#a few times in my life I’ve been thrown into brief contact with men who are good looking and well-spoken and seem to be kind

[whenthegoldrays]

isn’t it so funny of me to only ever develop crushes on men I barely know

[brain-deadx0]

Blood in the Water

Summary: Virgil is kidnapped for ransom, but when his captors don't get what they want they decide to get rid of him.

Characters: human Virgil, mer Logan, oc villain

Warnings: Kidnapping, restraints, hostage, injury of a main character, implied torture, attempted murder, drowning mention, near drowning, noncon kissing(?)/mouth to mouth, knife, uh… let me know?

 Virgil had never given much thought to his father. Sure as a kid he thought the man was cool as hell. But he was more like that rich uncle you never see who sends you cool toys on Christmas and your birthday. 

 As he got older he came to realize this but didn't care all that much. Sure he thought he would've liked to have an actual relationship with the guy, until he got old enough to realize his mom was the only one who was actually supporting him and paying the bills. So he decided the guy wasn't worth it anyway since despite all the money he seemed to have he never tried to help out. 

 Virgil knew his father was a bastard. 

 Virgil thought he was simply a rich yet deadbeat dad up until his mom got sick. The two had never once asked him for anything, but when Virgil was a broke college student who couldn't afford the growing medical bills he reached out. Hoping that if nothing else the man would help pay for her treatment. 

 He didn't even go to the funeral. 

 So yes. Virgil knew his father was a bastard. He just didn't realize how much of one he actually was. 

 Virgil was currently tied to a chair on what he could only assume was a boat. Or at least he hoped it was a boat or else his concussion was worse than he thought. 

 He didn't bother testing the restraints. He was too tired at this point and every attempt before had ended in pain. 

 He didn't even know why these people had suddenly grabbed him off the street and shoved him into a trunk. Sure his estranged father was rich or something but it's not like either of them had been in contact for years. Virgil didn't even get gifts anymore since his mom died and he told the man to not even bother. 

 He really hoped these people didn't actually know who he was because if they tried to ransom him he was definitely going to die. 

 The sound of the door slamming open startled him from his thoughts. 

 Virgil glared despite the new ball of anxiety sitting heavy in his stomach. 

 "So," a man in a pristine white suit said as he walked through the door, "You must be Virgil." 

 "Who's asking?" Virgil growled. 

 He almost regretted it as one of the guards made a move for him, only to be stopped by the man holding up a hand. 

 "You can call me John." 

 "Because that's totally not a made up name." 

 'John' just smirked, "Remind me: what was your father's name again?" 

 Virgil cursed, "Look man, if you're looking for money you kidnapped the wrong guy. I haven't had contact with that bastard in years. He didn't even pay child support!"  

 "I asked for his name, not your life story." 

 Virgil huffed, "George Storm," he ground out, "why are you even asking me? You obviously know already." 

 "Just wondering which alias he used on you." 

 "What?" 

 "Now Mr. Storm-" 

 "It's Sanders. I got rid of his name when I told him to fuck off." 

"Fair enough," the man said, "regardless of your name the fact remains that you're still his son and that means you're worth something." 

 Virgil couldn't help but laugh at that, "Didn't you hear me? He won't give you any money. He probably forgot I even existed by now." 

 "Then let's remind him shall we?" 

 Virgil couldn't help but flinch at the sudden sound of ducktape. 

 …

 "- and if you don't? Well your little boy might just have a little accident." 

 Virgil's screams came out muffled as the cattleprod was once again jammed into his side. 

 "Enough." 

 Virgil shook as he tried to recatch his breath. 

 "Well Mr. Sanders, you played your roll quite well." John told him. 

 Virgil just glared back. 

...

 Virgil wasn't sure how long he had been in the small room. It had to have been a couple of days at least. They had taken a few more videos after his fathers response or lack thereof. Each time Virgil was beaten or tortured just shy of unconsciousness. 

 He wasn't restrained anymore at least. It's not like anyone thought he could do anything at this point. 

 He laid on the cold metal floor hoping it might somehow make his body feel less like a puddle of pain, but if it did it wasn't noticeable. 

 He flinched and curled into himself when he heard the door open. Several sets of heavy foot steps made their way towards him. He tried to curl up tighter in a meager attempt to protect himself but inevitably failed as a rough hand pulled him into a sitting position. A bright flash let him know they were taking another photo before the hand in his hair began pulling him towards the door. 

 "Hello again Mr. Sanders." John greeted pleasantly as Virgil was thrown to the deck. 

 Virgil coughed as he pushed himself to his knees, "I'm guessing he won't give you anything?" 

 "No." John hummed, "I guess you were right. He really doesn't give a shit about you." 

 "Will you let me go now?" He couldn't help but ask. 

 John smirked again in the way Virgil had unfortunately become familiar with over the last however long, "Seeing as you aren't worth any monetary value I see no reason to keep you." 

 For a brief moment there was a flicker of hope in his chest. 

 "But I've wanted to kill that father of yours for a long time now. And you do bare quite the resemblance." 

 Virgil screamed as a heavy net was suddenly thrown over him. He tried to fight off the men surrounding him as they began to wrap rope around the mess he was quickly getting tangled in. 

 "Any last words for your father?" John asked as he stood over him with a camera. 

 "I hope you both burn in hell!" Virgil hissed. 

 "I suppose we'll just have to meet you there." The man told him before nodding to one of his goons. 

 Virgil screamed out a slew of curses as he was dragged the short distance to the side of the boat. He managed to suck in a breath as he felt himself be hoisted over the side and tried not to lose it as he hit the freezing water. 

 ~  

 Logan's nose twitched as the faint scent of blood traveled on the weak current around him. Normally this would be a sign of an easy meal. A struggling seal, perhaps a fish that made a narrow escape, the occasional whale injured by human vessels. 

 He knew there was a boat in this area. He had been following it of course. Humans were dangerous but they were interesting and it was rare for them to be in this area. 

 Unable to resist his curiosity he quickly followed the scent to the boat. 

 The surface churned as the boat sped away but Logan barely paid it any mind as his eyes caught on something heavily tangled in one of the cursed human nets. 

 Logan knew humans used them to catch large amounts of fish. He wasn't sure why they needed so many all at once but that was one of life's great mysteries. He also knew that other creatures often got caught in them. If they were lucky the humans would let them out. If they weren't they often drowned. 

 He swam closer to the poor creature that was still struggling in the net. Whatever it was had obviously been left for dead. 

 ~

I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die…

 Virgil struggled as the net seemed to get tighter around him and his lungs screamed for air. 

Oh god I'm gonna die!

 He had to get out he had to get out of the net. 

 Despite his mind telling him to struggle and get out so he could breathe, his limbs started to fail him as he sank deeper into the cold water. 

 He barely felt the nudge of panic that shot through him as a shadowy figure that looked too close to a shark came closer. 

'Sharks are cool…' he thought as his vision turned dark. 

 ~ 

 Logan wasn't sure what he expected to be in the net, but he knew 'human' wasn't on his list. 

 The human's unfocused eyes landed on him for only a moment before closing. Small bubbles of air began to escape from their face as they went limp.

 That was… not good. 

 He quickly grabbed the net and tried to pull it upwards to the surface but barely slowed the descent caused by the heavy weights. 

 Logan looked up to the sky that grew farther and farther away. He needed to cut the weights off but the human would surely die before they would make it to the surface. There was only one thing to do if he intended to save them.

 He hesitated a moment before leaning forward and pressing his lips to the humans. 

 When he pulled back the human drew in a sharp breath followed by a short coughing fit. Logan was a bit concerned they didn't wake up but at least they weren't about to drown. 

 Logan reached into his bag and pulled out his knife before moving to cut the ropes. The heavy weights quickly disappeared into the dark below and Logan began pulling the human back to the warmer water near the surface. 

 … 

 Virgil woke up cold. It took him a moment to realize he was soaking wet. Another moment passed and he realized he wasn't alone. 

 There was someone next to him, humming in an odd tone, and seeming to be messing with something covering him. 

 He managed to crack one of his eyes open just in time to see a blurry flash of what looked like a knife. He quickly closed his eyes and curled into himself causing the person above him to stop humming. 

 ~ 

 Logan knew he should've fled back to the water as soon as the human showed signs of waking. He was only part way through cutting the human out of the net when the human's eyes opened. Only for them to immediately close again and for the human to retreat into themself. 

 Logically this would be the next perfect opportunity to leave. 

 "It's alright," he said instead, "You're safe now." 

 The human flinched at the sound of his voice but made no move to look at him. 

 After a minute Logan realized he wasn't going to get an answer, "You're stuck in a net," he told them, "I was in the process of removing it when you woke up. May I continue to use my knife to get it off?" 

 The humans eyes remained screwed shut but after a moment they nodded. 

 "Alright, I'm going to start near your abdomen is that acceptable?" 

 Another nod and Logan began to cut through the plastic ropes once more. As he worked the human gradually began to relax slightly. By the time he finished the human was only marginally as tense as they had been when they woke up. 

 Logan stored his knife back in his bag, "You should be able to get out now." 

 Once again the human flinched at his voice but thankfully didn't seem as scared as before. After a few seconds, the human began to shift cautiously. 

~

 By the time the other person had spoken again Virgil was pretty sure they didn't intend to murder him. But he was still confused. The last thing he remembered was being thrown overboard and left to drown. 

 Had another boat just happened to be near enough to see it and help him? It wasn't likely but that was all he could think of. 

 Until he finally got the courage to sit up and open his eyes. 

 ~ 

 The human gasped as their eyes locked onto the sharkmers tail. They seemed to freeze for a moment before their eyes rolled back and Logan lunged forward to try and catch them.

 "Oh dear," Logan said as he looked down at the once again unconscious human. 

 He looked around the area, unsure of what to do next. The sky was beginning to shift to a morning grey and more humans would undoubtedly start making their way to the currently empty beach. Logically he should leave now and let the other humans deal with it. 

 Logan was feeling very illogical today. 

 He gently laid the human back down and waited. 

 It was a bit concerning how long the human remained unconscious a second time. Logan knew it was likely due to their injuries, both seen and unseen, but for some reason he couldn't help but hope they would wake up soon. 

 Logan kept a sharp eye on the beach. Just as the sound of voices started to travel down from the cliffs the human began to show signs of waking. 

 Logan hesitated longer than he probably should have before quickly making his way back to the safety of the ocean. 

 He hid some nearby rocks and watched as the small group of arriving humans seemed to notice the figure in the sand. When they got close the group picked up speed and surrounded the injured human. 

 It wasn't long before humans in matching dark clothing appeared and took the first away. 

 Logan took that as his queue to leave as well. 

...some time later…

 Virgil stared out at the ocean as the sun slowly sank below the horizon. 

 He wasn't sure why he felt compelled to come back to the beach so often. Honestly you'd think the almost drowning in it would make him more wary of the ocean. And while there were many things he'd rather forget, and a few he probably had, he couldn't help but think about the person he saw. 

 He had met the people who found him on the beach, how he got there was still a mystery, and while they were nice people, none of them were the one he'd first seen. The one who he was pretty sure saved him and cut the net. 

 So here he was, sitting on the dock, waiting for something to happen. 

 As the sun finished sinking into the ocean he almost swore he saw a large fin break the water. 

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Apocalypse ch 7

Thank you for comments/likes/reblogs

-

For the first time in your recent memory, you were warm. In fact, you could almost say you were hot. Part of you wanted to peel off your sweater and sweatpants and just lay in your undergarments and feel the soft fabrics against your skin. The scent enveloping you was intoxicating, and the warm strong limbs tangled through yours holding you tight against the other persons chest…

You opened your eyes.

One of your hands was on the pillow beneath Loki’s face, cupping his cheek, the other laced between his fingers down by your tangled legs. He had his long, long leg thrown over yours and dragged you close to him, holding your chest tight to his chest. Your breath was reheating your face as you breathed into his chest. At some point, someone had pulled down the covers so you wouldn’t suffocate, whether this was done knowingly or not was beyond you.

You stayed completely still, a hare caught in a trap. Do you move and wake him, risking the embarrassment while you try to extricate yourself? Do you stay still and try and fake sleep and let him wake up first and deal with the situation? Had he woken first and was letting you deal with the situation? Do you just wait for him to wake and apologize profusely about your sleeping body clinging to him for warmth? And yet he was clinging to you for warmth also, he definitely did not need warmth in the same way you did.

Loki started to stir.

There was a brief moment of panic as the two of you untangled yourself and pulled apart. Loki’s cheeks were pink and you could feel the heat on your face as you looked at him and he looked in your general direction.

The embarrassment was quickly cut off by a soft cry of agony from Loki gripping the collar on his neck. He straightened up into a kneeling position, trying to straighten his neck as much as possible to stop the spikes digging into his skin.

You moved towards him and gripped his shoulders, steadying him so he was better upright.

“What is that thing, exactly?” You asked, your eyes scanning it up and down.

“It inhibits my seidr.” Loki replied through grit teeth.

“How do you get it off?”

“I have to be worthy of Odin.” Loki tried to look away but gave up quickly. “An insurmountable task I have found in my long life.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “I remember Thor having that happen, Tony talked about it.”

“Tony knows about Thor’s trial?”

“Eh, he found out about New Mexico and how Thor lost his hammer, alien tech, it was some good learning experience for his weapon arsenal.”

“Lovely. More ways for humans to slaughter each other.”

You shook your head, “He’s trying to put it towards better use than that, but anyways, Thor wasn’t worthy of it, right?”

“Yes. He became mortal, not that I was told. His precious son truly became human.”

“Yea, you smacked him pretty hard, they said.”

Loki grimaced. “Yes… I was not in the best state of mind I will admit.” He trailed off.

“Don’t worry, Tony thought it was great. It’s all bygones, no one is mad at you anymore. Trust me.”

Loki frowned, “Why are we discussing this? I’m not exactly fond of that period of my life.”

“Well, if you can’t get it off by the means Odin intended, since he clearly set you up to fail…” You trialed off.

Loki turned towards you, “What do you mean by that?”

“Why not cheat?”

A smile slowly touched the corner of his mouth, then faded. “It’s impossible, there’s no way a mortal could have something to pierce this metal.”

You raised your eyebrow at him and put your hands on your hips defiantly, “You really doubt Tony Stark?”

“Why would he help me?” Loki responded dryly.

“Because I’m going to ask him to.”

Loki leaned back.

“Here, give me a second, let me find my phone.” You got up and started walking around the small room, digging among the collected supplies from the last few weeks.

At last you found your phone at to your great joy it still worked and even had a dial tone when you opened to Tony’s number.

“Hey kiddo.” Tony answered on the second ring. “I’ve been starting to get worried, your phone has been off, I had no way of contacting you, I was going to come visit soon.”

“I’m fine, really. Listen, I need a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Can you bring your sharpest cutting device and come visit?”

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“It’s a little hard to explain over the phone.” You glanced over at Loki.

Loki stared blindly at the wall next to you.

Tony sighed, “I’ve got a lot of things on my plate, kiddo.”

“You know I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t urgent.”

“I wouldn’t mind you checking in occasionally if it wasn’t urgent. Things have been really dangerous. More and more are dying to the cold each day.”

“And to the monsters?”

“How’d you hear about that?”

“It was on the news. And…”

“And what?”

“I can tell you more if you visit.”

“Don’t you hold information against me.” Tony griped.

“Hey, I know how to barter with you. You give me something, I’ll give you something in return. Come as soon as you can.” You ended the call.

“What was that about?” Loki asked curiously.

“Whatever those blue monsters were, the Avengers will want to know. I saw a news segment on it. They don’t know what have been attacking people, and it seems like we’re the first ones to survive them.”

Loki turned away. “They’re called frost giants.” He said softly. “Jotuns, if we’re being accurate.”

You furrowed your brow at him, “You know about them?”

Loki sighed, “I’m… familiar.”

You thought of his red eyes behind the gauze. Best not to press it.

There was a streak of red outside your window and you heard a heavy thud at the street below.

“He came now?” You asked shocked. “Go, go, go get dressed.” You ushered Loki to the bedroom so he could change back into his armor, your face heating up as you tried to fix your messed up sleeping hair.

A knock sounded at your apartment door followed by Tony’s voice, “You’re decent, right? I do not want to be traumatized for life.”

“Ha, ha, come in.” You sat down on the bed and pulled your knees up to your chin, waiting for Tony to come in.

The door opened and Tony walked in wearing his Ironman suit. “Hey!” He looked around, “Wow, what’d you do to the place?”

“Consolidated. I figured if I only heat the main area, I’d save electricity.” You stood up and walked over to him.

Tony’s suit melted away and left him in a thick sweater and jeans and a pair of leather gloves. “I’m so glad that suit is insulated.” He caught you in a hug as you squeezed him tight. “So, who’s the guy?”

You pulled back, cheeks burning. “Guy, what guy? Who said anything about a guy?”

Tony raised his eyebrow and pulled off his glasses, letting them melt away. “You definitely don’t wear, uh, what are these?” He bent down a pinched a pair of men’s slacks between his fingers, trying to keep them as far away from himself as possible. “And if you were deciding to, I would definitely be getting you a better stylist.”

“Look, warmth is the most important thing right now, I wasn’t going for style.”

“Uh-huh. Right. So, who’s the guy? You meet someone while rescuing?”

You hesitated, “Kinda.”

“Did he at least sleep on the couch?”

You shoved Tony’s chest, “Who I sleep with has no business of yours.”

“You sly cat, you. How long have you two known each other?”

“Tony!” You dragged out his name. “I didn’t sleep with him. Look, I found someone out in the cold and I brought him back here. I just gave him a place to sleep, I’m not kicking him out.”

“I wish every woman I met out in the cold invited me back home and let me spend the night with her.”

“Honestly Tony.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just teasing. You’re so uptight. I know nothing happened.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping, and shook your head.

“Well what’s his name, let me meet him, see if he’s worthy of my baby cousin.”

“He’s injured. Did you bring the tool?”

“Oh yea, right.” Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red tool. It was rather stick like with two prongs at the end. “It can cut through anything, but it’ll take a while if it’s really thick. Laser technology, I won’t bore you with the details.”

“That should be good.”

Tony raised his eyebrow.

You turned and went to your room, knocking on the door, “Are you, uh.” You glanced at Tony, not wanting to have him hear you ask if Loki was dressed.

The door opened and Loki stepped out, fully dressed in his leather and metal armor.

Tony blinked, nearly dropping the tool. “That is not who I expected you to have in your apartment.”

[duskholland]

As You Are | Mob!Tom Holland

summary ↠ who could’ve known showing up to work late one night would put you in touch with a mysterious stranger, capable of turning your life upside down? 

word count ↠ 6.8k

warnings ↠ mature themes, drinking, cursing, gambling + mentions of violence 

a/n ↠ I don’t know how this ended up being so long honestly. I had a blast writing it and I really hope that people read it lol. anyway! this is part of my mob!Tom series -- a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. you don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense. 

mob!Tom masterlist | general masterlist

You’re late. Fuck, you’re running so late.

Your tight, shiny stilettos rub the corners of your toes uncomfortably as you hurry off the bus, ignoring the stares of the passengers. You push your handbag further up your arm and start to run precariously down the cobbled London streets, your heart pounding harshly in your chest. As you pass the entrances to some of the most exclusive clubs in Soho, you find yourself blending into the crowd. All around you are London’s elite, dressed in expensive coats, rich cologne, and enough glinting diamonds to burn your eyes, and they don’t spare you a second look as you reach the end of the street, taking your tall heels and short skirt as standard.

Relief replaces your anxiety as you pull off at the corner and slip around the back of the largest club of them all: The Lotus Club. You whip out your ID and flash it at the looming security guard on the door, and a moment later you’re in.

Immediately you’re met with backstage: an eclectic mix of cheap hairspray, curling irons, and half-naked girls. You move past a group of feathered dancers and find your locker quickly, ditching your bag and clocking in as you curse yourself for falling asleep earlier in the night. You’ve been working here for three years and you never used to be late, but these days, it’s as if you’ve been pushing it closer and closer to the wire each time you stumble in for your shift.

“You’re late,” comes a loud, stern voice. You freeze, your fingers half-way through pulling off the lid of a deep velvety red lipstick, and you glance at the mirror on your locker door to see your boss standing behind you, arms crossed. Loretta’s a ripped, forty-year-old woman with so many tattoos you think she must be immune to pain. Her eyes are stormy and grey as you hesitantly turn to face her, wincing a smile. “I’ve checked the data for the last month. You’ve been late 12 times, Y/N.” Her face pulls into a disappointed frown. “I’ve always liked you and you’ve never let me down before, but I need staff that I can rely on.”

Instantly you feel cold dread pool in your stomach. “Loretta, look, I’m really sorry, but it’s been a hectic month. I- I’ll try harder, okay? I’m sorry.” And you don’t want to grovel, but this job is all you have. Waiting the tables in this exclusive Soho Club is the only way you can afford to keep your flat, and without that, you have nothing. “Please don’t fire me.”

She holds your gaze for a long, hard minute. Your body feels tight with angst, your fingers shaking around the lipstick. “I’ll give you one more chance,” she says finally. “You’ll need to wait the private booths tonight, though.” When you open your mouth to complain, she laughs lowly. “Oi, none of that. I know you hate it, but if you’re late in, you don’t get a say in where I assign you. Got it?”

With a bite of your lower lip, you nod your head dejectedly. “Alright. Thanks Loretta. I won’t let you down.”

“You better not.” And then she turns and walks away, no doubt on her way to harass some of the other workers, and you turn around to finish your makeup.

The Lotus Club is a boujee blend of bar, nightclub and casino, equipped with a whole secluded wing through the back for private dances. Like the rest of the street, it attracts the highest of the high - rich, snobby businesspeople and socialites who enjoy getting off by flaunting their power and riches. You’re yet to meet anyone who isn’t a complete and utter snob.

The private booths perfectly encapsulate the worst parts of the club: they’re secluded and shady, which means they’re a hub for illegal and underhand exchanges, and they cost a leg and a half to rent out. If you think the customers you’d find in the main foyer of the club were spoilt, the inhabitants in the booths can only be described as the richest assholes London can muster. 

You stare at yourself in your locker’s mirror, red lips sagging into an irritated pout. Your frown remains as you fluff up your hair for a final time and shut your locker abruptly. Your black skirt clings to your legs as you walk out into the front of house, the air clearing the moment you’re in the public sphere of the club.

It’s a very exclusive and elitist place, and the decor of the club indicates that exactly: large, glistening chandeliers dangle in every room, a rich red carpet curves across the halls, and there’s the controlled sound of restrained music drifting through large speakers. Each section of the club has a different vibe to it, and as you walk through the casino and into the section with the private booths, the tone shifts. The booths themselves are tucked behind a large curtain, and as you walk through, the lights grow dimmer and the sweet, husky scent of marijuana fills the air.

You find the supervising manager first - a small, unassuming man called Rob. He discreetly points at a circular table in the corner of the section. “That table over there,” he says. You squint your eyes and stare, making out the outline of a few young men. Curiosity replaces your irritation as you realise they look about as old as you. “You take them, yeah?”

You give him a nod. “Who are they?”

Rob shrugs. “No idea. Think it’s their first time.” He raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Make a good impression.”

You roll your eyes as you move away from him, flexing out your fingers as you walk towards the table. This is the VIP section, which means each booth gets a dedicated waitress - aka, you. You just hope the guys you’ll be serving are decent, because if they aren’t, it’ll be a long, long night.

You draw their attention easily, one of the side effects of being one of the few women in the room. Their gazes fall on you before you’re even at the table, and you suck in a quick, steadying breath as you manage a smile. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Y/N and I’ll be your server tonight. You ever been here before?”

Your eyes drift around the circular table as you wait on a response, taking in the men now you’re near enough to make them out. There are four of them: all looking young, but the number of tailored suits and watches attached to them screams wealth in a way you can’t ignore. To the left, two guys, both brunette and very similar - twins? To the right, a blond with dizzying blue eyes. And in the centre, a man, clearly the leader, with his arms thrown over the back of the booth. He’s in a crisp white shirt, a suit jacket lying crumpled on the seat beside him, and his golden brown eyes seem to linger on you for a moment too long as you wait on a response. The way he looks at you brings a warmth to your cheeks, the smile fixed on your face threatening to falter as you decide that he’s utterly delicious.

“Never been before, love.” Finally someone speaks, and it’s the blond. His lips twist into a slow smile. “Nice place you’ve got.”

You hum, returning his stare confidently. “It’s nice back here,” you agree. Then you reach down and pull a small, flat device from your pocket. You lean down and slide it into the centre of the table, making brief eye contact with the man in the centre as you pull yourself back up, a thrill of excitement cracking down your spine as you catch him staring at you. “That’s my pager. If you need me, just press the button and I’ll be here. Can I get you any drinks?”

They rattle off a list of drinks and you nod along, quickly memorising the drinks and faces, matching them with personalities. The guy in the centre goes for a Corona, speaking in a voice that’s just a little too perfect, and as you walk away towards the bar, you find yourself wondering why they’re all here. The private booths are the ideal location for illegal activities to occur, yet you couldn’t see any drugs on them, and none of them seem to have turned up with any documents or briefcases. They aren’t the usual age, either, and they all seem far too friendly to fit the normal typecast of the customers you’d find in the club. They’d smiled at you as you’d taken their orders, none of them looking at you through heady, lusting eyes - not even the man in the centre with the firm, brown gaze had let his stare slip away from your face. They feel like a breath of fresh air hidden away in an extremely stuffy room, and you can’t help but regard them fondly.

When you return to the table with a tray laden with drinks, you’re quick to distribute the bottles and glasses. The men are having a very loud and animated conversation, apparently at the expense of one of the twins, whose freckly face is burning a deep, embarrassed red. You’re in and out in a second, but in the moment you’re leaning across the table to put down a glass, the brunette in the centre meets your gaze again, his thin lips pulling up into a semblance of a smirk. “Thanks, love,” he whispers, tilting the glass towards you as you tuck the tray beneath your arm and step back.

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else,” you say, nodding at the pager on the table. He glances to the device quickly, before looking back at you, eyes lingering on the curve of your painted lower lip.

“Will do.”

You breeze away from them, your heart rattling against your ribcage as you walk to the back corner and slip into easy conversation with some of the other girls.

Your table get a few more rounds of drinks over the course of the night. Each time you’re there within seconds of the buzzer going off, always with an eager smile on your face. One bonus to the private booths is that the people who rent them out tend to have such a surplus of wealth that the tips are huge, and you’d really like to have the extra cash. So maybe you smile a little wider than usual, and do your best to crack jokes and play along as you talk with the group, but it’s all part of the job, and all part of what’s expected from you. You’re sure the fact that the man in the centre gets your heart racing a little faster than normal has nothing to do with it.

It’s a little after 1am when you’re paged back to the circular table in the corner, the buzzing in your pocket causing you to stifle a yawn. With a start, you walk back to them, your tired feet clacking across the smooth marbled floor. As you draw closer, you realise that there’s only one man there, and with a start, you realise it’s the leader.

“Hi,” you say, smiling nervously. “Friends abandoned you?”

The man shakes his head, the tips of his wavy brown hair shifting delicately. “Gone to the casino,” he explains. He pats the open booth beside him questioningly. “Do you want to sit?” You ponder it for half a second. His voice is open and warm, and it lacks the air of expectation that you’d usually find when patrons ask you a similar question. With a small smile on your face, you sit down beside him. “It’s Y/N, yeah?”

You nod slowly, your bare legs feeling warm against the leather booth. The man is still settled in the centre of the semi-circle, but he slides a little closer to you as you begin to talk, one of his arms hanging over the side of the booth, inviting you closer.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you reply softly. “Are you going to tell me your name, or is that a mystery too?”

The man quirks an eyebrow, and for the first time you notice how endearing his face is. It’s hard, with deep lines crossing his forehead and his cheeks, but when he smiles, the angst fades away, leaving him with a gentle softness about him. His nose is slightly crooked and his lips are thin and lopsided, but he’s undeniably handsome.

“I’m a mystery?” He asks, amused.

“No one’s seen any of you around before,” you say, picking your words carefully. “Normally we get regulars in the VIP section.” You shrug lightly. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s our first time coming here,” he tells you. Then he picks up his hand and offers it to you. “I’m Tom, darling.”

You take his outstretched hand and your smile widens as he takes your fingers into a strong grip. “Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

[-----]

You talk with Tom easily, gradually unearthing a few details about the man. He doesn’t give much away, but you gather that he and his brothers own a few businesses around London and they’d come to your club tonight to scout out the competition. 

“Can I get you a drink, love?” He asks, about ten minutes into conversation. 

You’ve got a relaxed smile on your face as you nod in agreement.  “That would be nice,” you tell him. “I can go and get it, though.” You begin to stand, only to feel him reach out and take your hand, his digits loosely brushing up against yours as you meet his sparkly golden eyes.

“No, stay here,” he says, his voice soft. His eyes shift towards the bar and you watch as he catches the gaze of one of the other servers. She walks over to you and takes your order with a jealous grimace on her face, and you find yourself shifting a little closer to Tom as you sit back down.

“So...” You let your lips quirk into a coy smile. “What kinds of things does a man like you enjoy doing?”

Tom hums softly, his hand going to rest on your knee. The tips of his calloused fingertips draw small shapes and circles over your skin, his touch setting off warm fireworks. “I like golf,” he says, laughing quietly as you grimace. “It’s more interesting to play than it is to watch.”

“I’d sure hope so,” you joke. “I don’t think it’s really my thing.”

“Well, what is your thing?” You watch intently as Tom flicks his pink tongue out across his lower lip. Your breath hitches as you realise he’s flirting with you, and you’ve overcome with a strong urge to reciprocate.

“I like painting,” you admit. “Someday I’m going to quit my job here and open up an art gallery.” You reach up slowly, resting the flat hand on his shoulder as the tips of your fingers play around with his soft hair. “Would you be my model, one day?”

Tom brings his other hand to your waist, testing the waters. When you only drift closer to him, he holds your side more firmly, his long, nimble fingers slowly wrapping around you. His touch is intoxicating. 

“I’d be flattered to be your model, darling,” he tells you, eyes sparkling with something between lust and admiration.

As the night draws on, you find yourself inching closer and closer to him, his body heat attracting you like a moth to a flame. His eyes sparkle brightly, shades of golden browns appealing to you easily, and you can’t stop yourself from shamelessly flirting with him, your heart pounding each time he returns it just as thickly.

But you’re not completely blinded by lust. Over the course of your conversation, you pick up on a few unsaid details. First and foremost: Tom has a holster strapped to his belt, and whilst it’s empty, its presence is enough to have your guard up. You know there’s probably a hundred armed men out in the casino, but the sight of it makes you uneasy. Tom’s nice, and maybe a part of you had considered clocking out and leaving with him, but that - and the fact that you can see a pair of brass knuckledusters hanging out of his suit pocket - is enough to sour that idea.

It really is a shame. He’s nothing but charming, in a very sweet, romantic way, and if the circumstances were different, you’d want him in a heartbeat.

By the time Tom’s friends return from the Casino, stacks of cash in hand, you’re practically on top of him. Somewhere between the second and the third beer, he’d pulled you nearer, and now you have your head pressed against his outstretched arm as you sit lazily in his lap, your voice dying halfway through your anecdote as the presence of Tom’s associates disturb your conversation.

“How much?” Tom calls out, his eyes moving away from your face for the first time in an hour. You watch as his pupils dilate, swallowing the golden flecks of his irises as he stares at the rolls of cash greedily.

“50k.” The blond...Harrison, you think, says. “We should come back more often.” His blue eyes twinkle knowingly as he takes in the way you’re spread over Tom. “You ready to go, mate?”

You feel Tom shift beneath you, a hand going to sit on your waist as he hums. “Go settle the tab, yeah? I’ll be over in a minute.”

Harrison nods, and you watch as the group approach the bar and begin to sift through the rolls of cash. Clearing your throat, you stretch out your arm and move out of Tom’s lap, distancing yourself from him as you give him a coy smile.

“Well… I guess it’s goodnight, Tom,” you say, watching him carefully. His eyebrows furrow together slightly as an expression of intrigue passes over his face.

“Don’t suppose you’d want to come home with me, love?” He asks, voice honest and open. He reaches down and takes one of your hands in his, his calloused thumb passing over the back of your knuckles. The touch makes you bite your lower lip, and for a brief moment, you find yourself wishing you could.

“Sorry,” you say instead, ignoring the way a part of you wants to explore the man further. You’ve seen the holster and the knuckledusters. “I don’t know you.”

Surprise replaces his intrigue, but Tom remains looking at you fondly. He nods his head, holding your gaze as he brings your hand to his mouth, pressing his intoxicating lips to the back of your hand and kissing your skin softly. “I’ll see you around then, darling,” he mumbles, finally releasing your hand as he presses it back to your lap. He stands up and shimmies out of the booth, tossing his suit jacket over his shoulder as he goes. “It was lovely spending the evening with you, Y/N.”

Your smile is soft, genuine. “You too, Tom. Have a nice night.”

He raises his hand in a brief wave, and then turns, meeting with his friends by the door. They leave together, and you take a moment to sit against the back of the booth, breathing heavily through your mouth as your thoughts run rampant through your mind.

Everything about Tom feels to be a juxtaposition. His suit was expensive and he left the casino £50,000 richer, yet his shoes were scruffy and his watch looked old and worn. He’s clearly used to control, but he was perfectly content with you setting the lines and the limits. He has an obvious affinity for the darker arts, but his touch was always kind and gentle. Tom is a perfect paradox, and you can’t help but keep him in your thoughts as you begin to clear away the dirty glasses, your smile remaining on your lips for the rest of the night.

[-----]

When you come in for your shift a few days later, you’re called into Loretta’s office immediately. Dread and anticipation hang heavy in your stomach as you nervously push open her door, hoping with every part of you that she hasn’t called you in to fire you. You’re left utterly perplexed as the tall woman greets you with a long, tight hug.

“Y/N, my darling!” She exclaims, releasing you and gesturing down at a chair. You slip into it apprehensively as she walks around to sit behind her desk, her eyes bright and excited. “You’ve got a tip.”

Your eyes widen. “A tip?” You echo, voice uncertain. Normally the tips would be added to your pay-check at the end of the month, no further comment needed. The way she’s staring at you like you’re a celebrity makes you nervous.

“Someone left an anonymous tip for you,” she says, voice high. “I’ve already deducted the club’s percentage.” Loretta passes you a bulging envelope. “It leaves you with just under £5,000.”

Your jaw drops.

“What… The fuck,” you manage, eyes bulging as you tear open the envelope and run your thumb through the thick stack of cash. “Who?”

Your boss shrugs. “Anonymous,” she repeats. “Just thought you’d appreciate the heads up. I’ll keep it out of the books, as long as you don’t mention this to anyone.” Her voice is low, and you nod quickly, knowing that she’s doing you both a favour: the club takes a cut of all tips received, and you know that you’ll both come out better if the tax office doesn’t learn of your bonus.

“Thank you,” you say, flabbergasted. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” she advises. “Just take it.” As you rise to your feet and slip the envelope into your bag, she adds, “You can go back to serving the bar, as usual. I’ll get Monica to cover the private booths.”

“Thanks,” you say again, your voice soft and shaken. She bids you goodbye as you walk back to the lockers, your eyes wide and your mind scrambled.

You want to assume it’s Tom who’s left the tip. You don’t think you’ve made a big enough impression on anyone else recently to be rewarded this generously. It baffles you, because you hadn’t ever expected this, but then you find yourself warming to the idea. You’d gotten on well with Tom, and maybe a small part of you has been regretting denying him, and this… Well, this act of generosity would suggest that he’s still thinking about you, and that’s a very nice thought.

You begin your shift with a wide smile on your face, knowing your rent is taken care of for the next few months. It puts a lightness in your step, and you find yourself winning over all the patrons you come into contact with, your wallet growing heavier and heavier as the night draws by. A few times, you find yourself gazing around the bar, looking for Tom, expecting to see him, but not feeling surprised when you don’t. He’d told you himself that he was only in the club to scout out a rival business - why would he return after gathering his reconnaissance?

He doesn’t turn up that night. Or the next. Or even the next. You have to wait another week before you see another sign of him, and even then, it’s not actually him.

You’re clearing away a table when you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around to see Harrison standing there, a black suit pulled around him so perfectly that he looks like a model and it takes your breath away for a second.

“Y/N?” He asks, voice clear and bright. You give him a nod, your eyebrows pulling up into confusion as he procures a red rose and passes it to you. “I’m Harrison, Tom’s mate. We met the other night.”

You twirl the stem between your fingers, glancing between the delicate petals and Harrison’s watchful face. “Yeah, I remember.”

He nods his head at the rose. “Tom wanted you to have that. He also wanted to know if you’d gotten his gift?”

The thorns on the rose nick your finger and you curse softly, bringing your thumb to your mouth and sucking away the small drop of blood. Harrison watches you intently, his eyes twinkling as he holds back a laugh.

“You mean the tip?” You ask after a moment, pulling your hand away from your face. You cross your arms over your chest as you stare the man down. “You do know that was an obscene amount of money, right?”

Harrison chuckles, running a hand through his blond curls. “I know,” he agrees. “Tom wouldn’t hear anything else. Apparently you made quite the impression.” His eyes sweep across you briefly. “He wanted to know if you’d join him for a date tomorrow night.”

You hum, your eyebrow raising slightly. “And why are you here asking me out, instead of him?” 

Harrison’s eyes widen at your controlled tone, his cheeks tinting with a rosy blush. “He’s busy.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “Well, you can tell Tom that I appreciate the gesture, but if he wants to take me on a date, he needs to come down here and ask me himself.” Acting on impulse, you pass Harrison back the rose, your eyes dancing mischievously. 

Harrison looks a little taken aback, but he nods slowly and looks at you with a shade of respect in his gaze. “I will pass on the message.”

“Thanks, Harrison.” You turn back to the table you’re clearing and you watch from the corner of your eye as he turns and walks away, leaving the club with the rose in his hands.

Your heart hammers in your chest, as part of you can’t believe you’ve just turned him down so boldly. But you know it’s for the best, because men like Tom can be dangerous, and if he thinks he can get away with anything, then that’s not the kind of person you want to see. You decide that if he can swallow his pride and show up to see you himself, then you’ll be happy to lean into him, but you won’t fall at his feet just because he’s flashed some cash. If he doesn’t respond to your demands, at least you’ll come out richer for it. But a part of you thinks you’ve got him nailed down, and you have the feeling he thrives on games like these, and so you return to the club the next night expecting to see him, and you’re not surprised when you do.

Tom’s leaning up against the bar, talking with one of the strippers amicably. The feathers coming out of her plumed headband fall onto his forehead as they laugh closely together, and an irrational stab of jealousy twists up through your insides as you watch them. It’s ridiculous, and you quickly swallow it back, but as Tom meets your eyes from across the room, you know he’s seen the envy in your eyes. His thin lips pull into a smirk and he beckons you over, your legs moving of their own accord.

As you get to Tom, he leans down and whispers something in the woman’s ear. You watch as her expression falls, and then she pulls away from Tom to circle the room in search of another visitor. He greets you by opening his arms, and you pause for a moment before sinking into them, his fingers finding your waist as your head goes to the crook of his neck, finding home briefly in his warmth and the rich scent of his powerful cologne. As you pull back, one of his hands goes back to his side, but the other finds your face for a moment, holding you softly as his lips brush over your cheek. You have to bite back a smile as he mumbles a quiet, “Evening, love,” not wanting him to see how utterly giddy it makes you feel to have him so close again.

“Hi, Tom,” you reply, your head clearing up as he finally drops contact with your skin. Your eyes drift over his familiar face, taking in the details of his handsome features. “Looking for a stripper, eh?”

“Not unless she’s called Y/N,” he replies, voice controlled but suggestive. You chuckle quietly, your face heating a little as you grow slightly bashful.

“Smooth,” you comment. “You gonna buy me a drink?”

“Whatever you want,” he promises. His eyes sweep over the room. “You’re not working?”

You shrug as you slip up at the bar, Tom settling on the stool beside you. One of his hands goes to rest on your knee, the contact firm and grounding, and it makes your body fill with a subtle, thrumming heat. “I am, technically,” you say. “But it’s my job to entertain the guests,” you shift your gaze to his suggestively, “and I’d say you’re in need of a little fun.”

“You’re definitely right there, darling.”

You drink a few rounds with Tom, treating yourself to some of the bar’s most expensive wine because he’s already given them his card and you free rein over the drinks menu. Any reluctance you feel to exploit his kindness disappears as you remember how easily he’d left the casino up £50k the other night, and as you slowly grow lighter and your bloodstream more diluted, you find yourself loosening up. Tom does too, and as you talk about any and everything, his hair becomes messier as his cheeks flush. Your knees touch and sometimes your shoulders brush, and it’s like the rest of the world burns away until it’s just you, and him, laughing, talking, feeling, and it’s so natural that you almost forget that you come from two different worlds.

But then Tom shifts on the stool, and your eyes catch his empty holster, and you’re slammed back to earth, your mood shifting. He picks up on it immediately, his eyebrows furrowing as he reaches out and picks up your hand, playing with your fingers softly. “You alright there, love?”

You hum. “What do you want from me, Tom?” You ask after a moment, voice unassuming.

“What do you mean?”

You give him a coy smile. “You know what I mean,” you tease. “Chatting with me, leaving me thousands of pounds, getting your friend to ask me out… Even being here tonight. What do you want?” And your voice is open and honest, and Tom ponders it for a few moments before squeezing your hand.

“You intrigue me, Y/N,” he admits. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the night we met… I don’t know why, or what I want from you, but I guess, I’d quite like to know, what do you want from me?”

“Oh, no, you don’t get to turn this on me.”

“Why not? I’m definitely allowed to do that.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re sneaky, Tom,” you mumble. “If I’m being honest, part of me thought you’d show up tonight and expect me to leave with you. Because, y’know, the money.” He opens his mouth to argue, but you raise an eyebrow and he pauses. “I don’t think you’re that kind of guy, though. Are you?”

He shakes his head quickly. “I’m not a dick.”

“Arrogant, sometimes?”

“Yeah.”

“A bit egotistical?”

“Well, uh, I guess you could say that.”

“Dominating?”

Tom’s eyes shift a shade darker as he nods. “You like to talk,” he comments, bringing a smile to your face.

“I can leave you to your thoughts, if you’d prefer that,” you tease. He tightens his grip on your hand, and for the first time you look down at his fingers and notice that his knuckles are bruised and bloodied. “Shit, what happened here?” You bring his hands nearer your face, gently grazing your touch over the curves of his cut knuckles. He winces but he lets you inspect the injuries.

“Nothing,” he mutters. When you tighten your gaze, he shrugs haplessly. “Got in a fight. No big deal.”

“Yeah, right.” You rise from the stool, dragging him with you. You’re about to turn and pull him across the room when you hesitate. “Are you packing?” He looks surprised by the question, so you add, “I won’t take you backstage if you’re dangerous.”

“I’ve not got a gun on me,” he says, dodging half the question but it’s good enough for you. You lead him out, through the bar, past the casino, and you pull him through a large door that says Staff Only and take him back to one of the locker rooms. It’s peak time so the room is quiet, and you sit him down on a bench as you grab a clean cloth from beside the sink and run it under some warm water.

“If you don’t take care of your injuries, they’ll scar,” you tell him as you dab at his knuckles. Tom’s gaze burns into your cheek as you wash away the dried blood, exposing the deep colours of fresh bruises just below. You glance up at him, your breath hitching in your throat as you meet his stare, his eyes dancing with a thousand different words. “Who’d look after you if I wasn’t here, huh?” You walk across the room before returning with a cotton pad soaked in disinfectant. “This might hurt,” you warn, but Tom doesn’t even flinch as you drag the pad over his cracked skin. You throw the pad into the bin and then settle in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare at him questioningly.

“Come sit,” he says finally, his voice more laboured than before. He spreads his legs a little and pats at his lap, and without hesitation you step forward and straddle him. You have to shift around until you’re comfortable, but you manage to stretch your legs out behind him on the bench and his hands go to anchor your hips in place. Your faces are really close now, and he easily brings a hand up to settle on your cheek, the tips of his fingers resting on your cheekbones. “You’re unbelievable, you know that, love?”

You smile slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just…” He breaks off, sighing comically. “So fucking perfect.” The compliment draws your smile into a large grin as you chuckle softly.

“Perfect, eh?” You tease, running a hand over his shoulder. You rest it at the nape of his neck, your fingers playing with the tips of his hair. “I don’t think perfect exists.”

“It does,” he says immediately.

“Maybe.” Acting boldly, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his jaw, admiring the sharp line with your mouth as he sighs beneath you. “You’re a dangerous man, aren’t you?” You say, finishing your trail of kisses at his ear. You let your breath fan out across his skin for a moment before pressing a final kiss to his earlobe, feeling his body tense beneath you.

“Yeah,” he admits.

You pull yourself back to face him, your eyebrow arched. “Will you keep me safe?” You ask. It hangs heavy in the air, a multitude of layers hidden away behind the few words.

Tom nods, a hand drawing up to find home in your hair. His fingers bury in the strands and he uses his leverage to draw you nearer until your noses are touching, his cold skin pressing to yours in the most delicate way.

“I will always protect you,” he promises, voice serious.

Your lips quirk into a slight smile. “Kiss me,” you ask.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, lips chapped but warm as they slide over yours. It’s soft, for a moment, but then you grip his hair and pull him nearer and it grows stronger. Passion flows between you as you cling to him, his mouth hot and luxurious and it draws a heat between your legs as you feel his teeth catch at your lower lip. When you part your lips and grant him access, his tongue dances with yours and you moan into his mouth, every inch of you aching for him, burning with desire to keep him here. His hand in your hair holds you close as the other wanders over your side, caressing your figure softly but warmly, and you turn to butter in his hold, kissing, and kissing, and kissing, until your lips are numb and your lungs burn. When you pull away, he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes pulling open just enough to make brief contact with yours. He looks softer now, less anxious, more in control.

“I wish I could do that forever,” he admits. Both hands find your waist, holding you comfortably as he smirks at you. “You’re something else.”

You shrug slightly, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you, Tom,” you tease, eyeing him carefully. “You gonna come back again tomorrow?”

He raises a scruffy eyebrow. “You want me to come back tomorrow?”

Your lips split into a wide smile. “Yeah,” you admit. “Maybe the day after that, too. If you want.”

“I’ll be here,” he promises. “I’ll be here for as long as you want me to be.”

You kiss him again, softer. His lips are warm and they already feel a little bit like home. You realise that he’s got you, both physically, because his fingers grip your waist so strongly, but also emotionally, because you look into the depths of his warm, mysterious eyes, and you realise you don’t want to forget what they look like.

“I might want you around for a long time. Is that a problem?”

Tom shakes his head, body relaxing. He kisses you. “Not a problem at all,” he confirms. “I feel like… I feel like you might change my life, love.”

You laugh quietly, rolling your eyes. “Who knew you’d be such a sap,” you tease. Tom frowns, his grip on your waist tightening, and you swallow deeply as he steadies you. “I’m kidding. Relax.” You kiss him again, quickly.

“You think you can just distract me with kisses?” He says, voice confident. You nod your head arrogantly.

“Oh, yeah,” you confirm. “I think you’re the kind of person who will be very easy to distract.” To prove your point, you take a long moment to grind your hips down, feeling the hard presence of his erection pressing up against your covered core. You giggle and your head falls to the crook of his neck, and Tom’s hands rub over your back as he holds you close.

“You’re a minx,” he says. “Such a tease.”

“I’m a lot of things,” you whisper against his neck. You feel his lips brush over the top of your head and let him hold you, close, gripping you tightly, and it feels like you’ve known him for infinity already.

“I’m excited to figure you out, Y/N.”

You tilt your head and run a line of brief kisses up his neck until eventually finding his lips, seizing them in a short peck. “Me too, Tom,” you admit. “I feel like you’re gonna be really special to me,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“Oh, so who’s the sap now, huh?” He teases, drawing your smile wider.

“Shut up,” you say.

“Make me.”

And then, quite simply, you’re back to kissing, and you know he’s dangerous, and you know he’s powerful, but his touch on your waist is gentle and he’s kissing you so slowly and softly that none of that really matters. It doesn’t matter that you don’t entirely know who he is, because there’s a connection tethering your soul to his, and you can feel it - even if it’s only been a few days. It’s a type of connection that you’ve never felt before, and it thrills you, but it also terrifies you. Because you know that the man beneath you holds the keys to the world, but it comes at a cost, and you’re not sure you can afford the price if it all falls apart.

But fuck it. He’s kissing you, and it’s perfect, and you crave to stay like this forever, curled up in his lap like this. So what if the world burns? You’re perfectly happy exactly where you are, Tom’s hands on your hips, your mouths moving in sync. And as he holds you close, you know there’s nowhere else your heart would be safer than tucked up here with him.

[the-lady-of-stars]

Wishing you were somehow here again -  Pt. 2

Commander Wolffe x Jedi ! Reader

Summary: The time has come... execute order 66

Warnings: Character death!! Injury/fighting/violence. Angst... and lots of it. I would say I’m sorry but I’m really just out here living my best life writing some lovely heartbreak 💞💖💘 

A/N: I listened to across the stars the entire time I wrote this for that extra angsty vibe  😇 hope u enjoy bb. If you haven’t read part 1 I recommend giving it a read before this! : ) Also dw I am not leaving it at this, there will be a Part 3. I’m not that mean ☺️ 

Tags: @wille-zarr @chaotic-noceur

Cato Neimoidia. What a beautiful city to fly over. 

You, Master Plo and the rest of the 104th Batallion had been assigned to the planet in hopes of besieging a Trade Federation stronghold. 

You peered out the windows of your starfighter at the rocky arches of the surrounding environment, enjoying the brief moment of peace and beauty this war had offered you. In front of you flew your master, Plo Koon, behind you Commander Wolffe, your beloved, then the rest of the pack trailed behind. 

You ran a finger over the makeshift grass ring that adorned your left hand, your heart skipping a beat at the mere thought of the previous week’s events. Your husband, in spirit at least. You planned to have a real wedding in the future, perhaps on Naboo if you could manage to pull a few strings with Skywalker. His marriage to the Senator had been no secret to you, so surely Anakin would not mind helping you with yours. 

You could picture it now, a marble balcony overlooking the waterfalls of Naboo, the burning orange sun gleaming from them as you kissed each other like no one was watching. Your master would be there to officiate it- he knew about you and his Commander, of course. You never had been able to hide anything from him. Master Plo had always been somewhat of a father figure to you ever since he took you as his Padawan when you were little, so of course he quickly noticed the bond forming between you and Wolffe. Much as Qui-Gon had turned a blind eye to Obi-Wan and Satine, your master had said nothing about the subject except that he wanted you to be happy, and if Wolffe provided you with such happiness then he was more than willing to protect your little secret, although you briefly remember Wolffe mentioning something about receiving an ‘if-you-ever-break-her-heart-you’re-dead’ speech from him, but you decided not to inquire further. The rest of the pack would be there of course. They were family, and without them to watch it would be no wedding at all. 

Being in a starfighter, you had no means of communicating with Wolffe except over the comm channel which also included the rest of the battalion, and you weren't in the mood to put up with Boost’s usual quips. You could, however, radiate love in his direction through the force, so that’s what you did. 

Wolffe’s chest pounded as he felt your force signature surround him like a ghostly embrace. It brought a heat to his cheeks, hands gripping the controls tighter. Any nerves from the mission dissipated and he was left feeling warm and whole. He thought to himself then that he did not ever want to feel any other way. Blissful. He was no Jedi, didn’t have a lick of force-sensitivity, but he could damn well try to return the sentiment. He found himself furrowing his brows and squinting slightly, while with all his might he mustered up his favourite memories of you, trying his best to radiate the way you made him feel. He hoped you could feel it. 

You could. A soft, breathy chuckle burst from your lips at his efforts, at how truly sweet your tough Commander was on the inside. There were few things you could be sure of in life, but the dream of really marrying him was one of them. One day, hopefully soon, you would see him stood o- what was wrong? The adoration Wolffe was radiating suddenly cut off as though someone had flicked a switch, nothing but neutrality emanating from him now. Opening yourself up to more force signatures you felt the same emotion from the rest of the boys behind you. Something was wrong, and your master clearly sensed it too as the only real emotion you could sense was his confusion. 

“Men, is something the matter?” Plo spoke over the comm channel. 

There was a momentary pause, then Wolffe was the next to speak.

“General Plo Koon, General Y/N Y/L/N, you are both subject to execution under Order 66 due to crimes against the Republic.”

Before either you or your master could say a word your ships burst into flames, your own men firing right at you. The engine was destroyed- there was nothing you could do but wail Wolffe’s name in one last desperate plea as your ship began to plummet down towards the rocky terrain of Cato Neimoidia. Smoke. Heat. Burning. Sharp. Pain. Then nothing. The world went black as your starfighter made contact with the ground. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was the sight of your master laying dead on the ground nearby.

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

Your ears rang, a sharp tone muffling the sound of shouting voices. Clones. A pang of fear shot straight to your heart as you remembered how they had attempted to kill you, and how they had succeeded with your dear master. You flinched up instinctively, wanting to run but collapsing the second you so much as moved due to the piercing pain that struck your entire body. You whimpered, tears pricking at your eyes, hearing the clones get closer. 

It seemed that the crash had thrown you from your starfighter and into an alcove in the rocks, which gave you the slightest bit of shelter. As the ringing in your ears subsided a little you heard a pair of footsteps drawing closer to your position. You dug your fingers into the ground, desperately trying to get to your feet so you could defend yourself but with no luck. There was a small cave entrance a few metres away which could offer you a hiding place, but you weren’t fast enough. A boot planted onto your back, pinning you down and earning a yelp.

You craned your head back, trying to see who had a hold of you through the tears which had welled up. 

Wolffe. But he looked nothing like the Wolffe you knew. Your Wolffe never so much as glanced at you without tenderness, but now? A snarl had replaced his smile, eyes glaring down at you like a predator.

“Wolffe-” you choked out, which resulted in him pressing his foot down further.

“Jedi,” he practically growled. “You are to be executed for your crimes against the Republic.”

Before he could make another move, you mustered all the strength you could find and pushed him away from you and into the cave entrance nearby with the force, enough to keep him subdued for a minute or so. Still riding the spike of energy, you pulled yourself to your feet, making your way over to the miniature medical droid which was kept in each starfighter, which had clearly fallen from the crash with you. You brought it to you with the force, pressing the on button once it was in your hands. The droid buzzed to life, whirring around you in circles, clearly in distress at your state. 

“Not me,” your voice was coarse. “Give the Commander a full head scan. I’m looking for something. A chip, possibly?” You nodded your head in the direction of Wolffe slumped over in the cave entrance, the droid zooming over to him immediately. 

When you finally made it over to the cave the droid repeatedly made a beeping sound over one particular part of Wolffe’s head. 

“What’d you find?” 

The droid pulled up a hologram, a red circle highlighting a small piece of organic matter. 

“This appears to be some kind of tumour, which is not normally found in human brains,” it announced.

Your eyes widened, all the breath leaving your body. Fives had been right all along. There really was a chip hidden in the clones. 

“Remove it.” 

“But- General- I don’t think this is the place to-”

“Now!” you spoke sternly, trying to keep your voice down so the other clones wouldn’t find you. They’d notice sooner or later that their Commander was missing, but you had until them to remove that chip. 

“Very well, General. You may want to look away for this.”

A anaesthesia shot was pricked into Wolffe’s neck before the droid protruded an arm with a red laser attached to the end, beginning to cut a hole into his head. You winced, closing your eyes and holding on to Wolffe’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

 “You’ll be okay, my love,” you spoke under your breath to him, rubbing soothing circles on Wolffe’s palm. “I’ve got you.”

The whirring stopped. You opened your eyes again to see what was going on when the droid announced, “The procedure has been completed and the chip has been successfully removed. The Commander will awaken momentarily.”

“Thank you, you can shut down now,” you told the droid, shuffling closer to Wolffe so he knew you were there when he woke up. 

About thirty seconds later, Wolffe began to stir. With a groan he reached a hand up to his head, thumbing over the gauze the incision had been covered by. 

“Ahh, where am I?” 

“Wolffe? Wolffe, my love, look at me. Look at me, please.”

With a grimace he turned his head to look at you, blinking a few times before his eyes widened like saucers. 

“Cyare! What happened to you? Are you okay? Who did this to you?” he panicked, getting to his knees so he could rake his eyes over you better. 

“Oh, Wolffe...” he was back. Your Wolffe was back. You couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, throwing yourself into his arms and sobbing wildly. 

“Oh shhh, shhh easy Cyare. I’ve got you now, you’re safe my sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing his hands soothingly over your upper arms. “What happened?”

Wolffe paused, looking over at your burning starfighter, at his brothers slightly behind it stood around the body of General Plo. General Plo. Order 66. Oh. He launched himself away from you, breathing frantically. 

“It was me. I’m what happened. I- I did this. Order 66. I killed General Plo and I nearly killed you- oh stars...” Wolffe looked down at his shaking hands, thinking about what he had done with them. 

“Wolffe, look at me. Hey. Look,” you got closer to him, taking his hands in yours to ground him. Still trembling he brought his eyes to yours, tears streaming down his cheeks. “That was not you, my love. That was Sidious. He was controlling you and all the other clones through the chips in your brain. They were planted there for that very reason. I do not blame you, nobody blames you. This was not your fault at all.” 

Wolffe broke down into a flurry of “I’m sorry” and “forgive me” but you just pulled him into your chest, holding him tight, pressing kisses to his temple and his cheeks to reassure him. 

“Wolffe, my love, we don’t have much time. Your brothers are still looking for me to check if I’m dead and I’m sure they’ve noticed you’re missing by now. They’ll find us. I removed your chip but they’re still under control of Sidious. We have to leave.”

“No,” Wolffe choked sternly.

“No? What do you mean no?”

“You don’t have a ship any more, and if you ran now they’d see you and kill you on sight. I need to go back, to tell them I found your body and disposed of it. Then you run when we leave. Run and never come back, you hear me?”

Wolffe spoke through tears, clasping your shoulders tightly to make sure you heard every word. 

“No, no, Wolffe you can’t do that. I’m not going anywhere without you. I’m not leaving you to Sidious. I love you.”

“Y/N, please. My sweet girl. Oh, look at you. I wanted to marry you so bad. More than anything. But now I realise what I want more than anything is to keep you alive, even if that means I can’t be yours any more. I love you, Y/N. I love you so much,” he moved his hands up to cup your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “Don’t you go coming back to find me now, you hear me? Run and never come back. Make a life for yourself. You do that for me, hmm? Promise me,” he wept, wet eyes looking straight into yours.

“Okay. Okay I promise,” you felt your heart tearing in two. 

“That’s a good girl. My good girl,” he spoke softly.

“Wolffe-” you whimpered. 

“I know, I know, love. Everything will be alright.”

Wolffe sighed, heart visibly breaking. His glassy eyes observed your face as though it would be the last time he would ever see it. And it would. 

Unable to find any other words to say, Wolffe leaned down and kissed you one last time, tears mingling on your cheeks. His lips pressed hard against yours, clinging on to the moment as long as you both could. When he finally pulled away you chased after him, not ready to let go. 

“I have to go, cyare. Back to my brothers. I’ll be alright, don’t you worry about me, hmm? You stay safe now, I mean it. I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

Wolffe stood, absorbing the sight of you. How this was the last time he’d ever see his girl. With one final sigh he tore his eyes from you and tipped his helmet back on, exiting the cave and leaving everything he ever loved behind. 

The war left its scars on everyone, but Wolffe knew these ones would never heal.

[lushthemagicdragon]

On Deadpool, WandaVision and Breaking the Fourth Wall

Hey pals, let’s talk about breaking the fourth wall / extrapolation of meta information in multiverse universes--say, the Marvel cinematic vs the xmen films vs the comics. Actually, let’s talk specifically about the Marvel multiverse. 

I wrote you an essay, just go under the cut it’s shiny.

As a general rule, suspension of disbelief works better on paper than it does on video. Heroes was an excellent example of this problem. This was the first time TV show was made directly based on a comic book format, trying to emulate a comic book format. The ship sank when they tried to keep comic book pace, and to play by similar rules. Long story short, this is because the way our brains consume literature and comics is different from how we consume photographic media like movies or tv. Video, like photography, convinces the brain that it's depicting reality even when we logically know that it isn’t. Therefore, unless the rules of the video/TV world are well established as being different from our own, we apply to it our own real-world understandings of what is possible. We are able to follow the fantastic more willingly when we're imagining it (because we’re reading it) instead of seeing it with our senses. 

Breaking the fourth wall and/or being self-referential is extremely tricky on video media because you're forcing the audience's brain to acknowledge that this is fiction, which can cause some cognitive dissonance if the goal of your show/movie is to create second world immersion. Sitcoms are good at breaking the fourth wall because, with laugh tracks, live studio audiences, and a general lack of real-world consequences, our brains understand that it isn’t real. Generally, they’re not trying to fool us into believing that they’re real. Still, if Chandler Bing suddenly turned around and made eye contact with the camera, that would be weird. It’s not established in that particular sitcom world that they understand that they’re fictional. Fresh Prince on the other hand, did that all the time. 

But we’ll get back to Sitcoms, because WandaVision. As opposed to most sitcoms, most serious dramas and adventure-thrillers are trying to create a very different vibe. In order to function, you have to be fully engaged, and have to completely believe the second world you are currently in. Otherwise, the emotional experience falls short. Tonality must be consistent, whereas sitcoms can get away with having the odd emotional moment surrounded by a laugh track. 

Marvel is very weird when it comes to second worlds and believable experiences, because Marvel films, tv, and comics are all existing in the same multiverse but with wildly different tones. If you try to wrap your head around all of it as one body, it can give you a headache. Which is why I find it so interesting whenever they try to be meta. 

The MCU as we understand it is presented as a realistic second world. Yes, it's fun action adventure with magic and superheroes, but presented in a way that feels real, and rationalizes its reality. It explains with technobabble and sciencebabble everything that it's doing. It wants to feel real. There are a few examples of comedy in the MCU (AntMan, Guardians of the Galaxy, Thor Ragnorok), but their silliness can for the most part be explained away. With the latter two, they take place in space, with aliens, so our brains allow that as an explanation of wackiness outside our own reality. For Ant-Man, honestly I think it was a brilliant idea to make it a comedy because there was no way that film would have succeeded if they tried to make the audience take Ant-Man seriously on screen. I love Ant-Man, it’s a spectacularly made film. But I digress. Importantly, even though they’re funny and campy, they never lose their sense of realism, with emotional anchor points to keep them grounded.  When these characters are in an ensemble, they lose their high camp aesthetic and become part of the realism whole. 

Even when they say in the MCU, Oh look at this I am an action figure, I'm in comic books, it's presented as in-world realistic. These people are famous now, and they're real life superheroes, so obviously action figures and comic books are being produced about them. It all makes sense. Even the X-Men films, for as camp as they are, do this in their own realism bubble. I would argue the X-Men films actually do it better because you don't have to suspend as much disbelief to believe mutation as you do to believe in a super suit that shrinks people (I love you Small Rudd). 

Things get weird when the fourth wall is broken, and the multiverse is acknowledged, because the marvel cinematics have done an excellent job of creating stable second worlds. The Deadpool films, the prime example of fourth wall breaking in Marvel films/tv, are excellent because they go whole hog into breaking the fourth wall and acknowledging how ridiculous it all is. But it works for two reasons. 

1. Deadpool is the only person in the entire movie that acknowledges the fourth wall (I am pretty sure, it’s been a while since I’ve watched them but I am pretty sure). Because he alone is aware that he's a fictional character in a wider fictional universe, it's not weird when he references his actor being the green lantern or talks directly to the camera. It’s exactly what we expect from him. With Deadpool, we're in on the joke but no one else is. And that's funny. 

2. The tone of the Deadpool films is always funny and stupid. Even when it gets serious, that becomes the joke. There is no cognitive dissonance because it's consistent. See: Sitcom Logic. If the tone is light, breaking the fourth wall doesn’t jarr quite so much. 

3. Deadpool is never in the other films, and MOSTLY, the characters in Deadpool (beyond the odd brief cameo) aren't in the greater universe (I say mostly because of Colossus, but he was in one movie ages ago for like ten minutes it’s not the biggest deal). It's consistent, and it doesn't become confusing because it's contained in itself as a weird fourth wall bubble on the side of the greater universe. Anything that happens to characters in the Deadpool films will not carry over to the more serious timeline. 

There is one place in which I would say that the Deadpool films miss the mark, and make a mess of things. By making that one joke where young 90s xmen from the newest film are behind a door and shut it before he turns around, a wrench is thrown in. The weirdness of the Deadpool films suddenly is an issue because the question is asked: Where do the Deadpool films sit in the timeline? The answer is that the Deadpool films don't fit anywhere in the established XMen Cinematic Timeline, and the big mistake was having a group of characters from an xmen film on screen at the same time even as a gag. In this moment, the Deadpool films are very suddenly part of the greater universe, rather than a sidecar referencing what’s going on inside. By doing this, Deadpool is not the only character breaking the fourth wall. Now the physical world is breaking the fourth wall. And our brains will try to make sense where they cannot make sense.

But anyway for the most part, Deadpool does an excellent job of it by being a weird little fourth wall meta bubble on the fringe of existence. Wandavision though, that gets weird in a different but also very fun way.

The reason why the first 3/4ths of WandaVision work in terms of being meta-referential and also occasionally breaking the fourth wall is because 

1. genre and tone. It sets up from the beginning, this is a sitcom world, not gritty realism world. We get sitcom world, we know what to expect from sitcom world. We can laugh along with the laugh track when something odd or silly or referential happens, and accept it as truth, because a sitcom generally does not pretend to be reality. 

2. Whenever the fourth wall breaks in a way that doesn't make sense, it's intentional. Wanda reacts accordingly. Something goes weird, she fixes it. When something goes weird for someone other than Wanda (Say, the Vision), the integrity of this sitcom world is called into question in an intentional way that tracks with what is actually going on in the gritty-realism world (acknowledging that we’re in a bubble within a bubble). This camp sitcom world breaks the fourth wall within itself, not to us. Billy talking to the screen isn't talking to us, he's talking to the imagined viewer in-world. 

3. Most of the meta-references are either subtle enough to be Easter eggs (like the kick-ass reference) or exist solely as fun gaffs that have no consequences and are never acknowledged as being meta (the Halloween costumes). I say most, because there is one big meta-reference that I think was a mistake, and where it kind of starts to fall apart in my eyes. 

As much as I adore Evan Peters’ Pietro, as extremely happy as I was to see him on this show, this particular meta-reference was done in a way that breaks the second world illusion, because they pointed a big red sign at a meta reference and then tried to explain it without breaking into the multiverse. 

The thing about breaking the fourth wall and meta-referencing is that it has to be toungue in cheek to be sustainable. Our brains are accepting that this reference is for us, but to make it a serious part of the story requires an answer to the question: why? By explaining that actually, this fake Pietro was Ralph the whole time, a real person who exists in this gritty realism universe, the illusion of tongue in cheek is gone. Suddenly, there is a person who brings into question the entire structure of the second world. Because this second world does not have access to the multiverse (Into the Spiderverse is wholly its own thing), it doesn't make sense that this random guy who happened to be used to play Pietro looks exactly like Pietro from elsewhere in the multiverse. It stops being fun, and starts becoming confusing, and we start trying to find answers where there are none. 

IMO, two ways to solve that problem. 1. never explain it. If you never explain it, it's just a weird meta reference for us that also exists in Wanda's fake-world that is in itself accessing the multiverse (see: the costumes), without touching the realism world outside the bubble. 

2. What I'm now calling the Taika Waititi method. Give a nonsense explanation told with a straight face as a brush-off. Say, Wanda asks Agatha who this guy is, and she says something along the lines of, oh I don't know I just pulled some random Pietro out of the universe, I never met the guy I had to improvise. 

Anyway I still give WandaVision an 8/10 and an A for effort. Pulling off multiple tones and multiple second worlds simultaneously without even explaining it away with the multiverse is fucking hard, and they did a pretty good job all things considered. 

And if anyone is interested in wtf I'm talking about re: second worlds, I highly recommend Tolkien's essay On Fairy Stories which pretty much defines how fantastic fiction works.

[theatresweetheart]

34 from the kiss prompts for prinxiety?

Raging River

Warnings: Blood, injuries, death mention (no main character death), depressive thoughts, kissing, hurt/comfort.

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety, Familial Analogical

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Logan (briefly mentioned, but not present.)

Word count: 1818 words

Continuation/AU: Of Stars and Royal Gardens. 

                                             ———————

Riding on horseback was something the king was very much used to.

Trembling hands grasped the reins like a lifeline. Surrounding guards rode beside him, all weary and exhausted. Covered head to toe in blood and sweat. The ambush on the travelling group had been entirely unexpected and they had been overwhelmingly unprepared for such a feat.

Swords clashing rang in Virgil’s ears, as he stared forward with unseeing eyes. The shouts of the men beside him, attempting to defend him and Roman from the approaching bandits. Metal clashing against metal. Orders being barked as the thieves grew ever closer, snarking and spitting, reassuring the royals that they weren’t getting out of this unscathed.

Roman, ever the hero, had drawn his own sword, wielding it high and skilled and threatening, even if it was against the orders of the knights surrounding them.

Virgil had stood behind him, his hand on the hilt of his blade, watching and waiting for the knights to give them some sort of escape route out of here with their lives in tact. Having both of the kings go down in an ambush would devastate the kingdom. With no one to rule or maintain order, the kingdom would fall to chaos.

“Roman, don’t be an idiot, listen to them, they know what they’re doing.”

“I‌ know what I’m doing too, you’re getting out of here.”

“No, we’re getting out of here.”

The conversation replayed over and over in his head on repeat. Virgil’s mind refused to let the matter rest. His hands tightened on the horse’s reins, his eyes flickering over toward the empty saddle riding beside him. A choked noise rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down.

When they arrived in the town, Virgil would need to be composed enough for the people. When they saw how bloody and beaten the rest of the royal guard was. People would panic more when they saw their king in tears over something he could have changed.

“They will see it as a sign of weakness,”‌ he could remember his father telling him.

The images of the battle flickered back to life as he zoned out once more, knowing that no matter what, the guards beside him would make sure his horse stayed on the right track. Virgil knew for a fact that his mind being else where after something like this would not surprise the men that survived the ambush.

The group had been split, some guards taken down by thrown knives, some tackled and Virgil had drawn his sword in an instinctual movement, raising it and keeping his back to where the horses had been held hostage, taken by the reins and held so that no one could use them as an escape attempt. They were completely surrounded on all sides by either thieves, a mountainside or a cliff-face that dropped to a stream in a valley about one hundred feet down. Immediate death if one were to take a fall.

Which was why his stomach jumped with anxiety and terror when he saw Roman being pushed back further and further toward it by a bandit.

The blood staining Virgil’s royal attire wasn’t all his own.

He could remember the blood pumping in his ears, watching the bandit jab a sword too close to Roman for comfort. The other king, thank God, was skilled enough with a blade to have blocked it, but his foot almost slipped down the bank.

And Virgil had reacted without thinking.

He’d broken through what little wall of protection he had left of loyal knights and booked it toward the bandit currently toying with Roman’s life as if it meant nothing.

A lot of the fight was a blur of adrenaline. Virgil could very much remember his sword sticking through the back of the man trying to kill his husband. Blood had splattered the young king as he yanked the blade back out. Before either he or Roman could have shared a brief and fleeting moment of victory, Roman’s foot slipped fully and he slid backward.

Virgil had reacted on instinct, throwing himself forward and grabbing Roman by the wrist. He slid forward painfully on his stomach as he stared down at the drop into the river beneath them. Roman’s left hand holding tightly to his own, but they could both feel their holds slipping. Blood and sweat painted the both of them too much to have a sturdy grip on each other.

“Just– just hold on, I’ve got you, I‌ promise!”

“My hand’s slipping Virgil, it’s not gonna last.”

“Shut up!‌ Yes it is. Oh god, it has to!”

“Virgil—”

“Stop, please, God, I’m gonna pull you up, I‌ can do it, I‌ can, I‌ have to, I—”

“I need you to know that I‌ love you more than anything, Virgil.”

And Roman’s hand had slipped from him, leaving Virgil to watch him disappear beneath the icy waves below.

“Your Majesty!”

A knight had grabbed him and heaved him up onto his feet before dragging him back from the edge, all the while Virgil fought him. Demanding to go back, to released and let him do something, dammit!

As they entered through the gates of the kingdom, people flocked to the streets, filling them with chatter and wails and cries. Virgil kept his head high, feeling nothing but numbness coursing through him. The guards drew their swords, keeping the subjects at a reasonable distance.

As people noticed the empty saddle beside the king, their misery echoed louder.

The castle gates were shut soon after and Virgil was escorted back to their quarters. Handmaidens entered and left, cleaning him up, getting him changed out of the torn and bloodied clothing. Healers patched up where he had been injured, rubbed salves on bruises and open cuts so they would heal without scaring.

He’d barely been given time to breathe before he was escorted back to the throne room.

“Your Majesty,” the royal adviser stepped forward after Virgil took his throne. The empty one beside him a reminder he’d failed. “What should we do with the prisoners?”

In truth, Virgil hadn’t realized the guards had managed to keep two of the bandits alive for questioning.

“I don’t know,” he rubbed his forehead, wincing as his hand scraped against a wound he hadn’t known was there. His fingers came back painted with a light pink and clear salve. “I need a minute to think.”

There was a lot running through his head and if someone couldn’t understand that at this moment, they could take their leave. Virgil’s eyes burned and his throat itched, but he forced his thoughts to be elsewhere. The minute he focused too much on his physical side was the minute everything came crumbling down. No one in this throne room deserved to see their leader so broken.

Another, more tentative voice spoke up. “Should we start preparations for the funeral?”

Virgil’s hands clenched, but he didn’t say anything at first. The person who had said it seemed to get the picture very clearly that he did not want to talk about that right now.

“I want a messenger in here.” A‌ servant exited the room immediately and came back not three minutes later with a messenger in tow with a scroll and pen. “Send word to my father of what’s happened. Inform him that I‌ request his presence here with me as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,”‌ the messenger replied, scribbling everything down onto the scroll quickly but neatly. He then bowed and exited once more.

Even from there, though, Virgil wasn’t left alone. For hours on end, he was bombarded with questions; what was the king going to do? Were the bandits going to be hanged?‌ Tortured for answers?‌ Was there a funeral going to come in the next few days?‌ It just went on and on and on.

Someone had even asked if he was going to remarry.

Was he never going to get some privacy to mourn his loved one until he turned in for the night? Until he had to go back to a bed that was too big for one person? Virgil had gotten used to sleeping side by side someone else, sometimes cuddled close and sometimes on opposite sides of the bed because the room was too warm and Roman was too warm.

Truly speaking, Virgil could remain in mourning for as long as he wished. But to put the kingdom under that sort of reign?‌ Even his own father had mourned his mother, but it didn’t take over his life. Logan still had to rule, so Virgil would take after that model. Let it hurt, then move on and hide the pain away from the public eye.

He closed his eyes, letting his head rest in the palm of his hand, pressing on the bridge of his nose as if to ward off the oncoming headache. Who knew holding back tears could make your head hurt?

Virgil let out an unsteady breath, but his attention was lifted up once again as the door to the throne room opened. This had better not be another question about the upcoming arrangements for—

He paused, hand dropped to the arm of the throne as he looked at who was standing in front of him.

There, standing right there, was Roman alive and in the flesh. Bloody, bruised and his outfit was in tatters but he was alive.‌ At least, that’s how it seemed. Leaned slightly as he favoured his right side, but alive. Panting slightly, his breaths coming in and out unsteadily but alive.

Virgil rose to his feet and everyone else in the room dropped to a knee.

He didn’t waste a single moment more when crossing the distance between him and his husband. His eyes blurred over with tears and the room was meshed into a mash of colours and lights, but he didn’t care. His hands came in contact with Roman’s uniform, as destroyed as it was, and it was solid and real and warm and there.

Virgil’s breathing stammered, but he wrapped his hands into Roman’s tunic and pulled him down into him. He needed him to be close.

Roman let out a small noise of surprise when his mouth met Virgil’s but made no move whatsoever to pull away. Instead, his hands moved to wrap around the smaller man and pull him closer, as close as he could, even with his muscles aching against the movement.

Virgil’s hands moved to push through Roman’s soaked hair—he was briefly curious if it was water or sweat or blood or a mix of all three, but either way it didn’t matter.

Roman tasted like tears and home and safety.

They broke apart when they needed to breathe, but Virgil didn’t pull back. “You’re here,”‌ he murmured, so close their lips brushed.

“I’m here,” Roman reassured him, keeping his arms sturdy and tight.

And Virgil kissed him again.

[buckyodinson]

Poetry (AU!Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader)

Request based on this prompt from @ghostofthebarricade​ : I just thought of a Modern!AU Oberyn x Reader where the reader has a toddler daughter from a previous relationship who can‘t pronounce Oberyn‘s name properly so she just ends up calling him Obyn or Byn (Beaaaaaaaaan). And he ends up calling her little Bean…

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Much like the Javi fic, I’d like to preface this by saying I’ve never watched Game of Thrones, and know next to nothing about Oberyn other than what I’ve seen in Instagram edits, or other writing. Hopefully the Modern!AU worked in my favour here???

(D/N = daughter’s name)

You owned a small book store in your town, and it was there that you met Oberyn. He came in one morning, asking whether you had any poetry. You showed him to the shelves that contained the poetry you stocked, and left him there, telling him to give you a shout if he needed anything else.

You walked back to your desk, straightening a few books on the way there. Once you were sat back at your computer, you couldn’t help but steal glances at the man as he inspected the shelves. He was dressed very smartly, and seemed well-educated. He had an accent that you couldn’t quite place, but in the brief exchange you’d shared, you’d quickly determined it to be very attractive.

In your peripheral, you saw him approaching your desk, so you studied your computer screen more intently, hoping he didn’t notice you watching him. He placed three books on the counter and smiled at you once you looked up at him, “Could I trouble you for your opinion?” His voice was like honey and you felt heat rising across your face.

“Of course, how can I be of help?” You beamed at him.

“I like to write poetry in my spare time, but as of late, I’ve had no inspiration and I was wondering, if you had to recommend one of these to inspire me, which would you choose?” He gestured to the three books he placed in front of you.

You looked down at the books and your smile softened when you caught sight of the book in the middle, “This one, for sure. All three are beautifully written, but personally, I find these to be the most charming. I actually read these poems to my daughter. I doubt she understands them, but she sleeps well if I read one to her. I even have to make sure I pack the book when she stays at her dad’s, or she won’t go to bed!” You pick the book up and run your finger up and down the spine lovingly before handing it back to him, blushing and internally cursing yourself for talking about your ex to this random guy.

“I’ll take it, then! How old is your daughter, if I may ask?” His inquisitive eyes shine as he smiles.

“She just turned 3.” You gesture towards a photo on the wall behind you, as you process the book through the register.

“That’s us dressed as Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum from Alice in Wonderland, for World Book Day.” You smile as you look at the photo and remember all the people who came into the store that day and complimented the pair of you.

“Good costume choice, she looks just like you! It’s a lovely photo. I take it she loves books?”

“I guess she hasn’t really got a choice with me as a mother!” You joke and he chuckles.

“I bet you’re a wonderful mother. I’d have loved to have been read to all the time when I was younger.” His genuine smile makes you blush as you give him his total and he gives you the money.

“That’s very sweet of you to say, thank you. Maybe one day you’ll be reading your poetry to your own kids?” Your whole face lit up as you gave him his bag.

“Maybe…”

“Well, have a lovely day! And I’d love to read your poetry one day, if you don’t mind sharing it, that is? I bet it’s lovely.”

“Thank you. And perhaps I’ll stop by some time and let you read it.”

“I’d like that…” he gave you a small wave when he walked out the door and down the street.

You took a deep breath and picked up the two books he’d left behind, walking to place them back on the shelf, “Get a hold of yourself… he’s a complete stranger who came in to buy a book, don’t be an idiot.” you whispered to yourself. But when you reached the shelf to place the first of the books back, you saw a business card poking out between two books. Your eyebrows knitted together as you pulled it out and saw the generic business details printed, but also a mobile number handwritten on the back. You quickly put the books back and walked back to your computer, typing in the name on the card.

Oberyn Martell.

You hit search, and his face appeared, as well as a small biography. He was the son of a wealthy oil proprietor from down south. That shocked you, but when you read more, you found he could be considered the black sheep of the family - or white sheep, depending on how you looked at it. While his family were in the limelight, he led a quieter life, choosing to spend his wealth on charities, rather than splashing it on private jets and mansions. He supports several charities that deal with children who are displaced by war, and several LGBT+ charities (much to his family’s chagrin). The more you read about Oberyn, the more fascinated you grew over him, wondering what compelled him to stop in your little book store today.

You looked back at the business card, and turned it over to see the mobile number he’d scrawled on the back. You grabbed your phone and added him to your contacts, but the chime of the bell above your door alerted you to a customer, and you put your phone away before you had a chance to send him a message.

The store gets a little busier as the afternoon hits, and you don’t manage to get to your phone until later in the evening, once you’re home. When you finally sit down with a drink, you open your phone and the first thing that pops up is his contact screen. You smile and type him a message.

‘Is this the sweet-talking poet from this morning?’

You busy yourself with making dinner, dancing lightly around your kitchen when you spot your phone screen light up from across the room. You quickly grab your phone and stare at the message.

‘It sure is. I was beginning to worry you hadn’t seen my card. Or that you had, and had just thrown it in the trash.’

‘Never! I can’t pass up a poet, they’re a rarity these days. Especially if you’re planning on letting me read some of your work.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re interested.’

You’re about to type back when you see the three little dots appear, and you wait for his second message to come through.

‘Forgive me if this is too forward, but would you like to go out for dinner with me some time?’

Your eyes widened when you read the text, but you quickly typed a reply,

‘I’d love that’

‘I’m free anytime after 6 all this week, D/N is with her dad visiting family this week.’

‘Perfect! I can pick you up from the store tomorrow, if that works?’

‘Sounds good to me!’

The next day, you were closing the shop when Oberyn pulled up to the pavement, and jumped out of the car to pull you into a hug, kissing you on the cheek. You blushed as he opened the passenger door for you, closing it once you were sat inside.

He took you for dinner at a restaurant in town, not overly fancy, but much more upmarket compared to the places you usually ate at. He told you all about his family, and you told him about your ex and your daughter, and he seemed very understanding. You chatted for hours, and you felt a real connection with him.

He dropped you home afterwards, kissing you on your doorstep before walking back to his car and driving away.

You fell for him quickly, and he was evidently enamoured with you too. You’d text constantly and he’d stop by the store often, bringing you flowers, or a small piece of poetry he’d written about you.

The big day, however, was the day you finally introduced him to your daughter. It had been just over a month of him coming to the store with little gifts, or something to eat from the bakery round the corner, and fancy dinners once or twice a week. Your daughter’s daycare was closed for the week because of some building work, so she was spending the week at the book store with you, being your little assistant.

He’d text you the night before to tell you he’d be stopping by, and you’d explained to her that she was gonna meet a new friend of yours at work, and she seemed happy enough at making a new friend.

You’d had a fairly quiet morning in the shop, D/N sat behind the counter with you all morning. If any customers bought anything, she’d give them a drawing to put in their bag when they left too. Most of your customers were regulars, who knew her very well so they all made a big deal about the little scribbles she would hand them, and you were so grateful because the smile on her face rarely wavered.

Oberyn turned up around noon looking very dapper. He waved at the pair of you as he walked in, and D/N waved back happily, simply whispering the word ‘prince’ to you. You think seeing someone dressed so smartly was a new thing for her, as she’d only ever really seen men dressed like that in princess cartoons. It made you giggle as he walked over, and you thought to yourself that he did actually look like a prince. He brought cupcakes for the both of you, and even a cute little set of gel pens for D/N, which she was very excited about.

“D/N, this is my new friend I told you about, remember?” You sat her on your lap as you pointed at Oberyn.

“Yes!” She squealed as she took a bite of her cupcake.

“Hi D/N. My name is Oberyn, it’s very nice to meet you. Your mother has told me lots about you.” He held a hand out and after a nudge from you, D/N reached her own out. Oberyn gently took her hand, and placed a kiss on her knuckles, before bowing as if she were royalty. This produced a giggle from the young girl, who smiled brightly up at Oberyn.

She tried to say Oberyn a few times, unsuccessfully, before simply settling for “Byn!”

“Is that what you wish to call me? Byn?” He chuckled at her attempts and she nodded her head enthusiastically.

“As you wish! But only if I can call you Bean?” He countered, raising an eyebrow comically, and D/N giggled yet again.

“Okay!” She happily carried on her drawing, now with her new pens, while you and Oberyn chatted.

Once it was time for Oberyn to leave, you leaned over the counter to give him a quick kiss, and D/N made a noise of disgust, which made you both chuckle.

“What do you say to Oberyn for the pens?” You smiled down at the drawings she’d done while you idly chatted away.

“Thank you!!” she practically shouted before handing him one of her drawings. It was mostly scribbles, but from the colours, Oberyn could see it was supposed to be him.

“Is this me?” His eyes went wide and he acted shocked, before holding it up next to his face, “It looks just like me! You’re so talented, Bean!” She laughed at the nickname again and reached her arms out to hug him. Oberyn looked at you, as if for permission, and you gestured for him to go ahead. He leaned forward and she wrapped her little arms around his neck, and he quickly picked her up and spun her around in a little circle, before slowing down. As he moved to put her back in her seat, she planted a big kiss on his cheek and you mimicked her earlier ‘ewww’ and she poked her tongue out at you, at which Oberyn laughed heartily.

“I must go, my doves.” He bowed dramatically again, “It was lovely to meet you, little Bean.” She gave him a massive grin in response.

She waved to him as he left the shop, promptly carrying on with her drawing.

“So, do you like Oberyn?” You asked her after a few minutes.

“Byn!!” Is all she said, but the smile on her face told you enough.

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 22 | 23 | 24

“So, how’d it—” Levy pauses mid bounce as she takes in the state of her friend. Petechial hemorrhages in the eyes, puffiness, and Lucy’s lips were curled into a frown. She watches as the woman tosses her keys into a little bowl next to the door, then slumps onto the couch. “Oh no! What happened Lu?! Do I need to kill someone?!”

Lucy pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around her knees, resting her chin on them. “It started out really well... We were totally clicking, until a woman showed up claiming to be his girlfriend.

“Are you serious?!” Levy takes a place next to her friend and hugs the woman. “But he seemed like such a nice one.”

“I thought so too. I mean he tried to say the girl was lying, but how do I know what’s the truth? Ugh! Men! Why did I even... I mean a stranger on a train, what was I thinking?!” She sighs and closes her eyes to hold back the tears. “I wonder how much of what he told me was even true.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, he played it re—al smooth, convincing me he was nervous and hasn’t had a girlfriend in a long time. Said he’s adopted and had no idea who I was. Tch, maybe he really is after money?”

“Well, we don’t know anything for sure so try not to beat yourself up over this. Right now, you have his word against hers.”

“It was the first time in so— long that I even thought about getting into a relationship. But I don’t know, maybe I should stick to my plan and just stay away from it for now.”

“Look on the bright side Lu, at least you found this out early before you were really invested in the guy. And only you can decide what to do about future relationships, but I’d suggest you not close up your heart just yet.”

“You’re probably right. Maybe I did overreact. He was pissed about her intrusion, so maybe he was telling the truth.”

“Let things cool off, maybe do a little more digging or something, stalk his social media, I don’t know,” Levy chuckles. “But for now, just focus on school?”

The blonde hugs her friend. “Thanks Levy, I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.”

“Aww, the feelings mutual hun.”

Over the next few days, Natsu sent Lucy text messages and she read, but never answers any of them. They’d started off as full-blown stories and apologies begging for a second chance, swearing on his mother’s life he was telling the truth about Touka. To be fair, none of his social media’s held any information, no couples pictures, relationship status, or even Touka listed as a friend he was following. But Lucy knew that wasn’t concrete evidence proving his innocence. He could simply be keeping her off of the blogs to keep up his player lifestyle. There was a plethora of information like his workplace and friends that she could contact to confirm his story, but then again, they might lie for him too. So, it was better to let things go for now.

She had a couple of hours to kill before her next class, so Lucy goes to the campus cafe for a bite to eat. It was a nice, warm afternoon, perfect to take advantage of the outside seating. With her sandwich and bubble drink at her fingertips, she cracks open her textbook for the next class to get a head start.

“Excuse me?” A familiar voice requests her attention. Lucy looks up to see Touka standing next to the table. “May I sit? I feel you deserve a better explanation of what happened that day.”

Lucy wasn’t really interested in what the woman had to say, but being polite, she gestures to an open seat across the table. “If you’re here to apologize for Natsu, save it cause I don’t want to hear it.”

“No, no!” The woman waves her hands wiping the air clear. “I should apologize to you for my actions. It was rude of me to cut in like that. I should have waited and confronted him in private, but I was just concerned because he was leading you on and didn’t want you to fall for it. So many have fallen in the past only to end up with their hearts broken.”

“Oh.” Lucy sits back in her seat, struck by the new information. How many women has he done this to before her?! “Wow— in that case I should be the one thanking you.” She shifts in her seat. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you put up with Natsu if he’s a womanizer?”

Touka sighs as if her mind slipped into a blissful state. “The simple answer is I love him.” She blushes. “We’ve been together for so long and through so much, even though he’s always been like this, I just can’t bring myself to give him up. You have to admit, he has a lot of qualities that just draws you in.”

“Ugh, I can’t disagree there, but still, I could never put up with a cheater. I’ve had enough power trip males in my life that if they can’t respect me, then they don’t need me.”

“I wish I was as strong as you Lucy, s-sorry, sorry! Is it okay to call you Lucy? I don’t want to overstep my welcome here.”

“It’s fine. In fact, we never have a proper introduction.” Lucy smiles and sticks her hand out, “Lucy Hearfilia, it’s nice to meet you.”

The woman shakes it with a smile, “Touka Shiromajo, it’s nice to meet you too. Well, I should let you get back to your lunch Lucy. But I’m glad we had this opportunity to clear the air. I hope there’s no hard feelings.”

“Not as far as I’m concerned.”

“Wonderful! You have a great rest of your afternoon!” Touka waves as she skips away.

Lucy watches the woman until she rounds the buildings corner, still analyzing their brief conversation. Like Levy had said, it’s all Touka’s word against Natsu, and both of them were either sincere or bold-faced lying to her. How is she supposed to tell the difference? Maybe after class she’ll search the woman’s social media now that she has a name to go by.

If Touka was telling the truth, being a woman, Lucy felt a little bad for her. The woman must really love Natsu to chase after him and put up with his misgivings. And again, if true, she’d thrown herself into the fire in order to save Lucy, a total stranger from being hurt. She had to give the woman some credit for that. But there was one thing nagging her, was their meeting today random? How did Touka know where she went to school or more so to find her at this cafe? Lucy chalked it up to coincidence, perhaps the woman had looked her up on social media too.

‘Social media,’ Lucy chuckles and bites into her sandwich. Is anything really private anymore?

~~ XX ~~

Once out of sight, Touka squeals giddily.“Foolish woman!” It was almost too easy to get Lucy on her side. She was sure by now the image of Natsu was thoroughly tarnished and he’ll never convince the woman to give him another chance. “Well, that’s that,” she rubs her hands together as if washing away dirt. “My work here is done.”

[flutteringphalanges]

                                   Caught in a Riptide

Summary: After the infamous Count Dracula is discovered and taken into custody by the Jonathan Harker Foundation, former nun and now guardian to her young niece, Zoe, Agatha Van Helsing is tasked with keeping tabs on the vampire after a mishap leads to his release into modern day society. Can Agatha remain levelheaded, or will fate turn her onto a new path?

Pairing: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rated: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: I’m back!! Finally, after dealing with some health issues I managed to get a chapter out! I hope you enjoy! Feedback/Reblogs/Likes are greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

                                              Chapter Seven

It's funny how just a few seconds can seem like an entire lifetime. At least, in Agatha's case, that's how she felt. Her eyes flickered between the two men, mind reeling as she tried to come to some set conclusion as to why both were present. Or if she should go into the defensive or offensive mode-not that she had much of a weapon on her besides her silly, cheap cross. It took Dracula calmly clearing his throat to snap her back into her senses.

"You look rather alarmed, Agatha." Dracula stated with a smile. "Like you've seen a ghost-or," his smile widened to a grin. "Are witnessing someone committing the act of murder."

She watched with bated breath as he moved to the table. From where she stood, Agatha could just make out a small, square object that rested on the surface. The vampire picked it up and examined it carefully before pulling out a few crisp dollar bills. A wallet. He looked from the still stunned woman to his other guest.

"Jimmy was just here dropping off my meal. Weren't you, Jimmy?" The vampire held out the money towards the young man. "I invited him in seeing as I didn't have the cash on me. I didn't want to be rude." Dracula let out a long exhale. "Keep the change. I know your profession doesn't pay you fairly. It is the least I can do," he paused. "All things considered." And once again that familiar flicker of mischievousness glimmered in his eyes. "If you'd leave now, I'd much appreciate it. I've kept Ms. Van Helsing waiting long enough."

The man-or "Jimmy" as he was so called, managed to stutter out a thank you. He gave Agatha a nod before pushing past her to escape out the door. Whether he knew of Dracula's true origin was unclear, but it was evident enough the vampire gave him some form of uneasy. Though it held no weight, the cross felt oddly heavy in her back pocket as the man motioned for her to step forward.

"I assure you I am very well aware of the terms and conditions involving my freedom." He commented, pulling out a chair for her to sit in. "And while I do have my urges, the idea of not being locked in a cage and used for experimental purposes quells those...desires."

Reluctantly, Agatha took a seat ignoring the Count's smile. She knew he was watching her, observing her every move externally and perhaps even internally. The woman knew she needed to keep her heartbeat steady, pulse regular. Any sign that could be regarded as fear would only play to his amusement. Keeping her guard down, especially now, was the utmost of importance.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to pour myself a drink." Dracula said, grabbing the paper bag and pulling out its contents. A wine bottle shaped flask filled with a dark liquid. Agatha knew what it was, but she didn't like to think about it. After filling his cup, he set it down.

"So," he continued. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine." Agatha said currently, trying to keep her voice level. "I'm not thirsty."

"I thought you'd say that." The vampire exhaled, shaking his head. "But I thought I'd ask to be polite." He took a small sip, the contents lightly sloshing as he did. "I want to apologize about the night before. I acted like…"

"A monster?" The former nun said curtly with a frown. "A mad man?"

Dracule smirked, chuckling at her remarks. "I was going to say rash, but I suppose those would fall under the same category." He left her side once again to retrieve what appeared to be a file folder resting neatly on the table. "Anyway, I'd like to move past it. Put it behind us. Even beasts make mistakes."

"You could've killed me," Agatha replied, eyes following his every move. "Why didn't you?"

"You're right," the Count nodded. "I very well could've. Even with that ridiculously cheap excuse of a cross you have in your pocket." Her eyebrows raised in surprise as he continued. "But having you dead would've served no use to me. I'm a calculated man, Agatha. While your blood is very, very tempting, getting it from a slip up like that would be...undesirable." The Count smiled as he finally took a seat across from her. "And again, we have that contract to think about."

Before she could comment, the vampire slid the collection of papers over to her. Meeting his stare, Agatha hesitantly took the folder and opened it. Though she didn't exactly want to break eye contact, the woman glanced down at the sheets below. Photos. A birth certificate. License. An entire history made up of a made up person-sort of. His new background. A perfect gateway into modern society that was virtually untraceable to who he really was. Renfield had done well.

"Vlad Balaur," she mumbled.

"Dracula seemed to be a stretch unfortunately, so this was the second choice." The Count replied simply. "Do you like it?"

"26 May 1967." Agatha continued, ignoring his question. After a moment, she looked up. "You're lucky you can pull off looking 53 and not 530." Exhaling, Agatha pushed the pile back over to the man. "Your lawyer did well. I certainly hope you are paying him for all of this work."

Dracula merely chuckled as he took the thick folder. "I'm not an unreasonable man. I pay Frank accordingly. Based, of course, on the service he provides." He lifted his glass of blood, the rim stained with dark crimson from where he sipped. "I can have copies for you made, if you so desire. I know how important it is for your precious Foundation to know about my whereabouts." For a brief moment, his dark eyes flickered playfully. "For you to know."

The woman's stomach churned as the vampire took a large swig of his drink. Why did he have to feed in front of her? Probably because he knew it made her squirm. When he set the cup down, he smiled widely, teeth seeming sharper than a moment before. She prayed it was merely a trick of her imagination.

"What are your plans now that you are free to roam around England on your own accord?" Agatha inquired, straightening in her chair. "Surely you must have something in mind?"

"Believe it or not, after being asleep for over a hundred years, there is quite a lot to take in." Dracula nudged his now empty glass aside. "So many advances in technology. Science. History. I've done quite a lot of reading myself, but the modern world is very enriched. However," he held up his index finger. "It's quite hard when you're only limited to the night hours. My body doesn't exactly fair well in the sun. Call it an extreme allergy if you will."

"As I am very well aware," Agatha huffed. "But that doesn't exactly answer my question. What are your plans, Count Dracula?"

"I think you mean our plans," the vampire smirked. The look on the woman's face said it all and his smile only widened. "You honestly didn't think our interactions would just be the two of us discussing our adventures over tea did you?" His fingers laced together, tips ending in sharp, talon line nails. "You, Agatha Van Helsing, are going to be my escort. And what an honor, I might add, that is."

Agatha's jaw dropped. "Your...your what?!"

"Escort, tour guide, chaperone...whatever you wish to call it." He dismissively waved his hand. "In other words, you and I will be spending a lot of nights together under the starry skies of England. Or cloudy? I have reason to believe it rains a lot, or am I mistaken?"

"The only thing you're mistaken of is the preposterous idea of me ever agreeing to this!" The woman snapped. "My understanding was that we would meet face to face occasionally at your flat! Not that I'd spend quality time with you out and about!"

"Well if that's the case, it would seem that our two overseers have decided our fates without consulting us." Dracula smirked as he met Agatha's cold stare. "Both Mr. Renfield and Dr. Bloxham have come to the conclusion that this seems like a fair and fit decision and who am I to argue?"

She'd committed. Told Bloxham she'd do whatever the scientist wanted. But this...this wasn't what she had in mind. Agatha silently cursed at herself, mentally berated her brain for being so stupid. Of course these interactions wouldn't be just mere meetings. No...no the Harker Foundation wanted more than that. Immersing herself was one thing. This was the equivalent of being tied to a stone and thrown into a river like a woman during a witch trial. Count Dracula was to be a part of her life no matter how hard she kicked and screamed to swim back to the surface.

""I will completely and utterly immerse myself into Count Dracula's life…"

Agatha's own words replayed in her mind like a broken record as she sat there grinding her teeth. She could feel the vampire watching her expectantly, waiting to hear what she had to say. He seemed cool. Collected. Of all people, shouldn't he be against the idea of being watched like a hawk? But there he sat seemingly without a care in the world. Secretly, she was sure, reveling in her misfortune.

"I'd say you're rather exhausted, Agatha." Dracula exclaimed, breaking the silence. "Perhaps you should go home and rest. I'd offer up my flat, but I think that little Zoe would worry."

"Don't say her name," the woman muttered. "You don't get to say her name."

The vampire gave a half smile. "Get some rest, Ms. Van Helsing. I have quite the itinerary planned for tomorrow." His movements almost gave off the impression of gliding as he corked the bottle of blood he'd been consuming and strode over to the refrigerator. "Shall I walk you to your car or-"

But Agatha had already snatched up her keys and stormed towards the door before he could finish. Dracula snorted softly, shaking his head. She was certainly turning out to be much more interesting than he had initially suspected. Perhaps whatever the Foundation had planned for him would be more in his favor than they'd ever begin to realize. Games were always more enticing when both sides were competitive. And Agatha Van Helsing was the perfect prize.

                                                           XXX

Agatha didn't even acknowledge the box of biscuits that fell onto the floor as Jack jumped in surprise as she swung the front door wide open. Flinging her semi closed purse onto the counter, she stormed over to the couch and collapsed. She was tired, but not exhausted enough to feel furious.

"How did it go?" There was hesitation in Jack's voice as he asked. A sense of fear that one gets when staring at a poisonous viper head on. "Did he have anything important to say?"

"Did Zoe behave for you?" Agatha replied in a monotone, eyes fixed on the television screen. Some adult cartoon was on that she vaguely recognized but didn't care enough to remember the name. "I hope she didn't give you a hard time."

"She caused absolutely no issues," the doctor assured her. "It was like she wasn't even there. Well," he paused. "I did read her two bedtime stories-her request, but other than that, she went to bed without a fuss. She did want to hang out though so maybe the three of us could go out to do something together sometime to distract your mind from…"

"They have me babysitting him!" The woman declared sharply, finally turning to face her friend. "He's talking like we're going on some date tomorrow. Bloxham has me taking him around wherever he wants to go as it is a part of this bloody contract I didn't read the fine print of!" Agatha groaned, massaging her temples. "When I started...I didn't think…Honestly, I don't know what I thought."

She chewed absentmindedly on her bottom lip as Jack sat beside her. He stared at her with those big blue eyes of his. It was a familiar look. Innocent. Sheltered. The young man had witnessed much in his short life and yet there was an aura of goodness to him. Loyalty. Something Agatha personality believed she didn't deserve. A friend whose companionship she'd never be able to match.

"I don't think any of us knew what to expect when we found him." Jack commented, resting a hand on her knee. "Especially you given your family's...history." He paused only to reach the clicker to turn off the show. "If I'm to be honest, Agatha, at first, I didn't actually think he existed. Maybe some part of me did-I worked at the bloody Harker Foundation. But when he actually showed up...I guess what I'm trying to say is Bloxham has no right to do what she's doing."

"Right or not, I don't exactly have a choice in the matter," Agatha frowned. "When I wanted to study him, learn about who he was and what he was, I didn't exactly think that meant I was going to be forced to spend every waking minute with him-well, every his waking minute. But I have to do this for my sake and Zoe's."

Jack cocked a brow in confusion. "What does this have to do with Zoe?"

"I made a commitment." She admitted, running a hand through her hair. "...Moreso Bloxham has me backed into a corner. If I don't go through with this, then she can make my life a living Hell." Agatha held up her hand as the man tried to interject. "If I could get out of this, I already would've, but I don't have a choice, Jack. It'll be like that movie Interview with a Vampire, but instead of an eager biographer wanting to learn Louis de Pointe du Lac's story, I'm forced to take my vampire on a railway trip."

Jack started to chuckle into his hand earning him a curious look from Agatha. A small smile graced his features as he straightened up, clearing his throat before speaking.

"Sorry," he grinned. "Didn't take you for a movie buff."

"I suppose I can sometimes be unpredictable." Agatha admitted with a small smile. "Anyway, the fact of the matter is, I wanted to learn about Dracula on my terms, not someone else's. Especially since he's a bigger prick than I imagined."

"He murdered people," the man stated. "How big of an ass were you expecting?!"

"Someone whose ego wasn't so large it'd overtake all of Europe and then some." She said folding her arms over her chest. "He's unbearable, Jack, and he knows it. Relishes in it. And I'm stuck with him like gum on the bottom of a shoe." Agatha let out a long exhale. "Curiosity killed the cat, and I already feel like I'm on my eighth life. Why of all things did I have to be a Van Helsing? Smith is a nice last name. Or Wilson. I'd go as far as Bigglesworth."

"You are not a Bigglesworth," Jack laughed. "Besides, Van Helsing is pretty bad ass. It has its perks."

Agatha let out a soft chuckled before her mouth curved into a genuine smile. Gently she rested her head on Jack's shoulder, her eyes fixed on the blank screen of the television.

"What am I going to do, Jack?" She mumbled.

"What you always do," he replied softly. "Take what's thrown at you into your own hands and make it work. At least, that's what the Agatha I know would do."

"I'm taking the window seat," Agatha yawned, closing her eyes.

"The window seat?" The doctor inquired, his brows knitting in confusion. "What window seat?"

"The window seat," she repeated. "If I'm taking that beast on a train, I'm taking the window seat."

Jack grinned over at the former nun as she began to nod off. "Agatha Van Helsing, you never cease to amaze me."

"Good," she answered. "I plan to keep it that way."

And without another word, she drifted off into the dark world of unconsciousness. Far, far away from her worries and troubles that would live to see another day.

[pinknerdpanda]

Help Me Understand

Word Count: 2k-ish Pairing: Dean x Lisa, Dean x Reader Warnings: Angst, cursing, mutual pining, cheating

A/N: Hey, ya’ll! Long time, no fic, amirite? Anyway - I’m back again, though you may wish I’d just stayed away. ;) This was written for @rockhoochie​’s Love Supernatural Style challenge. My prompt was “Maybe I’m Amazed” by Paul McCartney and Wings (x). Congrats on your milestone! This takes place around Season 6.

Beta’d by the always lovely and very talented @shy-violet-soul​. Thanks for the love and support, sweet cheeks! *hugs*

x

Help Me Understand

Another night, another hunt, another smug smile from the green eyed man seated across the room from me. It’s not aimed at me; not this time anyway. No, that smile - that toothy, eye-crinkling, “light up the room” smile - it’s for her. I scoff, bringing the bottle to my lips and taking a swig, desperate to look anywhere but at his arm, curled possessively around her shoulders, or his lips as he brushes them gently against her temple.

I wish I could make myself leave; walk away and have literally anything else to look at besides them. But if I do, it would raise questions I’m not ready or willing to answer. It’s easier to stay here, glued to this seat, pretending to celebrate the end of a long-ass hunt than face the fallout of my abrupt departure.

Her laugh is bright - throaty and full of joy - as Dean whispers in her ear, her fingers fisting in the front of his shirt and her head thrown back.  

I have no right to feel the stab of jealousy as it twists into my side, steals the air from my lungs, burns at the back of my eyes. As if that wasn’t enough, it’s quickly paired with a gut wrenching, nauseating pang of guilt. The feelings aren’t new - haven’t been for longer than I care to admit. But their intensity hasn’t lessened over time. 

I focus my attention on the flimsy, brightly colored coaster protecting the already blemished wood of the table from the condensation dripping down my beer bottle. 

I can feel it. I don’t know how, but I can and I know if I look up, I’ll find a pair of moss colored eyes focused on me, despite the girl tucked under his arm.

There was a time when the pull of his gaze felt too heavy to ignore, or maybe I was just unwilling to try. This pain, though - it’s hardened my resolve; the constant friction has calloused a part of me. These days, I’ve found I can refuse him the satisfaction of direct eye contact, though I can’t be sure how much is out of self-preservation and how much is full-on, unbridled bitterness.

I wish I could say it wasn’t always this way; that the years of working together had formed this indelible bond between us. But it was there from the moment we met. The memory of that day is so vivid in my mind, I can practically feel the sizzle of electricity between us as our hands touched the first time. I may not have known the exact road that lay ahead, but I could read the road signs enough to know that things could only end one way. 

Our interactions were largely professional at first. He’d call, asking for some help on a case - sometimes vice versa - both of us eager to help the other. We’d talk about the victims, the M.O., lore, but even then, the tension was there, bubbling under the surface but neither of us addressed it. In fact, there were a multitude of things left unsaid between Dean and I. 

One night, a few months back, I’d mentioned the possibility of getting out of this life; trying to find some semblance of normalcy. He’d nodded as he listened, the cold air of the evening enveloping us as we sat on the hood of his Impala. Despite the dark, I could make out the way his throat convulsed as the moon reflected the shine of unshed tears in his eyes. 

That was the closest we’ve gotten to addressing the elephant in the room. As the conversation drifted on to other things - Sam, the Campbells, her - he stopped, sucking in a breath and looking away from me.

“Life is weird,” he began, his breath hanging in the air. He licked his lips, eyes cast downward. “It’s like, ya know, you’ll never see yourself the way I see you. Your voice sounds completely different to me than it does to your own ears.”

Silence followed. 

What could I say? Maybe it was just a brief moment of introspection, but it felt heavy.

Something had shifted then. He started calling me late at night - sometimes short conversations about the mundane, sometimes lengthy discussions about what was going on with Sam. I think he felt lost; alone. Finding out Sam’s soul was gone broke part of him, and there was only so much he could talk about with Lisa. She wasn’t raised in this life. He needed someone who understood, but someone who could provide an objective opinion. I guess that someone was me. 

Lisa’s laugh carries across the room again. Glancing up, I watch as she stands, shaking her head and grabbing empty beer bottles in each hand. Just as she starts toward the bar, Dean’s hand shoots out, gripping her wrist and pulling her down for a quick kiss. She giggles when Dean slaps her ass playfully as she walks away. 

Before I can look away, his eyes lock on mine. As much as I want to ignore the tingle running down my spine at the pleading expression on his face, I can’t. And that’s what propels me to my feet, the chair creaking backward abruptly and me knee banging on the underside of the table. My nearly empty beer bottle wobbles precariously before tipping over completely, the remaining liquid splashing against my thigh. Gathering my coat and purse, I reach inside to grab a few crumpled bills and throw them on the table. I don’t look back as I make my way to the exit, but hearing the sound of shuffling behind me hastens my steps. I’m desperate to feel the kiss of winter air against my flushed skin.

“Y/n.” Dean’s voice is muffled as the front door swings back in place behind me. Maybe it hit him in the face. 

I rifle blindly through the contents of my purse, anxious to find my keys somewhere in the mess. Just as my fingers close on the metallic ring, a hand grips my arm, halting my steps.

“Y/n?” Dean sounds slightly breathless. 

Though I’ve stopped, I haven’t turned around and frankly, I don’t plan to. As though he realizes this, his grip tightens as he pulls me around to face him. 

Lines of worry and confusion furrow his brow and his lips are pressed together in a harsh line as he searches my face. 

He tries again, his voice low. “Y/n. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just getting late.” A carefully practiced smile curves my lips as I gently pull my arm from his hold. “I think I hear my bed calling my name. Goodnight Dean.”

“Y/n, wait. Please?” The pleading look I’d seen from him inside seems to have found a voice, the words thick on his tongue.

“What?” My response is more clipped than I mean for it to sound. Sighing, I try again. “What do you need, Dean.”

His mouth moves silently, stopping and starting as though he’s weighing his answer carefully. The muscle in his jaw flexes under his scruffed cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are so soft, I wonder for a moment if I’d imagined them, but the look in his eyes shows me I didn’t.

“Sorry for what?” I try for oblivious, but it just sounds tired.

The dull roar of the bar behind him echoes around us, and Dean looks back to find two men stumbling out of the building toward the patio, probably to smoke. Wordlessly, he pulls me behind a large dumpster and out of view from anyone coming out of the bar. The pleading look I’d seen before is back, his eyes flicking across my face as he steps closer. 

My heart is beating violently inside my chest due to his proximity and his scent is overwhelming - beer and gunpowder mixed with something musky and clean. Then, it happens. It’s simultaneously the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened in my life.

His lips are soft against mine and a stark contrast to the bristles of his beard against my cheek. It’s slow - not demanding, or full of fiery passion. A sigh passes from my lungs to his as he tilts his head to one side. I know it’s wrong. I know this is exactly what was never supposed to happen, but it is. It is, and there’s no point holding back now.

I flick the tip of my tongue against the crease of his lips, and he moans, opening up to me as he pulls me closer - one hand in my hair and the other in a crushing grip against my hip. He tastes like beer and home, and my heart aches at how right it feels and at the same time, so wrong. 

The sob that bursts from my chest ends it and I pull back, dropping my gaze to the ground to hide the tears. Dean just pulls me against him, pressing my face against his chest and rubbing soothing circles against my back. He shudders, pressing his lips against my hair.

When I can finally catch my breath, I pull free and step back. He doesn’t try to stop me, just lets his hands drop to his sides, sighing.

“Why?” 

It’s one word; three letters to try to unravel everything between us. 

Dean pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and takes a deep, shuddering breath before speaking.

“I feel like these last few months, there’s been this thing,” he sighs, “between you and I. I don’t understand it. It’s like you’re the only person in the world who really sees me. Sometimes it feels incredible, and sometimes it’s so damn scary I can hardly breathe.”

When I don’t answer he scrubs a hand across his face, huffing out a breath.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he mutters.

“What about Lisa?” Dropping my gaze to the ground, I cross my arms tightly, trying to hold myself together against the crack in my chest. I don’t know whether he’s hurt or angry, but I can’t look at him as he scoffs.

“I love her.” His voice catches. 

The crack in my chest deepens, and I curse myself as another sob breaks from my lungs.

“I can’t help it. I do.” Dean pauses, gripping my chin and forcing me to look at him. The sight of tears trailing down his cheeks catches my breath. “But I love you, too. And honestly, it terrifies the shit out of me. I know, it’s so goddamn selfish, but I can’t lose you.”

“Well, Dean. You can’t have it both ways,” my voice trembles, but I continue. “It’s not fair to me, and it’s sure as hell isn’t fair to her.”

“I know.” He releases my chin and rakes his hand through his hair, tugging violently on the short strands. “I know. I’m sorry.”

And there it is. The answer I always knew, but never wanted. It will never be me - at least not while she’s around; it can’t be. No good can come of me staying. I can’t be responsible for her heartbreak, no matter how shattered my own heart is and no matter how selfish I wish I could be. I straighten my shoulders and suck in a steadying breath.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

I don’t wait for a response before striding past him. The cacophony of the bar fills the night once again, and I know before I ever hear her voice.

“Dean? You out here?” It’s clear from her tone that she’s clueless, and I’m grateful for that, at least. 

I wrench the door of my truck open, tossing everything across the seat before climbing inside and shutting the door. It’s fitting, I realize as I look up to see Dean striding to meet her. The door is finally closed for good and, despite the ache in my chest, I feel relief wash over me. Some doors are just better closed.

-

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[catbountry]

It's the 5th anniversary of your callout blog, congratulations! I was wondering how life is after that whole ordeal, did you have any self refection? What would have you done differently? Do you still believe you haven't done anything wrong?

I’m going to keep this brief (edit: was going to keep this brief) because I am 90% sure this is not being asked in good faith. You’d have to be a total fucking moron or willfully ignorant to believe that I believe I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve fucked up a lot. To the people who I’ve felt that I’ve hurt who did not deserve it, I have apologized to them. To the people who I’ve said nasty things about who have repeatedly proven themselves to be awful people, including the person who created that callout blog in the first place, I don’t owe them any apologies, because they’re shitty people. I think the very strong evidence pointing towards the person who made my callout blog being the very same person who had made Vade’s callout blog months before should speak to how they view other people, as mere stepping stones to get clout who are discarded and thrown to the side as soon as they’ve outlived their usefulness.

Keep in mind, my biggest crimes are just saying no-no words and attempting to call emergency services for a teenager who was threatening suicide. The kind of people I talked shit about were guilty of things like stalking, ripping people off by taking their money and never giving them the things they paid for, abusing their partners, using people as ATMs, and in one case abusing an S.O. to the point of driving him to suicide, crying on the phone to his sister who found his corpse about how THEY were going to commit suicide, not showing up to his funeral, and using his memory to get pity from people on the internet about how much of a victim THEY were, while never even attempting to contact his family or pretending to give a shit what they went through.

That last one is Vade, btw. Vade has been pretty much rendered toothless since me and a few others actually decided to stand up to them because they were doing shit like doxing fanfic writers they didn’t like and sending those dox to the writer’s past abusers.

So am I so terribly sorry I called Cuteosphere a cunt or questioned idislikecispeople due to the fact that she was provably a massive liar who bullied trans men and used the money donated to her on video games instead of insulin? Nope. Am I sorry I quoted a meme with the word “nigga” in it that got EMAILED TO MY FUCKING BOSS in an attempt to get me fired? Still no. My boss saw right through that flimsy attempt to paint me as a racist and advised me to contact the FBI. She said that if I were actually racist, she would have been able to tell after I’d worked there for over a year, but all these people who see screenshots out of context who have never spoken to me a day in their lives were convinced otherwise.

So, it’s not so much that I feel I’ve done nothing wrong, because I did plenty of things wrong, and to the people I have genuinely wronged, I apologized to them, because I did the wrong thing to them. I don’t apologize for trying to call an EMT from a teenager who was threatening to commit suicide, an attempt I treated very seriously, only for them to back down and then, weeks later, tell me that they never even meant it? That they had lied to me? Nope. Can’t apologize for trying to save the life of someone who was lying to me about wanting to commit self stab, no matter how many fucking randos they threw at me to get me to stop being so gosh-darned angry because they were doing all this after I had gotten mad at them... after being deliberately provoked. Like, I don’t know what the fuck to say to you.

I am not soft uwu, I am prickly and thorny and a bitch and I don’t tolerate assholes. I don’t tolerate people who lie, I don’t tolerate scam artists, or pedophiles (not the type who ship anime characters, I’m talking the type who slip into the DMs of 14 year-old girls who ask them to take a picture of their butt for them, ha ha, wouldn’t that be so funny?), I don’t tolerate people who walk all over others to get clout and use people’s desire to do the right thing against them to bully them into submission. Fuck those people, they are my enemy.

It sucks that there are people who are kind and compassionate who think that I am this nasty person because of the words of the exact type of person who becomes my enemy. I’ve had at least one experience where I met somebody at a con and they liked me a lot, said I was nice, and when I mentioned my Tumblr URL, they were surprised because they had me blocked. My story has stayed consistent over the years. The stories of the people who have a vested interest in making sure people know I’m a bad person? Their stories change constantly. That’s not a coincidence.

If you came here in genuine good faith, I am sorry I came off as aggressive and defensive. People have tried to fuck with me, and when you have people who won’t stop poking you with a stick, you get wary of anybody that approaches you with some sort of stick-like object. You can feel free to go through my #drama tag on my Tumblr, see me go through this exact song and dance every time somebody tries to bring up my past transgressions. I am really fucking tired of apologizing to people I’ve never interacted with. And the last thing I need is somebody who is coming off like a smarmy fuck, asking me if I still feel like I didn’t do anything wrong.

I may have done wrong, but I take great comfort in knowing the people who have me on their shitlist are some of the nastiest, cattiest, self-serving motherfuckers on the internet, and I am more than happy for them to hate me, cause fuck them.

And if you’re the person who started that blog, fuck you, you stalker bitch, you abused your ex-boyfriend and you’re as phony as a three-dollar bill who’s more than happy to stab backs once you realized you weren’t getting the popularity you so craved from Kiwi Farms so you ran back into the arms of people like Vade, fuck you, hope you’re proud and feeling real good about yourself and what a good person you are, hoping to humiliate me into agreeing with you because you took a bunch of screenshots for a shitty blog. If you’re not, then disregard that last message.

... Man, that felt good to type.

[enygmass]

Title: Caveat Emptor

Author: Ames

Wordcount: 3393

Warnings? : Everyone is an asshole in the end?

Characters: Jonathan Crane, briefly Oswald by mention, and the entire Irish Mafia

Synopsis: Jonathan discovers that undergraduate lessons can be applied to real life situations. He also discovers the saying that there is ‘no honesty among thieves’ is more real than anticipated.

AO3 Link can be found HERE

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There were seven steps to a sale that Jonathan Crane could recall from his brief venture into business during his undergraduate years. The first step to a successful sale was prospecting: one needed to find potential customers and decide whether they were in need of your service—and if they could afford what you had to offer.

Angelo Murphy was a chief for the Irish Mafia, down in the Cape Carmine area. In fact, word had begun to trickle down from the upper-class criminals to those residing within the rodent-infested alleys that Angelo Murphy was primed to take over upon the retirement of the current Skipper, James Synnott. Oftentimes changes of power such as this were handled swiftly, to prevent too long of a buffer period—or layover, as some liked to call it—which could allow another criminal to step into place. Angelo Murphy needed to prove to the other members of the Irish Mafia that he was more than capable of handling himself. Angelo Murphy needed to do something big.  

Jonathan recently found himself becoming a fan of “big” things.

Not a new change of behavior, of course. Jonathan began elaborating his plans to make them “big” ever since names such as Two-Face and Riddler started getting thrown around. No longer was his typical method of subtle manipulation and toxin injection working. He couldn’t lean into politicians' ears and play the role of Judas anymore; Jonathan needed to step up to the plate and play as Pontius instead. He needed the starring role, and truth be told, this was the only way to gain recognition for what he was capable of in these new times. And Jonathan was capable of a  lot.  

Which is why the co-occurrence of both Jonathan’s need to change pace, and Murphy’s need to prove himself, seemed to be almost written in the stars.When Angelo Murphy’s subordinate approached him one evening and handed him a card that simply said ‘J. Crane’ with a phone number on the back, Murphy was not hesitant to call.

The second step of a successful sale is preparation. You have to prepare for the first contact with the customer, research and collect all relevant information, and develop a presentation tailored to the customers needs.

Murphy was a desperate man. Jonathan's practice had led him to become familiar with the scent of desperation over many years; it smelled of musk, of sweat and grime, of anger and adrenaline that was accompanied with shifty glances and trembling palms. One could almost taste the terror on their tongue if they looked upon a desperate man for long enough. It was a satisfactory flavor that pulled at your heart and your mind and left a desire in its wake. Once you've tasted terror, it leaves nothing but an empty hunger, and Jonathan was ravenous .

A warehouse in the Industrial District seemed a suitable enough spot for a meeting to occur. The Irish Mafia were known to be hesitant about meeting in areas that were not open and did not have more than two exits. Jonathan credited that particularity to the time they tried to strike an arms deal with Cobblepot that resulted in the death of the previous Skipper and the premature coronation of Synnott. Anyone with half a brain cell knew better than to try and skim money off the top in a deal with the likes of Oswald. Besides, the scent of rotting wood, the constant chill that seemed to cut through all of his clothes, and the low groaning noise of the wind passing through the exposed foundation made Jonathan feel almost like he was back in his lab again. It was incredibly therapeutic .

After you successfully prepare for a sale, there comes the stage of approach. This is when you first make contact with your client in a face-to-face (or face-to-mask, he supposed) setting. There are three ways to do this: a premium approach, in which the client receives a gift; a question approach, in which you prompt the client with a question; or a product approach, in which you give the prospect a free sample to review the service. Jonathan? Well, Jonathan always did favor the latter.

“Mr. Murphy, I presume?” Jonathan’s  raspy voice sounded filtered by the tears in the burlap mask he wore over his head. Pulling his hand away from the various bags he had been oh-so-lovingly caressing moments earlier, Jonathan centered his attention towards the group of men approaching him now from one of the two exits. They all looked typical of henchmen—tall, broad-shouldered, with angry scowls on their faces that seemed to waver upon seeing Jonathan's lanky form. Henchmen usually had to be exposed to many things during their services, and Jonathan had no doubt that more than one in this group had been exposed to what  he had to offer this day. All of them, of course, except the dark-haired man who stood front and centre.

Besides being desperate, Murphy was also the most common looking creature that Jonathan had the pleasure of regarding. Once one had been exposed to the flash and the flair that the rogues of Gotham so proudly carried themselves in, to come face-to-face with someone calling themself a crime lord while dressed as though they had just crawled from the couch was a bit of a disappointment. Murphy was short, with a beer gut, and his hairline was already receding. When he arched his eyebrows at Jonathan’s question, it brought much amusement to the rogue to see that the hair-line was capable of going back even farther.

“Mr. Crane, I presume?” Murphy’s parroting of his words only further proved to Jonathan that the man likely didn’t even have two brain cells to rub together in that head of his. The henchmen around him seemed to agree. Most people who had dealt with rogues before also knew better than to act disrespectfully in their presence—Jonathan, especially.

“Your presumption would be correct, Mr. Murphy. I’m so glad that you managed to make it here unharmed with your, ah,” Jonathan paused and allowed the words to hang in the air as he surveyed the men again. He then let out an airy chuckle, “Groupies in tow.”

Murphy’s eyes seemed to narrow a bit at these words, and his hands came to fold behind his back.

“Best believe we made it here unharmed, Mr. Crane. I got more pressin’ matters on my plate to deal with than any unwanted  inconveniences, mind you.” Jonathan’s head tilted slightly at these words as Murphy’s gaze slid from him to the products he had displayed. A few steps forward, and Murphy’s hands unfolded to rest upon the chipped surface of the table. “Is this it?”

“Not all of it, of course. These are just test samples.” Jonathan’s hand shot out and hovered over the bags again, as though he were uncertain which one to grab. Truth be told, he was eager to show all of them, but Murphy seemed more keen on dealing with those other matters than  allowing Jonathan to put on his show, and pointed to the bag nearest to him.

“Mitchell, c’mere.” One of the henchmen, a man with a mop of curly blonde hair and an uncertain expression, took a few steps forward to stand beside Murphy. “I want ya to open this one here.”

Mitchell looked as though he wanted to do anything  but open that bag, and Jonathan wondered if he should advise Murphy against doing such things. Then again, he wasn’t responsible for the henchmans’ life, nor did he particularly care for it. So when Mitchell wrenched open the bag and a burst of putrid green dust shot up into his face, soaking through his pores and entering into his mouth, the only thing Jonathan could really do is sigh.

Then Mitchell started to scream.

The fourth and fifth steps of a successful sale include presentation and the handling of objections. The presentation allows you to actively demonstrate how your product meets the needs of the customer. Jonathan felt strongly that, given the manner in which Mitchell was now thrashing on the concrete floor, and how Murphy was spouting off slurs Jonathan could only dream about, his product had been aptly presented. The handling of objections was a more tedious process. This was where he was supposed to ask Murphy if he had any concerns. He felt like the presentation may have raised a few.

"Mr. Murphy, as you can see, the product is one of a kind, and incredibly effective.” Jonathan did his best to speak up above the howlings of Mitchell, but his voice had always been so soft and hollow, and raising it to anything above an indoor-level was not something he was capable of. So, without even taking a break from his speech, Jonathan pivoted and gave a swift kick to the fallen Mitchell’s head. The resounding crack echoed throughout the warehouse before blissful, and abrupt, silence followed suit. Murphy stared at him. Jonathan adjusted his sleeves as though this were a Sunday stroll and not a black market exchange.

“As I was saying, the product is incredibly effective. What you just witnessed here was merely a pinch of what I’m willing to negotiate for you. Do you have any concerns with what I’m offering?” Typically, this would be the moment where paperwork would be pulled out of briefcases and pens handed out, but Jonathan had done enough paperwork in his lifetime that he felt no sense of urgency to do more. Murphy continued to stare for a moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching, before he rapped his fist twice on the table.

“How long does it last?”

“46 to 72 hours. Of course, factors such as the victim’s body weight and health must be taken into consideration when calculating its longevity. I’ve found personally that those with heavier body weights tend to be able to tolerate higher doses as compared to those with lighter body weights. Also, a few patients of mine seemed to have an almost reduced susceptibility to the effects. I’m sure this won’t be much of a bother for whatever you have planned, however.” Jonathan pressed his fingers on the table in anticipation. He normally didn’t mind diving into the ins and outs of his product, but tonight he was the only rogue—to his knowledge—actually doing anything, which meant if anyone caught wind of his actions the Bat would be on him within minutes. This was why it was always good to plan crimes in coordination with someone, else in case one got caught.  

Murphy seemed satisfied enough with that response and didn’t press any further. Nor did he bother to look down at Mitchell’s unconscious form by his feet. This was good. This was  very good. It meant that they would be done soon.

The sixth step to a successful sale is closing. This is where you get the decision from the client to move forward, which Murphy’s curt nod assured Jonathan was the case. There are then three strategies to choose from: an alternative choice close, where the seller asks if the client will be paying upfront; the extra inducement close, where the seller offers something else to the client; or the standing room only close, where the seller emphasizes how time is of essence. Jonathan was short on funds and needed to establish himself as soon as possible, so the first option was the only viable one. Breakouts from Arkham were hardly cheap, after all.

“Excellent! If you would so kindly place the money on the table here, I’ll lead you to the rest of the product.” Jonathan gestured to a space beside the various bags.

A heavy pause filled the air in the moments after Jonathan had provided his instructions. It weighed down, pressing harder, and harder, as Murphy stared at Jonathan with a slightly wide-eyed look. Then, Jonathan understood. Oh, he  understood.  

“The money isn’t here,” was all Murphy offered.

“The money isn’t here.” Now it was Jonathan’s turn to parrot back the words. A shiver of unease stirred among the henchmen.

“The money won’t be here, either.” Another sound soon filled the room, one that Jonathan had also come to recognize from so many years in the business. A clicking of hammers being pulled back on guns. Murphy's big thing wasn't to buy Jonathan's product and use it, no. Murphy seemed intent on stealing the product, thus showing that the Mafia is above the rogues, and then using it to make it clear that the Mafia is also above Gotham. Devious. If Jonathan wasn't so unamused already he might've felt a trickle of respect for the man. Too bad he had delegated Jonathan as his scapegoat. An unfortunate mistake.

Oswald was not the first rogue to be crossed during a deal. In fact, contrary to popular belief, double-crossing was a common occurrence when it came to intra-underworld dealings. Criminals were dishonest by nature and God forbid that change when dealing with one another. This posed a great inconvenience, because many of the rogues regarded themselves as  above criminals, Jonathan included. This was why over the years many of the rogues had begun to design their own foolproof methods to counteract such double-crossings. Riddler had his robots, Harley had her hyenas, Ivy had her plants, Oswald had an entire army of henchmen at his disposal, and Jonathan, well. Jonathan always liked to pick the locations he did his dealings at with a  purpose.  

“Mr. Murphy, think hard about this. Although that may be a bit of a challenge for you.” Jonathan couldn’t stop the rueful grin from splitting across his face at the sound of Murphy’s snarl in response. The henchmen he had arrived with were now pointing a variety of weapons at Jonathan’s form. They looked uncertain, unwilling, and their eyes told Jonathan that more than a few were terrified. This alone sparked that long-standing hunger in Jonathan’s gut that caused his grin to turn from rueful to damn near predatory. He bet they could see his teeth between the openings on his mask. He hoped that made things  worse.  

“Show us where the rest of it is, Scarecrow, and we’ll make sure you keep a majority of your straw within ya.”

It took a miraculous deal of self-restraint on Jonathan’s behalf to keep him from groaning at the man’s goad. He was getting quite sick of the jokes people kept mustering in association with his persona. If it wasn’t something about having a brain, then it was straw, or yellow-brick roads. It was, to be frank, rather demeaning.

There were more pressing matters to attend to, however. The henchmen had inched their way closer to Jonathan, who slid his hands off of the table and folded them behind his back. This was partially for comfort, and partially because he didn’t need Murphy seeing the silver remote he held before the surprise was ready to be revealed.

“This is incredibly unprofessional of you, you know? Synnott and I had a good standing relationship, and now? Well, Murphy, now you’ve gone and fucked it.  ” There was a bite that came with the curse. Jonathan didn’t typically swear, but that comment about straw had really wormed its way under his skin. “I would like to keep all my organs arranged in the way they are, though. You want to know where the remainder of the product is?” Murphy gave a curt nod, and if Jonathan’s smile spread any wider, he would be giving the Joker a run for his money.

There were numerous benefits to always being permitted to pick the location of your meetings. One of them was convenience; the warehouse they were in now was located close to where Jonathan had established his lab. Another was time; it did not take long for Jonathan to arrive at the warehouse, nor did it take much effort to move the product. Yet another was the area itself. For example, Jonathan knew that there were numerous vents that led to the basement of the warehouse. These were used to filter air into the workers’ areas from the furnaces during the cold winter months. This also meant that if any chemicals were to spill in the basement, the toxins from those said chemicals would fill the entire warehouse in seconds— one of numerous reasons why the warehouse had been shut down.

Jonathan knew that he could elaborate on what he intended to do. He elaborated all the time with Batman—every rogue did—but that was because Batman was  worthy. Murphy? Well, to Jonathan, Murphy was just a piece of shit someone forgot to clear out. Which was why when he had hit the button on the silver remote and putrid green gas billowed upwards into the room, Jonathan didn’t blink twice. He did, however, dive behind the table as a flurry of gunshots from terror-stricken men with weapons filled the room. Gradually, the gunshots reduced in numbers, and the screams that had been like a cacophony moments earlier began to fade away, until there were no sounds except Jonathan’s breathing and a few lingering, echoed groans. His mask’s built-in filtration device was suddenly appreciated a lot more.  

He peered over the edge of the table. Several dark masses littered the ground, and numerous new holes decorated the warehouse walls. The green toxin had begun to move its way upwards out of the warehouse, and Jonathan knew it was only a matter of time before the Bat signal lit up the sky. He needed to get out of there,  now.  

But first.

The seventh, and final step, of a successful sale is key. Once a sale is closed, the job is not done. The follow-up stage keeps you in contact with customers, not only to repeat business, but to enable referrals as well. Maintaining relationships is both cost-efficient and key to expanding business.

Jonathan hauled himself up and carefully stepped around the bodies of the henchmen. They had done a good number on themselves. A few henchmen's heads had been shot open by their panicked colleagues, and the blood let out a sickening squelching noise as Jonathan carelessly stepped through it. There were pieces of brain matter on the floor, and it appeared as though there was a tongue lying not too far from a corpse. These things mattered little, of course. What Jonathan was most focused on was the still shivering body of a man with a receding hairline whose beer gut stuck out not too far away. A few steps, and a sharp kick, and Jonathan was once again looking down at the face of Angelo Murphy.

He had been shot in the leg, it seemed.

Tragic.

Jonathan leaned down and peered at the man.

“Looks like I’m not the one whose straw came out, am I?” Jonathan chuckled and patted the man's cheek, smiling at the way it prompted another groan. He then reached into his coat pocket and fished around a bit before pulling out a card and tucking it into Murphy’s own front pocket. The card was white, pressed, with a single black line of “J. Crane” on the front and a phone number on the back.

“Well Murphy, unless you have any questions or concerns, I think we’re ready to wrap this up. I’ve never been a fan of verbal sparring, and I think I’ve done enough to earn your business today. Give my regards to Synnott, will you?” At this, Jonathan straightened up and stepped past Murphy’s now-twitching form. He hadn’t taken enough time to enjoy the way Murphy had looked at him with so much  horror in his eyes. He almost wished he had a spare minute to soak in it some more.

“Oh! And do remember to recommend me, yes?” He spared the man a flippant glance from over his shoulder. “My product is one of a kind, and incredibly effective. You’ll find nobody better than me.”

With that, Jonathan adjusted his sleeves once more and made his way to the second exit of the warehouse—the one not blocked by corpses. He supposed that until the calls for his toxin came in and he could begin generating revenue again, he could just request a loan from Oswald. The free drink that was sure to come with his arrival certainly beat what he had just endured here.

[aliceslantern]

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 2

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo and Ansem have an honest conversation about his time as Zexion. Riku is restless.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo thought often about sleep. Most of his days were preoccupied with sleep, and hearts, and trying to remember what he had studied years ago. In the intervening years in the Organization, he had cared less about hearts and more about Kingdom Hearts.

Hearts. Sleep. Old men passive-aggressively jabbing at each other.

His hands were on the keyboard, and he saw code slowly and steadily ticking in. Code he should subsequently be de coding. But he… felt…

Ansem’s hand on his shoulder startled him, making him gasp aloud like a startled animal. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Ienzo shook the fuzz out of his eyes, his heart still pounding in his chest, adrenaline making him shaky. All of these human reactions were so sensorily intense . “It’s… it’s alright. I was the one far away.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He stood, feeling woozy. “I’m…” He pressed two fingers to his brow, trying to hide the dizziness.

“How long have you been here?” Ansem asked softly.

Ienzo blinked, and realized, “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you go get some rest?”

“I don’t need rest, I need to keep working through this.” He scowled. “It doesn’t help that my memory of coding is hazy at best--”

“Then why don’t you let me help you? I can give you a refresher on the basics.” He smiled kindly, and Ienzo felt an unexpected stab of memory--sitting as a small child on Ansem’s lap as he taught him the very basics of HTML, his eyes gleaming with pride at Ienzo’s first project (a page that simply said “HELLO!”).

But then, equally… his eyes flicked over to the closed door to the lab, the one he’d begged Ansem to finalize. And he was reminded for the millionth time that this was his fault.

“Would that help?” Ansem prompted.

He shook his head to dismiss the memories. “Yes. Yes, that would be prudent.”

“When was the last time you slept?” Ansem asked.

“I’m fine.”

He frowned.

“Really. I’m fine.”

There was a pause. Ansem knotted his hands together. “Naminé once told me that Nobodies do not need sleep. Is that true?”

Ienzo’s eyebrows shot up. Ansem hadn’t brought up the reality of their pasts--namely, the ten years he and Even had been Nobodies. “Yes, it’s true,” he said. “One physiologically can , of course, but it is not necessary to live.”

Ansem pursed his lips. “Does it feel… odd, to return to those needs, then?”

Ienzo considered, woozily. “Yes, it does,” he admitted. “I feel like I’m losing a lot of time from my day.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally said, “do you like being human again?”

“Well, I had no say in the matter,” he said, “but it is… better than being the monster I was. I…” He rested his hand on his chest, feeling the pound of his heart. “I like having choice.”

Ansem smiled. “I’m sure you must.”

Ienzo exhaled. “I’ve done a great many awful things,” he said. “I wasn’t… a passive captive. Were it not for Saїx’s machinations, I likely would’ve been second in command. I… cared for their goals. I wanted it.”

Ansem cocked his head. “To be whole?”

“I don’t think so.” Ienzo squinted, trying to remember how it had felt to be Zexion. “In pursuit of… knowledge. Of growth of the Organization. I’m… I’m sorry.” Guilt hardened into a sour seed in his stomach, making him nauseous. “I’m so sorry.”

Ansem digested this, his eyes going somewhere distant and sad. “It says a lot about who you truly are, that the moment you were whole again, you chose the path of light,” he said gently.

“It does not feel that way.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “But we’ve all done things we regret. There’s no changing the past, as paltry as that sounds. Helping Kairi, and ergo, Sora and Riku… is a good first step.”

“I’m not sure it will ever be enough.”

“You can’t help how you grew up,” Ansem said. “In darkness, in nothing, manipulated, I’m sure, by them. You were just a boy. You said so yourself. How old were you, Ienzo?”

“Just shy of nine,” he said, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Precisely. A brilliant child… but still a child.”

“But what of--when I grew older? When I should have known better?”

Ansem squeezed his shoulder a second time. “By then you already believed.”

“I’m not innocent. I… the things I’ve done…” He exhaled. “I cannot simply absolve myself of guilt. I… I don’t want to.”

“I do hope that someday you can forgive yourself,” Ansem said. “You’re too young to live with such a heavy heart.”

“I think it is earned,” Ienzo said.

Ansem sighed.

“I’m going to go try to sleep for a few hours,” he said. “I’m sorry to leave this all in your lap.”

“It’s quite alright. I don’t mind.”

Ienzo wasn’t sure what else to say, so he started walking back to his room. He thought about what Ansem had said. His heart did feel heavy--quite literally. But how could he just… move on and have a normal life after everything he’d done? He didn’t know of anyone who’d messed up as colossally as he had. Wouldn’t it be wrong ? Masturbatory, so to speak? Where was his karmic payback? Why had he gotten this wholeness so many craved so dearly? He didn’t even want --

There had to be some way to silence the noise in his head.

Ienzo took a quick shower, put on some pajamas, and climbed into bed. His bedroom felt more cluttered and cramped than he remembered, the window by his double bed drafty. The overburdened bookcase was packed two and three deep, the rolltop desk flooded with yet more papers. He should clean and organize, remove the very last of his childhood things; there was still kid’s clothing in some of his dresser’s drawers.

His mind was swimming hopelessly with memories of the Organization’s plans to take down worlds--

Somehow, Ienzo fell into a restless sleep.

He recognized this dream, this nightmare. The tight, dark corners of the basement of Castle Oblivion. A redheaded demon, a boy in a black-and purple jumpsuit. A sharp glove at his throat, the tight heat of darkness swallowing him, and he couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe--

Ienzo sat up. Slowly. He touched the scar at the base of his throat, thick and ridged. It was the darkness, not the replica’s sharp gloves, that had left this mark on him. Tears burned his eyes. He felt pathetic, weak, for being in the grip of this memory. It was over with. It was the least of what he’d deserved.

Human.

He thought of the dizzy spin of those first few moments after he’d woken, on the cold lab floor, bleeding from the marks around his throat. How the swelling had made it feel like he couldn’t breathe, still, how everything felt like it was echoing loudly around him, his heart like a weight in his chest. Trying to push himself up, seeing Even and Dilan’s brutalized forms, Aeleus trying not to show how much pain he, too, was in. Being the least injured, it had been up to Ienzo to try and tend to their wounds. At least he’d had the foresight to study medicine in the Organization.

And truthfully, even though it had been nearly two months back in this body, with this heart, Ienzo… still was not used to humanity, the pulse and pound of unexpected emotions. Once he couldn’t get open a jar of peanut butter for his breakfast toast and the anger he felt when he struggled was so overwhelming he’d just thrown the damn thing. But more than anything he felt a guilt so thick it was like lead, and an anxiety he could never fully set this right.

He looked at the clock. He’d slept about five hours, which he supposed after that nightmare was all he’d get. He was feeling nauseous and achy again, shaky with low blood sugar. So much time I must spend doing maintenance on this body. It seemed almost like a waste.

But he needed to stay alive. To help, to atone.

Ienzo got up and went to the kitchen.

---

Riku couldn’t take the silence anymore. It was almost making him jumpy, and after so long without human interaction, he thought he was starting to hear sounds that weren’t there. The dizzy nightmares of that city didn't help. He wondered if he should tell Ienzo and the others about it; but every time he tried to remember fine details, all he could recall was the deep blue color of the sky. Not helpful.

If not for the gummiphone, Riku would’ve lost track of time, too. Ienzo had told him how to use it, but he still struggled a bit with the interface. But, he figured, if Sora , who had nearly failed their high school computer literacy course, could grasp it, so could he.

Sora.

Riku felt something like a stab of pain. It felt like it had been a long time since he’d seen him, since they’d gotten to do more than chat for a few minutes. Kairi, too, he’d barely gotten to speak with at the beach during their brief victory party. At least he knew she was--physically--okay.

He felt so… alone.

He took a deep breath in and let it out, slowly. I’m not alone, he forced himself to think. Even if it feels that way. Our hearts are connected.

That didn’t make the silence any less piercing.

Riku got up. He had to go get some laundry, make himself something to eat. At least this was something he could do.

He wondered if it were too soon to go back to Radiant Garden. He knew Ienzo said he’d call the moment something came up, but maybe Cid had something new, or maybe there were even some Heartless to fight. Something. Someone.

“Oh god, I’m losing my mind,” he said out loud. He took out the gummiphone and looked down at its screen. It was still set to the generic background it came with, mostly because he didn’t know how to change it. With clumsy thumbs, he opened the text messaging app and started to write. The keyboard felt awkward in his hands.

Mickey,

I hope your journey with Donald and Goofy is going well. I’m guessing it must be good to spend time with them again. How’s the Queen?

I’ve been staying in the Land of Departure. Terra asked me to, but I think it’s partially because he wanted me to feel like I had an official duty as a Keyblade master. Mostly it’s just housesitting. If you ever have time, you three should come by. It’s a lot prettier than Castle Oblivion. It feels more alive.

The Radiant Garden guys are still hard at work studying Kairi’s heart, so she’s been asleep. They warned me it might take a long time. I still wish there was something I could do, but the power of waking won’t help in this case. So they say, anyway. I don’t really understand it fully myself.

If there’s anything I can do to make your journey any easier, let me know. Take care of yourselves out there.

--Riku

This written, it didn’t make Riku feel any less alone. More like he was speaking out into nowhere. He went and finished his chores, worked out for a little while. When he came back there was a response.

Howdy Riku!

Great to hear from ya! The Queen and Daisy are both doing great. We actually got to talk to them last night--love these nifty gadgets! If only we’d had them years ago… can you thank Ienzo for them the next time you see him? Chip and Dale also say hello to you both.

So far we’re doing our best to find more information about Sora, but so far there are no leads that I can tell, anyway, and you know how sharp Goofy is looking for these things. This all got so complicated… but I have hope that we’ll all be together soon!

I hope you’re not getting too stir crazy up in there. If you like, the Queen says you’re welcome to visit any time. And if we’re in the area I’m sure we’ll drop by! I hope staying there isn’t too hard on you.

Thanks for writing! Speak soon.

--Mickey.

Riku exhaled. He was positive he was reading too much into the tone of the letter. Mickey was never condescending towards him. Every word he’d written, he’d meant.

Maybe Riku should get out of here. He could thank Ienzo, for one thing, maybe help with some Heartless there, or the restoration committee was always working on some project or another. Get his hands dirty, like the work he used to do on the play island--

He was used to the accompanying stab of pain he got when he thought of them, but it didn’t make it any easier. Yes. Riku very much needed to get out of here.

---

It was raining in Radiant Garden when Riku got in. It washed away the rest of the gel in his hair, making it fall hopelessly into his eyes, and he kept trying to blow it out of his face. The haircut had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, something to get rid of that old self, but this current in-between length was unbearable. He didn’t want to think about spikes or spiky hair. (The fact that he’d run out of hair gel was also besides the point.) He wandered the streets for a time. Just seeing other people was nice, made him remember he was real.

The slope up to the entrance of the castle was muddy in the deluge. At least I’ll have an excuse to do laundry when I get back, he thought. One of the guards--he didn’t remember their names yet, and decided he really should--waved him in. “Try not to track mud all over the place,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Riku washed off his shoes with a water spell and kept walking. The place was always dank and damp in the best of circumstances, but today it was downright cold. He shivered and wished he knew air magic, something to dry himself off. Oh well. He’d had worse recently than being a little cold and wet.

The path up to the lab was very much familiar now. He saw places where the people here were trying to repair all the structural issues; the moldy carpeting torn up, the fallen pipes cleared away. The circular office before the lab had been cleaned up too; the bits of broken glass were finally gone.

Riku saw them before they saw him. He observed them for a few minutes, in their long white coats and oddly formal scarves. He tried not to audibly shiver, his hair sending droplets onto the floor.

“All looks… very much ordinary , from what we’ve been able to decipher,” the one formerly known as Vexen was saying. “Would help if I could understand your shorthand.”

Riku saw a scowl cross Ienzo’s face, the first mean expression he’d seen on the young man since they’d met again. He thought of Zexion, all claws and cruelness and teeth. “My shorthand is up-to-date. It’s not my fault your knowledge of coding has fallen by the wayside.”

“Boy, I have more important things to do--”

“Like what? Is this not our priority?”

“ She is our priority. Keeping up with some language is not.”

“Your sniping does not help either,” Ansem the Wise added. He went over to the console computer, punched some things in, and shook his head. “Though I agree with Ienzo that we should all at the very least be on the same page.”

Ienzo’s smirk became a hesitant smile.

Then, “I think we can all use a crash course.”

The smile became a scowl again. Riku chuckled despite himself. So the politeness was partially an act. Good to know. He crossed over into the hallway, letting his footsteps make more noise than earlier. Their heads snapped up; Even seemed to struggle to get his expression to be neutral, while Ansem offered a kindly smile. Ienzo’s face simply went blank, and Riku felt an odd surge of jealousy for his control over his emotion. “Oh, hello, Riku. We weren’t expecting you,” he said.

“I’m sorry just to drop by like this,” he said, feeling a blush color his face. “But I was wondering if--” Seeing their faces fall just slightly, “there’s… no news, is there?”

Ienzo took a few steps closer to him. He always seemed to be a little… cautious, in the way he moved around Riku. Could this really be about the bad blood in their past? “I’m very sorry, but no. No significant change.”

He glanced over towards Kairi, still fast asleep in the chair. He noted that at least they’d given her a blanket. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s being kept very comfortable, I assure you,” Ienzo said. “Neurological functioning is the way it should be.”

He crossed his arms, trying to suppress the shivering; it was even colder in here. “Could I… can I go up to her? It won’t interrupt anything, will it?”

Ienzo shook his head. “She’s too deeply asleep to be disturbed by our voices. Though perhaps--” Looking him over and wrinkling his nose. “You might like a towel?”

Riku looked at his palms. His wrist braces were awkwardly wet, and he knew they’d take hours to dry out. “Sorry. It’s, uh, raining.”

He nodded. “Come with me.”

He followed Ienzo. He was only the slightest bit taller than Riku now, but his strides seemed long, quick and precise, the white coat flaring out. “If you’d like, I can get you something dry to wear,” he said. “We’re probably about the same size.”

The idea of dry clothes was appealing, but the idea of wearing something of Ienzo’s made him feel, well, pretty weird. “No, that’s okay, thanks,” he said. “I’m probably gonna head out before too long anyway.”

“I imagine you must be quite busy.” Ienzo opened a door to a very average linen closet and pulled out a white towel. Riku did feel much better with it around his shoulders.

He just shrugged in response. They started walking back.

“If you’re worried about her health, she’s in quite good hands,” Ienzo said. “I… understand why you might be hesitant.”

“It’s… not that.” Not entirely. “I just…”

“Worry about your friends?” Ienzo prompted. “I can imagine. Yes, it’s been… a rather tectonic year or so.”

“We’ve all been separated on and off since our world fell,” he said, feeling a stab of guilt. “Though that was… kind of my fault. Not kind of. It was .”

Ienzo’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?”

“I know, I know. Some hero, right?” he forced himself to laugh.

“I… know that feeling exactly.” Ienzo cleared his throat. “Were it not for all we’ve done here… well.” He sighed. “We cannot… change the past. Not without a lot of nonsense.”

Riku smiled a little despite the heaviness of the conversation. “It almost feels… fake, how all this happened. When I heard about the… vessels, and the time travel, I was just like… are you kidding me? ”

Ienzo chuckled. “I think we all had that reaction. Even I cannot comprehend what exactly he was planning to do--and I was part of some of it.”

Riku thought about that laugh for a moment, how different it sounded than Zexion’s. More human, softer. Then again, the boy next to him was human. Trying to be better. Aren’t we all, he thought, wryly.

Back in the lab, he crossed over to Kairi and took her hand, hoping his wasn’t too cold. Her breathing was deep and even, and she looked peaceful. He wondered if she actually felt that way, what the “examination” made her feel. He almost asked, but Ansem and Even seemed to be deep into some conversation he couldn’t understand, and Ienzo seemed distracted, his brows furrowed. “So, uh,” he began slowly. “How’s the Heartless population around here?”

He looked up, startled. “The claymore defense system manages it quite well,” he said, with a touch of defensiveness. “Though I guess there might be a few hanging around the edges of town.”

“Gotcha,” he said. “Well. I’m going to go check in with the committee. But before I go. Um. The King said thank you for the gummiphone. And that Chip and Dale said hello.”

“Of course,” he said, his expression again quite neutral. “That was kind of them.”

Riku took off his damp towel and folded it. He left the castle and went back out into the rain. If anything, the deluge had gotten heavier, to the point where his left wrist (which had never quite healed correctly) was throbbing. Ienzo had been right about the Heartless; the few ones in the center of town were easily dispatched without him even having to draw his Keyblade. Riku found himself scowling. Logically, he knew that the system was fantastic for the civilians here. But it took from him the only thing he could do to be of use. As it grew darker, he wandered farther and farther into the fissures surrounding town, where he finally found something worth fighting.

He tried to vent his frustration into these Heartless, especially at his own uselessness. He was a Keyblade master , and all he could do was beat up a few mooks, was wait around for things to happen. He hated feeling like this; it was so like the old days on the island. At least this time he wouldn’t do something so off-the-walls stupid like let a creep in a robe persuade him to do what they wanted.

No, instead he was fighting Heartless. Alone. In the rain.

By the time he’d fought the last one in the vicinity, it was dark, and he could no longer suppress the shaking. “Idiot,” he said out loud. The clothes might protect him from darkness, but they wouldn’t protect him from the common cold. He should go back to the Land of Departure, take a hot bath, make himself some soup, and go to bed.

Riku went deeper into the fissures.

[missbrightsky]

I didn’t know where else to go

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 3: Feyre

The first thing that came back to me was pain. Dull, throbbing pain everywhere. Deep in my muscles and throughout my head. I couldn’t tell if it was the possible mild concussion or the hangover that made opening my eyes so hard.

A hangover.

I forced my eyes all the way open, wincing back from the bright light that forced its way through the curtains. My movement had me pressing into something warm and large that tightened its grip on me.

That thing was Rhysand fucking Noc.

I slept with Rhysand fucking Noc. The crime boss I was currently trying to put behind bars for life.

And it was the best sex of my life.

  Fuck.

He mumbled something in his sleepy state, somehow pulling me even closer when there was already no space between us. His breath fanned over my neck, sending shivers that traveled down my body into my core. Shivers that woke him up just barely.

“Good morning, darling, did you sleep well?” he managed to get out, voice rough from last night activities.

I froze, my brain unable to make me move or think or breathe.

He felt me go still and shifted so that he was leaning over me, balancing on his forearms. The pressure he exerted on me finally went away, my bruises sang and protested at the lack of contact. I finally returned to my body, air whooshing out of my lungs.

If I had morning breath, he showed no sign of noticing it, and that was enough to set me off.

How dare he look so damn good in the morning?

How dare he take care of me in my injured state?

How dare he.

Even though you were the one to show up on his doorstep last night.

To shove that thought away, I took it out on him. My self-defense training took over, wrapping one leg to hook behind his knee.

His eyes sparked with violet fire, leaning down in response to what he thought was me trying to pull him closer.

In actuality, I was about to flip him on his ass.

Just before his lips met mine, I placed my hands on his shoulders and bucked my hips up, throwing his balance to the left so that I was able to land him flat on his back with me holding him down. He might have had several inches on me, but I had years of training against guys twice my size. It was almost too easy to keep him pinned down; bewildered eyes boring into mine.

The words “I’m leaving” were on the tip of my tongue and promptly died there when I realized that we were both completely naked. A flush burned its way across my face and down my neck when I felt him twitch under me. At least he had the decency to look mildly embarrassed at their compromised conditions.

Not trusting myself to stay on task, I climbed off of him and turned my back, searching the room for my clothes. When I felt a hand graze my neck, I launched myself on the edge and practically sprinted to the bathroom, grabbing clothes as I went.

The door slammed shut behind me, I twisted the lock for a good measure and held my breath. There was no sound of movement from the other side, I slowly released it and dropped my clothes on the counter, assessing what I had managed to grab.

It was not a pretty or comforting sight; my underwear and bloodied shirt was all that was in the room. Which means that I had been drunk enough last night to strip elsewhere until we made it to the bed.

Lucien was going to have this carved onto my gravestone when I died of my captain skinning me over this. I’ve had my fair share of awkward morning afters but this one really took the cake.

“Feyre? Can we just talk?” came his voice. It sounded distressed but I tried not to read into it too much.

“I left some clean clothes on the bed that I think will fit, I’ll be downstairs.”

I waited until I heard his footsteps retreat and thump down the stairs. I released the breath I had been holding. I needed to stop before I passed out and bring on a whole other mess.

Forcing myself to breathe evenly through my nose, I cracked the door open and peeked out the make sure he had truly gone.

He had laid a soft old t-shirt and sweats, both being too big for me but it was better than walking around half-naked while collecting the rest of my clothing.

I tied the sweats as tightly as possible to stop them from slipping and began to creep down the hallway and stairs. If he was distracted and if I was careful enough, I could get past him and from there I would be home free.

He was in the kitchen facing away from me, messing with something by the stove, the smell of coffee, bacon, and toast made my stomach growl, my own body giving my position away.

My mind ran through every curse word I knew, none of them strong enough for the situation.

Rhys had at least thrown on pants but neglected to put on a shirt. Tattoos that I had somehow forgotten about flowed up and over his shoulders. Delicate red lines crisscrossed his back, the spacing exactly matching my fingers.

I fucking scratched him. 

What the fuck is wrong with me.

 I need to get out of here now.

I started to turn towards the living room, hoping there was still a chance to make a clean getaway when his voice washed over me.

“I’m not who you think I am, Feyre.”

It sounded tired, exhausted, world-weary. Like he had seen too much and never got the rest he deserved.

I turned back to him, analyzing his posture. He stayed facing away from me, hands braced on the counter, head bowed as if a great weight rested on his shoulders. Like a fallen angel that you saw painted on church ceilings.

“What do you know about me?” he continued.

I hesitated, caught between wanting to know what he meant and getting out of there. Curiosity took over, driving my feet forward to the kitchen.

“Rhysand Noc. Thirty-two. Head of the Veritas Crime Syndicate. Street name: Lord of the Night.” I had repeated this information every time at countless briefings, his profile was burned into my memory. His frustratingly blank profile.

“Your second in command is Amren Monsea, followed by Morrigan Solis. Cassian Noc and Azriel Noc are your adopted brothers, they train your men and generally do your dirty work.” And that was the end of what I knew, it was impossible to get information out of anyone, what they had came to them by common knowledge and pure luck. His men were ridiculously tight-lipped and loyal, making us ask what the fuck they were so loyal to.

“And why do you think I’m a criminal? Why do you think I do what I do?”

The words were hard to admit, “I don’t know.”

He released a sigh of his own, finally turning towards me. I forced my eyes to stay on his face, trying to read the emotions in it and not get distracted by how the tattoos continued down his chest. I knew I would never be able to get them out of my head until I painted or at least sketched them. Another piece of cannon fodder for Lucien.

“All of that is right, except that Amren and Mor are family too, Cas and Az are the only on paper ones.”

“Oh,” was all I could say. He handed me a cup of coffee and gestured to the cream and sugar that was on the counter next to me. Once I had fixed it to my liking, I took a seat at one of the barstools by the sink, putting a counter between us. It was easier to distance myself from him so that I wouldn’t get too caught up in his story.

“I’m not from Velaris, if my accent wasn’t any indication. Me and my family come from a small country across the world,” then quietly, “it doesn’t exist anymore.

“My parents were very private people, wealthy enough that my brothers and I never had to worry about anything. Mor is my cousin on my fathers’ side, Amren is some distant aunt but she’s always been around. Every childhood has its problems, but for the most part, I was happy. We were all… happy.” The sadness in his voice twisted my heart, making me dread what was coming next.

“It all started out very small, random attacks in towns on the border. We knew we were surrounded by warring countries, but they rarely bothered us. But then people started getting sick, a disease that none of our doctors had ever heard of. It killed so many so fast, our government worked to keep it from the outside world, afraid that the other countries would take advantage of our weakness but also afraid of it spreading across the globe. Through harsh military force, we sealed our borders and tried to let the disease run its course.

“Our researchers did their best to find a cure or vaccine, but it was just too devastating of a disease.”

A deep breath racked his chest.

“One night, my parents rushed into my room, demanding me to pack only the necessities. My mother went to my brothers’ rooms, asking the same of them. My father stayed behind, and as he helped me pack, he explained what was really going on in the country.

“Even though he was not involved in politics, he had several friends that were. They were all saying that the attacks were not random and that the disease was a bioweapon. A high ranking official named Amarantha from a warring country had set her sights on ours.

“She was determined to bring us to our knees and then annex our country into hers. It was some bullshit vendetta passed down in her family. She was cutthroat, bloodthirsty, driven almost to madness by her mission. She staged a coup within our government so that she could easily swoop in to take over.

“It was that night that the coup was happening, there was bloodshed in the streets and fires breaking out, it was chaos. My father said that Amren was taking me, my brothers and Mor out of the country, to somewhere safe. I didn’t understand why he and my mother weren’t coming with us, I still don’t to this day.

“The last time I saw them was through a darkened car window as we drove toward the border, away from my collapsing country. I was 15.”

Tears burned in the back of my eyes, but I was determined to not let them fall. His tragic backstory did not absolve him of the crimes that he committed in my city.

The story wasn’t over yet. “Somehow, Amarantha managed to keep the whole ordeal quiet to the world news, only a few statements saying that they had peacefully absorbed my country into hers due to unstable economic conditions. Everyone forgot about it and moved onto the next piece of gossip.

“Me and my surviving family never forgot. Mor’s parents and mine managed to transfer the majority of their wealth to outside shell companies so that we would be able to continue to live in ease. Amren had all of our names legally changed so that no one would come hunting us from escaping Amarantha’s wrath. That’s why you can’t find any official records on us, they’re either all buried back in my home country or you don’t know the name that you’re looking for.”

A twinge of frustration plucked at my nerves, of course a crime boss wouldn’t use their real name.

“This still doesn’t explain why you’ve been kidnapping people and raiding warehouses,” I accused, trying to stay in my detective mindset.

“A year ago, I got word that she was in Velaris, that she had set her sights on taking this city and then the country. That’s when my family and I decided that we would come here and fight back. We knew that the police and government wouldn’t believe a small group of rich people, especially when they came out of nowhere from a country that no longer exists. History had forgotten us, but we haven’t forgotten what she did.

“Our money made it easy to establish a foothold in the underworld and gain supply lines there. We want to try and avoid all-out bloodshed but we’re preparing for the worst. The people that we have taken are researchers in immunology, disease control, and drug development, all top in their field. They are being cared for in a safe facility, they aren’t too happy about it but some of them were quite excited by the challenge of a new disease.” A small chuckle broke through his serious demeanor. “We have them trying to find a cure and/or a vaccine but it’s slow going right now.”

“The warehouses we were raiding was us looking for any supplies we thought she was shipping in for preparation. We did manage to find some crates of weapons but nothing that indicated she was preparing for a bioattack, and that’s somehow more troubling.

“The past few months you’ve been after us have made it hard to move around, so I’ll give you that. You’re a good detective by the way.”

“Thanks, but it seems I’ve somehow been doing a shitty job of it.”

“Don’t get yourself too down, you were good enough to get the whole story in the past few minutes, I’d say that’s pretty impressive.”

“Yeah by showing up bloody and then sleeping with you,” I blurted. Whoops.

He flushed at the reminder, looking away. “Well I hope it wasn’t completely insufferable for you to do your civic duty then,” he muttered, almost sounding upset at the thought that he got used for information.

Fuck, “It was far from the worst night of my life, I’ll give you that,” I admitted. His earnest retelling somehow made me too honest for my own liking. I needed to get out of his radius before I did something stupid again.

He gave a faint smile at my statement, looking slightly redeemed.

“Anytime, darling,” he teased, trying to shake off the awkward silence that was settling around us like a heavy blanket.

I let out a small, exasperated sigh at the nickname, looks like it wasn’t going away anytime soon. I stayed silent, absorbing the new information while he turned back to the stove, putting on more bacon to fry.

I wasn’t about to stick around to have morning after breakfast with my enemy who was maybe no longer my enemy, I’ll have to figure that out soon before it drove me insane.

Spotting my pants draped over the coffee table (ugh), I padded over to pick them up in which revealed my bra (shit) and then, in turn, revealed my phone (fuck). It thankfully still had some battery in it, the screen flashing with 12 text messages and 3 missed calls from Lucien.

Running late today, huh?

Captain’s not here yet so you might get away with it.

Never mind he just showed up.

Hey if you’re getting coffee, grab me a white mocha?

Feyre? You ok?

Missed call.

Are you sick today? I know you stayed late at the office.

The desk sergeant said you only an hour after me, where did you go?

Missed call.

Oooooo captain is getting angry, hurry your ass up, I don’t want to deal with him.

Seriously tho, where did you go last night?

Oh some hot date you want to surprise me with?

Missed call.

If you don’t call me back in the next 10 minutes, I’m putting an APB out on you.

That last one was from 9 minutes ago. I pressed the call button, he answered on the second ring.

“There you are! Where the fuck are you?”

“Hey Luc, it’s been a rough night. I’ll explain to you when I get to the precinct.”

“Uh-huh, ok, well you don’t have to tell me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll be there in less than an hour, I need to go home, shower and change.”

“So you DID have a hot date last night, knew it.”

I cringed, looking over to where Rhys was trying very hard to look like he was not listening.

“Something like that, look I gotta go, I’ll deal with the captain when I get back.”

“Whatever you say, see you soon.”

He ended the call and the screen went black, there went the rest of the battery.

“I need to leave.”

“Ok, you can borrow the shirt, unless you want to take the subway in the bloody one,” he teased.

I narrowed my eyes at him, not really in the mood to be poked at when I was already in so much trouble.

“Sure, thank you.”

I gathered up my belongings to go change. When I came back down, he had wrapped some bacon and toast in foil so I can eat it along the way. Considerate motherfucker.

“So, are you going to help me?”

I paused, shocked at his question.

“What,” I whispered.

“Are you going to help me stop Amarantha?”

I took him in, looking for any hint of anything other the sincerity, and found none. Every logical part of my brain said no, to not believe what he had told me and to haul him in over the confession. He had given me enough to hold him on until I had a warrant to search his place. I know that some of those guns on the wall weren’t legal in Prythian.

But I couldn’t say no. The threat of her was too great, even if he was making it all up. If I stayed close to him, I could gather evidence to arrest him if he was lying. I was smart enough to stay safe, as long as I didn’t get drunk and sleep with him again.

“Yes. I’ll help you take down Amarantha.”

Next Chapter

[morphituu]

Milagro

Chapter 3: “MTF”

Ch: 1 - 2  

“There- right there,” she gasped, her head thrown back and jaw dropped in bliss. Her fingers dug into the wall and eyes fluttered, the heel of Nick’s palm pressing tight circles against the small of her back where it had caused the most misery. He steadied her as she swayed, almost delirious to have the tight knot in her muscles worked loose after weeks of achy days at work alongside bad chairs that only made it worse, even with the small support pillow she’d bought to try and alleviate the discomfort.

“Fuck,” she drawled, and he patted her side, snorting when she faced him with heavy eyes and a loose grin.

“Feel that good?” he asked.

“You have no idea how sore it’s been,” She leaned back into her hands, her stomach poking farther out as the ease in her spine returned. “Now that I can’t, all I wanna do is sleep on my stomach,”

“Maybe a heating pad would help?” he suggested.

“Or you could keep giving me back rubs,” she smiled, her bottom lip between her teeth and walking into his chest until her chin rested against his collar. Callie didn’t loosen her hold around his waist until he agreed, nuzzling her face against his neck as he pressed wandering kisses into her jaw.

Before he could get carried away, he unwound from her, more notably removing his hands from her ass. “Okay I gotta go,” he kissed into her cheek, even leaning down to place one on the top of her stomach.

“Text me when you’re off- I might still be at Rosie’s.” she called as he walked towards the door, and he waved, bothering Pucca who had been sprawled across the couch before leaving.

Callie exhaled, looking around at the few things that needed to be done before leaving, scratching her growing stomach like an animal. Need more cocoa butter.

↠

His fingers flipped through the paperwork as he ambled towards the back of the station, his Clubmasters pushed up and the last few bites of a concha between his jaws. His new stack of Miranda Warnings, a new citation book, the daily roster of criminal suspects that they were to keep an eye out for- nothing exciting. Looked to be another uneventful day ahead of him.

“Jakoby!”

Nick startled, turning to find Ward stomping down the hallway furiously, pushing through other officers.

“Wha?” he asked, the concha still in his mouth and hairless brows tightening.

“The fuck have you been?” Daryl hissed, pulling Nick back down the hall, his papers and bag nearly falling from his arms.

“Daryl what’the fu-”

“Kandomere’s been here an hour grillin’ me and you haven’t been answering your phone!”

“It didn’t ring-” but he was already pulled into an office, his neutral mood immediately plunging as soon as he laid golden eyes on the blue-haired elf perched neatly at the edge of the table, turning his cold gaze on the officers.

“Orc,” Kandomere greeted.

Here we fucking go. “Elf,” Nick replied just as snobbily, setting his papers down and sitting beside Ward.

“We’ve been trying to reach you all morning,” the elf explained, fixing his baroque waistcoat, marred with golden swirls embroidered into royal blue, silky fabric, a shining chain hanging from the pocket that matched the dazzling breastplate most elves brandished.

“Didn’t get any calls,” Nick replied coolly.

“Would you like me to show you the call logs?”

“Here,” Nick took out his phone, sliding it across the tables surface. “See for yourself. Oh but wait- you already have everything tapped! How could I forget,” the Orc grinned.

“A small price to pay for your freedom,” Kandomere replied matter of factly, his eyes on the folders he was pulling from his equally elegant leather portfolio briefcase.

“Can we just get this over with?” Ward interjected, and Nick crossed his brawny arms.

New statements and briefings- page after page of incident descriptions were handed out; encounters with possible Bright’s, and always the same questions: any sightings, any signs, anything suspicious around their homes. Always the same questions with the same answers.

Call logs were always laid out, and Kandomere could never seem to wrap his head around believing them when they’d explain spam calls were a far more common thing than ringing up an old Bright friend they’d had no contact with in years.

After the small stacks of papers had been skimmed, photos were distributed; a large stack that made up what Tikka could’ve looked like, or how she could be disguised. There was always that one to reference her, not that Nick or Daryl needed it. The events of that night would always be branded into their minds.

Newest photos were always at the top, and new ones hadn’t been added in months, but Nick stopped on one before he could toss it aside with the others. The elf wasn’t even showing her face, and her hair was very long, however it was the shape of her mostly concealed profile that halted him. Small chin, but sharp jaw. He acutely studied it, even tilting the image, willing the girl in the photo to turn.

“Something ring a bell?” Ward asked, looking over.

Nick winced, still moving the photo around under the light like it would change the angle. “Hair is too long,”

“Need I remind you it was 4 years ago you saw her,” Kandomere pointed out.

“No, you needn't remind me,” Nick mimicked. “Where was this one taken?”

The Elf overlooked his papers. “Dana Point, 2 days ago,”

It had been years they endured these weekly visits, even after formally agreeing they’d go on with their lives like nothing had happened. But if there was one thing the MTF was known for, it was twisting arms to get the information they wanted, which included written agreements evaporating into thin air like they’d never been interrogated into signing. It had also been long enough that Nick had figured there’d never be anything about Tikka to ever show up in these meetings again. But now, here Nick was, questioning the clarity of his own eyesight as he stared down at this strangely familiar portion of a face.

Nick placed it down apart from the others. “This one’s a maybe,”

“For real?” Ward exclaimed, snatching it before Kandomere could.

“What do you say?” Nick asked him.

“Dunno. She was always cowering and hunched over but this girls all straight and normal,” he sighed, placing the photo down.

“There’s been no other sightings like this one?” Nick asked, a little more invested than before.

“No,” Kandomere dropped the folder onto the table bitterly. “That individual slipped under the radar,”

Nick thought back, shuffling through the papers to locate the briefing from the week prior. “Is this after the sightings in San Diego?”

Kandomere nodded, watching Nick flip the found paper back and forth, skimming it for anything he could’ve missed in his boredom.

“Okay assuming it’s her- why would she come back? LA is MTF’s headquarters,” Ward asked, leaning forward.

“Don’t you think I’ve asked Shield of Light that same question?” Kandomere angrily bit back, and the officers rolled their eyes. Back to dead ends. “Lest you not forget to not interact if you see her-”

“And not apprehend.” Nick and Ward said in unison, only stirring Kandomere’s annoyance further.

“We’re done.” Kandomere turned as he spoke, and the men rose, no goodbyes or handshakes before they departed.

The two walked in silence, always left with a bad taste in their mouths after meetings like those. Ward would never say it aloud, but Nick suspected he was impacted differently from Tikka. Though Nick had had a close brush with death, Ward had come face to face with accepting he was a Bright; a responsibility that weighed heavily on his mind and filled him with fear. Harnessing something so powerful, even briefly, had been a branding experience. He’d sometimes look at himself in the mirror, searching for anything he’d missed over the years that could’ve given any indication to being such a powerful individual, and it sometimes left him unsure of who he really was.

“That was fuckin’ weird,” Daryl mumbled as they made it to the locker rooms.

“What’s weird would be Tikka coming back,” Nick said just as lowly, moving to his locker.

“Maybe she wants to catch up around some drinks,”

Nick glared flatly, pulling the lock off and stuffing his belongings away for the day.

“Would you call them? If you saw her?”

He studied that question, a few scenarios flying before his eyes in rapid succession before finally shrugging, then nodding.

“Seriously?”

“She brought a storm with her last time. I can’t have that shit around Callie and the baby,” he explained, a little upset over the confusing emotions of betraying a friend he’d once been ready to throw his own life over to keep safe, but his priorities had changed drastically in the years. He’d gone from have nothing to lose, to everything. “What if Sophia was around when you saw her?”

“Nah man, I get it. Kids change shit.” Ward nodded, buttoning his uniform.

Nick finished dressing, his belt the last item to wind around his hips and everything shoved into the utility pockets before he stopped to fix the photos on the inside of his locker. The 12 week ultrasound was beside his and Callie’s photo booth strip, and below that a few shots of them together over the years, even one of Pucca when she’d dug up his garden for the first time.

They both turned when Sergey came rushing through the locker room, ignoring protests from defensive officers that were merely offended by his proximity as he fumbled to open his locker.

Nick’s nose scrunched, the pungent scent pushing a low chuff from him. “At it with Dura again?”

Sergey exhaled, eyes closing as his forehead hit the locker. “Ukhe'uk uko viciouuk nalkruska ukhe'uk shal heaav,”

“No shit?” Nick laughed, Ward looking on curiously, a brow cocked.

The rookie pulled up the back of his shirt with a long groan to reveal the deep crescent marks adorning his skin, and the deeper scratches moving up his spine and arms, some of them covered with bandages.

“Jesus,” Ward looked on in horror beside a cringing Nick, connecting the dots. “You do that to Callie?” he asked him, nudging his shoulder.

“She likes to be roughed up a bit,” Nick smirked, causing Ward to blow air between his lips.

“Y’all are too much.”

Nick bumped Sergey’s arm, leaning in to say lowly, “Fold lav-li shal gism agh ukhe'll calm poshat.”

“Fold her!?” Sergey exclaimed, his eyes wide.

Ward looked back as he was leaving the locker room, concern written across his features.

↠

The door opened, and Rosie smiled as soon as Callie did. “Heeeeey!”

The sisters hugged, arching over Callie’s stomach. “And how’s my little niece doing? Is she doing good?” Rosie cooed to her belly, her hands being slapped away.

“Why is everyone so convinced it’s a girl?” Callie mumbled in question, walking into Rosie’s home before kicking off her shoes by the door.

“I’ve never been wrong, where’s Nick?”

“Working. Where are my babies?” she asked, looking around and leaning back into one hand as the other fanned her face.

Rosie glanced back outside, and when she found no truck, she spun. “Callie! Did you take the bus?”

“It’s fine, people are a lot nicer when they don’t know you’re carrying an Orc’s baby,” she winked, even though Rosie was in a state of disbelief. “Ninos!” she exclaimed, arms throwing open when Dyani and Joaquin spotted her from upstairs and came bolting down into her embrace.

She showered them with kisses and soft words, slipping pica fresas into their waiting palms before they tried to pull her back towards their rooms.

“Gonna get them all wired and then leave me with them?” her sister said bitterly, moving to the living room.

“Ah you’ll do the same with mine when it’s old enough.”

“C’mon, you’re not gonna be able to last,” Rosie pushed, a wide smile across her devious face.

“I want it to be a surprise!” Callie defended, holding Dyani’s foot steady as she painted her tiny toenails, the narrow, blue eyed girl looking on in amazement how her aunt did it so meticulously.

“And at that moment, you’ll look down at it’s little face and say oh, I guess I did want the other one,”

“You’re awful,” she laughed, setting one foot down and picking up the other to balance on her round stomach.

“I wanna throw a baby shower for you. I’ll pay for a goddamn ultrasound if I can just know the theme!”

“Unisex showers exist,” Callie battled, flashing a stubborn glance in her sisters direction.

“What about a gender reveal?” There was a glimmer in Rosie’s eyes when she tried that one, but Callie still shook her head.

“Nope. You can’t crack me, it’s useless,”

“Agh, okay pues,” Rosie gave up, sitting back in her couch and her fingers tapping against her Corona as she watched Callie paint on the glittery blue polish. “Trish offered to help with it,”

Callie snorted. “She wants an excuse to hang around and gossip. She’s become Tia Laydee, two different baby daddies and all,”

“That’s a steep accusation,”

“It’s true and you know it,” she paused to let Dyani’s foot go, telling her to keep her feet up as she spun in her spot and snuggled up beside Callie with her tablet in hand. “I told her to leave me alone and she went and started kicking up shit just to be petty. You notice that whenever she wants to reconcile it’s always passed along through you or mom? She’s never called or texted me. She’s two faced,”

Rosie nodded stiffly, knowing she was speaking truthfully on the matter. At least I tried, Rosie thought to herself, but knew there would be nothing more to argue. She wouldn’t want unnecessary drama in her life either, especially if she were back in the position of a first time mom.

“Feel any kicks yet?” she asked instead, drumming her fingertips against Callie’s stomach.

Callie shook her head, the corner of her mouth pulled in. “Sometimes I think I do,”

“You’ll know when it happens,”

Callie’s hands rounded her stomach, and she looked outward, her head a little loose atop her shoulders and her thumbs rubbing slowly over herself.

“Hey,” Rosie poked her arm. “Que paso?”

A shrug, but her shoulders remained in. “What if it never starts kicking?”

“Don’t,” Rosie held up a finger, halting the intruding thoughts. “Don’t go there. You’ll drown yourself before there’s even a hint of a possibility of that happening,”

“I’ve already lost-”

“Before you finished your first trimester. You’re not in pain, your scans are clear, and nothing is wrong so there’s no reason to believe something like that would happen. You’re what, 16 weeks now? You’ve officially left that place and now you’re here. You’re gonna make it this time,” Rosie comforted, smoothing her hand along Callie’s hair as she looked on with a weak smile, her eyes glossy.

Her leg was bouncing, her eyes a swarm of unsaid worries, but the longer Rosie’s words settled into her mind, the more she calmed. Rosie knew to an extent what she felt- to have your own creation ripped from your arms, and then to go on with that as a scar seen across your own body no one else could, but she still wished there was something she could offer to ease her, though she knew there would be nothing definite until Callie could hold her baby in her arms.

“How’d you and Nick manage to pull it off?” she asked, veering away from that dark corner. “Was it the fertility treatments?”

“No, not this time. I mean it technically worked the last time, but the shots and mood swings and everything- I couldn’t do it again. Sex became like a chore after having to do it on a schedule around the clock,” Callie explained, speaking from the corner of her mouth when Dyani looked at her mom curiously, the mention of a very taboo word sparking her interest.

“You,” Rosie snapped her fingers, pointing towards the back room Joaquin was in. “Ve con tu hermano,”

“Maaa!” Dyani griped, her curls framing her thin face as she leaned forward to look past her aunt.

“Now, mija.” Rosie asserted, her expression set in stone as her daughter stood, and trudged slowly to the back room stock full of games and another TV they had all their consoles hooked up to. She looked back to Callie in hopes her aunt would save her, but she hid her smile behind her fingers and suppressed a giggle when Dyani’s head poked out from behind the wall, only to be snapped at by her mother until she settled into the room with a loud, exasperated groan.

“Nick went back to using his nose to track my cycles,”

She saw it take a few times over in her head for it to register, but not make any more sense. “What?”

“He can smell when I’m about to start my period and he goes into heat around those times so it was just about waiting,” Callie explained. She’d never said this out loud to anyone, not even her friends that she kept up with, so it left her feeling a little… embarrassed. She’d gotten used to these little Orc things, but to others, it was all new and admittedly, probably, very strange.

Rosie’s mouth was pursed into an ‘o’ as her words turned in her head, her eyes moving around. “So you had sex on your period?” she asked lowly.

“Before, like right before. A little during… yeah, we did but it worked!” Callie exclaimed with a reserved smile.

“And that kept you from miscarrying again?” Rosie asked, sitting deeper into her seat.

“Oh!” I thought she meant… ”I don’t know actually. Nick says 3rd times the charm but I think it has to do with the Orkish prenatals my doctor prescribed,”

“Oh yeah? Stronger dose?”

Callie nodded eagerly. “My nails and hair are growing so fast now it’s stupid,” she mumbled, curling her fingers to look at her nails.

“Yeah I was gonna say, you didn’t have all this the last time I saw you,” Rosie chuckled, lifting a few locks of hair off of Callie’s shoulder. “Little girl is gonna have so much hair,” she added, her face tightening in tenderness.

Callie rolled her eyes. “I’m just gonna go ahead and assume it’s a girl since everyone thinks it is,”

“I’ve never been wrong. Guessed all four of mine and got Santi’s, too,” Rosie boasted, earning a light shove from her sister. “Have any names picked out?”

“Nick mentioned Leonardo last week and I haven’t been able to get away from it since,” Callie said softly, her bottom lip between her teeth in a smile as the name brought forth warmth.

“A little Leo,” Rosie pouted. “Too bad it’s gonna be a girl,”

Callie snorted. “Veronika or Camilla than. Maybe Renata,”

“Nice long names that’ll be a bitch to spell in kindergarten,”

“Fuck you.” Callie laughed, throwing a stuffed animal as Rosie guarded her Corona.

↠

Just walk in when you get here chato

Nick chuffed, replying to the message sourly: Stop calling me that, brat

But he followed Callie’s instructions after parking the truck in Rosie’s driveway, and let himself into the tall two story house. No one to be seen in the foyer, and from what he could see around the corner, there wasn’t anyone sitting on the couch before the large wall mounted TV, either.

“Uncle Nick!”

He pulled his head back, finding Dyani bounding towards him from down the hall that leads to the other rooms of the house, her dark curls bouncing around her face.

“Ahh there’s my girl,” he grinned, leaning down to hug her tightly and place a few kisses on her head as she embraced his waist. “Where’s your Tia?”

“Drinking with mama,” she sang, her wide grin narrowing her already fox like eyes.

Nick’s ears flicked. “Drinking?”

“It’s iced tea, you little liar!” he heard Callie call from the back of the house, and frowned down at Dyani playfully as she looked up at him with big, guilty, blue eyes.

“Can I play the plant game on your phone?” she asked innocently, and he narrowed his eyes at her with a low ‘hmm’ before handing the phone over, watching her bound away in the direction he was headed.

He found his lover in the same guest room they’d spent a few days in a couple years back when Rosie and Daryl had gone on a trip, leaving Dyani and Joaquin in their care for an extended weekend. Nick withheld a chuckle, wondering if Rosie would ever know that he had Callie pinned to that very wall she had hung a few family photos on.

Callie was rested in the lush chair beside the spare bed, her feet propped up on a stool with pillows under her elbows and a mug of tea balanced on her round stomach, beaming at him warmly.

“That’s a Kodak moment,” he grinned.

“Look at all the maternity clothes Rosie still has!” she piped excitedly, pointing to her sister who was half in the closet and throwing bags around.

“Yeah now you don’t have to pay an arm and a leg at the mall,” she huffed, stacking another two pairs of elastic banded shorts onto the already tall pile atop the bed.

“That expensive?” he asked, leaning his knee against the bed as he looked over the piles of jeans and shorts and shirts.

“About 60 bucks a piece,”

“What- why!?” he shouted, holding up a pair, trying to justify why they’d be so heinously priced.

“That’s why I’ve been doing the hair-tie trick all this time,” Callie mentioned.

“Why didn’t you sell any of this?” Nick asked. “Could’ve made a fortune,”

“Cause I knew you’d have a baby one day,” Rosie said softly, looking at Callie in the same manner.

“Now I can buy that stroller set,” Callie realized, and Nick looked at her enthusiastically.

“You wanna?” It was the first time she’d been the one to approach buying anything baby related, and it made his heart thunder with excitement.

She nodded, hiding her smile behind her mug and toes curling as he walked towards her and leaned obro his hands against the armrests to kiss her a few long times, but only until Rosie cleared her throat loudly.

“Excuse me, I don’t like being the third wheel in my own home,” she smiled sarcastically.

“Let’s go get it tonight,” Nick offered, catching Callie off guard.

“I don’t have the money to right now,”

“I’m gonna buy it,” he corrected, as if she should’ve known that already.

“You?”

“Yeah, me. That’s my baby,”

“That’s in my stomach,”

“That I stuck in you and is my job to carry around-”

“Oh God, both of you stop and just go buy the stroller,” Rosie demanded, having finished bagging the last of the clothes up and grabbing the pair still in Nick’s hands.

“Excuse me you had no place butting in,” Callie grinned smugly.

“Don’t make me punch you in the stomach.” Rosie fired back, and Callie’s jaw dropped as Nick scoffed loudly.

Their visit dragged on, partly due to Dyani asking Nick to help her with her homework when Rosie caught her on his phone. It wasn’t often that kids had Orkish uncles at their disposal when taking Orkish language courses, so he sat with her at the small desk in her room, walking her through pronunciation and sentence structures, impressed with how quickly she was picking up a third language.

It also gave Callie the chance to help Rosie set up dinner in the meantime, a quiet Joaquin stepping in to follow his mother around as they threw something together. Daryl arrived soon after, but was greeted by a smack to the back of his head instead of a kiss from his wife when he came in with a cigarette between his lips and motor oil coating his hands and boots. Not only was there no smoking allowed inside, or around the kids, but around his pregnant cuñada, no less. He quickly extinguished it, giving a low and bashful ‘sorry’ to Callie before a quick kiss on the cheek, then a hesitant one to Rosie who’s killer gaze could’ve ended his life there at that moment.

By then, Nick and Callie stayed for dinner, all of them huddled around the long table and chatting with one another, mostly about Rosie and Nick’s day to day bullshit on calls and Daryl’s dilemmas with people who didn’t know anything about car maintenance.

By the time they were leaving, a deal had been struck up between the men that if Daryl changed the oil to Nick’s Dodge, he’d plant the ridiculous amount of flowers and shrubbery Rosie had insisted on adding to their jungle of a backyard.

With goodbye hugs and kisses to the kids, they left with bags full of clothes and a few containers of leftovers, a pep in Nick’s step as he rounded the truck to help her in.

“You’re awfully chipper,” she grunted, struggling into the truck.

“I have an idea in mind,”

“Which is?” she asked, but he closed the door and made his way around to the drivers side, throwing the bags in the back. “Hello?” she giggled.

“You’ll see,” he turned the ignition.

“Oh c’mon,”

He shrugged. “It’s just-”

Nick’s phone buzzed loudly against the center console, and a quick glimpse at the screen had him exhaling, already annoyed immensely. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me- hello?”

“Orc, get here now,” Kandomere greeted, just as cheerily as Nick had.

“I’m kind of busy-”

“Now.” The line went dead, and Nick looked at the screen, struggling to stifle the stream of curses that fought past his clenched jaw.

“Duty calls?” she asked, leaning on an elbow in his direction.

“Shouldn’t take that long if you wanna come with. We can still go afterwards,” he tried, hope curving his hairless brows up.

“Determined to get that stroller, huh?”

His finger pointed to the door lock in a jabbing motion once he’d closed the drivers door, and she pressed the button diligently, her feet lifting to sit indian style in the seat as the music volume increased inside the truck.

Antagonism radiated off of Nick as he stomped hotly to the station, a deeper glare on his face than usual. Small greetings were brushed off quickly in his haste to make it through the winding halls of the station, the door bouncing off the wall when it swung open to the room Kandomere was already in, Ward sat before him in a chair.

Nick stopped his rampage. He could feel the tension in the room before he’d even need to scent it. He was quieter in closing the door behind him, and there was neither hateful glares or bitter remarks between the Orc and Elf. Something was wrong.

Kandomere gestured towards the seat beside Ward, and before Nick sat, the photo of Tikka in his hands stopped his heart. It was entirely, definitely her. Longer hair, sharper clothing, but there was no mistaking that face.

“Holy shit,” Nick mumbled, observing better once it was handed to him. “Where?”

“LA, 2 hours ago,” Kandomere handed out more, a brief encounter showing her moving through a crowd of people before melting into the background again.

“Why didn’t you grab her?” Ward asked.

“There’s a system in place for identifying people. We can’t just grab anyone off the streets,” he pinched the bridge of his nose as he exhaled that, barely getting it out through his clenched jaw.

“You really needed to confirm this?” Nick asked with raised brows, a disbelieving grin on his face.

“Orc-”

“Nick. My name is Nick,” he interjected, golden eyes unwavering against Kandomere’s icy blues. He tugged the ends of his waistcoat stiffly, fixing his posture.

“There’s also been spikes in wand activity,” he grabbed another chart, tossing it onto the table. “There were sporadic signals around these towns, but since then there’s been another source setting off the detectors,”

“Two… two wands?” Ward yelled.

“What would she need two wands for?” Nick asked below his breath, overlooking the multiple blips that had been recorded.

“She was raised Inferni,” Kandomere reiterated.

“And then she helped kill her own sister. Why would she revert back?” Ward questioned, but none of them had answers, only assumptions.

“Ideals change. Something could’ve spooked her- anything. Bright’s are unpredictable,” Kandomere listed, unsatisfied with his own justifications. He watched the officers exchange looks, and straightened his collar. “You two are going to be tailed for the time being,”

That caught both of their attentions, their heads snapping in his direction.

“Until she’s apprehended I can’t risk you two running off-”

“You think we wanna get caught up in that shit again? Risk my daughter? He’s got a baby on the way, we don’t need this shit! We ain’t got nothin’ to do with it this time!” Ward hollered, standing fast enough that his chair fell back behind him.

Kandomere only organized the scattered papers, biting back harsh words, and instead gritting through dazzling fangs, “You won’t even know they’re there.”

Nick only scoffed, pulling his hands down his face. This is just fucking great.

“Don’t approach-”

“We fucking know!” Ward forced out as calmly as he could, though Nick could see the red burning in his eyes and that vein bulging on his forehead. The men rose, uncaring enough to push in their chairs or even bother closing the door behind them as they left.

Kandomere exhaled, eyes still trained on the open door as he calmly stacked the papers and photos, his tired eyes eventually moving away.

Nick and Ward both seemed to have the same general idea, for in unison they headed for the morning briefing room where no one would be. It was dark, the chairs placed upon the tables, the smallest bit of light coming in from the hallway. The perfect place for the men to let go of that held breath, and circle aimlessly to collect their scattered thoughts.

“This is such bullshit,” Nick scoffed, stopping to squat down with his hands on his head.

“Why the fuck does he assume she’d come scopin’ us out? If she’s stirrin’ up dark magic how are we gonna help?” Ward questioned, out loud, but he was facing a wall, trying to push the confusion out in hopes it would stifle the anger.

Nick shook his head, staring at the cold floor. “Callie’s gonna leave me this time,”

Ward spun, dark brows knit together. “Say what?”

“I keep getting her involved in horrific shit, but this time? If she finds out? She’ll leave. If I even mention a little of what’s happening she’s gonna freak and wanna protect that baby even if it means leaving me,”

“No she won’t,” Ward argued, but Nick stood, his body looking like it was on the verge of caving in on itself.

“I dunno- maybe it’d be best to send her away ‘til this blew over,”

Ward stepped in front of him, his head following his until Nick kept eye contact and accepted that ‘you sound like a fucking dumbass’ look. “Yeah, you do that. Sending your pregnant lady off for some unknown amount of time is the best way to start a family,”

The Orc exhaled, nodding, turning away with that idea obliterated.

“Just keep it cool. Don’t say anything until you have to,” Ward advised. Nick wondered then if he’d ever match that degree of level-headedness, but figured it had taken years upon years to even get there. Nick still had some time.

“Sherri know?”

Ward smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, she’d leave my ass too,”

A beat of silence, and then they chuckled, both in the same goddamn boat.

“Callie’s waiting,” Nick intoned, his mood a little less miserable.

“Yeah I gotta get goin’. Keep your eyes peeled, Fogteeth.” Ward cautioned, bumping forearms with Nick in classic Orkish style. They parted ways in the hall, Daryl moving onto work and Nick heading for the front, returning quick hello’s and nods a little kinder this time around.

Outside, his eyes immediately scanned the night for anything out of place, but couldn’t see anything outright, neither MTF or platinum blonde elves with glowing wands.

Callie was still curled up in the passenger seat, scrolling through her phone and taking small bites of the duritos Rosie had sent them home with.

“Oo, you look irritated,” she chewed, watching Nick climb into the car with a hard exhale.

Don’t say anything until you have to. “Some moron mixed up a bunch of intakes,” he lied, masking his nervous lip biting by turning to pull his seatbelt on. Her soft ‘ha’ calmed him, and he blew air quietly before turning to start the car.

“How d’you keep your cool working with so many idiots?”

“Same way you do working with a bunch of slackers.” He winked, apprehension draining from his jittering hands with every smooth palm of the wheel. In Callie’s hold, they stopped fidgeting altogether, even as he often glanced in the rearview mirror, keeping a watchful eye for the tail.

↠

He pulled the cart from the others, pushing it to her waiting hands so she could lean on it while they wandered. It was either this or asking Nick for a piggy-back ride; her back was in complete misery. Doctors warned that every week her center of gravity would shift, more so carrying an Orcs child, but she didn’t expect this.

“Don’t leave me alone- I’ll buy half the store,” Callie cooed, already eyeing the dollar section hungrily.

“That’s why I ask you to come with me to Home Depot everytime.” he cackled, steering the cart from behind her when he saw a familiar glint in her eyes upon scoping out the small, porcelain donkey shaped salt and pepper shakers. Callie groaned low, muttering and arguing as he did with his face pressed against her hair and directing the cart towards the back of the Target.

Of course they didn’t stay entirely on track. She finagled the cart back into her control towards the pet section, picking out, in Nick’s opinion, an extremely tacky baby pink studded collar for Pucca, but she dished out the same opinions when he plucked a bundle of onesies with poorly drawn duckies all over them from a rack.

“But look at the socks!” he argued, face twisted in affection when he held up the duck shaped booties.

In the end, both were tossed in the cart before finally heading for strollers, a few snacks also thrown in, of course.

He followed with the cart as she looked them over, critical of the brands until she stopped, and pointed to the tag.

“This is the one,” she declared, and he caught up after stopping to look at the expensive oscillator, looking it over just as critically.

“It’s all black,”

“Sleek,” she grinned, head tilted as her touch traced the soft curve of the carseat handle to the pleated canopy that folded neatly like fairy wings.

“What if it’s a girl?”

“Then we’ll cover it in pink blankets and make sure she wears shirts that say daddy’s girl,” her playful grin aided her words, and Nick flushed, his ears twitching as he cleared his throat and grabbed the large box from below to place in the barely spacey enough cart. He hushed her lowly when she elbowed his side, seeing the gooey emotions take hold of his imagination. Countless times he’d envisioned a little girl with his nose and eyes, attached at his hip during everyday errands and tasks, showing her everything and never less than nothing.

“You sure you wanna buy it?” Callie asked, following when he redirected the cart.

“Mhm.” he hummed proudly, his chest puffed. It was cute, really, Callie thought. Looking at him, she’d never peg Nick for the dad type, but he was already adapting to the role seamlessly.

The lines were long and cut into the paths of shoppers, igniting a few squabbles between people that thought it ridiculous to be stuck at a Target so late at night, but with Nick’s arms around her and hands clasped atop her stomach, leaning back against his chest meant it was easy for her to ignore that racket as they waited for their own line to progress.

“Can we have Jamba Juice for second dinner?” Callie asked, having spotted a few people carrying the cups. Saliva pooled in her mouth just thinking of the Mango-orange smoothie.

“No more cheese?” his chin moved atop her head as he spoke.

“Always, but our avocado wants a smoothie,”

Nick chuckled. “Don’t blame it on the baby,”

“It’s like you, always hungry,”

“You can’t use that anymore since you’ve started eating your weight in cheese.” An elbow in his ribs made him grunt, and effectively shut him up.

The cashiers bewildered expression when looking between Callie’s round stomach and the towering Orc beside her stirred a few low growls from Nick, but she just pulled him along once their purchase had been made, a comforting arm looping around his as they headed for the food court.

His line of sight still jumped around in the rearview mirror as he drove home, a wide hand splayed across her stomach as usual. He was to an extent relieved that she hadn’t caught onto what he felt was poorly masked distress he tried to play up as ‘stomach aches’. More like nausea, honestly.

Callie in turn held a hand over his, her thumb stroking the rough skin in hopes to somehow ease his troubles that went far beyond what he was letting on to. Even that small caress alleviated some of the unrest however, as well as keeping a safe hand over their baby.

Another glance in the rearview mirror, but he didn’t see any sign of a tail. Kandomere had been truthful.

His hand smacked Pucca’s bottom firmly, the pitbull dropping her front paws from Callie’s stomach and her ears flattening against her skull like her body did to the floor as he scolded her, tail still wagging and big eyes looking up at him.

“Nick,” Callie pouted, her heart going out to their K9 companion.

“She knows better- what if you knocked mama over?” he asked Pucca, but she was rolling onto her back, feet in the air and wiggling back and forth. “Dumb beast.” he mumbled, patting her side a few times.

Nick didn’t waste time in sitting in the middle of the living room with the box, meticulously laying out the pieces of the stroller and carseat set, and offering an upturned palm to Callie to help lower her onto the ground next to him, more of an observer as she sipped her Jamba Juice. She traded him the instruction manual for pieces again and again after she’d contributed her expertise which was clicking the carseat into the car base.

It took no time at all to finish popping the last wheel into place, and Nick stood to master folding the stroller before picking up the car seat to click it in, pulling the canopy down.

“This is surreal,” he grinned, wheeling it around the house, testing it’s turning radius and balance before taking the car seat back out to study its weight.

“Those get heavy as shit with a baby in them,”

“Weight lift with it then.” Nick lifted the car seat, flexing playfully to make her giggle.

When he suddenly grabbed the base beside her on the carpet and took with him the car seat and his keys once hung on the hook by the door, she struggled to follow him outside, finding him already half in the backseat of the truck and tugging on the seatbelt. She waited, leaning back into her hands and swaying side to side to try and alleviate the restlessness in her legs as he pulled back forcefully against the seatbelt wound into the base, finally at peace with how secure it was before clicking in the car seat, and stepping back beside her.

“That looks good,” he nodded, both of them looking at the elegant black car seat perched perfectly in the middle seat.

The corners of her mouth kicked up in a small smile. “Yeah it does,” she agreed, looping an arm around his back as he leaned over to kiss her head, his arms hung around her shoulders. It was becoming easier to imagine their lives ongoing now with a little mutt mixed in, but it was harder to imagine that one day they’d be arriving to the hospital with an empty car seat and leaving with a baby in it, coming home no longer as just a couple, but a family.

“This is what you had in mind earlier?” she asked, and he haughtily nodded.

“Now to get one of those baby wrap things. Carry it right here.” he motioned to his chest, and her heart fluttered some more. More images flittering across her eyes; a baby so small in his strong arms, cradled safely against his chest.

Her eyes welled some; god damn hormones.

It was then that Callie loosened her grip on her bubbling excitement, and let more of it consume her, allowing the daydreams and desires to occupy the darker parts of her mind that immense worry had populated.

No more of that shit. You’re staying ‘til the end, little one.

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

Ahhhhhh shiiiit it's starting There's gonna be a lot of fluff and cuteness in this sequel so if you're not about it, please step aside while i release all the pent up fluff i had in me while writing the endless smut of Bell Peppers haha. thanks for reading!🖤

Orkish translations: -Ukhe'uk uko viciouuk nalkruska ukhe'uk shal heaav: she's so vicious when she's in heat -Fold lav-li shal gism agh ukhe'll calm poshat: fold her in half and she'll calm down

Spanish translations: -ninos: kids -que paso?: what's wrong? -Ve con tu hermano: go with your brother -cuñada: sister-in-law (okay i think i got this one wrong??? i know sister in laws call each other it but my husband isn't here as i edit it so if it's wrong please forgive me🙏)