#GO BUY BETA POWER NINE

[allwormdiet]

Arc 9: Sentinel, Concluding Thoughts

Remarkably, an entire arc where the POV isn't Taylor Hebert is still a pretty bad time for those involved.

I like the Brockton Wards, mostly. Vista is by far my favorite of the bunch because she's cooler than all of them and also a middle schooler, and honestly that's super fucked up. I like Clockblocker, Weld, Flechette, I got a little annoyed with Kid Win being so down on himself but he was basically fine, and Shadow Stalker.

I'm sure we're going to get more Shadow Stalker in the next arc or two, unless they just bury her in wet cement next chapter which I kind of doubt, but I want it now because I am desperate to find out what the fuck happened to make her the kind of person who legit buys into alpha/beta crap to the point of murdering people over it. Taylor hasn't killed anyone yet and this entire serial is about how she justifies ever-increasing acts of violence to respond to problems caused in no small part by her previous acts of violence; Vista getting first blood before her is a fucking tragedy and Shadow Stalker having multiple kills notched is a horror story. I need this to make sense, and also if we can avoid more weird racist connotations in making sense of this that would be great.

Didn't love the Travelers fight, like I mentioned. The investment wasn't really there for me, there weren't really any stakes to it so the whole thing was just kind of a space filler.

Shocked that the Slaughterhouse Nine are being signposted as early as this, too. Not that I'd put it past them to be in the Bay within a month of Leviathan, but I continue to be surprised at Worm's pacing. I don't think I'm gonna love that part of the story but if I can hold my nose through every interaction with Coil, I can probably handle the Nine.

Vista is. Okay for real though, what the fuck is happening with the Protectorate/PRT and throwing this middle schooler into constant life-or-death situations. She was at Leviathan, which, okay sure, pull out all the stops when the alternative is complete annihilation, make the birthday girl kill a man to put fifteen seconds on the game clock while we're at it. She was at the Empire's murderous tantrum alongside other Wards and New Wave, which I guess is because she's one of the only heroes whose powers can keep up with all the flyers in the Empire? Still wild choice there. She was instrumental in the disarmament of Bakuda's magnum opus mega-EMP along with Clockblocker, and I know he's the big name for the team but why didn't they just put Armsmaster on that to tinker the problem away? I feel like putting EOD duty on the teenaged public figures is an incorrect call someone made. I'd love to find out who, and maybe throw pieces of brickwork at them while they have to hold still. Can somebody stop throwing this girl into horrific combat scenarios as a government-employed child?

I'm going to keep pointing and laughing at Coil though, because the man is literally only succeeding at his infiltration of the PRT because they're letting him, and now he's only going to have a Ward as his own personal mole because they're letting him. Man wants to control an entire city and the whole thing would collapse if a single government organization stopped letting him take Ws he thought he earned.

I want to read those summaries of the studies done on that Dallon-Pelham clan though. Desperate to know if whatever insane WASP nuclear family nightmare goes on in those homes leaked into the research papers.

And then yeah, looking back at the ambush with Sophia. I was really glad to see the squad again, honestly, and it's great to see them working together, especially to take down a killer gunning for their own. A little funny that Sophia prides herself so highly for being a hunter of men and she fell for a classic ambush without even blinking.

Guess we get to find out what that's all building up to in the next arc, eh?

[spacebarbarianweird]

headcanons or one-shot (pick your poison!) of astarion and gn!tav celebrating midwinter/winter solstice together? technically, it does exist as a holiday in the forgotten realms! blessed yule as well! :D

I suppose this prompt can't wait forever so here we are. A short fluffy drabble.

Prompt ✶New Beginnings✶ for BG3 Winter Holiday Challenge

Thanks @bhaalbaaby for beta-reading! Especially for re-writing some sentences!

I fucked a bit and didn't notice the requester asked specifically for gn!reader and did f!reader as usual. So, this one is f!reader and I will do gn! later

Winter Solstice

Synopsis: Astarion and Tav spend Winter Solstice in the northern town of Firesheer, and the subject of marriage comes up.

Tags: fluff, comfort

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

You are freezing.

You've never been so far to the north, and you have never understood why people were afraid of winters.

Now, you do.

It's Nightal, 20. The longest night of the year. And probably the coldest, because the only thing you can think of, is how to get inside the inn and hide under fur blankets.

Till snow melts.

You look around. People of Firesheer are festive as if the cold doesn't bother them. They sing and dance, resting after months of hard work in the mines.

You put your hand inside the pockets of your traveler fur coat, golden coins jingling in the pockets. The only redeemable quality about this frozen hell is the danger always lurking. The city is always under attack: orcs, crag cats, giants. Though citizens have their army, they don't mind paying adventurers rather than risking their own people.

"Bracelets! Rings! Necklaces! All of the finest copper and silver!" A dwarf shows you his goods, "Take a look, traveler!"

You look disinterested as you take a look at the jewelry, shrugging at the selection.. You can wear silver things, but Astarion won't talk to you anymore if you put on something like that. Meanwhile copper... He would find it dull.

"No, not interested."

"This is copper of the best quality! Will last for generations!"

You chuckle. There is a very popular joke about things made by dwarves. They think humans are dumb to buy something that lasts only for four generations. Forgetting that the human generation lasts less than a century.

"Look at these bronze rings. They are engraved with protective runes!"

The ring is simple. but there is something elegant, something powerful about it. You look at the runes - "protection", "love", and "safety".

"I will take this one", you say.

"Oh no," the dwarf laughs. "This is a wedding ring, you need two. Unless there are more people involved."

And before you manage to object, both rings are placed in your palm.

And why in nine hells did you decide to buy them?

You've never discussed marriage with Astarion. Boundaries? Traumas? Feelings? Yes. Sometimes, you talk about the future. But such things as marriage never came to your mind.

You have no idea what he thinks about it. You have no idea what you think about it.

But now you have two wedding rings in your pocket. Dwarven bronze will last for centuries.

You look around, trying to notice the familiar silver curls. Astarion has gone to see the ocean at sunset, and you agreed to meet in the city at midnight.

“Darling, there is something utterly nightmarish about a dark cold ocean."

You refused to go. Astarion is already dead - he can even swim there if he desires (the ocean isn't running water, so he will be fine). You, on the other hand, want to keep this heart beating.

Suddenly, a drunk man blocks your way.

"Leave me alone," you mutter, putting a hand on your dagger hidden below the cloak.

"Why is a beautiful woman alone? It's a sin to be on your own at the Winter Solstice."

You step back. The man is much bigger than you, but he can barely stand on his feet. If you were out of the city, you could snatch your dagger - but within the walls, fighting isn't wise.

"So, what d'ya think, pretty girl?" he reaches out for your chin, but before his dirty hand touches your skin, the man is pulled away from you.

"Hands away from my wife", Astarion hisses. "Or I will turn you inside out and feed the crag cats!"

The man recoils. "I-I beg your pardon, didn't know she is... taken."

"Fuck off," Astarion is quiet, but you know - one false move and the vampire will rip his throat.

The man stumbles and walks away as fast as he can. “Thanks”, you mutter, still feeling scared. "How was the ocean?"

"Dark. Cold. Frightening," He wraps his hand around your waist and tugs you closer. There is something possessive in this gesture. You don't mind. "Come on, we have the longest night ahead!"

You shiver.  Night plans are set in stone. Astarion cherishes the nights when he can walk freely and see the world not hiding in shadows, and he rarely wants to walk alone. Besides, you already abandoned him when he went to the seashore. You can't leave him alone again for the rest of the night.

You walk through the city square. The songs are loud and lively, and the festive mood warms you up. Or maybe this is Astarion's presence. You plant a kiss on his cheek and notice he stiffens.

"Let's go somewhere less crowded," you suggest.

Maybe he is afraid people will notice he is a vampire. Maybe big crowds remind him of his hunting spots - who knows how many drunk idiots he would drag to their deaths during the same festivals. 

You walk together in silence until the houses disappear. The winds howl like hungry wolves. The snow reaches up to your ankles.

Astarion kneels and you notice he tries to make a snowball but the snow crumbles in his hands.

"I see what you are doing," You say, "Don't you dare"

"I was just touching snow," He smiles innocently.

You put your hands deeper into the pockets and feel the bronze rings. Wedding rings.

"When that man approached me, you called me your wife."

Astarion turns away as if trying to see something in the distance. "Never mind, just slipped off my tongue."

"Why did you call me that?"

"I am sorry to have offended you with such vulgar words."

"That’s not what I mean. Just weird, considering we have never officiated anything."

"Do you want me to kidnap a cleric and make him marry us? I don't know... I just... " he sighs. "We sleep together. You care about me, and I care about you. I want to be with you until your mortal days are over or until I am killed by some monster hunter."

"And how long have you seen me as your wife?"

He shrugs. "The night in the graveyard, when I realized I'd never truly experienced real lovemaking? When you found me in that cellar, hiding from the sun, and kissed away my fears and pain? One of those nights when I woke you up, screaming, and you held me until the nightmare finally let me go? What about you? Have you ever thought about me as your husband?"

"I mentally married you when you tried to slice my throat. But, I realized you were mine when I noticed you standing between me and danger for the first time,” You say, stepping closer to your love. 

“So, what now?" he asks.

You grin, playfully pushing Astarion into the snow. He either expects that or simply decides to play along.

You straddle Astarion, taking in his expression. He smiles - a very rare joyful smile when he doesn't try to pretend or to laugh things away. It's the real him you saw for the first time on his grave. It's the real him you see in the darkness of the tent when he thinks you are still asleep. The real him who somehow survived his own death.

"What are you up to, little pet?" he grins.

You snatch the rings from your pocket, quickly taking his left hand.

"Will you marry me?" 

You wait for his reaction. Sometimes even the most sincere forms of affection cause him mental pain, and he locks himself inside the shell. Once, he couldn't bring himself to talk to you because you tried to force him to stay inside the tent during a snowstorm.

Maybe it's too much, you think, ready to let him go. It's not like he doesn't like being dominated by you, but it depends on his mood.

"How could I say no?" He grins, allowing you to put the ring on.

You giggle like a little girl, leaning down to kiss him.

"There is supposed to be a second one," He notices when you pull away.

You give him the other ring, and he graciously takes your hand. Before putting the ring on it, he kisses your wrist and pierces it a bit with his fangs.

You sit like that for a while, looking at each other. Gods, does he even know how truly beautiful he is?

Your love. Your man. Your husband.

The winds howl again, and you shiver.

"Seldarine. Why didn't you tell me you are so cold?"

"Didn't want to ruin the longest night for you."

"Really? So you decided to ruin the next two weeks for me because you will get sick, and I will have to take care of you?” he chuckles. “Besides, we are married now, and I don't have any excuse to leave you!"

 "Oh, I would never think I was such a burden to my husband!" you pout.

The next moment you are in his hands. You love being carried like that, especially knowing you are weightless to him.

"You are the most insufferable sweet burden I've ever wished to have, my little wife," he kisses you. "I suggest we return to the inn and consummate our marriage."

You giggle again and wrap your hands around his neck.

"As long as you offer me a hot bath as a wedding gift."

"It absolutely can be arranged, my dear!" 

--

Nightal ("The Drowing Dawn") - the last month of the year. Winter Soltice is celebrated on Nightal, 20.

Firesheer - a mining city in the Frozenfar in northwest Faerûn

Seldarine (Elven) - Gods

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[pragmatic-optimist]

Oversharing on the Internet

Thank you @iboatedhere and @celeritas2997 for tagging me in this game and giving me a reason to procrastinate on the things I have to do before bedtime. 

ONE: Are you named after anyone?

Nope. In fact, I didn’t meet another Sonia until I was at summer camp, the summer after 7th grade. Her birthday was also the day after mine, and 12-year-old me’s mind was blown. 🤯

TWO: When was the last time you cried?

Hmmm, it’s been about 4 days? I listened to a few podcast episodes a friend sent me; one was about grief, and the other was about loneliness. You’re probably thinking, oh well, no wonder. 😆 What moved me to tears in both episodes were the anecdotes about the power of human connection and love in tandem with (what feels like) the rarity of both in the current climate of the world. 

THREE: Do you have kids?

@iboatedhere said it best: god no. 

FOUR: Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Absolutely, it’s my primary coping mechanism. How else would I survive the insanity that is adulting while living in the United States of America? 🙃

FIVE: What sports have you played/do you play?

Hmmm, do mind sports count? 😂 I was on Scholastic Bowl and Academic Decathlon in high school. I am not very athletic and have never been well-coordinated enough for physical sports, though I do enjoy doing cardio group classes these days. 

SIX: What's the first thing you notice about people?

Height, because I like to make eye contact when meeting people for the first time, so it’s a matter of determining if I’m craning my neck up or not lol. The second thing would be their eyes, and the third thing, their voice. 

SEVEN: What's your eye colour?

Brown

EIGHT: Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings 1000%. Real life is scary enough. 

NINE: Any special talents?

I’m the eldest daughter of an immigrant household. IYKYK. 😂

But also, I have this ✨intuition✨ about people–a spidey sense–that never lets me down. I’m also good at anticipating a need before it’s spoken or presented itself. 

TEN: Where were you born?

Gonna go with the obvious, most popular reply: hospital lol

ELEVEN: What are your hobbies?

I like to take walks, beta-read some wonderful fic from time to time (when life isn’t lifin’), buy iced lattes (even in the winter), and visit bookstores for fun because I (allegedly) enjoy reading. However, these days, I am buying books for comfort because they just get added to my emotional support to-be-read pile.

TWELVE: Do you have any pets?

Nope. I would love a dog, but the way my life and work hours are set up, I would feel too guilty leaving the pup home alone so much. 

THIRTEEN: How tall are you?

5'6 

FOURTEEN: Favourite subject in school?

Psychology, English Lit, History, and Women and Gender Studies.

FIFTEEN: Dream job

To use a quote I’ve seen on the internet often: “I do not dream of labor.” 

It’s getting late, and I’m too tired to go on a coherent rant about this, so I’ll just say that I believe the idea of a dream job is a trap of capitalism. 🤷🏽‍♀️

That being said, I do have to fund the responsibilities of adulting, so I look at a job as the means to build a dream life. There are several pieces to what I would consider a “dream” life, and those pieces may change over time because I will continue to evolve as a person, but I know that whenever those pieces lock into place, my life would make me feel peaceful, stable, secure, and joyful. That’s forever the goal (along with the ability to treat myself to iced lattes and books lol). 

--

No pressure tags; I think this has probably made the rounds, but if you’d like to share: 

@sunshinestrand @strandtk @mistmarauder @gregoryeddie @scienter @rmd-writes @orchidscript @first-kanaphan @jddryder @chicgeekgirl89 and anyone else who would like to share (please tag me!)

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[bullet-prooflove]

Chasing Fires - Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek: Chapter Fourteen

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

Brian Zvonecek has spent most of his adult life fighting fires, now it’s time to chase one.

Follows on from Million Reasons but is a stand alone fic.

Tagging   @orileyfiction for all her help and support! Also @me-ladie​ for being the wonderful person she is and betaing.

- Chapter One

- Chapter Two

- Chapter Three

- Chaper Four

- Chapter Five

- Chapter Six

- Chapter Seven

- Chapter Eight

- Chapter Nine

- Chapter Ten

- Chapter Eleven

- Chapter Twelve

- Chapter Thirteen

Kat was in the kitchen when Antonio sought her out. He lingered in the doorway for a second watching as she stared into the distance. Her fingers gripped the cardboard tab of the tea bag as she dunked it repeatedly into her mug. He knew she was replaying the events of today, relieving each and every harrowing moment. It had been a wake-up call, not just for her. She never lost control like that, not in all the time he’d known her. 

This thing with Eve, it was grinding on her, eroding her soul piece by piece. She’d spent so long holding onto it, it was eating her up inside. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get through to her, to tell her how she was compromising herself, her job.

She didn’t even register his presence when he stepped into the room, not until he reached for the coffee pot alongside her and poured it into his mug.

“You alright?” he asked her, his gaze fixated on her face as he took a sip. 

“Yea.” She said, plucking the teabag from her drink and tossing it into the bin. “I don’t think I said thank you back there.”

“I’m your partner. I’ve always got your back.”

He raised his fist; she bumped her knuckles against his before attention turned back to the depths of her tea. 

“You’ve been on edge since this case started,” Antonio began, his hand rubbing across the back of his neck. “I don’t think you’ve processed everything that happened to Eve, I think you’re holding onto it and it is dragging you down, affecting your work.”

“I know,” She told him before looking him straight in the eye. “It just destroys so many lives Antonio and it happens all the fucking time. Caroline was fourteen and now she has to live with what happened to her…”

“And you need to find a way to live with what just happened to you,” He said firmly, rolling his sleeves up past his wrists so that she could see the white razor wire scarring. “I know what it’s like to have your power stripped away, to feel helpless, to watch someone you love suffer, trust me Kat, I know that more than most, but you need to get a handle on it.”

He saw the fury in her eyes, the embers so brightly that he thought they could ignite at any second. This was what he was talking about, this anger, this savage rage against the world. It would consume her if she let it. 

“Are you coming to me as Voight’s second in command or as my friend?”

“Both,” Antonio told her with a shrug of his shoulders. “You’re a good cop and you do good work here, I just don’t wanna see this thing take over your life. You need to make peace with it.”

He didn’t want this for her, didn’t want her to have to endure anymore. He wanted her to be healthy and happy, but you could only lead a horse to water, you couldn’t force it to drink.

“Look if you give me a sec, I’ll grab my keys and drop you home.” Antonio said, putting his mug down on the counter. 

“I’m good.” Kat said, holding up her hand to cut him off when he tried to speak. “I don’t think I need anything else from you right now.”

“Kat, don’t be like that.” 

Kat said nothing, she simply walked out the door.

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

For Kat, when everything was going to hell in a handbasket, she always came back to the water. There was something about the sound of waves lapping against the edge of the pool, the feel of the water on her skin as she sliced through it with a ferocity she felt deep down inside of her bones. 

Antonio’s words rang through her ears as she pushed off the wall again, propelling herself forward. He was right of course; she hated the fact that he was right. It had been two years since she’d taken down Scagnetti and she still carried the weight of Eve’s death on her shoulders. The memories haunted her, they dogged her dreams, stealing away her breath in the middle of the night. She would never forget seeing Eve like that, lying in a bathtub stained red by the life force poring from her wrists. The water had been cold when Kat had tried to haul her out, her lips blue. She was gone, long gone but Kat had to try because giving up meant her friend was never coming back.

She couldn’t shake that trauma, but she could deal with it and she could make sure it didn’t influence her choices any further. She’d done the work, she’d put Eve’s rapist behind bars, that should be enough shouldn’t it? 

The truth was Scagnetti was just a drop in an ocean that was brimming with predators, the ones that showed themselves and the ones that didn’t. What happened to her today with Ty Henley wasn’t even the worst thing that had happened to a woman in the past twenty-four hours and that’s where this all stemmed from. It was bad enough that a man could do that, but the fact Tawney had been complicit, that she enjoyed it, pushed every single one of Kat’s buttons.

In a world where one in five women were raped in the US shouldn’t they all be watching out for one another? It enraged her that she even had to think about it, women should be able to walk down the street without fear of harassment or violence, anybody should but the fear was there, even for her as a cop. That was the real source of her anger, the injustice of it all, the fact that it had happened to her on the job. If it had been Antonio or Jay who’d walked into the house it would have been different, but it wasn’t.  She was the one who’d been restrained, knife pressed to her throat while that piece of shit touched her. She was the one who would have to live with the knowledge of what almost happened, that she hadn’t been able to save herself. 

It was maddening, so deeply fucking frustrating she could just scream and scream and scream.

So that’s what she did. 

She ducked her head under the water, and she screamed.

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

Brian was waiting for her outside. His dark wavy hair fell over his forehead as he leaned against the bonnet of his car, smoking a cigarette and blowing smoke rings out of his mouth. A navy blue scarf was wound around his throat, tucked inside that midnight coloured fleece with the white geometric snowflakes on the sleeves. Those dark eyes of his flickered up, catching hers. Her breath snagged in her throat and for a moment she felt that weight lift off her chest, her jarred nerves beginning to settle.

He held out the cardboard jacket of cigarettes wordlessly.  Kat plucked one, placing it between her lips before leaning on the car alongside him. He removed a red plastic lighter from his pocket, cupping the end of her cigarette with his hand before lighting it for her. They stood beside each other in silence, staring at their distorted reflections in the glass panelling of the rec center. Kat could feel the heat rolling off his body as he lingered in her proximity, close enough to touch if she wanted to. 

She took a drag, inhaling the nicotine and feeling a calm settle in her bloodstream before she allowed herself to speak. 

“Antonio told you.” She said resolutely, watching as he blew a stream of smoke from between his lips. 

“Yea, he did.” Brian responded before tossing the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it with the heel of his sneaker. “Are you doing ok?”

“Better now.” She told him, bumping his hip with hers lightly.

He tilted his head towards her, their eyes meeting as Kat dropped her own cigarette to the floor extinguishing it. He was tentative, she got that, unsure of how to respond to what had happened to her. She could see how much he wanted to touch her but as always, he was a gentleman, putting her needs first even if he diagnosed them incorrectly. She wasn’t made of glass, and she knew the difference between a man who wanted to hurt her and the man that was standing right here in front of her. 

“I won’t break.” She promised him, taking hold of his wrist and guiding his arm around her shoulders. 

He drew her close into the welcoming shelter of his body, his clean-shaven cheek brushing hers. He held Kat like she was the most precious thing in the world as she buried her face into the curve of his neck inhaling the rich citrus scent that clung to his skin. 

“I’m glad you're ok.”  He whispered into her hair.

With Brian by her side, she knew she would be.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 3

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.4k chapters: 3/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. 

Tony had presented as a delta at twelve, much to his father’s insurmountable disdain. Howard Stark had gone to great lengths to ensure himself an alpha prime for a son—he’d spent years hunting down the perfect omega, who proceeded to have almost unheard of difficulties getting pregnant. After a grueling pregnancy, said omega had the gall to have massive complications during birth that meant she’d never carry another pup. The fact that Tony couldn’t even do the simplest thing right—present as an alpha prime, like himself, like Captain America—was just heinous.  

But for all of his intelligence, Howard Stark had been a moron. Being a delta came with a slew of advantages over alphas, over alpha primes even. His heightened empathy was an extraordinary tool, his intuition was nearly on par with an omegas. Sure, he wasn’t as dominant as an alpha but he could hold his own in most situations. Alpha orders rarely worked on him, at the very least. He could induce an omega’s heat and even if he couldn’t completely sate an omega during that time as he lacked a knot, deltas were critical in giving alphas periods of rest during the week-long estrous.  

If an omega was the glue that held a pack together, deltas built the foundations. Their ability to support packmates on multiple levels was crucial—just like an omega, they were able to understand their packmates deeply and act as conduits and facilitators.  

He’d never been called a manipulator before. Especially not by a sweet-faced omega with surprisingly sharp little fangs. He supposed that most deltas were considered more… cunning than other presentations. Tony preferred the terms suave or charismatic, if he was being honest. Deltas were charming, dammit. But she’d reacted like he was some sort of con artist, a blink away from hiding the Queen up his sleeve.

Letting the suit catch her while he stood aside might’ve caused a bit of unnecessary distress—it was a good thing said suit was equipped with a silencer, or the shrieking would’ve brought down every alpha in the surrounding three towns. Steve had been giving him those disappointed eyebrows since he’d emerged from the woods, even after Thor and Peter took her inside to be bathed. Tony figured that was punishment enough, especially considering their omega seemed to hate him.  

“We should probably go through the car,” Steve sighed, running a hand over the back of his head—Tony knew the alpha prime didn’t want his own discontent to unsettle the rest of the pack, “thoroughly. Make sure you check for anything hidden, we’ll make stacks for what we can and can’t give back.”  

The blond shifted closer to Tony’s side, his other hand brushing against his back gently. Alpha primes weren’t as in tune with their pack’s emotions, that’s what omegas and deltas were for, but Steve and Thor put in more effort than any other’s Tony had ever encountered. They’d waited for him to arrive after all, instead of converging on the scared omega in a group of two alpha primes and two alphas—even Bruce’s serene beta wouldn’t have been enough to calm her. Steve realized that Tony was put off, had made the effort to notice the shift in the delta’s demeanor, and moved to offer comfort if he should want it.  

“I doubt she has much,” Bruce had his arms crossed over his chest, one hand rubbing at his chin as he stared towards the house, “I can’t decide if her body chemistry is just a 180° of what it should be because of the suppressants or if there’s something else.”  

“You called her something earlier, when we were walking through the woods,” the blond had already started pulling bags from the back of her Tahoe, setting them gently on the ground so that his delta and beta could begin looking through them, “you called her classical?”  

“Classical presenting omegas? It’s a theory that started cropping up in the late nineties,” Tony’s hand bobbed slightly in the air, “widely debated in accuracy. There have been very, very few case studies but they’re pretty promising—essentially, we’re looking at traits that were bred out of omegas a thousand years ago or more that are starting to crop up again due to environmental and cultural stressors.”  

“Or,” Bruce sent the delta a stern look, “it could be the result of genetics; omegas on both sides of the family likely went extremely scarce, to the point of nonexistence. Both parents must’ve carried the same near ancient recessive genotypes, the alleles would’ve had to match up perfectly in order to produce offspring with those traits.”  

“Like I said, it’s widely debated,” Tony rolled his eyes affectionately at the beta, riffling through the bag at his feet, “either way, our omega is displaying traits that haven’t been prominent since the 10th century.”  

“What do we need to do? What do we need to watch out for?” If alpha primes were only good for one thing, it was determining the necessary course of action for their packs’ safety and prosperity.  

“There’s no way to tell for sure exactly what we’re looking at, except for an omega who’s biology is incredibly convoluted and—” the sound Bruce made was one of disdain as he pulled a ziplock with what must’ve been at least a hundred small blue pills in it from one of her bags, “chemically altered beyond belief. How could she even get a hold of so many suppressants?”  

“She’s willful,” Steve sighed, tossing a matching baggy towards the disheveled beta, “Even Peter’s purr doesn’t affect her the way it should, it’s a good thing Thor and I coexist so well—keeping her in hand would be difficult for one prime.”  

“Jesus Christ,” Tony’s jaw dropped as he withdrew a fucking machete from one of the bags, the several hunting knives, snares, and fishing lures neatly arranged in the bag barely even shifting at the jerky movement, “can you imagine an omega using one of these?”  

“That one I can,” the blond snorted, gesturing back over his shoulder with one thumb, “if she’d managed to grab that bag we’d be a couple of packmates short.”  

“This is the one she was about to make a run with,” Bruce held up a wallet, opening it a moment later, “no debit or credit cards, driver’s license for Colorado, local library card, $200 in American money.”  

“There’s a wallet in this one too,” Steve frowned, unzipping it and peeking inside, “looks about the same, license is out of Quebec though—and another library card. No cash in this one though.”  

“I bet it’s hidden in there,” Tony stated, having already pulled out two fifty dollar bills from a small hole in the seam of the inside of his chosen bag, “oh, here’s the suppressant stash from this one.”  

The sound of tires on gravel distracted the three of them, head’s popping up to see Bucky and Carol making their way down the driveway in a dark green Jeep Wrangler. Both looked antsy and there were shopping bags piled so high in the back seat Bucky couldn’t see out of the rear view mirror. Carol was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop, coming to stand in the middle of the chaos of neatly packed bags.  

“This is all she had?” The blonde alpha questioned, frowning at the three remaining boxes and the camping equipment in the back of the Tahoe, eyes briefly passing over the contents of the bags on the ground, “good thing we went overboard with the shopping.”  

“Did you buy her any clothes?” Bruce questioned, looking at a faded, threadbare old t-shirt he’d just withdrawn from the bottom of the duffle, “everything she has is either full of holes or has been washed so much it’s practically see through.”  

“We bought everything,” Bucky answered as he dropped down from the lifted Jeep, “clothes, toiletries, collars, nesting supplies—we grabbed some of those omega diet essentials too, the vitamins and the powder stuff they’re supposed to have.”  

“She inside?” Carol interjected before the conversation could be continued, “I wanna see her.”  

“Thor and Peter took her inside to get cleaned up about 10 minutes ago, Sam’s starting on dinner,” Steve stepped to the side and motioned the two towards the house, “be gentle, she’s… she’s having a hard time.”  

“Have we figured out how long she’s been hiding for?” Bucky ignored his friend’s gesture, turning back towards the Jeep to retrieve several bags, “Wanda told us what sizes to buy but wouldn’t say anything else about her.”  

“This ID says she’s thirty-two,” Steve flicked the plastic ID, having dropped the rest of the wallet back in the bag, “Bruce, what did the one you had say?”  

“Twenty-nine,” the beta’s response was quick enough that the alpha prime knew he’d memorized the details of the ID and anything else he’d found in the bag already, “there’s no telling how long she’s been on her own though—at least a few years considering how well established she is living from her car.”  

“She has two different IDs?” Carol’s eyebrow raised, taking several of the shopping bags Bucky passed her without complaint.  

“And at least a thousand doses of suppressants,” Tony snorted, “a machete, I’m pretty sure if we keep digging we’ll find a gun—”  

“Thank you Tony,” Steve cut the delta off before he could start any nonsense, “we’ve found two wallets with two IDs so far, but she’s got three more bags like this and then those boxes. We’re just trying to sort what she needs from what she doesn’t right now.”  

“How is she?” Bucky’s question was obviously directed at his fellow delta, eyes not wavering even when he saw Steve and Bruce exchange glances.  

“She called me a manipulative monster and tried to bite me.”

“There’s no telling how long she’s been hiding, or what she went through before she started hiding—or even what she’s been through while she’s been hiding,” Bruce sent the delta a look that bordered on provoked, “and you were being antagonistic.”  

“I was not, I was just—”  

“Being yourself, huh?” Carol smirked, dodging past the men and heading up the path towards the mansion before the billionaire could respond.  

“What, you guys think we should’ve waited for the sentient iceberg?” Tony jabbed his thumb towards Bucky, “his delta charm is rustier than that heap of metal we found attached to his arm after he pulled you out of the Potomac.” 

“You don’t even know what charm is yah fuckin’ grifter.”  

Steve dropped his forehead into his hand; there was a consistent theme in large packs that resulted in deltas being at each other’s throats constantly. It would only get worse when Loki arrived, the third of the trio was an entirely different breed of antagonistic. Steve was absolutely sure that all of his packmates looked upon each other with affection, at least 99% of the time, but Tony, Loki, and Bucky fought constantly without an omega’s balancing presence.  

The clearing of a throat silenced the squabbling deltas, attention immediately going to where Bruce stood with a stack of notebooks in his hand, “one of the boxes has notebooks and library books, the other has dry foods. She’s got a sleeping bag, tent, a water filtration system—anything she could need to survive in the woods or her car for an extended period of time.”  

“No notebooks or food in the go bags?” Bucky frowned, arms crossing over his chest and he shifted his weight when they all responded negatively, “I could understand why the notebooks wouldn’t be a priority to bring with her, but no food?”  

“From her supplies it looks like she’s probably a passable hunter, food would take up too much space if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Looks like she prefers hunting knives to bread and peanut butter,” the beta shrugged, motioning to the piles he’d been organizing while Steve tried to mediate the deltas squabble, “each of her bags has a wallet with an ID, cash hidden somewhere, a change of clothing, a bag of suppressants, water filtering tablets, the hunting knife, matches, a water bottle and a thermal blanket.” 

“Pragmatic,” Bucky muttered quietly as he stepped up to the trunk of the Tahoe, glancing at the box of notebooks and library books, “Neotropical Diversification, Monoco—what the fuck, Mono-coty-ledons? Avian Genomics in Ecology and Evolution, Orientation and Navigation in Vertebrates. I don’t know what half of those words even mean, and they’re titles of books.”  

“That’s all environment biology—ecology,” Tony’s eyebrows went up, “niche stuff too, higher level.”  

“Good thing there’s a lot of us to keep her brain occupied,” Bruce’s lips split into a small grin, eyes directed at the pile of knives, “otherwise she’d be difficult to manage. Whatever happened in the meantime, it seems she might’ve attended university at some point—this level of understanding is usually somewhere in a graduate program, although it’s a pretty wide variety of specific topics that aren’t generally associated with each other.” 

“They are library books,” Tony stated with a shrug, “maybe it was all she could get her hands on at this level. We did find multiple library cards, all to different library districts. The ones she has now are all from the same district—does she have any Canadian IDs?”  

“One from Quebec and one from Ontario,” the beta pointed out two bags, one of which was sitting by Steve’s feet, “those two bags. The other IDs were Colorado, Alaska, and Michigan. We’ll have to figure out which one is real, if she has a real one. The name of the housekeeper the company assigned to us matches the Ontario ID.”  

“This is insane,” Steve sighed, shoulders heaving with the breath, “she must be running from something, hiding.”  

“Wanda will tell us, I’m sure,” Bucky’s flesh hand landed on the blond’s shoulder with a clap, fingers squeezing momentarily, “for now, how about we just focus on getting her settled in the cabin with her things.”  

“Should we let her get settled here?” Bruce frowned, a worried line creasing his forehead, “I’m worried it could be detrimental, for her to adapt here and have to move to the compound once our vacation is over. As soon as she starts to get comfortable she’s gonna be uprooted all over again.”  

“We’ll discuss it tonight at dinner,” Steve spoke before anyone else could prolong the debate, “Hopefully Natasha, Clint, and Loki will get here in time. Sam’s making lasagna, said we wouldn’t be eating until late anyway. Let’s bring everything in, minus the things she doesn’t need.”  

“Nesting supplies to the laundry room?”  

“Yeah, toiletries to Nat and Wanda’s bathroom. Put her clothes with mine or Thor’s,” the blond alpha instructed, heaving several bags into each arm before turning on his heel and heading into the house, “leave the camping supplies, we’ll lock up what she doesn’t need back in the garage for now.”  

Her scent, chemically masked and altered, was emanating through the entire cabin, he could smell it the moment he stepped over the threshold. Everything looked spotless and he smiled, ducking his head slightly to hide it; he liked that the whole house smelled like his omega—their omega, who’d spent a lot of time and effort making everything look perfect for their arrival.  

Wanda and Carol were in the living room, bathed in the light of the sun just beginning its descent. The stairs, one set leading up and one down, were straight ahead, blocking the view of the kitchen, dining room, and study. The parlor to his left featured haphazardly abandoned suitcases, the rest of the pack who couldn’t quite be bothered at the moment to properly deal with their things.  

The smell got stronger up the stairs, he could hear the low rumble of both Thor and Peter’s combined purr. Their omega was in distress—alpha’s struggled when omegas were in distress and Steve imagined both were getting their hearts twisted in their chests. His packmates dispersed to follow their assigned tasks, Bruce joining Sam in the kitchen to help with dinner. Steve dropped bags at the appropriate doors in the hall before making his way through Thor’s room and into the bathroom, where the two alphas were practically piled in the tub with their omega.  

Peter sat on the edge of the tub, pants rolled up past his knees and his legs in the water where she was leant up against them. Thor was half in the water, shirt gone as he leaned over to clean the mud and grime from her skin, manipulating her limp limbs gently.  

“I take it she didn’t want a bath,” Steve murmured, eyes flashing around the half destroyed bathroom.  

“She can fight my purr more than we expected,” Peter looked almost bashful, the hand that wasn’t stroking her cheek running over the back of his head.  

“Omegas on Asgard are very similar to her,” Thor commented quietly, still focused on his task, “its why I found them so meek when I first arrived—Omegas are willful and determined. She just needs to be trained, her behavior can be corrected.”  

“I know there are omega protests sometimes, but I’ve never seen one completely reject packs,” the brunet alpha was frowning, “they have biological requirements for interaction with others—her body can’t generate certain chemicals without the necessary pheromones that the different presentations provide. It could stunt her immune system, damage hormone glands like the thyroid and—”  

“We’ll get all of that figured out Peter, we can fix anything that’s wrong with her,” Steve told himself it wasn’t a false promise, “it’ll just take time and a lot of effort. Let’s get her dressed and up to the attic. Bucky took all of the extra bedding for nesting to wash but we can make do with what we’ve got temporarily, the scents might help.”  

“Would you grab one of my shirts?” Thor asked, looking back at the other prime imploringly; it wasn’t just a simple request—Thor was asking that their shared omega be scented by his clothing first.  

Steve hadn’t been born an alpha prime. Sometimes, he felt like a delta that had been gutted and pumped with morphine—his empathy had been stolen, replaced with strength and adrenaline and aggression. He missed the part of himself that allowed him the deeper connection with others, the amount of effort he had to expend to determine the emotions of his pack made him feel like an alien (especially if they weren’t telegraphed by scent), but sometimes it was okay. Sometimes, it meant he had a wider understanding than other alpha primes because while he didn’t retain the heightened sense, he knew where to start to unravel their puzzles.  

With Thor it was easiest. All he really had to do was follow his own stream of consciousness—wanting the omega clean and warm and fed and scented. He wanted her to smell like him, wanted her wrapped in his clothes, his blankets, he wanted it beneath her skin and seeping from her pores. And so did Thor. The Aesir was asking Steve to take a loss, to not fight him for the right to scent her first.  

It was a good thing he hadn’t been an alpha prime, or the request would’ve absolutely ended in some sort of dominance display. Aggression had immediately surged though his chest at the question, the challenge, the demand, he needed to prove he deserved it more—Steve shook his head firmly, cleared his throat, and rolled his shoulders back before making eye contact with the other prime.  

“Sure thing, any in particular?”  

There was relief on Thor’s face, along with understanding; he was fully aware of the sacrifice Steve was making and the effort it took to make it, “I know you’ll chose the right thing.”  

They didn’t realize their omega was practically having an out of body experience­—that she felt like she was hovering over her own body, watching in horror as the two alpha primes who’s mingled scents she was sure marked each and every one of their packmates, communicated like real people. The suppressants hadn’t completely brutalized her scent receptors or hindbrain; she’d known there was something too much about the blond alphas, something that whispered to her omega senses. They were alpha primes and that was a nightmare.

Because alpha primes weren’t supposed to co-habitate. They didn’t share. They were aggressive, territorial, verging on violent. The idea that the two had somehow weaseled their way through that instinctive disposition upon meeting, had managed to form a pack—it didn’t bear thinking about. All she needed to think about was getting out quickly, before something irreversible happened and she was trapped forever. 

[youarejesting]

Temptation KTH X Reader

[Masterlist] Pairing: CamBoy!Taehyung x CamGirl!Reader Beta: N/A Genre: Romance, Angst, Fluff, NSFW, Smut Rating: 18+ Words: 3.7k Request: @pars-ley​

Summary: You sign up for the world’s newest and sexiest Late-night Television program called ‘Temptation’. Where you are competing with nine other Cam workers to win One Million dollars. The catch? You can’t cum?

Warnings: Oral f & m recieving, Doms & Subs, Orgasm denial, Penetrative sex, Handjobs, Fingering, Vouyerism, Exhibitionism, Bratty, Daddy Kink, Impregnation Kink, Auralism (sexy sounds moans etc...), Orgy, Dirty talk, Group sessions.

You were a cam girl, but you had been recruited with the best of the best to participate in an elimination game show. Basically, you were not allowed to come, which didn’t include private masturbation unless you were with a housemate in the previous half-hour. The winner would win one million dollars. 

There were a few catches, you were each given a phone that would give you commands on things you had to do with other contestants. You had permission to do anything to anyone if the phone told you so. So if you were told to give a blow job you could, but the male was not allowed to finish. Equally so if you were told one of the males could eat you out, you weren’t allowed to finish.

With a sigh, you sat in front of the camera and began talking about the first day while rewatching the footage. You were told to react as if it was happening and relay the thought you had in the moment. “right here I thought ‘oh it is going to be easy’,” I signed up to Temptation and I am going to win. I have to win, I am planning on paying out my family's mortgage and perhaps buying myself a home something permanent.”

You took a moment to pause and thought “it wasn’t the easiest growing up poor, I have a good job now and a good apartment but I don’t spend money on myself until my family are in a better position”

You met the other contestants and you could pick out which ones would go first, the ones who had no resolve. There were four doms and you knew you could get them in seconds. Everyone was dressed normally and you each took the time to greet one another. 

This would be the easiest money you ever made. Everyone introduced themselves and their highlight cam videos appeared on the screen and you paled. Suga, RM, J-Hope, Honey, Jimin, lovelymi, Jungkook, EatJin. Names you hoped would “Hello, my name is V, I have been in the cam industry for about seven years, I do partner and solo videos, I am a switch.” His voice was so deep and it stirred something in you.

His videos started playing and he was grunting and fucking a girl. Him talking dirty while he used his hand, he was big and looked honestly amazing. He was holding a girl’s hair as he bucked into her mouth. All while looking and sounding so freaking sexy

“This be harder than I thought” you laughed “he is handsome and his voice is truly amazing, from a purely sexual point of view he is attractive”

“But what will his personality be like? That's the question. Things can make you excited but if he opens his mouth and is a jerk well that excitement plummets. 

“Hey guys, My cam name is Baby, I have been in the cam business for a long time I can’t even remember, I am a submissive, I have done partnered and solo cam video” Your videos began playing, you were thankful for the quality of your videos and editing things looked desirable and left you wanting more. You acting like a brat and being punished. You acting submissive calling your cam partner Daddy.

This last one had the dom’s in the room squirming and you knew you had some power over them.

“I joined the cam industry because I was interested, I got to have pleasure in the privacy of my own house and get paid. I use a fake name and I entertain clients with videos. I choose what I do in the video if I don’t like it. I'm sorry, I choose who can watch me. If someone is acting rude or threatening I can kick them out the website and my setup at home is protected so common creeps cannot find me. The people I film with are people I trust and also work in the business”

You shrugged raising your hands up “I mean what can I say it all sounds like a great deal, orgasms and money what else do you want”

You smiled and the Host spoke over the PA, “Please check out your new rooms and your attire which has been carefully selected in your size. Relax and freshen up dinner will be served shortly.”

You stood up and looked innocently at the doms. “What should I wear for dinner mummy and Daddies?” 

The four doms Suga, Jhope, Honey, and Jin looked at you with firm eyes. “Would you like me to dress you, baby?” Honey asked 

“Wear something pretty?” Jin said his voice firm as he walked off, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt as he walked down the hall.

“Wear something to impress daddy?” Jhope grinned and you went off to your room, looking through the cupboards and you thought the others would go for blatantly sexy but you actually snuck into Jin’s room while he was in the shower and stole his dress shirt and left, you made sure to wear a pretty set of white lace underwear but you didn’t put on shoes and you let your hair down and put on natural-looking makeup.

The shirt dwarfed you and you didn’t do up all the buttons at the top or bottom. Everyone walked out to dinner and you grinned. All the guys were either just in pants or in suits except Jimin and Jungkook who were in harness’. LovelyMi was wearing lingerie, big heels, and full hair and makeup. Honey wore leather and big shoes stepping out. You yawned pretending you woke up your hands unseen in the big sleeves.

“Is that my shirt?” Jin asked

“Daddy's shirt smelled so good?” Jin stirred, you bit back a smile and everyone started eating dinner and you reached for something and V made a small groan as the shirt fell open revealing your breast. You sat back down and grinned when Suga’s phone chimed. 

“One of your well-known skills is Tongue technology, pick one girl and eat her out.” He said with a laugh. 

“Suga, genius. The only two things you need to know” he shrugged looking at the floor. “Enough said”

He walked down the table and pushed your chair back. You looked up at him innocently. “Daddy is going to eat this pussy, is that okay my sweet baby?” Suga caressed your cheek, you did like praise. 

“I want a different daddy” You huffed pulling off your underwear and throwing them at Jin. Suga pressed his tongue to his cheek, looking visibly pissed that you were questioning his authority knowing you were playing as the rules stated if you didn’t want to participate you would use the safe word.

“Spread your legs, brat” this was a command and your legs fell apart. He placed them on the arms of the dinner chair and V looked down swallowing hard trying not to look but you commanded his attention.

“What a pretty little pussy, for such a bratty girl” Suga smirked, wasting no time, you picked up your drink and drank it slowly thinking about the dinner. After the initial surprise, you knew you would be fine he wouldn’t get you to finish but he was so close.

Another phone went off and Jimin read aloud his instructions to give RM a blow job. You continued eating dinner zoning out completely you were pretty skilled at keeping yourself from cumming. What surprised you was when Jimin came it was the first night, but the boy had an oral fixation and that coupled with an audience and the moans around the room, he came while deepthroating RM.

You were sad to see him leave but you were thankful the orders for the night were complete.

“Suga has tongue technology all right but, there is one sure-fire way to put me on edge and that is with a deep voice. I cannot stand V’s voice it is way too sexy”

It had been a long first week, you had been drawn to the edge by Honey and had given a blow job to Jhope who held himself together with swears and shaky breath. You were all sitting in the pool at the end of the week and LovelyMi was eliminated. The fans had voted her out.

The next week saw Jungkook eliminated. Honey had him tied up and he couldn’t hold back. There was no voting elimination but there was a challenge. You had to answer sex facts to earn points. Some of the questions were how many times can a woman orgasm. You won and the hosts Adora and Pdogg asked how many times you had successfully finished.

“Eleven,” You said, “I could have kept going but I took a break and ended up falling asleep.”

“I am impressed?” RM grinned, he had got the next answer right and the two of you got to draw from the hat some cards. 

“Hell yeah, I got a free finish card” You grinned 

“I got an extended order time card” RM laughed and you both high fived and headed back to continue playing the game.

After a few games such as the fastest to dress in their role-play costume, you all picked what door you wanted and you laughed when you were dressed as a businessman, you laughed at the array of costumes but V was the winner having won wearing a nurses dress. Another game was won by Jin and it was called ‘whose lips are these?’ You each took turns being blindfolded and you were kissed by the others.

For you, Jin’s lips were the easiest to identify, followed by Honey’s and you just knew when a large hand took your waist and your heart sparked that it was V. Three out of six wasn’t too bad.

“They always guessed when it was me, do I kiss a certain way or weirdly?” You touched your lips confused and mumbled in an afterthought  “I thought I kissed really well.”

You stepped up to V your heart racing nervously and you slipped your hand into his hair pulling his hair firmly and he groaned making you lick your lips. You kissed him and he kissed back his tongue entering your mouth and you pulled away watching him sigh in relief.

“I got every one of them wrong except her, there was something about how soft her lips were, and the way she tasted like strawberries it was kind of delicious.” V spoke his cheeks red “I want to kiss her again”

Jhope won a game of sex bingo where you had to mark off what you had done but the catch was there as like a hundred different things. Where you looked through your cam videos and marked off what was in each of them. Honey and Suga didn’t have a single card. V had a free from elimination card and Jin had a kink assisted order. Jhope won a group order card.

“Some would say, I am well versed in sex, and they would be right!” JHope laughed, clapping his hands. “I enjoy trying new things and well I have preferences but I can at least say I have tried it”

That week was fun, you had filed away the free finish card for when you needed it and hoped like hell you wouldn’t need it. RM used the time extend card for his order to fuck Honey but accidentally eliminated himself and Honey simultaneously.

Eliminations came along and Suga was the next to be voted out. There were four of you left. You and three males, this was going to become quite difficult. You were sitting on the couch watching movies with Jin when you got an order. 

“Give a blow job to the nearest contestant” You smirked and sank to the floor unzipping Jin’s pants and you hit accept on the phone and got to work you had a time limit and you weren’t going to lose one million dollars because of a six-minute timer.

You used everything called him Daddy made all the right sounds and gave him all the right looks but he didn’t come. The timer rang and he grinned tucking himself away and you rested your head on his thigh. “Please daddy.” 

“She is dangerous, I almost didn’t want to stop but I am here for the money, she isn’t playing around” Jin sighed “I can still hear her saying those words in my head and I want more than anything to continue our session.” 

You noticed V in the kitchen with a piece of orange in his mouth, eyes wide he had seen everything and you blushed.

“That was the hottest thing I had ever seen, she really wanted to win and I am just thankful that it wasn’t an order for me” He shivered running his hand over his jaw. “I wouldn’t have made it, and I don’t know if I would try”

He looked at his hands ringing them out before looking up “She is my opponent and I will do my best to win against her!”

Jin had used a kink assisted and you were given headphones filled with V’s moans while Honey had given him a handjob last week. 

“She either really likes V or she likes deep moans that is good to know?” He snickered “I think she is in love with V the two are smitten”

You bit your lip and turned to the camera’s “Oh this is playing dirty.” You hissed Jin was skilled with his fingers, he apparently played guitar and some piano but no matter how much he rubbed your G spot and clit at the same time. You weren’t going to come, even if V sounded sinful in your ears.

“There is nothing I want more than to win, but I almost didn’t think I was going to make it. Have you heard him, growling and moaning” You blushed burying your face in your hands “He is the only one who can make me lose this game”

You looked up and leaned back on the couch throwing one leg over the other. “So now we are all preparing for war”

Amongst all the sex, you and V grew close, the two of you Swam in the pool and played games, when you weren’t talking you were having deep conversations and at one point you even stayed up late chatting until he leaned in pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t help but kiss him back with similar vigor. 

“Baby” Jhope called and showed you the screen of his phone reading out loud. “Jhope ten minutes with Baby everything except penetrative sex” 

“Okay?” You nodded 

“And I am calling the group card” he grinned 

You were surrounded by all three men and they quickly discussed what they should do. JHope grinned, telling Jin to return the favor for the earlier blow job and V looked disappointed. 

“I know why he chose me, I am called EatJin for a reason.” Jin explained seriously “these lips can devour women… and a good steak”

“Was I disappointed that JHope asked Jin-hyung to eat her out?” V scoffed a few times “me? never”

He got up out of his chair as he took his microphone off and walked away with a dark tone “What would ever give you that impression”

The next elimination saw JHope leave. And it was you and the two handsome young men, you understood why they weren’t voted out. 

You had an amazing evening watching V give a rather enthusiastic Blow Job to Jin who came with a loud cry. 

Now it was just you and V. 

“Am I scared?” You laughed at the question, touching your mouth in thought. “Why because it’s just the two of us now”

“It’s her who should be scared?” V looked proud as he held an intense gaze.

“I do this for a living, why would I be scared?” 

You tried to bluff unsuccessfully “I’m bloody terrified, Have you seen him he is handsome as hell and I know he will be the end of me”

“My biggest fear is not being able to stop. She is magnificent, we have gotten to know each other so much over the four weeks and she is cheeky and charming and sweet and I truly believe I love her.” 

He licked his lips “it started out that I thought she was my type but it became that she was my everything”

When you woke its first day with just the two of you and he smiled over breakfast. “The house feels lonely without everyone doesn’t it?”

“The house feels too big and too cold” you mumbled. 

You spent the week together which would be fast-forwarded on the week's episode. 

“Today is the last day the challenge is going to be extreme,” he said, “you think you're ready for it?”

“Yeah, I think I am ready, what about you?”

“I think I am more nervous I wish we were on even grounds your free finish card has me worried” 

“What I am about to do is either incredibly stupid or incredibly stupid” you buried your face in your hands. 

“I would like to use my free finish card” you pulled the card out from the back of your phone. “You better be worth it?”

V’s mouth fell open in shock and you looked at him feeling a little mischievous. 

“She is going to give up her free finish now so we fight an even and fair match tomorrow.” He said biting his lip “I love her, and I am not going to waste this moment I am going to rock her world”

You followed him to his bedroom. He held your hand the entire way and you grinned as he pressed you to the door. Kissing you hard and moaning into your mouth. He slipped his hand up your little skirt and plunged his fingers down the front of your underwear. 

He didn’t let up and he was kissing and sucking at your neck before he moved you to the bed and buried himself between your legs he moaned the whole time and he was torturing you. 

His tongue working magic on your clit and his long fingers curling up inside you. It wasn’t long before your legs began to tremble and you gripped the sheets as all the sexual tension that had been building up finally released causing your back to arch off the bed. 

You shivered watching him lean back onto his heels and lick his fingers and palm with a soft moan. “You are delicious”

“I have made a mistake” you whispered quietly.

It was the big day you were both dressed immaculately and this was the moment of truth Adora and Pdogg watched from the sidelines beside the three judges. 

“Now the rules are simple the first to cum loses the winner gets a million dollars”

“It is kind of weird knowing the finale is just the two of us having sex until someone finishes but hey who am I to judge. I am one of the people doing it”

You both went to the bed, there were cameras everywhere including inside you, that was a fun appointment. Even though it was a tiny little silicone camera on a fine cord, they were able to move the camera around by a remote so it was always in the correct position you would admit it was nerve-racking to have it inside you. V looked at you sitting on the bed with a nervous grin and you both hugged whispering under your breath. 

“Are you as nervous as I am?” You whispered

“Yeah, I didn’t expect I would be having sex on late-night television”

“Yeah I agree” 

“Do you think that after this, we could watch a movie or get something to eat?”

“I would love too” you breathed

Everything began and you were underneath V and he was working hard and a timer went off every ten minutes to switch positions so that you each got different stimulation and such. 

You almost lost it while he fucked you from behind, you were clenching around him tightly trying to make him finish. He was grunting and growling. 

Your mind was spinning and you whispered to yourself don’t come hoping you could convince yourself to hang in a little longer. 

You switched positions sinking onto him and straddling his waist his hands held your hips and he bucked up into you. 

“Let’s give our two contestants their first hints,” Pdogg grinned, the two hosts taking envelopes. 

“V has an impregnation kink” Adora read the card aloud 

“Oh yeah, daddy? you want to fill me up, you placed his hands on your lower abdomen and pressed back on him so he could feel himself through your stomach. “You want me all nice and full, huh?”

He groaned loudly and you clenched around him biting your lip. “Baby has a sound kink her preference is deep voices but she enjoys moans growls and pants. She has sensitive ears.”

V sat up putting his mouth to your ear and began, talking to you making obscene sounds in your ears and he flipped you over after hearing the belly and grabbed your hips thrusting hard. 

His speed was dangerous for both of you,  “Come on” he growled and you felt everything crash over you, your body practically convulsing from the power that had built up. 

He came after you and it was warm. The footage from inside of you was very explicit watching him finish inside of you. You laughed, slapping his arm, you fought dirty.

“I gave up on trying to hold back if I didn’t give one hundred percent neither of us would finish. I had to get dangerously close in order to push her over the edge” He pumped his hands in the air. 

“But I did it!” He cheered. “I won!”

“And there you have it V is the winner of the sexiest game of the year Temptation.” Adora cheered.

“Think you have what it takes to go online to our page to see behind the scenes footage as well as applications for next years big game”

“V, tell us what you are planning to do with one million dollars”

“First of all I am going to split it with Baby, and maybe take her on a date”

If you enjoyed this story don’t forget to Like | Share so others can enjoy it too. PLease see my [Masterlist] for more of my work.

[hasegawasosise]

In Numbers We Trust

Summary:

Prompt master: @outoftheframework

I like the concept of each of the kids having a number or having a thing where they count off. Not in a demeaning or dehumanizing way at all, just more so to use in dangerous situations. For example, a bomb goes off on patrol, and to quickly see if everyone is okay, the kids (including Steph and Babs) automatically start counting one at a time. Bruce can breathe again once the count reaches eight. This tradition begins to carry over to civilian life when the kids yell numbers across a crowded gala after the power goes out.

Beta Agenthandler

Bruce never planned on starting a family. He made a vow to live for justice. He would be the force Gotham needed. He would be the forever bachelor. Justice was his Lady Love.

But 90% of life’s plan was just that—a plan. Bruce would never have guessed he'd end up taking in a boy who called himself Dick Grayson. Technically his ward, but Bruce suffered a mid-life crisis every day from thereon, wondering whether it was the right choice for him to adopt a kid—or why anyone sane would let Bruce Wayne adopt any kid in the first place. It was a testament to Dick’s own awesomeness that he grew up to be a mostly functional adult—Bruce definitely wasn’t.

After Dick, he recruited an amazing girl named Barbara Gordon as another sidekick. She was not officially his adopted daughter, but by day two of working together Bruce registered her in his little hind brain as “my kid.”

Then another. Jason Todd not only stole the Batmobile’s tires but also Batman’s heart. The little boy taught Bruce more about street-smarts and how to be a better person right until his death. His realized depth of parental love made him wonder why he ever adopted anyone in the first place—and ended up losing them that way.

After what he thought was the last, another one came into his life without invitation. Timothy Drake was a genius detective. Out of his first four—yes, Bruce could still count—Tim was the most similar to Bruce. They had the same kind of upbringing amidst the Gotham Elite, they were both highly focused and detail oriented individuals. Tim was even smarter than Bruce, and he was the sole reason Bruce could continue functioning after Jason’s death. Tim was also the only one to believe he was still alive and brought Bruce back from when he was lost in time.

After Time was Stephanie Brown. A cheerful ray of sunshine that had her own worries, but could function the best out of all his children. She had the kind of light sarcastic humor to brighten up Bruce’s darker days. He gained a third daughter, Cassandra Cain, the most accomplished amongst his children in terms of stealth and combat, also his one darling princess.

Then Bruce was introduced to his—one and only—blood son, a little baby assassin who had the unfortunate tendency to stab first ask later. By this time, Bruce had a better handle on raising children highly susceptible to raising hell and violence (read: still an incompetent parent, but he knew how to tune out their nagging) and had no choice but to assign Dick  with Damian’s education on humanities and socialization.

He also had Helena, Terry, Matt, Duke, and Harper.

Bruce lost count.

It was the ultimate testament to Bruce’s parenting skill. He sometimes couldn’t remember how many kids he had. He could lose them in a Walmart and forget he was missing one. But thankfully, he had a secret weapon.

Since Jason, he assigned them all numbers. Dick was one, Barbara was two, Jason three, Timothy four, Stephanie five, Cass six,  Damian seven—although he always said he was the first—Duke was eight, Harper nine, Terry ten, Matt eleven, and little Helena was twelve.

Imagine that. Bruce had twelve kids. What was his vow again? Lady Love Justice? Don’t know her.

It became sort of a tradition. When the kids entered the Wayne manor, each of them wrote their number on the info board down in the changing room. They were also listed on a desktop note of the BatComputer. It became a ritual in which the last child would add their newest sibling into the list, so they knew who the next number was supposed to be, and that next child would be who they were responsible for. Well, except Dick who accepted all of them as his baby chicks. The number also became a little part of their identity—each of them would put their numbers on everything they owned from their doors to their batarangs to the containers in the fridge.

Bruce, most importantly, used the numbering system to check in on them. It started when Penguin detonated a bank and his robins were scattered fighting all the hundred thugs Penguin hired to keep Batman busy. The blast stopped the fight and Bruce’s heart dropped when he realized his coms were damaged and he immediately couldn’t keep sight of them. He immediately tried to think what he could do, and when he did,  he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“KID COUNT!”

“One!” Nightwing shouted from the top of the next building. Apparently he flew off the bank’s  roof when he realised it was going to burst.

Oracle was two but he knew she was safe in the clock tower.

“Three,” Red Hood drawled. Bruce wondered why he joined in, but was thankful nonetheless.

“Four,” Red Robin shouted from the opposite direction, because he was the sensible one who directed the civilians and police to safety.

“Five!” Spoiler laughed and flew to his side. “That was a doozy!”

“Six,” Black Bat said as she appeared beside Spoiler where they shared a hi-five.

“Seven,” Robin pulled out his swords from a thug’s leg. “Father, I need to clean my sword immediately.”

“No stabbing, please.” “Too late.” Bruce groaned.

“...Eight?” Signal. He was still new to the numbering system.

Batman let go a deep relieved sigh.

The police and civilians who were fortunate to witness the scene, collectively said ‘Oh’. It became a trending twitter before Tim deleted the topic as much as he could.

********

The counting continued though. Citizens who have lots of children (such as parents, teachers, sometimes even the Police teams), realised it was a quick method to ensure update of their progeny/students/teams condition. So they  The counting became sort of a Gotham Trend and eventually enlisted into Gotham’s Emergency SOP. Imagine that, having too many kids to count gave birth to a crucial disaster first-aid first responder procedure.

In all actually, maybe that was one of the top major contributions Batman has given to his city.

********

The kids themselves slowly embraced the importance and fun of the numbers. It created a sort of camaraderie-- even when the numbers didn’t correlate with their height. It used to be a nice isoquant curve when they stood side by side. But after Jason’s growth spurt and Tim naught growth spurt, Steph finding high heels and Cass love for Anti-flood Boots, the nice isoquant curve just became a jagged line not unlike a heartbeat rate.  

That aside, the numbering also slowly bled into their civilian lives:

1.

All of them counted before they entered the GothMart -- Alfred was there too, and suddenly Bruce became number 0. He was there to help Alfred because herding the kids was a massive job.

Dick was back for the weekend to spend time with his “babies” and refused to stay at home, because he wanted to sneak in his grocery list (gummy bears and cereals) into Bruce’s list so he could bring it back to Bludhaven and not spend a dime on it.  

Jason was there because Alfred asked him for help--he was the only one out of the brood with cooking talent and generally all responsible in the kitchen, i.e. Alfred could trust Jason to use his kitchen without blowing it up (shoutout to Tim and Duke who blew the kitchen for the fifth time this year).

Barbara stayed at home, watching over their base, but she was ready with her surveillance just in case they lost one of the broods.

Tim was half dragged, because he had spent the last 30 hours awake doing Bruce-knew-what, and only agreed to be dragged with the promise of sweet, abominable GothMart coffee with pink glitter (a cheap imitation of Starbucks, really) because Tim was fabulous especially after thirty hours of no sleep. And the surprisingly awesome coffee was a dollar--what kind of frugal millionaire didn’t appreciate a dollar of drinkable coffee?

Steph was the one who dragged Tim, with the help of Cass who just returned from Hong Kong for the weekend. Steph wanted to buy some new bras for Cass, something cool and sexy she could enjoy immensely. Bruce was not privy in this knowledge.

Damian was there to ensure his embarrassment of siblings didn’t kill themselves or humiliate the family. Wayne was his legacy afterall, and all of them reflected on his legacy, whether he liked it or not. Duke, the only one whom he could tolerate outside Cassandra (Grayson was mother) just poked his cheek and grinned. Duke might be tolerable, but it didn’t mean Damian didn’t want to stab him sometimes (Drake, on the other hand, looked like a nice pincushion to stab his sword into).

They counted 0 to 8 before they entered, orchestrated by Alfred.  

When they were ready for the checkout, 4, 5, and 6 were missing. Bruce finally found them at the children section, where Tim was busy defending his virginity from a Superboy Plushie, while Steph convulsed with laughter on the floor and Cass video-ed the entire thing.

Bruce refused to buy the cereals (Dick) / sexy lingerie (nope, nope, nope) / kitchen knife collection in black (Damian, as they didn’t need another stabby collection). But Bruce ended up buying the superboy plushie because it had been tainted (the store manager glared at him the whole check out time). At least Tim looked ashamed enough when he was handed the superboy plushie.

2.

The gala was in full swing, full of important people and not-so important moochies. Bruce was entertaining a group of usual donors (important and fun people!) while he saw Tim seriously discussing the stock exchange trends with several old, serious men. Dick was charming the usual group of ladies and young men, while Cass seemed to be hiding behind the potted plan.

Then, just like usual in Gotham, the lights went off. The room suddenly became dark and people started to scream.

“KID COUNT!” Bruce shouted. “Zero,” he added because of habit.

“One!” “Three!” “Four!” “Five and Six!” “Seven.” “Eight” “Nine.”

Wait, did he bring Harper with him? Harper was allergic to this kind of gala--and that was why he never fully adopted her into his Wayne name.

Oh well. The more number he got, the better.

Justice Lady love who?

[shireness-says]

skating in circles (with no way to stop)

Summary: Anne Elliot likes her life just the way it is. The last thing she needs is her handsome, charming, professional hockey player ex... something to show up during lockdown and prove just how wrong she is about that. ~7.9K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: For @welllpthisishappening, who is going a little stir-crazy during the NHL break. Also because it is absolutely her fault I ever thought “What would a hockey-flavored Persuasion AU look like?” 

Special thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta skills. Any mistakes, hockey-type or otherwise, are absolutely my own. 

Tagging the potentially interested parties: @profdanglaisstuff, @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, @thejollyroger-writer, @snowbellewells. 

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Social distancing almost doesn’t seem so bad in weather like this, the snow outside Anne’s window falling in huge flakes more furiously each second. Weather like this is designed for staying inside, curled up in an armchair with a cup of tea and a soft knitted afghan. It’s almost enough to soothe the little voice in her head that chides her for not working; there’s genuinely little for Anne to do from home as a school nurse, beyond writing and filing the reports she usually puts off until the end of the year, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling guilty at not doing more. Even if she isn’t expected to. Even if she is actually supposed to bunker down. 

It’s been odd, adjusting to a life of jigsaw puzzles and overly involved embroidery projects and all the books she swore she’d read two years ago and never did. Hell, she’s even taken up online archiving projects after an old friend from school sent her a link, just for something to do. Her social life hasn’t particularly suffered; she’s a transplant to this town, anyways, drawn back by the memories of one beautiful, peaceful year, only really meeting with folks from work or her old roommate, and infrequently at that. Every few days, she’ll go through the motions of calling her sister Mary just so the younger woman can chatter away about all her own complaints; truthfully, that’s all the socializing she can handle. Anne has always kept to herself, and usually even likes it; the only difference now is that it’s by governor’s decree, not by her own introverted preferences. 

Way out here, it’s not surprising that the power eventually goes out; it’s not uncommon, when the snow gets too heavy on the power lines in heavy storms like this. This is exactly why she has a generator - it’s all but a necessity when you’re living here year-round. Sure enough, the generator roars to life a moment later - an auditory nuisance, for sure, but a necessary one when you like such things as central electric heating and wifi and refrigerated items not spoiling. 

The crunch of snow under tires outside her little cottage is more surprising, however,  especially under the circumstances. She hasn’t ordered takeout, or grocery delivery; there’s no reason anyone should be pulling up to her house, especially in this weather. Peeking out the window reveals the kind of SUV only people with money buy, and the last person in the world she ever expected to see climbing out of it; she’d almost think it a hallucination brought on by isolation, if she hadn’t already seen him from a distance at the grocery store, earlier in the week. 

Anne barely has a chance to pull herself together before the knock at the door sounds, bouncing off the walls of her little house. Opening the door reveals Frederick Wentworth, the dream she put away nigh on nine years ago, standing on her stoop in a ridiculous hat and a peacoat that’s not remotely suited to the practicalities of winter in rural New Hampshire. 

“Believe me, I hate this just as much, if not more, than you do,” he begins, plowing forward before Anne can even remember to reassure him that it’s not true, “but my power’s out, and I need your help.”

As it turns out, Frederick - her handsome, charming, professional hockey player ex… something - is all that’s required to upset any equilibrium the snow might have brought. 

———

Frederick Wentworth hadn’t intended to return to Kellynch, New Hampshire. Then again, he hadn’t intended to be sitting out indefinitely with the rest of the league because of the current pandemic.

New York just feels odd like this, the tourists all gone, the streets practically empty. Fred has never credited himself as one of those maniacs who claim that New York is the only city in the world, and there’s nothing like it; he’d been happy in a small town, and he’ll be happy in a different city if the worst happens and he ends up traded. That’s the way these things work. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t formed opinions over the last years about how this city is supposed to feel, and it sure as hell ain’t this. 

So he gets in his car, arranges for a rental house, and drives up to Kellynch. If nothing else, he hopes it will be easier to look outside in a place he’d expect to see barely a soul even under the best conditions. Nothing ever happens in Kellynch, after all; maybe that will include the virus too.

(Well, that’s a lie. Exactly two things have ever happened to Kellynch, and he’s one of them. The other… if they’re very, very lucky, they’ll never have to deal with egotistical directors and their ilk again. Even pretty, quiet brunettes aren’t worth that trouble; in fact, sometimes, they make things worse.)

The irony to all this is that usually, Frederick craves a little bit of solitude. He spends essentially his entire life around the same group of guys, at practice and in games and especially on the road, when he’s got to share a hotel room to boot. Hell, he even lived with them for years, sharing an apartment with Harville and Benwick. A man can be forgiven for wanting some time to himself.

And he’d gotten it, at least for a while. Harvey had met his now-wife and moved out, and now Benwick’s got a girlfriend who giggles and his own place to giggle with her in or whatever. Fred can finally come home and just collapse in the closest thing to silence one ever gets in New York, and truthfully, he’s been enjoying every moment of it.

There’s a difference, though, in solitude on your own terms and solitude on others’ terms, and Frederick can’t help but feel lonely as he remembers that in the middle of all this, his friends and teammates are cozied up with those they love, and he’s all by himself in the empty apartment he once yearned for. In Kellynch, at least, it’s a solitude of his own making; his parents are long gone, Sophie out in Virginia with her husband, and for the most part, he hasn’t talked to his old school friends in years. There won’t be this constant awareness of all the people he can’t see if there’s no one about that he’d want to. 

Maybe he ought to try dating again, he thinks as he drives. Obviously, there’s nothing to be done in the moment, what with social distancing and impending stay-at-home orders, but maybe later. Maybe Harvey’s wife has friends he’d like - he’s always liked Amelia and her steady personality and good-natured humor, so unlike Benwick’s high-maintenance Louisa and her ear-piercing squeals. Her friends have got to be similar, and Amelia would probably even be kind enough not to make him sound completely desperate. 

It’s not that he hasn’t found anyone interested in the past years; he’s got a decent face, after all, and a better paycheck. But the thing about that face and that paycheck is that it’s hard to trust that any woman is interested in him, him alone, the person he is without all that. It’s not a great way to live, but it’s hard to move past. 

There’s also the matter of the pretty quiet brunette who came to Kellynch when he was 16, seized his heart, and never really gave it back. Walter Eliot may have been an asshole - every cliche of the self-absorbed Hollywood director, convinced that their town was “quaint” and “just what he needed” to spark inspiration while demanding kowtowing and wrecking havoc wherever he went - but his daughter, Anne, had been of a different mold altogether. He’d met her at the annual Fourth of July parade, of all places. It was obvious she hadn’t intended to be noticed; indeed, she’d blushed and done her best to fade into the background while her father and older sister had made some kind of scene that Frederick can’t honestly remember anymore. He’d been too intrigued - and later, enchanted - by Anne to pay much attention to the rest of the fiasco she’d called a family. 

She’d probably felt then the same as he feels about people now - some strange boy coming up to her out of nowhere with mini-donuts, someone she’s never met but undoubtedly knows her and her family, stuck wondering if he was interested in her or all the rest of it. But it had always been her; she’d initially been fascinating just in the contrast, but as he’d talked to her Fred had gotten to see her sense of humor and her brilliant mind and caring heart, and been smitten with the whole package. 

That was, until she’d ended things between them, insisting that they’d never work across such a long distance, that she didn’t want to try. Maybe they’d only had 8 months, but he’d been all in, with all the conviction of youth that this was it for them, in some kind star-crossed true love way. She was the first thing, besides his family, that he’d loved more than hockey; truthfully, he still hasn’t found anything or anyone else to match that. It’s hard to move on from that kind of heartbreak. Maybe it’s finally time he tried. 

The house he’s rented proves to be up a winding, hilly road lined with pine trees stretching in every direction. The seclusion is its own kind of calming - exactly what he needs, when the rest of the world feels like it’s going to hell in a handbasket. There’s something about  being alone amongst the trees that feels comforting in a way that being alone in the city can never touch - almost like a hug. Or something else less weird-sounding. English was never his thing. The house itself is just a little two-bedroom cottage, but that’s more than enough space for just him. What’s more important is that there’s a TV and WiFi and plenty of blankets to bunker down with for however long this lasts. 

What he doesn’t expect is to see Anne Eliot - the same Anne Eliot who he thought had left Kellynch for good, who’d broken his heart - at the supermarket like any other local, presumably looking to stock up on supplies just like he is. He doesn’t think she spots him - Frederick ducks into another aisle as soon as he spots her - but just the briefest sight of her sets his heart beating faster in a way that he doesn’t really want to examine closer. 

(It would be ridiculous to still have feelings for her after all this time, even if that’s sure what it seems like.)

He tells himself that it’s just a fluke; that they won’t run into each other again; that they can avoid each other without any problems, given the situation. He is wrong on all counts. The cottage sits at the top of a hill, and on days where the fog hasn’t settled around the tops of the trees, he can see just a peek of a few houses and driveways down below. 

And just who should he happen to see wrestling with her trash bin one evening, but the woman herself?

(Some higher power really has it in for him, he’s certain of it.)

Still, they don’t call it social distancing for nothing. It’s easy to avoid the people you don’t want to see when you don’t even leave your house. He naps a lot and catches up on Netflix and even attempts a puzzle that he finds in the hall closet (though it just winds up abandoned on the dining table). 

In eight years, though, he’d forgotten about the weather up here. It’s late March, technically spring; the worst of the snow should be over. Should be over isn’t the same as is over, though, and he’d forgotten about the late-March snowstorms that pop up more years than not. They’d had them in Minnesota, too; the locals there had always joked it was because of the college basketball tournament. Well, the NCAA tournament may have been cancelled, but the weather sure didn’t get that memo, as the flakes start falling huge, heavy, and fast just outside the windows, almost pretty in a way that’s only possible when you know you don’t have to go outside in the storm. 

Fate has other ideas, though. At least, Frederick has to believe it’s fate, otherwise this is all a cruel, cruel trick, and he doesn’t like to think about what he might have done to deserve that. Where he’s going with this is that the power goes out, knocking out the heat and the lights, as well as all those systems he’d been so thankful for until now. There’s a fireplace, but he hadn’t planned for this, and there’s not enough logs and he doesn’t know where or how to chop more and as much of his life as he spends at an ice rink he is not prepared to spend the night in these kind of temperatures without heat and —

— and when he looks out his window, he can just see a hint of light from Anne’s house, just hear the hum of a generator.

And he really doesn’t have any option at all but to throw himself on the mercy of the last woman he wants to see. 

———

Anne’s house is neat, from what Frederick can see - small, but cozy, with everything obviously in its very particular place. It reminds him of her, in a way, or at least the her he remembers - quietly comforting and well turned out. It’s exactly what he expected, somehow - just the kind of house he’d expect her to inhabit.

The woman herself, on the other hand, looks tired - vastly different than what he remembered. Anne is worn down, somehow, in a way that makes her look older than she is. Frederick supposes that’s what happens when she’s undoubtedly been carrying her family members in the way she always has; it would exhaust anyone, especially under pandemic circumstances. 

“Nice place,” he comments as Anne leads him towards a promised spare bedroom once he’s retrieved his bag - more out of an effort to fill the empty space than anything. Anne was always quiet, but this is just unnerving in its discomfort. They’d always been able to talk, or at least exist contentedly in the quiet; this is the opposite of all that. 

“Thanks,” she replies. “I like it.” Just the kind of response a person makes when they don’t know what the hell else to say. 

And maybe that’s what makes Fred dive straight into topics they should politely ignore - the absolute blandness of everything else they could say. 

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he tells her foolishly. 

“In my own home, during quarantine?” She says it with a slight smile and the tone of voice she’s always used to hide her sense of humor, and suddenly Frederick is hit with a powerful wave of nostalgia. 

“No, here. Kellynch here.”

The amusement flits away just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile turning polite and wooden. Another look he vividly remembers. “I didn’t plan to come back, either,” she tells him softly, “but I like it here. I got out of school and there was a position open and… it was too good an opportunity to pass up. I’m a school nurse,” she clarifies. “Over at the elementary.” 

And that… fits, in a way he should have realized. She’d talked about going into nursing way back when, back when they were still practically kids, but this makes a lot more sense than trying to imagine Anne in some busy hospital. More tender, more stable. 

“I bet you’re great at that.”

“Thanks. I like it. You’re… good at your job, too,” she finishes awkwardly. 

(Even if the words are halting, uncomfortable, they send a little thrill through Frederick’s veins. Does that mean she’s watched, sometime in these past couple of years? They’re decidedly out of Rangers country and New York broadcasting range, way up here, but there are ways around that and she’d said…

Had she watched? For him?)

“Just doing my best,” he replies, just as uncomfortably. What a pair they make now. 

“I don’t know if you’ve eaten already, but I was about to make up some dinner,” Anne tells him - an abrupt, but welcome, change of subject. “I’d be happy to do up another serving if you like.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” He has no idea what kind of meal he’s committed to, but who the fuck cares; right now, it’s a way to get a moment to collect himself. 

“I’ll see you in a little bit then.” 

(If he’s not mistaken, Anne flees the room with just as much relief as he feels watching her go.)

(Kellynch was supposed to be his getaway, his haven - but right now, all it seems like is a terrible mistake as Frederick wonders what the fuck kind of situation he’s gotten himself into.) 

———

Dinner isn’t exactly an illustrious start to this whole thing, to say the least. Anne stresses about every step of making spaghetti - spaghetti, for goodness sakes, jarred sauce and boxed noodles, nothing a normal person could possibly find a way to stress about - only to realize as soon as they sit down that this is what they really should have worried about: what in the world two people who have unwillingly been forced into the same space have to discuss. 

(“How’s your family?” he asks at one point - probably a subtle dig, if he’s remembering the same uncomfortable dinner that she is, in which her father had done his best to treat Frederick like an utter idiot. Fred had always thought she’d let them walk all over her, anyways - an accusation that isn’t far off.

“Mary is fine. She just got engaged to a lawyer,” Anne relates as neutrally as she can. “I don’t much talk with Walter or Elizabeth anymore.” There’s a variety of reasons for that - especially their tendency to never listen to a single word she’s ever said in her life and making snide comments about how she’d rather live in some backwoods nowhere than in someplace with civilization like LA or New York - but the memory of the way they’d treated Frederick, and everyone else not like them had contributed too. “And your sister?” That’s a safer topic; Sophie and Anne had liked each other. 

“She’s good. She lives down in Virginia now - her husband’s some big shot in the Navy.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”)

(And that had been the end of that feeble attempt at discussion.)

Anne thinks a lot that night about what she must have done to deserve this. Clearly, something terrible in some past life to have earned this particular variety of torment. Frederick is everything she remembered, only colder - not that she can blame him. After what she did, all those years ago, the way she broke them… she’s more than earned it. 

Still. She can be strong, Anne tells herself. She can remain detached, and collected, and unaffected by his presence. She’s had years of practice, after all, pretending that she still isn’t carrying a torch. 

(It was always a foolish idea to watch him play online - but then again, she’s always been a fool.)

It’s a little harder to keep up that calm facade, however, when Frederick is walking out of the bathroom in the morning with nothing more than sweatpants and wet hair. God, but he’s handsome, between that face and that wonderful smile and the fit frame he must be displaying just to taunt her, like a reminder of all she rejected. Naturally. It’s no more than she deserves. Her relief is near palpable when he emerges from the spare room in another bright blue t-shirt. 

It gets easier as the hours pass and one day bleeds into another. It’s not Frederick’s fault that she’s so shaken by his very presence, and he really is trying to be a good houseguest. He picks up after himself and helps with the dishes and doesn’t argue with whatever she puts on TV. It could be worse. 

Still, she can’t help but feel like everything from their past sits between them, unspoken, in every interaction. It’s the elephant in the room, the loudly unspoken words in every little mundane interaction they share. They can reach a point where they’re able to converse without the overt distrust and borderline hostility of where they started this, but comfort is too much to ask.

(Does he feel it too - the pressure of all the what-might-have-beens, pressing down upon them? Or is she the only one that’s haunted?)

She can do this - survive Frederick’s presence when every moment is a reminder of all she threw away. But that doesn’t mean it won’t just crush and kill her. 

———

Frederick finds that he doesn’t mind being cooped up with Anne, likes it much more than he anticipated or planned. It’s not that they do much of anything - there’s limits in a small cottage like hers - but the companionship is nice. As it turns out, he was maybe lonelier than he’d wanted to admit. Even the stupid jigsaw puzzles go easier in her company; she’s got a system of sorting that Fred never would have had the patience to implement. 

Really, Anne is better equipped, literally and emotionally, for this whole isolation situation. Frederick has always needed to be out and active and doing, little planning involved; Anne, on the other hand, has all the supplies she needs, and the temperament for these kinds of quiet, time-wasting tasks to boot. It’s so entirely in character; he should probably have guessed. Then again, he was trying very hard not to think of Anne until he was forced to show up at her door, practically begging for shelter. 

Anne, of course, has plenty of firewood, unlike him, stacked neatly under a tarp at the side of her garage where it’s protected from the elements. She lives here year-round, after all; unlike his own dumb ass, she obviously remembers that it’s not uncommon to receive snow all the way through March and into April, and planned accordingly. Her central heating works fine, obviously, but there’s something about this weather that calls for a roaring fire. Plus, retrieving the firewood gives Frederick a chance to think away from Anne and all her distraction.

He’s not sure what he expected of her - tears? Begging? Apologies? The kind of aloofness the rest of her family has so perfected? None of that is Anne; she’s always been too accepting of her circumstances, even to her own detriment. Once upon a time, Frederick had viewed that tendency with a kind of fond exasperation, had wanted to help her understand that she deserved more than she had always settled for; now it just makes him sad, and angry. She should feel more than this, should be angry or distraught or anything now that he’s here.

He should be paying more attention to the task at hand than the woman in the other room, unfortunately, as the end of a twig clipped off a log slices the skin of his palm as he deposits his load by the hearth, causing Frederick to hiss in surprise at the mild pain. It’s not a deep cut, or hurt that badly - he plays a contact sport for a living, for fuck’s sake, this is nothing - but he can already see blood starting to bead. After making sure the logs are stacked as best as he can one handed, Fred quickly crosses to the kitchen sink to rinse it out. Anne finds him moments later as he examines his hand for splinters. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, that soft voice filled with the kind of concern that sends a pang through his heart. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just scratched myself on one of the logs. No biggie.”

Still, Anne pulls his hand closer to examine the little cut herself - gently enough that he could easily pull away, but somehow, too tenderly for him to ever want to. This is her life now, Frederick realizes suddenly - scrapes and bruises and doubtless all other kinds of minor playground injuries that need more tenderness than true care. School nurse, after all. 

“I’ll get you something for that.”

“Oh, you don’t have to —” but it’s too late; Anne is already walking down the hall with her determined pace, disappearing into the bathroom. Resistance is futile, or something. Faintly, he hears the squeal of a cabinet hinge before Anne pads back into sight in her stockinged feet, carrying something he can’t quite make out clutched in her hand.

“Just a bit of neosporin,” she explains, tugging his hand back towards her to apply the cream before peeling open the wrapper of a band-aid - the skin-toned butterfly kind.

He nods towards the little adhesive. “What, no fun prints? I’m appalled.”

“Left all my princesses and superheroes back in my office at school,” she smiles back. “You’ll just have to make do, I suppose.”

“I guess I’ll make it, somehow.”

(When she smiles, the ridiculous urge to ask her to kiss it better pops into his head with an ease that nearly frightens him. With a care that would impress even her, he shoves it back down.)

———

It gets easier  to share the same space as the days drag on - to learn to expect another person in her space, to expect that other person to be him. It would be overstating the matter to say that she’s not affected by him anymore; indeed, Anne is almost painfully aware of his presence at every moment. But she can prepare to face it when she’s come to expect him, and that feels like a victory all its own. She is braced and ready, long since versed in ignoring and minimizing those feelings that still linger from so long ago. Frederick’s physical presence in her space is a complicating factor, but certainly one that she can overcome. 

If she can ignore the way her heart aches, it’s almost kind of nice, having him around. They fall into a pattern of meals and Netflix and quietly finding their own distraction in between. It’s the kind of mundane existence she could almost dream of sharing with him if she was foolish enough to entertain those thoughts.

(She can’t afford to be such a fool - not when it’s only a matter of time until the snow stops and the roads clear and he leaves once again. She likes her life as it is, and that will have to be enough.)

It’s probably inevitable that, on the fourth night, when the snow has finally let up but the temperatures have turned bitter and icy, they find themselves huddled up next to the fireplace with a strong drink apiece. Frederick sips on a glass of the nice whiskey Anne keeps in the back of a cabinet for occasions that call for a little something stronger, barely kissed with enough soda to call it a mixed drink; Anne, at least, pours the same stuff into a whole cup of tea. She’s never been much for liquor, especially straight, but there are occasions that call for it, and being cooped up with a man she never expected to see again is certainly one of them.

“What are the fucking odds?” Frederick declares after his second glass. “I come out here, trying to get away, and I find you. What are the odds.”

“Well, the last couple of years, I’d say pretty good. Since I live here and all.” He’s kind of cute like this - drunk and verbose. It’s something she never had a chance to see, before.

“Oh. Yeah. That.” He takes another swig. “Still. What are the odds that I came back while you’re here?”

“It’s a mystery, I guess.” Maybe it’s the last few days; more likely, it’s the drink. Whatever the case, Anne finds herself telling Frederick something she should never admit. “I’m glad you’re here,” she tells him softly. “I… missed you.”

He tenses up at the words; not the reaction she expected, honestly. A feeling of dread starts to bloom in her stomach instead. “Really,” he comments, utterly flat. 

“Well… yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little bit,” he tells her bluntly. “Especially since you’re the one that wanted me gone in the first place.”

“It was for the best.” For him, that is; this was never about her, anyways. 

“Was it now?” His laugh is bitter, utterly devoid of joy. 

“Frederick…”

“I just want to know what the hell is going on here,” Frederick demands, a liquored slur rounding out his consonants. “Because I’ve been here for days, and I can’t get my feet underneath me where you’re concerned. You sit there with that sad smile and you say it’s for the best and yet you don’t seem happy. And I don’t fucking get it. You’re the one who wanted to break up, but you don’t seem happy that we did.”

“I wasn’t,” Anne admits softly. “I’m not.”

“Then why? Because I’ve been trying to figure it out for nearly nine years, and all I’ve ever figured out is that you must not have felt anything. And after a week spent here, I don’t know that that’s true. So tell me, why?”

“I did it for you!” Anne finally bursts out, more a plea that a shout. “And I know that sounds like a lie and an excuse, but that’s why. We were so young, but God, I loved you. And you loved me, so much that you were about to throw away your chance at everything, ready to find some lesser school near Kellynch rather than taking Minnesota’s offer just so we’d be closer to each other. And I wanted it too - God, Frederick, you don’t know how much I wanted it, how close I was to letting you do that, because I wanted that too. I wanted you close. I loved you.

“But then… it wasn’t even some big game, but you wanted me there, so I went. And you looked alive out there on the ice, throwing insults and elbows and grinning like a maniac. I realized… that’s who you were supposed to be. I couldn’t hold you back from that, just to keep you close to me. Minnesota was your path to the kind of career that would last. How could I ask you to throw away your future?”

“Why didn’t you just say that? We could have figured something out. Done the long distance thing, I don’t know.”

“And you would have been hopelessly distracted from the start. Your mind would have been halfway across the country when you needed to be focusing on hockey and classes and everything else.”

He doesn’t have any response to that, not that Anne expected one. Frederick has never been great at admitting to things he doesn’t like.

“It was never because I didn’t care enough, because I didn’t love you,” she finishes softly. “I did it because I could see everything you could be, and I love - I loved you too much to let you waste that.” God, Anne hopes he didn’t hear that slip of the tongue, even if it’s true. “We were seventeen, Frederick. Kids. There was so much still ahead for you. I couldn’t be the reason you hindered your own dream, or even let it slip away. And you made it, didn’t you? You’ve reached that dream. No matter what I wanted for myself… I had to. For you, so you could have this.”

“I wanted you more than any dream.” Frederick has practically collapsed in on himself in the armchair, the very same one Anne was occupying when he’d showed up and shattered her quiet little world. It seems almost fitting that he sit there while she does the same. 

There’s no words for this; nothing that could make it better. Telling him I wanted that too won’t fix what’s already been done, even if she wishes that was the case, even if that’s true. “Frederick…” she finally whispers for lack of anything else to say. 

It’s too late, though - though that’s not quite the right phrase, not when it was already too late before this conversation even started, before he even showed up at her door in the snow. Now is just when he pries himself out of her armchair, standing with a finality that’s impossible to miss. “I’m tired, Anne,” he tells her. Anne doesn’t think she imagines an extra level of meaning to his words. “Goodnight.”

There’s nothing left to say - and no use saying it to an empty room anyways as she hears the spare bedroom door click shut down the hall. 

There’s no changing the past, but not enough words to explain it either.

———

The next morning, the roads are finally clear, and Frederick can go back up the road to his own cottage. Anne watches silently as Frederick emerges from the guest bedroom, his duffle bag in hand. The silence only becomes more tense as they stare at each other, the luggage a physical barrier between them, both blessed and cursed. 

“I suppose I should thank you,” Frederick finally says, breaking the silence. 

Anne shakes her head. “It was nothing. Basic kindness. You don’t need to thank me.”

(Can he see the way this pains her? Read the plea in her eyes - for forgiveness, for understanding?)

After another beat of silence, Frederick finally nods decisively, turning towards the door. “Take care, Anne.”

“You too, Frederick.” It feels final; it feels like a farewell, of a permanent kind. 

And then, with a last soft click of the door, he’s gone.

And Anne is left to herself again. 

———

He should feel peace, now that he’s back in his own space, away from Anne and every memory that she’s dredged up.

He doesn’t.

Because now, back alone in the little house at the top of the hill, Frederick once again has to face the particular kind of loneliness that comes with knowing that it doesn’t have to be this way.

What it all circles back to is this: he should feel smug. After all, this is everything he’d wished for in his most bitter moments over the years: Anne, all alone, with no real support system, just living a quiet little life of little note and, to all appearances, little true happiness. 

But it doesn’t feel good - not even remotely. How has he suffered? Sure, he hasn’t had her, but he got drafted, went to a top rate school, wound up playing hockey for a living in the NHL. By any measure, it’s a damn good life - all while Anne has been left to become the shell of herself he found four days ago. 

And that shouldn’t be his problem. Technically, you could argue that she brought this upon herself; dug a hole of her own making. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel… sad, he supposes, to see what she’s resigned herself to. Maybe a little guilty, even. 

And still, he can’t help but feel like there’s questions left unanswered. They’d talked plenty about the past, how they’d felt and why they’d acted the way they had, but that hadn’t touched on where they stand now. If there’s one thing he’s learned in these last few days, it’s that his own feelings aren’t nearly as dormant as he’s tried to convince himself all these years. If there’s any chance Anne might still feel the same… well, he owes it to them both to find out. 

This chapter of their history doesn’t seem quite finished yet, and Frederick knows exactly what he has to do. 

———

This time, she should have expected the knock on the door - social distancing be damned. 

It’s been three days since the storm’s finally stopped - three days since snowplows had cleared everything out, three days since Frederick had left, back to his own little house up the road.

She’d been content by herself for so long - happy with her plants and her books and all the little hobbies that take up her time in the evenings and weekends. Anne had even found a new kind of solitary contentment in the pandemic, discovering tasks to give her days purpose and goals. Frederick was here for a matter of days, not even a week; it’s absurd to think he could change any of that.

And yet somehow, he has.

Because Anne had been… content by herself for so long - not happy, per se, but satisfied - but the house feels empty now without him. Even when they’d barely talked, or were in separate rooms, he’d been there, the energy of another person making the whole house feel full. She’d grown used to him, she supposes; allowed herself to remember, for once, all the reasons she had loved him, and all the dreams she once had had of what a life together could have been like . 

She chose this life - here, in Kellynch, by herself. But for the first time in the only place that’s ever really been hers, she feels not just alone, but lonely. As much as she’s always claimed to like her life, just as it is, there’s no denying that the past days have illuminated all the ways that she’s been lying to herself. She tries to pass the time the same way she always has, but it’s just not the same; she even calls Mary at one point, hoping her sister’s dour moods might be an efficient distraction, but Mary is even more snippy than usual. It’s been days since Anne last called, and her sister feels an outsized outrage about the so-called abandonment; truthfully, Anne hadn’t even noticed it had been a week since her last call. Moreover, she finds that she doesn’t really care about Mary’s bad mood the way she always has, doesn’t feel the need to fix it or blame herself for the outburst. It’s easier just to hang up the phone. 

(Maybe this is the first step in moving on: accepting that you deserve more than you’ve ever settled for. That doesn’t stop the yearning; moving on isn’t the work of a couple days, especially when the man himself has only just exited her life again, and is staying just up the road.)

As if she’s summoned him, tires crunch on the drive outside, heralding his reappearance. It isn’t right, the way her heart lurches with happiness and hope and excitement when she peeks out the window to once again see his SUV, once again see him climbing out in that ridiculous blue hat and shuffle to her front door without once slipping on her icy walk. There’s a sense of déjà vu as Anne draws a deep breath before she opens the door. There’s only so many times she can go through this, be subjected to such a blast from the past, before it will eventually break her. And yet, like a fool, she keeps opening the door. 

“Can we talk?” Frederick asks. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched inwards, but there’s a look in his eyes that Anne is afraid to name. 

(It almost looks tender - almost looks like hope - but it will hurt far worse to be proved wrong if she allows herself to believe that.)

“Of course,” Anne says softly, stepping aside just enough to let him in. It touches a special little bit of her heart to see the way that Frederick carefully knocks the snow off his boots at the threshold as he pulls his hat off his head, trying his best not to track anything in to her rug and floors. It’s such a simple little thing, but it’s care for her home - and, in a way, care for her. More than she ever expected again from Frederick Wentworth. 

“Anne…” he begins, reaching out a hand for her, but she quickly takes a step back. Touch will be too much, too permanent a memory if this is the end. 

“I think we ought to keep a bit of distance,” she explains at his odd look. 

If anything, that only serves to confuse him further, his brow crinkling up in that endearing way she remembers. “We already spent days together. I think social distancing is kind of a lost cause, at least where we’re concerned.”

Anne shakes her head. “It’s not about the virus.”

She can see the moment it hits him, just exactly what she means by distance, as he physically flinches with the realization. She can also see the moment he decides to plow forwards anyways with whatever he came to say. 

“I’ve been thinking, these last couple of days,” he tells her, “and I’ve had a lot of time to consider things. Everything you said and did, the other night and way back when. And I realized… I did a lot of talking about what I wanted, and what I felt. And in the middle of all that shouting, I never asked about what you wanted, or want, or how you felt. And you never told me, because that’s what you’re used to - people not caring enough to ask. That’s on me, and I’m sorry. But —” he swallows heavily, as if he’s forcing down the nerves he evidently feels — “but I’m asking now. I want to know what our break-up meant to you. Because the more I think about it, the harder it is for me to believe you did all this because you didn’t care.”

Anne fights the urge to turn away from Frederick; he deserves that much, after everything. Meeting his eyes is too much to ask, however, and she fixes her gaze instead just over his right shoulder, crossing her arms over her body protectively. “I loved you,” she tells him quietly. “I knew what I had to do, but I loved you. I hated every word that came out of my mouth.” Anne smiles sadly. “You weren’t the only one who wanted. You were the first person - the only person to look at me and see something wonderful and worthwhile, and it killed me to throw that away. I’ve had to live with that ever since.”

“And now?”

Anne turns pleading eyes upon him, sure that every emotion is now splashed across her face and too distraught to care. How dare he do this? How dare he make her speak this into existence if he’s only about to crush it all? “Don’t make me say it,” she begs. 

“Please, Anne.” His voice is nearly as desperate - and that’s, ultimately, what breaks her, leaving the words to spill forth almost without her permission.

“And now… that doesn’t go away, you know. A love as big as that. You got to go be this success story, doubtless had all kinds of… distractions over the years, but when you have a quiet little life like mine, you don’t forget. It doesn’t go away. There’s a large part of my heart that is still yours - probably always will be - and I have to find a way to deal with that.”

“You still love me?”

Anne nods, whispering her response. “I do.”

She suddenly feels his hand trail down her arm, causing Anne to jerk abruptly to meet his eyes again. “Well that’s lucky,” he smiles down at her, achingly gentle, “because I haven’t forgotten either.”

Even as Anne’s heart lurches with hope, she shakes her head. “Don’t tease, Frederick. Don’t be that cruel.”

“I’m not,” he assures her, twining their fingers together. “Because you’re right, I’ve tried to distract myself, but… you have no idea just how unforgettable you are, Anne. How could anyone ever compare? And I tried so hard for so long to move on, to hate you, but I never could. You were a little spark in my heart that I could never quite stamp out. And now…” Frederick pauses as if to gather his breath, squeezing her hand as he does so. “And now, I hope I won’t have to.”

“You’d want that? You’d want to…” Even with new-found hope singing through her veins, Anne still hesitates to finish the sentence. This all feels like a wonderful dream; she’d hate to wake up and discover that’s all it was. 

“To try again?” he finishes. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that. The real question is… do you?”

And she does, she wants that so terribly much, so badly that it aches, even as she hesitates. How could he want that, after everything she’s done? When their separation was her fault in the first place?

“I don’t deserve you,” Anne murmurs into the miniscule space between them, caving to the urge to brush his hair back from his face. It makes him smile, just a little bit, just a twitch of his lips, but that more than anything else sends a flood of peace rushing through her soul. 

“I think we deserve each other,” Frederick tells her in return, his voice almost unbearably soft. “I believe that, and somehow, I’m going to make you believe that too. We deserve this, Annie.”

And he kisses her, like he wants to, like he’s thought about it just as much as she has. His lips are soft against hers - just like she remembers, all those years ago - but there’s a surety to his hands now that wasn’t there before, in the way he pulls at her waist to bring her closer and his fingers thread through her hair with purpose. There’d been a handful of ill-advised attempts at dating in the past eight years, but nothing ever came close to this joyful swooping sensation in her stomach or the feelings of safety and love and home. That’s something only he can manage; something that only exists between the two of them. 

Her hands find their way to his chest as the kiss deepens, becomes more passionate, heads adjusting their position to allow tongues to tentatively begin to prod and search. Anne had known the difference 8 years had made on Frederick’s body, had seen with her own two eyes the way he’d filled out with more muscle, but feeling it is something else altogether, even through his shirt where his coat gaps open. It’s a reminder that they’re not the same - they’re older and more mature and have experienced different things than they had at 17. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes, change can be good; it’s brought them here, together, at what otherwise feels like the end of the world. 

Even as they break apart - to get a breath of air, to process what just happened - Frederick continues to stroke his thumb across the round of her cheek, like he can’t bear to stop touching her. It warms her heart in a whole new way, like it’s proof that he meant every word he told her - as if she needs any more after that kiss. It would be easy to let herself get swept away on that little touch, perhaps into another wonderful kiss, but Anne forces herself to meet his eyes. 

“Stay.” It’s more than a question, but less than a demand - a plea, the dearest wish of her heart that she’s never admitted, now given voice. 

“For as long as you want me, Annie.” His voice is tender and husky as he smiles down at her. “Because I really don’t want to ever leave you again.”

And that’s awfully lucky, as Anne doesn’t ever intend to let him go again. 

[lindendragon]

Another Subcon au idea, I just love them ok.

Going off the popular headcanon that Snatcher only started stealing souls because he had to to counter Vanessa and keep her from freezing everything, which, along with his initial trauma, caused him to go mad. What if Vanessa, after her whole flash-freeze of Subcon, just chilled (ha) and left Subcon alone to sulk in her manor? The Prince/Snatcher doesn't need to steal souls because of that. So, none of that, but the Prince still finds out about his new soul-snatching abilities either by going a little feral on some poor lost sap's warm soul the first time he sees someone who isn't dead, similar to fedoraspooky's headcanons, or he accidentally snatches and eats the soul of someone who wants to kill him because he's a "monster", another thing I took from a fic. He, of course, feels bad for his first murder, and vows never to do it again, until… well, you'll see soon enough. The occasional animal soul is enough to keep him going. As tempting as it is to make himself more powerful, what he has now is enough to take care of his subjects as long as Vanessa doesn't come out, which she, judging by everything, probably won't, so it's fine.

So this au is basically Snatcher if he had morals and wasn't evil.

He still has the same trauma and other emotional issues people generaly headcanon him with, more specifically Doodledrawstings' and Fedoraspooky's and other's headcanons. In short, he still builds up walls, doesn't ever want to be vulnerable or get attached to anyone ever again. He hates who he used to be and blames himself for not seeing the red flags of his and Vanessa's relationship. He does not want to be reminded of the past in any way. Moonjumper like the one from Doodledrawsthings' au exists and Snatcher, despite being a better and more mentally stable person in this au, still hates him for being a reminder of his past self and drives him away. He's basically just hiding behind his smile and morbid jokes all the time while dying on the inside. Depending on his mood, he is either the easily irritable grouch we see in canon or a complete jokester.

Now to the specifics

There's still people coming to the forest and potentially going to the manor and getting killed by Vanessa, not to mention they disrupt the peace here, so Snatcher decides to scare them off.

At first it's just the classic "I am a scary ghost, get out of my forest", but after a while he decides to have some fun with it.

When he's feeling up for it, he and his minions prank and mess with the trespassers.

Occasionally, he'll give out contracts for small chores before letting the contactor go, but only to trespassers he really doesn't like, like those that are deliberately trying to harm his forest.

Sometimes he will act like the Beta version of Snatcher and steal a few pons here and there, never much. He then uses that money to buy himself or his minions something (he shapeshifts and wears a disguise on the rare occasions he goes outside the forest).

His favorite thing to do to a trespasser is to make minor special effects with his powers while chanting ominously about their sins. Scares the crap out of people and sends them running every time. Sometimes people even crack and admit things they have done and beg for mercy. If that happens, Snatcher will usually call them out on it and send them away with the threat that he will know if they don't make up for their mistakes because he knows all (he doesn't). So suffice to say, some people have been straightened out by the experience. But it's not all fun and games. Sometimes the things people have admitted to are, to avoid specification, simply heinous. At that point, Snatcher decides "Screw it, I'm finishing them off and eating their soul." People this bad, or at least, those that admit to it, rarely appear, but it happens, and Snatcher feels that the world is better off without them. At least that's a somewhat humane way of procuring souls.

On a lighter note, sometimes he just chants ominously about tax evasion or something, and sometimes the prospect of it, and not just the spookyness, genuinely scares the Mafia goons.

Honestly the Mafia goons are the most common targets of his more silly pranks

One day someone dropped their phone while they were running away, and after messing around with it for a bit Snatcher finds out how it works. There were memes on that phone and he also manages to get on the internet and it all goes downhill from here.

Mafia goon, to others: Let's face it, Mafia is stranded-

Mafia goons: Look, blueberries!

Snatcher, in a vaguely humanoid but noodly form, shaking the branch while standing on it: Oh my god, my berries.

Mafia goons:*terrified screaming*

Snatcher:*exaggerated giggling*

Some guy, filming himself while walking through the forest: Hey guys we're going through this forest that is supposedly haunted. Apparently some girl died here when she was like nine or something.

Snatcher, in the shape of a little girl: I'm eleven so shut the peck up.

Snatcher, popping out of the bushes: Vsauce, Michael here. How fast can you run?

Someone, walking through the forest, but then they hear, in the distance "hee hee", every once in a while it repeats, coming closer and closer, I mean it, just this jerk, going "hee hee" in Michael Jackson's voice

The stolen mail delivery service is still going strong in this au

When Hat Kid arrives he does the classic "scary ghost" thing this time, but more child-friendly, cause he still doesn't want to severely traumatize kids, so he's a little gentler with them. Hat Kid is not as scared as Snatcher thinks she should be and she won't leave. Snatcher has to physically throw her out of the forest, but every time she goes back and insists on getting her Time pieces back. It's when she says that she detects a Time piece in the direction of Vanessa's manor that he finally snaps

Snatcher then iniciates a boss fight where he pretends that he is going to kill her, hoping that will scare her off.

Hat Kid, of course, beats him and makes him allow her to get the Time pieces. Snatcher is still reluctant, but after what she pulled off, he has hope that she will survive Vanessa (on the outside he still acts like he doesn't care about her safety though).

After Hat Kid gets all her Time pieces, Snatcher approaches her with the "Get out" contact, which Hat Kid promptly scribbles on like in canon and tries to get Snatcher to be her BFF. Since in this au, Snatcher has no leverage over her in the form of her soul or her Time pieces, he allows her to visit the forest as long as she signs a contract to never go near the manor again, which Hat Kid signs right away this time, because darn, that lady is scary.

Hat Kid visits a few more times, and Snatcher finds himself getting attached.

Wow, he kept a somewhat professional relationship with his minions for 300 years (sure, he fixes their plush bodies and messes with trespassers together with them and gives them mail and buys them little gifts, but that was more like how a king treats his subjects, or so he tells himself) and then this kid comes along and throws it out the window.

Of course he is in denial for a while, can't let himself be vulnerable, can't indulge in this, that opportunity was gone the moment he died, he is a scary ghost

Nah he's dad now

Snatcher goes from being forest cryptid to still being forest cryptid but with 200 adoptive ghost children and one alive alien child, two if bow exists, whatever your headcanon is.

Btw if you wanna ask me about my au's, you can do so, but I probably won't answer till july when exams are over idk.

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 2: Sneaky Like a Cat

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas. Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself. While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.  

Word count: 2466

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the invaluable pandabearer

Remi entered a familiar code into the comm screen and sprawled out on the large cushions scattered around the main floor of his aerie.  Waiting for the call to connect, he cracked a longneck and took a swig.  Stomach rumbling, he wished he’d at least gotten a cupcake before scaring the piss out of the little baker.

He knew she didn’t intend any harm to the pack.  But sometimes what happened wasn’t what one intended, as he knew very well.  Just like he hadn’t intended to throw out that ultimatum. He’d wanted to get a sense of her and make the offer.  Then she’d turned him down and it was like his brain had switched off and his alpha hindbrain had taken over.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been turned down since he started building RainFire; it was, however, the first time a lone submissive female had said no.  Generally, ones like her didn’t go roaming for as long as she had. The feeling that something was amiss with her hadn’t left him, like an itch that he just couldn’t scratch.

“I’m flattered I’m your drunk dial,” Lucas Hunter said dryly, “but I have a mate.”

“I’d’ve to be drinkin’ bad hooch to be drunk dialin’ your laide tchew,” he snorted.  “And I’d hope it’d make me blind.”

Hunter snorted, then reached down out of view of the screen and picked up a little, black cub by the scruff of her neck.  Naya purred loudly enough that Remi could hear it and butted her forehead against Lucas’ face, even though her body continued to dangle limply in his grasp.

“You know better than that,” her father frowned at her, unfazed by the cute affection, and tapped her nose.  The responding mewl was adorable enough to pierce even the most jaded heart. “No, you can’t have a cookie, but you can say hi to Remi.”  He pointed to the screen and set her on his lap. A fluffy black tail rose high and curled at the end in greeting.

“Quoi se fais du mal, possede?”  His cat stopped its irritated pacing and chuffed in amusement at the pair of bright green eyes that now took up most of the screen as she leaned in to greet him.

“She’s been using my chair as a scratching post.”  Remi coughed to cover a laugh at the other man’s deadpan expression that barely hid his amusement.  At the recount of her misdeed, she flopped onto her back and put one paw over an eye as if to say “oops.”  Hunter had answered in his office at DarkRiver HQ. If he’d been at home, which had cushions instead of traditional furniture much like Remi’s own, his daughter would have sharpened her claws on a tree instead.  “Can you make it quick? I have a meeting in ten.”

Remi laid out the situation to Lucas, who listened without interruption.

“She says she didn’t know ‘bout the expansion.”  He spread his hands wide.

“You posted to Packnet?”  Hunter referred to the network utilized by Changelings all across the world.  Even loners used it, primarily to keep track of claimed territory to avoid accidentally trespassing.  A mistake meant death for a predatory Changeling.

“’Course I did,” Remi snapped in frustration.  Lucas let that one slide. “Damnedest thing is she says she’s never heard of it!”  He ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Bullshit,” he snorted, then darted a glance at Naya, who’d climbed up to drape herself across his shoulders.  “You just don’t like your options.”

“Could you run a submissive off your lands?” he snarled.  Lucas gave a low warning growl to remind him that they were both alphas; his cub stopped kneading his shoulders and her ears swivelled forward, looking for the threat.  Remi had to rein his cat in before they got into a pissing match; it had been on edge since he stepped into the bakery. The animal, too, was disturbed with the mystery that was Lorelei Cain Maddox.

“Buy her land, her mortgage, and any other debt out from under her if she doesn’t play ball.  It doesn’t have to come to combat.” A ruthless solution from an alpha who was as accustomed to fighting in the boardroom as he was with teeth and claws.  The merciless alpha stroked his daughter’s back, lulling her back to her sleepy state. He looked like a damn villain when he did that in that chair.

“Mais.”  Blowing out a breath, he took another drink to give himself time to consider the suggestion.  He shouldn’t have made the offer at all if she made his hackles rise, not until he figured out why.  Now he had to deal with the fallout and any leverage would serve to protect the pack, even if he didn’t use it to force her hand.  “Might have to. She looked like she’d rather chew an arm off than listen to me.”

“I can’t blame her if you were your usual charming self.”  Remi flipped him the bird, but there was no heat in his accompanying glare.  Lucas huffed in laughter. “You can’t help those who don’t want to be helped, you need to focus on your own.  If she won’t play ball with you, she might with your enemies.”

“Ca me rapelle, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.  I’m forwarding you something.” He set his bottle down and fired off the email as he spoke.  “Several folks in town reported receiving this.”

“’Trinity’s Goal is Human Genocide’,” Lucas read the subject line with a snort.  “’We won’t be replaced, trying to take power, subjugate the human race…’ Yeah, we had something like this awhile back, so did StoneWater.  Do you know where it came from?”

“We got someone working to trace it.  I was wonderin’ if your people have time to look at it, might be tied to the one you mentioned.”  The older pack had resources that RainFire simply didn’t have yet and he wasn’t above asking for help to keep his pack safe.

“It might be the same group, but extremists tend to use the same catchphrases; it’s like they just swap out the nouns.  I recommend keeping your sentinels on alert.” Remi nodded. He’d already briefed those that hadn’t brought the situation to his attention, but if this was a larger threat then they needed to know that, too.

“We’ve got some friends in the city, I’ll ask them to keep their ears to the ground.”

“This might be an individual, but if it’s a cell working to sway public opinion your friends will probably hear of it first.  I’ll have my team see what they can find.” Lucas’ eyes narrowed, but that didn’t hide the teasing glint in his green eyes that looked so much like his cat’s.  “You know, the mentorship was only meant to last the first year.” While that year had passed nearly nine months ago, the two of them had kept in regular contact.

“You don’t have to answer my calls,” he shrugged and tucked a hand behind his head.  “I could always ring up Hawke. Say, you got his number?”  Hunter scowled at the mention of the SnowDancer alpha.

“Are you so hard up you’d ask a wolf for help?”

“I’m asking my Trinity representative for help with somethin’ that might be a bigger problem, but if you’re too busy…”

“Naya, say ‘adieu’ to Oncle Couillon .”  She waved her tail back and forth.

“Bye-bye, cher.”  Remi blew the cub a kiss.  “Donne la belle Sascha un bec pour moi.”  Before hanging up, Lucas gave him one last scowl for telling him to kiss his mate for the other alpha.

He pulled out his organizer and began to plot.  She might be stubborn, but he had an entire pack behind him and he wasn't afraid to use it.

At the sound of the front door opening, Lorel set down the cranberry coloured frosting she was piping onto rows of cupcakes.  She wiped her hands off on a damp white washcloth that was already smeared pink and red with previous uses.

Stopping in the archway that led to the front, she stifled a groan.  The customer who’d entered with her daughter was a changeling: a leopard, to be specific, and one of many who'd managed to wander into her shop over the past week.  Even if she didn’t have a note in her scent that matched an element of Denier’s, she obviously had to be a member of RainFire.  It seemed like she'd already met half the freaking pack, and, in the southern custom that she was rapidly coming to learn, a quick chat was at least half an hour long.

She could hardly refuse to serve the woman; not only was it illegal, but it would be hypocritical.  Besides, changelings were extremely loyal and prolific customers at their favourite restaurants due to their higher caloric requirements.  And not to mention it was probably unhealthy for her if she pissed off RainFire.

Somehow, she was sure the asshole was behind the parade of leopards in her bakery, even if she had no way of proving the suspicion.  She had seen some underhanded tactics in her time, but this latest was the lowest of the low.  Standing up straight, she braced herself.

A little girl in a lavender tutu dress toddled up to the display case like she’d found Nirvana.  Her dark hair was tied up in loose buns that bobbled with every step of her purple, glitter rainboots.  It was impossible not to smile at the sheer joy that lit up her face, which was marked with what looked like slashes from a set of claws, yet they lacked the pigmentation and texture of scars.  They appeared to be birthmarks, albeit pale instead of dark.

“Cookie, pease?”

Seriously, those big, guileless eyes should be registered as lethal weapons.

“What kind would you like?” Lorel asked after glancing at the adult with her to make sure it was ok.

“Dat one!”  A tiny finger pressed to the plas-glas pointed to a set of sugar cookies shaped and frosted to look like various types of leaves: green fading to brown, yellow to red, and whatever other combination had occurred to her at the time.  Lorel picked one of her favourites: a maple leaf with yellow at its centre, surrounded by orange, and turning to red at the edges. For the veins, she’d drawn a knife through the frosting to create lines of colour that bled outward through the gradations.

“Make it a dozen, please, and a dozen each of the caramel apples, the maple pecan cupcakes, and, ooh, pumpkin cheesecake snickerdoodles,” the woman said, her eyes lighting up with the last order.

She nearly did a double-take.  That was her entire stock of each of those items and over half of her seasonal items.  Not that she was about to complain. She wrapped the maple leaf in a napkin and handed it to the girl, experience telling her that it wouldn’t last enough to warrant packaging.

“Thank you!” she chirped and rose on her tiptoes to take the leaf.  The cookie was bigger than both of her hands. Settling back on her heels, she took a bite and exclaimed in delight, eyes going impossibly wide.  Lorel struggled to breathe past the ache in her chest.

Avoiding eye contact with both of them, she quickly boxed up the goodies.  The sooner she got them out of there, the sooner she could breathe easy again.  It didn’t help that her cat was currently clawing at her with a fierce need to play with the cub.   Kid , she mentally reprimanded herself.

“Is something wrong?”  Lorel stared at the other woman for a heartbeat before she realized she’d been shaking her head while silently rebuking herself.

“Oh no.”  She donned a smile like well-worn armour.  “Just talking to myself. Thinking about how many to bake tomorrow, you know?”

The customer nodded and hummed in agreement, but something in her eyes said she wasn’t buying it.  

“It must be hard to move to a town where you don’t know much of anyone and take over your aunt’s business.”

Lorel’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t trust sympathy from a cat, not even one with a child that appeared to be loved and treasured.

“Small towns, everybody knows everybody.”  The other woman shrugged off the suspicion cast her way.  “By the way, I’m Tien and this is JoJo.” JoJo was currently spinning in the sun streaming through the window and watching her skirt flare out.  The glitter in her boots flashed brilliantly in the light. With each bite of her cookie, she hummed a happy little tune.

The pang in her chest was back.

“Lorel,” she flashed her customer service smile, the small one when she wasn’t really feeling like smiling.  Luckily, she was ringing up the sale and therefore had an excuse to avoid anything more than briefly flicking her eyes at Tien.  Then she gave the total and they went through the ritual of the transaction.

“Here’s my number.”  Tien jotted down the code on a slip of paper she’d found in her purse.  “Let me know if you ever want to talk or if you ever want to… I’d say go for coffee, but,” she broke off with a laugh and gestured at the espresso machine.  “Do lunch or something.”

She couldn’t decline without being rude, and being rude in a small southern town would spell disaster for her business.  And the other woman’s smile was so broad and genuine that she smiled back despite herself.

“Thank you.”  Lorel took the scrap and slipped it into her apron; today it was yellow and edged at the bottom with lace.  The lavender flowers on it matched the full-skirted dress she wore.

“Come on, kidlet.”  Tien herded the girl towards the exit.

“Bye!”  JoJo waved and skipped out the door, offering a bite of her cookie to her mom, who accepted with an “mmm!”

Lorel sank back against the counter and thrust her hands into her pockets, idly fingering the contact number.  How could they be so happy and obviously well-adjusted in a pack with an autocratic asshole like Denier? Although, was there really any other kind of alpha?  In her admittedly limited experience, the answer was no.

And yet neither of them had, had the hollow, guarded eyes that were the result of abuse from those in power.  While the rest of the pack seemed friendly enough, no doubt the carrot to Denier’s stick, it wasn’t something she was used to.

She crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the recycler.

No matter how honest she appeared to be, Tien was still Denier’s pawn.

Notes:   Remi isn’t canonically Cajun, it’s left ambiguous (“with a name like that sounds like he should be hunting gators in a swamp somewhere”).  But I like the idea that he can play the dumb swamprat, or the suave southern gentleman, or a shark in the boardroom because he learned how to dominate whatever room he was in and that he had to learn to blend in (*foreshadowing of my personal HC’s).

I'm a bit of a language nerd. The evolution of Louisiana French is interesting because it basically takes Acadian French and drifts it, then splices in some Choctaw.  And it appears to share some quirks and sentence structure with French Creoles. I'm not sure if that's due to sharing a "parent" language (I don't know enough to say) or due to cultural exchange in the region.

The Cajun French in this chapter comes from published dictionaries and articles written by native speakers, then cross-referenced (or simply plugged into google to see if similar results pop up). Then if I need to conjugate something or figure out grammar, I'll run it by my spouse who speaks Quebecois (which evolved from Acadian, too), but isn’t French Canadian.  So if it’s atrocious, my apologies and please let me know.

Laide tchew - ugly ass

Quoi se fais du mal - what trouble have you been getting into?

Possede - literally possessed one, a term for a mischievous child

Mais - Literally French for “but.” According to kenwheatonwrites.com it “means “well then,” and is used to delight, shock, exasperation — any number of things. It’s almost like “dude” or “fuck” in its ability to morph into anything depending on situation, tone, delivery and other factors.”

Ca me rapelle - That reminds me

Oncle - uncle

Couillon - idiot, imbecile, funny person. In standard French, it means dickhead or bastard. I like to think that Lucas knows standard French, which helps him to understand Remi when he's slipping into his native patois. ;)

Donne la belle Sascha un bec pour moi - give the lovely Sascha a kiss for me

Fun fact: "bec" can mean "kiss" and "beak." So I'll tell my pet birds "bec la bec!" I'm easily entertained, what can I say?

[engineeredfiction]

Solace Among the Stars Ch. 2 “Manifest Destiny

Rating: PG-13

What: Crossover fanfiction comprising of themes and elements from: The Expanse, Blade Runner, Prospect(2018)

Characters: All original characters except for Ezra and Murtry. OC are based on actors I like such as Tobias Menzies (Greer) and Adele Haenel (Allard).

Plot: A group of banned Earthers attempt to improve their life beyond their home system, but come up against a powerful enemy.

Mood board is here. You can also check out the ‘sol mood’ tag

And if you would like to listen to music to put you in the mood then check out the playlist. I’ll be adding to it as time goes on.

Special thanks: @tom-riddleston-me and @yourpalmoony for being beta readers! I appreciate the time and effort!

NOTE: The format is a bit off, I will fix that later, I just don’t have the patience now. But if anyone knows how I can preserve formatting from google docs to a tumblr post please let me know!

More Notes: We finally meet Ezra! Well he’s awake and talking in this one.

Chapter 1 ‘The Stranger’

The lift sped up to the ninth level of Arcadia carrying Greer and his mysterious escort. A metallic ding signalled their stop, and the lift doors opened to a sprawling view of two nearby moons through floor-to-ceiling windows. The moon Helada, ammonia ice streaked the blue rock, and in the distance was Bosque, or colloquially known as ‘The Green’, due to its poisonous green atmosphere and lush forests. The gas giant Bakhroma was off in the distance behind the moon.

   “This way,” the escort called motioning for Greer to follow him through the door behind the receptionist’s desk. 

   Greer pulled away from the view and glimpsed at the receptionist. There was an unnatural glow behind the young man’s eyes; he wasn’t human, but a replicant. Replicants always caught Greer off guard due to their ability to blend in with humans. He always thought their short lifespan was a necessary reassurance. 

   The hallway behind the door led to an expansive room with a flurry of activity. Desks were occupied with relaxed chattering people in well-tailored clothing. A young woman paraded around the office floor in a skintight latex unitard with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Greer spotted a bowl of black caviar on her tray. More food and bottles of wine were brought in by caterers.

   “Is there a party?” asked Greer.

   His escort gave him a sideways glance, “A celebration.”

   “Celebrating what?”

   His question was ignored. The escort pressed a bell by a door near the back. After a few seconds the door slid open to reveal Wallis’ secretary.

   “He’s been expecting you,” he cooly stated, “follow me.”

   Greer followed the secretary while the escort disappeared behind him. The office was large, smokey, and dark except for low gold lighting around the perimeter of the room and the light coming from the expansive windows behind his desk. Wallis was surrounded by a few members of Terra Corp’s managing staff, each carrying full-to-the-brim champagne glasses. A freshly-lit cigar dangled from Wallis’ mouth. He immediately turned to his new guest with a wide grin, gave Greer a once-over while he took a drag from his cigar, and strode across the black flooring to greet Greer. 

   “You must be Captain James Greer?” Wallis affirmed with an equally firm handshake. 

   “Yes.”

   “I’m Jaxtom Wallis. COO of Terra Corp.”

   “I know you who are.”

   Wallis took another puff of his cigar with a raised eyebrow and set it down on the desk.

   “Let me introduce you to some of the bigwigs of Terra Corp on this side of the galaxy,” he announced. He slapped a firm hand on Greer’s shoulder and guided him through the introductions, “This is Callista head of sales, Zarina head of engineering and sciences, and Dexton our lawyer, well one of many, and this brilliant man is Xavix. He’s the Director of Colonization for the United World Systems.”

   Pleasantries were exchanged and Wallis’s secretary handed Greer a half full glass of champagne.

   “What do you need to speak to me about?” Greer asked.

   “Straight to business? Take some time to admire my new cassowary! Here let me show you,” Wallis herded Greer with another firm hand on the shoulder. “I just got this beauty a few days ago.”

  The large mechanical bird turned its head towards the pair, two amber glowing eyes stared back at them. The beak opened and a tinny squawk forced its way out. It took a few steps ahead, stretched out the wings, and flapped a few times.

   “Isn’t it stunning?” inquired Wallis.

   “Wonderful,” Greer deadpanned. Greer furrowed his brow at the bird, “What is it again?”

   “A cassowary. The real ones on Earth are aggressive and can kill a person with its claws.”

“It adds comfort to the place.”

   “More of a touch of elegance I think,” Wallis either ignored or missed Greer’s dry sarcasm. “Listen,” he turned Greer back towards the staff and leaned into him, “We had a situation where a Terra Corp employee mistook one of your employees as a raider…pirate…marauder…and fired at them.”

   “She nearly died when the bullet tore her suit and exposed her to vacuum.”

“One I humbly apologise for.”

“And lost a hand.”

“I heard she had a limb regrowth procedure?”

“She did.”

“Well she’s good as new if not better! You see this mishap between her and one of my men has weighed heavily on me. I would like to make it up to you and your crew.” Wallis pushed a button on his desk and the hologram of a four planet system appeared. He continued, “Have you heard of the Basilicus System?”

“In passing.”

“The UWS has been in the Basilicus System for the past seventy years and has just announced that it is ready for colonization. Terra Corp has been given the first permit to begin working the grounds of Basilicus!”

Greer read the eagerly waiting faces of the staff, “And?”

“Terra Corp is a bit under financial strain-”

“I couldn’t tell,” Greer recalled his early sight of the celebration outside. 

Wallis chuckled sheepishly and continued, “we just can’t take a whole fleet out that far without getting a lay of the lands and resource samples and showing those refined resources to our board and investors.”

“How far out?”

Xavix butted in, “Two parsecs from Arcadia. Sixty three years each way if you go there straight from here. Sixty years if you go back through The Ring Network. ”

“A hundred twenty-six years!” Greer choked.

“But we can reduce that to fifty seven years both ways if we give you a new state-of-the-art ship,” Wallis persuaded.

“For a twelve year difference, we are not giving up the Sleipnir.”

Wallis picked up the champagne glass and balanced it between his fingers. He studied Greer’s face for a few seconds. Wallis teased, “There are five million credits on the table for this mission. Five million credits for each crew member. Imagine what you could do with five million credits. You could buy a penthouse on Mars, or Titan, or a house with acres of land on the lush green planets of Andromeda or Rhea with more than enough left over for the end of your days; buy fine things for your wife…or husband! Maybe for your future children? And out of this you get a new space transportation system, which includes the new model of suspended animation pods, Generation Nine nuclear pulse engine, and other luxuries for a long trip…”

Greer swallowed the rest of his champagne, “I need to discuss this with my crew and see what they say.”

“Of course. But we need an answer tomorrow. Time is ticking and we are eager to get this to work for the long term goal of Terra Corp.”

“What’s the long term goal? “Expansion. On Earth 19th century Americans believed in Manifest Destiny. The virtue, mission, and destiny of the United States was to spread its way of life across the country. We aim to do the same for the betterment of our people…of all people. We still have the desire; the need; the want to explore and go further than ever before. And Basilicus has four planets, and their moons, with an abundance of wealth waiting to be plucked from its virgin lands.”

A lump grew in Greer’s throat, “I’ll talk to them.”

“Persuade them.”

Xavix stepped forward, “Do any of them have mining or harvesting experience?”

“No,” Greer responded.

“I can add one of my employees to your crew. I’ll see to it personally you’ll get the best and provide training for you and your crew. Paid by me.”

“And what exactly will we be doing-”

“-I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more until you and your crew agree to the mission.”

The staff appeared to salviate as they silently waited for Greer’s answer, their fingers wrapped tightly around the stem of the champagne glasses. Their breaths trapped in their lungs and lips pursed.

“If the answer is yes,” Wallis asserted,, “bring your crew tomorrow morning.” 

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

“How long?” Murtry inquired as he crossed his arms. 

“Fifty-seven to sixty-three years. So a total of a hundred fourteen to hundred twenty six Earth years. Plus however long it takes us to get these ‘resources’,” Greer replied.

A collective groan came from the crew.

“We’re already twenty years out from when most of us left Earth,” Keane stated. She jolted out of her chair in the mess room of their ship, Sleipnir, to the cabinet that stored the libations.

“What’s adding a hundred to it?” Allard sighed, “Perhaps they’ve already forgotten about us on Earth and we can go back?”

“Not likely with the UN in charge. They keep permanent records,” Murtry interjected. “I may not be able to go back to Earth, but I don’t plan on being a star sailor for the rest of my life.”

“Born and bred ground pounder?” Greer asked Murtry as he followed Keane to grab glasses and she pulled out the whiskey.

“Exactly! I would like to settle on some bountiful rock, and five million credits will get that for me.”

“Five million credits from a corporation that has built its empire on blood and exploitation? All they ever were fines, freeze orders, and strikes, ” Keane complained. 

“Why not? They’ll be out of twenty million dollars with us on board!” Murtry retorted.

“But what did the UWS find out there that’s worthy of investing twenty million dollars, a pulse engine ship, and then the time it’ll take to get there and back? Must be something highly valuable.”

“And we would have to have one of their employees with us,” Allard added.

“I’m not comfortable with that and I want our own AI installed on the ship. If we’re going,” Keane insisted. 

“I agree, I don’t want one of their employees with us,” Greer moved to the table with three glasses of whiskey for each and sat beside Murtry leaving Keane the only one standing sipping the liquor.

Murtry gulped down the whiskey, “So what we do? Hire a floater? Unsavoury characters.”

“Kettle calling the pot,” Allard hummed.

“It’s pot calling the kettle.”

“Are you sure?”

The three nodded their heads towards Allard.

“It may seem strange to hear this from me, but Terra Corp is a double-edge sword. They’re a necessary evil. I know evil, I’m well acquainted with it. I’m slowly coming around from what I’ve done. And…I…it’s been more than twenty years since I’ve last set foot on Earth. The people I care about are either dead, dying, or don’t want to talk to me anymore. Or a combination of the latter. So why not travel the parsecs to the farthest reaches humans have gone and see worlds that haven’t been seen in person?” Murtry reasoned.

Keane stared at her boots; the soles were worn and on the edge of tearing, the original laces snapped ages ago and replaced with new ones.  

“What do you think?” Greer asked Keane. “Are you in?”

Keane clenched her jaw before looking up at him, “Let me sleep on it.”

“That’s okay. We can finish discussing this over breakfast and a plan on recruiting a fifth.”

Allard finished her whiskey. “You know what they want us to get?”

“Wallis wouldn’t tell me until we accepted the offer.”

“That’s dubious and not surprising,” Keane stated. She looked down at her boots again and thought how nice it would be to have a new pair that weren’t bought with tainted credits.

Trees, dirt, sand, metal, and blood, all at once. The sun was warm and the wind gentle. Keane tried to convinced herself  the desert in the middle of mountains was a dream and not an actual experience.

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

She was up first, waiting by the entrance of the docking arm to their ship. Her arms were wrapped around her trying to stay warm despite having a wool jumper on. Murtry greeted her with a cursory glance.

“I don’t want a ten minute story in a five minute bag. Too early and no coffee for that shit. Are you onboard for this? Honestly,” Murtry yawned and propped himself up on the wall.

She looked down at her worn boots, “It’s money. Which we all need,” 

“Yes.”

She shrugged, “It’ll be exciting to go to a new star system. One of the first to really see these planets and get into their dirt.”

“You should have been a scientist.”

“I was an engineer.”

Murtry lowered his tone, “Soon enough people will accept your kind and you won’t have to hide.”

Keane gave a shy smile, “You mean that?”

“I may have the face of an arsehole, the walk of an arsehole, and sound like an arsehole,” they both chuckled, “but I am sincere in what I’ve said. If it wasn’t for your…modification you would have died on that rock.”

Keane’s breath deepened. “I’m still human,” she smiled and part of her fringe fell over her face.

Without thinking, Murtry gently swept the ginger hairs aside, “Of course.”

The sound of footsteps approached. 

“Waffles! Pancakes! Sausage! Mimosas!” Allard cheered as she made her way through the docking arm. Greer dragged feet behind her, he pulled a polar over his head .

“No alcohol,” yawned Greer as he tried to smooth down his short brown hair.

“How are you so cheerful every morning?” groaned Murtry as he turned away headed for the mess halls.

Allard ran to meet Murtry’s pace, “Because each time I wake up, I’m so happy to be alive. Arrête d’être grincheux!” 

Smörgåsbord dining hall was quiet this early phase, or morning as ground pounders called it. A few tables were occupied but the chatter was low and infrequent. Kitchen workers filled the buffet with an assortment of breakfast foods. Allard swiped her credit card first and dashed to the buffet without waiting for the rest of the crew.

“The coffee smells so delightful!” Murtry moaned out in near ecstasy. 

Keane paced in front of him and smiled in agreement. She eyed the coffee station with hungry eyes and was thinking about a large cup of black coffee, but a patron caught her attention. It was the man who was in the bed beside her hyperbaric chamber. His new arm was completed and he was massaging it softly.

Good for him, she thought. His face wasn’t shaven, clothing showed their age, and dirt clung to his boots. He must be a floater, an unusually attractive floater. She looked behind to get another glance and their eyes met. I’ve seen him somewhere before. Before the incident. Keane snapped her head around and poured her first cup of coffee.

Allard placed her plate down a few tables over from the man by the wall. Her mouth was already full with food when Keane set down a cup of coffee for Allard.

“Je t’adore!” Blow kisses were exchanged.

Food was being shovelled into mouths and condiments were passed around. “I’m in,” Keane traced a flower in the maple syrup on the plate in front of her.

Greer patted her back, “Good, good. I’m glad you decided to stick with us.”

“Someone has to save your asses. Arses.” They shared a laugh. Keane continued in a whisper, “Who knows, maybe Terra Corp will go under by the time we get back?”

“Cheers to that,” Murtry raised his mug, “so, what are we going to do about finding a harvester?”

The man’s ears perked up and looked over at their table, Keane caught his movement in her peripheral. 

“Suppose we’ll go down to the docks and see if there’s any contractors or floaters. Plenty of decent Belters,” Greer thought out loud.

“There’s a job agency here yes?” Allard asked as she leaned back with her cup of coffee.

“Yeah. I suppose that would be the first place. We can’t just get anyone. We need someone trustworthy who’s not going to murder. Someone who can do the job…whatever it is exactly. And…not murder us and or steal from us,” Greer trailed off. 

“You’re really worried about someone murdering us?”, Keane laughed, “I guess we have to vet them first.”

“I can get a background check on someone quickly,” Greer reasoned.

“No, no. I know what you mean. But if we are required to hire this harvester, then at least we go the contractor route. Anyone who won’t sign a contract can’t be trusted.”

“Right,” Murtry agreed, “it’s why we avoid the floaters. Possibly avoid Belters, they-”

“-Why won’t those people do contracts anyways? The floaters I mean,” Keane wondered. 

“I think it has something to do with the legal fees. And maybe principles,” Murtry rolled his eyes.   

“It’s mainly the legal fees,” a voice boomed to the group. In unison the crew turned towards the man who approached them with a stride of confidence that cut the air he moved through. 

“Legal fees shouldn’t scare anyone in need of work.”

“Well some folks are in rough situations that don’t allow them the comfort of throwing credits to lawyers,” the man’s voice was accented with a drawl, “and so they turn to the honour of word and hard work.”

“So we just rely on the word on some floater to uphold their end of the bargain?”

“What’s a contract going to do for you out in The Empty when you’re faced with someone stronger than you?”

Murtry glared at him.

“Clearly you have an interest,” Greer chided, “since you’ve listened to our conversation.”

“My apologies, but I do good sir,” the man claimed. He sat down at the table next to Greer, “I’m Ezra.” He extended his arm towards Greer.

Hesitantly, Greer accepted the handshake, “I’m Greer. These here are Allard, Keane, and Murtry.”

“Surname basis I see.”

“It’s standard. What’s yours?”

“That’s a tale and a half,” Ezra advised as Murtry rolled his eyes, “but I go by my mother’s name Reyes.”

“Ezra Reyes?” questioned Keane.

“It’s a strange combination for sure. My mother and father came from two very different backgrounds, but fell in love regardless.”

“So what can you offer us?” Greer returned to the point of this meeting.

“I am a floater, yes, but I may have the skills you desire for this fifth wheel.” 

Greer looked over Ezra’s shoulders as more people filtered into the dining hall. “How long have you been doing what you’ve been doing? What do you do?”

Ezra took in a breath. “I have been harvesting all over the inhabited systems since I was a spry teenager. Plants, gems, a variety of metals and foul smelling liquids to keep structures like Arcadia spinning and our ships flying. And I am willing to sign a contract.”

“You are?” Murtry blurted.

“I am. I am a man of my word. Now what is that you’ll have me do and where are we going?”

The group collective drew a breath and it was Greer who spoke, “We are going somewhere far to harvest samples of some material.” Greer carefully described.

“Well that is nebulous.”

“It’s for Terra Corp.”

Ezra gave pause upon Terra Corp being mentioned. “I suppose I am sitting in front of some well-accomplished team to have caught the eyes of one of the most powerful companies in the occupied Universe.”

“It’s basically an adventure of a lifetime and good money,” Keane cracked her neck.

“Yeah and far away to the outer edges of the travelled galaxy,” Murtry huffed.

Ezra’s curiosity peaked, “How far is the travel and how much are they offering?” He was met with apprehensive glances, “It’s a large sum of money?”

Greer ran a hand through his hair. “Two parsecs away and payment is in the millions.”

Ezra’s eyes widened, “Oh. I’ll be honest that caught me off guard,” he gave a weary smile, “My math isn’t the greatest, but I do believe that’s over a century of travel is it not?”

Keane finished her coffee, “Correct. A hundred and-”

“-twenty six years,” the crew said in unison. 

“That’s an awfully long time. What do your loved ones say?” Ezra said as he flexed his new right arm and shook it a few times. 

The crew found themselves in another round of meaningful silence which Keane broke, “we don’t have anyone but ourselves. We’re loners, we’re rebels.” She smiled to lighten the mood and Ezra smiled back.

“I like you,” he pointed at her. “I find that hard to believe that not one person in this part of the galaxy wants to be around any of you, except for this curmudgeon,” he nodded towards Murtry. 

“Like I said, we’re rebels.”

“And what are you rebelling against?”

Keane sighed and gathered her thoughts for a second, she looked to her crew but none of them were interested in talking to a stranger about where they were from and why they were out this far from home. “Join us and maybe we’ll tell you.”

Murtry scrunched his eyes closed, Allard nudged Keane with a flirtatious smile, and Greer couldn’t help but grin.

“I have been known to go great lengths for a good story, but I will admit a century of travel is intimidating.”

“You’re willing to spend that century with strangers? You don’t have anyone?”

“No I don’t,” Ezra lied, “I’m a floater. For now.”

Greer looked Ezra over, “We’re meeting with Terra soon. You have more presentable clothing?”

“Why yes I do own interview clothes,” joked Ezra.

Tag list. If you do not want to be on this please message me. I have tagged people who requested it and those who I think may be interested.

@opheliaelysia @a-carnie-and-a-cop @1-800-fandomtrashqueen @tarrevizslas  @dindjarindiaries @pedropascalisadilf @pedropascalito @maiden-of-asgard @rzrcrst @lizanotfromaroundhere @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch @spacegayofficial @opheliaelysia

[afni-fics]

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 6: Enter Lucien Flavius

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 6: Enter Lucien Flavius by C_R_Scott Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Summary: Tim returns to Riverwood before attempting to trek to Bleak Falls Barrows. However, instead of gathering supplies to prepare for his assignment, he ends up picking up a companion.

(NOTE: I'm in the process of reblogging the initial chapters of this story because, for some reason, Tumblr won't let me edit the earlier versions that I created using the Tumblr app on my phone. I'm also in the process of creating a masterlist for this series)

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

The next morning, after spending the evening at the Bannered Mare Inn in Whiterun and visiting the apothecary to pick up some salve for his burns, Tim reversed his journey back to Riverwood. As he walked, he thought about something the woman in the apothecary shop said as he made his purchase that morning.

***

"A severe lingering wound like that really needs to be looked at by someone with skills in healing arts. The damage is deep and basic healing potions aren't going to be strong enough to heal it completely. Perhaps if I had some stronger ingredients I could brew up a potion powerful enough to fix this, but I don't have any in stock," the elderly alchemist Arcadia said with concern. "There's a temple of Kynareth up the steps in the Cloud District.  It would take a few days, but my friend Danica and her apprentice could heal that completely for you."

Tim had sighed and shaken his head. "I wish I could, but the Jarl's given me an assignment that needs to be completed as soon as possible. I don't have a few days to spare." At the even more concerned look Arcadia gave him, one that was very similar to the kind Alfred used to give him when he'd overwork himself, Tim relented. "When I complete the Jarl's task and return to Whiterun, I promise I'll visit the temple."

***

The salve Arcadia gave him would ease some of the pain and prevent the burn from becoming infected, but it wouldn't heal the wound outright, and she was insistent he visit the temple as soon as he returned to Whiterun. Tim wished he could have taken some time to do this, but Balgruuf was right. With that dragon on the loose, the Jarl and his wizard needed as much information as they could get to protect the people of the hold.

Besides... He was used to working while injured. It almost felt... normal.

What wasn't normal was how little money he now had. The medicine, though necessary, had eaten up nearly all the Septims he had leftover after his night the Bannered Mare Inn. With a deepening sense of dread, Tim realized he couldn't remember ever being so broke before. It was an unsettling anxious feeling that he really didn't like. Is this what it was like for people who had to live paycheck to paycheck, just one medical disaster away from financial ruin? Is this what it felt like to be forced to work on a job not just out of a sense of duty or responsibility, but because if you didn't you'd have to potentially starve or be homeless?

***

"Ah! Good to see you again!" a friendly voice shook Tim from his thoughts. Apparently, while lost in his thoughts on his journey to Riverwood, he'd entered a sort of autopilot and hadn't been aware of how far he'd travelled. He glanced up, startled, to see he was already on the bridge entering Riverwood. He glanced at the sky, noting the color of twilight and the few stars starting to peak out across the expanse. Then he turned to the voice, which belonged to Gerdur. 

"Oh. Hello," Tim said.

The blonde Nord woman smiled. "I see that your meeting with Balgruuf went well," she said as she walked over to meet Tim at the gate leading into the town. "The guards from Whiterun just arrived a few hours ago and set up camp on the other end of town. They're already patrolling the area between here and Helgen. Thank you so much for seeing the Jarl for us."

Tim smiled as well. "If it makes Riverwood safer, I'm glad to have been able to help."

Gerdur inclined her head toward the Sleeping Giant Inn. "Come on, let me treat you to a meal and some mead.  I'm meeting my husband Hod there, and we would love to hear about how things went with the Jarl over a pint or two."

By reflex, Tim almost declined. But he swiftly remember his current financial state and, of course, he didn't want to be rude to Gerdur. "A meal and some mead sounds wonderful. Lead the way."

***

Because Riverwood was such a small town, news apparently travelled like wildfire among the townsfolks. As Tim settled in at the Sleeping Giant Inn, he had folks coming by every few minutes to thank him for speaking with Jarl Balgruff and sending the guards. So many people were offering to buy him drinks he just couldn't physically consume that the owner of the Inn, a woman named Delphine, actually set up a tab for him that she allowed the citizens of Riverwood to pay into. In the end, as long as he was in Riverwood, Tim would't have to worry about food or drink for a good week at least. 

"So the Jarl's mage wants you to fetch something from Bleak Falls Barrow?" Hod, Gurder's husband, asked curiously. 

Tim nodded. "Something called a Dragonstone. Have you or anyone else heard of it?"

Gerdur shook her head. "I've lived beneath the shadow of the Barrow nearly my entire life and I've never heard of such a thing."

"What is the Barrow anyways?" Tim asked.

"I forget you're not from Skyrim," Gerdur started. "Back in ancient times, during the Merethic Era, when there was a cult who worshipped dragons instead of the Nine Divine, Bleak Falls Barrow used to be both a temple for them to worship and a place to bury their dead. Of course, now there is no Dragon Cult, and the Barrow are ruins. However, a dark magic lingers in that place, and rumor has it that the halls of the Barrow are still walked by the restless dead, forced to serve their ancient dragon cult masters even now."

"So dragons, magic, and zombies... great..." Tim muttered sullenly into his mug of ale before draining the last bit of it. 

Hod regarded Tim with concern. "Are you sure you want to go to the Barrow? Last we saw you, you weren't in the best of shape after Helgen."

Tim force a reassuring smile. "I'm fine now. I visited Arcadia in Whiterun and she gave me some medicine. Nothing to worry about."

Hod breathed a small sigh of relief. "That's good. Even a healthy warrior visiting the Barrow would find exploring that accursed place a challenge." 

***

Gerdur and her husband lingered a bit longer at the inn with Tim. But as the hour grew late, they rose to leave. Being woodcutters, their day started early. "Make sure you come to our home after you're done here," Gerdur insisted. "Don't go wasting your coin on the inn for the night."

"Of course. I won't be much longer. Just want to finish this pint."

By now most of the patrons of the inn had gone, and once Hod and Gerdur left, there were just one or two left. Tim's smile faded as he stared into mug.

"What am I going to do?" he whispered to himself.

"Excuse me, sir. I don't normally do this, but... erm... have you got a moment to talk?"

Tim barely heard the footsteps approaching him, but he did notice when a stranger took a seat on the bench next to him where Hod had been just a short time before. Tim glanced at the man. He clearly wasn't a Nord. The accent was more... British, and he wore clothing that clearly spoke of someone with money. It confused Tim and immediately put him on guard. "I might," Tim responded cooly before feigning taking a sip from his mug.

The stranger smiled. "Marvelous. My name is Lucien Flavius. I'm a scientist, philosopher, amateur wizard, and something of a musician, though I supposed that's more of a hobby..."

Tim narrowed his brows as he stared hard at Lucien, silently willing him to please get to the point. 

Lucien appeared to get the hint. "Ah- I couldn't help overhearing that you are going to be making a trip up to the Bleak Falls Barrows in the morning."

"I might... What is it to you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I'm here in Skyrim on an expedition - academic mainly. I'm currently employed as a researcher for a new museum based out of Solitude. I was sent to this region on a few errands, and one of them is investigating those same Barrows. I'm to investigate the ruins and determine if they're of enough significant archaeological importance to fund a fully manned excavation into it.

"Alas, when I got here, I found out that in addition to the Barrow being crawling with Draugr, the outer area around the ruins has become the infested with bandits. 

"Trouble is, I'm really not much of a fighter. I know a few spells and can just about swing a sword, but beyond that I'm pretty useless in combat. Skyrim's no place for a... 'milk drinker' like me - not on my own anyway. So I'm looking for someone to travel with. 

"My original plan was to make my way to Whiterun in the morning and hire a mercenary to escort me through the Barrow, but since you're already heading that way, perhaps I could tag along with you instead? It would save me a couple of days of travel between here and Whiterun."

Tim began to shake his head. "It wouldn't be safe--"

"I will, of course, compensate you most handsomely for putting up with me."

"Really, Lucien, I don't think--"

"Would three hundred Septims up front be enough?"

Tim was so startled by the amount he couldn't mask his wide eyed look of surprise and his protest against Lucien seemed to be cut off at the knees. Sensing a crack in the young man's resolve, the scholar pushed forward, sweetening the pot even further as he pulled out a bag bulging with coin and set it on the table between them.

"Here. You can have this now. After that, I'll top you up every time we come across something useful to my research. This is all at your discretion, of course. No obligations, save that you take me with you, and assist in keeping me alive wherever possible."

He wanted to say no. Tim wanted to push the bag of coins away and encourage the scholar to go to Whiterun and hire a proper mercenary to keep him safe. It would be better for him that way. However...

"I suppose we have a deal," Tim finally relented with a sigh as he picked up the bag of coins and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand.

Lucien's face lit up. "Oh, splendid! This is going to be quite the adventure!"

  -------------------------

NOTE: Lucien Flavius is an original character Joseph Russell that can be downloaded and added to your Skyrim game as an immersive, fully voiced unique follower.

(https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/20035)

Normally, you would find him in the inn of a different town, but I've made some adjustments in this story so that Tim meets him w/out going there. In this story, Lucien is a scholar working for a special new museum based out of Solitude (https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/11802) and he's actually on the "relic hunter" initial storyline that comes if you use the "Alternate Start - Live Another Life" mod where your main character chooses to go to Solitude via ship and you have a life where you are a relic hunter invited by the museum's curator to Skyrim (https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/272).

[viking-raider]

The Immortal Sky - Part IV

Summary: Henry tracks down people that could help him find you, not realizing just how close to you he is. You make it outside the wall of London, entering the wild expanse between it and Bristol.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 8,000

Chapters: I II III

Warning: PG-13 - Future!AU, Dystopian!AU, Language, Abuse of Power, Angst, Mentions of Violence and Drugs

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!

A/N: I would love to thank @wondersofdreaming​ for being a lovely beta and brainstorm buddy! You’ve kept me sane so many times! Please, Tell Me What You Think!!

“What do you know about Michail Keagan, Mr. Parker?” Henry said, sitting across from your twin brother's Supervisor at his assigned place of work.

“He's a fucking loser.”

The Supervisor laughed, shaking his head at the table between them. “He might spend a whole hour here for his shifts, other than that he's missing in action. I've reported him to the Council of Daily Operations numerous times, but they don't care because he still clocks in, despite it only being for that one hour.”

“So, he knows how to cheat the system.” Henry nodded, chewing on his lip, frustrated.

“Him and that equal loser friend of his, who's supposed to be working for us, but got himself transferred to his family's hole-in-the-wall restaurant.” Parker huffed, rolling his eyes.

“What friend?” Henry frowned, leaning against the table on his elbows.

“Theodore 'Teddy' Wang.” Parker replied. “He's a dishwasher for Wang's Take-Away.”

“Thanks.” Henry said, standing up and extending his hand to Parker, then made his way to the Chinese restaurant.

“Hi, how can I help you?” Jinyu asked from behind the register, smiling as Henry stopped in front of her.

“I'm looking for your son, Teddy Wang.” Henry replied, glancing behind her.

The smile on Jinyu's face melted away, she could tell by the way Henry looked and held himself that he was part of the Marshals Council. “He's not here today.”

Henry sighed, pressing his palms to the nicked counter top and leaned all his weight on his arms, bringing his piercing blue gaze to hers. “Mrs. Wang,” He said softly. “I'm not here to arrest your son, even if he's doing something that warrants it. All I want from him is answers to my questions. It's that simple, unless you and your son want to make it complicated.” He explained to her.

Jinyu stared at Henry for a long time, before rolling her eyes and pointing to the beaded curtain behind her. She knew if she didn't comply, Henry could make a load of trouble for her back at the Council, and she, her family and their business didn't need that. Henry nodded his head to her and stepped around the counter, parting the rattling beads as he stepped into the back of the restaurant and found Teddy there, doing what he was always doing; washing dishes.

“Teddy Wang?” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, who wants--” Teddy started, setting the plate in his hand down and turned towards Henry, drying his hands on his filthy apron. “Oh shit!” He yelped, seeing the imposing Henry, and spun around, tripping over his feet, before catching himself on the edge of the sink and bolting out the back door of the restaurant.

Sighing through his nose and dropping his arms, Henry went after Teddy, quickly catching up to the kid in the trash filled alley, trying to scale a chain-link fence. He easily reached up, grabbing the back of Teddy's shirt and yanked him off the fence, before slamming his back against the grimy wall of his parents' restaurant.

“Look, I ain't got nothin'!” He barked at Henry, squirming.

“Is that so?” Henry smirked, deciding to have a little fun on Teddy's expense. “That's not what I heard.” He shoved a hand into the front pocket of Teddy's faded jeans. “Oh, what's this?” He grinned, pulling out a small, dime-sized bag from the pocket, a sky-blue powder inside of it.

“That's just Naproxen tablets, they must have gotten crushed.” Teddy gulped, looking like a caught sheep.

“Right.” Henry laughed, opening the bag and dumping it out onto the wet ground, then rubbing it out with the sole of his boot.

“Oh, come on, man!” Teddy whined, slumping back against the wall. “That's expensive.”

“Really? I thought Naproxen was only five creds?” Henry replied, tilting his head at the boy.

“One cred is too expensive down here, you'd know that, if you lived in this hell hole too.” Teddy sneered at him. “Marshal.”

Henry smirked at Teddy. “I wanna talk about Mikey Keagan.” He said, cutting to the chase.

“Oh fuck that!” He snapped, shaking his head. “I am getting tired of being roped into their fucking issues.”

“Their?”

“Yeah, their!” Teddy spat. “Mikey tries to rope me into his Running operations and his sister, the last time I saw her, she held me up at knife point, until I told her where her brother went.”

“When was this? That she held you up?” Henry asked, not buying his story about you holding him at knife point.

If only he knew.

“Eight or nine months ago.” Teddy replied. “Mike got into a fight with his parents about becoming a Runner for Jaxon Quinn, over in Sector Three of Bristol, and went down to the Thirty Sectors to stay with a friend. Issy comes by, a week later, and holds me up, until I tell her what friend he's staying with. Gave her shortcuts around the gates and everything.”

“What's the friend's name?” Henry asked, narrowing his eyes as he processed the story.

“Fynn Penmark.”

Henry looked Teddy over. “I'll let you off for having the Sub-Blue. But, if I ever find out you're in possession of it again, I'll make sure you're banished so far outside the walls of London, you'll be on a different fucking continent.” He threatened, pressing Teddy to the wall with a palm to the chest.

“Got it?” He hissed.

“Got it.” Teddy gulped, licking his lips and nodding his head, like a bobble-head.

“Good.” Henry pushed off of him and headed through the back door of the restaurant again.

“Hey, mister!” A boy on the street corner called out to Henry as he was unlocking his car.

“What!” Henry barked back at him.

“You lookin' for a girl?” He asked, and described you to him.

“That's her.” Henry nodded at him, leaning back against his car door. “What do you know about her?”

“What's in it for me?” The boy asked.

Henry chuckled, shaking his head. “What's your name, kid?”

“Oscar.”

“Well, Oscar.” Henry sighed, rubbing his forehead and carding his fingers through his hair. “What do you want for the information?”

Oscar looked around him and pointed back to Wang's Take-Away. “Lunch. She already got me breakfast to see if any of her family was home.” He confessed.

Henry half smirked at the little boy and finally recognized him, so you had been in the area within the last three hours. “Fair enough.” He agreed to Oscar's terms. “Information first, then lunch.”

“She's looking for her brother, says he's in some kind of trouble, didn't say what.” Oscar told him, fidgeting. “Then, she told the Chinese lady to give me some food, got some for herself, then left.” He pointed to the East, toward Sector Twenty-Nine's gate. “That way.”

“All right, kid.” Henry sighed, satisfied with the information and pushed off the car, going back into the restaurant and let Oscar get some food and a drink, before heading towards Sector Twenty-Nine's gate.

He figured you were going to go find this Fynn Penmark's flat, to see if your brother was there, or what Fynn knew about Mikey's whereabouts. Henry gave you credit, you would make a damn good Marshal with the level of forward-thinking and intuition you had going on, in the case of finding your brother. He was also relieved to know that his own intuition about your brother being in some kind of serious trouble was all so right.

Now, to find you and learn the rest of the facts on the matter.

It took some doing, but you finally found out where Fynn Penmark lived. But, as you approached the opening in the wall separating Sector Thirty and Thirty-One, your heart started to race and pound, hands shaking and palms sweating, it became hard to breathe. You stopped and pressed your hands to your face, trying to push back the terrified tears that streaked hotly down your cheeks. You felt like you were breaking loose.

“Are you okay?” A voice nearby asked.

You started, stumbling away from the concerned looking woman. “Stay away from me!” You barked at her, gasping for air.

The woman looked wildly at you, palms held out to show you she meant no harm, but stayed where she was standing. You stared at her, taking huge lungfuls of air, trying to fight off the dizziness clouding your brain and the bright, blinking spots in your eyes. Your tears finally stopped, but your hands still shook, and you could breathe a little bit easier.

“I'm sorry.” You apologized to the lady. “It's been a hard day.”

“It happens.” She replied, lowering her hands. “Do you need to get somewhere?”

“I know where I'm going, thank you though.” You assured her, even if it was possible she didn't mean you any harm, you weren't going to risk it, like you had the last time you were in these Sectors.

“I hope you find what you're looking for.” She told you, honestly.

“So, do I.” You nodded to her, politely.

You waited for her to go back about her business, before finding the opening and slipping through it, careful not to cut yourself again. Eric gave you point by point directions to the shabby building that Penmark lived in. You weren't surprised to find the lift in his building was broken, so you found the stairwell entrance and started mounting them to the twelfth floor.

“Flat 1283-A, Ms.” Eric's voice said through your headphones.

You found the dented and scuffed up door of Fynn Penmark and pounded on it, until he finally opened it. It took everything you had not to just burst out laughing. “Are you Fynn Penmark?” You asked, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Who wants to know?”

He was gangly, face pockmarked from severe acne, that he was still clearly suffering from, his greasy black hair fell to his shoulders, his filthy clothes might have fit properly, if he weighed more than a kilogram, and with the slightest intake of air, you could tell he hadn't showered in a while, he smelled ripe.

“I'm looking for Mike.” You told him, breathing through your mouth.

“I don't know any Mike.” He said, then slammed the door in your face.

Rolling your jaw, you started pounding on his door again.

“Look, bitch.”

“Call me a bitch, and I'll crack your head open with your own door.” You growled at him, heated. “I'm looking for Mikey, he's my brother. My twin brother.”

Fynn looked you over, then cracked a smile. “Oh, I see it now.” He chuckled, leaning against his door. “I haven't seen Mike in a week.”

“Do you know where the idiot's gone?” You asked him, folding your arms over your chest.

“His new handler, Knox Monroe, picked him up from here, as I said, a week ago, to take him to Bristol.”

“How long does it take to get to Bristol?”

“Depending on your transportation, anywhere from three hours to two days.”

“How do you take the three hour trip?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Have someone with a car pick you up and take you there.” He laughed, still smirking at you. “And I'm sure you don't. So, you'll be walking, and that's the two day option.”

“Doesn't seem so bad.” You sighed, frowning at the thought of walking that far.

“Are you stupid?” Fynn snapped, suddenly agitated. “Have you ever been outside the wall? Have you ever seen outside the wall? It's not rainbows and puppies out there. It's a barren fucking wasteland with pocket groups, that are more like feral wolves than humans, that would jump you, rob you and leave you for dead; if they didn't kill you in the process.”

“Have you been out there?” You asked him, chewing on your lip.

“Countless times.” Fynn nodded. “I make the run to Bristol, at least, once a month.”

“Can you take me?” You asked him, hopefully.

“No.” Fynn shook his head at you. “I've already made my run for the month and I don't take tag-alongs.”

“Can you tell me how to get there?” You tried to persuade him.

“Why is it so vital for you to go after him? He'll be back in a couple months.”

“Because, something bad is going to happen to him, and I have to warn him, before it happens.” You told him, desperate.

“Like, what?”

“Can you help me or not?” You snapped at him.

“All right, fine.” Fynn huffed back, rolling his eyes at you. “Come in.” He sighed, pushing the door open for you.

You hesitated for a moment, but stepped into the trashed flat. Fynn pushed some stuff aside until he found an electronic pad and pulled up a map he used to get from London to Bristol, the most efficient and safest way he could, when he did have to walk there. You watched him fuss over it for a few seconds, before holding his hand out to you.

“Mobile.” He grunted, rolling his eyes again and snatched it from your hand. “I'm giving you my best directions there, with a couple of notes, should you need to stay somewhere. Whatever you do, and I mean whatever you do, do not travel at night. I marked several places along the way you can stay at safely or get supplies from, just show them this.” He pulled up a logo on your mobile, his interlocking initials.

“They'll know I sent you and accommodate you, for free, and know you can be trusted.”

“Thank you.” You sighed, taking your mobile back.

“Hey, Mike is a good friend, and he's saved my ass more than once. So, I'm just returning the favor.” Fynn sighed, rubbing his face. “I wouldn't want Mike bashing my head in for getting his sister killed, that's for sure.”

There was a strong knock on the door and Fynn got up to check the peephole.

“Fuck, it's the Marshals.” He snapped.

“Big fellow, shoulders wider than the door, curls and beard?” You asked, your adrenaline pumping.

“You know him?” Fynn asked, shocked.

“You can say that.” You gulped, glancing around. “Please, you have to hide me. If he finds me here, he'll stop me from saving Mikey.” You pleaded with him, clutching at his cold hand. “Please, Fynn.”

“Fucking Christ, you Keagans are a wily bunch.” He huffed, then directed you into his bedroom. “Be quiet and don't touch anything.” He said, pointing a finger at you, before closing the door and rushing to answer Henry's incessant pounding.

“What the fuck do you want?” Fynn barked at Henry, almost able to look Henry in the eye, glaringly.

“High Marshal Cavill.” Henry said, flashing his badge in Fynn's face.

“And?” Fynn huffed, unperturbed, he had dealt with far scarier people, both High Marshals and Crime Bosses before, and wasn't afraid of Henry.

Henry could see that Fynn wasn't frightened by him and his tired blue eyes darkened, before he grabbed Fynn by the shirt and launched him backwards into his flat, then stepped inside himself, kicking the door closed behind him. While Henry didn't usually employ rough tactics and overly abuse his power as a Marshal, he wasn't wholly immune to it either, he still had his flaws and prejudice from his status as a high born and position in London.

“Fynnch Oliver Penmark.” He growled at the Runner and looked around the utterly trashed flat, a scowl of disgust on his face. “Rumor has it, that you're a Runner.” He said, settling his eyes back on Fynn, who was using the cluttered coffee table to pull himself up.

“Vicious rumors.” Fynn huffed, brushing himself off. “That dumb brain at my work place has it out for me, so he keeps trying to report me to the Council of Daily Operations.”

“You certainly don't spend much time at work.” Henry countered. “What were you again? A floor licker?”

“A Janitor.” Fynn barked, scowling. “I don't want to spend all my time in a hostile environment. So, I do enough hours to appease those blood thirsty bastards at the Council, and get paid.”

“We'll see how long that'll last.” Henry replied, folding his arms. “All I have to do is give them one word and they'll cut you off and you won't have this hell hole to keep you cozy in anymore.”

“What do you want, mate?” Fynn sighed with a growl, he was starting to think you weren't worth the trouble Henry wanted to make for him.

“I had a visit with a friend of yours, Teddy Wang, up in Sector Twenty-Eight.” Henry said, pushing aside some trash by his foot. “He told me that you might know something about Mikey Keagan and his sister.”

“I haven't seen Mike, in a week, and I've never met his sister.” Fynn replied, taking a seat on a clear spot on his couch.

“Funny.” Henry hummed, frowning at him. “I had a little informant tell me that she was seen coming this direction, to see you.”

“Well, either that informant lied to you or she's lost her way. Because she's not here or has she been.”

“I doubt you would tell me, if she was.”

“Look, if giving you information on her would get you out of my place and my business, then I'd give it and her to you. But, I don't know where she is and I haven't seen her.” Fynn told him, annoyed. “You can look around, if you want.” He said, motioning around his pig sty.

Henry glanced around with a dirty look, then looked back to Fynn. “I know you're lying to me.” He hissed, his gut was screaming. “So, you either tell me, or I'll make that call right now and arrest you on top of it.” He warned Fynn, taking out his mobile.

“Jesus!” Fynn barked, jumping to his feet. “Fine! She came by an hour ago, looking for her brother, and said she was afraid something bad was going to happen to him, if she didn't find him and warn him about it. She wanted to know when I saw him last and I told her, just like I told you, it's been a week since I saw Mike.”

“What did she do with that information?” Henry asked, lowering his phone.

“She asked if I knew where her brother went.”

“And, where is Mikey?”

“Bristol.” Fynn said, deflating.

“Bristol.” Henry repeated, sighing. “What is Mikey doing in Bristol?”

“I don't-”

Henry grabbed Fynn by the shirt and yanked him against him, narrowing his glowing blue eyes. “Out with it, Slum.” He growled, harshly.

“He's a Runner.” Fynn yelped, now he was frightened of Henry. “He's been a Runner for the last two years, and he's going to Bristol so he can be trained as an Adjutant Runner for one of the top Crime Bosses of Bristol, Jaxon Quinn.” He babbled out, his eyes huge. “I gave her directions on how to find him there and she left soon after, to start that way.” He added without Henry prompting or threatening him.

“Fuck.” Henry barked, pushing away from Fynn and storming out of his flat, cursing all the way down the hall.

“You can come out now.” Fynn huffed, opening his bedroom door a few minutes later.

“How could you tell him all that!” You snapped at him, punching him on the arm.

“Oh, chill your heels.” He growled, rubbing his arm. “He thinks you're already gone and doesn't know the route you'll be taking. Besides, he's a High Marshal, he's not going to leave the wall for some girl. The Councils wouldn't allow it and even the craziest and most determined Marshals have enough sense not to chance it.”

“I could have just given you away, after all the trouble the asshole gave me.” He added, sourly.

“Thanks.” You grumbled under your breath.

“Hey, when you see your brother again, tell him he owes me for a change.” He called after you.

“Tell him yourself.” You snapped over your shoulder and slammed his door shut.

“She's fucking stupid.”

Henry growled, every muscle in his body was wound up and tight as he thought of you crossing the desolate waste outside the London Wall to Bristol. The danger that laid between there and London, and the even worse danger that lived and functioned inside the city of Bristol itself.

“She's out of her mind!” He kept mumbling, all the way back down to the car. “She's going to get herself killed!” He sighed, running both hands through his hair and making a bigger mess of his wild curls.

“What!” He hissed at his mobile rang through his car's AI.

“Is that how you address your Supreme?” Reyes asked, stiffly.

Henry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. I'm sorry, sir. It's been a horrible morning.” He apologized.

“That Slave of yours keeping you up at night, Cavill.” Reyes laughed, his voice suggestive.

“Not exactly.” He huffed, spent.

“Well, either way.” Reyes sighed, sounding just as tired. “I need you to bring her in for her formal interview. The Council of Clerics have finally started the trials for the Trafficking.”

“Ugh.” Henry groaned, slumping in his seat. “Mother fucker.”

“Henry?” Reyes said slowly, hearing the sound of his voice.

“She's gone.” Henry admitted, regretfully. “I woke up this morning to her, gone. I've been trying to find her all day.”

“You lost her!”

“If you want to put it that way.” He mumbled, picking at his nails and feeling like he was getting scolded by his mother.

“Where is she?”

“Well, if I knew that, I would have her, wouldn't I?” He snapped back, forgetting himself for a moment.

“What have you been doing all day!?”

“Following every lead to find her that I could, Dylon.” Henry defended himself, exasperated. “I've been to her family home, her work place and even her twin brother's workplace, along with every one of their friends'.”

“And?” Reyes screamed, veins bulging from his forehead and neck.

“My latest Intel says, she's on her way to Bristol, to find her brother, Michail.” Henry sighed, his temples throbbing. “She believes he's in trouble, since he's an Adjutant Runner for Jaxon Quinn.”

“Are you telling me, your Slave, has a twin brother, that's a member of a top Crime Boss's business? The same Jaxon Quinn, that funds Twist's Trafficking?”

Henry swallowed, thickly. “Yes.”

“You realize, she's not only a top witness to Twist's operations, but Quinn's as well. She could help us bring him down, Henry! And you let her get away! How did you not know this to start with? Don't, don't fucking answer that. You know, if she gets there and Quinn realizes who she is-”

“He'll kill her.” Henry replied, his voice weakening.

“Has she left for Bristol yet?”

“As far as I know.” Henry replied, depressed on the matter. “I plan on going after her, Dylon.” He added, he had already made the choice to go after you, he didn't care what Dylon or the Councils said on the matter.

“You know, I can't officially back you in your decision to chase after a Slummer, Henry.” Reyes sighed, leaning against his desk and rubbing his own throbbing head. “But, as your friend and someone that wants to take down Twist and Quinn, you have my full backing.”

“What are we going to say when I don't come in for work, for however long it takes me to find and bring her back?”

“I want both of them, Henry. I want her and her brother. She's a witness and he's a conspirator in Quinn's business.” Dylon told him, bluntly. “I'll tell them that you are quite deeply undercover, trying to gain more info.”

“I'll need to go home and take Kal to Charlie's. I'll just tell him, I'm going undercover for a long while and will be back, when I crack the case.”

“That sounds fine.” Reyes nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. “Don't fuck this up, Henry.” He said, then hung up.

“Thanks.” Henry sighed, rolling his eyes.

You were careful as you made your way to the wall, knowing Henry was probably still lurking somewhere nearby, looking for you. You tried to stay in as well populated areas as you dared, hoping to dodge anyone working for Traffickers or getting spotted by Henry.

“Hey, do-”

“Fuck off.” You snapped as a guy approached you, not wanting anything he had to say or wanted from you, and picked up the pace of your walking.

It was starting to get late, after it taking all day to piece your way through the Sectors and follow your brother's footsteps. You probably would have been out of the city by now, if Henry hadn't showed up at Fynn's flat and took vital time interrogating him about you. You wondered how furious he would be to know how close to you he was in Fynn's place, and still didn't manage to catch you.

“We'd have to see each other again.” You mumbled to yourself.

The chances of seeing Henry again were probably pretty slim. After being gone for a little while, he would give up on trying to find you and go back to work for the Marshals and his life. A deep part of you throbbed though, you felt bad for leaving him like that, especially after everything he had done for you. He could have been an absolute monster and treated you like the Slummer that you are, forcing you to wear a Ownership bracelet and making you his proper Slave. But, Henry had been a complete gentleman to you, taking care of your every need and whim, it was almost like he had become your Slave. Then, the charging of several hundred credits to his account for the backpack and mobile, and the dress and jewelry for the party.

“He'll get over it.” You said, shaking your head. “He's a High Marshal, for fuck sake! He probably makes all that in a single case.” You huffed, rolling your eyes.

But, it didn't stop you from feeling bad for leaving him, without a single word.

“Take a right.” Eric's voice said, cutting into your train of thought.

Grunting, you took the quick right at his instruction. As you rounded the corner, you saw, several meters in front of you, the opening in the massive wall that encompassed the city and its citizens. The opening was one-third the size of the meter wide metal and rusted panel, a strip of dying light filtering through the four meter thick wall. Just a kilometer beyond that, was the first place you would be able to find shelter in for the night, then come first light, you would be on your way towards Bristol and your brother.

“Hey!” A harsh call barked behind you as you approached the gap.

You slowly turned and felt a hard lump form in your throat. It was a Beta Marshal, and he looked pissed. “Me?” You squeaked, pointing to yourself, sheepishly.

“Yes, you!” He hissed, face starting to go red with his anger. “Get away from the wall!”

“Why?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him, heart pounding.

“Because, I said so!”

You took a deep breath in and out, turned on your heels and dashed for it. The Beta Marshal screamed for you to stop and come back, but you ignored him. You dove into the opening and shimmed along it, going as quickly as you could, having to turn sideways in a couple of places to get through. The Marshal was still yelling at you, wedging himself into the gap to chase after you.

The light got bright and brighter, despite the sun setting lower and lower, as you struggled through the opening to the outside world, until you finally popped out on the other side, a cool breeze rushing passed you, fresh and clean. You turned back to the hole and saw the Beta Marshal panting about halfway, then made a dismissive motion with his hand and started back inside London.

You were home free now.

“Eric, where's the first safe house?” You asked, grinning and feeling victorious, despite the hundred and eighty-five kilometers between you and Bristol.

“Head straight for an hour, Ms.” Eric replied a moment later.

With Kal taken care of by his family, Henry returned to the Marshal Headquarters, intent on following after you, but knowing he needed better information on how to navigate the world outside London to do so.

“Henry.” Martin grinned as Henry entered his floor in the headquarters. “How are you?”

“Not in the mood.” Henry growled, folding his arms over his chest. “I know you have a Runner in your lock up, Lukas Hadwin.”

“Um,” Martin blinked up at Henry, then turned towards his computer and typed the name into his computer. “I do! He was arrested two months ago and is awaiting trial with the Council of Clerics.” He confirmed, turning back towards Henry.

“I want him brought to a private interrogation room on my floor, in the next five minutes.” Henry told the Alpha Marshall, then turned on his heels and marched back up the three floors to his office, needing the walk to calm down some of his anger.

Four minutes later, Martin shoved Lukas Hadwin into the private interrogation room on the High Marshall's floor, and handcuffed him to the table.

“Get out.” Henry barked at Martin, throwing the door open, startling both Martin and the Runner.

“But, Hen-” He started to protest, but his blood froze in his veins seeing the look on Henry's face. “High Marshall, he's my arrest, so he's my responsibility.”

“I outrank you, Sidwell.” Henry growled back at him, the anger he had managed to walk off started boiling again. “So, when I tell you to get out of my fucking interrogation room, I mean, get out.” He hissed.

Martin licked his lips, sheepishly, his mouth drying up. “Of course, High Marshall.” He croaked, edging around Henry, for the door.

“Mr. Hadwin.” Henry said, reaching up to the camera in the corner of the room and turning it off. “According to your extensive file, you're a high ranking Runner for a Bristol Crime Boss.”

“Total bullshit.” Lukas barked, trying hard to keep the angry and outraged expression on his face, despite shaking in his jail issued trainers. “My bitch of an ex-girlfriend reported me to the Council of Marshals, telling you corrupt pricks that I was a Runner, because I broke up with her and refused to pay her flat fees.”

“Is that so?” Henry replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Then, what's this?” He asked, dropping an open file on the table and pointed to a section of it. “Says you and another known Runner were arrested in 2864, for possession of a large cache of Sub-Blue. Your little partner in crime blabbed about how you both worked for a lucrative Crime Boss, running the drugs between Bristol and London.”

“Was he lying?”

Lukas glowered at the report, but didn't answer Henry's question; which only increased Henry's blood pressure. Grabbing the back of Lukas's neck, Henry slammed his face onto the metal table, cracking the screen on the file, and rested an uncomfortable amount of his weight on Lukas's neck.

“Was he lying?!” He yelled, directly into his ear.

“No!” Lukas cried out, squirming, fruitlessly.

“What Crime Boss?” Henry continued to yell.

“Benji Hernandez!” He squealed, whimpering.

Henry pushed off of Lukas's neck with a huff, he had heard about Hernandez, he had heard about all of the big time Crime Bosses that ruled Bristol like the Council of Clerics and Royals ruled London. But, Hernandez was the cream of the crop. His family was credited with establishing Bristol and bringing it to the level, almost on par, with London through deep waves of crime, selling every drug they could get their hands on or manufacture themselves, their number one seller was unsurprisingly, Sub-Blue.

Many Crime Bosses and groups had tried dethroning the Hernandez Family, and all had failed. They had too much money, too much power and their followers, all across England, were loyal, to the death. A massive turf war had broken out several years back, the first conflict of the sort since the end of the fourth war. It had mainly broken out and was confined in Bristol, with pockets of skirmishes in London and the other major city of England, Chester, before finally being squashed. Dozens of people were killed and maimed in the four month long battle, and the Hernandez's kept their throne and were still stronger than ever.

The Hernandez's family, friends and their most distinguished workers were the only ones that lived in Sector One and Two of Bristol, everyone else lived in Sector Three to Sector Fifteen.

“How do you get to Bristol?” Henry asked, pacing around the table.

“It depends.” Lukas panted, rubbing the back of his sore neck.

“On?” Henry pressed.

“The size of the load.” He replied, groaning. “If it's a small load, I'll walk there. If it's a large load, then we'll be driven from a checkpoint outside London to Bristol and back.”

Henry quietly paced around the room, brooding on his next course of action. He knew, for a fact, you wouldn't be driving to Bristol, or knew someone, other than your brother, who was already gone, that could drive you there. So, you had to be heading for Bristol on foot. He debated how he would follow after you, he could take his car to find you, sure he could reach you faster that way, but the moment he managed to get out of the wall with it, his car's on board locator would alert the appropriate channels and they'd go after him.

Especially since going after you wasn't authorized and being done quietly. Leaving Henry with the same option you had been saddled with.

Walking

“How do you get from London to Bristol?” He asked and leaned against the table, across from Lukas.

“There's two routes to Bristol.” Lukas sighed, knowing if he didn't tell Henry the information he wanted, the High Marshal would no doubt beat it out of him. “One is only used if you have a car, because pit stops are few and far between, and you don't want to be caught out there alone, especially at night. So, staying in the moving protection of a car is the best way for that path, since it's longer.”

“The other?”

“The other, is the one that's usually used by Runners that are walking between the two. It's shorter, by several kilometers, but slightly more dangerous than the car route, since it runs through several mini-towns that people, who were either banished or choose to live out there, populate. Some of them and the mini-towns are friendly and benevolent, but most are not. So, if you don't know what ones to stop in, chances are, you'll end up dead and stripped clean of any valuables they can take back into the cities and trade for goods.”

Henry gulped thickly, and felt a cold sweat break out on his skin as he battled the anxiety of you being out there, alone, for so long. He knew it was critically dangerous out there, but hearing Hadwin talking about it and the things between the two cities made it abundantly clear it was even more dangerous than he thought.

“Are you all right?” Lukas asked, seeing Henry's scruffy face steadily grow pale.

“I'm fine.” Henry growled, getting a handle on himself. “How do you know this other route, you used to walk there?”

“It's been used by thousands of Runners, for years.” Lukas laughed, shaking his head. “But, it was recently refined by another Runner.” He added, tugging on his cuffs. “Fynn Penmark recently compiled a map of safe places that Runners can stay for the nights and buy supplies.”

What were the chances? Henry thought.

“You'll be giving me that map.” He told him.

“I can't!”

Lukas squeaked, frightened at the thought of a High Marshal having the map showing him where Runners were coming and going from, the places they stayed and people that aided their operations.

“They'll kill me, if they find out I gave it to you!” He protested.

Henry leaned across the table, bringing his face close to Lukas's. “Look in my eyes and ask yourself, if you think I give a fuck?” He whispered, his tone cold and calculated.

“Now, give me the directions.”

Lukas gulped and nearly peed himself from the energy brewing off of Henry, who didn't pull back as he gave him the directions for the route. Henry looked over the map, making a legend of the symbols Lukas had made along the way, marking places to sleep and get supplies, as well as places that should be avoided at all costs. Once he was satisfied and sure the Runner wasn't lying to him and had told him all he knew, Henry stepped out into the hall and by Martin, not exchanging a single word with him.

Returning to his flat, Henry felt the quiet throughout it, without Kal's barked greeting and you either watching tv or listening to music. He missed those noises and being greeted by the both of you as he got home from work or wherever he had gone. Sighing, he grabbed a bag and stuffed a few items into it, a change of clothes, a small medical kit and a few other things he felt he might need, then checked to make sure his service weapon was still secure to his hip. Knowing it was getting cold out, Henry took off his coat and shirt, and pulled on his base layer HAMR, long sleeve shirt to wear under his black, knit sweater, before pulling his lightweight down jacket back over that.

Slinging his backpack over his back, situating his beanie on his head and zipping up his coat, Henry went back out the door, locking it up and rode the lift down to the ground floor. He knew a place in Sector Four with a large enough hole in the wall that he could squeeze through and start his journey to finding you.

Taking his best guess and trusting his gut feeling, Henry made his way to one of the first safe houses on the map, that you would likely stop in for the night. He just hoped he could get there before you left. But, you had an almost five hour head start on him already. Since, he had to spend so much time pulling information out of Hadwin, plus the nearly a two hour walk around the wall to get to the closest point to the house, and where you nearly had a straight shot to it, then the hour to the mini-town.

Within an hour of you both leaving Fynn's flat, Henry had entered the Marshal's Headquarters to interrogate the known Runner, Lukas Hadwin, on how to get to Bristol, and you had reached the opening in the wall. While you finally reached the safe town and your room, Henry had been grilling Hadwin for a tense hour. For the next two, you took a much needed rest, and Henry finally finished juicing Hadwin for every bit of info he had, including the map Fynn had given you for the trip. He then rushed home, taking Kal to Charlie's and packing a bag to follow after you.

Henry wasn't afraid of the nearly three hour walk to the house, in the middle of the night. He could easily protect himself, both with his weapon and his hands, it was you that consumed all of his worry and fear. You had nothing to protect you, other than your wits, but those would only get someone so far, before running out and getting you severely injured, or killed.

“Please, just keep her safe until I can reach her.” He said out loud, looking up at the inky black sky and twinkling stars.

“That's all I ask.” He sighed, walking faster.

You were exhausted after running around London all day, running from Henry and a Beta Marshall, then walking non-stop for a solid hour to reach the first safe place on Fynn's map, just as the last rays of sunlight died behind the horizon.

“Who are you and what do you want?” A hard looking woman behind a makeshift counter asked as you entered the decrepit building that was marked as a safe place.

“I'm a friend of Fynn's.” You told her, approaching the counter and showed her Fynn's logo off his map.

“I guess you want a room then?” She asked, turning her back to you and grabbed a key off the wall behind her.

“I do.” You replied, sheepishly.

“This way.” She rasped, disappearing through a doorway.

You gulped and followed after her, following her down a long dimly lit hallway with rows of doors on either side. She stopped by a door in the middle of the hallway and jammed the key in the lock and opened it. Pushing it open, she handed you the key and went back down the hall, leaving you alone. You leaned into the room, flicking on the light and finding it bare, only furnished with a bed, a single chair and nothing else, not even a window.

Sighing and figuring it was better than nothing, you stepped inside, closed and locked the door behind you, even shoving the chair up against it, for added security, before sitting down on the squeaky and dingy bed. Shrugging off your backpack, you unzipped it and pulled out a package of food you'd brought with you, slowly munching on it, before making sure Eric woke you up as soon as it was light out, and laid back on the bed; using your pack as a pillow. But, it took you a long time to fall asleep, the room was cold and there were scratching noises happening all around you, making you paranoid. But, eventually your exhaustion won out and you fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of your brother dying and Henry's voice calling out to you.

The time seemed so short, when Eric's voice sounded in your ears, and in reality, it had only been a mere two hours. Now, unknowingly, three hours ahead of Henry, you woke groggily and sat up, rubbing at your face, as you got up and pulled your backpack on. You removed the chair from your door and went down the hall to the front desk, finding the same lady there.

“Do you have a bathroom?” You asked her through a yawn and handed her the room key back, your bladder screaming.

She pointed to a door on the other side of the room and you went inside, grimacing at the filthy condition of it, but you really needed to pee, so you made do with it. Emptying your bladder, you looked at your map and found a supply store a mile up from you and headed that way, hoping for something decently hot, and was overjoyed to find a brewing coffee pot. You showed the supplier Fynn's mark, then filled a reusable cup with the hot brown liquid and roamed around as you sipped at it. Taking a couple more things of food, refilled your water bottle and pieced together something for breakfast.

“Thanks.” You smiled at the supplier as you finished your breakfast and refilled the coffee cup, before getting back on your way.

You made sure to follow Fynn's advice and the map, keeping your eyes to yourself and walking as quickly as you could to avoid trouble or attracting any unwanted attention. Everyone else around you did the same, there were very few people just standing around, those that were, begged for credits to buy things or trying to sell something else.

But, you ignored their harks and kept walking.

Once you were clear of the mini-town, you dared to have Eric put on some low music, the eerie quiet of the area playing on your anxious nerves as you headed for the next safe place, four hours to the north of your location. You decided to walk there as quickly as you could, then decide whether or not you could risk walking the extra two hours to the next one after that, without risking your own safety. Even though the sun had only just risen, you didn't want to play it risky or get cocky. If you did, and got yourself in trouble, you wouldn't make it to Bristol, hopefully in time to warn Mikey about potentially being in trouble, as Quinn's Runner.

“I'll make it, I know I will.” You assured yourself, pushing down the fearful anxiety. “I will.” You repeated, stubbornly, clenching your hands into fists. “I have too.” You added even softer, weakening to some of that concern.

“Have you seen this girl?” Henry asked, approaching a hard looking woman and showing her a photo he had taken of you and Kal, not that long ago.

“No.” The woman replied, shaking her head.

Henry narrowed his eyes at her, knowing she was lying through her missing teeth. Had he been in London, he would have simply slapped his badge on the counter and she would have sang like an Opera singer on opening night. But, he wasn't and that move would have sealed her lips up tighter than a crab's shell, and probably gotten him into a heap of trouble, wasting more of his time.

“Fine.” He sighed, turning away from her and heading back outside.

Glancing around, he spotted an elderly man standing at the corner, hands held out to every person that walked by him.

“Hey, old timer.” He said, walking up to him.

“Credit for a sandwich?” The old man asked, reaching his hands out to Henry.

“How about a sandwich for some information?” Henry asked, pulling a sandwich out of his pack. “Have you seen this girl?” He inquired, showing him your photo.

“Yeah, saw her super early this morning.” the old man replied, scratching his scraggly beard. “Just as I was setting up here, after first light, maybe three hours ago.”

“Looked in a mighty rush to be somewhere.” He added, nodding to himself.

“Thank you.” Henry thanked him and let him have the sandwich, plus an extra sandwich, just to be nice to the poor man, then started power walking away, knowing he was on the right path to find you and that the gap between you was steadily closing.

“I've got you now.” Henry smirked to himself.

[edelwoodsouls]

all roads lead - ch.2

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 2,065 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 3, 4, 5,

Chapter 2: BOOKS

The bus drops them on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, and as it retreats back down the forest-hemmed road Stiles feels a desperate urge to run after it and beg the driver to take him back to New York.

Instead he swallows the fear that beats like his heart in his throat, and turns to face the sign in front of them, which reads Welcome to Beacon Hills, Please enjoy your stay in large, rust-marred letters.

Past that is the road into town, crowded by dense trees which tower into the sky on both sides. Stiles used to feel so at home in the woods, with their hushed magic and teeming life hidden just below the surface. But these woods are menacing, oppressively quiet but far from silent. These trees are old, centuries of memories imprinted in the whispers of their leaves and cracks in their bark.

"We've come this far." Malia's voice is like a shot in the quiet, cold air, snapping Stiles from his thoughts.

"I don't think we thought this through." Stiles replies. He's right, of course. It's only been four days since Malia stumbled across the article which mentions his dad - the sheriff of Beacon Hills closing yet another thought-unsolvable case only a handful of weeks ago - while she was searching for any remaining members of Peter's elusive family, or a trace of her mysterious mother. They packed light, buying a ticket on the first bus to California that very night.

He has no idea what he's doing. What could he possibly say to explain the last nine years to the father whose death he mourned almost a decade ago? How can he face what Stiles running away so soon after losing Claudia must have done to him?

"We can't turn back now." Malia sounds so sure of herself, so without doubt - it's a trait Stiles has always been jealous of, now more than ever. "And besides, we need to tell the Hales that Peter is dead."

"Pretty sure they already thought he was." Stiles snorts derisively despite himself. "Either that or they'll be glad to hear the news. There's a reason he refused to talk about them."

"Well then I want to meet them and punch them in the face."

"Sounds like a plan," Stiles concedes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he squeezes Malia's hand.

"Let's go then." She shoves him playfully, and he promptly trips over his own feet, landing with a thud beside his rucksack. "How can you be a big, bad alpha werewolf and still be clumsy?"

"Guess I'm just talented that way."

"It's a very impressive talent."

He takes a mock bow as he stands. "Thank you, thank you. I'm here all week."

Malia rolls her eyes and starts walking towards the town, leaving him to scoop up his bag and scramble after her.

~~~

Half an hour later finds them standing in the library in the centre of town. It's small, considering it's the only one in the entire town - low roofed and darkly lit, shelves stretching as far as the eye can see.

This would be Peter's idea of heaven. Stiles can imagine him - a less broken, teenage version of him - curling up behind the stacks, going through book after book, determined to read the whole damn library.

Even the smell, of old books and ink, reminds him of Peter.

Stiles blinks rapidly and forces himself to focus on the task at hand: research.

He's always been able to trust in 2AM internet spirals to find any information he desires - his aversion to Peter's dusty old tomes of lore is one of the things they argued over most - but of course these things can never be that simple. The Hale fire is a thing of mystery, its details buried under confusion and wrapped in conspiracy - almost as if someone went to great lengths to obscure the facts.

He wouldn't be surprised if that someone had been Peter. Know thy enemy, he would always say, a favourite refrain heavy with the weight of experience. What better way to fight an enemy than to make yourself unknowable?

They don't even know how many people died in the fire, how many survived. How long Peter's excruciating coma lasted. How he ended up stumbling across Stiles, sweeping him and Malia up in a whirwind of pack and safety and home. It wasn't something Peter prefered to dwell on, and even Malia never pushed.

Stiles tears his eyes away from the bank of admittedly ancient computers, turning regretfully to the newspaper archives, and gets to work.

It takes far longer than he'd like. His attention span has never been a trusted thing, either flitting between things like a bird or doubling down on one and letting the world fall away. As a wolf the impatience, the frustration, only grows.

What little he knows about the Hales is information he's collected, hoarded like gold in the tiny morsels he's been able to gather along with any information about Beacon Hills. The Hale family, a long line of wolves settled in Northen California. Settled there for a reason, the grapevine insists, though none can remember why. Power. Magic. It alls boils down to those two inextricable things, in Stiles' experience.

And then came January, 2005. The Wolf Moon. A family gathering gone awfully, terribly wrong. He finds, buried, in the wrong box, the newspaper for the day after. Electrical fire, the headline claims, though it is too soon after the incident for such a judgement to have been made. Eleven dead - the number burns into his eyes, and for a moment he's lost in imagining it, those last moments, the smell of ash on the wind. He feels sick.

Finally, he finds two names: Laura and Derek Hale, Peter's niece and nephew. The only other survivors of the fire. A passing mention in a middle page column announces them leaving Beacon Hills.

Leaving Peter.

A sudden flush of anger takes Stiles by surprise. He has to squeeze his eyes shut to hide his flickering irises.

They left him. Alone, in agony, paralysed, and they fled, tearing away the one thing which might aid his healing. The warmth of pack, of family, replaced only by the burning memories of a house and life ablaze.

He'd known the story was bad, but still. Stiles feels sick, imagining how awful those months must have been. He feels hollow enough with one burnt and broken pack bond, cold in a way no fire could warm - but he has Malia, and her connection burns inside him, a guiding lantern in the dark, softening the edge.

Peter had a pack of thirteen reduced to two in an instant. And then those two lights had wandered far into the dark where even their glow would be useless.

No wonder he'd been so broken. No wonder he'd clung to Malia, to Stiles, like lifelines that might vanish like so much smoke.

Malia wanders over to his desk and seats herself on top of the table, ignoring the poisonous look the librarian gives her. "You're spiraling," she says shortly.

He pushes the newspaper article towards her. She wrinkles her nose - he's sure she would rather put her own arm in a vat of acid before having to read - but nonetheless skims over the words, a frown settling between her brows.

"Nothing we didn't already know," she says eventually, with a nochalance he knows is fake. Malia doesn't understand a lot about social cues or human interaction, but pack loyalty holds a close place in her heart. Shot at for most of her younger years by hunters, chased by other creatures in the Beacon Hills Preserve, abandoned by her own father for being too animal, too inhuman - the only safe haven she's ever known is Peter and Stiles. Her pack, always there, without question or demand.

Stiles sighs and nods, leaning to rest his forehead on her knee. She combs her fingers absently through his hair, and the gesture settles something inside him.

He's so tired. So lost. He feels as if he hasn't stopped moving, thinking, panicking in years. Was it really only weeks ago that he'd made a deal with the devil, let a fox crawl into his skin to save his pack, only for it to make a home there, to lead to that pack's very decimation?

And you'd do it again, he thinks, and he can't tell if the voice is a lingering other or his own. But he knows it's true. Better a quick and bloody death from the claws of mindless trickery than a slow and excruciating torture at the hands of hunters.

He wants to curl into a ball in the woods and never move again, but he forces himself to look up at his beta, his best friend, his sister. They've picked a direction to move, and until they can find steady ground again, it seems easiest to simply follow.

"Where to?" Malia asks, sensing his thoughts. Sometimes he wonders whether their pack bonds share more than connection, emotion, warmth. Then again, Malia knows his scent, knows his mind, perhaps better than she knows her own - as does he for her. They are in tune in a way deeper than words can surmise.

"The Hale house," he says slowly, "...or my dad's."

"Charred ruins and a possibly hostile pack of werewolves, or the grieving father you abandoned to alcoholism. Tough choice."

"You really know how to put sparkles on everything," he snipes. She tugs his hair almost painfully in response.

He weighs the options in his head for a moment, makes a show of thinking, but his heart has already decided. "My dad," he says. "He might be able to tell us what we need to know about the town. Give us the history, the inside track."

"And he isn't supernatural," Malia reads between the lines like they're the whole goddamn book.

"Yeah," Stiles admits.

He's had enough of the supernatural for a lifetime.

~~~

Unfortunately, life can never be that simple, and things have changed in the almost-decade Stiles has been gone. He knocks on the door of his old house, ignoring the ghosts of a buried past which curl around him. He doesn't dare wander directly into the sheriff's office, isn't sure how he'd handle that many guns and the overwhelming smell of death; only now, facing this monument of his buried regrets, he's not sure that's any worse-

The door swings open, and he finds himself face to face with a girl around his own age, all angles and dark hair.

She smells sharply of wolfsbane and iron.

He flinches back in surprise.. "You're not the sheriff."

"Last time I checked, yeah," the girl laughs. It's a nice sound, entirely at odds with the scent of violence on the air. "I'm Allison. My family moved here last year- this used to be the sheriff's house, though. Are you looking for him?"

Words fail Stiles entirely. Everything here is so wrong, on so many levels.

"We are," Malia steps in smoothly. "Could you tell us where to find him?"

"Have you tried the sheriff's station?"

Malia gives her such a deadpan glare even Stiles would cower under its full intensity. He's impressed by how long the girl - Allison - lasts before wilting, scrawling an address onto a post-it note and handing it over with a bashful smile.

He's never seen such an effective wolf in sheep's clothing.

Except perhaps himself.

He nods wordlessly at her, not trusting himself to speak, but as they turn to leave Allison speaks out. "What do you want with Stilinski anyway?" Her tone tries to sound benignly curious, but there's an edge to her voice, a personal concern that strikes him as odd.

Stiles pauses a moment before answering. "I owe him something, and I'm here to pay my debts."

The words are more true than he'd like to admit in their vagueness. He has no idea what he'll say, what he'll do, what he wants, he just knows that the path leads to his father, and that's where he has to follow. To talk. To explain. To fight. To apologise.

Something.

Nevertheless, the words have the desired effect - he tastes Allison's suspicion on the air and smiles, grabbing Malia's hand and walking away.

He's always loved courting danger a little too much.

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis acts like a brat in the story. We hope you enjoy all of these. Happy reading!

1) Can't You See (What You Do To Me)? | Explicit | 4217 words

Two men. One parking space. Lots of pranks, lots of persistence, lots of passion.

2) Throw Me In The Deep End | Mature | 5914 words

He’s a respectable captain who doesn’t go around bedding his crew, although when certain members of his crew decide to land on his bed themselves, it’s a bit of a tough  choice. So it’s a struggle, really.

3) Like You Hate Me | Explicit | 6541 words

“You have poor taste for someone with the last name Styles,” he says, turning to show the back of his pants to Harry—the pants Harry had just stitched his name across last night to keep this type of thing from happening again. Of course, he’s accomplished nothing but indirectly making himself pop a stiffy over Louis fucking Tomlinson.

4) A Virgin To That Money | Explicit | 7366 words

AU. Harry and Louis are broke university students who hate each other and make a sex tape. (In which Louis gets fucked a lot, Harry can’t find the camera, and the road to falling in love is different for everyone.) 

5) Call Me Shallow But I'm Only Getting Deeper | Explicit | 7367 words

The one where Louis is a brat so Harry spanks him with a riding crop.

6) Focal Point | Mature | 8935 words

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone, so don’t bother looking. Last night was lovely, Harry, I’m sure you agree. Sorry to run, but that’s just how life works sometimes, I’m sure you understand. Don’t forget about me. xx P.S. Thanks for the money

7) Ain’t No Telling Who’s In Charge Here | Explicit | 14562 words

The thing about Louis’ and Harry’s dynamic is that while Louis is the instigator of 99% of the foolishness, Harry will always come back at him with something ten times dirtier than whatever Louis had thought up. Of course, Louis can’t let that go, so he does something else, so Harry has to do something else, and then it’s a vicious cycle that continues until one of them makes a plea for a truce.

It’s like that even when they’re at home. Sometimes it’s like that especially while they’re at home, because Louis gets bored easily and Harry is just such an easy target. The point is that the kind of foolishness that Louis is known for doesn’t stop when the cameras stop rolling, so when Louis lets himself into Harry’s bedroom at 5:30 in the morning to annoy Harry into waking up before he goes for a run is completely normal and to be expected.

Except that it turns out not to be so normal.

8) Know You Got That Thing (That I Like) | Explicit | 15798 words

In all the ways he thought about their reunion going, watching Louis finger himself open was not on the list.

9) Like Gold | Explicit | 17763 words

Royal AU where Harry is Prince Louis’ Adviser, and Louis is anything but helpful. 

10) Another Day Gettin' Into Trouble | Explicit | 25619 words

Harry’s drunk when the idea occurs to him. He’s also a pop star, so sometimes his drunk ideas turn into actual things instead of just ideas. The clone-a-willy kit is one of them. In Harry’s defense, when he first thinks about it his intention is just to buy the kit and give it to Louis to make his own dildo with, because that’s what he wants anyway, right? To have a penis filling him up? Then he realizes that it would be weird if Louis made a copy of his own dick to fuck himself with. It’d be super weird. Louis fucking himself? That’s a weird idea. Harry’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t like that. Clearly the only solution here is to use his own dick for the mold.

11) Up To No Good | Explicit | 26525 words

Note: This fic is the first part in a series. The entire series is BL.

Harry doesn’t think of himself as a womanizer, not at all. Sure, he enjoys sex, enjoys how women feel underneath him, and by some people’s standards he has sex with quite a lot of people, but that’s no reason to tell him that he can’t have a female PA anymore.

It’s especially no excuse for giving him a male PA who’s possibly the most gorgeous boy in the world who won’t even let Harry look at him for too long.

Sometimes Harry hates his life.

12) The Forest for the Trees | Explicit | 28250 words

Louis and Harry had the ultimate roommates and best friends with benefit relationship until Harry suddenly ends the benefits part, shocking and hurting Louis in the process. He’s fallen in love with Harry, but is too scared to tell him the truth because he just does not do first moves. In the spirit of unrequited love and with a little help from Harry’s mother, Louis decides to set Harry up with a series of horrible blind dates, hoping his roommates will see dating is too much trouble and come back to him. In the end, things don’t go as planned. 

13) Can't Fool Me | Explicit | 30162 words

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

14) Have You Coming Back Again | Explicit | 31086 words | Sequel

It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym.

Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain.

Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all.

He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

15) If I Should Stay | Explicit | 31185 words

Louis is a television actor who suddenly needs a bodyguard.  Harry is the bodyguard he ends up hiring.  

16) All The Right Moves | Explicit | 32264 words

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

17) Promise You’ll Remember That You’re Mine | Explicit | 34564 words

What he doesn’t expect is to see Louis in their bathroom wearing panties. Not even like standard panties, they’re fucking black and sheer so Harry can see Louis’ full arse and there’s even lace trimming the edges. He nearly has a heart attack.

Harry’s face probably looks like a bright red tomato, and if not then the only other option would be that all his blood is going to his dick, because Louis looks like a fucking wet dream.

“Oh, you’re back.” Louis looks as nonchalant as ever, when Harry is over here freaking the fuck out.

18) The Sweetest Incantation | Explicit | 40598 words

Harry is a witch who's still working on developing his powers and Louis is a werecat who falls into his life and turns it upside down. 

19) Kiss Me On The Mouth And Set Me Free (But Please Don't Bite) | Mature | 42074 words

Harry is the CEO of Flora Corp, Louis is his new secretary.

20) Who Would’ve Thought | Explicit | 44275 words | Companion Fic

The idea doesn’t come to Louis until they’ve been at the bungalow for a couple of days. Harry has no idea that he’s going to pop a knot. He’s been living his life with the expectation that he’s going to be a beta, and Louis isn’t going to tell him otherwise.

Louis is an omega, though, and most omegas want to be filled up with a knot, fucked the way their bodies are made to be fucked, and Louis is no different. In ten years he wants to have an alpha waiting for him at home who will hold him down and fuck him exactly the way Louis wants to be fucked without worrying that they’re going to expect him to stay at home, open a joint bank account, raise a litter of babies, cook and clean and, most importantly, be submissive. For that to happen Louis needs an entirely different kind of alpha.

And so the plan is born.

21) Worth Dying For | Explicit | 44906 words

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

22) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 45152 words

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

23) Something In The World Today | Explicit | 48027 words

It shouldn’t be a surprise, the first time that Louis drops to his knees in front of Harry. It shouldn’t be, because it’s been something that Louis has needed for a long time. It shouldn’t be, because he’s been crawling out of his skin for weeks on end. It shouldn’t be, because Harry always makes him feel better. It shouldn’t be, because he’s needed this even when he didn’t know that he needed it.

Somehow, it still is.

24) Amazing Sin | Explicit | 56034 words

The story of Louis ‘Steal Your Man’ Tomlinson.

25) Swim In The Smoke | Explicit | 101778 words

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

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