Monarch 16.1

The first chapter of the Monarch arc.

Trivia

Anzer'ke wrote a piece of poetry in the comments:

“Will you walk into my lair?” said the Skitter to the Grue,


“‘I wove a costume there, the better to protect you;

If you care to come inside I’ll make you happy enough to stay,

And we can do something fun, in the dark and through the day.”

“Uh, Taylor?” said the Grue, “Are you feeling alright?

This seems a bit sudden, we’ve only been together five nights.”


“You must be feeling tired, tense, your mood is blue;

Will you let me relieve you?” said the Skitter to her Grue

“I’ve been reading about massage, and some…other stuff;

If you’d let me show you, just strip down to the buff.”

“…” said the Grue, “I’m getting Lisa, and Amy as well

‘Cause when I last brushed your waist, you nearly rang my bell.”


Purred the Skitter to the Grue, “I am sorry for that and more besides;

Will you let me prove it? From my lips to my thighs?

I have always loved you, now come inside and feel it;

I promise I’ll repeat those words- but the context will have changed a bit.”

“Th-That’s enough,” spluttered the Grue, “this isn’t you at all,

you blushed at holding hands, in the ruins of that mall.”


“I love you too,” said the Grue, and caught her by her arm.

“I swore I would protect you, I’d keep you safe from harm.

You’re strong and brave, you struggle to speak your mind;

So much I fell for. You’re utterly one-of-a-kind.

Don’t force yourself,” he said, “I mean everything I say;

This will happen when we’re ready, and that’s another day.”


His words impacted deeply, the Skitter was struck dumb.

But before he could relax and speak, she jabbed his elbow with her thumb.

Then ducking from his grip, she pressed him to the alley wall.

Masks and armour clacked together, then the clothes began to fall.

His will was close to breaking, hands roamed of their own accord;

If he hadn’t felt amidst her hair, he’d surely have been floored.

The dart he found in her locks, had his intentions back forthright;

The Grue read its markings amidst a cloud as black as night.


“P-S-Y-C-H-O B-R-A-N-D L-O-V-E D-A-R-T” read the Grue, his mood About to snap

Then he gently held his Skitter as she now collapsed.

Which kind of screws this poem’s flow,

You see it’s meant to lead to a moral.

And rhyme along the way.

Sorry about that, but the rating had to stay low.