield expected of such a journey and instead grasping a rather pathetic looking stick. Her face is cloaked in a curtain of wispy strands of gold, darkened by sea spray and the looming cliffs above as she fiddles with a satchel tied to her hip. She tussles with the strings, fingers awkward as she struggles to keep hold of the long spindle stick while fighting a losing battle with a knot that ignores her angered muttering. 
Lexa watches from the safety of the shadow's edge as the intruder goes about her various tasks. She watches her reach out and smack the end of the stick in her hand along the ground in sweeping thunks. Watches her do a slow sort of pirouette, a kind of turn here and there as she taps each stone and rock around her in a series of dull clicks. Her steps seem timid, calculated in the way they shuffle and pause and then go again, as her head twists slightly at every creak of the trees that bend toward the skyline, every crash of the tide, every chirp of a bird that follows. 
She watches the woman zigzag a line away from the wreckage of splintered wood and sails, weaving her way in measured footsteps and the incessant tapping of her stick. 
Lexa glances toward the two beady eyes staring at her and gives an equally mystified shrug. 
It's only when she comes close, dangerously close to the ridge cut in the cliff face that leads to the well worn path inland that Lexa finally finds her voice. 
"Who are you?"
The peculiar tapping stops on the sharp cut of a startled scream. "Hades in hell!" 
The hand not brandishing the stick clutches at her chest as she takes a half spin, the stick coming up in a wild arch like a sword apparently ready to slice the air in battle. 
Lexa frowns from the safety of her shadowed nook at the ridiculous display below. "If you wish to keep your life, turn back. Now."
The woman makes another half turn in her direction, face lifted and eyes screwed shut. "Where are you? This place is like an amphitheater."
"Your search is in vain! I said—"
"Give me a left or right, lady," she cuts her off impatiently, the stick shaking but still held vaguely menacingly aloft. "Clap or something so I at least know I'm not talking to a tree."
"Leave," Lexa booms with all the might of her weary bones, feeling her words reverberate against the stone embankment and echo into her chest. Power courses through her as she watches her idiotic, would-be killer startle and stumble back… only to right herself and throw her hands up in a huff. 
"Fine! I'll just shout at whatever, since apparently that's what you do here!" The stranger slams the stick down on its point, burying it deep into the sand and leans her weight against it, wobbling only slightly with a heaving sigh. "Listen. Just relax a minute and listen to me."
Only the crashing waves and panting drags of her breath echoes in the silence.
"Alright," she says as Lexa seethes and looks on. "My name is Clarke. I'm not… one hundred percent sure where I am, but if I am where I should be, I need you to know that I was sent here by my people, okay? I didn't choose to be here—"
"That does not matter!"
"I know that!" this woman, this Clarke, snaps right back. "I know you're pissed, you've made that abundantly clear, but what I'm saying is, whatever you think I'm here to do, believe me when I say, I am not."
"I think you're here to kill me," Lexa says in all but a growl.
Clarke throws the arm she's not leaning on into the air. "Then it's a wonderful thing we're having this chat, because I'm not."
Lexa's jaw aches with how hard she grits her teeth at the snark soaked rebuttal. "Then what are you here for?"
"I already said I didn't have a choice. I was just shipped off here and told to—." Lexa watches the woman swallow down the rest of her words, blonde hair swaying with the shake of her head. "Look, it doesn't matter what I was told to do. I'm not interested in fighting anyone else's battles right now. All I plan to do is squat here for a few weeks, work on my tan, fix my gods forsaken boat, and get out of your hair… Or uh, not your— The, with the— I'm assuming, if you are— If you're —"
"Why shouldn't I strike you down where you stand?" Lexa calls over the pathetic bumbling of the woman below. "I stay to the shadows for your safety, grace you with an opportunity to flee for your life. Why should I not step forward and let you see the face of your end?"
All Clarke does is snort. "Yeah, good luck with that."
Fingernails digging into the weathered bark of the tree does nothing to soothe the surge of anger that rises in Lexa's chest. She watches as the stranger seems to sigh to herself. The stick gets yanked from where it'd been buried in the sand and shook off.
And then the damn tapping starts again.
"What is that you are doing?" Lexa calls in a huff.
The woman flops a careless hand in her general direction as she calls back, "Playing a real fun game called trying to not break my neck. You can't tell?" and taps the stick against a hip sized boulder along its side and up the top, and then moves on to it's sister to the right in a few series of clicks. 
Lexa watches her repeat this process several times over, wandering in short bursts until finding another object of interest before starting the process all over. She watches that face turn up, eyes still shut tight, pausing and leaning and listening to every roll of the waves, every rustle of wind, every minute chirp of birds.
It's only when a head butts her temple and black beady eyes slip closed and stay closed, when the tip of Clarke's stick finds the gnarled roots of an upended tree and the woman chances a feel with her hands along the rough bark that it all finally makes sense.
"You're blind."
She says it more to herself than anyone, long since used to the lack of audience that can talk back, but the astute observation still earns her laugh. One topped with a tired smile from that unseeing face as she eases down onto the overturned tree for a rest. 
"Whew. Nothin' gets past you."
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bella-rose29 · 6 months
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Reminders of her - George Karim x gn!reader
requested by anon: George Karim x reader (established relationship) where one of the Visitors they have to seal is the reader’s dead mom or sister or father (whichever you want)
I am so so sorry that this has taken me forever to write, I have been swamped with assignments and work and then a period of no imagination whatsoever, so I'm very sorry about that anon! I also had no clue how to end it so sorry about that too
I tried to make this gn (since no gender was specified), but there may be a slip up or two so I'm sorry if there is <3
Hopefully this is roughly what you wanted anon!
Word count: 1.7k
Warnings: mentions of character death (reader's mother) and dealing with grief, mentions of cancer (non-specific, but it's not aggressive).
Tag list: idk who wants to be tagged for George tbh (let me know if you do!) <3
(not my gif)
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The inhabitants of 35 Portland Row were all relaxing in their various rooms when the doorbell sounded, startling everyone.
Lockwood hurried to the door, trying his best to not look too disgruntled in front of a possible client, but when he pulled the door open to see Y/n he gave up trying to rub the tea stain off the bottom of his shirt.
"Oh, hi. Everything alright?" They didn't say anything, head dipped so that Lockwood couldn't see their face, but when he heard the slight sniffles coming from Y/n he ushered them inside, immediately calling for George. Lockwood wasn't the best at dealing with people crying, and he'd had to learn for his job, but given Y/n was George's partner he figured he had a free pass this time. The boy in question came thundering down the stairs barely a minute later, pulling his jeans all the way up as he did so and fastening his belt before bringing Y/n into a crushing hug. Lucy appeared at the top of the stairs, peering at the scene in front of her, and when she saw her best friend crying she hurried into the kitchen to start making tea. Lockwood was left to stand awkwardly to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets while George comforted his partner.
"What's wrong, Y/n/n?" George asked, pulling back slightly to wipe away their tears. They sniffled a little bit, small sobs still breaking through as their chest heaved, trying to get the words out.
"It's- it's my mum," they broke off into tears again, hiding their face in George's t-shirt. "She- she's, uh... I need your help," they finished in a whisper, turning to look at Lockwood, and suddenly everything made sense.
"Where is she?" Lockwood asked softly, making eye contact with George. The two boys led Y/n into the kitchen, sitting them down at the table and providing a plate of biscuits (George was a compete hypocrite about the biscuit rule when it came to his partner). Lucy brought over a cup of tea, placing it down in front of Y/n with a small smile.
"Sort of just... everywhere. In the whole house. I don't know why she's only just turning up now, she's been dead for eight months."
"It doesn't always make sense," George said, pushing his glasses up. "We can come over tonight if you like, right Lockwood?"
The company head nodded, sympathetic smile on his face when Y/n looked his way, and Lucy murmured her agreement.
"That's decided then. We'll come over tonight and try and put her to rest completely, yeah?" Lockwood declared, and Y/n nodded, wiping the last of their tears away.
"Yeah, alright. Thank you."
~~~
That night, just before sunset, the four of them headed over to Y/n's house (the members of Lockwood and Co had refused to let them go back, insisting that they stayed until they were properly cheered up), kit bags slung over shoulders and rapiers at their hips. Y/n went without, having barely any Talent, clutching the silver rod that George had gifted them as a defence. Lucy and Lockwood strode ahead, George hanging back with Y/n as they dawdled.
"You alright?"
"I don't really know. I mean, she died of cancer, so that shouldn't really mean that she comes back as a Visitor, right? She died in her sleep, peacefully, and spent her last couple of months seemingly happy."
George was quiet for a while, debating what to say. He often had a habit of putting his foot in it, being the socially awkward person that he was, and dating Y/n had meant that he'd found himself thinking before he spoke much more. At first, he'd barely spoken to them when it was just the two of them, being too scared that he'd say something wrong and never see them again, but when they'd admitted that his blunt attitude was one of the things they most adored about him, he'd opened up more. Still, in situations like this a little thinking was required, especially since his partner's dead mother coming back as a ghost was the topic of conversation.
"Generally, Visitors seem to come back for unfinished business. Maybe she just wants to say good bye?"
"She had months for that though." Y/n was worrying their bottom lip in their teeth, a habit that had become more frequent since their mother's death.
"I really don't know, Y/n/n. Once we're there, though, I'm sure I will," he said, offering a small smile as they turned down their street. Y/n tried a smile of their own, but the worry was still there, growing with every step closer to their house the agents got.
"Come on you two, we're losing time!" Lockwood called, and George rolled his eyes.
"Ignore him. Those two can do without us for a bit if they need to. You alright? You're looking a bit pale."
"I- I'm fine, Georgie. I'm just... not really looking forward to this."
"I get it. Hey," he called, brushing his hand against Y/n's. "We'll sort it, yeah?" He linked their hands, and Y/n smiled properly, the action lighting up their face.
"Yeah. Thank you, George," they replied earnestly, planting a kiss on his cheek.
~~~
Y/n was worried.
It had been an hour since Lockwood, Lucy and George had set up, and while Y/n stayed in the kitchen, surrounded by the defences and armed with the silver that George had handed over earlier ("Just in case," he'd said, no hint of humour in his expression), the three agents had been eerily silent. They'd heard the creak of an occasional floorboard, and a whisper of voices from the living, but aside from that anybody observing the situation would think that Y/n was alone in the house.
They had zoned out a few minutes ago, getting bored of standing and waiting with nothing to do, when suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway.
"Mum?"
Their voice was shaking, damn it. Y/n had promised that they wouldn't get too scared, but the possibility of seeing their mother (and the further chance that their mother would try and attack them) was terrifying.
The figure crept closer, glowing faintly, and Y/n held their breath. It stopped just inside the doorway, and distantly Y/n heard themselves calling for George. Everything else was a haze. Time seemed to stop as the two of them observed each other, and while Y/n could feel a chill creeping up, the warmth they felt at seeing their mother's face again made it seem insubstantial. The trance was broken when Y/n was shoved to the floor, George landing on top as Lockwood and Lucy fought back against the now violent ghost of Y/n's mother.
"Are you alright? Y/n? Y/N?"
"Stop shouting! I'm fine," they huffed, unsure why George seemed so panicked.
"You were very nearly permanently ghost-locked, idiot!" Y/n's eyes widened.
"W-what? But I was fine! I didn't- I didn't think I was there for that long, was I?"
"Maybe, maybe not, but when we came in you were glazing over. I tried calling out to you but you weren't responding."
"Oh, so that's why you rugby tackled me to the floor." George leapt into action again at that, pushing up and offering a hand out to Y/n. Lockwood and Lucy had found the Source, and now the agency head stood with a small object wrapped in a silver net. "Is that... is that her?" Lockwood nodded.
"A comb, of all things. Luce says it was her favourite?"
"The one with the fake pearls in it?" Y/n asked, unable to tear their eyes off of the object.
"Yeah, looked like it. She um, she showed me something else," Lucy spoke, a little tentative. Y/n gestured for Lucy to continue, and the girl lead the two of them upstairs to their parents' bedroom. "There was a moment when she uh, she pointed to this drawer. There was a letter inside, addressed to you. I think she wrote it for you, and wanted you to have it. Did you know about it?"
Y/n shook their head. "No. I had no idea." Carefully they opened the drawer and lifted out the envelope inside, trying desperately to hold back the tears at seeing their mother's handwriting.
"Do you... do you wanna read it now? Because I can give you some space if you do," Lucy asked gently, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder.
"Please, thanks Lucy." The girl wrapped them in a hug, tight and crushing, and when she pulled away she wiped the tears off of Y/n's cheeks.
"We'll be in the kitchen if you need anything, alright?" Y/n nodded, sitting down on the bed when Lucy had shut the door behind her with a soft click and opening the letter.
~~~
A short while later a knock sounded on the door, and George's messy curls poked in, followed by the rest of his body. "Hey, how are you doing?" He came over and sat down next to them, placing an arm around their shoulders and bringing them in for a slightly awkward hug.
"I'm okay. I think," Y/n frowned.
"What... what did the letter say?"
"Just about how much she loves me, and how proud she is of me. It's funny, it doesn't feel like she's gone a lot of the time, but every now and then I'll see something that makes me think of her and I just... I have to stop myself from breaking down." They paused for a moment. "The paper smells like her. It's nice to have this, as a reminder of her."
George didn't say anything, instead just stroking their back, and they were glad for the comfort. He might have a tendency to say the wrong thing sometimes, or accidentally offend people, but George was a damn good partner, and Y/n was glad that he was there to help them.
The two of them headed downstairs a few minutes later, finding Lockwood and Lucy arguing about what the best kind of biscuit was over cups of freshly made tea. George joined the argument, gesturing wildly as he fought for his biscuit of choice, and Y/n could only chuckle slightly at their partner's antics. They gladly accepted the mug of tea that Lucy pushed their way, and smiled at the three agents gathered in their kitchen.
Their mother might be gone, leaving a hole in Y/n's heart, but these three people in front of them were just what was needed to fill it.
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lovinglonerhybrid · 1 month
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So I’m in a bit of a mood for sadness.
Impactor and megatron ended up having a sparkling in the mines. She was a femme and impactor took the most responsibility over her. Unfortunately during a riot in the mines the young spark was crushed by some unruly miners. Megatron Al way blamed himself for riling up the miners with his words of freedom. Ratchet was put in charge of a young medic not to much older then a sparkling and unusually short for his frame type but he worked hard and was always willing to help in ratchets free clinic after hours. Rachet was called away to the senate leaving his young apprentice to close the clinic for the night. Unfortunately that night some thugs broke in looking for some kind of drugs rachet never really found out what ones when he returned to the clinic the next day his apprentice was dead on the floor his injuries partially repaired. From that day on ratchet pushed his friends away to scared that primus would rip them away with no warning. Hot rod was friends with a lot of people in nyon bot his best friend was another racer. His friend was really good at getting out of trouble and had a love for exploring the underside of cybertron. Hit rod went to find his friend one day and found him at the beginning of a tunnel collapsed and barely online. At the medical clinic hot rod was informed that his friends spark was not big enough for his frame and he would continue to deteriorate. When sentinel came to nyon hot rods friend was unable to leave his apartment hot rod got one last word from his friend as he set of the charges ‘you’ve freed us all’. Rodimus keeps this words engraved on the back of his chest plating beer his spark as a reminder that his people never hated him for setting them free.
In another universe there a boy who is friends with a prime he loves going fast and is the only human to explore the underside of cybertron. But there’s always something he feels is wrong when he looks at the prime he feels there should be once instead of blue a smiling face instead of a face stressed by the war. There is a boy who is unusually short for his age who follows a medic around learning all he knows he makes friends with those less fortunate and always has a helping had ready. He doesn’t like to be Akon and is always warry around bots who are overcharged. There is a girl who I sent afraid of anything and wants nothing more then to be strong and to protect those she loves. She listens to all the story’s she’s told but loves the ones about a miner who joined the opposite side of all those he knew to become the leader of the best squad in there vast army. These kids who the autobots think where brought into there live unexpectedly feel more at home with cybertronins and they may never know why.
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Aaron made a miniature Bates Motel gingerbread house for Xmas one year. The ground is covered in crushed graham crackers and chocolate cookies, coffee, and shredded wheat.
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Windows are made from melted candy, walls and roof are covered in fondant.
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Roof [and porch] railing is made from tiny cut pieces of painted noodles.
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The base is four feet by four feet, and the highest point is about two feet tall.
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The stairs are made from dyed Rice Krispie treats.
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Motel roof covered in flaxseed with painted noodles for the support poles. Ice machine words are printed on edible paper.
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View into Norman Bates’ taxidermy parlor. Clear window made from thin pieces of dried gelatin.
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Peeping through the hole in the wall into Marion’s room. Furniture and props made from marzipan, gum paste, fondant, and gingerbread. Paintings printed on edible paper, rug printed on super thin fondant.
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Room 1, Marion’s room. 
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Lamp made from a bite sized Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.
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Notice the suitcase, the bird pics on the wall, and the tiny key that Norman picks up after the murder.
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The iconic shower scene. Shower rod made from painted noodles, curtain made from clear gelatin. And notice the tiny chocolate chip shower head. He took liberty w/the amount blood in the scene.
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Marion’s car sinking into the swamp behind the motel.
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The swamp is made from melted Jolly Ranchers.  The car is several pieces of gingerbread wrapped in fondant and hand painted. It even has the same license plate from the movie.
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Arbogast getting stabbed on the staircase…Gingerbread stairs. Notice Norman’s hair sticking out of mother’s wig.
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Final scene in the basement.  Lila Crane turning around the chair to find Norman’s dead mother. But watch out Lila, Norman’s behind you!
https://www.messynessychic.com/
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hebuiltfive · 7 months
Text
Thundertober Day Seven: Alive
Please, please check the warnings for this one.
I've tried to cover enough to be on the safe side but it does delve into some darker thoughts, so please be mindful of that. I hadn't planned on this getting quite so... depressing. It was supposed to have an uplifting end. Fair warning: it doesn't.
AO3 here
Days: One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six
Warnings for: Suicidal Thoughts; Depression; Major Character Injury. This is set post-Hydrofoil. Gordon is having to come to terms with the cost of surviving an accident that should have left him dead. Tagging: @thunder-tober @skymaiden32 @idontknowreallywhy (just going to put it out there that if you want to be tagged in any future Thundertober pieces, or future pieces in general, let me know and I'll tag you too!)
What was the point of being alive if it meant you could no longer live?
The mirror was his enemy. He refused to even take a glance because who exactly would be staring back at him? What had he become? Life or death and he had chosen to live because he was strong and his human survival instincts had kicked in, but what was the cost?
His legs were currently immobile, his arms cocooned in casts. Most of his body was either bandaged or strapped up in some way, metal rods and plating fixed inside him as though he were a bionic man. There was probably some sort of joke in there somewhere, but Gordon failed to see the funny side. He failed to make a joke about anything as of late, and for good reason.
He had survived, but now he was facing a life of… this. 
Apparently, there was still a chance he might have been able to return to his old life, but the odds were against him. According to some of the doctors, there was a slim possibility of Gordon being able to walk again. It was a tiny glimmer of hope, but he chose to not think of it. To think of it, to hope for it, only for it to likely be ripped away from him all over again? He’d rather remain solemn and bed-ridden without the dream, thanks.
Because that’s all it was now. 
A dream of a past life and a possible future that was no longer within his grasp.
Whenever his brothers came by to visit, usually once a day, they’d reassure him, or try to, but none of them had ever been good liars, at least not to Gordon’s face. He could tell instantly when Scott blinked excessively and barely offered him a simple glance in his direction; when Virgil took great interest in the way his booted feet twisted and moved across the shaggy carpeted rug beside his hospital bed; when John’s fingers would not stop fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie and would give only an uncharacteristic shrug as an answer whenever Gordon asked him a question.
Late at night, when the wing had fallen asleep and the only sounds that filled the area was the soft humming of machines and the padded feet of nurses doing their routinely hourly checks, Gordon would allow his mind to wander away on whims and what-ifs. 
What if he’d never joined that stupid test programme?
What if he had instead followed his dreams?
What if he had never got in that damned accident and still had a body that worked?
Never again would he be able to join his family on their hikes through the canyons near home. Never again would he be able to swim laps through the foaming waves on the West Coast. He had once considered taking up surfing more seriously, to add to his list of water hobbies, but now Gordon knew he’d never have the chance.
Wrapped up in cotton strips and constantly having to warn airport security of the additions to his body… This wasn’t living. At times he even question whether striving had been worth it.
Gordon eventually found the strength to confide in Virgil those thoughts which constantly ate away at him. His empathetic nature made Gordon feel like he would be the only brother who could understand, and who wouldn’t bat away his concerns with a simple don’t even think like that, you’re going to be fine, even with the odds stacked against him.
“What will make the surviving worth it, then?” Virgil had asked him, cradling a plastic cup that had once held the contents of a coffee vending machine. He’d slowly sipped his way through the warm, comforting drink as Gordon had bared his soul.
To his credit, Gordon hadn’t allowed a single tear to stain his cheeks. In his eyes, that was a win. He managed to open up to his brother without breaking down. It wasn’t that he thought Virgil wouldn’t have been able to take Gordon’s meltdown. He just didn’t want his brother having to witness it.
“I don’t know.” He replied honestly after a moment of quick, silent reflection. “I don’t think anything will.”
He couldn’t look Virgil in the eyes because he knew how it sounded. As a family, they never gave up. After everything they’d been through, they always found a way to continue fighting through the dark until the light appeared at the end of the tunnel again, but this time, Gordon felt exhausted. To him, the tunnel had caved in and there was no escape from the endless gloom.
“Walking again.” Virgil answered for him. “That would make it worth it. Running again. Standing again. Swimming again.”
The word made Gordon tense. It also made him lock eyes with his brother. For the first time in that conversation, there was a glossy sheen to those orbs as tears threatened to fall regardless of what Gordon wanted. “Don’t.” He warned carefully. “Don’t use that as a—”
“Gordon, the chances aren’t zero.”
And there it was. So much for believing Virgil wouldn’t try and reassure him with those ridiculous odds again.
“They’re as good as, Virg!” Gordon hadn’t meant to raise his voice. He knew his brother was only trying to help in the best way he could, but the pain was still raw and Gordon didn’t want to think about possibilities. “Don’t give me hope only to take it away again.”
“I’m giving you facts.”
“The fact is,” Gordon shuffled himself a little higher in his bed, ignoring the protest from his lower spine, “that no-one knows what the fuck is going to happen because I shouldn’t even be here! I should have died in that wreck, but for some unknown, Godforsaken reason, I’m still here and I wish I wasn’t!”
Gordon had never once regretted speaking to any of his brothers. He’d never once regretted choosing to open up to them, least of all Virgil, but as he sat there, taking in his brother’s horrified expression at his claim, Gordon regretted ever opening his mouth at all.
He didn’t let up. He couldn’t. To apologise or to backtrack would only offer two choices: Virgil would either accept his outburst as a mistake and not take any action, or he wouldn’t buy the act and would begin to put an action plan in place to tackle Gordon’s supposed way of thinking. Gordon wasn’t sure which option was worse.
So he continued.
“If it was you, Virgil… if you suddenly lost the ability to use your hands, your fingers, and now your painting and your piano playing was just a distant memory of what you could once do, how the fuck would you feel?”
He wasn’t sure what Virgil was thinking as he just stared at his younger brother. He wasn’t sure if any answer was going to be given, let alone an honest one. All of those doubts dissipated when Virgil leant forward. His elbows rested on the sheets of the bed, his hands holding as best he could onto one of Gordon’s casts.
“I would fight because the alternative isn’t better than this. That is never better than having some sort of life, Gordon. Death is death, but life… No matter how bad it seems now, life has variables and possibilities, and you should never wish for anything else.”
Gordon didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears any longer. He knew Virgil was right, but accepting that meant accepting a whole lot more pain.
“I’m too tired, Virg.” He whispered, head hanging lowly in defeat and shame.
“Don’t say that. Don’t say that when you’ve still got fight left in you, Gordon. I know you have.” Virgil tilted Gordon’s chin upwards with two gentle fingers. “You’re a Tracy. We don’t give up. So long as you are alive, there is hope, whether you think it’s worth believing in or not. So long as you are alive, you can fight, even if you believe you’re too tired to keep going. So long as you are alive, I will help you as much as I can because you are my brother and I’d much rather have to wait on you hand and foot than attend another gravestone, okay?”
It wasn’t a question to ask whether Gordon understood.
It was a question to ask whether Gordon would accept that unspoken promise.
“We take each day as it comes, but we never give up. So long as you are alive, Gordon, promise me that you will never give up.”
“I’m not great at promises, Virg, but…”
He trailed off his sentence, hoping his brother understood that he would try. 
Trying was all he had left to give. 
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buckysgrace · 5 months
Text
Thirty One
CW: Slight mention of self harm
“You’re up early,” Rosemary observed as she walked inside the living room, “What are you doing?” She looked at him curiously. Billy peered down towards her as he balanced on a step ladder. He wondered how she always looked so ready for the day this early. 
“Decorating,” Billy said simply, “They had these out at the store and I thought we could use them.” He replied as he continued to string up the orange lights around the curtain rod. He wasn’t used to decorating like this, but he figured that it was never too late to start. 
“I don’t think I’ve ever decorated the inside of the house before for Halloween,” She mused softly as she poured herself a cup of coffee, “It looks nice.” She brought the cup up towards her lips as she observed him. 
“You think so?” He asked as he climbed down the step ladder. He looked up at it, resting his hands on his hips as he fell into a deep thought. He had been unable to sleep again, taking a short nap of only two hours. He was sure that he had destroyed every single dust bunny within this house. He still felt like he needed to find something else to clean, to fix. It was driving him insane, so he worked on decorating instead. 
“Yeah,” Rosemary grinned, “You should hang this up in our closet when Sam is gone. I bet it’ll give him the heebie jeebies.” She laughed as she looked at one of the skeletons that had an eyeball that popped in and out of the socket. Billy thought about it for a moment as he joined her in the kitchen. 
“Is he a wimp like Kim?” He asked curiously, wondering if Kim had unknowingly gained another habit of Sam’s. Rosemary thought about it for a moment as she passed Billy a mug of coffee. He looked down at the liquid, suddenly thinking about the early mornings he’d had with Neil. They weren’t always terrible, at least he didn’t think so. 
Not quite that bad,” Rosemary said with a laugh, “I still feel bad about scaring her.” She replied as she pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. Billy felt his nose curl as he watched her crack two of them into a pan before she put the carton back. 
“I think Max traumatized her,” Billy chuckled softly as he thought about the many times Max had jumped out and scared Kim,  “She loves that shit.” He nodded his head, thinking about how Max had stolen his previous Halloween mask last Halloween. 
“You know,” She told him as she flipped the egg effortlessly in the pan, “My parents thought that Halloween was for devil worshippers.” She said, her tone of humor as she spoke. Billy thought about it for a moment. He thought that he had heard of people thinking that way but had never really understood why. 
“Really?” Billy asked in interest, “Why?” He asked, trying to gain more insight into her parents. He couldn’t ever remember her speaking of them before, not even when he was little. All he could remember was his grandma Edith. 
“Oh lots of reasons,” Rosemary said as she grinned at him, “I just think they are crazy.” She wrinkled her nose as she spoke but looked fully serious at the same time. Billy tilted his head softly at her choice of words. 
“I thought your parents were dead.” He admitted a second later. He wasn’t sure why she would refuse to speak about them if they weren’t dead. Then again, she refused to tell Russell about Neil and Neil was very much still alive. 
“I don’t know if they are or not. I guess I don’t care to find out either,” She admitted as she buttered his toast for him, “They disowned me once they found out I was pregnant with you.” When she was finished she passed him a plate with the toast as she began to eat her egg. He picked a piece of the toast up as he considered her words.  
“They didn’t like dad?” He asked her softly, feeling like that had to be the answer to the question. He wondered how bad Neil was when he first got together with Rosemary. He wondered if that’s why Neil was so hard on him sometimes, because he reminded Neil of the woman he hated. It seemed probable at this point. 
“No, they didn’t mind him,” She said softly, “They didn’t like that we weren’t married. They were very self-righteous.” She shook her head as she continued to eat, looking like she was far away suddenly. He felt bad, sort of feeling like it was his fault. 
“Have you thought about talking to them before?” He asked as he finished his first piece of toast. He stared at the second one, but really didn’t feel like eating it. His appetite felt smaller than usual, but he figured it had to do with the lack of sleep. 
“Yeah, but not recently,” She replied wistfully, “After Russell was born, I thought that they might help me get you back. They just acted like they didn’t know me.” She laughed humorlessly, but he could clearly see the hurt that was hidden away in her blue eyes. He felt a wave of sadness crashing over himself suddenly as he felt more vulnerable than he had in a long time. 
“I’m sorry.” He told her seriously, still feeling like part of this was his fault. He wondered where she’d be in life if he was never born. He wondered if she would’ve stayed with Neil at all, or if she would’ve eventually found Sam and been happy with him. 
“I’m not,” She told him truthfully, “Even if they’re breathing, I buried them a long time ago.” She swatted her hand in the air, looking unbothered as she began to pick up her plate and the empty coffee cup. Billy took another sip of his, although he was beginning to feel like he didn’t need the extra caffeine.
“I think it would be hard to do that.” He admitted, feeling slightly like a hypocrite as he spoke. He knew that he had wished her dead a long time ago, thinking it would be easier to have her gone and out of his life. He wasn’t sure if he still wanted that anymore. She seemed to be genuine, no matter how hard he tried to deny that.  
“Perhaps,” She told him as she began to braid her hair back, “I guess it depends on the situation.” She said as she looked ahead, like she was trying to figure out what the situation was. He was suddenly curious for more information about her past, about what she’d done. 
“I never wanted to forgive you,” He told her a second later, “I don’t know if I really have. I’m just saying that maybe there’s still a chance for you guys.” He shrugged his shoulders, wondering if parents got better as they aged with time. He almost had to believe that it was true. 
“Maybe,” Rosemary smiled sweetly as she leaned forward to kiss his forehead, surprising him completely, “I’m glad that you’re giving us another chance.” She said quietly as a look of remorse crossed over her features again. Billy stared at her for a moment, his mind suddenly quiet from all thoughts. 
Billy didn’t have a chance to fully respond before Kim was dragging herself down the hallway. He felt his body straighten, his face brighten as he peered at her. She wore a simple white shirt that ended at her elbows and a bright blue skirt that brushed just above her knees. He admired her for a moment too long before he turned away, hoping that Rosemary hadn’t noticed. 
“Billy decorated,” Rosemary pointed out as she pulled another smile onto her lips, “Doesn’t it look nice?” She asked excitedly as she clasped her hands together. Kim blinked, looking like she had missed it completely as she turned to face the living room. 
“Oh wow,” Kim breathed out softly as her eyes scanned the decorations. Billy observed her, thinking that the orange lights created a nice glow in her eyes, “It looks incredible. You did a good job.” She smiled sweetly as she turned to face him. He felt his heart beating roughly inside of his chest, beating so hard that it might explode. 
“Thanks.” Billy responded as gripped a hold of the table, trying to keep himself anchored so he didn’t rush forward to kiss her. He had a sudden desire to make her feign being sick so she could stay with him. 
“I’m going to grab my purse and then we can go, alright?” Rosemary asked her as she glanced up towards Kim. Kim nodded her head, her eyes following as Rosemary left the room before she approached Billy. 
“What are you doing today?” Kim asked, glancing around before she leaned forward to kiss his lips. He grinned against the motions, suddenly forgetting what he had been thinking about. His mind had felt so full and vast this morning, his thoughts racing so badly that he had been unable to sleep. He felt another fresh surge of energy despite all the heavy lifting he’d done yesterday. 
“I thought about going for a jog, then maybe lift some weights,” Billy replied as he pushed his hair out of his face, “Do you think I should get a haircut?” He asked suddenly as he tilted his head. She looked at him taken aback. 
“What?” She searched for clarity as she looked over his features, like she couldn’t understand why he’d think that. He didn’t necessarily want to cut it, but he felt like a change in something would be nice. 
“Like cut it shorter?” He asked her again, wanting to know what she thought first. He didn’t want to cut it if she didn���t like it shorter. 
“No,” She told him truthfully as she ran her fingers through it, “I like the mullet.” She looked at him gently as her lips curled into a smile. The motions of her smile felt like it dug right through his flesh and landed directly in his chest. 
“Are you ready, Kim?” Rosemary asked, snapping Billy out of his thoughts again as he turned to look at Rosemary. She was smiling, looking anything but suspicious as Kim dropped her hand from his hair. 
“Yeah,” Kim squeaked out softly, “See you later.” She replied to Billy, looking like she wanted to say more before she turned on her heels and headed out with Rosemary. Rosemary wrapped an arm around her waist, giving her a soft squeeze before she was guiding Kim out and leaving Billy to himself.
He paused for a moment, his leg bouncing against the stool as he thought of where to begin next. He needed to do something to keep his mind occupied before everyone else woke up a few hours later. 
He started with refolding all of Rosemary’s quilts, before he inevitably decided it would just be good for him to start on his work out. His muscles still slightly burned from yesterday and moving all of the heavy furniture, but by the time he was done with his weights he was sure that he would be unbearably stiff tomorrow.
He worked next on organizing the garage, which didn’t take too long. They didn’t have a lot placed into the garage. Most of it was tubs of old items and lots of pictures that he assumed had to be Rosemary’s. He discovered she had a full photobook reserved for him when they’d visit the beach, but he neglected to look into it.
He found himself in the kitchen a little later, feeling like he could start on breakfast or something for them as they usually started to get up around this time. He felt like he was too jittery, full and alive and he had nothing to do with all this energy and motivation. It was like it was bubbling underneath his skin, still threatening to burst free. 
He could feel the pressure building in his skin, feeling so tight like it might explode. He felt like something was wiggling down deep beneath his skin, something that he was unable to see. He gripped the knife in his free hand, his thoughts on the edge of turning darker as he began to wonder if he could slice the jittery feelings free. 
“What are you making?” Max asked as she walked into the kitchen. Billy quickly dropped the knife, shaking his thoughts away. He turned to face her, noticing the inquisitive look on her features. 
“I don’t know yet,” He admitted as he turned from the knives, “What do you want?” He asked her, feeling a little excited that he was needed for something. She stretched out for a moment, her short hair wild and unruly from the sleep she’d just woken from. 
“An egg sandwich is fine with me,” Max said curiously as she sat down at the counter. He wrinkled his nose but did as she said, “Did you do all of this?” She asked as she jerked her hand towards the living room. He nodded his head, still feeling proud of what he’d done. “Yeah,” Billy grinned as he began to crack some eggs into the still hot pan, “I got a few masks for you too. I figured you’d want to go as something weird.” He told her honestly. He half expected her to go as Michael Myers again, but then decided it would be cool if she had something different to wear. 
“Thanks,” She said softly as she leaned over the counter to watch him, “Have you been feeling okay?” She asked casually, her blue eyes turning inquisitive. He felt a fresh wave of anger hit him suddenly, punching him so hard that he was speaking before he realized it. 
“Yes,” He snapped back before he inhaled deeply. Billy closed his eyes for a moment, growing a little frustrated with everyone that kept asking him that question, “I’m fine. Do you want it sunny side up?” He asked a little softer, feeling bad that he had snapped so quickly. It was like his emotions were running unchecked. 
“Uh sure,” Max nodded her head a second later, “That sounds fine with me.” She shrugged her shoulders as she tilted her head, still looking at him confused. The kitchen was suddenly loud as Russell raced his way inside, catching himself as he leaned up against the counter. Billy served Max her plate before he began to make one for Russell as well. 
“Can we work on Kim’s car again?” Russell asked eagerly, already bouncing up and down with energy. Billy wondered if Russell felt like this all the time. He looked at him, noticing how the bruise around his eye was darker. His lip looked better, however. 
“Maybe,” Billy responded quickly, “I wonder if she’d just like to get a new one.” He said quietly, more so to himself than anyone else. He had enough money to get her a car, but couldn’t think straight enough to really understand if she’d want that or not. 
“What?” Russell looked at him confused, “But dad just bought that one.” He tilted his head, still looking like he couldn’t understand Billy’s thoughts. Billy shrugged as he pushed a sandwich towards him. 
“It was just a thought,” Billy sighed, “Are you guys getting ready to go?” Max simply shrugged her shoulders again as she looked down at her plate. Billy didn’t know why he even bothered assembling a sandwich when she was currently working on taking it all apart and eating it one by one. 
“Almost,” Russell grinned as he walked around in the living room and pulled forth a large display, “Did you see my volcano I’m working on?” He asked, pointing it out dramatically so Billy couldn’t miss it. He nodded his head, sending Russell a little impressed look. 
“Neat,” Billy responded as he looked at the mess that was scattered along the display, “Do you get to blow it up?” He asked him curiously as he leaned against the counter. He wasn’t sure why he felt so social suddenly, but he had an urge to talk about all of the science projects he’d done over the years as well. 
“Not yet,” Russell peeped up nervously, “I get to at my science fair in a few weeks. Will you come?” He asked hopefully, his blue eyes wide as he rocked back and forth on his feet. Billy glanced at him then at the volcano again. 
“When is it?” He asked softly as he remembered all the times he’d hopefully asked Neil to join him at sports games, only to get shut down every time. He wasn’t sure that Russell had ever experienced that before, but Billy felt like he couldn’t be the one to start it. 
“After Halloween, before Thanksgiving,” Russell shrugged his shoulders as he set it down, “I’ll have to check the date again.” He said slowly, like he thought the answer might suddenly appear to him. 
“Sure,” Billy nodded his head, “I think I can go.” He told him casually as he began to scrub the hot pan clean. He glanced over his shoulder, examining the smile that grew ear to ear on Russell’s face. 
“Are you kids ready?” Sam asked as he walked from the hallway. Billy didn’t quite understand how Sam worked so much, but then maybe he did. He figured he’d also work all the time if all he could think about was drinking. 
“Yeah,” Max responded as she leaned backwards to give Sam a tight hug, “Are we doing anything after?” She asked him curiously as she looked up towards him. Sam smiled as he brought his hand down on her messy hair. 
“Rosemary said something about going shopping if you want to,” Sam offered gently, “Otherwise I suppose we could do something else. Like go skating for a bit?” He suggested, looking quite happy as a smile broke onto Max’s lips. 
“I’d like that,” She said honestly as she stood up quickly, “Let’s get this over with then.” She said eagerly as she yanked on Sam’s hand, trying to pull him further and further towards the door. He laughed as he sent Billy a small wave, signaling their farewell.
“Can I get my own skateboard?” Russell began to ask Sam curiously as they headed out the front door. Billy paused for a moment as the silence in the house kicked in, almost swallowing him completely. 
He began to scrub at the dishes that had been used, but that still wasn’t enough to keep his jittery feelings at bay. His mind was racing again and he knew there was no point in staying here. He decided he’d go for a run, perhaps burn off all the extra energy that was lingering deep inside of him. 
He pushed his hair up into a blue scrunchie, not really caring who saw him with it in his hair at this point. He set off quickly, but also tried to keep himself in place so he didn’t look like a mad man. He enjoyed the feeling of the sun hitting down against his body, like the rays were gently kissing his skin. 
“Stupid motherfucker,” A girl cursed, roughly dragging her bike to the side of her as she pushed it up the hill, “Piece of shit.” She continued to curse as Billy jogged past her. He paused for a moment before he turned towards her, watching the way she blew a messy strand out from her forehead. 
“Need help?” Billy asked as he began to jog backwards, “What happened?” He asked curiously, listening to the odd sound her bike was making as she continued to push it up the hill. She looked up at him irritated, her dark eyes flashing. She was clearly overdressed, apparently not expecting the morning to be so hot. 
She straightened out a little bit, her skin was a soft brown that nearly looked golden in the sun. Her outfit was darker, slightly too baggy for her slim frame. She raised her eyebrows, looking like she didn’t know why he was still there. 
“My stupid tire is jacked up,” She huffed out as she continued to push it up the hill, “I’ll figure it out.” She brushed him off, sending him another odd look as she continued to heave it up the hill. Billy stopped his movements, not caring to see her struggle with it anymore. 
“I can fix it,” He told her eagerly, “I don’t live far away either.” He told her honestly as he gestured down to the edge of the street. She watched where he gestured, still looking quite uncertain.
“Do you live there alone?” She looked at him inquisitively, like she was trying to figure out what he wanted. He had no plans on doing anything wrong, he just thought that it would be good to help. 
“No, I live with my mom and her husband,” He told her honestly, “And my sister and brother.” He mumbled underneath his breath, feeling like it was best to keep Kim in her own separate category. He took the bike from her easily, lifting it up with one hand as he turned back towards the house. 
“Okay,” She spoke in confusion as she jogged to keep up with him, “You’re not trying to steal my bike?” She asked him, sounding a little worried at that thought. He glanced down at her bike, noticing that the red paint was chipped and slowly fading away. 
“I have a car, why would I need this old thing?” He pointed out happily, motioning towards the blue beauty that was growing closer and closer. He wondered if he should was his car later. That would probably buy him some time. 
“Thanks,” She muttered underneath her breath, “I appreciate it.” She continued to struggle to keep up for a moment before she finally fell in line with him. She stood at his eye level, basically the same height as him as he began to walk up towards the garage. 
He punched in the code to it before he waited for it to slowly open. Once it was up high enough he ducked his head down and made his way inside, searching for the tool box that he had moved earlier. He hummed to himself, before realizing that it was oddly quiet within the garage. 
“What are you doing?” He questioned her, tilting his head as he peered at how far away she was standing. Her dark eyes glazed over him, narrowing like she was trying to see if he was hiding something. 
“Trying to figure out if you’re trying to kill me.” She admitted slowly, speaking softly like she’d realized she shouldn’t have shared that information. Billy felt his eyebrow raise as he began to position her bike in the correct way. 
“If I was going to kill you would I take you to my house?” He asked her as he tried to keep a snort at bay. He couldn’t really see what was odd about this situation. He was just trying to be friendly, to be polite. 
“I don’t know,” She said slowly, “You’re very odd.” She moved a little closer, one slow step at a time like she was trying to test the waters. Billy innocently held up a wrench, waving it so she could see it clearly before he began to mess with the chain on her bike. 
“Thanks,” Billy responded dryly, “Just sit down while I fix your damn bike.” He told her seriously, rolling his eyes this time as he started to work on it. His mind was still buzzing despite his actions and his skin was beginning to feel tighter and tighter. He inhaled deeply, trying to keep his emotions at bay for a few minutes longer. 
“You’ve done this before?” She asked him curiously as she joined him on the floor. She crossed her legs as she began to push her messy curls from her forehead again. He nodded his head slowly before he answered. 
“My sister is reckless with her bike,” Billy answered truthfully, thinking about the many times he had fixed Max’s, “This won’t take long. Where are you heading?” He pondered for a moment. She paused, looking like she was unsure if she should tell him the truth or not. 
“I was trying to head to work.” She admitted a second later, clearly looking a little more relaxed. Billy nodded his head, unsure of why he was so desperate for some sort of conversation. He never minded being alone before, but something about today felt different. 
“What do you do?” He asked as he finished adjusting the chain. He spun the front wheel for a minute, checking to see if there were any visible holes or tears within the rubber. “I’m a tattoo artist, well, almost.” She said quickly, looking a little excited as she held her elbows over her knees. Billy stopped for a second, wondering if her art was any better than Dakota’s. 
“Do you know Dakota?” Billy paused as he tried to remember what her last name was, “I think Barnes is her last name.” He said slowly, hoping that he was getting it right. She was sort of hard to miss. Loud and brash and a little too overbearing. She was always in Billy’s space, but he didn’t think she meant anything bad by it. She just seemed oblivious, or so he hoped. 
“You act like this is a small town,” She laughed before she nodded her head in agreement, “I do know her though, I think. We have art realism together.” She moved her hands this time, clasping them together over her knees. 
“She’s not too bad.” Billy said a second later, although he barely knew her. Tommy seemed fairly interested in her, but Billy had a feeling that she had something going on with Chet. 
“She’s not a bad person,” She said quickly, “I would not let her tattoo me.” She said a little softer, smiling sheepishly like she was saying something bad. Billy nodded his head in agreement before he began to air her tire up.
“She’s pretty awful,” Billy replied with a laugh, “What’s your name? I’m Billy.” He introduced himself before he looked at her curiously, realizing that he hadn’t even bothered to ask. She shifted on the ground. “Alma,” She said as she sent him a wave, “How do I repay you?” She asked him, tilting her head as she peered at her bike as he set it back into its normal position. 
“I have a girlfriend so nothing like that.” He muttered underneath his breath, suddenly hoping that he hadn’t given her the wrong idea. She gaped, drawing his attention back towards her. 
“Jesus,” Alma’s features scrunched up, “I didn’t mean it like that.” She snapped at him, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe he’d said that. He smiled sheepishly, not bothering to mention that he had been offered that before. 
“You said you do tattoos?” Billy asked, “Can you get me in today? I can pay.” He told her eagerly, feeling like there was suddenly a hole burning in his pocket. He could clearly picture what he wanted. 
“I’m still an apprentice,” Alma warned him, “But I guess if that’s what you want.” She shrugged her shoulders, like she couldn’t see why it was such a bad idea. He felt a large grin forming on his lips as excitement bubbled inside of him. 
“I do,” Billy responded eagerly, “I can give you a ride there.” He promised her, thinking of how surprised Kim would be when she saw it. 
///////////////////////
“Hey,” Kim grinned as she walked into his room. She paused before she slowly rested against his right side, her fingertips narrowly avoiding his new tattoo, “What did you do today, handsome?” She teased him as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. He breathed in her scent for a moment, thinking that she smelt extra sweet today. Perhaps, it had to do with the icing on her tongue. 
He started to speak, trying to explain his story of what happened today but then realized he was speaking too fast. Kim’s eyes widened as they danced over his features, her eyebrows knitted in confusion as she tried to keep up. He paused, giving himself a second to sort out the story within his mind as it kept racing through his head, “I fixed this girl's bike and I got a tattoo.” He summarized it as best as he could.
His skin no longer felt like it was threatening to pop and burst everywhere. He supposed he should’ve clarified that he’d gotten two tattoos, but the one on his right side against his ribs. The tattoo on his left hand was smaller, just a geometric shape that traced from his thumb up to his index finger. 
“You got a tattoo?” She looked at him surprised before a smile grew on her lips. He admired the curve of her mouth for a split second, feeling like he was so lucky to be able to kiss her lips and have her all to his own. 
“Do you want to see it?” He asked excitedly, feeling like he was bouncing with excitement as bad as Russell would. She nodded her head and Billy didn’t wait any longer before he was pulling his shirt up over his head. He gestured towards it, unable to fully reach it on his own without looking in a mirror. 
“Sure,” Kim grinned, looking excited as she slowly peeled the tape back to expose the ink, “Billy. Oh my God. What is this?” She was stunned, her voice nearly sounding horrified as she stared at the ink again. He felt a little panicked, wondering if Alma had messed up on something that he’d missed. 
“You don’t like it?” He turned in concern, looking in the mirror as he faced away from Kim. He couldn’t see what was wrong with it. The drawing of a girl was sitting with her knees together, her longs dangling as she rested her cheek up against her shoulder. Her hair was thick and long, a deep red. He thought it looked nice. 
“Is that supposed to be me?” She squeaked out softly, her cheeks beginning to turn pink as Billy turned to face her again. He paused for a moment, unsure of how he was supposed to answer her question when she was reacting this way. 
“Is it a bad thing if I say yes?” He asked her seriously, trying to keep his shoulders from slumping as he pushed the bandage back over his skin. He jolted a bit, wincing softly at the sore area he’d pressed on. 
“No,” She responded quickly as her face turned scarlet, “But what will your mom say?” She asked him softly as she stepped forward to gently rub the tape down against his skin again. He grinned as he looked towards her. 
“She won’t see it,” Billy reassured Kim, “Or maybe she’ll think it’s some other hot redhead.” He teased her as he leaned forward to gently press his lips against hers. She moved her lips against his softly, her cheeks feeling warm from how red they were. 
“Oh my God,” Kim squeaked out as she traced her fingertips along the tape again, “What has gotten into you?” She smiled softly as she looked up at him, suddenly looking a little pleased with herself. 
“I’m just happy,” Billy grinned as she leaned forward to peck her lips repeatedly, “So happy.” He mumbled against her lips, leaning forward to deepen the kiss a little bit. He slid his tongue against her mouth, desperate to feel more of her against him suddenly. 
“Mhm,” Kim grinned against his mouth, “They did a good job on it.” She told him shyly, looking like she wasn’t sure how to compliment the design. He chuckled softly as he pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. 
“Yeah?” Billy grinned at her, “Maybe I need to get another one.” He said teasingly as he held his hand out towards her. Her eyes widened as she looked at it. She gently wrapped her nimble fingers around his palm as she observed the area for a second, like she was trying to build the confidence to look at it. 
“God,” Kim breathed in deeply as she slowly pulled the wrapper back. She sighed in relief a second later, making Billy laugh. He had considered getting her eyes on his body much too late into his session. He wished he would’ve brought a picture of her, “I thought it might be my boobs or something.” She teased him.
“I could do that,” He encouraged her with a bright smile, “I should pin up your nude photos.” He said a second later, figuring that this was his room and he could do what he wanted. Neil never said anything about having pictures of models up in bikinis, but he somehow figured that Sam wouldn’t be too happy about it. 
“No,” She replied before he was finished speaking, her cheeks burning brightly, “That still sounds like a terrible idea.” She shook her head, like she could somehow shake the thoughts from his mind. 
“I can’t help that I'm crazy about you.” He told her truthfully, feeling like she was on his mind all the time. She felt similar to his favorite album, the one he couldn’t stop playing. He could think about her constantly and never grow bored. 
“Maybe you’re just crazy,” She teased as she leaned forward to press her lips against his nose, “Come on. They were asking about you.” She urged him softly, giving his fingertips a slight squeeze before she slowly backed out of the room. She grinned at him, her face lighting up brightly before she slipped out the door. 
Billy chewed on his bottom lip, hiding his own grin as he slipped his shirt on over his head and followed her back down the hall. He peered around curiously, noticing that Max and Russell were lounged out on the couch, passing his controller back and forth for whatever game he was playing.
Billy peeked out the glass doors, trying not to roll his eyes as he noticed Sam and Rosemary sitting near his little garden. He wasn’t sure how they could be so passionate about gardening of all things. 
“Max,” Kim grumbled as she pulled her notebook out, “What did you do? Don’t mess with my homework.” She told her quickly, looking a little horrified as she scanned the pages. 
“Why would I mess with your homework?” Max asked in irritation, snapping her head around quickly before she turned her attention back towards the TV. Billy leaned against one of the chairs as he watched Kim shake her head in dismay. 
“It was me,” Billy said a second later, “I thought I would help out.” He added slowly, unsure if he had really helped now by the look on Kim’s features. She was clearly surprised as she held her notebook tightly in her hands. 
“You did my math homework?” Kim questioned as she walked towards him. She looked up from her notebook curiously, tilting her head like she couldn’t understand why he’d done it. He shrugged his shoulders, knowing that he had spent much of the night desperate to get his mind off of things. 
“Yeah, why not?” He asked as he tugged softly on the tablecloth, “I didn’t have anything else to do. Is it wrong?” He questioned her in worry, feeling like he’d ruined his chance at helping her. She shook her head rapidly, looking a little alarmed at his brash tone. 
“No, it’s right,” She reassured him quickly, “Your handwriting just looks different.” She mumbled, more to herself before she closed the notebook quickly. She examined it for a while before she looked back up at him, her features still knitted together in confusion. She sent him a soft, reassuring smile that quickly calmed the way his chest was beginning to race in panic. 
“What did you get?” Max asked, holding her hand out lazily as Billy began to walk by. He stopped, letting her roughly pry the tape back as she examined the black ink, “That’s cool.” She shrugged her shoulders quickly before she dropped his hand again.
“I like it,” Russell spoke up a second later, averting his eyes from Max as he inspected the design on Billy’s hand, “It’s really awesome.” He added to Max’s sentence, looking a little proud of himself.
“Thanks.” Billy drew out softly as he plopped himself down next to Kim. She smiled softly, although her eyes were a little wide as she placed some distance between the two of them. He tried to keep from grumbling as he watched her, sure that she was beginning to act weird. 
He inspected her, trying to figure out if he’d done something wrong or if she was really uncomfortable with the tattoo he’d gotten of her. He thought that was a silly thought though. Alma had just drawn a pinup girl that was similar to Kim’s looks, it was nothing that was done based off of a picture. 
“Jesus,” Billy couldn’t take it anymore as he placed his hand on top of Russell’s to stop the annoying movements, “Can you stop that, please?” He questioned him, snapping a little harsher than he’d realized. The room was suddenly quiet. 
“Sorry,” Russell flushed suddenly, “It’s just a habit.” He squeaked out, his blue eyes wide like he hadn’t expected Billy to react in that way. Max shot Billy a look of disbelief, but Billy couldn’t function because of the irritation that had grown inside of him. 
“It’s fine,” Kim leaned over Billy to give Russell’s hand a soft squeeze, “Did you tell Billy about the odd couple that came in today?” She questioned, looking up at Billy amused as she continued to lay over his lap for a brief second. 
He observed her features for a second, noticing the confusion that was lingering in the crevices of her eyebrows as he slowly relaxed. He leaned back in the seat, unsure of why he’d suddenly grown so angry. He felt better as a soft relief filled him while Russell began to fill Billy in on the bakery drama. 
/////////////////////
“You know what we should do,” Billy said suddenly as he glanced towards Kim, laying on the side of her bed as the night sky grew darker and darker, “Get married.” He told her seriously, keeping his eyes peeled to her features so he could tell what she thought about his grand idea. 
“What?” Her hazel eyes were wide in disbelief as a stunned expression grew over her features. She opened her mouth, then shut it again like she still couldn’t believe what she had said. 
“Why not?” He asked her quickly, “We love each other.” He stated, feeling like this would be the proper thing to do. He thought that things would be a lot better if they were married. She slowly relaxed as she moved a little closer to him. 
“Your mom doesn’t know first of all,” Kim laughed as she held onto his hands, “And where would we get married at?” She questioned him, looking just as serious as she asked the question. He ponder about it for a moment. 
“The courthouse.” He said simply, wondering if they could sneak down there tonight and get it over with. He supposed that it was probably too late and that they would have to wait for the morning sun to rise before they could do it. 
“What would I wear?” She asked him, her question full of humor as she held onto his eye contact. He tucked her hair behind her ear, gently stroking her cheek as he admired her features. He thought that she could wear anything and be pretty in it. 
“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?” He asked her seriously as he took in her polka dotted nightgown. Kim slightly pouted her lip out, shaking her head in a playful disbelief. 
“I want a wedding dress,” She said at last, “One that’s got the puffy shoulders and is big and white. I want to look like a princess.” She told him eagerly, her eyes flashing like she’d thought about this for a long time. He paused, realizing that she probably had spent a long time planning it out. He wasn’t surprised at her wanting to look like a princess, not one bit. 
“You always do,” He grinned as he pulled her into his lap, “Let’s just go buy one and then we can go to the courthouse.” He rubbed her hips softly, watching the way her nightgown crept up higher and higher along her smooth thighs. He tried to bury the image of his head between them, but could feel his cock stirring at the thought. 
“With what money?” She asked him playfully, still laughing like he was suggesting something ridiculous. She played with his hair gently, while he turned towards her seriously. 
“I can use my check.” He stated as he nodded his head. She observed him for a long second, like she just realized that he was being completely serious. He didn’t think there was anything funny about what he’d just suggested to her. 
“Can we like-,” She paused for a second, “Think this out first?” She gestured with her hands as she sat back on his lap, suddenly looking a little panicked like she had approached this whole situation wrong. 
“What’s there to think about?” He asked her seriously, “It’s a great idea.” He pulled her a little closer, wishing that there was a way to share his thoughts with her. He struggled with words, but he knew that this was a good idea.
She rubbed her hands up and down his bicep gently, looking like she was trying to figure out the best way to approach this subject. She was quiet as she held onto his skin, chewing on her bottom lip as she turned to look at him again. 
“I want to marry you,” She replied gently as she pressed her fingertips against his, “But I think we need to figure out other things first. Like how to tell your mom. What if they don’t want us to live with them once we’re married? What if she won’t let us be together?” She explained gently, drawing out her words slowly so he could better understand what she meant. He felt a frown forming on his lips, feeling like she may be acting a little ridiculous. 
“She has no authority over anything I do.” He told Kim sternly as he thought about Rosemary. He didn’t care if she had issues with them or not. He was happy and he knew Kim was happy. That’s all that mattered in his mind. 
“I know, I know,” Kim whispered softly, trying to bring his tone down, “I’m just saying we don’t have to rush it.” She scooted forward a bit to grip his face lightly. She squished his face in her hands, grinning softly like she was trying to make him feel better. 
“Is it because I haven’t bought you a ring? Because I can buy one right now.” He told her seriously. He furrowed his eyebrows together, wondering if he should’ve grabbed a ring instead of a bracelet the other day. 
“I think-,” Kim paused again, looking like she was searching for the right thing to say, “That maybe you’re not thinking straight.” She breathed out slowly, looking a little worried as she rubbed her thumbs into his skin. He felt himself sinking back against the bed in confusion. 
“I’ve never thought better than what I have right now,” He told her in defense of himself, knowing that his mind wasn’t jumbled, “My thoughts are free and I’m free.” He said quickly as he gestured towards himself. 
“Are you okay?” She observed him curiously, her hazel eyes flashing as she watched him intensely. She looked worried, like there really was something wrong. He suddenly felt on edge, not enjoying the way she seemed to be analyzing him. He leaned back again, not understanding what could be so wrong about his behavior.  
“Yeah,” Billy looked at her confused, “Why do you ask?” He tilted his head, trying to understand what the problem was. Kim hesitated, looking like she was torn to bring the subject up for a moment. He nudged her thighs softly with his fingers, wanting to draw the words from her lips. 
“You seem like you’re on edge,” Kim said finally as she observed his features, “Did you take more mushrooms?” She asked him softly, curiously like she was worried about what the answer would be. He shook his head, thinking that she was too paranoid. 
“No,” He laughed, “You said not to take anymore, remember?” He teased her as he rubbed his fingertips across her skin. In all honesty, he hadn’t taken any drugs since that night. He was just being more of himself, which he didn’t think was wrong. 
“I do,” She nodded her head, “You just seem different.” She looked worried as she spoke up again, still looking like she was afraid of how he’d react. He tried to hide his offense, because he knew this was who he really was. She hadn’t seen this part of him enough. 
“I’m happy,” Billy replied briskly, “Is that a crime?” He asked her quickly as he dropped his hands from her sides. Her eyes widened as she shook her head quickly, like she was trying to do damage control. 
“I didn’t mean that,” She reassured him quickly, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and that there's nothing else going on.” She said urgently as she brought his hands back up towards his lips. He relaxed a second later, grinning as he squeezed at her flesh again. 
“I am,” He told her seriously as he leaned forward to kiss her lips slowly, “I am very okay.” He mumbled against her lips, sighing deeply at the scent of her that lingered in the air. He gave her lips another soft peck before he pulled away. 
“Alright,” She grinned as she rubbed her fingertips across his cheeks, “I’m glad you’re okay.” She nodded her head softly as she began to trace her fingers across his skin. He leaned into her touch, enjoying how she felt against his skin. 
He leaned forward, breathing in the sweet taste of her mouth before he brought his lips upon hers again. He kissed her feverishly, like he’d never kiss her again. His mind raced at the thought of losing her, his heart aching as he pressed his lips even harder to her mouth. She moaned softly in response, her back pressing up against the wall as she struggled to keep up with his actions.  
She pulled away first, breathing hard as she rested her forehead against his. He sighed softly, leaning forward again to lick at her glossed lips. The desire to feel her grew deeper and deeper as he traced his fingers down her soft sides. She was sweeter than candy, more addictive than the cigarettes he smoked. 
“Do you want to go to mass with me?” He asked suddenly, speaking the idea out loud as soon as the thought popped into his head. Kim looked at him curiously, her cheeks still pink from how roughly they’d been kissing. 
“Mass?” She paused as she rolled off of his lap, “Like church?” She asked, sounding a little unsure as she watched him. He nodded his head a second later, thinking about how she’d never been before. 
“Yeah,” He grinned, “I figured you could try it and see how you like it.” He reasoned with her as he brought her fingertips up to his mouth and began to pepper kisses along them. She smiled softly for a second before she pulled away. 
“I don’t know,” She looked away from him, “I guess if you want to go.” She shrugged her shoulders softly. Billy paused for a moment, clearly able to tell that she wasn’t that comfortable with the idea. 
“I’m asking if you want to go.” He clarified for her as he shifted on the bed so he could face her better. She tilted her head back and forth as she ran the thought through her mind again. 
“Next Sunday is the day after the Halloween party,” She reminded him, “Are you going to be able to wake up?” She teased him softly as she moved in a little closer. He grinned as he kissed her soft nose. 
“Of course,” He grinned as he pulled away from her, “The real question is if you’ll be able to wake up.” He told her seriously, thinking about how she liked to sleep in. Then again, her sleeping schedule still seemed to be fucked. Just not as nearly bad as what his sleeping habits currently were. 
“Is that what you were doing this morning? Praying?” She asked him as she tilted her head in confusion. He thought about it for a moment, nearly forgetting that it had happened before he nodded his head. He realized she must’ve been up far earlier than he had thought, as he had done that in his room. 
“Yeah, you know I was thinking about those dreams that you have,” He rambled for a moment as he tried to get his thoughts concise and clear, “Do you think they’re demons?” He tilted his head in wonder, suddenly feeling uneasy as he brought his feet up from off the floor. 
“Demons?” Kim looked at him baffled, like she wasn’t understanding what he was saying. He thought for a moment, trying to think of the best way to explain his own thoughts. 
“Like because you never really went to church and because of what we do,” He said a second later, “Do you think we’re being punished for it?” He asked her seriously, suddenly feeling worried. He’d never felt shame about their relationship before, but the thought of God watching them suddenly made him nervous. 
“No,” She shook her head quickly, “I never thought of it that way, but I’m sure that’s not what it is.” She said softly, looking like she was a little fearful over the thought. Billy paused as he rocked himself back and forth. 
“Why not?” He questioned her seriously. He didn’t mean to push the issue, but he really was curious to know what her thoughts were. He was fairly certain that if she repented, if they both did, that these issues would go away. 
“Because there’s worse people that haven’t been punished.” She said at last, looking at him seriously. He held his hands together as the words washed over him. He nodded his head in agreement, realizing that she was right. Not that he would really argue with her, she looked fairly stern in her answer. He had a feeling she had no desire to discuss the issue any further.
“That’s true,” He agreed a second later, suddenly feeling reassured, “I forgot about that.” He admitted softly as he scratched at his chin. He felt a sense of relief, but feared that he’d lose it if he lost focus of her. 
“Billy,” She leaned forward a little bit as she held her palms against her knees, “I want to ask you something but I don’t want you to get upset.” She admitted at last, taking him a bit by surprise. He nodded his head, not wanting her to hide her thoughts from him out of fear of him growing angry. 
“Okay,” He said slowly as he watched her curiously, “What is it?” He asked softly as he pulled her hands over to his lap. He played with her fingers softly, rubbing his nails gently against her palms. She lowered her voice as she leaned towards him. 
“Are you taking something?” She whispered cautiously, “I know we didn’t discuss it much before but if you’re having problems with drugs, I can help.” She linked their fingers together, squeezing softly as she looked at him. He moved his head back a soft, feeling a little offended that she would suggest a thing. 
“I’m not taking any drugs,” He said roughly, snapping harder than what he should've. He didn't think it was lying at the moment, because he really hadn't taken any drugs. She wasn't asking for specifics and that was fine with him, “I’m fine. I feel relaxed and free. I’ve never been this happy before.” He told her quickly, still wishing there was an easier way to explain this to her. She sighed deeply as she nodded her head, looking a little relieved as she brought his hand up to her lips this time. 
“It just changed so fast,” She smiled slowly, “I just want to make sure you’re okay.” She repeated the words from earlier as she softly nuzzled her head against his hand, careful to avoid the area that was sore. 
“Do I look like something is wrong?” He teased her softly, smiling brightly as he could assure her that he was fine. She bit her lip softly as she leaned even closer to him. 
“You’re just not acting yourself,” She mumbled as she cupped his face gently in her hands, “And I want to make sure you know you can talk to me.” She said a second later before she delivered a kiss to his nose. He wrinkled it softly as he nodded his head. He felt slightly guilty as he knew he had been lying to her. He supposed this could be considered a fresh start. 
“You can talk to me too,” He pointed out a little harsher, “You came home drunk the other night after being with your friends.” He told her truthfully as he thought about it. Her eyes widened and her face flushed, like she hadn’t expected him to know. He didn’t mind, nor was he mad about it. But she had clearly tried to keep it a secret.
“I had a few drinks,” She admitted, “Is that wrong?” She asked him honestly, looking like she truly didn’t know the answer to that question. He suddenly felt bad for confronting her about the situation. 
“No,” He told her quickly, “But you act like it’s a bad thing.” He told her truthfully. She paused as she thought about it, looking like she didn’t know how to handle his statement. 
“You saw how my dad got,” She mumbled as she played with the hem of her night gown, “I just don’t want to ruin things for him.” She revealed the truth to him. Billy brushed his shoulder against hers, giving a soft smile as he tried to gain her attention again. 
“It’s alright,” He told her truthfully, not thinking that there was anything wrong with her wanting to drink occasionally, “Can you wear the lingerie?” He asked quickly. He supposed he should’ve clarified, but he wouldn’t mind seeing her in it right now. 
“I can’t,” She laughed, “I’m on my period.” She told him softly as she rested against him. He grinned as he pulled her a little closer, feeling like she was silly for using that excuse. 
“I don’t mind,” He told her quickly as he peppered his lips across her face, “We can sneak into the bathroom if you want.” He pressed the issue softly as he rubbed his hands down her slender curves. He enjoyed the way she felt in his hands and craved to feel more of it. 
“Would you have to confess that to your priest too?” She questioned in a sultry tone as she playfully ran her fingers through his hair. He enjoyed the sensation as he lightly closed his eyes, enjoying how soft her fingers were. 
“Yes,” He answered honestly, “We would. I don’t think it’s any worse than being with your sister.” He said a second later. He laughed to himself, wondering how the priest would react to that revelation. 
“Stepsister,” She corrected him shyly, “I’d prefer to be called your girlfriend though.” She told him quickly, looking like she was insecure suddenly. He frowned at the thought, hoping that he hadn’t offended her. 
“I don’t care about the label,” He admitted to her slowly, “I don’t care who you’re related to or what you do. I just want you.” He cupped her face, giving her soft cheeks a slight squeeze as he peered down at her. 
“Okay,” She mumbled softly as she began to brush her fingertips against the hem of his pajama pants, “I can help you out?” She suggested softly as she began to tug the waistband of his pants down. He grinned as he slowly moved away. 
“How?” He asked her as he held her back, holding her softly. Her hazel eyes flashed, looking at him full of lust. He drank in the image, watching the way her teeth lightly dragged against her plump bottom lip. 
“I’ll make you feel good.” She said slyly as she slowly rolled her wrist around in his palm, like she was ready to grab a hold of him. He pretended to ponder the thought. 
“By doing what?” He teased her softly, needing to hear her say it outloud. He turned his gaze towards her, his eyelids feeling heavy as he peered down at her. 
“Sucking your cock.” She replied shyly, her cheeks beginning to turn pink as she slowly moved to her knees in front of him. She leaned forward, her boobs pressing against his knees as she watched him. He felt his cock beginning to stir, quickly filling out as he thought about how badly he wanted her. 
“You’re not even going to ask?” He continued to tease her, “Just going to do it like a little whore.” She whimpered softly at his words, her cheeks burning darker as she leaned even closer to him. He had a sudden urge to strip her nightgown from her pale skin. 
“Can I suck your cock?” She asked sweetly, her tone sultry as she peered up at him innocently. She fluttered her eyelashes as she traced her fingertips up and down his thighs. He felt goosebumps beginning to form from her touch. 
“Hm.” He mocked being bored, beginning to really enjoy the strain in his pants. He breathed out slowly, watching the way she straddled one of his ankles. He smirked to himself, clearly noticing how her excuse of being on her period was slowly disappearing. 
“I want to suck my big brother’s cock,” She whispered as she slowly palmed him, “Please.” She pouted her lips out and he was unable to hold himself back any longer. He nodded his head in agreement, watching the way she slowly pulled his pants down. He lifted his hips softly, assisting her as his cock popped free from its restraints.
“Wow,” She giggled softly, looking gleeful like this was the first time she’d seen it. She wrapped her slender fingers around his cock slowly, giving him a soft squeeze as she watched the precum drip from his tip. He sighed deeply, jerking his hips forward as he enjoyed the sensation, “So pretty.” She teased him softly. 
“I think you’re a slut,” He admitted honestly, breathing out deeply as she slowly wrapped her lips around his tip. He fluttered his eyes shut, his mind falling empty as she began to bob her head up and down the length of his cock, “Jesus.”
She fluttered her eyelashes for a moment before she peered up at him again, her eyebrows softly wrinkling together as she began to slowly move his cock inside of her mouth. The pad of her tongue brushed along his veins, pressing into them softly. He knitted his fingers through her hair, feeling a bit desperate to have her move faster.
She slowly took more of him, teasing him as she didn’t press her lips further than the middle of his cock. He groaned as her fingers moved to cup his balls, squeezing them softly as she sucked on the head of his cock again. She dragged her tongue across his slit, licking at it playfully before she slid his cock deeper inside of her mouth again. 
He pressed his hips up deeper in her mouth, tugging on her hair a little harder as he took control of her movements. He breathed out harshly, suddenly feeling a strong wave of pleasure crashing over him. He grunted loudly, the sound of her gags sounding like music in his ears. 
He played with her hair, holding onto it tighter as he freely bobbed her head along his cock. He liked how easily she gave into him, how he let her control her for his own pleasure. He could feel his cock twitch in her mouth as she hollowed her cheeks out. 
He looked down at her, watching the way her features knitted together in concentration as the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat. He sighed blissfully as she began to hum around his girth, sending a wave of vibrations up the length of his cock.
“Fuck,” He whined, sounding a little pathetic as he jerked his hips forward rapidly. He moved off the bed, feeling like he’d have better control standing as he moved her mouth faster along his cock. He was sure he’d never felt this good before, “You’re such a good baby sister.”
She moaned softly around his cock, looked up at him with knitted eyebrows as her eyes filled further with lust. He smirked to himself, dragging his tongue across his teeth at the realization of how easily he affected her. 
Kim gripped his thighs tightly, squeezing as he continued to roughly pull jerk her mouth along his cock. He grunted a little louder, his mind blazing with want as he pressed his balls against her pouty lips. She gagged loudly, spit falling from her lips as she stared up at him.
He admired the way her face was getting darker, how her gags came out higher pitched as he roughly pressed into her mouth. He couldn’t focus on anything other than the pleasure that he was feeling suddenly.
Her moans became muffled from his cock as his tip repeatedly slammed into the back of her throat. He groaned at how wet and warm her mouth felt, how heavy his cock felt against her tongue. He wished he could fit all of his cock inside of her mouth, to feel the sensation of her mouth everywhere. 
“Fuck, fuck,” He cursed, cumming harshly down her throat far too early. She gagged, coughing a little as she pulled away. She squeezed her eyes shut as she roughly gulped his spunk down. He groaned as he fell back onto the bed, feeling exhausted suddenly, “Shit, was that too much?” He questioned her, suddenly realizing how forward his motions were.
“No,” She giggled as she crawled up the bed to join him, her lips swollen as she looked at him with wide eyes, “I like when you treat me like that.” She admitted, making his lips curl into a smirk as he pulled her onto the bed. He wiped at the corner of her lips, admiring the way the drool was beginning to slide from her mouth. 
He curled up behind her, pulling her close to his chest as he breathed in her sweet scent. He listened to her deep breaths before it slowly fell soft. He peered around her shoulder, surprised at how quickly she’d fallen asleep. 
He held her closer, wishing he could join her. His thoughts felt loud again, running wild as he did his best to rest against her. He just wasn’t tired. He was sure it would hit him eventually. 
It had been so long since Billy had felt this happy and joyful that he was suddenly afraid. He was afraid that it would all come crashing down like it always did. He didn’t want to go back to being bitter and confused. He wanted to stay just like this.
He could afford coke but it was expensive, and it never lasted enough for him to feel high like this all the time. He wanted something to keep his mind away, to keep his heart fluttering and to keep the smile on his lips.
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kriz-fics · 1 year
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The Sword’s Legacy
Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.
Masterlist
Chapter Twelve: Blood and Knights
Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader
Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)
Length: 8.5K
CW: Graphic violence, YN being horny (not graphic, unfortunately. Not yet, at least ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) )
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Tut-tut, it looks like rain.
The fact of which does not please the more uppity lords, Eren observes, eyes flickering from one delicate man to the next and trying not to let his disdain bleed into his features. That little mouse of a man, Anton Taran, looks as skittish as the pest he resembles; the Procurator’s small watery eyes dart to the sky above and back to the orating king, hands behind his back and bouncing ever so lightly on his heels, eager to scamper into his nice and dry hole before the sky breaks. Proctor Nick is little better standing next to him. The slight curl of his lip and the way those deep-set eyes sweep out across the grounds and into the gray above gives away his sentiments about the weather. Near the center of the line of councilmen Willy Tybur stands beside Lord Grisha, mouth set in a thin line as he looks upon the proceedings with his best approximation of the courtier’s hollow face stamped upon his highbred visage. Like his fellows, he is showing undue interest in the ether and their environs. It cannot have been any plainer that these men are in a tizzy to make an end of things quickly.
It is not as if they don’t have a bloody canopy above their feeble heads. Even the king and his son seem made of sterner stuff. The Prince of Crownglen Urklyn Reiss is standing upon the covered stage at the center of the newly rebuilt village, grave and regal, as his father Rod Reiss I holds forth at the front of the platform. The royal pair does not give two shits about the weather, which is more than can be said for their prickly underlings. 
What is a little rain upon their noble bodies? It is only water.
Eren shifts a little in his place within the squires’ row, the weight of plate and mail upon his person a familiar load, comforting even. He and his peers are standing below the stage to the right, close enough at hand to their masters should they have the unfortunate need to be squired for that day. The masters, barring the Lord Commander, are standing below the stage to the front, a forbidding barrier between the highborn and the low.
The royal pair, the Conclave, the lords Skaryn and Halkin, and the guards -  the Royal Guard among them - are the only ones of the court in attendance at the royal pardon. The rest of the nobility are at Merrydell, awaiting their coming so they may feast and celebrate the end of the Northern Matter beneath the Skaryns’ roof in the company of those who have been pardoned.
Mossreach is unrecognizable from the desolation it had been half a year ago. The burnt-out husks and the dead buried beneath snow and crows have been cleared away. Banners of a dozen colors flutter everywhere, green and red, maroon and white, purple, purple most of all from the royal standards flying the royal sigil: the head of the Founding Titan, with its purple eyes large and haunting and flaring, upon a purple field. The cottages that litter the sward are freshly-thatched and new-made, the land green and lush and unburnt. Even its people have been restored.
The king’s speech washes over Eren, something about the Mother’s mercy and the Father’s forgiveness and what other diplomatic tripe his Heralds have taught him to say to appease his malcontent masses.
Which is all well and good, for these ones. The cleared-away dead will beg to differ, their living kin more so. But as they have been banished to their true homes in the Midlands, they can hardly raise a hue and cry. Not that they truly can. Whatever hues and cries they may have raised have fallen on deaf ears, as the grievances of their northern foemen had fallen on deaf ears at the start of all of this.
And thus do the tables turn. So much for the Father’s justice. Rows of northmen face the platform, eyes trained on their king. Some are tall, some are short, some young, some old, some slight and some stout, yet somehow, they all look the same in Eren’s eyes. It is the hardness in their bearing, the hardness of the North, the same hardness he sees in Robert the Lawyer, who is standing beside the Crown Prince with that proud mien blazing like his red robes. Even their elderly, their women, and their children have traces of it, Eren can see as he watches them stand at the fringes of it all, every bit as stony as their men. Hard lands breed a hard folk. 
Admiration rises in him, despite all. They may have escaped justice for the lives they took so savagely yet there is something laudable about the way they fought for what is theirs by rights. Had the crown set out to crush them at the very onset of their offensive, Eren knows they would be hard-pressed to smash them down. They are the sort of foe he can enjoy pushing against, a foe strong of will and might.
Willy Tybur turns his head a fraction, to look towards the bordering woods for the hundredth time. Eren follows his gaze and looks upon the fount of his greatest shame. He feels his insides shrivel up at the memory but forces himself to hold and keep his eyes fixed on the green. 
Half a year gone and still it will not leave him no matter how much he thinks he has put it behind him. He wonders if he will ever truly be free of it and feels cold. The prospect of carrying that weight for the rest of his life is not an appealing one. I’ll rid myself of it for good and all no matter what it takes. He will know when to stop moving when needs must. Redemption is not beyond him yet.
A shadow stirs within the trees. Eren narrows his eyes, squinting at the treeline. Shades? But shades shine silver…
Ping!
The sky breaks at last, and Eren inwardly scowls as the fat droplets batter his helm, filling his ears to bursting with the endless clangor of ringing steel. He will be deaf by day’s end, like as not, with a splitting headache to boot. He would have removed the helm yet etiquette demands it stays on. This is not the first he’s worn steel in such weather yet he always removes the headpiece when not in active combat; he’d rather suffer the torrent full-on than go mad from that metallic racket.
Dusk seems to fall early today and the loud crashing of the rain upon them all only adds to the din inside his head. The world shrinks to his helm. Ping, ping, ping, ping, ping. So when the men come boiling out of the woods, their war cries one with the storm, Eren can only stare, uncomprehending.
Screams join the discordant symphony, and then madness besets them all.
Bodies are flying everywhere, men, women, and children all a-flutter like a flock of startled pigeons in some park, seeking to evade the oncoming attackers. They need not have bothered with that very convincing display; the raiders give them no more heed than Eren would an ant beneath his feet and flow right through them as water flows through rock.
Battle is joined moments later and there is no more thought, only the ancient animal wisdom of the flesh that tells him to move.
To be still is to die.
And he is moving, running, running toward his master with his sword in hand. A man looms out of the wet like a leviathan from the deep but Eren bulls forward with nary a pause. The outlaw bellows and swings down his hammer; Eren dodges aside, and his blade punches through leather, steel, and flesh. He pulls his sword free, feeling the steel scrape bone, and is moving once more before the corpse can hit the ground. He dispatches a second and a third man in like manner, and at last he is beside his master, guarding his back as a good squire should.
There is no end to them, these leviathans from the deep. Hardly has he cut down one than another will take his place, and the world tapers down to action and reaction, kill or be killed.
It is sometime later - a minute, an hour, a day - when Eren realizes his master is nowhere to be found. The tide of battle has parted them and there are only enemies. He hacks down across the face of a northman hard, and his head dissolves into bits of brain and bone and blood. Another falls beneath his steel, blood spurting from his open throat. And still they come, again and again and again, until somehow they are not.
The brief respite allows Eren time to take stock of his surroundings properly. He has been driven back to the canopied platform where the king had made his speech. He sweeps his gaze around, hardly sparing the scattered corpses around him a second thought, and watches the chaos of battling men amidst falling rain. He is utterly confounded by it all. They laid down their arms and swore never to take them up again. A faint whimper resounds from somewhere close by, and he turns, eyes widening in shock at the sight of the king huddling beneath the covered stage. Why is he still here? Where are the guards? Eren runs to him at once.
“Your Majesty, you have to get out of here!” he calls over the pouring rain and heaves at the royal arm to get him moving. The king looks up at him with terror in his wide blue eyes, but recognition soon follows and he is moving, meek and unresisting as the son of his Magister guides him away from the horror and the savagery.
They have hardly gone a couple of yards when something rams into them, knocking the king and squire off their feet and sending them sprawling in the mud. Eren rolls onto his back, stunned, the taste of rain and mud heavy on his tongue. The force of the charge had wrenched his sword from his hand and sent his helm flying off his head, though he is hardly given time to mourn the loss.
A man is atop him all of a sudden and silver steel gleams bright and deadly at him out of the murky gloom. There is no time for thought or fear. Eren grabs his foeman’s arm with both hands as it falls toward his face, and their lethal struggle commences. The man claws uselessly at one of his gloved hands, trying to pry his fingers open, but Eren holds on the tighter and pushes, straining with gritted teeth. The blade is all he can see, it is the only thing that exists in the world, the blade and its tip sharp as any needle, any razor… and it is coming ever closer no matter how much he pushes, closer and closer to the center of his forehead…
The northman pulls back an arm, his hand closing into a fist. Eren sees and catches the blow one-handed but near pays for it with an eye. The enemy’s blade slips and slices him clean just above his eyebrow, and the left half of his world goes black as blood drips down his eye. 
There is no pain yet the sensation of steel cutting his flesh sends a shock of clarity through him as though he has been doused with ice-cold water. He manages to get a leg beneath the man’s ribs and knees, hard. That shock of clarity lends strength to his limbs, and the outlaw is tossed aside, wheezing. 
Eren does not wait for him to recover. He scrabbles, half-blind, in the mud for his sword, feels relief - sweet, blessed relief - course through him as his fingers brush against something hard and metallic. Footsteps splash behind him and he does not pause to think. He strikes, his sword swinging out in a perfect arc, and his foeman falls back into the mud to rise no more. Eren leaves him there, with half his entrails spilling out onto the watery ground, to search for his king.
He finds him where he first saw him, beneath the wooden scaffolding of the stage. They had not gone very far before the dead man accosted them. “Your Majesty, it’s all right, I can keep you safe,” Eren avows, reaching for his liege. The smell of fear bears toward him and it smells of piss, faint and dampened by the rain yet wholly recognizable, as the king holds onto him with surprising strength. Eren pays it no heed. Piss, shit, blood, and sweat, the soldier learns to tolerate all, even the foulest of stenches. It is the stink of battle, and delicate men with delicate noses do not long survive in the field. The king is well within his rights to piss in terror. 
His Majesty and his acting guard once again make for safer ground, though where that is Eren does not know. Still the rain pours down in ceaseless buckets, and it welds his left eye close. There is as yet no pain but he knows that is not a good thing; he is not even sure the bleeding has stopped entirely. They have to get to safety and soon. For loathe though he is to admit it, something deep, deep down inside him recognizes that he is in no good state to be fighting much longer, with half his vision compromised such as it is. The king will not be harmed under his watch, gods help him.
Men dart around them, friend and foe both, their footsteps churning the red-brown mud into a frothing boil. Eren surveys the gray village as best he can with only one eye, looking for the royal congregation, or better yet a temple so they may claim the right of sanctuary…
The gods are with him, and he almost sinks to his knees in relief at the sight of a temple at the borders of the village - ruined, crumbled, blackened with fire but still a temple, and still well-placed to grant them safety by all the laws of the land.
Pain, red pain erupts up his right arm, and he drops his sword to the muddy ground. An arrow, he thinks with mild surprise as he stares down at the shaft protruding from his armored limb. It had punched through the plate as though it is nothing more than silk. Now where had he seen that before? And since when did they start using arrows? He does not have the chance to ruminate.
An outlaw is before him and his liege once more, axe raised to cleave one or the both of them in two. They are endless and everywhere, these outlaws, like fucking roaches. Distantly, Eren hears what sounds like the king bleat out, “Oh, gods be good,” as Eren shoves his royal person behind him to protect him, uselessly, with his body.
A foot of red-tipped steel bursts from the northman’s mouth like some grotesque tongue. His eyes widen and turn glassy in quick succession, and the axe tumbles from his hands. His pointed tongue retreats from his bloodied maw and his corpse falls to reveal Sir Levi Ackerman. The cycle of relief giving way to tension and back again is turning Eren’s head around, yet he is pleased to see his master all the same.
Sir Levi’s eyes flash from his face toward his injured arm and his mouth tightens. “Get the king to the temple, most of our men have taken sanctuary there. Me and the rest will throw the outlaws back. Go!”
For one mad moment, Eren wants to argue. He can still fight, still hold his own, yet the way his master’s eyes blaze up at him gives him pause. His arm is worse than useless now and better still he is half-blind, he will only get in the way. And he has the king to protect, a king who is in very real peril of being savaged if he insists on continuing the way he is now. His pigheadedness will spill royal blood in his hands, a much more dire consequence than a Lord Commander’s missing arm.
The king will not be harmed under his watch. 
Eren swallows, bites his tongue, and nods jerkily. He stirs the petrified king onward, favoring his right arm, and lets the others put the outlaws to flight.
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“Any luck with Halkin and Skaryn?”
His sire sighs, unendingly weary. “I hardly think this is the right time and place to speak of politics.”
But, Father, the weather and my happy domestic affairs hardly make for scintillating conversation. Zeke turns away from the dark world outside the wrought iron window to glance at Lord Grisha in his seat beside the canopied bed. “Well, since we’ve thoroughly exhausted the topic of our dear youngest here, we had as well talk about matters of import.”
Their dear youngest is lying upon his chartered bed, soused in poppy and utterly dead to the world. Yet he lives to see another day, thank the gods, Zeke thinks, watching his little brother sleep and recover his strength. His fever has broken at last, a very promising sign, assures Healer Dmitriy. The youngest Jaeger is well past danger now, and his wounds are healing cleanly.
There had been a scare of festering and the possible loss of a limb yet the Healers worked their craft and they moved beyond that. Fresh poulticed bandages bind Eren’s arm and cover the left side of his brow, the fall of dark hair over his face stark against the white linen. He looks younger, as innocent as he is like to get at this age, more the boy of six of Zeke’s youth and less the young man of sixteen he has quickly grown to be.
In the end, only the scars should remain. And his knighthood. Scars and near-death for that honor, that is how you come into it. Eren will be well-compensated for his leal service.
He is luckier than some, to be sure. Good men were lost that day. “Any word yet on the new Guardsmen?” Zeke persists when his father keeps his peace. Most times silence comes easy between them; sometimes, Zeke even preferrs it so, yet silence of late is an uncomfortable thing. He has somehow tied it to Eren’s state. If they keep quiet, then surely Eren will weaken and pass away into the Fields. His brother must hear their voices, if only so he can have an anchor to the living. Zeke does not know why he insists when Eren is finally out of the weeds. But it is true what they say about habits.
The quiet snaps and pops of the fire are the only things to be heard as Grisha stares at him a moment through his lenses. The light of the flickering hearthflames reflects off the fine Rhoseine glass, only to give way to the green pools beneath. Eren has inherited those eyes, the Jaeger eyes. Zeke is a Fritz through and through, blue and gold and fair. And yet they insist he is his father in gold.
“Some candidates have been chosen,” Lord Grisha says at length. “The squires of two fallen, Bertolt Hoover and Conrad Springer. They are set to replace their former masters. No word yet for the other two replacements but some names have been put forward.”
“Our younger Eren would have jumped at the chance.” Zeke gazes down fondly at his sleeping brother once more. “I’ve always wondered what made him change his mind.”
His father chuckles, a rare sound these days. “I was surprised he reconsidered at all, not that it was such a terrible thing. There are other ways to win honor for himself and his House. Left him open to the marriage market, at least.”
Speak of the marriage market… His little lady will want to know she can visit him at last. Zeke had caught the poor thing hovering around thereabouts near every day since they brought Eren in. It will enliven the lad to see his betrothed. They seem to be sweeter on each other at present, Zeke is pleased to see.
“As to Skaryn and Halkin…” Lord Grisha sighs and rubs his eyes beneath his spectacles. “I’ll continue to lobby for their families. If execution is in the fates of Valko Skaryn and Yuri Halkin, then so be it, but to extend that punishment to their whole lines?” He rubs at his temples, his horror at the thought well and truly palpable. “To their wives and children and brothers and cousins… it is too much. Too much. I cannot let that stand.”
His Majesty had been sore wroth when he had recovered from the terror of his ordeal. The lords Skaryn and Halkin were arrested, accused of treason and attempted regicide. Both have been attainted, stripped of all lands, titles, and incomes, and sentenced to death by beheading. But that is not to be enough for the king. In his wrath, Rod Reiss has declared, in no uncertain terms, his desire to see both men’s lines ended. Every man, woman, and child who bear the name of Skaryn and Halkin shall be expunged. Even those merely married to the name found no mercy. Rod Reiss wants them gone, gone.
Zheletov, too, felt the flames of royal fury. Hundreds of Zhelevic were arrested, those outlaws who did not manage to flee further North. All have been sentenced to hang. Rumor has it that the king means to hang their families as well, to teach the North a sharp lesson in slaughter. Robert of Feyhill, the head of the northern faction and the mind behind all, is to be hanged, drawn, and quartered - a fate reserved for the vilest of traitors. A charge he still vehemently denies even at the rack.
What should have been a moment of festive reconciliation became naught but dross. The court is silent, reeling in the enormity of it all.
“Eren saved his life, he should grant me a boon, at least,” Lord Grisha murmurs, more to himself than to his eldest, who stares at him then at his brother, who lays oblivious to his burgeoning role as leverage and potential savior of the lines of Skaryn and Halkin.
Zeke supposes it is only fitting for his knightly brother. What are knights for but for the saving of innocent lives?
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“His fever broke last night, my lady, you can see him at last.”
You have never heard anything sweeter.
“Oh, thank the gods.” You smooth down your crimson dress, making sure all is in order. He has not laid eyes on you for four days, you had best be presentable. And pretty, you must be pretty, a girlish voice whispers, which you hastily tamp down. As if he’ll care overmuch about such matters, not after his ordeal. A silver shield burnished to a mirror sheen is hanging from the wall opposite you. Surreptitiously, you brush back a stray lock that has escaped from your braids. All in order, you think, pleased, as you stare at your somewhat distorted reflection. Some effort will not be amiss, surely.
Healer Dmitriy knocks upon the wooden door to announce himself before opening it and entering. Aly the Cat slips inside at once; distantly, you hear your betrothed utter a pleased exclamation of the creature’s name. You feel your heart thrum faster. Your fingers twine themselves around each other against your fluttering tummy. He sounds well. That is good. 
“My lord, the Lady Rhyzkova is without and wishes to see you,” you hear the young priest say, his voice partly muffled by the half-closed door. The note of excitement in Eren’s voice as he bids the Healer to let you in makes you smile.
It is comfortably warm inside the chamber. A fire crackles merrily in the stone hearth before the canopied bed, inadvisable for a southron summer but perfectly acceptable for a northern one. Two bone-white velvet armchairs are arrayed before the fireplace. A table laden with what looks like the tools of the Healers’ trade - physic, rolls of bandages, and herbs of the medicinal sort - is sitting between the loungers. The brown linen curtains of the tall wrought iron windows are pulled back, illuminating the room with pale, watery sunshine and giving the place an airy countenance.
A green smell, the smell of herbs and plant life, pervades all. You find yourself breathing in deeply as you enter, your first few footsteps tapping lightly on the polished marble floor, yet all vanish as you lay eyes upon your wounded knight. The white hangings on his bed are tied back, revealing his form. He is sitting up, at least, with a wide grin on his bandaged face, his left eye swollen half-shut beneath the poultice. You would not have known he was ailing and lifeless for the better part of four days by his demeanor. Ginger Aly is curled up on his blanketed lap, eyes closed contently as Eren runs languid fingers over his short fur.
Your knight is awake, and smiling at you, and so wonderfully alive.
“How are you feeling?” you murmur as you sit on his bed by his legs. A flash of dark blue cloth sweeps by from the corner of your vision, but you do not pay it heed. Eren and his well-being come first.
He opens his mouth to answer but frowns almost at once. You mirror his expression and are about to ask what is wrong when he speaks. “Everything’s fine, Healer Dima, you may leave us.”
The straw-haired Healer in question freezes in the act of settling himself down upon one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Nerves and uncertainty play across his thin features for half a heartbeat before he reaches some sort of resolution and sits down determinedly. “Oh, no, please do not mind me. Someone must needs stay to keep an eye on… your health. Just because your fever has broken doesn’t mean you’re not susceptible to a relapse.”
“Oh, in that case, your presence is a much welcome one indeed, Healer,” you say rapidly, as Eren makes to say something, something undoubtedly rude to judge by the look on his face. He curls his lip at your interruption but subsides once you shake your head at him a little. Let him be.
Healer Dmitriy smiles, relieved. “Very good, my lady. See, you’ll hardly notice I’m here.” He reaches into one voluminous dark blue sleeve and pulls out a small book - a missal of The Light of the Creed, the new faith’s holiest text, you see, catching a glimpse of the twelve-rayed sun of the Creed on the book’s black leather cover. The priest opens the primer and promptly vanishes within its pages.
Of course a godly, dutiful man like him will insist on playing governess, you realize belatedly. It had not occurred to you until you saw him glance from you to Eren with an expression of abject worry. He can hardly leave a young maid alone with a half-naked young man in his chambers.
For the young man is very much half-naked. You feel your mouth go dry as the realization hits you hard. You cannot understand how that detail eluded you. “I see you’ve made a new friend,” you gesture at little Aly on Eren’s lap, a ditch effort to distract yourself, and fail miserably. That only brings further attention to his hard, incredibly ridged stomach. Oh, gods above.
Eren stares down fondly at the cat, oblivious to your ogling. “We only properly met this morning but we’re fast friends now,” he laughs as the ginger tom rises and stretches, then proceeds to rub up against his Healer’s charge, purring loudly. Never have you wanted to trade places with a cat so badly in your entire life.
Suddenly, looking your betrothed in the eye becomes an endeavor of utmost difficulty, not when you want to look elsewhere. You have seen your fair share of half-naked men. Comely men and homely ones, paragons as sculpted as statues and pigs shuffling along like sacks of suet, you have seen them all. You never lack for those in summery Vascalin, where the sight of them is so common as to be unremarkable. But a half-naked Eren is a veritable god to their mere mortal flesh.
You peer up at him from beneath your lashes as Aly occupies his attention for the nonce. He is beautifully well-made. You have always suspected it to be so; some of his tunics show off his shape well, and he oft wears his daily linens with the laces undone, allowing one to get a glimpse of an expansive, defined chest. To see all of that bared before you to prove the truth of your fancies is astounding.
His shoulders, broad and striking, lead down to strong, sinewy arms. The bandage wrapped around the right limb flaunts the roundness of the muscle and stands stark against his tanned skin. A tiny cluster of leech marks speckles the skin beneath his dressings yet they do nothing to diminish the smooth perfection of his limb. His chest is as wide and well-muscled; verily, his torso is a vision, each muscle as sharply etched as though he is cut from stone.
Some other girl is giggling madly deep down inside. You feel like a bitch in heat. The thought near makes the mad laughter bubble up your throat but you quell it quickly. And then you make the singular error of allowing your eyes to follow the sloping trail of chiseled muscle beneath the blankets and almost choke on air. The expected sight of the waist of his pants is nowhere in evidence.
Gods be good, is he naked under there?! 
You squirm and press your legs together on your seat. You cannot have asked for better fodder for your fantasies. Suddenly, you can hear him, hear the deep, sultry cadence of his voice asking you if you will let him sate his lusts with you, feel the hard, chiseled torso press close against you as he leaned down to kiss you… Poxy Duty had robbed you of that kiss. More’s the pity. You wonder what it will feel like, to be trapped beneath that god-like body as freed of clothing as he is now, feel his heat and his skin bound you as you lay below him helpless but to take his lust and his amorous attentions…
Gods help you, lass, the lad is injured and just escaped death by the skin of his teeth. It does not do to entertain such unbecoming ideas. You’re worse than a dockside slut, you admonish yourself as heat courses through your whole body at the turn of your thoughts. There are better things to occupy yourself with than his magnificent body. His health is what matters most.
“Hey.”
You start at the sound of his voice and do not immediately meet his gaze. You hope to all the gods, both old and new, that your face is not a mirror of your desire. That is a discussion that can keep; your priestly governess will be shocked to his soul should he have the slightest inkling of what had flounced through your head these past few moments.
“Hey,” Eren says again, reaching out to lay a hand on your forearm. The touch comes lightly, so very lightly, yet the way it burns is anything but. You meet his eyes at last. “Are you all right? You look strange.” His concerned frown gives way to a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, see, healthy as a horse.” He wrinkles his nose at the idiom, making you giggle. “I’m well past danger now. The wound’s not going to fester, there’s no poison in my blood, I’m fine and whole. You don’t need to worry so much.”
“Thank the gods,” you breathe, instantly snatching at that sentiment. It is not as if you aren’t worried about him, but best have him construe your conflicted expression as concern instead of lust. This is not the time for lust. “Speak of the gods,” you smile down at Aly, who has padded over to you, seeking affection, “you are blessed indeed. Lady Alyrya has been with you this whole time.” Cats are sacred to the Gardener, but none more so than the ginger tabby.
“It’s a nice thought, that-”
“Oh!”
There is a great tug, and your hand flies to your chest as the laces of your bodice come undone. It will seem that Aly is feeling a little too neglected. Or desirous of yarn. You hold the tom fast as you unhook his claws from the crimson cords, your face smarting a little in mortification.
“Oh, dear.” Healer Dmitriy flaps over to the bed, the tips of his prominent ears pink. “A thousand pardons, my lady, it seems he’s in his excitable mood again. I’ll see him out.” He scoops his ginger attendant into his arms and bustles away, threatening the cat with a salmon-less dinner as he does so.
You sigh and tighten your laces once more. Aly had not pulled down far enough for your breasts to spill out from your bodice, thankfully, but that was a near thing. You are more comfortable baring skin than most women north of the Greatshield are, being from the sweltering South, yet you draw the line at exposure in front of two men. Well, perhaps one of them can get a pass. You bite the inside of your lip as you fumble briefly and have to redo the knot all over again.
“You know what they say about certain animals being able to channel people’s wills?” Eren lifts his gaze from your chest to your face. His eyes have darkened a little. Your fingers tighten on your cords. “Nobody can say for sure if that still holds true but it’s an interesting thought.” His legs shift beneath the blankets.
The return of the Healer saves you from having to form a reply. He gives you an apologetic smile and another apology before returning to his seat and his book once more.
“Your hair’s grown longer,” you remark arbitrarily, not quite knowing what to say to your betrothed’s earlier statement. Besides… Your face tingles a little. With the way he looked at you then, you cannot guarantee that your conversation won’t lead to… bawdier pastures. You had never truly touched upon the subject before but something about his demeanor then gives you pause. Best to nip that in the bud. Your governess will not stand for anything remotely suggestive. He will throw you out and forbid you from seeing Eren again for the rest of his confinement, and you cannot have that.
Eren tugs at the ends of his hair, looking at it thoughtfully. “Do you think I should cut it? I haven’t been up to calling on the barber lately…”
“It’s your hair, you’re free to do as you like.” You give him a small smile. “I like it, though. It makes you look-” comelier, “-older, more mature.”
He settles back into his pillows, appearing gratified. “Well, then, I suppose I’ll keep it as it is for the time being.” He gazes at you for a good long while, before his concern reduces his smile into something softer. “You look tired.”
The chuckle that escapes you echoes the sentiment, as though his bringing attention to the fact has drawn four days’ worth of weariness out. You rub a finger at the skin beneath your eye. “Between you and Father and this whole affair, I have been getting no lick of sleep.” You cannot count the hours you had spent in Merrydell’s sanctum, praying and praying and praying for him and your lord father, beseeching the old gods to bless and keep them. You had even visited the nearest temple of the Gardener to offer incense, a candle, and yet more prayers for your betrothed. He belongs to the Creed, perhaps his Lady will be better inclined to protect him should the old gods dismiss your pleas.
Lady Alyrya heard them, at any rate, her and the old gods. Father’s fever was only the chills brought on by the rains and not from a corrupted wound; he had taken a glancing blow from an outlaw’s knife but managed to come out of that debacle otherwise unscathed. He was right as rain after a day or so.
Eren had given you more grief. What time you had outside of prayer was spent hovering anxiously outside these very chambers, hoping you could visit him or at least learn of his condition. Still, you will visit the sanctum and the temple tonight, to give thanks to the gods for granting him further life.
“Ask Healer Dima to give you essence of valerian, it helps a lot,” Eren urges, fretful. He can be a rather fretful character, you have come to find. It only makes him sweeter in your eyes.
“I will at that. Although I’ll be sleeping more soundly tonight regardless.” Because you’re awake and all right and alive. A bowl of apples is sitting upon his bedside dresser. His mother’s key lays beside it, nestled amidst the coils of its leather cord. “Are you hungry?” you ask, gesturing at the fruit.
“Will you feed me if I am? I can barely lift my arm for the pain.” Eren blinks at you all innocent-like. The teasing tilt to his lips ruins the effect, however. From the distance comes the tiniest of coughs.
Your own mouth twitches up in amusement. “If you wish it.”
“I do wish it,” he says firmly, sitting up straight again. “I’m hungry, so hungry, famished, starving-”
“All right, your hunger has been well and truly noted.” You reach for an apple and the paring knife and proceed to cut the fruit. Needlessly, you know. He is not so injured that he cannot feed himself (despite his claims to the contrary). In this, you indulge him. The patient must have his way until he recovers.
A cough resounds from the distance once more, louder this time, as you reach forward to put a slice of apple in your betrothed’s waiting mouth. You both freeze and glance over at the Healer, who is staring at you beadily from above his holy missal. A prick of annoyance simmers within you, but you flash him a placating smile as you move to put more distance between you and Eren. You slip the piece of fruit into your betrothed’s mouth, careful not to let your fingers brush against his lips, those luscious, alluring, enticing lips…
You bite back a giggle as he chews the morsel, looking distinctly bad-tempered. Your fingertips still tingle from the warmth of his breath. “I see you still haven’t put on your mother’s key,” you observe, eyeing the forenamed pendant on the bedside table. His betrothal necklace looks rather lonely without its staunch companion around his neck.
His bad-tempered expression deepens. “He’s a priest, he’s as superstitious as they come. His precious sensibilities won’t stand for blasphemy.” Scorn drips from his voice as he says the word, further amusing you. “You’ll make a better Healer,” he adds, his expression softening as he gleams at you. “You don’t nag as much.”
That is an interesting thought, that. The past few days certainly lent further fodder to your long-held fancies of being a Healer. It is a flimsy whim, a glib thought born from a night of girlish diversion when asked that absurdly preposterous question: what would you be had you not been born into nobility? Your fledgling pastime in the gardens led you to answer as you had.
But perhaps that fledgling can grow into something more. Seeing people you care for hurt and ailing woke something in you, the desire to ease their pain if only but a little. You hope Healer Darya is willing to take on a new apprentice this autumn.
“Does it hurt so much?”
Eren chews on his apple, looking artless and very much innocent in truth. He does not stay so for long, though (not that you expect him to, the cheeky sod). “I already told you, didn’t I? I wouldn’t ask you to feed me if it didn’t hurt like blazes.” Something in your expression sobers him, and the smile he flashes you is gentle, tender. “I’m a little sore, but nothing you need concern yourself about too much.” He reaches out to take your free hand in his, lightly caressing your skin with his thumb. “And you have been, haven’t you? So concerned that you lost sleep over me, of all people.” He seems to move farther away, going somewhere beyond this room and beyond you.
You pull away from his hold to cup his face in your hand, as though in doing so you can keep him bound to yourself. You touch him as softly as you can yet still he flinches as your palm presses against the injured side of his face. That spasm of pain makes you pull back but he reaches up quickly to keep your hand on him, smiling up at you reassuringly as he does so. The green sparkling at you beneath his poulticed eyebrow is as vibrant as its twin, swollen and puffy though the skin around it is. He is still so beautiful, your battered knight. So beautiful, and warm, and alive.
The loud clearing of a holy throat reminds you of decency and decorum, and you make to pull away from your betrothed once more. He is not having it, though. His grip on your hand tightens, and his face darkens like thunder. “Bloody prissy priests… As if a simple touch to the face equates to… what exactly? A hot little romp?” His laugh comes out exuding derision and mockery. “I didn’t throw you down on the bed and have my way with you, did I? With the way he’s looking at us, you’d think he caught us fucking,” he grouses, in a voice pitched low so only you would hear him.
A lump rises inside your throat that almost chokes you. You cough to rid yourself of it. How he can say such things so baldly confounds you. “That’s… probably what he's thinking. I suppose he’s here to try and preserve my honor. For all he knows, you could be some sort of perverted lech,” you say, in what you hope is an offhand way.
That puts a thoughtful look on Eren’s face. Suddenly, the darkness in his eyes holds a very different sort of sentiment. He glances at you from beneath his lashes before looking down at his lap. Your fingers twitch a little against his face as he continues to keep your hand captive. Heat once again simmers beneath your skin to match the heat you had caught in his gaze before he averted his eyes. In a quiet voice, he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like, “He’s not far off, then.”
Your heart almost stops at that. “Pardon?”
He lifts his eyes back to yours and blinks slowly. “Have I not been preserving your honor for the better part of a year already? He has nothing to worry about.” One corner of his mouth kinks up roguishly. “Unless my lady does not care for such things. I’d gladly play the perverted lech if you’d let me.”
Gods save me.
Eren’s smile widens as though he has heard you and he releases your hand, allowing you to pick up the paring knife from where it is sitting on your lap. You take a brief recess to settle yourself and cut another wedge off the rapidly browning apple in your grip. Your hand does not shake, to your credit.
“Good apple, that,” Eren notes conversationally, as though he had not been speaking of perversion and fornication mere moments ago.
“The Skaryns brought in a good harvest.” The discomposure leaves you at once as the name of that doomed family leaves your lips. You stare down at the halved fruit in your hand. A good harvest. And their last. Everything seems to dim then, as though a pall has settled upon the world. The Skaryn pall. It is a cruel edict. Your knight had saved the author of that cruel edict. And that is why you can now call him that. Your knight. “You will be a Sir in truth now.”
“I will be, huh…” Eren looks pleased, excited at the thought. As well he might. It is all he ever wanted and lived for, the culmination of years of training and service.
“What’s his name, your squire?” you query as you feed him another slice. The next slice you eat yourself. It is as good as he claims, browned though it is now; the juice is sweet, refreshing on your tongue.
His eyes widen as he munches his own mouthful, as though he has forgotten that knights need squires to squire for them. “Falco Grice.” He swallows. “I have a squire.” The wonder in his face and voice makes you smile. “How do I go about being a master, though?” He screws up his face in thought, then puffs out his chest. “Falco, muck out the stables. I want to be able to eat off the ground once you’re done,” he says in his best approximation of Sir Levi’s flat tone.
There is a pause as the both of you stare at each other silently before descending into fits of giggles. For a while, you cannot stop. He is strong and thriving, and he is to be a knight at long last. Everything seems good in the world again, and the fate of doomed families fades into the ether. But as the light of day gives way to the gloom of night, his cheer slowly gives way to something more staid, dour, even mournful. Eren looks down at his hands, pensive. “Do I even deserve that honor, though? After…”
Sir Erwin’s lost arm hangs heavy between you. Half a year gone and still it haunts him. His gloom seeps into you like some illness, only to feed your determination to see him rise above his guilt and shame. 
“You do,” you state firmly. You will not brook arguments on this matter. “You saved His Majesty, the king’s life, that’s not a small thing. And you learned, didn’t you? You didn’t get those injuries by running pell-mell into danger, did you?” As he shakes his head no, you go on, “Then let it go. Onward and upward and no looking back. It does you no good to dwell on such things. It’ll only eat you up inside.”
“Did I even learn, though? Because I thought about it. Running pell-mell into danger.” He picks at the skin on his forefinger, hunched over and reeking of shame.
Your heart goes out to him, your earnest betrothed. He is a young man, near grown, and yet in many ways he is a boy still. “The only thing that matters is that you didn’t act on it.” You brandish a slice of apple at him. “Sweet to banish the bitter.”
A weight seems to lift off his shoulders as he accepts your proffered piece into his mouth. “You always know what to say.” He gazes at you, soft, contemplative, considering. “And you have to know what to say. In that there is no choice, not for you, my Lady of Rhyzkov.”
You cut yourself a wedge and help yourself to your own sweet. There is nothing to add to the truth that you have always known.
“I grew up wanting to be a Royal Guardsman.”
As most boys do, noble or common.
“But then I served one of them.” Wryness taints Eren’s tone as he continues, “I saw him- them dog every step of this one man every day of their lives and realized that… wasn’t for me. Knights are for serving, yes, but I want the freedom to choose my own liege. If I am to spend a lifetime in thrall to one, I want it to be by my own will and not because tradition says I must.”
And to be a Royal Guardsman is to serve the blood royal for life. “But you didn’t choose me.” As either liege or bride.
Eren looks at you then and subjects you to a long and intense stare. “No, I didn’t.” This intensity is different, something you cannot quite place. 
He is such a forceful personality, you reflect as you hold his deep green gaze. Deep enough to drown in. And you are and will continue to do so, you know now, for the rest of your life. But there is joy in trying to keep up with him, something exhilarating about navigating his tides. He is quite unlike anyone you have ever met, and it intrigues you.
“That doesn’t mean I won’t serve you gladly, willingly, and with everything I have.”
Embers of green fire begin to flare up at you and you avert your eyes lest you be burned. His tides you can navigate. You cannot say the same for his flames. “I look forward to your investiture.” You cut the last bit of apple in half.
The reminder of his investiture banks his flames near instantly. “It seems… inappropriate to have it after the executions.”
So his father has told him all. A certain chill appears to cloak you in its folds. It is almost enough for you to wish for his fires back. “The court needs something to celebrate after such unpleasantness.”
“Unpleasantness…” Eren frowns down at the white linen sheets draped over his lap. “The northmen deserve their sentence for that treachery, but to eradicate whole bloodlines strikes me as being too much. Little Yakob Halkin could hardly conspire against the king. Six-year-olds care more for toys than treason.”
You have never thought to see the end of a line, much less two, in your lifetime. But that is the way of the lords. You yourself are descended from the Shrike, Queen Yelena Rhyzkova, the fourth to bear that name and title, who had rid the world of the Moldovans thousands and thousands of years ago. If your royal forebear had any compunctions about killing the children of her enemies in her bid for power, no one will know now. She had taken her sensibilities with her to the grave.
“The commons will go the way of their masters, if the talk is true.” You hand Eren his last morsel and bite into your own.
Eren eats his apple and reclines back on his pillows. “It’s only talk. He will get his blood price and be paid twice over with highborn blood. He’ll leave the innocent commons alone. They’re not worth that much, at the end of the day.”
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A/N:
Horny YN is horny. But, really, who can blame her? Have you seen the guy?
Knight!Eren is here at last, hurrah for him. But the Northern Matter has turned into... another matter entirely.
This’ll be the last update for this year, so it’s my Christmas posting for you, my readers, who I am very thankful to have! I’m glad to be able to share my brainchild to the world and I thank you so much for reading! Always, always <3
This may be my last TSL update but not my last post for the year... at least it depends on how fast I can get around to it. But I’m planning on dabbling in the modern AU and posting a smutty one-shot that will just not leave my brain and so I have no choice but to write it. Hopefully I can get it done before the year ends, if not... I can hail the New Year with good sexy smutty goodness.
Tagging: @princess-okkotsu​​ @lukepattersin​ @aki-and-saltfish​​
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yourmomxx · 2 years
Text
warnings: mentions of sex, corruption kink, praise kink, age gap
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Your father had the tendency for hosting all different sorts of events. Galas, gatherings, parties, whatever he desired.
He was quite famous for them, too.
He enjoyed the attention they brought him. He craved the people’s flattery and praise, may it be for the recent decorations, the appetizers - or you.
After all, an unmarried woman with no partner, of a somewhat wealthy family and a beauty so stunning it made every man stop dead in their tracks, was worth complimenting.
You did not pay attention to them. They all had the same slow, pompous way of talking, using difficult words to prove that they somewhat knew more than you, that they were rich and respected businessmen that you should never be able to deny.
And they bored you.
Which is why you did them the favor of conversing with them for a little while, before putting them aside like worn-out jewelry. Or at least, you did that to most of them.
The tall man with the blond hair was one of your father’s ‘guests of honor’. You did not know his name. He never told you it. He never tells you much about himself, really.
But the truth is, as long as a person chooses the right words and gestures to use, you do not even realize how little you in reality know about them. Or you do not care.
Somewhere, in the back of your head, you were aware that what you were doing with him was wrong. Corruption of a woman before marriage. If anyone were to find out, it would bring disgrace upon both you and your father.
But you could not help it, he had you hooked on him like a helpless fish on a rod.
From the moment he had met you, he had lured you in, whispering smallest things in your ear, praises and compliments that made your heart beat faster and your head spin.
It did not take long until he first had touched you. Really touched you. Tender and lingering where he would graze your skin, dreams at day and in the night filled with the hoarse rasp of his voice that promised to take care of you.
A woman should have her husband take her innocence from her. But instead you had given it to a tall, elder man with sunglasses who vowed to gift you the world if you asked. A grown man that was an associate of your father, but that took care of you in all the right ways.
He offered you the attention your father did not, and he gave it to you in a way no other man would ever be able to.
Whenever he attended your father’s get-together’s, the two of you would sneak quick glances or touches between one another, although you would sometimes catch him staring at you shamelessly.
Just as he was right now. Standing tall next to your father, he was holding a drink in his right hand, and watched you as you were politely conversing with one of your father’s female work associates.
You were wearing a black dress which’s fabric laid on your body like a second skin. A dress that you were wearing nothing underneath, he knew, because he had your panties stuffed deep into the pocket of his dress pants.
Your father was talking to him, he vaguely noticed even though he wasn’t listening, too focused on you while he thought of the things that had been a few hours ago, and which would be again as soon as he caught you in an available position.
When you suddenly started making your way over to the two men, he realized that your father had his hand reached out for you in a silent command to come over.
“Y/N, lovely, would you not want to offer our guest a bite of our appetizers?” He said.
“Of course father.” You nodded at his request with a slight smile and moved away from them, only to return a moment later with a silver plate in your hand, stacked with different kinds of canapés and caviar.
He waved his hand thanks when you held the plate out for him. “I’m afraid I have to deny you,” he said apologetically, “But I don’t need anything to eat for now.”
Your father patted his friend on the back. “Ah, come on now,” he said, “A bit of space is always for those delicious mini-bites. Come on Y/N, you tell him.”
You nodded your head agreeing. “Indeed there is, father.”
The blond man denied again and your father threw you a look, so you held the plate up a bit closer to the honored guest’s face.
“Oh please sir, I beg of you,” you said, and batted your eyelashes at him with an ambiguous smile.
It amazed him, how you were able to speak those words in such an innocent fashion, when you had said the same to him just a few hours ago, on your knees with wide blown pupils and drool dripping from your chin.
His mouth twisted into a grin, whether it be from your words or his memories, one would not know, and he reached for the hors d'oeuvres.
“Well then, how could I say no?”
You beamed up at him as he put one of the small bites full of caviar in his mouth.
Your smile was sweet. And you were so polite. So flawless.
Anyone who would see you like this would never think of any sort of evil in you.
But he knew different, as soon as he had you all to himself in a small room where no one could hear you. When he would bend you over and make you suffer from bliss, would force your eyes open to see you fall apart under him, and would then send you back into the crowd and make you pretend as if nothing had happened, when he was still dripping out of you, slowly down your leg.
Your father reaching for the hors d’oeuvres interrupted the eye contact between you and him, drawing your attention to your father again.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, raising the canapé he picked, and you knew you were dismissed. You nodded polite goodbyes to both of them and left.
The tall man’s sunglassed eyes followed you, paying specific attention to the way your hips moved in the heels.
“I have actually been trying to find a husband for her,” your father suddenly told him, as they watched you get caught up next to a brunette man that looked around your age. You were smiling up at him with a drink in your hand, while he talked to you about probably the most dull topics one could possibly talk about.
“Oh I’m sure she charms them all,” he replied, smiling politely. A frown settled in between your father’s eyebrows and his eyes turned thoughtful. He meant he had seen worry in them for just a mere second.
“They are all swooning over her, indeed, but none of them seem to spike her interest enough.” Your father shook his head. “They all treat her very nicely but she always finds something to complain about them.”
The blond man raised his glass to his lips. “Is that so?”
He looked back in your direction, just to find your gaze already fixated on him, and locked eyes with you.
He watched you swirling your tongue around the olive slightly longer than necessary, before you slowly bit down.
He watched as your fingers ever so steadily went up and down the elegant glass, around the rim, before you set it to your lips.
“I just don’t understand, because she has always been so lovely to everyone,” your father continued. He had not noticed the exchange between his daughter and his long-time friend, being too busy staring into the depths of his nearly empty cocktail glass.
The man almost scoffed at this pathetic excuse of a human being. In the end, he did not.
Your father was right. You were sweet. Lovely. Or at least you had been. Before he had come along. Flashing bright smiles, charming every man around you with your grace.
Daddy’s perfect girl.
But now you were his. And of course none of them could ever possibly compare to him. To the things he whispered in your ear in the dark of an abandoned room, the feeling of his touch lingering on your body even days after, the thrill of being caught doing something as sinful as you were.
To the way he told you how perfect you were, because he could feel it, could feel you, and how there was no one that would ever be able to compare to your body around his.
With every sweet word his hypnotic voice said to you, he wrapped you even deeper into his grasp. Not that you would ever want to free yourself of it.
No, he had made you reliant upon him. Absolutely cock-drunk, for him. And he wouldn’t let you go just like that.
He had given you a taste of hell. And now he was planning to drag you down all the way.
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arsonist4hire · 23 hours
Text
Optics turn on with a jolt and a gasp that is cut short by something solid but not quite invading his intake.
There’s a weight on top of him, all around him, ferociously hot but embracing him all the same, like a warm blanket, like the hot waters from springs he’d fall into, from the time Drift—
Drift. Where’s Drift? The air is suffocating. Can he breath? Does he need to? It’s hot, too hot, Hot Rod doesn’t know why it’s so hot. There’s a body on top of him. No, scratch that. There should be a body on top of him. There’s a wound on his chest, or he thinks there should be. There’s a nagging thought, a need to survive, to stay alive. Reboot. Where’s Drift?
This feels a lot like drowning. Did he jump in a lake? The Dead Sea? There’s darkness around him. Or maybe his optics are damaged. Or maybe—
Hm.
Hot Rod reaches up. The surface bends around him, licking every inch, caressing his armor and protoform alike. He’d set out to do something, Drift and him. Him and Drift. It’s hot. The air outside— his servos have breached the surface, so he’s not buried, not quite. Not yet. Good. He doesn’t open his mouth this time, doesn’t let the lava in. Lava.
That’s where he is.
Hot Rod breaches the surface. Everything feels hot, but it feels like home. Home feels dangerous. He can hear bubbling and his vision blurs for a second, once he finally reaches the safe, molten floor. Hears his plating crackle, sees the way it glows. He should be dead. Why can’t he be dead?
He throws up what he had gotten inside him, in his panic. It burns his throat and tongue and why isn’t he melting from the inside out?
There’s something else. He knows there should be something else. Someone else, perhaps?
Hot Rod doesn’t remember. He’s too weak to care.
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princetorn · 2 months
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VERSES .
⋆ verse — to be a boy among the boys ( 1939 – 1954 )
canon . A childhood spent in the shadow of the Appalachian mountains – long summers, Little League, sweet tea, Sunday sermons – and a briefly awkward adolescence of braces and coltish limbs.  A child prodigy, they say.  He is a scab-kneed boy marked for sporting greatness.
⋆ verse — six cylinders underneath the hood ( 1955 – 1957 )
canon . Baseball was once his greatest love, but now he fixates on hot-rodding and his ‘Little Sweetheart’ – a Chevrolet Corvette that he spends his weekends diligently working on and his nights racing.  Royce has grown into himself.  He has motor oil under his nails, Brylcreem in his hair, and butane in his blood.
⋆ verse — all a ghost can do is haunt ( 1958 – )
canon .The end came sharp and sour, in a twist of shrieking metal and the lick of flames.  Murder, though he does not know it. Royce Clayton is dead, buried in a small plot overlooking the baseball field.  He has become a cautionary tale to the people in the town of Marshall, and his ghost is doomed to walk the earth.
⋆ verse — caged within jars like fireflies ( 1997 – 2001 )
Captured by wealthy explorer, collector and ghost hunter Cyrus Kriticos – with the aid of his psychic assistant Dennis Rafkin – Royce is transported to Pennsylvania and kept contained by Latin barrier spells.  He and eleven other spirits form the Black Zodiac, with Royce representing the Torn Prince.  Cyrus intends for the enslaved spirits to power the Basileus Machine, a contraption designed by a fifteenth century Italian astrologer while under demonic possession.  If successful, the device will open the Ocularis Infernum ( ‘The Eye of Hell’ ) allowing him to see all things, past and future, divine and damned.
⋆ verse — college is fun as long as you don’t die ( 1958 – 1962 )
Royce doesn’t die that fateful October night.  He lives to see prom, to graduate, to take up a baseball scholarship and move on with his life.  He still harbours a great love of hot-rodding, but baseball is his ticket out of small-town misery and he grabs the opportunity with both hands.
⋆ verse — it ain’t over ‘til it’s over ( 1963 – 1968 )
He did it, he made it, he’s finally famous.  Royce is a Major League Baseball player, his face is printed on posters and in the newspapers.
⋆ verse — when you’re over the hill you begin to pick up speed ( 1969 – )
By 30 years of age, Royce is past his peak and his time in the spotlight comes to a close. Retiring from baseball, he starts coaching the up-and-comers – but it isn’t the same as standing in the home plate with a crowded stadium screaming your name.
⋆ verse — professional crash test dummy ( 1958 – )
Royce doesn’t die that fateful October night, nor does he seize the chances baseball presents. Instead, he follows his hot-rodding dreams, and goes on to become a sports car racer.  James Dean would be proud.
⋆ verse — we’re gonna be together forever baby
exclusive to @shellcrack . Royce Clayton is in love with Miriam Ross – the prom king has found his queen, and he is saving for a ring.  What started out as a jockish bet has ended in something serious, with the hot-rod playing for keeps, making big plans for them to leave their small town behind.  Whether they make it or not, Johnny refuses to get out of the picture.
⋆ verse — crazy fun park
A teenager from a quiet corner of North Carolina is offered a baseball scholarship in Melbourne.  Generously bankrolled by Henry Clayton, Royce and Johnny jet off to Australia to tour the university.  Following an argument, Royce is involved in a fatal car accident.  Many years later, a theme park is built on the crash site.  It thrives, it dies, and it collects spirits along the way.  Alternative premise:  Royce is attached to a vintage baseball glove or card which Violetta gifts Nimrod, unwittingly bringing Royce’s ghost to Crazy Fun Park.
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doomxdriven · 6 months
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post 3-5 songs that remind you of your muse. repost, don’t reblog.
Jin Edition™
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1. Metallica - The Unforgiven
what i've felt, what i've known \\ never shined through in what i've shown \\ never be, never see \\ won't see what might have been \\ never free, never me \\ so i dub thee "unforgiven" \\ he tries to please them all, this bitter man he is \\ throughout his life the same, he's battled constantly \\ this fight he cannot win, a tired man they see no longer cares \\ the old man then prepares to die regretfully \\ that old man here is me, yeah
2. Brand New - 451
i'm awake, there's no part to play \\ drinking drano, smoking grass, one under the pass \\ what we saw in the woods that day, repeat 60 cycle delay \\ swallow the pitch that flows from the earth \\ soft spot, lightning rod, my paint is peeling \\ a million suns won't fill you up if you can't see the wine flowing over your cup \\ last thread, dancing dead, one more time with feeling \\ pass the plate and you sit back down \\ go back to your hole in the woods under ground
3. Foo Fighters - All My Life
all my life, i've been searchin' for somethin' \\ somethin' never comes, never leads to nothin' \\ nothin' satisfies, but i'm gettin' close \\ closer to the prize at the end of the rope \\ all night long, i dream of the day when it comes around, then it's taken away \\ leaves me with the feelin' that i feel the most \\ feel it come to life when i see your ghost \\ and if i give it a twist \\ somethin' to hold when i lose my grip \\ will i find somethin' in there? \\ to give me just what i need? \\ another reason to bleed, one by one, hidden up my sleeve
4. My Chemical Romance - Foundations of Decay
see the man who stands upon the hill, he dreams of all the battles won \\ but fate had left its scars upon his face, with all the damage they had done \\ and so time with age it turns the page \\ let the flesh submit itself to gravity \\ let our bodies lay, mark our hearts with shame \\ let our blood in vain, you find god in pain \\ now, if your convictions were a passing faith, may your ashes feed the river in the morning rays \\ and as the vermin crawls, we lay in the foundations of decay
5. Taking Back Sunday - Bullet With Butterfly Wings
the world is a vampire, sent to drain \\ secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames \\ and what do i get, for my pain? \\ betrayed desires, and a piece of the game \\ even though I know - i suppose i'll show all my cool and cold - like old job \\ despite all my rage i am still just a rat in a cage \\ someone will say what is lost can never be saved
*. Honorable Mention - Chevelle - The Red (i mean how couldn't i list it, its literally the song on his character page lmao)
they say 'freak', when you're singled out \\ the red, well, it filters through \\ so lay down, the threat is real \\ when his sight goes red again \\ seeing red again \\ this change he won't contain
tagged by: @inun4ki TYSM FRIEND!! GOOD SHIT tagging: @glacialsin (or do i tag @mementohub ??) and uhhh tbh whoever wants to do this and actually read this far down go right ahead SDFHJGJGHSDFJSDGHFGHJDSFSDGHJ
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Have I played D&D in a legit group? No.
Do I still love to write home brew spells and items? Hell yeah
Here’s one:
Magnus Rod
3rd lvl conjuration spell
Range: 80ft
Components: V,S,M a magnet (not consumed), one pound of iron material such as nails/screws, iron filings/dust, plate ect. (not consumed)
Duration: 1d6+spellcasting mod rounds
Spellcasters: wizard, artificer, warlock, bard
You designate a point on a surface or creature within your line of sight, run a magnet over a handful of iron material, the material liquefies, leaps from your hand to the designated point and a thin iron rod with a spherical cap sprouts from that point attached to the surface or creature it was cast on. The rod can be dispelled at the will of the caster as a bonus action. For the duration of this spell, all subsequent spells cast with an effect within 30ft of the rod immediately act as if they target the rod and the surface or creature it is attached to.
teleportation or locomotive spells always result with the travelling party’s destination becoming within 5ft of the rod.
Area of affect spells target the area around the rod, centring the rod in the dead centre.
Spells that act in a line or cone from the caster will target the rod or a creature it is attached to but will not change its point of origin or the distance to its end point, thus, targets behind or in front ogthe rod’s location will still be effected.
divination spells cast within range of or targeting an area or creature inside the area of the rod instead act as if there is no target.
Telepathic communication is not possible if the source or target creatures are within the range of the rod or if the area of the rod directly sits between two parties attempting to communicate.
This spell can be upcasted to fourth level in order to create a gravitational pull around the rod that will attract all projectiles (excluding heavy projectiles such as cannonballs or thrown boulders) to the rod as they come within 10ft of the rod.
The rod may be removed from a creature with a DC 18 strength roll at disadvantage but the creature that the rod was attached to must suffer 2d12 physical damage on a success.
upon doing so or upon the spell ending, the rod will collapse into a sphere of iron approximately weighing 1lb, if not held, the sphere will drop immediately where it’s located and remain there, the caster or any other parties may have the opportunity collect this sphere in order to reuse it to cast the spell again.
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suckerpunchfemale · 2 years
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The Beast: Chapter One Below!!
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Bron staggering into the house like a drunken fool wasn't a surprise anymore. Not when it was something he'd been doing nightly for almost two years.
But on this particular night, Cin was annoyed. "Busy night?" she asks sharply, dropping the plates onto the table in the kitchen area behind the sofa. Bron harrumphs and kicks off his boots before sinking into the cushy sofa in front of the low-burning heated rods for warmth.
His eyelids were lazily lowered and his smile was lopsided. Cin knew exactly why his gait was as mellow as it was, her brother had indulged in more than just alcohol. Bron got to drown his sorrows in fermented fruit and vegetables, while Cin stayed behind like the dutiful daughter.
Bron was too tired to give her the answer she wanted, so he just pulled the fuzzy blanket draped over the back of the sofa over him and slurred, "You could say that. How's Papa?"
Cin gave a long exhale, her shoulders slumped as she sighed, "Asleep in his room. He's not getting better, Bron. He's not going to get better." It was the first thing he asked every evening and she didn't know if he was expecting her to say something different. Their father had lived a long, hard life and now at the end of it, he'd been forced to witness things no father should. If Bron was expecting her to one day say that their father was getting better, he would be bitterly disappointed.
"You don't know that." He peered over the brown sofa, seeming to sober up as he opened his eyes fully. Bron wanted desperately to believe that their father would recover as if he was struck by an illness and not old age.
"Yes, I do." Cin's tone was softer, more gentle. When the time came, because it would come to pass, Bron would take the death of their father harder than she would.
Noticing for the first time what Cin was doing in the kitchen, Bron wrapped the splotchy blanket around his shoulders and trudged up the two steps that separated the living room from the kitchen. He all but fell into his usual wobbly chair and plucked an apple from the bowl on the dining room table that creaked if he rested his full weight on it for too long.
"Papa's weaker now, and there are bruises popping up all over his skin," She stated as she pulled the pan from the fire and heaped some of the scrambled eggs onto the plate in front of him. She knew they could talk about their father's deteriorating body all morning and it wouldn't change a damn thing. But Bron wouldn't accept that. So Cin squared her shoulders and tried not to be an asshole when she asked, "How was your reveling, really?"
Her brother glanced up at her, the apple set aside to make way for the forkful of eggs he was planning to shovel into his mouth, "Hart tried and failed, to outdrink me again."
"Yeah?" She placed the pan on the wood board, to let it cool off. The laugh that fell from her lips was lifeless. Hart was Bron's best friend. They'd been best friends for longer than Cin could remember. And ever since they'd both stopped working for the High Lord of the Spring Court, Hart had made it his personal mission to outdrink Bron. Two years' worth of failed attempts hadn't seemed to dampen his resolve to best Bron in the slightest.
"He does nothing all day. We've been at this for years. You would have thought he'd at least make a chink in my record." Bron chortled, but it was as lifeless as Cin's had been.
Cin knew why they both did nothing all day except drink and smoke various herbs. They'd abandoned their posts in the High Lord's service. No matter how much she tried, Bron refused to go back to the High Lord, refused to make things right. "Since you brought it up, have you heard any news from him?"
A flicker of pain flashed in Bron's eyes before he sneered at her, "Stop asking, Cin. Just forget about him. He's probably dead."
"How do I propose I do that when I can barely leave the village?" She fumed, suddenly enflamed by his callous attitude towards the one man who could restore order to their home, "The mindless killing is terrifying. The court is lawless, overrun with urchins and vines. The flowers are wilting and the people are abandoning Spring." Cin wanted nothing more than to shake Bron until he realised that solely blaming the High Lord for the state of the court, in no way helped them fix it. They needed him back before they could talk about accountability. "Our perpetual Spring might be coming to an end and you want me to forget about our one chance."
"I honestly don't care what happens outside of our front door." Bron shovels another forkful of egg into his mouth, not even meeting her glare as he says it. Cin knew Bron cared about the High Lord. He was too angry at what had happened, not to care about him. Even as Bron spat out the words, "The High Lord didn't care about us before Spring fell. And as you can see around us, he still doesn't care about us."
"You know that's not true, Bron. You were in his inner circle of sentries, you and Hart. And you know how deeply he cared about all of us, higher and lesser fae alike." Cin hoped she didn't sound like a fanatic who worshipped the High Lords. She didn't. She just understood that their powers exceeded every other fae in the court and that alone could save them, if only the High Lord knew how to utilise those powers.
Bron looked at Cin like she was delusional, then rolled his eyes, "And yet, when we needed him, he chose the High Priestess over us." He scoffed, lowering the fork to the half-empty plate, "I'm content to let him drown himself if that's what he wants to do with his life now."
Cin narrowed her eyes at her brother, folding her arms across her chest, "How very brave of you to let your court fall to ruin just to spite someone."
Bron barks a snort of dismissive laughter, "You really want to get into this, Cin? Because your precious High Lord is letting our court fall to ruin to spite someone else, I don't know. Why should we bother to intervene in this suicide?"
"WHY?" She snapped, slamming her hands on the table. "He is your High Lord, Bron. Deeply traumatised and wounded, but still your High Lord. How can you even ask? You who served under him for years. How can you turn your back on him so easily?"
"It's easier than you think. He hurt my friend, he hurt Feyre Cauldron-Blessed, he deserves what's coming to him." Bron roared, his expression pinched as he did. It frustrated Cin that Bron acted as though he had never made mistakes as if he had never hurt anyone.
The entire Spring Court acted as though being High Lord meant he had to act without making mistakes as if he isn't as much fae as the rest of them. For years, decades, centuries, the Spring Court fae had been loyal to their High Lord. Unfailingly loyal and then within one year, everything fell apart. All it took was one human to undo centuries of loyalty.
Cin couldn't decide if that spoke to the loyalty or the power of the human.
Having had enough of the tiresome, never-ending, argument with him, Cin pushed out of her chair, scraping it against the hardwood floor, and marched to the coat rack behind the front door.
She lifted her satchel from its hook, marched back up the steps to snatch a wrapped loaf of bread, and shoved it into the satchel hanging around her chest.
Bron, giving an exaggerated sigh, groaned, "What now, Cin? Where are you going?"
"I'm done waiting for you to do the right thing. I'm done waiting for any of you to do the right thing. I'm going to find him." She twisted the door handle, ready to fling it open and brave wherever—whatever—she needed to find the High Lord. What he'd been up to, he'd had enough time.
If no one else was willing to do what needed to be done, then it would have to be her.
"No, you're not." Bron nearly fell over as he leaped out of his chair and hobbled to remain upright on his feet, "You're not going anywhere."
"You might be older than I am, but I'm not a child. You can't tell me what to do." Cin swung the door open and breathed in the mid-morning air. As soon as she stepped out, Bron would be forced to stay inside until she got back. Someone had to be with their father at all times.
"You're an unwed fae woman, Cin, you're mine to protect and control." There was conviction in his words but also a shudder. Which made the threat meaningless to her.
"Control? Isn't that what you said about the High Lord you despise so much? That he tried to control Feyre?" A laugh bubbled out of Cin as she glanced at him over her shoulder. Bron has paled at the comparison. But Cin continued, "Good luck trying to order me around when you're drunk or hungover most days."
Cin slammed the door shut behind her to ignore the sound of her brother yelling her name. The shouts grew softer and softer the further she strolled away from the house. She was out in the world and there was nothing Bron could do to stop her.
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