#imagine the amount of fruit i could just stock up on and have at any time i want....
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distraction (law x reader nsfw)
law is a dork who has to plan out his rizz in advance. pre-timeskip law in mind. loose sequel to counting coins afab!reader nsfw, mdni, 18+, wc 2.8k
(read this fic by @grandlinedreams while writing this, it greatly influenced the direction i went with this!)
cw: edging, overstim, fingering, oral (fem receiving), piv sex, law likes it when you call him captain
Time often turns into an illusion when submerged in the dark depths of the sea, but the exhaustion in Law’s body tells him it’s well into the early hours of the morning. A textbook on diagnostics lay open in his lap, pages left unturned for quite a while as his eyes repeatedly glazed over the words and diagrams, unable to digest any of the information. Just as he thinks he might be able to regain the slightest bit of focus, he twitches as he feels your thigh move against his again. It was his own fault—he was the one sitting with his legs spread apart and refusing to budge—nevertheless, he was vexed at how much the slightest touch from you affected him.
You were nowhere near focused either. Despite having a variety of medicines in progress to write updates on in your lab notebook, your hand hadn’t written a thing in ages, your pen either bouncing on the spine of the notebook or tapping against your bottom lip, unknowingly torturing your captain. Eyes fixed against the wall as you leaned into the couch, mind adrift, he watched the subtle movements in your chest as you breathed. Your boiler suit was unzipped and hanging around your waist, and the flimsy yellow crop top you had on left little to Law’s imagination. No bra, as usual, he noted, trying and failing to tear his eyes away from you.
He had mentally rehearsed his plan an endless amount of times at this point.
In the months since your first meeting at a coin shop, you spent a lot of time working in close proximity with Law, just as he had promised. Despite a steep initial learning curve, you had proven yourself indispensable to the crew with your inventive synthetic techniques; the medicine cabinets had never been more well stocked. A self-taught doctor and his makeshift pharmacist—what a match.
Without realizing, he began to rely on your company, whether it was keeping him company in his office during nights like this one, or accompanying him on island trips to execute your now perfect tag team operation to get deals on coins he needed for his collection. The two of you had crafted an airtight plan together that had yet to fail; once he identified a coin he liked, he would silently give you a signal and switch a coin in your hands with his devil fruit ability so you could go haggle with the shop owner, working them down by displaying your expert knowledge of coin grading, always backing your statements up with references to prevent getting backed into a corner. Shachi and Penguin had once asked him why he didn’t just save the money and steal the coins with his devil fruit to begin with.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he had said with a smirk.
The real reason was that seeing you use your brilliant mind gave him an intoxicating tingle at the base of his spine.
He showed his appreciation for you and your intelligence in the small, seemingly innocuous touches he would give you from time to time—a squeeze on the shoulder, a pat on the head, often accompanied by verbal praise on your work. His words often made your cheeks flush bright red, smiling bashfully and sputtering out a “thanks, Captain!”, but he couldn’t help but want to push it further. Always quiet, humble and so, so sweet, you weren't the type to push boundaries, leaving Law to be the one to nudge the envelope. Slowly and methodically, he increased the frequency of his touches over time to the point where you began to reciprocate back. More importantly, you were now comfortable enough with him to sit close enough to be rubbing thighs with him on the couch in his office.
He was tired of walking through the plan in his head. It was time to pull the trigger.
You turn your head towards him as he says your name, startled out of your daydream.
“What’s up Captain?” you ask with a sleepy smile. His eyes meet yours, intense as ever; the feeling had once been intimidating to you, but you had slowly become accustomed to Law’s steely gaze ripping you apart.
“You’re distracting me.” he says as you try to read his face to no avail.
“I’ll head to bed then,” you say with a yawn, “g’nite Law!” his heart stutters when he hears his name on your lips; he had given you permission to use it in private, but you rarely took the opportunity to use that privilege.
He knew you would take his words as a dismissal—on any other night they would be—and he delights in the surprise on your face when he grabs your wrist and prevents you from leaving the couch. He stands, tattooed hand still pinning your wrist to the couch, and leans over you, tossing his bucket hat onto the floor. You’re already putty in his hands as he grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“I think I’m distracting you too, aren’t I?” he asks, allowing the smallest hint of a smirk to grace his face as he knows he’s finally got you right where he wants you. “You’ve been spaced out for hours. Haven’t gotten one bit of work done.”
“Guess I worked past the point of fatigue, Captain.” you reply, corners of your mouth quirked upward.
Law’s thumb runs across your chin, then grazes your lower lip; he delights in the subtle reaction he gets from you.
“You wanna know what I think?” he whispers, leaning in closer to your face.
“Hmm?” you hum, feeling electricity swirl in your veins as he traces a finger up the bare skin of your side.
“I think you deserve a reprimand for drooling over your Captain all night instead of finishing your notes.” he growls, finally bringing your lips to meet his. You kiss him back immediately, and he delights in the gasp you make when he slips his tongue in your mouth. Law presses your wrist further into the couch as it twitches in his grasp; he could feel how desperately you wanted to touch him back, but he was insistent on keeping things on his terms.
He had spent too much time and energy planning this out to lose control and not take his time with you.
With a flick of his wrist, you’re sitting on the edge of his bed and his hand is slowly crawling up your stomach under your sad excuse for a shirt. Taking a nipple between two of his fingers, he groans as your hips squirm against his.
“You wear this on purpose?” he asks, hand dropping to play with the hemline of your shirt. “You wearing this to tease your Captain? To drive me nuts while I’m trying to work?”
You shake your head. “I didn’t realize I affected you that much, Captain…” you reply, cursing yourself for not being able to banter with him like you usually would when he’s not affecting you this much.
Little did you know, Law was counting on taking advantage of your sheepishness.
He grinds his hips against yours slowly, arm hooked around your waist to make sure you felt every bit of his arousal rub against your damp core.
“Well,” he murmurs in your ear, “hope you can feel it now.” You let out a shaky breath and slam your lips against his, desperate to feel his tongue against yours again. He indulges you briefly, before pulling away again, eyes gleaming with mischief that made your face tingle in anticipation.
“Patience.” he scolds, running his slender, tattooed fingers across your jawbone. “I’m supposed to be teaching you a lesson, after all.”
Noticing you squirming your hips to get more friction against him, he steps back, still holding onto your face. Amused at your frustration at his teasing, he gives you a lopsided smile. He was a firm believer to sticking to his plans, and he still had to completely ruin you with his mouth and hands before even thinking of fucking you.
When you find yourself pushed back on the bed and Law slowly crawls on top of you, both of you now shirtless, you smirk, thinking he’s caved and was going to give you what you desperately needed; however, unbeknownst to you, you’d only backed right into his next little trap. Caged beneath him, you were now completely at Law’s mercy, and he meant to draw this out as long as possible.
“You’re always staring at my hands. Any reason why?” he asks you, fingers slowly roaming across your upper body; his touch is light and careful, not too far gone yet to lose his surgical precision.
Your face flushes, realizing he had caught on to the way you shamelessly stare at his strong, beautiful, inked fingers when you think he’s not looking. Even the most mundane acts—writing, inspecting coins, sewing up patients, using his devil fruit abilities—were enough to drive you wild, wanting to feel his touch all over you.
You feel silly at overestimating your ability to hide things from your Captain—after all, Law never misses a thing.
“I think you know why, Law.” you say, voice laced with lust and just the slightest hint of frustration at his teasing. “I want those pretty fingers everywhere.”
“Is that so?” he muses. “Tell you what—" the pressure behind his touches increases, causing your breath to hitch. “—I’m going touch you everywhere, and you’re going to tell me where you want it most.”
It starts with a hand cupping the side of your face; you nuzzle into his touch, giving him a smile that melts his cold heart so much that he almost thinks about cracking and giving you what you want. His touches don’t stay innocent for long, tracing his fingers against your lips again, before experimentally sliding two into your mouth, groaning as you eagerly suck on them, running your tongue along the digits. A third finger slips in your mouth, causing you to let out a moan that slowly turned into a muffled giggle. Law gives you a puzzled expression until you point at the three fingers he was using.
E, A, T
“Keep fooling around and it’s going to be another hour before I eat you.” he says with a scowl, though there’s no real bite to it. His fingers slowly pull out of your mouth, and he wipes your own saliva on the top of your breast. A shiver runs through your body at the sensation of the cool air in his cabin running across your own spit; this pleases Law as he starts to rub small, gentle circles into your nipple with his thumb.
“Right there…” you whisper, “Feels so good, Law, don’t stop...”
“Really? That’s where you want it most?” he teases. “I suppose I can just quit now then…”
“Law, please… keep going, please…” you huff. Never in all your months with your Captain had you seen him so incredibly smug.
Despite his threat, D continues to trace circles on your nipple as his other hand dances all over the bottom half of your torso; he’s intent on continuing his teasing, but still desperate to explore your body after months of craving.
The moans you let out once he finally reaches your inner thighs are music to the surgeon’s ears. “Is it here? This where you want it?” he asks, running A and T upward towards your entrance, and then back down again. “It seems like it…” he muses, “Unless there’s somewhere else you want me.”
“Please Law, rub my clit…” you whine. Being the target of Law’s slow, methodical affections was thrilling, but your bud was throbbing with need and you desperately needed release.
He chuckles as he pinches your nipple and complies with your request. “All you had to do was ask.” he says, you know, like a liar. His cock twitches in his pants, almost painful by this point, but he was still determined to mess with you just a little bit longer.
So, when he sees you’re nearly about to come, he pulls his hand away. You groan and ball your hand into a fist, nearly punching the bed in frustration. “Law…” you whine, head spinning and hips shaking.
“What’s wrong?” he says teasingly, hands exploring your thighs. “You went quiet, were you trying to focus on getting off?” you nod and give him a strangled mhm in response.
“Maybe you’ll remember how this feels next time you decide to distract your Captain when he’s trying to work.” he whispers lowly, slipping two fingers inside of you effortlessly.
“So wet…” he sighs, admiring the way your body tenses as he curls his fingers upward. “It’s here isn’t it? Where you want my fingers the most?” he asks.
“Mhm!” you moan, unable to string together a coherent sentence as you soaked his tattoos with your arousal.
“Knew it.” he says with a smirk. “Gonna come for your Captain?”
“Law—” you whine his name, only to let out a strangled moan of frustration as he pulls his fingers out of you and puts them in your mouth, shutting you up while you lick them clean.
“Was that insubordination?” he muses, “And here I was about to let you come.”
“Please, Captain…” you beg when his fingers leave your mouth, frustrated at him for denying you but still compliant with his little game. “I need you to make me come so bad Captain—”
“How’d it taste?” he asks, purposely ignoring your pleas.
“Tasted good, Captain…” you reply, praying he planned on using his tongue on you next.
He glances down at his watch. “Hasn’t quite been an hour since your last nonsense, but I’m getting hungry. Count yourself lucky.” he says, kissing your thighs before latching onto your clit. You nearly see stars when he laps at your extremely sensitive bud, and feel the warmth grow in your stomach as his fingers find themselves back inside of you; it was all almost too much. Drowning in pleasure, your head buzzed but he was purposely not letting the wire snap. You snap your hips erratically against his mouth, desperately chasing your orgasm and praying he wouldn’t stop again.
He doesn’t.
Pure ecstasy overtakes your entire body as you come, intensified by the vibrations of his satisfied chuckle against your clit. Your orgasm is long, lewd, and messy, and intoxicating to Law as he eagerly laps up your wetness. It was perfect, you were perfect, splayed out, twitching, and gasping just for him.
“You did so well for me…” he soothes, leaving tender kisses on your thighs as you catch your breath.
Once you regain your senses, you experimentally run your fingers through his hair, body still too much in shock to sit up properly. “Felt so good Law… ” you whisper, voice raspy.
When you tell him you need a moment to recover, he nods and crawls up beside you to hold you close, pressing comforting kisses to the back of your head.
“Hope it wasn’t too much…” he says, suddenly worried that he had gone overboard with his teasing.
“You’re perfect, Law,” you assure him as you turn around in his arms and give him a chaste kiss on the lips, “just no more teasing tonight.”
“Promise.” he says, hands running down your side towards your hips. “Can’t say anything about tomorrow though—"
His breath hitches as you run your fingers along the waistband of his boxers, dipping them under and tracing the skin underneath. He grabs your wrist and guides your hand to his aching cock.
“No more teasing tonight.” he insists as he slides his boxers off, your hand lazily stroking him.
“Haven’t I earned the right?” you ask with a playful smile as he lines up his cock with your entrance. Despite how pretty it was, he was determined to wipe that look clean off your face and devour you.
“Shut up and take it.” he groans as he bottoms out inside of you all at once, tired of the back and forth. He gives you no time to adjust, but his first few strokes are slow. However, he quickly picks up the pace, drunk on the feeling of finally being inside you.
You cry out from overstimulation as his cock hits your sweet spot over and over again, feeling the seeds of another orgasm blooming.
“Take it for your Captain. Come for me again.” he orders, gritting his teeth as he resists the urge to cum before you do. When your walls clench around him, he can’t hold back anymore and spills deep inside of you.
“Law…” you say as he lays on top of you and nuzzles his face into your hair.
“Mhmm…” he responds, starting to feel the tempting pull of sleep wash over him.
“You always gonna be that mean to me in bed?”
“Only when you distract me.”
#one piece x reader#law x reader#trafalgar law x reader#one piece scenario#one piece smut#x reader#mdni#law x you#trafalgar law x you#cmon f*ck me emo boy!#this might be a lil ooc idk
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Ozzie back here again to add to the idea of how much König needs to eat a day, here are a few suggestions that I can imagine he does to make his great need for food easier to handle (this is based on my own experience and the experiences of the other people at my gym and old veterans at my favourite pub so do not use this for in real life as this is just to help imagine how König eats and lives)
So, from what I know from the veteran I have made friends with, when he was in the military, they had a focus on foods that provided them with a great amount of energy, protein, iron, zinc, and vitamins C and D as it was the nutrients that they tended to run out of the most but it also the ones with some of the greater consequences with diseases that can make them weak and cause their immune system to be weak. Soldiers also eat a lot of protein as it is believed to help them grow their muscles more quickly. This makes me believe that König would focus on foods that provide him with a lot of nutrients but mainly protein to grow his muscles but not too much protein as he does not want to get sick and to build the balanced diet needed for his lifestyle
Some great food options for him would be many vegetables and fruits but for protein, I would suggest things such as eggs, poultry, beans, lentils, fish, nuts, chickpeas, yoghurts, and cheeses, I tend not to suggest red meats unless they are very lean due to the amount of fat in them and not being fond of the texture but I imagine König to enjoy them so if you were to make him food I would include things such as those along with some form of starch/carbohydrate by giving him some pasta, rice, bread, or potatoes which can help fill him up faster without him overeating and if they are reheated they will get resistant starch
I imagine König lives in the Alps so that he can be away from people and enjoy nature but I also imagine him earning a lot of money due to his job, putting his money into stocks/businesses, some dodgy dealings, and saving it up as he had no reason to spend most of it which means he could buy a lot of land. With this large amount of land, I imagine him using it to have his own giant garden with some animals, as it means he has to deal with fewer people to get what he needs. The garden would probably be made up of an orchard with trees of his favourite fruits but it would mainly be patches of vegetables and fruits while for his animals it would make sense for him to have chickens as he probably needs a lot (and I mean a lot) of eggs so having chickens make it a lot easier
If he can not grow it on his own land, he would probably hunt or forage it, which means that he can get his energy and murderous tendencies out that would normally be taken out on the field while still getting some food out of it (but it sadly makes him more hungry). But if it is a certain food like milk or cheeses or yoghurts he will most likely just go down to the local markets in the nearby towns and villages so he can get fresh items from people he trusts
Now we know some information about where he gets the food from we need to know where you would be cooking and keeping it. An appropriate and smart option would be to have a walk-in freezer in his basement that he can use to store the great amount of meats he has that has a wine/alcohol storage opposite it. While the kitchen would probably be massive and fully decked out with anything you need to be able to cook and two or three double-door fridges that are filled with any item that needs to stay chilled in it, although the cabinets are mostly up too high for anyone to reach without a stool unless you are König but they are filled to the brim with sweets as the giant has a sweet tooth to match his size or the weird collection of novelty cups he has collected from places he has went on missions too or beer glasses from different bars or pubs
If you were to cook food for him batch cooking (so you do not keep having to cook again and again) would be the best option with foods that are traditional to Austria or hearty foods like stews that can be cooked in large amounts with lots amounts of meats and vegetables (I can give a whole list of foods I recommend or I think he would like if you want them)
As you can tell I have too many ideas about this and I have way more because this has inspired me, and thank you for reading this long rant that probably does not make any sense
I love this so much 😭 The sweet tooth headcanon, his collection of beer glasses and such, him living in the Alps and hunting some of that precious protein... This screams Cabin/Off the grid König to me, I would make a cute garden for him to get those veggies stocked and stashed to some root cellar like this:
And then I'd probably spend the rest of my time here, cooking those hearty stews for him:
#feeding König#könig headcanons#I'm utterly shameless about wanting to take care of this man's EVERY need#long post#tw: long post
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Northern Virginia Area Beer Brewer Professional Certificate
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I saw ur call for gereskel on Twitter. Ever given a thought as to what it would be like for Geralt to prep and prime corvo bianco to the point were he's finally comfortable enough to invite Eskel to spend the winters with him there. Like all the staff are whispering amongst eachother about who the lady of the house is gonna look like. Geralt getting a double wide bed, and planting herbs for "someone else". And how the staff just stares in awe when there Witcher just sinks into the arms of Eskel when he finally arrives?
Those on staff at Corvo Bianco had learned many things from their previous employer. Their opinions meant nothing, their work was hardly ever good enough, and gossip was an offense grievous enough to warrant immediate termination. When the witcher took over the estate, they had feared the worst. He certainly looked the part of the fearsome warrior with his scars and swords and suspiciously stained armor. But despite the eerie eyes and prematurely white hair, Geralt of Rivia had quickly proven himself to be a surprisingly mellow and even tempered employer.
He gave the impression of a man severely out of his depth when it came to matters of the homestead; glad to pour his considerable wealth into restoration and upkeep, but hesitant to make any actual decisions or changes on his own. Barnabas-Basil was all too happy to assist, thrilled at the chance to finally restore the vineyard to its former glory.
The witcher seemed pleased by the efforts.
Gradually, he filled the main house with his own personal touches. Sets of armor and weapons, paintings (some of...questionable taste), maps of the Continent, and a surprisingly sizable library made the house feel lived in. The vines were planted, gardens tended, and their wine production began anew. The witcher began to spend more time on the property. He devoted himself to learning the trade, surprising himself and the Majordomo with his ability to detect even the most minute flaws in their product with his enhanced senses. With his suggestions, their wine became well known and sought after. Soon, the witcher barely needed to take contracts to keep coin flowing.
And so, he began to live on the property full time, only accepting the most dire of monster hunting contracts and even then only locally. He preferred not to leave Toussaint, if he could help it. There was nothing left for him in the north, he’d say, just ghosts. He was happy to do odd jobs and exterminate the occasional pest for his neighbors, who grew fond of the witcher himself as well as his wine.
His staff grew to like their new employer as well. He was attentive, curious, and never hesitant to get his own hands dirty. It wasn’t an unusual sight to see him up at dawn and learning to tend the vines with the field workers or spending time in the stables attending to his beloved mare. While he wasn’t overly chatty, he was pleasant and friendly with the staff and never mocked or belittled their efforts. With a witcher on the grounds, they no longer feared the creatures that lurked on the outskirts of the vineyard. They were well protected from all manner of beasts, monsters and thieves. The staff of Corvo Bianco grew to adore Geralt of Rivia and with that adoration came a new breed of newly allowed gossip.
They worried for their employer’s heart. Never once did they see the man pursue romance, though many eligible locals had offered themselves as options. It made little sense. Geralt was successful, handsome, and in the prime of his youth (presumably. The staff really had no idea how old the man was, what with his witchering, but he certainly did not appear to be nearing old age any time soon) And yet, he was plainly lonely, often seen staring off into the distance, wistful and wanting. (Again, presumably)
When the first letter arrived, no one batted an eye. The witcher kept correspondence with lots of people, business partners and old friends alike. It was when the letters kept arriving, and Geralt had taken to pacing the courtyard waiting for the courier to arrive, that rumors began to spread. This was clearly more than a business transaction! More than a friendly word or two between long distance friends. They were love letters, surely! Master Geralt had a lover somewhere!
Barnabas-Basil attempted to squash the rumors, chastising the staff for sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. Master Geralt was good to them, kind and generous, and did not deserve to have his private affairs become entertainment. Suitably shamed, the rumors died down to almost nothing, until one final letter arrived and a change came over the witcher than even the Majordomo couldn’t deny.
The morning following the arrival of the letter, Geralt had made a list of improvements and additions for the main house as well as the grounds. Of his own volition. Without any prompting at all. Quite suspicious.
Among the projects on the list, there was a request for a larger garden. More exotic flowers and shrubs, a few new fruit trees for the orchard, and dozens more varieties of herbs. The new garden would be enormous and beautiful and certainly impressive to anyone.
Next were the requests for ingredients and spices to stock the kitchens. Marlene, who cooked all of the witcher’s meals, puzzled over the list and wondered why in the world Geralt had ordered in such large amounts. He certainly did eat a lot, with his witcher’s metabolism and active lifestyle, but some of the items she knew for a fact were not to Geralt’s personal taste and yet he had still ordered a witcher’s worth of them.
When news that Geralt had ordered a much larger bed reached the staff’s ears, even the strictest dressing down from Barnabas-Basil could not stop the excited whispers. Flowers, food, a bed for two...So Master Geralt did have a lover! And from the looks of the changes around the vineyard, that lover was paying them a visit. A possibly permanent visit! And soon, if the witcher’s increasingly nervous checking of all his orders was any indication.
The staff let their imaginations run wild in the meantime. What sort of someone did a witcher take for a lover? A royal he once saved from certain death in a faraway land? A simple merchant who was kind to him when he passed through? A powerful mage who was a legend in their own right?
When the sound of galloping hooves announced the arrival of a guest a week later, many of the staff tripped over themselves in an attempt to get the first glimpse of Master Geralt’s mysterious love. The figure arrived alone, no procession or guards (there went the foreign royalty theory) and riding a huge dark stallion. A long black hooded cloak obscured their face. Despite the concealment, they struck quite the intimidating silhouette: tall, broad shoulders, with the muffled but unmistakable sound of clamoring of armor and weapons following in their wake (not a simple merchant or mage then, either).
As the visitor dismounted, the door of the main house flew open, revealing the witcher himself. His eyes focused immediately on the visitor and he nearly vaulted the stairs in his haste to meet them.
“Was the hood really necessary?” Geralt said, a smile splitting his face, as he grabbed the cloaked figure and hugged them tightly.
“Can’t be too careful these days. Especially with a face like mine.” came the deep but warm response as the visitor stepped back from Geralt and pushed the hood off.
It was only their years of experience and deep respect for their employer that stopped a few of the watching staff from gasping audibly. Their visitor was another witcher, horribly scarred as if he had been attacked by a wild beast. Though his lips were disfigured, they nonetheless managed to produce a smile to match Geralt’s as the two embraced again.
“It’s good to have you home at last, Eskel.”
“It’s good to finally be home, Wolf.”
--
(“Of course a witcher would fall in love with another witcher,” Barnabas-Basil said later, counting his sizable betting wins as the news spread through the estate.
“It’s only logical.”)
#the witcher#geskel#eskel/geralt#gereskel#hi wow this is Super late#this has been sitting in my inbox for literal months#I knew pretty much what I wanted to do here but I just have not had the drive to write#I still don't but I felt like I wanted to at least try today#so here's this#I hope it doesn't disappoint too badly :')#mine
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132 Hours, Chapter 9
“Don’t kill Cardan.”
The Bomb cocks her head to the side. “I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I… don’t.”
Previous
Read chapter 9 on AO3, or read below:
The Bomb returns sometime later with a liter bottle of spring water and Tylenol. “Prescription strength,” she tells me, dispensing two pills into my open palm. “Good stuff.”
“Whose prescription?” I croak, sitting up. It feels like every ounce of liquid in me is squeezing itself out as sweat or something else. Masturbating only helps so much—the only thing that abates the worst heat symptoms is mating with an alpha. And since that’s not happening, it’ll just have to run its course.
Oblivious to my true suffering, she winks at me.
I throw the Tylenol back and wash them down with a swallow of cool water, then keep drinking. My mouth has grown so dry. But I wrench the bottle away from my mouth and say “Leave it” when the Bomb moves to take the pills back.
She gives me a look. “I’ll be back to give you more later, but I’m not leaving this with you. For all I know, you’d shut down your liver to make us take you to the hospital.”
I blink at her, wretchedly aware of the heat of my skin where my eyelids press together. I hadn’t even thought of that.
“Crap,” she says, fumbling in the plastic bag. “I should have taken your temperature first. Hold on, maybe we can still get it before the meds kick in.” She clicks her tongue. “Chemistry I like fine, drugs, sure—but nursing isn’t my area.”
“What is your area?” I ask. I don’t really feel like talking to anyone, but my curiosity is strong enough that I push through it. Anything to learn more about the people who’ve taken us.
The Bomb holds up her prize, a thermometer still in its plastic packaging, and grins at me. “I like blowing stuff up. I dabble in hacking. Basically, if there’s a wall, I want to bring it down.”
I shift in my blankets. It’s an endearing answer, but I worry that any positive feelings toward our kidnappers is budding Stockholm Syndrome. “This must be a boring job for you.”
“It was supposed to be, yeah.” She wrestles the thermometer out of the plastic and hands it to me. “You have a way of keeping things interesting. And Cardan’s a riot. I hope we don’t have to kill him.”
The beep of the thermometer turning on immediately after that statement makes me jump. “You said you wouldn’t,” I protest. “You said you’d take care of us.”
“I know. Our employer’s anxious about how much you’ve both seen and heard. But we can’t kill you, so there isn’t much of a point to getting rid of him. And between you and me, the Roach is very fond of him.”
“So—”
“Stick that thing in your mouth,” she says. “We don’t have all day.”
I glare but stick the cold tip of the thermometer under my tongue and wait for it to start beeping again.
The Bomb leans over, reading the lit-up display—red, already a bad sign. “One hundred point nine,” she announces. “No wonder you’re miserable.”
“No real danger though,” I sigh, pulling it out of my mouth and giving it a little shake. Would they really take me to the hospital if my condition deteriorated? Maybe I should consider trying to dehydrate myself. That’s the real danger of going through heat without a partner. I could do it, I think. “Forget” to drink, drive the fever higher. But our current circumstances are already precarious, and there are a million ways this might end badly for me. The headache is pulsing stronger over my left eye already, and the last thing I need is a full-blown migraine. I take a sip of water and silently will the Tylenol to kick in faster.
“We’ll keep an eye on you,” she affirms.
I wipe my hand on the back of my mouth, already feeling a little more like a person instead of a sweaty blob of hormones. “Don’t kill Cardan.”
The Bomb cocks her head to the side. “I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I… don’t.” I cap the bottle, looking down at my hands. My cheeks are hot again, which at least means some blood in my body has decided to circulate instead of pooling in my groin. “But I don’t think he deserves to die. He didn’t do anything.”
“Hmm,” says the Bomb, mulling it over.
I jerk my head up, but she’s smiling at me. Teasing. I flush again. “I’m just saying. I don’t see you guys as killers, anyway.”
Her voice has a dangerous edge to it when she asks, “You don’t?”
I shake my head to clear it. I may be sick, but I can’t allow myself to forget where I am and who I am with. The Ghost shot me already, and it’s easier than I’d like to imagine the Roach’s twisted features contorting further as he plunges a knife into someone’s back. “Maybe just you?” I offer.
“Well, you’re not far off. Murder is a messy business. I prefer to set the charges and wait at a safe distance. But we all do what we have to.” She shifts, and I must look worried, because she adds, “He’s probably going to be fine.”
“Probably,” I echo, and then sigh. “His family’s even more messed up than mine.”
“Well, your dad is Madoc.”
“My parents are dead,” I say.
“Oh,” says the Bomb. But no apology, no condolences. I kind of appreciate that. I learned a long time ago that no amount of apologies would bring my mom and dad back.
“And my sister—never mind.” I shake my head. I really must be addled if I’m spilling my guts to a stranger. Is this Stockholm Syndrome? Is this how it starts? “At least she’s not trying to kill me.”
“It’s another level of family drama,” she agrees. “The Kardashians have nothing on the Greenbriars.”
I try to work out why I feel comfortable around the Bomb. I think her frankness reminds me a bit of Vivi. She never bought into the pretensions of our new life—she wanted out as soon as she was in. And she talks about it like she really is outside of it. The Bomb is like that. She says what she means. She isn’t bowled over by anything.
“How can you do it?” I ask. “How can you do this kind of work for them? Is it really just the money?”
The Bomb blinks at me, her eyes large and luminous in the dark. Her brows draw together, and she looks past me. I seem to have struck a nerve, and for a moment I think she isn’t going to answer my question. Then, at last, she says, “It isn’t just that. The Roach and I—we owe them a lot. I think if… we might not be alive now, if not for what they did.”
“That’s worth kidnapping for? Maybe killing for?”
She looks back down at me. “I know you’ve had shit happen, Jude. I’m not interested in a competition there. But I think Madoc’s kept you from a lot of bad stuff, given you options. Some of us aren’t so lucky.”
“I know that,” I protest. How many Designation Equality Club meetings had Taryn and I attended in our time? Vivi was president for a little while, I think to spite Madoc. “I know it’s not all mansions and parties. And you know, bad stuff can happen in parties and mansions too.”
“Sure. We are the bad stuff.” She flashes me a grin, then says, “Just think about what could have happened if Madoc hadn’t been there to catch you guys. Where you might have ended up. What you might have done to get out of it.”
My stomach twists. I have, of course, thought about that, but it’s an alternate universe that I can’t look directly at, like a solar eclipse. It’s easier to think about two branching possibilities: parents alive, or parents dead with Madoc intervention. Thinking about Madoc never showing, about Taryn and Vivi and I getting put in foster care, maybe separated… it’s so dim and distant.
“I’m not interested in a competition either,” I tell her. “I mean, I am judging you a little for kidnapping us. I will judge you harder if you kill Cardan.”
“No one’s going to kill Cardan,” the Bomb says, patting my shoulder. “You should lie back down. I’m surprised you’ve been upright this long.”
I scowl, but my head is already beginning to feel swimmy, so I settle back into my blankets. “I’m really stubborn.”
“I got that.” The Bomb gathers up her things, but leaves the water bottle within reach. I am grateful.
Just before she can put her hand on the doorknob, I call softly, “If you kill Cardan, I’ll kill you.”
She looks back over her shoulder at me, looking oddly fond. Maybe a gang of kidnappers and thieves respects threats. “Yeah,” she says. “I got that one, too.”
---
Cardan somehow manages to con his way into spending a lot of time outside of the cell. I am not sure how long, because I am curled up toward the wall and barely notice the light from the window wax and wane. But as the day passes his scent starts to go stale and sour, and I pick my head up every time someone opens the door.
It’s always the Bomb, returning to give me more Tylenol or hand me fresh fruit—not fast food, therefore a luxury. It occurs to me then that they kept buying us stuff from a drive-thru or grocery store because they didn’t think they would have us for long and didn’t bother stocking up. But someone must have thought to buy one a bag of mandarins this time, because I am given a couple to nibble on after each dose.
“Boosts the immune system,” the Bomb says when she drops off the first one. She seems in a good mood, probably because the medication has managed to wrestle my fever down to a balmy ninety-nine. Achy and hollow, I just give her a nod. My hands shake when I peel it, but I can peel it, and I’m grateful for that. I have been so humiliated already, and I can probably take more, but I don’t want to.
I slip into a weird daze for the second half of the day. Even though the fever is gone and my cramps are easier to bear, I find myself cursing Cardan’s name. I am pretty sure his presence made my heat worse—just the presence of an alpha, a desirable one, has convinced my body that there’s a chance I might mate, so it’s punishing me worse for abstaining. The longer he’s gone, the more clearheaded I feel, to the extent that my head can clear. And I am angry, at him for intensifying my misery, and at myself, for being like this in the first place.
By the time he returns, any trace of sunlight is gone. He walks slowly, shuffling behind the Bomb. Even as she talks to me and I nod along, sticking the thermometer in my mouth, my eyes track his progress as he settles in his corner.
His hair is damp, his scent shot through with the floral soap from the bathroom. He showered before coming in. I am unreasonably jealous of him. My hair is plastered to the back of my neck with sweat, and my thighs are basically stuck together with dried—anyway, I haven’t left the room all day, not even to pee. I feel like a damp towel someone wrung out and left to dry over the side of a sink.
After I’ve taken the Tylenol, the Bomb hands me a paper napkin with two more pills folded in it. “In case you wake up in the middle of the night,” she explains.
“It’s night?” I ask.
“We sleep in shifts. If there’s an emergency, have Cardan pound on the door.”
“Why me?” Cardan asks. He’s assumed his usual posture, with his leg propped up and his arm balanced casually on his knee. I wonder if the Bomb notices the rigidity in his shoulders, the tension in the line of his mouth. I do.
“I don’t think Jude’s going anywhere anytime soon.”
I sniff derisively, which is a bad move, because I get a fresh whiff of Cardan and am forced to bury my face in my pillow to smother a whimper.
“Point taken,” Cardan says. “Night. Thanks…” I imagine the rest of his sentence curling up and dying at the novelty of him thanking anybody for anything, but he manages to continue. “Thanks for taking care of her.”
The Bomb dusts off her knees as she stands up. “No problem. If she dies, we’re extraordinarily screwed.”
“I know. Still.”
She nods, then leaves. This time, I hear her lock the door behind her. Cardan and I are once again stuck together, alone.
I turn over and curl toward the wall again so I don’t stare. It’s not like heat gives you night vision, but for a couple of seconds he seemed to be a crisp outline in the near darkness of our cell. I don’t want to be tempted. I don’t.
“How, uh.” Cardan clears his throat and tries again, awkwardly. “How was your day?”
“Sucked,” I mutter.
“Yeah.”
“Yours?”
“Sucked less, probably.” He pauses. “But still sucked. I, um, I wanted to check on you.”
“It’s okay.” I shift my head. There’s a twinge in my abdomen, but at least it’s not another full cramp. “Did you learn any neat card tricks?”
“Yeah, actually. The Roach says I’m a fast learner.”
“High praise from a career criminal.”
Cardan chuckles, and my heart jumps. I made him laugh. I don’t know why that affects me the way it does. It must be the heat, another weird side effect. “I should’ve brought the deck in. To show you.”
“If we get through this, you can show me another time.”
“Oh yeah?” I can tell he cracks a smile just by the way his voice picks up. “You’re still gonna want to hang out when we’re out of here?”
I press my lips together to keep from echoing a smile. “I don’t know,” I say to the wall. “Maybe I’ll be too busy with my cool new friends from college to make time for you. And maybe you’ll be too busy hanging out with the Roach. Although that’s honestly an upgrade from your normal crowd.”
“Ouch.”
“He’s not a douchebag alpha,” I point out.
“I don’t know what he is.” I can picture Cardan shaking his head. “I sat next to him for most of the day and I still don’t have a clue. He sounds like an alpha, but he doesn’t really look like one. He doesn’t smell like anything. He and the Bomb seem to have some kind of communication going, but I don’t know if that means they’re mated, or… just close, I guess.”
“I think the Bomb’s an omega,” I say. “Like me. We kind of had a moment earlier.” I screw up my face in thought. “It bothers me that I still can’t get a clear read on her scent, though. Especially now. That’s weird. What do they have to hide?”
“Maybe they’re all betas,” Cardan suggests. “They don’t give off the same pheromones we do.”
I snort. “That’s not possible.”
“Betas exist.”
“Yeah. They’re one in a thousand. The odds that there would be three in one place...”
“Impossibly low, yeah. You’re right.” He sighs. “Well, we’ve seen their faces, but maybe they don’t want to leave scent markers around so they can be tracked that way. That seems like a smart crime thing… to do.”
My lips twitch again. “A ‘smart crime thing?’”
“Oh, like you could do better.”
I snicker, but then the cell falls quiet. We have officially exhausted every subject that will keep us from facing our circumstances, and we know it.
“So,” Cardan says, “now what?”
I don’t know. I cannot imagine spending the night in this cell with him, like this. But I am supposed to be the one with the plans.” “Um, I guess we try to sleep.”
“Right, right. Will it hurt your foot if I take the pillow under it? I’d ask to borrow a blanket, but…”
“No, I get it,” I rush. The blankets are in no condition to be lent, but I’ve left him without any bedding and anywhere to sleep. “Definitely take the pillow.”
There is silence, in which I can imagine him nodding, then the rustle of his clothes as he crawls over to take the pillow propped up under my leg. His hand skims my foot, and it’s like an electric current zings up my body. I hold my breath, waiting for something else to happen, but I just hear him move back to his corner.
“Do you want, um, my sweatshirt?” I offer.
He scoffs, “I don’t think it’ll fit, Duarte.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re such an asshole. To keep your arms warm, because you don’t have a blanket.”
There’s a longer pause than the situation calls for, and then he says, “Yeah, toss it over.”
I make myself sit up so I can unzip it, then ball it up and fling it toward him as hard as I can. I am not feeling very strong, but the room is short, so it lands at his feet anyway. He picks it up and buries his face in it.
“Oh, you pervert,” I scold, even as my stomach does a flip. I am surprised to find I’m not mad. I’m not even annoyed. What had I thought was going to happen when I threw it over to him? It’s saturated with my pheromones.
And my scent. Which he’s supposed to hate.
“I just,” he says, taking another sniff. There’s a fuzzy edge to his voice. “I thought it would help. Since we can’t—I don’t know, I just thought it would help.”
I force myself to lie back down and turn around and not watch, even though I am unbearably curious. My face is hot, and heat gathers between my thighs again. It’s just the pheromones. It’s just the circumstances. If my mind were less addled, maybe I could make more sense of all this, but I cannot.
A minute or so later I hear him shift again. “Yeah, it’s a good blanket,” he says. “Thank you, Jude.”
“Sure.”
Then all is silent again, and I think he has fallen asleep. It seems impossible that he could. I am so weary, but my arousal is skewering me like a hot spike, and I keep listening for him on the other side of the room. There’s no way I can seek relief with him here, and no way I can sleep like this.
“Cardan,” I say, breathily. “Are you awake?”
He whispers back, “Yeah.”
I shift. It’s like parts of my body flare to life at just the sound of his voice. “What do you think would happen if you came over here?”
“You don’t—want that, right?”
I don’t know what I want. I think I am closer to wanting him—to wanting at all—and then the memory of Valerian using his knee to try and wedge my thighs apart comes back. I pull the blankets tighter around me. “This sucks so much.”
“Yeah.”
“Less for you, right?”
“You think so?”
“I don’t know. Aren’t you flooded with adrenaline or whatever it is that theoretically enables you to keep thrusting for days on end?”
Cardan chuckles. “Wow. You must really be far gone if you’re willing to put me and ‘thrusting’ in the same sentence.”
My cheeks warm. “I meant ‘you’ as in ‘alphas.’ Don’t be dumb. And aren’t you used to this?”
“From—oh. The O?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, that’s different. They alter it somehow, on a chemical level. All of the euphoria and adrenaline, none of the, uh… the aches or the erections lasting longer than four hours. You know, stuff you want to avoid if you’re not in rut for real.”
“Right, makes sense.” I hesitate. “So, you are? I couldn’t tell.”
“What?” He sounds incredulous. “Yeah, yes, I am. Of course I am. There’s like no space between us and no ventilation. It would be impossible for me not to be.”
“Alright, alright.” I squeeze my pillow a little tighter. “You just seem so…”
“So…?”
“Clear,” I finish. “And calm. Calmer than this morning, at least.”
Cardan is quiet for a second before he asks, “Remember this morning, you asked if I was afraid of you?”
My heart thumps. “Yeah?”
“I’m not. I’m afraid of me. I’m afraid of… of...” He grasps for words. “I’m afraid of all the stuff I want to do. Because I’m coming to a realization that’s very painful and you can’t laugh, but I am, and it’s, it’s important—I don’t want to be like Valerian. Or like my brothers. Or even like Locke. I want to be different. I don’t know if there is a different, but I want to be it.”
I am so bewildered that I don’t reply. For as long as I have known Cardan, he’s never been anything other than a bully, a terror, delighting in other people’s suffering, reigning from the top of the food chain. He always seemed to enjoy being an alpha, relish it. I can’t make heads or tails of what he’s telling me now.
Is he saying he doesn’t want to hurt me? He’s never cared before.
But I think about him tucking the blankets around me, gingerly propping my foot up on the pillow this morning, and I wonder.
“It wouldn’t be like Valerian,” I whisper, but he must have fallen asleep, because he says nothing.
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#jurdan#judecardan#jude x cardan#jurdan fanfic#jude duarte#cardan greenbriar#the folk of the air#the cruel prince#the wicked king#the queen of nothing#tfota#mine: fic#fic: 132 hours
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What is creation but the rebirth of destruction?
Hermitcraft S8 AU where the world is an unrulable beast, and the sun betrayed the moon.
Chapter 1: Existence
…
…
…
And then light.
And then shapes, and colours, and textures, and the rhythm of the melodies embracing you, holding you tight.
And then grass that prickles you, rain kissing you hello,
And then two beings that contemplated one another, as much as one can manage when you don’t have eyes, nor awareness, nor even a heart. Those hadn’t been invented yet, after all.
One existed. The other existed back. If they had mouths, they would have smiled at each other.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The city bloomed with chattering and laughter. If you paid enough thought into it, you could hear the business conversations of wandering travellers that stood near the popular fruit market of the town, full with all sorts of wooden stands and their respective owners, some with the most glamorous of covers and others more akin to glorified shoe boxes. The plaza’s floor that hosted said market was adorned with black and white stone tiles, organized to create the most intricate of patterns, there to be marveled by the odd one that would come to visit this town. Though, at the end of the day, it always became a mere background to the busy lives of the people that lived here. A fountain of a fair decent size served as the marker of the middle of said plaza, made up of sculpted nymphs without names nor story. Not that all things need a story, after all- Sometimes, existing is enough of a gift as it is. You could spot a couple sitting on top of one of the borders, spitting sweet nothings to each other as they threw a golden nugget into the crystalline waters.
There were of course other places to sit, a bit further away from the masses, paired with holm oaks that had yet to fully grow, but provided enough of a shade as it were. You can tell that whoever built this place didn’t fully think about how much space the roots would need, as any stone tiles that once were neatly in place, have now popped out into a contorted mess of waves and twists. At least the trees didn’t seem to mind all that much, as long as they got enough food. Surrounding the tiled space, were buildings of lively colours, most akin to the pombaline architecture, with the off hand neo gothic style building. How they were able to make the two work together was something that you’d ponder about later, though it is quite the lively sight to behold. Clothes hung from some of the parapets, going as far as to have rope that connected them one by one, so that they could have more space to dry them all out. At night, the windows framed with metal would glow faintly of warmth and sun, maybe even let escape a chuckle or two, but for now, the bright blue sky reigned high, and thus, the windows stayed open, a curtain peeking out from time to time.
Back into the plaza, a crowd of kids, which don’t seem to look older than 13, gather around a man like a pack of hungry dogs looking at prey, which would be a scary comparison in any other scenario- Fortunately for him, they are merciful creatures, as merciful as one can be when they are filled with undying curiosity. As for said man, nothing special popped out from his stature, except for a ruby embedded into the left upper pocket of his long brown overcoat, a stone that was only ever heard of from legends of the past. It was always warm to the touch, and it smelled faintly of burnt charcoal. Surrounding it was a small embroidery design made out of gold threads, carefully crafted but not too overbearing, letting the precious gem be the star of the show. The kids couldn’t care less about it, though, focusing on their incessant chattering of questions and inquiries.
Chorus of wonder, the creativity of children is a curious, yet wonderful thing.
“Alright, alright, alright, one at a time! I’m only one guy, after all. Take your turns, and I promise I’ll get to you.” He finally exclaims, with no drop of malice in his tone, though it still earned a few grumbles as an answer. Their chattering dropped to a few murmurs between each other, each child trying to figure out their own words, until a small, yet fierce little girl, with hair coloured gold waved her arm in the air, taking the pause in the conversation to ask the Master a very simple query.
“What are Virtues?”
And thus, the crowd began to echo it like parrots that had learned a new sentence.
“Well- How do I put this in simple terms-” Pausing, he scrunched his nose instinctively, searching his pockets for any sort of object that could aid him, soon landing on a small leather pouch that contained some redstone he kept in case of need. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do the job. “-So, you know when you want candy really badly, and you keep asking your mom for it? Or you go gather things to make some? You can be so focused on that idea, that your work pays off, and you gain a Virtue! The- uh. Virtue of making candy, we’ll go with that! I mean, you don’t necessarily need to gain a virtue to be really good at making candy, but it can be like… An unlockable option, or even a gift from the gods if you really work hard for it.” The mention of the word “gods” earns a few gasps from the fairly sized gathering of kids, and the man could already tell that they would bug their parents about this story of his later. He even almost felt bad, but then again, it was fairly hilarious to imagine what sort of shenanigans they would get up to. “So you now have this Virtue! But where is it exactly, you might ask- which I know you will- It’s stored inside each one of you.” And on cue, he perks up the pouch mentioned earlier, dangling it near the middle of his chest. “Stored, in a little container, that is kept safe and sound, only accessible to you and you alone. The most common name is Vessel, but I’ve heard other terms being thrown around, like Heart, or Capsule? The world hasn’t decided on that one quite yet, I guess.”
“Jeez, that’s gross-” Another kid perked up from the crowd, this time one with hair of ash and dust, freckled cheeks hosting a daring smile that only children can manage to pull off. “Do you have one?”
“First off, mister, it isn’t that gross. I mean, it’s not like you have bits and bobs jangling on your insides. Think of it as a manifestation, transformation, uh… Water, turning into ice! Yeah, we’ll go with that!” With that remark out of the way, and an amused chuckle following it (he was very proud of that analogy! A shame that the kids’ unimpressed looks outed their disagreement with the quality of said analogy.) he puts the tiny bag back where it belongs, clasping his hands together right after, in a way a teacher would when speaking to a class. “Second off, I assume that you mean to ask if I hold a Virtue or not, since the container I talked about earlier is something that all beings have- It just happens to be empty most of the time, because it has no Virtues to hold. Again, again, doesn’t mean that you are uncool, or not- hip. Just that it’s not being used to store things. Ah, the answer to the Virtue thing is no, by the way.”
Silence. For mere seconds, silence of contemplation, assimilating every complicated word they were just taught in a short amount of time, holding onto that curiosity for dear life, because what else is dear but existence and creation, right? After that, murmurs, whispers, tiny words passed by and onto tiny people, tiny ideas, tiny questions. Big questions following soon after, big words, screaming hearts, ideas, doubts, love. Back into the dance of dog and prey. Laughter, not coming from the children, nor the man, but yes from the passersby of the plaza, marvelled at the show being performed. It’s not often that one single person was able to gather such a big crowd, after all! That honour was usually reserved for when the Deities paid a visit, which, although rare, was always a wonder to behold.
“Impulse!” The shout from far ahead made the Master jerk his head towards it, soon spotting a splotch of brown and yellow waving at him, and, in return, he chuckled lightly, much to the displeasure of the children surrounding him.
“I’m sorry kids, but it seems I have to go now. Whenever I pass by here again, I’ll get to all your questions, I won’t forget about it!” And, even though they played stubborn, they kindly let him through, going back into their incessant chattering of gods and Virtues, as if the man had never been there to begin with. Said man, Impulse, took the opportunity given to him, sparing one last nod and smile as he hurriedly stepped through the tiled floors of the plaza, towards the person calling him. As he got closer, he could spot some smoke, followed by the protests of a half beaten up wagon, its engines rumbling hungrily for action. Near it, was another man, dressed in the same sort of overcoat Impulse bore, though with a pair of mechanical looking glasses held on top of his head, the lenses pairing perfectly with the ruby he also carried.
“So, you got everything you had to do here settled, Tango?” One redstoner chirped. “Almost, I just need to take care of some jimagathings, but they don’t have the stock for those ready just yet. Missing out on slime over from the swamp production in the eastern village, they said.” The other redstoner replied. “Well well well, what about you, big guy? Being the folk’s entertainment once again?” With that, he took the opportunity to elbow Impulse, as one does when you want to sweetly mock a dear friend about the silliest of endeavours. “Oh you know how kids are- They haven’t reached that age where schools go more in depth about how it all works, so fancy words like that must look like monsters to them. I’m just their brave dragon slayer, here to help with their adventures.” Now THAT earned a laugh from his audience, one that radiated of effervescent blaze powder, and one could only be glad that there were no carriages of TNT nor brews around these parts. “More like recruiting peeps for Etho to shove his contraptions onto! What a valiant hero you are! If you keep it up, all the children in this town are going to go around crazy about superpowers and gods.”
After his remark, Tango took the chance to do one last check on the shulker boxes his old beloved machinery was carrying, making sure it was all loaded in the right sections, before getting into the wagon, proudly taking the driver’s seat. The leather cushions protested at the weight, but luckily it was drowned by the sounds of pipes hitting each other every so often. Soon after, a lightheartedly peeved Impulse followed right along, taking a few steps to reach the free seat near his friend. The interior of the wagon was predominantly a mess of paper and machinery, the spruce wood only being revealed by the occasional forgiving gap in between the clutter, but even so, it was almost a second home at this point. Each scratch and mark that had been left throughout the years contained a story embedded in it, and neither of them would have it any other way. The stories this machine could spill if it had a mouth... “Hey, teaching people redstone never hurt anybody! Too much, that is- Sides, who knows? Maybe someday they
will be so noble that they get invited over to Hermitcraft.”
Tango let out a scornful laugh at the remark, not giving himself the work of sparing a glance to his friend. Instead, he seemed more preoccupied with checking the settings and levels of the contraption, making sure it was all ready to get fired. Only when he was sure he had everything prepared is when he thought about replying to Impulse. “Tsk, what a silly name for a playground made to please Deities of all things, don’tcha think?” To that, he received a simple shrug from the “co-pilot”. “Not our business to decide what gets named what. Sides, it’s a peaceful place, that’s enough for me. Want to keep on chatting, or are you ready to go, princess?”
“Please save the princess nicknames for Bdubs or I’m kicking you off the wagon.”
“Then better get at it, dude! We have a long way to go until we get to the next stop.”
“You’re insufferable.” A thought crossed Tango’s mind, briefly associating his words with someone more akin to Cleo or Hypno, the official manufacturers of sarcastical witty callbacks laid upon the Masters, when they were both wasted, crackling at 3 am, as they kept on trying to make the simplest of circuits come into life, or when they caused havoc upon someone’s land with their newest gadgets. But his sentence had a different taste, one of whiskey and companionship, playful bantering that they both knew the recipe of, or at least he hoped they both did. With that brief moment aside, he finally gave in, blaring the horns of the machinery, as the cogs began twisting into motion, fully waking up the beast of metal that they called a wagon. It released soft puffs of steam every so often, hardened wheels beginning to roll at their perfected pace, as Tango drove along the streets of Abella.
#cross posted on ao3#hermitcraft#hermitcraft au#impulsesv#tangotek#ASTWP au#mcyt#salty writting#i dont like the ending but it is what it is#mentions: cleo etho hypno#oh and bdubs dhsbf#ooowowowowof this sure is something i wrote huh#i have no idea if this is good or bad but I wanted to explain what some things and bobs were and writing this is far more cute than just#ramble text#aaaaahh.#also fair warning this is block text heavy im awful at formatting so maybe this is not for you if you dont like that sort of stuff#me sorry i will do better
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So what should TRF do, exactly?
Yet again there have been almost defeaning calls on SM for TRF to DO SOMETHING about the Sussexes. So, I’d like to address this question, maybe throw in something of a reality check.
Most people should know by now that it is not in HMTQ’s power to remove the Sussex titles. This can only be done by an Act of Parliament, and primary legislation at that.
This means that the “motion” has to be debated by both the House of Commons and House of Lords.
Now, just think for a minute, a debate, in the house of commons, with all those Black Female Labour MPs banging on about removing the titles from the, supposedly, first bi-racial member of TRF. Goodness, if people thought that the Sussexes incoherent and contradictory mud slinging about “conversations” about the colour of Archie’s skin was damaging to TRF, how much worse would it be to hear elected representatives of the British people (however ignorant, biased and downright stupid) accuse TRF of racism in The Mother of Parliaments. Now that would be seriously damaging.
And of course The British Government has far more important things it needs to Parliamentary time for.
Also, there is some sort of notion floating around Social Media that if HMTQ asks Parliament, then it will immediately be given. Anyone who knows anything about the hundreds of years that it has taken the UK to go from an absolute to constitutional monarchy knows damn well that a) HMTQ would never dream of asking and b) HM’s Government would in no way automatically acceed to any request made by the Sovereign.
Some people seem to think that we live in some sort of medieaval kingdom with an all powerful Monarch.
Yet, there are still those who are jumping up and down, calling HMTQ and PC fit to burn because they are “Not Doing Anything”
OK, so put your money where your mouth is?
What should they do?
Exactly.
Go on,
tell us.
What would you do if one of your sons or brothers, daughters or sisters had got themselves ensnared with a dangerous narcissist? When every word of warning, every well-meant piece of advice does nothing more than drive them further into the arms of their addiction.
What would you do if their mental state before they met this person was a matter of family concern and now, far from your care, deaf to your entreaties, was publicly deteriorating to the point that they have become a world-wide laughing stock?
Tell us. What would you do? They are an adult, one who has not been sectioned, free to make their own choices, to lead their own life. They are your family. What do you do?
How exactly are you going to stop him talking about you, spreading lies and gossip? Go on, tell us, we’re dying to know.
What would you do if your beloved family member had made it clear to you that if their spouse leaves them, they will kill themselves? Go on, what would you do?
What would you do if you believed that anything your family did could be the cause of anger on the part of the narcissist and put your loved one in danger. What would you do, exactly, to stop them? Please tell us. There are a lot of people out there who would love to know.
“Cut them off” many people are crying! But that is what we know PC has done, albeit after providing his younger son and his wife with a substantial gift to help set them up in their new lives, as per the Megxit agreement.
Tell the truth about the surrogates? Yes, we would all like that, we know that niether of those children were born of her body, that they are not entitled to a place in the line of succession. Yet, however much we jump up and down and say that TRF is “public property”, the fact is, they too are still entitled to basic human rights, and one of those is privacy. It is not for TRF to tell the truth about the surrogacies, it is not their story to tell. It is for Harry and his wife. One day the truth will come out, it always does. The TRF can not be the ones to let the cat out of the bag. They just can not.
OK, so people jump up and down saying that HMTQ and PC are showing weakness by not responding to all these attacks. So tell us, what exactly would you do? Exactly, what would you have done when?
They said that you don’t own the rights to the word Royal (which is true)?
When every single speech that woman made duing lockdown by Zoom has a dig at your family. Would you respond? How? Exactly.
When they set up a photoshoot trampling over war graves, insulting the memories of both the US and the UK fallen? What would you have done to stop it? Go on, do tell?
I can’t be arsed to dig out the list of all the insults, swipes etc that these two have levelled at TRF, HMTQ, PC etc. Geniunely because I’ve forgotten most of them, there have been so many, they have lost their currency, they have been devaluted. Even the massive fall out from the “bombshell” whineathon with OW, was overtaken by more whinging, it’s a deluge. How could the sitatuation have been helped if, as it was rumoured PC wanted to do, each accusation was thoroughly challenged. Can you imagine?
How many of you own or run companies? How many of you have had, in any shape or form had people complain to you about products or services? How many of you have received unjustified/maliciious/ignorant complaints - 100% I would guess. And what is the best way of dealing with these? Do you engage and argue with every minor point, do you want to “win” the argument. Does it make you feel better to win by beating the complainent over the head with your greater wisdom, teaching them a lesson, showing them for the stupid, ignorant people they are? What happens if you engage? It never bloody stops. But if you reply thanking them profusely for the incredible amount of time they have taken to give you feedback, if you thank them for their custom, if you offer them a discount/money back. If you ARE NICE TO THEM. Guess what? THEY HAVE NO WHERE TO GO! NOWHERE. Believe me, I’ve done both and I can tell you hands down which is the most satisfying and, ultimately the most productive in the long term.
The situation is the same here, if TRF engages in any shape or form it will be playing directly into the Narcs playbook and the Sussexes will push back, it will excite them, thrill them, give them power. It will be more fuel for their global whinging and victimhood. It will be more interminable articles in Hello and Page Six (Does anyone read these publications) Look at the few times TRF have pushed back and H has come in, all guns blazing with legal letters (and what happened to all that, we wonder). Have you noticed that since the word got out that TRF were not going to stand by silently, the BS stories about HMTQ having zoom calls with the mythical child, buying waffle makers have stopped?
They are much more careful now when they try to bring HMTQ into their lunacy.
“Love me, hate me, but NEVER ignore me” is the Narcs motto and it will be driving Harry’s wife mad that they have been completely iced and are not rising to their constant baiting. But some of the Megxiteers are. Effectively, the Megxiteers are doing the Sussexes work for them. That sure is some fuel for the narc.
It makes me laugh when the MSM and SM get their knickers in a twist about the latest fuckwittery coming out of Montecito (or whever they don’t live). They want the child to be christened in Windsor with HMTQ present. Don’t make me larff! That is never going to happen. This is absolute kite flying at it’s worst. It’s poking the bear and all these ridiculous Royal Reporters nod their heads and make seemingly wise podcasts about the prospect of this happening (and they can do it with - mostly - straight faces), as if it was actually a possibility when I’d like to think that they, like me, believe that H and his wife have been well and truly iced, they are personas non grata.
When the wife buggered off back to Canada after the Commonwealth service leaving her useless husband to tell more lies on his own, rather than with her at his side, I was convinced then that she will never set foot on these shores again and I stand by that view now as I did then.
So, the latest stick with which the megxiteers have chosen to beat TRF with is that the second child is now on the website as being in the line of succession. Yes, it is an absolute abomination, yes, it offends every fibre of my being, yes I want to expose these two evil hypocrites for this egregregious fraud that they are perpetrating on TRF and the rest of the British people. Of course, like most of you, I want to see justice done, and I want it done NOW. But life isn’t like that. and just as Caesar’s wife has to be above suspision so do our (much loved) RF. Look how we all noticed the careful wording of the Baby congrats on the birth of the second child, they know, we know, but TRF have to play a staight bat, they just have to.
While, in the SM bubble we can all get ourselves wound up, upset, angry, sure that the monarchy will fall etc etc outside, in the real world, most people don’t give a flying fuck about Harry. He’s an idiot, an ex-royal, gone, finished. He is not important either inside or outside TRF.
HE IS IRRELEVANT.
And, if anyone is wondering while all this stuff about book deals is coming out now. I give you this:
The Mail on Sunday appeal - will probably run into next year
The Bullying accusations - will probably run into next year.
Tom Bower’s book (this is a biggy) - to be published next year?
The Sussexes are aware they are losing popularity, that is why each pronouncement is more and more ludicrous and each Hello article more and more desperate.
The Sussexes are aware they are under attack by forces outside TRF, and they are making their pre-emptive strikes at the low hanging fruit, the soft underbelly of his family.
TRF are doing exactly the right thing. Keep Calm, Carry On and while ignoring them won’t make them go away, it will make them look increasingly ridiculous.
This is true strength, not to rise to the bait, to carry on regardless. Remember our Queen has a strong and deeply held Christian faith, turning the other cheek is part of that, whether we like it or not. TRF should not, under any circumstances sink to the level of Harry and his wife.
Let’s just enjoy the H show for what it is, a mentally unstable ensnared fool doing everything he can to ensure he continues to receive the favours (sexual and otherwise) of the narcissist he married. Because, imho, that is what it’s all about.
Remember the engagement interview. “I hope she loves me as much as I love her”.
Sorry mate, that ship has sailed and nothing, nothing you can do will bring it back.
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1167
surveys by emptyliketheocean
Brand of cigarettes you smoke?
I don’t smoke cigarettes, or at least I never buy my own packs.
Should you be trusted with a person's life?
Idk, that’s for them to decide.
How's your life in general?
I lost two relatives from Covid this week alone. So, not very dandy. Still in shock. Waiting for it to all finally crash down so I can grieve and mourn properly. Scared of more losses and hoping there aren’t any more to come.
Have you ever put lipstick on anything besides lips?
I don’t wear makeup, but when my friends have put some on me in the past there were a couple of times they dabbed lipsticks on my cheeks.
Have you ever picked a fight you knew you would lose?
Metaphorically speaking, yeah. I don’t get into physical fights.
What's something you think is crazy about the world?
The concept of centibillionaires and the fact that there are multiple ones who exist.
What do you think about religion?
I think the only upside to it is how it has helped save lives for some and how it serves as a guide for others to spread good in the world. Like if your religion has given you purpose and strength, that’s great. But ultimately, I’m not a fan and I most definitely don’t think religion is necessary to be a kind person. In fact, I think it works the opposite...most of the homophobes, misogynists, pro-lifers, and sexists I know are from the Christian faith. Cringe.
What about when religion causes violence?
Well I definitely have a bone to pick with this lol. The only reason the Philippines is predominantly Catholic today is precisely that when the Spanish arrived, they used violence to forcingly convert Filipinos - who were then living in peace with their own culture, government, and religion system - to Christianity. And now we’re ‘celebrating’ 500 years of Christianity in the country this year, which was always so off to me because why are we celebrating colonization lol????????????? But anyway, yeah, that is another issue I have with religion. I want nothing to do with it.
What color is one of your hats?
I have an off-white summer hat but I have literally never used it in public because it’s huge and it’s 100% going to draw attention.
How do you feel?
My shoulders are sore and I’m feeling slightly irritated because of them. I’m also starting to get a bit hungry.
Have you ever gotten in trouble for laughing?
A few times.
Something that makes you smile:
Free food.
What do you think about surveys with lyrics as the title?
Surveys with random lyrics usually end up being the ones with interesting questions, so I actually am more likely to check it out.
Do you have any clothes with small holes in them?
Maybe one or two.
Do you think the way you live is really okay?
I think I am already quite fortunate with what I have considering what others don’t, so it’s definitely been a while since I have complained about anything during this whole Covid situation, living-situation-wise. Even though we’ve lost a few things, like having to sell one of our cars and with my mom being retrenched, we still get by and have a roof over our heads with working water and electricity and a stocked pantry; and I make enough money to hand a portion of it to my parents twice a month and still treat myself with things I want. There is nothing to bitch about.
Do you know anyone other than a cop who has ever owned a cop car?
No.
Have you ever felt fire?
No, but electricity, yes. I’ve been shocked before but that was also my own fault lol.
Have you ever seen a person light themselves on fire?
Jesus no.
Have you ever used crutches when you didn't need them?
Yes. I used to horse around with Katreen’s crutches when she injured her legs in 3rd grade, when she wasn’t using them.
If you had 15 beers you would be:
Dead.
Are you as bored as I am?
No, I’m good.
Why are you taking this survey?
I feel like it.
What would you say if a person asked you why your face was so messed up?
“How do you want me to react?” Easiest way to shut a person up and passive aggressively tell them to watch what they say.
What would you do if your first love asked you back out?
Be very confused and ask why the sudden decision.
What's your home life like?
It’s very routine, due to having to stay at home. I work a 9–6 on weekdays, follow that up with dinner, and use a few hours to scroll through social media until it’s time to sleep. Then on weekends I use the free time to recharge by taking surveys and watch videos of whoever and whatever I’m interested in at the moment. Just waiting for all of this to blow over so I can finally do the things I’m meant to be doing.
Do you have a talent that you don't do anything with?
I don’t write a lot for myself these days. I do write frequently for work, which is great - press releases, event scripts, all your PR essentials - but I don’t get stimulated enough since everything is written in the same tone. I really should pick up a notebook and pen soon...
Do you know anyone that is a lesbian?
Yes. Not that she’s in my life anymore.
What do you think about your mom?
I think she tries her best. But I wish she were more emotionally in touch. And that she starts being politically correct.
What do you think about your dad?
He’s worked hard and continues to, and I appreciate all his efforts; and I can’t wait to be able to buy him all the things he wants.
Which parent do you respect the most?
Who do you think? Hahahaha.
Is there anything someone could lie to you about that you couldn't forgive?
I suppose, like cheating.
--
Who do you love unconditionally?
My two best friends.
Pick an element.
Oooookay? Zirconium.
Have you ever wasted a great amount of time and felt horrible about it?
It always feels that way on weekends these days because there’s only so much that can be done while stuck at home because of Covid. But I do try to justify it by telling myself I already work too hard during weekdays so it’s ok to bum around at home and do nothing, because using the time to recharge is still productive.
What is something that's been said about you that isn't true?
My mom has said a lot of hurtful things directed towards me that I internalized for a very long time, but I’ve since gained the strength to no longer let those words get to me.
Who do you want with you when you're scared?
Anyone who can be calm while I’m not.
Know any bands that not many people have heard of?
Many of the punk bands I listen to are virtually unknown on this side of the planet.
Do you have any advice for people in general?
Don’t be racist.
What's something you like to do in the summer?
Complain about the heat.
What's something you like to do in the winter?
We don’t get winter here, but I’ve always thought I would love snow if I ever saw it, and that I would probably make a lot of snow angels and play snowball fights.
What do you think about marijuana?
I don’t have a strong opinion on it as it’s still a very taboo topic where I’m from and I’ve also been lacking on research. I do know people who use it for recreational purposes and I’ve never been against that.
Do you wish anyone death?
Just politicians.
Have you ever felt like you weren't getting anywhere with a person?
Yes, it felt that way for a long time. I just was too afraid of confrontation to do anything about it.
What do you feel for the person you first fell in love with?
Resentment and a whole lot of nothing.
Where are you?
I’m in my bedroom.
Are you waiting for something?
Hmm, not necessarily.
Who is someone you just think has a hole in their brain?
People who still think Covid is a hoax.
A candy you like?
Gummy anything.
Does any part of your body hurt at the moment?
My shoulders and neck, hence the neck pillow I’ve since put on while taking this.
Explain how you got the last bruise you had.
I honestly have no clue. I currently have a big black circle on my right thigh that just suddenly showed up, and I can’t recall a time I must’ve hit it somewhere.
Are you tired?
A little bit because I got up as soon as I woke up, but I wanted to maximize my free time this Sunday before another work week starts. Last Friday would be our last non-working holiday in a while and we’re not getting another one until August. :(
Explain how you got a scar you have.
A distant cousin hurled a glass jar towards me when I was 3, during a family reunion. He initially went for my eye because I guess he wanted to blind me, but he missed and ended up hitting my eyebrow instead. My mom has since banned him from talking to me ever since, and I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him since the incident.
Have you ever owned anything illegal?
Illegal copies of movies I’ve torrented, sure.
What do you dream about?
The most random scenarios. I’ll get the occasional nightmare, but those only happen when I’m going through a period of depression.
Do you ever daydream?
Not anymore these days.
How do you feel about vegetarians?
I don’t really think anything of them. There are days I’ll particularly feel for them because there aren’t a lot of restaurants with good vegetarian options where I live, though.
A fruit you like:
Avocado, in very limited options.
Have you ever seen a person eat a bug?
Only bugs that were already prepared a certain way and meant to be eaten; but I’ve never seen a person that just picked up a bug off the ground and went straight to chewing. I imagine I would freak out and gag.
Something you worry about too much:
How much is in my bank account.
How do you feel about smoking?
I hate how the smell clings to your clothes and all your things when you’ve been smoking or when you’ve been around people who smoke. I also wince when people pose with their cigarettes just to look badass and cool; but as someone who’s since picked up vaping as a habit, my once-intense hatred for smoking and smokers has since changed lol.
If you had to move out of state, where would you go?
I would move to a big city. Somewhere noisier and with a lot of lights and foot traffic and general activity.
What is your favorite vampire-related movie?
The Twilight Saga hahahahahaha
Is there a person you keep coming back to?
My best friends, I guess?
If you're listening to music...Give me a lyric from the song you're listening to.
I’m not listening to anything.
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More Accurate Than Any Scale
Card: Lab Coat - SR
Characters: Vil, Rook, Trey, Riddle (mentioned)
Chapter 1
—LABORATORY—
Vil: It was rather kind of the science club advisor to let us use the lab and its chemicals.
Have you been acting oddly compliant with your club activities lately, Rook?
Rook: He gave me the okay right after I told him I just wanted to help make some chemicals to use for special effects in one of the film club’s shoots.
Although, he did ask me to turn in a list of all the chemicals and reaction formulas I’ll be using, how long I’ll be in here, and a safety plan in case of an emergency.
Vil: You’ve gotten your teachers awfully wary of you! I suppose that means you act as free-spirited as you always do in your clubs too.
Well, let’s start already to avoid putting the time you got us to waste.
Now then, the chemicals we’ll be using are... ah, here.
Mix a spoonful of this in the colored water...
(Poof!)
Rook: Oh! That made black smoke appear! Are we finished already, then?
Vil: It’s a little different than the color I have in mind. It should be darker... black enough that it could blend in with the night.
I’ll try adjusting the amount we put in a little. A little more than a spoonful...
(Poof!)
Rook: Hmm. It grew a little darker. How’s that?
Vil: Not quite. It’s a little too blue now. Perhaps there’s something wrong with the water...
Rook: Would you even be able to tell the difference through the camera?
Vil: Do not ask me to compromise with something that’s going to appear in front of an audience. The smoke will take up a very wide portion of the screen.
Without an effective color that highlights the costumes, as well as the actors’ expressions, hair, and eyes, everything will be ruined.
We need to keep making small adjustments to prevent that. ...Perhaps this will work?
(Poof!)
Vil: ...Yes, that is a nice black.
Now that we’ve made the smoke, our next shooting will be flawless.
Rook: Oh, even though you haven’t taken care of yourself yet?
Vil: ...Excuse me?
Rook: When are you going to start your diet?
Vil, you’ve gained a little weight here these past three days. Your jawline looks slightly off.
Vil: What—?! That can’t be right.
I’m never careless about my health, and not a single one of my 5 million-plus Magicam followers has pointed anything like that out.
Besides, I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary when examining myself in the mirror.
Rook: Ah, Roi du Poison. Between me and everyone else, who would you choose to believe?
I’m always telling you this: I’ve spent much more time looking at you than you have spent looking in the mirror.
Above all else, that is the one thing I’ll always guarantee you.
Vil: ...Alright. I’ll take your word for it.
Rook: Oh, I should get going now. It’s time for my very important fieldwork.
Vil: Ah, hold on! ...Running off right after he said what he needed to, I see.
Well, I’m finished with the smoke, so I should clean up and then head back.
—EXTERIOR HALLWAY—
Vil: I need to get back to the dorm as soon as I can to check my scale.
Trey: Hm...? Fancy meeting you here, Vil. Were you doing something in the lab?
Although, I could’ve sworn I’ve heard about a private lab in Pomefiore’s basement.
Vil: Oh, Trey. Today was an exception; there were some chemicals I needed in the school lab.
Rook let me know there should’ve been a bottle of the kind I needed here after I’d realized I was short.
Does everyone in the science club keep track of which chemicals are kept in the lab?
Trey: No, Rook’s just particularly observant. I don’t remember anything except the ones I use myself.
He’s good at memorizing the most random things, huh?
Vil: That’s for certain... Like people’s jawlines.
Trey: Jawlines...?
Vil: Oh, nothing.
Trey: I see. Hey, do you and Rook like sweets?
I actually have some cake leftover. Baking one in an 18-centimeter pan ended up a little too much for Riddle’s afternoon tea.
So I’ve been going around offering slices to everyone.
Vil: I was wondering what you were doing wandering around with that thing in your hands... So there’s a cake inside that box?
Trey: Yeah. Gotta say, I really outdid myself on this one. See how fresh the strawberries are? Makes your mouth water, doesn’t it?
Vil: Very true. But I’ll have to pass. I’ve just begun dieting.
Feel free to make Rook take two servings, though.
Trey: Seems like something happened between you two... Well, I can probably take a guess.
Vil, if you’ve got time, why don’t you stop by Heartslabyul?
I could offer you some of this delicious herbal tea I have.
Vil: Herbal tea... Is there any chance it has lemongrass in it?
Trey: Ah, yeah, it does.
Vil: I’d love to, then. Its detoxifying properties would be perfect for me right now.
Chapter 2
—HEARTSLABYUL DORM - KITCHEN—
Trey: Thanks for waiting, Vil. Here’s your herbal tea.
Vil: Thank you, Trey. ...It smells lovely.
Trey: I also brought a piece of cake just in case. I baked it fresh today, you know.
Vil: I can tell just by looking at it that it’s something you’re proud of. But, I still think I’ll just stick to the tea.
(Vil takes a sip)
Vil: ...Mm, delicious. Where did you find these tea leaves?
Trey: The school store. It’s rare to see leaves with a hundred years of history behind them in stock.
You can take some back with you if you’d like; I’ve got plenty. I wouldn’t be able to finish them all myself before the flavor faded.
Vil: Well, if you insist. I take it you’ll wrap them up later.
Trey: Oh, and about our earlier conversation. What did you say happened with Rook?
Vil: It wasn’t anything important. I suppose you could say he’s just been watching me a little too closely.
Of course, it’s helpful that he’s able to notice changes in me quicker than even I can...
But don’t you think it’s so rude to just tell me “You got fat” out of nowhere?
There’s a difference between being honest and being considerate. I suppose he just left his ability to be “considerate” back in the woods.
Trey: Ah... Well, it’s true that wasn’t the best way to word it...
Rook always blurts out his thoughts, whether they’re good or bad. It surprises me at times too.
Vil: Hmph. Perhaps I should’ve expected that he’s like this even during club meetings.
Trey: The other day, actually, our club advisor proposed an experiment and Rook immediately went “That’s such a boring idea.”
We ended up doing a much more complicated experiment. The freshmen couldn’t figure out how to do anything, so they just wound up just standing around for the rest of the period.
Vil: I can imagine how that must’ve looked.
And it was all left up to you to lead the freshmen, wasn’t it?
Trey: Saying I “led them” is giving me too much credit, but... a little, yes.
Vil: You always work so much.
Riddle is lucky to have you in Heartslabyul.
Trey: What?
Vil: You know, you come up in conversations at the dorm leader meetings sometimes. About how great of a vice dorm leader you are.
Trey: Oh, that’s... the first I’ve heard of that. Honestly, I’m a little surprised.
I just don’t want to lose my head. I don’t think that should warrant any praise.
Vil: There’s no need to be so modest. You should accept praise when it’s given.
Those who can’t read into things might just blindly believe your words despite the fact that you’re just trying to be humble.
Well, if that’s the kind of impression you want to give, then that’s fine... but it’s still just selling yourself short.
Trey: You sure are harsh. But you must know what you’re talking about, as someone whose job is wholly based on others judging you.
I’ll try to watch myself from now on.
Vil: Yes, please do. It makes the one doing the complimenting feel good too.
Besides, letting yourself feel happy about getting praised helps alleviate stress.
Especially for you, who is always running around to tend to your selfish young master.
Trey: I really don’t think I’m stressing myself out over Riddle.
Vil: Well, alright. If you say so...
Trey: It’s the truth. After all, I have a trick to not feel stressed.
Vil: Oh? A trick? I’m curious.
Trey: Wanna know what it is?
Vil: My, you’re certainly acting cheeky now.
Trey: I’ll only say it once, so listen carefully!
Vil: Alright...
Trey: It’s to not hold back on the sweets. Especially cakes filled with fruit.
Vil: Incredible. I was wondering where you were going with this. ...Heh.
Alright. I’ll try a bit of your fruit cake.
I’ll just have to add a few extra laps to my run tomorrow morning.
Trey: I probably shouldn’t be telling you this since you’re a model, but...
I really don’t think one slice of cake is going to do anything to your figure. You’re already so skinny anyway.
Vil: I’d prefer the term “fit,” if you wouldn’t mind.
But Rook’s watchful gaze on me is more accurate than any scale. Perhaps even more than a mirror.
Trey: Really...
Vil: Mm, delicious. You’ve gotten better at this, haven’t you, Trey?
Do let me know if Riddle ever has it be off with your head. I’ll make you our dorm’s personal pastry chef.
Trey: I’ll try not to let that happen.
Having to worry about the calorie count with every dessert I make for Pomefiore sounds troublesome.
Vil: Wouldn’t it be a great learning opportunity?
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Second Chance Christmas {{ December 22 }}
Holiday shopping, Christmas cookies, and a movie marathon... and maybe a touch of actual communication?
https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832405/chapters/68577144#workskin
Full chapter under the read more.
Joey wandered downstairs at seven in the morning. He was surprised to see Kaiba inspecting the to-do list on his fridge in between long swigs from his KC branded mug.
“You haven’t finished holiday shopping?!” Kaiba’s panic-whisper sounded like he was really concerned about whether Christmas was ruined. His eye contact was almost frenetic.
“I thought I’d leave the kids with Serenity while I do the shopping, she’s supposed to be working the Christmas day shift at the hospital, so she was going to have a couple nights off… I mean it’s not…” Joey looked at the ceiling, as if he could avoid conflict if he didn’t meet the burning blue flames in his ex’s eyes. He steeled himself with a deep inhale. “It’s not as much of a production when you’re not here.”
The KC mug hit the kitchen island with not-insubstantial force. The fruit dish shook with the vibration, bananas swinging from the hook, and Joey tore his eyes from the ceiling to see the drops of black coffee that had hit the granite.
“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” Kaiba asked, or rather hissed, without a questioning lilt in his voice.
Joey cracked his knuckles involuntarily. Instead of letting his fingers ball into fists, he jerked open the refrigerator door and yanked out the carton of orange juice.
“You’re a smart man. I’m sure you can guess.” Joey didn’t look away from the task at hand. He militantly focused on pouring orange juice into a tall clean glass.
And there was that sinister “Kaiba” gravel, every bit as menacing as it had ever been as he hissed over the kitchen counter, “Enlighten me.” He sounded like Yugi’s troubled teen nemesis again.
Joey flipped around, gripping the orange juice to keep himself from saying too much that he would regret. “Things are more mellow, now. It isn’t about going overboard to prove a point.”
Kaiba blinked, clearly expecting a harsher phrasing. “Is it now?”
“Yeah. When I was a kid I didn’t have much for Christmas and I came out just fine…” Here it comes, Joey thought, trying not to show the hesitation in his voice as he finished, “They don’t have to be spoiled rotten.”
Joey smirked as he said it. Commenting on their different parenting styles was a low blow, but it had been just too much fun. Joey thought regret would drop into his stomach, but it never hit. Instead, his heart jumped a little, the thrill of getting a rise out of Kaiba as seductive as ever.
“Spoiled?!” Kaiba’s voice lowered in volume and tone. Joey didn’t even try to suppress his mocking grin. Instead, he chugged the rest of his orange juice, slammed down the glass and bolted from the kitchen.
“Get back here!” Kaiba said. Tonally, it was a shout, but volume-wise? Neither of them wanted the kids to wake up quite yet, even though there were probably only minutes left on the clock in that regard.
Joey slid on his socks as he ran down the hallway, drifting as he took a sharp turn. Kaiba sprang to life, suddenly in hot pursuit.
Kaiba was fast, with those long, toned legs and that Terminator-like determination. But he hadn’t spent the last three years wrangling toddlers and chasing after Alexis, who just loved wandering off at the most inopportune times. Plus, while Kaiba had memorized the floor plan at one time, Joey was recently and intimately familiar with it.
The tie breaker was the stairs—with a carved bannister that had seen better days, days before Atticus had been allowed poster paint and before Alexis had taken a tap class. Finally, Joey’s socks gambit came to bite him in the ass as the smoothness of the glossy wooden stairs and the lack of traction from the socks caused him to slip. And that wave of tripping Joey collided into a scampering Kaiba, and the two of them tumbled down the stairs.
The resulting clatter woke the kids up.
. . .
The mall was a zoo—minus the organization. Children were everywhere, and somehow all screaming at once. Everyone looked stressed, perhaps the employees most of all. And Joey realized that he didn’t really have a strategy.
Leaving the kids home with Kaiba was a luxury, and he had sort of forgotten how nice it was to have back up childcare that wasn’t molded around Serenity’s shifts as an RN. It was sort of strange too, because it was one of the few things that was completely new.
Before they separated, Kaiba never watched the kids alone—they had a full staff for that.
Would they all have a miserable time? Joey smirked to himself as he strolled past another festive display—a family of mannequins in matching flannel pajamas. Being outnumbered by the kids could be quite a problem, and although Alexis had lone wolf tendencies, when they combined forces the two were quite powerful.
Joey idly imagined what sort of hell they might put Kaiba through as he shopped for some small things to put in their stockings. He was knocked out of his reverie by eyes fell upon a yo-yo display at the toy store.
After picking up a few small trinkets—and decidedly no yo-yo’s, Joey approached the cash register.
He was not pleased to find an unfamiliar credit card in his wallet. When did Kaiba even have the time to slip that in? Joey ran his thumb over the raised letters of his own name. Did Kaiba just have these lying around? In any case, Joey steadfastly refused to use it, tucking the heavy black card back into the recesses of his worn leather wallet.
He contemplated, momentarily, throwing it in one of the trash bins that he passed by, overflowing with spent holiday Starbucks cups and overly long receipts. But if someone did get ahold of it, they might ring up some charges that could look like Joey was actually using the card. It would ruin the integrity of the refutation.
But the little rectangular siren was hard to keep from his mind. Every time he made a purchase, there it was, tempting him to draw from an unlimited account. Snap shut the golden handcuffs again, the card whispered. Make everything easier.
But Joey Wheeler was a determined man. Detractors might use the phrase stubborn, but it didn’t matter which one was more accurate. When he had a plan, he stuck to it. To the bitter end. So even though he was pushing the admittedly fragile budget to it’s limits at the music store and on Cyber Angel card packs, it remained sealed away.
Until he passed a very sad looking fundraiser.
Joey considered, as he lingered past the charity drive seeking toys for a group home for teens in the Bronx, that he might put the card to use. He realized he seemed a little off, staring down the charity workers, who were dressed as unconvincing elves, with the big collection boxes.
Joey had a timetable. He had a not unimpressive list still remaining. But that fucking card was burning a hole in his pocket. It was practically radiating heat.
But he caved. He lost the battle with the black card when he emptied the local game shop’s entire stock of new model-duel disks and donated them. Joey was trembling as he signed them over, what the name of the donor would be.
He settled on anonymous and determined that he would cut the card into fifty pieces the second he got home and scatter the shards through the trash. The damn thing was too tempting.
By the time Joey pulled into the driveway and slammed open the front door, he was ready to fight about what had happened.
But his family wasn’t immediately in view. The lights in the kitchen were on, and Joey could hear soft classical covers of Christmas music and he thought he could make out the sound of Alexis laughing.
The wind was knocked out of him when he turned the corner to see Kaiba’s black turtleneck splattered with flour.
The whole kitchen had taken a beating. Flour hadn’t just tarnished Kaiba’s polished look—it had dusted the cabinets and part of the fridge Kaiba must not have realized how easily dry ingredients spray from the stand mixer if dropped in first.
The kitchen counters certainly were not spared from the ingredient massacre. The entire kitchen island was covered in flour, some spilled food dye—which Joey could already sense would never come out of the granite—and a surprising amount of raw egg.
Upon further inspection, Kaiba was actually the one least impacted by the ingredient apocalypse. There was sugar and frosting all over Alexis’s face—how, Joey might never know—and Atticus had managed to paint some of his hair blue with blue frosting.
“Alright. Cookies are decorated and prepared for Mr. Claus, fulfilling your contractual obligations,” Kaiba said resolutely, as if he had not turned their living space into a warzone. “What is next on the festive itinerary?”
“First rule of Christmas: you must get munk’d!” Atticus announced.
Joey knocked on the boundary wall of the kitchen to announce his arrival. He expected Kaiba to look much more surprised than he did. Instead, Kaiba’s affectionate attention merely pivoted between Atticus and Joey. It was warm and familial, and it sent a pang of heat and guilt and maybe something else down Joey’s spine.
“Next is getting this cleaned up, I think,” Joey said, finding himself in uncharted territory. It felt weird to be the responsible one out of him and Kaiba. He still wasn’t used to being the buzzkill parent, and he didn’t like it.
Kaiba could have said something mean—made some comment about would spoil the fun, but instead he nodded politely. “Yes,” Kaiba surveyed the room. “I think that would be the next step.”
While the kids groaned at the thought of helping with the chores component of the activity, Joey went to inspect the output.
Apparently, Kaiba had lead the kids through the process of making gingerbread men. Four were set aside and logically decorated to be their family: a stretched out one with blue blobs for eyes and a little black gel icing frown, a slightly more squished one with yellow on top in some sort of approximation of Joey’s hair, and two smaller ones representing each kid.
They really did look like a family.
“You can’t eat those ones,” Kaiba instructed from over Joey’s shoulder. Joey startled at the interruption. He hadn’t realized his ex had gotten so close, and was looming over him properly.
“I figured they might be a little special.”
“Frankly, I don’t know that I’m comfortable with Santa eating them. I’m a bit worried he’d just bite my head off, and leave him as an example to the others.”
Joey laughed.
“I don’t think Santa’s supposed to leave death threats to the cookies, Kaiba. But uh…” Joey reached for another plate which had not been as lovingly decorated. He tore the little head of a random gingerbread man with this teeth, and noted the nice flavor. Butter and molasses and a hint of cloves. He placed the decapitated body of the gingerbread man back down on the display plate. “This guy’ll scare the rest of ‘em straight.”
. . .
After everyone had gotten cleaned up and changed into pajamas (and Joey had discretely moved the gifts into the master bedroom closet), the family reconvened in the living room.
“Oto-san, are you ready for the greatest movies ever made?” Atticus announced. He seemed confident that his father wasn’t ready—and he was right. “Are you ready to get… ‘munk’d?”
Kaiba poked at his reading glasses and adjusted his laptop screen. He had been working on some spreadsheets or something, but his interest was obviously piqued.
Joey smiled. He knew exactly what Kaiba was in for, and he was going to savor it.
“Munk’d?” Kaiba repeated back carefully, as if he was worried it was a swear or a slur.
“Yeah!” Atticus grabbed the remote and deftly navigated the SmartTV through a few different apps before finding exactly what he was looking for. “It’s a quadrilogy.”
Kaiba slowly tiled his laptop screen down. “That’s not a word.”
“I have an inventive spirit, Oto-san!” Atticus’s smile beamed forward as he continued to queue the feature film. Without looking away from the screen, Atticus added, “Just like you.”
The soft smile that graced Kaiba’s features stung at Joey immediately. And it vanished at the first pitchy note of the CGI Alvin and the Chipmunks warbling through Daniel Powter’s 2005 hit, “Bad Day.”
“See, they’re kids, but they’re also rock stars!” Atticus enthused. Before Kaiba could get out any other response, Atticus cracked up at the vintage CGI creatures jumping into a muffin basket.
“It’s okay if you don’t like this one, Oto-san,” Alexis offered, hopping up on the couch on the other side. “They get better when they introduce the Chipettes in the Squeakquel.”
Joey wished he had photographed the resulting look of horror on Kaiba’s face.
Joey leaned back in his own arm chair, nursing a fresh mug of hot cocoa. “Quadrilogy, Kaiba. That means there are four of them.”
After the first movie, the kids we already starting to wear down a little. Kaiba had sat through the entire thing, undulating between puzzled and disturbed at the dated animation, the fact that the chipmunks had managed to get into and out of a dishwasher unharmed, and that the moral of the movie appeared to be that brothers should be very careful about who adopts them.
“This entire thing could have been prevented if the Chipmunks had just retained counsel before signing the relevant contracts,” Kaiba said dismissively.
Joey couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s about family, Kaiba.”
Any further discussion was cut off by the raucous opening music for the Squeakquel and ninety-ish minutes later, Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked.
It was a true Christmas miracle that the kids passed out on the couch before the start of Alvin and the Chipmunks 4: The Road Chip.
Joey met Kaiba’s slightly tired eyes. Admittedly, the ending of Chipwrecked was somewhat jarring. Frankly, the entire thing was more of a fever dream mixed with memes from 2011 than a sensible film. “Alright, I’ll take Alexis, if you can take Atticus?”
Kaiba nodded solemnly, accepting the delegation.
Alexis was usually pretty easy to get to sleep, though sometimes she was anxious from the day’s events, or too busy planning the next day to focus on getting to bed. Joey was not at all surprised that Kaiba was taking longer to get Atticus down for the night. He peered through the cracked door to see Atticus’s room illuminated by the little nightlight—shaped like a music note.
In the dim light, it was clear that Kaiba was sitting on the edge of Atticus’s bed. Atticus was all tucked in, holding his Red Eyes Black Dragon plushie, and gazing up at his father.
“And every night when you go to sleep…” Seto prompted, sounding almost like a strict teacher.
“I am loved,” Atticus replied.
“And every morning when you wake up?” Seto started the second part of the call and response.
“I am loved,” Atticus answered, “Oto-san, you don’t have to say it every night when you’re around! I know you love me.”
“It is important to me that you never doubt it, and never forget it. Even when I’m not around.” Joey’s heart could have melted in that second.
Atticus laughed. “You’re so sappy, Oto-san. I don’t know why Uncle Honda calls you a frozen bastard!”
Joey could barely muffle his reaction.
Kaiba’s face whipped around to the cracked open door. “Jounouchi?” He whispered harshly. But it was to no real effect. Joey was already lost to laughter, and dashed through the hallway. By the time Joey dared to retrace his steps back to Atticus’s door frame, Kaiba had vanished.
. . .
It was not hard to guess where Kaiba had retreated to. Joey pushed open the door of the study and was met with the increasingly familiar sight of his ex-husband in his oxblood leather chair, swirling a glass of expensive, aged, imported whiskey in his long fingers and staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe.
“I saw you with Atticus,” Joey offered, wandering into the study. He looked more at the full shelves of books than at his ex. Most of the volumes were in Japanese, but a select few were in English. Warren Buffet’s autobiography was open on his lap, but Joey was fairly sure he wasn’t actually reading it.
“Yes,” Kaiba answered, flipping the page. No, Joey was sure he hadn’t actually read it, his eyes never really left the swirling amber.
“And he musta overheard a call with Honda. It wasn’t on purpose or anything.”
Kaiba nodded wordlessly.
“You really do miss them, huh?” Joey asked, trying not to sound as nostalgic as he felt.
Kaiba’s face remained stoic, but he took a sip of the whiskey instead of answering. Only that asshole could make something so mundane utterly captivating. Joey hated that he would wait for a response as long as he needed to. Joey’s eyes searched the hand clasping the glass, and noted with a brutal sinking feeling, that the ring was off again.
“Why are you here, Jounouchi?” Kaiba asked finally.
“It’s my house, now. I can go anywhere I want,” Joey announced. Kaiba ignored this answer, and turned his head down to the book on his lap. He flipped another page.
Joey considered whether he should just leave, skip out on the argument, avoid it all and properly give up. Let his ex-husband drink his gross fancy liquor and read his boring book and luxuriate in the solitude as only Seto Kaiba could.
But it had been three years. Three years of not demanding answers. Three years with no clarity. So Joey broke the silence.
“Why didn’t you fight for me? For our family? Even for a second?” Joey felt the heat in his own voice, burning the back of his throat. That was how it was, fighting with Kaiba. A never ending battle of fire and ice.
Kaiba was silent, and took a long sip of the Japanese whiskey. He closed the book, which was more respect than Joey had anticipated.
“That’s what broke my heart, really.” Tears threatened to fall out of Joeys eyes as he said it. “That I told you that it was over, and you couldn’t spare one shred of anger, or sadness, or anything.” Joey hated the pleading tone in his own voice. “It felt like you had already dumped me.”
Kaiba raised his glance from the book cover, the amber glass, and instead looked him dead in the eye. Joey wondered if those blue eyes had always been so lifeless and hollow. “So, you wanted me to argue with you?”
“I don’t know,” Joey answered, running a hand through his messy blond hair. He hadn’t planned the whole argument out. Frankly, he hadf didn’t expect any response.
“Our children didn’t need to watch that,” Kaiba said.
“Watch what? A conversation? An argument? You think it would have been worse for them to hear their parents argue or yell once than… going through a whole fucking divorce?” Joey’s volume crept up and he was done controlling it.
Kaiba didn’t answer. He looked into the glass again, but didn’t lift it.
“Or what? What couldn’t they see? You actually respect my time? Respect me?” Joey wasn’t used to having the rhetorical upper hand, and he wasn’t going to waste it, gesticulating wildly. “I got no respect my whole life, I wasn’t gonna let my kids see me treated like that too.”
For all the theatrics, Kaiba scarcely responded.
“Watch it happen again,” Kaiba almost whispered. There was a ghostly quality to the statement, as if Kaiba neither meant to say it nor for Joey to hear it. Kaiba cleared his throat and started again. He brought his eyes back up to meet Joey’s.
“I learned that lesson a long time ago,” Kaiba’s jaw was clenched so tightly the words almost didn’t escape. “I’m not trying to be loved by someone who doesn’t love me.” Kaiba’s fingers twitched, as if he wanted to fiddle with something. But his control and focus wouldn’t let him give in.
For Joey’s part, he stood and tried to absorb these complete non-sequiturs.
“I can’t, and I won’t, try to force or trick you or anyone else into caring about me. I have paid dearly for that miscalculation before. I will not make the same mistake again.”
For all of the “slow” comments he had been subjected to over the years, Joey caught up quickly enough to what Kaiba was referring to. And he wasn’t going to let him play that card, get out of all responsibility because he had emotional constipation.
“You realize there’s a difference between someone asking you to be a better partner and… and not loving you anymore. Asking you to adjust some things instead of… never wanting to see you again. Things aren’t just black and white!” Joey answered.
“Divorce papers are black and white, Jounouchi.” Kaiba finally downed the rest of the glass, the lilt of his voice the same as a “check mate.”
Joey hated to be the first to raise his voice but that door had already been opened. He wasn’t going to be able to get the toothpaste back in the tube.
“Have you met you?! You wouldn’t listen to anything less! And I tried!” Joey shouted, hands raised defensively.
“I wasn’t going to stay where I wasn’t wanted, and you made it very clear that you didn’t want to be with me.” Kaiba didn’t answer with the same volume, but the intensity was raised and the harshness of his voice was jarring. His eyes narrowed like a hawk eying prey. “I didn’t change, for the record. I did not degrade or fail or alter in any way. No, I stayed exactly the same. You simply decided you did not want that anymore.”
“You’re damn right, I was sick of being disrespected. I spent a lot of time not wanting to feel that way anymore. And you really wouldn’t take my feelings into consideration. Was I supposed to tolerate that forever?” Joey’s volume increased with every clipped sentence.
Kaiba’s voice became more languid—as if he was more comfortable responding to the anger. He sounded somewhat like he was pondering his answer as he said it. Drunk on whiskey and a philosophical sense. “Isn’t that what you promised you would do? What unconditional love is supposed to be? Unconditional: without conditions. And yet, after years, suddenly you have conditions—"
“Excuse me?” Joey interrupted.
“You promised. That your love for me, for our family, was unconditional. And then, years later, you have a set of demands. That is the very essence of a condition.” Kaiba finished the glass with his scholarly speech, placing it next to the decanter. He shoved the book onto the side table as well.
“There’s a difference between not loving someone and wanting to be treated like your damn husband.” Kaiba’s tone rubbed off on him somewhat, as if it was a scholarly discussion about the terms of their marriage. Like if he could just explain it clearly enough, he could talk his husband back into their marriage.
Kaiba kept his hands busy pouring another glass. “Well you were right. You’re doing better now, aren’t you? Enjoying your work, the kids are fine. You proved it—you don’t need me at all. And you don’t want me. In three days, I’ll be gone, and you can go back to your better way of life.”
“It’s not—I’m not better now! I’m fine, things are fine, just different and—” Joey stuttered, hands defensively raised. “And, and having you here has been... It hasn’t made anything worse. It’s like you changed for the better.”
“I don’t change, Jounouchi. I am who I am.” Kaiba said, the cruel air of finality sounding as much like a business decision as anything else.
Joey’s eyes widened and he gestured wildly. “Fuck, Kaiba… Then what’s this?! You’ve made it for three days actually being… just, present. For once. Three years too late. Why? Why now and not then?”
Kaiba shrugged and looked away.
Joey closed the distance, looming over his ex-husband, perched in the chair. “I know why,” Joey said, menace in his voice. “It’s because you only respond to threats. Consequences. And now you know the consequences, so you’re getting your act together.”
Kaiba met his eyes, but looked brutally tired. “I am trying to give you what you want for a few days, Jounouchi. Call it a Christmas present to the father of my children.”
“You’re saying this is an act?”
He titled his head all the way back, eyes glued to the ceiling and thumb and forefinger pinching his nose bridge, just above the wire of his glasses. “I don’t know what this is, Jounouchi. Just be happy, or whatever, and leave me in peace.”
Joey really thought about leaving. He wanted to. But he wasn’t quite done, not really, and he’d been avoiding this fight for years. Joey never used to back down from a fight, and neither did Kaiba. It brought them to blows for years, and the avoidance of conflict had been more sickening than any gut-punch Joey had ever taken.
“I’m not gonna.” Joey said, simply. Hands on his hips, standing his ground.
Kaiba leaned up again, head snapping to attention, hand already on the crystal decanter. “What?”
“Leave. I’m not gonna do it. You can try to make me. I’m not done, alright?! You’re obviously not done,” Joey pushed forward, grabbing Kaiba’s wrist and pulling his hand off of the decanter. “Make it easy. Say you’ll be better, Kaiba.”
“I won’t do that. I don’t change, Jounouchi, because I can’t change.” Kaiba did nothing with his wrist, except allow it to go limp in Joey’s grasp. It was as if he was that confident in the strength of his words that he didn’t so much as care to tense a muscle. “I will ask you once more, nicely. Get out of my office.”
“No.” Joey dropped his wrist, and Kaiba retracted it into his lap. “You can change. You did. You just didn’t notice.” It felt good, Joey thought, being honest for once with this man that he used to love.
“I have work.”
“You don’t. They can’t fire you.” Joey got up in his face, so close he could smell Kaiba’s shampoo. Other than the soft sandalwood scent, it felt a bit like when he was riling up a rival high school bully back in Domino. “Fight me! Make me leave! You want me to go so bad? Then make me!”
Kaiba smirked, knowingly. Then he leaned his head back against the chair. His bangs fully eclipsed his eyes. “I won’t. I’ll just sleep here.” There it was again. The checkmate tenor.
“Fine!” Joey plopped down in the seat next to him, the velvet of his matching seat just soft enough. “Then I’ll sleep here too.”
If Kaiba shifted his eyes to check, Joey couldn’t tell under the thick brown bangs. In any case, the stubborn ass didn’t get up. He didn’t storm off or leave. He just stayed there, like a determined rock under Joey’s constant observation.
After about half an hour, Joey heard the even breathing pick up into a light snore.
In the morning, Kaiba awoke alone in the guest room, with no memory of how he got there.
#Violetshipping#puppyshipping#seto kaiba#Kaiba Seto#Jounouchi Katsuya#Joey Wheeler#fanfic#my fanfic#yugioh#ahhhhhhhhhhhh#i hope you like it this chapter is a lot#i was vibing though
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Anonymous asked: You sound like a remarkable woman out of her time. Your posts suggest you are modern and feminine yet your cultured intelligence and cleverness seems from an earlier lost time. Would you prefer to be living in 18th Century Georgian England? One imagines you would fit right in as a heroine in Jane Austen’s Regency world of aristocratic manners and clever barbs over tea in the drawing room.
I had to smile to myself a little because the last thing I ever saw myself was a Jane Austen character. I certainly don’t see myself as heroine of Austen’s world. After all don’t most if not all of Austen’s literary heroines spend their time pathetically pining away for the socially aloof and yet heroically vulnerable gentlemen they profess to love, men who are usually too dense to know that these whining women have childish schoolgirl crushes on them? I know I’m going to angry mails now from pouting Austen fans but I have to speak my mind.
Like most people I do profess to liking a nice, cosy Jane Austen adaptation on television. The fabulous frocks, fans, feathers and finery soothe us with images of a gentler, well-mannered time when gentlemen in cravats and breeches wooed perfumed ladies across ballrooms and well-manicured lawns.
However the reality was not quite so lovely. It’s not that women - like Austen’s literary women - were caught up in the social constraints of their time but also I would get restless just sitting down all day to tea and gossip. I would sooner catch the first ship bound for India and have adventures in the Orient along the way. Tea with Mr Darcy in well stuffed breeches might not be enough for me but then again a well stocked library as most landed gentry homes had would make me reconsider.
I’m fortunate that within my family we have a wealth of diaries, correspondence, private papers, and other family heirlooms that go back a few centuries which we have scrupulously stored to hopefully pass onto future generations.
So when I can decipher some letters of my ancestors it gives me some insight into what life was like for them as men and women of their time. It’s not always easy to read as they loved to scribble in ink (now faded) in the margins on nearly every page of the books they read. And so the penmanship is stylish but minuscule and therefore sometimes hard to make out. The letters are somewhat more legible but it requires patience and perseverance to make sense of what they were writing about. It’s a wonderful way to flesh out the genealogical tree with titbits of personal anecdotes that could be perfunctory, mundane, scandalous, salacious, romantic, and even political.
I’ve read Jane Austen like every other girl at boarding school I imagine. I like her writings but I wouldn’t say my heart is in it to actually live through that time.
Life for Georgian women, even of high birth, was harsh enough in a time when men still held all the power and husbands could beat and even rape their wives. Noblewomen caught diseases passed on from their husband's prostitutes and were still subjected to confinement and the barbaric medical practice of bleeding when pregnant. Even their fashions and frippery provided cold comfort when their make-up poisoned them, unwashed dresses and undergarments stank and their fancy foods made their teeth rot and fall out.
The fact that women did survive and even thrive is a testament to their strength and fortitude which I find admirable.
I’m used to mud and sweat and even living rough because as ex-army officer I was trained to suck it up but it’s also in my nature because I love going rough when I hike or climb mountains or trek to other places off the beaten track. So I’m not squeamish so long as at the end of the day I can bathe or shower my aches away and I can put on a fresh change of clothing. However even I recoil in some horror when I consider that despite their elegant appearance, Georgian women carried a world of stench. While hands and faces would be washed daily, immersive bathing was considered bad for the health and was only indulged in occasionally.
The heavy gowns of the period would have caused the wearer to sweat profusely, with only perfumes such as rose water and orange blossom to mask the smell. The clothes themselves would also be pungent. Due to the huge amount of work involved in laundering, most households would have a maximum of one wash-day a month. Linen undergarments were changed as often as possible, but their "clean" smell would still be unappealing to us. Linen was often bleached in chamber lye, a kind of soap made from ashes and urine.
As if bodily odour was not bad enough, there was also the whiff of rotting teeth. A sugar-rich diet led to frequent tooth-decay in the upper classes. Cleansing tooth-powders had started to emerge but most of these featured "spirit of vitriol", known to us as sulphuric acid, and stripped teeth of their enamel. Often the best remedy for smelling teeth and bad breath was to chew herbs such as parsley. Where a tooth was past hope of redemption, it would be pulled with pliers or a tooth key, a claw that would fix to the teeth so it could be loosened in the jaw. To avoid a gummy smile, ladies of fashion sought false teeth made from ivory or porcelain but, where possible, they preferred to have "live" teeth in their dentures. Poor people were encouraged to sell healthy teeth for this purpose. While such a practice was unethical, it was better than the other method of sourcing human teeth: pillaging them battlefields and graveyards.
Georgian women were renowned for their snowy faces and dark eyebrows but achieving the fashionable skin tone could be extremely dangerous. White face powders were lead-based and some also featured vinegar and horse manure. Years of coating the entire face, shoulders and neck with such a mixture could lead to catastrophic consequences. Society beauty Maria Gunning died at the age of just 27, having spent her life addicted to cosmetics. Lead-poisoning could cause hair loss and tooth decay but ingeniously, these problems were elegantly adapted into the fashion and it became desirable to have a high forehead and pencil-thin eyebrows. If your own eyebrows failed you completely, you could always trap a mouse in the kitchen and use its fur to make a new artificial pair.
I usually wear my hair straight or tied up in a bun so I don’t fuss too much over my hair. This would certainly be out of place if I lived in Georgian times. Georgian ladies were the mistresses of big hair. They piled their frizzed and curled locks over pads or wires to create show pieces for the drawing room. Often their own hair was not sufficient and had to be supplemented by horse hair and false pieces. Styles from the 1760s were domed or egg-shaped, elongating into the pouf in the 1780s. But Georgiana, the infamous Duchess of Devonshire, had to take things a step further. She introduced the three-foot hair tower, ornamented with stuffed birds, waxed fruit and model ships. Following her example, women competed with one another to make the tallest headdress.
Since these styles were costly and took hours to arrange, they were worn for several weeks. Ladies had to sleep sitting up and travel on the carriage floor to avoid spoiling their creations. With no combing possible, lice were inevitable so a special scratching rod was invented for irritated ladies to poke into their piled up hair.
It wasn’t any real fun being a woman and I often think Jane Austen is selling a false bill of goods in her books. You never see women in her novels deal with their menstrual problems. No one has proved for certain what they did, if anything, for sanitary hygiene. With no knickers to hold in strips of linen or rag, they were left to Mother Nature’s mercy. I can imagine that being a conversation stopper in the drawing room over tea with the vicar and his prissy wife.
Their toilet habits were a little more civilised. When ladies at the royal court were caught short, they resorted to porcelain jugs much like a modern-day gravy boat. This contraption, called a bourdaloue, was stuffed up beneath the skirts and clenched beneath the thighs. Apparently it was quite normal for a lady to continue her conversation while urinating into the device! I think Jane Austen missed a trick by not having at least one scene with Elizabeth Bennet urinating under her skirts whilst trading clever barbs with Mr Darcy.
Speaking of which marriage was not a box of chocolates in the early 18th Century or indeed later in Austen’s day. Upon marriage, a lady and all her worldly goods would become property of her husband. It was therefore essential to guard a well-to-do bride’s interests with a legal marriage settlement before the ceremony took place. I read somewhere that Henrietta Hobart, later mistress to George II, had reason to be thankful for the settlement drawn up before her marriage to Charles Howard in 1706. It stipulated that two thirds of her dowry should be invested, with the interest at her sole disposal. Should Henrietta die, the funds were to pass to her children. This arrangement was to prove life-saving when her husband became an abusive gambling-addict and alcoholic.
Lower class women were known to take extreme measures to protect their future husbands from their own debts. "Smock weddings" were intended to show that the bride brought no clothes or property to the union, thus exempting each spouse from the other’s financial liabilities. The woman would be married wearing only her undergarment or smock – or sometimes nothing at all.
Of course no marriage settlement, however generous, could save a woman from a violent husband and it remained legal for a man to rape or kidnap his wife. While excessive beating was frowned upon, whipping was considered a reasonable measure to discipline a wife. Even so, it would appear many men pushed their rights beyond the limit, for laws were later amended to say a man could only beat his wife with a stick "no thicker than his thumb".
Escaping an abusive marriage then was well-nigh impossible. Divorces were so expensive that they remained the privilege of the very rich. Even if a lady did have the money to appeal for divorce, she was by no means certain of success. She would have to prove both adultery and "life-threatening cruelty". And if she won her freedom, it would come with more than just a social cost - any children from the marriage would remain property of the husband. Certainly in my family - on my father’s English side of the family - they had their fair share of scandalous behaviour that didn’t reflect well to our 21st Century minds.
Certainly the Georgians were not sexless and they enjoyed their carnal pleasures but of course being aristocratic they never did things that would publicly expose them to scandal. I was reading one such letter of an ancestor who was writing to her older sister about how hard it was for her to conceive her first child - a son naturally - that her rakish husband first took to prostitutes in an era when such things were common and the risk of infection from sexually transmitted diseases was rife. And then later settled on one mistress whom he seriously gave thought to impregnate her. However the mistress was an actress and thus such a union was frowned upon in landed gentry circles and so he was shamed back to his high born wife and to ‘try harder by God’s Providence’. The duty of any aristocratic wife was to produce a healthy son and heir but if nature did not take its course, they could seek help and so these ancestors of mine did.
Like many other aristocratic couples with trouble conceiving children they sought out quacks who made promises to cure infertility. One such person was a Dr James Graham who had invented what he called ‘The Celestial Bed’ that guaranteed conception and unearthly sexual pleasure. The bed itself was electrified and stood on insulating glass legs. The mattress was stuffed with stallion hair to increase potency. Mirrored floors and music from a glass harmonica heightened the experience, while the air swirled with exotic perfumes. Having made love on this bizarre contraption, the couple were encouraged to take ice baths and have a firm massage. The lady would also be advised to douse her genitals with champagne.
It must have worked because the family line did not die out but flourished. It proves to me that champagne is the answer to almost every question in life.
A woman’s travails were not over just because she was successfully pregnant. More hazards lay in her path. Despite advances in medicine, a shocking number of medieval practices remained in the Georgian birthing chamber.
The long period of rest or "confinement" leading up to the birth was still enforced for wealthy women. The rooms would be kept dark and sweltering with the expectant mother wrapped up in fustian waistcoats and petticoats. As soon as she had given birth, the room was made even hotter, with the curtains round the bed pinned and even the keyhole in the door stopped to prevent a draft. When I lived in China I discovered this is what Chinese mothers did and still do to this day. So I wasn’t so surprised when I read such a practice happened in other cultures like my own.
Those more fortunate might find themselves in a birthing chair. This had a sloped back and a semi-circle cut from the seat, designed to let gravity aid nature. It was certainly a better option than staining expensive bedding and linen. With only female relatives and an unofficially trained midwife to help, many women and their babies died in childbed, as it was known. Even when male surgeons became involved in obstetrics toward the end of the century, treatments were woefully inadequate. I read in the correspondence of one of my female ancestors that she was frequently ‘bled’ during her pregnancy. Somehow she survived any risk of post-partum haemorrhage.
Even when a birth was successful without complication the wife/mother was not out of the woods just yet. In keeping with custom in landed gentry circles of the times, the new mother would not suckle their own babies. In keeping its custom this taks was given over to a wet nurse. In the case of one of my ancestors whose correspondence I read she got a village girl from the family estates to breast feed the baby. The reason for doing so was brutally simple. Firstly, it was to ensure that the lady could conceive again as soon as possible. And secondly, Wealthier women often had difficulty breastfeeding due to their tight corsets or stays. It was also believed that a child would grow up stronger and hardier with a country-woman’s milk.
But even when the baby sprog was weaned, it was common practice for it to be handed to foster-parents until it was old enough to run about and talk. Interestingly enough Jane Austen and her siblings were fostered by a cottager in Deane village, two miles from their family home.
So overall I’m no so sure I would be thrilled to be living in the Georgian and Regency era even if it meant challenging that scoundrel Mr Wickham to a sword duel (and kicking his arse), match making with Emma, or even missing out on the pleasure of taking tea with Mr Darcy.
Sorry Mr Darcy.
Of course I’m fascinated with history and one sometimes wonder what it might be like to live in a particular time. However it’s just a flight of the imagination because to paraphrase Sir Roger Scruton I prefer to live in “the pastness of the present” rather than the past itself. This is the difference between being an historically illiterate reactionary and being a true conservative.
Thanks for your question
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A/N: It’s almost October. Is anyone else excited? Request from two anons. Enjoy, everyone!
Words: 1295
Warnings: fluff
Loki was confused, to say the least. It might not have been his first rodeo—after all, he had learned centuries ago that mortals were quite… peculiar.
But he would certainly not join his idiotic brother shopping for pumpkins out in the wet cold, for it had only stopped raining after days. Not that the low temperature would have bothered him—still, he much preferred staying inside using up Stark’s stock of hot chocolate and reading all the books he regularly stole from your room.
The concept of picking out pumpkins to carve them still appeared rather silly to him. It was a waste of a good fruit, if anything.
“Liking Shakespeare yet?” You were leaning against the threshold with your arms crossed, knowing Loki must have heard you approach. You had noticed, of course. One by one, your vintage copies of the various plays had disappeared from your shelf—and only Loki had recently expressed his interest in the Midgardian playwright.
“He is unbearably dramatic,” Loki replied without looking up from the page. “I don’t see why Theo was so fond of him.”
“I thought you like drama, Mr I-built-a-giant-golden-statue-of-myself-on-Asgard-and-turned-my-tragic-life-into-a-heartbreaking-play.”
The God of Mischief glared up at you, a mute warning not to overstep the line. Unlike the others though, he ultimately knew you meant him no harm. You genuinely liked him, firmly believing it was not just because you had a weakness for misunderstood bad guys. You didn’t want to fix him. You simply enjoyed spending time with him.
“I was planning on attending the annual fall festival in the park. Would you like to join me?” You asked then, flashing him a timid smile. Finally, Loki looked up properly and shut the book close.
“What would that entail?”
“Drinking apple cider, having your face painted, dancing and… picking out pumpkins for Halloween?”
He rolled his eyes. “No.”
“Loki, please. It’s tradition. Besides, I’ll use the guts of the pumpkin to make pies. You’ll regret not tasting my famous pumpkin pies.”
“No.” He said again, more sharply this time. Unlike Thor, Loki mostly resisted adapting to Midgardian life, as if he was afraid to lose part of himself. He had not much to hold on to, you could not exactly blame him.
“Please… I don’t want to go alone. It won’t be fun without you.” Besides, once the men got drunk, they forgot all respect and restraint they had when it came to women. If Loki was with you, none of them would dare to even speak to you.
The God of Mischief sighed. He couldn’t say no to you, now could he?
-
“There we are. What design would your boyfriend like?” The blonde lady with her hands covered in face paint grinned when she finished, two cute pumpkins now decorating your cheeks. You looked up at Loki who was waiting for you impatiently. He was sipping on his fourth mug of hot apple cider all the while you were still struggling not to get too drunk on two.
“Don’t even think about it. I will not have my face painted, (Y/N).”
“Oh, um, he’s not my… never mind, he’s good. Thank you so much.”
You were quite dizzy already. Loki had to wrap his arm around your waist so you wouldn’t fall over walking on the uneven ground.
“I want another drink.”
“Are you sure you should be having any more alcohol?” He raised his eyebrow at you reproachfully. You stuck your tongue out at him.
“Yes. This is the only week of the year where you can get this much apple cider for free.” Patting his surprisingly firm chest, you made him reluctantly follow you over to the makeshift bar, waiting only a few steps behind you to avoid any body contact with the other humans crowding around it to ‘get wasted’ like Stark had put it once.
“Hey, pretty. Can I get you something to drink?” The man speaking must have been in his fifties already. A large pot belly dominated his appearance, other than that he was rather good-looking for his age. Judging by the amount of alcohol you smelled in his breath though, he was exactly what you had hoped to avoid coming here with Loki.
“I’m being served, thank you.” You turned away, hoping it would be enough to put him off. But the stranger was persistent.
“Then maybe some pumpkin pie? Someone as sweet as you should be eating a lot of candy to compensate.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Come on, give me a chance. Is it because I’m old? I can assure you I know how to please a woman in bed, unlike those young fuckboys you’d usually date.” With that, one of his fleshy hands wandered up your thigh, dangerously close to your bum.
“Don’t touch me!”
Loki looked up, sensing trouble. He gnashed his teeth when he spotted the old man groping you. He should be the only one touching you like that—when you were willing.
Slowly, and surprised about his own possessive thoughts, he approached you from behind, stopping only when you could feel his body heat in your back. “Is there a problem?” His voice was dark, threatening.
The stranger grunted, recognition washing over his face. “She your girl?”
“Yes. She is my girl—and if you ever lay a hand on her again without her consent, it will be the last time you have hands.”
You felt your jaw dropping. Yes. She is my girl. Swallowing thickly, you blinked in a desperate attempt to scare away the butterflies in your stomach to no avail. While the stranger mumbled inaudible insults and finally retreated, Loki wrapped his arm around you once more, this time pressing you close to him.
Swallowing again, you glanced up at him shyly. “T-thank you.” Loki nodded courtly in response.
“What about your cider?”
“Never mind that… I think I had enough. I just… have to get a pumpkin before we leave.”
Loki sighed. “Very well,”
Your tipsiness was gone, the scary incident seemingly having washed all alcohol out of your blood. Loki didn’t even complain when you took his hand and dragged him towards the pumpkin patch. Like something between you had changed.
“Are you going to help me?”
His silence was the answer.
For five minutes, he watched you dart around the patch, in search for the perfect pumpkin to carve. If you had turned around to face him, you probably would have seen him chuckling to himself.
“This one! This one is perfect!”
And it was big. You’d be able to make enough pumpkin pies for the entire Avengers team. You couldn’t wait to carve it and give it a spooky and silly face.
Waving, you urged on the owner of the patch to join you, paying him quickly. But when you tried to lift the rather big pumpkin you had chosen, it didn’t even move. This time, Loki’s chuckle was clearly audible.
“And just how are you going to transport this monstrosity now?”
“I brought a Norse God who will be really nice and impress me by levitating it all the way home?”
Loki rolled his eyes. It would take him a while longer to figure out why he liked you, a young human woman with two pumpkins on her face. But he did.
Sighing playfully, he grabbed the contrary fruit, carrying it with ease.
It looked rather amusing. Loki, the God of Mischief, carrying a giant pumpkin. You giggled.
“Do not flatter yourself, little mortal. I am merely curious about those famous pumpkin pies of yours.”
Yes, of course. The pumpkin pies were the only reason he helped you… you grinned to yourself, this time welcoming the butterflies in your stomach. You honestly couldn’t wait to spend Halloween with this stubborn Trickster.
-
A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥
#loki#loki imagine#loki x you#loki x reader#loki fluff#loki laufeyson#loki laufeyson imagine#loki laufeyson x you#loki laufeyson x reader#loki laufeyson fluff#loki odinson#loki odinson imagine#loki odinson x you#loki odinson x reader#loki odinson fluff#marvel#marvel imagine#mcu#mcu imagine#the avengers#the avengers imagine#thor#thor imagine#tom hiddleston
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FFXIV Shadowbringer Flavor Text from background NPC’s
Main Story Quest: Word from On High
Location: The Crystarium, The Bridges, Fort Jobb, Radisca’s Round, The Ostall Imperative
Excluding NPC’s locked behind side Quests
Just scripts from NPC’s that say something different during certain points of MSQ. Notable amount of non-interactive NPC’s are gone, some NPC’s who said nothing different before are now say something different after previous quest.
https://ffxiv.gamerescape.com/wiki/Word_from_On_High
The Crystarium
Katliss: We're mustering up all the resources we can to provide relief to our citizens. If there's something you need, just let me know.
Cassard: I saw you, Naonori─saw you fighting the eaters on the front lines. That was impressive stuff.
Irill: I have not been able to stop second-guessing myself since the battle. If only we had been quicker to send supplies, how many more lives could have been saved? I suppose I should take solace that we were able to do anything at all, but that is easier said than done...
Thickeman: You are safe!? Thank the gods! If you are injured, make for Spagyrics at once! The chirurgeons there will see to your wounds.
Rosard: All of our vaunted weaponry, and still we suffered the casualties we did. The sin eaters are a frightening foe indeed...
Valthewyl: I've never seen a sin eater attack of this scale! Medicine, bandages...we are running out of anything and everything at an alarming rate! Gods have mercy...
Emythia: Those who were wounded battling the sin eaters always beg for us to put them out of their misery before they hurt anyone. You can see it in their eyes that they don't want to die, and yet─ Damn it all! If only there was more I could do for them...
Fae-Hann: There are so many wounded that it will be a miracle if we manage to treat them all with so few staff...but it's a miracle we'll need to make happen.
Chessamile: Oh dear, we've never seen so many sin eaters before... We must make ready to receive the wounded.
Wounded Guard: I-I'm all right, I think. My injuries have been tended to.
Lesthil: I am heartened to see you return, friend. Thanks to the bravery and resilience of my comrades, we, too, live to fight another day.
Bethard: I do hope that the wounded make a swift recovery. There were so many...
But fretting over it will avail us naught. What might I do for you?
Bragi: Medical supplies are selling as soon as we stock them, but the shelves are still heavy with foodstuffs and clothing. So many who won't be coming home...
Julstan: Lakeland suffered great casualties in the battle. I may be a merchant, but profit is the last thing on my mind at a time like this. I only want to do everything in my power to get the suffering the supplies they need.
Sylgham: Nothing weighs quite so heavy on the heart as cleaning the rooms of those we lost. I see their smiling faces in my mind's eye, and it is all I can do to hold back the tears...
Armilla: Whatever will become of us? My poor little girl...
Heggie: The sin eaters scare me to the depths of my soul. They show no capacity for reason, for mercy... They come, and they take everything from us. Oh, whatever can we do?
Lobarth: My father is big and strong! He fights for the guard! Or at least...he did. They told me he got hurt in the battle, and now he's resting at some place whose name I can't pronounce. They won't even let me visit him. I hope he comes back soon...
Dawkes: The immediate danger has passed, but I fear the future may only hold worse. We have lost too many good men and women today, and there is no telling what action Eulmore will take next.
Glynard: Things seem to have calmed down with the eaters, so the Stairs is back to business as usual. Why don't you stay and have a pint, if you're not too busy?
Leweralth: It was you and your companions who led the defense of the city, yes? I cannot begin to express my gratitude!
Gracine: This is no time for small talk! I must prepare the emergency foodstuffs for shipment at once!
Astrille: I saw you assist the Exarch in erecting the barrier that warded off the sin eaters. I cannot thank you enough for saving our lives.
Szem Djenmai: We witnessed your bravery, Naonori. Full many citizens are alive now thanks to your swift actions. You have our gratitude.
Melboth: Reading these records, one can see the sheer scope of the casualties and damage we have suffered. It is demoralizing, to say the least.
Ilsgor: These are grim times we're living in. And of all the days not to be able to find my what-do-you-call-it! Have you seen it anywhere? You know what I mean!
Leinneil: Improving cultivars for more efficient healing is a time-consuming task. I only wish there was more I could do to be of assistance at times like these...
Evelie: We have already mixed one batch of medicine to deliver to Spagyrics, and are currently in the process of making another. Leave it to us!
Mao-Ladd: I'm working to improve the strains of fruit we grow. There's nothing like a sweet and succulent morsel to lift the people's spirits.
Uilmet: How kind of you to come and check on our safety. We are fine, thanks to the brave men and women who protected us. As a show of gratitude, we're growing a veritable feast of fresh veggies!
Yalard: It is good to see you safe, traveler. When you stopped showing up for a while, I had feared the sin eaters got you.
Moren: We are fortunate that those who came before us had the foresight to record not only their triumphs, but their failures as well. Will you take advantage of their woeful experience...?
--
The Bridges
Philard: Though we survived the battle, our supply shortage has reached a critical level. I have put in an order to the Crystarium, but with all of our outposts reeling, I fear that there is not much they will be able to do for us...
Shira-Kee: We escaped serious casualties in the sin eater onslaught, and suffer only from a shortage of supplies. From what I hear, the other outposts were not nearly so lucky.
Nanard: Much as expected, few sin eaters so much as attempted to breach the Bridges, and we suffered no real casualties. This is small solace, however, knowing what happened to so many of our brothers- and sisters-in-arms.
--
Fort Jobb
Ilthri: The last sin eater attack was more costly than we could have ever imagined, and we now face a dangerous shortage of both manpower and supplies. We must restock and rebuild our numbers, and we must do it with all speed.
Bjorn: We lost a lot of men back there. Too many. But it would have been far more if you hadn't been there.
Grimcogg: Oh, it's─ It's you! I-I'm fine, thank you! Well, not fine, really, seeing as practically everyone's wounded and we barely have any medical supplies left, but...er, how are you?
Chathwick: We are living in turbulent times, but the men under my command bravely soldier on. I have my own anxieties and doubts, but I dare not show them. No, I must remain a pillar of strength for all those I lead.
Fernwren: You, too, fought in the battle against the sin eater horde, did you not? We are fortunate to be alive today, my friend.
Rae-Satt: I was fortunate to survive the sin eater onslaught, but many of the wounded I carried through these doors haven't been so lucky...
Lamlyn: I fear we suffered great casualties in the battle with the sin eaters. Countless wounded have been carried here...many of them on amaro. Oh, how I adore those glorious and heroic beasts!
--
Radisca’s Round
Roi-Tatch: Since the recent sin eater attack, all of our outposts are suffering from shortages of supplies. We have the goods here, but with the roads as perilous as they are, delivering them is another story.
Kristinn: Heh...got pretty scratched up out there, but I'm still standing! I can't very well die now─not with the return of the night, and history being made right before our eyes!
Lewto-Sai: Lost one of my men to the sin eaters. They never even found the body. The hardest part is not even being able to say a proper good-bye...
Varlier: I lost more than a few of my longtime friends and companions in the battle. Yet all I can do is pray that their souls find peace, and fight on so that their sacrifice will not be in vain...
Menther: We suffered great losses in the battle against the sin eater horde, in manpower and supplies both. It will not be easy to rebuild and restock our resources, but we must do what we can. Anyhow, what might I do for you?
Mynes: If we had better anticipated the sin eater onslaught, we might have escaped with fewer casualties. We must be ever more vigilant...and yet, we find ourselves more undermanned than ever.
Bjarni: I've never seen anyone fight the way you did, traveler. It was fortunate for us that you came along when you did. Otherwise, I'm not sure I'd be standing here right now.
--
The Ostall Imperative
Chadine: The sin eater onslaught claimed more than a few of my companions. Sometimes it is hard for me to accept that I am still here, and they are not. But I must soldier on and serve as best I can.
Szeli Vantheu: Those wretched sin eaters... Not even the amaro were spared their cruelty.
Atli: I've lost count of how many good men and women I've lost to the sin eaters. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but it never gets easier...
Mosanilde: I hear that while our forces were occupied with staving off the sin eaters, a friend of the Exarch's helped to shepherd the civilians to safety. Whoever it was, I only wish I could meet them face-to-face to express my gratitude.
Seanric: Oh gods, what are we going to do!? We've fought sin eaters before, but never this many!
Tao-Tistt: We've fought back no end of sin eater attacks, but each one leaves us more depleted than the last. If they keep coming at us with such force, I fear we will not be able to hold out much longer...
Seanard: We opened the castle to house the first wave of civilian refugees during the sin eater attack. As they have many times before, the doors stood strong against even the most vicious foe.
Those who fled here later we were forced to shelter at Wolves of Shadow. We could not risk opening these doors in the clear view of the enemy.
Teanna: The recent battle thinned our numbers considerably. While we are in no danger of a food and supply shortage, needless to say, I can take little comfort in this...
Cassfort: When the sin eaters attacked, I was tasked with protecting the lookouts atop the castle. As it turns out, few of them paid us any mind. I reckon my halberd would have better served us down below.
Merlath: We were able to spot the sin eaters approaching, but even then... Well, you know how things went.
Updating Side Quest Completed NPC’s
Pitrig: To think that all of Lakeland would be the target of an attack of that scale... And yet, the barrier will keep us safe. We must do what we can to ensure that our residents stay calm in this time of crisis.
--
After Completing, the Quest NPC’s dialogue changed
Anguished Guard: Mother... I don't want to die...
Trembling Guard: I can't... I can't...
Dying Guard: <wheeze>
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Misguided Royalty
Chapter Two: Birds Can’t Keep Secrets
An Ancient China AU created by @mikoriin
First / Next
💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚
Many days had passed since the dark assassin had shown himself on the palace balcony. Despite her eminent fear that she would be killed any moment, the princess kept the endeavor to herself. There was no need to go about explaining it if she hadn't decided how she felt about it herself.
Deep down, Marinette's feelings were all mixed up like a bowl of rice and lentils. On one hand, she was infuriated that the people wanted her so badly to be killed. She hadn't even done anything!
But on the other hand, she was very intrigued as to why the most fearsome bounty hunter in the country had decided to spare her life. She certainly had never met him before, and as far as she was aware, her family was not in debt to him (Yu-Huang help them if this was true).
Although she decided to keep it to herself, she was absolutely itching to tell someone. The problem was finding out who could keep such a secret. Her mother and the Emperor were out of the question. They would try and have Chat Noir killed, and the young princess had not decided if this was what she wanted.
She could tell her maids or the guards, but if anyone asked them about it, they would have to confess.
She could tell Alya, but she already had a hard enough time controlling her tongue.
It seemed as though her only companion would be her trusted messenger bird, Tikki. If asked, Tikki would fly across the known world to deliver a message, though most of the time the only traveling she did was down to the village for Alya.
Tikki resided in the garden, in her own cage among the cherry trees. Though Marinette knew she should not be outside, she was quite fond of her companion and missed her terribly.
So late that night, she threw on her shawl and stepped out into the warm May night to find her beloved hummingbird. Tikki chirped happily when she recognized the princess. Marinette spoke soothingly as she scooped up the bird, which stood happily on her hands.
"Hello, old friend." The princess whispered, to which the small bird replied with a tweet. "It's been a while. If only I could keep you in my room with me. Perhaps we'd be less lonely."
Tikki only cocked her head to the side.
"Ah, yes. Hold on." Marinette placed Tikki on her shoulder to grab some pieces of bread she had snuck from the table that night. The bird ate it happily, for even though she was tended to every day by maids, nothing could beat fresh bread from her best friend.
"Now," the princess started, "I have some news. I'd tell the bees, but quite frankly, I'm afraid of them."
The bird said nothing. I'm starting to wonder for the princess' sanity.
"I don't know if you're aware of the cloaked man that has been handling bounties. Chat Noir, his name. Three nights ago, after Alya had left, he was on my balcony. Imagine! I almost died."
A slow, nearly melancholy tune emerged from her shoulder. Tikki was rewarded with another piece of bread.
"I was certain he was there to kill me." The terror of that night came back to her again. Through much subdued now, she started to stroll around the garden as she spoke. "I thought I was never going to be empress. I thought I'd somehow let the kingdom down before I'd even have a chance to fix it."
Tikki flew off her shoulder, making circles around the princess' head. The small blur of red flitted about happily. She started walking faster.
"But he didn't. I don't know why he changed his mind, but I am glad he did not go through with his initial intention. But now I want to know why I have a bounty over my head! I knew the citizens weren't fond of me, but I'd never known they hated me so much.
"Perhaps that is why I am not allowed to leave the palace grounds. If only I could explore just a little! Like you. Tell me, Tikki, what's the village yonder like?"
Finally Tikki settled on a grape vine. Marinette hadn't realized that she had started to run alongside her trusted bird until she was doubled over and out of breath. After a few moments, Marinette chided herself for slouching and held out her hands for her small hummingbird to land on.
Much to her surprise, a single green grape was in her beak, and then was dropped onto her hand.
"I'll never know how you find ripe fruit so early in the season, Tikki." She laughed a little and bit off half of the small grape, giving the rest back to her bird. Tikki happily sucked at the bittersweet juice while Marinette walked (leisurely this time) to put Tikki back in her cage.
"If only I was strong enough to bring your cage upstairs. Not that I don't trust you not to fly away, but you'd need a place to sleep. But you would miss the cherry trees, wouldn't you?"
Tikki perched on a small step made of a twig in her cage, chirping sadly as Marinette closed the cage door.
"Thank you, Tikki. Goodnight."
The bird flitted about her cage as Marinette made her way back into the castle quietly, and back to her quiet room.
* * * *
She awoke early the next morning to chirping from her balcony. She groaned and tried to go back to sleep.
Typical. You would think the successor of China would be a morning person.
The chirping resumed, and then a small song started. Marinette recognized it immediately as Tikki's melody. She only sang that song when she had a message.
Marinette scrambled up out of bed. She hadn't been expecting a letter. She wondered who it could be from. In her haste to pull on her stockings, she fell fell flat on her face.
Wouldn't be the first time. What a sweet, clumsy summer child.
But when she opened the door to her balcony, she froze. In the corner of her stone balcony laid the large bird's cage. A young, potted cherry tree with a few blossoms stood beside it. And in the small pouch in Tikki's black harness was a note.
I think I was more surprised than Marinette.
With shaking hands, she reached in to grab the note. Tikki stood still and proud and stopped tweeting. In messy handwriting, the note looked as if it had been written in a haste.
'birds can't keep secrets' was all it said. The events of last night came back to her. She had spoken aloud and wished that Tikki could be with her. Had someone been watching her? Listening to her every word? Her heart melted a little at the tree. They had even brought a cherry tree because Tikki loved them.
But who would have done such a thing? They must have been strong. For how else would they have gotten the cage all the way up to her third story room.
Wait. How would they get it up? She had been in her room all night, and she was a fairly light sleeper. Marinette would have heard them. The only way they would have gotten it there without going through her room would be if they brought it directly from the garden. But there was no way. The outer wall was flat and smooth. There were no stairs, and certainly no way to climb it, especially with a large cage and tree.
The only person she's ever seen who was able to get there was—
No. He couldn't have, right? Why would he?
Marinette looked at the note again. The paper was plain and the messy scrawls were scattered with small bubbles where the ink failed to adhere to the paper. It was cheap, she concluded. There was no such ink anywhere in the palace; it couldn't have been a guard or anyone else within the palace gates.
She ran to the edge of the low stone wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of him— or whoever did it— but to no avail. They had come in the dead of night.
Marinette had her suspicions. All signs so far were pointing to the black cat of the night. The only question was: why?
At this point, Marinette was convinced she had to tell someone. And apparently the garden was no longer a safe haven. She would tell Alya. Yes.
A piece of royal paper sat on her desk among her lipsticks, so she quickly scribbled 'Ignorant Nobles Create Wild Predicaments' before placing it on Tikki with a kiss and a goodbye.
The princess dressed for the day and wandered around the halls, looking for distractions (and unfortunately, finding none).
* * * *
The room was damp and dark. It looked like it hadn't been properly lived in for years. A pungent smell of rotting meat came from the shadows.
By the light of the sun peeking through a hole in the roof, a masked man came into view.
Chat Noir, the infamous bounty hunter, emerged from a back hall and into the main room. He was clothed in his cat ensemble, and appeared to be waiting for someone.
He stood around the room and waited for quite a while. He occasionally murmured to himself, only to grunt in annoyance a few moments later.
Finally, a graying man appeared from the same hall Chat had come from. He was tall, lean, and ghastly.
"Is it done?" Said the strange man, wearing an absurd amount of purple. Didn't he know only the royalty wore such expensive colors?
"Not quite," Chat Noir replied, "I have gathered some information, but she still breathes."
An icy stare penetrated through Chat's guard as he unsuccessfully tried to hide a shudder.
"I gave you a task. Shall I find someone new to collect the bounty? Or can you handle the job?"
Chat Noir had done quite a lot of thinking, truth be told. He knew exactly what he had to do, and how to fix his mistake.
"I can handle it. Consider it done. But I need a bit more time. I need to know how best to execute the plan... and her."
"Very well. You are dismissed."
"Thank you, Papillon. You won't be disappointed."
* * * *
Meanwhile, at the castle, Alya had settled down with Marinette with a bowl of dragon's beard candy in between them. The former was currently stuffing the sweet treat into her mouth at alarming rates, while the latter was working up the courage to speak.
"So you know how the people hate me?" The princess started.
Alya looked up from the bowl, cheeks puffed out. "Yep, but what about it?"
"Well, I sort of... possibly... almost... got assassinated?"
At this, the human messenger stopped chewing for a moment before being forced to continue before the large wad of chewy mess made her gag.
"What do you mean, almost got assassinated? Did you fall down the stairs again?"
"No! I mean yes, but! After you left the last time you were here..." The princess stopped, unsure if she wanted to continue. Alya's imploring gaze forced the words from her mouth before she could second-guess herself any longer. "Chat Noir was on my balcony. He had been watching me and planned to kill me for a bounty but he changed his mind."
The astonishment was clear on Alya's features. "Huh?"
"I don't know why, but he was holding his dagger and I fell and he helped me to my feet and then put away his dagger and said that he wasn't going to kill me anymore and then I went inside and he just left except I was thinking he—"
"Woah, take a breath. Easy!" Alya said, then took a deep breath. "This is grounds for an emergency message, not an 'Important News, Come When Possible' message."
"I didn't want to worry you!"
"I was here five days ago, Marinette. You should have send word as soon as it happened!"
"I'm sorry, dearest friend! Please forgive me!" Marinette half-jokingly sobbed into her friend's shoulder.
"Of course, Your Highness. I mean, as long as he doesn't come back."
"Well..."
"What do you mean, 'well'? Did he return?"
"I'm not sure, but two evenings ago I went to have a chat with Tikki in the garden. I had said aloud that I wished she could stay in my room so we'd both have company, and I added that I wouldn't because she loves the cherry blossoms too much. I awoke the next morning and her cage and a young cherry tree were on my balcony."
"And you think Chat Noir did it?"
"I'm not sure, but how else did it get up here? The only person who I've ever seen able to get up there was him. I still don't know how, but it must have been him."
"I see. Have you told the Emperor yet?"
"Goodness no, Alya. You'd think I'd have a little more self respect."
"You were almost killed! If you'd have died, all of China would be at the hands of barbarians! This is serious stuff."
"I still refuse to include him. I don't like him."
"Neither do I, but do I still pay my taxes and do my duty as a messenger?"
"I guess you do..."
"See? You should at least think about it."
"But perhaps I don't want Chat Noir dead!" The princess wailed, jumping off the large bed.
"Why not? Do you know how many crimes he has committed? How many people he has murdered? He's probably biding his time to come back and finish the job!" Alya walked over to her friend, giving her a hug from behind. "I think you should stay true to your heritage and to China's. I say we get a guillotine and behead him."
The princess could only sigh. "I... I don't know. I just feel like I shouldn't. And that's why my mother can never find out, and certainly never the Emperor."
"Why don't you refer to him by name? I mean, you can. He is your father." Alya chuckled, wishing to change the subject. If anyone heard the princess wish to spare Chat Noir's life, then she certainly would be assassinated.
Marinette glared at her. "Step-father. And I refuse to say his name. If the people call him Emperor, then it works for me too."
Alya could only laugh at her stubbornness. "Hey, are you really going to let me eat all this by myself? I'll put on weight!"
"As if the princess could gain weight either!"
"You're a twig! That is it, Your Highness, open your mouth."
Marinette ran away laughing as Alya chased after her with a handful of dragon's beard candy. They ran and ate and laughed for a long while more until Alya crashed hard on the princess's bed.
She could only look fondly on her best friend's face, brushing away some of her fiery red hair. The cool night breeze called to her, so she grabbed her shawl (which was resting on a chair by the door) and stepped out onto her balcony.
"Hello, Tikki." Marinette smiled warmly at the red hummingbird. Said bird chirped happily. "It's a lovely night. Do you like your new home?"
Tikki was silent.
"I wish I did."
"What's not to love, princess?"
Marinette spun on her heel and to her horror, there was Chat Noir. Again.
I hate him.
"You! You're back!" She sputtered.
"Why yes, I came to collect my thanks for my good deed."
"Your good deed?"
"Yes. How else do you think your bird's cage got up here?"
She was silent for a moment, studying him. He sat relaxed, reclining lazily on the low stone wall. His dagger was not in it's holster, and he wore the stupidest grin Marinette had ever seen.
"I had my suspicions. Have you been spying on me?"
"Perhaps, Your Highness. Is there a problem with that?"
"Yes, in case you didn't know, there is." Marinette huffed with her arms crossed, but the gesture only seemed to amuse him.
"What kind of problem? Do you not enjoy my company? I thought you wanted to spare me."
A small flame of anger rose in her eyes, heating them with the threat of tears. "You should leave. I don't know why you decided against killing me, or why you felt the need to bring my bird up here—"
"And a tree." He jumped down from the wall and sauntered over to her, stopping just a few steps away.
Warily, she continued, "...and a tree. But you should not be here. If anyone were to find you, they'd kill you on the spot."
"And you just couldn't bear the thought of losing me, princess."
"You know what?" Determination bubbled in her chest. "I'll just go tell my mother and she'll tell the Emperor."
Her hand had just closed around the door handle when his hand grabbed hers. "No! Please don't do that!"
A jolt of electricity shot through her, starting at her hand and spreading the warmth all over. Their eyes locked dangerously, and though the princess knew she should pull away, she could not bring herself to. The pure fear in his eyes stopped the blush that threatened her cheeks, and a stark realization hit her: he was just a boy, not much older than her.
The words caught in her throat, her tongue felt too weak to form words. After a few moments of agonizing silence, she nodded lamely.
As if he too had gotten shocked, his hand flew away from hers.
"I'll go. Sorry to have bothered you."
Pity swelled in her heart despite her best efforts to feel proud.
"Um, Chat Noir?"
He was perched on the wall, ready to leap away. He stopped and turned to face her.
"Thank you. For the bird cage and tree."
A curt nod and a two finger salute later, he had disappeared into the night.
And oddly enough, she felt a little less alone.
#oh wow i love this#it’s been a hot minute though#sorry everyone#it’s gonna be long#miraculous fic#lots of pining#original content#miraculous ladybug#miraculous#chat noir#secret lovers au#ancient china#princess and a bounty hunter#forbidden love#PINING
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