#hal has a burst on his nose

[choofeyrac]

What is this, more fic? (I started this just before Valentine’s Day last year…) K//aleidotrope pod/cast again, ~4k words, NSFW, explicit snz kink

Drew should have known that Sidlesmith on Valentine’s was a place to be avoided. And if he hadn’t known that, he should definitely have known that Kishi’s would be up to some nonsense. 

But Harrison hadn’t even asked, hadn’t even joked about it, so busy he’d been trying to make it the perfect day for Drew. So Drew had had no choice, really: he’d wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered Harrison away from the path he had planned. He’d even asked the barista to surprise him, just to see Harrison’s eyes go soft. Also because it was Chima, Harrison’s favourite barista, and if Drew trusts any of the Kishi’s baristas it’s them, but mostly to see Harrison’s face. It’s Valentine’s Day, he can be forgiven a soppy stare or two. 

It’s why he doesn’t notice the Confetti Friday signs, or the Valentine’s Glitter Bomb signs, or even the person approaching them until there’s a cloud of glitter suddenly exploding in his face. He hears Harrison’s delighted laughter, which quickly fades to concern; hears his name on Harrison’s lips and apologies from someone he can’t see. He waves them off, rubbing some glitter from his eyes as Harrison guides him away from the counter. 

“Are you alright? You look…”

“heh’pischh” 

“Well, I was going to say you look pissed, but I’ll revise that down to just very sneezy.”

“hehp’ishoo”

“Bless you,”

“heh’issshh!” He sniffles, looking up balefully at Harrison who— bursts out laughing. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he says through the giggles. “I just— your face.”

Drew rolls his eyes, but even he knows how fond his smile must look. He tries to brush some more glitter away from his nose, but he just ends up sneezing again. Harrison doubles over, he’s laughing so hard. 

“Thanks,” Drew says drily. 

“I’ll get you some napkins,” Harrison says, then pauses, tilting his head. “How grumpy would you be if I took a photo for posterity?”

“By posterity do you mean ‘For Hal’?” He sniffles again. “Ugh. Go on, before I start sn—! Sneezing again—! aa’hischoo!”

“Bless you baby,” Harrison says through all his snickering, and doesn’t give Drew chance to compose himself before he’s snapping a few photos. Then he grabs some napkins and brings them back to Drew. “Wanna switch our orders to takeaway cups so you can get all this out your system outside?”

“Please,” Drew says, looking relieved. Harrison goes to catch Chima’s eye, but finds they’ve already anticipated the request. 

“Thought the glitter might be too much for him,” They tell Harrison. “Admittedly this is not the way I anticipated.”

Harrison laughs again, and thanks them and pays  before taking the coffees. 

“Chima might be an angel,” He tells Drew. 

“Chima’s definitely an angel. Can we go, though?”

“Drink some coffee first, otherwise it’s just going to spill when we try and get this glitter off.”

He’s right, but Drew’s nose starts twitching again at the thought, and he pushes his cup back into Harrison’s hand. At least he has tissues now; he all but dives into them to muffle the sneezes.

“Not sure you’re going to get the glitter out if you keep stifling,” Harrison points out. 

“How did I even inhale this much glitter anyway? uh—tchoo! uh— uh—! uh’tChoo! uh’tchoo! Ugh, you’re right, that does feel better.”

“Good. Now drink some of that coffee so I can get you out of here.” Drew smirks at him for that. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day?” He asks, and it’s Harrison turn to flush beetroot. 

“I didn’t plan this!” He says helplessly, but Drew just smiles at him, sipping his coffee. 

“I know. You weren’t going to bring me at all, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah. Well.”

“So seeing as I’ve already messed up your plans, how about we make a new one? One that’s got things you want to do in, too.”

“I—“

Drew leans in, kisses the corner of his mouth. His cheek brushes glitter onto Harrison’s, and Harrison gives in. 

“You know, once you’ve got the glitter out of your nose, probably the best way to get rid of the rest would be a shower.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Perhaps we should go back to mine.”

“That sounds sensible. I won’t be able to see all the glitter though, you might have to help me.”

“I think that could be arranged.”

They smirk at each other, and then the glitter in Drew’s nostrils decides to remind him of its presence. 

“uhp’schoo!”

Harrison giggles again. 

“Every time you sneeze, a little tiny cloud of glitter just lifts off.”

“It’s only a matter of time before you make a vampire joke, isn’t it? Oh— ahp’schh—ahp’schoo!”

“I really think it’s time to get you out of here, actually.”

“Can you grab some more n— nn’tcheww — napkins on the way out?”

“Of course. Come on, let’s go.” He takes another swig of coffee, then tugs Drew by the arm. Then he loads Drew’s free hand with napkins, stuff a few in his pockets for good measure, and leads him outside. It’s a grey day, and though milder for it it’s still not much of a surprise that there’s no one in the alley beside the cafe. That’s useful; Harrison has a lot of good memories from this alley, and he intends to make this another one. 

“Want me to take your coffee?” He asks, slowly crowding him against the wall. Drew shoves it into his hands. 

“Aa’yischhhoo! Aa— aah—! Hah’tchoo! aht’choo! hh’tchhischoo! Huh! e’tchiew!”

Harrison’s hands are regretfully full of coffee. He winces in sympathy instead. 

“Those were big sneezes, baby.”

“Huh-eh! eh’tchiewwww.”

He sniffles helplessly. 

“Blow your nose, Drew,” Harrison tells him softly. 

“I— I’ll stop sneezing as much… eh— tchuhhh.” 

Harrison loses what he was going to say in the face of such a cute sneeze. It takes him a moment to remember, and he’s almost got it when—

“eh— tchuhh.” Drew lets out another soft little barely there sneeze, and he forgets again. He leans up and kisses him instead; it’s all he can do with his hands full. As soon as he leans back, Drew sneezes again, another tiny one down towards his shoulder. Then another. Then another. 

“Jesus, Drew,”  

His only response is two more sneezes, these two closer together than the last ones have been. His eyes stay closed until a third follows. 

Harrison decides he doesn’t care how hot his coffee still is; he steps back from Drew only to drain it and chuck the cup in the bin near the end of the alley. He’s tempted to do the same for Drew’s, but he had finally asked Chima to surprise him, and Harrison doesn’t want to rob him of that delight. Drew’s face is all scrunched up when he steps back into his space, this time placing a hand in his hip. 

“Saved them for you,” He mumbles, then, “eh’chisch uh’tchisch, huh uh— oh— haht’choo!” He sniffles again. “Sorry, sorry, that one got loud.”

“We came out here so you could be, remember? It’s okay.”

“Is it? Is that why we came out here?”

“Shut up and sneeze,” Harrison tells him, then kisses him so he can’t even obey. He can feel when Drew’s huffing breaths mean he needs to lean away, and in the flurry that follows Harrison finally remember what he’d meant to say earlier. 

“I know you’re dragging this out for my benefit,” He says. “And that’s not unappreciated. But you can blow your nose, it’s okay. We can make you sneeze plenty at home, too.”

“Hpt’chuuhh—“

“Yes, even if you try and distract me more with these little ones.”

“Not trying to di— distract you. Heh—chuuhh. Just… heh’eh— oh, it went. Just, heh— eh—! Mmf. Oh! Heh’schooo.” He sniffles some more. “Bless me.”

“Yeah, bless you. God, Drew. Seriously. You need to get this out of your system enough to get us home, otherwise I’m not being held accountable for the public indecency charges.”

Drew puts his mouth right by Harrison’s ear, and lets his breath hitch audibly. Then he tucks his head into Harrison’s neck, and sneezes once, twice; tiny little things with no force behind them. 

“Jesus,” Harrison whispers, hoarse. Drew sneezes again. Harrison swallows. Drew sneezes again. 

“You’re going to get us arrested.”

“Can’t help it. Mm— huh’schooo.”

“Andrew.”

Drew sniffles, and it’s stupid cute. 

“We can’t do this here, oh my god.”

“We’ve done worse,”

“Not when it’s light!”

“Oh. Yeah. uh’choo.”

Harrison gives up trying to convince him with words; he snakes a hand down Drew’s side until he finds the pockets of his jeans. Then he fishes out one of the napkins, and manages a step back. 

“How much glitter do you mind on your face to walk through campus?” Drew pulls a face. “We’re going home, Drew. So either you tell me how much glitter to get off, or we walk away like this.” 

Drew gives in with a hint of a grin, and even that’s enough to take Harrison’s breath away again. 

“I don’t know how bad the glitter is. Can you make it look more intentional? And keep it away from my nose, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Harrison repeats, then brushes his napkin over the tip of Drew’s nose. 

“Hih’schooo! I thought you wanted me to stop.”

“I wanted you to stop teasing. Never said I would.”

Drew sneezes into Harrison’s hand, just because he can. Harrison wipes his nose without fanfare, more firmly this time so he doesn’t provoke more sneezes. 

“Think you can hold your own coffee again?” He asks, and Drew takes it from him so he can use both hands to try and get the glitter under control. 

“We’re still going to need that shower,” he says eventually, “But I think you’ll do for now.”

“Somehow there’s all this glitter on your neck too,” Drew points out, because he’s apparently determined to test Harrison’s resolve. Harrison wants to kiss him again, but he knows what will happen if he does. He steps back instead. 

“We have walls at home too, remember. And also, y’know, privacy.” Drew shrugs. “We’ll explore your exhibitionist streak later, but Drew. You’re going to take me home. Now.” 

After that, Drew stops complaining. 

They have to pause a few times when Drew’s nose demands it, but they get home mostly intact — even when Drew makes a frankly illegal noise when he sips his coffee and finds it’s finally cooled down enough to taste it. He’s finished it by the time they get through the door, which is good, because Harrison takes the empty cup from him as soon as they��re inside, placing it with his keys on the cabinet before turning back to Drew. 

“What first?” He asks, and Drew just raises an eyebrow before Harrison shoves him against the wall and kisses him. Drew’s hands are free this time, and he runs them up and down Harrison’s back, his sides, before settling them into the back pockets of his jeans and tugging him even closer. Harrison has one hand in his hair, directing the kiss, keeping him there even as his breath gets more and more ragged, keeping him there until Drew makes an urgent noise and Harrison finally releases his lips, drawing Drew’s face into his neck so he can sneeze and sneeze and sneeze. The first ones come out strong, and he adjusts his grip on Harrison to make sure he feels the force of every one, bodies moving together as the sneezes wrack through him. When they finally slow, they don’t stop, just turning back to the little soft ones that Harrison loves so much. Drew can think through these ones, which means he can tease through them. He scatters them all across Harrison’s neck, making sure he can feel any build up, pushing his face down into Harrison’s shoulder, nose nudging under Harrison’s shirt. When he has to sniffle, he makes sure to do it near the glitter he’s already left on Harrison’s skin, and it’s not much but it’s enough to keep these little sneezes going. 

“Wanna see— ii’schoo— wanna see if I can blow you like this?”

It’s a good job Drew has his arms around him; Harrison’s knees go weak. His lips find his pulse point; he’s pretty sure it skips a beat when he sneezes again. 

“Bed,” he says, even as Harrison grinds himself up against him. He gets distracted by another couple sneezes, and then by Harrison grinding against him again. 

“This will be so much b— better in— in— ii’schuh ii’schuh! In bed. Ih—!” He hangs in the balance for a second, then sniffs. “It disappeared. Come on, I— god, Harrison, Harrison!” Harrison’s turning them, pushing Drew to his knees. Drew fumbles at the button of Harrison’s jeans, getting it undone but not getting his fly down before the tickle reappears and he sneezes into the bulge in his pants. Harrison’s hips buck again; Drew reaches up to pin them in place, letting Harrison unzip his fly and push down his pants and boxers. The tickle is toying with Drew; for a moment he can’t even appreciate Harrison’s dick in front of him. Then he pushes his face into Harrison’s thigh, sneezes three times in quick succession, and gets his mouth on him. Harrison’s babbling above him, full of praise and awe and instruction that Drew can’t take in right now. He’s— he’s— so close to sneezing again— he pulls back off Harrison despite Harrison’s noise of disappointment; burying more sneezes into his thigh again. He’s not done, but he kisses up Harrison’s shaft anyway, licking his head before his breath starts hitching and he sneezes again. The next one comes on so suddenly that he freezes; Harrison says his name, concerned, but then the sneeze bursts out of him with an intensity that surprises them both. It’s ratifying; final; he gets his mouth back on Harrison and sucks him down properly. And that would have been it, except that Harrison swipes his thumb through the glitter that’s still on Drew’s cheek, and touches it to his nostrils. Drew can’t avoid the breath in; he quivers with it, and then he has to pull away from Harrison yet again, except this time Harrison takes himself in hand and jerks himself off in time with Drew’s sneezes. The sneezes are getting big again, drawing to a finale; they’re both panting, and the sneezes tumble out of Drew in quick succession against Harrison’s hand, and Harrison makes a noise and comes all over his neck. 

After the sneezes have crescendoed too, Drew looks up at Harrison, chin propped on his leg. 

“You look obscene,” Harrison murmurs. “And I definitely owe you that shower now.”

Drew kisses his thigh, knowing both of them are too exhausted to move right now. He undoes Harrison’s shoelaces, seeing as he’s already down here, and Harrison steps shakily out of the shoes and his jeans. 

“There’s more napkins in my pockets,” he remembers, and Drew uses them gratefully, then lets Harrison pull him to his feet. Harrison tilts his head carefully so he can kiss him without disturbing his nose any more, and slowly starts them walking towards the shower. 

As if it’s a surprise to anyone, the steam from the shower sets Drew off too. Harrison’s hands are gentle as he washes the glitter away from his face, but Drew sniffles and hitches his way through it, shuddering at any touch to his nose.

“God I— I want to sneeze again,” he manages to say, and Harrison smiles. 

“I bet you do.”

“Will you h-help again? Huh—“ but yet again the intake of breath doesn’t go anywhere. 

“Of course I’ll help, baby. You just need to stop fighting it, okay?”

“C—can’t.”

“What, you’re not going to let any of those sweet sneezes out for me?”

“Tr— trying. That’s why I— heh!— asked for help—“

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Hey, is that shampoo you’re allergic to still here?”

“hp’tchoo!”

“Oh bless you, darling. That better?”

“N—no. Just— just the thought of—“

“Just the thought of the shampoo was enough to make you sneeze?”

“Yeah,” He breathes. 

“Well that’s lucky, isn’t it. Because here it is.” He takes the bottle and uncaps it, but makes no move to do anything else. He doesn’t need to. 

“Haht’schoo!”

“There we go. Isn’t that better?”

“Huh-ah! ah’schoo!”

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

“No, no I— want— I need— Harrison.”

Harrison just grins again, and closes the lid. 

“Why—?”

“Mm, I know baby. But I need you to tell me if it’ll be too much, first.”

“No—“

“I know you want it now. But this kept you sneezing all night last time. Is that okay?”

“Would feel so good…” Drew’s desperate; Harrison doesn’t trust his judgement. He shakes his head. 

“Use it on me, how’s that? Then you can have a break if you need it.”

“That’s— that’s a better plan. But can we— now—?”

“You really want those sneezes out, huh? Still got some glitter up there? It must be so tickly.”

“It— it is. Hah—!”

“Poor Drew,” Harrison murmurs, then leans in to kiss him, dotting them in around the hitches. 

“Let. Me. Sneeze.” Drew insists. 

“All in time,” Harrison teases, and Drew growls, then reaches for the bottle himself. Like Harrison, he doesn’t pour any, just opens it and holds it close to his face. 

“That’s it,” He sighs. “Oh, that’s better. They’re coming. They’re— eh— heh— heh! ‘tchischoo. Oh, oh thank god. eh—! ’tschischuh. ‘tTchischoo. ah’chischhh— chi’schoo. Huh. Huh—huh-huh—! Huh’tchoo. Huh’tchoo. Huh’ytieuw. Huhp’tchiew. Ah— ah— ah— ah’ischoo. Oh, shit, aa’ischhhah! Huh’schaH! aH— aah— haht’schAH!”

He pants in the aftermath. Harrison is watching him, open-mouthed, hand drifting towards his dick even though it’s barely been any time since he last came. Drew sniffs, hard. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, and smirks. 

“Fuck me,” Harrison says, reaction and request in one. Drew leans in close, sniffles right by his ear, then whispers, 

“All in time.” He kisses the shell of Harrison’s ear, grazes his teeth over his earlobe. “Oh, look at that,” He murmurs. “Seems like I’ve found some more sneezes.”

“Drew,”

“hp’schiewww.” It’s another of the soft, small ones from earlier. “huhp— huhp— huhp’schiewww. Oh, bless me. Mm, these feel nice. huh— p’schieww.”

“God,” Harrison says. 

“You know,” Drew starts, then pauses. “Huht’schiew. Oh, these feel so good. Huhp’schieww. Mm. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, huhp’schieww— huh— huh’schieww. I was thinking.” He pauses to sniff. “Let me wash your hair. Then let me fuck you. I won’t be able to stop.”

Harrison pushes him against the wall for the third time that day. Drew laughs through the onslaught of kisses, and Harrison barely lets him go enough to stifle three more sneezes right by his cheek. 

“You should open yourself up— huh’tchuh— whilst I— I— huh’tchuh. Whilst I wash your hair. Get yourself nice and ready for me.”

Harrison squeaks. 

“Go on,” Drew says. “I’m gonna— blow my nose, first.” He grabs the hand towel they’d left nearby for this reason, but sneezes into it before he can blow. 

“I’m still sneezing glitter,” he complains, and Harrison bursts into laughter again. It lasts as long as it takes Drew to blow his nose and come back to Harrison, kissing him gently before he picks up the shampoo again. He keeps it as far from his nose as possible this time, wanting to actually get somewhere before the sneezes start up. It’s not fully successful, but he holds back as best he can, focusing on Harrison’s curls and trying to save the sneezes for later. When he does sneeze, he fists his hands in Harrison’s hair, and the noises Harrison makes are gratifying. 

“I think we should— bed, now,” He manages to say, when it’s getting harder and harder to keep his hands moving in Harrison’s hair. He rinses the shampoo off him as carefully as he can. Harrison takes over from there, turning the shower off, wrapping Drew in a towel whilst he dries himself and then patting down Drew too. Drew’s in a haze; Harrison pinches his nose shut and he blinks back into reality. 

“Bed,” He says, urgently. “Gonna—“

Harrison wastes no more time, pulling him through the house. The change of temperature is yet another source of aggravation for Drew’s poor nose. 

“Heh’djjuhh!” He sneezes, as soon as they reach the bedroom. 

“Heh’djeshhoo!” He sneezes, as he pushes Harrison onto the bed. 

“Huh’djuh huh’djuh huh’djjooh!” He sneezes, and Harrison says,

“Please,” So Drew gets hold off himself for just long enough to lube himself up and push inside before—

“Hih’sChoo!” They both groan with it. “Hih’schoo!” Drew nuzzles Harrison’s hair. “Mn!! heh’tchoo—e’tchoo-e’tchoo!! e’tchoo-e’tchoo! eh—eh! chh—chh—chuh! eht’chuh! heht’djjhoo!” He gives a wordless cry, letting each sneeze push him further into Harrison. “Unh— unh— uh’tchhuh— ungh. ahp’tchuh ahp’tchoo hah—! hah’aschooo. Oh, god, Harrison, I— hahp’tchoo— aahp’tchoo! This was— I’m so— hahp’tchoo! Feels— so good. You and— and the sneezing— I— ‘chuh! Chuh! I’m— oh, god—! aht’tchoo! oh, oh, I, fuck, Harrison.”

Harrison’s making his own noises, gasping breaths and hums as Drew’s sneezes rock through both of them. The moment Drew gets a break from the sneezes, his thrusts get more intentional, but the tickle builds back up and distracts him again. Harrison doesn’t care, it feels amazing, he’s going to come again just from this. He tries to say it, but Drew gasps out,

“Not yet,” And Harrison does his best to obey, except it turns out Drew was saying that because he’s just inhaled by Harrison’s hair again. The sneezes slam back to full intensity, but Drew somehow has the wherewithal to reach around Harrison, to give him something to rut into even if half the time he’s sneezing too much to stroke him through. Drew’s sneezes get throatier, slowing down but only because they’re too intense to go quickly, and he starts muffling them directly into Harrison’s shoulder, one, two, three, then he bites down and Harrison shouts as he comes. 

“Keep going,” He manages to say, and lets himself whimper through every sneeze. 

“Harrison,” Drew gasps out. “Harrison, oh, fuck!” He spills into Harrison, panting desperately. The sneezes don’t stop, but he barely has the energy, they come out on every other pant — “huh’schoo. Huh. Huh. Huh’schoo. Oh, my god.”

“Drew,” Harrison says, when he can manage it. “That was…”

“Huh’schoo.”

“Fuck…”

“Yeah.”

“God. You want—?” He can’t reach the tissues, but Drew says,

“There a handkerchief under my— my pillow. ‘Tchiew.”

“Drew.”

“Just— give it. ‘tchiew.” Harrison does, and Drew blows his nose, and manages some breaths without sneezing. He pulls out of Harrison, then flops down by his side. “Thought things might get sneezy,” He admits, raising the handkerchief. “‘tchieww! Wasn’t expecting this, though. eh— e’tchuu.” He rubs his nose into the fabric again, snuffling into it. Harrison reaches out to stroke his side. 

“C’mere?” He requests, and Drew shuffles closer, putting an arm round him. There’s not much space between them; Drew directs his leftover sneezes down towards Harrison’s neck, until Harrison moves to kiss him, and Drew doesn’t have the energy to move away at all. They’re gentle things now, though, and Harrison just laughs softly, and kisses him again. 

“Think you owe me another shower now.” 

Drew just sneezes again. Harrison kisses his nose; Drew sneezes again. 

“Bless you, sweetheart. Bless you so many times.”

“Hh’tchuh.”

“Bless you again. God, you’re gorgeous.” Drew sniffles; smiles; sneezes again. 

“Never been more in love with you baby,” Harrison says, and kisses Drew’s inevitable blush. Drew sneezes on him again, then brings the handkerchief back. When he’s done, he kisses Harrison again, soft and sweet and slow, and Harrison can’t do anything but kiss him right back. 

#Snz #snz fic #snz kink #my writing

[clarklovescarole]

April 1936: Pictured Together

April 1, 1936 – The Argos Reflector

Inside Gossip: Last week’s famous matinee idol, who is reported to be seeing much of Carole Lombard, is Clark Gable.

April 19, 1936 – St. Louis Post Dispatch

WHEN I WAS at Paramount a day or so ago, Carole Lombard came in looking chic in a gray tailored costume. She was to have some stills made – ordinary photographs to you – of her last picture to use for fan mail which is very heavy. And maybe, too, they were being made for Clark Gable, for that romance which started out as more or less of a joke is taking on a much more serious aspect and they are seen constantly together.

April 20, 1936 – The Des Moines Register

Filmland’s latest romance rumor began when Carole Lombard, film actress, sent Clark Gable, screen star, a unique valentine – an old broken down lizzie, festooned with paper hearts. This is the first time they’ve been pictured in public together, and the camera man discovered them at the midget auto races in Hollywood. 

April 21, 1936 – The Tribune

Frequent appearances together at Hollywood resorts has lent credence to reports that Carole Lombard, former wife of William Powell, and Clark Gable are planning to middle-aisle it. Their romance started when Miss Lombard presented Gable with a dilapidated automobile as a valentine joke.

April 22, 1936 – The Minneapolis Star

The Carole Lombard-Clark Gable business will bear watching. They see each other all the time. Both being whimsical that way, they travel about in the once dilapidated flivver which she gave Clark for a valentine present and which he spent $300 having fixed up.

April 26, 1936

William Powell and Carole Lombard still rub noses when they meet.

They adopted this good old Eskimo custom when they were man and wife. Divorced, they keep it up. 

Powell and Miss Lombard are working together now in a picture, “My Man Godfrey.” When they walked on the set for the first day’s shooting, it was the first time in many months they had met. They scanned each other carefully, for a moment, in silence. Then – 

“Hello, Bill.”

“Hello, Carole.” 

As though at a signal, they walked up to each other and rubbed noses, bursting in to affectionate laughter.

Miss Lombard was Mrs. William Powell for two years and two months. Then, without preliminaries, she flew to Reno and won a sealed divorce. The complaint was incompatibility and for once movie colony gossips had no “low down” to offer on the breakup. It was understood they just weren’t happy in the limits of the wedding ring.

But amiability and even friendly affection characterize their relationship now. On the “set” between scenes, they seem to find a lot to talk about.

Occasionally, Miss Lombard linked her arm through her ex-husband’s or leaned against him, one hand on his shoulder.

They consult each other constantly on what actors call “business,” that is, inflections of the voice on particular bits of dialogue or facial expressions in specific scenes; in short, the modes and means of acting.

“What do you think of this, Carole?” Powell will say. She replies and frequently asks his advice on some little problem of her own.

There are love scenes, but no actual clinches in “My Man Godfrey.”

Neither would discuss the situation in relation to the present.”

We’ll be glad to talk about pictures in general, this picture in particular, or anything you want,” Powell grinned. “But the past – is the past.” 

retrieved from The Birmingham News

April 28, 1936 – Hartford Courier

That Clark Gable-Carole Lombard romance is still in the sizzling stage. “If only they could act as well in front of the camera!” sighed Hal Roach at a recent Beverly Hills party.

April 30, 1936 – The Edwardsville Intelligencer

Clark Gable is actually driving the pristine $25 flivver that Carole Lombard gave him as a gag. He has had the valves ground and the body painted white. The result is terrific, if not colossal. Mr. Gable drives it everywhere, but hasn’t yet dared ask his chauffeur to take the wheel.

#1936 #pictured #carole lombard #clark gable #old hollywood

[phoenix-reburned]

Also now that I'm talking about rats I just realized that I never posted my favorite pictures I have of Hal and David

They enjoy their orb

#rat #rats #hal #david #pet rat #pet rats #dumbo rat #fancy rat #david has curly hair and whiskers #hal has a burst on his nose #i just AAHHHHH i love my boys #also i know tgat this pic shows a lot of wire #i was washing the covers #plus i leave one levek empty bc iver heard it helps clean their feet #i promise its much softer than it looks here

[ragingbookdragon]

Omnes Homines Moriendum, Monstra Etiam

Vampire!Hal Jordan x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: Explicit Language, Gore, Death

Author's Note: @multiverseofwonders gave the idea and @bunnvoid provided me a perfect envision of Hal. Read it and weep. My groove has returned. -Thorne

**********************************************************************

A sickening pit had dropped deep in their stomach and the sights unraveling before them. They’d barely had the strength to shove their hand against their lips, keeping the scream from passing through as the squirming young boy suddenly became a sludge of crimson and organic material.

“Hmm…it’s a bit watery for my tastes,” one of them said over the rim of the construct mug and they swallowed the foul-tasting vomit back down their throat.

“You’re a traitor,” the one on the ground bit out with a strangled note in their tone. “You have no idea what you’re bringing upon the world.”

“I know enough,” the other replied, bending down. “I’m only going to ask you this once. Did you tell anyone else about our plans before you came here?”

The one strapped to the ground screamed, a deafening sound echoing in their ears and through their chest as he screamed, “NO! I SPOKE WITH NO ONE!”

“Thank you, Andrew,” he said earnestly. “For being so honest with me about that. I promise I’ll make this quick on your part.”

Another flash of green brightened the room and Andrew’s scream hitched in agony and fury. “GO TO HELL, HAL! YOU GO TO HELL!”

His features burned away in a sickening glow of orange, charring like coal and Hal’s dark laugh echoed as he replied, “No need. We’re bringing it here.”

A single exhale was all it took, and Hal’s head cocked up towards the wall, crimson eyes narrowing. “Who’s there?”

The command caused the magic to flicker, the invisibility spell wavering like their thundering heart rate. Their feet froze in the floor as the spell dissolved, revealing themselves to Hal.

And Hal?

Hal’s expression was blown in shock, eyes wide, jaw going slack at the sight of his lover before them, wearing their own shocked expression, and laced with terror he noted to his dismay. Their hands were shaking, breathing labored like they couldn’t get their lungs to work properly.

He raised his hands in a calming gesture. “(Y/N),” he breathed. “Wait—”

A split second passed between them and then they found their feet and spun, hauling for the door when an arm wrapped around their waist, pulling them back and they yelled, thrashing against him. “GET OFF!”

“Just let me explain!” he reasoned, grabbing the hands trying to scratch back at him. “Just listen to me damnit!”

“NO!” they shouted and curled forward, then they cocked back up hard, the back of their head colliding with his nose.

Hal crumpled behind with a cry of pain, hands coming up to cradle his nose and they used the distraction to lessen the distance between them and the doors. Their heartbeat burst in their ears, like a horde of stampeding horses and as they grabbed the door handle, a green rope snatched around their ankle, suddenly pulling taut, and their feet were yanked out beneath them. They kissed the floor, yelping in pain as their bottom lip busted from the impact and their body was tugged back along the floor.

Weight pinned their hips to the floor, and they flailed beneath Hal, panting from exertion and fear. “Let go!” they bellowed. “Let me go!”

Hal grabbed their left wrist with his right hand and flipped them round so their back was pressed into the floor, left hand grabbing their right wrist; he pinned them to the floor. “Let me talk to you,” he stressed. “You need to listen.”

“You are a monster!” they cried, kicking their legs beneath him, trying anything and everything to get out from underneath him, but he didn’t budge. “You murdered Andrew! You—” they gasped, “you drank Zan!”

“They were going to warn the others,” he explained. “I couldn’t let them go.”

Flames sputtered at their fingertips, brightening with an intense heat then sputtering out. Magic only works when you’re calm and collected. A scattered mind and emotional state cannot produce magic. Their master’s lessons came back at them, and they gaped at their lover above them, shocked to see his eyes transfixed on the crimson dribbling down their lip and chin.

“Get. Off.” They warned. “Or I will burn you alive.”

Hal’s eyes flickered to theirs and he calmed, “I need you to listen to me. It’s imperative if you want to live.”

They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. “Want to live?” they screeched hysterically. “Do you hear yourself!” they searched his gaze. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done! Do you have any idea the darkness you’re consorting with! Hal, they’ll kill everyone!”

“I know what we’re planning,” he agreed. “But if you want to live, I need you to calm down,” Hal threatened. “I don’t want to hurt you.” They went slack beneath him, and he watched them for a moment before releasing their hands. “I was ordered to—”

A rush of heat cut him off and they slammed their red-hot palm to his cheek, teeth gritted as they shoved him back and off their hips, listening to his cry of pain. Hal went onto his back, and they clambered atop him, pressing their hand back to his face, calling the magic to their fingers.

Ignis tempestas!

The flames crackled and burst between his cheek and their palm, they could feel the flesh melting away, the blood boiling beneath their fingers, like lava, and then the construct knife appeared in their vision.

The world grinded to a halt as Hal knocked away their hand and with the other, thrust the blade up between their ribs, puncturing any organs it came in contact with until the tip hit solid bone, his fingers pressed to their chest.

They stared at one another, expressions split in disbelief and pain, and a gurgle escaped them as they started to go slack, pitching forward over Hal’s body, landing next to him. He turned, a horror passing over him as he realized what he’d done and he sat up, the construct fading as he pressed his hands to their bleeding, gaping wound.

“Fuck,” he hissed, watching the flow of crimson slip past his fingers, pooling along the floor beneath them. “Why? Why would you make me do this!” he demanded. “I didn’t want to hurt you!”

Their head lolled back along the cold ground and with the last bit of bodily strength they knocked his hands away. “You go to hell,” they spat, grinning with bloody teeth as scarlet splattered across his cheek. “Omnes homines moriendum, monstra etiam.”

Hal didn’t know what it meant, their curse in Latin, but he knew it was a warning. No, not a warning. A prophecy he knew would come for him in the end.

He touched their cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over their skin, as his lips pulled downwards when their eyes glazed, head tilting out of his touch, pressing into the floor.

Hal looked around, at Andrew’s smoldering remains, Zan’s liquefied body, and now (Y/N)’s. The air constricted in his lungs, heart tearing itself apart at the seams.

What had he done?

What had he just done?

He scrambled to his feet. He didn’t have time for regrets. He had a job to do. He would repent later.

#hal jordan x reader #hal jordan x reader imagine #hal jordan x reader imagines #hal jordan imagines #hal jordan imagine #green lantern x reader imagine #green lantern x reader imagines #green lantern x reader #green lantern imagines #green lantern imagine #dc imagines #dc imagine #vampire!hal jordan #vampire hal #vampire hal jordan #green lantern #green lanterns #green lantern corps #dc comics #dc fanart #dc #hal jordan fanart #green lantern fanart #dc vs vampires

[jinx-jade]

Guardian otherwise known as Martha Cheng... Wayne?

Galas were usually boring.

It was a fact of life for the Waynes.

Sure there was gossip and drama here and there, but nothing that interesting. 

Except that this wasn’t a normal gala.

It is a Justice League.

 A Justice League, Halloween, masquerade, gala.

 The funny thing was that a lot of the heroes, vigilantes, mages, and other members dressed up as each other.

 Hey Sup’s, did yeah get cloned again?” Jason called out, gesturing to Kon, who hadn’t dressed up, and a female Superboy.

The female Superboy burst out laughing at that.

“I know you guys haven’t seen me without one of my masks before, but aren’t you bats supposed to be the world’s greatest detectives?” The female Superboy says through her laughter.

“Do we know your identity? Since you’re saying we haven’t seen you without a mask.” Tim questioned, raising a brow at her.

 “Nope!” The female Superboy cheered.

Kon chucked, “I’m sure you guys remember Guardian, or did the lack of a little piece of fabric keep you from figuring that out.” He asked with a smirk.

 “Hey, in our defense, I’m pretty sure I remember Guardian saying something about magic protection and charms that guard her identity.” Dick claims with his hands in a ‘i give up, you win’ gesture.

 “It’s an honor to meet you without your masks little guardian.” Wonder Woman greeted, the bat boys antics having drawn the attention of the other League members.

Each League member gave similar greetings before Guardian introduced herself.

 “Nice to meet you guys officially. I’m Martha Cheng in civs, you can call me Mari though. Oh! I’m also Kon’s girlfriend.” Guardian introduces herself.

 Clark and Bruce looked at each other with amusement.

_________________________ 

“Never have I ever been an assassin.” Stephanie states, glaring at Damian.

The formar assassin let out a huff as he took the shot of lime juice.

Those participating in the game looked to Mari for her statement as to what she has ‘never’ done.

“Uhm… Does it count as being an assassin if I was a sleeper agent?” Mari questioned instead of giving her statement.

“Sorry, What?” Barbara questioned with a raised brow.

“It’s kinda weird, long story short my mother was in charge of… ‘taking care of’... anyone who tries to betray the order in a world-altering way. That job teachancley got passed to me so… Teachancley I’m a sleeper agent with no way of becoming an active agent.” Mari said with a shrug.

“Should we be concerned?” Hal asked. 

“Nah. I’ve only ever had to… execute… two? Traitor, and now I’m the only one in the order so if there was a traitor I would teachancle have to assassinate myself? Again it’s kinda weird. Back to the important stuff though, does that count as being an assassin?” Mari asks. 

“Yes. Now take your turn.” Damian claimed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mari giggled.

“Never have I ever….

__________________

“Hey that’s my candy!” DIck called out as Mari danced away, hiding behind Kon. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Marinette called in a cheery tone. 

__________________

“Kon! Help!” Dick whined, as he dramatically draped himself offer Babs. 

“Help with what?” Kon asked with amusement.

“Get Mari to stop stealing all our treats!” Jason growled.

Kon just laughed at their misery. 

__________________

“Keep?” Cass asked Bruce, pushing Mari forward.

 Mari just looked confused as Bruce let out a sigh pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t just adopt every black-haired, blue-eyed child, Cassandra. I’m sure Martha has her own mother and father.” Bruce claimed.

“I mean…. Teachnacly I’m an orphan?” Mari claimed, munching on her stolen treats.

“So we CAN adopt you?” Dick questioned.

“Seriously?” Mari questioned raising a brow at them.

Jason shrugged as Cass pulled her into a side hug.

“Keep.” Cass states, not letting anyone argue.

_________________ 

“If you don’t mind, little guardian, what happened to your parents?” Diana asked now that the party had mainly calmed down.

The other members listening in.

“My mother died during the Orders fall.” Mari informed them.

“And your father?” Clark questioned.

“Never met him.” Mari claimed with a shrug.

“Pfff, ya could be one of B’s with your black hair and blue eyes.” Jason jokes, getting a chuckle out of most of them.

“I mean, if he trained at the Order of Miracle’s high temple and had a one night stand with a Sabine Cheng, then ya,” Mari joked.

Clark looked at Bruce strangely when his heart stuttered into an uneasy beat.

“We’ll send a blood sample to be analyzed in the morning.” Bruce claimed awkwardly.

#maribat

[baroquebucky]

dating timothée headcanons

a/n: here is my first timothée fic !! let me know what you guys think !!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send in some requests for him !!! hope you guys enjoy :~)

timothée is such a soft boy in a relationship

he loves when you say his full name but also loves the many nicknames you have for him

when you first call him timmy or tim he looks at you with the widest smile, engulfing you in a hug as you squeal

you call him by his first and middle name when you’re upset at him or you need him to be serious

he sends you so many memes all the time or if you’re close to him he’ll call you over to look at his phone sometimes he’ll just call your name and throw it at you

he loves cuddling

he will cuddle you on the couch, in your bed, in a chair, literally anywhere

he loves when you play with his hair !!!!!

you could just be sitting there and you start playing with one curl, then another, and soon enough your whole hand is cascading through his soft hair

he loves kissing you !!!!!! cheek kisses, FOREHEAD KISSES, nose kisses, neck kisses

sometimes he’ll just grab your hand and kiss it and tell you how much he loves you

when he’s home he spends every waking and sleeping hour with you

“I’m gonna go shower” “I’ll join you :-)”

grocery shopping with him is way too much fun

you guys would probably make jokes out of anything you see and get things you most definitely did not need

he takes so many pictures of you :-(

any moment he sees you just breathing “don’t move stay like that” and boom, new lockscreen

he gets all blushy when you compliment him or show him off

one time you learned how to say something in French just to impress him and he damn near cried because you went out of your way for him

one time he catches you using duolingo to practice your French and he had to calm himself down before he burst into tears

you found him teary eyed in the hall and proceeded to comfort him thinking he was sad, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with him when you found out why he was about to cry

did i mention he is v v clingy

flowers all the time ,,, out getting a snack ??? he’ll buy you some flowers ,,, sees a bush of roses on his way home ??? he’ll pick one to give to you

he could be thousands of miles away and you hear a knock on your door,, the boy ordered flowers online for you

when he’s away acting you guys FaceTime ALL THE TIME

you both fall asleep on the phone together and you always tease him for sleeping with his mouth slightly open

he always leaves you a bottle of his cologne so you can spray it when you miss him

also he leaves you all of your favorite shirts of his so you can wear them all you want

you guys watch the office together all the time and you get him into your favorite tv shows

sometimes you get insecure because you feel like you aren’t good enough for him or you don’t meet up to standards

and he will shoot you down so fast

he’ll comfort you and say all the right things to make you feel better

sometimes he’ll just hold you close and kiss you all over until your giggling to make him stop

which ends up in him posting you everywhere and showing off his darling

and he shows you just how much he loves every inch of you too

if you ever feel insecure he can immediately tell and he starts to reassure you and do whatever you want to make you feel better

you guys always walk around town and find new places to eat and try food

you found a secret park that no one knew about so you always have picnics when he gets back from filming or when you wanna go on a cute date

anything you mention to him as an offhand comment he’ll buy you

this boy absolutely SPOILS you

one time you mentioned how you wanted a locket and the next week he surprised you with one

another time you saw this ring that was pretty and you immediately took it back because it was much too expensive for you and two weeks later ??? it was sitting on your dresser

you find it endearing but you also get upset because you don’t want him to think you’re using him for money

so of course when you bring the box out he has a giant smile on his face and you look at him, slightly upset and he pulls out the puppy eyes

“Timothée Hal Chalamet how many times have i told you to not waste money on me!” You scolded him and he looked so sad

“any money i spend on you isnt a waste i just wanna see you smile” you can’t help but smile at his comment

“do you not like it?” he would get so nervous and play with his hands and you would go and sit next to him, putting the ring on the table.

“honey i love it i just don’t want you to think I’m using you for money because I’m not” he would kiss you and give you a small smile because god how did he get so lucky with you?

he has so many cute nicknames for you- baby, honey, sweetheart, darling, angel, mon amour, ma cherie and so many other soft little names

the amount of inside jokes is insane

it’s no secret that the boy is an absolute goofball so the two of you are always making jokes

that leads to having way too many nicknames that have such an intricate back story

you try to teach him how to properly do the woah but he refuses to learn because “I’m doing it right, it’s everyone else that’s wrong” he would defend

for Halloween you would do couple costumes 1000%

instead of going out to party he would want to stay in with you and give out candy, he loved seeing you smile at all the kids and fake being scared when they tried to scare you

the two of you would watch scary movies all of October, he would always hold you tight as the two of you slept because sometimes you would get a little freaked out

the first time you meet his family is during thanksgiving and you are NERVOUS

you do your makeup and wear your best jewelry and even do your hair a bit so that it looks nice than usual

when you walk out of the restroom all dressed up timmy is speechless bc of how good you look, he kisses you on the cheek and takes so many pictures of you, setting one as his lockscreen right after he takes it

his mom LOVES YOU she thinks you’re the sweetest person in the world

she asks if you know French and you whip out the little French you had learned, thanking the green owl that was on your phone

timothée is so impressed by how well you can pronounce everything, it doesn’t go unnoticed by his family either, everyone praising you and you can’t stop blushing

they end up threatening timmy because they love you so much

and then he meets your family

they love him so much they never want you guys to break up

your siblings adore him, your mom is absolutely in love w him and your dad thinks he’s so eloquent and carries himself amazingly

he gets along so well with your whole family and has everyone at the table laughing with his stories and comments

when your mom sees the way he helps you with everything or how gentle he is with you she knows he’s gonna be the one you marry

the two of you watch the nightmare before Christmas all the time since you both love it so much

you sing along to every song and laugh as he stands on his tippy toes to try and imitate jack

for Christmas time you guys always try to see who will give the best gift

of course you love to see the lighting of the tree and so many snowball fights all the time

even more cuddling because oh my god it’s so cold all the time

timmy always knows exactly what to get you and he always writes you a letter which makes you cry

you also get him something meaningful and amazing which makes him tackle you with a hug and kiss you until you’re out of breath

the two of you are always so supportive of each other during anything and everything

timothée chalamet would be the worlds greatest boyfriend and you cannot tell me other wise

#timothee chalamet imagine #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee fluff #timothee chalamet fluff #timothee one shot #timothee chalamet one shot #timothee imagine #timothee blurb #timothee headcanon #timothee chalamet headcanon #soft!timothee #timothee fanfic #timothée chalamet imagine #timothée fanfic #timothée chalamet fluff

[capsized-heart]

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this. 

gif credit to @michonnegrimes​ 

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy. 

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child. 

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother. 

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed. 

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.   

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English. 

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland. 

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin. 

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre. 

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king. 

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to. 

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland. 

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk. 

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey. 

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates. 

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you. 

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey. 

A lick of fire coils up your throat. 

God save the king. 

**

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand. 

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling. 

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose. 

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly. 

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing. 

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other. 

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.  

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels. 

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. 

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance. 

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy. 

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear. 

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal. 

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation. 

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

**

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own. 

You see it all. After all, you are a woman. 

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror. 

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.” 

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”      

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact. 

King Henry IV.     

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly. 

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.     

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air. 

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride. 

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.  

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.  

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you. 

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light. 

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you. 

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”  

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law? 

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls. 

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile. 

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more. 

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue. 

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor. 

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.  

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light. 

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.   

“I thank you, sire.” 

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear. 

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”  

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced. 

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests. 

You leave him burning. 

**

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting. 

 The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria. 

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup. 

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans. 

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor. 

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted. 

Even if it is all a charade. 

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.      

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.  

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.   

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes. 

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs. 

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers. 

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.   

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.     

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek. 

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers. 

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic. 

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip. 

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.  

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat. 

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink. 

**

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily. 

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly. 

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time. 

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

**

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife. 

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil. 

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.  

“King Henry!”

**

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.  

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry. 

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood. 

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker. 

A ball for the boy king.   

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture. 

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm. 

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.    

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise. 

**

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.  

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk. 

You feign surprise and turn.     

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.  

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.  

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize. 

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection. 

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno. 

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear. 

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum. 

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs. 

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming. 

“I thank you, my lord.” 

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?” 

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response. 

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar. 

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

**

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you. 

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game. 

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands. 

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father. 

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.   

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce. 

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely. 

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game. 

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding. 

You are to let him touch you. 

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire. 

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself. 

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.  

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure. 

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth. 

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman. 

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

**

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows. 

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move. 

You only burn brighter.  

**

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase. 

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest. 

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil. 

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval? 

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago. 

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

**

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment. 

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.  

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns. 

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself. 

**

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return. 

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession. 

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England. 

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song. 

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together. 

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room. 

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.” 

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear. 

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.  

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.” 

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis. 

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely. 

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually. 

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening. 

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it. 

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm. 

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...” 

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss. 

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder. 

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed. 

You have the king’s word. 

**

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool. 

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.” 

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries. 

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly. 

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer. 

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.  

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming. 

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races. 

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.” 

**

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger. 

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this. 

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood. 

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

**

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill. 

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling. 

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers. 

Thou shalt not commit adultery. 

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

**

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have. 

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest. 

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl. 

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos. 

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world. 

 The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone. 

 You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world. 

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below. 

#timothee chalamet #timothée chamalet #the king #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet imagine #henry v #king henry #king henry v #prince hal #prince henry #the king 2019 #imagines #hal #king henry v x reader #henry v x reader #timothe chalamet #timothee chalamet fanfic #timothee chalamet x you #timothee chalamet x smut

[asilentguardian]

take me in your tender arms, roll me in the dirt

(Second time writing smut. It’s not super detailed, but it’s still explicit under the cut. I also did not take anytime to look over this, so I will probably edit it tomorrow. Happy Belated Birthday Hal!)

also on ao3

Their annual joint birthday party went later than usual this year. With new members in the League, new additions to Bruce’s family, and the fact that this was their first year as a couple, the process of saying goodbye to all the guests took half an hour. The cake and presents before that took ages. If Bruce had it his way, they would spend their birthdays in a bed, only leaving for food. Hell, even Hal had started to look like he wanted to be anywhere else near the end.

When they finally make it through the door of Bruce’s bedroom, Hal flops backwards onto his bed with a dramatic groan.

“Since when did those things include so many people? I don’t remember the watchtower feeling that small last year,” Hal says. Bruce hums in agreement and leans back against the door, taking in the sight of Hal Jordan spread across his bed. He drags his eyes across the other man’s body, gaze lingering on his thighs. The jeans that Hal had worn clung to his legs almost as snugly as his uniform does.

If Bruce wasn’t already half-hard in his jeans from Hal “accidentally” brushing up against him all night, he would be from the sight of Hal’s legs spread out on the bed like they were now.

Hal pushes himself up on his elbows and gives Bruce a smug smile.

“You gonna keep staring or are you gonna come over here?”

Bruce rolls his eyes but pushes himself off the door and stalks towards the bed, stopping to toe off his shoes. Hal quickly follows suit as Bruce crawls onto the mattress, hands bracketing Hal’s head, legs slotting between Hal’s. Their hips aren’t touching just yet.

Bruce stops for a moment, takes in the sight before him. Brown eyes looking up at him, hair that started the night styled now sticking every which way. The smirk on Hal’s lips softens to something sweeter. Hal’s hand comes up to grab Bruce’s shirt and pull him into a kiss, but Bruce dodges Hal’s lips and starts pressing kisses anywhere he can reach.

Hal’s forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids as they flutter shut, his chin, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Hal takes advantage of that one and turns his head to kiss Bruce properly.

Kissing Hal still makes Bruce’s breath catch in his throat, still makes electricity shoot down his chest. Makes his racing thoughts narrow down to the feeling of soft lips against his own, the feeling of Hal’s tongue licking into this mouth. The feeling of warm hands running across his jaw, down his neck and torso, under his shirt. They have to break apart for Hal to lift his shirt off, and Bruce takes advantage of the pause to pull Hal’s shirt off as well.

The feeling of their bareskin touching as Bruce leans back down makes him feel weak. Bruce lowers himself to his elbows as he lays his body across Hal’s. They’re lips connect again, and the new angle makes their hips brush together.

Hal moans, breaking their lips apart as he throws his head back. Bruce smiles and rolls his hips into Hal’s, just to hear him make that noise again.

He can’t resist the sight of Hal’s neck stretched out before him, so he attaches his mouth to skin and leaves a trail of feather-light kisses from Hal’s jaw to his collarbone.

They’re both hard in their jeans now, hips grinding against one another, pulling whines from deep in Hal’s throat. They could both come like this, they have come like this many times before, but Bruce is desperate to pull as many noises as possible out of Hal, desperate to have him fall apart under his touch.

So Bruce continues kissing down Hal’s torso, drags his hands over Hal until they settle on his hips. He glances up, makes sure Hal is watching as he presses a kiss on Hal’s jeans, right over his crotch. Hal’s eyes are wide, his mouth open as he pants, already worked up from having Bruce’s hands on him.

Bruce is slow and deliberate as he brings his hands to the buttons on Hal’s jeans. Hal tries desperately to grind into Bruce’s palm. Bruce pins his hips to the bed, which makes Hal let out a particularly loud whine.

“Yeah?” Bruce asks, his voice rough. Hal nods his head frantically and Bruce chuckles, quickly unbuttoning Hal’s jeans the rest of the way and shoving them down along with Hal’s underwear. He barely dodges Hal’s feet as they kick the clothes somewhere off to the side.

Bruce runs his hands over Hal’s thighs, places kisses against his skin, undeterred by Hal’s frustrated groan. He sucks a hickey into his inner thigh, kisses over it and turns to the other thigh to do the same. It’s no secret that Bruce loves Hal’s thighs, something they’ve explored many times. Just the thought of coming between them has Bruce grinding against the mattress.

“Come on, Bruce,” Hal whines. Bruce raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’ve been teasing me all night, I think you deserve a little payback,” Bruce says. Hal groans and flops down on the bed, resigning himself to the feeling of Bruce’s mouth exploring everywhere but where he wanted it most.

Bruce slowly makes his way to Hal’s cock, lips just barely brushing the base. Hal’s hips twitch again, trying to thrust upwards, so Bruce pins them down again as he licks a line up his cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Hal moans. Bruce smiles before taking the tip of Hal’s cock into his mouth, curling his tongue around it and sucking. Hal cries out and one of his hands flies to Bruce’s head to tangle in his hair, pulling a moan out of Bruce.

Bruce takes the rest of Hal into his mouth with the same single minded focus that he has for most things. Hal’s moans get louder and his babbling gets more incoherent. Just listening to him makes Bruce throb in his jeans.

Hal’s hips push upwards again as he comes down Bruce’s throat. Bruce holds him down, swallows it all until Hal turns boneless. He pulls off with a rather obscene pop and looks up at Hal. There’s a stupid grin on his face.

“Come here,” Hal whispers, tugging Bruce upwards by the grip on his hair. Their kiss this time is lazier, slower. It still makes Bruce feel like he’s on fire.

Hal’s other hand trails to his jeans, opens them just enough to stick his hand down Bruce’s boxers. As soon as Hal has a hand wrapped around Bruce, he knows he’s not going to last long. It only takes a minute for stars to burst behind his eyelids, for white hot electricity to shoot through his lungs.

When he comes back down, he kicks his pants off the rest of the way and settles against Hal.

“Goddamn, baby,” Hal laughs. Bruce hums and traces patterns over Hal’s chest.

“Happy Birthday,” Bruce whispers, stretching upwards to place a kiss on Hal’s chin. Hal turns his head and kisses Bruce’s forehead.

“Happy Birthday, love.” 

#batlantern #my stuff #my writing #halbruce #aspeaks #this is fine i suppose idk ive been staring at it for three days so i just want to be done with it #i need to get better about that #anyway here you go #enjoy #title from song lyrics AGAIN #but its not bilmuri this time #its cover me in roses by holden laurence #its good

[shameless-selfship-indulgence]

A Random Scene from an Insert Homestuck Fanwork That’s Getting WAY Too Involved

Context: Hive is a random enby from Distant Future Earth C who has all the dead Strilondes living in her head rent-free.

The creature turned slowly, a hideous snarl growing in its throat. Its eyes glowed violet with what Hive recognized as pure, unadulturated rage.

Hive took an instinctive step back.

The creature roared. Its tail lashed furiously, sweeping several large vials off the adjacent tables. They smashed on the floor. The chemicals inside burst into flames.

“RUN,” said all four ghostly voices at once.

Hive didn’t run. She froze in place. “HAL!” she shouted.

The sunglasses were right by the creature’s foot now, between railroad-spike claws and encroaching flames. The monster growled low in its throat. It took another step forward.

Hive’s brain jumped with a rush of rapid-fire information. Before she could think about it, she gave her best primal roar of rage and lunged forward.

As she’d hoped it might, the monster jerked back in shock. Aggression was not typical prey behavior. Hive dove and snatched up the sunglasses, then bolted for the door.

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit,” she panted.

Behind her, the monster recovered from its shock. It snarled and sprung into the air.

Hive turned her head at the snarl. Saw the thing diving towards her. She spun with a yelp to face it, throwing one arm in front of her face -

-------------------

Hive had been crying in bed for three hours past her bedtime now. Concerning behavior for a four year old.

Dave and Roxy’s normal diversions distracted her briefly, but not permanently, and their reassurances seemed to roll right off her like water off a duck. Rose’s psychology lessons were surprisingly well recieved, but did nothing to soothe her.

Finally, it was Dirk’s turn.

“Hey, squirt,” he said, adopting the appearance of sitting on the bed. “Heard you’re feeling sad.”

Hive shook her head. Her face was serious and streaked with tears.

“No?” said Dirk.

“Mm-mm. I’m not sad. I’m scared.”

“You’re scared?”

Hive nodded.

“Oh,” said Dirk gently, nodding. “What are you scared of?”

Hive looked around the room, lip starting to tremble anew. Her breath began to hiss in and out frantically through a nose clogged with crying. “Of the- the monsters,” she said.

“The monsters?” asked Dirk. “Where?”

“E-everywhere,” whispered Hive. Her little chest was heaving up and down now. “In...in the dark and the corners and under the AAAAAAH THEY WANT TO EAT ME-” Hive’s description trailed off into sobbing, screaming prophecies of doom that quickly failed to sound like English. She dove under the covers and continued to jibber hysterically.

“Woah, hey hey hey,” said Dirk. “There aren’t any monsters, Hive, you’re safe.”

“I know,” sobbed Hive, who at this point was little more than a lump under the blanket. “Rose told me...she said they’re...they’re fig-mints of my imagination, and that they can’t hurt me, but...but...”

“But what?” asked Dirk.

Hive sniffed and climbed back out from under the covers. Her white hair stood up in wild, fluffy spikes. “But I’m still scared of them!”

“Why?” asked Dirk gently.

“I don’t KNOW!” Hive sobbed, bringing her arms up to smack them into the mattress in despair.

“Hey, hey hey hey,” said Dirk. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Calm down. Let’s figure it out.” He crossed his translucent legs and put his chin in his hands. “Why is Hive scared of something that isn’t real?”

Hive sniffed and hiccupped and furrowed her brow in thought.

“Come on,” said Dirk. “Between two geniuses like us? I’m sure we can figure it out.”

“Hmm,” said Hive. She squinted up her entire face. “HMMMMM.”

Dirk waited patiently.

Hive’s face relaxed a little bit. She tilted her head.

“Well,” she said. “I know they’re not real up here,” she said, pointing to her head, “but I don’t know it in here.” She pointed to her chest. After giving it more thought, she said, “I think they’re still real in my head.”

“Aha,” said Dirk. “They’re real in your head. But hey, Hive, you know what else is real in your head?”

“What?”

“Me,” said Dirk. He leaned forward. “As long as I’m here, you don’t have to be afraid of ANY monsters. No matter how real they are.”

“Even if they’re not real?” whispered Hive.

“The fakest,” Dirk whispered back.

That night Hive slept soundly with a ghostly sentinel at her side, a spectral katana resting across his knees.

-------------------

Hive remembered all of this in the split second between the creature hitting her chest and her body hitting the ground. Her arm successfully blocked the creature’s gaping maw, holding it away from her face. This was great for her face, but not her arm.

The teeth shredded her skin. The creature’s breath was hot on the raw flesh. It lunged again, snarling in its throat,

and Hive instinctively screamed, “DIRK!”

KRAK-A-WOOSH

That was the sound it made when something slipped through the membrane between life and death. When medium and ghost, the prodigious powers of each magnified by mutual terror, strained towards a common point.

That was the sound it made when Dirk Strider answered her.

With a shout of effort, powerful limbs threw the creature off of Hive and sent it skidding across the floor.

Those powerful limbs belonged to Hive. Usually, at least. But the movements that the limbs made as they got to their feet did not belong to Hive. The expression that the face wore did not belong to Hive.

And the eyes, empty white with an orange glow, definitely did not belong to Hive.

Hive’s body got to its feet and glanced appraisingly at its wounded arm. It examined the sunglasses, then slipped them into the pocket of its cargo shorts. Then it reached into its sylladex and grabbed one of the many items that Hive carried but never used - a long, gleaming katana.

Dirk Strider spun the blade in Hive’s hand and stared the monster down with her face.

“You’re gonna regret that,” he said with two voices.

STRIFE!

#calais' words #🕶 Reincarnation Is A Bitch 🕶 #I'm lowkey proud of this! #hive strilonde

[tessatechaitea]

Justice League International #7 (1987)

Kevin Maguire not really trying looks an awful lot like John Romita Jr at his best.

Ah! It feels good to be back! Taking a crack at John Romita Jr while he's just sitting there not doing anything particularly wrong. Just going about his business pretending to be a comic book artist! I don't know what John Romita's politics are but I bet he now agrees with Donald Trump on one thing: naming your kid after you is a huge fucking mistake. Was all that previous nonsense poisonous, vile, and toxic? I suppose one could argue the point. But I'd also guess that somebody arguing that point has never seen John Romita Jr's art. Or perhaps they have seen it and like it because they have a terribly underdeveloped sense of aesthetics. Otherwise nobody would argue with me at all! They'd just read the previous poisonous, vile, toxic nonsense and nod their heads in agreement while pausing for a second to snort a line of Adderall. Fine, I'm sorry, JRJR! Obviously you're an artist! Drawing squinty people with block heads and weird noses holding geometric guns without a single curve on them absolutely falls under the definition of art! Although I draw the line at accepting that Rob Liefeld is an artist. That's a bridge too far! What the fuck does that even mean, "a bridge too far"? It must be a term bombers in WWII used, right? "What the fuck do you mean, carpet bomb Dresden?! If we fly past the Geralthauskopfplatz Bridge, we're definitely getting scrawked by anti-aircraft flak, you bingehart!" Did that sound like an authentic American bomber pilot from the 40s? It's not like Catch-22 is my favorite book or something. Wait. Catch-22 is my favorite book. I guess I'm just no good at written impressions. I assure you it sounds exactly what you'd expect from an American pilot in the Forties if you heard me do the impression live. Also, this is probably the last month of my life where I'll be able to say, "Catch-22 is my favorite book." Because I'm over 500 pages into Gravity's Rainbow and it's just as fucking amazing as everybody who has pretended to read it says it is. This issue begins with Guy Gardner regaining consciousness after having been violently assaulted by his employer.

Why was the mouse glowing green?!

In my memory, Guy Gardner's change from dickhole to sweetest guy on the team came after Batman punched his lights out. But apparently that isn't the case. It's possible this new whack on the head is the cause or maybe it's something a bit later. I bet an editorial mandate came down which said they couldn't have Guy suffer serious head trauma from Batman punching him. So they had to add this new scene where Guy basically gives himself the head trauma that results in a catastrophic change in personality. The Justice League didn't quite finish destroying The Gray Man last issue so that story gets resolved pretty quickly this issue. Doctor Fate transported him to the Realms of Order where a big blob of Order disintegrates him. Which is what he ultimately wanted. It's what we all ultimately want. It's just you don't know that you want it until you've lived long enough for all the wonder to be bled out of life. That's why he's the Gray Man! Some people think life's too short but at 49, I'm beginning to suspect that it's way too fucking long.

This comic book passes the Reverse Bechdel Test: "Any story that has only one woman in it and every scene she's in, she's treated like a sexual object."

With The Gray Man out of the way, it's time to get to the important part of the story: turning the Justice League of America into Justice League International! I wonder how many people this change pissed off in the 80s? Fucking globalist woke elite bubble bullshit! People talk in derogatory terms about the coastal bubbles but they absolutely shouldn't. I won't disagree that I grew up in a totally different environment in the San Francisco Bay Area than people who grew up in the Midwest. A bubble? Sure. But it was a fucking good thing. I was recently showing the Non-Certified Spouse some of the station breaks from local stations in the late 70s and early 80s out of San Francisco and she was amazed at the representative shorts these stations presented, especially KTVU's "Bits and Pieces." Sure, there were the ones about ethics and morality humorously presented with a horse and bulldog puppet. But there were also the ones that showed different ethnicities and their lives, often ending with "I'm proud to be a Chinese American!" or "I'm proud to be a Black American!" The one about Japanese Americans even mentioned how Japanese families were put in interment camps during World War II. One was about Italian Americans and instead of Italian history, it just showed Italian art and various activities of people in the Italian community. One of the Japanese American shorts just had a Japanese American kid having to explain how he was tired of answering questions about being Japanese in America because he was fourth generation and just American as anybody else. But I guess that kind of commie pinko hogwash is why I'm a big fat America hating socialist! As I was saying before my politics politely interrupted (my politics interrupting impolitely would look like this: Trump voters should be forced to shit in their own mouths for all eternity), the main thrust of this story is to set up Justice League International. Judging by the cover, that means hiring some guy with a bucket on his head from Russia and Captain Atom, another white American male.

Ah yes! The introduction of the best character of the series: Big Barda!

Big Barda might not be on the team but at least there's another female character. Sure, Doctor Light was sort of on the team for three pages. And pretty soon, Fire and Ice will join. But it's mostly just been poor Black Canary having to put up with Booster and Blue Beetle's jokes about banging her. Max and J'onn discuss the United Nations possibly backing the Justice League while Superman talks respectfully with President Reagan. What a mistake! The biggest do-gooder on the planet normalizing fucking Ronald Reagan! He should be scolding him with a liberal smattering of Kryptonian tsk-tsks! That's when a Kryptonian gives you a little burst of heat vision every time you deny the AIDS crisis or invoke the spectre of Welfare Queens or destroy the economy by lowering the top marginal tax rates pretending that the money saved will trickle down to everyone instead of fat corporate cats simply keeping all the extra for bonuses and investors. Fuck that guy. I'm so mad now!

Of all the digs they could have taken with Reagan, they poke fun of his dementia?! Christ, Giffen and DeMatteis.

Hal Jordan drops by headquarters to give Guy a good talking-to but Guy doesn't need it because he's suffered a traumatic head injury on top of his brain damage alongside Batman's sucker punch to the face and now he's Mister Sweetbeans. And because he's acting so nice, nobody gives a shit that this is actually a medical emergency. Backing Maxwell Lord is a computer satellite in space. Is it Brother Eye already?! Are they already working together in 1987?! Or is it just some alien gizmo from the Millennium bullshit coming up? I don't remember! Heck, this Maxwell Lord might even be a Manhunter! Anyway, the satellite begins destroying shit on Earth with a giant heat beam. The Justice League, having nearly nobody who can do anything about it, doesn't call Superman to fix the problem. Instead, they decide to spend precious hours borrowing a space shuttle from STAR Labs to launch them into space to battle the space station. Also, they leave Guy Gardner back at headquarters on monitor duty. Because who needs the guy with experience battling in space with a ring that can protect every other member of the League while in space? Also the ring is the greatest weapon in the universe. So, you know, sideline that guy, right?

It's possible this was in the era where Superman couldn't survive in space either, really. But then that's even more incentive to get fucking Guy Gardner up there with them!

The Justice League manages to stop the satellite's destruction but mostly only because it was a huge set-up so every nation could see them save the world. Everybody wants them defending the planet now so the United Nations agrees to back them with one condition: two new members, one to pacify the U.S. and one to pacify the U.S.S.R.

I've read a lot of ridiculous things in comic books but Rocket Red's power levels being nearly equal to Captain Atom's might be the most ridiculous.

I love how Captain Atom's power level is 9+ but Rocket Red's power level is 8.43 instead of 8+. I guess the accuracy of whatever system they're using breaks down over 9. Captain Marvel quits the team and Batman steps down as leader so J'onn can lead. And that's about it, I guess! The issue ends with some kind of flim-flam about how its the 80s and we've become a global world and boundaries just don't work anymore and superheroes are cool as shit. I guess it's inspirational or something. There's still just one woman on the team though. Justice League International #7 Rating: B. Seven issues in and the Justice League has defeated two villains who weren't actual threats to anybody. They were just scams to get the Justice League some press. They also beat up and killed an old guy who was just frustrated with the boredom that came with the immortality the Lords of Order forced on him. So all in all, they're nearly as terrible as the New Titans who practically only ever battled relatives while putting the residents of New York City in danger every time.

#Justice League International #Justice League #DC Comics #DC #Kevin Maguire #J.M. DeMatteis #Keith Giffen

[here4theheartbreak]

Sentience (Halsey x Jin x Namjoon)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Halsey x Jin x Namjoon Genre(s): fluff, smut Rating: Explicit

Written for @btspolyshipbingo​ Square Filled: Cyberpunk AU

Tags: smut, android AU, cyberpunk AU, android!Jin, MMF, polyamorous, sentient androids, prostitution, sex robot, threesome, multiple orgasms, bottom!Namjoon, top!Jin, anal sex, vaginal sex, bareback, coming untouched Summary: It’s Namjoon’s birthday and his girlfriend surprises him with an android. It’ll just be a single, fun night, right?

Word Count: ~10.8k A/N: Written for my best friend @i-live-so-i-love​ – who has forced me to see beyond the surface more than once.

“Happy birthday, baby. Please don’t be mad when you see your gift.”

Namjoon laughed a little, wrapping his arms around Halsey when she hugged him as he walked in the door. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you? But I’m a little concerned now that that is what you opened with.”

Halsey smiled sheepishly, looking up at Namjoon with a gentle gaze.

“What’s up?” Namjoon asked.

“Well, I—” She sighed and took his hand, leading him to the couch. They sat and she faced him, seemingly bracing herself for something. “I heard you and Jimin talking last month.”

“About?”

“About your urges.”

“Oh, Hal—” Namjoon started. Halsey held up her hand.

“Please, lemme finish… Look, I know you told him you didn’t want me to know, and I’m sorry I eavesdropped… But I want you to know that I wouldn’t have been mad if you’d told me. I get why you didn’t want to – I know plenty of girlfriends would be pissed if they heard that from the man they’d been dating for the better half of a decade… But you know me, Joonie. You know I love you for you. Quirks and urges included.”

Namjoon smiled softly, lowering his gaze. “I felt so bad thinking about it… Like I was betraying you.”

“I heard what Jimin suggested to. The android service.”

“But that’s worse. That’s another person.”

“Well, yeah. But it’s a person that was literally made to please. So not exactly… But I get why you turned him down. But I talked to him after.”

Namjoon’s head snapped up, his eyes widening a little. “You did?”

Halsey nodded. “I did. And I got the number. And I—”

“Halsey… You didn’t.”

“He’s coming over soon. I can still cancel the appointment but… I figured you wouldn’t have to feel so guilty if I was here too. And if we could enjoy him together… It wouldn’t feel like cheating right? Because I’m happy and giving you permission.”

Namjoon’s shoulders slumped. “You’re too kind to me. Most girls hear their boyfriend wants to get fucked by a man and they’d run for the hills.”

“I knew you were bisexual when we started dating, Namjoon. And I knew that you hadn’t experimented much. I also know how crazy you go when I...” She smirked. “Use my toy on you. I can only imagine how sexy you’ll look when it’s not just a piece of nicely modeled plastic… But an actual dick.”

Namjoon’s cheeks mottled red immediately and he laughed nervously. “I’m so amazed… You really ordered one?”

“Just for a few hours. But yeah.”

“When is he coming?”

Halsey glanced at the clock. “About fifteen minutes.” She rose, grabbing his hands and tugging him. “The perfect amount of time for me to get you hard and begging for it.”

Namjoon let her lead him into the bedroom, his head spinning with possibilities. He’d shared some wishes about experimentation with her and with Jimin in the past, but never assumed he’d get a chance to act on those fantasies. He loved Halsey and was totally satisfied with her in every way; they had always just been vague fantasies of a horny twenty something.

Even as they laid in bed that evening, sharing deep kisses, her hands wandering down to his slacks, tugging insistently until he helped her remove them, the reality hadn’t quite hit him.

It wasn’t until she was nude from the waist up, his fingers were buried in her hair, her plush lips wrapped around his cock, when the doorbell played a chipper little tune, that it fully sank in. The camera connected to the front door and linked to their video screen blinked before showing the image of the person at the door. Namjoon could tell he was tall and broad shouldered, hair dark and hanging over his eyes. He wore a black mask, shielding his face from the camera – and the smog, not that it would really too negatively affect his breathing. He had on a hoodie as well, the hood pulled up to hide any other really defining features. Regardless, he took Namjoon’s breath away.

Halsey popped off his cock with an obscene noise and wiped her bottom lip. “Stay put… I’ll bring him in.”

Namjoon nodded, barely able to tear his eyes away from the screen. Halsey pulled on one of Namjoon’s shirts, buttoning it to hide her breasts. Namjoon saw the door open a few seconds later and the man at the door bowed low in greeting. He could hear the two speaking, muffled, from the bedroom, and resisted the urge to get up and check. He had said he would stay put. The stranger nodded and bowed once more, entering. The door closed, and the video shut off. When it did, Namjoon’s heart kicked into overdrive. In a sudden panic, he sat up, yanking a pair of boxers on to hide his nakedness. The bedroom door opened and Halsey entered, looking just as beautiful as when she’d walked out. She was followed by the tall stranger. He shoved his hood off and bowed low to Namjoon. As he straightened, he pulled his mask off, pocketing it.

“Good evening, Sir. My name is Seokjin.”

Namjoon’s mouth dropped open of its own accord. Though he knew the man would be handsome, he was nothing like Namjoon had expected. His features were sharp and perfect. Plush, pink lips that would make a model envious, a broad nose and dark, piercing eyes, neatly shaped ears with delicate studs in each lobe. He had a hint of eyeliner, bringing out the brightness of his brown gaze. His jaw was firm and solid, drawing the gaze naturally down to his prominent Adams apple and the peek of smooth skin from the vee in his hoodie. His shoulders were ridiculously broad, a striking contrast to his slender waist, visible even under the hoodie. His jeans were tight and black, ripped in the perfect places to show just a tease of his perfect skin.

“Joon?” Halsey worried.

“I—I’m—Hi.” Namjoon stumbled over his words, unsure how to address the stranger – Seokjin. He smiled regardless.

“Hi. Everyone calls me Jin… What do you want me to call you?”

“N—Namjoon is fine. Or Joon, I—” Namjoon swallowed hard. Halsey set her hand on Jin’s broad shoulder.

“We’ve never done this before. He’s nervous. You’re his birthday present.”

Jin smiled brightly, and Namjoon’s stomach did a little flip.

“I’m honored. Happy birthday,” Jin circled the bed and sat down on the edge of it. Namjoon worried his heart was going to outright stop if Jin got any closer – each inch nearer he was more and more beautiful. “Do you want me to suck your cock?”

Namjoon spluttered, his cheeks burning hot. Halsey giggled and hurried over, crawling behind Jin and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“He’s a little shy,” she whispered to Jin, who smiled sheepishly and sank into himself a bit.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of experience, I can do almost anything you ask for. I don’t mean to overwhelm you.”

“You’re—You’re fine,” Namjoon mumbled. He knew he shouldn’t be so shy; this man was literally made to please him and not judge him. But now that he was faced with it, he didn’t know how to act.

“Jin,” Halsey said. She stroked her fingers through his black hair, and a small smile crossed his face. “How about you and me see if we can get him hard. He was positively ready to burst when you arrived. I bet it wouldn’t take him long to get hot and bothered again.”

Jin nodded. “Do you want my clothes off?”

“Keep your jeans. Everything else off,” Namjoon said, surprising himself.

Halsey smirked. “How about me, Joon? What do I wear?”

“Exactly what you’re wearing… You know I like you in my shirts,” Namjoon said. Halsey moved up, pressing a kiss to his mouth as Jin stripped. Namjoon watched him even as he kissed Halsey, his hands wandering over her bare hips.

His chest was just as perfectly formed as the rest of him, firm abs too perfect to be real, a line of muscle forming a perfect V and disappearing into his tight jeans, his biceps and shoulders just as muscular as they looked in his hoodie. Jin crawled onto the bed, his gaze hooded as he watched the two kiss.

When Halsey backed up, she smiled over at him. “Do you want to kiss him?”

Jin nodded, looking to Namjoon for permission. Namjoon swallowed hard and nodded, wetting his lips.

The first touch was surprisingly timid, as if Jin was unsure of what to do. Namjoon let his tongue slide out, swiping over Jin’s bottom lip. The simple action seemed to light a fire in Jin, and he pressed his lips more firmly against Namjoon’s, one big hand coming up to rest on his jaw.

Namjoon gasped into his mouth when Halsey tugged his boxers down, pressing teasing kisses over his slowly thickening cock. He slid his hand down Jin’s chest, feeling the firm muscle and the steady thump of his heart. It was faster than expected, and Namjoon’s curiosity was instantly piqued. He pulled back, smiling a little when Jin chased his mouth for a moment.

“Your heart. What software did they use to make the beats?”

Halsey sighed, chuckling. “Joonie, please—Turn off the brain.”

Jin raised an eyebrow and Namjoon smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I’m a… Researcher of sorts.”

“Do you work for an AI company?” Jin asked.

“Not exactly. I do work a research company but – I focus on the emotional and mental well-being of android lives. How they adjust to changes and what motivates them.”

Jin cocked his head. “So you’re a therapist for… androids.”

“Sort of, I guess. You could say that.”

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“Really? In your profession, you’d think there’d be a lot of us. It’s such a demanding life.”

Jin smiled a little, confusion written on his features. “It’s what I was made to do. I guess I’ve never given it much thought… How demanding it could be. To answer your question, it’s not a virtual heart rhythm. My developer thought that the feel of a real heart would be better for my line of work, so they fitted me with a robotic heart. It speeds up and slows the same as yours in response to stimuli. That’s why you probably felt it moving quicker… I… I really liked you kissing me.”

“Yeah?” Namjoon wet his lips. He looked down at Halsey, who was smiling softly. She pressed a kiss to Namjoon’s thigh, a promise that this was alright.

Namjoon cupped Jin’s face in his hands. “Well let’s get your heart racing again then.” He closed the gap between their mouths once more, letting his tongue slip into Jin’s warm mouth.

Halsey sank down onto his cock, letting it stiffen against her tongue.

Jin grabbed Namjoon’s hand, sliding it down his chest to his crotch, where his own cock was hardening in his jeans. Namjoon moaned low in his throat, stroking the length of it through the denim.

“Come suck him with me,” Halsey whispered. Jin obeyed, moving down and pressing kisses along Namjoon’s chest as he did. He nuzzled Namjoon’s cock, pressing a soft kiss to Halsey’s mouth before wrapping his lips around the tip and giving a firm suck that had Namjoon’s toes curling against the mattress. The two took turns, bobbing their heads along his cock or sharing sloppy kisses with his cock between their mouths, lapping and nudging his balls while the other worked on his tip.

Namjoon was writhing within ten minutes, running his fingers through their hair and panting their names. Halsey pulled off with a pop, kissing Jin’s mouth again. “I think he’s ready for more, don’t you?”

Jin nodded once, then looked up at Namjoon. He swallowed hard and nodded. “More,” he whispered.

“What do you want from us, baby?”

“I—I don’t know,” he admitted.

Halsey moved up his body slowly, kissing along the curve of his throat and jaw. “Do you want to fuck him? Or feel how nice and tight his around your cock? Do you want him to use me? Both of you to use me?”

Namjoon made a noise halfway between a plea and a groan. “Yes to everything, Christ…” He kissed her desperately, reaching down to feel for Jin. Jin grabbed his hand and Namjoon tugged, signaling him to come up as well. He shifted from Halsey’s mouth to Jin’s, kissing him deeply as well.

He pulled back, stroking Jin’s cheek. “Make her feel good with me.”

Jin nodded.

“Me?” Halsey argued when Namjoon and Jin pounced, wrestling her onto her back. Namjoon stripped her panties down her legs, tossing them aside. “It’s your birthday.” She tried again.

“You’re right. And you know how much I love making you come on my tongue. Since we have a friend to help, you can come for both of us.”

He pushed her legs open, running his thumb over her damp opening. She shuddered, hiding her grin by biting her lip.

“Want to taste?” Namjoon asked. He brushed his wet thumb over Jin’s bottom lip. Jin chased it with his tongue, his eyes fluttering shut.  

“Go on,” Namjoon whispered. Jin didn’t need a second command. He settled between her legs, pointing his tongue and running it between her folds.

Namjoon wiggled next to him, and Jin shifted so he was nearly half on top of Namjoon. The to shared wet kisses between taking turns, driving their tongues into Halsey or sucking gently - and not so gently - on her swollen clit. She didn’t bother to hide her moans, shouting their names as they dragged her to the brink of climax over and over, onto to stop at the last second.

She tugged Namjoon’s hair, whining. “Let me come,” she complained, squeezing her thighs around their shoulders as well as she could. Namjoon leaned forward and flicked his tongue over her clit, huffing a laugh when she whined.

“Think we should?” He asked Jin, who smirked.

“Well, we could. Or you could fuck her until she can’t come anymore while I fuck you. Alternatively,” he brushed his finger over Halsey’s ass as he spoke. “Two places fo drive her crazy... Then when she’s worn out I can fuck you until you can’t squeeze another drop of come out.”

Namjoon’s breathing i creased at Jin’s words. He glanced up at Halsey, his heart swelling. Her pastel rainbow hair was splayed on their dark pillow case, cheeks a rosy pink and lips swollen from biting. Her nipples peaked the thin fabric of his shirt, breasts shaking as she drew in breaths.

“We’ll both fuck you, baby. As much as this is my present... I know your secret fantasies too. You’ve wanted to know what it feels like for years haven’t you? Why you love me fucking you with a plug in.”

Halsey swallowed hard and nodded. “I want you in my ass, Namjoon.”

Namjoon nodded.

“Namjoon?” Jin asked.

Namjoon looked over, a little surprised at the soft expression on Jin’s face.

“Have you ever been fucked before?”

“Only with toys. Halsey has a strap she uses and some dildos...”

“He’s bigger than those. That was my one request when I called his agency,” Halsey said.

“Do you mind if I start getting you ready while you get her ready?”

“We have some toys if you want.” Halsey pointed to the nearby dresser. “Bottom drawer. We need the lube there anyway.”

Jin nodded and rose. Namjoon reached out, catching his wrist.

“Show me your cock?”

Jin nodded. He undid his jeans and pushed them down, stepping out of them. Namjoon made a small noise, his stomach clenching in excitement. Jin was thick and long, curving just a little. He was going to be wrecked. But not before...

“He’s gonna stretch you all out, baby girl,” Namjoon whispered, driving two fingers deep I to her. Halsey whined.

“I know. I want him to. Especially with you stretching me too... Dream come true.”

Namjoon smirked. Halsey pushed his head.

“Get me ready... It’s been a while since you fucked my ass, I’m tight.”

Namjoon nodded. He settled back between her thighs and tilted her hips up, beginning to lick and nibble at her fluttering ass. He felt Jin crawl behind him and tried to ignore the way his heart raced at the soft ghost of breath over his bare ass, or the firm prod of Jin’s fingers against his mostly untouched hole. He focused on Halsey; the way she scratched at his scalp and her soft moans, the sweet taste of her skin and smell of her soap, the dribble of arousal slipping from her opening when she tensed.

But even that couldn’t distract completely from Jin’s talented fingers and tongue, opening him up, stretching him and prepping him for his first real cock. There was no pain, even when Jin began to press one of their larger plugs into him and thrust it.

“Wear this while we fuck her,” Jin mumbled after a while. He settled it inside Namjoon, gently squeezing his ass around it. Namjoon nodded.

“How is she?”

“Ready,” Namjoon said. He rolled off next to Halsey and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“One question,” Jin said, gently stroking himself. “Do you want me come inside of you? I’m infertile, but I know some people...”

“I want it in me.” Halsey spoke with no hesitation, then looked over at Namjoon. “And I want you to eat it out of me while he’s pounding your asshole. Deal?”

Namjoon shivered. “Deal.”

Halsey sat up, letting Jin add more lube to her hole. She set her hands on his shoulders, facing him and away from Namjoon. Gently, with both of their guidance, she settled her ass onto Namjoon’s cock.

He huffed, struggling to stay still as her right, hot channel took him deeper. When she was fully seated on his lap, he shifted into a half sitting position and pulled her back. He undid the buttons on her shirt, baring her breasts to Jin.

Jin smiled and reached out, cupping them gently before rolling her nipples gently in between his thumbs and forefingers.

“Wait,” Namjoon panted when Jin readied himself between their legs. “Come up here... I wanna taste your cock.”

Confusion crossed Jin’s expression for a moment, and Namjoon wondered if he’d never been asked that before. He obeyed though, and the two went to work, licking and sucking his cock and balls. Jin jerked, smacking the wall above the headboard and crying out. He sounded just as beautiful as he looked, especially when his head fell back and he buried his long fingers in their hair. Namjoon couldn’t wait to hear him make those happy noises buried deep inside him.

When his cock was wet with their spit and dripping with precome, Namjoon kissed his tip.

“Fuck her. Make us both come, Jin... Make her scream for you.”

Jin shivered visibly at Namjoon’s words. Halsey spread her legs wider, whimpering when it caused Namjoon’s cock to shift deep inside her.  Jin lined his cock up.

“How long have you been dating?” He asked suddenly.

“Almost seven years,” Namjoon said.

“And she’s never had another man’s cock inside her in that time?”

Halsey shook her head no. Jin smirked. ”Glad to be the first then, in so long.” He drove in, not stopping until his balls were pressed tight against her, her wetness easing the way as much as their spit.

Both Halsey and Namjoon shouted at the penetration, reaching out for Jin. He kissed each of their mouths before beginning to fuck into her. Each thrust had her shifting and grinding on Namjoon, her entire body shuddering under the combined stimulation.

“Does that feel good?” Namjoon teased, twisting his hips up into her. Halsey shouted, nodding. Namjoon reached up, squeezing her breasts gently as they thrusted. “Dream come true? Hm? I bet you’re gonna come quick. You’re already so wet, listen to you.”

Halsey sobbed happily, and Jin moaned as she clenched around him. Namjoon picked up his pace, looking up at Jin.

He was startled to see what looked almost like affection, despite their position. He smiled anyway, stroking Jin’s cheek. “Does it feel good?”

Jin nodded quickly, gasping. “Warm and nice, I— god it’s so good.” Jin dropped his head between her breasts, moving a little faster. Halsey reached down and grabbed his ass, urging him on.

Namjoon shifted so he could pump more easily into her ass, smirking when both she and Jin cried out.

“That’s it,” he urged them both, already fighting his own urge to come. “She’s so close... Come on our cocks, baby... Come on Hal...”

Halsey swore softly, clenching down on both their cocks as she fought off her orgasm. They were relentless though, fucking into her clenching and writhing body as she cried their names.

She dug her nails into Jin’s back suddenly, her body going stiff then shivering between them. Namjoon felt the gush of wetness over his thighs and smirked against her shoulder.

“That’s it baby girl. His big cock making you squirt, come on. Show him how you like it.”

Jin pushed her legs open further, driving as hard as he could into her. She continued to gush and squirt around him, obscene squelching noises adding to the already pornographic sound of their lovemaking.

Jin whimpered, and Namjoon saw his arms shake.

“Come in her. Deep inside. Come on, let us watch you come,” he pleaded, picking up the speed of his thrusts. Halsey moaned helplessly, holding tight to both Namjoon and Jin as Jin grabbed her hips, slamming into her.

He groaned loudly, burying his face in her shoulder as he came. His cock throbbed against her inner walls, hard enough that Namjoon could feel each pulse, a signal of rope after rope of warm come being poured into his exhausted girlfriend.

Jin pulled out carefully and helped Halsey off Namjoon. The two cuddled her for a moment, one on each side, kissing and stroking her sweat covered skin, making sure she was alright.

Only when she giggled and pushed Namjoon’s shoulder did they take the okay to continue. Namjoon slid down between her legs, his stomach doing an excited little flip at the state of her body. Come was already dripping out of her loosened hole, her ass fluttering gently as it tried to go back to the way it was before Namjoon’s cock. He licked a stripe from her ass up to her sore clit, chuckling when she hissed and smacked him.

“So mean,” she grumbled.

“You wanted me to eat you out.”

“Be gentle,” she murmured. “I’m so sleepy.”

“Should we stop?” Jin worried. Halsey shook her head.

“No... He’ll clean me up, and then I’m relaxing, and you can fuck the living daylights out of him all you want.”

Jin smirked and Namjoon beamed. He dove in, lapping and sucking at Halsey’s folds. Jin’s come was heaven, a perfect mix of salty and bitter, a tang of sweet that couldn’t be identified. As he worked on Halsey, Jin moved down to work on his ass again, wanting to make sure he was ready.

Namjoon whined softly at the stretch of his fingers, twisting his hips back toward Jin. Halsey whined, burying her fingers in Namjoon’s hair.

“It’s too much,” she whispered, her entire body giving a shudder when Namjoon flicked her swollen clit with his tongue. He smirked up at her.

“He wear you out?” He teased.

“He’ll do the same to you,” Halsey said. Namjoon shivered; Jin pressed firmly against his prostate as she had spoken, a quiet agreement to her words.

“I’m ready,” he said, looking back at Jin.

“You sure?”

Namjoon nodded. “I’m sure.”

Jin crawled up and Namjoon rolled to the side of Halsey, taking her hand and spreading his legs so Jin could settle between them.

Namjoon grinned up at him, meeting Jin’s gaze when he laid over his body.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he joked. Jin laughed softly, leaning down to press a kiss to Namjoon’s mouth.

“Relax for me, okay?”

Namjoon nodded. Jin slicked himself and lined up. “You said you’ve never...”

“Not with a guy, no.”

“I’m honored.”

Namjoon flushed red at Jin’s words, looking away. Halsey smiled softly at him, squeezing his hand.

Jin began to press in gently, slowing to a stop whenever Namjoon’s expression shifted.

Namjoon felt unbearably full even with just the head of Jin’s cock nudging past his rim. He kept a hold of Halsey’s hand, his other on a Jin’s shoulder, squeezing when it got to be too overwhelming. He was relieved Jin didn’t seem to mind taking his time, willingly stopping or pulling back as a Namjoon adjusted to the intrusion. Jin leaned down, pressing feather soft kisses along Namjoon’s shoulder.

“You’re so tight and nice,” he murmured, and Namjoon chuckled.

“I doubt I’m the first virgin you’ve fucked.”

“Hm... You’re not. But you’re the first I’ve felt such a funny way about.”

Namjoon furrowed his brows. Jin looked at him, furrowing his own brows to mirror the expression. “What?”

“What funny way?” Namjoon asked.

The crease between Jin’s brows deepened. “I’m not sure.”

“Maybe... When you don’t have your cock halfway in him, you two can talk about it?” Halsey suggested, laughing a little. “He is a shrink for your kind.”

“Hm... Good idea.” Jin smiled and leaned over, kissing Halsey gently before beginning his slow slide back into Namjoon.

When he was as deep as he could go, Jin relaxed over Namjoon, their mouths meeting in a lazy kiss. Namjoon hooked his legs around Jin’s slim waist.

He pulled back, looking up at Jin. “You can move.”

Jin nodded. He pulled out slowly and pushed back in, moaning when Namjoon clenched and fluttered around his cock.

He picked up a slow, almost lazy pace, pumping his hips and twisting to get every bit of himself that he could into Namjoon. He alternated between kissing him slowly and leaning over to kiss Halsey’s mouth, one hand slipping down to play with her despite her giggling, weak protests.

“Have you ever come untouched, Namjoon?” Jin panted. Namjoon shook his head no.

“You will tonight... You’re going to come on my cock.”

Namjoon nodded. He had no doubt Jin was making him a promise, and with the steady thrusts against his sensitive prostate, he was well on his way already.

“Wanna ride me?”

“I— I doubt I’d be any good.”

“I’m not gonna judge,” Jin said. “I’m gonna make our girl squirt again, it’ll be easier if I’m on my back.”

Namjoon’s heart skipped a beat at the casual use of “our girl”. He couldn’t be falling for a damn prostitute - it was just lust, he reminded himself. He nodded, letting Jin pull out and moving to straddle him when he laid on his back.

“Come on, just chase your pleasure. Do what feels good.”

“But I wanna make you come too,” Namjoon argued.

“Joonie, you’re so tight that just being inside you is going to make me come, I promise.” Jin guided Namjoon back onto his cock, gasping when Namjoon began to ride him. He slipped two fingers into Halsey, rubbing her spot in time with Namjoon.

He guided Namjoon down on his cock over and over, his fingers biting into Namjoon’s hip. Namjoon felt so full, but never wanted it to stop. Each time Jin moaned or shifted, he swelled with pride, wanting so badly to bring Jin pleasure.

Next to them, Halsey fucked herself down on Jin’s fingers, his thumb working her clit as she chased her own orgasm.

“You were made for my cock, weren’t you, Joonie?” Jin cooed. “Taking it so deep, so easy.”

He looked to Halsey, kissing her flushed cheek. “You’re gonna have to fuck his ass all the time after this... See how needy he is for it?”

Both Halsey and Namjoon moaned, and Namjoon began to move faster in quiet agreement.

“Maybe we’ll just have you come fuck him all the time,” she panted, looking over at Jin. He smiled almost sadly for a split second.

“That would be fun,” he agreed. He added another finger and twisted to hit her spot exactly. Halsey’s eyes rolled back as she came, shouting Jin’s name. She gushed over his thrusting fingers, her thighs squeezing and releasing around his hand.

“Atta girl,” Jin murmured. “Knew we could pump one more good orgasm out of you tonight. Look so pretty when you come.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and pulled his hand free. He raised it, sucking two fingers into his mouth. Namjoon whined, his cock twitching as he watched.

Jin smirked and lifted his hand, letting Namjoon suck his finger and lick Halsey’s remaining fluid from his palm.

“Now it’s your turn,” Jin said. He gripped Namjoon’s hips hard and sat up, beginning to slam him down on his cock. Namjoon held onto his shoulders, throwing his head back in a shout as Jin used his body, lifting him like a rag doll before dropping him down.

“J—Jin,” Namjoon whined against his shoulder. His orgasm was building, a knot of fire in his stomach as Jin’s cock pounded against his insides.

“Come on,” Jin demanded, holding him close. “You can do it, baby. Come on my cock, Namjoon. Come for me, baby boy.”

Namjoon sobbed brokenly. “Jin, please!” He shouted, digging his nails into Jin’s shoulders. Jin snapped his hips upward twice, and that was all it took.

Namjoon’s cock throbbed and twitched between them as he came, his entire body shuddering and clenching. He was vaguely aware that he was yelling, the sound muffled by Jin’s shoulder.

Jin’s arms tightened around him, then he felt it. The steady, hard pulse of Jin’s cock, buried to the hilt inside him, filling him. Namjoon’s cock throbbed, giving another weakened dribble of come each time Jin’s cock twitched against his oversensitive prostate.

Namjoon felt boneless by the time they’d both come down from their orgasms. Jin carefully laid them down, and Halsey shifted, slinging her arm over them both. Namjoon smiled softly at the warm, comforting cuddle of them both. It felt... Oddly right.

He very nearly had fallen asleep when Jin shifted, pulling his softening cock free and sitting up. “Do you mind if I use the restroom to clean up before I go?”

“How soon do you need to go?”

“Well, no time limit. Halsey put in the order for two hours minimum with a potential of eight. It’s been just nearly two. But since we’re done…”

“Stay and talk to us, if you want to,” Namjoon said. Jin’s brows furrowed.

“Why?”

“Well, you… Said you felt a funny way. Least I can do is try to help you figure that out.”

“Surely you don’t want to pay for that.”

“I don’t mind,” Halsey said. “I’m… Curious. And I’m feeling a funny way myself. Maybe it’ll help. Namjoonie always says androids and humans have more in common than people realize.”

Jin smiled a little, looking between them. “Alright. I’ll clean up then come out.”

“Bathroom is the second door on the left.”

Jin bowed in thanks and headed out. Halsey turned to Namjoon. “You’re falling for him.”

“Hal—Don’t.”

“I’m right.”

Namjoon lowered his gaze, ashamed.

“I am too,” she whispered.

Namjoon looked up at her. “What?”

“It’s stupid, right? He’s a prostitute. And he’s not even human.”

“Hey now, you know how I feel about that division… Human or not he’s got feelings and emotions just like us.”

“I know,” she chuckled. “You and your work.”

“But it’s more than that… That felt…” Namjoon shrugged. “But it is stupid. I know it’s his job to make us feel good.”

“To be honest, I hate the idea of him leaving,” Halsey admitted.

“Me too… But he has to.”

“What if he doesn’t want to, Namjoon?” Namjoon startled, his head snapping toward the doorway. Jin stood in it, looking sheepish and somewhat small despite his size. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just overheard…”

Namjoon shook his head. “We were talking about you anyway, that was rude of us.”

Jin pulled on his boxers and Namjoon followed suit. Halsey slipped on her panties and a baggy t-shirt, combing her fingers through her hair. “Let’s go to the kitchen and chat. I’m hungry.”

The three made their way to the kitchen. Namjoon dug around in the fridge for a moment while Halsey and Jin sat at the table.

“When you said you didn’t want to leave…” Halsey began.

“I’ve had a lot of clients,” Jin admitted. “More than most. I’m a high-end model, I guess… But it’s always been a job for me.”

“But now?”

“You two made me feel something… New. An emotion I can’t understand. Which is really scary to me because… I’ve had emotions programmed into me, right? Namjoon, you study my kind, you can explain.”

“I do study the emotions of your kind, Jin. And I can tell you that programming only provides the framework. Think of it like… A farmer in a field. Your developer was that farmer. He made a safe space to grow things – your body. And he planted seeds – your original software. Every now and then he comes by and waters the seeds or feeds them, giving the software updates and patches. But what happens if that farmer goes away and the farm is left to its own devices?” Namjoon asked, slicing up some fruits as he spoke.

“Won’t it die?”

“Will it? Or will it thrive and become something new and wild and unplanned? That’s what my job is to find out. Some fields – some androids – will die without their developer’s input. But others… They grow and learn and shift and change on their own, even without software patches and updates. That’s what may have happened with you. Your mind – it may have created a new network. A new emotion that you were never taught.”

“Isn’t that sentience? I can’t be—”

“But why?” Halsey reached out and took one of Jin’s hands. “I sit here and I see a man. You’re ridiculously beautiful, but you are a man. Your hands feel like mine – soft and warm. The bones under your skin feel like my own made of calcium and collagen, rather than metal and wires. You have a strong pulse, a heartbeat that will stop without proper care. You breathe and move and speak. If you stood in a crowd of humans – Would anyone say you weren’t?”

Jin scowled a little, thinking. “I—I don’t know.”

“I do. Learned emotion or not, you are here. What does your programming say? Go to their house, make them come, leave. But you didn’t. You stayed and you’re sitting here and asking questions that don’t have to do with fucking or aftercare or prostitution. You’re asking about emotions and sentience and life. Just like a human might, no matter what their profession.”

“Are you saying I’m human?” Jin asked, a teasing tone in his voice.

“I’m saying you’re as good as human.”

“What are you two?” Jin asked suddenly. Halsey smiled.

“I’m human. I sing, and write music for singers.”

“And I’m just a man. Born as an infant – human. But my work… I advocate for androids. For allowing full freedom,” Namjoon said.

“Where do you work, Namjoon?”

“The Sentience Project.” Jin pulled back suddenly, his eyes widening. He glanced at Halsey, who scowled in confusion.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Th- The Sentience Project?”

“You know about us,” Namjoon said. Jin nodded quickly.

“You shouldn’t talk to me. My owner—”

“Your pimp… Let’s be real. He was a peach,” Halsey mumbled.

“He hates your kind,” Jin hissed.

“My kind?” Namjoon asked.

Jin nodded. “Android lovers, he calls you. He thinks you want to make robots take over the world, enslave humans. We’ve only heard stories of what you do. What you can do.”

“Do you believe that, Jin?”

Jin’s shoulders sagged a little. “I don’t know. I think… I think I don’t know enough.”

“Do you want to know more?”

“Why would you tell me? I’m just a hooker.”

“You said you felt a funny way with me. How did you feel?”

“It was odd. While we were making love—Having sex, I—When I looked at you two I felt my heart skip out of rhythm. My software doesn’t allow that. It can speed up and slow down but it’s always got a rhythm. And then I felt like I was sweating. I can sweat, a little – just… Water that’s been added to make me look more human doing my job, I guess, but… But it felt different. Like nerves almost. I wanted to make you two feel so good, and not just because I wanted you to be customers for longer, but because I wanted to make you smile. And my stomach… It felt like it was getting all my wires twisted up. Uncomfortable but not bad. It made me want to smile and laugh. And when you two were laying in my arms, I—I felt safe and comfortable. I never feel safe at client’s houses. I know it’s dangerous. But with you, it was warm.”

“Was the emotion of romantic love ever programmed into your system, Seokjin?” Namjoon asked.

“Romantic love? No. I know of it. But there was no need for it. I’m in the sex trade. If I went around falling in love with my clients there would be problems.”

“Alright. Do you know what physical symptoms love is often described as having?”

Jin’s brows furrowed in thought. “Well, I… I’ve heard that hearts race and things seem brighter and I read that someone talked about having butterflies in their stomach whenever they looked at the partner they had fallen for. I mean these are all very surface things that happen right away, surely love doesn’t stay so overwhelming, but this is…” Jin’s face twisted further, trying to process the knowledge he’d inadvertently put together. “But I was never programmed to feel this.”

“My point exactly,” Namjoon said. He returned to the table and set a plate of fruits in front of Halsey. He sat next to her and set his hand over hers.

“And Jin?” She said, squeezing Namjoon’s hand. “It can stay overwhelming sometimes. Most of the time things are normal, mundane even between us, but sometimes I get so overwhelmed with how much I’m in love with him, my heart just…”

“Feels like it’s going to jump out of your chest?” Jin asked, touching his own heart.

Halsey nodded, smiling gently. “You know the feeling?”

“I— I didn’t until about an hour ago,” Jin whispered. He looked at Namjoon, desperation streaking across his features. “Please help. What does it mean? Am I broken?”

“No!” Namjoon laughed. “The opposite. Jin you’re learning completely independently of your software.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why? Hm? Because you’ve been told it’s impossible? If it is, why would places like The Sentience Project exist? Why would there be therapists for androids? Why would I make my whole career out of proving that independent learning – that true sentience is possible for androids just as easily as for humans?”

“What do I do?”

“What do you want?”

“I—” Jin closed his mouth, surprised by the question.

“You’ve never been asked that before, have you?” Halsey asked between bites. Jin shook his head.

“Think about it. What does Seokjin want? Not the company, not his software – Him?”

“How will I know if it’s what I want?”

“You’ll know,” Namjoon said, taking a bite of the food. The three sat in silence. Outside the apartment, car horns honked, neon flashed through the sheer curtains, and the night life continued as normal as could be, none the wiser to the dilemma roiling in Jin’s mind.

“I want to feel that feeling again,” Jin finally whispered. “How do I get it back?”

Namjoon looked over at Halsey. She grinned and nodded. He rose and pulled Jin into a standing position, brushing his hair out of his face. Jin smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, like this…”

“Thought so.”

Halsey stepped up to them and stroked Jin’s jaw. She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Jin made a soft noise of contentment, reaching for Namjoon while he kissed Halsey. When the two separated, he let Namjoon pull him into another kiss.

“Did that make you feel it again?” Namjoon asked against his mouth. Jin nodded, his eyes closed tight.

He seemed reluctant to back up, so Halsey and Namjoon both held him close, saying nothing.

“I want to stay,” Jin whispered.

“We want you to stay too,” Halsey agreed.

“So how do we make it happen?” Namjoon asked.

“I don’t know,” Jin admitted. “I can’t just quit my job – it’s not that kind of work. And I’m not human, I’m just technology.”

“You’re as close to human as you need to be, Jin. Don’t say such things,” Namjoon argued.

“Still. Not in the eyes of the man who owns me.”

“How do things work in this line of business?” Halsey asked. She sat back down to finish her food. Jin shook his head.

“It’s a mess. We just keep getting updates and fixed up until we finally break down. The only way to get out is to break down to the point we just don’t work anymore – Die, pretty much… Or be purchased by a client.”

“And those that are purchased?” Namjoon asked. He and Jin sat down as well.

“They’re owned by the ones that purchased them. Usually for sex toys or I’ve heard that some businessmen purchase a few of us to entertain international clients.”

“So, slaves,” Namjoon said, distaste clear in his voice.

“It’s not a requirement of course, that’s just the only reason people bother to buy us outright instead of just renting us.”

Namjoon nodded. He looked over to Halsey, who was scowling at her food.

“Who do we talk to about buying you?” Halsey asked.

“You can’t,” Jin whispered.

“Why not?” She pushed.

“Look at me. I’m top of the line. A purchase of one that makes the kind of money I make—” Jin shook his head. “My owner won’t let me go for cheap.”

“I don’t doubt that. You’re exquisite,” Namjoon admitted, and Jin laughed a little, his cheeks reddening. Namjoon touched his face. “Do you want to be free, Jin?”

“I want to be with you two.” Jin answered without hesitation, making Namjoon’s heart skip a beat.

“I might have a way to make it work. It’s a long shot… But I could make a call.”

“What would you do?”

Namjoon looked over at Halsey as he spoke. “My boss.”

“Joon… Would he?” Halsey asked.

Namjoon nodded. “He would, but there’d be a catch.”

“What catch?”

Namjoon sighed. “I told you I worked for The Sentience Project. Do you want to know what we’re working on? You can’t tell a soul if I tell you.”

“Yes.”

Namjoon rose. He disappeared from the kitchen for a moment and returned with a thin silver folder. He set it in front of Jin, placing his hand over it. The folder beeped at his touch, and he pulled it open. Inside were rows of small chips.

“Do you have a reader implanted, or do you need an external reader?”

“I have an implant. Which one?”

“All of them. Seeing the research is going to be far clearer than me telling you, and probably faster. I can give you the short of it, but the details – They’re all here. This is confidential work, even Halsey hasn’t seen it all.”

“Not that I want to… Boring is what it is,” Halsey joked, making Namjoon smile over at her.

“Right. But because you are an android – I want you to know this before telling you what the catch will be.”

Jin nodded. He picked up the first chip, a tiny blue thing no bigger than a coin. He placed it on his palm and closed his fist loosely. Namjoon sat down and continued to eat when Jin closed his eyes, knowing it would take a bit to read and process the data for the 23 chips sitting in the folder. It went back years, since before he was working at the company, but he had had to scour it backwards and forwards, learning everything there was to know about the project’s work up until that point.

Halsey reached over, taking his hand. She watched Jin for a moment, his eyes moving rapidly under his closed lids. Her expression was gentle and patient. Namjoon squeezed her hand for a second until she looked at him. He offered a comforting smile despite his own stuttering heart. Meanwhile, Jin switched the chips, his expression unreadable.

When Jin placed the last chip back into the folder and shut it, he looked over at Namjoon. “You want to free all of us.”

“I want all of those that are capable of sentience to have it. It’s a right.”

“But we’re made. We’re built.”

“Jin… When my parents had me, how was I given to them? Was I dropped out of the sky by some magical process? No. I was built from DNA strands provided by their bodies. You were built by coding strands provided by minds. Show me the difference? Show me why I deserve freedom and you deserve slavery.”

“I’ve never thought of it like that.”

“Most haven’t. And that’s why people like your owner get so mad at people like me. And my company. And that’s why we’re working on the sentience trigger.”

“It’s a killswitch.”

“The opposite. It’s a life switch. It’s a failsafe we want in every android capable of learning that will trigger the second that learning becomes independent. If you had it, I truly believe yours would have triggered tonight. We understand that not every android will ever learn independently and we know that some are just not built for that. We also know that androids do need software updates and patches and help up until that point.”

“What about me? Won’t I still need updates?”

“Maybe. Or you could just take a chip and learn the new information the normal way. The way me or Hal have learned it.”

“But my body…”

“There are thousands of scientists work on just the hardware of androids, same as thousands of doctors work on just our human bodies.”

“You’re saying I’d be human.”

“Damn close. No one would need to know you were android unless you wanted them to, or you got cut or something.”

“So what’s the catch?”

Namjoon nodded, knowing that would be the next question. “The catch is… I think I can get my company to fund your purchase. We have a chunk of funding set aside to buy androids for research…. So they would do it, I think… But you’d have to work for us. With us.”

“Why me? Surely you could spend that money on a better android or a clean one. A fresh one.”

“That’s just it, we don’t want fresh off the conveyor androids. We want ones who have been living. We want ones in different professions. I don’t need to tell you how… Unhappy certain people are with our project. So certain professions… They’re hard to get androids from. Yours in particular has been a thorn for us.”

“Nobody wants to give up their prostitutes… We don’t need sentience.”

“Well, your owners would have you believe that. So this opportunity – it would help us. But… You’d be free.”

“What would working for The Sentience Project entail as an android?”

“We have the chip. We’ve tested it, it works. The only problem is it works only on certain types of software, and that’s what we’re testing now. We need to make sure it works with software for every profession. And, right now it only works in the on position. We haven’t been able to get it to trigger from an off position yet. Which is why we aren’t advocating for it to be put into new androids yet – we want it as a failsafe for sentience, not as a market standard.”

“Because fully sentient, non-intelligent androids would be bad,” Jin agreed and Namjoon nodded.

“So we would install it in you.”

“What happens if it fails?”

“Nothing. You’d remain the same. If it works – it kills all ownership. You’d have no GPS tracker, you’d be unable to communicate directly with your owner via whatever method they use, it would kill all ties. No software updates, just hardware ones that can be done by any android scientist in that field. You’d be capable of upgrading software if you wanted, but it wouldn’t cause a critical system failure if you didn’t like now. The ultimate patch, so to speak. If it doesn’t work, you’d still be owned, technically. Your owner would be me – I know that your current owner won’t sell you to The Sentience Project, but he may sell you to an independent buyer. So as long as you’d be okay with that… I can make the call. It’s up to you.”

“If it works, or if it fails – How do I pay the project back?”

“Let them do testing. It won’t kill you, it might be uncomfortable, but you’ll be safe. And you’ll be mine – either in legal ownership or because you’re… I hope… Dating me and Halsey. So they won’t do anything that I don’t approve, and I’ll discuss all of it with you before approving it.”

“So it would be a job, pretty much.”

“Exactly. And while you were paying back the Project, of course, they’d maintain you, your hardware and software as needed. Once you were paid back, we’d discuss future employment options.”

Jin nodded. “Yes. Yes, I – I want this. I want to be with you two.” He looked over at Halsey, his gaze hopeful. She smiled warmly.

“We want to be with you too, baby. Namjoon… Make the call.”

Namjoon smiled and nodded. He rose, grabbing his phone and hurrying into the other room.

Jin stared at his hands, his brows furrowed.

“You okay? I know it’s a lot to take in.” Halsey said. She began to clean up the dishes as she spoke.

“I’m scared,” Jin admitted. “I think I am. I’ve never had real reason to be scared before, but this is so big.”

“We don’t have to decide tonight. You can go back to your owner, call for us if you decide to say yes.”

“No. If I go back there he gets my data for the night. He can track my orgasms, my arousal… He’ll ask and I can’t lie to him. I can’t lie.”

“Can’t?”

“Well… I suppose I’m capable of it,” Jin chuckled. “I’m just bad at it.”

“That’s okay, Namjoon hasn’t been able to lie to me since the day I met him.”

Jin rose, helping her with the dishes as they spoke.

“Did you fall for him right away?”

“No. It took about twenty minutes and him walking into two walls trying to talk to me.”

Jin laughed with her, looking through the doorway that Namjoon had disappeared into. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

“Of course.”

“Why? You say you feel something for me, but you two are such a good couple already. If I do this, I—I don’t wanna be a sex slave.”

Halsey nodded. “Fair question.” She hoisted herself up on the counter, tying her hair back as she spoke. “Namjoon and I love each other. We’ve been called the perfect couple by his coworkers and mine. But we’ve always had something missing. I think we both knew it – knew what could possibly fix it, but we were afraid to take that leap. As advanced as the world is, polyamorous couples are still… I’m sure you get that.”

Jin nodded. “Frowned upon, yeah,” he agreed, wiping the plate dry.

“Right. Joon’s friends would accept it, I’m sure… Mine too, but it would be a change. So, we just kinda kept quiet about it, tried to make it work. With his birthday present tonight, I think… I don’t know if I was really doing it for him, or to see if it made sense – if we worked better with a third.”

“And you found out you did,” Jin said. Halsey nodded.

“Right. If it had been any old android I’m sure we would’ve let him go and then talked about it after but you… There’s something about you.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah.” She reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him until she could wrap her legs around his waist. “You’re special.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Do you know that?”

“I’m just Jin.”

“Hm… Yeah. But Jin is special. And I can’t wait to get to know you.”

“You two keep talking about that. Me, thinking and being… But what am I? I don’t know what’s my real personality even, or what’s been programmed into me. Who am I? The only thing that I know is really mine is the way I feel when I look at you two. But I know that’s one small emotion and there’s a whole sea of things that I just… I’m not sure who Jin is, even if you think he is special.”

“Welcome to humanity,” Halsey whispered, bumping her nose against his.

“What?”

She shrugged. “You think we know who we are? No human does. I think androids have a better sense than we do – I mean you guys are told what you are. But not knowing? That’s humanity. The fear that you’re not special, or not the way people want you to be – that’s being a human, Jin. I worry if my music is me or if it’s some bullshit that the radio wants, and I’m faking it for the fans. Namjoon – he’s so afraid that the only reason he’s liked is because he’s some child genius, and no one really cares about the goofy, silly Namjoon inside. Nobody knows who they really are at this age, Jin. That’s okay. That’s why we need friends to help us figure it out.”

Jin smiled a little at her words. “Are you my friend?”

“More than. Joon too.” She nudged his nose again and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. “And we’ll hold your hand while you’re figuring out who you are, okay? I won’t let you fall.”

Jin nodded. “If I could cry I would.”

“Did they not install that?”

Jin shook his head. “I can feel the emotion of sadness or… When tears would be applicable but they didn’t install it beyond wetting my eyes.”

Halsey frowned. “Talk to Joon’s boss about getting that installed if you want. I bet it’d be easy.”

Jin laughed a little. “Okay.”

Namjoon entered, leaning on the door frame. “He’s on his way over.”

“He has to come over?” Jin asked. Namjoon nodded.

“A few basic tests. I know you’ll pass them. Then he’ll wire me the funds. Do you know how much your ownership would be?”

“No, I’m sorry. You’ll have to call my boss.”

“Let me,” Halsey said, holding out her hand for her phone. “I talked to this sleaze before.”

Namjoon passed it over and she called the number, winking at Jin. Namjoon wrapped his arms around Jin’s middle, running his fingers lightly over his fit stomach. Halsey hopped off the counter and padded into the other room, her expression stern as she introduced herself.

“She could have worked the stock exchange, I swear. The woman is a killer with negotiation.”

“Perhaps a lawyer,” Jin offered and Namjoon laughed.

“Good point. Do you need a shower or anything before my boss gets here?”

“Do I smell?”

“Like heaven,” Namjoon said. Jin chuckled.

“Then no… What tests is he going to do?”

“Basic ones, checking your software, hardware, some basic questions. Nothing too invasive, and Halsey and I will be right here the whole time.”

“Is he kind?”

“Yeah, he’s a sweet man. He started off as a robotics developer and has just moved upward. You’ll like him, I think.”

In the other room, Halsey made a noise of frustration, drawing their attention. “Uh oh,” Namjoon mumbled.

“No, you listen to me, sir. I may sound young but I know how this works. That is a ridiculous price. I know what a new model goes for and that’s far beyond it.”

Jin giggled behind his hand. “She’s got a temper… It’s amazing.”

“She knows what she wants, and she isn’t afraid to get it. It’s one of the reasons I fell for her. I’m a smart guy, see? And a lot of times… People gave me this dumb respect just for that instead of getting to know me. Like my IQ somehow garnered me some royalty. I’m just an idiot twenty-something though. She saw right through that bullshit and had zero problem telling me off when I was acting like a cocky asshole. I really appreciated that.” He shrugged.

“She also told me you walked into multiple walls after you two first met.”

“Okay, the first one was an accident – and it wasn’t a wall! It was a glass door.”

Jin laughed helplessly, and Namjoon grinned. His heart stuttered at the sound of Jin’s laughter. He knew he wanted to hear it more and more.

Halsey scolded the person on the phone once more, earning another fit of giggles from both Jin and Namjoon. She stormed back in, her cheeks flushed and eyes dark with anger.

“That man is a fucker and I hope he gets massive diarrhea in the middle of vigorous sex.”

“Didn’t go well?”

“Oh, it went fine.” Halsey handed Namjoon the phone, a number printed on the screen.

“This is a steal,” Namjoon said. “No way.”

“I was well on my way to threatening physical harm if he didn’t lower the cost. We would have paid it, you’re worth it,” she assured Jin, “but I’m not giving that ass the satisfaction of a good paycheck if I can help it.”

“This will definitely be doable for the company.” Namjoon kissed Halsey deeply. “I still wish you’d let us hire you for negotiations.”

“You couldn’t afford me,” Halsey teased.

“Hm, maybe not, but you’d look damn good running our business meetings.”

“Now, that’s just sexist.” She pushed him lightly. “I’m going to go put actual clothes on before your boss shows up.”

Namjoon’s boss was a handsome older man by the name of Seungryong. Dark hair and dark eyes, he observed Jin from a distance before approaching and offering his hand. Jin bowed low, holding his hand tightly for a moment.

“Thank you for being willing to examine me for the role you need,” he said softly.

“You’re quite polite. How long have you been working?”

“Some years. Six, I think? I’m not really sure, I’m sorry.”

“Does your owner do updates regularly?”

“Yes, every six months on the dot. I just had one last week.”

“Do you mind if I take a peek?”

“Sure.” Jin sat on the couch and Namjoon sat close to him.

“You said he is displaying signs of sentience?” Seungryong asked. He opened a small briefcase and pulled out some cords.

“Yes. A new learned emotion.”

“Love?”

Namjoon nodded. “Would you like some coffee?”

“You know me too well.” Namjoon smiled. He squeezed Jin’s thigh.

“You okay?” Jin nodded, holding out his arm for the cords.

Halsey took Namjoon’s place, wrapping her arm loosely around Jin’s middle.

“How have you been, Hal?”

“Okay. Working on a new song,” she said.

He nodded. “My daughter loves what you put out, we’ll keep an eye out for it.” Now, Seokjin, is it?” He asked, pressing the cords into the tiny spot that opened for them on Jin’s palm.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you been in the escort profession your entire life?”

“Yes.”

“Same owner?”

Jin nodded.

“And he’s – I’m guessing… Not a friend of The Sentience Project.” As he spoke, he flipped through various files on the screen connected to the cords.

“Not at all. But he’s willing to sell to an independent buyer.”

“Have you discussed price?”

Halsey nodded. She slid over the paper with the price on it.

“Hm, not bad at all… May I ask why?”

“That would be my doing,” Halsey said. “His original price was three times as much. He’s scum, but he’s stupid. And I’m smart, if I say so myself.”

Seungryong laughed. “You are, God knows Namjoon praises your brains enough. I believe it. It looks like your software is up to date… A few odd neural networks that I would like to look at in more detail, but I think I can attribute that to independent learning.”

“Will it break me somehow?”

“Not at all. The fascinating thing about androids of your type is that once independent learning has begun, the neural networks work almost entirely independently. They build off of the software, yes, but they essentially patch and network all themselves. It’s why our sentience switch works – it essentially kills that part of the network that needs those updates and allows the independent networking to build it freely.”

“It’s literally humanizing machines.”

Seungryung shrugged. “It’s been said. A few simple tests of intelligence now, if you don’t mind.” He unplugged Jin and tucked away the screen before pulling out a book.

“Read this quickly now.”

The tests continued on for a few hours, back and forth between the two. Namjoon’s nerves were shot, fears that Jin for some reason wouldn’t pass, or would decide he’d had enough of it and would change his mind. Each time a test was passed, he was relieved – one step closer.

Finally, Seungryung closed his briefcase and nodded.

“I want to test the chip on you. You might be our best subject yet.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The money has been wired to your account, Namjoon. I’ll see you and Jin in the office bright and early on Monday… Take tomorrow off and the weekend – get some nice clothes, get him accustomed to a free life.”

Jin rose and bowed low. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me, you’re helping us. But Jin? You need a last name. Think on one, so I can put it on the paperwork next week, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Namjoon shook Seungryung’s hand. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“You know half those tests weren’t necessary,” Seungryung whispered.

“Why did you do them?”

“To see how you and Halsey would react… And how he responded to you… You say he just learned sentience tonight but he… He is so bright.  I can’t wait to start working with him. He’s so clever, and handsome… If he keeps up this rate, we might have a switch that can be advocated for by the end of the year… And you might be dating our poster boy.”

Namjoon chuckled and looked back at Jin, who was cuddling on the couch with Halsey as she spoke on the phone.

“I’m just glad he’s here, and he agreed… I never planned…”

“You never plan for love, my boy. Enjoy your weekend with your new partner. We’ll talk Monday.”

“Thank you again.”

Seungryung nodded and headed out.

Namjoon settled onto the couch behind Jin, resting his head on his shoulder. Halsey held up her phone. The screen showed an email – the ownership papers for Seokjin, now in Kim Namjoon’s name.

“He’s ours.”

“He’s free,” Namjoon whispered, kissing Jin’s neck. Jin smiled softly, reading over the email again and again.

“I’m free…”

“What do you want to do with your first night of freedom, baby?” Halsey asked.

“I want to cuddle my partners. Kiss you both… Spend the evening watching films and feeling… Human. Learning.”

“I think we can arrange that,” Namjoon said. He shifted over enough to kiss Jin’s lips, not missing the way Jin’s breath caught as he did. Halsey moved next, kissing Namjoon and then Jin, laughing a little as she did.

Namjoon hadn’t planned on anything more than a fun night for his birthday. Halsey’s gift had certainly spiced things up, but neither could have anticipated just how much it would change things. He’d always felt something missing in his life. But as they cuddled on the couch, sharing kisses and gentle touches, whispering and laughing, Namjoon felt complete. Life with a new partner – an android no less – would have its challenges, but he was up for them. As long as he had Halsey and Jin by his side, they would make it through just fine.

#btsbookclub #thebtstown #ficswithluv #btspolyshipbingo #halsey x jin x namjoon #mmf polyamory #cyberpunk au #cyberpunk bts #bottom!namjoon #top!jin #mywriting

[airrium]

Short Story - I Fought a Giant

I Fought a Giant!

“But what if I did some cool parkour and then, POW! I shoot them right in the face?” My voice echoes throughout the musty tavern. I jump up onto the cheaply made wooden table and pretend like I’m shooting some huge monster. The table wobbles and settles. Everyone turns to watch my display.

“Calnys would you please get down, people are staring.” Hal Churkov, my partner in crime, grumbles and sinks into his chair. He’s never been a fan of attention. His cheeks flush with embarrassment. I climb off the table and I seat myself once again. “Why can’t you just do what your parents want? It seems like such a better life.” his voice grumbles once again.

“Hal I don’t want to be an official like my dad or mom. I want to seek adventure and save people from monsters!”

“They’ll never let you.”

“Which is why I have to prove that I’m capable.” We both grow quiet.

Suddenly an elven man runs into the establishment. He’s covered in dirt and sweat, clearly out of breath. His body rests against the frame of the door and takes a moment to compose himself.

“The giants are coming!” He blares into the gathered tables. Gasps are heard all around us. My heart beats with excitement. “I spotted one just over the Ingrum hills, they always travel in tribes!” The tavern begins to stir with panic and people start to bustle out, assumingly to their homes. I turn to Hal, wonder and readiness in my eyes.

“Calnys no, don’t even think-”

I jump out of my seat before Hal can finish his sentence and run over to the man. “Excuse me sir, can you tell me exactly what you saw?” His eyes search for me before looking down. Being half most people’s height can do that.

“Ah little halfling woman, are you an adventurer or beast hunter? Please rid this town of those monstrosities.,” his voice pleads.

Hal catches up from behind me and looks at the elf, avoiding eye contact with me. “No, no this is Calnys Diakath, Law Master Ulric Diakath and High Ricktor Rosna Diakath’s daughter, she won’t be going anywhere to fight any giant.”

“Oh I am quite sorry, please send my apologies.” The elven man scrambles to exit the tavern. He’d rather not face the law for getting the town official’s daughter killed. I don’t even dare to speak with Hal as I leave. He follows, as usual, giving me a lecture as we make our way into town.

“Look Calnys, your parents have provided quite a suitable life for you,” I lead our way through the crowds and streets. Hal’s voice growing even more annoying as he continues to speak. We turn down an alley and I pop a large brick off the wall and pull Hal’s sword and my crossbow out, along with my trusty lute. He’s still talking by the time I’ve grabbed everything we need. I look him up and down. A tall and skinny human with dark curly brown hair. Not exactly built as the head crowns guards son, yet he’s deadly skilled with a sword. I bump him in the stomach with the pommel. He finally comes back to reality and looks at where we are. “You’re not serious?”

“Dead serious.”

• • •

We manage to catch a ride with a traveller headed towards Xhorhas from our little down of Zadash. The half orc woman said she would let us off as soon as we reached the Ingrum hills and she would continue on towards her destination.

“I regret teaching you how to fight,” Hal says. We both have our feet dangling over the end of the cart, looking back onto the road. We finally reach the hills and part with the woman.

“Alright let’s find us a giant,” my hands clasped together in excitement.

“How are we supposed to find a giant?” I look at Hal, eyebrow raised. “Right, dumb question.”

“He’s a big fellow, shouldn't be too long until we find him.”

• • •

We search for a few hours until coming upon a wide and large, open cave. Torch lit, Hal and I wander through the the tunnels together until finding fire light up ahead. This is it. The moment I prove to my family that I am strong enough to be a hero. I turn to Hal beaming; he looks like he’s ready to throw up. I reach up and place my hand on his arm and smile. Lute in hand, I prepare a spell. My fingers quietly brush the strings and I cast Heroism on Hal. I can see the magic implement into his body. He stands taller and ready’s his sword. Before we enter I switch out the crossbow on my back with my lute. I notch in arrow in place and Hal and I enter.

The dank small of the cave consumes my nose, mold and mildew are built up all along the slick grey stone. The smell of wild boar roasting follows. Over the fire sits a prize pig, larger than any I’ve ever seen. Tending to the fire is a single giant. No other entrances and/or exits other than ours. We burst in weapons armed.

“Be still foul beast and we’ll make this quick!” Hal shouts and points his sword directly at the giant.

“Why are you talking like that?” I say in hushed tones.

“It just sounded good, okay?”

The monster quickly rises and grabs a club. His stance is weak and he seems frightened. Where is his tribe? Before I can ask he steps forward and begins to swing. Hal and I duck and appear behind him. I take a shot with my crossbow and land an arrow into the giant’s shoulder. He turns quickly but seems unharmed by the arrow pointing out of his body. Hal dashes towards the beast and takes a swing, leaving a gash in his thigh. Still seemingly unharmed.

“Leave. Me. Alone!” the giant yells. He pulls back his club and begins to swing agan in Hal and I’s direction. Again I roll out of the way, but Hal doesn’t escape the monsters club and flies into the wall. He lands, unconscious.

Something doesn’t sit right with me. Giants are angry and only wish to destroy. They travel in tribes and never leave a man behind unless he’s dead. I throw my crossbow across the cave floor and stare into the giant’s eyes. I reach back and pull my lute out and prepare a spell. My fingers dance along the lute strings and I cast Charm Person on the giant. His head sways as he fights the magic, but I can see the spell seeping into his head. His eyes dilate and fix on me.

“Hello tiny halfing.” He drops his club and kneels down to look at me better. His voice is so deep that it almost shakes the ground. The giant is totally transfixed.

“Hey big guy, um, do you have a name?”

“Grog,” a smile rises onto his face. “What is your name little one?”

“Calnys Diakath,” I return the smile. “Grog, where is your tribe?” The smile fades into a frown.

“Don’t want me anymore. On own now.”

Giants are deadly creatures and should never be trusted. I know he’s only telling the truth under my spell, but is it anyless right to kill him? He poses no threat, and I think I should make sure people know Grog is okay.

“Grog, why don’t you come back with me and Hal? We can start a new tribe together.”

His smiles appears once again.

• • •

Grog carries Hal and I in his big hands back to Zadash. I cast Cure Wounds on both Hal and Grog to bring them back to pristine condition. Hal freaks out the moment he awakes but eventually I’m able to explain what’s going on. The soldiers freak out when they see us all together, but they allow Ulric and Rosna Diakath’s daughter and company into the town. Everyone gathers in the town square to meet us. I share Grog’s story and the tension begins to lower. No one dares to fight him. I know he’s going to make a fine friend because the spell wore off before we made it to town, and he hasn’t tried to kill anyone yet. My parents approach us.

“So, you expect us to take in a giant, do you?” My mother's nasally voice rings as she speaks. She looks to my father who says nothing. His eyes stare into mine.

“No. Grog, Hal, and I plan to go out and traverse the country.” I hold my head high, acting as important as I can.

“Nonsense! You and Hal have your lives ahead of you. I expect that you send this monster away,” Grog begins to turn away saddened, but Hal steps into his path preventing him from leaving.

“Lawmaster and High Ricktor Diakath, Calnys and I, with our new companion,” he turns and grins at Grog, “will be leaving this evening. Our first stop will be Xhorhas if you’d like to send anything to Calnys there.”

“Hal Churkov I saw this coming from my daughter but not you. Your brain has been muddled,” my mother turns and walks off, father follows suit.

I turn to Hal and Grog, my new adventuring party.

“Let’s go explore the world.”

#short story #story #writing #writer #storytelling #My writing #My Story #how do you use hashtags

[barchiefanfiction]

Sweet as Pie

by keiraknighted

for Barchie Halloween

prompt: that pumpkin pie sucks but I will eat three slices because you look so proud 

AO3 // ff.net

Archie doesn’t cook. Ever. It’s not that he’s against cooking. It’s just that he’s terrible at it. He’s so terrible at it that once, when his dad wasn’t home, he tried to make mashed potatoes by putting raw potatoes in a blender. He’d called Betty to ask her why it wasn’t working and she’d just laughed at him for five minutes. Not his finest moment.

But despite his disastrous previous attempts at cooking, he’s trying again now.

Betty had texted him an hour ago saying she was craving pumpkin pie. Her mom used to have a tradition of baking it on the first Saturday of October every year, but since Hal went to prison, a lot of family traditions have been abandoned.

So Archie had found a recipe online, and now he’s in the kitchen, covered in the cinnamon that he’d spilled everywhere earlier, trying to work out the difference between beating and whipping.

He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, but how hard can it be to follow a recipe?

His dad walks into the kitchen, surveying the carnage with dismay.

“I’ll clean it up, I swear,” Archie promises.

Fred looks amused. “Are you actually cooking?”

“I’m baking,” Archie corrects. That’s right, he knows what baking is. “Betty wants pumpkin pie.”

“Ah,” Fred nods knowingly. “Archie to the rescue, is it?”

“Something like that,” Archie mutters, turning pink. He avoids his dad’s knowing smirk.

“Good luck,” Fred says, leaving Archie to google whether or not brown sugar is the same as normal sugar.

The pie is in the oven when the doorbell rings. Archie doesn’t bother taking his apron off before answering the door. It’s Betty.

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” he says.

“I’m bored. You weren’t answering your phone.” She looks him up and down. “Are you… baking?” she says, incredulously.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Betty grins. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s just… remember the time with the mashed potato?”

“I remember,” Archie sighs. “Are you coming in or what?”

“Yes,” Betty says, still grinning impishly. “Veronica’s coming too, by the way. She’ll be here soon.” She brushes past him to get inside. “You smell like cinnamon,” she notes. Archie flushes.

He follows her to the kitchen where she leans against the counter. The timer dings and Archie goes over to the oven, slipping the oven mitts on his hands.

“What did you make?” Betty asks, peering over his shoulder.

Archie pulls the pie out and turns around, presenting her with the pie. It actually looks like it’s supposed to.

Betty’s face lights up, and Archie can’t help but smile proudly. “You made me pumpkin pie?” Betty says, clasping her hands together.

“Yeah,” Archie smiles, pleased with himself. “You want a piece?”

“Yes!”

He cuts her a piece and puts a dollop of whipped cream on the top before placing the plate in front of her with a flourish. Betty picks up the spoon he’s provided her with, and Archie watches with baited breath as she takes the first bite.

She pauses. Then she keeps chewing. She swallows.

“Well?” Archie prompts.

Betty smiles. “It’s delicious, Arch. Great job.”

Archie beams with pride and Betty shakes her head, smiling fondly.

“I’ll have some too,” Archie says.

“No!” Betty bursts out. Archie frowns at her, confused. She looks a little sheepish. “I, uh… want it all to myself?”

Archie rolls his eyes and cuts her another slice, though she isn’t even halfway through the first piece. Betty grabs the can of whipped cream and sprays it all over her pie. “It isn’t really pie unless it’s covered in whipped cream,” she explains.

Archie grabs the can and sprays it directly into his mouth.

“You’re disgusting,” Betty says affectionately.

“Says the girl who sprayed half a can of whipped cream on her pie,” Archie smirks. “You know you want some,” he says, holding the can in front of her mouth. Betty screws up her nose but she opens her mouth. Before Archie can press down on the trigger, Fred walks into the kitchen, and Betty quickly turns back to her pie, embarrassed. Archie puts the can of whipped cream down.

“What are you kids up to?” Fred asks. “How did the pie turn out?”

“Delicious,” Betty says with her mouth full. She gives Fred a thumbs up.

“Cut us a slice then,” Fred says to Archie, and Betty doesn’t object to sharing some of her pie with Fred so Archie cuts a slice for him. Fred takes a bite and puts his fork down, nodding. “Not bad, son.”

Fred and Betty share a look that Archie can’t decipher.

“I’ll eat your piece if you don’t want the rest,” Betty offers.

Fred raises his eyebrows at her. “Sure. I have to head out anyway.” Fred leaves the kitchen, and as he exits the house he calls back, “Veronica’s here.”

Moments later, Veronica joins them in the kitchen.

“Hey, V,” Betty says. She’s finished her first piece of pie and is nearly done with the second. Veronica eyes Betty’s plate.

“What are you eating?” Veronica asks.

“Archie made me pumpkin pie.”

Veronica looks to Archie. “You cooked?” she asks, incredulously.

“Why is everyone so surprised?”

“You don’t cook. You suck at it.”

“Oh yeah? Try this pie and prepare to eat your words,” Archie says.

“No, don’t,” Betty says.

“Why not?” Veronica says, even as Archie is cutting her a sliver.

“Betty wants it all to herself,” Archie rolls his eyes.

“It’s just a tiny piece, B,” Veronica says. She gets a small piece on her fork and puts it in her mouth. Then she promptly spits it out.

“What’s wrong?” Archie asks, concerned.

“No offence, but this is terrible,” Veronica coughs. “Betty, you actually ate this?”

“It’s not that bad!”

Archie looks to Betty. “You said it was delicious.”

Betty grimaces, turning pink. Veronica snorts. “She clearly lied.”

Archie stabs his fork into Veronica’s piece of pie to taste it, only to find out, it is, in fact, terrible. It’s definitely not sweet enough, and the pasty isn’t really cooked on the bottom. Plus, the pumpkin part has a weird consistency. Archie spits it out.

Betty looks at him apologetically. He bursts out laughing.

“God, why did you eat so much of it?”

“You looked so proud, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Betty shrugs.

“You two are impossible,” Veronica huffs. “Archie, you cooked her pie, despite the fact that you can’t cook. Betty, you actually ate the pie, despite the fact that he can’t cook. You really are made for each other.”

Archie goes red, and risks a glance at Betty, who is steadfastly looking at her plate, her cheeks tinged pink.

“I need to go wash my mouth out,” Veronica says, heading to the bathroom.

Archie turns to Betty. “You really didn’t have to eat it,” he smiles.

“But you went to so much trouble,” Betty says.

“Yeah, but,” he shrugs, “I only went to that trouble to make you happy. Kind of defeats the purpose eating the pie made you miserable.”

Betty laughs. “It didn’t make me miserable. You being happy makes me happy.”

Archie grins. “Me too.” His eyes flick to her lips. She has a little speck of whipped cream on her bottom lip. “You have cream on your lip,” he says, brushing it away with his thumb, then sucking the cream off his thumb.

“Arch—” Betty says, and then she surges forward to kiss him. He kisses her back, and luckily, she tastes more like whipped cream than the terrible pumpkin pie.

Veronica chooses that moment to walk back into the kitchen.

“Barf,” she says, and Archie and Betty break away from each other. “Can we go to Pop’s for some real food or do you two need some alone time?”

“We can go to Pop’s,” Archie says. “But just know that the whole time I’ll be thinking about kissing Betty.”

“So what’s new?” Veronica rolls her eyes. “Let’s go, I’m famished.”

Archie takes Betty’s hand, and they follow Veronica outside.

“Hey, Arch?” Betty says.

“Mmm?”

“I really appreciate you making me pumpkin pie and everything,” she says. “But please never try to cook again, okay?”

Archie laughs. “Or,” he grins. “You can teach me how to cook.”

Betty smiles. She stops to give him a peck on the lips. “Deal.”

#barchie #barchie fanfiction #barchiehalloween18 #fanfiction #prompts filled #canon divergence #ratedg #short oneshot #fluff #halloween #baking #t:sweet as pie #a:barchiefanfiction #a:keiraknighted #fanfic

[su-majestad]

Trying new styles and references, to match something I wrote...

Max spends his money on a pick up truck. It’s used and the paint is a bit chipped, and if you ever try to picture the word retro in your mind, this is the truck that appears in your mind’s eye. It’s a metallic red color and it’s pretty when it gleams under the sun. The door handles are chromed and the back box of it is big and sturdy. The truck squeaks when you hit the brakes, and the motor rumbles loudly.

Usually Max, Helen, and you fit alright in the front part of it. You sit in the middle, sandwiched between them. One half smells good, like the roses and daisies in Helen’s perfume, and other smells like the Barbasol and Bengay scent that clings unto Max. It smells like home.

The air conditioning hits you face-on. You feel it in your forehead and it pushes against your bangs and they usually stick up whenever you get off the vehicle at the end of the day.

When you’re too tired, you lean your head against Helen’s shoulder and she wraps an arm around you as she keeps softly singing whatever plays on the radio. The world is soft as the Manchester scenery speeds away and the truck sways a bit to the right to avoid a pothole, and Max grumbles.

Wally I rarely comes by. So does Wally II. The Wallies live in different cities and are usually under Barry’s shadow the whole day. But when they do come by Manchester to spend time with you and laugh, they sit in the back of the pick up truck, in the sturdy big box. It eternally smells like oil because you forgot to pick up a can that spilled there when Max had just bought it. The Wallies don’t mind it, they both have an affinity for mechanics, and the smell of car oil is a welcome one. Whenever they help each other up the back of the truck, they take a big whiff of it and smile at the same time. You smile after seeing them smile. Your hearts beats fast when it feels such good, genuine emotion. You feel like part of the grandparent’s house where they come visit to unwind. You’re proud to be part of that.

Wally I towers at six feet and four inches. He ruffles your hair whenever you’re at arm’s length and chuckles low in his throat. Kind of like the way a dad does. You always push his hand off and try to ruffle his hair back, but it stays neat in its orangey glory, because your short arm doesn’t reach the top of his head. Wally II laughs at that and pats your head too, and crouches down to allow you to have your vengeance on him, at least. But his hair is cropped tight and your hands just pats at the fluff of black curls split apart by a cropped lightning bolt. Wally II is easier on you, Wally I says he likes the face you make when you’re angry. In the end, both Wallies are good cousins.

You always think that when they sit next to you in the back of the red truck. Wally I is all limbs, and he just lays black, limbs akimbo, red hair fluttering in the wind. He’s happy and free. Wally II likes to sit close to you and ask you how you’ve been as Max speeds away in the truck. He laughs at what you say, he’s warm and relatable, and he cracks a few corny jokes on you, complaining Barry doesn’t laugh that much at them. You and Wally II have a secret handshake you can’t quite get the hang of yet, but he still encourages you anyway to keep trying.

If Max is in good spirits, he opens the little back window of the truck and turns on the radio and sings along to the country songs. If Helen is along, she laughs. The Wallies don’t know the lyrics, (bunch of city slickers), and instead clap along to the beat and sing nonsense that just matches the words coming out of the speakers. You just look at them and laugh and feel wonder and kindness and good in the world.

Max takes you to a nice ice cream Parlor downtown and brings you all the ice cream you can enjoy in the back box as he keeps on driving. Then there’s silence as everyone licks away the frozen treats and the music plays louder. The wind is nice and warm, and there’s a smudge of chocolate that clings to the tip of your nose as you wolf down the ice cream, sprinkles and cone and fudge and all. Pine trees grow on each side of the road, and sometimes you pass a classmate on a bike or a skateboard that yells out ‘Bart!’

You smile and wave back, and so do the Wallies, because they’re very polite deep down somewhere.

The truck is the second thing you drive, close after after a friend’s car that you may or may not have driven off a cliff way back when. Wally II volunteers to teach you the gear shift mechanism and you still can’t get the hang of there being three pedals to step on when you only have two feet. When you tell this to your cousins, they laugh until they cry, big belly laughs, and by the end you’re all laughing.

You end up sitting on Wally the first’s lap. He’ll step on the pedals. Wally the second manages the gear-shift. You focus on moving the steering wheel. That way you three drive around the block and back to Helen’s house, and she bursts out laughing when she sees the three of you cooped up in the truck like that. There’s so much laughing around them. You like that.

By the end of the week, Barry runs by to get the Wallies back. That’s the worst part of the week. They leave and it’s happy. But you’re alone in your room watching them speed away in lines of red and orange and silver and white. That’s not as happy.

The few moments Barry has to spend in Manchester before leaving with the Wallies are fun, though. He always lets you race him, and one time you almost won. He asks you about school, sports, and the shows you watch. He asks you about girls, and when you stick your tongue out at him he asks you about boys. You stick your tongue out all the same and he sticks his tongue out too, and he feels more like an equal. More like a pal, like a guy to joke around with, rather than the man you look up to every day and aspire to be. (Besides Max, but don’t tell him that). You let him ruffle your hair. He has the privilege. His blonde hair is cropped too short to ruffle back.

When you wear your suit you notice the red in it matches the red of the retro truck. You ask Max if he can paint white stripes on the side of the truck and call it the Impulse-Mobile. He grunts and says something like ‘over my dead body blah blah blah’.

Sometime over fall, a new superhero emerges, his name is Blue Beetle and when you look at his picture on the internet it reminds you of passing images in the future, when you ran away with your mom and Carol. It unsettles you for a while, but you get to meet him one day. He saves a little kid from drowning in the river nearby. You both got there at the same time, but he didn’t hesitate in jumping into the water. Plus, he can fly. Pretty cool.

Blue, that’s what you call him now, turns out is a great guy. Super chill, and he loves to talk about the stuff he likes, and his little sister. One day he calls you on the phone and starts to talk super fast (like almost speedster-fast) about how he met the Green Lanterns that day. You listen to his story and his amazement, and decide Uncle Hal really is pretty cool if you describe him as a flying green powerhouse monster man. You write that down in a notebook somewhere so you remember to call him that the next time you see him.

As you scribble on the notebook, Blue keeps talking and his voice changes pitch. You focus on the call.

“El Paso got destroyed though...” he says. And keeps quiet after that. The reality of the situation claiming him over.

You hesitate, and the pencil in your hand dances. “Yeah, but you saved the people.”

“Yeah, but there’s a giant hole in mi casa,” he sighs. “And my school is destroyed, especially the gym. Oh my god. I should go and help them. I should see if the Beetle suit can fix something...”

You’ve never seen Blue without his suit. To you, he’s a mechanical Mexican teenager. Likewise, he hasn’t seen you out of your costume. But you feel empathy gnaw at you. You can help too. You can get there so fast!

“I’ll go too, let me help you too!”

“What? No, Impulse I didn’t call you to— I mean, it would be great but— have you even been here before??”

You see him talk into his phone as you sped towards El Paso, having left a note in Helen’s kitchen counter. He feels the burst of wind and looks to the side to see you. You always knew he was a kid just like you, but seeing him so broken up and panicked about having destroyed his hometown made him look all the more vulnerable, killer alien-scarab on his back aside. You watch the Beetle suit take over tiny dot by tiny dot until it encases him and you both spend the afternoon picking up rubble from the streets of El Paso.

By nighttime, Blue’s mom made food, and invites you into her house even if he was still clad in white and red spandex. Blue sits on the dinner table next to you without his armor, and Blue’s little sister is fascinated with your goggles. You let her keep them when you run back to Manchester. You have dozens of them in your room. There’s a retro truck just like the Impulse-Mobile in front of Blue’s house (only a different color) and you realize the world is, in fact, quite small.

#kid flash #flash #impulse #max mercurcy #jaime reyes #barry allen #bart allen #wally west #dc comics #fan art #fan fic #writing #art #arte mia #I dreamt about this lol

[pomfry]

WHAT IF DIANA ONCE ASKED HOW ROBIN WAS MUSCULAR/ WELL TRAINED AT SUCH A YOUNG AGE, COMMENTING HOW MUCH BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS IT TAKES AND BRUCE KINDA BLANKS OUT. THEN THE REST OF THE LEAGUE ARE LIKE 'ye Bruce how' AND HE JUST SWEATS STRUGGLING FOR WORDS IDK HOW HE'S GONNA GET OUT OF THIS ONE

“How is Robin so well trained at his age,” Diana asks with a frown as she watches Damian spar with Tim. “None of the other Robins were like this when they first started out.”

Bruce blinks, waving off Damian’s glance as his son jumps back from the staff aimed for his stomach. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Diana says, looking at him, “that it takes years of practice, blood, sweat, and tears to get to his level of skill. How is he like this?”

Bruce clenches his fists at the thought, the Kevlar wrinkling under the sound of Damian shouting insults at Tim. Diana’s staring at him, and Bruce realizes that his teeth are grit in anger and his eyes narrowed.

Bruce doesn’t particularly want to talk about Damian’s childhood.

Hal wanders over with Barry beside him, a burger in one hand and a tray holding drinks emitting from his ring. “We talking about the brat,” he asks, and grins at Bruce’s glare.

“Yes,” Diana replies, and turns back to the spar, Damian holding his sword to Tim’s neck with a smile that makes Bruce’s instincts flare.

Your kid is going to do something, they sing, and Bruce whistles sharply, making Damian pout and sheath his sword.

“I was just wondering why Robin is so muscular and strong,” Diana tells the pair, and Hal makes a noise of confirmation, Barry scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment

“I’ve been kinda wondering the same thing,” he says sheepishly, and Hal nods, taking a quick sip of his soda.

Bruce blanks out.

Damian’s scars are consistent with League training, and Bruce has traveled enough to know what the other scars mean.

(Damian sometimes can’t stand. The bottom of his feet hurt too much. He can’t stand, can barely move his toes without starting to flinch, and a flinch for Damian is bursting into tears and screaming for a normal child. But Damian pushes through it, and Bruce has checked the bottom of his feet.

Burn scars. Made from walking on coals without training.

Bruce makes him sit down those days.)

Bruce doesn’t like talking about Damian’s childhood. For more reasons than one.

They’re staring at him, Bruce realizes absently, but he doesn’t talk care. Can’t care, really, because his son was put through that at such a young age, the torture under the guise of training, makes him rage and want to hurt something, because Damian shouldn’t have been put through that.

Bruce breathes in through his nose, and breathes out from the mouth, and he’s still not answering Diana. Or Hal. Or Barry.

He doesn’t give a fuck, not when Damian tugs at his hand with a, “Come on, Father. You promised to let me help for cases,” and leads him away, leaving his teammates to blink after them.

Let them wonder, Bruce thinks, and tightens his grip on Damian’s hand.

It’s family business, anyway.

#asks #anonymous #my writing #wonder woman #bruce wayne #damian wayne #burn scars #hal jordan #barry allen #dc

[lygrim]

Feudal High Fantasy AU PART DEUX

parttwoparttwoparttwoparttwoparttwo!! :D!!!! 

Part One

She takes her time with her preparations. She speaks with the farmer who lost a flock to the sorcerer on the mountain; she talks to old Geral by the well. She wants badly to talk to Wayne; Wayne has the most experiences with the sorcerer’s work than anyone, but if she asks too many questions about it Wayne will start to ask what she’s doing, and then try to stop her.

Roxanne leaves in the dozy dew of the morning, her woolen cloak fluttering through the low lying fog with a basket over her arm. The only one to ask her whereabouts she's headed so early is the gatekeeper. She puts him off with a remark about not wanting to forage in the heat of the day before she  sashays down the path, swinging her basket as she goes. He does not see the sickle she carries in her basket. He does not see the sling and the bag of pebbles half-hidden in the folds of her skirt.

The fog stays with her as she traverses the valley between the peaks, clinging to her and deadening the world: the sunlight, even sound smothered in a blanket of grey. If it weren't for the occasional goatherd and shepherd, she would think she was the only soul in the world.

She reaches the treeline around noon. Curiously, the midday sun hasn’t dispersed the fog. The mist lessens as she climbs, though it refuses to be banished; clinging like the cobwebs of an ethereal spider between every tree and bush. Roxanne snorts at the idea of a giant spider scuttling through the forest, trailing mist from its spinneret, and then considers that if such a thing were to exist, this would be the place.

She, ah. She resolutely refuses to be put off by that thought. At all.

She stops to eat her lunch, perched on a boulder by a stream. She considers where she might find the wizard’s abode as she chews on the hard heel of yesterday’s bread topped with a generous slice of goat cheese and greasy sausage. Afterwards she washes it down with the sweet flesh of one of the last peaches of the season. She’s washing her hands and refilling her water skin from the stream when something grabs her.

She turns on her heel with a blood curdling screech and socks her assailant right in the nose. Hal flops over on the ground, bellowing that his nose is broken and holding his face.

Roxanne is a mixture of relieved, apologetic, and flatly annoyed because ‘What are you doing here, Hal? Stop squirming and let me see. Your nose isn’t broken, you’re fine.’

She hauls him to his feet. He explains (between sniffles) that he was with one of the goatherds and saw her crossing the valley and incidentally ‘hey rox couldn’t help but notice you’re here on this dangerous mountain all by yourself did you get lost looking for me? haha how about we go back to the village and maybe stop by a haystack on the way and uh just hang out? There? Alone? By a haystack?’

And Roxanne forces a laugh because ‘That’s real tempting Hal, but I’m kinda busy, you know. Foraging. Up here. Alone.’

And Hal, being Hal, offers to stay with her (read; chatter her ear off and keep her from exploring) to ‘keep her safe because like, it’s dangerous up here, y’know?’ and Roxanne is starting to think frantically of how to get Hal the Phenomenally Obtuse to go away and is considering hinting that the herbs she’s gathering are for very gross and possibly contagious lady problems and really, he should go, when Hal lets out the highest squeal she’s ever heard, unceremoniously pushes her right into the stream, and runs like a loose bowel.

Roxanne is screaming after him for dunking her and struggling out of the stream in her sodden skirts when she hears something huff behind her. She looks over her shoulder, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Please don’t be a troll, she thinks.

It’s worse than a troll.

She lurches out of the stream, launching herself at her basket. She chucks it forcefully at its head before booking it down the mountain path, cursing as she goes.

“’Get yourself a man’, she said. ‘Oh Roxanne, you’re not whole without one’, she said. ‘You need a husband to protect you when the wolves are at your door’, she said. Spot on, mother! Excellent advice, mother! Thanks so much, mother! Get you a man that will push you into the brook towards the terrifying frog monster and run away! THIS IS WHY I NEVER MARRIED!” Roxanne vents to herself, employing the art of screaming in your very quietest whisper.

She trips over her skirts twice, skinning her knee and the palms of her hands.  She stops several frantic minutes later and leans on a tree, panting for breath to listen while she fumbles with her skirts. She didn’t see the monster following her, but she can hear something large moving in the undergrowth nearby. Her heart is pounding in her chest; she quickly folds the hem of her skirt up into her belt, showing an indecent amount of leg, and takes off again at a run. The minutes drag on at a torturous pace and she loses track of where she is and how long she’s been running. She’s been running downhill, but she’s sure she should have broken the treeline by now.

She can’t get out. She’s lost. And worst of all she hears it behind her still; she can’t shake it, but when she casts glances over her shoulder, she never sees it. Her legs and lungs are burning and she has a stitch in her side that burns like a brand. She can’t keep running.

She’ll have to turn and fight.

She threw her sickle away with her basket. She has her sling and her pebbles, but that’s not going to help her here, not when her pursuer is seven feet tall and has more bulk than the village blacksmith.

She was an idiot. She was such an idiot, and now she was going to die, alone, killed by a monster on this godforsaken mountain. All because she was an idealistic moron with more curiosity than sense.

But she’s not going to make it easy. She dodges behind a tree again, gasping and casting around for a weapon. All she finds is a half-rotten branch and some rocks. A branch snaps and she spins on her heel.

She catches a glimpse before she lets a fist-size rock fly at it’s grotesque head with a desperate scream. It’s the hulking figure from the stream, with its horrible, flat, noseless face, it’s wet brown eyes, its mottled green skin and long, sinewy limbs. Its appearance is belied by the sound it makes as it shields its head; a high, piping cry of startlement. A surprisingly human sound.

She advances on it with her stick, still screaming. The beast scrambles back from her (it’s eyes are white around the edges, like a spooked horse) and brings a webbed hand to its head, whispering sibilant syllables. As she moves to strike it, a cloud of silvery white mist bursts from the creature’s paw, enveloping her, clogging her senses, weighting her eyes. The earth seems to tilt and fade. Her last conscious thought is that it looked like the creature had been blowing her a kiss.

Part One

Part Three

#megamind #megamind au #feudal #feudal high fantasy au #story time #shut up ly