#blindingly handsome man | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

malikat24601 · 6 months ago

Text

Errrbody out there with their cool title art and brilliant ideas for the BB... and then there's me <insert hehehe raccoon gif here> Presenting Team 043 with @ghostdeb bringing you: Glory Days A Steddie Alpha/Baseball/Omega fic for the Steddie Big Bang 24! Excerpt: The sun was high in the sky, blindingly bright, and Eddie shielded his eyes as he wandered through the stands, looking for his seat. Nancy’s expectations of him rang loud and clear in the excellent spot she had reserved for him, field level near the dugout, overlooking home plate. Money wasted, he thought saltily to himself, since he wouldn’t be able to see anything past the fucking glare.

There was a gift bag waiting for him, a welcome package from the team — a bottle of water, a box of honest-to-god Cracker Jack, a little baseball bat keychain with Harrington’s jersey number on it, and a cap with the team logo embroidered across the center in bright reds and golds — the Indiana Mindflayers. Eddie pouted to himself, hemmed and hawed until finally, with a loud groan, he pulled the cap on over his frizzy curls and… damn. Even he had to admit that it brought instant relief to his eyes, shading them and bringing the field into perfect clarity. He sniffed, the smell of the turf bright and green in his nose. I’ll have to start doubling up on the Claritin, he thought, determined not to enjoy it one bit.

Eddie pulled out his notepad and shuffled through his notes. Steve Harrington was the second baseman; smart, fast, with good reflexes and running speed. By all accounts, he was the favorite to break the base-stealing record last set in 1982, garnering respect for the up-and-coming new team. He was a powerful hitter, an even better baseman, a fan favorite, and, as far as Eddie could tell, a squeaky-clean, all-American golden boy.

And while Eddie had done the requisite reading on the sport, more of his time had been spent delving into the lore that had built up around the man. The only son of a notorious business mogul, Steve Harrington had led a charmed life. Trust fund baby, sports phenom, the pinnacle of what a good son and alpha should be — right up until he had defied expectations and joined an unknown, fledgling team and been cut off by his family.

Lucky for him, Steve was handsome, charming, and known almost as well for his prowess off the field as he was on it. He was never seen with the same woman more than twice, never tied down, never mated. Rumors swirled that he had almost been married once, but had his heart broken by some mysterious figure, the identity of whom he protected at all costs. Other than that, it would appear that all there was to know about Steve Harrington was how he played that day and who the new celebrity on his arm was that week. How boring, Eddie couldn’t think of anything worse.

Still, he was a reporter, and there was a lot of buzz around the guy. If there was a story there, he would find it, and then he would go back to Indy and beg on hands and knees for his old job back.

Eddie sat through the first half of the inning before the Mindflayers were up to bat. He waited with as much enthusiasm as he could muster to get his eyes on the man himself. Finally, the familiar sound of Andre 3000 started up, Harrington’s song of choice to play him in, as he jogged out onto the batting mound.

Don’t want to meet your daddy, just want you in my caddy Don’t want to meet your momma, just want to make you come-a

Eddie rolled his eyes. A little on the nose, he thought, we get it, you’re a playboy who knots ‘em and walks ‘em. And I heard you were actually smooth…

Steve Harrington came up to bat with the bases loaded. It wouldn’t have been hard for anyone to look impressive after the lackluster performance of Tommy Hagan before him, but Steve sauntered out to home plate swinging his bat with the kind of easy confidence that made you just know he was about to do something special. His very first swing connected with the ball with a satisfying crack, sending it sailing deep into the stands.

Steve tossed his bat and ran, a home run. The crowd roared, jumping to their feet; the energy was infectious, and look, Eddie had eyes, he wasn’t immune to those tight little pants, or the sight of dirt on his knees as Steve pulled himself up with a bright, crooked grin and a little wave. The man was hot, he could admit it.

A faint scent of something wafted up from the field, spicy sweet and undeniable, calling to him so strongly that Eddie felt lightheaded. But almost as soon as he had locked onto it, it was gone; the wind changed and with it came the smell of incoming rain. He sank back in his seat, a little worse for wear, looking dubiously up at the sky and the gray clouds rolling in. A shiver ran through him and Eddie was forced to buy a hoodie to go with his new cap as light sprinkles fell over the stadium. He charged that shit on the company card.

The game played on, dauntless of the rain, and Eddie was cold, wet, way too sober, and bored. He tried to get into it, but catching the Cracker Jack he was tossing into the air with his mouth was just so much more interesting.

After an eternity, finally they were in the last inning, and just as he was silently thanking the gods of sportsball that he’d soon be released from his purgatory, a palpable energy began to grow all around him. People were sitting up, watching a little closer. Eddie sat up, too, unceremoniously dropping the Cracker Jack to the ground.

The field was still wet from the earlier rain, grass glistening under the lights that had come up as the sun went down. It was the bottom of the 9th, the Mindflayers were down by one, and Steve was up to bat again.

The first pitch was thrown wildly out of the strike zone, a ball. Steve let slip a flash of annoyance, which made Eddie smile to himself. Careful, big boy, that halo is slipping. On his second swing, he hit a double and made it to second base.

Then, before the next batter for the Mindflayers could take his place, the opposing team made a switch, bringing Jason Carver onto the field, their notoriously lethal left-handed pitcher. Steve seemed keenly interested in the goings on, so much so that Eddie found himself watching him more so than the player at bat.

“Only one out left,” muttered the man sitting behind Eddie, so he wrote it down in his notepad. He could look up the exact rules of the game again later, after he had dried off, warmed up, and eaten something other than stale, too-sweet popcorn.

Lucas Sinclair stepped up to the plate, and while he and Carver sized each other up, Steve took the opportunity to run, racing to steal third base. The crowd cheered and Carver cursed, shouting something and… did Steve wink at him? Carver cursed again, but it didn’t matter, Steve was already safe. Sinclair was laughing; if he could get a good play, Steve would have a chance to run for home, tying the game. Carver spit and turned back to the plate, winding up.

Sinclair was ready, but Carver’s signature fastball got past him. Eddie’s eyes were still on Harrington, who looked tense and twitchy as he and Sinclair made eye contact across the diamond. Carver smirked; another deadly pitch, another strike. Behind Carver’s shoulder, Steve had crouched low, watching things play out intently. The final swing connected, ball sent flying deep into the outfield and Steve ran. The crowd was on their feet, screaming as Steve slid home, his hat coming off and hair flying. He’d tied the game, standing up with a grin, clay caked down the front of his uniform as he shouted at Sinclair to run. The opposing team’s outfield threw the ball, but it went wide, missing their baseman. Sinclair kept running, past third, and when he touched home, he leapt onto Steve, the two of them laughing and shouting, because they’d done it. The Mindflayers had won by a single point in the final inning of the game.

Eddie found himself standing, too, his hands in the air and his jaw on the floor. He was absolutely helpless to the energy of the crowd. The team poured out onto the field, hoisting Steve and Lucas up onto their shoulders, and Steve threw his head back and laughed. Eddie laughed with him, couldn’t help it, overwhelmed by the magic of the moment. Somewhere on the breeze, he caught the smallest taste of that scent again, hot baked bread and spices, warmth and comfort, and then it was gone. When he looked back out to the field, Steve had disappeared into the dugout. That was Eddie’s cue to make his way down.

He wedged himself into the throng of reporters at the press conference, all trying to get the attention of Steve Harrington, who was clearly preoccupied with teasing his coach, renowned humorless hardass Jim Hopper, while managing to answer a slew of questions seemingly on autopilot without looking up once. “It’s all about teamwork, no one player wins the game,” rolled off his tongue, and then, “everything I learned, I learned from this man here,” as Hopper snorted gruffly. Eddie pushed through to the front and raised his voice.

“That was a pretty neat trick you pulled there, but couldn’t you have done it sooner in the game so we could have had a bit more action in the middle bit? Or do they just trot you out at the very end to make it seem more interesting?”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the small space, save for a few awkward coughs as Harrington turned to stare directly at Eddie, his dark eyes narrowing.

“Never seen this scrawny little guy before,” he quipped, leaning back lazily as though Eddie had bored him. “And who are you?”

“Eddie Munson, with The P—”

“The Pace. I know you. You’re Wheeler’s new boy. Of course you are.” Steve said it like it left a bad taste in his mouth and Eddie gritted his teeth.

“If you could just answer the ques—”

“The reason, Mr. Munson,” Steve interrupted him again, “is that there’s more to the game than just hitting balls and running. Stealing bases requires thought, and it requires the right set of circumstances to pull it off. As soon as I realized they were bringing Carver out onto the field, I knew that I’d have a chance to take third, because as a left-handed pitcher, he’d have his back to me. It’s called game strategy. You may think I’m just a dumb jock, but I do actually have a brain. Next question.”

Eddie was dismissed, clearly. He frowned, staring down at his notepad. Strategy? You didn’t get to be the scariest dungeon master in Indy without knowing game strategy. Eddie twitched with annoyance.

He sulked through the rest of the questions, saying nothing, before making his way down to the locker rooms with the select few VIP reporters allowed in for the meet-n-greet. Eddie milled about, feeling every bit as uncomfortable as he had in high school gym, sweaty ball players shoving past him with towels thrown over their shoulders. Someone knocked into him from behind, and Eddie jumped aside, immediately apologizing.

It was Harrington, of course it was. Up close, Eddie could see that his brown eyes were more a warm hazel flecked with gold, downturned and sleepy-looking, but beautifully expressive. His lips were bowed and pink, far lovelier than a testosterone-ridden alpha male should possess, and cheeks kissed with tiny moles. He froze in place, apology dropping off, entirely unprepared for the reality of Steve.

The man smirked at him, clearly amused. Steve reached forward and pinched the fabric of Eddie’s Mindflayers hoodie, rubbing it between his fingers. Then he ran his thumb along the bill of Eddie’s cap, almost teasingly. “Love the ‘fit,” he purred, in a wry, gravelly voice, and Eddie shivered.

Steve was standing so close, sneering down at the gaping idiot that Eddie had become, and for a second he thought he caught that scent again, rising dough, nutmeg. His attention snapped elsewhere as he subconsciously lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. An omega was near, their scent curious and seeking, interested, sending a pulse of want all through him. Steve’s eyes shuttered off, and he looked uncomfortable, taking a step back and rubbing at his neck. Then, with an awkward smile that held none of the fire it possessed earlier, Steve whispered, “see ya around, Munson,” as he turned tail towards the showers, leaving Eddie staring after him.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddiebang24 #stranger things

52 notes · View notes

howlingday · 1 year ago

Note

Here's a fun prompt!

Every time Pyrrha apologizes for something Jaune inexplicably gets kissed!

Pyrrha almost trips a mom dropping her kid off at school? Cross guard Jaune catches her and gets a smooch to the top of his head.

Pyrrha sorry for bumping into new transfers? A wet smack is heard, as one of the foreign girls gives Jaune a friendly kiss in greeting.

Pyrrha apologizing to Ren for forgetting to bring his sunscreen to the pool? Jaune almost drowns but wakes up to a smoking hot lifeguard lady giving him CPR!

How long until Pyrrha finally explodes (if at all)?

Pyrrha was... not okay. If she were okay, she was on the border between okay and not okay. If she were okay, she would be at her limit before reaching not okay. But that's not the case. She was not okay.

She was not okay.

Pyrrha must have been a mass-murdering racist who delighted in the screams of children in the past life, because it was the only logical explanation for this cursed life of hers.

She was beyond a mere school girl crush on her partner, leader, and best friend, Jaune Arc. What wasn't there to love anout him? He was tall, handsome, kind, sweet, and honest. All good qualities in a man. Unfortunately, he was also clumsy, which is where her curse begins.

Of course, Pyrrha wasn't perfect either. Aside from warped sense of self-worth after years of training in Argus to become an international sports star, Pyrrha was what her manager, her agent, her mother, her friends, and the janitor called "too nice." Jaune never believed such a thing, but even Pyrrha had to admit that she apologized a lot. And again, her curse begins there.

Maybe the curse did originate from a criminal past life. Someone who refused to apologize for their actions, so now her current life is forced to apologize at every slight thought made. And the curse caught Jaune in it's intangible web.

This morning, Pyrrha woke up and used the bathroom first. A quick, cold shower, but she used the last of the shared shampoo and she forgot to replace it with the bottle under the sink. Nora was next in and she was lividly screeching from inside the shower.

"I'm sorry!" Pyrrha cried.

"Don't worry, I got it." Jaune smiled as he walked in with his footie pajamas. Shut up. He looked cute in them. "Here you GOOO-!"

SMACK-POP!

"Oooh~! Leader~! Such a dirty boy, kissing girls while they're naked~. Why don't I scrub that dirt off~?"

"NO THANK YOU!" Jaune ran out, half-soaked from his shower encounter.

Pyrrha was grateful it didn't go further. The hairbrush in her hand was starting crack from the bending. She still had the rest of the day before apologizing to her mother for breaking another hairbrush.

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

At breakfast, it was the usually chaos. Ren was chattered at by Nora, while Weiss scolded Ruby for this or that. Yang told another terrible pun while Blake read her book. The non-smutty one.

Pyrrha reached for the butter for her toast when her hand briefly touched Jaune's hand. They were freshly calloused hands, a product of his late nights training with her. His thin frame noticably bulked from the exercises, and she was glad to see the physical progress. His hand was warm, and kind, and nurturing, and-

"Pyrrha?"

"S-Sorry!" She stumbled out of her daydream.

Her leg struck the underside of the table, causing a cup to leap and spill over. A cascade of orange juice spread far. Pyrrha reached over with napkins in hand, dropping fabric after soaking fabric for damage control. And each paper was dropped, Pyrrha unleashed a torrent of the accursed word.

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"

"I'll go grab more napkins!" Jaune exclaimed as he ran from table to table. Pyrrha blindingly continued to pull and place napkins as he left.

"Oh, wow." Pyrrha looked up from her task to find a second-year girl kissing Jaune.

"Nice~." And then a third year.

"Seriously?" Even Velvet gave a peck to Jaune's lips in exchange for a napkin box.

"I'm, uh, I'm back." Jaune said, blushing.

"You sure~?" Yang teased. "Maybe we need some more napkins?"

"NO!" Pyrrha slammed the table, spilling more juice. "S-Sorry."

"I'll give you my napkins if you give me a smooch. Whattaya say~?"

"U-Um..."

Pyrrha internally screamed.

#rwby #pyrrha nikos #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake belladonna

129 notes · View notes

mystverse · 9 months ago

Text

RACERS | ENHYPEN - Sunghoon & Jay

I'm sorry that it took a lot of time to get to it, and it turned very self-indulgent ( T∀T)

Sunghoon picked up racing when he wanted to be adventurous. He liked exploring new things with you, and it was one time he tried it when you were out with him. It was a typical Tuesday outing with you, and one of his friends invited both of you to drop by to watch a race held by his brother. It's started out as casual fun. In a week or so, he was already taken by it. Attending race after race, participating in a few, when you started tagging along, it became frequent.

He loved the harmless bets you both made, showering each other in gifts. This time, it was different. He had not mentioned what he wanted this time, and you didn't ask because you'd give the world to him if he asked. He's your best friend, your ride or die. You knew he never would ask the impossible even if he is known for his silent mischief.

As expected of him, he won. And the way he smiled after he stooped after the line of victory made your heart race. He's blindingly handsome as the lights shine behind him while he walks, running his fingers through the blond hair. It's cinematic, the way he approaches you."So, what do you want?" Your voice is soft when you take the helmet from him. He leans down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. "This," he whispers against your lips, "I want us."

Jay is more of a sophisticated man, or so you thought. He wasn't going to race just because you, his girlfriend, are a racer. He knew that you loved the tracks and your bikes. He was all in for supporting you and coming to your races. Standing in the sidelines and cheering for you is what he did until the revelation.

It was one fine day it had happened. All because some guy had the nerve to be ridiculing you for dating a "softie" instead of a racer who is tough and protective. You had landed a punch straight on his nose, hard enough to bleed. You neither knew Jay had heard that nor bothered to tell him because it's insignificant anyway. At the end of the day, you loved him for who he was.

After a week or so, you see a bike in front of your shared house, and your first thought was which of your friends had bought a new bike. Jay had been away on business, and a few of your friends had been dropping by to keep you company because let's face it, you were whipped for your man and missed him every second of the day. You trudge to your door when the doorbell rings, and you are shocked to find Jay with the helmet of "JY" in his hand. Everyone knew "JY" because that mystery guy had been tormenting a lot of racers by winning each race he participated in. To see Jay holding JY's helmet with a grin is surprising. What is more surprising is that the way he is dressed.

"Hey baby," he presses his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. "Ready for the race?" You are still not over the newfound information. It's takes a few minutes for you to gather your thoughts and speak, "You are JY?" Jay laughs softly, "Took you long enough to find?" You blink in confusion, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wanted to surprise you." He kisses your chin, "Shall we go? I have to fuck you against my bike after I win." Your throat dries up and he keeps his word. He fucks you good on his bike after the match. The tradition goes on. He wins whenever you are there and he knows he fucks you dumb on his cock after.

: MYST

#enhypen #enhypen asks #jay park #park sunghoon #enhypen soft hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen soft thoughts #enhypen scenarios #enha hyung line

28 notes · View notes

recitedemise · 1 year ago

Text

I think about how much more remarkably unsure Gale is of himself outside the context of magic. He says such concerning things sometimes, undersells himself, and, at times, sounds just this way of thoroughly convinced that he's entirely undeserving. He thinks it's better if he dies. He thinks he's wronged quite enough. But when you get him to cast spells, to pull the Weave, to dance it both with sure hands and a confident tongue... and wow. He just changes. He suddenly becomes this unflagging spirit, a man so bright and so bold and so blindingly devastating. He can call fury from the skies, will sow death onto fields, and can orchestrate a ruin of either ice or fire, earth or thunder, or something else entirely. His eyes light up, and a smile — disarming, alarming, handsome, certain — finds him almost wickedly. He smells like ozone. He tastes like reckoning. He has lightning up his veins and gales swept gentle in his hair, and everything about his insecurities gives way to a nigh on soul shuddering display of force.

Then after that, he's cooking dinner and talking about the Thesis on Conditonal Ruptures that absolutely no one asked about.

#OOC.#TBD.#Gale being so confident and so good at magic is actually just so sexy.#His insecurities just adds depth and complexity worth exploring in the delicious Gale Stew TM.#I write Gale as a facade. In truth I'm just raw dogging him.#I'm that meme that goes 'Do they know I'm thinking about Gale Dekarios? And the party goers go yeah. He's all you think about.'

33 notes · View notes

promptthebear · 1 year ago

Note

Dude no way! I dint realise you wrote for slashers! Could I please request Bo Sinclair with 🐰“If I have to tell you again, I won’t be this nice.” Thanks!

Hello!

Sorry this took so long, but congratulations on being my first Bo request! I probably could've done something smutty with this prompt for sure, but did more of like an enemies to lover type vibe? Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Easter Askbox Event- Bo Sinclair x Reader

CW: ****Toxic relationship dynamic!!!!**** It's Bo so obviously it's going to be unhealthy as shit. Swearing. Misogynistic name calling, but reader is into it. Reader is manhandled by Bo. Dom/Sub dynamic. Use of the word sir. Spicy but not explicit. F!reader, referred to in 2nd person as "you" Again, what it says on the tin, this is darker compared to my usual stuff you've been warned.

Bo was lying underneath his truck when you showed up. He heard you before he saw you, the sound of your flip flops echoing through the empty streets. He grit his teeth as the sound got closer, knowing that whatever you wanted now, it was most certainly going to be a pain in his ass. He’d made it very clear since your arrival that he wanted nothing more than for you to fuck off and leave him alone, but somehow you still weren’t getting the message.

A flash of pink in Bo’s peripheral, your diy pedicure, told him he was no longer alone. He ignored you anyway, carrying on with his repairs as though your presence didn’t make a lick of difference in his eyes. Hopefully, you’d realize he wasn’t in he mood and go bother Lester or Vincent.

“Bo? I know you can hear me.”

No such luck.

“So? Doesn’t mean I have anything I wanna say to you.”

His voice was slightly muffled coming out from under the car, but you could hear the annoyance dripping from every syllable. Huffing softly, you reached out and nudged Bo’s knee with your toe. When no response came, you did it again, a little harder this time.

“Bo?”

“Jesus H. Christ.”

Slowly, Bo began to work his way out from beneath the truck, grumbling and grunting like a bear being pulled from its cave. You took a step back, in part to give him some room and also to give yourself a chance to admire the view. Even in cut offs, busted up sneakers and a filthy tank top, Bo wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes. His toned arms and knife sharp jaw more than made up for his lack of fashion sense. If it wasn’t for his constant scowl, he might have been the most handsome man you’d ever seen.

“If I ever forget my name, I’ll know who to ask” he glared at you from beneath the brim of his ball cap “Someone better be fuckin’ dying.”

You tilted your chin up and squared your shoulders back slightly, before matching his glare with one of your own.

“You said you were gonna drive me into town today.”

Bo let out a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his feet, muttered something you couldn’t make out, and leaned down to grab a grey rag from his toolbox. He began wiping the grease off his hands, and you watched the way the veins in his arms flexed with interest.

“I said if the truck was working, I’d take ya. But it ain’t, so that means you can either go ask Lester to drive you or start walking.”

“Lester’s out on a job” you shot back “And it’s too hot to walk.”

Bo shook his head and grinned, his teeth somehow blindingly white in spite of how much he smoked. You knew well enough by now, though, that for Bo, smiling meant the same thing as a dog bearing its teeth. This was a warning, one he’d be sure to make good on if you kept pushing.

“Tough shit for you then, darlin’”

You bristled visibly, which only made Bo smile even wider. He was toying with you now, and as always, you’d played right into his hands.

Gotcha.

“I told you, do not call me that.”

For a moment, Bo was too distracted by a drop of sweat that trickled down from your hairline to your jaw to answer. He watched as the droplet made its way down the curve of your neck and over your collar bones before disappearing between your breasts. You were dressed in a halter top and shorts that barely covered your ass. Looking at you made Bo feel all hopped up and crazy, like he was a horny teenager again. He wanted nothing more than to slam you into the nearest wall and fuck the sass out of you.

“I’m sorry darlin” he drawled, taking extra care to emphasize the pet name “Snapping your fingers may have gotten that little JV boyfriend of yours to jump to attention, but it’s gonna take whole lot more than the promise of a two minute fuck to get me to pay you any mind.”

“Please, you wouldn’t even last that long.”

Bo’s expression changed so fast, it scared you a little. You’d seen him fly off the handle a million times, throwing shit and screaming abuse at Vincent, but this was different. Something about the way his jaw tightened and the way his eyes flashed told you what you’d tapped into was deeper, darker. This was a whole new side to Bo, and you wanted to see exactly how far down the rabbit hole you could go.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

His voice was a low and eerily calm, the growl of a predator who’d cornered its prey.

“You heard me.”

Silently, Bo lunged at you. You tried to sidestep him, but he was too quick. He caught you round he waist first, and pulled your body to his so quickly you banged your head off his sternum. While you were still blinking away stars, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, and yanked back, hard. Your eyes stung with delicious tears, and the smell of smoke and spiked sweet tea on his breath made you dizzy.

“I think I need to bend you over the hood of my truck and show you just how wrong you are. Of course, then anyone walking by could see how we deal with mouthy little sluts around here. Would you like that?”

You let out a sound that was between a whimper and a moan. It seemed to excite Bo even further, and he licked his lips before he spoke.

“Use your words, honey.”

You took a shaky breath, your body trembling with fear and arousal.

“N-no.”

A faint smirk played around Bo’s mouth. His grip on your hair tightened, and he brought the hand around your waist up to grab your jaw. You’d been trying to turn your face away, to get what little distance from him you could and now you were trapped. He was making you look at him, his blue eyes almost black.

“No…what?”

You stared at him, pupils blown wide, wondering what the hell he wanted. Then it dawned on you.

“No…sir.”

A deep, rich chuckle rumbled in Bo’s chest. He ran a thumb over your lips, the gesture weirdly soothing considering how tightly he was holding onto you. Then, without warning, he pushed you away. You stumbled and fell backwards onto the ground, your palms stinging where the gravel bit into them.

“Go on now, git.”

You stared up at him, your bottom lip trembling as the tears in your eyes finally began to spill down your cheeks. Humiliation and desire swirled in your gut. You felt hot, bothered and bruised, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to deck Bo in the face or kiss him.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? I told you to git. If I have to tell you again, I won’t be this nice.”

You scrambled to your feet, barely missing the spray of gravel Bo kicked your way. Still crying, you started to run back up the road. You could feel Bo’s eyes burning into your back, but you refused to turn around. You knew if you did, you’d go right back there and let him play out every twisted fantasy he had with you. But there was no way in hell you wanted him to think he’d won.

For now, you’d have to go back to your room, lick your wounds and satisfy yourself with your hand. Come tomorrow, you’d see if Bo was ready to make good on his threat.

#easter askbox event #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #slasher fic #bo sinclair #bo sinclair imagines #house of wax 2005

60 notes · View notes

beckiboos · 1 year ago

Text

Lucien- You know Skyhaven may be a bit worse for wear but the gardens are still quite pretty arn't they?

Calliope- Yeah, it's nice place to have a sit down for a minute before trekking all over Skyrim again

Lucien- So what's the plan then? Looks like we can take a little time before getting to the greybeards, any detours along the way?

Calliope- Hmm... I suppose I want to go back to my house. Get it set up properly and explore Solitude a bit? Never did get to tour the palace

Lucien- I see... I thought maybe you would want to go to Riften and see a certain thief you might be pining for?

Calliope- Brynjolf? Gods no... he's the kind you have one amazing night with not the kind you pine over. Trust me I'm an expert

Lucien- An expert at pining? I'm not sure I understand... so you don't have feelings for Brynjolf? But you two seemed-

Calliope- Hmm. It's hard to explain... You know the story how I was disgraced as a court apprentice?

Lucien- Vaguely yes. You slept with a married man and his wife arranged you to leave court without a scandal for your family right?

Calliope- Yes. So while I was at court I was madly in love with another apprentice. He was tall and beautiful and I had a HUGE instant crush on him the moment we met and we became very close friends. But I was so scared to ever do anything about it. Terrified he would find out and it would ruin the friendship, terrified I wasn't... good enough. I couldn't even flirt with him, I was kind of mean to him really, I used to tease him something rotten because if I didn't do that then I would just get flustered. Then one day he tried to kiss me-

Lucien- Ahh! And that's when you slept together and found out he was secretly married?

Calliope- No... I couldn't do it. It was a ball, he had been drinking... I just- it would hurt too much, if he kissed me drunk and then the next day regret it and just want to be friends like he had done with so many others. So I pulled way. Got blindingly drunk. Found a handsome courtier I didn't recognise and slept with him. Easy to flirt with a guy when you're not in love with them... safer. Even though that event turned my world upside down, at least I didn't have a broken heart. Kind of a relief really, having the time away from him finally gave me the space to get over him. Brynjolf's of the world just seem safer than...

Lucien- The Taliesins of the world? I kinda figured... Brynjolf happened after your twos fight in Solitude and you act similar around him. Don't worry though, I won't tell. You're secret is safe with me. But if I could offer some advice? You deserve a chance at love Calliope. Don't let your fear of rejection make you settle for a Brynjolf. Maybe you could talk to Taliesin about how you feel? He might surprise you

Calliope- Ughhh do I have too? Can't I just kill Alduin? I think that's less terrifying than talking about my feelings. Anyway Tally is a huge flirt but he doesn't ever DO anything. I don't think he's really interested in me. He hasn't shown an interest in anyone... except Nazeem and even that is just casual

Lucien- Well you'll never find out unless you talk to him

Calliope- Hmmm I guess. I'll think about it but I'm not sure if I'm quite ready for that yet. Thanks for the advice though. I can't believe you figured me out. You're pretty smart at this sort of thing Luci

Lucien- I know right? And yet no one listens... So to Solitude then?

Calliope- Yeah we better set off soon... lets go get the others

#skyrim #oc calliope #lucien flavius #poor lucien blessed with all the brains #long post #thought this was needed to explain why she would behave so different around brynjolf than taliesin #poor girl isnt very good at feelings bless her

26 notes · View notes

glassofpumpkinjuice · 6 months ago

Text

😊😊😊

#hello beautiful.#fall out boy #pete wentz #my gifs #dont ask me what theyre talking about its sports related i only care about the closeups lskdfjsd #blindingly handsome man

498 notes · View notes

clandestinegardenias · 1 year ago

Note

Untitled KinnPorsche University AU snippet? [grabby hands]

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECIEVE.

Summary: Porsche is recruited from an underground fighting ring to work as a graduate research assistant for professor Kinn Theerapanyakul, a preeminent criminologist doing an ethnographic study on opioid trafficking in covert mafia-run fight scenes. Porsche quickly gets in way, way over his head--in more ways than one.

Snippet:

“You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you?” Porsche hears over his shoulder.

The tenor of the voice makes him hesitate for a spare second–it’s deep and seductive and really far too nice for this grim basement smelling of blood and piss and unwashed socks–but only for a second. He grunts noncommittally and continues toweling the sweat out of his hair.

“Did you ever go to college?”

It’s such a non-sequitur that Porsche forgets himself and turns to look at the man, mouth already forming a smartass retort. Unfortunately, he’s swiftly struck mute because this guy is gorgeous, like, the type of gorgeous that will absolutely, definitely, 100% get him beaten black and blue down here in the gutters of the city.

He’s also dressed to the nines in a fitted suit that fades from red to a sort of dark gray. Porsche isn’t exactly well acquainted with modern fashion–his white tees and chucks suit him just fine, thank you very much–but even he can tell that the way this man is dressed screams money.

Shit, this blindingly handsome idiot is about to get his ass handed to him the second anyone other than Porsche gets a glimpse–wait, is that a fucking Rolex?

Porsche briefly considers robbing the man blind himself, but quickly puts it out of mind. He’s paying his and Chay’s bills well enough with his fighting gig. Mostly.

Instead, he smiles his sunniest smile up at the dark, mysterious (handsome, handsome, so handsome) man.

“Community college graduate, at your service.” He sketches a little bow from his seated position. “Also, you’re about to get beaten within an inch of your life, dude. You should probably skate before someone notices you’ve got more money than God.”

There, Porsche warned the guy. He’s officially done his good deed for the day.

The man smirks at him and shifts his weight, subtly showing off his muscled arms and shoulders under the tight fit of his jacket.

“Thanks for your concern, but I can take care of myself.”

Porsche raises an eyebrow at him. Plenty of muscle bros think they can hack it against trained and seasoned fighters. They all, without exception, leave in an ambulance.

“I don’t think vanity muscles play very well in this crowd,” he says, and for some reason he also bats his eyes at the man like some horrible cheesy flirt. What the fuck, Porsche, pull it together.

“Hmm, maybe we’ll find out. Care to escort me to the exit?” the handsome man asks, and suddenly Porsche understands. He’s being propositioned. Oh, fuck. It’s happened before, but it’s always been easy to turn down. Sure, he’s basically selling his body in an underground fighting ring, but he’s really not interested in selling it any other way.

Still, for some reason, the word ‘no’ is having trouble making it past his lips. Instead, a stream of numbers is flowing through his head. How much would be enough?

He’s never been so happy to see someone break a door down in his life, because now he doesn’t have to know what his price would have been. Instead, as the thugs bent on robbing handsome mystery dude descend on them, Porsche lands a sweet spinning kick to the first guy’s temple, grabs handsome man’s wrist, and pulls him out the back door.

#my fic #kinnporsche #kinnporsche university au #bratty praise kink grad student porsche my beloved you are really IN FOR IT

33 notes · View notes

i-did-not-mean-to · 7 months ago

Text

YOTP - April

I've only realised now that this has never been posted! I am so sorry! I am really not super good at keeping track of these things.

Pairing: Caranthir x Finrod

Prompts: pranks, canon divergence, (seemingly) unrequited love, "No, I am not dating your brother", peace, university

Words: 2 205

Warnings: sadness, insecurity, misunderstanding

Caranthir frowned.

His brothers would have qualified his present mood as cantankerous—he would have called it the “status quo”.

As such minor inconsistencies in vocabulary did nothing to dispel the storm clouds sitting heavily on his fair brow, though, he put the thought from his mind and returned his focus to the vexing problem at hand.

Before him, in the middle of his perfectly orderly desk, flanked by neatly arranged stacks of notes and copies, lay a garish flyer, announcing the upcoming spring ball organised by and held at his university.

Usually, Caranthir managed to avoid this kind of overly dramatized, idiotic social gathering, but a strange sense of unease and helpless frustration had kept him from simply throwing away the crumpled piece of paper.

He wanted to go.

Of course, he would rather have bitten off his own tongue than admitted as much to anyone alive, but a part of him was sick and tired of being perpetually alone—undeniably unloved and universally unwelcome.

Nonsense, he chided himself sternly. It would only exacerbate his reputation as an unpleasant curmudgeon and his subsequent misery if he were to turn up alone and uninvited to a party where everyone else was making out in deserted classrooms and unsanitary lavatories.

“Good grief!” he exclaimed softly and pushed the flyer under a stack of homework—he was already late for his afternoon classes, and he’d rather not lose any more time just moping around.

The first thing he saw upon stalking into the much too brightly lit foyer of the university was his brother, winsome as ever, and his mood soured even further.

Leaning suavely against a very old, very valuable pillar, Maglor was entirely caught up in a hushed conversation and thus didn’t notice his younger brother sweeping past dramatically.

Caranthir’s heart sank—for a fleeting moment, he had considered approaching Finrod to find out whether he had any intention of attending the laughable circus that was upon them.

He knew for a fact that his co-student—ridiculously radiant and blindingly handsome—was not entirely averse to mopey, overly serious, and unbearably stiff specimens of his own gender; after all, he had dated Turgon, the only man who could compete with Caranthir’s glowering looks and hostile demeanour, for a while.

Considering how bright-eyed Finrod now looked, though, as he hung on Maglor’s full, sensual lips pointed to another conclusion: the cheery, popular, charming object of all Caranthir’s repressed desires had surely grown tired of men of his calibre. It made sense—unfortunately, that sober realisation did nothing to alleviate the painful twinge in Caranthir’s heart despite the quick onset of gruesome rationalisation and well-rehearsed self-denial.

Huffing an unnerved sigh, he hastened up the winding steps and slammed down his supplies on an old, worn table, determined to lose himself in his statistics class. He’d think of that silly ball and his agonising loneliness no more.

As soon as the class was dismissed, Caranthir slipped into the comforting silence of the library so he could make sure that he’d not meet anyone else, crush or sibling, once he was ready to return to the self-imposed isolation of his childhood room.

There was much work to be done, and he prided himself on his irrefutable excellence. This, he knew he could not only do, but do well, and so he disappeared into theories and long lists in his sullen escape from the bleak reality of wanting.

Every so often, his phone vibrated in his pocket, but Caranthir didn’t feel like reading the updates in the family groupchat, undoubtedly pertaining to the exciting plans of his various brothers to which he was never invited anyway.

The sun had gone down and the world seemed to have been dipped into translucent black ink by the time he re-emerged from his frenzied study session, and Caranthir dragged himself to his locker reluctantly.

A pounding headache was taking root behind his bleary eyes, and it took him a moment to realise that the flash of white he’d only vaguely registered upon tugging at the rusted metal door was a note addressed to none other than himself.

With trembling fingers, he unfolded the missive and gasped. It was an invitation to the very party he’d refused to obsess about all day long, and it was unsigned.

Caranthir was known for having no patience for this kind of childish game, but—as nobody but the mysterious sender—knew about this, he didn’t have to pretend that he was utterly untouched by the instinctive excitement such a communication would have incited in any living soul.

Nevertheless, before his fancy could absolutely get the better of him, he shoved the precious paper under a stack of hefty tomes and went to bed without expecting to find much sleep with the way his heart was pounding, and his mind was racing.

“Lame,” Beren commented as he folded a half-torn flyer into a paper aeroplane and sent it sailing across the spotty lawn. “How about you come with me and Lúthien instead? She’s had a rad plan for…”

“Something illegal?” Finrod interrupted pointedly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be your get-away driver this time—I’ve been recruited by another mischievous rogue for his morally questionable scheme.”

“Oh? Tell me all about it,” Beren exclaimed, suddenly no longer fashionably bored by the mundane and yet deeply moving intrigues of the small university his friend attended. “I truly hope there is a handsome someone involved…”

“Several,” Finrod purred.

“Not your stuffy ex, though?”

Shaking his golden head, Finrod leaned back on his elbows and stared at the sky wistfully—he had no doubt that, once he’d explained the whole ploy to Beren—he’d be mocked cruelly for his fatal weakness when it came to overly serious, lethally handsome men with dark hair and flashing eyes.

“Your stuffy crush, then? A bird has told me that you were seen in an intimate conference with Maglor,” Beren—who somehow always managed to stumble upon the most extraordinary bits of information—drawled provocatively.

“If you know everything already, there’s no point in testing my patience!”

At once, the shaggy-haired youngster lifted his hands—palms outward—in a gesture of apology and goodwill. “No need to be so touchy! My source, of course, misunderstood and speculated that you might go to the ball with the pretty singer. That doesn’t sound right to me, does it? Tell me then, what is going on?”

“He’s asked me whether I’d consider inviting his brother to the party,” Finrod replied anticlimactically. “And I’ve agreed.”

“So, it’s some elaborate hoax?” Beren cocked one eyebrow in unashamed scepticism. “You know that you’re allowed to disagree with people, right? You may say that their idea, at the root, is not a bad one, but also express your uneasiness when it comes to their way of going about things. This sounds like one of those stories that get you into serious trouble only because you were too kind to share your doubts.”

He took a deep breath, the corners of his mouth downturned expressively still, and then shrugged lopsidedly. “So, did you ask the brother out?”

“I’ve sent him an anonymous letter,” Finrod confessed—he’d just been all but explicitly called a coward, which took the wind out of his sails regarding his big reveal.

“Sounds more and more like a prank,” Beren groaned. “You bloody fool. What’s his name again? Cat something?”

“Caranthir,” Finrod sighed longingly. “’Moryo’ to his brothers, hitherto ‘unobtainable’ to me…”

Nodding seriously, Beren pondered the matter for a while. “Say,” he then piped up, startling Finrod out of his own longing thoughts, “how will he let you know whether he accepts or rejects your invitation?”

“I thought that I’d wait for him in the foyer, flowers and all, a banner maybe…” Finrod admitted sheepishly.

As expected, Beren was highly in favour of that ploy, and, strangely enough, his very enthusiasm—earnest and exuberant—gave Finrod pause. He knew that this friend would have broken into the darkest, dankest dungeon or wrestled a wild beast for his girlfriend, but Lúthien was a woman who expected and enjoyed ridiculously grand gestures—Finrod was almost certain that Caranthir was not.

“Wish me luck, man,” he muttered as he changed his mind and cut his timeline in half. “I’ve got to run!”

He’d pick his secret date up at home, he decided, so as to give Caranthir a chance to let him down discreetly without anyone but his brothers witnessing the embarrassing scene. It was a sacrifice, and it left Finrod very little time to make all the purchases he’d planned, but he was now sure that this was the right way to go about his own grandiose gesture.

Caranthir paced across his room nervously; he felt foolish for having gotten ready for a party he might very well not attend after all.

Fingon had arrived 20 minutes earlier and was presently regaling his parents with funny stories while Maedhros was trying desperately to keep from blushing every five seconds—Caranthir hated them, and he loathed his father’s throaty, echoing laughter booming through the whole house.

Celegorm and Curufin had also already left; as always, they had “things to do” before even considering going to the ball, and everybody only half-expected them to make an appearance.

The twins had gone to the cinema with friends, and Maglor was sitting on the stairs, yowling to himself.

Drowning in an ocean of sound and life, Caranthir felt profoundly lonely.

And then, the doorbell rang.

At once, he threw his door open and hastened out onto the landing only to hear Maglor’s pleasant voice. “Ah, finally. I’ve been awaiting you.”

Of course, Caranthir thought bitterly. His brother had secured a date with the most beautiful, eligible bachelor on campus, a fact he’d banished into the remotest corners of his usually meticulously rational mind.

Now, though, the envy and jealousy almost made him black out with impuissant rage—here he stood, in a suit he’d stolen from Maglor’s wardrobe and embroidered in long hours of painstaking labour, to be the only one left behind, again.

Not that anyone would notice, he thought miserably; everyone was so enthralled by their own pleasure and delight that nobody would even remember that he, sullen and unloved, was still puttering around in his room.

“Good evening, Maglor,” Finrod’s chiming voice resounded, followed by a suspicious pause. “Will those do?”

“Carnations,” the gracious host cooed in his most detestable singsong tone. “How adorable!”

Caranthir was already halfway back in his room when he heard his name being called, no yelled, up the stairs for Maglor’s voice carried far and wide, and nobody could outrun it.

“Moryo, for Eru’s sake, tell me you’re ready! Nelyo said you were good to go half an hour ago…”

Leaping down the stairs two by two, Caranthir came to a slithering halt—wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked—in the brightly lit entrance, only nearly missing a stunningly handsome Finrod who was kneading a bouquet of bright red flowers in his slender hands.

“I wasn’t sure you’d accept my invitation,” the latest arrival said carefully. “So I thought I’d give you a chance to politely decline without witnesses present.”

“Ooops, that’s my cue,” Maglor laughed and moonwalked into the living room and out of sight.

“I…But…I thought you were taking out my brother,” Caranthir stammered, his eyes darting between Finrod’s luminous face and Maglor’s retreating frame. “Aren’t you dating?”

Throwing his head back, Finrod gave a merry peel of laughter. “No, silly, I’m not dating your brother. Maglor, as ever fond of dramatics, has graciously agreed to be my confidant in this.”

Caranthir gave a strangled hum of doubt and insecurity, dreading the imminent and inevitable arrival of the others on the scene, laughing at how gullible he was, to share a ride or just to distract their father so someone could steal some liquor from his private cabinet, and rubbed his thumbs bemusedly against his other fingers in a desperate attempt to soothe the contradictory impulses and desires raging within his chest.

“Please, say something,” Finrod pleaded. “I realise now that it was cowardly not to ask you in person, but—after Turgon—I wasn’t feeling quite brave enough to stomach another rejection…”

“Rejection,” Caranthir jeered feebly. “Of course, I wouldn’t have declined. I’m not doing so now—I just need a moment.”

“Certainly,” Finrod said fervently, extending his battered bouquet jerkily as if he’d forgotten that it was there. “Here, these are for you. They compliment your charming complexion.”

“Charming complexion,” Caranthir muttered mockingly. “Sure thing, my man.”

“You’re lovely—you must know that!” Heartened by the quasi-acceptance he’d been granted against all odds, Finrod quickly grew bolder and grabbed one of Caranthir’s pale, trembling hands. “I will make it up to you; I promise. Please say you’ll be my date for tonight!”

“Very well! As you can see, I’m already dressed. Let’s go before Maglor wants us to go over in a big cluster of noise and strangely clad limbs…lest you’d prefer going with my brothers?”

“They’re of no consequence,” Finrod assured him. “Let me walk you to your carriage then.”

And, extending his arm gallantly, he promptly abducted Caranthir from his parental home unnoticed.

How did those two become one of my OTPs? Nobody knows (well one person certainly does)!

Anyway, thanks for indulging me!

-> Masterlist

6 notes · View notes

christiwhitson · 2 years ago

Text

I heard him before I saw him.

Objectively, one might argue that allowing a stranger to more or less lure me out of the city and away from potential witnesses was a bad idea. A blindingly stupid idea. But the instinct to trust this man was undeniable, and the promise of finding Jamie so soon was a temptation I couldn’t resist.

Being on horseback made conversation difficult, so my multitude of questions would have to wait until we stopped, and to my surprise, the ride was blessedly short. However, there were no visible structures or people in the vicinity, and for one brief moment, I wondered at the soundness of my own judgment. But then…

“You’re back sooner than I expected, a goistidh,” a disembodied voice called out.

I slid off my horse without conscious thought as my pulse took off in a sprint, and the air seemed to grow thin as I caught movement in the trees and saw a man emerge. A familiar mop of red hair crowned a handsome face and towering frame. Though his appearance had always been a bit tidier in my dreams, the well-worn state of his clothing barely registered.

It was his eyes that held me captive, brilliant blue and wide with shock and recognition. Silence stretched between us for one infinite moment, and just when I thought I might be able to get a hold on myself… he spoke.

And everything changed.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #reunion #bonus update

50 notes · View notes

spookyspaghettisundae · 1 year ago

Text

Maybe I’m Blind

They swam out into the bay. Swam until their muscles screamed for pause, and kept on swimming until they reached the sleek, pill-shaped vessel.

Metal rungs allowed them to climb onto the submarine. Two men in black suits stood atop the submersible, armed with automatic weapons, and they nodded in greeting to the woman and the girl.

The woman, Evangeline, nodded in response. The young girl, Hien, hid behind her. Without losing a word, one of the armed men gestured down the open hatch into the sub, and the woman and the girl obliged.

More metal rungs, now descending a narrow ladder. Metal clanked and pressure valves hissed. The armed men followed them down and closed and sealed the hatch behind them.

The underwater coffin soon rumbled to life and glided into the ocean. Descending.

And so began their journey west, submerged under leagues of water, occupying quarters in a claustrophobically cramped environment made entirely of metal and plastics.

Hien said nothing but her face was a mask of silent terror. The prepubescent girl fidgeted at every odd sound with eyes constantly wide. Eva spent most of the time distracting the girl with games they could play in the tiny cabin they were permitted to use.

When Hien tried to take a nap—and could not sleep the entire time, twisting and turning and keeping her eyes closed without rest—Eva took a tour of the underwater vessel and learned quickly that it was part of a fleet operated by the Devonlake Company.

Eva had been on edge already, but this just sharpened that edge into a blade.

The Devonlake Company. A mercenary outfit notorious for massacres they had caused in the hotbed conflict zones where they had been hired by Allied Forces. Controversies surrounding their activities forced the Alliance to sever all defense contracts with Devonlake, but the ruthless reputation they earned had made them the number one choice of hire for the ruthless.

Though the crew of this vessel spoke little, their attempts at being accommodating and friendly to their two passengers struck a bad chord with Eva. Hien must have sensed it too. Though the girl had said nothing to anybody but her in the privacy of their cabin, Eva could tell she was instinctively tense around the hired guns in their tight black jumpsuits.

And she was right to feel that way.

The crew’s captain stopped her during her second tour through the sub, and asked her to come alone.

Through a maze of corridors and small doorway hatches where everybody had to duck down to not bump their heads, the officer escorted her into a special control room. There was nobody else there.

He said, “Knock when you’re done.”

Then he closed the door behind himself and left Eva alone in this strange chamber.

There was a smooth black bench and a seat bolted to the floor by it, with a wide monitor mounted on the wall above the bench. A red light rhythmically blinked with a communications icon emblazoned beneath it. Eva took a seat, a deep breath, and then pressed the button.

The monitor sprang to life, almost blindingly bright in comparison to the dim lights throughout the rest of the submarine. The screen’s display was split into four sections and in the bottom right, she saw herself mirrored by a camera feed hidden behind the tiny hole on the monitor’s frame, complete with all the little cuts in her face that had yet to fully heal. The bottom left was black, and in the top right of the screen was a moving image of Huang Chen.

Still holding a phone to his ear and appearing to be listening to someone on the other line, Chen cracked a crooked smile in a quiet remote greeting to Eva, but it was tired, and never reached his eyes. Maybe it carried something nervous.

Her expression mirrored his in response.

The top left quarter switched from black to the image of a man she had never spoken to before. She had seen his picture before—in TV interviews, newspaper photos, and on magazine covers. A handsomely symmetrical face, but with the predatory gaze of a shark, framed by slicked back hair.

Desmond Sharpe.

Billionaire, “philanthropist”, CEO of Sharpe Industries, and the money bags behind its many subsidiaries—including Devonlake Company, she presumed.

Whatever semblance of a smile Eva and Chen had just granted each other, seeing this man wiped any shred of sympathy from their faces. Chen lowered the phone, thumbed it to an ensuing BEEP, and stuffed it into his inner jacket pocket before straightening his collar and necktie.

Sharpe spoke with a voice that lingered on the precipice between silk and smoke.

“Hello, Princess. A pleasure to finally meet you, and always a pleasure to speak to royalty. A shame that it’s not truly in person, but I’m sure we can arrange something if you would do me the honor.”

Not a single word of his sounded sincere. It was more likely a combination of stock phrases that Sharpe was prone to use in his everyday business.

“Mister Sharpe,” Eva replied. “And Mister Chen, thank you for arranging this…”

“Unusual meeting, yes,” Chen added, picking up the slack where Eva’s thoughts trailed off.

“Yes,” Sharpe agreed. “And auspicious, I’d say. It’s rare to have a chance at extending a helping hand to the crown of an Alliance Nation so directly. I must say I’m—”

Eva interrupted. “Can we cut to the chase? What’s your business here?”

Sharpe narrowed his eyes for a split second. Just long enough to relay irritation. Nobody spoke to him like that. There was royalty, and then there was Desmond Sharpe.

“Right, to the point, then. I appreciate that, because I only have so much time in the day to spare.”

“Wouldn’t wanna keep you,” Eva said, unable to fully mask a sneer.

“Yes, well, as you are aware, despite all charity efforts lanced by my family’s estate, I am no charity myself. And the favor I now extend to you comes with quite the price tag to my personal accounts. You would be amazed what the maintenance on this vessel costs, let alone the fuel. Not to mention the rates of Devonlake’s finest—”

“Please, again, get to the point,” Eva said, scowling more with each passing second.

“Yes, the point. One hand washes the other. I have a business proposal for you, Princess. I would appreciate if you accepted—as a token of thanks for your trip back home to our fine country.”

“And what if I say no?” Eva said with a sigh. “We have to swim across the ocean?”

“Please, do hear me out first,” Sharpe said. His hollow use of the word “please” was not a condition, asking for someone to indulge the words that followed. It was an empty word he used to preface an order. “There are no strings attached to your ferry home. You can still say ‘no’ to my proposal—and no hard feelings.”

Eva knew there would be hard feelings between them, regardless of the rest of their conversation.

She just nodded, having had enough of snapping back at Sharpe, and wanting to end this group call as quickly as possible.

“Excellent,” Sharpe said. A cat meowed in the background and the self-important CEO steepled his fingers in front of himself. “I have need of someone with your particular set of skills and your personal motivation—I need someone to infiltrate the M-Tek laboratory and gather intelligence for me.”

Both Eva and Chen arched a brow simultaneously.

“Doesn’t M-Tek belong to Sharpe Industries?” she asked him.

“Yes, that is correct. But I need an outsider for this particular task. I think no person other than someone of your caliber is suited for this. You see, I suspect there is a leak in the M-Tek facility. And I was overjoyed to hear I could help you out because you had just come to my attention recently.”

“Sorry, I don’t do autographs,” she retorted.

Sharpe emitted an abrupt guffaw.

“It just so happened to my reach my radar that you were investigating something at my shipyard in New Port City. Please, allow me.”

His attention turned to something off screen, a loud click followed, and the fourth black panel on Eva’s screen winked on to life.

It displayed the red encircled “M” graffiti on the wall.

“You know what I’m talking about. I believe we have a common enemy,” Sharpe said, returning his piercing gaze to the camera. “I have a hunch you know who this ‘M’ is, and you can help me fix a little problem of my own regarding them.”

“Really? I’m not sure we’re enemies exactly. As little as I know, this ‘M’ hasn’t done anything to offend me yet.”

“The recent news of a shootout on the streets of New Port City—which, according to my observations, involved you on a motorcycle, Princess—well, the circumstances suggest otherwise.”

“Look, if these terrorists are causing you any damages, I recommend you take it up with the proper channels and authorities. Why bother with me?”

“Ah! There’s the word. Terrorists. And thieves. Have you noticed how their graffiti is on grounds of different companies that are all subsidiaries of Sharpe Industries?”

“Your network’s big and it’s easier to evade taxes when the complexity of it borders on the incomprehensible,” she said.

He smirked.

She added, “No, I have not noticed that. Again—what do you want with me that the city’s bureau of investigation can’t solve? And why not just use your trigger-happy rent-a-cops when they’re done moonlighting as a submarine crew?”

Sharpe tilted his head back. Though his expression remained a stony mask of indifference, his irritation with Eva grew to mirror her sentiments towards him.

“There is a high likelihood of a leak in M-Tek, and I want an outsider to pinpoint it and shore up the hole. I cannot trust anybody from the ranks of my own companies with this matter, because they may already be compromised, or part of this obscure terrorist faction.”

He clicked something and the image of the graffiti disappeared, making way to some sort of indecipherable bar graph.

“What you see here are the losses we calculate whenever a disgruntled employee leaks information to the public, our tech goes missing from our premises and ends up on the black market, or corporate espionage from rivals putting out competing solutions ends up affecting our annual gross.”

He clicked again and a second graph appeared below the other.

“And these are the losses we marked in the last two quarters since ‘M’ has been making moves in New Port City.” He paused. “Do you see the difference?”

Just before Eva could exasperatedly remark that she, in fact, could not, Chen interjected with a furrowed brow, “Almost no losses. Curious.”

“Precisely,” Sharpe said. “And that is far more worrisome, my friends. That means that whoever is stealing from my businesses—and I believe it is this ‘M’—they are keeping what they steal to themselves. I should not have to remind you of just how cutting-edge M-Tek’s innovations are. In the wrong hands…”

Eva crossed her arms in frustration. Frustrated because he was selling her on this. Still, she felt the need to play hard-to-get. Sharpe was not the kind of person she wanted to be associated with.

“Alright. So, someone is robbing you of your high-tech toys before you can sell to the highest bidder yourself—someone is hoarding them. What was it you said at the beginning? You’re no charity, Mister Sharpe. What’s your angle?”

He raised a hand, counting down his reasons with a finger outstretched each.

“One—you close a leak for me. Two—I will have you outfitted with the best tech I can provide to help you on the operation, which will serve as a test run for the equipment, as well as a test run for M-Tek’s security. Three—and this one may interest you as much as it does myself—we learn who this ‘M’ is, what they want, and we put a stop to them. I consider the latter a public service because I reckon these terrorists may become an international threat sooner or later. The rest may be selfishly motivated, but I believe whatever affects me and my company now may affect everybody in the future. I prefer getting on top of things.”

“Fine. Enough already. You convinced me. I will need full access to—”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Sharpe interrupted her, wagging a finger. “Here’s the real catch you asked about. This will be a covert operation. Security inside of M-Tek premises is so tight that your arrival cannot be announced. Your esteemed royal status also affords no chance at recognition, and we have facial recognition technology that would alert everybody to who you are in an instant. Anything but going in full-dark may tip off the thieving mole to our little joint venture.”

“Fantastic. Let me guess, the security outfit is authorized to use lethal force on intruders?”

“Yes. I’m afraid—and grateful alike—that your Crown grants us generous extraterritorial rights when it comes to defending company grounds.”

The smile across his lips was thin and sinister.

Eva jutted out her jaw. Her hands itched to punch Sharpe in the face. Unfortunately, it would have only busted the screen in front of her.

He continued, “I understand your concern. But I assure you, the tools at your disposal will give you an edge.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Eva said, “I think I’ve changed my mind. This is starting to sound like a suicide mission.”

“Not really. If things take a turn for the worse, let yourself get identified, and I can prevent any debacle from reaching the media, and my employees will know better than anybody not to harm you in the slightest. They may be a bit… rough when they escort you off-grounds, but you should come out as healthy as you entered. If you are as good as I hear through the grapevine, that is.”

“The same does not extend to the mole. I need to get them out alive if we want to know more about ‘M’.”

“Yes, of course. I agree. I have full confidence in your ability to handle this matter. Don’t ask me how, but I gained access to your service record—the unredacted files—”

“Alright, enough,” Chen growled. “Are you going anywhere with this? Eva, you don’t have to do this. I for my part have heard enough. This is not what we talked about, Desmond.”

Twitching, the corners of Sharpe’s lips curled into another fiendish smile.

“As I said—if you say no, there will be no hard feelings,” Sharpe replied.

Eva was so tempted to turn this rich bastard down just to spite him, but she had learned a lesson recently. She somehow found it in herself to consider cooperation. Mostly, she wanted to get back home and back with all the people she cared about, starting with Hien.

A new lead on “M” would just be a cherry on top.

She sliced through the silence with sharply resolute words.

“I’m in.”

Chen’s face cycled through uncharacteristically expressive emotions written across it. Surprise, confusion, irritation, disapproval, and embittered acceptance.

“Perfect,” Sharpe said, steepling his fingers. “I knew you would see things my way.”

In fact, she did not see things his way. But this may have been several birds with the same stone for her, as well.

“Oh—one more thing,” Sharpe added. “The R&D you may see in the M-Tek laboratory is top secret. I trust that someone with integrity such as yours will not speak of what you see there, even without the threat of litigation. You of all people causing me financial losses would not be a good look.”

Eva squinted and asked, “Why, is there something dubious going on there?”

Sharpe smiled again. “Even if there was, we wouldn’t want that to come out. Given the history between Sharpe Industries and your Crown, I think it would reflect badly on all of us.” He paused and tapped his lips theatrically. “Then again, nothing that my company couldn’t scrub away with some good PR and spin. The reputation of the royal family and the monarchy as a conceptual whole, on the other hand—”

“Enough of this,” Chen snapped. “You’ve made your point. She agreed. I believe we’re done here.”

Sharpe’s smile faded ever so slightly.

“I trust it is an implicit agreement of silence between us. There’s no need to sign anything as far as I’m concerned,” Sharpe said. “Your word is worth more than gold, Princess.”

She finally answered, “Oh, don’t sweat it. I don’t kiss and tell.”

He smirked.

“Then I will arrange for everything. When you arrive in the next port, an agent of mine will take care of your further travel needs, and a man by the name of Ghostwall will provide you with the special equipment. As you will be staying undercover from here on out, what codename do you want us to use in safe transmissions?”

Eva did not think for long.

“Swan.”

“Excellent. I wish you a pleasant rest of your journey. It was truly an honor.”

Still, not a single word of his sounded honest. All calculation. All poisoned.

Nobody said anything in response to that.

“Goodbye,” Sharpe said. His corner of the screen winked out, going dark.

Chen frowned.

“Are you sure about this? You can still back out. He can’t force you to do anything.”

“I’m a big girl, Huang. I can handle myself.”

Now she was lying. She was worried about how this would turn out.

But it was a perfect opportunity to learn more about “M”—and perhaps dig up dirt on Sharpe.

She would not be intimidated by his threats.

All she worried about now were the others.

“Huang, I—”

“Yes?”

“Can you arrange to pick up Hien? The girl who joined me in leaving the DMZ. I want her escorted into Lex’s care before I meet with this Ghostwall character. And I want you to brief Lex about everything we can spare to talk about. She can keep quiet.”

“Still debts to square I see,” he said with a crooked grin, then turned serious again. “I will do that. Anything else?”

Eva nodded several times over, as she pondered the precise words to relay.

“Yes. Please tell Lex that I want to meet her when this is all over. That I will tell her everything in my own words. And that I’m sorry for being a burden.”

Chen stared into the camera for a long while. Then he nodded.

“I’ll pass it on. Goodbye, Evangeline. And… good luck.”

She wanted to quip about not needing luck, but she needed luck more than anything, and luck had been almost consistently rotten lately. She smiled.

“Bye, Huang. Catch you on the flipside.”

His corner of the screen winked out, leaving only a black rectangle.

Eva tapped the monitor’s switch to turn it off. She got up to leave. The only door leading outside this cramped quarter was locked. She knocked.

No answer.

Her fist thumped harder against it.

Finally, she heard something click and then a lock disengaged. The door opened, and the same musclebound Devonlake captain gestured for her to lead the way back to the cabin where Hien awaited.

On the way back, from behind her, he asked, “Your face is awfully familiar. Are you—”

“No.”

She could almost hear the smugness, sensing a shit-eating grin on his face. Eva would avoid talking to the Devonlake crew for the rest of their trip.

Miles and miles away, in the M-Tek building, two security guards dressed in black rode downwards on a long elevator ride.

16th floor.

“There’s this new game show where they have contestants cook off against each other to determine which kingdom’s cuisine is superior,” said one of them, breaking the awkward silence.

“That sounds stupid,” replied the other in a low grumble.

10th floor.

“That’s not all there is to it. See, the contestants also have to dress as royalty of each kingdom, but in outfits that are, like, hundreds of years old? And the cuisine has to be made outta ingredients they would have had back then, too.”

5th floor.

The other guard groaned loudly.

“Come on, man. Do you hate fun? Always bitching and moaning about everything. Don’t you watch TV?”

Ground floor.

“No,” said the other. “TV sucks. I can’t believe you’re frying your brain with that garbage.”

2nd floor below ground level.

“Oh, and what? Practicing on a singing career while you’re whacking off to the lousy training videos here? I bet you’re—"

The access grate from the ceiling dropped like a rock and rattled on the floor between them, prompting confused looks from both security guards, directed at the object and not its source.

A female figure clad entirely in black dropped through the hole left open from the missing grate, landing between them like a cat. Grunts and shouts erupted between the three figures, but the fight was surprisingly short.

A furious kick pinned one of them by the neck against a corner, a volley of punches knocked the wind out of the other, and when the first whipped out a taser rod, she deflected his jab with the crackling weapon and sent it flying into the crotch of the other, who comically wobbled around while getting shocked until he joined the grate on the floor.

The second pushed free from the intruder’s boot but she landed strikes from his shins up to his face, with the final quick one-two punch making him see stars. He flew back into the mirroring wall of the elevator which cracked upon impact, then passed out. She snatched an ID badge from his chest and yanked, ripping some fabric off with it and pocketing the item.

A soft DING preceded the elevator final halt. Its doors slid open at the 7th floor below ground level.

The black-suited intruder slipped out, sticking to one side of the dimly lit corridor, slinking right underneath a camera sweeping the hall. She tossed a tiny green-blinking object up to the camera, and it magnetically clung to the device’s surface with a soft thwup. The camera stopped pivoting altogether.

The intruder sprang into motion and jogged down the corridor, coming to a stop behind a milky-white glass door with the M-Tek logo emblazoned on it, above a sticker sign that warned employees of the consequences of not having their ID badge on display at all times.

Here, she paused and produced a long handgun from the myriads of odd tools on her belt, then pressed the stolen ID badge from the guard against the magnetic reader next to the glass door.

A green light flared up above the door, and it slid open sideways with a soft hiss.

The intruder jogged inside, immediately ducking beneath rows of glossy marble planters which provided an almost sickeningly fake rendition of a jungle, with all manners of ferns and palm trees in this underground lobby. A stunningly elaborate mural on the walls had been painted to make the chamber look even more like another place entirely, with a mountainous horizon and a sea on the opposite side. Red leather couches lined the center square of this recreational lobby.

When the next door opened and some darkhaired woman in a white lab coat entered, she stared down the barrel of the intruder’s gun for a second that felt like forever. Then she slowly raised her hands. The badge hanging from her chest pocket read: Doctor Ida Sverigund.

“Don’t shoot. I’ll do anything you say,” said the scientist calmly.

The intruder quietly ushered her to turn around with a painful clutch on her shoulder, shoving the lab coat-clad woman right back through the door, keeping the gun squarely trained on her back.

This led them down a hallway branching off into high-ceilinged chambers separated by glass windows, containing rows of towering tanks. Each chromed tank had a tiny porthole and bubbling purple liquid behind it.

The whole place thrummed with magic.

Machines belched out steam behind sealed metal doors.

Said Doctor Sverigund, “What do you want? Maybe I can help—"

She was shoved more forcefully.

The intruder’s mask distorted the voice of its wearer when she replied in a menacing monotone, “Shut up and keep moving.”

“I can lead you to the most valuable research if you promise not to—”

Another shove.

“What part of ‘shut up’ do you not understand?” threatened the intruder, poking Sverigund in the back with the pistol. Arriving at the end of the corridor and ignoring all the strange rooms on the way after casting a glance into each of them, she ordered, “Door.”

Doctor Sverigund lifted her badge to the magnetic lock, and it emitted a beep. This next door was made of shiny metal and completely opaque. It swished ominously when it slid open. The badge zipped back on a cord and slapped against Sverigund’s chest, and the intruder pushed her into a security checkpoint with a metal detector and some lockers.

Eyes went wide. A security guard and a scientist had been idling about in this room, their deer-in-headlights frozen body language conveying that they had been flirting with one another before the interruption, surprised by the intruder.

The security guard’s hand went to a submachine gun on the desk, but he took a dart to the neck before he could reach it, then stumbled backwards, tearing down a folding chair behind the desk as he keeled over. The other scientist emitted a clipped but terrified shriek, hands shooting up in the air and trembling like a dry leaf in the wind, immediately begging for mercy.

The intruder said, “Get down on the ground, hands behind your head.”

She complied. Then the intruder shot her in the back with another dart, provoking a gasp before robbing the scientist of her consciousness.

The intruder turned around and grabbed Sverigund by an arm before the doctor could run. Twisted the arm. Though Sverigund’s face contorted in pain, she made no according sound, just gritting her teeth.

“Next door,” commanded the intruder.

“Wait. Wait! There’s a security turret—without Jackson’s retina scan, it will activate if we continue on without his authorization,” said the coat.

The intruder motioned to grab the unconscious security guard but was immediately interrupted by Sverigund.

“No use. The system can tell if a subject is dead or unconscious. It can even—”

“I don’t need the instruction manual. Speak up sooner next time.”

“You shot him with that tranq pistol before anybody could have possibly said anything!”

The intruder pushed her up against the next door.

“What kind of turret? Where is it placed? And open this door. Now.”

Sverigund used her badge to unlock the next door. Something buzzed, but it opened. Every light around them turned red.

“I don’t know! I’ve never seen them in use!”

“Stay down,” said the intruder, wrangling Doctor Sverigund till she dropped to her knees and waited there.

The intruder’s black-helmeted head featured a sinister-looking breathing mask—though all designed for efficiency, the sharp edges and angular shape lent it a vaguely demonic air. She poked it outside the next door. A split-second after she withdrew her head, a machine gun spat bullets at the doorway.

THUM-THUM-THUN-THUM-THUM-THUN-THUM-THUM-THUN-THUN-THWUNK.

The metal door ate the final shot, the rest of the high caliber bullets had chipped away at concrete walls where the intruder’s head had poked out from.

“Stay down,” the intruder repeated. At the same time, she holstered the dart pistol and produced a long cylindrical tube which she screwed onto a second gun.

She tumbled out into the adjacent corridor. Through the thick window, Sverigund witnessed the intruder roll to a stop on her knees—she fired the silenced gun several times.

It all happened so quickly that the turret could not respond with more automated gunfire. A gatling gun drooped into view, hanging in shambles from a mechanical arm that was mounted inside a small metal niche on the ceiling, the secret panel originally concealing it now busted and dangling down. Sparks sporadically jumped from the bowels of the niche.

Returning to Doctor Sverigund before she could run, the fleet-footed intruder grabbed her by the collar and dragged her back up onto her feet.

“How many people work here? Speak.”

She poked Sverigund in the side with the substantially more lethal silenced pistol.

The doctor stammered out a string of broken thoughts and sentences that died on the way out of her mouth, correcting herself multiple times.

“Eight. Eight! No more than eight at all times. Company policy.”

The intruder shoved her aside, kicked in a door, and found an interview room behind it—a windowless little cell with folding metal chairs and a bare table in between them. It was cold and impersonal. More like an interrogation room.

Out of nowhere, someone exclaimed, “What in the damned Hells is going on h—”

A man descending a circular flight of stairs gripped his neck where the needle of a dart was suddenly stuck in it, and he began rolling down the rest of the steps in what looked like a painful series of slow, little falls.

When he landed on the floor in front of them and stopped moving, the intruder pointed to the stairs.

“What is up there?”

“Uh—uh, just restrooms, offices. Lockers, showers,” Sverigund answered.

“Who’s not there right now?”

“I don’t know! I was just on my way home before—”

“Move,” the intruder ordered, shoving Sverigund to go up the stairs instead of following any of the branching hallways.

They took wide steps over the unconscious scientist on the ground and ascended.

In an office, two scientists were focused on a whiteboard. One of them stood in front of the board, biting his lip as he was trying to solve an equation, while the other sat at her desk, shoveling what looked like cold noodles from a plastic cup into her mouth with a pair of chopsticks.

They both slowly turned their heads, dumbfounded, when they saw who was standing in the door. They did not even manage to make any noteworthy sounds before the sedatives in the darts kicked in, one sticking out of the chest of the guy by the whiteboard and one out of the neck of the young scientist eating ramen. The terrified looks on their faces spoke volumes to their surprise. The guy with the whiteboard pen dropped like a sack of potatoes and the other scientist’s head splashed in spilled soup, falling asleep at her desk.

“If you’re not lying, that leaves only two more,” said the intruder, yanking at Sverigund’s shoulder and pushing her farther along.

Clicking and clacking sounds accompanied her reloading of the tranquilizer pistol.

With her hostage at arm’s length and a jab of the silenced pistol between the shoulder blades to keep her motivated in moving, they swept through the locker and shower rooms, finding them all deserted.

“It’s not too late to surrender,” the doctor muttered without turning around.

She flinched when she expected the intruder to hit her, but no such action followed.

“Fat chance,” said the intruder, chortling. The electronic distortion delivered by the mask made it sound raspier, sinister. “I’m only getting out of here in one of two ways. Either walking out with what I want, or in a body bag. Do you understand?”

Sverigund nodded. Then said, “The remaining two people are scientists. Please don’t hurt them. There should be two guards on the way to change shifts with the checkpoint officer and the one you shot on the stairs.”

“No concern now,” said the intruder.

They looped back and descended the stairwell, stepping over the unconscious guard at the bottom and entering another corridor.

A gatling gun rattled away, shaving chunks of concrete off the walls, and tearing up the floor. Before Sverigund knew what was happening, the wind was knocked out of her as she hit the ground, having been yanked back and tossed aside like a ragdoll.

In a lull of the turret’s shooting, the intruder aimed her silenced gun around the corner and blazed away. Something exploded and she ducked back behind the door. Then she grabbed Sverigund and pulled her back up onto her feet.

“You’re not going to kill anybody?” asked the doctor.

“Unlike your employer, whose turrets don’t distinguish between valued employees and armed robbers.”

She grabbed her and shoved her along once more.

The corridor took them to an intersection where numerous labs glowed with bright light, separated by tall glass windows, and sliding doors secured with airlocks.

The intruder swept her weapons back and forth and gave Sverigund another unpleasant push with the butt of a gun to keep moving. One of the airlocks hissed. The intruder swiveled to point her guns at it.

Announcing his presence was a scientist in a lab coat who had decided that day to play hero. Someone who had decidedly seen way too many action movies and possessed far too little training with the firearm in his hands to pose a real threat.

“You’re goin’ down!” he shouted, but his voice trembled as badly as his aim.

Sverigund tumbled back onto the floor behind the intruder—first frustrated when she bumped her head against the wall, then realizing the intruder had pushed her to protect her when the scientist opened fire with his eyes screwed shut.

He shot every bullet from his pistol until it only clicked away ineffectively with an empty magazine.

The intruder stumbled back one step, then paused to look down at her chest. Many shots had missed her entirely—one of them having broken a fluorescent tube on the ceiling, now swinging back and forth where it dangled from an end. But the bullets that miraculously struck true against the intruder’s body had been smushed up like accordions—they clicked as they dropped from her chest and hit the ground, peeling off the intruder’s strange night suit when she swept them away with the back of her gloved hand.

The scientist with the gun began to panic. He turned and ran away, screaming at the top of his lungs, silenced just seconds later by the tranquilizer dart shot into his butt cheek. He tumbled sideways onto the floor in the narrow corridor.

In one of the labs, all sorts of gadgets had created an array of laser beams humming with concentrated magic enchantments, the inner workings of a bizarre machine laid bare, connected to a hulking armored suit by a tangled knot of colorful wires. Nearby, the final scientist cowered in a corner with her hands over her head, shivering and peeking out at the intruder through terror-stricken eyes.

Sverigund obeyed another shove and used her badge to open the airlock to that lab. She passed through with the intruder right behind her, both sprayed by a cloud of disinfectant and microwaved very briefly to destroy any other microscopic contaminants.

The cowering scientist stammered away, “P-please d-d-don’t hurt—"

A silent dart sank into her shoulder and quickly knocked her out.

Things happened way too quickly once more as Sverigund was spun around by her kidnapper and shoved against the nearest counter, knocking over empty beakers, and causing a mess of clipboards and other tools to cascade off the counter, all clattering onto the floor.

The intruder stuck the injector gun’s muzzle right underneath her chin, reminding her that the weapon was still painful even if not lethal.

“What in the hell do you want?” asked the doctor, paralyzed with an impotent anger.

“You are the mole,” said the intruder.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You are the one smuggling tech and secrets out of this place.”

“I don’t—”

With a violent nudge and painfully pressing the weapon harder against her jaw, scraping the skin, the intruder threatened again, “Don’t play dumb.”

“Okay! Shit. Okay, yes. Shit. How did you find out—oh goddess—”

“You just told me right now. I was guessing.”

Sverigund’s eyes went wide. “Fuck—"

“One of the guards even pissed himself. You, on the other hand, Miss Sverigund,” said the intruder, tapping the doctor’s ID badge with the tip of her gun. “If that’s even your real name—you were the only person here who didn’t flinch when I pointed a gun at you. You also knew about the security protocol with the turrets and the failsafe—I’d bet money on that not being in the lab employee guidelines. Besides, what do you care about guard shift intervals?”

“Okay! Shit. Did—did Sharpe send you? Shit. Please don’t kill me. I have family—”

The intruder shook her and shouted, “Don’t lie to me!”

“Please—”

“Damn it, listen. I’m not going to kill you. Sharpe probably wants that. I am here to help you.”

The intruder ripped at a latch holding the mask onto her helmet. The Coil Suit emitted a small but sharp hiss, similar to the airlocks before. The mask folded open from the middle, revealing Evangeline’s face.

Sverigund’s visage rapidly cycled through several stages of confusion and realization, and before she could ask if she was who she thought she was, Evangeline continued talking. “I will get you out of here and do my best to keep you alive. I just want to meet ‘M’ without any bloodshed.”

Chairman Desmond Sharpe sat in his favorite red winged chair in an opulent office. He stroked a hairless gray cat that was sitting on his lap and purring.

With vested interest, he stared at the screen. The tinny voices of the two women talking in the M-Tek lab reached him through the screen’s built-in speakers.

“Aren’t you afraid that he can hear us talking right now?” asked Sverigund.

Evangeline said, “No, and last I checked, the penny-pinching dirtbag has been cutting corners on tracking audio with his security systems.”

Sharpe smiled to himself over just how wrong the princess was about that, then continued to stroke his cat.

While the two women commenced their escape, backtracking through the absolute dead end of a lab complex, he calmly leaned over and pushed a button on his intercom.

“The M-Tek labs are compromised. Initiate omega protocol.”

Then he leaned back and continued stroking his cat, eager to follow their attempts at egress.

“Oh, Mister Mole Rat,” he said to the cat. “You know why I admire Trager’s security system designs?”

The cat purred.

“Exactly. He makes it so it’s far easier to get in than out. You learn more about the intrusion measures, the intruders themselves, and you can upgrade for the next miserable fool who makes the mistake of even trying.”

He chuckled sadistically.

Eva escorted Doctor Sverigund back to the elevator where two guards still lay unconscious. The women boarded the elevator and Eva paused, considering their method of ascent.

The rogue scientist said, “With the industrial elevator locked down, this is the only way up. With the silent alarm triggered, I don’t think they’ll allow the elevator to rise. Or if they do, we’ll be facing a dozen armed guards on our next stop.”

Eva hopped up, grabbing hold onto the edges, and pulling herself up through the hole she had left in the ceiling, vanishing through it in one fluid motion.

Speaking down to Sverigund, she said, “Don’t worry. I got this.”

Then the elevator emitted a DING, its doors closed, and it lurched upwards into motion.

“How did you do that?” hissed Sverigund.

Eva extended a gloved hand through the hole, offering to help the doctor climb up.

“I didn’t. Get your ass up here, quickly.”

Sharpe smirked. He refrained from alerting his personnel of what he witnessed and simply continued to watch the spectacle unfold like someone watching a game show. Mister Mole Rat meowed.

Sverigund took Eva’s arm and scrambled as she clambered up and out of view from the elevator’s camera.

The elevator’s digital display counted upwards.

Ground floor.

DING. Swish.

A chorus of voices shouted almost simultaneously, “Freeze!” – “On the ground, now!” – “Get down!”

Ten armed guards yelled at the elevator, eager to pull the triggers on their guns until they fully registered that only two unconscious guards snoozed away on the elevator’s floor. Their yelling died down.

Then Eva swung into view, hanging upside down from the hole in the ceiling, both guns out and flaring up with shots. A mixture of darts and gunshots ripped through the small crowd, wounding several of the armored guards, stunning others whose body armor protected them, and needling the rest with darts. Few darts did anything, but bullets sent several security officers sprawling on the ground, diving for cover, or keeling over onto the shiny, checkered marble floors.

She swung back up into cover before any of them returned fire. The deafening hail of bullets shook the elevator and littered it with bullet holes. The glass from the already-cracked mirror in the back fully shattered and showered the floor with shards.

Two tiny devices flew out from the elevator and bounced along the marble floors. They exploded into rapidly spreading clouds of smoke, cloaking the vicinity of the elevator doors in a thick black fog, and provoking fits of coughing from the still-standing guards.

They failed to notice the blur of a sleek figure darting through their midst. They missed the flash of a short, curved blade swinging about and slashing left and right. They only noticed something wrong when pants dropped, severed weapon straps and ammunition belts flopped onto the floor, and a flurry of kicks and strikes sent them flying in every direction, followed by several groans and shouts. Stray shots only hit walls.

By the time the smoke had cleared and all ten guards were on the ground in a mixture of unconsciousness or reeling in pain, Eva was already dragging Sverigund behind her towards the lobby entrance.

Halfway across the ostentatiously spacious and decadently furnished hall—

CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK—

Loud clanking erupted from all around them. The front doors and the entire glass front that framed the lobby’s circumference darkened. Metal shutters unfolded and slammed down, locking them inside.

Eva shouted a curse, distorted through the plas-steel mask over her face.

The thumping of combat boots spilled into the hall, and the guards that approached now were armed with even heavier weapons than the first wave. Immediately upon entering from the far end, they smashed riot shields into the floor to take cover behind them, issuing the same orders for surrender as the ones intercepting the elevator.

Only seconds too late.

The door to the nearby stairwell slammed shut behind Sverigund, where the two women had already run off to. The commanding officer barked orders at the others, splitting to secure every way upstairs.

Halfway to the fifth floor and already out of breath, Sverigund panted between words when she said, “We need to make it to the CTO’s office. There’s a security override there, it’s our only hope of—”

“Forget about it,” Eva cut in. “Keep moving. I will get us off the rooftop!”

“What? How?” Sverigund shouted at her, audibly growing more desperate and fearful for her life now. “The building has an automated anti-air gun that will take out any airlifts!”

“There won’t be any airlift,” growled Eva.

“What? Are you insane?”

Volleys of bullets rained from above, spraying them with sparks where shots ricocheted off metal railings. Eva kicked open the nearest fire exit and motioned hectically for Sverigund to go there, which she did. They escaped the bullet storm and charged down red-carpeted hallways with beautifully warm lighting.

Using a submachine gun that she had claimed from one of the guards, Eva pointed it at a man in a three-piece suit with dark rings under his eyes, who stepped outside of his office to inspect the sudden explosion of commotion.

“Get down!”

His eyes went wide, and he dove back inside his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

A blinding light flared up to their left, forcing Sverigund to shield her eyes, and the rumbling of helicopter rotors made every window vibrate ominously. Over a loudspeaker, the pilot of the gunship shouted at them.

“Surrender now! We are by law authorized to exert lethal force if you fail to comply!”

The two women froze as the combat helicopter hovered just outside the floor they were on. The stretch from them to the other end of the hallway and relative safety of the next stairwell gaped dangerously wide.

Eva hissed at Sverigund, “Run.” Then she added with more ferocity, “Run faster than you’ve ever run before in your life.”

They bolted.

The rotating barrels of the gun mounted underneath the chopper’s nose began to spin until their discordant whine pierced even glass.

The ensuing cacophony was apocalyptic.

Windowfronts exploded, walls were torn apart, desks ripped to shreds, the man in the suit dismembered with screams that were drowned out by the tidal wave of noise. The rapid rhythmic thundering of the gunship’s cannon sliced across the entire floor, relentlessly raining death and destruction.

Sharpe did not even blink while he watched his orders end a life. The kind of cost he had long calculated as acceptable if this meant the leak was liquidated.

Shards of broken wood, brass furnishings, trashed computers—all sorts of debris lay scattered across the seventh floor when the chopper’s gatling stopped firing.

Eva dragged Sverigund up some steps, but there was no way she would survive. The undercover infiltrator disguised as lab scientist had a deadly hole in her belly that wept with excessive amounts of blood pumping from it.

She had not run fast enough.

Eva clutched her and pleaded with her. Shook her in desperation.

“Please, tell me, quickly. How do I reach ‘M’? Please! Tell me!”

One last groan escaped the late “Doctor Sverigund”, ending in a raspy gasp on her final breath.

Nothing of use.

Then her head slumped lifelessly against Eva’s shoulder.

The princess dropped her and jolted into standing, knowing she had no time to lose—the thundering of combat boots quickly closed in on her. She whipped out a third gun and fired it, launching a hook and thin wire upwards. It latched onto a railing and the wire recoiled and zipped at breakneck speed until it stretched taut. With a sudden jerk, it propelled Eva upwards and bullets from small arms began to tear up plaster and metal of the stairwell all around her. With the volatile momentum, she launched herself up several flights, hurtling over the edge with a somersault and painfully rolling into cover in a way that would leave her with many welts and bruises.

Staggered volleys of bullets kept flying up the stairwell, but she did not pause, kicking through the door she had secured for exit upon infiltrating the building in the first place.

She charged straight up a thin metal stairway and emerged onto a rooftop where howling winds cut across the surface, right underneath the gigantic glowing logo of M-Tek.

Losing no time, she took a running start and leapt right off the edge of the rooftop.

In freefall, the coils along her suit hissed and a pitch-black glider unfolded from her back and limbs, connecting and solidifying into a winged kite midair. Like a human rocket, she glided past the rising gunship, its floodlight sweeping every top floor of the M-Tek high-rise in search of intruders, and narrowly missing her. Their instruments would also fail to detect her.

The prototype Phantom suit carried Eva away and her flight path arced in a sharp curve, swooping past other tall buildings until she was swallowed by the city skyline on Sharpe’s camera feeds. He kept tapping a pen to switch from camera to camera until he fully lost track of her.

Mister Mole Rat meowed as he hopped off the CEO’s lap and sauntered around the luxurious office. Sharpe got up and visited his private bar. He helped himself to a glass of the most expensive whiskey in the world, which he cradled in a palm while he returned to his intercom.

He pressed the button and spoke, “Call off the chopper. Your work is done. I trust you can tackle debriefing without me.”

Sharpe awaited answer and killed the transmission after he had spoken. He walked over to the window of his office, where he overlooked the nightly skyline of New Port City. He savored the scent of his whiskey, taking a timid sip from it.

His phone rang.

He sensed what was coming next and smiled to himself.

He tapped the earbud in his right ear.

“This is Desmond Sharpe. How can I help you?” No real question to his words, just a cold and smugly smoky voice that could sell refrigerators to people living in the arctic.

“You slime bag,” Eva spat into the phone, causing him to adjust the headset volume. “What the hell was that? We had her.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. I am a very busy man, Swan.”

“Oh, spare me!” she yelled. “I know you know what happened, you slime. And you sound exactly like I expected you to sound.”

“Hm? How’s that?”

“I know you’re happy with today’s outcome. But I swear, this is gonna bite you in the ass. I was this close to learning about ‘M’, you homicidal prick.”

Sharpe took another sip from his cup and smacked his lips. Pursed them. Savored the taste.

“Shame, really. But that mishap was on you.”

The silence that followed was filled with the fuming rage of Eva, finding no words of hers to express it other than, “We better never meet in person.”

“I agree,” he said, intonating it almost musically. “I’m glad you see things my way.”

“Fuck off.” She hung up.

Sharpe smirked and sat back down to finish his whiskey as he gazed at the glittering skyline of New Port City, then turned to other matters while Mister Mole Rat pranced about his penthouse-sized office.

The sociopath would be sleeping soundly that night.

3 notes · View notes

ga-yuu · 2 years ago

Text

Yoritomo & Yoshitsune Chapter 2

WARNING: This story contains creepy zombies and gore.

----Part 1----

Yoritomo: "...Heh, you look quite handsome, Yoshitsune."

Yoshitsune: "...."

Yoshitsune: "You don't look good."

Yoritomo: "You insolent man."

The swords raised by the two men glowed so brightly that they could be mistaken for flames, and were pointed at the corpses-----

Shogunate soldier: "Yoritomo-sama...?"

Rebel soldier: "Yo...Yoshitsune-sama! You look..."

The soldiers, who were as stunned as I was, ask in a gravelly voice.

And before the two can answer that----

Corpse 1: "Heros! The hero's might!"

Corpse 2: "Kill! Kill! We are the army of the dead!"

(No...!)

With hoarse screams, the army of corpses rushed toward us.

-----Options-----

Both of you, good luck! (Yoshitsune +4/ Yoritomo + 2)

I swear I will never falter (Yoritomo +5/ Yoshitsune +2)

----------

Yoshino: "Be careful and good luck...both of you."

Yoshitsune: "I'm a non-believer in god, but if it's your prayer, it's not bad."

Yoritomo: "Time to clean up."

Yoshitsune: "We'll finish this as soon as possible."

Their sword swung down and sliced through many corpses.

Corpses: "AAARRRGGGHHHH!"

The corpse's body turns into ashes.

Soldiers: "What...!"

Yoritomo: "----Everyone."

As if on the verge of swelling everyone's agitation, Yoritomo-sama's voice rang out in a hitch pitch.

Yoritomo: "I and Yoshitsune were given the power to save this Hinamoto."

Even the corpse stopped moving for a brief moment as if they have been pressured by the majesty and charm of his voice.

Yoritomo: "As a conquering general, my heart is with the Shogunate

Yoritomo: "But now, not only the warriors, but also the people---not only Kamakura, but also the whole of Hinamoto, are being invaded by the corpses."

Yoritomo: "I rejoice that I have the fangs to face this and I will go willingly to my death.

Eyes lit with a strong will look over the soldiers.

(...Oh yeah. I have seen this face many times on the battlefield)

(Where Yoritomo-sama easily raises the morale of his soldiers and sends them into a frenzy)

Yoshitsune: "............."

Yoritomo: "Brave men, what about you? Are you willing to join me and Yoshitsune in saving Hinamoto?"

Yoritomo: "Does the pride of being a hero still burn in your heart?"

-----Part 2------

Yoritomo: "Brave men, what about you? Are you willing to join me and Yoshitsune in saving Hinamoto?"

Yoritomo: "Does the pride of being a hero still burn in your heart?"

Shogunate soldiers: "...Yoritomo-sama! We're with you!"

Soldiers: "AAAAHHHHH!"

The terrified soldier's face changed.

(But because of the situation, there are still a few people who can't shake off their fears)

It is very difficult to remove the fear of the unknown ---as we learned in the last war.

Some Rebel soldiers in particular exchanged puzzled glances.

Yoshitsune: "----No further words are needed."

The faint murmur strangely seeped into the ears of everyone present.

A moment after Yoshitsune-sama raised his downcast eyes our gazes suddenly met.

Yoshino: "Yoshitsune-sama....?"

There was a beastly glint burning in his eyes.

Yoshitsune: "Good luck to you too, Yoshino. I hope you will be safe."

As soon as he said it, Yoshitsune-sama made his horse dance in the crowd of corpses.

(What the...)

Corpse: "AARRHH....!"

Man and the horse become one and the white blade flashes as if dancing.

Yoshitsune: "Go back to hell."

Yoshitsune: "As long as I'm alive, there will be no peace for you here."

With a blindingly fast slash, five or so corpses quickly disappear into ashes.

(Still overwhelmingly strong....!)

I was overwhelmed by the pressure and was fascinated by the intense beauty, at the same time.

(Thank god this man is on our side for now!)

Rebel soldier: "Follow Yoshitsune-sama----"

One of the gasping soldiers immediately shouted and everyone followed.

Yoritomo: "Let's go!"

Soldiers clutch their swords and spears and push forward boldly.

(Wow! Yoritomo-sama and Yoshitsune-sama both inspired their soldiers in their own ways)

Yoritomo: "We're going in, Yoshino. Stay low."

Yoshino: "Yes!"

(I'm scared but I will make sure not to get in your way)

Yoritomo: "Good girl."

The secret whisper in my ear made my heart thump.

Heat is transmitted from the body in close contact.

Yoritomo: "Let's get the road clear."

----Part 3----

Yoritomo: "Let's get the road clear."

WIthout slowing down, Yoritomo-sama held his sword horizontally.

I continued to cling desperately to his horse and after some time.

(I hope everyone else who is cutting down the army of the dead from the other direction is also safe)

(...No, I must focus! I must stop thinking about unnecessary things and watch Yoritomo-sama and Yoshitsune-sama carefully to see if there is anything unusual about them)

Yoshino: "Where's Yoshitsune-sama----"

Yoshitsune: "....."

(How did he get there!)

We see, Yoshitsune-sama's back far far away.

Yoritomo: "Haa, there he goes doing what he wants."

In the midst of numerous corpses, Yoshitsune-sama dances the dance of death.

The Rebels soldiers who followed them were also slashing at the corpses with a single determination.

Yoshino: "Isn't it dangerous...?"

Yoritomo: "He's always been like that."

(Yoshitsune-sama, please be safe....)

Yoritomo: "It can't be helped. While he's drawing the enemy away, we've got things to do over here."

Yoshino: "Things?"

Yoritomo-sama looks ahead with his horse running.

Yoritomo: "I've been watching for a while now, and the number of corpses isn't decreasing."

Yoshino: "...We have to find the necromancer, right?"

Yoritomo: "That's right."

(But how?)

Yoritomo-sama pointed to the river berry where the corpse were swarming.

Yoritomo: "At first glance, there is a group of corpses, but on closer inspection, there are occasional irregularities in their movements."

Yoritomo: "The newly summoned corpses in one place are dispersed to different places at the behest of the necromancer---that's what it's all about."

Yoshino: "I didn't notice any irregularities at all..."

(Yoritomo-sama took the initiative and observed the whole time we were fighting)

Yoshino: "I thought you would be so engrossed in fighting that you wouldn't notice at all."

Yoritomo: "How many years do you think I've been in command on the battlefield? Dummy."

Yoshino: "Well...Mm."

He stroked my hair which was probably messed up by the wind.

Yoritomo: "Are you having doubts about my abilities?."

----Part 4----

Yoritomo: "Are you having doubts about my abilities?."

Yoshino: "I don't think so, though......"

(Geez, you won't miss even the slightest emotional swing like this. I can't beat Yoritomo-sama at all)

Yoritomo: "If you say so."

Yoritomo: "Anyways. I'll explain it to you slowly later on......"

Yoritomo: "Let's hunt down the necromancer."

After that----

Sometimes taking the form of a retreat from the front line, Yoritomo-sama frequently changed locations to intercept the necromancer.

The Shogunate's troops obeyed Yoritomo-sama's orders and rearranged themselves in a formation.

And....

Yoritomo: "---I got it! I finally narrowed it down."

Yoshino: "Really!?"

Yoritomo: "Yeah. By repeatedly cutting down the layers of corpses from one direction, we have a good enough grasp of the flow of corpses."

Yoritomo: "So if you work backward, you get to the necromancer."

Yoritomo-sama calls out to the soldiers following him.

Yoritomo: "You've held out so long!"

Yoritomo: "Now is the time to settle this stupid battle and go to restore peace in Kamakura."

Shogunate soldiers: "Yes!"

The soldiers, who had gained momentum, followed the accelerated Yoritomo-sama.

(Woah, I might fall off!)

Yoritomo: "Hold on tight."

While holding me tightly Yoritomo-sama swung his sword bravely.

Each time a corpse is cut down, there is a groaning cry with resentment.

Yoritomo: "The enemy intends to crush us through attribution."

Yoritomo: "As far as strategy is concerned in this battle, the necromancer is careful but ain't bold."

Yoritomo: "I'm 95% sure that he'll have a wall of corpses around him."

Yoshino: "...So we have to break that wall."

Yoritomo: "Are you nervous?"

Yoshino: "No! I'm shaking with excitement."

(I don't want to be weak in this situation where everyone is fighting to the death)

Yoritomo: "As expected of the Shogunate's very own pharmacist. You're brave."

(Of course, Yoritomo-sama knows I'm trying hard to put a brave image)

I was encouraged by the fact that it was understood and acknowledged.

Yoritomo: "---Push through!"

They cut through the wall of corpses and just kept pushing forward to where the necromancer would be.

Entering a section of forest on the banks of a river....

Yoritomo: "Sorry to barge in on you where you've been holed up."

Yoritomo: "Are you the necromancer?"

----Part 5----

Yoritomo: "Are you the necromancer?"

Necromancer: "How did you find out I was here...?"

A figure wearing what looked like a hood was surrounded by corpses.

They stared at us with faces stained with hatred and astonishment.

(Compared to the corpses, his eyes are not empty and I sense a clear intention...)

Yoritomo: "From his appearance was he a warrior in his lifetime?"

Yoritomo: "It seems you also lost your tactical eye while sleeping in Underworld. Let's send you back to hell gracefully."

Necromancer: "Kill them!"

When the necromancer holds up his hand, a rift appears in space.

Yoshino: "That's..."

Necromancer: "Fool, you thought I won't have a trump card against you, huh."

Nercomancer: "My army, they'll crush you."

(How...)

Yoritomo: "Cautious and timid. If it doesn't change so much from what you expect, it won't be interesting."

Corpse: "Don't be cocky----"

Corpse: "Let's see if you can talk like that when the woman you hold so dear dies."

(Me!?)

All corpses came towards us at once.

Corpse 1: "Kill the woman!"

Corpse 2: "Heroes fall into despair---"

Yoshino: "No..."

I reflexively try to draw out my fox powers, but...

(Not responding, yes, because they are just corpses and not demons...)

And just when I felt helpless, my whole body was enveloped in fear...

Yoritomo: "-----tch."

I felt the low voice hit my ear, and I shivered.

The sword swung by Yoritomo-sama, who leaped on his horse and swung it sideways, shines with dazzling brilliance.

Yoritomo: "Did you actually think that I'd let you step on my property?"

Yoritomo: "You're the one who's going to fall in despair."

Corpses: "Gwaaa..."

One of the corpses reaches for his sliced head, but the tips of his fingers turn to dust.

(Yoritomo-sama, are you angry?)

Necromancer: "...Y-You..."

There was a quiet fire in the depth of Yoritomo-sama's eyes, which looked ahead at all times.

Yoritomo: "Shall we continue, Mr. Necromancer?"

Meanwhile, Yoshitsune was---

Yoshitsune: "............"

He continued to wield his sword on the front lines where the most charged battles were fought.

Then.......

Benkei: "Yoshitsune-sama! Are you alright!?"

Yoshitsune: "Benkei."

Yoshitsune: "It doesn't matter. This battle will be decided soon."

Yoshitsune's long hair flutters in the air and Benkei's eyes widen for a moment, but then he realizes that he is not the only one.

They stood side by side in silence.

Yoshitsune: "The wind of the battlefield has changed."

Benkei: "......Where's Yoritomo-kou?"

Yoshitsune: "I think he went after the necromancer."

#ikemen series #ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden yoritomo #ikemen genjiden yoshitsune #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #main story translations

15 notes · View notes