#bishop being a creep yet again

[b1ackoutartist]

Secret Parentage

natasha romanoff x reader

kate bishop x yelena belova

it´s kinda long, I´m sorry

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The scent of macaroni and cheese wafted through Yelena's apartment, a thick blanket of comfort that wrapped itself around the kitchen. Yelena stirred the simmering pot, a relaxed grin tugging at her lips. She'd always been fond of the simple pleasures, cooking being one of them. But the sudden shrill of her phone disrupted the peaceful tranquility.

"Kate," she answered, recognition coloring her tone with a touch of warmth. The speakerphone echoed throughout the room as she returned her attention back to the stove.

"Hey Yelena," Kate's voice came through, a hint of excitement behind her usual cool composure. "Just wanted to let you know that Y/N just gave birth to a beautiful baby girl."

The spoon Yelena was stirring with clinked against the pot, the news sending a wave of delight through her. "That's wonderful! Are they both okay?"

"Both are fine and resting," Kate assured. "I'll swing by in a bit to fill you in on the details."

A silent laugh escaped Yelena, and she shook her head in bemusement. "Kate, you always sound like we're in some sort of spy novel."

A shared chuckle passed between them before Yelena's curiosity piqued. "So, the million-dollar question, who's the father? You've been incredibly cryptic about that."

There was a pause on the other end, Kate's hesitance almost palpable. "I promised Y/N I wouldn't tell anyone," she finally admitted.

"But, Kate," Yelena objected, her tone a mixture of surprise and a bit of hurt. "We're practically family."

The sound of a deep breath was heard over the speaker. "It's Natasha."

The name hung heavily in the air, a phantom weight that stilled Yelena's movements completely. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the gentle bubbling of the mac and cheese.

"Yelena?" Kate's voice was tinged with worry, breaking the silence.

Yelena shook herself out of her stupor. "Kate, I can't... I can't just not tell Natasha. That's not fair."

"You have to," Kate pleaded, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. "I promised Y/N."

"I don't understand," Yelena admitted, her voice trembling slightly with the strain of it all. "Why wouldn't she want Natasha to know?"

Kate sighed audibly over the phone. "Because Natasha is Natasha, and Y/N doesn't want her child to grow up with someone who... who doesn't commit, you know?"

Behind Yelena, the front door of the apartment creaked open, and in the hallway, the silhouette of Natasha Romanoff froze, the remnants of their conversation drifting towards her, tugging the ground from beneath her feet.

"Yelena, you cannot tell her," Kate's plea echoed through the speakerphone again, the urgent tension of the request clinging to each syllable.

The stress bubbled up within Yelena, boiling over into exasperation. "But Natasha... Natasha could be a great mother, Kate."

"I don't disagree, Yelena," Kate admitted, her voice softening a little. "But this is Y/N's wish. She doesn't trust that Natasha will be there in the long run, not with her lifestyle."

That hit Yelena like a punch to the gut, and she couldn't help the sigh that escaped her lips. This was not a conversation she wanted to be a part of. Yet, here she was, stuck between the woman she loved and the sister she would do anything for.

"Kate, I..." Yelena's voice faltered for a moment before she gathered herself. "Okay. Fine. But only because I love you, Kate. This...this doesn't feel right."

She knew that this promise could strain her relationship with her sister, but Yelena also knew that she had to respect Y/N's decision. After all, it was Y/N's life, Y/N's child, and Y/N's secret to keep.

Meanwhile, Natasha was still frozen in the hallway, her mind racing to process everything she had overheard. The sting of reality hit her like a cold wave, taking her breath away. Y/N, the one woman who'd managed to sneak past her walls, the woman she had shared a single, reckless night with, had just given birth to their child.

And no one told her.

A sense of betrayal gnawed at her heart as she tried to grapple with the fact that Y/N, her own sister, and even Kate didn't trust her enough to be a part of her own child's life. It was a pain far deeper than any physical wound she'd ever endured.

The realization dawned on her that Y/N didn't just keep her in the dark; she didn't trust her enough to shine a light on their shared secret. That hurt more than anything, and Natasha was left standing in the dimly lit hallway, nursing a wound that would take more than time to heal.

Silently, Natasha picked up her keys from the small table near the entrance, the metallic jingle echoing ominously in the silence. She quietly slipped out the door, making sure to leave no trace of her presence. As she descended the staircase, her heart seemed to mirror the sinking feeling within her.

Her car, parked on the side street, offered refuge from the turmoil of her thoughts. She got in and made a snap decision to go grocery shopping, a task she'd planned to do later. The distraction was needed now.

As the cityscape passed by her car window, Natasha’s mind wandered back to Y/N. The multiple rejections stung, but she could handle that. She'd been through worse, after all. What she couldn't wrap her mind around was that one unforgettable night when the lines blurred between friendship and something more. The memories were hazy, coloured with the fog of alcohol, yet the feeling was unmistakable - a connection she hadn't felt before.

But when morning came, Y/N was back to keeping her distance, the wall between them rebuilt seemingly stronger than ever. And now, this revelation... it was all too much to take in at once.

Natasha squeezed the steering wheel, the leather creaking under her grip as she navigated through the city traffic. "I'd be a good mom," she muttered to herself, her voice a hollow echo in the confines of her car. "I’d be there for my kid."

Money wasn't an issue, she was fortunate in that regard. And love? She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she could and would love her child fiercely and unconditionally.

Natasha sighed, a long, drawn-out breath that spoke volumes of her turmoil. She couldn't fathom why others doubted her ability to be a good mother. Was her reputation that tarnished in their eyes?

She wished she could make them see that she was more than her past, that she was capable of loving and caring for a child, her child. But wishes, as Natasha knew all too well, were often far from reality.

And as she pulled into the Target parking lot, the reality of her situation settled heavily on her heart. Her world had changed in ways she could never have anticipated, and now she had to figure out how to navigate through this new reality, one where she was a mother, but not quite yet.

Natasha navigated the familiar aisles of Target, her usual efficiency replaced with a somber pace. Every shelf she passed seemed to hold a memento of Y/N, memories hidden within the mundane. The rich, dark chocolate Y/N preferred, the soft, oversized sweaters she loved to curl up in during colder months, the very specific brand of tea she swore by... each item pulled at Natasha’s heartstrings.

Without a second thought, Natasha picked up each one, letting her fingers trace over the packages as she placed them in her cart. It wasn't rational, she knew. But it felt like a silent ode to the woman who unknowingly held a part of her heart, and now, a part of her life in a way she never imagined.

As she reached the baby section, Natasha found herself frozen in her tracks. Rows upon rows of tiny clothes, baby bottles, soft plush toys, and an endless variety of baby essentials stretched out before her. Her gaze landed on a small teddy bear, its brown fur soft and welcoming.

She picked it up, her fingers running over the plush fabric as she examined it. Her heart clenched at the thought of her child, her and Y/N's child, holding this teddy bear, finding comfort in its softness the way she wished she could provide.

Biting her lower lip, a habit she indulged in when deep in thought, she made her decision. The teddy bear went into the cart, nestled between the chocolate and the sweater, a poignant symbol of the new reality she was coming to terms with.

Each item in her cart was a silent promise, a commitment to Y/N and their child. A promise that despite what others thought, she would prove herself worthy of being a part of her child's life. And maybe, just maybe, she could make Y/N see it too.

Much later that evening, Yelena and Kate found themselves navigating the sterile hospital corridors to visit Y/N once more. The glow of the evening sun filtered in through the hospital windows, casting long, warm shadows. Their steps were hushed, each tread careful, wanting to respect the silence in case Y/N was still asleep.

They reached Y/N's room, the door slightly ajar. With a cautious hand, Yelena gently pushed it open. The sight that greeted them made her heart stop.

There, cradled in Natasha's arms, was the baby. Natasha's face was soft, vulnerable, her green eyes shining with unshed tears as she gazed at the newborn in her arms. A gentle smile graced her lips as she murmured soft words to the baby, her posture protective, her aura radiating warmth and affection.

The scene was so tender, so intimate, that it took Yelena's breath away. She could not resist capturing this moment. She quickly pulled out her phone, and with a silent click, the moment was immortalized.

Kate glanced at Yelena and the phone in her hand, her eyes widening with a mixture of surprise and indignation. "Yelena!" she hissed, quickly pulling her girlfriend away from the scene. The glare she sent Yelena's way spoke volumes.

Yelena just grinned sheepishly at Kate, tucking her phone away with a shrug. "What? It was a cute picture."

Kate only shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. "You're in so much trouble," she muttered, not really angry, but worried about the consequences of Yelena's impulsive act.

The room was filled with a hushed tranquility as Natasha held her daughter, a soft lullaby whispering through the silence. Natasha's heart swelled with emotions she couldn't put into words. The tiny bundle in her arms felt so right, so perfect that it made her heart ache.

"Hello, little one," she whispered, her voice barely audible, her gaze transfixed on the sleeping face of her daughter. "I'm Natasha. I'm your mom."

The baby let out a small gurgle, as if in recognition, her tiny hands reaching out and Natasha held her breath as she felt her finger being grabbed.

A tender smile stretched across her face, as she continued, "I want you to know, I love you so much already. You're my little girl, my beautiful miracle."

Her gaze flickered to the bag resting on the chair nearby, filled with the day's purchases from Target. "I got you something today," she said, her voice catching in her throat as she gestured toward the bag. "Your first teddy bear. It's soft and cuddly, just like you."

With that, she pressed a featherlight kiss on the baby's forehead before gently laying her back down in the crib. Her fingers traced the outline of the baby's face one last time, her heart aching at the thought of leaving. But she had to, she knew. For now, at least.

Her gaze lingered on Y/N, sleeping peacefully on the hospital bed, a mix of longing and regret shadowing her eyes. She wanted so much more, wanted to be a part of this new family she unknowingly created. Yet, she respected Y/N's decision, no matter how much it hurt.

With one last look at her daughter and the woman she loved, Natasha quietly exited the room, her heart heavy yet filled with an unspoken promise.

"I will be back," she whispered to the silent corridor, a vow hanging in the quiet air. "For both of you."

As Natasha navigated the labyrinth of city streets, the glow of her phone screen lit up the car's interior. A new message. From Yelena. She pulled over to the side of the road, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn't sure what to expect.

Unlocking her phone, she opened the message. It was a photo. The picture filled her screen, and for a moment, Natasha could hardly breathe. It was her. Her and the baby. The soft light of the hospital room painted a warm, tender tableau of a mother and her child.

A small smile played at the corners of her mouth, her eyes welling up with emotions as she stared at the photograph. It was real. It was tangible. It was her – holding her daughter.

Without hesitation, she quickly set the picture as her background. Now, every time she'd unlock her phone, she'd be greeted with the image of her and her daughter. A constant reminder of what she now had in her life, and a promise of what she was willing to fight for.

With that, she took a deep breath, the simple act seeming to fill her with newfound determination. She put her phone away, her eyes lingering on the image a moment longer before she focused back on the road.

As she continued her drive home, her mind raced with thoughts, plans, and dreams, and her heart filled with a love she had only just begun to explore. And every time doubt crept into her mind, she would just glance at her phone screen, at the picture that held her world in its frame, and she would know that she was ready to face anything for the sake of her daughter and the woman she loved.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Permission to request follower!bishops + narinder, baal, and aym coming to the readers rescue when a follower is being creepy/sending unwanted advances?

Bishops defending the reader from creeps

Splitting this into two posts I hope that's okay!

Notes: follower bishops, post game, reader is gn

CWs: unwanted advances, fights, implied light stalking in the form of one party following you around and meeting you at your stationed work spaces

LESHY

bold of you to assume hes either not following you two from underground or outright just inserting himself the moment he senses your discomfort. WILL trip the follower from the ground and hide away before he can get caught. hes tempted to outright bite them, though... tempting tempting... surely the lamb wont mind if its to disarm a creep?

in the case of inserting himself hes going to make it more than clear that the follower isnt wanted, talking loudly and obnoxiously in topics that may put others off or making plans with you right in front of them

if youre already together romantically hes going to use it to push the point that youre not interested... and if not, surely youd be find to pretend for just a moment in order to get them away from you. would never force a kiss on you but hes going to go over the top with pet names- almost making a parody of the followers behavior. the king of ripping someone apart literally and metaphorically

HEKET

just because her throat is all torn up doesnt mean shes going to stay silent when she sees someone making you uncomfortable. even if she cant get the words out her looming presence is enough to make anyone buckle under her

and the LOOK she gives them. youve never seen so much hate and disgust in someones eyes, and yet here heket is focusing it all on this one person in this moment to make them back down and leave you alone

shes not going to hide behind excuses to get you away from them, shes going to be blunt when demanding they leave you be. threats will be uttered through clenched teeth, she doesnt care if the force is going to make her wound bleed again, she NEEDS to get this point across and her stubbornness and commitment to it is going to make sure she succeeds

KALLAMAR

hes not the bravest or boldest of his siblings but hes crazy about you and- as shitty it sounds, he does somewhat see it as an opening to come to your rescue and impress you

centuries of shittalking comes to his aid when hes talking down to this follower. every insecurity and imperfection he sees in them is going to be brought up until theyre stumbling over their words. he gets so into it that it fuels him to keep going and to dig deeper

hes not a fighter, and he may try to draw the follower into a place where theres more followers around- perhaps they will fold under having their shit behavior on display and they wont throw hands hopefully- worst case scenario someone gets the lamb and they need to step in

assuming no physical fight happens there he does take you away so you can collect yourself. WILL get in the last word that youre too good for the follower that was bothering you

SHAMURA

theyre.... still intimidating. they seemingly spawn out of no where when they find that youre being followed by someone who wont take no for an answer. they thought it was odd that they went to the kitchens with you, they know their memory isnt the best but dont they recall that that follower was put on wood chopping duty...?

doesnt even waste any time, they check on you- scaring both you and your harasser due to them seemingly just manifesting into the room... do you need some assistance with your tasks? they have two sets of hands, so it will go by faster! their presence calms you, what better savior than the former god of war? even if not all the followers are aware of their past

you dont catch it, but they whisper into the followers ear- whatever they say... or perhaps threaten (promise? they dont make empty threats) leaves them backing off at least for a little while. so be it, they will enact their promise when the time comes

they dont make a scene about it, and prioritize your comfort over it. they wont draw attention to you but will make sure you know theyre backing you up

[blessedshortcake]

Thinking about the ex bishops interacting with each other but mainly Narinder again since they have been around each other while he was locked away.

Thinking about them observing each other from afar. Heket watching as he is talking to someone, making jokes perhaps and feeling something Off only to realise days later that he doesn't gesture while talking anymore. He is somewhat animated with his expressions but he doesn't use his hands much and even then kinda keeps them somewhat close by. Heket choking on a laugh when she sees his ear twitch in annoyance right before making a swipe at the Lamb, something she very well recognises, only to feel cold and angry once she can breathe fine again.

Leshy hearing the same strain in his voice when he is hurt and trying to play it down but this time instead of reassurances that there is nothing to be worried about its snappy commands to not be touched and for people to leave him alone. Leshy talking with Heket about stuff and eventually learning that Naridner looks more mad and annoyer all the time, when Leshy can hear how dull his voice is when they talk, like he is a little sad or just generally not as present as he used to be. I'd imagine he is a lot better at picking up tones with his hearing, but also that he would struggle a lot with visualising things and people, Especially Narinder once they reuinite.

Thinking about Kallamar feeling creeped out because of Narinder's laugh. Because it is not malicious but it also doesn't sound like him. He doesn't laugh like he used to and it feels so Wrong to hear it. Kallamar noticing Narinder creeping around from afar, staring at them from the shadows. He worries what schemes he may be planning, how he may try and toy with them now that they are all vulerable but nothing comes. He just watches.

Thinking about Shamura getting emotional when he does something vaugely familiar. Them finding him asleep in a sunny part of the cult, hidden from most people and quietly purring in content. Them squinting because they want to scratch his ear and pet him but a part of them Knowing that they can't, they just cannot remember Why.

Narinder could watch them through his vessels' journeys through the crown so the ways his siblings have changed over a thousand years is not that jarring to him I'd imagine. He watched them adapt and change while he was gone so now he has to grapple more with the guilt and grief more than anything. They didn't have that. The last they saw him was when they locked him away so their last memory of him is most likely very sour. They most definitely have some strong feelings against him but they are still siblings who grew up together. They know each other inisde out. As mad as they are at each other, it must be unexpected to see the differences (or the lack of ones) even if logically it makes sense there would be some.

Just thinking about all the ways Narinder is both probably a completely different person post being locked up and yet still feeling like he's a ghost that haunts his siblings with how much he is the same. I could go on for hours.

[fairyboygenius]

everywhere, everything

simon “ghost” riley x original female character

a/n: hi guys! i’m so excited to start this fic. allie is so??? one of my favorite ocs i’ve ever made, to be honest. she’s just perfect to me i fear. her and simon are gonna be so hhhhh anyways enjoy the fic!

no warnings for this chapter except for simon acknowledging he’s a little weirdo and implications to the fact that graves fucking sucks

fic under the cut love u mwah

Time isn’t real anymore, Allie’s decided. How could it be? After a transatlantic flight, plus a train ride through the English countryside, the world seemed fuzzier, cool breeze almost soothing her to sleep.

“Look alive, Bishop,” Kate Laswell gently chided, bumping Allie’s elbow with her own. “We’re almost there.”

Allie bit her lip, the words “are we there yet?” on the tip of her tongue. It’s nowhere near professional to whine to your soon-to-be boss about the journey she took for you. No matter if you’ve known that boss for seven years and been through absolute hell together. After a certain point, professionalism dissipates.

“You said that after the plane. And after we got lost in the Underground. And after King’s Cross. ‘Almost’ implies a degree of soonness.” Allie knew she was being unnecessarily literal. Jet lag wore away any pretense and spoons to mask.

Kate shook her head, a smile creeping at her features. “Eat your dinner.”

“Yes, mom.” Allie sipped her water, putting her headphones back on to try to enjoy the train food. Kate huffed, a fond-yet-annoyed expression on her face.

“Lola doesn’t seem to mind the long ride.” Kate laughed as the black lab nudged her hand, tail thumping restlessly against Allie’s leg. “You’re being a good girl, aren’t you?”

Allie ran an absentminded hand over Lola’s head, giving her a quick scratch between the ears. “You sure they’ll be okay having her on base?”

“She’s your service dog. Not like they can say no.”

“They can, actually. I looked it up. Even though I’m in a non-combat role, she can be removed-“

“-If there’s reasonable threat to your or her life,” Kate finished, giving her a comforting smile. “No one’s gonna take her away from you when you’re doing your medic duties. You need Lo to do your job and do your job well. Everyone’s getting briefed about it right now. If anyone gives you hell about it, you come to me.”

Allie nodded. “You know I’m not good with confrontation.”

“But I am.” Kate smiled. “Those boys shouldn’t give you hell- half of ‘em would probably meet the criteria for a diagnosis themselves. If you need space, unless you are actively doing surgery or in a literal war zone, you have permission to go to your room and take a breather. Anyone fights you on this, you can come to me. Got it?”

Allie nodded again, leaning her head against the train window. Lola rested her head on her human’s thigh, and Allie stroked her head absentmindedly. Letting the feeling of Lola’s fur between her fingers ground her.

Kate sighed, taking her other hand. “I know things didn’t go well for you with the Shadow Company, and everything with Philip…”

“Can we not bring him up?” Allie winced, sipping more water. “He’s dead. It’s in the past for me now. And I don’t really want to talk anymore, if that’s alright.”

Kate nodded, content as Allie put her headphones on and closed her eyes. The twinge of maternal concern on her face disappeared soon after, and she turned back to her book as they inched closer and closer to base.

“Captain, a fifth member o’ the team? We’re not enough of a headache for ye?”

Price shook his head, rolling his eyes fondly. The three of them sat in front of him, on the overstuffed common room couch. Johnny was twirling a pen between his fingers, Kyle couldn’t really keep his eyes off his phone, and Simon… well, Simon was just staring into space.

It had been an okay day for him, so far. A good workout, above average meals. Paperwork seemed less burdensome, or maybe his brain was finally embracing the distraction it provided. The scars from his recent mission in Russia were healing well.

Then Price had called them in.

“Lads… calm down.” Price was massaging his temples. Clearly, Johnny had forgotten to take his meds that morning. “She’s gonna be our resident medic- and yes, it’s a bird, the fraternization rules still apply.” He took a drag from his cigar. “Laswell sent over a whole presentation on ‘er. They’ve known each other for a while, apparently.”

“We’ve got a whole medbay, can’t we pluck one of them to be a 141 specialist?” Kyle leaned back on his elbows. “No offense to her.”

“Laswell would like to introduce a new person. The hope is for you to bond with her because she’ll be living on the 141 floor, participating in workouts and team bonding and she’ll be going on missions with us. We’ve noticed that you lot tend to put off medic visits or not go to the medbay when you need to, so having an on-team medic will hopefully reduce the amount of bigger health problems that spiral from you lot ignoring smaller ones.”

“You’re just as bad as the rest of us about that,” Simon scoffed.

Price grumbled. “Guess this is for me too, then.”

“So tell us about ‘er.” Soap leaned forward slightly, looking up at the screen. “What’s her name?”

Price clicked to the next slide. A picture popped up- a redhead, body luxurious and full, a black labrador puppy on her lap. Her smile was a bit shy, brown eyes shining as the puppy licks the side of her face. Simon’s eyes traced over her features, across her broad shoulders and collarbone, down over her breasts- the black tank top she’s wearing in the picture has a low neckline- and to where the photo ends, her bare thighs crossed as she sits. He swallowed. Shit.

“This is Lieutenant Allison Bishop- she goes by Allie,” Price said. “Laswell’s known her since she was 19, when she graduated basic. She is autistic and struggles with loud noises, so she likely will have some form of hearing protection on when we’re in the field. The puppy is Lola, who’s now Allie’s service dog- she’ll travel with us, and has her own hearing protection. Allie’s getting her own room, obviously, and bathroom, but she’ll share schedules and meal times. When we’re in mission-specific training, she’ll be working in the medbay and helping out where they need it. We can’t hog her forever.”

Like hell we can’t, Simon thought.

“Can we pet the dog?” Gaz looked so excited, Simon could almost sense the mood shift. Price sighed.

“Afraid that’s a negative,” their captain said. “Lola is working when she’s with Allie, and unless Allie gives you explicit permission to, you can’t pet her.”

“Pet Allie or Lola?” Simon can’t resist asking.

Price groaned. “Neither without the explicit permission of Allie.”

“So when’s she gettin’ here?”

“She’s on the train from London to Hereford with Laswell as we speak. She’ll be probably be all moved in and ready to work by tomorrow morning.” Price sighed. “From what Laswell said, she’s not exactly the most outgoing person around new people, so she may get overwhelmed and be kind of closed off at first. It may take her a bit to really warm up to us besides just simple kind professionalism.”

“Oi, Cap’n, dinnae worry about tha’.” Soap grinned. “We can be whatever she needs.” He winked, and Gaz faked a gag. Simon just groaned, reaching up to rub his own temples.

“Oh, real mature,” he grumbled. “We dismissed?”

Price nods. “Behave, lads. I’ll see you muppets at breakfast.”

They walked out of the common room together, headed towards the hallway that stored all their rooms. It would be an early night- a luxury, Simon was well aware, not often afforded on the field. He was fully ready to settle in with a book and a glass of bourbon when he saw the sign on the door next to his.

Welcome, Lieutenant Bishop!

Fuck. He was gonna stay away from her, give her some space to accommodate to the new environment first before making his move. It’d be the nice thing to do, after all- let ‘er settle in, get into a routine, hopefully not scare her off with his whole… thing. (He’s nothing if not self aware.)

But if she was right there… they’d be running into each other in the hallways. He could probably walk her back and forth from their rooms, seeing as she wouldn’t know her way around the base. Maybe even invite her in for a cuppa, or a drink if they clicked… not that Simon was any more competent at social interactions. Especially not with beautiful women.

Beautiful women who he couldn’t be with, no matter how much he wanted to be.

He flopped back onto his bed, letting out a long huff. Fine, he’d be civil. Not necessarily nice, but civil. He’d just have to hope that she’d be charmed by his unsettling gazes and grunts… somehow.

Fuck.

[fancyrat4cotl]

This is part 2.

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They were arguing again. It's a normal occurrence for the five siblings to argue, as they had been for thousands of years. And, this time, it's getting out of control. Ideology differences had always caused a rift between them. Leahy, Hemet, Kallamar, and Shamura may no longer be gods, but they had been granted a kingdom in their old realms as long as they swore to spread The Lamb's new faith.

Lamani is the emperor of Flockhaven, and also owned their very own fifth kingdom on the same grounds where they started their cult. Narinder was not a Monarch like his siblings, but the lead disciple, and Lamani's most trusted advisor. One of his duties was to settle disputes between his siblings, and if he couldn't succeed, Lambani would step in.

To say that Narinder was burdened would be an understatement. He hasn't seen a single glimpse of The Lamb since their… accidental love confession.

He couldn't stop his sibling's aggression and had backed away. Shamura was against fighting, ironic for once being the bishop of war, but their wise words had no effect to sway their family away from fighting.

It's time for Lamani to cease this madness before tensions rise, just like they had always done before.

But they are nowhere to be seen.

Narinder feverishly roamed the palace grounds for hours on end every single day for the past month, while pondering what Lamani had said to him that fateful night.

"I… Love you-"

That was what they had whispered in their silky, hushed voice. He felt sick, nauseated, even. The walls around his heart may have fallen, but it was still bound in chains, constricting tighter with each beat, threatening to cease his pulse. Each time his mind crosses the thought of reciprocation, violent flashbacks of his siblings imprisoning him haunt his conscience. But worst of all, Lamani's betrayal sent him over the edge, challenging him and usurping his crown.

He couldn't love them. He won't.

Fear held him in a chokehold, afraid to love with the lingering paranoia of getting betrayed yet again. He won't get hurt if he ignored his longing, no matter how much it ached. There was no time for that nonsense, anyways. His priority was to find Lamani. War was creeping in the minds of all the citizens.

Where could they be? Narinder's mind raced with impulsive thoughts, each one amplifying his anxiety even further. You're not a fool, not anymore. Think. Where did they hide when they were stressed? With trembling breaths and aching lungs, he combed through their throne room, private quarters, the confessions booths, and every shadowy corner of the churches he visited. But as the days passed by, his desperation only grew. Not even the darkest recesses of the cathedral yielded any sign of them. The shadows didn't take on a familiar shape anymore.

In the depths of his memory, there lingered one last location Lamani would be. The ruins lay far beyond the borders of the empire, forgotten about for nearly a thousand years. But to reach them, Narinder would first have to navigate through one of the four territories controlled by his siblings.

He thought approaching Shamura in Silk Cradle might be the best way to go, but Shamura's paranoia has caused them to set up a brutal defense, barricading each and every entrance to their kingdom with traps and guards. If war should break out, they plan to defend their people with everything they have. They knew of war and what it could bring.

Kallamar, Heket, and Leshy were the main primary instigators, their voices clashed in a deadly debate over rather mysterious motives. Narinder sensed a deeper conflict at play, one fueled not by mere material desires, but by ideologies. What hidden beliefs were driving their discord? He could only guess, since he was unable to fully realize the conflict before giving up.

With every step closer to Pilgrim's Passage, the salty scent of the ocean filled his nostrils as the wind brushed his whiskers. The shoreline was quite beautiful underneath the storm clouds.

He could see them. Two figures in the dim, mid-day light at the very edge of the pier. Three-and-a-half eyes met his own as he approached.

"My lord, is that you?"

"We heard The Lamb had gone missing! Are you okay?"

"I require a boat. It's imperative that I go beyond and around the empire's territory to reach my destination. Fortunately, you two arrived, just like you do at the beginning of every season. I've been waiting a full month for this." Narinder brushed aside their questions and concerns. He needed to focus.

Aym and Baal exchanged tense glances, a silent agreement passing between them as they moved aside, allowing Narinder to pass. The sunlight behind the clouds shone an eerie glow over the modest sailboat, its silhouette promising both salvation and danger.

At the edge of the pier, Narinder hesitated as his heart began pounding with uncertainty. Each moment he lingered intensified the burning sensation in his chest, a relentless reminder of his constant inner turmoil.

Unable to bear the agony any longer, Narinder whirled around, his actions guided by instinct rather than reason. His body moved on its one as he enveloped Aym and Baal in a tight, unexpected embrace. Though baffled by the inexplicable sensation, he welcomed the temporary relief as the flames within him momentarily died.

Aym and Baal initially recoiled in surprise as Narinder sweeped them into his arms, their bodies tensed with confusion. They exchange bewildered looks, uncertainty flickering on their muzzles as they struggle to comprehend the sudden intimacy.

"Whoa, my lord, what's going on?" Aym stammers, attempting to break free from the unexpected embrace.

"Yeah, this isn't like you!" Baal adds, his voice laced with unease.

But as Narinder held them tighter, his desperation palpable in the air, Aym and Baal's resistance gradually softened, as if sensing the depth of his turmoil, they relent, returning the embrace with hesitant but genuine warmth. Slowly, the initial surprise gives way to acceptance as they stand together, united for the first time in centuries.

And there he was, disembarking to one of the last remaining strongholds of the old faith: Mystland. As the tide carried the vessel away, he could see the two black cats waving vigorously and chasing him along the shoreline, only stopping once the trees blocked their view.

His spirit felt a tad lighter now, like four little feet stomped out the fire in his chest and pulled back the chains surrounding his heart.

His hand rested just below his collarbone as thunder rolled overhead.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Seventeen.

Here's to the weekend, besties! Hope you all have a lovely one :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen

Words - 4,096

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse.

The men around the table all sat wide eyed after hearing of the proposal offered to them by Rocco Lombardi, his message relayed by EZ. Well, to call it a proposal was a stretch; he’d point blank told them that come their next shipment, there would also be six children to be moved along with it. EZ and Bishop had met him at a hotel up on Lake Tahoe the previous evening, Lombardi turning a week away there with his closest associates into a chance to meet for business.  

The business was, needless to say, not something they wanted to entertain. Moving heroin was one thing; trafficking children was something else entirely.  

“It seems what Emma brought to us all those months ago was a very real warning. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been hoping that maybe she was wrong, that what happened to her wasn’t about to become something we now have to face, but that was an unrealistic expectation. I see that now.” 

A pin could have been heard dropping in templo, the nine men assembled all looking between each other, Guero being the first to speak. “Well, all of you know my opinion before I even speak it, for obvious fucking reasons.” 

Angel’s eyes widened. “I think you’re speaking for all of us, bro. I ain’t down with that, trafficking kids. It’s fucked up.”  

“Yeah, but do we even have another choice, here?” Hank rumbled, his frown deep set as the unpleasantness of the situation weighed heavily in his chest. “If we refuse, Lombardi wipes us off the fucking map. That’s how it goes with these mobster pricks. He’s got the weight, and he’s got the numbers.” 

“He’s right,” Nestor piped up, lifting his chin. “We either have to do something really messed up, or messed up stuff finds its way to us.”  

“Not necessarily,” EZ spoke, looking around the table, feeling the same pressure bearing down upon him as every other member of his club. “There has to be a way around it that we’re not thinking of.” That way around it was not immediately forthcoming, the men filing out of the room again, Guero heading out and over to the workshop. The feeling of creeping trepidation that had begun to consume him was abated at the sight that greeted him, Emma sat aboard a CVO Street Glide, rolling the throttle, the engine like thunder as the ground shook. Her face was so delighted, he felt his heartstrings tug.  

“I did this! I repaired it, all by myself!” she called over the chug of the engine, carefully manoeuvring the motorcycle backwards to neatly place it opposite the workshop, ready for its owner to come and collect later that afternoon. 

His pride was clear, greeting her with affection after she’d secured the bike and climbed off. “My talented baby,” he cooed, kissing her cheek multiple times, tightening his arms around her as she leaned against him. “You sure you still wanna get your learners permit for a car? You look good aboard a motorcycle. Too good, actually. Damn.”  

“I might be subject to changing my mind,” she shrugged, Guero pulling her a little closer. She cast her eyes downward, biting her lip at what she could feel pressing hard against her navel. “Seriously? Jesus fucking Christ, the sight of me on a motorcycle did that?” 

He snorted softly, moving her long braid and kissing the side of her neck. “It was more the thought of bending you over it.”  

“Guero!” Her little exclamation had him in fits, arms sliding to encircle her hips, preventing her from moving. 

“Nah, you can’t move yet. Not until I don’t look like I’m impersonating a fucking tepee.” It was her turn for hysterics then, resting her head against his chest, Lee watching them from the workshop, making a fingers down her throat motion, gagging noises included. 

“Revoltingly, disgustingly in fuckin’ love, bleugh!” she teased, although her smile was fond. “Go take your break, sunshine. You’ve earned it.”  

“Alright, I’ll go in...” she trailed off, arching an eyebrow at her guy. “How long?” 

“Hmm, couple of minutes. You being pressed right up against me ain’t helping.”  

She lifted her chin, touching her tongue to her cupid’s bow. “Could go visit the bathroom, make use of the tepee situation?”  

He groaned, softly butting his forehead against hers a few times. “Can’t. Gilly’s in there with what he’s calling plague of the ass. Translation, he ate some fucking bad tacos.” 

It never surprised her, just how often he failed to learn his lesson. “Ewww, I’m so glad I don’t need to pee!”  

Somebody else did, though.  

“Fuck, Gilly!” Bottles announced a short time later, leaving the bathroom with a sour look on his face. “That smell, it’s a fucking affront to my nose, man.”  

“Told you,” the big man shrugged, looking entertained. “It needs leaving for about fifteen to twenty.” 

“It needs a biohazard sign spraying onto the damned door!” he continued, his face still pinched in disgust.  

Affront. His usage of that word was the spark in Guero’s brain, since it was something he so seldom heard used by the people within his world.  

“It’s an affront to god, snatching children from their families.” 

While it had been many months since Emma had recited those words to him, by the underboss of the Romano crime family whose name had since escaped him, he’d never forgotten the statement. It was one he’d agreed with so heavily, it had etched itself into his brain.  

They had to leave shortly after, Gilly staying behind on account of the fact he was only ever two minutes from shitting his pants at any given moment. For the entire ride up to meet with the Grim Bastards, their allies requiring assistance in a matter, Guero found himself lost in thought. One set of eyes in particular noticed, the guys all taking a load off after their meeting had been concluded, having a few beers at the Grim Bastard’s clubhouse.  

“Can’t help but notice you’re kinda far away," EZ spoke, sliding into a seat next to Guero at the bar.  

“Nah, I’m here, P,” Guero assured him, lifting his chin. “I just got something on my mind, something I’m wondering over.” 

EZ’s forehead creased slightly. “Care to share that?” 

He took a moment, trying to order his thoughts. “I don’t even know if it’s possible, trying to guess the motives of a man we don’t know, but Rocco’s underboss, Emma told me specifically how against the whole child trafficking he was. It’s making me wonder just how badly against it he is. She said he went along with it for the sake of not getting shot, but... ahhh.” Shaking his head, he took a big swig from his beer. “I dunno, man.” 

EZ began to smile. “So, what you’re saying is that perhaps if Vincent Calabrese didn’t like it, then we might have a way in where negotiating a different deal is concerned?”  

“Yeah, but how? Feels impossible.”  

“Your girlfriend would know how. I met him last night for the first time, but his demeanour gave nothing away. However, if he confided something like that in her, then he trusted her on some level, might’ve mentioned other things to her, too.” He took a few moments to think about it further, his eyes narrowing as he scratched his chin. “I wonder how content he is, sitting the next rung down from a man who is participating in something he’s so against?” Another pause followed, EZ finishing his beer. “If there’s a chance we can oust Rocco and bring Vincent to the top instead, then we don’t have to either bend to Lombardi’s will or die.”  

Guero frowned, turning to EZ as they both stood. “I guess that depends on how loyal he is to his boss.” 

“Yeah,” he remarked, grasping his kutte. “Which is why we need to head back to I can ask the younger of the tattooed, blonde bike princesses all about it.”  

He felt a little trepidation at that, knowing that while Emma was recovering well, no longer plagued by nightmares or pre-programmed responses to anything that spooked her, her anxiety also levelled out, mentioning the mafia would likely stir things up for her. Then again, they were at an impasse, one which her knowledge truly could help with.  

When they arrived, they found the women had finished for the day, sitting inside with Gilly. 

“Hey, you firmed up yet, gut rot?” Guero asked, picking up a beer before joining them at their table, EZ following. 

Gilly revealed the bottle of Pepto in his grasp. “It takes like pink death, but at least I’m not shitting through the eye of a needle any longer.”  

“Emma, I need to talk to you,” EZ began, his words making her stomach flip unpleasantly. “Nothing bad, well, it involves a person from your past. You okay to talk here, or do you wanna go someplace private?” 

She swallowed a nervous gulp, her eyes flitting around before landing on his. “Depends on what you want to know.”  

“Everything about Vincent Calabrese is what I wanna know.”  

Her insides relaxed a little to hear that. If any man had taken pity on her, not treated her as terribly as the rest did, it had been the Romano underboss. She’d never go as far as to call him a nice man, she truly didn’t know him well enough to gauge that, but his refusal to force himself between her legs every time she’d been offered up to him was something she’d never forgotten. “He was the only one with a shred of decency in so much that he never laid a finger on me. The rest were raping sacks of shit, but he never partook.”  

Hearing a deep, pissed off mutter followed by a suck of breath over teeth, she thought it was Guero’s anger rising at first, before realising the sound came from her right, not her left. Lee’s hand rested to her wrist, her fingers flexing in grip, letting her know silently how what she’d confided still made a bolt of anger tear through her.  

“And you told Guero that he was against the whole child trafficking ring, yes?” 

“Correct,” she confirmed, feeling her heart beginning to escalate, Lee suddenly vacating her seat and striding towards the bar. “He said, and I quote, that it was an affront to god. Anything to do with children is a line many of them just will not cross, be it fear of god’s wrath, or what, but he did allude to the fact that not everybody was on board with it. Arguing with Rocco is unheard of in their world, though.”  

EZ leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed upon hers. It made her feel a little unsteady, her heart continuing to hammer, reaching to rest her hand to Guero’s thigh beneath the table. He immediately covered it with his own, fingers weaving through hers. “And his loyalty to Lombardi?” 

She took a moment, putting the pieces together rapidly. “He told you, didn’t he? Tiny consignment has been proposed?” He nodded, Emma continuing. “He’s loyal, mainly out of respect to Carmine, Rocco’s late father and former boss. I think there might have been a little resentment, that Rocco took the reins of the family at just thirty-two years old when he died, meaning Vincent still remained seated beneath another, but he seemed to toe the line. You’re asking because you need an ally on his side of the fence, right? You want to try and seek out an alternative to Rocco’s proposal and hope you can have a voice close to him that might sway that in your favour?” 

“Not exactly,” EZ hummed, Lee arriving back with them, carrying with her five shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. The first one was slid to her friend, Emma downing it in one. “I want a way in to know if there’s a weak point in Lombardi’s fence that if pushed against, will cause that fence to break apart.” 

She read between the lines. “Jesus fucking Christ, EZ. You actually want to off him, and seek Vincent’s blessing to do so?” 

He remained unflinching, other than to sink the tequila proffered forth by Lee. “Do you think that’s possible? Men of power can be swayed by the promise of greater power, after all. If we served as the facilitators of Rocco's sudden vanishing, meaning naturally Calabrese got to rise into the seat I suspect he’s always hankered for, then he gets what he wants, with no more tiny consignment business to endure, and we get a way out of the predicament that means we either cave and move said tiny consignment, or die.”  

He paused for a second, gauging her for a reaction. She looked startled, but did not immediately offer forth words that negated the validity of his tentative plan. “Do you have a contact for him?” 

She shook her head. “Nope, never needed to call him for anything. The only phone number I remember from that life is Marie’s, and I will die before I endanger my mom by reaching out to her for it, that I can tell you. It was risky enough contacting her once to let her know I was safe. I won’t do it again.”  

Her hand clenched hard upon Guero’s, and he could tell instantly that it wasn’t just fear that gripped her. She was getting angry, because she knew, she knew exactly where he was leading.  

“Then I need you, Emma. He’s in Lake Tahoe right now at that hotel Bish and I met Lombardi within. I need you to quietly go meet with him.” 

Her jaw set. “Oh, so I’m just supposed to travel up there, back into the jaws of the organisation I escaped from ten months ago? Fuck that. As soon as Rocco sees me, he’ll take me back again.”  

“Not if you’re careful,” he began, pouring himself another tequila and sinking it, refilling her glass, too. “Disguise yourself, head up there with Guero, find out what room he’s in and go put my offer to him. If I go back there, it’ll rouse suspicion. Has to be someone Lombardi hasn’t seen before.” 

 "And if he isn't suggestible, I'm a goddamned sitting duck." 

 "If you don't, then we all are. In fact, we're worse. We're either trafficking kids, ones who won't have the safeguard of Marie Lombardi protecting them like you did, or we're all dead and you're back on Staten Island, this new life of yours obliterated along with the rest of us." 

Panic began to flood her, her chest beginning to heave, Guero quick to rest his hand to the back of her neck, squeezing gently. “Breathe, baby. It’s okay.”  

“No,” she gulped. “No, it fucking isn’t.”  

He knew it wasn’t, too. Unfortunately for Guero, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, wanting to speak up in defence of his girlfriend and say to EZ that it wasn’t that simple for Emma to risk exposing herself like that, but also gently suggest to her that if she could at least try, they might be in with a shot of escaping their dilemma.   

“And it won’t be, unless you agree,” EZ added, the thumbscrews tightening. Just because Guero couldn’t speak up against his president, it didn’t mean another at the table felt forced into silence. 

“Ezekiel, you’re scaring her. Enough,” Lee spat, her hand once again resting to Emma’s wrist.  

He leaned across the table, eyes narrowing. “This doesn’t concern you. Don’t get involved.” 

“The fuck, I won’t!” she hissed, Bishop hearing her ire and moving himself over immediately. He did not trust his wife not to leap across the table, and that was the last thing anyone needed. “If you want her to be in any way, shape or fuckin’ form agreeable, then you don’t handle it like this. You don’t make her fuckin’ regress to being that same frightened girl who came in here little under a year ago after fleeing for her life. No way, not on my watch, ain’t happening.” 

“This is the gun to her head all over again, bro,” Guero spoke, not able to hold it back. The feeling of Emma trembling against him prompting his words before he’d truly given them consideration. Leaning forward, he spoke quietly into EZ’s ear. “Gimme a moment. There’s a better way than being blunt. She knows what’s at stake, believe me.”  

EZ’s face remained under a veil of contemptuous thunder, Guero taking Emma’s hand and pulling her up, walking with her out of the clubhouse. Since more people, other guys from different charters, the usual scattering of bike bunnies too had all shown up, he took her off across to the awning their bikes lined up beneath, leaning back against his and wrapping her in his arms. As soon as she was within the safety of his embrace, she began to cry. 

“S’okay, baby. Shhh, it’s alright.”  

“But it isn’t, though!” she sobbed, her throat pinching tight, burying her nose against the side of his neck and inhaling his scent for comfort. “I only have one option, and that’s to go and risk everything I’ve worked so hard to run away from. If he sees me, Guero, oh god. I’m done for.” 

“Hey, no you’re not.” He reached beneath her chin, making her emerge from her hiding place. “There’s a way we can do this where you get to see the one person there who you know ain’t gonna hurt you, and not be seen by the one who will. Side note, though. The fuck is he taking you from me, nah. A hundred percent not happening.”  

She felt a little reassured by that, of course forgetting that her boyfriend would likely take down anyone who attempted to harm her. But it’s what would happen to him in the aftermath that made her worry. He saw the fear in her rising to the surface, her eyes still widened and glassy, kissing her before he continued. 

“This is how we do it. One thing EZ suggested that was good is disguising you, because even if Rocco gets a glimpse of you from afar, you won’t fit the mental picture he has of you. Emma to him is a tall, pale blonde. Now, you’re a tall, tanned, tattooed blonde, but stick you in a wig and I dunno, you’re a tall, tanned, tattooed redhead?”  

True, her appearance had changed since arriving, her skin now perpetually golden, and her collection of tattoos ever growing. She now also sported two half sleeves along with the large piece that stretched from her sides down across her lower back, one arm dedicated to her love of birds, the other a dryad surrounded by a canopy of leaves, which was in the process of being finished.  

Seeing her begin to calm, Guero continued. “Stick some of your big shades on as well and cover your cheek mole up, and he ain’t gonna see it’s you from a glimpse, is he? I’ll go check us in first and then we’ll just head right up to the room, where you don’t have to leave until we know where Vincent is staying. Wanna know why you’re not gonna leave? Because your man here is going be laying some serious pipe in you for as long as we’re there. That’s all it’ll be, room service and a fuck fest. How’s that sound?” 

Softness and humour. Yes, her guy certainly knew how to handle her when she was spiralling into fear.  

“That sounds great,” she replied, breathing a sigh of relief. She could do that, she guessed, although she knew that even in the lobby, she’d experience the fear flooding her, just in case she came face to face with him. She had no choice, though. Her love and her friends ending up dead and her back in captivity in New York was definitely the scarier option. “How are you gonna find out what room he’s in, though?” 

He shrugged, kissing the tip of her nose. “I’ll work something out.”  

Just then, shouting became audible from the open clubhouse door, Bishop emerging, carrying Lee over his shoulder.  

“What the...” Emma trailed off, Bish scanning the surroundings, changing his course when he saw them and heading over. He didn’t look impressed. Placing her down, they soon found out why.  

“I swear to god I’ll...” she began, her husband pointing a stern finger. 

“No! Not another fucking word, Eileen Mary.” His stare lingered before he walked back the way he came, Emma turning to Lee.  

“What did you do?” 

She held up her hand, her knuckles an angry shade of red. “Punched EZ in the face.”  

She cringed, Lee flexing her fingers and muttering. “So, that's why you got the full first name and middle name treatment, huh?"  

Lee’s eyes widened, the presence of EZ coming hurtling from the clubhouse distracting them as they watched it unfold, Bishop pushing against his chest. “Leave it, mano. C’mon, I don’t agree with her punching you, but you ain’t gonna go after my wife. She might be wrong, but I’ll fucking drop you if you lay a hand on her, president or not.”  

“Then she needs to not involve herself in club matters! This ain’t the place for old ladies to be getting up in our fucking business!” 

Bishop continued pushing him back. “Yeah? You just asked another to get involved, one who just so happens to be her best friend. C’mon, EZ. You know how protective she is. Cool it.” 

Lee wound an arm around Emma’s shoulders, laying a kiss to the side of her head. “Damned fuckin’ straight, you’re my best friend.” 

Emma turned, her face stunned. “You punched him for me?” 

“Sure did, sunshine.”  

Hearing that, Guero reached for her, clasping her face and planting a huge smacker of a kiss on her lips. “Thank you for that, because I kinda wanted to, but couldn’t. Cuz’ there’s the rock, there’s the hard place and then there’s Guero fucking Ortiz, right in the goddamned fucking centre!”  

His gesticulating had them chuckling, Guero shaking his head, indicating he’d be back. “Yo, prez! It’s handled, man. Emma and I will go up there, I’ll book us a room right now for a couple of nights.”  

EZ began to simmer down immediately, as Guero knew he would, having his wishes complied with. “Just in case of shit going south, take a couple of others with you.” 

Bishop shook his head immediately. “Nah, it’ll attract too much attention, a sudden influx of outlaw presence there.” He then looked to his wife before his eyes scanned the rest of the yard. “Gilly! Get over here.”  

A plan was swiftly formed, Emma and Guero and Lee and Gilly would attend, for all intents and purposes simply looking like two couples spending a few days away together so as not to rouse suspicion, but also being the help on hand should anything nefarious arise. Bishop couldn’t do it, of course, with Lombardi knowing his face.  

After that, apologies were extended, Lee and EZ clearing the air, and the night continuing. Outlaws. While they fought big, they loved bigger, EZ taking a moment to have a private word with Emma, too. 

“I want you to know I appreciate you, and I’m sorry. I’m too hot headed, not good at dialling it back when I know my club is in mortal danger, the kind of danger that you know better than anyone. Still, it’s no excuse.” He reached for her then, taking his face in her hands, kissing her forehead. “We’ve both worked too hard for everything we have; I don’t want either of us to lose it.”  

She nodded, smiling. For once, she felt nothing but very genuine sincerity coming from him. “Neither do I.” She gently thumbed his eye, EZ laughing a small burst from his nose as he saw her trying not to laugh. “My girl got you good, huh?” 

“Oh yeah,” he snorted. “She loves the hell out of you.”  

Looking over at Lee, who gave her a wave and a wink, Emma could only agree that the feeling was entirely mutual.  

She loved her friends and the life she had carved out for herself with them, and if that meant she had to face the demons of her past in order to continue enjoying it while also keeping those people safe, then she knew what had to be done.  

[t-inbound]

My Lot

 Alright, this is a short story I wrote from a request I got from Discord. It is about an interaction between their OC and the whole Bishop gang, told from sort of the point of view of Heket. It is sort of a sweet story, well as sweet as I tend to make my stories but I am sure there is enough fluf and angst for both sides here.

Oh and as usual the Ao3 link is down there if you all wanna read it there. (:

It was a quick affair, a simple chant uttered before the knife met the flesh. Simple and efficient, a rush of faith and strength washing over before pooling over one’s core. Normally, not a single thing that should go wrong barring the odd last moment regrets or a particularly unwilling sacrifice causing a ruckus that would be dealt in but a moment.

Or it should have been but somehow, someway now they were stuck deciding what to do with a newborn rabbit.

Trying to dull out the absurdity of their situation she rubbed at her eyes, trying to focus on what was being said in front of her to take her attention away. As expected her siblings were talking endlessly about how to proceed without coming to a conclusion.

To think they came to this moment just because of a sacrifice their chaotic little brother chose from her lot, who happened to be pregnant. Then the said follower giving birth just before getting sacrificed instead of passing away with the child to save them the trouble.

Well At the very least the she rabbit had relented quickly and without causing further trouble she thought, which was probably the only silver lining to their current situation.

All these strange and totally not planned incidents led them to this very moment. Instead of attending to their lot and perhaps changing their bandages or really anything than to waste their time here. Instead they had to sit around and speak on a subject so benign it should be left for their respective witnesses to deal with it.

Groaning softly against her arm, she looked around lazily. She would curse at her once follower, but in all honestly their chaotic brother was more at blame for their predicament than the obedient but perhaps unwilling follower. The very same brother who was snickering as he was watching their siblings argue from the side.

If she could hear her own voice over the shouts coming from Kallamar arguing with their eldest, she would be giving the bush worm a piece of her mind. However, that would have to wait. For now.

With a sigh she once again tried to pay attention to their conversation.

A shrill voice belonging to Kallamar rang out ‘’I am telling you, this will not end well!’’ Rolling her eyes at their second youngest’s antics she focused on their eldest instead.

Running a claw over their face and with a much calmer but obviously strained voice Shamura spoke ‘’My venerable Brother, can you explain to us how an infant is to cause any harm to us?’’

Pointing at the infant in question who was currently babbling in her basket ‘’It is obviously going to try to hunt us down when it is older! Can't you see it?’’ Looking at the rabbit that was smaller than a single finger of her she normally would have laughed at the suggestion coming from their brother. How could a mortal even hope to do that? Alas, she couldn’t make her amusement known due to… the injuries.

Great she thought, now she was conscious about her throat on top of being bored out of her mind.

Lost in the thought and desperately trying to stop the creeping pain she almost couldn’t hear the cries coming from the newborn. It was shrill noise as expected, reverberating against the stone temple walls and echoing back to them.

She had to give it to her, she had good lungs, but yet it was rather futile. Desperately crying out for someone that could not come to her aid was just a waste of time. No use spilling tears when it got you no results.

Now only if their brother could figure that out she thought, now with a smirk she could almost ignore the continued wailing. Almost.

Looking at her siblings she didn’t see any reaction from any one of them at the sobs coming from the newborn. Kallamar was still complaining as he tended to, Shamura was still trying to speak some sense into him with limited success and Leshy was just being Leshy.

With a deeper than usual sigh she moved her hand to the infant. She did not know much about child rearing but she did know that she was probably just hungry. It was her domain afterall.

It didn’t take much of her power to satiate the little thing, but slightly more than she thought it should have been. Suddenly her smirk grew into a smile for some odd reason, and before she could stop herself words fell off her mouth ‘’Ravenous little thing ain’t you?’’

It was strange finding fondness in her own voice in that moment, then again anything but a raspy hoarse noise was hard to hear out of her these days.

Lost in thought she didn’t hear her siblings until she felt Shamura’s hand on her shoulder. It took her a moment to realize what was happening as she turned her head back to face their eldest. She was met with Their four eyes looking at her expectedly.

Her usual quite heart pounding in its place it took her a moment to get her senses back enough to ask them ‘’U-um yes my eldest?’’ Her words fumbled slightly as she tried to address them properly.

They sighed before retreating their claw back ‘’I had asked you your opinion on the matter’’ She blinked at his words, all four opening and closing blankly. Right, she was still here and was supposed to add her own opinion.

What could she even really add to the conversation though? She didn’t really share their brother’s ideas of sacrificing the newborn for some odd paranoid reason felt… cruel.

Which as strange as it sounded didn’t really sit well with her. Gathering her thoughts she spoke carefully ’’I suppose we can entrust her with another follower?’’ It made sense to her, why bother with all this talk instead of letting the little nuisance be taken care of instead.

They shook their heads slowly ‘’No, we cannot do that.’’ they continued after a pause ‘’The family that would receive the child would see it as a boon we are bestowing with at best, which would upset the rest of the followers or perhaps be seen as a burden we are punishing with.’’

Right she supposed she did not really think about that, meeting her sibling’s eyes ‘’I see’’

With a tinge of disappointment she could feel radiating out of her sibling ‘’Do please pay attention to our meetings sister’’ They looked back away from them as they added quietly ‘’it is unbecoming of you.’’

Looking away to hide her shame ‘’Of course Eldest’’ Looking around to see if anyone had seen their interaction she saw Leshy giggling off to the side. Clenching her fist against her robes under the table she uttered curses unheard by mortal ears, in languages long forgotten. That worm really deserved an earful.

But as it seemed their brother was not just content with being amused off to the side after his mischief, as suddenly his arm flew towards the newborn. Snatching the little thing in one fell swoop.

She felt her slow heart skip a beat as the youngest started  ‘’Look, the way I see it there is only one way around this’’ he begun to methodically throw the basket into the air and catching it in his hand, in way that would be playful if it didn’t seem like he was enjoying his sibling’s reaction rather than the ‘game’ he was playing with the newborn.

Clearing his throat ‘’None of you are willing to sacrifice it, none of you wanna find someone to take care of it’’ In a moment his teeth shone with a bone white brilliance, taking a feral look expected of him ‘’Then I suppose it would be fine for me to take her under my wing’’

The whole counsel grew quiet in a moment as each of the bishops took in the news differently. Kallamar seemed content at the idea as she saw him visibly calm down, no doubt thinking that their brother would get bored of the little thing and discard it quickly. As for Shamura, they seemed like they were considering the option, weighing the pros and cons.

She on the other hand only felt a cold creep from within her very core, a cold that could not be explained with mere weather. Their youngest taking care of anything let alone a baby felt… wrong.

As she considered the mere idea of it all the scenarios started to fill her mind. Maybe he would leave the little thing to fend for herself in the woods to see what would happen or perhaps they would just let chaser worms take care of her and see what would come of her in the end.

Each scenario worse than the last she couldn’t stop herself before she caught the basket in the middle of his throw before catching it back, cradling the basket to her chest she spoke with a almost a feral voice ‘’She is my lot’’

In a moment, all eyes fell on her. After what felt like a century Kallamar spoke first ‘’What did you say sist-’’

‘’It is my lot, their mother was a part of my cult.’’ She frowned towards their youngest as she shielded the baby with her arms ‘’Therefore she is mine’’ she felt the gaze from their youngest crown, the green eye within looking at her without emotion.

Their youngest looked at her with contempt radiating out of him but eventually it turned to a look that screamed indigence, as if she had taken his new favorite toy away from him.

After few more moments of silence Shamura cleared their throat ‘’I see, we have reached a verdict’’ Looking between the tension between her and their youngest they continued ‘’As the newborn is a part of Heket’s cult, I declare she holds the most claim over her’’ Looking once more over the their whole family ‘’Any objections?’’

None answered their eldest until their youngest just shrugged and with almost a pout ‘’I think that's fine’’ Looking back at her with a smirk ‘’If it is fine with Heket that is’’

He only got a nod as she decided that any word she could add here would just end up fueling his amusement.

Shamura ignoring the two of them ‘’Let it be so then. Heket, second amidst the grand bishops of The Old Faith, shall be the caretaker of Julyaryn.’’ They took in their quill before writing the documents and signing the papers.

She didn’t stay long after signing her papers, only caring to send one more glare down Leshy’s way.

Without even giving proper farewells to her siblings, she teleported them away to her temple. Ignoring all the followers who tried to speak to her she quickly made her way to her chambers before locking the door.

Finally letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding she collapsed against the door.

Running her free hand through her face she desperately wished she was just dreaming or more likely going through a nightmare. Just what happened back there? Was she even thinking? She lamented her decision as she let out a frustrated groan.

She had just adopted this little mortal, without having a single clue about how to take care of a mortal let alone a newborn. What did she even want with this little mewling creature that… was crying at the moment…

Looking down on her arm she saw the little rabbit who seemed to have gone back to crying for some unknown reason. trying to think of a reason that could warrant this she ran what she knew about babies in her mind, which was not much. It should not be hungry yet she thought, she had fed the little thing back at the counsel.

 Looking at the brown furred rabbit she could tell that she didn’t intend to stop anytime soon.

Unable to take the shrill noise further she awkwardly cupped the basket with both her arms as she quietly spoke ‘’There, there?’’ She was not exactly sure what she was doing but It seemed like it was working, perhaps a little too slow for her liking still it was progress.

Cuddling her closer to her chest she tried to rock her from side to side, in a way she saw from her followers which seemed like it was doing a slightly better job.

It took the little thing a while but eventually, slowly wailing led to soft coos. With its two black eyes she looked at her, almost with awe and maybe even wonder. At the small one’s little display she felt a smile grace her lips, one that didn’t feel heavy against her wounds.

It was a small display, one that she saw many times from countless followers that came and went through her life. But it felt like this one was… special in way.

As the coos turned to giggles she thought, perhaps she didn’t know why this was happening but maybe it was good that it was happening.

After few more moments of uncertainty, almost a whisper ‘’I am with you’’

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43839834/chapters/115822702

[locustheologicus]

Systemic Racism and Implicit Bias

Catholic social teaching has long recognized that "racism is a sin." I think that many Catholics/Christians are aware of this and even agree with this. But what becomes more difficult to guage is how we experience racism and discrimination in our own society and within ourselves. This becomes very difficult when culturally we accept certain systemic policies that are, by their very nature, discriminatory to a particular race of group.

Systemic racism is a reality here in America. The video above allows us to understand this phenomenon and how it exists within our American society. In 2018 the US Bishops promoted an updated teaching on racism and discrimination called "Open Wide Our Hearts."

We have also seen years of systemic racism working in how resources are allocated to communities that remain de facto segregated. As an example, the water crisis in Flint, Michigan, resulted from policy decisions that negatively affected the inhabitants, the majority of whom were African Americans. We could go on, for the instances of discrimination, prejudice, and racism, sadly, are too many.

Calling out systemic racism or discrimination in our society is a very sensitive thing. To many Americans who identify with the former culture this is seen as unpatriotic and sometimes unamerican. As one who is proud of the values of our nation but who is also aware of the deep contradictions that these values have with aspects of its own history I very much want people to know that we can love what our country stands for and push for it to always strive to become a better version of itself. As the poet Langston Hughes said in his poem "Let America be America Again:"

O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be!

Carlson's confession

Systemic racism exist deep within the social and cultural fabric of our society. We do not even question it until we can step back from it. As the US bishops stated in their 1979 pastoral "Brothers and Sisters to Us."

The structures of our society are subtly racist, for these structures reflect the values which society upholds. They are geared to the success of the majority and the failure of the minority. Members of both groups give unwitting approval by accepting things as they are. Perhaps no single individual is to blame. The sinfulness is often anonymous but nonetheless real. The sin is social in nature in that each of us, in varying degrees, is responsible. All of us in some measure are accomplices. As our recent pastoral letter on moral values states: "The absence of personal fault for an evil does not absolve one of all responsibility. We must seek to resist and undo injustices we have not ceased, least we become bystanders who tacitly endorse evil and so share in guilt in it."

Tucker Carlson is a famously controversial Fox News correspondent who recently lost his job because of the misinformation and biased perspectives that he shared in recent years. Personally, I really do not like him and could not imagine anything good coming from him and his prejudicial mouth. But America magazine reflected on a recent confession from Carlson that we should all consider. It was a confession of how he felt as a group of men attacked a protestor he didn't like.

Yes, I suddenly found myself rooting for the mob against the man, hoping they’d hit him harder, kill him. I really wanted them to hurt the kid. I could taste it. Then somewhere deep in my brain, an alarm went off: this isn’t good for me. I’m becoming something I don’t want to be. The Antifa creep is a human being. Much as I despise what he says and does, much as I’m sure I’d hate him personally if I knew him, I shouldn’t gloat over his suffering. I should be bothered by it. I should remember that somewhere somebody probably loves this kid, and would be crushed if he was killed. If I don’t care about those things, if I reduce people to their politics, how am I better than he is?

This is the type of reflection that many of should reflect and consider. I am personally ashamed of the fact that I was repelled by this confession because I had judged Carlson's humanity and would not initially accept that he is capable of being a decent human. That is my own bias where I prejudice certain people based on what they say and how they are portrayed. In other words, the insight that Carlson had is one that I, and perhaps many of us, also need to reflect on. Carlson confessed his implicit bias that was deeply woven into the structure and value of his political association. He even went so far as to question this particular bias.

In the TED talk below, Dushaw Hockett walks us through the science of implicit bias and how we can respond to it. I believe, like Dushaw, that identifying our own implicit bias is essential in helping us move this country forward.

Identifying our own implicit bias is the first step in addressing our own participation with systemic racism. Here is the link to "Project Implicit" and their resources that can assist us along this journey. Self-change is a part of Ignatian spirituality and the Examen is prayer tool that we can use to help us with our own implicit bias. But the tools that Project Implicit may also help us discern this further and help us grow beyond our implicit bias and challenge systemic racism.

I want to also share this UN website with further resources on identifying cultural and systemic racism.

[walking-shade]

There was much Poppet trying to ignore about the behavior. Each moment of shock, or the way it flinches away from both word and touch, creates a growing sense of unease. Within the ruins of her home, it was clear that time had passed, but so much to warrant such a reaction..made her nervous.

When their expression changed, Poppet knew it all at once. It was the look of refugees fleeing to the village with tales of their homes being destroyed. It was the look of parents when their children had wandered too far and were taken by the extremist. When the decree was called for their extermination, it was held within the expression of faces Poppet found difficult to recall.

The Lamb's words sat uncomfortably on her neck as they spoke in the past tense. She felt the weight of them as the creeping unease spiraled into a deepening dread.

Even though it wanted distance, Poppet found herself cautiously walking down the cracked stairs. As she approached, each step became heavier and more difficult to put down. It felt as if she was walking towards finality. If she turned away perhaps their sorrow could of been ignored.

It would have been kinder. Nevertheless, it seemed crucial to stand before them, to almost reach out again and offer a kind hand to brush away that whatever horrors they had witnessed would be okay.

The poor thing..it's hands trembled so much. Yet it signed the very thing Poppet did not want to acknowledge. A truth the very ruins was a testament to. Signs so willingly she ignored to try and find a home she remembered.

No one else. There would be no one else.

Poppet blinked. Then blinked a few more times as the words began to process. Maybe there was an error. It's been quite some time since she saw someone sign. There was a mistake in translating. It had to be a mistake in translating.

It was her turn now for legs to give out under the weight of this truth. Her face filtering a mixture of realization and horror as she collapsing to her knees before the Lamb. The only sound made from the bells that jostled at the abrupt landing.

She touched the old stone underneath her, tracing its once vibrant patterns that were now dull and indistinguishable. The once regal structure was filled with hundreds of her flock arriving at this holy place. Did the remaining deities ever listen when the bishops turned against them? Did they even care for the desperate devotion poured out for any claim?

Were their cries for mercy not heard by anyone? Their songs for guidance? When she had gone did.. not one even try to help?

"You can't mean that." Her voice shook in disbelief as she spoke, eyes darting up looking to The Lamb in hopes this was a cruel joke.

"You can't mean that!" She repeated, more desperate now. Poppet wanted to get up and walk away from this terrible attempt at humor yet her legs refused to move.

"How could they.. not all of us. They couldn't have gotten all of us.. That's.." Impossible? Unthinkable? Poppet felt her face growing hot as a dull ringing started in her ears, partially blocking out sound.

Everything felt too quiet and too loud.

@walking-shade

At her words, The Lamb cannot help but find themselves wincing as she speaks in that long-forgotten tongue of their people…and at her touch, their body jolts back violently, a look of shock crossing its features as the reality of the situation begins to sink in. This was not just a daydream– they had not lost their mind. Somehow, in a way unbeknownst to the both of them, she had managed to defy the fate of their species and come back to this place. But how could such a thing be possible? Who was responsible for this, and why? Hundreds of questions seem to fill their mind at once, their gaze growing distant as they ponder over the many possibilities…but before The Lamb can even think to voice them, Poppet speaks up once more, dragging them away from their worries. For a moment, it pauses yet again, seeming unsure of itself as it attempts to muster up some sort of response…a look of deep sorrow covering its face as it realizes that they must be the one to break the news to her.

Keep reading

[remmushound]

Curse of the Clan part 6! @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @brightlotusmoon

As Bishop guided the Clan through the cold, sterile halls of white, none of the brothers felt comfortable enough to say much of anything. Bishop’s footsteps echoed with each sharp strike of his formal black shoes, the only sound in the facility aside from the mechanical murmuring of machines and employees at work. When the silence became too much to handle, the brothers began to try and bully each other into saying something to break the cold tension. They nudged and shoved and whispered hush whispers to each other before Leonardo finally spoke up.

“Hey Bishop!” He called, “can I have a sip of your water?” He pointed to bishops flask on his waist.

Bishop stopped walking and snapped to look back at Leonardo, though his smile never faltered. “It’s not water.”

Leonardo’s nostrils flared to bring in more of the acrid smell. “Seriously? Drinking on the job?”

“It doesn’t at all affect what I do here, trust me.” Bishop laughed.

“And what exactly is it that you do?”

With a sharp turn, Bishop went right back to walking. The Hamatos huddled around each other, hesitant to follow until Bishop called back to them without stopping his stride.

“Come along then, Hamatos, we have a lot to discuss.”

One by one, the brothers continued to follow Bishop down the hall until it opened into what seemed almost like an underground warehouse, though Bishop and the family were on a higher deck looking down upon the expansive room.

“What’s this place, mister Bishop?” April asked, walking over in an attempt to peer over the barrier.

Bishop grabbed a hold of April’s arm with a vice-like grip and yanked her back hard. “Don’t go near the barrier, little girl.”

Raphael was upon Bishop in an instant, snatching Bishop’s arm and twisting it slowly. Bishop resisted for a moment, but ultimately relented with a laugh and relinquished. When Raphael let him go, Bishop brought his arm back to his chest and rubbed it gently.

“You okay April?” Raphael asked, looking to April.

“I’m fine.” April huffed, rubbing her arm where Bishop had grabbed her as she pressed herself deeper into the group so she wasn’t so readily exposed.

“Sorry to frighten you.” For the first time, Bishop smiled in April’s direction. “Just didn't want you to fall.”

“Would ‘please step back before you fall’ not have worked?” Leonardo asked with crossed arms.

“Yeah!” Michelangelo added, “You didn't have to put your hand on her!”

“My apologies.” Bishop gave a laugh that shook his whole body and removed his hat to give a bow. “It’s just dangerous here in the holding area. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt…”

“Wait wait, holding area…?” Donatello prompted with a deepening frown. “That’s deeply concerning.”

“What exactly are you holding?”

“Yes. Here at TCRI, we isolate and incapacitate dangerous mutants, yokai, and other cryptids that might pose a threat to human safety and put our work here at risk. You understand that don’t you?” Bishop was almost like a snake, cold and constricting as he circled the family with his eyes trained on April. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

“You said that already.” April huffed, glad to be able to hide her full body behind the bulk of Raphael.

“Did I? Sorry.” Bishop laughed, finally stopping circling the brothers and starting to walk along the length of the balcony. “What exactly I do here isn’t much your concern, you know. I protect people, and that’s all you need to know.”

“But why the whole conspiracy?” Leonardo wasn’t going to stop questioning everything here, no matter the fact that each of Bishop’s words seemed to cut deeper and deeper and made Leonardo almost sick. “Why is it so important to keep humans blissfully aware of the creatures they share earth with?”

“Silly boy. Humans barely accept other humans of different skin and beliefs…” Bishop looked back at Leonardo without completely turning around, “Do you really think they’d accept a whole other sapient race…?”

***

The tour took far longer than any of the family was comfortable with, so when Bishop finally brought them into the elevator to take them to the roof, it was a great relief. But soon it turned quickly as awkward when they saw just how many floors they had to pass.

“Dude, how tall is this building?” Leonardo scoffed, motioning to the wall of seemingly endless buttons.

“Just 56 floors above ground. But there are five floors below.” Bishop answered helpfully.

“Sounds… great!”

Five floors up and already the silence was stretching before them. Michelangelo looked around at each of his family, watching the nervously anxious expressions on their faces that only served to further his own upset until, quite suddenly, he piped up with,

“There once was a ship that was put to sea and the name of the ship was the Billy of Tea~ The winds blew up, her bow dipped down, oh blow my bully boys blow.”

A heartbeat of silence before Leonardo’s musically inclined voice sounded. “Soon may the Wellermen come to bring us sugar and tea and rum~.”

Not to be outdone, Donatello took the second half of the verse with great enthusiasm. “One day when the tonguing is done, we’ll take our leave and go!”

April broke in before Michelangelo could say the next verse, but Michelangelo didn't care; especially not when he got to hear April’s angel-like voice. “She'd not been two weeks from shore when down on her a right whale bore! The captain called all hands and swore he'd take that whale in tow!”

Everyone, sans Bishop, joined in the next verse. “Soon may the Wellermen come to bring us sugar and tea and rum! One day when the tonguing is done, we’ll take our leave and go!”

They kept singing, much to Bishop’s increasing frustration, until they reached the top floor and Bishop gladly ran out. He motioned them to quickly follow. Their song was drowned out by the loud whirl of metal as a helicopter awaited them on the roof, its blade spinning and ready for takeoff. Bishop had to talk extra loudly to be heard over the rumble.

“This is the helicopter that will take you to the drop-off point.” Bishop practically yelled, “You will be provided with enough food and supplies to last the fortnight!”

“Wait—just like that?” Leonardo asked, “Shouldn’t we get more details or something? You’ve hardly told us anything!”

“I don’t have any bags packed!” Michelangelo whimpered.

“I need at least a two day notice before doing any traveling!” Donatello scoffed.

“You will be provided with more information on the way.”

“I’d like to be provided with it now.” Leonardo called, then turned to his brothers, “I think we can all agree this is highly sus, right?”

His family nodded their agreement.

“There is no time to waste, Hamatos.” Bishop called, “You must hurry.”

“It— it’s fine Leo.” Raphael tried to comfort with a nod of his head. “We’ll be together, right? We’ll be okay. Come on Mad Dogz!”

Raphael smiled and stood up straighter as he went to lead his family onto the helicopter. Bishop stopped Raphael before he could get far.

“What are you doing?” Bishop asked.

“Uh. Going on the helicopter…?” Raphael pointed.

“No. Not you.” Bishop shook his head, “Or you or you.” He pointed to Leonardo and Michelangelo.

“What?”

Bishop pointed at Donatello. “HIM!”

“Me?” Donatello gawked, pointing at himself.

“What? Wait—wait! Why does only Donnie go?” Raphael demanded. He and the rest of his family formed a protective circle around their brother.

“Because unlike you three, he was competent enough to not break his mystic weapon.”

“But… Donnie doesn’t have a mystic weapon?” Michelangelo frowned.

With a wave of his hand, a guard came over and offered Bishop what could have been mistaken for a bo staff, with a spike at one end joined with what looked like a sickle claw and on its other end was a spiked mace. Bishop accepted the weapon, and then presented it to Donatello. It took the softshell a moment to realize he was supposed to take it, and when he did take it, his movements were slow and hesitant.

“Ain’t that the weapon we saw when we all got our mystic weapons?” Raphael asked, rubbing his head.

“Yeah!” April agreed, “And Donnie didn't want it, so he left it on the shelf!”

“Talk about luck.” Leonardo whistled.

“Wait wait wait!” Raphael shook his head and put a hand on Donatello’s shoulder, pulling him back protectively. “You can’t take Donnie!”

“Why not?” Bishop asked, tilting his head, and widening his grin.

“Because he’s our brother!” Raphael declared, “And you ain’t taking him without us going along!”

“There’s only enough provisions for one.” Bishop laughed.

“Then we got a problem, don’t we?” Raphael crossed his arms and stood strong and stubborn. His family followed his stance and stood as solid as a brick wall.

“You all will be too busy with your own missions to miss your brother, don’t worry.”

“What missions?” Leonardo demanded. “You’ve told us literally nothing!”

With another motion, three more guards came forward and presented Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Raphael with weapons of their own; a set of tonfa, an odachi, and a kusari fundo.

“Ohhhh!” Michelangelo’s eyes shimmered like gold in the earth.

“Nice!” Raphael felt the weight of his weapons approvingly.

Leonardo accepted his weapon, looking down at it a moment before looking back up at Bishop. “We already have weapons.”

“Oh? Do you?” Bishop’s head tilted to the point of almost snapping.

“Yeah. Katana and sai and nunchaku, like we had before we got the mystic weapons. Our nimpo weapons? Thought you were up to date?”

Bishop’s entire body trembled with each laugh. “Oh, no no no. Those won’t do. The mystic weapons have to be the same. Otherwise you can’t seal the barrier!”

“WHAT BARRIER?!” They all cried out as one.

“We don’t like to mix things up when it comes to mystic weapons.” Bishop said. “You understand don’t you?”

The brothers all looked around at each other. Each of them could read the other like a book, their mixture of emotions collected into one shared feeling of anxiety as they fed off of each other's fear and distrust of the man in front of them.

“You have every right not to trust me.” Bishop nodded as he spoke, “You do not know me. It is only natural to be nervous. But please do allow me to tell you what you will be spending the next two weeks of your life doing. Unless you want the evil to escape?”

“Nobody wants that...” Raphael grumbled softly

Bishop clasped his hands together and looked expectantly between the brothers and their father, overlooking April pointedly. Raphael put his hands on his hips and gave a long, heavy sigh.

“Fine.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Bishop’s eyes gleamed, “I shall start with you then, Raphael. With your Tonfa, you must find the blessing of a king. How fun.”

Raphael looked down at the tonfa in each hand. “I get to meet royalty? Sweet!”

“Your journey will take place in the western wing of the hidden city!”

“Isn’t that the bad side of town?” Leonardo asked.

“Exactly.” Bishop turned to Leonardo. “And you, Leonardo, must get the blessing of a ronin’s ronin.”

“What does that even mean?” Leonardo scoffed.

“You tell me.” Bishop laughed and closed his eyes a moment. Then he handed Leonardo a small medallion. “This will help you get back home! Your journey is taking you somewhere far, far away, where Yokai thrive and humans do not.”

“What about me?” Michelangelo squeaked.

Bishop looked to the smallest. “You must get the blessing of a Seamer of Time!”

“What does that mean?” Michelangelo frowned, bringing a finger to his lips in concentration.

“It is not me to tell you. You must figure that out yourself. But you may find your answer somewhere in the hidden city.”

“What? I don’t even get a specific part of the Hidden City?! That’s so... Vague!”

“And uh… where do I fit into this picture?” Donatello raised a hand.

“You are a very special case, Donatello.” Bishop walked close to Donatello. Uncomfortably close. “The closer the mystic weapon is to the barrier, the longer it can hold. And you will be the one who brings it there.”

“And then?”

“And then keep it there!” Bishop laughed. “And Japan will be your hime while you wait for your brothers.”

Donatello frowned. “I’m just gonna sit around and wait for my brothers to do all the fun work? Don’t I get a mystic prophecy or something?”

“Well you are rather soft.” Bishop whistled through his teeth. “You should be glad. You won’t be in any physical danger!”

“And how do you know all this?” Leonardo asked, motioning vaguely.

Bishop gave a low, growling hiss. “You ask a lot of questions boy.”

“And you don’t give a lot of answers.” Leonardo met evenly.

Bishop and Leonardo remained staring at each other until Splinter decided to break it up, tugging his sons and April aside for a family chat.

“You can’t seriously be considering this, dad!” Leonardo growled.

“Blue…” Splinter didn't seem to know what to do, shaking his head. “This is something we can’t risk! We… we have to do this.”

“I don’t trust Bishop, dad.”

“Neither do I!” Splinter almost snarled, “But we don’t have many other options. Bishop has information and technology that we do not! You don’t have to trust him, Leonardo, but I ask you trust me…” Splinter put his paws to his chest in a pleading motion.

Leonardo looked around at his brothers and April. “What do you guys think?”

“I mean… if it’s important enough that grandma comes back from the dead to warn us, then we should probably at least look into it.” Donatello said.

“But— Donnie! You’d be a whole country away!” Leonardo said desperately, “And— and I don’t have my odachi to reach you! I can’t use my nimpo weapon without the nimpo state!”

“We have Draxum…” Michelangelo suggested softly. “He can make gateways...”

“Raph?” Leonardo looked to Raphael.

Raphael gave a nervous whine, his face practically melting with anxiety as his eyes darted back and forth as if looking for the right thing to say. When he finally decided, it was like a lightbulb blipped to life in his eyes.

“Donnie’s right! We at least gotta give this a shot!” Raphael decided with a nod, “I mean, it’s only two weeks right? We can handle ourselves for two weeks!”

“I trust your judgement, Raph.” Leonardo had to bite his tongue to force back the doubtful anxiety that tried to escape him. Raphael was the leader, and Leonardo had to trust in that. He just hoped Raphael knew what he was getting them into.

[coffeemoods]

her bookstore girl–K.B

Synopsis: Kate wasn’t a fan of literature, but who knew she'd enjoy her time in a bookstore all thanks to a nameless girl. Her bookstore girl.

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Fem!Barton!Reader

Warnings: cursing, gay panics, kate bishop being an absolute gay

Word count: 2.2k

inspired by bookstore girl by charlie burg.

part I // part II

Kate Bishop wasn’t a fan of literature.

It was the simple thought of reading a book that Kate couldn’t wrap her head around. How could someone possibly, without being held at gunpoint, enjoy sitting through endless pages of ink for hours, especially those with the literal thickness of an Oxford English Dictionary which should’ve been labeled as ‘family-sized’.

There were plenty of other options that would entertain her for ages, whether it be honing her archery skills or simply running away from her adult responsibilities—but nothing that would require the patience needed to read and decipher the damn words in her brain. 

Yet, here she was, accompanying her friends on their weekly visits to the local bookstore near campus. The shop bell chimed above their heads as they entered the bookstore. Sounds of wandering footsteps and the rustle of turning pages filled the small space.

Glancing back at her friends, Kate chuckled as she noticed they’d already been scouring through the shelves for whatever book that hooked their interest, each one excitedly exclaiming the titles they’d come across. Might as well try to do something productive. Kate made her way towards the nearest aisle, mindlessly browsing through various books and papers without paying actual heed to their covers. 

Amidst a sea of literature and moving figures, it was there where she passed the first aisle of shelves when her eyes caught sight of you. Standing behind the checkout counter, an apron was dressed neatly over your work uniform. You were busy processing payment from patrons, chatting up those who asked for some book recommendations, evidently enjoying every second of your position.

With each new customer passing through the door, you glanced up to meet each of them with a smile before returning to what you’d been doing previously. It was all so mundane yet so enchanting, and Kate found herself smiling fondly at the scene before her. She knew better than to be indiscreet. If anyone were to happen upon this particular moment, they’d assume the archer was watching you like a creep. 

As if sensing she was staring, you finally turned in her direction and her eyebrows rose in surprise, immediately averting her gaze as Kate failed to keep a soft squeak from slipping her lips.

Shit... Your expression changed, though, not entirely out of concern or worry. But confusion, or maybe even amusement? Kate could’ve sworn she spotted a slight quirk tugging at the corner of your lips as you waved at her. Was she imagining things? No, that definitely was amusement playing around with your features. 

“There you are! Franny, I found her.” Kate jumped, snapping out of her reverie as her hand instinctively went up to cover her mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle her loud gasp. Dammit! Now she definitely looked like a creep. Turning to her friends, she noticed them standing before her with their arms crossed. A smug grin on their lips, clearly amused by her reaction. 

“Woah, Kate. What’s got your knickers in a twist?” 

“I-”

Then it hit her. How was she supposed to explain herself without sounding completely weird? Great, just great. Rubbing the scruff of her neck, Kate cleared her throat before settling for a shrug as she spoke, her voice noticeably more strained than usual. 

“Wait, is that the book you’ve been rambling about for the past week?” 

Unwittingly, her gaze trailed over Greer’s shoulder as she spotted you behind the counter once again, your attention no longer lingering on her, and instead, the scanner in your grasp scanned the bottom of a book’s back cover as you greeted the next customer in line.

Then, you smiled, but it wasn’t for her. Kate knew that, of course, as she watched a seeming co-worker in the same apron as yours approach you. But it was the fact that she was nobody but a stranger in your eyes, just as you were to her. Something within her stung, and she felt silly for reacting so strongly to a random, smiling person. 

“Yeah, yeah. I couldn’t find a book that caught my eye, didn’t wanna force myself to read something I won’t enjoy, you know,” Kate replied nonchalantly as someone else stood in your position as you followed your co-worker into the storeroom. 

“Huh? Did you even listen to what I’ve just said?” Fuck, she said something wrong, didn’t she? 

“Uh...” 

“You’ve been zoning out since we walked in. You sure you’re okay?” Greer asked concernedly as Kate nodded. 

“Yeah, totally. I’m just a little tired from all the projects in this semester.” Well, that wasn’t much of a lie. But hey, it worked for now when Greer and Franny sent her a look of understanding before heading towards the doorway, with their recently purchased books in hand.

Before following her friends, Kate turned her head towards the door to the storeroom, hoping to catch a last glance of you, even if it were only for a brief moment.

But, alas, you weren’t there anymore and Kate was unsure if she’d ever see your face again, let alone your smile. Stepping out of the bookstore, the shop bell once again chimed in sync with the door’s opening. This time, it marked the beginning of Kate’s admiration for the nameless girl. 

Her bookstore girl.

“Your problem is branding.” She turned to look at Clint as they walked along a street. It probably wasn’t wise for her to engage in this conversation with him right now, but eh, she’d take her chances. 

“No, my problem is you,” he countered casually, unaware that Kate’s footsteps had come to a halt.

“And this ninja suit, and the people trying to kill you because of this ninja suit.”

There you were with your back facing the display glass, dressed in the same brown apron as the first time she met you, with your sleeves just slightly rolled up. Rather than issuing receipts, you were shelving books and papers onto the top shelf on tiptoes, oblivious of her presence through the pane of glass.

When you reached for another copy on the trolley, Kate realized she’d approached the bookstore unconsciously, almost as if she’d been lurking on the doorstep, contemplating if she should step inside. 

“-so I can go home to my family,” Clint said, voice lacing with a hint of irritation as his head turned to the missing presence beside him. 

“Kate, Kate??? Ugh, teenagers...”

“Clint. Clint. Clint.”

Shit. 

Hoping to catch his attention, she moved closer and shook her hand, scribbling ‘little boy’ on a piece of notepaper before holding it up for him to see. 

“Nathaniel? Nathaniel, what are you- what are you doin’ buddy? Is everything okay? Where’s mama?” As his forehead creased into a frown, he eyed Kate’s direction when his son replied to his questions. Listening intently to his response, Kate jotted down his words forthwith while Clint bought himself some time by fibbing about the ‘apparent’ delay in the call’s connection.

‘Everyone asleep. He’s bored.’

“Ah, you’re-uh-you’re-uh bored. You’re the early bird. Hey bud, I miss you,” he chuckled, and the little boy laughed in unison as another voice rang out from the distance. Transcribing the situation hurriedly, she heeded a distinctly contrasting voice, a rather feminine and mature one. 

‘Mature girl’s voice. Dad. Asking if u’re ok’

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m doin’ great. Why are you up so early?”

Weird. Something was soothing about the tone of the woman’s voice. Something familiar Kate couldn’t lay a finger on, but she was certain she’d heard it somewhere before as each syllable slipped off the woman’s tongue in a smooth and rhythmic fashion. And it almost rendered her forgetting to scribble on the notes until Clint’s voice broke through her thought.

‘Excited = couldn’t sleep. Home tonight for movies?’

“Uh, yeah. Tonight’s movie marathon night, that’s right. Um... I really wish I could be there with you, sweetheart. But you already know how much I’d love that, don’t you?”

He glanced at Kate as she nodded.

“Look, I promise I’ll be back for our ugly Christmas sweater party. You ready for that, y/n?”

And when her voice came through the receiver once more, Kate couldn’t help but ponder the name of this woman. She must’ve known her from somewhere. So who exactly were you, y/n?

The next time Kate found herself staring at the welcome mat outside of the bookstore had been after her encounter with the Black Widow assassin. Her mind was in a haze and with Clint, the very person she looked up to, pushing her away? She needed a change of pace from the immense pressure and worry surrounding her, almost suffocating her.

Then she remembered you, the mysterious bookstore girl who seemed so out of reach whenever your gazes locked, who made her heart race with your mere presence alone. Kate still couldn’t fathom why she was so drawn to you, a stranger in the first place. Hell, you probably wouldn’t remember her, anyway. And yet here she was, contemplating whether she should enter the store, hand hovering over the doorknob.

This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. What was she doing, wasting time loitering outside the bookstore like some kind of creepshow? With a heavy sigh, Kate finally twisted the doorknob and stepped inside, her anticipation slowly ebbing into disappointment when your voice didn’t greet her nor was your presence behind the check-out counter.

She took her time exploring through the aisle, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, but to no avail. By now, she should’ve already left. There was nothing left for her to see here. It was only when she’d passed by the registers did she notice you, standing across the back of the room with your back against a wall, a large book held open before you.

Then you glanced up, meeting her eyes briefly as Kate froze. A smile gracing your face when you gestured a hand to beckon her over.

“Hi.”

Your voice...

“Hi.” Kate sent you a little wave of her hand as she approached you. An awkward sensation supplanted the bookstore’s once welcoming atmosphere when both were uncertain of what to say. There was another brief moment when your gazes locked, only breaking eye contact as the pages of your book flipped from the wind overhead before you closed the covers.

“You’re the girl from a week ago, right? The one who came with her friends?” Kate could’ve sworn your voice matched with Clint’s daughter perfectly, as if they were two halves of a whole. But that was impossible, right? Or maybe she was reading too much into this. It could be a coincidence, that’s all.

“Yea-yeah. I’m Kate. Kate Bishop, that is.”

She took heed of your outfit. You weren’t wearing the usual work clothes and certainly not the brown apron. Instead, you were attired in comfortable garments that seemed to suit you perfectly, and the sight alone made Kate’s smile harder to suppress as her fingers ghosted awkwardly by the pockets of her jeans.

“You know, it’s not polite to stare,” you teased, raising a brow when Kate averted her attention onto the surrounding walls, scratching the scruff of her neck.

“Sorry,” she tittered before clearing her throat.

“Well, I didn’t say you should stop.”

“I-I um...” Kate felt the rush of heat creeping upon her skin. In no way had she pictured you being quite this forward, especially when you barely knew each other.

“I was wondering if you had any book recommendations...” She glanced back at you.

“For me?” It was almost as if she’d whispered the last part to herself in disbelief, eliciting a chuckle from your lips as a smile plastered on her face.

“I mean sure. What genres do you normally read?”

Oh shit, uh...

“Any, anything really.”

“You don’t read much, do you?”

“Busted,” Kate sighed, raising her hands mid-air, and you gave her a lopsided grin.

“I figured. Then let’s see... how about some poetry? They evoke awareness and can really pack a punch.” Crossing her arms, her eyes darted to the ground momentarily before lifting to meet your gaze.

“Ever heard of Emily Dickinson? She’s one of my favourite poets out there, bold, ingenious, you name it...” you trailed off, a smug smile evidently curving on your lips.

“But you aren’t really here for my recommendations, are you?” Kate blinked, clearly taken aback for a second as she stared at you, unsure of how to respond.

“How did you-” she stammered.

“I picked up a few tricks from my aunt,” you shrugged, smiling mischievously as you pushed yourself off the wall, listening to Kate’s singular ‘oh’.

“Um... is it a bad moment to ask for a ‘coffee sometime’... perhaps?” she squeaked on the last bit, scrunching up her face but nearly jumping at your abrupt laugh. Evoking a harsh hush from nearby customers in the bookstore.

“Sorry.” Amused, you wiped a fake tear.

“You’re a weird girl, Kate Bishop,” you said, slowly making your way to the check-out counter before halting at the last aisle beside the registers. You turned in her direction, offering a soft smile.

“And I might just take you up on your offer.”

[jadegrey711]

Gentle Giant

Hank Loza x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hello my loves! I finally got some inspiration we’ll see if this lasts, but yes I am alive I’ve just been so busy since the last time I posted! I got two jobs and I’m back at school and it feels good to be busy but sad that I can’t find the inspiration to write but I’m trying. To anyone who has sent me a request I have them I think about them day and night I just gotta find the time to write them. Thanks for the support.

Prompt:  I was thinking (if you can, if not you can tweak it a bit) a nsfw situation during a club house party with reader and Hank. Hank gets a little handsy and bam… I’ve been in a puddle of Hank feels lately

*Not my Gif* 

Thanks again @emarie98​ for the prompt!

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting​​​ to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog. I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711)

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake.

The party felt like any other that was always going on at the Mayans’ clubhouse with plenty of booze and women going around. And just like every other party you were at your station in the corner of the room tattooing another biker. This time it was Creeper who asked for yet another detailed and mostly naked girl plastered somewhere on his body. 

“You should start charging admission for the peep show every time you take off your shirt Creep.” You laughed as he flexed under your hands. 

“What are you talking about,Y/N? This ain’t no peep show, this is a work of art babe.” He flexed his arms causing one of his earlier works to move. 

“I don’t think a lot of people consider a woman with busty and unrealistic tits to be a work of art.” 

“Art is subjective, babe.” 

“Remind me not to look at what you consider art.” You both laugh at that and don’t notice Hank and Angel in the other corner of the room talking. 

“So you and Y/N, a thing?” Angel asked Hank. 

“I guess yeah. Yes we are.” Hank said affirmatively, feeling a small amount of pride swell in his chest. 

“You sure about that? I mean she’s a fucking woman and well you’re ... you. No offense buddy. But do you think you can handle a woman like that? Sexually? Maybe you need a helping hand, maybe she could be the new initiation for club members, you tap out and the rest of the club taps in.” He chuckled to himself and took a swig of his beer. 

“Shut the fuck up Angel.” Hank said slowly, trying to keep his calm. 

“Hey! I’m just stating the obvious here. I mean look at how comfy her and Creep are. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind being shared.” 

“Get the fuck out of here before I really get pissed.” Hank snarled, and Angel quickly got off the couch with a chuckle and made his way over to where Bishop and other members were gathered around talking. 

Hank looked over to you and Creeper and felt a spark of jealousy as you laid your hands on Creeper’s bare shoulders, the grip on his beer getting tighter as Angel’s words sunk into his skin. 

“It already looks great, Y/N.” 

“Thanks Creep. I’ll see you next time for another session and we’ll finish her up.” 

“Looking forward to it.” 

As Creeper walked away from your station you began doing a quick cleanup before you spotted Hank sitting on one of the plus couches, eyeing you intently. You made your way over to Hank and promptly sat in his lap. 

“Hey baby.” You purred, feeling his strong thighs under you as you shifted to better distribute your weight on his lap. Hank said nothing, but you knew something was wrong, as you took in the white knuckle grip Hank had on his beer bottle.

“What has you all grumpy? Hmm?” 

Hank doesn’t say anything, only lets out a low groan as you twist on his lap. He only wraps his arms around your middle settling his hands on your ass, his large hands gripping your ass sending a low purr through you. 

“What is it baby?” You ask as you lean forward and kiss his face, first starting with his cheeks, then his nose and finally giving him a chaste kiss to the lips. As soon as your lips pressed to his, Hank got up with you still in his lap. His large hands had no trouble keeping you up and cradled to his body. 

You let out a small giggle as you asked. “Hank, Honey? Where are we going?” 

Hank didn’t let out another word as he walked past the other bikers and you noticed as he gave Angel an especially dirty look and you suddenly understood what kind of night you were in for.

*** 

“Hank, baby. What did Angel say that got you so wound up?” You both were back at Hank’s place and he was walking towards you like a predator with his prey in sight. 

“I don’t want to talk about him right now. I want you to take off your clothes for me sweetheart, so I can suck on those pretty nipples.” 

“Hank.” you said his name like a breathy whisper, bedplay with Hank was always fun and extremely satisfying but it was rare that you’d get him like this. Like a taut wire that was about to snap. You immediately did as he requested and grabbed the hem of your tank top and pulled it over your head, before going for the clasps of your bra. All the while Hank was following your every step as you backed yourself into Hank’s bed, and threw your bra somewhere in Hank’s bedroom. 

You stood there as he closed the space between the two of you, your jeans were still on but your chest was bare before him. He reached his hand out and traced his thumb around one of your nipples, the sensation immediately causing the little bud to go taut under his touch. 

“Hank.” You let out a small moan, feeling yourself get even wetter than you were sitting in his lap at the clubhouse, and he had barely even touched you yet. Hank said nothing as he took his other thumb and did the same with the other nipple, he was only giving you the barest of touches and it was driving you mad. 

“Hank baby, please. I need you to touch me.” 

“I am touching you honey.” Hank smiled for the first time tonight. 

“I need more baby, please.” 

“Okay honey.” He whispered, leaning his face to yours before giving you a sweet kiss to your lips. You reached out and wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling your nipples rub against his leather kutte that he was still wearing, which only added to your arousal. Hank pulled away first earning a low whine from you, before he placed his hand on your chest and pushed you back onto the bed. 

“This is my favorite thing in the whole world. Seeing you naked on my bed, just for me.” 

“Only for you baby.” You nodded, reaching for your jeans. But Hank brushed your hand away and took his index finger and traced it down your chest to your tummy before reaching the top button of your jeans. 

“Such a good girl for me huh?” he asked as he started undoing your jeans, purposely taking his time with the top button and slowly dragging down the zipper. 

“Hank, stop teasing me.” You whined as you wiggled under his gaze. 

“You’re right baby. I’m teasing you for too long. It’s not fair to tease my good girl for so long and not give her what she wants.” He purred as he pulled off your jeans in one swift move, leaving you bare in just your panties, and Hank could see just how soaked you were. “Such a good girl.” He repeated the praise, as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, at the same time kneeling before you. 

You watched intently as Hank pocketed the panties in a pocket of his kutte, before tracing his hands up your thighs and spreading you for him. “Such a pretty pussy, baby. Bet it tastes just as sweet as it looks.” He whispered before leaning down and placing a kiss to your clit and that almost sent you over the edge. Then it was like that wire in Hank finally snapped, his gentle teasing was gone and in its wake was someone insatiable. 

Hank hooked his arms under your legs, keeping you open and spread for him as he devoured you, you let out a scream as Hank pressed two of his fingers in your heat as he sucked harshly on your clit. He wasted no time, searching your heat for that sweet spot that makes you arch your back for him. When he found it he moved those two fingers in a tortuous “come here” motion that sent you spiraling. 

“Oh my god Hank!” You cried as you felt your first orgasm rip through you. Hank didn’t soothe you through your aftershocks like he usually did but just kept up the same pace, not slowly for a moment and you felt your next orgasm already start to build. 

“Making such a mess for me baby. Go ahead and make another one, I’ll clean it up for you.” He said as he traced your quivering heat with his tongue before licking you clean, just so he could make another mess. 

“Hank, please I can’t take anymore.” you whimpered. 

Hank pulled away from your weeping heat, looking down in appreciation at your pretty pussy covered in your own arousal and thinking about how much he couldn’t wait to see you covered in his own arousal. 

“Yes you can honey.” He growled, before undoing his pants and pulling them down, revealing his hard and thick cock; showing you that this was the sweetest of tortures for him too. 

“You’re going to take me, baby. And everyone will know that you’re mine and no one is going to mess with that.” He growled. 

You watched completely mesmerized as he stroked his thick cock, and lined himself up with you, before sinking himself deep in you.

Hank was enamored at the sight of his cock, sinking deeper into your tight pussy, watching as he was being swallowed whole by you. He groaned, bracing himself on his hands on either side of your head, as he let the pleasure of being inside you vibrate through his skin. Hank knew he wasn’t going to last long, not with the pace he was setting as he pounded into your pretty pussy, earning all those sweet sounds that came from those luscious lips. 

“Hank, baby I’m so close.” You moaned, your nails racking down the back of his kutte, pulling his body even closer to yours. 

“Come for me sweetheart.” He ordered, his thick fingers reaching for your aching clit and rubbing it in harsh circles, finally bringing you over that delicious edge. You cried out as your orgasm ripped through you, the feeling of your walls clenching on Hank’s cock bringing him over the edge with you, painting your insides with his release. 

You both were breathless as Hank rolled you both so you were laying on his stomach, with Hank managing to stay inside you, as your breathing slowed. You both were speechless as your breathing calmed, you more than Hank as you just pondered what exactly happened and how you got to this point. Not that you were complaining though. 

“Hank baby?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What happened at the club? Did someone say something?” Hank didn’t say anything and you let out a low groan at Hank’s silence. “Did Angel say something?” 

“He may have said something about the club sharing you, since I couldn’t keep up with you… sexually.” He said that bashful side reappearing.

You chuckled. “Well obviously Angel is a fucking idiot but you don’t actually have to know the fucker to find that out.” You both let out a laugh at that, before you sighed, snuggling closer to Hank’s chest, listening for that thundering heart that beats only for you. 

“I’ll tattoo “Fucking Idiot” across his forehead next time I see him. Bishop will approve.” 

“I don’t see Bishop having any problem with that.” Hank laughed. 

The silence between you wasn’t awkward but you knew Hank still was feeling insecure about what Angel said. You grabbed his chin and made him look at you in the eyes. “You know I love you though right? And not because you’re a fucking tiger in the sack. Because you got such a sweetheart Hank… and because you're a hurricane in bed. And if you want we can show Angel just how much I love sucking that cock of yours.” You smiled devilishly as Hank blushed. 

“I think we can just stick with tattooing ‘Fucking Idiot” on his forehead.” 

“If you insist.” You teased him, before settling back on his chest. 

“I love you too baby.” Hank whispered before kissing the top of your head. 

[bettyxsnooper]

Kate had definitely said meaner things to him before, but occasionally she tried for something like tact. When the mood struck her. That didn't mean she always hit the mark. It was also hedging the issue a bit, which wasn't like her. Clint pretty much always looked some degree of 'not quite well.' A slow glance around his place said he wasn't reaching apocalyptic levels yet, just… vaguely worrying. She couldn't even put her finger on precisely what it was that set her off about the place. She'd seen both it and him look worse. But as the kids said, her spidey senses were tingling. Her Hawkeye senses? Didn't have the same ring, sadly.

Showing up here felt overdue though. She wasn't sorry for taking off to California again to do her own thing. She'd needed the space to sort out her own feelings and her place in the Hawkeye legacy, and the independence had been good for her. She felt settled in her own skin again, a little more certain of who she was as a hero, and if that differed quite a bit from Clint's idea of being a hero, well-- they'd always been their own people, despite sharing an alias.

Guilt was attempting to creep over her now though. He wasn't always good left to his own devices, and she knew Bruce and Bryce had both been tough losses. She'd thought he was doing better, after the West Coast Avengers, but now she wasn't sure. She shouldn't have let him ignore her texts after Bryce. Kate was a difficult person to brush off, as evidenced by her standing uninvited in his apartment right now, but she'd let him do it.

"True, but the pizza is better here." A smile broke over her face at the welcome, a real, happy-to-see-him smile. She forgot when she was away, sometimes, how much she liked being here, both in the city and with him. California gave her the space and freedom to be herself, but New York City would always feel like home. "It's good to see you too." A slight pause, and then she signed, "I missed you." For all her bluntness, she'd always had a hard time communicating her feelings (unless those feelings were anger, and then she had it on lock). It was easier to sign it, and more heartfelt, something that was just between them.

"Yeah, we should. I think caffeine and some New York smog would definitely improve your color." To be fair, caffeine improved just about any situation. He was changing the subject, and she was allowing it for the moment. They'd circle back to him. "I was thinking of writing a book about that. I'd call it Kate Bishop and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Vacation. Is it too much to ask to have an umbrella drink by the pool? But no. I get to save brainwashed 1%-ers and jump out of burning buildings instead."

[ prompt ] [ inbox ] // @staydown-bro -> ❝ don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t quite look well. ❞ (Clint/Kate please!)

Wait, when did she get here? She's the hardest person to lie to.

Eyes flit around his apartment. Curtain was drawn over the investigation board, right? Or better to be called a visual representation of what his mental state was like. He needed to take it down, all of that was over with. He hadn't even called her when the barrage of texts came in after.... Bryce had died. After, Bullseye took his Ronin suit and if the man managed to crawl away with several arrows in him, than maybe no one knew how badly Clint had fucked him right back up in the Bullseye costume.

Almost went eye for an eye. It would have been easy, already know what it's like to have killed someone with an arrow now. A shiver runs down his spine and if Kate was not standing above him, he'd reach for one of the bottles around him, see if there was some residual liquid left. There's not too many of those lying around, right? Nor does it look like he's been crashing wherever he can get the sleep. Couch, floor, bed. The occasional nap in the blood stained basement, the day he had cleaned up had been hard to stomach.

The last time she had texted him had came as a surprise given his choice in not calling her. The stream of texts fro her telling him that she had hated the circus had came in without explanation and the closest thing he got to an explanation of what was happening with her was a picture of Lucky chewing on a tesseract.

❝ It's my day off? ❞ Considering everyone was angry at him again, and he had been ignoring everyone; it's not like he was getting any work besides street-level solo busts. ❝ New York doesn't have the same sun as California, it's terrible for the complexion. ❞

Clint knew he didn't look like he was doing too well, but when was that ever case? It had felt like it had been years since he had caught a break. From killing Bruce Banner to the Bryce dying because of him, it's been a rough couple of years. Shoot, being in the WC with Kate's team of Avengers felt removed from that timeline, he kind of missed it a lot.

❝ Hawkeye, good to see you. ❞ He signs that along with his words, because it's always felt more genuine to communicate like that. Reason number seven of why Kate's his favorite person, she can sign with him.

❝ Wanna grab a coffee, Katie? ❞ Quickly he was moving on to make this about her, moving to crouch and pet Lucky since it had been while since he had seen him outside of Kate's photos. ❝ Go down to that bakery, it's still open, thank fuck after what Carnage's symbiotes did, and you can tell me about how much you hate the circus? ❞

[angelamajiki]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧

PAIRINGS: Yandere! Fatgum x Female! Sidekick! Reader

CW: noncon, voyeurism, bell bulge, size kink, praise kink, breeding, cunninglingus, bondage, dumbification

AN: This is a piece for Fern’s 1k Event! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ! Read the intro and first piece before reading this one! Ty <3 P.S. the italicized quotes are Nighteye’s and reader prior convo

Gluttony: The Second Circle of Dante’s Inferno

“What I like about gluttony,' a bishop I knew used to say, 'is that it doesn't hurt anyone else.'”

You hadn’t the faith to believe him when he said it.

It was hard to call the exchanges that occurred between the two of you a conversation. More or less, he spoke the truth of your reality and you simply didn’t have the gall to question it.

The elevator he thrust you into was cold and unnerving despite the cheesy jazz music that thankfully filled the void of silence you were sure would have deafened you if it prolonged itself. It gave you time to think on his words, more so than you would have liked to.

“The flesh endures the storms of the present alone; the mind, those of the past and future as well as the present. Gluttony is a lust of the mind. It is a poison that is all-consuming of the senses.”

Gluttony was the next trial, so it seemed. Lord knows what lies ahead for you, leaving you foolishly clutching to the notion that this circle couldn’t possibly be worse than the last.

The abrupt halt to the elevator allows the gravity of the situation to sink in fully. The inescapable horror was creeping in through the crack in the door, especially when it opened to find a man waiting for you.

And what a man he was, standing at nearly eight feet.

“Just the gal I was lookin’ for! I was worried my favorite lil sidekick had run off right after quitin’ time.”

An enormous, gloved hand clapped down on your shoulder, lingering far longer than you would have liked.

“Follow me to my office, yeah? I got something I wanna discuss with ya.”

And just like that, the string of fate slipped around your neck like a noose and pulled you along down the empty hallway, save for you, the man, and the numerous amounts of plaques, awards, and other celebratory memorabilia decorating the agency halls.

Judging by the pictures you saw yourself in, you were a hero of sorts, working alongside the unnamed man and two others you had yet to meet. Hopefully, your paths would never cross.

Even inside his office, you could see the remnants of what your life would be in this circle of hell. Whoever was with you seemed to be very fond of you, given the number of photographs and newspaper clippings adorning his desk and walls of the office.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and not just your fantastic work as a hero. Been thinking about what a fine woman you’ve grown to be.”

Those large hands found your shoulders again, stroking and rubbing to set you at ease in his grasp.

“Strong.”

One dipped down to your waist.

“Sweet.”

The other onto your arm.

“Everything a man like me needs. You sure fill my appetite in more than one way.”

Finally, the rest on your hips, thumbing circles into the soft flesh he took purchase in there.

Ah, so this was the glutton in question.

“I’m not sure I’m following what you mean.”

Just play dumb, maybe this circle will have mercy on you.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, honey. There’s no reason to get all shy on me; I promise I don’t bite-”

His hand slid up to your neck, resting comfortably while enveloping the entirety of it with just his palm.

“Unless you ask for it.”

The whisper in his voice sent shivers down your spine, leaving you frozen in his grasp. It was undeniable that you would never beat him, no matter what your power may be in this world. Hell, if you even had one, how certain were you that you could use it?

Your options were far and few between, but laying down and taking it like some pathetic little bitch was not going to be an option for you. Not here, not now.

The shrill sound of your own voice even hurt your own ears as you cried for help, thrashing wildly in the grip of the man.

Your cries for help should have been chosen more carefully, seeing as when your two apparent saviors sped into the room, they opted to help the man pin you down even further.

“Damn, she’s being a feisty little thing-”

“Fatgum, let go of her neck! You’re gonna hurt her.”

“S-Should we really be doing this?”

And so you were left bound against the top of the desk, shrouded in a swarth of tentacles pinning your legs open and your hands above your head.

“Thank you, boys. Didn’t realize she would cause such a stir.”

So Fatgum was his name, or so it appeared to be an alias of some sorts.

“Fatgum, please-”

His smile was sickeningly sweet as he towered over you.

“Awe, no need for formalities with me, sugar plum. Just call me Tai, yeah?”

The two other men stood beside you, watching their boss closely as he dealt with you.

“Curiosity is gluttony. To see is to devour.”

Damn that cursed man for sending you down here in that goddamn elevator. This journey alone made it nearly impossible to keep this strength to see your mother again alive.

“Tai, please. I don’t-” His hearty laugh cut you off. “Begging already, sugar? By the fight you put up, I’d almost thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“I don’t!” You protested, squirming in your slimy bonds before they tightened uncomfortably around you.

“Don’t yell at him like that. It's unbecoming of you.”

The raven-haired man snapped at you, looking down with a blush seared across his face and up to his ears.

“Relax, Tamaki. She just needs a reminder of who she belongs, ain’t that right? But, he’s right, I can't have you mouthing off like that, now can I?”

Slipping his black mask off his eyes, Tai fastened it around your mouth and head, loosely gagging you.

“Yeah, you belong to us!”

It was the redhead’s turn to pipe up before Tai shushed the pair of men.

“Now, now, I know you’re fond of our sweet little sidekick here, but this?”

He clapped a hand over still clothed pussy, rubbing gently.

“This here is mine; you boys can’t have this. But you’re more than welcome to stay and watch as I indulge myself.”

You whined into the gag, looking at him with teary eyes as he ripped a hole in your bottoms and panties.

“Hey, hey, hey. No need for tears, honeybun. You're safe with me, okay? I’m gonna take such good care of my little sweetheart, don’t you worry about a thing.”

His large fingers stroked over your clit slowly and tenderly, kissing your salty tears away as he shushed you with praise and loving words. Thumbing your clit, he pushed his middle fingers into you at a slow pace, grinning softly when you bit back a moan.

“Come on now, girl. We wanna hear how good I’m makin’ ya feel, ain’t that right, boys?”

Their collective groans of pleasure gave you all the response you needed; those sick fucks were getting off on you being harassed by your boss.

His finger sped up in pace, making you squeal once he curled his finger in an upwards motion. “Can’t wait to hear what you’ll sound like on my cock, sweet girl. Gonna sing us a nice song?”

Another finger slipped in as his free hand pawed at your tits, fondling and groping as he finger fucked you a new sense of vigor.

“As much as I don't want to hurt you, sweetheart, I’m just itching to get inside you and feel that pretty cunt around me. You understand, don’t you? I just can’t help myself when it comes to you.”

His lips continued to litter your skin in kisses to your face, licking at the tears that fell from your eyes when he added a third finger into your tight, wet hole.

“Mhm, you won’t mind if I have a taste, do ya?”

You could only whine in response.

“Of course you don’t, my good girl never says no to me.”

A hot mouth sealed itself around your clit as three fingers pumped in and out of you steadily, hitting all the right spots repeatedly. You squealed and shook in your binds, feeling your orgasm approaching hard and fast with the aid of his tongue lapping and suckling at you.

“Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

That was all you needed to feel yourself reach that blinding peak, sobbing and writhing as he rode out your ecstasy. His tongue continued to work at you far after you were finished, overestimating you without a care in the world. Your whines of protest fell on deaf ears as he just pulled your body closer to his face.

“Taste so good, sweetheart. I’ll stop when I’m finished with my meal, y’understand? This is my pussy, and I’ll do what I want with it.”

Leaving you twitching and sobbing, Tai finally pulled away and stood up, pulling his cock out and stroking it above you.

“Can’t wait to breed my pussy. Gonna make you my cute little cream puff.”

Both of his massive hands circled around you waist, pulling you flush against him as he sank all the way into your tight heat. The stretch of his girth was quite nearly unbearable as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of you, rubbing the small bulge in your belly with fondness while peering down at you.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. I knew you’d be so good for me. Yer takin’ me so well.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he slowly pulled out, leaving your legs twitching wildly when his thumb found its way back to your clit before he sank back in all the way. You could snark about how courteous it was of him to allow you to adjust, but the thread of consciousness was hard to grasp onto as he completely dominated your mind with numbing pleasure.

“You were made to take my cock, sweet thing. Let me give you a treat for bein’ so obedient for me.”

His praise went straight to your gut, as much as you hated to admit it, leaving you feeling pliable and soft under his demanding touch. Those hands around your waist pulled at your body, bringing you back and forth on his cock like you were a goddamn fleshlight.

“Ah, ” he grunted. “I don't think I can hold back much longer; you’ll let me be selfish, won’t ya?”

With that, all sense of tenderness and gentleness was thrown out the window as he picked you up from the desk, holding you against his chest as he jackhammered into you with an impossible pace of his hips.

“Shit! Squeezing me so tight, bein’ such a good little fucktoy for me.”

The sounds of skin slapping and the collective sounds of pleasure rang heavy in the room as he used and abused your throbbing pussy, feeling his grip on you tighten when he was reaching his own high.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum, gonna stuff my pussy nice and full!”

The bulge on your stomach grew even more as he came, stuffing you to the hilt with his cum and his cock. Ropes of it leaked out of your hole, even as he stayed inside you, panting and kissing at your sweaty forehead.

“Gave ‘em a good show, didn’t we, sweetheart? Say thank you, boys.”

Their thanks were mumbled out as they too had exhausted themselves just from the display of your pleasure. Tamaki’s tentacles retracted themselves from you, allowing you to stretch and return feeling to your arms and legs.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart. We’re - hey, are you with me? I’m gonna clean you up and take you back home with me, okay? No more hero nonsense for you, ya hear me? All you need to do from now on is stay home and keep that pussy warm for me.”

Like hell you were going to stay for another damned second in this realm, not after being violated so horrifically.

“O-Okay.”

Play it cool, play it cool.

“Let me go to the bathroom, then.” You swallowed, hoping to fool the men. “A-And I’ll get my change of clothes and we can go home.”

You didn’t wait for a response, hobbling out of the office before making a break down the hall for the elevator. Their shouts echoed off the hallway walls as you ran with all your strength left back into the safety of the elevator, leaving them running after you before the door shut on them.

“Gluttony is a great fault; but we do not necessarily dislike a glutton. We only dislike the glutton when he becomes a gourmet-that is, we only dislike him when he not only wants the best for himself, but knows what is best for other people.”

— tagging: @sightoru @anarchicmartyr @natsuonii @whumperooni @viixens @lunar-nebula @trafalgar-temptress

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

[ubi amor, ibi dolor] part 3

Part 1 - Part 2

Chapter summary: Jacques haunts the castle like a ghost and fights in the tourney. To no one’s surprise, he turns everything to his favor yet again.

CW: strong language – and I do mean strong at times, A Knight’s Tale vibes, everyone’s a shithead as they’ve always been in this story, some of that sweet medieval misogyny, promiscuity, bickering galore, descriptions of jousting and some injuries, but nothing too graphic

Word count: ~6.3k

*

Morning, or more likely midday, rolled around, casting bright rays across the floor of your chamber, creeping up the walls and setting the room aglow. With your eyes hidden in the crook of your arm, you stirred, looking for a comfortable position in which you may doze off some more. The distant awareness that last night’s drinking did not resurrect as an evil hangover bloomed and you took a deep satisfied breath. Guiscard sensed you move and rolled over with a grunt, the effort of heaving his massive body groaning out of him. All could have been wonderful had your nuisance of a brother not swung your door open and let himself in.

“Guiscard,” he called loudly, making sure to wake the man up. “Just the man I’m looking for. The bishop has been looking for you since last night. Crusade business, I gather. You should get dressed and find him, he’s being a nuisance.”

Guiscard groaned again in acquiescing tones and threw the sheets off himself, slouching around the chamber like a shaven beast, gathering his clothes and struggling to put his boots on the right foot as last night’s drunkenness still blurred his vision.

Your brother pulled the sheets back down and you felt the disturbance in the mattress as he flopped on his belly, face cradled in his hands, legs swinging in the air.

You sighed, wishing he would leave, but his gaze was amused and insistent, you could feel it tickling and irritating across your skin. “What?” you threw your arm down, uncovering your face, and turned to him.

He relished the moment, studying your anger, deliberating on his words. “You and this Le Gris character. Something is going on there; something very terrible and very fun.”

You fixed him with a murderous stare, long enough to blink a few times and for his grin to grow more and more insufferable. “I haven’t mentioned the man once. You, on the other hand… Perhaps you should examine your own feelings about him.”

“Feelings, you say?” he repeated victoriously and scooched closer, lining his body with yours and propping up his head on his hand to look down over you. So close, so slappable. “I thought it must be something along those lines. What I was hoping for was just some fun at your expense; bring this man who seems to have insulted you, show him around and get a delightful little outburst out of you. Some glasses breaking, some harsh words cutting – your usual. I expected he would be sent back to Exmes tumbling on his ear by morning, and yet… You were so oddly calm,” he stopped to consider a moment and you dared hope he would shut up, but he went on. “Naturally, I presumed you were just spoiling my fun, but the more attention you drew to Guiscard and your flirting, the more you ignored this walking insult was even there… I think I finally understood. You’re trying to protect him. Or yourself. I’m right, aren’t I?” he concluded and looked down again, hungry for a victory. He was long past caring who you brought into your bed and whom you did or didn’t have feelings for. His fun lay in figuring out secrets and playing with people like others play with cats, their anguish no more than a colorful ribbon he twirled in their face.

You closed your fist around a cushion, arm flying in an arc, straight at his face and he chuckled, tumbling out of bed and straightening himself out as he walked to the door.

“If this man has stolen my sister’s heart…. How wonderful,” he said warmly, a romantic sort of look in his eyes. You clenched your jaw; he did not care one bit about your happiness or misery. “That is much better ammunition.”

*

The day before the tourney flew by in making some final preparations, and it did not help your timekeeping that you had slept through half of it already. The next morning, your brother insisted you rise early and go to confession before the day once again got swallowed up in the tumult of the tourney. Your father liked the idea too much and you couldn’t refuse, so you covered yourself up suitably and went to the castle’s chapel. If your brother thought you were having any repentant thoughts regarding Guiscard, it only showed how little he knew of women and, indeed, the world.

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” you said half-heartedly, arranging your necklace on your chest and smoothing your dress down. You would quickly run down your list of offenses, sit through the old man’s set of platitudes, and then do your penitence – if you find time – at whatever the going rate was for fornication and otherwise having fun.

“Well… Haven’t we all?” the man said, a hood obscuring his face, a forgiving sort of humor in his voice.

You frowned; that was not your confessor’s voice. Your servants were far enough away so as not to be able to eavesdrop and a quick bolt of panic shot through you. Then you remembered that if anyone wanted to do you harm, they wouldn’t wait until you fussed and preened and then give you warning by announcing themselves. “Who are you?” you demanded in your usual imperious tone, sharpened now by fright.

“Why, it is I, Helen of Troy,” he said, pulling down the white hood and revealing a face that could drive Christ himself to misanthropy.

“I should have known,” you muttered, getting up to your feet. “Did my obnoxious brother put you up to this?”

“Your benevolent brother did suggest we might converse, if that’s what you mean. And being the resourceful fellow he is, he went so far as to proffer a place where we would not be disturbed,” Jacques showed almost all his teeth in a grin and dashed in front of you as you made to leave.

He threw himself against the door and you ignored this, reaching for the handle anyway. One scream and he would be arrested, and you both knew you this. Still, he dared to close his arms around you, swinging and twisting your body until your back was pressed up to the door and he was barricading any escape route.

“Wait, please,” he asked with feigned contrition, enjoying that you had no choice but to stay, caught. “You still have not confessed to me.”

“Confessed what?”

He pursed his lips in thought, eyes cast up at the ceiling, as if that would distract from his heavy body curling in, tracing the curves of yours. “To start, what I’ve done to offend you?”

Your eyebrows shot up despite a resolution not to let him affect you. “Shall I quote from your letter directly, or enumerate chronologically?”

One end of his moustache quirked up and he pulled it down. “I’m flattered you read it enough times to remember it by heart.”

“Don’t be. I only read it once,” you lied, “but the mortification for your lack of sense was so powerful that it haunts the reader.”

He could not have hoped for a better reaction. Hips swiveling subtly from to side, they felt up against your dress and found your pelvis, pressing you more firmly into the door. Jacques felt the clench of your thighs as you readjusted, finding balance again and trying to will away that demanding heat that pooled right where he was pressing, exactly as he knew it would, spurred by memories of countless encounters that started with such teasing.  

“Are you really so hypocritical to hold against me what you do yourself?” he was emboldened by this miniscule gesture he could read so expertly, and lowered his lips close to your ear so his breath teased the sensitive flesh of your neck as he spoke. “I’d bet if I undressed you now, I’d find the imprint of my opponent still pressed into your flesh.”

You took a decisive breath, chest pushing his away as you did and titled your head to look at him. “Two things. To have an opponent, you need to be in the running,” you explained, but Jacques was undeterred by this. He would not be who he is, nor where he is, if he just listened to people when they looked down on him. “And second, I have great amounts of fun in my life, as I’m sure you do too. I may even say I had a good time at Pierre’s. But you seem to think we are headed towards some sort of romantic entanglement, and that is where we diverge, Lord Fly,” you smirked at the name and observed how his face remained trained and stony, but that impish fire in his eyes grew dimmer. He could pretend, but he could not hide. “That is no way to court me and I would not take a lover who counts me one of many.” You finished and glared with your chin raised, waiting for him to finally understand. Your reasons were true enough and he should never know how it cracked your heart in two to watch him with another woman, regardless of how little he cared for her. The worst thing a lover can see – the object of their desire entangled with someone else. Nothing left to the imagination; from the first touch to the moment of ecstasy, playing out before you, like a nightmare.

Clever as the devil, he seemed to intuit at least some of your secret meaning, face growing soft and achingly sad. “Well, Lady Eagle…” he heaved a sigh and you felt it wrack his chest. “Then you should tell me to leave. If you say so, I won’t stay to fight in the tourney at all.”

Ah. Right. The tourney. The small matter of honor, fame, and prizes. “Yes, you will,” you rolled your eyes. To ask him to leave was tantamount to admitting you couldn’t deal with him sticking around; that he was right to pursue you as you were, in fact, winnable.

“I will,” he admitted easily, aware of how you sidestepped his little trap. “But I wondered if you had the cheek to lie to me and send me away. Is your pride so strong that you would rather see us both suffer when you could make us happy?”

You stopped and stole a long moment, looking at him, feeling the warmth and press of his body. When would he ever be this close again? Never, if you could help it. You would curse yourself if you didn’t enjoy the little of him you could afford.

You rolled your hips against him, nerves alighting like a bonfire, slit clenching, toes curling. Ready a moment’s notice, you could feel him though all the layers between you. You huffed a small laugh, eyes trailing down, between you, where your bodies writhed and battled. He followed them with his, looking pleased with himself.

“Maybe it’s best if you do go. I haven’t found anything you have that I haven’t had before,” you frowned, faux pondering and fought against your lips twitching into a smile.

Suddenly, Jacques swooped in closer, so near it was disorienting. Eyes intent on your lips, he demanded them; almost taking them, inclining his head one way, lips so close you tasted their heat, then the other, the hair on his chin brushing your skin. You stilled, like any movement would send him running away, like you couldn’t bear to disturb the intimacy of it all.

Just as suddenly, he pulled all the way back, taking his dizzying heat with him, weight shifting to one foot as he mused. “Oh, I think you found it just fine.”

*

You sat on two cushions lining your seat, already there for a half hour before the knights finally rode out. Guiscard had been unsure whether he would be staying long enough to see and fight in the tourney, but after he noticed Le Gris sniffing around, he decided to at least put in one day of showing off his prowess. He rode on his warhorse, tall and enormous, black coat shiny in the late morning sun. For the occasion of riding out and opening the tournament, he chose his flashiest armor, without a stain, scratch or chink, shimmering with gold ornaments. The more functional one he wore in his battles in the Crusades waited in his tent, to be put on between this public showing and his first match, later in the afternoon. He was greeted by cheers and adulation, and he rode ostentatiously to the place where you sat to the left of your father, your brother and his wife on his right. He bowed to everyone present and produced a marvelous red rose from behind his shield, extending it to you. You took it and placed in your lap, letting him pass by.

Other knights, most of whom you knew, and other miscellaneous fighters rode in a procession, Le Gris among them. Several at a time stopped and greeted the Duke and his family.

Something had told Jacques that the best thing he do could at present was to ignore the young duchess. Every last rider would be vying for her attention and the surest way to get it was to snub it entirely. Another, stupider, man rode next to him in opulent armor and eagerly stared at Jacques’ cold-hearted love, blissfully unaware that if she ever were to give him her attention, he would die from it.

“She draws the eye, doesn’t she?” he asked the man casually.

“Of course,” the fool sighed. “She’s all I see.”

“The only things nature doesn’t bother to conceal are creatures that could kill you. Poisonous fruits and flowers, colorful toads, beautiful women. If it draws the eye, it kills. Keep that in mind,” he warned, half-mocking, half-pity for the guileless wretch.

“Why don’t you do the same then?” the fool frowned, confused and angry in the midst of his own consuming stupidity.

“I’m willing to die to have her.”

*

The first day of the tourney went as predicted. The knights who were predicted to win did so, and were showered with adoration. Several injuries, only a handful severe. One blinding. One death, but he died during the night, so the passing did not mar the day itself. Jacques won all of his matches; one young knight, half his age and a quarter of his size wisely forfeited. He splintered two lances on another opponent and dropped his lance the final time he rode down the lists. Pierre leaned in to explain that Jacques did not like to hurt people needlessly, especially in a situation like this, where the man’s pride would have been wounded if he had not ridden. There would be no glory in shattering a lance on his head and leaving him to die within a year or two from the effects of that injury. By dropping his lance, he forced the other knight to act with chivalry and not raise his own against Jacques. He still carried the victory, but the older man was spared what might have been serious harm by the look of him at the end. The only knight Jacques injured was Guiscard’s cousin, flying his colors proudly, and sending Jacques into a furious charge. Though he was eventually decisively unhorsed, only his shoulder was injured and his wife would have to forego the pleasure of being picked up and tossed on the bed for a few weeks.

*

The evening was less eventful than the several preceding it. Fighters needed their rest for the upcoming matches, the injured needed recovery, and the revelers needed a night off to soothe chafed shafts and holes.

Your brother sat with a small coterie of adoring ass kissers, with Alençon a fresh addition. The blond drunk amused the group by retelling stories from the lists, the blunders, flubs, the loosened bowels and embarrassing proclamations grown men made as their bones were set. The men were crying with laughter by the end, clapping him on the knees and shoulders, filling their bellies with wine. In a different corner, you sat with some ladies and acquaintances, one half of the group disgusted by the talk reaching you from the male side of the room, the other excited by it and wishing they could join in.

You had had enough and decided to retire to bed. No one was interesting enough to take with you, so you said goodnight and let the drunken men give you their clumsy respects. Alençon stood to bow and took your hand to kiss it, thanking you for your hospitality, the tourney and for gracing the event with your inspiring beauty, or some rubbish to that effect. As soon as he took your hand, it was clear to you these were half-truths at best, as his intention was something else entirely. He fumbled his inebriated fingers inside your hand, trying to slip you a small piece of paper unbeknownst to others. You snatched it and hid it in your sleeve before anyone, including Pierre, was aware of any movement.

It was no surprise to find the note was written by Jacques, asking you most humbly to meet him in the chapel before your retire to bed. You almost marveled at his determination, to keep chasing after you and to stay concealed in the castle, potentially until morning if you had decided to stay up until then.

*

“I will thank you not to write to me anymore, Lord Fly. Your note was very inopportune, keeping me from my bed, while your letter was as despicable and brazen as I have recognized you to be,” you ordered as you crossed the stone floor that led to the altar, each step sounding loud in the quiet of the night.

“Thank you,” Jacques cut in, crossing himself, and stood up.

You shook your head, deflating in the face of his boldness. “You have no shame at all.”

“Not when my soul is burning for something.”

The words cut you off at the knees. He saw. He smirked.

“I assume you invited me here to say someth—”

“I will win this tourney for you,” he assured eagerly. “It will show you ferociously I am willing to fight for you and—“

“You won’t,” you interrupted, gentle and sure, as if it were fact. The soft tone, more than the interruption, made him stop.

“If you want to prove how you will protect me, fight my enemies for me…”

“Yes?” he advanced, salivating like a hound, trembling to gnaw someone for you.

“Then fight my enemies inside you, because that is where all of them are. Your lust, your ambition, your pride. Abandon them. Lose.”

“Lose?” he sounded the word out slowly, outraged and disgusted.

“Lose for me. Do penance. Humble yourself. And I might consider there is something worthwhile in you.”

“What?” he twisted his face, unable to wrap his mind around stupidity of this magnitude, hands resting on his hips in irritation.

“Admit you are a low creature, full of sin and flaws, and prostate yourself before me,” you barely kept an evil smile off your face as he writhed furiously before you.”Then we may have a chance at knowing one another.”

“Losing goes against my every impulse, everything I’ve ever done in life,” he said in a low tone, leaning in close, like he was admitting a well-guarded secret.

“Exactly,” you confirmed, wondering how he could be missing your entire point.

Jacques fumed, imagining inflicting every kind of punishment on you, from the bedchamber to the breaking wheel. “Do me a favor. Read my letter again. Only the first half,” he added bitterly, pulling his cloak closer around him and stomping past you and away, muttering about serpents and evil bloodsuckers.

*

After the previous day, all of Jacques’ opponents were on alert. The cowards were afraid for their safety, plucking up all their nerve and strength as they charged at him down the lines, while the braggarts worried for their reputations and sharpened their resolve to attack him with every speck of strength and cunning they had. He would have been fucked even if he hadn’t been set on losing.

Pierre knew his darling Jacques was set up for immeasurable pain and humiliation today and he could not be separated from a wine goblet. Jacques had paced in circles for an hour last night, ranting and fuming about his tormentor’s audacity to ask this from him. Pierre had done what he could to dissuade him from the idea, suggesting they should leave and forget all about her. That was a mistake, he knew as soon as he said it, as it seemed to make Jacques mind up. Having slurped down about a flagon in his chamber already in the morning and several more cups in the stands, Pierre’s tongue lolled and ran far ahead of his sluggish brain, too slippery to be caught. He could not be stopped from speaking and doing his best to make sure the villainous duchess felt some of the harrowing fear and injury Jacques was braving.

“Have you ever jousted, my lady?” he asked ironically as lively chatter burbled all around you. Everyone was pitching in their mostly uneducated opinions on who seemed like the likely winner of every match.

You only laughed and your friend replied, outraged. “Of course not!”

“Then you might benefit from some education,” he pointed out, getting to his unsteady feet and lumbering over two ladies to squeeze into a chair next to you.

“Go ahead, Alençon, I’m all ears,” you said placidly, looking away from him and directing your attention to the two knights mounting their horses and securing their lances in place.

“Well, for starters, lances measure twelve to eighteen feet, depending on the rider and their skill,” he started and someone immediately cut in, saying they would rather have a big one with less skill than a little one and all the skill in the world. Though he would usually be charmed and engage with the bawdy comments, Pierre was visibly annoyed and carried on as if he hadn’t heard. “They weigh about thirty pounds, often more. The points are steel, razor sharp, although in some tourneys they blunt them. Not here, I heard. See that rounded part? That’s a vamplate, to guard the grip. Some of those have been known to break wrists or fingers nonetheless,” he seemed to revel in the damage that can occur to the rider and, bit by bit, the cheer was sucked out of the spectators and they fell silent. “They hold the lance in a fewter until it’s time to charge, no need to exert themselves additionally. The armor is heavy enough to feel like punishment, 50 pounds at least. Ah, see how he couches the lance under his arm? The marshall will wave the flag any moment, he’s ready. It braces against his chest and the saddle, pointed at his adversary. He’s likely wielding around a hundred pounds, his helmet only permitting a narrow view, and he sends that gear and an enormous warhorse hurtling inexorably towards a similar projectile, looking to knock him off the horse. Knock him off, I should say, in the best case. Some people hold grudges, some hold anger they can’t explain. They might aim for the weak spots in armor, piercing a shoulder, knocking off a helmet and taking an eye out with it… stabbing right through the throat and leaving the knight to drown in his own blood…”

Your gut twisted as the two knights thundered towards the middle, lances pointed, and you felt cold sweat dew on your skin, hoping no one gets injured. Both lances met their targets, one breaking and sliding off and the other splintering.  The match was ultimately decided by the way each lance had broken, and the two men left mostly unscathed, while Pierre provided more blood-curdling commentary on exactly what can go wrong.

By now it was too late to reach Jacques and you could only hope your request did not end in catastrophe.

*

The previous day, Jacques was dismayed not to be matched with Guiscard because he burned to see him under his horse’s hoofs. This day, he was grateful for it because he doubted he could keep his word and willingly lose if given the opportunity to joust the man who had everything he wanted in life.

As he prepared, Pierre fell silent, only sparing you a glance, full of accusation and venom. He could not even delight in how sick and guilty you looked as you stared back; he only cared about one. His hands flew to the railing, knuckles white as he squeezed the wood, jaw ticking, eyes wide and unblinking. A splinter buried itself in his palm and he did not have the presence of mind to go digging around for it. All his attention was on Jacques.

He lost the first match; four courses of riding and letting a lance shatter against his shield and later armor, once the shield had been bent out of shape, and even with his putting up no resistance, his opponent only managed to shatter two lances on him. He must have been so daunted by Jacques’ performance the previous day, he could not let himself contemplate victory. The crowd was shocked after the first course, not believed their eyes at first. The second and third saw an increase in cries and jeers and the fourth had them berating and spitting, angry that they were cheated out of an impressive performance from Jacques, growing more confident in their resentment of him and his apparent incompetence.

Whatever relief or pleasure you might have imagined you’d feel if Jacques did, after all, decide to lose was swallowed up in the all too real concerns Pierre planted in your mind. A wayward splinter could take his dazzling eye or leave it blind, his horse could fall and break his leg or ribs, he could fall unconscious and never wake. Suddenly, all the fun and games became all too real and you wrung your hands in your lap, so hard your bones wanted to snap. As they sped closer, and closer, oh God, leaning their heavy armored bodies in only to take bone-shattering blows, you wanted to look away, too anxious to see, but it was impossible. You had to see, had to know he was alive, at the very least. When it was done, Pierre stood and gathered his blue and gold cape around him indignantly, dashing off to see Jacques and you envied him bitterly, having to stay and make small talk while your heart lodged in your throat.

In the break between his first and second match, Jacques realized he might as well jump out of his saddle and finish the match early. It would save everyone some time – and end his humiliation sooner – and he would spare his beloved horse any potential injury. He did so, shame blazing in his cheeks, charring his insides, back bruised where he landed and throat coated with dust. His ears rang inside the helmet, but he could still hear the jeers and laughter from the stands. His eyes were full with angry tears and his lungs with stifled screams. He was living a nightmare and he wished he could disappear.

*

“Withdraw!” Pierre pleaded, desperate. “That still counts as losing. You don’t have to get yourself maimed or killed in order to lose.”

The blacksmith pounded away mercilessly at Jacques’ ruined shield, his helmet waiting on the ground to be mended. Neither Pierre’s whining nor the blacksmith’s pounding was helping Jacques’ headache.

“Eugh…” Jacques grunted as his leg, which he landed heavily on and bruised during his fall, was being stretched and twisted by the surgeon. “No. She wants to see me suffer, not just lose.”

“She said that?” Pierre stuck out his chin demandingly, hands on hips, like a disapproving mother.

“Not in so many words. But… Well, you’ve met her.”

Pierre was ready to finally unleash a torrent of choice words about the duchess that have been accumulating over many weeks that she has kept his favorite squire from his castle, from his bed, and now from health and life itself. But he sputtered and quieted as he saw people part and make way for the duke’s son, who seemed to be heading right towards the two of them.

“My lords,” he bowed humbly and Pierre and Jacques were forced to show even more humility to him in turn. “No, no, don’t rise on my account, my lord Le Gris, rest your leg. I don’t have my sister’s penchant for sadism,” he lied and leaned against one of the pillars holding the tent up, mulling his next words over. “Speaking of the she-devil, I have a little message from my sister,” he announced and looked at both men, studying their reactions. Pierre could not conceal his annoyance, so he chose to look out towards the field, staring daggers in the she-devil’s direction. Jacques winced from the pain in his leg, but otherwise just resigned himself with a sigh.

“I know it already – she wants to disgrace me and bring about my demise if at all possible. Is she not out there, watching her handiwork and delighting in it?”

“Oh, she is. She’s actually up there soaking her handkerchief, poor thing.”

“Really?” Jacques sat up straighter, forgetting all his pain.

The young duke nodded, looking sympathetic to both Jacques’ and his sister’s plight. “She has a different message now.”

The prospect of more demands brought Jacques crashing back to earth and he growled in response. “What does she say?”

“You should win.”

“What?” Pierre spun back towards them and said the word in unison with Jacques.

“She wants you to win your remaining matches. Guiscard is too far ahead of everyone else to be beaten, but you can still have more victories than losses overall if you keep winning your remaining matches.”

Jacques was blinking and gaping like a fish on dry land, assessing if he had enough strength and agility to win.

“Could she not come and deliver her message in person? Maybe encourage the poor man after he’s been fucked more than a whore on Fat Thursday?” Pierre kicked the helmet on the ground in frustration and it flew right into Jacques’ injured leg. He roared like a lion with a splinter in his paw and Pierre fell by his side, apologetic and adoring.

“My sister wouldn’t be the woman she is if she delivered her own apologies and requests,” he winked at Jacques and, to Pierre’s astonishment – despite all the pain and humiliation he suffered, Jacques gave a strangled laugh in response.

After the young duke left, Pierre was left sulking as Jacques gathered his resolve, readying to enter the fray again.

“I must admit I’m really beginning to hate this duchess of yours,” he pondered out loud, lips pouting like one of his little boys when they were particularly sullen.  

“You can’t hate her more I do, I assure you,” Jacques said, rolling his shoulder, feeling for soreness. “And I am going to need a big favor from you.”

*

True to his word, Jacques shattered his remaining opponents. The first one came in too cocky, thinking that Jacques had been sapped of all his spirit, and was sent flying out of his saddle, clinging to it in a panic and almost bringing his horse down with him. The poor beast kicked and flailed against the pull, hitting the barrier that separated the two riders and bringing a part of it down.

While that was being fixed, his last opponent had time to rethink his certainty that he would bat Jacques around like a cat bats a mouse. He descended on Jacques with the kind of ferocity he only witnessed in the Crusades until then, seeming to want to skewer Jacques just to secure a victory. Jacques took the blow to his shield in order to take precise aim and plunge his own lance into the knight’s chest. This sent him reeling back, barely staying in his saddle and the man lolled on his horse’s ass as it trotted all the way down the lists. He was revived and sat back upright, fresh lance planted into his grip and sent barreling down the lists again; this time taking Jacques’ lance to the helmet as his own slid off Jacques’ chest. Just like on the first day, Jacques took pity on the man, bloody and disoriented as he came riding precariously down the lists again and lowered his own lance as soon as he rode out. Whether his opponent lowered his lance as a knight should or it simply rolled out his grip as he was barely clinging to consciousness mattered little to Jacques. It was the knightly thing to do and he had already won anyway. The crowd cheered ecstatically for him, like ten thousand women reaching a screaming climax at once, and he bowed, taking off his helmet and waving to all the people who adored him and despised him with the changing of the wind.

*

Before the feast that evening in honor of Guiscard’s victory, your brother happily agreed to sneak Jacques into the castle early so you could talk. Once the commotion started, it would be far less convenient, and you predicted your nighttime would be busy and crowded, so there was only a thin sliver of time you might dedicate to the irreverent squire.

Jacques was squirreled away in your brother’s solar while everyone’s attention was on the great hall where the festivities would be taking place.

“Lord Fly. What a surprise to find you here,” you feigned and both of you fought off smiles. Not only was he summoned by none other than you, but there was a remarkable lack of hostility about you. It made him light-headed to feel it.

He stood up and planted himself in the middle of the small room . “You may shut your windows, but us flies still find our way in. We can’t help it,” he said placidly and you had to take notice of how well he knew to blunt an insult before it cut through him. “But I am not here this evening to buzz around and annoy you. In reality, I’m here to do penitence.”

“And what for?” you narrowed your eyes as he unfastened his cloak and let it crumple to the ground, revealing him to be dressed in a simple, tattered sackcloth garment.

“I have offended you greatly and I only now begin to see how much,” he said earnestly, voice low and flat, solemnly bereft of its usual melodiousness and gaiety. “After the tourney and all its ups and downs, I’ve been offered a place in your guard, which I couldn’t refuse even if I didn’t want it. But before we can establish this new bond, you must understand how sorry I am. Even when my actions have been thoughtless or offensive, my intentions were nothing but true and passionate.”

“You should have been an actor; I believe every word you say,” you teased, but your voice would not cooperate; It sounded solemn and low, touched by his sincerity. He spread ashes on his face to show remorse, a biblical sort of gesture which retained significance for him from his days in the clergy. There was surely a basin somewhere for him to wash up when his performance was over and you were sure he had fine clothes stashed away out of sight, but even with that knowledge, he still looked thoroughly humbled. Lastly, out came a short blade and he grasped his hair in one fist, placing the blade under it, just below his ear, ready to slice and shear it in a gesture of mourning. You put your hand over his balled up fist and stopped him. “I like the hair, leave it.”

His face lit up and all the heaviness was lost in its glow. Jacques stretched, twisting the penitence out of his body, and shook out his hair, skin twitching reflexively where the coarse sackcloth scratched.

“You look ridiculous,” you told him quietly, like it was a secret.

“You’ve seen me at worse,” he reminded sheepishly, not too eager to remind you of other times he was caught with his pants down. But life was only bearable with humor.

“True,” you agreed after a pregnant pause and his body relaxed.

Jacques came close, slowly reaching out to wrap his hands around your arms, letting you move away if you wanted to. “Tell me it’s not too late,” he asked when you didn’t step away.

“It’s not too late,” you sighed, reluctant to admit something that would put you in his power.

“Tell me you dreamed of me too,” he demanded more forcefully now that victory was within reach.

“I dreamed of you too,” you said, remembering the voice of that girl he performed with for you at Pierre’s, shakily repeating his words, saying anything just to have more of him. A man like Jacques made for a dangerous master.

“Tell me to kiss you.”

“Kiss me,” you said, tone imperious like it was you idea. “Squire,” you added when he leaned in, lips just the merest breath away.

“Ah,” he stopped, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes, as arrogant as the devil. “Knight,” he corrected and paused for just a moment to let you understand.

“Really?” you started to ask, but he nodded as fast as a hummingbird and swooped back in, trapping you in a kiss that drove you insane, bruising and chafing  like the sackcloth where it scraped against your skin.

*

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 2 (Rowaelin)

Part 1

~Rowan~

Rowan didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he'd come to live with that.

This though?

This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman... he had a feeling he'd carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.

Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.

He'd ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she'd had in the same room as him, her pillow.

If she wanted to steal his shit, he'd steal hers, too.

He'd also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.

Not the most creative, but he didn't have many options.

What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?

The bank had seized her assets when she'd been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn't have any personal items with her, didn't seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.

Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he'd discovered her retaliation.

She'd stolen his bed.

The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.

How she'd managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn't even fit through the door.

It'd seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.

Steaming with anger, he'd showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she'd worked him into.

She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.

He hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he'd dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.

If he couldn't sleep, he'd at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.

Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.

In the eight years she'd been in prison, she hadn't had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion--a playboy Rowan couldn't be paid to associate with--delivered a care package on the first of every month.

Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.

She'd been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.

Also strange, considering Aelin wasn't the type to do anything randomly.

Rowan watched the security tapes he'd strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she'd gotten out of her cell to rob him.

He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.

Days of footage, and he didn't find anything.

Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

She didn't move too much or too little--both of which would indicate it wasn't really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.

Nothing.

Which meant someone was helping her.

He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn't reported either of the robberies yet.

Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.

Which means he'd have to go about it a different way.

Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.

No, he'd have to try something new.

Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn't have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.

He'd bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.

He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do.

And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn't respond well to his anger.

Checking his email to make sure he wasn't missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.

Except the beep never came.

Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.

Now he didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.

"Where's my car, Rolland?"

"In your spot, boss," the stout little man replied instantly and surely, snapping his gum and looking at him in confusion. "Haven't seen you drive out yet."

"Yes, exactly. Which is why it's a mystery why it's no longer in it's spot."

Rolland caught up slowly. "You mean... it was stolen? From here? From you?"

Jaw so tight his molars were practically fused together, Rowan growled, "Just let me see the security tapes from this morning."

The guard nodded quickly, eyes nervous as he typed something into the desktop in front of him.

"That's weird," he muttered a moment later, typing faster and sending Rowan a nervous glance.

"What?" he asked, trying to calm himself down with a few of the breathing techniques he'd learned over the years.

"The tapes are gone, but there's... this."

Rolland turned the screen so Rowan could see it, and all the breathing in the world couldn't keep him from slamming a fist into the side of the security shack.

The footage was gone, and on the blank black screen read: Bishop to J7.

He was going to fucking kill her.

~Aelin~

"Enjoy your taxi ride here?" she asked sweetly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.

Rowan scowled at her as he crossed the small room inmates could use to talk to their lawyers. He yanked the chair across from her out, then threw himself into it. "You are such a pain in my ass."

She just shrugged.

He sat across from her, angry and broody, and for a long time, he just stared at her.

Finally he asked, "Why are you doing this, Aelin?"

"I told you. You locked me up for something I didn't do. I want you to be as miserable as I am. It's simple, petty revenge."

Nothing about it was simple, but that was besides the point.

He was quiet for another moment. "Why now?"

She sighed, but she wasn't upset. Truthfully, she'd been waiting for him to ask that question.

"I want to tell you a story."

He stood up suddenly, face exasperated. "I'm not fucking joking around. And I'm not going to let you waste any more of my time."

He made his way to the door, and his dismissal of her pissed her off enough to say, "Sit down, or your car's going off Whigsby Bridge."

He smiled like he'd won their little game. "So you admit you have it."

"Sure," she said casually, honestly not giving a shit about the car.

His brow furrowed. "You're giving up? Just like that?"

"You're a fucking idiot if you think this is about your car, Rowan. But sure, I admit I know exactly where it, and your bed, and your little dagger are being hidden."

He narrowed his eyes. "This conversation is being recorded, and you just admitted to being an accessory to robbery, so-"

"You aren't going to press charges," she cut him off, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it.

Nasty little prison habit she'd developed, smoking.

Or maybe she just did it because she knew he hated the smell.

"Oh, really?" he asked incredulously, eyeing the cigarette with disdain.

She grinned. "Once you sit and hear my story and realize I'm telling the truth, you're going to feel so guilty you won't even care about the car. Now sit down. I'd hate to see a classic get totaled because you're being stubborn again."

He glared at her, but came back to the table and sat down again.

Then reached over and snatched the cigarette from her lips, putting it out against the steel table top.

She just pulled out another, lighting it with one of her last matches. The irritation on his face made it worth the loss.

He waved a hand as if to say Get on with it.

She'd debated how to tell him this story for a long time. It was long, and messy and not particularly pleasant for her. But she wanted him to know the full thing, so she'd decided to start at the very beginning.

"My parents died when I was four," she began, ignoring his dramatic sigh. "I went into foster care, and as you can imagine, I was a particularly unruly child."

She smiled at the few memories she had. "I stole from the nuns, snuck out of my room at night and ran through the house, set all the clocks back an hour so we could sleep in. Small stuff. But it irritated them, because they couldn't prove it was me."

"Sounds familiar," he grouched, making her grin.

"I was adopted by Arobynn Hamel a year later."

As she'd predicted, his mouth fell open at that.

Arobynn was the known king of the underworld in Rifthold. He had a hand in every aspect of crime, yet no one could do anything about it because he never committed the crime himself.

His name was revered, so much so no one ever dared to cross him.

"But your record says-"

"That I stayed in foster care until I turned eighteen, I know."

Arobynn hated public records and had a deal with someone in the system that he'd take some of the kids off their hands if they kept quiet about it. Illegal as hell, but he wasn't someone you refused without suffering serious consequences.

It was the perfect crime. No one would miss unwanted kids, and it gave the system one less mouth to feed.

"I didn't know it, but he'd been watching me for a while. He... I don't know, saw something in me. Natural, innocent talent he could work with and turn into something different. He adopted me on my fifth birthday. And then he started training me."

"To do what?" Rowan asked, shoulders tensing.

"Everything," she answered with a shaky laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. "Stuff I wanted to learn, like how to pick a lock or walk without making sound. But as I got older, he taught me other stuff. Stuff I didn't want to know."

"How to kill," he finished, picking up on her tone.

She nodded, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt on the floor.

"I was good," she told him quietly, looking down at the table. "By the time I was fifteen, he said I was the best he'd ever had. None of his other... children could beat me in a fight, not even the older ones who had a hundred pounds on me. And I could steal anything and not leave a trace."

His eyes didn't show an ounce of doubt, and she didn't know how to feel about it. But she kept going anyway.

"I was his favorite. I was his best asset, and I didn't care about anything that would compromise me. I lost my parents, and despite how much he wanted me to, I never loved him. I had no weaknesses. Except Sam."

"Another of his students?" Rowan asked, and it wasn't lost on her he said students instead of children.

She nodded. "We were adopted around the same time, grew up together. He was a year older, and whenever I had a problem, he was the one I'd turn to. He was good to me, and by the time I was seventeen, not a small part of me loved him."

Aelin broke off and took a deep breath, wishing she had another cigarette and trying to figure out how to put into words how much he'd meant to her.

"Was?" Rowan asked, so softly and quietly and understandingly that she was reminded of the man he'd once been, the one she'd loved.

Shaking her head to clear it, she said, "He made a mistake. He went on a job; he was supposed to break into one of the underground casino's owned by Arobynn's competitor and memorize the ledger, but he got caught. It was messy and horrible and stupid, and the owner wanted blood. Arobynn promised he'd kill Sam as retribution."

Rowan's eyes widened, almost like he hadn't realized how brutally she'd been raised until that moment.

"I begged him not to. Sam had saved me and helped me so many times that I couldn't not do the same for him. I told him I'd do anything."

She studied her hands, regret and guilt thick on her skin. "Arobynn said if I took ten of the jobs Sam was supposed to do, he wouldn't kill him. I thought they'd be similar to the one he'd messed up on, small break-ins or robberies. So I accepted."

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she batted it away as she continued, "The second I shook his hand, Tern--another of Arobynn's--shot Sam in the head."

Rowan's face blanched so quickly, she thought he might pass out.

He started to say something, but she spoke faster. "I... snapped. I killed Tern, tried to kill Arobynn. You called me a murderer, and that's true. I am, and I don't regret it. Tern was a sadistic bastard, and I'm glad he's dead. And one day, I'll kill Arobynn for what he did."

Rowan shook his head, confusion and shock and something similar to pity in his eyes. "Why didn't you leave, run away?"

She leveled a look at him. "I didn't exactly have a choice, Rowan. My punishment for Tern lasted for over a year."

There was a long pause.

"Punishment?" he asked in a breathless voice that made something in her chest hurt.

She looked at the table again, skin pebbling at the memory of that year. "He locked me in a cell in the basement, in the dark. Once a month he'd come in to ask if I knew someone named Sam. It took me ten months to get confused, another three to say no."

Still not meeting his eyes, she looked at his hands, noticing they were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. And a part of her, buried under all the rage and resentment and sadness, warmed at the thought that he was... he was angry for her.

"It took me a long time after to figure out what was real and what wasn't. But Arobynn never let me forget our deal. And right before I met you, he told me the first job."

"What were the jobs?"

Aelin looked back up at that, the air thick between them as she said, "You already know."

"The murders."

She nodded, somehow managing to keep her spine straight despite the feeling of a hundred pound weight being lifted from her shoulders.

He at least knows why now, she thought to herself.

It was one of the things that had bothered her over the years. That he didn't know why she'd done what he thought she'd done. That he thought she'd.. wanted to do it.

He was silent for a long time, just watching her with a carefully emotionless face. "Thank you for telling me that," he said eventually. "I never could understand why."

Then he stood and walked to the door again, and it was only when his hand was on the handle she spoke again. "You asked why I'm doing this, and why I'm doing it now."

He opened the door but paused. Waited.

"It's because I tried to tell you this all those years ago, and you didn't care. You just assumed I was guilty because the evidence looked like it."

She spoke around the lump in her throat. "I told you I didn't kill those people, Rowan, and you didn't even care."

He spun around, slamming the door so hard it rattled, and in a split second, he was in front of her. A hand on the table, the other on her chair, he leaned down and got in her face.

He was so angry, so unbelievably enraged she couldn't believe it. He was angry?

"I didn't care? I didn't fucking care, that's what you think? Watching you get dragged away in cuffs was the worst moment of my life, and you think I didn't fucking care?"

Shock hit her like a bucket of ice water.

That moment was crystal clear in her mind, and she couldn't put what he was saying with what she knew.

He'd watched her with that same expressionless face, with cold eyes that had haunted her ever since.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn't done.

"I fucked loved you! I thought you were the love of my life, Aelin. I begged you to tell me something that would help, tell me anything. But you didn't! You just kept saying you were innocent; you didn't give me anything to actually work with."

"I-"

"I found that stupid fucking list five days before I reported it, did you know that?"

She shook her head, because she hadn't.

"Exactly. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he growled, eyes flashing. "I spent five days investigating it myself, trying to make sense of why you'd know those names. After your arrest, I spent two weeks trying to find anything, a single piece of evidence, that said it wasn't you. And after the trial, I spent another two months trying to poke holes in my own goddamn case."

He slammed a hand into the table. "I did everything I fucking could! I was desperate for it not to be you. I argued my case so your lawyer could plead circumstantial evidence. I put you on the stand so you could say anything you wanted. I went for life sentences instead of the death penalty to give you time to actually tell me what the hell was going on!"

She was breathing heavily, heart breaking and reforming over and over again at what he was saying, what he was implying.

"I didn't assume shit," he said in a low voice, so close they shared air. "You didn't tell me anything."

Aelin's voice trembled as she croaked, "I tried."

He shook his head, letting out a breath of amusement. "No, you didn't. If this past week has proven anything, it's that you don't try to do anything, you do it. You didn't tell me anything, Aelin. You're still not telling me anything."

"I'm telling you to look again! I'm telling you you didn't look hard enough, because I left breadcrumbs only you could find, breadcrumbs that explain everything."

"Stop playing games with me!" he shouted, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger. "It's been eight years! Stop holding onto whatever secret you're holding onto and just tell me!"

Gods, she wanted to.

He was the one person she couldn't trust with this secret, this stupid, most important secret, and yet he was the also the one person she wanted to tell it to.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, "I didn't kill them, Rowan. I promise I didn't kill them. I can't... I can't tell you anything else."

"Jesus, Aelin," he spat, pushing off the table and turning to leave.

"Just look into it," she called after him, fingers digging into the table to resist the urge to try and follow him. "I promise you can figure everything out, and you'll understand everything. Please."

She knew why, after all this time, it was so important for him to know the truth when that hadn't been her original plan.

It was because she'd spent eight years believing he hadn't tried, believing she hadn't been a good enough person for him to even look into the possibility it wasn't her.

And maybe it was because he was once again leaving her, or maybe it was because she felt like she was in that courtroom again, begging him to believe her, or maybe it was because of something she didn't even understand yet.

Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying, "I loved you, too, you know."

He looked at her with sad eyes that she was sure mirrored her own and shook his head. "Not enough, apparently."

"You don't believe that," she argued, shaking her head and trying to keep the building emotions down.

"If you'd loved me, you would've told me. You would've given me the proof, whatever breadcrumbs you're talking about. You wouldn't have let me watch them take you away."

"Rowan-"

"You wouldn't have thought, for a second, that I didn't try to fight for you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have waited eight years to do whatever it is you're trying to do."

"I had to," she whispered, even as she knew it wouldn't be enough.

She shook with the effort to not tell him everything, but even after all he'd told her and how everything had changed, she just couldn't. Not yet.

He stood at the door, watching her with those eyes she'd once thought looked like the most beautiful emeralds. "Sometimes I think about it, you know. What life would be like if I hadn't tried to fix your sink in the middle of the night."

She smiled sadly. "Me too."

Rowan shook his head, gaze taking in her face like he thought he'd never see her again.

He thought it was over now, she realized. He thought that now she knew he hadn't given up on her immediately, now that she'd told him the story she'd wanted to tell him, that it was over and she'd give up.

"Look again," she whispered. "You know I didn't do it. It's why you're here, why you kept looking after the trial ended. You know I wouldn't."

"Goodbye, Aelin," he said instead, not telling her any of the things she really wanted to hear.

It wasn't until the door shut behind him she finally let herself cry.

She'd told herself that it didn't matter; that in a month the truth would come out and everything would be normal again.

She'd told herself she was only messing with Rowan for revenge, not because she wanted to see him again or test that he'd find the clues she'd left for him.

She'd told herself this was just a game.

She'd told herself all sorts of things that turned out to be lies.

~~~

Part 3

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