#And he would have fought back earlier if she hadn't had him under such a chokehold

[thisisallthehattersfault]

Wen Ning came back wrong.

He was still gentle. He was still sweet and shy. Wen Qing’s soft-spoken little brother, with his big, dark eyes. Shy and awkward around people he didn’t know. Too shy and too awkward to get to know almost anybody. Ever-eager to help, ever-willing to offer kindness to anyone willing to take it. The same as he’d always been.

But Wen Ning came back wrong.

He’d been frail and fragile when he was younger, and timid and spineless when he’d grown. He’d needed Wen Qing to protect him, helpless and weak as he was. She’d tried to bully him into standing up for himself, but mostly she’d tried to shield him from the harshness of the world. He was so naive, so idealistic, so oblivious to the darkness in other people. Her brother, always so afraid. Her brother, who did as he was told, who trusted her to make decisions for him. Her brother, who never ever talked back.

His defiance started with Wei Wuxian, but it didn’t stop with him. Wen Ning had been apologetic and guilty before, when he went against her orders. He’d at least had the shame to wait until she turned her head before he broke her rules. Since his resurrection she hasn’t been able to get him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. He doesn’t even pretend to listen to her. He refuses her, now, quietly but unquestionably, and no amount of arguing will convince him to stay where she can see him, where she can take care of him, where she can keep him safe. He goes where he pleases, and she cannot hold him.

Which means Wen Ning came back wrong.

He used to waste so much time with his bow, hours and hours shooting targets when he should have been helping her brew medicine. Now he spends his time testing his new and terrible strength. He tears ancient trees from the ground root and all. Shreds the training dummies Wei Wuxian builds for him into kindling, and when Wei Wuxian makes them sturdier Wen Ning hits them harder. She stands on the edge of the wards surrounding the Burial Mounds and watches Wei Wuxian layer talismans around the boulder they’re using as the target’s head, chattering about the strength of helmets and the density of the human skull, how much pressure it takes to deal lethal amounts of damage through armor. Wen Ning reaches out and, almost casual, crushes the boulder into so many chunks of debris. Wei Wuxian sputters and laughs. Her frail little brother flexes his pale, clawed, deadly fingers, looking oh so very pleased with himself.

He hunts. He patrols their settlement with a lethal kind of control in his movements, coiled-tight and waiting. He rips resentful creatures apart with his hands. Wei Wuxian asks if he’s ever killed a human before, during the war or the camps, before his death. Wen Qing wants to say of course not, because Wen Ning is her brother and her brother was not a killer, could not be. Only Wen Ning had tilted his head to the side, bird-like. Kneaded his fingers against the edge of the table like he was finding his grip on a weapon. Asked why Wei-Gongzi wanted to know, and nodded earnestly when Wei Wuxian mentioned needing a bodyguard for his trip to Lanling.

Wen Ning came back wrong.

Wen Qing can’t figure out how. Can’t describe it, exactly. No one else seems to notice or care. Their sweet a-Ning, their gentle, kind, soft-spoken a-Ning. He’s still here. He’s still right here.

But Wen Ning came back wrong.

He came back wrong.

He had to have come back wrong.

Because if he didn’t… then Wen Qing never really knew her brother at all, did she?

[hitomisuzuya]

Hey hey Suzuuuu

I hope you can see this request..

It’s a nsfw

I would like to request Wanderer x shy fem reader at Sumeru Akademiya, a new student came in and its reader who is shy to introduce herself. And the teacher told the new student to sit next to Wanderer and Wanderer finds it annoying when he preferred to be alone.

At some time, Wanderer becomes like a bully when he likes to tease and make fun of fem reader only to see her reactions, and it makes him like want to corrupt her innocence.

wanderer (scaramouche) x fem!reader. smut corruption. fingering. bullying. minor degradation.

i want to sincerely thank everyone for letting me take my time and go through requests at my own pace 😭🥺 i feel bad, though.

wanderer only went to class that day because nahida insisted on walking him there. if she hadn't, he would gone right out into the forest to hide and maybe nap in a tree for awhile. a more valuable use of his time, in his opinion, but nahida insisted that the akademiya would be good for him.

he could practically taste your innocence the moment you walked through the lecture hall door. it was pure in a way he hadn't considered still existed. through his sheer annoyance at you being seated next to him (his table was the only empty seat. he could totally see why), he shot you a glare that sent an unexpected shiver up your spine.

"don't think we are going to be friends because you are sitting next to me," he wanted to level with you right here and now. "99% of the time, i won't even be here."

"oh, that's fine," you replied, organizing your books and tucking some hair behind your ear. "i'm not here to make friends. i am here to learn," you pursed your lips, and offered him a soft smile, "my family also has high expectations of me."

"i didn't ask," wanderer replied, crossing his arms and finding a spot to fixate on and stare at for the rest of the class. chances are he knew more things politically than the professor. the asshole who wrote that essay about what he thought happened on tatarasuna sure thought he knew everything.

still though, as much as he hates it, he kept looking at you from the corner of his eye. it was easy for him to tell what kind of girl you are in these moments. you certainly had no issue sitting there, looking pretty while you listened with such foolish intent. you even took notes on the smallest, most useless things.

did you think this knowledge may come in use later?

judging from your explanation earlier, wanderer knew exactly what to capitalize on and take advantage of.

he didn't expect you to have the most interesting reactions when he bullied you.

"it must be so hard for you," wanderer cooed condescendingly, watching you survey the mess he made by knocking all your books out of your hands. "always being a goody goody. doing your homework on time, never missing class," sighing, he kicked one of notebooks out of the way as you reached down to pick it up. "you have be getting crushed under the weight."

"i..i am just so clumsy," you stumbled over your words a little, clearly flustered. wanderer licked his lips. you are just so interesting. he'd just been so mean to you. anyone should've snapped or fought back. but not you. you had the shyest flush on your cheeks. were you enjoying this?

as for you, you are. the more interactions you have with wanderer bullying you, with his enchanting electric eyes and condescending purr to his voice, the wetter you got. it was embarrassing to you. a fact that you had a hard time coming to terms with. at first.

he even used a small gust of anemo to knock your water bottle out of your hand one day, tossing water all over your shirt (it was to see your nipples harden in your bra from cold the water was), but you only looked at him with further adoration.

but his bullying just felt so good. you couldn't possibly tell him that you often fingered yourself until you were a wet, twitching mess at night after classes.

in wanderer's still very twisted mind, corrupting you would be helping you. he didn't even know when he started coming to class everyday, but you were starting to look like you weren't sleeping well. your hands shook while you took tests.

the moment you felt wanderer's hand dip into your panties for the first time, parting your folds and grazing your clit, your hips immediately jerked up to grind on his fingers. fingers that you always thought are so ungodly beautiful it should be considered a crime.

a moan you didn't even mean to let out sounded from you. the more those beautiful fingers stroked your pussy, the more it throbbed and clenched. your eyes widened in an aroused desperation, your hole clenching around the tips of his fingers as he prodded them teasingly at your entrance.

"you poor thing," wanderer cooed, "this is probably the best you have felt ever," he slowly wagged the pads of his fingers on your clit, tearing mewls from you as he just as teasingly pinched your clit. "you are so fucking wet, your cunt will suck my fingers in."

your clit throbbed, feeling shamelessly compelled to rub your soaking pussy on his fingers. "i thought you had to get to class?" he continued. your eyes widened as he started to take his hand out of your panties. "do you know how foolish it is to try and please everyone all the time?"

your hand shot out to grasp his wrist. "no, please. i don't want to go anywhere. i want to stay right here with you," you urged his hand between your legs again. "please," your eyes watered in desperation.

wanderer chuckled. did you have an idea how much of a turn on you are in general? you, the good and innocent girl was begging to skip class and stay with him with your legs spread on his bed. fuck, you deserve to have your pretty pussy stuffed full with his fingers. "who knew you are really such a slut?"

you are breaking so well under the weight of his corruption. you couldn't think about anything other than the need to feel his fingers fucking into you. thoughts you'd never had before about anyone. until wanderer.

"good girl," he tuggedyour panties off, his cock straining from watching the soaked material peel off your pussy. "moan for me while i break you. it's what you want the most, no?" he pushed two fingers inside of you, stretching you apart and hooking them to the knuckle into your sweet spot.

you nodded, jolts of pleasure crackling through you. your eyes nearly rolled closed in pleasure as he started pumping his fingers. they would've had he not put a hand on your jaw. "no, no, kitten. i wanna see those pretty eyes of yours while i make you cum," he gently squeezed your jaw to remind you of your place.

it is erotic to him how some of your moans even had a tinge of shock in them. you are coming apart so fast, your body only relaxing and submitting to him. he was devouring you, and nothing has ever felt better in your whole life.

the pumps of his fingers grew more aggressive with your consistent moans. he stretched your pussy apart so perfectly, sussing out every sensitive spot between your walls effortlessly. "a third finger, please," you moan, rocking your hips up extra to convey your plea.

wanderer was more than happy to oblige you. he abruptly added a third finger, bullying it against your sweet spot. a near scream of pleasure tore from your throat. "are you feeling good, slut?" his cock pulsed as your walls snapped tighter around his fingers. you obviously enjoy being degraded. "you'll tend to my cock next, yes?"

you struggled to even nod, your cheeks flushed with adoration. "yes! i want to more than anything!" you cried out, stroking his wrist in appreciation as your orgasm curled tighter, your juices frothing and gathering on the insides of your thighs.

"oh? more than going to class or pleasing your family?" wanderer couldn't wait for your inevitable response. a response that would no doubt make him want to impale you on his cock even more. he couldn't break you too fast.

could he?

"yes, yes please! so much more than..than.." your words fell away, the knot of your orgasm building and tightening to an almost overwhelming degree. "anything!" you barely managed to cry out, twitching and writhing as you scrambled to chase the wonderful high unlike any other that he was providing.

wanderer couldn't help but laugh shakily, slowly stroking his cock. you look more beautiful breaking than he imagined. he knew he didn't have to keep his hand on your chin anymore. you couldn't and wouldn't dream of taking your eyes off. not when he'd demanded you to keep looking at him while you cum.

[thirdsaltyhunter]

Girl's Night

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Jody and Donna ask you for help on a hunt and you all get drunk and call your boyfriend while you're away

Warning: fluff, cuteness, kissing, mentions of a hunt so violence?, celebratory drinking, getting drunk

A/N: not proofread, all mistakes are my own

You woke up earlier than you usually did. Jody had given you a call to tell you that her and Donna had caught wind of a pack of werewolves just south of Sioux Falls and could use your help taking them out.

You wanted to start driving early so you could avoid most of the traffic and offer your expertise as soon as possible. However, mornings aren't really your thing. You fought back the groan at how much you didn't want to leave your comfortable spot in bed where Dean was currently keeping you warm. Nonetheless, you began wiggling your way out from under his arm. You were trying not to wake him up this early because he hadn't slept enough this week.

As you tossed some clothes into your duffel bag, you thought you might be able to make it out without waking him, but he was always a light sleeper. A quiet grumble of your name sounded from beneath the covers.

"Hey baby," you whispered going back to the side of the bed.

"You leaving?" he asked, noticing your packed duffle bag, voice rough with sleep.

"Yeah, Jody asked me to help her and Donna take out some wolves."

"You know I will." You propped yourself up on your elbow so you could look down at him. "Besides, you know it's gonna be a milk run. They probably don't even need me, they just want me to come up there so we can have girl's night."

He nodded and reached for you to pull you into a hug which, from the position he was in, meant that you were just laying on top of him. He was always extra cuddly in the mornings and you loved it, despite how much it tempted you to crawl back under the covers with him.

"Be careful out there," he said, placing a kiss to your temple.

He chuckled at that, because he knew you were right. Now that he thought about it, the last time he saw them, Donna had threatened that she'd drive down to Kansas herself and kidnap you if he didn't hand you over for a weekend.

He leaned up to plant a sweet kiss to your lips. "Call me when you finish the hunt so I know you're ok."

"I will." You kissed him again before crawling off of him. "I love you, go back to sleep."

"I love you too, sweetheart," he said, already burying his face into the pillow.

You couldn't help but smile at how quickly he gave in to your request. Grabbing your duffle, you headed out of the bedroom to say your goodbyes to Sam before you made your way to your car to start the long drive up to Sioux Falls.

The hunt ended up being even easier than you thought it would be. You, Jody and Donna made a pretty formidable and efficient hunting team. The hunt was done before the sun even fully set, so you headed back to Jody's house to begin cooking dinner.

You all decided to forget the plan of cooking dinner and reward yourselves for a hunt-well-done by ordering pizza instead. Claire was off on her own hunt and Alex was working a late shift at the hospital. That left only you, Donna and Jody, sitting on the livingroom floor around a mostly empty pizza box, passing around a bottle of wine.

After catching up on everything and finishing off the bottle of wine, Jody decided to pull out the bourbon and poured a good amount of each of you.

About an hour later, the three of you were well past tipsy and were having the best time, laughing and telling stories from various hunts.

"Soooo", Jody began with a hint of mischief in her voice. "How's Dean?"

"Yeah we need to hear about our favorite couple," Donna chimed in.

You knew she was talking about you and Dean but you decided to play around. "I don't know what you're talking about," you teased.

"Oh come on you know what we're talk'n about. We want to know what you and ol' Dean's like when you're away from the eyes of the world, y'know, when you put the hunter armor down," Jody inquired.

"I betcha he wears fuzzy socks and watches chick-flics, don't he?" Donna added teasingly.

That had you almost rolling on the floor with laughter. "Oh yeah, definitely."

It was nice being kind of childish like this with them. You had never had many friends in your teenage years and the hunting life didn't typically allow for gal-pals, but you had developed a really good friendship despite not having the time to see each other very often.

You wiped the tears of laughter from your eyes. "Oh shit, I forgot to call him", you attempted to grab your phone out of your bag, which took longer than needed, given your lack of coordination. "Dean asked me to call him after the hunt."

Jody and Donna looked at each other and awwww'ed in unison.

You tapped Dean's contact and put the phone to your ear. After a few rings you heard his voice. "Hey sweetheart."

"Heeeey", you greeted excitedly, voice slightly slurred.

"Hiya Dean-o", Donna said loud enough for Dean to hear.

You could hear him laugh on the other end, clearly gathering that you were all pretty inebriated and having a good time. "So I take it the hunt went well", he said with amusement in his voice.

"Oh it went great, we're badasses."

"I have no doubt of that," he said fondly.

"Hey Dean!" Jody cut in. "Is it true you wear fuzzy socks and watch chick-flicks when you're at home?"

"Baby, what did you tell them about me?" Dean asked you with mock annoyance.

"Oh nothing," you responded playfully. "Anyway gotta go."

You could hear he was barely holding back from laughing. "Hey hold on-" *click*

You bit your lip as you hung up on him before looking up at Jody and Donna. As soon as you made eye contact you all bust out laughing.

[strqwberryscapes]

push and pull

summary -> why don't his bloodied hands on your body feel wrong? they should be. he should feel wrong, horrifying and evil. so why doesn't he?

content warnings -> suggestive themes, slight nsfw, corruption, denial

her heavy breathing echoed throughout the cave, as she tried to calm her breath. warmness of qimir's body only reminded her further of how wrong this all was, how she shouldn't be here. on this planet, with him at all. she didn't even remember how exactly she ended up like this, under him, in his cot. they were fighting- or at least she wanted to think that they were. that she was, in fact, pushing him away.

now that she came down from the pleasure that he, as the first one in her life inflicted, doubts started tugging at her chest. the hands that were tangled in qimir's hair fell down her sides, and suddenly the cave's walls seemed very interesting. oh how she wished to be taken away by the cold waves that were heard outside, on the shore. away from him.

qimir's expression was unreadable, even when she reached into the force for help. without a word, he shifted off of her, putting his black trousers back on. his back was turned when he ran his hand through his disheleved locks, and her gaze involuntarily dropped to his scar. she winced slightly. she didn't notice it before.

as if he could feel her stare, qimir stood up, walking off in the direction of stacked crates in the corner of his makeshift house, not sparing a glance.

she propped herself up, looking for her top, spotting it thrown on the ground without care. she couldn't say she hadn't expected that, for him to just leave her as she was. the air around suddenly became cold, and she couldn't help but miss his warmth. she still felt a little sore, but she stood up, a little wobbly.

"where are you going?"

qimir's sudden question caught her off guard. when she looked up, he was gazing at her, his head tilted to the side. she didn't know what to say.

with no further explanation, qimir guided her to sit back down, searching for eye contact. but she was distant, constantly avoiding him. he didn't press firther. instead he gently brought the damp fabric he was holding to her skin, wiping away the evidence of their earlier indulgence.

she almost couldn't move, her bewildered gaze noticing the glass of water next to the bed, that he brought too. her brows were furrowed when he withdrew his hands. was this some form of manipulation? it had to be. he wouldn't just do that. she let her guard down before and she fought with herself not to make the same mistake again.

"why are you so surprised?"

his velvety voice cut through the cool air. there was a hint of something in it, that she couldn't quite catch.

silently, she put her clothes back on, not wanting to be so vulnerable. but she was transparent to him already, wasn't she?

"i..." she hesitated "...expected you to take what you wanted and and tell me to leave."

she admitted truthfully. on the contrary, something completely different happened.

there was a pause.

qimir wasn't one to mince words either, so he replied directly. the harshness in his tone was more of a habit than genuine hostility.

"is that what you think of me?"

the question seemed silly to her. of course she did. he was a sith. a merciless sith, that somehow...

for some reason spared her.

"i- i did think that."

yet she wasn't so certain anymore. his attentive caresses were screaming otherwise.

qimir looked at her curiously.

"if you have, why did you let me take you here?"

she opened her mouth, just to close it seconds later. she didn't know herself... there was something about him that lured her in, like a prey. something that made her give herself to him, even if it would be ar her own cost.

or maybe, it was the promises that he had made. ones of freedom and acceptance. something the jedi would never give her if they knew her views on the force. if they knew what grew deep below the surface, rooted in her body. something, that they have inflicted.

even when she almost didn't know him at all, she had a feeling that he would understand her.

"i wanted..." she trailed off. "i wanted closure."

but it wasn't the entire truth. submerging oneself in pleasure and vulnerability, was a forbidden fruit for the jedi, one that she was deprived of for her whole life. and qimir had offered it to her.

he sensed her hesitance, uncertainty, fear.

his knuckles brushed against her cheek, and he tilted her head to look at him, his gaze unwavering.

"what are you afraid of?"

she couldn't look away anymore. run, like she always did.

"our paths are different."

yet she wasn't so sure of it anymore- it sounded like a reminder, but not for him. for herself.

a hint of a smirk tugged at qimir's lips.

"are they?" he questioned. "we are both doomed."

he pointed out, his hand idly tracing her jawline.

everything about him, his voice, his soft skin, and warm brown eyes, made her lean into his touch.

then a bitter thought appeared in her head.

"is this your way of ensuring i won't betray you?"

he let out a chuckle, at the remains of her self-restraint.

"i don't think i have to worry about that."

and he was right. with what he had shown her, what he made her feel...

"no." her answer came quick both because it was true, but also out of...fear. what would he do if she chose to leave?

he hummed in satisfaction. his thumb carresed her lower lip, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she can taste the blood on his hands. same hands that he used to make her see the force itself.

"you kill with such ease." the words that gnawed at her throat, finally left her lips. she stilled after she realised what she just said. that was a wrong move.

but qimir didn't seem affected.

"you knew that before you came to me. have you forgotten who i am?"

she looked down. she wanted to. there was so much contrast within him. how cruel he could be, and how tenderly he chose to treat her.

"no."

her reply came, same as before.

"then why question me now?"

her gaze involuntarily dropped to his full lips when he spoke. she couldn't escape him. and what was worse, she couldn't escape herself.

a smirk appeared on qimir's face when he noticed her looking at his mouth. without a word, he used his hand under her chin to pull her close.

"that's what i thought."

he sounded pleased as he pressed his lips against hers again. and same as before, she didn't pull away. he had her wrapped around his finger.

his first kiss was gentle, just like his demeanor towards her, attentive and careful. so much so it solved, at least temporarily, her inner turmoil. and once she let him do more, parted her lips, he used it, as if he was just waiting for her to give in. his hand moved from it's place under her chin to her neck, firmly enough to keep her in place, but not to make her struggle for breath. not yet, at least.

he urged her backwards, back onto the blankets, his movements decisive, and he followed behind, hoovering over her.

she wasn't dumb, knowing where this would lead. she gathered all of her will to pull away.

"qimir-" her breath was short. "we just-"

she was cut short, by his lips pressing fleetingly to hers, before descending to kiss her throat.

"you can handle it." he hummed against her skin, and she believed him.

satisfied, he let his hand trail down her body, enjoying the softness of her skin, before dipping between her legs.

she couldn't help but press her thighs together, still sensitive from earlier, and he smiled against her. he planted wet kisses on his collarbone and chest. as if trying to prove something to her, he used his knee to separate her legs.

it wasn't long before he left her trembling in his arms again. her eyes were watery from the intensity of the moment.

qimir looked down at her, taking in the sight of her dishelved form. he felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing how far he could push her. he gently brushed away a strand of hair that fell across her face, his touch surprisingly tender.

"alright?"

she nodded, but the same doubts as before gnawed at the pit of her stomach, replacing the warm, fuzzy feeling.

qimir didn't seem to notice, and even if he did, he didn't mention it.

she stayed still, with his arm around her waist. she felt dirty in a sense- there was no going back now. the jedi wouldn't take her in, wouldn't forgive her what she let herself do and feel.

she couldn't look back anymore.

being raised in the temple meant never changing your beliefs nor trust.

and now?

qimir's breathing became even after a long while that felt like hours.

she was the one fearing being left alone before, but the roles have changed now- holding her breath, she sneaked out of his embrace, desperately needing air, that isn't filled with his presence.

her ship was wrecked. she couldn't go there. but surely, surely if she focused, she could take qimir's. it wouldn't be difficult to just break in there...

leaving him for dead on this forsaken planet.

she should've done so. for all the jedi he had killed, for all the damage he has done-

yet she couldn't make herself to do so. his dark mesmerising eyes, and bloody hands that he commited so much evil with, were engraved in her mind, not letting her take another step.

or maybe it was qimir himself, who's presence appeared behind her.

of course he'd find her. she swallowed, and forced herself to sound firm.

"am i not allowed to leave?"

she swore she could see him tilt his head stupidly-

"leave or run?" he sounded calm, despite probably knowing her intentions.

she clenched her fists, cursing him.

"i needed to clear my head."

he crossed his arms. stubborn as ever, yet he could see through her. so much anger, disappointment with the order. just like his younger self...

"clear your head from what? from me?"

"maybe." she huffed, finally facing him. "you're in there too often." he could, and have, in fact, get into her head- during fighting and...not only that, seemingly.

qimir didn't deny it. she was intriguing, from the moment they fought for the first time in the ruined temple. her suppressed emotions, that spilled, when she almost buried him alive.

"yet you let me inside of more than just your head."

he remarked.

she tensed. oh, yes, she has, twice today already.

amusement flickered in qimir's eyes, and he moved closer, predator-like.

"and you enjoyed it." his voice was slow and deliberate, making sure she heard every sylabe.

she couldn't even deny that, the noises she made, and pleas she whispered, testifying against her. she took in a breath.

"your point?"

qimir took in her angry, helpless form. she had the resilience of a jedi, that was for sure. but it was only a matter of time until he breaks it down.

"my point is, you want me. you enjoy being with me. why try to run?"

there it was. the confrontation she wanted to avoid throughout all her years of being a jedi. she was raised to be pure, perfect and unwavering. but she wasn't. there must be something wrong with her, right?

she didn't feel like there was in his presence. she felt as if she found one of her own. but still...

"im not used to..." she gestured between them. "this."

qimir's eyes continued to study her, his gaze never leaving her face. he could sense her uneasiness, her uncertainty, practically taste her internal battle- the struggle between her jedi past, and the newfound emotions.

"to what? being desired? being wanted?"

her mouth went dry as he openly admitted that he desired her. this couldn't possibly be wrong, by how it made her feel.

"no need to be afraid. you're not with the order anymore. you're with me."

qimir's voice was laced with honey and as persuasive as ever. how could she say no to these chocolate eyes? how could he be bad, when he made her feel so good?

cold and warm tides in the ocean mixed together, creating waves that crashed onto the shore. waves that over time carved the rocks, that were able to make them fall.

and so have they.

masterlist

[whumble-beeee]

You Can Check Out Any Time You Like, But You Can Never Leave

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 14

Content: kidnapping/captivity, noncon drugging, recreational drug use, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[It’s a tale as old as time. You see it so very often in movies, books, YA love stories; The phenomenon known as Stockholm Syndrome, where a captive starts to develop positive feelings for their captor. However, Stockholm Syndrome is not a thing to be feared! Humans are very social creatures, after all, and control over another’s emotions is one of the most powerful thing’s a person can possess, super or not!

This is why you, villain, need to beware it’s the lesser-known counterpart: Lima Syndrome, where the captor becomes sympathetic or develops feelings for their captive. These disorders often develop side-by-side, so be wary and be vigilant! Developing Lima Syndrome may lead you to make rash decisions about your captured hero, cloud your judgment, allow your hero to take advantage of you, or even allow them to escape! Do not let your captured hero control you like you control them. You are jailor and prisoner. Nothing more.]

* * * * * * * *

Declan gawked at the Villain Brand tattoo staining Stan's back. The one he could finally see unimpeded now that he'd literally pinned the guy down and stripped him. The one Stan had fought so hard to hide.

“Holy shit…”

The ID number. He knew that number from so long ago. And Level 4 super. Manipulator power type. Social Designation Black.

Supervillain: Incarcerated for power-related crimes.

… and blue.

Test subject.

He fucking knew it.

He knew it.

It was that girl. That one from the raid that happened, what… ten years ago now? Longer? The one he’d found hiding with the toddler. One he saved, one he couldn’t. Fuck, man, he’d risked everything for that toddler. A little sister. A moment of weakness, or what some would call a moment of strength.

Stan had a little sister. Chloe. That was her name. That was the toddler’s name too.

She was still safe. She was still alive.

Thank fuck. 

Declan hadn't even realized at first because, well, the guy was a dude now. And an adult. There were no records on him, period, so he couldn’t go back to look before now, and his superiors certainly never deigned to tell him anything. Thanks Lana, fuck you Vaughn.

Though he’d been suspicious for a while. It all just clicked into place with that last piece of the puzzle: why Stan had no records, why he didn’t legally exist, the way he fought back no matter how impossible the odds were, that nagging feeling that he knew this kid from somewhere, the similarities between his and the girl’s powers, not to mention those weird looks he kept catching out of the corner of his eye, the way Stan has said something about protecting ‘her’ in his fit earlier, the concealment of his transness, the recognition in Stan’s eyes since the start–...

Oh.

Declan smiled.

Oh, Stan already knew. 

He knew, and he kept it to himself.

On purpose.

That conniving little fucker.

 “What? What holy shit?” Stan squirmed weakly under Declan, demanding his attention back as always, stuttering like he did always did whenever he got scared or angry. He even tried briefly to twist around to look at the man seated on top of him, only before immediately giving up and laying his head back down on the floor.

Declan rolled his eyes and held back a chuckle at the poor little guy as he tossed out some half-assed excuse he didn't even bother remembering, then grabbed his phone to take a picture of the brand. He’d definitely have to bring the uh… dishonesty up. But later. Stan was much too high for any of that right now. 

Though it did feel a little bit gross to take a picture of Stan like this while he was drugged, especially with how much he’d fought Declan about the brand earlier and especially after Declan had forcefully stripped the guy. But Declan needed proof.

None of it even mattered in the long run, anyway. Declan still had a job to do.

“Yeah… maybe you should…” Stan retorted loosely into the floor. “Not… Aheh, uh, throw me… to–... walls anymore…” 

Declan nearly burst out laughing.

Yeah. Maybe.

Maybe Stan should consider that next time he's being a little shit.

He pulled the white shirt back over Stan's head with some large amount of difficulty, and probably much more swearing than necessary since Stan may as well have been a floppy fish weakly squirming against the floor at this point. Then picked him up with one arm under the stomach, tugged the oversized white shirt down over his skinny little twink body, and then, with a sigh, let him drop unceremoniously back onto the floor and went to retrieve a plastic water bottle from his little plastic grocery bag, patting himself on the back for a job well done. He’d successfully de-bindered Stan without seeing the kid’s stupid man tits. Hooray! All that work to specifically pin him down on his stomach so they'd be hidden from Declan’s gaze, all because of Stan’s incessant fighting about it before. The things I do for my captures, he thought.

He was not looking forward to the indefinite amount of time he’d have to keep doing this.

“We don’t know how long, love,” Lana had said over the phone, “That fiancé of his doesn’t believe he’s dead, and you better believe he'll raise hell about it, the poor man. There’s probably going to be some extra ‘convincing’, paperwork, you know how it is. He can’t be here. Just hold onto the little guy until we get everything cleared up.”

So that was that. No argument. Just indefinite babysitting of a very unwilling baby.

Declan walked back over to hold the bottle out to Stan before he even fully agonized himself back up off his stomach, and yet somehow, miraculously, he still managed to do that skitter backward that he always did when Declan got even remotely close to him

He crouched down and shoved the bottle into Stan’s hands. “Drink,” he ordered. “Not too fast though.”

Stan looked in bewilderment at the bottle. Almost like he couldn't believe something so sacred could just be thrust within his grasp like that. Then his brow furrowed. He popped open the cap and sniffed it, then glared angrily at both the container of liquid and the person who’d given it to him. “Don’ want your stupid–”

“It’s not drugged. You haven’t drank water in almost three days, you’re gonna die. Drink it, NOT–!”

Half the water already disappeared, drained down Stan’s throat. Declan scrambled and snatched the water out of his grasp. “Not too fast! Christ, you’re gonna throw up!”

“But– But…” He smacked his lips, shook himself off like a dog from the water that spilled on him from Declan’s snatch, then gaped for a moment around the room as he once again seemed to remember the concrete and the chains that held him prisoner. “Fine. Who cares? Protein bar’sss-ssstupid anyway.”

Eh. Fair enough. To be honest, after the like, eight protein bars Declan’d had over the past few days, he was also pretty sick of them. He’d get them both some actual food later. 

With that task half-done, he stashed the half-empty bottle in his back pocket. “You can have the rest in a bit,” he told the wet cat of a human he was still inexplicably in charge of. Stan’s shoulders drooped. He just nodded, eyes affixed to one specific spot on the empty opposing wall.

Declan looked around at the mess of torture implements strewn about the room. Anything else he needed to do before they left?

Oh… 

Yeah, right.

“You need to go to the bathroom, runt?”

Stan's eyes shot up to his captor, then settled there for just a moment. Then drifted away into the middle distance for a longer moment. Narrowed his eyes slightly. Declan just about took that as a signal that he needed to save Stan from an apparant stroke when his head shook a slow and conspiratorial ‘no’. 

Declan rolled his eyes, already producing a hairpin out of his hair to click open Stan's ankle fetter, then pulled him to unsteady feet and guided him out the door to the dinky little bathroom at the end of the hallway. Stan didn't even struggle as Declan held him up, too busy ogling at the apparent novelty of being out in the hallway without running for his life.

“Five minutes,” he told Stan, depositing the vacant-stared man in the bathroom. Then he shut the door, started the count somewhere in the back of his mind, and went back to the torture room to clean up so they could finally head home.

God, he felt like shit.

Almost as bad as the kid looked, actually, which was saying something because little Stanny looked pretty fucked.

He was just tired. They both were, actually, that's why Stan had to be drugged. Sure, Declan enjoyed putting him in his place, but after the fifth time, after nearly three days of this, after almost two nights of no sleep, another prospective sleepless night of driving, double the usual amount of G to compensate for that, probably not enough food or water himself, and Stan still testing his patience at every turn… yeah, Stan needed to stop. For both their sakes. Mostly his own, if he valued still having at least one working knee.

Declan meandered over to Stan’s shredded former grey button-down and swooped it up off the ground, inspecting the damage Vaughn caused with those shiny steel surgical scissors of his. The shirt couldn’t even be recognised as a shirt anymore. Just a mess of crumpled fabric lying miserably on the floor, kinda like Stan had done for most of time he’d been here.

Vaughn was gonna rip that poor kid apart.

It wouldn’t be neat and clean like the persona that creep worked so hard to maintain, either. He usually waited until at least the drop-off before shining his true colors as a giant fucking creep in the safety of his creep-ass torture lab. Never directly in front of Declan, and certainly not outside of his jurisdiction like this. Sure, Declan was a piece of shit, but that man’s shittiness truly defied all modern interpretations of physics.

Although…

Declan pulled out his phone to stare at the picture of the hero brand again. Proof of his suspicions. Proof of identity. Proof of both their past misfortunes. Proof that also happened to contain evidence of the brand new abuse Declan had caused over any old scars that had long since faded. With Stan’s now bare back sporting a very mottled score of blacks and dark, painful blues and tender purples and even some fading greens and yellows and reds of all kinds: dark, smeared, and caked burgundy blood, or the bright, raised welts. Definitely a couple of broken ribs in there too. Not to mention all the distress peeking out from under that damn collar, the probably several concussions, the emotional turmoil, the mental distress that danced across his face every time Declan so much as stepped in his direction.

All of that was his doing, huh? Not Vaughn’s, save the missing shirt and the single clean slash running along his jawline. 

Declan.

He twirled his gun around his middle finger, relishing the way it fell so cleanly back into his grasp, the thump of the wooden grip against his hand and the shining, perfectly balanced metal.

Oh well.

Those were just their roles;

Hero and villain. 

Predator and prey.

Bounty hunter and captive.

Stan knew the rules of the game. He'd been given a choice to comply every time. Every time. And every time, he chose to fight. 

So Declan didn’t feel all that bad about it.

Four minutes gone by.

He needed to get back.

He did one last check over of the room, put the chain away, placed the chair back, got all the rope and weapons and even Stan’s crapped-up shirt, and put it all in his plastic bag. Then he went ahead and put on his hat and bandana again, because he’d be damned if he broke any more of the rules that kept him alive in this business for ten years and counting. Then headed back down the hall to the bathroom.

And to a not-at-all-surprising Stan who was agonizingly slowly and painfully and single-mindedly mading his way down the hall. Step by wall-assisted, unstable, limping step.

Did he even go to the bathroom?

Declan wasn’t going to check that. Stan could suffer if he didn’t.

“Stan! Really, runt?” he called out, tromping over to the captive. Stan jolted violently and loosely spun around with a loud squeak, except his feet forgot to move along with the rest of him and sent him crashing and clawing into the wall for any semblance of support. A look of pure unadulterated fear cascaded down his features. No defiance. No anger. Just wide-eyed, breath-taking, heart-pounding, fist-clenching fear.

Declan didn't even say anything. Stan stumbled backward as Declan got closer and landed wrong on his bad leg, enough to cause a cry of pain that almost unbelievably slowly turned into a battle with gravity that ended with Stan crumpled on the floor. Stan groaned and yelled in frustration. Then slapped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide, shaking. For a moment, Declan could only see the lurching of his body as he curled in on himself, then the shaking turned more into heaving, shallow, impossibly quick breaths, and as Declan got closer, it became very clear that it wasn’t just crying or whatever, but laughing, quietly cackling while clutching at his bad knee, whispering “ow, ow” to himself in between giggling heaves.

Declan took a deep breath. He didn’t have the heart to punish him about the escape attempt, if you could even call it that. Or the energy. Pick one.

Stan’s gaze shot up to him, straining against the stupid collar that rendered the admittedly very powerful super helpless. Tears shone in his red and dilated eyes, sparkling in the fluorescent light, a smile stretched and cracking across his face like a long-rotted jack-o-lantern still left out three weeks after Halloween.

Then dropped completely.

“Please don't hurt me,” he whispered, shuddering.

No.

No, he begged.

Like something out of a horror movie.

Some weird sense of subdued panic and revulsion wove through Declan’s chest, a feeling he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. Then just a sense of overwhelming weariness at the pitiful sight.

They both needed a break, didn't they?

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he conceded softly, pulling the half-empty water bottle back out of his pocket and placing it into Stan’s shaking hands. “Not now, anyway. Drink the rest of this, yeah?”

Stan simply clutched it, never once moving his unfocused and bloodshot gaze from his jailor. Declan sighed, grabbed the bottle and carefully twisted the cap off, and even more carefully lifted Stan’s death grip up to his lips so he could drink. The whole ordeal reminded him of taking care of a drunk friend, way back when. Except they weren’t friends. 

After a tentative pause and an immensely encouraging and monotone “it’s not poisoned, don’t drink too fast,” from Declan, he swallowed the first tentative sip. 

His entire body untensed, practically melting into the wall. He drank until the entire bottle disappeared in his shaking hands, head lolling all the way back to let gravity gift him those last few drops as it crushed to practically nothing

“Ya done?” Declan asked languidly. 

Stan nodded.

“Good. I’m gonna tie your hands behind your back now, and then we’re goin’ out to my car, and we're leaving.” He explained slowly. “If you can behave yourself, you can sit in the passenger seat. Otherwise, you’re goin’ in the trunk. Agreed?”

“B-but-but–”

“Agreed, chiquito?”

Stan looked around the room as if desperately searching for the answer. Then nodded.

“Great. Also, that's what she said,” he chuckled

Oh, he was definitely delirious.

Stan didn’t even fight him this time as he yanked the man up and turned him around to cuff him. He barely even stood, practically limp, swaying on his feet, with the only thing keeping him standing being his single locked knee and Declan’s occasional shoves that kept him from leaning too far in any one direction.

Declan didn’t like drugged Stan. Even if it was funnier, easier. He'd rather Stan fight him, because that'd at least show he's able.

Though the real Stan would be back in another 12 hours or so, and by then he’d probably be missing drugged Stan just as much.

He pressed the captive into his side for support without even checking if he could walk on his own, because he obviously couldn’t, then made a mental note to get Stan a temporary cane later. He felt so small, so… nonconcrete, pressed into Declan’s side, forced to rely him to do something as simple as walking. 

So squishy. Fragile. Breakable. He almost couldn’t believe that the person giggling and drooling into his precious leather jacket was the very same as the one he’d spent night and day staking out to find the perfect way to capture, making sure he accounted for every detail, everything that could possibly go wrong, because in every scenario if things didn’t go exactly according to plan, Stan would absolutely crush Declan into a fine paste before he let him get anywhere near him.

He couldn’t dwell on those differences now. He couldn’t mourn the fates of all the people he captured. It broke the rules, the rules that kept Declan alive, and it wouldn’t be fair to all the supers that came before Stan; Those who never had anyone to mourn them, and those forced to continue living in a special type of hell even as their loved ones mourned their deaths, accepted it, and moved on. Even as their own selves died, and yet their bodies kept on living anyway.

He couldnt dwell on it unless he wanted to become one of them himself. Metaphorically. Literally. Who even cared anymore? He was too tired for this. Not thinking sounded like a great idea right about now.

Declan shoved Stan into the passenger seat of his truck, practically threw him, actually, then rummaged through the glovebox until he found the little baggie filled with those special little white pills and popped one in his mouth

Wonderful. Great.

He buckled Stan’s seatbelt for him after a brief confusion when Declan told him to, but he realized he couldn’t and got very upset and scared and started shaking again before Declan just went ahead and did it for him.

Declan slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition, relishing the rumbling sound of the motor reverberating through his chest as it roared to life. His head already felt clearer. The world a little brighter, despite the bright crisp orange of the setting sun dyeing the sky an ever-darkening, gorgeous mixture of hot pinks and burnt oranges and burning reds, spanning unimpeded except by whisping grey clouds breaking the harmony of the dusk-washed light. Then the stars, near invisible speckles, sparse at first, teasing even, until they slowly and inevitably beckoned forth the darker violets and deep indigos and what looked to be the purest of blacks broken up by the sprinkling of the purest white stars, soon to be a cavalcade too numerous to ever count.

So big, all-encompassing. 

Light years away, unencumbered by the existence of humanity.

Even Stan couldn’t help but stare in the silence.

Deeby let out a deep breath.

“Alright, bud. Let’s head home.”

* * * * * * * *

Next

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[stardustloki]

Agony

Cal doesn't trust the Mantis Crew. They don't trust him.

This would be fine, if he hadn't broken several ribs during their escape from Bracca.

Or: my extremely angsty response to the fact that Cal gets seriously injured on Bracca, and then in the cutscene following it neither Cere nor Greez check if he's injured or needs help!

-

Tags: No warnings, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Trust issues, Non-graphic descriptions of injuries, Misunderstandings (not embarassing ones! Just Cal assuming the worst!)

Read it on Ao3 here or under the cut.

-

“You’re safe,” Cere told him. “For now. ”

Cal almost scoffed. Good to know. But still, her warning - her threat? - was hardly a surprise; he hadn’t been safe in five years so why should this be any different?

He watched as she turned away, and then limped through the ship towards where she’d said he should rest. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was pretty sure every single part of him hurt, though ‘hurt’ was probably too weak a word. ‘Hurt’ was for when you fell two stories scrapping a Venator. This was so much worse than that. This was what you felt when you slid down and crashed into too many things to count, and then fought an Inquisitor on top of that. ‘Searing agony’ might be a better way to describe how he felt, but there was no use complaining about it.

He made note of a small kitchen area as he made his way towards the engine room. He’d been hungry earlier, now he just felt nauseous, which was probably a good thing; he might be able to steal some small scraps of food later, when Cere and Greez weren’t looking, but there was no chance of doing so now.

Cal wondered who they were, if they really were trying to restore the Jedi Order as they claimed, or if they were bounty hunters. As exhaustion welled over him, slowly replacing the adrenaline that jittered through his veins, he hoped that was something he could deal with in the morning.

Before he stepped through into the engine room, where he could see a low, thin cot had been laid out for him, he took a quick stop off in the refresher - as long as he was quick enough, he doubted they would find this suspicious, or at least he hoped they wouldn't.

Once the door had closed behind him, he quickly got to work, rifling through the cupboards in search of any medical supplies he would be able to get away with using. If he could just take a small amount, too small for either Greez or Cere to notice, then that would be better than nothing, something to help the searing ache in his limbs or the screaming pain that was starting to make itself known in his ribs.

Eventually, he let his head thunk against the sink as he gave up his search. There was nothing, absolutely nothing stashed anywhere in the refresher. Who the hell flew dangerous missions like this and didn’t keep medical supplies around? He grit his teeth as he forced back tears of frustration - there was no use crying about it, it would only dehydrate him further and this fresher had a sonic sink instead of a water one like on Bracca. Also he was pretty sure, with everything that had happened today, that if he started he wouldn’t stop.

There wasn’t any reason not to keep medical supplies here, no reason except the one he’d already suspected. Cere and Greez hadn’t offered him any bacta even though they must have known he was injured, because he wasn’t worth any to them. In fact, they had actually removed their supplies from here to make sure that he didn’t take any. Well, it was a wise move and showed they weren’t wrong about him - he was a thief.

He forced himself to his feet, almost screaming as the pain in his ribs worsened and his head seemed to spin. He caught himself on the wall, collapsing here because he’d had a dizzy spell wouldn't help matters. Then, he made himself stumble out of the refresher and into the engine room.

Collapsing onto the cot didn’t help much, in fact he bit into his lip to keep himself from making any sound, but at least it was a bed. Despite being small and rock-hard, he knew it was a far better sleeping arrangement than he’d had for half his time on Bracca, where he’d had to make do with a corner to curl up in, somewhere he hoped wouldn’t leak in the rain.

There was a part of him that thought he would never be able to sleep, not with the terror from the chase (and from being on this new ship), the grief from losing Prauf, the only person who he thought had truly cared for him on Bracca, and the throbbing that seemed to emanate from all parts of his body, but most especially his side. But the exhaustion was too much, and, despite everything, he found himself plunged into a nightmarish sleep.

[kiwibirbkat]

Sasha walked into the dingy bar with a scowl. Her parents were fighting again. They were already divorced, but for some reason, they still fought over everything. This particular fight was about her mom wanting more days with her, even though she already (sadly) had the most days with her and it had already been ruled by court.

So now Sasha Waybright, a middle schooler, had to drag herself to get her own dinner with her measly allowance, and this restaurant/bar thing that closed to everyone under the drinking age after 8 to become a full bar was the cheapest place she could find.

Her scowl lessoned slightly when she saw the few arcade machines that had been wired to play for free. There was only 4 cabinets, and all really old games, but at least she could lessen her angst with Pac-Man.

She blinked a few times and looked up at the menu, picking out the cheapest thing that could actually sustain her hunger. Mac and cheese. Her mortal enemy. She let out a long suffering sigh and walked up to the register.

"What would you like to order, hoot?" The most obnoxious voice she had ever heard spoke. ('Hoot???' kinda weird) A person with brown hair that stuck to their scalp weirdly and disproportionately long limbs stood in front of her, beady eyes staring at her. More like on top of her, because Christ, this person was tall! Their- his name tag had Henry crossed out and replaced with Hooty (something to do with the hoot he made earlier???) written on it with a scribbled he/him below it.

Sasha realized she hadn't answered him and mumbled a quick "Mac and cheese…" tapping her foot impatiently.

He smiled kindly with his strangely stretched mouth. "That'll be 13.55! What's your favorite flavor of dumdums?"

Seeing the strange look Sasha was giving him, he chuckled (seriously what was with his voice???) and spoke again. "Every customer gets a lollipop, hoot!"

"... I don't have a favorite flavor."

He blinked in surprise, but quickly covered it with a laugh. "Couldn't make a decision huh? I get that, hoot!" (Was that a vocal stim or something??? Marcy had some of those, even if they weren't this common, so that might explain it) He dug into the glass container of lollipops and handed her a strawberry dumdum.

Sasha hesitantly grabbed the lollipop from him and handed him the money.

"I'll let you know when your food is done, hoot! Should be easy seeing as you're the only customer, huh?" He chuckled at his joke while Sasha just nodded jerkily and wandered over to the arcade machine for Pac-Man.

"Eda, order of Mac and cheese!"

"Um, Eda's upstairs Hooty, did you want me to go get her?" An uncertain young voice called back.

"... No, just make the order yourself Luz, hoot!" You've been here long enough to know how!"

"…Ok…"

Sasha listened to this conversation disinterestedly, focused on dodging ghosts. After a few minutes of playing the obnoxious voice of Hooty called out again "Your order is done kid! Hoot!"

Sasha groaned as the little yellow circle known as Pac-Man was devoured, walking over to the counter and grabbing her food. She walked over to one of the tables and sat down, picking discontentedly at the Mac and cheese before forcing herself to eat it.

She heard footsteps stomping down what sounded like stairs, and a foxy voice called out "Hooty, did you read my diary again-!? Oh, there's a costumer." Sasha glanced up.

A pale lady with her hair died white and ginger roots poking out was standing on the steps that she hadn't noticed before with her hands on her hips. She had a gold tooth (that looked more like a fang than any normal tooth to be honest) and an abnormal eye color that almost matched the gold of the tooth. Her name tag said Eda she/her with scribbled drawings surrounding it. She fixed Hooty with a cold stare. "We'll be talking about this later."

Hooty audibly gulped and ran his hand through his weird hair with a nervous chuckle, even higher pitched than his earlier ones and babbling a few of his apparently signature hoots as Eda retreated into the backroom that Sasha could only assume was the kitchen.

(This place was weird.)

(…She'd have to come back again.)

Sasha finished the rest of her Mac and cheese and sat up, dumping the contents of her tray in the trash and setting it on the pile of trays on top of the trashcan.

Hooty, who was writing what she guessed was his will after that interaction with Eda, who seemed to either be his boss or some kind of higher-up based on his earlier reaction, fixed her with his strange stretchy smile and a wave as she walked out.

On her walk home, she sighed and ran her hand through her hair, subconsciously copying Hooty's earlier action as she thought about the strange little restaurant. Either they were friends outside of work or Hooty really needed to work on boundaries. He allegedly read Eda's diary??? AGAIN???

What a weird workplace relationship. Just what a weird workplace, actually. But a surprisingly comforting place to eat, Sasha thought with a hum as she popped the free strawberry dumdum into her mouth, turning the thought around in her mind. She would definitely return.

[fsfghgee]

And what would happen if Sektor met Dark Bi-Han? Do you think this version of him also has his Dark Sektor? 👀

— Finally. The perfect replacement. — Finishing tightening the ties on Sektor's wrists to the metal bed, Sektor smiled in satisfaction. — Finally, I will have control of the Lin Kuei.

— Why bother stealing my clan?! Don't you have your own?!

— You are a lonely leader. Of all the timelines I have visited, you are the only one who does not have Bi-Han, Cyrax, Kuai Liang or Tomas to strengthen your leadership. No great Lin Kuei warrior guarding you from the back. So vulnerable… — Sektor smiled as she remembered the small number of Lin Kuei warriors she had killed before facing her counterpart from Liu Kang's timeline and winning. — It was so easy to get to you. How even Bi-Han abandoned you is a mystery to me. — Observing Sektor's silence and sad look, the invader smiled with realization. — He is dead, isn't he?

— Shut up.

— He is as strong as he is stupid. But do not worry, you'll soon be in the company of another.

— How can you abandon your Bi-Han?

— He doesn't deserve my loyalty.

— Why? What did he do to you?

— I don't owe you an explanation. — Finishing the machine's initialization, Sektor placed the futuristic helmet on herself before taking her place on another gurney. — Once I take control of your body and clan, I will be invincible.

— You're going to kill us both!

— If my test subject Cyrax didn't die, we won't either. — Sektor signaled for one of her cyborgs to activate the machine, and so he did. — Want some advice? Don't make him mad. The third beep is gonna hurt.

“Beep”

“Beep”

— Aahhh!

_________#__________

— “Split up. We must find her!”

Still dazed and trying to get used to her new body and strange surroundings, Sektor got up as fast as she could. And ran when she heard Bi-Han's voice, followed by others approaching in a hurry.

— Argh, this fragile body. — Sektor cursed under her breath as she struggled to pull her foot out of the branches, opening a deep wound in her leg in the process. With her leg covered in blood and lifting her long red dress, she hadn't even been running for half an hour and she was already feeling out of breath. Out of breath in a way that she would only feel after several hours of training with her old body. — Where did that crazy woman send me? — Amidst the darkness of the forest, Sektor spotted some poorly lit buildings and, without much of a choice, advanced towards them. — Where am I going?

— Nowhere, doll. — Startled, Sektor screamed as she was grabbed from behind. And with her mouth covered, she tried to hit him with the elbow in vain, as he only let go of her after being severely bitten by her. — You dumb bitch! — Thrown away and with her leg still injured, Sektor struggled to stand up and face the Smoke of that world. — Your escape ends here.

— You've never bested me, brat!

— Ha! You never ever fought me.

— Maybe not in this world, but I taught you almost everything you know in my world and you were one of my worst students. — Still processing Sektor's words, he took the first blow and was surprised that she actually knew how to fight and had managed to disorient him. — Your incompetence is so great that it transcends time!

— Do you think I'm going to be defeated by Bi-Han's little toy?! — Sektor hid her surprise well when her kick didn't knock him down. She didn't know whether to blame her new weak body or her bloody leg from the earlier wound. — I'm going to do to you what Bi-Han should have done a long time ago.

_________#__________

— You never stood a chance.

— Sektor?! — Surprised to see Smoke unconscious on the ground and Sektor standing near the body, Scorpion threw his rope dart towards her, but before he could hit her, Sektor dodged and ran into the forest. — You can't hide from me! — Launching fireballs and burning foliage along the way, Scorpion cornered Sektor in a matter of minutes. — Try to escape and you'll burn.

— You rely too much on flames, Scorpion.

— I agree…

— Bi-Han?!

— Ice is sharper. — Surprised to see Bi-Han appear behind her, Sektor looked from Scorpion to him and was frightened by the malice in his smile. — And precise. — He didn't sound or look at her with the same affection she was used to. If anything, he looked at her like she was a prey in his sights. — But what will you do to dispel the flames?

— Bi-Han… — No, that wasn't the Bi-Han she had fallen in love with. — I'm not who you think I am!

— Don't even try.

— B-Bi-Han… — Frightened by the flames that began to corner her even more after Bi-Han barely nod to Scorpion, she struggled to stay on her feet and think of a way out.

— Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… — Crying out for an understanding from him that didn’t come and fearing for her own life, Sektor turned away from his cold white eyes to look up. — You won't be. — Bi-Han, foreseeing what she would do, threw a ball of ice that froze the ground before it could hit her, as she quickly climbed the tree. — Scorpion!

_________#__________

After jumping from tree to tree, escaping the balls of fire and ice, Sektor lost her breath and fell when she stepped on a branch too weak for her weight. She regretted it as soon as she screamed in pain, crying compulsively afterwards. Crying in a way that she had only done the day her mother had left the clan and the entire legacy behind, she had never felt so lonely. And she wondered what she had done to deserve that. She never imagined that one day she would see so much anger in Bi-Han’s eyes directed at her. That wasn't the Bi-Han she loved, it was a vile and despicable version of him.

— Take her.

— N-No! — Fearing the worst after being dragged by Scorpion's rope dart, she struggled to free herself and hurt herself even more. — W-Why are you doing this to me?!

— You know very well what you did. You always know very well what you do.

— I'm not her! Sektor invaded my… The Sektor of this timeline… S-She… Ahh..

— Your tears don't move me. And you'll pour them out even more after I teach you respect.

— Y-You… Y-You wouldn't dare.

— You're mine! — Crouching in front of her, Bi-Han grabbed her face aggressively, moving the long strands of her hair out of her face with the rough movement before squishing her face. — I do whatever I want with you.

— You. Are. Despicable! — Just disgusted by that version of Bi-Han, she spat at him with all the saliva she had saved and screamed in pain when he slapped her so hard that her face turned with the impact and drew blood from her.

— Tread carefully. I was never careful with my toys. — With a nasty stare and a frighteningly soft voice, he wiped the blood from her cut mouth while she tried to control the tears that fell nonstop in panic. — Mother always said that I don't play with my toys, I destroy them.

— I-I bet she would be proud of you now. — Sektor says sarcastically, ignoring her inner terror that only grew the longer she looked at him.

Bi-Han chuckles, almost laughs, enjoying Sektor's defiant look. He appreciated intelligent and sarcastic humor, but soon his cold laughter stopped and his expression hardened when he remembered what she had done.

— Your parents are dead, your siblings are dead, your lab and your crazy machine have been completely destroyed, your chamber no longer exists… — He stood up without breaking eye contact with Sektor, dictating everything coldly. He hoped she felt half what he had felt for her betrayal. — You will sleep handcuffed to the foot of my bed, you will walk on a leash wherever I go…

— Brother…

— Silence, Kuai Liang. — Ignoring Scorpion's clamour, Bi-Han continued emotionlessly. — Your life will be only to serve me and you will finish building the army you promised me or you will join your family in netherealm. Kuai Liang.

— Brother, she is not trustworthy. We should eliminate her before…

— Obey!

Scorpion sighed in resignation under his older brother's angry gaze, and reluctantly, carried Sektor after throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

— I will keep my eyes on you. — He murmured irritably close to Sektor's ear.

— Take her to the palace and do as I told you. — Already some distance away, he continued to look at the woman as his brother walked away with her. — I'll make sure everyone regroups and returns to Arctika. — Without waiting for an answer, he looked at the burning surroundings with satisfaction and sighed suddenly tired. — Earthrealm can burn for all I care.

And upon meeting Smoke and the rest of the Lin Kuei warriors he had brought with him in the hunt for Sektor, he gave the order on what to do with the witnesses from the village:

— Kill them all.

......

[a-lonely-dunedain]

'hey, I'm not your pillow,' for character(s) of choice? :D

oh gosh I forgot about this one! I think I'll do this with Ethedis&Tossdir bc I've been very mean to Ethe in my discord lately so she deserves some cuddles with her bestie <3

...........after I chuck her down a minor plinko offscreen. Look, listen, how else am I going to get that sweet sweet hurt/comfort? she's FINE everything is FINE this is FLUFF

--------

“I think this is supposed to go the other way around...” Tossdir says quietly, wiping the dried blood and dirt from a small cut on Ethedis’ cheek with a damp cloth. He’d already finished patching up her more serious wound, thankful that Ethedis was conscious enough to guide him through most of it, and now all that's left is to tend to some minor cuts and scrapes.

Ethedis scoffs weakly "You're hardly the only one here the Iron Crown wants dead."

"No, but between the two of us, running headlong into danger is usually my job," he flashes a halfhearted smile, but it fades quickly as he returns his focus to her bandages, readjusting the ones on her arm that he had hastily tied earlier "and you’re far better at this part than I am…"

"You’re doing fine, Pîn-Toss." Ethedis gently assured, though Tossdir knew well that 'fine' was hardly comparable to what someone trained under Lord Elrond was capable of. He felt clumsy and out of place with such delicate work, only made worse by his nerves at the fact that his friend's life was in his hands at the time. He hoped Ethedis hadn't noticed how much his hands shook earlier.

"You’re usually just so careful… I never expected you to…" He trails off, too preoccupied in his worry to be annoyed at the nickname 'little-shrub' she had given him. He couldn't help but still be shaken by what happened. She was fine one moment, launching storms of embers and lightning at their foes, and then the next she was collapsed on the ground with an orcish blade in her side. She was barely responsive when he finally fought his way to her, only fully coming back to her senses after he managed to drag her back to their camp. The wound was, thankfully, not as deep as he initially feared, but ideally she should not be wounded at all.

"I try to be, though I’m unaccustomed to fighting so frequently. I overextended myself and paid the price, a mistake I do not plan to make again." Though admittedly, she didn't plan to make it this time, either. Calling upon natural powers would be taxing anywhere, and doubly so in a place like Angmar, but she had not yet learned how to accurately sense when she was at her limit. Until recently, she was a stranger the necessity. "I'm lucky you were with me, to think of what might have happened if I was alone…"

"Don't-" Tossdir winces at the thought, looking away "don’t even talk about that. Please."

"All right, I won't. But thank you all for saving me all the same"

"Not as if I had a choice, you know Corunir would have killed me if I let something happen to you." he says half-jokingly.

Ethedis snorts an almost-laugh "He wouldn't."

"He might."

"I think he's far too gentle for that," she says with a weary smile. "But in any case, you said we should not speak of such grim things..." Her head nodded slightly, as if she was having trouble keeping upright.

"Right," he gives her bandages one last look over, making certain he hadn't missed anything. "It looks like I've done all I can for now," he says after some hesitation "you should try to get some rest, I don't want you scaring me like that again any time soon..."

Ethedis nods again, this time in agreement, but instead of laying on her bedroll she leans forward and rests her head on his shoulder, her face nestled in the warm wool of his scarf.

"Hey, I'm not your-" Tossdir halfheartedly protests, but the words die on his lips. He hesitates a moment before gingerly putting an arm around her "...Alright, fine." Ethedis says nothing in response, but wears a small contented smile.

He carefully adjusted to a more comfortable position, with his back against the cliff their camp was set under, keeping his cloak wrapped snugly around the two of them. Soon enough, it seemed that Ethedis had fallen into sound sleep, the corners of her lips still turned in a slight smile. Tossdir just breathed a quiet sigh of relief, at least her injury didn't seem to be bothering her much. Maybe he had done a better job tending it than he'd given himself credit for.

Tossdir didn't sleep much that night, instead dutifully keeping watch over his friend, although it was probably unnecessary as Ethedis' raven friends were already tasked with guarding the camp and waking them if anyone came near. Still, Tossdir felt better keeping watch himself, maybe he was unable to protect her earlier today, but at least like this, he felt as if he could.

And besides, he never really trusted those birds anyway.

[kallystah]

~~~ evening routine~~~Eustass kidd x reader

For once, in the story of the great pirate ship carrying a huge dinosaur skull as its prow, silence ruled the ship. Something that was truly unusual, there were so many noisy men unable to remain silent on board. But on this evening, everyone had, by mutual agreement, decided that there would be no fight or alcohol left.

The reason was simple, the battle they had fought against another completely suicidal crew during the day had exhausted them. This pirate crew weren't suicidal in the form they took on the renowned Kidd's pirate crew, but they were genuinely reckless and fearless, hurling cannonballs at their ship as their men were on board, or continuing to fight unarmed against the crew of the red who were armed to the teeth. In fact, their attack had been suicidal as soon as they got too close to the red captain.

But it did not prevent that to face enemies having no fear of death had hurt the crew, finally especially to Victoria Punk who found himself strewn with holes. The pirates themselves had been very happy to be able to indulge in a good beating without restraint.

Going back to the thing, the whole Victoria Punk was silent because the whole crew was asleep, except for those on lookout. And yet, there was in a room, reorganized more like a workshop, two people who did not close their eyes, dwelling on old bits of metal, shaping them under the light of their desk lamp, like they did it every night.

- Kidd, can you lend me your pliers? Said a voice calmly addressing the man at her feet.

The woman received no response, but received his pliers in his hand after a few seconds. She and the famous Kidd had been tinkering with some small tools for three hours. The woman lingered on a piece of wire which she tried somehow to transform into a pretty bracelet, while the man repaired a part of his ship which had been damaged by cannon fire.

- Oh come on Kidd, change the subject a bit. You've been on your clock for two hours.

- It's one of the first ones I did. I'm not going to let it break because of some stupid crew.

Kidd was indeed tense as the woman had thought earlier. Like he said, it was one of his first clocks, if not the first that worked, so he was quite pissed that it had been broken during the battle.

- Pass me the upper part, I'll fix your needles and your bird. You are in charge of swinging the pendulum again. Although I sincerely wish it didn't make the same noise as before. Said the woman smiling, she had never really appreciated the incessant ticking of the clock, which did not come from one of the hands but from the pendulum.

The Ruby-haired man didn't answer, still immersed in his business. But he handed her the upper part as she had requested. Although if he hadn't managed to put his metal wing back on the bird, she probably wouldn't.

Two hours passed, and the person sitting in the desk chair huffed, then stretched and yawned. The wristwatch she had made told her midnight, so it was well past time for her to pack up her things and go to bed. Besides, she had managed to patch up the little metal bird wing, so she had no regrets going to bed.

Rising from her seat, she called the man who accompanied her into the room.

- Kidd I turn off the light?

She received no response.

- Kidd?

Then looking around the room, she saw the red-haired man behind her, his head resting on the edge of the bed.

- Kidd you're going to hurt your neck.

- Hmm.

- Go stand up.

The man didn't move an eyelash, so she wondered if she hadn't imagined his vague answer.

- Ok. Then-

The woman left the room, but returned a few minutes later with a heavy blanket in her hands.

- Anyway Heat never sleeps covered so whether it’s in his closet or not he won't see the difference. She rather said to herself to apologize for her theft.

She put the cloth on the captain, so as to cover her body well, otherwise he could get sick, and stood next to him. Sitting on the cabin duvet that had fallen under Kidd, and putting the stolen duvet over her as well.

Then she sighed happily. Their little routine that usually ended under the duvet, both literally and figuratively, had now ended on the edge of the bed. But the woman liked it, as long as she slept in the arms of the one she loved, it could be anywhere. Avoid underwater.

~~~~~~~~~~

I'm sure there are spelling mistakes, sorry, but I hope you liked it : )

[tarnishedinquirer]

Case: Morne Massacre (Conclusion)

Unsurprisingly, there were more gallows in back, but they didn't have corpses stacked up under them like the gallows on the ramparts. So this is where the other gallows came from. Nobles get locked in cages, soldiers get hung, and commoners get tortured. All die to the Confessors in the end.

I jumped down to the shallows below. The entire area was filled with purple-black spirit jellies. They were different and somehow more solid than the blue-white ones I've seen elsewhere, but no idea what that could possibly mean yet.

The grace pointed towards a gate sitting alone on a sandbar, obscured by golden fog. Whatever answers I was looking for were here, and the fog told me that I'd have to kill someone to get them. I summoned Edgar and without a word, walked through the gate.

One of the chimeras, bigger than the others, and with a wild mane of red hair. The voice called it "Leonine Misbegotten" which I guess is what the chimera are actually called. Its chosen arena was a small spat of solid land on the sandbar, packed with grave stones and with bodies piled high beside them. It fought with both ferocity and surprising skill, but we had numbers and magic. It fell, and I claimed the sword it was guarding.

There are advantages to my prison mask. It means that Edgar could not see the anger in my eyes as he left to go rescue his daughter. He let me keep the sword, though it was useless to me and unsightly to boot. I briefly considered chucking it into the ocean out of spite, but I'm above such things.

I sat down to compose myself and focus the facts. The voice said this place was called the Moangrave, which seems a bit redundant. Unless... if you consider the root of the word, it could refer to a complaint or accusation. Therefore, this could be the Grave of Accusation, or maybe The Accused.

Is this what Grace wanted me to see? This strange keyhole grave?

I turned to the sword, far too heavy for me to ever use, to see if the voice could provide answers. It said

The storied sword of Castle Morne. A revenger's weapon, it is burdened with oceans of anger and regret. One of the legendary armaments. A lone surviving champion from a country now vanished was so determined to continue fighting that he claimed the swords of an entire clan of warriors.

So. It belonged to the nameless revenger. He claimed the swords of an entire clan—perhaps his own fallen, perhaps a rival's—and forged them into this massive sword. He assaulted this castle and fell at the hands of Godfrey. However, he gained enough renown that they were forced to build a monument to his courage.

And perhaps, buried him with honors... on a sandbar. So that one day his body and his legend would be washed away.

It felt right.

Only the grave had persisted. They built a gate to bar access to it, maybe even tearing down the outer wall's gate to rebuild here.

The only other thing I could glean was the crest on the grafted blade. It looked like a heraldic wolf, or perhaps fox, with a bushy mane. Was this the symbol of the nameless revenger and his clan?

Maybe it'll make sense one day, when I have more information.

Thoroughly grounded, I teleported away to check on Irina. Maybe her father had found her by now.

Unfortunately, he had. Irina was dead.

Edgar was inconsolable. He cursed the Misbegotten and vowed revenge. Said he would hunt down every last one of them for taking his daughter.

My grudge against Edgar aside, this hurt. Irina had done nothing wrong. I could have joined him in his vow and revenge, but instead I retreated into cold, hard reason. They had ignored her last time I was here. Her blood was fresh and wet, and her body hadn't even cooled yet.

Her killers ignored her until they knew that Edgar was on his way. Whoever killed her wanted him to find her body fresh. They wanted him to see the cleaver, stained with her blood. Perhaps if I had arrived earlier she would have been able to choke out last words, but no, that would've been too unpredictable. No way they could control what she said.

It occurred to me just now that Irina had described a "frightful howling from all around."

Misbegotten don't howl.

Conclusion: There were forces at work beyond my knowledge. Someone wanted to break Edgar. They wanted him to suffer. For his crimes? For the wholesale slaughter at behest of the Confessors? No... even that felt like a means to an end. So many, dying in suffering, seeking to purge some heresy or infection, creating the very environment for the sickness to spread... it feels ritualistic.

The Misbegotten rose up, perhaps to stop the slaughter, perhaps to purge the infection in their own way. They let Irina leave because she was an innocent, not knowing she could also serve as a capstone to the ritual. A final sacrifice.

Somehow, I know this ritual.

Questions

Why would Grace point me towards the revenger's grave?

Why did the red-maned Misbegotten seem to revere his sword?

Why must Edgar protect it at all costs, and why was it okay that I carry it instead?

What is the symbol of the maned wolf?

Who was howling?

What was the purpose of the ritual?

Who really killed Irina?

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @thesingularityseries ❤️

I'm checking in with another snippet from Chapter 2 of John and Sabrina's AU where he goes (or more like tries) to visit his client in prison while she is doing her best to minimize their encounter. Leslie ain't buying it. ❤️

John stared at the endless field in front of him, checking his watch on instinct for probably the millionth time as his driver let out a string of hushed curses while he changed the flat tire the car got somewhere on Interstate 5. An irrational part of him felt like vaulting over the fence that separated the highway from the surrounding land and simply… walking off. Wondered how it would feel to be in the middle of nowhere, in a place where nobody would be around to hear the angry outburst he fought to keep under control. After messing up and texting Sabrina by mistake, he had eventually gotten dressed, dragged himself down to the lobby to report the broken shower in his room and ask for them to arrange a car for him. The man at the reception desk had been less welcoming and helpful than the woman that had checked him in, telling him that he would send someone over to fix the issue without being able to give him an answer as to when. On top of that headache, he had spent the next 30 minutes waiting for his driver to show up in front of the hotel, the delay making him wish he had his own car there so he wasn't at the mercy of others. Thanks to that now even after leaving early to make sure he would have enough time to travel to the State Penitentiary, he was tethering on the edge of being late, stuck halfway across his destination.

"Almost done, sir.", the younger man announced behind him, "We'd be back on the road in a jiffy." A couple of minutes later he finally walked around the car, still dusting off his pants from kneeling down on the ground and signaled for John they were ready to leave. "So…", the man started in an attempt to break the ice as he climbed in the backseat and pointed his gaze out of the window again, "Who are you visiting in OSP?" "I'm not at liberty to talk about that.", John retorted quickly and pulled out his phone, hoping he would appear busy so the man would give up on the small talk. It was for that same reason he hadn't made an effort to even ask about his name. He had no doubt if he was to say he was representing Nathaniel Mooney that the driver would be tempted to abandon him on the side of the road after calling him any awful word available in his dictionary. He avoided the man's curious stare in the rearview mirror, keeping his eyes glued to his phone screen as he opened Sabrina's last message. Don't text her anything else. Don't. It's just going to make everything worse. But his fingers had other ideas, already typing up a text.

John: I'm sorry about earlier.

Minutes passed where the driver whistled along to "Only You" as it played on the radio, and where no answer came through from Sabrina. She's at work, probably busy. Do I even care if she's taken the text meant for Penny the wrong way? I don't. Yes, I don't. Yet the giddiness he felt when his phone finally chirped with a message told him otherwise.

Sabrina: How's your day? Any more criminals posing as drivers?

John: No, but I am meeting with an alleged criminal in a couple of minutes. So, pray, I don't get stabbed.

Sabrina: Now you have me worried… just keep an eye on him and make sure any sharp objects are out of his reach.

John: You're saying I can't show him my collection of knives?

Sabrina: Essentially. And let me know you've made it out alive, I guess.

A smile broke free at her replies and the fact she seemed unbothered by what had happened. They gave him hope he still had a chance. A chance for what? "We're here, sir.", the driver said, making him realize the rest of his drive had passed in a haze, all thanks to her, "Welcome to Salem." John looked his watch, "And on time, thank you." "Of course. I will be waiting to drive you back to Portland." He exited the car after giving him a nod, leaving him to wait in the parking lot as he headed for the entrance of the penitentiary, its pale yellow facade standing out against stark blue of the cloudless sky. John gingerly climbed the U-shaped staircase, promising himself with each step that he would succeed what the other attorneys before him had failed at. He squared his shoulders and pushed past double doors that led inside, his measured footsteps drawing the attention of some of the visitors that were waiting in line for the metal detectors. As one person after another passed through, he shut down the urge to shift in place or worry about the state of his suit. Not how I imagined this would go, exactly. As the detectors kept going off and hindering his progress forward, he reassured himself over and over again that he'd make it in time for the meeting.

"Next.", a male deputy directing the visitors in his line gestured for him to step forward. His briefcase made it on the conveyor belt first, passing through the scanner as he covered the rest of the distance to the walk through metal detector. One step, followed by anothed. Silence. He had almost made it on the other side, or at least his shoe had before the alarm sounded. "I need you to walk back and through the detector again, please.", the officer instructed, and he complied, going through slowly only for the blaring noise to repeat again. "One more time. Slowly.", the man gestured patiently while he let out a tired sigh as he turned on his heel and attempted the walk for the third time. For fuck's sake. He had nothing on him that could potentially set off the detector. "Step forward.", the deputy beckoned, "I need to pat you down. You have the right to refuse-" "I'm a lawyer, I know my rights.", John interjected quickly, then added in a calmer tone, "You have my permission." Refusing a pat down meant he'd be turned down from his visit. The man nodded, "Arms out. Feet apart." He followed the instructions, having been through a couple of in-person meetings with other clients in prison already. The frisk felt like it had lasted an eternity until the deputy finally declared he could gather his things and proceed to the waiting area where other visitors had already taken a seat after checking in about their appointments.

"Next in line.", an older female officer called out for him eventually once he took his place in that line. "Name of AICs?" "Good morning, I have a scheduled meeting with Nathaniel Mooney.", the anticipated look of displeasure appeared in her eyes before his usual charm even had a chance to kick in. "Another one. How long are you gonna last?", she mumbled under her breath as she typed away on the computer in front of her, the remark loud enough only for him to hear. He didn't let the words strip away at the slight smile he had offered her initially, the push-back and borderline loathing were expected with the task of representing defendants like Mooney. Instead of simply gesturing him to take a seat and wait for his name to be called, the deputy sent him a strange look before picking up the phone receiver. "Yes. Mooney. Okay. I will tell him to take a seat." "Is everything in order, Officer Gale?", John asked carefully the second she hung up. A bored look was all he got as response before she slid a visitor badge over to him, then muttered, "Yes. Please take a seat. Next."

John clutched his bag and headed for a vacant seat next to a well-dressed redhead, checking his watch as he sat down and slipped the plastic encased pass over his head. Almost time. A slender, manicured hand appeared from his left, "Can't say I was expecting I would be meeting the man representing Nathaniel Mooney today." He turned, meeting the green gaze of the woman next to him before he grabbed her hand for a handshake. "John Duncan.", the introduction was made in the usual tone reserved for other attorneys and potential clients. Everything about the redhead, including her smile, appeared calculating when she squeezed his hand, and he couldn't help but wonder if she had her sights set on his case and testing the waters, "Candice Donovan." The name gave him a pause, immediately making him think of Sabrina, then he shook off the thought, reminding himself he had to stay focused. It's just a surname. His hand returned to his knee as he leaned back in his chair and trained his eyes forward, feeling her gaze remaining on him still. "Rumor is, the last one ran out of here crying. Poor girl. Not everyone is built for our field of work.", the woman whispered, "Though, I've never had a particular taste for criminal law. So messy… bloody even.", the last part felt loaded, heavy, yet she casually recrossed her legs before letting out a quiet laugh and passing him a business card. Blue eyes darted to the matching badge nestled against her champagne colored silk blouse with a perfectly tied bow close to her neckline, "And yet here you are." "Oh, no, Mr. Duncan,", her voice lowered like she was letting him in on a little secret, "I'm meeting the man on top of this food chain, not one of his subjects."

"Donovan.", an officer called out her name. "And that's my cue. Good luck, darling.", she got up, smoothing down her black skirt before she picked up her bag Hermès bag off the ground next to her chair. Her nude high heels clicked away as she approached the man waiting to escort her, swooping into charming him next. He granted a final look at the business card and slipped it inside his bag. Over the years, he had met enough women like Candice Donovan, had even been blindsided by their charisma and skilled tongues, had made the mistake of getting involved with a couple on a personal level when he was first starting in the field. The type that would frown at "the bloodiness" of law, yet be secretly the first to sense the blood in the water and strike. John spent the next couple of minutes watching the room as visitor's after visitor's name were called, new people taking their vacated seats, Officer Gale warning walk-ins they might be in for a longer wait that day. "Duncan.", a gruff voice broke through the low chatter around him, and he was out of his seat in an instant, straightening his visitor badge on his way to the deputy. The man, wearing a tag that read 'A. Flynn", towered a good few inches over him and gave him a dark stare before muttering, "Follow me."

A black steel bar door buzzed behind him and they were off down a series of white hallways, separated by similar security entryways that got him deeper into the prison. Eventually, the man in front of him came to a stop and gestured to a dark gray door before he swung it open to reveal a small private room, reserved for visits by legal teams, "Take a seat." With that, Officer Flynn left him to get situated and shut the door behind him. John slipped into pulling out all the documents he would need and arranged them in neat piles on the only table in the room. 10 minutes passed, bringing him officially past the reserved time for the meeting with Mooney. The only noise, that would put lesser attorneys on edge as they sat in the tiny sterile space without any windows, was the sound of his watch ticking. Another 15 minutes went by where he started to wonder if something had gone wrong. He set for rearranging the files again, inevitably checking his phone for any messages or calls. Nothing. Rereading Sabrina's last text. A couple of calming breaths. Regretting he had skipped breakfast. No Mooney in sight. 10 more minutes, a terrible sign considering nobody from the personnel had bothered to show their face yet. Something's wrong, indeed.

John rose up, ready to knock on the door and demand an explanation for the delay, when it opened and the same officer that had led him there appeared in the doorway, his large almost frame blocking his view of another man in an uniform. "Counsel, I regret to inform you, the arranged meeting won't be taking place today.", his lips twisted into a dark smirk, no actual regret visible across his features, "Nathaniel Mooney is undisposed." "What is that supposed to mean?", John asked, his eyes narrowing at the man's tone. "I'm meant to escort you out, sir.", the last word was said with complete disdain as Officer Flynn stepped aside and gestured for him to exit the room promptly, "You can schedule a new visit." "You cannot just cancel my client's meeting without any notice." The man crossed his arms over his chest, "Tell that to Mooney, who decided it's a good time to stab an inmate with a fork right before his meeting with his new attorney." "I still think it's inappropriate and violating his rights to deprive him from a consultation with his legal counsel. This is not a family visit you can just deny." "If you have any complaints, you can direct them at Major Sinclair. He's the one that issued the order. All inmates are threated equal here and sanctioned accordingly for not following the rules, Mr. Duncan." "That's-" Just my luck. "Unfortunate for you? Or Mooney?", his tone was bordering on leering as John began to gather his things, "I'm sure the man he put in infirmary, whose eye was almost gouged out thinks the same about himself."

He could only imagine how that would be used by the prosecution at the actual trial, just another testament of his client's violent nature and urges he couldn't control. John straightened his back and picked up his bag, passing by the two officers as he exited the room, and he could tell they were enjoying every second of sending him away without even meeting Mooney. "When exactly did the incident occur?", John inquired while he got sandwiched between the two men on the way back. "If you have any questions, you can set a meeting with Major Sinclair and discuss those.", the younger officer ahead of him, whose name he hadn't had time to observe, grumbled out. It wouldn't have been any surprise if the words were paired with another sly grin. "It was a simple question. You could have called me in advance. Saved me the trip from Portland." "It was a genuine mix-up, sir." "Or karma. Serves you right for representing that bastard.", Flynn mumbled under his breath simultaneously, clearly wanting for John to hear. Hazing. Of course. On the inside, he could feel anger gripping at his chest, looking for an outlet, but he refused to let it out or any of the well-deserved words he wanted to direct their way to be vocalized. He suspected the fork incident had taken place long before that early morning and in reality they must have had time to alert him about the "punishment" bestowed upon his client. Yet nothing of sorts had happened because he in turn was being "punished", too. For doing his job. For accepting the "shitstorm" case. For refusing to cower under their scrutiny and holding his head high. It was bound for this occurance to be just the first one of many. There was a reason, as Candice Donovan reported, that the previous woman representing Mooney had ran out crying, and if past cases were anything to go by, he was willing to bet Nathaniel's nature was only part of the issue. But if people like Officer Flynn or Major Sinclair expected obvious cheap tricks like those would make him withdraw, they were all in for a rude awakening.

John kept his face relaxed as he waited in line yet again, this time to schedule another appointment. His fingers drummed against the surface of the booth in front of him while the woman across typed in his information. "First appointment I can give you is on Monday.", she announced matter-of-factly as his fingers formed a fist. How much he wanted to bang against the glass pane that separated them. To demand to see Mooney right then and there. He did none of that, instead he forced a smile, letting his charm do the work. "M'am, I really need to meet with my client before that. My return flight is in two days." Where the receptionist from the previous night or Penny would have melted at his gentle but still firm tone that reeked of authority, the officer just blinked slowly and said, "There's a 72-hours rule in place, meaning Monday as earliest." "Officer Reece-" "First appointment I can offer you is on Monday, Mr. Duncan.", she repeated before he could even finish his sentence, "Usually you can always come as a walk-in and wait for a slot to open up if there's a cancellation or a no-show, but Nathaniel Mooney has had his visitation rights revoked for 72-hours." "That's ridiculous." "It's the minimum, sir.", Officer Reece explained calmly, "Are you taking the Monday appointment? If not, I'd have to ask to step away while you're considering your options, because there are other people in line behind you." Fuck. He wanted to scream the word out, lose it like he had that morning in the shower. "Yes, Monday it is, then.", he nodded, grateful for his unwavering facade as he took a deep breath. "I'm penciling you in for the afternoon session, 12:15 pm." "Thank you." "Have a great weekend. Next, please.", the woman called in response. Great? The little "mix-up" was going to result him in having to explain to Clive how Mooney had attacked another inmate. To change his flight back to Atlanta, his personal "punishment" Flynn called karma resulting in him having to spend more time in a city that's been nothing but brutal to him from his arrival. Hope his "5 star" hotel had fixed the shower while he was away in Salem and would agree to extend his reservation so he won't have to hunt down for another one. Sure my weekend would be great.

"How is it going?", Leslie muttered as he leaned over Sabrina's shoulder, his attention setting on the footage she had pulled up. She propped up her head on her open palm, "Nothing yet, good news is, though, I'm halfway there." "Chances are even if the camera captured the car, it'd be too dark to make anything out." A sigh broke free when she found her coffee cup empty, "I know. But it's not like we have anything else to go off until we get back the enhanced clip from across the road." "Still, the gas station was a good hunch." It wasn't a "hunch", rather a vision that had led her there, but explaining that in any way that wouldn't make her seem like she had lost her mind, felt impossible, even to Leslie. "Yeah.", she muttered quietly. "How about a break?", Leslie nudged her before walking back to his desk, "We can grab some lunch before the interviews?" "Okay." Just then Oliver walked in with a take-out bag and plopped into his chair with a sign, "Ah, man, I swear I almost fell asleep in line. Damn, if I wouldn't kill for a shower, too." "You could go home, Ollie." The suggestion made him roll his eyes, "Sure, and then hear all about it from Buchanan." Sabrina shook his head, "He won't say anything." "Maybe to the all-stars. Me, on other hand?", he muttered as set on opening his food, "No matter what good old Oliver does… he only complains." "Okay,", Leslie took a look at his watch, "we heading out or what, Rina?" "One second.", she said, taking note of how far along she was before putting her computer into rest mode. By then her partner was already shrugging on his coat. She quickly threw on her jacket as well, then grabbed her bag on the way out. "Have fun, you two.", Oliver called after them as Leslie pulled the door open for her.

"The lawyer…", Parish mumbled the second their waiter had left the table in the small bistro they frequently stopped by for a bite. "My food isn't even here yet." He raised a dark eyebrow, seeing right through the attempt to avoid talking about John for a good few more minutes, "Spill, Rina." "How much did Oliver tell you all really?", she asked slowly. "Told you, he was live texting." "Like what?" She wasn't sure if she actually wanted to know the answer, knowing full well the extend of Oliver's sense of humor and the chaos he loved to cause. "Want to see the messages?" "Not really. Just… are the other guys going to look at me weird?", she was refering for the rest of the Missing Persons team and whoever else they had added to the group chat for the birthday party they had thrown for her months back. "No.", Leslie chuckled, "Now back to the lawyer." "John." "Hm?" "His name is John." A nod, "There we go, a start." "I was headed home, you know, as promised.", her remark got a smile out of him, "Sav would have gone to bed by then…I guess I didn't want to deal with Candice for a couple of extra minutes." "Yeah." Leslie knew the situation pretty well and was among the small group of people that saw through her mother's act.

"I see this well-dressed man in the lobby, staring daggers into unconscious Lenny,", his eyes narrowed at 'well-dressed', but she rushed to wrap up the story, especially seeing how the waiter had emerged from the kitchen and carrying over their meals, "I offered my help, tried to pass him onto Stockton, but he wasn't in…" She paused to mutter a quiet thank you as her plate was placed in front of her and she dug into the food that seemed less appetizing with her stomach in knots. Leslie did the same, taking a bite before nodding at her to continue. "Maxwell said I could write up the report for him since he was stuck across town. The guy-" "John.", Leslie corrected her, "You avoiding saying his name?" "No.", she absolutely was, "John didn't seem quite happy with the idea he'd have to wait hours for Stockton to return or stop by in the morning, so he agreed to sit down with me and get his case started." "Who wouldn't." She chose that moment to take a sip of water, almost choking on it, "Leslie." "I'm just being objective." "Sure.", she cleared her throat, "I marked down everything he could provide as information. He asked to make a phone call and then was on his way." Leslie's lips twisted into a smirk, "You forgot how he shouted, 'she's not my girlfriend' about some girl he called." Sabrina huffed, "Shouted? That's just Oliver's flair for dramatics." Not really, but saying otherwise wouldn't make you drop the subject, will it… "Rina." "Fine, maybe his voice was a bit raised, so what?" "Then?"

She could feel her cheeks heat up, so she looked down to her plate as she scooped up some more rice into her mouth, before replying, "Nothing." The way Leslie rubbed at his beard told her he had sensed a lead and wasn't going to back down, "I'm waiting." "I gave him a ride.", Sabrina brushed her hair out of her face, feeling frustrated at the fact things hadn't stopped there and that she didn't want them to, "He looked… lost. I guess I thought a small act of kindness wouldn't hurt when his day had been nothing but awful. Dropped him off at his hotel. End of story." He opened his mouth to ask more when her phone buzzed with a new text, that made her raise her finger as she opened it.

John: Still alive. Any lunch spots recommendations? The last thing I need right now is food poisoning.

"You're smiling way too much for this to be news from the lab.", Leslie's voice sounded and she looked up, feeling like she had been caught redhanded when she had done nothing wrong, "That him?" She ignored his question, her food quickly becoming forgotten while her fingers typed out a reply.

Sabrina: Depends… If you're looking for a fine dining spot, I won't be your girl.

John: I'm feeling cranky, (probably because I'm) starving, and I trust your judgement, so shoot.

"Rina?", Leslie called her name, tone full of amusement. Her eyes darted up to his before returning to her phone screen, "Yes?" "So he has your number.", it wasn't a question, but rather a statement.

Sabrina: There's a small restaurant, family owned, Italian, two streets from the precinct.

The spot she had recommended him was in the opposite direction of the restaurant where she was currently having lunch with Leslie, wanting to avoid running into him at any cost because she refused to allow things to get more awkward than they already were. She put her phone down, ignoring the fact it vibrated with a reply and turned back to her food. As she raised the fork to her mouth, she could feel Leslie's stare on her, "Yes, he has my number." "You gave it to him or he somehow found it?" "Leslie…" He shrugged, chewing on his food slowly before he pointed his knife at her, "Just doing my part, Rina. Trying to figure out if 'this guy' is a creep or not. So, well?" "I think he took one of my cards off my desk…" "He's texting your work number?" "Yeah." It wasn't a complete lie. "And now he wants?" "A good place to go for lunch." "He asked you out-" "No." "It wasn't a question." Her face scrunched up in confusion, "Nothing about his texts hinted at that, Leslie." He smiled, "Can I see?" "No.", the answer came out way too quickly, causing him to let out a laugh. Just great. Yet handing over her phone and having him see all the previous messages didn't seem like the best idea. Not when he'd insist on John's intentions even more then. Worry about her. "Just trust me on that. He's never been to Portland and considering his luck, he just wanted-" "You're saying that with way too much confidence. Like you know know him." A breathed out a sigh, "Just drop it, please. Change the subject." "Fine.", Leslie nodded, "But I'm telling you, he was asking you out." "And he chose to do it in the most roundabout way possible…why?" "Because he's afraid." It was her turn to chuckle, "Afraid?" "That you will say no, 'break his heart' or more like hurt his ego, considering he's a fancy ass attorney. So instead he's hoping you'd suggest keeping him company first…" Sabrina couldn't help but roll her eyes, "I think Ollie is rubbing off on you." Leslie's gaze shot up to her phone when it buzzed again, "Now, that is him asking you out. He couldn't handle waiting."

Tagging, @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @corvosattano @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @g0dspeeed @voidika @madparadoxum @poisonedtruth @nightbloodbix @nightwingshero @jillvalentinesday @cassietrn @chazz-anova @simplegenius042 @purplehairsecretlair @adelaidedrubman @dumbassdep @theelderhazelnut @strangefable @trench-rot @aceghosts and anyone else with something to share this week ❤️

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

QOTD- If you would be grisha, which order would you want to be in? And what type? I'd love to be a tidemaker that's why Anaya is lol

Warnings- Bits of violence, ptsd, traumatic flashbacks throughout the chapters

.............................................................................................................................

Ch-2 ~Turning back the pages~

Anaya jolted awoke when she felt the blood rush back into her head. Someone had cut off the blood flow in her brain so as to keep her unconscious, a heartrender. She was tied to a chair and her precious weapons were no longer hidden beneath her leathers. She was surrounded by the grisha she'd fought earlier, along with several more. Infront of her, was sitting a man in a black kefta. His black hair perfectly slicked back, and gray eyes, with sharp and near perfect facial features. He slowly got up from his chair and folded his arms behind his back.

"What is your name...tidemaker ?" he spoke in a smooth and calm tone.

It took her a moment to realize who he was. The darkling, general of Ravka's second army. She'd last seen him when she was twelve, before she was leaving for Cofton, with her parents.

"Why is that of your concern...general ?" she furrowed her eyebrows

"Because you have attempted to steal classified Ravkan documents from my ship, I can get you hanged for that. Besides, what is a skilled grisha is doing in these dirty slums, doing petty thievery?"

"Doing whatever is profitable to her, and that, is none of your concern" she spat back at him

She thought he'd have her thrown into the river, maybe have one of his heartrender throw her into a coma or kill her himself. She had no hopes of him remembering who she was. Besides she couldn't blame him, she didn't even recognize herself either.

But he remained calm and asked again, "What is, your name?"

"Anaya...Nasrazeen " she didn't argue further with him.

She could feel his expression quickly change after hearing her name. He stared at her with a dreamy gaze for a while, then spoke again, "Are you...Arthur Merkov and Virena Nasrazeen's daughter ?

Hearing those names, brought both an immense sense of pain and comfort to her, at the same time. It had been ages since, she'd heard those names and for a moment, she was a little girl again, waiting for her parents to come back home from work so she could tell them everything about her day. She felt a wave of tears coming in her eyes, but she quickly brushed them away before anyone could see her expression change.

"Yes..." she managed to speak.

She could see the look of surprise on the darkling's face. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, oh well, she was actually.

"How are you...alive?" his words were barely a whisper.

"I, I'd rather not speak of it" she stared at her feet

She jolted awake when she felt something fall on her face. Rain...no, not just rain...blood. Her left leg was stuck under a long block of wood. The ship had crashed, in the storm. Her parents...where were they?

She came back to reality when the darkling finally spoke "You should come back with us, to Os Alta"

"No" she looked him dead in the eye

"No?" he tilted his head

"I won't. Tell me general, where were you all those years when I was suffering alone in unknown dangerous lands? When I had been treated nothing more than a mere slave? When I was tormented every single day, and was made into someone whom I couldn't even recognize? When my childhood had been stripped away from me?" there was rage in her words, anger that had been kept in for too long. She'd hoped for someone to find her and take her back home. But no one ever came, it was then when she had accepted her fate and had learned to live this way, as a girl who did whatever she could, to survive.

He was silent for a long while, before he spoke again "We hadn't known that you lived. The accident was so gruesome, we didn't expect anyone to survive" his eyes were filled with regret.

She stared at the floor, and said nothing. She really had no one to blame, but herself.

There was a deep silence around her. Then she heard something, a sharp cling of metal. Before she could react, a guard fell to his knees, a knife impaled in his leg. One after another, five guards were down. It didn't take her long to realize that she was here. Inej, was here.

She was still lurking in the shadows but Anaya could sense her presence.

She felt a sharp tug at her wrist then she realized Inej was trying to free her. The ropes binding her wrists were cut free and she threw a hard kick at the grisha coming towards her. She spun around, and threw the chair on his head.

Everything inside her was screaming at her to not do this, not hurt her own people, but she somehow did it anyway. She suddenly felt a sharp grip on her back and around her waist, but the grip around her was quickly loosened when inej threw one of her knives at the person.

Anaya quickly took out the knife from the person's back, and held it out infront of her.

"Don't come closer!" she spoke loudly, with a ragged breath.

She had no idea what she was doing. Even with Inej here, they couldn't defeat them. And, did she really wished to run away from them...again?. As much as she hated to admit it, she'd missed her home, her life, all of it. But she didn't wish to leave all of this behind. She was struggling with her own thoughts, when she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her head. She felt as if a huge rock had fell on her head, and she could no longer keep herself steady. She felt the world around her spin rapidly and her eyes closed up.

[neofeliis]

You Shouldn't Have Followed Me

Notes: another one shot, less angsty more just a rewrite of finding out what Astarion really is. With a dash more ✨drama✨

---

It was either instinct or restlessness that pulled the tiefling out of sleep, mismatched eyes cracking open to see a figure looming over her in the dark.

Tav's heart lurched in her chest, eyes fluttering to clear the blurriness from them, only to see none other than a familiar face over hers.

Arms braced on either side of her shoulders, face in shadow amongst a ring of silver, and red eyes fixed primally just below her jaw. She'd barely had a second to see his face was drenched in sweat, when the small hitch in her breath caused him to lurch backwards, seemingly snapped out of whatever daze he was in.

Astarion rolled back onto his heels, bracing himself with a hand, and stared wide-eyed at her with a slight snarl that revealed pointed canines she'd only barely noticed before. His chest heaved, small curls of hair stuck to his forehead.

"Shit." A single word betraying the panic on his face, and the fact he hadn't intended to be caught with whatever he was doing.

She pulled back on her bedroll, the words starting to rise, but he did not give her the chance to get farther than that. In an instant, Astarion was on his feet and running towards the forest's edge, bounding off into the night.

"Oh absolutely not," she muttered under her breath with a grimace. They were stuck with each other, they needed each other, and they weren't going to be skulking around in the dark without an explanation.

Quiet enough to not wake the rest of the camp, she pulled herself to her feet and headed off in the same direction he had gone, or what she had at least hoped.

Hope may not have been enough, however, because it was evident that the rogue was good at hiding his tracks. A trait she would have been perfectly pleased with under any other circumstances as an asset to their team, but in this moment it was nothing but an obstacle.

Tav cursed under her breath as she fought through the underbrush, resisting the urge to call out for him and announce herself further. Not like he would respond, but honestly, running into the woods?

It seemed, however, he could not hide himself forever.

There, on the overgrown path, was a slaughtered buck. One that appeared far too similar to a boar they had found earlier in the day, although it appeared that this one was significantly more difficult to take down judging by the amount of mess around it. That, or the killer was much less restrained, more frantic. Hungrier.

She approached it slowly, trying to key into all of her senses in that moment. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she realized that this kill was fresh enough that the blood on its fur and in the dirt still glistened in the moonlight. Crouching next to it, she placed her hand on its side, and felt its fading warmth. Very, very fresh, she thought. At that moment, she recalled what he had said earlier that very day.

"It's been killed by a vampire."

Tav had been surprised that he knew what it was at the time, and knew also that there was something he wasn't telling her. Which she hadn't pushed, they were all entitled to some level of secrecy as long as it didn't hinder their ultimate goals.

The tiefling pulled her hand away and wiped the blood onto her trousers, rolling slightly on the balls of her feet as she looked around her.

Everything went still.

Something in the back of her mind, something instinctive, screamed at her to get up. To pay attention.

A voice from the dark, disembodied and sinister, broke the silence. "You…should have stayed in your bed." Her skin prickled at the sound, something primal within her being made to squirm in unease.

The second Tav rose to her feet, a hand found its way to her throat, spinning her whole world on its axis until her back impacted the trunk of a tree. Clawed hands flew up in a panic to grip at the pale arm that held her in place, magic crackling at her fingertips, though the wind was knocked out of her. It took a second for her wide eyes to refocus on the familiar face that loomed over her.

Astarion, with blood slashed across his face, stood staring gravely at her beneath heavy lids. His shoulders heaved, head lowered like a predator assessing its catch, but the hold on her throat was distinctly not as crushing as she had prepared for it to have been. She expected to be gasping for air, but it felt more like he was caging her than anything else.

What the tiefling had noticed, was that he was holding back. Despite the blood lingering around his mouth, the wild look in his eyes, his hands betrayed his restraint.

What would have eluded her awareness, however, was the raging maelstrom in this man's skull. The hunger that was screaming against everything he held back to just take what he needed from her. The buck wasn't enough, it was never enough. Its taste still lingered in his mouth, coated his tongue, but he could not stop from imagining how she would taste. How sweet? Invigorating? The unbreakable command laid upon him to never feed upon a thinking creature no longer applied. Astarion was freer than he had been in the last two centuries, what was stopping him? He could so easily just take what had been denied of him for centuries.

I am not like Cazador. Everything should be stopping me! I need her. I need this alliance, his mind raged in rebellion to the beast. The monster he never wanted to be.

The man's arm burned with the effort to control his grip on her. He…he didn't want to hurt her.

He would still try to convince himself it was only for what she could provide towards this little mission of theirs. Convince himself that the warmth that struggled to find life in his chest when he was around her was nothing but the effects of the tadpole. Some ridiculous side effects, delusions. Hallucinations.

"You shouldn't have come after me," he growled through his teeth. Astarion sounded out of breath, but the hiss of a warning was there nonetheless. There was something off in his voice, something that wasn't entirely there. He didn't trust himself, she shouldn't have either.

"Why, so you could return to finish whatever you were trying before?" she retorted. "I would love an explanation, if you would be so kind. Before I decide I have one less ally in this."

She felt his hand twitching, the grip faltering for just a second. Enough for her to take two hands and shove with all she had at his chest.

Surprised, the man stumbled backwards a few feet and found one of the moonbeams slicing through the canopy. There, he seemed to find enough of himself to not come at her a third time. There, she saw everything she had evidently chosen to ignore before. The ruby eyes, the elongated canines, his iridescently pallid skin in this light.

"You're the one who killed the boar," she said, not a question.

The man shifted, like he was bracing himself for something. "Yes." It was all he offered back, and there was no strength in it, just a low rumble in his inflection. There were very few possible reactions that often came after this revelation in the centuries he had been giving it.

"Were you going to do the same to me," she bit out, eyes narrowing slightly, "if I had not woken up?"

Astarion seemed to find himself then and he raised his hand defensively. His denial came a lot faster than he had intended. "No! No, it's not what it looked like."

"Oh? Why don't you tell me what else it could have possibly been, then?" She hurled right back at him, her hand hovering over her twice threatened neck.

He knit his brows together, suddenly looking ashamed, like he had caught up with himself. "I, I wasn't going to hurt you," he started, softly, "I just need, well, blood."

There is was, the confirmation she needed. Tav's eyes swept over those features again, the ones that made him stand out in a way that wasn't so immediately obvious, but triggered something self-preserving in the back of her mind. What to do with this revelation was up to him and how the rest of this conversation went.

"I only feed on beasts, I swear. But I have been too slow, too weak…I need something more substantial to," he paused, choosing his words, "To fight better. To help us."

"So you thought stealing from me without my knowledge was the correct choice?" she narrowed her eyes at him, and he was certain he knew where this was about to go. Every muscle tensed, his hands twitching and prepared to meet her.

Astarion had left all his equipment at the camp in his hurry, and it looked like she had done the same. He knew some magic not quite as much as she, and if he wanted to stand a chance against her, he would need to be quick. Faster than she could react, than she could begin an incantation. All he needed to do was get a hold on her neck and tear…it would be so quick, and all that was left would be his for the taking.

"You could have given me the courtesy of telling me," Tav eased back slightly, looking more annoyed than anything. The ease with which she said something that was so very unexpected was almost enough to knock the wind out of Astarion. At the very least, it was enough to absolutely slam him out of the dark path his baser instincts had tried to lead him down. Hiding that shift, that disgust at the lack of control, took every ounce of effort.

He found himself doing that a lot these days.

Instead, he tilted his head at her, lifting a slender brow. "Are you trying to imply that you would have taken this news with grace, and not, say a stake and a pitchfork?" he scoffed.

"I'm saying that you should attempt to give me some credit if we are meant to be working together. And to not decide for me what my reactions should be."

He might have gone slack jawed if he had less composure. There they were, alone in the forest. He could have taken her without a trace here if he wanted. Or at the very least tried before the others awoke. She was vulnerable to him, and while it was clear that she was beyond being afraid of him, she should have been at the very least avoidant of his company in any capacity. The only explanation that didn't seem utterly outlandish was that she was simply a fool. One that he could perhaps gain some advantage from here.

"Well then, color me pleasantly surprised," he replied, smirking that fanged grin at her.

Every time he used it, it was obvious that he fully expected it to get him what he wanted. It was an old, worn tool that came to him with such ease regardless of the situation. He'd mentioned once before that he was a magistrate in the city, and she could believe it for all the disingenuous qwips that came right along with that smile. No matter how dashing it was.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Astarion," she warned, feeling like she was catching the edge of that curtain before he could draw it fully shut on her. "How long have you been planning this? Are we all just meals to you?" There was a twinge of hurt, so faint, in her voice. The words of someone who had been willing to give trust, and was concerned now it was not well-placed.

Astarion knit his brows together and frowned slightly, his shoulders caving forward. "You misunderstand me, my friend. I, I only feed on beasts. Boars, deer, kobolds… I've never, not once, fed upon thinking creatures. I swear." There. There was the honesty. The soft inflection, the hint of shame.

Tav eased slightly and released her tension in a long breath. "Then why me? Why now?"

He deflated then, the weight of that shame sitting squarely on his shoulders. "I just, needed more. I've been kept weak, all my life, and for what this defiled body of mine needs, I've only ever been afforded vermin. Insects. My," he paused, looking to the dead buck nearby, "curiosity got the best of me. At what it would be like to not be kept weak for once. It will not happen again." He met her eyes then, and she read the sincerity there. "As for why you," he inhaled slowly, "I can't say."

Tav weighed her words, considering their situation, what they needed from each other, and what they were going to face in the future. There were going to need to be sacrifices, from everyone.

"I want to make this clear to you now," she started finally, watching him brace, "but you could have told me." With that, she slid her back down the tree and sat at the base of it. She pulled up a knee and rested her arm on it, while her tail curled around her hip. If nothing else, she was exhausted having been pulled from sleep so early.

Astarion had no reply. He had been preparing for her to try and incinerate him. Not for this. Not for the tiefling to one, be so reasonable about this reveal, and two, put herself in such a position in front of him.

"We cannot help each other if we are not honest with each other. And in this fight, we are going to need all the help we can get," she continued. "I have to be able to trust you, Astarion. That may be foolish, but until we are rid of these things, I would much prefer having you on my side. Just as I would like you to trust me on yours."

He had to recover. He couldn't just stare at her all night; he looked like an absolute fool and he did not have any control over the conversation. That simply would not do at all.

"Well, my sincerest apologies for not placing more faith upon this newfound friendship of ours," he started, seeing now that he had his opportunity. An opening. "While we are on the topic of trust, I'd love to reapproach the idea of allowing me to have just a taste, a sampling if you will. It would help me, immensely."

Tav didn't outwardly react, nor did she outwardly say no. She just assessed him quietly. He was asking, which was an improvement. But his facade was back up.

"I just need a taste," he continued, taking a careful step towards her to test the waters, "Please." The word was a whisper, and he wasn't looking at her face anymore. Oh she could tell that had worked for him many times before.

Tav pursed her lips, wondering how stupid she was about to be.

Evidently, very.

"Alright," she finally replied. His eyes flew back to her face in surprise, and she leveled him with a serious glare. "Not a drop more than you need."

The smile of victory spread slowly on Astarion's face and he stalked closer to her. "Of course, not one, drop, more," he enunciated, standing over her now, savoring the power he held here.

Or, the power he expected to feel here. She may have been sitting at his feet, below him, but her stare was alert. Unwavering, and disarming all at once. There was a quiet strength emanating from her that seemed to say 'do not forget that I am allowing you this.'

She was a fool to trust him with this, because she would be his first, and he could not promise that he would be able to control himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the hope that he could.

Slowly, Astarion kneeled down in front of her and leveled a predator's stare at her. "Comfortable?" he asked.

Tav nodded imperceptibly, holding his gaze. Her heart stuttered in her chest, the smarter part of her railing in protest against this. But she needed to believe that the benefits would outweigh the risks. "I am trusting you, Astarion."

He smiled, slow and wicked, "A foolish thing to do, but I will do my best." The man braced his arm on the tree beside her, knees straddling either side of her, and leaned in slowly, close enough now that she could feel his breath on her skin. He paused, just slightly, and murmured, "This is a gift, you know. I won't forget it."

Their eyes locked for just a second, and the small gasp that escaped her was just enough to put him over the edge, as he sunk his teeth into her flesh.

[sxnsetgxl]

@shadowyspectre Just Her Luck

She would have taken anyone else to bump into besides Macaque. Not even twelve hours ago this very face had been intent on tearing out her throat, not even five had he been dead alongside the king, not even three hours ago had her world been all but obliterated by the gods wrath. Only she had survived. Only she. Why Buddha had chosen it, some sick second chance? Could he have given a second chance to those who she considered her true guardians. Those she had actually cared about?

Focusing on that doesn't matter. There is something vile here, worse than the Macaque (who's in shit condition and smells like he's rotting) deciding to take the lead. Their earlier confrontation hadn't been pleasant, with him managing to barely talk her down after she'd been quite content on attempting to see if she could spear him through the tree first. Brow twitching as she recalls the entire encounter, now to be stuck in a cavern with him (something following them no less) was grating on her last nerves. Except the sound of something clattering randomly makes her pause (while the other scurried back like a frightened cat) and stare in the direction it came from, years of brutal abuse training have her ready. Or so she thought.

Hardfast disgust rising, the urge to puke what she'd barely eaten for breakfast was an option as the scent of sulfur, rotting flesh and what she can only daresay was the scent of a rejuvenating corpse assaulting her sense of smell. Wanting to quickly get rid of the sense just from how potent it was, she actually does nearly gag when the thing finally shows itself. Disgust worms its way through her until quick acting despair grasps her heart like a claw plunging through her chest.

There's no damn way. That faint bit of an aura, smothered under the repulsive one that this entity was radiating. She grips the staff tighter, this reminds her too much of the abomination she fought in the depths of the sea when she'd been learning how to swim. Her lungs ache at the memory. Even still, dragging the end of the staff as sparks dance before the white lines amongst the red and gold ignite, the staff twisted in her arms for a steady one hand hold as she puts herself between the currently shock frozen simian and the corrupted being.

"Macaque, what the fuck is this!?"

[catmillers]

so far away – self-para – cat&eugene

tw: gore, disassociation/ptsd, death, drugs

"Dad?"

She had been in Eugene's arms seconds earlier and then there was a loud shot but she hadn't been hit. Cat couldn't hear anything; all she knew is there was blood – rushing in her ears, on her hands, coating her face. Her eyes flicked down to Eugene on the ground in a clump, more of that red seemed to ooze out from around him.

"Daddy?"

And then there were Peacekeepers on each of her arms, pulling her toward the stage and away from Eugene. Cat couldn't hear anything as she was dragged away from Eugene, but she knew she was screaming, thrashing, tearing her throat raw as she fought to get back to the only family she had left on this Earth. Twenty was too young to be alone, she hadn't learned everything from him yet.

"Eugene get up," She pleaded, only recognizing the fact she was crying from the salt taste that hit her mouth. She only called him Eugene when she couldn't get his attention, "Eugene fuckin' get up."

But he didn't move – Eugene was still. The hole the Peacekeepers had put in his head assured that Eugene Williams would never move again.

Cat couldn't breathe, she had turned Twenty only a handful of weeks ago – how was she supposed to do this alone? She couldn't survive the Games if no one at home and –

"What are you doin', kiddo?"

Cat whipped her head up, feeling caught she immediately defended herself, "Nothin', swear." Her hands shrank away from the duffle bag that sat next to her on the bed.

"Oh, yeah," Eugene drawled out coming to sit next to the teenager. He gestured to the bag that she had been packing mere moments earlier, and set it on his lap, "Big ol' queen a' nothin'?"

"I –"

"Why are you runnin'?" He cut her off.

Cat swallowed, wracking her brain to answer her guardian. "I don't wanna go to the Reaping again – what if they pick me?"

"They ain't gonna pick you," Eugene assured, handing it back to the teenager, "This your second one?"

Cat nodded taking the bag back and tucking it under her arms. "How do you know?" She asked looking anywhere but

"Just know," Eugene said with certainty, ruffling at the kid's hair, "Even if y'ain't gettin' Reaped you still gotta go, they'll be worlds angrier if you're not there, kiddo."

"You're gonna be there?" Cat asked softly, "Right?"

He laughed and nodded at how sheepish Cat was and promised, putting a hand over his heart, "'Course, Cat." He gave a sideways smile and patted her on the back, "We'll go together." Eugene creaked onto his feet and held a hand toward Cat. "You comin'?"

Cat hesitated, unsure if she could trust him on this, and she –

– placed the tab under her tongue with her eyes closed. She didn't know a soul at this party, and she didn't know what she was taking but that didn't matter. What mattered was she had just won the 127th Hunger Games so everyone knew her. And what did she have to show for it? Free drugs, the two small lightning-like burns that ran from her temples and branched out onto her cheeks? She guessed they just marked that she had lived; the electrodes from the virtual reality simulation had zapped at her skin – a part of her wondered how fried her brain was or if it was just how the Game itself had altered her brain chemistry. At this point maybe it was the drugs, too.

The tab finished dissolving and she sighed as her bones began to feel like liquid and she sank into a nearby couch. She watched as the world around her began to haze over, and the dark room of the party began to almost shimmer. A stupid laugh fell from the back of her throat as she felt it all kick in and she scanned the rather packed party. She'd won, she'd won, which made her a prize, made her something people wanted to win. She'd spent the better part of her evening playing dumb and demure to advances made upon her.

Maybe she was a prize, prizes didn't have to think for themselves or feel too much of anything other than good. A wandering hand on her shoulder caught her attention. She caught sight of the person who she decided had just won her for the evening, another Victor from a Game she couldn't remember. The identity didn't matter, what mattered was feeling anything other than alone. Can't think about Eugene if – 

"You got six more years if we're countin' this one."

Cat groaned, the heels of her palms digging into her eyes as they walked toward the Reaping for the sixteenth time together, "Doesn't make it less bullshit."

"Bullshit or not, we're just gettin' it over with," Eugene reminded, taking a turn into the main square of the town, "Odds a' you gettin' picked is low. Jus' keep your head down, kiddo."

"Keep my head down anymore I'm gonna disappear," Cat said, trying to joke her way around the very real fear coiling in her gut.

Eugene huffed out a laugh as they joined the crowd, "You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"Maybe," Cat shrugged. She was breathing a little easier – Eugene was right, this was just a biannual nuisance and Cat would never be picked. Odds were too low, "I'll see you after, okay, old man?"

"You know it."

They separated and the whole pageant that was the Reaping began. Some overdone speech about the importance of the Games and then the escort's hand went into the bowl. She pulled out a thin paper slip and read the name off:

"Catarina Miller."

Cat's brain didn't know how to reconcile hearing her name. She was only ever Catarina when she was in trouble and she knew she was certainly in trouble. Her legs moved clumsily as she wove through the crowd, trying to locate Eugene, trying to run to safety. Then a pair of arms were around her and she began to struggle as her ears tuned in –

"It's me, it's me," Eugene said, trying to soothe the panicked girl.

Cat looked up at him helplessly and shook her head, "I can't, I can't do it, I can't."

Then there was a struggle. Peacekeepers descended on the pair and began to pull them apart. Cat's fingers dug into the fabric of Eugene's coat, desperate to stay. Eugene was stronger, though, and clung to Cat desperately as he pleaded, "Pick someone else, not her, not my girl."

Then there was a gunshot and Cat's ears rang. "Dad?" She croaked out looking down at her blood-stained hands and –

Cat sat up stock straight in her bed, a sound halfway between a scream and sob echoed around the room. Her breath caught in her chest, only being able to move in and out in stuttered gasps. The air felt heavy as she looked around, her eyes were wild as she attempted to locate where she was.

A shaky hand pressed to Cat's chest, right over her heart as she attempted to soothe the palpitations. She couldn't right her breathing, but she knew where she was – she was in the Tower. In her bedroom. Safe. Cat was safe – no one could get her in there. But that still meant Eugene was gone.

She closed her eyes for a second, her brain greeting her with visions of blood and brains, and – Cat's eyes snapped back open and she propelled herself out of bed. Even with her eyes open she still felt like she was back in Six, watching her father die. The air smelled too much like ozone and her hand shook as she fumbled with her bedside table. Eventually, her hands took hold of a pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She shoved them into her pajama pants and beelined for the elevator. It wasn't a surefire way to snap herself out of it but it was the only solution her trauma-addled brain could offer. It was worth a shot, even if it reminded her she was alone.