#I collected these for a dropped project so I might as well use them

[ganfordknight]

(Defining) quotes by my favorite characters (1/?)

Remus Corbeau (The Unexpectables)

[notquitecanon]

Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader

Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while. OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it

Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other

TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)

this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)

"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.

Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until- 

"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond?  an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."

"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.

"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.

"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket. 

"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already." 

"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold." 

Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us." 

—

An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack. 

"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."

Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could. 

The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!" 

Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you.  Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you. 

"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed.  Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared. 

You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing." 

"No promises." 

Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards  was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt. 

"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more." 

Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern. 

____

Ambushed in the night.  

A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept. 

And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow. 

Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest. 

And Astarion? Their target? 

He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger.  With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion. 

This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart. 

Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over.  Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.

You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying. 

Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion.  With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body. 

Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.

The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt. 

"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief. 

Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name. 

"SHADOWHEART!" 

None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared.  All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night. 

The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.

"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled. 

"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort.  You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you. 

___

Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart.  Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.  

And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first. 

The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.  

"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake. 

"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them." 

Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out." 

You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed. 

"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you. 

"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.  

Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste." 

"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier." 

Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something. 

For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.

Blood. He needed blood.

The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.

You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered? 

Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.

You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-" 

The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed. 

In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood. 

The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape. 

He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying. 

"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).

Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you." 

Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse? 

Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.

Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him. 

Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy. 

Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck. 

Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)

But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with. 

You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile? 

Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being? 

The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.  

“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand. 

"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."

Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it. 

Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"

Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl." 

If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.

This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?" 

Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you. 

Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.

The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation. 

Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.

___

Part Two Here!

Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.

[rebornofstars]

SEPFEMBER 2024 PROMPTS LIST

HERE WE ARE! AT LONG LAST! THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN (HOPEFULLY) WAITING FOR! GIRL MONTH!

I honestly can't believe this is actually happening. This event was a shower thought a few months ago.

Here's a recap of the event: to participate, make at least one fanwork of any variety during September that features a woman or women from the Zelda franchise as the main character/s. All Linksmeets are welcome in this challenge, as well as general LoZ fans!

Before I drop the prompts list for those who are looking for a little direction, I'd like to mention that I have made an AO3 COLLECTION FOR THIS EVENT. It's open and unmoderated so you can add your works to it freely. And if you post on tumblr, please tag #sepfember !! I'll be scrolling through the tag every day looking for things to reblog and gush about 👀

If you have any questions at all about this event, or you want to chat about it, my askbox is open! I will also respond to comments and reblogs of this post.

Now, onto the prompts. Disclaimer: you DON'T have to use all/any of these prompts, or only create things for certain characters on their featured day. This list is just a GUIDE for those who want it. If you have other plans, go with your heart!

At the end of the day, this is a celebration, and all that matters is that you have fun. I hope some of you will join me next month in giving our girls some time in the spotlight, but if you can't, that's okay! There's no pressure! This is just a passion project of mine, really, and I am overjoyed that people are interested 💛💛💛

(apologies in advance for the terrible quality of these pics and the equally terrible commentary. i thought it would be funny. also, i've never had to come up with a prompts list before and it shows.)

DAY 1: SKYWARD SWORD ZELDA + PURPOSE

(we start at the beginning of course 💛)

DAY 2: MARIN + WASH

(it was SO hard to find a screenshot of her that didn't have link in it. they're both cute but this ain't about him.)

DAY 3: MEDLI + GIFT

(i didn't know she played the harp until i saw this screenshot! i obviously have a lot to learn.)

DAY 4: TWILIGHT PRINCESS ZELDA + FREEZE

(how creepy does she look here?! so awesome)

DAY 5: HILDA + GHOST

(SUCH a good character for real. she has depth!!!! she has a thematic purpose!!!)

DAY 6: URBOSA + LOSE

(two words: LIGHTNING POWERS ⚡⚡⚡)

DAY 7: SPIRIT TRACKS ZELDA + MISTAKE

(babygirl you are 2 entire pixels.)

DAY 8: FI + ORDER

(oh she is everything to me)

DAY 9: MIDNA + SWORD

(she looks so soulful right now)

DAY 10: HYRULE WARRIORS ZELDA + SUMMON

(what a FIRE camera angle??? her armour is so impractically attached but SHE HAS A SWORD‼️)

DAY 11: GODDESSES OF HYRULE + EYES

(hylia, din, nayru, farore, the list goes on...)

DAY 12: ZORA PRINCESSES + TRUST

(mipha, ruto... poor suckers... it can't be fun, falling for link...)

DAY 13: OCARINA OF TIME ZELDA | SHEIK + FATE

(note: I personally hc this character as a trans man, but since this isn't explicitly confirmed in-game and might not be shared with everyone, I've given them a celebration day anyway. you are free to do what you wish.)

DAY 14: MALON + GUARD

(she is adorable. look at her)

DAY 15: IMPA + BOUND

(HOTTEST MOST SEXY MOST BADASS WOMAN IN THE FRANCHISE ‼️‼️‼️ I LOVE YOU IMPA YOU ARE PERFECT. SHUT UP I DEFINITELY DON'T PLAY FAVOURITES—)

DAY 16: FOUR SWORDS ADVENTURES ZELDA + PORTAL

(i loved her in the fsa manga. she's barely in it but STILL. go read it.)

DAY 17: FAIRIES + TIRED

(the great fairies, navi, ciela, tatl, proxi...)

DAY 18: TETRA + LEGACY

(isn't she KICKASS?!)

DAY 19: EPONA + BONE

(our lovely loyal girl 🥰)

DAY 20: A LINK BETWEEN WORLDS ZELDA + HOME

(SHE IS SUCH A GOOD PARALLEL TO HILDA PLEASSSSSE)

DAY 21: SARIA + WISH

(a classic character! isn't this picture so peaceful)

DAY 22: BOTW/AOC/TOTK ZELDA + PEACE

(SHE IS EVERYTHING TO ME. SCREAMING CLAWING CRYING. MY DARLING, YOUR FANARTISTS WERE THE ONES TO DRAW ME INTO THE ZELDA FANDOM. I HOPE I CAN RETURN THE FAVOUR ONE DAY)

DAY 23: CIA + LANA + STUDY

(technically, she's one person. between the two of them they certainly only wear enough clothes for one person... )

DAY 24: ARYLL + HUG

(sister to the hero! but what's her story?)

DAY 25: ECHOES OF WISDOM ZELDA + ARREST

(YEAHHHHHHHHH GIRL MONTH GIRL DAY GIRL GAME!!!)

DAY 26: CD-i ZELDA + HOLIDAY

(hehheehehehe. i bet you weren't expecting her. neither was i tbh)

DAY 27: PURAH + FIRE

(SHE'S CLEVER! I LOVE CLEVER WOMEN!)

DAY 28: ILIA + ERUNE + MEND

(listen. i know erune is a very niche character - she literally only exists in the four swords manga - but consider. i love her)

DAY 29: ALTTP/OOS/OOA/LA ZELDA + MISSING

(she has no canon personality. you know what that means. get the building equipment out fellas)

DAY 30: LINKLE + FAREWELL

(and here we are - LAST DAY!)

THE END! YAY! I CAN'T WAIT FOR SEPTEMBER - CAN YOU?

[shizunitis]

Luo Binghe & Tianlang-Jun: Origins. And a Bit of Projection.

Disclaimer: This is basically just a collection of quotes from The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, Volume 3, accompanied by (adjective) thoughts, and then even more relevant quotes listed at the end. If I could, I’d paste the entirety of Chapter 18.

“As expected, I can’t bring myself to hate humans.” — Vol. 3, Chapter 21: Always Together

I will always be conflicted on the topic of Tianlang-jun, and it annoys me. There is so much I could say about him, and so little I can successfully articulate. He is, to me, more confounding, complex and tragic than Shen Jiu.

He’s pitiful and awe-inspiring, wicked and affable, cunning and wide-eyed in his curiousity. He is a compelling, heartbreaking character. He alternates between emotionless wisdom and mournful apathy. I admire how his knees don’t buckle under the weight of his grief, but how he crumbles at the barest hint of hope. How rage claws at him and, still, he can’t figure out how to make it stick.

I empathise with him. I understand him.

But then, in the distance, Luo Binghe's indifferent voice disturbs the silence, causing me to drop my drink onto the floor and this post onto your screen:

“He’s not my father.”

It’s an interesting exercise, exploring their relationship in reconciliation fics. To see them interact (semi-)honestly, watch them take turns filling up the chasm between them. It’s wonderful. Every fic I’ve read centred around them was a delightful read that I still think about.

However. I cannot see Tianlang-Jun, as I understand him, as Luo Binghe’s father. And not just because of the 3rd Novel’s events.

But because Binghe had hoped for something; he did have that wide-eyed wonder. He did hold one last window open, for the sake of an improbability he couldn’t quite, just yet, dismiss.

It’s what (most) orphaned and/or adopted childred do.

Though Luo Binghe had never said a word about it before, Shen Qingqiu knew that he harbored some fantasies about his birth parents. […] In fact, he’d always secretly fantasized about whether his parents might still be alive, and how well they’d treat him, and how they’d never let him suffer the mildest slight. — Vol. 3, Chapter 17: Tianlang

It is the most human thing; to want to be helped, accepted, invited by those given to you. A family is given to you. Whether you believe it an act of the divine, of nature, of coincidence, it isn’t something you fight for. It’s the first and, arguably, only thing you don’t have to fight for in life.

Depending on a multitude of factors, that can be a blessing or a curse; but where there is room for interpretation, questions left unanswered, most childred—Binghe included—will turn to their imagination, and try to make sense of it. Usually, to comfort themselves, to reassure themselves that surely, if their family could, they would have.

And, yeah. Most likely, if the Palace Master had gotten punted into the Sun like he fucking deserved, they would have. But does it matter?

In the face of a bleak reality, what comfort is a could-have-been?

He liked to call Luo Binghe “that son of mine,” but he didn’t seem to possess any concept of fatherly affection. […] Luo Binghe was in fact…someone who was unloved by even his own parents. — Vol. 3, Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

What use are good intentions to an abandoned child? What consolation is it, to say, They gave birth to you, when that child has seen no evidence of their care? Does it dry their tears, that their mother can’t be here, but she surely would have wished to be? That their father would protect them, if only he knew of them?

(And don’t make me tell you about the visceral horror I felt reading the Origins chapter. I’ve yet to make my peace with it. MXTX, Airplane, whoever: you’ve ruined me.)

The washerwoman was and continues to be, to Binghe, his only mother. And I would argue, that’s healthy. Even independent of his other traumas (Abyss, Shizun’s betrayal, Xin Mo’s influence, living on the streets, etc, holy shit Binghe) Luo Binghe will not accept anyone else as his mother.

“Who is this Su Xiyan?” Luo Binghe asked coldly. “My mother was a mere washerwoman.” — Vol. 3, Chapter 18: Origins.

It may seem callous. It probably even is! But it is a healthy line he’d drawn by his own initiative. It’s what helps him, what he feels he needs to do in order to do right by his mother, and his own heart.

And! Tianlang-Jun doesn’t seem to give much of a shit, either!

Won’t, probably, even in the future, once the dust will have settled. He is exhausted, weary with carrying the corpse of his love, the loss of his nephew. Whatever goodwill he shows, it’s a perfunctory sort, because he can’t afford more.

So. Uhh.

Tianlang-Jun is not a character I can love, nor one I can hate. Usually, I can’t help but be inclined to love complex characters. Like them, too—though that’s more of an action-based thing rather than just said character’s personality.

But with Tianlang-Jun, I’m stuck whichever way I turn. If I want to love/like him, I’m drawn back by Binghe’s pain and disappointment. If I try to hate/dislike him, I’m drawn back by his own history and grief.

In conclusion:

I don't know! I'm not really trying to, like, prove anything. I still love the aforementioned TLJ & LBH fics, I still love their dynamic. I started walking and ended up exactly in the same space. This, perhaps, could be considered a Heavenly Demon Family Mobius Strip!

I'm not really trying to say anything. It just… makes me feel conflicted, and angry, and whenever I allow myself to think about it a bit more, sad.

But.

However!

Alas.

Nonetheless, even.

As a reader and—on my better days—a writer, all I can say is:

As promised/threatened: some selected passages, for your reading pleasure:

So, it looked like neither the father nor the cousin had any intention of acknowledging Luo Binghe. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

He liked to call Luo Binghe “that son of mine,” but he didn’t seem to possess any concept of fatherly affection. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

Tianlang-Jun lifted his hand, took a look at Luo Binghe’s snow-pale face, and commented indifferently, “He looks like his mother.” “His eyes look like yours,” came a chill voice from the side. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

The faint hopes and dreams Luo Binghe had held in his heart for many years had been mercilessly pulverized into so much dust. […] [Tianlang-Jun] refused to speak a single word of their relationship and had been utterly ruthless back in the Holy Mausoleum. […] To his parents, Luo Binghe was an unwanted child. — Chapter 18: Origins

“If he was my father, why didn’t he bring it up earlier? Why not tell me?” The most Tianlang-Jun had said was that single line he offered while beating up Luo Binghe, devoid of either praise or criticism: “He looks like his mother.” He looks like his mother. What of it? But that was all. There was nothing more. — Chapter 18: Origins

Luo Binghe was indifferent. “He’s not my father.” […] Luo Binghe shook his head. It was unclear what he was stubbornly clinging to, but he repeated, “He’s not my father.” — Chapter 18: Origins

Luo Binghe raised his smiling face, his eyes shining brightly. “Mother was the kindest person in all the world to me.” — Chapter 19: Shen Jiu

[sgiandubh]

Good morning to you...as always, this person is very indignant and enraged.

https://www.tumblr.com/maximumwobblerbanditdonut/748583730081333248/the-unexpected-guests?source=share

Dear (returning) Mythomaniac Anon,

Sorry for the delay and see below why. Well, then: how was that, at their end of the rope, across the street?

I know, I am quoting BIF (that petty, nasty, condescending woman), their Main Intellectual Luminary (LOL for years), but see how easy it is to boomerang anything?

And I will even suit myself and quote her some more, lookie here:

I am not even sorry. Karma is a bitch, like that and it seems to have backfired badly on BIF's comadre, 'Max'. You see, I can immediately tell when people who have NO idea about what LAW really is, start talking about it. They will always be oh so damn literal and oh so damn mechanical in their 'reasonings'. I mean, if law were to be read as is, why would we even bother going to law school, right? Why not have AI sort it out, literally and mechanically, too (and boy does 'Max' sound like an android when she starts droning her maximum wobbling bullshit)? You see, in law, it's never enough to copy/paste something, because this is about people, money and interests, being those individual or collective. Timelines are important (and indispensable in any legal approach), but never enough: what makes the difference is always the particular context and the interpretation of facts - that is, by the way, called jurisprudence, when it becomes a legally binding precedent (not our modest case, here), in common law system countries (the UK, the US) or a complementary source of law, like in Roman/Civil law systems, such as the French and Romanian ones, which I know best. There is a technical distinction between those two concepts (legally binding precedent and complementary source of law) and I once passed a whole year written exam in Public French Law with honors, picking this exact topic, but I won't bother you with it, Anon. In a nutshell, tread carefully when you open that droning mouth and leave no stone unturned, if possible. Otherwise, you'd make a fool out of yourself, with bullshit like this:

There is no Midhope Distillery Company Ltd, you fool. There once was the Midhope Castle Distillery Ltd, as I have abundantly shown in not one, but two posts. It did not 'change its name' in 2023, it was dissolved by voluntary write-off (third time might be a charm, across the street, maybe the coin would drop?). And one more time, for you Mordor people in the back: there is no way to know who the shareholders of a given company are, based on the Company House records, nor the amount of their participation. This is confidential information, as shown also in the Planning Proposal - once more, I repost the screenshot:

' The Business Plan, submitted (...) under Private and Confidential cover, provides background information on the applicant'. Including, but not limited to, the existing investors/shareholders - it is essential to show the local authorities your business project is not a whim or a dream.

She also writes confidently stuff like:

That is simply not true. As I have also shown in my last post, Outlander is explicitly mentioned in both the first and the revised Planning Proposals, as a strong argument for the entire business project. It may serve to remember that one of the elements justifying it was to provide the 20k seasonal visitors of the Midhope Castle Grounds an opportunity to access the (vastly) improved interior of the castle, along with a whisky related experience/discovery activity, accommodation and high-end dining opportunity. Again, I repost the screenshot, because those people are mendacious by nature and it is perhaps the only way to show them some facts (not useless factoids):

That being said, we can speculate and deduct a simple correlation between a company actively looking for investors to support their now vastly revised, ten-year project and an actor-cum-entrepreneur who might be interested/already involved in that project. Unless he'd make a formal announcement himself, at some point in time, there is no way to confirm. 'Max' should perhaps learn to water down her confident tone, sometimes, especially when it is obvious she did not look at the documents herself, used only Google in the arrogant and foolish hope 'those tinhat shippers are stupid' and has 0 (zero) legal expertise.

This whole thing might be pending approval, but let's not forget the first Planning Statement was approved back in 2020 (which is a good starting point), that they have secured a business partnership with the owner of the land, Lord Hope (the 4th Marquess of Linlithgow) and that as far as I could read during those past two days, all the reports seem ok, at least up until this point in time. I see no reason why they wouldn't meet and talk about it: on which planet is that such a big deal and on which planet could that be construed as 'conflict of interest' (another one of 'Max's' arguments), given the organic link between OL and Midhope, since 2013?

I also have made a hasty mistake, in my previous post, when dealing with Ken Robertson's participation to the project. He continued to be involved, as my penned timeline shows, in both Hopetoun Estate Distillery Ltd and Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd, as a Director, continuously from May 2017 until their dissolution, in December 2022. Again, it's all on the timeline - see what I just did, here? LOL for a century and a half.

And for Marple's 'Sorry' clip, I have the perfect reply. Especially the chorus, of course - ignore the rest, it's about some Seventies playboy, quite an Alternate Universe from hers:

I will stop now, Anon. With the MPC Gala just round the corner, all the eyes will be on that one. This drama will probably draw to a fizzled denouement, as they always do, in this fandom. But I will follow that business project and report from time to time. I bet the farm we'll have news, rather sooner than later.

[mtchee]

Kura Kura - [Sugawara Koushi] GN

blurb:

if you can act upright around your crush you must be a sociopath because that is the most difficult part of [name]'s entire school life. Hit hard in the feelings for the pretty setter in class 3-4, your fear of rejection and his blinding beauty and radiant and kind soul keeps you from approaching with any sort of romantic intent and hellbent on running away. Eventually, a few friends try to give you a shove closer in the right direction, though it seems like Sugawara's finally caught up all on his own.

cw: not edited, fluff galore, second-person-pov, sweet poor anxious [name], suga has my heart, wingmen daichi and asahi, asahi lowkey freaks out, kiyoko my beloved, [name] fearing for their life, kissing, Suga musters up his courage for your sake, smooth sugawara smooth

| masterlist | haikyuu collection |

[2.3k]

I get absorbed into an eternity~ Kura, Kura, Kura, Kura! (Dizzy Dizzy) (TWICE!)Isn't it magic, babe?~

"No, Lia, stop--" You flail as you're forcefully shoved towards the stairwell by the third year classrooms, "I will throw up on you if we get any closer!" 

"Don't be dramatic," Your friend replies, not ceasing her movements, "you promised me that you would talk to him this week, and it's Friday." 

"I said that I might if I can," You manage to wiggle your way out of Lia's grip, "I didn't promise you anything--ohmygod he's right there--" 

"Go say hi!"

"No! I don't want to be here right now!" 

From his place by the top of the stairwell, Daichi glances down at the two bickering in hushed whispers.

He blinks with a hum before looking at his friends, Sugawara and Asahi, who are too busy talking to notice them. A barely noticeable smirk makes its way onto his face at the sight of a familiar third-year, watching as they frantically shake their head at their friend.

He elbows Sugawara, "Hey, isn't it that [name]? Our classmate you said you like?"

"What? Don't be so loud, Daichi." The silver haired male warns, huffing at him despite the pink tinge on his skin. His friend rolls his eyes, motioning towards the friends down the stairwell.

Sugawara follows his line of sight, chest tightening. "...Okay, maybe I did say that," he sighs as his friends fist pump victoriously, "so what?" 

"Go talk to them," Asahi states, an encouraging look in his eyes.

Suga's gaze flickers and his shoulders slouch, "Even if I wanted to--I-I can't."

"What? Why not?" 

"Well," He rubs the nack of his neck sheepishly, "[name] runs away at the first sight of me," Sugawara sighs, diverting his gaze and propping his arms on the balcony railing.

"I think I've already scared them off somehow..." 

They remain in silence for a moment, Suga wallowing in his self pity whereas Asahi and Daichi remain in thought. 

"You know," Asahi pipes up slowly, "[name]'s generally a pretty shy person..."

"Oh yeah, that's right," Daichi perks up, "isn't [name] in your class, Asahi?" The male in question nods.

"Mm. Uh... I could talk to them for you if you want." 

Sugawara visibly brightens, perking up against the railing, "Really?" 

"Sure," The bun haired man smiles before faltering, "b-but... I hope [name] isn't scared of me..."

"U-Uh, hey, [name]-san!" Asahi hurriedly calls out to you after the school bell rings, signifying the end of the day. You look up from your desk, having stood up to pack your bag.

Asahi immediately sweat drops, not having though this through.

"Um, uh... y-you're in the photography club, right?" He mentally sighs in relief at her nod, "I was, eheh, just wondering what this term's project was? A-Asking for a... friend..." 

"Oh, sure." You give him a polite smile and open your bag, plucking out your camera.

You don't notice Asahi thanking whatever god there was that you bought his excuse.

"We're supposed to do something along the lines of... capturing movement, or some sort of... improvement? It's an odd topic that I've been struggling with, so quite a few of us haven't started it yet, myself included." 

"Capturing... movement?" Asahi echoes, and you nod with a hum, "like, physically, or..?"

You shrug, "I guess. Ah, I'm not too sure where to start though."

Your classmate straightens up, an idea springing to his mind, "Hey, how about you come photograph the volleyball club? That counts as movement, right? Besides, we've been meaning to advocate for sponsors too..."

"Oh, really?" Your eyes sparkle, "I'll take you up on that offer, for sure! But, would that be okay with your captain..?" 

Asahi nods, "O-Of course! You could drop by now to check things out if you want!" 

"Ah, alright!" Your smile is one of relief and gratitude, "thank you, Asahi-san! I'll just call in with my club and then I'll head on over." 

"Sure, I'll see you soon then," Asahi holds his breath as you nod politely before leaving the classroom with your bag and camera in hand.

He stalls a few minutes before bolting out the door and into the nearly empty class next door, "Daichi, Suga! She's dropping by the court today!" 

"Today? Now?" Sugawara perks up. The ace nods affirmatively. 

"[name]'s got a project in the photography club and I offered to let them take pictures of us. [name]'s just stopping by to check things out today."

"Well, we better head down there then," Daichi smirks, nudging Suga and giving Asahi a rough pat on the back, "nice work, Asahi! And try not to get too distracted, Suga." 

"I-I won't get distracted!" 

His two friends share a look. 

"Sure you won't." 

"Whatever you say." 

"Uh, hello?" You hesitantly knock on the wall of the gymnasium before you step in, "pardon the intrusion--"

"Ah, [last name], right?" Daichi makes his way over to you after talking to Ukai about everything, "feel free to put your stuff by the bench and to move around. We're just warming up at the moment." 

"Thank you, a-and feel free to just call me [name]," You give him a curt smile before doing just that, getting your camera back outall the whilst.

You turn it on and adjust the lens, directing it towards the court and focusing it on the various players stretching. You hum to yourself as the slight blur disappears before gasping, a squeak nearly daring to echo with the gym's torrent acoustics when you spot Sugawara in the midst of the group.

You lower the camera from your view, eyes wide before quickly turning your back to them as you feel yourself overheating. 'How could I forget? He's the vice-captain of this club..! God I'm so stupid...'

"[last name]-san?" You tense as Kiyoko approaches, "are you alright? You look a bit... flushed."

You swore you could see the lightest of smiles on the pretty girl's face.

Kiyoko hums, "hm, don't worry. I won't tell him."

Your heart drops.

"What."

You could feel the blood rushing to your face in humiliation--maybe you weren't as slick as you though...

"K-Kiyoko-san..." You felt pale, "did... did Lia tell you?!"

'They are in the same class after all...' 

"That, and it's rather obvious you like him." The ravenette chuckles, "it's okay. He hasn't caught on quite yet. Why don't you say hi?" 

You shake your head, "I-I can't," you sigh while Kiyoko tilts her head confusedly, "he's just...too much for me. I think I've gotten myself too involved in it, in a way."

"What do you mean?"

Your feel dizzy having to say it all, shrinking in on yourself with a humbling groan.

"When... When I'm around him it's like... I-I get dizzy, and, I've never liked someone so much before and I don't know if it's weird or not, b-but I can't stop thinking about him, and then I get restless and-and--I just seem to lose control of myself..."

Your voice cracks, "mMMmMm I hate feeling so flustered about this..!" 

"No, no," Kiyoko giggles at your embarrassed expression, "it's a very sweet sentiment. I think it's cute... And you know," A cheeky glint appears in her eyes, "he probably would too~" 

"Who's this about?"

Your heart stops beating momentarily before you slowly turn around, visibly deflating in relief at the sight of the team's captain.

Daichi chuckles at you sheepishly, "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to let you know we're about to start our practice game in case you wanted a few shots of those." 

"A-Ah," You straighten yourself up and nod gratefully, ignoring the fact that your face refused to give you a moment's respite from its embarassed warmth.

"Thanks. I'll, uh... I'll just take a few photos of that... uh.." You give your fellow third years a quick awkward smile before scurrying away to the other side of the court. 

Daichi blinks before turning to Kiyoko, "Do you think they're getting anywhere?" 

"Oh, [name]'s down just as bad as him," The manager lets out a small laugh, "but nowhere near as confident. Suga can rest assured that [name] isn't actually scared of him, just a bit shy." 

"I think 'a bit' is an understatement," Daichi crosses his arms in thought as he watches the student in question bolt off the moment Suga so much as steps in their direction, "let's try work on that, shall we?" 

Aha.

Unfortunately for them, you managed to evade almost each and every one of their attempts to set you up with Sugawara, whether knowingly or otherwise. It was like you subconsciously avoided it.

And it was frustrating. 

But then, fortunately for them, a miracle happened where classes 3-1 to 3-4 merged for a combined project assignment; classes 3-1 and 3-2 were paired together (Kiyoko and Lia's class) followed by classes 3-3 and 3-4, which were coincidentally the classes containing Asahi and (Y/N), and Suga and Daichi.

The project required you to pick a partner from either class, wherein Asahi and Daichi quickly paired up, leaving Suga and you to fend for yourselves.

Luckily enough, Sugawara had the courage to ask you to be his partner, and thank god you actually accepted--otherwise the others would freak.

Thankfully, through this the two of you became closer (not like you really had a choice), often meeting outside of class time and during the weekend to complete your assignment.

Even then, you still stuck around during volleyball training since your own photography project wasn't finished either, giving the third years more time to plan--not noticing Sugawara gradually making moves of his own. 

"Hey, [name]," The vice-captain approaches you at the end of practice.

You were seated on the steps outside as you flicked through the camera's gallery, "Get any good shots today?" He smiles at you. 

You look up at him, nodding before turning your attention back to your camera, stiffening when you realize you just so happened to stop scrolling on a picture of him.

You snap the camera closed, warmth creeping up your cheeks, "Y-Yeah, ah... I should be finished with my project in the next week or so."

Your voice is quiet, but not so much that you had to strain yourself to hear it. 

Sugawara nods, humming, "Oh, nice. Speaking of projects," he ignores the butterflies in his stomach, forcing himself crouch down to match you, "about our assignment..." 

You could swear you were trembling under his gaze, ears ablaze in nerves and humiliation at having the audacity to breathe within this proximity--though you find you can't bring yourself to look away from his patient form.

"Y-Yes..?"

Suga takes in a breath before smirking, "How about... instead of meeting at the school library, we head downtown to that sweets café on the weekend? It would be a nice change of scenery, ah--plus we could have something to eat during study."

Your mind turns into chaos immediately, questions about if he had any sort of hidden meaning in his offer and overthinking the situation; your too caught up to notice the pink tinting his cheeks, nor how he hid his hand in his pocket to conceal his own trembling nerves. 

"Ummm... sure."

"Great," A wave of relief washes over Sugawara, the only visible signs of this being how his shoulders relax ever so slightly.

His smirk slips into a giddy, boyish smile, "How does Saturday sound? Around, let's say... early noon?" 

"Y-Yeah. That's okay with me!" 

He notices your conflicted, flustered expression and recalls the information his friends passed onto him. He bends his head to meet your eyes, gaze half lidded.

"Perfect." He leans in a little closer, and you doesn't move away. You take in a sharp breath, heart pounding in your chest.

His grin widens, and his blush increases to the tip of his ears, "It's a date then." 

Gaze flicking down to your lips, he takes in a small breath when he spies your anticipatory look before gently pressing his lips to yours.

His stomach erupts in a flurry of butterflies and he can't fight back a wide smile when you almost immediately--eagerly--respond to his touch.

The kiss is sweet, and goes on for a few moments longer than he expected--not that he was complaining. You separate with a quiet chu~.

(Y/N)'s eyes flutter, seemingly in shock before looking up at him. Suga swallows, feeling bashful as he notices you subconsciously run your tongue over your lips quickly, nervously, as though you could still feel him there. 

Suga smiles, no longer functioning on his mustered up courage but instead, running on a rush of adrenaline and unadultered joy.

"See you Saturday then," He positively beams at you.

You smile at him bashfully, feeling your body tingle in happiness as you grow giddy.

"Yeah," You voice softly, finding yourself lost in his hazel-brown eyes, "see you then."

He reaches out and caresses your warm cheek, giving you one more quick kiss and moon-eyed grin before picking himself up. 

Each now going your own way, Suga fist pumps to himself estatically, laughing at how he could feel the heat radiating from his own cheeks.

"Yes!" He traces a finger over his lips, almost unable to believe he got the confidence to make those moves on you. He bites the inside of his cheek, 'I can't wait to see [name] again.' 

You, on your way to upload the photos from your camera in the photography club room, find yourself in a daze.

You feel dizzy, breathless--oddly enough, not with your mind, but your heart. You let out a weightless laugh, a mix of happiness and bashfulness coursing through you. You clutche the camera case to your chest tight.

'I can't wait until Saturday...' 

From the steps of the clubroom, the remaining third years stand with their mouths agape in utter shock.

"Whoa... Suga was bold..." Asahi mutters quietly, still in disbelief.

Kiyoko blinks before shaking her head and giggling, happy for their two friends. Daichi finally snaps out of his stupor. 

"Well, at least we don't need to plan anything anymore."

[kiyfra]

Scorpio chapter 7 is done and the fic is now complete! PokéRus AU belongs to @monsoon-of-art. It can be read here or on AO3.

“There is poison in the fang of the serpent, in the mouth of the fly and in the sting of a scorpion; but the wicked man is saturated with it.”

The snow line of Mt Coronet was finally within sight after hours of trekking through the highlands with Volo. The hike was never easy in modern Sinnoh, even with its well used public trails, but the untamed wilderness of ancient Hisui saw very few people visiting its summit.

Dawn’s first journey up the fabled mountain to stop Cyrus had been long and exhausting. Now her shorter legs had to carry her over far rougher terrain while the pressure from the rift drained their energy, like the atmosphere was a leaden blanket trying to force them down.

Even Volo was showing clear signs of exhaustion, unable to keep up the breezy, floating flight typical of togekisses. The merchant was using most of his strength to remain airborne with his backpack loaded with the plates, burdening him in a way his wares never did. Both of them had to take frequent breaks on this trek that they never used to in the highlands, but the end was drawing near.

The rift opened up shortly above the summit, its violent churning darkness and electric storms frighteningly close to the temple where they were bringing the plates. The had finally collected all seventeen plates that Volo believed could call upon Sinnoh’s divine power. Dawn wasn’t sure what that entailed and whenever she asked the merchant what exactly he would do, he would tell her not to worry about it and just wait and see.

“It’s just a bit further! There’s a tunnel straight ahead that will take us right to the temple!” he called out from above.

There was still a long stretch through an abandoned electivire territory. She had only come here once before to study the alpha and its pack, heeding the warnings not to venture past to the summit.

A sense of gravitas and importance always loomed over the summit of Mt Coronet where she could always feel the importance and weight of history from stepping on sacred ground. But never this heavy and never so foreboding. The feeling reminded her of the way pokémon would reservedly carry themselves and avert their eyes when they found themselves face to face with a legendary. The anxiety they felt from the power and majesty that was emitted and knowing they would be battling against a being many considered to be a god.

She could hear the bolts arcing out from the rift and feel the spine tingling energy growing stronger as they neared the temple. It was so close now with just a short trip through the tunnel until they were at the source of Hisui’s ills.

The still darkness of the cavern offered a temporary reprieve from the pressure and it felt like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Volo landed somewhat clumsily on the cave floor.

“This seems like as good a place as any to take a rest. How about we take a breather before the temple?” he asked while setting his backpack down.

Dawn plopped down wordlessly, giving all the answer that was needed. She wondered whether it would be a long enough break that it was worth removing her satchel. Probably not.

“I can’t believe it’s almost over and everything can go back to normal,” she said trying to catch her breath.

“It’s quite exciting. Just think, your name might be mentioned in the same breath as the legendary hero! And I was here to witness it,” he preened with his head held high.

The merchant looked quite proud of himself despite downplaying his own involvement. Always the charmer, he was laying the flattery on thick, though even Dawn could tell he was not a humble man.

Volo never dropped the persona of an overly friendly vendor trying to close a sale, even if its insincerity made her uneasy. Dawn was beginning to suspect it was the only way he knew how to be helpful or express kindness.

The dewott made a non-distinct noise and the two of them rested in silence. A question that had been burning at the back of her brain for months itched from a lack of explanation and she figured now was the time to try and drag a straight answer out of him.

“Volo, can I ask you something?”

Her voice sounded too loud echoing off the cavern walls.

“Sure, go right ahead.” The togekiss gave her a coy, knowing expression. “But I might not answer.”

“Right.” She took a deep breath. “Why weren’t you affected by PokéRus like the others? How did you keep your mind while everyone else lost theirs?”

“Well, you know how gentle togekisses-“

“Yes, I do know they’re not very hostile.” She was tired of this evasive non-answer. “The infection made everyone lose their minds and it has nothing to do with how aggressive the species is. Why were you different?”

The Survey Corps member was ready to twist his arm a little. She had more than earned it.

“I’ve been doing a lot of the leg work collecting the plates across Hisui and I think you owe your favourite customer a bit of an explanation.”

Volo dropped the cheery smile and sized her up, the salesman persona falling by the wayside as he scrutinized her. The silence dragged on as the merchant conducted his own private evaluation and Dawn started to feel uncomfortable with how he was looking at her.

Their eye lock continued for what felt like hours before he finally broke eye contact with a shrug of his wings. The large togekiss silently removed a dark purple plate from his travel pack and placed it in front of her on the cavern floor.

“You recall how I told you that I came upon this plate recently while searching at Turnback Cave?”

Dawn hummed in agreement.

“I’m afraid I told you a little bit of a fib.”

Volo made a show of turning his head away out of remorse as if he committed some grievous breach of trust, but the Survey Corps girl merely gestured for him to continue.

“This plate ended up in my possession quite some time ago, and the rift opened shortly afterwards. It felt like it was calling to me somehow and you of all people should know how superstitious the people in Hisui can be.”

Of course she knew. Dawn knew probably better than anyone in the region.

“Imagine if the merchant with vaguely heretical ideas was gifted a spectral plate right before the rift drove the Nobles into a frenzy. What would everyone think?”

“They’d think you were to blame.” Dawn answered bitterly.

Her own divine immunity to the mind altering effects of the virus made her a target of suspicion; it was clear why Volo was so hesitant to tell anyone about his.

“Exactly. We both have our reasons to keep things to ourselves, but I trust you,” the togekiss said with a gentle smile. “Who knows, maybe I was given a role to play in all of this.”

He placed the Spooky plate back into his travel pack and slipped his wings through the straps, ready to continue.

“I think it’s about time we finish our business here. Destiny awaits.”

The silence during their last leg of the journey felt oppressive to Dawn, as though she didn’t have permission to speak. Red light crept in through the cave exit and the constant pressure slowly lowered itself back onto their shoulders as they neared the summit. Dawn was suddenly seized by the notion this would be her last chance to talk to the merchant and she ran to catch up.

“Volo!” she shouted abruptly, causing the togekiss to turn his head back. There was an awkward pause as he looked at her while she tried to figure out how to articulate what she was thinking.

“...Thank you.”

He tilted his head questioningly.

“For coming to find me, I mean. And for looking out for me when everything and everyone was falling apart.” Her voice grew quieter. “No one else came to help me when I really needed them. It really does mean a lot to me and I wouldn’t have gotten this far without your support.”

Volo’s face twisted into a conflicted expression, as if unsure about how to respond to a sentiment that sincere. He looked away towards the tunnel exit and let out an long exhale, before turning back to the girl. The deliberation continued for several moments, but in the end, he settled on the veneer of the overly friendly vendor.

“Well, of course. I couldn’t just let my favourite customer spend the rest of her days as a hermit. It’s bad for business you know.”

The response was unsatisfying and both of them felt it so Volo decided to continue.

“Be honest, are you happy working for the Galaxy Team? I know Rei more than proved himself a loyal friend when we took on Jubilife and your captain and professor clearly have a soft spot for you. But would you choose that life or did it just happen to you?”

Now that was a complicated question. Where would she start?

“Umm… I like catching and training pokémon and I don’t mind doing research tasks for the professor.” Sometimes it was tedious and she did not enjoy waking and working at absurd hours to study uncommon behaviours and phenomena.

“Mostly,” she amended.

No, she certainly didn’t love leaving only a few hours after midnight and trekking to the mirelands to observe how petilils behaved during a storm or some other such matter.

But she could live with it.

Dawn couldn’t deny that she learned a lot and it was satisfying theorizing with the professor to explain interesting pokémon behaviours, even if Cyllene thought they tended to anthropomorphize them too much.

Working on the pokédex for Rowan was a lot different than the one for the Galaxy Team. It felt more like doing a favour out of gratitude than an obligation.

“But working for Kamando is scary. He’s always telling me how everyone in the village is suspicious of me and thinks I caused everything bad to happen. It felt like I could never work hard enough to change anything and one mistake would make me lose everything. And then it did when it wasn’t even my fault!”

All of her fears and anxieties she kept bottled up started spilling out. “I don’t want to go back to working for him after all this, but I don’t know what else I could do.”

“Yes, they say people don’t quit jobs, they quit bosses.” Volo looked lost in thought for a moment. “I haven’t told many people this, but I don’t particularly care much for the life of a merchant. It was something that happened to me rather than something I chose for myself and thinking about how I’ll be doing this for the rest of my life is maddening. I doubt this is what my ancestors envisioned for me.”

He words were the most bitter she had ever heard him speak and contained far more sincerity than she was used to hearing from him. They were more alike than she realized and she felt a sense of warmth at the discovery of the kinship they shared.

“Why don’t you try another job then?” Dawn asked.

“It’s a bit late for a career change and I doubt there’s anything else that would give me as much leeway to pursue my true interests. I at least get to meet a lot of interesting people as a merchant.”

He smiled a bit too widely at her with that statement.

“Hisui didn’t always work that way though. My grandmother used to tell me how the Celestica people entrusted several of their remaining members to pass down their history when they were on their last legs. These chroniclers were chosen back when when her grandparents were children. After strangers arrived on Hisui’s shores, every single one of them eventually had to choose between joining the new world or leaving and I think most of them stopped caring about history.

But I never did. I dutifully learnt everything my grandmother remembered and studied all that I could about her ancestry. My lineage and historical knowledge would make me the last successor of the Celestica people.”

Dawn wasn’t sure she agreed with that assessment, but she kept those thoughts to herself.

“I’ve never forgotten my heritage, but I think everything is meant to come to an end eventually. Societies and worldviews have to be cleared out to make way for new ways of thinking. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hmm…I guess you’re right.”

The Celestica people were replaced by the clans and the clans would end up being supplanted by modern Sinnoh. Her own time could be replaced by a future where people used computer chips instead of money and battled with robot pokémon or something.

“I’m starting to think I was destined to meet you, that the two of us were meant to play a part in the grander scheme of things,” Volo continued. “The gods work in mysterious ways after all.”

With a resolute wing motion, he ushered the two of them forward.

“Onwards and upwards!”

The tunnel opened up onto the summit, a steep stone staircase reaching to the Temple of Sinnoh far above the veil of clouds swirling below the peak. Mighty pillars held up a roof carved with intricate designs and housed statues of revered Nobles. What were presumably the original pokémon blessed by Sinnoh were depicted in dramatic poses, all built by a people that no longer existed.

They seemed so powerful and enduring that Dawn could scarcely believe these monuments depicted species and traditions that time would forget. It felt strange seeing the temple in all its glory when it was reduced to ruins in the modern age.

The sound of cold lighting arcing out of the rift was omnipresent and overwhelming with violent, churning darkness as a low drone. It sat only a few yards above the temple, close enough that Volo could fly to it if he really tried.

Pins and needles made her limbs impossibly heavy and static crackled through her fur. She had forgotten how the air was thinner so high up and how the cold hurt her lungs. Dawn took in every detail of the monument at the epicentre of this cataclysmic cosmic event in a mixture of awe and fear as Volo swooped past the pillars to a landing behind the temple.

He set to work unloading the plates from his pack, Dawn abuzz with nervous excitement. The morning sun did little to warm the peak, but it heralded a new day where everyone in Hisui would wake up and find themselves human again.

The two of them had slipped out unnoticed the prior evening after Volo approached Dawn and suggested they surprise everyone. She felt a bit bad not telling Rei when they had agreed they would all go to Mt Coronet the next day, but she agreed with Volo that they shouldn’t let the clans suffer longer than necessary and Rei deserved to rest after all the hard work he put into helping collect the remaining plates.

Ragged breathing from nearby caught her attention as two figures emerged from behind ancient masonry, an alpha glaceon and leafeon flanking the small dewott.

The wardens and clan leaders had looked worse every time she saw them and she realized the last time had been over a month ago. They were so gaunt that Dawn could easily count their ribs through their mangy and sparse fur. Their jewelry hung loosely off them and their bodies were marred by countless scabbed over wounds, dirty and poorly healed. Rage and hunger were the only things keeping them animated as they stalked closer, looking like death with their lips drawn back into bestial snarls and long strands of drool.

“Volo! Adaman and Irida followed us!” Dawn cried out in alarm.

Neither of them would fare well against one of the mad alphas and the odds of winning this battle would be stacked against the two of them. They could flee easily enough with a togekiss willing to fly them to safety and circle back around later when the danger had passed.

But the merchant didn’t even turn around.

The clan leaders strangely sat down like obedient guard dogs and glowered at her as Volo nonchalantly unloaded his backpack.

“Have you heard of a pokémon called Arceus?”

Dawn’s veins turned to ice at the question, no answer seeming like the right one. Volo knew more about her than she realized and would know if she was lying.

“I-“

Stating where she came from and what she knew would have been downright blasphemous to the clans and their belief in Sinnoh. She doubted Volo with his interest in all sorts of legends would have been offended by by a competing theory, but she couldn’t risk blowing her cover story, no matter how helpful he had been. Now the merchant presented an entirely new danger.

“I’ve longed to meet such a being myself and I’ve spent years learning anything I could about the all-encompassing deity. Neither of the clans understanding of ‘Sinnoh’ came close, but the Celestica people knew the truth. And you know better than the rest of Hisui. How else would you have something called an Arc Phone?”

This was a trap. This was just like confronting Cyrus at Spear Pillar all over again.

“I-it was just lying around when I woke up here! I really don’t understand what it is or why I have it. Honest!” Dawn shouted the half-truth, still hoping for some benign explanation.

“Why you? What have you done to deserve it’s blessings when the blood of the Celestica people runs through my veins?” he continued unmoved by her pleas. “No matter. With the power of all the artefacts I’ve scavenged from across Hisui, it won’t be able to hide itself away any longer.”

Dawn felt sick to her stomach as she considered wether she could take out her flute and play a summon before the clan leaders tore her to shreds. Sneasler, Electrode, Braviary; none of them would make it in time.

“With the red chain in my possession, I can subjugate the power needed to remake the world! Your arrival heralded the dawn of a new era and you should be proud of the hand you played.”

His voice flipped from manic to sickly sweet and the condescension made her face burn with indignation.

“This was your plan all along? You just wanted to use the chaos to get here?”

“It made sense to seek out Arceus’s scorned child and have it tear open the rift. Even with Giratina punching holes into its creation, Arceus still hides itself away. But everything would eventually fall into place. I’ll admit, our affliction was quite a strange and unexpected side effect. Though not without its upsides.”

He tilted his head toward Adaman and Irida whose empty eyes were glued to the small dewott.

“Quite the useful puppets with heads empty enough to be controlled by Giratina. When we can get past our difference of opinions, that is.” He gave an exasperated roll of the eyes. “The distortions created a back door entrance to their feeble little minds.”

“You-!”

It had been him all along. The warden’s violent attacks, Hisui falling into ruin, being taken away from her home, the pain and anguish everyone faced…

Ingo might not even be in Hisui, much less reduced to a mindless beast if it wasn’t for Volo. Her fists started shaking with the hatred she felt towards the smug togekiss in front of her and her whole body hotly prickled with humiliation at how impotent her rage was. The deafening crashing of the rift above, the red staining everything, a hateful presence with dark claws that was unable to reach her; it was the closest she ever felt to it.

She wanted massive jaws to bite with and to tear the merchant apart like a wild animal, but she could only squeak out, “You used me!”

“Why yes, yes I did. And now I have no further need of you.”

Volo paused unloading his pack for a moment and Dawn desperately hoped he was having second thoughts.

“You know, you’ve never actually bought anything from me before,” he tossed over his shoulder before turning back to the plates.

“Kill her.”

The two clan leaders sprinted at the girl on the merchant’s command, spittle flinging from their jaws snapping and barking. A familiar terror washed over her as she was forced to make a split second decision while still reeling from the betrayal.

Quickly fumbling in her satchel, she pulled out a small blue capsule and tossed it onto the ground in front of her with as much force as she could muster. It burst and clouds of smoke spread out over the temple grounds, obscuring the battleground.

She darted behind a statue and the clan leaders pounced where she had been standing seconds prior. Adaman and Irida snarled in frustration at losing sight of the girl and began to prowl the clouded pillars in search of their hidden quarry, ears perked and noses low to the ground.

Dawn forced herself to keep her breathing quiet, squeezing her eyes shut and tears prickling from the smoke hurting her eyes and lungs. She feared the hammering of her heart would give her position away as she listened for the slavering beasts getting closer.

A chill crept near as the click of clawed paws grew louder, Irida completely invisible in the smoke. Dawn pressed her back against the statue base and unsheathed one of her shells in precaution, trying to keep her teeth from chattering and goosebumps forming along her skin. She couldn’t see the massive glaceon through the clouds, but she must have been right in front of her with the icy air radiating in waves and loud breathing being so close.

There would be little warning if she was found; should she attack first? Even though the smoke bombs were designed to release a fragrance to cover up scents, it seemed miraculous Irida hadn’t smelt her out.

Dawn’s luck held and the mad glaceon finally moved away, the girl slumping down and shaking as some of the tension left her body. She couldn’t stay there for long. They were bound to find her eventually and the smoke was already starting to dissipate. Feeling her way around the statue base, she slowly made her way past the columns on tip toes to remain as silent as possible.

An iridescent object shimmering in blues, purples and pinks zipped through the fog towards her, followed by dozens like it that made a beeline to her location. They sliced like razors across her body and she cried out in pain as she clutched the gashes left by the blade-like leaves. The swarm left dozens of stinging cuts before the magic went out of them and they fell to the ground as regular leaves, having done their job.

Adaman’s attack left her exposed after her shout gave away her position, but she was unable to stop the sobs from escaping, a burning nettle-like irritant that felt like dozens of needles stuck inside her cuts. Dawn made her way past the pillars towards the steps as quickly as she could while clutching her bleeding wounds and trying not to think about how fast her paw was stained crimson.

Large jaws bit down on her tail hard and she screamed as she was hoisted off the ground. A painful wrenching was not numbed by the alpha’s frosty breath as she was swung back and forth, fearing her tail had come off as she was flung to the side. Light blossomed in her vision from the painful crack of her head hitting stone, wheezing as the air was knocked out of her from a step jamming into her gut.

The ringing in her ears and pain that exploded in her skull made it impossible to think clearly, the barking and snarling seeming distant and far removed. Only the primal fear of being viciously ripped apart spurred any movement from the dewott and she groaned as she weakly tried to force herself upright.

Dawn was again seized by sharp teeth clamping around her torso and piercing through her thick fur into her back, eliciting a small squeak that seemed far too cute and comical. The world turned blurry as she was shaken like a chew toy and the alpha repeatedly snapped and bit, trying to force it’s teeth through or around the satchel.

All rational thought was driven out and replaced by a haze of terror and panic. Physical space became an impossible enigma filled with reeking hot breath where she couldn’t find her hands, let alone draw a weapon. She couldn’t even tell which one of them had their jaws around her and it was only a matter of time before a fang managed to pierce or rend something important.

An overwhelming flash of cold rushed towards them and something large slammed into them, knocking her loose from the jaws of her assailant and she fell to the ground. Dawn barely registered Irida standing above her with her fur frozen into spikes before Adaman’s claws raked across the glaceon’s face. Enraged by the retaliation, the clan leader forgot about her mindless pursuit of prey and launched herself at her rival. The two of them devolved into a writhing ball of teeth and claws, tearing and biting at any spot they could reach and tufts of torn off fur gently blew across the temple grounds.

Dawn’s senses returned slowly, her head still filled with a fog of pain and her body impossibly heavy. She realized the spat between the clan leaders had given her a chance to escape and the girl limped down the mountain as fast as she could, trying to gain as much distance as possible before Volo realized his attack dogs failed to finish the job. She needed to hide, warn everyone and go get help before it was too late.

—————————————-

Each plate made a satisfying sound as it was laid upon the ancient tile. Only a few more to go until the true creator worshiped by the Celestica people would be forced to reveal itself and its creation would be undone. Volo trembled in excitement as the final plate bestowed upon him by Giratina slipped from his feathers and each and every one laid at Hisui’s seat of power. Finally, after years of study and planning, his patience was about to pay off and he would see Arceus with his own eyes.

...

Nothing.

The plates remained as they were, stubbornly refusing to respond to the vast reserves of divine power at the summit and Volo tilted his head in puzzlement.

What went wrong?

He had gathered all seventeen plates he had discovered writings about, one of every type-

There were eighteen types.

Volo went through a mental checklist and realized he had no plate that corresponded to fairy. He had read through countless manuscripts, deciphered glyphs in ancient temples and listened to tales passed down through generations, but he had never heard of any kind of ‘pixie’ plate. 

Great, just fantastic. He would have to cross reference every legendary and their assorted myths for any chance of uncovering such a thing with no other leads to go off. The possibility of being the first to discover such an artifact forgotten by history would have excited him in any other circumstance, but he could only curse himself for not considering the possibility sooner.

Now he was short a lackey and needed to come up with some sob story for the Galaxy fools, something about how she insisted on going to Mt Coronet immediately and he reluctantly accompanied her. She was ambushed by the clan leaders during the climb and he valiantly tried to save her, but one of them kept him at bay and he was forced to watch as she was brutally torn to pieces.

Yes, that could work. Especially if he put on a show of how remorseful he was for not stopping her from leaving in the first place. And perhaps that Rei kid would make an adequate replacement…

The clan leaders were still snarling and blows were punctuated with the high pitched yelps of a struggle between them, no doubt still fighting over the scraps. The merchant was already in a sour mood and quickly grew irritated with their incessant screeching and caterwauling while he was trying to think.

“Would you two shut up?!” 

Volo wheeled around to see the dumb beasts scrabbling and clawing at each other, the dewott nowhere in sight. A cold flash of comprehension seized him as he realized they failed to finish the job and the girl escaped.

“No! Idiots!” he shrieked, angrily flapping his wings as he landed between the opposing leaders. The snarling continued as they reluctantly backed off from each other. Low growls warned that their animosity not forgotten in the face of the togekiss’s ire, hackles still raised and fur bristling. But neither dared start a fight with him stomping about and cursing under his breath.

“Shit! Now what am I going to do?” He was tempted to keep yelling at them to vent his frustration, but they wouldn’t be able to understand or care about their screwup.

There was no way Dawn wouldn’t tell everyone what went down here; he couldn’t return to the retreat and no one would trust him. Volo would be shocked if there wasn’t a manhunt for his involvement and he’d be lucky if the Galaxy Team caught up to him before the Nobles did. Could he find the last plate before the Survey Corps located it or they found him?

A lightbulb went off and he realized he didn’t have to. Those bandits staying at the retreat would do anything for money, never understanding the true value of what they were stealing. Pay them any meagre price they sought and they would swipe the retrieved plate from right under everyone’s noses. Dawn and the remainder of the Survey Corps would think the race was on, but it wouldn’t matter who found it first.

Either way, Hisui’s end was inevitable and Volo would have his audience.

—————————————-

Dawn shivered as she remained hidden in a tree hallow within the alpha electivire’s territory, the last notes from her Celestica flute fading down the mountainside. As much as she was tempted to replay the summon and spur the Noble towards her hiding place, Lady Sneasler wouldn’t get there much faster and it risked drawing the attention of Volo or the clan leaders if they followed her. There was nothing she could do but wait for the Lady of the Cliffs to arrive and take her back to the retreat.

The cold wind stung her injuries, but her face burned more strongly with shame. How could she face the Survey Corps and explain how her naïveté lost them all the plates and handed a megalomaniac the power to destroy the world?

It might already be too late; Volo could already have the dragons under his control or be face to face with Arceus right now and everything would disappear without even a moments notice.

She had doomed everyone by foolishly trusting again. Dawn, Champion of Sinnoh and star member of the Survey Corps, fell for the lies of an obvious conman only to be used and cast aside once again.

Was she really that much of an idiot?

[starwarsmum]

Maribat Mix & Match Monster Mash day 2, Not a Fan of Surprises & Spells

Ladybug and Robin had taken the earliest part of patrol. Partially because they had a lead on something shady, and partially because the annual Halloween bash was happening that night and Marinette had convinced Damian to go with her.

They were ducking into an oversized warehouse when the sound of changing filled the air. They exchanged a look, Robin giving a huff of breath that almost sounded like a sigh before Ladybug crept around the perimeter of the room.

When they were on opposite sides, Ladybug tuned in to whatever the guy in the middle of the room was saying. It wasn't a language she recognised, which made her antsy. She had worked with Zatanna enough to know that if someone was speaking a long dead language, they might just be capable of causing real problems.

Fortunately, it seemed like Halloween was just bringing out the crazies, because when Ladybug swung across the room and kicked over the giant cauldron, the man - who was dressed in a freaking robe - merely screamed and cursed in regular old English. If he had been capable of a spell, he would have used it then and there to stop her.

After that, Robin was efficient in getting the drop on the deluded man, pinning him down and cuffing him. They then had to wait for someone to be free to collect the guy so had to suffer through his whining about how he needed to exact revenge on his coworkers for ignoring his birthday three months ago.

Ladybug sighed as she waited, fighting off a yawn. She didn't want to give Robin any excuse to not take them to the party that she was looking forward to.

_ _ _

“Chéri, please, can we just go to the party and have a nice time?” 

Damian sighed and acquiesced as Marinette pulled out the outfit she had made for him. She gave him a beaming smile and rushed to change into her own outfit. He had agreed several years ago that they would alternate years for wearing costumes and last year had been his year without one.

Stepping into the sitting area of their apartment, he checked over the chef’s outfit Marinette had created for him. She had taken liberties and created a black chef's hat and apron, with a dark green shirt and black trousers. There were intricate details embroidered at the cuffs, collars and hems of everything, shiny green and black threads making it almost impossible to see the miniature swords and flourishes she had created.

“You look so handsome,” Marinette said as she stepped out to join him. He looked at her and marveled at the matching dress she had created. She had a black top half with shining green thread embroidered across it. The green skirt belled out with black thread embroidery. A short white apron was tied around her waist, completely covered in tiny embroidered number fours.

“And you look radiant, my love,” Damian said, drawing her close to kiss her softly. He was careful not to disturb her hair that was twisted into an elegant bun atop her head. “But must we attend this party?”

“Yes, we must! Come on, Dami, I'm expecting a happy event, I would love to spend the evening with our friends. Besides, I worked very hard on our costumes and would like everyone else to tell me how dashing you look.”

“Very well,” Damian sighed, taking hold of her hand and tucking it into his elbow. He had arranged to travel with only Marinette to the party, instead of with the rest of his family because she had been working very hard lately and seemed more tired every day. Having their own transport meant that they could leave whenever it suited them without inconveniencing anyone else.

As they arrived at the party, Damian's family immediately set upon them, cooing over the matching chef and waitress outfits. Marinette preened at their praise and Damian found himself smiling at her pleasure.

They spent time mostly with Jon, who was dressed as a werewolf and kept howling whenever anyone approached to say hello. It was irritating but made Marinette giggle so Damian refrained from asking him to stop.

Marinette had been right, the event was cheerful and, miraculously, they did not have any interruptions from villains. Damian was always vaguely on edge at large events on major holidays, especially Halloween, so it was nice that they hadn't had to fight anyone.

“Did you have fun, mon amour?” Marinette asked as they drove back to their home. She fiddled with her apron as he assured her that the night was not horrendous and he enjoyed spending time in her company, as always. “I'm surprised that you did not have more questions about my outfit,” she said idly, glancing at him from under her lashes.

Damian parked in their underground parking area linked to their home and turned to frown at her. The waitress theme had been fairly obvious, especially when coupled with his chef one. His eyes swept over her as he helped her out of the car (she had allowed him to open the door for her ever since Alfred had admonished him, years ago, for allowing a young lady to get out by herself) but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be missing.

“Marinette, I don't understand what I am supposed to ask you in regards to your outfit,” he admitted, although his eyes lingered on the apron and its embroidery. She giggled as they entered their apartment and set their alarm. 

“Your French is getting rusty then, mon coeur,” Marinette said, pointing at the fours covering her entire outfit. “They are petit fours, non?”

“...an oven? That is very creative, I admit I was not looking for hidden meanings in our costumes, it was very clever,” Damian admitted, smiling fondly at her. But his brow furrowed when she giggled again and pulled him over to the sofa.

“Yes, I am an oven, Dami, and I have a bun,” she said gently, pointing at her head. He looked at her in confusion until she took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “A bun, in the oven? It is, ah, an American phrase, no?”

Damian's mind went completely blank as he stared at his hand on her stomach. It took several moments to collect himself enough to look back up at her face, and when he did she was biting her lip nervously. 

“You are pregnant?” He asked in a hushed voice, wonder and awe filling him until all he could feel was joy. She nodded, a smile breaking out on her face as he slid his arms around her and pulled her into his lap. “I am going to be a father?”

“Yes, we are going to be parents,” Marinette said softly, and Damian was overcome with emotion. He hated surprises, ordinarily they brought him nothing but anxiety and anger at not having been able to anticipate something. “Is it okay? I know that we have talked about it and you said that you were not opposed to it-”

Damian cut her off with a kiss, trying to convey just how happy he was that they were taking another step towards creating the life they wanted together.

[fablesrose]

Season 3

Ch 19 - The Jailhouse Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist 

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: Nate is now in jail for the stunt he pulled last season saving the team. Despite this, he still finds a job in taking down his warden.

Words: 7.7k

A/n: Hey guys, sorry this took so long. This summer has been busier and more stressful than I had anticipated with work, trying to figure out my physical health, and a number of other factors in regards to my future. Unfortunately I am still under a lot of stress, so I'm unsure how regular updates will be, but I'm hoping to post once or twice a month for now. I've been so touched by the support coming through and the desire for this series to continue and I am so thankful for all of you, I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stared at my laptop sitting on the coffee table in my living room. Over the past month that Nate has been in jail awaiting trial, I have been contemplating what my next steps should be. When I started working with the team full time, I had temporarily shut down my socials and suspended my website for freelancing. Still, I had a somewhat regular stream of repeat clients asking if I had any project openings. Thus far I had simply told them that no, I didn’t have any openings and possibly even pointing them to possible alternative freelancers that I had worked with previously and thought they did a good job. 

Did I take it back up again? Was this last job with the mayor and Nate going to jail the sign that I needed that this was the time to walk away? If it was, could I really follow through? Or was I so deep into this already, in too deep with the team, too deep into crime, in too deep for Eliot, that I wouldn’t be able to get out until the whole world fell apart?

And so, I just started at my laptop. At my emails, sitting in my inbox. They might as well have been collecting dust. I sat, thinking about everything and nothing at all. 

I wasn’t sure how long I had been there when a knock came to my door. 

“It’s open,” I called, remembering that I hadn’t locked the door when Sophie came and went earlier today to check on me. 

I didn’t move from my spot, staring at my laptop. It felt as if my eyes were glued to the spot, that pulling my gaze away would be painful, or at least physically difficult. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” The deep voice floated to my ears, one that I wouldn’t forget. It somehow pulled my eyes from where they were nailed in front of me towards the door where Eliot stepped through carefully. 

“Hey,” I said softly in reply. 

“How’re you holding up?” He stepped around the furniture till he found a chair he liked near where I was sitting. 

I sighed, “Okay. Those first two weeks I was so stressed that I don’t remember much, to be completely honest. Now I’m just tired and trying to figure out what to do next.”

He tilted his head a fraction, “Like what? What to cook for dinner in the next day or two or…”

I huffed, “More like what to do with my life.”

Eliot’s brow furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean? You’re gonna stay with us right? Help us break Nate out of prison?”

My lips curled into a small, but sad, smile, “Do you guys even still want me around when Nate’s not here?”

He scoffed, “Are you kidding? Of course we do. Didn’t you hear Nate on that boat? We’re family. To be honest sweetheart, I think we all like you better anyway.”

My smile cracked into a wider one, “Really?”

“Really.”

We just sat looking at each other for a few moments before my eyes dropped to my hands for a moment, “So, uh, where you just popping by to check on me or…”

He coughed, “Uh, actually I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh, remember the job we did in LA? With the two David statues?”

I raised an eyebrow in confusion, “Where I met you and helped with my first job? That happened well over a year ago? Yeah, what about it?”

He agreed that we were thinking of the same event and stuttered over his words a bit, trying to figure out how to articulate what he wanted. Eventually he said, “I just… I wanted to let you know that I’m glad I met you and inadvertently pulled you into the job.”

This conversation felt like it was getting deeper and more heartfelt with every exchange, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it. It was nice, in an uncomfortable kind of way and I knew he meant well, but I couldn’t stop myself from lightening the mood a bit with a more awkward angle. “You mean that you’re glad Maggie brought me along on your date?”

 Blush rose across his face and scrunched in what seemed like disappointment, “It was Nate’s idea. For the record, I would have rather taken you out on a date, but Maggie had the museum access.”

That stopped me in my tracks and it was my turn for blush to spread across my face and surely my neck and ears. I wasn’t sure what to reply, so I didn’t even try. 

Eliot seemed to register what he said, and quickly changed the subject, “Besides that, we kind of came up with a plan to break Nate out. Sophie is heading to the jail and is going to tell him. Do you wanna come over and listen in?”

I could still feel my heart racing, but this was a good excuse to get out and escape the hypnotizing gaze of my laptop. And if it got Nate out of prison and the team back to rockin’ and rollin’? Then it was a double or even triple win in my book. 

We crossed the hall to Nate’s apartment where the team has continued to meet up and use as their - our? - headquarters. I had been unsure of how I felt being in there with Nate being in jail so I hadn’t come over very often. Hardison did make another upgrade to the room with a tall desk facing the screens placed behind the couch wide enough to fit all of us. 

When we walked in Sophie had begun explaining the plan to break Nate out. Hardison was somehow channeling the conversation through the speakers like a phone call so everyone could hear and had the security footage on the screen so we could watch. Sophie and Nate were separated by some sort of plexiglass as they chatted from the prison phone booths. I had gone a couple of times to visit him so I was somewhat familiar with the room. It all seemed performative, the glass walls for some sort of privacy, the plastic phones to talk through even though you could still hear through the glass. All for the illusion of separation.

From what I gathered of the plan, we would have to break him out directly after his hearing at the courthouse. Eliot would take out any FBI agents and guards on the outside. Parker would be waiting in the elevator shaft to do the actual breaking out of the cuffs and his guards. The rest of us are on distraction and misdirection duty until we can all load up and drive away. 

“No,” Nate said when he heard it. 

“No!?” Sophie replied. 

“Uh… no,” he repeated. 

“What do you mean no?”

“It’s a horrible plan. None of it times out, and there’s no way you can get to the car that fast,” Nate explained. 

“Ah, but you’d have to admit, it’d be a lot more dramatically satisfying if I’m the one driving the getaway car.”

I shrugged in partial agreement to the both of them. The way Sophie explained the plan was for her to meet Nate right when he came out of his courtroom, putting her behind him in getting out of the building. Nate was right, where it would be impossible for her to be driving the car to pick them up (the way she described it), but she was right that it would bring a full circle moment to the operation.

“You know they record these calls,” Nate whispered, as if it would help. Sophie raised a cellphone at him that was plugged into the wall next to the prison phone she was talking to him through.

“I created a carrier signal for our conversation,” Hardison explained, “But I’m dumping another conversation onto the prison recording system.”

“Spanish soap opera?” Eliot asked as he passed a beer to Hardison and my drink of choice to me. 

“Oh yeah, check it out man. Look, it turns out Pepe’s twin brother Peppi is actually Guadalupe’s baby’s daddy.” Hardison explained the plot he was transmitting to the recording system. 

“You seriously keep up with that?” I asked. I could vaguely hear it in the background of his systems. 

Hardison shrugged at me. 

“Is this thing two way?” I asked him. 

“It can be, you wanna say hi?”

I casually nodded. Once he gave me the go ahead I said, “Hi Nate.”

He startled a bit on the camera feed when he heard my voice, “Hey Birdie.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, “You didn’t have a hand in that plan, did you? Because I would expect better from you.”

Sophie looked a little offended in the camera feed. 

I laughed, “No, I haven’t had any involvement in anything until just now.”

“What have you been doing the past couple of weeks, then?”

I rolled my eyes, “having an existential crisis over what to do with my life. Do I go back to boring normalness or risk following your footsteps and landing in prison with you? Any advice? How’s the food? And the beds?” I said the last half sarcastically, but the first statement was very much true and I tried not to show it. At least, not too much. 

Nate chose not to answer me verbally, but I watched as he twisted around in his chair until he found the camera pointed at him and Sophie and gave it a pointed glare. 

“Hey,” I said flippantly, “you chose this. Don’t kill me for asking.”

Behind me, Parker walked in with a large duffle. 

“He don’t want to do it,” Eliot told her. 

“Aw, but I love jumping down elevators,” she reacted. 

“I know,” Hardison validated. 

“This is my special elevator rig he got me for Christmas,” Parker said as he put down the large bag. 

“Alright, look, Nate, you took the fall for us,” Eliot began. 

“After you lied to us!” Hardison cut in, “He’s a liar.”

“You took the fall for us.” Eliot continued, “You went to jail so we wouldn’t have to. We get that, so we’re square. But now, you’ve got to let us get you out of prison.”

“But if we’re gonna do that…” Parker added. 

“And not all of us are convinced that we should,” Hardison also added which earned an raised eyebrow from me. 

“Then we have to hit you at your next hearing,” Parker finished her thought. “That prison’s escape-proof.”

“Okay, you know what? Fine, Nate,” Hardison said. “We’re still out here, we’re doing the job. We help people nobody else helps. That’s important. You want to stay around and miss out just because you gotta figure out your guilty conscience, that’s your loss.”

Nate began to respond with his nervous ‘I’m explaining’ laugh when Hardison turn

“Guys, no.” Nate said firmly. He then spoke slowly, as if spelling it out for us, “I committed a crime, I got caught, now I’m going to serve my time.”

“Boo,” I said as I took a sip of my drink. “Can’t we live by the spirit of the law, not the letter?”

“And what law would make this okay?” Eliot asked skeptically.

I shrugged, “I don’t know, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?”

“That sounds right,” Parker said, somewhat helpfully. 

“Nate,” Sophie said pointedly. “What kind of world would it be if everyone who committed a silly little crime went to prison, huh? Complete madness!”

Those of us in the office shared a baffled look. While I was being somewhat contrary, it was clear that Sophie actually believed what she said. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. 

“Did you get the kielbasa?” Sophie asked. 

Nate nodded and held up a packaged sausage with a bow on it, “yeah.”

“There’s an earbud inside,” she explained with a dramatic wink that I could see through the fuzzy camera. 

“Now listen to me,” Nate doubled down, “in no way, shape, or form are you going to break me out of this prison. Understood?”ed his screens and programs off, cutting off the call.

“What a burn,” I said to the quiet room. 

Eliot approached me, “Sorry about bringing you over here, that wasn’t how I thought that was gonna go.”

I shrugged, “I’ll admit, it stings a little, but that’s not your fault. You can never tell what Nate’s gonna do. Besides, you didn’t bring me very far and I got a drink out of it.” I raised my drink and Eliot tapped his beer against it. 

“To whatever future you choose,” he said spontaneously. 

“To whatever the future may bring,” I replied. 

I stayed around and chatted for a little while, but eventually retreated to my own apartment. There were enough emotions for today. 

A couple of days later Hardison invited me across the hall to help assemble or create a helicopter-esc gadget. The small talk didn’t last long and we slipped into a comfortable silence, the contraption alternating between us as we fiddled with pieces and screws. 

“Were you serious, the other day?” Hardison finally asked, breaking the silence. 

“About what?” I replied somewhat distractedly as I struggled to thread a screw correctly. 

“About figuring out what you wanted to do now that Nate’s behind bars.”

“Oh.” I paused before answering, “I mean, kinda.” I kept my eyes on the pieces and focused on putting them together even though I could feel Hardison’s eyes on me. “I kind of wondered if him getting arrested was the universe’s way of telling me that this was the end of the line for me and this life. That the opportunity and path had reached a dead end and it was time to go back to where I belonged, with a quote on quote ‘normal’ life.” I could tell Hardison wanted to say something, but I continued before he had the chance. “But, I’ve mostly decided that I’ll stick around for as long as y’all let me, wherever it leaves me.”

“Y’all? Really? I think you’ve been spending too much time with Eliot,” Hardison teased at my unconscious choice of words. 

I finally looked up at him, “Slip of the tongue from when I’ve said it ironically. I don’t know if I ever remember hearing Eliot say it.”

Hardison shrugged, “He’s some sort of southern, I’m sure he says it.” There was a lull between us before he continued, “But regardless, I’m glad you’ve decided to stick around.”

I smiled at him in appreciation when I heard Nate’s voice come out of his computer that was sitting next to us on the counter. 

“Oh, no. Mnh–mnh,” Hardison replied immediately. “No, we extended our hand of forgiveness, and you slapped it away. Now go away.”

“Please, please, I just want you to check the records of inmate Billy Epping. Fast.”

It sounded like there was someone near him as a distant voice said, “Who are you talking to?!”

Hardison rolled his eyes and started typing on his laptop before pulling something up. “Whoa… Okay, uh, William Epping’s conviction was for transporting liquor across state lines, but his sentence was way longer than anyone’s received for that crime since, like, the Pilgrims, man.”

“That’s suspicious,” I commented. 

“That’s weird,” Hardison continued, “Your warden was consulted on the sentencing.”

“That’s really suspicious,” I amended.

“It’s hinky,” Hardison agreed. 

Nate then turned to who I assumed was Billy and assured him that we would check it out. He then apologized and there were some panicked sounds coming through his comm that wasn’t from Nate. 

“Uh, Hardison, Y/n, why don’t you guys gather the team and get me a background check on the warden.”

“You stabbed me!” The other voice called. 

“Oh, come on, just a little,” Nate minimized. 

“Was that necessary, Nate?” I asked. 

“Yes,” he responded without elaborating. 

“Nate, did you find us a client in prison?” Hardison teased. 

“Yes, we are going to help Billy Epping, and maybe take down a warden at the same time,” Nate said matter-of-factly. 

Billy exasperatedly demanded who Nate was talking to and eventually came to the conclusion that he was going to pass out. 

Hardison turned to me and muted us on the comm network, “What was that about signs of the universe?”

“I’m not sure what this sign is telling me other than that Nate, my uncle and the person who raised me, is insane. Which I already knew and am still figuring out how that reflects on me.”

“Fair.”

We gathered the team and started preparations to do some recon. Hardison did the background check on the warden, Adam Worth, and drew up some credentials for Eliot to go into the prison as a doctor. He would be there to keep Billy safe and give information to Nate. Parker and Sophie (she had told us her real name at this point, but wanted to be petty and not tell Nate, so it was easier to just call her Sophie) were going to be working the courthouse and judge, getting information on Billy and their relationship with Mr. Worth. 

Hardison and I dressed up a bit to meet with Mr. Worth on the pretense of business. 

“How I got started?” Mr. Worth repeated Hardison as he poured us some drinks, “Well, hedge funds, actually. And then a little bit of international finance. But then ten years ago, I hit on this – National prison properties. Get the government out of the justice business.” Everything that came out of his mouth sounded like a political slogan. This man seemed to be born a politician, and from what Hardison found on the background check, it seemed to run in his family. His grandfather, father, and brother were all in pretty powerful political positions, but the Mr. Worth that stood in front of us couldn’t seem to get elected in his campaigns. 

When asked for our names, we introduced ourselves with the best English accents we could muster and maintain for this whole meeting. 

“Brilliant,” Hardison remarked, “Corporate-run prisons, five facilities, thousands of inmates, it’s tremendous.”

“Indeed, it’s a marvel,” I added with a smile despite the fact that my thoughts and feelings on the matter were quite contrary. 

Mr. Worth led us over to his sitting area of his office, Hardison came behind me as he took a step to Mr. Worth’s computer and planted a bug into his system. 

“The U.S. has the fastest growing prison population in the world,” Mr. Worth explained. “Well, it’s like the real estate boom,” he laughed, “except of course, the problem with real estate, you eventually run out of land. You never run out of people to put in prison.”

“Hmm, we haven’t had much success in the private prison concept in England,” Hardison said. “Our investment firm has large real estate holdings for construction of facilities.”

“You see, any yahoo can lay some concrete and throw up some razor wire,” Worth countered. “The profit comes from proper management. For example, the big money for us is in prison labor.”

Hardison pulled out his phone to ensure that his bug was accessing the system, but this had him a bit distracted. 

“Really?” I asked, pulling the attention to me and to keep the conversation going. 

“Yes. Goods and services made by prisoners in America – two billion dollars a year. One out of every five office chairs and desks, made in America, made by convicts. And those jobs are not going to the Chinese,” he laughed and raised his glass in a cheers. 

Around this time Eliot arrived at the prison infirmary and handed over his credentials. Before we left, Eliot was agitated.

“What’s up?” I had asked him.

“We tried to break him out, but now we’ve got to do this job. We shouldn’t just be at his beckon call after he ran a con on us,” he said through slightly gritted teeth. 

“Well, when you see him, don’t rough him up too badly,” I commented, not denying his feelings. I was a bit peeved too, and I knew Eliot wouldn’t do something rash, I said it in a teasing way to try and lighten his mood. 

He looked at me for a hard moment before he sighed, his shoulders dropping, “Fine, I won’t do anything.”

“I never said that,” I corrected, that teasing lilt still in my voice, “You can still scare him a little bit.”

His expression was a bit skeptical, but intrigued. 

“Please? For me?”

His face broke into a smile, “Okay, I think I can do that, sweetheart.”

And he did once he and Nate were alone after he was introduced to Billy and assured he would be safe. 

It sounded like they popped into a dental office to talk and with some rustling and clinking of buckles, it sounded like Eliot was physically strapping Nate in. 

“Restraints,” Eliot said. “They’re in the infirmary manual.” 

Then the sound of a dental drill came through the comms. 

“That’s – uh – for the guards, right?” Nate asked with a bit of a nervous laugh. 

“Do you know what I usually do, Nate, to the people that run a con on their own team?” Eliot asked seriously with a pause. “That almost get people killed, ‘cause they’re out of control?”

“Are we okay, Eliot?” Nate asked, that tone of nervous challenge shifting in his voice. 

I smiled to myself behind my glass. Eliot knew what he was doing when it came to scaring people, even when trying to be subtle. 

As an answer, Eliot turned the drill off and started relaying the information that we knew on Worth. He told him about his family’s political dynasty and his failure to get elected himself which led to him going the business route. 

“Okay, first, we have to figure out how to nail the warden on whatever scam he’s running here,” Nate said. “Second, we’ve got to get Billy out of here in case things go bad.”

“Told ya, this place is escape-proof,” Eliot countered. “Twenty-first century prison, fewer guards, more tech. Infrared cameras, motion sensors, lockdown doors.”

“Okay, does Parker have any ideas?”

“She’s working with… Sophie.”

“What was that?”

“Sophie told us her real name. I’m not allowed to say it in front of you.”

“Seriously?”

“Her and Parker, they’re running the judge.”

At the courthouse, they were able to find a bunch of files of inmates and evidence of a safety deposit box. Hardison and I wrapped things up with Worth to go do some research and discuss what they found. 

It turns out that the judge who sentenced Billy opened up a safety deposit box around the same time that he started sending civilians down for hard time. Four other judges seemed to do the same. 

“I mean, there are hundreds of cases here,” Sophie said once she, Parker, Hardison, and I got back from our respective assignments. “And these are just the ones we found.”

“Records I pulled off of Worth’s computer show that each time an inmate checks in at Rockford, their judge gets an email. Now, it looks coded. I’m thinking, Cayman Islands bank account?” Hardison speculated. 

“Hardison,” Nate said through comms, “private prisons have a contract with the state just like any company that provides a service. Now, do they have to maintain a head count?”

“Yeah, Rockford can’t drop below 70% occupancy. If they do, they lose their state funding. No state money, and they close. They came very close two years ago,” I answered.

“Hmm, so private prisons are like the hotel business. They live and die by occupancy, headcount. Now, Worth wasn’t gonna lose $100 million in profit just ‘cause he didn’t have enough hard-cases to fill the prison, so he puts a few judges on the arm to send him non-violent offenders, easy prisoners to supervise.”

“But why these people?” Parker asked. 

“Because they’re citizens,” Eliot said as he walked in from the neighboring room. “‘Cause they’re honest, middle class citizens. These are the people, they don’t wanna cause any trouble. They can’t afford a lawyer, so if some judge sends them away, well, yes sir. They were taught to trust the courts.”

“They believe in the system,” I added, summing it up. 

“So, Nate, whatcha got?” Sophie asked. 

“Well, Worth makes money sending innocent people to prison.” Nate answered, “I have just the thing.”

To put it simply, Nate did have just the thing for Mr. Worth: make all of his ambitions come true and get him elected United States Senator. 

Sophie got Worth on the hook for the election by posing as the current senator’s campaign coordinator, vying for reelection. Parker posed for pictures that got photoshopped to make it look like the current senator was having an affair. A scandal that could lose him his job. Hardison and I put together a campaign ad for Worth that Sophie also showed him and caught him hook, line, and sinker. 

“Now, I’ve got to give it to you Nate,” Hardison said once Sophie got back. “Nobody can read a mark quite like you.”

“Oh, come on,” Nate replied, “he tried to run twice and failed. That had to have been eating at him. Now find me a way out of this place.”

“Oh, now he wants to get out,” I said sarcastically with the intent to tease, but Nate chose not to comment. 

There was a pause before Eliot started speaking from inside the prison infirmary, “Billy showed me where he found the first dead gang member. Blind spot – no cameras.”

“Nice coincidence,” Nate acknowledged. 

“Yeah, and Hardison checked the incident reports, all of them happened in camera blind spots – places convicts wouldn’t know existed.”

“Guards,” Nate concluded simply. 

“They killed him, accident, whatever. They let Billy here find him, wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Can we use the blind spots?” Nate asked. “I really want a back door out of this place.”

“No, Nate, I can’t access those cameras from here,” Hardison said. “They’re dumb, they run straight to the server.”

“Yeah, and they could have upgraded the motion sensors and the infrareds since these plans,” Parker added. “You’re gonna have to map it out. Old-school.”

Nate and Eliot proceeded to map out the prison, finding every security camera, motion sensor, lock bolt, and heat sensor in the prison. Eliot marked it on his phone and Nate dictated it to us back at the office so we could map it both on a digital blueprint and a physical map taped to our clear erase board. 

Once they had finished the rounds in finding everything Hardison said, “Nate, if you could see this, you would not be encouraged”

“Yeah, I see it,” Nate said a bit distractedly, telling me that he had it mapped out somehow and somewhere and he was looking at our predicament at that very moment. “I hope Sophie has more luck with the warden.”

“Who’s Sophie?” Parker asked.

“You remember, we’re not supposed to use her real name with, uh…” Hardison answered. 

“Right, Nate hasn’t earned it yet.” Parker then started repeating Sophie over and over again in different pitches and tempos as if to remind herself. 

It got to a point where I knew Nate must have been losing his mind and I was getting a bit irritated myself, so I took it upon myself to cut her off, asking her to show me the ranges of the security equipment we just mapped out to see if there were even slivers of blind spots. I already had an idea that there were very few if any, but it distracted Parker from saying Sophie over and over and helped me get a better idea of what we were working with. She happily redirected and started rattling off information at me and pointing at the map with Hardison piping up occasionally about a specific tech thing here or there. 

Eventually Eliot came back and we started analyzing the digital blueprint we made of the security measures, trying to figure out how to get Nate an escape route. 

“Alright, we cut that wire,” Eliot said, pointing at the screen. 

“No, no.” Hardison said, “Look, once a lockdown is called, all these sensors go hot and all those door bolts drop into place.”

“I got it!” Parker said as she sat up from where she was lying down on the table desk. “The furnace room.” She then stood up and walked to the front of the room to face the rest of us who were extremely skeptical. “There’s no sensors because it’s too hot. They crawl straight down along the heating pipes until they reach the sewage system. Ha ha!”

“Now Parker, it’s a hundred and fifty degrees in there,” Nate pointed out through comms. 

She paused before answering happily, “The average human can withstand that for 27 seconds.”

The boys rolled their eyes and turned away from her. 

“Could they make that crawl in 27 seconds Parker?” I asked, trying to point out the problem.

She hummed and hawed for a couple of moments but before she answered, Sophie walked in. 

 “Worth is on the hook,” she said as she joined us in the living room, “But, with $250,000 of ours as a buy in.” She was referring to getting Worth to transfer a quarter million into a ‘campaign fund’ account, it seems he wanted us to match it. 

“Ouch,” Nate commented flippantly. 

“Oh, did I say ours? I meant, what’s left of your life savings. Yeah, we took it out of your account.” 

I winced, but still had an amused smile since Sophie was trying to rub it in, but we had to use Nate’s money to make Worth look even more incriminating. 

“Any luck here?” Sophie asked us, all of us answering in the negative, except for Nate.

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” he answered, convinced he was right. “B corridor, through to the kitchen, into the freezer, into the freezer air exchange, into the machine tunnels, which will lead me to the roof, or the parking lot.”

“You gotta beat the lockdown door to the corridor,” Hardison reminded him. “There’s a thousand pounds of pressure on that bolt.”

“There’s motion sensors in the kitchen,” Eliot said. 

“And infrared in the machine corridor,” Parker added. 

“All to get to the roof or the parking lot where you’ll be trapped and probably brutally gunned down,” Sophie pointed out. “Got a way out of that?”

“I’m working on it,” he replied, not as confidently, but still determined. 

“Okay, you do that, I’m sure we have all the time in the world,” I responded a bit distractedly as I analyzed the blueprint in front of me, not seeing a possible way out, but there had to be one. There had to be. 

Sophie and I were brainstorming with Nate on how to bypass the security measures and get out safely. We eventually got it mostly figured out with Nate taking the route he dictated. For the first door, he would need a wedge to keep it from latching. I proposed a folded up newspaper if he could get his hands on one. Parker said that if Nate could fog up the kitchen enough, he could bypass the motion sensors in the kitchen. If Nate could disguise his heat signature with materials in the freezer, he could get by that obstacle too. As for being trapped afterwards, we needed a distraction on the roof so Nate could get through the parking lot and into Worth’s car. He was the only one who could conceivably leave the prison in a lockdown. 

Eliot, Hardison, and Parker went back to the prison to lay down some ground work and prepare for the escape. Hardison brought some clothes to switch with Worth’s drycleaning for Nate to change into afterwards. He was also going to tip Worth off that Sophie might be crooked. Eliot was there as physical backup and protection. Parker was going to be flying a remote controlled helicopter for the rooftop distraction. 

I stayed behind with Sophie to make sure everything ran smoothly.

What we weren’t expecting was when Hardison was going to tip off Worth about Sophie, he got an urgent call that pulled him away from their meeting. Hardison checked Worth’s computer to find that all of the security cameras had been turned off, faking a system reboot.

“Eliot, get ready. They’re coming for Billy,” Nate said when Hardison told him what was going on. After a few moments of what sounded like Nate making preparations, he said, “Parker, please tell me you’re at Hardison’s new van.”

“Yeah, it’s really nice,” she answered nonchalantly. 

“Did you bring it?” he asked, referring to the remote helicopter. 

“Wait, are we doing that now?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna break out right now.”

I looked at Sophie. This was certainly unexpected, but hopefully we had prepared enough for it to pass. 

“Sophie, y/n, I need you to help guide me through it.”

“We’re on the count,” Sophie immediately replied. 

“Nate, when they call ‘lockdown’ every door in the prison seals tight,” I reminded him. 

“Right, on it,” he answered. 

There were a lot of thumps over the comms telling me that Eliot was keeping the guards at bay. I had to take a deep swallow when I heard him demand a guard look at him before he knocked him out. 

“A little sloppy,” Nate told him when he arrived. 

“New glasses,” Eliot explained. 

Eliot was wearing glasses when I met him, though I didn’t know his name was Eliot or that he was the world’s best retrieval specialist at the time. Whenever his glasses are mentioned, my mind seems to slip back to then. How he brought me champagne, complimented me, listened to me. How warm his hands were when they brushed against mine. How I’ve come to learn that they are always that warm. And how gentle they can be when they held my fingers when he said goodbye with a slight bow. How as he stood back up the lights of the party glinted off his silver frames and made his eyes sparkle.

I had always wondered if they were real, but mostly assumed they were fake. Him using new glasses as a reason for him being sloppy made me think that they actually were prescription. I should ask him about that. 

Nate grabbed Billy and they made a dash to the doors while ‘Lockdown’ got called over the intercom along with an alarm and a countdown. Billy lamented that they weren’t going to make it before the door closed and it sounded like he was right. 

After a moment, I heard a door open and Nate say, “Newspaper folded eight times can hold a ton of weight.”

I smiled to myself as it sounded like he took my suggestion. 

Sophie’s phone began to ring. She looked at it and tossed it to me, “It’s Worth calling the bank, stall him please.

I instantly answered the phone, thickening my voice to have a more pronounced Boston accent along with my customer service voice, “First Boston Independent Bank. How can I help you?”

“This is Adam Worth. I want to close an account. Move money out of it right now,” he said, somewhat out of breath and anxious. 

“And what account is it?”

“$250,000, the Worth campaign fund.”

“I’m sorry, sir, for a transfer that large, we require an in-person request to verify identity.”

He sighed and immediately hung up. 

“Well, that should stall him. He’s heading to the bank now,” I told the group even though I’m sure they heard already. 

Nate and Billy got to the kitchen where they separated, Billy going further into the prison, and Nate starting his route out of it. 

“Nate, the motion sensor,” Sophie reminded him.

“Steam’s filling up now,” he answered. I started gently chewing the tip of my thumb when he told us that he beat the motion sensor.

I sighed and released a bit of tension, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. I could tell Sophie was feeling the same as I was as she continually told herself to breathe. 

Soon enough he told us that he made it through the maze of security measures and made it to the parking lot where he was home free in Worth’s car, who was on his way to the bank. 

Sophie and I let out a breath of relief. Now all that was left was to send some helpful anonymous tips to the State police, specifically, the newly promoted Detective Captain Bonanno, who was on the mend. 

With Hardison switching Worth’s dry cleaning with some of Nate’s clothes, making them fit better than anything Worth owned for himself, it made Worth look like even more of an accomplice of his escape when Nate exited Worth’s car at the bank. Nate made sure to catch himself clearly on a security camera. Worth took all of the money out of the campaign account, including the $250,000 of Nate’s money, making it look like a bribe. It seemed like the judges that Worth had on his payroll would also be on the receiving end of an investigation since the police found a list of them in Worth’s car. 

Now that that was out of the way, we all had to exit the city. Quickly. Hardison was getting flights and I had most of my essentials gathered so that we could all head to the airport as soon as Nate walked in the door. I had prepared to be a fugitive when we took down the mayor, but now it was actually happening with Nate escaping from prison. I had stepped across the hall to my own apartment to grab a couple more things. Just when I was zipping up my bag, I heard Nate open up his door across the hall. I exited my apartment just as the door closed behind him. 

I crossed the hall and was about to open the door again when there was a very distinctive click of a gun, right behind my ear.

“Don’t move,” a voice said behind me. Based on my experience with Sophie, I should have been able to guess the accent, but I was a bit too preoccupied to really think about it. 

I turned my head slightly to see that there were five men standing behind me. I wasn’t sure where they came from to get behind me so fast, but they were all armed and pointed their firearms at me and the door in front of me.

I did what he said and didn’t move. I knew that the rest of the team was going to be opening the door any second, so I willed myself not to cry. I took a deep swallow, but could feel my eyes start to sting. There was always something when it came to this team, wasn’t there. 

I could hear Hardison through the door mentioning rendezvousing in Paris when the door swung open to reveal the team. He immediately paused and the moment I made eye contact with Eliot, he took a forceful step towards me, ready to fight. Nate stopped him, grabbing his arm, but Eliot still tugged a bit before halting. They both gave me reassuring looks with a fire behind their eyes when a woman walking down Nate’s stairs pulled everyone’s attention to her. The thought crossed my mind wondering how she got up there when there has always been at least one of us in the apartment. These guys seemed to move like ghosts. 

“Buono sera, signor Ford,” she said, definitely Italian. 

Nate stared her down, but his body language seemed relaxed considering there were still several guns pointed at the back of my head and through me to the rest of the team. 

“Why don’t you have your boys here put their guns down and we’ll head downstairs to talk?” He phrased it as a question, but his tone made it sound like there was no room for argument. This was still a bit confusing to me as it seemed she had all of the leverage here, again, since I had several guns right behind me. 

Luckily, she nodded. The men lowered their guns and I quickly walked through the door. The Italian woman gracefully followed Nate as he exited the apartment past me and walked down the stairs, closing the door behind them, keeping her goons in the hallway. I let out a shuttered breath, and Sophie comfortingly stroked my shoulder and arm. My bag slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor with a thump that startled me as I had forgotten I was even holding it.

It seemed to snap the rest of them out of it as well. Eliot stepped up to me, hands gently on both of my arms and looked me over, making sure I was okay. I just nodded at him to say that I was. Hardison and Parker were discussing who they were, why they were here, and where they came from. 

“They came out of nowhere,” I said a bit distantly. “I blinked and they were behind me.”

“Highly trained,” Eliot said. “But you’re okay, you did good. You didn’t lose your head.”

“If you say so,” I let out another deep breath that made me feel a lot better. I walked over to a chair and flopped myself on it. “So, guess we aren’t going to Paris?”

Hardison looked at me, “Probably not anymore.”

“We have to figure out what that woman wants first,” Sophie said, sitting more gracefully in one of the chairs than I did. 

Parker started spitting out theories which Hardison seemed to encourage with a couple of his own. The rest of us just sat in silence, knowing that this was more of a waiting game to see what Nate came back with. 

It didn’t take long before Nate came back into the apartment, a full glass in his hand. We all sat around the table, anxiously waiting for what was in store for us. Nate didn’t leave us waiting as he told us who exactly the Italian wanted us to target. 

“Are you out of your mind?” Sophie exclaimed. “Nobody touches Damien Moreau!”

“Nate, Moreau finances the Sicilians, the Russian mafia, the Colombian cartels,” Hardison rattled off. 

“Yeah, he moves money for the North Koreans,” Eliot added, “stolen artifacts for Iraq, nuclear materials for Iran.”

“Moreau is the big bad,” Hardison emphasized. “He is the central bank for international crime.”

Parker was flipping through the files that the Italian had given to Nate and just barely spoke up, “Nate, these files are CIA, FBI, Mossad, Japanese security.”

I peeked over her shoulder to see that she was correct, these files came from every major government and security agency. I didn’t know who this guy was, but I could tell that we were in a real deep shit from both sides it seemed. Two parties, both very powerful and very connected.

“So… who is this woman?” Sophie asked.

Nate told us that while she confirmed she wasn’t police, she didn’t expand much into who she was. He also added that she gave us a six month timeline. 

“She wants to hire us to go after Moreau? Absolutely not,” Sophie said, the others quickly following with similar sentiments. 

It got to the point where the one sided argument started to get out of control so Nate had to stop them. 

“Guys! Just wait a second. This is not a job.” He then proceeded to tell us that if we did it, we would be free of Nate’s… legal troubles, in so many words. If we failed, on the other hand, Nate would be imprisoned in an absolutely horrible way and the rest of the team would be killed. Nate wouldn’t even repeat what she said they would do to me. 

“She’s blackmailing us?” I asked, both parts in disbelief and resignation.

Nate stuttered, trying to find a way to deny it, but eventually just agreed that yes, she was blackmailing us. 

“Sucks to be on the wrong side of that, finally,” Parker said. 

“You don’t have to say ‘finally’ as if it was inevitable, Parker,” I said with a sigh. 

“Right now, they have the leverage, so what we have to do is we have to get it back,” Nate tried to say reassuringly. 

I could tell I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t quite convinced.

“We can’t go straight at a guy like Moreau,” Eliot said. “They’ll vaporize us.”

“Right, so what we do, is we do like we’ve always done in the past: we do jobs that help people. Only this time, some of them are gonna lead us right to Moreau.”

“Okay,” Hardison said, but he didn’t sound skeptical, it almost sounded like he was on board. “I mean, I do have a pretty big client list waiting for us to check out.” Yup he was on board. Hardison pointed at Parker and she gave a shy smile that said that she was in too. “Oh, we back in business,” Hardison said with a smile. 

Nate nodded and tapped an uneven rhythm on the table to somewhat signal that there was nothing else to discuss. 

We all stood, walking away from the heavy conversation.

I eyed the glass of whiskey that Nate had been holding this whole time, made eye contact with Nate and then Sophie before deciding that I was going to make the choice to not worry about it. It wasn’t my problem. 

“Well, I’m gonna head to bed and dream about the horrible life of servitude and death that I’m going to experience if we don’t pull this off in the next six months. Hope you all sleep better than me, and I will see you in the morning!” I called with faux  cheerfulness as I walked out of Nate’s apartment to cross the hall to my own. I snatched my bag that I had dropped when I was released from the line of fire and dragged it to my apartment where I left it in a similar position, not wanting to deal with it at the moment. 

I really just wanted to sleep. 

A/n: Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged! Thank you for reading!

Tags: @instantdinosaurtidalwave @kniselle @technikerin23 @kiwikitty13 @plasticbottleholder @mushycore @who-actually-cares-anymore 

[lucas-grey]

Lucas Grey: All Dialogues; Part 1

I guess this is one of the biggest projects I have ever done 😁 I wasn't in a good mood recently because my mental health is kinda low at the moment due to some difficulties in my private life. So I needed a distraction and I thought it might be fun to find every dialogue in all Hitman WOA games done by Grey or about Grey- no matter if directly or indirectly.

So I collected everything I could find for the first game, which was not that hard, since in Sapienza, Marrakesh and Bangkok no one talks about Grey (at least I couldn't find any dialogue referring to him). Colorado was more, of course, since the mercenaries talk a lot about him.

It was a lot of fun collecting all these dialogues 🥹 Some of them I have actually never heard before and they give a nice insight of his personality (and how he behaves as a leader).

If you have any more dialogues in mind, feel free to DM me! I already collected some for part 2 and 3, but I am open for help finding more!

And now, have fun with part 1 🫶

Please note: I wrote down the dialogues from the scenes myself using the subtitles, but it was often hard to follow, so please excuse any mistakes.

Prologue

Cutscene: Call me 47

Grey: You were always the best. Nobody ever came close. You defined the art, and it defines you. Your actions have changed the world. Powerful men have fallen by your hand but by the same token, others have risen. Do you realise what kind of world you've been shaping? Does the ICA? Does your handler? I live in that world. I have seen the consequences. I have felt the cost. That's what defines me.

Paris

Novikov to Philip von Zell

Von Zell: Well it’s confirmed, Sir. The FSB charges against you have all been dropped. No one is mentioning Kamarov’s unfortunate death or his alleged ties to the CIA of course.

Novikov: Good, good. That’s the end of that then. I knew our nameless friend would come through. Very good.

Bodyguard: No, I still don’t like it. This… this worries me. I mean, who is this guy? What kind of man enters a heavily guarded government building, kills an FSB section chief and sets him up as a US spy without even breaking a sweat? Where’d you find this guy anyway?

Novikov: See that’s the thing. He found me. He knew the FSB were investigating my past and he knew about IAGO using models as trojan horses. Everything. Guy like that. Let’s just say you let him do most of the talking.

Von Zell: Still… the whole dossier? Some price for a day’s work.

Novikov: Well I’ll be damned Philip. You and Dalia actually agree on something.

Novikov to his bodyguard

Novikov: I’m going to ask you something, Kurt. Then I want you to answer me honestly, completely honestly.

Kurt: Uh, yes Sir, of course.

Novikov: Do you believe Dalia plans to double cross me? She’s furious that I gave the assassin access to our secrets.

(…)

Novikov to Dalia Margolis

Dalia: Well, this is cozy.

Novikov: Save it, Dalia. It’s simple procedure. We’ll be out of here as soon as the threat is neutralized.

Dalia: Well, let’s just cross our fingers that the half dozen power players, billionaires and borderline supervillains upstairs are still in a spending mood by then.

Novikov:  Can we do this at home?

Dalia: Fine. So, what’s this about anyway?

Novikov: You guess is as good as mine.

Dalia: It wouldn’t have anything to do with the dead-eyed mercenary you hired to murder an FSB section chief now would it?

Novikov: Are you going to bring this up in every fight from now on?

Dalia: Until you do something dumber.

(��)

Novikov to Decker

Novikov: Mr. Decker. How are things at the office?

Decker: That’s ´91 all over again. Kamarov is found dead, gun in hand, office locked from the inside. In his safe, evidence that he was leaking state secrets to Langley. An FSB section chief, Kremlin’s golden boy, a CIA spy. Like I don’t know who you hired to pull this off, but I want his number.

Novikov: Trust me. You don’t.

(…)

Dalia to Sophus Fatalé

Fatalé: So, uh, are you going to tell me about what Viktor did?

Dahlia: Viktor… had a lot of skeletons in his mahagony walk-in closet and sometimes the lock won’t hold. A young ambitious FSB section chief was mounting a case against Viktor for past crimes. He got close. Too close. So Viktor, failing for once to bribe or threaten his way out of trouble made a deal with an assassin. Someone with impossible skills. The price? A copy of the IAGO dossier. Everything we have ever collected. No questions asked. And did Viktor bother to tell me about it? No. He did not.

Fatalé: The clients are in there. Are you saying they’re bidding on used goods?

Dahlia: Viktor is certain this mystery man was looking for something very specific. He won’t be bribing people left and right. Still, it’s the principle.

(…)

Cutscene: The secrets of the global elite

Novikov: How was Moskow?

Grey: Kamarov is gone. I set him up as a Langley spy. It's quite the scandal at the FSB. His death will not be investigated. Your turn.

Novikov: Very well. The secrets of the global elite. Five years of work. Everything we've collected. This thing makes WikiLeaks look like a gossip rag. The pen beats the sword, huh?

Grey: I have found that whoever wields the swords decides who holds the pen. Types: File secure. No loose ends. Leak the names. Smile Viktor. Your reputation is safe. Now, run along. I'm sure you have pretty dresses to attend to. Viktor? Good luck with the show. I have a feeling, it's going the one you'll be remembered for.

Cutscene: The key

Hajun: Ether security is in the dark about the incident, and a few at the company knew about the virus, not even the board. Must have been someone at the lab. I understand. I'll get to the bottom of this.

Grey: Bosses unhappy? I followed you from italy. I guess when you're invisible, you stop looking over your shoulder.

Hajun: You did this?

Grey: IAGO exposed you, ICA did the heavy lifting. I just pulled some strings.

Hajun: You out of your mind? How do you expect...

Grey: I play dirty. That's how you defeat a stronger opponent. You strike from behind. Now give me the key.

Hajun: You have a family? Trust me. If there's a weakness, Providence will find it.

Grey: I'll take my chances. The key.

Hajun: Fine. Won't do you much good.

Grey: It's funny. Cobb said the same thing. Thank you, messenger.

Hajun: Don't. I just killed you.

Grey: Then we're even.

Cutscene: Providence is under attack

Fanin: Compromised? But... I don't understand. There is no sign of forced entry. No alarm. Nothing.

Edwards: One of my people has gone missing in Johannesburg. A key-bearer.

Fanin: I wish I had been informed. Still, the system demands two keys. And the rest are all accounted for.

Edwards: Except for your late predecessor's.

Fanin: Cobb? But... his plane went down over the Pacific. It was an accident.

Edwards: Such was the conclusion at the time, yes. People die, Mr. Fanin. It happens all the time, even to us. If it seems like a conspiracy, it probably isn't. And yet. The failed coup in Morocco. The Ether virus. Someone knows about us. There was a pattern and I failed to see it. Providence is under attack.

Fanin: How much was there?

Edwards: Money? Not money, Mr. Fanin. Information. On all of our assets and operatives. Like you. Dig a trench, director. And make it a deep one. Because none of you are safe anymore.

Colorado

Guards talking

Guard 1: I was providing Berg. He didn’t have a clue either. So who the hell is this guy?

Guard 2: Concerned citizen with a chip on his shoulder?

Guard 1: With skills like that? Come on man.

Guard 2: The boss keeps his past close to his chest. Apart from Olivia Hall, the head of the cyber unit, I don’t think anyone knows who he was before. Including Sean Rose.

Guard 1: Suppose we’re all thinking the same thing. He was one of them, right? How else could he know so much about the enemy?

Guard 2: Only thing that makes sense.

Guard 1: Wonder what they did to him. I mean, we’ve all felt the rage one time or another. The boss didn’t start this out of charity, the hate runs deep.

Guard 2: We all have our reasons mate. Don’t need to know his.

Guard 1: Yeah, what’s your reason?

Guard 2: I do what I’m paid to. Made my peace for that a long time ago. Sill. Pick the right side whenever I can afford to. Righteous money just wrestles out in your pocket.

Guard 1: I hear ya.

Guard 1: So, the boss hires this former Interpol agent to do strategic analysis for us? That’s pretty smooth. If she can be trusted of course.

Guard 2: Bit of a strange one. Not strange like Rose mind you but kind of uh… aloof. I heard from the technicians that she’s a Cambridge graduate, top of her class, thing like that you know. Joining interpol a few years after.

Guard 1: Did you know that her main focus was tracking Rose? I mean how poetic is that?

Guard 2: I don’t know about poetry but it sure is a twisted move by the boss.

Guard 1: Then again, she was supposed to be the best and the boss only hires the best. I guess we’ll see if she can handle things on this side of the fence.

Guard 2: If not, I’m sure Rose has some elaborate retirement plan ready for her.

Guard 1: So, you got your ex-military, your mercenaries, I saw a couple of CICADA guys arrived earlier. Then, there’s freedom fighters, intelligence specialists, cyber criminals, you name it. Half of these people probably fought each other at some point.

Guard 2: Oh man, that’s not even counting the really freaky ones. Left-wing terrorists like Sean Rose, corporate whatevers like Crest. It’s like the united nations of assholes.

Guard 1: And what the hell is an anarcho-primitivist?

Guard 2: You got me and I don’t want to know.

Guard 1: This is a powder keg. How does the boss even hope to unite these freaks?

Guard 2: By the way he always does. Take them all, point them on a common foe.  

Guard 1: That simple huh?

Guard 2: I mean armies are easy enough to deal with when the bullets are flying. It’s all the shit that comes after that you gotta worry about. Peace time when soldier get bored, start getting ideas. That’s when shit get’s dangerous.

Guard 1: Okay, Sun Tzu. Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.

Guard 1: Rose put you on the Mexico team?

Guard 2: Reykjavik. Security for Olivia Hall on the Hampson Oil operation.

Guard 1: She’s the boss´s protégé, right?

Guard 2: She leads the cyber division. She’s only 24, but apparently some kind of prodigy. She used to operate under the hacker name Delriego. Took down some major corporations while she was in college.

Guard 1: Where’s she from anyway?

Guard 2: Sierra Leone. She met the boss during the war. That’s about all anyone knows about his past. That he was in Sierra Leone around 2002.

Guard 1: Better than nothing.

Guard 2: Save it. Already tried. There’s no record of him anywhere.

Guard 1: I bet she knows. Someone should get her drunk. Maybe she gets chatty.

Guard 2: Bad idea mate. Hall could enter your bank accounts from her smartphone. Those millennials have scary powers. 

Guard 1: The boss? Nah, he fades in and out of here. Never spends long in one place.

Guard 2: Yeah I think I saw him earlier, heading into the tornado shelter. Wonder what goes on in that place.

Guard 1: It’s where the inner circle does their planning. The boss, Sean Rose, Olivia Hall and that accountant. Probably where they keep the files from the New York vault.

Guard 2: No one else been down there?

Guard 1: There’s a biometric lock. Facial recognition thingamajig. Only the boss, Hall and Rose have access.

Guard 2: Getting pretty hierarchical however the fuck you say that for a brotherhood.

Guard 1: A standard precaution. If anyone in the field gets caught, the less they know the better. Don’t get entitled. We all have a part to play.

Guard 2: I know, I just have a thing with closed doors. 

Guard 1: Sean Rose, in charge of operations. I don’t get it. Why’d the boss pick him? Why not Reynard?

Guard 2: The way I see it, Reynard’s a lone wolf. Berg’s too specialized; I mean he’s no strategist. Parvati is, well, Parvati’s Parvati. I think Rose wants to lead, fiercely dedicated, completely ruthless. Did you ever hear his plan to take out Simon Deveraux? The CEO of Biosphere.

Guard 1: I know he’s building a bomb.

Guard 2: Right, right. So Deveraux is, he’s like exactly like Thomas Cross. Totally impossible to get near. But, also a tech geek, and he just ordered this new Link 4 smartwatch. So Rose, crazy bastard, gets the idea to turn the battery unit for a Link 4 into, get this, a bomb, and then swap the watches in delivery. One push of the button. Bye-bye, Deveraux.

Guard 2: That’s pretty extreme. Enemy operative I know, but it just seems so unsportsmanlike.

Guard 1: Yes, and there you have it. Right on the nose. And again, that’s why Rose is the head of operations. To him, the end justifies the means. And I mean there is nothing that dead-eyed psychopath would not do.

Guard 1: Rose? Nasty little prick, if you ask me. Sure, it’s not his fault that he grew up in that crazy collective farm out in the outback. What were they called? Sons of Solidarity? No, they are a bunch of left-wing cultists. But still, some of that stuff he’s done makes my skin crawl. The oil rig I get, but that government office in Auckland? Man, kids died.

Guard 2: Boss seems to trust him.

Guard 1: Yeah of course he does. Rose is the perfect acolyte. He���s smart, he’s ruthless, but like all fanatics, he’s impressionable.

Guard 2: Yeah, he’s an idealist, that’s for sure.

Guard 1: Nah, nah. I’ve met his kind before. Rose yearns for a cause, sure. But any cause will do. Because deep down, the only thing he’s really looking for is justification to blow people up.

Guard 2: Yeah well, guess this time he found one.

Guard 1: Don’t get me wrong. Sean Rose was born for this. The enemy doesn’t expect him. Their cruelty, it’s too, uh… it’s too remote. You know, you sign a document; thousands of people die half a world away. It’s unreal, like drone operators. But Rose and the boss? The enemy doesn’t know how to react. The savagery. That’s how we will win.

Guard 2: Bring a gun to a knife fight, huh?

Guard 1: More like bring an axe to a chess game.  

Sean Rose to Penelope Graves, first conversation

Rose: Ah, Penelope Graves. My very own nemesis. Welcome to HQ.

Graves: Sean Rose. You’re a tough man to find.

Rose: Please. You are Interpol’s best counter-terrorist analyst. You should have tracked me down months ago. No. You didn’t want to catch me. But what happened, Graves? Sympathy for the devil?

Graves: Something like that. Is that why the boss chose me, I wonder? Because of our conflicting past.

Rose: You’re the analyst. But this whole enemy’s united thing? I think he finds poetic. He’s funny like that. Great man though. Not what the world wants, perhaps. But sure as hell what it needs. Anyway. Get yourself up to speed.

(…)

Sean Rose to Penelope Graves, second conversation

Rose: I see you’re studying the boss’s accomplishments.

Graves: Impressive to say the least. Kamarovs suicide was like a work of art.

Rose: Funny to hear you talk like that. You, a straight shooter. A woman of the law. Tell me, Gaves, when did you decide to switch sides?

Graves: I used to think you were a monster. That building in Auckland. And then I met the boss and he… well, you know his ways. He lets you peek behind the curtain and once you know the truth, it changes your perception.

(…)

Sean Rose to Penelope Graves, third conversation

Rose: I know that look. Somethings rubbing you the wrong way.

Graves: Doesn’t add up. So the boss raids the archive in New York. He now has a list of all the enemies operatives. He goes after Thomas Cross first. He needs funding for all of this and Cross is filthy rich. It all makes perfect sense.

Rose: Except?

Graves: Except, he must have known the ICA would figure out the truth once Thomas Cross was grabbed at his sons funeral. It’s almost as if…

Rose: As if the boss wanted them to. Yeah, I know.

Graves: Maybe he made a mistake.

Rose: You really believe that?

Graves: If I did, I wouldn’t be here.

Rose: The boss doesn’t make mistakes, Graves. I have to believe that. This is the most important thing you and I will ever do. The enemy had no mandate, they have no claim. They have no vision. Their only agenda is to maintain the status quo. Our only agenda is to destroy it. So quit worrying and get up to speed on the upcoming operations. Mexico, London, Shanghai.

(…)

Sean Rose on the phone with Grey, first conversation

Rose: Boss. You’re still at the shelter I presume? Quick update. There was a minor setback at the barn. Burgess was hit by the simulated ram. No worries. If he’s not up to par, I’ll find a replacement. This is my operation, my strike team and they will be ready. You can count on that. I won’t let you down. Okay. Means a lot, boss.

Sean Rose on the phone with Grey, second conversation

Rose: Boss. Yeah, so Berg’s at work on our friend. Some kind of interrogation drug. Sodium Pentathol, I think. He won’t. Berg knows his trade. Even if the heralds don’t know jack about upper levels, this one is secretary Torres’ liaison and he might know about the motorcade route. I figured it’d be worth a shot. Sure. As soon as.

Penelope Graves

Graves: It’s actually quite brilliant in all it’s improvised glory. Cobb, the bank director whose plane crashed. The boss killed him for the vault key. How did he knew Cobb was even an enemy operative? Question for later. So, the spy ring. Infamous IAGO. The boss somehow gets access to their dossier of secrets and this is how he learns about the enemies projects in Italy and Morocco. But why kill the IAGO leaders? Novikov and Margolis were unaffiliated. The Russian must have seen the boss´s face. And the enemy has to have known about IAGO.  I probably even used their services from time to time. It was a precaution. Nothing more.

Penelope Graves, Part 2

Graves: Eugene Cobbs plane crash. Spectacular. Flawless in its execution. Clearly the boss is more than capable. But it makes me wonder why involve the ICA at all? Think Graves. This is the age of global surveillance. Anonymity is key, you know this. Why stick your neck out when you can get assassins to do your dirty work? And even have some rich asshole pick up the tab. So the boss orders the hits in Sapienza and Marrakesh. The enemy loses two operatives and he never lifts a finger. But wait, that’s not even the main objective. So what is? Of course, the enemies messengers. The ones we call heralds. The boss knows they will show up at the crime scenes, now all he’s got to do is watch and wait for the second vault key to fall into his lap.  

Penelope Graves, Part 3

Graves: Hm, possible weakness there. Rose won’t listen. I need to take this straight to the boss.

Penelope Graves talks to Ezra Berg

Berg: Penelope it’s Berg.

Graves: Dr. Berg. I didn’t recognise you in your... work clothes.

Berg: No that’s the idea. So, I take it you finally met Rose. Way I hear it you were on the Interpols task force to hunt him down. So what’s the verdict?

Graves: Sean is dedicated, creative, driven.

Berg: You don’t have to sugarcoat it. The man’s an extremist. You’ve seen the Shanghai plan. Kidnapping children, forcing an innocent man to commit murder. It’s distasteful. Rose has no honour, no sense of fair play. The boss asked me here because he wanted to avoid unnecessary cruelty. So why does he tolerate Sean Rose?

Graves: Because the boss is not a monster and right now, well, he needs one.

(...)

Cutscene: The hidden hand

Diana: The plot thickens.

47: Someone left in a hurry.

Diana: Sean Rose was not the Shadow Client. That much is clear. Whoever commands the milita, they got out just in time. Look around 47. We're getting closer.

(...)

47: Someone's done their homework.

Diana: Look how far it dates back. Hayamoto. Beldingford. D'Alvade. The shadow client has been tracking you for decades.

47: Now how is that possible?

Diana: It isn't. Every one of those missions were branded as unsolved or accidents. He must have been looking for a pattern. A certain MO. Which would mean...

47: He knows me.

Diana: Well. At least this shortens the list.

(...)

Cutscene: Old friends

Grey: Rose is gone.

Olivia: It was me, wasn't it? They tracked me. I don't believe it. I took every precaution.

Grey: Rose knew the risks. They all do. You did well Olivia, I am proud of you. Now listen. The ICA knows about you. They kept you alive because they needed you and now they don't. We won't talk again. Not until the storm is over.

Olivia: I don't like it. This man, you know what he's capable of. You need to end this now!

Grey: I ran away as a boy. My friend and I. Away from that... place. We came upon a small farming community, the people were dirtpoor but this woman, she took us in. We were awakened the next morning by the shots. A dozen people lay face down in the snow. Our warden... didn't like to leave witnesses. They shot the woman and her family last and made sure that we watched the whole thing. "This is your gift" the warden told us. "Your gift and your curse. Touching lives only by ending them".

Olivia: You know him

Grey: Better than anyone.

Hokkaido

Yuki Yamazaki to the Director

Director: Miss Yamazaki. I trust your people are satisfied?

Yamazaki: Our people, Director. Don’t forget who put you here.

Director: Of course.

Yamazaki: We appreciate you clearing your operating schedule. It is paramount to our interest that Soders survives. Still, this cannot have been easy.

(…)

Director: If you don’t mind me asking. Who is Eric Soders? His resume says retired big game hunter.

Yamazaki: Amusing. In a way I suppose he was in his day. Mr Soders belonged to an organization involved in the recent attacks against us and we needed a man on the inside.

Director: So it’s true. Someone is targeting Providence.

Yamazaki: Not for much longer.

(…)

Yamazaki on the phone with the constant

Yamazaki: Sir. No, the patient remained stable. I only wanted to… yes, the investigation. Nothing? How can there be nothing? Hajun was killed in a public parking garage in the middle of the afternoon. You are saying there are no witnesses, nothing on the CCTV cameras? What was he even doing in Johannesburg? And don’t tell me I don’t need to know sir, because I… I really need to know. Hajun was… important to me. I feared as much. It has to be the same person. Whoever hoodwinked ICA, whoever abducted Thomas Cross and fried Schaeffer-Moore’s servers- they killed Hajun. As a matter of fact, sir, I do feel better. I thank you for your trust.

Yamazaki on the phone with Mikhail

Yamazaki: Mikhail. Yes, I need another favour. The footage from the carpark in Johannesburg. Yes, the constant already told me they found no trace of Hajuns killer but I need to see for myself. No he doesn’t. I’m too involved to lead the investigation. And he is absolutely right from a purely strategic perspective, as always. Which is why I am talking to you. No you will do this for me, Mikhail. Because… you know what it’s like  to be in love.

Cutscene: Partners, then?

Edwards: Miss Burnwood.

Diana: That's not what my ticket says.

Edwards: We received your message. Loud and clear, I might add. Honestly, you could have just sacked the poor guy.

Diana: I didn't catch your name.

Edwards: No. You didn't. There'll be no retaliations. Not for Soders, nor any other recent fiascos. Someone's been meddling in our affairs, killing our operatives and making the ICA look like fools. I think you got close to that someone. Closer than we've ever been. That's why we're hiring you to take him down.

Diana: I don't think so.

Edwards: Don't rattle our cages Miss Burnwood. You really have no idea.

Diana: You spy on us. Bribe our people. And you have the gall to demand our help? No. You can't be trusted.

Edwards: Even so. We've been around for a long, long time. I think we could help each other. Some twenty years ago, your agency took in a young man with no past and... extraordinary skills. In his own special way he cares about you and vice versa. And ever since that time, you've never stopped wondering where he came from. And who made him what he is.

Diana: There was a doctor. Some depraved experiment. But he's gone now.

Edwards: Well if you believe the questions died with him, we have nothing further to discuss. If not? As I said, I think we could help each other. Partners, then? Cheer up, Miss Burnwood. We... we are the lesser evil. This terrorist? He wants nothing but chaos.

Diana: He is only a terrorist if you win.

Edwards: Miss Burnwood. We won a long time ago. This? This is maintenance.

[duckprintspress]

Thanks so much to the people who've already helped spread the word, it's making a big difference already.

The exact amount of the junk pledge is $2,015.

To overcome it's malicious impact, we need to hit an "actual" amount of $15,515 (instead of our real goal of $13,500) - as in, we need to raise enough over our actual goal to cover the money that'll disappear when this fake pledge is removed.

Someone also suggested in the tags that we report it - we absolutely did. :) Here's what I wrote to KS:

"My campaign has 50 hours left and I just got a huge spam pledge for $2,000. This is absolutely insane, and I'm furious. How can you guys let this happen? When this pledge becomes nothing but air, my campaign either won't fund at the last minute because people who WOULD have backed to help get us over the line will think we're already funded, or it won't get cancelled til after the end and then the money won't exist and we won't actually be able to afford to do our project. I'm absolutely livid. I knew y'all were having problems with spam pledges but jesus f-in christ KS you need to resolve this absolutely immediately or figure out a way to make it up to loyal users like us. It impacts KS too, since if we crash and burn at the last minute because of this spam pledge, y'all can't collect your fees. This pledge and it's timing entirely screws up my ability to get last-minute pledges, and even having it there for a few hours will have a substantial negative impact on my ability to run this campaign.

"If this can't be resolved immediately, please PLEASE extend our campaign a day, anything to make up for the damage that this will do to my ability to get my project funded.

"This is the kind of problem that, if KS can't get it under control, I don't know how I'll be able to continue using the platform. Another person I know has had over $10k of spam pledges on his campaign in the last few weeks, and was initially told one of the pledges WASN'T spam and it took over a day to actually resolve. Can you think what it taking over a day will do to my project?

"Sorry, I'm ranty, but I'm livid, and the useless chat bot, my inability to get a human in chat when I've got an urgent problem, the utter lack of FAQ support for what to do when I get a spam pledge like this, and the irrelevant categories on this form I'm filling out now, plus the dozens of uncontrolled spam messages I've gotten about my project across four different platforms, have all combined to make me feel like KS either doesn't care about the spam issue or has zero ability to control it, and honestly neither of these conclusions is heartening when they relate to a company that has taken thousands of dollars in fees from me over the last few years."

I. Might have been a little angry, lmao.

However, their support staff doesn't even get to the office until 9:00 AM Eastern time (one hour from when I'm posting this), and then they'll have however many other e-mails to get through before mine. Our 48-hour window starts at 9:37 am. The odds that the junk pledge will be gone by then are EXTREMELY low. The person I mentioned in that message, it took over a day to get rid of a junk pledge and KS initially told them it WASN'T a junk pledge, so ya know that was awesome for them. I'd been feeling pretty lucky that it hadn't happened to me yet - this happened to them about three weeks ago - but well. guess my luck had run out.

Anyway, if anyone has other questions or comments, I'll see them in tags or you can drop us an ask. The outpouring has already been incredible, folks have pledged (or increased their existing pledges) to a tune of $303 since I put up the post an hour and a half ago, which means we're only about a thousand shy. I was teary-eyed before because I was upset about the junk-pledge, and now I'm teary-eyed instead being grateful about how awesome people are.

Thanks, everyone.

We'll overcome this dipshit scammy bullcrap!

[gretchensinister]

Daily Fic Highlight: A Draught of Light

Today's winner of the kudos email is:

A Draught of Light is a Pitch/Sandy epic fantasy AU. I think the summary I used on Ao3 works pretty well:

While investigating the troubled past of the light and shadow adepts, Pitch Black, the last shadow adept, is accused of a crime he didn't commit. He flees from the law and takes refuge with Sandy, the last light adept. After almost five hundred years, it is time to solve the mystery of their solitude and immortality.

It's difficult to know exactly what to say about this work. It's an alternate world fantasy novel. The ties to Rise of the Guardians are obvious, but it's right at the edge of standing alone. An image I had in a dream was an important inspiration-jumping-off-point. I thought it was going to be 10,000 words when I started and I was very, very wrong.

For one character, it's about being unable to give up the magic he loves despite the institution that surrounds it and the hurt it does to the person he loves.

For another character, it's about leaving everything he was told was right and discovering so much more about his own power and the nature of the world.

And it's about that's always persisted between them.

It's about the need for light, and the need for darkness.

It's a story about how loving someone you're not supposed to can fix the world's magic.

200,099 words, M, M/M and F/M.

Sample:

Sandy watches as Pitch tips the light into his mouth, watches his adam’s apple move as he swallows. How long has it been since he was offered such a drink? Ages and generations. Pitch’s eyes close and his mouth curls into a smile after the first sip, tongue darting out to collect any drops that might linger on his lips. Pitch sighs. The last time he drank light was hundreds of years ago, when he was not yet a shadow adept, but merely a shadow apprentice. He had been in the city with Sandy…he lets the memory flow past. There would be time to talk of that later. Now, he will enjoy the starlight. It flows cool and smooth down his throat, far thinner than water, tasting ever so faintly of lilac and lavender, with even fainter undertones of ozone and gunpowder. It does not warm him, as sunlight used to do, but as he drinks he feels the intoxicating well-being that light brings to all (save, usually, shadow adepts) spreading through him, easing his aches and pains and telling him ever so persuasively of what joy there was in still being in the world. Yet for all it is light, it is of the night as well, calling to mind such joys that are wonderful and terrible and hidden and may yet, under the right star, be. “It’s very good, Sandy. Very good, and very strong. Perhaps it is strongest for me because of my unique situation…” He trails off, opening his eyes again and looking at the remaining starlight. “I hoped it would be so.” A smirk pulls at Pitch’s lips. “Certainly there must be more important uses of starlight than as a means to get a shadow adept light-drunk.” “It’s just one glass.” “I’m not used to it anymore.”

[quindriepress]

We’ve worked with so many fantastic creators over the past two years, all with different styles, creative processes, and approaches to comic-making. Here’s 16 artists’ advice for aspiring comic creators!

“You really just have to do it. Start something, get that experience, finish it or not - move onto the next project. Gotta keep going. Comics take time. Might as well start now.” - @sticksandsharks

"Read comics you love and try to figure out why they are so good, read as broadly as you can and try as many different styles and ideas as you can. Follow what is fun and interesting to you, rather than what seems like the “professional” or “right” way to do it.” - @toadlett

"Start with something small, maybe a few panels or a few pages, and finish it. Then do the same again. Making comics can be a very solitary activity, so find others that are doing the same thing, and do it with support.” - Julie Campbell

“Don’t wait until you’re a comics master to start making something, you will learn so much more by sitting down and drawing. You can always come back to your original idea and try it a different way. You might love your next attempt.” - Jem Milton

“Tell stories YOU want to tell. There’s no real value in chasing trends - others are already doing it after all. What people are interested in is reading the story only YOU can tell. You have a unique life experience that no-one else can replicate.” - Chris Manson

“A simple, practical piece of advice I would give someone would be to get a cork board. Being able to use a cork board to lay out your thumbnails is very useful! Just seeing it all laid out can help reduce the anxiety of a larger project.” - Thomas Heitler

“Finish comics. A mediocre finished story is always better than an unfinished/unseen magnum opus. Making mistakes and bad art is something everyone should get used to.” - Jack Devereaux

“Try to entertain yourself and maybe one or two other people. Make comics for in-jokes no one else understands, or ideas that come to your mind. Try not to think about doing everything all at once.” - Robbie Kieran

“Don’t worry too much about finishing things. Even an unfinished project will teach you an incredible amount. Don’t let a fear of an unfinished work hold you back from starting a project that you’re passionate about.” - @ariadnearca

“Drop the ‘aspiring’ and dive in. Have you already doodled the cool scenes you’re excited about? Then congrats, you’re a comic artist. Get started on page 1 so I can see it.” - @spiremint

“Create the stories you want to make and that you want to read. Forget about what you think a publisher or a potential audience might want.” - @domduongart

“Make sure you’re making comics for YOU, not what you think other people want! If you have enthusiasm for your project, it will always shine through. If it’s a slog, and you’re not enjoying it, hit the bricks!” - @elljwalker

“Keep going. Keep obsessing over those things you love. Keep making things. Keep sharing them with people. Take breaks.” - @pppondi

“Your comic will never be perfect, but thats okay - it’s good even! You learn while you work, even if it’s just learning what you would change next time. It’s good to make mistakes, it’s good to learn and grow.” - @kroovv

“If you want to be a creator, you should create for yourself. You’ll always have an audience that way. I think people that appreciate good comics can see work that’s honest. Just be yourself. There is always a place for you.” - @prehistoricfrog

“If you have a story, get it down. You don’t need to consider yourself a comic artist to make a comic. If you can draw, and you need to say something, just start drawing boxes and see where it goes.” - @bethfuller

If you’d like to pick up a comic from any of the artists featured here, check out the Quindrie Press shop or the Kickstarter we’re running for our new comic collection!

What's your advice for people who are just starting out in comics?

[kit-the-dreamer]

♧ LittleBigMovie ♧

°.• The Plane of Wonders •.°

(I'll change the image to something more original later ;w;)

It is here!!!

The LittleBIGPlanet Movie Project is officially here!!!

•.°•.° ♤ °.•°.•

• What am I talking about?

During the last few days, the idea of making a LBP Movie hasn't abandoned my mind (Post 1, Post 2). However, being fully aware that doing it on my own is something basically imposible, I decided to call the Fandom/Community to achieve it. That way, the project will be more meaningful since we'll unite to make our collective dream true!

• Can I join even if I have no experience nor talent?

Who said something about experience or talent? Who needs that when we have dreams to achieve. Experience, I think no one here really has it (regardings the topic of movie making I mean), and about talent, I personally believe more in hard work than talent itself. So yeah, you can definitely join! A helping hand is always needed, wether it be something small or big, from mere ideas and themes to the animation itself, it's up to what you feel comfortable doing here!

• How is it being developed?

Status Update (21/02/2023): We currently have some ideas of how the story could progress, along with some character ideas and arcs. However, the details of each scene and such are still in discussion, but the general idea of the plot is pretty much stablished. We have voicecall meetings every now and then (which are announced with lots of anticipation) to discuss our ideas put in various Google Documents we have created for each purpose, so we can get to an agreement and move on.

If you want to be part of the brainstorming process but don't want to join the Discord Server, it's alright! Don't doubt joining the Jamboard (click here for more info. about it) to let us know what ideas could be introduced in the movie. I can't promise that they'll be featured, but could probably inspire us as well to come up with more ideas, so don't be scared to let us know your thoughts!

Join the Jamboard! ⇝ https://jamboard.google.com/d/11SvE3aRxIhm0N21to5eUcZWpMjrmYa8c_WvoOjYzTRQ/edit?usp=sharing

• Where can I join the Server?

Right here! First we'll start slowly, familiarizing ourselves with the environment as we wait for more people to join. Today (June 3, 2023) we won't exactly work on anything, but the channels for chilling and brainstorming ideas and themes are open to chat. Once people actually join (and we have a decent amount of them around) we'll be able to officially start organizing some stuff for real. I hope this isn't an inconvenience for anyone... I'll see you around!

• Any questions?

Drop them by on the comment section below!

•.°•.° ♤ °.•°.•

To end this post,

Please spread the word among the Fandom, Dreamers, and let everyone know that we're about to make LBP history!

•.°•.° ♤ °.•°.•

When I read/hear this quote, I can't help but think of this project. Might as well leave it here for all to see:

"One can gaze upon something and see the wonder in it. Two can gaze together, and share that wonder. We are forever imitating sparks of imagination. So, let's spark together. In every mind, is a piece of code that operates our creative functions. It forms a conduit, called the cerebrumbilical cord that extends to the farthest reaches of imagination. So let's build. Together, we can push back the boundaries until they are a mere speck on the stellar horizon. Lets fly! Lets put our minds together and create. Everyone on this orb of dreamers contributes ideas. They ascend the cerebrumbilical cord to congregate in the Imagisphere: the natural home of our creative wanderings. So join us, for you have always been, and always will be most welcome...In LittleBigPlanet."

— Stephen Fry, LittleBigPlanet 3 introduction narration

[mister-eames]

dunno whether this was asked from you before but you HAVETO tell us how eames reacted the first time upon hearing the way Arthur performed the kick in zero gravity!! smooched his liddol face me thinks!

Frankly, Eames hadn't given any thought to the particular physics of the second level until it's brought up.

It's three months after Robert Fischer announced the dissolution of Fisher-Morrow and the team have collectively come out of hiding for a debrief.

Arthur looks resplendent, comfortably dressed for the Los Angeles heat in slacks and a simple oxford, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. From what everyone has heard, Arthur has been on sabbatical since the job ended. His cheeks are fuller and the perpetual frown pursing his lips has all but disappeared. Sabbatical looks good on him. Everyone says so.

What they don't know is that Arthur has been on sabbatical with Eames.

With the help of alcohol and reminiscing with good company Arthur's eyes have soft, an arm hooked lazily over the back of his dining chair, occasionally lifting a flute of champagne to his lips as he listens to everyone recount their version of events, offering a laugh or interjection every now and then. Mostly, he's quiet.

That is, until Ariadne mentions waking up in an elevator in the hotel level.

"-- hey, why were we in the elevator, anyway?" she asks.

"Had to improvise after we missed the first kick," Arthur says, gesturing to Yusuf with his glass. "After this one went over the bridge we all were in zero gravity."

"How did you create a drop without gravity?"

Eames leans forward, interested.

Arthur smirks. Then he starts with, "Well..."

From there the untold story unspools. Of losing gravity. Of the projections. Of Arthur bundling them all up together and rigging the elevator with the explosives. Arthur tells the story clinically, as if it's tedious to tell. Eames doesn't quite catch all the details, something the count of the music and mathematics and something about velocity, but what he doesn't understand most is Arthur boredly sipping at his drink like he's not recounting the most impressive feat of ingenuity that Eames has ever heard.

"That's smart as hell, Arthur," Ariadne says, visibly impressed. "There's no way I would have come up with that."

"It's just physics," Arthur says, unhooking his arm from the back of the chair, sitting up much straighter.

"You saved our asses."

"That's why he's the best," Cobb says, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes through with another plate of finger food. The conversation moves on to Yusuf's driving and potentially useful applications of upper-level effects of lower-level dreams.

Arthur though, engaged in the shifting conversation, somehow seems to become quieter than before.

Eames kicks him from under the table.

Arthur's face swivels to him. For a split-second Eames sees the echoes of long-gone panic in his stare, shadows of darker memories that Eames had no idea about. They all messed up in that job, one way or another, but if Eames knows anything about Arthur, it's that he's probably the only one still bearing that burden of blame, still stuck on those mistakes, despite their success.

The frown is back. Eames doesn't like that one bit.

He kicks him again. The frown wobbles before Arthur kicks him back, hard.

Shin stinging like a motherfucker, Eames grins at him and covers it by raising his glass to the team.

"To never driving with Yusuf again."

Everyone raises their glasses, clinking them together in cheers.

---

Eames disappears out the back for a smoke at some point later as the night is winding down. The Cobb kids are at their grandparents but their toys and bikes litter the backyard. Cicadas buzz loudly in the warm Californian air, settling into a kind of white noise one might find relaxing after enough time here.

Pleasantly warm, the smell of neighbours barbecuing in the air, Eames can understand, in this moment, why one might retreat to suburbia and end up staying there.

"Thought you were gonna quit," Arthur says from behind him.

He vaguely recalls that declaration. A drunk night on a Thailand beach. There are only two lies Arthur and Eames has ever told each other. Quitting smoking is one of them.

Eames passes him the cigarette and watches him take a deep drag.

"You never told me," he says

Arthur exhales the smoke as he speaks. "About what?"

"The elevator trick."

Three months, Eames stares straight ahead into the starless night sky. Three months they've spent in each others company and it never occurred to Eames to ask if there was trouble afoot on the hotel level. Or for Arthur to mention. Far be it from Arthur to ever brag about his accomplishments, though he suspects Arthur does not consider it to be such.

Arthur shrugs, pinching the filter to take the last drag. He puts it out on the porch rail.

"Wasn't a big deal."

"You saved our hides."

"I did my job."

"It was genius," Eames doesn't let him off the hook, "I'm impressed."

"Your condescension, Eames, is--" Arthur pauses, visibly arrested in his search for words. He clicks his fingers, thinking aloud, "--what was it you said -- was it 'noted'?"

Eames would never call himself an openly truthful man if he can help it, and certainly not an effusive one, prone to flowery and effervescent statements of the heart. Rarely does anyone make him want to be that kind of man.

Arthur, however, has always been the exception.

So it's only out of habit that Eames swallows down the most heartfelt words at the base of his throat, the ones that are too honest for this open space, for this thing between them that they have reignited and is still growing, like saplings emerging from the ash after a wildfire.

Taking hold of Arthur's chin with one hand, tilting his head to look at Eames, he says softly, "Appreciated."

Keeping firm hold, Eames leans in and places a short, sharp kiss on Arthurs lips. Then another.

"Where do you want to go after this?" asks Arthur, sinking into the touch.

"The hotel, I suppose."

"No," Arthur shakes his head, guiding Eames grip to his waist. "I mean after."

They've been moving from one city to another every few weeks, following wherever they felt like visiting on the slightest whim. Once, in Phuket, Arthur said, I kinda feel like authentic soba and two days later they were eating authentic soba in a tiny restaurant in the outskirts of Kyoto. After that it was Prague. After that it was Exmouth.

But something about Arthur's tone, the clutch of his fingers on Eames' wrist says that maybe his stomach is settled on something else. It gives Eames pause. Arthur is done running away.

And maybe Eames has had enough of running, too. It's worth a try, isn't it?

"Maybe New York a while," he says. "Then London, after."

Arthur nods.

"Then it's a plan."

"But," Arthur's voice deepens on a whisper, his feet shuffling in between Eames as he guides Eames' hands lower on his ass, "hotel first,"

"Yes," Eames agrees solemnly, squeezing. "It's been a while since we've had sex in this city."

"Too much info," says Dom from the doorway.

Dom raises the beer in his hand to his chest protectively, as if he'd caught the two of them in a scandalous state of dishabille. The moth-speckled, yellow porch light does a marvellous job of bringing out the green in his face and the sweat beading his forehead.

"Come now Cobb," Eames says affably, disentangling himself from Arthur, "you paid for the hotel, you must be glad we're getting proper use of it."

"No. No, I'm not."

"Getting the most bang out of your buck?" Eames continues.

"Stop."

Arthur slips an arm around Eames waist and says, deadpan, "I guess you could say we're looking to engage in some... Californication while we're here."

Eames loves him impossibly.

"Stop," Dom shudders, batting a moth away as slips back inside. He yells out, "I'm calling you both a taxi. You both can leave."

They briefly turn to each other with twin mischievous smirks before heading back inside. Just for one more drink. Then, the hotel. Then, the rest of their lives.

[labyrinthofsphinx]

Statistical Outliers

Part 3 of drabble. Will be a bit busy, but might post some more later.

He’ll be honest, it was a long day. Even after all the drama with Velvette, he was called down to Val’s studio because of some issue with the cameras there. The issue had been that someone had dropped some lube onto the lens, warping what would’ve been a perfect shot. Well, said someone gave Val his much needed target practice.

Angel dust was there, of course, and Vox made it a point to avoid him as much as physically possible. He didn’t want to hear about him today.

Aside from that, shooting the new commercial for later use, and filling out the rest of his programs, he almost forgot his earlier troubles. So much so that, when he finally was able to retire back to their top floor, he was surprised to find the kid on the couch, wrapped up in Velvette’s arms as she took more pictures of the two of them together.

He didn’t often keep tabs on Velvette’s feed, that was usually her business, but he poked around for a second.

It’s blown up. Like, they’ve always had numbers before, but he’s not sure up to this scale.

Likes, shares, replies, the works in unprecedented figures. All from photos she’s sharing of her latest projects, most of which featured the kid in the background like a set piece. Positivity regarding their brand, regarding them seemed to be at an all-time high. A quick search revealed that most of that positivity was an echo chamber from Velvette’s followers bleeding down a common thread to the rest of hell, which was generally: ‘Look how good/awesome/attractive the Vees are! They’ve even got such a cutie pie with them!’.

He calculated all of that in the span of a minute. Velvette knew he was just…so baffled the minute after. He might’ve blue screened from the way her face twitched, like she was holding back a laugh. She was smirking when he finally regarded her again.

“You think you’d know better than to question me by now.” She teased.

“…okay, granted. But how?”

“I told you, ‘cute’ is in.” She grabbed the kid again and lifted him onto her lap like a plush doll. She wasn’t tall, or at least, not compared to Vox, but the kid was small even in her arms. Looks like she probably burned his old clothes too, because he was wearing one of her new summer collections loungewear outfits, Vee branded and everything. Around his neck was a delicate collar, almost a necklace, the charm of which had their signature hearts but with an electric ‘V’ cutting through it. Hm, note for later, look into pet market.

The kid looked at him again, head perking up a bit as he walked over, but it seemed like he learned his lesson on the talking thing.

It was strange to have another person in their space, though less so the more Velvette treats him like a pet than a person. Val had a pet for…brief time, and Vox learned from that to never get him anything of the sort again. Which means, this kid is going to be an issue already.

“Has Val seen him yet?” He asked, almost with a groan. It was the end of the day, and he didn’t feel the need to cake on a smile without anyone else around. He was fucking tired, alright? He didn’t need Val causing an issue over her new literal boy toy.

She shrugged.

“Don’t think so. Been too busy with that long shoot with Angel. Why?”

“Remember what happened to the last pet?”

At that, the kid’s ears dropped, and his body curled inwards a bit. Velvette petted the spot at the top of his head.

“…he’ll stay in my room. And tell Val that if breaks my new toy, I’ll be up his ass, I swear to God.”

“I’ll let him know.” Better that the two adults work it out…hopefully work it out. If there was one thing worse than a Val tantrum, it was a Val versus Vel brawl. Because somehow Vox was always the one fixing shit afterwards.

Then, her phone went off. Velvette made a face, groaned, then turned to Vox.

“I’ve got to take this.”

She put the kid down beside her for a moment, standing up to head off to her room.

“Watch him for a second, darling.” She didn’t ask so much as just abandoned him to his new task, walking off and pretending to be pleasant about something over the phone. Her door slammed shut as the conversation seemed to take a turn. He could listen in, but her shriek from before had already had him running diagnostics and he didn’t want to risk a round two so quick.

God, he was so fucking tired. He’ll just order in for the night. He just didn’t have the energy to head back out for food and a night full of drinks.

“Coffee?”

The voice caught him off guard. He’d been zoning out, hadn’t he?

The owner of the voice poked his head over the rim of the couch. Geez, he was small. He barely made it over just to look at him.

“Huh?” He asked.

“Y-you look tired. I…I was just thinking that you might want a coffee…or tea…or I can make hot chocolate, if you want.”

He…what? Did he not realize who he was talking to? Did he not realize where he was? Was he just stupid? Also, who gave him permission to talk? Vox certainly didn’t.

“You know, last I checked, pets didn’t talk.” He snapped a bit, voice warping with distortion.

The kid didn’t look any more afraid than before. Since when was he unintimidating to children? Before he could get madder, an alert flashed before his eyes. Power levels low, please plug in or put into power save mode. He really overdid it today, huh? Maybe he should fit in another coffee break between segments. You know, forget the kid. He can punish him tomorrow when he had the energy to do it.

His limbs hurt a bit as he moved. His back was sore from all the sitting in that stiff chair. He really ought to replace it, but the odd angle of its back meant he always sits straight in interviews and, well, it’s a good look. He’d be lament to get rid of it just because of a little pain.

Fuck it. He’s just going to go pass out.

“Stay here, and don’t move.” He ordered as he quickly undid his bow tie. The collar released and he could feel air and blood circulating around his neck again. Eyes followed him as he went to his room, but he couldn’t be bothered to snapping back again.

He was just about to open his door when he noticed it.

Ah, he must’ve snuck pasted Velvette.

Smoke curled in from the doorway, red whisps of the telltale signature of Valentino drifted towards him like grasping hands. It reached to his waist, his shoulders, and across his chest. Val was in a mood. Probably that mood. Unless he wanted to deal with another fit, and despite feeling like he wants to drop to the floor, Vox had to be in that mood too.

Fuck my life.

Business smile, come on. Just business as usual.

And he stepped in.

…

As it turned out, there was a reason Valentino was in that mood. Worse, he was in the version of that mood which left Vox feeling like he just lost a fight. He was also, currently, on the floor. Val has taken over his bed, and any attempt to remedy this whole situation will probably end up worse somehow.

Small glitches danced across his vision. He could feel the places Val’s claws caught on the sides of his screen. They were enough to hurt, but he just hoped it wasn’t bad enough to need a buffing out. He sat up, and almost immediately regretted it. Damn it, Val! What was so appealing about mauling on him like a fucking cat toy? His back was a collage to scratches, his legs a testimony to the power of mandibles or whatever the fuck he’s got in his face.

Valentino was happily snoozing away, his particular grievance stripped away by the power of a fucked-out sleep and mauling Vox. Apparently, Angel was acting up. He was late to set, was pissed off when he arrived, and was in entirely too much of a rush to leave. Obviously, this was a problem for Val. And, now, Vox. Because, again, Valentino’s problems are always Vox’s problems.

It didn’t take much to figure out why Angel was doing this shit. It would only a couple of hours before Alastor’s pet projects figured out the kid was gone. Not dead, but gone. So far as he knew, they haven’t figured it out yet. Angel probably hadn’t had time to surf the web while working, and the rest of them apparently didn’t even have phones. Princess Morningstar didn’t follow the Vees, so it’s not like she’d be likely to see their feed.

Even now, he could see them walking the streets, asking folks, looking for hide or hair of him. Instead of looking the one place they might get a clue, they distracted themselves with nonsense.

He stretched out, figuring he might as well take the couch. He had to get some sleep. Also, while he was at it, he’d just quietly silence anything mentioning the kid on the pity party’s feed. Not that he was concerned, but the idea of Princess Morningstar walking into Vee tower (or worse, Lucifer) with demands was both embarrassing and demeaning. He wouldn’t have it.

When he left the room and headed into the lounge, he was surprised to find the T.V. on. There was a streaming movie playing, and a voice was singing that he hadn’t heard in…fifty? Sixty years? Longer?

God, he’d been alive last time he heard this. Back when it first came out. He remembered. He had that tune stuck in his head for months. Everyone did.

He’d always loved the T.V., alive or dead. As hypnotic as it was to everyone down here, it held just as much sway to him, even after all these years. His feet dragged him towards the sound, the old timey tune jumping into chorus again.

“I’ve a smile on my face. I walk down the lane. With a happy refrain. Singin’, just singing in the rain.”

That…didn’t come from the T.V.

The small, soft sound came from the couch, where two tired eyes blinked slowly at the screen. There was a small smile on his face, as if he really did forget for a moment that he’d been kidnapped.

“She’s gonna be really mad that your over here and not where she told you to be.”

Vox’s little comment nearly made him jump out of his skin. Though shock, surprise, and even slight fear seemed to give way to something somber in his mind. Vox didn’t say it, neither did the kid, but they both knew he looked like shit right now.

“…I know.” He muttered, after a moment, like he was considering whether Vox would want a response or not. “But…but I didn’t want to sleep on the floor.”

Oh. Well. Um.

He bit his lip.  No, no. He wasn’t about to sympathize with him. That’d be like sympathizing with the wallpaper or the chair. It had a purpose and when it’s done with it, it’ll get thrown out like all the rest of it. That’s all.

“That’s where pets belong.” He hissed.

“…do I have to be a pet?”

“If you want to keep your scalp, yes.”

He sighed, despair puffing out into a choked noise. That said, he didn’t wander back to Velvette’s room. Instead, he abandoned the couch for the floor, resting his head on his tail as he curled inward for warmth. Now abandoned, Vox took over the couch. He had half a mind to change the channel and was about to when the kid pipped up again.

“C-could you leave it on?”

“…why?”

“I love this part.”

He could name on one hand the number of people down here still alive that he knew of that actually watched this movie. All of them were far, far older than the kid. He didn’t look like a 50s kid, or didn’t dress like one. Maybe he kept up to date with all the innovations, like Vox has, but nothing about the kid has struck him as being from when he was still walking around.

A movie kid then? Sure, one with good taste but…okay, no, that was weird too.

He left it on. Not sure what possessed him to do it, but he left it on. Gene Kelly kept right on talking, even after the kid fell asleep. And at some point, while he was singing, Vox’s own lids drooped low.

…

He woke up to the click of a phone taking a picture. His whole body felt like it was still coming online by the time he even realized what was going on. Velvette, standing in front of the couch, was holding an impromptu photo session featuring Vox sleeping on the couch. She did that sometimes, take photos of him in compromising or funny positions. Most of them involved Val, though there was a particular vid of him unintentionally slamming his head against his desk that got a good laugh. She doesn’t really post these more…reputation damaging ones. No, she just keeps them for blackmail.

Now, while he didn’t really care about the sleeping part, it registered that he probably still looked like a shark attack victim via Val. The fuck was so amusing about that-?

A quick look down and he got his answer. The kid was there, guess he never went back to Velvette’s room. He was still asleep, curled almost entirely into a sphere. A Voxtek branded throw blanket was tossed across his shoulders. It was probably the one they kept by the couch, all things considered. He didn’t think much of it…but from an outside perspective…

“I didn’t do that.” His voice sounded groggy from sleep and the lingering exhaustion. Velvette scoffed, in a laughing, mocking tone, and kept taking pictures.

“That is so cute, Vee.”

“I didn’t do it!” He snapped louder, enough to wake the kid up with a jolt. A bit of electricity might’ve made the jump and zapped him, because he responded like someone stepping on a live wire. Eyes wide and leaping up, his ears flicked around looking for the problem.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Vox growled, frown pulling into a broken smile. “You’re still talking.”

The kid deflated, realizing again where he was, and snapped his mouth close. Velvette puffed out her cheeks.

“Uh, did you have to go and ruin it?”

“Ruin what? You making fun of me?”

“No, you being cute, Vee. I told you, ‘cute’ is in. It makes you look more approachable and desirable to be a little cute sometimes.”

He felt like he was going to blow a fuse. Sparks danced around between wires and circuits, and he had to physically pull himself in. He was never going to get anything done if he started his day short-circuiting. He trained his emotions back. Smile, the camera’s on again!

“While that may be the case, Vel, I think it’s probably better if half of hell doesn’t think I got mauled by a bear, hm?”

She actually looked upset by the idea of not sharing it. He can already tell she tacked on a few hearts across the pic. The taglines, ‘Vee life’ and ‘Vee with the dog he didn’t want’, were all set and ready to go.

 A game show thinking sound went off his speakers as a thought came to mind. “Oh, here’s an idea, why don’t you just edit it a bit, so I look more put together when you post it? Don’t you have better pictures of me on the asleep on the couch?”

Usually, he was speaking to Val like he was a misbehaving child, but Velvette earned it a few times. Like right now, when she was acting like a kid who was told they had to see the doctor before getting a lollipop.

“Fine!” She huffed. “And don’t be surprised when everyone’s up in arms to watch your new presentation.”

She grabbed the kid by the scruff of his neck and walked them both back to her room.

What presentation-? Oh, yeah. Headsets. The whole reason he was currently suffering Velvette’s added attention right now. Well, if it gets him more viewers…it should be worth it. It better be worth it.

Though, he did double check on Alastor’s little gang. Still panicked, it seemed. Still had no idea where the kid was. Good. His little media silencing was doing the trick then. Yet…he knew even he couldn’t keep it up forever. Someone would let it slip. That could lead to some trouble, given the kind of reaction the king of hell seemed to have. Honestly, he didn’t realize anyone would miss him this much. Lucifer hardly went out, now he was patrolling the streets with his daughter like he was desperate to find the family dog. And he wanted no part of that fight.

Hm. As far as he knew, the kid still owned his soul. Maybe it was about time he wrote up a contract. File that under things to do for later.

For now, there was work to do.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9/ Part 10