#and then tell me ill have to fund her retirement in the next

[secretceremonials]

i know in the grand scheme of everyday sexism this is really insignificant, but it really irks me that i am at one of the best law schools in the world, and therefore have good employment potential on my own, and still get asked by at least one family member a fortnight when i’m going to become a trophy wife

#i get that it's a joke #but its not funny anymore #my mum will ask me that in one breath #and then tell me ill have to fund her retirement in the next #im so tired #money absolutely isn't the most important thing but its obviously essential #and im going to be fine on my own #and obviously itwouldnt be ok in any circumstances #but it feels a bit like no matter what i achieve i should in an ideal world get married stay home and have lots of babies #and that a career is only for if i can't manage that #when i got into uni my mum said that was great because ill be able to find a rich boy to date #ill probably delete this i just needed to type i think

[wiypt-writes]

Barking Up The Wrong Tree

 Ransom Drysdale One Shot

Summary: It’s the Annual Pre-Easter meal at the Thrombey’s and Ransom and you are in attendance. As usual, there’s fireworks, a lot of swearing and there’s only one way you know he can get rid of his frustrations…

 Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s!

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this was originally written last year for @jennmurawski13​ who requested a smutty one shot with an Evans character of my choice for her birthday. It was coined from a Brainstorming sesh me and @icanfeelastormbrewing​ had for our intended Ransom x OFC series (we might get round to it in 2022…so by then you’ll have forgotten if we use it again.) FYI Eighteen year old Ransom is totally Bryce from Fierce People, you can’t convince me otherwise… I also very much now see this being the same Reader as in mine, @ohthankevans13​ and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​’s  Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale series.

Your brown leather, knee high Saint Laurent boots (a gift from the man whose lap you were curled up on) were on the floor by your feet leaving you in your grey, woollen over-knee socks. One of your boyfriend’s large hands was resting on your left shin, the other just at the top of your right thigh, almost on your ass cheek. You were well aware your black sweater dress was riding up so went to shift and shimmy it down a little, conscious that you were, after all, sat in the large drawing room at his grandfather’s house whilst the rest of his family milled around as the pre-Easter dinner, which always took place the weekend before the actual holiday, was being prepared.

“You okay?” Ransom looked up at you, noticing you shift on his lap and you smiled.

“Yeah, just don’t want to flash everyone too much if you get my drift.”

Ransom cocked an eyebrow at you, then peeked around the room, before he gave a snort as his eyes fell on his cousin Jacob who was watching the pair of you.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want Adolf junior getting a boner now would we?”

You gave a chuckle as you re-arranged your dress, making yourself more comfortable.

“He’s just a kid, Ran.” You soothed.

“He’s a deviant, Princess.” He replied, his voice quiet.

“So were you when I first met you.” You grinned, looking at him as you bent closer to whisper into his ear “Still are when the mood takes you.”

Ransom pulled back to look at you, his face inches from yours, his eyebrow raising slightly as that dirty smirk spread across his handsome face. “Stop it.” He warned, and you shrugged innocently, as he placed a soft kiss on your mouth.

“Come on son, put her down.” Richard’s voice rang across the room and instantly you felt Ransom’s entire demeanour change. Gone was the relaxed, jokey, happy Ran you knew and loved and in his place was Hugh Ransom Drysdale, asshole extraordinaire.

“Piss off, Father.” He shot back, his head moving back from yours, fixing his dad with a steely glare.

“Hey.” Richard glowered “Don’t speak to me like that…” he turned to Linda. “Did you hear that Linda?”

“Ransom…” Linda said lazily, not looking up from her phone. “Don’t speak to your father like that.”

Ransom rolled his eyes and you gently looked at him, shaking your head, silently telling him to stay calm. It was always the same with the Thrombey family gatherings. Ransom despised them for the simple fact that Harlan was the only one he had any time for, bar his mother on a good day, and you were inclined to feel the same way. It always ended in chaos, each individual nuclear sects within the extended family trying to get one up on the other, prove they were the best players in the game.

Frankly, they made the fucking Lannisters look normal.  

All your friends were constantly asking you how you managed to stay tangled in this web of dysfunction, but the answer was right in front of you, his crystal blue eyes now narrowed as he shot a sarcastic reply back to his mother.

The simple truth was, you loved him and couldn’t walk away if you tried.

It hadn’t always been that way, mind. When your High School had been asked to submit nominations for the coveted position of Harlan Thrombey’s Summer research assistant, you’d been short listed along with 15 other candidates from the New England area. Each of you were asked to produce a five-thousand word thesis on a literary subject of your choice to be submitted for reading by Harlan. You’d been ecstatic when you received the call from his Publishing Company to say you’d made the final three and were requested to attend an interview.

You’d been and bought a new suit. Nothing fancy but decent enough quality. You made sure your hair was tamed, your make up was as on point as you could get it, and had driven the thirty minutes or so out to his mansion from the home you shared with your Nanna in Brookline, following the directions on your GPS to the area near Pierce Park where the Thrombey Mansion was located. You were greeted by his housekeeper and shown into the large office where the man himself was waiting. Harlan was nothing like you had expected him to be. He was eccentric, sure, but also dmaned good fun. He’d asked you a few questions about why you wanted the position “I’m going to major in English at college and I hope to work in publishing when I graduate, this would be an invaluable experience.” He had then discussed your paper with you and after a few more general questions he had reduced you almost to tears of laughter by telling you a about an incident when he had been at college and was almost caught climbing down the trellis of his girlfriend’s parent’s house following a late night rendezvous of the very naughty kind “Don’t think too badly of me, we ended up married for forty-seven years…”

Then, just as he was showing you out of his study a tall, well-built young man, your age you had correctly guessed, with a strong jaw, dark hair flicked to the left side of his forehead, and a pair of the bluest eyes you had ever seen, waltzed down the hallway. He was dressed in a pair of riding breeches, a polo shirt and wore a long pair of tan leather riding boots.

"Ransom?” Harlan looked at the young man “I wasn’t expecting you till this afternoon.”

“Yeah well, the fucking horse I should have been riding is lame.” Ransom shrugged “Which means I can’t ride, and I probably can’t compete this weekend.”

“Dressage?” you had asked, your mouth speaking well before your brain had engaged, for some reason thinking it was a good idea to comment. Ransom had looked at you with disdain, scanned you up and down and cocked his head to one side, his eyes cold as they locked onto yours.

“Polo.” He had answered, a sneer on his face “Do I look like a dressage rider to you? Mind you, from the state of your cheap high-street dress the nearest you’ve probably ever been to a horse is those shitty little trail rides they run at kids parties.”

“Ransom!” Harlan had snapped sternly “Enough!”

You felt the heat rise in your neck and cheeks, and you drew yourself up to your full height, folding your arms as you looked at the ass hole stood in front of you. One thing your Nanna had told you was that, despite your humble origins, you were as worthy as the next person, no matter how much money, status or self-importance they may have.

“My apologies. I always thought polo was played by arrogant, snobby, stuck up pricks.” You retorted as you made a show of looking him up and down in the same way he had done to you. “Actually, on second thoughts, I should have guessed.”

As soon as the words were out of your mind you let out an internal groan. Way to go, flush your chance of landing this summer internship down the fucking toilet by insulting Harlan’s grandson. Nevertheless, you held the gaze of the man in front of you who stared back, his expression and face utterly stoic bar the blink of surprise his eyes made.

You heard Harlan chuckle behind you and the old man dropped a hand to your shoulder. “Fran, could you see Miss Y/L/N to the door.”

Two days later Harlan had personally called you to offer you the position, and it had turned out to be everything you ever wanted, and more. Three weeks into your internship, to your utter surprise, Harlan confessed that he had been looking to fund a worthy, local candidate through college and as the successful applicant it was yours for the taking. Some strings had been pulled, and in the last week of September thanks to his generosity you started your English Major at Harvard.

And so did Ransom.

He pursued you with a dogged determination, seemingly viewing your indifference towards him and his advances as some kind of challenge. You weren’t fooling yourself, however. He was devastatingly handsome and your traitorous vagina and that part of your brain that controlled your libido harboured a deep desire to fuck his brains out, a desire you finally gave into at the end of your first year when, following your final exam, you got drunk and woke up the morning after in his bed.

It wasn’t all puppies and roses though. You were on and off more than his boxer shorts, as simply put, Ransom was a player. And it didn’t bother you to start with. He was a hook up, a way to relieve tension when you needed to, and he was a very handy person to know with his seemingly endless network of connections. But by the time you graduated you knew you were head over heels for him, and needed to break this seeming cycle of being in and out of his bed.  So you turned down Harlan’s offer of a job at Blood Like Wine and were ready to move away from Boston after landing a job at a publishers in Manhattan…but then your nanna had been taken seriously ill and suffered a stroke meaning you had to stay.

As a result of her illness, your nanna was unable to live in your house in Brookline alone and so you were forced to sell it so she could afford to move into a supervised Retirement Village a five minute or so drive away. You were now jobless, drowning with the house-sale which would leave you homeless, and your emotions and been all over the place. You had no other family since your Grandfather had died at the start of your senior year so had no one to turn to.

Enter Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

You’d called him one evening, drunk and emotional and needing a release and he came over alright, but instead of fucking you into the mattress he made sure you drank water, ate something, and then got you into bed. The next morning, Harlan had shown up, telling you the job offer at his company was still open, and then to your utter surprise and initial horror he had offered to buy your nanna’s house, meaning you could remain there as a tenant. At first you had refused, insisting you weren’t a charity case but Harlan had simply waved your concerns away by insisting it was an investment. After a little discussion he agreed to allow you to pay rent which, all things considered, was a pittance in comparison to what other properties the same size in that area commanded but it was a rent nonetheless and made you feel better.

And you knew all of it had ben Ransom’s idea.

This was the side to Ransom he very rarely displayed to anyone. A softer side, a caring side, a gentle side. A side that held you as you cried at the thought that your nanna was growing old and may soon leave you behind, a side that made you a sandwich when you hadn’t eaten in days, a side that helped you pack up and move your Nana’s stuff to her new home, a side that turned up at 9pm with several tubs of ice cream and a bottle of wine after you’d messaged him earlier that afternoon to tell him what a shit day you were having when his Uncle Walt was being a dick at work.

The rest, they say is history. History which meant you were now curled up in his lap some eight or so years post that initial meeting in the hallway of this very house, listening to him bicker with his family, feeling his leg beginning to shake in that way it always did when he was agitated.

“Ran…” you said gently, squeezing his arm and you felt him take a deep breath and he looked at you, his mouth closing as you shook your head “Don’t.”

He turned away, looking to the other side of the room and his face glowered as he spotted Jacob once more had his eyes trained on your bare thigh. God the pubescent creep did his fucking head in, and if he stayed here he was going to end up putting the lanky streak of shit through the wall.

“Can we go?” Ransom looked at you, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“We’ve not even had dinner yet.”

“Please.”

That single word was enough to make you understand. It was a word he hadn’t learned until he’d met you, when he realised that his demands and arrogance got him nowhere with you. He still rarely used it mind, but when he did, you knew he was in desperate need of what he’d asked for.

“How about we take a walk?” You suggested “If you still wanna go after then we will”

He took a deep breath as he considered what you had said. Compromise was another word that hadn’t been in his vocabulary until you. His eyes locked onto yours and you looked at him, encouragingly and he took a deep breath, nodding.

“Okay.”

You uncurled yourself from his lap and stood up, him following so you could sit down and place you boots on.

“Are you leaving?” Linda asked, looking up for the first time.

“For a walk.” Ransom said simply, grabbing your hand and pretty much dragging you from the room. He didn’t say a word as he reached the coat stand and retrieved your lightweight Ted Baker belted mac, holding it out for you to slip your arms into, in a display of chivalry he reserved only for you. Once you’d done it up, he took your hand in his and you headed through the kitchen and outside into the reasonably mild April afternoon.

“Don’t let them get to you.” You said softly, leaning into him a little and he sighed, untangling his fingers from yours so he could drop his arm round your shoulders. He hated the fact his family could make him feel like this, like he wasn’t in control, like he was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He could quite happily go without seeing any of them, well, bar maybe his grandfather, but you had told him he would regret it if he pushed them away completely because you had always wished you’d had a large family unit like that. So, despite the fact he knew deep down that was a load of bullshit, he played the game. He attended the damned gatherings more for your benefit than any as you adored Harlan and seemed to get on fairly well with Joni, Meg and his mother. He hung onto a glimmer of hope that maybe one day it would all change and he’d feel part of it.

But it never did. And he never did.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence across the Mansion grounds, round the lake where Ransom stopped by the small pier, looking out over the water.

“You know my most vivid childhood memories are of this spot.” He mused, his gaze focussed over the lake “Grammy used to bring me down here to feed the ducks.”

“It’s beautiful down here.” You agreed, snuggling further under his arm. “Peaceful.”

“Yeah unlike that fucking house.”

You gave a chuckle, as his hand curled over your shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing over the smooth material of your coat. He was agitated, you could tell, and there were very few ways in which he could calm down when he was like this. One was riding his beloved BB- a polo horse Harlan had bought him for his 21st, one was the pair of you curling up on the sofa with snacks and a good scotch or bourbon, getting drunk and watching Trashy Films, in particular horrors-you both loved to pick plot holes and insult the main characters, declaring the victim a dumb bitch for running up the stairs and not out of the door and the other, well…

You glanced around, checking you were alone before you pulled away from him, taking his hand and tugging on it slightly.

“What?” he asked looking down.

“Come on.” You gave his hand another pull.

“Y/N?” he questioned again, but followed nonetheless despite you not answering. You tugged him away from the lake, into the thin thicket of trees a little further round. You could still see the house here but you knew there was no way anyone from up there could see you.

“Seriously, Y/N what the fuck?” he groaned, as he stepped in the slightly squelchy mud “You’re gonna ruin my Gucci’s…” “Should have worn something a little more substantial then shouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t know you were planning on going fucking hiking in the fucking woods.”

“That’s not what we’re doing.” You said, stopping in front of a large oak tree, looking up at him.

“Then what are we doing? Reconnecting with Mother Nature? Or are we on the hunt for Oberon, Titania and Puck?”

“Ooh, good Shakespeare reference.” You grinned at him and he rolled his eyes as you slid your hand up over his navy blue lightweight Barbour jacket which was done up to his sternum, leaving his plain white, Armani t-shirt slightly visible at the neckline. “Does that make us Lysander and Hermia?”

“You got a hidden suitor called Demetrius I don’t know about?” he arched an eyebrow, his hands falling to your hips.

“Nope, I’m all yours Tiger.”

The sound of your ridiculous nickname for him drew a large smile across his face and he shook his head, giving a genuine chuckle. Here, with you there were no annoying voices to listen to, no family politics, nothing to care about but the gentle brush of the wind as it blew through the canopy of trees above your heads and the faint sounds of birds as they went about their business and Ransom felt a sense of comfort. Because you were his rock. The one person that saw through his bull shit, the woman in his life that knew all his horrible personality traits as well as his slightly less horrible ones and loved him all the same. The girl that had rounded off his harsher edges no matter how much he protested to the contrary.

You were his better half for sure.

“Well that’s good, because I don’t like sharing.” Ransom smirked, dipping his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

“Don’t I know it.” You mused against his mouth. His fingers flexed on your sides, pulling you closer to him as he slid his tongue across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly, allowing him control over the kiss, knowing that’s what he craved when he was like this. His lips were soft on yours, tongue domineering as he kissed you deeply, slowly. Eventually he pulled back, his nose bumping yours slightly as he gave a little chuckle.

“I know you’re trying to distract me from those shit heads in the house.” He said, his tone playful and you loved playful Ransom. Another side to him only you really got to see.

“Is it working?” You played along.

“Yeah.” He nodded, his lips pressing to yours again.

“Good. Now why don’t you let your inner deviant come out to play?”

“You don’t need to ask me twice, Princess.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he had pressed you into the harsh, earthy bark of the tree behind you, kissing you hard again, groaning as you palmed his crotch through his designer denims. He grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head before he did the same with the other one, easily holding both in place above you with one large hand, his other softly tracing up the outside of your thigh, fingers skating under your skirt.

“Is this why you wore this?” he smirked, toying with the material slightly. “So you could tempt me away for a fuck in the woods?”

It wasn’t, it was because it looked and felt good, but you decided to play along “Maybe. Was it a good choice?”

“Damned right it was…” he growled against your mouth, his long, soft fingers sliding your lace panties to the side. His index finger traced a path up your slit and you gasped at the feeling as he gently began to toy with you. Soft, teasing touches, his eyes never once leaving yours. That was one of his things, he liked to see your face, watch as your expressions changed as he undid you, fuelling his ego. Your hips gently started to move in time to his strokes as he played you, like an instrument from which he could always draw a tune. And in no time at all, he was listening to the music as you let out a soft keen, a purr almost as your head fell back against the tree, your mouth parting slightly.

“Like that?” he asked, and it was all you could do to nod, panting brokenly as the familiar feeing began to rise in the pit of your stomach, the fire growing hotter and hotter. “God you’re a fucking minx. Come on, cum on my fingers, you know you want to.” And you did, hard, your knees trembling, as you let out a loud cry of his name as the lights exploded in front of your eyes. Ransom pressed into you, his erection evident as it dug into your stomach, keeping you pinned between him and the tree as he coaxed you through your orgasm, before he moved his hands, allowing yours to drop to his shoulders as you held onto him tightly.

The clanging of a belt buckle, then the zipping of trousers and the rustling of fabric broke through the post-orgasm haze as Ransom undid his flies, reaching into pull out his painfully hard cock. He gently pushed forward, sliding the tip against your folds, gathering your slick as you gave a moan, the feeling of him sliding against your clit sent lances of red, hot desire through your veins.

His hands gripped the back of your thighs as he pulled you off the ground and you hooked them round his slim waist, ankles locking at the base of his spine. In a swift, fluid moment, no teasing, no gentle ease, he buried himself inside you with a deep thrust making you cry out as he filled you. His lips crashed onto yours as he drew back, then thrust back in hard, his cock dragging against your walls inside, hitting that spot that he knew would leave you seeing stars.

Yes, if there was one thing on this Earth Ransom knew he was good at, it was fucking you.

His lips traced a path from your mouth to your jawline, then to your neck, biting and sucking at any bit he could get to, his hips moving back and forth in a slow but deep pace which was torture, and you needed more.

“Ran, harder…” You groaned, digging your heels into his ass and he gave a dirty moan of his own as his hands held your hips.

“You’re such a needy little slut.” He smirked against your lips, not waiting for your reply as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping back and forth with a vigour that was merciless as he pistoned in and out of you again and again. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly as you kissed him, teeth clashing together as your back repeatedly brushed against the harsh, rough surface behind you as you clawed desperately at the material of his jacket.

It wasn’t long before you felt another orgasm brewing and your head fell forward, teeth nipping at his ear drawing a growl from his throat. Your hands moved into his hair and you pulled sharply back causing him to hiss and look up you.

“Fuck, Y/N….” he groaned, the pupils of his eyes blown wide with a desire you would never tire of seeing. You pushed your hips down against him causing him to drive deeper and you let out an almost primal cry, the noise you made simply revving him up even more, his rapid movements growing even more urgent.

“Fuck Ran…” you moaned as your head rolled back against the tree, hands back on his shoulders, as once more that snake in your belly moved. Ransom felt the tell-tale flutter of your heat tightening round him and he continued his voracious pace, his eyes locked onto yours.

“You feel so fucking good…” he panted “So fuckin’ good Princess...”

His words made you moan again, and he pushed up once more, stilling slightly, grinding up against you as opposed to thrusting and a few rolls of his hips later you were done. The world faded around you as you came hard, with a loud scream before your head dropped to his shoulder, as you moaned his name, again and again whilst he pounded through your orgasm chasing his own.

“Shit, Y/N…I’m…fuck…” his words tumbled into your hair as his movements became desperate and he came a short while later with a loud yell. You felt him fill you up, as his hips stilled and he groaned, face buried into your neck, his chest heaving, sweat beaded both his brow and yours as he simply pressed into you, panting and shaking.

Neither of you had any idea how long you stayed like that, but eventually Ransom managed to gain enough control to pull his softening cock out of you and set you gently on your feet as he brushed the tendrils of your hair that had fallen over your face back with a tenderness he reserved only for you. He said nothing, simply looked at you, his lips gently greeting yours in a soft, loving kiss, a stark contrast to the violent ones you had shared moments before. You smiled at him, unadulterated love in your eyes as you moved your hands to brush his hair back before you leaned up and kissed him again, your nose sliding against his.

“I adore you Hugh Ransom Drysdale. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Don’t fucking call me Hugh.” He grumbled and you chuckled as he pulled you to him, nuzzling into your hair as he sighed. “But for the record, the feeling is mutual Y/F/N, Y/M/N, Y/L/N.”

You gave a laugh and were about to reply when you felt his head snap up, and his entire body tense and he let out an angry cry causing you to jump.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! The perverted little shit!”

“Ran?” You saw his face contorted in anger as he pushed back from you, striding away from the tree, rearranging his jeans as he went before he broke into a sprint. You watched him go and then, to your horror, saw the retreating back of a smaller male running away from the thicket of trees on the curve of the bank to your left and you felt yourself grow cold.

Jacob.

How long he had been there Ransom had no idea but he chased the little fucker all the way to the house, yelling insults and threats as he burst into the kitchen. Ransom finally caught up with him just as he ran into the hall and grabbed the kid by the collar, spinning him round and pinning him to the wall, arm crossed over his windpipe. “Enjoy the show did we?!” He yelled, the noise drawing the rest of the family out from the sitting room into the tiled hallway. Walt started to shout angry threats about what he was going to do to Ransom if he didn’t take his hands off his son, which then sparked Richard to bite back at Walt saying if he touched Ransom he’d give him a damned good hiding. If Ransom hadn’t been so focussed on the dirt little bastard he had pinned to the wall he would have laughed because the idea of his dad fighting anyone was hilarious, he couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.

“Give me your phone.” Ransom demanded.

“I didn’t…” “GIVE ME YOUR PHONE NOW YOU PERVERTED PRICK!” Ransom yelled, and reached into Jacob’s pocket, grabbing his hand where it was curled around the offending item, bending the boy’s fingers back. Jacob gave a yell, pulled his hand out of his trouser pocket and Ransom seized the phone, yanking it out, just as you walked into the hallway.

He looked at you, then to Jacob and saw you pale as the realisation washed over you that you’d not only been seen but recorded or snapped, by a twelve year old boy nonetheless.

“Unlock it.” Ransom demanded, thrusting it back at him.

“Now listen here…” Walt started until Harlan turned to him.

“Walt, shut up.” He barked, turning to Jacob “Unlock the phone, now Jake.”

Jacob sullenly took the phone from Ransom and did has he was told, Ransom snatching it back. He glanced down at the screen, flicking to the Gallery and let out an angry noise as he saw not only footage of you both in the woods but ten or so photos of your bare thigh and close ups where he had attempted to see up your skirt when you had been on his knee before. Thankfully from the snaps there wasn’t really anything visible, but still the fact he had even taken them in the first place made Ransom apoplectic with rage.

“You dirty little prick.” he mumbled, looking back up at him. Jacob visibly recoiled under Ransom’s glare.

“Ran?” You questioned as you gently touched his arm and he tilted the phone so you could see the screen and your eyes widened, your entire body growing warm as you saw the close up of your thigh on the screen.

“How the fuck dare you?” You exploded, glaring at Jacob.

“Can you explain what he has supposedly done?” Donna, Jacob’s mother spoke for the first time and you turned to face her, your pretty features contorted in rage.

“He’s…” You shook your head “Taken photos of me, before up my skirt.”

Noise erupted in the hallway, Joni and Meg screaming about you being violated, Richard and Linda yelling at Walt and Donna whilst Harlan shook his head, making a noise of disgust. Ransom ignored them all as he selected the photos and images, deleting them, and showing it to you.

“Gone, Princess.” He turned the screen off before he leaned over and kissed your temple.

“Look, he’s a teenage boy…” Donna was protesting “He’s a bit curious…”

“He’s a dirty bastard.” Richard snorted and the irony wasn’t lost on Ransom as he’d seen his father eyeing you up on more than one occasion. He looked at his dad, eyebrow raised as Jacob bit back at the dig.

“I’m a dirty bastard?” The pre-teen snapped, his eyes flicking from Richard to Ransom “I’m not the one that was having sex against a tree!”

Everyone paused and their heads turned to you and Ransom. You gave a groan, your hands sliding up to your face to hide your utter embarrassment, but besides you Ransom’s expression never changed because, well frankly, he couldn’t give two shits about everyone knowing what you had been up to.

“I’m a grown ass man.” He snarled “If I wanna fuck my girl outside on private property I will”

He held Jacob’s phone out to him, but as Jacob went to take it Ransom opened his hand, dropped it to the floor with a loud “oops” and stomped on it, the metal and glass crunching under the heel of his expensive, leather boots.

There was more yelling, and Ransom simply turned, taking your hand in his. “We’re leaving.”

This time you didn’t argue. The pair of you walked away, ignoring the screaming which grew fainter as you headed down towards the large front doors, only to hear Harlan calling after you. Ransom stopped, took a deep breath and tuned to face his grandfather.

“Y/N are you ok?”

“Of course she’s not.” Ransom snapped but you gently squeezed his hand, shaking his head.

“I’m okay Harlan, thank you. But I think its best we go before Ransom commits murder.”

“Well, I can assure you I’m not far off killing the little turd myself.” Harlan shook his head, sighing. He then took a deep breath, looked at Ransom, and there was a flash of something which you knew only too well to be amusement in his eyes. “Which tree?”

Ransom frowned “What?”

“I asked which tree you two were doing the naughty against.”

You groaned as Ransom blinked and then shrugged “Just in the thicket to the south side of the lake, near the little jetty. Why?”

“Well, instead of barking up the wrong tree so to speak, next time stick to the North side.” Harlan grinned cheekily “It’s in the dip and no chance you can be spotted by anyone unless they’re a foot or so away.”

Ransom’s mouth curled up into a smirk as he looked at his grandfather then to you.

Meanwhile you simply wanted the ground to open up and swallow you.

Harlan bid the two of you goodbye as you headed out to Ransom’s Beemer. He stopped just besides it, turning to you, his hands falling to your hips again. “Well, I don’t know about you, Sweetheart, but all that excitement has made me a bit hungry. Seeing as we’re not getting dinner here, how about I take you to Asta?”

Your face lit up at the mention of your favourite restaurant and you gave an eager nod before you frowned “Aren’t we a little underdressed? And it’s Saturday evening, we’ll never get in.”

“Baby girl, enough money can get us in anywhere, and you look fine.” He said, dropping a kiss to your lips before he grinned “You might wanna brush the twigs outta your hair though.”

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

[destroy-the-cannon]

IT’S HERE!

Hey everyone! It’s finally happening. The long awaited Olivia x MC fit is happening. I’ll leave the rest of my thoughts as the bottom as not to bore you, but I’ll put one tiny thing here: there’s actually no Olivia in this chapter. I know, I know! She’s the whole reason you’re here. But I had to do a chapter without her to set up for something you’ll see in a future chapter. I promise, it’ll prove worth your wait. Anyways, without further ado, let’s get to it!

Tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, queer romance, eventual lemon(s).

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, death, illness. Language. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Paige couldn’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t working towards something. She busted her ass all through highschool, working her way into a scholarship at a decent university. From there, she had concocted a simple, five-step plan:

-Graduate with honors

-Get into a fantastic business school

-Get an amazing, ultra-high paying job

-Pay off debt

-Buy a good house for her parents, and live out the rest of her life comfortably.

But no. Nearly a month after she graduated from college, her dad got diagnosed. As he spent more and more time in the hospital, the bills rolled in. Charge upon charge upon charge, until Paige’s mother had spent up their retirement funds and was looking into getting a second job. So, naturally, Paige stepped up. She got a job working at a tiny bar downtown, and sent her every spare dime to her family, rooming with strangers, because all her friends still lived back home in California.

And then, just as Paige thought her existence couldn’t get any bleaker, it did.

She was sent one final charge, then never any again.

After that, she threw herself into working extra hours at the bar, no longer having the energy to look into jobs anywhere else. For two years, she worked and slept, worked and slept. The only person she ever really talked to was Daniel, a friend who was good for cracking jokes and aimless chatter, but not ideal as emotional support. So, completely on her own, she did her best to heal. She cried till she couldn’t, screamed, cried some more, and did anything she could to try and lessen the complete suffocation that was her grief. Each day, she did whatever she could to wake up feeling a bit lighter, until she felt almost nothing at all. It took two years, but she was finally starting to feel like a person again.

That’s when she met three of the five people who were going to change her life forever.

That day, it was just the men who happened to be in the restaurant. This did make sense, because it was a bachelor party, after all. Not that that was easy to tell, just looking at them. Their clothes ranged from a simple denim-and-white-jeans look to a three piece suit, leather shoes, and a pocket square. Honestly, who still wore pocket squares? Paige shuddered just looking at it. It seemed that she was dealing with a typical group of douchey, overgrown frat boys. It would suck while she was serving them, but usually at least one of them would remember to leave a decent tip. She sighed and strode over, pulling out her pad.

“Hi, what can I-” She broke off for a tiny moment before resuming. “What can I get for you today?” Trying to cover her tracks, she flashed a bright smile.

The reason she had broken off was sitting there, watching her. He wasn’t dressed particularly flashily, in his garnet sweater and khakis, but he had an air of quiet importance about him, something almost noble. His posture was perfect, his hair done with not a strand out of place, a neatly shaved face, a perfectly straight and clean collar. It was the little things about him, things that one didn’t typically find in a crappy downtown bar, that made Paige even warier. He grinned a small, curious grin at her. Before she could respond, the man in the suit began to speak.

“So firstly, I’d like to ask about your wine. I’m assuming there’s a separate list?” Mr. Denim and a (quite cute, actually) guy in a black button down traded amused glances over Sir Suit’s shoulder.

“Sorry, we don’t. We have a good selection of beer an-” He cut her off with a horrified look. She’d never seen such a prim rage before; she had to stop herself from snorting.

“There’s nothing else? I’ve never even heard of some of these labels before! I’d think I’d like to speak to your mana-”

“Tariq.”

The sweatered man, the quiet one, lay a hand on Mr. Suit’s shoulder. His voice was warm, strong, and seemed to contain just a hint of some foreign accent that Paige couldn’t place. He smiled apologetically at her.

“That’s completely fine. We’ll take a bottle of your finest whiskey, and four glasses.”

“Great. Will you be having anything to eat with that?” She was making some strangely intense eye contact with The Sweater (she’d have to try and catch his name) when Tariq cut in obliviously. She was really starting to hate this guy.

“Yes, we’ll each take a filet mignon, medium rare, prepared with a bearnaise sauce.”

Paige blinked. The man smiled blandly at her as though this was a perfectly normal request.

“Sir, the closest thing we have to a filet mignon is the deluxe burger.”

Now it was Tariq’s turn to blanch in horror. “Burger?”

“Sounds great! We’ll take four.” Mr. Denim cut in, shooting a glare Tariq’s way.

“Right then. I’ll go put your order in, and I’ll be right back with that whiskey.”

She turned and made her way back to the kitchen, trying to fight back the smile that threatened to take over her face. Taking out Tariq, this seemed like a group of pretty decent guys. Usually, she expressed nothing more than a vague sort of interest in customers, a kind of unattached curiosity. But listening to them laughing and yelling, she couldn’t help but to want to pull up a chair and join them.

Sighing, she pulled out their glasses and whiskey. She was putting in their order when she felt eyes on her. Without moving, she peered out of the corner of her eye.

The three friends were talking, except for the quiet one. His eyes traced the curve of her neck, and her spine tingled with awareness of his every move. She arched her form just a bit, trying to be as subtle as she could, and his eyes slipped lower.

Just as she was about to turn, his friend elbowed him. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the quiet one smiled and turned his attention back to the group. She didn’t miss how his eyes fluttered back for just a half second, darkening, before he focused back in on the booth’s conversation.

She sighed, and grabbed the whiskey. Oh, well. This was going to be a boring night, but hopefully, in terms of tip, a fruitful one.

* * *

“Excuse me?”

Paige turned to find the sweatered man from before.

“I think we’re about to head out, and I didn’t want to do so without apologizing.”

The bar had emptied out completely, and the two were completely alone. Sweater’s friends were jostling around out front.

“Apologizing?” She frowned. “For what?”

“Well, I know we kept you late, and my friends can be pretty…” He paused. “Demanding.”

“Demanding, huh? Well, it was nothing I can’t handle. I’m used to it by now.”

“Well, be that as it may, I’d still like to apologize. We’re about to head out to a club right near here. Could I buy you a drink?”

“Which club are you going to?”

“Oh, well…” He winced. “We were actually hoping that you could help with that. We’re not from around here.”

“In that case, I know just where you should go.” She scanned him with a critical eye before making a decision. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that would particularly enjoy some wild party spot. There’s a great little secret cove right near here you might like.”

He grinned in relief. “That sounds amazing. I’m getting just a bit tired of the traditional bachelor party antics. Why don’t you lead the way?”

“Sure, that sounds awesome! Let me just get out of this uniform, and we can get going.” She turned to go, then stopped short. “Before we go, can I get your name? I’m Paige.”

She turned to offer her hand, expecting a firm shake. To her surprise, he leaned down and actually kissed her knuckles. An honest to god bow-and-kiss. As soon as he’d done it, his eyes widened in embarrassment before shrinking into a wince. “Sorry, that’s an, ah, custom. Where I come from. It’s tradition. I just- just forgot you don’t do it here. I’m Liam.” He was clearly quite mortified, but Paige smiled. She thought it cute, and made her feel oddly regal. There was something so gentle in the gesture, it was almost reverent. Sweet. Grinning, Paige ducked back into the backroom, changing into an emerald-green dress she kept in her bag. She paused for a moment to check her reflection, fluffing out her hair and dress. Confident, she followed Liam into the night air.

As soon as she stepped out, the first thing she heard was: “Daaang! The waitress is hot!”, quickly followed by a more earnest: “That uniform didn’t do you justice.” Before she could respond, Liam stepped forward.

“Hey. Paige is a guest among us, and I doubt she appreciates you commenting on her appearance like that.”

If he didn’t before, he now had her full trust.

She was pretty used to receiving comments like that by now, and it didn’t particularly bother her. At least these guys didn’t seem to have any cruel intent. She got much worse in clubs or on the street. But it was rare to see another man stick up for her like that. Liam barely even knew her, and yet he was ready to call out his friends for her. Instantly, she found she liked him even more.

The guys stuck their head down and muttered apologies. They seemed sincere enough, and clearly eager to earn a fresh start, so Paige let it go.

“So, the waitress is coming with us?” Mr. Denim piped up, looking Paige over.

“Actually, we’re going with her. She’s picked out our next destination.”

“So she’s our tour guide now.” Denim raised his brow. He didn’t seem malicious, per se, just skeptical.

“Hey, Paige very graciously agreed to show us around, so play nice.” Liam turned to her. “Lead the way!”

“I’d love to, but can I get the rest of you guys’ names first? I can’t be referring to you three as ‘you there’ this whole night.”

“I’m Maxwell! Maxwell Beaumont.” Button Down grinned and shook her hand enthusiastically.

“I’m Drake Walker.” Denim stepped forward and also shook her hand, though much less enthusiastically.

“Great. And you’re Tariq, right?” She pointed at the third man, who was smiling at her in a way that did actually make her just a tad uncomfortable. He nodded, his smile growing.

“Awesome. Let’s get going!” She spun around, and they followed her into the night.

   * * *

They emerged from a small swath of greenery into a beautiful little cove. The starlight shone on the ocean, and the whole place seemed mysterious and magical. Like anything could happen.

“We should build a bonfire!” Drake looked happier than he’d been all night.

“I am will not be engaging in manual labor.” Tariq looked like he was about to throw up.

“I forgot who I was talking to. What I meant was, I’m going to go build a bonfire.” He practically skipped off. Paige could’ve sworn she heard a giggle. The men turned to take in their surroundings.

“This place is awesome! Skinny dippiiiiiing!”

“Keep your pants on, Maxwell.”

Liam turned to Paige as the other two bickered. “Thank you for taking us here, Paige. I can tell the guys are enjoying themselves already.”

“Forget your friends. Do you like it here?”

“I love it.” He was completely sincere.

“This is my secret spot, so I’m really trusting you here.” She was teasing, but he looked her directly in the eye as he responded. “I will do everything I can to be worthy of that trust.”

There was a moment there, where he held her gaze. But he looked away and turned his eyes to the sky as he spoke.

“There’s only one problem. How am I supposed to buy you that drink now?” He’d made his tone light as meringue, but there was a tiny crease between his brows.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll just keep owing me.”

“Seems fair enough to me.” They stood together for a second, until Drake called out.

“Guys! The fire’s ready!”

He beamed as he motioned for them to sit. His proud beam suddenly reminded Paige of a particularly peppy golden retriever. She stifled a giggle as she tucked her feet under her.

“Hey, can I ask you guys something?” She had grabbed one of the  beers Drake had insisted they get from a convenience store on the way. She sipped from the bottle, trying to appear casual. Maxwell looked up from one of the pop-tarts he had picked up. “What’s up?”

“Well, what’s up with you guys? What’s your deal?”

As soon as she asked the question, the atmosphere shifted noticeably. The air grew thick with tension. The boys traded nervous glances, each one visibly uncomfortable. Finally, Liam spoke.

“Guys, it’s fine. She deserves to know.”

“Are you sure?” Drake’s puppy-like grin had vanished, replaced with a look of guarded skepticism.

“Positive.” Liam nodded, and they all turned to her.

“Okay. Paige, there’s something you should know about us.”

“Alright…” It suddenly occurred to her that she was on a remote island with four strange men who were now all staring at her, and why did she think this was a good idea? She tried to tamp down her growing panic.

“As you know, we’re not from here. But where we are from, specifically, is... Cordonia.”

“Okay. And this is a secret why, exactly?”

Liam shifted again. Clearly, there was more.

“Well, we’re not just tourists. I mean, we’re not really, ah, average citizens.”

Hm. Well, that wasn’t too surprising. Liam’s controlled manner, the way Maxwell kept looking over his shoulder, Tariq’s pocket square. But what, exactly, did this all mean? They were either spies, mega rich, or criminals. She waited for them to go on.

“What I mean by that is… well, we may have left some things out in our introduction. Drake really is Drake Walker, but the rest of us are different.”

Maxwell piped up. “I’m Sir Maxwell Percival Beaumont. Of Ramsford.”

“I am Lord Tariq Nadar, of Larada.” He bowed and leered at Paige in a way that caused her stomach to lurch suddenly.

“And I am Prince Liam Cicero Constantine Rhys, prince of Cordonia.”

Prince of Cordonia. The way he kissed her hand. The way the other men seemed so keenly aware of his every command. His cordial behavior. She had been flirting with a prince. An heir, she guessed.

But, if he was an heir, then that could mean-

Oh, God.

“Whose bachelor party is this?”

To her horror, Liam raised his hand tentatively.

“It’s mine.”

Shit! Ew, ew, ew. Her opinion of him dropped right down to the ground. Of course he was fucking engaged. He had been flirting with her, checking her out, and he was engaged! Fuck that, fuck him. She hadn’t even been that into him, so any disappointment she may have felt was swallowed by anger and disgust. She was almost ready to leave when he jumped in, probably sensing her rage.

“I’m not engaged. I mean, I will be, but I don’t actually have a fiancé yet.”

Oh. She lowered herself back onto the log, smoothing her pinched features.

“But wait. That doesn’t make any sense. Why have a bachelor party if you’re not even engaged yet?”

“That’s what you're concerned about? Not the nobility thing? I mean, I would- ow! Drake!” Drake elbowed Maxwell into silence before turning to Paige to explain.

“Liam’s at the age where it’s finally time to pick a future queen. The social season begins the day after tomorrow, and by the end of it, Liam’s gonna have a bride. They try to win the favor of the king and queen, catch Liam’s eye, demonstrate their queenly abilities through a series of competitions, blah blah blah. We’re throwing a bachelor party now because the next one’ll basically just be a press event with a bunch of nobles he barely knows.”

“Oh.” It was all she could manage to say. What the hell was she supposed to say? This was a huge bomb to just drop on her casually.

“I hope you don’t think we’re trying to fool you. If that is the case, it’s completely understandable-”

“I believe you.” Oddly enough, she knew they weren’t lying. Somehow, in her bones, she just knew. These were genuine nobles, ones she’d just happened to somehow convince to spend the night out together. Her, the broke, tired waitress. Intellectually, she knew this was an absolutely wild and preposterous thing she was doing, but emotionally, that just wouldn’t register. This felt right, like an evening out with three old friends and one Tariq.

But then again, this was different for them. They weren’t used to spending time with people like her. She was suddenly keenly aware of her own casual behavior, how she’d treated them like any old group of people. They weren’t. She started to gather up her things, fussing with her bag. She should leave them. Why would they want to spend time with someone like her?

“Does this mean I should have been curtseying? Bowing? Using your proper titles?”

“Well, personally, I wouldn’t have minded if you had-”

“Shut up, Tariq.” Maxwell twisted towards her. “This night has turned out to be awesome. You’ve turned out to be pretty awesome. And it doesn’t have to end! Let’s stay out! Just keep thinking of us as regular tourists. Don’t go.”

“I-” She stopped. “Okay. I’m staying.”

Her answer seemed to have surprised her as much as it did them. But she meant it, truly. She was having fun, and as weird as this night had turned out to be, she felt like she had made friends. Real friends, not work ones. This night would become a cool story she told at parties, and these people would become ones she’d wonder about and obsessively google for years to come, she was sure. So she didn’t leave. She sat with them, and it was one of the best nights she’d spent in a very long time.

* * *

“Paige! Wait up!” Paige turned to find Maxwell running after her. Her face split into a surprised grin. “Maxwell! What are you doing here?” He bounded up with a bright look about him. “I’m here for you! The plane leaves in like half an hour, and I wanted to catch you before we left.”

It was the morning after the bachelor party, and Paige was trudging to work. The sidewalk was choked with people rushing from place to place, and Maxwell was struggling to hold his ground.

“And why did you need to catch me, exactly?” Surely, from the beam on his face, he wasn’t just delivering a lost earring? Hope started to tickle at her insides, though what it was for, she had no idea.

“I wanted to make an offer. Obviously, it’s totally cool if you want to say no, and there’s no pressure or anything, but I had to ask.”

“Okay…” What was he doing?

“Come with us.” Her expression must’ve been absolutely shocked, and he hurried on upon seeing it.

“Liam looked really happy last night. Like, uncharacteristically happy and smiley. And you seem really cool, so I got to thinking. You could come with us. You’d be sponsored by House Beaumont, and you’d have a real shot at it! It wouldn’t be easy, since you’re not technically nobility, and House Beaumont is kind of-” he stopped himself. “Um, I mean, it would be hard. Is what I’m saying. But cool! Fun! Are you in?”

“Sorry, what is ‘it’, exactly?”

“Oh, yeah, shoot. Liam’s hand in marriage!”

Liam’s hand. In marriage. The sidewalk seemed to spin. She liked Liam just fine, but marriage? There was no way. She knew it, deep down in her soul. She wasn’t going to marry him, and she never would.

She glanced back over her shoulder, back at the bar. The whole place seemed grubby and hollow. Daniel was wiping away at the counter, a faraway expression on his face. He was dreaming of an out. They had dreamed of that out together, on mornings like this.

Paige pictured elegant palaces, glamorous parties, beautiful people. She imagined dancing the night away, drunk on champagne and laughter. She imagined stolen corridor kisses and secret rendezvous in lavish gardens.

She turned back to Maxwell.

“I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes. I’ve got some packing to do.”

Son that was the first chapter! It’s out a bit later than I’d like, but it’s out! Sorry again about the Olivia thing. I promise, she’ll be a key character in chapter two. 

I’m really new to publishing my stuff, so if you have any tips or suggestions, please let me know! 

#slow burn #enemies to lovers #olivia nevrakis #choices stories you play #the royal holiday #the royal romance #trr au #trr mc #trr #the royal heir #choices fanfiction #choices fandom

[riverdale-retread]

Riverdale S2 E8.

Every kind of spoiler warning.

- Bughead Unconsummated was a thought I had last episode and Jughead is narrating this episode, so I just laughed  and laughed at the voyeuristic opening  of this installment, because it’s leering at Varchie for 2 minutes straight.  Jughead using words like “carnal defiance” and “young lovers”, and specifically thinking of their kissing and embracing and listing all the places Veronica and Archie get it on is hilarious.  Jughead is just a tad frustrated, and I can’t tell if he specifically imagines Veronica telling Archie “This was amazing” after Archie tells Veronica, “I love you” or if it really happens.

- FP gets out of his 20 year prison sentence early!  Penny Peabody Esq. actually delivers on what she said about using Jughead’s drug run money to fund the next stage of FP’s defense. She actually came through?  She’s a good lawyer?  That is unexpected.  And now I’m retroactively future-impressed (what is time) with Penny kind of holding her own against Gladys in the knife fight later, if she’s really actually effective as a lawyer.  Or it could be Penny knew that was going to happen and used Jughead for that important  run one last time?   Either way.  Of all the lawyers (Sowerberry, Mary Andrews, the court appointed one for FP and Mayor McCoy) in this town, Penny is the one to call, apparently.

- Jopaz: 

I know, I know, it’s over. But really, Toni is so acting as the major ally here and without her none of Jughead’s plans for the Serpents would hold a chance in hell.  We learn much later that Toni is the one who brings Sweet Pea and Fangs in line, so you need Toni’s buy-in for anything, really.  And she knows exactly what’s going on between Penny and Jughead.

Also Toni works behind the bar at the Whyte Wyrm as a minor! So they sort of set up  Veronica running a bar later in a subtle way?? Riverdale, I hardly knew ye!

- Why is this Season 2 so far so totally full of Fail Betty??

Toni specifically tells Betty that she tried to get rid of the girls-gotta-show-skin ceremony for the Serpent initiation, that it’s misogynist, and Betty is like, well it’s fine and doesn’t mind at all. Two things: (1)  Betty is not a feminist. Veronica is, and Cheryl is in her way, Ethel is as well. Valerie and Melody are. But Betty isn’t. Betty fail. (2) Betty is also very frustrated by Bughead Unconsummated and she’s trying in her not very bright way to have things move along (it pains me so, so much that Betty is not smart in this season, in retrospect).

All of Betty’s Leave It Up To Me Parties are a disaster, specifically for Jughead. The birthday and the FP retirement.  FP annihilates himself at this party, the same way Jughead did at the birthday one.  

AUGH and during the strip dance of disaster, by the way, Betty looks right at Jughead and sings the lyrics Happy Birthday/ Happy Birthday  as she unbuttons her top.  Excuse me what. Is this supposed to be payback for Birthday Party Disaster which was entirely her fault and her acting out? Poor Jughead.  

The thing that Betty says after he dumps her, “How many times will we push each other away?” Well um, this is only the first time, isn’t it, that Jughead actually tries to end things? The other time was when Betty fucks up the entire way she deals with the Black Hood’s demands and has Archie brutalize Jughead and Jughead then decides to let his outside reflect his insides by letting the Serpents beat him up.  

I’m so Team Jopaz right now, and it’s giving me immunity to both Betty’s beautiful pain-crumpled face and the way Jughead says “Please” as his resolve almost breaks.  

- Alice & FP:  Alice has been aggressively unpleasant to FP and wishing him all the ills in the world since her pregnancy with Charles, right? And FP overheard the heated argument that Alice had with Hal at Prom or whatever.  Did FP never ever suspect that Alice might be pregnant with *his* kid?  And that she either had an abortion or gave the baby up or whatever?  I mean, Alice is an asshole, so I guess it’s not unreasonable to think that she holds  a high-octane grudge for a high school fling for twenty years.  Oh and they have a confrontation in this episode where FP tells Alice to leave Hal (at home, dun dun dun).

- Missing scene - where Jughead and FP go shopping for a new motorcycle, I guess, because they now each have one, but previously it was explained Jughead was riding FP’s bike.

- The whole father-son motorcycle ride and conversation at the most poetic looking resting area in matching leather jackets was beautifully photographed, evocative and full of romantic masculinity.  And wow Jughead had such amazing hair! Like, vengefully gorgeous hair, once liberated from the beanie.

- The extreme way that Jughead reacts to FP’s bad day at working at Pop’s hurts double because of course, he works there as an adult, himself.

-  I can see now why I was so taken aback at how wonderful Veronica is in S1.  Stuff happens in Varchie, with the saying I love you and blahblah but it’s so boringly presented, and doesn’t have even half the emotional impact of all the Jughead stuff.  

- The one very impressive thing Veronica does is, she figures out, on her own, that she can't tell her bf she loves him because her parents' marriage has been dead for years.

#jughead jones #jopaz #betty cooper #alice cooper #fp jones #riverdale #riverdale opinions #too many thoughts about riverdale #southside serpents #toni topaz #penny peabody #spoilers #riverdale recap #riverdale episode recap

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday 2: Because I Felt Like It

...okay, I was going to save this. I was going to save this for if I ever finish this sprawling behamouth of a monstrosity of a novel.

Assuming it didn’t get cut for being completely self indulgent.

However.

I feel like being completely self indulgent and, more to the point, if it does get cut, I want everyone to have gotten to see Thomas being a thoroughly vindictive little snark face.

Enjoy.

Thomas tried not to fidget, but it was difficult. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much pent up energy. He glanced at the list of names in front of him, then at the clock. Ten minutes. It was going to feel like ten lifetimes, he was certain.

Mr. Carson was ill. Not terribly ill, Mrs. Hughes assured them. Just a bit of cold. He should be right as rain in a couple of days. In the meantime, Andrew would serve the drinks at breakfast and tea, Mr. Molesley had been prevailed upon to cover dinner, and Thomas had, with a surprising amount of relief, agreed to step down and see to the day-to-day running of things. The ledger was in order, as was the wine list. The hall boys knew their jobs well enough that he didn’t need to ride herd on them too badly. The only other major thing that wanted doing was the interviews. He’d already done one, a rather promising candidate from Derbyshire. There were two more.

He glanced at the clock again, told himself he would not smoke, and started to go over the ledger again to fill the time.

He wasn’t certain whether he hoped Mr. Moore arrived early, exactly on time, or slightly late. Not late, he thought. That would end things too quickly. He was dimly aware that the thought was exactly the sort the good people of the world disapproved of. His parents, Mrs. Hughes, Miss Baxter, Anna, they would all cluck their tongues and tell him not to be petty and vindictive.

Just then he didn’t care that much, but it still brought a slight frown to his face and dampened his enthusiasm just a bit. To banish the feeling he imagined what Mary would think if he told her what he was about. That did the trick. After all, Mary was as petty and vindictive as he was, and didn’t it feel nice to not be the only one in the family anymore?

There was a knock on the door and he glanced involuntarily at the clock. Three minutes early. He smiled and called out politely, “Come in.”

Mrs. Hughes opened the door. “A Mr. Moore to see you, sir.”

He’d asked not to be called by his proper title while doing the interviews. The last thing he needed was candidates kissing up and thinking that anything he said meant they had the job. Here, though, it also afforded him a bit of camouflage. Even if she’d told him that he would be meeting Mr. Crawley rather than Mr. Carson, there was no reason for Mr. Moore to be expecting anything other than a strange butler. “Do show him in, Mrs. Hughes,” he smiled, all politeness and pleasantry.

The man who was shown through the door reminded Thomas of a walrus. He’d thought that the first time they’d met, but in the year between then and now, he’d managed to forget. He remembered immediately. If anything, he’d put on weight and his receding hairline had receded further, combining with his unchanged mustache to heighten the resemblance. He rolled into the room with an air of ineffable dignity, took one look at Thomas sitting at his desk, and ground to a halt. His eyes widened, but he showed no other sign of recognition.

The door closed behind him.

“Mr. Moore!” Thomas greeted, as cheerfully as he was able. “So good to see you again. Do have a seat.” He gestured to the seat on the other side of the desk.

Mr. Moore sat, his eyes shifting to the side ever so subtly, as if waiting for someone to pop out and yell ‘surprise!’ and tell him it was a joke. “Good day Mr.,” he hesitated over the last name before saying, very firmly, “Barrow.”

“Actually, it’s Crawley now,” Thomas corrected him. “It’s been quite the year of self discovery for me. Among other things, I’ve discovered I was adopted, funny thing, and I’ve decided to revert to my proper last name.” If the other man made any connection between Thomas and the Crawleys who lived upstairs, he didn’t show it. “I must say,” Thomas continued, “I was rather surprised to see your name on the list of people to interview. I thought you and the missus were happily settled at Rothwell Manor. What prompted you to apply?”

“As you are aware, Mr. Crawley,” the man emphasized the last name, “Rothwell Manor has been going through a slight restructuring of the staff. Under the circumstances, it was felt my experience might be better utilized at a different house, one in greater need of leadership.”

In short, Thomas summed up, he’d been made redundant. He felt like a cat up to its chin in cream. “Right. No need to have a talented butler sitting by idle while the assistant butler does all the work, is there? And while Rothewell Manor is an undeniably fine house,  I can’t see there really being enough work for two.”

Mr. Moore came very close to glaring.

“Well, we certainly have a staff that could use overseeing. Not large for a house of this size, admittedly. We’ve been having our own staffing issues, as you’re well aware. At present we have one footman and two hall boys for you to oversee, with a second footman who comes up from the village as needed. I can’t imagine that would be too difficult for you.” He frowned, thoughtfully. “Mrs. Moore would be a bit of a problem. Our servants’ quarters, of course, are not set up for married couples, and we don’t have any available cottages for you to take at the moment.”

“I have sufficient funds to arrange for Mrs. Moore and I to have our own living quarters, separate from the estate,” Mr. Moore informed him.

The image of Mr. Moore huffing his way up to the Abbey from the village enough was almost enough to make Thomas reconsider and hire him. He was certain the other man didn’t have his own car. But after O’Brien he was less interested in keeping his enemies close than keeping them as far away as possible, preferably in another country. “Ah, yes, a little place to retire. I’m certain you’ve saved up quite a little nest egg over the years,” Thomas nodded, having no qualms about taking pot shots at the other man’s age. After all, they’d just had one butler retire on them, and Mr. Moore couldn’t have been that much younger than Carson. Which was not to say Thomas wouldn’t agree to hire an older, more experienced butler, but any excuse to turn this man down was seen as a bonus. “Are you certain, though, that Downton is the sort of place the missus would like to spend her fading years? I understood that women went in for Bath or little seaside cottages.”

While it was clear from his expression and his notably chilly replies, Mr. Moore knew he was being mocked, he showed a surprising resilience. He must have really wanted the job. “Mrs. Moore was born and raised in Yorkshire, Mr. Crawley, and she hopes to die here. She also enjoys the society of others, so a small town near enough the cities to visit would be preferable.” Before Thomas could phrase his next question, he asked one of his own. “If I may, Mr. Crawley, why are you not taking the position when Mr. Carson leaves?”

The light bulb went on over Thomas’s head. Of course Mr. Moore was being polite and professional. He thought Thomas was still the under-butler, standing in for Carson, and therefore without real power. Well, that would have to be remedied. “Oh, Mr. Carson’s already left, actually,” Thomas assured him. At his immediately perplexed look, he elaborated, “You see, Mr. Carson was the butler here for years, but then his hands went shaky and he had to step down. I took his place at that point, but as I said, it’s been quite the year of self discovery. Along with being adopted, I discovered that Lord and Lady Grantham are actually my parents. So,” he spread his hands philosophically, “I’ve moved into my rightful place upstairs and Mr. Carson has taken over just long enough for us to find a replacement. Except today he has a cold, so I’ve offered to fill in.”

Mr. Moore stared at him, his jaw working like a fish. Thomas understood the look completely. Finally the older man found his voice and, giving in and breaking his professional character, growled. “Is this a joke?”

“I know!” Thomas laughed. “I thought the same thing when I found out. Everyone did. But no. The lawyers have been over everything and concluded that it is no joke. I am the current Viscount Downton and any butler who serves my family will have to be dedicated, discreet, and unfailingly diplomatic.” He stopped, smiling, not caring that it was a nasty smile. Mr. Moore looked like he had swallowed a live toad. “Do you think you have those qualifications, Mr. Moore? Because for some strange reason, I have my doubts.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then there was the scrape of wood on stone as Mr. Moore pushed his chair back and stood. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Crawley.”

“Have a nice day, Mr. Moore.” Thomas remained seated and smiling as the other man turned and showed himself out of the room. “We’ll be in touch.”

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #wip wednesday #thomas barrow

[the-three-idiots]

EXCALIBUR #2

1328AE Jacobs Apartment, Divinity’s Reach 9:20AM

Jacobs apartment, located in the salma district, in between the plazas of Grenth and Lyssa. The apartment is sparsely decorated, a double bed, a cabinet and a desk that occupy the room. Jacob wakes up and looks around,  he looks over to his left. Jacob expects to see someone there but can't remember who. Jacob gets out of bed, walks over to the window and opens them. He looks across the  streets, seeing the busy crowds amongst the streets.

Jacob feels like he should be somewhere, Jacob knows he doesn't have to be anywhere but feels like he should be. Jacob turns and looks back at the bed, his back facing the window. He notices the way the bed sheets are ruffled in the wrong direction. As if someone else had been in his bed.

“NICE ARSE MATE!” shouts a bystander from the streets below.

Jacob’s train of thought is broken, he looks down and notices he isn't wearing any clothes, he closes the windows and steps back. Jacob looks over to the cabinet and sees his pajamas, perfectly folded. They have not been touched since the previous evening.

Jacob looks around for his clothes and more importantly his coat. Jacob walks around to the other side of the bed, Jacob looks confused at his clothing on the floor.Like he was stripped off.

Three knocks on his door causes Jacob to quickly grab his trousers and put them on.

Jacob walks over to his door and opens it cautiously. Jacob smiles as he sees Mrs Ainsworth.

Mrs Ainsworth is Jacobs landlady, around sixty years old, grey hair, wrinkled skin and the pleasant aroma of cinnamon. Mrs Ainsworth is a former fire mage, who retired and became a baker.

“Good morning Jacob.” Says Mrs Ainsworth 

Mrs Ainsworth raises an eyebrow at the shirtless Jacob, Jacob cracks a cheeky smile.

“Jacob, when you started paying rent, i remember telling you if you were going to bring guests over, you should at least give me some notice.” Mrs Ainsworth says in a calm but annoyed manner.

Jacob looks confused.

“Excuse me?” asks Jacob

Mrs Ainsworth crosses her arms and shakes her head.

“If you're gonna bring back ya whores Jacob, some warning next time.” Snaps Mrs Ainsworth

Mrs Ainsworth turns and walks away, clearly not happy. Jacob walks back into his apartment and puts on the rest of his clothes. He checks every pocket looking for his pipe but fails to find it. Jacob looks towards his desk and sees his pipe.

Jacob walks toward the desk and sees a small white card next to his pipe. Jacob picks his pipe up, sees that it's been filled with tobacco and places it in his mouth. Jacob snaps his fingers, which produces a flame and he places it into the top of the pipe, igniting the tobacco.

Jacob looks back down at the desk at the white card, he grabs it and looks at it. A small logo of a sword through a hollow circle with a single word in bold black writing which reads;

‘Excalibur’

Jacob looks at the card, a weird sense of deja vu overcame him. Jacob grabs his coat, puts it on and walks out  the door in a hurry.

Seraph Headquarters, Divinity’s Reach 10:03AM

Jacob enters the headquarters of the Seraph, an old stone hall, lined with banners and torches. The hall is filled with Seraph soldiers, filling out paperwork and taking criminals to the holding cells.

Jacob scans the room, looking for Logan Thackery. Jacob walks through the crowds, he looks at the scum and villainy the soldiers arrested. Jacob looks around once again but trips over a soldier and lands face first into the floor.

“Need a hand?” asks a rather feminine voice

Jacob looks up to see a blue sylvari, her skin is a dark blue  with light blue ‘hair’ which is composed of leaves styled into a smart left parting. The sylvari offers her hand to Jacob to which he accepts, the sylvari pulls him up.

“Thanks” Jacob says

Jacob smells tobacco from the sylvari, specifically the brand of tobacco he uses in his. The sylvari looks at Jacob and recognises him.

“Persistent aren't you?” asks the sylvari

Jacob looks at the sylvari, trying to recognize her. He had a bad habit of forgetting new face, so it wasn't uncommon for him to recognize some people. The sylvari let off a whistle and a norn woman seemingly appeared next to the sylvari.

“Did i see you at a crime scene once?” asks Jacob

The norn and the sylvari give each other a look of concern.

“Well, nice to meet you. Good luck with these lots. They seem to be busy today.” says the sylvari

The sylvari and the norn walks off, Jacob looks back at them.

“Aesa, i thought you said the wallets worked best on men?”  asks the sylvari

“The chemical should have, Thackeray doesn't remember a thing…” replies  the norn

Jacob turns around and heads toward a desk at the edge of the hall, Jacob sees Logan sitting down, talking to a skritt and charr. Jacob's sense of deja vu comes back to him.

“I don’t care if you are a part of the queen’s scientific advisory, I have better things to do than come to some lab of yours-” Logan sees Jacob “-oh thank the gods, if you could excuse me, detective!” says Logan

Logan stands and rushes around the desk towards Jacob, the skritt and the charr see Jacob. They look at each other and walk off hastily. Logan sees them walking away and smiles.

“Thank gods you arrived, they were giving me a headache.” Logan explains

Jacob raises an eyebrow.

“Who were they?” asks Jacob

“Some science group, funded by the queen, I think. Anyway what can i help you with?” asks Logan

Jacob hands over the white card to Logan, Jacob looks at it. He studies it and walks over to his desk, Jacob follows. Logan pulls out a  giant leather bound book. Logan opens it and flips through the pages. He pauses at a page and points to it.

“The Excalibur foundation, royal science corp.” Logan says

“Do you know where i can find them?” asks Jacob

Logan looks at the book with confusion.

“Maiden's whisper, Rurikton.” Logan says

Jacob and Logan look at each other.

“The tavern?” ask Jacob

Logan nods.

“Ok thanks Logan, ill take a look at it.” Jacob says

Logan crosses his arms and looks at the busy hall.

“Can't come, kinda busy. Just busted a bunch of rebels on the city limits” replies Logan

Jacob smiles.

“I shall leave with your paperwork then.” Jacob retorts

The two shake hands, Logan gives the white card back to Jacob. Jacob nods and walks away. Jacob exits the hall, not knowing that the blue sylvari was watching him.

#gw2 #gw2 human #GW2 OC #Guild Wars #Guild Wars 2 #tales of thedas #stories #tyriaslibrary

[imagine-loki]

Atlas, Space: Pluto

TITLE: Atlas: Space

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: 11/12

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine narrating episodes of Loki’s life with the Avengers based on the songs from Sleeping At Last’s “Atlas: Space” album.

RATING: T-M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Welcome to my Sleeping At Last’s Atlas: Space challenge, aka Another writing project I do not have time for, but my brain insisted on doing.

This series will be less like a multichapter fic and more of a one-shot compendium, but that they all interconnect in one way or another. It will revolve around Loki and Becca’s relationship (Taking Turns, Glow, Helmet Heists–don’t worry, more Loki-Charlie stuff will be along) and I will use those one-shots as reference to the timeline. Each chapter will be one song, used as inspiration for the story.

Chapter 11: Pluto

Summary: The nightmares still plague Loki at night, but every morning he realizes that he is alive, safe, and with the one person he adores above all else. 

Warnings include: Language, maybe? A little sad, but a payout of a very soft, loving Loki. He’s a bit of a dum-dum, but we love him, anyway. 

=

I woke up from the same dream Falling backwards, falling backwards Till it turned me inside out Now I live a waking life Of looking backwards, looking backwards A model citizen of doubt

After a month or so of waking early, enjoying each other’s warmth, and becoming reacquainted, neither Becca nor Loki had any plan on whether or not they needed to tell the remaining heroes that Loki lived. Becca had suggested that maybe the people of New Asgard would be glad to hear he was well, if he so desired to work for a place amongst his people. Loki had offhandedly asked what she would do in New Asgard, should they choose to go. When she said moving there was out of the question for her, he had promptly told her that it was for him, then, as well.

Rebecca had officially retired from Stark, Inc. Pepper had set up a retirement fund for her so comfortable that she could have lived twenty lifetimes off of it. It was too hard to go back and face the world without Natasha, Vision, and Tony. Especially Tony. Loki had offered up a small prayer for the warriors’ safe passage to Valhalla–although he loathed to admit, they were admirable, fierce defenders.

He had not even asked her how she had fared during the Snap, during the war. Something told him that that was one topic he should keep under wraps, if the way she bristled at their mention was any indication.

And so, they just didn’t tell anyone anything.

They lived their quiet, unassuming life together without any oversight. It still made Loki nervous, walking out in the world. He would look over his shoulder and get spooked by spectres his own mind conjured up. To say he was strung a little tight about the whole world was an understatement.

Until one day I had enough Of this exercise of trust I leaned in and let it hurt And let my body feel the dirt When I break pattern, I break ground I rebuild when I break down I wake up more awake than I’ve ever been before

Loki barely choked back the scream at his throat as he shot up in bed. He was covered in cold sweat, the sheets tousled around him as he kicked and struggled through the night. Surprisingly, his shifting had not woken Rebecca up, despite her being a notoriously light sleeper. He supposed their extended hiking trip that morning had worn her out more than he realized, but he was glad she was getting back the stamina she had been known for on the field.

With a deep breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to blink away the last of the nightmare.

Well, it wasn’t really a nightmare. More of a memory.

In his slumber, he had accidentally slipped through Becca’s mental barriers, something that used to happen quite often when they last dated. However, instead of laughter and warm days filling her memories, it was darkness and pain and hopelessness. His masochistic mind had wandered as far as it was physically possible for him to go, deeper and deeper into the recesses of her mind.

Still I’m pinned under the weight Of what I believed would keep me safe So show me where my armor ends Show me where my skin begins Like a final puzzle piece It all makes perfect sense to me The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity The heaviness that I hold in my heart’s been crushing me

He couldn’t believe she was still standing. Even knowing how strong she was–this world, this life; it should have broken her long ago. Instead, she forged ahead and she made every ache and pain the foundation for her next move. Though he was still shaking, he stopped fighting against the pain, instead embracing the ache, just as she had and let it sink into his being and guild his insides in warrior’s gold.

He didn’t stop crying until the sun was up and Becca stirred in her bed.

She rejoined the land of the living all at once, throwing the covers off of herself and scrambling to hold his face in her hands. “Loki, what’s wrong?”

The concern in her voice and in her eyes weighed harder on his chest. He didn’t mean to upset her, but he couldn’t help it. The raw emotions of a full decade were coursing through his veins and while it hurt, it made him feel closer to her than when they had been sharing each other in the night. Every crack and fissure in his semblance was perfectly reflected in hers, but, more importantly, he could see that there was a heart under it. He hadn’t felt his heart beat in a very, very long time. And it beat solely for the reason of making her smile.

I’ve been worried all my life A nervous wreck most of the time I’ve always been afraid of heights Of falling backwards, falling backwards I’ve been worried all my life

Here and now, Thor, Odin, and even Frigga did not matter. While he understood that perhaps they never bore him any ill will, there was glaring holes in the sentiment they had called love and the way they chose to offer it to him. Becca had never put any conditions on how to love him, or what was worth her affections. They were freely given, his for the taking, and foolishly pushed aside because he felt himself unworthy and unqualified. He had been taught that love had to be earned, and that he very rarely made enough of an effort to be worth even a drop. That was a lie. He knew that now.

Becca was shaking him slightly, frantically wiping away tears from his face and asking him questions. He couldn’t tell what she was asking for the roar of blood in his ears was far too loud. From her expression, he knew she was worried, but he couldn’t find it within himself to snap out of his reverie for the simple fact that within in all her memory of pain and disease and suffering, the sound of his name never bore distaste or disgust or hatred. Whenever she spoke his name, it was like a prayer or a conversation they had been having at the dinner table–it had been as if he had never left her, like his love rippled through the universe and echoed into her ear whenever she needed it.

Like a final puzzle piece It all makes perfect sense to me The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity

“Oh, my God,” she repeated, now bordering on manic. “Loki! Babe, talk to me, please,” she pleaded. His eyes blinked heavily, brushing away the state of mind he was in, and bright blue eyes cut up to her brown. “Loki, what’s wrong?”

“I love you.” It was so quiet that Becca had half-convinced herself he had not spoken until he did so again. “With every fiber of my being and everything I am. I love you and I have always loved you and I always will,” he declared, his voice raspy from crying. His hands had closed around hers on his cheeks.

Becca frowned. “I-I know that, Loki. I’ve know that for,” she sighs, puffing her cheeks out, “for fucking years. You’re just a moron with a misjudged savior complex.” With a breezy laugh, she bent to kiss him fervently, pulling a contented noise from his throat. “Are you OK?” She whispered against his lips.

The heaviness in my heart belongs to gravity

“Yes. Never better.” He grinned widely before he pulled her legs from under her and caged her under his form, the sound of her giggling echoing against the walls in the early morning hours.

#Loki #Lover #Angst #Others #Submitted fic #submission #atlas space #pluto #chapter 11 #Fanfictrashdump

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (122/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[29 May, 233 Before Age. Yetitan.]

Wampaaan'riix was tired. He had spent much of the day on the windswept pastures of his ancestral farm, clearing brush and counting livestock. For a man of his extraordinary strength, this was physically simple, but the tedium of it had a way of wearing him out. He had gone straight to bed upon returning home, barely making time to say good night to his wives and children.

When the communications terminal alerted him to a priority subspace call, he expected the worst. When he saw it was from Luffa's star-yacht, only for Dr. Topsas to appear on the viewer instead, he was even more concerned. He knew Luffa's Federation alliance was at war, with Saiyans battling on both sides.

"She is recovering in a stasis tank," Topsas explained. "I expect she will be completely healed in two months' time."

Wampaaan'riix stroked the long white hair that hung from his chin. There was long white hair covering the rest of his body as well, but the chin was the part he always reached for when he contemplated grim tidings. "In warfare, two months is an eternity, doctor" he said. "I'm surprised you were able to talk her into it."

"I suspect her injuries were more persuasive than anything I might have said," Topsas replied. "Individually, these enemy Saiyans are no match for her, but she has had to fight groups of them, on planet after planet, with little respite. I think she understood that if she didn't take this opportunity to heal, there might not be another chance later on."

"Is there something I can do to help?" Wampaaan'riix asked. "I've all but retired from fighting, but I owe her my life, after all."

"No, nothing like that," Topsas said. "I simply needed some... advice."

"Advice." he repeated.

"I spoke with one of my sons a few days ago. He wasn't very happy about my presence in Federation space during wartime," Topsas said. "He practically begged for me to come home. He arranged a transport ship to arrive at Woshad in four days."

"Then I think you should take it," Wampaaan'riix said. He first met Luffa and Topsas in a Deathmatch tournament on Plutark VII. He had been so certain of his fighting skills, and she had defeated him with ease, then she toyed with him to test her abilities. Then she accidentally read his mind, and after seeing his regret for walking out on his family, she decided to spare him. "I'm positive that she would understand if you left the war to go back to your loved ones."

"I don't know that I can do that," Topsas said.

"Doctor, you just told me that Luffa will be in a stasis chamber for the next several weeks," Wampaaan'riix said. "I've seen how those things work during my time in the Yetitan military. They're very low-maintenance. Now that you've set it up, you could probably show Zatte how to handle the day-to-day operations. And there's no shortage of doctors in the Federation who could take over for you."

"I'm not so sure..." Topsas said. "The statis chamber is one thing, of course. Plenty of others could handle it."

"Well, what else is there?" Wampaaan'riix asked. It was difficult for him to keep his patience. Bad enough that he had been woken from his sleep, that he was sitting at his desk instead of the warm rugs of his den. But Topsas was never very forthcoming about his feelings. Always masking everything with dry humor and sarcasm. He had never known the arachnoid to ask for help like this, and now he was beginning to understand why. It wasn't stubborn pride so much as the doctor just couldn't quite spit out what the problem was.

And when Topsas finally answered, he only said: "Mycotherapy."

Which told Wampaaan'riix absolutely nothing. "What?" he asked.

"There is a particular species of fungus," Topsas explained. "In the wild, it has the ability to alter its DNA to mimic plant or animal tissue. This allows it to graft itself onto a host while avoiding any immune response. Three years ago, a team of researchers found a way to modify the fungus for medical applications. Genetic engineering, you know. A few fungal cells are applied to the site of the injury, and cultivated to replicate. If managed properly, they'll form a structure to fill in the wounded tissue. Then the fungal mass can be made to transform itself into part of the patient's own body."

"That sounds unbelievable."

"It's a rather new form of medicine," Topsas said. "I only learned of it myself very recently, while I was researching possible treatments for Luffa. I... began casting about for more... radical ideas."

"Radical," Wampaaan'riix said. "As in 'dangerous'?

"The graft has to be carefully monitored. Left unchecked, it could grow out of control, and consume the patient. And it hasn't been tested on many species. Until... recently, there's been no testing on any mammalian species at all."

"If you don't know what it could do to Saiyan biology, then why risk it?"

"Because I do know how it will interact with Saiyan biology. I... performed my own tests, using tissue samples from Luffa herself. I only did it to set my mind at ease-- to prove that it would never work, so that I could stop second-guessing myself. But, the results turned out to be more promising than I expected. There's a very strong chance that I could heal her wounds in a fraction of the time it would take for conventional stasis chamber therapy to work."

"Why haven't you told her about this?"

"I only obtained the results a few days ago, right before she went into the chamber. Before that, it was only an experiment. Besides, there would still be an immense risk. I would need to apply multiple grafts to her body and monitor them all simultaneously. No one has ever attempted this before, on any species. No one would."

"Then why consider it at all?"

"Because when I look at the work that would be involved, I cannot help but think I might be able to carry it off. It's not a certainty, but I've carried out delicate operations that humanoid physicians wouldn't dare attempt. The researchers who devised mycotherapy techniques were all vertebrate doctors. Greater minds than I, but even so, I believe I have abilities they did not. And while I lack experience in this specific therapy, I dare say I know Saiyan physiology better than anyone. If it can be done at all, then I believe it must be I."

Wampaaan'riix stroked his chin again. "And if you try this, you definitely won't make the transport your son sent you. But that's not what's bothering you. Otherwise you would just take the transport and let Luffa heal for two months under someone else's care. That would be the best thing for everyone, right? So why are you even considering this fungus of yours?"

He didn't answer right away, and Wampaaan'riix wasn't terribly surprised. He hadn't called from so far away for idle chit-chat.

"I became a doctor because I wanted to help people," Topsas finally said. "In my religion, it is said that my people were blessed with eight eyes so we may always see when others are in need, and eight limbs so that we may always have one ready to lend aid. I was fascinated with vertebrate anatomy, and I thought becoming a doctor would enable me to see more, to help more. Do you remember when we met?"

"On Plutark. You were patching up the competitors in the Deathmatch tournaments. I never did understand how you ended up there."

The tournament organizers paid handsomely for my assistance," Topsas said. "And my practice needed the funding. Besides, I felt that if I could at least tend to your injuries, then I could know that the competitors received as much genuine care as possible before most of them met their end. Another doctor might not bother, since he would expect most of you to die by the end of the day anyway. But I could hold myself accountable at least."

"But Luffa changed all of that."

"She spared you, and in the process, she defied the tournament organizers, and ended up shutting down their entire operation, thereby saving the lives of the other fighters who still had matches that evening. To say nothing of the fighters who might have participated in future matches that will no longer occur. Before, I had written you and Luffa off as little more than brutes. Yet you returned to your homeworld, to your family. You've raised your son into a fine man, from what I can tell. I trust the rest of your offspring have been just as fortunate."

Wampaaan'riix was honored by the compliment, but he was also wearied by the late hour. "What are you getting at, doctor?" he asked with a loud yawn.

"For a time, I saw my work in those dreadful tournaments as an unpleasant chore. I was less a doctor and more of a priest, administering last rites for the condemned. Oh, one fortunate soul would live to see the next day, but I always knew that survivor would die in some other battle, thinking his victory made him invincible. But Luffa was special, and in discovering that, I realized that I had been remiss in my duties, both medical and spiritual. That was why I came to her aid on the Tikosi Hiveworld. It was the right thing to do, of course, but I wonder if any other doctor would have felt such an obligation. You owed her your life, Wampaaan'riix, but I owed her my soul.

"And now, it seems that she blames me for her overzealous crusade to defend the Federation. I comforted her in her hour of need, you see. I held her hand and calmed her down after the battle with the Tikosi, after she killed her own father. She reminded me so much of my daughter. Nwitt died of a terminal illness. In the final stages, it affected her brain, made her a danger to herself and others. In the end, she was so terrified, and all I could do was euthanize her. I couldn't hold my own daughter's hand in her final moments. She had to be restrained, you see. When Luffa first transformed, it seem as though she might explode at any moment. I thought that if this were to be the end, then comforting her in her final moments would be a fitting way to die. Instead, she lived, and she apparently has taken my gesture as an example of courage.

"I never considered the things my patients might do after they leave my care," he said. "Their lives are their own business, of course. I was content to help them with what I had. But there is a ripple effect to it, isn't there? The person I mend one day may help someone else another day. And another. Perhaps someone down the chain actually manages to save someone's life. It's a frightening thing to consider. And Luffa is no mere pebble tossed into a pond. With her power, she's more like a meteor crashing into the ocean. I cannot bring myself to think of hers as a single life. There are so many other lives that she has influenced and may still influence in the future. A week or two months might mean the difference between life and death for countless people. And I can choose. A week or two months. I can play it safe, or I can dare to perform a challenging procedure that might kill or cripple my patient."

"Cripple?"

"One of the potential side effects of mycotherapy," he explained. "Even if the fungal growth is kept under control, the drugs used to maintain that control can affect the patient's senses. Her sight or sense of smell might be permanently damaged."

Wampaaan'riix leaned back in his chair. "High stakes," he said. "Knowing Luffa, she would probably just as soon fight blind, and she might even win, powerful as she is. But her enemies would just injure her again, and worse than before."

"I trust you see my dilemma," Topsas said. "I asked Ms. Dotz for advice. The woman is a fortuneteller, but she has a psychic blindspot where Luffa's fate is concerned, and she seems to have no idea how many people will live or die as a result of my actions. It serves me right for trying to peek ahead a few pages in my own life. She told me that I would certainly do the right thing, but it isn't that simple. I... I don't know what the right thing is."

"And that's why you contacted me," Wampaaan'riix surmised.

"There was no one else to ask. I wanted an objective opinion from someone who knows her," Topsas said.

Wampaaan'riix sighed and considered the matter carefully. "Doctor," he finally asked, "what do you think Luffa would say to all of this?"

"I haven't discussed it with her yet," Topsas replied. "Knowing her, she would probably insist on taking this gamble. Which is precisely why I am so reluctant to suggest it. For me it's an ethical problem, but for her! As far as she's concerned, even a disabled Super Saiyan would be better than an injured one. All she cares about now is time. The young always worry about running out of something they have in abundance."

"No, that's not what I'm asking," Wampaaan'riix said. "Suppose Luffa were in your position. How do you think she would approach this dilemma?"

"I don't understand... you mean, if she were a doctor treating a patient?" he asked.

"Yes. What would she do?"

His fuzzy pedipalps twitched as he wrestled with this scenario. Wampaaan'riix never quite learned to read Topsas's alien body language, so he watched uncertainly as the doctor thought it over. He was mildly concerned that he might drift off to sleep while he waited for Topsas to respond.

"I suspect," Topsas finally said, "that she would find a way to push herself to her limits. The difficulty of the procedure would only be a challenge for her. She would rise to meet it, unless she were absolutely certain that it was beyond her ability."

"Very good," Wampaan'riix said. "Spoken like a true warrior. I think that is the way you should decide. If you truly believed this plan of yours is unsound, then you would have abandoned it a long time ago. Instead, you've slowly talked yourself into it, until now, you stand at the threshold, but you aren't sure you're ready to commit. You're asking the rest of us for permission to try, but this is your battlefield, doctor, and yours alone."

"I will... consider what you have said," Topsas said after a long pause. "Though, to be honest, this was not quite the advice I was hoping for."

"We have a saying on Yetitan," Wampaaan'riix said. "'Advice is what we ask for when we already know the answer, but wish we didn't.' I don't know Dotz, but she sounds like a wise woman. So I agree that you will do the right thing, whatever you ultimately decide. Good luck to you, doctor."

They exchanged a few pleasantries before terminating the connection, leaving Wampaan'riix sitting alone in the darkened room. He thought about returning to his den, but somehow he doubted he would get much sleep, knowing what he knew of Luffa's condition.

*******

[30 May, 233 Before Age. Pillimede Asteroid Belt.]

Topsas did not decide right away. He resolved instead to wait another twenty-four hours and see how Luffa was responding to conventional treatment. The results he obtained from the sensor scans was less than encouraging.

"This isn't working," he said as he read the results. Luffa could not hear him. She floated in a suspension of medicated statis fluid, kept in an induced state of unconsciousness. Nor was there anyone else in the sickbay of the Emerald Eye to hear him. He continued speaking anyway.

"Your injuries are responding to the treatment, but not nearly at the rate I had hoped for. My own fault for being overly optimistic. I expected you to produce another miracle. Somehow your Saiyan biology would repair itself even more quickly, and you would break out of this tank in a mere ten days.

"But no. The inflammation in your feet has barely changed. Your cracked ribs have only just begun to knit. What is wrong with you, Little mammal? Are you so determined to keep fighting that you defy medical attention, even when you're unconscious?"

He had originally projected her full recovery would take at least two months. Based on the data he now had, that estimate would have to be revised upward. Three months, maybe even four. The bio-regenerative gel was working. He had used it on her in the past, after all. But it wasn't fast enough. Something about her condition was slowing down the whole process.

"My apologies. It is a poor physician who blames his patient. And yet, I cannot fathom what is going on in those cells of yours. Is your body focusing itself on increasing your power? The 'zenkai' as your people call it. Am I seeing a physical manifestation of that right now? Ninth Eye, are you so starved for combat that your body would fight itself? Half of you is trying to use this treatment to repair itself, and the other half is working on making you stronger."

He had prided himself on his expertise in Saiyan biology, but that honor was mostly by default. He was the only doctor who had spent this much time on a Saiyan patient, but there was still much that he didn't understand about how their bodies worked. The light of the full moon could make Luffa grow into a gargantuan ape-creature... unless her tail happened to be injured or amputated. It sounded like pure fantasy, but it was well-documented fact. They were so unlike other vertebrates, and Luffa was unique, even among her own kind. She never spoke of it, at least not to him, but he often imagined that being the Super Saiyan made her very lonely.

"I pray that I am wrong," he said. "Perhaps your body simply doesn't have the necessary compatibility with the medication. It can't be that your power is resisting the healing effects. It would be dreadful to be so devoid of peace. I think you crave peace as much as the rest of us do. Perhaps you only want it as a respite between battles, a good night's sleep, a quiet evening with your wife. I wish I could give these to you. As it is, I cannot even give you a swift recovery."

He stooped down in front of the chamber and looked at her through the transparent surface.

"I am not as oblivious as you might think," he said. "I know how important it is that you return to the front lines. Even now, I feel like your expression is daring me to do better. I don't know that I can. Is it worth the risk? Is it worth your life?"

He had gone over the mycotherapy procedure several times after speaking with Wampaaan'riix. He thought he could do it. What troubled him was that it had never been done quite the way he had in mind. As he regarded Luffa's face, he thought of his son, Turner, begging him to take the transport he had arranged to get him out of the warzone. He thought of his daughter, Nwitt, desperate for help, when the only thing he could offer was a painless death.

Then he put his hand on the control panel of the chamber, and activated the program to revive the occupant.

"I'll need to interrupt your sleep," he said. "I have something to discuss with you, and you may want to talk it over with your spouse."

*******

[31 May, 233 Before Age. Pillimede Asteroid Belt.]

They said yes. Of course they did. Topsas never doubted it. Luffa was a warrior anxious to return to her war, and Zatte was... well, she was something of a fanatic where Luffa was concerned. She insisted on performing some Dorlun ritual to honor Topsas before he began his work. It involved some sort of liturgy, and burning bits of her own hair in candle flames. Zatte could be very strange at times. But Luffa was the one that made him the most nervous. When he had explained the risks and difficulties of his proposed mycotherapy treatment, she simply grinned at him with that savage smile of hers, and shook his hand.

"I can tell how fired up you are about this, Doc," she had said before being sedated. "This should be fun."

It was as if she couldn't tell excitement from apprehension. But something about the conviction in her voice made him wonder if maybe she knew his feelings better than he did. Perhaps he was the one who had been mistaking enthusiasm for fear. Luffa had a peculiar talent of making him question himself.

And so far, it was working. Dr. Topsas wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. An early failure at this stage would at least put the matter to rest. He could say he tried, and move on. But it was working, at least for now, which mean that he had to keep going, and brave the potential failures that might still lie ahead.

He had never used seven hands at once. Not for surgery, not for anything, until today. Now, he rested his cephalothoarx on a barstool he had borrowed from a lounge on the ship, and used only one of his limbs to steady himself on that perch. The other seven limbs loomed over the stasis chamber, operating controls, dispensing drugs, and occasionally probing surgical incisions. His eight eyes observed all of this: his own movements, computer monitors, vital sign readouts, and more.

His two greatest points of concern were a hole in Luffa's left foot, and a damaged section of her right kidney. The foot had the largest injury, which required the largest fungal graft. If any of the grafts were to grow out of control, that was the most likely to do so. The kidney, on the other hand, was the most vital organ he had grafted. The graft was small, but if anything went wrong there, it could lead to more serious complications.

There were fifteen other sites to consider as well. Tendon damage in the right tricep. Puncture wound in the right foot. Left ring finger fracture. Three cracked ribs. Anterior cruciate ligament tear on right knee. Six lacerations in the abdomen, all damaging the large intestine. Large contusion on left thigh. Tendon damage on right shoulder. But he was certain that if the left foot and kidney could be made to recover, the others could be made to recover as well.

The first seventy-two hours were the most intensive. Normally, a team of doctors would carefully monitor the patient's progress and make adjustments as needed. He would need to do this alone, continuously. And he would probably have to be more nimble, since there would probably be unforeseen complications. He could slow down and take a little more time, but this carried a risk. If Luffa's organs rejected the fungal grafts, or vice-versa, he would need to take quick action, or risk undoing his progress. Better to exhaust himself across three days than to pace himself across four or five.

An alert from one of the monitors warned him of an acceleration in growth on one of Luffa's ribs. He applied a dilute solution of R-gel to slow it down. Beside Luffa was a tray of solutions he had prepared at various concentrations before beginning the procedure. Normally, a doctor administering mycotherapy would simply use one of the stronger concentrations. At worst, the entire graft might die, and he would have to apply a new one. Topsas didn't want to wait that long, and so he added his own variation to the procedure. He had to slow any runaway fungal growth, but he would try to use dilute R-gel first, so as not to risk destroying his progress on that front.

It was all experimental and unprecedented. The technique was sound, and he was sure of his abilities, but it had never been done quite like this, with so many simultaneous grafts. He didn't care for blazing new trails. Being the first was a scary proposition. But the situation had forced his hand. How could he turn away from this? He had too many hands, and too many eyes not to try.

Luffa's metabolic readouts were fluctuating, and so he had to divide his attention to modifying her nutrient intake. This, in turn, shifted the delicate balance of the grafts. He was losing one of them, the one on her arm.

No. He refused to surrender. It would be all too easy to sacrifice a few of the mycotheraputic sites and start over on a second session. Easier, safer, and more time-consuming. How many people could Luffa help during that lost time? Was he willing to doom them just to make things easier for himself?

He looked down at Luffa's face. Even unconscious, there was something aggressive in her expression, like she was aware of the struggle he was going through.

He had never completely understood his late daughter. Even before her illness, Nwitt's manic passions seemed alien to him, and to everyone he knew. He had seen some of Nwitt in Luffa, and pitied her for it. But over time, he came to see the Saiyan heart as something more than an engine of war. Luffa had shown him a fiery passion that could do more than kill. She could laugh, cry, love, and draw strength from those intense emotions. And as Topsas came to admire Luffa, he began to appreciate Nwitt all the more. For the first time in decades, Topsas saw his daughter as something other than a tragedy to be mourned. Her short life, and the wild emotions that fueled it, were something to be celebrated and cherished. Even the fear that came at the end, well that had its own meaning, in its own way.

He prayed for some of that energy now. If his skill and steady hands should falter, there was still his pride as a healer to drive him. There was still the thrill of the challenge, the fear of failure. His daughter was dead, but if he could save this little mammal in her honor, then maybe it would give some purpose to her loss.

"I won't lose," he said aloud. Whether he was speaking to himself or to his patient, or to Nwitt's spirit, he did not know. As he worked, he soon forgot all thoughts of the risks of this task. He ignored the fatigue that began to weather his stamina. He simply ignored all other courses, save the one he was on.

Zatte--bless her soul--believed Luffa to be an instrument of God's will. While Topsas respected this viewpoint, he disagreed. He had seen Luffa on the day she had first transformed. He had seen how violent and terrified she was. He had held her hand to calm her down. He still remembered the feel of Tikosi blood on her fingers, the whimpers she made as she fought to regain control of her own body. Perhaps this was the way divine instruments were chosen, but Topsas had trouble believing it. There was nothing glorious or honorable about it. She was compelled to follow an unknown path that was fraught with danger. And Luffa had faced that fate with courage on that day.

He swore to do no less on this day.

*******

[1 June, 233 Before Age. Pillimede Asteroid Belt.]

And the next day.

*******

[2 June, 233 Before Age. Pillimede Asteroid Belt.]

And the next...

*******

[3 June, 233 Before Age. Pillimede Asteroid Belt.]

He didn't sleep in the way that vertebrates did. When he was tired, Topsas simply ceased moving, and remained still for a time, though he remained fully aware of his surroundings. He was long overdue for this type of rest, but he couldn't stop for long. Having completed his work on Luffa, he was anxious to drain the chamber and revive her, so that he could conduct a more thorough examination, and make sure there were no lasting side-effects. The entire process took forty-five minutes. While mechanical pumps removed the medicated fluid, a tube attached to a face mask removed the fluid from her lungs, gradually reacquainting her respiratory system with air. The mask also delivered a sedative, and when he was ready, he reduced the dosage, opened the lid of the chamber and waited.

She regained consciousness almost immediately, barely giving him time to prepare the med scanner. "Where...? Oh. Right, the stasis chamber," she said, as she came to her senses. "How did it go?"

"Better... better than expected," Topsas said, surprised by the hoarseness of his voice. "I... yes, better than expected. I'll leave it at that."

"Where's Zatte?"

"Oh, I... er, neglected to call her. I imagine she would be on the bridge. I've lost track of the time."

"How long was I out?"

"Three days." Tired as he was, he could not easily forget this, as he hadn't rested in all of that time.

"Three? You said it would take a week."

"Ah, yes, I did. It seems that your body was much more agreeable to the mycotherapy than I anticipated. I still want you to rest, but I don't know that we'll need the chamber for that. How are you feeling?"

Luffa paused for a moment, as though searching herself for an answer. "Sore," she said. Holding her hands in front of her face. "Not as bad as before, but... my vision's all... blurry."

Relief washed over him. Blurry vision, he could deal with. He had worried that she wouldn't be able to see at all, or something worse. He passed the med-scanner over her face anyway, to verify what she had said, but now he could feel more confident about it.

"A side effect of the fungal grafts," Topsas explained. "Your eyesight will return to normal eventually, though I shall have to monitor it carefully before we repeat the process."

"Repeat it?" Luffa asked.

"I think... yes, I think I've learned enough from this first attempt to feel confident about trying again," Topsas said. "The benefits seem to outweigh the risks at this point."

Luffa tried to sit up, and Topsas reached out to hold her back and guide her upright.

"Hold on," she said. "You're telling me that you managed to heal me up from all of that, in three days' time? And you can do it again? Whenever you want?"

"Not 'whenever'," he said with a sigh. "As I just said, I need to monitor your vision first. If we proceed too quickly, use the fungal graft too often, we run the risk of permanently damaging your senses."

"Yeah, but still..." She held up her left hand and looked at it. "It's not too blurry. Not sure why I see this blue tint on my skin..."

"That is the stasis fluid, little mammal," he said. One of his hands was already reaching up with a towel to wipe it off.

"Doc, are you okay?"

"Why would I not be?"

"You just sound tired somehow. It's hard to tell with you."

"I... may have overexerted a little," he admitted.

"You should rest," Luffa said. She planted her hands on the side of the chamber and began to pull herself out. "I can the service droid to bring us some dinner--"

He grabbed her by the shoulder to stop her from going any further.

"You are going to stay put until I am satisfied that your condition is stable," he said, noticing a faltering in his voice. "I just put you back together, and I want at least a little time to savor the victory before you rush off to undo all of my hard work."

"Sure, Doc, whatever you say," Luffa assured him. He turned to fetch something from one of the benchtops, and then he noticed her smiling at him.

"Does something amuse you?" he asked.

"You turned a corner, didn't you?" Luffa asked. "I'm a little out of it, but I can tell that much."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You weren't too thrilled about trying something like this, but now that it's over, you're practically champing at the bit to do it again."

"Oh yes, because I always look forward to seeing you return to this ship, bloodied and battered. Truly the highlight of my day."

"You remind me of when I was a kid, after I did my first Gallick Gun," Luffa said.

He said nothing, and pretended to be preoccupied with his scans.

"It might be a while before you get to do it again," she said. "Now that I'm healed up, it'll take a lot more to wear me down again. Those Jindan-using bastards won't have it so easy next time. Don't get too eager. You might get bored waiting for me to get hurt."

"I shall believe that when I see it," Topsas said.

She kept on gloating, as Saiyans so often do, about how she would destroy her enemies and reign supreme on the battlefield. Topsas simply carried on with his work, and when he was satisfied that there was nothing left for him to do for the time being, he called Zatte, then went to Luffa's bedside, and held her hand.

NEXT: To the future...

#dragon ball #fanfiction #super saiyan #lssjluffafic #luffa #dr topsas #wampaaan'riix #yetitan

[lurafita]

Peter/Avengers, dub/con, captivity, Part three

TAGGING PEOPLE DIDN’T WORK! I don’t know why, but everytime I tried tagging someone, tumblr suddenly redirected me to their blog, instead of just writing down the name. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what the issue is. I have got in contact with support and am awaiting their answer, but until then, I hope you were still able to find this part! Again, so sorry!

Read Part 1: here

Read Part 2: here

People, heed the tags for upcoming parts in this story.

kidnapping, dub/con, captivity, chains, bondage, obsessive Avengers, Peter/Everyone, darkly soft Avengers (in the sense that they hold Peter captive, but only want to love and protect him), non-powered Peter, dark-ish Avengers, 18+ Peter, Clint is not married and has no kids, Tony is not in a relationship with Pepper.

(I feel like a cheat for tagging these things, even though I still haven’t gotten to the juicy bits in this fic...)

Part 3

Peter had long since retired, when the others gathered in the common floors living room, to further discuss the bomb the younger man had dropped on them mere hours ago.

Clint was waving his phone around wildly. “Australia is the most poisonous continent in the world! There are frogs that can kill you! Frogs!”

Bruce was frowning deeply. “The climate is drastically different there. Neither his body, nor his immune system will easily adapt. Petey could develop numerous illnesses because of that.”

Sam was likewise shaking his head. “Pumpkin doesn't have the physicality for weeks long hiking in the jungle. He may be good at parkour, but that is still miles away from the terrain that will await him in the underbrush.”

Steve made a sound like a wounded animal. “Don't remind me of that particular hobby of his, please. I still have nightmares from that video he showed us.”

Tony threw back his scotch. “Six months. Possibly longer. Sweetheart shouldn't be away from us for such a long time. Shouldn't be away at all.”

Bucky was pacing, the Winter Soldier clawing at his very being. “There isn't enough Intel. We don't know the people that would be part of his group. Don't know the terrain. Can't predict the conditions. Can't entrust Doll to strangers. Not safe.”

Natasha was stoically silent, though her face was stormy.

Thor looked contemplative. “...Then maybe we shouldn't let him go.”

The others stilled, all looking at the Asgardian.

“Hate to break it to you, L'Oreal, but I already tried bribing the University's board, in order to make them reject Stoddard's little excursion. No dice. Figures Peter would attend the one university in this stupid city that holds academic achievements in a higher regard than funding.”

A snort of pure disgust left the billionaires mouth, as he stood up to refill his glass.

But Thor shook his head. “I'm not saying to not let other people embark on this quest. I'm saying not to let Peter go.”

Steve wrung his hands. “We can't exactly keep him from going...”

Thor raised a challenging eyebrow. “Why not? He is a lovely creature, but he is not blessed with strength and battle prowess like the rest of us are. I imagine it would be quite easy to keep him here.”

The others looked around them uncomfortably.

“It's not that we wouldn't be capable of keeping him here, Thor, so much as that we... shouldn't...do something like this.” Sam awkwardly rubbed his neck.

“... Why shouldn't we?” But this time the question didn't come from Thor, but from Bucky.

Nervously wiping his hands over his thighs, Bruce tried to give reason to his words, while the Hulk was roaring in agreement with the Winter Soldier.

“It's... We can't... Peter isn't a child. Or a pet. … We have no right to just... keep him.”

Natasha spoke for the first time, her voice even.

“Don't we? Haven't we taken him in? Haven't we taken care of him for the last year? Aren't we the ones most responsible for his safety and well being? You just counted off all the dangers awaiting Lastashka if he joins this excursion. It's not safe. And he is ours to protect.”

Tony slowly set down his glass, eyes going back and forth during his inner debate.

“It's not like we would be doing something bad... He needs us. He can barely remember to feed himself.”

Clint gave him a sardonic look for that.

“Yeah, I'm not gonna comment on how very hypocritical that is coming from you. But you are right. Last week he almost fainted, because he wanted to finish his thesis, and didn't sleep for two days straight.”

Tony's head shot up at this.

“What? Why didn't I know about this? Friday? I thought I told you to keep an eye on my Sweetheart's sleeping schedule.”

“Peter asked me not to inform you of this, when I attempted to get him to sleep. He said it wouldn’t be a regular occurrence, and that after he finished with his work, he wouldn't have to neglect his rest so severely again. Since you yourself have abstained from sleep on far more occasions, I promised Peter discretion on the matter.”

Dammit!

Clint simply pointed to him.

“See? Hypocrite. But this just helps to prove the fact that Pete isn't very good at taking care of himself. And we can't leave him to a bunch of nerdy strangers. Nat is right. He is ours to protect.”

Bucky nodded along with this reasoning, as Sam pursed his lips.

“It's not like there is any guarantee that this plant this professor is looking for will really cure the disease, right? It's not worth it for Pumpkin to risk his health, possibly even his life, on a fools errand.”

Bruce couldn't ignore the words of his friends,and the desires of himself and the Hulk, any longer.

“I have been on such fruitless excursions during my time in university. I remember the hopeful anticipation in the beginning. And the crushing devastation when we came back empty handed. I would like to spare Petey such an experience.”

Steve held up his hands.

“Whoa, whoa, guys. You aren't seriously considering,- what? Kidnapping Peter? Keeping him locked up here with us?”

Bucky spoke before anyone else could.

“He would be safe here. We can protect him. Care for him. Love him.”

Natasha nodded.

“We won't hurt him. He won't understand or like it, at first. But he will come around.”

Tony carefully chimed in.

“It will take some time. Patience. Affection. But... since everyone will be thinking he is gonna be in the depths of the Australian underbrush for at least half a year...”

Clint was already a step ahead.

“The Tower is listed as Peter's official address, and Tony and Bruce as the overseers of his internship. It wouldn't be suspicious if one of them called the university the day of the groups departure, to report that Peter can't make it due to sudden injury or illness.”

Sam hopped right on.

“They will want to catch a very early flight, won't they? It's a bit of a trip to another continent. We could throw a little 'Good-bye' party for Pete. Invite his friends and aunt. Tell everyone one of us would drive him to the airport the next morning...”

A thoughtful crease appeared between Bruce's eyebrows.

“The professors usually tell the students and volunteers in their group to leave things like their cellphones at home. There is rarely opportunity to charge the battery, and if you are deep in the jungle, there is no reception anyway. So no one would be expecting to hear from him before the excursion team gets back. By that time,... surely Petey won't want to leave us again.”

Steve took a step forward.

“Okay, stop. Do you realize what you are talking about? We can't do this.”

“Don't you love him?” Thor's usually booming voice was quite, almost a whisper.

Steve nodded. “Of course I do. But-”

“Don't you wish to protect him? To know that he is safe?” Sam added.

“I do. But that doesn't mean-”

“Haven't things been so much better since he came to live with us? We have all been more careful during missions, taking less risks, causing less damage, because we know Peter is here, waiting for us to come back.” Clint threw in.

“I-”

“Peter was underweight when he started living here, you know? He got some acid on his shirt, and had to change out of it. I could count his ribs back then. His clothes don't look like they are his two heads taller brother’s hand-me-downs any longer, because we have made sure that he eats regularly. Do you think anyone else will do that for him in Australia?” Bruce asked.

“They.. no, they probably wouldn't..”

“You have been drawing more, since Peter found some of your older sketches. It has helped you relax. Been a way for you to deal with the things we have been through. I know half of your sketchbook is full of drawings of him. Do you really think you can go back to before? Capture other motifs on paper? Be without your muse for six whole months, and possibly longer?” Bucky implored.

“I didn't think of that.... I... I couldn't...”

“When I was a child, I have never been allowed to want something. We were weapons, there was no room for wishes. I have gotten to experience friendship and trust since then, and maybe it is selfish to ask for more. But I want more, Steve. I want Peter. I want him to be here with us, not somewhere in some jungle that might take him from us. My trainers kept me from wanting then, will this world's ideal of morality still keep me from wanting now?” She looked at him with eyes fuller of emotion than they had ever been.

“Natasha, I... no, of course you are allowed to want-”

“I don't care if I'm being selfish. We are heroes, Steve. Earth's mightiest defenders, isn't that what they call us? We go out there and fight everyone's enemies. People are safe because of us. But I will tell you right now, the only reason I have been able to sleep through a whole night recently, is Peter. I have seen so much shit in my life, Steve. Before the Avengers were ever formed, and then even more after we got this little superhero boy-band together. I used to tinker in my lab for days on end, because I knew that at one point my body would shut down on its own, and I would get the sleep I needed, with only the minimum of all the delightful nightmares my ptsd ridden brain could come up with. But ever since Peter has been here, it's better. I go to bed thinking about the way his eyes light up, whenever I show him a new upgrade for a current project, instead of the wide open eyes of the dead child we were too late to safe. I'm able to sleep dreaming about the noises he would make, if I bit the nape of his neck just so, instead of recalling flying a nuke through a portal and falling to what was supposed to be my death. Don't try to tell me you haven't had similar experiences with him. Don't try to lie about this. We deserve to be selfish with the person we love.”

“I, I know, Tony. I'm not saying that I don't understand...” The protest was feeble, weak. Steve was already more than halfway convinced.

“In Asgard, Peter would be called a 'Melmir'. A gift. Something to be kept to ourselves and safe at all cost.” Thor had stood, stepping closer to his friend.

“Peter isn't a thing.”

“I did not mean to imply such. A treasure needs not be an object to be called precious. Peter is precious, is he not?”

Steve looked determinedly into the eyes of his taller friend.

“He is.”

Then the super soldier looked at his teammates around him. His friends. And he saw his own feelings reflected in their eyes.

“And he is ours.”

______________________________________________________________

Read Part 4: here

Yeah, so this part was supposed to dive right into the chains and captivity and other stuff that I promised, but then I got caught up in the dialouge and, well....

I do hope you still liked it though. I will try to be faster with the next part.

#starker #spidershield #spideyshield #winterspider #spideywinter #widowspider #hawkspider #thunderspider #thorspider #spideythor #falconspider #hulkspider #spideyhulk #polyvengers #peter/everyone #peter/avengers #kidnapping #dark!avengers #obsessive love #possessive avengers #possessive behaviour #op lurafita

[tsarisfanfiction]

Uboku Koroshi-ya

Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Tragedy Characters: Mikoto, Itachi

It's the night Itachi's supposed to kill the clan, but he's ill in bed and unable to move. Will the coup d'état go on as planned or will someone else step up to stop it?

Itachi lay on his bed, deep in the thrall of a fever. Mikoto sat by him, watching as he internally panicked about something. She'd sent Sasuke to go get some cloths and water and the young boy had leaped to obey in an instant, worried for his ill brother.

"…mission…" Itachi mumbled, almost incoherently. Mikoto frowned. She had her suspicions as to what this mission that he seemed so insistent on completing was, and he was in no state to do so. Fugaku was twitchy. The coup d'état was scheduled for tomorrow evening and Itachi was to play a major part in keeping the ANBU out of the way. Except he wouldn't, if this mission went ahead. Mikoto didn't want to revolt; she was happy with her lot in the village – she'd had a good career and an even better retirement, funded by Konoha – and felt that she owed it to both her best friend and her old teammate to keep it safe in their absence. She'd failed their son, she couldn't fail their village as well.

She reached a decision. Resting a hand on her feverish son's forehead, she channelled her medical ninjutsu into him so that she could talk to him. Sasuke would be a little while yet, and Fugaku was at another meeting about the upcoming coup. Itachi's clouded eyes looked up at her as they cleared.

"What's your mission?" she asked gently.

"Secret," he replied weakly. She sighed and fixed him with a stare, enhanced by her kekkei genkai as she took them into a genjutsu-induced world where they could talk privately. Itachi tried to break it but, as she suspected, he was too weak to do so.

"You have to kill the clan." It wasn't a question. "The Hokage knows about the coup and you've been tasked with stopping it." Usually so good at masking emotion, Itachi's eyes betrayed his shock.

"How-"

"You've been distancing yourself from us recently, trying to make it easier for yourself," Mikoto observed. "Whenever you do look at us there's sorrow in your eyes. You don't want this. You don't want another war, and the only way to stop it is to eliminate us." Her son surrendered.

"You're right," he said. "But in this state… I'm out of time. There's no-one else who can do it but right now I can't…" Silent tears rolled down his cheeks. Mikoto ended the genjutsu as she felt Sasuke re-enter the room.

"Nii-san?" her youngest asked.

"Sas… uke…" Itachi replied weakly.

"Look after your brother, Sasuke," Mikoto instructed. "I'll be back shortly." Sasuke nodded, solemn with the responsibility, and she left the room, all too conscious of Itachi's stare on her back. The coup had to be stopped. If Itachi wasn't fit, then…

"Hokage-sama," she said, entering the office unannounced. Danzo, Homura and Koharu were with the Sandaime.

"Yes, Mikoto-san?" Hiruzen asked. "What is it?" The others bristled but said nothing.

"Itachi's ill," she reported. "He's not fit to complete tonight's mission." Danzo froze at her words.

"What do you know of your son's mission?" he asked suspiciously, confirming her theory that the four of them were all in the know.

"I'm his mother. If I couldn't tell when something was bothering him, what sort of mother would I be? It was easy to work out," she pointed out.

"Why are you reporting this?" Koharu asked curiously. "Surely this works in the favour of the Uchiha?"

"It does," Mikoto acknowledged. "But, like Itachi, I disagree with the coup. Kushina and Minato were close friends of mine and I want to protect the village they gave their lives for."

"What are you saying?" Homura asked. "It sounds like-"

"I will complete Itachi's mission," Mikoto interrupted. The older ninja all looked shocked. "But I have conditions."

"I'll hear them," Hiruzen said before the others could speak up.

"I will spare every child in the clan that doesn't know of the plans for the coup, and Itachi. They are innocent and Konoha cannot afford to lose the Sharingan completely."

"Impossible," Danzo spat. "They will grow up to form another coup later and at that time we will not have ninja powerful enough to subdue them."

"Mikoto is right," Hiruzen overrode him. "We cannot punish the children for the actions of their parents if they have no knowledge. However, Mikoto, you are aware that if you do this you'll become a missing-nin, or have to commit suicide." The Uchiha matriarch nodded.

"Hide my involvement. I'll make it seem as if we were attacked by an outside influence, and that I pursued them to defend the children. Besides, only a very few know of my capabilities. The village won't believe that I could do it, anyway," she reasoned. "You will look after the children? Itachi will be able to look after Sasuke, but he won't be able to cope with all the other children, particularly the really young ones."

"I'll ask for volunteers to foster them among young parents," Hiruzen nodded. "In the worst case, they'll be placed in the care of the orphanage."

"You cannot be agreeing!" Danzo said. "They'll revolt and-"

"Not if they are treated with kindness and brought up to love the village, they will not," Hiruzen said firmly. "Mikoto is correct in that Konoha cannot afford to lose the Sharingan clan. Itachi is loyal to us and he will pass that loyalty down to the other children, providing that they do not suspect that the village is behind the deaths of their families." He turned to Mikoto. "Uchiha Mikoto, I hereby declare you out of retirement and give you an S-ranked mission. Kill all members of the Uchiha Clan that are involved in, or aware of, the planned coup d'état aside from Uchiha Itachi in a way that absolves the village of any guilt."

"Hai!" She bowed her head and turned to leave, before glancing back at the elders. "I know a lot about the village, things that other villages would love to get their hands on. Protect all the children and do not let them find out the truth. I will know." She left, the thinly veiled threat hanging in the air.

"I don't like this," Danzo said. "How can we trust her?"

"We can't," Hiruzen admitted. "But with Itachi out of action she's our only hope."

Mikoto sped back to her house, careful to avoid notice. It was good that while officially retired, she had secretly kept her skills sharp. She'd need every ounce of it in order to take down her clan. All she had to do was wait the hour or so until nightfall before commencing the mission.

"Where did you go, Kaa-san?" Sasuke asked curiously as she entered, having grabbed herbs from her garden on the way up. She showed him the plants.

"To find something to help bring your brother's fever down," she said, smiling at him and ignoring Itachi's subtle look of suspicion as she applied the herbs. "Can you keep an eye on him while I prepare tea?"

"No problem!" Sasuke said immediately.

"Kaa-san…" Itachi said.

"You just focus on getting better," Mikoto told him, walking out the room. She had an hour in which to get her boys asleep and prepare for the worst mission of her life. First of all was feeding her sons. That was easy – she did it every day, after all. It took her a matter of minutes to prepare a light meal for her sons, which she carried up to Itachi's room. Sasuke fell to it with gusto while Itachi picked at his, not up to eating much.

"It's getting dark out," Mikoto commented idly. "Perhaps you two should settle down for the night?"

"I don't wanna leave Nii-san!" Sasuke pouted. She pretended to think for a moment.

"Hmm. If you're good, maybe Itachi will let you sleep in here tonight to keep him company?" she suggested. Sasuke immediately turned to his older brother, who nodded. "Go on, then. Go get ready for bed," she encouraged. He ran from the room to get changed.

"Kaa-san," Itachi said once Sasuke was out of earshot. "What are you planning? You never let us sleep in the same room if one of us is ill."

"Someone's got to stop the coup," she said quietly. "And you're in no state to do so." His eyes widened in realisation. "Look after Sasuke for me."

"No! You can't-"

"When I'm done, I'm going to leave the village. Hopefully I'll make it seem like it was outside influence, and that I left to chase them down and protect you two. I'll be declared either MIA or KIA, at Sandaime's digression," she informed him gently.

"They won't let me live," Itachi said. "I'm a threat." Mikoto smirked, a sight Itachi was not used to.

"So am I. I've made it clear that if anything happens to anyone I leave alive, information about Konoha will find its way to enemy ears. They can't kill you and not destroy the village. You and Sasuke will be safe." The pattering of little feet could be heard as Sasuke reappeared. Mikoto smiled at him, before performing her usual motherly checks. "Teeth? Face? Hands?" All were spotless and she allowed him to curl up next to Itachi.

"Goodnight, boys," she said gently, resting a hand on Sasuke's forehead. An almost invisible glow enveloped her hand and her youngest fell asleep immediately. Itachi immediately turned wary. "And you, Itachi," she said.

"You don't need to-" he started, too weak to fight her off as her Chakra-infused hand rested on his forehead, too. Within moments he too was asleep.

"Yes, I do," she murmured, channelling more Chakra as she cured his illness. Unnecessary perhaps, but it was the last time she'd be able to do it. "I love you both." She kissed both their foreheads gently before tearing herself away from them and leaving the room, closing the door behind her. They wouldn't wake for twelve hours – plenty of time for her to finish her mission, report and leave the village for good. Digging out her headband from where it lay in her drawers and once more securing it around her head, she felt a sense of nostalgia, enhanced when she opened the secret compartment and withdrew her mask – the mask of Uboku Koroshi-ya, her old alias of an un-allianced kunoichi that she'd used for S-rank assassinations that only the Hokage and his closest confidants knew about – securing it over her face. Gathering her weapons from similar compartments around the house and changing into the feared outfit of her alias, she finally felt ready for her task. Uboku Koroshi-ya was a well-known, feared kunoichi capable of sneaking into the most highly secure areas without leaving a trace and her kills were always silent. This would be no different, despite her attachment to her latest targets. She heard Fugaku enter the house and slipped out of the window. He had to be last for the deception to work. He was calling for her, but she didn't answer. She heard him find their sons, and his confusion when he couldn't rouse either of them.

"MIKOTO!"

That was her cue to leave. Not even her husband knew of her other persona, but there was no doubt from his tone that he knew she was the one that had put their sons to sleep. Other Uchiha had been roused by the cry and were heading towards the main house. Let them. She had to start from the outskirts, leaving a clear path of entry in terms of order of kills. She chose the obvious spot to do so – furthest from the majority of the village and the slight weak point in the walls. Those of her clan that stood guard there were first to die as her senbon pierced their vital organs, all at once. Despite her personal attachments, she felt a thrill at being back out in the field again, doing what she did best, as she removed her weapons. It was a well-known tactic of Uboku Koroshi-ya to retrieve her weapons as soon as possible after a kill. Sharingan activated behind the mask, she identified where people were and weren't in their houses. Any adult she came across died, holes where the senbon had been extracted post-mortem the only clues to her identity. Flitting into a house – she refused to allow herself to recall who lived where – she killed the woman in the kitchen and the man in the bedroom before approaching their young child, who looked up at her with fearful eyes. Quick as a snake, her hand rested on his forehead and sent him to sleep the same way she had her sons. Yes, she would spare innocents, but they still had to be subdued to prevent an alarm being raised. Luckily, Uboku Koroshi-ya was known for not killing children.

She killed with brutal efficiency – from the shadows where no Sharingan were looking – and soon all that were left were those that had flocked to her house at Fugaku's cry. She chose to forgo subtlety as there were no innocents among them. Her senbon flew true and they all fell, leaving her to face off against her shocked husband.

"Uboku Koroshi-ya," he said in fear as he activated his Sharingan. "Where's my wife?" He was the ringleader. He deserved to know who had slaughtered the entire clan without anyone realising just to protect the rest of the village.

"Allying herself with those that would protect Konoha," she spoke. Recognition dawned.

"Mikoto? You're Uboku Koroshi-ya?" he exclaimed. She nodded slightly.

"And you're her next victim." She knew Fugaku – had fought alongside him on many occasions – and so was confident that she could beat him, even if he hurt her. Then again, she was banking on it. Uboku Koroshi-ya's retreat had to seem genuine – Itachi was the age of some of her other victims so his survival would raise suspicions.

"Why?" he asked as she attacked furiously, holding his own against her own blade. For now.

"To save the children, and my friends' memories," she replied. He gave a wry smile as he managed to nick her arm and she jumped back.

"As kind-hearted as ever. This was Itachi's mission, wasn't it? I always knew he was too gentle to condone the coup."

"Itachi loves this village, as do I. I won't let him throw his career away because of his foolish parents," Mikoto declared. "This is the only way for me to atone for not trying to stop you earlier." She let him hit her a few more times and he grew bolder. His confidence had been increased when he realised who she was – he thought he knew her fighting style. But Uchiha Mikoto and Uboku Koroshi-ya fought differently. It was the basic mechanism to avoid her identity being compromised. Satisfied that enough of her blood had been spilled, she turned serious and unleased her full Sharingan. Within moments of her activating Tsukuyomi (real time) Fugaku was on the ground, disarmed and unable to move.

"Thank you," she said. "Your defence of our sons will convince people that I fought alongside you against our enemy. Sasuke will be convinced of his parents' innocence in all things, and be able to lead a proper life." She lifted her mask just enough for Fugaku, lying beneath her, to see her face, complete with advanced Sharingan, as she killed him. Cold he might have seemed, but he loved their sons and had proved it in his last hour and for that he deserved a better death than at the hands of his own wife. He'd been the man she married, not the mask that led the clan and it relieved her that he'd still been there. But she couldn't linger. Casting one last glance up at the window where her sons slept peacefully, she let a single tear roll down her cheek for her lost life before fleeing the compound, making it appear as if she was being chased out by someone – her other self, the one everyone knew. She had everything she needed – the weapons she'd collected from all her victims aside from those she hadn't had time to, due to 'pursuit' – and it was time to carve out a life as a criminal. Perhaps it was time for Uboku Koroshi-ya to become a reality and for Uchiha Mikoto to become the lesser personality. After all, she was supposed to be MIA so she could no longer be herself.

The massacre would be discovered in the morning. She had to put enough distance between herself and the village by then. A quick slash of the symbol on her headband to mark her new status, she replaced her mask – her new face – and headed away from the village. She didn't look back.

#Naruto fanfiction #naruto #uchiha mikoto #uchiha itachi #uchiha clan massacre #canon divergence #character death #canonical character death #uboku kuroshi-ya #tsari writes fanfiction

[fourteendoors]

The Queen of Akzetha and the King of Crete

Image credit to Denys Tsiperko on artstation. Most modern stories about the Minotaur suck. I’m allowed to say this because I’m an Artist, and therefore objectively correct about everything. These stories suck because they focus on Theseus, a boring prettyboy whose only real talent is murder, instead of the much more interesting blend of divine retribution, personal tragedy, and general horniness that underlies the creation myth of the Minotaur. So, before we go any further, let’s have a quick refresher of the story, and then a dissection as to why I like it so much.

The Minotaur is a creature entirely born from the fuck-up of King Minos of the Isle of Crete. Upon ascending to the throne of Crete, Minos was having trouble consolidating power, and as such asked the sea-god Posideon to send him a snow-white bull to show that the gods favored him for leadership. Posideon asked Minos to sacrifice the bull to honor him, but Minos valued the bull so much that he instead sacrified another instead. Angry at this, Posideon caused Minos’ wife, Pasiphae, to become incredibly attracted to the bull, at which point she begged the inventor Daedalus to build her a bull-shaped armature so that she could have sex with it. Upon doing so, she became pregnant with the half-man, half-beast Minotaur, who, being divided between two species had no natural source of food, and so (logically) was only able to subsist off devouring human flesh. Although Pasiphae attempted to take care of it for a time, eventually Minos imprisoned it in his Labyrinth, constructed by Daedalus. There’s a ton of interesting things here. Firstly, that the Minotaur was entirely born out of hubris and spite. He’s not a monster because he was made by an evil god, he’s a monster because he was made by an incredibly petty one. The detail about the wooden cow is incredibly choice, but not really gameable (although I am begging someone to prove me wrong.) It’s interesting that Minos chose to imprison the beast, rather than kill it. If you can contain something enough to trap it in a giant maze you had your inventor friend build, surely just straight-out murdering it wouldn’t be impossible? I like to imagine that Minos felt some guilt about what he’d done to his son, and couldn’t bear to have it killed on his own orders until Theseus arrived. Anyway. Here’s a Minotaur-variant you can stick in your own games. ------ The Queen of Akzetha The Kingdom of Akzetha is a small city-state on the Sea of Silk. It’s not a Kingdom anymore- it hasn’t been for the past few decades- but the Council currently in charge of the city is absolutely resolute that Akzetha is a kingdom, and will be known as such. (They tried to issue an official motion to transition the city into the Republic of Akzetha. They had to suspend the vote because of the nightmares.) For its size, Akzetha is fairly wealthy. This is mostly due to the exploits of its founder, Vrantearn the Serpent, a legendary Yncol pirate who terrorized the Sea of Silk for nearly a century. Upon his retirement, he took the hand of a legendary songstress in marriage, and bought the island where he would found his Kingdom. Vrantearn’s hoard funded the fleets of trade ships that now ply the Sea of Silk, making the early years of the kingdom very profitable for The Serpent and his loyal crew. There is a story about his death, and the story goes like this. Vrantearn and his lover had a daughter after Azketha’s founding- a clever and bright-eyed girl named Xurah. Vrantearn truly loved his child, and spoilt her with exotic trinkets from across the known world. One night, while Xurah was being tutored in poetry by a Cvess philosopher, a bedraggled man approached Vrantearn’s throne. He claimed to be a priest of Rhulenkaath, the goddess of blood and birds and contracts, and asked after a certain artifact that had come into the Pirate King’s possession. The artifact was of grave importance to the priesthood, and if Vrantearn would turn it over they would consecrate a new temple in his honor. The Serpent simply laughed, saying he had no need for the assistance of a goddess who could not protect her own subjects, and turned the man away. Ill omens followed. Traders at port found that the touch of gold opened cuts on the skin of their palms. Vrantearn’s prized monkey died, bleeding black ink from its eyes. And Xurah grew strange and distant, keeping odd hours and odder habits. The people whispered of the wrath of the goddess, of the folly of the Pirate King. One day, Xurah entered the royal bedchambers and devoured both her parents whole. The girl hungered for blood, and although the guards fought valiantly they found that she healed from any wound they could give her. It was only through the wit of the King’s advisor that they were able to Xurah beneath the palace, in a network of secret passageways that had been built if an escape was ever needed. The entrances were sealed, but for a single accessway, watched day and night by guards to ensure the monstrous child would never escape. This is what the story tells. It less often discusses what happens next. Although Xurah is monstrous (guards report glimpses of feathers and talons and wide, dark eyes), she is intensely intelligent, charismatic, and persuasive. The art of statecraft seems like an intriguing game to her, and it is one she is very, very good at. And although the Council would never admit it, in matters of politics they still often answer to her. It goes like this. The most heinous criminals in Akzetha are sentenced to the worst fate imaginable: to be devoured by Xurah. They will not go willingly, of course, and so they’re often given a soporific beforehand. Under the soporific, a question may be tattooed on their back- ‘should we go to war,’ perhaps, or ‘how do we cure the blight.’ They are cast down into the dark, and they are not seen again. The answer will usually appear by the next morning, either in a dream, whispered on the wind, or (in one particularly unpleasant case) spelled out in animal viscera on the floor of a Councilman’s estate. This is the price for the questions of state. For questions of one’s own life- the Councilmen’s aspirations, their relationships, their future- Xurah demands flesh from one’s own body. In recent days, a change has occurred in Xurah’s behavior that terrifies the members of the Council. It’s not that she’s began to try to escape- far from it. Xurah’s entire life has been marked by escape attempts, each more elaborate and unpredictable than the last. (The Council has spent a fortune hiring wizards and engineers to try and keep up.) Rather, it’s the fact that in the past year, Xurah has not tried to break free once. The more optimistic members of the Council speculate that her will is broken, that she is now utterly resigned to her fate. The more pessimistic members say that she’s only biding her time, or even perhaps that she’s realized that staying trapped beneath the earth can inflict more cruelty upon them than her release ever could. And in the dockside inns and on the cold beaches at night, you will sometimes hear the commoners speak of a queen that speaks in dreams, a queen whose crown is wind and blood... ------ How To Use Xurah In Your Games: Xurah will take an interest in your PCs, because your PCs are likely interesting. What this interest will actually mean is entirely up to you. Perhaps she’ll want to eat them (if that’s what she’s doing), and will convince the Council to frame them for something heinous and cast them down into her lair. Perhaps they’ll end up serving her, knowingly or unknowingly, following the cryptic words on the wind and the voice in their dreams. (She can pay them well- there are caches of pirate treasure all over the island, and she knows each and every one.) Maybe she’s not even interested in escaping anymore, and is instead looking for the PCs to assist her in her newest scheme- perhaps killing the old rivals of her father, or serving the interests of the god who made her. I wrote Xurah’s followers as acting on her behalf, but I actually like it better if they’re not, instead misinterpreting random dreams as signs of divine prophecy. Of course, when Xurah tries to drive them away with nightmares, that’s just more signs that the prophecy is fulfilled. This gives Xurah, the Council, and the cultists a push-and-pull aspect, each ostensibly allied with the other, but secretly working on their own agenda.

#fantasy #osr #worldbuilding #roleplaying #minotaur #monster #i've been listening to a lot of Spencer Krug lately can u tell

[enkisstories]

Just like them (part 13)

Still the kitchen in Gavin’s apartment, still November 18th

“He’s…” Gavin started and already Tina blinked due to the unexpected use of a pronoun other than “it” for an android out of her friend’s mouth.

“I’m…” Daniel said only a split-second afterwards and then both men stopped, because why should they take it upon themselves to explain anything, if that other guy could take the blow just as well? Come on, asshole, make yourself useful!

Tina looked from one to the other. At his point Jin forced himself between the adults, dragging Lucky behind him as if he was a teddy bear. The adolescent cat didn’t seem to mind. Being the center of the attention and getting all the treats definitely beat playing surrogate dad for three kittens!

“Can we have fish sticks today, mommy?” the boy crowed. “With ketchup!”

Gavin jumped up and picked his phone up from the kitchen table. “On it, junior!”

“Order salad with the finger food! Do you hear me, Gavin? Salad! Three!”

Covering the phone’s microphone with his hand, Gavin replied: “Geeze, Tina, are you sure you can manage three salad on your own?”

“One for you, me and Jin each!” the officer growled back, but Gavin only laughed.

Now Daniel rose, too, and in the same fluent movement took the phone off the human.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Shhh! I’m making a call here!”

Let’s see… Subject 1: “Reed, Gavin”… Territorial, competitive, also a bit of a human cat. Will want cuddles while chewing on a still living spider. Current mood: surprisingly outstanding.

<<<Error… error… no path found for “surprise”>>>

Shut up, Cyberlife. I AM surprised, deal with it.

Add_to_simulation: Subject 2: “Chen, Tina”… Introvert, female version of subject 1, also asian, so highly likely not to be able to digest milk products, will enjoy them anyway just BECAUSE. Current mood: Existing (=default)

Add_to_simulation: Subject 3 Reed-Chen, Jin… A little Gavin, bright mind, easily excited, still believes the best of everyone. Current mood: Happy, but exhaustion slowly setting in.

Aaaaand… Start_simulation

>>>Results in, save to database Y/N

>>>Y and open file

Ew, really, Gavin? Tuna & pineapple? Nah, that’s close, but not quite correct. Tina gets the pineapple crime, Gavin is even worse. And not that literally a cat either.

>>>Save changes & close file

“Yes, Reed here, customer ID 393804. We’d like one large shrimps & tangerine pizza, one large pizza Hawaii with extra chicken, one Captain’s Galley kiddie meal with the octopus rings, a lava cake, a small german cheesecake and an apple turnover with raisins. What salads do you have? I’m getting nagged to order one, is there a low on leaves alternative, maybe? Tomato salad, you say? Yeah, that might be a good compromise, we’d like three of those, please. For drinks a large rootbeer extra frothy, a large rootbeer licorice, a medium apple juice with a straw, plastic… What? No, I wasn’t insulting you. I didn’t even KNOW you were an android. I just want a plastic straw for our kiddo. It’s bad for the environment? You only have metal ones? Okay, one of those then, but it better fucking glows! Oh, and throw in a small thirium smoothie, whatever that is supposed to be. Not all of us are fortunate enough to snag a job in the snack industry… or any job at all. Yes, that was all. Thank you!”

Daniel turned around to where Gavin stood gape-jawed.

“How… how did you do that?!” the man gasped. “I mean, I have a pretty good idea how, but… HOW?”

So it wasn’t just the Connors with their fancy crime scene analyzing software. Even the simplest Cyberlife devices seemed to be able to see right through a human. And with their safety locks off, what would hold the deviants back, prevent them from turning the tables and enslaving humanity?

Years of policework of course could have supplied the answer easily: Socialization. Every human was perfectly able to kill every other, but only a rare few actually did so. For their own good the humans had to integrate the androids into their society and better sooner than later, so that one day any given android and human in the USA had more in common with each other than with a foreign human or android.

But none of that was on the forefront of Gavin’s mind in this moment. He only felt the cold chill of standing right across from the creepy machine that had seen right through him. What else might it have picked up? On the other hand, there were that damn smile and Daniel’s playful reply to Gavin’s outburst:

“What shitty person would I be if I didn’t know my best friend’s tastes? Cyberlife suggested tuna, but… ah, you cringe. Haha, knew it!”

“What was that just now about “best friend”?” Tina inquired. “You do not mean to tell me that you are friends with an android?”

The men exchanged quick glances. The game was on and Tina their first test person…

“Yeah, totally”, Gavin confirmed, to which Daniel added: “We go, uh, waaaaayy back!”

“Best friends, huh…” Tina crossed her arms, trying to come to a decision whether she should believe that or not. Her face brightened up when she got an idea: “What’s the android’s name, Gavin?”

“Daniel. Daniel Phillips. I could even tell you his registration number, but won’t, because that would be rude.”

Good save, Daniel thought, but then an unwelcome thought crossed his mind: Am I supposed to know your badge number?

It didn’t seem to matter, since first and foremost it was Gavin getting tested here, not his android (pretend) friend. Or was it? Because Tina now turned her attention to the PL600!

“I think I know you”, she mused aloud. “You’re the PL600 from the evidence archive, aren’t you?”

“Yes. We talked a few times at the DPD, remember? When I reported the burglary.”

“Yes, yes I do!” Tina smiled sympathetically at both men now. “So… wow, Gavin! So that’s why you got all enraged when Connor entered the archive! You were on your way to Daniel and it was interrupting!” * see footnote

Gavin shook his head frantically. He waved his hands in front of his body and would almost have taken a step back, had he not realized it and forced himself to not do that.

“Tina, no, it’s not what you think!”

“Yes, that’s how it happened”, Daniel said at the same time, completely at ease.

“No!” Gavin yelled, almost in desperation. What had gotten under his skin, Daniel wondered?

“Oh, I’m so happy for you!” Tina exclaimed. “So you’re done pretending to be hetero? But we’re still friends with benefits, right? Don’t you dare cancel the arrangement or I’ll sue you out of your retirement funds and then some!”

Gavin didn’t even wait for his friend to finish her little speech. When Tina had reached the “happy”, he grabbed Daniel by the shoulder, turned the android around and pushed him towards the door.

“Out! At once!”

Not comprehending what exactly was happening here, Daniel found himself in the floor, but that was as far as he’d let himself get herded without an explanation. Daniel broke free from the detective’s hold the moment the human got ready to push him against the wall, something Gavin needed to adjust his posture for a little. But that little was enough.

When the android asked “What’s the matter, Gavin?” next, it sounded as neutral as he was able to make it, with even a hint of concern strewn in. The human needed to realize that Daniel wasn’t his enemy, although by all rights they should be enemies. For some reason that hadn’t happened. But the way Gavin was glaring at Daniel, that seemed to have changed.

“Why did you say that?” Gavin growled. “We had a pact, but here you go, betraying me at first opportunity? Caught some of Connor’s code or what?”

The accusation stung, so Daniel smacked Gavin, a single time only. From Daniel’s brief experience with those particular humans that seemed to equal the normal code of conduct among the DPD officers, where senior officers occasionally held each other at gunpoint. And indeed, the friendly gesture got registered as such.

Gavin still had a hard time processing all the change. One moment the android stabbed him in the back, the next it was so fucking polite again?

“Look, I have no idea what you are talking about!” Daniel stated.

“Ha! As if you didn’t know what folks meet in the archive for!”

“Registering evidence…”

“Sh’ya right!” Gavin spat. “The basement is the DPD’s make-out spot! How couldn’t you know, after having been there for three months?”

“Let me think, how about I was… deactivated?”

“Oh. Oh, right.”

Gavin exhaled sharply. No betrayal. Good, good. But even so…

“Tina now thinks we’re dating!”

“Ever since August? Wow. We must be truly in love. But also a bit insecure about it, if nothing came of it so far…”

Again Gavin’s left arm shot forward to grab the android, the right hand balled up into a fist that he held threateningly towards Daniel.

“Don’t mock me, tin can!”

“Stop!” Daniel yelled. “We are each other’s best shot at what we want! And afterwards will discard each other…”

The android had intended to state this as a matter of fact, but couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. It wasn’t even directed towards Gavin, but himself. It was as Geeta had said the day Daniel had gotten released from the archive: Deviance meant becoming human and he, Daniel, had achieved that feat now. Using and discarding, emotionless, only looking out for yourself, just like the humans did. He had become like John Phillips.

“Fuck, Daniel…”

Gavin was still holding the deviant by his sweater, but now place the other hand, that had been a fist until now, on Daniel’s shoulder. But then he didn’t know what to do or say next or why he had done it in the first place. Comforting a household appliance, that just wasn’t done! Or, if the deviants were more than robots, after all, comforting an enemy… Okay, that was a little less crazy, but still ill-advised.

Since neither of the two moved, this was how Tina found the men.

“Discard?” she repeated what little of their exchange she had picked up. “You aren’t breaking up now, are you?”

“No, of course not!” Gavin sputtered.

What he had meant to convey was that he couldn’t break up with Daniel, because they were not together. But Tina of course had to misunderstand him.

“Right”, she said. “That would be stupid, now that you two can be open about it.”

Gavin didn’t correct Tina. His purposeful misleading of the friend left a bad aftertaste, though, because he couldn’t recall a time when they had kept secrets from each other. Gavin knew he needed to let Tina in on the scam, just not right now. Everything was confusing enough as it was.

Meanwhile Tina’s thoughts had reached a point that generated a whole new level of threat for the pretend friends: “I guess we have to thank Markus for giving you that chance. I have to give him that, even though the sucker played a dirty trick on me at Capitol Park. I think he’s set up a twitter account? I need to text him, tell him about the two of you…”

“What have we done…” Gavin moaned. “I think I could stomach a salad now, after all!”

And the android arm that Daniel slung around his shoulders at these words didn’t help at all…

Footnote: I’m referencing another story idea I’ve toyed with here. Indigo turned it into a full-fledged fic that you can read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22499176?view_full_work=true

#dbh #detroit become human #dbhtextpost #danielgavinnewstory

[godsfavoriteasian]

An Example of Class Consciousness

I was spending time with and old friend in my dear hometown and one particular day (yesterday) we decide to go to Books A Million to look at the books.  Of course, as usual, I go to the section where they house the political, cultural sciences, and histories section as well as some of the clearance section due to the fact that they have some pretty good finds.  I pick out a few books, including Saul Alinsky’s “Rules for Radicals,” “The Socialist Manifesto,” “The Jungle,” (by Upton Sinclair), and a book about Boris Yelstin.  My friend hurries up next to me, back from the book section of self help with a book about not giving a fuck about what people think.  We go to check out and after we are done, she looks at my finds and remarks that she wished she had more time to read.  Now keep in mind my friend is an CNA, and she is of working class.  Which means she works in the healthcare industry and often not works herself to the bone due to a lot of turnover in her place of employment (healthcare is not an easy job and it is surely not for the faint of heart).  She is looking for an apartment of her own.  I replied to her telling that it depends on how much free time that you have if you get time to read.  

This is where the example of class consciousness comes to mind.  I am of middle class, both of my parents are retired professors and academia.  I had access to the best schools I could find, I have a foot in the door for any university that I want to attend, and I am currently pursuing degrees in Political Science and Economics and may go to a doctorate degree.  My family lives in a small yet comfortable house with lots of money coming through and lives a healthy life.

Meanwhile my friend comes from a working class family, both her mum and her stepfather are still working, even though they are in their 60s-70s and they have not retired yet.  Of course, my friend went to a trade school after high school and came out with a CNA and is being worked and overworked to the point of fatigue and drain by her employers and she cannot complain because there is very few jobs out there.  Due to the fact that my friend has been dealt the cards of a working class woman, she had little time to enrich and take care of herself because she is being worked for little pay and all the money goes to living expenses.  Not to mention the cost of living is incredibly high in America and often not the politicians focus on the Middle Class (which are doing fine if they are still afloat in this economy) while the working class and the poor are all but left on the wayside.  

For it would be foolish of me to not take into account that class has distinctly put my friend and many other friends and people at a distinct disadvantage in life and that I have grown up with a better life than they have and due to the fact that the government does not give regard to the workers and the poor they are left with their needs ignored and the means of production that they help make or tend to automatically go to their bosses and their employers.  It is a system that keeps them subjugated and has kept millions of others subjugated since the beginning of time.

In Marx’s Germany Ideology, he builds on the criticism of the upper class, the bourgeois for keeping the means of production for themselves and subjects the working class and poor to inhumane and derelict conditions, while living off the means of production that they have no part in making or tending to.  He also criticizes the governments of Germany and others for allowing this to happen and being in the pockets of the bourgeois and angling themselves to serve only the rich and the upper class.  These criticisms are still relevant to this day.

This also plays a part in the amount of educational disparity between the middle and upper classes and the impoverished and workers who live beneath them.  The poor and working class often are forced in positions that they will have to go to work sooner than the average person and often they lack the funds the pursue a higher education and often the children are left unstated in their needs for education as they are still subjected to a segregated and rigged education system that doles out education according to financial status.  The poor and working class children are often cast to the wayside and are treated as if they are not worth more than their production value and are sadly taught according to that.  This means that they are kept down by a capitalist system which has seeped its way into the education system and have been treated that way since the beginnings of time (although in developed counties they are given an education, and yet it is not up to the level of the education given to the middle and upper class.

This is just my take and my observations of me awakening to having a class conscious mindset in approaching social ills such as this, and I am writing this down for future reference and for everyone else to draw from and educate themselves.

#personal #kasaundra's life #communism #socialism #class consciousness #class struggle #class warfare #marxism #karl marx #marxism-leninism #marxism leninism

[raleighfinancialplanner-blog]

Planning and Achieving Financial Fitness in Singapore

With the increase in financial awareness, more and more financial adviser representatives are being recruited in Singapore. In fact, it is said there are more financial adviser representatives than doctors in Singapore. Yet, despite the increase in expertise, adults in Singapore are still confused over how financial planning works or even where to begin.

The complex nature of financial planning means that everyone would require a financial plan tailor-made to suit their unique financial positions and circumstances. While it is impossible to do so with an article, we can give you the next best thing - an overview of the steps taken to become financially fit.

Step 1: Settling Debts

Financial planning is always complicated, so allow me to tell you a story to simplify this subject.

Once upon a time, there was a guy named Jack. Jack lived in a condo in Singapore and decided to lend $1,000,000 to his friend, Jill, for 10 years in exchange for 1% interest per annum. Jill accepted the agreement and had to pay an additional $10,000 to Jack every year. At the end of the 10-year period, Jill had paid a total of $1,100,000 to Jack, which was $100,000 more than the amount she originally borrowed!

Most bank loans in Singapore are made on a 'per annum' basis. This means that a percentage of the original amount owed - the principal - will be charged as interest at the end of each year. The good news is that some loans allow partial redemptions in which you pay off bigger chunks of the loan along the way when you get your bonus or receive windfalls. This way, it is possible to reduce the principal owed more quickly, which would then result in a reduction in interest charged. Do check with your lending bank(s) if the loans in question allow partial redemptions without penalty, and if any lock-in periods apply.

Let's take Jack and Jill's case as an example.

The original amount Jill borrowed from Jack is $1,000,000. Therefore, the principal Jill owed was $1,000,000. Let's assume that Jill's business took off and she made a profit of $710,000 one year later. Jill decided to set aside $510,000 to repay Jack. In this scenario, $10,000 of her money would be used to settle the one-year interest she owed Jack. The rest of the money - $500,000 - would be used to settle part of the principal Jill owed Jack.

As such, the principal Jill owed Jack would reduce from $1,000,000 to $500,000 ($1,000,000 - $500,000) and her interest payable per year was reduced to $5,000 (1% of $500,000).

The same applies to your bank loans. The quicker you settle your debt, the less interest you have to pay. Hence, the first step of financial planning should always be to settle all debts as soon as possible so that you can start building and accumulating wealth.

By the same token, avoid rolling over your credit card balance and avoid using unsecured credit lines. Many people unwittingly bleed financially from their over-reliance of easy credit.

Step 2: Build a Safety Net

One of the reasons why financial planning is so complicated is because life is a series of wild cards.

Car breakdowns, theft, layoffs, fire, flood, hospitalisation - there are a number of events that could hinder your plans to grow your wealth, for example, if you are planning to invest in fixed deposits or invest in real estate.These avenues are less flexible and you may not be able to access the funds locked up in them in the event of an emergency. Even if you are able to unlock them,you'd have to incur some form of financial penalty(or loss if, say, the property market is not in your favour).

And that brings me back to the second step of planning for financial fitness - building a safety net.

A safety net is a sum of readily available fund that is set aside specifically to cushion emergencies. As such, you should steer clear from using that fund, regardless of how much you want that new phone or what discounts the Great Singapore Sale is offering. Note that you may set aside another sum of money for entertainment purposes or for occasional splurging, but your safety net should be separated from these other funds.

Health insurance is another safety net you need to consider. Medical bills are not getting any cheaper, and huge unforeseen medical bills have been known to wipe out entire savings, so do prepare, I mean, insure yourself adequately.

Another issue you may wish to take note when planning for this step is that the amount needed for a safety net differs across individuals and families. Due to the fact that there are many incidents - such as layoffs, major illnesses or accidents - that halt your income, some financial experts state that your safety net should be able to cover your expenses for at least 6 months. Others, however, claim having a safety net that covers 2 months of expenses is plenty.

Planning your finances with the help of a financial consultant can help you determine the amount you need to set aside for your safety net. While you're talking to your financial consultant, you can also have them get you the appropriate life insurance or medical insurance to protect yourself and reduce your exposure to large medical bills.

Step 3: Invest 10% to 20% of your income

Naturally, investment plays an instrumental role in financial fitness in Singapore. Inclusive of their CPF contributions, readers from Singapore should consider investing a total of 10% to 20% of their monthly income to build their wealth.

Why?

The Canadian millionaire, Kevin O'Leary, said it best.

"Here's how I think of my money - as soldiers - I send them out to war every day. I want them to take prisoners and come home, so there are more of them." - Kevin O'Leary, Founder of SoftKey

Unless you have already retired, you'd have a constant stream of income after settling your debts and creating your safety net. Keeping that constant stream of income in your bank would be like grounding your soldiers in your camp. While this strategy keeps your soldiers safe and prevents them from dying in the battlefield (I.e - losing money due to poor investment choices), it also restricts their ability to capture prisoners (I.e - earning money from good investment choices).

So what do you do if you are not familiar with investment strategies? How do you differentiate between a good investment choice and a poor one?

You can always attend financial seminars in Singapore to educate yourself about investments and financial planning. Alternatively, you can engage an independent financial advisory firm to have key aspects of your wealth managed.

"If I engage financial experts in Singapore to manage my investment portfolio, should I invest ALL of my income to maximise my profit?"

No!

Financial planning is important but life is more than just protecting your future self. It is also about living in the moment and enjoying life as it is. Investing all of your income, even after you paid for all your expenses, will deprive you of the joy of living in the present. As such, as a ballpark figure, investing 10% to 20% of your income might help keep you balanced while you build a fund to savour later. Nonetheless, to better identify a reasonable percentage specific to your situation, do contact your financial consultant to advise you.

And that's the gist of it.

I wish you - my reader - good luck on your journey to financial fitness.

Important: The information and opinions in this article are for general information purposes only. They should not be relied on as professional financial advice. Readers should seek independent financial advice that is customised to their specific financial objectives, situations & needs.

[professor-harmless]

A letter for a king

The seal of this letter bears the Hylian Crest, oddly placed over what appears to be a lemon tree. Inside is what at first glance is a simple message:

  “The most precious of treasures recovered safe. We go to where masks can not reach.”

  After the light application of lemon water reveals strings of numerical characters in a two part cipher (one of substitutions, and of reference to a book only The Hylian King would know), they translate out to the following letter:

  To His Royal Majesty, Asarius Goldarr Hyrule,

  First and foremost, The princess has been found, alive and unharmed. Though I fear the journey before us will place a great weight upon her heart afore this journey is through.

  It is my sincerest hope that Your Majesty has recognized the old sigil of concealment, and recalled the ciphers I taught you when you were still a prince. That it is you my old friend who sees these words.

  If however it is not, know that I swear death curse upon you, and there is no cave, no far island that will hide you from my wrath.

  Since the necessity of speed in the moment did not allow me to provide you a proper briefing on the events that have occurred, and are occurring, I shall endeavor to do so now, as briefly and concisely as possible, both for the sake of clarity, and to hold extraneous information from our many opponents.

  As you should have been informed, this past fortnight saw the castle attacked, by what seemed a lone intruder, bearing a Mask that appeared identical to that of Majora's Mask of legend. They tore their way through the royal guard, the best of them, including my own grandson, Alfonzo; leaving many critically injured, crippled, or perished.

  Their assault led them to the chambers of The Princess, who had mysteriously departed before their arrival. They instead found only a young rito by the name of Raseili, who we would later learn had been instructed to deliver a message to the princess from a gerudo woman, who’s own story has become intertwined.

  In fear of his possible incarceration, Raseili fled from the royal guard, about the same time their arrival caused the masked figure to flee as well.

  I would pause in this tale Your Majesty, to stress the ludicrous strength and abilities of this individual. It is my own personal estimation that this creature is more than capable of defeating the entirety of our current guard stationed within the capital. It is my only justification for the choices I’ve been forced to make in the events that followed, and I take sole responsibility for them.

  Almost immediately after the attack, the current Captain of the Guard sought me in the tower room I’d chosen to retire to after the events of the last few years that have taken much from my mind.

  I would ask that you not fault him for this, though certainly inexperienced, given the situation I would have reached for the aid of anyone more familiar with something so unnatural as well myself.

  After calming him, and confirming the details of the attack, in particular that they seemed focus on endangering the princess, I advised that we should maintain the fiction that the princess was still in the castle, regardless of the fact we had no idea of her whereabouts at the time.

  In service of this we arranged for the public announcement of her safety, and one of her body doubles to make a regular schedule of appearance in the castle library, laying a trap for our opponent.

  We misjudged their power to say the least.

  They directly entered through the guarded front gates, breaking through all defenders between them and the library. Upon entrance of the room, and the dismemberment of assigned guards to the body double, they inquired if she was in fact the princess. In an act of incredible bravery, the young woman stated that she was, and I can not stress the debt we owe her for this.

  At that moment the trap was sprung, and the guards we’d had standing by in the corridors rushed into the library, assaulting the masked figure with a wave of crossbow bolts, which sadly did not succeed in ending their existence. It was however enough to drive them from the room, and give us time to relocate the false “princess”.

  The next few days turned into a cycle of attacks, even without our letting slip the location of the girl, the masked figure returned again and again, seeking her as if knowing exactly where she’d been placed.  

  This led us to suspect a traitor, or an infiltration of the castle. We instituted a recognition password for all the guardsmen and their subordinates throughout the castle, eventually resulting in (unsurprisingly) the capture of a member of the Yiga clan.

  My aid was sought in his interrogation, and Your Majesty will be pleased to learn that no actual torture was required. It was simply pointed out to him how loudly we would celebrate his cooperation with us, and happily release him to the tender care of his fellows after this word was spread far and wide.

In exchange for announcing his execution instead (as well as quick passage outside of the kingdom) he confirmed the Yiga clans association with the Masked figure, though he claimed no knowledge of the individual’s true identity. Only that they’d been ordered to work with him…

  By the newly returned Ganondorf.

  The only other information that could be pried from him was that this new Ganon had been born into the Yiga clan, and once again sought dominion over the Triforce, as well as the world.

  In the face of this horror, we were allowed some good news as well, that those of the Sheika tribe were willing to provide weapons from an ancient arsenal to augment the guard, to further deter these attacks. Their continued and frequent assaults led us to believe we’d maintained the illusion that the princess was still protected inside of the castle; allowing me the opportunity to seek her true location.

  I went alone in the hope that the departure of one retired old man would be unnoticed, though I will admit their was at least one occasion where I may have engraved myself in our opponents memory…

  The trail was cool, but clearly led me to the town of Kakariko, where I found myself amongst a group of other seekers, brought together, by chance, fate, or perhaps in some cases, ill intent. I can not truly say.

  The gathered adventurers were of many people, of many places, and many quests. All seeking Zelda, or the legendary warrior, Link. Among them was the rito Raseili, and the Gerudo woman whose message he’d accepted. To complicate matters even further, she claimed to be the rightful Queen of the gerudo, who’d been deposed by her twin sister.

  This will no doubt lead to some dreadful concerns later as I will explain, but it is horrifying that this is possibly the least of our current concerns Your Majesty.

  During this exchange of tales, the inn we were speaking in inexpertly set aflame by three other Gerudo women outside, causing most of those gathered to rush after them. I managed to restore some semblance of order with a cantrip to extinguish the fire, and we proceeded to follow them.

  After a slight detour involving a conversation between the local Great Fairy and one of my new found companions, we managed to catch up to the three would be assasins, and have them explain themselves. Suffice it to say they’d been sent by the queen currently occupying the gerudo throne.

  Given their incompetence, it is more likely they were sent to their deaths rather than any real expectation that they would succeed. After a brief conversation with Fundrani ( the woman who claims to be the rightful queen) the three apologized and begged forgiveness for not recognizing her immediately.

  Regardless of whoever is telling the truth here, I expect one way or another we may be at a minimum looking at a civil war among the gerudo. Though again, the least of our concerns…

  Investigations and rumors that night led us to depart for the nearby mountains in the morning, another brief stop with the Great Fairy granting confirmation that The Princess had made her own way up them, following recent reports of bokoblin and moblin activity in the area.

  Of note, given the dire straits we find ourselves in, I highly recommend that Your Majesty sets aside some funds to allow for negotiations with the other Great Fairies throughout the lands. Frankly we are desperately in need of allies at the moment. Which is admittedly one of the few reasons I agreed to where our journey would later take us.

  With assistance in scouting from our flying comrades,we located a cave system that was occupied by a group of bokoblins, who judging by the corpses found inside had been raiding the local populace.

  We also encountered one of the first signs of what I can only describe as direct influence of the return of Ganon upon the land. Pool of liquid, seemingly alive, with the ability to transform living creatures that fell into them, warping them into much more powerful horrors.

  Though battle we fought was hectic at times, we found that the princess had indeed been entrapped by these creatures, and our new found companion, one Kenjiro of the Sheika was able to sneak her away from them, almost before we were forced to fight.

  As I said at the beginning of this letter, she is alive and unharmed, praise be to Nayru!

  Alas, as I had stated earlier, events have forced us away from the castle, not to return to it. After speaking with the (possibly) former gerudo queen, she has offered to grant aid to her in recovering her throne, in return for this service, we may be given the opportunity to further investigate the details of this new Ganon’s return to the world.

  At the risk of belaboring the obvious your majesty, The Princess has effectively decided to set foreign policy for you, and this will most likely force our kingdom into a war with at least half of the gerudo, or at the very least cause a great deal of resentment for years to come due to our interference in their land.

  In worse news, it would seem the tribe in the cave had somehow alerted our masked enemy to The Princesses location, breaking the illusion we had presented. Though we did spot the creature near us, we’ve managed to escape their notice and fled safely from them.

  I would recommend we stop pretending the princess remains in Hyrule castle, instead arranging false “sightings” of her throughout the lands. Hopefully this will serve to further confuse the enemy.

  Lacking no true safe harbor that I can see, I instead follow the command of her highness, as we make for the Gerudo wastes. Not without hope. If she succeeds, we will have cemented a powerful ally, at the same time depriving Ganon of one.

  You would be overjoyed to see the strength of will she has demonstrated Your Majesty, as well as a deep power that shows her truly to be the Zelda of legend.

  Once again, I take full responsibility for not ensuring our immediate return to the castle, and advise that all culpability for any future disaster be placed upon this old fool’s shoulders.

  In closing, I only ask that you send my love to my children, grandchildren, and apologies to my great granddaughter, Mabel.

  It would seem both Horatio and I have been forced to return to service.

  Your Enduring Servant,

  Didit Wizhardhu, Captain of the Royal Guard (Retired)

[caffeineivore]

Moar Spirits

Many thanks to both @antivanruffles and @apsaraqueen for their help with logistical type stuff and plotting for this section! Y’all are the best <3

R/J, Spiritverse

Prompt: Pasta

**

Piccoli’s is the type of old-fashioned Italian restaurant that did not aspire towards either Michelin stars or a formidable Instagram following. Indeed, it is tiny and quiet by Manhattan standards, with red-checked tablecloths and dim, flickering candles. Bottles of herb-infused olive oils gleam dully against the walls, and the man behind the host’s podium is a hulking brute dressed in unrelieved black with arms like Easter hams. He gives Ember a deferential nod, though, as she walks in through the door.

“Ms. Ward. Good to see you.”

“You too, Little Tony.” Ember affords the bruiser a gentle smile. “Table for two, please.”

The ironically-monikered Little Tony gives Jareth a long, suspicious once-over and grunts something incomprehensible before leading them to a booth and setting down a pair of battered menus. Jareth pulls one of the menus towards himself, then arches an eyebrow at Ember.

“‘Little’ Tony? He’s six and a half feet tall and built like a Dwarven fortress.”

“It’s short for Antonio. His dad, also named Antonio, who answers to ‘Big Tony’, owns this place,” Ember explains. “Big Tony’s a good friend of my grandfather’s. They became poker buddies after Big Tony retired from his lifelong career and opened this restaurant.” She leans forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’m pretty sure my grandfather didn’t want to win any money that might have questionable origins, if you understand my meaning. But Big Tony’s always been very kind to me. I’m sure you’ll meet him later.”

Jareth tries his utmost to match the solemnity of her tone, but he can’t quite hold in a grin. “Is that a threat, milady wise-woman?”

“Not at all.” There’s a glint in her eyes which bespeaks her own amusement. “Big Tony can be a bit opinionated, to be sure, but he’s a lovely fellow, and he makes a spectacular red sauce from his Nonna’s recipe. I always get the spaghetti and the house Chianti.”

“I think I shall do the same.” They place their orders, and their wine comes first, in a squat bottle encased in a traditional straw basket. Jareth fills both their glasses, then raises his in a toast. “To your vision, and all the lives it will save.”

“To your bow, and all the lives it will save as well,” Ember clinks her glass against his, then takes a slow sip. “I don’t suppose that particular bow is what you’d carry, back at home, but then again, even in New York City, a man with a six-foot longbow is bound to be noticed and not in a good way.”

“It’s not what I’d carry back amidst my kin, no, but it does the job well enough. As far as home goes, that’s been here for the last twelve years.” Jareth leans back in his chair and smiles. “It’s certainly different, but I think I enjoy it, for the most part.”

“Where were you from, before?”

“I was born, quite some years ago, in the house of my father. That is within a settlement on what’s now known to be the Forest of East Derbyshire, in the East Midlands, in England.” A nostalgic smile crosses his finely-cut lips. “I’d practiced archery as a boy with one of my first mortal friends, who’d someday be known as Robin of Locksley. Eventually, however, some of us crossed the ocean during the age of exploration, but instead of settling in the places where your parents had lived, we’d gone further west. There’s land still mostly untouched by mortal hands out in what they’d consider the Pacific Northwest, in the wilds of the North Cascades, and I’ve had family there for the last few centuries.”

“And so you moved out here twelve years ago.” They’d been given a basket of fresh-baked bread with their wine, and Ember cuts a slice, dips it in greenish-gold olive oil flecked with minced basil. “It’s quite different from where you’ve lived before.”

Before Jareth can even reply, a heavy tread sounds by the table, followed by two plates of spaghetti redolent of slow-stewed tomato sauce being set down on the table by a beefy pair of hands, olive-toned, one bearing a heavy gold ring on the pinkie. The pinkie ring glitters in the candlelight as that hand travels up and gently pats the top of Ember’s head. “Ah, Ember, passerotta mia, I heard that you brought a friend with you.”

“Big Tony.” Ember accepts a hearty buss on one cheek, then the other, then gives Jareth a droll look. “Big Tony, this is Jareth Sylvane. Jareth, this is Antonio Piccoli, who goes by Big Tony. I think you’ve already met his son and heir, Little Tony.”

Big Tony has salt-and-pepper hair and a fantastically large and curly moustache, but Jareth can certainly see where his son had inherited his brawler’s build from. He wears a huge white apron over a flawlessly pressed suit, and his beady eyes look Jareth up and down in appraisal. “Where are you from, Mr. Jareth Sylvane?”

“I was born in England, but moved to Washington State at a young age, then came to New York twelve years ago.” Jareth gives Big Tony an abbreviated version of what he’d just told Ember, and meets those beady eyes squarely.

“Ah. And what do you do for work?”

“I’m an architect. A friend and I have a firm-- Sylvane and Vale.” Aeson Vale and his life-mate, Aelene, had traveled with him through the last century together, and Jareth had been grateful for his friends’ unconditional support, even in the unconventionality of journeying across oceans and continents.

“Ah.” Without invitation, Big Tony plops his considerable bulk into the booth next to Ember, and steeples his fingers. Next to him, Ember looks as tiny and dainty as a little, black-clad pixie. “I think I know of your friend. He did some good work, when we put together a fund to shine up our cathedral. A bit of a quiet fellow, but good hands. And his wife’s a beautiful lady. I sat her down and gave her a tiramisu and told her she needed to get some meat on her bones.”

Jareth stifles a chuckle at the idea of the elegant, ethereal Aelene Vale being told that she needed to get some meat on her bones by someone who looked very much like an aging mafioso, perhaps with a grandfatherly pat on the head much like he’d bestowed upon Ember, earlier. Since Big Tony was clearly alive and well enough to tell the tale, Aelene must either have been amused rather than annoyed, or perhaps it had been an outstanding tiramisu. Quite possibly the latter, considering the delicious aroma of the pasta in front of him. “I will pass along your regards when I see them next, Mr. Piccoli.”

“Mmm. I suppose it’s a good thing that you have a job. And how did you two meet?”

“At a carnival. In the midway. We’ve sort of been running into each other here and there, since. After a while it seemed more reasonable just to take down each other’s numbers.” It’s a rather simplistic version of the reality, but then again, it’s also all true.

“Mmm.” Again, that long, drawn-out monosyllable. “And what are your intentions towards my little sparrow?”

“Nothing untoward, if that’s what you mean,” Jareth answers evenly. He had expected an interrogation sooner or later, but perhaps not from a barrel-chested Italian with a moustache rivalling Teddy Roosevelt’s. “She’s a fascinating woman, and I find that I enjoy my time in her company.”

“Hmph.” Another monosyllable, slightly grumpy but not overtly hostile, and Big Tony pushes himself up to his feet. “Enjoy your pasta, you crazy kids.” He gives Ember one more affectionate head-pat, and trundles back towards the kitchen. Ember gives him a half-apologetic look even as her graceful fingers twirl noodles around the tines of her fork.

“He’s been poker buddies with my grandfather for the last five years or so.”

“I don’t begrudge someone who looks to protect you from harm, even from myself.” Jareth samples his own spaghetti. It is as delicious as advertised. Over the dim, flickering candlelight, her face is solemn and lovely. “Though, I daresay you can take care of yourself well enough.”

She sighs, and for just a moment, looks so worried that he wishes he could reach across the table and hold her close, reassure her somehow. “I feel like something is happening, and I don’t like not knowing what it is.”

He nods. Clairvoyance in any form is a gift, but never the most pleasant one, and gives its bearer a heavy cross to bear. “You knew where to be, today.”

“Perhaps, but... you were there, and me, and that lake-maiden. I’ve felt the presence and power of others that I have yet to meet. Don’t you wonder why it is that we’re all here, now? Like we’re converging upon this time and place for a reason?” Her amethyst eyes go distant, as though looking beyond this mortal plane. “Where there is great good, there will always be great evil to challenge it. Despair follows triumph like night follows day. This is the great balance of life, and I fear that the greater and stronger the light, the deeper and darker the shadow will come to encroach upon it.”

It is a gloomy thought, to be sure, and he pauses as a plate of golden-brown cannoli, dusted with confectioner’s sugar and plump with ricotta, is set down in front of them. “What’s destined will come to pass, whether for good or ill, and we simply must face it with courage and the best of intentions when the time comes.”

She looks as though she doesn’t quite like his answer, and a thin line appears between her dark brows. “It is the practice of the Ælf-kine, historically, to steer clear of the trials and tribulations of mankind unless it directly affects them, I believe. You would be within your rights, and certainly within your power, to find a new home if misfortune were to befall this city, and I can’t even fault you for it, to choose life and vanish without a trace.”

They’re sitting in silence, not quite comfortable, and Jareth reaches across the table to where her left hand lays, palm-up. It’s smooth and warm under the fingers of his right hand, and the contact of palm-to-palm feels like a promise of more. “Would you believe it if I said that there’d be no life here for me, if I left?” His kind did not succumb to disease and the frailty of age like mortal men, but untimely death could come from falling in battle or dying from a broken heart. He certainly hoped for neither, but he didn’t quite have the words to explain to her that his heart and spirit were now as deeply entrenched in this time and place as the roots of a centuries-old tree in the Earth. So he simply smiles, gives her hand a quick squeeze before reaching for the cannoli. “I like it here.”

This seems to do the trick of snapping her out of her melancholy mood, and she gives him a tentative smile. “I suppose it’s true that were evil to come to this city, it’d find a formidable opponent waiting to face it. Do your colleagues wonder why you carry a bow in your work bag?”

“Aeson carries his own bow. Aelene, his wife, wears her blades strapped to her leg underneath her skirts. As for the mortals, they don’t tend to snoop through others’ belongings. Not very polite, you know?” Outside, the sky is now as dark as the dusky, candlelit interior of the restaurant. “Maybe we should pack the rest of the cannoli to go. It grows late.”

He pays for their dinner, his signature on the credit card slip graceful and elegantly lettered, leaving a generous tip in cash on the table next to his wineglass. They share a cab, and he makes sure that it drops her off first, despite the fact that her place is a-ways farther than his. The streets of Brooklyn Heights are quiet, pale with new snowfall, when she walks up to the door of the brownstone. In the silvery moonlight, she’s darkly luminous and lovely, and he lifts a hand to gently tuck a strand of her raven hair behind her ear, stroke the soft skin of her cheek.

“Good night, Ember.”

She blinks her long, black eyelashes as though trying to come to a decision, then reaches into a pocket, extracts something small and cool that she tucks into his hand before she closes his palm around it. He opens his fingers again to see a smooth-worn bit of green stone, carved with a rune.

“Jade, bearing the rune of Algiz. It’s the Elk-- for protection, to ward off evil.” Her words are hurriedly spoken, almost as though she’s flustered. “You carry a bow. I carry... something of my own, also. Be careful.”

He can’t help but smile, both at her embarrassment and at her thoughtfulness. “Do you see something bad happening to me then?”

“Oh! No, nothing like that. I just... take care.” And maybe she realizes that she’s blushing and babbling a little, because she leans up, pecks his lips with her own for less than the span of a blink, so she doesn’t have to say anything else. And just as she’s about to pull away, he cups her face with both hands, the jade cool against her cheek, and brings his lips to hers for a longer, sweeter kiss. He holds her close for a few moments after their lips part, tucking the token of her care and her good heart into his coat pocket as his free hand cards through her silky hair.

“Sleep well, Ember. Dream good dreams, and don’t worry about me.” His words are faintly muffled against her temple, but he knows she hears them, all the same. Pressing a final kiss to the crown of her head, he steps back, smiles as she unlocks the door with keys and a whisper of magic. She gives him a little wave before she disappears behind it, and then he can make out the faint sounds of pacing, of crows cawing in greeting. Ever-so-faintly, her voice comes to his ear through the barrier of the walls, only audible because of his preternatural sense of hearing, and what he hears brings an uncontrollable grin to his face.

“Oh, stop it, you two! Don’t look at me and gloat like that, it’s not nice!”

#R/J #sailor moon #senshi/shitennou #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #antivanruffles #apsaraqueen