#allegiance is for sure a mixed bag of who trusts who

[hyukascampfire]

𝒯𝑂: 𝑆𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐸 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑀 𝐴 𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑀 𝐶𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐴𝑇𝐸 ༉

𝓘N THIS STORY 〃 a life lived as a human among the fae is hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.

you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.

wc ➳ 17.5k

pairings faerie!taehyun x human!reader

warnings violence (stabbing... twice..), a dead animal appears in a scene, fem reader, mentions of past family trauma, cunnilingus, overstimulation, unprotected sex

playlists ⑊ yeonjun ˒ taehyun ˒ series

…🪶 ashlynn's note y'all. Y'ALL. I have so much in store for you. I was hunched over my desk writing this like a crazed scientist mixing their chemicals.

← ⑊ →

It’s more difficult than you had anticipated to keep your mouth shut about what had happened, but Taehyun stays quiet, so you do too. You make yourself useful, packing up with him, hoping to ease the palpable tension.  

Insecurities whisper in your ears that the kiss was just… disappointing to him. It was your first kiss, anyway. The feel of his lips on yours is brutally seared into your mind. You hope your mouth harasses his mind as much as his does yours. You can’t let that fester for too long, though. You have a lot to do to become a useful spy. Your inadequacy is why you’re even here, traveling in silence next to Taehyun, heading north. You’re not sure why they decided to throw you to the wolves for your first assignment, but there has to be a reason. You can only throw yourself more fully into improving your skillset. 

You decide on trying to cut the nagging tension with words. You’ve walked for hours with it looming in the air. But, it isn’t easy. You open your mouth to speak, closing it to rethink your words, and repeat a few times, before finally just saying, “What are we going to even be doing, when we reach the north?” You readjust your bag on your shoulders, its thick straps digging into the bone of your shoulder. The bag is heavier than it was yesterday. Everything is heavier today. Maybe it’s the realization that you’re progressing toward your dream, but it’s all hazier than you imagined it would be. Or, maybe, it’s the awful cold shoulder Taehyun is throwing at you.

“Do you know much about the Unseelie queen?” He asks. 

You shake your head. You know that her kingdom is revered as the most fearsome in Faerie, and you know that they hold a special brew of distaste for humans. But, you do not know much more. Your school lessons had, for reasons you could infer, brushed over the ice kingdom only very briefly. The folk prefer that humans don’t see those sides of this world. Not for your peace of mind—but, because it keeps you complacent. It’s not like you don’t see it, anyway. You know the evils of this world well.

“You need to be careful when we get there. Things get rough for humans up there. You need to remember that you can’t trust the words that come from their mouths.” 

How long until snow powders the ground? The scenery around you has already grown wintry—trees are sparse, and foliage is hardier. It all is so much more muted. Probably not too long. 

“We’re going to be infiltrating The Queen’s Court. She’s always pledged allegiance to him, but The King wants eyes and ears in the north.”

The King thinks that she’s going behind his back? There’s more in this world that you are oblivious to than you imagined. You’ve been under the impression that the Northern Queen was starkly allegiant to The High King. It makes sense, though. There isn’t much incentive to keep humans in the know on faerie politics when you’re just here to be working bodies. “Does he have any reason to believe that?” you ask. It would be nice to have some more information. 

Taehyun explains, “The Northern Court and High Court have had a history of tension. It’s why it became a tradition to send their children to intermingle with each other’s courts. However, the Queen hasn’t upheld that tradition for at least the past hundred years.” An extra chilly breeze licks at your cheeks, and you shiver. You are definitely making progress northward. 

“So, he risks the lives of his heirs?” you ask, pursing your lips. If the northern court is supposed to be so vicious, you cannot imagine why The King would even consider it, especially if relations are supposed to be so strained.

“The Queen would not outright harm them. She values the power that his alliance gives her too much, and she would lose the war that would follow. She is the scheming type.” Taehyun tugs up the hood of his cloak to keep the wind from chapping his skin, and you do so with yours as well. “Which is why we’re going up there in the first place.” 

You acknowledge his answer with a nod. The wind whips past you, and you have to fight it to keep your eyes open. You would appreciate the accompanying snowfall if it was not blowing wildly down on you and stinging your cheeks. With a flex of your fingers, you confirm that they’re still mobile, but they’re lethargic and locked up in the cold. A powdery layer of snow builds on the ground, and you curse it for the way it has your toes freezing through even your leather boots. 

“Can,”—Your teeth chatter—“Can we get a fire going, or something?” 

You catch a glimpse of his face under his hood as he turns to you. His nose and cheeks are rosy, but it seems that the cold affects him less than it does you. The snow is high enough now that you have to drag your feet through with each forward step. Is the rest of the way going to be like this? You might freeze to death, then. 

“We’ve got a bit of time. Let’s get as far as we can, before stopping.” 

You roll your eyes. Maybe he wants you to freeze to death, and then he could be freed from any trace of what had happened last night. You bring your hands to your mouth and let out warm puffs of air as if it would thaw out your poor hands and nose. 

Your mouth struggles to even form words.“I would appreciate living to see tomorrow,” you say slowly. You still lace it with plenty of attitude.

Taehyun doesn’t respond. 

❆

Taehyun curses as visibility wanes to only a few feet. All that lays in your path is whipping snow and haze. 

Your boot catches on something beneath the snow, and you tumble. Frigid snow and ice shards greet you on the ground, biting your skin. Looking up, you find Taehyun gone. He has to be at least somewhere in the gray haze around you; it’s only been a few seconds. If you can’t find him, you’ll die here. That isn’t up for debate.

 “Taehyun?” you shout, your voice muffled and carried away by the howling wind. 

You stay where you are, but lift yourself from the ground. You can’t start wandering blindly, you’ll end up separating further from him.

He calls your name, but it’s distant. 

“Here,” you say, “I’m over here!” 

There are many ways that you do not want to die, but you especially do not want to die like this. Your throat tightens the longer he doesn’t respond. 

“Taehyun?” 

He appears through the veil of snow and haze. A cry erupts from your throat, your voice breaking with relief. He takes you by the arm and tugs you behind him wordlessly, searching for something.

“I thought I was dead,” you say to the air, but it mostly drowns you out. 

“I know.” His voice is thick. “I did too.” 

He finds whatever it is that he seems to be searching for, and you might cry as you recognize the rocky opening to be a cavemouth. You won’t be dying today, at least. 

“I’m going to start a fire,” Taehyun announces only moments after you both duck under the low cavemouth and step into the refuge of the cave walls.

“You’ll get lost.” It’s true, but you also just cannot stand the idea of sitting in this cave alone for any extended amount of time. Your hand is barely visible in front of you, and it’s only getting darker as the blizzard grows thicker outside. 

“I’ll be fine. You’re going to freeze to death without it,” he says, before he dips out, leaving you alone and shivering. He could’ve at least given you a second to protest.

You’re not usually too scared of the dark, but you do press your back to the wall, decorated with liverwort, and sit. Getting separated earlier nags at your mind. You have to remember that you aren’t safe. A line of work like this guarantees it. You could easily have become a body losing heat out in that flurry of wind and snow. You would’ve died before ever seeing the fruits of what you could make of yourself; would’ve died living an insignificant life. Some jaded part of you wonders what Taehyun might’ve felt if you had. Would he move on with this assignment without delay?

At least the wind is no longer circulating about the cave and producing the howl that has been haunting you. There are no such wintry winds to freeze up your extremities in here, but it’s still cold enough to have you shuddering and tucking your hands underneath your knees to ration your warmth. 

Will you even be able to make it all the way to the Northern Court? You imagine telling Taehyun that you can’t handle it, or that you’re going back, and you imagine the look that would fall over his face. No. You’d become a statue of ice, frozen forever at a crossroads between a meaningless life and new beginnings, before that. 

The cold beckons you to sleep, and the aching in your tired back and limbs say that sleep is a splendid idea, but you resist. You need to see him return so that you know that a fire will warm your aching bones to sleep. But you are so cold, and sleeping it away sounds so nice… 

Your eyelids are heavy, and it’s harder to keep them open than it is to just let them fall. Your veins are sluggish with the cold.

When your head drops, you’re brought back to consciousness, but it’s so, so cold when you’re awake. It’s so cold that it burns. Even your lungs are slow and weary. 

You are so cold that you can no longer shiver. 

Something is muffled and shuffling beyond your huddle, but you can’t rally the energy to worry about it. You hang suspended between dream and consciousness. You want both so badly.

Taehyun curses. “I need you to stay awake,” He says. You can only muster a nod for him. Your eyes protest as you hold them open, watching Taehyun hastily sparking up a fire. He strikes rocks against each other, growing more frustrated each time a spark doesn’t catch. When one does, the flame starts slowly on the snow-wetted wood. Your skin tingles under the warmth radiating from it. The roiling flame is intense, having been cold for so long. 

You bask in the fire’s flickering light. Movement comes easier to your limbs as you defrost. Taehyun produces a few hardy roots and skins them with a dagger that glints in the low light, then sets them to roast over the flame. 

“How did you find those?” you say. It was hard to even walk out there, and you’re sure it had gotten worse while he was out. How would he even find them under the snowpiles, unless he knew where to look?

He gives you a long look, as if considering something. “Just got lucky digging through the snow while I was looking for the wood.” 

That explanation doesn’t make sense; finding three subsurface roots underneath thick snow is different from finding hunks of wood protruding from it. It might be the truth, but you decide to ask, “Under the snow?” 

Fire crackling is the only sound to fill the silent moment as he doesn’t answer. Well, if you weren't already iffy, you are now. He watches the flames prance around for a charged moment, the reflection of it shimmering in his dark eyes. 

“I’m from the north,” he finally says. You frown. Why hadn’t he just said that in the first place? 

“Is that why your ears aren’t pointed?” you ask, sitting up a bit. He pulls the roots, lightly toasted, off the fire. 

His gaze rips away from the flame, landing on you. His eyes are a little too intense for such a simple question. “No,” he says.  His behavior tickles a curious part of you; if you’re going to be on this assignment together for so many weeks, then it’s best to get to know each other. You also have been intensely curious about his ears from the moment you noticed their curvature. It’s odd to see fundamentally human features on a faerie. 

You don’t mean to be overly invasive, though, and you feel bad for prodding so much as his face hardens. You hadn’t thought too much about why it might be a sensitive subject for him; you just wanted to satisfy your curiosity. You’re seconds from telling him that you like his ears, but he speaks before you can. 

“My mother was human,” he says, his eyes trained on the cave floor in front of him. He’s half human? That’s why he’s so averse to mentioning his ears—he’s embarrassed by his human mother. You stew over that. If he dislikes his mother for her humanity, it explains how he has acted concerning you. You pity him, though. It would be difficult to belong anywhere with that specific mix of blood: humanity fears him, and Faerie does not treat half-blooded faeries as truly its own.

“She hid herself away when she found she was pregnant, and gave birth to me where she thought she would be safest. She knew what my father would do. He found her eventually. He killed her because she was dirt on his name. He couldn’t kill me, though.” Your stomach does a sickened flip. You know that, by faerie honor, he would have to raise Taehyun.

“I’m so sorry, Taehyun,” you say. He just presses his lips thin and hands you a roasted root to eat. 

“I hated him for it more each day, so one day I took a blade to my ears and made sure I never resembled him again. At least, in that way.” Your heart lurches. The thought of him carving off the points of his ears to spite his dad… He had maimed himself, and you’ve been poking and prodding him about it. You wince.

You want to apologize again, but you have a feeling that he doesn’t want any more apologies, and you don’t know him well enough to comfort him in any meaningful way. Instead of saying something that you’re sure will ring hollow, you say, “The faerie that stole me from my parents was a seamstress. She wanted a human girl to work her shop for her, without having to pay wages like she would for a faerie. It was taxing work, even when I was this tall,”—you denote the height of a child six or seven years old with your hand—“Maybe she just didn’t know what it means to raise a human child, but she wasn’t the best replacement for parents. She knew that I needed to be fed at least regularly, and provided everything I needed for hygiene, but she didn’t know that I needed a mother. She gave me an education, and I know that humans here don’t usually get that. I’m grateful for it—I really, really am, but it’s just… The fact that it was more for her own benefit than out of the goodness of her heart…” 

Taehyun listens, his eyes reflecting the oranges and yellows of the fire. You know that you’re rambling. “Sorry. What I’m trying to say is… I guess…” You hope the yellow glow of the flames is enough to disguise your embarrassment, and also that he doesn’t think you’re trying to upstage him. You just feel wretched for putting him in a position where he had to surrender such dark memories to you.

He doesn’t say anything, taking a root from the fire for himself and biting into it. 

You bite into the fat, tuber-like root too, appreciating its nutty flavor, and you embrace the silence that grips the cave. Only the garbling of the fire speaks, but it is a comfortable quiet. 

❆

The snowstorm must’ve died down while you slept, because the snow isn’t too much higher when you and Taehyun set back out the next day. It’s a bit of a drag to fight the mountains of snow it left with each step, but you don’t complain. 

Sunlight shimmers off ice crystals and sends droplets down from snow-dusted branches and to your cheeks. Every breath into your lungs is crisp, but you have bundled yourself in the thermal clothing from the bag Taehyun had packed for you, so you’re mostly comfortable. At least your fingers and toes are mobile now. 

Taehyun says that you have less than a day until you’re there. You repeat that like a mantra in your head as your feet ache with the strain of traveling so far by foot. He hasn’t said much else since, though, and you wonder if it has anything to do with last night’s topics of choice. His shoulders are as tense as his demeanor. 

It’s getting boring walking for hours on end, and Taehyun isn’t the most talkative. The most you get for entertainment is your thoughts and watching the scenery change. So, you decide to put this time to use. You apply the silent walking technique that he had taught you despite how awfully your feet ache. It’s harder in the snow, but you’re better off knowing how to do it even in extraneous circumstances. You don’t know all that you’ll be facing in the north. Sliding your sword off your back, you realize how much it had been dragging your back down. No wonder your spine aches…. You practice swings and jabs, still sloppy with inexperience. 

Taehyun hears you, and says over his shoulder, “Don’t push yourself today. You were close to freezing to death last night, just recharge your energy.” 

Was it so bad? You know you had gotten pretty cold, but you feel fine now. “I was just exhausted, not freezing. We walked forever yesterday.” 

You continue trying to get used to the weight of a sword in your hands. 

Trees start coming fewer and farther between, and though the snow on the ground grows lower, it is crusted over in an icy layer that you have to break through with each step. Everything is sharper and more icy, less fluffy and light. Icicles drip from trees so sharp they could substitute for a weapon. You put away your sword; the ground is slick, and you’ll fall if you don’t think your steps through. You’ve got to be in the Northern Kingdom, now. 

You walk like this for a while longer, only sparse trees and shrubbery, until an estate standing tall on the snowy flat peeks through the midday haze. An ancient and gnarled blackthorn tree sits proud on the estate’s grounds. Its spiny branches, bare of any fruit or leaf, twist among themselves. They remind you of impish claws.

Taehyun is heading straight for the estate. 

“Are we about to meet somebody?” you ask, closing the distance between you with a little jog. 

He shakes his head. “It’s my father’s residence.” 

You stop, and he makes it a few steps ahead of you before he realizes. “We’re meeting your father?” you say. The thought turns your mouth to cotton. He had killed Taehyun’s human mother. Faerie hospitality doesn’t seem to mean much to him, and you don’t think he’ll like you much.

Taehyun’s brow creases. “What? No,” he says, looking back at the estate. “He’s been dead for a while.” 

You reign in the relief that you feel, but that tidbit of information renders you curious again. Faeries don’t die of old age. How had he died? Is Taehyun pleased that he’s gone?

“Oh,” you say, not pushing it. You learned that lesson yesterday. “Good, ‘cause I’m not in any shape to be meeting anybody right now.” You drag your fingers through your knotty and tousled hair to make a statement. It’s wet in some places, where snowflakes found their way to your head and melted there. You’re sure it looks even worse than it feels. “Are we staying here, then?” You could use someplace to make yourself look less like you’ve just traveled three straight days, and it’s relatively optimistic that the sizable estate ahead of you has what you might need. 

Taehyun hums in confirmation. 

You approach the heavy ironwood front doors, and you gape at the wood interior and high ceilings. Nut-hatch’s humble cottage was more than the roaming life the wilder fae prefer, but it pales next to this. Charcoal-black banners hang down from the mezzanine and are embroidered with silver into a family crest that resembles the blackthorn tree that sits on the grounds outside.  

“Who, exactly, was your father?” you ask, running fingers along the top of the dusty dining table that sits center of the estate. The sight of the empty chairs that encircle it is almost mournful.

Taehyun doesn’t answer, and when you look for him to see why, he is planted to the floor. A muscle feathers in his jaw as takes in the estate.

“He was general of The Queen’s guard. And, I guess, also a lord in her court.” There’s icy distance in his voice.

This is absolutely the estate of an esteemed general and lord if you’ve ever seen one. 

“Anywhere for me to clean up?” you ask. You don’t want to intrude on whatever he’s dealing with returning here.

He nods, pointing up to the mezzanine floor where the walls are lined with doors. “There should be some stuff left over. You can use whatever you find.” 

You follow him as he leads to a room. As you draw yourself a bath with water warmed over a fire stove, you cannot help but wonder what awful memories this place might hold for him in its ornate, wooden walls.

❆

Waking up in the warm sheets of a plush bed was a soothing balm for your aching joints and bones. Your hair is fresh and perfumed with the soaps and powdery-scented oils left over in the bathing room. You delighted in brushing out the tangles. The estate is full of pleasures that only the gentry could find mundane; you, on the other hand, are only left scheming how you might make this life your own. 

You don’t see much of Taehyun all day, until he pokes into the bedroom you’re staying in and informs you that you’re attending Court tonight, and though you’ve known for a while now, a thick ball of nerves coils up in your stomach. 

You unstring your travel bag, worrying that you’ll have to wear what you arrived here in, but Taehyun had packed accordingly. You tug out a mute dress, beige in color, and embroidered in the bodice and skirt of it with bronze threads. The short, puffed sleeves are pretty. There isn’t much to decorate yourself with, no pretty pins or silk shoes in the dressing tables or wardrobes, so you just wear your hair as it is and lace up your traveling boots for footwear. You find yourself in the mirror to be prettier than you’ve ever looked. Any dresses you’ve had access to in your life have been largely unspecial, and they marked you as a human servant. Even nakedness, in the land of Faerie, is more ornate than those kinds of dresses.

You hold the skirts of your dress up and above your feet so that it does not tread on wet snow and dirt as you and Taehyun leave the estate for Court. The knots in your stomach don’t let up any. You know you’ll stick out as a human, that’s a given, but you are deeply terrified you’re going to make a fool out of yourself by forgoing some unspoken faerie revel rule. You can’t compromise your assignment. Does Taehyun know you’ve never partied alongside the fae? Humans often attend faerie revels in the High King’s court, but are they even allowed to do so here?

Taehyun is dressed lavishly, clad in black from head to foot, and he wears a sleeved doublet encrusted with shimmering black beads and threads that glitter in the moon’s light. He wears the black fur pelt of some beast around the collar of his neck. He resembles entirely the son of a general. You feel plain, next to him. 

“What do I do when we get there?” you ask, stepping around a puddle encased in a thin layer of cracked ice.

“The King wants to know if anything is going on, so you need to just listen. Look around a little, talk to people you think are interesting, and go from there.” 

Sounds simple enough. 

A thick forest surrounds the snowy flat that Taehyun’s estate sits on, and as you approach it, Taehyun says, “When we’re there, you can’t dance, no matter how badly you’ll want to.” 

“I won’t.” You reassure him, but you’ll just run on the hope that Taehyun sticks near you. Faerie celebration is untamed, and if a human happens to dance among them, they will not be able to regain control over themselves until a faerie takes pity and pulls them out. That isn’t usually the case, though. The folk delight in seeing humans lose themselves to the abundance of faerie delights. 

Taehyun accepts your answer, but he stops at one of the many wax-leaved holly trees and plucks a few jewel-red berries from their branches. Holly berries are faerie wards, and humans often carry a handful of them in their pockets to protect themselves from simple faerie glamours. 

“I don’t have anywhere to keep them,” you say, taking the berries he drops into your hands. You feel around your dress to reaffirm that it doesn’t have any hidden pockets or pouches. None. 

He produces a needle and some twine thread, offering it to you. 

“What?” you say, a little lost. Obviously, he wants you to do something with it, because the berry’s juices would burn him, but you’re not exactly sure what. 

“String the berries on it, and then I’ll show you.” 

You purse your lips and do so as you continue on your way to the revel. Some squish as you do, but you tug them down the thread anyway. The thread seems long enough to wear as a necklace. 

When you’re done stringing the berries, you look up to find that you’ve arrived. You admire how The Queen’s hall of revelries is not even a true hall, and is instead formed with tree trunks for walls and their branches for ceilings. Off-kilter faerie music twists and turns and floats alive in the air; the lilting flutes urge your limbs to move. Maybe it’ll be more difficult to stay off the dancing floor than you had initially anticipated. 

Taking the strung berries from your hands, Taehyun gives you a look that you yet again cannot decipher before walking around you. He takes the top section of your hair into his hands. 

“What are you doing?” you say. 

He sections the hair into two and spins the pieces before pinning them in place. He continues fiddling with it for a bit, tugging something around and in between the hair, and then steps away. You feel your hair. He had pinned the hair into a half-updo with an ornamental hair comb and braided the berry string through it as a ward that doubles as a pretty hairstyle. It’s a fairly intricate hairstyle.

“How’d you learn to do hair?” you ask, spinning to face him. 

He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s intuitive.” 

You laugh a nose-crinkling laugh for the first time in a while and take him by the elbow to drag him toward the reverie ahead of you. 

❆

You stand eating fruity delicacies and glazed meats off banquet tables, to curb your anxieties. There is plenty to enjoy—throngs of faeries dancing like nobody's watching to the rich song of the fiddle, long tables surrounded by chatting folk and rendered full with the plumpest of fruits and blocks of various cheeses. You had worried that you would stick out as a human attending Court in the north, but you have quickly realized that most are more worried about sinking in the debauchery than ogling you. There are so many conversations to listen to, but you don’t have the slightest clue which to even begin with. The Queen does not make an appearance today, but you don’t know if she ever even does. 

You stand here, though, because Taehyun suggested it was best you split off and try to cover the most you can. You’ve been trying your best to strain your ear, but it all blurs into Court jargon to you. You inspect each of your snacks for the poisons Taehyun had taught you. It’s not like anybody cared enough to poison you, but Faerie courts are fickle. 

A tap on your shoulders has you turning around to face the most beautiful faerie man you have ever seen. His brown eyes twinkle under the chandeliers hanging from branches overhead as he regards you, as do the plethora of crystals sewn into his extravagant white get-up. You gulp down the last of the cheese block in your hand.

He smiles, the corners of his lips turned up in a cheeky tilt. “Are the snacks any good?” he says. 

It feels a bit odd that he’d be worrying what a human thinks of the food, but you reply anyway, “The cheese is fantastic.” 

He laughs, having just watched you gulp down the last bit of it. His honeyed laugh compels laughter from you, too. And, so quickly that you don’t notice it, the rest of the revelry fades around you. 

“Do you want to dance?” he says, gesturing over at the whirling sea of faeries. He holds himself with grace, down to his posture.

Your lips tug down into a disappointed frown. There are quite a few things you’re better off not doing here, but that is what you should do the least. “I don’t think I should.”

His eyes flicker with understanding, but his smile doesn’t falter any. “I’ll pull you out if it becomes too much,” he says. “I promise you that.” He presses a pristine hand over his chest, right at his heart, in testament to his sincerity. 

Well, his words are plain enough to know that he isn’t lying. But you’re not here to dance; you’re here to perform your duties. 

He can tell that you’re not convinced as he studies your face. “We can always stay here and enjoy these,”—he pops a cube of cheese in his mouth, so his next words are muffled—“No problem.”

His quickness to compromise is unfamiliar to you.“Let’s have some cheese.” You try to emulate his smile with your mouth, but you’re sure it looks better on him because he throws his head back and laughs. 

The more you study his features, the more you realize how reminiscent of a fox they are. “Can I ask your name, pretty?” he says. The sugary-sweet words taste good in your mouth, and they rot your inhibitions. You shouldn’t be sitting here twirling your hair. Where is Taehyun under this canopy of branches? You wonder if he’s catching any useful stuff. Guilt digs its claws at your skin. 

You flounder and try to catch your name as it seems to slip away from your mind and into the air. You’re not always this ditzy, it’s just that his sharp eyes and mouth confuse you. You tell him your name. 

“Are all human names as pretty as yours?” he says. He thinks your name is beautiful? Human names are unspirited and prone to repetition, not singular like a faerie name. 

You’re not sure how to respond, so you deflect. “What’s your’s?”

His black hair slides over his eyes as he tilts his head, eyes alight. He wears so much on his face. You’re wary, though. Maybe he is cunning like the fox, maybe his face tells you a different story than his mind. You worry again why he is sitting here making conversation with you.

“Yeonjun,” he says, and you try to remember when he had gotten so close.

“Well, Yeonjun,” you say, trying his name in your mouth. “I’m not the most interesting, so if you’re looking for entertainment, I don’t think you’ll find too much here.”

His eyes roam your face for a few heartbeats. “I think you’re plenty interesting. Maybe the most interesting lady this court has had the pleasure of keeping.” His use of the word lady, addressing you, feels good in a bittersweet way. You’re a far cry from a lady, but the sound of it settles deep in your bones and warms you. 

The way he sees your burning cheeks, and seems to delight in it, should alarm you. You know his words are saccharine. But, his attention is delicious. You find yourself hoping he’ll stay here and keep you company until the night is over. 

“Okay, now I know you’ve got to be up to something,” you say. 

He grins and, stepping back, says, “I’m going to go get something for you. Don’t move.” He slips through the gaps of chatting revelers before you can tell him that you won’t move; that you’ll be right here all night because you should be. Taehyun trusts that you’re doing your job. You sigh a breath, trying to force down the guilt that gnaws hungrily at you again. 

You make an effort to tune your ears into the conversations around you. There was so much you could’ve missed in the time you spent talking to Yeonjun. 

As you do, pair of frilly and silk-draped faerie girls, one with skin like white snow and crystalline wings at her back, and the other with hair inlaid with glittering strands of gold, approach the banquet table arm-in-arm. You hate the way their eyes land on you, and then on your awful dress. You hate the look they share, and the way one hoots at something the other says. Your skin burns with how you become something to laugh at. 

You don’t notice Yeonjun’s return until he steps in front of you, his hands full with a bounty of bonbons and indulgences from various tables throughout the hall. 

“I want you to try these,” he says. You shoot him a skeptical eye, raising a brow, to which he scoffs and says, “I just wanna know what you think. They’re my favorites.” 

You take a sweetmeat and place it in your mouth. Your brows shoot up at its full, mallow flavor. 

“You have a sweet tooth?” you ask, chomping on another. 

“You could say that,” he says. The flip of his words and the facetious raise of his brows make you feel that he isn’t just talking about confectionaries. You squirm a bit under his heavy gaze. 

You continue taste-testing the sweets he brought, but your mind keeps cruelly spinning the jeering of those faerie girls. You scorn your inadequacies; your inability to be a worthy spy, and your inability to ever fit in. It would be easier to act as one with the court and to coax out meaningful secrets if you look at least like you belong. However, Yeonjun seems like the only place you have to start. 

“You meant what you said about pulling me out if it becomes too much?” you say. 

Yeonjun doesn’t look at all taken aback by your words. He must’ve seen the way your eyes flickered over to the rambunctious dancefloor. “Of course. I won’t let you lose yourself, and nobody will touch a hair on your head.” 

“Let’s dance,” you say, and giddiness blooms wide in your chest. Is dancing among the faeries as enchanting as it's said to be? 

Here’s to finding out.

Yeonjun brings you to the dance floor, and he smiles down at you as you begin moving. Your limbs are heavy with hesitance. His hands find your waist, and the touch soaks up the stiffness right from you. Suddenly, you are alive in ways that you hadn’t known you could be before. Your boots slide over the packed earth, and he guides you to a rhythm that you can feel thrumming in your bloodstream. Yeonjun’s eyes are on your face. You can feel the other dancers all around you, and you brush up against some here and there, but you don’t mind much. You feel the music in your heartbeat. His fingertips dig divots into your skin, and it’s the only thing you can really feel. 

He leans in over your shoulder. “I heard what they said. Do you want dresses? I can give you dresses more beautiful than those girls could dream of wearing.” 

It takes the words a bit to cut through the fog in your head, but you narrow your eyes at him. “Is this one really so bad?”

He squeezes his eyes shut in a laugh, as if that were ridiculous, and then opens them to look you in your eyes. “Pretty, you’d look delightful even in your bare skin.” He tugs your bodies impossibly closer, melding them together into one spinning thing. “But, if what they said hurt you, I will give you whatever it is you ask for.”

Even in your hazy state, you know that doesn’t sound right. But, you don’t ask why he would bother with that, you only lose yourself further into his eyes. They devour you.

The music grows faster, and faster, and faster, coiling itself up and around your legs, willing them to dance for you. Yeonjun’s hands grab here and smoothe over there, exploring. Mapping. 

“Do you love it?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe. Your head is swimming, crashing through the throes of waves, and the undercurrent of panic only thrills you into dancing more. 

His eyes rove over you in a languid pass, before he kisses you like your lips are the sweet delicacies he so loves. You are as lost in his lips as you are the spirit of the dancefloor. His hot tongue explores and licks at your lips. The world swirls behind your eyes even as they are squeezed shut, but you welcome the dizzying nature of it. Your heart jumps from its cage in your chest as he brushes a hand along your collarbone, sliding it up the side of your neck, and then places it at the back of your head, pushing you further into his kiss. A vignette blurs your vision, lungs burning for air, but you can’t find it in you to care. 

You’re abruptly pulled from the messy tangle of galavanting bodies. Like if someone were to just halt the Earth’s spinning on its axis, your body reels. Your mind comes back to you, but it’s scattered, and your heart pounds like drumbeat in your head. 

Someone speaks. It’s Yeonjun’s voice. He situates you in between two of the pillar trees that make the walls of the hall, and you drag in the night air. It’s so fresh it burns your lungs a bit to breathe. 

“I feel like shit,” you say. Your heart is still running amok in your chest. 

He snorts. “Yeah, I bet. I’m sorry I didn’t notice that you were slipping earlier.”

You’re unsure how long you two danced, but the sky is breaking into day, so it had to have been for way longer than you remember. You groan. Taehyun has to be looking for you. Or, perhaps he left without you.

“Something wrong?” he asks, watching you recover.  

“No, no, I’m fine,” you say. “Thank you for that. I’ve never done anything like it.”  

His eyes crinkle. He really, really, is beautiful, down to the points of his ears. “You don’t need to thank me. Seeing you enjoy yourself like that was a sight for sore eyes.” 

You laugh a little, looking out at the way the sun crests over the horizon from your little hiding spot. The breeze does wonders in brushing up on your blazing skin and placating it. The thrill still lingering in you makes you wonder if you could claim such a life for yourself.

The sound of Taehyun’s voice saying your name rips out that seedling of hope, and stomps it down into the ground. It was a useless hope, anyway. As he approaches you, Yeonjun nods his head in greeting. Taehyun’s face is drawn, but he bows low at the waist. It’s quite a formal greeting. 

“It’s time to go,” Taehyun says, addressing you. His eyes are searching yours like he’s trying to find some answer in them. It seems he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. 

A crooked smile tugs at Yeonjun’s lips. “Is she under your care?” he asks. It’s a less direct way of asking: does she belong to you? 

Taehyun’s face morphs into something hard, but his words remain cordial. “Yes, she is.” You know he says it because it’s the best way to explain why a human would be attending Court, but for some reason, you had expected Taehyun to answer that a little differently. 

Taehyun gives you a meaningful look and tilts his head to the side in a silent way to say let’s go. You curtsy a farewell to Yeonjun, letting a soft smile onto your lips before you depart with Taehyun. Yeonjun doesn’t say anything at all, but you feel his eyes following you. 

You walk without words until you clear the hall and reach the forest, where the thicket can muffle your sensitive words and keep them just for you. “Did you find anything?” he says. His attention stays ahead, and his jaw is a bit strained. Here it comes; he saw you wasting time. 

“Nobody around me was talking about anything other than gossip until I ran into him. His name is—”

“I know who he is.” Taehyun snaps. “Please, enlighten me. What did you learn of him?” 

His words feel a bit like he’s spinning you a web. A trap. You don’t even have anything to offer him, because you hadn’t learned anything about Yeonjun.

“You made a promise to me. You promised you wouldn’t dance at all, and I find you dancing with The King’s son.” The world trembles underneath you at his words. You were flirting with a prince all night. You kissed a prince.

The dam of guilt and embarrassment and shame that has been filling you throughout the night crumbles and washes over you. “I didn’t mean to waste time, Taehyun. He just seemed like the most interesting person to talk to. I thought that maybe I could hear something interesting from him.” Your legs protest as you lift them to step over a tall bush. Dancing had exhausted you down to your marrow. “A prince seems like a pretty good place to find information, though.” 

“Does kissing him entail hearing something interesting from him?” His words are spat, and when he looks at you, his eyes hold distaste. So he saw that, too. 

You sigh. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, either.” 

“You didn’t mean for it to happen,” he echoes, scoffing the words. “You are nowhere near serious about this. Why are you even here? Well, let me tell you this; you did not come here to suck the faces of pretty princes. This life is not yours.” 

His words are everything you don’t want to hear, and they antagonize the anger in your chest where shame had previously sat. “It’s a little hard to do what you’re asking of me when you send me in looking like this,” you say, gesturing down at your get-up. 

“This is about a dress?” Taehyun says. “You don’t need all that. They’re just putting on a show.” He doesn’t say them, but he dances delicately around the words: You’re human.

You get up in front of him so that he has no choice but to look at you. “You know that I’m going in there at a disadvantage! You know that I can’t just blend in, and it’s so much harder when I look like this.” You point your finger at him accusatorily. “And, did you even get anything? You’re sitting here, picking me apart, but really, what did you do?” 

He doesn’t respond. 

“Oh, that’s rich,” you say, tone mocking. 

“The difference,”—he says his words slow—“Is that I didn’t use the night to enjoy myself in snacks and courting ladies.” 

“That’s because you spent your night watching me,” you snap. If he was even trying to pick up information, he wouldn’t have had his eyes on you the whole time. “You just wanted to catch something to give me shit about. Can you not see any value in following this thread? If Yeonjun is the king’s son, and he’s taken interest in me, imagine what I can catch hanging around him.” The estate appears on the snow flat as you two clear the forest. The sun hangs well in the sky, now. Ugly hurt twists in your chest. Yeah, you could’ve been more alert, but you can easily turn whatever you’ve got going on into something. 

Taehyun shakes his head at you. “I want you to remember this one thing, if you’re going to remember anything I tell you at all. The folk will never fail to make you into a spectacle. Your duties lie in The King, and only that.”

You walk the rest of the way to the estate, and then split off to your rooms, in an awful silence that sits itchy under your skin. It’s always silence, with Taehyun.

❆

Taehyun’s accusatory voice wakes you up from a hard slumber. You don’t have time to even blink out the sleep from your eyes as he roars, and you listen.

“You had him send you dresses?” There is a scorching flame blazing in his eyes, and they blister you.

“Huh?” 

His face is pulled into a sneer. “You had the prince send you dresses because you decided you wanted pretty things? What are you doing?” He holds a silvery, glittering gown in one arm.

His words remind you of what Yeonjun had said to you last night, and you curse. How would he even know where to send them? 

“I didn’t ask him to do anything,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“I’m telling you that I didn’t, and I mean it! I didn’t ask him to send me dresses.” You slink out of the mess of a bed, the wood flooring cold under your feet.

“So a royal errand runner shows up at the door, with a pile of dresses directly addressed to you, and I’m supposed to believe that it’s random?” 

“Why don’t you just believe me?” you ask, and the words sound pathetic even to you as they leave your mouth. “We’re supposed to be partners. You’re supposed to believe me.”

Rage dissolves from his face, but his features don’t soften. No, instead, they harden into stone. You almost wish they would twist back into fury. You can work with anger. But, whatever this thing that he does is, it leaves you unable to crack through his hardened exterior. 

“Take your shit,” he growls, tossing the dress in his arm at you, and then spinning around without care of where it lands. 

“I don’t want this, send it back to him,” you say. You go to throw the dress back at him, but his words stop you. 

“I already sent them back.”

You watch him storm out. That means that the dress in your hands is not from Yeonjun; it is from Taehyun.

❆

You hold up the gown in front of you. Looking at the sheer material of it, embellished with beads and crystals that remind you of snowflakes in the sky, feels bitter. It only reminds you of the nasty terms you and Taehyun are on. 

You haven’t seen him once today, and you assume you’re going to be heading to Court alone, too. All you can feel is resentment. 

You go about getting ready with a ten-pound weight in your mind, and Taehyun is as absent as you had imagined he’d be when you leave the estate for Court. The walk feels a bit longer this time. Though you didn’t talk much last night, the presence of Taehyun just being there was enough to ground your nerves.

All is the same as last night in the hall. The tittering of folk and the lovely aroma of burning incense spices the air, and the music is just as inviting. You find that secluded spot Yeonjun had taken you last night when he pulled you out of the crowd and lean into the tree. Tonight, you’re going to just watch which faeries interact. The more you know about who associates with who, the more you’ll be able to dissect your priorities. 

Your eyes fall over the throngs, and a majority you remember from last night, but some are new. These folk all have to be important in some capacity; they wouldn’t have a place in Court otherwise. If you look hard enough, maybe you can find who is the most important. It doesn’t help, though, that you’re not familiar with important figures in the Northern Court. Taehyun forgets that he was born into this Court, and you are a foreign human girl. You may be better off playing into your ability to lie; maybe you should spin up a good falsity and ask around with it. 

You’re halfway to the crowd with the intent to poke around when Yeonjun steps into your line of vision. His wry smile is inviting, but you can’t do this again. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says. “But, I don’t recognize that dress.” He looks you over. 

“You didn’t tell me who you were, last night,” you say, crossing your arms. 

Yeonjun’s suave falters. “Ah. He told you. Did he also not like me sending you those dresses? You sent them back.” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Please, I don’t appreciate being toyed with.” 

His lips tug into the first frown you’ve seen worn on his ethereal face. “You wound me. I don’t just send gifts like that to anybody. I’m not toying with you. Not even a little bit.”

You’re not sure what to make of his words. He seems like the type that, even when his lips can not form the shape of lies, he would hide them in between the gaps of truths. But you do see sincerity shining in his eyes. 

“I didn’t even get to see the dresses,” you say, relenting to the conversation. If he insists on making your company, you’ll entertain him. You wouldn’t dare shoo a prince away, anyway, and his words are a soothing balm to every thought that tugs at your mind. 

“Did he give you this one?” he asks, looking down at the glittering thing. 

You hum, nodding your head. You wonder if Taehyun has made it here tonight, or if he is even here at all. You’re going to put all your eggs in this basket. If it leads you nowhere, you’ll deal with that when you get there. You don’t know where else to start. 

“They’re all yours, whenever you decide you want them. Just come and ask me, sweet thing. I’ll even send you more if you want.” 

His words shoot a thrill through you, for whatever reason. It’s hard for you to imagine a life where those kinds of things can be given away so easily. 

“Do you want to dance tonight?” He says. His fingers are warm against your skin as he takes your upper arm into his hand. Each time he rubs his thumb over the skin there, it makes you shiver more than it soothes you. You don’t remember much of the time you had spent dancing last night, but you do remember his kiss.

You really can’t do that. You need to do something that keeps you present so that you can pick up on stuff. 

You tilt your head to one side and offer, “How about you show me around? I wanna see your hiding places. I know you’ve got some.” You smile a heart-felt smile; running around the hall and discovering the nooks and crannies Yeonjun hides away in actually sounds like fun. It’ll familiarize you with the layout of Court, as well.

Yeonjun agrees, his face lighting up. He brings you around to alcoves and hollows that you wouldn’t imagine even existed unless he was showing you. Leave it to a faerie to find little places to hide.

“How often do you come to the north?” you say. Taehyun had said that The King sends his heirs here for foreign relations. It must be why he’s here. 

Yeonjun pauses his touring. “Most of the year. My father prefers me here, so he sends me out often.” You’re a bit taken aback by how generous he is with the information. You had expected to sly-foot it from him. 

The King sounds like a paranoid, centuries-old man. Maybe you and Taehyun will find something in your time here that proves his fears right, though. It’s just as probable that tensions run deeper than you think.

“Why doesn’t he have The Queen send one of her children to his domain if it’s for diplomacy? It’s a bit strange that she swears fealty to him, but he’s the one sending his heirs out.” Also, why does he have you and Taehyun here, undercover, when his son is here already?

Yeonjun shushes you with a finger over his lips, and it reminds you that you can’t just say all that comes to your mind here. He doesn’t seem to take any offense, though. 

“The Queen doesn’t send her children out as emissaries.” His words take on a rueful, bitter note. The look plastered on his face says what his words don’t: The King does, though.

Yeonjun is good company, and you don’t notice how night bleeds into day. 

“I should probably go now,” you say. Your dress itches and your feet ache in a way that calls for the lush bed waiting for you back at the estate. The revelry is still very much alive and kicking, and the crowds haven’t even begun thinning, but they’re so drunk on pinot wines and faerie spirits that you doubt they even feel the toll the night is taking on their bodies.

He nods. “Let me walk you home?” He offers you an arm, his smile so very sweet. You would like nothing more than to have someone to accompany you on the trek home. The walk here had been dreadful in your loneliness.

You pretend to think about it for a minute, a teasing smile playing at your lips, before you say, “Why not?” 

He swipes a baked good topped with sweet fig from a platter for the journey, and begins heading for an exit between trees.

 “But!” you say, and he halts. Your eyes scan the crowd.

“What is it?” he asks, rejoining you. 

“I need to find Taehyun.” 

He offers you the delicacy in his hand. “Do you?” 

“Yeah. I need to tell him if I’m going to be leaving.” 

Yeonjun scoffs at that. He takes you by the arm and points out Taehyun in the crowd. He appears to be in conversation with a spindly, feather-skinned hob. “He’s right there. But, you’re not going to be doing all that. It’s not right that you have to report your every move to him. C’mon.” You know that he’s only saying it because he thinks that you’re Taehyun’s human servant, or something, but his words are simultaneously gratifying for your current woes.

Your laughs bounce off the darkwood trees as you walk shoulder-to-shoulder. Yeonjun has a way to him that makes you feel like you’re really living. Maybe you can let this hope fester. Maybe Yeonjun is genuinely courting you. And, you foolishly let yourself think, maybe you don’t need to be a spy to make something of yourself. 

When you make it to the door of the estate, Yeonjun is behind you, peppering warm kisses up and down your neck. You pry yourself from him to open the door, and you stumble in. You then stagger up the stairs and to your room. Yeonjun doesn’t make it any easier, roaming his hands everywhere they shouldn’t be. 

Yeonjun clicks the door shut behind himself, and your stomach drops seeing the unabated hunger written into his face as he turns and looks at you. 

You fizzle under his gaze. “Thanks for walking me,” you say. “That walk is scary alone.” 

“Turn around for me, pretty,” he says, his voice glazed with honey and sugary syrup. You do, heart thundering in your chest. Something in the deep pit of your mind feels guilt, but you don’t pay it enough mind to sort it out, you just suck in a breath and hold it as Yeonjun steps so close behind you that you can feel his breaths on your neck, and he starts working at the laces of your dress. He doesn’t lean forward and press any more kisses to your neck like you wish he would; he just undoes the ribbon, until the dress loosens on your body, and you have to hold it onto yourself. Should you drop it? Does he want you to drop it? Is he just toying with you?

A puff of air on your neck makes you shiver as he laughs softly, his face hovering over your shoulder. You wish you could see his face right now.

“You’re so tense,” he says into your ear. He takes the top of the dress into his own hands, sliding them under yours. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart is thrumming in your chest and your neck so hard that you hear it in your ears, and maybe even he can, too. He rubs a thumb over the skin where the dress starts to slip. 

“Tell me you want it.” 

You suck in a breath. “I want it.”

He begins letting the dress down, and you let him. Chills rise on your skin, both at the cold that meets your skin as it is freed to the air, and at the kisses and scrapes of his teeth at your now exposed shoulder. “Yeah? You want me to make you feel good?” he says, and you can hear the tease in it. His words douse you in flame.

“Yes, Yeonjun, please,” you say, and it sounds pathetic to your ears. He makes it so hard to sound like the confident spy that you’ve been trying so hard to convince yourself that you are.

The dress droops lower and lower on you, releasing your skin in tantalizingly slow increments. He’s in no rush. He just continues to pamper your skin with his tongue, nipping your ear here and nibbling at your shoulder blade there. Your mind unravels a bit more with each. 

The fabric finally pools at your ankles, and the both of you sit in an electrically charged moment. 

“Turn around. Let me see you.”

When your eyes meet his, your breath catches at the way he takes you in, but mostly at the way his eyes come back up and fix on yours with such depth that you feel it in the way your heartbeat skips. You resist every urge to cover yourself, ignoring the tensing of your muscles that tell you that you should run and hide yourself away. You can’t believe that such a beautiful creature is devouring you with his eyes like this; like he wants you, like it doesn’t matter one bit to him that you are so much less than him. And maybe it should. He’s a prince. A prince of the king that you are supposed to be serving right now.

He guides you by an arm around your waist to the bed, and then stands at the foot of it, looking down on you with hazy eyes. Your stomach flips, and your knees and thighs are pressed together. He drags his bottom lip into his teeth.

“Open your legs, baby. I want to see how much you need me.” He reaches down, patting at your knee.

You hesitate, but slowly pry your knees apart, letting him see the mess that had been brewing there. The cold air immediately brushes at the wetness, and it makes you feel impossibly more exposed.

“Fuck,” he says, dragging out the word like a hiss. The raw, ravenous look in his eyes reaches deep into an unwanted part of you, that had for so long believed that you’re not worthy of anything like this. You know that you’re still not worthy of it, but you’ll happily bask in its warmth while you have it.  “So wet,” he growls, eyeing your center without ceremony, as if those aren’t the most lewd words you’ve heard spoken aloud. “Pretty, you’re dripping all over your bedspread, and I haven’t even really touched you yet. Makes me wonder if you’ve ever even been touched before.” 

Your cheeks flame the more he stands over the foot of the bed, lazily drinking you in. You haven’t. You had your first kiss in the woods somewhere a few days ago. Flashes of those memories plague you for a second, of bark on your skin and Taehyun’s hand in your hair, and that guilt that you can’t seem to place tugs at you again. You need to forget about it; Taehyun doesn’t seem too caught up on it, so why should you be? Where is Taehyun right now?

“Has he touched you? Did you let him put his hands on your skin,”—he brushes a whisper of a touch on your inner thigh, so close to your center, yet not actually paying any attention to it—“like this?” The rush that shoots up your spine is lethal. He draws such intense feelings from you with the simplest of touches in a way that borders on scary. 

Oh, yeah. Yeonjun still thinks that you’re Taehyun’s human servant, or something. You decide to just lean into it. “Why would he?” you ask. 

“Because I saw the way he looked at me yesterday,” he says, and the plush of the bed dips as he settles his knees into it. He hovers over you, notched between your thighs. You knew the truth behind that look, though. Taehyun was livid at you, at how you had shirked your duties and danced all night. You don’t know how to convey that to Yeonjun, though. Any explanation would just lead to more questions you couldn’t answer. 

He plants a line of kisses up the length of your inner thigh, just where his hand had ghosted, and you wiggle your hips in anticipation as if it would move him any faster to where you need him most. It doesn’t, he only continues to antagonize your skin with his tongue and lips. 

“Please,” you breathe. Yeonjun’s lazy eyes flick up to yours from his place between your legs, and the sight makes the blood in your veins sing. 

“You want my mouth?” he says, sitting back up onto his knees and running a smooth hand from the wet patch of skin on your thigh up and over your hip bone, and then the softness of your stomach, and then he brushes a thumb over your breast. You struggle to breathe a bit as he does, and it’s exponentially harder to as his words ricochet in your ears, cutting through the fog of your mind. 

“Yes,” you say. You can’t muster anything else. A satisfied, lopsided smile plays at his lips, and he lets his thumb over your nipple, rolling it. 

“Do you realize how badly you’ve got me?” he muses. His gaze leaves your chest, opting for your eyes as he says it. “I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I’ll do anything, if you ask it of me.” The alarm bells ringing in your ears sound more like music than warning. It should sound like too much; you’d met him yesterday. He’s a faerie, you’re a human. His words are cloying; he’s lying. He’s lying.

But, he can’t lie.

He settles his head down, a breath’s-width from providing you with relief from the burning that he so cruelly kindled there. “Here? You want my mouth here?” The words puff onto you. You can feel your ears reddening; he seems to enjoy seeing you debased. It’s like he wants to be the source of your ruination.

“Yes, right there,” you say, toes curling in anticipation. He hums, taking the back of your thighs into his hands and pressing them up. It leaves you even more exposed to him. When the first contact of his mouth to your cunt comes, it’s with a barely there roll of your clit with his tongue, but it spreads like alcohol through your system. You mewl as he holds eye contact as if entranced with the way you react to him, and swirls his tongue around it. Your hands find perch in his hair.

He is wholly overwhelming you: his hands dig divots into your thighs to hold you open for him to eat, his eyes make sure you’re watching as he does, the sound he makes into your cunt. You don’t know what else to do, other than squirm on the sheets and chant nonsensical words. The more his mouth consumes you, the more it consumes your thoughts, until you are tunnel-visioned, only able to feel his touches. He runs his tongue down, and you gasp as it prods at your entrance, but he brings it back up, and then suckles at your clit some more. 

“More,” you say. 

He detaches from you for only a moment, just to ask, “More what?”—he pushes your thighs further up, molding them to your body—“More this?” He pushes his tongue into you, and then out. 

“Mhm!” you cry, digging your hands into his hair harder. He makes a low hum of satisfaction, slurping you up, lazed, as if you were a sweet sugarplum liqueur. A tense knot settles in your belly, sending your legs jittery even as he presses them, and your toes curling in the air. Your hips roll up and into the bed wildly, chasing that knot. “Yeonjun—”

Yeonjun knows what your cries mean, pulling from your hole, if only to suction his lips around your clit. It halts every thought and word in your mind, and the knot tightens so intensely with it that it snaps. You seize up in his hands and then explode in shakes and desperate whimpers. Your body rages, but your mind is suspended somewhere in the sky, removed from you. Yeonjun lavishes you through it, despite the way his tongue bumping into your sensitive spots has you jumping. His mouth follows your hips everywhere they go as you writhe to escape it; he isn’t letting you float down, he keeps your body on that high and builds on it. Your breaths come panted and whimpered. 

“Slow—slow down, ‘jun,” you say, pushing at his head. When he pulls off of you, the sight of you all over his mouth draws a moan from you. His tongue swipes at his lips. 

“You’re divine,” he purrs. “Did that feel good, sweet thing? Do you want more?” You lay, catching your breath, trying to let the waves of aftershock dissipate so that you can articulate yourself. You feel it still thrumming in the hollows of your bones. He skirts his thumb oh-so-lightly around your throbbing clit, and it’s no help in your efforts.

You nod. “I want to make you feel good, too.” You can’t fathom letting him please you like this without returning the favor. It would be so nice to see him fall apart, too.

“Yeah?” He drinks in your state. He stops circling his thumb to press it to your bud. You let out a surprised sound, your muscles coming back to life to jolt. He acts as though he’s thinking it over, but you can see the teasing lilt on his face. “Say my name again, pretty. It sounds loveliest on your tongue.”

“Yeonjun,” you indulge him. A content sparkle in his eyes tells you that he’s gonna give you what you want. He lets your thighs down, instead resting his weight on either side of your head, leaning down to capture your lips in a sultry kiss. He tugs your bottom lip into his mouth. The scrape of his teeth is dizzying. He’s freeing himself with one hand when he pulls back, and your spine tickles with anticipation until you see the look on his face.

 Is he suddenly disgusted with you? You can feel the color drain from your skin as you ask, voice thin, “What?” He climbs off of you, and you could throw up. “What is it?” 

“I think your friend is here,” he says, adjusting his clothes. Oh. Your mind wars between relief and terror knowing that, if Yeonjun knows Taehyun is here, Taehyun knows Yeonjun is here. Damn their superior hearing. 

You curse. “Go,” you urge, slipping out of bed with sticky thighs and stumbling to the wardrobe to source a shift dress to slip into. Yeonjun thumbs your chin, tugging your face to him, and presses a parting kiss into your lips. It lingers on your lips as he lets out a soft laugh, shoving open the window and disappearing through it. You roll your eyes, finding the image of him clambering down the tree to escape quite humorous. 

You clean up and settle into the bed. Is whatever you have going with Yeonjun sustainable? Echoes of Taehyun’s voice, vicious and tart, tell you that you should get it together; that you should nip this in the bud, and focus your energies elsewhere. You want so badly to make the little girl, snatched from her home, proud. You want to fulfill her dreams. But, you can’t shake yourself from whatever hold Yeonjun is securing over you. He so casually promises to give you everything you ever ask for; would you be stupid to ignore it? Is it naive to imagine that a man would say his words and mean it? A faerie, no less? 

You sink further as sleep calls you. If Taehyun knows that Yeonjun was here, or what you had done with him, he doesn’t show up to chew you out for it. You wish he would.

❆

The next few days blur into hours of Court spent around Yeonjun and his courtly friends. You try to glean as much information as you can from it, but really, it’s mostly nothing of any importance. You begin to think that Taehyun is right; that you shouldn’t be sticking your nose into the business of a prince. If Yeonjun were to ever find out your reasons for even attending Court… Your stomach does a sickened flip. He might hate you for lying, maybe even begin thinking that you have been using him.

You really do like Yeonjun, though. It’s not just that he’s an interesting thread to follow; he treats you like you’re no different from him. Your bruised and beaten heart clings to him, hoping he’ll soothe over all the years you spent insignificant and unloved. If anything ever comes of all of your stolen nights and kisses, he’d have to know eventually. It can’t be shoved down forever, though you truly wish it could. 

You sit at the ornamental vanity in your room, combing through your hair, when Taehyun makes an appearance at the door. You haven’t had even one conversation with him following the morning Yeonjun had those dresses sent to you.

“We’re not going to Court today,” he says, his arms crossed over his chest. His face is steely. 

“Oh?” You place the boar bristle brush down. “What are we doing, then?”

He studies the room you’ve been staying in. It looks an awful lot like he’s searching for something. His eyes linger on the bed. “I think I got something last night. We’re going check it out. You’re gonna need your weapons.” 

He’s gone from the room with that. The conversation was terse and majorly discourteous, but it’s the most you’ve seen of him in multiple days. You’ll take it. Maybe you’ll even have time to plead your case today, or some way to show him that you’ve been practicing your fighting stances and memorizing poisons on the days sleep doesn’t find you as easy.

You’ve armed yourself to the teeth by the time you meet Taehyun at the bottom of the stairs. He’s armed much lighter than you.

“Did I overdo it?” you say, slicing yourself some cheese to eat on bread.

He adjusts the blade sheathed at his hip, shaking his head. “That’s just fine.” 

You frown and bite into your breakfast. What kind of information could he have gotten yesterday? The need for weapons worries you.

You like to think that you’ve adjusted to the chill of the north by now, but as you break through an untrodden forest with brambles catching your legs in each step, it does nip at your skin. You’re still only human, after all, no matter how hard you pretend yourself to be a faerie lady in the Court. You’re still only a spy, you’re reminded, as the two of you come across a mound of packed dirt sitting atop the snowy ground. It’s marked as an entrance only by a hole that looks hand-dug. You’ve lived long enough in Faerie to know that it’s more than just any old dirt hill or foxhole. The folk dwell in odd places like these.

“When we get in there, I need you to pretend that you’re a human servant. Can you do that for me?” he says. You’re unsettled, but you nod.

 You head for the entrance first. It’s just big enough for you to slip a leg into, duck under, and wiggle in. The entrance opens up, and you’re sent sliding down a chute of twigs and dirt. It takes every bit of your willpower to not make a ruckus of shouts and gasps in your descent. When your feet meet the ground you stumble to steady yourself, you know you look a mess. Taehyun makes a much more graceful descent, and you explain away any mortification with the notion that Taehyun had been anticipating it.

A throaty voice hoots almost immediately, “So, great Lord Taehyun thinks to show his face at this honkey tonk?” 

So, this is that kind of place, then. The reek of ale and wilder spirits tells you enough. What does he think he’ll learn from a place like this? Clearly, he’s known in this place, too. You’re always left with more questions about Taehyun than answers.

Taehyun doesn’t pay the barkeep any mind. “Fetch me a drink,” he says, before leaving you as he cuts through the measly crowd of revelers drowning in their merriments. You narrow your eyes and brew with distaste at his words, but you know he needs you to play the part of demure servant. You don’t know exactly why, but you can do it for him; you’d lived the role your whole life.

You scurry off, shoulders curled in, to the barkeeping hob that stands pouring foamy goblets of honey mead from barrel taps. He eyes you. “Pity you, girl,” he says. “That one’s a real brute.” 

You infer that his words are about Taehyun. Really, you should just grab a drink and go, but curiosity compels you. The faerie laughs at the questions brimming in your eyes. 

“A real, stone-cold killer,” he drawls, twisting open a different barrel. You resist the eye-roll tugging at your eyes. He’s just looking to entertain himself off of your human fright. You feign hesitance in your limbs when you accept the goblet full for Taehyun. He goes to fill another, from a third barrel. “The House of Blackthorn are all such a frightful bunch. The late Lord even more so, but he sowed a good seed of wicked into his son, regardless.” The worry you let your features into is real this time. There’s so little you know about Taehyun; this is the first you’ve ever heard of him that isn’t directly from his mouth. Should you be scared of Taehyun? Ice runs in his veins, sure, but you can scarcely imagine him as a brutal Lord. 

“One mead for the Lord, and one sugar-sweet liqueur for the lady,” the hob says, handing the drinks to you. You offer him a meek, “Thank you.” 

He shoots you an unsavory, toothy grin. “Welcome to The Hovel.” 

You find Taehyun in conversation with a sweet-faced faerie boy who strums at a lute. Their conversation tapers off as you approach. You hand Taehyun’s drink off to him. 

“You’re sure of it?” Taehyun says to the boy. 

“Yup. Just last night,” the boy says. His waved mop of blonde hair moves as he nods. You see the cogs of Taehyun’s mind turning behind his eyes as the exchange comes to a close. So, the information he was following from last night came to fruition, then. You kick yourself for your lack of any real results.

“Who was that?” you ask, voice hushed. You tilt your head at the faerie as he rejoins the other musicians, and the stream of lute song intermingles with the other instruments once again. You pretend to sip from the drink the hob had given you for free, tipping it into the dirt when you think nobody is looking. You know it’s bad manners, especially in Faerie, but you have bigger fish to fry. Taehyun hadn’t paid that boy for that info, nor had he paid the tavernkeep for his drink. You recall the hob’s words of warning. They fear him. 

He shakes his head. “Let’s get out of here, first.” 

When fresh air meets your lungs, you realize how stale and muggy the air inside the little burrow is. You pull yourself out through the exit, following Taehyun. The two of you begin your battle against the wild forest again. 

“So…?” you say. 

It’s getting colder as night arrives. His breath puffs from his mouth, furling like smoke into the air as he says, “Apparently, there were some lackeys there last night asking around about me and a human girl in cahoots with The Prince.” 

Your mind launches into a frenzy. Do they know that you’re spies? How would they even know? It’s not like the two of you have even done anything to garner any suspicion. Whoever has had their eyes on you and Taehyun has also noticed that you’re running around with Yeonjun. Is Yeonjun in danger? You gnaw at your cheeks. This person had to have been hovering around you two for days and days—not once had either of you noticed.

“Did you find out who it could’ve been?”

He shakes his head solemnly. You can tell he’s unseaming and picking apart every moment leading up to this one—you are, too. Nothing sticks out. 

You freeze in your tracks. A pretty magpie sits dead on the forest ground, its blood decorating the snow in patches. No arrow pierces it, nor is it caught in any sort of trap. It lays with its little legs in the air. The imagery is unnerving. 

“Poor thing,” you say, crouching down by it. 

Taehyun pays you and the bird no mind, but you feel that something is off when he turns to you with his limbs and shoulders stiff. “What?” you ask.

His eyes survey the forest around you. He must be hearing something that you can’t. The hair on your skin prickles. Are you being watched? Taehyun narrows his eyes, looking over the surrounding forest for a few long moments, before continuing on his way, and so you decide that you should too, despite the feeling buzzing at the back of your neck.

 Somebody comes crashing out of the foliage, securing your arms to your side before you can process that they’ve got you. They hold the point of a dagger to your chest.

Metal hisses as Taehyun frees the blade from his hip, but he doesn’t make any advancements. Your heart beats under the point of the weapon, chasing breaths as fear paralyzes your chest. 

“A little birdie told me,”—your captor says from behind you—“that I’d find you two here.” 

“Let go of her,” Taehyun says. He stands with so much restraint in his limbs.

A patronizing laugh hurts your eardrum with its proximity. He sounds like a cawing crow. “No, I don’t think I will, Lord.” He spits the title out like it is bitter in his mouth, letting the blade dig the littlest bit into your skin. You don’t even feel it with the way adrenaline buzzes in your gut, leaving your limbs shaky.

Taehyun can’t move, so you begin wiggling your fingers for your dagger. Fear chokes you. 

“You won’t miss this one, right?” the man says. He uses the metal to point up at your face, before replacing it over your heart. You’ve almost made it to your thigh, and still, he hasn’t taken notice. “I’ll just get this over with, and then we can talk about this more comfortably.” You may throw up. 

You bunch up the hem of your dress with the littlest of movements to free your thigh and slide out the dagger hidden there.

“Who told you where to find us?” asks Taehyun. Your palm is sweaty around the metal of the dagger, and you readjust your grip a few times, trying to muster the courage to swing it up.

“I told you already,”—the man readjusts his hold on you—“a little birdie.” There’s a sneer to his words. He points the tip of the dagger up to your chin, ghosting it down the column of your throat. Repressed whimpers of terror bubble to the surface. 

“Shut up,” he spits.

Taehyun challenges him. “Do it, then.” Blood roars in your ears.

“You think I won’t?” your snatcher says. 

“Do it,” Taehyun repeats, and you almost let your life flash before your eyes until you see that Taehyun is not looking at the man as he speaks; he’s looking at you. He’s telling you to do it. You tighten your grip on the dagger, before driving it behind you. It makes contact, and the faerie man bellows. You use his shock to free yourself. 

You had driven the blade deep into the man’s shoulder. He thrashes, ruby-red blood inking his fingers as he holds the wound.  

“Bitch!” he howls. “You’re fucking dead, anyway.” 

What does that mean?

Taehyun plunges his sword through the faerie before you even notice he had approached, or ask the man what, exactly, he means. He drops to the floor, mouth filling with blood. You can see it when he opens his mouth to scream and is only able to burble. His own blood chokes him. Your fingertips feel numb, and so does your face.

Taehyun turns to you. “You did good.” 

You did good? You don’t feel good.

You nod. “Thanks.”

 Now, on the forest floor of white snow, lies both a dead faerie man and a dead magpie. You feel the sensation of his skin breaking under your dagger reverberating in your hands, twisting in your mind. His blood paints the ground a nauseating shade of death-red.

“Are you okay?” Taehyun asks, eyeing you.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, I am.”

❆

You and Taehyun attend court the next day skittish. Taehyun delegates you a new role, now; make as big of a scene with Yeonjun as you possibly can. The goal is to throw attention to that, rather than to Taehyun as he continues snooping around. 

It’s not hard to make a spectacle of you and Yeonjun when everybody is already noticing. He doesn’t hide the way he showers you with luxuries, nor does he want to. You can’t help but wonder why he’s making such a show out of it. At some point, his father will hear of him courting a human. Word flies fast in Faerie. You can’t imagine The King would be pleased.

A hand curls around your hip, and you know it’s Yeonjun’s. 

“You weren’t here yesterday,” he says. 

You frown. “No need to state the obvious.”

 He laughs and thumbs your cheek, and you swear the butterflies that flutter in your stomach are nearly painful. “I missed you,” he says. His eyes glitter with the words. “Did you go somewhere with him?” he asks. You don’t miss the way the word him curls in his mouth, much like how a person of the court would speak of something more unfavorable in a sickly-sweet way, to keep up a mask of indifference. 

“We just ran some errands.” You shrug it off. It isn’t the truth, but it also isn’t so far removed from it that you feel uncomfortable about lying to him. Lately, the guilt lays more heavily over you. With each dress and bejeweled trinket Yeonjun sends your way, the more you want to get this big lie out of the way. You should’ve done it before Taehyun set you out to do this; at least then, you could face him and not feel so deceitful. Is there a way to tell him that still conveys that you aren’t using him?

Yeonjun’s eyes flicker to your mouth, and back up to your eyes so quickly you could’ve missed it with a blink. “I see,” he muses. “I could take you under my care, you know. He wouldn’t have a say in any of it.”

Your expression sours a bit, and you know it’s not the reaction Yeonjun had expected if the look on his face says anything. 

“I don’t want to just become a playtoy,” you say. 

He looks taken aback. “You wouldn’t be a playtoy,” he says. “Ever.” He searches your eyes for something. “Why would you even think that?” 

Because you’re a prince, you think. Because I’m a human. Because that’s all we are to your kind. 

“Then why don’t we just stay as we are?” you say. There would be no real reason to even go through with such a thing—not when nothing would come of it. Princes of Faerie don’t marry humans. You’d become a mistress, and that’s being optimistic.

“Taehyun is not a good man,” Yeonjun says. His voice is stripped of its usual playful inflection. Why does everybody seem to keep telling you that? “I would feel better knowing that you’re safe.”

Safe? He thinks Taehyun would hurt you? “I’m okay, Yeonjun,” you say, if only to placate him. He doesn’t look convinced at all. “He treats me well,” you laugh. You meet his hand on your cheek with your own, curling it around his. While he doesn’t know the truth of everything, or why you stay with Taehyun in the first place, it stitches some old wounds inside you seeing that he cares for you.

His jaw tightens. “My offer will still stand if you ever decide otherwise.” 

He brushes his thumb at the plush of your bottom lip. Your mind goes fuzzy. When he presses it fully to your lips, you suck his thumb into your mouth, tasting the imprint of his fingerprint with rolls of your tongue around it. He looks as though he could moan standing there watching you, so you make a point of not losing contact with his eyes. You feel multiple burning stares on you, but you shove them out. 

He watches your tongue and his gaze comes alive with hunger, tugging your lower lip down before taking your chin into a hold and molding his lips to yours. His kiss conveys every thought plaguing his mind in its raw nature.

Their eyes are on you; so many eyes are. You know they look, but for the first time, you don’t falter under the weight. He tastes like broken shackles and weightless limbs. He tastes like salvation.

He roams his hands dangerously. When your mouths part, despite your shortage of oxygen, you say, “I’m sure you had many courtly ladies to entertain in my absence.” Your head buzzes. 

You’ve never seen Yeonjun so much as interact with another woman, but you still worry that he doesn’t only have eyes for you. 

His face turns sly again. “They’re honestly all quite dull.” 

Maybe, one day, you’ll join those ranks. You remind yourself that you won’t be here forever—that this moment in time is finite. Hopefully, you won’t be here long enough to see that happen. You’re not sure your self-worth could handle that hit.

“Are you really so superficial?” you ask. You stay playful in your tone, peeling from him to waltz toward an entree table. He follows. The way he trails you like a puppy on a leash does a bit to bloat your ego, despite your worries. “What’s so special about me?” It’s cheap, you know, but you crave his praise. You’ve found yourself thriving off of Yeonjun’s sweet words like oxygen. The question had been plaguing your mind since he had first spoken to you, anyway.

He looks as if he can’t articulate what he’s thinking. Or, maybe, he’s just concocting some words that’ll sound nice to your ears. “This life has become tiring. It drains you, and I am surrounded by it. Endlessly.” He pops a treat off a platter into his mouth. “You’re like a breath of spring air to my lungs.” 

You’re his distraction. He saw a human and decided it would be the biggest spectacle he could find to distract from his princely woes. You draw back. What do the faeries in this court think of you? Do they snicker when you turn your back? Do they laugh to see you think that you’re more than just entertainment to him? Does he join them? 

“What’s wrong?” Yeonjun asks, seeing the way you retract into yourself. “What is it?” 

You have to keep this act up; the well-being of your mission relies on it. You should’ve never gotten your feelings so entangled. 

“Because I’m human?”

A frown etches into his porcelain face. “No. Maybe at first, but…”—he releases a measured breath—“No.” Selfishly, you’re thankful that his kind can’t lie. 

You and Yeonjun find the dancefloor, more packed with cavorting faeries each day, and you accept the distraction from your dreary thoughts. The wild nature of it strips you of such things, leaving you bare to just your happier feelings. It leaves you just as breathless as the first time had. You kick and whirl and flail your limbs freely. 

When Yeonjun inevitably tugs you from your trance and out of the throng of folk, you’re dazed. Exhausted. Your hands itch to be all over him. 

“Breathe,” he reminds you, smoothing over the wild tousle that your hair had become. You focus on steadying your erratic breaths. “You’re a wild one,” he says, a pleased grin on his lips. The flush on his cheeks mirrors your own, despite his teasing. 

You lean into him to support your legs of jelly. You must’ve danced for hours. 

Yeonjun looks down at you, and his features are soft. “You wanna rest?” You nod. He laughs and then takes your hands into his. He guides you away from the soiree, out from the canopy of trees, but not toward Taehyun’s estate. You don’t question where he leads you, even as cold air makes you realize how bare this dress leaves your arms, even as the unfamiliar path catches at the hem of your dress. He notices how you don’t care to lift it from the ground, snorting, before lifting you into his arms.

“Woah!” you protest, feet off the ground in seconds. “I can walk.”

“Ah, but, only a fool would let a pretty lady like you soil her dress in the dirt.” 

You scowl at him, but it doesn’t change the way your belly swoops. He treats you so delicately. 

He carries you until you arrive at a mini palace that is no doubt royal—it towers over any surrounding trees. And, you had thought you had seen luxury. This is luxury. This is a life spent fed off of only crystal spoons. You admire the lush interior as he carries you into the palace. 

“This is where you stay?” you say. 

He hums, and you can feel the rumble of it in his chest. “For one half of the year, this is my home.”

You notice how utterly empty it is. You had expected advisors and permanent guards and bustling servants. “It must get lonely here.” 

“I prefer it here,” he says. You can sympathize with that. You had spent the entirety of your life in the land of summer, but you had found more warmth than ever here in the north. This place was supposed to be a death sentence for humans, and though you had briefly met the danger that the north could present yesterday, you almost dread leaving. Maybe you just need more time, and then you’ll be so overtaken by fear that it’ll make it easy.

Yeonjun carries you through a door, and into what you assume is his room. A bed so large it would swallow up a third of the room you’re staying at in Taehyun’s estate sits in the middle of his room. He sets you down onto its velvety, rose-petal coverlet, before he climbs in next to you, propping himself up onto an elbow so he can admire you.

Your skin sighs as he rubs sweet circles over your bare shoulder with the pad of his thumb. The two of you settle into a long, comfortable silence.

“Do you believe that I don’t care for you?” he asks into the quiet. Do you hear hurt in his words? 

You meet his gaze and struggle to find words. Is it wrong to lie, just because you can? 

Your hesitance tells him enough. His fingers on your skin stop. “I am not so shallow, if you actually meant that.” Your words from earlier must’ve been gnawing at him. 

“It’s not that,” you say, avoiding contact with his eyes. It was exactly that. He doesn’t allow you to look away from him, sitting up to cut straight back into your vision. 

“What is it, then?” 

Your heart thrums. You want to tell him that you’re a liar, and that he should spit in your face and tell you to get out. You want to ask him if he’d still care for you the way he does if he knew your truth. You want to ask him if there’s any way that this can play out where the both of you end up together and unscathed. Your mind beckons you to ask him about every little doubt that has harassed your mind concerning him so that he can comfort you and assure you that they are just doubts. 

You ask none of those. 

“How can I show you?” he says. He climbs over you, knees straddling each side of your legs. “What would it take to prove to you that I mean it when I tell you that you make my heart ache? What will it take to make you become mine?” He lines a kiss up on your forehead, and then your cheek, and then onto the corner of your mouth. “This?” he asks, and then he hikes up the length of your dress, bunching all the fabric above your hips. He draws back so that he can plant a kiss on your clit, and he makes sure you’re looking at him while he does it. “Or is it this?” 

You breathe in the sensation, gasping his name like prayer and making room for him between your thighs. 

“Is that what it is, pretty? You need me to make love to you? I can do that,” he says. “I can do that, no problem.” 

He works at his clothes with one hand and brushes touches to your cunt with the other. Eventually, his needlessly extravagant Court shirt is off, and he’s holding your hip down as he prods the tip of a finger at your entrance. Your hole flutters in anticipation, his eyes catch it, and he breaks into a lousy grin. He finally begins pushing the finger into you, watching as you gasp at the way he curls into you. 

Pleasure whorls in your belly, rendering you increasingly dumber. “I need you,” you say. The muscles in his arm strain as he fingers you, and his black hair falls into his face with the movements. Your heart clenches.

“Slow down, baby. I need to do this, you’re not ready for me yet,” he says, pressing a soft kiss into your temple. “I want to make you feel good.” He slides another finger in, and you suppose he’s right, because it stretches you. He pumps and curls the both of them, and you dig your nails into his forearm as it all starts building in your belly. 

Yeonjun tugs his lip into his mouth, biting it, as he watches you grow restless under his fingers. Your peak feels so close, but his pace is so leisurely that you’re worried you’ll never reach it, as if caught in a limbo of torturous delight. “Faster,” you cry. “Faster, please.” It amuses him, and he abandons his casual pace for sloppy curls that have you whimpering into the air of his bedroom.

 “Yes, yes, yes!” A crescendo looms over you, until it crashes and your back is arching off the bed and you’re making embarrassing sounds. You dig crescents into Yeonjun’s arm when he continues to finger you. Your insides protest his stimulation, tugging and clenching tight in a way that borders tastefully on discomfort. 

“Fuck,” you hear Yeonjun say through the haze. “Just like that. Doesn’t it feel good?” he purrs. His fingers plow you through this peak, hurling you toward another one brutally. “I know it does; you’re clenching around my fingers so hard.”

Your hand covers your face. His words are lewd, and he says them like it’s nothing. It makes your insides burn. You can tell that the orgasm he beckons you into with each deliberate thrust is going to be explosive, frantically squeezing your thighs around his arm to staunch the intensity of his movements. Wet sounds punctuate each curl of his fingers. You can hardly believe that those sounds are coming from you.

“You want another one?” he says. You only answer him with pathetic whimpers. “Keep making those pretty noises for me.” 

You do, and he rewards you with his thumb on your clit. It drives you utterly wild. The blend of his fingers inside you and each bump against your nerves is exactly what you need to explode, and so you do, bucking. You’re worried he’s going to try and have you cum again when his fingers don’t stop, but he brings you down gently with small swirls. 

You catch your breath while Yeonjun adjusts you on the bed, tugging you down by your hips and sliding one of his thinner pillows under the bottom of your spine in a way that lifts your bottom half into the air. You laugh through ragged breaths; it feels a tad ridiculous.

“What’s that for?” 

He massages your inner thigh, soft humor twinkling in his eyes, but also so much more. “You’ll see,” he says. He hovers over you, bracing his weight into one arm at the side of your head so he can look right into your face. His free arm lines the tip of him up with you. Before making any moves to slide into you, he kisses you and takes your bottom lip with him as he pulls back. It exhilarates you; everything he’s ever done to you is exhilarating. You’re swept into a ripwave of emotion. Do you deserve all this? Is this life yours?

His hand rests on your hip, brushing over your hipbone with great gentleness, as he pushes into you. It’s slow and full of peppered kisses all over your face and neck, and then he’s in you to the hilt, and then he’s pulling back out of you so that you’re just so empty, but of course, with just a thrust he’s filling you back up. He falls into a swift pace, but each time he ruts up into you, it’s calculated and well-placed. Maybe it’s the pillow, or perhaps it’s just expertise, but he’s plunging into a sickeningly soft spot inside of you that makes your legs that are locked around his waist shake each time. Your eyes flutter close, but your mouth drops open in a soundless moan. 

“No, open your eyes. Look at me. Do you feel it? Do you feel my love for you?” he says, voice raw. “Is this what you needed?” 

Yes, this is exactly what you need. You feel so far removed from yourself that you can’t even feel your hurt or worries. You nod your head frantically. 

“Please, open your eyes,” he repeats, pleading in his tone. His face is right in front of yours when you do. His eyes flicker between both of yours. The intimacy of it is as consuming as the flames licking your insides, winding you up so tight that you might explode into a ball of blazing fire. The rolls of his hips turn into short, needy ruts. His mouth drops open, but he won’t close his eyes. He wants to watch you. 

“Yeonjun—” you breathe. Your muscles are tense all over, especially in your core, where he winds you tighter. The impending orgasm whispers into your ear that it will swallow you whole in its wake, and you believe it; you can’t breathe. 

“I know,” he says. When you squeak, face screwing up, Yeonjun reads you like letters on paper. “I know, it feels so good.” He’s just as much of a mess as you, panting while his free hand grabs at each of your curves to ground himself. You hold back your climax; it’s so hot in your belly that you fear how it’s going to wreck you. The hair on your skin prickles and rises. 

He feels how tightly you clamp down on him. “C’mon, pretty.”

Your nails rake paths down his biceps. “I can’t” you gasp. “Can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” 

Warm tears pool in the corners of your eyes and you shake your head. You do everything you can to urge it back; wriggling under him to escape his thrusts, pushing at his chest, biting into your poor lip until you fear it’ll bleed. Pressure builds all over you, your eyes burn and your muscles burn, like a thousand pounds of ecstasy pressing on each square inch of you and begging to be released.

“Stop running from it,” he says, pushing your hips into the mattress, pinning them so that he can deliver pointed thrusts up into that place that is so sensitive. It works wonders. “Let go, baby. Let it happen; I promise you it’ll feel so good.” 

You crumble, crying out into the air and clenching wildly around Yeonjun. 

“Yes, fuck!” he growls. He’s chasing his own peak now, leaving you no time to breathe through your own. 

You chant his name.

 “Squeezing me so good—you’re driving me up the fucking walls, pretty.” 

The sounds he rips from you are errant the more he pistons into you, and your hair sticks to your neck. For the third time, you cum, circling him in your arms and keeping him close while you try your best to ride this one out.

With the encouragement of you sporadically tightening around him, he stills over you, abdomen tensing up, before cumming into you, producing strangled sighs. He collapses down to his elbows and drops his head into your neck, delivering shallow rolls as he rides it out. Breaths puff onto your skin as he peppers warm kisses over every inch of your exposed skin. He stays like this, intertwined with you, for a while, lazily delivering thrusts until you’re both able to breathe fully again. 

When he pulls out of you, you feel him dripping from you. You should’ve told him to pull out; you must have no fears. It’s hard to worry too much about that, though, with the way he’s looking at your cunt as if the sight of his seed oozing from you was like nothing he’d ever seen before. He takes your ankle into his hand from where it hovers in the air, dusting a smooth and chocolatey kiss there.

“Do you see now?” he asks, bringing his eyes up to yours. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I do.” 

…🪶 ashlynn's note there she is! I wanna see who y'all are more attached to this far.

﹙🏷️ ﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[shadowscommand]

So i enjoy looking up at characters lore and diversity, i think it really adds to the game and i know allt of people don't care about them and are there to just shoot but alas .. also since u brought up Mara, i saw one article explain her 'lore' and it says how her CIA background fits perfectly with other operators in the faction such as Ghost, Charly and Soap but I'm confused like how?? Aren't the three of them SAS and plus majority of them share no connection with her anyways? am i missing something or was this misinterpreted? not to mention ghost and soap play bigger roles while some are mp only characters that were present in the battlepass

well they're all big on intel. technically theyre all connected bc like everyone got brought together to find zakhaev/help clear out verdansk but it all fell apart. shes in warcom which is ran by general lyons and its an exclusive club so shes really good at her job which puts her in line w SAS as well. AND. otter is actually the one who got wyatt his job at warcom so like the two squads (three if you count demon dogs also. since theyre the 3rd half of coalition) probably are better connected than most.

[iriascend]

Our Saviour Red Hood, Patron Saint of the Poor and Downtrodden, Protector of Gotham

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

(art by the wonderful @gotham-gargoyle​ )

Some ranting, theory-crafting and inspiration behind this commission under the cut :)

While both Jason and Bruce care deeply about their beloved city, between the two of them, Jason is way more concerned about the little people than Bruce is. They both took “be the person you needed when you were younger” to heart, but Bruce’s effort concentrate on big things, big goals, big projects. He’s impersonal. He’s a strategist. Jason’s more about making sure nobody else has to have a childhood as shitty as he had, and thus takes care of children, single mothers, the poor and downtrodden.

And that’s where my idea comes from.

We all know and love the concept of Batman starting off - or continuously being - a cryptid; an urban legend about Gotham having a protector that hunts criminals at night. But what about Red Hood? Many people see him as way less mystical in comparison, way more down-to-earth, and I can agree with that. Because while Batman is a legend, Red Hood is one of us. He doesn’t try to pretend he’s not just a dude that had enough.

Yet, being a vigilante with a secret identity by default comes with a high level of mystery associated with you; it goes along perfectly with Cryptid Batman, but clashes with Red Hood’s schtick. As such, the weird mix of familiar but secretive, powerful but human (as opposed to Batman’s legend of monstrosity) can result in a very peculiar relationship between Red Hood and the people of Gotham.

Please imagine with me:

Hood marks places and buildings with a little red bat to denote his territory and off-limits areas that doing crime in will be heavily punished. People pick up on the symbol and attempt to use it to fool and scare away wannabe robbers. But it quickly evolves into a red bat just becoming a good luck and protection charm, like a rabbit’s foot. A symbol of allegiance, even, a following.

If you need help, it seems like a no brainer to try to bribe a vigilante somehow before you ask them to deal with the hooligan in your neighbourhood. But few are brave enough to try and approach Batman, Nightwing refuses everything and helps anyway, and Red Robin is hard to find and talks very little. Now Red Hood? Red Hood approaches you. He is the one that talks, asks if you have issues. He knows your name. It’s easy to exchange food and info for a promise of aid. Sometimes, when you can’t seem to run into him, it’s enough to leave out a burger with a red bat scribbled on the bag, and he’ll know you need some attention. From that, it’s only one step to offerings.

While Batman is vengeance and justice, a shadow that haunts the evildoers of Gotham, someone who’s name you fear, Red Hood becomes... a protector. Fierce and dangerous and not invoked lightly, and feared by those who seek to harm his people, but one that has the absolute trust and loyalty of his proteges.

Like that, step after step, people start slipping. From a street rat that just wanted to help, Hood becomes a figure of reverence and maybe even worship. The ghost of Gotham. The soul.

Truly “a better Batman than you’ve ever been”, Bruce.

[fabuloussisterofsin]

The Man Who Wouldn't Bow To Death

Summary:

Boba Fett is the most feared Bounty Hunter galaxy, he is ruthless, he is a man who bowed to no one. Boba Fett fell into the Sarlacc and survived. He survived, acid, pain, and teeth and he is still the standard after all this time. Boba Fett gives his allegiance to no one, or so he thought. After the events of the Mandalorian and his take over of the Hutt Crime syndicate with Fennec Shand at his side, his life seems to be in order once again. A king must have his throne, but.. a king must have a Queen too. When a hunt goes wrong and a charming young woman begs for her life, will Boba Feet heed her pleas or will he do his job?

In The Man Who Wouldn't Bow To Death, Boba Fett finds, love, hope, and a future for the Fett name once more.

Boba Fett X Original Female Character Fic

The Man Who Wouldn't Bow To Death

Chapter One: Maydala Bentar

Maydala Bentar was disguised as a dancer. Thinking she was finally safe from the hordes of bounty hunters now that she killed the last Hutt

Boba scanned the room, looking for his bounty. He heard that she was in attendance tonight, and he was determined to catch her. Her face was covered and She felt secure even when she saw the Mando bounty Hunter walk in. Enter

Boba sat at a bar near the dancers, by himself, watching the crowd.

She moved her way over to the bounty hunter pretending to be a lady of pleasure. “Hello, weary traveler.” She stood in front of him.

"Hello." He said in his low, gravelly voice.

���What brings you to my cantina?” She asked him as she danced near him. “In need of some company?”

"Something like that." He replied.

She moved her body in an alluring way.

He'd know those eyes anywhere. She was the one he was looking for. "I'm looking for a girl, and I think you might be the right one."

“Well, I’m not a girl I’m a woman, and I’m the right one for the right price.” She said trying not to panic.

She kept up her ruse. “What’s the name of the girl.” She said as she slowly undid her top hoping to distract him.

"I don't know her whole name. It starts with an M. Anyway, there are more.... pressing matters." He said, looking down into his lap. "I'm more interested in a woman right now. Whatever the price, let's go to a room."

“I highly doubt you can afford me.” She said to him. “Big money for this big honey.” She sat on his lap and went to lift his helmet. “Her name starts with an M. Right?”

He batted her hand away. "You do not lift a Mandalorian's helmet. And I am Boba Fett, I can afford whomever I want. As for her, let's forget about her for now." His hand traveled her thigh. Enter

“I apologize master Fett. My other Mandalorian clients usually let me take their helmets off.” She cooed. “Yes, let’s head to the best room, yes? Only the best for the best bounty hunter in the galaxy. She went to put her top back on.

"I'll agree to that." He said, watching her face. Her eyes were luminous, beautiful, he'd know them anywhere after seeing the holo of her.

“Come with me. I certainly hope you don’t get me mixed up with your bounty.” She teased thinking she was safe.

"No, I'm sure you're not her." He said, following behind her. He'd get her alone, then he would capture her.

“Good I’m glad.” She turned and her eyes smiled at him. She bit her lip under the veil and walked to the room. She opened the door. “2,000 credits per hour, master Fett.”

She brought him into the room. She walked over to the bed and lay down on it. She spread her legs.

He moved to cover her body with his own, the dark of his visor staring her down. Ever so gently, he cuffed one of her wrists with a restraint.

Her hand under the pillow grabbed her expandable staff. “what’s the meaning of this?”

"I'm here to take you in!" He said as he held her down by the wrists, his legs on either side of her thighs.

“Please I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to play innocent and sweet calling up tears. “Please I’m just a dancer here. My name is Adamé Vetur!” She lied. Her finger finding the button on her staff.

He reached out and pulled the veil from her face. "You are Maydala Bentar, and I'm going to take you in."

“It’s a shame you had to find me.” She gave him a wicked smile when her staff exploded and hit him between the armor plates and electrocuted him. She kicked him off her grabbed her bag. “See ya later.”

His body buzzing with electricity, Boba struggled to his feet and lunged at the door, grabbing onto doorframes and walls as he pursued her.

She got ahead of him and quickly threw in other clothes over her dances outfit. She dropped the back. Stuffed her valuables in her pockets and shortened her staff and headed out the door with a crowd.

He had caught up to her and followed her outside, groping for her arm. She turned and got him again with the electricity before sprinting off. “Just leave me be. Lose my locator!” She yelled after him.

He grunted and. Curled into himself before he kept at her and pulled her to the ground by her waist.

She thrashed and took her staff and hit him upside the head. “LET Me GO!”

He clamped the other cuff on her wrist. "No. You're coming with me." He stood, took her staff, and hauled her over his shoulder

She shrieked and yelled at him. “Put me down you bucket head. I shouldn’t be arrested!” She yelled. “It’s an imperial bounty.”

"Who do you think I'm taking you to?"

“Whoever gives you the fucking money!” She yelled and managed to hook his helmet on her shackles and she yanked it off him and she tumbled to the ground.

He growled at her and bent down to grab at her.

She kicked at him. “I’m not going to jail, not for what I did. I saved people from a fucking hurt that’s not a crime!”

"And why should I believe you?"

“Tebara the Hutt, he put the bounty on me for freeing his slaves and killing his henchmen.” She said desperately. Squirming and kicking at him a die began to rain.

"Wait, really?"

“Yes! Look at your puck!” She squirmed on the ground getting covered in mud.

He took out the pick and checked it. "Kriff. I can't take you in for that." He spoke.

You won’t be the last.” She said to him. “Others won’t be so kind, so please, put me out of my misery.”

She looked at him with pleading eyes.

Looking into her eyes, he couldn't bring himself to hurt her. He reached out his hand to take hers.

“Kind of bound here.” She laughed.

He reached out both hands and took hers, helping her out of the mud. "Hold on a second." He said as he undid the cuffs. Then he looked around and picked up his wet helmet.

She didn’t run. She stared into his face and she felt her heart flutter.

He watched her briefly before turning his head. "It's dark, I'm going to find somewhere to sleep."

“Nice seeing you Fett.” She assumed she was on her own.

"Don't go back to being a dancer. You're too beautiful for that." He said as he turned to walk away, helmet in his hand.

“I was never a good dancer, I was more of a hunter, a fighter, and a rebel.” She laughed. “Looking for someone to join your cabal.”

"I work alone." He spoke. "Though I will offer to pay for you a room so you can bathe. You look like a drowned whomp rat."

“Fett, I know you took over Jabba’s palace, and you killed bib Fortuna with the help of Fennec Strand.” She told him. “I know who you are and I’m probably just going to be killed by some other bounty Hunter one day. But.” she smiled at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "But?"

“But if I worked for the most feared Bounty Hunter in the galaxy, we’ll I could live my life and make money.” She smiled at him. “And for your information, I do not look like a drowned womp rat.”

A smile spread across his scarred face. "Come. I'll rent you a room and we can discuss it over breakfast."

“I look forward to that meeting.” She smiled at him. She gave him a flirtatious look. Not the same one from Before but a real one and she was sure he could tell the difference.

“Do you mind if I stop at a drop spot really quick otherwise, we’ll I don’t have any clothes.”

He nodded. "I will accompany you. No one will collect you as bounty tonight."

“Thank you.” She smiled at him. They walked on and grabbed her belongings and then headed to a nearby inn keep.

"A room for me," Boba said before motioning towards her with a tilt of the head. "And one for her."

“I’m sorry sir, but we have one room left for the night.” The twilek innkeeper said to him. “I trust that won’t be a problem.” She said glancing at the wanted poster.

"Not at all," Boba said as he passed over the credits.

“Thank you.” She said to boba as he handed her the key chip.

He nodded. "As I said, no one will capture you tonight."

[beetlegoose01]

Frostbite (Chapter 2- Suspire)

AN: Chapter 2 is here friends! I appreciate all the kind feedback I received last chapter! Without further ado...

Previous Chapter: https://pepperimps01.tumblr.com/post/644922844412854272/frostbite-casetello-an-do-these-two-have-a-ship

~~~~

"So, can I go now?" Casey asked impatiently, trying to flex his arm. "I've got places to be, slowpoke."

Donnie glared at him, irritated. He seemed even more frustrated that Casey had made that semi flirty jab at him.  "Like where?"

"You know...around." He gave a toothy grin.

"Very specific, Jones."

"I like to think I'm very pacific."

"That's-"

"Actually..." Casey wiggled his eyebrows. "Red wanted to talk to me about something. Maybe a bit more than talk if you know what I mean..." He shrugged. "Can't exactly blame her. I'm a catch."

'We aren't there yet, Jones.'

'Is it about April? Because it's not my fault, she ...y'know likes me more.'

Donnie's heart plummeted, dropping the scalpel he was holding. It crashed by his feet loudly, but he didn't bother picking it up.  "You better go then." He said coldly.

"Are you sure? Because I wanted to tell you some-"

"Just leave!" He snapped. "Can't you tell I'm busy? I've got retromutagen to work on."

"Jeez, okay. Don't get your tail in a knot." The teen raised his hands in surrender.

Casey stumbled out of the lab, dazed and confused. His arm thankfully didn't hurt anymore, but he still felt a bit uneasy and sick to his stomach. He really just wanted to take a nap, forget about everything that happened and maybe never work with Donatello again. Couldn't that turtle take a joke?

He needed a distraction...

"CJ!" Mikey exclaimed, leaping towards him with a stupid grin on his face. Casey yelped, taken aback by the orange turtle's enthusiasm. At least that was a distraction alright.  "You won't believe this, dude!"

Casey smirked. "You know, I'm starting to think everything is believable at this point. What's up? Did you discover a new pizza joint?"

The smallest turtle looked about ready to explode with excitement. "Nope! Can't tell you yet, bro.  Come on, Leo's explaining everything at the dojo! I'm just getting you and Donnie! I'm ...Mikey the messenger!" And then he was off again, no doubt badgering Donatello.

Casey shook his head, laughing. Though he was somewhat curious about whatever the leader in blue had to say.

He entered the dojo, checking if Master Splinter was behind him. He trusted the old ninja master, and couldn't deny he was a big help...but that didn't stop him from flinching every time they made eye contact. Rats still gave him the creeps.

Raph and April were already there, chatting amongst themselves. Raph was currently practicing opening and closing April's tessen.

"I dunno, it just seems a bit..." He trailed off.

"A bit what, Raph?" April's eyebrows furrowed. "Go on, finish that sentence."

"It's not very sharp, that's all." As he said this, the tip of the fan poked his finger and he let out a squawk of pain.

"Not very sharp, huh?" April swiped the fan back. "Remember this from me: don't judge everything by its outer appearance."

"Touché." Raph waved at Casey, and the pair did an elaborate secret hand shake.

"What's this about anyway?" He folded his arms.

"Beats us." Raph shrugged. "All Mikey said was-" He changed his voice to a high pitched, cruel but accurate impression of his youngest brother. "Dudes you've gotta hear this! I'm gonna cry on the floor if you don't come to the dojo right this second!"

"It must be big if Leo wants to tell us." April said. "I mean, all Raph and I dealt with was the Purple Dragons graffiting a stop sign."

"It was a slow night!" Raph protested.  

"Maybe they saw Karai?" Casey suggested. That was really the only thing he could think of.

Mikey bounded into the dojo, followed by an extremely disgruntled Donnie, who made a big show of standing as far away from Casey as possible.

"What's all this about?" Donnie asked.

The single light bulb above them started to burn out. The team heard shuffling from behind the large tree, and a shadowy figure approached them, stepping into the dimly lit middle area. He dramatically raised his head, looking grim.

"You're probably wondering why I called you here this evening." Leo said, glancing at Mikey, who of course already knew and was wiggling with excitement.

"Well, yeah. Spit it out, already." Raph said impatiently.

Leo ignored him. "Mikey and I encountered something tonight.  Another mutant. We thought we caught them all or made allies with them but..."

"What?" His emerald eyes widened.

"What is it?" Donnie pressed.

"A dragon!" Mikey interrupted. "A humongous dragon! He had razor sharp teeth and claws!" He paused. "Actually he kinda reminded me of Leatherhead but way less friendly."

"Dragons aren't real, meathead." Donnie grumbled. "They're completely made up fictional stories."

"Have you ever seen a dragon before? Huh? Have you Donnie?" Mikey retorted, cloudy blue eyes filled with a sense of innocence that truly believed dragons were real- but also with a stubborn pride to prove his genius brother wrong. A common occurrence between the two youngest brothers.

"No but-"

"See?" Mikey looked triumphedley at Donnie, then turned back to Leo. "Continue,"

"Like I...and I guess Mikey was saying, we know it's some type of reptile. Not a dragon for sure, but something."

"Any distinctive features?" Donnie asked, snark evident in his tone. "There are over 8000 living species of reptiles, so you might need to be more specific."

"Ah, shut up Brainiac." Raph groaned.

"He's got a point though." Casey pointed out. "Not that I'm agreeing with him- I mean...there are like, a lot of reptiles out there."

"We didn't get a close look at it, I'm afraid. We had to retreat. Whatever it was, it was tough."

"And...kinda scary." Mikey said, hiding behind his oldest brother wearily.

"Fear is the path to the dark side, Mikey." Leo said firmly, patting his head. "Don't let your fear cloud your judgment. We can take it on. Just like we always do."

The group stared at the leader blankly.

"Did you really just quote Yoda?"  April said, covering her mouth to stop her giggles.

"Wh- nooo..." Leo blushed, leaning against the tree in a failed attempt to seem casual. "Why would I do that? That's totally ...lame." Clearing his throat, he continued: "Tomorrow we'll hold a stake out to find this mutant. I'm thinking they may have a chance to be an ally. Any questions?"

Mikey raised his hand. "Are you sure we can't have a pizza out instead? I'm not really a fan of steak and-"

"Any relevant questions?"

"Has it done any actual damage?" April tilted her head.

"It looked more scared than anything, actually." said Leo. "That's why I think we can convince it to join our allegiance."

"And if it isn't willing? Suppose it isn't up for prancing through a meadow with us and decides to kill us all?" Raph said. "Because our track record with friendly mutants tends to be a mixed bag."

"You didn't answer my question, did it do any damage?"

Leo chewed on his lip. "So...don't freak out but, it- she- he? Er- they looked very hungry and did attempt to spit on us. With acid. Or venom or whatever." He pressed on, despite the horrified looks of his peers. "It'll be okay! I have full confidence we can handle this as a team."

"So let me get this straight, Leo." Raph said, moving forward to his brother. "You almost got killed by this monster and your next course of action is: let's be friends! Are you out of your shell? That plan works just as well as Casey and Donnie baking cookies together!"

"For once I agree with Raph." Donnie said, earning a very disgruntled look from his brother.

"I didn't say friends, just figure out their motives." Leo mumbled.

"Whatever you say, Fearless." Raph pushed his brother aside roughly. "Good luck with that. I'm gonna check out Bloody Deaths III, anyone wanna play with me? Casey?"

"Sure," Casey felt his phone buzz. An anxious text from his twelve year old sister Riley snapped him back to reality. "Ah...actually can't. My little sister is getting worried. See you guys tomorrow?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"No worries. Older brother duties call." Leo nodded.

"Don't worry Raph, I'll play with you!" Mikey

"So will I." Leo agreed, happy to relax for a little bit. "How about you guys?" He glanced at Donnie and April, the last remaining members still inside the dojo.

"Just a moment. I'll be right there." April confirmed.

"Don't keep us waiting," Raph cracked his knuckles.

As they were leaving the dojo, Donnie felt a tap on his shoulder. Spinning around, he faced the beaming freckled face of April O' Neil.

"Hey!" She said cheerfully, blue eyes bright and curious.

"Er, um, hey!" He echoed, voice raising several octaves as puberty decided to betray him. He was grateful his brothers were in the other room, babbling about the video game Raph found in the dumpster. No doubt they would be teasing him about his failed attempt at flirting.

"I wanted to talk to you." April said.

"About the new mutant? Because I didn't get a chance to see it-"

"No, no." She interrupted, nudging his shoulder playfully. He blushed at the contact. "I meant about you and Casey. Everything turned out okay?"

Donnie fought the urge to groan. Of course it was about Jones. Instead, he bit his tongue, smiled sweetly and said: "He was...okay." he waved his hand vaguely.

April grinned, relieved. "Wow, that's way better than I expected!"

Donnie narrowed his eyes.

"What I mean is, you two are my closest friends. Seeing you two butt heads, act like you hate each other-  it hurts." She explained. "So it's nice seeing my two best buds get along.

'Best ...buds.' Donnie thought to himself, analyzing each word carefully. 'So maybe she isn't interested in him. That boy with his cocky grin and his stupid egotistical-'

"Casey mentioned you fixed his arm up too!"

"Huh?"

"His arm...he sprained it and you patched it up."

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Oh, that." He chuckled. "Wait...he told you?"  

"Yeah, he seems grateful but obviously too 'macho' to admit that."

"It wasn't really anything special."

"But it was, Donnie." April's eyes twinkled. "It was a really nice thing to do. I'm just...so happy you two are finally getting along. Thank you. I knew you would eventually!"

"Heh, well you know."

April chuckled, taking his hand as they walked to the pit.

Mikey sprung up from his beanbag chair. "Yuck, did you two kiss?" He gagged.

April rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Raph pretended to throw up into his bowl of popcorn while Leo just laughed fondly.

"Take a seat you guys." He said. "We're about to start the game!"

"Actually I think I might call in early tonight." Donnie faked a yawn. "I'm so ...tired."

"You? Sleep?" Raph snorted. "If you didn't want to hang out with us, you could just say that. I don't think I've seen you go in your room since you were thirteen, Don."

"That's not true..." Donnie's cheeks flushed.

"Aw, leave him be." April said, grabbing a handful of popcorn despite Raphael's protests. "He needs his rest."

"Yeah, you do look significantly greener than normal, dude." Mikey pointed out.  "So to speak."

"Go get some rest." Leo said, raising a comforting hand to Donatello's shoulder. "That's an order from your leader."

"Well...goodnight then. Have fun." Donnie added an extra fake yawn for added effect, then retreated to the lab when they looked the other way.

~•~

Donatello checked his very messy notes, examining each point with precision. If he wasn't exact, weeks, heck, months of research would be a waste. He wasn't going to let anyone, let alone Casey Jones ruin his process. The lack of sleep already made his work sloppy.

"Add the dose of norepinephrine, stir carefully with the calibrated mutagen..." He mumbled under his breath. "Then wait ten minutes before..."

But he couldn't get that terribly charismatic smirk out of his mind. That no nothing, cocky little son of a-

"Focus Donnie. Don't think about him."

"Talking to yourself again I see."

"Gah!" Donnie yelped, practically doing ballet leaps as he grabbed the nearly fallen canister. He turned around to face his older, but significantly shorter brother. "Hamato Raphael!" He squeaked shrilly.

"Ooh using the full name on me." Raph snickered. "What did I do to deserve that?"

"How long have you been here?"

Raph shrugged, poking the bunsen burner. "Eh, long enough."

"Weren't you suppose to be playing that dumb game with the others?"

"Yeah, and we beat it." He said, piercing green eyes staring him down with a sense of judgement. "And I thought you were supposed to be sleeping. Shoulda have known you'd be back in your Nerd Cave." He flicked Donnie's arm.

"Why are you here?"

"Okay, twenty questions, is it against the law to see my baby brother?"

Donnie folded his arms. "Since when do you ever visit me for no reason?"

"Because I'm such a kind, caring brother?" He looked away guiltily. "Who simply wanted to check on you? Is that such a terrible thing, Donatello?" He leaned forward, dropping the act to return to his usual deadpan tone. "Also my motorcycle needs fixing."

"Ah, there it is."

"Watch the snark, I need it fixed soon."

"Fine, fine." Donnie sighed. "I will."

"Good, 'cause Casey and I are gonna hit the streets with that baby." He said smugly.

Donnie wilted. "Jones?"

Raph raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, Casey Jones. Human, dark hair, lots of missing teeth...this tall? Ring any bells? Oh, right. Forgot you and him had this thing going on..."

"It isn't about that." Donnie said quickly. "We...him and I..."

"You know, seeing you two act like idiots around each other isn't gonna help the team out. Even Mikey thinks it's stupid."

First April, now Raph? And apparently Mikey too...

"I don't care about what you and Jones do, it isn't really my business." Donnie cooled down, trying to tame his temper. "And we're trying, truly trying, at least I am to be civil."

"Hmph, yeah right."

"And ...I don't care if you two spend time together. Why should I? We aren't even friends!"

"Okay, okay." Raph raised his hands in surrender. "I'm going to bed. You should too by the looks of it. After my bike is finished, of course."

Donnie grunted.

"And Donnie?"

"Hm?"

"Who exactly are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?"

Donatello didn't have an answer.

~•~

Everything hurt. From the depths of her scaly toes, to her ferocious gaping mouth.What was she? She didn't know anymore. A monster? A freak? Any humanity she had left, was a clouded memory and there was no turning back. She struggled to move, still becoming accustomed to her new features. Four legs were harder to maneuver than two, but she made do.

She slivered across the murky water, pains in her stomach growling from lack of proper food. She couldn't recall the last time she had a warm meal. She lifted her head, silver grey eye slits opening. . In what she lost, her human form, her hair, and sense of a normal life- she had gained quite a few things too. A keen sense of smell, for one. Her eyesight had improved too. She had also gained an olive green tail, which helped with her balance.

'As long as I don't need those pesky glasses anymore.' She thought to herself bitterly.  Those horrid things were the cause of her harassment when she was a human. Now she would have the last laugh. They would cower in fear if they saw what she looked like now.

Her stomach grumbled again.

But yet...those turtles she encountered. So tasty looking...so delectable. They would satisfy her pain.

She stared at the mutant's reflection. It blinked when she blinked. It moved its tail when she flicked it.

This was her life now. She might as well make the most of being a monster.

She had work to do.

[believerindaydreams]

It's Saturday night, I'll write some Colonel Autumn being a dick to Arcade fanfic if I wanna

Autumn

Defending Paradise Falls. Ha.

Up to now the arrangement has been going smoothly enough- the Enclave lets their activities slide, even pays half again what Ashur would for a first pick at quality captives. Given the alternative of being sent north to the Pitt, most people are only too happy to be taken to the shelter of Raven Rock.

Part of the bargain, though, was to save them if anyone should break through the defences- and so that's what you and your men are doing here, responding to Eulogy's urgent plea. Standing at the gate of a settlement wreathed in flame.

"Sir," one of the men says. "Shouldn't we be assisting?"

You watch the slavers, firing for their lives; and the flag of the Temple of the Union waving above Hannibal Hamlin's incinerator squad. A sense of overweening disgust takes you.

"Let them wipe each other out. We'll move in when it's over."

They wouldn't trust the assessment from anyone else; but you're Colonel Autumn, darling of the Enclave, and your word is iron law.

So they hold fire until the battlefield is only a cemetery, bodies of slavers and slaves scattered, and then you nod and they move in. Plenty of flame here to cleanse the corpses, scour this place for keeps.

Ashur will be displeased; well, let him be. It doesn't do to let any one faction in the Wasteland grow too powerful, and there's still too much risk of him rejoining his former allegiance. A Brotherhood with the Pitt's resources at its command could break the Capitol balance of power.

And as for Hannibal...well. President Eden doesn't care for non Enclave heroes.

So he's a particular priority to locate; and when your men report him in the clinic, defended by an Enclave Eyebot of all things, you raise an eyebrow and follow.

They aren't joking. Half its metal fronds are gone, it bobs up and down in a faltering pattern, but it's still functioning somehow. Impressive. They usually explode after the slightest tap-

wait, is this one of those Duraframe models? Damnit, this should have been scrapped already.

It does its best to zap anyone who goes near it; and any of your men could down it at need but they're all holding back, perplexed and disturbed. No one's ever hacked an Eyebot like this before.

There might be a good explanation, of course.

You nod at the Eyebot, draw your gun and place it down again. In its place, you hold out a super stimpak. It beeps, twice, and when you move forward it allows you.

Hannibal is alive, if barely; a medkit will keep him that way for now. The others- a mix of silver Temple armor and those new-fangled Follower coats- aren't wounded quite so badly, you can afford the resources to patch them up.

Somewhere around the second bottle of purified water wasted on someone who might not even be good Enclave material, you realise that you've slipped back into character, Lone Wanderer instead of colonel, and that's a foolish thing to do with your men watching in silence. They shouldn't watch their leader showing softness, or aimlessly pocketing ammo like a common prospector. Maybe it's been too long since you've travelled with Boone.

"I will fight you," Hannibal mumbles, training a lever-action rifle on you.

It has been too long. Taking this sort of risk doesn't befit this uniform. "I'm not trying to kill anyone. Shut up and let the Enclave save you people."

He lets the gun drop, but maintains a hard stare. "I never heard that your men ever left your Vertibirds."

You lean in close. "I stole this colonel's uniform so these folks wouldn't shoot me. They don't know I'm the Lone Wanderer."

His pained face eases into a smile. "That isn't a title to be claimed lightly."

"Believe me, I don't."

He chuckles, accepts the vodka you offer him. "I remember forging a claim just that mad and making it stick...all right then, Colonel. How about the slavers, any of them make it out?"

"No. We made sure."

"Good...Arcade? Arcade, we did it. We're still alive, and it's thanks to your medic skills."

The Follower he's attempting to wake groans, covers filthy glasses with the sleeve of an even dirtier coat. "Take two stims and call me in the morning. I'm done in."

One of the others is waking now, a short woman who was still clutching her shotgun when she passed out. "Hannibal? Arcade? You feel as good as I do?"

"Just about," Hannibal says warmly. "And I'm very proud of you."

She snorts at him. "Enough soft soap. I only helped murder, oh, every slaver in Paradise Falls."

None of your men would talk back to you like that.

For a moment, you wish they might.

*****

Arcade

Well. This is good and bad.

It's good, because the last time he was conscious had left him fairly sure it would be the last. The trip here was meant to be recon, not a full-fledged battle; Hannibal's insistence on always being prepared is all that had saved them. Well, and his own battlefield skills, which have improved of necessity on this coast. And Simone carrying so many guns that everyone in the pen could take one.

And the small Eyebot that's been their secret weapon, going in for the kill in tight spots. He's sure it made the difference between their life and death at the last, when Eulogy and his minions were taking them on personally.

And considering that, thinking of blowing up ED-E seems hugely ungrateful.

He repacks his depleted doctor's bag, feels the heavy weight of the detonator in his pocket. One quick movement and it would be over. Nothing to tie him to a piece of technology that he had no business dealing with in the first place.

An Eyebot bound for Navarro, never even making it out of the Wasteland; and if it reached its goal it would find nothing but dust.

Arcade raises the detonator unobtrusively, looks at the Eyebot. An Enclave scientist is trying to mend it, cursing under his breath as it beeps cheekily, bobbing up and down.

He sighs and doesn't fire, walks back into the clinic to meet Hannibal, who's beaming with pleasure.

"All well then?"

"Frankly, I could have done without the Enclave swooping in to loot everything. Simone's giving me plenty of lip for that. But we've found a few more survivors and the Colonel's men are helping out." His voice softens. "And Paradise Falls is broken forever. We can go back to the Memorial and be at peace, now."

"Actually, Arcade Gannon will be coming with us."

Arcade jumps- not least because he hadn't heard the colonel's footsteps. "Sorry?"

"Can I speak bluntly to you two?" Autumn asks, in an undertone.

"Shoot," Hannibal says, evenly. "Because he seems taken aback by this."

"See, it's like this...my men checked the records, they say he's a deserter. That means either him or his head. I'd rather it be him, you know?"

The soft drawl is attractive, but not enough to distract him from the content. "That's a- a mistake?"

"We have good records," Autumn says, looking apologetic. "And the Eyebot...the Eyebot was a give-away, you know. They wanted to know who did that. And more than that..." His voice lowers. "I need help. Badly. We're supposed to go back to Raven Rock today, and I don't even know where the damn place is."

Arcade looks around to see if any Enclave soldiers are here to witness this remarkable statement. They aren't.

"You get into some funny situations when you're the Lone Wanderer."

"Oh! Boone's friend!"

"...you know him?"

Arcade gulps down an incriminating statement. "Yeah. He shows up at the Followers tent for help with his addictions, he has a weakness for Steady. And moonshine. I tell him to cut back and he never does."

"Sounds familiar," Autumn says dryly. "My vice is vodka- he talks about me? Because I've met more talkative Deathclaws."

"Ooh...um, not that much. But apparently you pay well and you don't sleep enough."

"True enough...and look, I'll be honest with you. This scares me. An in to Raven Rock is the biggest thing I've ever been caught up in, and in twenty minutes I have to head there with no backup. Maybe you could come along?"

"If you're unwilling to go back," Hannibal says, squaring his shoulders. "We'll help you. I don't approve of people being held under duress."

"But I could do so much good by finding out how they tick," Autumn says quietly. "Even if it kills me."

"It will kill you," Arcade blurts out. "You don't know what you're doing here."

The door swings open, a soldier marches in and salutes. "Sir. The Vertibird is warming up."

"You don't have to go," Hannibal says, loading his gun; and Arcade knows that's meant for both of them.

"Duty calls," Autumn says.

And his solemn tone decides Arcade like no rational argument could; a man walking into hell of his own accord with no idea how to get out. Because he's trying to save the Wasteland, because there's no one here to help.

And it isn't even Autumn's responsibility, or heritage, or guilt.

Arcade steps in front of him. "I'm convinced. I'll come back to the Enclave."

It's the thing he's been running from all his life; and he won't let an innocent walk into it alone.

"And the test came back on this, sir. Scientists say it won't explode, but they can't quite figure what it does."

Autumn takes the weapon, gingerly pockets it. "We'll let them loose on it at base."

"Tell the Followers," Arcade starts, and stops. "Tell them I'm dead."

Boone would understand, feeling like destiny has caught up. He won't have the others trapped too.

"I'll honour that," Hannibal agrees. "Godspeed, Follower."

If it's the last time anyone will call him that, there isn't a better man to say it.

That's the last thought he has, as they go outside and start for the Vertibird; because Colonel Autumn doesn't take a chance and shoots him in the back.

The Eyebot that witnesses the act goes down next.

[ten0rreaper]

HLVRAI 1st Grade AU

 Gordon recently got his teaching credentials and is desperate for a steady teaching job. He’s so tired of working at Dunkin Donuts.

Just his luck- a teacher at the local Black Mesa Elementary recently went on maternity leave, and the school hasn’t been able to find anyone to fill in the spot full-time!

Gordon is just the man for the job. He’s the only one available who’s desperate enough to take a teaching job halfway through the year and whose paycheck can only go up.

They’re, what, seven years old? How hard can it be?

The answer is very hard

Some of the kids are VERY upset at the sudden change in teacher, especially a little dude named Benrey. Gordon and Benrey IMMEDIATELY get on each others’ shit lists when Benrey just won’t stop fucking insisting Gordon isn’t allowed to be here

However, Gordon’s tiny stalker is nothing compared to the ultimate problem child, Robert, who will only respond to “Bubby”

Bubby is the kid whose parents cuss in front of him and brags about all the R-Rated movies his parents let him watch

He’s seemed to take the previous teacher’s leave of absence as free reign to use every single swear word he knows and Gordon is flipping out

He ALSO steals magnifying glasses at every opportunity to incinerate ants and start fires on the playground

No matter where Gordon moves the magnifying glasses Bubby keeps getting them somehow

He often assists Benrey in challenging Gordon’s authority, but ultimately he thinks Gordon is cool because Gordon doesn’t make them say the pledge of allegiance every day

The most well behaved child is definitely Darnold. He’s Gordon’s little angel because he actually listens and is for the most part content to go along with the day’s activities.

The worst Darnold does is make “potions” at recess and tries to get the other kids to drink them. Some of the kids out there are a bit too happy to eat dirt and random plants mixed with Powerade and soda, but luckily the school doesn’t keep any toxic plants

It makes an awful mess tho and Gordon makes sure to keep well supplied in wet wipes

You would think that Tommy is the most well-behaved, but no. He’s SUPER stressful

Of course Gordon gets the class with the principal’s fucking son in it. Any fuckups he does can and WILL be reported back

Tommy’s read the teaching manuals and school rules. He knows how first grade classes are supposed to go. Things MUST be up to code

He’s also not afraid to leverage his dad to get his way. He keeps insisting that he’s allowed to drink Soda for lunch and Gordon will absolutely not believe it. Tommy you gotta have something besides a fucking pepsi for lunch PLEASE just eat the apple slices. You can have peanut butter with them, sure. Please. Please Tommy

Tommy is a hyperactive terror when he doesn’t have anything with his soda.

Gordon is too afraid to ask whether the principal packed the sodas in Tommy’s lunches or if Tommy’s snuck them in. He’s in too deep and he can’t get fired, not now. He can’t afford that

Gordon thinks Harold Coomer will be an easy student at first. Not for long, though.

Harold is pretty easy to keep entertained! Give him some nonfiction and some encyclopedias, and he’s a dream for a couple hours. Gordon cuts him slack when he catches him reading under the desk because he obviously understands the material and he isn’t breaking anything

Which he, unfortunately, loves to do. Particularly with his fists.

He loves punching so, so much, which isn’t much of a problem when he’s punching something soft and inanimate. It’s a big problem when he’s punching people. He’s unexpectedly strong and Gordon has so many bruises on his legs

Unfortunately, the best solution Gordon has is to make himself the only target available when Harold isn’t busy reading and to desperately try to contact Harold’s parents for a parent-teacher meeting. He has SEVERAL martial arts and kickboxing studios ready to recommend as soon as the Coomers pick up the fucking phone. They certainly don’t stay long enough at pickup or give Gordon enough attention for him to get a word in

Bubby just laughs at all of this and tries to set Gordon’s pants on fire

Surprisingly, Bubby is the one who most frequently gets homesick! Usually around mid-afternoon, when naptime used to be in kindergarten and preschool. Despite all the trouble he causes throughout the day, Gordon’s heart can’t help but break a little every time Bubby starts trailing after him pleading to go home

The solution to that is usually to put Bubby in “his tube”, aka, the sleeping bag he brings to school every day. Gordon’s a big believer in naptime for whoever wants it and makes sure to arrange the school day so that naptime coincides with reading time

Gordon gets pretty good at managing all the kids. Except Benrey. Benrey is consistently a problem. 

Benrey is the kid who sees a substitute and spends the rest of the day taking every opportunity to fuck with them and get away with things they otherwise never could

He’s an absolute fucking terror

He was clearly raised mostly by TV, YouTube, and video games

He likes to be at the highest point possible and Gordon’s always having to get him down from places he got stuck in after climbing

He follows Gordon around EVERYWHERE and constantly challenges his authority

He genuinely was upset at the sudden change in routine when Gordon first came but he started to like and trust Gordon pretty fast, he’s just a mischievous kid who can’t express himself very well and doesn’t have a great family life, so he acts out a lot where he feels safe enough to

He likes to hum and sing a lot when he has a lot of emotions, and to draw. Usually a combo of making noise and drawing is enough to help him manage and express his emotions, but on bad days he gets loud, almost starts screaming some days. Those are rough days for everyone involved, since it upsets the other kids too.

Tommy is his best friend and knows best what certain colors Benrey uses mean

Benrey ends up imprinting on Gordon pretty fast. His parents often don’t show up to pick Benrey up for a while after school ends, kinda using Gordon as free and unconsenting childcare for when they can’t be bothered to pick Benrey up themselves 

So Benrey and Gordon hang out a lot together after class. Benrey likes this because Gordon lets him play games on his phone a lot, or climb trees since he can be closely supervised

A month in he ends up going through Gordon’s camera roll and finding pictures of Joshie, only a couple years old and once he finds out Joshua is Gordon’s son, he gets really upset. Throws the phone across the room and would’ve broken the screen if not for the screen protector

Loudly starts yelling about how Joshua sucks and he hates him

Gordon starts to catch on to the imprinting about then

Benrey’s parents, like Harold’s, are pretty hard to reach and Benrey often closes off when asked about them and Gordon’s got a pretty bad feeling about his home life

Don’t know how it happens yet but endgame is Benrey gets adopted. Big bro Benrey time

[lassluna]

Let the Stars Remind You (16/20?)

“It’s ok Papa, you don’t have to worry. We can trust her, she’s just like me,” She says holding his hand. “She can hear the stars. She’s just like me.” she repeats, a look of wonder on her face, pure belief in what she’s saying. Killian looks down at her. His little girl, his Starfish, and isn’t sure. He still isn’t sure if rescuing Emma Swan is the best thing he’s ever done, or their undoing.

FFN Ao3

AN: This chapter refused to write, like seriously, I reworked it three times and rewrote it twice. But i hope it worked out.

“Well?” Liam insists.

For a moment Emma is just stunned. She doesn’t know what to do or say to this man. How does one explain the last few hours to a stranger?

Alice however, knows exactly what to say.

“The bad people came, Liam.” She insists into his shoulder, her little body clutching at her uncle for dear life. “They took Papa, they tried to hurt him.” She whimpers. Liam coos gently into her hair, shooting Emma a pointed glare. “Emma tried to stop them; she saved Papa when Mama tried to hurt him. She wanted to hurt him to punish me.” She said getting louder.

Emma steps forward, physically aching seeing Alice sob helplessly without being able to hold her. “I just want my Papa.” She wails, losing what little composure the 6 year old had left.

“Shh.” Liam says louder, rocking her gently. “We’ll get him back, I promise, we’ll get back Killian. Everything will be ok Starfish. It’ll be alright.” Emma hears the lie in his voice, but Emma disregards it.

“Did you see Robin?” The other presence, the woman with the green power, demands. She came right into her face. Emma could see she was simmering with barely controlled rage. She shakes her head backing away. “She’s 6, a little taller than her, light brown hair…” The woman continues, sounding frantic. Again Emma shakes her head.

“There were two blonde women, one had…candy knives.” She says knowing how ridiculous it sounded. “The other, ice.”

The red head growls under her breath and stalks off to deal with Lily. Emma looks back at Liam. “He told me to run with Alice, come find you, but we were caught…”She tries to explain. Gothel knew what we were doing; she tried to do something to Killian’s heart…” Emma remembered the power she felt humming inside her, humming inside both of them. She hadn’t thought it would work, but Ingrid always said that magic was based around protection; the strongest of spells were those protecting who you most love. “It didn’t work but then they attacked and Killian told Alice to get us away from them, but Killian was too far away for it to work, for us to take him with us when we teleported.”

She could immediately tell Liam did not believe her, his stance was rigid and his grip on Alice was tight, as if he thought she would take her. Emma had no intention of taking Alice.

“And you?” He snaps. “Who exactly are you and how did you find them?” She’s taken aback by the hostility.

“My name is Emma, Killian found me washed up on the shore, I nearly drowned and I was injured. He nursed me back to health and-” Liam’s glare only got harsher. “We became close.” She finishes, not exactly sure how to phrase the relationship.

“Come on. Let’s go.” The woman demands, and before anyone can get a word in, she swipes her hand and they are enveloped in green smoke.

It felt smoother than when Alice did it, but it smelled strangely of apples. When Emma blinked, instead of being out in the field, they were inside a cottage, or what remained of a cottage, there were warm colorful decorations hidden beneath a mess of clutter. Most of which was a clutter of papers, take out boxes and vodka.

It reeked of the stuff.

“Zelena…” Liam said in a surprisingly gentle voice.

“Robin’s room is the third door on your left.” The woman snapped impatiently, collapsing into a chair, arms crossed. “I’ll talk to her and we’ll figure out what to do from here.” Emma looks back at Alice, who appeared to have worn herself right out with her crying. Liam hesitates for a moment, before doing as Zelena asks, leaving the two of them alone.

The moment he’s gone, Zelena takes her in. She looks her up and down and then pushes the seat next to her out.

“Sit.” Emma does. “Drink vodka?” Emma nods. “Good.” She pours her a glass with vodka and nothing else before taking a swig of it herself. “Tell me everything you know.” She demands.

She does, she tells her how Ingrid sent her to Gothel as a safe haven, how she didn’t immediately go, but after being chased out of one too many towns, one where she was barred from even going to her boyfriend’s funeral she caved. It had seemed like such a perfect fit for her. Gretel was who she met, who told her what she had to do to prove her allegiances to them. While she speaks, Emma begins to notice the state of Zelena. She could see bags hidden beneath layers of makeup, could see that she drank heavily from the bottle, her hair was messy, as if she no longer took care of it.

“Did they ever do a spell on you?” Zelena asks.

Emma thinks briefly. “I think they did a spell to test if I had powers?” but she isn’t entirely sure.

“That was it.” Zelena says leaning back. “There is no spell to test for powers.” The woman assures her. “She did a tracking spell on you.” She gets up, swaying a little, but grabs a pot and some herbs from her cabinet. It’s not until she plops them down that she realizes they’re not herbs, or at least not the traditional ones.

Zelena begins mixing things and powders, murmuring under her breath, her magic swirls the pot and makes it glow an eerie blue color. “Did she make you drink anything? Take an important item or just“ She whips her hand to demonstrate.

“Just the hand thing I think.” Emma replies nervously. “And what do you mean a tracking spell?”

Does that mean they’re still tracking us? Emma thinks in a panic.

Zelena shakes her head. “I wish they were tracking us now, it would be so much easier to find that way.” She hisses. “Put your hand in the pot.”

The gunk is bubbling but they were nowhere near the stove. “What is that stuff?”

Zelena rolls her eyes. “Just do it.” Her gaze clearly says there’s no room for arguing, so she does. It feels kinda like mash potatoes, but only if mashed potatoes also felt like worms.

“What is that?” Emma demands, trying to pull her hand out, it won’t budge.

“Shhh. Just wait.” The mixture bubbles and turns a deep indigo color before releasing her hand. Zelena growls under her breath, obviously unsatisfied with the results. “The spell ran its course, there’s no way to track its origin.” She says as she grabs the pot and dumps its contents down the sink with a slam.

“So what’s next?” Emma says.

“Nothing.” She replies casually. “Bloody nothing.” The pot is dropped loudly into the sink. She goes for the vodka again.

“Zelena…” Emma says trailing off. “There has to be something we can do to find them.” But the red head shakes her head. She seems positively destroyed by the lack of the results, by her separation from Robin. Emma has a pretty good guess as to who Robin is to her, but she hopes she’s wrong.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” She demands angrily. “I’ve tried everything and that was before I found Liam, after I heard about their connection with the lead bitch Gothel, I thought…”She trails off. “There is nothing.” She says in resignation. “I’ve failed my daughter, the only person in this world who gives a damn about me.” Emma has no idea what to do. Emma isn’t comforting. Emma isn’t friendly. She’s completely out of her element.

“There has to be something.” She assures her. “Let me see your information so far, I used to track down scum bags for a living, maybe I can see something you don’t?”

Zelena sighed and gestured to the stacks of paper at the table. “Go for it.” She says without the barest trace of hope. But Emma was determined, now that she had a goal, a purpose there would be nothing stopping her.

“No one thought I could do it you know, my sister, when she found out she was fuming mad.” Zelena rambles. “After Robin Sr. died and my baby, Robin was born she even tried to micro manage everything. She’s a real control freak. It didn’t help that Robin sr. was her husband at the time, I know I’m sister of the year, sleeping with my sister husband when they were separated…” Zelena laughed. “I let her. I let her micromanage…I thought I would be a terrible mother and my sister already had two boys so…That’s where she was when she disappeared, with my sister not with me. Not with her mother…” Emma doesn’t know what to do with that, with any of that. But she tries, she puts a hand on the woman’s shoulder as she takes a very heavy drink of the vodka.

“We’ll find her. We’ll make it right.” Zelena doesn’t respond, she just disappears into another room.

She was halfway through a missing child’s report—one Robin Margot Mills—when she looked up to see Liam glaring daggers at her.

Emma pushed it aside; she had a witch to find.

//

Only, finding them would be a lot harder than she thought it would be. What Zelena said about not having any leads was true; there was absolutely nothing within her pile of documents.

It had taken her days to go through them. Thankfully Zelena’s farm house had tons of room and she managed to find a space to properly work through it. Liam had opposed her help at first, but even he had to admit they had nothing.

But Zelena had a decent computer with access to the internet and that yielded some results. She was able to track down a few members of the cult. There was Elsa Arendelle, a runaway heiress to a shipping company, Ingrid’s niece. Her little sister was looking for her, refusing to marry her fiancé without her. Gretel Grimm, her father used to own a bakery until he died last year. There were dozen more children of all ages disappearing in roughly the same area. A third woman, Merida Bow, had been taken from school while her mother had been late dealing with her triplet brothers. The mother had started a whole blog trying to find her.

Robin was the outlier, they lived in Maine, nowhere near the big cities Gothel had been targeting.

“She came looking for me.” Zelena says, gazing hopefully at the paper of names she had constructed. “I was once the Dark One’s student, someone who would practically double her little coven’s power had I been foolish enough to fall into her web.” She says bitterly. “She took my daughter instead.”

“Dark One?” Emma echoes.

“Big bad sorcerer of all evil.” She says sarcastically. “Really harmless now a days.”

Emma blinks in surprise. “Gretel…called me The Savior when we met, when she put that tracking spell on me…and then Alice…she called me the same thing.” It had scared her when she had, reminding her oh so clearly how she hadn’t belonged with that sweet family.

Zelena looks back at her skeptically. “Hmmm. That does explain why your power feels so sweet.” She says offhandedly. “Too much rainbows and sunshine for my liking if I’m honest.”

Emma isn’t exactly sure she should take that. “She said I was supposed to destroy some dark evil…The Dark One more specifically.”

Another eye roll. “Don’t worry about him, he’s been in retirement for decades, him and his pretty wife, all he does now a days is indulge whatever new occupation peeks his interest and take on the occasional student.”

Well that felt like an underwhelming destiny…

“But if you are supposed to be the Savior, your magic could prove useful.” Zelena says mostly to herself then to Emma. “But you obviously don’t know how to use it.” She complains.

“Could you…show me?” Emma asks, practically glaring at her.

Zelena just shrugs, which is as much enthusiasm as Emma can expect.

//

Somehow a routine forms. Zelana would help her get her magic under control in the mornings, and they’d do research until it was time for dinner. Dinner was the only time she got a chance to see Alice.

All day long both Alice and Liam would be scarcely seen. Sometimes they’d stay for breakfast but mostly they’d be up before the sun, but whenever she could, Emma would try her best to talk to Alice, interact in any way she could.

Emma missed Alice more than she ever thought she could. She missed her smile, her laugh the way she saw the world.

Alice would brighten up when they spoke. She would talk about all that she did with Liam that day, sometimes the Zoo, other times the library. It would release the knot in Emma’s stomach whenever she could get these chats with the little girl who had stolen her heart.

“When are we getting Papa back?” Alice would always work into conversation. She was an expert at working a conversation in her favor.

Emma would just smile. “Soon kid, soon.” She’d promise. It was always then that Liam would swoop in and say it was time for Alice to go to bed.

“But Liaaaam I’m not tired.” She would groan, but whisked away she was; away from the dinner table, and Emma. But he wouldn’t just leave it like that, any time Emma tried to say anything about his refusal to have her spend any length of time with Alice, he’d snark back at her. “Perhaps if Killian were here we could discuss this.” Or “I don’t want her to get attached to you, hasn’t she lost enough?” other times it would be blunt like “You’re a bad influence on her, make this easier and keep your distance.”

One night, Emma has enough.

She’s tired of Liam’s bullshit   She’s tired of thinking she has a lead, but it crashes and burns, tired of how hard her magic is to control, tired of feeling so lost when Liam decides Alice has had enough talking to her.

“If you care so much about your brother, why won’t you help us find him?” She snaps back at him. “If I’m such a bad influence, why not try to find Killian faster so you can convince him that loving me was such a horrible mistake?”

Liam laughs at her, right in her face.

“My brother doesn’t love you, and even if he did, he’s always jumped first asked questions later, he doesn’t see what I see.” Emma rage is boiling and the lights are flickering. Zelena had said that her magic was all about her emotions, that rage and fear were bad for her type of magic, but Emma couldn’t help it.

Killian’s brother was just such an ass.

“And what do you see?” She snaps. “What great wisdom has spoken to you ‘oh wise one’?”

He gets in her face, despite the magic crackling at her fingers, despite the power radiating out of her, Emma is barely able to hold it back, barley able to keep from snapping at him and-

“You’re dangerous.” He says “14 foster homes in 16 years, 3 of which wanted to adopt you. You run away when things get hard. The one time you did stay? Your boyfriend died of unusual circumstances, but we both know what that means. You killed him with magic.”

She hadn’t expected that, it stings to hear. “Best case scenario, Alice will get her heart broken when things get hard and you run, worse case,” He gestures to her hands, crackling and glowing. “You hurt her. I’m not letting you hurt her.”

All the magic snaps from her in an instant of calm. “Don’t you dare make assumptions about me; Maybe that’s how I was before, but I made a promise to that girl. I promised I’d bring her dad back to her. I’m going to do it, and then if Killian wants me to go, if he wants me to never see either of them again, then I’ll back off but not a second sooner.” She declares.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Liam declares. “I’ve found a place to take Alice, a farmhouse with a good school system, far away from here. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Emma gasps involuntarily.

Take Alice...away?

“Y-You can’t do that!” Emma insists. “She can’t lose anyone else! She-“ But she’s cut off.

“We’re leaving?”

It’s Alice, looking to be in a new nightgown holding a brand new stuffed rabbit. She looks stunned. Liam turns around, his eyes wide.

“But what about Papa?” Alice asks in a small voice. Emma doesn’t know what to do. “How are we going to find Papa if we’re separated?” Her eyes flicker from Liam’s to Emma’s and then back to his.

“Starfish…” He trails off. “It’s what Papa would have wanted…” Alice’s eyes narrow angrily.

“You’re lying!” She yells angrily and storms past them right out of the house. Bulbs burst in her wake.

Emma knows that is not a good sign.

“Alice!” Emma shouts, going after the obviously upset girl. Liam moves to stop her, but Emma pushes him aside. “Is that why you won’t help?” She demands. “Because you think he’s dead?”

Liam doesn’t say anything, which is an answer in itself.

“He’s alive!” She shouts, her hand going to her heart. “I feel his heart beating; I feel my magic protecting him. He’s waiting for us, and telling her he’s gone and pushing me, probably the only one who understands what she’s feeling right now, away is not going to help.” She hisses, and storms right after Alice.

Magic is swirling and sparking around Alice, a sound of soft sobs echoing from the storm. “Papa…” She sobs. “Papa…” Branches and leaves are sucked into the vortex, a vortex that was sparking rainbow colors. She’s never seen anything like it.

“Alice!” She yells trying to get into the storm, pushing into the storm. She needs to get closer, needs to get to her. Alice can’t be alone right now. Emma wouldn’t leave her alone with this.

Magic. Emma realizes, gazing at her hands. Her magic sparks to life under her command, allowing her to pierce through the protective vortex Alice had created in her sadness.

“Alice!” Emma tries again, this time closer; it makes the little blonde look up, tears racing down her face. “I’m here. It’s ok. You need to stop this, we can talk I promise!” She shakes her head stubbornly.

“I can’t get it to stop.” She sobs, body shaking. “Papa would know…Papa would always make the Stars behave, I can’t. They won’t listen!” She insists.

The storm of magic gets rougher at every word she says, making Emma stumble back away from Alice. But Emma is determined. It’s not long that armed with her magic, she winds up collapsed next to Alice, close enough to pull her into her arms if she needs to.

“You’re dad’s not here Alice.” Emma insists. “It’s just you and me.” Blue eyes look up to her, sad and confused.

“I don’t want to leave.” She insists. “I want to go home.” Emma nods. She wants that too. “I want Papa. I want us to be a family.”

“We’ll find him.” Emma promises. “We’re getting close, I promise. We’ll find him, we’ll all go home, but first you need to stop this, we need to get the Stars to stop this.”

“Oh stop the Stars nonsense.” Says a voice walking through the storm cloaked in green light. It makes them both look up in surprise. “There are no Stars.”

“No stars?” Alice repeats.

“It’s you, it’s always been you.” The woman explains offhandedly. Emma bristles, unsure what breaking the girl’s belief will do. “The things you know? It’s the sixth sense sometimes present in powerful earth magic. These powers? All you sweetheart.”

Alice blinks. “You need to own it and control it if you want to ever protect anything and anyone.” Alice looks back at Emma unsure.

“You can do it, I’m right here.” Emma insists.

Alice closes her eyes and she takes a breath. As quickly as it started the storm dissipated, her eyes open and lock on Emma, she tackles her and Emma is ready taking the little girl into her arms.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Emma vows, “I’ll always be here for you, here with you for as long as I live.” She means it; she means it to the bottom of her soul.

“Now Emma, we need to talk to me about that protection you said you put on Jones.”

//

Apparently the spell Emma had put on him in the moment to protect him was enough to track them.

“You should have bloody told me instead of wasting my time.” Zelena mutters under her breath mixing a weird concoction on her stove. “We could have had them back weeks ago.”

Emma hadn’t known. She hadn’t known that she’d done anything useful like that.

“But it kept him safe!” Alice insists, eating her breakfast at Emma’s side, smiling brighter than ever. “Emma can you braid my hair?” She asks.

“Of course.” Liam stands of to the side, watching with a glare, but he says nothing, has said nothing since Alice’s meltdown. “How long should it take?”

“Minutes.” Zelena assures her. ”Then we’ll find them and I’ll be able to rip those witches limb from limb.”

Emma feels Alice shift from besides her. “That’s not very nice.”

“Taking my daughter from me isn’t very nice either.”

“That’s true.”

Emma smiles, standing up to clear away Alice’s dirty dishes.

Everything’s going to work out. Emma thinks confidently. Just hold on Killian.

Then suddenly she feels a sharp pain deep in her chest.  It takes away her breath and she doubles over clutching her chest, her heart. She hears Alice scream as the plates in her hand crash and break. Hands go to get her up but she pushes past it.

It feels like her heart is physically breaking. Or maybe it isn’t her heart that’s breaking or crumbling or…

“Something’s wrong.” She says in a gasp, it feels like she’s being drained of her strength. Eventually Zelena and Liam are able to hook their arms around her and pull her into a sitting positon.

“What’s wrong? Emma, talk to me.” Zelena insists. She can’t.

“I think-Killian, I think something’s wrong with him…” She trails off, eyes opening to see worried faces looking down at her. “We need to-we need to find him right now.”

Tagging: @hollyethecurious​ @therookshiningthrough @branlovestowrite​ @celestial-fire-writer  ​ @winterbaby89​​​ @kmomof4​​

[centeris2]

“Stay with me” - Jessica and Rebecca (whumptober2019)

Following prompt 13 - Adrenaline tw: language

Read on AO3 || whumptober prompt list || my kofi

Dark Core was caught off guard when two figures appeared on their supposedly secure rig. The news they brought and the offer they extended was even more surprising: Midnightwarrior wanted an alliance to destroy the Keepers as revenge for taking Rebecca. It would have been laughable, Darko actually did laugh, except the older members of Dark Core recognized the dark human standing next to the Pandorian.

Darko realized it wasn’t a joke when Laverne dropped to his knees, hand over his chest in a show of respect and allegiance. Sabine and Katja glanced to each other but gave their signs of respect. Sands remained suspicious and guarded, and Jessica stepped forward. Midnightwarrior met her gaze, and Jessica saw all she needed.

So it came as quite a surprise when Jessica, shopping at the mall for some sort of distraction, saw a familiar face.

“Rebecca…?” her trembling voice caught the woman by surprise, and she looked at Jessica. Jessica swallowed hard, there was such innocence in those blue eyes she was staring into.

“I’m sorry… do I know you?” Rebecca asked, giving a polite smile.

“I…” Jessica choked, words not forming at first, “you’re Rebecca, right?”

“Yup! Pleasure to meet you!” Rebecca stuck her hand out, and Jessica shook it. “How can I help?”

Jessica fought back her anger, instead forcing a pleasant smile on her face as she said, “willing to help, just as I’ve heard!”

“I guess I’ve got a reputation,” Rebecca blushed and rubbed the back of her neck.

“It’s a good one,” Jessica offered, flattering, “I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

“Of course!” Rebecca’s eagerness hurt Jessica to see. She had always been so eager to help, it got her into trouble.

“Help me carry some of these bags? I have a bit of a walk,” Jessica didn’t finish her request before Rebecca was taking the bags from her arms.

“Sure! I just finished helping out around here, so I can help you now! Where am I taking the bags?”

“I live a couple blocks away, too close to justify a bus,” Jessica lied. Dark Chord was nearby, that would work just fine. Rebecca followed, willing and trusting of strangers, perfectly happy to walk beside Jessica as she hummed a bit.

Jessica watched her out of the corner of her eye, torn between what she should do. The druids had done something to make her forget, some sort of reset or reprogramming or something. It wasn’t difficult to do with magic, so long as you knew what you were doing, and Jessica knew the druids had done it to others. Was it something that she could fix? Should she risk it? Katja was better at memory and mind manipulation. But how was she going to keep Rebecca in one place until Katja arrived?

Rebecca’s pocket buzzed and she pulled out her phone, checking it.

“How much farther?” Rebecca asked, curious.

“Got somewhere to be?” Jessica deflected the question.

“Just someone who needs help, I should try to get to them as soon as possible,” Rebecca explained.

“We can drop this off at my job, it’s closer than my place. Work is just a half a block away,” Jessica pointed, Rebecca trying to guess which building she was supposed to be looking at.

“You’re lucky! Working so close to home!” Rebecca’s chipper spirit left a bad taste in Jessica’s mouth. It felt so fake and wrong now, it wasn’t really her. Rebecca was supposed to be bright and smiling despite her troubles, not because she no longer remembered.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Jessica lied, fishing out a keycard to get through Dark Chord’s security.

“Whoa, what do you do?” Rebecca asked, eyes bright and sparkling and so very innocent as she looked at the building Jessica was walking into.

“Ehh, this and that,” Jessica shrugged and nodded, “come on in.”

“I do need to be going soon,” Rebecca reminded her but followed her into the elevator.

“Just need to drop these bags off, please?” Jessica gave an emploring look, sticking out her bottom lip.

“Of course!” Rebecca reassured her, even though there was no getting out of the elevator. Jessica fished out her phone and texted Katja, praying she could stall. Of course, if it came down to it Jessica could forcibly prevent Rebecca from leaving.

“So, you don’t remember me?” Jessica asked, watching Rebecca carefully.

“Sorry… no. Where did we meet?” Rebecca looked genuinely guilty.

“On the Dark Core platform,” Jessica prompted, Rebecca confused. The elevator doors opened and Rebecca continued to follow Jessica.

“The what?”

“You really don’t remember?”

“I’ve never been to a Dark Core platform,” Rebecca insisted with a shrug and looked at the room Jessica was entering. “So… anywhere in here?”

“Right there is fine,” Jessica pointed to the corner and closed the door once Rebecca was inside, dropping the bags on the floor.

“There!” Rebecca declared, dramatically clapping her hands in a job well done, “It was a pleasure helping! Now-”

“Wait, I need something else,” Jessica insisted, Rebecca glancing from her to the door she was standing in front of.

“Okay… as long as it’s quick, I really do need to get going…” Rebecca said slowly, wary now.

“Do you remember Midnightwarrior?”

“Who?”

Jessica hissed under her breath. They even removed him from her mind?

“Dark stallion, a Jorvik Warmblood, your horse? Ringing any bells?” Jessica pushed, Rebecca shaking her head.

“I think you are confusing me with someone else…” Rebecca suggested, growing uncomfortable.

“No, I’m not. You have to remember me!” Jessica insisted, walking forward.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know you!” Rebecca apologized, edging around the wall toward the door.

“Yes you do!” Jessica blocked Rebecca’s path, her hands pinning Rebecca to the wall. “And I know you!”

“I don’t-”

“When the druids cut you out I trained you-”

“What are you…?”

“We had plans together, and you were starting to remember your past life!”

“My what?”

“You were remembering me- you have to remember me!”

“I’ve got to go…” Rebecca sank down, trying to slip under Jessica’s arm to get to the door.

“No!” Jessica snarled, grabbing Rebecca and pinning her to the wall, “Stay with me! Just for a little bit! Please! I know you’ll remember- I won’t lose you again!” Jessica insisted, hating how Rebecca looked up at her in fear.

“Just stay… stay for a little bit,” Jessica’s frantic insistence turned to begging, “Please…” she let go of one of Rebecca’s arms so she could stroke Rebecca’s face. She could feel Rebecca’s racing pulse, hear the quickened breath.

“I’m not who you want,” Rebecca whimpered, pale now.

“You will be,” Jessica pet Rebecca’s hair, knowing Katja was on her way. She was startled when Rebecca shoved her, arms flailing to keep balance, the bags she had dropped on the floor causing her to fall.

“Sorry!” Rebecca called as she sprinted out the door, running as fast as she could.

“No! No no no!” Jessica scrambled after, watching the elevator doors close, Rebecca cowering inside the elevator.

“Fuck!” Jessica slammed her fists into the closed doors, metal denting at the impact. She slid to the ground, hands on her knees as she growled to herself. But this was good. Rebecca was alive, just mixed up in the head. They could work with that. And now she was extremely impressionable. Jessica knew she couldn’t do it, she’d blown it, but one of the others could gain her trust. She took a deep breath, fighting every impulse to punch the door again. No point in breaking the elevator over this, not when she could break spines instead. And Jessica planned on breaking as many druids as she could get her hands on.

[the-walking-memelords]

Allegiances: Chapter 16

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 17

Series is rated M

Word Count: 6191

The final showdown between Clementine and Lilly.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

Warning for Graphic Depictions of Violence

The silver beams of the full moon guided them through the dark, twisting branches of the forest as the kids marched towards their final battlefield. The stars danced above, bidding the teens good luck on their mission.

Anxiety ran high at the possibility of failure. Being killed, or worse, being captured was a fate Clementine tried desperately to push out of her mind.

We push on, we fight on, we look forward, never back.

Clementine held her head high with her eyes trained forward at the path ahead as her boots stomped through the dirt. Her fingers fiddled with the strap of her quiver, making sure it was fastened securely as she gripped the metal bow in her other hand.

A smooth draw.

It was truly the best weapon the school had in their arsenal, but it couldn't compare to even a revolver. God, she wished she had a gun. Yonatan's rifle had been missing from his corpse once the dust cleared. Such a precious weapon no doubt snatched back by one of the other soldiers.

The burning orange glow of the distant torches cut through the blue of the night.

“You all know what to do.” Mitch addressed the group as they reached the clearing.

“Willy, you get the raft. Ruby and Tenn, free those horses. Me, Louis, and Clementine will go after the others and plant the bomb.”

A decently solid plan.

“Only the group going up to the boat needs to douse themselves in guts.” Clem added

“If we don’t regroup before the bomb goes off, don’t wait around too long. Every walker in the county is gonna make a beeline for this shore.”

Suddenly, a bright white light flooded the area as the kids threw themselves to the dirt. The spotlight paid them no mind as it moved past, focusing instead, on a walker lumbering towards the source. A loud gunshot rang, signalling the end of that walker’s journey.

Hopefully, James brought enough of them for us to sneak past her.

The kids kept their heads low as they picked themselves up.

“I guess now we just wait for your walker friend to show up with his herd.” Ruby whispered.

Speak of the devil.

“Won’t have to wait too long.” Clementine smirked, seeing the masked boy accidentally sneak up behind the redhead.

“Good Lord!” Ruby tried to contain her surprise at the sudden stranger.

“Uh, hi.” James stood awkwardly as the group stared at him. This must have been his first time around such a group in years.

“Guys, this is James.” Clem introduced.

The others didn’t seem too sure how to react upon actually meeting the guy who wore human skin. Their faces mostly held mild unsettlement mixed with wonder. That is, except for one.

“You’re mask looks so cool.” Willy didn’t hide his enthusiasm but at least kept his voice down. “How do you get the skin like that? Can I try it on?”

“I... uh… Clementine?” James begged for help. Even with all of the control he held over the walkers, he was powerless against this excited child.

“Willy. Cool it.” Mitch interjected before Clem got the chance. “We got a job to do.”

“Right. Sorry.” Willy backed off, and James let out a small sigh of relief.

“It just looks so real.”

I mean, it is.

“Functional, and fashionable. I’ll take two.” Louis comment got a lighthearted eye roll from Clem and a small chuckle from James.

“The walkers will be here soon. I’ll lead them to the boat, but that’s as far as I go.” He reminded them.

“Thank you, James.” Clementine smiled before looking at the other kids. They looked back at her with confidence, which was reassuring.

“See you on the other side.”

When the group dispersed to wait out the arrival of their undead distraction, James pulled Clementine aside. She followed him to the edge of the path, where they stood just within the treeline.

“The noise from the boat will draw the herd towards the water.” He explained.

“You can join them as they pass through.”

“Then we can get on board and save our friends.” Clementine said determinedly.

A lone walker stumbled across the path, no doubt only a prelude for what was to come.

“Your friends aren’t what I expected. They’re… different. Open-minded. Accepting.” He seemed surprised.

“That’s not usually how my first impressions go. That one kid even called me… cool.”

“They could be your friends too, y’know. Once this is all over, you could come back to the school with us.” Clem offered.

“I didn’t think I could trust a group again after getting screwed over so many times, but these people are different. It really feels like a home.”

“I haven’t lived with a group in a long time but...” Clementine noticed him smiling through the hole in his mask as he thought about having a home.

“It does sound nice… I’ll have to think about it.”

James reached his hands behind his head, removing his mask and revealing his face. Clementine looked at the skin mask in his hands. Wearing it was one of the more unnerving things she’d done. She couldn't imagine wearing it full-time.

“There’s something I wanted to show you.” Nervousness crept into his tone.

The boy reached into his pocket, revealing a small plastic bag with a Polaroid photo inside. He cupped the photograph gently in his hands. Depicted in the photo were two boys, one who was clearly James several years younger, and another boy around the same age as him in the picture who also appeared to be of Korean descent. The other boy sat with his arm around James’ shoulder, the two boys smiling happily at the camera.

“This is… was… my boyfriend, Charlie. We joined the Whisperers together.” James confessed, admiring the photo with a wistful smile.

“But it changed him. In a way that couldn’t be undone. It changed both of us.”

“What do you mean?” All the stories Clementine had heard spoke of cruelty beyond all words. Closer to animals than people.

“The Whisperers were my.. Family… from a young age.” He continued, looking shaken as he recalled his past.

“I witnessed so much death and suffering. Eventually, I became the cause of it.”

James’ story began to mirror her own a little bit.

“Weakness was considered a poison, and I believed in that. Fiercely. One day, our Alpha had ordered us to attack a community that had wronged her in some way. And when another boy expressed sympathy for them…” James bit his lip as he held a hand over his face.

“...I slit his throat without hesitation.”

What?

“That doesn’t sound like you.” Clementine was taken aback by his words. James killed a member of his own group? Just like that? It sounded like he was telling the story of some other boy. It was hard to believe such a violent and bloodthirsty act came from the kind-hearted boy standing next to her.

“You killed a child?”

“I didn’t consider who he was, what he felt. Honestly, I don't even remember his name. All I knew was that someone like him would only slow us down.” James grimaced at his own actions.

“After he died, I kept hearing his words in my head over and over. ‘Those people are like us! Just on a different path!’ I stopped killing after that. I changed. But no one else did.”

Some evils just can’t be undone.

“The Whisperers preyed on the young especially, twisting their minds with their sick methods. I don’t want what happened to Charlie to happen to your friends.”

Clementine’s next words were cut off by the moans of the dead emanating from the path. Several of the undead began to emerge from the forest, following the light right to the boat.

“The herd will be upon us shortly. Soon there will be enough of them to provide cover.” James adorned his mask once again as he moved to inspect the herd’s progress.

“Good luck out there.”

Clementine nodded as she stepped out of sight back towards the clearing.

“Clem?” The small voice of Tennessee caught her attention. He played with his hands as he stood before her sadly.

“Louis told me… about my sisters.”

Poor kid.

“He said that… Sophie died… and Minnie is one of them now.” He looked down at his hands as he seemed to fight back tears for a moment.

“If you see her… can you tell her I forgive her?”

“Tenn…”

“I just want her to be happy. Where ever she decides to go.” The scarred boy said pleadingly.

“Tenn, look at me.” She knelt down to his height.

“I can’t promise how things are gonna go in there, but I can promise that I will try. If we find her, I’m going to try to convince her to come home. I mean, I changed, maybe she can too.”

“I changed, but no one else did.”

James words suddenly echoed in her head.

Would their stories end up following a similar narrative?

“Thank you, Clem.” The now smiling boy hugged her tight.

“Stay safe out there, okay?” Clementine smiled back.

“Okay.” With that, they parted ways, and Clem began to search for Louis.

---

She found Louis standing alone, leaning against a tree. His eyes were trained on the boat. The dreadlocks that swung in front of his face cast shadows that made it hard to read his expression, but Clem could guess what he was thinking.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” He said slightly panicked as she approached.” We’re about to walk onto a boat of armed adults, save our friends, and somehow, blow that shit to hell while getting out in one piece.”

Well, when you say it like that it only sounds more impossible.

“I can take us right to the cellblock, and the boiler room is on the way.” She assured.

“The Delta will be so occupied with the walkers that if anyone is there, maybe it’ll be one guard. Between the three of us? I like those odds.”

“Damn right.” He said low.

She hoped her confidence would rub off on him. Once they were inside, hesitation wasn’t an option.

“I just don’t want to fuck this up. People’s lives are depending on us. Depending on me. God, I just…” It was clear that the stress was beginning to get to him.

“Louis, we can’t fall apart right now. Violet’s lost if we don't go. They all are.” Clementine didn’t want to think about her friends befalling the same fate as her.

“I know. I know.” He took a deep breath, stepping aside and mumbling to himself.

“C’mon, Louis. Get it together.”

“We’re going to be okay.” She tried to smile.

“Clem, can you do me a favour?” His eyes were serious.

“What is it?”

“I need you to slap me.”

Excuse me?

“Right here.” Louis pointed to the right side of his face.

“Just to help pull me out of this.”

Clementine watched him in mild amusement as he stood with his eyes closed, bracing for impact. She rolled her eyes and took a step forward.

She stood on her toes. Also grabbing a fistful of his shirt in order to reach her lips to his. Louis tensed for a moment, expecting a slap and getting a kiss, but quickly melted into it as he pulled her close. They savoured it, on the off-chance it was their last.

They broke after a moment, foreheads pressed together, their breath warm on each other’s faces.

“I uh… don't know if I feel more focused or less.” He chuckled.

“Don’t worry.” She assured him one more time.

“We’ll be home by sunrise.”

“Hey lovebirds.” Mitch called from a short distance away, startling the couple. “The walkers are ready, let's get a move on.”

---

The groans and snarls of the herd were almost deafening as the three blood-soaked teens approached. The spotlight was blinding as it pointed to the mass of the dead. The voices of the Delta soldiers could be heard faintly. Orders barked left and right. For a moment, Clementine thought she could hear Lilly among them.

The crack of a gunshot rang out as a walker a few feet to Clem’s right fell still on the ground.

“Stay behind the walkers, use them as shields.” She whispered to the two boys.

The spotlight no longer focused its attention on the herd, swinging over towards a raft of supplies floating off down the river.

“Good job, Willy.” She heard Mitch mumble under his breath.

The yelling only increased as the panicked whinnies of the horses sounded and a bright blaze of hay lit up the night.

They tried to stay relatively together as one by one the herd was thinned out. Whenever that spotlight found its way to Clementine, she dove for a walker, gripping onto its torn clothes and rotting flesh until the bullet meant for her dropped the walker instead.

More soldiers began to emerge from the boat to fight the herd just as the three reached the pier.

“We can’t risk leaving cover, we’ll have to crawl along the side of the dock.” Clementine lead them as they dipped into the freezing water. She felt a chill run up her body as they scurried along the side, gripping onto the soggy wood. The water around them became a dark red as the guts washed from their clothing. With their camouflage gone, escaping would be a little trickier.

The gap above the door was barely large enough for Clementine to squeeze through, and with walkers on the way, the time-crunch made it even more difficult. Mitch held off any of the dead that got too close as Louis boosted her up. It took some maneuvering, but she managed to twist her way in, slamming the lever to open the door.

“Let’s blow these sons o’ bitches to hell.” Mitch examined the bomb in his hands, which he somehow managed to keep dry while wading through the water.

Clementine nodded, ducking and diving through the halls of Delta, a soldier prowled around, trying to get an angle on the advancing walkers.

We’re so close.

She dove for cover once more as a raider rounded the corner, but not quickly enough.

“Who’s there?” The deep voice of the large man echoed through the metal hall. He let out a low growl before beginning to creep forward.

“Give me a damn city name.”

“Rockingham.” Clementine blurted out, hoping he wouldn’t recognize her voice.

“Well hurry up and get the fuck out there before we lose the whole ship to these things!” The man hurried down another passageway as Clem, Louis, and Mitch finally reached the boiler room.

“There ya go, Mitch’s Masterpiece.” Mitch grinned mischievously as he placed the explosive in the bottom door of the boiler.

Oh God, he named it?

Clem didn’t have time to question it before they booked it through the final stretch of their journey. Clementine was correct in the cellblock only containing one guard, but of course, that guard had to be…

“Minerva.” Clementine called to her.

Minnie immediately drew her crossbow, her brows crossed in a scowl. Clem and the others returned the favour by drawing their weapons as well.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” The redhead stared in shock at the three that stood before her, focusing her anger mainly on the girl.

“If you got my little brother mixed up in this I swear to God I will gut you before the commander gets the chance.”

Jesus.

“Tenn’s fine.” Clementine told her, still being cautious in case Minerva had an itchy trigger finger.

“He wanted me to tell you that he forgives you.”

Clementine lowered her bow as a gesture of good faith and saw Minerva’s stance become more hesitant.

“Come with us, Minnie. Tenn wants to see his big sister again. It isn’t too late.” Clem begged.

“We don’t belong to the Delta. We have a home, and it isn’t with them.”

They stared each other down for a moment before Minerva slowly lowered her weapon.

“Fine. I’ll help you get the others out. Then we go.”

The four of them searched for the cells that contained their friends.

“Clementine?” Aasim exclaimed in surprise.

Omar let out a groan as he stood from within the same cell as Aasim, limping on one leg.

“Are you okay?” Mitch questioned the injured boy.

“I’m alright, burns like hell though.” Omar said as he leaned an arm on Aasim for balance.

“Clementine, help me with Vi and Brody while they get those guys out.” Minerva lifted the latch at the bottom of the door, allowing it to swing open.

Clementine cautiously stepped inside, finding the two girls huddled away from each other against the far wall. She didn’t even get a chance to get a word out before the butt of Minnie’s crossbow connected with the back of her neck, sending her crashing to the floor. Her ears rang as her vision blurred, barely being able to process the sounds of three people yelling before her vision fully faded to black.

---

The sound of broken, muffled sobs brought Clementine back to reality. As the blurred vision finally subsided, she was able to focus on the source of the sound.

The shaking form of Brody sat in the corner with her knees pulled tightly to her chest and her face buried as if the poor girl was trying to make herself so small that she could disappear from this awful place.

"Brody?" Clem called softly, eliciting no response.

"She's been like that since we woke up here." Violet's voice came flatly from where she sat slouched against the wall, focusing on her hand that was picking at the rips in her jeans.

"Seeing Minnie again only made it worse."

"Are you alright?" She tried to get her best friend to look at her, and when she finally did, Clementine's blood ran cold at the sight of the ice in her gaze.

"...Vi?"

"I didn't believe her, y'know. When she started spouting all that shit about you being one of them, and all that shit about the kid… I thought she was just trying to fuck with our heads." She spoke in a frustrated growl.

"But then I knew. I got grabbed. We locked eyes, and you looked away."

Clementine didn't know how to respond. She chose to save Louis instead of Violet. She knew this would happen. She had no excuse.

"I'm sorry, Violet." Clementine practically pleaded.

"I didn't want any of this."

"You didn't want it to happen, but you knew it would." The blonde spit back.

"And you lied about it."

"I'm going to make this right." She swore.

"We came to bring everyone home, and that's what we're going to do."

"Then we're all going to die like Marlon did." Violet's face softened, the ice in her eyes melted leaving them empty with hopelessness.

Clementine turned to locate her other friends, to find someone else already waiting by the door.

“You’ve really flown off the fucking rails, haven’t you?” Minerva scowled at her through the bars.

“You put everyone on this fucking ship in danger. My brother in danger. On some pointless rescue attempt. Fucking traitor.”

How could she have the audacity to call Clementine a traitor? She was the one actively working against her friends for the people who kidnapped her away from them.

“This is bullshit, Minnie.” Louis challenged her from the cell across the hall.

“How the fuck could you go along with this after what they did to you and Sophie?”

“Minerva, please.” Clementine gripped the metal bars tightly.

“This is our chance to all go home, don’t you see that?”

“You’re on real thin fucking ice, Clementine.” She growled, their faces only inches apart with the bars of the cell between them.

“Just sit down and shut up, or that kid of yours will get a bullet to the head right in front of you before we even leave this dock.”

What the fuck does she mean?

“Is she awake?” That sickening voice asked from somewhere Clem couldn’t see.

“Yes, ma’am.” Minerva answered obediently before stepping back, allowing her commander to step into view.

“I see you’ve decided to return home after all.” Lilly sang.

“Fuck you.”

“It’s nice to see you too.” The woman smiled as she pulled her pistol from the holster on her hip.

“Back up.”

Clementine obeyed, slowly stepping backwards as Minerva opened the latch to let her into the cell. She was basically trapped in the corner with Minerva’s crossbow pointed right between her eyes. Lilly took a seat on the cot along the wall, the metal frame creaking under the sudden weight.

Clem looked at her two friends also trapped with her. Brody’s laboured breathing only worsened with the threat now only a few feet away. Violet actually scooched closer to the terrified girl, putting her arm around her in an attempt to quiet her down.

“I’m not the only visitor you have today.” The smile never faded from her lips. Lilly nodded to Minerva, giving her some kind of signal.

What fucking game is this?

Clementine felt her heart jump into her throat as Minnie stepped to the side, allowing her little boy to squeeze past. Clem’s shocked expression was met by AJ’s unsure gaze.

“AJ?” Clementine cried out as she stepped towards him, only to be blocked by Minerva’s threatening weapon.

He looked nearly the same as the last time she saw him, the only difference she could tell was that his hair had been cut shorter, not sticking out under the blue baseball cap as much as it had been before.

AJ said nothing as he turned his head towards Lilly, who patted the spot beside her on the cot. The child took quick steps to meet at the instructed spot, sitting on the far side of Lilly from where Clementine stood.

He was right there. Right there. So close, yet still that evil bitch stood between them.

“AJ here has barely said a word the last few days. He’s been terribly upset after he heard about you abandoning him for a brand new family.” Lilly imitated a pouty tone as she taunted the girl.

“Don’t you fucking DARE twist his head like that!” Clementine began to burn with rage.

“AJ isn’t stupid. He knows better than to believe you.”

“AJ isn’t stupid and that's why he’s still alive. He knows better than to disobey orders. He knows better than to go against the people who cared for him.” Lilly wrapped her arm around AJ’s shoulder.

“He’ll make a better soldier than you ever were, considering you ended up being such a disappointing failure.”

“Get your fucking hand off of him.” Clementine growled with a voice full of venom.

“Clem…” AJ finally spoke, an uneasy look across his face as he froze against the woman’s touch.

“Shush, AJ. She doesn’t deserve your attention.” Lilly cooed.

I’m going to fucking kill her.

“And that’s exactly the kind of insubordination we can’t tolerate.” The woman looked back over at Minerva.

“Minnie here is a shining example of everything you were supposed to be. Of course, she and her sister got off to a rocky start when they first joined our ranks, but look where she is now.”

Minerva’s eyes appeared to be empty of her own free will. She stood as if her limbs were tied with strings, moving only when the puppeteer saw fit.

“Let me tell you a story, I call it: The Parable of the Twins.” As Lilly spoke, Clementine saw the icy blue spheres of Minnie’s eyes fill with fear.

“Two girls were taken from their home, and brought to a new place to live. They had to leave their friends and family behind and that was hard at first. They shed a lot of tears.

But the new place was a good place. The people grew corn and raised pigs, and the girls ate well for the first time in years. They had hot showers. Clean clothes. Beds. They were given guns and trained to use them.

The people there were kind to these girls. All that was asked for in return, was that they help defend the group. You see, this place had a lot of enemies, killers and thieves, people who wanted what they had. They needed help fighting, or they’d lose everything they’d built. Their crops, their power, even their lives.”

“I wonder if that’s how the twins would tell it.” Clementine interrupted. Stealing a couple of kids away from their home? Nothing could justify it.

“One of the twins would.” Lilly smirked.

“One of the girls saw this was a place worth fighting for, and her tears dried.

But the other twin… she could never forget her old home. She rejected every gift. Every opportunity. Stirred up trouble every chance she got.

She convinced her sister to help her steal a raft and leave on the river. Of course, they didn’t get far.”

Clementine’s stomach twisted as the story continued.

“What happened then, Minerva?”

There was a moment of hesitation before the tall girl’s eyes drained of fear, refilling with malice.

“I killed her.” Minerva’s words although quiet, set off an explosive response to those listening.

Confused cries of disbelief came from the teens in all three cells.

“What the fuck?”

“Holy shit.”

“Is that true?”

“You killed your own sister? Why would you do that?” Lilly locked eyes with Clem, sending the girl a sinister stare. This was a demonstration of power. Lilly proving her dominance over the others.

“She was twisting my head with her lies.”

“And?”

“I made a mistake. I needed to show my loyalty to the place I called home.” Minerva spoke with scary certainty as if she fully believed in the things she was saying.

“You fucking brainwashed her!” Louis yelled, slamming his fist against the cell door.

“You sick fucks!”

“Pull the mouthy one out of the cell.” Lilly called to Dorian before turning back to Clem.

“He clearly didn’t get the moral of the story.”

Clem looked over Minnie’s shoulder, seeing the fear in his eyes as Dorian approached his cell.

“Don’t you fucking hurt him!” She growled, trying to step forward but once again stopped by Minerva and her crossbow.

“Lilly, I’m the one who screwed you over. Do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt any of them.”

Especially not him.

“You misunderstand.” She sang.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

The door to the adjacent cell swung open as Dorian stepped inside. Mitch quickly stepped between them giving the taller woman a threatening glare.

“Don’t.” Mitch spit.

“Ey yo, you better get out of the way or you gonna get yourself hurt.” Dorian shoved the boy out of the way, grabbing Louis by the collar of his shirt, cleaver in hand.

Mitch jumped at her, pinning her against the wall as Louis fell back into the cell. Dorian swiped her cleaver at her attacker, slicing deep across Mitch’s cheekbone. Blood began to run down his face as Dorian threw him back into the cell, slamming the door. Mitch grimaced in pain as he pressed his hand to his face, attempting to stop the blood flow.

“Enough of this shit.” Lilly stood, tugging on AJ’s arm as she pulled him away from the cell.

“Dorian, start the boiler. I want us out of here.”

Minerva slammed the door behind them as Lilly and AJ disappeared down the hall.

This ship is going to blow. We need to get the fuck out.

Clementine tugged on the cheap steel, enough force, and maybe she could break the hinges.

“Get the fuck back!” Minerva barked, her voice almost on the verge of tears.

“This is all your fucking fault!”

“Her fault?” Louis yelled back.

“You killed Sophie? What the fuck?”

With Minerva’s back turned, Clementine tried to force the door again. A pair of hands dug into her shoulders, ripping her backwards and pinning her to the wall.

“What are you doing?” The blonde fought.

“You’re gonna get us all killed!”

Violet tried to keep Clementine down, but her thin frame was no match for Clem’s muscle. She tried not to be too rough as she released herself from Violet’s grasp, pressing her forearm to her friend’s throat as Clem pinned Vi against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The choking sounds caught Minnie’s attention as she unlocked the door to break up the fight.

Wrong move.

Clementine launched herself at the door, effectively knocking the crossbow from the redhead’s hands. Clem landed a knee to the other girl's stomach as she knocked her backwards. She reached out and undid the lock to Louis and Mitch’s cell before Minnie could recover= but, of course, Minerva had gone through the same training she had.

Minerva landed a swift kick to the side of Clementine’s knee, knocking her leg out from under her. She sat on top of the smaller girl, brandishing a large hunting knife and using all of her weight to try to push it into Clem’s chest.

They grappled with each other, Minerva having the size advantage. The tip of the knife dug into Clem’s collar bone, the beginning of her losing this battle.

Mitch grabbed Minerva by the hood of her jacket, pulling her off of Clem and slamming her head against the wall. Unconscious, but alive.

“You guys get the others out of here. I’m going after AJ.” Clem ignored the drops of blood rolling down her chest as she grabbed Minerva’s knife.

“I’m going with you.” Louis insisted, squeezing her hand.

“I promised I’d help you save him, after all.”

---

Louis and Clementine crept across the top deck of the boat, following that evil woman’s voice as she fed the boy all kinds of lies about Clementine.

“I’ve known Clem since this all started. She had a weak man teach her all of the wrong lessons, the same lessons that would have gotten you killed.”

“Commander! We found these two in the herd.” A girl with close-cut blonde hair revealed two more prisoners.

Shit.

“Tennessee.” Lilly sang.

“My my how your big sister has missed you.”

Her gaze moved from the young boy to the older one. She ripped James’ mask off his face just as he began to regain consciousness.

“No wonder there were so many walkers.” Lilly tossed the mask aside in disgust.

“Tell me there aren’t more of you?”

“You don’t fucking scare me.” James hissed at the woman.

“They’ve got James and Tenn,” Clementine whispered.

“Shit.” He swore.

“What are we gonna do?”

“The thing about people like him, AJ, is that they’re too broken to fit into a community. They won't fight for anyone but themselves.” Lilly spit on James.

“Kill it.” Lilly ordered.

Oh fuck, James!

Just as the blonde woman pointed her rifle at James, Tennessee grabbed the gun off her belt, aiming it wildly between the two soldiers.

“Stop hurting people!” The boy begged.

“Just give me my friends back, o-or else…”

Lilly stared at the boy, seeing what was obvious to everyone. She bent over, pressing her forehead to the end of the barrel.

“Do it, then.” She called his bluff.

“Save your friends. That’s what you came to do, right?”

Tennessee’s hands shook like mad. What little bit of confidence he had faded as the tears started to drip down his cheeks.

“Oh I see, you came here to cry.” Lilly easily snatched the gun from Tenn, turning it on him.

“You’re not a soldier either.”

Louis and Clem took that moment to spring into action. Louis grappled for the blonde’s rifle as James put her in a chokehold.

Clementine tackled Lilly to the ground. The short girl was easily thrown off, however, her knife skittering across the deck and the gun flying from the woman’s hand.

Clem crawled for the gun. Not fast enough as Lilly grabbed a fistful of her hair and painfully yanked the girl back. Lilly pinned her to the ground, an ugly scowl on her face as her fingers tightened around Clementine’s throat.

Louis wrapped his arm around the woman’s neck, putting her in a headlock and pulling her off of Clem, leaving the girl gasping for her breath. Lilly was still much bigger and stronger than any of them, slamming her elbow into Louis’ jaw and knocking him to the ground.

Just before Lilly could pounce on Clem again, AJ buried Minnie’s knife deep into Lilly’s thigh, brandishing a revolver of his own as she screamed in pain.

“AJ wait!” Lilly cried, looking for mercy in the young boy’s eyes.

“Clementine can’t take care of you like we can. The Delta is your home now. She's trying to steal you away from it.”

“We had a home! You stole us! Just like you stole the twins and made one kill the other.” Clem’s little boy shakily pointed the revolver at the bleeding woman, the ball cap dipping low, almost obscuring his eyes.

“You’re not gonna make me kill Clem!”

“AJ!” James approached slowly.

“She’s been beat, put the gun down.”

“You didn’t see what she did!” The boy argued.

“She took me away and made Clem do a bunch of awful stuff to get me back!”

Clementine couldn’t let this happen. Let AJ take a life? At such a young age? It was something she never wanted him to have to do at all.

I can’t let him kill her.

Clementine stopped thinking, and let her rage take over.

An animal-like screech left Clementine’s body as she threw herself at Lilly. She ripped the bloody knife from the woman’s leg, Lilly screaming in agony, the woman turned to attack the girl, but was unable to dodge her next attack.

Clementine swiped the knife at Lilly’s face, cutting right through the woman’s right eye. Lilly screamed again as she fell onto her back clutching her face, blood gushing from the now empty socket.

It wasn’t enough. The pain wasn’t enough. She needed to feel more. Clementine raised the knife again and again, puncturing the woman’s torso over and over long after she stopped moving. Lilly didn’t deserve to die so soon. She deserved to feel it all. Every stab and slash. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks but she couldn’t stop. The face of every person who died because of this woman’s desires flashed through her mind. Every stab was another soul avenged. Before long Lilly’s chest became nothing more than a lump of blood, mangled flesh, and protruding bones.

Rot in hell you fucking bitch.

Yet still, it didn’t feel like enough. All the torture she an AJ had gone through, nothing could take that back. Clementine raised her knife again, aiming for where her heart would be if this monster of a human being even had one. A firm hand clasped around her wrist. She looked up through her tear-blurred vision to see James staring down at her in horror.

“It’s over, Clementine.” James pulled the bloody knife from her hand, which she didn’t resist.

Louis helped her up, holding her close even though her clothes were soaked with blood.

“It’s over now.” He whispered in her ear as he stroked her hair.

Clementine couldn’t focus on him, instead taking in what she had just done. Lilly now looked as if she had been attacked by a walker. It did not look like the work of a human being.

I’m still the animal she trained me to be.

AJ had never moved through the whole ordeal. The small boy stood soundly with both hands gripping his gun. He hardly flinched at the horrid sight before him.

“She was a monster, wasn’t she?” He asked, his eyes going from Clem to the mangled corpse.

“Yeah, and I stopped her.” Clem was finally free, but couldn’t find the will to smile.

“She’s not going to hurt us anymore.”

She wanted to hug her boy, to pull him close and make him believe she’d never leave him again, but she couldn’t. Not like this, covered in Lilly’s blood.

“We’re gonna go home now, okay Goofball?” Her voice broke as fresh tears cut through the blood that stained her face.

The clatter of the knife hitting the deck made her jump slightly. Clem turned to see James staring intently at the body in front of him.

“You… you ripped her apart.” James gasped in disbelief at what he had just witnessed.

“It was like watching a wild animal!”

“I had a history with her. You don’t know what she’s done to us.” Clementine wouldn’t let him make her think this killing was anything but just.

“She deserved it.”

“Nothing could justify such a slaughter.” He hissed.

A loud boom shook the entire deck, nearly knocking them all to the floor. Black smoke rose from the smokestack as Clementine realized that their borrowed time had run short.

“Oh shit, the bomb!” Clementine tackled AJ to the floor just as the shockwave of the explosion knocked her against the metal wall.

[chilliebean5]

Fictober Day 10: “You think this troubles me?”

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Overwatch

Characters: Hanzo Shimada, Clan elder

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injuries, implied suicide attempt, mentions of alcohol abuse

Words: 1555

Nock. Draw. Loose.

Nock. Draw. Loose.

There was a level of comfort Hanzo felt whenever he took time out if his day to train with his bow. A familiarity, pulling him down and enveloping him like a heavy blanket on a snowy day, shielding him from the real world and its problems.

Nock. Draw. Loose.

Three simple steps, repeated over and over, timed to his breathing.

Nock. Draw. Loose.

Then there is the satisfying thunk when the arrow embeds into the target, the silence that follows.

Nock. Draw. Loose.

Predictable.

It is a shame, however, that he has been unable to land a bullseye the entire night.

Three days and counting. That is how long he has gone without proper sleep. Three days since his world came crashing down. Since he cut his hair, drunk and angry and ashamed, too cowardly to inflict the mortal wounds to himself but needed to do something to channel that energy, and his hair was the victim.

Three days since Genji died.

He put up an infallible front in the presence of the elders. He had no choice, it was either that, show no weakness, no remorse for betraying his brother, or show emotion, show them that he is weak, that he is not fit to run the clan.

And after everything he has been through, he cannot show weakness. Not now.

Behind closed doors, though, he saw himself for the monster he truly was. The monster who killed his brother. Who did it without thought, without hesitation. He told himself he was doing it for the sake of the clan’s survival as he washed the sticky mix of both his blood and Genji’s off his hands, as he scrubbed it off his face and neck in the shower, as he screamed in the mirror, cutting his hair instead of his skin, as he drank himself to sleep.

As he went through the motions of being clan leader the following day, pretending like nothing happened.  

But it did happen, and for every painstaking second that passes, he can feel the guilt in his chest, its claws digging into his heart, squeezing tighter and tighter, making it almost impossible to breathe.

If he closes his eyes, he can smell the blood, taste it on his tongue. Hear Genji’s screams, right to the moment his voice dies in his throat. See his lifeless eyes, his still body. He can hear his own breaths, quick and shallow, feel his heart pounding in his chest, his pulse throbbing in the aftermath.

And with each and every single passing moment, as much as he tried putting up a wall to contain that guilt, it is not strong enough and it is taking less and less for those thoughts to slip through.

“Your form is off.”

Hanzo closes his eyes, takes a steadying breath, and opens them again as he plucks another arrow, knocks it, draws and looses. It hits the target close to the bullseye, just like the others, but not the bullseye.

“You are distracted.”

Hanzo lowers his bow, turns and faces Shiro-san. She was perhaps the only elder who voiced concern about doing Genji any harm, but ultimately was overruled by the rest of them. The only one who could have put a stop to the entire plan, but she stayed quiet; keeping her seat on the council was obviously more important than the life of his brother.

As much as she was against the plan, she has shown her allegiance. Hanzo knows that whatever he tells her, she will relay back to the council. He can trust no one, not any more. He killed the only person he trusted with his deepest, darkest secrets.

“I have not slept,” Hanzo replies, walking to his towel and water bottle, resting his bow against the wall as he takes a drink. “Work has been busy, I have put in much overtime.”

“You need to look after yourself, Hanzo,” she says softly. “You need to allow yourself to grieve, to heal. We can see the emotional toll Genji’s passing is having on you.”

Passing. They are pretending that Genji found death through accidental means rather than intentional. Genji didn’t ‘pass’, he was murdered. Though, Hanzo supposes that being so removed from the events that transpired, they would not see it in the same light as Hanzo does. It may have been their motives, but it was not done by their hands, after all.

Hanzo glances at his hand, sees the blood from three night’s prior on it, watches the subtle tremor before balling it into a fist and putting on the mask of strong, defiant clan leader once more. “You think this troubles me?” he scoffs. “He was reckless, putting himself before the needs of the clan, and I did what needed to be done.” Hanzo practically feels nauseous, hearing those words fall from his mouth. They were the exact words the elders told him. At the very least, if they had any doubts, that should put them to rest. “I have put in extra hours into the businesses, seen personally to balancing the books. That is all that is bothering me at this moment.”

“Might I suggest,” she starts, and she looks away. Hanzo does his best to contain his anger at those words, he is more than done listening to their suggestions. “If you have another sleepless night, to consult with Sensei Kurihara in the morning. I am sure he can prescribe something to help with your sleep.”

Hanzo narrows his eyes, stares Shiro-san down, and ultimately gives a single, curt nod, just to get her off his back. The last thing he needs now is a doctor buzzing around, telling him he is suffering the early effects of alcohol poisoning or some other alcohol-related illness considering he feels like he has been some level of inebriated for three days and counting, and he has no plans to stop now. “Perhaps I will meditate,” he says, picking up his towel and draping it over his shoulder. “Drink some tea, ensure I have an early night to regain my focus.”

“For the best,” Shiro-san says, smiling. “We must show strength during these tough times.”

Strength. Yes, because the last thing the clan needs is to have a weak leader. Hanzo did as he was told. Saw harm done to his flesh and blood, his only brother. He followed their orders and yet they still see him as weak. There will be no end to this, no end to the nightmares, the thoughts, the doubts.

The only way there will be an end is if he leaves it all behind.

When he has the thought, it is almost like the fog clouding his mind immediately lifts. No more whispers, twisting and poisoning his mind with falsehoods. No longer their puppet.

Freedom.

It takes all his strength to not burst out in a grin, to show her his sudden mood change. He nods, though, agreeing that indeed, the clan must stay strong during this tough time. They are about to lose their second leader in four months, after all.

“Thank you for your concern,” Hanzo says. “I have much to think about.”

“Of course. You can always talk to me, Hanzo, whenever you need to. We are all here for you, you do not have to face these challenges alone,” she says, smiling. “Good night.”

“Good night, Shiro-san,” Hanzo replies, giving his own smile so she turns and leaves, and the moment her back is turned, he grits his teeth, jaw clenching.

You do not need to face these challenges alone.

Where were they when he had his sword? When he sliced through Genji. When he watched him take his final breath. As far away as humanly possible, leaving him alone.

That statement only solidifies his decision to leave them all behind.

Hanzo collects his arrows, places them and his bow in the equipment room and packs them up, ready to grab and go when he makes his move. He showers, packs a bag containing the bare necessities, takes a moment to meditate and brew some tea, and writes an email to let them know he is formally stepping down as leader of the clan effective immediately while he waits for the castle to go to sleep. The last thing he does is transfer his money into a personal account no one except for him knows about. He transfers that of the businesses too, every single Yen made up until this moment.

Now they will see who is weak.

For the first time in three days, he feels clarity in his mind, crystal clear with his decision. He waits until the early hours of the morning, under the cover of darkness to make his move, keeping to the shadows, using the route he and Genji used to use when they would sneak out and go clubbing. He detours only for his bow, and the second he is outside the castle walls, he runs. It will not take them long to figure out what has happened, the email he wrote will be automatically sent at six a.m., giving him only four hours headstart.

And as he runs, the only thing he can think is they will need all the luck in the world to find him.

[nickswayne]

Tempting.

A/N: Trying a new route with Cali, where she’s kind of going behind, her mentor and father figure, Konnan’s back to train and eventually stay with his enemy Vampiro. I like how this turned out and Cali and he work well together in my opinion. I promise this is just the start. :) Tagging: @monstersmaid as she kinda started my Vamp love :D 

I was tempting fate by getting mixed up with him. My allegiance lied with Konnan, but here, my physical body lied with his worst enemy. 

They had been opposing forces for a while now, years, decades even. Konnan would often tell me stories at the bar of him and Vampiro’s disagreements and the actions that would follow suit. They were terrifying. These men, having hardly known each other, hated each other with a passion. He would talk of bar fights and brawls, but also of utter contempt and pain caused to their respective colleagues. Friends burned metaphorically and literally, even deaths came into play occasionally. 

Yet here I lay in the occultist like home of the man who supposedly brought all this on, his arm draped over my side as he slept. He stirred upon feeling a shift in the bed as I moved to my feet, still in the simple jeans and hoodie I had arrived in. 

Nothing happened between me and Vamp, I needed a place to stay and he was about all I had. He would occasionally talk to me at events where he happened to be present and slowly, in a secretive manner, he began training me more, helping me after a blunt attack from a low life man fractured my wrist. He was really all I had, now that the clubhouse where I typically resided was now boarded up after being ransacked. 

Vandals, gangbangers, or simple squaters, the police said, basically saying there was no way to tell who had committed the act. We were left with few places to go. Konnan had his brother’s place and invited me and the other boys, which accepted. I, however, knew of limited space, and a man I had never met. I didn’t want to be a burden, but Konnan pushed for me to find someone. I couldn’t tell him that Vampiro, his foil and absolute enemy, had become a good friend of mine, so I made up a girl named Claire and to Konnan, she was who I’d be staying with. I sent a quick, sloppily typed, text to my part-time trainer and off I walked to his home. Again lying to Konnan about my whereabouts, to him, Claire was picking me up a few blocks down.

Back to where currently sat, pushing a heavily tattooed arm away from me. Vampiro's eye's opened, examining me. I shouldn't have come and he knew this. 

"You should go." He murmured still in a haze but just aware enough.

"Vamp, I'm alright. I told Konnan I'd stay with a friend, little does he know you're the only friend of mine in these parts." I lightly scoffed, tapping his ink ridden hand and his eyes locked with mine. He nodded.

"I'm going to get coffee, want anything?" 

" No thanks, girl. You should change though," He sat up. " Weather in LA isn't exactly sweater weather." He gently chuckles, pulling his own shirt over his head, revealing more tattoos I'd never seen before.

"Right, what did you do with my bags?" 

"I put everything in the bottom drawer. How drunk were you last night anyway?" 

" I was more scared than drunk, but cheap tequila and my clothes were basically the only things still in that house." I look down at my feet before moving to the carpet in front of the dresser and he gets up to presumably go change.

" Great taste in books by the way." I hear him behind me as he reaches to one of the top drawers.

"Thanks, I have a deep-rooted affinity for the paranormal, if you couldn't tell." I say continuing to shuffle around for a suitable shirt. He smirks.

"I guess that's why we get along so well." 

 "I guess so." I smiled back at him as he leaves for the bathroom.

 I turn my attention back to the drawer and how my other things were placed. My phone and charger were twisted up towards the back, while my bag and clothes were folded rather messily in the center. The few books that I had brought were out too, one in particular on the occult rested atop all the others and I saw what seemed to be a note peering out from one of the pages. The book was quite old, so I carefully picked it up and opened to the bookmarked page. The page gave instructions for various rituals and warnings against conjuring up dark spirits. 

The note simply read I'll have to tell you stories sometime. 

“So Vampiro, what did you mean by that note? You’ve done any rituals before?” I pulled the chair from glass table and sat across from him, looking into his eyes for the subtle signs of a liar. Not that I didn’t intend to believe him, it’s just people tend to overexaggerate things.

“ I might have. That page reminded me of some older times with my buddies down in Mexico.” He paused. “Man do I have stories.” He looks down and twiddles with his thumbs.

“Well go on then, I’m sure it won’t scare me off.”

“I intend to, just trying to think of a milder one.” I look at him dumbfounded. 

“I see that look Cal, but I gotta keep up some mystique.” He gently laughs.

“I went to a morgue once, with some friends. Basic seance stuff, nothing major.” He smiled, telling me of the most cookie cutter ritual.

“So interesting.”  I got up and playfully slapped his arm. “I assume you’ll actuall tell me something sometime.”

“Hey now, that depends, how long are you staying?” He flashed a crooked grin and stood in front of me. 

“That depends on when Konnan figures out one, how to relocate clubhouses, or, hopefully not this, Claire’s not real and I’m really boarding with the king of assholes himself”

“Trust me, if he thinks I’m the bad guy, he’s not smart enough for either of those things.” I felt bad for laughing but Vamp brought it out of me.

“I guess I’ll be here more than I intended.” 

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 18 - Divisions

It is the spring of 9:32 Dragon, and Ferelden is gripped in the midst of a bloody civil war. Driven by fear of an old enemy, the traitorous Loghain Mac Tir has stirred the people against the king, and every day new factions vie for power, waiting to take advantage of the chaos now that it is certain a new peace can only be won with swords.

In the north, Arl Howe of Amaranthine has seized control of Highever, and only Rosslyn Cousland, last scion of a slaughtered noble house, stands in the way of his greed. Aided by King Cailan’s uncle and his bastard half-brother, Alistair, she is determined to seek justice for her family’s murder and right the wrongs done to her people.

But politics is a complicated game. War has a cost; nobility comes with obligation; and beneath the machinations on both sides of the conflict, an even deeper threat stirs, biding its time to come into the light and bring Ferelden to its knees.

Words: 4208

Chapter summary: Rosslyn tries to escape her new title, just for a little while, and Alistair faces a decision as the king's plan becomes clear.

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

The main road through the village bustled with soldiers and camp followers as well as the local population, with impromptu stalls set up in the gaps between houses selling everything from good luck charms to seed potatoes and cured pelts. It was rowdy, but not disorderly, and it seemed so far that the army was sticking to Cailan's injunction to leave the villagers in peace. Rosslyn, relieved now that the effects of the guelder tea were finally taking hold, allowed herself to be borne along by the current of people, enjoying the rare chance to absorb the ambience of a market day without the presence of guards to set her apart from the rest of the crowd.

One middle-aged woman she passed hollered out deals for her fruit stall, vaunting the quality of her produce at such a volume her voice could be clearly heard over the general hubbub of everyone around her.

“These apples look very well for the season,” Rosslyn commented, stepping out of the flow with Cuno at her heels. The fruit was stacked in neat pyramids, glossy, stippled yellow, and looking as crisp as if they hadn’t spent several months stored in a cellar.

“Oh, thankee very much, Ma’am,” the woman chirped, after a moment of stunned silence. “I grow ‘em meself – and these hazelnuts, and them dried pears ye see owa there, on’y those don’ keep so well in the winter months. Would ye mebbee like to try one?”

Rosslyn chuckled and reached for the small purse of coin she carried with her. “No need, Messere. I think some of those apples would do nicely, if you’d fill one of those small bags for me.”

The woman grinned toothily. “Aye, right away, Ma’am.” She reached for one of the reed-net pouches hanging from a nail hammered into the post that held up the awning.

“How much for them?”

“Oh no, Ma’am, I couldn’. Ye’ve already done me a good by coming here an’ ev’ryone seein’ ye. They’ll be clamourin’ now.”

“And what if they also see you refuse to take payment?” Rosslyn asked, leaning closer. “They might get ideas.” She watched the fruit seller suck on her bottom lip, undecided, and added, “It’s only a few coppers. Take it with my gratitude.”

“You’ve a reet canny tongue in your head, Ma’am,” the woman said, handing over the bag and holding up three fingers to indicate her price. “It’d be bad luck to refuse such a thing. Maker keep ye –” She glanced around warily for eavesdroppers and muttered, “And the Lady, too.”

“The same to you, Messere,” Rosslyn replied, smiling as the woman turned away to address the queue already forming at the other end of the stall. She could imagine how the boasts would go now, and took a small sort of pleasure in knowing she had done something, even if did nothing to lessen the mountain of her other worries.

On the other side of the road, a messenger guided her weary-looking horse against the flow of traffic. Her leathers were stained with dirt, the colours faded so her allegiance was hard to discern, but from the grit of her scowl, her mission was both urgent and serious. Rosslyn let her go. Given the probably sensitive nature of the news, it would be madness to try and waylay the messenger in the middle of a crowded street – and whatever had happened, she would likely hear about it soon enough anyway.

She stepped off the road and onto the muddy path that led along a low ridge above the lists, towards the stables, absently tucking in to one of the apples. The crunch took her away to the crisp autumns spent in Highever’s orchards, chasing through the groves with Fergus and the labourers’ children, playing Heroes and Werewolves until the afternoon shadows grew long and they were called back to the croft, where her father would have his sleeves rolled up to take his annual, ceremonial turn at the cider press. The would be her duty now, along with a thousand others. If the croft still stood. If she lived long enough to ever see home again.

Unconcerned with the future, Cuno trotted at her side. He glanced pitifully between her and the net bag in her hand, as if he hadn’t already devoured an entire haunch of goat that morning, and wagged his stubby end of a tail when he saw her watching.

“You won’t like it,” she promised. “These are for Lasan.”

He whined.

Below them, the day-to-day routine of battle training ground on, with the smart tramp of soldiers marching in formation punctuated here and there by the dull ring of a sword on wood, or the bark of one of the arms masters correcting a stance. Gideon was busy in the riding ring, giving a lecture to a line of fidgeting cavalry officers who one by one were called forward to ride through a slalom of tall poles, guiding their horses only with their knees. The results were… mixed.

Alistair was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t realise she had been searching for him until his absence sent a swoop of disappointment coursing through her stomach. She cursed herself for even looking. What would she do if she did see him? Should she expect him to drop everything to greet her on familiar terms, or to smile tolerantly while she stumbled through a conversation just because she found herself the victim of some unwelcome, childish fantasy? And then there was the other matter, the truth she had tried so hard to avoid since the night after the battle, the one she feared would blurt out at the first opportunity.

He had lied to her. Every stripe of blood she had cleaned away from his face as they sat there together in the infirmary had confirmed it, the resemblance between him and the king so uncanny despite the age difference that there could be no doubt of who he truly was. The pieces of the puzzle fit so perfectly now she knew the final design – his resentment of nobility, the reason he always tried so hard to deflect attention away from himself, why the subject of his childhood was never discussed. Imagining what he must have suffered growing up as an unacknowledged bastard made her heart clench every time she thought of it, but so did the insidious voice that never failed to remind her it was a truth she had not been trusted with, either. He hadn’t wanted her to know – and that was before, when she wasn’t yet the Teyrna of Highever, one step down from the king and what must surely be the seat of his resentment. How wide that gap yawned between them now. People like me tend to avoid the ones sitting at the top end of the table.

And what was she to do? How could she look him in the eye, knowing she held a secret she was never meant to keep? Better that they not meet, better not to see his repulsion when he found out that she knew.

But what if he were acknowledged? a querulous voice asked in the back of her mind. She had dared to think it, on the nights she woke up after dreaming of him, entire conversations carried out in her head as she tried to work out the best way to rid herself of her unease. But to draw him out, to force the issue of his parentage when he so clearly didn’t want it just to satisfy her own selfish wants would only prove right every rotten opinion he had about the nobility, and that was a painful thought.

She had no right to pry. She had already promised herself not to impose upon him. She would keep her knowledge of his secret, even from him.

Lasan was grazing in the paddock as she walked up, completely at ease with a couple of geldings she didn’t recognise, his tail swishing idly at flies, and she put her own worries out of her mind. At a distance, she checked her horse’s condition, noting how he bore weight easily on his injured hoof, and how patches of thick winter fur were starting to give way to the sleek roan marble of his summer coat. When she whistled, his proud head arced up with a whinny, and she watched as he started towards her. He walked solidly, with equal weight on both sides, and when one of the geldings tried to overtake him he squealed and bucked, breaking into an airy trot in order to reach her ahead of the others.

His head bobbed as he smelled the apple she held out for him as a greeting gift. Velvet lips plucked the offering from her palm with a soft blow of welcome, leaving her free to slip between the bars of the fence as he crunched it down. The other horses kept a respectful distance but she watched them all the same. As laidback as Lasan was for a stallion, he was often jealous of human attention, especially around food, and getting caught in the middle of a dispute between two animals that alone could easily kill her would not help with her pile of paperwork.

She cleaned his foot as best she could without a pick and checked it for signs of bruising. His new iron shoes still had their shine, so he must have only been out loose recently, but the poultices the horsemaster used seemed to have worked.

“A few more days, and you can get back to showing off for everyone,” she informed him with a clap on the neck.

Lasan snorted turned to regard her with one warm brown eye, then promptly scraped his head against her side with such force she staggered backwards. Apparently his nose itched.

“Oi!” She pushed back against him, but chuckled and moved her hands to the familiar spot on his withers that made his lip twitch with pleasure. Years ago, she would spend afternoons in the stables with Fergus, breathing in the musty scent of horse and helping the grooms so they could avoid the gatherings of uptight nobles who flocked to the castle almost every other week. And then Fergus had met Oriana and the hours in the stables became hers alone, a way to hide from her mother’s friends and the seemingly endless supply of unmarried sons they paraded before her.

But something always drew her away from those brief interludes of peace, and even now, as she found a twist of grass to work over Lasan’s back in place of a curry comb, she spotted a scout in Redcliffe colours jogging towards her from the direction of the village.

“Teyrna Rosslyn!” the boy puffed, saluting.

“Get your breath back first,” she advised, giving her horse one final pat before slipping back between the fence slats.

“Yes, Your Ladyship – thank you.” He breathed deep and started again. “Arl Eamon sent me to find you. We have news – a messenger has just arrived from South Reach with news from Arl Leonas. He says forces from Gwaren have taken Denerim.”

Her eyes widened. “But our last reports put him in Gwaren. How could he slip past South Reach undetected?”

“I don’t know, Your Ladyship,” the scout replied. “Only that I was sent to fetch you.”

“I’ll come at once. Was there something else?” she asked, when he hesitated.

“I’m sorry, your Ladyship, only Arl Eamon bid me find King Cailan as well – there was a private letter for him, from the queen, I think – but I don’t know where he is. I asked some of the royal guard, but all they said was His Majesty didn’t want to be disturbed.” The scout wrung his hands in front of him, his gaze fixed on her feet, already flinching from the expected reprimand.

Rosslyn shook her head. “Cuno can sniff out His Majesty.” If nothing else, it would give a her a few more minutes out in the sun, free to imagine a life not embroiled in politics. “I’ll see he gets the message. Go about your duties.”

“Yes, Your Ladyship – thank you!”

Alistair’s hands were clasped behind his back, his brows furrowed in concentration as he listened to Cailan talk and tried to work out where best to punctuate the speech with affirmative nods. It had been his attitude for the better part of an hour now, as the pair of them wandered through the rows of orchard trees mantled with blossom and alive with the humming of bees. Inwardly, he was doing his best not to panic.

The king’s hands were expressive, his face open and smiling in an almost infantile manner, but his blue eyes were lively and intelligent, and from the first moment they met Alistair felt like a bull in a show ring, appraised and judged for purpose. He had tried to hide his resentment, though it turned out Cailan bore little resemblance to the spoiled child in his memory. He was courteous, if stilted at first, as if he were uncertain of protocol, but once the most awkward enquiries were out of the way, his smile widened and his shoulders relaxed, and Alistair found himself completely wrong-footed.

“Of course, your current wardrobe just will not do,” the king was saying now. “It’s a shame I had to leave my tailor behind in Denerim, but time was of the essence and the old fuddy never did do well on horseback – we’ll just ask Bann Ferrenly nicely if he’ll spare his man for a suit or two.”

“Your Majesty, I –”

Cailan stopped him with a hand on his arm, his smile shrinking into more sympathetic lines. Alistair had been prepared for a scolding, or an order to keep his head down. This was something he could never have foreseen.

“It’s a habit, I know,” the king said, “but you must start using my name. We are brothers, aren’t we? You must admit, our likeness is uncanny! Why, I could almost be looking into a mirror back in time.” His grip pressed harder in what he must have thought was a reassuring squeeze. “Our father never told me the reason he hid you away, but fate has brought us together nonetheless and I wish to make redress for past mistakes. It’s time to claim the birthright that should always have been yours. What say you, brother?”

Alistair swallowed. The king’s eyes were too bright. How many years had he spent hoping for words just like these? When his mother died, he had dreamed that Maric would spur through Redcliffe’s gates on a great white charger to claim him as a second son and carry him away from the life of drudgery expected from the bastard orphan of a kitchen maid. Even when Teagan had taken him to Rainesfere to be a knight, there had been a faint hope at the back of his mind that it was his chance to prove worthy of the father who had never noticed him, the man whose shadow had fallen across him all his life.

It was the past. What he was now, he had earned through hard work and merit, not because of Maric’s name.

“You Majesty,” he said again. “I’m just an ordinary soldier, nothing more. I’m not even sure I have matching socks on today. With due respect, are you entirely serious about this? I mean, what does an heir to the throne even do?”

Cailan threw his head back and laughed. “That’s your worry? Come, we are not Orlesians to sneer at one who does not have a conventional background. The people will love you – you understand them, and you have fought for them, and won a rousing victory to boot! And as for the rest, well –” he waved his hand vaguely and wrinkled his nose – “We can see to that. Will you at least think on it?” he asked, when Alistair still looked uncertain. “Most people would jump at the chance to be royalty, or so I’m told.”

With a sinking sense of premonition, Alistair straightened his shoulders and nodded. “As you say, Your – oompf!”

Something heavy slammed into his waist, nearly doubling him over. When he managed to get his wind back, he looked down to see a slobbery, tongue-lolling smile and an absurdly wiggling rump trying to press itself against his breeches. Panic seized his limbs. After a week, an entire week of hoping and having those hopes dashed, of all the places she could have turned up, why did it have to be here, now?

“Ho, now that’s a familiar face!” Cailan laughed. “And if I’m not mistaken, when this one appears, the other isn’t far behind – and yes, here she is!”

Alistair followed the point of the king’s finger as Rosslyn strode into sight along the path ahead. Heat leapt up the back of his neck. There were bruised circles under her eyes, her boots were muddy, and the quilted, slate-grey cotton of her shirt was dusted by a fine covering of reddish hair, but if anything that lack of polish just emphasised the grace of her walk, and the economy with which her warrior’s muscles moved under the form-fitting lines of her clothes. And her hair – it gleamed like a raven’s wing in the sunlight, braided back from her face but long and loose down her back, just as it had been in his dream. Cuno stretched up to lick his chin, his full weight against Alistair’s legs. He gladly took the distraction and bent over to fuss the dog, the better to hide his flaming cheeks while he tried to rein in the wandering line of his thoughts.

“Teyrna Rosslyn!” Cailan cried, with genuine delight. “Of all the blossoms out on this fine morning, you are surely the most beautiful, if not the most expected.”

Alistair’s ears burned. He remembered what she had said in the barracks room, about the king and his charm and how they grew up together.

“Ever the flatterer, Your Majesty,” she replied easily. With his eyes fixed resolutely on the grass, Alistair imagined the way she held her hand out for the king to take, the way the king took it and brought it to his lips. “Tell me, has a large, excitable dog wandered across your path recently?”

“Why, yes. I believe he’s just making himself acquainted with…” He trailed off when he noticed Rosslyn’s start of surprise, and Alistair sheepishly looking up to return her gaze. “You know each other?”

“Ser Alistair was the one who found me and my troopers at Wythenshawe,” she explained. “He was kind enough to take care of me.”

Alistair bowed, his hands still trailing through Cuno’s fur, and searched her face for any sign of partiality as he made his greeting. “Your Ladyship.”

Her expression remained neutral, though he thought maybe her gaze lingered on him a beat longer than strictly necessary before turning back to the king.

“Oh I will have to hear all about this, I’m sure,” Cailan was saying. “But tell me first, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

Her voice lowered as she explained her errand, her head bowed respectfully, but every so often her eyes flickered to him and back, as if uncertain whether to include him in the conversation or not.

Cailan’s easy smile collapsed in a frown. “I must see to this. But first I must apologise for having disturbed your walk, my lady,” he said, tilting her a winning smile. “Since the two of you are acquainted, would you mind terribly if I left you here together?”

Alistair saw his panic mirrored in her eyes. To be alone with her – after so long spent thinking about it – but with so much between them now, what could he say?

“If Her Ladyship doesn’t object?”

“I don’t – unless I would be intruding?”

He smiled at their stumbling clash of words. “Of course not.”

“Excellent.” The king pressed a light kiss to Rosslyn’s knuckles that managed to be charming rather than pompous, already moving towards the village. “I will see you soon, my lady, and we’ll see what this business is about. And you also, Ser Alistair,” he added. “Remember you’ve promised me you’ll think about my offer.”

When he left, the easy atmosphere left with him, and for a tense moment neither of them spoke. The only sound apart from the spring birds was the contented panting of the dog as he rolled all the way over onto his back to allow Alistair better access to his softest parts. The sight made Rosslyn fold her arms across her chest and frown, but she had to bite her lips to keep from smiling.

“Absolutely pathetic.”

Alistair gasped in mock outrage. “Don’t listen to the nasty lady, boy. You’re a good dog.”

Cuno righted himself and tried to boof him on the chin.

“You’re looking well,” she offered, after another lengthy pause.

“Oh it’s a miracle,” he replied, giving her a distracted wave. “For a while, I was afraid I wouldn’t pull through, and that I would depart this life without having accomplished my dream of growing a really fancy moustache.” He ducked his head and ran a nervous hand through his hair, heart pounding. “I was, uh, lucky I had such a good nurse.”

“Mhm, that mage – Amell, is it? – is rather pretty, isn’t she?” came the easy reply.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He pouted, to cover his mortification. How could he expect anything but a deflection from such a clumsy compliment? “I don’t remember picking on you when you were still an invalid.”

“You wouldn’t have dared,” she told him, but the smug tilt of her lips faded, her fingers going to fidget with a ring he hadn’t seen her wear before. “I’m sorry for not coming to see you.”

You sleep like a bear. I was worried.

It was a dream, not real; he shrugged it away. “You’ve been busy. And I hear you’re officially Teyrna now,” he added brightly. “Is there a special curtsey I should be aware of, or anything? I heard somewhere it’s a custom for knights to lay their coats over puddles for noble ladies to step through.”

She frowned. “Wouldn’t the water just seep through the fabric, or overflow at the edges?”

“See, that’s what I thought,” he replied, glad to get at least a small reaction from her, but unsure what to do with it. He wanted to ask how she was, if she needed anything, what she would do now the army was moving south, but he didn’t dare.

“Either way, I wish you wouldn’t.” the lop-sided smirk flashed briefly at him. “I trip over enough protocol these days without having to contend with somebody’s coat. Besides,” she added, “I’m not the one lofty enough to have private meetings with the king.”

He dropped his gaze, rubbing at the sudden itch on the back of his neck. He needed to tell her, even if nothing came of it. The words bunched in his chest, struggling for order, a way to bring it up without just blurting out that he’d been lying by omission since their first meeting. And maybe, he realised, if she knew, she might have advice about Cailan’s offer to acknowledge his claim to the throne.

But when he looked back at her, his confession ready on his tongue, he found she had turned her attention to the branches of a nearby tree, and was running her fingertips along the dainty white blossoms, the pink buds yet to open. When she bent her head to inhale the scent, her features set in wistful lines, it was an image he wanted seared in his brain forever.

“But that’s none of my business,” she told him quietly. “Forgive me. To be honest, I came out here to get away from politics for a while.”

His mouth snapped shut.

“I should head back. No doubt whatever is in that message for His Majesty will involve me soon enough.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I ought to return to my duties as well, if you wouldn’t mind the company? We could talk about things that have nothing to do with politics.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Well, I heard that the Avvar make a particularly fine cheese from the milk of dwarven battle nugs, and I would like your opinion on the matter.”

He was a coward. As he fell into step beside her, the dog a barrier between them, he felt the moment pass, and mourned it. What good would it do her to know who he really was anyway? The secret had never caused him anything but trouble, and giving it to her would just be another burden to add to shoulders already strained with responsibility. No, far better to keep his father’s name to himself and not risk her pulling away from him completely – or worse, treating him with a deference                 that was never meant to be his. Making her smile was enough. Besides, who was to say that this idea to make him a prince wasn’t just some passing fancy of the king’s, a way to create intrigue among the nobility for some as-yet undiscovered reason?

Even in his own head the argument was less than convincing, but he kept his silence nonetheless.

[ragingbulldurham]

OOHEMMMM!!!! Your back!!!!!!!!!!!! Wow! Owen and Claire having a first trip abroad.

I’m a little rusty, so hopefully this is acceptable!

They decided on Europe for their honeymoon. “I think we’ve had enough of the tropics for one lifetime,” Claire was firm on this, her computer perched on her lap as she threw out suggestions of Paris and Tuscany and Prague, her feet tucked under Owen (“My feet are cold,” she had whined, and Owen had rolled his eyes but let her slide her toes under him. “Are you sure you want to rule out the beach?” He teased and she threw an impressive glare his way). “Why not do all three?” Owen shrugged. “You have the time off.” Claire had learned to strike a better work/life balance, but years of never taking a day off had meant that she had accumulated approximately a million days off, and while Island Claire would have thought the world would end if she took off that much time, Post Island Claire had lived through the world almost ending, and was very aware that taking time off from the office would not have the same impact as a hybrid dinosaur on the loose.  "We can start in Paris and work our way across Europe? I hear they have a very efficient train system, and I know how much you love efficiency.“ He waggled his eyebrows at her. 

"I do really love efficiency,” Claire had replied with a grin. And she also loved the idea of traveling across Europe with her new husband, her hand tucked in his as the countryside rolled past, her head on his shoulder. It was dreamy and romantic, and while Claire and Owen were a lot of things, they could stand a little more dreamy and romantic in their lives. Claire began sending Owen itineraries and train schedules, and much like with their wedding, he told her he was leaving it all in her capable hands. “I trust you,” he said as she listed off the amenities of a farmhouse in Tuscany. “Book whatever you want. I’m sure it’ll be perfect.” He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder and left her alone to her maps and timetables and forty open browser tabs. He knew that Claire was in planning, panicky mode, and figured planning the honeymoon was a great way to distract her from worrying about the wedding. The wedding was to be small, simple, and Owen was half afraid that Claire would stress about every small detail, but she amazed him by keeping calm about the whole thing. “I just want to be married to you,” she said as they lay in bed, her fingers dancing across Owen’s bare chest as he pulled her more tightly to him. “I don’t care about the ceremony. I’d just as soon go down to a justice of the peace if I didn’t think Karen would kill both of us.” He buried his nose in her hair and snorted. “She really would kill us,” he replied, and felt Claire’s head nod. “But I don’t, I don’t care about it. I want it to be small and meaningful and at the end of the day, I just want to be your wife.” It was, Owen reflected, amazing how a life and death situation could make someone reevaluate their priorities. And both he and Claire had done a lot of reevaluating when they arrived back on US soil, traumatized, battered, but very much alive.

And he was right to trust her.

Their wedding was perfect. Claire slid down the aisle towards him in a lace dress, her hair (longer now, the cut less severe) falling down her shoulders in loose waves. He couldn’t help it, he leaned in as soon as she reached him, kissing her hard and breathing out, “you’re so beautiful,” to which Claire’s eyes brimmed with tears and her smile widened and she reached and entangled their fingers. Karen stood next to Claire as her matron of honor, crying softly, and Barry stood grinning next to him as his best man. The only people in the room were the people that Owen cared most about in the world, and there was no one on earth he loved more than the woman he was pledging to spend his life with.Claire had arranged for their favorite pub to be rented out, and they drank and danced until Owen was so tired he couldn’t stand anymore, and he slipped his arm around his bride and whispered, “why don’t we get out of here?” Claire had grinned at him, reaching up to squeeze the hand that was on her shoulder, and nodded.“Lead the way, husband,” the word delicious on her lips. Two days after they were married, they caught a flight to Paris, and Owen spent the better part of the plane ride in awe that he had married this woman, and marveling at the slim bands on both of their fingers. He had never seen Claire in tourist mode before, and he was one part amused and one part terrified by her. “You have the ruthless efficiency of a German,” he commented, the pride evident in his voice as they sped through the streets of Paris towards their hotel, having gotten off the plane, gotten their luggage, and into a cab in a record amount of time. “Thanks,” Claire smirked. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”“I meant it as a compliment,” Owen assured. “That was…hot.” She raised an eyebrow and grinned at him. “Well, we have plenty of time before our dinner reservations. I was thinking we could go visit a museum, but….” “I like the but,” he told her, moving her hair out of the way so that he could kiss her neck. “I really like the but.” 

Paris was a whirlwind of candlelit dinners, and walks along the Seine. Claire surprised him by how much knowledge she had about art as they wandered in and out of art museums. “I was an art history minor,” she said with a shrug. “You continue to surprise me, Claire Dearing,” Owen told her, shaking his head.“Grady,” she corrected, and his eyes widened. “I thought you were keeping your name,” he said, surprised. “At work, yes,” Claire answered. “But I think I want to be a Grady. I think I want us to share a name.” Owen swept her into his arms and kissed her. “What if I changed my name to Dearing?” He suggested, “Arguably a hell of a lot more people know the name Claire Dearing than Owen Grady.” The name Grady meant nothing to Owen. He had no allegiance to the son of a bitch who left his mother with nothing but a load of debt and his last name. Claire looked thoughtful, “Owen Dearing.” She tilted her head slightly. “I think it has a nice ring to it.” He tugged on the scarf wrapped around her neck and pulled her to him, kissing her softly. “I agree.”

They take the train into Geneva out of Paris, and from Geneva they head to Milan. Spring is beginning to creep in, but it’s still a little chilly and Claire used it as an excuse to wrap her arm around Owen’s and pull him close to her. Claire does a good bit of shopping in Milan, spending the absurd salary that Masrani paid her. Owen dutifully carried the bags and vetoes any attempts by Claire to get him to make his wardrobe a bit more chic. “You’ve come a long way since board shorts,” she finally said with a sigh, accepting defeat. “I guess I can’t complain too much.” But he still catches her sneaking ties and expensive dress shirts in his size into her bags when she thinks he’s not looking. From Milan they make their way down to Florence, nearly missing their connection in Bologna because of a mix up with the train schedule. (“You read the schedule wrong, just admit it!” Owen exclaimed, and Claire huffed. “I did not,” she argued. “They must have misprinted it!”) For half of the ride from Bologna, they don’t speak, anger mixed with stubbornness and travel exhaustion creeping in from a week of going going going nonstop, but Owen coudln’t stand it after a while and inched his fingers until his hand rested on top of hers as the train chugged along. Claire didn’t turn her head from where she was looking out the window, but she did give his fingers a light squeeze. When they finally arrived at their hotel in Florence, Claire sighed, throwing herself on the bed.

“Fuck the itinerary, I’m exhausted.” Owen was relieved, dropping their bags on the floor and climbing into bed fully clothed next to her, curling up around her. They fall asleep to the sounds of Florence, and it’s dark both outside and in their room when they finally wake up a few hours later. They find a restaurant only a block away and eat a mound of pasta and drink a couple of bottles of wine and then head straight back to their hotel. They hit Florence refreshed, eating gelato and visiting more museums. They take the train to Lucca and rent bikes and ride along the walls. They Facetime with Gray and Zach, and take a day here and there to not leave their hotel room. They take a train to Munich next, Owen teasing Claire that he didn’t know beer was on her diet. They finish up in Prague, taking long afternoons to just get lost in the city, hands intertwined, hips bumping as they walk along cobblestone streets.

On the last night of their honeymoon, limbs tangled together in a sweaty and satiated pile, Owen recounting the places they’d been over the past few weeks and the things they had seen, and she can’t remember a time when she felt so content, and so loved, God, so loved. 

“I like Tourist Claire,” Owen said as they waited in the Prague airport for their flight home. Claire looked up from the book on her lap and gave him a lazy smile. “I like Tourist Owen,” she replied. “And I definitely liked the lack of mosquitos and palm trees.” She had missed big cities and museums during her years on the island. She had missed traveling and losing track of time in front of an incredible piece of art. There had been many parts of her job and her life on Isla Nublar that she had loved, but the farther removed she was, the more she realized how much she had given up. “Not to mention the lack of dinosaurs,” Owen winked, and Claire snorted. “And that,” she agreed. They were quiet again, Claire leaning her body into his and Owen wrapping an arm around her shoulder as they watched the other travelers in silence. “Hey,” he said quietly, and she tilted her head to be able to look at him. “As much as I loved spending this trip with you, I’m pretty excited to go home.” And she nodded, tipping her head back to rest again him, thinking about how different things were from the last time they waited for a flight together. They weren’t bloodied and bruised, wondering if they still had jobs, and having no place to go to once they left Costa Rica. They were happy, they were married, they were heading home. They were heading home.

[coneygoil]

“Hostile Takeover”, part 5

Fandom: Wreck-It Ralph

Summary: The world is a dangerous place. With his power to control cy-bugs, King Candy reigns supreme, and his biggest target is capturing Vanellope. Her only hope is a small group of rebels hidden in the wastelands of Hero’s Duty that are aiming to take out the tyrant king.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Writer’s note: I did not realized it’s been since February since I updated this fic!! I’d written most of this chapter, but got stuck and wasn’t feeling it. Inspiration finally showed back up and the rest came fairly easy the last few days :D Things are about to get bumpy!

“Hey Felix, I bet I can hit the bullseye 3 out of 3 times.”

“Oh yeah, Dodge? What kind of wager do you have in mind?”

Vanellope grinned at the friendly competition. As dark as their circumstances were, her grown-ups didn’t let it taint the morale of the base. They also never excluded her or sugar-coated their situation just because she was a kid. She knew what was going on and what was at stake, and was secretly grateful for the inclusion.

Yeah, her grown-ups were pretty cool.

“Hey kid, what’s up?” she heard Ralph say from behind her.

Vanellope twisted around, dropping the end of her hoodie lace from her mouth. “Dodge challenged Felix to a bow and arrow competition, and they even made wagers! My bet is on Felix.”

Ralph furrowed his eyebrow, finding no one else in the vicinity. “Who’re you betting with?”

Vanellope grinned. “Doi! You, blockhead!”

“Nu-uh,” Ralph sliced a hand through the air, “I know better than to bet against Mr. Perfectionist.”

“Awww, c’mon, Ralphie. Live a little. Dodge may surprise you.”

“I’m good at being a spectator.”

“Fine.” Vanellope pouted for the better part of a second before craning to look around Ralph at his petite companion. “Hey Pauline!”

Pauline smiled. “How’re you, Vanny?”

A few lines of small talk ensued before the attention was focused on the competition. A question from Ralph floated to Vanellope’s ears, and an answer from Pauline followed. Vanellope glanced out of the corner of her peripheral vision as Ralph told Pauline to hang on. She hugged one of his blocky fingers as he lifted her up then sat her down gently on the metal barrel beside him.

Pauline giggled. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

Ralph followed with his own soft chuckle. “Your welcome, fair lady.”

That little moment was the perfect example of their relationship. Where Felix and Sarge didn’t hide their affection for one another, Ralph and Pauline were far more subtle about matters. They were never all mushy in front of people or shared a show-stopping kiss. Vanellope couldn’t recall one instant where she caught Ralph and Pauline kissing on the lips; nothing really beyond a quick peck on the cheek.

A triumphant yelp rang out, snapping Vanellope out of her thoughts. Three arrows sat dead center on the target with Felix looking mighty proud of himself. The handyman and the turbo twin made their way over to the spectators.

“Hey Felix, how’s Sarge doing?” Ralph asked as both 8-bit men shouldered their bows. “Kohut’s been leading training ever since she had the incident.”

“She’s better,” Felix answered, planting palms on his hips. There was something in the way his face contorted that Vanellope wondered what he wasn’t sharing. “You know Tammy, she puts too much on her shoulders, and the stress wasn’t good for her or the-“ Felix paused suddenly, gritting his teeth in the obvious way of his when something was wrong, “-platoon.”

The giant muttonhead didn’t seem to notice Felix’s odd pause as he continued the conversation. “I know this isn’t exactly your thing, but some of us are getting together for a poker game tonight. Why don’t you and Sarge join us? It’d be good for her to unwind.”

“We may take you up on that offer. Thanks, brother.”

“Poker night!” Vanellope exclaimed, glitching to Ralph’s shoulder. “Sounds like fun!”

“No can do. You’re not invited this time.”

“Why not?”

“Because last time you kept dropping hints about who had the best hands.”

“But that’s the fun of it!”

“Sorry, kid. Grown-up night needs to stay for grown-ups. Why don’t you and what’s-her-face - Flamehead?”

“Candlehead.”

“Yeah, why don’t you and her have a little card game of your own?”

“You’ve met Candlehead, right? She may have a flame on her head, but she’s not the brightest candle on the birthday cake.”

“You only think that because you’re too smart for your own good.”

Try as she may to convince Ralph to let her join in, the big guy stayed firm. While the grown-ups were having their yippity-doo-dah good time, Vanellope was sitting across from Candlehead on her bed.

Her fellow Sugar Rush racer was brought into hiding several weeks ago after a rather messy ordeal involving the other racers. They’d basically used Candlehead as a punching bag, making it clear that the Sugar Rush kids were everything but sweet. Vanellope wondered how she could be cut from the same cloth as any of them.

“Do you have any 4s?”

Vanellope heaved a dramatic sigh, handing over the 4 of spades. “This blows.”

“I’ll give you back the 4 if it’ll make you feel better.”

Vanellope shook her head, and pushed away Candlehead’s extending hand. “No, I mean, being stuck here!” She tossed her cards in the air, the rectangular papers fluttering down around them. “It’s driving me crazy that I can’t be behind the wheel.”

She threw herself back on the bed. The last several months of hiding were like a whirlwind and a stagnant pool all in one; danger and bored mixed together to create a strange sense of existence. “My hands itch to hold the steering wheel again.”

Candlehead’s face popped into view over her. “You can,” she said excitedly.

“How?” Vanellope pushed up on her elbows. “We can’t go traipsing into Sugar Rush.”

“Before I came here, I found a secret porthole in Sugar Rush! I’d use it to get away from the other racers when they, y’know-“ Candlehead looked off to the side, rubbing her forearm.

Vanellope knew the feeling all too well, and a royal indignation burned inside toward those sour patch kids. “Are you sure no one else knows about it?”

Candlehead nodded. “We can sneak in, find some karts, and race on the outskirts where no one else will be.”

Vanellope pushed her better judgement aside as sitting behind the wheel of a kart played in her mind. She’d have to sneak into Ralph’s quarters to borrow his cloaking device. With a devilish grin, she decided, “Let’s go.”

“So, this big whoop-de-doo you want to show me is in the junkyard?”

“Trust me!” Candlehead pulled Vanellope along by the hand. “You’re gonna love it!”

As they approached the peak of the hill that led to the junkyard, Candlehead threw her arms out as if presenting a prize on a gameshow. “Ta-da!”

Vanellope couldn’t believe her eyes, and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. Parked in the middle of the junkyard was her kart; the very same kart her and Ralph made together. She glitched down the bank of the junkyard then jogged to her kart.

The biggest smile split her face as Vanellope gazed in awe at her most prized possession that she thought was gone forever. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured as Candlehead joined her. “King Candy didn’t destroy it.” She giggled in excitement, kissing the tire. “How I’ve missed you!”

“Reunited,” said a voice that sent chills like fingernails crawling up Vanellope’s back, “How sweet.”

Panic flooded her as she spun around to find King Candy at the lip of the other hill, the donut cops standing on either side of him and several cy-bugs surrounding them. He sneered at her in delight, his eyes flashing an eerie tint of yellow. “Welcome back, glitch.”

“Candlehead, come on!” Vanellope grabbed her friend’s hand and tried pulling her into the kart, but Candlehead stayed put.

King Candy giggled, traipsing down the slope. “You did well, my dear girl. You brought the glitch right to me.”

Vanellope turned wide-eyes on her friend, hurt thickening her words. “You sold me out?”

Tears were welling up in Candlehead’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Vanellope. I didn’t want to hurt you, but-“ she gestured toward the tyrant who was now far too close for Vanellope’s comfort, “it’s King Candy! I can’t disobey him!”

Vanellope felt the ground drop from under her. The Sugar Rush racers were under King Candy’s reign for so long their allegiance to him was rooted in their code no matter how reformed they may have seemed after his fall from power.

She backed away slowly, darting her eyes about desperate to spot any kind of escape. She could glitch away, but she was sure King Candy already suspected she would and covered every possible move she’d make.

King Candy lifted arms over his head, the surrounding cy-bugs rising at his silent command. “There’s no use in trying to escape,” he taunted, the creepy image of Turbo flickering over his face, “Your mine, glitch.”

[driftwork]

Tokyo 6, leaving, becoming exile...

The transference is complete, the counter-transference is absolute [...]  He left them sitting on the sofa before vanishing into Kenzo's office to make phone calls and arrange for additional paperwork, passports and bags.  KW, Kenzo's wife looked at their tired faces. She had never seen Park looking so tired [or is that actually relaxed?]. She offered tea and perhaps something to eat ? Tea would be wonderful she said taking off her leather jacket revealing the gun in the shoulder holster,  and placing the other one on the table. She went into the kitchen to prepare tea and some food, she decided snacks were required. Taking some cashew nuts in a bowl to the table. She heated the food in the microwave. Whilst she was there waiting for the water to simmer Hasimon was escorted into the kitchen. Water drips from the escorts long coat onto the floor. His heavy black boots leave trace marks on the tiled floor. It is raining heavily, water drumming on the glass windows in the roof. <there are a lot of guards around the house.> < Yes.> <I just wanted to see my daughter.> < Have some tea with us. He was concerned. >   [Reported speech has become so unreliable that nobody can understand it] [...] A child has been sacrificed. It is normal in human societies for parents in a war to sacrifice their children in their own interests. Sometimes they refuse to die and more rarely they become a war machine.

The war machine was asleep on the sofa, she was leaning against him her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. <I never thought I'd see this. I didn't think it was possible.>  KW places the tray carefully on the table, the cups clink. She wakes up and reflexively reaches for the gun. Stops when she sees who it is. She looks at her mother and k's wife talking in soft voices about him and her.  She looks at his sleeping face. <speak quietly, he's exhausted, today was especially hard for him.> <I came to make sure you want to go, and to say goodbye.> <we have to go, the council left us no choice at all.> she paused for a second <we don't know if it will work,  we will see what happens.> Her mother said many things, some deliberately and  some reluctantly. [little of interest. cut.] They talked about the causes of the events of the past few days. She didn't really understand what she was saying and was amused to discover that she didn't really care. Her allegiances and her actual unconscious desires had changed. He woke up. And looked at H. <Hello again, oh tea.> He took a cup and lent back against the sofa cushions, she leaned forward. Photons streamed from the lighting a laminar flow, a figure of chaos { ✵ ~ Chaos}, the photons pouring out in parallel, without mixing or sticking  to each other. A chaotic stream . <I don't know when we will be leaving. That guy Magrid is arranging tickets and documents.> He smiled at her <I'm so tired. So pleased we aren't running tonight.> The two women looked at him, the casual way he implied he would just go with her whatever happened. <I've given the house and its contents to seo, her daughter and D. Everything else my brother can have.> she looked at him <I would have liked you to see my house.>  H. wants to speak and justify what happened, to justify her sacrificing, but there are no sentences that would have meaning to the 'we' she is looking at in front of her. <There is nothing to say, after what happened there is nothing that can be said.> Park sits up, tries to pour some more tea and then goes into the kitchen with her to make some more tea.  He is thinking about the flows of capital that are reestablishing themselves as the violence they had passed through ended. He eats the warm dumplings. H said to him that < the politics had broken down and then the war and after a few days everyone has tried to step back.> [...]  <... my mother thinks and says  I am a psychopath...> she says looking at him. As she sits down with the additional tea. H and KW freeze on hearing her speak. Hearing her dismissal of the political explanations and descriptions. <That makes you a psychopath in love and it makes me someone who loves one.> <I didn't know psychopaths could love.>  <Can't they? A psychotherapist I know explained it to me once. We can ask her about this when we get to London.> <So my mother and family must be wrong.> < Yes, most people are confused over what a psychopath is... I liked the hotels we stayed in. especially the literary hotel. I would have like(d) to stay in the middle eastern room or perhaps utopia […] Nobody who sacrifices their child has the right to use the concept of psychopath> There are always moments in a life when you wonder about forgiveness, but how can you forgive the collusion that took place between your parents and the others to try and kill you?

Magrid walks past to accept each of the deliveries. He inspects the documents and the bags at the dining room table. He tells them he has arranged a police  escort to accompany them to the airport tomorrow. These are legal passports, tickets. Bank accounts for you, he smiles at her, move the money as quickly as possible in case the council decides to act badly, its from a legal slush fund so you don't need to hide it. These credit cards each have a prepaid  #100K limit, the paperwork comes here so when you've spent it destroy them. These are diplomatic bags,  you are technically both diplomats. This will be your permanent identity.  (To him he says) you  should probably destroy this when you get there. She looked at the bundles of money in the bag. Why so much Magrid ? By giving you this legal money I can launder a great deal of money without risk. Not sure I should give it to Kenzo though. He looks at him. Does anyone apart from Park know your name ? Only one other person.  [let me remind that: Reported Speech is the most unreliable use of language.]  Others come under the cover of rain and darkness and express regret at what has happened. Hasimon finds herself watching her daughters hand which always holds the gun when others are in the house. […] The gulf between the war machine on the sofa and the others in the house is unbridgeable, the disagreement is absolute. What kind of place is this ? Does mortality make them free to leave, to be deserted without caring? She sits holding the gun, sitting like a fate, without reason, consideration of pretext... In some way it is incomprehensible for they have pushed themselves through the middle of the capital, forcing a response from the other that suits them. They have to be accompanied, guided into exile before their are more of them. Acting on the bodies of those who would stop them. Their decision to sacrifice one child had created a monster. Only their exile will allow the space to be reterritorialized. They talk easily, mostly to one another, even when others are there. she describes her house to him drawing the floor-plan on sheets of paper with a soft leaded pencil. She explains the safe room, the hidden exits and gun safes, the rooms nobody has ever been in but her, the library,  the walled garden/courtyard,  the garden behind the house. He tells her he wishes he could have seen it. H wonders how she knew so little about this house she had visited but never seen anything but the surface. She tells him about the cars in the garage, boring he said teasing her, we'll get you something more interesting in exile. It has stopped raining and through the window the fountain in the garden can now be seen cascading down the clear angled glass. H feels excluded even as she stoically accepts that the the distance is unbridgeable, as she talks with KW she recognizes that even without exile, even if her daughter had been allowed to stay with this man in her house it is doubtful that trust and speech would have been possible. He is eating pieces of chocolate off the plate of deserts,  she looks amused (how can this amuse her H thinks with sidelong glances at KW who is watching fascinated as he eats a piece of chocolate and ginger) is that good she asks ? He looks warmly at her, delicious. She takes the plate away from him and takes a handful of pieces which she puts on her saucer. You have successfully corrupted me. Putting the plate back on the table. She had never known it would feel like this. He had entered her life by accident, transformed her world, opened something. Rescuing her from becoming sacrifice by simply being. It was only earlier that her devotion to the council, to her family had ended. Worldly happiness had become more important than faith, than the state she had spent her life in service to. That life faded before sitting on the sofa with a gun and a person who would not betray her. She laughed and ate a piece of chocolate. <unreliably, she asked through chocolate>  Are you going to be alright mum/mom/mother/Hasimon in this situation? We will all be as the council is scared because of what happened, the level of uncontrolled violence shocked them. [good for the wind, good for the night, good for the cold good for the march and the bullets and the mud, good for legends, good for the stations of the cross, good for the thirty year olds he thought]. [...] We'll be fine in London. [..] They will watch you (KW said.) Surveillance is fine, tell them if they speak first I may kill them all. Peace may be what they think they have,  but i have only war. [A people without myths is already dead, the function of that particular class of legends known as myths, sitting on the sofa together is to express dramatically the ideology under which a society lives. What is the destiny of the warrior, if not to stand in disregard of, in defiance of sovereignty and sacrifice. To leave,,, He sits beside having become in a few short days a figure of ideology and smiles..]  I will tell {/} Magrid and K that this is the rule. She looks at him smiling. [Is she not the fierce warrior Horace, a fourth Horace perhaps, trying not to kill her  mother, sister or brother before the gates of rome ?]  Disorder is ending. Magrid shows  H out. I thought you might show her what sacrifice meant. Through a wintery smile, I considered it, but it might have stained the furniture. At some point, perhaps midnight or later they goto bed/ [description of the guest bedroom(cut)] [Kenzo sat on the sofa next to KW. Magrid drinking shots of honey vodka. He opened the can of water. I thought they should have apologized to her as I proposed. None of what happened was her fault.  The council members political-economy caused the violence to erupt, it began with bad decisions, just as it ended with bad ones. H argued for sacrifice. Magrid slept on the sofa. ]

He leaves his luggage in the Tokyo.exe.  The luggage is examined, the books added to the library, everything else is incinerated. In a few weeks they bill his credit card.

[The police, accompanied by an unspeaking Magrid and followed by a car of gangsters escort them to the gate for the flight, which takes off immediately after they are put on the plane. They are the last to board the plane and the first to leave it.]

All [human] made things are composites of actions and decisions that reach back into deep time.  All humans are composites of actions and decisions that reach back into deep time. It is a deterministic universe....