#and my brain was like 'damn its almost like they WANT me to steal from them'

[hiimcanadia]

I just saw a hoodie at the mall that says "famous people suck" and I think desperately-wants-to-retire rockstar Ed would wear that all the time

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Supreme Empress

Kylo Ren x Reader

Summary: The dark side chose you. They pried you out of the rebel camps and dragged you from the ashes and the corpses of your family. The dark side chose you to strengthen the force, to be the vessel for their plans, to be the bride of the Supreme Leader's pupil, to bear Kylo Ren's seed and ensure the might of their divine wrath.

Word Count: 11k+ 🧍‍♀️💀

Warnings: fem!Reader, slow burn, forced marriage AU, themes of stockholm syndrome/gaslighting/brain washing, mentions/depictions of violence, enemies to lovers?, smut (scratching, marking, ?manipulating?, fingering, vaginal penetration, cock warming), fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: this fucking ai chat man. fuck that shit MINORS DNI honestly. its my fault for making a plot. i just wanted to write smut fml. i hate it here. i couldn't even finish it cos now i cant write the smut dafaq? anyway im sure i got typos so you must forgive me. i have not gone through this yet and i need to brush my teeth and pull myself together bye Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

I fell to my knees. I was in tears, in dust, in blood, and in pain. My wrists were bound behind me and my clothes were tattered and torn.

This was it. This was the day I die. I felt it in my bones. This was the reckoning.

And then my deliverer, my executioner, came before me. And then I felt the Force in him echo in the room and ripple through me like a blade through my chest.

It was him. The phantom that haunted me every time I closed my eyes. He was the nightmare in my sleep, and the damning voice in my head in the morning. The dark warrior, death given form, the murmuring voice of the shadows.

The Sith Lord.

Here he is, crossing this bridge from the entrance of this cursed compound.

The place is busy, busy with its plans of destruction. I heave at the grandness of it all. It was terrifying to see it up close, especially since I was evidently at the top, and it was a very long drop down.

I crane my neck up at him, face stained with tears. I was exhausted but I put on my last show. I bared my last look of defiance before he kills me, before he finally completes this cycle of torment he has been inflicting onto me.

I close my eyes and await his judgement.

I feel him come before me, but he instead walks past, and I hear someone choke from behind.

"Did I not instruct that she be left unharmed?" his voice barks through his dark mask.

My heart pounds as I hear straining from behind me. I steal a look from over my shoulder and instantly regret it when I see the two stormtroopers that dragged me here get thrown down the side of the bridge. I shudder. Like I said, it's a long drop down.

I look straight when he returns to me. I feel him undo my shackles with his Force, and then... he clutches my arm to help me stand.

I look up at him. I see my reflection on his helmet. I clench my jaw, "what do you want from me?"

"My empress-"

My stomach rolls.

"-I have finally retrieved you from your sullied camp to bring you to your rightful place next to me. To claim you as my own."

A shiver runs down my spine.

No, this can't be real.

My breathing strains. I grip my hands and I begin to step back.

It electrocutes me, this searing cold voice in my brain. It was a suddenly as if I remembered the dialogue in the horrors of my slumber that I so hardly tried to suppress. It was replaying now, the voice of the malevolent, the voice of the creature ruling my nightmares. "I give you to my pupil. With your Force converged with his, the purest of warriors will be borne. And my power will know no bounds."

"You remember now, bride," my captor iterated, "that voice in your head right now-- that is the Supreme Leader; that is Snoke."

I step back, "bride?" my breath hitches.

I was his b--

My knees almost give in, but again, his hold on my arm keeps me upright.

I feel my eyes begin to water.

Please, please, let this be another horrible, horrible nightmare.

"Is everything prepared?"

"Yes, my lord," two voices call out from behind me.

"Good," he says, and I released, "I will watch as you prepare her. I will not allow her be injured further."

I was--

I was here to be sacrificed to the darkness.

I was here to answer to the calls that have been plaguing me for so long, ever since that day my home planet was invaded, ever since everything I knew was reduced to atoms.

I let out a loud yelp when I am splashed with cold water. I let out a breathy curse and the servant who had done it, who had profusely apologized, is suddenly being choked.

It is only now I am cognizant again. It was now that I was aware I am in the bathroom, stripped naked in a tub, and my captor has his servant in a chokehold from across the room. I gasp and cover my bare chest, looking over my shoulder as he hisses, "you could not have made the water warmer? How would you like to be dunked in a pool of ice water?"

My breath hitches, "let her go!"

His voice buzzes behind his helmet as he curls his hand further with his outstretched arm, "she has one task, one simple task, and if she cannot perform it, then she is no use to me."

I panic as I see the servant's eyes water. I jolt when the other servant grabs my shoulder and begins to wash my skin as though nothing was awry. I turn from the servant back to him, "LET HER GO!"

He does nothing.

"LET. HER. GO!"

He seems to be debating my words.

I panic and quip breathlessly, "let her go!"

I sigh in relief when the servant is dropped.

A shiver runs down my spine when he goes at ease by the door. He clutches his hands before him and announces, "thank your empress for her mercy."

Immediately, before she can even catch her breath, the servant responds, "th-ank you, empress." The woman quickly begins to attend to me again.

I am far beyond perturbed.

I don't know what to do with myself, not when I was being bathed by strangers, not when I naked in the tub, not when he was there, watching me.

Why the fuck did that sicko have to watch like a bird in a fucking cage?

Careful, bride.

I stiffen in my place. The servants working on my body halt their work and ask me if their touch was too rough.

Lest you forget I have also been in your dreams. You ought to honor me even in your thoughts, baby bird.

"... my empress?" one servant calls.

"She is fine," he answers for me, "you may proceed."

And then, I'm being dragged out of the tub and patted down in front of a huge mirror. I don't know what to cover, and I can feel him looking. Never mind my naked form in and of itself, but my cuts and bruises from ripping and screaming at the stormtroopers that pried me into their ship. It was loathsome sight to see.

"Must you watch me?" I ask accusingly yet under my breath.

"Yes," he replies, as if it makes anything better, as if it was actually a question, as if he didn't know what I meant with my words. And then he clarifies, as if it helped, "your physical state does not bother me. It does not make you any less than you are, my bride."

My eyes twitch as I am finally handed undergarments to wear. I find my voice again, finally, "that's not the-"

"My pretty bride."

I cease my movements. What the fuck is he saying?

I don't have time to ponder those words as the servants urge me to dress and then quickly begin to fasten me with bandages, namely on my thigh where I had a cut and on my bicep that had a burn.

And though I so badly wanted to whine in protest and dramatic spite, I do my best to contain them. After all, the servants were helping me, they don't need to be Force choked for doing a job they were tasked to accomplish by their malignant master.

The next moment, I was being put into an elaborate garment and then they started painting on my face. Suddenly, I was.... turning into something else. I looked at the mirror and everything was so very real and unimaginable all at once. This was all happening to me. This wasn't a nightmare, not a fever dream, and there was no escape.

And then they told him- my groom- that I was done and I stared at my reflection, unable to recognize myself.

Who in the world were you?

"Come," he says, raising his hand up to me, "we must not delay any further."

I look at his reflection from the mirror. I look at his hand, hid behind his glove, his body, hid behind his cloak, and his face, hid behind his mask. I was going to me wed to this stranger, hidden in darkness?

I stare at him. I clench my jaw. I tell him I'm not going but utter not a single word. I sear it in his brain with my eyes. I scream it, blare it out as loudly as I could.

And yet he only watches me. He watches me with an urging dark hand.

My heart pounds in my ribs. I expect him to begin to lash out at one point, to choke me next, but he doesn't. He stands there, just stands there, reaching out to me.

Was this his twisted way of making me feel like I was willingly going to him? His way of telling me he was the only route in my life now?

My nostrils flare and I gather my skirt. I stare at him as I walk past him. My body was rigid and I had no idea where I was going, but I walked. And then he opened the doors for me.

My hand twitched when he took it, as he was suddenly beside me. I gasp at the unexpected and uninvited touch and I turn to him in surprise, but it is arduous with this ridiculous headpiece on me. His hand is massive and burning hot against my freezing clammy one. He tugs me toward him, "it's this way."

So, we when go this way.

We tread the halls, and I swear I could feel people following after us, more and more each moment, but I couldn't look back, literally, the fucking headpiece was in the way.

And then the atmosphere started to get darker, and it was like it was suddenly so much harder to breathe. It was clear to me we were heading for that large door, and that whatever was behind there was not good. It was not good at all.

He waved his hands once and the doors opened.

There was a great and terrible rush of Force that knocked into me. It was so strong and terrifying, I tighten my grip on my captor, and I cling onto him for safety. My breath is knocked out of my lungs, and all at once I am facing this large entity, this massive body of darkness, the literal flesh form of all my worst nightmares.

I was reeling back in fear. My stomach was in my chest and my heart was in my mouth.

I was in front of him. The Supreme Leader. Snoke.

And he was looking at me, looking right at me with contempt, with impatience, with exasperation.

My feet were stuck on the floor and my fingers were digging into arm of the man by my side. I couldn't do anything but feel my eyes water.

I snap to look my side when my name is called out. I turn to my groom as suddenly he is pacifying me, comforting me even, "the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave."

I don't know how I feel about his words, I don't know how I feel about how he takes my chin in his fingers and makes me turn my body to him. I don't know how I feel when he steadies my stupid headpiece when it knocks onto his shoulder. I don't know how I feel when I follow him mindlessly, when he and I head towards his gargantuan master.

Snoke speaks the moment we are in front of him. His voice rings, it reverberates, in the hall, in my ears, in my thorax, and in the dark corner of my mind that shudders at the recognition, "you have done well, my pupil. Very well."

My eyes lock with Snoke. I evade his stare and abruptly pull away from the man on my right. He stares at me for a moment when I do so, then looks back at Snoke, "thank you, master."

Snoke grumbles, "well, remove that ridiculous thing on your head and let us begin."

I don't know whether it is because I am fearful of the evil-king before me or because I am anticipative of the face of the man behind the mask, but I turn to him with a desperation. I turn to him when he removes his helmet and my breath catches in my throat.

He tucks his helmet under his arm and looks at me with his brown eyes that glistened with something sinister behind them. He parted his lips and I noticed the scar by its side that started by his brow went far past his cheek and collar. His hair was somehow perfectly tousled even after staying inside his face cage for so long. I don't know how I felt after seeing him face to face like this.

I suck in a sharp breath when he takes my hand. He promptly begins to speak.

"I-" he turns to our joined hands as he lifts them chest level, "Kylo Ren," his eyes dart back to me, "take you-"

My skin pricks at how he whispers my name. He says it as if it were a secret, as if he meant it with reverence, as if it was solemn.

"-to be my wife."

My empress.

I suck in a sharp breath at his voice in my head. My breath picks up. My stomach rolls. Get out.

Kylo Ren rubs my knuckles, "To protect you, to honor you, to venerate you until my last breath, or even beyond."

And then he looks at me. He stares at me. He bores into my being and plunges into my soul. I feel my hands begin to shake in his hold.

Kylo Ren looks in silence and I look in fear.

I start at the harsh call of the Supreme Leader to our side, "SPEAK YOUR VOWS, GIRL!"

I screw my eyes shut and gulp. I have to get out of here. Get me out of here! My breath strains now more than ever.

Suddenly, I hear a soft voice in my head. Suddenly, I dare to open my eyes and I see a disconcerting softness in my groom's expression.

Shhhhhhh.

He hushes me in my mind. He repeats his words from earlier.

The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave.

I open my mouth and huff helplessly. I repeat my groom's words and tears begin to fall from my eyes.

Snoke leans back in his throne and tents his hands together, "good, good. Then by the power of the darkness, the power vested in me, The Supreme Leader, the ruler of the galaxies and all peoples," he nods his head, "two have now become one."

My shoulders rise and my heart pounds at the explosion of loud exclamations. I look around the hall and only now realize that there were hundreds of individuals, looking down at us from the balconies above.

"Long live the Emperor and Empress!"

I am at a loss for what to do next. I don't know if I want to run away or drop dead. I find myself looking to Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren, whose brows slightly furrow in his seriousness. Kylo Ren who looks up to his people and raises his hand that is clutching his helm, inspiring them to cheer even more. Kylo Ren, who then looks down at me and firmly grips my hands before leading me out of the room.

I don't know what happens after that.

I think I'm having a panic attack.

Am I having a panic attack?

Can someone even think if they're having a panic attack?

I'm not having a panic attack.

I'm not having a panic attack.

"Enough," he speaks, turning to me, clutching my cheek. Kylo Ren looks at me with knit brows while his gloved hands make me face him. My neck strains because of the weight of my headpiece. He blinks at me and slips the thing off my head. A weight is lifted off my shoulders. Very suddenly, I think I'd have preferred if he removed my head altogether. He uses his Force to bring the object away. I watch as it floats off to a dresser, beside his helmet that was already there.

All at once, I realize I was in a bedroom. I look back at Kylo in horror. Oh, fuck, I was in a bedroom.

He huffs through his nostrils, "your thoughts are as loud as sirens."

I clutch my skirt tightly and slowly begin to move back.

Kylo watches me. He tilts his head down slightly and narrows his eyes.

I swallow the lump in my throat, "so what?" I shudder, "you're going to force an heir in me now?"

He raises his nose and tilts his head to the side, "it is my duty to sire an heir."

I gulp. My breathing begins to get shorter and shorter.

I start when he steps forward. I put more distance between us.

I shiver when he calls out my name.

"Don't," I point, "don't come any closer."

Kylo Ren offers me the courtesy of stopping in his place.

I catch my breath and watch him as he brings his hands behind him. Goosebumps form on my skin when he speaks, "I have just vowed to protect you, to honor you, and to venerate you." He brings his hands to the clasp of his cloak, "I will not force you to do anything with me that you don't want."

I scoff, tightening my grip on my clothes, "and you think I wanted to marry you?!"

I tense when Kylo unfastens his cloak and folds it in front of him. I freeze in my spot in anticipation of what he's going to do next. He looks at his cloak then looks at me, "you do not understand it now, but you are the key to securing the strength the Sith, securing the Order."

A shiver runs down my spine. How can he say that so plainly?

I cannot comprehend how utterly indoctrinated this ideation is in his being. It is shocking honestly, to see up close and personal that he believes so much in his cause, that he genuinely does not see fault in this, in forcing me to marry him, in taking me by force, in destroying my camp, in laying waste to my people, on wreaking their ill-judgement to the stars.

I shake my head, "do you honestly believe I will eventually come to you with- with open arms?!"

Kylo Ren straightens his posture. I nearly trip when he walks over to me as I attempt to rush back. He raises two fingers and keeps me upright with his Force. He keeps me in place and stands before me. He leans his face close to mine, then barely opens his mouth to speak, "I do."

And then, he releases me and walks away.

I watch him as he exits the room and leaves me. The sound of the door closing is all that's left.

I begin to pant. I begin to heave in anger, in loss, in panic, in desperation. I have to get o-

I slap my hands on my mouth. I screw my eyes shut and shudder.

Silent. I have to be silent.

The next day he asked me to accompany him while he ate.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, he said, I should join him, so that we would both grow accustomed to each other's company during such intimate moments, and that we would also get to know each other more.

I scoffed at the idea, so much for not forcing me to do anything I don't want.

"I am not forcing you, wife," Kylo calls across the expanse of the long table.

My eyes that were idly watching my fork swirl the unknown delicacy on my plate dart to him. My shoulders tense as Kylo Ren grabs his glass and drinks from it.

I huff, "do you mind getting out of my head?" I ask though it wasn't really a question, it was a threat, as much of a threat a captive could give.

Kylo sets the object down and taps his finger on it, "if you don't want to join me..." he thinks for a moment, "you don't have to."

I straighten in my seat. I silently look out to him in challenge.

I stiffen when the pitcher begins to float and water is then poured in my cup. I clench my jaw, turning back to Kylo, finding his raised finger.

"I would prefer if you dined with me though," he says, putting the pitched back down.

I turn to my food, idly pushing it around again, "I would prefer if I dined by myself... in my-" our "-room."

I hear him exhale. I hear the contact of his cutlery on his plate, "a disappointing conclusion."

I slowly avert my eyes from my food to him. He is now focused on his own plate. He mumbles, "but I will allow it."

The next day, I am woken to eat breakfast and urged to get out of bed. I explain to servant I was allowed to eat in my room and that I don't want to eat yet. I scoff in disbelief when I am told I am meant to tour the place with the master, with that damned Kylo Ren, and is thus advised to get ready.

And so I did. I got ready and went into the dining room and interrupted his breakfast. If I can't have peace, neither can he.

Kylo turns to me and nods, "wife."

I clench my teeth, "tour me now," I huff, "I'm not hungry, so tour me now."

He turns back to his food and seemingly debates my words for a moment. He then stands from his seat and puts on his helmet, leading me out of the room. If I could burn holes onto his back with my eyes, he'd have been nothing but charcoal.

I suppose I should have given more attention to his tour than I did because knowing the place would surely benefit me when I make my attempt to esc-

"Are you certain you're not hungry?" Kylo Ren asks out of the blue as he leads me down the weapons room, "you're quite snippy and demanding. I would assume that's because you're hungry, baby bird."

I can't help but scoff at his mockery, "or, this is just how I am," I mumble, "so don't act like you know me." I aimlessly look at all the weapons on display, weapons meant to destroy others like me.

But I do know you.

I avert my gaze to him. I stiffen as I glare.

"I have been in your mind and seen the depths of your soul," he mutters, "and I know you're irritable because you're hungry."

And then he conjures up a tin-wrapped object in front of me.

"Here," he gives me the item using his Force, "you can eat this while we walk back to our chambers."

My lips curl in disgust, "is this meant to be enticing?"

He tilts his helmet clad head, "it's meant to be my lunch for later," he grabs the floating object, then my wrist, placing the silver thing on my palm.

I tense in his touch and I am glad he doesn't linger long there. I look at his would-have-been lunch then turn back to him, seeing my scowling reflection on his dumb helmet, "what an honor to know I won't be poisoned since this is apparently yours."

"It is mine," he rebuts rather impatiently.

I roll my eyes and shove it into his chest, "if you want me to be less irritable, let me go back to my chambers." I catch myself when I say this. It sounds like I want to be in that damned cage, instead of outside of this compound. I correct myself, "or better yet, let me go."

Kylo Ren places his lunch in pocket that I didn't know he had, "We will continue this tour tomorrow."

And so we did. This time, he made sure to have someone come to me after I ate.

I must say, perhaps he was partially correct in the fact I was irritable because I was hungry. I did find him more bearable today, as far as forced husbands and captors go. But then again perhaps it was because he was touring me in the biggest library I have ever seen.

I couldn't even feign disinterest as he motioned to each area of the place and explained they were arranged by planet of origin.

I was far too busy craning my neck up to see how high the bookshelves reached that I bump into one. Or at least I thought it was a bookshelf and not fucking Kylo Ren. I jolt when I look at him, firstly because we had a collision, secondly because he magically didn't have his helmet on anymore.

I reel back as he looks down at me, on I think a more figurative sense if anything.

I am immediately uncomfortable under his gaze. I mutter, "sorry."

"You have questions," he mutters. He turns to me and lifts his chin, "ask them."

I evade his stare. Don't tell me what to do.

"I'm not telling you what to do," Kylo Ren retorts after hearing my thought.

I turn back to him. I snort and grumble, "stay out of my head."

He looks up at the shelves and then looks down at me with his eyes, "a hundred layers."

I pull my head back and scoff in disbelief, "the shelves have a hundred layers?" I look over my shoulder haphazardly, "seems unnecessary hard to manage."

"Well," he brings his head down, "it hosts knowledge from peoples across over the stars. It must be capable of securing the vastness."

When I look back at him, I tense when I see he has come far too close to me. It would have been wise to pull away, perhaps to even shove him off to get my point across, but somehow, I find his proximity as a challenge. I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes at him, "undoubtedly stolen, plucked from the rubble of your destruction."

A chill rushes up my spine when he smirks at me. It remains lopsided and smug as he whispers "I don't feel the need to preserve artifacts from a race that is unable to see the glory of my purpose."

That's it. I begin to slowly step away from him.

"Do you want to know how these shelves are managed?"

"No, I really-"

I make a sound when he grabs me and locks me against his chest. Before I can even begin to fight back, I find my feet get lifted off the ground along with him. Next thing I know, I'm gasping and clinging onto him for dear life.

"Put me down," I gasp against his chest as I seal my arm tightly against him.

He chuckles as we continue to float up. He tightens his grip on me as I feel myself begin to slip. He flexes his feet and pushes them beneath mine. I look up at him as I step on his boots.

"This is how you manage them," he iterated, then motioning to his side, "or you use the ladder."

I scoff in disbelief, grabbing onto his collar, "put me down, Kylo."

He blinks at me, lips curing into a bigger smile, "alright."

He slowly bringing me down and I tense when he clutches my waist and speaks out my name.

I look away from him and watch as the floor nears. By the time it was close enough, I jump off him and walk away.

Kylo Ren watches and chuckles, "the exit is the other, baby bird."

I stop in my tracks and glare at him. He does not waste time and walks up to me. My breath hitches when he does, reeling over the look on his face. He moves past me and walks away.

I watch him as he does so, and then an idea strikes me. I debate my chances on living here and convincing the servants to get me food... a bucket-

"Don't be ridiculous. I will throw you over my shoulder if you will not follow," Kylo Ren announces. He stops in his tracks and looks over to me, "you are my empress, not my captive, even though you feel that way."

I watch him as he raises his hand to me, reaching out to me again like on the day of our wedding, except this time, I could see his eyes and is pouty lips. I huff through my nostrils and grip my fists. I walk over to him glaring at him all the way until I move past him.

Kylo watches, a glint in his eye as he does.

I hear him chuckle.

The next day, I woke up, realizing I was allowed to sleep in. That got me tremendously excited, and so I quickly began to ready myself to begin my attempts at an esca-

I slap my hand on my mouth and release a deep breath from my nostrils.

I take a few more moments and ready to exit my chambers.

The moment I'm about to exit though, I am faced with a servant. I tense at the sight of her but offer her a pinched smile, "Rezba."

Rezba nods and walks in with a tray of food, "please eat before you leave. I will be scolded if I am found to failed to feed you."

Dammit, Rezba.

I sigh, turning to my feet. I watch the woman as she walks off and sets the table. She was one of the servants that helped prepare me on my... wedding day, the one that didn't get choked. As for the one that was, I have not seen or heard from her ever since.

My conscience presses on me every time I think of this. I sigh, walking over to her. I sit down on the chair by the table and smile, "thank you, Rezba. You can go now."

Rezba nods, "as you wish, empress."

I wipe my face as he walked away. I quickly stuff my face with the food. I mean, after all, if I manage what I do, I'll need all the food I can get.

The moment I was done, I exit my chambers and head outside with purpose. I nod at the personnel that greet me and make sure to keep my mask of confidence as I make it to the launch pad.

I practically beam when I see a ship ready for the picking. But then I feel a force surge through me.

"Fuck."

My bride.

I turn over my shoulder in horror. Lo behold, the dark mask of my groom, strutting over to me with troops behind him.

"Come to visit me?" he muffles out behind his helmet.

I clench my jaw and turn to him, doing my best not to roll my eyes.

Somehow, I can see his smirk underneath as he speaks, "you didn't even change out of your nightclothes."

I let out a strangled sound as I turn to the two people behind Kylo. One had red hair and one was as clad in uniform as the Supreme Lord.

"This is General Hux and Captain Phasma," Kylo motions to the two of them.

I hum, "yes... hello," I smile without meeting my eyes, "well, now that I've... seen my husband, I'm... I'm going back to my chambers."

The two behind Kylo nod at me. I try not be so annoyed as I walk away.

Next time you plan to escape, you should probably change into something that would protect you from the harshness of space.

I grit my teeth and snap over my shoulder, "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

General Hux recoils at my voice. Kylo Ren chuckles under his breath.

The next day, I have no such luck of escaping at all.

"Don't you have some-" I quip over my shoulder as Kylo tails me like the dark shadow he was, "-I don't know... planet to blow up," my voice gets increasingly smaller as I say this and hear myself.

Kylo Ren, in one of the rare occurrences he did not have his helmet on, stops to look at me. He presses his lips together, "do you have a pla-"

"No!" I raise hands, "forget that I said that... please."

I turn away from him and begin to tread deeper into the halls of the library.

I hear him snort behind me, "I don't want you to continue to delude yourself into thinking escaping is an option. It would just be a waste of both our time if you do so."

I roll my eyes and shake my head, "and I don't want to delude you in thinking that I would ever stop trying to escape you."

I actually stop in my tracks when I hear him laugh out loud. I turn over to him in great offence as he then turns to me with bright eyes.

I seethe with venom, "I'm glad one of us finds this funny."

He straightens himself up and crosses his arms, "it's funny how you fail to see how alike we are."

My face drops in horror. I march over to him and point a finger at him, "we are nothing alike!"

I jolt when he grabs my wrist and pushes my hand down. The amusement in his face falters and shifts into something else, "aren't we, my empress?"

My heart begins to pound. I pull away from him and recoil.

My breathing begins to pick up as I rub my wrist.

Kylo watches me and makes up for the space between us by walking forward, "did that hurt you?"

"Does it matter if it did?" I quip.

His face softens yet his brows tighten, "it does."

I scoff.

"I am not the monster you make me out to be."

I scoff again as I continue to walk back, "oh yeah, then what ar-" I gasp when I hit something. I panic and turn, seeing it was the step ladder. I have no choice but to halt as Kylo presses nearer. I swallow the lump on my throat as I look at his face.

I will myself not to be so affected by his presence.

I clench my jaw.

My willpower is not very effective.

"I am your husband," he mutters.

I freeze when he brings his hands to my side, though he does not touch me. His eyes dart to my hands that I clutch to my chest. He releases a breath, "I want to bring order to the galaxy."

A shiver runs down my spine, "Kylo..."

His eyes lock on mine. I even my breathing.

I shake my head and knit my brows, "do you genuinely think," I speak softly with no hint of malice, "that killing billions is order?"

His jaw tightens. He drops his hands to his side, "it is an necessary stake for the greater good-"

"Greater good?!" I quip under my breath, grabbing onto his cheeks. I look at him with wide eyes as he looks at me with a similar shocked expression, "you believe razing through the stars is the greater good?"

My whole body pricks when he takes my wrists in his hands and whispers, "my love."

I suck in a sharp breath.

"You do not understand it now," he explains, shaking his head, "but everything that I am, everything that I do," his voice becomes really quiet, "is for us."

My expression drops where his softens.

"For our future," he whispers, "for our next generation and after."

"Kylo-"

"I do it because I believe in our cause," he cuts me off, "I do it because without us, the galaxy will never know anything but chaos."

My breath begins to strain.

He releases one wrist and reaches out for my face, "I will do all it takes, and give you all the time to understand this."

Mu face burns at the feel of his gloved hand. I shake my head, "why?"

"Because you are my star, my burning destiny," he mutters, "the Force brought you to me. I felt you that day on your home planet, you were so strong, you were so strong and so misguided. I tried to kill you that day, but you got away."

My eyes begin to water. I begin to relive that day in my head.

"Then I dreamt about you, I dreamt about how you escaped me and how I hated that you did. Snoke saw it. He saw you in my head. He saw your drive. He saw your weakness. He saw what you could become. And then, he said I burned because you were meant to be mine. He said our Forces were calling for each other, which was why I could not stop dreaming about you."

I begin to tremble against him.

He clutches my face with both hands, "don't be afraid. It took me a while to understand it as well, but-"

"Kylo-" I shudder, "you don't dream of me because I'm your bride, you dream of me because of him!"

He stills.

"Don't you see?" I pant, "he's manipulating you. The dark side is mani-"

"If anyone has been manipulated, it is you, baby bird," he grunts, "you were indoctrinated with beliefs that are short sighted and weak. I would not-"

He doesn't finish and turns his head to the side when a voice of a stormtrooper buzzes through the hall, "apologies for the interruption, my lord. I was tasked to escort you to the throne room, the Supreme Leader is summoning you."

Kylo Ren turns to face him. I suck in a breath as suddenly, he grabs my hand and pulls me with him as we walk past the stormtrooper, "an escort won't be necessary."

If I wasn't shaking a while ago, I surely was now, and Kylo Ren could feel it. Kylo stole looks over his shoulder. I did nothing but try to even my breath as we tread the hall.

I could feel him holding onto me with his Force, trying to contain me almost... trying to comfort me.

I tense when he releases my hand in lieu of draping his arm over my shoulder, "he will not touch you. He will not harm you," he mutters as I look up at him. He stares straight as we continue walking, "I will make it a point to keep this brief. You have nothing to worry about."

I wanted his words to comfort me, I wanted him to be able to comfort me so badly. And yet when I was face to face with his master, I couldn't even muster the courage to put my faux brave face on. He pulled away from me and pushed me behind him as he greeted the being.

"Why do you continue to disappoint me so, Kylo Ren?" Snoke inquires with a voice of disdain.

This had something to do about me, I am sure of it.

"I am doing everything you asked me," Kylo retorts rather simply.

"And I gave you a bride, yet still you have no efforts for an heir!" he accuses, "must I teach you even in the ways of the flesh, boy?!"

Kylo clenches his fist, he mumbles, "no."

"THEN DO YOUR DUTY!"

"I am making sure everything is perfect for her. She cannot bear me and heir if she is damaged or scared," Kylo retorts.

Snoke tilts his head, "and are you trying to say that has something to do with me?"

"I am SAYING-" Kylo Ren starts, raising his voice as he did. In my shock, I pull back at his cloak, not wanting to feel the wrath of his master. Not now, not ever, especially not in my dreams, not again.

Kylo holds himself back. He huffs, "I will do my duties as her husband. This isn't something for you to meddle with."

"Meddle?" Snoke scoffs but then laughs. He, in fact, laughs so hard, it echoes in the room. He catches his breath then sighs, "Fine." Snoke raises a finger and suddenly, Kylo's boots skid on the floor as he is moved away to reveal me from behind him.

I turn to Snoke, feeling my heart quicken in my ribcage.

Kylo steps back in front of me. I take his arm and hold onto it for dear life.

Snoke stares at his protégé. He tilts his head, "I expect this to change, soon. Her belly should never not be carrying an heir."

Her belly should never not be carrying an heir.

Her belly should never not be carrying an heir.

Her belly should never not be carrying an heir.

"Enough!" Kylo snaps me out of my trance. I turn to him, eyes wide, body trembling. We weren't in the throne room any more, we were in our chambers, soaked in dark retreat of it all. I had no idea when we got here. All I know was I was here with Kylo, who was clutching my face so tightly. He looks at me with something of annoyance, something of concern, "don't think about him anymore, think about me. Just think about me."

I shake my head in sheer disbelief. I push his hands away, "is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Kylo straightens.

"You," I start, "want me here for the same reason he does!"

His expression hardens.

"You and him had plagued me with nightmares for as long as I can remember," I shake my head, "the only reason, I think, I don't have them anymore is because I actually get to live my nightmares out in real life."

"So?" he quips, "what do you mean to say?"

I bite my lip, "just-" I feel my eyes water, "take what you want and... and-"

I hold my breath when Kylo grabs my chin and tilts my head up to look at him. He brings his face close to mine. His nose is barely brushing my own. I feel his hot breath on my face as he enunciates one word, "want."

I blink rapidly at the sound of his voice.

"Shhh," he hushes, "if it's Snoke you worry about, don't. I have been planning something for him, long before you even came to me. He is the least of your worries," he explains. "But do you know what I want, bride?" he asks, as though to taunt me.

I shudder. I think of replying, but I don't.

"I know what you want," he mutters. He begins to move forward, and so I have no choice but to move back as he pushes me in the direction he wants, "you want to run away from me, baby bird. You think you can break free."

His hand only leaves my chin when my calves hit the foot of the bed and I fall back, heart hammering, breath clawing at my throat. He drones, "but what I want?"

Kylo Ren undoes his gloves and undoes his belt as he towers over me.

I want to strangle your light. I want to break you so badly. I want to fucking burn you from the inside until you can only hear yourself screaming from how good it feels to finally have your wet, little c-

I slap my hands to my mouth I hear the thoughts running through his head.

Kylo stills. He tilts his head then chuckles, "so... you heard that?"

I sigh deeply, attempting to even my breath as I back away from him. I squeak when he lunges and traps me beneath him. He crushes me against his chest and pins my wrists by my head. I turn away from him as he whispers hotly against my ear, "it would be so easy to have you like this, right?"

My screw my eyes shut. Tears lace my lashes.

"You won't even fight me off, you couldn't."

I shudder when he releases one of my wrists and brings his free hand down to my thighs. I feel my body burn and tingle at his slow caress.

He kisses my jaw and my skin there is set ablaze, "you don't want to fight me off," he chuckles, "you could at least do something with your hand to save face."

When I finally remember where my free hand is, Kylo takes it back in his and lifts his head, "too late." He pushes himself up, "look at me."

I clench my jaw.

"You'll know never to make me ask for the same thing twice."

I give a shallow huff and open my eyes, looking up at him.

"I want you to beg me," he whispers, "I want you to be so desperate to finally," he begins to further pull away, "finally, take you," he knits his brows, "to make you my wife that you get on your knees and weep for it."

A shiver runs down my spine as I watch him get up from the bed and grab his gloves, "until then," he reaches his hand out and uses his Force to cover me with the sheets, "you belong to yourself."

He haunts me in my dreams that night. Not as a figure of darkness, not as a ghost, but as a man, as starving entity, ready to consume me, eager to take me.

He haunts me every night after. And every night his intentions are made clearer and clearer until I wake up and think he and I wake up and I'm shocked he's not actually there.

It became hard to look at him, especially when my stomach began to flip and my thighs involuntarily pressed together. I was turning sick.

And then one day, the news spreads like wildfire. Snoke is dead, Kylo Ren is the Supreme Leader, and I, his Supreme Empress.

It was weird. I was called Empress before and he was called Emperor before, but now, now it was real. Now I was parading with Kylo Ren in the capital, looking at citizens waving at us and throwing flowers our way. And then I was shaking strangers' hands and Kylo snarled at whomever dared embrace me a second too long.

But what really cemented our reign and the realness of it all, was when someone tried to attack me. Kylo felt the assailant before he got too close though and choked him dead in the middle of the crowd. I watched as the man's weapon fell to the ground, as he withered in pain, as he eventually stopped moving. He suffered. I knew Kylo wanted him to. The festivities were long over after that, and I was then I was reminded of who he truly was.

He was a brute. A beast. The shadow in my mind. He was-

I turn over my left as a blanket is draped over my shoulder. Kylo Ren sits beside me on the bed and offers me glass of water, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

I huff at the sound of his apology. I wrap my blanket tighter on me.

He sighs and brings the glass to the table using his Force, "I would do it again, though. You should know. I would not hesitate even a second."

I curl my legs up into my chest, "am I supposed to be grateful?"

"I would prefer if you were," he mutters.

"Kylo..."

I suck in a breath when he says his name.

"I'm- I'm too tired to argue. I want to go to sleep," I mutter, moving on the bed until I was laid down. Kylo watches me as I do this, then stands.

"Wait," I call out, surprising even myself.

Kylo stills.

No turning back now. "I... I don't want to be alone... not after that... even though you did it."

Kylo waits.

He debates my words.

I hide behind my blanket, "nevermi-"

The next thing I know, I feel him move next to me. And there, he lies.

I feel him next to me. We're under the same blanket. I feel myself begin to grow warm.

"I can get a separate blanket if you're so uncomfortable."

"Get out of my fucking thoughts."

"... ... I don't want to."

I grunt and wrap myself tightly under the blanket, surely yanking however much was on Kylo off.

"Your mind is an oasis to me."

I say nothing.

"My mind is a dessert, you are my oasis."

I huff through the sheets, "don't talk to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that!"

"I'm telling you what-"

"I'm done with this conversation."

I close my eyes and tighten my embrace on myself. I release a breath and try to clear my mind.

"Are you that cold?" Kylo murmers

"I'm not cold."

"I know."

"Then why did you ask?" I quip turning to him.

I freeze when I do so, instantly regretting my decision. He was lying on his side, looking at me, his face was right in front of mine and his arms were wrapped around himself. He blinks slowly as he looks at me, "I know you want to be held."

I huff through my slightly agape mouth, then I clench my jaw tightly. I move back from him cautiously, retreating into my covers, into myself.

"I can hold you," he mutters softly.

I turn away from him, feeling my body ignite.

"I want to hold you," he whispers even softer. Let me hold you.

Shut up, get out of my head.

He takes a moment before speaking again. He releases a breath, "am I that terrifying to you, baby bird?"

Yes.

"Then why do you mutter my name while you sleep?"

I tighten my arms around myself. Stop trying to get into my head.

"I'm already in your head," he retorts, voice closer now, "and in your heart."

"Shut up," I whimper.

I hear high-pitched laugh in my head. His voice surrounds me through the Force. It makes my skin raise. I'm only telling you the truth.

"Face me," he mutters, "coward."

I scoff. I heave, feeling my insides curdle. I clench my jaw then hiss, "at least I'm not a killer with no remorse."

He laughs, "you're making it seem like I should have let him attack you."

"You didn't have to kill him!" I snap, turning back to him, pushing myself up on my palms, "you could have given him a prison sentence."

"For what?!" he barks back, unravelling his crossed arms, lifting face up slightly, "so he could plan to attack you again, but next time when I'm not around to defend you?!"

"He only wanted to attack me because I'm married to you!" I hiss, sitting up from my spot.

Kylo sits up too and shakes his head, "he wanted to attack you because he thinks you're my weakness."

"Because I am your weakness!" I quip, "I'm your docile bride!"

He scoffs, grabbing my jaw, "you made yourself into this, little girl," he leans towards me. My pulse quickens as he pushes my head back, hand coming to the side of my face, fingers digging into my hair, "you where the rebel that fought against my troops and managed to escape me. The Force is strong with you," he places his other hand on the other side of my face, "that is why you are my bride."

When Kylo Ren pulls away and lies down, my insides begin to burn, to fume, and rage at his words. I watch him and I slowly begin to see red. And yet, he closes his eyes and acts like this whole conversation didn't happen. He prepares to sleep like there's nothing wrong.

This is my final straw.

I lunge at him. I dart my claws out and growl. I jump on him and press down on his throat. I straddle him and lean all my weight all my strength onto his airways. His eyes shoot open. His hands dart to my wrists. He begins to choke. I put all my anger into my grip. I force against him, knowing full well if I lost the upper hand, I'd be dead.

Except he doesn't make an move beyond clutching my wrists. I wait for him to attempt to overpower me, I wait for him to throw me off him the way I knew he could, and end all of this, and, in turn, kill me instead, but he doesn't.

He doesn't fight back.

Instead he looks up at me as his air leaves him as his face begin to turn maroon, as his veins begin to stress, as his final breaths escape his lips. And then I realize what I was doing and I pull back.

I pull back and heave in horror, wrists breaking free of his hold, hovering by my chest as I looked down at him while he caught his breath. He closes his eyes as his palms land on my thighs. My eyes water, the same way tears laced his lashes.

Why didn't he fight back?

Why isn't he fighting back?

He wanted me to kill him?

He wanted me to kill him?

I watch as his chest rises and falls beneath me. I am then suddenly aware of our position. I feel a tinge burn in my cheeks and my core. It's inexplicable, whether I am embarrassed over the fact I tried to kill him or the fact I was straddling him beneath me.

Before I can get off him though, he finally overpowers me and traps me beneath him. Easily. Swiftly. I was nothing against him. And this fact was amplified as he pins my wrists down on the pillows overhead with just one hand. He presses himself against me, heaving heavily, as if he was doing something with great restraint. It makes my stomach drop.

"That's the difference between you and I," he pants, as his one hand comes up to my neck, "if I wanted you dead, my love..." he begins to press down on my throat.

I begin to panic and thrash beneath him.

Shhhhhh.

He steadies me still in his place. I am overcome by him, unsure if it was just his physical prowess or if he was using his Force as he pushes down on me. I get a semblance of an answer when the pressure on my throat remains and I unable to move my wrists though both his hands go to the sides of my thighs.

I gulp as he leaves hot kisses all over my skin. I huff sharply when I am released of my Force bounds. My hands dart to his torso, gripping at his clothes as I try to push him away.

I would never damage you.

I let out a sound when he releases his chokehold.

Not unless you want me to.

Kylo then begins to bring his face close to mine, pressing our cheeks together for a moment. My stomach rolls and my breath hitches when his hot lips meet my mine. My heart is racing. He undoubtedly could feel it against him.

My panic rises. I quickly manage in between kisses, "Kylo-"

"Beg me," he pulls away and breathes against my ear, "beg me..." he kisses the pulse on my neck, "to get off you-- to leave you alone, to shoot myself into the sun-"

Kylo begins to rub himself between my open legs. Slowly. Roughly. I whimper. He freezes. I feel blood rise up my face. I begin to push him back harder.

He tightens his hold on me, repelling my actions by pressing his weight further onto me, "beg me to finally make you live out your fantasies," his voice loudens, "to make you mine."

I grit my teeth tightly.

"Beg me," he groans, "beg."

I whine, nails digging into his sides as I push against him.

He kisses my jaw, hands leaving my thighs, grabbing my wrists, pushing them down on my sides, "use your words. Hark to me, my baby bird."

My breath hitches, "Kylo, please."

Kylo pulls his face back, nose just above mine, looking down at me with hooded eyes. He waits for me to continue, breath straining as he did. My lips part and my feel my pulse echo in every inch of my body.

I gulp and ready to speak... but I can't. I don't. My mouth goes dry and all I could think about was how his dark locks were framing his face, and how his lips were moving as he heaved arduously, and how I wanted to find where the scar on his face ended.

Then I am ripped out of my incredulous thoughts.

"Please what?" his breath his hot against my face as he coaxes.

I close my lips and catch my breath that was leaving me, "please... stop."

"Stop what, darling?" he utters. I close my eyes when he leans his forehead against mine. He releases my wrists, hands coming to my sides, nails scratching down me until his large hands ended up on my thighs again. I squeak when his hips buck into mine with more intent.

My hands come to Kylo's neck, fingers digging into the roots of his hair.

He shifts atop me, pulling his head back up, weight all on my core, making me moan at the pressure. His nose brushes against mine. He breathes out my name. My eyes shoot open because of it.

I find his eyes are screwed shut, a line between his brows. His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare as he steadies his breathing.

"Kylo-"

"Yes," he speaks before I even finish saying his name.

His eyelids slowly part when I tug his face towards me, legs tightening around his waist, crossing over his back. He lets out a huff that bounces from my face to his. His hands rub down to my butt and there his grip tightens.

Right when our lips brush against each other, he lifts his head ever so slightly and whispers, "beg me to make you mine."

My throat tightens.

"I need to hear it," his voice is soft.

I suck in a breath and call out his name.

He releases a sharp one as he says mine.

I call out his name.

He responds with mine.

I hesitate.

He rubs his nose against mine then says quietly, "make me yours please."

I suck in a breath. My stomach explodes with butterflies. "Make... me yours," I mumble, relaxing against him, hands rubbing down his neck to his shoulders. I close my eyes and sigh, "please."

He nods, "louder."

"Kylo-"

"Louder," he mutters with a tight breath, "one last time."

"Make me yours, please."

Kylo hisses then connects his lips to mine. He moans, amplifying the hungriness of the kiss. His hands are quick and desperate as they grip at my clothing. He pushes off me and begins to strip me of all the hindrances on my being

I whimper as he eagerly does his work. One by one, he rips my clothes off. He does so with such impatience, I hear the tears and the strains of my clothes.

He sits me down as he removes each piece off me until I'm left in my panties. I wrap my arms around my bare chest. Kylo leans in, hands rubbing my bare thighs. My skin pricks because of the contact. He mutters, "your turn, my dear."

He kisses me as he grabs my hands. He pries them off my chest and ends our kiss, placing my palms at the hem of his top. He lifts his hands, eyes not leaving mine, wordlessly urging me to strip him.

I shift on my knees and pull his top off, discarding it along with the rest of my clothing that he threw on the floor. My hands instinctively come to his pants, fiddling the belt on his waist band.

He gets on his knees and grabs my face. He pulls me in for a kiss, moving closer until I'm pressed against the headboard. He guides my hands as they push his pants down.

We keep kissing until he breaks away to strip all together. I don't have time to react cause when he does, he pushes me down using his Force, and brings my legs together as to rid me of the last thing keeping me modest. I screw my eyes shut as he snatches my underwear.

Before I could feel too conscious about being naked in front of the man that was my husband, about to consummate our marriage, I let out a shaky sound as my legs are grabbed and pushed apart.

I suck in a breath as my arms fly again to my chest. They only stay there for a moment. Even that, Kylo pulls apart as he presses against me. He presses my arms down on the pillows by the sides of my head.

I am unable to conceal my cries at the feel of his hot body pressing against mine. I feel his taut stomach press against my core. It drew out another sound I could not keep in. I feel my pulse against him. I feel my wetness smear on his skin. His hands leave my arms to grab onto my thighs.

When I finally dared to open my eyes, I caught the moment Kylo sank his head onto my chest and began to suckle at the skin on my sternum.

I whimper then I bite my lip tightly. Kylo looks up at me as he takes my left breast and nips at it. He begins to rub against me.

I fist his hair into my hands. I press my head back against the pillows. Kylo's hands travel to my hipbones and digs in his fingers into me. He releases my breast and checks on his work, appreciating the mark he left of my skin before continuing to attend to my breast with his mouth.

I tighten my legs around his waist as he continues to grind down on me. I feel my heart racket behind my ribs as Kylo moves to my other breast.

"Kylo," I whimper, as my nails dig into his scalp.

He moans and releases my flesh, whispering hotly against my skin, "yes, my empress?"

I exhale through my open mouth and look at him with a dazed expression. I clutch his cheeks, "I want you-- need you-" I sigh.

Kylo lifts his body slightly, one hand releasing my hip. "To what?" he murmurs, "-need to hear you say it."

His fingers roughly draw a line from my side to my core. I gasp when he touches my aching nub. I lift my head, looking out at his hand as he looks down on me. His two digits dote on the wet heat between my legs. He slowly rubs circles on my flesh, teasing my entrance.

He holds my hips in place as a squirm beneath him. Then his hands hook by the curve of my thigh and pushes one leg up to my chest. He leans in and says, "need to what, my bride?"

I whine as my hands brush down to his shoulders. I claw at him, pulling him closer to me, "need to..." whimper, "to be made yours."

He exhales loudly. He heaves heavily as he sinks two fingers into my sopping core, slowly and firmly rubbing into me, stretching my flesh deliciously. I whine like a wraith.

"You have no idea how long I've imagined touching you like this," he admits as he toys my entrance with his fingers.

"Kylo."

He pulls his hand away and grabs my other thigh, pushing it up by my ribs.

I look at him as he brings his face close and lifts his hips. He digs his fingers into the bend of my knees and my toes curl when I feel him press against me, hard and pulsing.

I lick my lips and break into a whine when he slowly sheathes himself into me, releasing a hot breath by the crown of my head as he did so.

I whimper at the feel of him sinking in all the way. I tighten my legs around him and reach out to the sheets by my sides and rip at them.

Kylo slowly begins to rock into me, groaning as he does so, "so warm, wet and soft," he grabs my hands and places it on his back, "so soft and-" he licks my skin and bites down.

I choke on my breath as he does this. His pace thrusts hasten. He hands grab my knees and push them into my chest, "mine. All mine."

He lifts himself up and ruts into me with vigor.

Soon enough I feel my mind blur while my voice lets out incoherences at the snapping of Kylo's hips.

I claw at his back with little regard for how much it may hurt him.

Kylo howls in response, quickening his pace even more, adjusting his hold on me until his position was perfect and my head was knocking slightly into the board.

"Fill you up with me," he grunts, "fill you until you're a mess, mark you until you're tender, repeat until you're sore."

I don't respond. I don't know what to. I don't have much of a brain to speak anything anyway.

Kylo thrusts into me at such a strong and steady pace, it's not long until I feel a flurry in my stomach and a tingle in my chest.

I whine out his name. I pull him into me. He leans in and huffs against my cheek, "feels good, right? I can make you feel good."

I catch his lips into my teeth. He rip away only to kiss me as he breaks me.

We pull away to breathe yet Kylo does lose his tempo. I feel my eyes water and my mouth dry over my continuous jaw dropped cries.

"Just want to make you feel good," he whispers heavily, "want to make you mine."

"Feel so good," I mindlessly mutter, "so - Kylo."

In that next moment, I feel my insides shatter around him. I let out a loud cry of relief. My fingers curl into his back as I tighten and convulse around him. My toes curl as I lock my legs around him. Instantaneously, I feel a sharp heat splatter into me and it magnifies my delirium.

I hear him curse and whine against my ear. I feel him tighten his hold on me as he continues the work with his hips, still as quick as before.

And as I ride out my high and tighten around him, only then does Kylo's actions find some irregularity. My head no longer hits the board, though my body very much still moves up and down with Kylo's movements.

As the final ripples of my pleasure calm down, so does the knocking of our hips.

When he is satisfied, he releases my hips and grabs my face. He kisses me and catches his breath in between.

"Do you want me to get off you?" he asks.

I quickly shake my head in disagreement and wrap my arms around him.

"Good," he rests his head beside mine and slowly relaxes on top of me. He sighs and brushes his nose against my head, "I want to stay in you forever."

I bite my lip and lean my face into his.

"I will write your name in the stars," he whispers, "I will give you everything in the galaxy. All you have to do is be mine."

I gulp and sigh heavily, yet I internally find myself agreeing.

His hand rubs my side, "I hope you don't get pregnant too quickly," he kisses my head, "there's so much I have to do with you first."

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn. 

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now. 

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.  

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[xxxdragonfucker69xxx]

hi folks. its been a long week. but its time for HOUR IN BRASS

for those just joining us, a new exalted splat is being released; when this happens, i usually lose my shit and liveread through the charms; this time it's the alchemical exalted, golem-robot-communists inside the belly of the machine god autochthon. if you wish to avoid this, you will blacklist #hour in brass

first third of charms:

Howdy Mother Fuckers. its time for HOUR IN BRASS

starting with: the horniest chapter fiction so far

the alchemical paradigm is that you have only so many charm slots for active charms at a time, but that most charms have submodules that add on without taking more slots. they have to swap charms in and out with the rite of reconfiguration. their dice limit is Ess+Attribute BUT one of their biggest charms is going to make their math oh whatever here it comes

TRANSPUISSANT ATTRIBUTE UPGRADE aka transpussy assribute ultima. which raises your resting attribute by 1, starts to stack at higher essences, and comes with a load of submodules to let you swap what attributes are used for what. god im fucking excited to have these around. unwavering sniper calibration to snipe with perception, for example

actually they have a lot of wacky universal charms about integrating with hearthstones, artifacts, stuff like that. robots be customizing bodies. i do want to point out vat surrogate reweaving system, which lets you speed-swap charms once between reconfigurations. i read it and immediately thought camilla hect Go Loud and started cackling

yes alchemicals can still go colossus and eventually turn into cities. though metropolis play is not mechanically supported

ok appearance. starting with radiant iconography array: anima holograms, but they do stuff like become realistic illusions or huge legendary size stuff

emotive aesthetics of the body electric naturally bangs

patriotism-provoking display has many-is-one node and one-is-many node as submodules, whihc are fun

universal advisor comportment is fun, makes you feel sagacious and advisorly

beguiling aestheic perfection is fun, when you socially affect someone they suffer trying to beat your guile for the rest of the scene. i have suffered this irl many times

pheromone regulation system… i cannot make any jokes about this that arent crass. i once knew someone who was turned on by the smell of xbox exhaust

man the submodule tech is really realyl nice. this is a great fucking way for charms to work. you can flashbang people with blinding strobe projector and then on top of that you can choose to enter stealth, steal more initiative, or make it rainbow

its really interesting to me that appearance is getting so many teacherly charms. with illuminating inspiration beacon "The Alchemical’s faith in her students shines through in every aspect of her neon-limned visage"

damn, and from there is psyche-stabilizing beacon, where you radiate such comfort that it helps people resist brain curses

theotropic veneration mantle rocks. project a principle to the exclsuion of others, and those who share the principle see you as a holy figure

i sort of hate glistering obsession nodes. i dont want to glister. it makes people obsessed with me if they can't figure me out

ooh, disguises in appearance subterfuge. including stuff to appear human, or as a dfferent exalted

optical shroud, a classic, predator invisibility

apocryphal operative halo is really interesting, MIB neuralyzer

semiotic flare projector is a really cute concept. almost as cute as supreme icon of battlefield glory. when you kick ass on the battlefield your troops love it, and you can make your enemies hate it, and at e4 you can project it over the entire battlefield

alright, charisma. starting with effective leadership algorithm, both a great example of alchie flavor and of submodule tech bc its just a menu of submodules that let you decide what kinda rolls you use it on, whether youre using faction-building unity or overriding authority mode

oh synergy promoting upgrade is interesting. helps with bureaucracy if youre leadering, gets better if your group likes you, SPU: communal supremacy makes it better if its for a community, SPU: lifestyle cooperation paradigm makes your group like each other

hdkfghdfjsg universal authorization chevron. the cool s. intuitively recognized as a symbol of authority. UAC: axiomatic emblem means even gremlins/fae/undead recognize you with wary deference. UAC: perfected delegation emblem lets you hand out copies to deputies

heresy declaration beacon, lets fucking go

radiant emblem of integrity is interesting… if you speak the complete truth everyone knows that its the complete truth, and it can also authenticate replays of events projected with radiant iconography array. also if you tell the truth and it sucks, gain wp. fantastically built charm. oh the submodule lets you make it permanent and mandatory

electric fervor inspiration is a set of orichalcum electrodes implanted behind the alchemical's jaw. thats fucked up. oh it lets you reset social rolls thats differently fucked up

battle anthem of the alchemical exalted! made it in! oh this is just a menu of songs thats super neat. including thousand work shifts ballad… and double music

similarly with programming language eloquence "A breaker between the Alchemical’s frontal and temporal lobes filters unnecessary emotion from her communications…" im really having fun with this

damn propaganda interdiction signal: void-quelling chastisement means that gribblies can't call on principles to resist your influence to hangout with mortals

something about vox populi broadcast really compels me. its just a charm to speak loudly but you can submodule it to communicate only with allies or to cut through magical silence.. and its speakers implanted in your throat

ideological override circuitry…

FEAR OVERRIDE DEVICE in warfare

homeguard reinforcement clarion… whip up that militia

dexterityyyy okay we're getting into the combat charms now

omg magnetic subdual coils to steal weapons. including a pulse blaster submodule, field projector, magnetron…

protosynthetic ammunition replicator, as expected, but thankully it is reloaded with "an articulated metal tendril". & btw dispersive flash-chaff cluster to make it a flashbang arrow, fulminating conduction charge to make it a stun arrow, concussive overpressure warhead to make it a knockdown, airburst grenade

being able to group all the "fast attack" charms in one place is fun, the submodules have a cute menu of extra ways to use it

damn, blinding velocity actuator upgrades you to a surprise attack if youre fast enough?

i like that gear-driven reflex automation is, past all the prereqs and flavor lines and stuff, exactly one line of charm. and then some fun submodules. wait damn withering counterattck at e3, with tactical reaction matrix

hacking multistrike accelerator to "enact pre-programmed motions" in pursuit of… erm… well… ok wait forget that this is a really cool charm. doesnt use all your initiative on the decisive, this feels like itd be real fun to fuck with espcially with the submodules

dsjksdks subluminous onslaught: kinetic launch catapult lets you like launch a fucking sword to short range. or your fists

ESSENCE PULSE CANNON. lets fucking go. again the submodules are really cool: concussive, focused, precision, de hey. Sieve Devastator Mode. its sheer heft provides her with heavy cover

skjfdsf autonomous assault processors makes (Dex-2) attacks, but dont forget you could be augmened enough for that to be 4 attacks at e2 anyways, 5 at e3 (if i remember the TAU rules right).

oh shitt transmodal rapid targeting system, bend that bullet. psychokinetic vectors. sdhksdfs this damage calculation is really funny. damn this is fully just children of the sun or whatever that game was. epic

TRANSFINITE ULTRAVIOLENCE DRIVE. time stands still. and then you bank attacks, which seems really fun. shjdskf and TUD: omnitactical processing core lets you add more withering attacks on top

oh huh accelerated response system: unwavering precision lets you not take onslaught if you successfully defend against lower init enemies. thats probably not that strong but it feels strong

casualty-minimizing equations is a damn good name

perfectly parallel defensive geometry…

oh light-etched interceptor barrier is fun. roll parry instead of static. and essence absorption screen lets you eat energy attacks with it

autonomous defensive drones AERIAL! actually theyre more like murderbot drones, they orbit and defend you. … damn, they cant be withered and theyve got almost as many hls as a starting character, theyre a pain to take out. their DO Parry is (Dex+1) so they're like fantastic for ranged fighters who dont parry or dodge

precalculated evasion system lets you bank dodge successes… kind of like light-etched interceptor but not. really interesting. hey what its simple?

omnisituational evasive equation is a fantastic name. ts the perfect dodge. OEE: hyperspatial geometry is really fun

cyclical velocity treads! heelies!!!

and then theres… oil slick dispenser nozzles… in your calves. i love wacky races

momentum-charged overdrive engine is a bangin name… a preprogrammed sequence of combat acrobatics

inclding jet boosters in optimized pursuit accelerator… ts really funny that al these red jade rush charms are also like "ugh fine you can also use these to run away if you have to"

transphase engine… walk through fucking walls

sjdflskdf digital precision effectors splits open your fingertips

covert telemetry mode…

counterharmonic scatter system is just like a really fun charm name. im having a lot of fun with charm names. displaces the sound of you

sdjlfsdf flicker-flare launchers are a flashbang to just immediately enter concealment

ooh matchless assassin protocols… reflexively stealth after a disengage or distract

hyperdextrous tentacle apparatus. can someone get astrakiseki on the phone

total perception negation field. if you see me no you didnt. ending, of course, in unseen deathblow calibration

and thats the first third. im like getting really alchemicalpilled rn. its hot

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 6 - Nobody's Fool

Summary: In the aftermath of Elvis' last day in his 1969 Vegas residency, Valerie and Elvis get caught in a compromising position. A decision is made, and a plan is formulated. Late at night, Valerie and Elvis almost cross the point of no return.

There are moments when one wakes up, and everything seems okay. That blessed space between sleep and memory, before the brain catches up with your body? 

I had about three seconds of that peace before I opened my eyes and saw Elvis' jacket draped over my chair like a question mark.

The gin-stained dress I'd fallen asleep in clung to me like shame. My mouth tasted like I'd been gargling with Dean Martin's martini shaker. And somewhere in the building's guts, that damn dove was cooing its morning commentary.

The Colonel's note lay where I'd dropped it last night: "Meeting tomorrow, 2 PM sharp. Re: Memphis arrangements."

I looked at the clock. 1:07.

"Well, shit."

The phone rang before I could make it to the shower. For a moment, I considered letting it ring. But in Vegas, you learn quick that ignored calls have a way of turning into bigger problems.

"Hello?"

"Val? Thank God." my best friend’s voice carried all the manic energy of a Chicago morning. "I've been trying to reach you for hours! Have you seen the papers?"

I hadn't. Didn't want to.

"Listen, Dee, I can't really talk right now. I have a meeting—"

"About Memphis?"

The question hit like a slap. I sank onto the bed, still wearing last night's mistakes.

"How did you..."

"There's a blind item in the Tribune. 'Which Chicago music teacher has caught the King's eye? Sources say she's trading the Windy City for Graceland...'" Deena paused. "Val? Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

I practically felt whiplash from how fast the news got out. Through the wall, I could hear the Memphis Mafia stirring - boots on carpet, voices carrying through the International's expensive but thin walls. Red's laugh. Jerry's drawl. The sound of Elvis' world waking up.

"It's exactly what you think it is," I said finally. "And it's going to come out now anyway. His manager’s already planning how to 'handle' it."

The silence on the other end stretched like taffy.

"Holy shit," Deena whispered finally. "Holy actual shit. You and Elvis Presley? All this time? The mystery man you wouldn't tell me about... that was Elvis fucking Presley?"

"Dee—"

"But he's married! To that gorgeous wife who was in all the photos last night, kissing him like—" She stopped. "Oh honey. Those photos. Did you... were you there?"

The memory of that kiss, perfectly timed for the cameras, hit fresh. Elvis's hand on Priscilla's waist. The crowd's approving applause. Ann-Margret's knowing look.

"When I told you to ride that stallion till you break the saddle, I didn't mean steal someone else's horse!" Deena's voice cracked between humor and horror. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Elvis. Actually Elvis."

"I have to go," I said. "Meeting in, like, five minutes. Call me later." I lied. 

"Val, wait—"

I hung up. Stood there for a moment, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Last night's mascara made me look like a raccoon who'd lost a bar fight.

Time to face the music. Or in this case, the Colonel.

*

The Colonel's suite was a shrine to his greatest creation. Elvis stared down at me from every wall - movie posters, concert bills, gold records, photographs spanning from that first Sun Records publicity shot to last night's show. Young Elvis, GI Elvis, Hollywood Elvis, Comeback Elvis, Vegas Elvis. A hundred different versions of the same man, watching our little drama play out beneath their frozen gazes.

The irony wasn't lost on me. We were here to talk about Elvis, but the only Elvis present was made of paper and celluloid.

Red and Sonny flanked the door like bookends. Jerry lounged against a wall between "Love Me Tender" and "Blue Hawaii" posters, trying to look casual and failing. The Colonel himself sat behind a desk (flown in specially) that had probably witnessed a thousand deals, smoking a cigar that put out enough smoke to rival a carnival cotton candy machine.

"Ah, Miss Pedretti." The Colonel's eyes twitched with what might have been amusement. Or annoyance. "Right on time. Coffee?"

"No, thank you." I remained standing, though there was an empty chair positioned precisely in front of his desk - red velvet with gold tassels. The power play was obvious - him elevated, me lower. I wasn't playing. Behind him, a young Elvis smiled down at me. From the very early days. Had there been a girl standing in my spot that day too? Someone else who thought she was different, special?

“Suit yourself." The Colonel gestured at a stack of newspapers spread across his desk, right beneath a photo of Elvis signing his first RCA contract. His mom and dad were in the photo. Her eyes were sad. My eyes were sad looking at her. "I assume you've seen the morning editions?"

I hadn't, but I could see the headlines from where I stood. ELVIS ENDS VEGAS RUN WITH A KISS. KING AND QUEEN OF ROCK REUNITED. And smaller, in the gossip columns: MYSTERY WOMAN IN ELVIS' INNER CIRCLE?

"The paper’s been particularly... creative with their speculation," the Colonel continued. "Something about a Chicago singer-slash-music teacher?"

A distant coo echoed through the ventilation system. Even Tom's dove was eavesdropping.

"Now," the Colonel leaned forward, his head briefly blocking out Army Elvis's crisp salute in the frame behind him, "we need to discuss how we're going to handle your transition to Memphis. I've taken the liberty of arranging—"

"Where’s Elvis?"

The question landed like a grenade in church. Jerry straightened slightly. Red and Sonny suddenly found the ceiling fascinating - specifically, the spot where a massive photograph showed Elvis and the Colonel shaking hands on that first Vegas contract.

"Mr. Presley is... indisposed." The Colonel's voice could have frosted glass. "Mrs. Presley's flight leaves shortly, and certain... appearances must be maintained."

Of course. The real Elvis was playing the devoted husband one last time, seeing Priscilla off. Probably at this very moment they were posing for photographers at the airport, adding one more perfect image to the collection.

I looked at movie star Elvis smoldering down at me from the "Viva Las Vegas" poster. Had Ann-Margret stood in a room like this too? Had the Colonel tried to manage her the same way?

"As I was saying," the Colonel continued, "I've arranged for a house—"

"No."

His eyebrows climbed toward what was left of his hairline. "I beg your pardon?"

"No thank you?"

The silence that followed could have choked a carnival strongman. A hundred Elvises watched the standoff - jumpsuit Elvis, leather Elvis, clean-cut Elvis, rebel Elvis. All of them waiting to see what happened when someone said no to the Colonel.

"Miss Pedretti." He said it like he was explaining physics to a child. "Perhaps you don't understand how things work in Memphis. Mr. Presley's... companions require certain... accommodations."

"I'm not his companion." The words came out harder than I meant them. "I'm not his anything. I'm just going to Memphis."

The Colonel's laugh had all the warmth of a snake's belly. "My dear girl, nobody 'just' goes to Memphis. Not in Elvis' world." He pushed a folder across the desk, right past a framed photo of Elvis handing him a gold watch. "Now, I've had my people draw up some papers. Simple things - non-disclosure agreements, property arrangements, a modest monthly allow—"

"No." I didn't touch the folder. "I don't want your house or your money or your papers."

"Then what exactly do you want?"

The question hung in the air like smoke. What did I want? Elvis, obviously. But which one? I looked around the room at all his faces. Which one was real? The one who sang hymns with me? The one who kissed his wife for the cameras? The one who...

A knock at the door saved me from answering. Joe stuck his head in, looking harried.

"Colonel? Sorry to interrupt, but we got a situation. Seems Dean Martin's passed out in the fountain again, and he's telling everyone who'll listen about Elvis and the towel incident..."

The Colonel's face went through several interesting color changes. "Christ on a cracker. Red, Sonny - go handle that. Jerry, get the car ready. Mrs. Presley can't be late for her flight." He turned back to me. "This conversation isn't over, Miss Pedretti."

"Yes," I said quietly. "It is."

I walked out before he could respond, passing under the watchful eyes of a dozen paper Elvises. Behind me, I heard Jerry whistle low.

"Girl's got stones," he murmured to someone.

"Girl's got a death wish," came the response.

Maybe they were both right. I glanced back one last time as the door closed. The Colonel sat fuming beneath his gallery of conquests - every image a reminder of his control over Elvis's destiny.

But I wasn't going to be just another picture on his wall.

*

I found Elvis in his suite, standing at the window in an emerald green suit that hung perfectly on his tall, lithe frame. He was watching something in the distance - maybe the desert, maybe nothing. The real thing was somehow both more and less than all those images in the Colonel's room.

Our reflections caught in the window glass - him in that perfect suit, me still wearing yesterday's mascara and this morning's doubts. Despite myself, I let my eyes linger on the picture we made together. We looked good, in a way that had nothing to do with staging or the Colonel's careful arrangements. Where Priscilla was all porcelain perfection and carefully coiffed hair, I was warmer, earthier. My olive skin glowed next to Elvis's golden tan. My long dark hair fell in natural waves, untamed by hairspray and hot rollers. Where Priscilla's baby doll lips seemed perpetually pursed in careful consideration, my wider mouth was made for laughter, for singing, for other things I tried not to think about.

Different kinds of beautiful, maybe. But standing there next to Elvis, I couldn't help but notice how well we fit.

The sound of my heels on the carpet made him turn. His eyes were hidden behind blue-tinted glasses. 

"Heard you had a meeting with the Colonel," he said softly.

"Gee. Word travels fast ‘round here."

His laugh was hollow. "Everything travels fast here. Except time." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which..."

"You have to take her to the airport."

"Back to Memphis," he nodded. "At least for now. She'll head back to California soon enough." Something flickered across his face - relief? Regret? "Just needs to..." He trailed off.

"Needs to what?"

"Settle some things. At Graceland." His voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the implication. Priscilla would be there, in Memphis, when I arrived. On her turf. Or what used to be her turf.

"The Colonel had some interesting ideas about my living arrangements," I said, watching our reflections shift as Elvis moved closer.

His jaw tightened. "I told him to leave that alone."

"Did you really think he would?"

"No." He stepped behind me, his hands hovering near my shoulders but not quite touching. In the glass, we looked like a photograph waiting to be taken - the kind the Colonel would never allow. "But I hoped. Kind of like I hope you didn’t mean what you said. About finding your own place."

"I did."

"Even though I really want you to stay with me?"

"Even though."

In the window's reflection, I watched him study the contrast of us - his emerald suit against my rumpled red dress, his calculated (and rare) stillness against my untamed energy. When Priscilla stood next to him, they looked like matching dolls in a shop window. But this... we looked the part of the real couple. With real differences.

He nodded slowly. "You know what she said to me last night? After all the cameras were gone?"

I waited, watching his reflection's lips form the words.

"Said I better not turn you into another version of her." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Like I would even want that." His hands finally landed on my shoulders, warm through the thin fabric. "Look at you. Telling the Colonel no. Standing here looking like... like..."

"Like what?"

"Like the answer to my prayers."

I turned to face him then, breaking the spell of our reflection. Without the glass between us, he was more real, more dangerous. His hands slid down my arms, leaving heat in their wake.

"Elvis—"

A knock at the door made us both jump. Jerry's voice carried through: "Boss? Car's ready."

"Be right there." Elvis' hands tightened briefly on my arms before letting go. When he finally faced me, his eyes were tired behind those blue-tinted glasses. Human. "I have to..."

"I know."

He crossed the space between us in one fluid movement, caught my face between his hands. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he pressed his forehead to mine. He smelled of mint and promises.

"Wait for me?" he whispered. "I'll be back after..."

"After you play the dutiful husband one last time?"

His hands tightened slightly. "That ain’t fair."

"None of this is fair." 

I could be detached. I could deal with the casual dalliances and the pills, as long as it didn’t get out of hand. But Priscilla’s presence somehow still made my stomach queasy. I think it was the title. Wife had a certain ring to it. A certain authority, an outward declaration. I wanted that role. 

"No." He pulled back, slipped his glasses into place. Just like that, he was Elvis Presley again. "But it's what we've got."

The door opened and Red stuck his head in. "Boss? Mrs. Presley's ready."

Elvis straightened his jacket, checked his reflection one last time. Perfect again. Camera-ready. But just before he turned away, I caught him looking at our reflection once more - that impossible, imperfect picture of what could be.

"See you when I get back?" he asked.

I thought about all those images in the Colonel's room. All those different versions of Elvis, frozen in time. Which one would come back to me?

"Yeah," I said. "I'll be here."

He paused at the door, looking back. For a second, I could see him wanting to say something more. Then Jerry appeared with a reminder about airport traffic, and the moment was gone.

I watched from the window as they loaded into the waiting cars - Elvis in the lead car with Priscilla, the Memphis Mafia spread through the others like an honor guard. Even from so many floors up, I could see the photographers waiting. One last photo op of the perfect couple before reality set in.

*

I stayed at the window long after the cars disappeared, watching Vegas shimmer in the morning heat. Behind me, Elvis's suite felt different without him in it - bigger, emptier, more obviously a stage set than a home. His books were still scattered around, they hadn’t been packed up yet. A half-empty glass of water sat on the bedside table, aspirin dissolving forgotten at the bottom.

The phone rang, making me jump. Probably the Colonel, ready for round two.

But it was Lamar's voice that came through the line. "Valerie? You might want to come down to the lobby."

"Why?"

"Press got wind of something. They're asking about a Chicago music teacher."

My stomach dropped. "How many?"

"Enough." He paused. "Bring sunglasses. And maybe a scarf."

The lobby had transformed into a circus since I'd passed through it earlier. Photographers clustered around the entrance like hungry wolves, their cameras ready. Someone had leaked something. It didn't matter now.

What mattered was protecting Elvis.

I thought about Ann-Margret, about how she'd lost him partly because she'd talked to the press. About how fiercely he guarded his private world, even while living in the spotlight. About how trust, once broken, never quite mended the same way.

The Colonel stood near the reception desk, watching me with calculating eyes. For once, we wanted the same thing - to control this story. Just for very different reasons.

"Miss Pedretti." His voice carried across the lobby. "A word?"

Every head turned. I felt the cameras swivel, seeking their new target. Someone whispered "That's her." Another voice: "The teacher." A third: “I heard she’s a bar singer.”

I touched the scarf at my throat - one of Elvis's, smelling faintly of his cologne. Beneath it, my pulse hammered against my neck.

I had two choices: run back to the elevator, or face this head-on. But there was really only one choice. Because whatever happened next, I wouldn't be the one to betray Elvis's trust.

I dropped the scarf and sunglasses in my purse - hiding would only make it worse - and walked through the lobby like I had every right to be there. Like I was exactly what I'd tell them I was: a music teacher and a studio session musician (okay, so I stretched the truth a little) who'd found herself in an extraordinary situation, nothing more.

The cameras went crazy, questions flying like bullets: "Miss Pedretti, what's your relationship with Elvis?" 

"Are you moving to Memphis?" 

"What about Mrs. Presley?"

I stopped, turned, met their hungry gazes with a calm I didn't feel. When I spoke, my voice was steady.

"Mr. Presley has been very kind to a fellow musician. We share an interest in rhythm and blues. And gospel." A truth, if not the whole truth. "Beyond that, I don't discuss my friendships. If you have questions about Mr. Presley, I suggest you speak to his management."

The Colonel's eyebrows rose slightly - surprise? approval? - as I walked past him toward the exit. The cameras kept firing, but I didn't stop again.

I'd protected what mattered. Everything else was just noise.

*

A short while later, the Colonel caught up with me at the elevator on my walk back from lunch. "Interesting performance this afternoon."

"Not a performance."

"No?" His mustache twitched. "Could've fooled me. Very neat, very clean. 'Fellow musician.' 'Gospel music.' Almost like you'd rehearsed it."

The elevator doors opened. I stepped in, but he caught the door before it could close.

"Maybe," he said slowly, "we got off on the wrong foot this morning."

"Maybe."

"A girl who knows how to handle the press... that's valuable." He studied me with new interest. "Very valuable. Perhaps we could discuss those arrangements again—"

"No." But I softened it with a small smile. "Though I do appreciate the offer, Mr. Parker."

The doors started to close. This time he let them.

Back in my room, the phone was ringing again. Deena, probably, having had time to stew on it all. But when I picked up, it was Jerry.

"Boss wanted you to know he saw what you did down there earlier. Says to tell you..." 

Word traveled fast in this crew. I filed that bit of information away for later use. 

He paused, and could hear him smiling somehow. He was choosing his words carefully, aware of who might be listening. "Says you did good."

My throat tightened. "He's still at the airport?"

"On his way back, I think. Photographers were everywhere, of course." Jerry's voice dropped lower. "Listen, about Memphis..." I heard other voices behind him. “Listen, I’ll call you back.”

*

Lamar materialized at my door. "Boss is here. Wants you to meet him out back. Service entrance. Less cameras."

Less cameras, but not no cameras. There were always cameras now.

I found Elvis leaning against his Cadillac in the service alley, still in that perfect green suit but somehow looking more rumpled. His glasses were off, and his eyes were red-rimmed. The pills had worn off again. I made a mental note to watch his use a little more carefully. Just in case.

"Hey," he said softly.

"How was the airport?"

"Like a damn circus." He rubbed his face. "We played it perfect, of course. Always do. All smiles and waves, right up until she got on that plane." He paused. "Heard you had your own circus down here."

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Yeah." Something flickered in his expression. "Jerry told me what you said. About the gospel music."

"It's true, isn't it? We do share an interest."

"That all we share?"

The question hung between us like smoke. I thought about all those photographers, hungry for any hint of scandal. About the Colonel's calculating eyes. About Priscilla, perfect to the last moment.

"That's all they need to know," I said finally.

He studied me for a long moment, then pushed off from the car. In two strides he was there, his hands framing my face like he had in the suite. But this time he didn't stop.

The kiss was different than any we'd shared before - desperate, almost angry. Like he was trying to prove something. To me, to himself, to the whole damn world. His hands slid into my hair, messing it up.

When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.

"Inside," he muttered. "Now."

But before we could move, a flash went off at the end of the alley.

"Shit." Elvis turned, putting himself between me and the photographer. "Red! Sonny!"

The Memphis Mafia materialized from nowhere, intercepting the photographer who was already running. But we all knew it was too late.

Elvis's hands were shaking worse now. "Val, I—"

"Don't." I straightened my hair, tried to calm my racing heart. "We knew this would happen eventually."

"The Colonel's gonna—"

"Let me handle the Colonel."

He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Handle the Colonel? Baby, nobody handles the Colonel."

"I dunno.” I giggled like I knew something Elvis didn’t. “I kinda think he’s starting to like me.”

Another flash, this one from a different angle. Elvis swore under his breath.

"Get inside," he said. "I'll deal with this."

"Elvis—"

"Please." His voice cracked slightly. "Just... let me fix this. I can fix this."

But as I watched him stride toward the gathering photographers, all controlled power and perfect posture again, I wondered which version of "fixed" we were about to get.

*

Back in the hotel, everything moved fast. The Memphis Mafia scattered like pool balls after a break, each man with his own mission. Jerry was on the phone with newspapers, his voice smooth as silk: "No comment at this time." Red had the photographer's camera - though we all knew there had to be more photos out there. Lamar was coordinating with hotel security to lock down the service entrances. Sonny and Marty were watching the elevators on our floor.

And somewhere, the Colonel was planning.

I made it to the elevator before he found me.

"Inside." He didn't wait for my response, just steered me into the car with surprising strength for a man his age. The doors closed on us, and he hit the button for his floor.

"Mr. Parker—"

"Not one word." His voice was deadly quiet. "Not until we're in my office." So much for him starting to like me. 

The elevator seemed to crawl. Somewhere above us, that damn dove cooed - even it knew we were in trouble.

His office felt different now. All those Elvis images on the walls weren't just pictures anymore - they were warnings. See what I built? See what I can destroy?

"Sit."

This time, I sat.

"Now then." He lit a cigar with deliberate calm. "Let's discuss what happens next."

"Nothing happens next. It was just a kiss."

His laugh could have stripped paint. "Just a kiss? With a married man? In broad daylight? After you so carefully told those reporters you were 'just friends'?" He blew a perfect smoke ring. "No, my dear. This is what happens next: You're going to take a generous settlement and disappear. Back to Chicago, preferably. We'll spin it as a brief friendship, nothing more. Elvis was being kind to a fellow musician, just like you said. End of story."

"No." 

"No?" His eyebrows climbed. "Perhaps you didn't understand. This isn't a negotiation."

"You're right." I met his gaze. "It's not. Because there's nothing to negotiate. I’m not disappearing unless—"

"Then let me be clearer." He leaned forward. "Elvis Presley is more than a man. He's an industry. An empire. And that empire is built on certain... understandings. With his public. With his wife."

"His wife who lives in California?"

His mustache twitched. "A temporary arrangement."

"Like I'm supposed to be? Another 'temporary arrangement'?"

"Now you're beginning to understand."

“I’ll only go away if Elvis wants me to. I’d like to hear it from him, please.”

As if on cue, the phone on his desk rang. He answered it, listened, then held it out to me.

"For you. It's Elvis." His smile hadn't wavered. "He's going to tell you he's fixed everything. That there's a plan. A story we're going to tell." He paused. "The question is: are you going to play along?"

I took the phone, my hand steady despite everything.

"Elvis?"

"Baby, listen..." His voice was tight. "I know what to do. But you're not going to like it."

Behind his desk, the Colonel watched me like a snake watching a mouse. Some choices, I was learning, weren't really choices at all. But how you played them - that was everything.

"The story's simple," Elvis said, his voice tight with something between exhaustion and resignation. "You're my new backup singer. Been rehearsing in secret. That's why you're coming to Memphis. Professional opportunity, nothing more."

​​I watched the Colonel's satisfied smile grow behind his cigar smoke. Of course this was his idea - neat, clean, controllable. A story that would explain everything while revealing nothing.

"The kiss..." Elvis continued.

"Was gratitude," I finished, seeing the shape of it. "Excitement over the opportunity. A momentary celebration caught at an unfortunate angle."

"Yeah." He sounded tired. So tired. "Colonel's already got the contracts drawn up. Real ones, not just for show. You'll actually have to..."

"Sing backup?" I almost laughed. "Elvis, I've been singing my whole life."

"Yeah, but this is different. This is..."

"Playing a part?"

The silence on the line spoke volumes.

"It's a good solution," the Colonel cut in, clearly having heard every word on his extension. "Clean. Professional. Gives you a legitimate reason to be in Memphis, access to Graceland for rehearsals, everything you want. Just with... proper boundaries."

Proper boundaries. Right. Like the ones he'd established for all those other girls, the ones whose pictures didn't make it onto his wall of fame.

"There's one condition," Elvis said suddenly. "My condition, not the Colonel's."

I waited.

"You keep your own place. Like you wanted. No arrangements, no settlements. You do this as a professional, not as..."

Not as what? His mistress? His kept woman? Another Ann-Margret who got too close to the sun?

"Okay," I said.

The Colonel's eyebrows rose slightly. He'd expected more fight, more negotiation. But he didn't understand - I wasn't negotiating. I was playing chess.

"Just like that?" Elvis sounded surprised too.

"Just like that." I kept my voice level, professional. "When do we start rehearsals?"

What followed was a blur of activity. Contracts appeared as if by magic - the Colonel had probably had them ready since that first elevator ride. Throughout it all, I signed where I was told, smiled when expected, played the part of the grateful unknown singer getting her big break. 

Statements were prepared for the press. A schedule materialized for rehearsals, appearances, recordings. Something flickered in the old man’s eyes - recognition, maybe. Of what, I wasn't sure yet. 

It was late afternoon by the time everything was "handled." The photos from the alley had mysteriously vanished, though we all knew copies existed somewhere. The press had their official story. Even that damn dove seemed to have finally found somewhere else to roost.

"Perhaps," the Colonel said softly, "I underestimated you."

I smiled and headed back to my room.

*

Packing shouldn't have been hard. I hadn't brought much to Vegas in the first place. But somehow my belongings had multiplied, scattered across the suite like evidence of a life I hadn't planned on living.

"You'll want to pack light," Jerry said from the doorway. He'd appeared with coffee and what he called "Memphis wisdom," though I suspected he just didn't want me to be alone after the alley incident. "Graceland's got its own weather system. Nothing you bring is gonna make sense there anyway."

"Helpful, Jer. Real helpful." I held up two dresses - one Elvis had sent up last week, one I'd brought from Chicago. The difference in quality was almost embarrassing.

"Take both," he advised. "You'll need the fancy one for show, the real one to feel like yourself." He paused. "That's the trick, you know. For when everything else gets crazy."

I folded both dresses carefully, thinking about Elvis's books scattered across my bed, their margins filled with his handwritten notes. Questions, observations, searches for meaning in scientific formulas and ancient wisdom. I'd been packing them when Jerry arrived.

"Speaking of crazy," Red's voice came from the hall, "wait'll you meet the Memphis ladies." He joined Jerry in the doorway, looking oddly formal. "Got a whole briefing prepared for you about that."

"A briefing?"

"Those women are sharks in southern belle clothing," he said seriously. "Especially the ones who've had their eye on Elvis since high school. They're gonna hate you on principle."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Red."

"Just trying to prepare you." But his eyes were kind. "Though something tells me you can handle them just fine."

I picked up Elvis's jacket from the chair - the one I'd been wearing this morning when everything changed. His cologne still clung to it faintly, mixing with the gin stains from last night's party. Had that really been less than 24 hours ago?

"Leave the jacket," Jerry said quietly. "Trust me on that one."

Before I could respond, Lamar appeared behind Red and Jerry, making the doorway look like a Memphis Mafia convention.

"Y'all telling stories about Memphis?" He squeezed past them into the room. "Let me tell you about Elvis's first day at Graceland. There he is, king of the world, right? And he can't figure out how to work the dang intercom system. Kept accidentally broadcasting everything to the whole house. And I mean everything." He winked. "Including some very private conversations with very private guests, if you know what I mean."

"Lamar," Jerry warned.

"What? She should know what she's getting into! Place is like a funhouse sometimes. Secret passages, hidden doors, two-way windows - Elvis had them put in during renovations. Says it's for security, but really he just likes playing hide and seek."

I tried to picture it - Elvis Presley, the king of rock and roll, playing hide and seek in his mansion. What would he need a two-way window for? Yet, somehow it wasn't hard to imagine at all.

The phone rang, making us all jump. The Memphis Mafia exchanged glances.

"That'll be your pal again," Jerry said. "She's called four times."

I stared at the phone. "How do you know?"

"We know everything, honey." Red smiled. "Part of the job."

I picked up the receiver. Sure enough: "Val? Finally! I've been trying to call you back all day!"

The Memphis Mafia made themselves scarce, but not before Jerry mouthed "be careful" and tapped his ear - reminding me that in Vegas, walls had ears and phones had extensions.

"Dee." I cut her off, gentle but firm. "I need you to listen very carefully. Can you do that?"

A pause. Then, quieter: "Yeah."

"I can't tell you everything. Not yet. But I need you to trust me when I say that what's in those papers... it's not the whole story. And I need you to not tell anyone anything beyond what's already out there. Can you do that for me?"

The silence stretched so long I thought we'd been disconnected. Finally: "This is really serious, isn't it?"

"Yeah." I twisted the phone cord around my finger. "It really is."

"But you're okay? You're being careful?"

I thought about the Colonel's offer, about Elvis's message through Jerry, about all the delicate threads I was trying to navigate.

"I'm trying to be."

"Val, a backup singer? Really? That's the story they're going with?"

I started folding a sweater, phone cradled against my shoulder. "That's the truth they're going with."

She caught the emphasis. "Oh. Oh." A pause. "So we're not talking about the real truth yet?"

"Not yet."

Another pause. Then: "Okay. But Valerie?"

"Yeah?"

"When you can tell me... when it's safe... you'll tell me everything?"

"Everything I can," I promised. "Just... not yet."

After I hung up, I found Elvis's books again. Opening one at random, I found a passage underlined: "The truth is rarely pure and never simple." In the margin, his handwriting asked: "But what if you're living multiple truths?"

*

A knock at the door made me look up. Elvis stood there, looking somehow both perfect and wrecked. His hair was immaculate but his eyes were tired behind his glasses.

"Hey," he said softly. He took in the scene - the half-packed suitcases, the scattered books, his jacket still draped over the chair.

"Need help packing?"

"I’m almost done. Just trying to figure out what belongs in Memphis and what should stay in Vegas."

He understood the real question. Moving into the room, he picked up one of his books. "Take ‘em all," he said. "We can read them together at Graceland. When things are... quiet."

"Does it get quiet there?"

"Sometimes. Late at night, or early morning. When everyone else is asleep." He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my packing. "It's different than here. Better in some ways, harder in others."

"Because of Priscilla?"

"Because of everything." He rubbed his face. "You know she redecorated the whole place when we got married? Made it exactly what she thought it should be."

"Nothing wrong with that, Elvis. That’s what women do." I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah but now it's like living in a museum sometimes. Even the air feels..." He trailed off.

"Curated?"

"Yeah." He looked at me then, really looked at me. "That's what I love about you, you know? You always find the right words."

"That why you kissed me? In the alley?"

His hands tightened on the book he was holding. "I kissed you because I couldn't not kiss you anymore."

The air between us felt electric, dangerous.

"Baby—"

"I know." He stood up abruptly. "I know we can't. Not now. Not with everything..." He gestured vaguely. "But in Memphis. When things settle… God, Valley Cat, I can’t wait to…”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever he might have said next. Joe stuck his head in.

"Boss? Car's ready whenever you are. And the Colonel wants—"

"Tell the Colonel I'll be there when I'm there." For once, Elvis's voice held an edge of real authority. I liked it.

Joe disappeared. Elvis turned back to me.

"I have to go. More appearances, more pictures, more..." He shrugged. "You know."

"I know."

He moved to the door, then stopped. "The backup singer story... I'm sorry about that. I know it's not what you wanted."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. But it's what we've got." He smiled slightly. "For now."

After he left, I continued packing. The books went in first - all of them, even the ones I hadn't read yet. Then the dresses, both fancy and plain. But the jacket... Jerry was right. The jacket stayed behind.

The sun was setting over Vegas, painting the desert in shades of pink and gold. From my window, I could see photographers still lingering near the hotel entrance. Four weeks ago, I'd stood at this same window, watching Elvis's world from the outside. Now I was part of it, for better or worse.

A familiar coo made me look up. That damn dove was perched on my windowsill, looking remarkably pleased with itself.

"You're not coming to Memphis," I told it firmly.

It just cooed again, like it knew something I didn't.

Maybe it did.

*

I was deep in dreamless sleep when the knock came. So faint I almost missed it. For a moment I thought it was part of the dream, until it came again. Soft, uncertain, not like Elvis's usual confident rap.

When I opened the door, he was leaning against the frame, pajama shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes unfocused behind his glasses. His hair, usually perfect, fell across his forehead in a way that made him look impossibly young.

"Hey songbird," he slurred slightly. "Can I... can I come in?"

I hesitated. I'd never seen him this far gone before.

He swayed a little, caught himself. "Please?" His voice cracked on the word. "Just need... need somewhere quiet. Need you."

Something in my chest twisted at the naked vulnerability in his voice. I stepped aside to let him in. He made it three steps before stumbling. I caught him, guided him to the nearest chair.

"Everything's spinning," he mumbled, letting his head fall back. "Doctor Nick gave me something new. Said it would help with the... with the..." He gestured vaguely at his head. "But it's not... I can't..."

"Shh," I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "It's okay."

"No." He caught my hand, pressed it to his cheek. "Not okay."

He pulled me down onto his lap, hands clumsy but insistent as they found the zipper of my nightgown. "Need you," he mumbled against my neck. "Been needing you so long..."

For a moment, I let myself feel it - the weight of him, the heat of his mouth, everything I'd been dreaming about since that first elevator ride. But his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't manage the zipper. His words slurred together as he tried to kiss me and missed.

"Not like this," I said softly, catching his hands. "Not when you're not yourself."

"But I am myself," he insisted, eyes struggling to focus. "Love you. I love you."

My heart stopped. "Elvis, you're not—"

"No." He pressed his forehead to mine, suddenly intense. "This is right. I love you. Been trying not to but I do."

His voice broke on the last word and suddenly he was crying - silent tears sliding down his perfect face. Without thinking, I gathered him to me, cradling his head against my chest. He curled into me like a child, all that powerful frame somehow becoming small and lost.

"It's okay," I whispered, rocking him slowly. "I've got you."

I held him like that for what felt like hours, studying his face in the dim light. The thick fan of his lashes wet with tears. The vulnerable curve of his mouth. The slight tremor in his jaw that betrayed how hard he was fighting for control.

Something shifted in my chest - a fierce protectiveness mixing with a love so deep it almost scared me. I wanted to be needed by him. Wanted to be the one who could hold him like this, who could see him at his most vulnerable and love him more for it, not less.

"M'sorry," he mumbled eventually. "Didn't mean to... to fall apart like that."

"Don't be sorry." I wiped his cheeks gently. "Ever."

He caught my hand, pressed a clumsy kiss to my palm. "Still coming to Memphis? Even after seeing me like this?"

"Especially after seeing you like this."

We made our slow way to his suite, him leaning heavily on my shoulder. The halls were empty - the Memphis Mafia mysteriously absent. Maybe they knew to give him this privacy. This moment of absolute vulnerability.

At his door, he turned to me. For a second, his eyes cleared.

"Meant it," he said softly. "About loving you."

"I know." I touched his cheek. "But tell me again tomorrow when you're you."

"Promise you'll still be here tomorrow?"

"Promise."

I waited until his door closed before letting out the breath I'd been holding. The empty hallway suddenly felt very long, very quiet. We'd have to talk about the pills eventually. About limits and boundaries and all the things that could go wrong. But not tonight.

Tonight, I just wanted to remember the weight of him in my arms. The trust it took for him to let me see him like this. The way my heart had cracked and mended and grown when he'd said he loved me, even through the chemical haze.

Because somewhere between that first elevator ride and this moment, between Vegas glamour and raw need, I'd fallen completely, irrevocably in love with him. Not Elvis Presley the star, but this complicated, brilliant, troubled man who read numerology and cried in my arms and trusted me to get him home safe.

I wasn't going anywhere.

*

Morning came too soon. The hotel staff who'd barely noticed me four weeks ago now watched my every move, their eyes following me with a mix of curiosity and calculation. The maids whispered in corners. The bellhops suddenly knew my name. Even the woman who'd cleaned my room every day, Marie, looked at me differently as she helped pack my final items.

"You take care," she said softly, folding my last dress. "It's not like Vegas there."

The front desk clerk who'd checked me in that first day - Brenda, still blizzard-cold - handed me my final bill with a knowing smile. "So. Backup singer?"

I just smiled, remembering how she'd dismissed me a month ago. How I'd been nobody then - just another hopeful in a city full of them. Now I was somebody. Or at least, I was somebody's somebody.

Elvis had left earlier, his departure orchestrated by the Colonel down to the last detail. Priscilla was already in Memphis, preparing Graceland. I would fly commercial, arrive hours after them. Keep up appearances. Play the part.

I wasn't to go near Graceland, not yet. Not while Priscilla was there. The Colonel had made that crystal clear - I was to find an apartment far away from Graceland until... until what? Until Priscilla left? Until some arbitrary waiting period passed? Until the scandal died down? I felt caught in limbo, neither here nor there.

My stomach churned with guilt as I thought about her. How must she feel, knowing her husband's... what was I exactly? Mistress seemed too tawdry, girlfriend too simple for whatever this complex thing between Elvis and me was becoming. But whatever I was, I was coming to her town, into her world. Sure, Elvis swore their marriage was over, that she had her own life in California now. But she was still his wife. Still the woman whose home I was effectively invading, even if I wouldn't be living under her roof.

My cheeks burned with shame. Part of me wanted to do right by her - maybe even eventually talk to her, explain... what? That I loved her husband? That I couldn't help myself? That I believed him when he said they were done?

But another part of me bristled at feeling guilty at all. If they really were separated, if she really was building a new life in California, why shouldn't I be with Elvis? Why shouldn't I take this chance with him?

I made a mental note to find out the truth about their marriage - not from Elvis, whose view was complicated by pills and promises, but from someone who would know. Maybe Jerry. Maybe Red. Someone who could tell me if divorce was really on the horizon or if I was just another chapter in Elvis' story of extramarital adventures.

The press lingered outside despite the early hour, their cameras ready. I spotted the one who'd caught us in the alley - he had the decency to look slightly ashamed when our eyes met.

Red appeared at my elbow as I headed for the cab. "Ready?"

"No."

He laughed. "Nobody ever is."

Looking up at the International's gleaming façade, I remembered that first day. How overwhelming it had all seemed. How impossible. I'd been so naive then, thinking talent and determination were enough. Now I knew better. Now I knew about pills and promises, about public faces and private truths, about loving someone so completely that even their broken pieces felt precious.

A familiar coo made me look up one last time. That damn dove sat on the hotel awning, watching my departure like it had watched everything else.

"Still here?" I called up to it.

Red followed my gaze. "Tom's trying to catch it, you know. Says it's his responsibility."

"Tell him to let it be." I smiled. "Some things aren't meant to be caught."

The cab pulled up. Red loaded my bags while I took one last look at the Strip, already shimmering in the heat. Somewhere up there was the elevator where it all began. The suite where Elvis had cried in my arms last night. The lobby where I'd first heard him laugh.

"Miss?" The driver was waiting.

I slid into the back seat, letting Vegas fall away behind me. In a few hours, I'd be in Memphis. In Graceland. In Elvis's world for real.

The morning sun caught my reflection in the cab window. I looked different somehow. Older, maybe. Or just... more. More aware. More certain. More myself.

"Airport," I told the driver. Then, softer, more to myself than anyone: "Time to see what Memphis has in store."

As we pulled away, I could have sworn I heard one last coo from above. A goodbye, maybe. Or a warning.

Either way, there was no turning back now.

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[threepandas]

Sun Burnt: Part 2

Sixteen grand, only half my go bags, and about three blocks of Mafia Land on fire.

That was my fucking legacy now. I was the crazy fuck that DICK PUNCHED the Dread God of hitmen everywhere. The nightmare that lesser men fear. The blood soaked luxury few can afford! Oh god. I just punch the greatest hitman on THE PLANET in the DICK.

IN PUBLIC.

CURSE YOU LIGHTNING BRAIN!

I can't believe I fucking FORGOT that panic and impossibly fast reaction times were a BAD IDEA. God DAMN it! No wonder everyone thinks Lightnings are morons! That was the DUMBEST SHIT I'VE EVER DONE IN MY LIFE! Oh god. Oh god! I'm gonna die so slow. He's gonna drag it out! What do I DO!?

He didn't even collapse! Just hissed in through his teeth and TANKED it!

Thank god for Tazer training.

But also like!? Ha ha!!! OH GOD IM SO DEAD. I just pissed off EVERYBODY, didn't I? I can never come back! I had to have hit like... fifteen DIFFERENT SETS back there! And Colonello will be out for my BLOOD. Fuck, I wanna LIVE!

Boats. I gotta steal one of the boats!

And thank god? I DO. The island is in chaos, thanks to the fires. I dump the boats number of trackers overboard. Sure, I have to take a knife to a few fancy ass walls. But it's WORTH it.

I got a fancy ass little yacht! Perfect. It's fast, it's liveable, I can DISAPPEAR out to sea. He'll NEVER fi-!

Click.

Cool metal smoothly, cruely, presses againt the back of my head to crush my hope, just as it begins to form. The cologne is unmistakable. I can not tell you, how in God's name I missed it. The barrel of a gun pressed close, like a lover's hand, in unspoken threat.

"Bella~" purrs an amused voice from behind me. It sound like a threat. "Quite the trouble maker, aren't you? Such... CHAOS~♡ But, really? Did you HONESTLY think you could run? We're not done yet."

.....m...maybe I could swim.

I break out into a cold sweat, too aware yet completely frozen. The stairs to the deck are too far away. Fuck. I... I could MAYBE make it? Or.. or punch out a wall? Right into the water? I try to keep my breathing even. It doesn't work. I know, because Death made a man? Who stands behind me? Hums in amusement. His gun pressing tighter against my skin.

"I wouldn't, bella fulminea. I am nothing if not a gentleman, but if you keep fighting me? Well... it is a long boat ride. I'll have to find SOME way to immobilize you long enough for us to have a little chat. And an excuse to have my Flames inside you? You'd be surprised the damage one can do without lasting effects, when they know HOW too."

"And make no mistake. I DO know how to hurt you."

"So let's behave ourselves, hmm? Have a seat."

I... I had a seat. Very comfy. Didn't feel like crying in the SLIGHTEST ha ha, WHAAAT? Don't be silly! This is FINE! We're all friends here! R..Right?

The slow grin I got was NOT reassuring.

He stood there, above me, gun casually pointed at my head, as he examined me. Taking his time. As though decadently savoring the moment. Enjoying my tensed muscles. The way my Flames crackled and arced across my skin. My eyes dilated in fear. The resonance that filled the cabin.

His eyes weren't dark anymore. And that... God, that was the worst part. They had lit up. I'd HEARD about the phenomenon, but never thought I ever actually SEE it. 'Cause who could actually be that batshit powerful? What realistic person would ever be so fucking STRONG?

It was like looking into molten gold. Liquid Sun Flames. I could almost SEE the flicker and burn. I could DEFINITELY feel the Flames filling the room. It was like being crammed in a box with a tiger that barely fit to begin with. Shoved RIGHT up against its face. All I could do was hope it was friendly. Preferably ignored me.

But he wasn't.

No, he wanted to TALK.

Had finally, thankfully, put the gun away. Stepped closer to grab my face and tilt it up. Angle it this way and that. Memorizing my features. Shit. My thoughts must have been obvious on my face, because his smirk widened. His grip got tighter.

"Do you know, little lightning, how long I've waited? How many DECADES I've made do? I don't care if you're not a Sky. You could be another sun as far as I'm concerned. It is the fact that your Flames SING to mine. Crave a place with mine. THAT is why you will never escape me."

I didn't even know if I WANTED a Set. Yeah, it sounded cool. The companionship, the understanding and stuff. Like... like soulmates. Literal platonic but could be not if you wanted Soulmates. Yours forever. Best friends and balm to all wounds. But? But! If THIS was what was in store for me?!

Ha ha, NOPE!

I may not have be interested in being some meat shield for some entitled, cloying, grabby-flamed Sky BRAT, but that didn't mean I wanted a living DREAD GOD! R... RIGHT?! I just wanted, you know, substance! Mutual understanding and a mature outlook on life. Competence. Maybe some one... who thinks... I'm...funny...

Ooooooh no.

Oh no no NO!

"REBORN! Did you KIDNAP a random thief?!"

Thuds up on the deck. A roaring voice sounding vaguely hysterical. A god like Cloud kicking the door to the lower levels clear off it's hinges. Vongola. Oh thank MERCIFUL FUCK. I risk a glance across the table. His face has frozen in it's pleasantly smiling mask. Pissed at being interrupted. Again.

His eyes say "don't you do it. Don't even DARE.

My eyes shoot from him to the Cloud slowly walking down the steps. Followed by the rest of the Tenth generation of the Vongola Familgia. The clear exit they've left open behind them. Back to him. His gaze now promising to break both my legs.

.....he'll have to fucking catch me first.

I BOLT.

[fyonahmacnally]

Kiss Me in the Rain

It’s a quiet Friday evening. They’re quietly basking in each other’s company on the rooftop terrace of Kara’s apartment building. Since the blonde’s return, it’s become a common occurrence. Almost every time Lena asks what she wants to do, Kara’s response is ‘spend time with you doing simple things’. It’s something she has been insistent about in the months since she’s been home from the Phantom Zone, indulging in the small things.

Of course, Lena’s certainly not going to argue. Why would she? She’s been pining over her gorgeous best friend for years, always willing to give her time to the woman. Any time spent with Kara is time well spent, in her opinion. Besides, there is no one else she’d give her time to, no one else worthy. 

Their current position has them leaning against the wall of the building, gazing out at the city with its twinkling lights and people mulling about. Inquisitive green eyes wander toward the distinct profile of her best friend standing next to her. She’s in awe of the way the dwindling rays of the sun seem to caress her tan skin and create a starburst of color in golden waves. All the while, her traitorous heart zealously flutters against her ribs, inelegantly clamoring to deposit itself into Kara’s strong hands.

The ravenette’s thoughts are broken as her eyes land on the concerned deep blue orbs staring back at her. Kara’s eyebrows crinkle and her eyes drop briefly to Lena’s chest before darting back up, a look in them that shoots sparks right down her spine. “Everything okay? Your heart just did some interesting acrobatics.” A lopsided smile joins the concerned crinkle on Kara’s handsome face.

Lena laughs. She’s been caught and there’s not a damn thing she can do about it. Yet again her body tells on her. No matter how much stoicism she uses to mask it, she’ll never fool super hearing. Maybe she needs to find a spell for that, she idly considers. “Yes, I’m fine. Just…lost in my thoughts.” She smiles, feeling the blush spread across her cheeks and down her neck. “Sometimes my brain still needs to see that you’re real, that you’re truly here. Sorry for staring.”

A warm hand lands on the small of Lena’s back and another on her stomach. Kara turns her body until they’re facing each other. “I’m here and very real, Lena. Thanks to your beautiful brain.” She leans forward, places a soft kiss to the ravenette’s forehead, and pulls her close until they’re in a full body embrace. “I’m so grateful for you. You’ve saved me so many times and in so many ways. More than you know.”

Lena’s breath hitches and her eyes flutter. The position is nothing new, but she still isn’t used to being so tactile with someone, having someone in her space again. Not yet, anyway. Kara’s warmth is something she wasn’t sure she’d have again and she cherishes every moment, but it absolutely steals her breath each time it happens. Specifically now that she is sure of what she feels and what she almost lost. “Kara.” She whispers, desperately trying to swallow the lump settling in her throat. “I missed you so much.” She blinks back the tears stinging her eyes, refusing to let them fall. 

“I missed you too, Lena.The Phantom Zone made me relive losing you a million times.” She leans back and smiles sadly down at the watery green eyes of the woman she now realizes she’s very deeply in love with. “I feel like we have a lot of lost time to make up for. That I have so many things to atone for, if you’ll let me. I’ve been home for months and I know we spend most of our free time together, but it just…it never feels like enough.” She chuckles and rolls her eyes at herself as her cheeks turn rosy.

“Aww, does Supergirl want to hang out with little ole me?” Lena winks, smirks, and quirks a well-manicured brow at the blonde, loving the effect she has on her. Clearing her throat of the welling emotion, she returns to seriousness. “I feel the same way, Kara. Making up for lost time, earning your forgiveness, and unquestionably wanting to spend as much time with you as possible. All of it. I will never tire of being with you.”

A shy smile stretches across full pink lips as azure eyes curiously scan pale features, seemingly looking for an answer to unasked questions. The blonde shakes her head, rogue thoughts pushed aside. “Same. I think I could spend every waking moment with you and still miss you in my sleep.” Kara shrugs and leans back into their still lingering hug. She turns her face into the warmth of Lena’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent that is simply Lena. Her lips softly graze the pulsing artery under soft skin as she speaks. “I’m so glad you’re here with me. I don’t think I would be adjusting so well without you.”

Again, Lena’s breath hitches. The heat of Kara's breath and feel of her supple lips against the skin of her neck sends electricity skittering across her body and down her spine. She tightens her arms around the blonde’s back and runs her hands across her shoulder blades, pulling their bodies impossibly closer. “I’m here for you, Kara. Whatever you need. And for the record, I am perfectly okay spending every waking moment with you.” She mutters under her breath, ‘sleeping moments too’, forgetting that the super can still hear her. 

Kara laughs and pulls away from Lena just enough that they are face to face again. She tilts her head to the side and stares for a moment, watching as pale cheeks turn pink. “Did you forget about my super hearing again?” A knowing smirk sitting on her lips. “You want to spend your nights with me too, huh?” She laughs as ivory skin darkens into a rouge. 

“I suppose I did forget.” Lena says as she looks anywhere but at the blonde. “You definitely weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Hmm, well I did. Does that mean you’ll sleep over tonight?” A hopeful, bright smile spreads across Kara’s face. “I was planning to ask anyway.”

A soft giggle rushes through Lena’s lips before she can stop it. “I suppose I can do that.” She pulls them both back toward the wall to look out at the now darkened sky. Desperate to change the subject, she points to the clouds across the city. “It looks like it might rain.”

“It does.” She smiles at the blatant subject change. “There’s something so alluring about the rain. A magnetic mystery. Something oddly romantic.” She nudges Lena’s shoulder next to her, ducking her head in slight embarrassment at her overshare. Slightly worried that the dark haired genius woman can see through her and spot the feelings that run wildly through her veins. 

A soft, reflective smile appears on Lena’s face. “I used to have this daydream, or maybe a fantasy of sorts, when I was younger that involved rain.” She fidgets with her fingers where they rest on the edge of the wall in front of her. “I’m not completely sure why or where it came from, but it was the one that always stuck.”

Kara watches her closely, quietly encouraging the ebony haired genius to keep talking. When it becomes clear that Lena is lost to her own thoughts of whatever this fantasy might be, she reaches over to still her wringing hands. “Where’d you go? Did you drift off into this little fantasy of yours?” She smiles and wiggles her eyebrows, lacing their fingers together. “You can share, you know? All of your daydreams and fantasies are safe with me.”

Lena isn’t sure how Kara meant that statement, but her body took it to mean something decidedly not platonic. Once more, sparks skate across her skin and down her spine, landing squarely between her thighs. Shaking her head of the increasingly naughty thoughts, she glances over at the blonde. Her best friend is biting her bottom lip and staring at her lips at the same time. 

She licks her lips and lifts a questioning brow when darkened blue eyes lock with her own. “I did get lost in my dream world for a minute. It’s been a while since I’ve allowed myself to think about things like that.” She smirks as Kara’s eyes drift down to her lips again. “Find something interesting, Kara?”

“Hmm? Oh. Sorry.” Kara says, feeling her blush spread across her cheeks and down her chest. “I was just thinking about what this fantasy involving rain could be. You’ve never really shared anything like that with me before and now I am very curious.”

A melodic laugh fills the air around them as it bursts from Lena’s lips. She squeezes the blonde’s hand still intertwined with her own. “I’ve never really shared them with anyone, I guess. Especially not this one. Growing up in the environment I did, I was never really allowed to express fantasies or daydreams of any kind. Especially not any that involved romanticizing.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Could you imagine Lillian or Lex having any type of romantic inclinations?! They were barely human on a good day.”

Kara chuckles. There’s a sparkle of mischief in those beguiling green eyes. She’s spent many nights thinking about what kind of teenager Lena might have been and moments like this make her think there’s still much to learn about the mystery that is Lena Luthor. “I bet you are full of lots of surprises, aren't you?” She grins as she sees the cheshire cat smile make its way onto plump lips. “Oh, that smile tells me I’m not wrong!” She laughs and lifts their hands to her lips to place a soft kiss to the back of a delicate pale hand

“There are so many things you don’t know about me, Miss Danvers.” She winks and leans over to whisper in the blonde’s ear. “I was quite rebellious in my own ways. Some that very few people know about.”

She shudders at the wet warmth of Lena’s breath against the shell of her ear. They are most definitely skating on the edges of their normal flirtatious banter and it’s scattering goosebumps all over her impenetrable skin. Now she absolutely wants to know more, but specifically wants to know what this little fantasy is about. “You know you have to tell me now. I’m always curious to know more about you, but this has greatly piqued my interest.”

“What do you want to know?” Lena gives her a smoldering look, lightly running her free hand up and down the skin of Kara’s forearm. She smiles at the goosebumps that follow her touch. “I am an open book for you, Darling.”

Kara practically chokes on air and disbelief at the look the ravenette gives her. There is a shift in the energy between them. She’s not sure what it is or what’s happening, but everywhere Lena’s fingers touch her skin feels like her body is on fire. “W-what’s the rain fantasy? And I definitely want to know about your rebellious ways.” She tilts her head to the side. “I bet you went out and got tattoos and piercings, didn’t you?”

With a devilish smirk, she leans toward the blonde and whispers, “Oh absolutely. I still have several piercings. They’re just not visible.” She chuckles as she watches Kara’s eyes bulge and hears an almost inaudible squeak escape. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll show them to you someday.”

A very inelegant whimper makes its way out of her throat and her imagination runs wild. She has some ideas about where Lena’s piercings are and it does quite a few assuredly non-platonic things to her body. “I think it would be a lot…of fun. To know. Those things. About you.” She clears her throat in an attempt to clear her thoughts. “Now, what about the rain fantasy? Are you going to tell me or keep avoiding it?”

Lena laughs. A full belly laugh. She caught Kara off guard, but she recovered pretty well. “Are you sure you want to know? We’ve never really talked about those types of things together and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She smiles at her best friend. “You can’t unknow this about me once it’s out there. Last chance.”

“I promise I want to know. There’s nothing you can say to me that will make me love you any less, Lena. It’s not possible.” She grins at the rosy cheeks she gets in return. “Plus, you’re only ever evasive like that if it’s something that means a lot to you. That will always make me want to know.”

She releases a deep breath and observes the way Kara’s eyes dance curiosity in the now overcast moonlight. The clouds have moved closer to where they are and darkened the sky around them. “I think it started when I watched The Notebook when I was 18. I kept hearing the girls in my dorm talking about how romantic the movie was and I had never seen it.” She glances at Kara. The blonde is listening intently so she continues. 

“By the way, that movie is emotionally devastating. Anway, I watched it on my laptop tucked into my bed in my dorm. The scene where they confess their feelings and end up kissing in the rain resonated with me and sparked a fantasy of being kissed in the rain by the love of my life.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Unfortunately, life doesn't always work that way. So, over the years, the fantasy has evolved and built upon the first kiss in the rain.”

“What has it evolved into? It obviously started from kissing in the rain, but there seems to be a lot more to it based on the look in your eyes and how far your mind wandered off.” Kara grins and watches Lena’s mind slowly drift again. “Just like that! You just drifted off again.”

Lena shakes her head and forces her thoughts back to the conversation, away from the erotic fantasy that has begun to feature the woman next to her in recent years. “Sorry. Well, it varies, but it always involves kissing in the rain. Sometimes there are torn sheets in the rain as well.” She cuts her eyes to the side and watches as the blonde’s brain catches up with her words, chuckling when blue eyes go wide. “The simplest one starts with a picnic under the stars and ends with making love on the blanket. But, it’s always interrupted by the rain.”

She pauses and gathers her thoughts before finally adding. “I think my favorite is making love on the blanket. When the rain comes, we scramble to cover ourselves and end up tearing the sheets that are covering our naked skin. As the rain falls, our bare bodies are pressed together while we stand in the rain wrapped in the sheets. We share a passionate kiss as the rain pleasantly stings our skin. Then we profess our love for each other as we rest our foreheads together in the middle of a rainstorm.” She sighs and shrugs her shoulders. “Or something like that.”

Kara stands stock still and is eerily quiet beside her. She’s unsure what to say or do after the incredibly intimate and vulnerable confession. Swallowing hard, she chances a glance at the woman next to her and what she sees sends a shudder through her body and throb to her core. The blue of her eyes barely rim the wide, blown out pupils. Her cheeks are flush and her breathing is heavier than before. If she had to guess, she would say the blonde is turned on by the revelation. And well, she’s not sure what to do with that at the moment. 

So, she clears her throat and tries for self-deprecation. “It’s a bit unrealistic, but something about it has always stayed with me.” She smiles shyly. “Have you ever fantasized about something like that?”

“Um, yeah. I guess so.” Kara swallows hard. She’s not sure she can speak coherently right now. Every word and the way Lena talked about it produced some very vivid images. The images are still dancing in her mind's eyes. Images of her and Lena acting out the fantasy. And well, let’s just say that her heart isn’t just beating in her chest anymore. “T-that was…I can understand why it stayed with you. I think it will likely stay with me too.” She chuckles.

Lena leans her head onto Kara’s shoulder. “Hmm, glad I have someone to share the burden now.” She laughs and squeezes the bicep of the arms that’s holding up her head. “There’s just something about kissing in the rain that seems like it would be so raw and real. I think it would be a very memorable first kiss.”

They stand in silence for a while. Both lost in their own thoughts, when the first drop of rain hits their skin. It takes another five minutes before the rain really starts coming down. Before they know it, they’re both laughing and leaning into each other, letting the rain wash over their skin.

“Well, I guess that means we need to call it a night, huh?” Kara says, pulling Lena away from the wall and toward the door to the stairwell. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

Lena smiles. “Sharing with you makes it easier.” She pulls the blonde to a stop just before they get to the door, slowly running her hands up the now damp skin of Kara’s forearms. “What if I wanted it to be you?” She asks quietly as her arms loop around the blonde’s shoulders.

Still darkened blue eyes bounce between hopeful green. “W-what do you mean?” Kara asks, swallowing the hope that keeps trying to camp out in her throat. “Tell me, Lena.”

Delicate fingers mingle with the loose strands at the nape of Kara’s neck, pulling their foreheads together. Lena gently rubs their noses together, their breath mingling in the scant space between them. She breathes against the pink lips she’s imagined kissing for years. “My first kiss in the rain. The fantasy has been you for years. All of it has been.” A shaky breath escapes as their eyes lock and she presses forward. “Tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to.” Kara whispers. “Please. Kiss me in the rain.”

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48282733

[asphalt-cocktail]

Lead Us To Temptation- Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Hell Hath No Fury

Summary: In the small town of Eden Ridge, you knew several things to be true: church happened every Sunday, the saloon served free lunch with the purchase of a drink on Thursdays, coal miners left work at 7PM sharp, and Bucky Barnes was a man sent from the depths of hell dangling the threat of temptation and sin right in front of your face. All you need to do is reach out and grab it.

Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Talks of crime, robbery, crime for hire, talks of violence and guns, kidnapping, talks of past smut, less religion than the previous chapters but its still there. Bucky is a criminal in this so idk what to tell you if you are shocked by the crime. There isn't any gore and nothing is described in graphic detail. Don't worry reader is a badass this is a love story with a happy ending.

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I just want to pop in and say how grateful I am for all of the lovely comments, reblogs, tags, and likes I have been getting over the last few weeks! You guys are the ones who keep me writing. I am not doing a tag list, but you can feel free to turn my notifications to get one every time I post a new chapter <3

Masterlist

Read me on AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Staying in Eden Ridge was probably the longest Bucky had managed to stay in a town and not do something to get run out or have another wanted poster with his face printed on it and slapped on every shop bulletin. 

It was making the boys antsy. They could only hold up so many stagecoaches carrying rich assholes on the outside of town before they got too bored. 

“When are we going to hit the bank Buck? We’ve been here so long the damn seasons have changed.” John’s voice had the uncanny ability of springing a sudden and painful migraine behind Bucky’s eyes anytime he spoke. 

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. John pissed him off. “We need to wait a bit before we hit the bank. The ticket seller at the train station mentioned something about a train coming in to transport coal from the mines and take it back east. I guess the coal company is sending some bonds with it because the owner made a deal with Union Pacific.” 

“So what, they’re taking the bonds to the train yard?” 

“I’m glad to see you’re using the brain in that big fucking head of yours John.” To be completely transparent, Bucky harbored a strong dislike for John. 

Their association was almost solely due to John being Steve’s cousin, and Steve’s endorsement was something Bucky didn’t have the heart to dispute. Steve saved his life on more than one occasion. They’d gone through the Civil War together, they experienced the death of both of their parents together. You couldn’t get much closer to a man than that.  

The other reason being was John’s uncanny knack for survival. Despite the dangers of their lifestyle, John seemed to evade death, Bucky reckoned it was because God sure as hell didn’t want him and well, the Devil probably didn’t either so they just left him to do his business in the land of the living until they decided what to do with him.

Bucky was aware that his disdain for John might be uncalled for considering John’s role as the enforcer in their party. John was the one they sent out to take care of the more unsavory business transactions. However, these factors didn’t compensate for the fact that he was just plain weird and unpleasant to be around.

But Bucky was having such a lovely time playing house with you so, naturally he kept his plan to rob your father's train car transporting bonds to the Union Pacific rail yard. Management needed to cash them in and finalize the deal stating they were to use the Eden Coal & Iron as their main supply source. It was a deal that would make your father a very, very rich man. 

Robbing trains was as easy as stealing candy from a baby. An old, half balding, rich, man baby. Bucky could do it in his sleep. He didn’t feel bad about robbing your father. In fact he felt kind of good stealing from that rotten son of a bitch. 

Stealing these bonds would only be scraping the surface of the vast wealth your father accumulated by exploiting the hard working people of Eden Ridge. He was as crooked as crooked could be and there was no amount of praying or church going that would save his soul from the depths of hell once he died, god willing. 

If only you knew how your father treated the hard working miners who toiled in the depths of hell for him. He squeezed 15 grueling hours of labor from them 6 days a week, their backs bowed under the weight of his insatiable greed, all while their families languished in hunger. 

He wasn't the benevolent savior of Eden Ridge, rather, he resembled a vampire, voraciously draining the life force from the Earth and the good hearted denizens of the town you called home. Once he exhausted every able bodied man here, he’d slither away to prey upon the next unsuspecting community. 

Bucky’s plan was simple: wait a day or two several towns away to intercept the train and get to work. But he had to be careful If he got too reckless with his crimes, he’d have to leave. The question loomed in the back of his mind, when he had to leave would you come with? 

When he told you he was leaving to work a job you felt sick, “What do you mean leaving?” 

He cleared his throat and licked his lips, “I need to take the boys to deal with something for a few days. I promise I’ll be back by the end of the week. Two weeks tops.” He said hugging you tight, it pained him to see you worrying so much.

“But what if you don’t come back?” The question punched him in the chest and stole his breath. 

“Now don’t go talking like that.” He scolded you, “I’ll be back I promise.” You swallowed his words like a brick of lead. 

So for seven days you did the only thing you could do and waited. You sought comfort in Sam’s sister Sarah and her friend Natasha, spending most of your free time practicing needle work, reading, and chatting with the women. Sarah was a familiar and friendly face from the local church. Tragically widowed two winters prior, she was left with the responsibility of raising two boys on her own. To your knowledge, she had embraced her brother’s motley crew of friends, offering them sanctuary with open arms.

After your second meeting with Sarah she introduced you to Natasha, the local Madame. It took everything in your power to not turn your nose up at the idea of a woman engaging in sex for money. Your pious thoughts took a back seat when you remembered you were also engaging in sinful premarital acts with a man. 

Not sex though. No. 

Every time you thought today was the day Bucky shut it down. As much of a filthy bandit he was, he was still extremely respectful towards you. He always said he wanted to wait, the moment never felt right.

——

The moon hung low in the inky black sky as Bucky and his crew of bandits moved like vultures closing in on their prey. They moved silently, night as their accomplice- the thick fog veiling their actions, the rhythmic clatter of wheels masking the sounds of struggle. No witnesses meant no loose ends, and Bucky knew it well. 

It was quick. Efficient. 

Kill everyone on the train and then set it back on course so some poor sad sack could clean up the mess left behind. 

When Bucky’s eyes laid upon the bonds, your father’s exceptionally neat handwriting looping on the paper, he grinned like a snake. Peter could easily get a few hundred for the bonds. Having such a young boyish face always made him seem more trustworthy than the other members of the gang. 

To make up for leaving you worried half to death Bucky bought you a lovely hair pin. It was copper with a small decorative flower on the end of it. “If you think all it’s going to take is a pretty hair pin to forgive you, you’re wrong.” You lied through your teeth snatching it from his dirty hands and pinning it into your prayer veil, because of course Bucky returned just in time to take you to Sunday mass and have lunch with your family afterwards. 

Since midweek, your father had been in a downright rotten mood. He’d spent the last few days late at work and when you showed up to the office to bring him dinner he was yelling at his assistant every time without fail. 

“Tell them to double the guards! Put a damn Gatling on the top of the roof! Send the Pinkertons! I don’t care what you have to do, get that money to the train yard.” 

“But sir-“

“I said figure it out god damn it!” The way he slammed his hands on his desk made you jump. 

It wasn’t often your father lost his temper, but when he did it was frightening. 

At lunch your father glared daggers at Bucky while your mother preened over him. It was nice to see things hadn’t changed during his week away committing crime. 

“James, dear, you should work for the mining company!” Your mother kindly suggested, “My husband is always looking for strong young men such as yourself.” 

It took every fiber of his being to not scoff at the thought of selling his soul to the company, “I rather like the ranch work I’ve been doing for Miss Wilson, but thank you ma’am. If I have a change of heart you’ll be the first to know.” 

On the record Bucky was a ranch hand for Sam’s sister, sure he helped out here and there for the woman but he wasn't getting paid for it, your family didn’t need to know that. 

“We have some friends that are ranchers down in Texas, let us know if you ever venture down there and I’ll send a telegram to them for you.” Your mother was a bonafide socialite. She knew people of all walks of life and thrived on making connections for people, “Your horse is trained so well, they could use someone with your talent.” 

“Alpine?” Bucky grinned thinking of his beautiful white mare, she was almost as stubborn as you are, “I have to say she’s probably my second favorite girl.” 

Your father hated seeing Bucky around the house. He hated how Bucky was always a perfect gentleman whenever he came around. It didn’t matter, no daughter of his was going to marry some rough neck, dirty ranch hand if he had any say in it. 

There was something just plain not right with James Barnes and your father was going to get to the bottom of it. 

As it turns out, it took very little effort to find out the history of a career criminal. This was worse than if Bucky was actually a ranch hand, not only was he a criminal, but he robbed the damn train your father used to transport the bonds not once, but twice in the span of two weeks. 

He couldn’t believe he let a man who stole from him into the safety of their home. He couldn’t believe he let a criminal court his daughter (not that he even approved of the courtship). Bucky was probably sitting in his room at the inn laughing and counting the dollar bills that belonged to in his pocket. 

And the image of that pissed him off to no end. 

It pissed him off so much that he paid off a group of bounty hunters to finally deal rid him of the man once and for all. Bucky wasn’t going to come gracefully, but lucky for your father, Bounty hunters had loose morals and business practices much like he did. When he told Brock Rumlow "I don't care how you do it, just get rid of him!" your father didn't know he opened up a new, lawless realm of possibilities.

----

The late summer sun hung low in the sky as you quickened your pace home, the two men behind you following relentlessly, footsteps crunching on the dusty streets. You couldn’t make out their faces as they stayed just out of your line of sight but the feeling in your gut only harbored malevolence and fear. 

Your path meandered through town, twisting and turning to ensure they truly were following you.

Two turns left. Three turns right. Then a detour past the butcher.

Dread settled inside you and you quickened your pace, ragged breaths gasping as you neared the outskirts of town and broke into a full sprint as best you could, bunching your skirts in your arms so as to not trip. The buildings thinned, and the darkness deepened as you drew further and further from the bustling center of Eden. 

Further away from anyone who would hear you scream.

Rough hands grabbed you, forcing a bag over your head as you fought, kicking and screaming. Hissing and spitting like a feral cat. Their powerful builds quickly overpowered you, sitting on your legs as you thrashed trying to squirm away, clawing at the dirt and wedging it under your fingernails and covering your fine dress. Then they tied you, bound your arms and legs and threw you on the back of a horse like a sack of grain.

When the horse finally halted you were dragged off, stumbling and disoriented. The hood was yanked off and you were roughly pushed into a small, dark room. You turned finally able to make out the face of your captors who reeked of sweat and malice. He was tall and broad, skin tanned by the sun, with dark hair and eyes. He would have been handsome if this were any other circumstance.  

Your nostrils flared like an angry bull as you exhaled and spat at him in defiance while he manhandled your still fighting body, “Let go of me!” You shrieked, anger overpowering your feelings of fear. 

How dare they! How dare these filthy men put their hands on you and soil a perfectly good dress. How dare they throw you on a horse with a bag over your head and force you into this filthy damp room. Your rage bubbled over, you’d never felt this level of anger before. But the sheer callous disrespect of a lady pushed you over the edge. 

You should have been afraid, fearing for your life even. But the type of men who did this? Well they were cowards. Lower than the lowest cretin to walk the Earth. 

“Well look at you, now I know why Barnes has taken such an interest in you Missy.” The man in front of you grinned like a snake. His hand trailing your jaw, fingers lingering against your skin, “you’re a little firecracker ain’t you?” 

You turned your head to bite him, teeth snapping together as you snarled.  Ordinarily, you epitomized the quintessence of a respectable lady—devout and pious, a paragon of Catholic virtue. Yet, confronted with this dehumanizing treatment, a primal instinct awakened within. If they insisted on regarding you as a beast, then, in the eyes of the Almighty, you would unleash the ferocity of one. “Let me go.” You hissed, “You… you cretin!”    

The man shoved you roughly away, narrowly dodging your bite, “Easy there ma’am, we ain’t gonna hurt you.” For some reason you had a hard time believing him with the kidnapping, the pushing, the bag over your head, “We just need you to bring us out cash cow.” He said and slid over a wanted poster with an uncanny portrait of Bucky on it.

Oh

Now it all made sense. 

You took the poster and read the script:

WANTED CAPTURED DEAD OR ALIVE James “Bucky” Barnes  For multiple accounts of murder, theft, and fraudulent activities. Known leader of the Barnes Gang, responsible for numerous bank and train robberies across the Midwestern and Western United States. This is a dangerous individual who will not hesitate to murder.  Mid thirties, brown hair, scar on left arm. Last scene heading west towards the Eden Mountain range.  If spotted DO NOT APPROACH; contact local authorities.  Bounty of $5,000

Of course they’d take you as bait to lure a man with a $5,000 bounty and his gang of merry bandits out from hiding. Something told you that these men thought taking down Bucky would be easy. But you knew this would probably be the hardest $10k they were going to make. They’d probably die doing it! And silently you hoped they would.

A man’s head isn’t worth $5,000 because it’s easy work taking him down. It’s worth that much because he won’t hesitate to fucking kill you in the worst way possible. You didn’t know exactly what Bucky was capable of doing, but you couldn’t help the shiver that crept up your spine when your eyes landed on the big, bold DO NOT APPROACH, “I think for your sake, you should let me go.” 

Perhaps there was a touch of madness in relishing the thrill that such a perilous man inspired within you. Yet, it was the very specter of danger that ignited a fervent blaze deep in your core. To you, Bucky was a flame dancing provocatively over a pool of oil—intensely captivating and inherently volatile.

The dark haired man scoffed, “Your beau ain’t the big bad man everyone seems to think he is. Not when he’s got such an easy weakness to exploit.” 

It was true, Bucky was having the time of his life in Eden Ridge playing house with you. He was living in utter domestic bliss.   “If it’s money you want, my daddy will pay you.” You offered. You had to exhaust all your options and if these men were money hungry then your father would be more than happy to give them the $10k for your life. You didn’t know how much money he had exactly, but you knew it was a pretty penny. 

“Sweetheart, your daddy already paid us.” He mocked you. 

You blinked, brain barely able to comprehend the words he said to you. What a weird thing to say. 

Unbelievable even. 

You were going to have to dissect that at a later date when you were in a better position. 

[lokorum]

headcanons my brain came up with after 2 days crying over the dark murrrge story

mb i'll add ketheric's "but can you call it teenage angst when you're 250 yo" thorn and gortrash's hcs at the end, as "from: me | to: me" bonus but who knows??

beware - spoilersss!! (｢• ω •)｢

btw durge's name is isa (he\they, ~78yo, high-elf (ignore the horns phphph)

before events of bg3:

● loves: snow, spicy-milk tea, sleeping in the high, secluded spaces. hates: shoes

● bad, just purely evil combination of being taciturn and looking directly at people’s eyes (quickly became one of gortash’s “favorite last resorts” to speed up negotiations) 

● cosplaying seagulls - moves through the city over the rooftops only, eats trash, steals fish and vegetables for fun. probably definitely took enver’s  “it’s much easier to find beauty in something, when you’re looking at it from the above” advice too close to the heart

● most people in the bhaal church are used to isa leaving and returning in secret. (they tried to ask them about hiddens paths (with zero success); they tried to convince sceleritas fel to ask them about hidden paths (with zero success); they tried to spy on them to learn locations themselves (with zero success and couple of too bold adepts lost to the undisclosed accidents); 

● it’s “you get what you deserve, not what you want” kinda church, mate

● braids corpse’s hair, hums lullabies to fading fireplaces, carves bhaal’s runes on the walls and makes stone bleed

● wild bitch attitude - can appear in the middle of an important ceremony, take the priest's place and kill sacrificed person slowly and meticulously just because 

● ketheric - depressed enthusiasm; isa - violent enthusiasm; gortash - my enthusiasm is way better than yours and deserves all of the attention but okay, i’ll give you like 5 minutes 

● traveled a lot before settling at baldur’s gate just to be disappointed in 20 different languages 

● crawls back to his beloved underground temple like a defeated cockroach because its +25°С outside

● "behind closed doors they perform rituals that make wind howl and ground shudder. after that, for a long while, the air is cold and knives are somehow feels sated"

● refuses to show enver location of the church, but not because of how sacred it is 

● warm lights, buzzing streets, cheerful, unsuspecting, delightfully naive people - when isa first time visited baldur’s gate - the city was almost welcoming. when years after orin threw them away like a useless toy, disposed of them, broke them - (cheerful, unsuspecting, stupidly naive) part of them couldn’t believe that it’s really happening

● “you are the flesh maggots adore” vibes all over this stinky place

enver's hc before bg:

● “NO. no! No. No. No-o-o. no-no. no. No.” - starts tapping his finger on the table - “Well, maybe…”

● has two sides, one of them is in a dire need of bible, and the other one is responsible for that damn wardrobe

● "my work schedule is too tight for you and your nonsense” @ spends all evening crying into a cup of wine 

● sometimes his selfcare routine is to make other people feel miserable in the most spectacular way. sometimes he just wants to be left alone in his evil-scientist laboratory. and sometimes - restless hands, red cheeks from too much wine, voice like he is about to share a secret - it's something different

● can come up with 10 ways to orchestrate someone’s downfall in 10 seconds and it's not even his best results 

● “i have no idea where you’re receiving your information from, darling, but it’s inaccurate” - smiles and stealthy kicks body back under the table 

● uses etiquette as a weapon. can't be scared by ten different knives, forks and spoons at the dinner table (when alone - eats using a single fork that he fetched from gods knows where)

● if he knows that a peaceful solution is not an option - deliberately creates an especially scandalous scene, just to feel what it's like, to stand above a pile of dead bodies of someone who dared to threaten him

● having loyal bhaal child looming nearby, ready to protect - spoiled him rotten

● im like 99,9% sure he is an adrenaline junkie (and during events of bg 3 he is either deeply addicted to having an "illusion of control" or trying to outrun 10 different ways to die horribly is his new hobby, idk)

[thatoneandlonelyemo2005]

Slight NSFW, its all just METNIONS nothing to much. IF you are uncomfortable with that then scroll away but this is your warning

Will also be using the other names for the newsies for this one, sometimes their newsie name will be their nickname

Steven=Snitch

Zacharias=Dutchy

Dominic=Bumlets

-

David turned the corner and glared at the popular boy. He sighed angrily and walked to him; pushing him against his locker. “What the hell were you doing Jack. I was trying to answer the teacher.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Oh is Mr.perfect mad that I interrupted him.” 

“I could care less about that.” He gripped tighter on him. David could hear a few kids gather around them. “Why do you always mess with me? Can’t you go after someone else.”

Jack looked behind him, seeing the kids leave. Then he moved his eyes to his feet,"You're just- your life's so perfect, why are you so- so-" Jack just grumbles and looks away, again trying to get out of his grip.

"Well it's not so different from your life Mr. Popular. " David rolls his eyes.

Jack's eyes widened, "I'm not- you're- god you're so annoying. Always run ya mouth."

David then glares at him, "Excuse me for wanting to talk I guess." 

"Oh sure. Just talk” Jack scoffs, “Not like ya wanna subtly brag about how perfect you are with your brain and ya family and ya face-"

David debates it but decides to lean forward and kiss Jack. He cupped both his cheeks and softly yet forcefully let his lips collide with Jacks. 

For a moment he thinks now he's messed up completely, since Jack is just standing there, unmoving, but before he can pull back Jack sighs into the kiss and kisses back just as desperately, clinging onto David with all he has.

David pulled away and took in a deep breath, he looked to Jack who had swollen lips and wide questing eyes.

 "David..." 

"Shut up Jack, use your brain for once." David then leaned forward to kiss him again.

And Jack seemed to do so, as he stopped trying to question things and just kissed him back, one arm around David's waist and leaning down. David could finally clamp his hand in his stupid soft brown hair, could run his hands over his arm and back.

Then the bell went off for their next class. David pulled away, "Fuck!" He grabbed his bag but quickly turned around and kissed Jack, "Meet me after class at my locker okay." 

Jack blinked and paused for a few seconds, "O-ok." He stuttered out.

It wasn't like Jack was a bad student on purpose. Most of the time he really tried to pay attention, but today? After Dave fucking Jacobs smooched his brains to mush? Jack wasn't even sure what class he had, only remembering how the preppy boy had kissed him and pressed him against the wall. Not to mention that he'd actually cursed after.

David made sure his lie was convincing to his teacher and tried to stop blushing. Although when he sat down his friends gave him questioning looks that he just shook off. If he didn't concentrate during the lesson then who's to know. He'll just steal his friend's notes. But his head couldn't shake the image of him pinning Jack up against the locker. He just hoped this class period would end soon.

Jack only got out of his wonderful dreamland the second the bell rang. Then he almost ran to the damned blue eyed nerd's locker to lean coolly against it, as if he hadn't spent the last hour daydreaming about another makeout session. 

"Jack, are you busy after school?" David asked while he pulled a book from his locker. 

"No, why?" Jack asked quickly, he may have daydreamed about this but- 

"Wanna come to my place...we could ya know-" 

“Yes!" Jack then panicked at his outburst, "Yes sorry I can, I-"

 David kissed his lips, "Cool...meet me here after your last class cowboy." David smiled and began to walk to his next class hoping the school day would get over sooner.

Jack could somehow concentrate even less after that. David Jacobs, smartest guy in school, pain in the ass extraordinaire had actually asked him on a... date? Meet? Well whatever it was he had asked and it hopefully included more kissing as they had done before.

David couldn't help but let his mind wonder as he tried to work on his sheet of homework. He didn't know Jack Kelly could have nice lips. Soft ones at that, maybe a bit chapped but who didn't have chap lips. "David?" David snapped back into reality, "Oh sorry Dominic, what did you need." 

Bumlets shrugged, "Just wanted to know what you got for an answer on number twelve…but what's going on inside your head." 

"Nothing, just thinking about homework." 

Bumlets' eyebrow raised and he looked in disbelief at David over the edge of his glasses. "No, that looks different. Just tell me." He then turned in his desk looking at him. 

Shuffling his feet, David felt his face flush as he thought once more about the only thing that was on his mind today. "I...had another argument with cowboy"

Bumlets scoffed, "He sure likes to pick fights with you. What was it over this time?" 

David sighed,  what was it over? Between the kisses he didn't remember, "Just cowboy being himself." He shrugged. Bumlets raised an eyebrow again; he didn't know if he should press the issue or not.

As David almost seemed to slip into his thoughts again, Bumlets rushed out his question, not wanting to think about it further: "There's more, isn't there? Did it get into a fight or-" His eyes widened at the unlikely option. "Was it...something else?"

David his cheeks heat up, "N-no it was nothing." 

"Your stuttering David." Bumlets said unamused. 

"I-well it just escalated a bit..."

Bumlets leaned forward on his arms, "David, if you and Jack-" 

"Nothing happened, okay?", David snapped and then immediately felt bad as he saw his friend flinch back a bit. He took a few calming breaths. Bumlets wouldn't care... probably

"Look...I-" he looked around to see other kids working on their homework and the teacher seemed to be typing away at the computer. He sighed and wrote on top of the page for Bumlets to read 'we kissed'

He saw Bumlets' eyes widen. He blinked a few times and then wrote: 'who started?' David hesitated before pointing at himself. 

Bumlets just grinned and wrote 'how was it?' Under it.”

David blushed again, 'very nice' he paused then wrote again 'he's a really good kisser' 

'And you're going to do it again?' 

'I invited him over tonight' His cheeks began to flush. 

Bumlets snickered and shook his head. "Can't believe you'd kiss the Cowboy. And how did he react?"

 David smiled at the memory and the blush deepend. "Puddy in my hands."

"David! Dominic! Stop disrupting the class and get to work." The teacher yelled at them. 

"Yes sir." David put his face into the palm of his hand. 

"Text me about it later K?"

David just gave him a nod and went back to his work trying not to think of the stupid boy who made his stomach do a flip. 

Later at lunch Bumlets watched as David sat down. "Now you can tell me all about how it felt to kiss Mr. Popular himself."

Snitch and Dutchy shared a look then both said, "You did what now?!"

"Dominic, that wasn't public knowledge!" David glared 

"Well you're the one who decided to kiss him." Bumlets shot back, leaning backwards into his seat.

"Because he was infuriating!” David huffed, “He just-it was-I had to!" 

Snitch pushed his food on his tray, "Ya know, kinda saw it coming, you two did fight a lot."

David gasped, "Steven! No-what-”

Dutchy nodded. "Rivals to lovers. Not the first time the tension brings people together. Is he your Mr. Darcy then?"

David rolled his eyes. "No, Zach. I don't know yet. We'll be talking later."

"Oh you're taking him to your house then?" Bumlets smirked. 

 "Well-yeah, I guess so but just so we can talk!" David pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Dutchy stabbed his food with his fork,"You guys can also talk during sex." He said it so nonchalantly.

"Zacharias, I didn't invite him over so we could have- No!" 

Dutchy shrugged. "Your loss." 

"What, you got experience in the field?", asked Snitch not really knowing that he could have been in one. 

The blond just smiled mysteriously. "Maybe a project at my place escalated once or twice.”

Snitch placed his face on his hands and peered over at Dutchy,"Oh? Wanna tell us more?” 

Dutchy rolled his eyes, "This isn't show and tell Snitch." 

"I say it's fair since I had to tell mine." David leaned forward with a glare. Now thankful to not be the subject of the conversation. 

"I don't kiss and tell." Dutchy shoved some of his mashed potatoes.

 "Doesn't sound like it was only kissing." Remarked Bumlets while tapping his fork on his tray. 

 "No." Dutchy grinned and looked over to where the goths sat, one of the boys there quickly turning away from him again. 

"You fucked Victor," Hissed David, still almost forgetting about his own affair. “Maybe possibly a few times."

Dutchys eyes snapped to his, "Why don't you say it a little louder, he might hear you." 

"Zach if you're being true about this...How did you do that? Because...."Snitch trialed off 

"What just because we have different sets of friends we can't talk to each other." Dutchy said angrily. 

"No! No..." Snitch held up his hands in surrender. "I was just... you don't hang out in school, that's all." 

"We meet after school, even after that project was done. It's not just sex either. And if you have something against that-" 

"Hey, Zach, calm down." Bumlets held down one of the blond's hands that was slightly shaking. "We're just surprised. As long as you're happy with him there's no problem here."

"You sure? It seems like you were ready to kick me out a minute ago." Dutchy glared at his tray..

"Zach, we would never do that. And you know how we feel about these clicks, they're not doing us any good either." David paused and now realized he kissed one of the popular people, "Be who you wanna be with okay it shouldn't matter."

"No it doesn't.", murmured Dutchy before looking to the other clique again, Specs this time not looking at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to kill the mood. It was only supposed to be a little comment."

"It's fine Zach, we don't have to talk about it anymore." Bumlets patted his hand.

"He's right let's just change the topic, did you see the substitute for geometry?" Snitch began.

Dutchy put his thoughts into it as well, soon forgetting what had happened. 

David looked at his own food, slightly untouched. Taking a bite he looked at the clock on the wall then to the popular table, Jack caught his eye and quickly looked away but David smiled because he could see a hint of blush on the boy.

-

will post the other rest tomorrow, for the timeline decs is next

this is part 1!

[masterqwertster]

Potential five fun facts for the bells hells channel au? Would like to see more of it. If not, High Seas 'cause we're close to the end

Send me a potential AU and I’ll tell you five fun facts that would happen in a story.

Gotta be honest, I should probably take some of the AUs off my list just because I don't have more thoughts about them. Which includes the Channels AU, unfortunately. It's not really my thing for writing.

But I've got stuff for the High Seas Hells.

🏴‍☠️I think it would be funny as hell if Bells Hells is doing their damnedest to avoid getting bought up by Stone's Throw Shipping. Which Fjord is pursuing because Essek saw Ashton and their dunamancy at port once, and he can't resist the pleading of Essek (who barely asks for anything) and Jester (who must help out one of her best friends, especially since it might mean he can find a way to make her float everywhere which would be, like, so cool, man) to get the war criminal in touch with the magic rock.

Like, Bells Hells doesn't understand why Fjord is so insistent on getting them to sign a contract with his company, but they don't trust his interest in Ashton (thanks, previous bad captain and Keyleth given knowledge of titan blood), so they're doing their best to dodge Stone's Throw.

Of course, because Jester is involved, there are endless daily Sending messages, and eventually the truth comes to light. At which point, Ashton is like, "We're turning this ship around. I want professional, experienced magical help with the chaos brain shit. And no, we don't have to sell out to the shipping guy. I just wanna get studied by his wizard friend."

This also probably results in Prism getting to use official Cobalt Soul channels again and a real (wizard) apprenticeship thanks to "Seth Domade" (and Expositor Lionett, who's very interested in what they can tell about Potions of Possibility being smuggled to/through Marquet)

🏴‍☠️Even funnier is if Kingsley, the Plank King of Darktow, gets dragged into this Get the War Criminal a Magic Rock mess.

Like, yes, he adores Jester and is friends with Essek and respects the shit out of Fjord (when he's not taking the wind out of his sails). And what are a few favors among friends? But Kingsley is also the goddamn pirate king, and nobody enjoys being hunted by pirates. And Kingsley doesn't enjoy losing ships to the fucking magical artillery the Hellion is packing in the form of its crew. Or the sudden changes in weather and sea temperament that even the few druids in his employ have a rough time overturning (thanks, eidolons).

So Kingsley admits defeat declares the Hellion not worth his time and resources. Especially when Jester is sure to wear them down with her Sendings eventually.

🏴‍☠️And the Essek becoming a part-timer on the crew (for dunamis!) mess is helpful for Bells Hells in the aftermath of the smuggling job for Liliana because they now know how to be so damn annoying over Sending. Liliana would be Sending to Imogen, except her daughter has gotten mind protections and has relegated her to an on-and-off-again Blocked Callers list, so half the time she has to spend a second spell to try bothering one of the crew about Imogen. Which is a coin toss now on whether their response is advice for Liliana about how to actually connect with Imogen and be a mom, or if they're little shits and steal some moves from Jester's playbook for conveying almost no important information while burning up the word count.

🏴‍☠️It would also be fun if Keyleth somehow managed to convince Percy (really Vex) to bankroll turning the Hellion into a (part-time?) skyship. The man wants to own a skyship (or at least have one on call) and Keyleth would love to give one of her non-druid roaming Ashari even more mobility with a high carrying capacity.

Everyone is pretty happy with the idea of sailing the skies except Ashton, who is a baby earth titan, thank you very much. We'll see about expanding the Green Cabin to compensate in addition to the brumestone renovations, you big elemental baby.

And this is how Bells Hells doesn't abandon ship to chase the Moon Plot, who's central location is the middle of a desert. (And no, they're not crashing the Hellion into the Malleus Key. That ship is their home)

It also means Fjord is now actually serious about signing them for Stone's Throw Shipping because skyship. The business opportunities! Essek is not amused at being made an unwilling messenger for this when he's visiting for research purposes. Jester just wants a ride in the sky (and contacts so they can convert STS's flagship. Coin toss on whether or not Bells Hells agrees, subjecting Percy to Jester Sendings)

🏴‍☠️And while I haven't said it before, it definitely needs to be said now: the timeline for the events I've talked about in this AU start at least a year or two before the canon campaign's era. Which messes with some personal timelines, but that just means some things happened earlier for them.

As for the actual campaign era, Bells Hells just doesn't hunt down the Moon Plot until the actual campaign start, with Keyleth sending them to Jrusar to get info on those who attacked Zephrah (and murdered Orym's husband and father) from Oshad "The Anger" Breshio.

Like, Bells Hells does have some pieces before the campaign thanks to meeting Liliana (there's a secret organization out to "save" the world, who knows what from. Potion of Possibility smuggling. Ruidusborn as a word they can/have researched) and hanging with members of the Mighty Nein (Essek, Caleb, and Beau want to know everything Bells Hells knows about Potion of Possibility smuggling so they can follow up on it as part of their anti-Assembly investigations). But Bells Hells hasn't really pursued any of those threads yet because Imogen found her fix for her main ruidusborn problems in basic psychic protections, while the dunamis smuggling is more an M9 problem, so BH hasn't needed to get involved beyond passing along info they've come across.

[veilxstars]

Location: Town Square - The Pumpkin Palooza For: Reagan Borges | @abeycnce Character: Scout

Scout sat alone at an empty picnic table, her legs stretched out beneath it as the noise of the Pumpkin Palooza swirled around her. Families bustled past, children giggling, the scent of fresh cider and caramel apples thick in the air. But all of that felt distant. In her arms, Bodhi was napping, her tiny face relaxed, lips slightly parted, her soft breaths the only thing grounding Scout in the present.

She absently stroked a strand of Bodhi’s unruly red hair, so much like her own. There was a time, not that long ago, when she would’ve laughed at the thought of sitting at a fall festival, a baby on her lap, contemplating her life. A little over a year ago, her world had been wide open—free, wild, and utterly unshackled. She was running from everything: Cardinal Hill, her family’s expectations, and most of all, the idea of settling down. Even with Reagan.

Her chest tightened at the thought of Reagan. It had been over a year since everything crumbled between them, but in moments like this, it felt like yesterday. Scout had been sure—so damn sure—that Reagan was it for her. The one person who understood her, who could put up with her restless soul. For four years, they’d built something together, something real. But it was never enough. Scout couldn't trust herself enough. She hadn’t been ready for the life Reagan wanted: the stability, the family, the future that Scout had spent so long running from.

She blinked, biting back a wave of emotion. You wanted more, and I couldn’t give it she thought, her mind drifting to the hotel room where it all ended. Scout had shown up, desperate and afraid, but Reagan had shut the door, leaving Scout alone with her fear.

The festival noises grew louder again, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked up, scanning the crowd, and that’s when she saw her.

Reagan.

Scout’s breath hitched, heart skipping a beat as she locked eyes on the one person she had been trying not to think about. Of all the places, all the moments…

Scout blinked, then laughed softly under her breath, the sound almost a scoff. She had to be imagining things. Reagan? Here? Of all places? She shifted Bodhi a little, adjusting her daughter’s sleeping form, and shook her head. It couldn’t be real. Had to be a trick of her mind, some figment conjured from the mess of memories she’d been sorting through. Maybe she was just tired, or the festival had her feeling nostalgic. How many festivals had she gone to with Reagan? How many times had they held hands as they walked together, leaning against one another, laughing in the sunlight and stealing kisses.

"Yeah, right," she muttered, her smile wry as she looked back down at Bodhi. "Just my brain messing with me again."

But as she glanced back up, the figure was still there, moving through the crowd. That walk. That posture. That unmistakable energy. Scout’s heart did a little flip, a sensation she hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime. Without thinking, without hesitating, she called out across the bustling festival.

"Jim!"

It slipped out effortlessly, that old nickname she used only in private... for a reason that would lose its magic if they ever shared the inside joke The moment it left her mouth, Scout froze, her stomach tightening. What was she doing? Setting herself up for a fresh wave of heartbreak when the woman turned out not to be the woman she stupidly allowed to get away.

[trashcritter]

Writer Interview Tag!

Ngl kind of chuckled to myself when @lolliputian tagged me in this, because I hardly consider myself a writer. I’ve written two full stories, only published one of them on ao3, that doesn’t feel like it counts. BUT. The questions were intriguing and I liked filling them out and thinking about this stuff. I’m tagging @boobcratchit and @el-inle and @poetryvampire and also anyone else who wants to steal this.

When did you start writing?

I mean as a kid I thought of myself as something of a creative writer through middle school, but something changed in high school where I suddenly decided I couldn’t do it anymore (probably just being an anxious perfectionistic teenager, honestly), and I transitioned to solely academic writing. I went to law school and became strictly a legal writer—and a damn good one. But I left my last writing-heavy job in 2020 and basically didn’t write anything until a couple of months ago, where for some reason I finally was able to rip the bandaid off.

Are there any specific themes or genres that you enjoy reading other than what you write?

Sci fi, horror, and I’m also a sucker for brain candy romance novels.

Is there a writer that you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Lol almost nobody is reading anything I’m writing yet, so no one is making any comparisons. I’m really just in a fact finding and developing phase of my writing as a creative pursuit—everything I’m reading I’m trying to think of what I like about it and how those things are being accomplished. So I guess I’m trying to emulate everyone right now as I work to find my own preferences.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I’ve been doing a lot of writing on my phone of all places. For whatever reason, it’s the cheat code to bypass the “writing = SERIOUS BUSINESS” panic moment in my brain that has kept me from transitioning from legal writing to writing as a creative pursuit. Occasionally I’ll hop on my desktop computer, and that is where I do most editing.

What is your most effective way to muster up a muse?

I don’t know yet! I’m mostly a visual artist, and I know that in that realm the best thing I can do for an idea is get it down on paper or in clay ASAP. I’ve been doing the same thing with my writing. Have an idea? A few lines? Throw it down in a new note. I find the ones I keep coming back to, whether it’s a project or a story, are the ones that are ready to have something made of them.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I’ve been really interested in grief and loss as of late. My first piece that I shared with the world earlier this summer is on its surface a really sweet happy little story, but it’s driving point for me was one of grief, and I’m not sure it reads as super bittersweet (it wasn’t intended to), but I know that it’s a very bittersweet story at least for me personally. I keep coming back to a piece lately that is more obviously about immediate loss as well as the consequences of old loss that has gone ungrieved.

Something that is less of a theme and more stylistic is I’m very interested in the flow and musicality of my words. All of my best physical art has a certain movement and musicality to it, and I feel like I’m constantly trying to bring that into my writing as well.

What is your reason for writing?

When I wrote as a large part of my career, I loved the power behind my words. I am a really good legal writer. I’m persuasive as fuck and I am excellent at evoking the emotion and the viewpoint I want my reader to have. I loved that feeling and found that I missed it once I stopped. So I write to recapture the feeling of command and control over language, for one. But also I write because it gives a voice to the words that I would say naturally if I could, but don’t really seem like they belong in every day speech. And I’m finding that I enjoy putting my blorbos in situations and seeing what they do. It’s imaginative in a way that is very different from visual art. Finally, it’s giving me a place to process things in a new way. And I really love being able to share those thoughts and feelings with others; we both discover we aren’t so alone when we connect over writing.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment that you find particularly motivating?

When people call out individual snippets of writing that they particularly thought were beautiful, that brings me such joy. But otherwise just getting encouraging notes has been great. I’m so new to this art form, I know I’m still very much a developing writer, and that things are rough around the edges. But being able to be welcomed by others and have fun with them is really wonderful.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I have no idea. Somebody called my writing very introspective, and I really felt proud of that comment. I think it *is* quite introspective, and I like that. I like taking the inner world and giving it voice.

What do you think is your greatest strength as a writer?

I have no idea what I’m doing. No really—there’s a freedom to being a beginner that you can’t get back. I don’t think my writing is always very effective yet, but I do think it’s honest and unconstrained. In time I’ll learn to build guardrails and give it more shape, but the key I think is maintaining that honesty. And that’s hard to do once you know what you’ve been doing “wrong” the whole time. I’m in no hurry to learn lol.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

Oh this is all purely self indulgent bullshit.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I’m pretty self conscious of it right now because I can tell it’s not where I want it to be. And of course it isn’t—I’ve been practicing this skill for a few months, tops? I think it’s better than average for that timeline, but it’s by no means great. I’m trying to be okay with not being great though—it’s good practice for me (or so my therapist says ;) ). I think I’ve got some good ideas, and occasionally lightning strikes and I can create a really solid few sentences. But I can’t yet do it consistently. I just don’t know enough yet. But I’m having *fun* and nobody is paying me for it, and it’s nice to just be able to let something be.

[nonbinary-eddie-munson]

Finals week was killing Robin. She loved college, loved that the things that made her a weirdo in highscool actually were seen as cool in college. But finals week was going to kill her. She had been pulling late nights in the library every day this week, she was exhausted and just wanted to go home after a long night of studying, only Steve platonic love of her life was late to pick her up and also not picking up his damn phone.

It was well past closing at the library so she couldnt even sit inside until he finally got here meaning she was stuck sitting on the curb and hoping she didnt get kidnapped. Robin was debating just spending the $15 she didnt have on a uber home when a presence made itself known behind her.

Robin jumped to her feet at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

"Fuck! Please dont steal me and sell my organs on the black market, my family has a history of kidney disease so stealing them really really isnt worth it" Robin blurted as she whirrled around almost losing her balance with the quick movement, her hands coming up in front of her in a defensive position only to come face to face with the cutest girl she had ever seen.

"Im sorry i didn't mean to scare you" said the girl as she brought a hand up to stifle her giggles at Robins antics "i was just wondering if you were okay? Its pretty late and i didnt want to leave you out here without checking"

Robin pressed a hand to her chest taking in deep breaths to try and calm her racing heart. "Yeah im okay, my roomate is late picking me up but i think i might just uber home, dont wanna keep sitting out here until someone decides to come steal me and my organs" Robin replied with an awkward laugh "unless of course the uber driver moonlights as an organ stealer then i guess im out a genetically sub-par kidney".

The girl laughed for real this time not bothering to stifle it behind her hand as she smiled at Robin brightly.

"Your name is Robin right? I'm Chrissy, i work in the library part time I've seen you working late every night this week" the girl- Chrissy- said "i could give you a ride home if you want?"

"Oh no i couldnt ask you to do that" Robin replied waving her hands around for emphasis

"Please? I'd feel awful leaving you out here this late, I promise not to steal and sell your kidneys, especially since i know now that i wont make enough off them to cover tuition" Chrissy joked, smiling at Robin brightly.

'I'd give you both my kidneys and my heart if you just keep smiling at me like that' Robin thought, her brain going all fuzzy under the force that was a beautiful girl like Chrissy smiling at her like that.

"If you let me drive you home you can keep your kidneys but maybe we could talk about you giving me your heart over coffee once finals are over?" Chrissy said her smile somehow getting brighter

"Oh god i said that out loud didnt i?" Robin said burying her face in her hands, mortified.

"That you did, now come on im parked over this way" Chrissy said extending a hand out to Robin "we wouldnt want someone to steal your heart and kidneys before we can get that coffee"

"No" Robin replied, removing her hands from her face and reaching out to take Chrissys warm hand in her own "we definitely wouldn't want that"

[tiredassmage]

the many jackets and that one set of boots i must really fuckin’ like (i do) of cipher nine, lmao. base game - makeb edition.

if he starts collecting rifles like len did pistols, so help me, i won’t be able to handle the (lack of) inventory slots.

i’ll give you a ramble about them beneath the cut; that’s how these things usually go, right? xD (send help)

the red blade - hutta edition! fashion is an agent’s greatest weapon. agent gives me an excuse to dress them up from the second they’re born into the game and i milk it for all its worth. he needs to wear this jacket more often. he looks cozy in it. puts him in his thundershirt emotional support pirate jacket.

lightweight tactical - generalized home turf, lightweight ‘fit. glory to the empire and all that patriotic imperial officer jazz.

stealing theron’s jacket - he will inevitably actually steal theron’s jacket. eventually (and theron will steal at least half of his). but right now, he doesn’t know what a theron is. home turf overcoat good for getting caught in the kaas city rains and telling your enemies (hunter) that you have a better bitchin’ jacket than them. just a nice damn jacket.

for the resistance! - terror cell infiltration on balmorra. trying not to let sanju get himself killed. possible resurgence of the low-key comfy trenchcoat on makeb. when we need to look convincingly unimperial.

light armor stealth - “sir, your emotional support trenchcoat will not protect you from poisoned blades.” when i needed to put him in something a bit more physically protective than bubble wrap. a mask to open the tattooine arc because of suspected betrayal from the ghost cell contact. enough armor to feel not like a tissue paper unicorn on the frontlines of corellia, but not enough to turn him from a stealth operative into storming the bastion.

cold weather - the return of the king. alderaanian mercenary work. almost getting killed on hoth. the man, the myth, the legend, the return of one of his almost iconic outfits i had him wear way too much in his first playthrough. the outfit that made me realize he looks damn good in this green. (it’s a little unfair.)

casual - something a bit more off the job. something potentially for a defecting cipher agent. kaliyo drags him to bars and he has to look nice. kaliyo drags him to a lot of shit that doesn’t always go well, but at least he looks good dealing with it akdfndslfdsf.

belsavis - jostling with the bounty hunter for title of republic’s most wanted. orchestrator of prison heists. he’s not paying them in credits. smart ass, hard ass, nice ass. ahhem. (rip belsavis crew, he might’ve genuinely liked some of you if he hadn’t been ruthlessly using you to destroy a galactic conspiracy.)

sith intelligence - a little out of order. cropped up a few times as a dressier sort of uniform. good for play-pretending at more diplomatic aims on voss. bonus fact: he gets adopted by my emperor’s wrath post class-story to keep an eye on the bickering dark council. savosta is tired of their bullshit derailing the war effort and he is just one fuckin’ guy. him and tyr shaking hands about being done with this shit.

bonus!!!

imperial officer - i can’t keep a straight face too long. standard imperial officer affair. my brain is generating a generic bad guy (mustache twirling levels) imperial officer image every time i see him in this that just makes me crack. i’m still mad he looks good in this. i can’t take me or him seriously about it, but he looks good. and also putting him in the little cap shaves like 10 years off of him and then i get emotional about all of the damage the class story does and we don’t TALK about that sO. it gets to stay on the merit of i know this is something he’s worn at least once. nebulous interlude outfit. (the secondary color picked from this jacket not being black was INCREDIBLY jarring btw, it comes up this bright like red-orange thing and like holy facial hair of the emperor that was. hmm. that was a thing. that happened.)

[32ratsinatrenchcoat]

Chapter 17 - tastes like shit

Chapter masterlist

The town hosts their annual luau and JJs plans get ruined

JJ pov

Sophia sat next to me on the docks. Behind us were the festivities of the luau. Some cheap feel-good music was blasting from the stereos. My feet were touching the water, Sophia's were just out of touch. Our fingers were practically touching. The sun was high in the sky, and there were no clouds in sight, the view was immaculate. However neither of us were looking at the view, I watched the sun dance in Sophia's eyes, sparkling like the sea. She looked back into my stormy eyes. She leaned in closer to me, our lips almost touching. "JJ... Do you want to be..?" She whispered. "...yeah..." I whispered back. She was about to close the gap.. "JJ... JJ...!" Huh? "JJ!" 

Frisk's hand waved in my face. "JJ! Wake up we're late!" Frisk was grinning at me. "Having fun with Sophia hm? Naughty.." He teased. "It was NOT like that! Frisk! I'm gonna kill you!" "Good!" He ran out of the house cackling. That bitch. As I was left alone in my house, I felt an empty feeling in my chest. Could that dream become reality? Was it some amazing prediction of how the night would go? We hadn't spoken since that fateful evening last weekend.

"Took you long enough" Frisk got a slap in the chest for that one, "Ow, geez" He dramatically rubbed his chest before lightly jogging to catch up with me, "Got your ingredient ready?" he asked. "Ingredient?" I looked at him quizzically. "Yeah, your ingredient!.. did you forget?" "forget?" Frisk ran to his chest and tossed me a spice berry way past its prime time, "its the luau today!" fuck. "... You don't have anything better than a mushy spice berry?" "Do you?" "... touché." "Very well, mushy spice berry you shall give then, I on the other hand have got the finest of eggs from Cluck Norris himself." Frisk showed off the egg as if it was Jesus itself. Pretty sure I can count this as blasphemy.

I charged at him, trying to reach the egg, however he held up, and no matter how much I pulled on his arm, I couldn't get it down. Damn, he's got muscles now... I remember when he was buildt like a twig, I miss the twig-Frisk days.. I could steal his egg then.

My bloodthirsty hunt continued all the way to the beach, "You look like the statue of liberty walking around with that egg in the sky" "Nah, I'm prettier." Frisk looked down on me. That fucker. "You share the same brains as her too! She's just a clump of metal!" I have to admit, I'm never proud of turning to childish comments, however I am NOT going with a mushy spice berry to the luau! Turns out no matter how much you try to attack the disgusting hellspawn you call your brother, you'll still end up with a mushy spice berry. Oh well, its not like a tiny spice berry can do much damage to a luau pot, right?

Lush life was blasting on the stereos, much to Robin and Demetrius', and Vincent and Jas' happiness and Shane's dismay. I felt that Shane, I felt that. Frisk dumped his egg in and I dumped my mushy spice berry. It left some weird residue on my hands and they now smell faintly like old spice berry... yuck. "You better rinse your hand before it permanently smells like that" Frisk snickered, "Shut it." Still, I did as he told, not because he told me to do so, I was planning on doing it anyway. 

Frisk went over to Haley and talked to her, much to Alex's dismay, and I went to rinse by the shore. I bent down to rinse my hand and then I heard a cautious voice behind me, "Hi". Jesus fuck whoever disturbed me will face the wrath of- Sophia! "Hi" I reply back. She's wearing her pink sundress, its a slight peach colour, unlike her much colder hair. "..." "..." The mood was awkward. "So..." I put my hands in my pockets...

Sophia chuckled and looked at me, I looked back. We sat down in the sand, me flat on my ass and her gracefully on her knees, her sundress engulfing her knees and only her lower calves poked out behind her. She looked me up and down and smiled. Uptown funk started playing in the background. This hit the ice cold Michelle Pfeiffer that white gold. oh yeah, that's the good stuff. 

My ankles were touching the water whenever a wave came up, I'm gonna have to wash these shoes when I get home. The sun was high in the sky, but luckily Sophia's sunhat blocked out majority of it, giving her an almost halo-like light around her. Our fingers were so close to eachother, if I reached out my pinky I'd be touching majority of her hand. Her eyes were sparkling like the sea as she looked into my stormy ones. We both leaned in closer... I looked at her lips and she looked at mine. "Do.. do you-" "JJ!" the fuck? Shane came jogging down to us. Moment ruined. Fuck whoever it is. "JJ! I need to uh-... Am I interrupting something?" Shane stood with a cold brew in his hands, squeezing it a bit extra, he's uncomfortable, that's clear.

"Uh.. no, don't worry.. I was just going now anyways" Sophia mumbled and stood up and dashed off to God knows where. Shane glanced in the direction Sophia went before clearing his throat, "Sorry..." "Its fine." I snap back. It's not fine. It's far from fine. "What did you need?" I shoot him a strained smile. "Oh, right.. uh.. Could you watch Jas while I uh.. relieve myself?... Marnie is busy oogling over Lewis.." "Sure." "Again I'm sorr-" "Just go piss boy." "right." Fuck. That wasn't how it was supposed to go.

The time for the official luau tasting had come, and people were surrounding around the pot, waiting for the governor to take a taste. Lewis held some speech, I didn't listen, I was busy looking for Sophia. Fuck. Did I miss her? I looked again, no, her familiar pastel pink hair was nowhere to be found... double fuck. 

The governor leaned over the bowl and with his wooden soup ladle, poured himself a portion and took a taste. His eyes shot up immediately and he fought an internal battle between spitting it out or not. He ended up powering through and going into a proper coughing fit before chugging some of the punch, "That.. that is something." his face was completely red as he poured himself another glass of punch. Lewis furrowed his brows and tasted from the governor's bowl and going through the same process as the governor was mere seconds ago. "What is in this?" Gus stepped up this time and poured himself a glass of it, "Oh! this... spice berry..?" "Spice berries are not that strong." Lewis remarked. "Once they go bad they are." "Surely, it can't be that bad, you guys just can't handle spice-" Leah spoke too soon and soon she started coughing and wheezing, "That is not spice!"

After a not so successful luau I could finally go home and pass out for the night. I took the route past Sophia's house to hopefully talk to her before the night was over. A single light was on in her kitchen but before I could turn into her vineyard, Frisk came up behind me. "Whoa, bro, you just bolted off" He laid his arm around my shoulders, "Lovely spice berry you added, JJ, I had no idea they became more... more after they go mush-" I ripped his arm off me and speed walked (borderline jogged) home. "JJ?!" Frisk's voice grew fainter as I reached the wooden-plank-bridges, and it was practically gone in the dark by the time I reached Marnie's.

I slammed the door and locked it as I walked into my farmhouse and carelessly threw off my now ruined by sea water converse. Why did Shane have to come in and ruin shit? I fall face down onto my bed and scream into my pillow. I have to face the fact she probably wouldn't like me back, Shane probably helped me dodge a bullet. How stupid can one person even get? But that night in the saloon... was it just a heat of the moment kiss? Maybe she regrets it. I wouldn't put it past her. Someone knocked on my door, "JJ?" Frisk.

I layed quietly, maybe he's got the attention span of a baby goat and will leave me alone if I don't make a sound. "Are you okay?" ughh can't he just leave me to drown in my own tragic love life? He kept knocking, "I saw you walk in there, I know you're not asleep" 

...

I can hear Frisk's sigh through the slight crack in the window letting in the cool summer night air, "I'll be waiting, if you want to talk." Frisk sighs I hear him moving about before finding a position he likes, a faint park and patter on the stairs is heard before it finally goes quiet.

I shut my eyes tight. I dodged a bullet, a big one, a nuke even. Sophia can settle for someone better, fuck it she's probably even in love with Scarlett... 

That's an even worse outcome.