#I might start calling them frostbite

[clonedchaos]

Kong and Suko Headcanons + Shimo Part 2

Since quite a few of you enjoyed part 1 of this post, I finally came up with some more head canons! (With a bit of fluffy Kong x Shimo tossed in there because that ship has grown on me quite a bit as of late. I think it’s cute and creates room for tons of wholesome interactions for both parties)

Also also, I have been wanting to write a short story featuring these three ever since I saw the movie all the way back in March. I haven’t had time or energy for it, but now that I’ve started writing again and have began taking meds for my ADHD, I might release it soon! :D Nothing too long or crazy, mostly just fluff and hurt/comfort regarding things I’ve discussed in this post as well as the other part. With, of course, some underlying conflict.

Shimo is harshly underdeveloped in terms of social interaction. Unlike Suko, she values her own personal space. Kong tries his best to take things slow and offers her affectionate pats every once in a while to show she’s appreciated and acknowledged in his space. Once she’s gotten used to the touch, she’ll usually headbutt Kong’s shoulder as a way of saying “I want to be acknowledged.”

Shimo flinches whenever any ape raises their fist, thinking they’re going to strike her. As a defense, her body automatically freezes the area surrounding her. Consequently, she hates loud, sudden noises as well. Suko and Kong are the main ones who help calm her down.

Not only are Shimo’s social skills underdeveloped, but so are her communication skills. When she speaks, most of it comes out in a broken speech pattern. (Think of it like how people used to speak hundreds of years ago- Shimo- compared to modern day- most other intelligent Kaiju). She more than likely speaks in the third person out of habit. Kong does daily lessons with her to get her up to speed and make conversations between her and the pack easier.

Suko likes to tamper with/examine various machinery that Illene and the other humans bring to Hollow Earth. Sometimes it can be hard for Monarch to get things done with the little ape rummaging about.

Shimo was the one that fell first. She never had a healthy relationship with any creature since the Skar King imprisoned her. But with Kong, she was free to do what she pleased. Above all, she was safe. She watched him turn the pack into a community where everyone was respected and cared for, despite all obstacles.

Shimo feels guilty for the nerve damage her frostbite did to Kong’s hand, despite the fact that it happened under the Skar King’s control. Kong has assured he harbors no ill will towards her, but Shimo can’t shake the idea that deep down he resents her. Sometimes she’ll grab the glove in her mouth and playfully nibble on the metal (without damaging it) to try and make light of things.

I think their difference in habitat is kind of cool. Shimo is drawn to Kong because of his warmer body temperature, while Kong sits near her if the humid heat of the lava gets too unbearable. And I find it ironic given how in G v K he hated the snow, but spending time with Shimo made him hate it a little less.

Suko loves chewing on ice as a snack. Shimo is his infinite ice cube spawner.

Shimo will occasionally forget his how big she is and flop down onto her friends. (She’s like a giant Great Dane trying to sit on their human’s lap)

Suko has a habit of tackling people when he’s very excited. As stated at the beginning of this post, he lacks any understanding of personal space. This is, in part, due to past trauma of losing his caretaker. It is a huge reason as to why he refuses to sleep alone at night. He’s afraid that if he’s not by someone, he’ll lose them.

Shimo forms little ice figures that she gives to Kong as a gift. It’s her main way of showing affection.

Kong likes to take sticks and draw various symbols and figures into the mud. More often than not, Shimo will rest her head atop his and watch the process. He gets used to it over time and sometimes forget she’s even there.

Kong isn’t used to having others around or forming friendships with people outside of Jia and Illene. Having so many of the pack look up to him is subtly intimidating and puts a weight on his shoulders that he hadn’t had since before the storm on Skull Island. He also doesn’t immediately catch onto or understand the fact that Shimo likes him (Mothra is probably the one who notices first. She likes to keep tabs between the surface world and Hollow Earth). This is mostly a joke but what if Suko tries to set Shimo and Kong up on a Kaiju date— which is just them going hunting together or something. Both of them are oblivious to it.

Shimo becomes increasingly overprotective of Kong and Suko as time passes. In dire situations when Godzilla and Kong have to meet up to stop a threat, Shimo will snap at Godzilla if he tries to provoke or pick on Kong. Godzilla is the Alpha, but Shimo isn’t too intimidated by him. Though she lacks most motivation to fight anymore, she’ll still stand up for those she has gotten close to.

Bonus:

[quadrantadvisor]

Alright new Jason Todd headcanons in a dpxdc setting:

Danny is a "liminal" ghost, rather than a "half" ghost. He's alive and dead at the same time. (He's like Jesus Christ (in the church denomination I grew up in), fully ghost and fully human.) Danny, in human form, can go through a ghost shield, because he IS a living human.

Jason, however, is a reanimated corpse. He isn't a ghost, wouldn't have a ghost core, etc, he has a normal human system that runs ON ectoplasm. Jason CANNOT go through a ghost shield, because he is always an ectoplasmic entity. Danny can go through the Fenton Ghost Catcher and be split into a ghost and a human; if Jason went through the ghost catcher, he would straight up die.

(For my purposes I'm gonna say that Jason became an ectoplasmic entity upon his resurrection, but wasn't very stable. Dunking in the Lazarus pit stabilized his system but also poisoned his ectoplasm.)

I do think that Jason could learn certain ghost abilities if he learned to harness his ectoplasm, especially if they detoxed him off the Lazarus waters. He's probably already enhancing his stealth and strength in ways he hasn't really noticed. I think he's held back by the amount of physical matter he's lugging around, so maybe he couldn't fly, but I'm imagining temporary invisibility, or intagibility of like, a limb at a time. Maybe he can't walk through walls, but in a fight he can dodge by instinctively making the targeted part of his body intangible.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[flamingpudding]

I had a crack idea that I was thinking of so you know in Dan is Klarion au I was imagining a au based off of that one where all of Danny's children are Klarion is like the robin thing for Batman it started off with Danielle when nabu insulted Danny as the Ghost King and Balance

Ever since Ellie decided that she needed to get back in blood so she made the chaotic antihero Klarion and and her suppose it familiar 'cat' Teekl the way to help out her mother and mess with Dr Fate/Nabu Teekl is actually a bear with an illusion on that makes him look like a cat in the human's eyes

Whatever since the anti-hero Klarion in The Phantom family has been passed down each of them giving their own flair to the persona of Klarion with a different animal every time that they had pretending to be a cat

Tell her to finally passed on to Dan it is an honorary sibling thing each of them has their own antihero name once they passed down the title of Klarion

Diana's query and takes after his father's style of dressing and his tickle is a phoenix

First of Thanks for the Ask! Inspirational as always! Helps with my writers block [insert awkward laugh]

Either way because this is split in two asks... you get two version! One focused on how it started and the other on the reveal! Though the might be some little Shorts... Also there is something really funny to me about a giant bear letting Illusionen into a cat... So Enjoy!

(BTW still thinking over the other ask... and working on it don't worry!)

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

Ellie huffed as Danny reprimanded her for her actions. She just huffed crossing her arms. She was just helping Danny. Her mom got a lot on his shoulders and she as the sort of oldest saw that the best. Sure technically Dan was older then her but, he shrunk down to kid level again and now she was the oldest.

Well if she ignored her other brothers but they were only saved recently and still in treatment with Frostbite. So she was the oldest. End of story.

"Ellie you can't just go off like that you know that messing with an Ancient is not-"

"Mom, That Nabu-Guy was being a pain in the a- " - "Ellie!" - "A PAIN, babbling on to much about Order here Order there. How keeping Balance means keeping Order and bla bla bla!" She cut in stopping her mom before he could go on another rant about the Ancients, she needed to treat with respect.

"He doesn't respect you, the Ancient of Balance! You are the literal Symbol of Balance between Life and Death! Aside from being the Ghost King. So of course I had to mess with the one HE mentors!" Ellie added huffing as she crossed her arms.

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ellie, you created an entire alternate persona!"

"Yea so?"

"You used an illusion spell on Fluffels!"

"And? Any good Anit-Hero needs a Mascot." Ellie shrugged once more looking up at her mom before looking over to Fluffels, her pet ghost grizzly that was pretty much double maybe even tripple her size and the fluffiest ghost grizzly you could find in the entire Ghost Zone, and the cutest.

Danny on the other hand groaned, wondering if he had done anything wrong while raising Danielle. Sure he had been a teen himself but good damit why the hell did Ellie decided messing with the Ancient of Order or rather his mentee was a good idea. "I am calling Jazz! You can explain to her what you were thinking!"

He was definitely to overworked and stressed to deal with Ellies mischievousness right now. Well she did call her alternate persona Klarion, Lord of Chaos. Nope! He was not dealing with this right now, so Danny did the sanest thing he could think of. Turning on his heel and walking away. Where to? Who cares maybe he would check in with his old man Clockwork and see what Ellie had actually been up to, instead of just reading through Nabu's complains.

Ellie on the other hand blinked watching her mom leave before calling after him. "Does that mean I have to stop, being Klarion?"

"Mom?!"

"MOM!"

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

"Well hello my lovely Amadillos! Long time not seen!"

Ellie shouted cheerfully as she twirled into appearing hair styled into a horn like form, black suit and she might have over done it a little with the black eyeliner but hey it was an iconic look wasn't it. She smirked as Fluffles growled which translated into a meow for the mortals before her thank to the illusion spell.

The mortal teen looked up at her surprised as she floated down her hand glowing with red ectoplasm (a color change from her usual green ectoplasm that had taken a while to learn from Pandora). Young Justice was currently transporting something of interest to her. Well of Interest for the Justice League, really but Doctor Fate was involved which meant Nabu was involved, which naturally meant she would get involved. It didn't hurt that she would also get to try to try some new tricks.

"You got something interesting there... and I want that." She grinned. Ellie didn't give them long before she acted using the new tricks she had learned.

"Woah! Hey there, watch the pointy and sharp thowies!" She laughed making a quick shield as she blocked some batarangs and arrows before blinking.

"Hey they look different. Robin, did you change equipment? Did you get a new haircut too?" She asked curious but didn't really receive an answer as they ignored her questions and shouted something about distracting her while the others continue the transportation. Still she bend down to pick one of them up twirling it between her fingers. "What gives didn't they have a different design before?"

In hindsight it was probably not a good idea to just abandon her original goal but Robin was making her curious. And she could always find a different way to mess with Nabu. Her mom had given her an indirect okay years ago anyway.

"Teekl!" She called out and only her eyes could see how Fluffles jumped at the call growling in response as he swatted away some of the more annoying Young Justice kids. To the mortals it probably looked like Teekl was using ectoplasm, or well magic, in their eyes.

She used that change to go up into Robins face smirking widely as she looked at the other more closely, trying to get a read on him. "You are different! You aren't the same Robin I meet before!"

She ducked in time avoid Superboy as she hopped back excited with a new idea for her family.

But first she would have to deal with the little chaos and mischief she was creating.

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

".....and that is how I learned that the Robin title is getting passed down. So I was thinking of doing the same!" Ellie broadly stated looking at all her younger siblings before her. "We all get pretty annoyed with the way Nabu treats Mom so there always has to be a Lord of Chaos to 'balance' Nabu out!"

She grinned at her siblings expecting the same kind of excitement she had and they didn't disappoint. Danny had been there for all of them, even going so far as in to find a way with Clockwork to save some of their lives. So of course they all would jump at the change to mess with the one Ancient that was badmouthing their Mother just because Balance didn't entitle Order the way they wanted.

After all Chaos was needed to Balance Order out.

This was going to be fun...

[Follow up part Linked here]

[five-rivers]

Art Nouveau Chapter 1

@scarletsaphire

Set in my 'Painting in Different Colors' series!

Danny and Frostbite had just finished their spar and were walking back to the main hall to have some frozen chocolate (much better than hot chocolate) when a group of yetis waved them over.  They looked like they'd been arguing with each other, but they didn't seem angry, just frustrated with each other.  

“What is it, Driftice?” asked Frostbite.  

Danny trailed after him, feeling a little awkward.  Was this something he should be overhearing?  Or was it some intra-tribe thing he should bow out of?  

“Flashfreeze thought there might be a color shift spinward of us, near the false horizon.”  He gestured towards that edge of the island.  

“I am not the only one who thinks there has been a change.”

Frostbite looked in the direction Driftice had indicated.  “What kind of color shift?”

���Purple, I think,” said Flashfreeze.  “Or blue, perhaps.”

“I see,” said Frostbite.  “Great One, do you detect any such change in color in that direction?  Your eyes are different from ours, and may see it more sharply.”

Danny, who had already been looking in that direction, shrugged.  “Maybe?  I think it might just be that there are a lot of doors over there, though.”

“We could get out the telescope,” said Frostbite.  

Some of the other yetis made faces of distaste at that, but Danny perked up, levitating slightly.  “You have a telescope?  What kind of telescope?  Can I see it?”

“Yes,” said Frostbite.  He shot a look over Danny’s head, which Danny chose to ignore.  “It’s a rather large one.  Quite impressive, if I do say so myself.  I think you would like it.”

Danny nodded.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a telescope I didn’t like.  Unless it was, like, broken.  Or bad.  But you wouldn’t have a bad telescope, I’m sure.”

“Then we’re decided,” said Frostbite.  “We’ll see the telescope.”

“Yes!” shouted Danny, pumping his fist.  “Telescope!”

“It is this way,” said Frostbite, waving Danny towards the buildings and caves that made up the village proper.  “We keep it put away so it isn’t damaged.”

“Cool,” said Danny.  “So, is it a reflector or a refractor?”

“A refractor.  It is made of ice.”

“Of course,” said Danny, nodding.  “The lens and the tube and everything?”

“Yes,” said Frostbite.

“It must have really thick lenses, then, since ice has a lower refractive index than glass.”

Frostbite gave a great shrug.  “It is what it is.  We tend not to work with glass outside of medical settings, so the lenses seem to be the correct thickness to us.”

That made sense, overall, and for a short time, he just followed after Frostbite, glancing at the yetis behind him.  “What’s the big deal about the color being different, anyway?” he asked.  

“No one has spoken to you about the turning of the ages?” asked Frostbite, sounding surprised.  “Princess Dorathea?  Lord Clockwork?”

“Nope,” said Danny.  “Haven’t heard of that before at all.”

“One moment, Great One,” said Frostbite.  He called to the other nearby yetis, and started giving them instructions, directing them to one of the larger caves.  Together, they started the work of extracting the telescope.  

“Can I help?” asked Danny.  

“In this case, it is best to leave the work to those who know how to handle the telescope.  Now, where was I?”

“You mentioned the ‘turning of the ages?’”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Frostbite.  “Where to begin…  The Infinite Realms are made up of ectoplasm.  Ectoplasm is substantially different from normal matter.  So, the laws upon which it works are also different.”

“Sure,” said Danny.  The physics of ectoplasm was one of the things his parents studied.  He had a passing understanding of how it all worked.  

“Instead of, say, quantum spin, or quantum flavor, particles of ectoplasm might be better described in terms of color and character, qualities that go hand in hand.  On occasion, the character and color of the Realms shift.  The shift begins in one location, then spreads, until it has reached every corner of the Realms.”

“So… Ectoplasmic particles don’t have spin?”

“They do, to some degree, but that subject would require a great deal of additional explanation.  The important part is the change.”

“Right.  The change in color?”

“In color, but also in character.  In mood, or aesthetic, some might say.  Others might call it theme.”

“... I don’t get it,” admitted Danny. None of those things sounded very scientific to him.  

“Let me attempt to explain from a different angle,” said Frostbite.  “Every so often, the ambient ectoplasm of the Realms undergoes a change in color and character, which is called the turning of the age.  As the two are related, the color of the ectoplasm indicates to us the character of the coming age.  The character being how the Realms as a whole both look and behave.  The aesthetic, if you would.”

They followed the telescope up a nearby hill.  

“You are aware that different cultures had different views of the afterlife?  Some very similar, some very different?” 

Danny nodded.  

“Some of that is caused by natural portals during the relevant time periods leading to different Realms, but the larger differences can be ascribed to the portals leading to different ages.  For example, the popular conception of Hell was likely inspired by a red age.  During red ages, temperatures grow more extreme, islands crash together to form larger landmasses, ghosts take on a more monstrous, demonic mien and become more aggressive.”

“Wait, so this shift affects ghosts, too?”

“How could it not?  Like anything else, we change with our environment.  When the laws of nature change, we must adapt to them.  That being said, the internal ectoplasm of individual ghosts rarely changes color.  Yours will, in all likelihood, remain green.”

“Well, I guess I'm glad Flashfreeze thinks it's purple, then.  Red sounds kind of awful.”

“It might still become red,” said Frostbite.  “It is not at all uncommon for the color to change before the age has completely turned, or for an age to last only a very brief time.”

“So, turning into a demon is still on the table.”  As if he didn't already have enough trouble with his reputation back home.

Frostbite laughed, and patted his shoulder.  “Yes, but red ages have their good points, too.  They are exciting ages of alliances and camaraderie, and many a quiet injustice has been revealed and overturned in a red age.  But we ought to see if there even is a change in color before we speculate any more on the age to come, hm?”

“Okay,” said Danny, watching as the yetis heaved the immense telescope into position.  The white ice sides, taller than he was, twinkled in the light of the Zone.  

Flashfreeze looked through the eyepiece first.  They seemed to look for a long time, but then they stepped back and nodded, decisively.  “I was right,” they said.  “It isn't doors.  The ectoplasm over there is turning purple.”

.

“Okay, will you tell me what a purple age means now?” asked Danny, aggressively stirring his frozen chocolate with a spoon made of ice.  The telescope had been swarmed by yeti scientists immediately after Flashfreeze had made their pronouncement, and Danny hadn’t gotten a chance to look through it at all.  

“Yes, yes,” said Frostbite.  “Yes, but purple ages, or violet ages, are not nearly as easy to define or predict as some others.  They can be highly variable.”

“But they’ve got to have some common points.”

“That they do.  The principle commonality is rules.”

“I thought all of them shared rules.  All of the ages where the colors were the same, I mean.”

“Well, yes, but purple ages tend to apply more rules, and to a greater degree.  Rules similar to Frailties.”

Frailties were curses imparted by the five great rivers of the Ghost Zone.  The Styx, which bound one to promises, the Acheron, which defined uncrossable boundaries, physical and social, the Cocytus, which engendered weaknesses, the Lethe which granted forgetfulness, and the Phlegethon, which caused something like addiction, a dependence on a stimulus, most often blood or fire.  

“So, instead of demons, it’s more like vampires?”

Frostbite chuckled.  “I do not believe that has been the first guess of anyone I have ever explained this to.  Then again, I haven't explained it all that frequently.”

“Not vampires, then?”

“Vampires would not be out of the question, actually, what with their rules regarding thresholds, their diets, sunlight, and all the rest.  There was an age of vampires that was purple.  But most people think of fairies and the fae, not vampires.”

“We’re going to turn into… fairies.”

“Do not sound so skeptical.  There are a great variety of fairies, hence why purple ages are so unpredictable.”

“But fairies.”

“Or elves, or fae, or a variety of other subsets of such creatures.  Take unicorns, as an example.  While usually universally violent, when a purple age comes over the Realms, they become tamable by virgins.”

“That’s still weird,” said Danny.  

“The tendency towards rules extends to social structures as well.  That’s how it always is in these cases…  Last time we made all sorts of roles and positions and held all sorts of elections, competitions, what have you, in order to fulfill them.  Hierarchies.  Royalty and nobility are very popular in purple ages.  There is a great tendency to titles and epithets, as a depressingly common frailty is that of being bound by one’s true name.”

“Which river does that?”

“In most ages, it is a rare interaction between the Styx and the Acheron.  But in purple ages…”  Frostbite shrugged.  “Every age has something common to it that is rare elsewhere.  For example, cyan ages - that is the color between blue and green - tend to have a greater number of half humans.”

“Really?” asked Danny.  

“Truly,” said Frostbite.

“Do you think we’ll have one of those, soon?”

“Impossible to say.”

“What about red ages, what do they have?”

“Wars, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right for demons.”  He shook his head.  “What else should I look out for, in a purple age?  Or is it too unpredictable?” he added, remembering some of Frostbite's earlier comments.  

“Ah, well, beyond the emphasis on rules…  Any turning of the age comes with physical changes.  It may be quite some time before you see any, the change has only just begun, but it would be wise to keep your eye out.”

“Do you think that it'll affect my human form?” asked Danny, frowning over the brim of his cup.  

Frostbite frowned as well.  “It may.  There are unfortunately few studies on the matter.”

“You'll probably be seeing a lot of me, then.”

“A silver lining, no matter how the coming age unfolds.”

Danny looked away and drank his frozen chocolate to hide how hard he was blushing.  

.

“So, you’re going to shrink and grow wings?” asked Tucker, raising an eyebrow.  

“I mean, maybe,” said Danny.  “I could also become a vampire.  Or maybe a werewolf.  Those have a lot of rules, too.”

“And Tinkerbell-lookalikes aren’t the only kind of fairy,” said Sam.  “Elves, hobgoblins, and banshees are all kinds of fairy, too.”

Due to various construction noises at Fentonworks - apparently something about the change of age had tripped some detector or other, and Danny’s parents were very excited about it - Team Phantom had retreated to Jazz’s usual haunt.  The library.  Specifically, one particular reading room in the library.  It was very cozy, with the three of them, and verged on tight when Jazz was in there.  

Of course, as soon as Danny had thought that, Jazz returned with a teetering stack of books.  She dropped them on the table as soon as she shut the door.  

Tucker sneezed.  “Blegh.  Dust.  This is why hard drives are the superior form of data storage.”

“Books can’t be defeated by magnets or overheating,” pointed out Jazz.

“Sure they can.  It’s called fire.”

“Is… is this an RPG book?” asked Danny, tugging one of the books out of the pile.

Jazz blushed.  “It’s– Well, yeah, but it’s something people did research for.  It’s all based on actual folklore and modern takes on that folklore.  I thought it would be easier to digest.”

“Gimme,” said Tucker, reaching for it.  

Danny moved it out of his reach.  

“I’ve also got the Encyclopaedia of Fairies, Collected Celtic Folklore, and a bunch of fairytale collections, of course,” said Jazz, ignoring Tucker and Danny as they wrestled over the book.  “Do you want The Dark Side of Fairytales?”

“Yes, please,” said Sam.  “I think I’d lose it trying to work through the others.”

“I was thinking we could list common weaknesses,” said Jazz.  “Physical characteristics are probably too varied, but the list of what works against fairies should be a little bit easier.”

Tucker managed to get the book away from Danny - via treacherous use of Danny’s ticklish spot - and Danny decided not to push Jazz by using his ghost powers in the library.  Sulking, he took the encyclopedia.  That, at least, would be organized.

.

“I regret all my decisions,” said Danny.  

“Is there any weakness here that isn’t contradicted by something else?” asked Sam.  

“Iron, I think,” said Tucker.  “I haven’t found anything that contradicts iron.  Unless, you know, fairy knights wear steel armor.  That’d do it.”

“Well,” said Jazz, with forced cheer, “we can still take the most common ones and test them regularly, to make sure they don’t trip you up later, right, Danny?”

“I guess,” said Danny, eying an illustration of a troll.  “I hope I don’t wind up looking like that.”

“Don’t say that,” said Tucker.  “You’ll jinx yourself.”

Danny let both the book and his head fall to the table with a thump.  

.

“Have you noticed anything?” asked Jazz, a couple weeks later.  

“No,” said Danny, as he had every time.  “I haven’t even gotten into the bathroom yet.  Give me a break.”

“I just think that you should probably get checked up.  There could be internal changes.”

Danny, who had just endured an interminable week of sex ed in health class, groaned.  “Don’t say that, that’s gross.”

“It’s not gross, it’s just the way things are,” protested Jazz.  “I know you haven’t had a chance to go since Mom and Dad started in on… whatever… but I think you really should.  Your health is important.”

“Fine,” said Danny.  “But later, and only if I can get past Mom and Dad.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” said Jazz.  

Danny felt like she was asking a lot more than that, especially so early in the morning.  He liked the Far Frozen, but it was, as the name suggested, far away.  The commute would eat up his weekend.  

“You guys’ll have to patrol without me, you know that, right?”

“It’s fine,” said Jazz.  “I’ve been practicing, and it’s been quiet.”

It had been, too.  Danny mumbled something like agreement in response and slipped into the bathroom.  

The first thing he did was poke the various iron bits that he and his friends had scraped together, on the premise that no one knew what ‘cold iron’ really meant.  There was a horseshoe nail, a broken piece of wrought iron, some regular iron filings, steel screws of various types, a lump of iron ore, and, Danny’s favorite, a tiny iron meteorite in its own case.

(Danny had taken to carrying that last one around in his pocket during the day and putting it away at night.)

None of them had given Danny so much as a rash.  That done, he checked his ears.  They weren’t pointy.  Teeth.  They weren’t sharp.  Fingers.  Had the right number of joints.  Skin.  Still a pale pink.  Eyes.  Blue, with round pupils.  He ran through the same check as Phantom, although that one naturally had different results. 

Either way, he couldn’t find any changes.  He hadn’t even grown taller, as far as he could tell, which was too bad.  He was among the shortest in his grade, although luckily not the shortest.  That honor fell on Mikey. 

He sighed.  He almost would prefer the changes to just happen already.  But he knew better than to say anything like that out loud.  

He grabbed his toothbrush.  If he really was going to the Far Frozen today, he’d need to get ready.  

.

The Ghost Zone looked different.  

Not a lot different.  The sky was still mostly green, islands and doors still floated lazily about, and small ghosts flitted to and fro.  There was, however, a haze of sweet-smelling purple mist in the air, and the grass growing on the ground had taken on a more natural hue.  

There was also a change in the quality of light and temperature of the Zone.  Most of the time, the Zone felt timeless, as if it was stuck in an eternal, neon night at the bottom of a very deep cave.  But today, it felt a lot like stepping outside on an autumn morning.  Which, incidentally, was what it was back in Amity Park.  

It was weird.  Not bad, but… weird.  Definitely weird.  

He took off towards the Far Frozen, making note of other small changes as he went.  Doors and islands, at first glance largely unaffected, seemed to be clustered closer together.  Several of the trees he passed looked alive, rather than dead.  The wind, when it blew audibly, sounded musical.  

Yes, Danny was definitely leaning towards fairies rather than vampires.  

However, Danny was only about halfway to the Far Frozen when he came upon a lair that simply should not have been anywhere near there: Clockwork’s tower, Long Now.  

Once he recognized it, he hovered for a few minutes, trying to figure out why Clockwork would be here.  None of the reasons Danny could think of were very good.  He rarely put himself so directly on someone’s path unless it was important.  And, in Danny’s experience, important often meant calamitous.  

It was a lot less disturbing when he went looking for Clockwork.  

Nevertheless, Danny shook himself and flew to the tower.  If Clockwork needed him…  Well, it was important.  Reaching the Far Frozen could wait.  

He touched down outside the large double doors, which opened immediately, and went in.  The atrium of the tower was empty, however…

Danny crouched down to look at the floor.  The last time he was here - about a month ago - this floor had been plain stone.  Now, it was inlaid with graceful swooping patterns that reminded Danny of vines, or maybe visualizations of how planets moved.  They were still somewhat indistinct, half-formed, but they described a path.  After another moment of hesitation, Danny followed.  

The path traced a spiral through Long Now, leading Danny through rooms he didn’t know existed.  As Danny went, the purple haze got thicker and thicker, to the point where Danny could swear he tasted lilacs on his tongue.  Finally, though, it deposited him in a circular courtyard.  

There was a garden in the courtyard, and at the very center of it was a tree.  Both the garden and the tree were divided into quarters.  One, had plants and trees just starting to put up new growth, and young, early spring flowers.  Another was rich and bright with full foliage and the buzz of summer insects.  The third looked much like Amity Park did now, wreathed in the golds and oranges of fall, with fruit growing on branches.  The final one was wintery, cold, but still vital with winter-blooming flowers.  

The tree at the center was partially in all four quarters, and looked it, with one quarter of the tree in bloom, a quarter in full leaf, a quarter bearing fruit, and a quarter bare.  

It was a very Clockwork garden.  

What wasn’t like Clockwork, however, was the number of other guests.  

Frostbite was there, and given the other two, Danny flew over to him as quickly as he could without damaging any of Clockwork’s plants.  The others were Fright Knight and Undergrowth.  

Clockwork, meanwhile, had his back to them, looking up at the tree.  

“Doubtless, you are all wondering why I have summoned you here,” said Clockwork, turning away from the tree to face them.  To Danny’s surprise, he was sporting a pair of legs.  He eyed them with interest.  He’d never seen Clockwork with legs before.

“The thought had crossed my mind, meddler,” said Undergrowth.  

��Before it is fully set, an age can be manipulated,” said Clockwork, gliding across the ground with small, even steps.  “Influenced.  Changed.  Not at all easily, but I have put the first building blocks into place.”  He waved his hand through the air, purple swirling after it.  “I intend to do so in your favor.”

“For what purpose?” asked Frostbite, just a touch of a growl in his voice.  

“I am not sure you would believe me if I told you.”

“I would,” said Danny.  

Clockwork smiled.  “Mischief, mainly.  I have few enough chances to divest myself of some of the Observants’ control.  This, establishing a hierarchy that they are not party to, is one of them.”

“And what hierarchy would that be, Lord Clockwork?” asked Fright Knight, his voice almost as deep as Frostbite’s.  

“The seasonal courts,” said Clockwork, gesturing to the corners of his garden.  “Summer and Winter, Fall and Spring.  The wheel of the year, all things moving in order.  With this changing of the age, seasons will come to the Realms, as will night and day, and the phases of the moon.”

“And you’ll make yourself stronger by marking the passage of time,” said Undergrowth.  “I see how that helps you, but I have no interest in that.  How will it help us?”

“Seasonal courts must have their rulers,” said Clockwork.  “I think you would serve well as the King of Summer.  And, you, as Champion of Autumn.”  He turned slightly to Fright Knight, and as he did so, his hood fell back, revealing silvery white braided hair and pointed ears.  

Actually… Clockwork had stayed in one, young and relatively handsome, form this whole time.  If Danny looked closely, the other three ghosts around him also looked more… polished, maybe.  It’d take a lot of work to make Undergrowth look like anything but a plant monstrosity, but he had more flowers growing from his vines.  Frostbite’s fur looked shinier and sleeker.  Even Fright Knight seemed less tarnished and bloody.  

Danny raised his hand to his own ears.  They weren’t nearly as pointed as Clockwork’s, but the taper was detectable.  Had the concentration of purple ectoplasm here accelerated the change?  Or had it happened when Danny first came through the portal?

“As for Chief of the Winter Court, I do not think I would ever find anyone more suitable than you, Chief Frostbite, who have managed the Far Frozen well for these past centuries.  And, finally, for our Prince of Spring, one who embodies youth, change, and life.”

Clockwork had, without Danny realizing it, gotten close enough to touch Danny’s face.  He flinched back, surprised.  

“I have ice powers, though,” said Danny.  

“As there is snow in spring,” said Clockwork, unconcerned.  

“And… I’m not sure about the responsibility.”

“You could be a figurehead.  But the symbolism is necessary, to wrest control from the Observants.  Even now, they are attempting to force things onto a path more suitable for themselves.”

“I don’t know…”

Undergrowth scoffed.  “It hardly matters.  I accept your proposal.  It has been some time since I ruled, and it’s high time I do so again.”

Clockwork nodded.  “Then stand in summer, King Undergrowth.”

“I will take on this task as well,” said Fright Knight.  He walked to the autumn section of the garden and drew his sword, setting the tip in the soil.  

“You’re doing this much, just to annoy the Observants?” asked Frostbite.  

Clockwork tilted his head to one side, regarding both Danny and Frostbite.  “There are some other forces at play as well, admittedly.  Rest assured, this path leads to the greatest good.  I cannot reveal more than that.”

“Then I accept,” said Frostbite.  “But be warned: if I should discover treachery at the end of this path, it will not go well for you.”

Well, Danny could hardly say no after all of that.  He still had to check.  “So, the greatest good?”

“That is correct.”

“And saying no, that wouldn’t lead to something on the level of, you know.  Dan.”

“Not on his level, no.  Not for you.”

Danny squinted at Clockwork.  He had to wonder if that careful phrasing was a way to get around a restriction on lying.  

But Clockwork had helped Danny, more than once.  Even if Clockwork wasn’t being entirely honest, Danny should at least return the favor.  

He scuffed his feet against the garden path, then looked up.  “What do I need to do?”

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hello! I saw that your requests might be open so I figured I'd send one in! I might actually send in a couple if it's alright ;-;

Could you please write something about the Fellowship (+ Faramir, Eowyn and Eomer if possible) with a reader whose hands are always super cold and prone to frostbite? So they have to wear like 3 pairs of gloves in brisk weather just to keep their hands safe.

I have a condition called Raynaud's Syndrome where the blood vessels in my hands actually constrict in the cold so I lose circulation to my fingers if I don't wear layers of gloves and hand warmers, and I actually run the risk of losing my fingers so with colder months moving in I would love some comfort about it. Thanks so much dear, thank you and take care of yourself!

(of course it's alright! send as many requests as you want x I don't write for all of the fellowship individually (not totally confident with all their characterisation yet 😅) so I'm just going to do the ones on my character list :) I hope this is ok!)

(Includes Sam, Pippin, Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir, Faramir (separately) x gender neutral reader - no warnings, all SFW)

Sam:

Sam is constantly worrying over you the second it starts getting cold. Every 10 seconds he's checking up on you, asking if you're feeling ok, are you too cold, do you need another pair of gloves? Even if you insist that you're completely fine, he'll insist on giving you his own gloves, 'just in case', and if you're travelling then he'll fuss over you being sat close enough to the fire.

Pippin:

Pippin will make a lot of jokes about how you always seem to be cold until you explain your condition and he realises how serious it can be. He still teases you sometimes, but he's much more sensitive about it and only makes jokes once he knows you're completely fine and you've got enough layers on. (He's secretly nervous over you a lot but tries not to outwardly worry you too much.)

Aragorn:

Aragorn is more of a silent worrier than the others. Obviously he'll make sure you have everything you need to stay warm and then some, but his support is wordless. You'll often find yourself with extra gloves in your pack that you're certain you didn't put there, or with blankets covering you that definitely weren't there when you went to sleep. He doesn't fuss too much though, he trusts that you know your condition and limits far better than he does.

Legolas:

Legolas panics a little when you first explain your condition to him. Humans are just so fragile and he forgets sometimes! It means he's constantly keeping an eye on you, and will get whatever you need at the drop of a hat. He doesn't particularly feel the cold, so he will practically pile any of his spare clothes on you to keep you warm, and he doesn't sleep much, so he watches you to make sure you don't get cold in the night.

Boromir:

Boromir is a gentleman, and is definitely the type to offer his cloak as soon as he feels a chill in the air. Even if he's cold now, he assures you that he is fine and that you need it far more than he does. If you're in Gondor with him, he'll have custom gloves specially made for you to keep your hands as warm as possible. (He's also taken to carrying a spare pair around with him, just in case you should need them.)

Faramir:

Faramir, upon learning of your condition, will immediately try to learn more about it. He'll do as much research as he can and will provide whatever will help the most to assist with managing it, and if there's anything additional you suggest he leaps to get it done for you. He's also the best about comforting you if you have anxiety surrounding it, ensuring that you both know how to manage it as best you can and that he'll do anything to keep you safe.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Ice Princess"

Ice Princess by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Erik "Killmonger" Stevens x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Murder, Mayhem, Blood, Violence, Action/Adventure, Thriller, All Dat Good Shit. Grown Folks Only.

Summary:

Portia Keith has it all. A rich boyfriend. An impressive sugar baby allowance. Shopping trips around the world on private jets and more. Every day is spent living in the lap of luxury. For a special holiday trip, her boyfriend gifts her with a private yacht cruise on the Aegean Sea to ring in the New Year with friends.

In order to keep the wealthy party-goers safe, private security is hired to protect the good times, and the spoiled diva encounters the gruff ex-Special Ops soldier, Erik Killmonger, who has no time to coddle a spoiled, coolheaded socialite. Chaos erupts when the yacht is hijacked by ruthless modern-day pirates, and Portia has to learn to leave her Ice Princess ways behind in order for Killmonger to get her back on land... alive.

Word count: 22.5K

"I'm so cold I'm dripping icicles

I go and take your man that nigga might miss you

Spent his whole commission on my neck and ear

To stand around me need to have ya winter gear

Pay me coats and benz's and that berg-ice

That's why I do not feel these bitches, frostbite

Grown money, ever since a youngin' made my own money

You broke honey, and they call me

Banks, cause I can loan money

Colder than December, my diamonds on

Anna WintourSo that's fly ice in my life"

Azealia Banks – "Ice Princess"

Erik Killmonger nearly turned down the job.

Floating around some Greek islands in and around the Aegean Sea for a week babysitting some rich bitches was not his dream gig. Some guns for hire might enjoy the laid-back assignment full of sunshine and sparkling azure waters, but he learned enough over the years that working for wealthy pampered civilians was a pain in the ass. They treated security like servant extensions, and he was not interested in an environment like that. He was accustomed to covert jobs that kept his blood pumping and his mind sharp. There were long-term goals that required him to be with a different mix around the Middle East and real action.

But his homeboy Clark wanted to keep the contract with James Quinton, the multi-millionaire from Silicon Valley who pioneered new bleeding-edge technology in computer processing. For about seven years, he had been a celebrated tech wiz, one of the few Black men successfully cashing out of the grind hustle culture. Killmonger kept up with the man's accomplishments and compared them with his own. As a graduate of M.I.T. and a certified genius with MENSA, the secret Wakandan prince would've probably become another James Quinton himself if his life hadn't been disrupted by trauma and loss. The chips fell where they did, and Killmonger bided his time searching for Ulysses Klaue and working as expensive hired security. Clark nagged at him.

"Man, I'm stretched thin. They want discretion and the best. That's you. I know you were supposed to start leave for a week to recuperate from that Lagos job, but there's some sketchy action happening around the Mediterranean, and your Navy SEAL experience is needed… just in case," Clark said on a satellite call.

Killmonger sat in his closet-sized studio that acted as a storage locker for his gear instead of a home. Constantly on the go, and on the grind, he listened to Clark reclining in his Lazy-Boy chair with a glass tumbler of prime whiskey in his hand.

"You'll ring the New Year in a beautiful atmosphere. Relaxed and peaceful. The bonus holiday pay is great. Please, I need this contract fulfilled. This man knows a lot of billionaires and I could use the referrals… new contacts. Plus, you're good-looking," Clark continued.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Killmonger said, sipping on his drink.

"Look over the file I sent you online. It gives details about the yacht you'll be protecting, and also the rest of the clientele."

"That still ain't got nothing to do with my looks," Killmonger grumbled.

"Pretty girls like good-looking men. That's all I'm saying. You might get lucky compared to the other goons I got," Clark said.

Killmonger closed his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. The studio apartment felt cramped and joyless.

"I'll throw in another bonus for the short notice," Clark insisted.

"How many people onboard?"

"It's a private New Year's party, eight guests, and the yacht staff of four. You'll have your own cabin. You'll lead everything with Sherman and Banks working under you. Giving you the best—"

"Just three men?"

Killmonger lifted his laptop from a small table next to his chair. He logged onto his dark web email account and scrolled images of the yacht. Looking at the dimensions and pictures, Killmonger put down his glass.

"I need at least three more men."

"I can pull at least one more for you—"

"Gotta have five total under me to make this work, especially with us going to a new hot spot."

"The Greek government and the Turkish government have been doing extra sea patrols. James Quinton hasn't mentioned going anywhere for the holidays and I urged him to place his social media engagement on pause for the week until they end their holiday. It'll be a vacation for you. In fact, you could just supervise and chill."

Killmonger knocked back the rest of his liquor.

"Okay, I'll do it. Get me five men."

He hung up and checked the files of James Quinton on his own cryptic software. Quinton liked to stunt his wealth. The man posted photos and corny quotes at least ten times a day on all of his social media platforms. It was the ones with his girlfriend that worried Killmonger.

Portia Keith.

Online, she was known as the Ice Princess. Her beauty and personality were so cold that she had a reputation for being a femme fatale with a rich man's wallet. She had been linked to a few celebrities in the past but had moved her pampered ways to men with deeper and consistent pockets. She rarely spoke in public and showed up to haute couture fashion shows all across the globe. Killmonger couldn't figure out exactly what she did to make men clamor for her and pop culture gossip blogs to want to follow her daily jaunts as a sugar baby with James Quinton.

He stared at a few pictures.

Ma definitely had a face card that would never decline. Medium height, a medium copper brown complexion that turned a pretty darker hue in the sun. Body looked all natural and not the cringy build-a-bitch looks women paid top dollar for. Portia had tits and a nice ass that matched her thighs. She liked provocative looks and expensive things. Quinton gave her everything and baby girl wasn't denied anything according to the photos he peeped on her platforms. There was a crew of girlfriends she jaunted around with, and in every picture, Portia was the center of attention. The face of a model on par with Naomi Campbell, and the body of a vixen bent on destroying hearts and dicks. She stayed dripped in diamonds every day from head to toe. Most men couldn't afford her and several tried to keep her until Quinton snatched her up with the bank account that kept her flaunting her beauty and body.

That face, though? Killmonger couldn't stop staring at it. Her eyes were cool dark windows that gave away nothing. The kind of eyes that cut niggas down if they weren't on point. Her round nose was slightly upturned in a natural haughtiness, but her lips were the deadliest weapons in her arsenal. Killmonger's lips parted as he licked his canine slugs that matched the bottom ones made of pure gold. Portia's lips looked like they could make a dick cry if she sucked on it. Her nickname fit the vibe she gave off, and he wondered what Quinton had besides money to keep that sophisticated sugar baby close.

Killmonger checked the gossip sites and scrolled pages and pages of rumors that Portia and Quinton were having issues and possibly on the outs. He guessed the private New Year's trip was Quinton's way of keeping her, especially with the gossipmongers bubbling with sightings of her having lunch with an Italian billionaire.

Killmonger poured himself a fresh drink, then checked flight schedules on Delta Airlines.

Portia Keith pouted all the way to Greece on her boyfriend's private Gulfstream jet. Scrolling her social media feeds while holding her apricot-colored Pomeranian Mimi, she fumed at the gossip page listing her and Quinton on a site that criticized the super-rich for ruining the climate with their wasteful private flights and hoarding of resources. Her bestie Jodie patted her thigh and told her to ignore the haters.

One thing Portia always did was cultivate a scandal-free reputation. She prided herself on being a carefree Black woman leading a luxury movement for other Black women that had them raising their standards against unqualified men. Accused of only promoting hypergamy and a sugar baby lifestyle, she let people talk their shit because it only brought luxury brands her way courting her favors to use and promote their goods for free. Her exquisite face launched products like no other, and the quiet mystique she crafted with razor precision could not tolerate slander with her image. It wasn't her jet. It was Quinton's. Rich people had to protect themselves and taking commercial airlines with the poors was so… gauche. Especially for bad bitches like herself. The income brackets she played in were fifty million and above, and the low bar of fifty million was just being polite. Not bad for a country girl with tidewater roots and access to an excellent finishing school that prepped her for the lifestyle she led.

Portia left Charleston, South Carolina, with a finance degree from Clemson University and never looked back. Landing a job working under the Director of Finance and Operations for Conde Nast, she labored around the folks who ran Vogue Magazine. A chance encounter during New York Fashion Week launched her new career as a pampered princess. The paparazzi snapped a candid shot of her walking near Anna Wintour wearing a layered sable Balenciaga romper. They both wore the same dark Chanel sunglasses, and a fashion mag begged the question, "Who wore it better?" Before his passing, André Leon Talley exalted her style sense and overnight, Portia became the new "It" girl, the mysterious fashionista who was too short to be a model, but too glamorous to be a simple finance department worker.

She jumped on the parasocial relationship with the New York fashion scene and made sure she appeared at big events. Using a lame-ass rapper who liked to rock oversized ice, she taught him how to dress better, and spent his money on a better investment… her. She put him on to better fashion, better food, and better jewelry. It helped broaden his brand and snag a movie role. She bounced from him to a Hollywood Executive who flaunted her at Oscar parties and she kept her mouth shut and her eyes wide open for new marks. Stacking other people's paper and collecting custom diamond jewelry that became her signature trademark was a lofty career in her early twenties. Portia was nearing the end of her roaring twenties and she had to upgrade her prospects to older men with healthy long-term portfolios. Hollywood and celebrity wealth were fleeting, often feast and famine. New prospects were needed and her finance education led her to San Francisco and tech Daddies. The trade-offs were dull, less attractive men, but fatter pockets.

Then Quinton appeared on a Forbes magazine cover.

Dollar signs flashed in her eyes. She called in favors to get invited to a tech gala and projected her icy exterior onto a man who was rich and above average. New money cleaned him up, but her looks, nimble fingers, and optimum sex magic snagged her a baller on the rise. If she drank enough liquor and squinted her eyes just so, he could almost pass as a poor man's skinny Trevante Rhodes. But that squint had to be hard and the liquor extra strong.

She glanced over at Quinton.

He bored her now.

Quinton was thirty, only four years older than her, but he acted like he was fifty, worrying about his declining fortune all the time. He got caught up in some bad cryptocurrency deals and took a hit on some poor stock market advice. The man pretended that everything was okay financially, but Portia could smell the oncoming of poverty one hundred miles away. Yet she still ran his pockets one last time with the trip she wanted for herself and her girls. She had a couple of boyfriend replacements already on deck and planned to jump ship after the New Year. Broke didn't look good on her and she wasn't built for struggle love or struggle pockets. A baddie always had a graceful contingency exit plan. She sighed loud enough for Quinton to notice her restlessness. Her gaze glossed over his hairline, which was beating a hasty retreat to the back of his neck. What had once been a full head of cropped waves had turned into phantom follicles that gave up on him faster than she did. He had aged so quickly in the two years she'd been with him that she could mistake him for his own father nowadays. Pity. Portia thought she'd stay with him for at least a few more years to see if he could stack his paper higher past the eighty million he was worth when she met him. Alas, that was not to be.

Quinton put down the computer tablet he had his nose buried in and clasped her hand. His eyes were already bloodshot from drinking and anxiousness. Things were probably going downhill faster.

"We're about to land, baby. Have patience," he said.

Her girlfriends giggled and drank martinis behind them. Portia ran a diamond-studded finger up his arm. Mimi whined on her lap.

"Will you give me anything special for New Year's Day?" she purred.

Quinton grinned.

"I have a lot planned for you," he winked.

At least he was going out with a bang, she thought. He was spoiling her one last time, unbeknownst to him. A part of her wondered if she should feel pity for milking him dry until he went belly up. It was the nature of the game, and he knew fully that to keep a woman like her, he had to keep his coins up. She kissed his cheek and her stomach dropped. They were descending.

Their landing was swift, and they were all transported to a launch dock where Quinton's brand-new custom yacht waited for them on tranquil turquoise waters. Seeing the ship, Portia couldn't help but get excited and jump about like a kid with her friends as she held Mimi in her personalized pink Fendi doggy purse. Quinton's three male friends ogled the women through their sheer beach cover-ups. Their teeny-weeny bikinis left little to the lascivious imagination. Portia patted her designer cornrows studded with pink diamond hair jewelry that matched Mimi's pink diamond collar. The ends of her jeweled braids extended past her back, and she flung her natural hair around and waited to board the yacht.

A staff member waited on the main deck of the ship with a tray of mixed drinks in a crisp eggshell white maritime uniform of a starched shirt and knee-length shorts. Portia grabbed the first glass and her gaze drifted over to the tall Black man wearing a hot as hell black military uniform holding a colt commando automatic weapon. His glossy locs framed a gruff, bearded face with a scowl on his thick lips.

"Ohmigod, Quinton. Is this really necessary? Mood killer," Portia complained.

She released Mimi to run around and handed her purse to another crew member. Quinton shook the security's hand. Scoping the yacht, Portia saw five more similar men spread behind the first one.

"Killmonger, correct?" Quinton said.

"Correct," Killmonger said.

"Just Killmonger?" Portia asked.

"Just Killmonger," he answered in a rough tone.

Quinton turned to all of his guests as they mingled and admired the surrounding luxury. The five other security team members dispersed to their stations. Only Killmonger remained. Quinton held out his hands to show off his big, shiny toy.

"As I told all of you, we'll be completely protected. I know there have been rumblings of issues in this region, but I hired some serious security. Enjoy yourselves! Wander around for a bit and they will place your luggage in your cabins. Lunch in an hour!" Quinton said.

"Hold up," Killmonger said.

Everyone stopped chatting and froze with their refreshing drinks.

"We need to go over a safety drill," Killmonger said.

Quinton glanced at his watch.

"Now? Can it wait until after lunch?"

"No," Killmonger said.

"Where would you like us to be?" Quinton asked.

"Head to the stern, please," Killmonger said, pointing to the back of the yacht.

The others headed in that direction. Portia sauntered past him in the opposite direction.

"I'm going to settle in," she said, rolling her eyes.

Killmonger snatched up her arm so quickly that it knocked the breath out of her. She didn't know a human could move that fast. He held her close to his chest as his other hand gripped his weapon.

"See, you're the type of woman who makes the job difficult by being a brat," he snapped.

"You can't talk to me like that!" she hissed, trying to jerk her arm away. It was like fighting an immobile mountain.

"I'm here to protect your good time. We practice drills for a reason."

She exhaled hard when she noticed his teeth. Sharp gold canine slugs on his top and bottom teeth.

"I could have my man sue you for assault," she bitched.

"Do it," he said.

Portia blinked fast several times.

"Do you know who James Quinton is? He could ruin you!" she bellowed, squirming in his grip.

"I'm here to make sure you rich people don't get bothered. I'm the best at that and I'd appreciate your cooperation with the safety drill. It'll only take twenty minutes of your precious spoiled time," he barked.

"Portia?"

Her friend Chelsea called for her.

Killmonger released her arm, and Portia looked up into his face. Narrow, heated eyes peered down at her.

"Let's go, princess," he said, swaggering past her and slinging his weapon over his shoulder.

Portia stared at his wide back and clenched her teeth. She threw her martini glass over the side of the yacht in anger and balled up her fists. Prepared to raise hell with Quinton over the manhandling, she huffed under her breath in anger and stomped her Gucci slides when Killmonger glanced back at her and… smiled, flashing those gold slugs.

Portia halted her steps. The fuck was he smiling at?

And why was she getting aroused by it?

She was a piece of work.

Killmonger knew from jump that Portia would be a problem needing an attitude adjustment. He checked her real quick the moment she mouthed off about not following safety rules that had to be enforced in case of an emergency. She gave him a glacial stare during his short introductory speech on how the trip would run among the security team, and he took them down the stairs that led to a sunbathing deck. There was an emergency escape door that led to an eleven meters long military rigid hull inflatable boat under the yacht that could hold three crew and eight passengers. It had an M60 7.62mm machine gun, an MK19 40mm, and an M2 .50 cal. machine gun armament attached to it. The boat could do forty knots with six in-line cylinder diesel engines. It was an extreme weather craft and Killmonger made them all jump inside of it to get a feel of how they would ride it in case of an emergency exit. He pointed out life vests and showed them the scuba gear his men had available to check for underwater threats.

Once Portia realized they were the real deal, she fixed her face to look less bitchy and bothered. Killmonger was concise and professional and he impressed all the guests with his background and training. He spoke to his team to go over work shifts, breaks, and overnight watch duty. Taking the first shift watch on the main deck, he kept his guard up while the yacht started its adventure away from the Greek port and out into the open sea. The captain of the ship introduced himself and his staff after lunch and their first port of call was Athens, and then they would head to Crete. They would spend the rest of their time tooling around on the open sea and shooting off fireworks on New Year's Eve.

The women wasted no time throwing off their bikini covers and rushing over to sunbathe topless on cushy recliners. An annoying little dog ran around barking and finally jumped on Portia's thighs to sleep until it got too hot and it hid under her chair. He didn't mind watching the sea with binoculars and occasionally looking down at tits. They weren't shy about showing them, so he would not pretend he didn't notice. Quinton and his male buddies grabbed a bottle of top-shelf bourbon and headed to the other side of the yacht to smoke cigars on padded deck chairs. They were torn up by dinner, and by then, he was done with his work shift and free to relax and eat a meal in his cabin. A private chef brought him moussaka and white wine for dinner and galaktoboureko for dessert. It filled him up, and he took a quick shower afterward, then rested on his bed.

The party crowd became raucous and rowdy the later it became, and he changed into light linen pants and a cotton shirt to join them and check in with the night shift team. Music blared from speakers on the starboard side and he eased around to observe and also check out the night waters. The yacht had spotlights that surrounded the bottom of the boat, so there was a beautiful glow to the calm aquamarine water. The rest of the ship was lit up too, which concerned Killmonger. Nothing like advertising a luxury yacht filled with rich people. He was correct in requesting five men to work with him. They had various firearms, rocket-propelled grenades, and enough ammo to start a war at sea if needed. He relaxed after talking to the two men on shift. All was well.

He went for a stroll around the upper decks while the civilians headed down to the lower deck to spread out for cocktails on the main deck. A cool breeze blew past and ruffled his locs. He closed his eyes and faced it fully, luxuriating in the sensation.

"Oh… so you can look normal."

Killmonger opened his eyes and found Portia and one of her friends sitting on white barrel chairs with their legs kicked up on an olive green ottoman. She wore a short pumpkin-colored shift dress and her skin looked amazing from being in the sun all day. Playing with the hem of her extra short dress, he admired the elaborate diamond chips that decorated her long fingernails. She stayed adorned, and he appreciated the effort she took to look feminine and soft. Portia's friend looked cute in a short polka-dotted sun dress. Her hair was lifted in a high ponytail of cascading auburn curls that fell down over her slender shoulder.

He took the open seat next to the friend with a short table between them. There was a half-empty glass of red wine and a fresh unopened bottle next to it with a cork opener conveniently placed on top of it if she needed more.

"I can dress down when I'm not working," he said.

She smiled. The wine had relaxed her and she appeared less uptight. Crossing a seductive leg, he glimpsed her sexy thighs. She didn't have any panties on, and her mound was clean-shaven. He glanced away to pretend he saw nothing, but the smirk on her face told him she meant for him to see her pussy.

"Why aren't you two down with the others?" he asked.

"Needed a break. When you're always the life of the party like me, you need a little time off. Plus, they're talking about work and stocks. Tiana and I are not interested."

"That's so snoozefest," Tiana said, her light skin splotchy with sunburn marks.

"Your other friends seem intrigued by it."

"Those heffas?" Portia snorted. "They just want to appear interested to get attention. Carlos is worth half a billion. Ben two billion. Oh, and that loud mouth you hear right now? That's Stieg. He's a Scandinavian trust fund baby worth five billion. My girls are here to party with me, but make no mistake, they're fishing for a big fish of their own to catch up with me. They're bored out of their minds, but…."

Portia rubbed her fingers together to indicate cash. She stood up and walked down the stairs, leaving Killmonger with Tiana. He sat in silence for a moment before standing up to leave.

"You sure you'll be okay up here by yourself?" he asked, glancing over at the balcony.

Tiana looked heavily inebriated.

"I can hold my liquor," Tiana said.

"Alright then, I'll leave you to your bottle and privacy—"

He glanced over the railing and watched Portia saunter to the front of the yacht. For someone who stayed rude to him while he was on shift, her lax behavior at night intrigued him. Showing off her pussy had to be an amusing game to her. Killmonger liked what he saw and slid his wet tongue across a gold fang.

The rest of his rounds were completed, and he gave one of his men a twenty-minute smoke break starboard side once the guests had turned in to sleep. He took over the watch temporarily and cast his glances out toward the tranquility of the sea. Heavy breathing brought forth curiosity, and he strolled down to a lower deck to investigate.

Portia was on her back naked, legs spread wide as Quinton exerted desperate dick strokes inside of her.

"You're so good, baby. Yes, that's it," Portia said with lukewarm enthusiasm.

Her eyes faced the sea, and she offered no effort to reciprocate affections or even movement as her man pounded her. The detachment on her expressionless face bothered Killmonger. Quinton gave her the world and she couldn't be bothered to give some passion? Even if it was a fake? A true pillow princess, Portia laid there with minimal effort to even wiggle her hips. She managed to push her breasts together and jiggle them, but she refused to look at Quinton's face. The man stared at the fat titties and pumped his way to a sad orgasm. When he collapsed on top of Portia, she took her expensive nails and raked them on the back of his neck and cooed phony words of praise. A smug look painted her face.

Killmonger gripped the railing, and a surge of anger sparked inside of him. He wanted to wipe that petty smirk off Portia's face. He knew fully well that her relationship with Quinton was a transactional one based on the rules of patriarchy. Men bought women as commodities and arm candy all the time. Killmonger knew what the game was, and Ma played it like the pro she appeared to be. However, it irked him that Quinton didn't fuck the shit out of her and make Portia earn all of her riches from him.

Quinton rolled off of her on the wide sectional couch and pulled off the condom that sheathed his average-sized dick. He balled it up and tossed it onto the table next to them. Within seconds, he was fast asleep, and Portia rested her head on a throw pillow. Her eyes squinted in surprise when she noticed Killmonger looking down at them. She slid a finger to her pussy lips, teasing Killmonger by opening her legs wider so he could see all the wet pink of her succulent entrance. His lips twisted up and there was a tightening in his pants. She traced a finger in a wide circle around her folds, then licked her fingers, dropping them onto her nipples to tweak the tips. He gripped the front of his pants to adjust his dick, thinking of all the ways he would fold her body if he had the chance to teach her a lesson about teasing a nigga like him. Her writhing body was doing all the things she should've been doing for Quinton if she hadn't been a lazy fuck. Portia dipped her fingers inside of her pussy and pursed her lush lips as she watched his face grow more aroused watching her display of ridiculous seduction right next to her snoring boyfriend. But he couldn't look away. Her fingers spun magic as they played in her slick folds. She flicked her clit and widened her legs for him until she raised her arm up and flipped him off with a moist finger. Portia cackled and clutched at her stomach, delighted at her teasing. She grabbed the shift dress she had on earlier and put it on, leaving Quinton behind by himself on the sectional. Tossing the used condom in the sea with the flick of a diamond nail, her laughter floated up to Killmonger as she headed to her cabin.

"Bitch," he grumbled.

She had him going, toying with him by using her physical blessings against him long enough to tell him to fuck off. Portia wanted to play cat and mouse, thinking he was the silly little mouse. Little did she know she had a vicious panther on her hands.

They docked in Crete at the crack of dawn.

Killmonger had two of his team stay behind to watch the yacht, and the others dressed in civilian clothing to blend in and trail the women who went shopping and out for lunch with the billionaires and Quinton. The blistering heat didn't let up. He wiped the back of his neck and under his chin several times while tracking Quinton. Portia stayed on the yacht to sleep in late. Her man seemed to find his balls again when he wasn't around her. The passive energy disappeared, and he took on a personality with bravado, impressing Tiana, who laughed at his corny jokes. Their lunch break was long and Killmonger took time to smoke a cigar near an open market. He played tourist watching the surrounding activity, checking the time on his watch constantly, and checking in with the yacht.

In his peripheral he caught Quinton slinking out of the high-end restaurant and entering the luxury hotel next to it. Killmonger stayed put hidden behind a marble statue of Athena, keeping his steady gaze on his client. Quinton checked his surroundings before dashing into the hotel. Killmonger entered the hotel and discreetly shielded his body from the other tourists. Moments later, Tiana walked into the lobby and headed toward Quinton. The tech wiz grabbed Tiana's hand and they entered an elevator together. Killmonger grinned and left the hotel.

The pillow princess's man was getting better pussy elsewhere with her bestie. Killmonger shook his head and checked on the people milling around the hotel lobby. He stayed put until the illicit couple came back down the elevator twenty-five minutes later, fixing their rumpled clothes to look presentable again.

"Quick ass," Killmonger mumbled, sticking a piece of gum in his mouth to chase away the taste of cigar on his tongue.

The trip back to the yacht was uneventful an hour later, and Portia's girlfriends carried plenty of gift bags to commemorate their visit. Portia stood on the top deck with a martini glass in her hand wearing an alabaster knit bikini. A giant floppy sun hat shaded her face. She pranced around on her chunky platforms, waiting for her friends to share their bounty with her.

"Fuck," Killmonger uttered, staring up at her.

Her body was insane. The bikini top only covered her nipples, and the bottoms barely shielded her vulva. He licked his lips again, staring at how fat her pussy looked up there. Tiana was nothing compared to Portia, but Killmonger knew that a lot of beautiful women had trash box and men fucked with women who made them feel good. Looks had nothing to do with keeping a man in the long run. Plenty of mid-looking and ugly women had snatched away prizes from bombshells. Perhaps Portia needed a man with good dick to turn her out correctly. There was no way all that body was going to waste because some rich dude couldn't handle her spunk.

Portia caught him checking her out, and she leaned over the railing to eye him back. Killmonger sauntered to his cabin to change back into his serious work clothes. He checked in with the mercs left behind on duty and all reports were good. The ship's captain updated him with a weather report and soon they were back out at sea for the rest of the trip.

Quinton and Portia threw a costume-themed dinner party and everyone wore Mardi Gras masks and sipped champagne before devouring salty caviar, Kobe steak, and lobsters. The yacht staff hustled to please, but Portia became a bitch when things didn't go as smoothly as she wanted. She reamed one female server so badly for stepping on her dog Mimi by accident that the woman slunk away in tears. Quinton said nothing about the bullying and everyone else was too drunk to comment on anything. Portia snapped at two mercs while moving into their next party area for charades and Killmonger had enough of the poor attitude. When Portia went for a restroom break in her cabin, he followed her. She caught him waiting for her in the narrow hall.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Her icy tone and polar stare made him want to flip her around and spank her ass like an insolent child being reprimanded by a fed-up parent.

"You need to check your tone with the staff and my men. These people are working hard—"

"Shut the fuck up, you simpin' bitch," she said.

Portia lifted the Mardi Gras mask onto her forehead and glared at him. Her little cat woman bikini costume showed off every curve, and he became distracted for a second by the veracity of her tone and demeanor. No woman had ever tried to come for him like that, especially one who didn't know him from Adam. Her breath smelled like the expensive French wine she had drank all night, and he considered her drunken state before speaking. He leaned in, and Portia leaned back until she was jammed against her cabin door. Killmonger bared his teeth at her and she acted as if he had snarled like a beast. Her eyes darted toward the stairs that led to the top deck, expecting someone to rescue her.

"Treat people who cater to you with respect. They don't get paid enough to take your verbal abuse," he demanded.

She looked away from his heated glare and gold canines. He caught the subtle tremble in her body, but then she turned her face back to him and smirked.

"Those people are paid well and competed to get this job—"

"You ain't paying 'em," he said.

"My man is. His money is my money—"

"You sure about him being your man?"

Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a tight grimace. Killmonger decided to blow up her spot and teach the brat a lesson. Every bully needed to be humbled in their life. There was no better time than the present for her.

Portia put a hand on her hip and waited for him to run his mouth some more.

"He had a little quickie with your homegirl Tiana at a hotel while everyone was having lunch."

He cocked his head and waited for the explosion and waterworks to begin. Portia stared at him hard, then started cackling.

"Think I'm joking? I followed them there," he said.

Portia snorted and grabbed her stomach to control her laughter. He waited for her to notice that he was serious. She patted his chest with her right hand and he rolled his eyes with impatience.

"The look on your face right now… as if you got me with something!" she heckled.

Portia wiped her almond eyes and touched her chest. Her diamond nails glittered and that cool exterior returned in full effect.

"I sent that bitch there myself," Portia said.

Killmonger's brow wrinkled, and Portia gave him a little twisted lip pout. Then she grinned.

"Aw, I'm sorry boo boo. You really thought this was a gotcha moment. Ever hear of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer? Tiana is a free-loading cunt… yeah, I said cunt like the white girls do. She's not my homegirl, just competition who has been trying to be me from day one. I let that heffa into my inner circle to keep her on a leash. Quinton is going broke and all of this…?"

She waved her hand above her head.

"All of this shit is about to disappear soon, so to teach her a lesson about coming for what I got, I'm letting her have that limp dick brokie. She thinks she's on the come-up sneaking around with him, but I fed her fake bread crumbs to that nigga. Lied, and told her we were having relationship problems, and that I was worried that he wanted someone else. That little worker hoe really thinks she's better than the queen bee. I stayed on the yacht on purpose so she could make her move on him. Now she knows shiny things aren't always diamonds with that weak peen. In her mind, she thinks she has him and his money. The reality is, she's with a broke faker. Checkmate, bitch."

Portia guffawed and pointed to Killmonger's face.

"I respect you for trying to break my heart to humble me, but you can't play a player," she said.

She shoved him out of her way and strutted up the stairs, tooting her ass out so he could see it jiggle as she walked. Stopping halfway, she looked back at him.

"I'll act nicer with the staff just to make you feel better," she said.

Killmonger chuckled and shook his head. Baby girl was cold-blooded. Respect. He eased his big body up the steps and did quick surveillance all around the ship. Portia acted better with the servers, but she was still icy with the other mercs.

The next few days were dull and humid.

Boredom set in with the women, as the men only drank, ate, and slept for hours on end. Killmonger observed how Portia maneuvered around Tiana. Deadly sweet. It was like watching a scorpion slowly poison a frog as it rode the weaker creature's back. The shine of being with Quinton wore off Tiana, and he caught her brushing off the advances of her secret lover when they thought no one else saw them around the yacht. Portia knew everything that went on between them, orchestrating their dismal affair right under the noses of everyone present.

New Year's Eve rolled around and the trip was nearly over. He had to admit that the assignment wasn't as troublesome as he thought it would be. Quinton hired a fireworks crew to meet them on a separate boat at a rendezvous point in the middle of the ocean. Killmonger sent his mercs over to check out the other smaller ship with metal detectors, heat sensor devices, and a thorough inspection of the crew while he scuba-dived under the boat to sweep for explosives and hidden weapons. They inspected the fireworks being used, too. When one of his team helped him out of the water, he pulled off his scuba gear, and Portia watched him undress. Her eyes grew enormous when his scars came into view. The shiny lumpy brown flesh decorated him with a deadly artistic beauty, displaying every life he had taken in his line of work. He walked across the deck, dripping in seawater and muscles. A hunger grew in her aroused eyes to see more under the wetsuit.

"All safe," he said, whisking past her, carrying his air tanks to a rack.

He took his time pulling off the rest of his wetsuit, shaking his thighs, and grabbing his dick through his tight trunks to adjust the weight there.

Quinton walked over, clapping his hands together.

"All good?" Quinton asked.

"You can have your show tonight," Killmonger said.

Portia flounced away, shaking those ass cheeks, and his dick jumped in his trunks. The last few days she'd been a lot more suggestive with her behavior toward him, teasing him with flirty glances, and tugging on her swimwear suggestively in front of him that had Killmonger undressing her in his mind at night. He jerked off on his bed after taking a shower from scuba diving, imagining himself bending her over a railing and spanking her ass, rubbing his dick tip against her while she glanced back at him with those spoiled eyes and luscious, pouty lips. She needed to be punished. Needed to be on her knees and sucking his dick. If she complained about his length choking her, he would slap her and train her to show some respect for the gift of having his length stretch her mouth.

His erection was harder than steel and he kept playing an image of her begging forgiveness for being such a bitch. Killmonger wanted to cum all over her face and mess up that illusion of perfection she had about herself. Knowing what he did about her for nearly a week, he already understood that she would try to break his resolve and manhood down to control him. She needed a strong Daddy to put her right, and the thought of her sucking his balls while she stared at him with insolent eyes sent him over the edge, and ribbons of hot cum shot all over his hand and midsection. His dick was still hard as he beat it again, thinking of her pussy contracting all over his erection. She just had a way about her that made him want to tame her. Break her down. Force her to submit and sit that plump ass on his face.

He rolled over, groaning into his pillow, angry that she had reduced him to playing with himself when he was supposed to be overseeing his men. Cleaning up quickly, he went topside to check on the action above. Quinton and his guests had all retired for late afternoon naps to prepare for the evening's festivities. A fancy seven-course Mediterranean meal was planned for the New Year's celebration and they invited all the mercs to join in the fun with their shifts.

Portia wore her alabaster bikini again with a coral beach wrap skirt. Diamond earrings decorated her ears and a huge blue diamond necklace sat on her neck worth more than Killmonger made in a year legally. She toned down her make-up, going for a natural look, and the switch-up was extraordinary. It softened her face more, and she became even more beautiful.

Killmonger ate his fill of the gourmet food and allowed himself one glass of champagne before changing shifts with another merc. He kept his dark clothes on and strolled alone along the uppermost deck. The ship captain ate from a plate and Erik glanced over at the fireworks ship. He lifted the work binoculars from his chest and stepped back outside to observe the water and sky. No moon. Just stars stretched across the heavens, sparkling the jewels all over Portia.

The fireworks show started at eleven-thirty for a slow countdown to midnight. Killmonger positioned himself on the deck overlooking the stern. Below him, the rich guests gathered with more champagne and small desserts to watch the show. It was spectacular. Fireworks had never impressed him before, but he found himself looking at the sophisticated light show over the sea. Dazzling shapes and styles of explosives brought a magical ambiance all around them. Portia squealed and clapped her hands like a child, often pushing her face against Quinton's shoulder whenever an explosive boomed too loud and scared her. She looked cute while enjoying herself and Killmonger wondered why she couldn't be like that all the time. A certain type of sweetness exuded from her, as if she had put away that mask of cool she always wore, just to be a regular woman having a good time.

A server approached Killmonger with a tray of champagne.

"Why not?" Killmonger said, lifting a glass.

He drank it down and kept his eye on Portia, enjoying the fireworks.

Portia gulped down another glass of champagne and watched a firework turn into a rose in the sky. She clapped and oohed and ahhed to her heart's content. It was a beautiful way to end a relationship. A part of her actually felt a little bad about dumping Quinton after the trip. He would find someone new with a lower income bracket, hopefully, someone who loved him for who he was and not his wallet. The poor schlep was the type of dude who used money to buy his way into the quality of woman he wanted, which was not who he needed. Perhaps if Portia had remained a small-town girl working finance at a bank or small business in her old hometown, Quinton would've been deemed, in her mind, the catch of a lifetime. Alas, that was not the ocean current she rolled in. His ego was big, and he felt entitled to beautiful women simply because he had a dick and some money. Cultivating a personality, hobbies, or real solid friendships was not in his wheelhouse. Trophy girlfriends would never bring him happiness.

The champagne bubbles in her flute tickled her nose. She glanced over at Tiana who looked seasick from too much liquor in her system. Maybe there was some hope for Quinton being with her enemy. Everyone deserved love.

Portia was about to go check on Mimi in her cabin before it hit midnight. She gave the Pomeranian a doggy sedative to keep her from anxiety with all the fireworks noise, and she worried her fur baby would be frightened without checking in with her. The crackle of a spectacularly loud firework drew her attention to the sky again. A chain of enormous fiery lights popped off, and she glanced at her dainty Patek Philippe watch. It wasn't midnight yet for any kind of grand finale. Unless something bigger was about to erupt in the sky after that volley of bright multi-colored lights. She clapped and heard a loud popping sound.

"Did a firework not go off?" she asked.

Her girlfriends shrugged before a gigantic explosion rocked the bow of the ship that was not part of the show. The yacht lurched, and Portia fell to her knees off-balance with her platform heels. Smoke and flames filled her shocked eyes. Everyone nervously headed toward the front to see what the hell happened and more popping sounds commenced from behind them. Tiana fell on top of her with Carlos. Portia's two other friends shrieked and ran, cut down by a hail of bullets through their backs. Portia pushed the limp and bloody woman off of her legs and shoved Carlos away too. The man's eyes looked up at her with a lifeless stare, and Portia screamed. She stayed on her hands and knees to keep low while looking up toward the higher decks. Killmonger had a modified M249 up and shot toward the sea targets. The fireworks ship exploded into a reddish-orange fireball, blazing the night sky with more flames and thick smoke. Parts of that ship flew over onto the deck of the yacht. One of Killmonger's men shot a grenade launcher from his weapon, aiming for some enemy Portia couldn't see on the dark water.

"Portia! Stay down!" Killmonger called out to her.

She did what he said and hid under Carlos and Tiana again, trying not to lose it as their warm blood dripped all down her legs and pooled at her feet. She swiped some of the cooling blood from her limbs and wiped it all over her throat to make herself look injured and played dead on the deck. Quinton ran toward the side of the yacht, and Portia wanted to follow, but the volley of intense bullets whizzed over her head. She covered her face, hearing loud splashes of water and yelling. The mercs around her scuffled with people who had climbed aboard. A powerful arm lifted her up by her waist.

"You been hit?" Killmonger asked.

"No!"

A merc near Killmonger took a shot between the eyes and dropped in front of her.

"Let's go!" Killmonger yelled, helping a server go with them.

The attackers cut the server down in mid-step and Portia realized with horror that all the guests except for her and Quinton were in a dead bloody heap all across the deck. She only lucked out because two bodies fell on her, shielding her from becoming human Swiss cheese. Another of Killmonger's team ran past them to fight, giving cover. Killmonger led her to the secret emergency door that held the military boat.

"Wait! I have to get Mimi!" she yelped.

"Fuck that dog!" Killmonger yelled.

Portia pushed back on the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her poor baby was locked inside her little travel kennel. She'd die all alone in her crate without her Mommy. The yacht tipped to the side, knocked by another explosive. Killmonger helped her into the emergency boat and made her put on a life vest.

"Wait here," he said.

"Don't leave me!" she shrieked, clutching his free hand with desperate fingers.

"I have to check for other survivors on the yacht's crew."

Her heart thudded in her chest so fast it made her gasp for air. She sat inside the boat and grabbed one of the gray emergency blankets and pulled it around her, hiding down low in the boat in case an armed pirate burst in. Portia was small enough to look like a lumpy seat. The odor of smoke crept down to where she was, and after some time, she worried Killmonger was dead. She wanted to wait another ten minutes for him, and then figure out a way to get the boat out onto the water by herself before the entire yacht sank into the sea.

It became hard to breathe under the blanket. She made a little breathing space for herself where she could still be covered up, but the smoke from the fires above seeped down to where she was. The sounds of shooting had stopped. Silence took over, and she debated about going out to see if the pirates had left. Time kept ticking, and the boat listed. Adrenaline had kept her going. But now the tears flowed.

The emergency door burst open, and Portia held her breath and stayed perfectly still. Mimi's woozy and weak bark yapped for her. She threw off the blanket and Killmonger was there, carrying Mimi's travel kennel and a backpack. He handed Portia the dog and tossed the backpack on the boat. Pressing a few buttons on a side wall of the yacht, a release ramp opened and slid down toward the water. He pushed the boat more, and it slid easily with a quiet splash. The yacht leaned further over and they would have to hurry to avoid being sucked down with it.

Killmonger untied ropes that secured the boat to the off-ramp. His face was full of concentration and determination to get them out of there. He put the safety on his weapon and leaned over to drop it in the boat when a masked man wearing dark clothing similar to Killmonger's uniform charged him, jamming his AK-47 under his throat and choking him.

Killmonger flipped the man over onto his back, punched him once and whipped out a Glock from his waist, and blasted the man's forehead. Blood and brain matter splattered, and Portia was too shocked to scream. Killmonger leaped into the boat and started the quiet motor, guiding them away from the yacht. She watched the burning luxury boat slowly sink as they bounced across the water. The pirate boat that attacked them sat on the other side and she thanked God there was no moon because the flames from both ships burning distracted their attackers from seeing them. Portia closed her eyes and let the cool sea breeze dry the sweat of fear all over her. The further away they were, the safer she felt. Her breathing returned to normal once the yacht and the surrounding madness became a tiny shiny speck on the horizon.

Killmonger checked some guidance apps on his military watch computer and took them toward some uninhabited Greek island chains. After about forty minutes, they hid their getaway boat on a small rocky isle inside an island littoral cave that made Killmonger feel secure staying there until he could contact help. Waves had eroded away an opening in the limestone, creating a sea cave that hid and protected them from the elements. He stuck a small headlamp on his head, giving them the only light source to look around. Killmonger handed her one too, and she placed it around her forehead. He dragged the boat once they hit soft sand. The cavern was dark and warm, like a womb. There were flares and a bulky charged satellite phone on the boat.

"I'll use the phone tomorrow and shoot off a flare for rescue when it's safe. We may have to stay out here a few days," he said.

"A few days? Why that long?" she said.

"That was a coordinated attack. They'll be looking for survivors all night and tomorrow. They knew exactly how many people were on that yacht, and you and I are no longer there. It was a hit… on everyone," he said. "There's also a storm moving in and that will hinder rescue efforts."

"Maybe they'll think we drowned and just go," she reasoned.

"They will sweep for floating bodies. Trust me."

He stopped and looked at her hard. She had opened Mimi's crate and held her frightened dog on her lap.

"Portia… Quinton set this whole thing up. I saw and heard him talking with the hit squad when I grabbed Mimi. He left with them on the attack boat."

Portia shook her head.

"No… that's not true… Quinton's a tech guy. He doesn't know pirates and shit…"

"He's going to disappear like he's dead, too. Collect on all the insurance he had on everyone there and that yacht. You told me he was going broke. He fixed his financial problem by getting money for you, your friends, and his billionaire buddies. The men he hired are going to make sure you and I are dead, so we don't snitch on what really happened."

Portia looked down at Mimi and felt the blood rush to her head like she was going to pass out.

"I can't believe this. He killed all those people to save his ass financially."

Killmonger pulled out a cold bottle of water from the backpack he brought and handed it to her.

"Can we last for three days out here?" she asked.

He nodded and showed her a wide variety of goods stored on the boat.

"There's enough food on her for several days that could last a week if needed. Since there are only two of us, we can eat as much as we want and stretch it out if we have to. We have fresh water… blankets. Toilet paper, sunblock, bug spray. We're good. Just have to keep hidden from the clean-up crew."

Killmonger sounded confident, and Portia inhaled deeply. He saved her life and would protect her on their…

New home. She looked around the boat again. There was plenty of room on one end for them both to stretch out and rest. The weapons attached to the hull could thwart a small army. Portia sipped a little water, gave some to Mimi with a cupped hand, then placed the dog back in her kennel. She prayed her fur baby didn't bark after the sedative wore off completely.

Killmonger made soft pallets of extra blankets for them to sleep on while she turned off her light and stepped out of the boat. She walked back to the water. After rinsing the blood off of her body and shoes, she returned to him, and they both stretched out in opposite directions. She felt him move around on his end. Lifting to see what he was doing, she caught him taking off his uniform. He stripped down to his black boxer briefs and huddled back up under his covers. Portia changed positions and crawled to his end when her body spasmed. She rested against his back, spooning him to capture some of his warmth, hoping the shaking in her limbs would stop. Her body moved with uncontrollable, jerky movements and she felt cold. Killmonger faced her quickly and put his arms around her.

"What's happening to me? My arms and legs keep shaking," she whispered.

"You're going through adrenaline withdrawal. Shit was crazy that you went through, and your body was all keyed up for action. It's trying to get back to equilibrium."

"How do you seem so calm? Shouldn't you be shaking too?"

"I'm used to it. Don't worry. It won't last long."

He opened up his blanket to her, and she eased her face against his wide chest. The keloid scars were smooth and slippery-feeling against her skin. His heartbeat was a steady drumming to her ears. Her shallow breathing eventually evened out to match his, and she could rest calmly next to him. The scent of his skin had a soothing musk odor, some cologne mixed with his own sweat, giving off an intoxicating smell. He adjusted his body to give her more room, and she closed her eyes to sleep.

Waking up hours later, she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with the softest brown eyes. For the entire yacht trip, he always wore a scowl on his face with narrow cruel eyes that held disdain for her. Now… she looked at another man completely. A roar of water drew her attention back toward the opening of the cave. The light pastel colors of dawn greeted them with shades of turquoise and honey yellow bleeding into a blood-orange tapestry. The rising tide rolled in, gently pushing their boat against the sand, rocking their bodies like a mother's hand tending to a cradle. Killmonger had the boat fastened to a stake that he pounded into the sand to keep them from floating out into the sea while they slept.

Sitting up, she admired the view. The clear, tranquil water sparkled as the sun rose higher and the colors in the sky changed into new brighter hues. It took Portia's breath away, bringing tears to her eyes. The rust color of the cave's roof seemed to glow. In the distance, she noticed other island chain formations that probably never had a human walk on them. She wondered if the awe she felt was the same awe that God had when the heavens and the earth were made complete. The scene before her looked like a painting. She spent most of her life drinking, partying all night, burning through rich men's money, and sleeping hungover until noon. When had she ever witnessed a sunrise like the one spread before her sober eyes? What a way to enter a new year.

Porta laid her head back down and noticed that her bikini top had fallen off in her sleep. She was topless in front of him. Throwing an arm over her chest, she glanced around for her knitted top.

"Don't trip," he said with a grin.

He reached above his head and handed her a small container of grape juice. She took it and drank down the sweetness.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She shook her head no, the fruit juice helping revive her blood sugar. Pushing the blanket away from her lower body, she luxuriated in the balmy comfort of the air. Tilting her head back, she noticed an opening at the top of the cave that dropped a beam of early morning light on her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the inside of her lids turn red from the sun bathing her more. A calloused finger stroked down the side of her cheek. Portia's eyes popped back open as Killmonger dragged his index finger against her skin. She lifted a finger and traced one of his keloid scars across his right pec. He was her hero. During the shootout and explosions, he had his eyes on her, making sure she was safe.

Killmonger dropped his head down and kissed her. She could taste toothpaste and fruit juice on his tongue. A static sound interrupted their joining, and he pulled away from her to pick up the satellite phone. He spoke in a rushed tone, giving coordinates and relaying a warning about the attack and Quinton's hand in it. There was a personal locator beacon with a strong GPS tracker he was going to keep on so they could find them. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her hands, letting Killmonger deal with everything. Soon after, he shut the phone off to save the battery. Turning to her, he stretched his arms and sighed.

"It's going to take time to reach us. The storm is sitting over Crete and moving slowly. Rough waves."

"But they are coming?" she asked.

"Yes."

Portia fell onto her back and stared up at the cave roof with relief. People knew where they were and would find them.

"I want to eat now," she said.

Killmonger pulled out MRE packages and small disposable plates. She dumped out a packet of southwest beef with black beans and tortillas. There was a chocolate banana nut muffin and apple slices mixed in a spice sauce, a cheese spread, and peanut butter. Portia made herself a burrito, and the food gave her the calories and energy she needed. Killmonger made them coffee over a small propane stove he put together and joined her with his own meal.

"Not bad," she said, stuffing the muffin in her mouth.

"We can have a white meat chicken salad with crackers and pasta for lunch," he said.

She wolfed down her burrito and wiped her lips. Finishing quickly, she let Mimi out of her cage and fed her from the packs of fancy dog food stored inside the kennel with her. She let the dog run around in the cave's interior to relieve herself. Mimi stayed away from the water and occupied her attention quietly by digging holes all in the back of the cave. Looking around, Portia was happy to see there was nothing inside the small cave with them except sand and the tiny beach made by the water lapping inside gently. Killmonger pulled out a large tan camouflage netting.

"Step out. Grab your top," he said.

Portia stunned herself by noticing she had stayed topless the entire time eating. She tied her titties up and draped her wrap skirt around her neck into a dress. She slipped on her platforms and picked up Mimi. Killmonger covered the boat up with the netting, blending it into the background of tan sand.

"Put the dog in its kennel so we can look around and I can plant this tracker up high," he said.

"She'll bark," she said.

Killmonger rolled his eyes.

"Then carry her," he said.

He pulled on his pants, and she eyed the bulge at his crotch. His flaccid state was bigger than Quinton's erect state. Portia checked herself for thinking sexy thoughts in their dire situation.

Dire?

It wasn't, really. They had all they needed and good people were coming for them. He placed several water bottles, a Glock, the satellite phone, and the beacon locator, inside a small pack and slung it around his shoulders. She followed him out of the cave, stepping on vast rock formations on the side to keep from getting her platforms wet. Climbing up the side of a hill, they made their way through brush and mostly barren land. There weren't very many trees and the ones that existed were small, or dead, and had fallen over. She kicked a few on the ground and they crumbled from contact, drier than the heat cooking their skin. Killmonger was already a shade darker, and it looked good on him. His biceps were beefy and darker brown. Her own dark skin took on a red tinge with her rich color. At a glance, they looked like tourists ambling about looking for t-shirts to buy for back home, not shipwrecked targets for death.

"Ow!"

Portia tripped on some sand and eroding rocks, bumping into Killmonger and almost knocking him over.

"Watch it," he barked.

"Sorry! I wasn't trying to bump into you—"

"Take those ridiculous shoes off so you can walk better—"

"It's too hot."

"No, it's not—"

"Yes, it is—"

They fussed like an old married couple all the way to the highest point of the island. He stuck the tracker in the ground and checked to make sure it was working properly. Gazing out at the sea around them, Killmonger lifted binoculars from his chest and peered out further.

"See anything?"

"No."

"That's a good sign, right?" she asked.

Portia put Mimi down so the dog could sniff around and urinate. Mimi happily sniffed and marked territory. When she padded over too close to a drop, Porta scooped her back up. There didn't seem to be any wildlife at all.

"Do you think there are a lot of snakes on this island?"

"Maybe. I haven't seen much scat or midden left behind," he said, searching the sea with the binoculars.

"What's that?"

"Scat is animal shit, and midden is their refuse… the food they've nibbled on and left behind. I only spotted some anthills and one bird so far. Not much to sustain a lot of snakes."

He glanced over at her.

"Just walk hard. Your vibration will scare them off. Keep that rat dog in sight, though."

"She's a Pomeranian."

"Looks like a rat dressed in a hot ass fur coat."

Portia looked at her baby. Mimi did pant. She grabbed a water bottle from Killmonger's pack and poured some on the dog.

"Whatchu doin'?! That's for drinking," Killmonger scolded.

"She's hot. I don't want her to get sunstroke."

He held his hand outstretched.

"We're surrounded by cool seawater. Dunk her rat ass in that. Stop wasting what we need to survive!"

Portia pouted.

"I wasn't thinking about that. I just wanted to help her."

"Let me do all the thinking then…" he grumbled.

They explored more, trekking around the entire island in under an hour. She dunked Mimi in a pool of water that came up from a natural aquifer of fresh water near the cave entrance. Killmonger grumbled again, so she walked her dog into the seawater and cooled them both off. He shut his mouth when she removed her beach wrap and frolicked with Mimi until a small wave knocked her poor pooch over. She walked out of the water dripping with her diamonds glittering, making her look like a Black Venus rising to the mortal world. He licked his thick lips, and she shuddered at the thought of that mouth on her body. Killmonger was bossy and so easily annoyed by her. However, he was also attracted to her and Portia played into that whenever he gave a tired sigh with her antics spoiling her fur baby. She made a little condo property for Mimi with her dog kennel. Moving it far back in the cave, she gave the dog a bowl of water and dried dog food with space to call her own to keep away from Killmonger. She decorated the front of the crate with pretty rocks and shells she collected and doted on her little one until Mimi fell asleep, farting from all the snack treats Portia gave her to help with the stress of a new environment.

He checked in with the rescue team on the phone and made them lunch. She sensed he felt more relaxed after finding fresh water on the island that they could use if they needed to. They ate in silence together, sitting on the sand and staring at the water. To be stranded on an island with a trained killer wasn't such an awful experience. Underneath the rough exterior was a man who held her hand to help her move around the island, and who also made sure she was hydrated. He pointed out natural formations of some of the island's geography around them and double-checked for snakes as they stepped over fallen trees. She gripped his arm when they moved into questionable areas, and at one point, she slipped her hand into his as he guided her back down toward the cave.

She took a nap on the sand and woke up to a crackling fire. Killmonger had gathered wood and dried brush, making a cozy glow that couldn't be seen from the narrow opening of the cave from the outside. They watched a new sliver of moon rise and a blanket of blue-black sky rest over the island for the night. She grinned and nibbled on chocolate chip cookies, humming and rocking on her backside as she ate. He laughed at her.

"What?" she said

"You look like a little kid on a girl scout campfire trip," he teased.

"Funny, because I used to be a girl scout."

"A girl scout… and you didn't know what scat and midden were?"

"I must've missed that part. I just looked good in the uniform," she said.

He smiled, and the bright, genuine light it brought to his face made him even more handsome. Killmonger was fine, no doubt, but there was something else deep within him that made him even more attractive. She thought of the way he lifted her up with one arm, shooting with the other as he rushed her to safety. His eyes always slid over to hers, even before the attack, when they were floating in tranquility. Portia had teased him sexually, doing things to get a rise out of him. It had started as a dismissive act, letting him see what he would never have in life, and it changed into active taunting, daring him to step up to the challenge so she could smack him down and belittle his audacity to think he was ever on her level.

Sitting in a cave with a peaceful campfire, her gaze on him brought clarity. She had been attracted to him the moment he put her in check on their first meeting. People always did what she wanted, and he had been the first man to push back on her attitude. She picked at him every time he showed up in her face.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said.

"You couldn't afford my thoughts," she said in a playful tone.

He smirked, then added more wood to the fire. Her eyes drifted up to watch the smoke go through the hole in the high roof.

"You think they're done looking for us? Should we even have a fire with the smoke floating… they could see it."

"By now, they should think we're dead. They never saw us leave on the boat and the yacht is at the bottom of the ocean by now, so they can't even check to see about the emergency escape, even if Quinton mentioned it. I won't have this going for long," he said.

"I like it," she said, holding her hands and feet up, warming her fingers and toes.

They didn't need the extra warmth. The cave was already cozy, but it brought comfort to their predicament.

"I'll sleep out here tonight and keep watch," he said. "I'll have to hike around a bit too, to check in other directions from the top."

She looked around for a blanket or pallet on the sand. There was nothing to lie on. Perhaps his soldier ways let him sleep cross-legged and upright. Her eyes became drowsy. Standing and stretching, she stared out at sea, admiring the sizeable chunk of island rock that faced across from their private paradise.

"I thought a storm was coming," she said.

"It is. Can't you feel the temperature drop? The sky is changing too. Won't hit until later tonight, and it won't be as bad out here. The sheer rock of that island over there is shielding us, and the tide doesn't get very high in here. We're good," he said.

She nodded.

"Night," she called.

"Night," he said.

She checked on Mimi, then snuggled inside the boat with the blankets. Killmonger went and grabbed the solar lights that he sat out in the sun all day and brought into the cave, jamming them down in the sand near the boat. He even posted two by Mimi's kennel because Portia told him the dog was nervous about being in the dark. Her mind tried to stay positive. She wondered how bad the storm could be if the hole at the top of the roof flooded with rainwater. Killmonger didn't appear concerned, so she let the thought drop.

After an hour, a soft splash of water forced her to lift and see what the noise was. Mimi hated water, so there were no worries there. Portia spotted Killmonger on the far side of the cave, splashing his naked feet into the liquid heaven.

"Lord," she whispered into her own mouth, watching him.

He was totally nude and moved his body with an assured grace that made him look like Poseidon returning to the sea. She could not stop staring at his taut glutes and powerful thighs. His keloid scars were all over his back, too. Killmonger walked in waist-deep before dunking his head underwater and wetting his locs. He ran a hand over his hair and shook them, stretching his arms out wide, traveling deeper into the sea until she could only see his head. Going under a few times, he moved closer to shore, and she noticed the small bottle of liquid soap in his hand. He washed all over, rubbing his muscles, and cleaning between his toes and elsewhere. Rinsing off, he dropped the bottle of soap on the sand for later and put on his pants without his boxer briefs. He padded back over to the dying fire and stopped when he saw Mimi sitting near his previous seat.

"Getcho ass back in that kennel," he ordered.

Mimi only sat and stared at him.

He sat down next to the pampered pooch and placed Mimi on his lap. Portia giggled and hid under the blankets.

Smoke and flashes of a blazing fire blinded her eyes. The shouts of fear and the odor of fresh blood grounded her back on the yacht. She had moved so slowly. Champagne and the thrill of fireworks put her in a loopy mood and the horror of the attack froze her and probably saved her life. Tiana and Carlos ran and Portia stood there like a statue, her mind trying to fathom what was wrong with the scenario before she was tackled by the running dead and free-falling onto her back.

"No!"

Portia shot up inside the boat, her heart jackhammering in her chest. Her throat clogged with a scream as she relived the attack. Staring at her shaking hands in front of her face, she expected to see blood and brain matter again as another scream ripped from her lips.

"Hey, it's okay… shhh… it's only a nightmare…"

Killmonger jumped into the boat with her and the fading dream had her beating his chest thinking he was an attacker. The lucidity made her claw at his face and he pulled her into his chest, rocking her, cooing soft words into her ear to bring her back to reality and the safety of the cave. Mimi whined behind her and the sound of the dog snapped her to the present. She fell apart then, wailing into Killmonger's chest, her mouth wide open and unable to close as if the terror she endured would crawl out of her throat. Quinton tried to kill her. Her body could've been at the bottom of the sea becoming fish food and no one would know the truth of what he did to her or all of their so-called friends. Portia moaned and jammed a hand against her mouth.

"You're good, Portia. I'm here and we're okay. Just a bad dream…"

She looked up at his face, then wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned back in the boat, letting her rest on top of him. He stroked her spine and his rough hands on her bare skin brought her back from the brink of totally losing all control of her emotions. She wiped her eyes and covered her face, weeping quietly against him.

"I was waiting for this. Some people take longer to process what happened to them. You tried your best to act like you were okay all day," he whispered.

Her breath shuddered as his soothing voice and hands brought her into a calm state.

"I was so scared," she said.

"I know."

"It was so fast and… I couldn't move…"

"You did well considering all that was happening at one time… even wiped blood on yourself to fool them. That's thinking on your toes, Ma. Most people just scream and holler, then get caught up in the shock. You ran and did what you had to do."

"Thank you for saving me," she whispered.

"That was my job."

His fingers dragged up and down her spine, making her skin feel tingly and warm. She crawled off of him and snuggled into his side, hiding her face in his chest. Portia enjoyed being there. It felt comfortable and safe. He stroked her arms and tried to leave her side to return to his post, but she gripped his arm and pulled him back next to her.

"Don't go," she said.

A soft sprinkle of rain fell on the water. The storm had arrived. The pleasant patter of droplets striking the sea eased her mind and body. Her nightmare faded, easily forgotten, while cozied up against him.

"Try to sleep," he said.

Killmonger rested his head on the makeshift pillow his work jacket made and she stared into his eyes. The solar lights gave her a soft ambiance to look at him with.

"By tomorrow evening, they should be near enough where I can shoot a flare so they can pick us up. Hang on to that thought," he said.

She nodded into his shoulder and released a final shudder that loosened all the tension in her body. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her fingers across the top of his naked chest, feeling the slick contours of his keloids against the pads of her fingertips. Tracing her fingers under his neck, she took a bold step and ran her finger across his full lips. Raising herself higher, Portia kissed him, enjoying the sensation of warm plush fullness outlining her own plump softness. His lips smothered hers as he took over the kissing. She expected a feral roughness with him, but he was buttery soft and so gentle with her mouth. Even his large tongue surprised her with how seductively slow it was exploring the inside of her mouth. Their kisses were languid and so unrushed that she could almost fool herself into thinking that they had been lovers in some other past life together. There was no clumsy fumbling newness as their tongues sought an understanding of their changed physical relationship.

She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, and he smiled. He kissed his own trail down her face and onto her neck where he buried those sharp gold teeth and nibbled on her throat, shooting sparks of pleasure down to her toes and back. Groaning out loud, she delighted in his fingers pinching her nipples through her bikini top. She untied it and freed her breasts. His hand palmed their fullness, and she glanced down at his crotch. His dick tented his pants. She helped unfasten them, releasing his erection. It was a hot, rigid thing in her hand and his head fell back, allowing a deep groan to release from his mouth.

"Stroke that shit," he huffed into her neck while untying the bottom of her bikini himself.

She moved over as he wiggled out of his pants and gasped when she saw his dick and balls together. Her pussy throbbed while looking at the heft and length. Pre-cum pearled at his tip and ran down the sides and she helped slicken that big dick in a hurry, eliciting more guttural moans from him. She liked the pleasurable sounds falling from his lips and squeezed her fingers around the bulbous tip. The hole there opened wider and clear fluid drizzled onto the gap of her thumb and index finger.

"Fuck, baby," he gasped when she twisted and tugged under the ridge.

His fingers found her clit and her pussy wasted no time becoming slick and wet, her folds opening up for him like a blooming rose. He stared between her legs, licked his lips, and flashed those gold slugs. She lost control of the tremors making her body weak for him. Slick sounds met his fingers, and he played with her pussy lips until she was begging for him to do more.

"Play with your pussy. Lemme see you do what you did on the boat when you were teasing me," he huffed.

Her diamond-crusted fingernails made her pussy so pretty for him. She could see his arousal grow in his glassy eyes. She rubbed her clit, then held her folds open. He licked his fingers and stuck them in her mouth. She sucked on them, showing him everything she could do for his dick. He closed his eyes and his lips parted. Panting, he played in her mouth. His big dick twitched and jumped against her thigh, spewing more pre-cum.

"Lemme play in this pussy," he begged.

She opened her legs, and he inserted two fingers inside of her opening, gently testing the limits of what she could take. Portia whimpered when he started tapping on the sides of her walls, flicking his fingers back and forth like a butterfly fluttering away. He knew how to stimulate pussy. Killmonger wasn't rough or jerky with his movements either. He watched her face to read what she could handle from him and kissed her often, slow and steady, binding Portia to him like he was kissing a magic spell into her mouth, conjuring more pleasure from the nerves that woke up all over her writhing body. He fingered her pussy and sucked on her nipples, turning her body into mush that the sea could wash away with the tide.

"Listen to that pussy… fuck… I knew this shit was good… fuck…" he moaned.

"Killmonger," she cried out as his fingers hit spots in her that hadn't been touched in so long.

"You loved showing this pussy to me. So fat in this bikini. Letting me see these pussy lips all the time… teasing me…"

He pulled his fingers out against the clenching she began doing around them. He sucked her juices from his fingers and admired the frothy wetness that glistened all over her puffy folds. Slapping her vulva, he stood up and forced her to her knees.

"Suck this dick," he commanded.

Portia obeyed, jumping to her knees and swallowing his dick head like it was her last meal in life. He pushed his dick in further and her mouth stretched around it. She pressed her hand on his stomach to control the depth, but he slapped her face. The shock of the sting aroused her, and she stared up at him with heated eyes and a throbbing pussy.

"You gon' take this dick how I feed it to you… spoiled bitch. Now suck on it… put those fucking hands away. I want all mouth, Portia."

Portia opened her mouth wider, and he went in deeper. She gagged while trying to suck and slurp, and her eyes watered, but Killmonger slapped the other side of her face, disappointed with her performance.

"I thought you were better than this. You can't handle this dick?"

Her forehead creased with anger. She always gave world-class head. No man had ever complained about her oral skills. She gripped the root of his dick and he slapped her hands away.

"I said all mouth, and I meant all mouth!"

He pushed her back, and the anger that sat on his face excited her. Killmonger wasn't pleased at all. She licked his balls and kissed her way back to his dick again to try better. Taking her time, she licked around the slit and under the head, coating her tongue with all the pre-cum that dripped from him. He dragged his tip across her lips, making them glossy, and nudged the seam of her lips back open.

"Let's see if you can do better," he said.

She adjusted her knees with the blankets and sucked on that dick tip, using her full concentration. Her suction with her lips improved, and she even grazed her teeth gently around him to switch up her performance. He treated her like a little puppet that needed her strings pulled when she didn't suck to his satisfaction. She worked her ass off to get a groan, a moan, or a "Good girl," to drip from his sexy lips. He patted her head and sometimes pulled her braids to force her lips to do better.

"How are you gonna pull that nut outta Daddy when you stay playin' like that? Huh? Is this your best?" he asked.

She popped his dick out of her mouth with a torrent of saliva falling onto her breasts and pouted.

"Not as good as you thought you were. Do better," he said, shoving his dick back in.

Portia wanted to cry. She gave him grade A head, and it still wasn't up to par. All the tricks she had used over the years to get men off failed her. There were moments when she thought she had made a breakthrough, but he grumbled and told her she was not even close to getting him off.

"Look up at me when you suck that dick," he said.

Frustrated, she gazed up at him as he deep-throated her neck. That gorgeous face and big ass lips had her pussy clenching on nothing but air. Her walls felt so swollen and ached for his dick to lay her out. A few tears streaked down her face as her frustration grew.

"That's a good girl. Now take some more of Daddy's dick. Show me you can follow directions," he said.

She wanted to please him so badly. He played with her nipples and breasts as she worked her neck, throating him down as best she could. Her loud gawking echoed throughout the cave.

"Jaws getting tired?" he teased in a mean tone.

He pulled his dick out and glared at her.

"Tell Daddy you're sorry for letting him down with that mouth," he demanded.

The gruff tone ignited the ache in her clit. He threaded the braids in the back of her head with the fingers of his left hand and tilted her head while fisting his dick. He gently yanked on her hair.

"What I say? Tell Daddy you're sorry for that trash sucking," he barked.

"I can do better," she pleaded.

"You had a long time to show me, and it didn't happen."

He grunted and stared at her ripe lips, his right hand working that length like he was ready to burst. Gripping her head with his hand, he bared his slugs.

"Sorry, Daddy—"

"For what?" he gasped, narrowing his eyes as he brought his tip closer to her whimpering mouth.

"—for not sucking your dick right. Please, I can suck your dick so good!"

Portia fondled her left breast and groped between her legs to flick her clit. Begging him for a chance to prove herself was the only goal she had in life. She needed him to cum… couldn't take her next breath until he was satisfied. Killmonger had scorn written all over his expression.

"Daddy, I'm sorry…" she whined.

"Oh fuck, dassit, dassit!" he shouted.

Hot cum shot out in thick ropes all over her cheeks and lips, accompanied by a roar from his throat that enhanced his release. She opened her mouth to catch the last drops of his orgasm and she came all over her own fingers while enjoying the pure ecstasy on his straining face.

"Damn, Portia… oh… baby… shit!"

Another streak of cum shot out, and he aimed it for the other side of her face. His ejaculate dripped down, and she rubbed it onto her chest, showing him how much it meant to have him all over her breasts. He gave a low laugh and stumbled back.

"Whew… damn, girl. I was tryna hold back for so long. Your head game is fucking superb."

She licked her fingers and then stared at him.

"You were playing with me?" she asked.

"Not at first. You're used to simps being satisfied with the bare minimum. I'm a grown-ass man who needs you to show and prove with this dick. It's not for the weak, and you showed the fuck out."

He lifted her up, and she didn't want him to do anything else until she had wiped her face and chest off with a wet wipe. Killmonger hugged and kissed her afterward. They stood in the boat, necking until she couldn't take any more. She climbed him like Santa Claus was bearing gifts and wrapped her legs around him.

"I want you sitting on my mouth," he said between desperate kisses from her lips.

She slid down his body and he situated himself comfortably on the blankets. Portia squatted over his face and planted her pussy on his lips. He let it rest there, feeling the wetness all over before humming and moaning into her flesh.

"Ooh," she moaned, scissoring her clit.

He slapped her fingers away, and she looked down at him. The glow from the lamps made his eyes a liquid brown dream, and he slathered that wide tongue up and down her folds, circling her clit with the tip. He held onto her ass cheeks and she mewled and bit her bottom lip to keep from hollering out his name. Killmonger slapped both of her ass cheeks before sliding his hands under and over her thighs to lock her down on his tongue. He made it stiff, and she lifted herself to let him insert it nice and snug inside of her. Cradling her breasts, Portia went up and down and he fucked her with tongue, lips, and groans that vibrated her folds.

"Killmonger!" she yelled, not caring if pirates, snakes, Mimi, the Coast Guard, or God heard her cries of pleasure.

His tongue was delectable on her pussy and inside of it. The strength of his hands supporting her, his burning gaze rooting her to his lips… everything about him gave her chills. The effort to cum was minimal. Her orgasm shattered her ability to think clearly anymore. She babbled something or other like she was talking in tongues at her old church back in South Carolina. Bucking and yelping made no difference. That man was going to turn her pussy out. She whimpered and fell forward, unable to move any limbs. His laughter at pleasing her bounced all over the cave and she joined him, reveling in the joy that their bodies could share with one another.

Killmonger held Portia carefully in his arms as they kissed.

The taste of the deepest part of her stayed on his tongue and he shared the gift of that with her. She clung to him as if she feared him disappearing into the wet, rainy night. He had to do a patrol and fished around for night vision goggles he found stashed in a sideboard on the boat. Putting on his pants and combat boots, he didn't bother to wear a t-shirt and just tossed on his black jacket. He stuffed the satellite phone into an inside pocket and strapped his Glock around his thigh.

Portia watched him under the blankets, staring up at him with so much lust that it tempted him to forego an island sweep to stay with her. Grabbing an unfinished water bottle, he knelt down next to her and pressed his warm lips against her forehead.

"Keep it hot for me," he said, winking at her.

He wasn't finished with her by a long shot. They only experienced oral sex, each taking turns to taste and learn the other's private parts intimately.

Killmonger trudged out of the cave with Portia's scent on his beard. He placed the night vision goggles on once he was out of her sight. He hiked around, searching the sea even as a light rain came down on him. Without Portia being with him, he could get around fast. He turned on the phone and checked for any missed calls from the Greek Coast Guard. They were operating under extreme weather conditions on their end, despite the mild display on their side. Killmonger was glad that they found a place to hide that shielded them. He hoped the bad weather stayed outside of Crete and didn't follow their rescue unit.

Nothing unusual appeared on the horizon. Confident that they were in the clear, he took a moment to let the soft rain bathe his face. He hiked back to Portia and rinsed himself off before getting back into their boat bed with her naked again. She threw her arms around him like she was his woman, greeting her man after a hard day's work.

Oh, how the tables had turned!

Hiding away turned her into a bubbly, humorous woman who sought beauty all around her. It mesmerized him, watching the glow on her face as the sunrise brought her to tears that morning. She was thankful for the plain food they had to eat, and she didn't complain too much about their situation or bug him about checking the phone more than he did. His leadership and take-charge attitude allowed her to fall back into a space of just living in the present. He liked that version of her and wondered if the ice princess persona would return once they were rescued. Killmonger hoped not.

He sank his tongue back in her eager mouth and they kissed for an hour, stopping to catch their breath and caress each other. Her eyes became dewy for him and she couldn't stop touching him or being hugged up next to him. He made her lay back and played with her clit, dipping his finger inside her pussy just to watch it contract around his fingers, trying to keep them inside.

His dick became a turgid beast and hung heavy between his thighs. There were no condoms available. He had some on the yacht where he thought he might need them if he found a babe to his liking, but the only woman who turned him on was Portia. On the ship, he knew there was no way they would ever hook up. He wanted to fuck the boldness out of her back then, just to wipe that bitch queen attitude off her face. It baffled him at how quickly she wanted to submit to his domination of her body with his. He had suspected she wanted to be dominated, but not that fast.

Killmonger could've busted a nut all over her from the first ten minutes of sucking she did, but he pushed her to the limit to see if she would fight his heckling of her throat game. How he was able to keep control over his release was a miracle. He was ready to blow his load when she spit on his dickhole and cradled his balls in her hand, staring up at him with those formerly insolent cat eyes. Killmonger kept pushing her until she broke and gave him what he wanted. Her apology made him cum so hard. All he could think about was her telling him to shut the fuck up when he told her about herself. That woman got on her knees and sucked the glory out of his dick. Begged to please him. That shit amped him up.

Portia held his dick in her capable hands. They both wanted to fuck.

God!

Nice tits. A dangerous ass. Mouth game beyond ridiculous. How was Quinton not in that woman twenty-four-seven the entire time on that yacht? Portia walked around with that prize pussy, advertised it to the world all week with skimpy swimsuits, and Killmonger regretted not throwing caution to the wind and just stepping to her. Game peeped game. They could fuck and fight afterward. She was most definitely throwing hints he could get it on the yacht, but he stayed professional.

He leaned down and sucked on her neck. She panted, squirming against him, and he fingered her pussy slowly until she squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth fell open in agony.

"Fuck… I wish I could give you what you need, girl," he groaned into her ear.

She touched his scars like they were precious to her.

"You can," she said in a hushed voice.

"Without a condom?" he said.

Her gaze didn't flinch, and she pouted those succulent lips.

"I almost got killed. I'm stranded on an island with a mercenary. A hurricane could blow through here and end us both tonight. I have nothing to lose," she said.

Shit.

Killmonger regarded her face to make sure she was serious.

"I'm checked for STIs every three months," he said.

"Six months for me. I've been with Quinton for a couple of years. We normally use condoms and have unprotected for special occasions only. He's a germaphobe and I'm pretty sure Tiana was his first outside fuck. I'm on the pill, and… well… like I said, tomorrow isn't promised. This entire trip taught me that."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Trust. I want to. Been wanting to."

She grinned and ran her hand over his locs, rolling the end of one between her fingers.

"I have, too. All that teasing was to get your attention."

"You had it the moment you walked on board that yacht. I didn't like you… but I liked your confidence," he said.

He played with the end of one of her braids and fondled a diamond hair jewel.

"Are you like this in private, when you aren't being theatrical with all the spotlights?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Unguarded. Open. Friendly."

"Sometimes. I run with a crowd that I have to have a protective shell with all the time."

"Sad life."

"What about you? You also put on an act. You're not mean all the time," she said.

"I'm direct. There's a difference. My job is life or death in precarious places with dangerous people."

"Have you ever lost an entire team before?"

"No. This was a major hit. Practically overkill. There were about ten men compared to my five, and they were using high-grade explosives. Most pirates want hostages or the ship itself. Those people came there for one thing. Do a wet job and bounce. You and I aren't supposed to be alive, Portia."

He cradled her in his arms. The scent of her hair was sugary sweet, like some exotic fruit and nutmeg. Their ardor cooled with their private thoughts and Killmonger listened to the rush of water lapping onto the cave shore. The wind picked up and howled down from the four-foot hole in the ceiling. He stayed awake and Portia slept deeply, the rise and fall of her chest soothing to him. If she had another nightmare, she'd wake up with him holding her. At two in the morning, he snuck away to patrol again. Heavier storm clouds accumulated in the distance and he expected stronger weather soon. A boom of thunder and spidery streaks of lightning zig-zagged across the sky. He popped the collar on his jacket and used his night vision goggles. A vast emptiness stretched out before him. For all he knew, they were the only people in the entire world. The cell phone had poor reception and the battery life was low. Hell, if no one showed up, they'd have to chance it back on the water. There were paddles and he'd get them to Crete one way or another with his own arm power once all the gas was used. He flipped on the locator beam's distress signal light. Survival was second nature to him. They would make it out.

Killmonger took his time going back to the cave. The darkness, the wind, and the rain comforted his mood.

No more civilian gigs.

He took the job as a favor to Clark, but he missed the offensive action of being in foreign countries. He'd give Clark a piece of his mind when he got back. The men he put together for Killmonger should not have allowed those killers to get that close. He had four men on water detail in all directions, and they allowed a boat to hit them swiftly and deadly. They were all executed, so he doubted they were in on the take. He would've caught on right away that it was a set-up when he first arrived. The attack crew had to have used a submersible to plant the explosives against the hull. It was something he would've done.

A heavier thunderstorm arrived, and he jogged back to the cave.

Portia was still asleep. Mimi was up, digging holes in the back of the cave, too distracted to bark or whine at him for attention. He took off his jacket and boots, climbing back beside Portia for warmth. She had curled into the fetal position under a blanket and looked so vulnerable. The cooler air and rain on his body made him shiver a bit, and he went to make another fire.

By early morning, the storm kicked up and the tide level in the cave increased. It wasn't enough to make them leave because the giant boulders and jagged smaller island formations surrounding the cave kept the larger waves from crashing to shore on them. The gigantic grayish-black clouds made the interior darker, adding to the dreary atmosphere as large raindrops showered their private beach.

Portia ate a cold-weather MRE of scrambled eggs, fruit bars, oatmeal, and a bland trail mix. He made them coffee again and ate his own meal before catching some sleep. With no phone reception and the bad weather making visibility terrible, he could afford to rest for an hour or two. He listened to Portia bathe on the other side of the cave. She hummed with a pleasant voice and spent some time by the fire alone with her dog.

The storm kept them quiet, and they became occupied with other things rather than each other until she found a kit of tiny board games inside a sealed bag. There were checkers, chess, Tic Tac Toe, and a deck of cards. They played speed with the cards and hunkered down to play checkers before lunch. Hunger and lunch skipped them as they got into a serious chess match. Later, they both played with Mimi, letting the dog chase them around the cave until Erik shouted bloody murder and flailed his arms around.

"What is it? What is it?" Porta shrieked, scared out of her wits.

"A spider dropped down on me!"

Portia blinked a few times, then burst out laughing. He swiped at his locs and a quarter-sized furry brown arachnid fell out of his hair and scurried on the sand. Mimi chased after it and they both beat pieces of wood on the ground trying to smash it. The dog gobbled it up and Portia grabbed her stomach from laughing so hard.

"Your big butt was scared of that little thing? I thought a tarantula fell on you!" she cackled.

"It's all the legs that creep me out, and they move real sneaky," he grumbled, embarrassed that he showed a weakness in front of her.

"Poor baby," Portia said, patting his back, "Mimi saved you."

He chased after Portia and lifted her over his shoulder, spanking her backside for teasing him. Another bigger spider dropped from the roof and landed on Portia. She damn near came out of her own skin trying to swipe it out of her hair. Killmonger let her run around like a chicken with its head cut off to teach her a lesson about making fun of him. She walked around with the heebie-jeebies afterward, terrified more spiders would come raining down on them like a horror movie. Rain, thunder, and spiders were forgotten when they crawled back into the boat together for a nap. She traced the shape of his scars with her fingers again, and he rested his chin on her head.

"I know this sounds crazy, but I really like it here with you," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She nodded against his chest.

"I thought I would go stir crazy, but I'm actually grateful to sit still. Weird, huh? No TV. Internet. People. Just peace. No distractions. No one to impress or look good for. It feels like we're Adam and Eve here."

"No apples or snakes, though," he joked.

"What do you do when you don't work?"

"I sit still. Like this."

"Where?"

"That's classified information."

"Really."

"The less you know about me, the better."

"Is Killmonger even your real name?"

"No."

She never asked for his name. He was glad. She took the hint.

"We'll never see each other again after this," she said.

"No, we won't," he said with finality.

"You make me laugh, and you're a skilled chess player."

"You're not too bad yourself."

Portia sat up and took off her bikini again. Her eyes were loving and drank in his face. She helped him undress, then kissed him all over his face, touching his chin, and giving her lips to him before kissing down his chest, following the trail of hairs below his belly button until she had his dick in her mouth. She bobbed her head, and he said her name softly, praising her for how good she made him feel. Pushing him back, she held his dick upright and aligned it with her opening. He held his breath as she sank down on him. She grunted when she reached the bottom. His dick had her folds stretched all around him tight, creating a snug suction as she went up and down, taking her time. They locked eyes, and the arousal overwhelmed him. He gazed at their connection like he was in a daze and her pussy made his thickness shiny and slick. Portia rode him so well that his back arched and he lifted to press her against his chest as he thrust into her. Up and down she went, caressing her nipples, those expensive, icy-looking fingernails highlighting the hidden treasure that she was beneath all the posturing.

He had looked down on Portia before meeting her, his disdain at her Sugar Baby ways clouding his judgment on who she really was as an individual sans the glitz. Fucking him like that in a hollow cave on a lone island proved to him she was worth pampering and spoiling. If he had the money, he'd spend it on her himself. The pussy taking care of his dick was priceless.

"Turn around," he gasped.

Portia lifted and swung her legs the other way, leaning forward as she wiggled her backside for him. He palmed a fat cheek and her pussy swallowed his dick. She rocked back on him and he was blessed to watch her ass jiggle and his dick stretch her out at the same time. He whimpered in his throat with his entire face scrunched up at the intense pleasure. She rode the tip of his dick, and then placed those diamond nails on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide so he could see her pussy work. He slipped his thumb in her ass, and Portia moaned. She drenched his dick and the gushy sounds harmonized with his groans.

She showed out.

Circling her waist, she twisted her pussy on his dick and he couldn't take it anymore. He slapped her ass and forced her onto her hands and knees. Clapping her cheeks was the goal, and he made Portia call out his name as he gave her what she needed. Her pussy became disrespectful, and he tamed her depths, gripping her waist and deep dicking her nice and slow.

"Killmonger… Killmonger… Killmonger…" she panted.

The need to dominate surged in his loins. Flipping her over, he forced her to take the dick she so richly deserved. The pillow princess vanished and in her place was an erotically in-tune woman with full-body engagement. He threw her legs over his shoulders and cursed at how satisfying her pussy felt all around him. She had to have diamonds on her walls because whatever amount of money rich men spent on her wasn't enough. Her grip on his dick had him moaning and choking up his curse words in his throat. She took him deeper and his glutes clenched tight, helping him pump death strokes into her. The cave was full of squelching and grunts, and he watched their shadows moving on the cave walls from the fire. Her hips wiggled seductively, and he hunched down low to kiss her lips and feel her breasts smashed against his chest. They were beyond fucking at that point, moving into the primal state like they were the first man and woman to ever make love.

Scooting to her side, he held her legs up and stroked her walls from a new angle that knocked the sense out of her. Those pouty lips stayed open and her eyes took on a glazed look as if she couldn't believe what was happening to her. Her breasts bounced with each thrust and she glanced down to watch his dick ruin her. She chewed on her lip when she saw what was happening to her pussy. He snaked his hips and hit another angle within her and she called out to God. He stayed working that spot, stroking it until his body became a stiff plank focused on only one task: making her cum hard on his dick.

She rubbed on her clit, and those pretty nails had his balls moving.

"Baby… I feel it… 'bout to cum…" he gasped.

"You wanna cum in my pretty pussy?"

The wantonness in her voice urged him on.

"Pussy so good… fucking me so good… dick so hard…" he chuffed with abandon

"You want to make a big mess in my pussy?"

Her voice electrified him. It pushed him to give her his best and yet it challenged him like she was internally comparing him to others and he was coming up short. It was arousing, but it irked him too.

"Take it… take Daddy's dick," he grunted.

Her eyes changed, became coquettish, and it threw him off. His skin was on fire and dripped with sweat, and the sound of her voice encouraged him to tame that pussy. She dared him to. Portia's face transformed into a woman who wanted some Daddy dick to control her. Her right hand fondled the nape of his neck and those long nails scraped there with seductive pressure.

"I don't know if I can take all this dick the way you want," she taunted. "So big…"

He groaned, and she latched on to that sign of weakness.

"You're taking it… all this dick," he grunted.

"Are you sure? I'm trying to make it all fit for you," she said, all breathy.

"Oh, fuck!"

What was she doing? Playing coy? She acted like some virgin who had never had dick before. Her tone was ultra-feminine. She tucked the nail of her index finger between her teeth and looked down at his dick stretching those sweet walls. Her eyes were wide with wonder at the sight, and that coquettish energy fed him what he needed. Dominance.

"Nobody fuck you like this?" he grunted.

She shook her head and kept her eyes on his dick, with that finger still in her mouth.

"Fuck my pussy," she said.

She looked at him with sweet, innocent eyes.

"Goddammit!" he cried out. "Spread those pussy lips!"

Portia widened those sticky folds and the sides of her fingers glided along his dick as he gave her all that he had left. She kept her finger in her mouth with her other hand and her beauty pushed him to the brink. He mounted her again in missionary and his sweat fell on her like the rain falling on the water. She kept her legs up, that pussy open, and that damn lone finger between her lips. Her reckless eyes gazed at him and his dick swelled.

"I'm cumming! Oh shiiitttttt, I'm cumminggggg," he yelled.

He shoved his hips forward and Portia pursed her lips. She squirmed and lost the battle to hold on.

"Ohmigod… Killmonger!" she shouted.

Her head fell back and her pussy contracted with strong clenches all along his erection. Their shouts of pleasure intertwined and became one with the back and forth of their bodies squeezing and throbbing together. He caught himself before collapsing on her, pulling out his dick and fisting the last of his cum all over her clit. She was a pool of sweat and satisfaction, and they gasped for air, staring at the cave ceiling. The rain continued to fall.

Portia curled against his chest.

Sleep came fast.

He woke up, and she was gone. So was Mimi.

Killmonger called to them before putting on his clothes and grabbing his pack. It was only early evening, and the rain had stopped. Fat gray clouds still squatted over their island, but the storm's driving power had moved on. He found Portia and Mimi at the peak near the beacon.

"Went for a walk," she said.

He sat down next to them and pet the dog on the head. Mimi licked his hand. Pulling out the binoculars, he checked the sea. A cool breeze ruffled his locs. The wind was still strong, and the water had a few whitecaps.

Wait…

There!

A ship.

Killmonger honed in for the telltale signs of Coast Guard markings. There was a Greek flag waving from the gray and white ship. Greek lettering in big white caps spelled out Hellenic Coast Guard. He watched it approach to make sure it was the real deal before pulling out the flare gun and shooting it. Dark orange smoke shot up high in the sky.

"It's them?" Portia squealed.

"Yep."

She hugged Mimi, and he turned on the emergency cell. The power went out, but he didn't care. He held Portia's hand, and they walked down to the cave. There was nothing to do but push their emergency boat into the water. It had just enough gas left to power them out into the open sea. Killmonger didn't want to wait for them to send a smaller boat. He needed Portia in a safe place fast with Greek government protection.

They sped out on the water, bouncing on the choppy waves. Porta kept looking behind her like she wanted to keep the image of their island in her mind. He gave her his outer shirt to wear on top of her bikini. She curled her legs under her wrap dress.

Killmonger aligned their boat against the large Coast Guard ship and the crew helped Portia up on a side ladder. He tied their boat to the larger one and knotted a rope around Mimi's dog crate so a crew member could help the dog get on board. Finally, he climbed up himself. The captain of the ship greeted them and gave them both blankets and hot coffee. Portia was damn near teary-eyed and she pressed herself against Killmonger, afraid to leave his side.

"Come inside," the captain said when the weather picked up outside.

They followed the man into a busy interior and sat down on cushioned seats that felt good after sitting on the sand and a hard boat bottom. A crew member handed them mugs filled with a thick Greek soup. They ate and Portia asked to use the head. She was led away further into the interior. The weathered-face captain asked him some questions and Killmonger's sixth sense kicked in.

Something was wrong.

There were too many men on the ship not dressed appropriately. Only the captain and a lieutenant had on a proper Greek Coast Guard uniform with their ranks on them. The others had dark clothing without rankings or insignias. The captain gave a weak smile and the perspiration on his forehead didn't go with the cool interior. Killmonger kept his tone normal.

"How soon can we make it back to the mainland?" he asked, thrusting his empty mug out for more hot coffee.

"It will take time. The weather has been tricky. We almost lost your signal," he said.

Killmonger nodded and moved over to a window. He counted the other men outside to get an accurate assessment of what he was up against and thanked his lucky stars that he opted to keep his Glock under his jacket. When he contacted the coast guard for help originally, he kept his identity vague, pretending to be a guest of Quinton. The attack team must've intercepted the Greek Coast Guard for their own nefarious use as a getaway ship. It had become a death trap for him and Portia.

Portia returned, all chipper. Her ice princess personality snapped back like a rubber band. She glanced at him and he pretended things were all good.

"Hey, baby, put Mimi back in her cage. We don't want her running around," Killmonger said.

The forced affection in front of the others surprised her. She walked over to the dog kennel near him and bent down to place Mimi inside it. After she locked the crate, Killmonger slipped an arm around Portia's waist and gently had her sit next to him.

"More soup?" The captain asked.

"No, thank you. When will we get back to Crete? Or is Athens where we're headed?" she asked.

Portia looked at Killmonger, and he sipped on his coffee to keep from answering right away.

"Would you like to rest, Miss Keith?"

The nervous lieutenant sensed the tension that had risen in the galley.

"There's an empty bunk you can sleep in until we reach port," the man said.

His name badge said Makris.

"You should go lay down. I'll check on you later. Take Mimi with you," Killmonger said.

Portia caught on that something was off. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"If there's a door, lock yourself in there," he whispered in her ear.

She kissed his lips and picked up Mimi. Portia showed no fear as she followed Makris. She played it cool and calm, like an iceberg. Good girl, he thought.

Killmonger had fourteen rounds in his Glock. He counted seven false crew members and only two regular ones. The rest of the original crew were dead somewhere on the ship or tossed overboard. He assumed Quinton had escaped on some other watercraft to separate himself from the killers. They wouldn't rush to kill them all until nightfall, with darkness as a cover. Something must've happened to their ship in order for them to risk hijacking a Coast Guard operation.

"She has heart medicine she needs. I forgot to bring it up from the boat we used," Killmonger said. The lie rang true to the men.

"We can have someone go down and get it for you," the captain said.

Vlachos. The captain's name badge gave Killmonger a second to look away from a bulky merc who sized him up.

"It's in a side slot in the back," Killmonger said, following the man out onto the deck again.

The bulky man climbed down the side of the ship and rooted around.

"The back," Killmonger called down.

The man held up his hands.

"Hold on," Killmonger said.

A few more killers came out to watch him as he climbed down. One in the boat. Six up top. Perfect.

"That boat has a lot of tricky compartments," Killmonger said.

A wave buoyed the boat, and they both lost their balance for a second. Killmonger pretended to dig into a slot near the side of the ship and unlatched the boat, letting it float away. He dropped low, pulled out his Glock, and shot the bulky man dead. The man fell over the side with a soft splash. Shots from above popped over his head, but he turned on the motor and glided around the other side. Once he reached the gap he needed, he slammed his hands around the front M60 7.62mm machine gun and blasted at the men. He ripped through four right away. One caught him slipping and clipped Killmonger in his shoulder. It wasn't enough to stop him, but the distraction gave Vlachos and Makris the opportunity to jump the last two killers and wrestle them. Killmonger zipped back toward the ladder again. He hooked the boat and hustled back to the top. Vlachos took a shot in the chest but apprehended one assailant. Makris knocked the gun out of another merc's hand and bashed his head against the deck floor, knocking him out.

Blood pooled and cooled all over the deck with the other dead men.

Portia ran out of seclusion and grabbed him so hard that it knocked the wind out of him.

"Your arm," she said, touching his bleeding wound.

Killmonger shrugged it off.

"We gotta help him," Killmonger said, nodding over to Vlachos.

Vlachos waved them away.

"Bullet passed right through," Vlachos said.

Makris helped the captain back into the galley and tended to both injured men with a first aid kit. They revealed to him the sordid story of how they ran into the armed men on their way to find them, coming across their distressed vessel that had stopped working because an engine fire left them stranded. The hijackers shot their initial crew of eight down to only two when they tried to fight back.

Killmonger was exhausted by the time he tried to rest on a bunk bed. Blood loss tired him out and so did Portia, who fussed over him with tears streaming down her face, thinking she had heard him being killed. She crawled on top of him despite his pain, too frightened to leave his side. He fell asleep to her soft humming and stroking of his locs.

Portia, Makris, and Vlachos arrived in Crete the next morning.

Killmonger had disappeared.

The military boat they escaped with was gone. She relayed the deadly adventure to the press and her photos were blasted worldwide. First came the press tours, then the exclusive paid interviews. A book deal followed along with a movie deal and three-part docuseries. She milked every opportunity to tell her story as the only survivor and was paid handsomely for it.

Returning to New York, she hid out in a penthouse for months, searching all over the internet for any trace of Killmonger. If it had not been for Makris and Vlachos corroborating that the man did indeed exist, she may have convinced herself that he was a figment of her overactive imagination. Two of the killers that survived the Coast Guard ship confessed to being hired by Quinton. A global manhunt seemed never-ending. When billionaires were murdered in cold blood, people cared. She attended memorials to all the victims, making sure she looked fabulous in Thom Browne and Prada fashion with her signature Chanel shades. Portia wasn't close to any of the people she partied with on the yacht, aside from Quinton. However, leaked photos from her private social media account showed merry faces prior to them leaving Athens on the first day of the New Year's trip. It brought comfort to the families, and they invited her to spend weeks in various billionaire enclaves where she spun stories about their rich sons being brave and attempting to save the women. All lies. But it gave the loved ones a sense of closure and peace.

After a year, her life returned to jet-setting and fashion weeks all over again. Her misadventure bolstered her popularity because of the glamorous photos of her being escorted from the Greek Coast Guard ship in her knitted alabaster bikini. For someone experiencing a traumatic event, Portia looked fashionable as fuck.

Media ate up the haunting tale of Quinton living a double life somewhere. Media blasted his life history around the world as the biggest true crime story to come along in years. Many speculated that he had drowned or killed himself because he couldn't be found anywhere. Portia guessed he lived in a country where he couldn't be extradited. The hoopla died down until her book came out. Then there was a buzz about the casting for the movie. Depression set in then.

Portia visited a few therapists, but none could help her cure the anger that sat in her spirit like venom that she couldn't spew out. She wanted Quinton's head on a plate. He needed to pay for what he had done. It didn't matter to her that the people he killed weren't her genuine friends. He ended human lives because of greed. She couldn't get over that he took the bitch route to jumpstart his fortunes. As smart as he was, he couldn't develop or create something new and amazing that made him rich in the first place. An existential dread lived in her gut. Portia couldn't free herself from the lack of justice. Jetting around the world with Mimi in tow didn't heal the pain. New diamonds, furs, and fancy cars lost their luster. Revenge burned in her soul.

She turned toward the dark web to search for Killmonger. Using some of her movie money, she hired the best ex-CIA and former Black Ops agents to help her find her mercenary lover. One former field agent told her the best that could happen was Killmonger would catch wind of her search, but no one could actually contact him. That was good enough.

The Swiss Alps looked like he imagined.

Cold, white, and jagged.

The job called for a remote location and this was as remote as it got. Killmonger rolled the late-model SUV into a long, isolated driveway that hadn't been plowed for a while. He parked when he couldn't drive any further, and dragged a large black duffel bag out of the trunk, along with an arsenal of small weapons in a backpack. The thick powdery snow cushioned and muffled his steps. All the lights were on in the mountain luxury chalet he came to. His target was inside. The cloudless night sky made the snow glittery with the moonlight and security lights surrounding the property.

Cold air made puffy clouds of his breath. His lungs burned from the exertion and altitude. He tapped his wrist computer and all the security cameras shut down within the chalet. The woman inside had a wineglass in her hand and talked on a cell phone, clueless that he was outside approaching with stealth. The lights in the interior winked out, then came back on suddenly. She turned her head and stared out through the large glass windows. Her eyes glossed over the valley below that was filled with snow that would have more dumped by midnight. Flakes had already fallen down on his way up a winding road.

He waited.

The front door opened, and the beauty stepped out in a long white fur coat reminding him of Goldie from the old Black flick, "The Mack". She still rocked expensive diamonds, and Ma carried herself like the ice princess she would always be.

Portia.

He stepped into the light and she grinned, relief creasing her brow and her lush lips spreading into the biggest smile. His heart dropped for a moment. She almost looked like she did back on their island.

"Killmonger," she said.

Her voice made him move toward her. She helped him with the small backpack and he hauled the duffel up the steps and into a cozy, warm interior. A fire burned in the fireplace and Mimi jumped around his legs.

"Hey rat dog," he teased.

He dropped the duffel near the door and lifted the dog. Portia took off her coat, revealing the slinky silver dress with the low-cut front he admired before he came in.

"Bring yourself over here," he said, dropping Mimi to the floor.

She sauntered to him, walking like a runway model, exaggerating her hips as she moved and draped her arms around his neck. He inhaled her lovely scent and memories rushed back of him and her alone… making love. Killmonger kissed her first, and she opened her mouth to envelop all the warmth of his tongue.

Two years.

They hadn't been in contact with each other in two years since he disappeared from her life. He went back to work for Clark and dropped off the radar soon after. The fame of their adventure dazzled his eyes when he went to a movie theater in Morocco and watched a film that was almost true. The actress that played Portia was gorgeous, but she lacked aloofness and sublime sensuality. Their sex scenes were amplified and gratuitous. There were long scenes of them fucking in water that never happened, and also one of them screwing on the Coast Guard ship. Also, untrue. The actor that was supposed to be him wasn't even a close approximation of Killmonger, but women loved him at the box office and the film became a blockbuster. The docuseries blew up, too. Portia became a media star and super-rich by doing nothing except being beautiful and caught up in some greedy foolishness. Some girls had all the luck with pretty privilege. The anomaly was her being a beautiful Black woman with an intriguing action-adventure-romance story. It did not shock him when Hollywood tried to white-wash the film by recasting Portia as a white blonde. That idea dropped, but they did cast a Black biracial British actress to play her. Think pieces blew up around that.

He got word of her searching for him.

It was only a matter of time. He thought of her often as he worked throughout the Middle East and West Africa. His notifications blew up during fashion weeks and he scrolled timelines to see what she had on and found out how her life was going. She dated often, but nothing serious. Her mystique intensified and everyone wanted her at their major events and parties.

He sensed her unhappiness.

Quinton, getting away with murder, rubbed too many white, rich people the wrong way. A Black man double-crossing billionaires and profiting from it... alive somewhere? Unheard of. Portia survived with the sting of betrayal hovering around her.

Killmonger smacked her ass, and she gave him the glass of wine in her hand. He drank it down, and she took it away, resting it on a side table.

The duffle moved.

Mimi growled and barked at the large black canvas bag and Killmonger knelt down, unzipping it. Stuffed inside was Quinton, tied and gagged. Portia picked up the smaller backpack she carried into the chalet for Killmonger. She opened it and he moved his hand around in it.

"Your choice of weapon, Ma," Killmonger said.

Portia lifted a modified Maxim 9 with a built-in silencer.

"What a way to ring in the New Year," she said, kissing him.

She dropped to one knee and peered at her prey.

"Hello, Quinton. Long time no see, baby," she said.

The iciness of her voice chilled Killmonger. Quinton's desperate eyes pleaded for mercy. She would give him none.

Portia zipped the bag up and stuffed the Maxim 9 back into the pack. She grabbed Killmonger's hand and pulled him toward some stairs.

"I'll save him for midnight when the fireworks go off. Right now, I want you," she purred.

Killmonger followed his ice princess. They had some reacquainting to do in the privacy of a luxury bedroom with fresh snow falling outside.

"Happy New Year," he whispered before kissing her all over.

A.N.:

Brought an oldie but goodie back! I first published this on here back on October 11, 2022, a month before "Wakanda Forever" came out. I thought I would expand this into a longer piece and indie publish it with some other stuff I took down from here, but I decided to put it up again because we need fun things to read in these daunting times with Cheeto dust back in office. Enjoy and please reblog!

[hugsandchaos]

Follow-up to Halfa Dash AU

Believe it or not, Danny starts to get jealous of Dash. In his eyes, Dash got everything while he got little to nothing. Everyone in town knows Dash’s “secret” and work to hide him from the GIW or prying eyes. Valerie and the Fentons work together with him, and Vlad learned to let go of his anger a long time ago and isn’t in the picture.

When Danny helped in his universe, he was called a menace for accidentally causing property damage in ghost fights, half of which is caused by the other ghost attacking him and the other half is Danny being thrown at buildings or the ground, so he literally has no control over it! Even when he tried! He still tried to help the best he could, but it was never enough for the town.

“I gave all I could for them, and then some, but what did I get? Hunted! Torn open! I didn’t expect anything, not even a thank you!”

When Dash does it, he’s considered a hero, gets pats on the back, that kind of stuff. His fire core in still underdeveloped, but he warms up the area when he’s in ghost form. People love that, unless people are already hot and sweating, but no one lashes out. Danny’s ice core lowers the room temperature, and sometimes his body temperature. No one wants to hold hands that are cold.

As you can tell, Danny is pissed about this. He’s happy Dash doesn’t have to deal with what he did, but he’s still pissed.

As for Sam and Tucker, I have two ideas.

They went along with him to the alternate universe, where none of them existed, and all live and work together to get by and help each other out. There was no way they were leaving him alone.

The alternate Sam and Tucker like Dash. They think he’s a pretty chill guy, and they don’t understand why Danny keeps avoiding him or flinching. A part of Danny feels betrayed by this, even though he knows they’re not the Sam and Tucker he knew.

I think the last straw for Danny would either be Vlad or Lancer.

When Vlad comes into the picture, he’s not just… well, not a fruit loop, but he helps Dash! He helps him with his ghost powers, he teaches him, and Jack, and Maddie! He gives tips and advice on what to expect in the future and how to deal with it, and gives him his number incase he needs him!

Danny’s anger reaches a whole new peak.

If it’s Lancer, then it’s when he figures out that Danny has no parents and is living on his own. When he talks to Danny about this after school, he blows up at him. He goes on a rant about how Lancer thinks that he knows what’s best for him when he doesn’t know the full story. He lets it slip that he’s from another universe and had really bad experiences that made it hard for him to trust people and asks how he can be sure this isn’t a trap of some kind.

Eyes are glowing green, the room is freezing, and Danny’s cussing while trying not to have a mental breakdown and failing. He doesn’t want to be put into any adoption or foster care, especially with some strangers, and he’s determined to not let that happen. If anyone, he’d allow Frostbite to adopt him.

Surprisingly, this Frostbite and the one he first met are very similar and recognize him. It’s as if they’re actually the same! Like the Ghost Zone didn’t change, or at least, the Far Frozen didn’t.

Or maybe I can add the Nightingale Family from the PenPal AU! They’d be the one able to adopt him because he meets them all over again, and they’re some of the few people who are still the same. He knows he can trust them, so when they offer adoption, his answer is yes and a big hug.

I think that eventually, he and Dash might have a rivalry-type friendship. Ish. Danny’s constantly pushing Dash to get better with his skills. Dash likes to challenge him to a sparring match or race. Or maybe it’s like this closer to the start, but Danny’s genuinely mad under the mask. He’ll start to appreciate this Dash sooner or later.

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #148 Part 4

The drive took an hour or so and Danny was thankful for the help.

Nightwing offered to drive him after Danny told him his soulmate's name. He told Danny they often did security work for the Wayne household. The motorcycle wasn’t that comfortable but considering how far he actually was from Damian he thanked Nightwing for the help anyways. They we’re quickly buzzed in at the gate, Danny assumed Nightwing called them at some point during the ride. He thought he heard him talking over the hum of the bike as they drove but Danny was too tired to pay attention.

They turned onto the driveway and Danny let out a sigh of relief as he climbed down from the bike. They walked up the staircase and Nightwing knocked on the door. The door was quickly opened and a friendly butler welcomed them.

“Mr. Nightwing, thank you for looking out for young Mr. Daniel here. I am Alfred Pennyworth,  Master Damian is waiting for you in the den. Please, follow me.” Mr. Pennyworth greeted warmly before heading into the mansion. 

“Go ahead Danny, I’ve got to get back to it,” Nightwing smiled at him before he departed on his bike heading back down the driveway.

Danny followed after the butler and the two headed down a few different hallways. Danny felt weird keeping silent but also didn’t know what to say to the butler. 

They eventually arrived in a large room Danny could only assume was the Den. Damian was on the couch reading but he set the book down on a coffee table with a bookmark in it when he saw Alfred walk in wit Danny.

He stood up and approached them, “Daniel. What happened? I got worried when Pennyworth told me Nightwing found you on a roof in Bludhaven.”

Danny let out a sigh of relief, he could feel his core ache. Actually now that he had a moment to catch his breath, his mom’s hit did more than just hit his side. He remembered on one of his trips to the far frozen, Frostbite told him that ghosts often seek comfort from their soulmate when harmed or injured. He didn’t want to admit it but he felt weak as he let himself be guided to the couch to sit down. Damian sat down next to him and he helped Danny get into a comfortable position before settling next to him.

Once he was finally seated he took a moment to breath and gather his thoughts and then spoke, “Can you call me Danny? Daniel always felt like I was in trouble…”

“Of course, Danny… If you don’t mind me asking, are you hurt? You seem to be avoiding your left side.” 

Danny took a deep breath, he came here with a resolve to tell his soulmate everything but now that he was here he was having second thoughts about it. If Damian rejected him he didn’t think his core could handle it, from what Frostbite told him his core might even crack or shatter completely.

He took another deep breath and thought about it for a moment. Damian was his soulmate. If there was anyone in the world that would accept everything about Danny, it would be his soulmate right? He nodded to himself, he had to know.

“Yeah, I’ve got a graze on my side from a small fight I had. I’ll be fine, I just need to rest.” Danny said fidgeting with his hands as he stared at them.

Damian suddenly sat up, “If your injured let me take a look, I won’t allow you to go untreated if I can do something about it.”

Danny felt a little stunned but he could tell his soulmate meant it. Damian really cared about him even if they had just met. 

“I… there’s actually something I should probably tell you… before we go too far.” He finally stuttered out.

“Whatever it is, I’m here for you. I vow that no harm shall befall you as long as I’m right by your side.” Damian declared, a fire burned bright in his eyes. 

It was honestly a little too much for Danny, but it also felt like it was exactly what he needed to hear for his core felt a comforting warmth to it. 

He nodded to himself he had to do this.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Danny started.

Damian thought about the question for a moment before answering, “yes, however I am a little skeptical.”

Danny laughed a little at that, “yeah, so did my parents. They even built a portal to their world. It didn’t work at first though, so my friends convinced me to check it out… Turns out you should really check where you put the on button when you're designing a portal.”

Damian let Danny say what he needed too, he sat there and nodded for Danny to continue.

“The portal opened up with me inside. It was honestly the worst experience of my life and… let me just show you.” Danny took a deep breath, this was it. Time to show his soulmate exactly what he was getting himself into. He let the rings wash over him and he was in ghost form once again. His soulmate didn’t say anything but Danny could tell he was a little shocked to say the least.

“Can I see your hand?” He asked Damian who held his hand out for him. Danny gently grabbed it and led it to his neck. Damian’s eyes narrowed when he couldn’t find a pulse. Danny gave him a sad smile, “the other ghosts call me a halfa, half ghost, half human. I can do everything a ghost can and everything a human can.”

He turned back and slumped back down in his seat. He looked over and Damian was deep in thought, he took a while to respond but when he did he looked Danny straight in the eyes, “We’re your parents the people who hurt you?”

[wolfjackle-creates]

Answer My Call Chapter 2 Part 1

What's this? Two posts for WIP Wednesday??? I said I was gonna spoil you guys. Now, I originally planned to do Carry Your Heart. Figured the top and bottom choices from the WIP Wednesday poll would be fun. But both stories are at a point where Danny is taking Jason to Frostbite and I just didn't feel like writing the same scenario twice, even if the details and POV are totally different.

So I went to the third place option.

If you want a say in what I work on this week, check out the poll!

Story Summary: Jazz, Sam, and Tucker manage to help Danny escape the GIW, but they can't follow him and are under too much surveillance to communicate with each other. Sam snuck Danny a phone as he ran and Jazz sends him a text every day, hoping to hear he is all right. But he's not the one getting the texts.

Jason was away for several months on a mission with the Outlaws. When he finally returns home, he is surprised to find dozens of messages from an unknown number begging a Danny to tell her he's okay. Looks like there's not going to be a break between missions this time around.

Chapter 1: AO3 (user locked), Tumblr

Word Count: 1.5k

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Jazz tapped her finger on her phone as she waited for the Dunkin employee to call out her order. Red Hood was supposed to arrive any minute. She’d left her dorm a full two hours ago and led Agents K and O on a merry chase through Boston before finally losing them at Quincy Market. Then she’d doubled back and was now near Northeastern. She had no reason to be here, so hopefully it’d take a little longer to track her down.

And that’s when she felt it—a ghost or liminal was nearby.

Pushing his way in the building was a tall man with a red beanie covering dark hair. He had on an unbuttoned flannel jacket over a Dumpty Humpty T-shirt and jeans with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He glanced around before his eyes settled on her and he grinned.

“Hey, Jazz, right?” He held out his hand. “I’m Todd.”

Jazz couldn’t say anything and just stared in horror. Red Hood couldn’t be liminal. Had she just led another liminal to the guys in white? Did he even realize he was considered an ecto-entity under the anti-ecto acts she’d introduced him and Red Robin to?

“Jazz? Are you okay?” he asked, dropping his hand.

“Order for Jazz!” called out the barista.

Jazz shook herself and grabbed her drink with a smile for the employee. Then she grabbed Todd’s elbow and dragged him over to the tables.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting—” she cut herself off. She had no idea what he knew and what he didn’t. And the agents could come get them at any moment. Instead she pulled out her phone started turning off every security setting. “Never mind. Do you want anything?” she asked with a gesture at her own drink.

“I’m all right. But, are you? What happened?”

Jazz let out a laugh; if the way Todd’s eyes widened was any indication, it was a tad more hysterical that she would’ve liked. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened.” She looked down at his shirt. “My brother loves Dumpty Humpty, you a music fan?”

He seemed nonplussed at the topic change but shrugged. “Sure. Music is good, but I stole this shirt from one of my brothers. I don’t know if I could name a single song by them. How about you?”

Jazz grinned and forced herself to relax as she logged out of her school email on her phone. “I’m a huge fan of any sort of self-expression, including music. Actually, my plans for tonight involve music, so I hope you like the indie scene. Might be a bit intense for a first date, but I’ve always figured, why not jump right in? Show ‘em the crazy from the start and see if they can keep up.” She leaned forward over the table and winked at him. “Think you’ll be able to keep up?”

Todd played the game perfectly and looked her up and down like they really were about to start a first date. “With you, sweetheart, I’ll follow anywhere you lead.”

Jazz laughed and stood. “Come on, then. We’re going on an adventure.”

Todd grinned and joined her. “Lead the way.”

Once out of the building, Jazz led them away from the university. This being Boston, it wasn’t long before they came across a homeless man begging on the side of the street.

Wincing internally, she gripped Todd’s arm and said loudly, “Honestly, I don’t know why the cops don’t do a better job of keeping away the beggars.”

Todd looked at her in surprise. “What are you talking about? They have a right to exist and we should help them.”

“They’re probably fine. Everyone knows they only use the money they’re given on drugs and alcohol.” She pretended to glance at her phone before reaching back to shove it in her back pocket. Only to miss so it fell to the ground. “Ew, he’s looking at us. Come on, let’s cross the street.”

She could feel the way Todd tensed at her words, but he let himself be led across the street.

As soon as they were out of hearing shot, he turned to her and hissed, “What the hell was that?”

Jazz glanced back and saw the man picking up her phone. She looked away before he could catch her looking. “Come on, I’ll explain.” She grabbed Todd’s hand and led him down an alley to a much busier street. “I had to ditch my phone. I logged out of everything and left it unlocked so he can use it or resell it. I needed to make sure he wouldn’t try to return it to me and, well, what better way than being the worst person you can imagine?”

And now he was staring, open mouthed.

“They’ve had remote access to my phone for months and I couldn’t let them track us!” she insisted. Habit had her looking around for any sign of a white suit.

“Who can’t find us?”

Jazz shook her head. “The guys in white. Look, this is too public. I can’t say much else here. But meeting you, everything had to change. You’re in danger just by being near me and I refuse to be the reason you get hurt.”

“Why am I in danger?”

“Later!” Jazz hissed before wincing and looking around. She forced a smile back on her face and asked, in as normal a tone as she could manage, “What time is it? Do you know?”

He looked down at his phone. “Uh, looks like it’s almost five.”

“Oh great! Plenty of time for us to get something to eat before I bring you to our surprise destination.”

And from there, Jazz led Todd on a convoluted tour of Boston. They grabbed food at the Pru, then she took him to the green line. Where they traveled four stops before she jumped up in feigned surprise that they were on the wrong branch. So then they got off and hopped on the train going in the opposite direction.

Which was where she wanted to be going all along.

For once, she was happy the orange line was still under construction, because the shuffle of passengers from trains to buses and back just made their journey that much more complicated and harder to follow.

By the time they finally got to their stop, the sun had mostly set. The station was mostly empty and Jazz looked around for any sign of white suits or vans, but even when she didn't see any, she couldn't relax.

“Where are we going?” Todd asked for probably the dozenth time.

Jazz rolled her eyes. “We’ll be there in five minutes and then you’ll find out.”

She led him to the street, the crosswalk had lights over it, but the rest of the road was shrouded in darkness. They ran across without waiting for the walk symbol.

Once they crossed what was basically a divided highway, Jazz led them along the poorly lit and cracked sidewalk. Ahead of them they were approaching a river.

“It’s before the river,” muttered Jazz to herself. “Is this it?” She hesitated at the top of a sloping, unpaved drive that led to an industrial building that sat on the waterfront. “I think so. Apparently this building used to be a coffin factory. Cool, huh?”

“I don’t care for coffins,” was Todd’s terse reply.

Jazz flinched slightly. She knew he was death-adjacent. Should’ve known better than to mention coffins. “Right, sorry. Well, they aren’t made here anymore.” She made her way down the steep drive, Todd a step behind her.

“What is it now?”

“Apartments, I believe.”

Once at the bottom, she looked around and saw the old loading dock. Entering, she looked for the door on the left.

Only to hesitate once more. Two doors were on the left. She hadn’t heard anything about there being two doors. Taking a chance, she opened the first one.

Inside was a table where two women sat in front of a metal box. On the wall were a set of pegs already mostly filled with coats. And inside milled probably thirty or forty people.

The women smiled at Jazz. “Hi, have you two been here before?”

Jazz shook her head and pulled two twenties out of her wallet. “No. But I had a classmate come here and tell me about it. When I realized you had something going on tonight when I had a date? Figured it was a great place to come with my partner!”

She laughed. “We’re definitely unique here at the Night Cap.” She stamped their hands. “Show starts in half an hour, but feel free to mingle until then. Bathroom’s through the kitchen.”

“Thanks! We’re looking forward to tonight.”

Todd nodded his own thanks and followed Jazz into the room.

“What are we doing here?” he whispered in her ear.

“Hiding,” she whispered back. “I’ve never been here before. Never even taken this stop on the T before. When we leave here, we’ll get a motel room or something and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Is this necessary?”

“Without a doubt.”

Jazz could tell Todd didn’t fully believe her, but he dropped it. Jazz found a few people who were discussing that evening’s performers and the two of them joined the conversation.

-----

Part 2

I no longer do tag lists, but please check out the Subscription Post if you want notifications when I update.

So, I had a lot of fun with this section. The place Jazz takes Jason to? Real place. Though Night Cap isn't what the residents call it. Honestly, the real name is also impossible to google. If you don't know it exists, you would never find it (why Jazz runs from the GIW there). Out of respect for the residents of the apartment, though, I changed the name. I went to a show there and it was super weird trying to find it. Like, the directions in my email seriously said "enter the loading dock of the former coffin factory, find the door on the left, and slip the person standing there $10-20 cash. Don't touch anyone's personal belongings, please."

As we waited for the bathroom during set break, two of the residents were cooking dinner at the stove and we were chatting about how Regan was the worst.

10/10 would go again.

Anyone who has spent any time in Boston knows what I mean about the T being under construction. Annoying as hell, but it worked out for Jazz this time.

(The T is the name of the Boston train/subway system.)

The Pru refers to the Prudential building. The bottom level(s) are full of restaurants and shops (basically a high end shopping mall) and upper levels are offices. The top level is an observation deck that's open to the public, though I've never been.

[ryleigh130]

Frostbite- - - ryleigh130

Summary- reader gets hypothermia on a mission and the boys help warm them up.

Relationships- platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

Characters- cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

Word count- 2.2k

Warnings- hypothermia, profanity, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

Note- This is my first ever fanfiction written on here so please leave me suggestions on how to improve! This story is inspired by the creator @python333 so go and check out their work it’s absolutely amazing! If you would like to leave a request for me to do a specific prompt feel free to message me! That’s it, thank you and I hope you enjoy! <33

It’s. Fucking. Cold. The three words repeat in your mind over and over again as you consider voicing your complaints to the team for what had to be the 8th time in the last 30 minutes. You couldn’t help it, it was cold. Freezing actually, you and the others were assigned a mission in the middle of butt fuck nowhere Siberia so excuse you for being cold.

To make matters worse for you, you’re the only 141 member currently suffering the biting cold as you were the one who drew the short end of the stick and got put on sniper duty whilst the others get to enjoy the warmth of actually being in the building they’re trying to get the info from.

With that thought, you sigh and shift your position slightly from where you are laying looking through the scope on your M107. It wouldn’t be so bad if you were actually moving around but instead, you’ve been laying in the same position, in the snow, for around 3 hours and you’re starting to loose feeling in your fingers and toes.

“[c/n], how copy” your radio sparks to life as the gruff, British accent of your Captain comes through.

“Still fucking cold, are we almost done here? I’m freezing my balls off out here” you groan, tentatively flexing your fingers trying to spark life back into them.

A low chuckle is heard over the radio as you can practically hear Price roll his eyes from where he is positioned, “you’ve mentioned. But yes, as soon as Soap plants the bombs we should be good to go. How’s it looking Soap?” A clicking can be heard over the radio when suddenly the loud, Scottish voice of John “Soap” MacTavish booms through,

“Aye Cap’n, jist aboot done” you hear another click and a hushed exclaim of victory, “Aw set!” You practically let out a cry of relief at the thought of going back to the safe house and getting warm,

“Took you long enough!” Gaz’ teasing voice pipes up before promptly getting shut up,

“Oh shut it you bawbag” Soap’s voice is light as you hear their footsteps going down the halls to escape the building. You watch through the scope of your rifle making sure to keep an eye out for any rouge enemies that might be hanging around the building the team was gathering the info from. You see Gaz leave the building first, followed by Price and finally Soap. You frown slightly, waiting a few moments before radioing,

“Ghost, how copy” you wait a few seconds before radioing in again, this time sounding more worried, “Ghost, ho-“ before you could finish your sentence, Ghost’s voice, accompanied by the sounds of gunshots filter through

“Solid copy.” He grunts out “I’ve got a few on my tail now but I’m taking care of it” you hear more gunshots as you look through your scope trying to spot Ghost’s form. Suddenly, an alarm rings through the building, you watch as dozens of enemy soldiers flood into the building your team once occupied,

“Fuck Ghost, incoming” you manage to warn before you hear Price’s loud and commanding voice boom,

“Ghost! Get out of there now! We need to detonate this thing now!” You hear Ghost reply with a short grunt. You watch as Ghost’s body runs out from the quickly populating building spraying round after round at accompanying enemies following. You try and help the best you can picking off as many enemies as possible before you hear Soap’s shout,

“CLEAR!” And with that, the building goes up in flames. You duck your head from where you’re positioned to avoid the ash and debris from the burning building,

“All Bravos, how copy?” You hear Price’s voice through the slight ringing of your ears,

A chorus of “Solid, copy”’s respond to the Captain, including your own as you begin to pack your weapon up to head out.

“Brilliant, alright everyone good work. Let’s regroup at the safe house 5 clicks from this position.” A murmur of approvals ring through the coms as you absentmindedly hum your approval and mute your radio. You finish packing up your gear when you hear a twig snap somewhere close by. You perk up and draw your M18 from where it’s positioned in the small holster on your thigh. As quiet as a mouse you sneak through the snowy brush to where the noise originated, peaking through the tree line your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach as you see a squadron of about 9 soldiers approaching your position.

Fuck me. You practically groan, you know you won’t be able to take them all down at the same time so you do the only sensible option, you run. Expertly navigating through the snowy taiga, you run, duck, and jump over the obstacles in front of you. You can hear the pounding of footsteps behind you and the whizzing of bullets flowing past your body, barely missing their target. You run until your lungs burn and your eyes water from the cold air. You look around seemingly cornered by the enemy soldiers and the barren landscape when you spot it. A frozen over lake and possibly your one chance at survival, without a chance to second guess yourself, you’re running towards the lake. You hear yelling in the distance followed by more gunshots as you continue towards the lake. You reach the shoreline and tentatively put your body weight on the ice, judging by the fact it didn’t immediately crack, you take the risk and start sliding toward the other side. Luckily you are small and light enough to be able to tread across the slippery surface. You look over your shoulder to see the soldiers staring at you and continuing to try and shoot you. Before you could react, a stray bullet embeds into the icy surface and a loud crack and be heard. You look down in terror as the ice begins to crack and splinter. With a new objective in mind, you quicken your pace to the reach the other side of the frozen lake.

It’s too late. You’re about 3/4ths of the way when the ice suddenly relents under your weight and you get plunged into the deep icy depths of the water. The icy water causes your body to immediately freeze and jolt in pain as the below freezing water feels like pins and needles getting pushed into your skin slowly. You sink toward the bottom of the frozen pool before your mind catches up with your body and a gasp of air leaves your mouth. You’re choking on the icy water as you struggle against the cold, slowly and painfully you make your way back towards the surface. Your head emerges from the water first, then followed by your hands as you desperately try and grab onto something to be able to drag yourself out of the water. You can’t get a grip on the slippery surface causing you to gasp and sink back into the water, kicking your feet one final time you propel yourself out of the water and onto the ice. With the last bit of your remaining energy you fling yourself to the safety of solid ground on the other side of the lake.

You lay on the snowy ground shivering violently. You look out at the side of the lake where you came from and notice the soldiers were gone, must’ve thought I was a goner, you think bitterly. You don’t have time to reminisce on it as the wind picks up and reminds you that you are currently shivering, wet, and unable to feel your own body. Weakly, you try and turn on your radio to signal for help. You almost cry when you realize it’s gone, you must’ve lost it when you fell in. Coughing violently, you shakily get on your feet, stumbling once, then twice, you manage to stand and take unsteady steps towards where you assume the safe house should be.

The hike takes longer than it should’ve as you continuously stumbled and fell, taking longer than you care to admit to get back up and continue. It’s around 1700 judging by the just setting sun, when the small cabin comes into view. You almost weep in relief when you see it, you pick up your pace into a small run and, promptly fall down face first into the snow. You lay in the snow no longer shivering as your body begins to shut down, No! Not like this, I’m right there! You feel yourself thinking. You feel as if you hear a noise that resembles a door opening and voices yelling but you chalk that up to your imagination as your vision slowly fades into black. With one last tired breath you close your eyes and let the warmth take over you.

When you wake up, you’re burning, and not in a nice way. You feel as if your skin is on fire and is about to melt off your bones. It hurts, painfully so and you make sure to vocalize your discomfort with a pained screech. You try moving your body away from the burning heat but your muscles won’t respond to your brain so you can do nothing more then just let out pained screeches as tears flow down your face. Faintly you can hear hushed voices trying desperately to soothe you but you’re too out of it to notice. With one last screech you black out, in the back of your head you feel as if you can feel a hand card through your hair.

When you wake up again, the pain is still there but significantly lessened. You can feel yourself lying on what you assume to be a mattress with possibly the fluffiest blanket you’ve ever felt on top of you. You try opening your eyes, the light took adjusting to but after a moment you are able to look around the room where you are laying in. Almost immediately you spot the sleeping form of Captain John Price, he’s leaning back in the old wooden chair he’s on with his mouth open in a soft snore. His hand is laying on your covered leg comfortably, he looks tired and worried like he hasn’t slept in a good while. You look around the room trying to figure out where you are before you make yourself known. With a small clearing of your throat Price violently jerks awake and stares at you for a moment before he moves into action,

“Jesus Christ you’re awake!” He states as he starts to worry over you. He gently takes his hand and puts it over your forehead, frowning at what he feels, he moves toward yours eyes. With a flashlight he checks your eyes and nods once before setting the flashlight back aside. Once he finishes his initial exam, he surges forwards and wraps you in a tight embrace,

“NEVER do that again, you hear me?!” He started firmly, his voice laced with clear worry and concern. You chuckle lowly and rasp out,

“My bad, next time I wanna take a quick dip in the pool I’ll wait until summer.” This obviously was the wrong response as Price fixes you with a firm glare,

“I’m serious [c/n]! Do you have any idea how worried we were! First, you were MIA for 2 hours! Then, you show up DRENCHED in −5 °C weather! And THEN, we find you face down in the bloody snow! [y/n] we thought you were dead!” He scolds. You look down with a light blush of shame tinting your cheeks but before you could apologize, the door slams open causing you and Price to jump. In rushes both Soap and Ghost as they storm over to your bedside. Soap grabs your hand and holds it to his face,

“Steamin Jesus kid, ye gave us quite the scare there.” He says into your palm, Ghost approaches his side and stares at you in worry,

“How are you feeling?” He asks. You open your mouth to respond when suddenly footsteps echo through the hall and Gaz comes barreling into the room.

“[c/n]!” He rushes to your bedside and pulls you into a tight hug,

“Gaz! Quit it! Ye gonna hurt the lad” Soap scolds immediately as Gaz pulls away sheepishly with a muttered apology. You take a moment to gather your thoughts before looking back up at the team you consider family.

“M’sorry” you mutter out, tears threatening to fall, “they- they came so quickly and and I tired to run but I couldn’t lose ‘em so I tried to cross the lake but then they shot at it and I fell in and itwassocold-“ your rambling coming to a stop when a firm hand lands on your shoulder. You look up to see Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“Hey, hey kid. It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re safe now” Price soothes gently. “It’s gonna be alright we’re here.” He continues giving you a soft look. You nod looking at your shaking hands when suddenly clothed hands cover your own. You look at Ghost as he warms your still cold hands with his own, you feel a hand in your hair and smile as you lean into Price’s touch. Soap and Gaz bring up a chair next to your bedside and sit close to you, protectively shielding your body from further harm. With the team you consider family so close to you, you give into your quickly tiring eyes and fall into a deep, comfortable sleep.

[boosmidnighthour]

Uh... nickname headcanon time? I guess?

For a while, I needed to have Ninjago nicknames ready in my brain whenever I wrote. Then I would have to remember the ones the fandoms made up. Then I decided "fuck it; just make a list so that it's ready to go."

So, here's random list that I have slowly gathered up. As you can see, I list the character, and then I'll put the nicknames that they'll call the others below that. Some nicknames I am well aware exist, but don't like (example: "Pebble" for Cole) or my creative juices die for characters I rarely write about (literally anybody that's not the OG 4), so this is not a comprehensive list of every nickname within the fandom. Just ones that I like and would like to use at some point.

If you have any other ideas, comment below. Have fun!

Divider created by drawloverlala!

Cole

Zane: Frost/Frosty, Frosted Flakes, Snowflake, Tin Can (rarely), Pinky, Snake Jaguar/Jaguar (occasionally), Frostbite, Ice Cube

Jay: Zaptrap, Motormouth, Zip/Zipper, Loud Mouth, Jaybird, Bluejay, Lightning Bug, Sparky, Bluebell (bruise), Chatterbox, Fruit Loops (paired with Kai), Jitterbug

Kai: Flicker (lava), Hot Head, Emerald (lava), Lover Boy, Firefly (lava), Sunshine (lava), Fireball, Fruit Loops (paired with Jay), Firework, Hair Gel

Zane

Not one to give nicknames unless in a relationship with them or as an inside joke.

Cole: Rocky (occasionally, Rocky Dangerbuff), Honey (glacier), Angel (glacier)

Pixal: Detective (occasionally)

Jay

Sometimes goes into a southern dialect thanks to his upbringing. (Ex: dearie, hun, etc.) (Zane may eventually start picking up on it himself. Nicknames may also be game references.

Cole: Rocky, Earthbound, Cake Pop (bruise)/Cake Pops (bruise, with child), Boulderbrain

Zane: Bucket o' Bolts (rarely), Mr. Mint (Candy Land), Vanilla Ice (rarely), Ice Bucket, McFlurry, Frostbite (techno), Icee, Gumdrop, Jack Frost

Kai: Air Head, Firefly (plasma), Fireball, Firestorm, Star/Shooting Star (plasma), Hot Shot, Sunshine

Nya: Stardew (jaya)

Lloyd: Goldilocks

Kai

Cole: Rocky, Big Guy/Big Lug/Big Boy, Sweetheart (lava), Fruit Basket, Magma, Boulder/Boulders, Beefcake, CoCo (lava), Dirt Clod

Zane: Sweetheart (opposite), Nitro (nitroglycerin), Z, Bird Brain

Jay: Lightning Bug (plasma), Baby/Babe (plasma), Glow Bug, Loud Mouth/Blabbermouth/Motormouth, Sparky, Sparkplug, Lover Boy, Thundercloud (plasma), JayJay, Bird Brain

Nya: Blastoise, Lapras

Nya

Pokemon nerd. Is slowly getting Kai in on it.

Zane: Glaceon

Jay: Jolteon, Thunderbolt

Kai: Blaziken, Flareon, Charizard, Torchic

Lloyd: Leafeon

Skylor

Nya: Dewdrop (amberphoenix)

How is it that I came up with more ideas for Nya and Skylor than Lloyd? I mention them even less than I do him. I might eventually add to this, but only if I get significantly more ideas.

I'm just gonna tag all the ships because they're mentioned. I don't even like a few them. Sorry!

[bandgie]

Predator & Prey

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

smut!Nonhuman

synopsis: You were suddenly teleported to a snowy world while discovering a cave. After norrowingly escaping a terrible fate, you're practically forced to deal with a winged beast you saved. It's awkward and kinda mean, but it does more good than harm.

warnings!: I think this counts as dead dove, there's some gore (stabbing, blood, bone breaking) in this chapter. there's also monsterfucking, but it's not in this chapter (no smut... yet), reader is also is a scary situation but you'll make it out okay :)

a/n: I love monster fucking, I am part of the community and I pray this reaches the right audience cuz im not tryna be shamed!

5.4k words

You wore a cute spring dress, being that it was Easter. You did not favor the color white or yellow, so you when with a shade of pink that went nicely against your skin. The dress was decorated with small flowers at the bottom of the dress that touched your mid thigh. You wore open-toed wedges made it a little difficult to walk in, but you could manage.

Though you liked hunting for eggs, pictures were probably your least favorite part. Then again, you're sure it was everyone's least favorite part. Your family was looking for another spot to take a picture, so you were free to explore the terrain of the area. Your family had chosen a secluded beach, not many people but too many caves. You opted to watch the beach, the waves softly splashing at your feet.

Your peace is broken by your younger sibling calling your name, signaling that your parents have found a place for pictures. With a sigh, you grab your shoes and walk barefoot on the sand. Then you feel it, a cold breeze washes over you that send chills down your spine. Your head whips around, arms wrapping around your body as you look at your surroundings. Sure it was windy, but it shouldn't have been that cold.

You're about to ignore it when you feel the gust of wind again, now realizing it's coming from the cave to your right. You narrow your eyes to look inside, unsure of what you might see.

Nothing.

You step closer, ignoring your sibling's yelling as you walk into the cave. The empty cave, save for the water on the ground and the...icicles on the ceiling?

The ground starts to viciously shake, your arms stretching out to find something to balance on. One arm grabs onto the side of cave while the other block the top of your head to prevent the icicles from falling on you.

An earthquake, you think as you fear for you life and your family's. They should be safe, given that they're outside. You though? You're not entirely sure. After a few more seconds, the ground stops moving, the water stops splashing so aggressively. You release a breath you didn't know you were holding and turn, running back to your family to check on them.

The cold hits you immediately, your arms go back to wrapping across your body. You think you're hallucinating, dreaming. Those icicles must've hit your head leaving you unconscious. But why does it feel so real? The painful chill you're body is experiencing, the chattering of your teeth, the snow that falls from the sky, why is it all so real?

You take tentative steps forward, eyes scanning the frosty trees and ears hyper fixated on the crunch beneath your feet. Toes and fingers are the first to go in frostbite, so you bend down to put your shoes back on. You sink into the snow, but it's either this or chopping your feet off.

"Mom?! Dad?!" You yell. You strain to hear any response, but you're left with deafening silence. You sniff, eyes starting to water. You're scared, the overwhelming scene of loneliness quickly starting to get the best of you.

You shake your head aggressively, the heated curls on your head hitting you in the face. Crying won't fix anything, it'll only make things worse. With a few deep breaths, you manage to maintain your composure.

Okay first things first, you think, get warm. Most people would advise you to stay where you are when you're lost, but in this case, that's the last thing you should do. You look at where the sun is, determining that it's a little past the afternoon. People who live in the snow build their houses on the East, so maybe if you head in that direction you'll find something?

"Oh my god," you say aloud, finally accepting the predicament you're in.

"I'm fucked."

-

You were about to give up on your pursuit of finding warmth until you saw a large house, or building. It was far, but it was there. Your body was shivering, and you know your snot and tears were frozen on your face, but the mere sight of a home had you running.

Your wedges quickly came undone, leaving your barefooted to run in the burning snow. You didn't care though, and the view of the house-no mansion quickly came into view. It was bigger than you anticipated, but you could only cry of joy when you ran up the steps and banged on the door.

It didn't matter if you looked like a crazy woman, it didn't matter how disgusting your face was, what mattered was being thrown in a fire.

"Hello?!?!? Excuse me?!?!" Your voice was loud, demanding to be heard. Both your hands were banging harshly on the door, you would apologize for being so rude later.

Finally the door swung open, an older lady in white and black greening you.

"What in names heaven do you think you're- Oh my goodness!" She quickly took in your physical state. She grabbed you by the hand and yanked you inside, shutting the door.

"Grace?" Another voice called from deeper inside the house. "Who was it?"

The lady, who you now know was Grace, waved a dismissive hand. "Run me a hot bath! Quickly! Quickly!" Grace was practically pushing you inside, up the stairs while your feet struggled to keep up. You were shivering too much, tears clouding your vision that you could barely see where you were going. But you could feel the warm embrace of heat.

You were shoved into a room, clothes quickly being stripped off before you could complain. Grace along with other women lifted you and placed you in a bath. You yelped in pain, the heat of the water was too much. If they heard you, they ignored you. Rather, they dunked a bucket of water over your head, warming every part of your body.

After clearing your face, you finally took in the way the bathroom looked, if you could call it that. It was unbelievably big, a large window stood in front of you. Then you looked the women who were scrubbing you, varying from ages. Yet, it was clear the Grace was the one in charge, easily giving orders the other ladies listened to. They were all dressed the same, as if it was uniform.

"Do you guys...work here?" You ask.

Your voice broke their concentration, eyes narrowing at you. "Maids tend to work where they live, yes," Grace answers, as if it's the most obvious answer. Maids? You think, who has maids nowadays? Before you can ask another question, Grace speaks.

"Are you feeling better? Can you move?" Her eyes can your body from underneath the body, and now is it that you become aware that you're nude. You can't cover yourself though, the other women were busy cleaning your arms and scrubbing your head.

You nod deciding that this must be a frequent occurrence for them, "Yeah, it's just a little hard to move my fingers." She nods, turning to the door. "That's normal," she starts, "I'll find you something to wear. Girls..." her head turns to her workers, "Get her dry."

With multiple yes ma'am's they pull you out of the water, leaving you to bare to the window. A small shriek leaves your lips, you quickly tell them you can dry yourself. They instead giggle at your little outburst, gently pulling you out of the tub.

"Please don't worry yourself miss," one of them says. It's only then that you notice their accent. It had a slight lisp to it, like a gentle pirate who was sophisticated.

"You'll be fine with us. For now, we should get the hearth going. Need to warm yourself yes?" Another was grabbing the towel, wrapping you tightly. Before you could say something, there was loud clanging. Muffled, but loud enough. You peer outside the two-story window and see a cage. There were three people, men you think, poking at the cage with what seemed like a stick. Whatever was in the cage was not happy, thrashing around angrily.

"Please miss, pry you eyes away. It's unwise to look upon such a beastly thing," another girl pulls you away from the window, using smaller towels to dry your hands and feet.

You remain silent, allowing them to dry your body. You hear a couple of them whispering near the door.

"I hear she came with ill clothes, indecent for a young lady in this cold," one whispers. "She must not be from here. Perhaps she was in an accident and got lost," the other reasons.

Before you could say anything, the door swings open, almost hitting the two gossiping girls. Grace waltz in, a large dress in her hands. She sets it on the stool nearby and with a wave of her hand, dismisses a few of the girls.

"I believe this will fit rather nicely. These girls will do your hair and such," Grace announces.

"Actually," you start, "I'm just lost. I don't know where I am and-" Grace laughs, though you didn't say anything funny. "I understand your worries, but I believe you should concern yourself with other things. Do you know whose house you're in?" Her eyes glint with curiosity. I shake my head, "Like I said, I'm lost and I need to find my-"

"You are in the home of Lord Lukas," Grace interrupts again. You're starting to grow irritated, close to snapping at this lady. She helped you though, clothed and bathed you; you bite your tongue.

"He is the famous monster hunter, and you stumble in here wearing heavens knows what in the winter. You have stirred the pot in such a way, miss. Perhaps I pry too much, but are you...interested in the lord?"

You furrow your eyebrows. The ladies behind you are dead silent, waiting for your response. You take a deep breath, "I don't want to talk about this naked."

The ladies gasp, as if you had said a terrible thing. They quickly grab the dress from Grace and bottles from the bid dresser behind you. Without a word, grab at your towel, but you hold it tightly.

"Can I dress myself?!" You shout, losing your composure. The ladies look at one another then at Grace. For a moment, Grace eyes you suspiciously. She lets out a sigh and nods, "Leave her girls. We need to prepare for dinner."

-

You have decided that not only are you in a completely different area, but surrounded by old technology. No hair dryer, heated pipes for the bath, stained windows, the smell of old wood, it's not current trends. Perhaps this place prefers the older times, but the accent, the outfits...

No, you're getting distracted. You need to get home, and you should start by heading back from where you came from. Or is this just a very realistic dream? You would normally wake up the moment you recognized you were dreaming, but this time you stayed in this fictional world.

One thing was sure though, you were not putting that dress on. It was beautiful yes, but too many layers. It had a corset much too small for your body and was unnecessarily big. After some digging around, you found outfits that were similar of that to that maids. It would be much easier to walk in, and put on.

You dried your hair as much as you could before brushing it out with a long toothed comb. There was some make up on the dresser as well, you touched it curiously. It definitely was old, the style, the smell. You decided to not put any on, scared of the chemicals it may have.

When you opened the door, you were in another room. A bedroom. You gasped, if you thought the bathroom was huge, this was gigantic. A big, red, plush bed in the middle, a fireplace from where you were exiting was lit, a long window on the right, and an even bigger dresser on the left. It was straight from a fairy tail.

Now you understood why the dress was so big, so grand; Because this entire mansion was lavish. You were given that dress to fit the aesthetic. You walked around the room, unsure if it was even the one you were temporarily given.

You made your way to the window, your hand touching the cold glass. You looked down, seeing the cage they ladies had told you to not look at. You saw the...beast...huddled in a corner, conserving it's warmth. You pouted, feeling bad for this pure black creature. It was hard to make it out, but it looked like it was enveloping itself in wings.

"That's a big ass bird," you mumble.

Knocking at the door startles you, turning your head to see who was opening the door. You relaxed when you saw one of the ladies who was attending to you in bath.

"Miss, it is time for- What! Oh no dear, that is not what you should be wearing," she promptly shuts the door, speed walking to you."This is completely unacceptable. If the Lord saw you think this..." she trails off. She hurries to the closet you hadn't noticed, swinging its doors open.

"Yeah sorry," you apologize, "I didn't think I would feel comfortable in that dress so I put this on instead." She ignored you, rummaging for something that you can wear.

"You will be in the presence of the Lord of this house, miss," her tone is clipped, "I understand you are not from here, but he is someone of power. I assume even a place where you're from would have someone power?"

She doesn't bother to wait for you answer, instead pulling a golden color dress out. It's doesn't look puffy at all, instead like an easy slip on. It glitters in the light, you notice a slightly deep v-line. The maid gently places it on the bed.

"Put this on miss. I will be outside your door, please dress quickly," and with that she leaves.

You take one more glance outside the window and make your way to the bed, reaching for the dress. It really is pretty, and it's long enough to have leg room, but not enough to have you trip. You nod, satisfied with this dress.

You slip into it, feet first. It goes over you easily, and you reach behind to tie it together. It proved harder than you thought and you struggle horribly. You pace around the room trying to lace the string though its holes, facing the window as if the scenery will help.

You let out a loud, frustrated groan. The bird in the cage jolts, and your eyes widen. Did it hear you? You watch as it lifts its head up, looking around until it meets your eyes. You gasp, looking into its black, human-like eyes. You stumble backwards with a hand covering your mouth, what was that?

"Miss?" The maid reappears, probably from hearing your frustration.

You close your eyes, your head is playing tricks on you. You're in an unfamiliar place and your brain in panicking, unsure of how to take in its surroundings. Plus the bird was far away, you could be mistaking things.

"My dress," you choke out, "I can't do the back."

Wordlessly, she goes behind you, tying the the back of the dress in a criss-cross manner. Your heartbeat is wild, loud in your ears and throat. You're suddenly remained of how utterly lost and alone you are, no longer interested in playing pretend. You sniff, tears softly falling down your face.

The maid notices this, she gently pats your shoulder. She turns you around and wipes your years with her thumb, smiling softly at you. "I'm so sorry that you are lost miss. Lord Lukas is a very powerful man and I'm sure he can help you. Do not fret please."

You nod, grateful for her encouraging words. "I just really wanna go home."

"And you will," she promised, "But I'm sure you're famished, let's eat first."

-

Lord Lukas was younger than you anticipated, less than 10 years younger than you. His parents died, leaving him with a massive fortune and to carry the legacy of being a monster hunter. He loved talking about himself, you had only managed to tell him your name and how you got lost.

If you shut off your brain, it was easy to accept that you had somehow teleported to a different world. You didn't want to think about it too much, how there must be millions of different worlds and millions of portals to them. You were the unlucky soul that stumbled upon one, and you needed to go to the right one to get home. See? Wasn't too hard to understand if you didn't think too much about it.

You poked at your food, your appetite was nonexistent. It looked good though, cooked meat with boiled veggies and unique looking rice. At least you think it's rice. The man siting across from the table was still stuck on how you ended up here. Portals were thought the be a myth, yet here you are.

"So you're just looking for a family?" He asks, shoving a broccoli in his mouth. "Yes, my family," you stress. You briefly met his eyes, they were a light green. He smiled.

"And you said you were near the sea when this happened?" You nod. He hums, "I've always wanted to visit the sea. I've only seen pictures and I think it's quite beautiful." "Yeah it's nice," you agree, "The sand gets annoying though.

He laughs softly. He leans forward, eyes going down to your cleavage. You grimace. It doesn't matter what title a man has, he will always be a pig.

"You smell like lavender," he notes, "I love that smell." You laugh awkwardly, "Uh, yeah the girls had good soap."

"So," he says, eyes never leaving yours, "you're with your family when you stumble in a cave, appear here with no idea of how, and now you're at my place, lost. Looking for refuge?"

"Yup, pretty much," you nod. "But I dont need...refuge. I just need to go back home. I don't know what being a monster hunter means, but you must know about fantasy things like that. I don't have money to give but I went to school and-"

He starts laughing, hysterically actually. The words in your throat get caught, and you're replaying what you said in your head to see what was so funny.

"Unbelievable! You're a a great jester I give you that," he says, wiping a tear from his eye. "You don't need to lie, sweetheart. I don't know who put you up to this trick, but it's quite admirable." He stands and walks around the table so he's behind you. You stiffen, head turning so he never leaves your sight. "What are you taking about?" You ask.

"Many know that I am without wife. I've heard the complaints of how they worry about who will carry the monster hunter title, about who will inherit my fortunes. You are lost? No family? With no way back?" He laughs again, "It's a very intricate plan, and I'm almost impressed with how well they know what I fancy most in a woman."

He leans down in you ear, breath disgustingly hot, "I suppose you're hungry for something else. Yes?"

His hand appears on your shoulder, trailing down to your breasts before you shove him off. You stand from your seat, chair falling from how forceful your movement was.

"The fuck?! Don't fucking touch me!" You yell. You grab a stake knife from the table and hold it, aimed at him. "I don't know who you are and I don't give a fuck! I'm not going to play dress up anymore, you sick fuck."

Lukas raises his eyebrows, surprised by your outburst. He smooths a hand over his face and smiles again, "Did they also tell you that I enjoy the chase? I love it when they fight back."

His words send a chill though your body, you nearly gag. "You're sick. Stay the fuck away from me."

His smile widens more, "And I just adore your accent, I wonder how it will sound when you submit to me."

You run with the knife in hand, choosing to go out the back door rather than the front. The sun is setting, giving the snow a pretty pink glaze color. You would admire it if you weren't being pursued. Lukas is fast behind you, but if you manage to make it though the clutter of trees, you might have a chance.

No one is outside, no one was at the dinner. Did he send them away so he could have you alone? Did he plan this out?

You yelp when you're tackled into the snow, face first. The knife falls out of your hand and you're left defenseless. He yanks your hair so your head is up, he presses a knee into your lower back. "You're a lot faster than I anticipated, but no matter."

You trash in his hold, but he only digs his knee deeper into you. You cry out in pain, hands scratching at what you can manage.

"Gosh you are so full of energy!" He exclaims. "Keep this up, you will tire in no time."

He maneuvers you so you lay on your back, but this gives you more room to kick and hit. You do manage to get a few good punches in, but he grabs the top of your head and slams you into the ground. Your head rings from the impact, a groan leaving you.

"You...dick..." you strain out, spitting salvia in his face. He puts all his weight on your stomach, hands gripping your throat. He lifts one of his hands and backhands you, you head harshly turning to the right. Then you see the cage, it's no less than 20 feet from you. The bird is still huddled in its corner, but its eyes peer to you. The poor animal has been out in this snow for who knows how long and it's still alive. For some reason, it gives you strength. Despite the tears in your eyes, you see the glint of you knife. Lukas's hands violently tear at the top of your dress, trying to rip it.

For a moment, just for a moment, he loses his grip on your throat. You take this opportunity to headbutt him right on the nose, and you hear a satisfying crunch when you do. His hand cradles his broken nose, and you strike him with the heel of your palm while he was stunned. You manage to get half his weight off you and you reach for the knife.

He sees this and grips your hair again, but it's too late, you've already grabbed it. You turn and stab him in the neck, surprised by how how hard it is to sink in. You pull the knife out and stab again hard, blood spraying on your face and fingers. He cries out, hands grasping yours to pull away. His eyes meet yours and you see it, fear. Genuine fear that makes the hair on your neck stand. With a cry you took the knife out and stab a third time, this time digging so deep your fingers could feel the insides of his throat.

He gurgles, blood pooling from his mouth and neck as he opens his mouth to speak, but you drop his body on the ground before he gets the chance to. You sob wrecks through you, you hadn't notice the tears running down your face until now. You were wailing, weeping from your dire situation and the dying body next to you. In the movies, they had died so quick, almost gracefully. But this was messy, blood was all over your dress, hands, the knife, the snow. His hands were weakly trying to cover his wounds, to stop the blood from flowing out.

You needed to get out of here, it was only a matter of time before they came looking for Lukas. Or his body at least.

You stand on your shaky legs, wiping your tears and keeping a steady hold on the knife. 'This isn't real," you tell yourself. "You're fine. You're alive. You'll be okay."

You look up and see that you facing the cage, but the bird is no longer hunched over. Though the cage is much too small for it to stand, it crouches eyes trained on you. It's no bird, not with a human body like that. Its skin is pale, nearly grey with a head a black hair. It's nails are inhumanly long, its feet shaped like a birds. It's wings are cramped, tightly tucked beneath its back. You could still see it's dark feathers, and the tail that swishes unsettling. It could pass for human if you ignored its pitch black eyes. You knew for sure it was a male, it wore no clothes despite having a similar male anatomy.

It looks like a nightmare, but more human than the corpse behind you. Its eyes look at you then the lock, signaling you on what it wants. Despite everything you laugh. This monster had seen you fight for your life and all it asks if you to free it.

"I don't have the keys," you say, though you know it can't understand you. Its eyes flicker to the man you killed, then to the lock, then at you. You shiver, it can understand you. You look behind you and shudder, you had killed someone.

"Are you serious?"

It doesn't respond, instead shifting anxiously in its cage. Who knows how long it's been in there, in the cold. You let out a sign, rubbing your face. You know you're smearing blood all over yourself, but you don't care.

You turn to the body, reaching for keys. You keep your eyes closed, instead feeling around for the item. Finally, you feel a bundle of metal in the pockets of the dead man, pulling them out. It's a hoop of keys that jingle in your hands, and the beast behind you clatters in excitement.

You stand and head to the cage, grabbing the lock. There must be around 10 rings on this key holder, and you're not sure how long it will take to try them all. The first one is a no go, no even fitting in the hole. The second one fits halfway, and no matter how deep you tried to shove it in, it just wouldn't go in.

The human-like monster inside the cage paces, obviously anxious about being free. You were trying the third one when you could hear shouting from the house.

"Where is the Lord?" "Shouldn't he be done by now?" "Go look for him!"

The beast and you lock eyes. You don't know if you have the time to open his cage, and he knows it. But the way it's looking at you, so much hope and pleading, you feel a pang of guilt.

"I'll keep trying okay? But don't expect me to get captured for you okay?" You go back to the task at hand, the third one did not fit. Your fingers start to go numb from the cold, it takes a while for you to fit the 4th key in. Though it manages to slide in, it doesn't turn.

"Fuck," you whisper, struggling to grab the fifth key. Then you hear the door swing open, and 4 men tumble out. "Hey!" One of the shouts, and you whimper. The beast gets close to your face, eyes never leaving you. It's a silent plea, just try one more key. You should go, you should run, but you don't.

You shakily shove the fifth key in, ignoring how close the sound of running is getting. It turns, and grants you a soft click! "Holy shit, it's op-"

You yelp, hair being yanked back from the cage. The man who has you hostage is angry, eyes bulging from his sockets as he regards you. "You whore! You damned heathen!" You throws you harshly on the snow, your fingers numbly try to grasp anything, but it's so hard to move them.

"Captain. He's dead," one man says, next to the body of your assaulter. While a 2 men attempt to revive the body, the other two draw their weapons. "You fool! Do you know what you've done?!" "A stupid whore like you could have never killed a man. Who were you with? What did you plan? Where is your-" The captain is cut off quickly by a screech.

You hear the slash of flesh, blood spreading on you. The captain stands as he clutches his stomach, entrails exposed to you. Before the man beside him can react, he's grabbed and yanked into the sky. Your eyes follow up, watching as the winged beast takes him high into the clouds before he dropped him. His body lands 10 feet away from you, a nasty sound emits as his body snaps.

You scream, covering your face and head to shield your eyes. You put yourself face down into the snow, trying to ignore the sound of men screaming and flesh tearing. Your body is shaking from fear rather than cold. You don't know what type of monster you let free from its cage, but it's certainly out for revenge.

Finally it stops, but you can't stop sobbing. You didn't want to kill anyone, you didn't want anyone else to die. You just wanted to go home. You wish you were taking those stupid fucking pictures instead of enduring this fantasy nightmare.

The sound of feet crunching gets your attention and it stops right in front of you. You slowly lift your head up, quieting your sobs as you recognize the bird-like feet in front of you. Your head keeps going up, finally seeing the beast stand bare in front of you. You sniff and stand, surprised by how tall it is. It's taller than any human man, that's for sure. You barely reach its torso, needing to look up to see its face.

It leans down, and you gasp when a snake like tongue darts out of its mouth. It tastes your face, touching he tears and blood that stain it. It puts its tongue away and swaps it for another, a much bigger and thicker one. You close your eyes as it licks your cheeks, collecting the saltiness. You let out soft whimpers while it cleans you, hand softly gripping your chin so it can tilt your face in his direction. When he's satisfied, he grabs your hands. He brings them to his face and he licks your fingers, drinking the dried blood on them. It purrs at the taste, greedily taking it all.

Once he's done you open your eyes, gently pulling away from him. Its wings spread out from him, larger than any bird you've ever seen. Each wing is longer than his height, covered in dark feathers. You take a step back, finally looking at him at his full height. He still looks like a nightmare yes, but so beautifully scary.

"I need to get home," is all you say. You know it can understand you, perhaps it was trained by humans. "I don't know where I am or when I am? Oh god what am I even saying." You bury your face in your hands. You're going to cry again.

A gentle hand finds your shoulder, another gently pats your head. "You will be okay, human." You gasp at its voice. It's so deep and slightly scratchy, as if he hasn't spoken in a long time. You look up at it, mouth agape. "You can speak?" You muster.

It's face does not change, only giving you a simple nod. "You will be fine, but first we must leave. You have killed a Lord, and I his guards. You will be safe, but not here. Come."

It reaches its clawed hand at you, waiting for you to take it. You look at the hand then at the house. Should you trust this creature and leave with it? Or go back the way you came in a place you're completely unfamiliar with? A rock and a hard place.

You look at it in the eyes, searching for any indication of what it wants, but it just stares back. You notice you can see some white of its eyes, his pupils must expand exponentially when he's full of adrenaline.

You let out a shaky breath and grab his hand, "Guess we should go then."

a/n: this is the first chapter! this story is still in the works but I think im on the last chapter! ill post the second chapter tmr or something

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for my ruined relationship with my soulmate?

[Author's note: some details are purposefully ignored or exaggerated for unreliable-narrator purposes]

I (F) have been trapped in a hunger-games sort of situation for the past six weeks. The way it works is that we all got three lives, green, yellow, and red, and when we were reduced to red we were taken over by... a sort of bloodlust. We also shared our life force with another, a soulmate who felt every pain we did. If one died, so did the other.

When the game began, an acquaintance M (M) and I went looking for resources to share with our soulmates. We went somewhere sort of dangerous in search of rare materials, but we were careful and returned safely.

Afterwards, we went looking for our soulmates. We found them- mine was S (M) and M's soulmate was C (F). I had the strangest feeling that we were friends in some kind of past existence, so I thought I could trust them... but I was wrong.

S and C said we'd abandoned and endangered them. They didn't listen to reason when I tried to explain that we were being careful and we just wanted to stock up early. They said they chose each other as their soulmates, and left, and then M blamed me for everything and he left too, and I was so alone...

I tamed a wolf, Tilly. If they wanted to choose their soulmates, then fine, I chose Tilly. I built myself a lovely tall tower to keep an eye on everyone who might ever want to hurt me. Tilly had a little fall while I was working but she was okay, she came back as yellow! Good wolf, she would never leave me :)

I visited a pair of acquaintances, B (M) and R (M), to play a little prank on them, just for a minute. R accidentally angered a monster while chasing me, and he got killed, so I tried to protect the things he dropped from S and C, who wanted to steal it all. But R didn't appreciate my efforts, he said it was my fault he died and called me all sorts of names and banished me from his house!

I was really upset at S and C, so I decided to get back at S by purposefully letting myself get frostbite and making him have to heal us. I guess rumors of what I had been up to spread, because soon enough, everyone thought I was crazy. It wasn't even that bad, it was only a little tickle really!

Some of the other contestants organized a little party, and we played a game where one of us swung the others around with a fishing rod. Another pair, J (M) and E (M) accidentally got hurt too much and died, so as a joke I decided to take the fancy armor they dropped. I was going to give it back, but they killed me before I even could, and then S yelled at me again!

Everything descended into chaos after that. People started burning each others' houses down, someone brought a giant monster up to the surface. S, C, and I were forced to team up to increase our chances of survival, even though they kept criticizing me and calling me the "crazy ex" the whole time.

I bred Tilly with a wolf that S found, and soon enough I had a whole army of wolves to accompany me. But S was stupid and got caught burning down another pair's house so they killed him and then I was red.

I left S and C since they clearly didn't want me there, and tried to get the other reds to let me join them, but they kept calling me crazy and trying to kill my wolves. So I took my revenge on the reds, I killed them with my axe, whack whack whack, and my pack and I laughed and ate and cheered.

After that, it was just M, C, S, and me. M and C tried to kill me, but getting rid of them was easy enough. But... then I realized that Tilly was gone. M said she was corrupting me, but I wasn't corrupted! All of them were, for being so mean to me!

I didn't even get to finally have a proper fight with S like I always wanted to... he blew himself up and then it was just me for only a moment before I died too and...

...I don't deserve this. Winning.

Maybe I really am a monster.

I'm so lonely.

[wheelsvoid]

NEW WORLDS ; PJO

⇢ you suddenly arrive in the percy jackson world, at the start of the titan’s curse

masterlist

genre: platonic, angst

word count: 1,537

warnings: panic attacks, weapons, violence

fanart by frostbite studios

original plot rights go to rick riordan

When I could see again, I was back on my feet. Sound buzzed in my ears—the sounds of voices, music, laughter and anything that I should not have been hearing after passing out on the sidewalk.

I examined my surroundings; kids my age or younger were bustling around in what looked to be a school gym. Some were dancing, others were just talking in small groups, and some were keeping to themselves.

How did I get here?

I heard voices close to me, and nearly jumped out of my skin when they addressed me.

"Y/N?" A high pitched voice came from my right, and I turned to see a small boy, around my height, with olive skin and dark silky hair. The boy was shuffling trading cards in his hands, looking at me expectantly. Next to him, a girl stood with a scowl on her face that seemed to be slowly fading as she looked at me with concern. She wore a green cap on her head, which seemed to be covering part of her face. I assumed it was done on purpose.

I wasn't stupid; I knew this scene looked scarily familiar to one I had read—no! That was ridiculous. There's no way.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" The girl asked. I felt a chill run down my spine. They knew my name. I didn't even have a second to panic further before the boy spoke.

"I was asking you which one was your favourite." He said, holding out the cards. I eyed them cautiously, as if they might melt in his hands, and I would wake from a strange dream in Westover Hall. Because Westover Hall didn't exist. This wasn't real.

"Um..." I stuttered, glancing around with nervous breaths slowly leaving my lungs.

"Y/N," the girl persisted, placing a hand on my shoulder, "are you all right?"

"I just—" I looked through hazy vision, my eyes scanning the room as I held back my emotions and tried to wake up.

A new group entered the room through a set of double doors.

Wake up, Y/N!

I saw two girls and two boys. One girl had bright blonde hair, which was wildly curly but beautiful all the same. I avoided looking her in the eyes. Another girl had short, spiky dark hair. She looked tougher than the first, and more in charge than the others. One of the boys had a red cap over his curly hair, and his eyes scanned the room as he seemed to be searching for something. The last boy had tan skin and a mop of dark hair on his head, he seemed to be listening to the other boy who was speaking about something that I couldn't hear.

But I knew how this story went. I didn't want to believe it, but if I was right, I knew exactly what they were talking about.

The boy with the red cap—if I was right—would soon spot the two siblings to my right. I ignored the siblings, despite how desperately I wanted to ask them for their names for confirmation. I ignored them despite how hard they were trying to get my attention.

The boy in the red cap laid his eyes on the trio across the gym. He nodded, and began speaking. The others followed his line of sight.

I was sure I was going to pass out, but I couldn't do that just yet. This wasn't enough confirmation to panic. Not nearly enough.

Wake up!

A few more words were spoken before the boy without the red cap—I decided to call him Boy 1 because I would absolutely not be calling him the name of who I thought it was—began to walk forwards, but the girl with spiky hair stopped him.

Her eyes found something across the room, nearby the siblings and me. I felt a sense of panic return, recalling the lines of a certain book that I hadn't gotten a chance to reread before passing out. Slowly, I turned my head and made eye contact with the meanest looking man I had ever seen.

Wake up!

No matter how many times I tried to assure myself I was dreaming, I couldn't get past how real this all felt.

I looked back to the kids on the other side of the gym. If they were who I thought they were, I felt safer keeping an eye on them and their progress rather than the man who looked ready to kill.

They seemed to be arguing over something stupid, but through my panic, I couldn't remember what it was. I was sure it wasn't too important, given that I remembered all the major plot points with ease.

Plot points? You're dreaming!

I heard a yelp, my eyes followed the spiky hair girl who dragged Red Cap to the dance floor. "You can if I'm leading," I remembered the line clear as day now. "Come on, goat boy."

The blonde smiled, and Boy 1 frowned in confusion. I watched in a daze as the scene played on. I felt glued to the floor. Should I warn them? Was this even real?

If I could brush off the panic like it was nothing, I would have. Then the presumably di Angelo siblings wouldn't have to attempt to calm me down as I tried to stop my slight hyperventilating, and the man I assumed to be Dr. Thorn wouldn't have forcefully snatched mine and Nico's arms and yanked us out of the room, leaving Bianca fo trail after us as she tried her best to get him to stop.

I focused on Dr. Thorn's grip on my arm, feeling the tightness and the pain. The sound of the music drifted away, replaced by Nico and Bianca's poor attempts at calling for help and gaining freedom.

This was real, I realized. This was all real.

I regained some sense of awareness by the time we made it to what I assumed was the main entry hall, and Dr. Thorn scuttled away in a dark corner, hidden. I knew this part. I just had to wait for him to show up.

Footsteps echoed in the halls. In a flash, Percy Jackson shoved a door open, spinning around to examine the room. His eyes landed on me and the di Angelos.

Percy slowly made his way towards the small group. He lowered his sword. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." None of us said anything in response. I just stared at Percy's sword, watching the celestial bronze glow dimly, my jaw dropped. "My name's Percy," I nearly passed out at that, "I'm going to take you out of here, get you somewhere safe."

I glanced up, looking behind Percy and my eyes widening as I remembered something a second too late. "Percy, look out!" I pointed. I heard a growl, which made it clear that Dr. Thorn was upset with me revealing his hiding place before he decided to make his presence known. But he was fast, and he attacked all the same.

Percy stumbled as a black spike grazed his shoulder, going straight through his jacket before pinning him to the wall. I felt guilt wash over me, but could he really defeat a manticore on his own anyway? Were my efforts to warn him futile?

Percy slashed with his sword, but it only sliced through air. "Yes, Perseus Jackson" Dr. Thorn chuckled, his French accent thick, "I know who you are."

I felt the panic return as Percy tried to free his shoulder. I knew it was poisoned, and I knew Percy was realizing it too, even through his hazy vision that he was sure to have.

A dark silhouette now moved toward them. Dr. Thorn stepped into the dim light. I stared with wide eyes—because for the longest time I had dreamed of meeting Percy and Annabeth and Nico, and here I was, but Dr. Thorn was here too. I knew other monsters lurked around the world, searching for demigods on the daily.

I blinked back tears; I wanted to go home.

"Thank you for coming out of the gym," Dr. Thorn said. "I hate middle school dances."

Percy tried to swing his sword again, but the monster was just out of reach.

WHIIIISH! A second projectile shot from somewhere behind Dr. Thorn. I knew where it would land, and despite the knowledge that it wouldn't actually hit Bianca, I pulled the girl closer to me in a moment of fright. 

Bianca yelped in surprise, her wide eyes staring at the black spike in the wall.

"All four of you will come with me," Dr. Thorn said. "Quietly. Obediently. If you make a single noise, if you call out for help or try to fight, I will show you just how accurately I can throw."

I knew this story. I knew he wasn't bluffing. It took everything in me not to cry out, I just wanted to go home to my mother.

(if you liked this, it’s also a wattpad story. it’s called Madness, and my username is the same. just thought i’d share some of it here)

[glitter-stained]

Character design ideas for Jason, just for fun:

-Empty-ish white eyes, milky eyes, inspired by Juni Ba's Boy Wonder #2 design. Personally I like them with a very discreet colourful undertone, of whatever colour you'd like them to have been before his death. OR: deep warm brown. (I don't have a stable Jason design. I think brown eyes fit him so well but the eerie white look is such a vibe.) In any case they're very pretty and eye-catching for sure!

-Freckles. Not too dense, over his cheekbones and over his nose, full blushing area.

-tapetum lucidum (the cat eye glow in the dark thing)

-Lower body temperature/slow heartbeat/no rising of the chest + breathing out sounds like a dying exhale. (None of those are from the lazarus pit, and none of those were fixed by the pit. He is just like that.)

-Jason never takes off his shirt in public. One might think it's because of his autopsy scar, and they wouldn't be entirely wrong. Sometimes, when he'll move too fast or has a bad day, points in the scar open where the suture needle slipped in, and the inside of the wound will peak into the world. Between the corners of his skin, translucent white roots tangle together, thin and smooth and glossy, shifting and moving like birting ants and worms. The real reason he wears reinforced steel and tazers on his chest: sometimes, the roots pierce through. They leak something red and thick that smells like iron and isn't blood.

-pierced ears, often only wears one earring, switches which ear from time to time to fuck with people.

-Jason is part of the black nail polish crew! I like to think that, like me, he doesn't care much to fit neatly in the lines. When it starts to wear off he scratches it off as a nervous stim!

-There is absolutely nothing wrong with Jason Todd's looks. He could even be called "handsome", or "pretty", depending on who you ask. Still, for some reason, it hurts to look at him for too long. The first time John Constantine meets him, he throws up.

-Jason is ethnically ambiguous, often white-passing in Gotham but whenever he's somewhere the sun actually exists he isn't anymore. I like to think he has east-asian and latinx roots.

-brown leather engraved bracelet.

-The very tip of Jason's fingers is black, like frostbite. No matter what he tries, he always feels cold.

-Jason never shivers.